Sweet Love 2x: Miss Ruthless CEO for our Superstar Uncle-Chapter 105: Not Paying

TThe estate followed its usual morning routine.

Staff entered through the side gate. Deliveries arrived and were logged without pause. The sky was clear and bright over the courtyard, with light spreading evenly over the stone and glass. Nothing in the day’s structure showed strain.

Gio stopped at the side entrance before going further into the house. He took off his gloves, put them in his coat pocket, and checked his phone.

Two new emails.

The sender address was unfamiliar. No name attached. No signature.

The subject lines were brief—Draft. Invoice.

He did not open them right away. Instead, he walked down the quieter back hallway and entered the smaller sitting room, which he used as his workspace when he needed privacy. He closed the door behind him but did not lock it, and sat at the narrow desk under the window.

Then he unlocked the screen.

He opened the first email.

No greeting. No introduction. Only one attachment.

He downloaded the file and opened it.

The text was organized into short, direct paragraphs. It looked like a submission for an entertainment site’s anonymous tip box.

Sources indicate that Noah Hart exited a secured filming location through a secondary route following a recent production disruption. The departure did not occur through the main public exit and involved a private vehicle not listed on official production transport logs.

Photographic evidence suggests the movement was coordinated. The identity of the individual inside the vehicle has not been clarified by production representatives.

Production has declined to comment on the nature of the unscheduled exit.

Noah Hart is the only name mentioned. No direct accusations. No speculation presented as fact. The language suggests something unusual but does not claim wrongdoing.

Gio read it once without reacting.

He read it again, more slowly.

"Secondary route." "Private vehicle." "Identity not clarified."

Each phrase built to invite reaction without sounding aggressive.

If sent to a mid-level gossip outlet, it would likely be published within hours. Not a headline—a short column meant to attract clicks, accompanied by a cropped and sharpened photograph.

He closed the document and went back to the inbox.

The second email was shorter.

Monthly transfer. First due Friday. Amount listed below.

The number was specific. Not excessive, not trivial—large enough to matter.

Below it, a final line:

This prevents unnecessary attention.

No punctuation. No threat. Just an implication of causality.

He set the phone face down on the desk and looked out the window. The courtyard was quiet. A staff member walked from the kitchen to the main house with a tray. The gravel driveway showed a faint line of light. The surroundings did not respond to what was on his screen.

He picked up the phone again.

He opened the image file sent the day before.

The crop was adjusted. Tighter framing. Clearer resolution. The vehicle door visible in motion. A partial silhouette inside. The telephoto lens made distance look closer.

The watermark faint along the bottom edge. A freelance photographer’s signature.

He focused on the corner where the timestamp was still visible. The time matched perfectly with the moment filming was interrupted. The view indicated a distance beyond the main barricade.

He quickly looked through several entertainment news sources. No publication had shared the image yet. No insider articles mentioned it. The photograph had not been published.

For now.

He looked at the email again and checked the message header. The address used a disposable domain, no clear sender. The document properties had no author details. 𝕗𝗿𝕖𝐞𝐰𝗲𝕓𝐧𝕠𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝐨𝚖

The setup was calculated.

He opened his banking app and counted silently. One transfer might pass unnoticed. A second would raise suspicion. A third would create a pattern. Gio locked his phone and set it down again. One payment wouldn’t stop anything. It would confirm his leverage.

He reopened the draft email and selected delete.

The email moved to the trash folder.

Documentation mattered more than satisfaction.

He restored the draft, then forwarded both emails to a secondary encrypted archive.

A faint vibration in his hand.

A new message.

Think about it.

No greeting. No elaboration.

He did not respond immediately.

He leaned back in the chair and allowed the silence of the room to settle around him.

If the draft went out, the sequence would unfold the same way it always did. Publication followed by production denial, increased perimeter surveillance, attempts to identify the vehicle occupant.

The name would surface eventually through comparison and persistence.

The draft didn’t need to name anyone. It only needed to suggest there was something to uncover.

He unlocked the phone again and began typing.

What exactly—

He stopped and erased the words.

Clarification would concede ground.

He typed again.

No.

He paused; the single word felt insufficient.

He added:

We will not be paying.

He read the sentence once.

The plural was deliberate—not I, but We.

He pressed send.

The message sent.

He placed the phone face down on the desk and stood. Meltwater ran along the stone edge and disappeared into the gravel. The room stayed the same. Gio left the sitting room and walked down the hallway to his room.

Staff greeted him as usual. He replied in a normal way. His tone remained steady.

Inside his room, he closed the door and opened his laptop.

He searched several freelance photography websites by date and location. After a few minutes, he found the likely source. The watermark matched a photographer known for selling perimeter shots to mid-tier outlets. No exclusive contract listed.

He wrote down the name. The name meant nothing alone. But attached to the image, it meant everything. He memorized it. Then closed the laptop. Not yet.

He did not contact the photographer.

Not yet.

Another vibration.

He turned the phone over.

Your choice.

Nothing more—no escalation, no immediate retaliation. The pause was part of the design. He’d seen this pattern before—in negotiations, in threats, in people who thought pressure worked. It only worked if you showed it did. He wouldn’t.

He set the phone down and resumed working.

For the next hour, he reviewed internal documents related to Rochefort Group’s pending audit. He sent two emails to accounting. Scheduled one call. Approved a revised memo.

His responses stayed precise.

At midday, he stepped outside briefly to take a call regarding vendor contracts. The cold air cleared the edge of the room’s stillness. The sky remained pale. The estate gates stood closed.

When he ended the call, he checked his phone again.

No new messages.

The image stayed archived. The draft unsent. The payment unpaid.

He returned inside.

The day continued in visible order.

Late afternoon light shifted toward evening without announcement. Staff began dimming certain corridor lights. The courtyard grew quieter.

Gio stood near the window in his office and looked out toward the drive.

Nothing approached.

No vehicles idled near the gate.

No unfamiliar figures paused at the perimeter.

The pressure existed only on the screen. He retrieved the phone, scrolled briefly through the thread, then locked the screen and slipped it into his pocket. Outside, frost began to reappear along the edges of the hedges as the temperature dropped. The stone path held the last of the day’s light before surrendering it gradually to shadow.

The estate grounds lay undisturbed.