It’s not Stella!
It’s actually—Grace?!
Rhys Lennox’s pupils suddenly contracted, his mind buzzing, going completely blank!
How could it be her?!
Almost at the same time Rhys Lennox grabbed Grace, Philip Donovan’s attention was drawn by the commotion from that direction.
But when he saw clearly the woman on the bed, disheveled and crying her heart out, and realized she was the daughter he had painstakingly tried to recognize back into The Donovan Family, Grace Quinn, his eyes bulged wide, almost popping out of their sockets!
A metallic taste surged to his throat!
"Pfft—!"
He suddenly spat out a mouthful of fresh blood, his eyes nearly popping out as he pointed towards Grace, his throat making a hoarse, wheezing sound.
"Grace... Grace... you... how could you..." He couldn’t finish his words, overwhelmed with anger, his eyes rolled back and he passed out completely.
...
Dead silence.
The apartment fell into an eerie, extreme silence.
Only Grace’s uncontrollable sobbing, mixed with lingering fear, broke the quiet.
Shane Donovan coldly glanced at the unbearable scene on the bed, then looked down at Philip Donovan, who was collapsed like a dead dog, without a trace of emotion in his eyes.
He straightened up, leisurely tidied his slightly ruffled cuffs, as if the bloody violence earlier had nothing to do with him.
Just then, the phone in his pocket started vibrating.
Glancing at the caller ID, he raised an eyebrow, the corner of his lips curling into a cold arc—
The old lady’s news travels fast...
As soon as he answered the call, Old Mrs. Donovan’s anxious voice came through, "Shane, are you out of your mind! Philip is your second uncle! How could you be so heavy-handed! Let him go! Come home if there’s something to discuss!"
Listening to his grandmother’s anxious defense over the phone, Shane Donovan’s face remained expressionless.
"Let him go? Impossible."
"You—you ungrateful child! He is your second uncle! He is your father’s only brother! How dare you touch him, how can your father rest in peace in his grave?! Huh?!"
The old lady’s voice was hoarse, "For a woman, are you going to turn the Donovan Family upside down?! Stella is nothing but a disaster! A jinx! Without her, the Donovan Family could have peace!"
Shane Donovan held the phone, unconsciously tightening his grip, the veins on the back of his hand bulging, trembling slightly from the force.
The night outside was thick and dark, cutting his tall silhouette into a sharper edge, like a drawn blade ready to draw blood.
His side profile was tense, his jaw sharp as a knife, eyelashes lowered, hiding the turbulent emotions in his eyes.
"Grandmother," he spoke, his voice not loud, yet carrying a calmness tempered with ice, each word striking the heart, "You seem to forget that The Donovan Family is now under my control."
He paused slightly, the air seeming to solidify with the brief silence.
"Big issues, small issues," he tugged at the corner of his mouth, "I call the shots."
On the other end of the line, Old Mrs. Donovan seemed to choke, making raspy sounds, unable to form complete sentences.
Since last time Shane Donovan was thought to be ’blown up,’ Old Mr. Donovan was hospitalized; although Shane later returned safely, the old man was indeed aged, and his mental state was no longer as vigorous as before. Nowadays, The Donovan Family was indeed under Shane Donovan’s lead.
Shane Donovan’s gaze swept across Philip Donovan on the ground, curled up and moaning like a mass of mud, his eyes completely devoid of warmth, as if looking at a piece of trash waiting to be disposed of.
"Not to mention he’s my second uncle," he continued, his voice low, "even if it were you who made a mistake, I would still—"
He deliberately slowed his speech, each word carrying a chilling intimidation.
"Help clean it up thoroughly."
"You... you..." Old Mrs. Donovan was so angry she couldn’t utter a word.
Shane Donovan lifted his foot, kicking lightly at the unconscious Philip Donovan on the ground with the tip of his shoe, his tone indifferent like discussing a trivial piece of junk:
"Grandmother," he spoke into the phone, his voice clear and cold, "Come get the trash."
With that, not waiting for Old Mrs. Donovan to respond, he lifted his hand and ended the call.
...
Shane Donovan hung up the phone, casually slipped it back into his trouser pocket.
His eyes lightly swept across the mess in the room, finally landing on Rhys Lennox standing by the bed, messy with his golden hair, staring firmly at him.
Rhys Lennox’s chest heaved violently, the wound at his temple still seeping blood, mixed with sweat trickling down, outlining his tense jawline.
"You knew all along?" Rhys Lennox’s voice was hoarse, filled with disbelief and questioning, "You used her as bait?! What if..."
Shane Donovan’s brow furrowed almost imperceptibly.
"There was no what if." He interrupted, finally fixing his gaze on Rhys, his eyes deep like a cold pool, without much ripple, yet weighing heavily, making it hard to breathe, "Rhys Lennox, you crossed the line."
"I crossed the line?" Rhys let out a mirthless laugh, pulling at the wound on his mouth, drawing a cold breath from the pain, "Yeah, I crossed the line! I shouldn’t have cared about your damn business! Shouldn’t have rushed in like an idiot! You’re so capable, planning everything, protecting your woman perfectly, watching others go crazy for you is fun, huh?!"
Shane Donovan looked at him quietly, looked at his messy golden hair, his face covered in blood, looked at the anger and grievance surging in his eyes.
After a moment, he suddenly reached out and grabbed Rhys Lennox’s motorcycle jacket collar, already torn beyond recognition, "Shut up."
His voice still devoid of warmth, yet the movement was somewhat rough, "Covered in blood, filthy."
"Go back and clean up." His tone was still strong, but in his movements, he seemed to deliberately avoid the parts of Rhys’s body that looked severely injured.
Rhys Lennox stumbled as he was dragged, the pain in his wounds made him draw a sharp breath of cold air, yet he bit his lip and made no sound.
He wanted to break free, but the grip on him was astonishingly strong, directly dragging him half-pushed, half-pulled out of the apartment, and stuffed him into the back seat of the parked black Bentley.
The car drove into that familiar luxury villa in Riveria when the night was deep.
The villa was bright with lights.
As the car door opened, Stella Sterling stood under the light at the entrance.
She was dressed in soft beige loungewear, her hair loosely tied, with obvious anxiety on her face.
Seeing Shane Donovan get out of the car, her eyes lit up, quickly approaching, "How did it go? Was everything settled smoothly? Are you okay?"
Her eyes swept over him, confirming he was unharmed, she finally breathed a little sigh of relief.
Soon, she noticed the disheveled Rhys Lennox following behind.
Rhys Lennox’s once radiant blonde hair was now dull and drooping, his face battered, the bloodstain at his temple dried, his mouth swollen and split, a bruise spreading across his cheekbone, and his black jacket was covered in dirt and dark stains, the whole person looked like he had just been pulled from a brutal fight.
Stella was startled, her heart almost jumping to her throat, instinctively looking at Shane Donovan, "Did you hit him?"
"..."