Wang's Pov.
Zhan doesn't look up. He doesn't even flinch. Just keeps drinking like none of this concerns him. But me? I hear every word, and every damn syllable grates against my skin.
Considering your past, Ezra's smug little jab echoes in my head like a drum.
Dre's crying. Real, broken crying. His voice shatters as he swears he's done, swears he has no feelings for Zhan. And maybe that should comfort me. Maybe it should put the fire in my chest out.
But it doesn't.
Because all I can picture is Zhan with him, not now, not even recently, just the thought of it ever happening has me burning.
My fists ache from how hard I'm clenching them. My jaw's locked so tight I can feel the veins pulse in my temples.
And Zhan, my Zhan, sits there quiet, drowning in his damn drink, letting them throw his name around like a knife on the table.
I can't take it anymore.
"You two done?" My voice cuts through the room like a blade. Dre freezes, Ezra finally looks away from him, and Zhan slowly lifts his head, his eyes bloodshot from liquor and whatever storm he's holding inside.
I step forward, every word sharp. "If either of you brings Zhan into your circus again, I swear I'll end it. I don't care about your fights, your jealousy, your history, none of it. But don't drag him into your mess."
Ezra opens his mouth, but I slice him off. "Not. A. Word."
The silence that follows is heavier than any fight we've had so far.
Then my gaze finds Zhan, and the anger twists into something darker, jealousy, fear, love all tangled in one ugly knot. My voice softens, but it's still hard around the edges.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
He blinks, confused. "Tell you what?"
"That it happened," I bite out. "That once upon a time, he had his hands on you. That you let him close enough to even become your past."
Zhan flinches, and it's like gasoline on my fire. My chest feels like it might explode.
Because deep down, I don't even care how long ago it was. I just care that it was.
And now I don't know if I want to pull him into my arms or push him as far away as possible.
His voice slices through the air, sharper than anything I've ever heard from him.
"Well, since you care to know, I'll tell you."
Zhan stands, and suddenly the room feels too small. His eyes are cold, distant, lock onto mine, and every word he spits feels like a blade.
"I was born unlucky. My mother is a drug addict. I was used up as a sex toy by Ziyi and her friends. My mother gave me up for sex in exchange for drugs. She gave up our house in exchange for drugs. My grandmother was sick, and I needed money for hospital bills and a new home. Luckily Black introduced me to Dre and his ex-friend. I made good money from it. Oh sure, out of all that fortune, I just had to splurge on that shiny little masterpiece dangling on your neck. I was a man whore. And you knew before you came for me."
His voice doesn't break. Not once.
Then he leans forward just enough, his words dripping ice as he stares me down.
"So, is there anything else I left out?"
My throat goes dry.
It's not the confession, it's the way he says it. Like the past isn't something that scarred him but something he's branded himself with, so no one else gets the satisfaction of shaming him. His eyes aren't pleading, they're daring. Daring me to flinch, to recoil, to confirm every ugly thing he already believes about himself.
And God, my chest aches so bad I want to scream.
I want to take him in my arms, hold him so tight the past can't reach him. But I also want to punch something, anything, because hearing it like this, raw and cruel, makes me feel powerless.
Dre's wiping his face in the corner, Ezra looks like he's been slapped, but none of them matter right now.
It's just Zhan.
And me.
My voice cracks when I finally speak.
"You think that changes what I feel for you?"
His jaw tightens. He looks away like he doesn't want to hear me, like he's already decided I'll walk out.
But I don't. I can't.
I step closer, close enough to feel the heat radiating off him.
"You think your scars scare me?" My voice is rough, trembling with something between rage and love. "No, Zhan. They make me want to burn the whole damn world for you."
"You know all this and you still taunt me with it." Zhan's voice shakes with fury, but his eyes stay hard.
"I'm sorry," I blurt, hands up like that could undo it. "I don't know what came over me—"
"I don't care." His words land like a punch. "But you don't get to behave like that toward me. I'm not the one who's married and has a daughter."
The silence after that is deafening.
"Okay, I think this is going too far," Ezra mutters.
"You started it," Dre snaps, his voice still raw from crying. Then he shoves his chair back, the scrape loud against the floor. "I'm leaving tomorrow morning. I wish y'all the best." He disappears down the hall, and the slam of a locked door rattles through the house.
"Fuck," Ezra hisses under his breath. He rubs a hand down his face, then looks at me like he can't believe the mess we're in. "I don't know what happened, I swear. I was only teasing."
"I don't care what you think or feel," Zhan cuts in, his tone colder than I've ever heard it. He pushes his chair like Dre did and walks away, the click of our door locking stabbing through me worse than any scream could.
Ezra curses again, grabs the bottle, and pours us both drinks. Neither of us says a word.
We just sit there in the wreckage, glass after glass, drowning in the silence and in our own foolishness.
