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The chauffeur stood at the mouth of the alley, listening to the screams with utter indifference, as if he had witnessed such scenes hundreds of times before.
He lit a cigarette and smoked in silence.
When he finished, the screams had stopped.
The security captain came out and found the chauffeur still standing, motionless.
Thank God I didn’t try anything sneaky.
He hastily tossed the bloodstained baton aside and approached the chauffeur. “It’s done, just as you instructed.”
The chauffeur nodded, flicked away his cigarette butt, and crushed it under his heel. Then he patted the security captain on the shoulder. “Good work. In that case, I won’t blame you for letting uninvited guests into the banquet earlier.”
The security captain forced a laugh. “I’ll be more careful from now on.”
The chauffeur said nothing, just stared at him with piercing eyes that seemed to see through his very soul. After a long silence, he finally spoke. “You know the Brooker family doesn’t like loose ends.”
The security captain stiffened. “I understand. I’ll delete all the surveillance footage in the area and clean up the blood in the alley…”
Satisfied with his compliance, the driver gave a slight nod. “Right.”
Relieved, the security captain scurried off.
Then came movement from the alley.
The couple, David and Alice, their legs broken, were being dragged out by security, leaving long streaks of blood in their wake.
The chauffeur looked at the crimson trail, his lips curving into a faint smile.
Now Mr. Brooker’s fiancée had been avenged.
But that was only the beginning.
A luxurious car rolled into Hoverdale.
Inside were two women.
One wore a red gown, her voluminous curls cascading over her shoulders, her lips painted a bold crimson. Though no longer young, her meticulous grooming made her look no older than her thirties, which were curvaceous, radiant, every inch the wealthy socialite.
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exuded an air of pristine purity, like an untouched jasmine blossom.
This was none other than Willow, who had just returned from Balewood.
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During the month–long stay there, I had spared no effort in gathering information about Felix Brooker.
At first, I hadn’t believed the rumors that his supposed dysfunction had turned him into a ruthless monster.
But I never expected the real Felix to be so… refined.
The rumors were lies.
According to the whispers, they had been fabricated by a childhood friend of his, an obsessed woman who treated Felix as her possession and forbade any woman from approaching him.
Still, his brilliance drew admirers like moths to a flame.
Desperate, she spun a vicious tale, painting him as a perverted impotent.
The tactic worked. The women of Balewood began to look at him with disgust.
As the Brooker family’s heir, it should have been easy for him to quash such rumors.
Yet he did nothing.
In fact, he encouraged the rumors.
For the moment the rumors spread, the endless parade of women disappeared.
Convenient, but betrayal was unforgivable.
At just twenty–two, he dismantled her family’s empire with brutal efficiency, then shipped her off to Osnua without a second thought.
The once–pampered heiress was reduced to a life of hardship, surviving on pickled vegetables until she withered in depression.
Six years later, no one cared what had become of her.
Probably still unhappy.
And that was just for spreading rumors.
No wonder the business world called Felix the Living King of Hell.
His merciless reputation ensured that no one would dare touch him again.
Leaning back in the plush seat, Willow smiled to herself
Far from scaring her off, Felix’s brutality only intrigued her more.
The woman was a fool.
She didn’t understand men at all.
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Men craved dignity, pride–delicate vines that clung to them
And Willow?
She knew exactly how to play the game.
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Men craved dignity, pride–delicate vines that clung to them not deranged harpies who slandered their manhood.
And Willow?
She knew exactly how to play the game.
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The Heiress Revived from the Ashes
Chapter 133 The Charmer
