All Chapters of The Wrong Kind Of Right: Chapter 181 - Chapter 190

The air in the clinical holding room felt like concrete.Julian had gone quiet, his fists trembling with useless fury as he leaned back in his chair, trying to swallow down the helplessness. Asher sat hunched, staring at the floor like it had betrayed him too.But Reid…Reid hadn’t moved.He stood at the foot of the bed, hands buried in his pockets, watching Asher with a storm building behind his eyes.“Pathetic,” Reid said, his voice low but sharp. “You think this is you being noble? Taking the hit? Letting them hang you because Luca’s too broken to see straight?”Asher didn’t respond.Reid’s lips curled into a bitter smile. “You’ve always done this. Always carried the fucking weight for people who wouldn’t bleed for you.” He took a step closer, his tone turning colder. “But not this time, Ash. I won’t let you destroy yourself.”Asher’s eyes flicked up, tired, hollow. “What are you talking about, Reid?”“I’m talking about us,” Reid said, stepping fully into the space between them now

Reid’s face twisted, the cracks of frustration bleeding through. “You don’t understand. I was there. When Luca left, when Asher broke, when he was barely breathing through it, I was there. Not Luca. Not you. Me.”Julian took a step back, his chest rising and falling as the fury settled into something colder. “I get it. I do. But don’t mistake opportunity for loyalty, Reid. Because what you’re doing now, it’s not about Asher. It’s about you. About fixing the version of him you want to keep, not the man himself.”For a heartbeat, the two stood in a charged silence.Reid’s lips parted, as if to snap back, but the words never came. His hands trembled, not with rage, but with something far more fragile. Desperation.Julian exhaled, softer now. “We need to find the truth. I’m not protecting Asher by turning him into someone he’s not. And neither are you.”Reid’s gaze flickered away, distant. “You think we’ll find a truth that saves him?”Julian’s expression hardened. “I think if we don’t, h

He wasn’t crying for himself.He was crying for what they had lost.For the version of Luca who used to look at him like he was his entire world.For the version of himself who had believed that was enough.“I’m sorry,” he whispered into the empty cell, his voice cracking as it hit the concrete walls.“I’m so fucking sorry.”His wrists were bruised from the shackles, his lips dry, his eyes burning.But nothing compared to the ache in his chest.He rested his head back against the cold wall, letting it anchor him, and his breath hitched again.If Luca testifies against me… it’s over.He could survive jail.But he wouldn’t survive that.Not Luca’s betrayal.Not when he’d been his reason to breathe for so long.The hallway outside the courtroom was packed with murmurs, reporters whispering into phones, shuffling papers, catching soundbites for their headlines.Julian ignored them all.His strides were sharp, purposeful. He spotted her near the vending machines, tapping at a cup of coffee

Asher stared forward. Not at the judge. Not at the jury.At Luca.His voice dropped, almost a whisper.“I didn’t pull the trigger.”“Then who did?”He blinked.The face of every lie, every flash of memory, every heartbeat on that night, blurred behind his eyelids.His breath caught.And then, he looked up again.“I swear…” His voice trembled but didn’t break.“I swear on everything I am… I didn’t kill Paolo Virelli.”Gasps. Cameras. A dozen pens scratching at once.“I might’ve failed Luca. I might’ve failed myself. But I didn’t do that.”He sat back in the chair slowly, eyes dark and hollowed.And under his breath, just loud enough for the mic to catch:“God help me… I swear.”The courtroom had gone still again.The silence that followed Asher’s desperate vow was cut short by the sound of a sharp scoff from the prosecution bench.Mr. Hargrove, the lead attorney for the state, stood slowly with a theatrically arched brow and a clipped shake of his head.He stepped forward, flipping a f

The silence stretched long after Luca’s final words.“I didn’t know what to believe anymore.”It wasn’t the answer they wanted, not a confession, not an accusation. Just a quiet fracture in a man trying hard to hold his world together.The prosecutor tapped his pen once against the table. Then again.“So,” he finally said, voice now low and careful, “Mr. Virelli... would you say your father’s concerns about Asher Hartwell were valid?”Luca looked up.His eyes were tired. Hollowed.But still sharp.“My father had concerns about anyone who didn’t kneel.”“Answer the question, please.”“I think my father had his own motives.”“So that’s a yes?”Luca didn’t move. “That’s not a yes.”The prosecutor stepped forward, tone shifting, more aggressive now. “You were romantically involved with Mr. Hartwell, were you not?”A beat.Luca's spine straightened slightly. His fingers curled on the armrest.“Yes,” he said.“How long?”“Several years.”“On and off?”“Yes.”“Would you say it was... serious