Chapter 52 – Shadows in the Bar

David was still thinking about the three kids he had seen on the stage.

Their faces, their voices, their very presence clung to his mind like stubborn shadows. The memory would not leave him no matter how much he tried. His fingers tapped nervously on the table, the untouched drink before him slowly losing its warmth.

At first, he had thought it was strange when the children climbed onto the stage. Everyone in the bar had reacted the same way — stunned.

A few men at the counter exchanged bewildered glances, a group of women leaned closer to whisper among themselves, and even the waiters froze for a moment as though they had misheard the announcement.

“What are kids doing here?” someone had muttered.

“This isn’t a place for children,” another voice had scoffed.

The murmurs had filled the room, low and uneasy, like ripples spreading across still water.

But the moment the music started, all those murmurs disappeared. The air shifted.

The smallest of the three, a boy with a calm face and sharp eyes, stepped forward. His voice rose above the piano tune, smooth and clear, echoing in every corner of the room. The note struck deep, startling the crowd.

Gasps spread like fire.

“That voice…” a man whispered, leaning forward, his glass forgotten in his hand.

“It sounds exactly like him,” another said breathlessly, naming a famous singer whose songs had filled radios for decades.

As the boy continued, the room fell into a hush, every ear straining to catch the sound. His voice wasn’t only similar — it carried the same warmth, the same richness that made people’s hearts quiver.

Applause came suddenly, breaking the silence as the boy’s siblings joined in harmony. Their voices blended so seamlessly that even the skeptical drunkards at the corner tables straightened in their chairs.

The entire bar came alive, clapping to the rhythm, smiling, cheering softly as if they had forgotten they were in a dim luxury bar.

Even David, who had walked in restless and heavy with grief, found his chest loosening. The gloom pressing against him lightened, if only for a moment. His lips twitched with something close to a smile as he listened.

But then, it happened.

At first, he paid no mind. Children sang in many places — streets, parks, schools. But when his gaze shifted, his breath caught. One of the boys… his face.

The angle of his jaw, the sharpness of his brows, the slight curve of his lips.

It was him.

Eighty percent him.

David’s heart lurched painfully. He leaned forward in his seat, his drink forgotten, his eyes locked on the boy. His pulse raced.

It wasn’t possible. It shouldn’t be possible. And yet…

A wild, terrifying thought bloomed in his mind.

“If she had given birth… if she had carried our child… this would be the age.”

His hands trembled against the table. He tried to breathe, but the air felt thin.

And it wasn’t just that boy. Another child on stage — his features mirrored Dominic’s.

David’s chest tightened as though an invisible fist was crushing his ribs. “No…” he whispered, but the denial carried no strength. His eyes refused to look away.

The audience, however, was oblivious to his storm. They clapped wildly when the children ended the song, rising to their feet with cheers.

“Encore!” a few called out.

“What amazing kids!” a woman gushed, clutching her chest.

“Where are their parents? They must be proud.”

David’s heart twisted violently at that. Parents. Proud. He swallowed hard, his throat dry, his thoughts tangled.

The children bowed politely before being ushered off the stage. David’s chair screeched against the floor as he stood abruptly, startling the people nearest to him. He didn’t care. He rushed toward the exit, pushing past tables, his eyes fixed on the three small figures leaving.

But he was too slow.

By the time he reached the doorway, they had already climbed into a car. The door slammed shut, the engine roared, and the vehicle disappeared into the night.

“Wait!” David’s voice cracked, raw with desperation.

But the red taillights vanished into darkness.

His chest heaved, sweat dampening his palms. He stood there frozen for a long moment, then turned sharply and stormed back to the counter.

He asked one of the bartenders, “Who were those kids?” he demanded.

One of the bartenders shook his head. “I don’t know, sir. They only perform sometimes. The owner brings them. But…” his voice lowered, “the owner just left. You missed him.”

But, how could that answer satisfy David, he walked to the bartender who seemed like the head among them. He felt the man would know more.

“Who were those kids?”

The bartender paused in the act of wiping a glass. His smile came, practiced and calm. “I don’t know, sir. They only perform sometimes.”

David’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t lie to me.” His voice dropped into a growl, his wolf close to the surface. The tension in the air grew sharp, and a few patrons glanced nervously in their direction.

The bartender, however, did not falter. His smile lingered, but it shifted — stretched a little wider, a little too patient. It unsettled David, as if the man was watching him squirm for amusement.

“They come with the owner,” the bartender finally said. “If you wish to know more, you should ask him. But…” his tone lowered, “the owner left earlier. You missed him.”

David’s jaw clenched. His knuckles whitened against the counter. For a second, he imagined grabbing the man by the collar, demanding names, addresses, anything. His wolf urged him to break past the calm facade.

