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I glanced down at the bottle of Sake I had taken from the store. Wondering how much trouble I had brought him.

Suddenly, a wave of unease swept over me as I felt the full weight of Dannie’s presence. He was intimidating, there was no denying it. But before I could process my emotions, the van rolled to a stop, and the door slid open with a mechanical hiss.

A woman with vibrant purple hair stood waiting, her eyes sharp as they swept over us.

Behind her, two lines of people stood opposite each other, side by side, forming a human corridor.

Dannie stepped out first, his movements calm and controlled.

Without a word, he held his hand out to help me out.

I ignored the gesture and motioned for Wendy to go ahead, still mad about what happened at the shop.

Wendy was immediately intercepted by two females who began frisking her with cold efficiency. They patted her, top to bottom, removing her phone from her bag without a hint of apology. When I braced myself for my turn, Dannie waved them off with a dismissive gesture.

“It’s just standard procedure,” he said to Wendy, his tone unapologetic.

I folded my arms across my chest.

“What about me? Aren’t you afraid I might attack you?” I snapped, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

Dannie met my glare for a quick second before looking away. His usual cocky arrogance was still there, but there was something else beneath it, something harder to define.

His grandmother’s estate was perched high on Victoria Peak, a sprawling property with enough land to make any real estate mogul envious.

In Hong Kong, land was the ultimate luxury—a status symbol reserved for the unimaginably wealthy.

Families who owned such estates rarely let them go, passing them down through generations like prized heirlooms.

Dannie’s family, however, hadn’t always been rich.

But once he took control of the triad, his knack for manipulation and power plays had propelled them to unimaginable wealth.

Within a few years, he had outshone his father and secured this mansion, ensuring his family’s legacy in one of the most prestigious locations in the city.

I didn’t ask how Dannie acquired such a house. Was it legitimate and legal? I didn’t want to know then, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to know now.

The van moved away from us and was pulled into the compound of a gated estate, stopping in front of an imposing wooden entrance framed by sleek black and honey-colored granite walls.

“Come inside,” Dannie said, his voice smooth as he led the way, past the grand doors into the house. The interior hadn’t changed much—it was exactly how I remembered it.

The mansion felt like a scaled-down, contemporary take on Buckingham Palace. Every room here was curated with a different style, each one more lavish than the last. From the Ming dynasty antiques to sleek modern furnishing, the decor was stunning clash of styles that somehow worked together.

“Wow,” Wendy murmured, her eyes wide as she took in the opulence. “I’ve seen a lot of mansions, but this one… I can’t put my finger on it.”

That was exactly how I felt the first time I came here. I’d grown up in large houses, but this place was something else. It had the same commanding presence as the British Museum—like it didn’t just represent wealth, but also history and privilege.

“This house was once owned by a lord.” Dannie said casually, as if that explained everything.

“Like a British lord? From Bridgerton ?” Wendy’s voice held a teasing lilt.

I couldn’t remember if Dannie had told me that detail before. Maybe I’d been too overwhelmed, too busy trying to absorb, to soak in every inch of the place, knowing even then that it wasn’t the kind of thing I’d forget.

“Yes,” he confirmed.

“Man, that’s so hot,” Wendy sighed, leaning toward me with a grin.

I raised an eyebrow. “What? you find British men hot now?”

“Well, for a British lord ?” She fanned herself theatrically.

The open floor plan of the house made it easy to see almost everything from the entrance.

To the right was an expansive living area with a plush leather sofas and a grand piano gleaming beneath an enormous crystal chandelier.

On the left, a sweeping staircase curved elegantly toward the second floor.

Further back, the dining room stretched out, with a sleek, modern kitchen tucked discreetly beside it.

Two doors lined the far wall—one leading to the main kitchen, the other to the back garden.

Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the entire left side of the house, overseeing the swimming pool and a pool house that looked more luxurious than most people’s actual home.

