A light drizzle soaked the back streets behind the seedy bar. The neon lights flickered dimly.

Old country music drifted faintly from inside the building, mingling with drunken laughter and the clinking of bottles.

Inside the black sedan... the atmosphere was much colder. The man in the front seat finally received a text message on his phone.

"The target will be out in five minutes. We have to take him out!"

He turned around.

"Everyone’s ready."

The man in the backseat nodded slowly. Not nervous. Not emotional.

Because people like them were used to doing the dirty work for the rich who didn’t want their hands to get bloody.

And tonight...

The name Sean Weasley was the reason they were there.

The bar door finally swung open roughly.

Mr. Freddy stumbled out, laughing drunkenly to himself.

His shirt was rumpled.

His steps were unsteady.

A bottle of cheap alcohol was still clutched in his hand.

"Bastard..." he muttered to himself as he walked toward the back parking lot. "Sean thinks he can scare me..."

He didn’t even realize there were two pairs of eyes watching him from inside a dark car.

Mr. Freddy staggered into a narrow alleyway next to the bar, his breath catching as his stomach vomited up the uncontrollable contents.

His body trembled, his teary eyes staring into the darkness around him.

But he hadn’t had a chance to feel that relief yet. From the dim shadows of the parking lot, two men dressed entirely in black stepped out.

Their movements were swift and silent, as if military training had drilled every second into them. Mr. Freddy’s heart pounded; his body jolted suddenly when a strong hand gripped his shoulder from behind. "Huh—?" his voice caught.

But before he could finish the sentence, a rough cloth was pressed against his mouth and nose. His chest felt constricted, and panic took hold of his entire body. The bottle of alcohol he was still clutching slipped from his grasp; shards of glass scattered across the wet asphalt, making the silence even more eerie.

"Mmph—! MMPH—!"

But the drunk old man was too weak.

A few seconds later...

His movements began to slow.

His knees lost their strength.

And finally, Freddy’s body went limp in their hands.

"Throw him in."

The back door of the black van opened slowly.

Mr. Freddy’s body was tossed inside like a trash bag.

Then the vehicle drove away from the back of the bar without making a single noticeable sound.

Leaving behind only shards of whiskey bottles and a puddle of rainwater.

An hour later...

An old warehouse on the outskirts of Texas stood silent in the middle of an empty industrial zone.

The lights were dim.

The air was cold.

The smell of rust and oil filled the room.

Mr. Freddy slowly came to on an iron chair.

His hands were bound.

His mouth was dry.

His head was pounding from the alcohol and anesthetic.

"What..." his breath was ragged. "What the hell is this..."

Then he saw someone standing over there.

Sean.

The man stood impeccably dressed in his expensive black suit.

Calm.

Silent.

Yet the aura around him felt colder than the night outside.

Freddy immediately panicked.

"Sean?!"

No answer.

Sean just stared at him for a long time.

A blank stare.

Tired.

And strangely...

It was far more terrifying than anger.

"I’ve given you too many chances," Sean finally said softly.

Freddy began to struggle.

"Y-you can’t do this!"

Sean gave a hollow chuckle.

"Funny." His gaze slowly dropped to the old man. "For years you’ve been living off my money."

"Sean, listen—"

"You drink with my money."

Sean stepped closer slowly.

"You gamble with my money."

"Sean—"

"And now..." his eyes turned incredibly cold, "...you’re dragging Clara’s name into this."

Freddy turned pale instantly.

Because he finally realized.

This wasn’t about the company anymore.

It wasn’t about the media.

It was about something far more personal.

And Sean was too broken to think straight.

"I was drunk when I said that!" Freddy started to panic. "I was just talking nonsense!"

Sean was silent for a few seconds.

Then he gave a small smile.

A smile that sent chills down Freddy’s spine.

"I used to tell myself the same thing—that everything I did to Clara was just a small mistake."

Silence.

"Turns out one small mistake can destroy someone’s life."

Freddy was trembling now.

"What do you want... money? I can keep quiet! I swear!"

Sean shook his head slowly.

"No."

His gaze was vacant.

"I’m just tired."

And that sentence sounded far more terrifying than a threat.

