Chapter 8
The man passed out from the pain, his palm skewered, and the blade. buried deep into the floor.
The rest of the group trembled in fear, voices shaking as they begged, “Please, have mercy! Sir, we’re sorry! Please!”
Jonathan kicked the man at his feet aside, yanked out the knife, and gave the others a chilling look–his message clear.
One by one, with screams echoing through the room, he drove the blade through their outstretched palms.
Some of the guys from the bar had followed in and were now watching in disbelief. “Jonny, what the hell? Weren’t you and Christina on the same page about this?”
“Yeah, do you know how hard it was to find those guys?”
“I even had my phone out to film it. Why’d you come back and beat them up like this?”
Marissa inhaled deeply, her chest tightening.
She had suspected something was off the moment Christina huddled with them in whispers, but she had not expected it to be this cruel.
Jonathan turned around and gave a cold signal. Shortly after, the injured men were dragged away. He did not speak, just stared at the blood smeared across the floor, silent and expressionless.
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Suddenly, someone broke the silence. “Jonny, don’t tell me you’ve really fallen for Marissa. You’re supposed to be doing this for revenge, remember? For Chet.
“You can’t seriously be thinking of…”
Before he could finish, Jonathan kicked a nearby vase and shattered it into pieces. His face was dark with rage, and his voice was low and sharp.
“Shut up! I’m not in love with her! I’ll stick to the plan!
“Now get out! All of you! Don’t come near me unless I call for you!”
Once they left, Jonathan slumped down onto the couch, grabbing a bottle of red wine and downing it straight from the neck.
His vision blurred gradually, and he started choking on the wine, coughing hard as his eyes welled up.
The image of Marissa trembling and helpless flashed before his eyes again. The pain on her face carved itself into his mind.
Suddenly, he hurled the wine bottle across the room. Wine splashed everywhere, mingling with some blood.
“How dare they touch her! Damn it!” he roared. “I’ll crush them all! Every last one!”
He jumped to his feet and stomped the floor over and over as if those men were still beneath him.
Had he really fallen for Marissa? No–he told himself–he was just using her.
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Yet, whenever he saw her being hurt, something inside him twisted- he felt this unbearable urge to kill the ones who laid hands on her.
Jonathan clutched his head in agony, trying to shut out the thoughts before they spiraled further.
Then it hit him. Marissa was still in the bedroom. With all that noise, she had probably woken up.
He glanced toward the door, and at that very moment, Marissa quickly lay back down on the bed, pretending to be asleep.
As the sound of footsteps grew louder, her heart pounded like a drum in her chest.
She gripped her thighs tightly with both hands to force her panic to settle.
Then, a soft click broke the silence as the door slowly creaked open. Jonathan walked in quietly, step by step, until he reached her bedside.
He crouched down, lightly brushing her cheek with his fingers. After making sure she had not stirred, he silently left the room.
From that night on, Jonathan stopped going to the office. Instead, he stayed close to Marissa, almost never leaving her side.
To make her smile, he showered her with gifts–luxury handbags, shiny necklaces–and every day, he tried new ways to cook her favorite meals.
The presents filled her bedroom, almost to the brim, yet her heart stayed hollow.
She could tell Jonathan was trying–he really was–but none of it could
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undo the wounds left behind.
Neither of them brought up what had happened. Even the servants moved quietly and cautiously.
Marissa’s complexion was pale, and her eyes were distant and dull.
That evening, she sat curled in the bathtub, scrubbing her skin with painful force.
Outside the door, Jonathan hesitated. Yet, when he heard the harsh movements, he could not stay still and burst into the bathroom.
He grabbed her wrist and pulled her into a hug. “Mari, I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “It’s all my fault.”
“Please don’t do this to yourself. You can yell at me, hit me, make me do anything you want–just don’t keep hurting like this. I’m begging you.”
Marissa shoved him away, tears reddening her eyes. Then, she clutched at his shirt and asked quietly, “Anything?”
Seeing that her emotions had finally settled, Jonathan nodded quickly. “Yes. Anything.”
Marissa stared straight into his eyes and took a breath. “Then tell me the passwords to all your devices.”
