Chapter 8
965words
The car stopped at the main entrance where staff immediately rushed forward to open our doors.
"Welcome home, sir."
Ethan maneuvered his wheelchair from the car while I followed closely behind.
The moment we entered the grand living room, I felt the weight of hostile stares.
Several people were arranged on expensive sofas, dominated by a stern elderly man who could only be Old Mr. Holt.
To his left sat a middle-aged couple—the man bearing enough resemblance to Ethan to be his older brother Gregory and his wife.
Beside them sat several younger family members, including—to my dismay—Vivian Woods, who'd stormed out of our house days earlier.
When she spotted me, her eyes narrowed to venomous slits.
"Well, well, Ethan remembers the family home," Greg spoke first, mockery dripping from every word. "I thought you'd decided to hide away in that villa of yours forever."
Ethan ignored him completely, offering only a slight nod to the elderly patriarch.
"Grandfather."
Old Mr. Holt snorted and struck his cane against the hardwood floor with a crack.
"You still call me Grandfather? You make a decision as important as marriage without consulting the family? And this bride-switching scandal! You've brought disgrace to the Holt name!"
His voice boomed like thunder, making my ears ring.
I clenched my hands nervously, nails digging into my palms.
"My marriage, my decision. Is there a problem?" Ethan's tone was calm but carried undeniable authority. "Since when did the Holt family need arranged marriages to maintain its reputation?"
"You—!" Old Mr. Holt choked on his rage, breaking into a fit of coughing.
"Father, don't upset yourself. Why waste energy on someone so… limited?" Gregory's wife—Mandy—interjected with silky venom.
While patting the old man's back, she shot me a contemptuous glance.
"So this is the Sullivan replacement? Passable, I suppose. I wonder what the Sullivans were thinking, sending their spare when the first one bolted. Ethan, dear, do be careful they don't fleece you while you're distracted by a pretty face."
"I know exactly what I'm doing with my wife. My sister-in-law needn't concern herself," Ethan replied icily.
"Ethan, how can you speak to Mandy that way?" Vivian Woods chimed in with practiced sweetness. "She's only concerned for you. This Miss Sullivan comes from nowhere special. Who's to say she isn't just after the Holt fortune?"
As she spoke, she turned her gaze on me, pure malice in her eyes.
"Miss Sullivan, I heard your sister ran off with some penniless nobody? Your family has… interesting values."
Muffled snickers rippled through the room.
I felt like an animal in a zoo, surrounded by predators waiting to pounce.
My face burned with humiliation as my nails dug crescents into my palms.
Just when I thought I might crumble, a cool hand covered mine.
It was Ethan.
He held my hand—not tightly, but with unmistakable purpose.
He fixed Vivian with a look that could freeze hell itself.
"Vivian, I've warned you to stay out of my affairs."
"And let me be perfectly clear," he paused, his gaze sweeping the room, each word precise and cutting, "Eve Sullivan is my wife—Mrs. Ethan Holt. Anyone who disrespects her disrespects me."
The room fell into stunned silence.
Ethan's words landed with the weight of absolute authority.
Everyone—even Vivian—seemed to shrink under his commanding presence.
Her face drained of color, lips trembling wordlessly.
His palm was warm against mine, sending an unexpected flutter through my chest.
Though I knew he was merely protecting the Holt name, his defense felt like a lifeline in this shark tank.
[Ding! Target's Affection Points +10! Current Affection Points: -65!]
[Ding! Target's Villain Meter decreased by 5%! Current Villain Meter: 77%!]
Seeing Ethan's unyielding stance, Old Mr. Holt recognized defeat and heaved a heavy sigh.
"Enough bickering. Ethan, since you're here, stay for lunch. Your brothers are waiting."
Weariness crept into his voice, as if the fight had drained from him.
Ethan didn't refuse, merely nodding his assent.
At lunch, the Holts gathered around an enormous dining table, the atmosphere thick enough to cut with a knife.
Greg and Mandy exchanged meaningful glances while Vivian sat beside Greg's son Zack, occasionally shooting tearful looks at Ethan.
Zack, Ethan's nephew, seemed fascinated by his "new aunt."
He had a scholarly look with gold-rimmed glasses that gave him an air of refinement, but his eyes held unmistakable mockery.
"So, Aunt Eve," he emphasized the title with subtle mockery, "you're the youngest Sullivan daughter? Strange I've never seen you at any social events."
My stomach clenched—he was deliberately trying to expose me.
Before I could respond, Ethan cut in.
"Zack, don't speak with your mouth full. Didn't your mother teach you basic manners?"
Zack's smile froze, and he reluctantly fell silent.
Mandy's face darkened at her son's reprimand, but she didn't dare challenge Ethan directly.
Halfway through the meal, Old Mr. Holt broke the silence.
"Ethan, I hear you're negotiating with Shaw Industries?"
Ethan set down his fork and dabbed his mouth with a napkin. "Yes. Making progress."
"Robert Shaw is a cunning bastard." Old Mr. Holt exchanged a meaningful look with Gregory. "Can you handle him alone?"
The question clearly challenged Ethan's competence.
Greg and Mandy exchanged smug smiles.
"My business concerns are my own, Grandfather." Ethan's tone remained perfectly neutral.
"How can I not worry?" Old Mr. Holt sighed dramatically. "In your… condition, managing these deals must be overwhelming. Why not let Gregory assist you?"
"Absolutely," Greg jumped in eagerly. "Despite your… limitations, I'm still your brother. Just say the word if you need help. We can't let Holt assets slip into outsiders' hands."
His words dripped with false concern, barely masking his contempt.
