My Possessive CEO: Trembling in His Arms Chapter 72: She Belongs to Me

The luxurious and exquisite cigar room was dimly lit, shrouded in a veil of smoke.

Jack Yates sat on a standalone leather sofa, holding a Behike56 between two fingers, each costing over thirty thousand.

Aiden Grant stood beside Jack Yates, bending over to light his cigar, first igniting a cedar wood stick with a luminous enal gold dragon-patterned lighter, and then using the stick to light the cigar.

Jack Yates squinted slightly, holding the cigar between his two slender fingers, bringing it to his lips, his sensuous and sharp thin lips seizing the cigar and sucking hard with his cheeks hollowed in.

In the smoky haze, his well-defined face appeared even more profound and severe, with a harsh and sinister gaze, his whole deanor exuding a fierce intensity, reminiscent of a Western godfather from the last century—dangerous, mysterious, intimidating, yet worshipped by many followers.

He clipped the cigar between two fingers, teasingly tapping the air with his forefinger, while his other hand picked up the dragon-patterned luminous lighter from the coffee table, flicking it idly.

In the dim cigar room, the lighter emitted a mysterious and ancient glow, shrouded in smoke, like a spooky ghost fire.

The man with floral tattoos, called Perry Pace, looked after bars near the stadium, known as "Perry," skirting the fringes of society.

Through the nacing smoke, Perry glanced at Jack Yates, trembling violently as if he were in The Hall of Carnage, facing not a man but the King of Hell, who controlled all living things!

Shaking uncontrollably, Perry trembled like he had epilepsy, his usual arrogance and swagger entirely erased, deeply fearful from the core.

With a loud snap—

The enal gold lighter was heavily slamd onto the coffee table, bounced and teetered on the table’s edge.

Perry kneeled in front of the coffee table, glancing at the precarious lighter, not daring to breathe, holding his breath and tension in his body, afraid a heavier breath might knock the lighter off.

Jack Yates raised his right leg, placing his foot on the edge of the table, forcefully pushing forward.

With a clang, the lighter fell to the ground.

The heavy marble coffee table was pushed forward by Jack Yates, inching towards Perry.

Seeing the table nearly reach his chest, Perry dared not move, even less retreat, lowering his head in increasingly reverent submission.

Finally, the table pressed against Perry’s chest.

Jack Yates didn’t stop, continuing to push forward until his right leg was thoroughly straightened and he could no longer exert force, then stopped.

Perry couldn’t hold up any longer, crushed to the ground by the table, he got up, shifted a bit backward, and continued to kneel in front of the coffee table, head bowed, in a guilty posture awaiting judgnt.

Jack Yates gestured with his hand, "Co here."

Perry hastily shuffled on his knees before Jack Yates, sweating profusely with apologies, "Third Master, I was wrong, truly wrong, please spare ."

Jack Yates stretched his cigar-holding hand forward, placing the cigar against his shoulder.

Perry clenched his fists in pain but dared not make a sound.

The sll of burnt fabric and flesh perated the room, acrid and unpleasant.

Standing aside, Simon Forrester disdainfully fanned the air with his hand, then quickly pulled out a handkerchief to cover his nose and mouth, his haughty and elegant deanor as a noble young man vividly evident.

Jack Yates lowered his brow and eyes, his gaze fierce, even the bridge of his nose exuding a fierce vibe, coldly asking, "Which hand touched?"

Perry dared not answer, unwilling to lose his hand.

Jack Yates signaled to Aiden Grant, coldly instructing, "Bring the chair."

Aiden Grant quickly brought a chair to Jack Yates.

Jack Yates, with a cigar between his lips, picked up the chair with one hand, his long, distinct fingers gripping the chair handle, saying to Perry, "Put your hand out."

Perry shook violently, "Third Master, Third Master, you can’t do this, you’re breaking the law. We are a rule-of-law society; we should adhere to the law."

Jack Yates chuckled coldly, "You’re talking law with ?" He smiled, nodding, "Alright, let talk law with you."

He placed the chair on the ground, picked up his phone, and made a call, instructing, "Investigate Elysian, Dark Night, Red Dust Bar; all departnts get involved: Security, Fire Safety, Personnel Registration, Food Safety, Performance Content, Tax Status, Invoice Managent, check every aspect thoroughly. Any issue, shut them down for rectification."

The three bars Jack Yates ntioned are all owned by the sa person, who holds a certain position in The Quadrangle, a mogul in the entertainnt industry.

Perry was responsible for watching over these three bars.

Upon hearing this, Perry was completely paralyzed, then crawled before Jack Yates, knocking his head repeatedly.

"Third Master, Third Master, I was wrong, it was my left hand, my left hand touched, you can ruin my left hand!"

Jack Yates smirked, "Too late."

He stood up and walked towards the exit but paused at the door, turning to Perry, "That girl is mine. If anyone bullies her again, I’ll settle on you."

After speaking, Jack Yates strode out, headed towards the lounge.

Renee Winslow sat on the sofa in the lounge, awaiting anxiously; at the sudden sound of the door opening, she shot her head up, seeing Jack Yates, involuntarily shivering.

Her fear of Jack Yates had beco instinctual.

Seeing the unmistakable fear in her eyes, Jack Yates tugged irritably at his collar, unbuttoning it as he approached her.

Renee Winslow grew more frightened, pressing against the sofa, trembling and retreating inward, her voice quivering as she spoke, "Are you, are you done with work?"

It wasn’t her fault for being timid and fearful, she knew Jack Yates’s temperant too well.

Based on past situations, being hugged and embraced by other n ant she had entirely touched Jack Yates’s sore spot.

Jack Yates, at heart, wasn’t bad. He had defended the country, helped police combat drugs at the borders, he couldn’t be an utterly heinous villain.

Although not inherently bad, his possessiveness was intensely strong, his need for control equally strong—abnormally intense, suffocatingly so.

Perhaps because he was too powerful, this led to his overwhelming need for control.

On Christmas Eve, when they went to a Japanese restaurant together, rely smiling at the owner, who was his friend, agitated him; after returning, he vented his rage on her, causing a severe fever.

Another ti, a boy outside approached her, wanting to add her as a friend. She refused, imdiately declined, only speaking politely, yet still, Jack Yates beca displeased.

That night, he gripped her waist, thrusting hard and heavily, his voice chilling as he said, "Your smile to him was identical to the smile to ."

Renee Winslow was terrified; genuinely, profoundly terrified.

Thinking of those suffocating scenes made her tremble, unable to sit properly, collapsing onto the sofa, face buried in, quietly weeping.

What should she do?

What could she do?

How could she escape Jack Yates?

Long fingers gently pat her back, followed by a low, chilling voice above her head, "Are you scared of ? Or startled by tonight’s events?"