Archive of Our Own

Pove heard the stories before he ever saw the man.

The Kaewpanpongs were not a family people spoke about loudly, not if they cherished their lives. Their name travelled quieter than that, through whispers, through money, through blood trails, through unfinished police reports and burned safehouses.

They were merciless, untouchable, aggressive – words that described every underworld family – the only difference was that most families merely possessed those qualities, while the Kaewpanpongs defined every single one of them.

At the center of the family, stood William Jakrapatr Kaewpanpong.

The head of the empire.

The mind.
The weapon.
The monster on the throne.

People feared him the way people feared natural disasters. Not because they understood him. Because they survived him.

Nobody crossed William and lived long enough to regret it.

Until one person. 

Est Supha Sangawowarong.

Est arrived two years ago with soft eyes and porcelain skin and a voice too tender for the world William lived in. The florist of the newly opened floral shophouse just two streets away from one of the most feared men in the country.

And somehow, as impossible as it seemed, William fell. 

Not politely, not gradually, not even with dignity. 

Hard. 

Earthquake magnitude 8 level hard, hurricane category 5 hard, wildfire class G hard. The kind of fall that permanently altered the landscape for everyone unfortunate enough to witness it. 

Maybe it was love at first sight. 

And unfortunately for the rest of the household, William apparently discovered new ways to fall in love every single day afterward.

On the first day of his job as the new security personnel for the Kaewpanpongs, Pove held his breath as he stood outside the front gates. He thought he was starting his career inside a fortress, expecting towering steel gates lined with armed guards, black walls with dim secret lighting and floors dark enough for blood to stay unnoticed. 

How could he not? This was supposed to be the home of the long reigning Kaewpanpongs, the same name people whispered like a curse. And Pove was bracing himself for the hauntings to begin. 

But when the doors opened, he almost whimpered at the sight.  

Flowers occupied every corner of the hall, sunlight entered through towering windows and spilled across polished floors so spotless they reflected the chandeliers hanging overhead. The scent of fresh blooms drifted through the air alongside citrus and clean linen.

The mafia empire was nowhere in sight. This was no criminal dynasty – it was a castle – pulled straight out from a storybook. 

Ivory walls complemented tall sunlit windows, cream stone balconies overflowed with flowering vines along the railings, curtains fluttering with soft white linen. 

Then Pove saw the candies – small porcelain bowls filled with colorful candies placed across every available surface that caused something in his brain to malfunction. 

Candies? Actual sweet candies?

That was the first thing that hit Pove. He didn’t know whether moving would be the right decision now. 

“Is this the right place?” Pove blurted out before his mind caught up with his body. The moment the words escaped, both hands flew upward to cover his face as he bowed apologetically. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean t–”

“Not what you expected?” One of the older guards cut him off with a snort. “What’d you think? Chains and blood?”

Pove simply nodded, unsure of what wrong things he may say next if he let go of his mouth. 

“....There are. There will be.” the older guard admitted, “but not where Khun Est can see them.”

Pove blinked as the older guard continued walking like he just explained the weather forecast. 

Khun Est.

The name echoed through the house strangely - not in a terrifying way people spoke William’s name - it was almost soft, reverent.

But definitely more carefully than William’s.

Pove slowly began to realize something unsettling.

The house was William’s in every name and paper, but nothing inside felt like him. Nothing resembled anything like the ruthless king people feared outside. It felt more like someone else, someone who governed the heart of the house – arrived and decided that the place needed significantly more flowers, more pastels and definitely more candies. 

Which meant only one thing, this empire was William’s, the house was someone else’s. 

The rumors started that same evening. The night where all the guards were gathered over the dinner table with a more-than-expected extravagant spread to feed twice the people. 

Pove spent most of dinner listening, not because he had nothing to say, but because his brain simply couldn’t process the stories fast enough to form questions. 

Because every rumor sounded more ridiculous, every explanation made less sense than the last. The worst part? Everyone told the stories with a straight face with utmost seriousness. 

At the time, Pove dismissed most of it as exaggeration. How could he not? Surely nobody could be more afraid of someone else other than William in this house, surely an underworld empire did not actually operate around flower arrangements, carpet maintenance, and household rules, surely the guards were embellishing things for entertainment.

It would take exactly four episodes, starting with one cream-colored carpet, and a very unfortunate bloodstain for Pove to begin his discovery of how those rumors had actually been understating the situation.

1. THE CARPET

Pove would later come to understand that the first warning sign should have been the carpet.

Not the guns laid across the table enough to start a war, not the power of men in the room enough to build a nuclear war, not even William Jakrapatr Kaewpanpong himself seated at the center of the living room with enough coldness in his eyes to freeze a room. 

No, it really should have been the carpet, or specifically the fact an entire criminal empire appeared emotionally invested in the wellbeing of a particular cream-colored carpet. 

Because no brutal mafia empire in the world should have revolved so heavily around interior decoration - no empire except this one. 

Pove remembered arriving at the house that afternoon and immediately being greeted by newly changed ivory curtains, fresh floral arrangements, and the faint scent of lavender mixed with expensive cleaning products.

And at the center of the living room, sat the infamous cream-colored carpet.

The furry fabric that everyone had been fussing around since yesterday.

An actual carpet. 

Because according to every servant in the house, Khun Est had spent four hours cleaning it personally the day before. Four hours spent on the floor, bare hands writhing towels dry, kneeling over the surface with a vacuum brush, whitening solution, soft combing tools and enough manual labor effort to make every staff in the house nervous just watching him.

The carpet itself looked expensive - faded vintage detailing woven carefully on light fabric, edges lined with intricate floral patterns that matched the new floral arrangements now sitting around the house – the kind of expensive that made you question the value of your life. 

