Zhan's Pov.
Wang disappeared down the hall without a word, and when he came back, he was dragging a heavy black duffel bag. He dropped it on the floor in front of Ziyi with a dull thud. The zipper ripped open, and the contents gleamed under the lights, handcuffs, knives, syringes filled with clear and colored liquids.
Ziyi's smirk faltered, her mask of bravado cracking just a little.
Without hesitation, Wang yanked her from the chair, twisted her arms behind her back, and cuffed her wrists. She thrashed, but it was useless, the steel bit into her skin as he strapped her legs apart, each ankle cuffed to the chair legs. The image was raw, humiliating, and she knew it.
He picked up one of the knives, the blade catching the light, and leaned close. Slowly, deliberately, he cut through her red dress. The fabric split, sliding down her shoulders, exposing her in nothing but her bra and panties.
The look in her eyes, fear laced with disbelief was almost satisfying. She thought he would stab her. She thought her life would end right there.
Wang crouched, his voice calm, almost gentle. "I'll ask you a question. You will answer correctly. If you don't, you get one of these injections." He tapped a syringe, the needle gleaming. "Do you know what they do?"
Her lip curled. Even chained, even stripped, she found a way to sneer. "You're just a sick boy. A child whose parents didn't give him time. Then you met a wretched little whore who gave you attention, and now you think you're dangerous."
Wang's smile stretched wider, sharp as glass. "I like that," he murmured. "But I do the talking. You answer."
And before she could spit another insult, he drove one of the syringes into her thigh.
She screamed, the sound piercing, echoing off the walls as her body jerked violently against the cuffs.
I swallowed hard, watching the life drain from her arrogance, and for the first time, I almost felt pity. Almost.
Surprisingly, her body slumped forward, knocked out cold. Wang didn't even flinch. He calmly drew another syringe and plunged it into her again.
Her eyes snapped open instantly, chest heaving, sweat beading across her forehead. "What the fuck was that?" she spat, panic bleeding through her bravado.
"One puts you to sleep," Wang said evenly, holding up the empty syringe, "the other rips you awake. But your heart—" he tapped her chest with the needle cap, "can only take so much before it bursts. So, I ask questions. You answer. Simple."
Her throat bobbed. For the first time, the fear in her voice was unmistakable. "O-Okay..."
"Good." His smile was thin, deadly. "How many people did you push into the swamp?"
She clenched her jaw. "I don't remember."
Without hesitation, Wang slid another injection into her thigh. Her body went limp, and five minutes later, he pierced her again, jolting her awake with a strangled gasp.
"You bloody psycho!" she screeched, thrashing weakly against the cuffs.
"How many?" he repeated, his voice calm, patient, cruel.
"I don't remember, I swear I don't," she gasped, her voice cracking. "I wasn't keeping tabs. I only did it because of the look on Zhan's face."
My stomach twisted, but Wang's voice cut in, calm and cold. "You pushed them into the swamp... just because he looked terrified?"
"Yes," she hissed, defiant even in fear. "I'm attracted to weird things. Call me a masochist—I don't care."
Wang's lips curved in a slow, dangerous smile. "Oh... you like pain, do you?"
Before he could continue, Dre's hand shot out, grabbing an empty wine bottle from the floor. His face was stone except for the storm raging in his eyes.
The bottle smashed hard against her knee.
Her scream ripped through the room, high and raw, bouncing off the walls. It was terrible... but the sound was satisfying, too. Dre leaned forward, chest heaving. "You enjoy pain, right?" he snarled. "Then scream louder."
He raised the broken bottle again, but Wang's hand shot out, catching his wrist mid-air.
"Enough," Wang said, his tone low, measured, terrifying in its calm. "We don't ruin the game by rushing it."
Dre's jaw clenched, his body shaking with rage. "She deserves worse, Wang. After everything she did, after what she made Zhan go through!" His voice cracked on the last words, eyes blazing, tears threatening.
Ziyi, pale and sweating, let out a choked laugh. "Look at you. Both of you. Playing executioners. You're no different from me."
Wang leaned closer, his smile cold as steel. "The difference, Ziyi... is we know exactly what we are."
He picked up one of the syringes, tapping it gently, the needle catching the dim light. "Now answer my question before Dre forgets his restraint."
