Crying and Saying No More Breakups

"Are you still thinking about breaking up?" Vincent Brooks sat at the edge of the bed, gripping Zachary Reed's ankle firmly as he coldly asked the question.

Enraged, Zachary kicked at Vincent, yelling, "You're insane! I don't have time to deal with your madness. Let go of me!"

Vincent's expression remained unchanged, but his grip on Zachary's leg tightened as his brows furrowed slightly.

"Dammit, Vincent Brooks..." Zachary cursed, wincing from the pain.

"I told you, if you keep bringing up breaking up, I'll get mad. Are you ignoring what I said?" Vincent's voice was calm, but the coldness in it was unnerving.

"Why can't I bring it up?! Seven years, and I'm tired of this! Why can't I break up?!" Zachary shouted through tears.

Unlike the cold and composed Vincent, Zachary was hot-tempered, with a deep, gruff voice and a strong, muscular build. He was the type of guy who could explode at the slightest provocation. His handsome, rugged face—coupled with his rebellious attitude and 185 cm height—made him popular with women. But despite his appealing exterior, Zachary couldn't get the upper hand with Vincent, who towered over him at 196 cm and dominated him in every way, both physically and mentally.

Seven years ago, Zachary, cocky and arrogant, had demanded Vincent get on his knees and apologize after they bumped into each other. Of course, Vincent refused, walking away without a word. Furious, Zachary swung a punch at Vincent.

That punch sealed his fate. Vincent taught him a harsh lesson that night.

When Zachary woke up, he had smashed everything in sight in a fit of rage, while Vincent had calmly stood by the bed, getting dressed. Before leaving, Vincent had tossed a credit card at him. The insult was unbearable for Zachary, who was used to being the one throwing money at people.

Zachary couldn't let the humiliation slide. So, he had Feder investigate Vincent, got his address, and stormed over with a baseball bat to settle the score. But each time he went after Vincent, he woke up back in Vincent's bed, more disoriented and angrier than ever.

Zachary didn't back down. He rammed Vincent's car, ambushed him, and did whatever he could to get revenge. But Vincent's bodyguards always subdued him and left him humiliated. Over the course of a year, Zachary wrecked more than twenty of Vincent's cars, only to be slapped with a court summons demanding compensation of billions. He was stunned into silence when Vincent's lawyer informed him he could either pay up or go to prison.

Unable to afford the damages, Zachary had given himself to Vincent as payment. What started as a repayment of debt turned into something else over the years.

Occasionally, late at night, Zachary would sit on the bed, hugging himself, with a confused expression, wondering how his life had come to this—a mix of humor and tragedy that made him both laughable and pitiable.

Even now, after all these years, Zachary had barely made a dent in the debt he owed Vincent. What had started as a creditor-debtor relationship had gradually changed. Neither of them could pinpoint when feelings had gotten involved, but by the time they realized it, seven years had passed.

They had never confessed their feelings for each other outright, but their actions had long since spoken for them.

Everything had been going smoothly between them until they both turned thirty. That's when their families began pushing them into arranged marriages, causing a subtle shift in their relationship. It was around that time that Zachary began occasionally suggesting a breakup, driven by his growing insecurity.

At first, Vincent didn't take it seriously, thinking Zachary was just acting out. But last year, Zachary had run away, and it had taken Vincent a full year to track him down.

Once he had Zachary back, Vincent hadn't let him out of his sight, keeping him tightly bound in their relationship.

"Vincent Brooks, you bastard!" Zachary cried, blindfolded and being manhandled by Vincent. He was furious, but his anger was mixed with despair.

"Are you still breaking up?" Vincent repeated the question in that same cold, emotionless tone.

"I'm not! I'm not breaking up! Damn it, I won't mention it again, alright?!" Zachary finally relented, knowing that Vincent would continue to torment him until he gave the answer he wanted.

Vincent removed Zachary's blindfold, revealing the man's tear-streaked, flushed face.

Zachary refused to look at Vincent, turning his head away in defiance as his tears continued to fall.

