Maxwell Peary ignored Hendry Hampton’s father, lowering his head and casually pulling Nia Mitchell into his embrace.
Nia Mitchell gasped.
His unfamiliar male scent filled her nostrils. When she timidly raised her head, her gaze fell into his dark eyes.
"Your taste in n is truly awful, wanting a man like that."
His thin lips parted slightly. Rabina Mitchell needs protection, he thought. And in this world, only he possessed the ability to provide it.
"Young Master Peary? My ignorant daughter was blind to true quality. A magnanimous man like yourself surely wouldn’t hold this against a re woman, would you?"
Beatrice’s father, his face ashen, ca over, bowing and scraping.
Beatrice Swan bit her lip and clenched her fists as she watched her father’s servile behavior. Proud as she was, how could she accept her father deaning himself so?
But she wasn’t a fool. Her father’s actions clearly showed her how exceptional the man Nia Mitchell had brought truly was.
Hendry Hampton, standing beside that man, paled in utter comparison.
If only she could...
At that mont, a glint flashed through Beatrice Swan’s eyes.
"Sir, don’t be fooled by that bitch Nia Mitchell! She’s just a gold-digging whore who uses her body for dirty deals! She— AHH!"
Before Beatrice Swan could finish speaking, a sharp pain shot through her left hand. Suddenly, three of her fingers lay severed on the ground.
"AHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
Seeing the blood-soaked fingers on the floor, Beatrice Swan’s face went deathly pale from the pain. She let out a high-pitched shriek of terror; her left pinky, ring, and middle fingers had been cleanly severed.
"Beatrice! Beatrice, are you all right?"
"It hurts... SOB SOB SOB... I’m going to die! I’m going to die..."
"Beatrice, call an ambulance, quickly!"
"Beatrice, it’s okay, it’s okay! Just bear with it!"
"AHHH!!! IT HURTS!!!" Beatrice Swan roared. "Call the police! I want to report them! I’ll sue them into oblivion!"
Her cries were heart-wrenching. How am I any worse than that little bitch Nia Mitchell? she thought bitterly.
That man is a devil.
"Shut up!!!" Beatrice’s father cried, tears streaming down his old face. "What terrible sin did we commit to deserve this!"
Nia Mitchell, anwhile, was scared witless.
She had never witnessed such a scene in her entire life. She couldn’t believe she had so recklessly provoked such a person.
Just then, Maxwell Peary, the man who had injured Beatrice Swan, slowly took out a handkerchief and began to gently wipe the blood from his small black knife. A dangerously alluring and wild smirk remained on his lips.
Nia Mitchell recoiled a few steps in fear.
Maxwell Peary turned around. It seed Rabina Mitchell was quite frightened.
Dammit! he cursed inwardly. Just monts ago, he’d thought three fingers were too lenient for Beatrice Swan, but now he sowhat regretted acting so rashly. He should have coaxed Rabina Mitchell to leave first and then sent n to wreck the place. Even killing a few people wouldn’t have mattered then.
Maxwell Peary, who had always been arrogant and disdainful of everyone, felt this for the first ti. Matters involving bloodshed should be handled more discreetly, not so openly, he thought.
Seeing Rabina Mitchell trembling, and then looking at Hendry Hampton cradling Beatrice Swan...
"Wh-what more do you want?" Nia Mitchell stamred.
Seeing Maxwell Peary’s gaze fix on Hendry Hampton, Nia Mitchell suppressed her fear and t his eyes directly.
Maxwell Peary frowned, displeased. "Are you that desperate to get married?"
He had actually wanted to ask if she liked Hendry Hampton that much. But then he rembered they had rushed back today for their engagent; naturally, she would only decide to get engaged if she liked him. Afraid of hearing an answer he didn’t want, he’d asked a different question obliquely.
"Huh?"
Nia Mitchell’s mind went blank for a mont. She swallowed hard, struggling to keep up with the pace of his questioning.
"I said! Are you that desperate to get married?"
Maxwell Peary roared, exasperated.
He never had to repeat himself. Does this Rabina Mitchell even have ears? he fud inwardly.
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