You Brat ! ! !

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POV: Jes

Jes was neck-deep in meetings.Back-to-back, hour after hour, number after number.He hadn't even eaten lunch, barely touched the espresso someone left on the side table, and had ignored every minor distraction in the hope of pushing through just one more file, one more approval, one more phone call with the Tokyo office.

Still, somewhere between powerpoints and purchase orders, he found his thoughts drifting.

Maybe, he thought, when I get home, I'll eat something. Finally sit down. Maybe even with him...

He hated calling him "my husband"—the title felt weird, too fake for how real the legal documents made it sound.

But still.The boy was loud, dramatic, bratty beyond comprehension—And yet, something about him stuck.Maybe Jes could use the evening to ask a few things. Learn about the kid. Establish a base.Not romance. Not even friendship.Just something... neutral. Civil.So they could survive the year without emotionally murdering each other.

With that thought, Jes pushed through his final meeting, set aside his notes, and finally took a breath.

It was just after four when he sat back at his desk, pulling up his inbox to skim through mail, still thinking about what kind of takeout would look least awkward eaten across from a man who once accused him of "stubble-related trauma."

And then Job strolled in.

Jes didn't look up immediately—he could sense Job's energy like a glitch in the system. Too casual.Too quiet.

But then he caught his friend sitting down across from him, phone in hand, staring at the screen with an expression Jes couldn't quite read.

Jes raised an eyebrow.

"What? What's with the face? Did your house burn down?"He chuckled at his own terrible joke, finally leaning back in his chair.

Job didn't laugh.

He looked up slowly, eyes wide, voice flat.

"No."He flipped the phone around, showing Jes the screen.„But I think yours did."

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POV: Bible

After Jes left for work, listing off every imaginable "don't"—don't leave the house, don't mess with the garage, don't touch the security system, don't speak to strangers, don't crash his Bugatti—Bible had sat down on one of the couches with a heavy sigh and the full weight of his new fake-married prison sentence settling in his chest.

"This feels like jail," he muttered, staring at the ceiling.And the worst part?It was only Day One.

Still, he tried.Really.He started with the basics—what he assumed were safe zones according to Jes's ridiculous house rules.One hour at the gym.One hour laying by the pool.One hour attempting to read a book that looked expensive enough to be decorative.And one solid hour pacing around the house, checking every corner, every piece of overpriced architecture, every niche vehicle Jes had locked in the showroom-like garage.

By midday, he was eating a small snack under the sun, shirt half-unbuttoned, sunglasses on, trying to channel "I'm fine" energy—when his luggage finally arrived.He considered unpacking himself.Didn't even get the chance.By the time he walked inside, everything had already been organized and folded into place with robotic precision by someone in the background.

The house was mostly quiet.The cleaner, a nice older woman, laughed at his terrible jokes and offered him fresh towels.The gardener trimmed the hedges in complete silence.A delivery guy dropped off some envelopes and nodded politely.

It was a normal day.Calm.Organized.

Which, for someone like Bible, meant: existential crisis was loading.

Because Bible didn't just sit around.He didn't "enjoy the quiet."He lived fast—bikes, tracks, noise, adrenaline.This wasn't his rhythm.This was punishment.

By 2PM, sunburned and bored out of his mind, he lay with his legs dipped into the pool, phone in hand, sunglasses pushed up on his head, as he dialed the only two people who could possibly understand the chaos forming in his bones.

"Guys... what are you doing?" He asked it like he was stranded on an island.

"We're at the racetrack." JJay's voice came through the speaker with wind in the background and the unmistakable sound of engines.„Come join!"

"I can't." Bible muttered.„It's my first day here and Jes said I should stay put. Like. Stay here. Period."

There was a beat of silence.

Then both Mio and JJay exploded.

"HAHHAHAHAHA—wait—"JJay gasped."Your husband told you to stay home and you actually did it?!"

"And his wife obeys!!"Mio howled in the background.

Bible flopped onto his back like he'd been shot.

