Chapter 111
Few people knew, not even Galatea herself, that Ambrose was a master of martial arts.
With a chilling calmness, Ambrose swiftly dispatched the two thugs that had tried to intimidate Galatea. The first man’s arm was broken, his body forced to the ground as Ambrose showed no mercy. The second thug, trembling in fear, tried to retreat, his bravado slipping away. “Do you know who Brother Timothy is? If you mess with us, you better watch your back!” he stammered.
Ambrose’s response was swift and brutal. Without a word, he released the first man’s arm, his body flying through the air from a single powerful kick. As the thug landed hard on the ground, Ambrose stalked towards him, stepping on his chest like a cigarette that needed to be crushed underfoot.
“Go back and tell Brother Timothy my name is Ambrose,” he said in a voice cold enough to freeze blood. “Tell him to come see me tomorrow, or none of you will survive.” With that, he kicked the man once more for good measure before brushing off his clothes and walking away, leaving behind two broken men.
Galatea, still in shock, cleaned up the mess the thugs had made in her shop. Her mind raced. She had just secured a loan and paid seven hundred thousand to Alaric, and now these thugs thought they could extort her for another hundred thousand? They wouldn’t get a cent from her. If they came back, she would call the police—she refused to let them intimidate her.
Once everything was tidied up, she locked the door and left the shop. She hailed a taxi, trying to calm her nerves. The ride felt long, and she leaned back, trying to relax. Little did she know, Ambrose had been secretly following her. His car had trailed her until she reached the community where she lived.
Ambrose’s brow furrowed as he observed the area. So close to Nexus Innovations, he thought. Did Alaric set this up? A suspicion nagged at him. Did he have something to do with this?
After Galatea entered her building, Ambrose remained in his car, deep in thought. He wasn’t sure why he was so concerned about her, but the question lingered. Why had Alaric arranged for Galatea to live so near to him? What kind of hold did he have over her?
Later that night, Galatea had showered and was lying in bed, too exhausted to think clearly. Her bedroom window gave her a view of Alaric’s lounge, and she couldn’t help but glance at the building. To her surprise, the lights in his lounge were off. Was he not living at the company anymore? she wondered, only to feel a rush of amusement.
Why do I even care? she chided herself. It’s been peaceful without him. Maybe I should just forget about him altogether.
With that thought, she closed the curtains, trying to silence her mind. She was tired and fell asleep quickly, unaware that Alaric was wide awake in his hospital room.
Alaric lay in the sterile silence of his hospital room, staring at the ceiling. He had been unconscious for two days, and now that he was awake, he felt the weight of boredom pressing down on him. He picked up his phone—still no messages—and turned it off, sighing.
He had nothing to do. No work, no books, nothing to distract him. The silence was maddening. His mind kept drifting back to the same thought: Galatea. He hadn’t seen her in days, and yet she was still occupying his mind. His thoughts were a constant loop—what had she been doing? Was she alright? What if the thugs had hurt her? He knew he should focus on his recovery, but his mind kept wandering back to her.
The next morning, Galatea was back at her shop, preparing for another day of work. She had dropped her children off at school and now stood outside, watching the construction workers file in. There was a sense of resolve in her today. She wasn’t afraid anymore. If those thugs returned, she’d call the police—no hesitation.
But the hours passed, and there was no sign of them. She felt a strange unease growing in her chest. Were they really just trying to scare her? Or were they waiting for the right moment?
“CEO Ambrose, there’s a person named Timothy outside looking for you,” Denny said as he walked over to Ambrose at the construction site.
Ambrose, unperturbed, nodded. “Let him in,” he said indifferently. To the workers around him, he added, “It’s a hot day, and you’ve all worked hard. I’ll treat you all to lunch.”
Ambrose’s generosity was met with excitement from the workers, who praised him for being different from the typical bosses they were used to. “We’ve never met an entrepreneur who treats us this well,” one said.
“Yes, we must work even harder for him!” another agreed.
Ambrose smiled to himself as he watched them leave for the lunch he had arranged. But his thoughts quickly shifted back to Timothy, the thug who had been causing trouble for Galatea.
Timothy had no idea what was coming.
Back at the construction site, Timothy had arrived and was led into the room where Ambrose waited. The thug, looking bruised and battered, immediately groveled, his voice trembling. “CEO Ambrose, we are just a group of punks. We didn’t know who you were. Please, don’t hurt us!”
Ambrose didn’t respond right away, just sitting silently, watching Timothy squirm under his gaze. Denny, at a signal from Ambrose, stepped forward and began to beat Timothy once more. The man cried out in pain, his pleas for mercy filling the air.
Ambrose watched dispassionately as Timothy begged for his life, but the cold smile on Ambrose’s face only deepened the fear in the thug’s heart.
“Tell me,” Ambrose said, his voice low and dangerous, “Is Everpeace Street your territory?”
Timothy, barely able to move, managed to croak, “No, no it isn’t. But it’s my lackeys who… they acted on their own. I swear, I didn’t know.”
Ambrose raised an eyebrow, the danger in his smile growing. “Your lackeys scared my girlfriend last night,” he explained, his voice chillingly calm. “I’ll make sure they don’t bother her again.”
Timothy, realizing he was in deeper trouble than he thought, quickly tried to beg his way out. “Please, CEO Ambrose, they went behind my back. I’ll punish them when I get back, I swear. Just don’t hurt me anymore. Please!”
Ambrose let the words hang in the air for a moment before he slapped Timothy across the face, hard. “If your lackeys make mistakes, it’s your fault,” he said coldly. “No one gets seriously hurt. But you better remember this.”
With a final wave of his hand, he signaled for the beatings to continue before stepping out of the room. Timothy’s screams echoed behind him.
Later that evening, Galatea stood at the entrance of her shop, her heart racing. She hadn’t seen any sign of the thugs today, but something didn’t feel right. She glanced around, making sure she was alone.
Meanwhile, Ambrose, ever watchful, peered through his telescope from the safety of his home. He couldn’t help but smile at the sight of Galatea standing there. Silly girl, he thought to himself. Why are you waiting out here instead of hiding? Don’t you know I’ll never let you suffer?
Ambrose had been watching her for days now. Every night, she took a taxi home alone, and Alaric never showed up. Alaric, he thought, If you can’t protect her, do you even deserve to be called a man?
Ambrose chuckled softly to himself, his thoughts darkening. He wouldn’t let Galatea fall victim to anyone—not while he was around.