The Disgraced Husband Is the Septamillionaire Heir

CHAPTER 8 PART 2

People pressed closer to the stage, phones out to record. This was exactly the kind of entertainment they craved.

Caden glanced at Vivian. She remained motionless at the bar, her expression blank, her eyes cold and distant as if none of this concerned her at all.

"Come on, nobody!" someone shouted. "Too scared to fight a woman?"

"Show him what real skill looks like, Madison!"

"Teach this low-life trash a lesson!"

Caden sighed and climbed onto the platform. "I don't hit women."

Madison's palm strike came without warning, aimed directly at his head. "Cut the nonsense!"

Caden twisted away at the last second, feeling the air displacement as her hand whipped past his ear. His eyes widened slightly—she'd actually tried to take his head off. No holding back whatsoever.

"You're serious," he muttered.

"Very." Madison pressed forward with a vicious combination—jab, cross, low kick. Each strike was precise, powerful, backed by genuine training.

Caden dodged effortlessly, his body moving with fluid grace. He swayed back from a punch, sidestepped a kick, ducked under a spinning backfist.

"Stop running, you coward!" Madison snarled, launching a flying knee.

Caden pivoted smoothly, letting her sail past him. "Your technique is all flash. No substance. You're fighting like this is a performance, not actual combat."

The crowd below erupted with outrage.

"Who the hell does he think he is?"

"Madison is a champion!"

"Stop dodging like a coward and fight her!"

Madison came at him again, and their movements became a blur. Her leg swept high—Caden ducked under it, his shoulder brushing against her thigh. She spun with an elbow strike—he deflected it, their bodies momentarily pressed together before separating. A punch toward his ribs—he caught her wrist and twisted, pulling her into a brief grapple that looked almost intimate before she wrenched free.

The constant physical contact, the way their bodies kept colliding and separating, created an atmosphere that was borderline suggestive.

Madison's face flushed red. "Stop—moving—like that!"

"You're the one attacking me," Caden pointed out, dodging another strike.

He could end this easily. Master Aldrich had trained him to fight opponents far more dangerous. But as he prepared to finally counter-attack, his eyes caught Vivian's in the crowd below.

She was staring at him with intense focus, her head shaking almost imperceptibly—a warning. Her expression remained cold and indifferent, but her eyes were practically screaming at him: Don't. Don't reveal what you can really do.

Caden hesitated. She was right. If he displayed his true abilities here, word would spread. His enemies would hear about it.

He made his decision.

The next time Madison lunged, Caden deliberately stumbled backward, his foot catching on the edge of the platform. He went down hard, landing on his back.

"I give up," he said, raising his hands. "You win."

The club erupted in cheers and jeers.

"That's what you get, nobody!"

"Knew he was all talk!"

"Can't even last five minutes against a woman!"

"Pathetic loser!"

Madison stood over him, breathing hard, her expression torn between triumph and confusion. Something didn't add up—he'd been avoiding her attacks too easily to suddenly trip like that.

"Get up," she demanded. "Get up and keep fighting!"

"I conceded," Caden said, still on the ground. "The match is over."

"No!" Madison's voice rose. "I'm not done with you yet! Get up and—"

The doors to the club burst open with a deafening crash.

Eight men in black tactical gear poured into the room, automatic weapons raised. They moved with military precision, fanning out to cover all exits. The lead man—broad-shouldered with a scarred face and dead eyes—fired a warning shot into the ceiling.

The club went silent except for the ringing echo of the gunshot.

"Nobody move!" the lead gunman shouted. His eyes scanned the crowd, then locked onto Vivian sitting frozen at the bar. "There she is. Vivian Montgomery—you're coming with us."

He aimed his weapon directly at her head. "Everyone else, hands where we can see them. Anyone tries to be a hero, and we start putting bullets in people. Starting with her."