"It's not funny. I'm gonna die of boredom. Time's not even passing—it's like... it's stretching. Like some horror movie where you're stuck in the same minute forever."

He let out a deep sigh and stared at the sky. He hadn't even made it through one full day. And he already wanted to set something on fire.

"I wish I could watch the race though..."Bible sighed, eyes closed, toes still dipping in the water like he was mourning his freedom.„Also wanted to beat my record today. But guess what? I'm stuck here. In this oversized prison. For the next year."

There was a pause. Then Mio's voice came through the phone, full loyalty, full mischief.

"Bro. You know we love you. We'd never let you rot in a mansion like that. What can we do to help our dear emotionally imprisoned friend?"

Bible's eyes opened slowly. The gears started turning.

"Well..." he muttered.„Rules are made to be broken, right?"

"Ehhh..." JJay said with a dramatic wince.„Maybe not broken. Maybe just... loopholed."

Bible sat up straight, energized.

"Bro. You're a genius. I kiss your forehead right now."

"Okay then." JJay sounded serious now.„Tell us. What are the exact rules?"

Bible inhaled like he was about to deliver sacred text.

"Okay. There's a lot. Like—a lot. But the big ones? Don't leave the house. Don't talk to the press. Don't embarrass him publicly."

There was a long, thoughtful pause. Then JJay said it.

"So... what about a party?"Bible hesitated. Shoulders sank again.

"No parties. That one he said loud and clear. Definitely no parties."

Then Mio's voice slid in like a devil on his shoulder.

"Okay... but what about a motorbike race?"

Bible blinked. „A race?"

"Yeah. Like, a little one. Friendly. Casual. You didn't leave the house. No press. Just bikes and bros."

Bible's brain did a backflip. He sat up fully now, eyes lighting up like he'd just been reborn.

"He never said I couldn't ride my bike. He never said no guests. And he definitely didn't say anything about racing around the fountain."

A grin spread across his face.

"Oh my god... this could work. This could be so lit. The driveway has a perfect loop around the fountain—we can set up cones, a track layout, a start line—holy shit, I've got ideas. SO many ideas."

"We're already sending out the invites."JJay's voice came through, followed by Mio's evil laugh in the background.

"Okay—but no crazy crowd, alright? Just a few people, you know, low-key—"

"Yeah, yeah. Totally. Just a few."

They both said that at the same time.Which, coming from them, meant this thing was already spiraling out of control.Bible grinned wider, chest rising with excitement.

"Alright boys. Let's build a racetrack around this palace. And pray Jes never checks his security cams before sunset."

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POV: Jes

Isn't that... your fountain?" Job's voice cut through the quiet like a slow bullet.

Jes didn't answer. He was too busy staring at the screen, jaw clenched, trying to process the reality glitch happening in front of him.The video on Job's phone was unmistakable.

The angle. The palm trees. The white marble.The goddamn fountain.

Jes leaned in, eyes narrowing. And there he was.

Bible.On a motorbike.Doing circles around the center of Jes's pristine, imported, handcrafted, holy fountain—yelling, cheering, sunglasses reflecting chaos, a crowd of shirtless idiots screaming in the background like it was MotoGP 3000.

Jes didn't blink.

"He is so dead."

He stood up so fast his chair screeched back, grabbing his jacket mid-movement and storming toward the elevator.

"WAIT—wait, I want to see it live!"Job shouted, already grabbing his phone and sprinting after him with the speed of a man who lived for secondhand drama.

Jes didn't answer.He stomped through the lobby, fury radiating from every sharp step, slid into his car without a word, and Job dove into the passenger seat.

They sped off, tires screeching.

"Where did you find that video?" Jes asked through gritted teeth, hands clamped around the steering wheel like it had personally betrayed him.

Job tried—really tried—not to sound amused.

"Well... I was scrolling. You know. Social media."Jes shot him a look.Job cleared his throat."And since I do follow your wife—"Jes flinched."—I saw what his friends posted. It's everywhere. Insta, X, even Facebook somehow. They made this whole... digital flyer. With a logo. It said 'Fountain GP: House Arrest Doesn't Mean Slow.'"

