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

At that moment, hearing what he just said, Oliver's entire body froze, as though the world itself had stopped moving. The name that left the man's mouth echoed in his ears, cutting deeper than any blade ever could.

William, his brother.

Then Oliver's breath hitched, a strange mixture of disbelief and rising fury twisting inside his chest. Again his grip on the boss's shirt tightened until the fabric strained, veins bulging in his forearm as he dragged the man closer, his voice low and trembling with barely restrained anger.

"Don't play with me," Oliver said through his gritted teeth. His tone was so cold it made the air feel heavier around them.

"You'd better pray you're not lying. Because if I find out you're just trying to turn me against my brother… if this is some pathetic trick to save your skin…" He leaned in so close the boss could feel his breath. "…I will make sure you don't walk out of here alive. Do you understand me?"

Then the boss's eyes widened, tears of pain streaming down his face as he clutched at his shattered leg. He shook his head frantically, his words spilling out between gasps.

"I swear… I swear it's the truth!" he shouted, almost choking on his own breath. "I can prove it! I've got the call log , the number! It was William! He called me himself to give me the job!"

Hearing the words again Oliver's jaw clenched tighter, his teeth grinding as he listened.

"I asked him twice," the boss continued desperately. "Twice! Just to make sure I wasn't hearing things! And he confirmed it both times! Said it clear as day, this is what he wanted done! I didn't believe it myself… but it was him!"

The words hit Oliver like a blow to the gut.

For a long, tense moment, Oliver said nothing. His hand remained fisted in the boss's shirt, his knuckles white, while his other hand trembled slightly at his side. His chest rose and fell sharply, each breath louder than the next.

Then, slowly, he let go.

Immediately the boss collapsed backward, clutching his leg, panting in pain and relief. Oliver didn't even glance at him again. His eyes were distant now not because he pitied the man, but because the truth had struck deeper than any physical fight tonight.

William, the name pulsed in his head, each repetition stoking the fire building in his chest. He wanted to do something arrest them, drag them to the authorities, anything to restore the balance but it all felt meaningless now. The betrayal went deeper than the fight.

The mastermind behind everything… was his own brother.

Quietly, without a word, Oliver turned and walked toward his car. Each step was heavy, echoing through the near-empty parking lot. The faint groans of the fallen men followed him, but he didn't look back.

Then he reached his car, opened the door, and slid inside. The slam of the door felt final, like the closing of a chapter.

His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, knuckles pale, as his reflection stared back at him in the rearview mirror. The anger burning in his chest was no longer just rage it was personal.

Without another glance behind him, Oliver started the engine.

And then, silently, he drove off heading home, furious.

Not long after, Oliver arrived home, his car screeching into the driveway. His knuckles were still white from gripping the steering wheel, his breathing sharp and heavy as the night's chaos replayed in his mind. The moment he stepped inside the house, he slammed the door behind him, the echo ringing through the quiet hallway.

The living room light was on.

There, seated comfortably on the couch, were William and their father. It seemed they were deep in conversation, but the second Oliver stepped in, the air changed. The tension followed him inside, thick and suffocating.

However William barely turned his head, while their father straightened in surprise at Oliver's expression, his eyes blazing, and his jaw locked tight with fury.

Oliver didn't wait. He didn't greet them. He didn't care.

He stormed across the room, every step deliberate and heavy, his voice rising as the anger finally spilled out.

"I'm disappointed in you, William!" Oliver snapped, his words sharp enough to cut. "How could you do this? How could you send people after me? To teach me a lesson? To hurt me? How could you even think of something like that?!"

At that moment William slowly raised his head at the accusation, his expression calm infuriatingly calm, as if Oliver's anger barely touched him. He leaned back in his seat, crossing one leg over the other, and his lips curved into the faintest smirk.

"Well," William said smoothly, his voice dripping with disdain, "it's no surprise you lack manners. But really, is this how you talk to me? To me? Where's your respect, Oliver?"

At that moment Oliver's fists tightened at his sides.

"Don't twist this," Oliver barked. "Don't you dare twist this!"

Then William tilted his head, pretending to be confused, his tone deliberately mocking. "You think I sent someone after you? Are you sure about that?"

"Stop playing with me!" Oliver roared, stepping closer until they were practically face to face. "I saw them! I fought them! And they told me everything! Don't stand there and act innocent!"

The silence that followed was suffocating. Their father looked between them, his face clouded with calmness, but neither of them paid him any attention.

Oliver's breathing was heavy now, his voice trembling not just with anger, but with something deeper betrayal.

"You know what?" Oliver continued, his tone bitter. "I think I know why you did this. I think this is all because of Cora, isn't it?"

At that moment, William rose from the couch, his every movement deliberate, heavy with restrained fury. The room seemed to shrink as he stepped closer to Oliver, the faint hum of the ceiling fan above them swallowed by the thick silence. Their father still seated in his chair, but neither son acknowledged him. This confrontation had been brewing for years, and now it was finally spilling into the open.

William's eyes burned with unfiltered rage. Deep inside, the thought gnawed at him, How could those idiots fail so easily? He had counted on them to handle Oliver quickly, quietly, without a trace. But instead, not only had they failed to touch him, they'd handed him the truth on a silver platter.

Professionals they said? William scoffed inwardly. They're amateurs. All of them.

For Oliver to have beaten them so completely meant only one thing in William's mind that Oliver wasn't just lucky; Oliver was stronger than he'd ever given him credit for. And that infuriated him even more.

Stepping in close, William squared his shoulders, standing face to face with Oliver until they were nearly touching. The tension between them was palpable, it was like two storms colliding, neither willing to back down.

"You're right," William said, his voice cold, deliberate, and unflinchingly honest. "This is about Cora."