Askai trudged back to the dorm, every muscle tight with exhaustion and mounting anxiety. The stadium lights, symbols of the glittering, empty world he’d just left, dimmed behind him. The streets still echoed with the crowd’s leftover energy, but all Askai could focus on was the profound vulnerability of Jordan, alone in the room. He stopped at a corner store—not a corner , but a cramped, brightly lit —and grabbed a bag of instant soup bowls, a carton of juice, and protein bars. He hustled back, driven by the protective instinct that had always been his fiercest weapon.

  But when he reached his floor, a strange, absolute stillness greeted him. It was the unnatural quiet of a predator waiting.

  The door to his room was already ajar.

  Panic flared, sharp and cold, instantly overriding his fatigue. He shoved the door open, irritation primed in his chest to chastise Jordan for his carelessness. “Jordan, what the hell—”

  His voice died, strangled in his throat.

  Vance Regale was sitting on his bed, relaxed, yet emanating a dangerous, coiled intensity. Across from him, in Askai’s desk chair, sat Jordan, still bruised and stiff, a mirror image of Askai in his refusal to show weakness. The space between the two men was charged with silent, hostile energy—the tension thick and vibrating, as if any sudden movement might trigger an explosion.

  Askai blinked, his mind struggling to reconcile the impossible image. “…What is going on?”

  Neither answered. They simply continued to glare across the small room, Vance’s cool, wealthy indifference meeting Jordan’s street-honed, bitter defiance.

  Jordan finally leaned back, his voice calm, dangerously controlled, but biting with accusation. “I was just wondering how my friend forgot to mention he’d been making friends with the East End elite.”

  Vance’s eyes narrowed, cool and sharp as chipped glass. “That makes two of us. I was unaware he kept such .”

  Askai could feel the temperature in the room drop another ten degrees.

  He set the food down slowly, carefully, like a bomb technician placing a volatile device. Anything louder than a whisper might make one of them snap.

  “Jordan,” he began cautiously, his eyes signaling a desperate plea for discretion, “We’ll talk. Later.”

  He then turned to Vance, injecting as much icy control into his voice as he could manage. Somehow, the image of him sitting in his room, on his bed was more than he could bear.

  “Why are you here?” He asked, in a terse voice.

  “You bailed on dinner,” Vance said, his tone clipped, possessive. “I came to find out why. I don't tolerate being dismissed.”

  “I told you. I had assignments.”

  “And yet,” Vance’s gaze drifted pointedly toward Jordan, taking in the evidence of his care, “you had time to pick up dinner for two. Moreover, I didn’t realize you had a roommate.”

  Askai sighed, forcing himself to push through the paralyzing tension. “I don’t. He’s injured. A fight broke out. So he’s staying here until he heals. Not that I should be explaining anything about my life to .”

  “Right,” Vance said dryly, his lip curling in contempt. “A . Over what? The last chess piece? Or were you perhaps doing a little slumming on the wrong side of the city?” The last words almost dripped with venom, sending a deep chill creeping over his spine.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Askai replied, his annoyance finally breaking through the layer of caution. “He needed help. That’s all you need to know.”

  The sudden, aggressive intrusion on his private sanctuary—the only place he truly felt safe—was infuriating. Vance Regale was an impulsive, spontaneous force of nature, and Askai was constantly on edge trying to anticipate his next move.

  Vance did not respond immediately. He took a slow, deliberate survey of the cramped dorm room—at the blanket on the floor, the folded spare clothes, the open first-aid kit near the sink, the lingering scent of antiseptic and cheap gauze. His eyes flicked back to Jordan’s bruised face, then finally settled on Askai, a dark, calculating intensity in their depths.

  “You’re really going all in,” Vance murmured, his voice softening just enough to make it sinister. “Cooking, cleaning, playing nursemaid. No wonder you were dozing off during the game. Such tender devotion is exhausting.”

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  Askai froze, halfway through pulling out plates. The casual implication of a kind of intimacy he didn't share made his blood boil.

  Jordan tilted his head at Vance, his own dark eyes glinting with instinctive mistrust. “Didn’t realize you two were that close, either.”

  “We’re not,” Askai snapped, turning to Jordan, his hands raised in a gesture of pure, exasperated denial.

  Vance ignored Askai completely, his focus locked entirely on Jordan, his smile becoming a dangerous, charming weapon. “Funny. You seem awfully invested in knowing who Askai is close with. Checking out the competition?”

  Askai’s jaw clenched so hard it hurt. “Are you out of your damn mind?! Jordan is—he’s a friend! A brother!”

  Vance gave a tight, disbelieving smile, his gaze sweeping Jordan’s lean, handsome frame. “Right. A friend who looks like a fucking model and who is camping out on your floor. Does he know about your… , Askai?”

