The booth they were given sat slightly elevated, glass walls and velvet curtains cutting them off just enough from the chaos below, but the throb of bass still seeped through. Waiters slid drinks onto the polished table, then vanished like shadows.

Xavier slouched back, swirling his glass without ever taking a sip, jaw tight. He could still feel Victor's smirk burned into his skull, the mocking hand gestures, the exaggerated kisses blown across the floor, and the middle finger disguised as a toast. Every time Xavier looked away, he swore he could hear Victor's laugh punching through the music.

Viola leaned back in her seat, one arm draped lazily over the backrest, sipping her drink like the whole thing amused her. "He's enjoying this too much," she said with a faint smirk, watching Xavier's grip tighten around his glass. "Almost makes me want to buy him another bottle just to see what he does next."

Lyra wasn't laughing. She was watching Xavier with that sharp-eyed seriousness she always had when he got too still, too quiet. "Ignore him," she said flatly. "He wants a reaction. Don't give him one."

Xavier flicked his eyes toward her, lips twitching. "Easier said than done when the prick's trying to make a stage show out of me."

It was unusual for Xavier to get riled up, but the blood in his body was boiling after seeing the fragment and Xavier wanted it no matter what. He was frustrated because of it and every little thing annoyed him greatly.

Angel chuckled into her glass, tilting it in a mock toast. "Well, you are good entertainment, boss. Maybe he just recognizes the competition."

Xavier didn't answer. His eyes drifted back toward the crowd, catching the faintest glimpse of Victor through the shifting lights—still laughing, still surrounded, still making little digs with a glance or a hand gesture when he thought Xavier was watching.

Jason finally broke his silence, setting his untouched drink down with a quiet clink. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, his voice low so only the booth could hear. "You want me to handle it?"

Xavier looked at him. Jason's face was calm, unreadable, but there was something in his tone and the offer of violence dressed as casual conversation.

For a moment Xavier just stared at him, then let out a faint huff of a laugh, shaking his head. "Nah. Not yet." He leaned back again, pretending to relax, but his eyes never strayed far from Victor's circle. "I will deal with it my way."

Angel tipped her head, amused. Lyra stayed watchful. Jason sat back, waiting.

And Xavier stewed, trying not to let it show, but the fire in his chest only burned hotter.

But the night didn't leave Xavier much room to brood.

The first wave came in subtle—two men in tailored suits, masks still hanging loose around their necks, drinks in hand. They slid into the booth's perimeter with charming smiles and careful words, introducing themselves as if Xavier didn't already know their names. Their families had minor weight in the underworld, enough to keep themselves alive but not enough to move continents. They flattered, dropped vague offers of "future collaboration," and then slipped back into the crowd once they'd been seen exchanging words with him.

Then came another set, a trio this time—sleeker, better dressed, sharper in tongue. Their compliments were thicker, their smiles faker, and Xavier could tell they wanted to weigh him up more than talk. He played it cool, trading a few words here and there, all while Angel smirked at their rehearsed charm and Lyra's eyes never stopped scanning for anything off.

Jason sat silent, a wall of stone, which alone seemed to unnerve a few.

One by one, they came—some with heavy names, others with empty ones. High-ranking players from different corners of the world, all curious about the man who had so much influence in the underworld without even being a member. Some bowed politely, others simply extended a hand, and a few even dared to test Xavier with their tone.

But none of them lingered. They didn't dare.

Each guest only stayed long enough to exchange pleasantries, to be seen making the connection. Then, almost as if they felt the weight of overstaying their welcome, they peeled off quickly and vanished back into the living chaos of the party.

Xavier wasn't sure why they were coming to him and introducing themselves when he hadn't done a thing.

By the fifth round of it, Xavier leaned back, finally sipping his drink, muttering under his breath, "Feels less like a party, more like a parade."

Angel laughed softly, "That's because to them, it is. They just want everyone to notice who they shook hands with."

Lyra only hummed, her sharp gaze sliding past the latest group leaving. "And who they didn't."

Later, the girls had slipped out together, laughing lightly as if they were just going for a harmless touch-up, but Xavier knew damn well Angel was keeping the other two close in this kind of environment. Their booth suddenly felt bigger without them, quieter too—just him and Jason sitting there, watching the shifting, dangerous sea of faces on the floor below.

Xavier leaned back, twirling the glass in his hand before muttering, "You know where they stash the auctioned shit?"

Jason didn't even glance at him at first. He just exhaled slowly, eyes still on the floor. "You're still thinking about it?"

"Yeah," Xavier said plainly.

Jason finally turned, giving him a long stare, the kind that said are you serious right now? He leaned forward a bit, voice low and even. "Forget it. Those items are secured tighter than a fortress. Not to mention, most of it's already shipped out. The second you lose a bid, it's gone. By now, Victor and the others probably already have their deliveries waiting for them."

Xavier clicked his tongue, as though he had already expected it.

Jason added, "Besides, you should've already got your cut. What was it—billions from those scraps you sold?"

"I haven't seen a single coin," Xavier replied flat, his eyes narrowing. "Angel was handling it."

Jason let out a small grunt, like he wasn't surprised. "Figures."

Before Xavier could press the subject, a sudden roar erupted from the lower floor. The sound was muffled by the music and chatter but distinct enough to slice through the noise.

It was Lyra's roar, guttural and furious, shaking the bass of the room.

Xavier's glass froze halfway to his lips. His chest tightened.

Jason immediately straightened, eyes flashing toward the staircase. "That's your girl."

The commotion below grew. The shouts, the scrape of chairs, the telltale sound of bodies clashing in panic or violence.

Xavier was already pushing himself out of his seat, muttering under his breath, "...the fuck did they get into in the bathroom?"

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