LETHAL HEARTS (Ongoing)
Chapter 1
Soren
(spits blood while crawling away)
And just like that, the guy kicked Soren again on his stomach.
Soren is already beat up, he can't move an inch nor even open his eyes at how damaged he is.
He felt humiliated and disappointed of himself knowing that right now, his father is watching him.
Father
you disappoint me...
After saying that, he then left Soren alone on the ground without even taking a single glance to his son.
This enraged Soren and can't help but to cry at how devastating to hear those words from his father.
Soren
RAAAAGGHHHHHH (shouts while crying)
Dominic
are you okay? (caresses Soren's back)
Dominic
(looks at him for a moment)
Dominic
you look scared (worried)
Dominic
come... (opens his arms)
Dominic then hugged him as they both went back to lay in their bed, and Soren took it as a comfort since he was actually quite disturbed in what just happened.
He knew that it wasn't just a bad dream, it was a memory that he wants to forget. A memory that he doesn't want to hold onto, now that he's actually living in peace.
Dominic
dont worry, I'm here...(while hugging him)
Soren
(tightly hugged him back)
Soren felt so lucky to have Dominic in his life. He had never imagined that someday he will have a loving husband.
It's been 2 years since the day that they've met at a local bakery shop. Soren had just stopped by for a quick coffee and a croissant. Dominic had been standing behind him in line, quietly patient, until Soren dropped his wallet and their fingers brushed as Dominic picked it up. It should have been an ordinary encounter. It wasn’t.
From that moment on, something had shifted. Dominic, with his quiet confidence and steel-gray eyes, had pulled Soren into a world of warmth and security he didn’t realize he needed. And Soren, with his gentle charm and soft laugh, had disarmed Dominic in ways he wasn’t trained to handle.
Now, two years in, their mornings were filled with shared breakfasts and sleepy kisses. Their nights, with laughter, quiet dinners, and whispered dreams.
But right now, he has this feeling of worry that there's gonna happen. Soren always trusts his instincts, and maybe the nightmare he got wasnt just any ordinary dream. Maybe it's telling him something.
Soren
*its all going to be fine...*
Morning came by and now Soren is currently preparing their breakfast while Dominic gets ready to go to his work. Working as a security is not an easy job, he has to stay awake and focused all day long in order to do his job. With that in mind, he needs to have a good and fulfilling meal every day, something that Soren actually look forward to.
He loves cooking, at least now that he's living with Dominic. It makes him calm, composed and it's his way of showing that he cares for his husband.
Hearing Dominic's distress on his voice, Soren immediately knew that he's struggling on something.
Dominic
Please help me with my necktie
Soren
I always tie it (smiles)
Soren
Come to me if you need help putting it on okay?
Dominic
Thanks love (pecks his lips)
Soren
Y-your breakfast is ready (shy)
Dominic
(grins) come join me
They then both ate their breakfast together until they eventually, Dominic bid his farewell to his wife (since that's what he calls him).
The sun was barely cresting over the suburban rooftops, casting long golden shadows across the street. Soren stood at the doorway, to watch Dominic walk to his car like he did every morning. The same rhythm. The same warm goodbye.
Dominic
(softly, with that half-smile that melted Soren’s heart) See you tonight, love.
Dominic
Same time, later (smiles)
Soren
(teasing, affectionate) Only if you bring dessert.
Soren
Dinner at seven okay?
Dominic
Yesss (kiss his cheek)
Soren
Be careful... (Pecks his lips)
Dominic
(surprised) I-I will
Soren
(chuckles) now head along, or you'll be late (smiles)
Dominic chuckled and got into the car, giving one last wave before driving off.
As the car disappeared around the corner, Soren let the fond smile linger on his lips for a few seconds longer.
Soren
(sighs) *he'll be fine*
He was about to go inside, but a voice then interrupted him.
