Rise of The Abandoned Husband

I stood my ground as Tyler Westwood approached, his cruel smile matching the malice in his eyes. The two Martial Saints flanking him radiated power that made the air around us heavy and oppressive. Everyone nearby had backed away, creating a circle of empty space around us.

"I asked you a question, Knight," Tyler sneered. "How do you plan to thank me for allowing you to live one more day?"

"I wasn't aware I needed to thank you for anything," I replied, keeping my voice steady despite the danger. My eyes darted between the two Martial Saints, calculating my chances. They were slim to none.

Tyler laughed, the sound echoing through the now-silent exchange hall. "Always defiant. I admire that about you, even if it is incredibly stupid."

I noticed the young woman with the ginseng trying to slip away, but the elderly Martial Saint gripped her arm. "Stay, apprentice. This will be educational."

"What do you want, Tyler?" I asked, cutting to the chase. "Another chance to ambush me after your last attempt failed so spectacularly?"

His face darkened. "What I want is simple. First, I'll take that ginseng—" he nodded to the box still on the table, "—and then I'll take your life. But not before you tell me where Isabelle Ashworth is hiding."

So that was it. Despite everything, he was still obsessed with Isabelle.

"I don't know where she is," I said truthfully. Since our separation, I'd been searching for her myself.

"Liar!" Tyler spat. "You're her protector, her loyal dog. You know exactly where she's hidden herself."

I kept my expression neutral, though rage bubbled beneath the surface. "If I knew, I wouldn't tell you."

"You'll tell me everything before we're done," Tyler said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Master Zhao, Master Lin—please ensure no one interferes with our discussion."

The two elderly men nodded, their auras expanding to form an invisible barrier around us. I was trapped.

"Tyler," a feminine voice called out. "This is neither the time nor the place."

We all turned to see Daphne Grenville approaching, somehow passing through the Martial Saints' barrier with ease. Her elegant features were composed, but I could see tension in her eyes.

"Daphne," Tyler acknowledged, his tone softening slightly. "This doesn't concern you."

"An attempted murder at the Exchange Meeting concerns everyone," she replied smoothly. "You're creating a scene that will reflect poorly on both our families."

Tyler hesitated, clearly torn between his rage and his awareness of decorum. "This man has been a thorn in my side for too long."

"And he will remain one if you kill him here," Daphne reasoned. "Think, Tyler. The consequences—"

"I've thought of nothing else for months!" he snapped, his composure cracking. "Do you know what he's done? He's humiliated me, stolen what's rightfully mine, and defied me at every turn!"

I watched this exchange carefully, noting how Daphne seemed to be buying time. For what, I wasn't certain.

"What's rightfully yours?" Daphne asked, her voice suddenly cold. "You mean Isabelle Ashworth? A woman who has repeatedly rejected you?"

Tyler's laugh was bitter. "You still don't understand, do you, Daphne? This was never about love or marriage in the traditional sense. Isabelle Ashworth possesses the rarest bloodline in our world—a resource more valuable than any treasure."

Daphne's eyes widened slightly. "You pursued her for her bloodline?"

"Of course I did," Tyler said, as if it were obvious. "Why else would I waste years courting a woman who clearly despised me? Her bloodline is the key to advancement no ordinary cultivation could achieve."

I clenched my fists, struggling to contain my fury. Tyler had just confirmed what I'd suspected—he saw Isabelle as nothing more than a resource to be exploited.

"And what about me, Tyler?" Daphne asked quietly. "Was I just a tool to get closer to her? A way to gain access to Ashworth family gatherings?"

Tyler's expression shifted to something almost resembling pity. "Don't be naive, Daphne. Our families have been allies for generations. Your father wanted this connection as much as mine did. You served your purpose."

The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees. Daphne's face hardened into a mask of rage.

"I served my purpose," she repeated, her voice dangerously soft. "All these years, all those moments I thought were real—they were just you using me to get to Isabelle?"

Tyler sighed impatiently. "This is hardly the time for relationship drama, Daphne. Step aside and let me finish what I came here to do."

"You're right about one thing," Daphne said, a strange energy beginning to swirl around her. "It is time to finish things."

