The air in the room tightened.
Nathan stood in the center, hands loose at his sides, shoulders relaxed—as if this was nothing more than a mild inconvenience. Four of them spread out, circling him. Yellow Hair wiped the blood from his mouth, eyes burning, jaw clenched so hard it trembled.
"You're dead," one of the guys growled.
He didn't wait for a response.
A punch came flying straight at Nathan's face while another leg swung in from the side.
Nathan sighed.
He caught the punching wrist mid-air, fingers closing lazily, then twisted—hard. Bone creaked. The man screamed as Nathan yanked him forward and shoved him sideways, using his body as a shield just as the kick slammed in, landing squarely on his ribs instead.
Nathan let go.
The twisted-arm guy crashed into the third man, knocking both off balance.
At the same time, Nathan tilted his head, narrowly dodging a punch from the fourth guy and stepping past another kick from the second. His movement was smooth, unhurried—almost bored.
He spun.
A roundhouse kick snapped through the air.
His heel smashed into the fourth guy's head.
The man collapsed instantly, body hitting the floor with a dull thud.
Nathan landed lightly and, without pause, stepped forward and drove a punch straight into the second guy's face. Blood sprayed as the man stumbled back and fell, clutching his mouth, groaning.
Silence snapped tight.
The first and third guys scrambled back to their feet, exchanging a brief, shaken glance.
Yellow Hair roared.
"Fuck!"
He grabbed a decorative vase from the table and smashed it against the wall. Shards scattered. He clutched one of the jagged pieces in his hand and charged, eyes wild.
The first and third guys rushed in with him.
Nathan's smile didn't change.
Behind them, the second and fourth guys were still down—one groaning on the floor, the other unmoving.
Back to Emily
Emily burst out of the room, breath ragged, feet barely touching the ground as she ran.
The hallway stretched long and white ahead of her. She rounded the corner sharply, nearly losing balance, then straightened and sprinted toward the staircase.
Her vision swam.
Just as she reached it—
A hand shot out from the side.
She gasped.
"Duck!"
The shout came from above.
Emily dropped instinctively, knees hitting the floor as she squatted.
A shadow flew over her.
Prim vaulted down the stairs, skipping steps, body twisting mid-air. His leg came down like a blade.
His foot smashed into the fifth guy's face.
The impact sent the man slamming into the wall, teeth and blood flying as his body crumpled.
Prim landed cleanly, straightening as if he had simply stepped down.
The sixth guy skidded to a halt.
"Fuck," he cursed, stepping back instinctively.
Behind Prim, Emily knelt on the floor, pale, eyes unfocused but slowly clearing, staring at his back like it was the only solid thing left in the world.
The sixth guy snarled, anger flaring over his fear. "Who the hell do you think you are, playing hero, you crazy bastard—"
The fifth guy staggered upright, clutching his mouth. "Damn it—my teeth!,I'm going to kill you"
He barely finished the sentence.
Prim turned and kicked.
His foot slammed into the man's throat.
The fifth guy flew backward, crashing hard against the wall before collapsing, gasping, body twitching.
Prim lowered his leg, expression calm, voice still gentle.
The sixth guy lunged.
Prim didn't retreat.
He slipped past the first swing with a lazy tilt of his shoulder, dodged the second punch by half a step, and let the third attack cut through empty air. His movements were light, almost careless—like he wasn't even trying.
The sixth guy snarled and rushed again.
Prim turned his body sideways and drove his elbow straight back.
A sharp crack echoed.
The man yelled, stumbling forward.
Before he could recover, Prim stepped in and struck—precise, clean.
His hand snapped against the side of the man's neck.
The sixth guy's eyes rolled back, body going slack as he collapsed to the floor, unconscious.
Silence returned to the hallway.
Prim exhaled slowly and turned.
Emily was gripping the railing, knuckles white, body trembling. Her face was pale, eyes still dazed, fighting to stay upright.
"Are you okay?" Prim asked gently as he reached out and steadied her by the shoulder.
Behind them, footsteps approached.
Nathan leaned against the wall, arms loose, head tilted, watching the scene like it mildly annoyed him. He clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes.
"Tsk," he muttered. "Acts like a hero, just for another guy to come steal the show. Pretty boy he cuss as he takes anogher look at prim."
He pushed off the wall and walked over.
"Emily," Nathan said smoothly, voice soft, concerned. "Are you okay?"
Prim turned.
Hazel, cat-like eyes met emerald-green, fox-like ones.
For a brief second, the air sharpened.
They didn't need words.
They understood each other perfectly without saying a word it is a clear tactic they dislike each other presence.
Prim tilted his head slightly, a lazy, mocking smirk forming. "Who are you?"
Nathan smiled without warmth. "Her baby."
He reached out and pulled Emily toward himself—
Only for Emily to step hard on his foot.
Nathan hissed and instinctively let go.
Prim sneered faintly. "Seems she doesn't like your touch."
"She's shy," Nathan replied calmly, masking the irritation, "and drugged. What do you expect?" He glanced at Emily. "I'll take her home."
Prim smiled.
He raised a phone between his fingers.
"I already texted her driver."
He tossed the phone toward Nathan.
Nathan caught it easily—but when he turned it on, the screen prompted for a password.
He let out a low, mocking laugh and looked at Emily. "How did you know my password?"
Emily blinked, confused, her thoughts sluggish. "My… password?"
