The court was bright, with a few other people playing, and as soon as Lia stepped in, she felt the collective gaze of the room shift to her. She was used to it; she knew she looked good and had long ago stopped being bothered by it. Rhys and Jasmine were already waiting by the court, and she joined them, casually ignoring Jasmine's intense stare.
"I don't really know how to play," she said, breaking the silence.
"You can watch and learn," Jasmine replied, her tone overly polite. Lia caught the subtle edge beneath the civility, a reminder that she was an outsider here. She shrugged, pretending not to care, and took a seat on the benches near the court, pulling out her phone.
Ry had texted her back, asking for details about this so-called "emergency family time." They're taking me hostage for some weird family bonding, I guess. Pray for me, she texted back, smirking. But her amusement was short-lived. A shadow fell over her, and she looked up, startled.
Rhys was standing over her, a faint smirk on his lips. "It's a bit rude to be on your phone when someone invites you out, don't you think?"
Lia jumped up, startled, and in her haste, she accidentally bumped her head into his jaw. Rhys barely flinched, his expression unreadable as she rubbed her head, embarrassed. For a moment, they just stared at each other, and Lia noticed for the first time how much taller he was than her.
"Why? Do you recognize me?" Rhys's voice was low, the question layered with meaning.
She blinked, taken aback. Recognize him? What was that supposed to mean? She'd been formally introduced to him weeks ago, but something about his tone suggested he meant something more. Uncomfortable, she took a step back, feeling the intensity of his gaze.
Just then, a young man jogged over to them, slightly out of breath. "Padrino," he said, his voice respectful but tinged with urgency. Rhys straightened, his relaxed demeanor evaporating as he turned to face him.
"What is it?" Rhys asked, his voice carrying a dangerous edge.
"There's a problem at the estate," the young man replied, glancing at Lia nervously. "We need you back immediately."
Rhys's jaw tightened, and he looked back at Lia, his eyes narrowing. "We'll continue this conversation later," he said, his tone final, before following the young man out of the club, leaving her standing there in a mix of confusion and relief.
As soon as he was gone, Jasmine stepped up beside her, her expression calm but her eyes blazing with barely contained fury. "You must think you're very clever, don't you?" she whispered, her voice sharp enough to cut.
Lia took a step back, crossing her arms defensively. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Don't play innocent with me, Lia. You may have everyone else fooled, but I know exactly what you're doing." Jasmine's voice was a low hiss, her calm exterior finally cracking.
Lia's eyes narrowed. "Funny, because from where I'm standing, it seems like you're the one doing all the scheming."
Jasmine's face hardened, and for a moment, Lia thought she might actually slap her. But instead, Jasmine took a deep breath, regaining her composure. "Just remember, I've known Rhys a lot longer than you have. You're nothing but a distraction, and once he gets tired of you, you'll be gone."
With that, Jasmine turned and walked away, her heels clicking against the floor with a cold finality.
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For the hundredth time, Ry laughed out loud, practically doubling over at the counter.
"So she finally broke her little porcelain mask and lost it?" he gasped, wiping tears from his eyes as he grinned at Lia.
"Yes," Lia replied, rolling her eyes as she continued setting out the day's flower arrangements. "She did. And if you keep laughing, I swear I'll punch you again."
"But she had it coming!" Ry grinned mischievously. "You're finally getting to her, little miss 'I'm-so-untouchable.' So what'd she say to you exactly?"
Lia sighed, her fingers tightening around a flower stem as she recalled the encounter. "I can't remember word for word what she said, but it sounded like I was 'invading her territory,' or something like that," she replied with an eye-roll. "Like I had a choice in the matter. She was insinuating on respect, but I doubt she even knows what it means."
Ry burst out laughing again, unbothered by her threats. "She called you out on it? Amazing. So, have you thought about him at all?" he teased, raising an eyebrow. "Rhys isn't exactly hard to look at, right?"
Lia scoffed, giving him a dismissive wave. "Oh, please. It's not like he's bad-looking, sure, but—"
She didn't get a chance to finish because Ry gasped dramatically, clutching his chest as though he'd been scandalized. "Lia! Don't tell me you've been looking at him like that?" He wrinkled his nose, feigning disgust. "I'm telling Isla. And I'm moving out. And maybe bleaching my eyes."
"Oh, get over yourself," Lia said with a smirk, tossing a petal at him before turning her attention back to watering a particularly thirsty orchid. Ry, seeing her attempt to refocus, decided to push another button.
"Oh, right, by the way—your birthday's in two days. Any plans?" he asked, leaning closer as though expecting a surprise.
Her enthusiasm was nonexistent. "So?" she muttered, barely glancing his way.
Ry, undeterred, grinned wider. "Don't play dumb. It's a milestone, Lia. You're finally going to be… an adult. Legally, anyway." He dodged the flower pot she picked up to throw at him, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "Whoa, easy there! You don't even want to celebrate, not even a little?"
Lia exhaled deeply. "You're more excited about it than I am, and it's my birthday. Why are you so obsessed with this anyway?"
"Because," Ry said, crossing his arms, "one of us has to make sure you have some fun, or we'll both go insane. Plus," he added with a smirk, "there will be cake. You can't deny me cake, Lia. It's my God-given right as your best friend."
She shook her head. "You're so childish."
"I don't care," Ry pouted, making his way out of the room with an exaggerated stomp.
