You Are Going Too Far

"Declan!" Magnus lunged forward, catching his collapsing son before his knees could slam into the polished marble floor. His hands scrambled frantically over the boy's trembling frame, zeroing in on the ruined arm. Beneath the expensive fabric of Declan's suit, the bone felt like jagged gravel. The limb bent inward, shattered in multiple places, the sharp fragments threatening to pierce the skin. A cold, dreadful realization washed over the Thorne family patriarch. This was no simple fracture. It would take agonizing months of surgeries, metal pins, and grueling therapy to piece his heir back together.

Magnus's face flushed a deep, apocalyptic crimson. The veins in his neck bulged as he whipped his head toward the young man standing away. "How dare you hurt my son, you bastard? I'm going to kill you!"

His original, somewhat measured plan to merely cripple Torin to teach him a lesson evaporated. Humiliation burned like acid through Magnus's chest. All of Oakhaven's prominent elites and wealthy merchants were watching this spectacle. The hushed gasps of the crowd felt like slaps to his face. If he let this go, the Thorne family name would become a permanent joke. He needed blood to wash away the shame.

Fumbling for his phone, Magnus barked a frantic, enraged order, summoning his elite martial artist bodyguards to the banquet hall. These were not the cheap street thugs that trailed his son, but lethal professionals bought with a king's ransom. He wanted lethal revenge.

Through all the screaming, the crying heir, and the impending threat of trained killers, Torin didn't even blink. He turned his back on the furious billionaire, dragged a chair out from a nearby overturned table, and sat down. Reaching forward, he picked up his glass of water. He took a languid sip, letting the cool liquid slide down his throat. The soft clink of the glass against the table echoed loudly in the stunned silence.

This blatant, jaw-dropping display of disrespect poured gasoline on the boiling fury of the Thorne patriarch.

Declan's features contorted in raw, unadulterated agony. Tears of pain carved wet tracks down his pale cheeks as he desperately clung to his father's jacket. "Kill him, Dad!" he choked out, his voice cracking with hysteria. "I want him dead! Tear him apart!"

"I swear to you, Declan," Magnus roared, making sure his booming voice carried across the silent room. "I will toss his body to the fishes today!" Despite the fiery rage consuming his mind, Magnus possessed enough strategic sense to wait. The youth clearly possessed significant martial skill to snap Declan's arm so effortlessly. It was smarter to hold off a few moments for the heavily armed men to arrive before making a direct move.

Just as the tension in the room threatened to snap the air in half, the grand doors of the ruined banquet hall pushed open. Genevieve briskly stepped inside, her sharp gaze sweeping the chaotic room. She had come to quickly investigate the massive commotion disturbing her ailing father's rest, but she found herself stepping into a war zone.

Spotting the Mercer heiress, Magnus pointed a thick, trembling finger directly at Torin. "This peasant dared to ruin my only son's grand wedding!" Magnus declared to her, his tone leaving no room for debate. "A bloodbath is about to happen right here in your hotel!"

Genevieve followed his pointing finger. Her eyes widened, losing all their usual composed steel. She stood wholly stupefied. The supposed troublemaker sitting at the center of this disaster was none other than the man she had been searching for.

"Mr. Voss? How could it possibly be you?" she asked aloud, her voice laced with deep confusion and shock.

Torin lowered his water glass, a faint, unbothered smile playing on his lips. "Are you surprised, Ms. Mercer?"

Magnus frowned, his thick brows knitting together in suspicion. "You know this brat, Genevieve?"

Sensing the powder keg about to ignite, Genevieve attempted to de-escalate the volatile situation. "Mr. Thorne, there must be a huge misunderstanding. Mr. Voss was specifically invited to this hotel to medically treat my father. Please, let us calm down and clarify this."

Before Magnus could even process her words, a piercing, contemptuous shriek shattered the conversation.

"What nonsense are you spouting?" Chloe mocked loudly, stepping out from the protective circle of frightened guests. Her pristine wedding gown dragged across the ruined floor, her face twisted in disgust. "This worthless fellow doesn't possess any medical skills at all! He was literally just released from prison today!"

Chloe glared at her ex-boyfriend, eager to destroy his credibility in front of the wealthy heiress. "I know his true, pathetic capabilities better than anyone! We were classmates for four years, and we dated for years after that. He doesn't know the first thing about medicine. Once, it was raining cats and dogs, and I fell sick. He had to carry me to the hospital on his own back because we were too poor to afford a damn car! If he actually possessed real medical skills, I wouldn't have ever needed to go to the hospital in the first place!"

Hearing the bride's shallow and insulting logic, Genevieve's expression turned freezing cold. The puzzle pieces snapped into place. She glanced at the bride, then back at Torin. She now understood exactly why the capable young man was causing such immense trouble at this specific wedding. Her rising anger toward the ignorant bride threatened to boil over, but she stifled it, keeping her focus on protecting her father's savior.

"The mere fact that your blind eyes have never seen it does not mean he lacks incredible medical skills!" Genevieve snapped back, defending him with fierce loyalty.

Magnus lost the very last shred of his patience. "Do not interfere in Thorne family business, Genevieve!" he ordered aggressively. "I will utilize my vast wealth to find a renowned foreign medical expert for your dying father. But I swear on my life, this boy dies today!"

Firmly refusing to let her father's only true medical hope perish over a petty grudge, Genevieve took a brave step forward. She planted herself squarely and protectively in front of the seated Torin, shielding him with her own body.

"No, you cannot hurt Mr. Voss!" she declared, her voice ringing clear and steady through the banquet hall.

A dark, terrifyingly murderous intent glinted in Magnus's eyes.

Right on cue, the banquet hall doors burst open again. Dozens of the Thorne family's heavily muscled bodyguards aggressively barged into the room. Their tailored suits strained against their bulky frames, and their synchronized footsteps sounded like a marching execution squad.

In direct response to the escalating threat against their heiress, a dozen hotel security guards rushed forward, forming a tight protective human shield around Genevieve. The fearful wealthy guests hastily scrambled to the far edges of the room, frantic to avoid the impending crossfire.

Magnus bared his teeth, looking like a cornered beast. "Girl, I could kill you at any time if it weren't for your father's sake! Step aside right this very moment! Do you think you can stop me with these measly guards?"

His elite bodyguards stepped forward in unison, unleashing a menacing, suffocating martial aura. The sheer pressure of their combined presence rolled through the room like a physical wave, instantly petrifying the ordinary hotel staff and freezing the security guards in place.

Genevieve's face turned incredibly pale from the overwhelming pressure pressing down on her. Her knees felt weak, yet she stood resolute before Torin, refusing to budge a single inch.

At that explosive moment, the grand banquet hall doors swung open one last time.

Robert Mercer walked slowly into the room. A deep, dangerous trace of extreme displeasure etched itself onto his aging face as his sharp eyes took in the standoff.

"Thorne," Robert asked, his voice cutting through the heavy tension like a razor. "Don't you honestly think you're going way too far to aggressively scare a child when you're already up in years?"