A few days passed. There had been no calls, no texts. Nothing from Vance. Askai didn't know if he should have been relieved or anxious.

  He sat hunched over his desk in the cramped dorm room, a cup of instant coffee going cold beside his elbow, surrounded by scattered case studies and unfinished assignments.

  He was exhausted. The weekend loomed like a debt collector. He'd delayed everything—laundry, work reports, even that one reading he was supposed to present Monday morning.

  He sighed heavily and looked out the window above his desk.

  The room might have been trash, but the view was gold. The sun hadn't yet risen above the horizon, but it bled color into the sky—lavender melting into coral. Magic.

  Then, he glanced toward the overflowing laundry basket in the corner, then toward his shift board, where red ink circled the weekend in warning. He had swapped shifts with his coworkers all week to attend mandatory seminars, promising he'd cover their weekend duties in return. He knew then he was going to regret it, but he did it anyway.

  Dragging himself from the chair, he stumbled to the bed and flopped onto the mattress with a sigh of surrender. It was the only nice thing in the room—a soft, supportive slab of heaven he'd splurged on last month. Best decision ever.

  He closed his eyes.

  Just a couple of hours. That's all he needed. Then he'd wake up, finish everything, and pretend his life wasn't on the verge of collapse.

  The phone buzzed.

  He ignored it.

  It buzzed again. Longer this time.

  Askai groaned and turned over. "Nobody's dying. Chill," he muttered.

  Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

  Now it was a call. Reluctantly, he reached out to silence it, but the moment his fingers grazed the screen, the phone spoke.

  "Are you ignoring me?"

  Vance's voice.

  Askai shot up like he'd been electrocuted.

  "Wha—No. I was just… sleeping. It's just…" He blinked at the digital clock on the wall. "6 a.m.?"

  "I already texted you the address," Vance said, flat tone, quite annoyed. "Be there in thirty minutes."

  Askai rubbed his face, barely functional. He squinted at the text message, and the address stared back at him: Regale Foundation Home, Cornel Street.

  Another East End address.

  "It'll take me at least an hour to get there," Askai said. "No buses run this early and I don't even know if—"

  "Don't bother me with things like that," Vance interrupted. "Next time, don't ignore my texts."

  The line went dead.

  Askai stared at the screen, jaw clenched. He wanted to throttle the crazy tyrant.

  "Next time," he muttered, mimicking under his breath.

  He yanked open his cupboard, pulled on a clean shirt, slipped into semi-decent jeans, and grabbed a few bills from his emergency stash of cash from an envelope taped behind a drawer. No time to complain. A cab was his only option.

  The sky was just beginning to brighten as he ran down the stairs. The early chill didn't touch him. A long day waited, and he had the sinking feeling it had only just begun.

  The cab ride was expensive.

  Askai tried not to look at the meter.

  When he finally reached the venue, the sight of the massive wrought-iron gates and the crowd of sleek cars parked outside made him hesitate. The Regale Foundation Home stretched like a mansion with three proud wings that loomed over the sprawling landscape. A sign with gold-plated lettering announced the name, surrounded by flowers and ribbons.

  He texted Vance: Here.

  Within minutes, a man in a uniform appeared and ushered him inside. They walked across a cobbled path to the main wing. The marble-floored lobby gleamed in the rays of the early sun. Volunteers in crisp polos moved through the corridors, some setting up stands, others tending to the elderly.

  "The East Wing," the man said, pointing.

  Askai followed.

  Eventually, he spotted Vance in front of a camera setup giving instructions to a small crew of media staff. He looked as polished as ever—in that expensive-tux that hugged his muscles in all the right places.

  If Vance hadn't already made Askai's life more complicated than it needed to be, he might've also believed him to be a socialite poster boy.

  But that was exactly what unsettled Askai.

  People like Vance didn't need to pretend—unless they were hiding something monstrous behind the charm.

  Why was he acting so hard, so desperately, to seem ordinary?

  He had enrolled in an advanced business course at Nolan University, yes… but Askai doubted he had attended more than two lectures. He restricted himself to the Regale suites as though they were a fortress—and in truth, they were. A garrison of black-suited shadows haunted the hallways, looking like they were trained to kill with the same ease others breathed. They followed Vance everywhere. They lingered behind doors, by staircases, near elevators. Even when Vance was surrounded by volunteers and crew members, Askai only saw them—the men hiding in plain sight under tailored jackets.

  What were the Regales trying to hide behind this magnetic, maddeningly beautiful face?

  As if he had spoken the thought aloud, Vance's eyes flicked up—and caught him.

  He didn't smile. Of course he wouldn't. But something in his expression softened, a faint brightening in those steel-gray irises… or maybe Askai imagined it in the haze of exhaustion.

  "Mrs. Meredith," he said, turning to a woman who radiated grandmotherly warmth. "This is Askai. He's with my crew. He'll help with the event prep in your wing. Use him well. We only have a couple hours."

  Mrs. Meredith grinned and reached for Askai's arm. "Oho, this one's got muscle on him!" she said with delight. "We'll put him to work, don't you worry."

