The lackey forced an awkward laugh, still groveling. "How could he compare to you, brother-in-law? He's just a shameless streetwalker—not even fit to carry your shoes. If he hadn't pulled tricks to show up in front of Serena today, I'd never have let him dirty your eyes!"
Ethan's gaze turned even more contemptuous. He covered his mouth in exaggerated disgust and handed over the video camera.
"Since he's Serena's first love, we should take extra good care of him." He gestured at my empty room. "Business looks dead. I brought some friends to liven things up. Serve them well—I'll send more customers later."
At his signal, a group of men with brutal faces closed in.
I shook my head, panic clawing up my throat. "No—you've got it wrong, I'm not—"
Before I could finish, a hand grabbed my hair and hurled me sideways.
My body slammed into the wardrobe.
A loud crash—and that long-sealed photo tumbled into view.
I lunged to cover it.
The next second, a custom leather shoe came down without hesitation.
Glass shards bit into my palm. Blood seeped out, staining the photo beneath.
Fighting through the bone-deep pain, I lifted my head.
Serena stood there. Face cold. Indifferent.