ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ
✷CHAPTER 19&20— ✷
ENJOY 🖤🖤
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«JERICHO'S ROOM»
The door burst open, and Jericho closed the briefcase, leaning back against the couch as he shifted his gaze toward the entrance. His eyes fell on a pair of long strides stepping inside. A faint smirk tugged at his lips—until his gaze traveled upward.
The moment he recognized the face, his expression shifted. Surprise flickered across his features as he realized it was Scott.
Another figure entered behind him. Jericho's eyes narrowed slightly as he recognized him as Robert's first son—Adrian.
Scott stepped further into the room, his presence cold and suffocating. He didn't look around. He didn't acknowledge the luxury, the guards, or the tension thickening the air.
His cold eyes stayed fixed on Jericho.
Adrian followed behind him, visibly tense, his jaw tight as his gaze flicked between the two men.
Jericho's smirk returned almost instantly, slower this time, more dangerous—like something waking up that had been asleep for far too long.
"Robert's boys," he said lightly. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Scott smirked darkly as he walked toward the briefcase on the table. He picked it up and opened it, scanning through its contents. His smirk deepened as his eyes lifted and locked with Jericho's.
Jericho held his gaze without flinching.
Behind them, Adrian remained standing, his hands tucked into his pockets as his eyes slowly swept around the room. His chest felt heavy, tension tightening in his ribs, though his expression stayed controlled.
Scott closed the briefcase with a slow, deliberate motion. The sound of the latch snapping shut echoed sharply through the room, like a warning shot no one had fired yet.
He placed it back on the table with controlled precision, then finally spoke.
"Where is she?"
Jericho's brows lifted slightly, as though amused by the directness. He leaned back further into the couch, stretching one arm along its backrest.
"And who could that be? I have never held anyone in this club. My job is to make money and provide my services to clients at night. As for the girl you're talking about, I don't remember ever holding anyone captive. I deal in business, and I don't know the girl you're referring to," Jericho said.
His gaze slid briefly to Adrian before returning to Scott.
"Precisely," Scott said coldly. "The girl you sold for a billion dollars. Where the hell is she?"
He stepped closer to the table, stopping just short of it. His shadow fell across the scattered documents like a blade, his eyes locked on Jericho with lethal focus.
"I won't ask again."
Jericho let out a slow, dark chuckle and pushed himself off the couch, rising to his full height as he adjusted his collar. Scott's eyes followed every movement with cold precision.
"Oh, you're here for the girl, Holy Mary?" Jericho said with a faint smirk. "You bothered her yesterday for a hundred million. Your time is over. Today, a bigger client bought her for a billion. Where she was taken is none of my business, and what they choose to do with her is also none of my—"
He didn't get to finish.
In a sudden blur of movement, Scott grabbed a wine bottle from the table, and jumped over the table, and brought it crashing down on Jericho's head.
The impact echoed through the room.
Jericho staggered backward, collapsing onto the couch as blood began to trail down the side of his head.
But Scott didn't stop.
He seized Jericho by the collar and yanked him forward, dragging him up with brutal force until their faces were inches apart. His gaze hardened—cold, lethal, unrelenting.
Jericho let out a low groan, blinking through the blood as his smirk slowly returned—faint, but still there.
"You really are his son," he murmured hoarsely. "Impulsive… just like him."
Scott's grip tightened instantly, his knuckles whitening against Jericho's collar as fury burned in his eyes.
"Who bought her, and where the hell did they take her?" Scott roared, his voice shaking with fury. "You bastard!"
Before Jericho could respond, Scott's fist connected with his face, the impact brutal and precise. Blood burst from Jericho's lips and nose as his head snapped to the side.
Scott didn't let him fall away.
He grabbed him again, dragging him closer with relentless force, his eyes blazing with cold, unrestrained anger.
"Maybe if I burn the money, you'll start talking," Adrian said, flicking a lighter open and closed as he stood over the open briefcase facing Jericho.
A faint smirk curled at his lips.
