Irkhan could hardly believe what he was seeing—his own younger brother, Victor, had been planning his murder all along. What happened? Why did Victor hate him so much? Suspicion after suspicion flooded Irkhan’s mind, but even now, he had yet to find an answer.

  “What do you mean, Victor?! How could you want to kill me? You’ve been living just fine all this time! We barely even see each other! And what’s with this murderous rage?! What did I ever do to you, VICTOR?!” Irkhan’s questions came out in rapid succession. There was no denying he was furious—betrayed by his own brother.

  “Look how clueless you are, big brother. You're right—we rarely meet. So what? Do you really think that just because we don't see each other often, all this resentment would disappear?” Victor shot back, staring into Irkhan’s blazing eyes.

  “Resentment? What are you talking about? We barely interact, and I never took anything from you. You're the rightful heir to this organization,” Irkhan replied, still trying to keep his anger in check, remembering that Victor was still his younger brother.

  “You say you took nothing? You really think I care about this organization?! You took the one thing I could never have, brother—YOU TOOK ALL OF OUR FATHER’S LOVE!” Victor shouted, tears streaming down his face.

  Irkhan was speechless. It was something he had never considered. Was Victor... jealous of him? But Irkhan had never once felt any affection from their adoptive father, Mr. Vasel. Since the age of fifteen, Irkhan had endured brutal training under Mr. Vasel’s orders—inhuman, life-threatening regimens that nearly killed him more than once. Was that supposed to be a father's love? Of course not. Being Mr. Vasel’s adopted son was nothing more than a social label. In truth, Irkhan was more like a killing machine, forged and honed by Vasel. Vasel never saw him as a son—just a useful tool for the organization.

  “You’re speechless, huh? Can’t deny it, can you?” Victor sneered.

  “You hate me for that? But here’s the truth, Victor—I never once felt loved by him,” Irkhan said, struggling to speak as blood continued to flow from his wounds.

  “You liar!” Victor screamed.

  “What are you talking about?” Irkhan asked, confused by Victor’s inability to stay calm whenever love was brought up.

  “Ever since I was a kid, Father always compared me to you. He said I was unworthy of being his son. He said if it weren’t for the council, he wouldn’t have accepted a useless child like me. DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MUCH THAT HURTS?!”

  Bitterness and hatred churned in Victor’s mind. He remembered clearly how his father used to look at him—with eyes full of disgust, as if repulsed by his own flesh and blood. Yet Victor was Vasel Arsenio’s biological son. So why did his adoptive brother, who only shared the Arsenio name, become the one Vasel was proud of?

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  Even in his father's final moments, Victor wasn’t the one by his side. No, Vasel had called for Irkhan instead. That moment planted the seed of a deep, thorny hatred in Victor’s heart—a hatred that grew year after year. And now, the only way to uproot it was for Irkhan to die by his hand.

  Irkhan didn’t respond. It was clear that Victor wouldn’t accept any explanation. Maybe he had never intended to listen in the first place. Irkhan had been in the wrong from the beginning—at least in Victor’s eyes. Trying to justify himself was pointless. But would Irkhan let himself die at the hands of his own brother? Would he accept such betrayal without a fight?

  Of course not. Only a fool waits to die without resistance.

  In a flash, Irkhan scooped up a handful of dirt and flung it at Victor’s face. Caught off guard, Victor hadn’t expected such a move. He thought the old man—already shot twice—would be too weak to retaliate. But he was wrong. Despite his age, Irkhan was still the best assassin the organization had ever produced. Age was no obstacle to survival. The dirt hit Victor’s eyes, and he let out a cry of pain.

  Without wasting a second, Irkhan shoved Victor to the ground and ran. He didn’t expect to make it out alive—Victor was now the head of the organization, and likely every assassin on the island was loyal to him. Irkhan had allies too, but after learning Victor had been planning his assassination for some time, it was clear those allies knew nothing. Here on this remote island, everyone could be Victor’s pawn. There was no one left to trust.

  Irkhan ripped off his earpiece, walkie-talkie, and every tracking device on him. Anything electronic could lead the trackers right to him.

  Meanwhile, Victor rinsed his eyes with a water bottle. The pain eventually faded, and he crushed the empty bottle in his hand.

  “Damn you, Irkhan!” he roared.

  His perfect plan to kill Irkhan with his own hands had failed. He had underestimated his brother—and paid the price.

  “Why are you so weak? If this continues, you'd be better off dead than being a burden to me.”

  “You’re nothing like Irkhan. He never once complained—even when he nearly died during that hellish training. He wasn’t my blood, but his determination far surpassed mine. Unlike you, a worthless son.”

  “For the first time in my life, I think I made a mistake. If I could turn back time, I’d ignore those damn elders. What’s the point of having a useless biological son like you, Victor? Irkhan alone was enough for me. He fulfilled every need I had—unlike you.”

  “When Irkhan was twenty, he’d already completed several high-risk missions. But you? You nearly compromised a mission just because you were seduced by an undercover female agent.”

  “Were all the punishments too soft for you? Then from now on, you’ll be under my direct supervision. Let’s see if you can survive what Irkhan did—or if you’ll die before we even begin.”

  “Disgraceful. Irkhan should’ve been the leader—not a weakling like you. If you lead the organization, it won’t last long. You’re lucky Irkhan agreed to help you run it. Next time, thank him for cleaning up after a useless leader like you!”

  Victor suddenly recalled how his father had always compared him to Irkhan.

  “Irkhan… Irkhan… Irkhan. Why did you always compare me to that adopted son, Father? Was I a failed product to you, and Irkhan the perfect one? You never once stopped comparing me to him. But just wait, Father. I’ll send your precious boy to you soon,” Victor muttered inwardly.

  Victor didn’t chase after Irkhan. Instead, he ordered the assassins on the island to find him, then returned to the temporary base they had built. When he arrived, he was greeted by his lover, Natasya Delina Abraham.

  “What happened, my love?” Natasya asked, hugging Victor. He returned the hug, but pulled away after a few minutes.

  “I lost Irkhan. He threw dirt in my face and escaped. But I already shot him—he won’t last long,” Victor replied.

  “Don’t worry, love. That old man won’t survive for long. Once he’s dead, we’ll be together—and nothing will stand in our way. My revenge for Luna’s death is complete, and yours will soon follow, my dear Victor.” Natasya gently wiped the remaining dirt from his face.

  “You’re right, my Natasya,” Victor said. He was certain—sooner or later, his vengeance would be fulfilled.

  Meanwhile, Irkhan stumbled through the jungle. The gunshot wounds made him falter repeatedly. He had no idea how much longer he could last. His vision was getting blurry from blood loss, and he almost crashed into someone who suddenly appeared in front of him.

  “Luna? You're alive?!”

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