  Askai forced a polite smile. "Happy to help," he murmured, though inside, he was already calculating how much time this would steal from his assignments and shifts. Volunteer work was fine. Unpaid hours weren't.

  Especially not when they were ordered by someone who thought "inconvenience" was a personal insult.

  That was a dick move.

  Vance didn't speak to him again and dismissed him with a polite nod. Dismissive and Cold. As though Askai truly was just another volunteer he had hired to serve him. For a man who had shamelessly blackmailed him into showing up, Vance certainly had the audacity to act indifferent now.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Askai told himself he should be relieved—happy, even—that Vance's obsession was fading. Maybe that night's intensity had been an illusion. Maybe the man was already moving on.

  So why did irritation prickle under Askai's skin like nettles? Why did his chest tighten in a way he refused to name?

  Distracted, he let himself be led away, every muscle in his body tired—and not just from lack of sleep. Mrs. Meredith didn't lead him into the building as Askai had expected. Instead, she turned sharply and motioned toward the expansive lawn at the back of the Regale Foundation. It stretched wide under the open sky, with carefully trimmed grass and white tents being assembled in the distance. A few elegant pillars stood like sentinels around the perimeter, already adorned with garlands and fabric banners.

  "We'll be setting up here," she said cheerfully. "Media folk want it to look like something out of a charity gala, so we need tables, decor, donation booths, some banners—" she smiled up at him, "—and I assume you don't mind doing a bit of the heavy lifting, dear?"

  Askai nodded without hesitation. "I can handle it."

  He was no stranger to heavy lifting. Oh he just did not want to recall the things he had lifted.

  Soon, he was unloading boxes from vans with a handful of other volunteers. He carried stacks of folding chairs, heavy potted plants, and long decorative poles. The sun crept higher, stealing away the chill of the early morning. He worked quickly, efficiently, his arms moving with practiced rhythm.

  And he was doing it all in full view of Vance.

  Vance stood beneath a shaded awning not far off, surrounded by crew members adjusting camera angles and lighting rigs. His posture was relaxed, but Askai could feel the heat of his gaze more than once—sharp and lingering.

  Once or twice their eyes met. Once or twice Vance's expression shifted—conflicted, questioning, almost… lost. As though even he couldn't understand why Askai was here.

  As though the night still echoed between them.

  Askai ignored him resolutely and defiantly. If the chore that landed his way caused him to be in Vance's vicinity, he simply passed it over to the next guy.

  Two could play this hot-and-cold game. And Askai had survived far more dangerous opponents. He just hadn't expected to feel this wretched while doing it.

  He focused on the task. Sweat beaded at his temple, trailing down his spine, dampening the back of his shirt. One he could not afford to ruin. So after another trip hauling gear across the lawn, he tugged the shirt over his head and tossed it onto a nearby chair. He'd just wash the sweat off later.

  After a good few minutes, he dropped into one of the folding chairs under the shade and twisted the cap off a warm water bottle. He was eyeing the splendid mansion that seemed to have been converted into a Foundation Home.

  The East Wing was being used as a Home for Elderlies. He could see another Wing from here, a board painted with images of playing children next to it. Could that be an orphanage?

  He squinted against the glare of the sun to read better.

  And then—

  "Thirsty?"

  He looked up to find that stunning redhead again.

  Ruby.

  She was dressed head-to-toe for the event—radiant in a fitted crimson dress that hugged her curves like it had been stitched with intention. Her high rosy cheekbones and sea-blue eyes rendered her an angelic brilliance - now that she was not pale and flushed from the aftermath of that poisoning. Her heels clicked softly on the stone path as she approached and dropped into the seat beside him, already smiling.

  "You've been working like a maniac. You okay?" she asked, sounding surprisingly genuine.

  "Yeah," he said, clearing his throat, sitting up straighter. "Just needed a breather. It's not too bad."

  "Have you eaten anything yet?"

  He shook his head. "No, but I'm fine—"

  "Nope," Ruby cut in, already standing. "C'mon. There's food inside for the volunteers. I'm not letting you pass out before the event starts."

  He hesitated. "Really, I'm—"

  "Shut up and follow me," she said, grinning. "Come on. You've more than earned it."

  He sighed, chuckling under his breath, and pulled his shirt back on before following her inside. He could swear he felt a piercing gaze on his back as he followed Ruby into the dining hall but he was determined not to turn and acknowledge him.

  The inside of the Regale Foundation was even more grand than he imagined—polished floors, arched ceilings, and wide halls buzzing with volunteers and staff. The buffet was set up in one of the larger common rooms, and it was… stunning.

  White-clothed tables groaned under the weight of food. Steaming rice dishes with fragrant spices, baked goods that looked like they came from gourmet patisseries, fresh juices in cut-glass dispensers, even bite-sized canapés he didn't know the name of. Everything looked expensive. Delicate.

  Askai stood frozen for a beat, until Ruby nudged him.

  "Go on. Grab a plate. We have a rough schedule ahead. Trust me!"

  He didn't need to be told twice. This was hands-down the best part of the whole strange morning. He filled his plate with cautious portions at first, but one bite turned into two, and then he went back for seconds. He wondered if he would be allowed to stuff some of these dishes into a take away box. He shamelessly looked around but found none.

