Chapter Fifty Nathan

My hands clenched the steering wheel, knuckles white as the Palo Alto city limits sign blurred past us. The California sunset cast shadows across the dashboard, doing nothing to ease the knot of apprehension that had taken up permanent residence in my stomach.

I stole a glance at Abby. She was staring out the window, her green eyes scanning the passing landscape—likely cataloging escape routes and potential threats.

Made sense, given everything she now knew.

"Everything's going to be fine," she said, but her voice didn't carry the conviction I needed to hear. It was a brave front, and we both knew it.

I grunted in response, my focus on the road ahead. I'd laid bare all my secrets to her, each one a noose tightening around my neck. In telling her what I was, who I was, I'd not only endangered her life but signed my own death warrant if things went south.

And yet, as we drove closer to my family's unassuming home nestled among the cookie-cutter houses of suburbia, I couldn't shake the thought that I'd do it all over again.

I trusted her, and that was something I rarely afforded anyone.

"Here we are," I murmured as I turned the car into the driveway.

Abby turned to look at the house, her expression softening in surprise. "This is it? It looks…normal. Kind of cute, actually."

I almost laughed, a short, sharp sound devoid of humor. "Looks can be deceiving," I said, though I didn't elaborate. My own place was a fortress compared to this, the luxury barely concealing the decadence and danger within. Here, any traces of what my family truly was were skillfully hidden behind quaint shutters and blooming rose bushes.

But I knew better than to be charmed by the facade. I had spilled enough blood in the basement beneath those roses to ensure that this house would never be anything but a mausoleum to me.

The sun hung low, casting long shadows across the pavement as I killed the engine and looked out at the scene before us. Across the street, a couple of kids dribbled a basketball, their laughter slicing the morning air with a normalcy that felt alien. They were just kids, doing what kids do, blissfully unaware of the darkness lurking behind closed doors.

"Whose car is that?" Abby's voice was laced with disbelief as she eyed the modest budget sedan parked in the driveway next to mine.

"My mother," I chuckled. "Surprised?"

"I don't know, I just figured every Zhou drove a Porsche," she laughed.

"I don't."

"But you're you."

"And what does that mean?"

"You're…" she furrowed her brow. "You're Nathan. I know you. And I just know you wouldn't drive a porsche."

I shook my head, not sure what the hell that meant—but finding myself oddly flattered. "Well…yes, my mother drives a budget sedan. Just wait until you meet the rest of my family."

We made our way to the door, and I lowered my voice to speak in private one last time before this test.

"Remember what I told you," I said, turning towards her, the weight of my father's expectations pressing down on me like a physical force. "Don't let this fool you. My family…they're dangerous. Stick to the story. Always stay on guard."

Abby nodded, her eyes meeting mine with a determination that steeled my resolve. She understood the stakes—her life, my life, all teetering on the edge of a knife that could fall at any moment.

I pushed open the door, and the scent of simmering broth and spices wrapped around me like a familiar embrace. Ma's cooking always had that effect—grounding, almost capable of making me forget who I was and what I'd done.

"Hey, Nate!" Justin's voice cut through the homely atmosphere, his tone bright but laced with a hint of pain. He was reclining on the couch, a bandage peeking out from under his shirt and another on his head, evidence of his wounds from the club. His arm was in a sling.

At the sight of Abby, he straightened slightly, his eyes widening in a mix of surprise and curiosity. Next to him, Lily lifted her gaze, mirroring my brother's expression.

"Never thought I'd see the day," Justin blurted, a teasing glint in his eyes as they locked onto Abby. "Nathan Zhou, bringing a girl home."

"Justin," Lily scolded gently, though a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "Leave her be."

I shot them both a warning look, hoping they'd remember not to push too hard. But there was something about their banter—typical, annoying sibling stuff—that eased the tension coiled tight in my chest.

"Nice to meet you," Abby said, extending a hand towards Justin with a confidence that made me proud. She didn't flinch under their scrutiny or shy away from the spotlight suddenly thrust upon her. It was that same boldness that had caught my attention when she'd first walked past the flower shop…the same boldness that had stopped me from killing her.

"Likewise," Justin replied, grasping her hand with a grin that told me he approved—and also that he would give her hell for it later. "So, what's your story?"

"Justin," Lily warned again, shooting me an apologetic look before turning her attention back to Abby. "Ignore him. We're glad you're here."