Before anyone could react, she lunged forward with shocking speed, her palm striking Tyler's chest. He flew backward several feet, crashing into a display table.

The two Martial Saints moved instantly, but Daphne was already retreating to a defensive position near me.

"Are you insane?" Tyler sputtered, climbing to his feet. "You dare attack me?"

"Consider it the end of our arrangement," Daphne replied coldly. "And our families' alliance."

Tyler's face contorted with rage. "You'll regret this betrayal. Your father—"

"My father will hear exactly what you just said," Daphne cut him off. "About how you used his daughter as a tool for your ambitions."

Tyler glanced at the Martial Saints, then back at Daphne. "This changes nothing. I still have business with Knight."

"Then you'll have to go through me," Daphne declared, surprising me with her sudden alliance.

Tyler laughed. "As you wish. Masters, please remove this interference."

The taller of the two Martial Saints stepped forward. "Miss Grenville, please step aside. This doesn't need to involve you."

"I've made my choice," Daphne said firmly.

The Martial Saint sighed. "Then I apologize for what must follow." He moved with blinding speed, appearing before Daphne in an instant. She attempted to defend herself, but her power, impressive as it was against Tyler, meant nothing to a Martial Saint.

With a single strike, Daphne was sent flying across the room, crashing into a wall and slumping to the ground, unconscious.

"Now," Tyler said, turning his attention back to me, "where were we?"

I dropped into a fighting stance, channeling my energy. "You were about to make a mistake."

"Kill him," Tyler ordered casually. "But make him talk first."

The second Martial Saint approached me, his weathered face expressionless. "Young man, make this easier on yourself. Tell us where the Ashworth girl is, and your death will be quick."

"I told you, I don't know where she is," I repeated. "And even if I did, I'd die before telling you."

"That can be arranged," he replied calmly.

He struck with impossible speed, his fist colliding with my hastily raised defense. Pain exploded through my arms as I was thrown backward, my body crashing through several tables before skidding to a stop.

I struggled to my feet, tasting blood. My defense had barely slowed the impact. This was the true power of a Martial Saint—beyond anything I could currently match.

The Martial Saint appeared before me again, this time grasping my throat and lifting me off the ground. "Last chance, boy. Where is she?"

"Go to hell," I choked out, clawing at his iron grip.

"After you," he replied, raising his other hand. Energy gathered at his fingertips, forming a deadly point of light aimed at my heart.

I stared death in the face, refusing to close my eyes. If this was the end, I would meet it with defiance.

"Stop," a commanding voice called out.

The Martial Saint paused, his deadly strike frozen inches from my chest. He turned, still holding me aloft, to face the newcomer.

Pierce Cromwell stood at the entrance of the hall, flanked by three figures who radiated the same overwhelming power as my attackers. More Martial Saints.

"Release him," Pierce commanded. "Now."

The man holding me hesitated, looking to Tyler for direction.

"Do not interfere, Cromwell," Tyler warned. "This doesn't concern you."

"On the contrary," Pierce replied smoothly. "Liam Knight is my guest. An attack on him is an insult to me personally."

The Martial Saint slowly lowered me to the ground, though he didn't release his grip on my throat.

"Your guest?" Tyler laughed incredulously. "Since when do you associate with gutter trash like him?"

Pierce approached with measured steps, his Martial Saints spreading out behind him. "My associations are my business, Westwood. Now call off your dogs before this gets unpleasant."

I could see the calculation in Tyler's eyes as he assessed the situation. Three Martial Saints against his two were not odds he liked.

With obvious reluctance, he nodded to his men. "Release him."

The pressure on my throat vanished, and I dropped to my knees, gasping for air.

"This isn't over," Tyler warned me, before turning to Pierce with undisguised fury. "Mr. Cromwell, have you forgotten our agreement? I let you lure him in to kill him!"

My head snapped up at this revelation, my eyes locking with Pierce Cromwell's calculating gaze. So I had been right all along—he had set me up. Yet here he was, seemingly saving me. What game was he playing?

The tension in the room reached a breaking point as everyone awaited Pierce's response, and I prepared myself for yet another betrayal.