Einar waited predictably on the sidewalk, clutching a large bouquet of white lilies and shifting uncomfortably, resembling a delinquent schoolboy. Judging by the sweat on his light blue shirt, he had been standing there for at least ten minutes, maintaining a semblance of respect for personal boundaries by not entering the lobby. Moe sighed wearily, standing in the lobby's coolness and looking with disdain at the person who had intruded into his soul without permission and obliterated the last remnants of faith in humanity. Throughout these days, he had desperately wrestled with the stage of denial, the first stage of acceptance, and the living absurdity of his attempts now stood just a meter and a half away, attempting to smile and further aggravating Moe’s annoyance.

“Go fuck yourself,’ Moe dismissed curtly, using the opportunity of Miny's slumber, strode through the glass doors that obediently slid open, instantly immersing him in the humid tropical sauna. He added, “Right now, if that wasn’t clear.”

“Moe,” Einar closed the gap between them in two long steps, clumsily extending the bouquet, which Moe regarded with the disdainful look of a monarch encountering a cow patty. “I understand your feelings; I committed a terrible act. But give me an opportunity to explain, please.”

“Why the hell would I?” Moe scanned for the cab’s number plate across the parking lot and briskly headed towards it, casting an anxious glance at the sleeping Miny who had yet to experience the heat and might react adversely.

“To...” Einer, usually adept at deflecting verbal attacks, seemed to fumble for words this time. Einer awkwardly walked alongside Moe towards the cab, and unable to tolerate the blatant insolence, Moe, still holding the stroller handle, delivered a swift kick to Einer's kneecap. Einer staggered with a stifled groan, bending over, but raised his hand, halting his bodyguards, who faithfully trailed him. “Moe, please... If you want to beat me up, I won't resist.”

“Are you a masochist now?” Moe, nearing the cab from which the driver sprang out alertly, furrowed his brow, pressing firmly on the button at the back that would release the folding mechanism. He folded the stroller into the car seat, heaving a sigh of relief. Meanwhile, Einer, attempting to display gallantry, hobbled closer and dared to reach out his hand toward the car seat. Moe felt an intense, white rage in his eyes.

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“No, but maybe you'll feel better,” Einer extended his hands and peered under the stroller canopy greedily, scrutinizing Miny.

With all his might, Moe placed the car seat in the back seat, secured it with the buckle, yanked the belt to check for tension, closed the door, and turned silently. Unleashing all the fury he had built up on the hesitant Einer, the smooth and swift turn allowed him to channel the force of nature into his fist, magnified by the swing. Moe relished the sound of the crunch of Einar's teeth as he staggered from the blow but remained silent. Pouring out the pain concentrated somewhere deep, Moe began beating him mercilessly, soon transitioning from punches to kicks.

Einar convulsed from the strikes targeting his vulnerable areas, sobbing while biting his bloody lips. As he had promised, he did not fight back, and his bodyguards stood frozen in uncertain poses in a semicircle, dazedly witnessing their boss being systematically, brutally, and skillfully beaten by the omega. Moe relentlessly pounded the traitor, experiencing no relief, only the ceaseless, frenzied hatred that had long been gnawing at him. In his mind, Moe counted the reasons- for invading his soul, for shattering his faith in people, for manipulating him for his malicious schemes, for abandoning him to die, for daring to reenter his life...

The horrified onlookers screamed for the police, pointed accusing fingers, approached with avid curiosity, but Moe saw them as a blur, a mere background that was now irrelevant. He only ceased his relentless assault when his stomach ached from the exertion. Delivering one last kick to Einar, he chuckled, “Feel a bit better, just what doctor ordered,” he quipped, flashing a smile at the indignantly curious crowd. “What, you think I'm crazy, huh? That’s the real lunatic!” He nudged Einar, who struggled to rise from the hot asphalt, with his foot. “He threw me to his competitors as bait! Refused their terms, knowing they'd kill me! Watched me, beaten, bloody, pleading for help, on a video call, and refused to help!”

The crowd gasped collectively, murmuring in shock as they fixed their gazes on Einar, who, being helped up by his bodyguards, made no attempt to deny the accusations. Moe, abruptly cutting himself off at a high note, wiped his moist face with his palm and instinctively licked his lips—the taste too salty for mere sweat. He exhaled slowly, realizing he had just revealed too much personal, painful, agonizing information. Woodenly, he moved towards the door of the cab, eager to depart as quickly as possible, to retreat to his apartment and tend to his wounds.

"I'm sorry, Moe!" Einar, wiping blood from his face with his sleeve, pushed his bodyguards away and limped after him. "Please!"

"Stay away from us, you cunt," Moe uttered wearily as he entered the cool sanctuary of the cab, forcefully closing the door and drawing near to a crying Miny, disturbed by the commotion. "I'm sorry, kid. Daddy lost his temper, but it won't happen again."