Chapter Forty Nathan

The car's engine hummed a low growl as I navigated the dusky streets towards the Tenderloin. The dashboard lights cast an amber glow on Abby's profile, her expression serious as she recited our cover story with precision. Her green eyes flicked to mine in the rearview mirror, seeking confirmation.

"We met outside the flower shop," she said, her voice steady but I could hear the undercurrent of nerves. She tucked a strand of brown hair behind her ear, a habit I'd come to recognize when she was focusing. "You gave me a bouquet."

I nodded, keeping my eyes on the road, but my grip on the steering wheel tightened. That part was true…but it was what came after that made me nervous. "And I couldn't resist your charm. Then we met at the club later, talked all night…I took you home, and we spent four days together."

"Exactly." She leaned back, folding her arms. "It's simple. Stick to the script. My dad won't want to know the gory details anyway."

"Right," I murmured, though my mind was racing with every possible thing that could go wrong. I didn't need to remind myself how high the stakes were; one slip could mean the end for both of us.

The Copper Spoon soon loomed into view, its sign an oasis of light in the creeping shadows of evening. I parked the sleek sedan along the street, and there he was.

Owen Harper. Abby's dad.

He had the same arresting emerald gaze that could cut through lies like they were nothing. A retired cop with a reputation for being unshakeable, and now, he was about to meet me, Nathan Zhou—Fangs—the man who had built his life on secrets.

He had no idea who I was, but I'd done my research on him. He was somewhat of a legend on the east coast—notorious for taking down the Rossi family—and he'd worked in vice most of his life.

I had to be careful.

"Remember, deep breaths," I told Abby, though it felt more like a reminder for myself.

But she was already opening the door, stepping out in a hurry. Her dad hadn't seen us yet, but she'd seen him—and she was ready to reunite with him.

"Abby," I called out, my tone betraying a hint of the panic that was starting to claw at the edges of my composure.

She turned to me, her green eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that almost made me forget myself. "It'll be fine, Nathan. Trust me," she whispered.

And then she was out of the car before I could say another word.

I watched, heart hammering against my ribcage, as she strode towards the man who shared her sharp features and that same determined glint in his eyes. The moment Abby's arms wrapped around her father in a hurried embrace, something inside me twisted uncomfortably. It wasn't just the fear of being exposed; it was seeing them together—a family reunited after so much time apart.

Her dad's arms enveloped her, and even from the distance, I could see the release of tension in his shoulders, the unspoken relief flooding through him. For a split second, I envied them that simple human connection, untainted by the dark world I inhabited.

My father had threatened to kill her as leverage over me.

Her father…she actually liked him.

Why had I brought her into my twisted life?

I got out of the car and shut the door, locked it, walked toward them. They were still locked in a hug, and I heard him murmur, "God, I was so worried, Sprout," as I came closer.

Sprout.

It made my stomach twist…because this wasn't just the woman who'd caught me in the act, the woman who'd captured my heart.

She was somebody's daughter. This man's daughter.

The sight of tears welling up in his eyes made me feel like an intruder on this intimate moment. He brushed them away with the back of his hand, a gesture so swift it was as if he was refusing to acknowledge their existence.

"Hey there," he said, turning to me with an outstretched hand, the lines on his face rearranging into a welcoming smile. He was a fit older man, clearly still in the business of putting criminals away—with sharp eyes and a neatly trimmed grey beard. "You must be Nathan, the mysterious boyfriend. I'm Owen Harper."

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Harper," I said as I shook his hand, feeling the firm grip of a man who'd spent a lifetime upholding the law—a stark reminder of the world Abby came from and the one I was dragging her into.

We walked into the Copper Spoon together, the bell above the door announcing our arrival. The place was quiet, almost too quiet for comfort, with only a few patrons scattered around the tables. Their badges glinted under the ambient light, catching my attention immediately.

Cops. A room full of them.

My instincts screamed at me to get out, to take Abby and disappear into the night where we belonged. But I couldn't. Not now. Not with Owen Harper scrutinizing my every move, searching for the truth behind the mask I wore.

"Table for three," Owen said to the hostess, his voice calm and assured. We followed her to a secluded corner of the restaurant—an attempt at privacy or maybe just a coincidence. Either way, I was grateful for the distance from the prying eyes of San Francisco's finest.

