All Chapters of The Bet That Ruined Us : Chapter 141 - Chapter 150

Matthew stood outside Ayven's bedroom door for a long moment before knocking. The tray in his hands was heavy, loaded with all of Ayven's dinner. The warm scent of grilled chicken and roasted vegetables wafted up from the covered plates, and he could hear the soft clink of the cutlery shifting with every small movement he made. He adjusted his grip, making sure nothing would spill, and then rapped his knuckles against the wood twice, sharp and deliberate. The sound echoed in the quiet hallway, but there was no response from inside the room. Matthew waited, counting to ten in his head. The seconds stretched out, each one feeling longer than the last. He could hear the faint hum of the heating system, the soft creak of the house settling around him. But from inside the room, there was nothing. Just silence. The kind of silence that felt heavy and deliberate, like someone was choosing not to respond rather than simply not hearing. He turned the handle and pushed the door open slowly, le

The smell of breakfast woke Shayla. Eggs and toast and coffee. Simple food but it smelled like love and care. The aroma drifted through the house, warm and inviting, wrapping around her like a hug. It was the smell of home, of safety, of someone taking care of her when she could not take care of herself. She got up and padded into the kitchen in bare feet. The floor was cool under her toes, the wood smooth and worn. Grandma Madonna was at the stove humming softly to herself. She had the radio on low playing old gospel music. The melody was familiar, something Shayla remembered from her own childhood, and it made her chest ache with nostalgia. The song was about holding on, about trusting that things would get better. "How did you sleep?" Grandma Madonna asked, setting a plate of scrambled eggs and buttered toast in front of Shayla. The eggs were fluffy, the toast perfectly golden, steam rising from both. The butter was melting into the toast, creating little pools of gold. "I slept

[THE BRADSHAW PRESTIGIOUS ACADEMY - NEXT MORNING] Grayson pulled into the school parking lot with both kids in the car. The morning was cold. Clouds hanging low in the sky threatening rain. The air was damp and chill, carrying the promise of a storm later in the day. The windshield was misted over, and he had to use the wipers to clear it. Ayven sat in the back seat with his headphones on. Staring out the window. Refusing to acknowledge anyone. His face was blank. Carefully neutral. But Grayson could see the hurt underneath. The way his jaw was tight, his hands clenched into fists on his knees. The tension in his small body was palpable. Angel sat beside him trying to make conversation. Asking about his favorite subjects. About what he was learning. About whether he wanted to sit together at lunch. Her voice was bright, cheerful, trying so hard to reach him. She was leaning forward, her hands clasped in her lap, her eyes hopeful. Ayven ignored every single attempt. He didn't even l

The woman turned around. It was not Shayla. Just someone who looked vaguely similar from behind. Different face. Different eyes. Not her at all. The woman stared at him with a confused expression, her coffee cup halfway to her lips. She took a step back, startled by his intensity. "Oh. I am very sorry," Grayson said. "I thought you were someone else." The woman just looked at him like he had lost his mind. Which maybe he had. Her eyes were wary, her body tense. She was clutching her coffee cup like a shield. Grayson walked back to his car slowly. Got in and sat there with his hands on the steering wheel. He was losing it. Completely losing his mind. Seeing Shayla everywhere. In strangers. In memories. In empty offices. He could not escape her, could not stop thinking about her, could not function without her. She was in every shadow, every corner, every breath. His head was pounding now. Severe headache building behind his eyes. He needed to get home. He needed to take medication

Monica stood in the living room staring down at Grandma Madonna's body. The old woman was still alive. Barely. Her chest still moving in shallow, rattling breaths. Blood everywhere. Pooling on the floor, soaking into the carpet. The room smelled like copper and smoke. "Where is she?" Monica demanded. She crouched down. Got her face close to the dying woman. "Where did Shayla go? Tell me!" Grandma Madonna smiled. Blood stained her teeth red. "You will never find her. You failed. Just like you have failed at everything else in your pathetic life." Monica's face twisted with rage. She stood up and looked at her men. "Burn the house. Burn it all." "But the neighbors will see. The police will come." "I do not care! Burn it! Now!" They poured gasoline everywhere. On the furniture. On the walls. On Grandma Madonna's still-breathing body. The smell was sharp and chemical, filling the air. It was overwhelming, suffocating. Monica pulled out a lighter. Flicked it open. The small flame dan