Chapter 244
“Say one more word,” Khloe said evenly, “and I’ll send it.”
Trey’s throat tightened.
Whatever he was about to say died before it could leave his mouth.
For the first time, he seemed to understand something clearly—Khloe wasn’t negotiating anymore. She wasn’t listening. She wasn’t even interested in arguing.
He forced himself to nod, swallowing the humiliation with visible effort.
“Fine…” His voice came out rough. “I won’t say anything else. I’ll do as you want. The shares… I’ll transfer them to you.”
Khloe glanced at him briefly.
She could tell.
It wasn’t an agreement born of remorse—it was temporary submission, a man buying time to steady himself.
People like Trey never changed. They only shifted tactics.
That was fine.
Let him.
She had no intention of stopping halfway.
Revenge wasn’t about a single clean strike. It was about pressure—slow, steady, inescapable—until the other side couldn’t breathe properly even in silence.
And the Fox family would learn that in time.
Khloe turned away.
Trey reacted instantly, reaching out to grab her wrist.
She had already anticipated it.
With a small shift of her step, she avoided him effortlessly.
Her voice dropped coldly beside him.
“Don’t appear in front of me again.”
She paused, then added without turning back, “My status has changed now. I have to consider my husband’s feelings.”
Trey froze.
His head snapped up. “Khloe, you’re lying. You can’t have married someone already. That’s impossible.”
A faint, almost warning smile touched her lips.
“Shh.”
That single sound carried enough pressure to silence him completely.
“My husband isn’t someone you can afford to provoke,” she said calmly. “If he misunderstands anything… or becomes unhappy, I won’t be able to control what happens next.”
Then she walked away.
Unhurried. Certain.
Every step looked like finality.
Trey stood there for a second too long, his mind refusing to accept what he had just heard. Then instinct took over—he moved to follow her.
He didn’t get far.
A man in a dark suit appeared in front of the elevator entrance.
“Sir,” the man said politely, though his tone carried no warmth at all, “this area is restricted. Please stop here.”
Trey frowned. “Move. I’m going after my wife.”
The man didn’t respond.
Instead, two more men emerged from the side corridor.
Their movements were silent, efficient—trained.
Before Trey could react, they seized his arms.
“What are you doing—!”
His sentence broke off as one fist slammed into his face.
Pain exploded across his nose. Blood filled his mouth almost instantly, metallic and hot.
He staggered, but the grip on him didn’t loosen.
A tie wrapped around his collar was yanked sharply, choking him until his vision darkened.
Then came the first kick.
Then the second.
And the third.
The blows were methodical, merciless—not rushed, not emotional. Like they were simply executing an order.
Trey tried to fight back, but it was useless. Every attempt was crushed before it even formed.
By the time they finally released him, he collapsed onto the floor, gasping.
A cold voice cut through the haze.
“That’s enough.”
Trey’s blurred vision lifted.
A man stood nearby, watching him with indifferent eyes.
Familiar.
The same man who had answered Khloe’s call earlier.
The one who had stood beside her.
Trey’s stomach twisted.
He tried to push himself up, but a heavy foot pressed down on his back, pinning him hard to the ground again.
The man leaned slightly forward, his voice low and sharp.
“Next time you think about touching Khloe again,” he said, “make sure you’ve already chosen a grave.”
A faint, humorless chuckle came from one of the others.
Then they left.
Silence returned to the garage.
Trey lay there for a moment before forcing himself upright. Pain flared through his ribs with every breath. His stomach turned violently; he staggered to the side and vomited bile mixed with blood.
The world tilted.
For the first time, he didn’t feel anger.
Only something colder.
Fear.