CHAPTER 466: CHAPTER 466: SAME OLD SHIT (PART 6)

Don’s words didn’t just land—they reverberated. The weight in them lingered, pressing down on the room until no one dared breathe too loud.

Winter stood beside him, face as unreadable as glass. Trixie had slinked off mid-threat, now stretched lazily along the bar counter, tail flicking with slow irritation, as though none of this mattered more than her nap.

Valerie’s eyes cut to Johnny. The look she gave him was full of worry, a fracture in her otherwise hard front.

Johnny looked worse. His swagger had been stripped clean away, leaving him pale and stiff, like someone had dropped ice down his spine. He knew exactly what Don’s words meant.

But that money wasn’t his alone—it was promised, owed, already spoken for. Men in his world didn’t forgive missed payments.

For a fleeting second, one might almost pity him. Don didn’t.

The ultimatum hung there, unshaken. Johnny looked like he was weighing it, but there was no real choice. One path was immediate death. The other—maybe delayed death. His jaw flexed as he bit down on his lip, forcing himself to lower his head.

"I understand," he muttered, voice low. "Can we leave now?"

It likely took every ounce of restraint not to spit venom with it. But he knew another outburst could see Don take more from him—accounts, assets, even lives.

Anger swirled beneath his lowered head, but he masked it the only way left: submission.

Don waved him off with a flick of his hand, already turning toward the stairs. "Go ahead."

His voice had returned to casual disinterest, like Johnny wasn’t even worth another glance.

Winter fell in behind him instantly, footsteps light against the floor. Madam Lily hesitated. Her eyes lingered not on Don’s retreating back but on Johnny, catching the raw anger burning in his stare as he watched Don ascend.

Despite the heat in his eyes, Johnny didn’t speak. He just turned to Valerie and said through clenched teeth, "Come on... let’s leave."

Valerie’s gaze tracked Don one last time, cautious, before she shifted toward Ash. The hateful glare she leveled at her promised there would be another round. Ash only smirked in answer, arms still crossed.

Johnny and Valerie left without another word. No swagger. No bravado. Just silence.

The weight that had pressed down on the room thinned with their absence. The excitement bled out of the air.

Don’s focus, however, never strayed from his original reason for being there. Work.

Upstairs, the office door clicked shut behind him. shhk~

Lily followed, smoothing her sleeves as though nothing had been disturbed. Ash trailed after, shoulders loose but eyes still bright from the exchange.

On the ground floor, Winter remained with Trixie and the gathered girls, her gaze scanning the space with detachment. Trixie rolled once along the counter before sprawling flat again, tail lazily curling.

In the office, Don settled into the chair behind the desk, one hand running along the edge of the stacked renovation files. "What’s the status."

Lily stepped forward, posture perfectly controlled. She moved through her report with professional clarity—renovation milestones, supply delays, schedules for finishing the upper floors.

Don leaned back slightly, eyes on her but mind sorting through the details.

Ash finally broke in, arms crossing tighter. Her words dragged out with reluctance, but she spoke them anyway. "A lot of the Riders quit. Walked off without saying anything." Her jaw twitched once. "Didn’t bother to tell me. Just gone."

She hated admitting it. The supposed leader left holding scraps.

Don wasn’t surprised. "Expected." His tone stayed flat. "Those that remain will adapt. Those that can’t won’t matter."

The words weren’t cruel, just matter-of-fact. He didn’t look at Ash to see the sting they left—his focus was already back on the files.

———

The meeting wrapped in less than half an hour. Don closed the file on the desk, pushed it aside, and stood. Neither Lily nor Ash lingered with more to add—both fell in behind him as the trio returned to the ground floor.

The main floor had changed tone. The worker girls were spread across the poles, practicing moves in pairs, correcting each other’s grips and angles with murmured cues.

The music wasn’t on—only the sound of skin against chrome, the creak of the stage floor, and the occasional breathy laugh when someone slipped and caught themselves.

Trixie had claimed her perch again on the bar counter, tail swaying back and forth like a lazy metronome as her eyes tracked the girls with feline disinterest.