Pove overhead one of the maids talking about it later. 

Est had changed everything – the curtains, the flowers, the decorations – just to match with the carpet. Because apparently it was an artefact from William’s family heritage that Est had spent months and months trying to locate. And everyone in the household had been lectured about it like the family heirloom.

So before he left for the day, Est stood at the front door while Wiliam followed behind like a well-trained bodyguard instead of the head of the most powerful mafia house in the country. He was gently reminding William, three times or more perhaps, that the carpet must be kept clean. 

“Baby, I’m serious.” Est pouted a little at William’s nod.

“No dust!” he continued while adjusting William’s tie with absent affection. “No dirt! And absolutely no stains.”

William nodded again.

“This was four hours of my life!”

“Yes my love.” William answered with as much affection as a puppy has for his owner as Est disappeared in his car.

At the time, Pove had thought the staff were exaggerating when they whispered about it afterward with badly hidden amusement. 

Everyone arrived timely – powerful figures draped in luxury darker than storm, bloodied histories tucked beneath tailored suits and ties, weapons and guns held with holsteries beneath jackets with enough ammunition spread discreetly across surfaces to start a small war with a wrong breath. 

The amount of power gathered beneath a single roof sufficient to destabilise small nations.

The meeting started without delay as William sat at the center of the room. Everything appeared exactly as Pove expected from a gathering involving some of the most dangerous people in country. 

And yet, before anyone had even settled down properly…

William spoke. 

“Shoes off.”

Silence. Everyone’s eyes snapped instantly to William. 

Pove genuinely thought he had misheard. One older family head even looked down at his shoes as though confirming their existence.

Then William slowly lifted his gaze for his dark eyes to sweep across the room.

“Now,” he barked.

The movement was immediate. One by one, men feared beyond these walls all bent down to remove their expensive leather shoes before changing into indoor slippers prepared neatly by the servants in the house.

Older men obeyed. Veterans obeyed. Assassins and snippers all did.

The meeting involved enough firepower for a nuclear bomb and enough weapons to start a civil war, but yet every man settled in the house in socks and house slippers.

Because someone else in the household said so. 

The discussion continued for nearly an hour beneath the warm lights, with the scent of florals lingering in the house combined with expensive colognes. The atmosphere tensed with conversations turning darker and heavier with every passing minute, revolving around money, territories, and executions. Targets marked for elimination like roll-calling for guns laying restless beneath their owners. 

Then suddenly everything went wrong. Movement. 

Unanticipated. Fast. Violent. 

Pove barely caught the shift before the room erupted with chaos as one of the attendees near the end of the room lunged with a concealed blade in his sleeve, expression twisting violently the moment he realized the meeting was a bait. And he was the rat. 

And the target of his outburst – William.

Gunshots exploded through the room before anyone else could react. William’s weapon was already hot in his hand, fired with cold accuracy. The body hit the floor before most people turned. 

Crisis resolved in a blink of an eye.

Or was it?

Everyone looked down now at the body – not to the man – blood. Bright red crimson, splattered across the cream-colored fabric in a horrifying bloom. 

The silence that followed was not of relief. 

Death was normal in the household, expected even, like administration. But the way every single man in the room froze, was not. 

And Pove watched as pure unfiltered horror spread across William’s face. Not because someone tried to kill him, not because someone had died, but because the dark red color sank deeper across the vintage carpet every passing second.

The room stopped breathing for a second as the severity of what just happened dawned on them.

“Oh, for fuck's sake”. The words escaped William before he could stop them.

Suddenly the room came alive.

“Get the waste of space out of the house. Clean the stain up.” he snapped with desperate urgency sharp enough to make servants sprang into action before he finished his sentence. 

Pove stared at the scene with growing disbelief.

“Move faster.”

More servants appeared.

No one paid attention to the fresh corpse laying still on the floor just steps away from him as everyone’s focus narrowed towards the thin fabric. Everyone, even William - especially William – looked more distressed about the carpet than the loss of life. 

“If Est sees the blood on that carpet,” William muttered with increasing desperation as he watched servants ran, no, sprinted to the middle of the room, “he’s gonna use my skin as a replacement.” 

And just like that – the front doors opened – before anyone could even touch the carpet properly. The room died, no one moved.

Est.

He stepped inside carrying shopping bags in one hand, a sweet drink in another, humming softly to himself.

“Will ~ ” Est called out. The domestic warmth in his voice felt deeply inappropriate in view of the motionless body currently being dragged through the hallway.

Then something stopped him in his tracks. His eyes landed on the stain. 

His smile vanished. Not dramatically, not angry or loud – just slowly, quietly, like dark clouds looming over the sun. The curls of his lips straightened as he pressed his lips together. He stared at the stain, the blood soaking into the fabric that he had spent four hours bending down and cleaning just barely a day ago. 

His gaze lifted toward William.

And Pove witnessed something remarkable. 

William Jakrapatr Kaewpanpong – powerful and terrifying as his demeanour was seconds ago – visibly deflated like a balloon losing air. He didn’t dare speak, so instead, he simply looked at Est with hopeful eyes as his body slumped backwards into the couch like a man moments away from accepting his conviction.

“Is that blood?”

Nobody answered.

“On my carpet?”

Still nothing. 

No one spoke, no one dared to break the silence.

Until William managed a voice, impossibly small, nothing you would imagine from a king.

“Baby…” 

Est looked at him.

“There….was an accident. The traitor –” The explanation died immediately as William swallowed the rest of the sentence. Because even William seemed to realize how stupid words sounded now. 

Est’s face remained calm – too calm – as he dropped his shopping bags aside while stepping forward. No one moved still – even as Est bent down slowly to reach the carpet, even when he slowly began to tug the carpet in, gathering the sides towards him while the room full of powerful men watched in complete silence.

