Masahiro sat on his couch, the TV flickering with muted images as he sipped his coffee. His casual t-shirt and pants did nothing to downplay his commanding aura, his presence filling the room even in stillness. The sharp knock at the door disrupted his peace.
Setting his mug down deliberately, Masahiro rose and walked to the door, his movements slow and precise, like a predator assessing its prey. Opening it, he found Cassidy standing there, dressed sharply in his usual tailored suit, a smug smile playing on his lips.“You again,” Masahiro said flatly, his tone devoid of interest but heavy with disdain.Cassidy’s smile widened. “I want to talk. Just the two of us. Man to man.”Masahiro’s eyes flicked over him, sizing him up from his polished shoes to the smirk on his lips. “Man to man, huh? You don’t have a gun on you, do you?”Cassidy’s smirk twisted into something darker as he patted his suit jacket and trousers with theatrical exaggeration. “No weapons this tiMasahiro sat on the edge of his bed, his laptop open in front of him, his mind focused on the screen as he scrolled through case files. The quiet hum of the hotel room added to the atmosphere of calm that had settled over him in the few days since he’d arrived in Newcastle.His phone that quiet sat on the bedside table buzzed suddenly, the cheerful ringtone cutting through the quiet. He glanced at the screen and saw Yumi’s name flashing. A small, fond smile tugged at his lips as he picked up the call.“Masahiro! Ohayou!” Yumi’s voice burst through the line, as lively and infectious as ever. “How’s my favorite cousin doing?”He leaned back in his chair, feeling a little lighter already. “I’m fine, Yumi. What’s going on?”“Well,” she began, a hint of excitement in her voice, “I was thinking, maybe we could catch up? How about a coffee? I’m free right now!”
Cassidy sat at his polished desk, his fingers tapping lightly on the surface as he sifted through the stack of paperwork in front of him. He had almost forgotten about it… Arthur’s wallet.He opened the drawer slowly, the smooth wood creaking slightly. Inside, neatly tucked away in the corner, lay the familiar brown leather wallet. Cassidy’s lips curled into a smirk.“Guess I should call him,” he muttered to himself, his fingers hovering over the phone on his desk. It only took a moment before he grabbed it and dialed Arthur’s number.The phone rang twice before Arthur picked up, his voice clear but slightly disoriented.“Arthur speaking.”“Hey, Arthur… Cassidy here,” Cassidy greeted, leaning back in his chair, his tone casual, but with a hint of amusement.Arthur’s voice faltered for a second. “Ah… You.”Cassidy chuckled softly. “I got
Arthur pushed open the doors of El Paradiso, the pulse of music and chatter washing over him. He adjusted his jacket and surveyed the room, eyes landing on Cassidy in a private booth. The man sat back in his seat, casually swirling a glass of whiskey in his hand, his presence dominating the space like a magnet drawing attention from every direction. The usual smug smirk was plastered on his face, and it made Arthur’s irritation flare.Arthur squared his shoulders and marched over to the booth, irritation lining his every step. Cassidy looked up as he approached, that lazy smile never leaving his face.“Where’s my wallet? It’s late, and I’ve got an early morning. Unlike you, I have work.”Cassidy leaned back even further, savoring the moment before lifting his hand to pull something from his coat. With a flourish, he set Arthur’s ID card down on the table like a prize.Arthur froze, his gaze fixating on the card. H
It was a crisp, energetic afternoon, and the stadium buzzed with excitement as the long-awaited match between Bristol and Middlesbrough FC was about to start. Fans filled the stands in a sea of blue and red, the rivalry between the two teams as fierce as ever. Matthew and Masahiro made their way through the crowd, blending in with the excitement but each lost in their thoughts, unaware of the various ties that bound them all to this very place.Matthew, in his casual black t-shirt, bomber jacket, jeans, and sneakers, looked every bit the confident man as he walked beside Masahiro, who was a little more polished in his long-sleeve t-shirt and dark jeans.They approached the snack stall, the aroma of hot dogs and chips filling the air.“I’ll be right back,” Masahiro said, his voice low but firm. “Need to use the restroom before the game starts.”“Alright,” Matthew replied absentmindedly, pulling out his phone as he
It was 6 pm, the cool evening air was starting to seep through the office windows, and the usual hum of the city outside was a stark contrast to the quiet tension within Cassidy's office. He sat behind his desk, his eyes fixed on the paperwork before him, but his mind was elsewhere.The heavy door creaked open, and Nathaniel entered. Without a word, Nathaniel made his way over to Cassidy’s desk, standing silently, waiting for instructions.Cassidy didn’t look up immediately, but his fingers drummed rhythmically against the desk, a sign he was lost in thought. Finally, he looked up at Nathaniel, his sharp eyes giving nothing away."Talk," Cassidy said, his voice low, calm, and demanding.Nathaniel stepped forward and placed a file on the desk. “He keeps seeing Masahiro Payne. At 9 PM, he goes to his apartment and spends the night there. Coming back at 6 AM.”Cassidy paused, the words sinking in. A slow smirk tugged at the cor
