Chapter 5 – The Person I Was Is Gone | Part B

After arriving at the workshop in the old mall, Kaivan walked slowly through the empty corridor. Each step echoed, shadows along the walls shifting as if alive. At the end of the hall, an ancient wooden door awaited him—like a gateway to a world that would no longer be the same.

Beyond it, his companions had already gathered. Zinnia sat upright, calm and cold. Felicia leaned against the wall, her crimson eyes sharp and watchful. Thivi lounged on an old sofa, legs crossed, a cigarette between her lips, a playful smile curving her mouth. Frans and Radit stood near the window, their conversation cut off the moment Kaivan entered.

The room fell silent, every gaze drawn to him. Kaivan took a long breath, sweeping his eyes over their faces. The weight of the day still pressed on his shoulders, yet words had to be spoken.

“There’s news,” he said quietly, but firmly. “The Tome of Omnicent pointed me to two names. Raphael, in Purwakarta. But before that, I have to meet Ethan. He’s the key to everything.”

His words lingered in the air, stirring curiosity. Felicia raised a brow, her voice calm but edged with depth. “Ethan? Who is he? Why is he the key?”

Kaivan met her gaze. “The Tome calls him a bridge. Not the final goal, but the path that will lead us forward. I don’t know exactly what awaits.”

“A bridge? What does that even mean?” Zinnia finally spoke, her tone flat but betraying a hidden worry. Her slender fingers tapped the table in a steady rhythm, a sign her mind was hard at work. “Can we really trust someone we’ve never even met?”

Kaivan exhaled, fiddling with the strap of the bag on his shoulder. “I’m not sure either. But we don’t have another choice. Besides, we all started as strangers, didn’t we?”

The serious air was suddenly pierced by Frans, who hesitantly raised his hand. All eyes turned to him. Kaivan blinked in confusion. “Frans? What is it?”

With innocent curiosity, Frans asked, “Kaivan… is it true you bathed with Thivi yesterday?”

The room froze. Kaivan stiffened, while Thivi let out a soft laugh, covering her mouth. Her mischievous smile bloomed, unapologetic. “Why ask like that? It wasn’t a big deal. Just bumped into each other in the bathroom, right, Kaivan?”

Felicia rolled her eyes. “Seriously? We’re discussing a mission, not absurd jokes,” she muttered sharply.

Radit stifled a laugh. “Bro, focus. But… your sister didn’t find out, right, Van?”

Kaivan sighed and cleared his throat firmly. “Enough. Let’s stay focused. This is important.”

The laughter died down. Zinnia’s eyes sharpened. “When do we leave?”

Kaivan met their gazes. “I’ll head out Friday afternoon. You all stay here. I’ll contact you if there’s any news.”

Felicia, who had been sitting close by, straightened slowly, as if something pierced through her chest. She rarely spoke much, but when it came to Kaivan, her worry always arrived uninvited.

“I don’t like you going alone,” she said softly, yet the weight in her voice felt like a command. Her crimson eyes glowed—piercing yet warm—fixing on Kaivan. She wasn’t one to plead, but within her tone, there was an urgency that trembled faintly.

Kaivan answered with a faint smile. He had known this would come. “I’ll be fine, Felicia. If anything happens, I’ll reach out right away.” His voice was steady, though not without burden. He patted the bag at his side. “Besides, I have this with me.”

The Tome of Omnicent. A name that was no longer just an object. It had become both key and silent guardian.

Felicia’s shoulders loosened slightly, though unease still lingered. Even Kaivan’s most sincere smile could not soothe it completely.

Across the table, Zinnia tucked her hair behind her ear and asked, her tone serious yet lighter, “Friday, then?”

Kaivan nodded firmly. “As the Tome directs. Everything’s already prepared.”

That answer calmed the room for a moment, softening the tension. But not every thought was silenced. From the corner, Thivi exhaled smoke, reclining casually with her cigarette.

“Oh, right. About the old phone—it’s being picked up this week, right?” Kaivan asked, shifting the atmosphere.

Thivi grinned, nodding as she blew out another cloud. “Yep. I’ll grab it when I head home later.”

