All Chapters of Plaything in one's palm: Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

The rest of the exhibition opening passed in a nightmarish blur. The vibrant chatter of the crowd became a muffled roar, the faces of well-wishers turned into a sea of indistinguishable masks. Lynn’s smile was a frozen rictus, his handshake automatic. He was a ghost at his own celebration, his mind screaming, his body moving on autopilot. The warmth and validation he had felt moments before were now a cruel, mocking memory.The moment the last guest left, the gallery fell into an echoing silence. Isabelle, flushed with the success of the evening, turned to him, her eyes shining. "Liam! It was a triumph! Did you hear what the critic from Le Temps said? He was—" She stopped, her smile faltering as she took in his pale, strained face. "Liam? Are you alright? You look like you've seen a ghost.""I'm… just tired," Lynn managed to choke out, his voice hoarse. "It was… a lot.""Of course, of course!" Isabelle said, her expression softening with concern. "It's an overwhelming experience. Go,

The walk back from the boathouse was a slow, mechanical procession of a ghost. The morning sun that had seemed so threatening an hour ago now felt distant and cold, its light failing to penetrate the chill that had settled deep in Lynn’s bones. The beauty of the lake and the mountains was a cruel, mocking painting he was no longer part of. He moved along the path, his body numb, his mind a hollowed-out shell.He pushed open the door to his studio. The space, which had felt like a sanctuary of creation just the day before, was now a museum of his own delusion. The lingering scent of wine and perfume from the opening night hung in the air, cloying and false. A few forgotten champagne flutes stood on a table, catching the light. The empty walls where his paintings had hung were pale, blank scars.His eyes fell on the small stack of exhibition catalogs Isabelle had left on the desk. Liam Gray: Unsilenced. The title screamed at him in the silence. Unsilenced. What a joke. He was more silen

The command came in the dead of night. A single, stark message on the burner phone: "Now."Lynn was already dressed in the clothes provided for him—worn, dirty jeans, a threadbare jacket that smelled of mildew, scuffed shoes. The costume of a desperate man. He hadn't slept. He sat on the edge of the bed, his mind a perfect, terrifying blank. The rehearsals were over. The time for performance had come.The lock on the apartment door clicked. The same grim-faced guard entered, his expression unreadable. He didn't speak. He simply gestured for Lynn to follow.They drove in silence through the pre-dawn darkness. The city was a ghost town, the streets slick with a recent, drizzling rain that reflected the garish neon signs in oily smears. Lynn watched the unfamiliar streets slide by, feeling nothing. He was a passenger in his own body, being delivered to the stage.The car pulled into a narrow, grimy service alley behind a row of towering corporate buildings. The air smelled of rotting gar

The car ride to the penthouse was a silent, pressurized journey into the heart of a storm. Lynn sat huddled in the corner of the seat, the oversized jacket a heavy, fragrant shroud. He kept his eyes closed, feigning exhaustion, but his mind was racing, a frantic animal trapped in a cage of its own making. Every turn of the car, every stop at a light, felt like a countdown to an execution.Caius didn't speak. He didn't move. He was a statue of contained fury beside him, the heat of his anger a palpable force in the warm, silent car. The only sound was the soft hum of the engine and the frantic thumping of Lynn's own heart.When the car finally slid into the underground garage of the tower, Lynn's stomach clenched. The familiar, opulent prison. The doors opened, and Caius was out of the car in a fluid, angry motion. He didn't wait for Lynn. He strode towards the private elevator, his back rigid.Lynn scrambled out, his legs still weak. He clutched the jacket around him and followed, his

The silence that followed Lynn’s desperate performance was heavier than any accusation. He remained on his knees, the cold floor seeping through his thin trousers, his body trembling with the aftershock of his own audacious lie. Caius had turned away, but the air in the penthouse remained charged, thick with unspoken suspicion and a dangerous, simmering tension.Caius didn't look at him again. He walked to his study, the incriminating envelope still clutched in his hand, and closed the door with a soft, definitive click. The sound echoed through the vast space, a verdict of sorts. Lynn was left alone in the living room, crumpled on the floor, the ghost of Caius’s touch on his chin burning like a brand.He didn't know how long he stayed there. Time lost all meaning. The adrenaline drained away, leaving him hollowed out and shaking. He had survived the immediate threat, but he felt no relief, only a profound, soul-crushing weariness. He had prostrated himself, sold a piece of his soul,