"Are you free these days? You've been needing to see me at least once a week," Jet asked, curious as he took another bite of cake.
Across from him, Han smiled beneath his mask—Jet could tell just from the way his eyes crinkled.
"The villain isn't the main character. Why would I be busy with things that don't concern me?"
Jet raised an eyebrow. "And what's with all the recordings lately?"
Han tapped his fingers against the table. "I thought you read the book. You should know."
Jet leaned in slightly, smirking. "Care to enlighten me a little, darling?"
Before Han could answer, a group of teens at a nearby table suddenly squealed. Whether it was over them or something else, it was a little too perfectly timed. Jet laughed, shaking his head as he pulled up his mask. He packed up his half-eaten cake and walked out with Han, who carried his tea.
"Got a few shots of the other guy without a mask," a paparazzo texted, attaching the images.
But the replies were swift and disappointing.
"We can't see him."
The paparazzo frowned and checked the photos again. The reflection in the café window had cast a bright glare over Jet's face, obscuring his features. Frustrated, he knew he couldn't follow them now—it'd be too obvious. But luck was on their side. Han and Jet were heading straight toward a few more photographers, cameras at the ready.
Jet and Han walked hand in hand, fully aware of the risks but unwilling to let go. Jet tapped his fingers against Han's, a silent signal. Han, understanding instantly, listened closely—right into their own trap.
A few feet away, Victor stood by a storefront, phone in hand, watching them.
He thought it would hurt. Seeing Han happy with someone else.
But to his surprise, it didn't.
If anything, he found solace in it. Han was happy—truly happy.
Still, his fingers moved on instinct, snapping quiet photos.
Han is happy… but not for long.
Victor lowered his phone and checked the pictures, his brow furrowing.
In the crowded street, Jet's face was always blocked—by a passing pedestrian, a sudden blur, a trick of the angle. It was almost as if something kept interfering at the perfect moment.
Frustration burned in his chest. He glanced up, scanning the crowd, before quickly following.
He had a feeling he just couldn't shake.
And he wasn't the only one watching.
Victor clenched his jaw, his grip tightening around his phone. The frustration wasn't just from the failed photos—it was from the pit in his stomach, the gnawing feeling that he was chasing something he wasn't meant to catch.
Why was he even doing this?
Was it for Mrs. Yau? For some twisted loyalty? Or was it simply because he couldn't stand the idea of Han being untouchable—of him moving forward while Victor stayed behind?
His thoughts spiraled as he weaved through the crowd, eyes locked onto Han and Jet. The other paparazzi were still trying, but every shot was ruined by some stroke of bad luck. Victor, however, was done relying on chance.
If he wanted answers, he had to take matters into his own hands.
He pulled up his contacts and dialed.
"You still have people, right?" he asked lowly when the line connected.
The man on the other end chuckled. "You sound tense, Vic. What do you need?"
Victor exhaled sharply, watching as Han and Jet turned down a quieter street. He made his decision.
"Find out who the other guy is."
"And if I can't?"
Victor's fingers drummed against his phone. "Then follow Han. He'll lead us to him eventually."
The voice hummed in amusement. "You know, you're acting more like Mrs. Yau than yourself."
Victor froze for a second. The words struck something deep—something he didn't want to acknowledge.
But instead of answering, he ended the call.
He wasn't like her.
…Right?
Victor stood frozen in the crowd, his eyes darting frantically. One moment, Han and Jet had been right there—and the next, they were gone.
'W–what?'
He turned in circles, scanning every direction, but all he saw were strangers going about their evening. No sign of those two, no lingering figures slipping away. His stomach twisted.
Meanwhile, down a quiet alleyway, Jet pressed against the wall, heart pounding against his ribs.
"H-Han—!"
A firm hand clamped over his mouth before he could finish, warm breath ghosting his ear.
"There are people following us," Han murmured, his voice low but certain.
