Lahat ng Kabanata ng The Wrong Kind Of Right: Kabanata 101 - Kabanata 110

Luca stirred the melting ice in the glass he hadn’t touched.Asher was quieter now, less rigid, though still watching him from the side like any moment might turn out to be a lie.It was strange, sitting side by side again.Strange, but not wrong.Their reflections shimmered together in the back bar mirror.Two men. Two ghosts. Same place. Same ache.And Luca, for once, didn’t want to run.“I came here,” Luca said after a beat, “because I needed to remember who I was before I let everyone else decide for me.”Asher didn’t respond, but his knuckles went white around the glass.Luca looked at him. “Do you remember the first thing you said to me?”Asher let out a humorless huff. “That you had no idea how to drink whiskey.”“And you were right.” Luca gave a small smile. “But I liked the way you said it. Like you were daring me to admit it.”“You always liked a dare,” Asher muttered.“Not always,” Luca said, more serious now. “Only when it was you daring me.”Another silence.This one heav

Asher’s face was everywhere, grainy freeze frames from the gala, moments of him shielding Luca, mouth curled in a scowl, blood on his temple. Angled like a threat. Like a monster stepping out of shadow.Even his military record, once redacted and respected, was now under fire.Anonymous sources surfaced. Former squadmates came forward. One podcast claimed he was once removed from duty for emotional instability.Another whispered about a classified breakdown on a mission. No evidence. Just speculation. But it spread like wildfire.Every war Asher had fought, overseas, in his family, inside himself, was now public domain.There were hate videos.Reaction clips.Fan edits turning him into a villain.His firm’s website temporarily crashed under the traffic. Journalists stalked its listed headquarters, cameras ready for blood.The pressure cooked hotter with every refresh.And through it all, not one word from the Hartwells to him directly.No call.No text.Not even a warning.It was cold

She padded into the drawing room, where her father and Margot sat with glasses of wine, their faces tense but resolute. The headlines scrolled across the muted television screen behind them.“Luca Virelli and Kieran Wolfe: Billionaire Romance or Corporate Scandal?”“Virelli CEO Faces Backlash After Bold Press Conference.”“Hartwell Family Responds to Brother’s Publicized Relationship with Virelli.”Her father didn’t look up as she entered, but Margot’s icy gaze pinned her in place.“Well?” Margot said, swirling her wine glass. “Did he threaten you too, or just us?”Serena flinched. “You saw what he said?”“Of course we saw,” her father snapped. “The world saw. And you’ve done nothing to fix it.”“Fix it?” Serena repeated, incredulous. “You want me to fix what? The lies you let the press run with? The way you painted Asher as some.. some unhinged disgrace to save your precious image?”Her father’s expression darkened. “Watch your tone, Serena. Don’t forget your place.”“My place?” she

“Honey, we trust you to make those calls. Just be safe.” Her mother’s voice softened. “You’re not getting dragged into all this... drama, are you?”“No.” Not in the way you’re thinking.Viv swallowed.There was so much she wanted to say. That she loved Serena. That she had for years. That the woman her mother still called ‘that tragic Hartwell girl’ was the one person who made her feel like the world wasn’t hollow.That they were leaving because it was the only way Serena could breathe without suffocating under the weight of two dynasties trying to own her.But now wasn’t the time.“I’ll be fine,” she said instead. “Promise.”“We just want you happy, baby,” her mother said, and for a moment, that almost broke Vivienne. Because this, this was what she feared the most.That the truth would make them stop saying that.“I am,” she whispered. “I really am.”They exchanged goodbyes, and Viv stared at the call log long after the screen dimmed.There was love. And then there was protection.A

The city was quieter than usual.Or maybe it was just the numbness pressing down on Luca’s chest that made it feel that way, like every sound was muffled, every light dimmed under the weight of what he’d just done.He had stood beside Asher. Claimed him. Looked the world in the eye and refused to deny it again.But now, in the dead of night, with the backlash still howling through every media outlet and the boardroom knives already being sharpened, Luca needed something real, not statements or strategies.He needed Asher.The building was far more modern than the rundown place Asher used to live in. This one was sleek and secure, tucked in a gated complex with 24/7 surveillance and a view of the river.Luca passed the concierge with a nod, the guards recognizing him from the Virelli estate. No one stopped him. No one dared.He took the elevator alone, palms sweating, heart beating like it hadn’t since that first night in a bar years ago.14th floor. Penthouse.The number glowed like a