Chapter 5

"What the hell are you all standing around for? Stop him!"

"Mr. Miller, put the gun down!"@@novelbin@@

"For fuck’s sake, somebody stop him!"

"Where the hell is the standby team? Restrain him!"

Panic erupted all around them. The scene was complete chaos.

Fucking hell.

Josh swallowed down a curse and ran.

Nothing had changed. Not then. Not now.

Guarding Chase C. Miller wasn’t about protecting him. It was about protecting everyone else from him.

This time was no different.

Josh’s priority wasn’t Chase.

It was the damn paparazzo.

BANG!

"Ahhh!"

A second shot rang out.

Josh screamed.

With a desperate lunge, he managed to wrestle the Desert Eagle from Chase’s grip.

The only problem?

He grabbed the scorching hot barrel.

Pain flared up his palm.

Josh immediately flung the gun away, shaking his burned hand in agony.

"Josh! Shit, are you okay?"

Isaac’s panicked voice rang from behind him.

Josh turned around, still shaking out his injured hand.

By then, the security team had swarmed Chase, trying to hold him back.

His pheromones, wild and overpowering, saturated the air.

Josh was grateful—at least the clashing scents were diluting Chase’s enough that it wasn’t overwhelming him.

"Ugh… Uhhhhh…"

The paparazzo collapsed to the ground, sobbing.

His pants were soaked—whether from sweat, fear, or urine, Josh didn’t care.

Blood streamed down his forehead where a bullet had grazed him.

A grown man, trembling and wailing like a child.

Josh clenched his jaw in irritation.

With his injured hand pressed tightly to his chest, he glared down at him.

"What the hell are you still doing here? Run!"

His voice came out sharper than intended.

The longer that guy stood there, the worse Chase would get.

Even now, Josh could hear fists connecting with flesh as security tried to restrain him.

Taking photos of Chase Miller’s private life?

Either the guy was a complete newbie or a greedy dumbass who valued money over his own life.

There was a reason no one targeted Chase anymore.

A few years ago, a notorious paparazzo had tried to snap naked photos of him.

That man had been bedridden for the rest of his life.

And, of course, Chase never faced any consequences for it.

If anything, it had sparked a nationwide debate on the ethics of celebrity voyeurism.

But right now, that didn’t matter.

The only thing that mattered was getting this idiot the hell out of here.

Josh grabbed the paparazzo by the collar.

"Are you deaf?! GET THE FUCK OUT!"

Something clicked in the guy’s brain.

He scrambled pathetically across the ground, tripping over himself as he crawled away.

Josh gritted his teeth.

At least he’d learned something today.

If nothing else, he would never make the mistake of chasing after Chase Miller again.

A few feet away, the shattered remains of the camera lay scattered on the pavement.

Josh eyed it with mild pity.

Cameras like that cost tens of thousands of dollars.

But compared to his life, it was dirt cheap.

His fingers tightened around his injured wrist.

Slowly, cautiously, he turned back.

The situation had settled—somewhat.

The security team had backed off, now that the threat was gone.

Which left Josh face-to-face with Chase.

Fuck.

He almost cursed out loud.

He really hadn’t changed at all.

Even without his pheromones, Chase C. Miller was lethal just standing there.

His violet eyes locked onto Josh.

For once, they weren’t indifferent.

They weren’t glancing past him.

They were looking directly at him.

Josh’s heart slammed against his ribs.

A mix of fear and raw exhilaration surged through his body.

He had barely inhaled, yet it felt like Chase’s scent was sinking into his lungs.

Even though he was in no real danger—

Somehow, his body didn’t believe that.

Every cell in his body was screaming.

And then—

“You.”

It was the first time Chase had spoken to him.

Josh’s mind blanked.

Chase slowly, slowly smiled.

A brilliant, almost angelic

smile.

"Do you have a death wish?"

Nobody spoke.

Nobody moved.

Everyone was watching, waiting to see how this would unfold.

Josh forced himself to swallow the candy still lingering in his mouth.

And answered.

"No."

"Then why the hell did you do that?"

Chase still smiled as he spoke.

It was the kind of bright, youthful grin you’d expect from a teenage boy.

But his hand—

The way his fingers moved so idly—

As if he might reach out and snap his throat at any moment—

Josh’s pulse spiked.

For a brief, insane second, he had the overwhelming urge to let him.

If not for Pete, he might have.

Josh clenched his fists.

At least Chase’s gun was far away.

He wouldn’t shoot him.

Probably.

Josh’s brain whirled.

And then, before he could stop himself, he blurted out—

"Didn’t want you to get dirty."

"…What?"

Chase squinted.

The rest of the security team stared at him like he’d lost his damn mind.

Josh quickly elaborated.

"If you’d shot him at that range, you’d have gotten blood on your face. Your suit would have been ruined."

Chase said nothing.

Just stared.

Josh hesitated—then smiled.

"I figured you wouldn’t want a paparazzo’s blood on you."

For a long moment, silence.

And then—

"Bring it."

Josh blinked.

"…Sir?"

Chase rolled his eyes and tilted his head.

Toward the gun.

Josh hesitated, then moved.

He bent down, picked up the Desert Eagle, and turned back.

His stomach twisted when he met Chase’s gaze again.

As if caught in a trance, Josh slowly extended the gun toward him.

Chase reached out—

And slammed the heavy metal grip against Josh’s skull.

"…!"

"Josh!"

"Josh!"

His vision exploded.

Everything spun.

Pain crashed through his head, followed by a warm, thick sensation sliding down his temple.

Blood.

Dripping onto the floor.

Chase smirked.

"Fucking bastard. Where do you get off running your mouth like that?"

And then, as if bored, he casually tossed the gun into the air—

And caught it.

Before Josh could react, Chase raised it again.

And aimed it straight at his forehead.

Josh didn’t move.

There was no dodging this.

At this range, it was over.

Chase’s finger tightened on the trigger.

Click.

Nothing.

Josh’s breath caught.

Chase frowned and pulled it again.

Click. Click.

The gun was empty.

A ripple of relief rushed through the crowd.

Chase cursed, scowling.

With a growl, he flung the gun away.

Then, before anyone could react, he turned—

And kicked Josh square in the stomach.

Josh collapsed.

Choking.

Vision blacking out.

The last thing he heard was Chase’s voice.

"Load the gun. Useless bastards."

And then, Chase walked away.

Leaving Josh gasping, barely able to breathe.

And that was when he realized—

It had only been one day.

And he still had six months to survive under this fucking mad dog.