CHAPTER 104: 104

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime.

And a wash of warm amber light spilled into the hallway, guiding Zamiel toward the elite bar at the end of an exclusive lounge perched on the 40th floor, known only to a handful of the city’s most powerful men.

He pushed the door open to find the bar looking like a scene frozen in time.

Empty marble counters.

A single row of golden lights glowing beneath the shelves of liquor. And a glass wall overlooking the sleeping city, skyscrapers glittering like scattered diamonds.

No music except the low hum of a lonely saxophone track playing from hidden speakers.

Not a single customer.

Not a single sound.

Except..

A figure seated at the far end. Dressed down in a charcoal sweater and black trousers, he looked almost human tonight. His hair fell slightly over his forehead, shadows sculpting sharp angles along his face. He turned a glass between his fingers, the reflection of the city lights dancing on the surface.

The only other presence was the bartender, silent, stiff-backed, polishing glasses like a man who knew good and well not to interfere.

Zamiel stepped forward, the soft thud of his boots echoing in the empty room. The door shut behind him with a whisper, sealing the silence.

As he approached the counter Nix didn’t turn.

He simply slid a shot glass across the bar, the crystal scraping lightly on marble.

Zamiel’s eyes narrowed at the bartender and then him as he sat down slowly.

Nix lifted his own shot, tilting it in mock salute but the person before him failed to catch the darkness in his eyes.

Without a word he pushed a glass towards Zamiel who narrowed his eyes at him.

"Are you scared I’ll poison you?" he murmured without looking up. But Zamiel held his stare for a beat. Then he lifted his own shot and downed it, the burn hit instantly making him shut his eyes close.

"No," he replied. "Just being cautious."

Nix finally turned to face him with a faint smile tugging at his lips, but his eyes... sharp and glinting with something dangerous

Zamiel opened his mouth.

"You shouldn’t have brought Elisa here. You know.." Nix raised a finger stopping him

"Shhhh."

He finally faced Zamiel fully, and the atmosphere shifted like a camera lens tightening focus, dimming everything except him.

"I’m the one asking questions," Nix said softly.

"And you’re the one answering."

The lights behind him seemed to dim, shadows clinging to his silhouette. His aura thickened, like the air before a thunderstorm.

Zamiel felt it instantly.

His stomach twisted sharply. A cold sweat prickled at the back of his neck.

His fists clenched against the bartop on instinct, nails cutting into his palms. But his face remained smooth despite the fact that he forced himself to breathe evenly.

Nix stepped closer, revealing the barely veiled threat in every movement.

"Why," Nix asked quietly, "did you follow us?"

Zamiel swallowed.

Because Nix wasn’t bluffing. Zamiel had trailed them from Italy shadowing their flight, while hiding in the crowds, watching from afar. But being caught the moment they landed by Nix wasn’t something he had expected.

Zamiel’s heartbeat thundered. This wasn’t a business meeting nor was it a friendly drink.

This was a man who was killed with silence.

Nix leaned down just slightly, voice dropping to a whisper that cut sharper than a blade.

"If you don’t start talking," he said, "I will assume you are a threat." his smile suddenly vanished as the darkness in his eyes deepened, swallowing the warm highlight from the bar lights.

"And you know what I do to threats... in my city."

Silence.

The bartender stiffened.

Even the saxophone somehow felt quieter.

Zamiel’s stomach twisted again, pain coiling like something alive beneath his ribs.

But he steadied himself.

"Fine," he said, breath controlled.

"Ask your questions."

The low amber lights of the elite bar flickered against the polished counter, casting long shadows across Nix’s face as he leaned in slightly close enough for Zamile to feel the weight of his presence, far enough to maintain that chilling calm he wore like a second skin.

For a moment, even the air seemed to freeze.

Zamile’s lips trembled as he inhaled sharply, his chest tightening like an iron fist had wrapped around his lungs. Sweat rolled down the side of his temple, slow, and deliberate as if time itself wanted to torture him.

Nix tilted his head, the bar lights glinting off his eyes.

"Good," he said, with a low voice "Honesty always comes when death is close."

He set the tiny crystal bottle on the counter with a soft clink. The sound echoed too loudly in the empty space.

Zamile swallowed, feeling his throat clicking, and his breath hitching.

"She’s... who you think she is," he forced out.

Nix’s jaw flexed just a twitch, barely visible, but deadly. His fingers unconsciously curled into a fist resting on the counter. For one heartbeat, the mask slipped; a storm flashed in his eyes but it vanished just as quickly beneath ice-cold composure.

He leaned back, slow and calculated, crossing one leg over the other with unnerving nonchalance.

"Explain yourself..." he murmured.

Zamile’s breathing grew ragged as he slumped further down the barstool, clutching his stomach as waves of pain twisted through him. His head snapped back, hitting the counter’s edge as he groaned.

"That... that day... Camilo had it all planned out..." he wheezed, voice cracking. "Ella stabbed Carmela... and threw her off the cliff... but Camilo he already had a safety team waiting below. They caught her... immediately treated her... then sent her straight to Italy. That’s why... that’s why I left for Italy too."

Nix’s eyes narrowed, disbelief folding into something darker and colder. Even the air seemed to thicken around him.

"What about the medical reports?" he asked, voice trembling with a mixture of anger and denial.