"Thanks," Abby replied with a smile, maintaining her composure while my heart thrummed with a mixture of pride and fear. She was playing her part flawlessly, every word and gesture calculated to put my family at ease.

"Let's eat," I said quickly, eager to move past this moment of scrutiny. "Knowing her, Ma's been cooking all day."

We moved toward the kitchen, and the scent of simmering spices greeted us, mingling with the warm undertones of soy and ginger. "Ma," I called out as we stepped through the doorway.

My mother turned from where she stood by the stove, a wooden spoon in her hand. Her black hair was pulled back into a neat bun, and the corners of her eyes crinkled as she smiled at Abby.

"Ah, Nathan, you brought company," she said in English, her tone light, betraying nothing of the life we led beyond these walls.

"Abby, this is my mother, Evelyn Zhou." I gestured between them, watching Abby extend her hand with the same grace she'd shown my siblings.

"Mrs. Zhou, it's an honor to meet you," Abby said, slipping effortlessly into the role we'd rehearsed.

"I'm so happy to meet you," Ma smiled, taking Abby's hand in both of hers. "And the honor is mine. Nathan has never brought a girl home before. We're thrilled."

The words hung in the air, thick with unspoken meaning. The smile on my mother's face was warm, but her eyes—sharp and knowing—suggested she was aware there was more to Abby than met the eye.

I could only hope she'd keep her observations to herself for now.

Abby smiled. "Your home is lovely."

"Wait until you try the food," I chimed in, trying to maintain a lightness I didn't feel. "No one cooks like Ma."

"Justin has asked for beef noodle soup," Ma revealed, the clatter of pots and pans punctuating her words. "I'm just about to serve it, though I'm not sure if your father will join us until later." She glanced at the clock, a frown momentarily clouding her features.

"Can I help with anything?" Abby's offer was tentative but sincere, her green eyes reflecting a desire to belong—or at least appear to.

"Of course, dear," Ma responded, her voice gentle. "You can help me set the bowls out. And Justin—please bring the broth to the table."

A simple task, but the way Abby stepped forward, eager to assist, made something in my chest loosen—a mix of relief and an emotion I wasn't ready to name. It was ridiculous how such a small gesture could stir warmth in me, especially given the tension that had coiled tight in my stomach since we'd left my place.

"Thank you," Abby said, accepting a stack of deep porcelain bowls from Ma. Her movements were careful, respectful of the kitchen's order.

"Be careful with those," I warned, though it was unnecessary. I knew she could handle far more than delicate china—she'd proven as much already. But watching her here, in this ordinary scene, I couldn't help but feel a tug of normalcy amidst the chaos of our lives.

"Always am," she replied with a wink, and I couldn't help but crack a smile.

Ma led the way, and Abby followed, their heads close together as they spoke softly. The sight of them together, united by the simple act of preparing dinner, stirred a sense of yearning within me. For a moment, I allowed myself to indulge in the fantasy that this could be real—that Abby could truly be part of this world without the dangerous truths that lay beneath the surface.

I grabbed the steaming pot of broth, feeling the heat seep through the kitchen towel wrapped around the handle. The familiar smell filled my senses, and for a second, I forgot about the danger lurking just beneath our feet. Ma always knew how to make a house feel like a home.

"Let me help with that," Justin offered, pushing himself up from the couch with a groan. I shot him a look that said he should be resting, but he shrugged it off with a grin that didn't reach his eyes. We all knew he was putting on a brave face.

"Take the rice instead, man," I suggested, nodding toward a less cumbersome dish. He complied, and together we made our way to the dining room where Lily had already set out the chopsticks and spoons.

The table looked inviting, the bowls lined up neatly, waiting to be filled. Abby was placing the last of the dishes when I caught her eye and gave her a reassuring nod. She returned it with a slight smile, her green eyes catching the light in a way that made them appear like calm seas—a stark contrast to the storm I felt inside, anxiety nagging at me. Until my father arrived, I didn't know if she was safe—and I'd come with a gun on my hip just in case.

"Abby, you can take Alex's seat," I said, gesturing towards an empty chair as Ma took her place at the head of the table. I couldn't help but glance toward the door Alex would usually breeze through, the absence of his presence heavy in the air. "He won't be joining us."

"Did something happen to him?" Lily asked, my mother's face going pale.

"We need to wait until Ba gets here," I murmured. "Then we'll talk."

