Chapter 144 Regrets

Chapter 144 Regrets
Chapter 144: Regrets

Chief Kaave sat alone in the wide living room of his mansion, the lights on but the place feeling darker than usual. His phone rested in his palm, the screen lighting up his face every few seconds as he redialed the same number. Each time, the call rang once, then went dead. Rejected. Again. He stared at the screen like it had betrayed him personally.

“Coco,” he muttered, pressing call again. “Pick up.”

The call failed. His chest tightened in a way he wasn’t used to. Chief Kaave had built his life on control, control of people, of money, of outcomes. Silence from Coco was something he had never prepared for. She had always answered. Even when she was angry, even when she was hurt, she answered. This time, she didn’t.

He stood up abruptly, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. “This is not right,” he said to the empty room. He began pacing, slow at first, then faster. His hand went to his chest as his heart started to beat harder than it should. The rhythm felt wrong, uneven, like it was warning him.

“I can’t lose Coco,” he said out loud. “I can’t.”

The words sounded fragile, and that scared him more than anything. He stopped pacing and leaned against the wall, closing his eyes for a brief moment. Images of Coco flashed through his mind, not the sharp strategist, not the fearless woman who handled his enemies without blinking, but the younger version of her. The one who used to sit quietly and listen. The one who believed in him without question.

He opened his eyes and shook his head. “I made her strong,” he said. “I gave her everything.”

But even as he said it, doubt crept in. Had he really given her everything, or had he only taken? He picked up his phone again, scrolling through old messages. Short replies. Instructions. Orders. Very few questions about how she felt. Very few apologies.

Chief Kaave exhaled sharply. “I pushed too hard,” he admitted to no one. “I thought being her father was enough.”

He walked toward the large window overlooking the compound, his reflection staring back at him. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t like what he saw. The man in the glass looked older, thinner, unsure. He pressed his palm against the glass.

“I need to win her back,” he said quietly. “Not force her. Not scare her. Win her.”

The word felt unfamiliar. He had won elections, territories, wars. Winning a heart was different. He turned away from the window and began thinking out loud, his mind racing. “I need to remind her who she is. What we built together. I need to protect her… not control her.”

He picked up his phone again but didn’t call this time. Instead, he opened a note and started listing things: gestures, changes, ways to show trust. The idea of apologizing crossed his mind, and he stopped, staring at the word as if it were dangerous.

“An apology doesn’t make me weak,” he said slowly. “Losing her does.”

For the first time that night, he sat back down, calmer but shaken. Fear still sat heavy in his chest, but now it had direction. Chief Kaave wasn’t afraid of his enemies. He was afraid of losing the one person who had stood beside him when no one else dared.



Vill sat across from Georgiana in a quiet private lounge, his posture relaxed, his expression unreadable. He watched her closely as she stirred her drink without taking a sip. The room was expensive, carefully chosen for discretion, the kind of place where deals happened without witnesses.

“You’ve been quiet,” Vill said casually. “That usually means someone’s thinking too much.”

Georgiana looked up sharply. “You said you’d help me,” she replied. “You didn’t say there would be… ongoing expectations.”

Vill smiled faintly. “I also didn’t say there wouldn’t be.”

She shifted in her seat, discomfort creeping into her voice. “My father trusts me now. That was the deal.”

“And he does,” Vill said smoothly. “Because of what you supposedly did. I just came to collect a small interest. Nothing dramatic.”

She frowned. “What kind of interest?”

“Influence,” Vill said. “Access. And silence.”

Georgiana stiffened. “Silence about what?”

Vill leaned back, folding his arms. “About who really handled Angel. About who pulled the strings. About how fragile your new position actually is.”

Her jaw tightened. “You promised…” 

“I promised to help you win his favor,” Vill interrupted calmly. “And I did. But borrowed power always comes with a return date.”

She stared at him, her hands trembling slightly on the table. “What exactly do you want?”

“For now?” Vill said. “You stay where you are. You listen. You open doors when I ask. And when your father asks questions you don’t like, you redirect him. Simple.”

“And if I refuse?” she asked quietly.

Vill tilted his head, studying her. “Then the truth gets very loud.”

Silence fell between them. Georgiana swallowed hard. She realized then that the praise, the attention, the sudden warmth from her father, it wasn’t earned. It was rented. And the landlord was sitting right in front of her.

“You didn’t give me his love,” she said bitterly. “You loaned it.”

Vill stood up, adjusting his jacket. “Smart girl. You’re learning.”

He leaned closer, his voice low. “Don’t worry. As long as you cooperate, your hands stay clean enough. For now.”

He turned and walked away, a satisfied smile on his face, already planning steps she couldn’t see. Georgiana remained seated, staring down at her hands like they belonged to someone else. They looked the same, but they didn’t feel the same anymore.

As soon as he disappeared from view, she grabbed the bottle on the table and stood up abruptly. She walked quickly to the bar area, ignoring the looks from staff, and twisted the cap open. She didn’t bother with a glass. She lifted the bottle and drank straight from it, coughing slightly as the alcohol burned down her throat.

“I didn’t ask for this,” she whispered to herself. “I just wanted him to see me.”

She drank again, longer this time, letting the sharpness dull the panic building inside her. Her reflection in the mirror behind the bar looked shaken, desperate. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, breathing heavily.

“This is just stress,” she muttered. “I can handle this.”

But even as she said it, she knew something had shifted. Vill hadn’t just helped her. He had claimed a piece of her future. And no amount of alcohol could wash that realization away.

She took another long drink, her hands no longer steady, hoping the burn would quiet her thoughts.

It didn’t.