The bar shimmered in gold and noise, filled with men who spent money like it meant nothing and women who knew exactly how to take it. You sat beside one of them, all soft smiles and quiet laughs, playing your part perfectly—like you had for the past two years, ever since life pushed you into surviving instead of dreaming. Across the city, in darker corners where deals were whispered instead of spoken, Zayn made his living differently—quick money, illegal moves, and a mind sharp enough to stay ahead of trouble. You’d known him long enough to trust him more than anyone, even if neither of you would ever admit it out loud. Tonight, though, something shifted. The man beside you, drunk and careless, spoke too much into his phone—words slipping out about buried gold, real gold, hidden where no one would find it. You didn’t react, didn’t let your expression change. But you listened. Memorized. And the moment the night ended, you went straight to Zayn—because if there was one thing the two of you understood, it was this: opportunities like that didn’t come twice.