Jericho's eyes widened, Scott yanked him closer instantly, their faces nearly colliding.
The flickering flame from Adrian's lighter danced dangerously close to the open briefcase, its contents still neatly stacked—too neat for something worth a billion dollars and a life hanging in the balance.
"No, no—don't even think about it," Jericho said quickly, his voice edged with fear, his mind unable to bear the thought of a billion burning to ash. "Alright, I'll tell you both"
He exhaled sharply, forcing himself to steady his tone.
"The woman was dressed in black. I don't know her. She was my first major client since I started running this club. I know nothing about her—not her identity, not her background."
He paused, swallowing.
"All I know is that she came here to purchase the girl. I had no choice but to complete the transaction and release her for the night. Where she took her afterward, I swear to God, I have no idea. But I believe she may still be inside the club; I was informed that her men are still present around the premises."
His eyes flicked anxiously toward the briefcase.
"That is all I know. Now—close the damn briefcase."
Scott released him roughly and walked toward the wine cellar. He grabbed a bottle of strong alcohol, uncapped it, and returned to the table. Without hesitation, he poured it over the briefcase.
Jericho's eyes widened instantly. He sprang to his feet, reaching for it.
"Not a chance," Adrian said sharply.
Before Jericho could react, Adrian delivered a hard kick to his leg, forcing him back. In the moment of distraction, Adrian seized the briefcase and pulled it away.
He brushed his hair back slowly, a faint smirk deepening on his face as he secured his grip on it.
"Today will be the last time she steps inside this club, and the last day this place stands. I'll make sure of it," Scott muttered coldly. "Anything tied to her is not yours to take. That's her property. She paid for the girl for the night, and you took payment that should have remained in her account. I deal in fair business."
He took the lighter from Adrian's hand. Before anyone could react, Scott tossed it into the briefcase.
Flames erupted instantly.
Jericho's eyes widened in shock as the fire began to consume its contents.
"NO!" Jericho screamed, staggering to his feet as he lunged toward the briefcase.
Scott slammed it shut and kicked it off the table. It flew across the room and crashed against the far end of the second couch. Instantly, flames began to spread.
Jericho crawled forward desperately, reaching for it.
"Not a chance, bro," Adrian said calmly.
He walked over and kicked the burning briefcase again, sending it onto the couch he had been sitting on earlier. The fabric caught immediately, erupting into flames as the fire spread rapidly through the room.
Scott turned and walked toward the exit without looking back. Adrian followed behind him, a faint smirk on his face as he brushed his hair backward, the firelight flickering across his expression.
Behind them, Jericho collapsed to his knees.
He crawled through the spreading smoke toward the burning briefcase. The flames licked at its edges, consuming everything around it. When he finally reached it, he grabbed hold.
The fire seared his hands instantly, but he didn't let go. Ignoring the pain, he forced his fingers against the latch, trying desperately to open it even as the flames climbed higher.
Smoke filled the room, thick and suffocating, swallowing everything in a hazy blur.
Jericho's hands burned, his skin blistering, but he still fought with the briefcase as if it were the only thing keeping him alive.
"SCOTT!" he roared hoarsely, his voice breaking through the smoke.
*
*
«ROOFTOP»
The wind howled across the rooftop, lifting strands of Kyla's hair across her tear-streaked face, Lia crouched slowly, bringing herself down to Kyla's level again.
"Scott is already part of my story—he just doesn't remember which chapter he belongs to yet. But tonight…" Lia said coldly, her smirk deepening, "…I'm going to help him read it."
She reached out, gently taking Kyla's chin and lifting her face closer. Her fingers tightened just enough beneath her jaw to assert control—not enough to hurt, but enough to remind her exactly who held the power.
"Please, leave Scott out of this. He has nothing to do with any of it. This was supposed to be just between you and me. I don't know what history you share with him, and I honestly have no desire to find out. Whatever it is—vengeance or otherwise—you should let it go. Check whatever mark you're looking for and let me leave" Kyla muttered, tears streaming from her smoke-stung eyes as Lia's grip on her chin tightened, drawing a faint trace of blood.