Her voice was light, like a breeze opening a darkened room. Kaivan turned to Frans and Zinnia, adding, “You two, go with Thivi to get it later.”

No one objected. In a room heavy with plans and unease, his words carried the weight of silent agreement.

Still, not every face looked at ease. Felicia sat lost in thought, quietly biting her lip. Zinnia’s voice cut through the silence, gentle yet resolute. “Felicia, I know you’re worried. But Kaivan knows what he’s walking into. If anything happens, we’ll move right away.”

Felicia drew a slow breath, then nodded. “I still don’t like him going alone,” she whispered. Her words fell like stones into still water—small, but sinking deep.

The workshop slowly quieted. The awkward laughter had faded. Only silence remained, dense with unspoken awareness. They all knew this step was not the end, but the gateway to trials that would shake each of them in turn.

Kaivan rose, scanning the faces now firm in their resolve. Without further words, he stepped outside—accompanied by his old motorbike, which felt like more than just a machine now. It was his sole, faithful witness on a road that kept pulling him further away from everyone else.

Destination: Purwakarta. The name Raphael, written on the ancient pages of the Tome Omnicent, had now become the compass of his journey. The farther the wheels turned, the clearer it became—this wasn’t merely a quest to find someone, but to rediscover himself in a world that refused to stay still.

Yet life rarely allows a path to remain smooth for long. Amid the dense traffic of Cimahi, an unexpected incident struck without warning.

As he overtook a slow-moving motorcycle, a furious shout exploded from behind. The harsh voice shattered the fragile calm that had just begun to settle in his chest.

“Hey! Get off your bike!” The yell pierced through the city’s chaos like a bullet. Kaivan instinctively pulled over, the hum of his engine fading into an uneasy silence. Curious gazes flickered his way, as if the crowd could sense something about to unfold—something dangerous, yet irresistible to watch.

His chest tightened. He drew a deep breath, trying to steady the storm that had suddenly surged within. Not out of fear, but because he knew this wasn’t the kind of fight he wanted. But fate had already drawn its circle. He turned his head, meeting the glare of a man standing tall, shoulders broad, fists clenched. His face was flushed—not from exhaustion, but from the heat of his anger.

“Is there something I can help you with?” Kaivan’s voice was calm, almost gentle. Yet beneath its softness lay a firmness that guarded his dignity.

The man stepped closer, heavy boots pounding against the asphalt, dragging an aura of hostility with him. His eyes were sharp, searching for any excuse to ignite. The world seemed to hold its breath, leaving only two centers of gravity staring each other down.

“You almost made me crash! Take responsibility!” His words boomed louder than the growl of engines nearby. There was no room for reason—only accusation.

Kaivan clenched his resolve. He knew how easily the world could burn from a single spark. So he stayed still, composed, eyes unwavering. “Then, how do you want me to take responsibility?” His voice fell like a stone into still water—calm, but carrying ripples.

The man tilted his chin up, arrogance flickering in his eyes. “A hundred thousand rupiah. Right now.” His hand lifted like a hammer poised to strike down the last of Kaivan’s patience.

Kaivan stayed silent, weighing a demand that wasn’t heavy in money, but heavy in meaning. He knew this wasn’t about the cash—it was about pride, bruised and tested. Still, time allowed no space for pride. He reached into his bag, searching through an envelope he had prepared earlier, fingers brushing against the notes. Beneath his quiet composure, a trace of disappointment lingered.

The moment the bill slipped into the rider’s hand, something changed. His hardened expression softened, the anger in his eyes fading into quiet confusion. He stared at Kaivan, as if seeing something unexpected in the young man before him.

“Here you go, sir. I’m sorry if I almost caused an accident,” Kaivan said calmly. His voice carried a quiet firmness that refused to crumble. His hand lingered in the air for a moment longer, steady despite the turmoil within.

The man took the money without a word. His gaze lingered, filled with questions he didn’t voice. He turned the bill over once, then tucked it into his pocket. A brief nod ended the brief tension between them before he started his engine and disappeared into the indifferent flow of traffic.

Kaivan stood still, watching the man’s back fade into the crowd. The city around him roared with noise and movement, yet within him stretched a silence that refused to dissolve.

