King’s brows furrowed as his hand met the cold sheets beside him. His fingers traced over the space where Gun had been just hours ago, warmth still faintly lingering, but the bed was empty.

  A deep frown set on his face as he sat up, his sharp eyes scanning the dimly lit room. The silence felt heavier than usual.

  “Gun?” he called, voice rough from sleep.

  No response.

  His heart thudded in his chest as he threw the bnket off and got to his feet, checking the small cottage room by room. The bathroom—empty. The kitchen—empty. Even the front door was slightly ajar, the cool morning breeze slipping through.

  Gun was gone.

  King clenched his jaw, his mind racing. ‘Where the hell did he go?’

  Returning to the bedroom, King grabbed his phone off the nightstand, his fingers tightening around it as he dialed Gun’s number.

  The phone barely rang twice before Gun answered, his voice as cold as ice.

  “Don’t you ever show your face in front of me again.” His words cut deep, sharp and final. “What we had is gone. It died the moment you faked your death.”

  King let out a humourless chuckle, tilting his head as a smirk ghosted his lips. “Fine,” he murmured darkly. “If that’s what you want.”

  Before he could say more, the call ended.

  King pulled the phone away from his ear, staring at the bnk screen before his grip tightened, the pstic casing creaking under the pressure. A sharp crack split through the silence—the screen shattered in his palm.

  His jaw clenched, and he exhaled slowly, a dark amusement flickering in his eyes. ‘So that’s how he wants to py?’

  His mind wandered to the other man. Remmington. The bastard who thought he could take what belonged to him.

  A smirk curled at the corner of his lips, his fingers zily spinning the broken phone in his hand.

  “Maybe I should kill his little lover,” he mused, voice low and dripping with malice.

  His tongue clicked against his teeth. ‘Who the fuck gave him permission to screw what’s mine?’

  King exhaled slowly, his amusement fading into something far more dangerous. He had given Gun time. He had let him grieve, let him try to build something new.

  But now that he was back?

  He wasn’t leaving without taking back what was his.

  *

  Days had passed since seeing King, yet the chaos he had left behind refused to settle. Gun’s world felt like it had been flipped upside down, shaken until nothing made sense anymore. Everything he thought he knew—his past, his grief, his future—had been a lie.

  He y in bed, staring bnkly at the ceiling, wiping at the stubborn tears that wouldn’t stop falling. His body felt heavy, like lead pressing him into the mattress, but the emptiness inside him was worse. He hadn’t eaten properly in days. His appetite was nonexistent, but he knew he couldn’t afford to neglect himself.

  Gun’s hand instinctively went to his stomach, resting over the barely there swell of new life growing inside him. ‘I have to stay healthy for the baby.’

  But even that thought felt distant, like it belonged to someone else. He exhaled shakily, turning onto his side as another wave of exhaustion settled over him.

  ‘How much longer am I going to be like this?’ he wondered.

  He didn’t have an answer. All he knew was that King had returned, and with him, every wound he thought had healed had been torn wide open again.

  *

  Jason sat in css, barely paying attention to the professor’s lecture. His fingers tapped an impatient rhythm against the table, eyes flickering between his ptop screen and his phone, where his inbox remained stubbornly empty. Three days. Three days without a single word from his father.

  Gun was always busy, but never like this. A missed call or a deyed message was normal—especially if Jason was caught up in exams or his father was handling business.

  But this?

  Silence for days?

  It wasn’t like him.

  Jason exhaled sharply, bouncing his leg under the table. His jaw clenched as he refreshed his emails for the hundredth time, but nothing changed.

  Then his phone lit up.

  For a second, his heart jumped, but the excitement disappeared the moment he saw the sender. Not his father. Instead, it was from a contact saved with a heart emoji. His smirk curled as he clicked it open.

  “Leave me alone or I’m reporting you to the Dean.”

  Jason narrowed his eyes, reading the words over again, then chuckled under his breath.

  Slowly, he ran his tongue over his bottom lip, smirking. ‘Feisty.’

  If only they knew he never backed down from a challenge.

