Alvin Zamrey stepped out of his car, exhaustion weighing him down like a heavy cloak. The lights of the Zamrey mansion glowed warmly against the night, but they offered little solace. As the secretary of the country's second-largest company—and its owner's eldest son—long days and late nights were a constant. All he wanted now was a warm bath and the silence of his room.As he closed the car door, his phone dinged with another notification. He ignored it.
"Hi, Alvin," came a soft, familiar voice.
He looked up to see Nana Laura, her kind eyes peering from the kitchen doorway. She held a bowl of freshly washed blueberries in her hands. "Hi, Nana," Alvin murmured, forcing a small smile as he approached her. Her embrace was warm, comforting, and exactly what he needed.
"Tired of words?" she asked gently. The pitied boy in her arms could only nod. She handed him the bowl, knowing exactly what would help him. "Here, take these. I know you'll like them."
"Thank you," Alvin whispered, grateful. Nana Laura had always cared for him in ways his mother never did, her selfless devotion filling the gaps in his life. He trudged upstairs, barely aware of the ache in his body. Once inside his room, he dropped the bowl on the nightstand and headed straight for the bathroom. The warmth of the water on his skin was a rare luxury, soothing his tension bit by bit.
When he emerged, towel wrapped loosely around his waist, Alvin sat on the bed and picked up his phone. He expected work emails, but a video from an anonymous ID caught his attention. He tapped on it. Moans echoed through the speakers. His brow furrowed as he stared at the screen, confusion twisting his features. The scene was unmistakable—his boyfriend, Kelvin, in bed with someone else—a woman.
"Hasn't Kelvin always been gay?" Alvin muttered to no one, his voice hollow with disbelief. The text accompanying the video read: He's mine. Stay away, flower boy… You don't want to mess with me.
Alvin tried to reply, but the number had already vanished. The video remained, seared into his mind.
Kelvin wasn't just his boyfriend—he was his confidant, safe space, and first love. "A trip to France," Kelvin had said when he left. But now Alvin understood why his return had been delayed for months. His heart broke, splintering into shards that stabbed him with every breath. The room suddenly felt too small, too suffocating. Grabbing a pair of white pants and a black shirt, he hurried out, desperate for air.
Hours later, Alvin found himself in a gay bar, drowning in shot after shot of cheap liquor. He wasn't a drinker, but the burn of alcohol was a welcome distraction. The pulsing music and sweaty bodies around him blurred into an indistinct haze.
"Is this seat taken?" a deep voice asked beside him.
Alvin shrugged, not looking up. He glared at the empty glasses before him and reached for another.
"You're drinking too much," the voice said again, but Alvin ignored him, downing the shot like water.
Minutes later, the urge to puke hit him. He staggered to his feet, weaving through the crowd toward the bathroom. His legs gave way, but strong arms caught him.
"Thanks," he muttered, too dizzy to see who had helped him. In the bathroom, Alvin leaned over the sink, vomiting until his stomach was empty. When he finally looked up, the stranger was still there, concern etched across his face.
"Are you okay?" he asked. Alvin nodded, rinsing his mouth with trembling hands. His reflection stared back at him—a mess of heartbreak and despair.
"Why is a pretty thing like you drowning in alcohol?" the man asked, his voice softer now. Alvin chuckled bitterly. "Pretty? What good is that when the person you love still cheats on you?"
The stranger frowned but said nothing. Instead, he gently touched Alvin's shoulder. "Is there anything I can do for you?" Alvin turned, his gaze meeting the man's. Without thinking, he grinned and leaned closer. "Make me forget," he whispered before pressing his lips against the stranger's.
The night unfolded in a blur. Alvin remembered being carried out of the club, the softness of the car's leather seats, and the glint of city lights on glass. By the time they reached the seven-star hotel, he was too intoxicated to care. The room was luxurious, but Alvin's focus never wavered from the man before him. His hands roamed freely, his kisses desperate, his mind numb to everything but the need to erase the pain.
"Do you like what you see?" Alvin teased as he spread out on the bed, his voice slurred but confident. The man smirked, biting his lip. "More than you know." Pain gave way to pleasure as the night stretched on, their bodies moving in sync until Alvin lost count of the hours.
When his alarm blared the next morning, Alvin groaned. His body ached in unfamiliar ways, and the memories of the night before came rushing back. He reached for his phone, silencing the incessant ringing.
"Hello?"
"Alvin Zamrey, where are you? How can I reach the office before my son who is supposed to set the example?" Mr. Zamrey's voice boomed through the speaker.
"I'm coming, Father," Alvin mumbled before hanging up. Dragging himself to the bathroom, Alvin stared at his reflection. Red marks dotted his skin, a map of the previous night's passion. "Did he have to leave so many bite marks?" he muttered, running a hand over his neck.He walked out, dressing quickly, only to freeze when a voice called out behind him.
"Going so soon?" Alvin spun around to see the man from last night sitting on the balcony, a cup of coffee in hand, his piercing gaze locked on him.
"You," Alvin said, his voice laced with surprise and unease. The man smirked, taking a slow sip of his coffee. "Don't I deserve a good morning kiss?" Alvin laughed bitterly, shaking his head. "This… never happened. It was just an impulse. Don't dwell on it."
The man stood, setting his cup down, and walked toward Alvin with an unnerving calm. "An impulse?" he echoed, his tone carrying an edge that made Alvin's skin crawl. "Funny, I don't usually entertain impulses. But for you…" He trailed off, his eyes roaming over Alvin like he was piecing together a puzzle.
Alvin stepped back, feeling an odd sense of danger radiating from the man. "Look, I don't even know your name, and I'm late for work," he said quickly, grabbing his phone and jacket. The man tilted his head, a faint smile playing on his lips. "You'll know my name soon enough."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Alvin asked, his voice sharpening.
The man's smile widened, but he didn't answer. Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a sleek black business card, sliding it across the nearby table. Alvin hesitated, his instincts screaming at him not to take it. But curiosity won. He picked it up, his eyes scanning the embossed golden letters. His heart sank as recognition hit him like a freight train.
The name on the card was synonymous with power and fear—a man whose influence rivaled that of Alvin's family.
"Why… Why are you here?" Alvin stammered, his fingers tightening around the card.
The man stepped closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "Let's just say I'm very interested in you, Alvin Zamrey. And I always get what I want."
Before Alvin could respond, his phone buzzed with another call from his father. He turned away for a moment, but when he looked back, the man was gone—along with the business card.
Alvin stood frozen, his heart pounding in his chest. A chill ran down his spine as he realized he might have walked straight into something far more dangerous than a one-night stand.