BOUND BY FIRE; BY DAY THEY HUNTED EACH OTHER AND BY NIGHT THEY BURNED

Jay grew up with people all around him - guards, maids, lieutenants, gunmen, mistresses, cooks, chauffeurs. The mansion was always full, yet he always felt alone. Born into the ruling mafia family, he had been surrounded by violence, money, and power, but never by warmth.

Jay was truly alone. The only real constant in his life was Jeff-his cousin, his right-hand man, his shadow. They were born just a year apart and had been raised under the same brutal roof, trained by the same cold hands. Everything Jay knew, Jeff knew too. They were like two peas in a pod, one fire, and one steel.

Jay never had to explain himself to Jeff. A glance was enough. A shrug, a sigh, even silence, they understood each other in ways no one else could. Jeff was the only one who ever saw Jay break. The only one who knew that under the designer suits and sharp tongue, Jay carried grief like a ghost, especially when no one else was watching.

And yet, even with Jeff beside him, there was still a kind of loneliness Jay couldn't shake. A hole no amount of loyalty or bloodshed could fill.

From a young age, Jay was told one thing over and over again-love is for the weak. His father, Vavaporn, never raised his voice, but his words cut like razors. "In this line of duty," he once told Jay, glass of whiskey in hand, "love is a liability. A man in love is a man already halfway dead."

Jay had only been twelve. Still soft. Still hoping someone might love him back one day. Vavaporn crushed that hope without blinking. "Anyone can betray anyone," he continued. "Even the ones you think would die for you. Especially them." Jay listened. He always listened.

Because when your father is one of the most feared men in Southeast Asia, disobedience isn't punished, it's erased. So Jay learned to lock his heart behind walls. He smiled when expected. Kissed when needed. Touched, but never felt.

He didn't believe in love.

He believed in survival.

And in the end, the only person he was taught to trust, was himself

Jay didn't flinch when people begged for their lives, he didn't feel guilt when he gave the order. He didn't hesitate when it came to blood. Because feelings were distractions. And distractions got you killed. He learned that lesson early, when he cried at age nine, and his father slapped the softness out of him in front of armed men. When he asked what happened to his mother, Vavaporn looked at him like a stain. "Real men don't ask questions. They take answers." Jay never asked again.

He grew up with guns on his nightstand and death threats disguised as business cards. While other boys learned to drive, Jay learned how to break bones without leaving a bruise. While others fell in love, he learned how to lie with his eyes and kill with his silence. In a world of wolves, Jay made himself untouchable. Calm, collected. Charming when it served him. Cold when it didn't. He didn't shout. He didn't lose control. That was a weakness.

And love? Love was the biggest lie of all. He saw what it did to people, how it made them hesitate, bleed, beg. He vowed he would never be like them. "I don't need anyone," he once told Jeff, lighting a cigarette as bodies burned behind them. "I never have. I never will." And he meant it. Or at least, He used to.

Jay didn't just say he had no heart. He demonstrated it. Repeatedly. Ruthlessly. The first time was at sixteen. A low-ranking member of their crew had stolen from Vavaporn-a few million baht and a bag of uncut diamonds. Jay caught him. Not his father. Not his men. He didn't call for help. He took the man to the edge of the river, tied his hands with wire, and sat across from him with a knife in one hand and a cigarette in the other. "You've got two minutes to say your prayers," Jay had said, voice like glass. "That's generous, considering what you are". The man cried, begged. Promised loyalty. Jay didn't blink.

He slit the man's throat with the blade he wore around his neck like a medal. Then he tossed the body into the water and watched the blood ripple into the current.

Later that night, Vavaporn clapped him on the shoulder. "Now they'll fear you," he said proudly.

Jay didn't say it out loud, but fear felt better than love ever could.

A year later, he turned on a girl who once kissed him under the mango trees behind the villa. She was pretty, Sweet. Too soft for this world. When Vavaporn suspected her of leaking intel, Jay didn't ask questions. He poisoned her drink himself .Watched her choke, her eyes wide with confusion. She reached for him. He didn't move. She died with his name on her lips. He told himself he felt nothing.

Even Jeff, his cousin, had once warned him."One day, you'll go too far, Jay." Jay just smiled. "I haven't gone far enough."

In the world Jay ruled, mercy was treason. He didn't love. He didn't forgive. He didn't regret.

