Chapter 70: Smash It
The moment Cora heard that familiar voice, her heart finally settled.
He really came.
Behind Julian, a group of men flooded in with the rush of boots and air.
Julian’s gaze swept over the room and landed on Cora—his eyes dark with anger and worry.
“Cora, are you hurt?” her mother asked at last, voice trembling.
Cora’s nose stung. She gripped her mother’s hand tightly. “I’m fine. Did it hurt when they hit you?”
Her mother shook her head gently. “It’s nothing, as long as you and the baby are safe.”
Cora’s tears broke free, falling one after another.
Julian didn’t go to her right away. Instead, he stepped forward, long fingers brushing the cracked glass of the display window. “Didn’t they say you stole something?” His tone was calm—too calm. “Then they’ll pay for it.”
Austin immediately pulled a chair over for him.
Julian sat down and said softly, “If you want to negotiate, be prepared to pay the price.”
He lifted a finger.
Austin turned to Cora and her mother. “Mrs. Watson, Mrs. Dev, it’s too messy in here. Please wait outside.”
Cora looked at Julian, uncertain what he planned, but she nodded and helped her mother out of the store. She still had to take care of her.
The moment they stepped out, the bodyguards blocked the door, sealing everyone else inside.
“You—what are you doing?” the salon manager finally blurted out.
“Paying up,” Julian said mildly. He picked up the magazine Cora had been reading and began leafing through it as if nothing around him concerned him.
The next instant, Austin gave a sharp signal.
Several guards grabbed chairs and smashed them into anything that could break.
The crash of furniture and shattering glass filled the air. Cabinets toppled. Jars burst.
Every product, every mirror, every surface was destroyed within minutes.
Screams erupted from the terrified staff.
The manager snatched up her phone. “I’m calling the police!”
Austin’s tone was ice. “This salon belongs to Watson Group. You’re all officially terminated. And the company will be pressing charges—for theft of corporate property.”
He said it with such calm authority that it hit harder than any shout.
The manager shook her head frantically. “No, I’ll call the police!”
Julian didn’t even look up, still turning the pages of his magazine with lazy precision.
Austin gestured politely. “Go ahead.”
The manager dialed in a panic. “Hello? I need to report vandalism—someone’s wrecking my salon!”
“QiQi Beauty Center?” came the reply. “There’s a renovation permit on file for today. Any noise is considered part of approved work. We can’t send officers.”
“What? That’s impossible!”
The manager’s hands shook as she called the owner.
This time, the call connected—but before she could speak, the owner said coldly,
“You picked the wrong fight. You provoked Mrs. Watson. Handle it yourself.”
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The phone slipped from her hands.
Her face turned ashen. She dropped to her knees, speechless.
It was over. Completely over.
The other beauticians panicked, sobbing, “We didn’t do anything! We just followed orders!”
As for the root of it all—the mistress—she stood frozen, staring at the devastation in horror.
She’d never imagined that the woman she’d attacked was Mrs. Watson, the wife of the Watson heir.
God.
That bastard Gary never told her his daughter was Mrs. Watson!
If she’d known, she never would’ve dared raise her voice.
“This—this has nothing to do with me!” she stammered, clutching her bag. “I’m leaving!”
She tried to bolt, but a guard blocked her path.
Julian didn’t lift his eyes from the magazine. “You came for money, didn’t you? Then take more.” His tone was soft, deadly. “Austin, I don’t like the look of her hands.”
“Yes, Mr. Watson.”
Austin nodded once. The guards moved.
A scream split the air—
the mistress’s arms bent at grotesque angles.
The manager and staff went white with shock.
“You—you can’t do this! This is illegal!” the mistress shrieked.
Austin turned to the manager, voice smooth and cold.
“This lady just tried to attack Mrs. Watson. Isn’t that right?”
The manager froze for a second, then nodded furiously. “Yes—yes! She tried to assault them, but slipped and broke her arm!”
Austin’s gaze sharpened. “Did anyone here hit her?”
The manager caught on fast. “No, no! She fell herself! Mr. Watson even told us not to pursue compensation!”
Austin smiled faintly. “And the rest of you?”
“We saw it all!” the others cried, voices trembling. “She fell on her own!”
The mistress stared at them, eyes wide, and fainted dead away.
By then, the salon was a wreck of shattered glass and perfume.
Julian closed the magazine and stood.
Austin surveyed the destruction and said mildly, “As for the rest of you…”
“We don’t know anything!” the staff screamed.
“Good,” Austin said pleasantly. “Someone will come take your statements soon.”