Cassidy stepped through the door of the apartment at 9 AM, his shoes making little sound as he entered the quiet space. The world outside was still waking up, but for Cassidy, his day had already started. He didn’t need much sleep, and there was work to be done.He went to the room and stepped through the door, the faint scent hitting him before anything else. It wasn’t his cologne—or Matthew’s. No, this was different. Subtle but unmistakable.Masahiro.His lips curled into a sneer as he closed the door behind him, slowly, he turned his gaze toward the bed where Matthew lay sprawled under the covers, his face peaceful, his breaths steady.Disgust twisted in Cassidy’s gut, ‘He didn’t even bother to shower.´The sight of him, so vulnerable and unaware, made Cassidy pause for a moment, a cold smirk tugging at his lips. It was almost too easy. Matthew's biggest flaw had always been his deep sleep, a fact
Nathaniel stood by the window, his back against the cool glass, watching the crowd outside with a cold, calculating gaze. The club was alive with movement, the energy thick with laughter and music, but he was focused… he always was.His fingers toyed with the edge of his phone, flipping it over in his hand, the familiar weight of it grounding him.Across the club, the front door swung open. Nathaniel’s eyes immediately locked onto the figure that entered… the unmistakable posture of Masahiro. The man was confident, like he owned the world, but Nathaniel saw through it. He had a habit of doing that.He adjusted his coat, the fabric brushing against the cold, hard steel tucked discreetly under his arm. His eyes followed Masahiro, moving with purpose but never rushing, savoring the moment. As the bartender approached Masahiro, Nathaniel leaned back into the shadows, his fingers once again dancing across his phone screen. A few taps.In th
Nathaniel stepped into Masahiro's apartment, the familiar scent of cedarwood and sandalwood filling the air, grounding him in the cold precision of the task at hand. The dim light from the living room cast long shadows that seemed to stretch and pulse with each beat of his heart, adding to the ambiance of deliberate quiet that surrounded him. His eyes, however, weren’t drawn to the sterile décor or the quiet beauty of the space. They went immediately to the bedroom… where the plan would unfold.As Nathaniel crossed the threshold into the room, a strange mix of urgency and anticipation gnawed at him. It wasn’t just about the job; there was something more primal at play. Power. Control. Watching everything unfold under his command.He approached the bed with measured steps, kneeling beside Masahiro. The man’s body was limp, vulnerable, the deep slumber induced by the drug still keeping him unaware of his surroundings. Nathaniel, however, w
The knock on Masahiro’s office door was sharp, impatient.Masahiro barely looked up from his paperwork. “Come in.”The door swung open, and Clark walked in with his usual air of barely restrained irritation. Adam followed, stepping in behind him—bigger, heavier, carrying the kind of presence that filled the room before he even said a word.Arthur looked up from his desk. His brows furrowed—not at Clark, but at the man behind him.`Who the hell is that? ´Masahiro set his pen down and leaned back in his chair, finally glancing up. “Clark.”Clark’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Masahiro.”Masahiro’s eyes flicked to Adam. Didn’t know him. But it didn’t take much to put the pieces together. Matthew had arranged for Clark to have a bodyguard. And judging by the way this guy stood like he’d break a man’s spine for fun, this had to be him.Adam met Masahiro’s stare, just as assessing. Neither of them spoke. Sizing each other up.Clark exhaled sharply, clearly over it before it even began.
Clark strode through the Police Station, his expression unreadable, his patience already wearing thin.The place reeked of sweat and coffee. The low murmur of officers shuffling papers and tapping on keyboards filled the space, a dull, monotonous noise that grated against his already strained nerves.He had a job to do—defend Cassidy Hills.That alone was enough to make his stomach turn. But what made it worse? Adam was here.Clark could feel him before he even saw him. The weight of his presence, the air shifting with that unmistakable sense of imposing brutality. Adam was big, heavy, and carried trouble like it was stitched into his skin.Clark ignored it. For now.He pushed open the door to Interrogation Room 2.Cassidy was waiting.Not tense. Not restless. Not even remotely concerned.Relaxed.Slouched back in his chair, emerald eyes bright with
The moment Adam stepped inside Clark’s apartment, he knew something was off.At a glance, it was the kind of place you’d expect a high-end lawyer to own—modern, sleek, expensive. But underneath the surface, there was something else. Something… wrong.Boxes. Unpacked, shoved haphazardly against the walls. Some stacked near the hallway, some left forgotten by the bookshelf.There was an expensive bottle of whiskey sitting on the coffee table—half empty. Another on the kitchen counter. Glasses left behind, like someone had drunk just enough to forget whatever the hell was bothering them, but not enough to pass out.The air had that lingering scent of cologne and something else. Something faintly human, like the remnants of someone who had been here and left in a hurry.Clark’s place was polished, sure. But it wasn’t lived in. It was a man’s house, not a man’s home.&nb
Masahiro’s grip was firm on Matthew’s waist, his pace slow but deep, deliberate. Possessive.Matthew, on his knees, braced against the mattress, let out a breathy groan, his fingers curling into the sheets. His body was already wrecked, his muscles weak from the second round—but Masahiro?Masahiro wasn’t done.“Masahiro,” Matthew exhaled, half-laughing, half-dazed. “You tryna kill me?”Masahiro hummed, dragging his lips along the back of Matthew’s neck, pressing a lazy, open-mouthed kiss to his sweat-slicked skin. “You can take it.”Matthew groaned. “I dunno, man, I think my soul left my body two rounds ago.”Masahiro didn’t give a damn.Then—the phone rang.Masahiro barely acknowledged it.Matthew, however, seized the moment. “Oh, thank God. Answer it.”