Est said nothing after, not when he collected the carpet, not when he dragged it towards the front entrance, not when he tossed the entire thing directly to the trash bin without blinking. Pove had never seen a room full of assassins watch someone throw away family history with such complete silence.

And just before he turned towards the steps leading to their bedroom, he stopped briefly at William’s side, and smiled. The kind that made everything worse.

“You’re sleeping with your men tonight.” William gulped at Est’s words

William took in a sharp breath. “Baby –”

“At least their sheets are stain-proof. Blood or tears wouldn’t do them harm, unlike my poor carpet.”

A room full of dangerous men suddenly discovered intense interest in the floor.

Then Est disappeared into the second floor with slow steps, leaving the room exactly how he arrived in. No arguments, no raised voices, no threats.

And that was somehow infinitely more terrifying.

Later that night, the door shut with a chilling silence as the last guest emptied out of the living room – the type of silence that drove shivers down your spine. All the servants moved around in slow timid steps as they cleaned every inch of the living room just the way Est liked it. Almost as if they could be useful in cleaning away the sentence William was about to serve.

Almost.

Was it useful? Of course not.

Because the servants still spotted the head of their family banished to the shared security quarters of his subordinates, carrying his own blanket and pillow. The man’s eyes resigned and defeated in a way that showed how helpless he was when it came to Est. 

Pove saw the head of the household reduced to silk pyjamas and a refugee from his own bedroom as he entered the room with sagged shoulders and an awkward smile. But Pove also didn’t miss the small smile still plastered faintly across William’s face, as if the punishment was just another affectionate display by his husband, albeit a wilful, petty one. 

The following morning only confirmed everything. 

When he stepped into the kitchen before sunrise, the sight in the kitchen stopped him dead mid-movement. Pove rubbed his eyes to check if his eyes were playing tricks on him. 

They weren’t.

William Jakrapatr Kaewpanpong – ruthless king of the mafia world, feared by everyone and anyone – stood here in expensive silk pajamas making his own coffee and preparing his own breakfast, looking very much like a man who had lost custody of his children in a particularly difficult divorce.

And just like that, Pove realized the rumors had not been exaggerated. If anything, they had been wildly understating the situation.

    2. THE FLOWERS

Pove learned very quickly after his first day that the flowers around the house were not decorations. Decorations were mindless, the flowers not. Those delicate petals and leaves held far more power inside the estate than guns and bullets ever did. 

Every morning, Pove would discover that their leader apparently operated according to a strict morning routine that nobody bothered briefing him about – he woke up, exercised, cleaned up, drank coffee, and received his flower.

Only then would William be considered ready for business.

Nobody knew exactly when it started. One day Est decided he wanted to learn flower arrangement and landscaping. And just like that, every person in the household had to somehow learn the language of flora and flowers. He simply returned home one day, carrying books thicker than legal documents and enough gardening supplies to kickstart agriculture.   

William asked why once, and Est merely smiled.

“A home should feel like a home.”

That had brought a smile on William’s face, the one he only reserved for Est, soft and unguarded. And that same word somehow escalated into the most feared mafia leader in the country leaving the house every morning carrying enough flowers on his person to qualify as a travelling botanical exhibit. 

Within the household, empty corners became gardens, walkways lined with flowery shrubs, fresh arrangements scattered throughout the mansion that no one questioned where they came from. Every petal had been touched by Est’s hands, every flower planned by him, every vase placed by him. The entire household softened, warmed, more alive. 

And that effect was painfully evident on none other than the head of household – William himself. 

The flowers served absolutely no strategic purpose whatsoever, not really, but yet somehow ranked amongst the most protected assets within the Kaewpanpong household. Pove had once witnessed an entire security convoy delayed nearly twenty minutes because Est stood in front of William debating whether the pink rose complemented his tie better than the white peony that day. 

No one said anything. Not even William, especially not William.

Because by now the guards knew one thing:

If William left the house smiling after receiving one, everybody expected a smooth pleasant day.

If William left without one, everybody quietly prepared for wrath and disaster.

They’ve heard those words spoken by Est with the same devotion whenever he sent William off for the day

“I thought of you when I saw them bloom. Hope you think of me when you see them too”

“Lavender means rest. Remember that you’re allowed to take a break.”

“The daisy is me. Keep it safe. Bring it home to me.” 

William worshiped the additions, absurdly pleased at the idea of carrying a piece of Est, a piece of home with him, that stayed close to heart wherever the day took him. 

So Pove suspected that perhaps was the true power - not the flowers, but what those flowers stood for. 

Days passed with the same soft and gentle persistence. And William – the most feared mafia leader in the country – routinely attended territorial negotiations and blood-thirsty takeovers carrying baby’s breaths. 

No one spoke about it, but everyone noticed. 

Then – Khun Krit Tavitee Jitchana happened, like a blind man walking onto a landmine.

Years of hostility sat between the Kaewpanpongs and the Jitchanas, hostility even the best whiskey and most luxurious food served throughout the discussion did little to ease the tension gathering around the table. 

There was no trust, not from either side. The air held fragile and still even before Est entered carrying a fresh arrangement for the living room – something light, soft, white and pink – something he put together that morning because the white hydrangeas finally bloomed. 

Est smiled politely, unaware of the tension suffocating the room between the two figures. 

Khun Krit’s eyes glanced over to the flowers in Est’s hands. Then to everyone’s surprise – and horror, he laughed. A short burst of chuckle echoed in the room as everyone stood silent. 

“The flowers looked like they’ve seen better days.”

The room froze. 

“Never knew your house was hiding a jungle Khun William.”