Jet's wide eyes met Han's, the weight of his words sinking in. He swallowed hard and gave a small nod. Only then did Han slowly release him. Without hesitation, Han grabbed his wrist and pulled him deeper into the alley, moving fast but controlled.
They didn't stop until they reached Jet's car, slipping inside in one fluid motion. Han took the wheel, gripping it tight as he pulled onto the road.
"Where to?" Jet asked, glancing at Han, still breathless.
Han's answer came without hesitation.
"The pavilion."
Jet blinked, surprised—but he didn't argue.
It was the only place that made sense. The only place far enough, hidden enough.
And as Han drove, navigating the streets with practiced ease, Jet's grip tightened on his seatbelt.
Because whatever was happening, whoever was after them—this wasn't over yet.
Jet took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. Winter dates were supposed to be warm and cozy—not a damn chase through the city.
The steady rush of the waterfall nearby helped calm his nerves, but only slightly. He sat up straighter, his face serious despite the lingering worry in his eyes.
"Who was following us?"
"Paparazzi," Han answered immediately. "They don't hide well at all. Plus, AJ told me to get out of there with you—fast."
Jet frowned. "AJ?"
"My right-hand man at the company," Han explained. "She used to work for my mother, but then she realized the things she did to me were… wrong. So she came clean and switched sides. That's how I still get updates on her."
Jet's brows knitted together. "So he still technically works for her but feeds you information? That's risky."
Han nodded. "They're after you, Jet. She wants to know who you are, and she somehow got access to people who can find out. And now—" Han hesitated, his jaw tightening. "Now, she wants you dead."
Jet went still. A deep, cold silence settled between them.
Han's grip tightened around Jet's freezing hands, trying to bring warmth back into them. "Hey, hey… Jet!"
Jet blinked, breaking out of his trance. Slowly, his fingers curled around Han's. His voice was quieter this time, but firm. "I'll figure this out, okay? Just hold on for me."
A sudden gust of winter wind rushed through the hill, sending a sharp chill through them both. Instinctively, Han pulled Jet closer, wrapping him in his arms.
"It was just like this," Jet murmured against Han's shoulder. "A cold winter. But this time, I'm not losing you." He pulled back just enough to look Han in the eyes, his own gaze burning with determination.
Han smirked, trying to lighten the mood. "It's freezing. You know, this would be a good place to get your rut. The heat between us would even out, no?"
Jet scoffed, rolling his eyes. "You're disgusting."
"Okay, okay, I'll stop," Han chuckled, but he didn't let go. Instead, he held Jet closer, as if grounding them both.
Because no matter what was coming, they were in this together.
Jet had started staying home more, just like he used to. His friends and family kept in contact, but they rarely met him in person—so no one really noticed or cared.
Jet didn't mind the lack of dates or seeing Han less, but Han did. He wanted to see Jet happy.
Still, this distance wouldn't last forever. Soon, they would figure things out—with a little help.
—-
Mrs. Yau exhaled a long drag of her cigar, her expression unreadable as she stared at the pictures laid out before her. Blurry or not, they told her enough. Han was still out there, still slipping through her fingers. And now, there was someone beside him—a faceless shadow, always covered, always just out of reach.
She flicked the ash onto a tray, eyes narrowing. "Pathetic."
Victor sat stiffly across from her, gripping his phone. His gaze hadn't left the screen since he'd taken the latest batch of photos. Han and that man—whoever the hell he was—standing too close, touching too easily. Like they belonged together.
Mrs. Yau's voice was sharp. "Do you enjoy failing me, Victor?"
He barely heard her. His fingers tightened around his phone, his pulse unsteady.
"I want him," he murmured, more to himself than anyone else. His breath came faster, harsher. "I need him back."
Mrs. Yau leaned forward, her gaze sharp with curiosity. "Oh? And what exactly are you willing to do?"
Victor finally looked up, something unhinged flickering in his eyes. He smiled.
"Anything."