Elsewhere, under the glare of streetlights and the growl of engines, a group of young men gathered. Among them stood Ethan, his leather jacket glinting faintly in the city’s pale glow. A crooked grin played on his lips.

“Man, you wouldn’t believe what just happened,” he bragged. “Some kid bumped into me, so I called him out—and he just paid up. Didn’t even argue. Easy money.”

A long-haired friend in a torn jacket laughed hoarsely, slapping Ethan’s shoulder. “You serious? Damn, that’s easy cash.”

Ethan nodded, his confidence swelling. “Yeah, totally. Dude looked our age, maybe still in high school—but he was loaded. I caught a glimpse inside his envelope. Looked like over three million.” His tone rose with the thrill of the memory.

Their laughter echoed through the night. A tattooed man smirked. “If you see him again, bring him here. We could use a guy like that, hah!” The sound of their cackles blended with the revving engines that lined the curb.

Meanwhile, Kaivan had stopped in a quiet town called Cikalong. He gazed up at the night sky—clear and vast, like a blank page waiting to be written upon. The town was unfamiliar, yet it called to him. He reached into his bag and pulled out the Tome Omnicent—a weathered book bound in aged wood, whispering secrets of another age.

Gently, he flipped through its pages. Faint letters began to surface, like ink seeping from the paper’s hidden veins. They formed a line that struck like lightning:

“Raphael can be found through the motorcyclist you met today.”

Kaivan froze. His breath hitched as he stared at the page that now felt heavier than fate itself. “That rider… Ethan?” he murmured. What once seemed like coincidence now revealed its design. Fate and chance intertwined too neatly to ignore.

He closed the book slowly, exhaling. “You could’ve just told me from the start,” he muttered under his breath, half in frustration, half in surrender. The book—alive in its silence—offered no voice in return. Instead, another line appeared, faint and deliberate:

“I only provide the most efficient path.”

Kaivan sighed. The Tome’s words, both cryptic and cruel, never missed their mark. Accepting the inevitable, he slipped the book back into his bag and started his engine. The night air vibrated as his motor roared back to life. He turned around—heading back to Cimahi, the city where he had first crossed paths with Ethan. This was never the plan, but his journey rarely followed intention. Every turn, every breath, seemed already written within the living pages of the Tome.

As the road stretched ahead, his thoughts churned restlessly. Who was Ethan, really? Why was he the key to Raphael? The questions spun through his mind like the wheels beneath him, relentless and unending.

By the time the sun leaned westward, Kaivan had traced the winding roads once more. His heart stayed sharp, though his mind buzzed with unease. Still, he trusted the Tome’s guidance—its whispers had never lied.

When he finally reached Cimahi, the evening sky bled orange over the skyline. He pulled over, reopened the Tome Omnicent, and let his fingers brush the timeworn pages. And there it was again—faint lines reshaping themselves into a map, etched with inhuman precision. It pointed him toward a small roadside hangout.

Motorcycles lined the curb, laughter spilling into the smoky air. Kaivan’s gaze locked onto Ethan among the group—the same boy from earlier, smiling wide, lost in jokes and noise. Time circled back, drawing him into the center of this unfolding thread.

Kaivan parked a few meters away. As his eyes met Ethan’s, the laughter died out. Silence fell heavy over the group as Kaivan walked closer, his steps measured but magnetic.

Ethan straightened, his brow furrowed. “Hey… that’s the guy who gave me a hundred thousand earlier,” he whispered, loud enough for Kaivan to hear.

The easy mood shattered. The group’s stares grew wary, sharp. Kaivan stopped before Ethan, his gaze unwavering.

“You’re Ethan, right? The one from this afternoon.”

Ethan blinked, uncertain. “Yeah… what about it?”

“I need your help finding someone,” Kaivan said calmly. “If you help me, I’ll pay you.”

The air thickened. One of the long-haired men spoke up with a smirk, “Relax, man. Have a seat first. Let’s talk.”

Kaivan sat on a wobbly plastic chair, the evening breeze carrying the faint scent of gasoline and city dust. After taking a slow breath, he began to speak—about Raphael, about the book, about the cryptic guidance that kept leading him toward unexpected turns.

