Narrator:
Today's Horoscope
• For Pisces
Today calls for caution, dreamer. Your curiosity might get the better of you, pulling you toward something that isn't yours to touch. A small moment of impulsiveness could nearly cost you more than you bargained for, so think before you reach. On the brighter side, the people around you are more patient with your antics than you realize. Don't take that patience for granted. Matters of the heart remain unresolved, but don't lose hope; sometimes the universe simply asks you to wait a little longer.
Lucky Color: Silver
Lucky Number: 8
——
Third Person's POV
While Dara was busy running from one shoot to another, her series in the morning, a commercial shoot in the afternoon, someone else was just as occupied, quietly preparing for the concert she would be holding the following week.
Inside a dim, spacious room filled with the faint smell of cigarette smoke, Ilay sat behind a long table scattered with papers, photographs, and half-finished loot bags. One of the staff he had assigned to coordinate the event's flowers stood a few feet away, visibly nervous.
"Boss, the flower shop just called about Ms. Dara's birthday," he said carefully.
Ilay didn't respond right away. He simply lifted his gaze toward the man, his expression unreadable, waiting for him to continue.
"They said they can't produce the 1,000 blue hydrangeas and 1,000 lilies we requested," the man continued, choosing his words with visible caution.
"What? Why?" Ilay asked, his voice cold and quiet.
"It's the rainy season, sir. Their supply got damaged. The hydrangeas, the lilies, almost everything from their usual supplier. If we insist, they said it would take longer since they'd need to import from the Netherlands or New Zealand instead," the man explained, his hands fidgeting slightly. He already knew how Ilay would take the news.
"That's not acceptable," Ilay said flatly, though there was a sharp edge beneath the calm. "If they have to, tell them to fly out and pick the flowers themselves. I don't care where they get it from. It needs to be delivered on time."
"Y-yes, boss," the man replied quickly, bowing slightly before excusing himself from the room.
Left alone, Ilay leaned back slightly, eyes scanning the mess of photographs scattered in front of him. Polaroids of Dara from past events, printed stills from her shows, small handwritten notes from fans that had been collected for the concert giveaways. For a moment, the room was quiet except for the soft rustle of paper.
A minute later, the door opened again, and Zach stepped in, carrying a large paper bag that clinked softly with the sound of plastic.
"Mr. Serg—" Zach started, then caught himself mid-sentence, clearing his throat. "I mean, sir," he corrected, a little embarrassed at his own slip.
Since both chairs beside the table were still occupied by scattered papers, Zach carefully set the paper bag aside on the floor instead, making sure not to disturb anything, before opening it to reveal sheets of glossy blue polyethylene folded neatly inside.
"Is that it?" Ilay asked, barely glancing up.
"Yes, sir. Eleven hundred pieces of inflatable clappers and headbands, all good quality, just like you requested," Zach reported, slightly out of breath from carrying it up.
"Good," Ilay said simply. "Have them distributed outside the stadium next week."
"Understood, sir." Zach reached into his coat and pulled out a tablet, tapping through a few files before turning the screen toward Ilay. "Also, here's the updated design for the LED screens and billboards for Ms. Dara's concert."
Ilay took the tablet without a word, his eyes moving carefully over each layout, the placement of the screens, the timing of the visual cues, the exact shade of the lighting rig meant to frame the stage. He zoomed in on one particular slide, studying it a beat longer than the rest, before finally giving a small nod.
"This one," he said, pointing to the third design. "Move the countdown timer slightly to the left. It's too close to the logo."
"Right away, sir," Zach replied, making a quick note. "We'll have it corrected and ready for installation by tomorrow."
"Good. Proceed with it," Ilay said, handing the tablet back.
Rather than leaving, Zach simply tucked the tablet under his arm and stepped back, moving to stand quietly behind Ilay's chair. A habit he'd long since fallen into whenever more people were expected to arrive.
Not long after, more people began filing into the room. Some bore old scars across their faces and arms; a few had cigarettes tucked between their fingers, unlit out of habit more than caution.
They carried themselves with the same quiet menace Ilay's men always did, until their eyes landed on the sight in front of them.
Their boss. The very man feared across half the city's underworld. Sitting there, sleeves slightly rolled, carefully wrapping candies and photo cards into small gift bags.
A few exchanged glances, unsure whether to laugh or stay silent. Most chose silence.
"Sit down," Ilay said without looking up, and the room quickly filled the chairs around the table.
Eight men and two women took their seats, most of them stealing glances at the neatly arranged polaroids and printouts still spread across the table, clearly holding back questions they didn't dare ask.
One of the men whos younger, more careless than the rest, reached out and picked up one of the polaroids to get a closer look. Before he could even register the image, a deep, low voice cut through the room.
"Don't touch that."
The man flinched, nearly dropping it. Hands trembling slightly, he set the photo back down with exaggerated care, adjusting its corners until it sat perfectly aligned with the others, as if a single crooked edge might cost him more than a scolding.
"Sorry, boss," he murmured, not daring to look up.
Ilay didn't respond to the apology. Instead, he asked, "Where's Saffron?"
Jin — the quiet, sharp-eyed man in charge of overseeing the casino, answered from his seat near the end of the table. "On his way, sir. Running a little late."
Almost as if summoned, the door swung open, and Saffron walked in with Azazel and Chand trailing close behind.
"Yo, what's up! Look at that, everyone's already here," Saffron greeted brightly, clearly unbothered by being late.
"Took you long enough," Azazel muttered, tossing his gum wrapper aside as he took his seat.
"Says the guy who spent ten minutes fixing his hair in the car," Chand shot back, smirking as he passed by.
"At least I have hair to fix," Azazel replied without missing a beat, prompting a few muffled snickers from the others in the room.
Saffron, ignoring their usual bickering, made his way toward the table, his attention immediately caught by the photographs scattered near Ilay.
"Wait, wait, wait — what's all this?" he asked, reaching out and picking one up before anyone could stop him.
In an instant, the soft click of a gun echoed through the room, the barrel now pointed squarely at Saffron's forehead.
"Let go of that," Ilay said, voice low and dangerously calm. "Or do you want to lie down right now?"
Saffron froze, both hands raised slightly, the photo still pinched between two fingers.
"Chill, boss! Your blood pressure's way too quick today," he said, carefully setting the picture back down exactly where it had been. "There. Letting go. Geez, you get worked up so fast," he added with a nervous laugh before finally settling into the seat beside Ilay.
Ilay lowered the gun without another word, setting it aside as if nothing had happened, and returned to wrapping the small gifts in front of him.
"Begin the meeting," he said coldly, his focus already back on the loot bags. The same hands capable of ending a life now carefully tying a ribbon around a stack of polaroids meant for a girl who had no idea he existed in two worlds at once.
~