All Chapters of I AM YOURS TO PLAY: Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

Chapter 51: Vows Of SorrowETHAN’S POVThe bank’s waiting room was a sterile cage, the fluorescent lights buzzing like a swarm of wasps, their glare reflecting off the glass partition and into my bloodshot eyes. I slumped in a creaky plastic chair, my suit wrinkled, my stubble patchy, my body heavy with exhaustion. Sleep had been a stranger for weeks, my nights haunted by Lucian’s bloodied face, his body shielding mine from the bomb that tore through my car three months ago. My thigh still ached, the scar a constant reminder of my cowardice—running from him, from us, to save my reputation. My phone sat useless in my hand, the bank app flashing Access Denied for the seventh day straight, my savings and salary locked away. I needed money, needed answers, needed something to stop my life from slipping through my fingers like ash.“Mr. Caldwell!” the teller’s voice snapped, sharp and irritated, the second time she’d called. I flinched, getting up as I shuffled to her desk, my leg protes

Chapter 53: Family’s BetrayalETHAN’S POVDarkness cloaked the bedroom when I woke, my head pounding like a jackhammer, my body heavy, a strange ache pulsing in my groin. I blinked, disoriented, the air thick with a stillness that felt wrong. My skin was clammy, the blanket rough against my bare legs—bare everything. I was naked, not a stitch on me, not even the boxers I’d been wearing when I sat on the couch with my meal, sipping the orange juice Sarah handed me. The clock on the nightstand glowed 9:23 p.m., hours vanished, stolen from me. I turned, my breath catching—Sarah lay beside me, her blonde hair splayed across the pillow, her body bare under the sheets, her breathing slow, deliberate. My stomach twisted, a sick realization clawing at me. Something had happened, something I didn’t remember. My hands shook as I stumbled out of bed, my legs unsteady as I struggled to get out of bed. Then it all started to make sense—the juice, her smile, the haze that followed—it hit me like a

Chapter 55: Office BloodshedRYAN’S POVThe morning sun sliced through the blinds of my downtown Miami apartment, casting sharp shadows across the hardwood floor, the light glinting off the empty whiskey bottles scattered on the counter. I stood at the window, shirtless, my boxers loose, a glass of whiskey burning my throat despite the early hour—7:42 a.m., the clock mocking my restless night. Behind me, on the rumpled bed, a hooker from the club last night sprawled naked, her dark hair fanned across the pillow, her breathing soft, her body a reminder of the fleeting escape I’d chased in her arms. I didn’t know her name, didn’t care—she was just another way to drown out the noise in my head, the thoughts that gnawed at me: Ethan and Sarah, a tangled mess I couldn’t untie.I sipped the whiskey, its burn sharp, my eyes narrowing as I stared at the city below, the street of Miami humming with life, oblivious to my rage. Sarah’s text from three days ago replayed in my mind, her words smug

Chapter 57: Narrow EscapeETHAN’S POVThe Washington, D.C. workstation buzzed with the hum of computers and the low murmur of agents, a stark contrast to the Miami field office I was used to. I sat at a cluttered desk, my elbow propped against the chair, my eyes locked on a stack of case files for the serial murders of six young women whose bodies were dumped in D.C. alleys, their deaths reeking of mafia precision. The air was heavy, the fluorescent lights harsh, but my focus was razor-sharp, driven by a fire I hadn’t felt in months. Ryan’s punch four days ago, the blood streaming from my nose, his smug smirk as I was carted to the hospital—it didn’t break me. It only woke me. He wasn’t just jealous; he was scared, his confrontation too raw, too desperate for a simple case dispute. I knew Ryan, knew his venom, and something bigger was at play, something tying him to Director Hayes and the Salazar syndicate. I leaned back, my jaw still bruised from my foster father’s fists, my mind r

Chapter 59: Hidden Evidence ETHAN’S POVThe night air was thick with humidity as I stormed out of the house, Sarah’s venomous words echoing in my ears—“You’re a pathetic fag, a failure!”—her slaps still burning my cheeks, the sting sharp and raw. I slammed the car door, my knee hitting the dashboard out of annoyance and frustration, my hands shaking as I gripped the wheel. My life was a wreckage: Sarah’s betrayal, my foster parents’ rejection, my uncle’s accusing call days ago accusing me of hiring thugs to beat up Harold, my foster father a few days ago. He’d insisted that I was behind Harold’s sudden disappearance and sudden reappearance with bruises and broken ribs just because Harold kept muttering to them to not touch me again. Just a few days ago I lost my entire team, Jenna, Torres, Dorin and Malik who died a few hours after he got to the hospital. I've been nursing that pain and guilt knowing that they all died because of me, and my uncle thinks that I was responsible for wh