Because I know Zhan's story. Because I know what he's lived through. And getting jealous? That was beneath him and beneath me.
And now I've hurt the one person I swore to protect.
And that's a regret that burns hotter than anything I've ever felt.
The night stretched on like a punishment.
Ezra passed out on the couch after too many glasses, the empty bottles rolling under the table. Dre's door stayed shut, no sound, no movement. And Zhan's door... locked. Always locked.
I stared at the ceiling for hours, the alcohol a dull throb in my veins, but not enough to quiet the ache in my chest. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw his face, the way his eyes had gone cold, the way his voice had cut me open. I'm not the one who's married and has a daughter.
He was right. He was right, and that made it worse.
By morning, my body felt heavy, my throat dry, but my mind was clear in the cruelest way.
Ezra groaned awake, rubbed his temples, and mumbled something I didn't bother to catch.
But all I could think about was the locked door down the hall.
I stood outside it, hand hovering inches from the wood. I wanted to knock. To apologize. To beg. To tell him every stupid ounce of jealousy came from love and fear and nothing else.
But I didn't. Not yet.
Instead, I whispered through the barrier between us, low and rough.
"Zhan... I'm not leaving. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever. When you're ready, I'll be here."
Then I pressed my forehead against the door, just long enough to feel the weight of it, before walking away.
Because sometimes regret doesn't get erased overnight. Sometimes it has to burn first.
"Come," I muttered, jerking my chin toward the balcony. Ezra dragged his feet behind me, rubbing his temples, still groggy from last night's bottle.
I glanced at the monitors. Ziyi was already up, glass in hand, pouring wine like it was water.
I grabbed one of the burner phones from the table, weighed it in my palm as I slid the balcony door open. Cool morning air rushed in, sharp against the haze of alcohol still clinging to the house.
Ezra groaned, leaning against the railing. "I dreamt of Dre all night," he hissed, voice hoarse.
"We'll fix it," I said flatly, already scrolling through the digits. My thumb hovered over the call button. "But first, her."
The line rang once. Twice. Then a click.
A pause.
"Who is this?" Ziyi's voice already husky from drinking spilled through the speaker.
I let the silence drag, the corner of my mouth curling.
"Someone who knows what you did," I said finally, my tone low, deliberate. "And someone who's going to make you pay for it."
Ezra's eyes flicked toward me, the hangover forgotten, curiosity sparking in his gaze.
On the other end, Ziyi laughed, a short, mocking sound. "Is this a joke? You think you can scare me?"
I leaned over the railing, staring down at the city beneath us, my voice calm as ice. I want to see if your voice trembles when you're scared. To find out if the great monster is as untouchable as she pretends to be."
You have the wrong number," she says, voice flat.
My eyes glitter. "No. I have the right number. The right house. The right face. I can see the dress you're wearing right now Ziyi. I mention her name.
Ziyi freezes.
She doesn't hang up. That tells me more than words ever could.
I tilt my head, still watching her through the binoculars. "Relax. If I wanted to kill you this morning, you'd already be bleeding on that blue rug. I'm just saying hello."
Her breathing changes, faster, sharper, trying to mask panic. "You're playing a dangerous game."
My smile widens. "That's the best kind." Then I click the line dead before she can answer.
Across the street, Ziyi hurls her glass into the wall, shards exploding across the floor.
As if on cue, Ezra smirked as he slipped his real phone from his pocket, the one Ziyi actually had saved. He dialed, smooth as ever.
"Hey, b. Good morning." His voice dripped warmth.
On the other end, I heard it, her breathing. Shaky. Uneven.
Ezra tilted his head, tone soft, concerned. "Are you okay?"
A pause. Then Ziyi's voice, trembling but trying to steady. "No, no. I'm fine. My cousin... annoyed me this morning. She lied."
"Mm," Ezra soothed, like he believed her. "Have you had breakfast yet?"
"Not yet," she muttered.
"Oh, I'm making breakfast," Ezra purred. "Do you want to come over?"
There was another pause, longer this time, like she was weighing danger against desire. Then, quiet and almost childlike: "Yes."
"I'll have my driver pick you up," Ezra said smoothly. He ended the call with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
The second the line went dead, I hissed, pacing the balcony. "She's scared. And she's coming straight into the lion's den."
Ezra's grin widened. "Right where we want her."
But my gut twisted. I glanced at the hall, at the door Zhan had locked himself behind. He hadn't come out all night, not even once.
I dragged a hand through my hair. "I pray she gets here before Zhan comes out of that room," I muttered.
"You want to surprise him with her?" Ezra's grin was wicked, sharp around the edges.
"Yes," I murmured, the words heavy on my tongue. "As a reconciliation gift."
"Good." His eyes gleamed.
We stepped back inside, the air thick with intent. I pulled out my phone and typed fast, sending the driver Ziyi's address. Bring her.
Then my gaze swept the room.
