CHAPTER 157: CHAPTER 157

At that moment, without a shred of hesitation, Samuel lunged toward Oliver, his face twisted with desperation. He swung his arm back, ready to deliver a punch, but Oliver’s movements were like lightning. In one swift motion, he intercepted Samuel’s strike mid-air, gripping his wrist with a force that made Samuel’s bones creak. With a sharp twist, Oliver wrenched Samuel’s arm behind his back. A sickening jolt of pain shot through Samuel’s shoulder and down his spine, forcing a scream from his lips.

Before Samuel could process the agony, Oliver’s knife flashed. The blade plunged into Samuel’s hand with surgical precision, the metal sinking deep into flesh. But Oliver didn’t just stab, he twisted the blade slowly, deliberately, in a way that made Samuel’s nerves scream louder than his voice. The cut was so precise, so controlled, that blood didn’t gush only a thin, dark trickle oozed along the steel.

Samuel staggered forward, clutching his wounded hand, his breath ragged. "What the hell is wrong with you?!" he shouted, his voice trembling between pain and outrage. Oliver’s eyes remained cold, his tone even colder.

"If you try to pull that knife out," he said, each word deliberate, "you will bleed to death right here. Your only chance is to leave it where it is."

The words drained the color from Samuel’s face. His knees wobbled, and his mind raced. "You... you don’t know who I am," he spat, forcing his voice to carry over his fear. "I’m Samuel! The top actor, the bestselling author in this country! I still have influence connections! I can ruin you if I want. You think you can do this to me and walk away?"

Oliver didn’t flinch. His silence was heavier than any threat. Then, with sudden ferocity, he stepped forward and shoved his hand into Samuel’s mouth, forcing his jaw open. Samuel’s eyes went wide, his muffled protests turning into frantic, guttural sounds. Oliver’s grip found Samuel’s tongue, pinching it hard before yanking it outward.

Samuel’s muffled scream echoed through the room as panic surged in his veins. His body thrashed, but Oliver’s hold was immovable. "What is wrong with you?!" Samuel tried to yell, but the words came out garbled, helpless.

Without a pause, Oliver’s other hand produced the nail cutter. The glint of metal was the only warning before, snip! a searing bolt of pain exploded in Samuel’s mouth. Part of his tongue fell limp, the taste of iron flooding his senses. Samuel’s scream turned animalistic, his eyes bulging in disbelief and agony. He staggered back, clutching his face, unable to form a single word.

At that moment, Oliver’s voice was low but filled with a deadly certainty as he looked down at Samuel and said, "From now on, this is fifty-fifty. You... will barely be able to speak again. And if by some miracle you manage to talk, your words will never be clear. Even if you fly out of this country for treatment, even if you see the best specialists in the world... your acting career is finished. You will never set foot on a movie set again. It’s over for you, Samuel."

Samuel’s eyes trembled weakly. He was exhausted, drained of every ounce of strength. His breathing was shallow, his vision blurry. The pain was unbearable, and blood pooled in his mouth, dripping down his chin. His body wanted to collapse completely, but the fear rooting him in place kept him conscious.

Before Samuel could even process Oliver’s words, a heavy fist slammed into his face. Then another. And another. Each blow landed with a sickening thud, cracking bone and bursting flesh. His nose bent unnaturally to the side, blood pouring from it, then His jaw shifted grotesquely under the force of Oliver’s punches. Teeth flew from his mouth, clattering to the floor like broken porcelain. His once-proud face swelled beyond recognition, skin torn and battered until it resembled nothing more than a bruised, crushed tomato.

When Oliver finally stopped, he stood over Samuel, breathing steadily, then he calmly pulled a white handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the blood from his knuckles, his expression cold and deliberate. "Now," Oliver said, his tone cutting like ice, "your career is over. Your reputation is over, and this... is not where it ends. You’re going to pay for what you did, Samuel. For what you were about to do to Cora, you’ll rot in prison. Your face is ruined. Even with surgery, it’ll be a miracle if they can piece it back together. Your tongue will never work properly again, and that stab wound in your hand... I cut deep, Samuel. The veins are gone. In minutes, that hand will be useless dead."

Hearing what Oliver just said, Samuel couldn’t respond. He couldn’t even move. He lay there, broken, blood covering every part of his face, mouth, and teeth. Only his eyes still flickered faintly with life, darting weakly in fear and disbelief. Everything else about him looked lifeless.

Oliver glanced down at him one last time before turning away. His attention shifted to Cora, who was slumped nearby, barely conscious. Her breaths were shallow, her skin pale. Without hesitation, Oliver bent down and then he removed his jacket to cover her properly, then he scooped her into his arms, and began walking quickly toward the car before heading to the hospital.

**

At that moment, James sat frozen for a few seconds, gripping his phone so tightly his knuckles turned white. His mind was a mess thoughts colliding with each other like waves in a storm. Emily walking out on him was already a knife to the chest, but this... this was a noose tightening around his neck. Every tick of the clock only reminded him that he was well past the time he had promised William. And William wasn’t the kind of man you kept waiting.

He stood abruptly, chair scraping against the floor, and began pacing from one corner of the room to the other. The sound of his footsteps echoed in the tense silence, each step heavy with panic. He tried to think of a way out, some clever excuse or desperate bluff that could buy him time, but his mind was blank. Calling William now was like throwing himself into the lion’s den, yet not calling him was even worse.

For a long moment, James just stared at his phone, the contact name William glaring back at him like a threat. His chest tightened. He knew that once he made that call, there would be no turning back. Still, he drew in a shaky breath, swallowed hard, and pressed the dial button.

It rang once. Twice. His heart pounded with each tone, a drumbeat of dread. Then the line clicked.

Before James could even open his mouth, William’s voice came through, sharp, cold, and laced with suspicion.

"James," he said, slow and deliberate, "is this you trying to play smart? Is that what this is?"

At that moment James’s throat tightened, but William didn’t give him a chance to respond.

"I’ve done my part. Everything I promised on my end is finished. So why... the delay?" His tone grew harder with every word. "You think you can double-cross me, James? Is that what’s going on here? Because if that’s the case."

William’s voice sharpened like a blade, his fury no longer masked. "You’re making the biggest mistake of your life."