RUTHLESS MAGNATE'S SUPREMACY

Chapter 2

Jarren Corpuz stood in the dim, enclosed firing range, his chest heaving with a suffocating mix of fury and betrayal. The deafening crack of gunfire was the only medium capable of absorbing the raw, venomous rage he harbored toward the Joans family. With heavy tactical muffs clamped firmly over his ears, a low, primal growl tore through his throat as he raised the weapon. In a burst of absolute precision, three consecutive rounds erupted from the barrel, the sharp recoil echoing through his bones as he poured every ounce of his hatred into the trigger.

He yanked off the hearing protection, tossing it onto the wooden counter. His dark eyes remained fixed on the human silhouette target suspended down the corridor, burning with an unyielding glare.

"Bullseye, Boss!" his trainer called out, peering through a spotting scope with wide eyes. "All three shots went through the exact same hole!"

Jarren did not answer. He laid the sidearm onto the counter, its steel frame still radiating heat. With deliberate, measured movements, he adjusted the lapels of his long, tailored black tuxedo, smoothing out the invisible wrinkles caused by his stance. Glancing at his reflection in the glass, he slipped on a pair of dark sunglasses, concealing the rage beneath an impenetrable veil of cold composure, and swept out of the facility.

He returned to his estate, shedding the gunpowder-scented clothes for a scalding shower, hoping the water might wash away the bitter residue of the past few days. Afterward, he sat down at the head of a massive dining table. Spread before him was an opulent breakfast, served on porcelain plates with polished golden forks and spoons that caught the morning light. The food smelled divine, yet to Jarren, it was nothing more than ash and paper. His appetite was entirely gone, swallowed whole by the festering resentment in his chest. Pushing the pristine silverware aside, he rose, grabbed his keys, and walked out to his car.

The drive to the corporate headquarters of the Corpuz Estate was silent and swift. He pulled up to the glass facade of the high-rise building, handed his keys to the valet, and stepped through the soaring glass doors into the marble lobby. He had barely taken three steps inside when two figures emerged from the shadows of the lounge area, cutting off his path. It was Rina Joans, the matriarch of the family, accompanied by her eldest son, Niro.

Jarren paused, taking a slow breath to anchor his composure. Despite the unspeakable cruelty and slander this family had inflicted upon him over the past few days, he refused to abandon his principles.

"Good morning, Mom," Jarren offered softly, forced politeness lacing his tone. He turned his attention to the man standing beside her. "Good morning, Niro. How are you? How was your vacation in Thailand?"

It was not a performative act, nor was it an attempt to curry favor. It was a matter of dignity, a testament to his own self-respect. He would not allow their savagery to degrade his manners.

Before he could even register the movement, Rina’s hand whipped across the air. A sharp, stinging slap cracked across Jarren’s left cheek, the impact echoing loudly in the spacious lobby.

Jarren swallowed hard. The practiced, courteous smile drained instantly from his face, leaving behind a stone mask.

"Mom?" he whispered, his voice dangerously low.

"You are an utterly hopeless disappointment, Jarren Corpuz!" Rina hissed, her face contorted with righteous indignation. "Did you honestly think you could fool my daughter? Who did you trade her for, hmm? Tell me!"

What is wrong with these people? Jarren cursed silently, his mind racing to comprehend the sheer audacity of the accusation. When his relationship with Nerissa crumbled, he had willingly taken the brunt of the blame, swallowing his pride and letting people believe that the breakup was his fault just to protect her reputation. Yet, instead of gratitude, the Joans treated him with absolute, unbridled contempt.

"Mom... it’s not like that..."

"Stop playing the innocent fool, Jarren!" she snapped, stepping closer, her claw-like nails trembling with rage. "I know my daughter would never betray you. But you? You are more than capable of such deception! I am here today to reclaim Nerissa’s money!"

Jarren’s eyes widened behind his dark sunglasses. He blinked, stunned into silence for a brief moment. Money?

"Mom, Nerissa doesn't have any money with me..."

He mentally combed through every transaction, every gift, every shared account over the years, wondering if he had somehow forgotten a financial exchange. But there was nothing. If anything, the truth was entirely flipped. He detested bringing up past generosity, but the sheer absurdity of their demands was pushing him past his limit.

Niro stepped forward, bridging the distance between them, his posture stiff and aggressive. "Stop running us in circles the way you ran my sister, Jarren," Niro warned, his tone steeped in a silent menace. "You might have been able to manipulate Neri and spin her around your little finger, but you are dealing with the rest of the Joans family now. We are a completely different story."

Jarren locked eyes with Niro, his patience fraying like a worn rope. "Niro, when I tell you that Nerissa never gave me a single cent, I mean it. Whatever ridiculous rumors you’ve been listening to, they are complete fabrications."

