Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The night air at the racing circuit was thick with gasoline, heat, and adrenaline.

Rows of sport bikes and sleek cars lined the pits, their engines growling like restless beasts waiting to be unleashed.

Floodlights bathed the track in white glare, while the crowd buzzed with anticipation, music, and the sweet bite of alcohol and smoke.

But Aek wasn’t in the mood for any of it tonight.

He ripped off his helmet, tossed it onto the hood of his car, and cursed under his breath.

His jaw was set tight, his usually cocky smirk replaced with the kind of scowl that made mechanics scatter.

“Bad meeting?” Ton’s voice came from behind him.

His best friend leaned casually against a railing, a protein shake in hand like he wasn’t surrounded by screaming engines and half-drunk fans.

Aek shot him a look. “The client was a complete idiot.

Wanted to lecture me about branding—as if I don’t know how to run my own damn company.”

Ton raised an eyebrow.

“You did almost throw your water bottle at him.”

“He deserved it.”

“You can’t keep scaring off clients just because they don’t kiss your ass, Babe.”

Aek grunted, running a hand through his hair.

His temper was running hotter than his engine.

The meeting had been a mess, and now, being back at the circuit,

he could already feel the next irritation coming.

Like clockwork.

And right on cue, a smooth, mocking voice sliced through the air:

“Well, well. If it isn’t the prince of temper tantrums himself.”

Aek’s eyes snapped to the side.
Willy.

He was leaning against his car like it belonged in a luxury showroom instead of on a racetrack.

Hair perfectly styled, shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal the edge of his chest, a smug smile curling his lips.

He looked every bit the arrogant bastard he was—and every bit the man Babe hated most.

“Not in the mood, Willy,” Aek growled.

“Aw, you wound me.”

Willy clutched his chest in mock pain.

“I just came to say hi. Heard you had a little… business disaster today. Poor baby, did someone not bow low enough for your royal ego?”

Ton sighed, already rubbing his temples. “Here we go…”

Aek’s fists clenched. “Don’t test me tonight.”

But Willy didn’t stop. Of course he didn’t. He thrived on this.

“You know, for someone who talks so big about being on top—”

his gaze flicked pointedly toward Charlie, who was across the pit checking tire pressure on Aek’s bike,

“—you sure look like you’re losing your touch.”

That did it.

Aek shoved off the hood of his car,

closing the distance between them in a few angry strides.

“Say that again.”

Willy’s smile widened, sharp and cruel. “I said—”

“Enough!” Ton stepped between them before fists started flying.

His palms pressed against Aek’s chest, shoving him back slightly.

“Aek, don’t. He’s baiting you, like always.”

“He wants to start something? Fine, I’ll finish it.”

Ton groaned. “God, you’re both children.”

But Aek’s pride was a wildfire, and Willy knew exactly where to throw gasoline.

“Tell you what,” Willy said, pushing off his car, his eyes glinting like a predator spotting prey.

“Let’s make things interesting. A race. One-on-one. You and me.”

“That’s not happening,” Ton snapped before Aek could answer.

But Aek’s smirk had already returned.

“Finally something worth my time.”

Charlie, sensing the change in energy, hurried over.

His dark hair stuck to his forehead, sweat shining on his skin under the floodlights.

“What’s going on?”

he asked, his voice tight with worry.

Aek didn’t look at him. He was locked on Willy.

“Stakes?” Aek demanded.

Willy’s smile turned sinful. “Oh, I’ve got the perfect idea.”

He let his eyes wander over Charlie in a way that made Aek’s blood boil.

“If I win… I get a night with your sweet little boyfriend.”

The words hit like a punch.

Charlie froze, eyes widening. “What—what the hell did you just say?”

Ton’s face went pale. “Willy, that’s—no. Absolutely not. That’s disgusting.”

But Aek’s fury drowned out everything else.

He grabbed Willy by the collar, slamming him back against his car hard enough to set off the alarm.

“You bastard—”

Charlie rushed forward, tugging at Aek’s arm. “Stop it! Aek, don’t—”

Willy didn’t flinch.

He just laughed, low and taunting, even with Aek’s fist ready to smash into his jaw.

“Oh, I hit a nerve. Look at you—shaking with rage. Afraid you’ll lose him to someone who actually knows how to handle him?”

Charlie’s cheeks flushed red. “I’m not some… some prize for you two to fight over!”

“Damn right you’re not,” Aek growled.

He shoved Willy away roughly.

“Fine. You want a race? You’ve got it.

But when I win, you walk away.

For good. No more racing.

No more showing your face around here.”

Willy straightened his shirt, his smugness never wavering. “Done.”

“Aek—” Ton’s voice was sharp with warning.

“Think about what you’re saying. He’s one of the best racers here. And if you lose—”

“I won’t.”

“You don’t get to decide that!” Way shot back.

“This isn’t just about you, Aek! You’re gambling with Charlie like he’s—”

He stopped himself, shaking his head in frustration.

“You’re too hot-headed right now. Don’t do this.”

Charlie’s voice cracked as he grabbed Aek’s wrist.

“Please. Don’t. You don’t have to prove anything. Not to him.”

But Aek’s pride was already locked in place, solid and unshakable. His jaw was set, his eyes blazing.

“He doesn’t get to talk about you like that.

He doesn’t get to even look at you like that.

I’ll shut him up the only way he understands.”

Willy chuckled, clearly savoring every second of the chaos he’d caused. “I’ll be waiting, Aek.”

He slid into his car, revving the engine like punctuation.

“And when I win, I’ll take good care of him. Don’t worry.”

Charlie looked sick.

Ton looked furious. And Aek…

Aek looked like a man who had just dug himself into a hole so deep, no one could pull him out.

As Willy drove off toward the starting line,

Ton grabbed Aek by the shoulders and shook him.

“Listen to me. This isn’t business—you can’t negotiate your way out if it goes wrong.

This is Charlie’s dignity, his body, his life. You don’t get to risk that!”

Aek yanked free, eyes hard. “I already said yes.”

Charlie’s hand trembled as it clutched at his shirt. “And what if you lose?”

For a moment, silence hung heavy between them.

Then Aek leaned down, cupping Charlie’s face,

his thumb brushing across his cheek with a gentleness that clashed with the rage still burning in him.

“I won’t lose. Not when it comes to you.”

Charlie’s breath hitched. He wanted to believe him.

He wanted to trust him.

But deep in his gut, dread twisted like a knife.

And Ton, standing just a step behind, could already see the disaster coming.

Chapter Text

The pit had gone quiet after Willy’s provocation, but word traveled fast.

By the time Aek stormed back toward his car, Charlie at his heels and Ton fuming behind them, half the circuit already knew what had happened.

And Alan was waiting.

“Are you out of your damn mind?” Aek’s older brother’s voice cut through the noise like a whip.

Alan’s arms were crossed, his expression the same one he used to use when Aek crashed motorcycles as a teenager and came home with bloody knees.

Only this time, the stakes were far higher.

Jeff stood just beside him, a grease rag in one hand, his mechanic’s overalls smudged from a long day.

His brows were knitted tight, his usual calm demeanor rattled.

Aek tried to brush past. “Not now.”

“Oh, no. Right now.” Alan stepped forward, blocking his path.

“Tell me it isn’t true. Tell me you didn’t just bet your boyfriend like he’s a set of tires.”

Charlie flinched, his face burning with shame.

Aek’s eyes hardened. “It’s not like that.”

“It’s exactly like that!” Alan barked. “Do you realize what you’ve done?”

Jeff shook his head, disgust in his voice.

“Aek, this isn’t just reckless—it’s cruel. To Charlie. To yourself. You’ve walked right into Willy’s hands.”

Aek clenched his jaw, but Ton spoke up before he could. “I told him. He won’t listen. He’s running on pure testosterone and ego.”

“Watch it,” Aek snapped.

“No, you watch it!” Ton shot back, stepping closer.

“You’re gambling with Charlie’s body and his dignity. You think winning this race will protect him? What if you lose, Aek? Have you even thought of that for one second?”

Charlie’s voice broke in, quiet but trembling. “He hasn’t.”

The words silenced everyone for a heartbeat.

Charlie rarely raised his voice, rarely stood firm against Aek’s fire.

But now his dark eyes were glassy, his chest heaving as he tried to hold himself together.

“I’m not some trophy for you two to fight over,” he whispered.

“I’m not… something you can bet like I don’t matter.”

The weight of his words hit the group like a blow.

Alan’s anger faltered into guilt for his little brother, Jeff rubbed a hand over his face in frustration, and even Ton’s voice softened.

Aek reached for him, but Charlie pulled back.

“Don’t. Not here.”

Winner’s voice slid into the tension, smooth and edged with amusement.

He and Dean had wandered over, drawn by the shouting.

“Well, well. Drama on the track before the engines even start.”

“Winner,” Alan snapped, “not the time.”

Winner smirked, unbothered. “Hey, I’m just saying—it’s classic Willy. He’s not stupid.

He knows how to get under Aek’s skin.”

His eyes flicked toward Charlie, lingering just a little too long before returning to Aek. “And apparently, he’s got excellent taste.”

Dean, quieter but sharper, muttered, “This is going to get ugly. Willy doesn’t make bets he doesn’t plan on winning.”

The crowd around them was already buzzing with gossip.

What had started as a private fight had spread like wildfire.

By tomorrow night, everyone in the racing world would know: Aek had bet his pride, his boyfriend, and his future on a single race.

And there was no going back.

Later that night, Charlie stood in Aek’s apartment, arms crossed tight over his chest.

The city lights spilled in through the wide windows, painting him in gold and shadow.

He looked small against the vastness of the room, but his voice was steady when he finally spoke.

“Why?”

Aek dropped his keys onto the counter, his leather jacket already discarded on the couch.

His body still hummed with adrenaline, but the sight of Charlie’s expression—hurt,

betrayed—cut sharper than anything Willy had said.

“He was talking about you like—” Aek’s voice cracked, rage flaring again just from the memory.

“Like you were something he could take. I couldn’t let that stand.”

Charlie’s hands balled into fists. “So you bet me?”

Aek winced. “I didn’t—” He stopped,
groaning, running a hand over his face.

“I wasn’t thinking. I just needed to shut him up.”

“You don’t shut someone like Willy up, Aek. You gave him exactly what he wanted.”

Charlie’s eyes were glassy again, but this time it was anger more than fear.

“Do you even know how humiliated I felt? Standing there while you two treated me like—like I was the prize money?”

Aek closed the distance between them, gripping Charlie’s shoulders.

“You’re not a prize. You’re everything. That’s why I can’t let him near you.”

Charlie tried to shove him off, but Aek’s grip was strong.

“And what if you lose?” Charlie demanded.

“What then? What happens to me?”

Aek’s voice dropped, low and certain. “I won’t lose.”

“You can’t promise that.”

“I can,” Aek insisted, pressing his forehead to Charlie’s.

“Because I’ll fight with everything I have. For you.”

Charlie’s lips trembled.

His anger, his fear, his love—all tangled into one unbearable knot.

“You’re such an idiot,” he whispered.

And then he kissed him.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t sweet.

It was desperate, furious, almost violent.

Aek pulled him close, crushing him against his chest, and Charlie clung like he was drowning.

Their mouths clashed, teeth scraping, tongues battling for dominance as if they were already racing—already gambling everything on this one moment.

Clothes came off fast, buttons popping, shirts tossed aside.

Aek lifted Charlie onto the counter, spreading his thighs wide as he ground against him, their breaths ragged, their bodies hot with need and fear.

“Mine,” Aek growled against his throat, biting down just hard enough to make Charlie gasp.

“Then don’t you dare lose me,” Charlie panted, nails digging into Aek’s back.

The room filled with the sound of skin on skin, moans swallowed into hungry kisses, every thrust of hips carrying the weight of tomorrow’s race.

It wasn’t just sex—it was a claim, a vow, a frantic need to prove that no one, no one, could take Charlie away.

When they finally collapsed together, sweaty and trembling, Charlie buried his face in Aek’s chest, whispering, “Please don’t let him win.”

And Aek held him tighter, as if holding him hard enough could make the promise real.

Across the city, in a luxury penthouse suite, Willy poured himself a glass of whiskey.

He stood by the window, the skyline glittering below, but his mind wasn’t on the view. It was on Charlie.

He could still see the way Charlie’s eyes had widened in shock, the flush on his cheeks, the way his lips parted as he stammered in protest.

Sweet, innocent, trembling with anger and fear—yet underneath it, Willy had seen something else.

A fire.

God, he wanted to see more of that fire.

He leaned back in his chair, loosening his shirt collar, a smirk playing on his lips as he let his mind wander.

He pictured Charlie in his bed, that fire in his eyes as Willy stripped him down, kissed every inch of that soft skin, coaxed every sound from those pretty lips.

Aek thought he could protect him.

Aek thought he could keep him locked away like a treasure.

But treasures begged to be stolen.

And Willy had always been a thief at heart.

He took a slow sip of whiskey, savoring the burn, his thoughts dark and delicious.

“Tomorrow night,” he murmured to himself.

“You’ll be mine, Charlie. One way or another.”

The dangerous smile that curved his lips promised nothing but trouble.

Chapter Text

The roar of engines shook the night.

Floodlights blazed down on the track, casting everything in harsh white.

The crowd pressed against the barriers, their chants and cheers a living, breathing wave of energy.

Phones lit the air, flashes capturing every second.

This wasn’t just a race tonight—this was a war.

Aek straddled his bike, leather gloves flexing as he tightened his grip on the handles.

His helmet rested on the seat beside him, his eyes fixed on the starting line with fire and pride.

This was his world.

His track.

And no one—least of all Willy—was going to take it from him.

Charlie stood nearby, arms wrapped around himself like armor, his face pale under the lights.

Ton hovered at his side, trying to be steady, but his clenched jaw betrayed his own nerves.

“Last chance,” Ton said, voice low but sharp. “Back out now before it’s too late.”

Aek didn’t look at him. “Too late already.”

Charlie reached forward, catching his wrist. “Aek, please—”

His voice cracked, desperation bleeding through.

“You don’t have to do this. You don’t have to prove anything.”

Aek softened just a fraction, leaning in to press a kiss to Charlie’s temple through his hair.

“I promised you. I won’t lose.”

Charlie’s grip tightened, but Aek was already pulling away, already putting on his helmet.

Across the line, Willy was the picture of calm arrogance.

He leaned casually against his car before slipping inside, flashing Charlie a wink that made the younger man flinch.

Willy smirked under his breath, savoring every ounce of discomfort.

He wanted Charlie rattled.

He wanted Aek distracted.

Because this wasn’t just about winning the race.

This was about breaking Aek.

The starter raised the flag.

Engines screamed to life.

“Riders ready?”

Aek revved, his machine answering like thunder.

Willy’s car purred like a predator about to strike.

The flag dropped.

The track exploded.

Aek shot forward, his bike leaping like a bullet from the barrel.

Adrenaline flooded his veins as he tore down the first straight,

the wind whipping against him, the crowd’s roar fading into nothing but speed and focus.

Willy was right there behind him, headlights burning like eyes in the dark.

For the first few laps, it was everything Aek wanted—control, power, the sweet edge of victory.

He leaned into turns with practiced grace, tires biting the asphalt.

Every glance over his shoulder showed Willy just out of reach, chasing but never catching.

I’ve got him.

Every second pushed his confidence higher.

Charlie’s face flashed in his mind—he’d win this for him, for them.

He’d shut Willy down once and for all.

Lap after lap, Aek’s lead held.

The crowd roared his name, chanting, Aek! Aek! Aek! He felt unstoppable.

But Willy… Willy was patient.

From inside his sleek machine, Willy’s lips curved into a smile.

He’d let Aek feel the thrill, let him taste the sweetness of victory on his tongue.

He wanted Aek drunk on it.

Arrogant.

Blind.

And when the time was right, he’d take it all away.

On the final lap, Aek hit the last straightaway with everything he had, his bike screaming under the pressure.

The finish line was ahead, close, so close.

and in a flash, Willy moved.

It was surgical, predatory.

Willy slipped into Aek’s blind spot, timed the acceleration with perfection, and in the blink of an eye, he was there.

Passing.

A blur of sleek metal and taillights ripping past Aek’s front wheel.

Aek’s eyes widened in shock inside his helmet. “No—!”

But it was too late.

Willy crossed the line first.

The crowd erupted in chaos, cheers and gasps colliding into a deafening roar.

Some screamed Aek’s name in disbelief, others cheered for Willy’s ruthless win.

Phones went wild, capturing the moment—the second the king of the circuit was dethroned.

Aek skidded to a halt past the line, ripping his helmet off and tossing it to the ground with a roar of rage.

His chest heaved, sweat slicking his hair to his forehead.

He’d had it—he’d had it—and in the last second, Willy had stolen it away.

Charlie stood frozen at the sidelines, his heart in his throat, his stomach twisted in dread.

The moment Willy’s car crossed the line first, his knees nearly buckled.

Ton cursed under his breath, fists slamming the barrier.

“Goddammit, Aek!”

Willy climbed out of his car slowly, savoring every second.

He spread his arms as the crowd roared, soaking in the spotlight like it was his birthright.

His eyes, though, never left Charlie.

Not for a second.

He sauntered over, his smile dangerously seductive, every step deliberate.

“Well,” he drawled, his voice carrying over the din, “a bet’s a bet.”

Charlie’s blood ran cold.

He stumbled back instinctively,

bumping into Ton, who immediately stepped in front of him like a shield.

“You’re not touching him,” Ton snapped.

Willy tilted his head, smirk widening. “Not up to you, is it? Aek agreed to this”

His gaze flicked past Ton to where Aek stood, fists clenched, face twisted with fury and disbelief.

“Didn’t you?”

“Stay the hell away from him!”

Aek shouted, his voice raw with rage as he stalked toward them.

But Willy only laughed.

Low, rich, dangerous.

He licked his lips slowly, eyes locking onto Charlie with a heat that made the younger man’s skin crawl.

“Relax, Aek. I won’t break him… not right away, anyway.”

The crowd erupted again, some jeering, some howling with anticipation of the fallout.

Phones were raised, recording every second of Aek’s humiliation and Willy’s triumph.

Charlie’s hands trembled as he grabbed Ton’s arm, his eyes fixed on Aek.

“Please,” he whispered, his voice cracking.

“Don’t let him—”

And Aek, chest heaving, every muscle in his body screaming to tear Willy apart, could only stand there and face the truth:

He’d lost.

And now, Willy held all the power.

Chapter Text

The moment Willy’s car slid to a stop, the pit erupted into chaos.

The roar of the engines died down, but the shouting only grew louder.

Fans screamed, some chanting Aek’s name in protest, others laughing and cheering Willy’s ruthless victory.

Aek was a storm.

He ripped his gloves off, throwing them to the ground, every muscle in his body screaming to tear Willy apart.

Charlie’s trembling voice was still echoing in his ears—Don’t let him—but what could he do now? He’d lost.

The crowd had seen it. The cameras had caught it.

Alan reached him first. “What the hell were you thinking?”

His brother’s voice was sharp with fury, his face tight with anger.

“I told you this was insane. And now look—”

“Shut up, Alan!” Aek barked, shoving past him.

His eyes burned, locked on Willy, who was still basking in the glow of victory like a king on his throne.

Jeff caught Aek’s arm before he could charge. “Don’t make it worse. You’ll start a riot.”

“Let me go!” Aek snarled, but Ton was already there too, blocking his path.

“Think for once in your damn life!” Ton shouted over the noise. “If you touch him now, in front of all these people, you’re finished.

He already owns you tonight—you gonna let him own your reputation too?”

Aek’s teeth ground so hard his jaw ached.

His fists shook with the need to fight, to hit, to destroy.

But Charlie’s hand clutched at his sleeve, trembling, his eyes wet and terrified.

That touch anchored him, even as humiliation ate him alive.

Willy, of course, thrived in the storm.

He strolled toward them with his usual lazy swagger, the crowd parting for him like he was untouchable.

His smile was sin incarnate, his gaze fixed squarely on Charlie.

“Well,” he drawled, his voice carrying even over the shouts,

“a deal’s a deal. I’ll be collecting soon.”

Charlie’s face went pale, and he stumbled back a step, but Ton stepped in front of him immediately.

“Over my dead body.”

Willy tilted his head, smirk never fading.

“You’re not the one who made the bet.”

His eyes flicked to Aek, cruel amusement dancing in them. “He is.”

Aek lunged, but Alan and Jeff caught him, straining to hold him back as he roared,

“You’ll never touch him!”

The crowd screamed louder, feeding on the drama.

Phones flashed. Every second of this humiliation was being recorded, spread, immortalized.

Willy only chuckled, low and rich, leaning closer as if to whisper across the distance. “We’ll see.”

Then, with maddening calm, he turned and walked away, slipping into the shadows of the pit while security and organizers scrambled to contain the chaos.

Upstairs, in the VIP lounge that overlooked the track, Winner poured a glass of champagne, handing it lazily to Willy.

The chaos below was still buzzing, but here, in the dimly lit suite, everything was calm.

“Well played,” Winner said, his grin wide and knowing.

“You had him believing he was untouchable.

Letting him think he’d already won? That was brutal.”

Willy clinked his glass against Winner’s, satisfaction glinting in his eyes.

“Aek’s always been too cocky. It was too easy.”

He sipped, leaning back in his chair, legs stretched out like a man with no worries in the world.

Winner raised a brow. “But this isn’t just about beating him, is it?”

Willy’s smile deepened, dark and seductive.

“Of course not. That was just the appetizer. Charlie… he’s the real prize.”

“Aek took something from me and I’m determined to get it back.”

Winner chuckled, swirling his drink.

“You’ve had your eye on him a while.”

“Since the first time I saw him,” Willy admitted without hesitation.

His voice dropped, smooth and hungry.

“He’s perfect. Young, sweet, fire hidden under all that innocence. Aek doesn’t deserve him. But me? I could show him things he’s never even dreamed of.”

Winner smirked. “Dangerous words.”

“Dangerous,” Willy said with a grin, “is the fun part.”

They both laughed, but underneath Willy’s laughter was a sharpened edge.

He wasn’t just fantasizing anymore.

He’d made a bet, and he’d won.

And now, nothing was going to stop him from claiming what belongs to him.

Back in Aek’s apartment, the silence was crushing.

Charlie sat curled on the edge of the bed, his arms wrapped around himself.

He hadn’t spoken since they left the circuit, his head down, shoulders trembling faintly.

Aek paced like a caged animal, his rage burning him alive.

He wanted to smash something, scream until his throat bled, anything to undo the moment Willy had passed him on that track.

Alan’s words still cut deep.

You bet your boyfriend like he’s a set of tires.

He glanced at Charlie, his chest aching.

“I’m sorry.”

Charlie lifted his head, his eyes rimmed red. “Sorry doesn’t matter if he comes for me.”

Aek dropped to his knees in front of him, gripping his hands tight.

“I swear to you, Charlie—he won’t touch you. I don’t care what I have to do, I’ll protect you.”

Charlie’s lips trembled. “But you lost. Everyone saw.”

The shame in those words gutted him.

Aek pressed his forehead to Charlie’s knees, his voice raw.

“I’ll find a way. I don’t care if I have to destroy him off the track—I won’t let him take you.”

But even as he said it, doubt gnawed at him.

Willy had the upper hand now.

And Willy never let go once he had his claws in.

Meanwhile, Willy stood by the floor-to-
ceiling window of Winner’s penthouse, gazing down at the glittering city.

His reflection smirked back at him, glass of champagne in hand, eyes full of hunger.

“Tomorrow night,” he murmured.

“Tomorrow, he’s mine.”

Winner chuckled behind him. “I’ll drink to that.”

And Willy’s dangerous smile widened, full of dark promise.

Chapter Text

The night after the race, the internet turned into a battlefield.

Clips of Aek and Willy’s showdown flooded every corner of social media.

Hashtags trended within hours:

#WillyWins, #AekBet, #CharliePrize.

The worst part?

Every angle had been captured—Aek’s cocky grin at the starting line, the split-second Willy overtook him,

and the fallout in the pit where Aek lunged at him while Willy smirked, throwing the words

“A deal’s a deal” like a grenade.

Now, those words were everywhere.

Memes, edits, remixes with mocking soundtracks.

One viral clip had Willy’s car sliding past Aek’s with a caption:

“Confidence is sexy… until it isn’t.”

Another showed Charlie’s horrified
expression

slowed down, with the text:

“The prize looks terrified.”

Charlie saw it all.

Even when he turned his phone face down, notifications buzzed nonstop.

He deleted his apps, but friends messaged him screenshots anyway.

Are you okay? Is it true? Did Aek really bet you?

He curled into himself on Aek’s couch, wishing he could disappear.

Aek stormed through his apartment, pacing like a man who couldn’t breathe.

Ton sat slouched in a chair, watching him unravel.

Alan and Jeff were there too, both simmering with frustration.

“You’ve set the whole damn city on fire,” Alan snapped. “Everyone knows.

Everyone.

Even my garage clients are asking about it. Do you understand what you’ve done?”

Aek raked a hand through his hair, his chest heaving. “I thought I could win. I should’ve won.”

Jeff’s voice was sharp, unrelenting.

“But you didn’t. And now the bet isn’t just between you two —

it’s public. You back out, Aek, and your reputation’s dead. You’ll be called a coward for the rest of your career.”

Charlie flinched at the words.

His eyes stung, but he didn’t say a thing.

Ton exhaled, shaking his head.

“This is what I tried to stop. Willy’s too smart for you. He wanted you to trap yourself, and you walked right into it.”

“I’ll find a way out,” Aek snapped, but his voice cracked at the end.

Alan’s jaw tightened. “No, you won’t. Not unless Willy decides to give it up — and we all know he won’t.”

Silence fell.

Heavy.

Suffocating.

Charlie finally whispered, his voice breaking.

“So… I’m just supposed to go to him?”

The room froze.

Aek dropped to his knees in front of him, grabbing his hands like he could hold him in place.

“No. Don’t you ever say that. I’ll burn the whole circuit down before I let him touch you.”

But even as he spoke, his phone buzzed.

A notification lit up the screen.

From Willy.

“24 hours. Non-negotiable.”

Aek’s heart stopped.

Across town, Willy reclined on the velvet sofa in Winner’s penthouse, sipping from a crystal glass of red wine.

His phone glowed in his hand, Charlie’s face from one of the viral clips frozen on the screen.

That trembling lower lip, those wide eyes—it made Willy’s pulse quicken.

“You’re enjoying this too much,”

Winner teased, sprawled across the other end of the couch.

“Aek’s going to explode before you even get your hands on him.”

“Let him,” Willy said smoothly.

“The more desperate he is, the sweeter it gets.”

He swiped the screen, watching another clip.

This one showed Charlie clutching Aek’s sleeve in panic as the crowd screamed.

Willy’s gaze softened, dangerously intent.

“Look at him. Fragile. Beautiful. Like he’s never been touched the right way.”

Winner smirked. “So this isn’t just about winning a bet?”

Willy’s lips curved into that wolfish grin, but his tone was almost tender.

“No. I want him. Not just his body—I want him.

That innocence.

That fire he hides.

Aek doesn’t even see it… but I do.”

Winner raised his glass. “Obsession looks good on you.”

Willy chuckled low, swirling his wine.

“It’s not obsession. Its inevitability.

Tomorrow night, Charlie will understand.”

Back in Aek’s apartment, tension snapped like wires pulled too tight.

Aek threw his phone across the room, shattering it against the wall.

“Non-negotiable? Who the fuck does he think he is?”

Ton muttered, “The man who beat you in front of everyone, that’s who.”

Alan pinched the bridge of his nose.

“The racing world won’t let you walk away from this, Aek. If you don’t follow through, Willy will make sure you’re ruined.

He doesn’t even have to lift a finger—the public will eat you alive.”

Charlie stood abruptly, his voice shaking but clear.

“So I’m just… trapped? Like a trophy someone bet over? Is that what I am to you?”

Aek’s chest cracked open at the words.

He surged forward, pulling Charlie into his arms, desperate, clinging.

“No. Don’t say that. You’re everything to me. I was stupid, reckless—I thought I could shut him up. I didn’t think…”

His voice broke. “I didn’t think about what it would cost you.”

Charlie’s tears soaked his shirt, each one a knife.

“But he’s not stopping, Aek. He wants me.

Not just to win against you… he wants me.”

Aek tightened his hold until his knuckles went white. “Then he’ll have to kill me first.”

But in the pit of his stomach, even he knew—Willy didn’t need to kill him.

Willy had already beaten him.

That night, Charlie lay awake in Aek’s bed, staring at the ceiling.

Beside him, Aek finally collapsed into a restless sleep,

his arm heavy around Charlie’s waist.

But Charlie’s phone buzzed quietly on the nightstand.

Against his better judgment, he picked it up.

A message.

Unknown number.

But he knew who it was.

“I don’t want your body. I want you.

Tomorrow, you’ll understand.”

Charlie’s heart pounded as he stared at the screen.

Willy’s words weren’t the crude threats he expected—they were worse.

They were sincere.

And that made them far more dangerous.

Chapter Text

Morning light cut across Aek’s apartment like knives.

He hadn’t slept; his eyes were bloodshot, his fists raw from punching the wall.

Ton leaned against the counter, coffee in hand, watching his best friend self-destruct.

“You’re making it worse by pacing, you know.”

“There’s got to be a way out,” Aek muttered.

He’d been saying that for hours.

“There’s always a way.”

Alan entered, phone pressed to his ear, Jeff trailing behind him with crossed arms.

“I called the circuit committee. They’re saying it’s out of their hands.

A bet like this? Everyone saw it. It’s binding.”

“Binding my ass!” Aek snapped. “Charlie isn’t a fucking trophy!”

“Doesn’t matter what he is to you,” Jeff said sharply.

“What matters is what Willy turned him into, in front of thousands of people.

If you don’t follow through, you’re done.

No sponsors, no reputation, no future in racing. Willy made sure of that.”

Aek slammed his fist on the table. “Then I’ll walk away from racing! Who the hell cares? I’ll start over!”

Ton sipped his coffee calmly.

“You’d throw away your company, your career, your pride… and Willy would still win.

Because you’ll always know he took something you couldn’t protect.”

The words cut deeper than Aek wanted to admit.

He glanced toward the couch, where Charlie sat with his knees pulled up, staring blankly at the floor.

His silence was worse than shouting.

“Charlie,” Aek said, softening his voice, kneeling beside him. “I’ll fix this. I promise you.”

Charlie finally looked at him, eyes bloodshot.

“That’s the problem, Aek. You treated me like I was yours to gamble.”

His voice cracked. “And now he thinks I’m his.”

Meanwhile, across town, Willy moved like a man preparing for a coronation.

He stood before a floor-to-ceiling mirror, buttoning the cuffs of his silk shirt.

His reflection smiled back — sleek, composed, victorious.

Behind him, Winner lounged with a glass of champagne in hand, watching the show.

“You’re dressing like you’re going on a date, not cashing in on a bet,” Winner drawled.

Willy smirked, sliding a watch onto his wrist. “Because it is a date. The first of many.”

Winner raised a brow. “And what if he screams, fights, bolts for the door?”

Willy’s grin sharpened, but his tone was surprisingly soft.

“Then I’ll show him he doesn’t need to fight. That he’s wanted.

That Aek never deserved him in the first place.”

Winner whistled low. “Dangerous words.

You sound like you actually care.”

“I do.” Willy’s eyes burned as he adjusted his collar.

“This isn’t about possession, Winner. This is about truth.

The first time I saw Charlie at the circuit—his wide eyes—I knew.

He’s not meant for someone reckless.

He’s meant for someone who sees him.”

Winner chuckled. “You make obsession sound like romance.”

“Call it what you want,” Willy said, slipping on his tailored jacket.

“By the end of tonight, he’ll know he belongs to me.”

Afternoon brought no relief.

Aek called in favors, begged old sponsors, even threatened to withdraw from the next races.

Nothing worked.

Every reply was the same:

a bet is sacred.

The worst blow came when his father’s old racing mentor, someone Aek respected deeply, called him.

“Son, you don’t back out of a bet. You know this. You made your choice. Now you live with it.”

Aek shattered his phone against the wall again.

Charlie disappeared into the bedroom.

When Aek followed, he found him sitting on the edge of the bed, trembling.

“I don’t want to go,” Charlie whispered.

“You’re not going,” Aek insisted, kneeling before him, gripping his hands.

“I’ll chain the door if I have to.”

Charlie shook his head. “It’s everywhere, Aek.

Online, on the news, in people’s mouths. If you stop it… you’re ruined. And you’ll resent me for it.”

“Never,” Aek swore, pulling him close. “I’d rather lose everything than lose you.”

But Charlie’s heart twisted, because in the silence that followed, he realized something cruel: Aek might lose both.

Night fell like a sentence.

A black luxury car pulled up outside Aek’s building.

The driver didn’t knock; he simply waited.

Inside, tension choked the air.

Alan, Jeff, and Ton stood like a barricade, glaring at the car from the window.

Aek paced like a caged beast. “He’s not going.”

But Charlie stood, pale and trembling,

every movement weighted with inevitability.

“If I don’t go, they’ll destroy you. And Willy knows it.”

Aek grabbed him by the shoulders, frantic. “Charlie, please—”

Charlie pressed his forehead against his chest, whispering brokenly,

“Don’t make this harder than it already is.”

Ton looked away, unable to watch.

Jeff muttered curses under his breath.

Alan’s fists were clenched so tight his knuckles went white.

Finally, Charlie pulled away, tears streaking his face.

He walked to the door.

Aek followed like a shadow, but Ton stopped him with a hand to the chest.

“If you fight, you’ll lose more than you already have,” Ton said, voice heavy.

The elevator doors opened.

The driver gestured.

Charlie stepped inside.

Aek’s voice cracked through the hall.

“Charlie!”

Charlie looked back one last time, eyes shimmering with everything unsaid.

Then the doors closed.

Willy waited at his penthouse, lights low, wine poured, music humming soft and sultry.

He stood by the window, city lights sprawling beneath him, like he owned the whole skyline.

The knock came.

