In Love With My Bully-Chapter 121: Of Course He Does

There was just something about Chayara. She had this way of being warm and sharp all at once. She pulled people in, made them forget what they were supposed to be doing, and reminded them what it felt like to be wanted—really wanted. The simple way she looked at you and made you feel like the most interesting person in the room.

"Yes. He thinks a Porsche suits me," Chay said. She tapped the hood affectionately.

Guy gave a tight smile, trying not to let the "Drake thinks" part burrow under his skin. "Of course he does," he muttered, mostly to himself.

Across the street, Drake still sat in his car, watching the exchange.

He hadn’t quite figured out Guy’s intentions, but the man rubbed him the wrong way—always had. He was too smooth, too present, too... available.

Drake leaned forward, elbows resting on the steering wheel, his jaw ticking. He’s just her advisor, he reminded himself. He gets paid for this.

But that didn’t stop the burn crawling up his chest. Guy was standing too close. Laughing too much. Looking at her like she was more than a client.

He narrowed his eyes behind the windshield. And as if on cue, Guy turned his head ever so slightly and met Drake’s gaze through the glass.

For a moment, neither man moved.

They just scowled at each other, a silent war of narrowed eyes and testosterone-laced telepathy.

Chayara, blissfully unaware of the growing male tension behind her, pulled out her phone to take a photo of the Porsche. She hummed a happy little tune under her breath, pleased with her new ride, pleased with the day, pleased with herself.

*****

The next morning, the city hadn’t quite stirred yet. Nita arrived at Chay’s residence with a tight knot of worry in her chest. Richard had wanted to come with her, of course. But Nita had stopped him with a hand to his arm and a firm shake of her head.

"She doesn’t need both of us at her door," she’d said. "Let me ease her into it."

She wasn’t sure Chayara was ready. But the news wasn’t going to wait.

Standing at the door, Nita raised her hand and knocked, three short taps, then two longer ones. She waited, anxiety gnawing at her ribs. Behind the door, she heard soft footsteps, a muttered yawn, and the creak of the lock turning.

Chay opened the door in pyjamas. Her hair was up in a loose puff that had clearly battled a pillow all night and lost.

"Aunty! Good morning," she said, blinking in surprise. "Is everything alright?"

Nita offered a tight-lipped smile. "I need to speak with you."

"Of course, come in." Chay stepped aside immediately, ushering her in with one hand while pushing up her sleeves with the other. ƒгeewebnovёl_com

Nita’s eyes scanned the room and then landed on the study table, where Guy was slumped forward, passed out with his cheek mashed against a stack of papers. His laptop screen glowed faintly, casting a soft halo over his messy hair.

"Oh, we were working all night. He crashed here," Chay explained.

Nita nodded, understanding more than Chay realized.

"What’s going on?" Chay asked as they moved toward the kitchen. She grabbed two mugs from the cabinet without thinking—her body moving on autopilot while her mind processed Nita’s tense expression.

Nita hesitated. Her mouth opened, closed. Then, she said softly, "Richard received some news today. It’s not good."

Chay clutched the mugs a little tighter. "Don’t... don’t tell me. I can’t lose anyone again."

Her words echoed through the quiet kitchen, and Guy stirred. He heard the panic in her voice before he even registered the words. His eyes fluttered open, bleary with sleep.

"Chay?" he called, alarm shooting through his spine. He was on his feet before he was even fully awake.

He blinked at Nita, recognition dawning.

He rubbed his face with one hand. "What’s going on?"

Chay didn’t answer. Her body had gone still, eyes wide and glassy, arms crossed.

Nita stepped forward gently, her hand brushing against Chay’s arm. "Sit, my dear. Just sit. Let me explain."

Chay clutched at her chest as if trying to physically hold back the dread creeping up her spine. "No, please no." Her knees felt weak. The tears stung fast and hot, burning the backs of her eyes and threatening to fall in a torrent she wasn’t ready for.

"Chayara!" Nita stepped forward quickly, grabbing her by the arm, taking the mugs from her.

"Aunty, no." Chay’s voice cracked again. Her other hand shot up as if to shield herself from the truth. "Please don’t tell me. I still miss Grandpa. I’m still hurting for him." She inhaled sharply. "It hasn’t even been a year!"

Guy was beside her in seconds. "Chay... you can do this," he said softly. "Just breathe... come on. In and out. Just breathe."

Chay looked up at him with glassy eyes, her mouth trembling. His hand found her back, rubbing slow circles. She turned back to Nita.

"Which of them?"

Nita swallowed. She hadn’t wanted to say it like this. She hadn’t wanted it to be this brutal. But there was no sugar-coating what had happened. "Your mother," she said. "She was stabbed in gen pop. She died."

Chay screamed.

The sound was raw, broken. She stumbled backward, almost doubling over as it burst out of her. "No!" she cried. "She was going to get out in a few weeks. She was...Oh my God!"

Guy didn’t hesitate. He pulled her into his arms, catching her just as her knees began to buckle. She crumpled against him, sobbing into his chest. Her grief soaked his shirt, but he didn’t care. He only held her tighter, one hand cradling her head while the other wrapped around her waist protectively, silently daring the world to try and hurt her again.

"I’m so sorry, Chay," Nita said. "Your uncle would be here, but I told him not to overwhelm you. He went to the prison to make preparations. If you would like to be there with him, I can take you."

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