All Chapters of MINE TO BULLY : Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

Jace’s POVThe back of my knees hit the cheap, sagging mattress of the hotel room door the second Ezra slammed it shut behind us.The lock clicked into place with a violent snap, trapping us in a space that smelled faintly of lemon bleach and old carpet. Before I could even draw a full breath, Ezra’s hands hit the wood on either side of my head, caging me in. The force of it rattled the frame, shaking the cheap framed art on the wall.He was breathing like he’d run a marathon, his chest heaving, his dark eyes locked onto mine with a terrifying, wild intensity.“You chose your dad over me!” The words ripped out of my throat before I could stop them, five years of poison, resentment, and midnight panic finally breaking through the dam. “When it mattered ... when we were eighteen and the walls were closing in ... you folded! You took his money, you took his safety, and you left me standing in the dirt!”“I didn't choose him!” Ezra roared back, leaning in so close his forehead brushed min

The morning sun cut through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows of the organic café, casting long, sharp shadows across the reclaimed wood table. Outside, the city was waking up in a rush of horns and exhaust fumes, completely unaware that two corporate dynasties had just imploded before eight o’clock.I stirred my iced matcha, watching the deep green swirl into the pale oat milk. The ice clinked against the ceramic bowl, a clean, sharp sound in the quiet corner booth.Across the table, Ezra looked like he had been dragged through a war zone and back.He was still wearing the same crumpled shirt from the night before ... though he’d managed to ditch the ruined suit jacket ... and dark circles bruised the skin beneath his eyes. Yet, despite the wreckage of his clothes and the massive political earthquake he had triggered an hour ago on the phone, he looked lighter. The tight, defensive tension that had locked his jaw for the past two years was entirely gone. He looked like a man who had

The red-eye flight from New York to Los Angeles felt like it lasted a lifetime. I didn't sleep. I didn't touch the small bottle of bourbon the flight attendant handed me with a polite smile. I just stared out the tiny cabin window at the black expanse of the continent below, watching the faint glow of distant towns blur into lines of highway lights.By the time the plane touched down on the tarmac at LAX, the sun was just starting to crest over the horizon, bleeding a bruised orange and purple across the smoggy California sky.I didn't go to a hotel. I didn't change out of the clothes I had worn for two days straight. I told the car service driver to take me straight to the address Jace had given me over the phone three hours ago, a quiet, sun-bleached apartment complex tucked away in a neighborhood that smelled faintly of eucalyptus and ocean salt.My knuckles rapped twice against the painted wood of the front door before I even gave myself time to think about what I was doing.No an

Ezra’s POVThe oak door of my father's private office closed with a heavy, deadened thud, sealing out the hum of the trading floor below.The room smelled like old paper, expensive scotch, and intimidation. Floor-to-ceiling mahogany bookshelves lined the walls, filled with leather-bound legal codes and framed photographs of my father shaking hands with presidents and governors who had long since retired or passed away. It was a room designed to make anyone who walked across the Persian rug feel small, powerless, and entirely disposable.My father didn't look up from his mahogany desk. He sat in a high-backed executive chair, his silver hair neatly combed, his fingers steepled together under his chin as he slowly turned the pages of a printed financial report.Helen tells me the morning briefing went off script, my father said, his voice smooth, gravelly, and entirely devoid of warmth. He finally raised his eyes, fixing me with a cold, pale stare that hadn't changed in twenty years. "L

Jace’s POVThe rain came down in sheets, turning the asphalt of the highway into a black, reflective mirror. Every passing semi-truck threw up walls of water that battered the windshield of the rental sedan, turning visibility into zero.My knuckles were locked around the steering wheel, my grip so tight my fingers had gone completely numb.Seventy miles north. That was how far I had made it before the sky opened up and the traffic ground to a dead, miserable halt. Up ahead, red brake lights stretched as far as the eye could see, a pulsing, endless river of taillights swallowed by the storm. A multi-vehicle pileup blocking both northbound lanes. An hour delay minimum. Two hours if the tow trucks couldn't clear the wreckage.I stared at the dashboard clock. 2:15 PM.My phone was sitting in the passenger seat, vibrating every few minutes with missed notifications, automated weather warnings, and a missed call from an unknown number. I hadn't answered it. I hadn't looked at the screen si