Chapter 273

Kellan tilted his head, casting a sideways glance. He knew Allison was offering him help, but why? She had no personal stake in the disaster unfolding before him. Nova and Hoyt were walking disasters themselves; any rational person would keep their distance. Allison's smile remained soft, but her voice dripped with sarcasm, clearly agitating Hoyt further.

"Ahhhh!" Hot coffee splattered over Hoyt, despite his mother's attempt to shield him. The searing pain forced a scream from his lips. "You witch! You'll regret this!" he roared. Hoyt had never been treated this way. Born out of wedlock, he'd been pampered his entire life, getting whatever he wanted without effort. This was the first time a woman had dared to humiliate him. Moments earlier, Kellan had knocked him down; now, scalded and helpless, he looked like a soaked, beaten dog.

Nova fared no better. The coffee soaked through her clothes, burning her skin. She struggled to maintain composure, but the pain was too intense to hide. "Kellan," she said, her voice tight, "is this how you manage your people? Even if you despise Hoyt and me, you shouldn't allow us to be intentionally injured." Her usual gentle mask was gone, replaced by a cold, severe expression radiating hostility.

Nova moved toward Allison, her anger barely contained. "Miss Clarke," she spat, "if your parents failed to raise you properly, I'll gladly teach you some manners myself." She reached out to slap Allison.

From Allison's vantage point, Nova's attempt seemed clumsy and sluggish, her stance unsteady. She could barely maintain her balance. Allison's voice was sharp, laced with mockery. "Only the dead can raise me now," she said. "If you feel up to the task, go ahead." Her expression remained calm, but her dark eyes locked onto Nova's, momentarily creating a feeling of a cold abyss.

A jolt of fear coursed through Nova. Could Allison be capable of such violence? No, it had to be a trick of the mind. The unsettling feeling only fueled her anger. "How dare you challenge me?" she hissed, lifting her hand to strike. Knowing she couldn't lash out at Kellan without consequences, she thought she could easily torment Allison in his presence.

Floyd, observing from a distance, furrowed his brow, tightening his grip on his scalpel. He was seconds from intervening, knowing how to inflict harm without jeopardizing vital areas—leaving Nova crippled for life. But before he could act, Kellan grabbed Nova's wrist.

"You're playing with death," he said, his voice calm yet powerful. The veins in his hand bulged, preventing Nova from breaking free.

Allison glanced at Kellan, now standing protectively before her. Her thoughts flashed back to their kiss in the elevator—forceful, a clash of wills, a silent battle. She'd intended it as a game, yet they'd both been drawn deeper. Kellan's untamed intensity always pulled her in. He could have handled the situation differently, quietly in the shadows, but he was doing this openly, before her eyes. If she handed him a blade, he wouldn't hesitate; he would execute her enemies without flinching, with an almost arrogant confidence. Consequences seemed an afterthought.

A sharp crack echoed through the room. Nova's face turned ghostly pale before she let out a blood-curdling scream. "Let go… let go! Ahhhh!" Her composure crumbled under the crushing grip of his hand. He had broken her wrist, just as he had her son's moments before. Once, even if he loathed her and Hoyt, Kellan wouldn't have crossed that line. But today, he was different. His usual headaches were absent, replaced by a terrifying, deep rage churning beneath his calm surface. In that moment, he truly seemed capable of killing her.