27.

She took a bath, washed her hair, and wore the same oversized grey hoodie she had worn several times throughout her stay there. It wasn't hers, so it didn't fit her perfectly, but since it was baggy and loose, she felt comfortable in it.

She looked at her face in the mirror above the sink, straightening her hair through her fingers. She would always comb her hair after soaking, keeping it open and swaying at her shoulder and back till then.

After heaving a sigh of mild satisfaction, she exited the bathroom, meeting in an empty, quiet room.

Of course, Tiger wasn't in the room. She never saw him present in the room after she had woken up except a very few times. Her curiosity has always eaten up to her about it. Although she was grateful when Warren didn't answer her about the same when she asked him the other day, there was no doubt that a part of her was dying to know why he suddenly woke up that day. It seemed as if he was having a bad dream. But can a person who's a nightmare himself can have nightmares?

Odd thing. Complicated at its best.

She went to the window which he now doesn't keep locked, sparing a wide glance around.

The window wasn't huge, but it was big enough to invite sunrays that could brighten the whole room during the day, and the subtle glow of the moon at night when it fell on his sleeping face, painting it in soft shades of silver and dark blue.

She smiled at her imagination—the imagination she used to live every night while watching him sleep, and closing her eyes with him being her last sight and thought.

She shook her head, controlling the smile which crept up on her lips without her knowing. She hadn't seen that serene, beautiful sight of him since he had let her sleep on his bed. She had no idea where he slept, or if he slept at all.

Her gaze wandered around the wide view before settling on Warren who was twisting the key and turning off his bike's engine. He was returning after spending the whole night out God knows where. As he marched towards the main gain, she could only see one side of his face from the angle.

His face was tense, a bit harder than she had usually seen. His features were straight, small stressful ceases formed on his forehead, and his hand held something small, akin to a chip or drive.

He soon disappeared from her sight as she heard the creak of the main door opening a moment later. She stood there in silence, absentminded and feeling an embrace of emptiness creeping up her skin.

She wanted to pray, but she didn't know if she was allowed to do so. Perhaps, she could ask him. It is not like she needed his permission to do anything, but she didn't have anything to cover her head with or something to spread on the floor to use as a mat.

She let those thoughts aside for a while, deciding to go out of the room and not entertain her boredom anymore. It always only led to flashbacks of the past, followed by deep sorrow and under-settled anxiety. She didn't want to get chest pains in the middle of the day again. She wanted to think about nothing that could inspire it.

She walked towards the kitchen, finding Tiger washing something, his back facing her. She assumed Warren already met him and went to his room.

She bit her lips, taking slow steps in the kitchen. As if sensing her presence, his face tilted sideward. She felt her heart skipping a beat.

"Do you need something?" He asked, twisting the tap off and turning around.

He placed the bowl of rinsed rice on the counter, meeting with her gaze.

"No....." She trailed off, curling the hem of her hoodie in her fingers, struggling to not melt under the heat of his eyes.

Was it just attraction? Or was it something more than that? Did she like him? Why did he have that effect on her? She wasn't sure of her own emotions. She kept trying to handle the overwhelmness logically, sometimes struggling to validate her feelings towards him but nothing ever worked. The more she tried to control herself, the more he would pull her towards himself. Perhaps, when she would be back home, and he wouldn't be in sight anywhere, she would be able to forget him.

She took her seat on one of the tools against the counter meekly.

"Why are you here then?" He asked, resting his hands on the counter and leaning forward just a little. His face inched closer to her, and she felt her heart skipping a beat again.

He wasn't close, he was nowhere near close to her, but a small forwardness from him was enough to make her heart jump of out its place.

"I was just...." She forgot her words, her purpose of coming out of the room. Why was he looking at her that way, making her feel so weak and out of words?

A trail of silence lingered inordinately between them as she fumbled within her thoughts, and he narrowed his gaze on her scrutinizingly.

"Is there something you want to ask me?" He asked her, observing the uneasiness in her conduct. His voice held a strange concern, yet it remained collected and stern, weighted by the husky deepness and firmness.

What was she supposed to say? She had a load of questions, about him, about herself, about the whole situation, but would he answer if she voiced them out?

