Refused a Tycoon — He Broke His Hands to Apologize

I carried the sedan in silence, moving forward steadily, when suddenly the bushes beside the trail rustled with a faint shhh-shhh sound.

I didn’t dare stop. I just kept walking.

Then Bella Moore glanced coquettishly at Victor Hughes.

“Victor, my legs are sore from walking. Can’t you let me sit in the sedan for a while?”

Victor reached out and stroked her cheek.

“Of course. How could I let my Bella get tired?”

Then he looked at me.

“You hear that? My Bella wants to ride. Stop right now.”

The rustling was getting closer, and I didn’t dare pause for even a second.

A moment later, his belt cracked across my face.

“I told you to stop. Do you not understand human language?”

Warm blood trickled down my cheek. My leg buckled, and I dropped to one knee.

With every ounce of strength, I barely managed to keep the sedan steady.

Just as I was about to stand, I saw Victor lifting his foot to step down.

“You can’t get off the sedan!”

I shot upright and heaved the sedan back up forcefully.

I despised these people, but if they died here, the karmic merit I had spent years accumulating would be wiped away.

Victor wobbled, nearly falling, and lashed my back again with his belt.

“Trying to throw me to my death, are you?”

I gritted my teeth through the pain and reminded him,

“I told you—once lifted, the sedan cannot be set down until it reaches its destination.”

Victor looped his belt around my neck and yanked hard.

“Your words mean nothing. I said put me down! Don’t you get it?”

The strap dug into my throat, choking the air from me. I tilted my head back to ease the pressure, but in the next instant, he leapt off entirely and kicked me hard in the leg.

The pole slid from my shoulder. I tumbled backward, rolling down a dozen stone steps before catching myself on a hanging vine.

My back wound tore open, soaking me in blood. Struggling, I lifted my head to see Victor’s feet firmly on the ground. My face went cold.

“You’re finished.”

Victor rolled up his sleeves, his eyes full of menace. He charged down and kicked me square in the chest.

“I’ve tolerated you long enough with your superstitious crap. Tonight I’ll show you who really runs Riverdale!”

A burst of searing pain tore through my chest, followed by a sharp crack—something had broken.

Bella walked over, wearing an expression of hopeless disdain.

“Ethan Cole, I’ve put up with your weird ghost talk long enough. And now, right in front of Victor Hughes, the richest man in Riverdale, you’re spouting it again? You must have a death wish.”

As she spoke, a fierce wind rose out of nowhere. All around us, there was nothing but the howl of the gusts.

“Why is the wind suddenly so strong up here?” Bella asked nervously, clutching Victor’s arm.

Victor looked around, his face pale.

“Mount Hazel usually has plenty of people hiking at night. Why haven’t we seen a single one?”

We were halfway up the mountain, where the trail should have been lit with lanterns. But tonight, there wasn’t a single light—only the dim, blood-red glow of the sky.

Victor grabbed me by the collar.

“Tell me—did you lead us the wrong way on purpose?”

I looked into his twisted face, my gaze settling on the dark, bluish shadow clouding his brow.