Bring Your A Game Mr Novels & Stories

My assistant pokes her head in. "Mr. Giovanni is here to see you," she says, her voice tight. Of course, he's back. I knew this was coming sooner or later. I straighten up in my chair, waving her in. "Send him in." Marco Giovanni strides in like he owns the place, which, of course, he doesn't. Not anymore. He looks better than last time—cleaner, his suit crisp, and that infuriating smirk on his face like he's got a secret he can't wait to share.

I ask Archer. “It’s not an easy thing to bring up.” I turn my head down, carefully considering my words. “We’re having a baby together, Archer. There’s going to be a lot of things that aren’t easy.” Watching his face, I debate on whether to go on or not. The words are there, wanting to come out and be confessed. I bring my hand to his chest, rubbing the hem of his collar between my fingers. “Do you remember when I said it felt like you were playing a game with me?”

And the message read: "Game on."

Before he could answer, I took my three children by the hand and walked out. Behind me, Jared was struggling against the guards holding him back. His voice grew louder and louder, shouting my name, but I ignored it. Pulling out my phone, I sent a message. [Thank you for inviting me. I’m sorry for ruining your competition.] The reply came instantly. [On the contrary. This incident gave us traffic and revenue. You’re the real queen of profit.] A huge transfer hit my account, followed by another message: [Your payment, and my gift. Nirvana is the perfect name. Congratulations on your rebirth. Can I attend your company’s launch event?]

As Zach had said, when my father gave me the ten million, it wasn't because I had sweet-talked him. It was because of his twisted amusement—he enjoyed playing with people, watching them struggle in the mud. The more they fought, the happier he became.

I asked and her brows arched. “What game? What are you talking about?” She asked in confusion but I didn't have the patience to explain. I raised my hand and the MC pointed at me. “I have my game partner.” I announced and turned to Mia with a friendly smile that wasn't friendly on a deeper level. Mia's mouth fell open but she couldn't say anything. “Thank you for picking your partner. Both of you please come to the stage and let the game begin.” I flashed another friendly smile at Mia before walking out to the stage.

Therefore, it was proof that no one else could possibly own it. Using another account, I posted again: "Admin Blake, this is me, the girl everyone flamed online as a gold-digger. I’m exposing my ex-boyfriend, Ryan Cooper, as the real leech. He used my family card to buy gifts for my roommate. The bracelet on the stray dog’s paw was his. I bought it for him myself. It's a limited edition. No one else could possibly own it." Screenshots of the family card charges and the purchase record were attached.

He just stood there, watching me breathe, watching me try to pretend I wasn’t unnerved. I forced a smile, the kind you give a toddler who’s caught you off guard. “Hey… it’s okay,” I said softly, tilting my head to look harmless. “I’m Ezra. I’m here to help you.” I got Nothing. Not even a twitch. I swallowed and crouched slightly, lowering my voice like I would with a kid. “Do you… wanna come in?” My hand gripped the doorframe so tightly my knuckles burned. “We can talk, or… I don’t know, play a game?”

“And you expect me to believe that a woman agrees to be hit? That she wants bruises?” “Some women do.” His voice was patient, educational. “It’s called impact play. The physical sensation releases endorphins. For many submissives, it’s profoundly pleasurable. But more importantly—I don’t expect you to believe anything. I expect you to ask Vivian whether she’s happy.” Natasha’s eyes cut to Vivian. “Are you?”

The posture looked natural—like I was just sleeping in, as usual. On the nightstand, the phone vibrated again, its glow lighting a small patch of the room. Buzz—buzz— A message from Jamie popped up: [Bro, I listed your game account. Someone's offering fifty dollars. Should I sell it?]