The bar was dim, low jazz playing in the background, glasses clinking every now and then. Leo leaned back in his chair, his hand around a glass of whiskey that caught the warm light. He swirled it lazily, the ice tapping against the glass, his eyes sharp as they flicked between Casper and Zion.
"What’s this important thing you two wanted to tell ?" His tone was cold, deliberate. He wasn’t the type to waste nights out unless there was sothing worth hearing.
Casper, for once, didn’t look drunk. He was serious, his lips pressed tight. Zion nodded at him as though to give him courage.
"It’s Alan," Casper finally said.
Leo’s brows drew together. "Alan?"
"Yeah." Casper cleared his throat, his eyes darting around before eting Leo’s again. "After that... uncle and aunty’s incident, he’s been acting strange. Different. And whenever we ask him to hang out, he refuses. Every ti."
Leo took a slow sip of his drink, the burn of whiskey sliding down his throat as his jaw flexed. "He might be busy," he said flatly. His tone carried no panic, just pure logic.
But Casper shook his head imdiately. "No. Alan never says no to us. Never. Not even once in all these years."
Zion leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Casper’s right. Sothing’s off. He avoids eye contact, he’s always checking his phone, and when we press, he snaps. That’s not Alan."
Leo was about to respond, to shut them down with his usual steel dismissal, when he noticed Casper’s eyes suddenly widen. His face drained of color, and guilt flashed across his expression.
"Casper—" Leo began, but the sound of heavy footsteps behind them cut him off.
"Why do you all look so shocked?"
Alan’s voice was lazy, casual, but there was an edge to it. He slid into the seat beside Leo as though nothing was wrong, his sharp gaze scanning the three n. He leaned back in his chair, signaling the waiter with a snap of his fingers. "Whiskey. Neat."
The air around the table grew heavy, the faint haze of cigar smoke curling between them. Leo’s hand tightened around his glass, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips though his eyes stayed cold.
"Alan," he said smoothly, his voice low and dangerous like a blade against glass, "we were just talking about you."
Alan’s brows lifted slightly, his lips curving into a faint, knowing smile. "Oh? I can only imagine."
The four friends sat there, glasses in hand, the silence suddenly sharp as a knife.
A pretty woman in a scarlet bodycon dress drifted over, her perfu heavy, her smile sharp. She bent down, lips already puckering toward Alan’s jaw. But Alan’s hand ca up, firm and cold, pushing her away without a second glance.
Leo’s eyes narrowed. That wasn’t like him. Among the four of them, Alan had always been the one with the weakest self-control—second only to Casper, who drowned in won and liquor nightly. Alan, though, was never without company. To see him uninterested now only confird what Casper and Zion had been saying. Sothing was wrong.
Leo’s gaze slid back to his glass, swirling the amber liquid lazily. He should have been focused on Alan’s odd behavior. But instead, his mind betrayed him, pulling elsewhere.
Bella.
He could still see her in his head—the way her little nose had been red, her eyes swollen from crying at so ridiculous romance movie. She had looked so small, clutching that pillow, tears slipping down her cheeks like she was the heroine of that screen. His jaw clenched.
What would she look like if he made her cry himself? If he pushed her beneath him, teased her until those big doe eyes shimred with tears—not from a movie, but from him?
His lashes lowered, his stare turning hooded as he rembered her plump pink lips, soft and innocent, made for kissing until she was breathless. Her silky brown hair sliding through his fingers. The delicate warmth of her skin under his palm.
His body tightened at the thought, a hunger curling deep in his chest.
"Leo..."
A hand shook him, dragging him out of the dangerous spiral. His head snapped up, his gray eyes eting Alan’s steady gaze.
"What’s wrong?" Alan asked, his tone deceptively casual as he poured himself a drink.
Leo leaned back, expression cool as ice as he lifted his glass. He took a slow sip of whiskey, letting the burn chase away the image of Bella on her knees before him. "...Nothing." His voice was calm, but inside, the storm raged.
Alan smirked faintly, then dropped his next words with deliberate ease. "Enough about ... how are you and Isabella doing?"
Casper and Zion perked up, their eyes glinting with curiosity. The table seed to sharpen with tension.
Leo set his glass down with a faint clink, his eyes narrowing slightly at Alan’s question. His fingers flexed once against the table before he leaned forward, his tone smooth but heavy.
"Why," Leo drawled, his lips curving into a sharp, dangerous smile, "are you so interested in my wife?"
Alan’s eyes flickered with sothing unreadable before he leaned back with a dry chuckle. "No, no... I just wanted to know how married life is treating you," he said lazily, lifting his glass.
Casper, however, wasn’t letting the chance slip. He leaned forward with a mischievous grin, his cheeks already flushed from drink. "Hahaha, co on, Leo! Tell us. I’m bored of my girlfriend already. They’re all the sa—clingy, nagging, always wanting attention." He rolled his eyes dramatically.
Zion muttered, "Then maybe stop picking them from the club floor," earning a glare from Casper.
Leo, who had been quietly rolling the glass between his fingers, suddenly let out a low chuckle. Alcohol had softened him just enough to let words slip past his usually tight lips. The light from the bar reflected in his stormy gray eyes, making him look both dangerous and strangely soft at the sa ti.
"She’s very sensible," he said, his voice dropping into sothing smoother. He leaned back in his chair, almost as though savoring the thought. "She isn’t clingy... but she’s protective. Very protective."
Casper raised his brows, intrigued. "Protective?"
Leo’s lips curled faintly. "Of her babies."
"P-Poof—" Casper choked violently on his whiskey, spraying droplets across the table. Zion shoved tissues at him with a disgusted grunt, wiping his sleeve.
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