Crimson Vows: The Blood By Which We're Bound

CHAPTER FOUR

The Vongsawat estate was three stories of white stone and dark wood, sprawling across a hillside like a sleeping dragon. Old money. The kind that didn’t need to prove itself.

Kirin’s chambers were on the third floor, east wing. The guest Wing.

It was massive. Floor-to-ceiling windows draped in pale linen, overlooking the orchid gardens. King-sized bed with silk sheets the color of bone, hospital corners sharp enough to cut. A low teak platform desk, a sitting area with a charcoal linen sofa, and a walk-in closet that already held most of his clothes — pressed, hung, arranged by size and color on dark wood hangers. His jackets. His boots. His paint-stained hoodie from university, incongruous between two Brioni suits. They’d moved everything.

The en suite was bigger than his bedroom in London. Marble floor, veined in grey. Rainfall shower walled in glass. A bathtub deep enough to drown in, set under a window. And the mirror — one wall, seamless, edged in brass — catching his reflection whether he wanted it or not.

It was all there. The quality was the same as Theerakul’s. Same teak. Same silk. Same architects, probably. His family’s mansion had three floors, too. Had orchid gardens. Had marble. The Vongsawats weren’t richer.

They were just colder.

No paintings he’d chosen. No books with cracked spines. No chipped mug from Pakin, no canvas leaning against the wall half-finished. No scuff marks on the floor or coffee rings on the desk. Just expensive, perfect furniture arranged by someone who’d never slept there. The air smelled like lemongrass and nothing else. No warmth. No ownership. A beautiful cage.

He wasn’t a slave. The door wasn’t locked. A guard was posted outside his. But the message was clear: You live here now. You don’t belong here.

Kirin set his personal suitcase besides the bed...Rimowa, aluminum. It looked small against the sterile silk, even with most of his belongings already hanging in the closet. Kirin sat down and let himself think back to that day.

THREE DAYS AGO

THEERAKUL MANSION — AFTER THAN PHU YAI LEFT

The doors shut behind Than Phu Yai with a sound that felt final.

For a second, no one moved. The foyer was still a battlefield, guns on marble, blood on tile, and the ghost of thirty years of alliance bleeding out between the couches.

Then Sirin broke.

It was not loud. It was not dramatic. Just a small, broken sound as her knees gave out. Ren was there before she hit the floor, catching her. “Mom,” he said, voice raw. “Mom, I’ve got you. Breathe.”

Sirin was normally a strong woman. She came from an aristocratic bloodline that once built kings and ministers, and looked down on kingdoms. She'd seen this world—and her husband —at it's worst and still stood strong. But every woman had her limit. For Sirin, it was the possibility of losing her family. She'd already lost enough people, seeing them die before her own eyes and not being able to do anything about it except wash off their blood, to leave permanent scars.

She clutched his shirt, shaking. “They’re going to kill you,” she whispered. “All of you. Us. They—”

“Mom.” Ren pulled her against his chest, one hand cradling the back of her head. His own lip was split, blood drying at the corner of his mouth, but he didn’t seem to feel it. “No one’s killing anyone. Not today. Not even after three months. Relax, okay?”

Pakin was on his feet, fists clenched so tight his knuckles were white. He rounded on Kirin. “Are you insane?” His voice cracked. “You told him you’d die with us? Rin, what the f*****g hell were you thinking?”

Kirin was still standing where Than Phu Yai had left him. The dagger was gone, back in Saen’s hand. The Sig Sauer sat on the side table like it belonged there. His hands weren’t shaking anymore. They were too numb.

“I was thinking,” Kirin said, quiet, “that I’m not watching them execute you while I play house with his son.”

“Kirin.” Anurak’s voice was steel wrapped in exhaustion. He looked older than he had an hour ago. Older than Kirin had ever seen him. “That was not your decision to make.”

“It was the only decision,” Kirin said. He met his dad’s eyes. “You taught me that. You said family is not something you bargain with. You don’t leave pieces on the board. So I didn’t.”

Anurak closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, something in his face had shifted. Not softer. Resigned. “And now you have three months to undo a noose.”

“Then we start planning,” Kirin said. “Now.”

“No,” Sirin said, pushing away from Ren. Her eyes were red, her makeup ruined, but her spine was Vorasith steel. “No, we are not doing this on the floor with blood—” She stopped, choking on the word.

Anurak crossed the room in three strides and pulled his wife into his chest, his hand coming up to stroke her hair as her sobs came to a slow end. He didn't say anything. He didn't need to. His presence was enough to comfort her. When Sirin's sobs quietened, he gently pulled away.

“Ren,” he said, and it was Khun Anurak speaking now, not Dad. “Take your mother upstairs. Call Lin. Make sure she rests. No arguments, Siri.”

Ren hesitated. He looked at Kirin, then at Pakin, then back at his mom. “Mom?”

Sirin nodded, once. She let Ren help her up, but before she left, she turned to Kirin. Her hand touched his cheek. Cold. Trembling. “My boy,” she whispered. “My brave, stupid boy.”

"Everything will be okay, mom. I promise," Kirin said, his voice soft and certain.

Sirin nodded with wet eyes and then she let Ren lead her away. Her steps were unsteady, but her back was straight. She’d been Lady Sirin Vorasith long before she was Sirin Theerakul.

The foyer was quiet again. Just Anurak, Pakin, Kirin, and Saen, who had silently started collecting the discarded guns.

Pakin ran a hand through his hair. “Dad, tell me he didn’t just—”

“He did,” Anurak cut in. He sank onto the couch Than Phu Yai had vacated, like his legs wouldn’t hold him anymore. “And Vichai took it as that. Which means it’s done.”

Footsteps on the stairs. Ren, coming back down. His face was blank in the way it got when he was furious and trying not to show it. “Lin’s with her. She’ll sleep soon.” He looked at Kirin. “You’re a f*****g i***t, you know that?”

“Noted,” Kirin said. “Now sit. We need to talk.”

They did. Ren dropped into the armchair. Pakin stayed standing, arms crossed, jaw working. Saen finished stacking the last gun and took his place behind Kirin. Silent.

Kirin looked at his dad. “I want your side of the story, dad. Start from the beginning. The shipments. The codes. The vaults. Everything the don said.”

Anurak leaned forward, elbows on his knees. For the first time, he looked like a man who might lose. “Three shipments,” he said. “Singapore. Japan. Taiwan. Three months ago. One month ago. Ten days ago. All flagged by the Council. They went missing and were found in our underground vault after the last shipment disappeared. We managed to calm the others but the Singapore triad.”

“Your codes?” Pakin asked.

“My codes,” Anurak confirmed. “Level One Scribe codes. Only five people in the country have them. Me. Than Phu Yai. The other three leaders.”

“Could it be one of them?” Ren asked. “Framing you to—”

“No,” Anurak said. “The codes weren’t used remotely. They were input manually. At the vault. That means someone was physically there. Someone with access.”

“Who else has access?” Kirin asked.

Anurak’s eyes met his. “You three. Your mother. Saen. My head of security. And Chai.”

The room went cold again.