It had been more than a week since Draven's mission in the shadows, but today he wore the mask of a businessman, seated at the head of the polished oak table in his company's boardroom.
The steady hum of the holo-projectors filled the air as charts and financial reports floated above the table. His board members took turns discussing profits, logistics, and projections, but Draven listened with his usual calm intensity, his hands folded before him.
Finally, Cisco, his senior advisor, leaned forward. His deep voice cut through the murmurs.
"There's one more matter on the agenda."
Draven gave a small nod.
"Go on."
Cisco tapped the table console, and a new emblem shimmered into view—sleek, golden, and unfamiliar to most in the room.
"The Sanctum Alliance Corporation has reached out to us. They're requesting to partner with us for the upcoming Peace Fundraiser Gala."
Draven's brows furrowed.
"And who are they?"
Another board member adjusted his tie and leaned in, eager to add.
"Sanctum Alliance is not just any company. They're one of the fastest rising organizations in the Holy Land. Their influence has grown rapidly over the past few years, and according to recent reports, they're already pushing close to breaking into the top five."
That caught Draven's attention. His fingers tapped against the table once.
"The Holy Land?"
The room went quiet for a beat, sensing the tension in his voice.
Cisco nodded.
"Yes. And there are… rumors. Rumors that the CEO of Sanctum Alliance is a young man, not much older than yourself. No one knows much else about him, but his decisions have been bold and effective."
Draven leaned back slowly, eyes narrowing.
"Are we certain we're talking about the same Holy Land?"
Cisco gave a faint smile—one of the rare moments when his respect for Draven showed.
"Absolutely. I double-checked. Their delegation will arrive here in Greystone in three days. They specifically requested your presence at the negotiation table."
For a moment, Draven said nothing. His gaze lingered on the glowing emblem, though his mind wandered far beyond the boardroom walls. The Holy Land… its name stirred old shadows, and for the first time in years, a flicker of unease passed through him.
Cisco studied him carefully. Once, he had doubted Draven's ability to lead this company, had clashed with him at nearly every decision. But now, seeing how Draven had managed affairs with precision and strength, Cisco had come to a grudging conclusion: this man was worthy of the seat he held.
The boardroom's weight lingered on his shoulders even after the meeting was adjourned. Draven stepped out of the glass-walled chamber, the door sliding shut behind him with a whisper. His footsteps echoed softly down the polished halls, until he descended into the underground parking lot.
His sleek black car waited there, its frame gleaming beneath the overhead lights. As he settled into the backseat, Gideon, his ever-loyal butler, entered from the opposite side with his usual quiet efficiency. The ride home was silent, the hum of the engine the only sound between them. Draven's mind, however, was far from still—it circled the words Holy Land, like a predator stalking prey in the dark.
When they arrived at the estate, Gideon smoothly guided the car into the garage. Draven stepped out first, his presence filling the quiet space. The moment he entered the house, a familiar fragrance greeted him—sweet, floral, deliberate. He looked up, and there she was.
His sister descended the stairs, her heels clicking lightly against the marble floor. She was dressed elegantly, perfume trailing in her wake, her smile soft yet guarded.
Draven raised a brow.
"Going on a date?"
She chuckled lightly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Not a date. Just… going out with a friend."
His gaze narrowed slightly, sharp and questioning as always.
"And Isabelle?"
"Isabelle is inside." She waved dismissively. "Don't worry so much. It's just a friend, nothing more."
Draven folded his arms across his chest, studying her the way only a protective brother could.
"You'd be safer if Gideon went with you."
Her smile faltered into something softer—fond, but stubborn.
"Gideon is your shadow, not mine. Don't worry, brother, I can take care of myself. You really shouldn't worry so much."
She kissed him lightly on the cheek before sweeping past him toward the door. The sound of the engine starting outside soon followed, and then she was gone, leaving the faint trace of her perfume in the air.
Draven exhaled slowly and stepped deeper into the house. The living room lights were warm, casting a soft glow on the figure seated on the couch. Isabelle sat there, her long hair catching the light as she turned toward him.
Her eyes brightened at the sight of him.
"Draven."
He gave her a polite nod.
"Miss Isabelle."
She tilted her head, a playful glint in her eyes.
"No, no… just Izzy. Enough with the formalities. We're still friends, aren't we? Besides, you're older than me by a year—don't act like we're total strangers."