The driver opened the door, and there stood Charlie—fragile, trembling, beautiful.

For a moment, Willy didn’t move.

He just looked at him, hunger and tenderness colliding in his gaze.

“Charlie,” he said softly, like the name itself was a promise.

Charlie’s throat worked, but no sound came.

Willy stepped closer, slow and deliberate, each footfall echoing in the cavernous room.

He stopped just close enough that Charlie could feel the warmth of his body.

“My Beautiful Charlie” Willy murmured, tilting his head, eyes locked on him.

“I’ve wanted you from the moment I laid eyes on you.

And tonight, I’ll show you why never deserved you.”

Charlie’s breath hitched.

He should have run, shouted, fought.

But his feet wouldn’t move.

Willy smiled, dangerously seductive, and reached to close the door behind him.

The click of the lock echoed like fate sealing itself shut.

And then, with slow precision, Willy cupped Charlie’s face in his hand, thumb brushing his trembling lower lip.

“Tonight,” he whispered, eyes burning, “you’re mine.”

Chapter Text

The penthouse was quiet enough that Charlie could hear his own heartbeat.

Too fast, too loud, like it wanted to betray him.

Willy moved slowly, deliberately, as though he had all the time in the world.

He poured a glass of wine, offering it with a smirk.

Charlie shook his head. “I don’t want anything from you.”

“That’s a lie,” Willy said, sipping instead, his eyes never leaving Charlie.

“You want answers. You want to know why I pushed for this. Why I fought for you.”

Charlie crossed his arms tight, trying to look defiant when he felt nothing but cornered.

“You don’t want me. You just wanted to hurt Aek.”

Willy tilted his head, amused.

“If I only wanted to hurt Aek, I could have taken his company.

I could have destroyed his name without ever touching you.

But I didn’t.

I made a bet with one prize—” his gaze flickered, molten—“you.”

Charlie’s throat tightened.

He wanted to spit at him, scream, run.

Instead, his feet stayed rooted.

“That doesn’t make it noble. You turned me into some… trophy.”

Willy stepped closer, so close that Charlie could smell the cologne—dark, expensive, intoxicating.

“Not a trophy. A temptation.

The difference is, trophies gather dust on shelves. Temptations keep you up at night.”

Charlie’s breath caught.

Willy saw it, of course he did, and his smile sharpened.

“You hate me for noticing you,” Willy murmured, circling him now like a predator,

his shoulder brushing Charlie’s as he moved behind him.

“Because Aek never did. Not like this.”

Charlie spun, furious. “Don’t you dare—”

“Tell me I’m wrong.” Willy’s voice was calm, low, almost coaxing.

“Tell me Aek sees you.

Really sees you.

Not just as the boy he shows off, the kid who follows him to races like a shadow.”

Charlie’s hands clenched.

He wanted to say it.

To defend Aek.

But the words stuck in his throat.

Willy’s smile was soft now, almost gentle.

“I knew it.”

“Shut up,” Charlie whispered, but his voice cracked.

Willy lifted a hand, slow, deliberate, giving Charlie every chance to recoil.

He didn’t.

Fingers brushed his jaw, feather-light.

“You’re trembling,” Willy said softly.

“Not from fear. From fighting yourself.”

Charlie’s eyes burned. “I’m not yours.”

“Not yet,” Willy corrected.

His thumb brushed the corner of Charlie’s mouth.

“But you will be.”

Charlie slapped his hand away, desperate for distance, but the sting on his skin lingered.

He hated it—hated that part of him wanted the touch to return.

“You’re disgusting,” Charlie spat, voice shaking.

Willy chuckled, dark and low. “If that’s true, why are you still standing here?”

Charlie froze.

The answer was obvious, cruel.

If he left, he’d doom Aek.

If he stayed, he’d doom himself.

Either way, Willy had him.

“Do you know what drives me insane about you, Charlie?”

Willy’s tone softened, his voice dipping almost to a whisper.

“You don’t even realize how much power you have.

You think you’re the victim of this bet, but you’re not.

You’re the prize because you’re worth everything.

Worth risking reputations, careers, pride.

Aek bet you because he knew it too, deep down.”

Charlie’s chest rose and fell too quickly, like he couldn’t get enough air.

“I don’t…” His voice broke. “I don’t want to be here.”

“Yes, you do.” Willy stepped in again, cornering him against the glass wall, city lights sprawling beyond them.

“Not because of me. Because of you. You want to know. You want to feel what it’s like to be wanted without condition.”

Charlie squeezed his eyes shut. “Stop.”

“I won’t stop,” Willy whispered, his lips close enough that Charlie could feel the heat of his breath.

“Not until you admit it.”

“Admit what?” Charlie forced the words out, desperate, angry, terrified.

“That part of you,” Willy’s voice was velvet, dangerous, “wants this. Wants me.”

Charlie’s eyes flew open.

For a second, his whole body betrayed him—a shiver, a sharp inhale, pupils blown wide.

And Willy saw it.

His smile was slow, victorious, but not cruel.

“There you are,” he murmured.

Charlie shoved him, desperate for space, but his palms burned where they touched Willy’s chest.

“You’re wrong,” he hissed, but the words carried no weight.

Willy only leaned back enough to let him breathe, eyes never leaving his.

“Keep telling yourself that. I’ll wait.

Because sooner or later…”

He leaned down, lips brushing Charlie’s ear,

“…you’ll beg me not to stop.”

Charlie trembled, torn between fury and a terrifying, undeniable pull.

The city glowed around them, silent witnesses to the gravity between predator and prey—except Charlie wasn’t sure anymore which one he was.

Chapter Text

The night had teeth.

Willy didn’t rush.

He never did.

The room he’d prepared was vast and quiet, the city lights spilling through the glass wall like they’d been summoned to bear witness.

On the table sat a bottle of whiskey, untouched.

On the nightstand—lube, deliberate and waiting.

Charlie stood near the door, stiff as if still considering escape, though both of them knew it was impossible.

He was Aek’s boyfriend, he was stubborn, he was proud.

And yet here he was, delivered like the prize of a gamble his lover had been foolish enough to make.

And Willy? Willy was dressed like sin itself.

Silk shirt open at the throat, dark slacks, an expression sharp enough to cut through every excuse Charlie might try to build.

“Still thinking about running?” Willy asked, voice low, coaxing.

“Go ahead. The door’s right there. Try it.”

Charlie swallowed hard, jaw clenched.

“You think you’ve won. That this—”

he gestured between them, as if the air itself was poisoned,

“—is something I’ll just give you.”

Willy stepped forward, unhurried, predatory.

“I don’t want you to give me anything, Charlie. I want to take what you’re already fighting me to keep.”

His gaze dragged down Charlie’s body and back up again.

“And I will.”

Charlie’s chest rose and fell in sharp bursts.

He hated how his skin prickled under that stare, how every nerve lit up even as he spat back,

“You’re delusional.”

“Am I?” Willy tilted his head, closing the distance.

“Tell me, why are you trembling? Not from fear. No, that’s something else.”

Charlie braced himself, back pressing against the wall as Willy finally stood over him,

close enough for his cologne to weave into Charlie’s senses—spice, smoke, and something darker.

“You’re crazy,” Charlie hissed. “And this bet was nothing but—”

“—an opportunity,” Willy finished for him, smile curling.

“An opportunity to show you what your so-called boyfriend has never even thought to give you.”

Charlie’s fists clenched. “Shut up.”

But Willy didn’t.

He leaned closer, lips brushing just shy of Charlie’s ear, voice a whisper of velvet and knives.

“Has he ever kissed the inside of your thighs?

Has he ever worshipped your body like it was worth more than his pride?

Has he ever touched you like you’re the only man in the room, the only man in the world?”

Charlie’s breath hitched despite himself.

He shoved Willy back with both hands, but Willy barely shifted,

letting the push land against his chest before catching Charlie’s wrists with ease.

“Don’t fight me with lies,” Willy murmured.

“Your body knows the truth.”

Charlie wanted to scream, to deny, to spit venom—

but the heat curling low in his stomach betrayed him, made his voice falter.

“I hate you.”

Willy’s smile deepened, dangerous and knowing.

“Good. Hate sharpens the edges. Makes the surrender all the sweeter.”

And then he let go of Charlie’s wrists,

deliberately, stepping back half a pace.

Not to release him, but to tempt him—

to watch if Charlie would run, or if he’d stay frozen in the snare.

Charlie stayed.

His mistake.

Willy moved slowly, deliberately undoing his cuffs,

rolling up his sleeves as if preparing for a ritual.

His gaze never left Charlie’s.

“You’ve never been worshipped, Charlie.

Not properly. Let me show you.”

Charlie shook his head, but the sound he made was thin, unconvincing.

“This isn’t worship. This is—”

Willy closed the gap in two strides,

pressing Charlie back onto the edge of the bed with one hand firm on his chest.

“It’s both,” he said softly. “It’s sin and devotion all at once.”

Charlie hit the mattress with a muted gasp,

and Willy followed, sliding down,

his hands already pushing Charlie’s legs apart with commanding ease.

Charlie’s breath stuttered. “Don’t—”

Willy ignored him.

His lips brushed over Charlie’s knee, a featherlight kiss,

then lower, trailing down the inside of his thigh.

Each kiss landed like a spark on dry grass.

Charlie jolted, hands curling into the sheets.

“No one’s touched you here, have they?”

Willy asked against skin, his breath hot.

He bit gently at Charlie’s inner thigh, then soothed the mark with his tongue.

“Not Aek. Not anyone.”

Charlie’s entire body tensed,

fire coursing through him despite his mind screaming resistance.

“Stop.”

“Say the word like you mean it,” Willy challenged, dragging his mouth higher, closer, but not yet there.

His lips teased over the hollow of Charlie’s hip, across the sensitive skin just beneath his stomach.

“Say it like you’re not shaking under me.”

Charlie’s head fell back, a groan escaping unbidden.

“You’re—insufferable.”

“Mm,” Willy hummed, kissing lower again, hands spreading Charlie wider.

“And you’re exquisite.”

The lube sat waiting, but Willy wasn’t ready for it yet.

He wanted to unravel Charlie with nothing but mouth and hands first.

His tongue flicked over the tender spot at the top of Charlie’s thigh, then moved deliberately upward.

Charlie bucked against the sensation,

gasping, shame and arousal tangling until he could hardly breathe.

Willy looked up, lips wet, eyes alight.

“Already breaking,” he said, voice rougher now.

“And I’ve barely started.”

Charlie’s answer was a shudder, his fists white-knuckling the sheets.

Finally, Willy reached for the lube, slicking his fingers with slow purpose.

He made sure Charlie watched.

“This isn’t about rushing you,” he said, coating his hands.

“It’s about making sure you feel everything.”

Charlie tried to turn his face away,

but Willy caught his chin, forcing his eyes to meet his.

“Look at me. Don’t hide. You’re mine tonight, and you’re going to see what that means.”

And then he touched him.

The first slick press was gentle, teasing at the edge,

circling, waiting for Charlie’s breath to falter before slipping inside.

Charlie gasped, body tensing,

then arching against his will.

“Shhh,” Willy soothed, lips back on Charlie’s throat now, kissing, biting softly.

“Relax. Let me in.”

Charlie bit down on a groan, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

But his body betrayed him again—hips shifting, legs spreading wider.

“That’s it,” Willy whispered, pushing deeper, stretching him slow and deliberate.

“You’re opening for me. You can pretend to hate me, but your body knows who you belong to.”

Charlie’s eyes squeezed shut, shame burning hot. “No—”

“Yes,” Willy cut in, filthy and certain. “Say it. Say whose finger is inside you.”

Charlie refused, shaking his head.

Willy added another finger, twisting, scissoring, hitting that spot that made Charlie’s back arch clean off the bed.

The cry that tore from Charlie’s throat was unguarded, raw.

“Say it,” Willy growled, mouth at Charlie’s ear, tongue flicking over the shell.

Charlie’s answer was a broken sound, incoherent.

“That’s enough,” Willy decided, pulling his fingers free with deliberate slowness.

He slicked himself next, careless of restraint.

Charlie’s eyes flew open at the sight. “No—you can’t—”

“No condom,” Willy said simply, voice dark, final.

“I told you—I’m not here for a night. I’m here to claim you.”

Charlie’s chest heaved, panic and desire at war in his eyes. “You’ll ruin me.”

Willy leaned down, kissing him hard, deep, brutal.

When he pulled back, his smile was nothing short of wicked.

“That’s the point.”

He positioned himself, pressing against Charlie’s entrance.

Charlie’s breath caught, body trembling under the weight of inevitability.

“Willy—”

“Mine,” Willy whispered, and pushed forward—

The city lights burned outside, and the night swallowed every sound as Willy took what he had wanted all along.

Chapter Text

The room smelled of sex.

Thick, heady, clinging to the sheets, the air, the skin of the two men tangled in the ruin of silk and sweat.

Charlie lay flat on his back, chest heaving, every nerve raw.

His thighs trembled, his skin burned where Willy’s mouth had been, and deep inside he felt the slow ache of a possession he couldn’t deny.

His mind screamed one thing—wrong, wrong, wrong—while his body whispered another: more.

Willy sprawled beside him, one arm thrown behind his head, the other tracing idle patterns over Charlie’s stomach.

Lazy, satisfied.

But beneath the languid posture was something sharper, something Charlie felt in the weight of that touch.

Ownership.

“Still breathing,” Willy murmured, voice low, smug.

His fingers slid lower, ghosting dangerously close to where Charlie still felt stretched, used.

“Barely, but breathing.”

Charlie flinched, grabbing Willy’s wrist.

“Don’t.” His voice cracked, raw from groans he hadn’t meant to give.

“Just—don’t touch me right now.”

Willy chuckled, not offended in the least.

“Funny, you didn’t say that when you were arching into my mouth, begging me without words.”

His eyes glittered, cruel and beautiful.

“Do you want me to remind you what you sounded like? Or should I let you stew in the silence?”

Charlie shoved at him, but weakly.

His limbs didn’t have fight left in them.

“You tricked me. You—you planned this.”

“Yes,” Willy said simply, unapologetic.

He rolled onto his side, crowding Charlie again, their bare skin sticking together.

His lips brushed Charlie’s temple. “And it worked.”

Willy’s Thoughts

God, he was everything Willy imagined and more.

From the moment he’d first seen Charlie at the track—sweat-slick, younger, beautiful —Willy had known he wanted him.

Not the way he wanted most men, not for a quick night or a bored indulgence.

No. Charlie was different.

Charlie was pure temptation wrapped in wide-eyed loyalty, and that loyalty had infuriated him.

Watching Charlie dote on Aek, watching Aek take him for granted, bragging more about wins than about the boy at his side.

Willy couldn’t stand it.

So when Aek asked what the bet was, Willy didn’t just see a chance.

He saw a claim.

And tonight… Christ, tonight had been better than every fantasy.

The way Charlie’s body had trembled, how his thighs had tightened around Willy’s shoulders, how he’d gasped when Willy touched places he know Aek would never touch.

Willy hadn’t been lying—he had worshipped him.

And raw, with no condom, meant every drop of him was still inside Charlie now, soaking into him, marking him.

No matter how Charlie’s mind twisted it tomorrow, his body would remember.

“You’ll never go back to him the same,”

Willy whispered against Charlie’s damp hair.

“Every time he touches you, you’ll think of me. Of my mouth, my hands, my cock inside you.”

Charlie whimpered, turning his face away, but the sound wasn’t denial—it was a sound Willy recognized well.

Shame tangled with hunger.

He smiled darkly.

Perfect.

Charlie’s Thoughts

Charlie wanted to claw his skin off.

He curled onto his side, away from Willy, pressing his forehead to the cool pillow.

But even there, the sheets reeked of him.

His thighs brushed together and he felt it—raw, slick, the mess between them.

A mess Willy had left inside him.

He hated it.

He hated that he didn’t entirely hate it.

Aek loved him.

Aek was supposed to be his whole world.

Aek kissed him hard, held his hand in public, fought for him on and off the track.

But Aek never touched him the way Willy had tonight.

Aek had never slowed down long enough to worship him, to make him feel like he was the only one alive.

And that thought made bile rise in Charlie’s throat.

How could I think that?

How could I even compare them?

He clenched the sheets in his fists, forcing the tears back.

If Aek ever knew… God, if he ever knew—

“Stop thinking so loud,” Willy drawled
behind him,

reaching out to hook an arm around Charlie’s waist and pull him back against his chest.

Charlie stiffened, trapped in the heat of him. “Let me go.”

“Not a chance.” Willy nuzzled his neck, a predator savoring victory.

“You belong here now. With me.”

Charlie shut his eyes, refusing to cry. His heart beat a violent rhythm,

his mind a battlefield between guilt and the lingering echo of pleasure.

He wanted to scream I’ll never belong to you.

But what came out, weak and trembling, was: “You’ve ruined me.”

Willy smiled against his skin, pressing a kiss just below his ear. “That’s the point.”

They lay like that in silence for a long time

Charlie rigid, Willy perfectly relaxed, savoring the aftermath like a fine wine.

When Charlie finally stirred, trying to sit up, Willy’s arm only tightened.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Charlie swallowed. “Shower.”

“Later.” Willy’s tone brooked no argument.

“Right now, I want you to stay here. In my mess. On my sheets. With me still inside you.”

His hand slid down to Charlie’s hip, possessive.

“I want you to feel me tomorrow when you walk back to him.”

Charlie shuddered. “You’re sick.”

“Maybe.” Willy nipped at his neck, grinning against the skin.

“But you didn’t stop me.

You could’ve fought harder. You didn’t.”

Charlie’s breath caught.

The words sliced through him because they were true.

He hadn’t fought hard enough.

At some point, the fight had turned to surrender, and surrender had felt too good.

Outside the penthouse , the world spun on, oblivious.

But Willy already knew the circuit would explode once the truth spread.

Word of the bet was already slithering across forums, fans debating, gossipers frothing.

Did Aek really risk Charlie? Did Willy actually win him?

Willy relished the thought.

He wanted Charlie marked not just privately but publicly—so Aek, so everyone, knew exactly what had happened.

Winner had texted him already:

[Winner]: Heard you cashed in. Don’t hold back. Aek had this coming.

Willy smirked at the phone before tossing it aside.

Yes. Aek had this coming.

For arrogance.

For not valuing what he had.

And Charlie?

Charlie had come too.

Over and over.

Willy’s chest swelled with triumph.

Charlie lay there, staring at the city lights through the window.

His throat burned, his body ached, and his heart felt split in two.

He wanted to hate Willy, to crawl back to Aek and beg for forgiveness.

But part of him already knew—he couldn’t.

Because he enjoyed every second of willy being inside him,every kiss,every touch.

And that was the one truth he couldn’t bear.

Chapter Text

The room hadn’t cooled.

Not really.

The sheets were still damp with sweat,

and Charlie’s body still hummed with the ghost of Willy’s hands, lips, voice.

He sat at the edge of the bed now, knees pulled up, head buried in his arms.

His shoulders trembled—not just from exhaustion but from everything else clawing inside him.

Shame.

Fear.

Longing he didn’t dare name.

Behind him, Willy stretched like a predator that had eaten well.

A satisfied sigh left his chest as he rolled onto his side, watching Charlie with a hunger that hadn’t dulled at all.

“You’re sulking.”

His voice was lazy, taunting. “Don’t. You’ll wrinkle that pretty face.”

Charlie shot him a glare over his shoulder, eyes glassy. “You think this is a game?”

Willy’s smile was slow, dangerous. “No, Charlie. You’re far more important to me than any game.”

He sat up, swung his legs off the bed, and leaned close enough that Charlie felt his breath against his ear.

“And you’re sitting there sore and marked, because you’re where you should have been.”

Charlie’s face burned. “You disgust me.”

“Funny,” Willy murmured, brushing his lips against Charlie’s temple,

“you didn’t look disgusted when you were moaning my name.”

Charlie shoved him hard, but Willy only laughed.

While Charlie tried to piece himself back together, the outside world was already tearing itself apart.

The bet had leaked. No one knew exactly who started it.

maybe someone from the pit crew, maybe just a fan who overheard

but screenshots of texts and whispers on forums were spreading like wildfire.

@RaceTrackInsider: Rumor says Aek put Charlie on the line in a 1v1 against Willy… and lost. 👀🔥

@NightCircuitQueen: So Willy really got Charlie for a night? Damn. Aek really risked his boy like that? 🤯

@FastLife_Fan: Forget racing—Willy’s biggest win is in the bedroom. Poor Charlie. Or maybe lucky Charlie 😉

And then came the truly filthy comments:

@GearHead69: Bet Charlie won’t be able to walk straight for a week. Willy doesn’t play.

@WillysAngel: Imagine those lips, those hands… Charlie probably saw God last night.

@Aek DefenseSquad: Y’all are sick. Charlie’s Aek’s man. He wouldn’t give in.

@DarkTrackRumors: Pics or it didn’t happen.

Within hours, hashtags were trending.

#WillysWin, #PoorCharlie, #Aek LostMoreThanTheRace.

And Aek—scrolling through it all—was losing his mind.

The phone nearly shattered in his grip.

Every post, every filthy comment made his blood boil hotter.

Charlie’s name in strangers’ mouths, his boyfriend turned into gossip fuel, as if he were nothing but a trophy for Willy to parade.

“Motherfucker,” Aek growled, pacing the length of his apartment.

His chest heaved, his fists tight.

He’d kill Willy.

He’d rip him apart on the track, in the street, anywhere.

But underneath the rage was something worse.

Something he didn’t want to name.

Fear.

What if the rumors were true?

What if Charlie hadn’t fought hard enough?

The thought made his vision blur red.

Charlie’s phone buzzed nonstop on the nightstand, lighting up with notifications.

He didn’t move.

He didn’t dare.

Willy, still half-naked, picked it up instead.

He scrolled, smirked, and tossed it back down. “They’re already talking about us.

About you. About me. About last night.”

Charlie’s stomach twisted. “What do you mean ‘us’? There is no us.”

Willy caught his chin between two fingers, tilting his face up.

His eyes were dark, searing.

“Oh, there’s an us. Everyone can see it. And the more you deny it, the more they’ll believe it. The more Aek will feel it.”

“Stop—”

Willy kissed him, slow and deep, cutting the word off.

Charlie pushed weakly, but his body betrayed him, shivering, lips parting.

When Willy pulled back, he licked his lips like Charlie was something sweet.

“You’ll go home to him, but your body won’t forget me. Not tomorrow, not ever.”

Charlie’s eyes filled again. “You ruined me.”

“Good,” Willy whispered. “I meant to.”

Watching Charlie fall apart was intoxicating.

The trembling shoulders, the guilty eyes, the way he hated himself almost as much as he hated Willy—yet still leaned into his touch.

This was better than racing.

Better than victory.

This was destruction, sweet and absolute.

And Willy didn’t want just one night.

He wanted more.

He wanted Charlie until the boy stopped whispering Aek’s name in his sleep and started whispering his.

He’d make sure of it.

Charlie’s Thoughts

Every word Willy said cut deeper.

Because somewhere under the disgust, under the betrayal, part of it rang true.

When he closed his eyes, he felt Willy’s mouth, not Aek’s.

When he shifted, the ache inside reminded him of Willy.

When his phone buzzed with endless notifications, he felt shame—but not regret.

And that was the worst part.

Because he wanted to regret it.

He should regret it.

But when Willy’s fingers brushed his thigh again, Charlie’s breath hitched, and deep down, he already knew—this wasn’t the end.

It was only the beginning.

Chapter Text

The curtains in Willy’s bedroom were drawn shut, muting the daylight that dared to break through.

The air was still heavy with the musk of what had already happened, yet Willy stood at the edge of the bed like a man who wasn’t finished.

Charlie was half-dressed, fumbling with his shirt, his fingers trembling so badly he missed the buttons twice.

His face was pale, lips bitten raw.

“I need to go,” he whispered, not looking at Willy.

“You will.” Willy’s voice was velvet wrapped in steel.

“But not before I take you one more time.”

Charlie froze.

His heart pounded so loud he swore it might echo.

“You’ve had what you wanted—”

“Wrong.” Willy stepped forward, slow, predatory, and cupped Charlie’s chin so he had to look up.

“I want more than just a night, Charlie.

I want you walking back to Aek with my touch all over you.

I want you remembering me every time he lays a hand on you.”

Charlie’s breath hitched.

He should’ve pushed Willy away.

He should’ve screamed, walked out,done anything except what his body betrayed him by doing—leaning ever so slightly into that grip.

Willy’s lips brushed against his ear, whispering low.

“One more time, and then you can run back to your perfect little boyfriend.

But you’ll never go back the same.”

The fight in Charlie cracked.

Just enough.

And Willy claimed him again—slower this time, almost reverent, his hands gliding like he was mapping every inch of Charlie’s body.

Kisses pressed to his thighs, his hips, his chest.

Worship disguised as sin.

Charlie bit down on his knuckles to keep from making noise, but his body arched anyway, shuddering under the weight of Willy’s possession.

Every touch was deliberate, every motion a brand.

By the time it was over, Charlie lay trembling, damp hair plastered to his forehead, his chest heaving as if he’d run a marathon.

Willy pulled him close, lips ghosting along his temple.

“That’s the version of you Aek will get back,” he murmured.

“ You belong with me Charlie —even if you don’t see it yet.”

Charlie flinched, pulling away, fumbling for his clothes again.

Shame burned hot in his veins, but under it all was that dangerous, unbearable truth—his body hadn’t resisted.

The driver said nothing as Charlie slid into the back seat of the blacked-out car.

The leather was cold against his overheated skin.

He sat stiffly, staring out the window, his bag clutched tight to his chest.

The city blurred by—neon lights, billboards, people going about their lives as if his hadn’t just been turned inside out.

His phone buzzed nonstop in his pocket.

He didn’t look. He couldn’t.

Every bump in the road reminded him of Willy.

Every shift of his legs made him feel the soreness, the ache.

His lips still tingled from kisses he shouldn’t have let happen, his skin smelled faintly of a cologne he hated to admit he liked.

And beneath the shame, the guilt, the fear of facing Aek… there was something darker.

A part of him already missed Willy’s hands.

He squeezed his eyes shut, as if that would banish the thought.

The door swung open before Charlie could even knock.

Aek stood there, hair disheveled, jaw tight, his phone still in his hand.

His eyes flickered over Charlie—his pale face, the way he avoided eye contact, the tremble in his hands.

“Charlie—” Aek’s voice cracked before hardening.

“Where the hell have you been?”

Charlie flinched. “I… I was—”

But Aek saw it.

The pain in Charlie’s eyes.

The way his body seemed smaller, fragile.

Something inside Aek snapped—not in anger at Charlie, but at himself.

“Oh, God.” Aek dragged a hand over his face, stepping back.

“This is my fault. I did this to you. I put you in his hands.”

His voice shook with fury, but it was aimed squarely at himself.

“What the hell was I thinking?”

Charlie’s chest heaved.

He wanted to say it wasn’t Aek’s fault.

He wanted to scream that it was Willy, that it was the bet, that it was everything but Aek.

But the words tangled, choked, refused to come.

Instead, he walked past him, silent, his shoulders shaking.

“Charlie—please,” Aek called, following him down the hall.

But Charlie didn’t stop.

He pushed into the guest room, shut the door, and locked it.

“Charlie!” Aek pounded once, his voice breaking.

“Don’t shut me out, please. Talk to me. Yell at me. Do something—just don’t lock me out.”

On the other side of the door, Charlie pressed his back against the wood, sliding down until he sat on the floor.

Silent tears streaked down his cheeks.

His body still burned with Willy’s memory.

His heart still broke at Aek’s voice.

And he couldn’t face either of them. Not now.

Aek rested his forehead against the door, fists clenched so tight his knuckles cracked.

His chest hurt like it was being ripped apart.

“Charlie,” he whispered, his voice raw.

“I’m sorry. I was stupid. I let him touch you. I let him take you.”

His throat tightened, the words nearly choking him.

“I should’ve protected you. Not… gamble you.”

Silence.

Aek banged the door again, softer this time.

“Please, baby. Don’t push me away.”
Still nothing.

He sank down on the floor, back against the locked door, staring blankly at the wall opposite.

Guilt gnawed at him like acid. He’d never hated himself more.

Inside, Charlie curled tighter into himself, hugging his knees, every nerve screaming.

He wanted to open the door, to collapse into Aek’s arms, to feel safe.

But every time he closed his eyes, he saw Willy’s smirk, felt Willy’s touch.

And that was a truth he couldn’t let Aek see.

Not yet.

Not ever.

Chapter Text

The roar of engines echoed across the empty racing circuit, but the night was too quiet for Aek’s temper.

He stormed down the pit lane like a bullet looking for its target, fists clenched, eyes blood-red with fury.

And there he was.

Willy.

Leaning casually against one of his polished luxury cars, cigarette dangling between two fingers, the bastard looked like he’d been expecting Aek.

He blew out a slow drag of smoke, his lips curling into that infuriating smirk.

“Well, well,” Willy drawled. “The sore loser finally shows up.”

“Shut your filthy mouth!” Aek barked, voice breaking the silence like a gunshot.

“You bastard—you touched him!”

Willy flicked the ash lazily, his eyes glittering with amusement.

“Touched?” He tilted his head, feigning thought.

“Oh, Aek… that’s such a… small word for what happened.”

Aek lunged, but Ton was suddenly there, grabbing his arm.

“! Aek Don’t—this is exactly what he wants!”

“I’ll kill him!” Aek snarled, spitting the words like venom, his body straining against Ton’s grip.

“He laid his hands on Charlie—he defiled him!”

Willy straightened now, his posture loose, dangerous.

“Defiled?” His tone turned low, mocking.

“If that’s what you need to believe to sleep at night, fine.

But you should’ve seen him, Aek. My precious Charlie…”

Willy’s smile sharpened.

“He trembled for me. He gasped my name. He opened up in ways I doubt he ever has for you.”

The words detonated in Aek’s chest like a bomb.

He roared, surging forward, and it took every ounce of Ton’s strength to hold him back.

“Let me go, Ton!” Aek shouted, thrashing. “I’ll tear him apart!”

Ton face was tight, desperate. “Aek, think! This isn’t the way—you’ll lose more than Charlie if you do this!”

“Listen to your babysitter,” Willy sneered, taking a step closer.

His voice dropped into a dangerous purr.

“Because I’ll tell you this much—your boyfriend? He didn’t fight me.

Not the way you’d like to imagine. Part of him… wanted me.”

That was when Alan’s voice cracked through the chaos.

“ENOUGH!”

Alan strode onto the scene, Jeff at his side.

Alan’s face was carved from stone, his presence commanding enough to freeze even Aek mid-rage.

“Aek,” Alan said sharply, grabbing his brother’s shoulder.

“Pull yourself together before you do something you can’t take back.”

“Alan—he—” Aek’s voice cracked. “He—he touched Charlie. He ruined him.”

Jeff stepped forward then, eyes sharper than Aek expected.

“No, Aek. You put Charlie in this position.

You made a bet with his name attached, like he was property.

You think Willy wouldn’t claim the prize?”

Aek’s fury faltered for a beat, guilt slamming into him.

His throat closed, but the rage still boiled, redirected at Willy’s smug face.

Willy chuckled, low and sinful. “Listen to the pretty mechanic. He gets it.”

His gaze shifted back to Aek, eyes like knives.

“Charlie isn’t a trophy to me. He’s mine now. And the worst part?”

His smirk deepened. “Deep down, he knows it.”

Aek lunged again, and this time it took both Alan and Ton to drag him back.

Jeff stepped between them, glaring daggers at Willy.

“Get the hell off this track before I put a wrench through that smirk,”

Jeff snapped, surprising everyone with the venom in his tone.

Before Aek could break free again, another voice slid into the tension like silk.

“Well,” Winner said smoothly, walking up beside Willy with his hands in his pockets.

“looks like things are even more fun than I imagined.”

His smirk matched Willy’s, his dark eyes scanning the group.

“You know, Aek….Willy only goes after what he wants. And right now? He wants Charlie.”

’Aek s roar echoed through the circuit as he thrashed in Alan’s grip.

His chest heaved, his vision blurred red.

Willy stepped closer, lowering his voice so only Aek—and everyone holding him back—could hear.

“Every time you touch him from now on, Aek,”

Willy whispered, lips curling, “you’ll wonder if he’s remembering me instead.”

Alan and Ton nearly lost their hold as Aek surged again, animalistic fury ripping out of him.

But Willy only smirked, flicked his cigarette to the ground, and turned away, Winner walking at his side like a shadow.

The echo of Willy’s laughter lingered long after he was gone.

Aek collapsed to his knees on the pit lane, fists slamming against the concrete, the sound raw and hollow.

Ton knelt beside him, gripping his shoulder.

“You can’t win like this, Aek.

Not against someone like Willy. You’ll destroy yourself before you save Charlie.”

Alan’s voice was quiet, but heavy with warning.

“This isn’t just about Charlie anymore. Willy wants to break you. And if you don’t get smart, he will.”

Aek lifted his head, eyes wild, tears and rage mixing like fire and gasoline.

“I don’t care what it takes,” he hissed. “I’ll get Charlie back. And I’ll burn Willy to the ground.”

In the back of his mind he thought: I didn’t scheme this hard to let Willy win.

Chapter Text

The silence of the apartment was deafening.

Charlie sat curled on the guest bed, knees pulled to his chest, the sheets twisted beneath his damp fingers.

His chest rose and fell in jagged breaths, and he could still hear Aek’s voice outside the locked door.

Pleading.

Angry.

Guilty.

But none of that drowned out the ghost of Willy’s touch.

“Stop it,” Charlie whispered to himself, pressing the heel of his hand against his temple as if he could erase the memory.

“You hate him… you’re suppose to hate him…”

And yet his body betrayed him.

Every time he closed his eyes, he felt the burn of Willy’s lips on his thighs, the wet heat of his mouth worshipping him in places Aek refused to.

He could almost feel the slick glide of Willy’s hands, the way he coaxed him open, the whisper of his voice dripping sin against his ear.

Charlie’s stomach tightened.

His skin buzzed.

