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"Who am I?" Noah scoffed, finally dropping his hands from the wall. He didn't look bothered; instead, he slipped his hands into his pockets, standing with a calm, terrifying confidence. "I'm Jay."
"If you're Jay, then who was that man in the hall?" Yunah demanded. She didn't stammer. She didn't look away. For the first time, her fear had been replaced by a raw, burning curiosity that made her look him dead in the eye.
Noah's eyes danced with amusement. Her boldness was a drug to him—he loved the way she challenged him. A soft, knowing smile played on his lips. "Well..." he began, his tone flat as if the answer was beneath him, yet he couldn't deny her the truth."That was just a clown of mine. A decoy. I have business to attend to tonight that requires me to be invisible. I can't reveal the details to you, but know this..." He leaned down, his face inches from hers, forcing Yunah to catch her breath. Her heart hammered against her ribs as she instinctively gripped the silk of her gown, her knuckles turning white.
"I am the real Jay," he whispered, his voice vibrating through her. "Not everyone gets the privilege of seeing the man behind the myth. Feel special, Miss Yunah, because you are the only one who truly knows me."
His gaze dropped to her lips for a fraction of a second—a look of pure, hungry possession—before locking back onto her eyes. "So, stop running away and causing trouble. hmmm?"
Yunah snapped her head to the side, her face flushing a deep crimson behind her mask. The heat of his breath against her skin made her dizzy.
"I wasn't running away," she corrected, the lie tasting like ash. She had been halfway to the exit in her mind, but she wasn't about to admit defeat. "I actually have to use the washroom."
She slipped past him, putting a few feet of distance between them before turning back.
Noah let out a dark, rhythmic chuckle. "Then I'll believe you. Since you're just going to the washroom, go ahead. I'll be waiting right here for you. I can't exactly leave you alone, can I? What if you stumble into more 'trouble' without me?"
"Do whatever you want," Yunah snapped, turning on her heel and walking toward the restroom.
"Don't tell me to do whatever I want, Miss Yunah," he called out after her. He followed two steps behind, his voice dropping into a register that was unpredictable—seductive, flirtatious, yet laced with a jagged edge of seriousness. "Because if I actually started doing whatever I wanted... you might find you don't like it very much."
A cold chill raced down Yunah's spine. The weight of his words felt like a promise she wasn't ready for. Unable to find a retort, she practically fled into the safety of the washroom.
Outside, Noah leaned casually against the wall. He folded his arms across his chest, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips as he waited with the infinite patience of a predator who knows his prey has nowhere left to run.
A few minutes later, Yunah emerged, her face composed but her pulse still racing. Without a word, they turned back toward the main hall, moving as a "couple" once more, descending back into the glittering den of vipers.
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Time slipped away as they navigated the elite crowd. Noah worked the room with the practiced ease of a lion, but he never let go of Yunah—not even for a second. His hand remained a constant, possessive weight on her arm or waist. Yunah, surprisingly steady, introduced herself as "Wu Lin," playing her part with a precision that left no room for suspicion. Their disguise was a masterpiece of deception.
Suddenly, Noah's phone vibrated against his chest. He pulled it out, his eyes darkening as he read the brief notification: "The room is ready."
He immediately excused them from the group, guiding Yunah to a slightly more secluded corner. He turned to her, his hands coming up to rest lightly on her shoulders. His gaze, usually sharp and calculating, softened into a look of genuine concern.
"I have to go," he said, his voice low and private. "I need you to stay exactly where you are. Do not roam around while I'm gone, hmmm?"
He caught the eye of Ashish, who had been hovering at the edge of the crowd like a silent specter. With a subtle nod, Noah signaled him over. "Ashish is my most trusted man. He will be your shadow while I'm away. He will protect you with his life."
"Where are you going?" Yunah asked, her brow furrowing with curiosity.
"Work," Noah replied. It was a single, heavy word, but Yunah understood the subtext. In this world, "work" usually meant blood, secrets, or power plays.
"Master," Ashish whispered as he approached, bowing with deep-seated respect while maintaining a professional distance.
Noah's grip on Yunah's shoulders tightened for a brief moment before he let go, the loss of his warmth immediate. He turned to Ashish, his voice dropping into a lethal, commanding bass. "Guard her. Do not let anyone—and I mean anyone—approach her."
"Yes, Master," Ashish nodded solemnly.
Noah turned back to Yunah one last time. He reached out, his gloved thumb briefly skimming the edge of her mask. "I'll be quick," he promised, his voice laced with an absolute, terrifying confidence.
He didn't care about the mission or the money; his only priority was finishing his business so he could return to her side.
Without another word, he turned and vanished into the shadows of the hallway, leaving Yunah under the watchful, unblinking eyes of his right-hand man.
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Noah walked down the sterile VVIP hallway, the leather handle of the briefcase firm in his grip. He moved with a predatory stillness, stopping before a set of guarded doors. Inside, the room was thick with the heavy, sweet scent of expensive cigars. An Italian man sat behind a mahogany desk, flanked by two bodyguards who stood like statues of granite, their hands resting near the holsters of their weapons. All three were masked, their eyes cold and unblinking.
Noah stepped into the room alone. He didn't wait for an invitation; he simply walked to the center of the room, his presence so overwhelming that the armed guards instinctively shifted their stance. He looked more dangerous in his silence than they did with their steel.
"So," the Italian man began, his voice a gravelly rasp as he spoke in his native tongue. "You are the real Jay."
Noah let out a soft, dark laugh as he took a seat opposite the man. "Indeed," he replied back in flawless, elegant Italian. He placed the briefcase on the table between them with a rhythmic thud.