Her smirk darkened, and she raised her brows menacingly.
Her lingered on the faint trace of blood at the corner of Kyla's lip, her expression unreadable for a brief moment—before that same dark amusement returned.
"Let you go? Do you truly believe you are in any position to negotiate?" Lia said, rising slowly to her full height. "This was never merely between you and me—you were nothing more than a door. And doors, by their very nature, are meant to be opened."
The wind picked up again, whipping her coat around her legs as she turned slightly, her silhouette sharp against the city lights.
Kyla's heart pounded violently against her chest.
"You're using me," she whispered, her voice cracking despite her effort to remain composed. Lia glanced back at her over her shoulder, a faint smile playing on her lips.
"Of course I am," Lia murmured. "But don't flatter yourself. If all I wanted was the mark, I would have checked you and discarded you already."
She took a slow drag from her cigarette, then exhaled, her gaze never leaving Kyla.
"You're still here because you matter to him," she continued smoothly. "Tell me—why else would he be searching this entire club for you? He knows you're his stepmother, yet he still bought you for a hundred million and made sure the money was transferred directly to your account."
Lia stepped back, placing her heel on the edge of the rooftop once more, the wind curling around her like a shadow.
"A man doesn't spend that kind of money on a woman he sees as nothing," she added, her voice lowering. "And his actions tonight only confirm it—you mean far more to him than you're willing to admit."
Kyla's fingers curled tightly against the restraints behind her back.
"He doesn't care about me," she insisted, though the certainty in her tone was beginning to crack. "He never did."
Lia let out a soft, almost pitying laugh, as though Kyla's denial was the most predictable thing she had heard all night.
"Denial is a convenient shelter," she said calmly. "Until it collapses under truth—and men do not burn entire cities in their mind for things they don't care about"
Kyla's breathing turned uneven, her chest rising and falling faster now. The rooftop felt colder—heavier—like the air itself had begun to tighten around her.
Lia turned fully back to her, the cigarette still between her fingers, its ember glowing like a patient eye in the dark.
"Twenty-three years ago, a boy was taken—not for ransom, not for revenge, but for fun," Lia said, a dark smirk curling at her lips as a chill ran down Kyla's spine.
Kyla's eyes widened as the words sank in, reality striking with brutal clarity.
Scott had been kidnapped twenty years ago..how old would he have been then? Six?
The realization crashed over her in waves, each one heavier than the last. Suddenly, everything began to align in a horrifying, undeniable way.
Hot tears welled in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks as the truth settled deep within her chest.
"You kidnapped him… just for fun?" Kyla asked, her voice breaking as another tear slipped down her cheek. "You're a beast."
Lia let out a quiet chuckle, clearly savoring every second of the conversation.
"I'll take that as a compliment, hottie," Lia said with a faint smile. Just then, her phone rang. She retrieved it from her pocket and glanced at the screen—it was Viper calling.
She scoffed lightly, walked toward the far edge of the rooftop, and answered the call. Her expression remained unreadable as she pressed the phone to her ear, exhaling a thick trail of smoke into the night air.
"Zodiac told you he found the girl?" Lia asked, her eyes widening slightly as she shifted her gaze toward Kyla, who remained bound, her head lowered as tears silently fell.
"Send me the picture. I need to confirm it's her," Lia said sharply before ending the call.
A minute later, her phone vibrated. She unlocked it immediately, and a message appeared.
She tapped it open.
The image loaded.
A girl with her legs spread with the mark in-between her legs.
Lia's expression tightened at once, her fingers curling around the phone with sudden force. Without a word, she slipped it back into her pocket.
She exhaled slowly, then crushed the cigarette beneath her heel, grinding it into the rooftop floor.
Her face was unreadable as she turned toward the exit and began to walk.
"Untie the girl. I have more important matters to attend to," Lia ordered coldly.
