The night in Bangkok—
Towers burning like manmade stars.

Joss stood by the floor-to-ceiling window of his penthouse office,
whiskey glass cooling in his hand.

A faint mist of amber and leather pheromone clung to the air around him,
coiling like smoke from a fire yet to be unleashed.

He hadn't spoken of it to anyone.
But for days now—

He had felt it.

A tension.
A gnawing unease in his chest.

Betrayal.

Not from enemies outside.

But from within.

Within Wongthep.

The reports were flawless—
Too flawless.

The numbers checked out—
To a degree that made him uneasy.

And that investment fund name from Dubai—
the one Fluke Wichit casually included in yesterday's file—

Joss remembered it.

Not from recent reports.
But from a torn fax he had glimpsed on his father's desk years ago.

He had been too young then to understand the numbers.

But the name—

He had never forgotten.

A soft knock at the door.

"Sir," the driver called, "your assistant Fluke is downstairs. He says it's urgent."

Joss checked the clock.

11 PM.

His heart skipped a beat.

Fluke Wichit never appeared at this hour unless it was serious.

Deadly serious.

The Meeting in the Quiet Room

They met on the 52nd floor.

A small conference room.

No cameras.

Fluke entered, a file folder in hand.

His eyes were blacker than midnight—
Not cold,
but stormy.

"A document you need to see,"
he said simply.

Joss said nothing.

He just looked at him.

The same face—

Yet not the same.

Or was it...
too familiar?

Fluke unfolded the documents.

Sprawled across the table were ledgers, wire transfers, shell company registrations.

A silent confession.

His voice dropped to a near whisper:

"The one helping Lerdprasit...
isn't your father."

Joss remained still.

No reaction.

Only the faintest tension in his jaw.

Fluke pressed on:

"It's someone inside your family."

"Someone with enough power to move money without leaving official ink trails."

Joss clenched his glass so tightly his knuckles whitened.

He bit the inside of his cheek.

"Where did you get this?"

Fluke's reply was calm, razor-sharp:

"From an old backup drive.
From Thanarath's internal archive."

"An ex-employee sold it anonymously."

"Most of it was encrypted.
Some—handwritten."

Fluke pulled out a sheet of paper.

Soft handwriting in traditional Thai script.

Joss recognized it instantly.

His grandmother's handwriting.

A cold wave crashed through his chest.

Silence devoured the room.

One minute.
Two.

Time froze.

Joss dropped his forehead to the table, gripping his hair.

Fluke stood motionless, watching.

This was the truth Gawin had travelled halfway across the world to find.

But facing Joss—
the boy from Hua Hin,
the one who promised under the sunset to never let him go—

It didn't feel like a victory.

It felt like bleeding.

When the Wolf is Cornered

"In the wild,"
Joss's father once said,
"when a wolf is cornered, it bites back."

Joss didn't react immediately.

He simply skimmed the anonymous email—
smirked—
and went back to work.

As if nothing had happened.

But Gawin knew—

Joss was never the type to ignore a provocation.

The Office Air Changed

The next morning—

No email response.

No confrontation.

No outward sign.

But the atmosphere—

The air itself—
shifted.

The moment Gawin entered the executive floor,
he felt it.

Joss sat at his desk, leafing through papers with a casual hand.

But when his gaze lifted—

For one fleeting second—

Gawin felt like he was standing naked.

Exposed.

"Follow me to the board meeting."
Joss said quietly.

Not a request.

A command.

Into the Wolf's Den

For the first time—
Joss brought him into the inner circle.

For the first time—
he placed Gawin where real power lived.

For the first time—
Gawin didn't know if it was an opportunity—

Or a trap.

The Board of Directors were no fools.

Wolves in human skin.

Each with their own empires, their own bloodlust.

And Fluke Wichit—

Was thrown into the middle of them.

Joss said little.

He only observed.

Every time someone spoke,
every number flashed on a slide—

Joss tapped his fingers on the table in a slow, deliberate rhythm.

Gawin could feel Joss's gaze on him.

Not like a boss to an assistant.

No.

Like a hunter watching prey.

The Private Meeting

When the meeting ended,
Joss didn't immediately leave.

He stood.

Adjusted his cufflinks.

And said:

"I have another meeting.
You're coming with me."

No reason to refuse.

Gawin nodded.

But inside—
he braced himself.

Because he knew—

Joss wasn't patient.

And the time to lay cards on the table was coming.

The Confrontation

They didn't go to the guest lounge.

Or a boardroom.

No.

Joss led him—

Straight to the top floor.

To the heart of Wongthep's tower.

To Joss's private office.

Where no one could hear them.

The door shut with a click.

Joss stood by the window,
Bangkok's glittering skyline sprawling beneath his feet.

Without turning around,
he asked:

"What do you want?"

A simple question.

No pleasantries.

No masks.

Just—

Joss Wayar.

Bare and real.

Gawin didn't flinch.

He casually rolled up his sleeves,
leaned against a chair,
and smiled faintly.

"I don't understand your question."
he said.

Who Blinks First

Joss turned slowly.

His eyes—

Black and sharp.

He didn't have time for games.

He stepped closer,
braced both hands on the chair Gawin was leaning on,
trapping him in.

The scent of amber and leather grew thick.

Sharp.
Dangerous.

Not seductive.

Predatory.

"I'll ask again,"
Joss said, voice dropping to a blade's whisper.

"Who. Are. You. Really?"

A battle of wills.

No blinking.

No breathing wrong.

If Gawin showed a crack—
even a heartbeat out of place—

Joss would rip him apart.

But Gawin didn't flinch.

He tilted his head slightly,
like considering a minor annoyance.

"Mr. CEO,"
he said slowly,
his voice low and steady.

"...What exactly do you mean?"

A gambit.

A provocation.

If Joss was only guessing—

He wouldn't dare press too far.

But if he knew—

Gawin would have to fight his way out.

Joss didn't immediately answer.

Instead,
he reached out—

adjusted the collar of Gawin's shirt.

A touch too firm.

A warning.

His breath brushed Gawin's ear.

"If I dig into your records..."
he whispered,
his voice sharp and mocking—

"Will I find anything interesting?"

Dangerous move.

Gawin felt a cold trickle down his spine.

But even backed into a corner,
he didn't flinch.

He met Joss's gaze.

Dead on.

"You're welcome to try."

No confession.

No denial.

Just a dare.

Joss stared at him for a long, long time.

The room shrank around them.

The world outside vanished.

There was only them.

And the game.

And then—

Joss chuckled softly.

Low.

Dangerous.

He reached out.

Grasped Gawin's chin.

Tilted his head up.

Examined him.

"You're interesting, Fluke."

Gawin didn't move.

Didn't look away.

The game—

Had officially begun.