"Why have you not yet asked me about The Black Den?" She questioned, her voice wavering with remote curiosity.

"There's still time for us to have that conversation." He answered, his voice a rich accent of roughness and deep, manly husk.

Us... she liked the sound of that word.

She nodded thoughtfully, her eyes settled on the mole on his chest, just below his collarbone, that was peeking out of the borderline of his grey T-shirt, along with a small glimpse of the ink.

She really wished to see what that tattoo was. How did it look? What did it mean? Was it just on his shoulder? Was it big? Did he have more?

Enough of thinking, right? She should stop.

She noticed then they both were wearing the same color clothes. She bit back a smile, feeling giddy out of nowhere.

She nibbled on the insides of the corner of her lips, watching him intently as he moved around the counter to grab some utensils, reaching towards the refrigerator once to get some ingredients for whatever delicious food he was making.

"Anything else?" He asked, his gaze flickering to her for a second though his hands never resumed working.

"I want to pray," She muttered quietly, enough for her voice to reach him. His gaze narrowed slightly. She blinked at him, her cat-like eyes regarding him with a hint of helplessness.

"You should not be asking my permission for that. You have the whole house. Pray wherever you please," he replied. His focus was now on the stove, where oil was being heated on a medium flame.

She felt a warmth spreading through her chest. She didn't know he would agree to her this soon, and definitely not that calmly.

"It's not that. I don't have appropriate clothes to pray in," Her gaze moved down from his downward eyes to his lips.

His movements paused for a second in thoughtfulness, she took her time to stare at his perfectly shaped, naturally pink lips subconsciously.

Not a single thing about this man's imperfect.

"Fine. I'll take you to the city after some days. You can get whatever you want," She had to replay his words again to comprehend what he said. Her ears heard him but her eyes were busy on the movements of his lips, and somewhere down on the mole just below his collarbone, her brain didn't know where to focus first.

She realized she didn't have money of her own. She didn't want to take from him to pay for her. She felt a tightness in her heart, she hated the feeling of being dependent, hated the feeling of helplessness.

"I don't have money. You can just give me an old cloth-"

"Did I say you need to have money? You don't have to worry about anything when I am here," He uttered almost sternly, instantly making her zip her mouth.

Why did he have to be so intimidating all the time?

It's attractive though, isn't it? A voice in her mind asked.

It is....Her gaze rendered down at his torso, the apron hugging his skin in a way it almost showed the outline of his....abs? And the veins on his hands flexed every time with his every little movement, it made her wonder what those hands could do-

Astagfirullah.

She shook her head, scolding her mind to get a grip on her thoughts. She was not to be fascinated by him, not him out of every man in the world. He was her kidnapper for God's sake.

She sat in comfortable silence, not speaking one more word, watching him cook what seemed like fried rice along with fried chicken while he continued to do his work silently. She had observed that he didn't like to speak much. He was a man of small talk, and whenever he chose to say, he spoke wisely, his words were always collected and calculated, and his speech was enhanced by the natural, manly deepness he possessed.

"A man who always has something to talk about has no value of his words in the world. A man who speaks less always holds an effect and power over people, for they know if he's speaking, it is something to be considered." She remembered her father saying that to her little brother. She understood those words now.

He put the ingredients in the oil, letting them roast for a while, followed by boiled chicken and rice. He tossed the rice in the hot pan, the sound of the sizzle filling the kitchen as he expertly worked the spatula, flipping and mixing with practiced ease. The grains danced in the air before landing perfectly in the pan, glistening from the light sheen of oil. He added finely chopped vegetables, stirring them in with quick, confident motions, the vibrant colors of peppers, carrots, and green onions popping against the golden rice.

The chicken, crisp and golden, rested on a plate nearby, waiting for its turn to shine. He leaned forward, sprinkling a touch of chili flakes and a squeeze of lime over the fried chicken, his movements precise, like an artist putting the final strokes on a masterpiece.

She sat against the counter, her knees tucked to her chest, watching him intently. There was something captivating about him—how effortlessly he moved, how focused he was. She admired the way his hands' artistry was just not limited to fighting and driving but also to something so delicate like cooking.

"You still haven't answered my that question yet?" She prompted again, resting her folded hands on the flat surface of the counter and leaning over it, twirling on the stool.