Shame carved through him like a blade.

Why does it feel like this? Why does my body…

want him?

He rocked forward, gripping his hair, trying to drown it out.

“I love Aek,” he whispered, voice breaking.

“I love Aek. I can’t want Willy .”

But his pulse betrayed him.

The ache low in his belly betrayed him.

Every nerve ending in his body screamed for more of Willy when it should have recoiled in disgust.

Tears welled up and slipped hot down his cheeks.

He hated himself for this—hated how easily Willy’s mouth had unraveled him, how the man’s scent clung to his skin even after he’d showered.

He hated that he remembered Willy’s voice when he whispered his name, almost tender, as if Charlie wasn’t just a bet but something more.

And that was the part that terrified him most.

Across the city, Willy sat in his penthouse.

The skyline glittered through the glass walls, but his eyes weren’t on it.

A glass of whiskey rested untouched in his hand.

Winner sprawled on the couch nearby, quiet for once, watching his best friend with wary curiosity.

“You’re thinking too hard,” Winner finally said.

Willy let out a low laugh, more exhale than amusement. “You know me. I don’t overthink. I take what I want.”

“And?” Winner pressed. “You’ve already taken Charlie. So why are you staring at the skyline like you lost?”

Willy’s lips curved into a half-smile, but his eyes betrayed him—haunted, dark.

“Because it doesn’t feel like I took him. It feels like…”

His voice caught for a moment, rare vulnerability breaking through.

“…like he left a mark on me instead.”

Winner’s brow rose. “You’re in trouble.”

“Maybe.” Willy swirled the whiskey but didn’t drink it.

His chest tightened with memories he couldn’t push away:

Charlie trembling under his mouth, Charlie’s gasp when he kissed him where no one else had.

Charlie’s eyes wide with a mixture of fear and something else—something soft, something dangerous.

“I wanted back what Aek selfishly took from me,” Willy admitted quietly, more to himself than Winner.

He shut his eyes, grip tightening on the glass.

“I kissed him. And all I could do think about is how he would have been happy with me if Aek hadn’t mess that up”

Winner’s silence stretched before he finally muttered,

“Damn, you’ve fallen.”

Willy chuckled low, but it sounded broken.

“Yeah. And Charlie doesn’t even know it yet.”

Back in the guest room, Charlie shivered.

He pressed his face into the pillow, muffling a sob.

The scent of the sheets was clean, neutral, but beneath it—his skin still remembered Willy’s cologne, musky and sharp.

His lips tingled with phantom kisses.

“Why?” he whispered hoarsely. “Why him?”

The guilt crushed him.

Aek was out there, blaming himself, tearing himself apart because of that bet.

Charlie should only want Aek right? Then why is he yearning for Willy?

But when he shifted on the bed, he felt the soreness deep in his body, the places Willy had claimed.

And instead of only pain, a pulse of heat rippled through him.

He hated it.

Hated himself.

And worst of all… beneath the shame, beneath the tears, his heart whispered the one truth he couldn’t admit aloud:

Willy touched me like I was something precious.

And part of me wants that again.

Charlie bit down on the pillow, sobbing into it, as the storm of guilt and forbidden yearning tore him apart.

Chapter Text

The door to the guest room hadn’t opened once.

Aek sat slumped against it, his forehead pressed to the wood, fists balled tight at his sides.

The silence inside gnawed at him.

He’d begged until his throat hurt, apologized a hundred times, cursed himself another hundred more. Nothing.

“Charlie…” His voice cracked as morning light bled into the apartment.

“You don’t deserve this. You don’t deserve me putting you through hell. I’m sorry. I’m so—”

A creak came from inside, as if Charlie had shifted on the bed.

Aek froze, hope clawing up his chest.

But no reply followed.

When his phone buzzed with his secretary’s reminder—Board meeting in one hour—he shut his eyes, groaned low, and forced himself up.

Even while putting on his tailored jacket, he lingered at the door.

“I’ll come back for you,”

he whispered, hand flat on the wood. “I’ll fix this, Charlie. I swear.”

But as the door to the apartment clicked shut behind him, Charlie buried his face into the pillow and let silent tears fall.

His body still ached, haunted by Willy’s hands.

Every kiss, every sinful touch replayed like a curse—and he hated that part of him still yearned for more.

Aek’s Company – Late Morning

The boardroom smelled of polished wood and fresh coffee.

Executives murmured among themselves, but when Aek walked in, the air shifted.

He was all sharp lines and raw tension, suit immaculate but eyes dark with exhaustion.

“Let’s begin,” he snapped, tossing his tablet on the table.

One of the older investors cleared his throat.

“Khun Aek, we’ve seen troubling chatter online. This… bet with Khun Willy—”

“Personal.” Aek’s voice cut like glass.

“It doesn’t affect our bikes, our performance, or our profits.”

Another director leaned forward.

“With respect, it affects you. Our clients and sponsors are asking if you’re losing focus.

You’ve been irritable, distracted—”

“I said it’s personal!” Aek’s fist slammed onto the table, coffee cups rattling.

A thick silence followed.

Ton, seated at the back of the room as an advisor, pinched the bridge of his nose.

After the meeting broke, he cornered Aek in the hallway.

“You’re burning yourself down,” Ton hissed.

“First you almost lost Charlie, now you’re lashing out at your own people. Get your head straight before you tank more than your relationship.”

Aek glared, but his shoulders sagged.

“You think I don’t know that?”

His voice cracked, just for a second.

“I can’t sleep, Ton Every time I close my eyes I see Willy touching him.”

Ton’s jaw tightened.

“Then you fight.

not just on the track—you fight for Charlie’s heart.

And you don’t let Willy win again.”

Alan & Jeff – The Garage

Alan wiped grease from his hands as Aek stalked into the garage later that afternoon.

his mood a storm cloud that followed him everywhere.

Jeff glanced up from under the hood of a Porsche and muttered, “Here we go.”

“What’s your plan?” Alan asked bluntly.

“My plan is to rip Willy apart.”

Jeff barked a humorless laugh. “That’s not a plan, that’s a tantrum.

Aek, you made the bet.

You dragged Charlie into this mess. Now he’s hiding from you because he’s hurt—physically and emotionally.

And all you can think about is revenge?”

Aek’s face hardened, but guilt flickered in his eyes.

Alan stepped closer, steady and firm. “Little brother, you want Charlie back?

Then prove you’re the man he can trust.

Not the hotheaded idiot who gambles his boyfriend away.”

For a moment, Aek didn’t answer.

Then his phone buzzed.

Notifications—dozens of them.

His heart dropped as he opened social media.

Social Media Storm

#CharlieTrend was climbing the charts.

“Did you see how Willy looked walking out of the circuit? Man’s a lion who just ate his prey.”

“No way Charlie walks straight after that.”

“Petition to make Willy drop a book on how to ruin your rival and take his man in one night.”

Memes.

Edits.

Threads breaking down every known detail of the bet.

Half of them worshipped Willy, painting him as the seductive bad boy who won the ultimate prize.

The other half ripped Aek apart for risking Charlie in the first place.

Aek’s grip tightened around his phone.

“Goddammit…” He threw it onto the workbench, the screen cracking.

Alan and Jeff exchanged grim looks, but neither said what they were both thinking.

Willy wasn’t just winning on the track—he was winning in hearts and headlines.

Willy’s Penthouse

The view from Willy’s penthouse stretched across Bangkok’s skyline, glass windows catching the late afternoon sun.

Willy lounged on a leather sofa, scrolling through the very same posts Aek had just seen.

But unlike Aek, he smirked.

Winner strolled in with a drink in hand.

“You’re trending again. Half the city thinks you broke Charlie in two. The other half wants you to.”

“Good.” Willy sipped his whiskey slowly.

“Let them talk.”

Winner raised a brow. “Your sponsors don’t care about the scandal?”

“Please.” Willy leaned back, eyes dark with amusement.

“My sponsors love it. I’m the golden boy who races hard, fucks harder, and still donates half a million baht to charity every quarter. They can’t touch me.”

Winner smirked. “So this is all about image, then?”

But Willy’s expression shifted, the playboy mask dropping just a fraction.

He swirled the amber liquid in his glass, voice low.

“No. This isn’t about image. I want him. Not his body. Him.”

Winner studied him carefully. “You’re in love with Charlie.”

The admission hung heavy between them. Willy didn’t deny it.

His smirk returned, sharper now, dangerous.

“And I’m going to make him realize he wants me too.”

Charlie – The Apartment

Charlie sat curled up on the bed in the locked guest room, his phone face down on the sheets.

He’d seen the comments.

The edits.

The way strangers spoke about him like he was a trophy in some high-speed war.

Part of him wanted to throw up.

Part of him wanted to scream.

But worst of all—part of him flushed hot, remembering the way Willy’s mouth had worshipped him, the way his touch had made him unravel.

His thighs squeezed together involuntarily, shame flooding him.

“No…” he whispered, biting back a sob. “I love Aek.”

But as he buried his face into his hands, Willy’s words replayed in his head like poison:

“You think you hate me now, but your body already knows the truth.”

Charlie shook, torn between loyalty and longing.

And in the shadows of the city, Willy smiled to himself, certain that the seed he’d planted was already beginning to bloom.

Chapter Text

The knocking on the guest room door had finally slowed to silence.

Aek sat with his back against the wall, head in his hands, a man who could command investors, racers, and engineers alike—but not the trembling boy hiding from him.

When the door clicked open hours later, Aek’s head snapped up.

Charlie stood there, pale-faced, hair messy, eyes rimmed with red.

He wouldn’t meet Aek’s gaze.

“Charlie…” Aek pushed to his feet, stepping closer, voice rough.

“You locked yourself away all night. Don’t do this to me. Don’t do this to us.”

Charlie’s lips trembled.

He wrapped his arms around himself like armor.

“I’m sorry, Aek… but maybe… maybe your father’s right.”

Aek froze.

“What do you mean my father’s—”

The sound of a cane hitting the polished marble floor cut him off.

Both of them turned.

Standing in the doorway of the penthouse living room was Mr. Kittisak, Aek’s father—tall, immaculately dressed in a tailored charcoal suit, with eyes sharp as knives.

The air seemed to bend around him.

“Exactly what he means,” Kittisak said coldly.

“Finally, the boy shows some sense.”

Charlie instinctively lowered his head, shame coloring his cheeks.

Aek’s hands curled into fists.

“Father, this is my home,” Aek snapped.

“You don’t just walk in here—”

“This is my family’s name,”Mr Kittisak interrupted smoothly.

“Your little… scandal with this boy has already reached investors, sponsors, and the board.

I spent the morning in meetings trying to assure them my son isn’t throwing our empire into the dirt.”

Charlie flinched, guilt stabbing through him.

“I don’t care what investors think,”Aek bit back. “Charlie is mine. He stays with me.”

Mr Kittisak stepped further into the room, his eyes cutting toward Charlie like he was an insect on the floor.

“You think keeping him makes you strong? Look at him.”

His cane pointed sharply at Charlie.

“He’s fragile. Humiliated. The entire world is laughing—asking how a man like you could risk everything for a boy like him.”

“Stop,” Aek growled, stepping between his father and Charlie.

But Charlie’s voice cracked through, soft and broken. “He’s right, Aek.”

Aek’s chest tightened.

He turned to Charlie, stunned. “Don’t say that.”

Charlie shook his head, tears blurring his vision.

“I don’t deserve you. I let this happen. I let Willy—”

His voice faltered, his body shuddering just from saying the name.

“I ruined us. I ruined your business, your reputation, everything you worked for.

Maybe… maybe your father’s right. You’d be better off without me.”

“Charlie…” Aek’s heart tore , but before he could reach for him.

Mr Kittisak’s cold laugh filled the room.

“Even the boy knows his place. For once, listen. There are alliances to be made, respectable partners—someone powerful, someone worthy. Not… this.”

His hand sliced dismissively through the air in Charlie’s direction.

Charlie’s breath hitched, but he didn’t defend himself.

Aek exploded.

“Don’t you dare talk about him like that! He’s not just ‘this.’ He’s Charlie. He’s the one I—”

Aek stopped himself, the words choking in his throat.

Love had never been something he admitted easily, even to himself.

But his father’s sneer only deepened.

“You’re infatuated,” Mr Kittisak said sharply.

“Like a child clinging to a toy. But toys break. Empires don’t. You will let this boy go and marry someone suitable. That’s final.”

Charlie whispered, almost to himself, “Maybe he’s right…”

Aek spun back to him, eyes blazing.

“Don’t you dare say that. Don’t you ever believe you’re not worth it.”

But Charlie only cried harder, torn between the brutal truth in his bones and the desperate warmth in Aek’s words.

The silence was heavy, broken only by Charlie’s quiet sobs.

Finally, Aek turned back to his father, jaw clenched, voice low but lethal. “Get out.”

Mr Kittisak’s eyes narrowed. “You will regret this disobedience.”

“I already regret a lot of things,” Aek
muttered.

His fists shook. “But I’ll never regret Charlie.”

Mr Kittisak gave a slow, cold smile, one that promised this wasn’t the end.

Then he turned and left, his cane striking the floor with sharp authority.

The door slammed.

Charlie sank to the floor, burying his face in his hands.

“Aek, I can’t… I can’t keep fighting this. You should hate me. I let Willy—”

Aek dropped down in front of him, grabbing his wrists, forcing him to look up.

“Stop. Stop torturing yourself.

None of this was your fault.

This is on me.

My arrogance.

My pride. I put you in the crossfire.”

Charlie shook his head.

“But you don’t look at me the same anymore. I know why.

Every time you close your eyes, you see him.

Touching me.

Kissing me.

Doing things only you should—”

“Charlie—!” Aek’s voice cracked.

His throat burned with fury, grief, and a truth he couldn’t silence.

Because Charlie was right.

Later, when the apartment was quiet again, Aek stood alone in the bathroom, staring into the mirror.

His reflection was a storm—anger in his jaw, pain in his eyes.

His father’s voice echoed: “Someone better.“

“Someone worthy”

Charlie’s whispered confession replayed.

“You don’t look at me the same anymore.’

And in the hollow of his chest, a darker whisper rose: Can I?

The thought of Willy kissing Charlie, touching him, filled his head.

He slammed his fist against the sink, teeth grinding.

“Damn it!”

“How the Hell did I make Willy trick me into getting back what I took from him?”

Chapter Text

The knock at the apartment door came just as Charlie had managed to convince himself that maybe—just maybe—Aek would choose him no matter what his father said.

But when the door swung open, and Aek’s father walked in with his usual commanding presence.

Charlie’s hope shrank like a flame caught in the wind.

And then—behind him—a stranger.

Not just any stranger.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, sharp-jawed, with sleek black hair styled effortlessly.

His suit was fitted but casual, giving him that kind of relaxed dominance Aek always admired in others.

His smile was calm, practiced, and… devastating.

Charlie froze on the couch.

His hands curled into his lap.

Aek’s father didn’t waste time.

“Sit up straight, Charlie. This is not your place, but since you’re here, you’ll listen.”

His voice cut like a blade as he gestured to the newcomer.

“This is Phana. He’s the heir to a luxury engineering group in Bangkok, already managing multiple international accounts, and—”

his smile widened, smug, “he also happens to share Aek’s passion for racing.”

Phana stepped forward, extending a confident hand toward Aek.

“I’ve heard a lot about you. Your reputation on the track precedes you.”

Aek took the hand.

Hesitated—but only for a second.

His lips twitched, almost a smile, as if impressed.

“Reputation goes both ways. I’ve seen your name on the circuit lists. Strong finishes.”

Charlie’s stomach dropped.

The ease in Aek’s voice—natural, warm, engaged—stabbed deeper than any insult could.

Phana chuckled softly. “I try. But nowhere near your level.

You’ve built something powerful, Aek.

Both in business and on the track.

It’s rare to meet someone who balances both so well.”

Aek’s father settled into an armchair like a king watching pawns move.

“Exactly. Someone who understands him. Someone from his world.”

His eyes flicked dismissively toward Charlie.

“Not a distraction that drags him down.”

Charlie bit his lip so hard he tasted copper.

He wanted to run, but his body refused.

He sat there, hands shaking, as Aek and Phana continued.

Phana leaned closer, his tone light, teasing in a way that felt too familiar.

“Maybe sometime you could take me out on your favorite course. I’d love to see how a master works up close. Consider it… a private lesson.”

The words hit Charlie’s chest like a hammer.

He remembered the first time Aek had said those exact words to him, joking about showing him the ropes.

Now, coming from Phana’s lips, it was like watching his memories stolen.

Aek smirked faintly, leaning back.

“Careful. I don’t go easy on challengers.”

Charlie wanted to scream.

He wanted to stand up, to demand Aek look at him and not at this perfectly polished replacement.

But all he could do was lower his gaze, his voice breaking out in a whisper no one heard: I was never your type, was I?

Aek’s father clasped his hands together, satisfied.

“See how natural this is? This is what you need, son. A partner who elevates you, who strengthens the family name, not one who… embarrasses it.”

Finally, Aek’s gaze flicked to Charlie.

Just for a moment.

And what Charlie saw there gutted him more than anger, more than hate—hesitation.

Phana, oblivious or maybe purposefully cruel, added with a smile,

“I’ll admit—I didn’t think you’d be as easy to talk to as this. Guess your father was right. We do click.”

Charlie swallowed back tears.

His chest ached so hard it hurt to breathe.

Every laugh, every shared look between Aek and Phana scraped raw at the open wound inside him.

And Aek—though he didn’t smile wide, though he didn’t flirt back—didn’t push him away either.

That silence screamed louder than anything.

Charlie stood suddenly, his voice tight. “I—I should go. Give you all your… space.”

Aek opened his mouth.

Hesitated.

Closed it again.

That pause was all the answer Charlie needed.

He walked to the guest room, his steps unsteady, and shut the door behind him before the tears finally broke free.

Aek sat stiffly in the silence that followed. His father raised a brow.

“You see? Even he knows his place. He’ll never fit in, Aek. Phana is your future. Charlie is your liability.”

Phana leaned forward, resting his elbows casually on his knees.

“No pressure, of course. Just… think about it. Business, racing, even family expectations—it all lines up. And honestly?”

He smirked lightly. “I wouldn’t mind seeing more of you outside of these formalities.”

Aek’s jaw clenched.

His thoughts spun like tires on wet asphalt.

When he closed his eyes, he saw Charlie’s face—wet with tears, full of pain.

When he opened them, he saw Phana—confident, steady, so much like the people he used to date.

The people who never complicated his life.

His father’s voice broke the silence.

“I’ll set up a dinner. Just the families.

Formalize the talks.

This is bigger than your pride, Aek.

It’s about legacy.”

Aek didn’t argue.

Didn’t move.

Didn’t look toward the guest room.

Because deep down, the thought was clawing at him.

my father’s right.

Charlie really isn’t enough.

And for the first time since he’d met Charlie, Aek let his mask slipped .

Chapter Text

The apartment was quieter than usual, too quiet.

Charlie stood just outside the half-closed door of Aek’s study, frozen in place when he heard voices drifting through.

“…yes, Friday evening at The Pavilion,”

Aek’s father said, his deep voice smooth but commanding.

“Phana’s family has already agreed. It will be a private dinner—just us and them. Perfect for formal introductions.”

Introductions.

Charlie’s stomach dropped.

His hands clenched at his sides as the words sank in.

A dinner to introduce Aek to Phana as if they were… destined.

“Father” Aek’s voice came, hesitant.

“No,” his father cut him off.

“You will attend, and you will be polite. This is bigger than your childish entanglements.

Phana is from a respectable family.

His father controls an import company we’ve been courting for months.

Aligning with them would strengthen your business, your racing profile, and our name.”

Charlie bit his lip until he tasted copper.

Childish entanglements.

That’s all he was to them.

He didn’t hear the rest.

He turned and walked quickly back to the guest room, shutting the door as quietly as he could.

His chest felt like it had been carved open.

Later that night, curled on the bed, Charlie unlocked his phone.

The first notification made his pulse spike:

#AekPhana was trending.

Curiosity and dread warred in him, but his thumb moved anyway.

Images filled the screen—edits of Aek and Phana standing side by side at the track last month, cropped to look intimate.

Fan accounts had captioned them like a fairy-tale couple:

“The power duo we’ve all been waiting for!”

“Sorry Charlie, but Aek finally met his match.”

“Charlie could never.”

Charlie swallowed hard, scrolling faster, but it only got worse.

Short clips spliced together:

Aek smirking, Phana laughing, photoshopped hands brushing.

Thousands of comments.

Some mocking, some cruel, some downright gleeful.

And the worst one, the one that nearly made him throw the phone—

“Wonder if Charlie can even walk after Willy was done with him.

Aek needs someone untainted.

Enter Phana. Perfect.”

His vision blurred.

He shut the phone off and buried his face in the pillow. He couldn’t breathe.

Downstairs, Alan’s voice thundered.

“Are you insane?!” Alan slammed his hand against the kitchen counter, glaring at their father.

Jeff stood a step behind him, arms crossed, equally furious.

“You sit there planning dinner dates with Phana’s family while Charlie is upstairs bleeding inside?

You think you can dictate Aek’s life like this?”

Their father’s expression didn’t flinch.

“I am protecting this family’s name. Charlie is… inconvenient. He was always inconvenient. And Aek knows it.”

Alan’s fists shook.

“Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare talk about him like that. He loves Aek. He’s loyal. And you’d trade him off like trash because of business?”

Aek stood nearby, jaw tight, eyes unreadable.

Alan turned sharply to him.

“And you. You’re just going to let him do this? Sit there while he sets you up with Phana like Charlie doesn’t exist?!”

Aek’s throat worked, but no words came.

He wanted to scream that Charlie wasn’t just anyone, that Charlie was the one who made him breathe.

But every time he pictured Charlie, he saw flashes.

Willy’s mouth on him, Charlie’s back arching, the way he might have moaned.

Did he like it? Did he want it?

The silence was louder than anything.

Alan’s face twisted in disgust.

“You’re breaking him. Both of you.”

He stormed out, Jeff following close behind.

Meanwhile across the city, Winner leaned back in his leather armchair at the nightclub, phone in hand.

“Well, well,” he drawled, waving the screen toward Willy.

“Look what’s trending.

#AekPhana.

The internet already shipped him off.

Poor little Charlie’s probably crying himself to sleep right now.”

Willy’s eyes narrowed as he snatched the phone.

His jaw ticked as he scrolled through the edits, the headlines.

A slow smile spread across his face.

Dangerous.

Possessive.

“Good,” Willy said finally, voice low.

“Let the world show him what Aek really is.
Someone who’ll trade him off the second it’s convenient.”

Winner smirked. “You planning something?”

Willy leaned back, lacing his fingers behind his head.

“Oh, I don’t plan.

I take.

Charlie doesn’t belong in that house.

He doesn’t belong in Aek’s shadow.

He belongs with someone who actually wants him, who’ll burn the world before letting him go.”

His tongue clicked. “And that someone is me.”

Winner laughed softly, raising his glass.

“Then take him.

The world already thinks Aek’s moving on.

All you have to do is be there when Charlie finally breaks.”

Willy’s eyes gleamed, hungry. “Oh, I’ll be there.”

Upstairs, Charlie sat in the dark, clutching his knees to his chest.

He wanted to hate Willy.

He wanted to hate Aek’s father.

He wanted to hate Aek himself.

But the truth was messier.

Aek had promised to love him.

To protect him.

And yet now, he was silent, watching as his father erased Charlie’s existence.

And worse—Charlie knew Phana was exactly Aek’s type.

He’d seen the way Aek’s eyes lingered, just for a second, when Phana smiled.

Maybe Aek was realizing what everyone else already knew.

Maybe Charlie had never been enough.

Chapter Text

The clink of wine glasses echoed through the private dining room of one of Bangkok’s most exclusive hotels.

The table gleamed with silverware, crystal, and too many smiles that didn’t mean a damn thing.

Aek sat stiffly in his tailored black suit, jaw tight, trying not to glance at the empty chair that wasn’t meant for Charlie.

because Charlie wasn’t invited.

“Tonight marks the start of something… promising,”

Aek’s father announced, raising his glass.

His voice carried the same heavy authority that had dictated Aek’s life since he was a boy.

“Two families, two industries, and a future that aligns beautifully.”

Phana smiled politely beside him, every bit the golden heir he was raised to be.

He was tall, sleek in a navy suit, posture immaculate.

His confidence wasn’t loud—it was measured, deliberate, the kind of control that made people lean in.

Aek forced a nod, taking a sip of wine to cover the delight in his stomach.

Meanwhile, across town, Charlie shoved another stack of clothes into a box.

His hands trembled even though he tried to stay steady.

Alan stood by the closet, arms folded, while Jeff taped up the cartons one by one.

“This isn’t right,” Alan muttered, fury in every clipped word. “Not right at all.”

Charlie forced a weak laugh. “It’s fine. It’s… it’s business, right? I knew I wasn’t going to be enough for that world.”

Alan snapped his head toward him, eyes sharp.

“Don’t you ever say that. You are more than enough. This is about Father, not you.”

Charlie lowered his gaze, swallowing hard.

But the image of Aek in his suit, sitting across from Phana, was already searing itself into his mind.

Back at the hotel, the first course was served.

The conversation danced between racing circuits, sponsorship opportunities, and international expansion.

Phana spoke effortlessly, his words calculated, polished—exactly the kind of businessman Aek’s father adored.

At one point, Phana leaned slightly toward Aek, voice smooth as silk.

“I did hear about that bet with Willy,” he said casually, almost like small talk.

Then, with a faint smile, he added,

“If I were Charlie… I wouldn’t have let Willy touch me.”

The words slid across the table like a Aek.

Aek’s grip tightened around his fork.

His father chuckled approvingly, lifting his glass in Phana’s direction.

“You see, Aek? A man who knows how to protect dignity.”

Aek wanted to slam the glass into the wall.

Wanted to shout, Charlie didn’t have a choice, I gave him up to that bastard.

But he sat there, lips pressed shut, his pulse hammering in his ears.

His silence was its own betrayal.

Charlie sank onto the couch in Alan and Jeff’s guest room, phone glowing in his hands.

He shouldn’t have opened Twitter.

He knew better.

But the hashtags pulled him in like a current he couldn’t fight.

#PerfectMatch

#AekPhanaDinner

There were already pictures.

Aek and Phana shaking hands, a grainy photo of them smiling across the dinner table.

Edits.

Fan comments.

“Finally Aek is moving on from that circuit boy.”

“This is the pair the industry needs.”

“Charlie was just filler.”

Charlie’s throat tightened.

His vision blurred until the screen swam.

He locked the phone quickly, pressing the heel of his palm against his eyes, but the words burned into him all the same.

Jeff appeared in the doorway, quiet but firm.

“Don’t look at that crap, Charlie.”

Charlie tried to smile, his voice breaking.

“It’s already everywhere.”

Jeff crossed the room, sitting beside him and wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

For once, Charlie didn’t try to act strong.

He just leaned into Jeff’s warmth, silent tears slipping down his cheeks.

Back at the dinner, Aek’s father and Phana were laughing together, discussing joint ventures.

while Aek sat in the middle of it like a prisoner.

“You two are a natural fit,” his father said smoothly. “Not just in business. Life, too.”

Phana inclined his head, flashing a polite smile. “I’d be honored to build something… lasting.”

His eyes slid toward Aek, calm, assessing.

There was no malice on the surface, but the echo of his earlier jab lingered.

If I were Charlie, I wouldn’t have let Willy touch me.

Aek’s stomach twisted.

For the first time, he wondered if his father was right—if maybe he couldn’t escape this destiny.

And yet, every time he thought of Charlie’s laugh, his touch, the way he made him feel alive.

guilt and longing tangled like barbed wire inside him.

Meanwhile, Winner leaned back on the velvet couch in his VIP lounge, phone in hand.

He smirked at the trending hashtags.

“Well, well. Looks like Aek’s already getting fitted for his perfect little husband.

Poor Charlie.”

Across from him, Willy swirled his drink slowly, eyes locked on the same images.

Aek and Phana side by side, all smiles. His jaw flexed once.

“Good,” Willy said flatly.

“The sooner Aek pushes Charlie away, the sooner Charlie realizes who he actually belongs to.”

Winner’s grin widened. “So what’s the plan? Just swoop in while Aek’s playing house?”

Willy set his glass down, leaning forward, voice low and dangerous.

“No. I’ll make sure Charlie knows that when Aek let him go, I was the one waiting with open arms.

I’ll show him that I’m not just after his body—I want him. And this… little dinner?”

He gestured toward the phone with a bitter smile.

“It’s the perfect opening.”

Winner chuckled, raising his own glass.

“Then let the circus play on. And when Aek’s too busy dining with Daddy’s favorite, you’ll be in Charlie’s bed.”

Willy’s eyes darkened with something more than lust.

“Not just his bed. His life.”

By the time dessert was served at the dinner, Aek felt sick.

The laughter, the forced smiles, the talk of futures—all of it clanged against the ache in his chest.

He wanted to leave, to run to Charlie and beg for forgiveness, to throw every damn deal back in his father’s face.

But when he glanced at Phana, composed and flawless, a part of him hated himself for noticing how much easier everything seemed with someone like him.

Someone who fit the mold.

And that thought alone made him want to vomit.

Back in Alan’s house, Charlie lay awake staring at the ceiling of his borrowed room.

His belongings sat neatly stacked in boxes against the wall.

He could still smell Aek on his hoodie, folded at the foot of the bed.

Alan poked his head in before turning off the hallway light.

“Get some rest, Charlie. You’re safe here. And no matter what Father’s planning, I’ve got your back.”

Charlie whispered, almost too quietly to hear:

“I don’t think Aek wants me anymore.”

And for the first time, he didn’t even try to believe otherwise.

Chapter Text

The guest room was dim, lit only by the faint glow of the streetlights cutting through the curtains.

The city outside was alive with noise, but in here it was quiet—too quiet.

Charlie sat cross-legged on the bed, hoodie zipped up to his throat, staring at his phone like it might give him an answer he couldn’t find anywhere else.

He hadn’t texted Aek.

Aek hadn’t called.

That silence felt heavier than any insult, heavier even than the bet that had torn their world apart.

A soft knock tapped against the door.

“Charlie?” Jeff’s voice came, calm but concerned.

Charlie swiped quickly at his face—his eyes were red, his cheeks damp.

“Yeah. You can come in.”

The door opened and Jeff slipped inside, carrying two cans of iced coffee.

He tossed one onto the bed beside Charlie before settling into the chair near the desk.

His presence was steady, like he’d been waiting for Charlie to let it out.

“You look like hell,” Jeff said, not unkindly.

Charlie cracked the can open but didn’t drink. “I feel worse.”

Jeff leaned forward, elbows on his knees, watching him.

“Talk to me, Charlie.”

Charlie’s lips pressed into a tight line.

His throat worked as he tried to swallow the knot in it.

Then the words started spilling, low and broken.

“When Aek made that bet… I thought it was a joke at first.

Who even puts their boyfriend on the line like that? But when I saw he was serious, my stomach just dropped.

I felt… small.

Like I wasn’t a person anymore, just some trophy in his pride match with Willy.”

Jeff didn’t interrupt. He let Charlie’s voice shake, let the truth come out raw.

“I wanted to hate Willy. God, I still want to. I should hate him for touching me, for wanting me like that when he knew I wasn’t his. But…”

Charlie’s head fell forward, his hands gripping the can so tightly it dented.

“The way he touched me—it did something to me. And I hate myself for it. I can’t stop thinking about it. Like my body betrayed me when my heart didn’t.”

Jeff’s chest tightened at the admission.

He moved from the chair to sit beside Charlie on the bed, close enough to make him feel less alone.

“I feel guilty all the time,” Charlie whispered, voice breaking.

“Like I let Aek down. Like I’m… dirty now.

And then there’s Aek—he doesn’t even look at me.

He’s quiet, and that silence hurts more than if he’d screamed. And now…”

He let out a bitter laugh. “Now his father brings in Phana.

Perfect, polished, exactly ’Aek s type.

And I can see it.

I can see Aek looking at him. I’m not blind.

I was never his type.

I was just… convenient.”

Tears streaked down his face again, and he finally let himself cry without holding back.

Jeff put a hand on his shoulder, firm and grounding.

“Charlie. Look at me.”

Charlie lifted his wet eyes.

“You are not dirty.

You are not some prize that got passed around.

Aek screwed up, not you.

He made that damn bet, not you.

And Willy—he took advantage of a situation Aek created.

That guilt you’re carrying? That isn’t yours to carry.”

Charlie’s lip trembled, and Jeff squeezed his shoulder harder.

“And as for Aek and Phana?

If Aek can’t fight for you—if he can sit there and let his father plan his future with someone else—then maybe you shouldn’t be the one breaking yourself to hold on.

Your happiness matters.

Your mental health matters.

If walking away is what keeps you sane, then do it.

Don’t stay chained to someone else’s silence.”

Charlie shook his head, voice barely a whisper.

“But I love him, Jeff. I still love him.”

Jeff softened, pulling Charlie into a half-hug, letting him rest against his chest like the little brother he never had.

“I know you do. Love doesn’t switch off.

But love should never cost you yourself.

Listen to your heart, Charlie.

If it says stay, then fight.

But if it says let go—even if it tears you apart—then walk away.

And know this…”

He rubbed Charlie’s back gently.

“Alan and I will back you no matter what you choose. Always.”

Charlie clung to him, letting the tears fall freely.

For the first time in weeks, he felt like someone actually saw him—not as a prize, not as a mistake, but as a person who mattered.

And that alone gave him the strength to breathe again.

Chapter Text

The city’s night lights bled against Aek’s tinted car windows as he was driven back from the dinner.

His father had been all smiles, raising his glass with Phana’s father as if they had already signed a wedding contract.

Phana, sitting at Aek’s side, had been impossibly composed.

Smooth, confident, the kind of man people gravitated toward.

It had been easy to play along at the table, easier than Aek wanted to admit.

Phana looked sharp in his tailored suit, knew exactly when to laugh, and when to let the silence settle heavy.