Her chest rose and fell in rapid, shallow breaths. "I—I don't remember!" she cried.
Wang's hand didn't shake as he slid the needle toward her arm.
Five minutes later she stirred, eyelids fluttering, then snapped open. A string of curses spilled out, harsh and venomous but her voice trembled, betraying the fear she was trying to bury.
"I don't remember," she hissed. "I don't give a fuck about them, except for the thrill I got. So go to hell and kill me already!"
I leaned back, smiling faintly. "Oh, Ziyi... death would be too easy."
Her eyes flickered with panic.
"I like the next game better," I murmured—just as the door creaked open.
Ezra stepped inside, one hand gripping Wen Chao by the collar. Wen was tipsy, stumbling, reeking of liquor and perfume. His lazy grin froze when he saw the scene, the knives, the cuffs, Ziyi's shredded clothes, and Dre holding the jagged wine bottle.
"What the fuck..." Wen slurred, eyes darting between Ziyi and us.
Ezra shoved him forward. "Welcome to the party."
Ziyi's face drained of all color. "No—no, not him."
I smirked, watching her mask finally crumble. "Oh, I think he's perfect for the next round."
Ezra dragged another chair into the center of the room, metal legs screeching against the tiles. Without a word, Wang shoved Wen Chao into it and yanked the straps tight until his wrists turned white against the leather. A final tug, and the buckle snapped in place.
The smug grin on Wen's face slipped the moment Wang ripped his shirt off, leaving him in nothing but his boxers, shivering in the cool air.
"I'll kill all of you," Wen spat, jerking against the restraints, veins bulging in his neck.
Ezra leaned in, his smile sharp. "We'd like to see you try."
He straightened, brushing invisible dust off his suit jacket, then glanced at Dre and me. "Get their chairs ready," he said casually, like he was asking us to set the dinner table. "I'm bringing the others up."
Then he hummed low and careless, like this was just another night out, and slipped through the door. The sound of the lock clicking behind him was soft, but it felt like a gunshot.
Ziyi froze, panic flashing in her eyes for the first time. Her voice dropped to a whisper, barely holding steady. "Don't... don't bring them here."
Wang tilted his head, stepping into her line of sight with a calmness that made her flinch. "Too late."
Ten minutes later, the door creaked open. Four girls stumbled in, dripping pool water across the floor, still in their bikinis. Their laughter died instantly when they saw the scene. Ziyi bound, Wen Chao strapped down, knives glinting under the light.
Behind them came Jin, Wen Mao, and Xue Yang. They froze at the threshold, confusion twisting quickly into dread.
"Thank you, ladies," Wang said smoothly, not even looking at the boys. He handed the girls his phone, voice calm, precise. "Call your phones. When you get back downstairs, text me everyone's account details, enjoy the party."
The girls looked from him to us, wide-eyed. Then, wisely, they scurried out, their wet footprints fading across the floor as the door shut behind them.
The room went silent.
"Zhan..." Jin whispered, staring at me like he'd seen a ghost. His lips trembled.
My jaw clenched, my fingers curling into fists.
Wang didn't wait for words. He moved with controlled efficiency, fists snapping into ribs, stomachs, and jaws, enough to stun, enough to make resistance useless. Within minutes, Jin, Wen Mao, and Xue Yang were all bound, strapped into chairs beside Wen Chao. The leather straps creaked with their struggles, but none of them were going anywhere.
One row of them—lined neatly like offerings. Their fear stank in the air.
Dre smirked, swirling the half-broken bottle in his hand. "Well," he drawled, stepping closer, "now it feels like a real family reunion."
Wang's phone buzzed with back-to-back notifications. He didn't even glance at the captives—his fingers moved across the laptop keyboard, cold and efficient.
"We're doing charity work tonight," he said evenly, eyes on the screen. "Because after today... You won't be needing your money."
Click. Tap. Enter.
The room was silent except for the faint hum of the computer and the ragged breathing of the captives. One by one, their accounts were drained.
Wang didn't blink as he rerouted the funds, some to Dre, some to Ezra, Mia, and Ji Li. By the time he closed the laptop, their balance screens were bone dry.
Jin cursed under his breath. Wen Mao's head slumped forward, shoulders trembling. Ziyi tried to mask her fear, lips curling in a forced sneer.