A rare smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
Draven leaned back on the couch, the low hum of the house filling the silence between them. His voice finally broke it.
"I'm sorry I haven't really had the chance to talk with you since you got back."
Izzy tilted her head, her blonde hair catching the soft glow of the room. Her eyes softened.
"It's fine. I understand—you've been busy."
The quiet settled again, but this time it felt lighter. Draven's lips curved into the faintest smile.
"Then let me make it up to you. Are you free today?"
Her brows rose slightly, curiosity sparking.
"I am. Why?"
"Good. Get dressed—we're going out. Something casual."
And with that, he disappeared upstairs.
---
By the time he returned, straightening his jacket as he descended, she was already at the stairs. And for a rare moment, Draven was caught off guard.
She wore a soft cardigan, simple yet elegant, her blonde hair falling over her shoulders in waves. There was no extravagance, no pretense—yet somehow, she stole his breath away.
He blinked, his lips tugging upward.
"You look… beautiful."
Izzy smiled faintly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Thank you. You're not so bad yourself."
They headed to the garage, where Draven held out an extra helmet. Beside his sleek motorcycle stood another set of riding gear—lightweight but fitted, meant for speed and safety. He handed it to her.
"Put this on. You'll need it."
She arched a brow, amused.
"Always so prepared."
Draven only smirked as the engine roared to life, and soon they were weaving through the city streets, wind rushing past them, neon lights streaking like ribbons in the night.
---
Their first stop: the shopping mall.
Izzy darted between racks of clothing, her laughter trailing behind her as she tried on outfits and teased Draven for looking too serious. She picked a handful of things for herself but then turned to him, arms crossed.
"You're not leaving without something too."
"I don't need—"
"No excuses," she cut him off with a grin. "Pick something."
In the end, she won. Draven found himself carrying a small bag, though he shook his head at the absurdity of it. He called Gideon, instructing him to send one of the staff with a car to collect everything.
From there, they rode to a theater. The movie was a comedy, something light-hearted and loud. For two hours, their laughter mingled with the crowd's, and when they stepped out into the night, still chuckling over a ridiculous scene, Draven realized how long it had been since he had laughed so freely.
---
The next stop was a park. Lanterns glowed along the walking path, casting a warm shimmer across the trees. They strolled side by side, their conversation drifting from small things to heavier truths.
Izzy glanced at him with a soft smile.
"You've changed a lot, Draven."
"Have I?"
"When we were younger, you were just your regular stubborn boy. Childish, spoiled, always trying to prove something." She giggled lightly. "But now… now you feel more defined. More manly."
Draven chuckled under his breath.
"So I've grown up, then."
"Something like that."
---
But he had one more place in mind. Their last destination: a small playground near their old high school.
The space was quiet now, nearly empty, except for the old tree that still stood tall at its edge. The very tree where they used to sit during afternoons, carving dreams into bark and laughing at secrets.
Izzy stopped before it, nostalgia washing over her.
"It's still here…"
They sat beneath its branches, and for a while, memories filled the silence. Then, without warning, Izzy's voice faltered. She turned away, and a tear slipped down her cheek.
Draven leaned closer, his hand gentle as he brushed it away.
"Hey… whatever it is, everything's going to be fine. I don't know what you're going through, Izzy, but… it'll be okay."
For once, the man who lived always prepared for ambush, for violence, for death—was completely unprepared.
Because she leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss against his cheek.
Draven froze. His mind blanked, his heart thundering with a rhythm foreign to him. A man who could predict bullets and blades was utterly caught off guard by the simple warmth of her lips on his skin.
He stood there, motionless, as if time had slowed. A minute—or two—passed before Izzy's quiet voice pulled him back.
"Draven."
He exhaled slowly, steadying himself. Without a word, he led her back to the bike. The ride home was silent, but it was not an empty silence—it was charged, filled with something unspoken.
At the house, she stepped down first.
"Goodnight," she whispered, her eyes lingering on his before she disappeared into her room.
As Draven walked toward his own, his sister appeared at the top of the stairs. She leaned against the banister, a mischievous grin spreading across her face.
"Wow… so you and Isabelle, huh?"
Draven sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.
"We just went out as friends."
She giggled, her laughter trailing as she skipped back to her room. Draven shook his head, retreating into his own chamber.