HE LOST HIS DAUGHTER ONCE, NOW HE’S A RUTHLESS BILLIONAIRE

OUR DAUGHTER IS DYING

“Brandon,” Lyra gasped as she looked at her husband, who was standing by the door.

The room went quiet immediately.

Brandon stood there with rage on his face as he was breathing hard. His eyes were red. He stared right at Lyra and Jake with their arms up in the air, like they were frozen in time.

Lyra set her glass down.

"Brandon,”her jaw had tightened. "What do you think you are doing here? Don’t act ridiculous in front of my employees because of your stupid jealousy." 

Brandon did not move. He just stood there, staring to Lyra, who looked beautiful in her dress.

 "Our daughter is dying.” He said, his voice trembled.

The room got quiet again as people started to whisper to each other, as they were getting uncomfortable.

Lyra looked around. She was shocked for a second, but then it disappeared as she replaced the expression with madness.

“You started it again,” she said. “ You are just throwing a tantrum because you did not get your way. You’re a nasty man, Brandon, and you have the guts to stand there and try to cause a scene at my party?”

“A scene?” Brandon laughed hysterically. “Maggie is sick, Lyra. The doctor just told me Maggie might only have a month left.”

“Shut up!” she said in a whisper, her voice shaking with anger. “I saw Maggie this week. She was totally fine. How could she be dying now? You’re just looking for any excuse you can to bring up anything to destroy the things I’m trying to build.”

Before Brandon could say anything, Jake put a hand on Lyra’s shoulder to calm her down, then looked at Brandon with a sad face.

"Brandon, please, let’s all take a breath," he said, gently raising his hands.” This is too much. I know you love Lyra. I know you want her to go home with you tonight, but to say that your own child is dying just to win an argument, that’s really below the bar.”

Jake said loudly so everyone could hear him." A child shouldn't be taught to weaponize her own health just to satisfy her father's deep-seated insecurity."

Brandon’s breath hitched. Jake was implying that he was manipulating his own dying daughter, coaching her to fake illnesses to sabotage his wife.

"Shut up!" He roared, his fists clenching so hard his knuckles turned white.

He crossed the distance between them before anyone could grasp what was happening. His fist caught Jake squarely across the jaw.

 The impact sent a violent, shuddering jolt up his arm, but it was nothing compared to the agony in his chest.

Jake crashed backward into the wall, his flawless elite composure instantly shattering as blood welled at the corner of his mouth.

"Brandon, stop!" Lyra’s shriek pierced the chaos.

SLAP!

A blinding, violent crack echoed through the ruined banquet hall.

Brandon’s head was snapped violently to the side, the sheer force of the blow throwing him off balance. He stumbled backward into the shattered glass, his boots losing traction as he hit the floor hard. A sharp, searing heat exploded across his left cheek, followed by the immediate, metallic taste of blood inside his mouth.

“Are you crazy?” Lyra screamed at Brandon, not even looking at the mess, but rushing to check if Jake was hurt as if his well-being was more important than the husband standing in front of her.

“Jake, are you ok? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” Jake said. He was holding a hand to his bleeding jaw, leaning heavily into the wall, looking like a perfect victim of senseless brutality—breathless, pale, and deeply shaken.

Lyra then turned to Brandon, her eyes full of anger.

“Why are you acting like this in public? Look what you just did. You ruined everything. Say sorry to him immediately, and you have to apologize to everyone in this party.”

But Brandon did not say anything. He looked at Lyra helping Jake and sneered at them.

"Lyra... please, it's alright," Jake’s voice rose from behind her, weak and trembling, yet perfectly timed.

"Don't be too impulsive. Please, don't hurt him on my account. He's... he's clearly not in his right mind tonight. Let’s just be considerate."

He looked down at Brandon over her shoulder.

And there, hidden from Lyra’s sight, the fragile victim disappeared. For a fraction of a second, Jake’s lips twitched into a tiny, cruel smirk. His eyes gleamed with a sickening, triumphant satisfaction.

"Look at him, Jake!" Lyra snapped, turning her face to him, her tone instantly shifting from venomous rage to desperate, breathless concern. She touched his face, her fingers trembling as she wiped the blood from his lip. "He brutally assaulted you! And you're still defending him? You're still trying to protect him?!"

She turned back to Brandon, the disgust in her eyes so dense it felt like a physical weight crushing his lungs.

"Look at the contrast between the two of you," she said, her voice dropping into a cold, lethal register of pure contempt. "Jake is bleeding because of your pathetic jealousy, and yet he is still thinking about your dignity. And you? You lie there, making up disgusting lies about our daughter dying just to ruin my career. You are a parasite, Brandon. An absolute, pathetic parasite."

Brandon sat on the cold floor, the glass cutting into his palms, the left side of his face swelling rapidly from her palm. The physical pain was immense, but inside, something had gone entirely numb.

He had spent six years protecting this woman, protecting their home, ensuring she never had to face a single hardship alone. And this was the return on investment. A public execution by her own hand.

A laugh tore out of his throat.

He pushed himself up from the floor. 

Without saying another word, he brushed his hands away from the bouncers and turned around to walk out of the ruined room.

Just as he reached the door, Lyra called out.

“Brandon, wait!”