And then there’d been that comment, sliding off Phana’s lips with a smile that was almost innocent:

"If I were Charlie, I would’ve never let Willy touch me."

Aek had nearly choked on his wine.

His father’s approving nod had burned worse than alcohol.

Now, as the car rolled up to his apartment building, Aek’s chest ached.

He pushed open the door to the penthouse, expecting the quiet tension he always came home to lately—Charlie, curled up on the couch or hiding in the guest room, avoiding him but still here.

But the air was too still.

Too empty.

“Charlie?” Aek called, tossing his keys on the counter.

The sound echoed, sharp.

He walked quickly down the hallway, his gut twisting.

The guest room door was open.

The bed was bare.

Drawers pulled out. Closet empty.

Aek froze.

His pulse slammed in his ears.

“No, no, no…” He moved through the apartment like a storm, opening doors, pulling at closets, as if Charlie was playing some cruel game of hide-and-seek.

But every space told him the same truth: Charlie was gone.

Gone.

Alan.

Jeff.

He didn’t need to guess—they had helped him.

They had protected Charlie, while Aek had sat at a table pretending to smile beside Phana.

His knees nearly buckled. He gripped the back of the couch until his knuckles went white.

Every memory came rushing in at once:

Charlie’s shy laugh the first night they kissed.

the way he always leaned into Aek’s side when he was tired.

the tremor in his voice the night Aek had made that damn bet.

I pushed him away.

I let him go.

And then, like poison, another thought followed—

What if Phana’s right?

What if Charlie really wanted Willy?

What if I was the fool all along?

The sound of his phone buzzing snapped him out of it.

He glanced down—Twitter, Instagram, TikTok.

His notifications were exploding.

Photos from the dinner were everywhere—him and Phana, shoulder to shoulder, wine glasses clinking, smiles captured in perfect lighting.

Aek’s stomach turned.

The internet was already rewriting his story, erasing Charlie like he had never mattered.

“Perfect, isn’t it?”

The smooth voice came from behind.

Aek spun around to see Phana leaning casually in the doorway, having followed him up.

His tie loosened, his jacket draped carelessly over one arm, but his eyes sharp and fixed on Aek.

“You and me,” Phana continued, stepping inside as if he owned the place.

“The world already approves.

You saw the photos.

People are already calling us a better match than you and Charlie ever were.”

“Get out.” Aek’s voice was low, dangerous.

But his body betrayed him

he didn’t move.

Phana tilted his head, his smile infuriatingly calm.

“You don’t actually want me to, though.”

He set his jacket down on the counter, slow and deliberate, before moving closer.

“You can’t deny it. At dinner, I saw the way you looked at me. You felt it. The pull.”

Aek clenched his fists. “Charlie—”

“Charlie’s gone.” Phana cut him off smoothly, closing the space between them. “

You came home to an empty apartment, didn’t you? Of course you did.

Alan and Jeff would never let him stay after what your father pulled tonight.”

Aek flinched at the accuracy.

Phana’s voice softened, but it only made it worse.

“He’s gone because he doesn’t fit.

Because he can’t survive this world.

But me?” Phana’s fingers brushed ’Aek s sleeve—subtle, daring. “I can. I do. I was born for this world, Aek. Just like you.”

Aek’s chest heaved.

Phana’s cologne was rich, intoxicating.

Everything about him screamed control, stability, the kind of perfect his father always demanded.

And damn it, Phana was his type—elegant, refined, someone who could stand in every room without flinching.

For a second, he hated how his body responded—leaning ever so slightly into the touch, craving something that wasn’t Charlie.

“I shouldn’t…” Aek’s voice cracked.

Phana’s smile widened. “But you want to.”

Aek shoved his hand away, hard, stepping back.

“You’re not him.”

“No,” Phana agreed easily, straightening his tie again. “I’m better.”

The words landed like a slap.

Aek wanted to punch him.

He wanted to scream.

Instead, he turned away, raking a hand through his hair, staring at the dark skyline through the window.

The reflection showed him everything—Phana behind him, sharp and composed, and his own face, twisted with guilt and want.

And behind it all, the ghost of Charlie—messy hair, soft smile, eyes that had looked at Aek like he was the only one that mattered.

Aek’s throat burned. “Get out.”

Phana picked up his jacket, unbothered.

“Fine. I’ll leave. For now.”

He walked to the door, then paused, looking back with that same infuriating calm.

“But sooner or later, you’ll admit it. Charlie was never built for you. I am.”

The door shut softly behind him.

Aek stood frozen in the silence, the weight of it pressing down harder than ever.

He turned, eyes landing on the space where Charlie’s sneakers used to sit by the door.

Empty.

For the first time in years, Aek felt like he had already lost.

Chapter Text

Willy’s mansion stretched like a kingdom over the hillside, windows lit up against the night like golden eyes watching the city below.

But tonight, it wasn’t just a house.

It was a stage, and he was setting it for one person, one obsession, one truth that gnawed at him day and night.

Charlie.

Not Charlie the prize from a bet.

Not Charlie the boy Aek took for granted.

No—his Charlie.

The only one who had slipped beneath Willy’s skin, crawled into his veins, and refused to leave.

The staff had already been sent home, confused by the unusual instructions.

Willy had spent hours walking the halls himself, ensuring every detail was perfect.

Fresh flowers—white orchids, Charlie’s favorite, scattered through the rooms.

Candles, not gaudy, but soft, romantic, the kind that filled the air with warm vanilla and sandalwood.

Sheets changed, silk and crisp, his own bed remade for the first time by his own hands.

The kitchen counters gleamed.

A bottle of wine breathed on the marble, waiting.

A simple, but full of intent.

Care, woven into every step.

The living room glowed low, not sharp like the parties Willy threw, but intimate.

He paced through it all, his movements restless, his mind anything but calm.

Everywhere he looked, he saw Charlie—how his lips had parted when Willy kissed him,

how his body had trembled when he’d touched him in ways Aek never had, how his breathless whimpers had turned into moans that haunted Willy every damn night since.

But it wasn’t just sex.

If it were, he’d have moved on.

Willy had never lacked bodies in his bed.

Yet no one else mattered now.

He wanted everything.

He wanted Charlie’s mornings, his laughter,

the way he absentmindedly tucked his hair behind his ear.

He wanted his stubbornness, his innocence, his fire when pushed.

He wanted him angry, broken, happy, whole—every piece.

It was insanity, and Willy didn’t care.

He stood in the center of the grand room, staring at the space where Charlie would one day walk in, and whispered like a prayer, like a vow:

“You’re mine, Charlie. You just don’t see it yet.”

His phone buzzed.

Winner’s name lit the screen.

Willy answered without hesitation.

“Still obsessing?” Winner’s amused voice drawled through the speaker.

“You don’t get it,”

Willy said, pacing toward the balcony, the city sprawling like stars beneath him.

“This isn’t a game. Never was.

I can’t stop thinking about him.

I can’t breathe without him.

Every second he’s not here, it feels wrong.”

Winner chuckled softly, but it wasn’t mocking.

“Sounds like love, bro.”

“Love?” Willy spat the word, though his chest burned with it.

“Love makes people soft. This—this is something else.

I’m not just in love with him, Winner.

I’m consumed.

I’ll burn down the world before I let Aek or anyone else take him away from me.”

There was silence for a moment.

Then Winner, quieter, serious: “So… what’s the plan?”

Willy’s lips curved into a dangerous smile,

eyes flickering toward the staircase leading up to the master bedroom he had prepared so carefully.

“The plan,” he murmured, “is patience.

Charlie’s hurting now.

Aek is pushing him away, doubting him.

His own world is crumbling.

That’s when he’ll come to me. And when he does…”

Willy’s eyes darkened. “I’ll make sure he never leaves.”

Winner sighed, but there was no disapproval, just resigned loyalty.

“You’re insane, Willy.”

“Insanely in love,” Willy corrected, his tone velvet, dangerous, absolute.

He ended the call and leaned against the balcony, inhaling the cool night air, steadying himself.

He had built empires, crushed rivals, commanded crowds.

but none of it compared to the thought of Charlie sleeping in his bed, tangled in his sheets, whispering his name like a promise.

Willy pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the wild rhythm beneath.

No matter what it took, no matter who stood in the way—Charlie would be his.

And this mansion, every candle, every flower, every detail—it was waiting.

Waiting for the boy who had unknowingly set fire to Willy’s entire world.

Chapter Text

Aek sat in the corner of his office, staring at the phone like it was some kind of ticking bomb.

Phana was perched casually across from him, scrolling through his tablet, every so often making small talk about sponsorship deals, future races, expansion projects.

The boy was everything Aek’s father claimed: polished, sharp, attractive, his smile easy, his attention flattering.

But none of it drowned out the ache sitting heavy in Aek’s chest.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Charlie—how he looked at him with quiet devotion.

how he flinched when Aek’s temper exploded, how he trusted him despite everything.

And then, unbidden, came the other images.

Charlie under Willy, moaning, flushed, taken in ways Aek hadn’t even dreamed of.

His stomach churned, his fists tightening.

It was unbearable.

And yet, the one thought that cut deeper than all the rest was this: he let it happen.

Phana leaned closer, breaking the silence.

“You’re distracted, Aek.”

His tone was smooth, a touch playful.

“Still thinking about him?”

Aek’s jaw clenched.

He didn’t answer, but his hand gripped the phone so hard his knuckles went white.

Finally, with a heavy exhale, he unlocked it.

His thumbs hovered, then began to type.

Charlie… I think it’s better if we ended things.

He froze.

His reflection in the dark glass glared back at him, but the words kept pouring out, raw and ugly.

I know I made the bet. I know I hurt you, and maybe I’ll never forgive myself for it… but the truth is, I don’t think I can forgive you either.

He swallowed, his chest tightening, bile rising in his throat.

You let Willy touch you. You let him… have you.

And every time I look at you now, that’s all I see.

Him.

His hands on you. His mouth on you. It disgusts me, Charlie. I can’t look past it.

I don’t even know if I want to.

His finger hovered.

For a second, he almost deleted it all.

Almost.

But then Phana’s voice cut in softly, like oil slipping into fire:

“Sometimes, you have to let go of what’s broken, Aek.

You can’t hold onto something that taints everything you’ve worked for.

It’ll eat you alive.”

And just like that, Aek hit send.

The message was gone.

A black hole swallowing every chance of fixing what he had shattered.

Phana leaned back, satisfied, though he didn’t show it too openly.

Instead, he gave Aek a sympathetic smile, like he understood the pain, like he was offering himself as the solution.

“Come on,” Phana said gently. “Let’s go get dinner. Clear your head.”

Aek stood slowly, slipping the phone into his pocket, though it burned against his thigh like it was branding him a coward.

He told himself it was the right thing, that Charlie would be better off, that he would be better off.

But deep down, he knew it was a lie.

And somewhere, across the city, Charlie’s phone lit up with a message that shattered what was left of his heart.

Chapter Text

Charlie sat on the edge of Alan and Jeff’s guest bed, staring at his phone.

The screen buzzed once.

He thought it was Jeff sending him a funny meme to break the silence.

But no—Aek’s name lit up.

His heart stuttered.

His thumb trembled as he opened the message.

“Charlie… I think it’s better if we end things.

I know I made the bet. I know I hurt you first, and I’ll probably never forgive myself for it.

But I can’t forgive you either… not for letting Willy touch you.

Every time I look at you, I see him. The thought disgusts me.

It’s over.”

The words burned into his vision. His breath hitched, shoulders curling inward as if his chest had been split open.

He whispered, “No… no, no, no…” like repetition might rewrite the message.

But it was there, final, brutal.

Charlie pressed the phone to his chest, rocking slightly.

You made the bet, Aek.

You put me on the line like I was nothing.

And now… now I’m the one to blame?

His throat burned.

He buried his face in his hands, biting back sobs.

The door creaked.

Jeff stepped in quietly, holding two mugs of tea, but froze when he saw Charlie shaking.

“Charlie?” His voice softened, alarm flooding his expression.

Charlie couldn’t even form words.

He just thrust the phone out.

Jeff set the mugs down and took it gently.

His eyes scanned the text, jaw tightening.

“That son of a—” He stopped himself, set the phone aside, and pulled Charlie into a hug.

Charlie collapsed against him, clutching Jeff’s shirt.

“He… he ended it. He… blames me. Like I wanted any of this.”

His voice broke.

“I should hate Willy. God, I want to. But my body—my body won’t forget how he touched me. And Aek… he knows that. And now…”

Jeff rubbed his back firmly.

“Listen to me, kid.

This isn’t your fault.

Aek made the bet, not you.

He put you in that position.

You survived it.

That’s not something to be ashamed of—it’s something to be angry about.”

“But he’s right,” Charlie whispered hoarsely.

“He’ll never look at me the same. And I… I saw Phana. He’s Aek’s type. Polished, elegant, everything I’m not. And now—”

The ping of Jeff’s phone cut him off.

He pulled it out, glanced, and swore under his breath.

“Shit. Charlie… don’t look at your phone right now.”

Charlie’s head lifted, blotchy eyes narrowing. “Why?”

Jeff hesitated but handed it over.

Charlie unlocked it, and there it was:

A joint statement from KH Group and the Phana family conglomerate.

The words glowed against a white background, flanked by their family crests.

We are delighted to announce the engagement of Aek Kittisak and Phana Wattanachai.

This union marks not only the merging of two powerful business families but the start of a beautiful future together.

Please join us in congratulating the couple.

Beneath it was a glossy photo:

Aek in a tailored navy suit, Phana in ivory, both standing side by side with rings gleaming.

Aek’s smile looked rehearsed, but Phana’s radiated triumph.

Charlie’s stomach dropped. The world tilted. “Engagement…”

The word ripped out of him like glass.

Jeff squeezed his shoulder.

“This isn’t real. It’s orchestrated—Aek’s father is pulling strings.”

But Charlie wasn’t listening anymore.

His thumb scrolled downward, down into the chaos of social media.

#AekPhanaEngaged was trending.

Thousands of comments poured in within minutes.

“Finally, Aek has someone on his level 👏 Charlie was just a distraction.”

“They look so perfect together, rich x rich power couple 😍”

“Lmao Charlie’s probably crying somewhere. Imagine letting Willy rail you AND losing Aek to Phana. Embarrassing.”

“Justice for Charlie! Aek’s family are snakes, this is a setup.”

Charlie’s vision blurred as the words stabbed over and over.

His thumb slipped, and the phone fell onto the bed.

He pressed his hands to his face, shaking.

Jeff immediately pulled him close again, glaring at the screen like he could burn every comment to ash.

“Charlie. Look at me.”

Charlie did, broken and trembling.

“You don’t have to stay in this. Not with Aek. Not with this family circus. You deserve someone who doesn’t see you as a pawn. Someone who fights for you, not against you.”

Charlie’s lip quivered. “But what if I’m already ruined?”

Jeff cupped his face firmly.

“You are not ruined. You’re hurt. And yeah, you’ve been dragged through hell. But you’re still here. Alan and I—we’ve got you. No matter what. If you decide to walk away from Aek for good, we’ll be right behind you.”

Charlie finally broke, sobbing into Jeff’s chest as the sound of wedding bells—false and deafening—rang across every corner of social media.

And in another part of the city, Willy stared at the same announcement with fire in his eyes, whispering to himself:

“Over my dead body.”

Chapter Text

The mansion was quiet except for the faint hum of the city outside.

Willy sat on his leather sofa, phone in hand, champagne glass untouched on the low marble table in front of him.

The engagement photos of Aek and Phana glowed on his screen—two men in immaculate tailored suits.

Aek’s hand resting on Phana’s shoulder, a ring catching the flash.

Willy smirked.

Aek’s smile didn’t even reach his eyes.

“Pathetic,” Willy muttered, tossing the glass back down without sipping.

He actually let his father parade him like some damn prize horse.

Winner strolled into the living room, shirt unbuttoned halfway, drink in hand.

“You’ve been staring at that post like you’re about to murder someone.”

“I’m about to do worse,” Willy replied, thumbs already flying across the keyboard.

Winner leaned over the back of the couch, peeking.

“Oh no. You’re about to post, aren’t you?”

“Correction,” Willy said, his lips curling into that dangerously seductive grin. “I’m about to burn the whole internet down.”

[Willy’s Post: Instagram – 2:13 AM]

Imagine this: you say you love someone, call him your boyfriend, but your arrogance gets pricked by a little taunt from your rival.

Instead of protecting him, you gamble him away like a car you’re not even sure you can handle.

You lose. I cash in. And now? You smile for Daddy’s camera and put on a ring like the good little boy you’ve always been.

Tell me something, Aek.

Did you ever love Charlie? Or did you date him because you knew I wanted him first?

Because you wanted to prove a point?

Here’s the truth: I didn’t touch him to prove anything. I wanted him. I still want him.

And unlike you, I don’t need Daddy’s permission to go after what I desire.

— W.

Winner burst into laughter as Willy hit “post.” “You’re insane.”

“No.” Willy leaned back, smug. “I’m in love.”

Within minutes, the internet detonated.

Notifications streamed in so fast Willy’s phone vibrated like a live wire.

#WillyExposesAek

#TeamCharlie

#Daddy’sBoyAek

#WillyOwnsTheTrack

Fans flooded the comments—some dragging Aek as a “coward,”

others pitying Charlie.

a few defending Aek with weak excuses.

Edits popped up instantly:

Willy’s smirk versus Aek’s forced engagement smile.

Then Winner, ever the loyal best friend, raised his glass and pulled his phone out.

“Fine. If you’re going nuclear, I’m tossing grenades.”

[Winner’s Post: Twitter – 2:27 AM]

Facts have been spoken.

Some men build their empires with passion.

Others hide behind their daddy’s wallet and gamble with love they never deserved in the first place.

Don’t get it twisted — Willy doesn’t lose.

Not on the track. Not in love.

By dawn, both posts were everywhere—Instagram, Twitter, Facebook, even TikTok edits with dramatic background music.

Fans were feral.

“Aek looks miserable next to Phana.”

“Willy didn’t even lie tho 👀”

“Poor Charlie…imagine being in the middle of this.”

“Winner backing Willy?? Oh Aek is finished.”

“Willy saying he wanted Charlie, not just his body?? I’m weak.”

Charlie sat on Alan and Jeff’s couch, phone in his shaking hands.

He hadn’t slept.

He hadn’t eaten.

His chest hurt like someone had cracked it open.

The engagement photo had gutted him.

Aek’s text had already killed what little hope he’d been clinging to.

But Willy’s post… Willy’s words wrapped around him like chains.

He hated that part of him wanted to believe Willy.

wanted to believe someone, anyone, had really wanted him, not just as a bet or a punishment.

Jeff came into the living room, saw the tears Charlie was trying to hide, and sat down beside him.

“Hey, kid.”

Charlie sniffed, lowering the phone. “You saw it?”

“Whole world saw it,” Jeff said.

“But forget the noise for a second. What do you feel?”

Charlie bit his lip hard, shaking his head.

“I should hate him. God, I want to. But when he… when he touched me, kissed me… it felt like I wasn’t invisible anymore. Aek made me feel like an accessory. Willy…”

His voice broke. “Willy made me feel wanted.”

Jeff exhaled slowly, gripping his shoulder.

“Listen to me. Whatever you decide, me and Alan—we’re on your side. But don’t lose yourself in the middle of their war. Your happiness matters too.”

Charlie nodded, but his heart was chaos.

The world was watching, dissecting, laughing.

Aek was silent.

Meanwhile, at the engagement dinner’s aftermath,

Aek stormed out of his father’s mansion, phone in hand.

His face was red with fury, Phana trailing behind.

“Did you see it?” Phana asked, smug.

“Your rival is making a fool out of you online.”

“Shut up,” Aek snapped, hurling his phone against the car.

The screen cracked but the notifications kept buzzing—Willy’s name, Willy’s face, Willy’s voice everywhere.

Aek gritted his teeth, rage boiling.

But deep down, under the fury, one question gnawed at him like a parasite:

Did I really ever love Charlie? Or was Willy right all along?

Chapter Text

Winner's luxury bar wasn't just a place to drink.

It was velvet-lined walls, private booths lit with golden chandeliers, the kind of place billionaires and racers came to blow off steam without the paparazzi snapping their souls away.

At a corner booth, hidden by tinted glass, Willy leaned back with a drink in hand.

His expression was softer than usual
unguarded in the way only Winner ever saw.

Winner smirked, swirling his whiskey.

"So when are you going to stop staring at Charlie like he's oxygen and actually ask him out?"

Willy exhaled a laugh, shaking his head. "I don't stare."

"You do," Winner shot back, deadpan.

"Hell, even Dean noticed. You think you're subtle? Please."

Willy's smirk faded.

His voice dropped lower, rawer.

"Charlie's... different, Winner. It's not just lust. I want him.

For real.

The way he looks at people when he thinks no one notices, the way he bites his lip when he's nervous... I can't explain it, but I need him in my life."

Winner raised his glass. "Then claim him before someone else does."

Unbeknownst to them, a figure stood just outside the booth, shadow cloaking him.

Aek.

He hadn't come here to eavesdrop.

He'd come to drink, maybe flirt with someone flashy.

But when he'd heard Willy's name—when he'd heard Charlie's name—he stopped.

Every word sank into him like poison.

Willy wanted Charlie.

That's all Aek needed to hear.

A twisted smirk spread across his lips as he stepped back into the hallway, his mind already scheming.

He knew Willy—every weakness, every obsession, every flaw hidden behind that smug smirk.

Willy didn't just want Charlie's body; he wanted his heart.

And Aek?

Aek could take that from him.

"Willy always wins, huh?" Aek whispered to himself, pulling out his phone.

He already knew Charlie's schedule, the places he liked to hang out.

"Not this time."

Weeks Later

Charlie was seated at a coffee shop, laptop open, tapping out notes for his part-time job.

His world was quiet, ordinary, and then—Aek slid into the seat across from him like he belonged there.

"Charlie, right?" Aek said with a smile that was equal parts charm and calculation.

"I've seen you around at the track."

Charlie blinked, startled but polite. "Uh... yeah. That's me."

Aek leaned forward, eyes glinting.

Not my type, he thought, studying Charlie's soft features.

the way his clothes were modest compared to the designer pieces Aek usually demanded from his partners.

But he's Willy's type.

And that made him perfect.

"Can I buy you a coffee?" Aek asked smoothly, already signaling the waitress.

"Or maybe dinner sometime? I feel like I should get to know you better."

Charlie hesitated, surprised by the attention.

Aek smiled wider.

He was good at this—too good.

He knew how to charm, how to press just the right buttons to make people feel chosen.

And as Charlie's hesitation melted into a shy smile, Aek felt the thrill of victory.

Not because he liked Charlie.

Not because he cared.

But because he knew, when Willy found out, it would tear him apart.

Back to Present Day

On his bed, staring at the engagement ring his father forced onto his finger,

Aek clenched his jaw.

He remembered that night in the bar.

The way Willy had spoken about Charlie—like he was something precious, something untouchable.

Aek had taken that from him.

But now, with Willy's post tearing into him, with the world doubting him.

Aek couldn't help but wonder if he'd overplayed his hand.

Because deep down, the truth was ugly:

Charlie was never really Aek's to begin with.

He was Willy's obsession from the start.

The hum of the refrigeration units mixed with the quiet clink of glass bottles as Winner stood behind the counter, checking invoices and shipment slips.

His bar was closed for the afternoon, lights dimmed, only the faint glow of the liquor shelves casting shadows across the polished surface.

Dean, the long-time bartender and one of Winner's most trusted employees, flipped through the stock list with him.

They worked in companionable silence until Dean cleared his throat, hesitant.

"Boss... mind if I say something? It's about that post Willy made."

Winner raised an eyebrow, still tapping numbers into his tablet. "What about it?"

Dean leaned against the bar, lowering his voice. "He wasn't lying."

Winner looked up, sharp. "What do you mean?"

Dean exhaled, running a hand over his short hair. "I never said anything before because, well... it wasn't my business. But the night Willy was here with you? In the private booth, talking about Charlie?"

Winner stilled. That memory was crystal clear—Willy's raw confession, his rare vulnerability.

"Yeah. What about it?"

Dean's eyes darkened. "When I was walking past with a tray, I saw Aek. He was standing just outside, leaning against the wall. Listening. He left as soon as Willy said Charlie's name."

Winner's jaw tightened. "You're sure?"

Dean nodded firmly.

"Positive. Aek didn't notice me, but I noticed him. Later, I even saw him at the bar that same night, drinking with that smug little smile on his face. At the time I didn't think much of it... but now?"

Winner set the tablet down, knuckles whitening as his hands curled into fists.

"So Aek heard Willy," Winner muttered.

"He heard him say he wanted Charlie. And that's when he decided to make his move."

Dean's gaze was grim. "Exactly. He didn't fall for Charlie. He targeted him. To get under Willy's skin."

The silence stretched heavy between them, broken only by the low hum of the coolers.

Winner finally cursed under his breath, slamming his fist lightly against the bar.

"That son of a—he didn't want Charlie. He wanted to ruin Willy. And now he's out here parading an engagement like he's the victim."

Dean folded his arms, expression tight.

"Thought you should know. Willy deserves the truth. Maybe the world does too."

Winner's lips curved into a dangerous smirk.

"Don't worry, Dean. If Aek thought Willy's post was explosive..."

He picked up his phone, thumbs flying over the screen.

"...he hasn't seen anything yet."

Winner's fingers flew across his phone. He didn't soften his words.

He didn't need to.

He hit post and sat back, smirking as the notification flood began.

Winner (verified):

Let's clear the air.

Aek didn't fall in love with Charlie.

He stole him.

Why? Because Willy said he liked him.

I was there.

I heard him.

Willy admitted he wanted Charlie, and Aek eavesdropped, waiting like a snake in the shadows.

Aek didn't date Charlie out of love — he dated him to spite Willy.

So ask yourself: when a man gambles away his boyfriend just to prove he's better than his rival... was it ever love to begin with?

Or was Charlie just the trophy in Aek's petty little game?

The internet went feral.

Hashtags exploded:

#CharlieDeservesBetter

#AekExposed

#WillyWasRight

#PhanaCanKeepHim

Fan edits of Charlie looking broken next to Aek's smirking face went viral within minutes.

Threads comparing Willy's charitable reputation with Aek's arrogance racked up thousands of retweets.

Some fans screamed betrayal:

"Charlie wasn't a boyfriend, he was a pawn. Disgusting."

"Winner dropping receipts like bombs 🔥"

"Imagine being so fragile you ruin a man just because your rival liked him first 🤡"

Others turned it into memes — Aek's face edited over "Petty LaBelle," GIFs of snakes sliding into frame whenever his name was mentioned.

Winner leaned back in his leather chair, satisfied, when his phone buzzed again.

A call from Willy.

"You didn't hold back," Willy's voice purred on the other end, low and dangerous.

"Why should I? The world needed the truth," Winner replied, lighting a cigarette.

"Dean saw him. Aek was lurking that night, heard you confess about Charlie. That's why he went after him."

Silence.

Then a soft, dark laugh.

"I knew it," Willy murmured. "That arrogant bastard didn't want Charlie until I did. He just wanted to win."

"And now look where it got him," Winner said.

"Losing Charlie. Losing face. Losing everything."

There was a pause, then Willy's tone shifted — darker, hungrier.

"He might've taken Charlie first," Willy said,

"but I'll be the one who keeps him."

Winner smirked, blowing smoke toward the ceiling.

"Then make sure Aek never forgets it."

Chapter Text

Charlie sat curled on the edge of Alan and Jeff’s couch, his phone screen glowing like it was burning him.

Willy’s post had already been brutal —
dragging Aek’s arrogance out in the open, exposing the bet for what it was.

But it was Winner’s follow-up that gutted him.

“Dean confirmed it.

Aek only chased Charlie because he knew Willy wanted him.

Aek was never in love, not really.

He just wanted to win.

Tell me again who the real loser is?”

The comments flooded in beneath: “So Charlie was just a trophy?”

“Imagine finding out you were someone’s bet and revenge piece.”

— “Willy actually loved him. Aek just wanted to one-up him.”

Charlie’s hand shook, thumb hovering over the power button.

His chest caved.

It made sense.

The distance, the doubts, Aek’s father pushing Phana into the picture.

All this time Charlie thought he just wasn’t enough… but the truth was worse.

He was never Aek’s type at all. He was a weapon.

His voice broke as he whispered, “I was never… his.”

“Charlie.”

He startled.

Alan had come back into the living room, Jeff trailing behind with two mugs of tea.

Alan’s expression was tight, but it was Jeff who sat down beside him, no hesitation, pulling Charlie against his chest like a kid brother.

“Talk to us,” Jeff said softly.

Charlie swallowed, hot tears burning his eyes.

“I should’ve known from the start. I wasn’t Aek’s type. I thought… maybe I was different.

Maybe he saw something in me. But he only wanted to get at Willy.

That’s why he even—”

his voice cracked,

“—why he even agreed to the bet. I wasn’t… I wasn’t a boyfriend, I was leverage.”

Alan’s jaw clenched so hard it looked painful. “That bastard.”

Jeff smoothed a hand over Charlie’s hair.

“Listen to me. Aek’s love… it’s not love, not the way it’s supposed to be.

It’s ownership. Possession. He wanted to have you, not cherish you.”

He pulled back enough to look Charlie in the eyes.

“That’s why it feels so hollow. That’s why you’re hurting so much. Because deep down you knew.”

Charlie bit his lip.

“The worst part? I can’t even hate Willy. I want to — I should — but the way he looked at me, the way he touched me… it wasn’t like Aek. He… he made me feel seen.”

His voice dropped to a whisper. “And that makes me feel disgusting.”

Alan knelt in front of him, steady, grounding. “No. You’re not disgusting.

You’re human. And you deserve someone who doesn’t see you as a trophy.”

Jeff squeezed his shoulder. “And if that means walking away from Aek, then walk. Me and Alan will back you no matter what.”

Charlie’s sob broke free.

For the first time since the bet, he let himself cry, and Jeff just held him.

Across town, Willy lounged in his mansion’s study, phone in hand, watching his post climb past a million shares.

Winner’s post had only thrown gasoline on the fire.

The internet was feral now, dragging Aek’s name through the mud.

Willy smirked, sipping his whiskey.

“Perfect.”

But the smirk faded as he leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing on the phone.

He wasn’t celebrating just the win.

He was picturing Charlie — those wide eyes, the way his body trembled when Willy kissed down his thighs,

the soft broken noises he made when Willy whispered that he was beautiful.

Charlie probably hated himself for remembering that.

But Willy knew — knew — that deep down, Charlie couldn’t lie to his own body.

“I’ll give you everything,” Willy murmured to the empty room, voice low, almost a vow.

“Not as a possession. As mine. The way you deserve. You’ll see, Charlie. I’ll make you see.”

The next day, Ton stormed into Alan’s garage.

Aek was under the hood of a car, sleeves rolled up, pretending to work when really he was simmering.

The sound of Ton’s voice cracked across the space.

“Tell me it’s not true.”

Aek froze.

Slowly, he straightened, wiping his hands on a rag.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Ton shoved his phone at him — Winner’s post glaring back.

“That. That you went after Charlie because Willy wanted him. That you never actually—” his voice shook with fury, “—loved him for real.”

Something inside Aek snapped. His voice was a roar. “YES, it’s true!”

Alan, who’d been working nearby, stiffened.

Jeff froze mid-step.

But Aek didn’t care; the dam had broken.

“I heard Willy at Winner’s bar. I heard him say he wanted Charlie.

And I wasn’t going to let him have him.

Willy thinks he can take whatever he wants, like the whole world should bend to him.

So I took Charlie first. I made him mine. I didn’t think”

his breath heaved,

“I didn’t think I’d ever lose. Not the race, not Charlie. I thought I’d win, keep him, and crush Willy at the same time. That was the plan.”

The silence that followed was heavy, suffocating.

Ton stared at him like he didn’t recognize him.

“Do you hear yourself? Charlie isn’t a trophy.

He isn’t some pawn in your pissing contest with Willy.

He’s a person, Aek. And you used him.”

Aek’s hands clenched at his sides, but his voice faltered now, less sure.

“I— I cared about him”

“No.” Ton’s eyes blazed. “You cared about beating Willy. That’s all. You disgust me.”

Alan finally spoke, voice low but sharp as glass.

“You’ve destroyed Charlie. And for what? To stroke your ego?”

Jeff’s glare joined his. “Don’t call it love when all you wanted was to win.”

Aek looked around, at all of them staring back with disappointment, with disgust.

For the first time, the weight of what he’d done pressed down on him.

But still, his pride refused to let him break.

Chapter Text

Aek leaned back in the booth of an upscale lounge,

Phana sitting a little too close, their laughter drawing eyes and phones alike.

The glow of the cameras didn't bother Aek anymore — if anything,

it helped him drown out the nagging voice that whispered Charlie's name every time he closed his eyes.

Phana touched his wrist, his smile picture-perfect.

"Your father was right. We make a strong match. Power. Image. Future."

Aek smirked, lifting his glass. "Yeah. Future."

But the word tasted bitter, like ash.

He shoved it down with more whiskey, forcing himself not to think about Charlie's broken expression when he'd last seen him.

Meanwhile, across town, Jeff drove while Charlie sat in the passenger seat, fiddling with the hem of his shirt.

"Where are we going?" Charlie asked, suspicion creeping in.

Jeff's grin was too casual.

"Relax. Just somewhere quiet. You've been locked in Alan's guest room like a hermit. Fresh air will do you good."

Charlie narrowed his eyes. "You're being sketchy."

Jeff chuckled, eyes flicking to the road. If only you knew.

Alan and Winner had helped him set this up.

They all agreed Charlie deserved to hear the truth —

not social media speculation, not half-whispered confessions from others. Straight from Willy's mouth.

When Jeff finally pulled into the private driveway of Willy's mansion, Charlie froze.

"Jeff. No. No way."

Jeff put the car in park and turned to him, serious now.

"Listen, kid. You're drowning in guilt and confusion because you don't have all the pieces.

Willy's not perfect, but you need to hear his side.

If you still want to hate him after tonight, fine. But you'll know the truth."

