Eternal Marriage

No Mercy in His Words

The presidential limousine cut through the night like a blade, its headlights slicing through the fog. Huang Tingyue’s mind replayed the images of Gu Xiaoruan’s defiant face—the way her eyes blazed with hatred even as he crushed her against the wall, the sound of her bones snapping under his grip. “Who is Lu Zhongsheng?” he demanded of his butler, Gong Beihai, his fingers drumming impatiently on the leather armrest.

Gong Beihai’s reply was a mere shadow of his usual subservience. “He’s… a ward of the family, sir. The young mistress insisted on—”

A guttural growl interrupted him. Huang Tingyue’s fist slammed into the mahogany paneling, splintering it into wooden shards. “You think I’m blind?” His voice was a venomous hiss. “She spit in my face, called me a monster, and now you’re trying to shield her with this… Lu Zhongsheng?”

Gong Beihai’s knees buckled as the President advanced, his tailored suit radiating an aura of murderous intent. “Forgive me, Your Excellency. I’ll have him removed immediately.”

But Huang Tingyue was already beyond reason. The memory of Gu Xiaoruan’s broken arm, her bloodied lip, and most of all, the name that had slipped from her trembling lips like a dagger—Lu Zhongsheng—fueled a primal rage. He wanted to tear her apart, to prove that no one could defy him, not even the woman who had once ignited a fire in his soul.

Inside the castle’s opulent foyer, Gu Xiaoruan lay motionless on a plush velvet sofa. Her left arm throbbed with a dull ache, a constant reminder of Huang Tingyue’s brutal grip. The room was suffocatingly silent, save for the faint tick-tock of an antique clock in the corner. Her eyes flickered open, but the bright lights stabbed at her migraine-stricken brain.

“Water,” she croaked, her voice barely audible.

No one answered.

Her gaze roved the room, taking in the gilded mirrors that reflected her battered face, the intricate tapestries depicting scenes of ancient battles. And then she saw him—Huang Tingyue, standing in the doorway like a god of war, his black suit devoid of any warmth. His eyes were colder than the marble floors beneath her feet.

“Why did you call his name?” he demanded, his voice a mix of ice and venom.

Gu Xiaoruan’s heart froze. She had no idea what he was referring to—until the memory of her delirious whispers flooded back. In the throes of her fear and pain, she had screamed Lu Zhongsheng’s name, not realizing how much it would fuel his madness.

“Apologize,” he growled, advancing with predatory grace.

She refused to meet his gaze. “You’re insane,” she hissed, her voice weak but defiant. “Even if I begged you on my knees, I’d never—”

His fist connected with her jaw with sickening force. She crumpled to the ground, tasting blood in her mouth. Through the haze of pain, she heard him say, “You will learn to control that tongue… or lose it.”