Mixed Nuts dominated the NeonStrike finals, securing a sweeping victory. Charlie's remarkable performance ignited massive online excitement, boosting her reputation as a rising star. The cheerful dinner at the Yakiniku restaurant marked the culmination of their triumph, with teams mingling cheerfully, laughter ringing out amidst the scent of sizzling meat.

  As they stepped outside into the cool night air, Eddie's phone vibrated sharply. Glancing at the screen, he recognized his father's name and frowned, stepping slightly away from the group as he answered.

  "Edward," Richard's voice was tense, urgent. "You need to bring Charlie back now."

  Eddie's grip tightened around the phone. "What happened?"

  "There's trouble. Red Phoenix is making moves. San Francisco's a fucking mess right now—" Richard's words cut off abruptly as Eddie's instincts jolted into high alert.

  Two unmarked white vans screeched to a halt at the street curb, doors sliding open. A wave of Red Phoenix operatives poured out, flanked by a handful of low level Yakuza, their weapons gleaming under the streetlights. Panic erupted as bystanders scattered.

  "Protect Charlie!" Eddie roared, pocketing the phone, lunging towards her to shield her from incoming fire. Around them, Jonathan and Richard's hidden men immediately sprang from the shadows, guns blazing. Eddie had known they were there from the beginning. There was no way the two heirs would be left alone in a different country. Chaos erupted, turning the street into a violent battlefield.

  Ollie and the rest of their team stood frozen for a moment, eyes wide with shock and confusion.

  Eddie barked sharply, "Get out of here! You're not involved!"

  But Ollie resisted, eyes blazing, taking a step forward. "I'm not leaving Charlie behind!"

  The words sliced into Eddie like a blade, raw and infuriating. His jaw clenched as he spun toward Ollie, eyes narrowed in barely contained fury. The possessiveness in Ollie's voice infuriated him. Who the fuck did this guy think he was?

  Before Eddie could retort, Charlie stepped forward, urgency and regret mingling on her face. "Go, Ollie! You can't help me. I'll be ok! Just run!"

  Ollie stared at her, anguish clear, before the painful realization settled in. He wasn't part of her world; he couldn't save her. Eddie stepped deliberately between them, his body a firm barrier, driving the point home without words.

  With a final, tortured glance, Ollie turned, motioning desperately to Emi, Jazz, and Niko. They bolted, disappearing quickly into the panicked crowd.

  Charlie watched them vanish, sorrow and finality shadowing her expression. Eddie's chest tightened uncomfortably as he observed her regret, the irritating pang of jealousy flaring again. Annoyed and distracted by the lingering sadness in her eyes, he missed the subtle shift behind him—the slight glint of metal, the gun barrel aimed directly at him.

  ◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤

  Charlie watched Ollie's figure retreat into the chaos along with the rest of her friends, an ache settling heavy in her chest. Her world wasn't theirs, and seeing the hurt on Ollie's face made her throat tight. She wanted to call out, to apologize somehow, but before she could, movement at the edge of her vision stole her attention.

  A man dressed darkly, gun raised—pointed directly at Alex.

  Pure instinct drove her forward. She didn't think; she just lunged, shoving Alex aside with all the force she had. Heat seared her arm, pain flaring white-hot through her nerves. A scream tore from her lips, quickly drowned by the gunfire erupting around them.

  Alex didn't hesitate. In one fluid motion, he turned and fired, dropping the attacker instantly. Then his hands were on her, strong and urgent, dragging her to cover behind a parked car.

  "Charlie," his voice was strained, edged with panic she'd never heard before. "How bad is it?"

  She shook her head, gripping her arm. Blood seeped between her fingers, hot and slick. "It's—I'm okay, it just grazed me."

  But Alex's eyes darkened, intense with fury and fear. He swore sharply, already scanning their surroundings. "We have to move."

  Gunfire exploded again, chaotic and relentless. Alex hauled her up, shielding her with his body as they bolted into the streets, deeper into Tokyo's neon-lit heart—a blur of flashing lights and panicked crowds.

  They moved swiftly, weaving through the confusion. Alex guided her firmly, darting between alleyways and crowded sidewalks, constantly checking behind them. Charlie could hear his breath, ragged with urgency. He pressed her into cramped shadows, shielding her, desperately calling for backup into his radio, but the only response was static and fragmented shouting.

  Finally, they found a dim, narrow alley tucked away from the chaos. Alex carefully pressed her against the wall, fingers inspecting her arm, jaw tight with restrained fury. His hands trembled slightly, betraying his anger and fear.

  "Why the fuck did you do that?" he hissed, voice barely controlled.