Charlie's chest tightened.

He wanted to argue, to run, but his legs betrayed him as Jeff guided him to the massive oak doors.

They opened before Charlie could even knock.

Willy stood there, crisp shirt open at the collar, dark eyes locked on him like he'd been waiting all his life.

"Charlie." His voice was low, rough.

Charlie's breath hitched.

He hated how his body reacted — the shiver, the ache, the memory of lips on his skin.

Jeff clapped his shoulder once. "Talk." Then left them, disappearing down the hall.

Willy led him into the study, the same room where he'd posted that scathing takedown of Aek.

He poured a drink but didn't offer one to Charlie — didn't dare.

"You hate me," Willy started, leaning against the desk.

"You should. I took you that night. I touched you where no one else had. But you need to know something..."

His eyes darkened, softer now. "I never — never did any of that with anyone else."

Charlie blinked, startled.

Willy's voice dropped lower, almost reverent.

"The thigh kisses. The body worship. The way I... prepared you. I've had plenty of lovers, Charlie. But I never treated any of them like you. You were the first. The only."

Charlie's heart pounded. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because it wasn't about winning a bet for me. It wasn't about humiliating Aek. I wanted you long before that night. I loved you long before."

His jaw tightened.

"And I need you to know — every kiss, every touch, every word I whispered... was real. For me. All of it."

Charlie shook his head, tears burning his eyes. "Stop. Don't—"

"I can't stop." Willy stepped closer, not touching, but close enough Charlie could feel the heat of him.

"You think I just wanted your body? No. I wanted you.

Your laugh, your stubbornness, the way you get shy when people stare too long.

That night... it wasn't conquest.

It was me giving you what I've been holding back for years."

Charlie's throat worked as he tried to swallow.

His body betrayed him again — the ache, the yearning.

His mind screamed at him to remember Aek, remember the betrayal, but Willy's words cut deeper than he expected.

"Willy..."

Willy finally softened, a crack in his armor.

"You don't have to forgive me. You don't even have to stay. But don't lie to yourself. Don't pretend you didn't feel it too."

Charlie squeezed his eyes shut.

Because the truth was, he had felt it.

Every second of that night branded into him.

The way Willy kissed him like he was sacred.

The way he touched him like no one else existed.

And it terrified him.

Chapter Text

Charlie froze when Willy stepped in front of the door, tall frame shadowing him, eyes dark with the kind of intensity that made Charlie's chest squeeze.

His pulse quickened; not fear exactly, not attraction exactly, but a twisted mixture of both.

"Move," Charlie's voice was tight, strained.

"I shouldn't even be here."

"Exactly," Willy said softly, leaning against the door as though he owned the air around them.

"You shouldn't. Jeff and Winner knew you'd never come willingly, so they gave you no choice."

Charlie scoffed, folding his arms, trying to summon a strength he didn't feel.

"Then I'll just leave. This—whatever this is—it doesn't change anything."

Willy tilted his head, eyes dragging over Charlie like he was memorizing every inch.

"Doesn't it? You've been running since that night.

Pretending.

Telling yourself you hate me.

But I can see it in your eyes, Charlie you don't."

Charlie's throat worked, heat rising in his cheeks.

"You don't get to tell me what I feel. You don't get to stand there and—"

"I don't?" Willy cut in, his tone sharpened but not cruel, his voice thick with something heavier.

He pushed off the door, taking one slow step closer, then another.

"Then tell me. Look me in the eye right now and tell me that when I touched you that night,

when I kissed you, when I worshipped you like you were something sacred you felt nothing. Say it."

Charlie's chest rose and fell rapidly, his voice caught somewhere between a scream and a whisper.

"I wanted to hate every second. I did. I tried. But—" He stopped himself, biting his lip so hard it nearly drew blood.

Willy's smile was faint, dangerous in how tender it looked. "But you didn't."

Charlie's fists clenched at his sides. "That doesn't matter. It shouldn't matter. Aek"

"Aek?" Willy spat the name like poison, stepping closer until their bodies were inches apart.

His cologne, sharp and expensive, clung to Charlie's senses.

"You mean the man who treated you like a pawn? Who gambled you away because his ego couldn't handle me?

You mean the man who texts you it's better if you 'end things' while he parades around with Phana like you were nothing?"

Charlie's stomach twisted, guilt and grief clawing up his chest.

He wanted to argue, to scream, but the words died.

Because Willy wasn't wrong.

"I don't care what you think of him,"

Charlie whispered, though his voice trembled.

"I chose him. Not you. And if I let myself... if I even admit for one second that part of me didn't hate what happened, that part of me wanted it—then I lose everything. I lose who I am."

Willy's expression softened, though his eyes burned with possession.

"No, Charlie. You lose the lie you've been holding onto. That's all."

Charlie's knees buckled slightly, and he sank onto the edge of the couch, burying his face in his hands.

His voice cracked when he spoke again.

"Why are you doing this to me?

Haven't you already done enough?

You got what you wanted that night. Isn't that enough?"

Willy crouched down in front of him,

lowering his voice until it was almost a whisper.

"You really think that night was just about a bet?

About winning over Aek? I could've taken anyone, Charlie.

But I never wanted anyone like I want you."

He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in.

"Everything I did with you that night—I've never done with anyone else.

Never. Do you understand that?"

Charlie's heart thudded painfully in his chest.

His mind screamed to shut it out,

to dismiss it as another manipulation, another seduction.

But his body betrayed him with the way his breath caught, with the ache in his chest that whispered what if he's telling the truth?

"You're insane," Charlie whispered, though the words lacked conviction.

"You're obsessed."

"Yes," Willy admitted without shame.

His hand hovered in the air, close enough to touch but not quite daring yet.

"Madly. But obsessed isn't the same as empty.

You think I just wanted your body? No, Charlie. I wanted you. The way you smile when you don't know anyone's watching.

The way you bite your lip when you're nervous.

The way you held yourself even after Aek humiliated you with that bet—like you still had some dignity left to protect.

That's what I wanted.

That's what I still want."

Charlie lifted his head, eyes wet, searching Willy's face for any sign of a lie.

But Willy didn't waver.

His eyes held a sincerity that terrified Charlie more than his arrogance ever had.

"Stop," Charlie begged, voice breaking.

"Stop saying things like that. You don't understand what you're doing to me. You don't understand how much I'm already breaking."

Willy's gaze softened further, but his jaw tightened.

"I understand more than you think.

Because I'm breaking too.

Watching you cry over Aek over him when all I can think is that you deserve so much more.

That you deserve to be seen, worshipped, loved—not gambled."

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating.

Charlie pressed a hand over his chest, trying to calm the storm inside him.

Finally, he whispered, "I hate you."

Willy's lips curved in the faintest smile, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of pain.

"Then why do you sound like you're begging me not to leave?"

Charlie snapped his head away, shoulders shaking.

He wanted to scream, to run, to lash out—but what came instead were quiet, broken words:

"Because I don't know what's real anymore."

Willy slowly reached out, brushing his fingers against Charlie's wrist—a touch so light it was almost reverent.

"Then let me show you."

Charlie jerked his hand back, eyes blazing with conflict.

"No. I can't... I won't. Not while Aek"

"Aek already let you go," Willy said firmly, standing to his full height, voice echoing like finality.

"He didn't lose you to me, Charlie. He threw you away. The difference is, I'll never make that mistake."

Charlie stared up at him, heart pounding, vision blurred with tears.

He wanted to hate him, to curse him, to erase every trace of that night.

But the truth—the terrifying truth—was that some part of him yearned for everything Willy had just promised.

And that was the cruelest cut of all.

Chapter Text

Willy didn't press closer, didn't trap Charlie the way he could have.

Instead, he stood still, looming with the kind of patience that was more unnerving than force.

His voice, low and unwavering, carved into the silence.

"When you stop denying it—when you finally admit that you want me too—I'll be one phone call away."

Charlie's breath hitched.

The certainty in Willy's tone wasn't arrogance this time.

It was faith.

A dangerous kind of faith that threatened to unravel all of Charlie's carefully built walls.

"Don't—" Charlie whispered, shaking his head.

His fingers curled into fists at his sides, as if he could physically hold himself together.

Willy leaned down, tilting Charlie's chin with just two fingers until their eyes met.

His touch was gentle, reverent, as though Charlie were fragile glass he refused to let crack anywhere but in his hands.

"Don't what?" Willy murmured.

"Don't tell you the truth? Don't make you feel what you already feel?"

And then, before Charlie could protest, before he could breathe, Willy closed the distance.

The kiss wasn't rough, wasn't claiming in the way Charlie expected—it was devastatingly tender.

Breathtaking in its honesty.

Willy's lips moved against his with an intensity that spoke of promises,

of obsession,

of a love so maddening it scared them both.

Charlie's body betrayed him instantly.

His lips parted, trembling, allowing the kiss to deepen.

His heart thundered in his chest as warmth spread through him, drowning out every rational thought, every warning.

It felt like fire and forgiveness, ruin and salvation all at once.

And then it was over.

Willy pulled back slowly, his forehead lingering against Charlie's, their breaths mingling.

His voice was hoarse, almost broken.

"Run to anyone you want. But you'll never forget this. You'll never forget me. And when you're ready, Charlie... just call."

Charlie sat frozen, lips tingling, heart in chaos, as Willy finally stepped aside—leaving the door open like an unspoken dare.

Charlie stumbled back the moment Willy stepped aside, but his legs didn't want to obey him.

His heart was racing too fast, his chest heaving like he had just run ten laps on the circuit.

He touched his lips, still burning from Willy's kiss.

Why... why did it feel like that?

It wasn't supposed to.

It wasn't supposed to feel like oxygen rushing into lungs that had been starved.

It wasn't supposed to feel like his body had finally been answered, like all the confusion, all the heat he had buried, had just been dragged to the surface with one kiss.

I hate him.

I hate him.

I hate him.

But the words felt hollow.

Jeff's voice cut through his thoughts softly. "Charlie..."

Charlie's head snapped up.

Jeff stood by the car, worry written all over his face.

He had seen enough, though—anyone could see it, the tremor in Charlie's body, the lost look in his eyes.

"Let's go," Jeff said firmly, ushering him toward the car.

Charlie obeyed, almost in a daze.

The world outside the car window blurred as Jeff drove, but inside his head, everything was screaming.

Every second of Willy's kiss replayed itself mercilessly—the warmth of his mouth, the quiet desperation in the way he had lingered, the certainty in his words.

And Charlie hated himself most for the truth that was clawing its way out of him.

He wanted more.

His chest constricted, guilt stabbing deep.

Aek... The thought of him made Charlie's stomach twist.

Aek's laugh, his cocky grin, the fire that drew Charlie in to begin with—all of it was real. The love had been real.

But now?

Charlie pressed his forehead against the cool window, eyes stinging.

"What's going on in your head, kid?" Jeff asked quietly, not taking his eyes off the road.

Charlie swallowed hard, his voice barely above a whisper. "I should hate him. I should hate Willy for what he did. But  I—"

He broke off, clenching his fists until his nails dug into his palms.

"I can't, Jeff."

Jeff glanced at him, sympathy in his gaze but no judgment.

"That's because you don't hate him, Charlie.

Not the way you've been telling yourself you do."

Charlie's chest ached at the words.

"But I love Aek," Charlie whispered, like saying it aloud would make it true again.

Jeff sighed.

"Maybe you do. But love isn't supposed to feel like it's killing you. You've been in pain since the bet, and Aek... he's not helping you heal. He's making it worse."

The car fell into silence after that, but Charlie's heart was anything but quiet.

Willy's kiss lingered, haunting him, and for the first time since the night of the bet, Charlie realized something terrifying—

He was more afraid of himself than he was of Willy.

Chapter Text

The therapist's office felt wrong at first.

Too gentle.

Too calm.

The muted yellow glow of the lamps, the soft hum of a little air purifier in the corner,

the shelves filled with neat stacks of books and framed art.

everything looked like it belonged in someone's living room,

not in a place where he was supposed to pour out the ugliest parts of himself.

Charlie sat stiffly on the couch, knees pressed together, fingers fidgeting at the seam of his jeans.

His chest was tight, like something was coiled inside, ready to snap if he made the wrong move.

Across from him, Dr. Aom adjusted her glasses and crossed one leg over the other.

Her voice carried the kind of steady warmth that made people lean in without realizing it.

"Charlie," she said, "why don't we start with why you're here today?"

His throat burned.

He'd rehearsed answers in his head before coming, little half-truths he could feed her so he wouldn't sound completely broken.

I just need clarity.

I want help moving on.

But sitting here, under the weight of her calm gaze, the script fell apart.

He swallowed hard. "Because I don't know who I am anymore."

The words cracked as they left his mouth.

Once they were out, they couldn't be pulled back.

Dr. Aom nodded.

She didn't say go on, but somehow he knew she wanted him to.

Charlie stared down at his hands, nails digging into his palms.

"I thought... I thought I was in love with Aek. Maybe I still am. But—"

His voice trembled. "He made a bet. He... he put me on the line like I was some kind of trophy."

His chest tightened, rage and shame tangling until he couldn't tell them apart.

"I thought we were real," he whispered.

"But to him, I was just... something to prove a point with. And then Willy—"

He stopped, pulse quickening.

The name sat heavy on his tongue.

"Willy?" Dr. Aom prompted gently.

Charlie's breath hitched. "He—he won the bet. And that night—"

His voice faltered, trembling on the edge of memory.

Images came unbidden, flashes that made his body heat despite the shame:

Willy's mouth on his skin, hands that felt like they belonged everywhere at once, the way he'd been touched like he was worth worshipping instead of winning.

Charlie covered his face with his hands.

"I should hate him. God, I should hate him so much."

But even now, even admitting it, his body betrayed him.

His chest ached in a way that wasn't all pain.

His lips tingled at the memory of Willy's kiss.

His dreams—those were worse. Because in his dreams, he didn't resist.

The silence stretched, only the faint ticking of a wall clock filling the air.

"Why do you think you should hate him?"

Dr. Aom asked.

Charlie dragged his hands down his face, his eyes red.

"Because he took advantage.

Because Aek was my boyfriend.

Because... it's wrong."

"But what do you actually feel?"

The question sliced through him, clean and brutal.

He shook his head, voice breaking.

"I can't stop thinking about him. I dream about him. His kiss—it won't leave me. His touch—"

He cut himself off, shame burning his throat.

Why can't I hate you?

It wasn't the first time he'd asked himself.

It was the same question that haunted him every time he closed his eyes.

And always—always—there was that voice whispering back.

Maybe you don't hate him.

Maybe you want him.

Is it so bad to let go?

To let him have you?

Charlie's breathing grew uneven.

His dreams weren't safe anymore.

Last night had been the worst yet.

The Dream

He was back in Willy's mansion, the velvet dark pressing close around him.

The air was thick with cologne and something hotter, something dangerous.

Willy's hand was on his jaw, tilting his head back, eyes gleaming like they'd been carved out of sin.

"You keep running," Willy murmured, lips brushing the shell of his ear.

"But your body tells the truth, doesn't it?"

Charlie wanted to say no.

He wanted to scream it.

But his lips parted around a broken sound instead, betraying him.

Willy kissed him—hard, devastating, the kind of kiss that left him gasping, dizzy.

He felt owned by it, branded.

When Willy's mouth left his lips, it traveled lower.

Down his throat.

Over his collarbone.

Each kiss burned, each mark claimed.

"You dream about me, don't you?" Willy's voice was velvet and knives.

His hands slid down Charlie's chest, slow, reverent, worshipping.

"Every night. You fight it, but here you are."

Charlie shuddered, fists clenching in the sheets. "I—I hate you."

But his voice broke, thin and unconvincing.

Willy's chuckle was dark, low.

"Say it again. Say it until you believe it."

His mouth pressed against Charlie's stomach, lingering.

"But your body already knows the truth."

The dream bled into heat, into hands and lips that left him trembling.

And when Charlie woke, drenched in sweat, gasping for air, the echo of Willy's words clung to him like chains.

Maybe you don't hate me at all.

Back in the therapist's office, Charlie sat trembling, tears slipping down his face.

"I can't—" His voice cracked.

"I can't stop. No matter how much I want to. He's in my head. In my dreams. Even when I tell myself I hate him, my body—"

He broke off with a sob. "What's wrong with me?"

Dr. Aom leaned forward, her tone firm but gentle.

"Nothing is wrong with you, Charlie..

What you went through was traumatic.

You're dealing with betrayal, manipulation, and conflicting emotions.

It's not simple, and it's not something you can sort through overnight."

Charlie bit down on his lip so hard he tasted blood.

"But," she continued,

"I need you to understand something. Feeling conflicted doesn't make you weak.

And it doesn't make you a bad person.

You don't owe anyone the destruction of your mental health just to prove you're strong."

Her words were steady, but Charlie felt like they cut right into his core.

Because maybe—just maybe—his hatred wasn't real.

Maybe it was a mask he'd been clinging to, terrified of what admitting the truth might mean.

And if he stripped that mask away...

What then?

Chapter Text

The rain came down hard the next morning, drumming against Alan and Jeff's house like a thousand restless fingers.

Charlie sat at the kitchen counter, a mug of untouched coffee in front of him, steam curling into the air.

His reflection on the black surface of the drink looked unfamiliar—eyes too heavy, mouth pressed thin like he was holding back something he didn't dare let spill.

Jeff padded into the kitchen, hair sticking up at odd angles, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

"You're up early," he muttered, pouring himself a cup. Then he paused, studying Charlie.

"Or... did you not sleep at all?"

Charlie forced a small smile. "I slept." It was half-true.

He had closed his eyes.

But rest hadn't come with it.

Only the same haunting dream.

The same hands.

The same kiss.

Willy's voice whispering:

Stop lying to yourself.

You want me.

Jeff narrowed his eyes, leaning on the counter.

"You keep staring at that cup like it owes you money."

Charlie laughed softly, but it cracked in the middle. "Guess I'm just... tired."

Jeff didn't push, not yet.

But his gaze lingered long enough that Charlie felt seen in a way that made his chest ache.

Therapy, Session Two

Dr. Aom didn't waste time today.

She met Charlie with the same calm warmth, but her eyes were sharper, cutting through his defenses.

"You said last time that Willy haunts your dreams," she began.

"Has that continued?"

Charlie swallowed. His palms were clammy. "...Yes."

"Tell me."

He hesitated, shame burning hot across his face.

"It's the same every time. He's there. Touching me. Kissing me. And I..."

His voice cracked. "I don't stop him. I can't."

Silence wrapped around the words like a weight.

Dr. Aom leaned in slightly. "And when you wake up?"

Charlie's hands trembled in his lap.

"I feel... dirty. Angry. But also—"

His breath hitched. "Empty. Like I've lost something I didn't even know I had."

Her gaze softened.

"Charlie, dreams can sometimes be our subconscious pushing against the walls we've built. It doesn't mean you want what happened. It means there's a part of you that hasn't made peace with it."

Charlie squeezed his eyes shut.

"Then why does it feel like the part of me that wants him is louder than the part that hates him?"

"Because hate and desire aren't opposites,"

Dr. Aom said gently. "They're neighbors. Sometimes the lines blur."

The words rattled in his chest, too heavy to carry, too sharp to let go.

That Night

Charlie dreamt again.

This time it wasn't Willy's mansion—it was his own old apartment.

Except Willy was there, leaning against the counter like he owned the place, smirk soft but eyes burning.

"You keep pretending," Willy said, voice low. "But every night, you come back to me here."

Charlie's heart hammered.

He wanted to scream, to shove him out, but his feet didn't move.

Willy crossed the room slowly, deliberately, until his body blocked out the world.

His fingers brushed Charlie's jaw, softer than breath. "You don't have to lie to me. Not here."

Then the kiss came—slow, devastating, a promise and a threat in one.

Charlie gasped against it, his body arching toward him before his mind screamed no.

When he jerked awake, his sheets were twisted, his chest heaving like he'd been running for his life.

His lips still tingled. His heart wouldn't slow.

Why can't I hate you?

Across the city, Willy stood in his mansion, staring at a wall of photographs.

Not of his fans, not of his cars, but of Charlie.

Every expression, every angle, every stolen moment his people had collected.

He traced one picture with his thumb—Charlie laughing at a café, head thrown back, sunlight painting his skin gold.

"You're going to stop fighting me soon,"

Willy whispered.

His reflection in the glass looked almost mad, pupils blown wide with something feral.

"You'll see. You were mine from the beginning."

Behind him, his assistant cleared his throat nervously.

"Sir, the preparations are almost ready."

"Good," Willy said, voice silk and steel.

"Everything has to be perfect.

When he finally stops running, when he finally calls me, I want him to know there's nowhere else he belongs."

Back at Alan and Jeff's

Charlie stood at the balcony that night, the city lights sprawled beneath him.

He hugged himself, feeling the cold seep through his bones.

Alan stepped outside, setting down two mugs of tea. "You're awfully quiet tonight."

Charlie forced a smile. "Just... thinking."

Alan didn't push either—just set the tea in his hands.

But as Charlie sipped, he realized both Alan and Jeff were watching him more closely these days.

Like they knew. Like they were waiting for him to break.

And maybe, just maybe, he was already breaking.

Because every time he closed his eyes, Willy was there.

And every time he woke up, the echo of that kiss burned hotter.

Chapter Text

The office smelled faintly of lemongrass and clean linen, a calculated calm that Charlie couldn't quite absorb.

He sat slouched in the soft leather chair, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the watercolor painting across from him instead of on the woman watching him.

"So, Charlie..." Dr. Aom voice was soft, but steady.

"Last session you kept circling around the word hate. Let's go back there. You've been saying you hate Willy. But do you?"

Charlie's throat tightened.

He wanted to answer fast, to say yes like he always did.

Yes, he hated him, yes he despised what he did, yes he wanted to forget him.

The words should've come easy—like an engine revving out of habit.

Instead silence dragged on, the air buzzing with all the things he wasn't saying.

His fingers twisted into his jeans, his chest rising and falling too quickly.

Finally, he croaked, "...I don't think I ever did."

The words were so small, yet so loud they rattled through him.

His vision blurred, shame and relief burning equally in his chest.

Dr. Aom leaned forward slightly, her pen still.

"Say that again, but slower."

"I don't... I don't hate him." Charlie swallowed, his voice shaking.

"I should. God, I want to. But I can't. everytime I close my eyes..."

His voice cracked.

"It's him I see. His hands. His mouth. The way he looked at me like I was—like I was the only one he wanted. And I can't hate him for that. I don't think I ever could."

The dam broke.

His chest heaved as hot tears slipped down his face.

"What does that make me? Weak? Stupid? Disloyal?"

"No," Dr. Aom said firmly, her voice anchoring him.

"It makes you human. It makes you someone who was wanted deeply, even if the circumstances were tangled. Charlie, hating him would be easier. But sometimes what's easier isn't what's true."

Her words sat heavy in him, like stones dropped into still water.

Later that night, Charlie came home to Alan and Jeff's house.

His eyes were still raw from crying, his body heavy.

Alan was out late at the garage, Jeff busy in the kitchen humming to himself.

When Charlie walked into the living room, he froze.

A box sat on the coffee table.

Elegant, matte black with a red silk ribbon tied around it—no card, no sender.

But Charlie already knew.

His heart thudded painfully against his ribs.

Hands trembling, he untied the ribbon and lifted the lid.

Inside was a pair of soft, worn racing gloves.

Not new.

Not flashy.

Used—broken in by Willy himself.

The inside smelled faintly of leather and his cologne, heady and familiar.

Beneath them, a single note scrawled in Willy's sharp handwriting:

"For the one pair of hands I've never wanted to beat—only hold."

Charlie staggered back like he'd been hit.

His stomach twisted, his pulse racing.

It wasn't a threat. It wasn't arrogance.

It was—intimate.

Too intimate.

Something Aek had never given him.

He pressed the gloves to his chest, breath shaky.

His therapist's words echoed in his mind: Hating him would be easier. But maybe it isn't the truth.

He wanted to throw them away.

He wanted to clutch them forever.

Instead, he shoved the box under the couch and told himself to forget.

The next morning, Jeff found Charlie at the dining table, staring into a cold cup of tea.

"You okay, kid?" Jeff asked gently, sitting across from him.

Charlie opened his mouth, then closed it.

He couldn't bring himself to confess. Not about the box. Not yet.

Before either of them could say more, Alan came in holding his phone, face grim.

"You both need to see this." He slid it across the table.

Charlie's stomach dropped.

The headline on social media burned through him:

"Official: Aek and Phana Families Announce Engagement. Wedding Date Confirmed."

Attached was a photo of Aek and Phana smiling stiffly, hands clasped, families flanking them like royalty.

Alan muttered, "That bastard actually let  father do this."

Jeff cursed under his breath.

Charlie's chest caved in.

He had expected it, hadn't he?

Still—it felt like someone had reached into his ribcage and snapped something vital.

And then the cruelest part.

Jeff checked the mail slot, came back with three envelopes.

Wedding invitations.

One for Alan.

One for Jeff.

One with Charlie's name neatly written on it.

Charlie stared at it like it was poison.

His vision blurred until he couldn't see the letters anymore.

The gloves under the couch seemed to burn hotter in his mind.

Willy's note.

His kiss.

His voice: When you stop denying you want me too, I'll be one call away.

Charlie closed his eyes, a war raging in him.

One man had just publicly discarded him.

The other had left him shaking with truth he couldn't escape.

And for the first time since the night of the race, Charlie whispered to himself, voice breaking:

"...Why can't I hate you, Willy?"

Chapter Text

Aek sat stiffly in the high-backed chair of the private dining room, crystal glasses glinting in the soft light.

His father spoke briskly across the table with Phana's parents, their tones clipped and businesslike as contracts, venue names, and guest lists were exchanged like stock options.

On paper, it was perfect.

The merger of two empires, the sealing of a legacy.

The photographs from last night's engagement announcement were already being circulated in glossy magazines and social media blogs, painted as the "union of the year."

But all Aek could think about was the weight pressing behind his eyes and the hollow ache in his chest.

Charlie's face kept flashing in his mind—hurt, fragile, trembling.

The texts he had sent still haunted him, but he had shoved them aside, repeating the same mantra his father had drilled into him:

This is for the future. For your name. For your empire.

Phana, however, seemed almost untouched by the tension.

He leaned back in his chair, elegant and calm, his lips curved in a small, knowing smile as he watched Aek.

When their eyes met, Aek looked away too quickly, heat flickering across his skin in betrayal.

Later, after their families excused themselves to "finalize" details with planners, Aek and Phana were left alone in the empty room.

The silence felt too loud.

"You've been quiet," Phana said finally, his voice smooth, not a question but a provocation.

Aek exhaled sharply. "What do you expect me to say? I didn't exactly... plan for any of this."

Phana tilted his head, studying him.

"No. But you didn't fight it, either. Maybe because part of you knew this was inevitable."

Aek's jaw tightened.

He wanted to argue, but Phana's gaze pinned him in place.

It was steady. Sure.

Confident in a way Aek found both irritating and—if he was being honest—unsettlingly magnetic.

"You're not like him," Phana continued softly, stepping closer.

"Like who?"

"Charlie." Phana's eyes sharpened.

"He was never your type. Not really. You dressed him up, carried him on your arm, but he was... an ornament. Pretty, yes.

But you and I both know what you crave is someone who matches you."

He let the words hang, deliberate, before adding with a faint smirk: "Me."

Aek's chest constricted.

He hated how accurate it sounded.

He hated how close Phana now stood, his cologne drifting warm and clean.

"Don't talk about him like that," Aek muttered, though his voice lacked conviction.

Phana leaned in, lowering his tone.

"Then why do your eyes always look away from him and linger on me?"

It was too much.

Too sharp.

Too true.

Aek's pulse thundered in his ears as he turned his head—only to find Phana's face inches from his own.

And then Phana kissed him.

It wasn't soft.

It wasn't testing.

It was deliberate—slow but firm, as though claiming something that had already been promised.

For a moment Aek froze, breath caught, before instinct betrayed him.

His lips moved back against Phana's, the kiss deepening, their hands brushing briefly at the table's edge.

When they finally pulled apart, Aek's eyes were wide, his chest rising hard with each breath.

Phana smirked faintly, wiping the corner of his mouth with a thumb.

"You'll see, Aek. We're going to fit far better than you and Charlie ever did."

Aek didn't answer.

He couldn't.

His body still hummed from the kiss, his mind screaming in chaos.

For the first time, he didn't know if it was his father's push or his own weakness that had led him here.

Chapter Text

Charlie's hand trembled as he pressed the phone tighter to his ear, staring at the ceiling of Alan and Jeff's guest room.

Sleep had abandoned him again, chased off by another dream he couldn't admit out loud—Willy's lips, Willy's voice, Willy's touch.

Every night it was the same: the same fire searing his skin, the same kiss that refused to fade.

He'd wake up gasping, sometimes shoving the blankets off as though they were Willy's arms pinning him in place.

And tonight—tonight it broke him.

"Why can't I forget about you?" The words tore out of him, raw, desperate, shaking.

His chest ached as if the question had been lodged inside his ribs for weeks, cutting him from the inside out.

On the other end, Willy's low chuckle was soft, almost indulgent. "Do you really want to forget about me, Charlie?"

Charlie squeezed his eyes shut, dragging his hand over his face.

"Make it stop," he whispered, voice cracking.

"Stop haunting my every thought, my every dream. I can't breathe without you being there. I don't want this—"

His throat closed. "I don't want you."

A lie.

Both of them knew it.

The silence that followed wasn't empty.

It was thick.

Heavy.

Charged with the truth Charlie had refused to say.

Then Willy's voice came again, calm and devastating.

"Then stop running from me."

Charlie's breath caught.

"Stop pretending you don't feel it too. Stop lying to yourself, to me, to everyone. Run to me, Charlie. I'm right here."

Charlie's grip on the phone tightened until his knuckles ached.

He could hear Willy's steady breathing on the other end, as though he were standing right beside him, waiting.

Always waiting.

"Just say the words," Willy whispered, his voice wrapping around Charlie's spine like fire and silk.

"The ones you've been denying. The ones you've buried so deep it hurts to breathe."

Charlie's heart hammered, every pulse screaming the truth he couldn't escape anymore.

He wanted to hang up.

He wanted to throw the phone across the room.

He wanted—God, he wanted Willy.

His lips parted, trembling, as if the word itself might break him.

The silence on the line was deafening.

Charlie sat on the edge of his bed in Alan and Jeff's guest room, phone pressed so tightly to his ear it almost hurt.

His therapist's words from earlier kept circling his head—you don't hate him, you never did.

He'd pushed it aside, fought against it, but then the dreams came again.

Willy's mouth.

Willy's hands.

The heat, the worship, the way Charlie's body betrayed him.

And so here he was.

Breathless.

Shaking.

Willy's voice on the other end was low, calm in a way that only made Charlie's chest tighten.

"Stop running from me, Charlie," Willy said, his tone silk wrapping around a blade.

"Run to me. I'm right here. Just say the words you've been denying, the ones you keep swallowing back. Say it."

Charlie squeezed his eyes shut, digging his fingers into his thigh as though pain could drown out the storm inside him.

"Willy, I can't—"

"You can." Willy cut him off.

"You've always been able to. You just don't want to admit it. You've been lying to yourself because it's easier to hate me than face what you actually feel."

Charlie's heart pounded.

His throat felt raw.

He wanted to throw the phone across the room, wanted to scream at Willy for twisting him up like this.

But the worst part was—Willy wasn't wrong.

"I don't..." Charlie's voice cracked.

He swallowed hard, staring at the floor as his vision blurred.

"I don't hate you."

The words slipped out before he could stop them.

They felt like a betrayal, and yet—like a release.

Willy inhaled slowly on the other end of the line, the sound sharp and deliberate, like he was savoring it.

"Say it again."

Charlie's hand shook as he pulled at the bedsheet.

His chest heaved.

He wanted to hang up, to bury his phone under the mattress and pretend this moment never happened.

But something inside him—a quiet, exhausted truth—rose up and refused to be silenced.

"I don't hate you," Charlie whispered, voice breaking.

Willy chuckled low, a sound that made Charlie's stomach twist.

"You don't hate me. You've never hated me."

"Stop..." Charlie's lip trembled.

He buried his face in his free hand, shame burning hot across his skin.

"Why do you have to do this to me? You've ruined everything. My life, my relationship, everything I thought I knew about myself—"

"No," Willy interrupted sharply, his voice edged with steel.

"I didn't ruin anything. Aek did that the moment he turned you into a prize, a bet. He never loved you the way I do. He never even saw you. But I did. From the beginning. You know it's true."

Charlie's breath came in ragged gasps. Every word pierced through him.

"I hate you for making me feel like this,"

Charlie confessed, voice trembling, almost broken.

"But I can't—I can't hate you the way I want to. And that scares me.

Because you shouldn't be the one I... I think about at night. You shouldn't be the one I—"

His voice cracked, cutting off as tears welled in his eyes.

"The one you want," Willy finished for him, soft, certain.

"The one who makes your body burn. The one who kissed you and made you forget where you ended and I began. Say it, Charlie."

"I—" Charlie's throat tightened, words clawing their way out.

"I want you to stop haunting me."

"That's not what you mean." Willy's tone was low, hypnotic.

"Say what you really want. No more lies."

Charlie slammed his eyes shut, his entire body trembling with the weight of the truth he'd buried, smothered, denied until he was suffocating under it.

He dragged in a shaky breath, his voice small, fractured, but finally—free.

"I want you."

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Charlie felt the room spin, his heart hammering so hard he thought he might collapse.

The words hung in the air, impossible to take back, echoing louder than his own breathing.

On the other end, Willy exhaled slowly, a sound so intimate Charlie almost felt it against his skin.

"There it is," Willy murmured. "The truth. Finally."

Charlie clutched the phone tighter, panic and relief warring inside him. "I shouldn't have said that—I didn't mean—"

"Yes, you did." Willy's voice sharpened, not cruel but cutting, slicing straight through his denial.

"You've always meant it. You've just been too scared to face it. But now it's out. And you can't bury it anymore."

