Samuelpulled the SUV toward the entrance. Halfway there, his phone vibrated. He checked the caller ID and pulled to the curb.

"Grandpa."

Outside, a fine drizzle blurred the NYC skyline. Samuel's voice was a low rumble in the quiet cabin.

"Why didn't you go to the opera?" Harold demanded. "That girl waited all evening".

"I told her I was busy."

"You're too picky," Harold snapped. "What do you want? Just tell me. I'll find a literal angel for you if that's what it takes".

Samuel looked ahead. Julian was no longer under the eaves.

The boy wore a mask, his backpack heavy on his shoulders. He was crouching by a puddle, holding his phone upside down to catch the reflection of the streetlights. He looked concentrated, focused. A stray drop of rain hit the back of his neck. Julian flinched, shrinking into his collar, and looked down at the photo. Satisfied, his eyes crinkled into half-moons behind the mask. A smile.

Samuel watched in the silence. Julian had such... childish moments.

"I don't have a preference," Samuel said, finally drawing his eyes back to the phone.

"Nonsense. You're thirty. You need a family. How am I supposed to hand over the estate if you won't settle down?"

Samuel let the silence stretch. "Women aren't exactly lining up for me."

Harold scoffed. "You're a Frost. Who would dare turn you down?"

"I'm from a single-parent home. And I have a brother receiving treatment abroad".

"In a family like ours, that doesn't matter," Harold countered. "Sonny doesn't live with you. He won't affect your marriage".

The rain intensified, drumming against the windshield. Samuel didn't turn on the wipers. Julian was a blurred silhouette now.

Samuel's gaze fell on a clay figurine on the dash. "I want to bring Sonny home. To live with me".

The name hung in the air. They hadn't spoken it in years.

"You know his condition," Harold's voice turned sharp. "If you live with him, no decent girl will look at you."

"I don't care."

"Well, I do!"

"We both know it wasn't his fault," Samuel rasped.

Silence filled the car, heavier than the rain.

"Don't bring him up again," Harold said, his tone final. "My position hasn't changed."

"Sonny is doing better. He's willing to communicate".

"Can he ever be normal?"

Samuel didn't answer.

Harold sighed, softening his voice. "I know you're responsible. That's why I value you. If you miss him that much, he can visit when you get married. Let's leave it at that".

The line went dead.

Samuel flicked on the wipers. The glass cleared.

The spot under the eaves was empty. Julian had already taken a cab.

Samuel leaned back, the steady thud-thud of the blades the only rhythm in the SUV. He closed his eyes. Julian's eyes—the way they had crinkled with laughter in the rain—flashed behind his lids.

He realized then: he had no right to feel sorry for Julian.

Three days later, the collaboration with @Orca went live. The internet imploded.

[SHOCK!! @WorkIsKillingMe and @Orca collab??!!]

[Refreshed ten times. It's real. My ship is canon.]

[Blindfolds, wet shirts, ropes. Three minutes and they did it all.]

[The way Orca took that slap. Pure gold.]

[Orca liked it. Definitely.]

[I won't allow this!! Who slaps Orca??!!]

[Orca, blink if you're being held hostage. Why take this gig?]

@Orca: I owed someone a favor.

[Jules, you've made it. Only one who's ever filmed this with him.]

[Ditch your annoying boss. Just cling to Orca's leg.]

[Go full-time influencer. You don't need to take the boss's crap.]

@WorkIsKillingMe: Not considering it for now.

@Orca: Smart choice.

@WorkIsKillingMe: ?

[Flirting in front of us?? I'm just a part of your play!]

Traffic spiked. Payouts from the platform were life-changing. But Julian didn't want to be a full-time creator. He wanted to be a professional.

Then came the feeling of being followed.

He assumed it was fallout from the raid—someone looking for revenge. He told Lennox Kane. The Deputy Chief promised to investigate and told him to keep evidence.

When they met, Lennox handed over a certificate of commendation and an envelope with a thousand dollars. "For the sweep. Give the other set to Samuel".

Julian's stomach knotted. Samuel had been avoiding him. Brief emails. Minimal contact. No more critiques of his work. Julian preferred it that way. In theory.

The next day, Julian went to the executive suite at Apex Capital. Asherand Luke were out. He saw the door to Samuel's office was ajar. He knocked three times. Silence.

He peeked inside. Empty.

He turned to leave and walked straight into a wall of wool and heat.

"Looking for me?"

Samuel loomed over him, his tone a frost-covered blade.

Julian didn't flinch this time. He held out the envelope. "The investigation is over. Chief Kane sent these. Commendations for the raid. This is yours".

Samuel took it. Julian turned and walked away.

Back at his desk, Julian messaged Lennox. The surveillance had identified the "stalker."

Julian stared at the photo. His roommate.

Why? Had he found the account? Was it blackmail?

The guy was just walking behind him in the street. In the apartment complex, he could claim he was just going home. There was no "crime" yet. Nothing a lawyer could touch.

Lennox offered to walk him home as a deterrent. Julian declined. He didn't want to be a bother. His roommate was a scrawny, sun-deprived night-shift worker. Julian figured he could handle himself if it came to a fight.

He left early to catch the guy before his shift started.

He reached the door. No roommate.

Instead, a package sat on the welcome mat. The recipient was his online ID: @WorkIsKillingMe.

Julian's stomach dropped. He had never used this handle to buy anything online. A cold premonition settled in his chest as he carried the package inside.

He tore it open. Inside was a letter written in what looked like blood—though a closer look revealed it was just heavy red pigment. The words were jagged, hysterical:

STAY AWAY FROM ORCA, YOU LITTLE SLUT! I KNOW EVERYTHING YOU'VE DONE. IF YOU GO NEAR HIM AGAIN, I'LL EXPOSE EVERY PIECE OF YOUR INFORMATION!

Julian's jaw tightened.

Orca again.

He couldn't handle this alone. He snapped a photo and sent it to Lennox. Within an hour, his roommate was pinned against the hallway wall by the Deputy Chief. The man folded instantly.

He had tracked Julian. He had sold his personal data.

"What did you give them?" Lennox's voice was a low, dangerous rumble.

The roommate shivered. "Name, phone, email, address..."

"To who?"

"I don't know! I found a post on a forum. We communicated through a burner email."

Lennox grabbed the URL, intending to hand it to the tech department. Julian stared at his roommate. "The package. Was that you?"

"No," the man stammered, head shaking frantically. "I just sold the data. Everything else had nothing to do with me! I just needed the money. If I'd known you were friends with a cop, I never would have—"

Julian cut him off with a look of pure disgust. "Is that it?"

"T-there were photos," the roommate added. "On my laptop."

Julian checked. They were all shots of his back. The man had been too cowardly to ever face him. But something caught Julian's eye—multiple photos of him getting in and out of cars.

An hour later, at the precinct, Julian found his answer.

A burner account was "exposing" him as an escort. Don't think you're elite just because you filmed a video with @Orca. A whore is a whore.

The post was heavily boosted by paid traffic. The comments section was a toxic dump:

[I knew it. No wonder he's so provocative. He's a 'benefit' boy?]

[I heard he has a paid private group with hardcore content.]

[He really thought he could ship himself with @Orca? A toad dreaming of swan.]

[My friend booked him. He's easy. Just pay and he'll do whatever you want.]

[My friend is his roommate. Says different men show up at his room every day. Rich guys in SUVs pick him up for 'play'.]