Chapter 4

Diana stood quietly off to the side, watching the touching reunion between grandfather and grandson. Even her usual calm expression softened a little.

With Andrew back, the Pierces finally had a man to rely on.

But could Andrew really shoulder this burden? Could he carve a path for the Pierces through the wolves circling Crestbrooke?

Just as the warmth of the moment settled in, an untimely voice sliced through the air.

"Well, isn't this sweet. What a touching family reunion."

Vincent's mocking tone filled the room.

"Mr. Andrew, what a surprise. I didn't think you'd make it out alive. Honestly, I figured you'd have died behind bars by now."

Andrew slowly rose to his feet. His face, moments ago full of emotion, iced over in an instant.

His voice was calm but sharp. "Vincent, I'll give you one chance. Get out of the Pierces' house now. I'm in a good mood today—I don't feel like killing anyone."

The two weren't close, but Andrew had seen Vincent a few times at Crestbrooke's high society events. Back then, Vincent had always kept his head down, all fake smiles and flattering words. And now, here he was, swaggering and taunting Sebastian like this.

Rage flared hot in Andrew's chest.

Vincent flinched under Andrew's icy stare, but he quickly covered it with an exaggerated laugh.

"Hahaha!" He doubled over, clutching his stomach as if Andrew had just told the funniest joke.

"Did prison fry your brain? You think you're still the big-shot heir of the Pierces?"

"Wake up! Your three brothers are dead. Your family's company is circling the drain. All that's left is that old man and you—one half-dead, the other fresh out of prison. And you still dare act tough with me?

"Listen carefully, Andrew. Times have changed. Sign the contract now, and out of the goodness of my heart, I'll even throw in another 200 grand so you and the old man can shuffle through what's left of your years."

Sebastian shook with fury, his face flushing pale, then red, then pale again.

Andrew, however, remained strangely calm. Instead of responding to Vincent's taunts, he bent down and picked up the contract that had fallen to the floor.

Vincent smirked, convinced Andrew had given in. His grin grew wider.

"That's better. You finally understand what's good for you." He puffed out his chest smugly. "Don't worry. Once you sign, I'll keep my word. I'll even toss in that extra 200 grand. See? I'm generous."

He patted his chest, acting as if he were doing Andrew the biggest favor in the world.

The next second, his grin froze.

Andrew held the contract in both hands and tore it clean down the middle. In moments, the agreement was nothing but shredded scraps raining onto the floor.

"How dare you…" Vincent's eyes bulged, disbelief etched across his face.

Andrew had actually dared to rip it up right in front of him!

Andrew tossed the pieces aside, then straightened and walked toward Vincent, step by step.

"What's the matter? You wanna hit me?" Vincent forced a smirk, puffing out his chest as if he owned the room. "Careful. You just got out of prison. If you start throwing punches again, you'll rot back in there."

His tone was full of scorn. In his eyes, Andrew was nothing but a washed-up ex-con. He had bodyguards with real training—taking down one guy fresh out of prison would be easy.

Meanwhile, Diana's heart clenched as she stood on the sidelines. She could see Andrew's anger simmering, and was worried he'd lose control and make things worse.

She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could say a word, Andrew moved.

In a flash, he closed the distance. His fist drove deep into Vincent's gut.

"Argh!"

Vincent let out a shrill cry as his body folded like a shrimp. His hands clutched his stomach as he collapsed onto the floor, writhing in pain.

Andrew had hit him hard.

Vincent hadn't even had time to react before he was down.

"H-How dare you hit me!" His voice cracked as he gasped for breath. "You're dead! You hear me? Dead!"

Andrew didn't waste words. He crouched, grabbed Vincent by the collar, and hauled Vincent up as if he weighed nothing.

Then came three sharp slaps, echoing in the room.

Vincent's face swelled instantly, blood seeping from the corner of his mouth. His eyes rolled as he sagged, barely able to make a sound.

"You idiots!" he wheezed toward his men. "What are you standing there for? Get him! Kill him!"

The bodyguards jolted into action at the command. They exchanged quick looks, then rushed forward in a pack, fists raised.

From the sidelines, Diana and Sebastian's stomachs dropped. Both of them feared that Andrew couldn't handle the odds.

But neither the frail old man nor the untrained young woman could do anything but watch.

What happened next stunned them all.

Andrew didn't panic. He didn't even break a sweat.

The bodyguards couldn't so much as touch him. He lashed out with a powerful kick, hitting one squarely in the chest.

Thud!

One bodyguard flew backward and crashed onto the floor. He coughed and groaned, unable to get up.

Another swung at him, but Andrew slipped aside and slammed a fist into his face. Bone crunched, and blood poured from his nose as he crumpled while covering his face.

Andrew moved like lightning. Every strike was precise, ruthless, and unstoppable.

In seconds, all of Vincent's bodyguards were sprawled across the floor, moaning in agony, their earlier arrogance gone without a trace.

Vincent stared in shock, frozen where he stood. He couldn't believe what he was seeing.

How had Andrew become this strong?

It was impossible. The guy had been in prison for five years.

What—had they been teaching martial arts in there?