"What question?" He asked calmly, his brows knitting a little in subtle confusion.

"Whom do you work for?" She raised her brows, and a small smile, rather a half smile, and a half teasing smirk, played on her lips.

He sighed, his features seizing in tightness but his face remained hard to figure out. A duet of silence spread across the kitchen, nothing making a sound except the feathery fizz of the stove. She almost regretted asking it. Was he even going to answer or just stand there looking at her with an unreadable look on his face?

"Whosoever it is, is none of your business, Ms. Hayat," He pressed.

What happened to the 'squirrel'?

She jutted out her lower lip at his response, pretending to be upset. He seemed to be almost done with the food. He took the pieces out of the pan and placed them in another container.

"At least, tell me your name~," She sang with sarcastic softness, knowing damn well he's not going to tell her anything about himself.

"Tiger." He deadpanned, putting a few containers back in their places.

"No that. Your real name."

"No."

"Why not? Do you not like your name?" She twirled on her seat again, wiggling her brows at him with mischief. Always talking to Warren had its influence on her after all.

He looked at her, an emotion flashing through his eyes. Her smile shortened but didn't disappear, her heart starting to pick up a pace. She held back the urge to shift and look away. It was uncomfortably painful to see something so much as an emotion in his usually empty, hard eyes. It was gone soon before it could reveal even a bit of his vulnerability, yet the deep intensity of quiet the place had fallen to was unnerving.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have ask-"

"I don't." He replied.

"Huh?" She blinked, her mouth opened agape at his suddenness.

He switched off the stove, placing a lid over the bowl. Something shifted in his demeanor. She could feel it.

"The food's done. Eat if you want," He turned to leave, exiting the kitchen.

"Are you not going to eat?" She turned on her seat swiftly.

"I don't feel like eating." And with that, he was out of sight.

She watched him disappear behind a wall, her gaze lingering for a moment there before she managed to snap herself out of her absentmindedness. Did he hate his original name so much? That just asking about it would make him lose his appetite?

She stared at the transparent bowl containing the mouthwatering dish for a minute, wondering if she should eat just now or a bit later. She decided to go by the second choice. She didn't feel like eating too. She would just eat with Warren when she found him in the lounge after a while.

-----

The office room was quiet, with just a ruffling sound of papers being flipped now and then. The weather out was cold, the city illuminated by the blinding lights and a half, glowing moon, sitting in the sky with its captivating grace, bathing in clouds as they brushed passed by it.

A knock on the door disturbed his focus and concentration, gaining his attention.

"Come in." He asserted.

His secretary walked in in a rush, his conduct restless, and his face covered in anxiousness, reflecting his inner self. He walked to the table, extending the phone in his hand to his boss.

"Yes, Brad?" AK leaned back, his eyes glancing at the papers once before he looked at Brad marching inside.

"Hello," AK kept the phone to his ear, a frown on his face as his eyes regarded his disturbed-looking secretary.

"Boss," A manly voice said from the other line. The frown on AK's face deepened, and he straightened on his chair, motioning his secretary to leave the room.

The latter nodded and left the room.

When Brad was out of the room and the door closed shut behind him, the silence took its toll again, turning more mysterious and nerve-chilling than before.

"Why are you calling me, Chen?" Ak inquired, his breath becoming heavy.

"Boss. Ms. Sarah..." He closed his eyes, his expression turning sour at the mention of that name. That name had its effect on him, and the woman with that name had her spell on him.

"What about her?" He opened his eyes, leaning his head back on the headrest.

A warmth spread through his chest, flashbacks coming in a blur in his mind without his control.

"Boss, Ma'am wants to meet you," the person on the other side said, his voice professional and calculated but with a sense of concern.

He stared at the ceiling, his heart clenching painfully, memories tugging just at the right string that he wished would just tear open and bleed till there was nothing left that wretched for her, craved for her, and desired of her.

"We had this conversation before, Chen. I don't want to meet her," AK replied calmly, the deep grunge of his voice ringing softly against the thick walls and flourished furniture.

"Boss, she is not in a good condition,"

AK fell silent, his eyes emptily staring at the designated ceiling, his ears subconsciously listening to that laughter of hers, his mind betraying his control, flooding itself with her smiles and giggles, making him feel nauseous and euphoric all at once.