Across the room, Pove saw one bodyguard lowering his head, the other rubbing his temples aggressively while another closed his eyes completely. Pove looked around in confusion before realizing no one looked shocked or surprised, just resigned, like watching a car driving straight off a cliff intentionally.

Because Khun Krit’s mistake was not insulting William, because that would have been expected, understandable, even forgivable in a strategic sense.

But when the insult was directed at the innocent hydrangeas – hydrangeas arranged by Est – specifically hydrangeas arranged by Est while William sat three feet away, the lack of survival instinct was appalling to everyone present.

William's gaze shifted from Khun Krit to Est as his smile vanished, not drastic enough for outsiders to notice, just enough for William to. Something fragile dimmed behind Est’s eyes as they dropped to the flowers in his hand.  

Then William looked back at Khun Krit, expression unreadable. 

“I think we’re done here.” his voice low and steady.

Khun Krit frowned. 

“We haven’t finaliz–” Krit blurted out. 

“I said…” William cut him off, pausing mid-sentence like a silent challenge daring for Krit to defy him again. 

“We’re finished.” 

The conversation ended by the finality of William’s voice. No one spoke again, not even Khun Krit, because everyone present seemed to realize what was happening – or going to happen. 

“Please see Khun Krit out”, he commanded. Nut, William’s right-hand man, stepped forward and loomed over Khun Krit, urging him to stand up and leave. 

The first sign of catastrophe arrived when Est stopped giving William flowers. 

The next few days, something in the house felt wrong. Even when the gardens and flowers remained, something changed. 

Est made himself busy for days – donating his plants, giving away the potted roses, sending the hydrangeas off. Then the vases scattered across the house, the smaller arrangements started disappearing – one by one – until empty spaces remained. 

William watched Est with increasing concern one afternoon.

“Darling” William called out gently as if he was scared of spooking Est. 

“Why are the flowers gone?”

“I didn’t have enough time for them” Est replied, with a soft sigh in his tone that made William’s heart ache.

“You love them. I love them.” William tried. 

“Maybe I was getting carried away.”

The words landed right on the softest part in William, because those flowers were an extension of the confident and loving side of Est that he adored so much. 

And now the side of him shrank, dimmed to a point close to disappearing.

The realization hurt harder when William stood still at the entrance, waiting with earnest eyes looking at Est.

But nothing came, not after he kissed Est goodbye with a gentle touch on the lips, not after Est adjusted William’s tie, not even after William asked about his little piece of Est to be carried out today.

“You should stop carrying those flowers anyway.” Est whispered as the words wavered ever so slightly.

William just stared like he was personally offended.

“It doesn’t fit your image.”

For the first time since Pove joined the family, he saw the ruthless powerful figurehead of the Kaewpanpong empire go along his day unsettled, like something was chipped away from him.

And that was when the destruction of the Jitchana began.

Not physical takeover, never that. Because physical wounds could heal, injuries could recover, pain could subside, and murder could have been merciful. 

But what William did? 

Complete annihilation - an episode that was later coined by the staff as the “Hydrangea Incident”. 

William dismantled the house of Jitchana before anyone in the house even knew what hit them. He took apart every account, seized every cent, took over every property and made sure every investor, allies and partners never dared to even look at the Jitchana name. 

Within a few days, the old Jitchana empire built over decades was reduced to rubbles, dissolved into nothing – nothing for them to even come back to. Nothing remained of the Jitchana house except for ashes and paperwork. It was brutality that came in the form of William. 

But when the brutality stopped, William remembered why he did everything in the first place.

He used the new fortune for something much gentler than it came about. He bought a single plot of land, turned it into a nursery – an entire nursery with every inch covered by thousands and thousands of flowers. 

Haus Of Bloom 

Pove witnessed the shock in Est when the doors to the car opened and Est froze at the sight of the entrance. The place bloomed with every familiar color and shape he knew - roses, hydrangeas, lilies, lavenders, daisies. He stood there stunned, just staring at the impossible beauty in front of them, inhaling the mixed scent of floral in the air. 

The brightest smile shone through his face - the genuine kind, the kind William had spent weeks trying to bring back. The relief evident on William’s face as his grin grew uncontrollably wide, as though the eradication of an entire rival household had merely been administrative work required to restore normal floral operations. 

Then, with all the dignity of a kid asking for candy, William tapped on the empty breast pocket.

“Can I have my flower back now?” 

Est laughed softly, “What flower?”

William looked genuinely offended.

“My come-home flowers.” 

Pove nearly choked on nothing. Est laughed so hard he gasped for breaths.

But William did not laugh, he was completely serious, and somehow that was infinitely worse.

Est reached for a daisy at the side, then tucked it carefully into William’s pocket and whispered the words everyone in the household had secretly missed hearing – especially William. 

“Thank you my love. Hope this daisy brings you home safely to me.”

Pove could have sworn that his eyes were playing tricks on him when he saw William walking away with something dangerously close to a skip in his step.

      3: THE FOOD

Weeks passed in the house of Kaewpanpongs and Pove had learned that survival in the household required multiple skills.

A quick eye, a smart mouth and a loyal devotion – you could survive even the most threatening situations in the underworld.

But no one told him how to survive the most dangerous place in the house – the kitchen, or more specifically, the kitchen whenever Est decided he wanted to learn something new.

Est never needed to cook in actual fact. He never needed to clean either, but that had never stopped him before. Est wasn’t spoiled, never like that, but he was loved and pampered in the right ways. Growing up, there had always been help, then there was William who would drop to his knees before he allowed Est to lift anything remotely heavier than a coffee mug. He hired enough help in the house to run a small hotel chain to ensure Est stayed comfortable.

