The bar pulsed with music and dim lights, drowning out reason and responsibility. Glasses clinked. Laughter blurred into noise. James sat at the counter, already several drinks in, his thoughts swimming just enough for him to stop caring.
His phone vibrated again.
He didn't look at it.
His father's name lit up the screen—then disappeared as James flipped the phone face down. Moments later, it buzzed again. And again.
Across the city, Morgan tried calling him too. When he didn't answer, she reached out to his closest friends.
"He's not with us," Edward said carefully.
Mat confirmed the same.
James was alone. And that worried her more than she wanted to admit.
Back at the bar, James raised his glass and downed the rest, welcoming the numbness.
That was when Hazel walked in.
Unlike most people in the club, she wasn't searching for attention. Her steps were calm, deliberate, her expression unreadable. She took a seat at the bar, ordered a drink, and sipped quietly, eyes scanning nothing in particular. She wasn't there for fun—not really. She had her own reason for coming, one she didn't share with anyone.
A man noticed her almost immediately.
He leaned in with a confident grin. "You're sitting alone," he said. "How about you spend the night with me?"
Hazel didn't respond. She continued sipping her drink as if he didn't exist.
The man's smile faded. He tried again. "Hey. I'm talking to you."
Still nothing.
His patience snapped. He reached out and snatched the glass from her hand.
"Aren't you a cute little thing?" he sneered. "Spend the night with me, and I'll pay you generously."
Hazel finally turned to look at him. Calm. Cold.
"I'm with someone," she said.
The man laughed. "With who? Don't lie to me."
Hazel's eyes moved across the room, searching—not desperately, but carefully. Then she saw him.
James.
He was leaning back in his chair, jaw tight, eyes unfocused but sharp beneath the alcohol. Dangerous even when drunk.
Hazel stood, walked straight toward him, and stopped beside him.
"I came with him," she said softly. "So… I'm sorry."
The man froze.
He recognized James instantly.
The face. The name. The reputation.
Without another word, he backed away and disappeared into the crowd.
James blinked, trying to process what had just happened. He looked up at Hazel, his vision hazy but his instincts alert.
"Do we… know each other?" he asked.
Hazel shook her head immediately. "No."
There was a brief pause.
"I'm sorry," she added. "I'll go now."
Before James could respond, she turned and walked away, blending back into the shadows of the club.
Hazel stepped outside the club, the night air cool against her skin. She stood near the curb, phone in hand, waiting for a cab. The music from inside thumped faintly through the walls, but her attention drifted elsewhere.
Then the doors burst open.
Five men in black suits stormed out of the club with frightening urgency. Their movements were sharp, practiced—bodyguards.
Hazel straightened.
Before she could react, her cab pulled up beside her. She opened the door and slid inside just as the chaos unfolded behind her.
Through the window, she saw them drag James out.
He struggled at first—weakly—but the guards were relentless. They shoved him into a black car parked nearby. The doors slammed. The engine roared.
And then they were gone.
Hazel's eyes followed the car until it disappeared into the night.
The cab driver glanced at her through the mirror.
"Ma'am… where are you headed?"
Hazel hesitated only a second before giving him the address.
James slammed his fists against the door.
"Let me out!"
His voice echoed through the hallway, raw and desperate. His room felt smaller than ever—more like a cell than a bedroom. Outside, voices murmured. Orders were given. Footsteps moved back and forth.
Morgan stood in the corridor, hands trembling, tears burning behind her eyes.
"I'm sorry," she whispered to no one.
Eventually, the noise faded. The guards assumed James had finally fallen asleep.
Morgan took a breath and reached for the door.
The moment it opened, James burst out.
He was completely sober now—eyes sharp, fear and fury tangled together. He ran.
"James!" Morgan cried.
But he was already halfway down the stairs.
A hand struck his face with brutal force.
The sound echoed.
James staggered back, stunned.
Josh stood before him, eyes cold, jaw clenched.
"What do you think you're doing?" Josh barked. He turned sharply to the guards. "You useless idiots. Get him. Now."
Morgan rushed forward. "Stop it! Please—stop! He'll listen. I promise."
James stood frozen—angry, terrified, humiliated—all at once.
Josh pointed at him. "Learn your place, young man. I've tolerated this hellish behavior because of your mother, but don't—"
James laughed bitterly. "Because of my mother?" He turned to Morgan, disbelief flooding his face. "Wait. Mom… did you call him?"
"James, listen to me—"
Josh interrupted, voice sharp. "So what if she did? What do you really want, huh?"
James's hands trembled. "What I want is for you to get the fuck away from me."
Josh's lips curled. "Good. You're coming with me to the U.S."
James panicked. "No—no. Please." His voice broke. "I promise I'll be good. I won't cause trouble anymore. Please… I don't want to go back there."
Josh scoffed. "I canceled a damn contract just to come deal with you." He turned away. "Get him out of my sight. Lock him up."
Morgan stepped between them, tears finally falling. "No. I'll handle him. Please. I'll take care of James."
Josh hesitated, then looked at her with quiet anger.
"Make sure you do," he said coldly.
As the guards dragged James back, his eyes met Morgan's—betrayal and fear burning in them.
Several hours passed.
The house had fallen into an uneasy silence when Morgan finally returned to James's room. Two bodyguards stood outside the door, stiff and alert.
"You can leave," she told them softly.
They hesitated, then nodded and walked away.
Morgan took a deep breath before opening the door.
The room was dark, the curtains drawn tight. James lay on the bed, his body turned away, completely wrapped in a blanket as if trying to disappear from the world.
She stepped inside and closed the door quietly.
"James…" her voice trembled. "Earlier, I had to call your father. I was scared. You ran out like that—I thought something might happen to you."
She waited.
No response.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "Please… say something. I know you're not asleep."
Slowly, she moved closer to the bed and sat beside him. Her fingers gently brushed through his hair, just like she used to when he was little.
After a moment, she forced a weak smile.
"I guess you really are asleep," she murmured. "Should I sing you a song?"
Her voice softened with memory.
"I know you're grown now, but when you were five, you used to beg me to sing you to sleep every night. You'd never let me stop."
She chuckled quietly. "You probably got tired of it… but I'll sing it anyway."
Her voice filled the room, low and fragile.
"Good night, my little—"
She paused, correcting herself.
"My lovely child…
You are the best,
You should know that…"
The song faded into silence.
Morgan stood, wiped her eyes, switched off the light, and slipped out of the room, closing the door behind her.
In the darkness, James opened his eyes.
His jaw tightened. His teeth ground together.
"Why would she sing that song…" he muttered. "It's annoying."
Yet, despite himself, a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
The moment didn't last.
His phone vibrated beneath the blanket.
A message.
Emily.
James stared at the screen for a long second before his smile slowly twisted into something sharp and dangerous.
He typed nothing.
He didn't need to.
"Showtime," he whispered.