She was still so fresh in his mind, in his heart, in his entire being.

"You think she'll be cured after seeing me?" AK questioned, a deep sadness underlying in his voice, covered with sarcasm.

Silence.

"Boss, I-"

"What did the doctor say?" He asked, sitting upright in his chair, pushing the piles of files aside, ceases of stress forming on his forehead.

"The doctor said she will need to go through the surgery. Since the symptoms were shown too late and the medications got delayed too, the tumor has spread in her body already. But it's curable fortunate,"

AK sighed silently, his mind being a mess from just a phone call he wasn't expecting to have in the middle of the day out of nowhere.

"Alright," He was about to cut the call but the other voice said something hastily, as if not wanting him to keep the phone yet.

"Will you be coming?" The other person on the call asked.

AK felt a tug at his chest as if someone continuously pulling a string and loosening it, the pain spreading through his whole being.

He didn't want to go. He didn't want to meet her. He didn't want to see her. Yet, a part of him was denying all those partitions, breaking the walls he had created around himself. He knew that if he went to see her, those walls would demolish completely, falling down brick to brick and letting her in, again.

"I'll think about it. I cannot promise anythi-"

"Mr. Kane," That voice.

He sucked in a breath, his eyes settling onto a set of paper yet he saw only her, heard only her.

He knew that voice. It wasn't his trusted man on the call anymore. It was her. And she had called out to him. The way she took his last name made his stomach churn in agony. Her voice was filled with vulnerability, longing, love, and affection—but was it all for him? Was it even true? Was she playing games with him again?

He clenched his jaw, his eyes a bit angry, his free hand resting on his thigh in a fist, and his heart being a reckless thing.

She didn't speak anything for two good minutes, just listening to his calm breaths while he listened to her uneven ones.

"Mr. Kane, the doctor said that it could be curable, but it also can fail and-" Her voice cracked, he could feel that she was crying, or almost on the verge of crying. He could feel his heart clenching, twisting, and tensing under the weight of her words. He couldn't imagine it. He couldn't imagine her not existing in the world anymore, in his world anymore. He didn't want to.

Sure he had separated from her, but never let her go. From his life, yes. It had been a couple of years since he had kept her away from him, from everyone, from her father and his father. But not from his heart or mind. She would come in his dreams every once in a while, she would cross his mind every once in a day.

AK averted his gaze, his eyes starting to sting. He blinked back, a lump in his throat choking his breath.

"I want to see you before I go for surgery," Her voice was weak, one that of a sick person. Her words sounded as if she uttered them through difficulty, and the way it cracked and broke at the end, confused him if it was because of her illness or she was really crying.

AK didn't answer. He couldn't. His words, his voice, his mind—everything felt lost, everything felt gone. He wanted to say no, to deny, to cut the call. But his hand stayed stuck to his ear, and he felt as if the phone wasn't the only thing that connected her with him.

"Mr. Kane....?" She murmured softly, waiting for him to say something.

"I am busy," And he cut the call.

The silence of the room engulfed him, the walls felt like closing on him, crushing him between the weight of the emotions. He wanted to feel nothing of them. He didn't want to care. The image of her being surprised and sad at him abruptly cutting the call on her, the guilt of not answering her while she waited for him to, and the remorse of leaving her when she was at the lowest of her life was agonizing.

But could a betrayal be forgiven? Could it be forgotten? When you trusted that person will all your being, with all the depth, and then you found out that person was lying to you all along. You've been played all this time, wasting your trust on someone who knew nothing about loyalty and honesty.

How was he supposed to just go back to a relationship that started with sweet lies and ended with harsh truth?

-----

"Who is this person?" Tiger asked, his eyes on the screen where a white triangle displayed in a clear stance, indicating that the video playing behind was paused.

"Matthew Blackwood," Warren answered.

They were currently in the study room upstairs, Tiger sitting on the chair, the laptop sitting on the table in front of him, while Warren was leaning over at Tiger's side, specifying the details and particulars to him. He had given the chip to Tiger when he came back home, and now they were having one of the many important discussions of their gambit.