Yet somehow, the lack of need only encouraged his interest. Because nothing could stop Est once he set his mind on something, and if the head of the family said yes, who else could possibly say no?

However, it wasn’t a spur of the moment that sparked the idea in Est and kept it stubbornly in his mind. It began after William spent nearly a week working through endless days and sleepless nights between hostile takeovers. The fatigue eventually caught up to him and left him bedridden with a fever and ache for days due to overexertion. 

So by the time William was well enough to stand on his own, Est had somehow convinced himself that better nutrition was now the top and only priority.

The solution, of course, was hours of reading, scrolling, and studying food. Soon the estate was flooded with cookbooks, nutritional guides, ingredient charts, recipe journals, and enough kitchen equipment to terrify the actual chefs employed there.

At first, it was wonderful – just as he had with flower arrangements – it was love and care expressed through food on the table. Every meal had purpose, every ingredient had reason, every bite carefully curated based on nutritional value. 

William loved every meal, not because the food was perfect, but because like his daily blessings, he felt the warmth and love from Est presented in ceramic plates and porcelain bowls. The moment Est appeared holding a plate, William's attention shifted completely, almost desperately.

Then disaster happened, on a random Tuesday evening.

Est had arrived home late from work that particular day, visibly tired after a demanding day as his shoulders sagged slightly, his eyes dulled with fatigue. Yet, he had stubbornly refused to let the chefs at home do their jobs. He moved through the kitchen endlessly, more by muscle memory than by awareness.

The meal looked exquisite, as they usually did when genuine care was poured into its preparation – braised meat, roasted vegetables, the smell of fresh herbs filling the air in the dining area, a sauce that took nearly three hours to prepare. And that was perhaps the cruelest part. 

Everything was perfect – until everyone took their first bite.

Silence stretched strangely across the table.

Pove glanced around. No one said anything, not because it was awful, but because it tasted like…nothing, like pure texture, like someone described salt from across the room. But everyone still held their spoons with hesitating hands, and continued.

And then, one of the newer younger bodyguards finally made the mistake – too young to think, too new to know Est was the one behind their food.

"It's a little tasteless."

Pove felt the air sucked out of the space in a second. 

Est blinked. Then again.  “Oh.”

A single word – a harmless, almost gentle acknowledgement, which somehow meant a lot worse, especially when it came from Est. He then thanked the staff and went back to his room. And that, as Pove would later discover, should have worried everyone much more.

The following morning, breakfast was set on the tables precisely at seven o’clock. 

Large dishes overfilled with boiled vegetables, alongside broiled chicken breasts prepared with almost clinical precision. No sauces, no seasoning, no smell of herbs that would usually accompany their food. 

Everyone ate their fill anyway because the alternative involved explaining to Est why they suddenly weren’t hungry and everyone agreed that boiled vegetables were less terrifying.

But lunch arrived with boiled vegetables, dinner arrived with broiled chicken breasts. 

The same meals repeated themselves - day after day.  

By the third day, the house entered a state of hidden crisis – the kind that came with a little fear and a little avoidance. Assassins who killed without blinking started mournfully at bright orange carrots, guards who filled their pockets with chilli packets instead of bullets that could save their lives. Servants began to smuggle packets of condiments like drugs in exchange for actual money. 

By the end of the week, the household chefs started receiving emotional petitions – written ones – for seasoning. Nobody was proud of what they had become. 

The only person looking unaffected was William – even when his meal arrived exactly like everyone else’s – same boiled vegetables, same broiled meat, same absence of flavor.

And whenever someone looked at him with desperate hope shining through their eyes, for him to say something to help, to intervene — ask for salt, request for sauces, reach for the seasonings staring back at them mockingly on the shelf — William simply shot a warning glance in silence at them before he continued eating. 

“Is the food tasty?” Est probed one evening, looking straight at William.

Pove could have sworn he saw genuine fear flash across William's face for a split second before the man immediately composed himself.

“It’s perfect, my love.” He answered, voice trying its best to steady itself, before looking down at this plate to continue his meal. 

Est tilted his head.

"Really?"

William nodded and took another big bite. 

"I think the vegetables are particularly fragrant tonight."

Across the table, one guard nearly choked to death – not on greens, but on betrayal. 

The message was irrefutable — if Est cooked it, you’ll eat it, no exceptions. Including William, especially him. 

The situation reached its peak curiosity the next night when an overseas friend of William’s visited their house to finalize a cross border arrangement with millions at stake. 

The dining table had been set carefully and exquisitely, with crystal candle holders reflecting warm lights from the chandeliers, white expensive China resting atop silk table cloths, pure silverware glistening in the dimmed room.  The atmosphere was everything you would have imagined for a gathering between the most powerful and wealthy families. 

Then Est entered — carrying dinner. 

Pove immediately recognized the smell, or absence of fragrance, in the bowls piled up with boiled vegetables. Several guards said a silent prayer at the sad-looking greens and piping hot broiled meat at the side. 

The guests however, didn’t get any warning. 

Mr Charlie looked politely at his plate, even though the hesitation to touch his utensils betrayed him. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, confusion appeared across Charlie’s face as he noticed something strange. Lily, Charlie’s wife, studied the meal with immense curiosity before looking up at Est. 

Charlie took one bite, frowned, then another, then looked down at his plate as though the seasoning might be hiding somewhere underneath the vegetables.

It wasn't.

And Charlie’s confusion only grew worse when he saw William seemingly pleased at his food, like everyone was seeing an elephant in the room he couldn’t. He looked around the table, but there was no surprise, no anger, just emotional defeat – as if the bland vegetables were a menu they picked themselves.

Then Charlie glanced towards Est, who seemed to beam with joy. Curiosity grew into concern. 