Catherine
Heyyyy Sorennn (loudly calls him)
Soren turned in time to see Catherine—his bright, sunshine-soaked best friend—barreling down the sidewalk like a happy hurricane. Her blonde hair was tied back in a loose ponytail, and she waved with both hands, eyes shining.
Soren
(grinning) Well, look who came back from the land of sand and sun.
Catherine
I missed your snarky little face!
She crashed into him with a hug, and Soren stumbled back a bit, laughing. They held onto each other for a second longer before pulling apart.
Soren
How was the vacation?
Catherine
Oh, you’ll never believe half the things we did! But you will, because I’m telling you everything.
Catherine
Come on, let’s get coffee. I’m caffeine-deprived and I brought stories.
Soren
(grabbing his keys)
Alright, lead the way, sunshine.
The two walked side by side, the familiar streets stretching ahead. Trees rustled lazily above them, and birds chirped from their branches. Catherine spoke animatedly, using her hands for emphasis.
Catherine
—And then I told Larry, ‘No, you can’t feed seagulls fries! That’s how you start wars!’ But he did it anyway. Within minutes, we were surrounded. It was a massacre.
Soren
(raising a brow)
A massacre of fries?
Catherine
And my dignity. I had to run. In flip-flops!
Soren
You paint a very chaotic picture of paradise.
Catherine
That’s marriage for you. Glorious, sandy chaos.
Soren chuckled, hands tucked into the pockets of his light jacket. Catherine continued describing beaches, strange seafood, her temporary hatred for sunscreen, and a yoga instructor she was convinced was secretly a cult leader. Soren listened, laughed, offered one-liners, but somewhere deep beneath his warm exterior, something shifted.
His trained senses pricked up.
He felt it before he saw it. That hum at the back of the neck. The weight of someone watching.
His gaze slid naturally across the street, checking mirrors, rooftops, moving cars.
A black car parked casually two blocks away. Too far to hear, but not too far to see.
He slowed slightly, letting Catherine walk half a step ahead.
Catherine
(tilting her head at him)
You okay?
Soren
(softly)
Yeah. Just... dehydrated. Keep talking about the seagulls.
Catherine
Only if you promise not to pass out. I didn’t pack vacation CPR.
But Soren wasn’t listening to her anymore. His eyes were on the sigil—small, silver, carved into the back fender like a whisper. Most people wouldn’t notice it.
But Soren was not most people.
He’d carved that sigil himself once. A twin-headed serpent, coiled in a circle.
Only one man in the world still used that symbol.
The man who raised him. The man who trained him. The man he ran from.
Chapter 2
Catherine was already inside, ordering a drink. Soren stood at the curb, eyes still on the street. The black car didn’t move. But it didn’t have to.
Soren didn’t recognize the driver—but that meant little. His father had thousands of agents. He only needed to send a hint.
Soren walked in and sat across from Catherine, who was already stirring cream into her drink.
Catherine
You know, you’re acting all... serious.
Soren
(amused, trying to mask it)
Soren
Must be your coffee breath.
Catherine
Don’t lie to me, Mr. Domestic Sunshine. What’s going on?
Soren
(nudging her cup)
Drink your chaos juice. I’ll feel better once you’ve had it.
She narrowed her eyes but didn’t push. That was why he liked her. She asked, but she didn’t pry. Even when his hands shook slightly as he sipped his espresso.
They talked more. Soren even laughed. But the whole time, the pressure in his chest tightened.
His father wasn’t just watching. He was warning.
Soren and Catherine walked in silence for a while. The sky was turning hazy orange. A breeze picked up.
Catherine
You’re quiet again.
Catherine
You always say that when your eyes go sharp
Soren
Guess I’ve been around you too long
Catherine
Whatever it is… you don’t have to carry it alone.
How could he explain that the shadows of his past had caught up with him? That the life he thought he buried was still breathing, still tracking his every step? That one of the most dangerous men alive had just knocked on his soul’s door with a smile?
They reached her house. She waved, and he waved back.
Then he walked into his house. Alone.
