Chapter 5

The morning had barely settled when the delivery truck arrived.

Ajin stood just outside the flower shop, clipboard in hand, carefully checking each bundle as the delivery driver unloaded them one by one.

"White lilies, pink carnations, fresh tulips, two boxes of roses..." she murmured, eyes moving down the list. Everything looked in order.

She exchanged a few polite words with the driver as they went through the list together, confirming quantities and conditions. It was routine work, the kind she could do half-awake after years of managing the shop.

The neighborhood was only beginning to stir. Storefronts were opening. The scent of fresh bread drifted from the bakery down the street. Somewhere nearby, a radio played faintly from an open window.

Ajin signed the final confirmation and handed the clipboard back.

“Thank you. Everything looks good.”

The driver nodded and returned to his truck.

Ajin bent slightly, reaching for one of the larger bundles resting near the entrance. The flowers were heavier than they looked.

She had barely straightened when the weight suddenly disappeared from her hands. She turned, and froze for a moment. Standing there—already holding the bundle of flowers effortlessly in his arms—was Adrian Cross, casually smiling. As though appearing out of nowhere carrying her deliveries was the most natural thing in the world.

Ajin was a little surprised. “Mr. Cross?” Her brows lifted slightly. “You’re… here again.”

His smile widened, just a little. “Good morning to you too.”

For a moment, Ajin simply stared. Because she was not expecting him to be there, or rather she was expecting him but not this early, standing in front of her before the shop had even properly opened.

For the past several days, Adrian had developed a habit of appearing in front of her with suspicious regularity.

The first time after the investigation, he had claimed the case was still ongoing and that he needed to ask a few follow-up questions. The second time, he said he was buying flowers for his mother. The third, he insisted Marcus had recommended this shop for “professional reasons,” though judging by Marcus’s expression when he showed up five minutes later looking deeply confused, that had clearly been a lie.

This time, however, he seemed more prepared.

“I was passing by,” he said casually, as if reading directly from a script he had rehearsed. “Saw you struggling with those and thought I’d help.”

At this point, his excuses had become almost entertaining.

Before she could say more, he stepped past her and carried the flowers inside without waiting for further permission, moving with a confidence that suggested he had already decided he belonged there. Ajin followed after him, shaking her head faintly.

“You know,” she said, placing another box on the counter, “for someone supposedly busy with investigations, you seem to have a surprising amount of free time.”

Adrian carefully set the flowers down. “I manage my schedule well.”

“Mm.” She gave him a look that clearly said I don’t believe you at all. He only smiled in return.

She reached for a pair of scissors and began opening another bundle.

“Well,” she said lightly, “since you’re already here and so generously offered your help…”

Adrian visibly straightened. And then Ajin handed him another box. “You can carry those too.”

His expression froze for exactly half a second.Then, he laughed softly.

“Using me for labor already?”

“You offered.”

“Fair point.” He accepted the box anyway.

From outside, a few passing neighbors glanced through the window. One older woman slowed noticeably, smiled knowingly at the sight, and kept walking. While Ajin pretended not to notice, Adrian, unfortunately, absolutely noticed and looked far too pleased about it.

The next half hour passed more easily than expected.

Ajin arranged the new flowers while Adrian helped move boxes, occasionally asking questions that were only half-related to anything practical. Like 'How long has she worked here?' 'Did she always open this early?' 'Did she ever take breaks?' and the likes.

For Ajin, he was quite strange. Not in an unpleasant way. But just… strange enough to be mildly disarming. Comfortable, somehow. Like someone who had decided to enter her life without asking permission and had no plans of leaving anytime soon.

Once the final box was unpacked, Adrian dusted his hands lightly.

“There,” he said. “Productive morning.”

Ajin looked around at the now-organized shop.

“…You were actually useful.”

He smiled while shrugging his shoulders. "Well, what can I say... I was born this way"

Ajin shook her head, unable to hide the small smile forming anyway.

Meanwhile, across the city—far from quiet neighborhoods and small flower shops—glass towers cut into the sky like sharpened edges.

At the top floor of one of the largest buildings, a meeting had just adjourned. As chairs slid back and papers were gathered. Voices lowered the moment he stood.

The man who walked out carried a presence that silenced rooms without effort. He was around sixty years old, perhaps. But nothing about him suggested age in the way people expected. His posture was straight, steps measured, and a gaze that was sharp and unwavering. If anything, he moved like someone decades younger—refined not by time, but by control.

Employees along the hallway instinctively lowered their heads as he passed.

“Chairman Virel Kaelthorn.”

“Good afternoon, Chairman.”

He acknowledged none of them directly. He didn’t need to, because respect, in his world, was not given. Rather it was expected.

Behind him followed a middle-aged man, composed and efficient, carrying a tablet close to his chest. His secretary. Always two steps behind, and silent unless spoken to.

“Your next appointment has been moved to three, Chairman,” the secretary said calmly. “There were adjustments due to—”

“Cancel it.”

The response was immediate, with no hesitation.

The secretary didn’t question it. “Yes, Chairman.”

They continued walking towards the private office at the end of the corridor.

The doors opened, and for the first time that afternoon, Virel stopped.

Inside, two men were already seated. Both around his age, and were carrying the same quiet weight of authority. Men who did not belong in someone else’s office without reason, nor permission.

One of them leaned back slightly in his chair, a faint smile playing on his lips.

“How’s business going, old friend?” The voice was casual.

Virel’s expression shifted—not to anger, but to something closer to surprise. “Gareth Vale,” he said slowly. “It’s been a while.”

The man—Gareth—stood, adjusting his coat with practiced ease before extending a hand.

“Long time no see.”

Virel stepped forward and accepted it. A firm handshake.

The second man rose as well, his expression more restrained, though his eyes remained sharp.

“I was just as surprised,” he said. “He walked into my company like he owned the place.”

Virel glanced at him. “Lucien Ardent.”

Lucien gave a slight nod.

Gareth chuckled lightly. “I figured it’d be more interesting if we met together,” he said. “It’s been years since the three of us were in the same room.”

About twelve years, actually. It was long enough for empires to grow, enough for alliances to weaken, and for trust to become something far less certain.

Virel walked past them, taking his seat behind the desk without breaking composure.

“And you chose today, to reappear without notice.”

Gareth spread his hands slightly. “I’ve been abroad. Expanding business. You know how it is.”

“Yes,” Virel replied evenly. “I do.”

Three chairmen, all in one room. Each commanding their own conglomerate, powerful enough to stand alone. And yet here they were, smiling and talking as if they were simply old friends catching up. But beneath that were cautious calculations

Gareth leaned back again, as though the tension didn’t exist.“You’re both still the same,” he said lightly. “Still suspicious of everything.”

“That’s why we’re still here,” Virel replied.

Lucien added quietly, “And why you’re not trusted.”

Gareth laughed, not even offended. If anything, he was amused. “Fair enough.”

His gaze moved between them. Now sharp and purposeful.

“I didn’t come back just for a reunion.”

Virel’s fingers tapped once against the desk. “Then speak.”

The air around them shifted.

Because whatever Gareth Vale had returned for—it definitely wasn’t for nostalgia. And in a world built on power and quiet wars, men like them never moved without reason.

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