"Huh—" Diane froze, her breath catching as her eyes widened. She hadn't expected to see him here, not on this crowded, rattling bus. Yet there he was, as if the universe delighted in tormenting her.
Diane's gaze snagged on him before she could stop it. Llewellyn sat with one leg casually crossed over the other, arms folded across his chest. So casual it almost felt like an insult. His perfectly cut hair fell over his forehead, careless, yet too flawless to be accidental. His gaze met hers; steady, unbothered, and laced with mockery.
Diane hated that she noticed the way the light traced his jawline, or how effortlessly he carried that arrogance. A chill ran through her. He wasn't just handsome. He was the kind of handsome that made you furious for noticing.
For a fleeting second, a memory flitted through her mind; the bump, the subtle brush against her shoulder. Her stomach twisted. Could it…? No. It couldn't be him.
"Why are you staring at me?" His voice slid out smooth, edged with sarcasm, like silk covering a blade.
Diane quickly looked away, her lips tightening. Without answering, she stepped past him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reply. She sat rigidly at the farthest end of the bench, heart hammering, her hands clenching into fists in her lap.
Llewellyn tilted his head slightly, a flicker of something unreadable darting across his face. Amusement? Irritation? Hurt? He wouldn't admit it even to himself, but her cold dismissal unsettled him. For a fleeting moment, he wondered why it mattered. Why should her rejection—after everything—sting at all?
Diane kept her eyes forward, determined to ignore him. I thought he was royalty. What is he doing riding a bus like an ordinary person? she thought. The image she had of him—untouchable, powerful, worshipped—clashed bitterly with the reality of him sitting just a few seats away.
"I'm not going to bite you, Diane," Llewellyn murmured, his voice low, as though savoring her name.
The sound of it on his lips sent an involuntary shiver down her spine, but she clenched her jaw, pushing the reaction down. Sweet words, sugar lips, dirty player, she scolded herself. She wasn't about to fall prey to his games.
Her mind raced instead with questions. Why would he speak to me like he already knows me? How did he even know my name? Then her own reasoning cut in sharply: If the authorities respect him that much, of course he would know. He must know everything.
Still, she sat stiff and silent, her face set like stone.
"Miss, please, could you move over a bit?" An elderly woman's gentle voice broke her trance.
Reluctantly, Diane shifted closer toward Llewellyn. More passengers crammed in, forcing her nearer and nearer until their shoulders nearly brushed. A group of institute girls climbed aboard, their giggles filling the air as their eyes darted toward him. Their laughter was like little sparks, feeding his effortless charm.
The bus jolted violently, swerving to avoid a reckless driver. The passengers gasped, clutching whatever they could, bodies pressing together in chaos. Diane was shoved against Llewellyn, her shoulder pressed firmly to his chest as others leaned against her.
She immediately pulled away the moment the bus steadied, her cheeks flushing.
"Look at that," Llewellyn smirked, his eyes glinting wickedly. "The bold lady who slapped me is now leaning on me. Making a move, are we?"
"You clearly saw what happened," Diane snapped, her voice tight with restrained fury. "So stop making a fuss."
"A fuss, you say?" His smirk deepened, remembering the sting of her palm across his cheek in the hall. That was the real fuss, he thought. A girl who dared to touch him so brazenly—unheard of. And yet, here she was, sitting beside him as though fate itself insisted on binding them together.
He chuckled softly, a sound that immediately drew more giggles from the enamored girls nearby. Diane's lips curled into a scoff, the noise sharp and cutting.
"I don't know you smile…" he started, tilting his head at her.
"I scoffed," she corrected coldly, voice like steel. "It's called scoff."
He caught the faintest whisper under her breath—fool—though she hadn't meant for him to hear.
He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "I just haven't seen you like this before. That's all."
Her eyes flickered away. Charming. Always charming. Every word dripping like honey but poisoned inside, she thought bitterly.
Yet even as she sat there, her pale face betrayed her. The color had drained from her cheeks. The weight of her father's illness pressed hard on her chest, heavier than Llewellyn's presence, heavier than the bus full of staring eyes. Dad… Dad… Her thoughts repeated endlessly, a torment she couldn't silence.
"What's wrong, Diane?" Llewellyn's voice softened unexpectedly. His gaze lingered, sharper than usual, full of attention that felt uncomfortably real. "You look pale. Are you sick?"
She ignored him. To her, it was just another trick, another false note from a liar's song.
But he noticed. He always noticed. His teasing faltered, and his tone shifted again. "What happened to the brave girl who slapped me earlier? Where did that face go?" His arms folded again, his words striking at her pride.
Her jaw tightened. She didn't give him the satisfaction of an answer. Instead, she shoved a folded paper toward him.
"Take this," she muttered.
"What's that?"
"Your copy of the partnership form."
His brows arched lazily. "I don't need a form for anything." His voice dripped with arrogance, dismissing the paper like it was beneath him.
The bus screeched to a halt at a raucous bus stop. Outside, chaos exploded—gangsters brawling in the street, bottles shattering, fists flying. The passengers screamed, clutching one another, terrified.