The men bowed immediately and moved to obey. She turned without another word, pushing open the rooftop entrance. Her heels clicked sharply against the floor as she walked away, her expression unreadable and composed.
She descended the stairs in silence, each step measured and unhurried. Reaching the elevator lobby, she pressed the button and waited.
When the doors slid open, she stepped inside and selected her floor. The doors closed with a soft chime, and the elevator began its descent.
The elevator descended in complete silence.
Lia stood perfectly still, her reflection faintly visible in the metallic doors. Her expression was calm—too calm—like a storm already decided on its path.
The image from her phone lingered in her mind, that mark, she exhaled slowly through her nose as the elevator numbers ticked downward.
"Interesting," she murmured under her breath.
*
*
The only area they had not yet searched was the rooftop. If she was there, they had to reach her quickly before the entire club was consumed by the flames.
Scott broke into a run, and Adrian followed immediately behind him. Smoke had already filled the building, spilling from one room to another as they moved through the chaos.
Sirens blared in the distance, cutting through the thick air as the fire raged on.
Meanwhile, on the rooftop, Kyla lay on the floor coughing weakly, rubbing her wrists and arms, which were raw and reddened from the tight ropes that had bound her.
Her hair was disheveled, strands clinging to her tear-streaked face. She struggled slowly to her feet and managed a single step forward, but her strength failed her.
She collapsed heavily onto the floor, striking her head as she fell. Pain shot through her, and blood began to trickle from the wound.
"Twenty-three years ago, a boy was taken—not for ransom, not for revenge, but for fun."
Lia's voice echoed in Kyla's mind as a distant memory resurfaced.
She remembered the day she had found Scott on the floor, curled in on himself, trembling uncontrollably in fear. At the time, she had assumed it was only a nightmare and had tried to comfort him.
But she had not known then that he was living with a darkness far deeper than dreams—that he had carried that trauma for all those years.
"When I was lost in the dark, you saved me. Your arms, your words—they were nothing short of magic. That is why you will always be different to me in this world. And as before, you are the only hand I allow to touch me—the only woman I am permitted to hold like this."
Scott's voice echoed in her mind.
Hot tears rolled down Kyla's cheeks as the truth settled in with painful clarity. It became unmistakable now—he had never allowed any other woman to touch him before.
Everything suddenly made sense.
Any time he came into contact with a woman outside his family, he seemed to spiral, as though it pulled him straight back into that dark past he had never fully escaped.
Kyla broke down in tears. She didn't fully understand why she was crying, but the weight of it pressed heavily on her chest.
It must have been so hard for him. It must have hurt so much.
He had lived in darkness for all those years, and now that he had returned, she was the only one he seemed to feel safe with. That, she realized, was likely why he was so intensely drawn to her—even though it had only been a single day since he had returned from college.
Smoke began seeping in through the entrance door, quickly filling the entire rooftop space and reducing visibility.
Kyla coughed violently, clutching her throat as she struggled to breathe. She tried to push herself upright, but her weakened legs gave way beneath her.
She collapsed again, hitting the ground hard. Her lip split on impact, and pain shot through her knees as they struck the floor, leaving them bruised and trembling beneath her weight.
Kyla continued coughing violently, her breath becoming increasingly shallow and unsteady. Her vision blurred as her eyelids grew heavier, her gaze drifting toward the entrance one last time.
No one was coming to save her.
A painful thought settled in—perhaps Scott had stopped looking for her and left. Perhaps this was how it ended.
She didn't want to die.
Hot tears slipped down her face as she forced what little strength she had left into dragging herself across the floor toward the entrance. Every movement was weak, unsteady, and fading.
But halfway there, her body finally gave out.
Her hand fell limp, her breathing slowed, and her eyes closed as consciousness slipped away.
Then the door burst open with a hard, brutal kick.
Scott rushed inside, covering his nose against the thick smoke as his eyes swept across the rooftop.
And then he saw her.
