All Chapters of Scars of Silence(MxM): Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

The next morning dawned gray and cold. I woke to the sound of the lock turning. A guard entered with a breakfast tray—plain yogurt, granola, coffee. The smell of coffee was sharp and welcome. He placed it on the small table, nodded once, and left without a word, locking the door again.My prison was comfortable, but it was still a prison.I ate slowly, my mind churning. The emotional storm of last night had settled into a strange, wary calm. Lorenzo was here. He’d burned his bridges. The evidence was out there. Now, we waited.After breakfast, I turned on the small wall-mounted television, keeping the volume low. The news channels were a circus. The story had exploded globally. It wasn’t just a diplomatic scandal anymore; it was a human drama with a Shakespearean twist: the proud admiral, the mysterious Enigma, the corrupt official, a fated love, a shocking resignation.Some channels focused on Gabriel. His face, usually so composed, looked strained in clips from outside Alliance HQ.

Two days later, the journalist arrived. Her name was Claire Merton. She was in her fifties, with intelligent eyes and a calm, serious demeanor. She worked for a global news network known for long-form, in-depth features, not sensationalism. This was Lorenzo’s choice. We needed credibility, not clicks.She was escorted into our apartment by Director Vance, who gave us a final, warning look before leaving. Claire set up a small, high-quality recorder on the table between us. We sat side by side on the sofa, a deliberate show of unity. I was nervous. My palms were damp. Lorenzo sat perfectly still, his posture relaxed but alert. He gave my knee a brief, hidden squeeze under the table. A silent message: We’re in this together.“Thank you for agreeing to speak with me,” Claire began, her voice gentle. “I know this is an extraordinary situation. My goal is to understand the human story at the center of all the headlines. Is that alright?”“That’s why we’re here,” Lorenzo said, his voice eve

The quiet of the lake house stretched into a week. A strange, suspended week outside of time. We fell into a routine. Mornings were for coffee and silence, each lost in our own thoughts. Afternoons were for walking, or reading by the fire. Evenings were for chess, or simply sitting together, the space between us on the sofa growing smaller each night.The awkwardness faded, replaced by a comfortable, wordless companionship. We learned each other’s rhythms. I liked my coffee black and strong. He preferred tea in the afternoon. He was an early riser, often up before dawn, watching the sunrise over the frozen lake. I slept later, drawn to the quiet of the deep night.The bond was a constant, warm presence. It wasn’t the sharp, needy thing it had been. It was deeper, calmer. A shared heartbeat in the stillness. Sometimes, I’d catch him looking at me across the room, a strange, soft expression on his face that made my breath catch. Sometimes, I’d look up from a book and find him already wa

The snow held the world hostage for two more days. It was a strange, timeless bubble. We fell into a rhythm that was part survival, part honeymoon. Days were for work: keeping the fire going, digging paths, checking supplies. Evenings were for chess, reading, and quiet conversation by the fire. Nights were for each other—exploring, learning, losing ourselves in the heat and the deep, resonant peace of the bond.I learned that Lorenzo snored, just a little, when he was deeply asleep. He learned I was a blanket hog. I learned he could cook a surprisingly good pasta with canned tomatoes and dried herbs. He learned I hated mushrooms with a passion. Small, stupid, wonderful things that began to weave the fabric of a shared life.The outside world felt like a myth. The snow was our moat, the mountains our walls.On the third morning after the storm, the sun finally broke through. Brilliant, blinding light reflected off the endless white, making the whole world sparkle. The temperature began

The next week was a whirlwind of quiet, furious activity. The snow melted, turning the world to mud and then to the first stubborn hints of green. The outside world felt closer, a looming presence just beyond the trees.We turned the small study into a war room. Our "office." Matteo had brought a secure laptop, a printer, and a stack of legal pads. Our first project: Chase & Rossi.It was absurd. Two men, one a disgraced admiral, the other a suspended mediator, snowed in at a remote lake house, trying to start a business with no money, no clients, and a target on their backs. But the absurdity was part of the fuel. We had nothing to lose, and we had each other. It was a potent combination.Lorenzo focused on structure. He drafted partnership agreements, pored over Swiss business registration laws. His mind, trained for complex logistics and fleet deployments, applied itself to tax codes and liability clauses with terrifying focus. I focused on the "product." What did Chase & Rossi off