A Divorce She Regrets

CHAPTER 6

For a long moment, Ethan said nothing.

He simply stood there, staring at Mrs. Hart. His face was blank. Empty. Like a statue carved from stone.

Mrs. Hart mistook his silence for weakness. Her sneer widened.

"What?" she mocked. "Nothing to say? No brave words now that you are out of your little cage?"

Behind Ethan, Claire stood near the doorway. Her hand moved subtly toward her phone, ready to signal the bodyguards waiting outside. But Ethan raised one hand slightly. A small gesture. Barely noticeable.

Wait.

Claire's hand stopped. She watched him carefully, her expression tense.

Ethan's voice, when he finally spoke, was quiet. Dangerously quiet.

"Where is my sister?"

Mrs. Hart blinked. Then she laughed. A harsh, grating sound.

"Did you not hear me the first time?" she said. "We sent her away. To someone who can actually use her for something. Unlike you, who just kept her around like a useless pet."

"Where is she?" Ethan repeated. His tone had not changed. Still quiet. Still calm. But there was something beneath it now. Something dark.

Mrs. Hart's smile faltered slightly. She felt a strange chill run down her spine.

But she shook it off. This was Ethan Cross. Nobody. A criminal fresh out of prison. What could he possibly do to her?

"You dare speak to me like that?" she hissed, her face reddening. "After everything my daughter did for you? After she wasted three years waiting for a worthless"

"Where... Is. My. Sister."

The temperature in the room seemed to drop.

Mrs. Hart's breath caught. For a moment, she saw something in Ethan's eyes. Something that made her stomach twist.

But pride and arrogance are hard to kill.

She raised her hand and swung it toward his face.

A slap. Hard and vicious.Ethan's hand moved.

Fast. So fast Mrs. Hart did not even see it.

His fingers closed around her wrist, stopping her hand inches from his cheek.

Mrs. Hart gasped. She tried to pull her arm back. But Ethan's grip was like iron. Unmoving. Unbreakable.

"Let go of me!" she shrieked, her voice rising in panic. "Let go!"

Ethan did not let go. He simply looked at her. His eyes were cold. Empty. Like looking into an abyss.

Mrs. Hart's face went pale. Her knees trembled. The arrogance drained from her expression, replaced by raw, primal fear.

"You…" she whispered. "You…"

David Hart, who had been watching from the side, finally snapped out of his shock.

"Hey!" he shouted, stepping forward. "Get your filthy hands off my mother!"

He pointed a finger at Ethan, his voice rising with false bravado. "Do you know who we are? Do you know who backs us now? Marcus Ashford. One of the four great families. If you touch us, he will bury you."

Ethan's gaze shifted to David. Slowly. Deliberately.

David felt his throat go dry.

"We have connections now," David continued, his voice cracking slightly. "Powerful connections. Marcus can have you thrown back in prison with one phone call. Hell, he can make you disappear completely. So if you know what is good for you, you will let my mother go and get the hell out of this house."

Ethan released Mrs. Hart's wrist. She stumbled backward, clutching her arm, her chest heaving.

David smirked, thinking Ethan was afraid. "That is right. Know your place. And that blind little tramp?" David stepped closer, his confidence fully restored now. "She is probably at the club right now," David said, his grin widening. "Moaning under some rich man. That is all she is good for anyway. A pretty little doll who cannot see what is happening to her. Honestly, we should have sold her years ago. Would have saved us a lot of trouble."

The room went silent.

Even the workers had stopped moving. They stood frozen, sensing something terrible about to happen.

Mrs. Hart, still clutching her wrist, looked at her son. "David, maybe you should"

She did not finish.

Because Ethan moved.

One moment he was standing still. The next, his hand shot forward.

A single strike. Palm open. Aimed at David's chest.

It looked almost casual. Effortless.

But the sound that followed was like thunder.

CRACK.

David's body lifted off the ground. His eyes went wide with shock. His mouth opened in a soundless scream.

He flew backward.

Not stumbled. Not fell.

Flew.

His body hurtled through the air, arms flailing, legs kicking uselessly.

He crashed into the far wall with a sickening.

THUD. 

The plaster cracked. A spiderweb of fractures spread across the surface. Dust and debris rained down.

David collapsed to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut. Blood spilled from his mouth, dark and thick, pooling on the floor beneath him. His body twitched once, twice then went still.

He lay there, gasping for air, his eyes rolling back in his head. One of his arms was bent at a strange angle. His ribs rose and fell rapidly, each breath wet and rattling.

Mrs. Hart screamed.

The workers dropped what they were holding and backed toward the door, their faces pale with terror.

Claire, still standing near the entrance, did not move. She had seen violence before. But this… this was different.

That had not been the strike of an ordinary man.

That had been the strike of someone trained. Someone dangerous.

Ethan walked forward slowly. His footsteps echoed in the silence. He stopped beside David's broken body and looked down at him.

David's eyes were wide with fear and pain. Blood bubbled at the corners of his mouth. He tried to speak, but only a wet, choking sound came out.

Ethan crouched down. He placed his foot on David's chest. 

Then he pressed down.

David screamed. A raw, broken sound.

"You have one last chance. Answer my question. Now.” Ethan’s voice was cold.