At that mont, hearing what Oliver just said and catching the exact look in his eyes, Cora’s body tensed. Her breath hitched.
She knew that expression too well.
It was the sa look, the sa cold, sharp stillness she saw on the CCTV footage the night Oliver ruthlessly dealt with the intruder who had dared step into her house. That night still haunted her. The way Oliver moved without hesitation. The way he broke the man down as if he had no weight, no na, no existence.
And now that look... that exact look... was back.
Cora’s fingers gripped the edge of the table beneath them as she leaned slightly toward him, her voice low but urgent. "Oliver... these people are too many," she whispered. Her eyes flicked nervously to the n and won surrounding them, each one staring like wolves circling prey. "The numbers... they’re not on your side. Let try to fix this. Let undo this before it gets worse."
But Oliver didn’t move. His body remained still, but his presence grew heavier as if the air around him had thickened.
A slow smile curved on his lips. Calm. Patient. But deadly.
He leaned closer, and in a quiet tone that carried more power than any scream, he replied, "There’s nothing here for you to undo, Cora."
His eyes didn’t blink. They didn’t waver. They remained locked ahead, focused like a man staring through the soul of his enemy.
"This is far beyond what you can undo," he continued, his voice steady, deep, and bone-chilling. "It’s ti I take over."
At that mont, Cora couldn’t help but take a step back, her eyes locked on Oliver as she slowly moved behind him. She had seen that look before the quiet, deadly calm before everything exploded. It was the sa face Oliver had when he dismantled that thug at her house with barely any effort. But this... this was different. There were too many people now. Too many eyes. Too many bodies.
Still, Oliver’s voice was calm. Too calm. He looked over his shoulder at Cora and smiled faintly, then gestured toward the chair she had just left. "This won’t take long," he said in a relaxed tone. "We’ve got another appointnt, rember? I’ll wrap this up quickly. Sit. Rest your nerves."
His words were casual, even lighthearted. But Cora couldn’t move. She just stood there staring at him. That smile, that calm it was unsettling. Not because she thought he was weak... but because she couldn’t tell if he was overconfident or truly that dangerous. Her heart pounded as she scanned the room. Every fake custor, every person who had been smiling minutes ago, was now circling like a pack of wolves.
Then ca the slow, mocking clap. The lady the one who had been giving all the orders leaned forward, laughing as if Oliver had just told a really good joke.
"Well, bravo," she sneered, still clapping with a condescending smile. "What a speech. What a brave little bodyguard you are. Loyal. Proud. And—" she flicked her wrist dramatically "—so willing to die for your mistress. Adorable."
The n behind her chuckled. A few of them were already cracking their knuckles, stretching like they were warming up for a workout. It was clear they didn’t see Oliver as a threat.
"You know," the lady went on, brushing back her perfectly styled hair with a smirk, "there’s sothing refreshing about soone like you. You’ll make the pain a bit more enjoyable." She turned to the others. "Let’s make sure his recomndation letter is written in blood."
So of the n snickered harder. One even whistled. Another licked his lips like he was hungry for the fight. The tension in the room had shifted fully now. No more pretenses. No more fake etings.
And yet Oliver hadn’t even flinched. He stood there, one hand in his pocket, his other hand resting on the back of Cora’s chair, as if he was just waiting for his drink to arrive.
The woman narrowed her eyes slightly when she noticed that how calm he still was. "You’re not very good at judging odds, are you?" she said slowly, tone dropping. "You’re alone. You’re surrounded. You don’t even look ard."
Oliver finally looked up at her. Just a glance. His voice dropped slightly, still smooth and quiet.
"Do I need to be?"
The lady’s smile faltered for the briefest second but she quickly forced it back, laughing louder to cover the hesitation. "We’ll see," she hissed. "Let’s see if your mouth can fight as good as it talks. Boys... you know what to do."
Slowly but steadily, without rushing, Oliver pulled off his jacket in the most relaxed way possible, as if he had no care in the world. His eyes remained cold and calm, scanning the n in front of him. As he slid the jacket down his arms, he let it fall gently over the back of a nearby chair. Then, he looked up and spoke with a quiet confidence that sohow made the entire room go still.
"I don’t want it to get stained in blood."
That one sentence sent a chilling wave across the space. Cora, standing behind him, felt her chest tighten. She had never heard him speak like that so calm, yet so final.
Then Oliver casually rolled up his sleeves, one side first, slow and steady, then the other. The soft sound of fabric folding echoed, strangely loud in the thick silence. As he finished, his arms toned, veined, and ready ca into full view. He flexed his hands once. Then again.
That was when the ten n started to move.
They stepped forward, forming a wide semi-circle around Oliver, each one cocky, each one clearly amused. They started cracking their knuckles, then their necks, tilting their heads from side to side like they were getting ready for so casual warm-up exercise. The sound of bones popping filled the air. Their eyes glead with malice.
"This is going to be fun," one of them muttered, smirking.
"We’re going to enjoy this," another one added, licking his bottom lip.
From the look of things, they weren’t just planning to beat Oliver. They were planning to humiliate him.
Oliver stood still, no blinking, no flinching, the tension in the room built like a rising drum.
And then, finally, one of the n stepped even closer. He reached out with a cocky grin and tapped Oliver lightly on the shoulder.
"Yeah," the man sneered, "you’ve got a big mouth for soone with no backup. But—"
CRACK!!
Before he could finish that sentence, before the words could even leave his mouth properly, Oliver’s right fist flew with terrifying speed a blur in the air, and landed square on the man’s jaw with a bone-shattering impact.
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