The CEO's Kept Secret

THE ENVELOPE

The days at Sakda had begun to blur together.

Kao was getting used to the unspoken rules: Nine hated small talk before 10 a.m., meetings never started on time, and if you handed him coffee with sugar, you’d lose your job.

The man was a contradiction of power and solitude, of cold stare and fleeting softness. He rarely spoke more than necessary, but Kao had learned to listen to his silences.

Tonight, the office was nearly empty, except for the CEO and his new assistant.

Kao stood outside Nine’s office door, with a tray of tea in hand. He hesitated for a second before gently pushing the door open.

Nine sat by the floor-to-ceiling window, his back turned to the world.

The skyline of Bangkok blinked behind him in soft neon hues. The lights kissed the edges of his profile, tracing the sharp line of his jaw and the slight furrow in his brow.

“You don’t have to knock anymore,” Nine said quietly without turning around.

Kao stepped in, placing the tea on the edge of the desk. “I brought you chamomile. You’ve been clenching your jaw all day.”

Nine looked over his shoulder, one brow raised. “You notice things easily; you are very observant.”

Kao smiled. “It’s kind of my job, isn’t it?”

Nine didn’t reply right away. Instead, he reached for the tea, holding the cup between his fingers like it grounded him. “I don’t sleep much. Haven’t in years.”

“Why?” Kao asked gently.

The question hung there.

Nine’s silence was heavy, like he was thinking about whether to tell the truth or lie.

Then, suddenly, a sharp knock.

Nine’s eyes immediately narrowed. He stood, and all calmness evaporated. “Don’t move,” he said to Kao.

A suited man entered. He was tall, had a clean cut, and wore a faint scar near his left temple. Nine's body language changed, his shoulders tensing.

“Sir, this was just delivered. There was no sender. Security is still checking the footage now.”

Nine took the large black envelope from the man’s hand. His eyes flickered as he examined the seal. He didn’t open it. Not yet.

“You’re dismissed,” he said curtly.

The man bowed slightly and left.

Kao watched quietly. The air felt suddenly electric, charged with an invisible weight.

Nine opened the envelope slowly.

Inside was a single sheet of thick paper.

Kao couldn't see what was written on it, but he saw the way Nine’s hands clenched around the edges. His knuckles stiffened.

“Mr. Nine… is everything okay?” Kao asked carefully.

Nine quickly folded the paper and tucked it inside his leather jacket. “I need to make a call.”

Kao was about to nod and leave when Nine’s voice stopped him. “Stay.”

There was no softness in the command, but also no danger. Just something fragile and sincere.

Nine picked up the phone on his desk, punching in a series of numbers.

“Send someone to sweep the 49th floor. Tell them we’ve been breached.”

Kao’s eyes widened. What exactly had been breached? The word, breached? What kind of CEO said that?

“Also,” Nine added, “contact Black Lotus. Tell them the name is back.”

He ended the call and looked at Kao.

The room was tense, filled with unsaid things.

“Who is Black Lotus?” Kao asked softly.

Nine met his gaze. “No one you need to know about.”

But Kao saw it now, something dark behind Nine’s eyes. It wasn’t fear or confusion. Just… rage. And a history too bloody to be spoken aloud.

“You should go home,” Nine said. “It’s getting late.”

“I’m not leaving you alone with that look in your eyes,” Kao replied, standing his ground.

Nine blinked, surprised. “That look?”

“Like you’re preparing for war,” Kao whispered.

Nine looked down, then chuckled, low and humorless. “Smart boy.”

Silence stretched again. Then, unexpectedly, Nine said, “Can you play the piano for me?”

Nine blinked at the sudden shift. “A little.”

Nine turned and walked toward the side of the office where the grand piano rested beneath a wall of bookshelves. “Play something,” he said.

Kao hesitated, then followed. He sat at the bench, fingertips brushing over the ivory keys.

He glanced up at Nine, whose arms were crossed, and his face was unreadable.

Then he played.

Something soft and simple. It wasn’t perfect, but it was sincere.

Nine stood beside him, listening.

For a moment, the emptiness receded.

But when Kao finished, Nine whispered, “If you stay in this world… you might not be able to walk away.”

“I never said I wanted to walk away,” Kao replied.

Nine stared at him, like trying to read his entire soul.

Then he said, “Goodnight, Kao.”

Kao understood. This conversation was over.

He stood and walked to the door—but just as his hand touched the knob, Nine’s voice stopped him again.

“Thank you.”

Kao looked back. “For what?”

Nine’s eyes softened, just barely. “For being the only real thing in my world right now, i think”

And just like that, Nine left.

The hallway outside was dim, with just flashes of light rays from the balcony. It was quiet and lonely.

But as he turned the corner, he noticed something on the floor.

Another envelope.

Identical to the one Nine received.

His name, “Kao,” is written on the front.

His hands shook slightly as he bent down and picked it up.

He opened it, and inside there was nothing…

Nothing, just a photo.

A black-and-white picture of Nine... bleeding, younger, kneeling in the rain with a gun to his head.

And behind him?

A symbol carved on the brick wall.

A lotus flower made of knives.

Nine’s heart dropped, not because he was surprised.

But because underneath the photo was a note, handwritten in red:

"How well do you think you know him?"