Tiger played the video again. It was a CCTV footage of DK's old cabin, there were two men in the room, namely, DK and Matthew Blackwood—his late business partner. The video started again. The two men discussing something calmly. But the calm stayed only a few minutes before the air turned heavy with tension. They could see the two men getting angry, losing their control, and bellowing at each other loudly. Their expressions were tight, their eyes angry, and their body language tense with anger.

The conversation turned more heated with each passing second. DK pulled out the drawer suddenly, took his gun, and pointed it at his partner. Matthew didn't get to save himself or even get scared, before he could take his next breath, DK pulled the trigger and shot him twice. He fell to the ground instantly, his eyes wide open.

"He is dead already, Warren. What is the purpose of this information?" Tiger asked, not seeing why they needed to know it.

"The purpose is that Xander used to be a secretary of Matthew Blackwood, and he knows something deeper than what he had told us. Also, this old office of DK, it's at the Flevent complex. Matthew knew something about DK which resulted in his murder," Warren emphasized, "Xander Fernandez left the job after this incident. He was scared of his life and his....son," There was an uncomfortableness slurring in his voice at his last word.

Tiger knew exactly why. But he didn't comment on it.

"Maybe we need to pay a visit to Xander one more time," Tiger said, closing the device and removing the chip from the connection.

"Go alone if you want," Warren rolled his eyes, plopping down on the spare chair next to the table attached to the wall.

"Why?"

Warren just glanced at him with a 'Do-you-not-know?' look.

"I don't want to see a certain someone's face again," Warren shrugged, averting his eyes in annoyance, leaning back on the chair but the tension radiating off him was highly palpable. Warren wasn't like Tiger. If he disliked something, it showed on his face. If he loved something, that too, showed on his face. Even when he would kill, the satisfaction would be resident, his smile and his eyes had been and were always expressive. Everything he felt would make itself evident in his features, in his expressions. There could be exceptions in some different situations, but he was what he was, unapologetically.

"How are you going to carry on with him then?" Tiger muttered.

"With whom?" Warren frowned, his one brow raised.

Tiger slid the laptop to the corner, rising from the chair.

Warren followed him out of the room, knowing his hotshot friend had an irritable habit of leaving questions unanswered.

-----

The sun rose behind the trees, its rays seeping through the gaps of the branches, shining in between the leaves and density of the forest.

She stirred in her sleep, pushing her face deeper into the pillow, melting into its warmth and the familiar, intoxicating fragrance of woods and lavender. It seemed as if that smell was wearing off the bed and pillows since he hadn't used the bed in a while.

"Hmh," She hummed lightly, turning to the side, pulling the comforter close to her neck and face, her hands holding it tightly below her chin.

The heat of the sun's rays scorched the back of her neck. The soft tinge of heat made it uncomfortable for her to continue sleeping peacefully.

She sighed, opening her eyes slightly. Her eyes were still dropping in sleep, blurry and unclear. Her view started from the door as she tried to wear off the dizziness subconsciously.

Door...wall....

She blinked sleepily, her mind occupied with the incomplete sleep, her eyes closing momentarily before opening again.

In the same haziness, she caught a glimpse of something black, then blue. She did nothing to clear her vision, just stared at it absentmindedly.

It was him, dressed in his black fitted T-shirt, and his blue jeans. Both pairs of clothes enhanced his well-built body. Although she didn't have a clear view of him, he looked handsome and enchanting in every way, every time.

The blurriness faded soon as his beautiful, captivating sight became evident. He was in front of the mirror of the cupboard, ruffling his wet hair with a white towel. He didn't notice she was awake yet.

She took her time to admire him, his side view had always been a sight to behold. His eyes—whiskey-like brown but warm like honey—stared at himself in the mirror to look for any missed details, his mild wet hair fell on his forehead smoothly. When he was done, he hung the towel on the handle of the cupboard, grabbed his gun from the side table, and slid it at the back with a smooth move, wearing his wristwatch and adjusting his jeans up his waist a little.

That was...

He walked to the bed, bending down to grab his phone, which rested on the headboard's edge, attached to a charger. She shut her eyes quickly, pretending to sleep as if she wasn't being a creep watching him get ready.

"Stop pretending, squirrel. I know you're awake," He whispered, the watch making a quiet friction sound on the table.

