[BL] Bound to My Enemy: The Billionaire Who Took My Girl-Chapter 31: The Spare

NOAH

The phone buzzed in my hand.

EVIL JERK

The name burned on the screen like a verdict already passed.

I stared at it, watching it ring.

My thumb hovered over the answer button.

But I couldn’t press it.

Couldn’t bear the sound of his voice. Couldn’t take whatever command or punishment he’d decided I deserved next.

I shoved the phone into my pocket and stormed out of the kitchen.

"GET BACK HERE!"

My father’s voice detonated behind me, furious enough to shake the walls.

"DON’T YOU DARE WALK AWAY FROM ME!"

I kept going.

"Noah!" My mother now, frantic, trembling. "NOAH!"

I didn’t turn around.

Didn’t give them that last glance.

Just grabbed my jacket from the hook by the door, slung my bag over my shoulder... the bag with the unopened birthday gifts still inside, pointless and untouched.

"YOU’RE DEAD TO ME!" my father roared behind me. "DO YOU HEAR ME?! DEAD TO ME!"

My fingers closed around the front door handle.

"Good riddance."

Nick’s voice.

Softer than our father’s. Almost casual.

But soaked in poison.

Dripping with delight.

I yanked the door open and stepped outside.

The door slammed shut behind me with the harsh, echoing finality of a coffin sealing.

The cold night air hit me like a blow. It was sharp and unforgiving.

It sliced through my jacket, my clothes, straight to bone. The wind howled, lashing my hair across my face, making my eyes burn.

But the silence was the part that broke me.

After all the shouting, all the fury, all the chaos...

Nothing.

Just the wind whispering through empty branches.

The faint hum of cars somewhere far away.

The muffled pulse of music from a house that wasn’t mine.

I stood there on the porch, breath shuddering out of me in short, uneven gasps, hands trembling uncontrollably.

My phone buzzed again in my pocket.

Then stopped.

I pulled it out with trembling fingers.

9:47 PM

One missed call.

And then, right as I stared at the screen, a new text appeared.

Evil Jerk: Pick up your phone.

I just stared at the message for a moment, the words blurring slightly, the cold burning at my eyes more than the wind ever could. Then I shoved the phone back into my pocket and started walking.

The neighborhood was quiet in that eerie, indifferent way that made everything feel hollow. Streetlights threw long, distorted shadows across the empty sidewalks. Houses glowed softly from within, windows lit with warm colors. You could almost imagine people laughing inside, talking, living their normal Saturday nights—families who were whole, who loved each other, who wanted each other around.

People who belonged somewhere.

Somewhere I couldn’t touch.

I walked without thinking, without a destination, just putting distance between myself and that house—those walls, those voices, those people who had made it abundantly clear that I was nothing to them.

My ribs hurt with every breath I took. There was a sharp, stabbing pain on my side where Nick’s fists had landed earlier. I pressed a hand against the aching spot, wincing as the muscles tightened beneath my palm. The bruises were already forming; I could feel the heat radiating through the fabric of my shirt.

My knuckles were split open and bleeding. The skin around them was raw, torn from where they’d connected with Nick’s face. Each throb reminded me that I’d lashed out, that for a moment I’d actually fought back.

My cheek still burned from my father’s slap. The skin there felt hot and swollen, like it might crack if I moved it too much. Every tiny shift of my jaw made the bruising flare.

But none of that physical pain compared to the heaviness spreading through my chest. It felt like something essential had been carved out of me and left bleeding in that hallway. A hollow space, gaping and cold, where something used to live.

I lost them a long time ago.

The realization didn’t creep in—it slammed into me with the force of something I should’ve known years ago.

Not tonight. Not because of the words my father screamed. I’d lost them long before this.

Maybe I’d never had them at all.

Memories I didn’t want and never asked for pushed their way into my head anyway. Birthdays where Nick’s name took up nearly the entire cake in proud, careful frosting while mine looked like it was squeezed into whatever space was left. Parent-teacher conferences where every question had been about Nick—his grades, his achievements, his future—while they barely skimmed over my report card.

And every time I brought home a trophy or certificate, every time I dared to be proud for even a second, they greeted me with the same dismissive question: "Why not first place?"

I wasn’t their son. Not really. Just the extra one. The replacement. The reminder of everything they didn’t get the first time with Nick.

