Page 17 of Billionaire’s Cruelty

I turned.

Jenny stood frozen, a bloodied utility knife in her trembling hand. Her knuckles were white from gripping the blade too tightly, her chest rising and falling in frantic bursts.

“Qing Qing,” I said softly, using her nickname like a lifeline. My heart slammed against my ribs. “Put the knife down.”

Her wild, tear-filled eyes met mine. Pain and defiance burned in her gaze.

“I’m done,” she whispered. Her voice hollow and broken. And then, before I could stop her, she dragged the blade down her inner her wrist in one swift motion.

“No!” I shouted, my blood turning ice-cold.

Blood poured from the deep gash, dripping down her arm and staining the pale silk of her dress. She staggered back, her breathing ragged, her face pale as death.

Chen roared with rage, his strength surging as he wrenched free from Mario’s grasp. He lunged toward her, his palm cracking against her cheek with enough force to twist her head to the side.

Jenny screamed as he raised his hand for another blow. His face twisted with nothing but hatred.

I couldn’t stop the slap—it came too fast. But I tackled him to the ground before he could strike her again.

We crashed hard, the air bursting from my lungs as we hit the marble floor. Jenny crumpled beside us, blood soaking the hem of her dress and pooling beneath her. My fists landed hard, raw anger driving every punch. But Chen didn’t flinch. His eyes burned with madness as he reached for her again.

“Bitch, you think you can threaten me like that?” he roared, his voice thick with venom. He clawed at Jenny, grabbing a fistful of her hair and jerking her toward him.

“Let her go!” My voice was a snarl, but he didn’t listen.

His hand cracked against her face again. And again. Each slap echoed through the room, and with every blow, something inside me snapped.

Mario tried to pull him off. But Chen was a possessed man—driven by an uncontrollable need to punish Jenny for defying him. He didn’t care about the blood or the consequences—only his control. His grip tightened in her hair, and Jenny let out a pained whimper as fresh tears streamed down her cheeks.

I threw a savage punch into his side, hearing the sharp crack of a rib giving way. He bellowed in pain, his body shuddering. But he didn’t stop.

He couldn’t stop.

Then, just as suddenly, everything stopped.

I froze, my heart pounding in my chest as I watched blood gushing out of Chen’s throat.

“Bitch.” Cheng managed to squeeze the word out, his voice a rasping croak.

“I wouldn’t talk if I were you.” Jenny crawled away from Chen as his monstrous hold finally loosened. Slowly, she pulled herself up and stood over her husband.

The knife slipped from her trembling hand, clattering to the floor. She wobbled as she moved, leaving a smeared trail of blood behind her. After picking up a pink dress from a nearby chair, she turned and walked towards me.

“Should I die with him?” Jenny gave me a faint smile, her tear-streaked face pale and hollow.

“No,” I responded, finally snapping out of my daze.

I stood and guided Jenny to sit down on the bed. Tearing the pink dress she handed me, I wrapped the fabric tightly around her wrist. The cut was deep—too deep. I sandwiched my wrist between my hands, applying as much pressure as I could to slow the bleeding.

The room fell into a heavy, tense silence.

Mario had gone downstairs. I knew he would do whatever was required. I had no other option but to trust him at a time like this.

Jenny slumped against me, resting her face on my shoulder. Her crying had never really stopped since I stepped into the room. It had ebbed and flowed, but the tears kept coming—an endless, broken stream.

“What are we going to do now?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

I glanced over at Chen, lying motionless in a pool of his own blood. His hand trembled weakly against his throat in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding. Despite the gaping wound, his face twisted with a mixture of shock and rage—like he couldn’t believe what Jenny had done and wanted her to pay for it.