His eyes widened instantly. In that moment, everything else vanished. He ran toward her, dropping to his knees beside her without hesitation. His hands hovered for a brief second—as if afraid she might break—before he carefully pulled her closer.
Adrian rushed in as well, shielding his nose and eyes with his arm against the thick smoke.
Without hesitation, Scott lifted her into his arms in a bridal carry and stood immediately. He turned and rushed toward the exit, moving quickly but carefully.
Adrian followed closely behind as they made their way out of the burning rooftop.
The entire area was now swarming with police officers and fire service personnel, hoses blasting water against the blazing structure in an attempt to contain the inferno.
Nearby, media crews clustered in tight groups, broadcasting live updates and speculating on the scale of the incident as flashing cameras captured every moment.
Jericho was being hurried into an ambulance. Both of his hands were severely burned, wrapped hastily in medical dressing, still trembling faintly from shock and pain.
As he was lifted inside, his mind drifted—uncontrollably—to Scott, and to the moment his five hundred million went up in flames.
His eyes stared upward blankly as the ambulance doors loomed above him. His lips quivered slightly, but no words came out.
Then, slowly, the doors were shut.
Catalina was being interviewed by one of the reporters, her hands trembling as she stood under the harsh glare of the cameras. She was still in shock, her lips parting several times as if to speak, but no words came out.
Her breathing remained uneven, and she eventually gave up, lowering her gaze. The interview ended shortly after, and she stepped away from the crowd, still visibly shaken.
As she walked back toward her room, trying to steady herself, she suddenly froze, ahead of her stood a group of men.
She recognized them instantly—the same men who had once beaten her and torn her clothes simply for bumping into their mistress. The same men linked to the purchase of Holy Mary for a billion dollars.
But it wasn't just their faces that confirmed it, her eyes dropped to their wrists.
The scorpion tattoo, the mark she could never forget, the symbol of the Apheus Empire. Her breath caught in her throat as recognition turned into fear.
She knew she had to leave the club immediately and find somewhere safe to hide.
There was no doubt in her mind about one thing—whenever the Apheus Empire entered a place, no one ever came out unscathed. They either eliminated everyone with ruthless precision or burned the entire location to the ground once they had taken what they came for.
Without wasting another second, she turned away, her pace quickening as fear took over. She didn't look back.
The media crowd surged forward as cameras flashed rapidly, microphones pushed into position, and voices overlapped in a chaotic chorus of questions.
"Catalina! Catalina, can you confirm the identity of the attackers inside the club?"
"Was this connected to the billion-dollar transaction reported earlier tonight?"
Catalina immediately covered her ears, overwhelmed by the noise and the relentless barrage of questions.
"No—please stop!" she cried out, pushing forward through the dense crowd, but the reporters did not relent.
They followed her, stepping alongside her, their microphones still extended, cameras still flashing, voices still overlapping in a continuous wave.
"Catalina! Just confirm one thing, did you see the Apheus Empire men inside the club?"
The color drained from her face.
Her lips parted, but no sound came out. Her throat tightened as her eyes darted away instinctively, as though avoiding the question might make it disappear.
"Catalina! Catalina, answer us!"
She stumbled slightly as she tried to break through, her breathing uneven, panic rising in her chest. The crowd tightened around her, refusing to let her escape the pressure of their questions.
Scott rushed out of the clubhouse, and the police floodlights hit him instantly, the brightness nearly blinding his eyes.
Seeing Robert's son carrying a woman in his arms, the officers' eyes widened in shock.
Adrian followed closely behind, also emerging from the building moments later.
"What the—!" Adrian exclaimed, raising an arm to shield his eyes from the glare. The floodlights were quickly dimmed and redirected as officers rushed toward them.
"Are you both okay?" one of them asked, stepping forward as if to assist Scott.
Scott shot him a cold glare, and the officer immediately withdrew his hand. Without saying a word, Scott continued toward his parked vehicle in the garage, still carrying Kyla securely in his arms.
Adrian followed immediately behind him.
The officers hesitated for only a second before moving after them.