Then before they could react, Lily followed his gaze to William, then towards Est who was seated beside him. Something finally clicked, something that her husband could never fathom. 

“Oh,” she said with the wisdom of a woman who understood marriage far better than politics.

“What?” Charlie pressed.

“Nothing.” Lily replied with a smirk, “Just eat your food.”

“Why?”

“Because everyone else is.”

Charlie just stared back in increasing bewilderment. Lily’s smile widened in response. 

Years of power and authority, and yet, he’s still dumb at this. She thought with amusement. 

It became increasingly clear to Charlie that this was not a business dinner with a friend.

It was a hostage situation. 

And in the years to come, nothing had ever come close to impressing Pove as much as watching the feared leader of the Kaewpanpong empire nutritionally bullied by a man carrying a wooden spatula for seven consecutive days because he was too whipped to ask for salt.

      4: THE DOG

Pove thought he knew what violence looked like before he joined the Kaewpanpong — shootings in dark alleys, gunfire in abandoned warehouses, torture chambers with blood stained walls — all part of the world he chose to be in. 

The underworld was built upon violence after all. Blood funded it, fear governed it, death enforced it. 

But nothing he experienced came close to what a Kaewpanpong takeover looked like. Because violence implied emotions. 

But what happened wasn’t emotion, it was inevitability, like how nature removed diseases.

The traitorous household of the Chans had spent months trying to leech off the Kaewpanpongs, exploiting blind spots from inside out, betraying loyal staff for a pay cheque, feeding information to rival families. Their eradication decided as soon as evidence arrived on William’s desk. 

The execution was simply administration, like paperwork, signed with the blood of every person receiving a piece of the pie.

By the time Pove arrived at the scene with William, he walked into a place that looked more like a burial ground than a home — bullet holes scarred every thick wall, glass littered across polished floors, splinters chipped from every piece of furniture, blood painted almost every surface. 

The scent of gunpowder lingered in the house, metallic and burnt. 

Generations of wealth and power collapsed in one single afternoon. Men who once commanded respect now stripped of dignity as they knelt trembling against blood-soaked floor while the women cried alongside. 

And through it all, William remained unmoved — cold and ruthless — the same one who built his empire through blood and sweat. 

Pove stared at William with immense fear, a fear he never felt in their house under warm lights and floral scenes. 

An older man threw himself to the ground in front of William, pleading for his life in exchange for information, money and promised loyalty as if it was worth anything now. But panic overtook reason and words spilled from his mouth endlessly for at least two minutes. And William let him speak without interrupting as he kept his focus on the pile of documents in his hands. 

There was no anger, no rage, no satisfaction — and that was perhaps the most unsettling part. 

When the pleading ended, William simply passed the report to Nut with a nod. 

The gunshots rained down through the house, marking the executions.

Pove had thought that William had never looked more frightening than he looked now — like he was standing above bodies, above power, above death itself. He looked exactly like what people feared him to be — absolute, lethal, entirely unbothered by the lives and deaths of others decided with a simple flick of his fingers. 

The stillness in the air remained that way for several minutes after, until the sound of quick light footsteps across the marbled floor drew William’s attention to the doorway. 

The change in William happened so abruptly it was easier convincing oneself this was two different people — the way his eyes softened, his shoulders loosened, gentleness slowly returning to his face. 

It was dramatic, but it wasn’t anything people familiar with William hadn’t seen. Everyone within the room recognized the source of the shift immediately. 

Est had arrived. 

The visit was meant to be a brief stop for William to conclude the takeover before bringing Est out for dinner later that evening. 

Instead, Est stepped into the scene of a near massacre in the softest cream-colored pullover that reflected the warmth and gentleness that followed him naturally whenever he went. 

The metallic smell of blood stayed, bodies laid motionless, smoke dissipating faintly in the air. And Est simply stood like the sharpest and most absurd contrast against the brutality in the room. 

Est’s expression remained gentle as his eyes scanned carefully across the scene. Pove watched as William abandoned everything else instantly as he moved towards Est like second nature, like nothing held in his line of vision anymore, nothing outside of Est. 

Est moved forward to meet William, until he stopped midway as something else caught his attention. 

A small whimper. 

A muffled bark. 

A small movement underneath the collapsed cabinet at the corner of the room. 

Est moved towards the commotion as William’s gaze clung onto Est until he disappeared briefly behind a partition wall. No one seemed to understand what was happening, until Est returned with something small collected in his arms. 

And Pove could hardly believe what he was witnessing. 

Minutes earlier, William had been standing at the center of a ruined estate issuing execution orders with the same composure another man might use while discussing quarterly reports. Men had begged. Women had cried. Entire generations of accumulated wealth had collapsed into dust beneath the weight of his decisions.

Now William's attention had become completely occupied by a creature small enough to fit inside Est's arms  –  a puppy with white fur, trembling frame and small paws – a frightened bundle of fur gathered safely as its doe eyes blinked excessively in a room full of strangers and lethal weapons. 

“William, can we keep him? He doesn’t have anyone else anymore.” Est’s tone came out incredibly soft.

The request sounded so out of place, so ridiculous that Pove almost barked a laugh out. 

Bodies still occupied most of the floor space, money moved through endless laundering accounts, paperwork officializing ownership changes — but none of it mattered more than Est asking a question.  

William glanced down at the puppy, then back at Est, followed by a few seconds of hesitation.

Pove recognized the look by now — the same look William wore whenever Est was involved, the same look he had whenever he was about to fold. 

“Est … “ 

The puppy struggled slightly in Est’s arms and his grip tightened protectively on the puppy. 

And William’s resistance, or attempt at it, lasted a record-breaking three seconds.

“Please. Will. Pleaseeee” Est’s lips extended into a full pout at this point. Even Pove wanted to give in and help carry the puppy back home in his jacket for Est to keep. 

