Chapter 201: Chapter 201

Finally, a chance to meet that bastard again. Guy Nolin. Someone was going to lose today.

Two agonizing days had passed. Sarah called almost hourly, her voice dripping venom, counting down the seconds until she demanded two million. I never let on what I was doing behind the scenes.

Cora… she… fuck. She had kidnapped Charlotte. I owed her a big apologize. The poor girl must be traumatized because of me.

I sat in TechForge’s glass-walled meeting room, the triangular table empty except for me and Anotta. Floor-to-ceiling windows wrapped the space, offering a panoramic view of the city skyline. One button on the console, and the glass would frost black, sealing us in. Two bodyguards loomed behind her—tall, broad, arms crossed, faces blank.

“I wonder what you’ll do today, Evan,” Anotta murmured, leaning back in her chair. “Hope I won’t be disappointed.”

“You’re just like them,” I shot back. “Getting off on watching people like me scramble to survive.”

“Survive?” She arched a brow. “Penthouse life, your little harem—that’s survival, Marlowe?”

“You said it yourself. You love watching me struggle.”

“And I won’t deny it.” Her smile was faint. “You’re the only—”

“Entertainment in your life, yeah, yeah,” I cut in. “Try watching some movies. I dunno, gamble with your endless money. Stop treating people like puppets.”

“Look at you,” she purred, unfazed. “Talking to me like that. Whatever happened to Ms. Anotov? I arranged this meeting for you, after all.”

“You’re insane,” I said, meeting her gaze. “You don’t want respect. You don’t want love. You want fear.”

“Wrong,” she replied, voice cool. “I want what’s best for me.”

“Best for you?” I scoffed. “Great.”

“Problem with that?”

“I have a problem with anything that endangers me, Ms. Anotov,” I said. “And you’re one of them. I actually thought you were an ally once. Felt lucky.”

“Am I not an ally?”

I shook my head, staying silent. Once this was over, I just wanted peace—for as long as it lasted. Guy. Richard. Surrounded by psychos. This new life gave me plenty, but twice as much trouble.

I kept waiting, the silence thick.

Anottа reached behind her, palm open. “Mirror.”

The bodyguard holding her purse fished out a small silver compact and handed it over. She checked her reflection, tilted her head, then extended her hand again.

“Lipstick.”

He produced a black tube. She rolled it across her lips, blood-red, then snapped it shut and passed both items back without a glance.

Through the glass wall, Nala passed by, heels clicking on the marble. She spotted me, eyes widening for a split second. I gave a short nod. She returned it, tight-lipped, nervous. She disappeared down the corridor.

My stomach twisted. Every story about Guy had been a horror show. I was scared of him—of course I was—but losing everything I’d built terrified me more. This wasn’t a negotiation. It was war. I had to make him leash Sarah, stop the threats, leave Nala and the company alone.

“It rains, huh?” Anottа said, glancing out the window.

“I don’t care,” I snapped.

Just like that, the conversation was over. I was done with her games, her rich-bitch theatrics. She’d arranged this meeting—one last use. After today, no more Anottа.

The anticipation was killing me. I’d spotted Guy’s car through the window minutes ago, parked at TechForge. But because he could, he made us wait. Every second fueled my hatred for the bastard.

╭────────────────────╮

– Quest Available

==========================

– Title: Richness in personality

– Task: Fuck Anotta.

– Reward: +500 EXP, 250c

==========================

– Accept Quest? [Yes] [No]

╰────────────────────╯

Fuck Anotta? Sure. Quests were getting tougher, rewards better. Easy ones gave maybe fifty EXP. I needed the big ones now. Like this. I’d tried with Anotta before—Sensual Massage Oil failed. She resisted, or it just didn’t work.

“Just call him,” I said, eyes on where Nala had passed. “Tell him to hurry.”

“Calm down,” Anotta replied, unfazed.

“Ten minutes since his car pulled up,” I snapped. “What’s he doing?”

“Calm. Down.” She closed her eyes. “Let the moment pass, Marlowe.”

I opened my mouth to say something, then stopped and swallowed the words. No point arguing with her. Anotta was the kind of woman who never did anything unless she wanted to, and trying to convince her to call Guy would be a complete waste of breath.

I grabbed my phone, scrolled through the local news. Nothing on Charlotte’s kidnapping. Cora handled it quietly—probably scared Charlotte silent.

I looked up. There he was. Guy Nolin. Moving agonizingly slow toward the meeting room. I pocketed the phone.

“There he is,” I muttered.

Anottа sat straighter. “We’re starting, Marlowe.”

“Yeah. Fucking… bastard,” I whispered.

Guy stopped just short of the meeting room. He shot us a smug little smirk before pulling out his phone and launching into a conversation with someone. That tiny show was enough to make my blood boil, but I swallowed the anger. No. He had no what I had against him, of course he would act like he still had the upper-hand.

Call ended. He resumed his stroll, pushed the door open, left his two bodyguards outside.

“Evan Marlowe,” he drawled. “And Anotta Anotov.”

“Mr. Nolin,” Anotta said. “Please. Sit.”

He shut the door, crossed to the table, sat across from us, leaned back, arms folded. Waiting.

“Guy Nolin,” I said. “Know the first word that came to mind when I saw you?”

“Wha—”

“Cunt.” I cut him off. “Believe that?”

“Choose your words carefully, Marlowe.” He leaned forward, hand flat on the table. “You’ve no idea what I can do.”

“Right, right, right.” I smirked. “Bet.”