  Ruby sat beside him again, a small plate in hand, which surprised him. She didn't just poke at the food like most of the polished elites he'd been around before. She actually ate. Chewed. Complimented the seasoning?! Either she was really different from the folks she socialized with or was way better actor than the remaining lot of them.

  They nonetheless talked—about music, about the upcoming monsoon, about a professor Askai hated and Ruby agreed was "probably possessed." Nothing serious. Just casual chatter and conversation flew like it was the most natural thing to talk to her. For a moment, the edge in his chest dulled. He almost forgot where he was. Almost forgot the tension he'd carried in since the morning.

  "Do they also have an orphanage here?" Askai asked.

  "They do. That would be the West Wing. Why do you ask?" She said through a mouthful.

  "Oh nothing. Just out of curiosity." Then he added, "Do they have any special acceptance criteria? Like they had to be adopted by Regale or something?"

  Ruby laughed but then after seeing Askai's earnest expression, she gave it a thought.

  "I don't know, honestly. But if you are interested, I'll find out. Mr. Joseph runs the orphanage. He would be able to say."

  "You come here often?"

  She hummed. "Birthdays, Charity Events, Election Campaign…, you name it."

  Ruby had such an easy going demeanor that Askai had forgotten for a moment that he was talking to someone from an upper echelon. Ruby was a Conti - daughter of Domenico Conti, the Minister of Security and Defence and a very close aide of Vance's grandfather. Of course, she had been here. What he could not figure out was what she was doing next to him.

  He was halfway through a piece of flaky stuffed pastry when one of the crew members—a tall man with a wireless headset and sharp eyes—stepped into the room.

  "Askai?"

  Askai blinked. "Yeah?"

  "You're needed outside. It's about to start. Vance wants all hands on deck."

  Of course he does, Askai thought, swallowing his bite.

  He offered Ruby an apologetic smile and stood, dusting his hands. "Guess I'm up."

  Ruby gave him a thumbs up. "Save me a seat at the next break, yeah?"

  She smiled warmly at him, almost hiding a strange intimacy in those turns of lips, as if she was privy to a secret Askai wasn't. He nodded, already making his way out.

  Throughout the event, Askai followed Vance like a second shadow—not out of choice, but necessity. While they had spent their entire morning ignoring each other, things had taken an entirely different turn now. Vance didn't let him drift more than a few feet away at any time. Whenever something needed doing—a mic that had to be handed over before a speech, a gift basket brought to the front, a bouquet discreetly taken from Vance's hands before he moved to shake another dignitary's—Askai was the one doing it.

  He caught Vance watching him more than once. It wasn't exactly suspicious—just... fixed. Assessing. Askai couldn't tell whether he was being studied or measured, and honestly, he didn't like either. Their interactions remained polite and formal.

  By the time the sun dipped low and the media had thinned out, the event began winding down. Vance disappeared into one of the guest suites Regale had reserved for him, a quiet room far from the noise.

  Askai wasn't sure if he should follow, and he lingered near the hallway, unsure, until a voice called his name.

  Mrs. Meredith.

  She waddled over, all warmth and wrinkles, and pressed an envelope into his hand.

  "From the Regale," she said with a wink. "For your time. We don't let the good ones walk away empty-handed."

  Askai opened it after she walked off. Inside were crisp bills—far more than he could imagine. He stared, a wave of relief washing through him. Rent. Meals. All would be taken care of for the next month and he would still have money to spare. Maybe even a pair of decent shoes for Kael. God, he missed the boy but he dreaded the thought of approaching him empty-handed.

  His shoulders slackened a little for the first time that day. He knew what was in his hand was far more than the day's pay. This was a steal. Vance was not some drunk kid at a frat party slipping bills in hopes of buying illicit pleasure. He wasn't some clueless rich heir tossing money because he didn't know its worth. He was a man—too controlled, too self-aware, too dangerously intentional—with a very clear idea of what he was doing.

  If it had been anyone else, Askai would've pocketed the money without blinking and written the guy off as a generous fool trying too hard. Survival had always demanded that he take whatever scraps the world offered him. But this?

  Somehow this irked him. Irked him down to bone and breath and the ugly, unspoken places he didn't examine too closely.

  Because taking it from Vance didn't feel like victory. It felt like being… small. Like Vance was placing him somewhere beneath him—with good intentions, maybe, infuriatingly soft ones even—but beneath him regardless. It stung in a way Askai hated. He would rather have Vance's respect. Or his irritation. Or even his anger. Anything but his pity.

  He wanted to stand in front of him—and not feel like he was someone Vance could buy….

  He scoffed. Had he been a few years younger, he might have marched straight to Mrs. Meredith, shoved the envelope back in her hands, and said he didn't need anyone's damn money. But life had carved that version of him into something else. Lessons he never asked for had taught him the kind of pragmatism that left scars on his sleep.

  "Askai," came Vance's voice and he turned, slipping the envelope silently into his pocket. Vance's pity was the only thing he could ever afford.