Between two worlds | Chanlix

Definitely

Felix's hand tightened around his phone as his father's voice confirmed what he already suspected. "Yes, I arranged the article," the older man said, his tone as smooth and dismissive as ever. "It's time you played your part, Felix. The girl's family will be good for us."

Felix felt a surge of anger burning through his veins. "And you didn't think I deserved a say in this?" His voice was cold, but there was a dangerous edge to it.

"You've had your freedom long enough," his father replied. "It's time to remember where your loyalties lie."

The call ended with a hollow click, leaving Felix staring at his screen with barely contained fury. Without hesitation, he dialed the editor of the magazine, voice sharp as he ordered them to retract the issue from circulation. He had just enough power to make such demands stick, but even that didn't quell the tightness in his chest. His life was once again being manipulated by forces beyond his control, and it was all being broadcast for everyone to see.

As he stormed into the office later that morning, he could feel the eyes on him. His employees had undoubtedly seen the headlines; some had probably even read the article cover to cover. The tension was thick in the air, a hum of curiosity and whispers that surrounded him as he stalked to his office. He barely restrained himself from slamming the door shut, the glass trembling in its frame as he threw his coat over the back of a chair and sank into the familiar leather of his seat.

The day dragged on in a haze of emails and phone calls. His sister, Rachel, reached out to him with a message: I know it's Father. I'm sorry, Felix. I didn't think he'd go this far. Felix's response was short, composed, a facade of calmness: It's alright. I'll deal with it.

By the time Chan arrived with the latest demo, Felix's mood had soured to a level that even he found difficult to mask. His jaw was tight as he glanced up from the paperwork, seeing Chan standing hesitantly at the door, holding the promo version as if it were a peace offering. Felix's usual routine was to take the music and wave him off, but today he felt an odd impulse.

"Sit," he said, his voice lacking its usual firmness, as if he wasn't sure why he was extending the invitation.

Chan obeyed, taking a seat opposite Felix's desk without a word. There was a strange energy between them—Chan wasn't his usual inquisitive self, didn't ask about the project or pry into how Felix was feeling. It unsettled Felix in a way he wasn't used to, like the silence was drawing a line between them, one he wasn't prepared to cross. He listened to the track, making a few notes, though his mind kept drifting back to the headlines from earlier. The pity in people's eyes. The whispers.

When he finished reviewing the music, he handed the demo back to Chan, giving a brief nod. "It's good," he said. "Make sure the sound team has the final changes by tomorrow."

Chan stood, taking the disc. He turned to leave, but then paused in the doorway, his hand lingering on the frame. He glanced back at Felix, and for a moment, there was something in his eyes—pity, empathy, Felix wasn't sure.

"Now I understand," Chan said quietly, a faint smile on his lips. "You are definitely a top." There was a pause, and then he added, "Sorry about before. I didn't mean to cross a line."

The words hung in the air like a challenge, and Felix could only stare back, expression unreadable. It wasn't often that someone left him speechless, but Chan had a way of doing just that. There was nothing to say that wouldn't expose the fracture lines running deep beneath his polished exterior, so he kept silent, watching as Chan turned and left the room.

As the door clicked shut behind him, Felix let out a slow breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He should have felt triumphant, or at least vindicated. But all he felt was a sense of emptiness. The

article, the engagement, Chan's oddly perceptive remark—it was all adding up to a kind of pressure that even Felix, with all his poise and control, was struggling to bear. He leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes for a moment, wishing that just for once, he could be free of the roles that had been assigned to him, free from his father's expectations, and free from the icy mask he wore every day.

But there was no freedom for someone like him. Not yet.