Page 17

June

“W endy is staying,” I announced as Dannie emerged from the other side of the wall. My voice was loud and clear, leaving no room for him to pretend he didn’t hear me.

“Great. Then she’ll come with us.”

Dannie had changed. His perfectly pressed three-piece dark suit hugged his frame a little too tightly, especially across his chest. It left little to the imagination about the toned body underneath.

“Where are we going?” I asked, watching as he slipped on the watch he had left on the dining table. “Can we just check into a hotel or something? We could both use some rest.”

Wendy nodded in agreement beside me.

“Oh honey… I’m so sorry you’re tired. Can you hang on a little longer?” His voice dripped with saccharine sweetness, the kind that made me feel like he was patronizing a small child. “Grandma is expecting us.”

“Grandma?” I echoed, my breath hitching in surprise. “How does she know I’m here?”

I remembered her vividly. When I first met her, she had been nothing but kind—almost too kind.

She showered me with gifts and warmth, a level of generosity I never experienced from a stranger.

But it wasn’t just her kindness that lingered in my memory—there was something else, something unforgettable.

I didn’t mind seeing her again. But every detour Dannie planned only pushed me farther from getting to Kai.

And I hadn’t forgotten about Kai. No matter how much I wanted to reach Kai, I had no choice but to rely on Dannie for now.

Unless I found another way, I needed to play along with whatever he had planned.

“I was just on the phone with her,” Dannie said, grabbing a container and stuffing it with cookies. “She was so excited that we finally made up.”

“You… I…” I opened my mouth but quickly closed it again. He must have told her something about us—he had to explain my disappearance somehow.

“It’s her birthday today. What better way to cheer her up than by telling her that you’re here?”

I marched to Dannie’s side and opened the box he had just filled, frowning at the crushed cookies he had clumsily assembled. I removed the broken pieces and carefully rearranged the rest in a neat order. “Those flowers—can we give them to her? I don’t have anything else to bring.”

“You want to give Grandma some flowers?”

“Yes.”

“That can be arranged.” He pulled out his phone, tapped on the screen, and barked a quick command. “Done. She’s going to be very happy to see you. Us. Together.”

“Your grandad?”

Last time I saw Dannie’s grandma was at our wedding.

Because of Dannie’s unique circumstances, we skipped the traditional door games.

Besides, I didn’t have any friends who could host them.

We did have a tea ceremony where we knelt and served tea to the elders—some were family, others were powerful senior members of the triad.

Afterward, we held a dinner reception, which was similar to an American wedding, except I wore a traditional Chinese red and gold wedding dress called a kua.

“He passed away a few months after you took off.”

“I’m sorry.”

His grandad had been dying of cancer. That was the real reason behind the wedding—to fulfill his grandad’s dying wish: to see Dannie married.

I never understood why it meant so much to him.

Dannie once explained that his grandad had never gotten over his father’s horrific murder.

His body had been cut up in pieces and fed to stray dogs.

His grandma had fainted when the police informed her they had found his father’s head inside a soup pot in a holiday home.

Dannie’s father had been the head of the triad then.

With him gone, his grandad was forced out of retirement to take over.

Dannie couldn’t bear to watch him carry that burden again, so he stepped up and assumed his father’s role as the head of triad.

There were many objections and complaints—mostly about how young Dannie was when he took over. But with his grandad’s guidance, the older members eventually fell in line. And as the only male in the family, it was crucial that Dannie continue the family name.

How could I say no to that proposal after hearing the whole story? Even though it was all fake, we did it for a good cause.

“He’s in a better place now.” Dannie’s eyes fixed on an ornament a few feet away, his expression distant and thoughtful. “I know people always say that, but it was true for him. The chemo was killing him more than saving him.”

“Should I bring something too?” Wendy’s soft voice broke the silence. She had a point—she’d been dragged into this situation without much choice. “Maybe we could stop somewhere on the way there?”

“That sounds like a great idea.”

I latched onto the suggestion, relieved at the thought of delaying our visit to Dannie’s beloved grandma. She had always been kind, but it had been ten years since I last saw her. How she felt about me now might be entirely different from how she felt back then.