Without a word, Vincent scooped Zachary up and carried him to the bathroom.

Zachary didn't dare resist, knowing all too well what would happen if he did.

After cleaning Zachary up, Vincent carried him back to the bed and gently laid him down. Zachary had stopped crying, but his eyes were still red and swollen from the tears.

When Vincent reached over to help Zachary into his bathrobe, Zachary kicked him away and stubbornly put it on himself.

Once dressed, Zachary grabbed a cigarette and lit it, smoking silently as he stared out the window at the dark night.

Vincent, frowning, snatched the cigarette from Zachary's hand, put it out, and tossed it into the trash. He clearly didn't like seeing Zachary smoke.

"What the hell, Vincent?! Who gave you the right to do that?!" Zachary fumed, grabbing a pillow and hitting Vincent with it, his temper flaring up again.

"Do you have a death wish?" Vincent's response wasn't out of anger from being hit; it was because he hated the thought of Zachary slowly killing himself by smoking.

"Mind your own damn business!" Zachary spat, knowing exactly what Vincent meant but lighting another cigarette out of spite. He deliberately blew the smoke in Vincent's face.

Vincent's eyes darkened, and without hesitation, he grabbed Zachary by the jaw.

"Ow, ow, ow! You're gonna break my jaw!" Zachary yelped, immediately losing his bravado. His tough act crumbled in the face of Vincent's strength.

Vincent didn't respond, merely throwing the cigarette away again. He pointed to the bed, signaling for Zachary to lie down.

Grumbling under his breath, Zachary obeyed, though he still pouted as he settled down.

Once Zachary was quiet, Vincent massaged his temples, letting out a sigh of exhaustion as he headed to the bathroom to shower. Soon after, the sound of running water filled the room.

As soon as he heard the water, Zachary sat up and whispered to himself, "I'd be a fool not to run now."

He crept to the door and opened it with a smug grin, only for his face to fall immediately. Standing right outside were Vincent's bodyguards, all staring at him with their usual stern expressions. Their eyes said it all—Zachary had tried this stunt far too many times.

"Move," Zachary growled, his irritation rising.

The bodyguards didn't budge. A few more of them approached, blocking his path completely.

"You think you can stop me?" Zachary shouted, grabbing the front of one bodyguard's shirt.

The bodyguard remained calm, replying in a flat tone, "If you get hurt, lose an arm or leg, the boss won't be pleased."

The implication was clear—if Zachary tried to escape, they'd break his limbs.

Zachary instantly backed down. He knew all too well what Vincent's bodyguards were capable of; he had experienced their skills firsthand seven years ago.

"Oh, you think you can threaten me? I'll have Vincent fire all of you!" Zachary yelled, pointing angrily at them.

Instead of reacting, the bodyguards exchanged a glance. One of them replied seriously, "Please do tell the boss. None of us enjoy chasing you around the world every time you run away."

Zachary was left speechless, his earlier bravado fading. These were the same guys Vincent sent to track him down every time he disappeared.

*Damn that bastard, Vincent Brooks. Can't he send someone else to find me for once?*

Frustrated, Zachary scratched his head but still shot the bodyguards a glare.

"You'd better save your energy for dealing with the boss instead of wasting time with us," one bodyguard said, giving Zachary a gentle shove back inside the room before closing the door firmly behind him. Clearly, there was some personal frustration involved.

Zachary landed on the floor in a daze, staring at the closed door. "You son of a bitch, 49," he muttered, cursing the guard outside.

From inside the bathroom, Vincent emerged, not seeing Zachary in bed. He stepped out into the small hallway.

Seeing Zachary sitting on the floor, Vincent's expression grew colder.

Zachary quickly scrambled to his feet, glaring at Vincent. "What are you looking at?! Never seen someone trip and fall before?"

Vincent ignored Zachary's outburst, grabbing his arm and pulling him back toward the bedroom.

Zachary's bravado quickly turned to fear. "W-wait, what are you doing?!" he stammered.