Jack's voice was low, but steady — a tone that carried the weight of things one doesn't speak of often.
"He doesn't let anyone get close to him," Jack began, his eyes fixed on the faint glow of the hologram still spinning above the table. "And he never allows anyone to touch him — not even by mistake."
Aric's face remained unreadable. But Alex, standing just behind him, tilted his head slightly, intrigued.
Jack continued, unaware of how closely he was being studied.
"If someone so much as brushes against him by accident… he panics. Completely. I've seen it. It's like his body forgets how to breathe. He starts gasping, like he's drowning — like the very air around him is turning into fire. Sometimes, the panic gets so bad that he collapses. The migraines that follow are brutal. He loses control of everything."
Jack paused, the memory tugging at the corners of his mind. His voice grew softer, more reflective — like he was reliving it all over again.
"I remember the first time I tried to be his friend. We were still new to each other. I didn't mean to, but I accidentally touched him. Just barely. My hand brushed against his arm — nothing more. But his reaction…"
Jack's eyes darkened.
"He broke down in front of me. Clutched his head with both hands and screamed like his skull was splitting open. He was shaking, yelling… it was like watching someone being burned alive. I didn't know what to do. I froze. I'd never seen fear like that in anyone's eyes."
The room was quiet — the kind of silence that absorbs everything around it. Aric didn't speak. Alex shifted his weight, arms folded, watching Jack with a sharp, observant gaze.
Jack exhaled deeply. "After that day, I never touched him again. Not even by accident. It took weeks — no, months — before he finally started speaking to me again. Before he started to trust me enough to talk. And even then, it was always… limited. Distant."
He glanced at Aric, hoping the narrative would dull the man's interest.
In truth, Jack had crafted every word carefully — laying down a detailed account of Zayn's fragility. The plan was simple: make Zayn sound too complicated, too broken, too useless. He thought if he painted Zayn as someone so psychologically unwell that even human contact was unbearable, maybe — just maybe — Aric would lose interest.
A boy like that… what use could he possibly be to Aric Ravensworth?
But Jack had miscalculated.
If his goal had been to dissuade Aric, to push Zayn out of his reach — then he had failed spectacularly.
Aric hadn't looked away once. He absorbed every word Jack spoke like it was data — vital, calculated, and deeply significant. His expression didn't change, but there was a spark — faint, dangerous, and impossible to ignore.
And Alex… even he looked surprised by what he was hearing.
But Jack wasn't done. The memories kept flowing.
"People used to mess with him all the time," he said, his voice hardening. "Students in college… they treated him like trash. They'd spill things on him, push him down, make him flinch just for fun. One time, a group poured hot coffee down his arm. His skin was burned so badly, but he still didn't tell anyone. Not the teachers, not the administration — no one."
Jack's fists clenched slightly at his sides.
"He was bullied. Tortured, even. And yet… he stayed silent. I used to think he was just a coward. I mean, his father is a powerful politician — one call, and he could've crushed them all. But instead, he kept taking it. Kept hiding. Like he thought he deserved it."
Jack's gaze drifted downward. His voice became a whisper of conflicted emotion.
"Sometimes I wondered if he was just… stupid. Why let people walk all over you when you have every tool to stop them?"
Then his voice lifted slightly.
"But things changed when Finn came along. He… helped Zayn. Protected him. Stood up for him when no one else would."
That was when Aric finally moved.
His fingers tapped once against the glass table — barely audible, but enough to slice through the air like a blade.
His voice, low and controlled, followed.
"What's Finn's relationship to Zayn?"
The question landed with precision. No emotion. No expression.
But the room felt colder suddenly.
Jack hesitated.
From the outside, it might've looked like a simple question. But Jack knew better. Aric never asked anything without intent.
He swallowed hard, trying not to let his growing unease show.
Even now, Aric's demeanor hadn't shifted. His face was calm — disturbingly calm. The kind of calm that meant something much deeper was happening beneath the surface.
The holographic map kept spinning. The lights overhead flickered once — a soft electrical buzz barely audible.
Jack looked at Aric, and in that moment, he knew — he wasn't just giving information.
He was handing over pieces of Zayn's life to a man who never forgot, never forgave, and always… always planned three moves ahead.
Alex still couldn't figure out what Aric was thinking. We came here for intel on Zavier — so why is he asking about Zayn?
Despite being around Aric for years, Alex had never truly understood the man. He couldn't predict his thoughts, let alone his next move. That's why, brushing away his own assumptions, he simply turned his focus back to Jack and what he was saying.
Jack explained that in all this time, there had only been one person Zayn had ever truly formed a bond with — Finn. Maybe because Finn had that instinctive, helping nature.Finn often stood up for Zayn. Protected him from the other students.There was one particular incident Jack recalled — a time when that same cruel group had attacked Zayn. Finn had stepped in and fought for him. The situation escalated into a full-blown fight.
In college, Finn had been Zayn's only real friend. But even then, neither of them seemed to know much about each other's personal lives.
They were friends — but maybe only in the limited, circumstantial way classmates sometimes are.Jack had never seen them hang out outside of campus.They never spent time together the way normal friends do — no going out, no heart-to-heart conversations, no late-night messages, no shared laughter echoing in empty hallways.