Charlie's tears spilled over, hot against his cheeks.

"What do you want from me, Willy? You've already got what you wanted. You won the bet. You had me. Isn't that enough?"

Willy's tone softened, dangerous in its intensity.

"I don't want a night, Charlie. I never did. I want you. All of you. The way you laugh when you don't realize it,

the way you bite your lip when you're nervous, the way you fight your feelings because you're terrified of them. That's what I want. That's what I've always wanted."

Charlie's chest constricted, his sob catching in his throat.

"You can't just say things like that—"

"I can. Because they're true." Willy's voice dropped, a velvet snare.

"And deep down, you already know it.

That's why you can't forget me. That's why I haunt your dreams.

Because I'm not just in your body, Charlie. I'm in your heart. Whether you like it or not."

Charlie sat frozen, the phone trembling against his ear.

He wanted to scream, to deny it all—but the part of him that had fought so hard to keep Willy out was now silent.

Because it was true.

And it terrified him more than anything.

"Willy..." Charlie whispered, broken, a plea tangled in his voice.

"I'm one phone call away," Willy reminded him softly, dangerously steady.

"Whenever you stop fighting, whenever you're ready to stop lying to yourself... I'll be here.

I'll always be here. You just have to say the word."

The line went quiet.

Charlie stayed frozen long after the call ended, phone slipping from his trembling hands, his breath coming in uneven gasps.

The words he'd said replayed over and over in his head like a curse.
I want you.

And for the first time, Charlie couldn't convince himself it wasn't true.

The office was quiet, too quiet.

Charlie sat curled up on the couch in his therapist's room, his hands twisting the hem of his hoodie as though it could anchor him to the present.

His eyes were red, his throat raw from a night of restless sleep and muffled tears.

Dr.Aom didn't push him.

She never did.

She just sat across with that steady, patient gaze that made Charlie feel seen and cornered at the same time.

Charlie swallowed, his voice hoarse. "I said it."

Dr. Aom tilted her head slightly. "You said what, Charlie?"

Charlie clenched his fists, pressing them against his knees.

The words felt heavy, molten, but if he didn't let them out, they would burn him alive.

"I told him I wanted him." His chest tightened as the words tumbled out, shaky and broken.

"Willy. I told Willy I wanted him."

The silence that followed felt deafening, but Dr. Aom didn't look shocked.

She just leaned forward slightly, her voice gentle.

"And how did it feel to finally say that out loud?"

Charlie's throat tightened. His vision blurred.

"Like I betrayed myself."

He sucked in a sharp breath, shoulders trembling.

"Like I betrayed Aek, even though—God—even though Aek's the one who—"

His voice cracked, splintering into silence.

"You betrayed no one, Charlie," Dr. Aom said softly.

"What you did was tell the truth. And the truth has been suffocating you for a long time, hasn't it?"

Charlie buried his face in his hands, a low, broken sound escaping his lips.

"I've hated myself for not hating him. Every night, I tell myself Willy ruined me, that I should despise him. But every time I close my eyes... it's his face. His hands. His voice."

The therapist let the silence linger just long enough for Charlie's sob to fade.

Then, gently: "What would it mean if you stopped punishing yourself for wanting him?"

Charlie froze, his breath caught in his chest.

He couldn't answer.

He didn't want to answer.

Because the voice in his head—the same one that whispered in his dreams—was already answering for him.

Maybe it would mean freedom.

Maybe it would mean falling.

"I don't think I ever hated him," Charlie whispered, tears sliding down his face.

"Not once. And that terrifies me more than anything."

Willy sat in his mansion, the city lights spilling through the vast glass windows, his phone still clutched in his hand.

The call had ended an hour ago, but he hadn't moved.

Charlie's voice still rang in his ears, trembling, fragile, honest.

I want you.

Willy closed his eyes, letting the words play again, savoring them like the finest wine.

For years, he'd chased after the ghost of a chance,

endured the agony of watching Aek treat Charlie like a toy, endured the pain of knowing Charlie's eyes always looked elsewhere.

But now—finally—Charlie's walls had cracked.

And he hadn't just seen it.

He'd heard it.

It wasn't obsession anymore.

It was a promise.

His chest ached with something he hadn't let himself name in years—hope.

Real, terrifying, all-consuming hope.

"You want me," Willy whispered to the empty room, his lips curving into a smile that was more dangerous than any snarl.

"You can't take it back, Charlie. And I'll never let you forget it."

He set the phone down carefully, almost reverently, as if it were sacred.

His mind was already spinning with plans—gentle ones, ruthless ones,

every possible path that would lead Charlie into his arms for good.

But for the first time, Willy didn't feel like he needed to force the pieces into place.

Because Charlie had already taken the first step.

Charlie had spoken the truth.

And Willy would wait—impatient, restless, but waiting nonetheless—for him to speak it again.

Because now, it was only a matter of time.

Chapter Text

Jeff found Charlie sitting alone on the patio, knees drawn up, his arms wrapped tightly around them.

he night air was cool, scented faintly with jasmine from Alan's garden.

Charlie's gaze was locked on the stars above, as if searching for answers written in constellations he couldn't quite read.

Jeff didn't announce himself with words.

Instead, he set two mugs on the table—one steaming with tea, the other with hot chocolate, because Charlie always claimed coffee made his heart race.

Charlie blinked at him, startled, then gave a faint, weary smile.

"You always know."

"I've got radar," Jeff said casually, lowering himself into the chair beside him.

"Picks up on stubborn little brothers who like to mope under the stars."

Charlie let out a weak laugh, but it quickly dissolved into silence.

His fingers toyed with the rim of his mug, fidgeting as if the warmth burned him.

Jeff studied him for a long moment before breaking it gently.

"You've been carrying something heavy, Charlie. More than what you've told Alan. More than what you've told me."

Charlie's throat bobbed. His eyes stung.

He didn't want to say it.

He didn't want to put the truth into words, because once it was spoken, there was no taking it back.

But Jeff just waited, steady and patient, like an anchor in the storm.

Finally, Charlie's voice cracked. "I can't stop thinking about him."

Jeff's gaze softened. He didn't need to ask who.

"Every time I tell myself I should hate him,"

Charlie whispered, trembling. "That I should despise him for what he did. But then—"

His voice wavered. "Then I remember how he touched me, how he kissed me, and I... I can't. I can't hate Willy. And it makes me feel like I'm broken."

Jeff reached out, placing a firm hand on Charlie's shoulder. "You're not broken. You're human."

"But Aek—"

"Aek is not the point here," Jeff cut in, his voice sharper but still kind.

"Charlie, listen to me. You've been tying yourself in knots trying to live up to what everyone else expects.

What Aek wanted.

What his father wanted.

Even what you think you should want.

But your heart—"

Jeff gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze—

"your heart is screaming at you, and you keep shoving a pillow over it, hoping it'll shut up."

Charlie's lips trembled. "And what if my heart is wrong?"

Jeff leaned back, exhaling through his nose.

"Hearts don't do wrong. They do honest. Painful, messy, inconvenient honest."

Charlie's eyes blurred with tears again, the weight of those words pressing hard on his chest.

Jeff tilted his head, catching Charlie's gaze.

"If your heart is yearning for Willy... then stop fighting it. Stop torturing yourself with what you think you should feel and start listening to what you actually do feel."

A tear slid down Charlie's cheek.

His voice came out as a whisper. "I'm scared."

"I know," Jeff said softly.

"But you've already been living in fear, Charlie. Fear of Aek's anger. Fear of losing everything. Fear of admitting the truth to yourself. And look where it's gotten you—alone, miserable, doubting your own worth."

Charlie's shoulders shook, but Jeff didn't let go.

"What if," Jeff said carefully, "running to Willy instead of away from him doesn't destroy you—but saves you?"

The words hung in the night air, heavy, undeniable.

Charlie didn't answer. He couldn't. His tears said enough.

Jeff just stayed with him, steady and quiet, letting Charlie cry until the stars blurred completely out of view.

Because sometimes the hardest truths weren't the ones shouted from rooftops—

they were the ones whispered in the dark, when someone finally dared to listen.

Charlie lay awake long after his talk with Jeff.

The words wouldn't leave him.

Stop fighting it.

Listen to your heart.

He pressed his palms over his eyes, willing himself to sleep, but when he finally drifted, there Willy was again.

His mouth, his hands, the burning way he whispered Charlie's name like it was sacred.

The dream left him breathless, trembling, aching.

When he jolted awake, his chest heaved.

His throat was raw as if he'd screamed in the night.

He stared at the ceiling, torn between the desperate need to run and the equally desperate need to stay in that feeling.

"Why can't I forget you?" he whispered into the empty room, voice breaking.

The silence offered no answer.

But Jeff's voice did, echoing in his mind.

What if running to Willy doesn't destroy you—but saves you?

Charlie's hand shook as he reached for his phone.

He hesitated.

He almost dropped it. But then, as if on autopilot, he pressed the name that had been haunting him.
—
Winner's nightclub pulsed with bass.

The velvet-lit room was alive with movement, music, and laughter.

Willy leaned lazily at the private booth with Winner, a half-empty glass in hand, trying to drown the weight in his chest.

"Still brooding?" Winner teased, pouring himself another drink.

"For a man who can buy anything in this city, you're terrible at hiding when something eats at you."

Willy smirked faintly, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Some things money can't buy."

Before Winner could reply, Willy's phone lit up on the table. He glanced down—then froze.

His heart stopped. His hand gripped the glass too tightly.

Charlie.

Winner caught the look on his face and raised his brows. "No way. That him?"

Willy didn't answer.

He was already snatching up the phone, stumbling back from the booth like the music and crowd had disappeared, leaving only that one name glowing in his hand.

He hit accept. "Charlie?" His voice was rough, desperate.

There was silence on the other end—shaky breathing, uneven, fragile.

"Charlie" Willy whispered, stepping into the shadows of the corridor where the music dulled.

His pulse hammered in his throat. "Say something."

Charlie's hands were shaking so badly he nearly dropped the phone.

"Charlie?" Willy's voice came through, deep and edged with disbelief.

For a moment, he thought he imagined it.

Charlie swallowed, voice raw.

"I can't do it anymore. I can't pretend I don't want you. I can't keep lying to myself.

I don't hate you, Willy—I never did. I want you. God, I want you, and it terrifies me."

The silence on Willy's end wasn't empty—it vibrated, thick with held breath, like the world had narrowed down to this one moment.

Then, his voice came low, rough, trembling at the edges.

"You have no idea how long I've been waiting to hear you say that."

Charlie shut his eyes, his throat tight.

"You told me... when I stopped denying it, you'd be one call away."

"And you called," Willy said, the words breaking into something like a laugh, something like a sob.

"You actually called."

"I couldn't stop dreaming about you,"

Charlie confessed, voice cracking.

"Every kiss, every touch—it's branded into me. I thought I hated it, hated you, but I can't. I don't. I don't want to fight anymore. I just... I want you."

Willy pressed his hand against his eyes, the weight of years of hunger, obsession, love slamming into him all at once.

"Say it again," he demanded, voice hoarse.

"Please. Say it again."

"I want you, Willy." The words tumbled out, desperate and freeing. "I want you."

On the other end, Willy let out a shuddering breath that sounded almost like a growl of victory, of relief, of devotion all twisted together.

"Then nothing else matters anymore. Not Aek. Not the bet. Not the noise outside us. It's just you and me now, Charlie. And I swear—I'll never let you regret this."

Charlie's lips trembled, but for the first time, his chest felt lighter.

He whispered back, almost broken but finally honest:

"I believe you."

Chapter Text

Willy's hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles ached.

He barely remembered the drive from Winner's luxury nightclub—just city lights blurring into streaks, the heavy pounding of his heart drowning out the hum of the engine.

Charlie had finally said it.

I want you, Willy.

The words echoed in his head like a prayer, like a drug.

He pulled up outside Alan's gated estate, the headlights casting long beams across the tall iron bars.

For once, he didn't storm in, didn't demand.

Instead, he sat there in the quiet roar of his car, staring at the dark silhouette of the house.

Willy unlocked his phone, thumb hovering over Charlie's name in his contacts.

His pulse stuttered as if he were sixteen again, about to confess to his first love.

He typed quickly before he could overthink it.

Willy: I'm outside. At Alan's. I don't care if it's 2 a.m. I'm not leaving until I see you.

His finger hovered, then he added another line.

Willy: You said you wanted me. Let me prove you were right to call.

He hit send.

And then he leaned back, exhaling a shaky laugh, almost disbelieving this was real.

His chest burned with equal parts desperation and joy—because tonight wasn't about scheming or winning anymore.

Tonight, it was about Charlie finally choosing him.

Willy's phone buzzed a few minutes later.

He snatched it up like a starving man handed bread.

Charlie: Are you insane? Do you even know what time it is?

Willy smirked, the kind of crooked grin that came only when Charlie was on the other end.

His fingers moved fast.

Willy: Time doesn't matter. You called me, Charlie. You asked for me. I'm here because you finally stopped lying to yourself.

There was a long pause—one of those silences that pressed heavy on the chest.

Willy kept staring at the screen, the engine idling low, headlights painting the iron gate in white glow.

Another buzz.

Charlie: You don't play fair. You never did.

Willy chuckled softly, shaking his head.

Willy: I'm not here to play fair. I'm here for you.

No reply came after that.

Just the three dots blinking, disappearing, blinking again.

Willy clenched the steering wheel, forcing himself not to pound the horn, not to climb over the gate and storm the house.

Finally—

Charlie: Stay where you are. Don't move.

Willy's heart kicked hard.

He killed the engine instantly.

Moments later, the gate buzzed.

Slowly, the metal slid open, and there he was—Charlie, standing barefoot in loose sweatpants and a hoodie, hair a mess from sleep, eyes wide and conflicted under the dim porch light.

Willy's breath caught.

He shoved the phone in his pocket and stepped out of the car, every inch of him buzzing with restraint he didn't know if he could keep.

Charlie crossed his arms, trying for defiance, but his voice betrayed him with the faintest tremor.

"You really are insane... showing up here at two in the morning."

Willy's lips curved into something softer than his usual smirk. "Maybe. But you let me in, didn't you?"

Chapter Text

The night air was cool, sharp with the scent of wet grass.

Willy didn't step closer until Charlie's folded arms finally dropped, his shoulders sagging with exhaustion more than resistance.

Willy's voice was lower now, steady, as if he'd been rehearsing these words for years.

"Tomorrow morning," he said. "I'm picking you up."

Charlie frowned. "What?"

"A date, Charlie. A real one. Not stolen hours. Not chaos. A date where you sit across from me, and I get to look at you without pretending I don't want to."

Willy leaned in, close enough that Charlie could feel the heat rolling off him.

"You owe me that much for haunting my every breath."

Charlie's lips parted, a protest on the edge—but Willy stole it with a kiss.

Not the bruising, desperate kind from before.

This one was slow, reverent, maddening in its restraint.

A kiss that felt like a promise.

When Willy finally pulled back, his forehead resting against Charlie's, his whisper was final:

"I'll see you in the morning. Be ready."

Charlie didn't answer, but he didn't stop Willy when he brushed his thumb along his jaw, didn't pull away when he got back in the car.

His pulse was still racing when the tail lights disappeared down the road.

The morning comes—Willy waiting in a sleek black car, dressed sharp but not showy, leaning against the hood like he owned not just the car but the whole damn street.

The date starts slow—breakfast at a quiet rooftop garden restaurant where Willy orders for Charlie but listens to every word he says,

where he makes Charlie laugh despite himself, where his hand finds Charlie's across the table and stays there.

By the time they return to Willy's mansion, the restraint is gone.

The gates close behind them, shutting out the world.

Willy doesn't waste a second before pressing Charlie against the door, lips trailing along his jaw, whispering,

"I told you... the moment you stopped running, you'd never escape me again."

Chapter Text

The mansion was quiet, almost too quiet, as though the house itself knew what was about to happen inside its walls.

Charlie didn't know if it was the wine from dinner, the heat of Willy's gaze all night, or the thundering beat of his own heart

—but when Willy closed the front door and leaned against it, the air shifted.

No words, not at first.

Just Willy walking toward him, deliberate, each step a slow unraveling of Charlie's defenses.

By the time Willy's hands cupped his face, Charlie was trembling—not with fear, but anticipation.

"You're here," Willy whispered, forehead pressing to his.

"No running. No lies. Just us."

The first kiss was deep but unhurried, Willy tasting him like he had all the time in the world.

His hands mapped Charlie's back, his shoulders, his waist—memorizing, claiming without force.

And then it began.

Willy sank to his knees, dragging kisses down Charlie's thighs, worshipping the skin with lips and tongue until Charlie's legs threatened to give out.

His mouth pressed to the inside of his thighs, slow and sinful, each kiss a plea and a promise.

Charlie's shirt hit the floor next, and Willy's mouth found his chest.

Kisses over his nipples, soft bites followed by soothing licks that pulled gasps from Charlie's lips.

Willy's voice was low, husky, every word a caress:

"Mine. Every sound, mine."

The lube was warm in Willy's hand as he worked Charlie open with patience, his kisses never leaving—spine, shoulders, the curve of his back—licks down his skin that left him shaking.

Willy prepped him with slow, deliberate care, whispering between kisses,

"I won't hurt you. I love you."

When he finally slid into Charlie, it wasn't rough—it was slow, with eyes locked, their foreheads pressed together.

Willy groaned low, broken, as though the years of wanting had all collapsed into this moment.

Charlie's hands clung to him, nails dragging over his skin, his own moans mingling with Willy's.

Every thrust was unhurried, every roll of hips designed to stretch out the ache of pleasure, to force Charlie to feel every inch, every ounce of devotion.

Willy kissed his mouth, his neck, his ear, never breaking eye contact for long.

"Look at me," Willy whispered against his lips.

"I want you to see how much I love you when I'm inside you."

Charlie did.

And it was overwhelming—slow, sensual, sinful—until he wasn't sure if the tears sliding down his cheeks were from the pleasure or the terrifying, undeniable truth:

He didn't hate Willy. He never did.

Willy had barely caught his breath when Charlie pushed at his chest, not to escape—but to guide him back against the bed.

Willy froze, staring up at him as Charlie straddled his waist, thighs spreading around him.

The sight alone made Willy curse under his breath, his hands instinctively rising to steady him.

"Charlie..." his voice cracked, like a man afraid to believe this was real.

Charlie's eyes burned into his.

He didn't speak, didn't need to.

He reached back, lined himself up, and with one slow, deliberate motion, sank down onto Willy's length.

Willy's head slammed back against the pillows, a strangled moan ripped from his throat.

His hands clenched Charlie's hips, but he didn't thrust—didn't dare.

He let Charlie set the pace, as though surrendering everything he was to the man moving above him.

Charlie's breaths came in ragged gasps as he adjusted, the stretch pulling another sound from him—half pain, half sinful pleasure.

His hands braced on Willy's chest, fingers dragging over hard muscle as he began to move.

Slow.

Deliberate.

Rolling his hips in a rhythm that had both of them shaking.

"Fuck, Charlie..." Willy's voice broke, raw. "You're killing me."

Charlie's gaze flickered down, locking on Willy's eyes.

And in that moment, the haunting, the confusion, the endless dreams—everything he'd fought against—burned away in the heat between them.

He rode Willy slow, grinding down, moaning when Willy's body arched up to meet him.

Every sound he made tore another groan from Willy, who was drowning, undone, begging without words.

Willy's hands traced up his body, worshipping the sight of Charlie moving above him, slick with sweat and sin.

He kissed Charlie's chest, his throat, anywhere he could reach.

"You don't even know," Willy whispered against his skin. "You don't even know what you're doing to me."

Charlie's only reply was a shuddering moan as he shifted the angle, taking Willy deeper.

The room filled with the sounds of their bodies meeting, the broken noises from both of them as the rhythm turned frantic, desperate.

"Look at me," Willy groaned, forcing his eyes open despite the flood of pleasure.

"Don't hide from me. Not here."

Charlie did.

And it broke him.

His hips stuttered, his moans turning desperate, his body trembling as he realized—this wasn't hate.

It never was.

Willy reached up, cupping his face, dragging him down into a kiss so deep, so consuming, Charlie felt it in his bones.

The orgasm hit them both like a tidal wave, ripping them apart and binding them tighter in the same breath.

Charlie collapsed against Willy's chest, both of them gasping, slick with sweat, their hearts pounding in sync.

Willy wrapped his arms around him, holding him as though he'd never let go.

His lips pressed to Charlie's hair, whispering hoarse and broken against him:

"You're mine, Charlie. Always were. Always will be."

And this time, Charlie didn't argue.

Charlie lay sprawled against Willy's chest, their breaths still ragged, skin damp and glistening in the dim light of the bedroom.

For the first time in weeks—months, maybe—Charlie wasn't haunted by guilt, by betrayal, by confusion.

Just heat, weight, and the steady thrum of Willy's heartbeat beneath his cheek.

Willy's arms were iron bands around him, holding him so tightly it was as if letting go wasn't an option.

His hand traced lazy patterns down Charlie's spine, every touch reverent, like a man touching something sacred.

"You feel that?" Willy murmured into his hair, voice husky and low.

"That's how I've always wanted you. Not as some bet. Not as a prize. Just you—falling apart in my arms."

Charlie closed his eyes, throat tight.

He hated how those words made something ache inside him, a need he couldn't deny.

"Willy..." he whispered, almost warning.

But Willy only tightened his embrace, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head.

"I'm not asking you to say anything, Charlie. Not yet. I just need you to know—what I gave you tonight, I've never given to anyone. Not one of them. Not ever."

Charlie's chest rose and fell with uneven breaths.

His body still tingled from the high, but it was the confession—the raw honesty—that made him shiver.

He'd felt it, in the way Willy touched him, the way he kissed him like he was trying to carve the memory into his soul.

"Why me?" Charlie asked softly, almost afraid of the answer.

Willy tilted his chin, forcing him to look up.

His eyes were molten, raw, stripped bare of the arrogance he showed the world.

"Because you're the only one who ever mattered."

The words hit Charlie harder than any touch.

His lips parted, but no sound came out, just a small, broken exhale.

Willy kissed it away, slow and unhurried, his tongue teasing against Charlie's until the world outside didn't exist.

When he pulled back, Willy's thumb brushed over Charlie's lower lip.

"You haunt me too, Charlie. Every damn day. Every night. The difference is—I don't run from it."

Charlie's heart thudded painfully in his chest.

He wanted to argue, to deny, but lying now would be pointless.

His dreams had betrayed him long before this night.

He tucked his face against Willy's throat, inhaling his scent.

"...You drive me insane," he muttered.

Willy chuckled, low and sinful, kissing the side of his head.

"Good. Because you drive me fucking mad. And I wouldn't have it any other way."

The room fell into silence after that, broken only by the rhythm of their breathing.

Willy's fingers never stopped moving over Charlie's skin—soothing, claiming, promising.

And for the first time in a long time, Charlie let himself drift, safe and warm in arms he once swore he hated but now couldn't bring himself to leave.

Chapter Text

Charlie woke to the slow drag of a tongue against his most sensitive skin.

His breath caught, eyes flying open, but what he saw nearly stole it away again.

Willy was between his thighs, broad shoulders pinning him down, mouth buried against him like he was starving.

"W-Willy—" Charlie's voice cracked, his hand twitching against the sheets, unsure if he should push or pull.

A low, sinful hum vibrated against him in reply, and then a slick finger pressed inside, joining the wet heat of Willy's tongue.

Charlie's head slammed back against the pillow, a choked sound tearing from his throat.

"Shh..." Willy murmured against him, voice dripping with satisfaction. "Morning, baby. I couldn't wait."

Charlie's cheeks burned.

His body betrayed him instantly, arching into the touch, legs trembling.

He bit his lip hard, but the moan still slipped out, soft and needy.

Willy looked up at him then, lips glistening, eyes dark and feral but burning with adoration.

"You taste better than any dream I've ever had,"

he whispered before sinking back down, tongue working him open while his fingers curled just right inside him.

Charlie's fingers finally gave up pretending—they clawed at Willy's hair, tugging, anchoring, begging without words.

Every slick movement, every hungry suck, every teasing thrust of those fingers had him unraveling faster than he wanted to admit.

Charlie's thighs trembled, the sheets twisting in his fists as Willy worked him with single-minded devotion.

Every languid stroke of his tongue, every curl of those thick fingers inside him had Charlie's body arching off the bed.

"Willy—ahh... I c-can't—" Charlie gasped, chest rising and falling with ragged breaths.

"Yes, you can," Willy murmured against his skin, never relenting.

His voice was dark velvet, soothing and commanding all at once. "Don't run from it. Give it to me."

The words alone sent Charlie spiraling.

His back bowed, mouth falling open as pleasure surged through him, flooding every nerve.

He came undone against Willy's mouth, shuddering violently, unable to stop the cry that tore from his throat.

Willy groaned low and greedy, swallowing down every drop, worshipping Charlie like he was holy.

By the time Charlie collapsed back into the pillows, trembling and dazed, Willy finally lifted his head.

His lips glistened, his eyes were molten, and his voice was ruined with want.

"You're so perfect like this. Messy, ruined, mine."

Charlie's blush burned all the way to his ears.

He wanted to argue, to deny, but his body betrayed him—heat already sparking again at just the way Willy looked at him.

Then he felt it: Willy's cock, hard and heavy, pressing against his thigh.

Willy kissed his knee, then his inner thigh, trailing worshipful kisses up his body—his hipbone, his stomach, his ribs, his chest—until he reached Charlie's lips.

"Let me in again," Willy whispered against his mouth. "Slow this time. I want to feel every second of you."

Charlie's breath hitched, but he didn't say no.

He couldn't.

His body leaned forward, kissing Willy back with shaky need.

Willy slicked his fingers with lube and pressed two back inside, stretching him carefully despite the rush in his own body.

Charlie whimpered, clinging to his shoulders, but Willy hushed him with soft kisses.

"You're safe, baby. I've got you. Look at me."

And Charlie did—wide-eyed, vulnerable, unable to look away as Willy slowly removed his fingers and lined himself up.

With one steady push, he sank into Charlie's body, inch by inch, never breaking eye contact.

Charlie's nails dug into his back, his lips parting in a gasp. "Willy—oh god—"

Willy groaned, forehead pressing against Charlie's, every muscle trembling from the restraint it took to go slow.

"That's it... breathe for me. Feel me. Let me love you like you deserve."

And when he was fully seated inside, he kissed Charlie breathless, hips rocking into a rhythm so languid, so deliberate, it felt like sin disguised as devotion.

Every thrust had Willy moaning against Charlie's lips, every whimper Charlie let out only driving him deeper.

The room filled with their sounds—slick, desperate, reverent.

Willy's lips trailed over Charlie's throat, his collarbone, his nipples, worshipping him with tongue and teeth until Charlie was a mess beneath him, begging without words.

"Say it," Willy groaned, hips pressing flush.

"Say you want me."

Charlie's reply was a broken whisper, choked out between moans:

"I... I want you, Willy. I can't fight it anymore."

Willy's answering growl was nothing short of feral.

He kissed him hard, deep, pouring everything into the connection as he thrust them both into oblivion.

When they finally shattered together, it wasn't just bodies—it was confessions they couldn't take back, binding them in sweat and trembling limbs.

Willy held Charlie after, stroking his hair, pressing kisses to his temple, whispering the truth he could no longer keep hidden.

"You're mine, Charlie. Always have been. Always will be."

And Charlie, still shaking in his arms, didn't correct him this time.

Chapter Text

The chandeliers in the grand hotel ballroom sparkled like stars brought down to earth, each table draped in ivory silk, each centerpiece a cascade of white orchids imported from Chiang Mai.

The air reeked of extravagance, but beneath the glitter, there was a chill.

It was supposed to be the happiest day of Aek's life.

At least, that's what everyone around him kept saying.

His father's guests filled the hall—politicians, CEOs, celebrities eager to rub shoulders with the powerful families behind this union.

The music swelled, waiters glided, champagne flutes clinked.

Everything was perfect.

Or it should have been.

But as Aek stood in his fitted suit, hand linked with Phana's, his smile felt heavy.

Hollow.

His eyes kept drifting toward the empty chairs that should have been filled by his brother Alan, his lifelong best friend Ton, and even Jeff—Charlie's closest ally.

Their absences were louder than the applause.

Whispers rippled through the crowd:

"Why isn't Alan here?"

"Did Ton refuse the invitation?"

"Even Jeff isn't attending? What does that say?"

Each murmur sliced Aek's composure thinner.

Phana, radiant in his tailored tux, leaned close, lips brushing Aek's ear.

"Ignore them. This is our day."

But Aek's jaw tightened.

He could feel the judgment, the skepticism.

Alan's refusal to come had already stirred gossip online—Alan had made no statement, but his silence spoke volumes.

And Tom, who had been at Aek's side through nearly every milestone, had not only declined to attend but sent a blunt message:

I can't stand by and watch you destroy yourself.

It stung worse than Aek wanted to admit.

The ceremony began anyway.

Their fathers gave speeches about legacy and strength, about joining families and cementing futures.

Cameras flashed as Aek and Phana exchanged vows—

well-rehearsed lines polished enough to sound romantic but feeling, at least to Aek, rehearsed to death.

When the rings slid onto their fingers, the audience erupted in applause.

Social media exploded within minutes:

hashtags of congratulations, photos of the "perfect couple," fans gushing about the fairytale moment.

But the absences could not be edited out.

Every picture circulated online had sharp-eyed fans asking:

Where is Alan? Where is Ton? Why is Jeff missing?

At the reception, Aek laughed when expected, posed for endless photos, danced with Phana under a spotlight—but his chest ached with every step.

Every time he turned, he half expected Alan's steady hand on his shoulder, Ton's teasing grin, Jeff's sarcastic remark about the ridiculousness of it all.

Instead, he had only the hollow echo of their rejection.

And somewhere in the back of his mind—though he tried to bury it beneath champagne and forced smiles—was Charlie.

The boy who had loved him, the boy Aek had lost.

When the night ended and the last guests departed, Aek stood before the mirror in the honeymoon suite, staring at his reflection with Phana asleep in the bed behind him.

The gold band on his finger glittered under the lamplight.

He had won everything his father wanted for him.

But somehow, Aek had never felt emptier.

Alan sat at his office desk, the glow of the city skyline stretching across his windows.

His phone buzzed constantly—news updates, social media notifications, gossip channels broadcasting Aek's wedding like it was a royal event.

He hadn't turned the TV on.

He hadn't even looked at the livestream his father had insisted be broadcasted.

Instead, Alan poured himself another glass of whiskey and leaned back, staring at the ceiling.

He could almost hear his father's voice barking in his head:

You should be there.

Stand with your brother.

Show the world unity.

But unity built on lies wasn't unity.

It was a cage.

And Alan had spent his entire life refusing cages.

He loved Aek.

That had never been in question.

But love didn't mean blind loyalty.

Not when Aek had hurt Charlie so deeply, not when this whole farce of a marriage was more about power and appearances than genuine happiness.

Alan raised his glass toward the window, a silent toast to the little brother he couldn't save from himself.

"Enjoy your crown, Aek," he muttered. "But don't say I didn't warn you when it turns into chains."

Ton, meanwhile, wasn't drinking whiskey or brooding in silence.

He was sitting on his balcony with a cigarette between his fingers, staring out at the Bangkok skyline with raw frustration simmering under his skin.

His phone lay on the table, buzzing nonstop with updates from friends, fan accounts, and curious acquaintances asking if he was at Aek's wedding.

He hadn't even bothered to respond.

His best friend—his brother in everything but blood—was marrying a man he didn't love.

And worse, he was doing it while stepping on Charlie, a boy who had never deserved to be dragged through their twisted games.

Ton ground his cigarette out in the ashtray, jaw tightening.

He remembered Aek's confession.

The ugly, selfish truth Aek had admitted when pressed.

that he had gone after Charlie to spite Willy, that he had agreed to that cruel bet because he never thought he would lose.

The disgust still curdled in Ton's stomach.

He had never looked at Aek the same since.

So no, he couldn't go.

He couldn't stand there clapping and smiling while Aek tied himself to Phana with lies.

"Do what you want, Aek," Ton muttered into the night air.

"But don't expect me to watch you burn everything good in your life to the ground."

Back at the wedding, Aek laughed and posed, champagne in hand, Phana at his side.

He looked like he had it all.

But if anyone had looked closely—past the perfect smiles, past the flashing cameras—they would have seen it.

The empty seats were Alan, Ton, and Jeff should have been.

The hollow flicker in Aek's eyes whenever someone mentioned family.

And the tiny, sharp truth buried under all the silk and orchids:

That sometimes, the loudest rejection is silence.

Chapter Text

Bangkok hadn’t seen this much gold in years.

Not on a building.

Not on a crown.

On a wedding.

Aek and Phana union was all over social media before the first glass of champagne was poured.

Paparazzi swarmed the marble steps of the Grand Rachada Hotel,

their flashes painting streaks of light across the night.

Guests arrived in designer cars, gloved hands, rehearsed smiles. Every journalist called it the event of the year.

Willy almost laughed when he saw it on the evening broadcast.

“Tell me,” he murmured,

swirling a glass of red wine in his hand as the newsfeed showed Aek and Phana walking hand in hand through a tunnel of flowers,

“how many of them believe it’s love?”

Charlie sat on the couch across from him, legs folded beneath him, a blanket around his shoulders.

He didn’t answer — but the corner of his mouth curved faintly.

“You already know the answer.”

“Hmm.” Willy leaned back, wine glass glinting in the low light.

“Let’s call it what it is — a business merger dressed up as romance.”

Charlie’s eyes flicked to the TV again.

The camera zoomed in on Aek’s face — perfect smile, stiff posture.

He looked untouchable.

But Charlie knew better.

Beneath that tailored calm was a storm of pride and panic.

“He looks…” Charlie began softly, unsure how to finish.

“Like a man choking on his own arrogance?”

Willy offered dryly. “Yes. That’s exactly how he looks.”

Charlie didn’t laugh.

He just sighed, the sound small and tired. “He used to be different.”

Willy’s eyes softened, but only for a heartbeat.

