Ted imagined their passionate nights together, their connection so strong, but his body remained stubbornly unresponsive. Nothing was working.
In an attempt to shake off the frustration, he started focusing on other images—other fantasies.
He pictured another woman, soone else entirely, hoping the distraction might help him regain control, but even that failed.
He pushed harder, thinking of his sister-in-law, soone who always seed to stir him in the past, but even that didn't help.
He spent several more minutes trying, but each ti, his efforts fell short.
The harder he tried, the more he felt his confidence slipping. His body refused to cooperate.
"Why... why is this happening?" Ted muttered under his breath, unable to hide the panic rising within him.
His heart pounded in his chest, and a sense of dread washed over him.
Grace, sitting by his side, reached out gently, touching his shoulder with concern.
"Ted, it's okay. We don't need to rush. Maybe you're just stressed. Let's try again tomorrow."
But Ted couldn't shake the feeling of unease.
Sothing was wrong, and he couldn't fix it, no matter how hard he tried.
His mind raced through every possibility, and yet none made sense.
This wasn't a simple case of nerves or exhaustion; this was sothing else entirely.
"What's happening to ?" Ted finally asked, his voice a mix of frustration and fear.
Ted tried for a long ti, but no matter what he did, his little brother remained stubbornly unresponsive.
A heavy silence hung between them.
Grace, lying beside him, reached out to touch his arm, offering a reassuring smile.
"It's okay, love. It happens."
He exhaled sharply, forcing a chuckle.
"Yeah… maybe I'm just tired. Let's try again tomorrow as you said, okay?"
She nodded, brushing her fingers through his hair, but Ted could see the slight disappointnt in her eyes. It made his stomach twist.
He quickly pulled his pajamas back on, kissed her on the cheek, and turned onto his side, feigning sleep.
But he couldn't. His mind wouldn't let him.
He had never experienced this before.
Never.
No matter how exhausted he was, no matter the circumstances, he had always been able to perform.
He had always taken pride in making sure Grace was satisfied, and now—this?
He felt like a part of him had failed, like sothing inside had broken.
He closed his eyes, trying to shake the thoughts away, but they refused to leave him alone.
It wasn't until soti past midnight that he finally drifted into a restless sleep.
The morning ca too soon, and when he woke, his body felt like lead.
He stared at the ceiling for a long mont before dragging himself out of bed, the weight of last night still pressing on his chest.
"I'll do better tonight," he muttered to himself, trying to push past his doubts.
He refused to believe this was anything more than a one-ti thing.
With that thought, he forced himself into his routine—showering, dressing, and heading to work as usual.
But the mont he stepped into his office, he realized that today was going to be anything but usual.
A sharp knock interrupted his thoughts, followed by the heavy thud of boots against the floor.
"Hey, Ted, got extra space in your office?"
Ted looked up to see a large man filling the doorway.
Brandon—one of Ross's most trusted n. His presence always ant sothing serious was going on.
Ted straightened in his chair. "I have an empty room. Why?"
Brandon stepped inside, arms crossed. "I need to move so stuff. Could use an extra set of hands."
Ted nodded, already standing. "Of course."
Brandon was soone Ted had grown familiar with over the years.
They saw each other regularly in etings, and if there was one thing Ted knew about him, it was that he was always hands-on, always precise.
If Brandon was handling sothing personally, then it was important.
Ted suppressed a sigh. Looks like today was going to be long.
They stepped outside, and Ted ca to an abrupt halt. His breath hitched, his stomach tightening at the sight before him.
Just outside his office stood a dozen heavily ard n, their rifles slung over their shoulders, their movents efficient and purposeful.
But what truly made his heart pound was what they were handling.
Stacks upon stacks of cash.
Not just a few bundles—mountains of money.
Towering piles of neatly wrapped bills, packed into crates and duffel bags, being hauled into the building with alarming efficiency.
Ted's mouth went dry as he tried to process the sheer amount. It wasn't a few million.
By his rough estimate, this was hundreds of millions, possibly more.
"Boss? Where do we take this?" one of the ard n asked, shifting his grip on a heavy duffel bag.
Brandon barely glanced at him before turning his gaze to Ted.
That look sent a clear ssage: You know what to do.
Ted swallowed hard, then nodded stiffly.
"Here," he said, his voice coming out more automatic than intentional.
His body moved as if on autopilot, his hands reaching out to help even as his brain scread for answers.
What was this money for? Where did it co from? And why was he involved?
His pulse thundered in his ears as he lifted a duffel bag, feeling the surprising weight of the cash inside.
The bills were crisp, bound tightly in thick stacks. Every fiber of his being told him this wasn't normal—this wasn't just company business.
Yet he worked.
What else could he do?
The n moved with practiced ease, as if this were just another routine job.
Ted, on the other hand, felt like he was walking through a dream—one that teetered on the edge of a nightmare.
They worked for hours, the weight of the money—both literal and taphorical—pressing down on him.
By the ti they finished, the sun hung high in the sky, and the once-empty room was now filled to the brim with cash.
Ted stepped back, wiping the sweat from his brow as he surveyed the stacks surrounding him.
A whole room of money.
And then, like a slow-moving storm cloud, a thought settled heavily in his mind.
Is Ross Oakley doing sothing illegal?
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