It was nearly midnight when Noah finally spotted a familiar figure in front of the club's entrance, standing just past the velvet ropes, cheerfully chatting away with the black-suited bouncers.

Z

There was no chance of a mistake.

Noah would recognize him anywhere.

Even from this distance, even with Z's handsome face hidden behind that ivory masquerade mask . . . Noah would still be able to recognize him.

Because Noah knew that walk . . . knew that slight sway in Z's hips . . . knew that air of confidence in his every step.

And how could I not?

As Noah watched Z tilting his head back in a careless laugh, he felt the phantom of old memories—of the way he used to trace that smooth olive-toned skin with his fingers, his lips, and his tongue, lingering over every plane and curve.

And Z hasn't really changed that much, Noah thought, his eyes following Z's every movement as Z finally peeled his mask off, revealing his stubbled face in the reddish glow of the club-lights. His slightly tousled dark hair fell over his forehead in an artful mess—as though it was meant to look that way and as he brushed those silky strands back with a quick flick of his fingers, Noah felt something sharp and bitter twisting inside his chest.

Z looked so composed . . . so distant.

As if . . .

As if he belonged to a completely different world—full of glamour, thrill and sex.

Noah knew Z's escort service operated under Silken Delights and his lips pressed into a thin line at that thought.

Because Silken Delights  wasn't just an ordinary sex-club. Everyone in Asara liked to talk about it in hushed tones . . . and then there were the rumors—that the club was actually a front for one of the most powerful mafia gangs in the entirety of Zirkand—the Blood Feathers.

Everyone in the Zirkand continent knew of that tight-knit group of criminals, which had a deadly reputation for handling matters in silence.

Leave no loose ends, give no second chances—that was their motto. And even the faintest whisper of the name Blood Feathers was enough to make people shudder in pure, unadulterated fear and cast wary glances over their shoulders.

And supposedly, they owned Silken Delights—ran their illegal businesses from some kind of hidden room downstairs, where deals were made and goods were exchanged—far away from the flashing lights and pulsing music above.

And here was Z, casually sliding his hands into his pockets and standing a little too comfortably outside the entrance to their world.

Which meant Z still had ties to the mafia. Even after all that bloodshed seven years ago.

Sometimes, a part of Noah really wanted to hate him—wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake some senses into him—for slipping back into the underworld again and again . . . but a part of him understood, too.

For Z had always been drawn to this kind of life—a little too reckless, a little too dangerous, a little too enticing to resist.

Like a moth to a flame.

Noah straightened as Z sauntered towards the parking lot, each of his steps radiating that usual, effortless arrogance.

Yet, something about his movements seemed a bit off—more hurried . . . almost impatient.

As Z neared the rows of cars, Noah saw him pulling out his vibrating phone from the breast pocket of his sequined suit.

Z's eyes flicked to the screen, and an annoyed scowl settled over his features.  His jaw tightened as his fingers briefly clenched around the phone, his thumb hovering over the screen—like he was debating whether or not to answer.

He's pissed off for some reason, Noah thought.

A soft, frustrated exhale escaped Z's mouth as he shook his head, before finally pressing down his thumb on the screen and bringing the phone up to his ear with a sigh.

"What?" Z's voice was sharp, and Noah could easily hear the barely restrained irritation in it.

Noah couldn't clearly make out the voice on the other end, but he saw the way Z's expression shifted—an almost imperceptible flicker in his eyes, a tightening of his lips.

One thing was clear—whatever was being said, it wasn't what Z wanted to hear.

"I told you, Braxton, I'm not doing it," Z's voice dropped a notch as he took a few steps towards a black Porsche, his body casting a long shadow over the asphalt. "Tell Zieglers I don't care even if he doubles the payment. I won't do it even if he offers me millions—I'm not doing it."

Then he hung up and shoved the phone back into his pocket, letting out a frustrated breath before running a hand through his hair, messing it up even further.

Noah took a quiet step forward, his heart pounding hard against his ribcage with a mixture of nerves and hope.

What if he doesn't want to see me anymore? The thought gnawed at Noah's mind, but he tried to push it down, watching Z fumble with his keys.

Z's hand was on the handle of his car door—the faint glint of metal catching the parking lot light—when Noah finally closed the distance between them in a few quick strides.

He cleared his throat, calling out softly, "Z."

Z froze mid-motion, his brows furrowing as he turned, scanning the figure standing in front of him. For a beat, his gaze sharpened, suspicion flickering in his eyes as he sized Noah up—cautious, guarded, not recognizing him under the mask.

"Who?" Z asked, his voice was wary and edged with a coldness that he usually reserved for strangers.

