Bartolou lifted a hand again, signaling the end of the punishnt.
He turned his gaze toward Orson, nodding once. A silent, wordless gesture that he could finally help his boss.
Orson sprang into action. He crouched down, gripping Duncan’s arm, and hoisted him up, his heart pounding at the sight of the damage. Duncan’s breaths were ragged, strained—then, suddenly, he choked and spat a mouthful of blood onto the cold floor.
His world swayed violently, the pain in his abdon unbearable, but Orson managed to guide him toward the sofa opposite Bartolou. Duncan collapsed onto it, his body screaming in protest.
Across the room, Annie was finally released.
She wasted no ti. Sprinting to the portable bar, she grabbed a bottle of water with trembling hands, then crouched down and yanked an unused rag from the storage beneath. Without hesitation, she drenched it in ice-cold water, fashioning a makeshift compress.
Rushing back, she shoved the bottle into Orson’s hands. "Open it," she ordered, her voice urgent, before pressing the cold rag against the worst of Duncan’s injuries.
Her hands trembled as she tended to him, her eyes wide with fear. But she didn’t stop. She couldn’t.
Not while he was still bleeding.
Bartolou clicked his tongue once more, shaking his head with feigned amusent. "Tsk. You two are overreacting. He’ll be fine. He’s not going to die."
But neither Orson nor Annie acknowledged him. They didn’t even spare him a glance, their focus entirely on Duncan.
Duncan took a slow sip of water, the liquid doing little to wash away the tallic taste of blood coating his mouth. As Annie pressed the cold compress against his battered face, he reached up, attempting to stop her. "Enough," he muttered, his voice hoarse.
But Annie was relentless. She ignored him and continued, her fingers trembling slightly as she pressed the damp cloth against his swelling bruises.
Bartolou exhaled through his nose, clearly growing impatient. "So, Duncan, tell —how much do you need?"
Despite the throbbing pain, Duncan forced himself to answer. His voice was strained, each word an effort against swollen lips and the sharp sting of freshly split skin. "Eighty million in total... That would secure thirty percent of my share, and the other thirty percent would also be mine once I secure the Watsons’ shares."
Annie whipped her head toward her father, her frustration spilling over. "Daddy, can we talk about business later? We need to get Duncan to a hospital—now!"
The words had barely left her lips when—
"SHUT UP!"
Bartolou’s roar tore through the room like a thunderclap.
Annie recoiled, her body jerking as if she’d been slapped. The sudden burst of fury sent a chill down her spine, freezing her in place.
The room fell into a suffocating silence.
For a mont, the only sound was the shallow, pained breathing of Duncan Veston.
Bartolou exhaled slowly, his fury montarily subdued as he returned to the matter at hand. With a casual flick of his wrist, he dismissed the previous tension. "Now, back to business... How exactly do you plan to secure the Watsons’ shares?" he asked, his voice smooth but laced with intrigue.
Duncan’s gaze darkened, his jaw tightening against the pain. "They will hand it over to —voluntarily... and by force." His voice was cold, and deliberate, leaving no room for doubt.
A slow smirk spread across Bartolou’s face. He liked that answer. He liked the ruthlessness, the determination. He leaned back against the sofa, his fingers tapping idly against the armrest. "Go on," he urged, his tone twisted with curiosity. "Explain."
Duncan swallowed back the taste of iron in his mouth before continuing. "Monica holds her husband’s guardianship. She’s willing to cooperate with as long as she gets what she wants—an easy life. No responsibilities, no work, just a steady monthly allowance." He exhaled sharply, a hint of disdain in his tone. "She’ll sign whatever papers I put in front of her, but beyond that, she’s out."
"That was twenty percent. Secured," he added.
Duncan paused, his body tensing as a deep cough racked through him. His vision blurred montarily as he lifted a hand to his mouth.
Dark red.
Annie gasped softly, her eyes widening in horror as she scrambled to hand him a tissue. The mont she saw the fresh blood staining the white tissue paper, her tears returned, silently streaming down her cheeks. But she didn’t say a word.
She knew better than to speak.
Duncan cleared his throat, forcing himself to push past the pain. His voice, though hoarse, remained steady. "That covers twenty percent of the shares. The remaining ten percent... will co from my son’s share and Cammy’s."
Bartolou’s smirk widened, his gaze glinting with sothing dark and calculating.
This was getting interesting.
Bartolou rubbed his chin thoughtfully, his fingers gliding over the sharp angles of his jaw as he absorbed every detail of Duncan’s plan. His dark eyes glead with curiosity, his mind already racing ahead.
"Hmm... And how exactly do you plan to get your wife’s signature for the consent you need?" he asked, tilting his head ever so slightly.
Duncan t his gaze without hesitation, his voice steady despite the pain pulsing through his body. "I don’t need her consent." A dark finality clung to his words. "I’ll have the court grant legal conservatorship over her, leaving her with no power to refuse. My lawyer and I have already set the process in motion—with her mother’s help."
He took a slow breath before continuing. "If everything falls into place, your eighty million will be the lifeline CorEx needs to recover. With that injection, the company will stabilize, and operations will run smoothly again."
For a mont, there was silence.
Then Bartolou’s lips curled into a slow, sinister grin. The darkness in his eyes flickered with satisfaction, and in that instant, Duncan finally allowed himself to exhale. His heart, which had been pounding violently in his chest, began to steady.
Bartolou leaned back, exuding the air of a king granting a favor. "I’ll have my assistant contact you. Tell him when you need the money, and he’ll handle the process."
Duncan barely had ti to nod before Bartolou’s voice dropped, the weight of his next words making the air in the room feel heavier.
"But... our deal still stands."
The amusent in his tone vanished, replaced by cold certainty.
Reviews
All reviews (0)