"And is this the product?" the man asked, exhaling a cloud of gray smoke.
Noah flipped the latches. The briefcase clicked open to reveal a custom-fitted interior housing a series of syringes and a shimmering, translucent serum. This was the prize his grandfather, Naresh, had entrusted him to deliver personally.
"It's intact," Noah said, his voice flat and professional. "Untouched and untraceable. I was supposed to bring this to you in Italy, but I decided this gala was the safest neutral ground. Here, I am merely a businessman among peers. My rivals won't give you any trouble because they don't even know you're holding the keys to the kingdom."
The Italian man leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of greed and respect. "Your grandfather, Naresh, chose well," he mused, looking thoroughly impressed. "He has a grandson worthy of carrying the legacy."
Satisfied, the man snapped the briefcase shut and handed it to one of his guards. The deal was done.
***
While Noah was finalizing his lethal transaction deep within the VVIP wing, the main hall remained a vibrant, glittering mask of deception.
The "clown"—the puppet wearing Jay's name—moved through the crowd with practiced ease. He held court with billionaires and power brokers, offering shallow smiles and mysterious nods that kept everyone under his spell. It was a performance of absolute perfection. Since no one in the underworld had ever been allowed close enough to see the real Jay's face, the trick was effortless. To the elite guests, the man on the stairs was the legend they feared; they had no idea that the real king was just a few corridors away, and that his heart was currently anchored to a girl standing in the corner of the room.
****
Back in the VVIP room, the air was heavy with the scent of tobacco and unspoken threats.
"You knew him personally, then?" Noah asked, his voice cold and level.
"Not exactly," the Italian replied, shaking his head as he exhaled a thick cloud of smoke.
"I knew him just enough to know exactly who you are." He paused, offering a silver case. "Cigar?"
"I don't smoke," Noah replied flatly, his patience thinning. "The transaction is complete. You have what you came for, so I'll take my leave."
"What's the rush?" the man asked, looking up as Noah stood. A mocking glint appeared in his eyes. "Or are you simply that eager to return to the beauty who accompanied you tonight? I must say, she is quite a stun—"
BANG!!
The sound echoed like a gunshot. Noah slammed both palms onto the mahogany table with such force the cigar tray rattled. He leaned across the desk, his frame casting a long, suffocating shadow over the Italian. Even behind the mask, his eyes burned with a lethal, murderous glare.
"Don't you dare lay your eyes on her," Noah hissed, his voice dropping into a guttural, threatening bass. "And don't you ever use that tone when speaking of her. You came here for business—stick to it. Do not poke your nose into my private affairs, because I promise you, you won't like the consequences."
"Easy, boy... I was merely offering a compliment. I meant no harm," the Italian said, though his voice held a trace of mockery as he raised his hands in a fake gesture of surrender.
"Don't even praise her," Noah snapped, straightening his suit jacket with a sharp, violent tug. "I don't like it. And if I'm unhappy, you'll be miserable. Let's keep it at that."
Giving the man one final, soul-piercing glare, Noah turned on his heel and walked out, his stride radiating pure, unadulterated territorial rage.
The Italian man watched him go, a slow, thoughtful smile spreading across his face. "He resembles his father much more than his grandfather," he muttered to the empty doorway. "Dangerous blood runs in that one."
******
The atmosphere in the grand hall shifted as the orchestra began the slow, sweeping melody of the couple's dance. Yunah sat tucked away in a corner, nursing a glass of juice. She had tried to order wine earlier, but Ashish had stepped in with a polite yet immovable refusal—Noah's orders were absolute: no alcohol.
Yunah kept her head down, avoiding eye contact with the passing elite, feeling Ashish's watchful presence like a living shield beside her. But as the floor filled with dancers, a man in a sharp black suit and an obsidian mask detached himself from the crowd and began walking directly toward her.
Yunah glanced behind her, certain he was approaching someone else, but the space behind her was empty. Ashish's entire posture changed instantly; he stepped forward, his body tensing into a combat-ready stance.
The stranger stopped right in front of Yunah's table and extended a hand, palm up. "May I have the pleasure of a dance, Miss...?" he asked, his voice dripping with a calculated, honeyed charm.
Yunah stared at his hand, momentarily frozen. Before she could find her voice, Ashish moved, positioning himself to block the man's line of sight to Yunah. It was a silent, professional warning, but the stranger didn't flinch.
"I'm just asking for a dance, not a marriage proposal," the man mocked, his eyes glittering behind his mask as he looked at Ashish. "Chill out, man."
"Our lady will not be dancing with anyone," Ashish snapped, his voice vibrating with a cold, lethal edge. "Leave. Now."
"And who are you to decide for her?" the stranger countered, stepping even closer. He ignored Ashish entirely, leaning toward Yunah with a wicked, predatory smile. "Let this beautiful lady decide—the one whose grace is hidden so cruelly behind that mask."
He thrust his hand closer to her, so close that the fabric of his sleeve nearly brushed her gown. Ashish's hand went to his side, his patience finally snapping—he was a second away from shoving the man into the marble floor.
But the air in the room suddenly turned freezing.
A hand, gloved in black leather and moving with the speed of a striking viper, caught the stranger's wrist. The sound of bone-on-bone contact was audible. The stranger's face contorted as Noah tightened his grip, his presence radiating a pressure so heavy it felt like the walls were closing in.
"How dare you..." Noah began, his voice a low, terrifying growl that seemed to vibrate from the floorboards. He leaned into the man's space, his eyes burning with a murderous light. "How dare you put these filthy hands of yours anywhere near my wife."