New Life

The Summons

The world outside Gulf's window was a blur of late afternoon traffic, silver and blue streaks dancing on the office block's mirrored skin. His desk was neat—satisfyingly neat, in the way of someone who relished control rather than chased it. If the universe tried throwing chaos his way, Gulf liked to meet it with color-coded folders and immaculate spreadsheets.

Today, he welcomed the challenge.

He thumbed the rim of his coffee mug as he ran a last check on the new campaign dashboard. The numbers looked good. The team wanted a debrief in the morning, but Gulf already anticipated which questions would come, which minor tweaks would give the biggest splash. He leaned back in his chair, a trace of a smirk lurking on his lips. If only real life were as cooperative as algorithms.

His focus was interrupted—a familiar vibration and a name lighting up his screen: MM. He answered in one fluid motion.

"Talk to me," Gulf said.

A woman's voice, low and brisk. "He's coming your way. Tonight."

Gulf's smile deepened, unfazed. "How punctual. You have the best timing."

"You're in"

He tapped his pen against the desk. "Thanks for the heads up. See you soon."

He didn't waste time running scenarios; this was the call he'd expected all week.

Moments later, as if on cue (because they always were, in this game), his phone lit up again: Unknown Number.

This time, Gulf parried anticipation with a wry, inward smile. He already knew whose voice was waiting.

He tapped accept. "Gulf Kanawat."

A silence, dense and deliberate. Then: "Good afternoon, Mr. Kanawat." The calm, cold sophistication—yes, unmistakable.

"..." Gulf remained silent, already knowing the script.

"I guess you know who this is...Meet me at eight tonight at the Grand Hotel."

No "can you make it." No need for a reply. The call simply ended, as Gulf knew it would.

He regarded the dark glass of his phone, lips quirking. It was almost flattering, how predictable power could be.

He didn't bother spiraling or doubting, just cleared his notifications and shut down his monitor. If anything, the sharp expectation in the air made his movements more precise, more assured. A tiger told to show up at the zoo—what's new; he just chose the tie to match the cage.

He barely noticed the office emptying until a familiar silhouette cut across the glass—Mew, rumpled and endearing, a touch of street-market excitement in his step.

"Ready to head out?" Mew grinned, already half-expecting he'd win Gulf's company for the night.

Gulf gave a lazy, rakish smile in return. "Can't do dinner tonight, love. I've got plans."

Mew paused, visibly thrown off, masking the reaction with practiced composure. "Oh? What plans?"

"Do I need an agenda every time I walk out the door?" Gulf shot back, mock-offended. "Maybe I like to keep you guessing."

A pout flickered, then Mew pulled it together—therapist-approved. "Of course. Anyone would want a little mystery. But I reserve the right to send a search party if you're not home by midnight."

Gulf let himself chuckle, tension nowhere in sight. "Tell the search party to bring snacks." Serious but warm now: "You trust me, yeah?"

Mew's answer danced between vulnerable and brave. "I do."

"Perfect. Now go home and don't burn the pasta. I might need carbs when I get back."

Mew rolled his eyes, laughing as he ruffled Gulf's carefully styled hair. "Impossible. That's your job, kitchen disaster."

"Bold of you to come for my cooking with that cutting board technique."

This time, the ache that usually underpinned their partings was replaced by easy confidence—Mew leaving first, Gulf's reassured composure carrying him through.

After, Gulf collected his things and stepped into the city, his stride even, unhurried. He texted a quick update:

Running late, don't wait up on pasta. Wish me luck 🍀

Mew texted back You're always lucky. You have me.

Gulf just grinned, feeling untouchable.

The Grand Hotel glowed under chandelier light, every surface so polished it dared the city to try blemishing it. Gulf paused in the lobby only long enough to check the lay of the land: security where they always were, cameras at the right blind spots. The front desk staff blinked but didn't question his presence; he moved with the confidence of someone born to take up space in rooms like this.

"Mr. Kanawat?" came a silky baritone at his elbow—a man in a flawlessly cut suit, projecting just enough importance to suggest more secrets than titles.

"That's me." Gulf offered a handshake, amused how rehearsed it all felt.

"I'm Mr. Suppasit's secretary. He's expecting you."

Gulf fell into step behind, brow raised in silent tribute to the efficiency. He caught his own reflection in a passing mirror: impeccable, unreadable, and perfectly in his element.

The hotel bar was a study in emptiness—enviable liquor lining the shelves, velvet chairs abandoned by design. At the far end, one solitary man in a tailored suit, back straight, glass of whisky perfectly positioned like a chess piece with nowhere left to maneuver.

The secretary nodded. "He's here, sir." And just as swiftly as he'd appeared, he was gone, barely disturbing the hush that hung in the air.

Gulf never hesitated. He crossed directly to the bar, settling on the stool beside his host, every motion measured and effortless.

"Good evening, sir," Gulf said, with just enough respect not to condescend and just enough confidence not to submit.

Suppasit turned—eyes sharp, assessing, but he found no weakness in Gulf's ease. Neither man smiled.

Silence spun out, the world holding its breath.

Gulf arched a brow, his grin subtle, unrepentant. Gulf thinking 'I'll admit, Grand Hotel is a nice touch. Or were you just hoping the drinks here would make negotiation more fun?'

Suppasit's eyes narrowed, not a flicker of surprise betraying him. The tension coiled and uncoiled in the space between them—two men, perfectly aware of their own leverage, both refusing to blink first.

Gulf simply waited, a masterclass in calm, assuring with posture and presence that whatever was about to unfold, he was not the prey in this exchange.

Whatever words came next, he was ready. He always was.

And as Mew's father finally opened his mouth to speak, the night shifted. The future, poised on a blade. Gulf's world—Mew's world—about to change in ways neither of them could predict.

To be continued...

More mystery and suspense to come. Hope you like the story...🧐

Thank you for the support and your comments it encourages me...🤗🥰

love you all❤️❤️❤️