A chair already waited in the center, plain and sturdy. We'd dragged it there after midnight, half a joke at first, but now? Now it felt like an altar.
I paced around it, imagining her tied down, the paper walls of her lies stripped away, her mask crumbling under Zhan's gaze.
Ezra leaned against the wall, watching me work. "Where do you want her?"
I touched the back of the chair, fingers tapping the wood like a judge's gavel.
"Right here," I said, voice low. "In the middle. So when Zhan walks out, she's the first thing he sees. Not me. Not you. Her."
Ezra's smirk widened. "Like a sacrificial lamb."
"Exactly."
The monitors glowed from the table, her face still flickering across the feed, drinking like she had no idea the trap was closing in.
I tightened my fists, feeling that same burn of regret from last night, but twisting it now into resolve.
"If he won't listen to me," I muttered, "he'll see her. And he'll remember who the real enemy is."
Ezra's voice was soft, almost guilty. "We went overboard last night. I forgot Dre is fragile. I'll have to apologize for the rest of my life for behaving like a brute."
I stirred the coffee slowly, the dark liquid swirling like the storm still sitting in my chest. "I agree," I said, setting the cup down in front of him.
We sat in silence, sipping bitter heat, the weight of last night pressing between us.
Then—ding dong.
The doorbell.
Right on time.
I rose, mug still in hand, and crossed to the hallway. My pulse slowed, sharpened, as I positioned myself just out of sight behind the door.
Ezra opened it, the steam from his cup curling upward like smoke from a candle.
"Hi, b," he said smoothly, stepping back to let her in.
"Lovely," Ziyi answered, her red lips curling in a smile that didn't reach her eyes. She swept inside, perfume trailing behind her like a warning.
I closed the space behind her, quiet as a shadow. Ezra's hand brushed the door shut with a low click that sounded too final, too deliberate.
And then it was just us.
She, walking unsuspecting into the den.
Ezra, sipping coffee like nothing was amiss.
And me, standing behind her, watching the sacrificial lamb take her place at the altar.
Ezra's smile was effortless, practiced. "Come in, sit down. You must be tired from last night."
Ziyi's heels clicked against the floor as she stepped further inside, eyes darting around the spacious living room. The faintest edge of wariness tightened her shoulders, but she masked it with a small smile.
"Smells good," she said lightly. "Coffee?"
"Of course." Ezra gestured toward the single chair we'd set up in the center of the room, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "Sit, I'll bring you a cup."
Ziyi hesitated, eyes narrowing slightly at the lonely chair. But Ezra chuckled, tilting his head, all disarming charm. "Don't look so suspicious. It's just coffee, b."
Reluctantly, she lowered herself into the chair, smoothing her dress.
Ezra placed his mug down, picked up the other cup I'd prepared, and handed it to her with a warm grin. "Careful, it's hot."
She accepted it, fingers brushing his, and brought it up to her lips.
That was when I stepped forward from behind, my voice low and deliberate, cutting through the false calm.
"Drink up, Ziyi. You're going to need it."
Her head snapped around, eyes wide as she realized I'd been there the whole time.
Ezra leaned against the table, casual, but his eyes flicked to me, waiting, ready.
Her smile faltered, the porcelain cup slipped from her hands, and shattered against the floor. Her breath hitched.
"Wa... Wang?" she stuttered.
"Yes, Ziyi." My voice was steady, deliberate.
She scrambled for control, brushing at her dress as if she could smooth away the fear rising in her chest. "Come, I want to show you something as I walk towards the table." She hurried to the monitors, pointing at the feed. "This is my apartment."
"Yes," I said, standing just behind her shoulder. "Thanks to your paranoia, I hacked into your CCTV."
Ezra chuckled from the couch, sipping his coffee, unbothered.
Ziyi's steps faltered as she backed away, retreating to the chair. She sat down again, crossing her legs, the picture of forced composure, but her eyes darted like a cornered animal.
"What's happening?" Her gaze flicked toward Ezra. "You... you know him?"
"Yes, I do," Ezra said smoothly, setting his mug down.
"Cool," she said, her voice trembling just beneath the surface. She stood suddenly, brushing at her hair. "Well, I have a meeting. I'll see you later."
"Sit down," I ordered. My tone left no room for argument. "I want you to meet someone before you leave."
Her body stiffened, but she sank back into the chair, the tension clear in the twitch of her jaw.
Ezra smiled politely and lifted the coffee pot. "Coffee?"
"No," she snapped, then softened quickly. "A glass of wine will do."
Ezra rose without a word, disappearing into the kitchen. He returned with a bottle and poured it carefully, setting the glass in front of her.
She grabbed it instantly, the liquid trembling against the rim as she lifted it. No pretense this time, she drank.
Ezra sat back beside me, eyes glinting, his voice light but edged with mockery. "There you go, b. Something stronger."
And there she was, cornered, her mask slipping, drinking wine in the lion's den.