  Charlie winced as his fingers brushed the wound, pain biting through exhaustion. She looked up, meeting his intense gaze. "It was instinct," she whispered, breathing uneven.

  Alex stared at her, something raw and vulnerable flickering behind his dark eyes. "Charlie—"

  She bit her lip, reluctant to admit it, but the words slipped out anyway, soft and hesitant. "I couldn't just let you die."

  Alex froze, eyes widening, his breathing suddenly erratic. He searched her face, seeing something she herself wasn't fully ready to acknowledge. Before Charlie could react, his lips crashed down on hers, fierce and desperate, stealing the air from her lungs.

  She jolted, surprise morphing into panic. Pushing him back roughly, she glared up, heart pounding. "Didn't you hear a word of what I said at the hotel?!"

  Alex didn't flinch, his gaze unwavering, determined. His voice was a low, defiant growl. "Yeah, fuck that."

  Then his mouth was on hers again, possessive and unyielding. Charlie's resolve crumbled; heat flooded her veins, and despite every warning screaming inside her head, her body melted into him. Her fingers curled into his jacket, surrendering completely to the dangerous, exhilarating reality of Alex's kiss.

  ◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤

  Eddie broke the kiss abruptly, breathing heavily, his heart still hammering from the adrenaline of battle—and Charlie's lips. She stared up at him, eyes wide, her breath shaky, confusion and longing flickering behind her gaze.

  "We have to go," Eddie said sharply, forcing himself to pull back. "Now."

  Charlie blinked, still dazed, but nodded quickly, clutching at her injured arm as she pushed away from the wall. He scanned their surroundings, listening to the distant wail of sirens growing louder. They had minutes, maybe seconds.

  "Where?" Charlie asked, her voice steadier than he expected.

  "The airport," he said firmly. "We have limited resources here. They don't. If we stay here any longer, we're dead."

  Eddie grabbed her hand, pulling her swiftly into the neon-lit streets, blending back into the panicking crowd. He needed transportation—something fast, something reliable. His gaze caught the flashing lights of a police car parked haphazardly by the curb. Two officers stood outside, urgently radioing for backup.

  Perfect.

  "Stay here," he ordered Charlie, pushing her back into the shadows.

  Before the officers could react, Eddie closed the distance, striking with brutal efficiency. One officer crumpled instantly, unconscious; the other swung at him, but Eddie dodged smoothly, his fists connecting with devastating accuracy, dropping the man to the pavement.

  He grabbed the keys from the officer's belt and sprinted back to Charlie. "Get in," he commanded, shoving her into the passenger seat before diving behind the wheel himself. He fired up the engine, sirens blaring immediately as he slammed the accelerator to the floor.

  Tokyo's streets became a chaotic blur, neon lights streaking past as Eddie weaved through traffic. Behind them, pursuit erupted—Yakuza, Red Phoenix, and now police units—all converging in furious pursuit.

  Charlie gripped the seat tightly, her knuckles pale, barely registering the pain radiating from her wound. Eddie cast her a quick glance, seeing the tension etched in her face, the fear—but also something else.

  He slammed the accelerator harder, the stolen police car surging violently through crowded intersections. Horns screamed in protest; pedestrians scattered as neon lights blurred past in a dizzying rush.

  Charlie clung to the seat, knuckles white, pain forgotten in the adrenaline pounding through her veins. She kept stealing glances at him—Alex, Almond Lover, her friend, her protector—seeing him in a way she hadn't allowed herself before. Eddie felt her eyes on him, vulnerable, confused, and wanting, but forced himself to focus on survival.

  Behind them, sirens wailed furiously, joined by the roar of engines as Yakuza, Red Phoenix operatives, and police rapidly closed in. Eddie clenched his jaw, maneuvering sharply down narrow side streets, scraping walls, sending sparks flying.

  "We're almost clear," he said tightly, eyes flicking to the radio as it finally crackled to life. "Call Richard Leung. Now. Speakerphone."

  Charlie grabbed his phone with trembling fingers, quickly dialing as Eddie swerved violently around a taxi. The phone rang once, twice—

  "Speak," came Richard's cold, sharp voice.

  "It's me," Eddie said urgently, eyes fixed on the chaos ahead. "We need to get out—immediately."

  A slight pause. "Private jet's waiting. Get to the airport. Terminal three, east hangar. Your men are already there."

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  "Got it," Eddie barked.

  "Don't die," Richard said simply and the line went dead, leaving tense silence in its wake.

  Charlie's looked at him, her eyes wide. He already knew what she was going to say.

  Her voice shook, tentative. "Alex, I—"

  "No time, Charlie," Eddie cut in sharply, narrowly dodging a truck barreling toward them. "We get out first, then talk."