Dannie didn’t like going to public places. His fear of being attacked at any moment, from any corner, might have seemed paranoid—but it wasn’t impossible. This was a man who had been ambushed in his own home, for God’s sake. No one could blame him for feeling unsafe in the outside world.

“Fine. Let’s make a move. My driver’s waiting.”

We took the same shabby elevator down the building. As soon as we reached the lobby, a sleek black Toyota minivan pulled up. Dannie waved at the driver inside, slid the door open, and gestured for Wendy to take a seat in the back row.

I climbed in next, settling into one of the two middle-row seats.

Dannie followed, taking the seat beside me, and slid the door shut.

I had ridden in these luxury minivans before during my time working in Korea and Japan—they were wildly popular in Asia.

But as soon as the heavy door clicked shut, the noise from the outside world vanished.

The silence was eerie, thicker than in a regular car.

That’s when I realized—the minivan was bulletproof.

The thick, heavy doors and reinforced windows weren’t just for show.

The driver, a man in his late forties, turned around and handed Dannie a bouquet before he drove on.

Without even glancing at it, Dannie passed it to me.

It was a bundle of sunflowers, skillfully wrapped in a mix of white stiff paper and transparent plastic, finished with a yellow ribbon that read ‘Happy Day’.

“They’re Grandma’s favorite,” he said.

“Sunflowers? I thought she liked yellow roses?” That was what my memory told me. I didn’t recall much from those days, but somehow, that detail stuck with me.

“New favorite,” he corrected himself. “She still loves roses—buys them herself sometimes—but she says it’s weird receiving yellow roses from anyone other than Grandad.”

“That’s kind of romantic.”

“Yeah. Grandad used to bring her yellow roses every Friday.”

“Friday? Why Friday?”

“I never asked.”

We pulled up to an upscale grocery store nestled at the base of the mountain where Dannie’s grandma lived.

As I stepped out of the van, I noticed two black cars trailing behind us.

When they stopped, two men emerged—one from each vehicle.

Both wore black short-sleeve T-shirts and bore matching eagle tattoos on their right arm.

Not quite the same eagle as Dannie’s, but close enough to be part of the same world.

Dannie guided Wendy and me inside the store.

“Tell me you saw them,” Wendy whispered as we walked side by side, scanning the aisles for something appropriate—a gift fit for a respected ex-triad lady boss.

I hooked my arm around hers and murmured, “Yeah, I saw them.”

Dannie wasn’t shopping. Instead, he shadowed us, lingering near the ends of the aisles, his presence steady but distant. The two men? Nowhere to be seen—but I knew they were close.

The store wasn’t particularly busy. Besides the usual crowd, there was an unusual number of white people mingling among the shelves—an odd ratio for a place like this. I wondered if there was some kind of expat community nearby, but there was no way to know without striking up a conversation.

We considered buying fruit, but it felt too impersonal.

Wendy suggested a box of fancy chocolates, but I vetoed the idea.

My medical background had taught me that people over seventy often struggled with diabetes, and I didn’t want to risk it.

After a brief debate, we settled on a bottle of collectible aged Sake.

It felt like the perfect choice—something she could drink, keep as family heirloom, or pass along as a thoughtful gift.

We headed to the checkout like any regular customers after deciding to make a purchase. However, Dannie waved at us, signaling for us to leave the store without paying. I couldn’t do that. I had never stolen anything in my life, and I wasn’t about to start.

I marched straight up to the cashier, my heart pounding in my chest. His eyes flicked from me to Dannie, then back again. Was he too afraid to take my money? I slammed down more than enough cash on the counter and turned on my heel, leaving without another word.

The rest of the journey passed in tense, uncomfortable silence.

I hated how much power Dannie seemed to have over people.

Even the cashier had been too scared to accept my money.

Why did he have to be like this? Did he extort protection money from that store too?

I thought his influence only extended to small, old shops like the tart shop Wendy and I had visited earlier.

If Dannie had been at the tart shop, would the sweet couple have refused to take our money too?

Was leaving cash at the cashier the right thing to do? Would the cashier dare to touch it with Dannie looming over him like a shadow? Especially with two scary thugs outside, their tattooed arms crossed menacingly over their chests as they watched us with cold, unyielding eyes.