บททั้งหมดของ I AM YOURS TO PLAY: บทที่ 61 - บทที่ 70

Chapter 61: Sarah’s DesperationSARAH’S POVThe living room of our Miami condo smelled of lavender candles and my own desperation, the air thick with the weight of my schemes unraveling. I sprawled on the leather couch, a half-empty wine glass dangling from my fingers, the crimson liquid sloshing as I stared at the ceiling, my mind a tangle of rage and greed. Ethan—my so-called husband—was a ghost, his absence a splinter in my side since our last fight. “Pack your shit and get out, Sarah!” he’d screamed, his eyes blazing, as he stormed off into the night. That was three days ago, and I hadn’t seen him since, hadn’t cared to. All I cared about was the empire I was building, stolen brick by stolen brick, using his name, his accounts, his life. But now, everything teetered on the edge of collapse.My phone buzzed on the coffee table, its vibration jarring me upright, wine spilling onto my silk robe. I snatched it up, the screen flashing an unknown D.C. number. My heart kicked, a flicker

Chapter 63: Cold ReunionLUCIAN’S POVThe air in my safe house was thick with the tang of bourbon and gun oil, the dim light casting long shadows across the hardwood floor. I slouched on a leather couch, a glass of bourbon cradled in my hand, the amber liquid catching the flicker of a single lamp. Across the room, Ethan lay sprawled on a bed, his chest rising and falling, his face pale under the bruises and cuts from the accident. He was out cold, the chloroform-soaked cloth my men had used to snatch him from the cemetery still lingering in the air, its sharp chemical bite mixing with the salt of Miami’s ocean breeze. I stared at him, my butterfly, his dark hair matted with sweat, his casted arm limp against the sheets. My heart twisted, a rare crack in the steel cage I’d built around it. Five months since I’d last seen—five months since that bomb blast where I’d shoved him out of harm’s way, taking shrapnel in my shoulder to keep him breathing. He’d run from me then, vanished withou

Chapter 65: Trapped In LiesETHAN’S POVThe air in my apartment hung heavy with the stench of regret and stale coffee, the dim light from a flickering bulb casting shadows across the cluttered living room. I slumped on the couch, my casted arm heavy against my chest, my eyes dull, haunted by ghosts I couldn’t outrun. Reynolds’ face flashed in my mind—his steady gaze, his laugh, the blood pooling on the dashboard as the truck crushed his side of the car. Jenna, Torres, Malik, and Dorin, all dead, their screams echoing in my skull. And Lucian, his dark eyes burning with love and rage, his lips on mine before I slapped him, pushed him away, and told him he was nothing. Five months since I’d abandoned him, left him bleeding in a hospital after he took the fall for me, and still, he’d saved me—paid my bills, killed for me, loved me when I didn’t deserve it. My heart ached, a wound that wouldn’t close, my fingers trembling as I clutched a glass of water, the liquid sloshing against the sid

Chapter 67: Blood In The StreetsLUCIAN’S POVThe air in the penthouse conference room hung thick with cigar smoke and tension, the Miami skyline a blur of neon through the floor-to-ceiling windows. I leaned back in my chair, my boots propped on the polished table, my Beretta resting on my thigh, its weight a quiet comfort. The men around me—syndicate bosses, smugglers, and enforcers—droned on about shipment routes and payoffs, their voices a dull hum against the storm raging in my head. Ethan. His name was a blade, cutting through every thought, every plan. I hated him—hated the way he’d slapped me, pushed me away, chosen that venomous wife over me. But I couldn’t shake him, couldn’t erase the memory of his face. My fingers tightened on the gun, my jaw clenching. Why can’t I let him go?Across the room, Marco stood by the door, my phone buzzing in his hand, his face tightening as he answered. His eyes flicked to me, sharp, guarded, and my gut twisted. I knew that look. Someone he ha

Chapter 69: A Chance To RuinSARAH’S POVThe kitchen smelled of burnt toast and stale ambition, the morning light slicing through the blinds, casting sharp lines across the linoleum. I stood by the counter, my fingers gripping a steaming mug of coffee, the bitter scent masking the faint chemical tang of the sedative I’d stirred in. My reflection in the toaster stared back—hair pulled tight, lips pursed, my belly just starting to curve under my sweater, a month and a few days into a pregnancy I’d planned to pin on Ethan. He sat at the table, his head bowed, bandages peeking from his sleeve, his face haggard, like he’d danced with death and barely crawled back. I didn’t ask what happened a few days ago when he’d stumbled in, bloodied and silent. Why would I? His secrets didn’t matter—only his bank accounts did, the new ones he’d opened, the ones I needed to control before this baby became a problem I couldn’t spin.“Ethan,” I said, my voice soft, practiced, a smile plastered on as I cr