It wasn’t even dramatic, or intentional. But it was just enough to make every person present understand that William's chances of survival had dropped to zero. 

Pove watched as the resistance left William’s body in real time, his resolve crumpled, no, dissolved into nothing but a resigned affection for his husband. Giving in was no longer an option. Like every Kaewpanpong takeover, it had become inevitable.

“Okay baby. Anything you want.” William’s surrender arrived so quickly it almost looked practiced. 

Est beamed with a smile that transformed the entire space into something closer to warmth and joy — something that should have never appeared in a situation that involved executions. 

And with that, a smile appeared across William’s face as he looked infinitely more pleased by that single expression Est gave than the complete triumph he had over the Chans. 

The situation somehow became worse when William called for Nut. 

Pove initially assumed William was about to task Nut to oversee the operations that involved millions dollars’ worth of assets and security of multiple properties. Until William barked orders that made Pove’s eyes widen. 

“Nut, take Est shopping. Get him all the supplies, food, bed, bowls, leashes, whatever he needs, whatever it needs. Get them.” William instructed with a straight expression like he did just moments before when he ordered men to silence the desperate wailing and pleas. 

Pove could only blink, and judging from the identical expressions spreading across the room, so could everyone else.

Because standing before him was Nut, William’s right hand, a man whose reputation had become so terrifying that rival organizations reportedly used his name to threaten subordinates into behaving. And William reassigned him to pet supplies. 

The second most feared man then spent the next four hours following Est through what felt like endless pet stores. Because Est mattered more than anything else — apparently so did dog beds, food bowls and chew toys. So instead of handling stakes and paperwork worth millions elsewhere, Nut participated in a fifteen minute conversation involving whether hypoallergenic wet wipes were better for the paws and whether the puppy could have a preference for a blue or brown blanket.

By the time everyone returned home, the takeover had officially concluded, the paperwork had been signed, the properties had changed ownership, and an entire rival household had ceased to exist.

Meanwhile, the puppy, now named PB, acquired two orthopedic beds, each costing more than Nut’s monthly salary, four types of dog food so PB can “figure out his preferences”, and at least a monthly subscription of chew toys because puppies get bored easily. 

Pove came back with the sight of Est lying on the floor, belly up, as the little white dog attacked his face with licks and kisses. And William sitting by his side as he watched the scene with a fond expression he had never witnessed in any victory of the business days. 

Looking back, he supposed that perfectly summarized life inside the Kaewpanpong household.

A family could lose everything in a single afternoon, while an empire could expand before sunset. And yet somehow the most important outcome of the day would still be whether a small white puppy was allergic to cashmere. 

The strangest part was that nobody seemed surprised, not when PB boldly claimed William's lap as his favorite sleeping spot, not when Est spent the entire evening on the floor playing tug of war, not when William looked more pleased watching the puppy chase his own tail than he had while overseeing the destruction of a rival family.

Because by then everyone in the household already understood a simple truth.

William Kaewpanpong might have ruled the empire, but the empire had never stood a chance the moment Est decided he wanted a dog.

      5: THE CRACK

Pove joined the Kaewpanpong empire long enough to believe that he understood power, understood what power looked like when stripped down to its rawest form, embodied by a man with sharp jaws, dark eyes, and a brutal resolve that ruled his empire.

Everything about William fit the image of people envisioned when they spoke about power — the image of someone making even the most senior men in the room lower their eyes when he entered a room, the image of someone being regarded with deadly caution by rival counterparts, the image of someone commanding fear whenever his attention lingered too long on someone. 

Power looked like fear, like violence, like William. 

Which was precisely why Mick's betrayal shook the household so badly.

He was the Head of Security, a tough man of brute force and unwavering strength. He had been part of the family for decades, so long that his presence had been permanent, his capability unrivaled and his loyalty unquestioned. 

Until you discovered that this family member betrayed you. 

The evidence left little room for doubt, with trails linking communications between Mick and a rival family in the West, information exchange, secrets sold, classified knowledge leaking through him. 

The fallout was immediate, the disbelief lasted twelve hours, the suffering lasted much longer. 

He had ordered Nut to lead the capture and interrogation of Mick. “By all means possible,” he said, tone solemn and unforgiving. 

Days passed, then weeks followed. 

But Mick didn’t break, not even a little. 

And Nut had tried, he really did — everything from promises, bribes, negotiations, protection, opportunities — all failed. And when softer methods didn’t work, harsher methods naturally took their place. 

Not a crack surfaced. 

Pove witnessed the strong demeanor of a man he used to respect remain unwavering even in the face of brutal assaults. Mick seemed to carry nothing anyone could touch. 

The bruises and wounds covered every inch across Mick’s body, multiplying with every passing day. The exhaustion deepened, his condition deteriorated, and yet, the silence never broke - not even when William got involved. 

Because William’s attention had a reputation. And the fact that Mick by some miracle survived both Nut and William — convinced Pove that Mick would have stayed unbroken even on his deathbed. 

But this conviction survived exactly until Est got … curious — arguably one of the worst conditions he could be in. 

The day started like just another day — unbelievably normal. William had left in the morning with a white rose pinned to his front pocket, leaving Est at the doorway after a kiss to the cheek and a promise to return early for dinner and a new episode of The Wonderfools. 

The estate stood bright and soft, with fresh arrangements lining up the common spaces and walkways that Est had put together just yesterday from his nursery’s fresh blooms. PB now raced through every corner and stumbled on every furniture like he was just starting to learn the existence of his legs. 

Life went on in the household for everyone, everyone but that one life locked up beneath the house. 

Until Est started thinking. 

