Chapter 7

Ethan Sinclair's fingers had just touched his phone screen when Lucas Whitmore's piercing scream shattered the hallway's silence.

His entire body jolted, and he quickly shoved the phone into his pocket.

By the time he returned to the private room, his palms were slick with cold sweat, his heart pounding as if trying to escape his chest.

The recording had been saved. He checked the time, grabbed his briefcase, and prepared to leave.

The moment he pushed open the café door, Lucas stood blocking the exit with four burly men, his gaze dark and venomous.

"It was you eavesdropping, wasn't it?"

Ethan's blood ran cold.

Lucas smirked as he stepped closer, his polished shoes clicking against the floor in a suffocating rhythm.

"You think a little recording can threaten me?" He suddenly gripped Ethan's chin, fingers digging in. "Victoria will only believe me."

Before Ethan could react, Lucas had already dialed Victoria Montgomery's number.

"Victoria, I feel dizzy... Can you come get me?"

After hanging up, Lucas gave a subtle nod, and Ethan was dragged back into the private room.

The lock clicked shut, and fists rained down on him like a storm.

Someone yanked his hair, slamming his skull against the wall. The dull thud of bone meeting plaster echoed in his ears.

Warm liquid trickled down his temple, his vision blurring with crimson.

"You piece of trash!" Lucas kicked him hard in the stomach. "Dare to ruin my plans?"

Amid the agony, a phone rang.

Lucas signaled for the beating to stop, leisurely pouring a cup of scalding coffee.

The boiling liquid splashed over Ethan's wounds. He bit his lip bloody to stifle a scream.

"Victoria..." Lucas's voice suddenly cracked with fake tears. "Ethan cornered me on the third floor..."

Ethan struggled to crawl toward the door, only to be dragged back by his ankle.

A sharp slap rang out just as the door was kicked open.

"Victoria!" Lucas clutched his face and threw himself into her arms. "He hit me..."

Victoria's gaze locked onto Lucas's swollen cheek, her eyes turning to ice.

"Ethan Sinclair!"

"It wasn't me—" Ethan's words were cut short as a bodyguard slammed him to the floor.

"Thirty slaps," Victoria said coldly. "Not one less."

The first strike filled his mouth with the taste of iron.

By the fifth, his left ear buzzed with static.

At the fifteenth, his vision blurred beyond recognition.

When the final slap landed, he heard Victoria's icy voice: "If there's a next time, I'll bury the Sinclairs with you."

Curled on the floor, Ethan watched their retreating figures, tears mingling with blood as they hit the ground.