At the small, harmless-looking glass that carried something so irreversible inside it. For a moment, something flickered across his face. Conflict. Memory.
A father… somewhere beneath the anger. But it didn't last. It hardened. Twisted.
"Fine." The word came out flat. Empty. "I'll do it." He reached forward and took the bottle from Seron's hand, his grip firm, decisive. "For money?" Seron asked, almost curious.
Alex let out a dry, bitter chuckle. "Yeah. For money." But his eyes darkened as he spoke again.
"Call it payment… for my ungrateful daughter abandoning me when I needed her the most." It sounded like justification. Like something he needed to believe. Seron watched him for a second longer, then leaned back again, satisfied.
"Good," he said simply. No celebration. No relief. Just… confirmation. Because for him, this was never emotional. It was a strategy. And now… The next move had been set in motion.
—
