บททั้งหมดของ The Bet That Ruined Us : บทที่ 91 - บทที่ 100

[SASHA VOLKOV'S PENTHOUSE - LIVING ROOM] Nathaniel stood near the entrance, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, his jaw clenched so tight it was a wonder his teeth did not crack. He looked like a man who had not slept in days, dark circles under his eyes and stubble shadowing his jaw. His clothes, usually impeccably neat, were wrinkled as if he had slept in them. Or had not slept at all. Sasha lounged on one of the white sofas, wearing nothing but a silk nightgown that left very little to the imagination. Her hair fell in perfect waves over her shoulders, and her makeup was flawless despite the late hour. She looked like a predator, beautiful and dangerous, watching Nathaniel with eyes that glittered with anticipation. "So," Sasha said, her voice deceptively casual as she swirled the champagne in her glass. "Do you have it?" Nathaniel did not answer immediately. His hand went to the inner pocket of his jacket, and for a moment he just stood there, his fingers wrapped around the

Grayson's hands tightened on the tablet, his knuckles going white as the blood drained from them. The screen seemed to burn into his retinas, that thumbnail image searing itself into his brain where he knew it would haunt him forever. Shayla. His Ayla. With another man. For a moment, he could not breathe. He could not think straight nor do anything except stare at that damning image while his entire world collapsed around him. Then the shock gave way to rage. Pure, white-hot, all-consuming rage. "Get out," Grayson said, his voice so cold it could have frozen hell itself. Monica blinked. "Sir?" "I said get out!" Grayson roared, the tablet clattering to his desk as he shot to his feet. "Get out of my office right now!" Monica backed away quickly, her eyes wide, and fled through the door. It slammed behind her with enough force to rattle the windows. The moment he was alone, Grayson's hands went to his desk, gripping the edge so hard his fingers hurt. He wanted to flip it. He wan

"Stop it right now," Ruby said sharply, giving her a small shake. "Listen to me. You were drugged. There's something about the video, your movements are sluggish. Anyone with half a brain can see that something is wrong with you in that video." "But what if Grayson does not see that? What if all he sees is me with another man?" "Then we will make him see it. We will get the video analyzed. We will prove that you were drugged. We will find Nathaniel and make him confess to what he did. We will fix this." Shayla shook her head, her tears falling faster. "You do not understand. If he breaks up with me, I will die. I cannot lose him, Ruby. I cannot. I really love him. I did not do that. I swear to God I did not do that. I would never hurt him like that. Never." Her breathing was coming in short, panicked gasps now, her chest heaving as she struggled to get air into her lungs. Ruby recognized the signs of a panic attack and immediately shifted into crisis mode. "Breathe with me, Shay.

Shayla stood in the kitchen at six in the morning, her hands moving mechanically as she flipped pancakes on the griddle. The smell of butter and batter filled the air, but it did nothing to soothe the churning in her stomach. She had barely slept, an hour spent on the floor of the master bedroom before finally dragging herself to the guest room door where she had cried herself into a fitful doze. Her body ached from the tension that had taken up permanent residence in her muscles, her neck stiff from lying in awkward positions on the cold floor, her back sore from curling into a tight ball of misery. Her eyes were swollen and red, dark circles underneath them making her look like she had been in a fight. The skin around her eyes felt raw and tender, rubbed too many times with the backs of her hands as she tried to wipe away tears that kept coming no matter how hard she fought them. Her nose was stuffy, her throat scratchy from hours of silent sobbing, and her head throbbed with a dull

[EXCLUSIVE BAR - LATE NIGHT] Grayson sat in their usual booth in the back, a half-empty bottle of expensive scotch on the table in front of him. Ivan sat on his left, Jake on his right. They had been trying to talk to him for hours. But Grayson was not talking. He just kept drinking, staring at the amber liquid in his glass. The ice had long since melted, but he did not care. He poured another glass, the liquid sloshing over the rim, and drank it down in one swallow. The burn of the scotch was the only thing he could feel. Everything else had gone numb. The pain, the anger, the betrayal, all of it was drowned in the scotch. "Gray, maybe you should slow down," Ivan said carefully. His voice was gentle, cautious, like he was approaching a wild animal. "You have had a lot already." Grayson ignored him, poured another glass and drank the entire glass in two swallows. The alcohol burned going down, but he welcomed it. It was something to feel besides the crushing weight of everything e