Though Daian knew Angwei was no ordinary man before approaching him and had anticipated his terrifying nature, their few brief encounters had still made her overestimate her own courage.
"Afraid of me?"
Noticing her discomfort, the corner of his mouth lifted. He frowned slightly and lazily blew a stream of smoke to the side. "Am I that scary?"
Daian replied flatly, "You jest, Young Master Angwei. Who wouldn't be afraid of you?"
The man who had his guards beat a woman half to death the first time I saw him? Of course, everyone's afraid, she thought silently.
He gave a low chuckle through his nose, flicking a stray strand of tobacco from his tongue as if amused.
The water boiled. She reached for the teapot to pour, but his large hand intercepted the scalding handle. Without a word, he filled his own cup.
His brow lifted slightly as he looked up at her, a question that felt like a probe. "Miss Daian, been to Wat Pho recently?"
Her heart lurched, but she recovered in barely two seconds, hoping it would go unnoticed. "I have, actually. Why?"
"Oh? What for?" His deep gaze fixed on her.
"Work. Earning some tuition," Daian answered.
Angwei held his cigarette between his fingers, his eyes glinting with tipsy interest as he watched her, like observing a small animal. "That hard up for money?"
Daian met his gaze defiantly. "Grew up poor. Maybe you won't understand. That's how we survive. Not as... dignified as you."
"Still didn't sink to selling yourself. Seems you've got some spine." He scoffed lightly, his eyes drifting to her lips.
Daian didn't respond. She looked down, smoothing the wrinkles pressed into her clothes by Mr. Wei. Angwei smoked, his eyes intently focused on her, a faint smile touching the corners. The silence was unnerving.
A sudden knock shattered the stillness, like a stone thrown into a still pond.
"Enter."
Angwei leaned back against the cushions, squinting towards the door. Khun Da pushed it open, his face etched with alarm. He hesitated on the threshold, reading the room's atmosphere, his panic shifting to uncertainty as he debated entering or retreating.
"Speak." Angwei commanded sharply.
Khun Da clutched his phone, his eyes darting towards the woman beside Angwei. He squinted, recognizing her, swallowed hard, and then delivered his news.
"Got a lead on Wasana, Young Master. In the South City. We have eyes on him. At a casino. He hasn't spotted us. Pursue?"
Angwei's brow furrowed with grim focus.
"Pursue," he snapped instantly. Then, unhurriedly, he stubbed out his cigarette, stood, shrugged on his jacket, ordered his men to arm themselves, and swept out in a whirlwind.
Five minutes later, Daian encountered a flustered female colleague in the hallway. The woman handed her an ice pack, explaining a guest had left it on his way out – for Miss Daian's burn.
He'd forgotten everything else, hadn't spared her a glance, yet remembered her scalded hand.
His nature was perplexing, utterly inscrutable.
A wry smile touched Daian's lips. She felt a flicker of understanding. Clutching the ice pack, she headed downstairs and ran into Asu. He beckoned her into his office, a sly grin spreading across his face as he slid a cheque across the desk.
"From Young Master Angwei. Compensation for your injury last time."
She glanced at the amount. It was substantial, covering nearly half a year's living expenses. But she didn't take it. The medical bills had already been paid. She had no reason for further compensation.
Didn't he say I had spine? She thought. Well, if I'm playing the part, I'll play it to the end.
Angwei arrived at the casino late that night. Wasana was gone. Somehow tipped off, the man had slipped his tail in the restroom and vanished silently out the back door.
Frustration burned, but the quarry had disappeared like smoke. Nothing to do but return empty-handed.
A few days later came the monthly Chan family dinner – a fixed ritual.
The Chan villa occupied a prime hilltop in the city center, surrounded by expansive, lush woodlands – a commanding vantage point amidst the urban sprawl. High white walls enclosed the estate, radiating austere authority.
The electric blue glow of Angwei's Pagani Huayra supercar crawled up the hill. Ornate wrought-iron gates, four meters high, swung open from within.
While waiting, he pinched the bridge of his nose, easing the tension. Then, with a low growl, the car surged into the vast garden, shattering the night's quiet.
His footsteps echoed down the long corridor, unhurried. Angwei tossed his keys onto the console table in the foyer and bent to change his shoes.
A young maid approached, taking the coat he offered. "Welcome home, Young Master," she murmured softly.
Angwei glanced up, expressionless. A slight, indifferent nod was his only acknowledgment.
Long legs carried him up the steps into the grand, classically styled Chinese living room. From afar, he heard Nira Nguyen's voice directing the kitchen staff.
"Auntie, make extra stewed meats today. Leo loves them."
Her tone was gentle, natural – utterly unlike the stern, imposing Deputy Commissioner of Police. Just an ordinary mother.
Hearing his approach, the elegant figure seated on the vast living room sofa turned, unhurried.
She wore silk loungewear, draped in a designer shawl. A brilliant emerald bracelet encircled her wrist. Her short, brown curls framed red lips. She looked radiantly young, nothing like a woman past fifty.
"Leo, come sit," Nira smiled, setting down her cup of black tea.
Angwei still felt unfamiliar in this house. Back less than two years, apart from these monthly dinners, the three of them were usually preoccupied with their own lives, inevitably creating distance.
He sprawled into the armchair beside Nira, his tailored black shirt open at the collar, radiating an air of untamed arrogance.
As usual, no greeting. His gaze didn't settle on her for a second. He took a low breath, scanning the room, his voice deep. "Where's Dad?"
Beneath the glow of the massive crystal chandelier, his pupils looked like deep, dark pools. His nicotine craving stirred, an uncomfortable tightness in his chest.
His fingers brushed the lighter in his pocket. He paused for two seconds. Then he left it there.
Nira gestured to the maid beside her to pour him a cup of black tea, sliding it towards him. Her smile was bright, though a shadow lingered beneath. "Your father's on a call upstairs. He'll be down shortly."
This child is distant. She was used to it. Not just tonight.
Her eyes traced his features. She leaned closer, trying to offer care. "You've lost weight. Not eating properly? Busy is fine, but don't wear yourself out."
Angwei merely grunted in acknowledgment. He avoided her earnest gaze, his eyes wandering idly. Long fingers picked up the prominent newspaper on the table. The front-page spread featured a large photo of Nira Nguyen in her police uniform.