THE HUSBAND THEY BULLIED, THE KING THEY FEARED

CHAPTER 6

THE STRANGER'S HAND

Everywhere was quiet… too quiet.

Elara stirred, blinking against the blinding light above her. A chandelier. Her pulse spiked. Where was she?

She tried to move, but pain shot through her arm. Thin red lines trailed down to her wrist, and the sight shattered her composure. Tears blurred her vision as dread clawed its way up her throat. What had they done to her?

Suddenly, the door creaked open and a young man stepped in, sleeves rolled, whiskey bottle in hand. Her breath hitched–he was the man who had violated her. 

Rage took over and Elara let out a loud scream. She grabbed a vase from the bedside table and hurled it at the man, but he moved to the side, dodging it as though he had seen it coming. 

“You do know that's really expensive,” he said, his voice low and smooth. 

Elara gripped the second lamp beside her, trembling. She didn’t answer, just glared at him, hatred burning through her fear. 

Sighing, the man dropped the whiskey bottle on the vanity table and folded his arms across his chest. “Don’t you remember what happened last night?” he asked as he stood up straight. 

Elara hesitated before shaking her head. Her chest tightened as her mind ran wild. Was she drunk last night? Did she and the man–

“Take your time to recall, if you just," he suddenly said as he grabbed a glass from the vanity table and poured himself a drink. 

Elara paused, her hand coming down as she thought back to last night. Then, it all came to her–her walk down the cemetery, the three men, the stranger that helped her…

Her eyes shut up as she gasped softly. She had been attacked by three men but then a stranger stopped them, beating their asses off before she lost consciousness in his arms. 

She wiped her eyes, a small frown forming on her face. Could it be that he was the stranger that had helped him?

Her vision now clear, Elara confirmed her thought. It really was him–chiseled jawline, amber eyes, strong arms. The man before her was the stranger that had saved her. 

“I'm… I'm sorry,” she whispered as she placed the lamp back on the table. “I just thought that…” She paused, her gaze traveling to the cuts on her arm. "Um,” she looked up at him, "d-did you d-do anything to me?”

There was a long pause before he sighed softly. Ignoring her question, he turned to the door and shouted, “come in." 

At the sound of his voice, a young Asian man with blonde hair walked in, a clipboard in his hands. Another man followed, but he had a more professional look, wearing a white lab coat and a stethoscope hung around his neck. 

“Hello, Mr. Hale,” they both greeted before walking towards Elara's bed. 

Elara looked between the two as she tried to know what was happening. The man in the lab coat, whom she assumed was a doctor, sat by her bed, asking for her arm. Confused but compliant, she stretched her arm and the doctor checked her pulse. With a small nod, he stood up and walked back to her rescuer. 

The two began to discuss and Elara strained to her what they were saying. She couldn't hear from the start but she caught a bit of their conversation. 

“It was handled well," the doctor said, glancing back at her. “The toxins have been flushed out of her, all thanks to your bloodletting. She just needs to keep the wounds clean and dry and she'll be fine.”

The man nodded and the doctor walked back to her bed before placing the bag he had brought in with him on the bedside table. He opened it and Elara watched as he picked some bottle of pills and placed it on the table. 

“Hey." Elara looked up sharply at her savior as he took a sip of whiskey from his glass. “You don't have to worry about anything. Nothing happened between us.” He placed the glass down and sighed. "After you fainted, I used an old treatment method–bloodletting–to get rid of the toxins they had given you. The marks,” he pointed at her hands, "are just the traces left behind." 

“Oh," Elara muttered, her cheeks flushing from embarrassment. “I'm sorry that I–”

"It's alright,” he cut her short, taking another sip of whiskey. "Where's your home? I want to know so I can have someone escort you back." 

Elara paused for some moments before shaking her head. "I… I don't have a place to go, and my home is,” she chuckled dryly, "long gone." 

Damien's brows knitted. No home? She did not look like one who was homeless—her fine features, her posture, everything about her seemed like someone who didn't know the streets.

Sensing his disbelief, she smiled weakly. "I used to be the CEO of Veyra Holding. But when our IPO collapsed, the investors pulled out. Within forty-eight hours, all our major partners froze our contracts. I… I lost everything." Her voice trembled. "In one night, it vanished."

Damien’s brow furrowed, disbelief flickering across his face. It didn’t make sense.

He remembered seeing its name, Veyra Holding, listed among the pending IPOs when he’d signed the acceleration agreement for Vanessa’s firm. At the time, Veyra’s evaluation had been even higher than Vanessa’s, its finances steady, and its board approval already secured. On paper, it was stronger than half the companies that made it through.

A company that solid doesn’t implode in two days, he thought grimly. It didn’t make any damn sense. Unless…

He whirled around, his focus shifting to Ryan. The subordinate stopped short, color draining from his face. He felt a chill run down his spine as Damien's cold gaze bit clear through his chest.

He knows.

Ryan's throat went dry. He remembered the order he had received—the directive to advance Vanessa's company on the approval list. He had assumed the boss demanded that if need be, her progress should come at the expense of others. He hadn't made a fuss then. Now he realized his mistake. 

Damien leapt to his feet, the chair screeching on the floor. Ryan flinched, his heart racing, as he followed after as he strode toward the door.

"Sir—sir, I didn't know—" he stammered, his voice trembling. 

Damien stopped dead in his tracks and whirled around. "Put everything back the way it was,” he ordered. His voice was calm but his gaze held something more. "Now."

Ryan nodded frantically, his legs shaking under him. "Y-yes, sir!" he wheezed, stumbling almost out of the room.

Silence fell after, so thick that one could cut through it. Damien clenched his fists at his side as he slowly turned back to Elara.

This time, his tone was… almost awkward. "I just so happen to have a vacant place. In case you need to stay somewhere… it's yours."

Elara shook her head quickly. "No. You've already done too much for me. We're strangers. I can't accept it."

Damien's mouth curled into a half-smile, but it never quite reached his eyes. "The house is vacant anyway. It's better if someone occupies it than let it rot there." Not waiting for permission, he headed for the door. "Dress. I'll take you there myself."

Elara looked down at the sheet in her hands, her heart pounding. Who was this man and why was he so… commanding? Should she take his offer?

The doctor set his bag down on the floor beside the bed as he turned to her. "Miss, you'd do well to go with him. Mr. Hale doesn't send invitations twice."