  Jordan was momentarily shocked into absolute silence by Vance’s open hostility and forward comments.

  He knew Askai better than anyone. They were brothers, and Vance’s words were nothing but a calculated, arrogant attempt at control. He had never seen such a possessive jerk in his whole life. He could have left even Valez behind to lick the dust in his wake.

  Askai slammed the food tray onto the table with a crash, finally snapping. He turned toward Vance, his own glare meeting the East End scion’s head-on. King of the hell or not, Vance had no right to raise one in Askai’s private life.

  “What. In. The. HELL is wrong with you?! You have no fucking right to waltz in here and start messing with my personal life!” Askai’s voice was low, furious, trembling with contained rage.

  Vance did not back off. He simply returned Askai’s glare, his powerful frame utterly still. Anyone else in the room might have believed Askai was caught cheating on a lover. Jordan, however, knew better. Askai wouldn't commit to his own shadow, let alone some rich jerk, no matter how expensively dressed.

  “I will decide what my rights are, Askai, and you better not raise your voice again. Or there will be hell to pay.”

  

  Askai grabbed the tray and set it between them, deliberately refusing to look at either man. He couldn't believe Vance’s audacity. He had invaded his sanctuary and was now interrogating his friend which was . The sooner the food was served, the sooner they could get rid of him. He was he wanted that.

  “Dinner’s ready. Jordan, be careful with your shoulder.” Askai called out of habit, handing him utensils, arranging the pitiful soup and protein bars. He felt so ridiculous serving the meager meal, which until a moment ago, had seemed perfectly fine.

  Now, under Vance's aristocratic scrutiny, it felt utterly shameful. The bastard could have warned him to save the embarrassment. Askai could feel the heat crawling up his face, but he kept his head down. His hands worked faster than his thoughts, trying to outrun the storm building in the room.

  Vance watched it all with an unsettling quiet, an observer studying an exotic ritual.

  Finally, he picked up a soup bowl. “You always do this much for your friends, Askai?”

  At least he wasn’t referring to Jordan as his boyfriend anymore.

  “We all do,” Askai muttered.

  “Never did that for me.”

  Askai looked up sharply, utterly amazed by the sheer, breathtaking audacity of the statement. But knowing Vance, he played along, speaking through gritted teeth.

  “You’ve never needed help.”

  “I could fake a limp.”

  “Then fake some while you’re at it.”

  That shut Vance up for a second, a flicker of genuine surprise crossing his eyes at Askai’s crude remark. Jordan, still chewing, gave Askai a sidelong, warning look, hoping to distract him from any dark musings that might lead to a catastrophic confrontation.

  But Askai had no such intention. He was already regretting his harsh tone but God knew Vance wasn’t being helpful at all.

  “Is he always this… ?” Jordan asked, pointing to Vance.

  Askai bit back a groan. “Please don't start.”

  Vance leaned back, the smile back, predatory and cool. “So, Jordan. You from around here?”

  Jordan smirked, unruffled. “You first.”

  Vance didn’t miss a beat. “East End. But you already guessed as much. Your turn.”

  “Wherever Askai is,” Jordan replied, the casualness of his tone a deliberate challenge. He didn't know how much Askai had shared with this rich jerk, but he seemed to be getting perverse pleasure out of ruffling his feathers.

  Askai nearly choked on his soup. Jordan had no idea who he was messing with, and he had no way to warn him. Jordan was, frustratingly, the best at getting under people’s skin only he chose to participate in a conversation, which was rare. To his dismay, tonight was turning out to be night.

  Vance’s eyes sharpened, a predator sensing a weakness. “Cute.”

  Jordan raised an eyebrow, a flicker of danger in his eyes. “You think so?”

  Askai slammed down his spoon, the metal clatter echoing too loudly. “Okay. I’m going to use the bathroom. You two—don’t burn the room down.”

  He turned before they could say more, but as he stepped into the narrow, suffocating safety of the bathroom, he heard Vance murmur just loud enough for Jordan to catch the calculated, probing insinuation:

  “So… how long have you known Askai? You seem tight with him. Tell me about his past.”

  Askai stopped mid-step, his hand freezing on the doorknob.

  Jordan didn’t answer immediately.

  Vance chuckled softly, a sound that chilled Askai to the bone.

  And Askai, his heart hammering like a trapped bird, closed the door without a word—unsure if he wanted to punch the flimsy wall or sink to the floor in defeat.

  He’d been afraid of trouble, of getting caught, of losing his shot at the future.

  He hadn’t known he’d also have to worry about this.

  About the people who knew the real him... and the ones who wanted to claim the of him.

  And what happened when those dangerous worlds collided.