CHAPTER 22: THE VILLAIN I BECAME.

Louis’ Point of View

Twelve years of walking in my father’s footsteps.

I couldn’t say I was as pure as I once was — no.

I couldn’t say my cheerful self still existed, or that I was morally intact.

Twelve years in this line of business... constantly with blood on your hands, curses from your victims whispering in your ears — it doesn’t make you the kindest. It makes you a villain. An antagonist in your own story.

One of my greatest fears, when I was younger, was Charles.

Charles finding out.

Charles hating me.

Charles telling me he didn’t want to be with me anymore.

I still secretly fear him discovering this version of me — this cold, tarnished version. I don’t want him to reject me.

It’s been two weeks since I came to Elhurst City — a place full of opportunities. Yet here I was, stuck in the office, surrounded by piles of paperwork that needed my signature.

Bill stood close by, flipping through documents. Michael was busy elsewhere — always busy, always helping. Without him, I’d probably be trapped here the entire day.

I had to handle everything: keep it all under wraps, stay unseen, stay safe. Make sure my business never reached the wrong ears.

I don’t know if this was better or worse. Probably better.

At least Alastair had been giving me updates on Charles.

He said Charles was recovering — slowly, but surely.

He was smiling again. Talking again.

Smiling.

Talking.

I couldn’t.

Every time I thought of him — smiling, laughing — something twisted in my chest. Guilt? Regret? I didn’t know anymore. I wanted to be happy for him, I really did. But some selfish part of me hated that he could heal without me there.

The phone on my desk buzzed, breaking my thoughts.

Michael’s name flashed on the screen.

I sighed, rubbing my temple before answering.

"Yeah?"

"We’ve got a problem," he said. His tone was sharp, cold — the kind that only meant one thing.

I straightened in my seat. "What kind of problem?"

"The kind that bleeds."

---

I wasn’t too worried about the situation — at least, not yet.

But I hoped I could wrap everything up before my so-called one month of work in Elhurst City expired.

I told my family I’d be gone for a while. My mother didn’t like it, but I brushed it off.

Charles... he’d probably feel relieved that I wasn’t around. I’ve always been a heartbreak to him, haven’t I?

And Alistair — my fiancé — well, that was another story. Complicated. Always complicated. I’d promised to spend a week with him, but if this issue turned out to be worse than expected, that promise might crumble too.

The thought bothered me more than I’d admit.

I sighed. "Tell me what happened, Michael."

Michael’s voice came through the receiver, low and heavy.

"Well, Louis... everything’s gone to hell. Every single thing is upside down."

"How?"

"Well, not truly upside down — maybe halfway. Just hear me out."

"Go on."

"The journalist — yeah, that bastard — was a distraction. They used him to shift our attention. Spies, Louis. They’ve been using them a lot lately to draw our eyes away from the main operation."

My grip on the phone tightened. "Which operation?"

He hesitated. "The one with the shipments. The omegas."

I froze.

"We’ve been bringing them in from another country — illegally. They were the test subjects for our new pharmaceuticals before we release them to the market. And..." He exhaled sharply. "We also used their transport to sneak in contraband — illegal drugs — hidden in their bodies. But during the last shipment, our ship got raided by government officials. They found everything."

"Everything?" I repeated, voice low.

"Yes," Michael said. "The officials found the drugs, the products, the... bodies. They’re looking into the company now."

I felt a muscle twitch in my jaw. "I thought we handled that already. We paid them off."

"We did. But this isn’t normal. They don’t just start an investigation unless someone higher up pushed it. This isn’t about morality, Louis. It’s about leverage."

I stood, pacing the room. "So someone’s trying to corner us."

"Exactly," Michael said. "They’re coming for the company — for you. I’ll come to the office right now. We’ll figure this out together."

I paused, staring at the skyline outside the hotel window — Elhurst City glowing beneath the night.

---

Alistair’s POV

I was disappointed.

I fastened my seatbelt and gripped the steering wheel, taking a deep breath before starting the car.

Charles sat beside me, eyes glued to his phone. He was probably texting Anna—or maybe Daniel. I’d figured out those two were his closest companions over the last two weeks. They were always around.

But today, they weren’t coming. Supposedly, they were both busy.

And Mother didn’t want me leaving Charles alone at home—not after the incident last time. She was worried he might hurt himself again.

But Charles looked fine. Better than fine, actually.

He even seemed... happy.

"So, where are we heading again?" he asked.

"That’s a good question," I said with a small smile. "We’re going to my company."

"Your company? What do you do?"

"I supervise things there," I replied.

He frowned. "And what’s the company for?"

"We make home appliances—safe ones. Things that make everyday life easier without putting kids in danger. I built it from the ground up, all on my own. Didn’t want family support. It’s doing well in Gloria, and I’m planning to expand into other states—maybe even Elhurst City."

"That’s impressive," he said softly. "You’re pretty perfect."

I laughed. "I guess that’s what Louis likes about me."

He smiled faintly, sighing a little. The smile though didn’t quite reach his eyes, he then nodded while gazing at his phone.

He laughed—just once. "How old are you again?"

"Why are you asking?" I asked, half amused.

"I’m twenty-one. Louis is twenty-five. You should be, what—twenty-three?"

I blinked. "I’m twenty-seven. Two years older than Louis."

He stared. "You look younger. Like twenty-three. So Louis likes older people now? Makes sense. That makes a lot of sense."

That was... weird.

I forced a polite smile. Normally, Charles would’ve cracked a joke or said something silly about a meme. But lately, since the incident, he’d been quieter. Still not quite himself.

At least he was talking again. That was something.

But for the rest of the ride, he didn’t say another word. Even when he wasn’t on his phone, he just stared straight ahead.

I tried turning on the radio, but he shot me a glare.

So I turned it off.

Silence, then. Silence was easier.