Gambling

"What do you think?" Damon asked seriously.

Mason shrugged indifferently and replied, "Investing is just gambling."

"Fair enough," Damon nodded after a brief pause, then stood up and walked toward the counter to pay.

Mason followed him, catching up as he joked, "In such a hurry to pay, worried I'll drink you broke?"

"Do you have that kind of ability?" Damon smirked, recalling Mason's lackluster alcohol tolerance—it was certainly no match for his own.

"You stingy little miser," Mason muttered under his breath, seemingly having forgotten the real reason he came.

"I'm heading to visit Zia now. Want to come along?" Damon offered.

"Sure. I haven't seen her in a while anyway," Mason accepted the invitation.

"Didn't you say you like Zia?" Damon asked, his tone implying Mason's fondness seemed rather perfunctory.

"What do you know? Liking someone doesn't always mean you have to see them. Sometimes, it's better to cherish them in your heart," Mason retorted, adjusting his sunglasses as he stepped into the flower shop beside the café.

He hailed from Windy City's second most prominent family—

Prestigious and powerful.

Elegant and gentle, yet carefree and romantic.

In his world, there was only him, accompanied by countless "hers."

Damon drove past the café, glancing through the window to see Mason picking out flowers.

It was a bouquet of pink tulips, symbolizing the message: "To a beautiful woman, may you find happiness."

At the hospital, the sharp scent of disinfectant lingered in the air. The corridor was bathed in soft light, enveloped in tranquil silence.

Damon and Mason exited the elevator, heading toward Zia's private care room.

From the opposite direction came a mixed-race teenager dressed in a white casual shirt and blue jeans.

The boy had vibrant orange hair that blazed like fire, radiating an air of confidence.

His youthful face was bright with a warm smile, yet his right arm was heavily bandaged, suggesting a severe injury that restricted his movement.

"Soren?" Mason called out to the boy.

However, Soren ignored him entirely, not even pausing his stride.

"What's going on?" Mason asked, bewildered. Soren wasn't usually like this.

Soren's lips pressed into a cold line, his gaze sharp and distant.

He held his head high, his posture straight and unwavering as he strode past Damon and Mason without a word.

Mason watched Soren's retreating figure in silence, then muttered, "What happened between you and Soren yesterday?"

Damon's thin lips curved into a faint smirk. "He stabbed me."

"..." Mason was speechless. He figured that must have been a rather "painful" stab.

"Let's go. Time to see Zia," Damon said calmly, walking toward the room.

Inside, Zia's caretaker, Jay, had stepped out for a meal and hadn't returned.

A nurse was checking Zia's vitals, and the results indicated she was stable. Once again, Zia had survived another critical moment.

The nurse registered Damon and Mason's identities, shared some care instructions, and then left with her equipment.

Mason placed the tulips into a vase on the bedside table.

Beside it sat a bouquet of lilies—Zia's favorite flowers, likely brought by Soren.

On the hospital bed, Zia wore a respirator, her body relaxed and her sleep peaceful.

The heart monitor displayed steady rhythms, her heartbeat indistinguishable from that of a healthy individual.

Zia was the epitome of a Southern belle—gentle, graceful, and as soft as flowing water.

She had a delicate, oval-shaped face, crescent-shaped brows, bright eyes, a petite nose, and lips more beautiful than cherries.

At the age of two, Zia moved with her parents to Windy City.

But less than six months later, her parents perished in a fire.

She was supposed to be sent to an orphanage, but somehow, Damon's parents adopted her instead.

The first time Zia entered the small courtyard, she saw Damon.

He was standing on the balcony, holding a small wooden sword.

His expression was cold, his demeanor distant as he gazed down at Zia indifferently.

In that instant, Zia was captivated.

She clumsily wiped her mouth, letting two streams of milky drool betray her budding infatuation.

From then on, no matter where she was or what she was doing, her thoughts were always drawn to that aloof yet stunning boy, lingering on him endlessly.

At thirteen, when Zia experienced her first period, she was so frightened that she hid in her room, crying all night, terrified she might bleed to death.

When Damon found out, he not only bought her the necessary supplies but also made her a bowl of sweet honey water.

It was then she overcame her fear and navigated this pivotal moment of growth, emerging stronger.

At sixteen, Zia's youthful heart began to stir with feelings of affection.

She longed to emulate other girls by writing a love letter to her crush.

But when Damon learned of her intentions, he went straight to her grade level.

He called a meeting with all the class leaders, instructing them to keep an eye on Zia and ensure she didn't engage in any early romances.

Early romances…

Zia could only concede.

Yet she wondered, if Damon knew the person she was infatuated with was him, would he still stop her?

However, just as Zia was about to deliver her love letter, a car accident occurred.

Zia pushed Damon out of harm's way, only to fall beneath the wheels herself.

She paid a heavy price for her actions.

She lay on a hospital bed for six long years.

An eternity, so long that she forgot herself.

She often wondered:

Was she still alive, or had she already died?

Mason broke the silence, his voice tinged with humor. "Damon, do you really not know that Zia likes you?"

Damon lifted his gaze slightly, casting Mason a brief glance before looking away.

A faint warmth flickered in his tea-black eyes as he replied coolly, "I didn't know."

"Haha, didn't I just tell you now?" Mason laughed gleefully, clearly taking pleasure in Damon's discomfort.

Damon remained silent, ignoring Mason entirely.

Feeling a twinge of pity for Zia, Mason said, "She spent the best years of her life lying in a hospital bed. If she wakes up, you really should make it up to her."

Mason, ever the strategist, started pondering on Damon's behalf. "Money, gifts, or… maybe yourself."

"Myself?" Damon's head shot up, his dark, fathomless eyes narrowing.

Did everyone think he should marry Zia?

Mason didn't miss Damon's resistance.

Confused, he asked, "Didn't you and Zia get along really well as kids?"

"Does familial affection equate to love in your mind?" Damon replied coldly, his expression indifferent as he picked up a towel and ended his massage.