Chapter 9: when their eyes met

[Kenan's Side]

The door to his suite swung open as Kenan stepped inside, his long strides filled with a quiet intensity. The bouquet of red tulips rested in his grip, though his fingers toyed absentmindedly with the petals.

His secretary, Asaph, stood at attention, awaiting his orders.

"What's the report?" Kenan's voice was sharp, commanding.

"Sir, that woman... she's in the basement," Asaph informed, his eyes briefly flickering to the flowers in Kenan's grasp.

Kenan hummed, his lips curving into something wicked. "Give her the appetizer first," he said, rolling his shoulders lazily. "If she still refuses to spit out anything useful... well, I'll serve the main course myself."

Asaph nodded. "Understood, Sir." He turned to leave but hesitated, his gaze once again landing on the flowers.

"Sir... do you need a vase for those?" Kenan blinked as if only now realizing he was still holding them. His fingers curled slightly around the stems.

"No... no need," he muttered, rubbing his forehead with his index finger. "I was about to throw them away anyway."

"Understood, Sir." With that, Asaph left, and Kenan finally allowed himself a moment of solitude.

Kenan stepped into his room, shutting the door behind him. With a quiet sigh, he leaned against it, closing his eyes.

And immediately-

Those sunlit, volcanic-brown orbs flashed in his mind.

His lips twitched, warmth creeping into his expression. "Her fierce, wild eyes remind me of my Blackie's headlights..." A chuckle escaped him as he shook his head.

Shrugging off his coat, he tossed it onto the couch before moving to place the tulips on the table. But just as he was about to let them go, his fingers brushed against the delicate petals.

And in that fleeting moment-

A different image surfaced.

Soft, pinkish, plump lips~

His jaw clenched, his fingers stiffening around the stems as he shut his eyes.

"Kenan... don't think like a pervert." Exhaling sharply, he tossed the flowers onto the table and strode toward the bathroom, eager to drown out the ghost of her gaze, her voice, her everything.

But as he turned on the faucet, watching the cold water rush between his fingers, he couldn't ignore the strange, lingering warmth curling in his chest-one he had no desire to acknowledge.

____________

[inside the basement]

Kenan stepped into the dimly lit basement, his polished shoes tapping against the cold concrete floor.

"Hello" he drawled, shoving his hands into his pockets.

The woman tied to the chair lifted her head. Her once-pristine appearance was ruined—hair disheveled, face pale, and eyes burning with rage. She was the same woman he had knocked out in the club's private room.

His cold grey gaze flickered to Asaph.

"Got anything beneficial?" His voice was smooth, but his eyes held a deadly glint as he stared at the trembling woman.

Asaph shook his head. "No, Sir."

Kenan nodded silently, the room falling into a heavy stillness. The woman shuddered. It was the kind of silence that came before a raging storm.

"Fine then," Kenan mused, rolling his shoulders lazily. "Use your favorite method... Start by plucking out her manicured nails first." A wicked smile curled on his lips.

Her breath hitched. "Wh-What do you mean?!"

But Kenan ignored her trembling voice, turning away as he continued in an emotionless tone. "And then stick her hand to the chair with a sharp nail."

The woman's face was drained of color. "Hey...!! YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME...!" she shrieked.

Kenan was already walking away as Asaph stepped closer, pulling out gleaming pliers.

"Don't worry, Lady... Of course, I won't do it..." Kenan's voice was eerily calm.

And then he exited the room.

"No…!!" she screamed, but the heavy steel door closed behind him, swallowing her voice.

------------

Kenan walked toward the window and pulled it open, letting the cold air brush against his face.

The room was soundproof, designed to trap even the most agonizing screams. Not a single sound leaked through, but Kenan knew what was happening inside.

Despite his ruthless nature, there was one thing he never did himself—torturing people with his own hands. He despised the sound of painful human screams, whether they belonged to criminals or innocent souls.

That didn't mean he let them go.

His methods were just different. His men did the dirty work while he ensured that everything was executed with perfection.

"Sir..." Asaph's voice broke his trance.

Kenan didn't turn. His hands remained shoved in his pockets as he continued staring at the moon.

"She confessed everything, Sir."

Kenan let out a slow sigh. "Rod is the only logic of fools."

With that, he turned and stepped back inside.

The woman sat there, barely conscious, her eyes brimming with silent tears. She lifted her head weakly and whispered, her voice hoarse but clear, "You are a monster."

Kenan's lips curled into a dark smirk. "No, Lady... None of us have seen my monster side yet. Not even me."

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a chilling whisper. "And I hope your confession is true. Otherwise, I wouldn't hesitate to make a hole in your other palm with a nail."

Her jaw clenched, tears sliding down her cheeks as she gritted her teeth in frustration.

"And pluck out your pedicured nails too," he added, his vicious smile deepening.

She swallowed hard.

Kenan straightened and adjusted his cuffs before walking away.

----------

[The next morning]

Kenan arrived at a restaurant, the same place where the targeted drugs dealer was supposed to meet his contacts. The woman's confession had led him here.

Sitting at a corner table, he wore sleek black shades, his expression unreadable as he gestured for the waiter.