  Deciding to let the sender be for now, Jason exited the message thread and opened a new one. He quickly typed out a message to Troy, asking where Gun was. His fingers hovered over the screen for a moment before he hit send.

  The reply didn’t come immediately. Jason stared at his phone, willing a response to appear. Finally, after ten long minutes, the screen lit up.

  Troy: He took a few days off. Won’t let me see him.

  Jason’s heart sank.

  Gun never just took time off. He was the kind of man who worked through anything, even when he shouldn’t. If he was shutting people out, something was wrong.

  He exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his face. ‘I hope things are good with Remmington,’ he thought, though the unease in his gut told him otherwise.

  Without hesitation, he typed another message.

  Jason: Book me a pne ticket. I’m coming home.

  Something wasn’t right. And he needed to find out exactly what was going on.

  *

  The next morning, after a long and exhausting flight, Jason stepped through the front door and immediately deactivated the arm system. The house was eerily quiet, almost too still, and an unsettling feeling settled in his chest. He shut the door behind him and made his way down the hall, his footsteps light but hurried as he approached the master bedroom.

  Pushing the door open, he was met with a dimly lit room, the curtains drawn tightly to block out the morning light. His frown deepened as he took in the mess—discarded takeout containers littered the floor, half-eaten meals left untouched. Tissues were scattered everywhere, some crumpled, others stained. The air smelled faintly of stale food.

  His stomach twisted.

  Stepping carefully over the mess, Jason moved toward the bed. When his eyes finally nded on Gun, his heart dropped.

  Gun was curled up under the covers, his body eerily still. His face was streaked with dried tears, dark circles shadowing his closed eyes. His skin looked pale, almost sickly, and Jason could see the way his breath hitched unevenly, like his body was fighting against something invisible.

  Panic shot through his veins.

  “Dad?” His voice was barely a whisper, but Gun didn’t stir.

  Without wasting another second, he spun on his heel and rushed out of the room. He pulled out his phone with shaking hands and quickly dialed emergency services.

  His voice was sharp and urgent as he spoke into the receiver.

  “I need an ambunce. Now.”

  *

  At the hospital, Jason stood opposite Troy and Chips, his gre sharp enough to cut through the tense air between them. His arms were crossed, his fingers gripping his biceps as he fought to keep his temper in check. Across from him, Troy shifted uncomfortably, while Chips—bruised and battered, his face swollen with fresh injuries—looked like he had barely made it out of a brawl alive. The limp in his stance didn’t go unnoticed, either.

  Something had definitely happened here. But what?

  To the side, Delta stood with her arms folded, her expression carefully neutral. Unlike the others, she was just Jason’s bodyguard, and thankfully, she had no part in whatever mess this was.

  Jason’s gaze flickered back to Chips, taking in the damage with narrowed eyes. “Are you going to tell me what the hell happened?” His voice was eerily calm, but the steel beneath it was unmistakable.

  Chips avoided eye contact, clearly uninterested in expining. Jason scoffed before shifting his focus to Troy.

  “Do you really not know what’s going on?” He asked, his patience running thin.

  Troy hesitated, his mouth opening and closing like he was debating how much to say. Then, as if struck by a sudden realisation, he blurted out, “He just found out that… he’s pregnant.”

  Jason blinked. His expression remained unreadable as the words hung in the air between them.

  Then, slowly, he let out a breath and stared bnkly at Troy.

  “…What?”

  Troy nodded, confirming his words.

  Jason raised a brow, his voice ced with scepticism. “Then shouldn’t Remmington be here?”

  Troy hesitated for a moment before answering carefully, “The st time we spoke, he wasn’t sure if Remmington is the father.”

  Jason’s eyes darkened, his jaw tightening. “Then who the hell would be? Who else has he been with?”

  Troy exhaled and ran a hand through his hair. “Before he met Remmington… he was seeing a callboy.” He paused, gncing at Chips, who was still nursing his injuries. “And that callboy? He was the st person Gun spoke to before calling in to take a break.”

  Jason’s frown deepened, his fingers clenching into a fist. Something about this wasn’t sitting right with him.