Semua Bab Gold & Sand: Bab 301 - Bab 310

The visitation room was too bright. Sterile. Bleached. The kind of clean that felt fake. Cassidy was already seated at the far end of the room, posture loose, one leg crossed over the other like he owned the place. Like the plastic chair under him wasn’t bolted to the floor. Arthur walked in slowly, shoulders drawn tight with nerves. Cassidy looked up. Smiled. That same dangerous smile that never reached his eyes. Arthur sat down across from him. “They searched me.” Cassidy’s tone was casual. “Of course they did. You’re beautiful. And they’re bored.” Arthur gave a weak smile. “You look... alright.” “I always do.” Arthur hesitated. “So how is it?” Cassidy leaned back. “Air’s dry. Bed’s trash. Food’s unspeakable.” “But you’re okay?” Cassidy tilted his head, studied him. “You care.” Arthur blinked. “Of course I do.” Cassidy said

Clark’s heels clicked down the prison hallway like a countdown.Slate-grey three-piece suit. Cufflinks. Coated anger. He didn’t walk in—he arrived.The guards didn’t stop him.They knew better.Cassidy was already in the visitation room, slouched in the metal chair like it was a throne someone dared to tarnish.His lip was split. Eye still faintly swollen. Knuckles bruised like a story told out of order.Clark sat down across from him. Slow. Elegant. Controlled.Cassidy smiled—barely. “Wow. You showed up without a subpoena.”Clark didn’t return it. “You look like shit.”Cassidy tilted his head. “You should see the other three.”Clark’s fingers tapped once on the table. “I was not informed.”“No one’s ever informed when bodies hit the concrete.”Clark’s eyes narrowed. “Are you always this poetic when bleeding?”Cassidy’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Depends on who’s listening.”Clark’s tone dropped. “Tell me everything.”Cassidy shrugged. “First day in the yard. Hudson crew. One bumpe

The car rolled to a stop in front of the prison gates.Clark reached for the door.Adam caught his wrist.Clark turned—and before he could speak, Adam leaned in and kissed him. Firm. Sure. No theatrics.Just presence.When he pulled back, he didn’t say much.Just, “Be careful.”Clark blinked. “I always am.”Adam’s voice dropped a note. “I’ll be here. Waitin’.”For a split second, Clark didn’t move. Just stared at him.Then nodded once, adjusted his cuffs, and stepped out.The door shut behind him.He walked with his usual rhythm—straight spine, purposeful steps, tailored coat shifting like a second skin—but something inside him was off.Adam had kissed him like it meant something.Said waitin’ like it wasn’t a joke.Clark frowned slightly, eyes flicking to the gate ahead. He told himself not to read into it. Not to feel anything beyond what was useful.They were a bodyguard and a client.They were good sex and bette

The office was quiet, dim with late afternoon light filtering through closed blinds.Masahiro sat behind his desk, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened, a cold cup of coffee sitting untouched beside an open report.He was reading, pen in hand, when footsteps broke the silence.Arthur stood at the edge of the office, shifting slightly.“Sir,” he said.Masahiro didn’t look up.“I'm leaving for a while.”That got his attention.Masahiro glanced up, brows slightly raised.“Going to visit Cassidy again?” he asked, voice flat but pointed. “Didn’t you go yesterday—or something?”Arthur hesitated. “Yes. I did, but—”Masahiro cut him off, his tone quiet but firm. “You know you’re not required to check on him. He’s not your case anymore.”Arthur stood straighter. “Sir, I’m worried about him.”Masahiro’s eyes narrowed.Arthur went on, words rushing now. “Cassidy's been beaten. I saw the bruises myself. Face. Wrist. He didn’t want to say anythi

Clark waited exactly eleven minutes in the outer office before Michaelis’s door clicked open. The red-haired warden stood there, beret off but still somehow pristine. His blue eyes cool, unreadable. “Mr. Brown,” he said. “I was told you insisted.” Clark stood, buttoned his coat, and followed him inside without speaking. Michaelis walked to his desk, sat, and gestured toward the opposite chair. “Please. Sit.” Clark did. Legs crossed. Folder in hand. Composure weaponized. “I’m here to submit a formal transfer request,” Clark said, setting the folder down with clean precision. Michaelis didn’t reach for it. He just glanced at it like it was already beneath him. “For Cassidy Hills,” Clark added. Michaelis finally moved. Opened the folder. Read the top page slowly. “Hm.” Clark waited. Michaelis flipped to the second page. “You’re alleging multiple security breaches.” “They aren’t allegations,” Clark said smoothly. “They’re bruises, a failed poisoning, and a guard who can’t spel