บททั้งหมดของ CHAMPAGNE FOR THE DAMNED {MxM}: บทที่ 31 - บทที่ 40

༒ ℑ𝔪𝔯𝔞𝔫༒I couldn't look at him the same way anymore. It wasn't about the little things anymore, the way he's treated me or the lies he'd told me. That shit has built up over time, and I could have dealt with it. I could have accepted it, maybe even forgiven him for the things that didn't matter.But this?This was different.I had been staring at him across the table for what felt like an eternity, my mind working overtime, piecing together everything I had learned. The connections, the names, the things that didn't make sense until now. There was one thing I needed to ask, one thing that had been gnawing at me ever since I figured out how deep this shit really ran.“Did you know?” I asked, the words coming out sharp, like I couldn't hold them back anymore. “Did you know who my father was from the beginning?”He didn't respond immediately. That silence between us–it wasn't comfortable. It wasn't just a pause, or a beat to think things through. It was the kind of silence that carr

༒ ℑ𝔪𝔯𝔞𝔫༒I don't like the patterns I didn't create.ThT thought sat at the back of my mind as I leaned against the desk in my office, a glass of whiskey untouched in my hand, my attention fixed on nothing and everything at the same time. Vinny had just finished giving me another update, another piece of information that didn't fully connect yet still felt like it should, and the more I listened, the more something in me tightened.The warehouse attack hadn't been random. That much was obvious now. It wasn't sloppy, it wasn't rushed, and it sure as hell wasn't a one-time move. Whoever was behind it knew what they were doing, knew how to push just enough without triggering a full response, and that kind of restraint wasn't common.It meant patience, it meant planning. And I fucking hated that.“They're testing us,” Vinny said, his voice steady, controlled, like always.“I know,” I replied, my tone flat.What I didn't say was that it wasn't just the business anymore, it was everythin

༒ ℑ𝔪𝔯𝔞𝔫༒Pain has a way of clearing your head.Not immediately or in some dramatic, heroic way where everything suddenly makes sense, buy slowly, in pieces, like your body forces you to focus on what matters because it first have the energy for anything else. My ribs ached with every breath, something sharp and deep that made it hard toove without feeling it, and my wrists burned where the restraints dug into my skin, tight enough to remind me exactly where I was every second I tried to forget. But I wasn't panicking.That was the difference.I say there, tied to that fucking chair, staring at the man in front of me while the others hovered in the background, watching, waiting, like this was just another routine to them. And maybe it was. Maybe I was just another job, another problem to solve, another person to break until they got what they wanted. But they hadn't killed me. They hadn't even come close. That mattered more than anything else right now. Because it meant one th

༒ ℜ𝔞𝔣𝔣𝔞𝔢𝔩𝔢༒Something wasn't sitting right. It wasn't the kind of feeling I could ignore, or push aside with logic, it lingered under everything, quiet but persistent, like a loose thread I couldn't stop pulling at, and the more I followed the trail we had, the more it started to unravel in ways I didn't like.I was already on my way to the location Vinny sent when I started going over it again in my head, every detail, every move, every piece of information that had come too easily, too cleanly, like it had been laid out instead of discovered, and that was the first thing that bothered me.Nothing in my world everbcame clean.“Say it,” I muttered under my breath, gripping the steering wheel tighter, my eyes fixed on the road while my thoughts ran ahead of me. “What the fuck am I missing?”The phone buzzed in my hands before I could dig deeper, Vinny again, and I answered immediately.“Talk.”“We've got confirmation on the site,” he said, his tone steady, controlled, exactly h

༒ ℑ𝔪𝔯𝔞𝔫༒I don't panic.Not anymore.The first few hours–maybe longer, I don't even know how much time has passed in this place–yeah, I felt it then, that sharp choking kind of fear that crawls up your throat and makes it hard to think straight, hard to breathe, like your body is already preparing for the worst before your mind can catch up. But that doesn't last. It can't, not if you want to survive something like this.So I just stopped letting it control me.Now I just sit there, wrists tied behind the chair, shoulders aching from the strain, my head tilted slightly as I watch them move around the room like I'm not even a person, like I'm just something they picked up off the street, something disposable, something easy.They're wrong about that. And the longer I sit here, the more I realize just how wrong they are. “You're wasting our time,” one of them says, pacing slowly in front of me, his boots hitting the concrete in a steady rhythm that would've been intimidating if I