Urban Plundering: I Corrupted The System!-Chapter 320: Parker’s Guilty within the Beautiful Lie

Thing is—they all knew.

Okay, definitely Parker and Tessa knew. Maybe even Atalanta had caught the drift too. All this morning chillness, this "happy brunch family" vibe? Yeah, it was a fucking cover-up. They were smoothing over the blazing dumpster fire from yesterday.

Wilder Automotives? Yeah, that place had broken something in both Parker and Tessa—cracked open a door and left it swinging, and neither of them had the guts to admit they weren't okay.

Atalanta could feel it. Like lava, lowkey bubbling under the surface of their skin. Parker was acting like his usual calm, billionaire mastermind self. Tessa? Too damn mature for her age. Handled her trauma like she handled eyeliner—flawless under pressure.

But to Atalanta, they were starting to feel less like two teens and more like two war generals trying to avoid a Cold War-style couple's quarrel. Like, girl could smell the tension.

And to make the vibes even messier, last night?

Parker had gone full Ares mode too.

The boy had been scrambling to wipe a damn video off the face of the Earth. One that was this close to going viral—probably would've if the system hadn't pinged him with a red-alert-style "yo you fucked up."

He managed to erase it, but not before the Champions got their hands on the info.

Atalanta had told him, flat-out: "They know. They all know you killed one of theirs. Sorry I think this is the part I'm supposed to say ours."

And Parker? Barely flinched. Didn't even bother blinking. Dude was too busy building an empire, casually stacking power like it was Legos. He couldn't give less of a shit about some pissed-off Champions. Honestly, if the gods had even half a brain between them, they'd pull their golden heads outta their divine asses and tell their precious Champions to slow the hell down.

She sighed.

How the fuck had she ended up here, anyway? Chatting with these two like they were besties, sipping juice like some off-brand breakfast club. It was giving "found family" vibes. It was giving "y'all are way too emotionally damaged to be this pretty." And maybe, just maybe, it was giving her feelings she wasn't quite ready to unpack.

Tessa, on the other hand, was in full hawk mode—eyes scanning the area like she was ready to go full FBI on someone's ass. Lowkey, everyone was tense. Even Naomi had that "I-know-someone's-watching-me" itch on her skin. But Parker? Nah. Bro was ice cold. He didn't flinch, didn't blink, didn't even bother looking around.

He knew.

Someone—more like someones—were watching. Creepin' from the trees or rooftops or god-knows-where, thinking they were slick. But Parker was already five moves ahead. He wasn't worried. They'd run off in fear eventually. They always did.

Because today wasn't just any day.

It was the day.

Shit was about to hit the fan, flip the script, rewrite the damn laws of the mundane world. Parker could feel it in his bones. He was already mentally prepping for the chaos coming tonight. And right now? He was soaking up the peace, sharing the warmth, pretending this little breakfast crew of his was a normal-ass family.

It was kinda cute. Kinda tragic.

After tonight, things would shift. Settle. Maybe.

But he'd have more freedom. More pull. More power to go full villain or savior, depending on the mood. And just as the vibes were starting to calm—Atalanta leaned closer like she was about to spill tea.

"So... Cassandra's on to me," she said. "Wants to meet you."

Parker blinked, then straight-up laughed. "Tell her I'd love to. She's my favorite Olympian, after all."

Cue Atalanta's mock betrayal face. "Damn. That's cold. After all we've been through?"

Tessa chimed in, sipping her juice all nonchalant: "Honestly, after the way you reacted when Chione's past death popped up yesterday, I kinda thought she was your favorite. Not Cassandra."

And just like that—boom.

Parker's smile was gone that instant.

Parker's whole expression glitched. His jaw tensed. Eyes darkened. He didn't say shit for a few solid seconds, and the air felt like it got weird. Like someone had dropped a wet blanket over everyone's mood. Elena and Naomi exchanged nervous glances like, uh… did we miss a memo? Tessa and Atalanta, though? They felt it. They knew.

Finally, Parker cleared his throat, gave a stiff little nod like nothing happened, and stood up. "Bathroom break," he mumbled. No eye contact. Just vibes.

And he walked off.

Didn't slam a chair. Didn't throw shade. Just... dipped.

