All Chapters of Talk to me nicely : Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

Johnson hadn’t looked at his phone since Daisy walked out of his apartment. It lay face-down on the coffee table, buzzing earlier, then falling silent. He was stretched on the bed now, one arm over his eyes, staring at nothing.France kept replaying in his head.His mother’s voice from earlier—weak but stubborn, refusing to hear no. The doctors had explained the surgery carefully, choosing words that softened the truth, but Johnson wanted a child he knew it was her terminal illness She wanted to see him happy. Wanted to see him bring a woman home.He had mentioned Daisy once, casually, during a call. His mother had latched onto the name immediately, asking questions, smiling through the phone like it was the best news she’d had in months. Now she wanted Daisy there. All the way to France.Johnson exhaled slowly, jaw tightening. Daisy was still an intern, still finding her feet, still learning how to exist in rooms that demanded confidence. Dragging her into this felt so unfair and t

Victoria slammed the door so hard the walls rattled.“How—how did they fucking know what we wanted to do, Ken?” she shouted, pacing the living room like a caged animal. Her heels clicked sharply against the floor, every step fueled by panic. “Tell me. How.”Ken stood by the window, peering through the curtains before turning back to her. “And how am I supposed to know?” he snapped. “That part is on you.”She stopped abruptly and faced him. “On me?”“Yes, on you,” he shot back. “They’ve probably arrested my guys by now. Do you know how much begging and bribing it took to get them on board?”Victoria laughed—high, strained, almost hysterical. “Oh please. You’re acting like I forced you.”She scoffed and continued . “At least be grateful they didn’t drag you in too. If they had, I would’ve denied knowing you without blinking.”His eyes widened. “What?”She shrugged coldly. “Self-preservation.”“This is rich,” he said, stepping closer. “This is your fault and you know it. I did my part p

Victoria had this strange feeling she shouldn’t have come but she wanted to try her luck on the love Lilian had for her. She paused in the driveway, fingers tightening around her purse strap, eyes lifting slowly toward the house. The lights were on—warm, yellow, inviting. Too inviting. Lilian Martins’ house had always felt lived-in, human, imperfect in a way that suggested safety. Tonight, it looked staged. Like a memory reconstructed by someone who hadn’t lived inside it.She exhaled and shook the feeling off.You’re paranoid, she told herself. That’s all.The front door opened before she could knock.“Victoria,” Lilian said gently, her voice carrying relief. “You came.”Victoria’s shoulders loosened despite herself. Lilian looked… older than she remembered.Softer somehow. She wore a simple long silky robe , her hair pulled back loosely, no makeup. A woman who had been through something.“Of course I came,” Victoria replied, forcing a polite smile. “When you said you wanted to see m

Chelle hadn’t been on a proper date in a long time.Because had been nonstop of a messy stuff , And she had been mean to Damon since he got back . She actually didn’t want to go , but the way he’d looked at her afterward told her he meant it and she didnt wsnt to disappoint again .Still, as she stood in front of her mirror, adjusting the strap of her dress for the third time, she wondered if this was a mistake.The dress wasn’t anything dramatic. Soft brown silk, hugging her waist just enough to make her feel confident without trying too hard. She paired it with low heels and minimal makeup. Damon didn’t strike her as the kind of man who liked excess. He noticed details, not noise.Her phone buzzed.Damon: I’m outside.Her heart skipped a but really she was indifferent about it. She grabbed her bag, took one last look at herself, then stepped out.Damon was leaning against his car, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly tousled like he’d run his hand through it one too many times. When he

Damon stood by the door, one hand still on the knob as if he might change his mind. Simon’s room smelled faintly of and old books, the curtains half-drawn against the afternoon light. The silence between them stretched, not heavy, just unfamiliar.Simon shifted on the bed, patting the space beside him. Damon crossed the room and sat, knees bouncing once before he forced them still.“For the record,” Damon said, rubbing the back of his neck, “I really was an ass.”Simon’s mouth twitched. He didn’t answer immediately. His gaze drifted to Damon’s forearm, where faded ink peeked from under his sleeve.“That thing still crooked,” Simon said.Damon glanced down, then huffed. “You’re one to talk. Yours looks like it was drawn during an earthquake.”Simon chuckled, a real sound this time. He leaned back against the headboard, eyes softening as the memory settled between them. The night came back easily—bare skin, shaky hands, stolen marker ink, the two of them crouched in the bathroom while