Three days later...

The Weasley Group’s situation was getting worse.

The media hadn’t let up.

Investors were still pulling out their funds.

And the board members were starting to act more openly against Sean.

But in the midst of it all...

One name still made Sean’s jaw clench every time he heard it.

Mr. Freddy.

That old drunk might not have a company.

No power.

No big name.

But that bastard knew how to blackmail people.

For years, he’d lived off Sean’s money through Moana.

Cars.

Houses.

Gambling.

Alcohol.

Debts.

All of it had been paid for quietly by Sean back then, just so Moana wouldn’t keep crying and begging for help for her father.

And now?

That old man stabbed him in the back.

---

That night, Sean sat in his office reading the latest report.

One of his subordinates stood in front of the desk with a cautious expression.

"We’ve found the original source of the media leak."

Sean’s gaze shot up.

"Speak."

"Mr. Freddy sold some of your personal information to entertainment reporters."

Sean’s jaw clenched brutally.

"In exchange for having his gambling debt wiped clean."

Silence.

Then Sean let out a small laugh.

But his laughter sounded truly dark now.

"So that drunken old man sold my life for a poker table?"

His subordinate fell silent.

Because the answer was indeed yes.

Sean leaned back slowly into his chair, staring blankly at the table.

His thoughts immediately returned to all the years he’d spent supporting Freddy’s family.

Hospital bills.

Credit card debt.

Casinos.

Even the bail money when Mr. Freddy had nearly been arrested for being drunk and causing a disturbance.

And Sean had done all that for Moana’s sake.

Damn it...

Now it all felt like a huge insult.

Sean roughly rubbed his face.

"I’m such an idiot."

"Sir..."

"I fed a stray dog," Sean cut in coldly, "and now that dog has bitten my hand."

The room fell silent.

Sean stood up slowly and walked toward the window.

His gaze was icy that night.

"Moana’s father likes to gamble, doesn’t he?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Which casino?"

His subordinate immediately opened his tablet.

"A few illegal spots in the southern district of Texas. But lately, he’s been at Black Raven most often."

Sean smiled slightly.

Very thin.

Very dangerous.

"Good."

"Sir?"

Sean finally turned his head slowly.

"If someone makes a living at the gambling table..." he whispered softly, "...make sure he loses his seat."

His subordinate immediately understood where Sean was coming from.

"Understood."

"And listen carefully." Sean’s gaze turned sharp. "I don’t want him beaten."

The man was slightly confused.

Sean continued slowly,

"I want him humiliated."

Silence.

Sean gave another hollow little laugh.

"A man like Freddy isn’t afraid of pain." His jaw tightened. "But a poor old man living off a cheap ego..." his eyes were cold, "...will be destroyed if everyone starts laughing at him."

---

Two nights later...

Mr. Freddy entered the Black Raven illegal casino with a light, unsteady stagger.

The smell of alcohol was already noticeable even before the old man sat down at the poker table.

A few other gamblers glanced at him lazily.

Because everyone in the place knew Freddy.

The old drunk who liked to pretend he was rich because he once had a billionaire son-in-law.

"Whiskey!" he shouted, laughing loudly.

But that night felt strange.

Some people started whispering when they saw him.

Two men at the table behind him chuckled as they looked his way.

Freddy immediately got annoyed.

"What are you staring at?!"

No one answered.

Then the poker dealer in front of him suddenly tossed a few photos onto the table.

Freddy frowned.

And the next second...

His face changed instantly.

It was a photo of him vomiting from drunkenness on the side of the road last week.

Another photo showed him being dragged out of the casino for failing to pay his debts.

And worst of all—

There was a photo of him receiving money from Moana in the hotel’s back parking lot.

Under the photo, in large letters, it read:

> "OLD PARASITE LIVING OFF HIS DAUGHTER’S MONEY."

The casino’s atmosphere was instantly shattered by the quiet laughter of a few people.

Freddy stood up abruptly.

"MOTHERF—"

But before he could lose his temper...

Someone from behind said casually,

"I heard Sean Weasley has stopped paying for your keep."

Laughter began to rise again.

Freddy’s face turned bright red.

Embarrassed.

