“We need to talk about this man you’ve been seeing,” Janelle said, pulling out her phone.
“Young Chul Yu… I’m not seeing him. He’s just been helping.”
“Helping?” My uncle Raymond leaned forward. “Adrien, do you know who this man is?”
Janelle turned her phone around, showing me article after article—photos of Young Chul at high-end charity events, standing next to politicians, business executives, people whose names I recognized from the news. Other articles had darker headlines: suspected organized crime ties, alleged involvement in underground networks, associates questioned but never charged.
“He owns a chain of luxury hotels,” Janelle said. “Restaurants in three different states. And according to people I know, he’s connected to some very dangerous operations.”
My uncle, who’d worked in law enforcement for thirty years before retiring, nodded grimly. “Men like Young Chul operate in a different world. Adrien, they don’t follow the same rules we do. They trade in favors, influence, and loyalty. And when those things don’t work, they trade in violence.”
“He saved my life,” I said quietly. “He saved Nikia.”
“We know that,” my mother said, her voice softer now, “and we’re grateful. But getting involved with someone like that… it could put you and Nikia in more danger than DeAndre ever did.”
“He’s not dangerous to us,” I insisted.
“How do you know?” Janelle said. “You barely know him.”
“I know enough.”
Janelle grabbed my hand. “I’m not trying to scare you. I just want you to understand what you’re getting into. This isn’t some regular guy who helped you out. This is a man with serious power, and power like that always comes with a price.”
After dinner, Janelle pulled me aside while Nikia played with our cousin in the backyard.
“Can I ask you something?” she said.
“Go ahead.”
“Do you have feelings for him?”
I opened my mouth to deny it, but the words wouldn’t come. The hesitation was answer enough.
“Oh, Adrien,” she whispered.
“I don’t know what I feel,” I admitted. “But when I’m around him, I feel safe. For the first time in years, I don’t feel like I’m drowning.”
“I get that. I do. But you need to be careful. Men like him don’t do anything without a reason.”
That night after Nikia went to bed, I sat in my living room and Googled Young Chul myself. I found the same articles Janelle had shown me—business success, charitable donations, rumored connections to powerful and dangerous people.
Then I found something else. An old news article from eight years ago: a car accident, a woman and a young girl killed. The woman was identified as Yum Ji, wife of businessman Young Chul Yu, and their daughter, Yu Hannah, age six.
I stared at the screen, my chest tight. He lost his family—his wife, his daughter—and now he was protecting me and Nikia.
The next morning, my phone buzzed. A text from Young Chul.
Are you and Nikia free for lunch on Saturday?
I stared at the message for a long time. Then I typed back: Yes.
Saturday came faster than I expected. Young Chul picked us up and drove us to a private garden restaurant I didn’t even know existed. It was beautiful—flowers everywhere, tables tucked into quiet corners, a small pond with koi fish that Nikia immediately ran to see.
“Go ahead,” Young Chul told her. “Just stay where we can see you.”
She nodded and took off, her laughter echoing across the garden.