Prim winked at her. "A magician never reveals his tricks."
"Is that what scammers call themselves now Nathan taunted"
Prim ignored him and gave a polite bowto Emily.
Then, as he walked past them, his hand flicked.
He pulled the hairpin from Emily's hair and sliced lightly across her palm.
Pain flared.
Emily gasped.
Her eyes snapped clear.
Prim paused just long enough to glance back, gaze settling coldly on Nathan.
"It's advised," he said mildly, "to stay conscious around someone like him."
Then he walked away.
Nathan stood still.
He poked the inside of his cheek with his tongue and took a slow, controlled breath—forcing the calm back into place.
The smile returned.
But his eyes were dark.
"So," Nathan asked casually, hands in his pockets as he glanced at the unconscious bodies littering the floor, "what are you going to do with these guys?"
Emily didn't even look back.
Her eyes, finally clear, darkened with quiet irritation. "Later," she said flatly. "I'm tired."
She turned and walked away, her steps steady despite the lingering weakness in her body.
Nathan watched her for half a second before following, his smile returning as if nothing had happened.
Prim, on the other hand, was lost.
He stood in the middle of a corridor so wide it could pass for a gallery, staring at identical doors and endless marble like the house was mocking him.
He clicked his tongue. "Rich people and their stupid, unnecessary space," he
muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Who needs a hallway this long?"
A faint shift in the air—
His instincts screamed.
He tried to dodge.
Too late.
A sharp kick slammed into him from the side.
"Fuck—!"
Prim hit the floor on all fours, palms stinging as he barely caught himself. Before he could turn—
Ava grabbed his hair and yanked.
"The fuck, Ava!" Prim yelled, scrambling.
"Are you trying to kill your own twin?!"
"Where the hell have you been?" Ava snapped, dragging him up by his hair without mercy.
"You dump a drugged girl into my hands and then disappear?!"
She shoved him away.
Prim staggered, rubbing his scalp dramatically. "You're sick," he groaned. "Seriously sick."
Ava rolled her eyes, completely unimpressed. She crossed her arms. "Explain."
Prim straightened, brushing imaginary dust off his clothes, tone instantly lighter. "Mom was drugged," he said. "I went to save her."
Ava's gaze sharpened.
Prim tilted his head, lazy grin appearing. "I mean, unless you want her sleeping with another man that isn't Dad and then us having to process that trauma for life. Though," he added thoughtfully, "now that I think about it, it doesn't seem that bad calling another father other than that one it would be a upgrade"
Ava raised her hand.
Prim shut up immediately.
"Make sense," she said coldly. "Properly. Or I swear I'll knock it into you."
Prim sighed, lifting his hands in surrender.
Prim leaned back against the corridor railing, rubbing his chin lazily as if they were discussing something trivial instead of attempted assault.
"The rash thing?" he said lightly. "The drink poured on Mom—Emily was drugged. It's not a rash drug."
Ava stopped walking.
Prim continued, unfazed. "It's an aphrodisiac. The kind used in clubs. You know… in our future. Twenty-one years later."
Ava turned slowly.
"Don't look at me like that," Prim added, waving a hand. "Who knows? The drug might already exist now. Just messier. More complicated. They disguise it as a skin reaction so doctors won't dig too deep."
He clicked his tongue. "Clever, actually. Nasty, but clever."
Ava's expression hardened.
Prim sighed theatrically. "Unlike the future version, this one has side effects—rashes, itching, redness. That's the disguise. Once the rash fades, the real effect kicks in. Very subtle. Very quiet. You feel clear-headed, but your body doesn't agree."
He glanced at her. "And it's stupidly hard to tell someone's drugged."
Ava didn't blink. "How is Mom?"
"She's fine," Prim said easily. "Left her with Dad. Well—younger Dad. I don't like him."
Prim shrugged. "Bad vibes. Also, have you noticed? Their relationship back then isn't simple. Marriage arranged, mutual dislike, yet somehow"—he spread his hands—"us."
He smirked. "That mystery is yours to solve. I'm not emotionally prepared."
Ava ignored that. "How do you know about the drug?"
Prim tilted his head. "Baby twin," he said sweetly, "have you seen my social circle? Do they look normal to you? Except miachel James literally makes and sell the drugs."
Ava's eyes sharpened. "Are you using it?"
Prim gasped, hand to chest. "Wow.
Betrayal."
Then he leaned closer, grin lazy. "Have you seen my face? Why would I need it?"
He straightened. "Besides, I'm usually the one it's used on. I'm bait cake. You wouldn't understand."
Ava scowled. "Who drugged Mom?"
"The yellow-haired one," Prim said instantly. "The toad-looking guy on the party floor."
"And why?"
Prim snorted. "Have you seen Mom? She's hot. Obviously."
Ava pinched the bridge of her nose.
"I mean," Prim continued cheerfully, "how else do you explain us? Those genes had to come from somewhere. Especially me."
He leaned in, whispering dramatically.
"Tragic life of the beautiful."
Ava snapped.
"Sometimes," Prim added, stepping back, "I genuinely wonder if you were swapped at birth."
That was it.
"PRIM—!"
He bolted.
Ava chased him down the hall, murderous fury in every step, while Prim laughed like it was the best entertainment of the night.
"Violence isn't love!" he yelled over his shoulder. "You're proving my point!"
The manor echoed with her curses—and his laughter—long after they disappeared down the corridor.