But under all that chill was something dark and boiling. Rage. Not loud, not screaming. Just there—quiet and deadly, like a suppressed explosion waiting for permission. His sandals—those ridiculous overpriced things pressed into the soft morning grass, dew kissing the leather, hissing slightly like the earth itself was nervous. He headed to the direction of the forest.

*

Rain had started falling outta nowhere. One of those light drizzles that somehow felt heavy, like the sky was watching too. Droplets clung to his hoodie, his lashes, slid down his neck. He didn't react. Didn't speed up. Didn't even wipe his face.

Parker just kept walking.

Past the hedges. Through the slight mist curling around his ankles. Away from the breakfast table and the fake smiles and that bomb Tessa casually dropped like she wasn't tearing a scab wide open.

This 𝓬ontent is taken from fгeewebnovёl.co𝙢.

Her voice still echoed in his head—"I thought Chione was your favorite."

Fuck.

The way his jaw clenched could've cracked concrete. That name wasn't supposed to come up today. Not with the way she haunted his night last night. Not with the guilt. Not with the war brewing in his mind.

He headed toward the edge of the property, where the trees started growing taller and the air felt different—colder, thicker, almost enchanted in the worst way. The forest loomed ahead like it had been waiting for him. Dark, wet leaves shifting in the wind. Branches twitching, like they knew him. Like they remembered.

Back at the table, no one moved.

Just awkward silence, shared glances, and one universal thought:

Damn.

That escalated fast.

Parker didn't stop when the grass ended and the forest began.

He kept walking, shirt clinging to his skin like a second damn betrayal. Rain had officially given up on subtlety now—each drop a slap, each gust of wind a whisper reminding him that yeah, the universe was real funny like that. No jacket. No umbrella. Just a soaked shirt, drenched skin, and one heavy-ass soul.

Parker didn't just walk into that forest. He invaded it. Like it had personally offended him. Grass and twigs hissed and crunched under his designer sandals. But the way he walked now? Nothing about him looked soft. He looked like a storm disguised as a boy.

Much more rain met him halfway, like it had been waiting. It didn't fall—it attacked. Cold. Sharp. Relentless. Soaking through his shirt in seconds, turning the fabric into a wet second skin that stuck to his back and chest like it wanted to choke him out.

He didn't flinch. Didn't curse.

He just kept walking. Eyes dark. Steps steady. Rage curling in his lungs like smoke trapped in a coffin.

Then he stopped.

A clearing. No trees. No shelter. Just sky and fury and him.

And that's where he sat. Right there. In the wide open. So the sky could see him. So it could feel him. So it could fucking remember him.

Rain hammered his body, dripped from his lashes, slid down his neck in long, icy streaks. He breathed out, slow and calm—but it was fake calm. The kind serial killers wear right before things go sideways.

Inside?

He was not okay.

He was chaos in a bottle. Cork barely hanging on.

His fingers dug into the mud beneath him—tight, twitching like he wanted to rip through the earth and scream into the void. But he didn't. He stayed still. Silent. Dangerous.

Because… Chione.

Her name alone made something ancient in him snap its fangs. She didn't just touch him—she sliced into him. Right down the middle of his soul. Like she knew exactly where the devil slept in him… and kissed it.

And that's the part that made him sick.

Because he liked it.

Because it worked.

Because some part of him—some cold, sharp, vicious little part—wanted her to ruin him from inside out.

Not in the romance-novel way. No roses. No dancing in the rain. He wanted her the way fire wants oxygen. The way demons want out. But could he even have the audacity to say that after what happened back then...

"Fucking hell," he muttered, voice low and dark. He laughed once. Quiet. Like even he didn't believe it.

He was not the hero in this story.

He was the problem.

The shadow under her bed.

The monster in the mirror pretending to be just another seventeen-year-old with too much money who could cause their death like he did with Chione. He closed his eyes. Let the rain drown out everything. Let it baptize him in all the worst ways.

Because after today—

Some people were gonna burn.

And if the gods didn't wanna back the fuck off? Then maybe it was time they remembered… the devil didn't always wear horns. Sometimes, he wore soaked designer shirts and smiled like he was fine.

And Parker?

He wasn't fine. And no one understood what was going on with him.