Can’t Win Me Back

"I will take it if my condition flares up," Remy said, his voice devoid of emotion as he stared blankly at the bottle in his hand.

With a feigned smile, Sheryl replied, "Sir instructed me to ensure you took the pill."

A chill ran down Remy's spine. Knitting his brows together, he questioned, "But why?"

"This is Sir's order. Why are you questioning it?" Sheryl's smirk turned cold and mocking." What, are you afraid Sir has ill intentions toward you? Have you lost your trust in him?"

Remy held his breath. "No, that's not it."

"Remy, swore before Sir to serve him loyally for the rest of your life. You pledged to give him your very being. You haven't forgotten that, have you?'

Tilting her chin slightly upward, Sheryl shot him a frosty sidelong glance. "Even if Sir fed you poison, shouldn't you take it without hesitation? Why are you hesitating? Don't disappoint Sir.

The suffocating pressure in Remy's chest intensified. It felt as though someone had a rifle trained on him, forcing him to retreat step by step toward the edge of a cliff. One more step, and he'd plummet to his death.

Clenching his jaw, he opened the pill bottle.

Under Sheryl's watchful gaze, he popped the pill into his mouth and swallowed it.

Very good. Always remember that you work for Sir. Never forget where you came from. With a mocking scoff, Sheryl turned on her heel and marched away confidently.

Remy moved forward, his expression unreadable.

pace quickened gradually. The moment he reached a blind spot in the security cameras, he

restroom stall, he locked the door. Kneeling in front of the toilet, he jammed his fingers into the back of his throat, his

arching as he vomited the contents of his stomach- blue pill included-into

sticky drool clinging to his face. His eyes, bloodshot and brimming with unshed tears, mirrored his disheveled

genuine smile, one born from the depths of

in that moment, he bore an uncanny resemblance to the charming, gentle-looking man in the

Villa.

sat with several VIPs in the most opulent private room of Solana

red wines, each bottle worth hundreds of thousands of dollars, as they

of high status and power. Among the distinguished guests was Rafe Centry,

respectfully as Mr. Beckett, president of Beckett Group, now," Rafe said, raising his glass in a toast, his voice thick with alcohol; he was pleased with the treatment he

predecessor. Your younger brother is infamous for being difficult -rigid, stubborn, and

Even then, I knew he wouldn't last long as

around the

him right," another guest interjected. "He simply couldn't hold onto what wasn't his to begin

he'd inherited the company just because he held the title of president. Who does he

room resounded with boisterous

lifted a teacup-a stark contrast to the wine glasses around him. Taking an elegant sip, he asked, "Mr.

his usual pickiness, was delighted by the respect shown to him. With a hearty laugh, he replied, "Not at all! You're too gracious, Mr. Beckett. We have many fruitful partnerships

malice flickered in Justin's eyes, though his voice remained calm. "In that case, I'll

the night deepened, Rafe excused himself, citing his age and