When love reaches its limit, betrayal becomes even more grotesque.
I shoved him back. “Don’t you fucking touch me!”
I stepped away, the house still thick with the stench of blood.
For a while, we kept our distance.
Harvey remained hidden under Faye’s careful protection, leaving no trace behind.
But a young man like him was always restless, always impatient. He couldn't stay away forever.
Eventually, he came looking for me.
“You've been trying to find her lately? I’ll tell you right now that she’s with me,” Harvey said, his voice brimming with smug confidence.
He was dressed head-to-toe in custom clothes, every detail sharp, every gesture proud.
Then, the bastard even added, “You think castrating me would fix everything?”
He leaned closer with a triumphant grin plastered on his face. “As long as her love is with me, the more you hurt me, the more she’ll love me. They reattached my parts perfectly—no damage at all. If anything, it makes me perform even better. I should be thanking you for the assist.”
With that, Harvey pulled his shirt open, showing off a flawless neck and the edge of his chest. Countless kiss marks repeated across his skin, declaring how completely Faye had demanded and taken from him.
“Too bad, though. I got your wife pregnant again.” His pride spilled out in every word.
Unruffled, I set my coffee down and drank it slowly, expressionless.
Meanwhile, Harvey flopped onto the custom sofa I had commissioned, propping his chin on his hands.
“I heard that after marriage, you didn’t manage to get her pregnant for three years. Finally, she’s with child.”
He laughed at his own joke, leaning back casually. “Ha! Didn’t keep it! Sometimes, you really can’t blame the woman.”
The coffee cup clinked sharply against the table.
Then Harvey screamed.
The room froze.
Bodyguards stood silent as Harvey doubled over on the floor, blood dripping from his groin.
“Chester! You’re gonna die a horrible death!” he howled.
The bodyguards dragged him toward the door, but he kept shouting, “Chester! If you do this, aren’t you afraid Faye will take revenge?”
I tapped my fingers on the marble table deliberately.
“You need to understand something,” I said, my voice low and controlled. “Just because my wife cares about you doesn’t mean you’ve earned a place in her life.”
...
That night, Faye returned home with dozens of people—an entire floor taken up by her entourage. She would not make such a spectacle unless she had a difficult opponent.
We faced each other across a table that felt more like a battlefield than furniture.
For the first time, she came at me with a blade drawn. We sat at opposite ends of the negotiation table, each backed by dozens of people.
“Twice now.” Her long, knuckled fingers rapped lightly against the marble. “Chester, you should apologize to him.”
But I replied, “That bastard brought it on himself. A fool who barges in has to take responsibility for his recklessness.”
Half of Faye’s face was swallowed by shadow; I couldn’t read her expression.
She folded her hands and studied me.
Still, I continued, my voice steady. “Does the great Faye Ellison really think her husband is so patient that he’d just sit there while another man shows up at his door?”
I flicked my lighter, igniting my cigar, the flame winking in the dim light. “Ms. Ellison, you need to understand this—after all these years of scraping and clawing through the Upper Circle, I bled right there beside you. And now, putting some pretty nobody up against me? Either you’re out of your mind, or he is.”
I slid another copy of the papers across the table, smoke curling behind my words.
“This is your last chance.”
The moon cast a cold light on the marble, but it didn't soften anything. We looked at each other in the dim glow; the moon reflected off my prosthetic limb, cold and shiny.
I spoke plainly, laying it all out. “From the start, you helped me take down my stepmother and storm the Smiths’ house for me. I lost a leg for you and bled for you. Faye, let’s part clean. No debts. No claims. That is the best way for both of us.”
