The Vicious Assault

Lucian stared down at the asphalt, his mind blank with shock. The cigarette dangled from his lips, ashes spilling onto his expensive jacket. He had never expected to hit anyone tonight, let alone his boss’s fiancée, Giselle.

His brain remained frozen for several long seconds before the gravity of the situation finally registered. Dropping to his knees, he scrambled toward the unconscious woman lying near the front bumper of the red Ferrari.

"Giselle?" he called out, his voice cracking under the sudden weight of panic. "Giselle, can you hear me? Wake up!"

The only reply was the hum of the car engine and the distant city traffic.

She lay motionless, her face pale under the bright streetlights.

Trembling, Lucian reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He dialed Julian's private number, pressing the device hard against his ear as he waited. The line connected after two rings.

"Boss! I’ve hit sister-in-law!" Lucian blurted out, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

A heavy silence fell over the line. "How is that possible?" Julian's deep voice carried a dangerous edge, sharp and commanding. "She just sent me a message saying she was downstairs. She should be inside the building."

"I'm telling the truth!" Lucian looked back toward the Ferrari, his hands shaking. "I picked Hayes up from the airport. I was making a quick turn at the intersection, and she suddenly rushed out into the street. I didn't see her in time. I hit the brakes, but the car still struck her. I... I didn't mean to do this."

Julian’s tone turned ice-cold. "What about Hayes? Is he hurt?"

Everyone in their circle knew how much Julian doted on his three-year-old son.

"No, no, Hayes is fine. He didn't get a scratch," Lucian rushed to reassure him. "He's sitting in the back seat playing with his tablet. I'm a doctor, boss. I'll take sister-in-law straight to the villa's private infirmary. We have the best medical equipment there. It's much faster and more secure than bringing her to a public hospital."

The villa's medical room was fully equipped for any emergency. It would save time and keep the media from catching wind of the accident.

Julian let out a cold breath over the phone. "Okay."

The call disconnected.

Inside his private suite at the club, Julian stood up from the plush leather armchair. He adjusted the collar of his dark designer suit jacket and walked out of the room, his long strides carrying him toward the exit.

Not long after Julian left the premises, the rhythmic clicking of high heels echoed down the quiet hallway.

Giselle stepped into the private room, smoothing down her designer dress. A smug, satisfied smile played on her lips. She had orchestrated tonight's events to ensure Sylvie would face ruin at the hands of Clive. To protect herself from any potential suspicion, she had sent Julian that text message earlier, pretending she was downstairs. It served as a flawless alibi and gave her a reason to get close to him once the dust settled.

But as she stepped further into the dim room, her smile faded.

The space was empty. No Julian, no Sylvie, and no Clive.

Giselle's brow furrowed in annoyance. Had Julian already left because she took too long to arrive?

She clicked her tongue, turning on her heel to search the corridor. She needed to find him before he drove away.

She barely crossed the threshold of the door when a heavy, sweaty hand clamped onto her wrist.

"Sylvie, so you're hiding here!"

Clive's raspy voice echoed in the narrow hallway, smelling heavily of alcohol. He had searched the ground floor of the club until his legs ached, finding no trace of his target. He had been about to give up and hire a prostitute for the night, but then he saw this slender figure moving near the VIP suites. Even though she wore a different dress, her build and striking beauty made his blood boil with lust.

He threw his thick arms around her waist, trapping her against his chest. "Don't even think of running away from me! You won't escape tonight!"

Giselle went rigid, her heart stopping. The stench of cheap liquor and sweat made her stomach turn.

She stared at the short, bloated man holding her, her mind racing. This disgusting brute was supposed to be raping Sylvie! Why was he here, and why was he touching her?

She was the precious daughter of the Bancroft family. She was Julian’s future wife. The thought of this filthy pig pressing his body against hers filled her with rage.

"Let go of me!" Giselle shrieked, her voice echoing off the walls. She raised her hand and slapped Clive hard across the face. "I'm not Sylvie! Let me go, you trash!"

The sharp slap rang out in the quiet corridor.

Clive's face twisted with rage. Already humiliated by Sylvie's earlier resistance, this second rejection pushed him past his limit. His eyes bulged as he glared at her.

"You little bitch," Clive growled, his fat fingers curling into a tight fist. "You think you can keep playing hard to get? I'll make you beg for mercy on your knees!"

Before Giselle could scream for help, Clive lunged forward and grabbed a thick handful of her styled hair.

"Ah! It hurts! Stop it!" Giselle cried out as a sharp pain ripped through her scalp.

She had been pampered and protected her entire life, never experiencing such raw, physical violence. Terror seized her. She thrashed and kicked her legs, trying to break free from his grip, but her strength was nothing against his heavy weight.

"Please, let me go! Help! Somebody help me!" she sobbed, tears ruining her expensive makeup as she struggled.

Clive disregarded her desperate cries. He grabbed a tight fistful of Giselle's hair, dragging her backward into the dark private room. With a brutal grunt, he slammed her down heavily on the leather sofa.