"Sir, we need a statement—what happened inside?" one of them called out, but scott didn't slow down.
"Not now," he said flatly, his voice leaving no room for argument.
Adrian glanced back briefly, shaking his head at the officers. "You'll get nothing useful here. Focus on putting that place out."
They reached the garage, where Scott's car sat waiting, engine already running—someone had clearly anticipated their return.
Scott carefully opened the back door and lowered Kyla inside, making sure her head was supported before letting go for even a second. Her breathing was faint, but steady enough to keep him from panicking.
He closed the door gently, then turned to Adrian.
"Get in," Scott ordered.
Adrian didn't argue, the officers arrived at the garage entrance just as Scott slid into the driver's seat. One of them stepped forward again.
"Sir! We still need to—"
The engine roared to life, cutting him off.
Scott reversed sharply, the tires screeching violently against the concrete floor. Without hesitation, he accelerated out of the garage, narrowly missing the officers as they scattered out of the way. Several of them stumbled in their haste, and a few fell to the ground in the chaos.
Adrian braced himself in the passenger seat as the car sped past, the engine's roar fading into the distance while sirens and shouted orders erupted behind them.
Scott's eyes remained fixed on the road ahead as he accelerated away from the club, the vehicle speeding into the night.
Adrian turned in his seat, glancing back at Kyla's face, strands of hair scattered across her features. He reached out to gently move them aside, but Scott quickly caught his hand.
Adrian looked at him, and their eyes met briefly in the rearview mirror.
"I need to concentrate," Scott muttered without taking his eyes off the road.
Adrian scoffed lightly, withdrawing his hand. He leaned back into his seat, relaxing slightly, before shifting his attention to the side mirror to watch the road behind them.
Behind them, the burning clubhouse continued to collapse into itself, sirens echoing through the night as chaos swallowed everything they had left behind.
"She really looks like our stepmom, don't you think, predator?" Adrian said with a faint smile, glancing back through the rearview mirror. He brushed his hair backward, shifting his gaze to Scott, whose eyes remained locked on the road ahead.
Scott didn't respond.
Adrian scoffed lightly, his smile fading. His phone suddenly rang. He pulled it out, coughed softly, then brushed his hair back again and adjusted his collar before checking the caller ID—his mother.
He exhaled deeply.
Of course, their faces would already be all over the news. Adrian groaned.
Almost immediately, Scott's phone rang. He pulled it out, saw that it was Max calling, and without hesitation switched it to airplane mode before slipping it back into his pocket.
His eyes flicked briefly to Kyla through the rearview mirror.
Then he pressed harder on the accelerator. The car surged forward, practically flying down the road.
Scott's jaw tightened, his teeth clenched as his grip on the steering wheel hardened. His knuckles turned pale as he focused entirely on the road ahead.
*
*
«NEXT—DAY, MR ROBERT'S ESTATE»
Kyla's eyes fluttered open for the first time. Her vision was blurry at first, shapes and light blending together, but gradually everything sharpened.
She was lying on a soft mattress. Her gaze slowly shifted around the room—and then she recognized it, a place she could never forget, even in her grave.
Her eyes widened instantly.
She shot upright on the bed, her hair falling messily across her face as she looked around in shock. Her breath caught in her throat, then she looked down at herself.
She was wearing his shirt.
Her grip tightened against her chest as she pulled the fabric closer instinctively, swallowing hard. Beads of sweat formed on her forehead as realization and confusion crashed over her at once.
All the memories of the previous night began to flood back into her mind—the woman in red heels, the suffocating smoke, the moment she collapsed… and the realization that she was still alive.
She had survived.
A faint, relieved smile formed on her lips.
Slowly, she walked toward the mirror, steadying herself as she moved. Her gaze dropped to her knees, now carefully patched and bandaged. She remembered how she had fallen on the rooftop when her legs gave out.
Her expression softened.
The shirt she was wearing fell just above her knees, loose and oversized, still serving as a makeshift gown. It was clear he had changed her clothes and dressed her in it instead—just as he had done before when he had once changed her and put her back into her own clothes.