Jes blinked twice.

"I told him. I explicitly said. No. Parties."He gripped the wheel harder."No parties, no guests, no motorbikes—and somehow he found a way to combine all of them into one flaming middle finger."

Job turned his head to hide the smile threatening to ruin him. This was better than reality TV. Jes, who usually ran like a machine—routine, cold, perfectly aligned—was now swerving through lanes like a man chasing his reputation back.

Job leaned his head back against the seat.

"Honestly," he mumbled, half to himself, "this wedding's turning out way more entertaining than I expected."

Jes didn't say anything. He was already planning who to fire, what to confiscate, and how many cones were legally allowed to be shoved up someone's—

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Jes already spotted the dust cloud before he even turned onto the final road.

It hung over the horizon like a storm warning, thick and chaotic, catching the late sunlight like smoke from a battlefield. His jaw clenched. His hands tightened around the steering wheel—leather creaking under his grip—as the sound of engines and trap beats grew louder with every meter.

By the time they reached the front gates of the estate, he slammed the brakes so hard the tires screamed against the pavement, stopping in a dramatic lurch that flung Job forward with a yelp.

"Bro!" Job shouted, clutching the handle."You wanna join the race or kill us both?"

Jes didn't respond. He was already glaring through the windshield, processing the apocalyptic sight that unfolded in front of him.

The massive black iron gates—which were supposed to stay open during the day for staff and deliveries—were shut. But not because of a security issue.

No.

Because someone had turned his driveway into a goddamn motorbike racetrack.

Inside, chaos reigned with the confidence of a professionally mismanaged street festival.Motorbikes tore past every few seconds, looping around the central marble fountain that now looked less like a luxury centerpiece and more like a checkpoint from a racing video game.People were cheering, waving flags, holding drinks, leaning against his cars, filming content like they had rented out the property for an influencer collab.

There were cones.Directional arrows.Folding chairs.Even a hydration table with energy drinks stacked in a perfect pyramid.

Jes watched one guy do a burnout next to a shrub that cost more than most people's apartments.No one even noticed the sleek Mercedes idling at the front gate.

"Wow..." Job muttered, genuinely impressed.He leaned forward, eyes scanning the scene like it was an art installation.„That looks so... professional. And also illegal. But, like, very organized?"He pointed casually toward the center of the driveway."Look—they've even got girls in hotpants waving checkered flags. Are those... sponsors on the bikes?"

Jes didn't blink.

He simply opened the car door, stepped out like a man preparing to either sue someone or commit a quiet felony, and adjusted his blazer with slow, surgical precision.

He walked forward—not fast, not rushed, but with the exact energy of someone whose rage had passed the boiling point and now sat at a low, terrifying simmer.

Inside the gates, bikes kept circling.People kept screaming.

And somewhere near the center of the madness stood Bible—megaphone in hand, sunglasses on, one foot on a cooler like he was hosting the Biker Olympics.

Jes exhaled once through his nose.

Bible Sumettikul Tilapornputt had exactly 30 seconds to live.

"BIIIIIBLE!!"

Jes's voice cracked through the chaos like a thunderclap.It wasn't loud.It was violent.So sharp and commanding that even the bass-heavy music seemed to stutter.

Job flinched beside him, visibly startled, hand instinctively gripping the air like he expected shrapnel.A few people turned. One biker actually stalled mid-turn.

But Bible?

Bible turned like a man who'd just heard his death sentence.

He squinted across the courtyard, one hand pushing his sunglasses up as if he didn't trust his eyes—as if there was a chance this could be a mirage and not, in fact, the walking embodiment of rich-man rage standing at the edge of his own property.

But it wasn't a mirage.

