Chapter 7 - The Rage of Adrian Vale
A wave of black-clad men poured into the foyer like a nightmarish shadow.
Leading them was Adrian Vale.
He didn't look like a businessman anymore. He didn't look like a gentleman. He looked like the god of vengeance himself. His dark eyes were burning with a terrifying, apocalyptic rage, a black tactical pistol held in his right hand.
When Adrian saw Derek holding a gun to my chest, a sound came out of his throat—a low, guttural roar of pure, unadulterated fury that shook the glass walls of the estate.
“Vance!” Derek screamed, panicking and spinning around to point his gun at Adrian.
BANG!
A single shot echoed through the house.
Adrian didn't miss.
The bullet struck Derek’s right wrist with surgical precision. The silver revolver flew out of Derek’s hand, spinning across the polished floorboards and coming to rest near the fireplace.
Derek screamed in agony, clutching his shattered wrist and falling to his knees on the marble floor—the exact same way he had fallen beside the piano at my birthday party.
Four of Adrian’s tactical guards rushed forward, slamming Derek face-first onto the floor, pinning his legs and securing his hands in heavy steel handcuffs within three seconds.
The room went completely silent except for Derek’s pathetic, sobbing groans.
Adrian dropped his pistol into his holster and sprinted across the living room to where I was standing, still clutching the chef’s knife in my left hand.
“Emily!” he cried, grabbing my arms gently and pulling me into his chest. His heart was hammering against his ribs like a war drum. His hands were trembling as he checked my face, my neck, my arms. “Are you hurt? Did he touch you? Tell me!”
“I’m okay,” I sobbed, dropping the knife onto the floor and burying my face in his neck. “I’m okay, Adrian! I hit him with the oil bottle!”
Adrian held me so tightly I could barely breathe, his face buried in my hair, his body shuddering with the horrifying realization of how close he had come to losing me.
“I heard the gun discharge from the driveway,” Adrian whispered, his voice cracking with rare emotion. “I thought... my God, Emily... I thought I was too late...”
“I’m safe,” I whispered, squeezing him with all my strength. “You came.”
Adrian pulled back slowly, ensuring I was completely uninjured. Then he turned around to look at Derek, who was lying pinned on the floor, weeping in a pool of olive oil and blood.
The relief in Adrian’s eyes instantly vanished, replaced by a darkness so deep, so absolute, that even his own security guards took an involuntary step back.
Adrian walked slowly over to where Derek was kneeling.
He didn't raise his voice. He didn't shout. He stood over my former husband like an executioner holding a ledger.
“You broke her hand,” Adrian said, his voice dropping into a register that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. “You took her money. You harassed her at her home. And then you brought a firearm into my house to end her life.”
Derek looked up, his face twisted in absolute terror. “Vale... please... I’m sorry... I was crazy... I didn't mean to shoot—”
Adrian leaned down, gripping Derek by his hair and forcing his head back until their eyes met.
“You are going to spend the next twenty-five years in a maximum-security state facility, Miller,” Adrian whispered near his ear. “And I am going to personally buy the private management company that runs that prison. Every single day of your sentence, you will remember my name.”
Adrian released his hair, letting Derek’s head drop back onto the floor.
He turned to Viktor.
“Take him out of my house,” Adrian ordered coldly. “And tell the District Attorney that if Derek Miller is ever granted bail again, I will buy the entire court building and tear it down.”
Viktor and the guards dragged Derek out through the broken front doors. His pathetic pleas for mercy faded into the rain-soaked forest outside, until there was nothing left of him but silence.
Adrian turned back to me. He walked over, picked up my coat from the chair, and wrapped it carefully around my shoulders.
He looked around his damaged living room, then down at my face.
“I think,” Adrian said gently, a faint, tender smile breaking through his dark expression, “we need to find a new house.”
May you like
I looked up at him, tears of relief drying on my cheeks, and let out a soft, genuine laugh.
“I’d like that very much, Adrian,” I said, taking his hand.