It was too big on her, hanging loosely over her frame, swallowing her small figure.
Then she recalled her conversation with the woman in red heels and let out a deep, measured sigh. What exactly had happened to him twenty years ago?
She could only imagine the depth of suffering Scott must have endured during that time—pain so profound it had left behind an enduring scar of trauma that time itself had been unable to erase.
How would she make him tell her about his kidnapping twenty years ago? She truly wanted to hear the story that had forced him to live in darkness all those years.
She brushed her hair back slowly, her thoughts heavy and unsettled. Her fingers drifted to the bandage on her face, tracing it lightly. She had been badly bruised the previous night.
Her jaw, too, was still tender—likely from the way the woman had gripped her chin, her nails pressing sharply into her skin.
The bathroom door opened, and Scott stepped out, freshly showered. His eyes immediately landed on her.
Kyla was still absorbed in examining her bandages, lost in thought.
A faint smirk tugged at his lips. Without a word, he crumpled the towel he had been using to dry his hair and threw it at her. It struck her lightly on the back, making her stagger in surprise, her eyes widening.
She turned sharply.
The moment she saw him, she froze. Her throat tightened as she swallowed hard.
Scott, however, ignored her reaction completely and walked past her toward the wardrobe as if nothing had happened.
Kyla glanced down at the towel on the floor, hesitated for a moment, then slowly picked it up. With a small, impulsive motion, she brushed her hair back and threw it back at him.
Scott reacted instantly, turning just in time to catch it mid-air, a faint silence settled between them. Scott didn't turn fully, but his eyes shifted slightly toward her over his shoulder.
"Childish," he said flatly, hanging the towel over his shoulder as he turned back toward the wardrobe.
Kyla swallowed hard, still unable to understand why he remained so calm, as if nothing about the moment mattered to him at all.
"About last night…" she began.
"Forget it," Scott cut in, already slipping into his shirt and buttoning it with practiced ease.
Kyla sighed softly and walked toward him. She hesitated for a brief second before gently reaching out, taking both his hands and pulling them away from his shirt.
His eyes shifted to her instantly.
"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "For putting you in trouble. I know a lot must have happened last night that I'm not even aware of… I'm truly sorry."
A tear slipped down her cheek.
"And thank you for saving my life," she continued, her voice trembling slightly. "About the hundred million you transferred to me… I'm really grateful. But I thought I could earn more if I worked harder. That's why I went back to the club last night."
Her eyes remained locked with his, filled with sincerity and something deeper she couldn't quite name.
"Extremely shameless."
Scott yanked his hand away roughly, causing Kyla to stagger back, her eyes widening in shock.
Without another glance at her, he adjusted his shirt and reached into the wardrobe, pulling out his trousers. He unwrapped the towel from his waist, and Kyla immediately turned her back, her face flushing as she looked away.
Scott scoffed under his breath as he dressed, sliding his trousers on and threading his belt through the loops with practiced ease.
He made his way toward the door.
But before he could leave, Kyla rushed forward and grabbed his hand again.
Scott halted.
"I'm sorry, please, Scott. I swear I'll never go to that club or dance again. I won't go there—please, you really have to hear me out just this once," Kyla muttered.
He scoffed.
"Of course you won't go there again, because the club is already burnt to ashes," Scott replied, roughly yanking her hands away. This time, she began to fall—her eyes widened in shock—but Scott quickly grabbed her hand, holding her suspended in mid-air.
"From today, I'll start seeing you differently. As for that bullying—you'll receive my share of it too," Scott said coldly.
Then he let go of her.
She fell heavily to the floor. Scott smirked, brushing his hair back as he slipped his hands into his pockets and began to leave the room.
Kyla stared at his retreating figure, tears streaming down her face as his words echoed relentlessly in her ears. The door slammed shut.
She remained on the floor, closing her eyes as she sniffed quietly.
*
*
TBC