Chapter - 6
1029 Words
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Gun's brows twitched, a warning flickering in his dark eyes. "It's not about what you want."
Vegas exhaled slowly, keeping his voice calm. "With all due respect, dad, I already have a boyfriend. And i love him."
Gun's lips pressed into a thin line. "Who?"
Vegas met his father's stare, unafraid. "Porsche."
The silence that followed was thick-heavy with something dangerous.
Gun's fingers tapped against his glass, slow and measured. "The main family's bodyguard?" His voice was controlled, but the disgust was clear.
Vegas didn't waver. "Yes."
Gun's patience snapped.
With a sudden crash, the whiskey glass flew across the room, shattering against the wall.
Vegas didn't flinch. He simply stood there, his expression cold, unreadable.
"You will forget that boy," Gun growled, his voice sharp like a blade. "You are a Theerapanyakul. You will obey."
Vegas inhaled deeply, his nails digging into his palms. He wanted to fight, to snap back-but he forced himself to stay composed.
His voice was quiet but firm. "I won't."
Gun's glare darkened. "I want you to marry him, and that's final."
Vegas' breath caught.
Him?
He still didn't know who his father was talking about.
Before he could respond, movement near the entrance caught his eye.
Macau.
His younger brother stood frozen in the doorway, his school bag still slung over his shoulder. His wide eyes darted between them, his grip tightening on the straps.
He had heard everything.
But Macau stayed silent.
He didn't say a word.
He just watched.
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Vegas stormed out of the mansion, his footsteps heavy against the marble floor. His mind was a tangled mess of frustration and anger, but he kept his expression blank, his usual mask of control firmly in place.
The driver was waiting outside, but Vegas ignored him. He needed to be alone. Sliding into his black sports car, he gripped the steering wheel tightly, exhaling through his nose before starting the engine.
He needed a drink first.
Needed the noise, the smoke, the music-the mindless distraction of Inferno.
By the time he arrived at the club, the night was in full swing. The heavy bass vibrated through the floors, neon lights casting shadows against the walls. The scent of alcohol, sweat, and expensive perfume filled the air.
Vegas strode inside, his presence commanding attention as always. The staff greeted him with nervous bows, and guests parted instinctively as he walked past, their whispers barely reaching his ears.
He didn't stop until he reached his private booth-the same one he always sat in, secluded from the rest of the crowd. Dropping onto the leather seat, he waved over a waiter.
"Whiskey. Neat."
The glass arrived quickly, the staff knowing better than to keep him waiting. Vegas took a slow sip, letting the burn ground him. But no matter how much he tried, his father's words still echoed in his head.
"You will marry him, and that's final."
Vegas scoffed bitterly, swirling the amber liquid in his glass.
Marry?
Like hell he would.
His grip tightened around the drink. He needed to clear his head, and there was only one person who could do that.
Pulling out his phone, he scrolled through his contacts before pressing call.
The line rang twice before a familiar voice answered.
"Vegas? "
Vegas exhaled, some of the tension in his shoulders easing at the sound of Porsche's voice.
"Come to the club." he said, his tone lower than usual.
Porsche hesitated. "Now? It's late-"
"I need you," Vegas cut in, his fingers tapping against the glass. "Just come."
There was silence on the other end.
Then-Porsche sighed.
"I'll be there in twenty."
The call ended.
Vegas smirked slightly, though it lacked its usual sharpness.
Twenty minutes.
Just twenty minutes, and Porsche would be here.
---
Porsche arrived at Inferno exactly twenty minutes later.
Vegas saw him the moment he stepped inside-his sharp gaze scanning the club, his expression unreadable. The dim lighting cast shadows over his face, but Vegas knew him well enough to catch the flicker of unease in his eyes.
He waved him over.
Without hesitation, Porsche slid into the seat across from him, leaning forward with his arms crossed.
"You sounded serious," he said, voice steady, but Vegas noticed how his fingers curled slightly against his sleeves. "What's going on?"
Vegas exhaled, setting his whiskey glass down.
"My father," he said slowly, "wants me to get married."
Porsche stiffened for a fraction of a second. It was subtle-almost imperceptible-but Vegas caught it. The way his lips parted slightly, the way his shoulders tensed before he forced himself to relax.
Porsche let out a short, hollow laugh. "And?"
Vegas clenched his jaw. "And I don't want to."
Silence.
The heavy bass of the club pulsed around them, but it wasn't enough to drown out the shift in the air.
Porsche leaned back, trying to keep his expression neutral. "Who is it?" he asked, his voice carefully controlled.
Vegas shook his head. "I don't know. He didn't say a name. Just that it's the son of someone important."
Porsche forced another chuckle, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Damn. That's rough."
Vegas didn't miss the way Porsche's gaze flickered downward, his fingers tapping against the table as if trying to steady himself.
"I don't care who it is," Vegas muttered, his voice sharp with frustration. "I'm not doing it."
Porsche swallowed. "And what, you called me here to tell me that?"
Vegas looked at him then, really looked at him.
Porsche's usual teasing smirk was missing. His shoulders were too rigid. His voice was too light.
Vegas felt something tighten in his chest.
"No," he said quietly. "I called you because I needed to talk to someone who actually listens."
Porsche's lips pressed into a thin line. He nodded once but didn't say anything.
Vegas picked up his whiskey again, downing the last of it before setting the glass back on the table with a soft clink.
"I'm not going to marry anyone other than you," he muttered. "I'll make sure of it."
Porsche still didn't speak. He only looked away, staring at the crowd, his fingers curling into a fist beneath the table.
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- Writer