Wang leaned back, folding his arms. "Now that you're broke," he said, voice razor-sharp, "we can focus on the fun part."
Ezra stepped forward, eyes glinting. His smile was unsettlingly calm. "So... what game should we play?"
Ezra leaned closer to Wen Mao, his voice almost gentle. "Who started it? Who told you to use people as toys?"
Wen Mao's breath came fast, chest heaving. His eyes flicked to Ziyi, then to the floor. "It... it wasn't me," he stammered. "I didn't want any part of it. It was her idea—hers!" His voice cracked as he jerked his chin toward Ziyi. "She said it was fun. She made us do it."
Ziyi's laughter rang out, sharp and ugly. "Pathetic," she hissed. "Of course, he'd fold first. You're a coward, Wen Mao. You'd blame your own mother if it got you out of trouble."
She sat up straighter in her chair, eyes glittering. "But fine. If you want the truth—yes. I pushed for it. I told them how easy it would be, how no one would ever care about trash going missing." She smiled cruelly, gaze locking with mine. "And the best part? They all agreed. Every single one of them. Not just me."
Wen Mao shook his head violently, tears in his eyes. "She's lying—she planned everything. I swear, Zhan, I swear!"
Wang chuckled low, stepping between them. "Beautiful. A split in the family already." He crouched, eyes sharp as knives. "So which one of you do we punish first? The coward who confessed, or the mastermind who enjoys it?"
The air in the room seemed to vibrate, thick with fear.
Dre's lips curved into a cold smile. "The coward goes first."
Wen Mao's face went pale. He thrashed against the straps, the chair scraping against the tiles. "No—no, please, I told you the truth!"
"That's exactly why," Wang said evenly. "You thought spitting out her name would save you? No. It only proves you're weak."
Dre moved before anyone else could. He raised the broken wine bottle high, and the jagged edge came down hard across Wen Mao's forearm. Blood splattered the floor. Wen Mao's scream ripped through the room, raw and shrill, making Ziyi flinch despite herself.
Ezra crouched beside him, voice low and mocking. "Relax. That's just the start. Wang hasn't even touched you yet."
Wang stepped forward, pulling a syringe from the bag on the table. The needle gleamed under the light. "This one's special," he said softly. "Makes your heart race like it's going to explode... but doesn't let you pass out. Every second feels like fire under your skin."
"No, no, no—" Wen Mao begged, his voice breaking, but Wang plunged the needle into his neck without hesitation.
Almost instantly, Wen Mao convulsed, gasping, eyes rolling back as his veins stood out like ropes under his skin. His body strained against the leather straps, every muscle trembling violently.
Ziyi tried to mask it, but fear finally cracked through her mask.
Wang tilted his head, studying her with quiet satisfaction. "Watch carefully, Ziyi. This is mercy compared to what's waiting for you."
Wen Mao's body seized, his head snapping back with a strangled cry. For a few seconds, his chest rose and fell in frantic, shallow bursts, then nothing. His eyes stayed open, glassy, mouth frozen in a half-plea.
"Dead," Wang muttered, yanking the empty syringe from his neck and tossing it on the table. He didn't even blink as the man slumped lifelessly in the chair, blood dripping down his arm from Dre's earlier cut.
Ziyi's breath hitched, but she masked it with a laugh. "I'll kill all of you," she hissed, her voice sharp but trembling at the edges.
"Not if we kill you first," Dre shot back with a cold chuckle, wiping his bloody hands on a napkin like it was nothing more than wine.
"You bastards!" Wen Chao roared, thrashing against his restraints so hard the chair legs groaned. "I'll hunt you down for the rest of my life. Do you hear me? I'll never stop until I tear you apart with my bare hands!"
Ezra leaned in close, his grin wicked. "Dissolved bodies don't hunt people," he laughed, the words slicing through Wen Chao's threats like a blade.
The room went quiet for a moment—only Wen Chao's ragged breathing and the faint muffled thump of bass from the pool party downstairs breaking the silence.
Then Wang's hand hovered casually over the bag of tools again, his gaze flicking between Ziyi and Wen Chao.
"Who's next?" he asked softly, like he was offering to pour another glass of wine.