  She nodded silently, heart hammering in her chest.

  Eddie tightened his grip, eyes dark with determination. He'd get her out of this alive—and then he'd make her understand.

  ◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤

  Charlie's heart slammed against her ribs as the police car exploded through the airport gates, metal shrieking and shattering violently around them. Loudspeakers blared, lights flashed, and the furious voices of police crackled harsh warnings through the air.

  "Alex! Stop!" Charlie screamed, gripping the dashboard desperately as the car barreled recklessly toward the tarmac. Police cruisers and security personnel were closing in, weapons drawn.

  "Can't," Alex growled, eyes locked ahead with unshakable resolve.

  Charlie could only brace herself, breath trapped in her throat as Alex screeched the car to a violent halt beside a sleek private jet, engines roaring, ready for takeoff. Their men surged forward from the plane, guns raised, forming a protective line as Alex yanked her from the car.

  "Go! Move!" he shouted, half-dragging, half-carrying her up the steps. But halfway up the stairs, gunshots exploded around them, sharp cracks ripping through the air. Charlie flinched, eyes wide with panic.

  Alex suddenly stopped. With brutal force, he shoved her forward, sending her tumbling into the cabin.

  "Take off, now!" he roared.

  Charlie scrambled upright, turning in horror to see Alex still outside, backing down the stairs, returning fire, chaos erupting around him.

  "Alex!" she screamed, lunging forward, but strong arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her back.

  "No! Let go! Open the fucking door!" Charlie fought viciously, clawing at her staff, desperation overtaking her. "Alex!"

  He looked up once, meeting her gaze for a single fleeting moment, eyes dark, determined, unafraid—and then the door slammed shut, cutting him off from view. Charlie screamed again, her voice tearing in anguish.

  "Let me out! We can't leave him!" She twisted and kicked wildly, fury and despair blinding her. A strong hand pressed against her mouth; she tasted cloth, then an unfamiliar, chemical sweetness. Her limbs went heavy, vision blurring as she slumped helplessly to the cabin floor.

  As consciousness slipped away, her last thought was of Alex—left behind, surrounded by gunfire and chaos, as the jet thundered away into the sky without him.

  ◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤

  When Charlie woke, she was already back home in San Francisco.

  Her head was heavy, arm throbbing dully beneath freshly wrapped bandages. Blinking slowly, she recognized the familiar furnishings of her room, soft morning sunlight filtering gently through the curtains. Her father sat quietly by the window, deep lines of exhaustion etched onto his face as he gazed thoughtfully outside.

  Attempting to sit up made her head spin. Jonathan immediately stood, crossing swiftly to stabilize her.

  "Easy, don't move too much," he murmured, carefully supporting her. He motioned to a nearby staff member, his voice soft but firm. "Get Miss Mak some water."

  Charlie accepted the glass gratefully, taking careful sips as her heart began to pound anxiously. Her memories came back in a rush, and her stomach twisted painfully. She looked up at her father, voice trembling as she asked the only question that mattered.

  "Where's Alex?"

  Jonathan's expression hardened subtly, eyes unreadable. "You don't need to know."

  Charlie felt her chest constrict painfully, panic rising like a wave. "Dad," she said again, desperation coloring her tone, "where's Alex?"

  He regarded her coolly, an icy edge to his voice. "Remember who you are, Charlie."

  Without another word, he turned and left, instructing the staff softly to ensure she ate something when she was ready.

  Charlie sat frozen in her bed, replaying the devastating moment at the airport—the look in Alex's eyes as the jet door sealed shut between them. Her vision blurred with tears, regret heavy and suffocating in her chest.

  She never told him.

  She never got to tell him how she felt.

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  The next two days were an endless loop of frustration and anguish. No one would answer her questions about Tokyo, and Louisa was unreachable. Every plea to her father ended the same—dismissed back to her room like a child throwing a tantrum. She wasn't asking for anything other than an update —she just wanted to know, but no one would listen.

  Eventually, desperation took hold. She knew she wasn't thinking straight but she didn't care. Why was it so hard for someone to just give her an answer? Wildly, she grabbed a knife from dinner and pointed it at herself, demanding answers. Jonathan barely blinked, raising a single eyebrow as one of his men effortlessly wrestled the blade from her grasp. He then calmly ordered staff to lock her inside her room until she regained composure.

  By the following day, Charlie had unleashed her signature rage on everything within reach. Furniture lay shattered across the room, curtains ripped down, her entire gaming setup had been tossed violently out the window. She'd even attempted to set the house ablaze in her fury. Each act was quickly and quietly handled by the staff—debris cleared, fires extinguished, leaving her screaming expletives into the indifferent void.