She continued with her act to prove him wrong. She didn't want him to confirm himself that she was drooling over him. She was, but he didn't need to know.

She might or might not have heard a faint chuckle, almost inaudible and distant. Did he smile? Was it his infamous smirk again? Whatever it was, she regretted not seeing it. It was a sound she never heard from him. She didn't let a single cease to overcome her features, she played cool on the outside while smacking herself mentally for choosing to stay put in the first place.

She heard his footsteps going away. The door creaked noisily before a thud echoed through the room. When she was sure he was out of the room, she let out a breath she didn't know she was holding, shoved the comforter off her body, and sat with her eyes still closed in morning bliss.

She straightened herself, stretching her arms above her head. Her back arched a little, her naturally brown hair dangling over her shoulder and back. She opened her eyes, twisting her neck to lose her muscles.

The morning rays seeping the window were casting its golden glow on her smooth, beautiful face, adorning it in the same color.

She turned her face to the door involuntarily, only to find him standing there, leaning against the closed door, his hands folded on his front and his foxy brown eyes watching her intently.

She almost jumped out of her place, flinching a little. When her eyes met him, he raised a brow at her, as if asking the reason for her pretentious act just now.

She felt her heart dropping to a beat, her body tensing and her skin burning. All because he was watching—staring at her. It wasn't her fault that she felt so vulnerable under his gaze. There was this deepness, this intensity in those hunter pair of orbs, something she lost her brain cells to understand but couldn't.

"Why are you still here?" She asked in an annoyed voice, s small snarl on her face.

"Why do you have a problem? It's my room," He asked in the most sarcastic way possible.

"Well, if you have a woman sleeping in your room, you're supposed to have some decency," She replied, her sassiness coating her words with an overly sweet voice.

"Comes from a woman who was gawking at me just now for how good I look," He retorted, his voice smooth and calm.

"What the- I wasn't gawking at you," She gasped, defending herself with an obvious lie.

"Yes, you were,"

"No, I wasn't,"

"You were,"

"I said, I wasn't!" She snapped, quite louder this time. But the silence that fell over the room after the echo of her voice died down was even louder. She regretted it internally but didn't let the frown on her face ease even a little. She remembered his words when she once shouted at him in the car and he almost snatched her breath out of her.

(A/N: She is talking about that car scene where Tiger was taking her to Tara for treatment of the stab in her thigh. She was mad and shouted at him to not call her 'Squirrel' and he....anyways, read the part if you might have forgotten.)

"As you say," He muttered after a moment.

She was surprised to not even get an angry frown in return. Did he just let it go like that?

He leaned away from the door. She thought he was going to leave after exposing her act smartly. But he didn't. Instead, he started walking towards her.

She seemingly tensed, scooting back into the soft pillows.

What was he up to again?

He sat at the edge of the bed, his knee close to her thigh but not touching her. She was scrutinizing him with her big cat eyes, faint ceases of uncertainty and confusion marking the middle of her brows.

"What?" She blinked, her fingers curling around the comforter to keep herself as much at ease as possible.

"Pretending only gets you exposed in the end, Squirrel." He whispered, his hand reaching out towards her face.

She ducked her face back slightly. He paused, his hand stopping close to her chin before a small, almost unrecognizable smirk made its way on his perfect lips.

He resumed his action, dismantling the distance between his hand and her face. She didn't know what he was doing, and his eyes made her glued to her position. She couldn't move, not under the spell of that whiskey, predatory eyes.

He moved his hand to the side of her face. She was lost in his eyes, in the warmth of his proximity, and in the blissful moment before she felt her hair moving.

When he retreated his handbag, there was a speck of dust in between his thumb and index finger.

"You need to wash your hair," He said casually, tossing the dust away from his hand.

"I did yesterday," She touched her hair awkwardly, her cheeks reddening in embarrassment.

"Alright. Freshen up and come out for breakfast," He rose from the bed, walked towards the door, and exited the room.

She watched till the door closed shut, and his absence filled the room more than his presence did. She looked around the empty four walls, sighing as she wondered when she'd be able to get out of that horrible mess.

------

It had been a couple of days. She sat in the living room watching some random TV show to not fall into boredom. There was nothing that she could do that was entertaining. She didn't even have her phone, God knew what they did to it. Neither a book, not even anyone to talk endlessly to.