Asaph's voice rang in his earpiece. "Sir, he's here."

Kenan didn't respond, merely nodding as he played with the rim of his coffee cup.

On his signal, the waiter ‘accidentally’ spilled juice all over the man's expensive suit.

"Are you blind?!" the man snapped, standing up in anger.

The waiter bowed repeatedly in apology before leading him toward the washroom.

[in the bathroom]

As the dealer turned on the tap, scrubbing his stained shirt with a scowl, he caught sight of something in the mirror—

A tall man in a black suit standing behind him.

Before he could react, a sharp sting pricked his neck.

Agent Ron smirked as he withdrew the chloroform-filled syringe. The man barely had time to curse before his vision darkened, and his body went limp.

****---------****

Meanwhile, back at his table, Kenan calmly cut into his pancakes, savoring each bite.

A waiter approached and set a plate in front of him. "Your coffee, Sir."

Kenan nodded, enjoying the soft, fluffy texture of the pancake melting in his mouth.

"Sir, We've secured the target." Asaph's voice came through his earpiece.

Kenan hummed. "Good. Take him to his destination."

"Aren't you coming along, Sir?" Asaph asked hesitatingly.

A lazy smirk ghosted his lips as he took another bite. "No. I can't leave my pancakes for this bastard."

Asaph sighed through the earpiece thinking, 'I will never understand this guy...'

Kenan leaned back, tapping his fork against his plate. "Hmm... This restaurant has some good taste."

And with that, he continued enjoying his breakfast, undisturbed, until the last bite was gone.

**----------**

The road stretched endlessly before him, but his mind was elsewhere.

Kenan was driving in silence, the low hum of the engine filling the car. His gaze drifted toward the sea beside him, where the restless waves kissed the shore under the soft glow of the evening sun. And just like that, yesterday's memories came rushing back.

The seashore.

His hands tightened on the wheel, yet his foot eased off the pedal. His destination had changed—perhaps not by choice, but by something far deeper, something unspoken.

Unintentionally. Unwillingly. Subconsciously. He had come back to this place again.

Kenan's eyes roamed the scattered crowd along the shore, searching for something—or rather, someone.

Then, as if fate itself had conspired to lead him here, his gaze found her. A slow curve touched the corner of his lips.

There she was.

She stood with her back to him.

Her figure wrapped in a modest, flowing frock, her hands delicately cradling a bundle of flowers. She was feeding seagulls, her gentle laughter lost in the breeze. "Hey, sorry, that was the last piece. I'll come tomorrow with more food for you," she murmured softly to the birds.

Kenan watched in silence, his eyes tracing her movements with an intensity he did not bother to hide.

A customer approached her stall. "Excuse me, I'd like a bouquet of lilies."

Chéri turned, offering the woman a warm, effortless smile. Kenan removed his black shades looking at her in trance.

That smile—so soft, so untouched by the darkness of the world he knew—struck something deep within him. His feet moved of their own accord, closing the distance between them.

"Twenty-five euros," she told the customer in her gentle voice.

Kenan cleared his throat. "Hello."

She turned at the sound of his voice—the rich baritone that held an edge of something unfamiliar.

But the moment her eyes met his, she quickly looked away, focusing on the flowers in her hands.

"Good evening, Sir. How may I help you?" she asked, her tone poised, controlled.

Kenan's gaze flickered to her flower basket. Only white tulips remained. "I'll take the tulips."

Her fingers moved swiftly, assembling the bouquet with practiced grace. "Here you go, Sir." She handed him the bouquet, still refusing to meet his gaze.

Kenan felt a strange pull, an unfamiliar frustration curling in his chest. 'Why isn't she looking at me?'

"How much?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.

"Twenty-five euros, Sir."

He handed her a fifty.

She returned twenty-five.

His fingers brushed against hers as he took the cash, but she remained unmoved, stubbornly avoiding his gaze.

maybe she deliberately trying to pull him in with this silent defiance? Or maybe she truly was not having the courage to meet his eyes again...

Kenan exhaled. "Are you upset because of yesterday?" he finally asked.

And finally—finally—she looked at him.

His wish was fulfilled, if only for a fleeting moment. Her eyes, golden like sunlight trapped in honey, met his. But before he could even breathe in that moment, she looked away again.

"Why would I be upset with you, Sir? We aren't on that kind of terms," she replied in her stern voice.

Kenan tilted his head slightly, watching her. "Perhaps. But I'd still like to apologize if I upset you… even if it was unintentional."

Chéri picked up her basket. "It's fine."

A pause.

"Have a nice day, Sir." And just like that, she turned away, stepping onto her bicycle.

Kenan stood there, watching in silence as she rode off, her dress billowing slightly in the sea breeze.

Then, as if unable to resist, she glanced back.

And there he was. Still watching her.

She quickly faced forward again, but the moment did not go unnoticed.

A smirk played on Kenan's lips. He turned, heading back to his car, placing the bouquet on the passenger seat before starting the engine.

His gaze flickered to the tulips beside him.

A low chuckle escaped his lips as he shook his head.