The group of bikers listened more closely now. Their expressions shifted as Kaivan’s story unfolded, a mix of curiosity and slowly growing belief. The reward he offered was tempting enough to catch their attention. Ethan, once doubtful, now seemed convinced; he nodded subtly, signaling agreement.

But Kaivan’s body was already strained. The long journey, the pressure of the Tome Omnicent, and this uneasy dialogue had worn him thin. When one of them handed him a glass of cold orange juice, he accepted it without suspicion.

The taste was ordinary—the effect was not. After a single sip, drowsiness hit him like a wave. His eyelids grew heavy, his mind blurred. Within minutes, he was fast asleep on the creaky chair, swallowed by the exhaustion he had ignored for too long.

The gang exchanged glances. Their laughter softened into sly grins. Opportunity opened its door, gently pushed by the night wind.

“Ethan, look at this!” one of them shouted—a messy-haired youth already digging through Kaivan’s bag. His hands moved quick, searching for something more than spare change. When his fingers brushed against two thick envelopes, his eyes widened.

“Two envelopes, bro! It’s loaded—nine million total! Hahaha!” he cried, waving the money in the air. Laughter erupted like fireworks bursting in the quiet night, echoing wild and victorious.

Their cheers filled the air. Eyes gleamed, drunk on luck that came as sudden as a storm. Ethan stood with a crooked grin, his thoughts drifting beyond the money. To them, Kaivan wasn’t a friend—he was prey, lost in a den of wolves.

“Jackpot!” a tall man shouted, swinging one of the envelopes gleefully. Laughter drowned the night, bursting with dreams of quick riches and fleeting pleasure.

Yet amid the noise, a bespectacled boy noticed something unusual in Kaivan’s bag. “Hey, check this out,” he murmured, pulling out an old book bound in wood, its pages yellowed with age. Strange carvings ran along its cover—letters from a forgotten tongue.

“What the hell is this? Looks ancient!” he said, puzzled, holding it like something both precious and cursed. The others gathered around, their curiosity feeding the quiet shadow that lingered around the tome.

Ethan stepped closer, his gaze sharp but dismissive. He glanced once, then scoffed. “Take it. Might sell for something at an antique market,” he said flatly, turning back to his gang, his laughter returning.

None of them realized they were holding the Tome Omnicent—the book that answered the world’s questions and held their fate in its silent pages. Under the moonlight, it glimmered faintly, hiding its power from those too blind to see.

They rode off proud, their pockets heavy with cash and destiny they could not fathom. Behind them, Kaivan still slept—unaware that the night had just rewritten his life. That evening, the world quietly marked its note: what had been stolen was not merely wealth, but a man’s very fate.

Hours later, Kaivan stirred. Midnight cloaked the small town in stillness. His body felt heavy, as if caught in thick mist. He blinked, his eyes adjusting to the faint streetlight glow at the edge of his vision.

Something was wrong. An emptiness gripped his chest—not just loss, but something deeper, gnawing into his bones. His bag was gone. His money, his motorcycle, and worst of all—the Tome Omnicent.

Panic spread fast. He searched his pockets, praying for a small miracle, but the world answered with silence. He froze, standing in the quiet street like a child lost in a dark forest.

His thoughts spun, seeking a thread to grasp. “They... they robbed me,” he whispered, his voice trembling as if afraid to confirm the truth. Without the Tome Omnicent, he felt like a compass whose needle had stopped.

From the haze of his thoughts, a flicker of memory returned—a faint whisper from the Tome: Hide something between your socks. It had once seemed trivial, but now, it was the only light within the fog.

With trembling hands, he pulled off his shoes and reached inside his worn socks. His fingers brushed against something small and solid. Slowly, a faint smile found its way onto his lips.

A few grams of gold. Not much—but enough to keep hope alive. Amid his ruin, he found the one thing that hadn’t been stolen: his will to keep moving.

In a small, spotless pawnshop, Kaivan stood before a middle-aged man behind a glass counter. The gold—once hidden beneath layers of cloth—now lay gleaming under the pale light.

“I’d like to sell this,” Kaivan said softly, yet with quiet resolve. A decision born from desperation, carried out without fear.

