Chapter 67 The Woman In The Red Dress
Mark's POV
I was in a boardroom full of men who thought they were important when my phone began vibrating nonstop in my pocket.
I ignored it at first; Becca knew not to call repeatedly unless something was wrong.
The third vibration hit, and a cold ripple ran down my spine.
When I saw her name on my screen and heard her voice; broken, shaking, barely breathing.
I didn’t even hear the rest of the meeting. I didn’t give instructions.
I didn’t excuse myself. I just walked out, already running.
Traffic? I didn’t care.
Red lights? I treated them like suggestions.
I drove like a man trying to outrun fate itself.
And still, nothing prepared me for what I found.
The boutique, her boutique, the one she’d spent weeks building with her bare hands, her sleepless eyes, her hope…
It was trashed down into a messy piece.
Every mannequin smashed. Every sketch ripped apart.
Fabric littered the floor like casualties of some private war.
And in the center of it all, my woman was on her knees, hunched over the ruined gowns like she was mourning five dead children.
Something inside me… snapped.
I just walked straight to her and gathered her into my arms.
She felt small. She was visibly shaken.
“Mark…” Her voice cracked against my chest. “They ruined everything. Lady Han… the gala… the dresses… I’ve lost my chance.”
Her fingers curled into my shirt like she was trying to anchor herself.
I pressed my lips to her temple.
“No,” I said, steady and firm. “You haven’t lost anything. Not while I’m here.”
“But look at this,” she pointed at the full wrecked boutique.
“I have seen it,” My jaw locked. “And I’m telling you right now, Becca, this is solvable. You are not someone who fails. You rise. And whoever did this…” My voice dropped into something lower, darker. “…I’ll make sure they regret breathing.”
I lifted her into my arms, bridal style. She didn’t protest. She just buried her face against my neck as I carried her out into the open air.
Collins pulled up with my car, eyes wide as he saw the wreckage behind me.
“Sir…”
“Lock down every damn CCTV in a two-mile radius,” I barked. “Pull footage from the boutique, the neighbouring shops, the traffic lights and everything. I want the timestamp. I want the license plate of every vehicle that drove through this street last night.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And get Lawson,” I added. “I want a lawyer on standby.”
Becca whimpered softly. “Mark… my designs..”
“They can be remade,” I told her. “You can remake anything.
Collins returned to the penthouse an hour later with a tablet in hand and a face tight with restrained anger.
“We found something,” he said.
I had Becca wrapped in a blanket on the couch, her head on my lap. I kissed her hair once and whispered, “I’ll handle this. Stay here.”
She nodded softly, still shaken.
I followed Collins to the office and shut the door behind us.
“Show me.”
Collins tapped the screen.
And there she was.
Carmen.
She was dressed in an all black suit. She was entering Becca’s boutique at 2:14 a.m.
She didn’t come alone.
Five men followed her all masked, all dressed the same dark clothes, carrying bags that could only hold one thing:
Tools for destruction.
I felt the rage rise, slow and poisonous, flooding my bloodstream with heat.
Carmen flipped her hair even on the security footage, the same smug twist to her mouth, the same arrogance she’s carried all her life. She pointed around the room as if conducting an orchestra of ruin.
She led the destruction.
She watched as they tore the dresses apart.
And she left last, tossing a ripped sketch on the floor like a signature.
My vision blurred with fury.
Collins swallowed. “Sir… I know she’s dating Ethan. Do you want?”
“I want her found.”
My voice came out like a weapon.
“And I want her to understand exactly who she attacked.”
Becca had her dreams destroyed. I wasn’t letting Carmen walk away breathing easily.
I drove straight to Ethan’s place.
He needed to know that the woman he was sleeping with was picking fights she couldn’t survive.
I didn’t knock. I slammed the door open with enough force to shake the frame.
Carmen stepped into view wearing a red silk robe, tied loosely around her waist, her hair cascading down her shoulders like she’d been waiting for an audience.
She smiled when she saw me.
A slow, poisonous, victorious smile.
“Well,” she purred, tilting her head. “If it isn’t the mighty Mark Simmons.”
I didn’t waste a second.
I stormed across the room, grabbed her wrist, and pinned her back against the wall before she could take a breath.
Her smirk didn’t fade, if anything had changed; it widened.
Unremorseful brat!
“You seem upset,” she whispered.
I leaned in, my voice a blade against her throat.
“You just declared war.”
Before she could answer, strong hands gripped my shoulder and yanked me backward.
Ethan.
My former friend but a current idiot.
“Mark, what the hell is wrong with you?” he snarled, shoving me away from Carmen.
“You don’t walk into my home and manhandle my woman. Have you lost your damn mind?”
I straightened slowly, my rage colder now.
“She’s my sister,” I bit out, glaring at him. “And this is a family matter. Stay out of it.”
Ethan laughed dryly; a sharp, humorless sound.
“Family matter? Is that what you’re calling it?”
He stepped closer, his expression twisting.
“Tell me, Mark… is this about family? Or are you just defending your corporate girlfriend?”
The air froze. I didn’t look at him.
My eyes stayed fixed on Carmen. She was the reason for my rage and it was her that the hell is going to loose on.
She tightened her robe slightly, pretending to be fragile, hiding the satisfaction glittering in her gaze.
I pointed a finger at her
“You’re going to pay for this,” I said, my voice low with lethal promise. “And when I’m done, you’ll finally learn to stop playing these silly little games.”