All Chapters of Total Surrender : Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

The apartment was quiet when Pamela unlocked the door, the only sound the soft hum of the refrigerator and the distant chatter of the TV Sophia had left on. Jason followed her inside, looking around a little bit confused.“Make yourself at home,” she said, tossing her keys onto the counter. The dim glow of the table lamp cast long shadows across the living room, softening the edges of everything.He sank into the couch with a sigh, stretching his arms along the backrest. “Feels like home."Pamela smirked. “You say that every time.” “Because it’s true every time.” She rolled her eyes but smiled as she walked to the fridge. She stretched her and and brought out two cold bears. When she turned, Jason was watching her, his gaze lingering on the curve of her ass. She smiled to herself. “Here.” She handed him a bottle"Thanks." She sat beside him, closer than necessary, their thighs almost touching. "So, what do you wanna do?" Jason chuckled. “I don't know...how about we watch a movie

The glow of Pamela's laptop screen cast shadows across her face as she scrolled through makeup tutorials. Beside her was Sophia, lying on her stomach with bag of chips in her one hand and her phone in the other. "Ugh, why does every 'simple smokey eye' tutorial require seventeen products?" Sophia groaned, shoving her phone under Pamela's nose. "Look at this! Who actually owns three different shades of dark eyeliner?" Pamela chuckled. "Remember when e thought mascara and lip gloss counted as a full face?" Sophia snorted. "Ancient history. Now we have to face Jennifer the Makeup Tyrant." She mimicked Jennifer's signature dramatic sigh. "Sophia, if you touch your face one more time, I'm gluing your hands to the chair." Sophia's demonstration made Pamela laugh harder than she expected. It felt good-these normal silly moments that had become rare since...well, since Richard. Her laugh faded as she remembered she was going to see him at the dinner. Sophia noticed it immediately. "Hey."

The grand hall was alive with the hum of drunk laughter and clinking of glasses. Glass chandeliers cast a golden glow over the sea of tailored suits and elegant gowns, . At the center of it all stood Richard. His suit was a masterpiece—black as a starless night, tailored to perfection, hugging his broad shoulders before tapering at his waist. The fabric was so rich it seemed to absorb the light rather than reflect it. His tie, a deep shade of crimson, was knotted with precision, a stark contrast against the crisp white of his dress shirt. His hair, usually smoothened in that effortlessly careless way, had been swept back tonight, every strand tamed into place. It made him look older. Sharper. Beside him, Eleanor was a vision of calculated elegance. Her laughter rang out like the chime of a silver bell—sharp, bright, and just a little too perfect. She clung to Richard’s arm, her fingers curled possessively around his bicep as she exchanged practiced pleasantries with the other lectu

I was just thirteen years old, playing in the backyard. It was my birthday, and I was the happiest boy in the world Finn, my little brother, was chasing me around. Inside, my mother was baking a cake helped by my father. For a moment, everything was perfect. Then the men came. They moved like shadows, slipping through the gate without a sound. They were four of them, all dressed in black, their faces blank as stone. Finn froze mid-step, his small fingers clutching the hem of my shirt. One of them—the tallest, with a scar splitting his lip and his right ear missing stepped forward. “Where’s your dad?” I didn’t answer. My throat had closed up. I was just a boy, but I knew those men were trouble. Then they heard my mum laughing loudly in the kitchen.The men moved past me like I wasn’t even there. Finn bolted, scrambling toward the bushes. I should’ve run too. But I didn’t. I followed them, creeping closer to the kitchen window, my heartbeat so loud I was sure they’d hear it.

Each morning, they woke us up with a cold bucket of water until we gradually learned to wake up on time by ourselves.The training was relentless. By 4 AM, we were already drilling: knife work, hand-to-hand combat, firearms, poisons. The instructors didn’t teach—they broke us. The worst part came at the end of each day. After hours of drills, they lined us up and paired us off. "Today’s lesson: efficiency," announced Gregor, the cold-eyed sniper who never spoke above a whisper. "You have one minute to disable your opponent. If you fail, he gets another minute with you." My first fight was against a wiry kid named Alexei. His hands shook as we faced each other. "I don’t want to do this," he whispered. "Neither do I," I said. But the moment the whistle blew, survival took over. I dodged his clumsy strike and drove my elbow into his throat. He crumpled, gasping. The instructors nodded approvingly. Across the yard, Dmitri wasn’t as lucky. His opponent—a hulking brute named I