Chapter 10 — The Slap That Echoed
Amanda rose calmly.
That was the strange part.
Not the tension.
Not the whispers.
Not even the way Gustavo's men still had Aurum restrained behind her.
It was the calm.
She stood.
Water still clinging to her lashes. Dress damp against her collarbone. Cheek faintly chilled from the splash.
She opened her mouth to speak.
And then—
Bam.
The sound cracked through the hall.
For half a second, her brain didn't register it.
Then heat bloomed across her face.
Gustavo's massive hand had connected with her cheek so hard her head snapped to the side.
Gasps.
A few sharp inhales.
Someone laughed nervously.
Before she could process—
Bam.
The second hit was harder.
Her ears rang.
Her body swayed slightly.
Bam.
A third.
The sting became a burn.
Her vision blurred for just a second.
Bam. Bam. Bam.
The fourth, fifth, sixth—rapid, careless, almost enthusiastic.
He wasn't correcting her.
He was enjoying it.
The crowd watched.
No one stepped forward.
No one intervened.
Because hierarchy protects itself.
Gustavo laughed, the sound thick and ugly.
Amanda's cheek throbbed. She could already feel the swelling. The imprint of his hand forming beneath her skin.
But she did not fall.
She did not scream.
She straightened.
Slowly.
The hall fell into a tense quiet.
Her purse slipped from her fingers and dropped to the floor with a soft thud.
She turned her head back toward him.
Her eyes were clear.
Not teary.
Not broken.
Clear.
He blinked.
Perhaps expecting collapse.
Instead—
She turned away.
Walked calmly toward a nearby table.
Picked up a champagne flute.
Her fingers wrapped around the stem delicately.
The liquid inside shimmered under chandelier light.
He thinks I'm delicate.
He thinks I'm some fragile rich doll.
Her jaw tightened slightly.
Wrong.
She turned back.
Each step toward him was unhurried.
Measured.
The entire room seemed suspended in disbelief.
"Is she insane?" someone whispered.
"She's dead," another murmured.
She stopped directly in front of him.
Looked up at his heavy, flushed face.
And without a word—
Smashed the glass over his head.
The sound was violent.
Sharp.
Shattering.
Crystal exploded outward. Champagne sprayed. A thin line of blood appeared along his scalp where the jagged edge caught skin.
The hall erupted.
"She hit Gustavo!"
"No way—"
"Oh she's finished—"
Sitris shrieked, grabbing his face dramatically.
"Baby! Oh my God—"
Amanda stood there, breathing steady.
A few droplets of champagne slid down her knuckles.
Sitris turned toward her, fury twisting her features.
"You filthy whore! Sneaking in here hoping to sleep with someone important!"
Amanda's expression shifted.
Not rage.
Not embarrassment.
Disgust.
"Why," she asked calmly, "would I go for an obese man?"
The insult landed.
The room went still.
"Don't you know they smell?"
She didn't know if they did.
But it felt correct.
Sitris's mouth opened and closed like a malfunctioning puppet.
Gustavo's face turned a shade of red that clashed with the blood at his hairline.
His men moved instantly.
Two grabbed Amanda's arms.
Hard.
Forcing her down.
Her knees hit the marble floor.
The impact hurt—but she refused to let it show.
Whispers swelled around her.
"Yeah, she had it coming."
"These sluts nowadays…"
"She thought she could play with fire."
Aurum struggled violently against her restraints, fury in her eyes.
Gustavo wiped blood from his temple and stepped forward.
He smiled.
Slow.
Cruel.
"Since you're a slut," he said coldly, "I'll use your body before killing you."
A murmur of approval rippled through a portion of the crowd.
Amanda's stomach twisted.
Not fear.
Revulsion.
So this is what power looks like when it's insecure.
He stepped closer.
Close enough that she could smell him.
Heavy cologne trying—and failing—to hide sweat.
Her cheek still burned.
Her pride didn't.
And then—
A soft voice cut through the tension.
"Sir, please stop, or you'll be asked to leave this establishment."
