Chapter 114 114
“Get the fk away from her!”
The command ripped through the room, low and lethal. The sound alone made her heart stutter in her chest, her eyes flying wide as if the voice itself had seized her.
Her head jerked toward the doorway. The light behind him cast his figure in shadow, blurring his features into darkness but that voice… it was impossible to mistake. It carried a force that branded itself into memory.
He stepped forward, and the light shifted. His face emerged from the shadows, sharp and severe. The moment his cold olive eyes locked onto hers, recognition struck.
Damien Ruiz.
Mr. Frosty.
“And who the fk are you?” Benoît sneered, arrogance dripping from every syllable.
Damien didn’t answer.
He stood there in silence, yet the quiet around him felt anything but empty. It was heavy. Dominant. Predatory. The air seemed to bend around him as he took another deliberate step forward. Benoît didn’t retreat not even an inch.
“Is she your chick?” one of the goons taunted.
Still, Damien said nothing.
“If she ain’t your chick, then I suggest you fk off,” Benoît hissed, tightening his grip on Jacqueline’s wrist. Pain shot up her arm. She winced, her muffled cries swallowed by the hand clamped cruelly over her mouth.
“Leave. Her.”
Two words.
That was all.
But the weight behind them was crushing more powerful than a speech, more dangerous than a threat.
“I’m not leaving her. What are you gonna do? Tell the authorities? Go ahead,” Benoît chuckled darkly.
Behind him, one of the goons slipped back and shut the classroom door with a click.
“What happened? Are you afraid ughh”
The rest of his sentence dissolved into a strangled croak.
Damien’s hand had closed around Benoît’s throat in a vicious, unyielding grip.
The sudden violence stunned the room into silence.
Benoît was still clutching Jacqueline, and Damien tightened his hold just enough. The message was clear. Instantly, Benoît released her.
She stumbled backward, scrambling behind Damien’s broad frame, her lungs dragging in air as she rubbed her aching wrist.
One of the goons lunged.
Damien moved faster.
His other hand shot out, seizing the attacker by the throat as well. Now he held two grown boys suspended by nothing but their necks, as if they weighed nothing at all.
Jacqueline stared, frozen.
The second goon charged from behind. In one seamless motion, Damien hurled the first body into him. They collided mid-charge and crashed to the floor in a heap, groaning in pain.
Next, Damien yanked Benoît forward again.
He didn’t speak.
He didn’t need to.
He simply forced the pathetic excuse of a man to look into his eyes.
Whatever Benoît saw there was enough.
The fury. The raw, suffocating aura. The silent promise of ruin.
Benoît began clawing at Damien’s wrist, panic replacing arrogance as he struggled to breathe.
The two goons staggered back to their feet, ready to charge again.
From behind, Jacqueline grasped Damien’s shirt and tugged gently.
“Leave him. Let’s go.” Her voice was soft stripped of its usual brightness.
“Leave,” Damien said coldly.
The word wasn’t directed at her, but the frost in it made her flinch anyway. Speaking to her seemed to cost him something.
The goons rushed again.
Damien released Benoît with a violent shove, sending him stumbling back, and turned to face the other two.
For a brief second, his eyes met Jacqueline’s.
Her breath caught.
For a heartbeat just one she swore she saw flickers of gold burning within the olive. Flames where there should have been none.
Ridiculous.
Impossible.
She spun around and bolted from the classroom, her footsteps echoing as she raced down the hallway for help.
Within minutes she returned, dragging four or five male students and a teacher behind her.
But when she reached the doorway, she stopped short.
Benoît and his goons were sprawled across the floor, bruised and groaning, their earlier bravado reduced to whimpers.
“What happened here?” the teacher demanded, stunned.
Benoît opened his mouth to speak
But Jacqueline was faster.
“They were fighting each other, sir. I heard the noise and called for help.”
Her tone was calm. Controlled.
Her eyes, however, pinned Benoît in place sharp and threatening. Say one word about Damien, and she would go straight to the authorities about what he had tried to do.
Strangely, it wasn’t fear of the authorities that silenced him.
It was fear of Damien.
He said nothing as students helped drag him and his goons toward the nurse’s clinic.
When the crowd dispersed, Jacqueline remained standing there, scanning the room.
Damien was gone.
Of course he was.
Her friends were likely in class, probably assuming she had made it there too. But she hadn’t.
She started searching.
She needed to thank him. If he hadn’t stepped in… Benoît might have
Her stomach twisted.
Bullies like him deserved consequences that would make them think twice before ever trying something like that again.
Judging by the bruises on the three of them, Damien hadn’t held back.
But had he been hurt?
Three against one.
Even someone like him couldn’t walk away untouched… could he?
She checked nearly every hallway and corner she could think of, but he was nowhere to be found.
Finally, she stopped outside the boys’ restroom.
The corridor was nearly empty; most students were in class by now.
She waited.
Three minutes passed.
She exhaled sharply and, before she could overthink it, grabbed the doorknob and stepped inside.
Just as she suspected he was there.
He didn’t look up at first.
But then he inhaled.
His eyes widened slightly.
Her chin lifted, and the moment his olive gaze met her hazel one, her breath faltered.
She looked away quickly.
Her eyes scanned his face.
No bruises.
No cuts.
Not even a scratch.
Three against one and he stood there completely unmarked.
How?
“They look like they got run over by a truck,” she said, a grin tugging at her lips despite everything. “Are you some kind of god or something? Because you’re practically untouchable, dude.”