Chapter 4 The Wife Bites Back
Chapter 4 The Wife Bites Back
“The little minx bites back,” Malcolm drawled, his grin widening. “I like that.”
The tension Dominic’s arrival had cut through snapped taut again. Malcolm Blackwood dragged his tongue slowly across his lower lip as he advanced, step by deliberate step, forcing Liora backward until her spine met the cold marble wall of the kitchen corridor. The space was narrow, faintly scented with spices and polished stone, but the way he loomed over her made it feel airless.
“Why not give me a chance?” Malcolm said lazily, eyes roaming without shame. “You’ll find I’m a far better catch than my washed out, useless older brother, who you are serving”
His lips curled in disdain. “I could give you a house, a car, designer bags delivered weekly.” His voice dipped. “And pleasure. Plenty of it.”
Just name exactly what you want ,Liora’s fingers curled tightly at her sides as she listens to his ranting.
She had endured humiliation all her life and had swallowed Selene Hale’s barbs and also her family’s indifference without protes nut this was completely different. This wasn’t cruelty dressed as duty. This was filth masquerading as generosity.
From the second-floor stairwell, Uncle Lawrence froze mid step. His aged face hardened as he took in the scene below. Lowering his voice, he leaned toward the wheelchair beside him. “Young Master,” he murmured, “shall I intervene?”
Dominic Blackwood’s hands rested calmly on the armrests. His posture appeared fragile, almost passive, but his gaze was razor-sharp, locked on Malcolm’s hand as it slid to Liora’s hip, fingers tightening possessively.
“Look again,” Dominic said quietly. Below them, Liora lifted her chin despite Malcolm boxing her in. Her voice rang clear and steady.
“For the sake of your older brother,” she said, “I’ll warn you one last time. Step away from me.”
Malcolm scoffed, ignoring her entirely. His fingers rose to grip her chin as though she were something to be inspected. Her skin was soft, softer than he’d expected.
He had toyed with countless women from powerful families, women eager to please, desperate to cling to status but this one was completely different sharp and fiery.
Her gentle face hid a temper sharp enough to draw blood. “Isn’t life with me better than playing nursemaid to a cripple?” Malcolm murmured. “Kitchen work is dirty and tiring. Come with me, my little wife, and I’ll”
He never finished, Liora’s knee shot upward with ruthless precision. The impact landed squarely between Malcolm’s legs.
A howl tore from his throat as he doubled over, stumbling back several steps, his face contorting in agony. “You psycho!” he snarled hoarsely. “How dare you I’ll kill you, you little slut!”
Liora didn’t retreat she just spun and seized the knife resting on the chopping board, and turned back just as fast, the blade glinting beneath the overhead lights. She aimed it straight at his throat.
Despite her slender frame, the ferocity radiating from her was undeniable. “Try it,” she said coldly. “See if I don’t kill you first.”
From upstairs, Uncle Lawrence instinctively clenched his thighs together that hadn’t been luck. It had been controlled, decisive and brutally effective. “Young Master,” he muttered in awe, “your wife… she crippled the second son with one strike.”
Dominic’s lips twitched faintly. “Get me downstairs. Now.”
If Malcolm had dared to touch what was his, then this this was mercy. Uncle Lawrence didn’t waste a second, pushing Dominic swiftly toward the elevator. By the time they reached the ground floor, Malcolm had barely recovered enough to straighten.
Liora, however, had already advanced again, the knife hovering dangerously close to his neck. Malcolm felt bile rise in his throat then he heard it. The soft, unmistakable sound of a wheelchair approaching.
Refusing to show weakness before that so-called cripple, Malcolm forced himself upright, jaw clenched.
“Your servant girl is out of control, brother,” he sneered. “She dared to lay hands on me. You’d best teach her a lesson.”
At the sound of Dominic’s presence, Liora slowly lowered the knife. But when Malcolm finished speaking, she slammed it into the chopping board with a sharp, echoing clatter.
“I’m out of control?” she snapped. “Your hands were all over me within seconds of meeting me. I’d say you got off lightly.”
Malcolm stared at her, stunned by her audacity. “Come here.”
Dominic’s voice cut in calm, almost gentle. Liora hesitated only a second before stepping to his side. Dominic lifted his gaze to Malcolm, his expression mild, perfectly composed. “Where are you hurt?” he asked. “Are you alright?”
The question nearly choked Malcolm. How could he say it? How could he admit that a woman half his size had nearly ended his bloodline?
“It’s nothing,” Malcolm spat. “But she attacked me. You should put her in her place. If it’s too difficult for you, I’d be happy to assist.”
The contempt was unmistakable and Liora felt it instantly. Her expression softened into wounded composure as she clutched Dominic’s arm, her voice lowering, steady but resolute.
“He started it,” she said. “He spoke to me like I was something to buy. He offered me gift and even touched me.”
She paused then added softly, deliberately “Husband.”
Dominic froze for a fraction of a second. Then slowly, he raised his hand and brushed his thumb along her chin, as though wiping away the contamination of Malcolm’s touch.
“I know,” he said. Malcolm’s eyes widened.
“What did you say?”
Dominic took Liora’s hand, his grip warm, firm far too steady for a cripple. After a light cough, he spoke, his hoarse voice carrying absolute authority. “She is my wife.”
Silence crashed down on the room. Malcolm staggered back, shock washing over his face. Impossible. When their father mentioned Dominic’s marriage, Malcolm himself had suggested an ugly, troublesome woman someone meant to humiliate him and yet his gaze kept returning to Liora.
This woman was nothing like what he had imagined and as Dominic’s fingers tightened subtly around hers, Malcolm realized something far worse.
This marriage wasn’t weakness, It was a declaration of war.