“Why am I here?” Guy leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, voice dripping with disdain. “You’re wasting my time, Marlowe. We had a deal. You stay out of my sight, I stay out of yours.”

“That deal,” I said, voice steady, “went to shit the second you sicced your lapdog on me.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Sarah,” I snapped. “You bailed her out. Planted her in the company. Ordered her to threaten Nala and TechForge.”

“And?”

“And she’s gone rogue,” I said. “Only wants money now. Sold you out.”

“And?”

“That’s why I’ve been digging, Guy. Deep into your personal life. And fuck—you wouldn’t believe what I found. It’s… wow.”

His eyes narrowed, sharp as knives. “What are you saying, Marlowe?”

“Get up,” I said, pointing at the dashboard on the glass wall. “Press that button. Unless you want passersby seeing some unhinged shit.”

“You’re ordering me?” He leaned forward, furious. “How dare you?”

“Guy,” I said, flat. “I’m not moving for your lazy ass. Press it.”

He glanced at Anotta. She raised a brow, silent. The room went still—tension thick enough to choke on. Guy stared me down, searching for weakness. I just looked back, half-lidded, unbothered. Press it or don’t—I’d already won.

He stood, slow, like a good little boy, and walked to the dashboard. Fingers slid down the panel. The glass darkened gradually, tinting black, then locked with a soft beep. He returned, sat, and glared, jaw clenched.

“Good boy,” I muttered, smiling.

He slammed his fist on the table, chair scraping as he shot up, finger jabbing at me. “Do you know who you’re talking to?”

“Sit.”

“I’ll fucking kill you,” he snarled, still standing.

“Sit.”

“Mr. Nolin,” Anotta said, smirking faintly. “Please. Let’s hear Mr. Marlowe.”

Guy exhaled hard, sat, fuming. Perfect. I had him rattled—exactly where I wanted him.

I grabbed the projector remote, clicked it on. The machine whirred to life, fan humming softly. Kim’s laptop desktop appeared—default blue swirl, Nala’s gift to her. I hit play.

The screen went black, then lit up: Emilia’s living room, dimly lit, shadows dancing on the walls. Charlotte stood by the couch, arms crossed, smirking. On the couch, a man—legs folded over his head, tied with thick rope, ass gaping wide, naked. A leather mask hid his face completely. His cock—small, veiny—twitched desperately, pre-cum beading at the tip.

“Char,” Emilia’s voice off-camera, teasing. “Ready, honey?”

“Yep.”

Emilia stepped in, holding a baby bottle full of milk. She chuckled, eyeing the man. He groaned, muffled through the mask, cock throbbing harder.

Charlotte leaned in, slapped his masked face—crack. His dick jerked violently. Emilia rubbed the bottle’s nipple against his hairy asshole, teasing the rim, then shoved it in deep. He moaned, loud and needy, hips bucking involuntarily.

She squeezed. Milk flooded his ass, gurgling audibly.

“Wow,” I muttered, shaking my head.

“Look at baby-boy!” Charlotte laughed, clapping. “Who’s the good baby-boy?”

“She is!” Emilia said, still squeezing, milk overflowing slightly. “Take it all in, baby-boy. Mommies are gonna take care of you tonight.”

I glanced at Guy. He wasn’t watching the screen. He was staring at me. Eyes wide, face red, veins bulging on his forehead like they’d burst. He lunged suddenly, chair toppling.

One of Anotta’s bodyguards caught him mid-stride, grabbed his arm, and slammed him back into the chair with a thud. The other pinned his head to the table, forearm like iron. Guy thrashed, swearing incoherently—spit flying, face purple, veins popping.

Charlotte slapped the man again—crack. Just as she reached for the mask, fingers hooking under the edge, I paused the video. Froze on her grin.

I stood, walked over slow, Anotta’s guards flanking me like shadows. Stopped beside Guy, leaned in close, breath on his ear.

“If I see you again, baby-boy,” I whispered, “you’ll regret it.”

“You—”

“I don’t swing that way,” I cut in, voice low. “But I swear, Guy, I’d bend you over this table and fuck the pride out of you. Mine’s bigger than that baby bottle, though. Careful.”

He roared, tried to swing wild. The guards pinned his arms tight, face smashed into the wood. He kicked, screamed, cursed—words mangled, animalistic, spit pooling under his cheek.

“Sarah,” I said, walking back to my chair, casual. “Leash your dog, Guy. Or this video goes public. Imagine the bodycam footage too. You’d be in a cell. Every inmate knowing the real you. Baby-boy.”

“EVAN MARLOWE!” he screamed, voice cracking raw. “AAAGH! EVAN! EVAN!”

“EVAN! EVAN!” I mocked, changing direction, slamming both hands on the table, leaning in. His head still pinned, eyes wild with rage, tears of fury mixing with sweat.

“IF YOU THREATEN OUR COMPANY OR NALA, I’LL FUCK YOU UP!” I roared, slamming my hands down with each time I said cunt. “CUNT! CUNT! CUNT! CUUUUNT! FUCKING CUNT!”

The table shook. The room echoed, my palms stinging. Guy went limp, panting, defeated, chest heaving. Anotta watched, amused, lips curled. The guards held firm, unmoving.

I sat, anger still rising through me. “Call Sarah. Tell her to stand down. Or the world sees baby-boy get fucking milked.”

He didn’t speak. Just breathed. Hard. Raspy.

“Clock’s ticking,” I said. “Now get the fuck out of here.”

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