And Jes looked like a goddamn storm—arms crossed, muscles visibly flexing through the strained fabric of his shirt, jaw set so tight it looked like it could crack glass.His stare was lethal. It wasn't just disappointment.It was silent, burning judgment wrapped in rage and tied with a bow of pure "you better explain yourself."

Bible swallowed.Hard.Then walked slowly—like a kid who had crashed his dad's Bentley into a food truck—over the track, each step heavier than the last.

By the time he stood in front of Jes, he looked like he'd shrunk two inches.Still in full biker outfit—red racer jacket, tight black leather pants, gloves halfway off, sweat glistening on his forehead.

Jes looked him up and down. Bible didn't breathe.Jes's voice was low.Sharp.Clipped.

"What. Are you doing. Here?"

It wasn't a question.It was a verbal guillotine.

Bible tried to smile. Failed.

"Well... it kind of... escalated?"His voice was two octaves higher than usual.It was the voice of a man begging the universe to rewind time.

Jes blinked slowly.„Kind of?"

His tone was dangerously quiet now, so soft it was somehow more threatening than yelling.

Bible opened his mouth, probably to deliver another doomed excuse—

And then.As if the situation needed help getting worse—

A girl in short shorts and a tiny tank top came running out of the crowd, ponytail swinging, stilettos clicking.

Before Bible could react, she launched herself into his arms—legs wrapped around his waist, arms around his neck like a clinging koala in glitter.

"My number one~"she giggled again, lips right against his jaw."You said I could ride next—"

Jes raised a hand.Not a slap. Just a gesture.The kind that said shut. the. hell. up. without needing words.

She quieted.Even she felt it now—The shift in air pressure, like a nuclear warhead about to hum.

Jes stepped forward, calm, too calm, so calm it made Bible's stomach sink.

"You—"he said, voice low, tight,"have exactly ten seconds to get her off you."

Bible opened his mouth—

"Nine."

The girl giggled again, awkward this time, like maybe this wasn't as flirty as she thought.

"Eight."

Bible tried to peel her off.

She clung harder.

"Seven."

Jes's jaw twitched, his eye twitched, possibly the whole damn earth twitched—

"Six."

"OKAY—OKAY GET OFF—GET OFF NOW—"Bible shrieked, flailing like a cartoon character caught in quicksand.

He finally peeled her off and practically threw her to the side like a cursed scarf.

Jes didn't say another word.He just moved.

Two steps forward.One arm under Bible's knees.One arm around his back.And up.

"Wha—HEY—HEY!!"Bible squealed as he was thrown over Jes's shoulder like he weighed nothing more than a sack of stupid decisions.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING—PUT ME DOWN—THIS IS KIDNAPPING—"

Jes didn't flinch. He stomped straight through the crowd, past the fountain racetrack, past the girls in hotpants who were now whispering "Is that the husband?"

"PARTY'S OVER!" Jes barked like a military general.

"EVERYONE OUT. NOW. OFF MY PROPERTY. I SWEAR TO GOD IF ONE OF YOU TOUCHES MY CARS—"

Bible was still wriggling, kicking lightly in the air, slapping his back like a bratty cat being carried away from the fishbowl.

"I CAN WALK BY MYSELF, I'M AN ADULT—JES—JEEEEEES!!"

Jes didn't slow down.

He made it to the front door, kicked it open like an action movie scene, stormed into the entryway, and only then—

only then—dropped Bible onto the floor like a mistake he regretted ordering online.

"You've got five seconds to explain," Jes said, voice low, eyes burning,"before I do something deeply satisfying and legally questionable."

Bible blinked up at him from the marble.

"...Do you maybe wanna shower first?"

Jes inhaled through his nose.

Job, still outside, muttered to himself:"I really should've recorded that."

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POV: Author

HEHEHEHEH OMG HELL—IT'S CHAOS, BABY!! 🔥

Today? FLYING TO BANGKOK.I—I—I will be documenting EVERYTHING like it's my own manhwa arc.So if you're nosy curious lovingly invested, I'll be posting updates on X (NovaSese) 💅📱See you in the sky, chaos children