Chapter 1002
Chapter 1002:
How could this pampered pretty boy possess such devastating skill? Tyrant’s assumptions had been catastrophically wrong. This young man, notorious throughout Wront as the Cooper family’s illegitimate embarrassment and worthless playboy, had just shattered four more of his ribs with surgical precision.
Chris stood composed, his clothing only slightly disheveled from the brief encounter.
“If you want to keep breathing, then start naming everyone involved in this scheme,” his voice carried the chill of winter frost.
Chris advanced one calculated step, forcing Tyrant to scramble backward until excruciating pain froze him in place.
“Don’t… don’t think you’re actually stronger than me. If it weren’t for the damage that woman inflicted earlier… Ahem…” Blood suddenly erupted from Tyrant’s lips as the crushing realization hit him that he was completely outmatched. Still, his stubborn pride refused to bow to reality. Admitting defeat simply wasn’t in his nature.
“Absolutely, my wife surpasses me in every way. Your point being?” Chris’ tone carried playful mockery. “Sounds like someone’s green with envy over my incredible wife p>
Shock registered across Tyrant’s battered features.
“Your wife? Ha ha… Ahem…” Tyrant’s laughter dissolved into bloody coughs. “That’s the most ridiculous joke I’ve heard in my entire miserable life.” The idea of Maia being married to Chris, the Cooper family’s disgraced bastard, seemed utterly impossible.
“You won’t taste death until every secret spills from your lips.” Chris positioned his boot directly over Tyrant’s shattered ribs. “When you dared lay a finger on my wife, did this consequence ever cross your mind p>
Fresh screams echoed off the iron cell walls as agony consumed Tyrant once more.
Minutes later, Chris stepped back into the corridor.
“Keep him breathing…” his voice carried deadly authority as his eyes narrowed to dangerous slits.
Without another word, Chris departed the underground facility and emerged into the shadowy alley above.
The tavern remained shuttered, its surroundings eerily deserted. He settled into a weathered chair, drawing slow, measured breaths to steady his racing pulse.
Tyrant’s confession had revealed the puppet master behind tonight’s chaos: his boss, that shaven-headed brute, acting on orders from a mysterious woman who had approached him personally. This woman concealed her identity behind an elaborate mask, which completely obscured her features.
Chris’ hands curled into tight fists as turbulent emotions churned beneath his composed exterior. A single name formed silently on his lips, heavy with bitter recognition. “Raegan Foster p>
What twisted the knife deeper was the devastating truth: the organization orchestrating this betrayal was his own creation—The Mask. The operative running Wront’s affairs was the fourth member of The Mask, known only by the codename “Faceless p>
Chris suspected that the shaven-headed man was none other than Faceless in disguise.