บททั้งหมดของ THE THIRTY-DAY GAMBLE: บทที่ 1 - บทที่ 10

"Coffee’s getting cold, Benji. Stop staring at me like I’m a specimen in a lab."Jonathan leaned back in the velvet armchair, his fingers drumming a rhythmic beat against the marble tabletop of the Cafe Royale. He didn't look at the boy across from him; instead, his gaze tracked Andrew Foster, who was conveniently stationed three tables away, nursing an espresso and a smug grin."Sorry." Benjamin’s face went pink, the color clashing with his yellow hoodie. He tore a piece of his croissant, his hands shaking just enough to scatter crumbs. "I just... I can't believe we're actually here. You and me. In the city.""It’s a cafe, not the moon." Jonathan reached across the table. He didn't just touch Benjamin’s hand; he interlaced their fingers, squeezing hard enough to feel the pulse jumping in the freshman’s wrist."Ohh," Benjamin breathed. His eyes dropped to their joined hands, wide and wet. "Your hands are always so cold.""Keeps me alert." Jonathan caught Andrew’s eye. He leaned in, lo

"Who the hell said you could stop?"Coach Miller’s voice tore through the humidity of the indoor track, but Benjamin didn't even blink. He kept his eyes fixed on the white line of the lane, his lungs burning, his legs moving like pistons driven by a machine that didn't know how to overheat. He didn't answer. He didn't look up. He just ran."He’s gonna blow a hamstring, Coach," one of the sophomores whispered on the sidelines."Benji! Slow down!"Benjamin ignored the calls. He didn't hear them. All he heard was the rhythmic slap-slap-slap of his spikes on the rubber and the echo of a voice in a ballroom telling him he was annoying. He pushed harder. His vision blurred at the edges, the world narrowing down to the next ten meters.Jonathan Hayes stood by the entrance to the gym, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of a leather jacket that felt like lead on his shoulders. He watched the boy who used to bring him lemon tarts. This version of Benjamin didn't look like he knew what sugar

"You missed a spot. Right there. Behind the ear."Benjamin didn't look up from the cracked porcelain of the sink. He just squeezed the plastic bottle harder, the viscous, ink-black sludge oozing through his gloved fingers. It smelled like ammonia and burnt bridges."I got it, Liv," he muttered."You don't have it. You're shaking." Olivia reached for the bottle, but he jerked away, a glob of dye splattering against the floral wallpaper of their cramped bathroom."I said I got it!" His voice cracked, a jagged, raw sound that bounced off the tiles. He stared at his reflection. The golden-blonde hair—the 'Golden Retriever' crown that Jonathan had supposedly found so 'addictive'—was disappearing under a layer of synthetic darkness. It looked like oil. It looked like the truth."It’s just hair, Ben," Olivia softened her voice, her hand hovering near his shoulder but not touching. "You don't have to erase yourself just because that prick couldn't keep his hands off his ego.""I'm not erasing

"You’re really doing it then? You’re actually pulling the plug?"Nathaniel Price leaned against the doorframe of the Hayes family office, his eyes fixed on the man sitting behind the slab of black obsidian that served as a desk. Jonathan didn't answer. He didn't even look up from the tablet in his hand. His fingers moved with a rhythmic, clinical precision, swiping through the legal documents that would, by sunrise, erase the Foster family’s primary supply chain from the map."The board is already screaming, Jonathan," Nathaniel continued, his voice dropping an octave. "Your father is going to have a stroke when he sees the acquisition costs. You’re overpaying by thirty percent just to starve them.""Let him scream." Jonathan finally looked up. His eyes were flat, the irises looking like chips of frozen slate. He hadn't slept more than three hours a night since the gala. His cheekbones were sharper, the skin beneath his eyes bruised with a purple exhaustion. "Andrew thought he was pla

"Hey. You’re Parker, right? The transfer?"The voice was like thick honey over a bed of gravel. Benjamin didn't look up from the bench press. He just gripped the cold, knurled steel of the barbell, his knuckles white and trembling. One more rep. The iron plates clattered as he shoved the bar back onto the rack, his chest heaving. Sweat dripped from his chin, stinging his eyes.A hand appeared in his field of vision. It was holding a bottle of chilled water, the condensation slick against a palm covered in heavy, rhythmic calluses."Take it. You look like you’re about to pass out, man."Benjamin sat up, wiping his face with the hem of his damp shirt. He took the bottle. It was freezing. "Thanks.""I’m Nathaniel. Nathaniel Price." The guy didn't move. He stood there, legs braced, radiating a kind of heat that made the air in the Northwood gym feel even smaller. He wore a cut-off hoodie with the 'Northwood Wolves' crest stitched in jagged silver thread across the chest. "I’ve been watchi