Ethan Matthews's rage boiled over.
"Ms. Henson must be blind to marry a piece of trash like you. You're lower than an animal."
He stepped forward, chest puffing out. "Since she won't do it, I'll teach you a lesson myself, you ungrateful prick."
With that, Ethan rolled up his sleeves and lunged, swinging a clumsy fist at my face.
I didn't even blink. I pivoted slightly, letting his momentum carry him past me. As he stumbled, I clamped my hand around his wrist and twisted.
Ethan hissed, his knees buckling under the pressure.
I stared down at him, my voice devoid of warmth. "Who do you think you are?"
I increased the torque on his wrist. "You're a secretary. Since when do you get a vote in my marriage?"
Releasing his wrist, I didn't give him time to recover. I drove a backhand punch straight into the bridge of his nose.
Crack.
"Argh!"
Ethan clutched his face, squealing like a dying pig. Bright red blood seeped through his fingers, splattering onto the floor.
"Blood!" someone in the crowd shrieked.
"Liam! Are you insane? You can't just assault people!"
Claire rushed forward, shoving me hard enough to make me stumble. She didn't spare me a second glance—she went straight to Ethan, her eyes wide with tender concern.
My stomach turned.
I let out a dark chuckle. "Does it hurt your heart to see him bleed?"
I gestured to the cowering man. "Funny. You didn't panic like that when he tried to swing at me."
Claire's breath hitched. Her gaze darted away, unable to meet mine. For once, she had no rebuttal.
"Besides," I continued, my voice dropping, "he deserved it."
Claire looked at me in disbelief. "Liam, when did you become so unreasonable? This is between us. Why drag an innocent bystander into our mess?"
I scoffed. "Innocent?"
I pointed at Ethan. "Ask him. Is he innocent?"
Ethan's expression flickered with panic, but he quickly dropped his head, adopting the posture of a martyr.
"I'm sorry, Ms. Henson. I was wrong," he murmured, voice trembling. "I shouldn't have spoken out of turn. I upset Mr. Barnes... Please, don't blame him."
He looked up at Claire, eyes wide and wet—a kicked puppy begging for scraps.
"I don't blame you, Ethan. I'm the one who dragged you into this," Claire cooed. She produced a tissue and gently wiped the blood from his upper lip, her voice dripping with a sweetness she hadn't used on me in years.
Nausea rose in my throat. I snatched the divorce agreement from the table and slammed it down in front of her.
"If you don't want your precious assistant beaten to a pulp, sign. Now. Otherwise, every time I see his face, I'll finish what I started."
The threat snapped something inside her.
Slap!
Her palm connected hard with my cheek.
"Have you lost your mind?" she screamed. "Ethan is just my assistant! What does our divorce have to do with him?"
My face burned, a high-pitched ringing filling my ears. I ran my tongue over the inside of my cheek, tasting copper.
I stared at her, then at Ethan, still cowering behind her like a shield.
"Are you sure he's just your assistant?" I asked quietly.
A flash of guilt crossed Claire's face—gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by self-righteous indignation.
"Liam, what are you implying?" She straightened her spine. "Even if we are close, isn't that normal? We work together day and night. Ethan is like family. Like a younger brother."
She glared at me, eyes blazing. "Are you seriously jealous of a brother?"
I sneered. "Is that so?"
I leaned in, locking eyes with her. "Is that why you treat your 'good little brother' to special milk tea?"
Claire froze.
"Are you done?" she snapped, voice rising. "You're going to keep clinging to that nonsense? Is that all you have?"
