บททั้งหมดของ My Reluctant Plaything : บทที่ 31 - บทที่ 40

The tension between them was a living thing, coiled and restless, slithering in the space between their bodies as if it had its own pulse. It clung to the air, charged and heavy, pressing against their skin until every brush of movement felt dangerous. Clara leaned closer to Daniel after work, the low hum of the quietened bar fading into nothing, her perfume thick and sweet as she tilted her head so her lips hovered right by his ear.Her breath was warm, damp with the heat of unspoken promises, and when she spoke her voice came out in a husky whisper, dripping with something that was half invitation, half command.“I am going to let you have him,” she murmured, letting the syllables drag slowly as though she was savouring the weight of them. Her eyes flicked to his mouth and then back up again. “Just for one more night.”Daniel’s dark eyes snapped to hers instantly, a slow and dangerous grin stretching across his face. It was the kind of grin that always meant trouble, the kind that p

The first thing Nico noticed was the smell.Damp stone. Old wine. The faint copper tang of blood that had long ago seeped into the cellar floor. His head throbbed, his arms ached, and when he tried to move, the cold bite of silk against his wrists reminded him that he wasn’t free.Not ropes. Not chains. Silk. Expensive, deliberate, humiliating.His heart hammered against his ribs.Footsteps echoed down the stairwell, slow and measured, like a man descending into his own private chapel. And maybe that’s what this was for Damien Caruso, not an interrogation room, but a confessional.The heir stepped into view, all pressed suit and sharp lines, a glass of red wine in hand. His dark hair was slicked back, his cufflinks gleamed under the single hanging bulb. There was no rush in him, no sweat, no anger. Just calm, dangerous precision.Nico swallowed hard, forcing steel into his voice. “Kill me and get it over with.”Damien smirked, swirling the wine as though considering the request. “Kill

The night split open with gunfire.Nico had been pacing his cell when the first shots rang out. The muffled thud of boots storming through the estate, the sharp crack of rifles, men shouting in the distance. His heart lurched when he recognized some of those voices. His family’s men.They had come for him.For a wild second, hope burned in his chest. He pressed against the bars, straining to hear. The chaos grew louder, closer. The estate trembled with the sound of grenades going off in the courtyard. Glass shattered upstairs. The Caruso mansion was under siege.Then the door to the cellar banged open.Two of his cousins stormed in, guns drawn. One of them grinned when he saw Nico. “We’ve got you, cousin. Let’s get you the fuck out of here.”Nico’s chains were unlocked in seconds. His legs felt like lead, but adrenaline pushed him forward. They half dragged him toward the exit.But they never made it.The world exploded with light and sound. Damien’s men poured in from every direction

The mansion was quiet after the storm.The dead had been carried away. The blood scrubbed from the stone. Only faint echoes of violence lingered in the halls, ghosts of gunfire that clung to Nico’s memory.He had not seen Damien all morning. Word spread among the guards that the heir was recovering in his chambers, wound bound tightly, temper sharper than ever. No one dared disturb him.Nico sat alone in the guest room where they had locked him. The curtains were drawn, sunlight bleeding through in pale stripes. His chest ached with conflict.His family had come for him. They had failed. They had died trying to drag him back home. And he had stayed.He could still hear his cousin’s voice, promising freedom. He could still see the blood blooming across Damien’s side when the bullet hit. And he could still taste Damien on his tongue, the memory of his body trembling under his touch.Nico buried his face in his hands. He hated himself. He hated that he could not decide which loss had cut

The next night, Alex expected space.After the fight in the ring, after Marcus’s words pressed hot against his ear, Alex figured the boss would leave him alone for a while. Let him stew. Let him wonder.Instead, Marcus sent one of his men to fetch him personally.“Boss wants dinner,” the guy said, voice flat as stone.Alex hid the way his stomach tightened. He shoved his hands into his jacket and followed through the winding corridors of the mansion. The walls were lined with expensive art, old portraits, and weapons mounted like trophies. Knives, rifles, a mounted sword with a handle wrapped in gold wire. Marcus Kane’s world didn’t bother hiding what it was—rich, dangerous, decadent. A museum of violence.They stopped in front of heavy double doors. The man pushed one open, nodded for Alex to go in.The dining room glowed with warm light, chandeliers dripping gold over a long mahogany table. At the far end, Marcus sat