chapter212
Today, the smoke curling from Tarquin’s cigarette didn't signify loneliness; it was the physical manifestation of pure, unadulterated rage.
Lowell sighed, stepping forward in a futile attempt to mediate. “Don’t take Ms. Thorne’s reaction to heart. It’s natural for her to be guarded after everything. Give her time to process, and she’ll come around.”
“Process?” Tarquin’s voice was a low rasp. “When has she ever not looked at me with suspicion? When someone fundamentally distrusts you, even your breathing is an offense.”
Lowell went silent, feeling the heavy bitterness in the air. He knew the situation was a deadlock. “I know it’s difficult, and honestly, the fault doesn't lie with you or Ms. Thorne. It’s Allegra. She has crossed a line that can never be uncrossed.”
At the mention of Allegra, Tarquin took a final, fierce drag of his cigarette. His face was a mask of cold, menacing resolve. “Bring Larry to the racetrack.”
Larry—Allegra’s husband and Lionel’s father—was the target this time.
Soon, the high-performance engines at Tarquin’s private racetrack roared to life, drowning out everything else. Larry was on the track, stumbling forward like a man possessed, constantly looking back with wide, terrified eyes.
“Help! Somebody, please!”
A dark sports car pursued him like a bolt of lightning, coming dangerously close with every high-speed pass. Larry collapsed to the asphalt, shielding his head as the roar of the engine vibrated through his very bones.
In the stands, Allegra watched the scene unfold with hysterical horror. “Tarquin, you monster! He is your uncle! If you hurt him, I will see you ruined!”
She tried to storm the track, but two of Tarquin’s bodyguards held her back with iron grips.
Tarquin sat in the driver’s seat, his expression chillingly detached. He handled the car with lethal precision, narrowly missing Larry with every maneuver. With a skillful drift, he swung the car around, the tires screeching as he charged again. The car grazed Larry just enough to send him sprawling, the raw power of the machine acting as a silent executioner.
Larry was petrified, his dignified facade replaced by a desperate, pleading gaze toward his wife. “Allegra, help me! He’s lost his mind! He’s actually going to do it!”
Allegra’s cries were hoarse and panicked. She was powerless against the sheer weight of Tarquin’s authority. For over half an hour, the relentless pursuit continued—a psychological siege that pushed both Larry and Allegra to the absolute limit of their endurance.
When they eventually collapsed from the sheer strain of the terror, they were revived with buckets of ice water, forced to endure the "game" until Tarquin felt his point had been sufficiently made.
It wasn't until the sun began to dip below the horizon that Tarquin finally brought the car to a halt. Larry remained on the track, a trembling shadow of his former self. Allegra stumbled toward him, her poise shattered, her status as a high-society lady erased by the raw fear in her eyes.
Tarquin stepped out of the car and removed his helmet, looking down at the broken couple with clinical disdain.
“I am only going to warn you once,” Tarquin said, his voice carrying clearly across the silent track. “Touch Elysia again, and you will relive this ordeal every single day. Do not test the limits of my patience.”
He took Lowell’s phone, uploaded the footage of the encounter directly to the Bradford family’s private group chat, and walked away without looking back.
The chat remained silent as a grave. Across the city, the members of the Bradford family watched the video in stunned, paralyzed silence. They had always known Tarquin was powerful, but today they realized he was no longer playing by the rules of family etiquette. He had drawn a line in the sand, and that line was named Elysia.