Page 93 of Serpent King's Prisoner

He turned to look at me. Smiled. “You ready?”

“Let’s go.” I nodded, feeling an odd sense of kinship in that small exchange over something as simple as a houseplant. Nathan, with all his power and presence, had a soft spot for growth and nurturing, even if it was just for a straggly bit of green fighting for survival.

We walked downstairs, back to the car, quietly. “You didn’t have to help her.”

“Plants shouldn’t just die for no reason.”

“Yeah, but you went above and beyond,” I said, trying to keep my voice light despite the churn of conflict inside me, “if you keep being so sweet, I might actually start to like you.”

He winced, as if I’d said something that hurt his feelings. As if I could hurt his feelings.

“I didn’t mean like I don’t already like you, I just–”

“Abby.”

“What?”

“Be quiet,” he said, and I fell quiet, just like he asked, unsure of what I had done to upset him.

Because no matter what, I knew the truth. No matter how sweet he seemed, Nathan Zhou was still the enemy. And I was still the girl who would take him down.

Chapter Forty-Two: Abby

Fangs Zhou–my kidnapper, not my boyfriend–popped open the passenger door of his sleek black car. “Get in,” he said, his voice cold.

“Thanks,” I muttered, trying to ignore the chill that settled into my bones as I slid onto the leather seat. I buckled up and shot him a tentative smile, searching for some sign of the man who cared for orchids with a gentleness that didn’t match his reputation. “Nice night for a drive,” I ventured, hoping to chip away at the silence between us.

He didn’t bite. Just started the engine, the purr of it filling the space where words should have been.

We drove through the city’s veins, streetlights sketching shadows across Nathan’s face, revealing and then hiding the dragon tattoo that snaked along his skin. It was like watching him shift between two selves—the ruthless enforcer and the philosopher who’d once sought understanding in books rather than blood.

“Your place on Shannon Street,” he broke the quiet without looking at me, “it’s a real dump.”

I bristled but kept my cool. “On a waitress’s pennies, you don’t get to choose the penthouse suite. San Francisco doesn’t come cheap.” I didn’t want to admit that even my FBI salary wouldn’t stretch much further in this city…and he definitely didn’t need to know that.

“Ever feel unsafe walking home?” His question had an edge, like he was sizing up an opponent rather than making conversation.

“Of course. The walk from Chinatown to Shannon Street isn’t exactly a stroll through a park.” My laugh was hollow, bouncing back at me off the car windows. I remembered the self-defense moves my dad taught me, the weight of a gun in my hand. But I also remembered the fear that comes with knowing you’re alone in the shadowy corners of the city.

“Someone bothered you?”

“I mean. Have you been in San Francisco long?” I tried to keep the conversation going, my fingers fidgeting with the strap of my bag.

“Don’t be cute. That was a real question.”

“I know. And yeah, I mean, yeah. Of course.”

Nathan scoffed. Silence claimed him again. I wanted to delve deeper, to peel back the layers of Nathan Zhou, but as we drove back to his place—the house that I couldn’t, wouldn’t call home—he retreated further into himself. His jaw was set hard, and I caught myself watching the way his hands gripped the steering wheel, the tattoos that marked his skin shifting with each subtle movement.

“Did I say something wrong?” I ventured after minutes stretched between us like an aching chasm. I needed to hear his voice, to break through the wall that had suddenly sprung up. But he remained silent, the air thick with unspoken words.

His silence felt like a rebuke, wrapping around me tighter than the seatbelt across my chest. I shifted uncomfortably, trying to read his expression in the passing glow of streetlights. The playful man who had met my dad, helped my roommate, the one with a surprising gentleness hidden beneath the veneer of violence—that man was nowhere to be seen now.

We pulled into the parking garage of his apartment, and I followed Nathan inside, the weight of his silence pressing down on me. In my mind, I rehearsed apologies and excuses, ready to smooth over whatever misstep I’d taken. But as the door shut behind us, sealing us away from the world outside, I knew instinctively that words alone wouldn’t bridge the distance Nathan had put between us.

“Did I do something wrong?“ The question fell from my lips before I could stop it, my voice betraying the nervousness that clawed at my insides. The shift was sudden, as if a switch had been flipped—the warmth of his presence replaced with an icy detachment that sent chills down my spine.

Nathan turned on me, his eyes hard.

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