Chapter Twenty-Six Nathan

For a second, everything seemed normal.

I woke up to the sound of Abby's soft breathing, her chest rising and falling in a rhythm that spoke of deep sleep. The early morning light filtered through the blinds, casting stripes across the bed where she lay.

For a moment, I let myself forget who we were—a feared Triad heir and his prisoner. In this quiet hour, we could have been any couple tangled in sheets after a night spent in each other's arms.

Her hair was a mess of brown waves spread out on the pillow, a few strands sticking to her cheek. I resisted the urge to brush them away, to feel the warmth of her skin against my fingertips. Abby's face, relaxed in slumber, held no trace of worry or fear. It was as if she'd found solace here, in the lion's den, when in reality, freedom was just a dream that danced at the edge of her consciousness.

I watched her sleep for a while longer, memorizing the way the freckles dusted over the bridge of her nose like delicate constellations. This was dangerous territory, allowing myself these moments of pretend. But the craving for something normal, something pure, gnawed at me with sharp teeth. I had never known normal—my life was etched in blood and bound by oath—but right then, I indulged in the fantasy that we were just Nathan and Abby, not Fangs and his captive.

"Normal" was a daydream—yet it tempted me more than I cared to admit.

Abby stirred slightly, and I held my breath, not ready to break the spell. She murmured something unintelligible and turned her face into the pillow, seeking comfort even in her dreams. A pang of something I refused to name clenched in my chest.

Shaking off the feeling, I slid out of bed with a silent grace that had been drilled into me since childhood. The cold floor sent a chill through me, my shoulders tensing as I left the warmth of the bed. My eyes cast around the room, taking in the remnants of last night's recklessness—a wine bottle and a corkscrew lay discarded on the nightstand.

A weapon within her reach for hours.

It was a rookie mistake, an unforgivable risk in my line of work. I'd left myself vulnerable, exposed. All it would've taken was one swift move, a moment of desperation on her part, and she could have ended me.

But she hadn't.

Abby slept on, blissfully unaware of how close she'd been to holding power over the feared Fangs Zhou. Or maybe she did know and chose mercy. The thought twisted something inside me, something that had no place in the world I ruled.

As if on cue, the shrill buzz of my phone shattered the silence, a jarring reminder of reality knocking at the door. I strode across the room, the muscles in my back tensing, ready for whatever was coming. Pulling on a pair of sweats as I moved, I grabbed the phone just before it went to voicemail, and without a glance back at Abby, I stepped out into the living room.

Fuck…it was my father.

"Ba," I answered, not bothering with pleasantries.

"Where the hell have you been?" the Serpent's voice thundered through the speaker, sharp enough to cut through any pretense of a peaceful morning. He didn't bother with formality; something was wrong, and I was in his crosshairs.

"Busy," I replied curtly, pressing the phone against my ear as I paced the length of the living room. My heart raced, not with fear but with the anticipation of what had riled up the Serpent this early.

"Have you seen Chinatown?" he spat out. The anger in his tone was like a physical force, pushing me back a step.

"Seen what about it?" I kept my voice steady, betraying none of the sudden tension knotting my insides.

"Missing posters. Everywhere." There was a rustle on the other end, and I could picture him pacing, much like I was. "Some girl from the coffee shop next to Grant Avenue Floral has vanished. It's causing too much attention."

I leaned against the cool wall, a chill seeping into my skin. "And?"

"I spoke with your brother," he growled. "He suggested you might be involved."

My stomach dropped, and I gripped the phone tighter. Of course, Alex would point fingers my way. The bastard had been looking for any chance to undermine me, and this—this was a perfect storm for him.

"Ba, you know better than to listen to Alex's bullshit." My voice was cold, controlled, but inside, it was a different story. I knew I had to tread carefully; one wrong move and this could spiral out of control faster than a street race in the dead of night.

Because Alex was right.

That missing girl was in my bed.

"There's no fucking way," I hissed, feeling a rare surge of anger toward my father. "You think I'd be sloppy enough to let some girl from the coffee shop tie me to anything?"

"Your temper, Nathan. Keep it in check," he warned, his voice dropping to a sharp whisper that had commanded silence from more seasoned men than myself.

"Tell Alex to back off."

"Handle it," was all he said before the line went dead.

As I lowered the phone, the tension didn't leave with the call. It clung to me, heavy as the San Francisco fog. Then I heard the soft rustle of sheets from the bedroom, the creak of weight shifting on an old bed frame.

Abby was waking up.

A second later, she appeared in the doorway. My breath caught—she looked like disarray made beautiful, her brown hair tousled around her face, green eyes blinking sleep away. She wore my shirt, the hem barely reaching mid-thigh, and for a moment, I saw her not as my captive, but as someone who might have chosen to be here with me.

Reality crashed in hard. She'd handcrafted a weapon to hurt me; she'd fought hard when I took her.

And yet last night, she hadn't used the wine bottle or the corkscrew against me.

She hadn't tried to escape.

No, she had lain beside me, her breath even against my chest, as if there was nowhere else she'd rather be.

I had to do something about her. But as I watched her move towards me, a realization hit me like a sucker punch—I couldn't kill her. The thought alone coiled in my gut, repulsive and unthinkable. Not because she was useful, not because she was leverage.

I liked her—too damn much.

"Morning," she said, her voice rough with sleep. There was a vulnerability there, in the way she reached for a strand of hair and tucked it behind her ear, and it stirred something in me I had no business feeling.

"Morning," I echoed, my voice a low rumble, as I fought to keep the dangerous softness at bay.

I liked using her, that's what I told myself; it was about control, power, nothing more. But deep down, I knew. I knew the way my pulse quickened when she looked at me wasn't just lust—it was something darker, something deeper, something that had no place in the life of the Serpent's Fang.

Any attachment to her was dangerous—especially now that she'd been declared missing. She was a liability, and I needed to…

No.

I couldn't think about that right now.

I killed the thought, buried it under layers of ice and steel.

"Who was that on the phone?" Abby asked, her eyes searching mine with an intensity that I didn't want to face.

I shoved the phone into my pocket with more force than necessary. My jaw clenched, my hand forming a fist at my side. "Nobody," I snapped, my voice harsher than I intended.

"You seem upset," she said quietly. "You sure you don't want to talk about it?"

I glowered at her. "Toys don't ask questions."

Her face faltered for a moment, hurt flashing across her features before she masked it with indifference. She squared her shoulders, the defiance returning. "Right. Because I'm just your toy," she said, her tone mocking, challenging.

"Exactly," I replied, though every part of me rebelled against the word. I wanted to grab her, pull her close, erase the distance and the lies between us.

But this was the game—this was the role I'd cast her in. The one I had to maintain if I was going to keep her alive, even if it strangled the truth in my throat.

"Then I guess toys don't need breakfast," she quipped, turning away from me, the air around us growing cold as the pretense settled back in place.

"Abby—" The name slipped out, raw and exposed, before I could stop it.

She halted but didn't turn around, waiting.

"Never mind," I muttered, turning my back on her and the dangerous sliver of something like hope that tried to wedge its way into my chest. It had no place here, in the world I ruled with an iron fist.

There was no room for softness, not in the dark heart of the Triad.

Not if I wanted to survive.