"Nine million dollars, Jarren," Rina interjected coldly, cutting through his explanation like a blade. "That is the exact amount you owe us. It is my daughter's money, and you will return every penny."

Jarren’s jaw dropped slightly. The astronomical figure hung in the air between them, absurd and surreal.

"I don't give a damn about your breakup with Nerissa," Niro said, leaning in close, his breath hot against Jarren's ear. "But my sister's money? You are going to return it to us right now!"

Jarren swallowed hard, feeling the tight knot in his throat tighten further. To be ambushed at the crack of dawn in his own corporate lobby with such a blatant, extortionist scheme was infuriating. He knew precisely what they were doing; this was a calculated shakedown, a desperate attempt by the Joans to leech off his fortune one last time. Every instinct begged him to strike back.

His fingers brushed against his suit jacket, feeling the subtle, hard outline of a velvet box tucked neatly into his inner pocket. He didn't even know why he kept carrying it around—the very ring Nerissa had coldly handed back to him.

"I never took a single cent from Nerissa, Niro," Jarren sighed, his voice heavy with exhaustion.

If anyone had poured money into the relationship, it was him. He had spent millions funding her lavish lifestyle, buying her designer wardrobes, and floating her family's failing ventures.

"Look," Jarren said calmly, reaching inside his tuxedo and producing the small velvet box. He flipped it open, revealing the diamond ring resting inside.

The brilliant jewel caught the morning sunlight streaming through the tall glass doors, fracturing it into brilliant, dazzling rays.

"I was the one who gave Neri a ring," Jarren said, keeping his eyes fixed on Niro. "Perhaps you’ve misunderstood the situation, Niro." His eyes nailed Rina. "Look at this ring, Mom. It is worth ten million dollars. When Nerissa and I met at that bar the other night, this was what she returned to me."

Before Jarren could close the box, Niro’s hand darted forward, grabbing the ring straight from its velvet cushion.

"This!" Niro declared with a triumphant sneer. "This will do just fine as payment for the money you stole from my sister!"

A sudden, fiery warmth flushed up the back of Jarren’s neck. The last remnant of his restraint shattered into dust.

In a movement as fast as a striking viper, Jarren clamped his hand around Niro’s wrist, crushing the bones together with brute strength as he ripped the ring back from his fingers. Niro gasped, his face twisting in sudden, agonized pain as he stumbled backward, clutching his severely bruised wrist.

"Have you completely lost your shame, Niro?!" Jarren growled, his voice trembling with a terrifying, long-suppressed anger. "You should be grateful that's all I did to you!"

Enraged by the pain and embarrassment, Niro lunged forward, shoving Jarren hard in the left side of his chest. "Give me that ring!"

Jarren staggered back half a step, but his combat instincts instantly took over. Refusing to let anyone lay a hostile hand on him, his body reacted to raw muscle memory. Rotating his shoulders, he drove the back of his right fist upward in a violent, sweeping motion, striking Niro straight across the jaw with his folded knuckles—and the heavy diamond ring pinned between them.

The impact crackled through the lobby. Niro gasped, staggering backward as his hands flew up to cup his bloodied mouth.

"I would sooner die before I hand over a ring I bled and slaved to buy!" Jarren roared, taking a solid stance.

Niro pulled his hand away from his face, looking down at the slick crimson staining his fingers. "You absolute bastard!" he screamed, pulling his arm back to hurl a wild, desperate punch.

Before the blow could land, Jarren casually stepped out of the line of fire, dodging the clumsy swing, and delivered another sharp, backhanded strike across the young man's cheek.

"It seems no one ever bothered to teach you basic decency in that pathetic household of yours, Niro," Jarren hissed, stepping over his trembling opponent. "Consider it my absolute honor to discipline you today!"

"How dare you put your hands on my son, Jarren Corpuz!" Rina shrieked, her face pale with horror. She raised her arm, winding up to slap Jarren across the face a second time.

This time, Jarren did not stand idly by. He snatched her wrist out of the air mid-swing, stopping her cold. He turned his gaze toward her, his dark eyes burning with a glare so predatory, so lethal, that it froze the blood in her veins. He had tolerated their abuse for months, but the line had been drawn.

With a forceful, contemptuous flick of his arm, he shoved her away.

Rina gasped as she was thrown off balance, stumbling backward onto the polished marble floor. She almost collapsed entirely, but Niro managed to catch her from behind, bracing her shoulders.

"You are—"

"Shut up!" Jarren’s voice boomed through the high-ceilinged lobby like a thunderclap, shattering the silence and sending a shockwave through the security guards and staff standing paralyzed in the distance.

Rina clutched at her chest, her breath catching in her throat, utterly rendered speechless. Her eyes were wide with pure, unadulterated terror as she stared at the man before her, unable to process that the gentle, accommodating Jarren Corpuz had just roared in her face.