  At night, tears were her only company. Angry tears that she had lost an old friend. A friend she didn't even realise she treasured.

  On the morning of the third day, Jonathan finally appeared. He stepped inside, carefully surveying the damage. The room was a battleground—broken furniture stacked in a corner, scorch marks darkening the walls, curtains gone, revealing bare windows through which daylight streamed harshly. He couldn't help but feel impressed.

  Charlie sat defeated on the floor at the far end of the room, knees drawn close, eyes hollow as she gazed vacantly outside.

  "We're having dinner with Richard and his son tonight," Jonathan said quietly, voice calm and detached. "Make sure you're presentable."

  Charlie stared numbly, offering only a slight, indifferent shrug. Suppressing a small, satisfied smile, Jonathan left without another word, leaving her alone again in silence. He knew he probably shouldn't be enjoying this as much as he was —but he couldn't help it.

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  Charlie did her duty, just as she always had. Her privileged life was steeped in blood, and she would never forget what she owed. Blood that now likely included Alex's.

  The thought caught painfully in her throat as staff carefully adjusted her dress. Each movement felt mechanical, the sorrow a constant ache in her chest. When they finished, she descended quietly to the dining room.

  Inside, Louisa stood waiting, concern resonating deeply on her face. Charlie broke into a run, throwing herself into her sister's embrace.

  "Louisa," she gasped, voice raw and anguished. "You have to help me. No one will tell me anything—"

  The door opened abruptly, cutting off her plea. Jonathan Mak entered, Richard Leung trailing behind him. Louisa's expression shifted suddenly, unreadable—a flicker of guilt behind her eyes. "I'm sorry, Charlie. I don't agree with it. They wouldn't let me see you..." her voice trailed off as Charlie turned away from her.

  Charlie swallowed hard, steeling herself, letting her eyes drift beyond Richard to the man following him. Her future husband.

  As soon as her gaze met his face, it felt like the wind had been knocked out of her.

  Standing before her, calm, dark eyes locked onto hers, was Alex.

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  Eddie winced as the air was knocked out of him when Charlie barreled into his arms—well, arm, because one was secured tightly in a sling beneath his suit jacket.

  His broken arm was the most obvious injury from the Tokyo incident; the other was a fresh black eye.

  As he looked down at his fiancée sobbing into his chest, Eddie couldn't help but smile wryly.

  Earlier that Morning:

  Eddie strode briskly into his father's office, his broken arm held carefully in its sling.

  Richard Leung stood calmly by the window, as if he'd been expecting him.

  It had taken Eddie two exhausting days to get back to San Francisco, dealing with the fallout from Tokyo. Throughout the chaos, he'd received no updates on Charlie.

  "Dad, where the fuck is Charlie?" Eddie demanded.

  Richard regarded him coolly, then stepped forward and punched him squarely in the face.

  Eddie reeled from the blow but refused to cry out.

  "That's for not fucking getting on the plane with her," Richard said icily. "You could have died."

  "Your love language sucks, Dad," Eddie spat onto the carpet.

  Richard adjusted his cuffs casually. "Your fiancée is at home."

  "I want to see her," Eddie said, his voice tight. His stomach twisted with anxiety. He needed to explain everything—why he'd lied, why he'd let her believe he was someone else. He knew she might hate him forever. Though honestly, he had no idea what he'd even say.

  As if sensing his turmoil, Richard added casually, "We haven't exactly told her you're alive."

  Eddie froze.

  Richard coughed, a mischievous smile creeping onto his lips. "We've...left things a bit up in the air."

  A rush of conflicted emotions overtook Eddie: concern, guilt, curiosity. How had Charlie reacted? Had she been shocked? Devastated, he hoped? And yet—this was another lie, another reason for her to hate him.

  Richard smirked knowingly. "Jonathan tells me...she tried to set the house on fire.”

  Eddie choked. "What?"

  Richard smiled wryly. "Among other things. I'd suggest not pissing off your wife in the future."

  Eddie ignored the joke, staring at his father, confused. "Why all this?" he asked plainly.

  Richard shrugged lightly. "You don't understand women as well as you think, kid." He examined his fingernails idly. "If you'd just told her you lied, she might hate you forever. It'd be a shitty marriage." He smiled wryly, "trust me, I'd know."

  Eddie flinched, his father was right.

  "Jonathan knows his daughter well. This was his idea. Now, at worst, she'll be furious with him—but he's her father," Richard continued nonchalantly. "She'll forgive him eventually."

  Eddie was speechless. Was this their twisted version of matchmaking? Had these old men lost their minds?