Llewellyn stood calmly. "That's my stop," he said as if nothing unusual was happening.
"Are you insane?" Diane grabbed his sleeve without thinking. "No, it's too dangerous!"
He paused, amusement sparking in his eyes. "Are you… worried about me?" His voice was suddenly magnetic, pulling at her like an invisible thread. His smile, so infuriating, curved at the worst possible time.
Realizing her mistake, Diane released him immediately, cursing herself. Why did I even bother?
"Goodbye, then," he said simply, stepping off the bus.
She watched through the glass as he walked through the chaos as though strolling down a quiet street. The gangsters parted naturally, as if even violence bent out of his way. Diane clenched her fists, unsettled by how easily he belonged in that dangerous scene.
***
At the hospital, the air smelled faintly of disinfectant and worry. Diane rushed to her father's bedside, her relief sharp when she saw him awake, though pale and weak.
"Dad…"
He smiled faintly. "I'll be fine, Diane."
Her mother insisted she leave with her younger siblings; Clara and Henry. Practicalities called: Clara's college, Henry's elementary, and Diane's own project. Reluctantly, Diane obeyed, though every step away from her father tugged painfully at her heart.
That night, as Diane arranged her bed, Clara sat across the room wearing a bright green face mask.
Diane turned and nearly screamed. "What is that on your face?" she gasped, clutching her chest.
"It's my new face mask," Clara said casually, pointing at it with pride.
Diane exhaled heavily, shaking her head. "You nearly gave me a heart attack."
Clara laughed, but her tone sharpened quickly. "So. How was your day?"
"Terrible" Diane said flatly, tucking her blanket.
"Oh?" Clara leaned closer, curiosity bright.
"I… met someone. His name is Llewellyn and he..."
"What?!" Clara's shriek cut her off. She yanked the mask down to reveal her full expression of panic.
"Why are you reacting like that?" Diane demanded. "What's the big deal?"
"You're on your own, Diane," Clara whispered, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and disbelief.
"What do you mean?" Diane's confusion deepened. "Everyone has been acting strange today. And now you too?!"
"Don't you know who he is?" Clara's voice rose, incredulous.
"No. And I don't care to," Diane said stubbornly.
"Of course you don't," Clara scoffed. "All you do is bury yourself in science, science, science. You never see what's happening around you. And now you've dragged us into danger."
"Clara, just tell me!" Diane pleaded, her pride dissolving under fear. She knelt beside her sister, gripping her hand.
Clara hesitated, then whispered as though confessing a forbidden secret. "He's vicious, Diane. He leads a gang of monsters."
Diane's blood ran cold. "Real… monsters?" she asked weakly.
"Read a book, weirdo. Monsters as in dangerous people," Clara snapped. "They terrorize communities, destroy property, make people live in fear. And him—Llewellyn—he's the Bulldog."
Diane collapsed back onto the floor, her stomach dropping. The Bulldog… the man I slapped in front of everyone…
Her phone buzzed suddenly. A message.
Meet me close to the laboratory. Don't be late.
She showed Clara, who paled instantly.
"It's him," Diane whispered.
"All I wanted was to enjoy my twenties… and here I am, barely twenty-two, caught in chaos I didn't even ask for," Diane said, almost teary. For a split second, she actually believed what Clara told her, and she was scared. But not for long. She scoffed.
"No, no. It can't be possible," she said, then laughed—loud and oddly dramatic. "What am I, insane?"
Clara crossed her arms. "What now, weirdo?"
"I mean, how can a person be Bulldog? That's ridiculous."
"Of course you wouldn't believe it," Clara shot back. "You've been living under a rock. A rock with no Wi-Fi, apparently."
"Bulldog my foot," Diane huffed, folding her arms like a stubborn cat.
"You scoff a lot these days," Clara teased, grinning.
"Whether he's Bulldog or frogdog, he's still a rude rascal," Diane said, her tone dramatic enough for a telenovela.
"What did he even do to you?" Clara asked, sensing drama incoming.
"What didn't he do?" Diane fired back. "I sat quietly during the seminar, minding my business, then he knocked over my bag, insulted me, and had the audacity to try bribing me with money!"
Clara blinked, stunned. "That little...!"
"Exactly!" Diane jumped in, eyes blazing. "What kind of guy does that?"
"Llewellyn," Clara said simply.
"Yes, Llew...wait, what?" Diane froze mid-sentence.
"He's the owner of the institute you're doing your project in," Clara replied as a matter of fact.
Diane's jaw dropped. "Pardon?"
Now she looked like she was explaining a science project to invisible judges, her hands flailing, scratching her head, talking to the air. "I mean...the authorities obeyed him instantly, he's rich, people sided with him without even hearing the story!"
Her own words began to sink in. She froze.
"You're a product scratcher..." Clara began.
"Product developer," Diane corrected sharply.
"Whatever. You are at the institute you don't even know that he's the boss? Or maybe he's the sponsor...did you even think of that?" Clara asked, incredulous.