“People like Aek don’t change, Charlie. They just run out of people who’ll forgive them.”

At the wedding, the orchestra swelled.

The hall glittered like the inside of a diamond.

Aek’s father looked proud, Phana’s family beamed, and every guest whispered the same thing — perfect couple.

But Aek’s hands were cold.

His chest felt hollow.

And when Phana leaned in to whisper something,

his words didn’t land — they passed right through him, into the same void that had grown since Charlie left.

He’d tried to fill it with ambition, with control, with new lips that didn’t tremble when they said his name.

None of it worked.

Every toast, every camera flash,

every congratulatory handshake only reminded him that he’d lost the one person who’d never cared about his money, his image, or his last name.

And the worst part? He’d lost Charlie to Willy.

Aek raised his champagne glass and smiled anyway. “To us,” he said.

Phana smiled back. “To us.”

And across town, in the quiet of a penthouse overlooking the same city,

Willy was tracing lazy circles on Charlie’s wrist, his voice a low hum against the silence.

“Do you regret it?” Charlie asked suddenly, his gaze fixed on the skyline.

“Regret what?” Willy’s thumb paused.

“Everything that happened. The bet. The fight.
The chaos that came after.”

Willy’s laugh was quiet, deep. “Regret? No. I regret what Aek did. I regret that you had to break before you realized what kind of man he was. But me?”

His tone dipped lower, eyes dark and direct. “I don’t regret a damn thing. Because all of that brought you here.”

Charlie looked down, cheeks warming. “You sound too sure of yourself.”

“Confidence,” Willy said simply, leaning forward to rest his chin on Charlie’s knee, “is what your ex mistook for love.”

The comment made Charlie laugh — soft, genuine, the sound of release after too many sleepless nights.

Willy’s chest tightened at the sound.

He reached up, brushing his thumb over Charlie’s bottom lip, slow, deliberate.

“See? That’s better.”

Charlie caught his hand, holding it there against his mouth.

“You shouldn’t say things like that.”

“Why?” Willy’s smile tilted, wicked and soft at once.

“Because you’ll believe me?”

“Because I already do,” Charlie whispered.

Back at the hotel, fireworks exploded above the rooftop terrace.

Aek and Phana stood in front of hundreds of guests, their silhouettes outlined by red and gold bursts in the sky.

The crowd cheered.

The cameras flashed.

Phana turned and kissed Aek, slow and performative.

And all Aek could think about — with every burst of light, with every thunderous cheer — was the sound of Charlie’s voice saying his name for the last time.

It had been quiet. Final.

Like closing a book and knowing you’d never read that chapter again.

When he finally pulled away from Phana’s kiss, his smile didn’t reach his eyes.

Willy muted the TV completely.

The fireworks reflected off the glass behind him, little sparks of light that barely reached their room.

“Why are you watching this?” he asked, setting his wine down.

Charlie shrugged. “Closure, maybe.”

“Closure is overrated,” Willy murmured, moving closer until their knees touched.

“You don’t heal by watching the wound.”

Charlie’s voice was barely audible. “Then how do you?”

Willy smiled faintly. “By letting someone kiss it better.”

Charlie turned toward him — and found Willy’s lips already waiting.

The kiss was unhurried, almost lazy, but it carried a certainty that made Charlie’s pulse race.

It wasn’t hungry.

It wasn’t desperate.

It was claiming without words — a quiet, you’re mine now, and you always were.

When they finally broke apart, Charlie’s breathing was uneven.

“You really don’t care about the wedding, do you?”

“Care?” Willy chuckled. “The only reason I know it’s happening is because I wanted to see what kind of mistake money looks like when it says ‘I do.’”

Charlie shook his head, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “You’re impossible.”

“I’m honest,” Willy corrected, brushing his thumb over Charlie’s cheek.

“And unlike him, I won’t ever treat you like a prize.”

“You already won, though,” Charlie whispered.

Willy tilted his head. “No, Charlie. I didn’t win you. I earned you.”

In the distance, the final round of fireworks burst like applause fading into the night.

At the Grand Rachada, the guests began to leave, their expensive laughter echoing through marble halls.

And Aek — standing beside the man he was supposed to love — realized he’d never felt lonelier.

Meanwhile, in the quiet of Willy’s penthouse, Charlie fell asleep against his chest, the faint hum of the city beneath them.

For the first time in years, neither of them cared about the noise outside.

Only the quiet that came after.

Only the peace that felt like truth.

Chapter Text

Bangkok woke up to glitter and gossip.

The wedding between Aek and Phana.

had barely ended twelve hours ago, and already, the city's social media feeds were bleeding with hashtags.

#AekPhanaForever trended in gold letters, accompanied by photos of the happy couple's first dance,

Phana's designer tux, and Aek's smirk that could melt an engine block.

But beneath the glossy edits and wedding reels, the tone had started to shift.

The comments weren't all congratulatory anymore.

"Why didn't Alan attend?"

"Ton wasn't there either?? He's Aek's best friend."

"Where's Jeff? Didn't he used to be close with Aek?"

"Something feels off about this wedding."

Rumors bloomed like mold—fast, invasive, and impossible to contain.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the city, in a penthouse drenched in sunlight and quiet,

Willy was sprawled across his couch with a cup of black coffee, scrolling through his phone.

Charlie sat at the breakfast bar, still half-asleep,

hair mussed, wearing one of Willy's shirts that hung too big on him.

The morning light made him look soft—too soft for the chaos brewing outside.

Willy glanced up from his phone, his mouth curving into a slow, dangerous smile.

"Looks like Aek's big day's getting messy."

Charlie didn't look up from his cereal. "Of course it is. The universe hates fake smiles."

Willy chuckled, taking a lazy sip of coffee. "Oh, don't be modest, sweetheart. The universe doesn't hate him—it's just evening the score."

Charlie gave him a look. "You're enjoying this way too much."

"Of course I am." Willy leaned back, scrolling through another headline.

"The man spent months pretending he didn't break his own life. Now he's finally slipping, and I'm supposed to feel sorry for him?"

He paused—then his grin turned sharper, wickedly purposeful.

"Actually... I think I'll help gravity along."

Charlie frowned. "Meaning?"

Willy didn't answer right away.

He set down his coffee, unlocked his phone, and opened Instagram.

The screen glowed in the morning light.

He chose the photo carefully—one he'd taken last week, candid and raw.

Charlie sitting on the balcony, wrapped in one of Willy's shirts, sunlight spilling across his face.

His hair was tousled, lips parted slightly, eyes lost in thought.

It wasn't indecent.

But it was intimate.

Personal.

A photograph that screamed mine without needing a caption.

Still, Willy typed one anyway:

"Peace looks good on you."

Then, beneath it, a subtle tag: @CharlieK.
He hit post.

Within minutes, the internet combusted.

"Is that Charlie???"

"Wait—Willy just confirmed it???"

"OH MY GOD they look so good together 😭🔥"

"Aek's out here playing house while Willy's playing chess!"

"Not Willy posting a whole soft-launch AFTER the wedding 💀💀💀"

"We stan a man who wins the long game."

Winner's comment appeared under the post fifteen minutes later, casual and lethal:

"Took you long enough."

Then, a second one:

"Love wins 😎."

That was the push that sent the story into orbit.

Within an hour, news outlets picked it up.

"Willy  confirms relationship with Charlie, former partner of rival racer Aek."

"Winner shows support for best friend's new romance."

"Fans react to Willy's surprise post: 'He deserves happiness!'"

At Aek's family estate, the mood was anything but happy.

Aek sat at the breakfast table, scrolling through the storm of headlines, jaw clenched so tight it could crack enamel.

Phana hovered nearby, trying to read the expression on his husband's face and failing miserably.

His phone buzzed with a dozen missed calls— his PR manager, even his father.

The family group chat was a battlefield of damage control.

Alan's message read simply:
"You made your bed."

Ton's:
"You should've seen this coming."

And then there was Jeff's voice memo, short and devastating:

"You lost him because you bet him. Now deal with the loss."

Aek slammed his phone down, chest heaving.

"Unbelievable."

Phana hesitated. "Aek... maybe just ignore it? It's only online talk—"

"Online talk?" Aek snapped, standing so abruptly his chair skidded back.

"He's using him to get to me. He always wanted to humiliate me publicly."

Phana's eyes flickered with something that wasn't quite sympathy.

"And are you sure it's not the other way around? You humiliated yourself when you made that bet."

Aek's glare could've cut steel. "Don't start."

Phana held his hands up. "I'm just saying—people see what they want to see. And right now, they're seeing you as the one who lost twice."

That hit.

Hard.

Aek stormed out of the room, fury and humiliation warring in his chest.

Back in the penthouse, Willy's phone wouldn't stop buzzing, but he didn't seem to care.

Charlie sat quietly beside him now, scrolling through the sea of comments.

The support was overwhelming, almost surreal.

"Your fans are insane," Charlie murmured.

Willy grinned. "They're passionate. There's a difference."

Charlie rolled his eyes, but the faint smile tugging at his lips gave him away.

"You didn't have to post that picture."

"I know." Willy tilted his head, studying him.

"But I wanted to. I told you—I'm done pretending. I'm not hiding what's mine."

Charlie flushed. "You really like starting wars, don't you?"

Willy's grin deepened. "Only the ones I can win."

He leaned forward, brushing his thumb along Charlie's jaw.

"Besides, I don't care who knows. Let them talk. Let Aek see what it looks like when someone's treated like they matter."

Charlie looked away, heart beating too fast, too loud.

"You're impossible."

"Insanely charming," Willy corrected. "And completely smitten."

Charlie shook his head, but his laughter—quiet, unguarded—was answer enough.

By midday, Aek's PR team was in full-blown crisis mode.

Statements were drafted, old photos deleted, interviews postponed.

Every outlet wanted a comment.

Every brand wanted distance.

Willy's post had done what no race, no rivalry, no scandal could do before—shift the balance of power.

Willy hadn't just won Charlie.

He'd won public sympathy.

And as the internet kept spinning its story, the man himself sat on his couch, phone tossed aside, Charlie asleep beside him.

Willy glanced down, brushing a hand through Charlie's hair and whispering against his forehead—so quietly no one but the walls could hear:

"Let them talk. The only truth I need is right here."

Chapter Text

The morning after the post, Bangkok hummed with scandal.

The city’s screens still glittered with Willy’s Instagram update — that single photograph of him and Charlie, intimate yet wordless, a storm wrapped in quiet affection.

The caption had been nothing but a heart.

And yet it was louder than anything Aek’s wedding could ever broadcast.

Aek’s PR team had gone into damage control the second the markets opened.

Sponsors were pulling back.

Two racing contracts gone before breakfast.

A European investor postponed a deal indefinitely.

The headlines were merciless:

“Aek Kittask’s Empire Shaken.”

“Wedding of the Year Overshadowed by Rival’s Love Reveal.”

At Motors headquarters, Aek stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, fists clenched at his sides.

Phana was speaking to him — something about public statements, image restoration, apologies — but all Aek could hear was the echo of Willy’s name.

That man.

That insufferable man.

The same one who stole deals, headlines, and now, apparently, stole attention with a single picture.

And Charlie…

Aek hated how the sight of him beside Willy still burned under his skin.

Once, Charlie had been his prize.

Now, he was proof that Aek had lost.

“Cancel the press conference,” Aek said finally, his tone sharp as a blade.

“If I speak now, it’ll sound defensive. Let them talk. I’ll decide what to say when I can crush him properly.”

Phana hesitated. “Aek—”

“Not now.”

His reflection in the glass looked tired.

He looked like a man who’d fought too long and couldn’t admit defeat.

Meanwhile, across the city, Charlie was curled on the couch, a blanket draped over him.

The TV played softly, but he wasn’t really watching.

His phone was lighting up — notifications, messages, tags — all because of Willy’s post.

He should’ve been upset.

Furious even.

Willy hadn’t asked.

He’d just done it.

But instead…

Charlie couldn’t bring himself to care.

His thoughts were foggy, his body heavy.

He hadn’t been feeling well since last night.

His stomach twisted now, a dull ache that came and went.

Jeff had texted him earlier:

You sound off lately.

Eat something.

And maybe see a doctor if it doesn’t stop.

Charlie had brushed it off, but now, a wave of nausea rolled through him so suddenly he barely made it to the bathroom in time.

When it passed, he sat there for a moment on the cool tile, chest heaving.

His reflection in the mirror looked pale.

He whispered, voice shaky, “What’s wrong with me…”

And deep down, he already knew something was changing — not just inside his body, but inside his life.

Outside, the world buzzed about Willy and his bold declaration.

Fans were sharing edits, writing comments like:

“They look so good together.”

“Finally, Willy’s smiling again.”

“I’ve never seen him post anyone like this.”

Winner had liked the post, even commented a single smirking emoji.

It was his way of saying finally, little brother.

At that very moment, Willy stood in his study, phone still in his hand, staring at that same post.

His expression was unreadable — somewhere between satisfaction and vulnerability.

He’d promised Charlie he’d wait until he stopped running.

And now, he wanted the world to know — he had.

He turned when Winner entered, carrying two glasses of whiskey.

“You’ve officially broken the internet,” Winner said, smirking.

“Half the city thinks you’re in love. The other half thinks you’re declaring war.”

Willy’s mouth twitched. “Maybe both.”

Winner handed him a glass. “You sure you’re ready for what comes next? That post wasn’t just about love — it’s a line in the sand.”

Willy looked down at his drink, then at the phone still glowing with Charlie’s name.

“I don’t draw lines unless I plan to cross them.”

But even as he said it, a faint unease crept in.

Something in him told him Charlie wasn’t feeling well.

He didn’t know why — just instinct, that strange tether between them.

And as night fell, Charlie sat quietly in bed, hands resting on his stomach, heart pounding.

He told himself it was just stress.

It had to be.

But as his body trembled and the nausea returned, his mind whispered what he was too afraid to say out loud.

He wasn’t sick.

And for the first time in weeks,

his thoughts weren’t about Willy’s post, or the world watching them —

They were about what came next.

The doctor’s words hung in the air like a quiet explosion.

“Congratulations, Charlie. You’re pregnant.”

For a full heartbeat, Charlie blinked — once, twice — as if the syllables were foreign.

Then his vision tunneled.

The sterile white room tilted.

His lips parted in a whisper that never made it out.

“Oh,” he murmured faintly, before the world tipped completely sideways.

The doctor barely had time to call his name before Charlie slumped backward on the exam bed, eyes fluttering closed.

When he woke, the world was wrapped in hospital-white calm.

A thin IV line trailed into his arm, the steady beeping of a monitor filling the silence.

Charlie blinked slowly, memories trickling back — the test, the words, the shock.

Then came the warmth.

His hand drifted to his stomach.

“Pregnant,” he whispered, and the word trembled out of him.

His throat felt tight, his chest full.

“I’m… I’m going to be a parent.”

A watery laugh escaped him, half disbelieving, half joyful.

His cheeks flushed, eyes misting as he pressed his palm against his abdomen.

“Oh my god…”

He didn’t even realize the nurse had called someone until the door burst open.

“Charlie!”

Willy.

The man practically stormed into the room, half-panicked, half-furious.

His shirt was untucked, his hair slightly disheveled — evidence that Winner had probably dragged him out of whatever meeting he was in.

“What happened? Who hurt you? Did you faint? Did you—”

He stopped when his gaze fell on Charlie’s face — the small, nervous smile,

the flushed cheeks, the trembling hands resting protectively over his stomach.

Willy froze.

His world stilled.

Charlie bit his lip, shyly lowering his gaze.

“Willy…”

Willy’s voice came out barely above a whisper.

“You’re…”

Charlie nodded once. “Pregnant.”

For a full five seconds, Willy just stared.

His expression flickered — confusion, disbelief, realization, awe — then pure, unfiltered joy erupted across his face.

He laughed.

A real, bright, incredulous laugh that startled the nurse just outside the room.

Then he was at Charlie’s side in two long strides, cupping his face and pressing their foreheads together.

“Say it again,” he breathed, his grin unrestrained.

“Please, say it again. I think I might be hallucinating.”

Charlie laughed softly, teary-eyed. “You’re not. I’m pregnant.”

Willy’s laughter broke again, shakier this time.

His voice dropped to something reverent. “You have no idea how much I love you.”

He pressed a kiss to Charlie’s forehead, then his temple, then lingered there — his breath trembling.

“Willy, I—”

“I know,” Willy whispered, cutting him off gently.

“Don’t say anything yet. Just… let me be happy for a second before I start crying in front of Winner.”

Speak of the devil—

“Too late!” Winner’s voice sang from the doorway,

one hand holding a smoothie, the other his phone clearly mid-recording.

“Oh my god, this is going to break the internet. Do you people even understand what you’ve done?”

“Winner!” Willy barked, glaring.

“What? I’m just documenting history. Our resident billionaire’s finally reproducing with feelings!”

Winner ducked just as Willy flung a rolled-up magazine at him.

Charlie covered his mouth to stifle his laughter.

Winner, grinning wide, leaned against the doorframe.

“You two are disgusting. And adorable. Mostly disgusting, but in an expensive way.”

Willy flipped him off, then turned back to Charlie — softer again, eyes still shimmering with disbelief and affection.

He brushed Charlie’s hair from his face, voice low.

“You scared me,” he murmured.

“But if this is the reason, I’ll take it. I’ll take every second of it.”

Charlie smiled, cheeks damp. “You’re happy?”

“Happy?” Willy chuckled, shaking his head.

“Charlie, I’m insane. I’ve bought racing teams for less excitement than this.”

Winner laughed loudly from the door. “I’ll drink to that.”

Later, when the laughter quieted and the nurse dimmed the lights, Willy sat beside Charlie’s bed.

His fingers interlaced with Charlie’s, his thumb brushing small circles over his skin.

“Two heartbeats,” he whispered, awed. “Mine, yours, and another one… that’s half of us.”

Charlie’s eyes softened. “You really think I can do this?”

Willy smiled faintly. “I don’t think. I know. And I’ll be here, every step of the way.”

Then, because it was Willy, he added dryly,

“But if this kid inherits your habit of fainting at shocking news, I’m getting them a crash helmet.”

Charlie laughed softly through his tears.

“You’re impossible.”

Willy kissed his knuckles. “Only for you.”

Chapter Text

The hospital discharged him the next afternoon.

Willy refused to let him walk more than a few steps on his own — which, considering Charlie's health, wasn't unreasonable... but the man was treating him like a priceless artifact.

"Willy," Charlie sighed as he sat in the car, seatbelt fastened, a bottle of water in his hand.

"I fainted. I didn't break."

"Doesn't matter," Willy muttered, shutting the door for him and circling around to the driver's side.

"You fainted while carrying my child. I'm taking no chances."

Charlie smiled despite himself.

The words my child made his heart flutter in ways he didn't know were still possible.

The ride back to Willy's mansion was quiet — peaceful, even.

The kind of quiet that had warmth in it.

Outside, Bangkok moved in flashes of color and motion, but inside the car it felt like time had slowed down for them.

Charlie rested his palm against his abdomen again.

Still small.

Still unreal.

Willy noticed.

His hand reached over, covering Charlie's without saying anything.

That silence said more than any vow could.

When they arrived, Willy had already turned the mansion into something close to a sanctuary.

The staff had been briefed — no one was to stress Charlie, no one was to bring up media, Aek, or the wedding.

Only calm.

Only peace.

Willy guided Charlie upstairs, hand at his back.

"You'll rest in my room. The bed's softer and you're not sleeping anywhere else."

Charlie gave him a look that was half amused, half fond.

"You realize this is my house now, too, right?"

Willy froze, eyes flicking toward him. "You said that like you meant it."

Charlie tilted his head, cheeks pink. "Maybe I did."

Willy grinned — not the cocky, taunting one that once lit up social media, but something unguarded and breathtakingly human.

He leaned down and kissed Charlie softly.

"Then it's official," he murmured. "You live here. And I... live for you."

Charlie rolled his eyes, smiling into the kiss.

"You really don't stop with the lines, do you?"

"Never. You'll love me anyway."

"I already do."

That night, Charlie told Alan and Jeff.

They came over quietly — Alan bringing soup, Jeff bringing an emotional support fruit basket (because, in his words,

"It's traditional. I just don't know whose tradition, but it feels right").

Charlie broke the news carefully, voice trembling.

"I'm pregnant."

Jeff froze mid-sip of his drink, eyes widening so fast it looked like they might pop out.

Alan, ever the calmer one, blinked once, then broke into the smallest, most genuine smile.

"Congratulations," Alan said simply, setting the soup down.

"I was hoping for good news when I heard you fainted."

Jeff's mouth dropped open. "Good news? I thought you were dying, not... multiplying!"

Charlie laughed softly. "It's real. The doctor confirmed it twice."

Willy, standing behind him with his arm around Charlie's waist, smiled proudly. "He's perfect. They both are."

Jeff looked between them, then narrowed his eyes dramatically at Willy.

"You better not stress him out. If he sneezes too hard, I'm suing you for emotional damages."

"Noted," Willy replied with a dry smile.

Alan set a hand on Charlie's shoulder, voice warm but steady. "You look happy. That's all that matters to me."

Charlie swallowed hard. "I am."

Alan gave a small nod — approval without words — and Jeff leaned forward, hugging Charlie so suddenly he nearly made Willy step back.

"You're gonna be such a cute dad," Jeff said into his shoulder. "And you—" he pointed at Willy, "—better be ready to be wrapped around their tiny finger."

Willy's grin softened. "Already am."

Later that evening, after Alan and Jeff left, Charlie sat in bed surrounded by soft blankets.

Willy came out of the shower in sweatpants, hair still damp, holding a glass of warm milk.

Charlie raised a brow. "You're seriously bringing me milk?"

"Doctor said to take care of your calcium."

Charlie smirked. "Doctor also said I need rest, not a 6'2 bodyguard who flinches every time I sneeze."

"Bodyguard?" Willy grinned, climbing into bed beside him. "Baby, I'm your personal fortress."

Charlie rolled his eyes, leaning against him anyway.

The room went quiet again.

The city lights filtered through the curtains, painting soft gold across the sheets.

Willy's hand drifted to Charlie's stomach.

His thumb brushed in gentle circles, reverent, awestruck.

"I still can't believe it," he murmured. "You're carrying something that's part of me."

Charlie rested his head against his shoulder.

"You say that like it's a miracle."

"It is a miracle," Willy said softly. "After everything... I didn't think we'd get to this point."

Charlie smiled faintly. "Neither did I."

For a long moment, neither spoke. Just the sound of their breathing, their heartbeats aligning in the quiet.

Then, softly, Charlie whispered, "Willy?"
"Yeah?"

"I'm scared."

Willy turned, meeting his eyes immediately.

"Of what?"

Charlie's gaze dropped to his belly. "Of... not being enough. For you. For them."

Willy cupped his face, his voice firm and tender all at once.

"Charlie, you've always been enough. Even when you didn't believe it. You're the reason I found something worth protecting."

Charlie smiled weakly. "You always say things like that when you want me to cry."

"I always mean them," Willy said simply.

He leaned in, kissed him softly, and when he pulled away, his forehead rested against Charlie's.

"Sleep," he whispered. "You're safe now."

Charlie closed his eyes, fingers lacing over Willy's hand on his stomach.

And for the first time in a very long time, he believed him.

Chapter Text

The morning outside Willy's mansion was the color of pale honey.

Sunlight slanted across the marble floor and traced the lines of Charlie's bare feet where he stood at the kitchen counter, pouring coffee he'd probably forget to drink.

Willy leaned against the doorway, shirt half-buttoned, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Watching me make coffee again?" Charlie asked without turning.

"Watching you breathe again," Willy replied.

"That seems to be my new hobby."

Charlie rolled his eyes, but the smile that followed gave him away.

The air between them had changed since that night they'd stopped running from each other; it was softer now, but somehow heavier too—like heat you didn't notice until it made you sweat.

Willy crossed the room, took the mug from Charlie's hand, and set it aside.

"You forget to drink it every time," he murmured, and brushed his thumb across Charlie's jaw.

The gesture said everything his voice didn't.

Charlie's breath hitched. "You're insufferable."

"I'm consistent."

Their laughter melted into the quiet hum of the morning.

For a long moment, neither spoke; they just existed, side by side, and that was enough.

Across the city, the conference room at Aek Motors felt like a furnace.

Every executive in the room avoided looking directly at Aek.

The screen on the wall flashed red—Contract Terminated.

Another European distributor gone.

Aek's father stood at the head of the table, his tone cutting like glass.

"Three deals in two days. Three! Do you realize what you've done?"

Aek's jaw clenched. "It's temporary. We'll—"

"Temporary?" his father barked.

"Your pride has cost us millions. You embarrassed this family, you let your personal life spill into headlines, and now no one wants to touch your brand."

The boardroom fell silent except for the faint buzz of phones as more bad news rolled in.

Aek looked down at his own, where his engagement post still sat pinned—perfect smile, perfect caption, over a million likes that suddenly meant nothing.

Back at the mansion, Charlie sat on the sofa with his knees drawn up, watching Willy scroll through his phone.

"Another headline about Aek," Willy said.

"Investors pulling out."

Charlie hesitated. "Do you feel bad for him?"

"Do you?" Willy asked, not unkindly.

Charlie opened his mouth, closed it again. "I don't know. Maybe once I did."

Willy reached over and laced their fingers together.

"You don't owe him sympathy for wounds he carved himself."

"I know," Charlie said softly, eyes on their joined hands.

"But it still hurts watching someone destroy what they love."

Willy looked at him then—really looked—and smiled that small, dangerous smile that always carried warmth beneath the arrogance.

"Then promise me you'll let me protect what we love."

Charlie leaned in, resting his forehead against Willy's.

"You already do."

The quiet between them pulsed with something unspoken.

No fireworks, no declarations—just two people who'd finally stopped pretending they didn't belong in the same gravity.

In the boardroom, Aek's phone buzzed again.

He glanced down to see a new post dominating every feed.

@WILLY: Sometimes the right partnership doesn't need a contract—just honesty.

Attached was a candid photo: Willy and Charlie laughing over breakfast, sunlight spilling across them. No filter. No caption war. Just truth.

Within minutes, Winner liked it.

Then Winner's nightclub account reposted it with a heart emoji. Fans flooded the comments—
They look so happy.
Real love wins.
This is the softest power move ever.

Aek's stomach twisted.

The investors around him whispered, scrolling through the same feed.

His father's voice broke through like a whip.

"This is what they call integrity, Aek. The one thing you traded away."

Aek rose abruptly, knocking over a glass of water. "Meeting adjourned."

But no one moved.

They didn't need his permission anymore.

By late afternoon, Charlie and Willy sat on the mansion's balcony, watching clouds bruise the sky with color.

"Your post," Charlie said quietly. "You didn't have to."

"I wanted to," Willy replied. "The world took enough from you. I'm giving you back your name."

Charlie smiled, faint but real. "You're impossible."

"Maybe," Willy said, brushing a lock of hair from Charlie's face,

"but you're stuck with me now."

A breeze lifted the curtains behind them; somewhere below, the city hummed with gossip and outrage.

But here, in this quiet pocket of sunlight and laughter, the noise couldn't reach.

Back in his office, Aek sat alone, scrolling through comment after comment until the words blurred.

Congratulations to Willy and Charlie.

Finally, some real love in the racing world.

He threw the phone across the room.

It hit the wall and shattered, but the sound didn't make him feel better.

Nothing did.

For the first time in years, he realized how empty victory feels when there's no one left to share it with.

That night, Willy and Charlie ate dinner on the balcony.

Between them sat a single candle, flickering against the dark.

Charlie reached across the table, his fingers brushing Willy's wrist.

"For once, I'm not scared," he whispered.

Willy looked up, eyes softer than Charlie had ever seen them.

"Good," he said. "Because I'm done letting the world hurt you."

The candlelight bent toward them as though it agreed.

Outside, the city buzzed with headlines and collapsing empires, but none of it mattered.

The only sound was the steady rhythm of two people learning how to breathe again—together.

Chapter Text

Aek had always believed that power could erase guilt.

Money could drown it.

Status could hide it.

A diamond ring could distract from it.

But nothing — not even the sound of Phana's soft breathing beside him — could quiet the voice in his head that whispered Charlie.

He hadn't meant to think about him tonight.

The thought came uninvited, a flicker behind his eyelids as he lay in their bed,

the press headlines from the tablet on his nightstand still glowing faintly across the room:

Willy Chankasem's Lover Revealed — Exclusive Photos Inside the Chankasem Estate.

The image was simple — Willy standing behind Charlie, his hand resting on Charlie's waist, protective and possessive in equal measure.

The photo was beautiful, even Aek could admit that.

It looked real.

And that was what made him sick.

Phana stirred beside him, pressing closer in his sleep, warm breath against Aek's shoulder.

The contact should've soothed him.

Instead, it made the guilt claw deeper.

Because he did love Phana.

He'd married him because, for once, he wanted to choose something honest.

But everything that came before — everything he did to Charlie — had been a stain he'd never cleaned.

He sat up, quietly pulling himself out of bed.

He didn't want Phana to see the look on his face.

Downstairs, the house was silent except for the faint hum of the city outside.

He poured himself a drink, but the whiskey tasted like ash.

It wasn't until his father's voice called from the study that he realized he wasn't alone.

"Aek."

His father stood by the tall windows, news clippings spread across his desk, his jaw tight.

The glow from the lamp caught the silver in his hair and the sharpness in his gaze — the same gaze Aek had inherited.

"You've made a mess," his father said coolly.

"Your company is losing deals every hour. Investors are walking out because of that wedding circus. And now this—"

He tapped the photo of Willy and Charlie. "—has shifted the public sympathy entirely in their favor."

Aek's grip tightened on his glass. "You don't understand, Father. This isn't about the company—"

"It's always about the company," the older man snapped.

"Do you have any idea who you've crossed? That boy—Willy—he's not just some socialite. His network runs deeper than the government's veins. You should've known better than to antagonize a Chankasem."

Aek's jaw clenched. "He took everything from me."

"No, you handed it to him," his father said coldly.

"And now, because of your pride, we're bleeding money and reputation."

Aek wanted to yell, to defend himself, to say that Willy had been the monster, not him—but even as the words burned on his tongue, they rang hollow.

Because somewhere deep down, he remembered the way Charlie had looked that night: trembling, afraid, betrayed.

And Willy's eyes when he'd seen what Aek had done.

That calm fury.

That promise.

His father sighed, rubbing his temples. "I'm going to handle this myself. I'll call in some people—remind that boy what real power looks like."

"Father, don't," Aek warned.

The old man gave a humorless laugh. "You think I'm afraid of a spoiled Chankasem brat?"

Aek didn't answer. He just stared at him, because for the first time in his life, he was afraid.

—
The next morning, his father didn't come home.

When Aek's phone finally rang, it was one of his father's aides, voice trembling.

"Sir... there was a meeting last night. Mr. Chankasem was there. He... made it very clear the Kittask Family should stay out of his way from now on."

Aek felt the blood drain from his face. "What do you mean?"

"Mr. Willy didn't raise his voice. He didn't threaten. He just showed your father what he could do."

The aide hesitated. "Within an hour, three of your father's board members resigned. Two of your foreign investors withdrew. And one of his private accounts—frozen."

Aek's knees nearly gave out.

He gripped the edge of the counter, breath shallow.

He could almost see it — Willy sitting at that meeting table, calm, devastating, untouchable.

That same calm from the night everything had fallen apart.

A quiet terror crept into his chest.

Phana's footsteps echoed behind him. "Aek? What's wrong?"

He turned.

And for the first time, he didn't have the energy to pretend.

His voice cracked. "I think I finally understand what kind of man Willy really is."

Phana frowned softly. "And what kind is that?"

Aek's throat tightened. "...The kind you don't try to destroy. Because he'll do it better."

He looked away, jaw trembling. "And maybe... maybe I deserved it."

Phana stepped closer, resting a hand on his cheek.

"Then stop fighting the ghosts, Aek. You can't undo what's been done. You can only stop making it worse."

Aek closed his eyes, leaning into the touch — and for the first time in a long time, he didn't argue.

Because somewhere deep down, he knew Phana was right.

And in another part of the city, Willy was reminding the world — and every Kittask alive — exactly why no one ever tried to take from him twice.

The story of what Willy Chankasem did spread faster than any scandal.

No one knew the full details.

They only whispered pieces: a boardroom meeting that ended before it began, Aek's father walking out pale and silent, calls that never went through again.

Entire departments froze their projects.

Partnerships that once flaunted the Kittask name now avoided it like a curse.

It wasn't loud.

It wasn't messy.

It was surgical.

Willy didn't need to roar — he simply reminded them how quiet power could be when it decided to move.

And when he was done, he didn't linger.

He went home, poured himself a drink, and looked at a photo of Charlie smiling under the soft light of their bedroom lamp.

The world could burn, but that — that was untouchable.

He'd built empires and shattered names for less.

But for Charlie, he'd do it again.

Chapter Text

It started with a photo.

Simple.

Unassuming.

Just a hand — Willy’s hand — holding another, their fingers intertwined.

And resting across their palms was a small white pregnancy test, the faint pink lines clear under the morning light.

No caption.

Just a single emoji: 👶🏻

But that was enough.

Within minutes, the internet detonated.

#WillyAndCharlie trended globally in less than five minutes.

Twitter crashed twice.

Instagram servers lagged.

TikTok was flooded with edits — montages of Willy’s past interviews, his charity work, clips of him looking at Charlie with that quiet, unmistakable adoration.

News anchors interrupted sports broadcasts.

Entertainment shows dropped everything for “breaking news.”

Every celebrity, every influencer, every brand that had ever worked with Willy Chankasem reposted the image with congratulations.

“Congratulations to the kindest man I’ve ever met.” – Thai national team captain.

“Love wins. Always. So proud of you, Willy.” – Asia’s top fashion designer.

“The Chankasem heir is officially on the way!”

– Bangkok Financial Daily.

Even luxury brands Willy had long partnered with flooded his comment section:

Louis Vuitton: The most beautiful
announcement. Congratulations, Willy & Charlie!