  Yet, he grudgingly admitted to himself that perhaps they weren't entirely wrong.

  Now, with Charlie in his arms, her body shaking as she wept uncontrollably, guilt gnawed at him mercilessly.

  He patted her gently, murmuring into her hair, "It's okay, I'm okay."

  Eventually, her sobs quieted. Then, abruptly, he felt her body stiffen. Charlie stepped back, her eyes wide, realization dawning.

  Eddie braced himself. This was going to be ugly.

  Charlie stared at him, betrayal written starkly on her face. Her gaze whipped around the room—to Richard, then Louisa, and finally her father.

  A flicker of humiliation crossed her features, sharp and painful. Without another word, she spun on her heel and stormed out.

  Eddie didn't hesitate, and immediately followed her.

  ◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤

  They all knew.

  They all fucking knew.

  Charlie stormed through the hallway, staff hurriedly scrambling out of her path.

  Behind her, she heard him call urgently, "Charlie, wait!"

  Whirling around in fury, she grabbed the nearest object—one of her father's expensive collectible vases—and hurled it at him as hard as she could, letting out a stream of swear words.

  Alex—no, Eddie—ducked swiftly, the vase shattering violently against the wall, pieces scattering in every direction.

  Charlie thrust an accusatory finger at him, her voice raw. "You fucking lied to me!"

  Eddie winced, guilt evident but voice steady. "I did."

  She hated how her heart tightened, seeing him bruised and battered, standing before her with that miserable look on his face.

  She snatched another vase from a display table, heavier this time, and hurled it with as much strength as she could muster. It fell short, embarrassingly only cracking as it hit the floor in front of her.

  She felt like even the vase was mocking her.

  "Charlie—" Eddie stepped cautiously forward, hand raised in a gesture of surrender. "Just hear me out."

  With a frustrated growl, she spun around, aiming for yet another priceless antique.

  But this time Eddie was faster. He lunged forward, his good hand catching her wrist before she could grab the vase. "Wait, wait—just listen!"

  "Fuck you!" she shouted, aiming a furious stomp at his foot.

  He shifted quickly, and her shoe slammed painfully against the marble floor, twisting her ankle sharply. She bit back a yelp of pain, but Eddie immediately steadied her, gripping her elbow protectively.

  "Charlie, are you okay?" Concern was heavy in his voice.

  She shoved him away stubbornly, limping backwards, pain radiating up her leg. She wasn't sure what was worse, the humiliation in that room, or the humiliation now.

  Eddie didn't let her go far. He caught her again, pulling her firmly into his chest.

  "Charlie, please!" His voice was intense, trying to make her stop fighting him.

  She glared defiantly, breathing heavily. Eddie held her gaze, his expression sincere and apologetic.

  "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I'm an asshole. You're right to be angry."

  "So you're not Alex Lau," she spat bitterly.

  He gave a sheepish shrug. "No."

  "You're Edward Leung, the womanizing pervert?" she snapped venomously.

  Eddie grimaced, looking pained. "Yes."

  "And you're not Almond Lover, my fan club president," she accused sharply, voice trembling.

  His eyebrows shot up. "Well, actually, that part's true."

  Charlie squeezed her eyes shut as a raging headache pulsed behind them, feeling emotionally exhausted and completely drained.

  Eddie studied her carefully, his face filled with a mix of concern and longing.

  "I'm sorry, Charlie, I really am," he murmured softly. He hesitated, swallowing hard before quietly adding, "Please don't hate me."

  Charlie stared at him, silent. She remembered the horror she felt imagining him dead, lying forgotten in a morgue, another unclaimed casualty of Black Lotus' brutal world. She'd pictured him broken, alone, bleeding out on the tarmac as the jet abandoned him. Yet here he was, battered but alive, watching her nervously as though he was ready to accept any punishment she wanted to dish out on him.

  She sighed, the fight leaving her as tears stung the corners of her eyes.

  "You're a fucking asshole," she finally said, voice cracking despite her effort to sound fierce.

  Eddie's tense shoulders eased at her softened tone, a slow, gentle smile tugging at his lips as he drew her closer. "I am."

  "I hate you," Charlie whispered harshly, teeth clenched.

  He cupped her face gently with his good hand, leaning forward until their foreheads touched, his eyes serious yet tender. "But I think I love you," he said simply, before capturing her lips in a deep kiss.

  And Charlie kissed him back.

  Because despite the lies, the danger, and the shattered vases—despite everything—this was their reality. Messy, complicated, and uncertain. But as Eddie pulled her closer, Charlie decided that, maybe, whatever came next, they'd face it together.