?Chapter 438:


    This time, he would be the one to prepare something meaningful for Maia’s birthday.


    She deserved to know that he had never forgotten the warmth of that one simple gift she had made just for him.


    That evening, the house felt unusually quiet when Maia stepped inside. Chris wasn’t home.


    It took her a moment to remember—he had mentioned something about a business trip earlier that morning.


    Even knowing that, she couldn’t shake the feeling of strange tension in her chest.


    Maybe it was the silence. Or maybe she had gotten too used to sharing her space with him.


    After sitting on the couch for a few moments, she reached for her phone and opened WhatsApp, scrolling through her chats until she found his name. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, typing and backspacing more than once, before she finally sent the message: “Are you on a business trip?”


    His reply came almost instantly. “Yeah, early flight tomorrow. I’m staying at a hotel near the airport. Won’t be home tonight.”


    Reading that, Maia gripped her phone a little tighter. She typed again, this time without hesitation: “Is your headache any better? Did you go to the hospital?”


    The response came before she even had the chance to set the phone down. Chris replied, “Didn’t you say you’d go with me? Just wait till I’m back.”


    Maia’s fingers moved quickly across the screen,posing a message to tell him to be careful and take care of himself. But just before hitting send, she erased every word and settled on a simple, “Okay.”


    Somewhere else, Chris saw that single-word reply and couldn’t help but smile faintly, though he didn’t realize it. He slipped his phone back into his pocket and kept walking.


    His steps carried him into a narrow alley, but a sudden shift in the air made his instincts stir.


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    That was when he stopped cold, his expression hardening in an instant.


    A chorus of footsteps echoed through the narrow alleyway as more than a dozen thugs poured in from both ends, each gripping a baseball bat as if they were born with it in hand.


    Leading the pack was a shaven-headed man, his swagger exuding arrogance. He strutted forward, shoulders swaying like he owned the night.


    With a casual flick, he tapped his bat against the cobblestones. The dull thud cracked a stone beneath his feet, and the sound rolled down the alley like a warning.


    This was usually the part where people lost their nerve — where bravado drained from their faces and panic rushed in to take its ce. But this time, it didn’t work. The man they hade for stood there with his arms folded, calm as ever, as though he were waiting for a bus instead of a beating. He didn’t flinch or speak. He just stared.


    The shaven-headed thug narrowed his eyes. Was this guy stupid… or dangerous?


    His crew was no ragtag bunch; these were hardened men, some fresh out of prison, each seasoned in violence and brutality.


    “Hey,” he called out, double-checking the photo glowing on his phone. “You must be Chris Cooper?”


    Word had it that Chris frequented a bar tucked into this alley. The n had been simple: wait, corner him, send a message. And just like that, Chris had walked right into their trap.


    Chris raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. His tone dripped with quiet scorn. “You don’t even know me, yet you think it’s smart toe here causing trouble?”


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