"They... they were fake," Zamile coughed, gripping his chest. "Camilo forged them. Most of the drugs she took were just... multivitamins and.."

"The nosebleeds?" Nix’s tone sharpened like a blade.

"Stress," Zamile gasped. "Severe stress. Now please.. give me the antidote.."

He choked mid-sentence, body jerking violently as he fell from the chair and hit the marble floor with a heavy thud. His fingers clawed weakly at the air.

For a moment, Nix didn’t move.

His heart hammered against his ribs as another question slipped out, trembling:

"Then why didn’t she come back to me... after all these months? And that... that little one..."

Zamile lifted his head with the last bit of strength he had, pupils shrinking.

"She’s your daughter."

Silence.

Everything around Nix blurred the lights, the bar counter, the bottles behind the shelf all melting into a fog as the words echoed.

Your daughter.

A tremor ran through him. His throat closed. His vision stung.

Memories he didn’t understand earlier suddenly slammed into him

Nyxella running to him.

Nyxella laughing when he carried her.

Nyxella calling him "Papa" without hesitation.

His breath hitched as something inside him cracked open.

"N–Nyxella... is my daughter?" he whispered, needing the truth twice, needing it to anchor him.

Zamile nodded weakly.

Nix steadied himself against the bar for a moment, blinking rapidly as tears threatened to fall.

"...Then why didn’t Carmela bring her to me...?" his voice broke almost imperceptibly.

Zamile swallowed painfully, voice thin as paper.

"She doesn’t remember anything, Nix. Not you... not Carmela... not me. After that incident she fell into a coma. For months. Even after waking up... she refused to speak. She was... empty. Like her soul had left."

Nix’s excitement, his brief, overwhelming joy shattered instantly.

It vanished so suddenly it felt like someone had yanked the ground from under him.

His shoulders dropped. His eyes lost all light.

A single tear escaped before he wiped it away as if it betrayed him.

Zamile continued, trembling

"The first time she showed any response... the first spark of life... was when she discovered Nyxella was in her stomach."

Nix froze.

His entire body went still like a statue carved from anguish.

He blinked slowly, the truth cutting deeper with every passing second.

She had suffered.

She had been alone.

And she had carried his child through all that darkness.

Wordlessly, he pushed the antidote bottle across the floor with his shoe.

Not gently but not harshly either.

Just detached.

Zamile snatched it with shaking hands and gulped the liquid down like a man drowning.

But Nix didn’t watch him.

He was staring ahead, eyes glassy.

Nyxella’s smile.

Her little hands grabbing his collar.

Her soft voice calling him Papa.

Everything made sense now.

And everything hurt.

..

The gate closed behind him with a soft metallic hum, but Nix didn’t move.

He sat in the driver’s seat long after the engine stopped, hands limp on the wheel, posture hollow like someone had scooped out his insides and left the shell behind. The interior of the car was dim, shadows stretching across his face as the faint glow from the mansion windows flickered against his eyes.

A single tear tracked down the corner of his right eye.

Then another.

He didn’t even wipe them.

Zamile’s words wouldn’t stop replaying in his skull until he felt physically weak.

"She’s your daughter."

"She doesn’t remember anything... she was empty."

"The first time she responded... was because of Nyxella."

Nix squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his head back against the seat as another wave of emotion hit him sharper, and deeper.

He remembered Carmela’s face when she stepped into the house earlier.

That flicker of dread.

That tremble in her fingers.

That hollow fear behind her calm expression.

How had he been so blind?

His chest tightened painfully.

"I should be happy you’re back..." he whispered to no one, voice cracking, "but for some reason... I’m pained that you had to go through everything alone."

He exhaled sharply and finally wiped the tears from the side of his eyes with the back of his hand. His breathing steadied not perfectly, just enough to move.

He opened the door and stepped out. The cold night air hit him, grounding him, but the ache didn’t fade.

He walked into the mansion slowly, turning from one corner of the hallway to the next passing the familiar paintings, the carved pillars, the dim lamp at the stairway he remembered Carmela once fixed.

Each step echoed quietly, as if the house itself knew something had changed.

Up the stairs.

Down the right corridor.

Past the old piano room.

Another turn.

He stopped at the bedroom door.

It was slightly ajar.

Warm light spilled through the crack.

Heart pounding, he leaned in just enough to see.

Elisa lay on the bed, her back propped against the headboard. Her hair fell gently around her face, features soft in sleep. In her arms, Nyxella was curled like a tiny kitten, cheeks puffed, lips parted, breathing slow and peaceful.

Elisa’s hand rested protectively over the little girl’s back.

A perfect picture.

A picture he never knew he needed.

Nix’s breath hitched.

He pressed a hand to the doorframe to steady himself.

A rush of warmth, raw, fragile, and overwhelming flooded him. The kind of feeling he had been denied for years without realizing it. The kind of feeling he thought he didn’t deserve.

Joy.

Real joy.

Not forced smiles.

Not business victories

This was different.

"They’re my family..." he whispered, and for the first time, the word family didn’t feel foreign. It didn’t feel like a burden. It didn’t feel like something someone else owned.

He smiled, small, trembling, but real.

"They’re my family," he repeated, as if he needed to hear it again, as if saying it made it true.

And for once, the world felt... right.