All Chapters of The Wrong Kind Of Right: Chapter 121 - Chapter 130

The silence in the car was different this time.The kind of silence that sat on the chest like a brick and made breathing feel like a task.Asher kept both hands on the wheel, knuckles flexing against the leather. The roads to the Virelli estate curled through marble gates and private lanes lined with ancient cypress trees.The sky above was a hazy navy, the last of the day slipping into shadows. Golden lights from the estate shimmered in the distance like the gates of Olympus.But there was nothing divine about what waited inside.Luca hadn’t spoken in minutes. He just sat there, suit jacket discarded, sleeves rolled up, his jaw tight. His eyes were fixed ahead, but Asher knew he wasn’t seeing the trees.He was seeing Paolo.“What are you going to say to him?” Asher asked gently, breaking the quiet.“I don’t know,” Luca admitted, his voice lower than usual. “I’ve played the conversation a hundred times in my head. And still... nothing feels enough.”Asher flicked a glance at him. “Th

For a long time, Paolo didn’t speak.Luca remained standing across from him, arms folded tightly, chest still rising and falling from the final words he had thrown like punches. His skin was warm with tension, his throat tight, and yet, strangely, he wasn’t afraid.He had expected fire, fury, perhaps even another betrayal.But Paolo just stood there.A man unmoored.Eventually, he exhaled. Low and bitter.“I didn’t raise you to be weak,” Paolo said, voice rough.Luca didn’t flinch. “And I didn’t become weak. You just never saw what strength looked like in someone who didn’t resemble you.”After a beat, Paolo turned his back to him and walked to the tall cabinet by the bookshelf. He pulled out a folder, thick, dark, with a wax seal already broken.He dropped it onto the desk.Luca recognized it immediately. The security files. The ones Asher had said his team couldn’t fully trace yet.Caldera.“Dominic Caldera,” Paolo said, pouring the name like poison into the air. “He’s the one who h

The music shifted, smooth, pulsing, seductive, coaxing people out of the shadows and into the soft kaleidoscope of light on the dance floor.The crowd pulsed with laughter and warmth, a sea of freedom and abandon where no one had to apologize for who they were or who they loved.Luca glanced toward the DJ booth, then to Asher, his brows lifted.“You wanna dance?” he asked, not as a dare, but as an invitation.Asher leaned back against the booth seat, eyes narrowed slightly. “Is that a trick question?”Luca shrugged. “Might be the last time we get to dance without photographers hiding behind ice sculptures.”Asher gave a soft snort. “Fair point.”Without waiting for more prompting, Luca stood and reached out his hand, right there, no hesitation, in full view of the room.Asher stared at it for a second.Then smiled.He took it.They stepped onto the floor, shoulder to shoulder with men swaying, laughing, spinning with their partners.The air was thick with sweat and perfume, neon light

Morning found them tangled together, half buried under crisp hotel sheets and the scent of each other.The golden sunlight poured through the half drawn curtains in streaks, falling over the curves of bare skin and mussed hair.Luca stirred first.He blinked into the light, disoriented for a split second, until he turned his head and saw Asher.Still asleep.Still here.Still his.His breath caught at the sight, the way Asher’s lashes cast faint shadows across his cheek, the way one strong arm was draped possessively over Luca’s waist. Like instinct. Like reflex. Like home.He smiled.Not a sharp, corporate smirk.A real one.Slow. Soft.Unfamiliar in his own face.Carefully, he shifted so he was lying on his side, fingers brushing against Asher’s jaw. “You fake sleep like a five year old.”Asher didn’t move.Luca leaned closer. “You even snore like one.”Still nothing.So Luca pressed his lips to his ear and whispered, “I’m stealing your coffee and making a deal with your supplier.”

Mrs. Hartwell's chest rose and fell in shallow, tight breaths.She had spent her entire life building walls of elegance, discipline, and control. Her house was perfect. Her clothes impeccable. Her children, well, child, was supposed to be the shining example of Hartwell tradition.But Serena?Serena had always been the wild card.She was beautiful, yes. Smart, of course. But soft. With that strange quiet fire she never fully understood. And now, the rumors weren’t just rumors. Serena was with Vivienne Strauss. And she had left, fled, actually, in the middle of a family firestorm. No warning. No proper exit. No shame.And she had known.She had known.Late night calls. Whispered “sleepovers.” That one time she found Serena’s phone open with Vivienne’s contact name surrounded by hearts.She’d told herself it was a phase.Told herself it would pass.Told herself it wasn’t worth the confrontation, not when Paolo Virelli was already shaking the family’s legacy with his son’s scandal.But n