Angry.

His pride shattered.

And for the first time...

The old man realized something terrifying.

Sean had finally stopped playing the patient man.

Now?

The man began to destroy people, one by one.

********

The following week, things only got worse.

Mr. Freddy hadn’t learned his lesson.

He wasn’t afraid.

In fact, the old man had become even more brutal since being humiliated at the Black Raven casino.

He got drunk almost every night.

He yelled about the Weasley family in seedy bars.

Selling stories to tabloid journalists.

He even started claiming here and there that Sean had "bought" his life for years just to keep Moana.

And worst of all...

Clara’s name started getting dragged into it.

---

That night, Sean received a new voice recording in his office.

The room was still dark as usual.

Only a small desk lamp glowed dimly.

His trusted subordinate stood silently in front of the desk, handing him a tablet.

"A recording from a bar in South Texas, sir."

Sean played it without expression.

And the next second...

Mr. Freddy’s drunken voice filled the room.

> "Sean’s an idiot!"

"He thinks being rich keeps all the women in love with him!"

"Even his ex-wife ran off!"

"If I wanted to, I could ruin his life in a week!"

The laughter of drunken people could be heard in the background of the recording.

Then Freddy’s voice came back—

> "Just wait. I still have plenty of stories about that pretty little Clara..."

CRASH.

Sean immediately slammed the tablet against the wall.

It shattered.

The room suddenly fell completely silent.

Sean’s breathing was heavy now.

His gaze turned very dark.

Because there was one thing he could never tolerate...

Was someone dragging Clara into the mud he’d created himself.

His subordinates stood stiffly.

Even he himself had started to fear Sean lately.

The man no longer looked like the cold, elegant director.

But rather someone who was slowly losing his moral boundaries bit by bit.

Sean bowed his head while gripping the table tightly.

Then he finally spoke softly.

Very softly.

"I’ve been patient enough."

No one answered.

Sean slowly raised his head.

His eyes were incredibly cold.

"I don’t want to see Freddy again."

The room froze instantly.

His subordinates swallowed hard.

"Sir..."

Sean walked slowly toward the window.

His gaze was vacant as he looked out at the Texas night.

But his voice now sounded far more menacing than any shout.

"That old man gets drunk every night." His jaw tightened. "Gambles. Causes a ruckus. No one would care much if he disappeared one day."

Silence.

His men were now truly on edge.

Because the direction of this conversation was already crystal clear.

"Sir," he said cautiously, "you’re emotional."

Sean gave a hollow little laugh.

"No."

His gaze remained fixed outside the window.

"In fact, for the first time in a while..." he whispered softly, "...I’m very calm."

And that was far more terrifying.

Because Sean didn’t sound like an angry man.

He sounded like a man who had made a decision.

"I’m tired," he continued softly. "Tired of cleaning up the mess that keeps biting back."

"Sir, if this gets traced—"

"My father’s in the hospital." Sean cut him off coldly. "My company is ruined. My life has become a spectacle." His jaw tightened brutally. "And that drunk still has the nerve to drag Clara’s name into this."

Silence.

Then Sean finally turned his head slowly.

"I don’t care anymore."

His gaze was completely empty now.

Empty in a way that sent chills down your spine.

"Get him out of my life."

The words fell softly.

Flat.

Emotionless.

Yet that was precisely what made them feel terrifying.

His subordinate remained silent for a long moment before finally speaking very cautiously.

"...Understood, sir."

And that night...

For the first time...

Sean Weasley had truly gone too far.

*****

The night in Texas felt heavy and humid.

A light rain began to fall again as a black sedan pulled up outside the seedy bar where Mr. Freddy usually drank himself into a stupor until morning.

Inside the car, two men sat in silence, saying little.

One of them slowly stubbed out his cigarette while glancing at his watch.

"He’s still inside."

The man in the backseat didn’t answer.

He just stared at the bar door with a blank expression.

Sean’s orders were crystal clear that night.

No commotion.

No blood.

No traces leading back to the Weasley family.

Mr. Freddy simply had to... disappear from Sean’s life.

"Kill him as quickly as possible! Leave no traces!" That was Sean’s order.