Chapter 116: Playing with Fire

Noah’s POV

"Shave your head, join the army or... join the monastery?"

The words hung in the suffocating air of the dining room like a ridiculous joke. I almost laughed out loud right then and there. It took every single drop of my hard-earned self-control to keep my posture perfectly rigid, my head held high, and my face an unreadable mask of cold, dutiful composure.

What a pathetic, transparent old man.

I didn’t even need to think twice to figure out what this selfish bastard was actually up to. It was so painfully obvious it made my skin crawl with disgust. Ever since the syndicate... those high-ranking criminal executives Father bowed down to had issued the explicit order for him to eliminate me, Father had been panicking behind his self-righteous, holy facade. He knew he could not keep me with him anymore since I should have died years ago.

So, what was his brilliant, coward’s solution? Banish Micah.

He wanted to ship my sweet, innocent little brother off to a harsh military barracks or lock him away behind the thick stone walls of a distant monastery. Somewhere far away where the syndicate’s assassins couldn’t reach him, and where I wouldn’t be able to use him as leverage against him. He actually believed he was playing the role of a protective father. He thought he was saving Micah since he loved Micah’s mother so much.

How ridiculously, insultingly foolish.

Did he really think I would ever stand by and let Micah leave my side? Did he honestly believe I would allow my fragile little brother to pack his bags and vanish into some distant military compound or church cloister where I couldn’t touch him?

Never. Not in this lifetime. Over my dead body. Micah belonged right here, trapped under my thumb, where I could monitor his every breath, control his every step, and protect him from the very monsters our father served.

My eyes drifted down to the dining table.

Right beside my porcelain plate lay a heavy steak knife. It glinted under the dim lights. Underneath the table, my fingers twitched violently.

It would be so easy. It would take less than two seconds.

I could spring up from my chair, drive that sharp steel straight through Father’s windpipe, and watch his arrogant eyes roll back into his head as he choked on his own blood right in front of us. The urge was so overwhelming, so deliciously tempting, that my heart pounded against my ribs with a heavy thud.

But no. I forced my hand to stay still, digging my fingernails into my thigh until the pain cleared my head.

A quick blade to the throat was far too quick, far too merciful for a creature like him. He didn’t deserve a swift end. I wanted him to suffer. I wanted to tear his life apart piece by piece, strip away his influence, his precious holy reputation, and his bloated pride until he was reduced to a weeping shell of a man begging me on his knees for death. I wanted him to burn slowly, regretting every single time he had ever dared to lay a hand or raise his voice against my family.

"I... I don’t want to go to any, father," Micah whispered, his fragile voice cracking with utter desperation.

A single, fat tear spilled over his long eyelashes, glinting as it tracked down his pale, trembling cheek.

Fuck.

My teeth gritted together so hard my jaw muscles throbbed with a dull, sickening ache. A surge of raw, murderous rage boiled in my chest, hot and suffocating.

I hated this. I absolutely hated seeing him cry because of this old man.

Micah looked so small, so broken sitting across from me, trembling in his oversized sweater as if he were facing an executioner. Every tear that fell from his eyes felt like a hot blade dragging across my soul, driving me closer to the brink of madness.

If anyone was going to bring Micah to tears, it was going to be me. I was the only one who had the right to break his spirit, the only one allowed to push him to his limits until he wept in my arms. Seeing another man—even the father whose blood didn’t run in our veins—cause him this much terror made a dark, possessive poison flood through every nerve in my body.

"Then give me a proper reason why you weren’t with your phone!" Father yelled, his booming voice echoing off the walls, slamming his heavy hand onto the table once more.

Micah flinched so hard his entire body shuddered, shrinking back into his chair as if trying to disappear entirely.

I took a slow breath. I leaned back slightly in my chair, resting my hands gracefully on the edge of the table, putting on my most polished, gentle smile.

"Micah..." I called his name softly, keeping my tone sweet, light, and entirely reassuring. "You don’t have to hide anything from father."

The moment my words registered, Micah flinched as if I had struck him with a whip. His head snapped up, his wide, tear-drenched eyes locking onto mine in terror.

Poor, sweet, foolish Micah. I could see the panic racing behind his eyes. He actually thought I was going to betray him. He thought I was going to open my mouth right now and expose his secret life at the underground host club, handing him over to Father’s wrath.

"Noah..." he whimpered in a shaky, desperate whisper, his lips trembling so badly he could barely form the syllables of my name.

I ignored his pleading gaze completely, keeping my face turned away. Next to Micah, I could feel Damon’s sharp, dangerous eyes glaring holes into the side of my face. Damon was sitting bolt upright now, his fists tightly clenched under the table, looking ready to throw a punch if I dared to utter a single word that compromised Micah.

How ridiculously amusing. Damon really fancied himself a white knight, ready to charge in and defend my brother. The fool had no idea he was nothing more than an extra piece on my chessboard.

I kept my attention fixed strictly on Father. I couldn’t afford to show an ounce of warmth or protection toward Micah in front of this man. If Father ever realized just how deeply, terrifyingly obsessed I was with my little brother, he would instantly turn Micah into a target, using him as a bargaining chip to force me into submission. I had to maintain the perfect illusion that Micah and I were nothing more than distant, indifferent brothers who barely cared for one another.

"Do you know something, Noah?" Father demanded, leaning forward, his sharp, dark eyes narrowing as he scrutinized my face.

"Of course," I answered smoothly, my voice calm, steady, and completely devoid of doubt.

The entire dining room plunged into an absolute, breathless silence. Micah stopped breathing altogether. Damon’s jaw tightened until the bone showed under his skin.

"In case you aren’t aware, father," I began, "Micah has been going to school frequently lately because he officially joined the university’s media department."

Micah froze, his tear-stained face blinking in total, stunned confusion.

"The sister of the head of that department—who also happens to be a close friend of Micah’s—got kidnapped yesterday," I said and continued. "Micah was caught up helping the department track down leads with the authorities all morning. He had his phone silenced so he wouldn’t disrupt the police investigation while they were conducting sweeps."

Father froze mid-breath. His stern, angry face twitched in absolute shock, his mouth opening slightly as the unexpected words registered in his brain.

"W-what?" Father stuttered, his cold, dominant composure cracking for the very first time tonight.

A dark, wicked smirk bloomed deep within my soul, though my face remained a mask of innocent, respectful concern.

Bingo.

Hook, line, and sinker.

Father stared at me, utterly speechless.

I leaned forward just an inch, my eyes locking onto Father’s shaken expression with cold, absolute dominance.

I was going to play this game with him for as long as it took. I would manipulate his mind until he completely abandoned this absurd idea of sending Micah away.

Micah was never leaving this house. He was never leaving my side. He belonged to me, and no one in this world... not the syndicate, and certainly not our pathetic father was ever going to take him away.