Because Sean truly sounded like a man whose emotions had run dry.

Freddy started breathing rapidly.

"Sean... Sean, listen. Moana won’t stay quiet if I disappear."

Sean chuckled again.

"Moana?" he whispered softly. "Even your own daughter is tired of you."

Those words hit Freddy hard.

And for the first time that night...

The old man was truly afraid.

Sean turned slowly toward the two men behind him, offering only a small, wordless nod.

But just then, Mr. Freddy began to struggle violently. His body was held tightly by several of Sean’s men, trying to restrain his every movement.

"NO—! Sean! Sean, wait—!" Mr. Freddy’s voice cut off abruptly as a man pressed a wet cloth against his face.

His breathing was labored, his eyes wide with panic. Another man, his hands tightly wrapped in plastic, was choking him, causing Mr. Freddy to grow weaker and weaker, losing all hope.

Mr. Freddy struggled frantically. The metal chair screeched loudly. His breathing was ragged. His eyes were wide with fear.

Meanwhile, Sean just stood there watching. Motionless. Offering no help. Not looking satisfied either.

Just... empty.

Slowly, Freddy’s movements weakened. Slowing down. Growing weaker. Until finally, the old man’s body went completely limp.

The warehouse fell silent again.

Dead silent.

One of the men stepped closer to check his pulse for a few seconds. Then he nodded slowly.

"It’s over. He’s dead!"

Sean didn’t answer.

His gaze was still fixed on Freddy’s body.

And strangely...

He didn’t feel relieved. He didn’t feel victorious. Just even more empty. Because after all this... Clara still wouldn’t come back to him.

Sean stood motionless for quite a while.

His gaze was still fixed on Mr. Freddy’s lifeless body slumped in the metal chair.

"You’re finally dead!" Sean smiled wryly.

The warehouse lights flickered faintly. The sound of rain outside could be heard softly pounding against the old tin roof.

And strangely...

After all the anger. All the obsession. All the devastation he had felt over the past few weeks...

All that remained now was emptiness. No satisfaction.

One of his henchmen finally spoke softly.

"We’ll clean everything up, Sir. We’ll dispose of this body far away!"

Sean didn’t answer right away.

His gaze fell to Mr. Freddy’s limp, hanging hands.

The old man used to be so loud. Always laughing loudly. Always asking for money. Always drunk and spewing profanities.

Now?

Completely silent. Dead.

And that felt far more unsettling than Sean had imagined.

"Dump the body in the southern lake," Sean finally said softly. "Make it look like a drunken accident."

"Understood."

"His phone?"

"It’s been destroyed."

Sean gave a slight nod.

Then, without looking back at Mr. Freddy’s body... he turned and walked out of the warehouse.

His steps were calm. Steady. Elegant as always.

The night air greeted Sean the moment he stepped out of the old warehouse.

Cold.

Damp.

It smelled of rain and rust.

The iron door behind him closed slowly with a heavy thud.

And for a moment...

Sean stopped in his tracks.

His gaze was vacant, fixed on the dark parking lot illuminated only by a single dim yellow light.

"Moana..." he murmured to himself.

"Do you see?"

His jaw tightened slightly.

"I could even kill your father."

But strangely...

That thought didn’t make him feel strong.

Nor did it bring him satisfaction.

Instead, it felt as though something inside him had truly broken tonight.

Sean got into the black sedan without a word.

The door closed.

Silence.

The driver up front glanced through the center window for a moment.

But immediately looked down again.

Because Sean’s face tonight looked terrifying.

Not angry.

Not brutal.

But he was too calm. And someone who’s too calm after doing something terrible...

Is usually far more dangerous.

The car began to drive away from the industrial area.

The lights of Texas city glinted faintly on the window glass.

Sean leaned his head back gently.

His eyes were tired.

And before he could stop it...

The image of Clara reappeared in his mind.

The Clara who used to always say she still had a good side.

The Clara who used to believe Sean would never truly hurt anyone.

Sean let out a hollow chuckle.

Broken.

Because now?

He had just let someone die without batting an eye.

And what was most devastating...

Even after all that...

His chest remained empty.

No Clara.

No sense of relief.

No victory.

Only a silence that felt heavier and heavier.