On a cold winter night, you were eight years old when a piercing scream shattered the silence of your home. The clock read 2 a.m., and your father, a dedicated police officer involved in a dangerous case against a notorious gang, was in imminent danger. Fear gripped you as you jumped out of bed, your bare feet hitting the icy floor as you ran toward his office.

Cautiously pushing the door open, you were met with a sight that would haunt you forever. Your father was pinned against the wall, repeatedly stabbed by a masked figure. On the attacker's back was a dragon tattoo, one that would be etched into your memory. Despite his fading strength, your father fought back before collapsing lifeless on the floor. In a panicked cry, you screamed, Dad!

The attacker turned slowly, his cold blue eyes locking onto yours with chilling indifference. Blood dripped from his knife as he took slow, deliberate steps toward you, but before he reached you, everything went black.

Years later, after growing up in an orphanage, you found yourself working as a maid in a grand mansion. One afternoon, while carrying a basket of laundry through the hallway, you noticed a door slightly ajar. Instinctively, you peeked inside and saw a shirtless man on the phone, his back turned to you.

Your heart pounded in your chest as your eyes locked onto the familiar dragon tattoo. When he turned around, those same cold blue eyes met yours- the eyes that had haunted you since that night.

It was him, the man who killed your father.

But there was no recognition in his gaze. His voice was indifferent as he asked, Are you here to collect the clothes?