(Samuel's POV)
The dance ended, the music fading into the background, but the effect remained.
I could feel the weight of the stares, the whispers, the envy.
I didn't care.
I stepped away from the crowded dance floor, walking toward the bar, where the world felt quieter.
I took my seat, my fingers wrapping around the crystal glass as the bartender poured another JD, neat.
The aroma of aged whiskey filled the air, rich and smoky.
I closed my eyes for a second, inhaling deeply. Enjoying the silence.
Then—
A familiar presence.
I exhaled slowly, setting my glass down without looking.
I already knew who it was.
Abigail.
Of course, she was coming here.
She had watched dance.
She had seen with Belle.
And now?
Now, she couldn't help herself.
I leaned back slightly, lazily swirling the whiskey in my hand, waiting for her to speak.
Because whatever she had to say—
It wasn't going to change a damn thing.
I didn't even look at her when she approached.
I could feel her hesitation, the way her footsteps slowed as she got closer.
For a woman who had spent years humiliating , she suddenly didn't seem so confident.
I finally glanced up, smirking as I took a slow sip of my whiskey.
"Abigail Bardot, what a surprise. I thought you already booked a room with Joshua."
Her face stiffened, lips pressing together.
I tilted my head, tapping my fingers against my glass.
"Let guess... you want to buy condoms for you two, right?"
Her jaw clenched.
I chuckled, shaking my head. "I think you should make arrangents on your own, because I'm leaving."
I stood up, but she reached for my wrist.
"Samuel, wait—"
I stopped, glancing at her hand on .
Slowly, I turned my erald green eyes toward her, my voice dropping to a dangerous calm.
"Let go."
She hesitated for a second before pulling her hand back.
I took another sip of my whiskey, looking at her like she was a stranger.
Because that's all she was now.
A stranger.
She looked like she wanted to say sothing—
Like she was desperate to explain.
But I didn't care.
Instead, I smirked, leaning slightly toward her, my voice low and sharp.
"By the way, Bardot... thank you."
She blinked, confused. "For what?"
I chuckled darkly. "For aborting my child five years ago."
Her breath hitched, her expression twisting. "Samuel—"
I cut her off.
"Looking at you now, it's confird. You would've been the worst mother a child could ever have."
She took a step back as if I had slapped her.
I finished my drink, setting the glass down gently before stepping past her.
"No child deserves a mother like you, Abigail. No one deserves that curse."
I walked away, not sparing her another glance.
Because whatever we had—died a long ti ago.
Leaving Abigail behind, I walked through the grand banquet hall with ease, my steps steady, my mind clear.
The past? Dead.
The future? Mine to take.
I spotted Henry standing near the balcony, overlooking the city skyline, a whiskey glass in his hand.
Or rather—
Liberty.
I smirked, walking up to him casually.
"Oi, Liberty."
He turned his head slightly, his golden eyes filled with amusent as he took a sip of his drink.
"You only call that when you're in a good mood."
I chuckled, standing beside him. "Maybe because I just told Bardot exactly what she deserved to hear."
Henry smirked, setting his glass down. "And?"
I exhaled, rolling my shoulders. "And now? She's just another face in the crowd."
He nodded, a knowing grin on his lips. "Good. Then let's stop looking back."
I smirked, picking up a fresh glass of whiskey.
"Agreed."
Because tonight—
We weren't n haunted by the past.
We were n who had already won.
I leaned against the balcony railing, the cold London air brushing against my face.
The banquet behind us continued, but my mind was already elsewhere.
I turned to Henry—Liberty.
"Project Hades."** My voice was calm, but there was an underlying edge to it.** "Let's take care of it first, and then we'll decide what to do next."**
He nodded, swirling the whiskey in his glass as he listened.
I exhaled slowly, watching the city lights below.
"If Abigail doesn't divorce , I don't even care anymore." I chuckled dryly. "But she needs to be honest with herself. She likes Joshua, and everyone can see it. But all she cares about is her ego."
Henry took a slow sip of his drink before speaking.
"Well, I've been thinking." He glanced at . "Did the authors of these stories ever finish the novels? Or... are we just here to see the end?"
That made pause.
For a mont, neither of us spoke.
Because deep down, we both knew the truth.
We were supposed to be tragic male leads, humiliated and destroyed.
Yet, here we were—rewriting everything.
Was this world still following a script?
Or had we already broken free?
I smirked, lifting my glass in a silent toast. "Either way, we make our own ending now."
Henry grinned, clinking his glass against mine. "Damn right."
The whiskey burned smoothly down my throat as I took a sip, but the fire in my chest wasn't from the drink.
It was the realization.
The world we were in... it was never ant to be ours.
But we had taken it.
I glanced at Henry, who stood beside , his golden eyes reflecting the city lights.
"No matter what the original ending was supposed to be," I said, setting my glass down, "we've already changed it."
Henry smirked, shaking his head. "And we'll keep changing it until there's nothing left to fight."
I let out a chuckle, stretching my arms slightly. "Well, then, I guess it's ti to clean up the ss."
"Project Hades."
The final obstacle in this world.
The last thing standing in our way.
Henry exhaled, finishing his whiskey. "Let's end it."
And with that, the two of us stepped away from the balcony—
Leaving behind the past, the banquet, and the ghosts that no longer mattered.
Because our story?
It wasn't over yet.
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