All Chapters of My Enemy [BL]: Chapter 281 - Chapter 290

Rowan was across from me, legs stretched out, one ankle crossed over the other, staring at the floor like he had a personal vendetta against it. He hadn’t said more than three words since we left the hotel, and the silence between us was thick, filled with all the things we weren’t saying.Occasionally, his knee would bounce a couple times, then stop, as if he was trying to hold back from pacing the length of the limo. I wanted to reach out and squeeze his hand or crack some silly joke about us being in our own low-budget thriller, but the words just wouldn’t come. So instead, I watched the city lights blur across his face, trying not to dwell on how badly this could all go south.When the limo finally turned onto the long, winding drive leading to Willow Haven, the estate lights beamed against the night like a beacon that had lost its welcome months ago. Home didn’t feel like home anymore; it was more like the opening scene of a horror film where everyone insists "nothing’s changed"

I leaned forward between the seats, gently placing a hand on each of their shoulders, hoping to hold the peace together."Both of you breathe. We’re not here to fight. We need answers. Let’s just get to the house and see what we can find."They both sighed, grudgingly and at the same time and the car fell back into a tense silence, which felt less like a truce and more like a temporary ceasefire.By the time we arrived at Logan’s house that evening, the sun had slipped below the horizon, leaving the massive estate illuminated by the cold blue of security lights.Thankfully, Logan was still away in Hayselville, and the place looked just as imposing and unwelcoming as I remembered. The long driveway snaked through impeccably maintained lawns that retained their beauty even in late fall. The house itself was a sprawling structure of glass, steel, and pale stone that managed to look both luxurious and utterly lifeless.Every window was dark except for the motion-sensor ones that flickered

I let out a long, shaky sigh, feeling a bit of the tension ease in my chest amidst the chaos. Because even as Frank reeled and Rowan fumed, a strange sense of gratitude washed over me, we were finally closer to getting justice for Carla, closer to untangling the lies that had haunted Rowan for so long.I stepped closer to him, placing my hand on his shoulder, feeling the tight muscles beneath his shirt, and squeezed gently, hoping my touch said what words might fail to express."We’re making progress," I said softly, my voice steady despite the whirlwind inside me. "All those responsible, they’re not going to get away with this. We’ll find them, Rowan. Every last one."He looked up at me then, the anger in his eyes softening into something more resolved, like my words had grounded him."You’re right," he murmured, covering my hand with his own briefly, the warmth sending a familiar spark through me, no matter the circumstances. "I needed that. Can’t lose it now, we’ve got to focus on

"Or the reason is..." he murmured, searching my eyes. "Because of that absurdly good heart of yours. No one else would do this, sneak into a house that’s basically a fortress, dig through someone else’s mess, comfort the nephew of the guy who might’ve played a part in Rowan’s mom’s death, all for a jerk who used to make your life a nightmare. You’re too good, Atlas. Always have been."I tried my best not to lean into his touch, not to let my eyes flutter closed or my shoulders drop in surrender. My mind kept sending frantic reminders: We’re on a break. You’re betraying him by being with Rowan. You can’t just melt because he’s touching you like this.But man, I missed it. I missed Frank’s warmth, the steady pressure of his hands, the way he made the world feel smaller and safer just by being this close. Two weeks without this, without him and I hadn’t realized how cold I’d felt until just now.I managed a small, shaky laugh, hoping it came off steadier than it felt."Rowan’s still a je

Third Person POV Frank had always taken on more than he could manage, a walking contradiction of the perfect golden boy hiding a core that felt perpetually broken. His parents were mostly absent, sending checks instead of birthday cards, and his abusive uncle’s idea of affection was, at best, not punching holes in the walls when sober.He barely saw his younger brother, who had wisely opted for boarding school to escape the chaos of home. On top of that, there was the relentless grind of school, the college applications that felt like desperate love letters to distant universities, basketball practices where he pushed his body until his lungs burned, and the family car dealerships that had somehow become his responsibility before he even turned twenty-one.Everyone wanted to be around him—handsome, blond, built like he could bench-press his problems, with that easy-going energy that drew people in. But deep down, Frank was always waiting, quietly terrified that someone might see past