Chapitre 118: He Was Fucked

The sight of Brett lounging on his sofa, as if he owned the place, sent a wave of icy anger through Chris. It had been just days since their last unsettling encounter, and Chris had hoped stupidly that he'd seen the last of him. He had even changed the locks, a futile attempt to keep the man out of his life. Clearly, it had not worked.

"What are you doing here?" Chris demanded, his voice sharp, as he stepped into his living room. The air was thick with the scent of Brett's expensive cologne, an unwelcome intrusion into his personal space.

Brett smirked, a slow, predatory smile spreading across his face. "Relax, Chris," he said, his voice smooth as silk. "I just wanted to have a little chat."

"We have nothing to talk about, I don't want to chat with you," Chris retorted, his anger rising. "Get out of my house."