Staring at the sprawling, intersecting roads, I felt utterly lost. I had no idea where to go.

Then something occurred to me. I pulled a scrap of paper from my bag; a phone number was scribbled across it. I borrowed a passerby's phone and dialed the number.

To my surprise, it connected.

Half an hour later, Jonathan Brooke appeared like an answer to my prayers.

He took me to buy a new phone, new clothes, and even found me a job. He walked me through, in minute detail, how the outside world had changed over the past five years and urged me to adapt.

When it came time to find a place to live, he brought me to a high-end apartment complex in the city center. I assumed we were looking for rentals—until he told me this was his home.

I had known, vaguely, that the cellmate who'd helped me had a decent background, but I had never expected such wealth. This neighborhood was expensive—every inch counted.

Jonathan insisted I stay. He knew I wouldn't accept charity, so he put me in charge of the household chores. I couldn't refuse, so I moved in.

My new job was at a convenience store. On my first day, I didn't expect Ian to show up. He looked hollowed out—gaunt, his eye sockets sunken, as if he might pass out at any moment.

"Adam," he said, his voice ragged, "during the five years you were gone, I stayed by Luke's side. I even saved his life in that car crash. I've loved him as much as you have.

"I'm dying. If I can become family with Luke, I can die without regrets. I know it's selfish. I don't have many days left. Could you pity me, just this once? Let me be selfish?"

I lowered my eyelids and spoke coolly, "Ian, don't worry. I already signed the divorce papers with Luke. He'll be with you from now on."

I stood to return to work. Ian grabbed my hand. "If you want someone to blame, blame me. Don't blame Luke. He's only doing this for me."

He was physically fragile; when he tried to stand, he seemed made of paper and collapsed to the floor.

A furious male voice exploded like thunder.

"Adam, what are you doing?"

Luke stormed in, seething, and helped Ian to his feet. Then he turned on me with a cold fury.

"Since when were you so horrid? Ian is ill, and you pushed him? Are you even human?"

I froze, every limb icily numb, blood seeming to ebb from my face. The man I had loved for over a decade—the man for whom I had taken five years behind bars—cast aspersions on me without even knowing the truth.

In that instant, I felt like a joke. Years of devotion—a humiliating, cheap self-consolation. He never felt gratitude; I was just something replaceable, something to be swapped out whenever convenient.

Ian lay limp in Luke's arms, murmuring weakly, "Luke, don't blame Adam. It's all my fault." Then he fainted.

Luke carried him off in his arms and shot me a look filled with disappointment and rage before leaving.

"Five years in prison can really change a person," he said. "You've become so cold and heartless. You'd better pray Ian pulls through, or you'll be prepared to feel guilty for the rest of your life."

His words were like a pair of hands crushing my heart. My heart ached.

He was right—those five years in prison had hardened me.

But could I afford not to harden?

Prison turned people into demons. Those who were soft-hearted were prey.

When I first arrived, my small frame made me a target: beaten, humiliated, forced to kneel, my palms burned by cigarette butts, my legs broken by rebar.

Covered in wounds, I was still forbidden to eat. I had to satisfy the twisted demands of certain big guys in there. I lived like a dog in a world without daylight. Any resistance only earned worse beatings.

Once, I was nearly beaten to death. Jonathan saved me. He was notorious in our block for his brutality in fights—the top boss. After that, I trained with him in fighting and never got tormented again.

Besides, this five-year sentence was ultimately handed to me because of Luke, wasn't it? What right did he have to reproach me?

I steadied myself, then went shopping after work to cook Jonathan a proper dinner. Since I was living under his roof and had agreed to handle the housework, I couldn't slack off.

At the table, Jonathan's family praised my cooking until I felt embarrassed.

Later, Jonathan told me his company was holding its annual gala and invited me to attend. That's when I learned the renowned Brooke Group belonged to him — and the convenience store where I'd just started working was one of his businesses.

Jonathan had been framed by relatives and spent three years in prison. He could have gotten out sooner, but he used that absence to conceal his strength.

While different branches of the Brooke family tore each other apart, he waited in the shadows, then reemerged to collect the spoils and eventually unify the whole group. That he was the one behind the empire stunned me.

I had not expected to run into Luke at the gala.

I arrived with Jonathan at my side, and my presence set tongues wagging. Some called me Jonathan's friend; others whispered I might be his lover.

Jonathan had kept a clean public record since taking control, so people assumed he preferred men — and my appearance only fed that rumor.

Luke seemed to buy that interpretation. When Jonathan stepped away for a round of greetings, Luke pulled me into a quiet corner, gripping my wrist with impatient anger. "Adam, stop this. I know you're with Jonathan on purpose — just to get at me."

I shrugged his hand off and answered flatly, "Luke, could you dial down the ego? The world doesn't revolve around you. Who I choose to be with is my business."

His face darkened into fury. "Do you really think someone like Jonathan would take you seriously? He's just playing you. Don't forget you served five years in prison."

What did he mean? That because I'd spent five years behind bars, I was inferior and unworthy of anyone's regard?

Laughter and anger tangled inside me. A raw ache opened in my heart. Tears pricked my eyes.

I slapped him hard. "Who cares that I served five years? You do, Luke. But tell me, for whom did I spend those five years behind bars? Don't you know?"

His composure cracked. "Adam, I didn't mean it like that. I spoke poorly. I'm only afraid he'll deceive you, that he'll take advantage of you. Don't misunderstand me."

Someone approached. I didn't want to embarrass Jonathan — after all, he'd brought me — so I slipped away. Luke was held up by other guests and didn't follow.

"You okay? That jerk bothering you again?" Jonathan asked, noticing the wet tracks on my face, his voice full of concern.

He already knew some of my story; in prison, he'd been my only friend, and I'd told him everything.

"There are plenty of decent men in the world. Don't hang yourself from one rotten branch," Jonathan said, looping his arm through mine. He smelled faintly of liquor, but not unpleasantly. He seemed a little drunk, so I steadied him as we left.

Back at his place, I was about to lay him on the bed when he grabbed me, yanking me down onto him.

I landed on his chest.

His body was hot; the scent of a man clung to him, his heartbeat strong against my ear. His large hand slipped beneath my loose jacket and started exploring.

I pushed him back. "Have you been drinking?" I asked.

His cheeks were flushed, his gaze unfocused; he seemed more than drunk — drugged, maybe.

Damn it! Someone had the nerve to lace Jonathan's drink. Who would be so reckless?

Seeing him struggle in pain, I asked, "Do you want me to find you a woman?"

He seized the back of my head and sealed my lips with a burning kiss. "I want you," he murmured.

I forced my breath steady. "Jonathan, look at me. I'm Adam."

His voice turned hoarse and low. "Adam… right now, you're the only one who can save me. Please… Will you?"