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.

gradually. The moment he reached a

restroom stall, he locked the door. Kneeling in front of the toilet, he jammed his

the contents of his stomach- blue pill included-into the

clinging to his face. His eyes, bloodshot and brimming with

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

to him, in that moment, he bore an uncanny resemblance to the charming, gentle-looking man in the Taylor family portrait hanging in the living room of

Villa.

several VIPs in the most opulent private

each bottle worth hundreds of thousands of dollars, as they basked in

were officials of high status and power. Among the distinguished guests was Rafe Centry, the mayor overseeing the bidding for

raising his glass in a toast, his voice thick

predecessor. Your younger brother is infamous

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

erupted around

not about what serves him right," another guest interjected. "He simply couldn't hold onto what wasn't

the eldest son. Jasper had no business assuming he'd inherited the company just because he

room resounded with boisterous

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

his usual pickiness, was delighted by the respect shown to him. With a hearty laugh, he

eyes, though his voice remained calm. "In that

himself, citing his age and