The Underestimated Husband's Dominance

Chapter 9

Connor looked around the store again. Everyone’s eyes were glued to the scene near the counter, yet nobody dared to speak up. Phones were out. Some people whispered to each other, pretending not to care but clearly enjoying the drama. The whole place was filled with murmurs, camera clicks, and that awful, heavy silence that comes when people watch something wrong happen and decide to do nothing.

He watched as the man kept shouting at the young woman. His voice echoed across the store like a warning bell. The girl stood with her head down, trembling, her hands tightly clutching the edge of the counter. Her cheeks were red from the slap, her eyes swollen with tears that just wouldn’t stop falling.

Mr. Brandon sneered, his lips curling with arrogance as he pointed down at his shoe. “Look at this! Just look at this, you stupid woman! Do you even know what this is? This shoe is worth more than your entire life! You think a tissue and your sorry voice can fix it?”

The girl sobbed harder. “Please, sir, I didn’t mean to. It was an accident. I just turned and—”

“Shut up!” Brandon barked, making her flinch. “Don’t you dare speak while I’m talking! Do you even realize who you’re standing in front of? You must be out of your mind to stand there looking at me after ruining my shoe. Do you know who I am?”

Connor’s jaw tightened. He could feel his pulse beating hard in his temples. His fingers curled into a fist, then relaxed, then clenched again. The man’s voice grated on his nerves. Still, Connor stayed quiet for a moment, hoping maybe someone else would step in. But no one did. People only watched. Some even laughed quietly as if it were entertainment.

Brandon smirked and raised his voice louder, clearly enjoying the attention. “People like you should never be allowed in stores like this. Do you think you belong here? Do you even have a card to pay for anything inside this place? Or did you just wander in to cause trouble?”

“I’m sorry…” the girl whispered weakly. “Please, I’ll clean it again. I can—”

“Clean it?!” Brandon’s laugh was sharp and ugly. “You? You couldn’t even afford to look at this shoe, let alone touch it again. Like I said before, this is a custom-made Zerod piece. One million dollars! One million! You couldn’t earn that kind of money in ten lifetimes!”

The words made several people gasp. Someone in the crowd murmured.

A voice whispered to her friend. “That’s Mr. Brandon Whitmore, the CEO of Whitmore Group. He’s loaded.”

Connor’s eyes flicked toward the murmuring crowd. Most of them now recognized the arrogant man. That explained why everyone was quiet — they were afraid. Brandon had influence, money, and power. Nobody wanted to offend him.

Brandon turned back to the girl and hissed, “Now tell me, how do you plan to pay for this? Or should I have the guards drag you out? Maybe a night in jail will teach you how to be careful.”

Her voice cracked as she pleaded, “Please, sir, I don’t have the money. I’ll work for you, I’ll do anything, just don’t—”

Before she could finish, he raised his hand again. “Do you think I care about your pathetic begging?” he shouted. “You’re just another useless thing walking around pretending to be part of society! You probably came here just to breathe the same air as the rich. You poor people make me sick!”

That was it. Connor had heard enough.

“Enough,” he said quietly, his voice cutting through the noise.

Everyone froze, heads turned and the murmuring stopped.

Brandon blinked and slowly turned his head toward the voice. His eyes met Connor’s — calm, steady, cold. The crowd shifted, whispering again.

“Who said that?” Brandon asked sharply, narrowing his eyes. “Was that you?” He pointed at Connor, his lip curling in disgust. “Are you talking to me?”

Connor’s voice was low but firm. “Yes. I’m talking to you.”

The room went silent again. People began stepping back, forming a circle around them as if sensing a fight about to happen.

Brandon’s face twisted in disbelief. Then he laughed — a loud, mocking laugh that filled the store. “You? You’re talking to me? You must be joking! Who the hell do you think you are?” His tone dripped with arrogance. “Do you have any idea who you’re addressing right now?”

Connor took a calm step forward. “I don’t care who you are,” he said evenly. “That doesn’t give you the right to treat someone like that.”

Brandon’s laughter stopped. His smile turned into a scowl. “What did you just say to me?”