We ended up in the dining area, which was furnished with understated elegance. The Ming dynasty-style pieces contrasted sharply with the sleekness of the rest of the house, but they fit the room perfectly. At the center stood a massive, round table with a lazy Susan large enough to hold a feast.

Dannie lowered himself into a chair facing the front door, a position of authority, then he gestured for me to take the seat next to him.

“Not here.” Dannie’s sharp, sudden tone made Wendy jump as her hand brushed the back of the chair next to his. “Over there, next to June.”

Dannie’s grandma descended from the staircase, poised and elegant in a champagne-colored day dress.

Beside her walked a young woman in her late teens, her dark locks cut into a sleek bob.

As soon as they reached the bottom step, Dannie moved quickly to his grandmother’s side, taking her other arm—the one not already held by the young woman.

Wendy had just settled herself comfortably next to me. I stood up but remained beside my chair. The old lady only had two arms, and a third person wasn’t going to make her walk any faster or steadier, so I stayed where I was.

“Oh, oh…” Dannie’s grandmother broke into a warm smile as she reached me, wrapping me in a surprisingly firm embrace.

“So happy. So happy,” she repeated, her voice soft but bright with emotion.

“Hey, you don’t remember me?” The young woman stepped forward, pulling me into a hug I couldn’t refuse. I searched my memory, but nothing came up. “It’s me. Laura.”

“Laura? The little girl?”

Ten years ago, she had been just a little girl.

That was why I couldn’t place her. She was the girl who used to follow Dannie’s grandmother around.

The girl his grandmother had insisted his mother adopt after Dannie’s sister died in the incident with his father, hoping Laura could be a replacement daughter.

Sadly, it hadn’t worked. His mother couldn’t bear the grief and took her own life soon after.

“Lola, cha, cha. ” Grandma instructed, her voice gentle but firm. With swift, practiced movements, Laura performed an intricate tea ritual, gracefully pouring the steaming liquid into tiny, delicate cups before serving each of us.

“Laura learned how to make tea from a Sifu in Hang Zhou,” Dannie explained, downing his cup in one smooth motion. “Now Grandma has to have it every day.”

“Hmm, not bad,” he mused, setting the cup back down. “But the fragrance is lacking. What tea is it?”

“Oolong,” Laura answered, her tone respectful.

“Where’s the Pu-er I bought?”

“Mama wouldn’t drink it.”

A rapid exchange followed in Cantonese between Dannie and his grandmother, their words fluid and intense. Eventually, Laura slipped away to fetch the tea Dannie preferred while the rest of us sat in awkward silence.

Dannie resumed translating as his grandmother’s attention shifted to Wendy. She seemed unusually curious about her, her questions thoughtful but persistent. Then, to our surprise, she addressed Wendy in a few words of Hindi.

Wendy’s face lit up in recognition. She replied in kind before switching back to English.

“My parents didn’t teach me much Hindi,” she admitted, her voice tinged with regret. “But I’m curious—how did you learn?”

Dannie stepped in to explain. “Grandma used to work for a British company with extensive trade ties to India.”

“Wait—does that mean you speak English?” I asked, realizing too late that my tone sounded more like an interrogation. I softened my voice. “Sorry, I mean… you must’ve picked up some English, right?”

“Of course.” Her smile deepened as she answered, her English accent crisp and refined—reminiscent of the voices in old black-and-white British films. “I just like to hear my grandson speaking in English.”

“Oh my, your accent is so wonderful. Nobody speaks like this anymore.” My admiration was genuine, and she acknowledged it with a graceful nod.

Both Laura and Dannie spoke fluent English, but their accents were a curious blend of British precision and American casualness. It would be hard to place their nationality by voice alone, but it was clear they had attended an English-speaking school.

Out of nowhere, Grandma Wu gave a deliberate, unmistakable cough—the kind designed to draw attention. The room fell silent. Five long, charged seconds passed.

Then she spoke, her words cutting through the air. “When are you two going to have a baby?”