Pove could recognize the signs now — vacant expression, unfocused stares, mindlessly lifting cups to his lips as his mind visibly drifted to somewhere further. And it started to feel like the most dangerous thing about him. 

Because usually the thinking resulted in new flower arrangements, other times maybe a new dish, sometimes maybe new dog clothes. 

But this time, Est was thinking about a person. 

When everyone spent the last few weeks focusing on the betrayal, the anger, the frustration of his silence, Est focused on Mick. Not the traitor — the man, the same man who spent countless nights with Est as William fought in dangerous battles outside, the same man who stood in front of Est in danger, the same man who shared meals and moments at the same table. 

Memories resurfaced, fragment by fragment, until something clicked in Est’s mind. 

A connection. 

“Oh!” Est sprang up from the couch in the middle of the day. 

And Pove didn’t realise he was about to witness the complete collapse of weeks’ worth of professional and brutal interrogation down the drain as Est moved first to the kitchen to grab an iced tea in one hand and an iced coffee in another. 

No one thought much of it, when it really should have been the first warning.

The second warning should have been when Est started moving towards the basement door. The third arrived when Nut immediately followed closely behind– because even Nut, with his prowess and power to command fear, had developed survival instincts around Est.

The door opened to reveal the holding room exactly the way it had been left three days earlier — cold, silent, and miserable, an exact reflection of the state Mick was in. His body was giving way under the tight restraints eating into his skin, but his expression remained indifferent. 

Est walked in regardless — no weapons, no threats — just iced coffee like the betrayal hadn’t touched him yet and a calm expression plastered on his face. 

The visual alone should qualify as psychological warfare.

Three whole weeks of William and Nut using every trick in their playbook to force submission. Three whole weeks of failure. But the sight of Est, warm and unguarded, with drinkable caffeine offered like candy to a kid, had caused Mick’s expression to shift, however subtly. 

It was purely cinematic – ridiculous, mocking even. Because Est wasn’t even trying. 

He settled comfortably across Mick and placed the drink before giving him a slight nod like a gentle permission to drink. And to everyone’s surprise, probably including Mick himself, the bruised and battered man took a sip out of the straw Est left considerately within reach. 

Then Est started talking, not with accusations but with reminiscence — random happenings, old stories about their first encounter, shared memories about an inside joke about another staff’s eating habits, a staff member who locked himself inside a storage room once, an argument about the value of pineapple on pizzas. 

Pove watched this conversation for ten whole minutes before realizing with horror, and a little awe, that Est genuinely wasn't interrogating anybody.

He was catching up as he spoke about the small moments fondly. Even as Mick remained unwavering, expression unchanged, eyes locked onto the cup in front of them, Est continued like a single-sided affair, as if the stillness didn’t bother him. 

Est continued talking about the people they had encountered, the places they had gone, and the experiences they shared.

Until finally, Est landed exactly where he wanted. Two names. 

Hayley. 

Ashley. 

It was a memory of lunch conversation years ago, a day no one would usually remember — no one but Est. He had listened to Mick talk about the only family left, estranged in distance but never in affection. He knew that Mick rarely spent money on himself, despite earning a good amount of a more comfortable life. He didn’t splurge, yet money left his account for school fees, gifts, tuition, food and holidays. 

Est remembered all of it, not with intentions, not deliberately, but simply because he cared enough to remember things that are important to people around him. 

The reaction was microscopic, a flicker of something in Mick’s eyes, a tiny pause, a twitch of his fingers, barely enough for anyone to notice. But it was enough for Est, enough to focus on where the crack existed now. 

Pove’s leg nearly gave way when he realized what was happening then.

Nut had spent weeks trying to find a soft spot, while William spent weeks trying to find a weakness. But Est accidentally remembered the only one that worked, on a random afternoon, when he was sipping tea in the middle of the garden. 

The most unbelievable, and insulting, part was that Est didn’t even use it. He didn’t threaten Mick, never implied harm on the girls, never weaponized fear to force his hand. 

He did something else entirely — he simply worried for them, openly and genuinely. 

Est spoke gently and honestly about the girls, about education, safety, home, comfort, and a future. He simply offered help in the form of protection, money, education, security — not as bargaining chips but as a promise, the same kind you extended naturally to family members. 

Mick wasn’t sitting across men trying to force information out relentlessly anymore, he was sitting across a man who remembered important things that mattered when no one else did — their names, their safety, their wellbeing. 

And when the unwavering wall of determination and silence began dissolving beneath simple human kindness, Pove was convinced he was watching an adoption procedure instead of an interrogation. 

And once the crack surfaced, everything came out — first the tears, then names, then locations, then contacts and finally, plans. All the answers the Kaewpanpongs needed poured out from the man not because he was broken, but because someone remembered names from a conversation five years ago. 

One iced coffee and basic human kindness apparently accomplished everything three weeks of violence couldn’t. And Pove couldn’t help but feel apologetic towards all the interrogators, including Nut and William – especially them. The entire situation felt deeply unfair from his point of view. 

By the time William returned home later that evening, Est simply welcomed him home with a kiss on the cheek and a folder in his hand. And as Est sat back on the sofa sipping his boba tea and watching his favorite drama on Netflix, William glanced through the contents once before settling his gaze on his husband with pride and devotion in his eyes.

And for Pove, suddenly, every story made sense. 

The carpet. 

The flowers. 

The vegetables. 

The dog. 

None of those rumors had been about William losing, because William never lost. Est never intended to win either. 

It had always been about something stranger – William surrendering – and always with a smile on his face, like a man who genuinely enjoyed it.

Pove finally reached the only conclusion that made sense to him. 

Because William understood fear better than anyone alive. Enough to build an empire. 

But Est understood people. Enough to build a home that could house that empire.