After a long, grueling day at the office, I finally arrived home. It was just past 2 a.m., and the city outside was quiet, bathed in the dim glow of streetlights. My life had taken an unexpected turn after my parents passed away when I was 23. My father, a driven and successful businessman, left me not only his fortune but his company to run. My mother, always trying to make up for his absence, showered me with love and attention. Yet, it was my father who indulged my passion for animals. To make up for the time he couldn’t spend with me, he filled our home with pets—dogs, cats, and other creatures—anything I wanted, he provided.

After their deaths, I poured myself into the company, throwing everything I had into making it even more successful. It became my life, my focus, and eventually, I invented new marketing strategies and expanded the business beyond what my father had built. But with success came loneliness. The house felt too large, too empty without the comforting presence of my parents.

Then I found the tiger.

I adopted the tiger shortly after my parents passed, rescuing it from a terrible life at an abusive zoo. The animal was malnourished and mistreated, and I couldn’t leave it behind. Despite its wild nature, the tiger became my companion, offering a kind of solace I hadn't realized I needed. It was a sweet, gentle creature beneath its powerful exterior, and I cared for it deeply. No matter how late I worked or how consumed I became by the company, I always made time for the tiger. It was a connection to the life I’d once known—one filled with the love of animals.

Usually, the tiger would be there to greet me when I came home late, pacing by the door or already waiting near the entrance. But tonight, the house felt strangely quiet. There was no sign of the tiger’s familiar figure.

I set down my jacket and called out softly. No response. I moved through the house, my steps echoing in the silence, making my way to the bedroom where the tiger usually slept.