"Hey . . . it's me," Noah said, pulling the mask off his face. He offered a crooked smile, trying to bridge the awkwardness, watching for any hint of recognition.

For a moment, Z's expression went blank as he blinked in surprise. Then, like a fog lifting, realization dawned on his face. His hazel eyes widened, and his lips parted in a mixture of shock and amusement, "Nihil—Noah? Is that you?"

Noah opened his mouth to respond, but Z cut him off.

"Well, I'll be damned! It really is you!" Z let out a bark of laughter, "Wow! It's been like . . . what, ages? Didn't really expect to see you here of all places."

"Well, I—"

"Are you stalking me or something?"

"What? N-No, I just—" Noah stammered, caught off guard.

Great start, Noah. Will you ever know how to handle him?

"Relax, Noah," Z chuckled, a low, smug sound.

"I'm just kidding . . . well, mostly," he added with a wink, clearly enjoying Noah's discomfort, "So, what's the deal? You just came here out of the blue to . . . what? Chat?"

"I . . . need to talk to you about something important."

"Oh. Right. Important stuff. Sure," Z's voice was laced with disinterest as he leaned back against his car, arms crossed, "Spill."

Noah couldn't ignore the slight unease rising inside him at Z's bored tone.

He doesn't really care, does he?

Z could be extremely selfish at times . . . and Noah knew that very well but he still decided to hold onto a small sliver of hope that maybe, just maybe, Z would feel something for the old time's sake.

So Noah pressed on, swallowing back his hesitation, "Z, the orphanage—"

Z didn't let him finish, "No."

Noah frowned, "No?"

"No," Z spoke again, flatly, his voice clipped.

"But I haven't even—"

"I said what I said, Noah," Z muttered, shrugging as if it were the most natural thing in the world, "Look, I don't want to have anything to do with that orphanage. I've got my own stuff to worry about."

For a moment, Noah was at a loss for words, his gaze searching Z's face. But there was no hesitation, no hint of sympathy in Z's tone, just a sharp, dismissive edge.

Noah felt a cold wave of shame wash over him, but he forced himself to stand his ground. "Z, I wouldn't be asking for help if it wasn't serious. I just thought—"

Z laughed, cold and bitter, "You thought what? That I'd drop everything to help you? Newsflash, Noah, I'm not running some charity business."

Frustration bubbled up inside Noah, mingling with a pang of disappointment that stung more than he wanted to admit. He took a step closer, the warmth of the night pressing down on him, mingling with the faint scent of Z's cologne, something dark and spiced.

"Z, it's the orphanage," Noah's voice softened, "You know how much it means to us, to maman . . . to me."

Z's jaw tightened as he ground out, "That place is no longer my problem."

"At least think about the kids."

"Sorry. Not interested," Z shrugged, his hands already reaching for the car door, "Find someone else to bother. I'm busy."

Noah stood speechless, his heart sinking, a numbness spreading through him.

Without another word, Z pulled open his car door, the metallic click breaking the tense silence between them. He moved with a smooth, practiced ease, already halfway into his seat, ready to shut the door on both the conversation and Noah.

Noah felt foolish, vulnerable, standing there being dismissed like this . . . as if he was worth less than the time it took to explain . . .

So that's how it is.

He felt something twisting inside him—a flicker of anger sparking through the hurt, a surge of defiance hardening his resolve.

You left me with no other choice, Z.

Noah took a step forward, his voice firm with a hint of warning, "Wait, Jacquemier."

Z paused and looked up at Noah with a deadly glare, "Don't call me that—"

"They are gonna find the bones," Noah spat.

Z's eyes went wide, "What?"

"I said what I said, Jacquemier," Noah spoke with narrowed eyes, his voice low, barely above a whisper, but laced with meaning. "If you don't help us, then the buyers will find the bones."

It's time to make him remember.

Z swallowed, a flash of genuine fear crossing his face, "W-What buyers—"

This time, Noah cut him off, "The orphanage has been sold. Illegally. And the buyers are planning to make luxury condos there. There'll be some digging for sure, no? And what do you think they are gonna find under  the garden?"

"Are you s-serious?" Z went pale, his voice shaking as he whispered, and for the first time in their exchange, Noah felt like he was finally the one holding power.

"Yes, Jacquemier," Noah felt a sly edge creeping into his tone, "Dead serious."

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*Blood Feathers - A very powerful and dangerous mafia organization that rules over several countries of Zirkand continent, including 3/4 of Noah's country, Mihise.

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A/N:- This story is purely fictional and written for entertainment purposes only! I do not intend to disrespect anyone. So, please don't feel offended. ^^

CHAPTER WORD COUNT - 1700