As he walked off, Lia looked down at the flowers with a small sigh. Birthdays had always been a bit of a sore subject. Growing up, they were just another reminder of her worthless existence another day marked by emptiness and questions that had no answer and probably never will. Even though Isla and Ry had made her birthdays bearable, she'd always refused the whole fuss of a party. At most, Isla would make her favorite dishes, and that was enough.
So, what was Ry's deal this time? She half-chuckled to herself sadly, sensing that this year, he was planning something against her wishes. And maybe, just maybe for once, she could let him have his way.
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Across town, the mood was very different.
"CRASH!"
The sound of shattering glass echoed as yet another jar was thrown against the wall. Rhys's temper was reaching a boiling point. He had spent days dealing with one headache after another, and this latest mess was pushing things.
"Any news yet?" he barked, voice low and simmering with barely-contained rage.
One of his men, a wiry young guy with trembling hands, stepped forward and bowed. "Padrino… there's been a response."
Rhys raised a brow, his patience wearing dangerously thin. "Well?" he snapped.
The young man's voice wavered as he tried to deliver the news. "They… they refused the negotiation. And… they're asking for you to… to kneel before their Don."
The silence that followed was deafening. Rhys's lips twitched in a tight, humorless smile before he laughed—a low, dark sound that sent chills through everyone in the room.
"You've got to be joking," he said, almost amused. His laughter grew louder, more intense, until it sounded borderline unhinged. Suddenly, with the flash of a gunshot, Rhys fired into the air. The young man, already pale, stumbled back in shock, while the others quickly steadied him and dragged him away from Rhys's line of sight.
Rhys turned, his smile gone, replaced with a look of steely determination. "Get the car ready. We're paying these clowns a visit."
Within minutes, Rhys and his men were on the road, a sleek convoy heading toward the Anarchy Alliance's territory. In N City, the mafia groups had unspoken rules. Each gang claimed their own territory, and most of the time, they avoided unnecessary skirmishes—until one side crossed a line. And tonight, Rhys was ready to break every rule.
As they crossed the boundary line into enemy territory, Rhys pulled out his gun and fired at the guards without hesitation. The men in his convoy followed his lead, tearing through the Anarchy Alliance's defenses and driving straight to their headquarters. The sound of gunfire echoed in the night, a thunderous assault that caught the Anarchy Alliance completely off-guard.
Rhys moved through the chaos, his expression calm but his eyes blazing. One by one, his men tore through the building, leaving nothing but destruction in their wake. He wasn't about to stop until he had reached his target.
"Find the Don," Rhys ordered coldly, his voice steady despite the mayhem. "And make sure nothing survives. I don't want a single shadow of this place left by the time we're done."
"Understood, Padrino!" came the echoed response, and the men sprang into action, firing their weapons with renewed vigor.
Rhys lit a cigarette, watching as the building he'd turned into a battlefield began to crumble around him. His gaze was dark, yet there was a cruel satisfaction in his expression. It took less than twenty minutes before two of his men dragged out a disheveled man—the Don of the Anarchy Alliance, bloodied and struggling in their grip.
The Don's defiance hadn't waned yet. "Rhys, you bastard!" he spat, laughing even as blood seeped from his mouth. "You think you'll get away with this? I know it was you who killed the Godfather. You wanted his territory for yourself. But I planned for this, Rhys. I have insurance—if I die, the truth will come out, and you'll burn for it."
Unfazed, Rhys gave him a condescending smile. "You're clever, Don, but not clever enough. You think we're easy to push around?" His voice dropped to a chilling whisper. "You try to take what's mine, and you expect to get away with it?"
The Don laughed weakly, but Rhys's unwavering gaze silenced him. "You really think you have me figured out?" Rhys continued, the smirk never leaving his face. "Let me break it to you—you won't leave this territory, and neither will your 'insurance.'"
A cold sweat broke out on the Don's forehead, the last remnants of his bravado draining from his face as he realized the depth of Rhys's ruthlessness.
"Y-you… you killed him?" he stammered.
Rhys's grin widened as he watched the man's horror grow, the realization finally sinking in.
"Maybe," Rhys replied, his voice low and menacing. "I've had my eye on you for a long time, Don. Your moves were predictable. But I'm tired of games."
Before the Don could stammer out a reply, a gunshot rang out, and his body crumpled to the ground, lifeless. Rhys didn't spare him another glance as he strode away, signaling to his men.
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Back at the shop, Lia's thoughts were miles away.
Ry came back in, looking triumphant. "Okay, I've got everything planned for your birthday. It's foolproof."
She groaned, covering her face with her hands. "Ry, please. I don't want a party."
"Oh, don't worry. It's not a party," he said with a mischievous smile. "It's a 'gathering of close friends.' Totally different."
"Let me guess," Lia sighed. "You're going to ignore my wishes and throw me a party anyway."
Ry gave her his best puppy-dog eyes. "How could you say that? This is a 'bonding experience.' It'll be good for us, Lia!"
"More like good for your appetite," she muttered.
"Fine, you got me. I may have ordered an absurd amount of cake. But come on, Lia," he said, his voice softening. "We never do anything fun. For once, just let us celebrate you, okay?"
His sincerity caught her off guard. She sighed heavily, nodded, a small smile breaking through. "Fine, Ry. But if there's a party hat involved, I'm out."
"Deal," he laughed. "It'll be our little secret… as long as you don't mind a few hundred confetti cannons."
She shot him a look, but he winked and bounded off, already planning her "gathering." Lia watched him go, shaking her head but feeling her heart warm at his efforts. Maybe, just maybe, this year would be different.