And the more he broke people, the more he convinced himself he was unbreakable.

Groomed from birth, Jay is set to inherit the empire. He is ruthless, hot-tempered, and fearless. Rumors say he'll surpass his father in cruelty.

He doesn't believe in love. He sleeps around for fun. Gender has never been a limitation, Jay takes what he wants.

JACK

Jack was raised on fire and fists. His father, Mr. Charlie, didn't raise him to be loved. He raised him to win. There were no lullabies in Jack's childhood. Only orders. By ten, Jack could assemble explosives and read people's intentions better than most adults. By thirteen, he took his first bullet. By sixteen, he was already being called "the shadow of Charlie". But even shadows get burned.

Unlike Jay, Jack wasn't surrounded by warmth or even the illusion of it. His house was a battlefield with velvet curtains. Everything came at a cost. Even kindness. He was told often: "A man must never show weakness. Especially not your kind of weakness." Jack knew what his father meant. He'd seen the way his father's face hardened whenever Jack's eyes lingered too long on a man. The way his fists clenched when Jack didn't bring girls home like the other heirs did. So Jack locked that part of himself in a cage. He buried it under scars, gun smoke, and tailored suits. And every time he felt something close to affection, he punished himself for it. He drank. He fought. He let people touch him, but never too long. He couldn't risk it.

Because in his world, love wasn't just a weakness. It was a death sentence.

Jack was feared not because he screamed, but because he didn't have to. He walked into rooms like storms walked into cities, quiet at first, then utterly destructive. He didn't waste bullets. He didn't offer second chances. He had burned entire businesses to the ground because they delayed payment. Shot a man in the knee just for calling him soft. And yet...

At night, he'd lie awake and stare at the ceiling, wondering:

"If I disappear, would anyone really miss me? Or just what I do for them?" He hated the answer. So he drowned the question in silence.

There was one person who almost saw through him-a boy named Patchara. They were fifteen, and Jack had almost let himself feel something real.

A touch that didn't feel like a threat. A look that didn't feel like control. But one night, Patchara disappeared. No warning. No note. Jack never asked where he went.

He already knew. Mr. Charlie had found out. From that night on, Jack never touched another boy the same way.

He never allowed anyone close enough to know his truth.

Jack never called his father "dad."Mr. Charlie was never a father. He was a ruler. A tactician. A ghost in a suit with a voice like smoke and hands that only reached out to command or to punish. Jack knew early: his worth came from performance, not presence .Good sons didn't talk back. Great sons didn't talk at all.

When Jack was eleven, he got caught sneaking out of a meeting with their rivals' profiles to attend a fight tournament downtown. He came back bruised and bloody, but smiling. He'd won. He felt, for once, alive. Mr. Charlie didn't speak. He simply called his guards, pointed to Jack, and said: "Break his hand." And they did. Jack didn't cry, didn't scream. He just stared at his father as the bones snapped. Learning and Adjusting.

At seventeen, one of the house guards joked about the way Jack looked at men. Mr. Charlie heard. The next morning, the man was found dead in a ditch, his throat slit. But Jack understood the message, I will kill for you... but I will also kill who you are. So Jack gave him what he wanted. He became a machine. He dated women in public. He silenced anything that didn't match the mold. He turned his pain into precision. His desire into destruction.

Still, every time he sat across from Mr. Charlie, he felt the weight of being watched, not as a son, but as an investment. "You are not allowed to be ordinary, Jack," Mr. Charlie once told him. "You will carry this empire after me. And you will do it with a cold heart."

Jack is easygoing... but only on the surface. One look into his icy stare and most people are already shaking. He's cold on the outside, distant and unreadable. But beneath that armor is a fragile heart-one that's been broken before.

Like Jay, Jack doesn't believe in love. To him, love is weakness. People only "love" those they can manipulate. That's why Jack keeps his walls high and impenetrable. He doesn't let anyone close. He assumes that everyone who tries to get near him is after one thing: information they can use to destroy his family.

His paranoia isn't unfounded.

Back in second grade, Jack fell for a girl named Joy. Young, naive, and trusting, he gave her his heart. But Joy used him-spying on him, feeding secrets to his family's enemies, and nearly tearing everything apart. The betrayal was brutal. From that moment on, Jack swore he'd never fall for anyone again.

He built walls. He locked his heart. And he learned to never let his guard down.