THE DISABLED HEIRESS, MY EX-HUSBAND WOULD PAY DEARLY.

At that moment, the parking lot fell into a tense silence, broken only by the groans of the man Oliver had already put down seconds ago. The remaining thugs stood frozen, their earlier smirks and cocky grins erased from their faces. The reality of what they were up against had begun to settle in.

They had come expecting an easy job, surround Oliver, rough him up, send a message, and be done with it. But the way he'd handled their comrade in mere seconds shattered that assumption. He hadn't even broken a sweat. His movements were sharp, fluid, almost instinctive. It wasn't luck; it was skill, the kind of skill they weren't prepared for.

Then the leader clenched his fists at his sides, his jaw tightening. He could see the hesitation creeping into his men's faces, the way they glanced at one another.

"Don't just stand there!" he barked, his voice cutting through air. "Take him down!"

Before the others could make a move, another man behind Oliver braver or more reckless than the rest, roared in rage and charged forward. His scream echoed off the concrete walls of the lot.

"You're going to die, you bastard! I'm going to kill you!"

Without wasting anymore time the man swung his fist with everything he had, aiming straight for the back of Oliver's head.

But Oliver had already felt the shift in the air.

Without looking, without panicking, he spun sharply, his body moving like a coiled spring unleashed. His elbow shot back in one swift motion, precise and brutal.

"Crack!!!"

The sharp sound of bone meeting flesh echoed as Oliver's elbow slammed into the attacker's neck. Immediately the man's scream turned into a strangled gasp, his legs buckling from the sudden jolt of pain shooting through his body.

But Oliver wasn't done, In the same fluid motion, he pivoted forward, seizing the moment before the man could recover. His knee shot upward with explosive force, connecting squarely with the man's jaw.

"Thud!!"

Immediately the attacker's head snapped backward violently, and he collapsed to the ground in an instant, unconscious before he even hit the ground.

At that moment, the boss's confidence, already shaken by the two men lying groaning on the concrete , began to crack. The job had seemed simple: ambush Oliver, rough him up, send a message that was all he was thinking. But after seeing how effortlessly Oliver dismantled his men, the reality of the situation began to settle in.

Still, he clung to the one thing keeping his nerves steady numbers.

There were six men left. Six against one. Even someone as fast and skilled as Oliver couldn't keep up if they attacked at once… or so he hoped.

"Get him!" the boss roared, his voice breaking with anger and desperation. "All of you! At once! Don't hold back, break him!"

The order was barely out of his mouth before five of the men surged forward, their footsteps pounding against the floor as they closed the circle around Oliver.

Immediately the first man came charging from the right, swinging a wild punch toward Oliver's head. Oliver ducked low, feeling the wind of the fist skim just above his ear. Using the man's forward momentum, Oliver drove his fist upward into the attacker's ribs, a solid, sharp punch that knocked the wind out of him.

However before the man could even cry out, Oliver grabbed his arm, twisted it behind his back, and shoved him face-first into the side of a parked car. The metallic clang echoed through the lot, and the man crumpled to the ground.

Even as the first went down, another lunged with a kick aimed at Oliver's stomach.

Then Oliver stepped sideways, caught the man's ankle mid-kick, and yanked hard. The attacker lost his balance, his body twisting awkwardly before Oliver swept his other leg out from under him with a clean, precise kick.

The man hit the ground hard, and Oliver followed up with a quick stomp to his chest, keeping him down and out.

At that moment two men came at him together one with a knife flashing under the dull parking lot lights, the other swinging a length of metal pipe.

Oliver moved first, he stepped inside the arc of the man with the pipe, letting the swing pass harmlessly behind him. His elbow slammed into the man's jaw a clean, brutal strike, and before the man could fall, Oliver grabbed the pipe from his limp hand and swung it backward in one fluid motion, connecting squarely with the knife wielder's wrist.

Immediately the knife clattered to the ground.

Oliver spun the pipe in his hands and cracked it across the knife wielder's temple. The man dropped instantly, out cold. The one with the jaw strike crumpled seconds later.

The last of the five hesitated for just a moment, long enough for Oliver to close the gap.

Without wasting anymore time Oliver lunged forward, grabbed the man by the collar, and slammed his forehead into the attacker's nose with a sickening crack. The man staggered backward, dazed and disoriented, before Oliver finished him with a swift kick to the side of the knee. The joint buckled, and the man collapsed in agony.

In less than thirty seconds, five bodies lay sprawled across the parking lot groaning, unconscious, or too hurt to move. The only sound was the labored breathing of the fallen men.

Oliver stood at the center of it all, calm and steady, his chest rising and falling in controlled breaths. Not a single strike wasted. Not a single movement sloppy.

Then slowly, he turned his gaze toward the boss, the last man standing.

Upon seeing Oliver eyes on him, the boss stumbled back a step, his bravado stripped away, fear naked in his eyes.

Oliver's voice was low, steady, and cold as he addressed him.

"Your turn," Oliver said, walking toward him. "Let's see what you've got."

At that moment, the boss's heart was pounding as his eyes darted around the parking lot. All of his men were down, groaning, writhing on the ground, some too hurt to even move. Their pained breaths filled the air.

'How…?' he thought, disbelief flashing across his face. 'How in the world did he take them all out so easily?'

He never imagined, not even in his wildest dreams, that Oliver a man who looked so ordinary, someone he had assumed came from a soft, privileged life, could fight like this. There wasn't a single wasted move, not a single missed strike. Every hit was precise. Brutal. Effective.

The shock quickly turned into frustration, and then into anger. His pride was shattered. His reputation, crushed in minutes right in front of his men.

"So you think… you've already won?" the boss muttered under his breath, his voice low and laced with hate.