Chapter 122

Chapter 122

"Screeeech—!"

The ear-splitting screech of brakes tore through the air.

A black Maybach lunged forward like a rabid animal, swerving violently to block the curb and cutting off their path entirely.

The car door flew open with a savage kick. Brandon stormed out, still wearing last night's blood-stained suit, radiating a terrifying aura of violence.

Stella screamed, her hot chocolate slipping from her hands and splattering brown liquid across the pavement.

Instinctively, she dove behind Scarlett, clutching desperately at the hem of Scarlett's coat.

Scarlett's expression turned ice-cold as she quickly shielded Stella behind her.

Before she could say a word, Brandon was already closing in with long, aggressive strides.

His bloodshot eyes locked on her. He grabbed Scarlett's wrist in a bruising grip and yanked her hard against his chest.

The familiar scent of cedar mixed with the metallic tang of blood hit her full force.

Brandon's hand clamped around the back of her head. He lowered his mouth to hers in a kiss that was pure punishment—brutal, possessive, insane.

He was staking his claim, forcing her to remember in the most violent way possible exactly whose woman she was.

"Mmph—!" Scarlett's shock turned to fury as she struggled against him.

Without hesitation, she opened her mouth and bit down hard on his tongue. The taste of rust flooded both their mouths instantly.

Brandon flinched in pain, his grip loosening for half a second. Scarlett seized the opportunity and shoved him away with all her strength.

Crack!

The sharp sound of the slap echoed down the quiet street.

Brandon's head snapped to the side, five angry red marks blooming across his cheek.

"You animal!" Scarlett's chest heaved violently. Her clear eyes burned with pure disgust and rage as she glared at him, her voice cutting like a blade. "Brandon, you make me sick!"

Brandon slowly turned his head back, dragging his thumb across the blood at the corner of his mouth.

He watched Scarlett's defensive posture, watched her shield Alex's daughter behind her, and something inside his chest felt like it was being fed through a meat grinder.

"I make you sick?" Brandon's jaw clenched as he advanced on her, step by step. "You're my wife. You moved into another man's apartment, and I'm the one who makes you sick? Scarlett, you're coming home with me. Today."

He reached for her.

"I'd rather die than go back with you!" Scarlett cut him off coldly, her eyes devoid of warmth. "Brandon, stop chasing me around like a rabid dog. Sign the divorce papers and be done with it. There's nothing left between us. Nothing."

"Never!" Brandon completely lost it. He lunged forward to physically drag her to the car.

That's when a hand shot out from the side—long fingers closing around Brandon's wrist like an iron vise.

"Mr. Robinson, forcing yourself on a woman in broad daylight—that's hardly befitting Imperial City's upper class, wouldn't you say?"

Alex stepped out from the apartment entrance, dressed in a charcoal cashmere coat. His demeanor was calm, refined—but the pressure he applied to Brandon's wrist was anything but gentle, forcibly halting Brandon's movement.

Brandon's head whipped around. The moment he saw Alex's composed face, every ounce of old and new hatred exploded inside him.

"Get. Out. Of. My. Way." Brandon's voice dropped to a lethal whisper, dripping with murderous intent. "This is a family matter. It's none of your business."

"Scarlett is my personal physician and my friend. Her business is my business." Alex didn't back down an inch. He released Brandon's wrist with a sharp jerk and positioned himself squarely between Brandon and the two women, shielding them completely.

That protective stance shredded the last of Brandon's self-control.

Watching Scarlett look so safe, so relieved standing behind Alex—the final thread of his sanity snapped.

Brandon's eyes flashed. His right hand darted inside his coat.

The next second, a silver handgun emerged, the black barrel pressing directly against Alex's forehead.

The air froze.

The bodyguards flanking the Maybach immediately spread out with military precision, sealing both ends of the street.

"Daddy!" Stella burst into tears.

Alex stared down the cold steel pressed to his brow without so much as a blink.

He didn't move. Didn't flinch. He remained planted firmly in front of Scarlett, his tone unsettlingly calm. "Mr. Robinson planning to open fire on a Phoenix City street? Go ahead and try. The Lewis family's legal team will make sure you rot in prison for the rest of your life."

"You think I won't do it?" Brandon's finger moved to the trigger, violence flooding his eyes.

"Brandon, enough!"

Scarlett's fury finally boiled over. She would not let Alex get hurt because of her.

She shoved Alex's arm aside and pulled a small handgun from her coat pocket.

Alex had given it to her last night when she moved into the apartment—for protection.

Click. The chamber loaded.

Scarlett gripped the gun with both hands, her arms steady as steel.

The barrel aimed directly at Brandon's heart without a trace of hesitation.

"Put. The gun. Down." Scarlett's voice was ice. The way she looked at him—like he was already a corpse.

Brandon froze.

He stared at the muzzle pointed at his chest, at Scarlett's emotionless eyes, and his pupils contracted violently.

His heart felt like it was being ripped apart by invisible hands, the pain so sharp he could taste blood with every breath.

She was pointing a gun at him. To protect Alex, she was willing to kill him.

"You'd kill me... for him?" Brandon's voice cracked, the gun in his hand beginning to tremble. He looked at Scarlett, his eyes drowning in disbelief, despair, and anguish.

"Spare me the theatrics." Scarlett's laugh was bitter, dripping with mockery. "You were ready to let me die for Elizabeth. Now I'm pointing a gun at you to protect my friend. What's the problem?"

She took another step forward, pressing the barrel hard against his chest. "Brandon, put the gun down. And then leave. Don't make me pull this trigger."

Brandon looked at her resolute face.

And suddenly, he understood. He had truly lost her.

No matter what he did—no matter how desperately he tried to fix this, how much he spiraled—she would never look back.

The realization drained every last ounce of strength from his body.

Brandon let out a hollow, broken laugh, the light in his eyes extinguishing completely.

Slowly, he lowered his gun. He looked at Scarlett one last time—a look saturated with regret and despair so deep it had no bottom.

He didn't say another word. He turned, yanked open the car door, and climbed into the Maybach.

The black sedan tore away just as violently as it had arrived, carrying with it a storm of menace and wreckage.

The street fell silent again.

Scarlett's tightly wound nerves finally gave out. Her hands began to shake uncontrollably around the grip of the gun.

Alex turned around, gently taking the weapon from her trembling fingers. He flicked the safety back on and slipped it into his own pocket.

"It's over." Alex rested a hand on her shoulder, his voice steady and grounding.

Scarlett took a deep breath and crouched down, pulling the trembling Stella into her arms. She rubbed the little girl's back softly. "Stella, it's okay. The bad man is gone now."

Stella buried her face in Scarlett's shoulder, nodding through her sobs.

Alex ushered them both quickly into the apartment lobby.

The moment they stepped through the revolving doors, the Lewis family's head butler rushed forward, his face grim.

"Mr. Lewis." The butler lowered his voice, urgency threading through every word. "Security just reported—three blocks surrounding the building have been completely locked down by Robinson Group's security convoy."

The butler's words plunged the lobby into a frozen silence.