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You Belong To Me.
Última actualización:
2026-01-14 06:32:57
RomanWritesMy eyes were so damn heavy writing this chapter. I thank everyone that has been reading so far. A big shout out to Shasa Mu.
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How To Love A Murderer. The Devil’s Advocate.
Chapter One Hundred and Three: The Devil’s AdvocateThe apartment was too quiet. Min sat across from him on a worn-out sofa, looking pale and fragile, like a little bird that might break if you moved too fast. But when she started speaking, her voice was steady, even if it trembled with tears she refused to let fall.“The smell of his cologne,” she whispered, staring at a spot on the wall. “It was this expensive, spicy smell. It mixed with the cheap hotel soap, and that’s all I could breathe.” She pulled at a thin silver bracelet on her wrist, the clasp broken. “This snapped when I tried to pull away. It was my grandma’s.”She told him the story with a flat, detached voice, as if she was reading from a police report about someone else. But when she got to the part after…the lawyers who ghosted her, the news channel that “lost” her interview tape, the way the police report seemed to vanish from the system…that’s when her calm cracked. Her voice broke. “They told me I was lucky,” s
How To Love A Murderer. The Road of Redemption.
Chapter One Hundred and Two: The Path of RedemptionSix months.It felt like six lifetimes. Zhedya moved through his world like a ghost in an expensive suit. The mansion was too quiet, the bed too big, the silence too loud. He had stopped trying to find Ian after the first frantic month. The message was clear…he was done. Zhedya had finally broken the one thing he loved beyond reason.He wasn’t the polished CEO anymore. He was a shell. Work piled up, but his focus was gone. The only thing that cut through the fog was the burn of whiskey, glass after glass, trying to drown out the memory of Ian’s face, Ian’s voice, Ian’s warmth.He was at his office desk, staring blankly at a contract, when the phone rang. His head of security.“Sir.” The man’s voice was tense, confused. “A Mr. Ian Packer is at the private elevator. He’s asking for you.”For a full three seconds, Zhedya didn’t breathe because those words didn’t make sense. Ian…Here….After radio silence for half a year.He dropped t
How To Love A Murderer. Making Choices.
Chapter One Hundred and One: Making Choices. Ian’s foot slammed down hard on the brake. The car skidded, gravel flying, before lurching to a violent stop. He sat there, his knuckles bone-white where they gripped the steering wheel, his breath coming in ragged gasps.In front of him was the dark, open road. Freedom. Safety. Behind him was the warehouse door, a black hole of fire and death.‘He deserves to burn. After everything he did to you, to Elijah, to everyone… he deserves to be ash.’But his eyes wouldn’t listen. All he could see was the image burned into his brain… Zhedya lying broken on the concrete, leg twisted, his face pale as the moonlight. Not a powerful monster, just a man…a man who was about to die.“No!”The word tore from his throat, raw and painful. It wasn’t a thought; it was a reflex. A stupid, suicidal reflex.He wrenched the steering wheel hard, slammed the car into drive, and stomped on the gas. The engine roared in protest as he aimed right for the warehouse
How To Love A Murderer. The Right Thought.
Chapter One Hundred: The Right Thought.The warehouse door groaned like a dying animal. Ian stepped inside, the air thick with the smell of rust, oil, and dust. The only light came in through broken windows high above, cutting through the darkness in thin, sad slivers.His own heartbeat was a frantic drum in his ears, louder than his footsteps on the concrete.A laugh echoed from the metal catwalk above, cold and bouncing off the empty walls.“Look who actually showed up!” the voice called down. “I didn’t think you were that stupid, Ian. The hero complex is real.”Ian’s eyes darted, trying to find the source. Then he heard it…the rattle of heavy chains. He whipped his head to the right.There, dangling from a hook attached to a massive overhead crane, was Elijah. He was bound and gagged, his eyes wide with terror. One wrong move, and he’d plummet fifty feet to the hard concrete below.“Ryan!” Ian shouted, his voice cracking. “I’m here! Let him down!”Slow footsteps descended the met
How To Love A Murderer. The Trap.
Chapter Ninety Nine: The Trap The front door opened and closed with a heavy, final thud that echoed through the quiet glass house. Ian found Zhedya in the foyer, not standing tall like he usually did, but leaning heavily against the wall like it was the only thing holding him up. His tie was undone, hanging loose, and his usually perfect blonde hair was a messy, disheveled halo around his head. He smelled like expensive whiskey and cold night air. He wasn’t falling-down drunk, but the cracks in his perfect armor were wide open for anyone to see. “My angel,” he slurred, a soft, wobbly smile touching his lips. His grey eyes were glassy, fixed on Ian with a desperate kind of worship. “You’re awake.” “You got drunk, Zhedya,” Ian stated flatly, walking over to him. He slipped an arm under Zhedya’s shoulders, taking his weight. The man was solid, heavy with more than just alcohol…heavy with something dark and sad. Ian helped him up the grand staircase, each step a strug
How To Love A Murderer. Whispering Birds.
Chapter Ninety Eight: Whispering BirdsThe email popped up in a secure, encrypted folder on his phone. A folder Ian didn’t even know he had until a text from an unknown number told him how to find it. The sender was just a string of letters and numbers. The subject was blank.His hands shook as he opened it. There were no words but just attachments.He opened the first one. A photo. Two skinny teenagers, arms slung around each other’s shoulders, grinning at the camera like they owned the world despite having nothing. One was a younger John, his hair messy, his smile huge. The other… was him. Ian. His own face, younger, softer, but undeniably him. He was wearing a faded band t-shirt he didn’t remember.He scrolled to see another photo. Them on a beat-up couch, sharing headphones. Another was a document scan from the foster system. Their names linked. Case numbers. It was all there, in cold, official ink.Proof.A stone dropped into the pit of Ian’s stomach. He wasn’t lying…none of
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