"Sponsor" Diane repeated under her breath, a pang of regret twisting in her chest.
But!
"I work with products and prototypes, not humans!" Diane defended herself.
Clara squinted. "You said something, didn't you? Something stupid."
Diane pursed her lips. "I couldn't just sit there and let that maniac talk down to me!"
Clara sighed dramatically. "You know what? Don't escalate it."
"He started it," Diane said stubbornly, fire in her eyes. "If he wants war, I'll bring it."
Clara threw up her hands. "You are insane".
"Maybe" Diane said quietly, eyes narrowing "But I'm not afraid of him. Not anyone".
***
Meanwhile, Llewellyn entered the Blackwood mansion; a fortress of wealth and power, its marble floors gleaming, its cars aligned like soldiers. Is a meeting being held? he wondered, treading lightly across the hall.
"Where are you coming from?" The voice cut through the air; cold, sharp, and utterly unconcerned. Mr. Blackwood, chairman of Skypowers, didn't bother with pleasantries. Llewellyn found him in the guest living room, seated across a long table from a group of men in suits. One of them, he recognized, was the instructor from earlier — the one who'd paired him with Diane. The man was handing his father a document, oblivious to the tension in the room.
Llewellyn lowered his eyes. "I've been around."
His father said nothing further. That was enough. Llewellyn slipped away, reading the silence like a seasoned player. Leaving meant the interaction was over… for now. Mr. Blackwood remained buried in his documents, the unspoken dismissal sharper than any slap. Llewellyn turned, chest tight but used to the cold, and walked away, unshaken by his father's frost.
Upstairs, warmth replaced coldness.
"Llewellyn!" little Lila cried, rushing into his arms, curls bouncing, dimples lighting up her face. "Tell me a bedtime story!" she demanded, even if they weren't blood, he cared for her like she was. She dragged him to her room, chattering nonstop, until her eyelids finally drooped. He tucked her in, smoothed her blankets, and slipped out quietly, only to hear a tiny, muffled whisper: "You better not be late tomorrow, big brother!" Llewellyn chuckled. Somehow, she always got the last word. He came out of her room then....
"Llewellyn."
A sharp voice cut through the hallway. Elsa, his step sister, leaned against the wall her eyes gleaming with mischief.
"Where's Michelle?" he asked, bracing himself. He knew this line of questioning would drag on.
"I don't know. Where have you been?" Elsa snapped. "You missed your hour." Hour-time was sacred—the time he was expected to post and model for his sisters' fashion brand, helping Elsa and Michelle grow their online boutique into something bigger than just a hobby.
"I missed my hour. I'll make it up," he said, checking his watch, as if it could save him.
"Flirting with some girl, probably" Michelle's voice rang from behind them.
Llewellyn raised his hands in mock surrender. "I went to do something important. You two are still in high school; you don't know anything." He tapped their heads gently, trying to soften the teasing sting.
Walking away, he froze at Michelle's next question. "Do you like Ana?" The lady from earlier, who had clung to him like shadow.
He stopped mid-step. "What?"
"I mean, she's your fiancee..." Michelle continued innocently. "She came by earlier, talking with Mum…so do you like her?" She asked.
"Good night," Llewellyn muttered escaping their interrogation.
He thought he'd escaped...
But the stepmother had other plans. She walked past him without a glance, and he followed, knowing the unspoken rule: wherever she goes, he ends up at his father's office. She never showed concern, but her presence screamed resentment — resentment that he, not her children, was the heir. She had told his father more than once, bluntly: "His mother is dead. Why do you keep him?"
His father didn't argue verbally; he let business and cold authority speak for him.
The office was dim, expansive, more like a drawing room than a study. Llewellyn stood silently, waiting, as Mr. Blackwood scanned the document handed to him by the guest.
"Why didn't you go with your driver?" his father asked, calm but unyielding.
Llewellyn remained silent.
"You are investing heavily in this project," Mr. Blackwood continued, voice slicing the air. "Any kind of failure will not be tolerated."
True enough — Llewellyn had recruited technicians across the country for the project, promising them spots in Skypower corp.
"Understood," he said simply and left.
Once in his room, he didn't think of Ana. He cursed the memory of hugging her to make Diane jealous. Why did I do that?"
His father's cold treatment barely registered anymore; he was used to it. But Diane… Diane haunted him.
In his room, towel draped over his shoulders, he stared at his reflection. His hand traced the faint memory of her slap, the sting that lingered longer than any punch he'd ever taken.
No girl had ever treated him that way. It stirred something new, unsettling.
Why does she... leave a space in my heart? He whispered.
He replayed the moment she held his hand, the tremor of fear when he grew cold. He couldn't define the feeling. Liking her? Or was it something more?
The phone on his desk glowed. No reply from Diane. He closed his eyes, the weight of her silence heavier than anything his father had said.
He raised his head, trying to gather his scattered emotions. Still unsure, he grabbed his phone and called Rick.
"Send me everything you can find on Diane. Every detail."
And yet, his lips curved into a dangerous smile.