As we settled into our seats, I couldn't shake off the sensation of being watched. The weight of their glances felt heavy, oppressive, like chains wrapped around my chest. I had to remind myself that none of them knew my face, that I was just another customer here for a meal.

But inside, I knew better. This wasn't just any dinner—it was a test. One wrong move, one slip-up, and everything could come crashing down around us. Abby's safety, my family's empire, the delicate balance we'd managed to maintain—everything hinged on this performance.

She could escape here and now, and destroy my whole life.

Why had I trusted her?

"Looks cozy, doesn't it?" Abby commented, her voice light, but her eyes scanning the room with the same vigilance I felt. It put me at ease a bit—as if she was my co-conspirator and not my prisoner.

"Cozy isn't the word I'd use," I muttered under my breath, forcing a tight smile as I picked up the menu. My mind, however, remained focused on the men and women who served the law—a constant threat to people like me.

"Sorry, I didn't catch that," Abby's father chimed in, breaking my line of thought. His eyes, so much like hers, were full of innocent curiosity, not the hardened suspicion I was bracing for.

"Nothing important," I reassured him, plastering a casual smile on my face. The kind that I hoped would make me look less like the criminal I was and more like the charming boyfriend I was pretending to be.

Abby leaned forward then, her hands folded neatly on the table—a picture of poise and grace. She began weaving our fabricated tale with such finesse it almost made me believe it myself. Her voice was steady, her story detailed but not overly so. She knew just what to say, how to say it, to paint the picture we wanted her dad to see.

"And I'm really sorry, Dad, for just vanishing like that," she interjected with a rueful smile, briefly touching his hand across the table. "It wasn't meant to be such a drama. It's just…things happened so fast, you know? One moment we were talking about flowers, the next thing I knew, I got caught up in the whirlwind of it all."

"Romance has a way of doing that to you," Owen said, chuckling softly, obviously touched by her words. "Whisking you away before you even realize your feet have left the ground. Me and your mother were the same way."

"Exactly," she agreed, giving him an affectionate nod. "But I should've handled it better, let you know I was okay. My phone just died and I didn't think to charge it…"

Her apology seemed genuine, and I could tell it meant something to her dad. He reached out and patted her hand, his eyes brightening with forgiveness and understanding. Seeing them together, their bond so evident, tugged at something deep within me—a yearning for a connection I hadn't realized I'd been missing.

"Love does strange things to us," Owen mused, glancing at me with a softness that contradicted everything I stood for. "Makes us do unexpected things."

Abby looked over at me with a smile, and I thought in that moment I could see the love I wanted so badly from her. "It really does."

I couldn't stop looking at her, couldn't get over how my heart raced when she met my eyes. But Owen turned his gaze to me, green eyes sharp under the low light of the restaurant. "So what's your story, Nathan? What do you do?"

I felt Abby's foot brush mine under the table; a silent cue to stick to our story. My pulse quickened—not from fear, but from the thrill of the challenge. I leaned back in my chair, trying to appear casual as the scrutiny of an experienced cop bore into me.

"I manage properties around the city," I said, holding his gaze steadily. It wasn't a complete lie—I did oversee some of the fronts the Golden Serpents used—but it was far from the whole truth.

"Real estate, huh?" Owen's eyes searched mine, looking for something I couldn't quite place. "That's a tough business around here."

"Definitely has its moments," I admitted with a shrug. "But it's rewarding when everything comes together."

"Must keep you busy."

"Busy enough."

"And you went to school, I presume? Management?" Owen asked, his tone casual but eyes still assessing.

"Actually, I studied philosophy at Stanford," I replied, watching as Abby's face registered surprise. It wasn't a detail I had shared with her, a piece of my past life that seemed incongruent with the man I was now.

"Stanford? Philosophy?" Abby echoed, her eyebrows arching in genuine curiosity. "I didn't know that about you."

"Most people don't." A shadow crossed my face for a moment, the ghost of another life. "It's not exactly practical in my line of work."

"Interesting combination, though," Owen mused, folding his arms. "Real estate and philosophy."