The windows were closed. The curtains drawn. Soren sat on the couch, a single lamp casting a warm circle of light across the room.
He held a photo in his hand—Dominic, smiling. A picnic last spring. Their knees touching. Laughter frozen in time.
Then he opened the drawer beneath the coffee table.
Beneath books, napkins, and takeout menus was a false bottom.
Inside: a sleek, black dagger. Thin. Elegant. Engraved with a name in runes long forgotten.
He picked it up and rolled it in his hand.
But the wind was shifting.
And he could feel it in his bones:
They weren’t just watching.
Author
I'm sorry if this chapter is quite short unlike the previous one. but don't worry!! upcoming chapters would be longer hehe
Author
thanks for reading this❤
Chapter 3
The morning sun filtered softly through the windows, washing the living room in a gentle gold that glimmered against the hardwood floors. Soren stood in the kitchen, hands busy with a damp cloth as he wiped down the counters for the third time that morning. Dominic had left early, as he usually did, giving Soren a lingering kiss goodbye and a whispered promise to come home safe. Soren had smiled, touched his cheek, and told him to take care. Then the door shut, and the silence settled.
Soren preferred silence. It gave him space to think, to breathe. But now, it felt different. He looked over the clean kitchen once more and moved to the dining area. The small vase of wildflowers on the table had wilted overnight, their yellow petals sagging like tired eyelids. He discarded them gently and made a mental note to pick some fresh ones later.
Next came the laundry. He moved with practiced efficiency—sorting, folding, ironing. Each movement was purposeful, the motions as rhythmic and disciplined as a martial kata. As the washer hummed, he dusted the bookshelves, fluffed the pillows, swept the floor, and disinfected every knob and handle. By midday, the entire house gleamed with meticulous care.
When the clock hit noon, Soren made his way to the kitchen and opened the fridge. His brows furrowed.
Soren
(muttering) Nothing again…
The shelves were almost bare—half a tomato, a bottle of milk near expiration, and two eggs that he doubted were still good. Dominic had insisted they go shopping together the week before, but things had come up. As always.
Soren sighed and reached for a pan. He scrambled the eggs, diced the tomato, and made a simple sandwich with the last slice of bread. He sat alone by the kitchen window, watching birds hop along the fence as he ate.
After washing the dishes, he grabbed his coat and scarf. The grocery store wasn’t far, just a fifteen-minute walk down the neighborhood road. He liked walking—especially on days when the sky was clear, and the breeze smelled faintly of leaves and fresh earth.
Locking the door behind him, Soren walked past Catherine’s house, nodding politely at her empty porch swing. He took the same familiar sidewalk route, boots scuffing softly against the pavement. The streets were calm, the hum of daily life gentle and uneventful.
But something prickled at the back of his neck.
He slowed at the corner, eyes casually scanning the area. Parked across the street, about half a block behind him, was a black car. Same model. Same tinted windows. The same one he had seen yesterday.
He kept walking, adjusting the strap of his bag as if nothing was out of the ordinary. But his mind sharpened, heart slowing into a practiced rhythm. He counted his steps, noted every exit point, every alley, every passerby.
By the time he reached the grocery store, the sun was just beginning to dip behind the taller buildings, casting long shadows across the sidewalk. He pushed open the glass door, nodding politely to the cashier as the bell overhead chimed.
He took a basket and moved with ease through the aisles. Bread, vegetables, fresh herbs, salmon, cream, and spices. Something special. A creamy garlic salmon pasta—Dominic’s favorite.
As he passed the freezer section, something caught his eye.
Standing near the end of the aisle, pretending to study the cereal shelf. Too still. Clothes too neutral. Eyes not reading the boxes—eyes watching.
Soren continued walking, not giving the man any indication he’d noticed.
Another aisle. A different man. Same posture. Different shelf.
And another, near the bakery. Loitering.
Soren's fingers curled around the basket handle.
And he had a feeling this time—they wouldn’t just be watching for long.
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