[One week later - University Library]
Rain had started to breathe again.
It had been seven days since he'd asked for space from Phayu, and miraculously, Phayu had given it to him.
There were still texts—good morning messages, occasional check-ins—but they were restrained, almost normal.
Maybe, Rain thought hopefully, Phayu was finally understanding.
Maybe this break would actually help them both see clearly.
He didn't know that Phayu's restraint wasn't respect—it was strategy.
Phayu had learned that pushing Rain only made him pull away.
So now he was playing a different game:
appearing reasonable while tightening an invisible net around Rain's life.
Rain was in the architecture section of the library, researching materials for his sustainable design project, when his phone buzzed.
Pai: Are you busy? I'm near campus and thought you might want to grab lunch.
Rain felt that now-familiar flutter in his chest.
Over the past week, he and Pai had texted regularly—conversations about architecture, about life, about dreams and fears. Pai was easy to talk to, never pushy, always respectful of boundaries Rain hadn't even had to voice.
They'd met for coffee twice more, and each time, Rain found himself relaxing more, laughing more, remembering who he used to be.
Sky approved—cautiously. "He seems nice," Sky had admitted. "But I'm still watching him. Anyone who seems too good to be true usually is."
Rain typed back quickly.
Rain: I'm at the library. There's a good noodle place two blocks away?
Pai: Perfect. See you in 20.
Rain gathered his books, checked his reflection in his phone camera (when had he started caring about that again?), and headed out.
He didn't notice the black sedan that had been parked across from the library for the past three hours, or the telephoto lens trained on the entrance.
[Main Estate - Security Office]
"He's meeting him again," the security officer reported to Vegas, who stood behind him, studying the monitors. "Fourth time this week."
Vegas's expression was unreadable as he watched Prapai's car pull up to the university.
His son—technically adopted son, but Vegas had never made that distinction—had been spending a concerning amount of time with Phayu's obsession.
"Does Phayu know?" Vegas asked.
"If he has his own surveillance on the boy, which we suspect he does, then yes."
"And yet he's done nothing?" Vegas's eyes narrowed. "That's not like him."
Pete entered the security office, carrying two cups of coffee. He handed one to Vegas, then studied the screen showing Rain exiting the library.
"He looks better," Pete observed. "Less tired. Less scared."
"Prapai's influence," Vegas said neutrally.
"You say that like it's a bad thing."
Vegas turned to his husband. "It's a complication. Prapai was supposed to assess the situation, report back. Instead, he's becoming... involved."
"Would that be so terrible?" Pete challenged. "That boy has been suffering under Phayu's obsession for years. Maybe Prapai's involvement is exactly what he needs."
"Or maybe it's gasoline on a fire." Vegas's jaw tightened.
"Phayu won't accept this. He'll see it as betrayal. And when Phayu feels betrayed..."
He didn't finish the sentence.
He didn't need to.
They both knew what Phayu was capable of when he felt threatened.
Pete moved closer to the screen, his expression troubled.
"We should have intervened earlier. When we first suspected Phayu's relationship was unhealthy, we should have—"
"Should have what?" Vegas interrupted.
"Forbidden him from seeing the boy? That would only have made him more obsessive. Confronted him? He would have hidden it better. There was no good move, Pete."
"There's always a good move," Pete said quietly. "We just didn't want to see it because it would mean admitting that Phayu—our Phayu, who we raised—is capable of this."
The silence that followed was heavy with guilt and realization.
Finally, Vegas spoke. "Kinn wants to meet the boy. Officially. As strangers, to assess him ourselves."
"When?"
"Today. We're 'coincidentally' having lunch at the same restaurant Prapai is taking Rain to." Vegas's lips curved in something that wasn't quite a smile.
"Time to see what makes this Rain so special that he's torn our family apart without even knowing it."
[Luxury Thai Restaurant - Downtown Bangkok]
Prapai had chosen the restaurant carefully—upscale but not intimidating, with private booths that would allow for intimate conversation.
He'd also chosen it because he knew his family would be there..
It was time for them to meet Rain properly, even if Rain wouldn't know who they really were.
Rain arrived right on time, looking adorably nervous in a simple blue shirt that brought out his eyes.
Prapai stood to greet him, noting with satisfaction how Rain's face lit up when he saw him.
"Thank you for meeting me," Rain said as they sat down. "I know you must be busy with your project."
"Never too busy for a friend," Prapai said warmly, and watched Rain's smile grow.
They ordered—Prapai noting Rain's modest choices despite Prapai insisting lunch was his treat—and fell into easy conversation about Rain's week, his classes, his progress on his community center design.
Prapai found himself genuinely fascinated.
Rain had a brilliant mind, creative and analytical in equal measure, with a perspective on design that prioritized human wellbeing over profit.
In another life, in another world, Rain could have been remarkable in the family business—the legitimate side of it, at least.
"Can I ask you something?" Rain said suddenly, his expression turning serious.
"And you can tell me if I'm overstepping."
"Of course."
"You're not... you're not in a relationship, are you? I don't want to assume, but I also don't want to be that person who—"
"I'm single," Prapai assured him quickly. "Very single. Have been for a while." He paused, then added gently, "Can I ask you the same question?"
Rain's expression clouded. "It's...
complicated. I was in a relationship, but we're on a break. It wasn't... healthy. I'm trying to figure out if it's worth saving or if I should just end it completely."
"What does your heart tell you?" Prapai asked, though he already knew the answer.
He'd seen the fear in Rain's eyes when he talked about Phayu, the way he jumped at sudden noises, the careful way he worded things like he was used to his words being twisted.
"My heart is confused," Rain admitted. "I spent two and a half years loving someone, building a life together. You don't just throw that away. But at the same time, I can't remember the last time I was happy with him. Really happy, not just relieved that he wasn't angry."
The casual way Rain said that last part—like it was normal to measure happiness by the absence of anger—made Prapai's blood boil.
"Rain," he said carefully, "you know that's not normal, right? Being relieved someone isn't angry shouldn't be the baseline for a relationship."
Rain looked down at his plate. "I know. Sky tells me that all the time. It's just... when you're in it, it's hard to see clearly. And he's not always like that. Sometimes he's wonderful and loving and makes me feel like I'm the most important person in the world."
"And other times?"
"Other times I feel like I'm suffocating."
Before Prapai could respond, a commotion near the entrance drew their attention.