Mercedes Thailand: From speed to family — cheers to the next chapter!

Red Bull Racing Asia: Looks like our favorite racer just hit life’s sweetest lap.

And below all that — a flood of hearts from fans.

“Finally!”

“They deserve every happiness!”

“That baby’s going to be born into love and power.”

The world was celebrating.

But somewhere in the middle of all that noise, Aek sat in his office, staring at his phone, feeling like the air had been punched out of his lungs.

He’d told himself he didn’t care anymore.

That he had Phana now — someone good, kind, who looked at him with patience instead of worship.

And yet…

His eyes locked on the image.

Willy’s hand.

Charlie’s delicate fingers he used to hold

The soft, unmistakable joy glowing from something as simple as two faint lines.

He should’ve looked away.

But he couldn’t.

Because in that single image — in the simplicity of it — was everything he’d destroyed.

The press was already circling, calling for statements.

His father’s office was fielding questions from investors wanting to know how the Kittask Group intended to “respond.”

Respond to what?

To love?

To the truth?

He slumped back in his chair, phone still in his hand, knuckles white.

His heart burned — a strange mixture of jealousy, regret, and something that felt dangerously close to grief.

He thought he was over it.

But seeing Charlie like that — glowing, happy, loved — ripped open something he hadn’t realized was still bleeding.

He could almost hear his father’s voice from months ago:

“Charlie isn’t worth it, Aek. He’s ruining your image.”

And his own voice — foolish, proud, cold — echoing back:

“Maybe you’re right.”

What a joke.

The truth was, Charlie was never the one who ruined him.

He’d done that himself — with arrogance, with a bet, with every lie he told himself just to spite Willy.

And now Willy had everything — the career, the power, Charlie.

Even the child that should’ve been his.

He pressed his hand over his face, breathing hard.

He knew that thought was selfish, even cruel — because Charlie had never belonged to him, not really.

Not in the way he wanted.

Even when Charlie smiled at him, his eyes had always looked elsewhere.

Toward Willy.

Aek could see that now.

He always could, if he were honest.

Maybe it was time to stop pretending.

He’d made his bed — in a mansion filled with silence and a husband who tried far too hard to reach him.

And maybe, for once, it was time to try back.

He glanced up when Phana walked in, hesitant, carrying a cup of tea.

“You saw it?” Phana asked softly.

Aek nodded, eyes still distant. “Yeah. The whole world did.”

Phana hesitated before setting the cup down.

“He looks happy.”

Aek gave a broken laugh — dry, humorless. “He deserves to be.”

When Phana’s fingers brushed his shoulder, Aek didn’t pull away.

Not this time.

Maybe it was time to let go of ghosts — of bets, of pride, of what-ifs.

Charlie was gone, but not lost.

And Willy had won, but not just in rivalry — in love, in life, in the only race that ever mattered.

As the world cheered for the Chankasem heir, Aek silently raised his glass of untouched tea.

“To you, Charlie,” he whispered under his breath, a sad smile tugging at his lips.

“To the one I loved too late.”

The mansion was finally quiet again.

Outside the gates, camera flashes still pulsed like far-off lightning, but inside, it was another world — dim lights, the faint hum of the city, and the scent of jasmine tea cooling on the table.

Charlie sat on the couch, one hand absently over his stomach.

The comments section of Willy’s post kept refreshing every few seconds:

millions of likes, endless congratulations, even fan art of tiny racing helmets and baby bottles.

He shook his head, half-laughing. “I think your fans have already picked a name.”

Willy, sprawled next to him in a sweatshirt that was far too casual for the billionaire the tabloids worshipped, grinned.

“If they name the kid Turbo I’m deleting Instagram.”

Charlie smiled, but his eyes softened. “You really didn’t have to post it.”

“I did,” Willy said simply. “Because for once, I wanted the whole world to know I got something right.”

That silenced Charlie.

He watched Willy for a long moment — the same man who once made him dizzy with danger now looking so disarmingly tender.

“You didn’t need the world to know,” Charlie murmured. “You already had me.”

“Maybe,” Willy said, leaning closer until their foreheads touched,

“but I wanted them to stop guessing. To stop thinking you were a rumor. You’re my reality, Charlie. The rest is just noise.”

Charlie felt the weight of those words settle deep in his chest.

For the first time in months, there was no fear, no guilt, no wondering if he should hide.

Just the quiet thrum of certainty.

They sat that way for a while, the glow from the city lights flickering across the glass walls.

Eventually Charlie exhaled. “The doctor said everything looks good. I’m still in shock, though. I didn’t think… after everything.”

Willy’s expression softened further. “You’ve always been stronger than you think. You carried us when I couldn’t even carry myself. Now it’s my turn.”

“You sound like you’ve rehearsed that,” Charlie teased.

“I have,” Willy admitted. “In the mirror. Every morning. Don’t judge me.”

Charlie laughed, the sound small but genuine, and leaned into him.

The warmth of Willy’s arm around his shoulders felt like an anchor.

For once, the world could spin without them.

From somewhere across the room, the television murmured with coverage of the announcement — panel discussions, brand reactions, analysts predicting sponsorship booms.

Willy muted it with one click. “Enough of that,” he said. “Tonight, it’s just us.”

Charlie looked up. “And the baby.”

Willy grinned. “Our very small third wheel.”

“Already stealing your spotlight,” Charlie said, pretending to sigh.

“Let them,” Willy whispered, brushing his thumb along Charlie’s jaw.

“As long as you’re both here.”

Charlie’s throat tightened.

He wanted to say something clever, something to defuse the rush of feeling, but all that came out was a quiet,

“I love you.”

Willy’s answer was a kiss — slow, steady, grounding.

Not the kind of kiss that claimed or promised anything new, but one that sealed everything they’d already survived.

When they finally broke apart, Charlie rested his head against Willy’s chest.

“What happens now?” he asked softly.

Willy’s hand traced lazy circles along his back.

“Now? We live. We breathe. We keep building. And when the world screams for attention, we close the door and let them scream.”

“Sounds perfect,” Charlie murmured.

“Good,” Willy said. “Because I already locked the door.”

Charlie chuckled, eyes drifting closed.

The tension in his body eased as he listened to the rhythm of Willy’s heartbeat — slow, steady, certain.

For once, everything was exactly as it should be.

Outside, the city roared.

Inside, love simply was.

Chapter Text

The morning light filtered through the gauzy curtains of the master bedroom, soft and golden, like a whisper of peace after weeks of chaos.

For once, there were no reporters outside, no flashing cameras—just the muted hum of life moving gently forward inside the Chankasem mansion.

Charlie sat on the edge of the bed, fingers resting over the gentle curve of his belly.

It wasn't showing yet, but the reality of it—the heartbeat inside him—was something he could feel.

Like a soft flutter that reminded him every few minutes that life had changed forever.

Willy appeared behind him, towel slung low around his hips, hair damp from the shower.

He leaned against the doorframe, gaze tender but mischievous.

"Are you staring at our baby again?" he teased.

Charlie turned, giving him a faint pout.

"Maybe."

"Mm," Willy said, strolling over.

He sat beside him, pulling him gently between his arms. "You've been glowing, you know that?"

Charlie laughed under his breath. "That's just sweat. I threw up twice."

"Morning sickness, my beautiful boy," Willy murmured, pressing a kiss to Charlie's temple.

"Means the little one's strong."

They sat in silence for a moment, letting the peace of it fill the room.

The world outside was busy—hashtags trending, fan accounts compiling every congratulatory post—but inside, it was just them.

When Charlie's phone buzzed, he saw a message from Alan:

Doctor's appointment at 10 AM. Don't be late.

Charlie sighed. "You're coming, right?"

Willy tilted his head, pretending to think. "Let's see... the love of my life and our baby's first appointment? Of course I'm coming."

He leaned closer, his voice dropping low. "I wouldn't miss hearing that heartbeat for anything."

By the time they reached the private clinic, security was tight but discreet.

The doctor's office had been cleared for them—a gesture of respect for the Chankasem heir and his very public declaration of love.

Dr. Somchai smiled warmly when they entered.

"Mr. Chankasem, Mr. Charlie. Congratulations again."

Charlie nodded shyly, his hand automatically finding Willy's.

They went through the usual checkup—weight, blood pressure, questions about morning sickness.

Then, the doctor dimmed the lights and turned on the ultrasound machine.

"Ready to meet your baby?"

Charlie's breath hitched.

Willy's hand tightened on his.

The soft sound filled the room—a rapid, steady thump-thump-thump.

Charlie's eyes welled with tears instantly.

"That's... them?"

Dr. Somchai smiled. "That's your baby's heartbeat. Strong and healthy."

Willy exhaled slowly, his usual confident demeanor melting into raw, unguarded awe.

He brushed a tear from Charlie's cheek. "That's ours, Charlie. That's us."

Charlie's smile trembled. "They sound... perfect."

"They are perfect," Willy whispered, pressing his forehead to Charlie's.

After the appointment, they stopped by a quiet café near the river.

Willy insisted on getting Charlie's favorite drink—a coconut smoothie—and ignored his assistant's endless calls.

"You know," Charlie said softly, watching the water shimmer.

"I used to think life with you would always be... wild. Fast cars, flashing lights, noise."

Willy chuckled. "You're saying I'm loud?"

"You're everything," Charlie said, smiling faintly. "But I like this too. Just... us."

Willy leaned back in his chair, eyes studying him.

"I like this version of us even more. You—here, calm, smiling—and me, trying not to combust every time you look at me like that."

Charlie blushed furiously. "You're impossible."

"Hopelessly in love," Willy corrected, reaching across the table to take his hand.

That night, when they returned home, Charlie fell asleep first—curled against Willy's chest, their baby safe between them.

Willy brushed his fingers through Charlie's hair, whispering softly into the dark.

"I'll protect you both. No matter what happens, no matter who tries to come between us... you're my home."

Charlie stirred, mumbling something half-asleep, and Willy smiled.

For the first time in years, he didn't feel like the heir of an empire or the public's obsession.

He was just a man—deeply in love, with a heartbeat echoing between them that promised a future neither fame nor enemies could touch.

And outside, the world kept spinning—news anchors analyzing their posts, fans speculating about baby names, rivals whispering in envy—but inside that room, peace reigned.

Just Willy.

Just Charlie.

And the soft, steady rhythm of their tomorrow.

Chapter Text

The Chankasem estate had always been the definition of opulence—towering glass windows, imported marble floors,

and a fleet of luxury cars gleaming under the morning sun.

But lately, it had begun to feel less like a mansion and more like a home.

The reason was simple: there was laughter in the halls again.

Charlie's laughter.

He stood barefoot in the living room that morning, dressed in one of Willy's oversized shirts, as Alan and Jeff debated whether the nursery should be painted sky blue or cream white.

"Cream is softer," Jeff said, crossing his arms.

"It gives a sense of calm."

Alan rolled his eyes. "The baby isn't meditating, Jeff. Sky blue makes the room look larger and cheerful."

Charlie giggled quietly from the sofa. "You both sound like you're the ones nesting."

Alan turned, pretending to be affronted.

"Excuse me, young man. You may be the one carrying this baby, but this uncle is taking design supervision very seriously."

"Uncle?" Jeff repeated, smirking. "Since when?"

"Since I decided I'm better at parenting than you."

Willy entered then, freshly dressed in a crisp white shirt and dark trousers, sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

The room shifted—because when Willy walked in, he always commanded it.

But this time, there was something softer in the air.

He leaned down to kiss Charlie's forehead, his voice low and warm.

"Good morning, my favorite person."

Charlie smiled up at him. "You said that yesterday."

"And I'll say it tomorrow too," Willy murmured before turning toward Alan and Jeff.

"Both of you arguing about paint colors again?"

Alan huffed. "You should be thanking us. We're helping raise your child in style."

"Oh, trust me," Willy said, smirking.

"You'll both regret that when the baby cries at 3 a.m. and I call your rooms."

Jeff sighed dramatically. "I knew I should've moved back to Bangkok."

Charlie laughed so hard he almost spilled his juice.

The sound made Willy grin—because it had been a long time since Charlie laughed like that without worry shadowing his face.

Later that afternoon, the house buzzed with activity.

Movers came and went, carrying boxes labeled Baby Clothes,

Blankets, Toys, and Charlie's Cravings—that last one handwritten by Winner, who'd dropped by just to annoy Willy.

"Bro, you've turned into such a dad already,"

Winner teased, lounging on the kitchen island with an apple.

"I swear, two months ago you were racing cars and threatening paparazzi. Now you're comparing baby bottle brands."

Willy shot him a dry look. "That's called growth, Winner."

Winner grinned. "It's called being whipped, actually."

Charlie entered the kitchen just in time to hear that, his cheeks turning pink.

"Willy's not whipped."

Willy arched a brow. "You're defending me now?"

"Because it's true," Charlie said earnestly. "He's just... in love."

Winner groaned. "And I'm officially the third wheel."

Alan walked by carrying a box and muttered.

"You've always been the third wheel."

Willy burst out laughing while Winner scowled.

"I liked you better when you were the scary boss, Alan!"

Jeff poked his head in. "He's still scary. You just haven't seen him angry since Charlie got pregnant."

"Don't scare the boy," Alan said immediately, glaring at Jeff.

"He doesn't need stress."

Charlie blinked. "I'm fine, really—"

"No stress," Alan repeated sternly, cutting him off. "Doctor's orders."

Willy grinned, sliding an arm around Charlie's waist. "See? You've got a whole army now."

Charlie leaned against him softly. "I think I'm spoiled."

"You deserve to be," Willy murmured.

That night, when the noise faded and the staff went home, Willy and Charlie stood in the half-finished nursery.

The room was bright even in the dim lamplight—walls painted soft cream, little stuffed animals perched on the shelves, a crib still waiting to be assembled.

Willy stood behind Charlie, his hands resting on his waist, palms warm against the thin fabric of Charlie's shirt.

"You like it?" he asked quietly.

Charlie nodded, his eyes a little misty. "It's perfect. I can't believe we're really doing this."

Willy bent down, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. "You made me want to."

Charlie turned slightly, gazing up at him.

"You've changed so much, Willy."

Willy smiled faintly. "You think so?"

"You're calmer now. Softer."

"That's because I finally have something real to fight for."

Charlie's throat tightened. He turned fully, wrapping his arms around Willy's neck. "You already won, you know."

Willy tilted his head. "Won what?"

"Me," Charlie whispered. "And our baby."

Willy laughed softly, kissing him.

It wasn't a deep kiss—just warm, grounding, full of love that didn't need to prove itself anymore.

When they finally pulled apart, Willy crouched down and pressed a kiss to Charlie's belly.

"We're almost ready for you, little one," he murmured.

"Your papa's just finishing the last race before the greatest adventure of his life."

Charlie brushed his fingers through Willy's hair, smiling through tears.

"They're going to be lucky."

Willy looked up at him, eyes tender. "No, Charlie. I'm the lucky one."

The next morning, the household hummed with a gentle rhythm—Alan organizing baby supplies like a general,

Jeff reviewing Charlie's diet plan, and Winner sneaking cookies into Charlie's hand when no one was looking.

The Chankasem mansion no longer felt cold or grand. It felt alive.

And when Willy stepped into the nursery again, watching Charlie arrange a tiny stuffed elephant in the crib, he realized—this wasn't just their next chapter.

It was the life he'd never thought he'd have.

A life built on love, second chances, and a heartbeat that would soon fill every room.

Chapter Text

Three months passed like sunlight through silk—soft, golden, and impossible to hold.

The Chankasem mansion had changed again, though not in décor or luxury.

It had changed because Charlie had changed.

His bump was showing now—small, round, and radiant beneath every soft shirt he wore.

His cheeks glowed faintly pink, his eyes brighter than anyone had ever seen them.

Even his laugh seemed fuller, richer, as if happiness had finally found its rightful home in him.

And Willy... well, Willy was something else entirely.

Once, he'd been the image of reckless control—sharp suits, sharper tongue, and a reputation that made even reporters tread carefully.

But now, he hovered around Charlie like a living shadow with expensive cologne and endless affection.

"Willy, I'm fine," Charlie said one morning, gently pushing his hand away as he tried to reach for the orange juice himself.

"You were dizzy yesterday," Willy countered, pouring it for him anyway.

"And your doctor said—"

"That I should rest, not that I'm made of glass."

"Glass breaks," Willy said dryly. "You don't."

Charlie gave him a look—the one that said you're being dramatic again.

Winner, who'd been watching the scene unfold from the breakfast bar, snorted.

"You've officially turned into an overprotective husband, bro."

"I'm not an overprotective ," Willy shot back smoothly,

"I'm just not stupid enough to let the love of my life lift a finger when he's carrying our child."

Winner groaned. "You hear that, Charlie? He's been using that line every day like it's poetry."

Charlie giggled, sipping his juice. "I think it's sweet."

Winner threw up his hands. "I can't compete with this level of whipped."

Alan entered the kitchen then, his phone already buzzing with notifications.

"Speaking of whipped, Willy—you've officially broken the internet. Again."

Willy raised an eyebrow. "What did I do this time?"

Alan turned the phone so everyone could see.

It was a trending photo—Willy and Charlie walking through a garden the day before,

Willy's hand on Charlie's lower back, protective and tender. The caption read:

"THE CHANKASEM HEIR AND HIS LOVER—LOVE BLOOMS WITH A BABY ON THE WAY 💫"

Charlie froze. "They took that photo?"

"You can't even sneeze without it becoming a headline," Alan muttered, scrolling.

"The public's obsessed with you two. Every news outlet's calling it the 'Love Story That Healed a Dynasty.'"

Willy smirked faintly. "They're not wrong."

Charlie buried his face in his hands. "I'm glowing because I'm pregnant, not because I'm some fairytale."

Willy bent down beside him, voice soft but full of pride. "You are my fairytale, though."

Winner groaned again. "Please. I'm begging you. Stop before I get cavities."

Alan ignored the banter. "Public interest means extra security. I already increased it. Paparazzi are camping near the gate again."

Willy's protective side flared instantly. "If anyone gets too close—"

"Relax," Alan interrupted, holding up a hand.

"They know the line. But it's getting harder to control. People love you both too much for your own good.”

Charlie smiled weakly. "It still feels strange sometimes. Everyone watching. Talking."

Willy's expression softened. "Let them talk. All that matters is us."

Later that afternoon, Charlie sat in the garden with Jeff—his doctor appointments scheduled and calm. The flowers around him swayed lightly in the breeze.

"You're looking good," Jeff said, adjusting his glasses. "Glowing, even."

Charlie laughed softly. "Everyone keeps saying that."

"Because it's true." Jeff smiled.

"Your blood pressure's stable, and your tests are perfect. You're handling the pregnancy beautifully."

"I think it's mostly because Willy refuses to let me lift a grocery bag."

"That man would probably hire someone to breathe for you if he could."

Charlie's laugh faltered a bit. "I used to think love like this didn't last."

Jeff looked at him for a long moment. "Maybe not all of it does. But yours... it's the kind that builds. You both earned it."

Charlie pressed a hand against his stomach. "I hope our baby feels that."

"They will," Jeff said gently. "Because they'll grow up surrounded by it."

That night, Willy came home later than usual, his jacket over one shoulder and his expression darker.

Charlie noticed immediately. "Rough day?"

Willy nodded, loosening his tie. "Investors keep bringing up Aek. Trying to compare us."

Charlie frowned. "Still?"

"His company's bleeding deals. But they keep hoping we'll patch things up for appearances."

Charlie reached for his hand. "You're not responsible for him."

Willy looked down at Charlie—his eyes, his glow, the quiet life they'd built—and something in him steadied.

"No," he said finally. "I'm responsible for you. And our family."

He sank onto the couch beside Charlie, pulling him close until their bodies aligned, his hand instinctively resting on the bump.

The baby kicked, faintly.

Willy froze.

Charlie smiled softly. "You felt it, didn't you?"

Willy's throat worked silently. "Yeah," he whispered, awe-struck.

"That's... that's our baby."

Charlie brushed a tear from the corner of his eye. "You're crying."

"I'm not," Willy said—voice thick, eyes wet.

"I'm just—my heart's... doing something weird."

Charlie kissed him gently. "It's called happiness, Willy."

He let out a shaky laugh and kissed Charlie back, long and deep.

Outside, the world buzzed with gossip, business deals, and flashing headlines—but inside, the mansion was quiet.

Just heartbeats, laughter, and the faint sound of love turning into legacy.

Chapter Text

The world outside the Chankasem estate was chaos—press vans, flashing cameras,

reporters shouting through the gates—but inside, the mansion was silent, tense, and brimming with a single emotion.

Anticipation.

It was past midnight when Charlie's contractions began.

Willy had been working late in his study when Alan's panicked shout echoed through the halls.

"WILLY! It's time!"

The sound of a chair scraping, papers falling, and then the unmistakable thud of Willy's footsteps on marble floors followed instantly.

He burst into the bedroom, tie half undone, heart hammering.

Charlie was sitting on the edge of the bed, one hand clutching his swollen belly, the other gripping the sheets so tightly his knuckles were white.

"Willy—" Charlie gasped, his voice shaking but still so heartbreakingly beautiful.

Willy was at his side in seconds, kneeling before him, brushing sweaty strands of hair from his forehead.

"Hey. Hey, baby. I'm here. I've got you."

Charlie gave a weak laugh between breaths.

"Took you long enough."

Alan, standing in the doorway, muttered, "He almost broke three vases on the way here."

"Alan," Willy warned without looking back, "get the car. Now."

Winner and Jeff came running next—Jeff already on the phone with the hospital, Winner trying to keep his cool and utterly failing.

"Do you need me to grab anything?" Winner asked, pacing.

"Clothes? Snacks? Maybe a flamethrower for the paparazzi—"

"Winner!" Alan snapped. "Keys. Car. Now!"

Within minutes, they were all in motion—Alan barking orders like a general,

Jeff soothing Charlie with calm medical precision,

and Willy refusing to let go of Charlie's hand for even a second.

The ride to the hospital was a blur of flashing lights and muffled sobs.

Charlie's breathing came in sharp, rhythmic gasps.

Willy sat beside him in the backseat, his hand pressed against Charlie's stomach, whispering soft reassurances between every contraction.

"You're doing amazing, love. Just breathe. I'm right here. Always right here."

Charlie squeezed his hand weakly. "If you say 'breathe' one more time, I'll—"

"You'll what?" Willy asked, half-laughing, half-crying.

"Make sure our kid inherits my patience, not yours."

Alan nearly swerved from laughing too hard, despite the tension. "God, even in labor, you two are impossible."

By the time they reached the hospital, the staff was already waiting—private ward cleared, security doubled, reporters held at bay.

Everyone knew this was the birth Thailand's media had been waiting for:

the heir of the Chankasem legacy... and the child of the country's most talked-about couple.

But to Willy, none of that mattered. The world could burn down outside, and he wouldn't notice.

Because the only thing that mattered was Charlie.

Hours passed.

Willy paced.

Then sat.

Then paced again.

Alan and Winner were there, both trying to keep him from collapsing from nerves.

Jeff was with the medical team, ensuring Charlie was in good hands.

At one point, a nurse came out and handed Willy a hospital gown.

"You can come in now. He's asking for you."

He didn't even breathe as he walked in.

Charlie was lying there, pale but radiant, gripping the sheets like his life depended on it.

His hair clung to his forehead, eyes wet but determined.

"Willy," he whispered.

Willy took his hand and kissed it. "You've got this, baby. You're the strongest person I know."

Charlie gave him a pained smile. "You keep saying that. I'm starting to believe you."

And when the final cry broke through the quiet tension—the sound of their child's first breath—the entire room seemed to exhale.

A nurse held up a tiny, red-faced, wriggling newborn, crying like he already owned the world.

"It's a boy," she said softly.

Charlie's eyes filled instantly. "Willy... we have a son."

Willy looked like someone who'd just seen heaven.

His hands trembled as he reached out to touch the baby, his eyes darting between Charlie and their son.

"He's perfect," Willy whispered. "You did so good, love."

Charlie was exhausted but smiling, eyes fluttering shut as Willy pressed his forehead against his.

"I told you," Charlie murmured weakly. "You'd make a good dad."

Willy choked out a laugh. "I don't know about that. But I swear—he'll grow up knowing he's loved every single day."

Their baby let out another small cry, and Charlie giggled softly.

"He sounds just like you when you don't get your way."

"Then he's definitely ours."

By morning, the news had already spread.

"He's Here! Willy Chankasem and Charlie Announce the Birth of Their Son!"

'Welcome to the world, Little Miracle,' reads Willy's post as fans flood the internet with love.

The post showed a single photo:

Charlie lying in the hospital bed, hair messy, smile soft, eyes half-asleep—with Willy sitting beside him, their baby resting peacefully against Charlie's chest.

The caption read:

"You're my beginning, my forever, and now... our everything." 💙

The world collectively melted.

Celebrities reposted it.

Brands sent congratulations.

Fans wrote letters.

Even Aek, upon seeing it, went silent for the first time in months.

Winner read the comments aloud while standing in the hospital room.

"Someone wrote: 'If love could be bottled, it'd look like this photo.'"

Alan smiled faintly. "They're not wrong."

Willy looked at Charlie, asleep with their baby still in his arms, and whispered—almost to himself—

"Finally. Everything's exactly where it belongs."

Chapter Text

The first cry echoed through the private hospital suite like the breaking of dawn — raw, beautiful, and full of life.

Willy had never heard anything so powerful.

He stood frozen, still gripping Charlie's hand as tears slipped freely down his cheeks.

Charlie, exhausted but smiling, looked up at him with glassy eyes and whispered,

"We did it..."

Willy laughed softly, his voice cracking. "You did it, my love. I just— stood here pretending I wasn't terrified."

The nurse placed the tiny bundle in Charlie's arms, and everything stilled.

The world — the fame, the rivalry, the chaos — all disappeared. It was just them.

The baby let out another small sound, rooting for warmth, and Charlie held him close, eyes shimmering with disbelief and awe.

Willy leaned in, brushing a trembling hand over the baby's soft dark hair.

"He looks like you," he murmured.

Charlie smiled faintly. "Poor thing."

Willy laughed, a low, heartfelt sound, and kissed Charlie's forehead.

"If he looks like you, the world's in trouble. Too beautiful for his own good."

Alan and Jeff entered quietly, both smiling through misty eyes.

Jeff immediately went into aunt mode, cooing over the baby, while Alan placed a steady hand on Willy's shoulder — proud, protective.

"You've done good," he said softly.

"Really good."

Winner showed up later that night, sneaking past the reporters with his signature grin and a balloon shaped like a race car.

"You had to make it dramatic, didn't you, Willy?"

Willy smirked, cradling the baby. "You expected anything less?"

Charlie, lying in bed, rolled his eyes affectionately. "You two are impossible.”

Winner winked at him. "And you, Charlie, you're officially my favorite person for surviving this man."

A Few Months Later...

The Chankasem mansion had changed.

The once sleek, bachelor-perfect aesthetic now had softness woven into every corner — tiny socks on the couch, bottles on the counter, plush toys in the living room.

Willy was pacing with their son in his arms, rocking him gently, humming something off-key but heartfelt.

"Shh, little one," he whispered, kissing the baby's forehead.

"Papa's just taking a nap, let's not wake him."

Charlie, of course, was not asleep.

He was standing at the doorway, arms folded, watching the two of them with the kind of smile that only came from absolute peace.

"You're spoiling him already," Charlie teased.

Willy turned, mock offended. "Me? Never. He's just... my tiny boss."

Charlie walked over, brushing his fingers across Willy's arm before taking the baby.

"You're worse than Alan. At least he pretends he's not whipped."

Willy grinned, slipping an arm around Charlie's waist.

"You love that I'm whipped."

"I tolerate it," Charlie replied, fighting a smile.

Willy leaned down, whispering against his ear.

"You love it."

Charlie blushed, pretending to scold him, but didn't pull away.

Instead, he leaned back against Willy's chest, their son nestled between them, small hands curled like petals.

The world had changed for them — and so had the media.

Every photo Willy posted of Charlie and the baby sent social networks into a frenzy.

Brands sent gifts, fans sent letters, and even sports magazines wrote about

"The Racer Who Chose Love Over Rivalry."

Aek and Phana had long retreated from the spotlight, and even though Aek sometimes caught a glimpse of Charlie and Willy on TV, he didn't feel anger anymore — just wistful acceptance.

Willy, meanwhile, focused on expanding his company's charity wing, naming one of the youth racing scholarships after Charlie.

"For the boy who taught me to slow down," he said at the press conference, earning collective swoons across the internet.

That Evening...

The mansion was quiet again. The baby was asleep in his crib, and the city lights twinkled through the open balcony doors.

Charlie stepped outside, arms wrapped around himself, the night air cool against his skin.

Willy followed, slipping behind him and wrapping him in a familiar embrace.

"Hey," he murmured, resting his chin on Charlie's shoulder.

"Hey," Charlie echoed, smiling softly.

"Can you believe it? A year ago everything was chaos, and now..."

"Now," Willy said, kissing the side of his neck,

"we're exactly where we were meant to be."

Charlie turned around, eyes shining. "You really think so?"

Willy nodded. "I've made a lot of mistakes in my life, Charlie. But loving you? That's the one thing I'd never change."

Charlie's laughter was quiet and full of warmth.

"You're getting soft."

"I'm getting smart," Willy teased. "You, me, and our son — that's all I'll ever need."

Charlie reached up, cupping Willy's cheek, thumb brushing over the faint stubble there.

"You're a good dad, you know."

Willy's eyes softened instantly. "You think so?"

"I know so."

He leaned in, pressing his lips to Willy's — slow, sweet, full of the quiet fire that had never really left them.

The same fire that had survived heartbreak, rivalry, and chaos... and turned into something steady and real.

When they finally pulled apart, Willy whispered,

"I love you, Charlie."

Charlie smiled, resting his head against his chest.

"I know. I love you too."

The camera of life would've faded out there — the two of them under the stars, their baby sleeping inside, their future wide open.

But if you looked close, you'd see it:

the glint in Willy's eyes whenever Charlie smiled, the way Charlie's fingers lingered on his wedding band,

the unspoken promise that whatever roads they'd raced down before — they'd finally crossed the finish line together.

And this time, they both won.

The backyard of the Chankasem mansion had never been this loud.

Balloons floated in the humid afternoon air, shaped like tiny race cars and teddy bears. A small sign near the cake table read in gold letters:

"Happy 1st Birthday, Baby Chankasem!"

The guests were mostly family, a few close friends, and just enough reporters to make Alan grumble about "media etiquette during nap times."

Charlie stood near the table arranging cupcakes,

while Willy—ever the showman—was attempting to hang a banner with Winner and failing spectacularly.

"Winner, you're holding it crooked!" Willy barked, one foot on a chair, the other on the edge of the table.

"It's your banner, not mine!" Winner shot back.

"You want it straight? Get on my shoulders, see how that goes."

Jeff nearly choked on his drink from laughing too hard. "You two are a circus act."

Charlie rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth lifted.

"At least they're entertaining."

Behind him, Alan whispered to Jeff, "I give it five minutes before one of them falls."

"Ten," Jeff replied, sipping his juice. "Willy's too stubborn to admit gravity exists."

The star of the show—baby Arun Chankasem, nicknamed Run by his uncle Winner—was crawling determinedly across the grass, a plush car clutched in his tiny hands.

His hair was a soft dark brown, his eyes unmistakably Charlie's.

"Run! Come to daddy!" Willy crouched down, arms open.

The baby looked at him... then promptly turned around and crawled straight toward Charlie.

The crowd burst into laughter.

Willy sighed dramatically. "So that's how it is. I gave him my dimples, and this is the thanks I get."

Charlie picked up their son, kissing his cheek.

"He knows who feeds him vegetables and who sneaks him cake."

Winner cackled. "So definitely you, Charlie."

Willy crossed his arms. "Traitors. All of you."

Later that evening, after the guests had left and the lights dimmed, Willy and Charlie sat on the balcony again—just as they had a year ago.

The city glittered below them.

The baby monitor hummed softly beside them.

Charlie leaned against Willy's chest, barefoot, his hair a little messy, exhaustion softened by happiness.

"Can you believe he's one already?"

Willy chuckled, resting his chin on Charlie's shoulder.

"No. Feels like yesterday I was crying in a hospital room, terrified you'd never want to see me again."

Charlie smiled, eyes fond. "You did cry a lot."

"I was emotional!" Willy protested.

"You were a mess," Charlie teased.

"A beautiful, overdramatic mess."

Willy grinned, brushing a kiss against his temple.

"And yet you still married me."

Charlie turned slightly, eyes warm. "Maybe I like messes. Especially the kind that look good in leather jackets."

Willy laughed, wrapping both arms around him. "You're dangerous, you know that?"

Charlie's voice softened. "You love it."

"I love you," Willy corrected. "Everything else is just the bonus lap."

Inside, baby Run stirred in his crib, making a small sound before settling again.

Charlie turned his head slightly, smiling. "He's going to be wild like you."

Willy chuckled. "Good. The world could use another racer."

Charlie smirked. "Or maybe he'll be a doctor like Jeff. Or a photographer like Tarn. Or a—"

Willy interrupted, grinning. "Or a heartbreaker like his papa."

Charlie shot him a look. "Absolutely not."

They both laughed softly, the night air warm around them.

As the stars stretched wide over the Bangkok skyline, Willy pulled Charlie close again, whispering,

"Happy anniversary, Charlie."

Charlie blinked. "Anniversary?"

"Of the day our family started," Willy said, voice low, sincere.

"The day I realized I didn't need the whole world—just you, and him."

Charlie looked up at him, eyes bright. "You always say the cheesiest things."

Willy smiled. "And you always love them."

Charlie's laughter faded into a kiss—slow, gentle, certain.

The kind that said everything words couldn't.

In the nursery, baby Run's nightlight glowed softly, casting the faintest silhouette of a tiny race car on the wall.

Outside, the moon climbed higher, watching over the family that had once been fractured and uncertain, now whole and unwavering.

Love, it seemed, had finally found its finish line.

And this time, it wasn't a race—it was a lifetime.

The End.