The man lifted the gold toward the lamp, turning it between his fingers before placing it on the scale. The faint ticking of the device rang like a delicate bell of fate.

Moments later, the man nodded. “It’s not much, but I can offer you this.” He named a modest amount—small, yet enough to spark a glimmer of hope.

Kaivan accepted it, realizing it was his only foothold to continue onward—to Bandung, perhaps, or wherever the Tome had intended him to go. The money wouldn’t grant him comfort, but it would grant him motion.

As he stepped out of the shop, the night air wrapped around him. The sky above was dark, not merely a measure of time, but a mirror of his soul—lost, yet still walking toward the faintest trace of dawn.

Meanwhile, far away from there, a different atmosphere echoed.

Inside a cramped, smoky room, laughter erupted among bottles and drifting haze. Ethan’s crew drowned themselves in the chaos of their spoils.

Ethan sat at the center, relaxed and arrogant, a glass in hand, his eyes sweeping across the crowd. He raised his drink. “So... I can keep the rest of the money, right?” His voice was cheerful, but the confidence behind it pressed down on the others.

Laughter followed—though not all of it was genuine. A thin man in a hat shot him a sharp look. “Yeah, sure. We’ll talk about it later,” he replied flatly. His tone carried something unsaid—a calm before the storm.

The words were light, but the air turned heavy. Ethan frowned, displeased.

He leaned forward, setting his glass down with a sharp thud. “Hey, I’m the one who made this happen. Without me, none of this would exist!” His voice carried pressure, his eyes burning—not with pride, but with anger just waiting to ignite.

From the corner, a large man shrugged lazily. “So what? We all worked. Don’t act like you’re the hero here.”

The words stung like a lash. Ethan glared at him. “I never said I’m the most important—but my share should be bigger!”

“Teamwork, Ethan,” another said, tone calm but firm. “If you don’t like it, step aside.”

Ethan’s face flushed red. He shot to his feet, muscles tensed like a coiled spring. “You’ve got some nerve saying that to me!” he shouted, stepping forward, fist ready.

But two others moved faster. One grabbed his arm, another shoved him back.

“Feeling tough now, huh?” one of them barked. Ethan struggled, kicking the table. Bottles shattered, glass scattering across the floor. The room turned to chaos.

But numbers spoke. They slammed Ethan down. He fought, but strength alone couldn’t save him. A punch landed on his face; blood trickled from his nose.

Silence fell. The air was thick with heavy breaths. Ethan lay beaten, body bruised, mind fading. Around him, cold faces looked down—judging, unmerciful.

A faint breeze slipped through a cracked window. No laughter, no cheers—only silence, hanging heavy like mist.

Minutes passed before Ethan stirred. He rose unsteadily and staggered out, his body broken but his heart even more so. Each step felt like a quiet mockery of fate.

Under the pale moonlight, his thoughts drifted back to Kaivan. For the first time, a whisper surfaced inside him. Did he ever feel pain like this?

The question lingered, heavy and strange. Ethan shook his head, trying to cast it away—trying to deny the guilt blooming like thorns in his chest. Tonight burned, but it also cracked something deep inside him—something he didn’t yet understand.

His steps faded into the cold night, merging with the whispering wind. He didn’t know where he was headed. But somehow, this night had changed his direction.

The chill deepened, brushing against his skin and conscience. The scent of wet earth filled the air, reminding him of a rain long gone. His shoes clicked softly on the slick pavement—a rhythm to match his unrest. Home might be close, but his heart was far from it.

Then the silence shattered.

From the darkness, Kaivan emerged—still and unwavering, like a rock standing against a storm. In a flash, before Ethan could react, Kaivan was behind him. A cold hand gripped his head and neck, firm and unrelenting.

“Where are my belongings?” His voice was calm, yet sharp enough to pierce the air.

Ethan froze—not just from the hold, but from Kaivan’s sudden, unpredictable presence. Their eyes met, and something shifted. The fury in Kaivan’s gaze dimmed—revealing not rage, but a deeper wound.

His grip loosened.

“Were you... betrayed by your friends?” Kaivan asked, voice steady but heavy with truth.

Ethan didn’t answer right away. His breath came ragged. His eyes softened; the night grew quieter.

