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.

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.