บททั้งหมดของ My Enemy [BL]: บทที่ 321 - บทที่ 330

Third Person’s POVThe room smelled of old leather, fine scotch, and the sharp scent of burning paper. Roderick stood behind the massive oak desk, his back to the door, pouring himself a generous glass of amber liquid into a crystal tumbler.As the decanter clinked against the glass, it could’ve been a classy sound under different circumstances. He maintained a composed posture, shoulders squared in the tailored shirt he had put on after the earlier chaos, but there was a tension in the way he held the bottle, a slow, deliberate movement that hinted he was stalling for time.The fire in the hearth crackled anew, flames dancing higher as another stack of papers curled at the edges and blackened. Rowan crossed the study in calculated strides, stopping just short of the desk, and without a moment’s notice, lifted his phone. His thumb pressed play.Logan’s voice filled the room, raw and weary, the confession pouring out in the same exhausted rhythm they had heard before. Roderick froze mi

Third Person POVHe took a step closer, ignoring how Rowan continued to struggle against Carlby’s hold, the younger man’s face flushed with anger and exertion. Roderick’s tone turned almost pleading, laced with the sharp edge of justification."Get over it, Rowan. Move on, the evidence is gone...smashed under my heel like the worthless recording it was. A dying criminal’s ramblings against a respected businessman? No one will believe you.... Especially not when they see how violently you attacked your own father. I’ve escaped the law for years because I know how this world works. Judges, lawyers, favors owed in high places, I’ll sweep this under the carpet just like I’ve dealt with every inconvenience before. You think a tantrum and a broken phone can take me down? You’re just a kid playing at justice."Rowan’s struggles ramped up, twisting in Carlby’s grip as he yelled,"You’re a monster! A cold-blooded goddamn killer hiding behind your suits and charities! And you—" He jerked his he

It was that sound that broke through.Something about it, final and undeniable...seemed to echo louder than the sirens, louder than the voices, louder than everything else in that moment.Rowan inhaled sharply.It was the first real sign of life from him since the police had arrived, the first crack in the stillness he had clung to so tightly. His gaze was locked on his father, unblinking, as if he were trying to reconcile the man before him with the one he had known all his life.Roderick turned his head slightly, enough to look at him.For a moment, something almost familiar flickered in his expression, not softness or remorse, but something that might have passed for acknowledgment under different circumstances."You’ll understand one day," he said quietly.Rowan didn’t respond.He didn’t move.He just stared.The officer guiding Roderick toward the door didn’t pause, didn’t let the moment linger longer than necessary. The reality pressed forward, leaving no room for sentiment.Beh

Frank leaned in closer, his voice urgent but low, gripping my shoulders tightly. He pulled back just enough to really look at me, his fingers pressing down firmly...just enough to be steady, not painful, as if he needed to be sure I was really there and not about to vanish.His gaze roamed my face carefully, taking in every detail with an intensity that suggested he was searching for anything amiss, and then it landed on something.The bruise.I could tell the second he spotted it. His expression tightened, and a darker look flickered across his face before he pushed it down. His jaw clenched a bit, tension settling in, but his voice stayed measured when he asked,"What happened?" It was quieter now, but the underlying strain was still there.For a moment, I hesitated. Not because I didn’t know what to say, but because I did. I had repeated those words so many times that they came out like a reflex, an old habit I couldn’t seem to shake."It’s nothing. I’m fine," I replied, shaking my

Where Rowan retreated, Frank leaned in...not emotionally, but practically. He was always on the phone, moving from room to room with a quiet sense of purpose, dealing with lawyers, the dealership, and details none of us had even thought about in the chaos of that night.That became his way of coping.If there was something that could be fixed, he focused on it. If it couldn’t be fixed, he moved on to the next issue.He still came to see me, though.Not every day, but enough that I started to expect him. He’d knock once before letting himself in, usually finding me in the living room or kitchen, and for a little while, it felt almost normal."Have you eaten?" he asked one afternoon, leaning against the counter like he belonged there.I shrugged. "Define eaten."He frowned slightly and moved toward the fridge. "That’s not a real answer.""I had coffee.""That doesn’t count and you know it."He pulled out a container of leftovers and set it on the counter, giving me a look that said argu