All Chapters of Sweet Unhappy Heart: Chapter 111 - Chapter 120

Third person's POV Astor Sinclair's hand was already on the key before his ass left the leather seat. The Mercedes roared to life, a purr that cost more than most people's annual salary, and he peeled out of the shadowy spot like the devil himself was on his heels.Which, considering what he'd just arranged, wasn't far from the truth.He grabbed his phone from the center console at the first red light, thumb moving across the screen with practiced ease. The message he typed to Avery Maddox was short, direct, the kind of text that said everything and nothing all at once.Astor: I'm getting your request done. I hope you will fulfill mine too, Avery.He hit send and tossed the phone onto the passenger seat, jaw tight as he accelerated through the intersection. The city lights blurred past his windows, streaks of color in the darkness, and he didn't think about the man he'd just paid. Didn't think about the photograph currently burning a hole in some stranger's pocket.His phone sat sile

Third person's POV The Range Rover cut through the evening traffic like a hot knife through butter, Jackson handling the luxury vehicle with the kind of casual confidence that came from having money and knowing how to use it."I still can't believe Randy fucking Kowalski has a radio show," Janet said from the passenger seat, scrolling through her phone. "Like, who gave that man a microphone and thought 'yes, this is a good idea'?"Liam snorted from the back. "The same people who think reality TV is quality programming.""Fair point." Janet pulled up something on her phone and started reading. "Oh my God, listen to this. Someone posted on his show's forum: 'If gay love is a disease, then I hope it's contagious because the world could use more love.'""That's actually kind of sweet," Jackson said, taking a turn that had Janet grabbing the oh-shit handle."Could you not kill us before we get dinner?" she asked dryly."Where's your sense of adventure?""I left it back at that building th

Third person's POV Avery's hands were white-knuckled on the steering wheel, her BMW eating up the highway like it had somewhere important to be. Which it did. Away from that doctor's office, away from the ultrasound images that made her feel things she didn't want to feel, away from the whole fucking mess her life had become.Her phone rang through the car's speakers, the sound making her jump.The caller ID showed a number she didn't recognize, but the area code was local. She almost didn't answer, but something made her hit the button."What?""Ms. Maddox?" A woman's voice, young and nervous. "This is Bethany from Dr. Michael's office. I probably shouldn't be calling you, but I thought you should know."Avery's stomach dropped. "Know what?""There was a man here. After your appointment. He didn't have an appointment scheduled, but Dr. Michael saw him anyway. His name was Astor Sinclair."The car swerved slightly before Avery corrected it. "What the hell was he doing there?""I don'

Third person's POV Officer Mackenzie held the USB drive like it was evidence in a presidential assassination. Which, in a way, it kind of was. Jackson Maddox wasn't the president, but he was rich and connected and currently fighting for his life in an ICU somewhere, which made this a whole different level of shitstorm.Torres was already in the driver's seat of their unmarked sedan, engine running. Steph climbed into the back, her laptop bag slung over her shoulder because she was the kind of cop who brought work home and didn't see anything wrong with that."Back to the station?" Torres asked as Mackenzie slid into the passenger seat."Back to the station," Mackenzie confirmed. "We need to get this footage to tech, run it through facial recognition, pull traffic cam footage from every street within a five-mile radius. This asshole's on camera somewhere else. Has to be.""You think this is connected to the civil suit?" Steph asked from the back, already pulling out her laptop because

Third person's POV The ICU was cold. Not just temperature cold, though the air conditioning was cranked up high enough to make goosebumps rise on exposed skin. It was the kind of cold that came from being surrounded by death and machines and the desperate hope that modern medicine could cheat the reaper one more time.Richard Maddox stood beside his son's hospital bed, hands shoved deep in his pockets because he didn't know what else to do with them. Jackson looked small in the bed, which was wrong because Jackson had never been small. He'd always been larger than life, confident and strong and infuriatingly stubborn.But now he was pale. Too pale. Tubes ran from his arms, his chest, his nose. Machines beeped steadily, monitoring vital signs that Richard didn't fully understand but knew were important. Jackson's face was bruised, swollen on one side where he'd hit the pavement."You stubborn idiot," Richard muttered, his voice rough. "I warned you. Told you this gay stuff would bring