<h4>Chapter 403: You must pay the price...</h4>


    The night had been calm and peaceful for the citizens of Country Y, but just like the restless Davis, someone else wasn’t at peace and it was Ss.


    He didn’t expect that by the end of the day, those men still refused toe to him as he expected yet they wanted him to transfer the bnce.


    All in the name of keeping away from the Allen family security. Several thoughts raced through his mind.


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    "Was the Allen security team now powerful?


    Why had as many as seven men who handled this job, none of theming forth, not even for their bnce?


    Where exactly are they?


    Do I really have to go to them?


    How will the loose end be tied and this trail permanently erased if he couldn’t erase them himself.


    Though he turned in for the night yet he was only pacing his bedroom furiously, his breath heaving so much that he doubted if he wouldn’t have a heart attack at this rate.


    By the time heid down, it was already three in the morning.


    The room was silent, except for the faint hum of the air conditioner. Ssy sprawled on his bed, exhaustion from the stress of the day pinning him like a lead weight.


    He had managed only a few minutes of a restless sleep when the sudden vibration of his phone stirred him awake.


    As he tried to shut his eyes, the phone buzzed again with its sharp shrill and insistent sound tearing through the night.


    Groggily, Ss dragged himself up, his head still heavy, eyelids drooping. He reached for the nightstand, the glow of the phone’s screen shing against the dimness.


    The ringtone continuously sliced through the stillness like a de. He frowned as he nced at the caller ID.


    "Unknown number. At this hour?" He felt uneasy about the call, but then it might be important.


    Sliding his finger across the screen to ept, he lifted the phone slowly to his ear.


    "Hello?" His voice was hoarse, still thick with sleep and tiredness.


    For a second, there was nothing but static and just when he was about to hang up a voice spoke, and his heart failed.


    "You killed Maroon, Ss." The voice chimed.


    The words slithered through his ear as though it was just informing him. His brow furrowed and the sleep already cleared from his eyes.


    It wasn’t a human voice. It was mechanical, distorted, each syble reverberating coldly.


    "What... who is this?" he demanded, though his tone faltered.


    The voiceughed, a t, artificial sound, likeughter dragged through a machine but to Ss’s ears it was taunting.


    "You killed your own man because he wouldn’t obey. Because he wouldn’t stain his hands for you. Do you remember how he begged?


    Ss’s hand tightened around the phone. His chest constricted, his pulse hammering so hard. He didn’t like the fact that someone knows about that incident.


    He hadn’t spoken of that incident to anyone. It was supposed to have been buried, sealed in silence,


    "You’re lying," Ss whispered, though his throat was dry. The voice ignored him.


    "You told him to kill Mr. Bruke, your longtime business opponent over a tender. You ordered him to prove his loyalty. But he refused. And so you made an example of him. It was quite brutal.


    Do you remember the sound of his screams, Ss?


    Do you think you could ever be free of his death?"


    "That no one will know?"


    Ss swallowed hard, bile rising in his throat. His skin prickled as though a cold hand were trailing over him.


    He couldn’t breathe properly. His fingers trembled against the phone, his knuckles whitening.


    "Who are you?" he snapped, forcing strength into his voice. "How do you know this?"


    The voice lowered, colder, darker.


    "We know everything. And so will the world... very soon." His heart stopped.


    Before Ss could respond, the line cut off abruptly, leaving nothing but silence in his ear. He sat frozen, staring into the darkness, the echo of those words reying in his mind.


    Then his phone buzzed again and a notification popped up on his screen.


    He exhaled shakily, lowering the phone, only to see his screen light up with a shing alert.


    A new message. Against his better judgment, he swiped his thumb across the screen to open it.


    And froze.


    The screen filled instantly with an image he never expected to see again in life.


    The gory, mutted face of Maroon. His eyes were wide open, staring nkly, blood pooling around his head.


    His lips were twisted into something between a scream and a plea. The image was raw, unfiltered, dripping with horror.


    Ss dropped the phone with a strangled curse.


    It ttered onto the sheets, but the screen remained lit, the image still ring up at him. His breath came in short, shallow gasps.


    "No... no, this isn’t possible..." he muttered, pressing a trembling hand to his forehead. "It can’t be happening."


    The phone buzzed again. Another notification. His hand, reluctant butpelled, reached out. He tapped the screen, swiping once more.


    Another image appeared.


    This time, the man’s body. Twisted. Broken. The wounds glistened under a harsh light. His chest was torn open, his hands wed in a final act of desperation.


    Ss gagged and turned his head away, But his eyes were drawn back, unable to resist.


    He jabbed frantically at the close button, trying to shut the picture, delete it, clear it or just anything to move it away.


    But the image clung stubbornly to the screen. No matter what he pressed, it wouldn’t move. It was as though the phone itself had be possessed, a vessel of mockery.


    "How...e?" he whispered, his fingers trembling violently.


    "Who had these photos in their hands?"


    The phone vibrated again. His stomach lurched with dread. Another image loaded but this time, the face again, closer, impossibly close, as though the dead man were staring directly at him through the ss. His eyes were bloodshot, his skin pale, his lips frozen in an eternal snarl.


    Ss dropped the device onto the floor. Itnded face-up. The image still shone in the dark, glowing like a beacon of guilt.


    He stumbled back, clutching his head, sweat pouring down his temples. His entire body quaked. His chest heaved as panic wed at him, suffocating him.


    This wasn’t possible. He had buried that past. He had silenced it with his own hands. No one could have dug it up, no one should have known. Unless...


    Unless someone had been there. Watching. Recording...but who?


    The thought sent a fresh shiver through him. He staggered toward the window, pulling the curtain aside with a trembling hand. His eyes darted over the courtyard.


    At the moment, he really wasn’t sure what he wanted anymore or what he was trying to see or was he just trying to convince himself nobody saw him?


    In the open courtyard, it was calm, yet he couldn’t shake the feeling of eyes being on him.


    While his mind raced, his phone buzzed again, louder this time, dread crawling over him.


    The screen glowed on the floor, bathing the room in a faint light. But then, unlike before, it was a text message:


    You can’t run from the dead and you must pay the price, Ss."


    His breath hitched, his hand trembling.


    Ss covered his ears as it continued to buzz in his head, echoing loudly and non-stop.


    Shame coursed through his body, his body shaking violently. He couldn’t take it. The face, the usations, and the knowledge that someone, somewhere, had cracked open his darkest sin.


    His breathing was frantic, shallow. He shut his eyes, but the images were still there, burned into his mind.