But then he stopped himself.

The bartender’s smile had shifted again, and this time, it was eerie. Unsettling. The more David stared at it, the more he realized he wouldn’t get what he wanted here tonight.

Slowly, he exhaled and leaned back. “Sorry,” he muttered, his voice rough. “The children… they just looked familiar.”

The bartender’s expression softened slightly, as though David’s retreat amused him less. “I understand,” he said, his smile gentler this time. “One of them did resemble you a bit.”

David’s head snapped up, eyes sharp. “You saw it too?”

But the bartender shook his head lightly, chuckling under his breath. “Everyone has someone who looks like them. It’s nothing special.”

David’s lips parted, his protest ready, but the words died in his throat. No matter how much he wanted to argue, the bartender’s calm dismissal rooted into his mind like stubborn weeds.

He closed his eyes briefly, then pushed away from the counter. “No… this one is different. You wouldn’t understand.”

The bartender only smiled again, polishing another glass.

David left the bar in disappointment, his footsteps heavy. The night air hit his face, cool and sharp, but it did nothing to calm him. His thoughts spun faster than the city lights that blurred around him.

Sliding into his car, he gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned pale. His chest rose and fell violently, his heart refusing to calm down.

He pulled out his phone, his fingers trembling slightly.

He couldn’t keep this to himself.

He had to call Dominic.

He had to tell him what he just saw.

But the line rang endlessly. No answer.

Frustration boiled in his gut, hot and consuming. He started the engine, the car roaring to life as he steered onto the road.

If Dominic wouldn’t pick up, then David would find him himself.

The tires screeched as he pulled onto the main street, his headlights cutting through the night. His phone buzzed at last. He snatched it up.

“Man, are you at home?” David’s voice was urgent, uneven.

On the other end, Dominic’s steady tone came. “No, I am at the mansion. My mom and grandfather are in the city.” A pause. “You seem restless. What happened? You were about to blow up my phone.”

David swallowed, his grip tightening around the steering wheel. His words came out raw, jagged. “That night… the night that stuff happened to you. Did you… did you deposit your seed into that woman? Apart from marking her, do you remember doing anything?”

There was silence on the line, thick and heavy. Then Dominic answered, his voice quieter. “I don’t remember. Everything that happened that night was too vague for me.”

David’s pulse thundered in his ears. His voice broke as he said, “I saw a child tonight. He looked so much like you. And another…” He swallowed hard. “Another looked like me.”

Dominic’s sharp laugh came, though it carried unease. “I’m not surprised if you saw someone that looked like you. But like me? No. I’m not a playboy like you.”

David didn’t reply. His eyes stayed fixed on the road, but inside, his heart churned violently.

Because only he knew the truth.

Only he knew that the only woman he had ever touched was his girlfriend — the one he had wanted to marry, the one he had lost. The rest… the others he had invited into his house over the years… none of them had ever reached his bed. He had always turned away at the last moment, interest gone, his heart stubbornly refusing anyone else.

At times, he had thought there was something wrong with him. But he knew better now. His body, his wolf, his very soul had belonged only to her.

And if that boy really was his child…

His chest ached, the thought too heavy to bear.

“Never mind,” David muttered finally, cutting through the silence. His voice was hoarse. “Take care. Greet Aunt for me.”

He ended the call before Dominic could respond.

The phone fell onto the seat beside him as he muttered under his breath, “What could make the kids go there to sing?”

His thoughts turned restless, circling endlessly.

But somewhere else in the city, in a small warm home, the answer was simple.

The children had overheard their grandmother, Clara, comparing their mother to Zarah again.

Her words had been sharp, unbalanced with jealousy, especially with Clara’s birthday approaching. Clara’s discontent had spilled into the air, heavy enough for the little ones to sense.

So they had decided, in their own innocent way, to change something.

They wanted to give their grandmother a gift — something different, something beyond the usual drawings and handmade trinkets.

But gifts cost money. And their mother was already doing everything she could to provide for them. They couldn’t add to her burdens.

So, when their mother’s best friend visited and took them along to the city, they had seen an opportunity.

The bar owner had laughed at how cute they were, charmed by their smiles. And when they shyly asked if they could sing, he agreed — on the condition that they sing well enough.

He promised to pay them if they did.

And so, they had sung.

Their voices had captured the room, and for a brief moment, their innocent dream shone brightly in a place filled with shadows.

When they left, their little hands clutched the small reward, their eyes filled with joy. It was a step closer to their goal. A step closer to the gift they wanted to give.

But to David, who had watched them disappear into the night, the questions only grew heavier.