Winter stood closer, not just watching but analyzing—the rhythm of their bodies, the efficiency of their holds, the difference between practice and performance. When Don appeared at the foot of the stairs, her head turned immediately.

Trixie hopped down from the counter with a neat thud~ and padded over. Winter bent smoothly, scooped her up, and turned toward the exit. Don followed, his pace unhurried, Lily and Ash shadowing him like attendants.

At the doors, he stopped.

"Next time someone tries to mess with my business," he said, voice level, "you call."

He paused, eyes flicking from Lily to Ash. "Or I’ll hold you both accountable."

No more. He turned, already set on leaving.

The words lingered, leaving behind something lighter than fear but close to it. Neither of them would mistake it for empty threat.

He hadn’t raised his voice or shown teeth, hadn’t become the embodiment of menace the Predator was—but that was what made it worse. His calmness left no margin for appeal.

Lily dipped her chin, her tone velvet even now. "I do apologize, sir. I didn’t want to interrupt you with my problematic past dealings... it won’t happen again."

Ash gave her a sidelong glance, the corner of her mouth twitching like she was choking back a scoff.

Don was tempted to share the feeling. Her practiced submissiveness, her polished apologies—it wore thin. Too easy to read, too quick to spin. But he wasn’t in the mood to peel back her layers tonight.

"We’ll see," he said.

No goodbyes followed. He stepped out, the morning air waiting.

Behind him, Lily’s smile stayed plastered on until his figure cleared the door. Only then did it fade, her expression sharpening into something colder, stripped of the act.

The sound of the workers practicing drifted faintly up from the stage.

And Madam Lily stood still in the doorway, eyes fixed on nothing, calculating.

———

Leaving the Deadly Damsels behind, Don drove Winter and Trixie home. The cat sulked the whole way, her tail swishing across the seat in complaint. She only eased off when Don promised her a "snack" upon his return.

Her reply had been instant—"an offer I can’t refuse."

With that settled, he dropped them off and pulled back onto the road.

The streets stayed busy even as it became late morning, but Don’s mind turned elsewhere. Elle. The arrangement still felt strange—him at home with Trixie, yet not anchored the same way as before.

’I hope this works out...’

The thought lingered as he turned.

Time remained before he was due to meet Xiao, so Don took a detour. A few minutes later, he rolled up to the familiar gates of Chanel Hills.

The community looked unchanged: clean lanes, hedges cut neat, and so on. Yet Don no longer belonged here. His name had weight—but not the kind that bought him entry. After the last incident, he was nearly refused at the gate.

It took the old guard—one who remembered him from before—to step in, wave him through, and tell the others to let him pass.

He drove slow, Mustang’s growl clear as he turned down the street toward Donald’s house. Construction clutter lined the curbs of his old home: stacked boards, tarps draped across scaffolding, contractors’ vans taking up half the lane.

The Mustang’s presence didn’t go unnoticed.

Children dotted the street—clusters of them on lawns, two little girls pedaling tricycles across the sidewalk, and a few boys swerving along the asphalt on their bikes.

Since the restrictions had only recently been lifted, parents weren’t eager to send their children far from home yet. A safe cage of wealth, keeping its young inside the walls.

The car idled to a stop near the curb. Its low rumble drew heads immediately. Four kids paused—three boys, between six and nine, and the two girls wobbling on plastic wheels.

One of the boys shouted first. "Rev it! Rev it! Yeah, please, rev it!"

Phones appeared, their wide grins aimed squarely at him.

Don’s mouth tugged into a small smile. He obliged.

The Mustang Boss bellowed, deep and raw. VROOOOMM~ The sound rattled the quiet lane, exhaust barking against the trimmed hedges.

The kids went wild, cheering, jumping on their pedals. Don gave them a few more, each roar louder than the last. VROOOM~ VRRRAAAMM~

One of the girls clapped her hands to her cheeks. "Woah!"

Another boy countered quickly, puffing out his chest. "My uncle’s Lamborghini sounds better!"

The spark was enough to set them all off, arguing over which car was king. Don killed the engine, the Mustang dropping back to silence with a soft tick of cooling metal.

He stepped out, boots crunching against the curb gravel. Without looking back at the children’s bickering, he started to walk toward Donald’s property.