They were close... but only up to the gates of the college. Beyond that, Jack had never seen them together.
"Are you sure he doesn't know anything?"Aric asked again, his voice low and precise.
"Yes," Jack replied firmly. "I'm absolutely sure."
The moment he said it, Aric nodded once and said, "Alright. You can go."
As Jack stepped out of the office, he exhaled — slowly, deeply — like he was finally breathing properly after holding his breath for hours.He hadn't even realized how tense his body had been until now.
Today, Aric had summoned him unexpectedly. Jack had assumed it was something serious — something heavy, something dangerous. He had walked in carrying the weight of expectation, of dread.
But nothing had gone the way he thought it would.And now, with a strange sense of relief, he left the room — his shoulders a little lighter.
After Jack left, Alex finally spoke."So your suspicion was wrong. He doesn't know anything. You went to all that trouble gathering information, and in the end… nothing. We didn't learn a damn thing."
But Aric didn't respond.He wasn't listening — or rather, he was lost in something else entirely.
His mind was still in the room, still in the conversation, still sifting through Jack's every word — every glance, every hesitation, every carefully measured breath.
There was something Aric had noticed today.Something in Jack's eyes.
Feelings.
Not just concern.Not just loyalty.
But real, unspoken feelings for Zayn.Something deeper than friendship. Something Jack likely hadn't confessed even to himself.
And now… Aric knew.
The realization flickered across his face like a passing shadow — a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, sharp and fleeting, gone almost as soon as it appeared.
And with that... Aric, too, stepped out of the office.
Aric Ravensworth's black Aston Martin DB11 moved through the empty road like a lioness gliding through the night—silent, smooth, and deadly. The engine didn't growl. It breathed. A refined force cloaked in shadow. The car's matte finish devoured the moonlight, offering no reflection, no shine—only a quiet promise of precision.
It didn't need noise to announce its presence. Its arrival was felt, not heard.
The tires whispered as he turned onto a narrow road, headed toward the city's most exclusive residential district—a place where wealth spoke in murmurs and power hid behind silence.
Inside the car, Aric sat like still water—calm, unreadable. Every line of his custom suit was sharp. No wrinkles. No softness. Just edges. His eyes held the kind of focus that didn't just observe—it hunted.
This wasn't just silence—it was the kind that breathes.
Outside, the world had faded into shadow—broad, hushed, stripped of sound. Aric had left behind the noise of downtown, the flashing lights, the desperation. Now, wide, polished streets stretched between towering gates and concrete walls, not lining homes, but fortresses. These weren't just properties—they were sanctuaries built not just with wealth, but with fear.
This was where power lived.
And where it hid.
These homes belonged to people whose names were whispered behind closed doors—the businessmen with blood in their ledgers, the politicians whose smiles concealed darker truths. When night fell and lights dimmed here, it wasn't for peaceful sleep. It was to give shadows room to breathe. Room to hide sins.
A few kilometers in, Aric approached an old bungalow. Not completely isolated, but deliberately distanced. It didn't need to prove anything.
It simply was power.
This was the home of Mr. Richard—a man who had mastered the game of politics. Thailand's most quietly feared political figure, whose greatest strength lay in what remained unseen. The bungalow, with its tall stone walls and creeping ivy, radiated the same kind of ominous stillness as its owner.
But Aric hadn't come for Mr. Richard tonight.
No. He wasn't here for a job. He wasn't here for revenge.
"Today, he was here for only one reason — and that reason was
Zayn.
He eased the car to a stop just meters from the side lawn. Silence wrapped around him like a second skin. He reached for the handle, but before he could step out, his phone chimed softly. He pulled it from his pocket. A familiar name lit up the screen—Issac.
Aric paused.
Then answered, stepping into the cool night.
Before he could say a word, Issac's voice came through—gentle, concerned, tinged with disappointment.
"You promised you'd have dinner with me tonight. And now it's one in the morning."
His voice lingered—wounded, quiet, sincere. Aric could hear the sadness tucked inside every word. He had let him down.
Aric placed a hand on the car's frame, his tone steady—almost too steady. "I know. I got tied up. I'll be there for breakfast."
Silence on the other end. Then Issac's voice returned—soft, uncertain, but hopeful.
"You will come?"
"I will," Aric said, his gaze already rising toward the wall where the shadows deepened.
Before Isaac could say anything, Aric ended the call — because right now, he wanted to finish what he had come here for. Aric kept Isaac in a separate house, partly for his safety, and partly because Aric valued his privacy above all else.
Like a predator, he moved quickly around the bungalow's rear. The external security had already been neutralized—cameras hacked by Alex earlier, the footage looping endlessly. Motion sensors were dead. Only a few guards lingered by the front gate, but they weren't an issue.
He moved without a sound, melting into the shadows, the whisper of his coat brushing low shrubs as he reached the rear wall. One fluid motion, and he was over—landing softly on the other side. No noise. No disruption.
Ahead, the garden stretched under pale moonlight. Every path and tree was soaked in stillness. Not a peaceful quiet. A tense, electric silence.
The kind that comes before a storm.
Aric paused, crouched low, and listened.
No footsteps. No voices.Only the rustling trees in the wind.The silence was absolute.
And it told him everything he needed to know.