The backroom of the Chinatown tea house was cramped and dimly illuminated, the air thick with the mingled scents of jasmine tea, aged leather, and stale cigarette smoke. Lucas paused just inside the doorway, allowing his eyes to adjust to the murky lighting, punctuated only by the dull glow of a single bulb dangling from the low ceiling. Shadows stretched across the worn wooden table, occupied by a chipped porcelain teapot and cups of cold tea, remnants of earlier conversations.

  Zee sat across the table, his sharp, calculating gaze cutting through the dimness beneath meticulously styled black hair. He rested his fingers lightly on the scarred tabletop, silently appraising every nuance of Lucas's demeanor. Beside him, Jo leaned against the peeling wallpaper with deceptive casualness, his tailored suit immaculate as always, his buzzed hair gleaming faintly, beard meticulously groomed, and expression set in a bored impatience.

  Uncle Tommy occupied the head of the table, stocky and authoritative, his salt-and-pepper hair neatly cropped. The scar slicing across his right eyebrow lent him an air of hardened wisdom, a silent testament to the battles he’d survived over decades. His presence grounded the room, a reminder of an older, more honorable order fading quietly into the ruthless practicality of the present.

  Lucas drew a measured breath, unclenching his fists with conscious effort. "Vivian hasn’t done anything suspicious since the police interview," he lied evenly, the words settling bitterly on his tongue. "She’s kept her head down, quiet. No trouble."

  Zee's brows drew together in skepticism, his voice low and probing. "Interesting claim, Lucas. Because we heard otherwise. Witnesses placed her stumbling around Orchard Alley, completely out of it. You stepped in personally. Care to clarify?"

  Lucas felt his jaw tighten slightly, irritation simmering beneath his carefully neutral exterior. He detested needing to fabricate Noah’s cover story but maintained his composure. "Vivian got herself tangled up with some guy—Noah Fang," Lucas explained slowly, deliberately, the bitterness in his voice unmistakable. "She thought he was cheating, followed him into Orchard Alley without realizing where she was going. She was reckless, not malicious. I intervened out of respect for Vince, nothing more."

  Jo snorted softly, skepticism clear but uninterested enough to avoid pressing the issue further. Vivian was an inconvenience at best, irrelevant in Jo's profit-driven world. Lucas shot him a brief, annoyed glance before returning his attention to Zee.

  Zee's scrutiny lingered uncomfortably, assessing Lucas’s honesty and loyalty before finally offering a reluctant nod. "Fine," he conceded, voice clipped. "But who exactly is Noah Fang?"

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  Lucas allowed himself a moment of brutal honesty, his voice flat with genuine distaste. "Noah Fang’s a sick bastard. Clean-cut, polished exterior, exactly the type Vivian would foolishly fall for. But he's got a habit of prowling Orchard Alley karaoke bars, paying for company. Vivian doesn't know yet, but she’ll find out soon enough."

  Uncle Tommy shook his head slowly, sighing with genuine regret, his disappointment clear yet tempered by a detached pragmatism. "Vince would be disappointed she's picked that kind of guy," he murmured, voice firm but tinged with quiet sorrow. "But it's not our problem."

  Jo gave another dismissive shrug, clearly indifferent to Vivian's choices, his impatience obvious. He cared only about stability and profits; sentimental concerns were irrelevant distractions. Zee exchanged a knowing look with Jo, shifting the focus firmly back to business.

  "Serena’s phone showed recent activity," Zee announced abruptly, voice authoritative, shifting priorities without hesitation. "She could be alive, or it’s a deliberate diversion. Either way, Serena’s disappearance and Vince’s murder take precedence. Vivian’s situation isn't important anymore."

  Lucas’s posture stiffened involuntarily at the mention of Serena, the sudden shift in priorities momentarily eclipsing his concern for Vivian. Jo’s voice sliced through the tension bluntly. "Forget Vivian. Let her play house with whoever she wants. We have real business to handle."

  Uncle Tommy turned to Lucas, gaze unexpectedly sympathetic but firm. "Lucas, we’re taking you off Vivian's surveillance immediately. Serena deserves our full attention, and Vince deserves a proper send-off. That’s where our resources go now." He paused briefly, offering Lucas a small gesture of consolation. "But you can be the one to tell Vivian about Vince’s funeral. Vince would've wanted her there."

  Lucas nodded stiffly, appreciating Tommy’s small mercy despite the harsh practicality. "Understood," he murmured, voice quiet yet tense.

  Stepping back onto the bustling streets of Chinatown, Lucas felt the oppressive weight of helplessness pressing in on him. He was trapped—bound by duty, promises made to Vince still fresh in his mind, each one a reminder of the trust placed on his shoulders. Yet now, his hands were tied, forced into compliance by orders that grated harshly against every protective instinct he possessed. The bitter truth was Noah Fang now held unchecked access to Vivian, a thought that ignited a quiet, simmering fury beneath Lucas’s carefully maintained exterior.

  His pace quickened as anger and frustration pulsed through him. He recalled clearly the nights he had stood silently by Vince’s side, promising solemnly, unspoken yet understood, that Vivian would remain untouched by the darkness of their world. He’d sworn that, as long as breath filled his lungs, he’d shield her from the vultures and predators circling closer every day. But now, Noah—one of those predators, cunningly disguised behind charm and sharp smiles—had slipped past his defenses, wormed his way closer to Vince would ever have allowed anyone to get.

  Lucas’s jaw tightened painfully, his fists clenching until his knuckles whitened, each step an effort to wrest control over the chaos inside him. It wasn’t jealousy that burned in his chest—not exactly. It was a fierce possessiveness born of loyalty, forged from promises made quietly in the shadows. Vivian wasn’t meant for Noah Fang’s twisted games; she was Vince’s family, his legacy.

  He pushed through the crowded streets, each murmured conversation and burst of laughter around him fading into an indistinct drone. Lucas had always prided himself on his discipline, his ability to remain detached, calculating, and rational. Yet now, he could feel that carefully maintained wall fracturing, Vivian slipping past barriers he’d painstakingly erected. It wasn’t desire or softness—it was a fierce sense of guardianship, raw and unfiltered, mixing dangerously with emotions he had spent years suppressing.

  Lucas inhaled sharply, focusing his anger into a quiet resolve. He would keep his promise, no matter what Uncle Tommy or Zee or Jo said. He might be officially removed from Vivian’s tail, but he would find other ways—quiet ways—to protect her from Noah Fang.