Connor didn’t flinch. “I said, no matter who you are, it doesn’t give you the right to humiliate someone in public.”

The tension in the air grew thicker. Everyone was watching. Some held their breath. A few even took a step back in fear that things would get ugly.

Brandon chuckled darkly. “You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that. But guts won’t help you when I’m done with you. Do you even know who I am? My name is Brandon Whitmore. The Brandon Whitmore. I own Whitmore Group — you must have heard of it if you’ve ever turned on a TV or read a newspaper. I could crush you with a phone call.”

He took a step closer, glaring down at Connor like a lion about to tear apart a prey. “Do you really want to pick a fight with me? Look at you — plain clothes, worn-out shoes, not a single brand on you. You probably don’t even have a job.”

Connor didn’t react. His eyes stayed calm.

That calmness only made Brandon angrier.

“Oh, you think standing there quietly makes you brave?” Brandon sneered. “You don’t even know what you’re getting into. That girl destroyed something worth a million dollars, and here you are, acting like her hero. Tell me — can you even afford to pay for her mistake?”

He leaned closer and said mockingly, “How much do you even earn in a year, huh? Do you have ten thousand dollars? Fifty? Maybe a hundred if you’re lucky? Or do you live off pity?”

Some people in the crowd chuckled quietly. Others shook their heads.

Connor’s jaw tightened slightly, but he didn’t respond.

Brandon smiled wickedly, mistaking Connor’s silence for fear. “That’s what I thought. Men like you should know your place. This isn’t your business, so back off before I call security.”

He turned his back on Connor and looked at the trembling girl again. “And you, what are you still waiting for? Pay up or get on your knees and beg properly!”

The girl was already crying harder. “Please, sir, I really don’t have the money. Please don’t make me—”

“Don’t make you what?” Brandon snapped. “You think I’ll just let this slide? People like you—”

Connor interrupted sharply, “She said she doesn’t have the money. Let it go.”

Brandon turned again, eyes blazing. “You again!” he thundered. “I’m warning you. Don’t stick your nose where it doesn’t belong!”

Connor’s expression didn’t change. “It became my business the moment you raised your hand to hit her.”

Brandon’s face turned red with rage. “You think you can talk to me like that?” he barked. “Do you even realize that the price of my shoe could buy your entire family and whatever rat hole you crawled out from? You’re nothing! A nobody! You couldn’t even afford to touch this shoe if I dropped it at your feet!”

He pointed at his shiny, designer shoe and smirked. “Zerod Store. Custom-made. You see this gold stitching? It’s real gold. Worth one million dollars! You probably haven’t even seen a thousand dollars in cash.”

The crowd gasped again. A man whispered, “Oh, he’s doomed. Mr. Brandon will destroy him.”

A woman nearby added, “He should have stayed quiet. That man can ruin anyone.”

Brandon folded his arms, smirking. “Now, be a good boy and walk away before I get security to throw you out.”

But Connor didn’t move. His calm stare stayed locked on Brandon, and for some reason, that quiet confidence made Brandon uneasy. The arrogance faltered for just a second, but he quickly covered it up with anger.

“What are you still doing here?” Brandon snapped again. “Get lost! Or do you want me to show you what happens when someone disrespects me?”

The girl whimpered quietly, “Please, sir, stop shouting…”

Brandon turned toward her sharply. “Don’t tell me what to do!” he roared. “You’re lucky I’m not pressing charges. One million dollars, and you’re standing here crying like that will solve anything.”

“I can’t pay it,” the girl whispered. “Please…”

“Then maybe this will teach you something!” Brandon shouted and raised his hand again.

Gasps filled the store. The girl flinched and closed her eyes, waiting for the slap.

But it didn’t come.

A strong hand caught Brandon’s wrist mid-air. The crowd went dead silent.

Brandon froze, his hand trembling slightly as Connor’s fingers clamped tightly around his wrist. The grip was firm — strong enough to stop him. Connor’s eyes were cold, steady, and filled with warning.

“Don’t,” Connor said quietly, his voice low. “Not another slap.”