"Amanda, do you hurt anywhere else?"
Quentin carried Amanda back to his private lounge. He carefully applied ointment to her bruised wrist, his voice low and soft.
"No," Amanda whispered. She had stopped crying, but her nose was still stuffy; her voice came out thick and strained. Quentin raised his hand to caress her cheek, pressing a loving kiss to her forehead to reassure her.
"I've called for the driver. Go home and rest first. I'll be back as soon as I can, okay?"
Amanda blinked but didn't answer. Instead, she crawled into his arms, refusing to lift her head from his chest. Quentin smiled softly, tightening his hold on her.
"Can't bear to leave me?" When she didn't move, he teased, "Do you want me to carry you all the way downstairs?"
Only then did Amanda raise her head, giving him an unhappy pout. She knew he was teasing—she would never let him carry her past the entire company—but his playfulness helped break the tension.
Quentin reached out to stroke her hair. "I still have work to finish. Go home first, and I'll follow right behind you. Is that a deal?"
Amanda knew she had already caused him enough delays, so she gritted her teeth and nodded. Quentin helped her put on a mask and hat to disguise her face, then called Secretary James to escort her to the car.
As she reached the door, Amanda turned back one last time. Quentin smiled gently and waved. But as soon as her back disappeared from view, the warmth in Secretary James's chest turned to ice. Looking at the lingering, eerie smile on Quentin's face, James felt a chill run down his spine. He hurried to get the Madam home so he could rush back and prevent his boss from actually committing murder.
The moment Amanda left the building, the gentle smile on Quentin's lips vanished. His normally calm eyes were replaced by a turbulent, dark storm.
He walked directly to the Deputy Manager's office. The hallway was empty of employees, save for two men in black suits standing guard at the door.
"Where is he?" Quentin asked.
"Inside, sir," one of them responded. "He's been making a lot of noise."
Quentin nodded. "Open it."
The men stepped aside and opened the door. Quentin stepped in, and the door clicked shut behind him. Inside, the room was a wreck; furniture had been smashed to pieces. Javier sat gloomily on the only intact sofa left.
"You dare have me locked in here?" Javier shouted. "Aren't you afraid of what Grandfather will say when he hears about this?"
Quentin didn't answer. He simply walked toward him with a slow, predatory gait. Javier's rage boiled over—he had been thwarted all day, and now he was being treated like a prisoner. But Javier failed to realize that he wasn't the only one "crazy" today.
Without a word, Quentin reached out, grabbed Javier by the collar, and hauled him upward. He swung a powerful fist directly into Javier's jaw.
With a sickening thud, Javier staggered and collapsed. Quentin didn't stop. He pinned Javier to the floor, raining down heavy, rhythmic punches.
"Quentin!" Javier roared, dazed and bleeding. He used every ounce of strength to flip the position, pinning Quentin beneath him. He swung a brutal punch, but Quentin blocked it and countered with a blow that sent Javier reeling.
Quentin moved like a man possessed, pinning Javier back down until the younger man's mouth was coated in blood. Quentin's face remained expressionless, but his eyes were bone-chilling.
In business, Quentin considered himself easy-going, even when Javier tried to sabotage him within the Harris Group. But today, Javier had crossed the ultimate line. Challenging Quentin's professional authority was one thing, but touching his wife was an unforgivable sin.
Javier, barely able to open his eyes, let out a raspy, sarcastic laugh. "Why does it... bother you so much? Just the thought of me touching her makes you lose it? Heh... remember, I had her first."
Quentin took a deep breath, his knuckles white. For a moment, it looked like he might actually kill him. But then, he slowly withdrew his hand. A strange, ironic smile crossed his face—one that actually made Javier flinch.
"She is not an object, Javier. But let me tell you something," Quentin leaned in close. "She may have known you for a long time, but she was still 'brand new' when she came to me."
Javier's face twisted in agony and wounded pride. In his arrogance, he had always insisted on waiting until their wedding night to take Amanda's virginity, believing it was a way to control her. Hearing that he had lost that "prize" to Quentin destroyed his remaining ego.
"Quentin!" he screamed.
Quentin laughed—a cold, hollow sound. He patted Javier's bruised face twice, making him wince in pain.
"Remember this: I can play with you for a few more years if I choose. But if you ever go near her again, I will kill you."
Javier gritted his teeth, glaring up in silent, helpless fury. Quentin stood up, smoothed the wrinkles out of his expensive suit, and walked toward the door.
"You two can go home now," Quentin ordered the bodyguards as he stepped into the hall.
Secretary James came running up, looking at the door and then at his boss's blood-stained cuffs. He turned to the bodyguards, whispering urgently, "Is he... is he still alive?"
When the bodyguards nodded, James let out a massive sigh of relief. "Oh, thank goodness."