"Sometimes it helps to ponder the bigger picture," I said with a half-smile, trying to maintain the facade of a normal conversation despite the undercurrents of tension.

"Philosophy's all about asking the right questions," Owen remarked, his gaze flickering between us. "Now, are you putting that degree to any use these days?"

"Rarely," I admitted, feeling the weight of the dragon inked onto my skin beneath my shirt—a constant reminder of the path I had been forced down. "I went into business with my family after graduation. It's…a different kind of challenge."

"Family business can be complicated," Owen nodded, a knowing look in his eyes. He flashed a look at Abby that I didn't quite understand, and I watched as she took a big gulp of her water.

He had no idea just how complicated my family was.

It seemed he was satisfied, though, because after that the conversation settled into little life updates—about work, life, Owen's cat. An hour later, the dinner plates had been cleared, and the check settled with a polite fight over who would pay—Owen insisting, me deferring out of respect. The conversation had taken on a lighter tone as we ventured into anecdotes about Abby's childhood adventures, moments when her tenacity had first shown through. Her laughter was easy, and it filled the space between us with a warmth that was hard to fake.

I wanted to know everything about her.

"Thanks for dinner, Dad," Abby said, her voice softening as we walked out of the restaurant. She turned once we were out the door and wrapped her arms around her father in a tight embrace. "It was really great to catch up."

"Anytime, Sprout," Owen replied, his hand gently patting her back. He looked at her with a mixture of pride and something else—worry, maybe, or just the natural concern of a father for his daughter.

Then he fixed his eyes on me over her shoulder, and I read the meaning quite clearly.

If you hurt her, I'll fucking kill you.

I nodded once, making sure he understood that I would protect her, no matter what.

As they parted, Abby lingered beside him, her green eyes searching his face. "How long are you planning on staying in town?"

"Thinking I might stick around for a while," Owen said, his gaze drifting past her to the darkened street outside. "There's some unfinished business I need to take care of—and you gave me quite the scare, kiddo. Can we do lunch soon, just the two of us? Catch up properly?"

"Of course, Dad." Abby's smile was genuine, a light in her eyes that I hadn't seen before.

Then she turned to me, giving me a look that drilled straight through my composure. It was pointed, telling me without words that this was something I had to let her do.

I didn't like that.

Annoyance twisted in my gut. She'd played her part flawlessly tonight, but that look reminded me that by letting her back into public, I'd given her agency. It was that defiance, that spirit, which drew me to her and infuriated me at the same time. ‘

Tonight, she'd been the perfect girlfriend in front of her father, but later…I'd remind her who was really in control.

"Sounds good," I said, keeping my voice even, masking the irritation that bubbled beneath the surface. "I'll give you two some space."

"Thanks, Nathan," she replied, her green eyes flicking back to me with a sharpness that said she knew exactly what she was doing to me. It was like she had peered into my soul and found every weak spot with unnerving accuracy. "But we should be going—I told Erika that I'd be by the apartment soon."

"Drive safe, you two," Owen said, pulling Abby into one last hug before letting her go.

"Will do," I assured him, ushering Abby toward my car parked under the streetlight's glow. The evening air was brisk, carrying the city's pulse through the Tenderloin, but the tension between us now was like an entirely different entity—alive and demanding to be acknowledged.

As we slid into the car, the leather seats cool against our skin, silence settled heavily around us. I started the engine, the low rumble a stark background to the quiet that stretched out, taut as a wire.

Abby buckled herself in, her movements deliberate, her freckles standing out against her fair skin in the dim light of the dashboard. I couldn't help but wonder what was going on behind those eyes, what game she thought she was playing.

"Mind swinging by my place so I can pick up some things?" she asked. "I just want to put Erika at ease while we're at it."

I didn't want to do that at all—didn't want to stop by her place—but she had told her father we were going to her old apartment, and now he would have questions if I raced her home.

"Give me the address," I muttered.

She did, and I punched in the address to get navigation started. We steered toward her apartment–her old apartment, since she lived with me now.

But that didn't mean I was lying down.

After this, we would go back home, and I would lock her in again. Because she had to remember one thing: I wanted to keep her alive, but I didn't care about keeping her happy.

At least that's what I told myself as we drove away from the Tenderloin and she wiped the tears off her face.