As if on cue, the air grew thick with something unspoken, a weighted silence that settled around us like a shroud. Our heads turned almost in unison toward the hallway as the sound of measured footsteps signaled his approach.

"Abby," I whispered, my hand finding hers across the table and giving it a gentle squeeze. "Stay cool." Her fingers tightened around mine, the only sign of her unease.

He appeared then, my father, Kenny Zhou, the outline of his figure casting a long shadow before him as he walked down the hall from his office. His hair was touched with grey, his face an unreadable mask as always. This man could command a room with a look, and here at home, it was no different.

Abby stood up abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor, her movements stiff, awkward. She extended her hand first, a move that took courage given the man she faced.

"Mr. Zhou," she greeted him, her voice steady despite the tension.

"Ah, you must be Abigail Harper," Ba said, his tone neutral as he shook her hand. "Nathan's girlfriend."

"Nice to meet you, sir," she replied, holding his gaze.

I felt it then, a surge of pride for this woman who stood before the Serpent without flinching. She didn't know him like I did, but she knew enough to understand the risk, the danger of what she was doing just by being here, just by holding onto my world with both hands.

"Sit, sit," Ba waved off the formality, though his eyes lingered on Abby a moment longer before he took his place at the table. "Let's eat."

The clatter of chopsticks and the rustling of bowls filled the space as we settled in around the dining table, a spread of steaming dishes between us. Ma took the lead, her questions gentle but probing, aimed at Abby.

"So, Abby dear, where did you go to school?" she asked, passing a dish of stir-fried vegetables toward her.

"UCLA," Abby responded smoothly, her green eyes meeting Ma's with an ease that belied the lies she had to weave into truth. "I studied art history."

"Ah, that's a lovely subject," Ma said with a nod, clearly pleased. "And what do you do now?"

"I'm currently looking for work in a museum," she replied, taking a modest portion of the veggies. "It's been a bit of a whirlwind trying to get my feet under me."

I watched her, admiration warming me from the inside out. The way she navigated the conversation, it was like watching a seasoned artist paint a masterpiece. Every stroke, every line, was deliberate and without hesitation.

"And how did you two meet?" Lily piped up from across the table, her curiosity plain on her face.

Abby glanced at me, a silent plea for me to jump in, but I wanted to hear her tell it. I nodded slightly, urging her to continue.

"We met at Grant Avenue Floral, actually," she began, a light blush dusting her cheeks, and my gaze dropped to her lips as she spoke. "I was leaving work at the cafe next door and got distracted by the bouquets…and Nathan gave me one for free. After that, well, things just sort of...took off."

The corners of my mouth tugged into a faint smile, pride swelling inside me like a rising tide as Abby spun our tale with the skill of a seasoned storyteller. Her voice carried the melody of truth laced with the necessity of fiction, and it was all I could do to not reach across the table and lace my fingers with hers.

But the warmth of the moment dissipated as plates clinked against each other, signaling the end of the meal. Ba pushed his chair back with an air of finality that turned the atmosphere heavy.

"Justin, Nathan, we need to discuss business," he said, his voice devoid of the familial warmth that had surrounded us just moments before.

I felt Abby's gaze on me, her eyes searching for reassurance. I knew what waited in the shadows of those discussions—cold calculations and decisions bathed in danger. My chest tightened at the thought, but I couldn't let fear rule this moment.

"Actually, Ba," I began, my voice steady despite the quickening of my heartbeat, "I think we should stay put. After the mess with Justin, it's time we all understood the stakes. No more secrets."

A silence fell over the dining room, thick enough to smother flames.

Ba's stare fixed on me, hard and unyielding. His eyes, which I knew could command legions, bore into mine. The rest of the family seemed to hold their breath, the tension coiling around us like one of the serpents from his tattoos.

"Everyone?" His single word echoed with disbelief and the undercurrent of a challenge.

"Everyone," I affirmed, meeting his stare without flinching. I couldn't risk Abby—or anyone else here—not knowing the full extent of the danger. If bringing her into the fold meant standing up to the man who taught me everything about power and survival, so be it.

"Let's talk. Just you and me, son," Ba said in Mandarin after a long, drawn-out pause, but the set of his jaw told me this conversation was far from over.

We were on dangerous ground, but looking at Abby, feeling the weight of her trust, I knew there was no turning back now.