Bang! Bang! Bang!
Three gunshots shattered the eerie silence of Château Noir, the Azakura family's sprawling estate in Yvelines, Île-de-France. The sound echoed through the vast gardens, startling birds into the sky. But the chaos that followed wasn't fleeting—it was suffocating.
"You're a monster!" Eula screamed, her voice raw and trembling as two female security guards held her arms in a vice-like grip. Her breath came in short gasps, her chest heaving with a mixture of terror and fury.
Not far from her lay the crumpled, lifeless bodies of Alfred, Marie, and Layla. Blood pooled around them, staining the gravel path with a dark, visceral reminder of the violence that had just unfolded. Eula's stomach churned, and she felt bile rise in her throat as her gaze fell upon their still forms.
"Monster?" Haoran's voice was cold, devoid of remorse. He stepped closer, his polished leather shoes crunching over the gravel as he tilted her chin upward with a bruising grip. Pain shot through her jaw, forcing her to meet his bloodshot eyes—eyes that burned with fury, madness, and something darker. "They deserved it," he hissed. "They dared to take you away from me."
"They were innocent!" Eula shouted, struggling against the guards. Her voice cracked with desperation.
"Innocent?" Haoran chuckled darkly, releasing her chin so abruptly that she staggered backward. "No one is innocent, Eula—not in this game. And certainly not you."
His words stung, but what shattered her heart was the sight of the blood on his shirt—splattered across the pristine white fabric like a grotesque work of art. Her gaze darted to his hands, still holding the gun. The barrel gleamed menacingly under the weak sunlight, a stark contrast to the crimson stains on his sleeves.
"This is your fault, mon cher," Haoran said, his voice dripping with venom. He stepped back and gestured to the bodies sprawled nearby. "After I saved your family from ruin after I gave you everything! And this is how you repay me?"
"Saved us? You destroyed us!" Eula's voice was a raw cry now, her words heavy with anger and grief. Tears spilled freely down her cheeks, and she no longer cared if he saw her pain. "You killed my father's dreams. You took everything we built and turned it into ashes!"
"That's because you gave your heart to a worthless vintner!" Haoran spat, pacing like a predator stalking its prey. "I offered you the life of a queen, and you threw it all away. And now—now you think you can run? With our son?"
Her breath caught as Haoran turned suddenly, his bloodied shirt clinging to his chest as he stalked toward her. The madness in his eyes had deepened, fueled by whatever drugs coursed through his veins. Eula flinched as he raised the gun again, firing another deafening shot into the already lifeless body of her maid.
"No!" she screamed, her voice hoarse. She wanted to look away, but her gaze was locked on the horrific scene.
"And I'd do it again," Haoran snarled, turning to face her. "If I could go back, I'd make the same choices—every single one. Because you are mine, Eula. And no one, not even you, gets to take what's mine."
Eula's knees nearly buckled, but she forced herself to stand tall. Through the haze of her tears, she met his gaze with unwavering defiance. "And if I had the chance, I'd escape you again. I'd do anything—risk everything—to be free of you."
Haoran's lips twisted into a cruel smirk. "Oh, mon cher, such bravery," he said mockingly as he stepped closer. He raised a hand and cupped her cheek, his touch deceptively gentle. Eula shuddered, revulsion crawling over her skin.
"Did you really think I'd let you try again?" he murmured. His lips brushed her temple in a grotesque imitation of tenderness. "I admire your courage, mon cher. But you forget—I have your weakness."
Her heart stopped. "No. Haoran, please. No!" she begged, panic flooding her veins.
"Bring him," Haoran commanded, his voice icy.
Eula thrashed against the guards. "Zandro, no! Please, not him! Please!" she cried out, her voice breaking. Her pleas were met with silence as Zandro appeared, carrying little Hao in his arms.
The child blinked up at his father with wide, innocent eyes, his small hands clutching Zandro's shirt. "Mama? Papa?" he asked softly, his voice tinged with confusion.
Eula's heart shattered. "No! Haoran, he's just a child! Please, he's our son!"
"Kneel, mon fils," Haoran ordered, his voice eerily calm.
Hao hesitated, glancing at his mother, his small face scrunched in fear and uncertainty. But when Haoran's expression darkened, the boy quickly dropped to his knees.
"Please, Haoran! He's innocent!" Eula sobbed, the words tearing from her throat. "He's just a baby! He doesn't understand—"
"Of course he's innocent," Haoran interrupted, his tone mocking. He leaned close to her ear, his breath hot against her skin. "That's what makes this all your fault. If only you'd behaved. If only you hadn't been so foolish, our son could have lived as a prince."
"Papa?" Hao's small voice trembled as he looked up at his father, tears pooling in his eyes.
"Look at your mommy, Hao," Haoran said, his voice devoid of any warmth.
"No! I'll do anything!" Eula screamed, desperation clawing at her chest. "I'll obey you! I won't run! Just please—please don't hurt him!"
Bang!
The gunshot rang out, deafening in its finality. Eula's scream turned into a strangled gasp as her knees gave way. Her vision blurred, the world around her spinning. Her eyes searched frantically for her son, but before she could see him, darkness claimed her.
"Mama!" Hao's wail pierced the air, his small body trembling as he tried to crawl toward his mother. Tears streamed down his face, but fear rooted him to the spot.
No one moved. Not the guards. Not Zandro. Not even his Nanny Marie lying next to him.
"Papa?" Hao whispered, his voice barely audible.
Haoran turned away, cradling Eula's unconscious body in his arms. "Take him to his room," he said coldly as he walked away, his bloodied shirt a grim reminder of his cruelty.
Zandro knelt beside Hao, his stoic mask cracking as a single tear slid down his cheek. "I'm sorry you had to see this," he murmured as he lifted the trembling child.
Hao buried his face in Zandro's shoulder, his small hands clutching desperately at the man's jacket.
"Steel your heart, young master," Zandro whispered, his voice heavy with sorrow. "It's the only way to survive the world you were born into."
From that day onward, Hao never saw his nanny Marie, Layla or Alfred again.
The warmth and comfort they brought into his life vanished entirely, leaving an empty space in his heart that no one seemed willing to fill. Worse, his mother—who used to greet him with open arms and a radiant smile every time he came home from school—began to distance herself as well.
She rarely left the confines of the master bedroom. Hao only caught glimpses of her during dinner, where she sat in silence, her gaze distant and her warmth replaced by an impenetrable coldness.
She no longer smiled at him.
She barely even looked at him.
The change was incomprehensible to a young boy yearning for affection, leaving Hao to grapple with feelings of rejection and confusion.
Days turned into weeks, and weeks into years. Under his father's rigorous discipline, Hao excelled in everything he pursued. He became a brilliant student, a skilled athlete, and a composed young man far beyond his years. Every achievement was a silent plea for his mother's approval—a desperate attempt to see her smile, even just once.
But her aloofness never wavered.
She remained locked in her own world, leaving Hao to navigate his childhood under the cold shadow of his father's expectations and the absence of his mother's love.