Shane Prescott remained silent for a moment before speaking in a low voice. "I'm going to see Sophia. I'll be back soon."

Silas Prescott puffed on his pipe, squinting through the smoke. "Sophia Laurent is a public figure. Best to keep your distance. People like us don't belong in the Sullivans' world."

Shane tightened his grip on the steering wheel. "I'm human too. I need friends."

"Getting bold, are we?" Silas sneered.

"Thirty years," Shane said firmly. "I've never disobeyed you. Just this once."

Silas's expression darkened.

He pulled out his phone and dialed Sophia. "Miss Laurent, something came up for Shane. Let's reschedule."

Before Sophia could respond, Ethan Sullivan took the phone.

"My mother is hosting a dinner. We'd appreciate your presence, Mr. Prescott." Ethan's tone brooked no argument.

Beads of sweat formed on Silas's forehead.

He forced a chuckle. "You flatter me, Mr. Sullivan. I just don't want to cause you any trouble."

"Glad we understand each other." Ethan's light laugh carried an undercurrent of menace.

After hanging up, Silas's face turned grim. "Remember—loose lips sink ships."

Shane opened the car door.

"Wait!" Silas suddenly asked, "Do you know why sons always descend into the tombs?"

Shane nodded.

"Because..." Silas's voice trembled. "A father would never abandon his son."

Shane shut the door. The engine roared to life.

An hour and a half later.

Inside the La Belle Époque private dining room, Audrey Sullivan greeted warmly, "Shane, make yourself at home."

Shane kept his cap pulled low, revealing only his chiseled jawline.

"Try this." Audrey served him a dish. "My bridal boutique needs models. Interested?"

"No, thank you." Shane declined politely.

After dinner, Audrey pointed to a delivery truck outside. "A gift for you."

It was a limited-edition MTT Y2K Turbine Superbike, worth a fortune.

"Too generous." Shane took a step back.

Audrey smiled. "Consider it a birthday present. Speaking of which, when's your birthday?"

"April second," Sophia answered.

Audrey's purse slipped from her fingers.

"Your... blood type?" Her voice shook.

"Type O."

Audrey turned pale. "Ethan Prescott was Type O too..."

Shane turned to leave.

"Wait!" Audrey's trembling voice called out. "Do you... have a black mole on your left foot?"

The air froze solid.

Ethan intervened smoothly. "Mother gets emotional around this time every year."

Shane got into his car without a word and sped away.

At home, Silas feigned sleep under a tree.

"The Sullivans sent this?" He eyed the motorcycle with a complicated expression.

"Yeah." Shane removed his face mask.

Silas suddenly studied his eyes intently. "These eyes... don't belong to a tomb raider."

Shane smirked coldly. "No one's born to raid tombs."

Under the icy shower spray, water sluiced over his muscular frame.

Shane lifted his left foot. The black mole on his sole glared back at him.

Steam swirled as he closed his eyes.

To acknowledge, or not to acknowledge?