My phone buzzed again.

I pulled it out, not because I didn’t know who it was, but because the sound felt like a needle in my skull.

Evil Jerk

The name flashed insistently, the kind of name you put in your phone when you’re trying to protect yourself from someone you can’t afford to push away.

I let it ring.

As I stood under a flickering streetlight, the bulb humming like it was struggling to stay alive, something even heavier settled over me... another truth that hurt worse than the bruises.

She was never mine to begin with.

Lila.

God. Lila.

How long had she been sleeping with Nick?

Months?

Years?

My mind sprinted backward through every moment we had, every memory suddenly turning sour, unraveling under the weight of suspicion I could no longer ignore.

All those times she’d cancelled dates last minute... "Sorry, babe, work emergency!"... had she been rushing to meet Nick instead?

Her phone always face-down on tables, screens dark, never letting me see who was texting.

That time she’d come back from "yoga" smelling like cologne. Expensive cologne. I’d asked about it and she’d laughed it off, said someone at the gym must’ve been wearing too much.

But it was Nick’s cologne, wasn’t it?

His scent all over her.

While I kissed her hello. While I told her I loved her. While I planned to fucking propose.

"I thought she saw me," I whispered to the empty street.

My voice barely sounded like mine. Thin. Fractured. Like something that had been dropped too many times.

"I thought someone finally saw me."

The words scraped out of my throat, and the cold swallowed them whole.

But I was just a fucking idiot.

A fool.

A placeholder holding the spot until something better walked by. And something better had walked by.

Nick.

Of course it was Nick. It was always Nick.

I’d trusted her. Trusted her smile, her voice, her promises, the way she held my face like I mattered. But all she ever did was look me dead in the eye and lie. Lie so easily that it almost felt like affection.

And I’d believed every bit of it.

Every. Single. Time.

"And I thought Cassian was the first," I muttered, not even sure why I was still talking, not sure who I was trying to convince.

A laugh escaped before I could stop it. Bitter. Empty. It tore at my throat on the way out.

"God, I’m such a fool."

My phone rang again.

Evil Jerk

The name glared up at me, almost sneering. Like even my phone knew I was pathetic.

Another wave of shame rushed up my neck, thick and burning. My skin felt too tight, too hot, like everything inside me was swelling and cracking at once.

Nick’s voice echoed in my skull: "You don’t seriously think you earned that position on merit, do you?"

My hands curled into fists so hard the cuts on my knuckles stung.

It was worse than he thought. So much worse.

Because I hadn’t just failed to earn that position.

I’d traded myself for it.

I’d offered my body because I had nothing else of value to offer. I’d handed over my freedom, my name, my pride... piece by piece.... until nothing was left but what Cassian wanted.

I’d let him use me like some disposable thing he could bend and break.

On my knees in his office, choking on him while he held my jaw and looked down at me like the arrangement was natural. Expected. I’d felt the tile dig into my bones, felt the humiliation eat through my chest, but I’d stayed there. Taken it. Because he wanted it. Because I needed him to want me in some way, even if it was the worst way possible.

"I earned it by selling my dignity," I whispered. The words tasted rotten. Like something spoiled sitting on my tongue.

The phone kept ringing.

I stared at the screen, at the name, at the insistent buzzing that felt like a hand tightening around my throat.

And suddenly I wasn’t on the street anymore.

I was back in that alley.

Drunk. Angry. Half-blind with heartbreak. Swinging at a stranger because I couldn’t stand the quiet truth pulsing in my skull... that Lila had left me for someone better. That she’d chosen an upgrade and I’d known, deep down, that she was right to.

Some pathetic part of me had sensed it all along: I wasn’t enough. Not for her. Not for anyone.

Even now, even after learning about Nick, after seeing how easily he’d taken everything from me...

I couldn’t blame her.

Admitting that made something twist painfully in my chest. My ribs felt too tight, my lungs refusing to fill, like the air didn’t want me either.

Because Nick is better.

He always has been better.

Smarter. Stronger. More successful. More put-together. More attractive. More wanted.

Everything I wasn’t. Everything I’d never be.

Of course she chose him. Everyone chooses him.

The truth settled over me like a weight dropping onto my shoulders, heavy, suffocating, inescapable.