All Chapters of Losing Ryker: The Billionaire's Second Chance : Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

Ryker I let out a loud, deliberate scoff. It echoed around the boardroom like a gunshot. Nathan didn’t flinch. Didn’t turn back. He had already started walking toward the door like he had said his piece and was done with me. Like he had the final word. But I wasn’t finished. "She’ll never love you,” I said flatly, the words slicing the air with deliberate cruelty. “No matter how much you try. No matter how noble you think you are.” He stopped mid-step. His spine stiffened. I took a slow step forward, eyes trained on his back. “She’s the mother of my kids,” I added, voice calm, almost casual. “So, whatever I say… goes.” The silence that followed was heavy, like the calm right before a tornado tears the sky apart. Nathan slowly turned around. His face was unreadable for a moment, just blank… then his eyes shifted, and I saw it. That moment when confusion turned to disbelief. Then disgust. “You’ve lost your mind,” he said finally, voice low, disbelieving. “Is that what all of t

ZerahThe elevator doors parted with a soft ding, and I stepped out into the quiet lobby. My heels echoed off the marble tiles as I walked past the reception desk, nodding briefly at the guard, who barely looked up from his phone. I pushed through the heavy glass doors and onto the pavement outside.The night air hit my skin immediately, cool, clean, and just brisk enough to raise a light chill along my arms. I inhaled slowly, letting it settle into my lungs, grounding me. The sky was a deep shade of blue now, fading into navy, with the last golden hints of sunlight disappearing behind the buildings. I looked up briefly. Street lights flickered on above me, one after the other.I pulled my cardigan tighter around me, adjusting the strap of my purse over my shoulder. The traffic was steady but not loud, just the distant hum of engines, tires against pavement, and the occasional car horn.My phone buzzed in my purse. I didn’t look at it. I knew it had to be my sitter asking when I’d be

Zerah Ryker stared at me, jaw ticking. "You don’t get to throw your weight around like your last name makes you untouchable. Not with me. Not with anyone." I said, eyes locked onto him. I turned back to the stranger. "Please," I added, keeping my tone calm. "Let me handle it." He finally looked at me. Really looked. There was something in his expression, a flicker of understanding, maybe. Then a nod, slow and reluctant. But he didn’t walk away. By now, the sidewalk had grown quieter except for the murmurs swirling around us like a low breeze. A few people had stopped completely, forming a scattered semicircle of curious eyes and disapproving frowns. Phones weren’t out yet, thankfully, but I could feel the heat of their judgment. The drama had drawn attention, and it wasn’t painting Ryker in the best light. "Man, just leave her alone,"Someone from the crowd muttered, and another echoed with a louder: "What the hell is wrong with you?" Ryker stood there, stiff, jaw clenched.

Ryker The rim of my glass clinked softly as I tilted it toward my lips, the golden liquid burning down my throat with a familiar sting. I didn’t flinch. By now, I was numb to the heat of it. The club around me pulsed with a chaotic rhythm, bass booming through the walls, flashes of neon light dancing across faces too busy chasing escape to care who was watching. A voice cut through the fog in my head. "Sir, you might want to take it slow," the bartender said, leaning in just slightly, his voice low but firm. "You’ve had a few." I glanced at him, mid-twenties maybe, black shirt rolled up to the elbows, revealing a tattoo of an old compass on his forearm. His name tag read Alex. I hadn't even noticed that earlier. All I did was order him around. He looked like he belonged here, like someone who knew how to survive in places that chewed up souls and spit out bones. "Have you ever thought about leaving this hellhole?" I asked, my voice rough, the liquor curling on my breath. He bli

Ryker I wasn’t sure if it was the liquor clouding my senses or the guilt that had taken up residence in my chest, but everything felt heavier now. The bar had grown louder, more crowded. The lights seemed dimmer, or maybe that was just me slipping deeper into a fog. "Hey," I slurred slightly, turning back to the bartender, "how much do you make here?" He paused in the middle of wiping down a shaker and looked at me with tired eyes. "Fifty bucks a night. Tips included, if I’m lucky." I squinted, pushing myself up with one arm, the weight of my upper body barely supported. A half-laugh, half-burp crawled up my throat. "Fifty? That's... that’s pathetic. No offence." Alex didn’t flinch. He just shrugged, like he’d heard worse. He probably had. I rubbed a hand over my face and stared into the bottom of my glass. How many glasses had I taken? Perhaps it didn’t matter. The ache behind my eyes wasn’t from the liquor. The conversation with Alex earlier clung to me like the scent of