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.

quickened gradually. The moment he reached a blind spot

toilet, he jammed his fingers into the back of his throat, his eyes wide

his back arching as he vomited the contents of his stomach- blue

at the cold, sticky drool clinging to his face.

the first time in years, he smiled-a genuine smile, one born from the

the charming, gentle-looking man in the Taylor family portrait hanging in the living room

Villa.

in the most opulent private room of

rare red wines, each bottle worth hundreds of thousands of

and power. Among the distinguished guests was Rafe Centry, the mayor overseeing the bidding for

addressing you respectfully as Mr. Beckett, president of Beckett Group, now," Rafe said, raising

younger brother is infamous for

to this position. Even then, I knew he wouldn't last long as president. And as it turns out,

around the

serves him right," another guest interjected. "He simply couldn't

no business assuming he'd inherited the company just because

resounded with boisterous

glasses around him. Taking an elegant sip, he asked, "Mr. Gentry, you don't mind

to him. With a hearty laugh, he replied, "Not at all! You're too gracious, Mr. Beckett. We have many fruitful

in Justin's eyes, though his voice remained calm. "In that case, I'll entrust Project A5 to you, Mr.

deepened, Rafe excused himself, citing his age