Chapter 270
“Let go… please let go…” Damian’s voice cracked like thin ice under pressure.
Despite being the illegitimate son, he had lived a life cushioned by privilege. His mother, Victoria, though domineering, had never subjected him to anything harsher than a scolding. He had never known true pain—until now.
Damian thrashed, his bravado crumbling like a sandcastle under waves. “If you don’t release me, you’ll regret this!” His threat was brittle, a last-ditch effort to shield himself from the torment.
No sooner had the words left his lips than Alexander casually picked up the baseball bat leaning against the wall.
“Oh?” Alexander’s smirk was as sharp as a blade. “I think you misunderstand the price of trespassing better than I do. Even if I bury you six feet under, no one would bat an eye.”
He pressed the bat against Damian’s forehead with deliberate slowness, savoring the moment like a predator toying with its prey.
“Shall we see who breaks first?”
Damian’s chest tightened, his breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. His body trembled violently.
“I—I didn’t mean it,” he stammered, barely clinging to his composure.
Alexander’s reputation was legendary—unpredictable, ruthless, a storm that could capsize lives without warning. And Damian, already drowning in terror, knew this was no empty threat.
Desperate, he turned his gaze toward his mother. “Mom, help me!” His voice cracked like a child’s plea.
Victoria’s expression hardened at the sight of her son groveling. She knew Alexander wouldn’t cross the line—not in front of witnesses. This was a display of dominance, not execution.
Yet, she hadn’t anticipated Alexander not only standing but moving with the lethal precision of a viper. It meant he had been concealing his strength all along.
“Alexander,” Victoria began, her voice laced with calculated sorrow. “I know you resent us. You despise me for taking your mother’s place, and for that, I owe you an apology. As a single mother with no one to rely on, we never should have entered your world.”
She leaned against the wall, feigning fragility, her voice trembling with emotion. Tears welled in her eyes, casting her in a tragic light.
“But Damian is still your brother. Blood is thicker than water. If anyone deserves your anger, it should be me.”
Her words dripped with martyrdom, painting herself as the noble yet wronged stepmother. She looked as though one more harsh word would send her to her knees, begging for mercy.
Alexander’s gaze never wavered. “Do you think I won’t dare?”
Victoria fell silent. She realized Alexander was beyond reason, beyond persuasion. No one could sway him now.
“What will it take for you to release Damian?” she asked.
“That depends on what the offended party wants,” Alexander replied, glancing at Isabella. His eyes were as dark and fathomless as an abyss.
“After all, Damian’s offense wasn’t against me.” He pressed the bat harder against Damian’s forehead, leaving an angry red mark. “It was Isabella he crossed.”
Violence radiated from him like heat from a wildfire. In that moment, Alexander was every inch the predator.
Isabella, however, remained eerily composed. Tilting her head with a soft, almost innocent smile, she seemed as harmless as a summer breeze.
“I’m always the forgiving type,” she said, her voice sweet as honey. “Damian probably just needs a lesson. So why don’t you teach him some manners, Mr. Kingsley?”
Isabella knew Victoria was sharper than most. Her fragile act was her deadliest weapon, wielded with precision.
She thought back to what Julian had uncovered—Victoria might have played a role in the death of Alexander’s mother.
Alexander’s grip on the bat tightened, his knuckles whitening.
“As you wish,” he said, his voice steady.
Damian stood frozen, disbelief and rage boiling inside him. “You’re really going to hit me over a woman? If you dare, Alexander, Father won’t let this slide! Just because your legs are healed doesn’t mean you can act like a madman—”
Before he could finish, Alexander swung.
The bat connected with Damian’s side in one brutal motion.
“Ahhh!” Damian’s scream tore through the air, raw with agony. His vision blurred as pain consumed him, nearly knocking him unconscious.
Not another word of protest escaped his lips.
