บททั้งหมดของ Bound By Chaos: บทที่ 21 - บทที่ 30

I wake up already behind.That’s the first thought that slams into me when I blink blearily at the ceiling and realize the light in Emma’s room is already on.My stomach drops.I roll over, grab my phone, and my heart actually stutters when I see the time.“Oh my God,” I whisper, already throwing the covers back.“Emma!” I call, yanking on yesterday’s jeans. “Why are you already awake?”She appears in the hallway like a tiny hurricane, hair sticking straight up on one side, pajamas inside out, holding a stuffed unicorn by the neck.“Because it’s Crazy Sock Day,” she announces.“…What.”“It’s the day where socks are crazy and dont match,” she explains patiently, as if I’m the one who slept through a memo. “See mine? Crazy!”“That’s—” I inhale through my nose. “Okay. Cool. At least we are wearing socks.”She frowns at me like I’ve just personally offended her values.The kitchen is chaos by the time I get there. Emma has somehow dragged a chair to the freezer and is standing on it, try

The house doesn’t sound right.Every step echoes now that half my life is sealed into cardboard boxes with black marker scrawled across them—LIBBY, EMMA, KITCHEN, BOOKS. The living room looks like it belongs to someone else, stripped down and waiting to be handed over. The moving truck hums outside, a steady reminder that this is really happening.Matteo rented it this morning. Didn’t ask. Didn’t hesitate. Just did it. I’m folding sweaters on my bed when he opens my underwear drawer like he owns the place.I don’t even look up. “Close it.”There’s a pause. Then amusement.“Oh,” he says, slow and deliberate. “No. Absolutely not.”I glance over just in time to see him lift a pair of black underwear like he’s considering an investment. “Those go in the very important box.”I roll my eyes. “You are supposed to be helping.”“I am helping,” he says easily. “I’m making sure nothing gets damaged. Emotionally. Or otherwise.”He drops them into the box and reaches for another pair, grinning whe

I’ve overseen shipments that cost more than small countries’ GDPs.
I’ve stood in rooms where men decided whether someone lived or disappeared.
I have stared down enemies who would happily gut me for sport.
None of that prepared me for Libby standing in the entryway of the estate, holding a box labeled EMMA – IMPORTANT STUFF, while Emma herself ricocheted off every surface like a feral pinball.
“IS THIS A REAL CASTLE?” Emma shouts, already halfway down the hall.
“It is not a—” I start, then stop when she skids into the formal sitting room. “Emma, sweetheart, maybe don’t touch—”
“There’s a POOL,” she screams, sprinting past a very expensive sculpture. “AND A GARDEN. AND—IS THAT A MOVIE ROOM?”
“She’s been here before,” I say, more for Libby than for Emma. “For the little pool thing I hosted. She’s just… seeing more of it now. She’ll calm down when she gets used to everything.0
“Yeah!” Emma calls back. “Last time Libby said I wasn’t allowed upstairs or in the fancy rooms. This is the WHO

The door closes behind them.
The apartment goes quiet in that particular way that feels too loud.
I stand there for a second longer than necessary, hand still on the doorframe, like if I don’t move, the moment might rewind itself. Like Libby might suddenly reappear, flushed and smiling, and kiss me again like she did five minutes ago.
Not a peck.
Not a thank-you kiss.
A statement.
I run a hand through my hair and laugh under my breath.
Jesus Christ.
I’ve kissed plenty of women. I’ve been wanted. Desired. Chased. I’ve done the chasing too. None of that is new.
What is new is the way my knees nearly gave out when she whispered in my ear.
What’s new is the way my face heated like I was some teenage idiot instead of a grown man with a reputation.
What’s new is the realization that I didn’t just like that she trusted me.
I needed it.
I walk into the kitchen, still half-dazed, and spot the uneven heart-shaped pancake left behind on a plate. Emma’s doing. Syrup smudge and all.
I stare at it

The bookstore is deceptively calm.
Midday light slants through the front windows, dust motes drifting like everything in the world is exactly where it should be. Luca is behind the counter, sleeves rolled, helping a customer choose a cookbook like this is just another ordinary afternoon.
I hate how convincing it is.
The second the customer leaves, I move closer.
“Anything?” I ask quietly.
Luca doesn’t look up right away. He finishes tapping something into the register, waits until the bell jingles, then reaches into his pocket.
“Yes.”
He pulls out his phone and angles it so only I can see.
The first image hits me like a punch.
Libby’s father.
Older than the last time I saw him in court photos. Thinner. Meaner. That same hollow-eyed stare that makes my skin crawl. The kind of face you don’t forget once you’ve seen it.
The next image is grainier. A security still. Hoodie up. Side profile.
“Local sighting,” Luca says. “Gas station. Two towns over. Yesterday morning.”
My jaw tightens.
“Th