~Christian Payne.

"You're home already Daddy?" Alex cooed in a high-pitched voice as soon as he spotted me entering the house. He had a plate stacked with pizza slices in his hands as he stood in the middle of the living room and batted his stupid eyelashes at me.

I sighed tiredly and started making my way upstairs to my bedroom, but the motherfucker didn't ignore the fact that I was ignoring him and started following me, just to annoy me.

"Talk to me Daddy, you know I hate it when you treat me like shit." He continued with an intolerable voice that made me want to shit rocks.

I stopped mid-stairs and ran my hand through my hair while Alex smirked and shoved a slice of pizza into his mouth.

I arched an eyebrow at him in a questioning way before pointing my index finger at him and then swiping my thumb across my neck slightly.

His smirk dropped faster than the way it appeared. He shook his head no and I nodded in agreement before tapping his shoulder twice and continuing my journey up.

He didn't follow.

Once I got to my bedroom, the first thing I spotted was a parcel on my desk. I easily walked towards it and started opening it up. A smile started imprinting on my lips and then it rested as a smirk.

The parcel had no name and no one had informed me that I had received a package. I knew immediately that someone had broken inside the house.

I sighed and pulled out a gun from my waistband, and then aimed it toward the lower part of my curtain. Well, not the curtain actually, the person behind it.

It took two quick gunshots on the kneecap to bring down a now screaming person to his injured knees, trashing around as they tried to get out of the thick curtains.

"You can't just kill me in my own house you know."

I said calmly with a chuckle, despite the trashing of the injured person, and chucked my gun into my drawer.

Two of my men burst into my room, and without me telling them what to do, they helped the injured person out and left me in peace.

I took off my shirt and placed it on my bed and then went back to my desk where the parcel was sitting and opened it. There was a live recorder inside, the red light on it blinking calculatedly with a side note scribbled on a piece of brown paper.

I sat on my chair and smirked at the recorder as I read out his message to me.

"Let's not waste time before dying shall we."

I read shaking my head, and then with mock sweetness, I replied into the live recorder.

"That's right. Let's not, Castillo Bychkov."