The shower ran hot.Steam curled along the edges of the mirror, clinging to the tiled walls as Adam dragged a hand over his face, water rolling down his broad shoulders. His body bore the kind of scars that told a history without words—faint reminders of a life lived in violence, of battles won and wars survived.He didn’t stay under long. He never did. A quick rinse, then he shut the water off, stepping out into the thick heat of the small bathroom.With practiced efficiency, he dried off, rolling his neck until it cracked, the tension leaving his muscles in slow waves. Then, moving without hesitation, he dressed.A crisp, open-collared black shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his forearms—just enough to show the sharp lines of muscle beneath dark skin. Polished trousers, pressed and fitted, clean against his frame. He stepped into his shined black leather shoes, the weight of them familiar, grounding.
The air inside the car was quiet.Masahiro drove with his usual control, hands steady on the wheel, eyes fixed on the road.Matthew sat in the passenger seat, one hand resting lazily on the window, lost in thought.Clark and Arthur were in the back.Arthur sat stiffly, still processing everything that had just happened.Clark, on the other hand?Clark felt sick.The weight of the case—the weight of who Cassidy Hills was, who his enemies were, and what this could mean—It was too much.He inhaled deeply, fingers tapping against his knee.Then, voice quieter than usual—"I should drop the case."Arthur’s head snapped toward him.Matthew blinked, then frowned. "Come again?"Clark exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I’m not just dealing with a criminal here. I’m dealing with a mafia boss with powerful enemies. People who would rather see him dead t
Arthur sat at his desk, fingers poised over his keyboard, but his mind was elsewhere.He was supposed to be working—supposed to be focusing on the backlog of reports Masahiro had handed him that morning.But he couldn’t.Because in a few minutes, the lawyer would arrive.Clark Brown.Arthur knew of him, of course. The name had been whispered around the city. A sharp, calculated legal mind. One of the best defense lawyers in the city.And now?Now, Cassidy’s fate was in his hands.Arthur exhaled slowly, trying to push down the uneasy weight in his chest.At the other desk, Masahiro was deeply focused, working without distraction, as if the case of the century wasn’t about to walk through the door.And then there was Matthew.Sprawled lazily in a random chair, legs stretched out, hunched slightly over his phone.Focused.But not on work.Arthur didn’t even ha
The bedroom was quiet, except for the soft, steady breathing of Matthew curled up under the blankets.Masahiro lay behind him, one arm draped over his waist, his body pressed against Matthew’s back.Warm. Familiar. His favorite way to wake up.He leaned in, pressing a slow kiss to the back of Matthew’s shoulder.A sleepy mumble.Then—"If you're gonna start something, Masahiro, you better commit."Masahiro huffed a quiet laugh. Of course. Even in sleep, Matthew was a menace.He pressed another kiss, just to be difficult, before pulling away and reaching for his phone on the nightstand.The sheets rustled as Matthew shifted behind him, probably sinking further into sleep, while Masahiro scrolled through his contacts.Then—he called.A click. A familiar voice.“Brown here.”Masahiro ran a hand through his hair, leaning back against the pillows. “Clark! H
The car was silent, save for the rhythmic sound of tires gliding over asphalt.Masahiro drove with his usual precision—steady hands, unwavering focus, the kind of control that never wavered.Matthew, on the other hand, was slouched in the passenger seat, one leg bouncing idly, tapping his fingers against the window like he was thinking of something deeply unimportant.Arthur sat in the back, lost in his own thoughts, staring blankly at the blurred city lights streaking past.Then—“I need to get a lawyer for Cassidy.”Both Masahiro and Matthew turned their heads slightly.There was a pause.Then, ever so slowly, Matthew exhaled and let his head fall back against the seat. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”Masahiro, as usual, said nothing—just tightened his grip on the wheel.Matthew turned his head, looking at Arthur o