Chapter 267 You Torture Women Only Because You Are Incompetent

Chapter 267 You Torture Women Only Because You Are Incompetent

Edward's face turned ashen, the veins at his temples throbbing visibly.

Andrew leaned back into the sofa, savoring his expression with evident amusement.

"Mr. Russell," Andrew sighed leisurely, his tone dripping with mocking pity.

"Honestly, I feel sorry for you. You had such a wonderful woman right beside you, but you didn't cherish her. Instead, you let yourself be played by someone whose head was full of nothing but money. Mistaking glass beads for pearls, and pearls for glass beads. Mr. Russell, your judgment of character is truly abysmal."

As he finished, he watched with satisfaction as Edward's face paled further, his smile deepening.

But the next second, Edward suddenly laughed.

Andrew's smile froze.

His hand holding the wine glass stopped mid-air, his brow slowly furrowing.

"What are you laughing at?" His voice dropped. "Edward, have you lost your mind?"

He shot a glance to the side. A bodyguard standing in the shadows silently stepped forward, his hand moving to the holster at his waist.

But Edward's laughter stopped abruptly.

He raised his head, looking directly at Andrew, his eyes cold as ice.

"I'm laughing at you."

Andrew's eyebrow twitched.

"Andrew... no, Charles Howard." Edward spoke slowly.

"You sit in this castle drinking red wine, displaying family crests, putting on airs like some aristocratic patriarch—you play the part quite well. But did you think I wouldn't know? You never had any right to inherit the Howard family legacy in the first place."

Andrew's face instantly darkened.

"If your brother—the real Charles—hadn't gotten into that car accident, hadn't ended up paralyzed in a wheelchair, unable to leave his room, you'd still be nothing more than a two-bit gang leader operating in the shadows. In those filthy districts, fighting for territory with fists and bullets, living a seemingly lavish but ultimately precarious existence."

Edward's voice was unhurried, yet each word cut straight into Andrew's deepest wounds.

"If your old boss hadn't died, you'd have been silenced eventually. Hell, your boss probably wouldn't even need to lift a finger—with all the enemies you've made, you'd have been stabbed to death in some alley long ago."

"Shut your mouth!" Andrew shot to his feet, his wine glass flying off the coffee table and smashing against the stone platform by the fireplace with a sharp crack.

The mask of refinement on his face finally shattered.

Edward didn't retreat an inch.

Instead, he stepped forward, chin slightly raised, looking down at Andrew.

"What? Am I wrong? Aren't you a bastard child? Wasn't your mother a prostitute? If the Howard family hadn't been desperate for an heir, if your brother's crippled legs hadn't made public appearances impossible, when would it ever be your turn to play this stand-in role?"

Andrew's breathing became labored, his nostrils flaring violently as he used every ounce of willpower to suppress the urge to lunge forward and strangle the man before him.

Edward acted as though he noticed nothing, continuing relentlessly.

"Most importantly, you still don't have any real power, do you?"

Andrew's face turned completely dark.

His lips pressed into a bloodless line, the twitching around his eyes spreading to the corners of his mouth.

"I told you to shut up!" he roared.

"Edward, don't think I won't kill you! This is my territory! I could have you dead with a snap of my fingers!"

"Then do it." Edward sneered, stepping even closer, right into Andrew's face.

"Of course you can kill me. Any one of those mercenaries outside could snap my neck with one hand. But even if you kill me, it won't change the facts. You, Andrew—you seem powerful, with eyes and claws everywhere, but in reality, you've always been controlled by that brother of yours sitting in his wheelchair. You have to read his expressions, get his approval for everything. Even when seeking revenge, you only dare pick on women—you don't have the guts to touch the real targets. It must eat you alive, doesn't it?"

A crimson haze clouded Andrew's eyes, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles cracked audibly.

"You're the able-bodied one. You can walk, run, stand here confronting me. Yet you'll always be beneath that cripple. You're not the head of the Howard family—you're his dog. When he can't go somewhere from his wheelchair, he sends you. When he can't show his face, you step in. You wear his suits, drink wine bearing the family crest, live in this godforsaken castle—but at the end of the day, you're just a shadow he's thrown into the world."

Edward paused, then drove the final blade home, word by deliberate word.

"So stop talking to me about games. You torture Jennifer, torture other women—not because you're powerful, but precisely because you're powerless. The only things you can control are those you lock up, those weaker than yourself. You can't hold your head up in front of your brother, so you find your sense of existence through women. Andrew, that's not terrifying. That's pathetic."

Andrew's face contorted completely.

"You're dead!"

He lunged forward, his fist connecting with Edward's cheekbone.

Edward staggered backward, knocking over a side table. A lamp crashed to the floor, its shade rolling away.

Before Edward could steady himself, Andrew was on him again, grabbing his collar with both hands and driving his knee viciously into his abdomen.

Edward grunted, then grabbed Andrew's arm, twisting hard while his other fist slammed into Andrew's ribs.

Andrew gasped in pain, his grip loosening momentarily. Edward broke free and landed another punch across his face.

Blood immediately spurted from the split in his lip, staining his white teeth crimson.

The bodyguard in the shadows quickly raised his gun, the black muzzle aimed at the back of Edward's head.

"Don't shoot!" Andrew roared, wiping the blood from his mouth. "He's mine! I'll beat him to death with my own hands!"

The bodyguard hesitated, lowering the gun slightly.

In that instant of distraction, Andrew tackled Edward to the ground.

The two men rolled and grappled on the carpet. The coffee table was kicked over, glass shards crunching beneath them. The flames in the fireplace flickered wildly in the sudden draft of cold air.

Andrew pinned Edward down, his knee pressed hard against Edward's chest, raining down punch after punch.