Such a boring day.

In the still quietness of the atmosphere with only the TV making all the sound, there was a knock on the main door.

She turned her face towards the big wooden door, her senses alerting in defense.

Who was it at that time? What if they are attackers again?

She switched off the Television, placing the remote on the table without making a sound. She looked back and forth. She didn't know where the two guys were. The thought of looking for them flashed through her mind but what if she goes to call them and the people outside break in?

They would harm her even if she didn't call Tiger or Warren.

She swallowed the lump in her throat, pushing her fear down to the very depth of her resilience. She was not to be scared, she shouldn't be.

The knock echoed again, and she flinched internally. She moved towards the door with slow, cautious steps. Her stomach flipped upside down, anxiety rising with every step ahead.

When she reached the door, she let out a cool breath, putting her one eye close to the peephole.

It was a guy.

"Who is he?" She muttered under her breath.

She could only see his neck and the dark blue jacket he was wearing over a white inner T-shirt.

"Bismillah," She whispered, feeling the very word boosting her confidence to a few levels more than she had a few seconds ago.

She twisted the knob, opening the door slightly and peeking her head like a rabbit peeking out of its hole.

There stood a guy—a very young guy, probably only a year or more older than her, or at least that's what it seemed like to her. He had long hair that reached below his ear, curly at the ends. A white inner T-shirt and dark blue jacket paired with blue denim jeans were a top-notch addition to his attire.

He removed the hand from the wall and stood straight when she opened the door. His eyes held a mixture of curiosity and mischief.

"Hello, beautiful." He smiled warmly, but the flirtiness in his voice was impossible not to catch.

She noticed he had ear piercings too.

"Who are you?" She asked, blinking at him and still refusing to open the door fully.

"You next love interest maybe," He winked.

Winked.

Oh, Lord. She gasped.

What the hell?

"Excuse me?" She asked with wide, baffled eyes.

"Stop flirting with her, Kevin," A familiar voice came from behind.

She sucked a sharp breath in. He was here too.

His calm, handsome face came into sight as he emerged from behind Kevin, casually draping his arm over the younger guy's shoulder.

She considered with the same confused eyes, though now her gaze was softer and more welcoming than it was for Kevin. Perhaps because she knew him, or maybe because she used to have a little crush on him back then.

"Assalamu Alaikum," He offered a warm, natural smile—one that he always did while regarding her. He was dressed in a grey turtleneck with a deep charcoal-colored overcoat, slim-fit trousers, and polished Chelsea boots that complimented his overall look. He wasn't in his usual businessman attire, and it was something different to see him today.

"Walaikumussalam," She ducked her head in a stiff nod.

"Do we have the permission to come in, pretty lady?" AK asked, his brow raised in a slight movement.

"I thought she was going to keep us standing here till night," Kevin laughed.

Hayat narrowed her eyes at the guy but was distracted by the small chuckle that left AK's lips.

She opened the door wide, stepping aside a little to give them space to enter. She looked at Kevin, her eyes were about to intrust him to step inside but instead, she caught his smile faltering timidly–the smile which was plastered on his face since she saw him.

Kevin wasn't looking at her. He was looking straight ahead, in the middle of the hall somewhere. She turned her face behind her, following his gaze.

It was Warren. He was looking at Warren.

Warren–who stood there in his rolled back, long messy hair, loose black trousers, and beige full-sleeved hoodie. He just stood there, his back facing the TV she had shut a few minutes ago, his eyes hard and furious, narrowed on only one person—Kevin.

He looked as if he was about to kill him as if he couldn't fathom the sight of him. If eyes could kill, Kevin would've been six feet under the grave already.

"Where is Tiger?" AK asked, trying to shake off the tension that had unwantedly cloaked the environment, walking inside with his arm still draped over Kevin, making him enter with him too.

"I'll call him," Warren informed, the sharpness in his voice was barely unnoticeable. he was visibly disturbed.

She felt the whole situation odd. But then again, nothing about these three—or four—guys was normal.

Yet, she wondered what was happening.

Who was Kevin? And why was he here?

Why did Warren behave that way? What was their business?

What had actually went down?