“They sold your stuff,” he muttered weakly. “And threw me out.” The words weighed heavy, like stones dragged from his chest.

Kaivan didn’t stay silent for long. “Let me borrow your phone. I need to call someone.”

Ethan hesitated, fidgeting. “I... don’t have it with me. You can come to my place if you want.”

A moment of silence. The air tensed—but Kaivan nodded. A wordless agreement, yet one that sealed their path.

They walked side by side through the quiet streets, footsteps echoing faintly. Neither spoke. Only the cold stillness filled the space between them.

At Ethan’s modest house, he paused and glanced at Kaivan. “Sorry,” he said softly, voice trembling with guilt.

Kaivan didn’t reply with forgiveness. His voice was flat, cold. “I won’t forgive you... not until the Tome Omnicent is back in my hands.” The words fell like a gavel. To Kaivan, that book wasn’t an object—it was the axis of fate itself.

Inside, an old fan whirred weakly. A flickering yellow lamp cast broken shadows on the wall. The scent of tobacco and old wood filled the small, silent room.

Kaivan stood unmoved, uninterested in the surroundings. He picked up a phone from the table, his face calm but his eyes filled with restrained fury.

He dialed quickly. When the line connected, Felicia’s voice flowed through—soft, worried. “Kaivan? Where are you? What happened?”

Kaivan answered quietly, his tone carrying the weight of loss. “Everything’s gone. Including the Tome Omnicent.”

A pause. Then Felicia’s voice, firmer this time: “I’m coming. Right now.”

Kaivan shook his head slightly. “Don’t. I’ll call again later.”

He hung up slowly, as if sealing a decision he couldn’t take back.

From across the room, Ethan stood still, his eyes filled with curiosity and unease. He could feel that something far greater than himself was unfolding before him—but fear kept his lips shut.

Finally, in a small, trembling voice, he asked, “What is... the Tome Omnicent?”

Kaivan turned, eyes sharp yet weary. “An old book. Brown cover,” he said, voice clipped but intense. “Where did you sell it?”

Ethan looked down, guilt weighing on his words. “An antique shop. Might be closed now... but I can take you there tomorrow.”

Kaivan paused, then nodded—cold and resolute. “Tomorrow morning.”

Ethan tried to ease the tension. “I’m sorry… I didn’t know that book was important.”

Kaivan only sighed. No forgiveness. No words of comfort. He walked over to the old sofa and sat upright. The dim light caught his eyes, making them gleam faintly—distant, untouchable.

Awkwardly, Ethan went to the kitchen and returned with two glasses of water. He handed one over. Kaivan accepted it silently. Then, after a hesitant pause, Ethan offered, “You can stay here tonight.”

Kaivan gave a small nod—just enough. He took a slow sip.

In the quiet of the night, two men from different worlds sat in a cramped room—connected not by choice, but by a fate that had yet to unravel.

The next morning, under a pale gray sky, Kaivan and Ethan walked down an empty street. The crisp air eased the tension just a little, but the silence between them remained heavy—like a wall separating two lives that would never align.

Kaivan stopped. His voice was calm but carried weight. “Why did your friends betray you?”

The question lingered—not just curiosity, but a test of empathy. Ethan fell quiet, his breath uneven. When he finally spoke, his voice was bitter.

“I just wanted my share. They refused. I fought back… but lost.”

He lowered his head. His words settled like reopened wounds. Kaivan listened quietly, reading more from the tone than the meaning. To him, betrayal wasn’t just an event—it was a lesson that shaped the spine of one’s soul.

Their steps stopped in front of an antique shop. The building was small, its sign faded and paint peeling. The air around it felt dense, like a held breath. Ethan knocked on the wooden door. The sound was soft but clear.

Moments later, the door opened. An old man stood there, hair silver, eyes cold. He looked at them without emotion, without kindness.

Ethan gathered what courage he had left. “Sir, I’d like to buy back the old book I sold yesterday,” he said, his voice trembling but firm. Inside, guilt and determination clashed.

The old man raised an eyebrow, his tone flat. “Ten million rupiah.”

Silence fell. Ethan’s eyes widened. “Why so much? You only paid me one million yesterday!”