Heads turned.
Cynthia.
Standing there with nothing but a tray in her hand and a steady gaze.
Gustavo turned toward her slowly.
"Are you stupid?" he barked. "Do you know who I am?"
Cynthia shrugged lightly.
"Yes," she said calmly. "And I also know who owns this place. And who I work for."
The shift was subtle.
But real.
Whispers spread like wildfire.
"Oh yeah… the Grayhounds own the venue."
"Gustavo isn't on their level."
"He's powerful, but not like that…"
Gustavo stiffened.
Face tightening.
"Nonsense," he scoffed loudly. "Arthur and I are the best of friends. That boy listens to me."
The word hung in the air.
Boy.
Some nodded.
He was older.
It seemed plausible.
The air thickened.
And then—
A voice.
Calm.
Measured.
Dangerously amused.
"Oh? That boy, eh?"
Every head turned toward the entrance.
Arthur.
He didn't rush.
He didn't storm in.
He walked.
Slow.
Controlled.
But the temperature of the room dropped instantly.
Men straightened unconsciously.
Women's eyes widened.
Even Gustavo's men loosened their grip.
Arthur's gaze found Amanda first.
Not Gustavo.
Her.
Her knees on the floor.
Her cheek red.
Swollen.
Marked.
His jaw tightened.
He stepped forward.
The men holding her released immediately.
Arthur crouched slightly, examining her face.
"You're cheek is red," he said quietly.
She blinked up at him.
"You're out of bed?" she replied at the exact same time.
They paused.
Then smiled faintly.
Even now.
Arthur stood.
Slowly.
Turned toward Gustavo.
"Let me get this straight," he said evenly. "You hit my fiancée?"
The word rippled through the hall.
Fiancée.
Na na, this must be a joke.
Arthur tilted his head slightly.
"This must be a joke."
Gustavo swallowed.
He opened his mouth—
But Arthur didn't wait.
In one smooth motion, he grabbed Gustavo by the collar.
And lifted him.
One hand.
One.
The man who weighed well over two hundred pounds dangled helplessly in the air.
The hall gasped.
Phones subtly lifted.
Arthur didn't strain.
Didn't grunt.
His expression remained calm.
Almost bored.
Amanda stood slowly.
Walked toward him.
Placed her hand gently on his free arm.
"Be a good boy," she said softly. "And put him down."
The room froze.
She just called Arthur Grayhound… that.
Arthur's lips curved faintly.
And he obeyed.
Gustavo dropped back to his feet, stumbling.
Before he could regain balance—
Slap.
Amanda's hand connected with his face.
Sharp.
Precise.
The crowd gasped.
Slap.
Again.
Slap. Slap. Slap.
She counted silently.
He had hit her six times.
She surpassed that easily.
Ten.
Fifteen.
Twenty.
Her palm began to sting.
Twenty-three.
Her hand throbbed.
Arthur subtly rolled up his sleeves.
Ready.
But she shook her head.
"Don't."
Her breathing was steady now.
Controlled.
She stepped back.
"Let's go home," she said softly. "I owe you something for coming despite your wants."
Arthur's eyes darkened slightly at that.
He didn't ask.
He simply bent and lifted her bridal-style into his arms.
Effortless.
Possessive.
Protective.
As they walked toward the exit, the hall parted instinctively.
Silence followed them.
Right before crossing the threshold, Arthur paused.
He looked over his shoulder at Gustavo.
"Mmm," he murmured thoughtfully. "A shame."
His gaze sharpened.
"Now your family will be poor."
He didn't shout it.
He didn't threaten.
He stated it.
Like a fact already processed.
And everyone in that room knew what it meant.
No one would touch Gustavo's business now.
No partnerships.
No loans.
No protection.
And whatever he currently owned?
It would be dismantled piece by piece.
Arthur walked out without another word.
Behind them, the whispers exploded.
And Gustavo understood something too late—
He hadn't flexed power tonight.
He had challenged a dynasty.
And lost.
---
The end.....