The man shrugged, indifferent. “Its value has gone up. If you don’t want it, leave.”

Behind Ethan, Kaivan stepped forward. His gaze was unwavering. “Fine. We’ll return with the money.”

No argument, no hesitation. He grasped Ethan’s arm and pulled him away. Their footsteps echoed faintly down the stone street.

Outside, the sky had turned a colder shade of blue. The wind stirred fallen leaves, whispering secrets that hadn’t yet ended. Their pace slowed—each step heavier than the last.

Ethan finally stopped, frustration breaking through. “Why didn’t you say anything back there? He was clearly scamming us! Aren’t you angry?”

The question hung in the air, waiting for an answer that could shake more than the worth of a book.

Kaivan halted, turning slowly. His gaze pierced through Ethan.

“Silence!” His voice thundered, shaking the air. “That book is worth ten million. Even a billion wouldn’t compare. Don’t lecture me about value when you don’t even understand what it means!”

Ethan froze. His breath hitched. He couldn’t respond. But Kaivan didn’t stop.

“Where do your friends usually gather?” His tone was now low, cold as steel. “I’ll reclaim what’s mine. None of them will escape.”

Ethan’s hand trembled as he pointed the way. Kaivan walked past him without a glance back.

On the other side of the city, Darius lounged casually on a park bench. A phone pressed against his ear, his cheerful voice swept through the rustling leaves.

"Babe, should I pick you up?" he asked playfully, lips curved into a confident smile. The world seemed to belong to him.

Tania's voice came softly, sweetness laced with hidden cunning. "Sure. Oh, and don’t forget the bag from the mall—the one you promised."

Darius chuckled lightly, though his eyes gleamed with satisfaction. "Of course. I’ve never disappointed you, have I?"

Some time later, they arrived at the motorcycle gang’s hideout. Tania entered first—her steps light and proud, like a queen walking to her throne. Every pair of eyes in the room locked on her.

She sat gracefully on the center sofa, crossing her legs with elegant poise. Her long hair cascaded down, her smile captivating. It was as if the whole room bowed to her charm.

Casual conversation flowed, but with a sly smile and sharp gaze, Tania suddenly shifted the mood. Her voice was soft, yet sharp enough to pierce the room.

"There used to be a guy I liked," she began quietly. "But he rejected me. Humiliated me in front of everyone. Then he walked away... just like that."

A gang member beside her hissed in disbelief. "A guy turned down a girl like you? He must’ve been blind."

Tania shrugged. Her smile was bitter yet mesmerizing. "That’s why I don’t believe in love anymore. And if I do... it’s only for someone who comes seriously—and knows how to value me."

Darius laughed softly, wrapping his arm around her waist. "I don’t care who he was. You’re mine now. And I won’t let anyone else touch you."

For a moment, Tania’s gaze sharpened, but she quickly melted it into honeyed sweetness. She leaned closer, tilting her head, her slender neck glinting under the light. "You’re amazing, Darius. The way you lead them... I really admire that," she whispered, her tone silky and full of unspoken meaning.

She sat like temptation itself—her every curve, every movement carefully arranged. She knew her body was a weapon, and she wielded it masterfully. Every smile, every glance, every crossing of her legs served one purpose: to secure her place at the top.

As the conversation continued, her fingers brushed against Darius’s arm—light, deliberate. "I really like your style of leadership," she murmured sweetly. She leaned in close, her lips grazing his ear, breath warm against his skin. "I’d like to be led too... somewhere private. Can you do that?" Her smile was soft, but sharp as a blade.

Amid laughter and chatter, Tania stole the attention of everyone else in the room. She let their eyes linger, weaving invisible threads of allure. Every movement flowed like a dance, calculated and hypnotic.

By midday, Darius was completely under her spell. With slow steps, Tania slipped her hand through his arm, leading him away. "I’m sure you’re my true love," she whispered, gently caressing his arm. The sweet words were only a mask. What moved wasn’t her heart—but her plan.

Inside, Tania laughed. Darius, with all his pride, was just another pawn. His gang? Merely pieces on her board. She would turn this place into a stage for her revenge.

"Kaivan... you’ll see. I’m no victim. I’m a queen. And you... you’re nothing but a shadow of the past."