Swapping Lives With My Cold Ex-Husband

Keven charged like an enraged bull, pulling his right arm back to throw a wild, heavy punch straight at Donavon's face.

To Donavon, the movement looked pathetic. In his past life as Coyote, he had dodged bullets and fought trained assassins. Keven's sloppy swing moved in slow motion.

His mind screamed for him to perfectly counter, but his new body betrayed him. The female muscles didn't fire with the explosive speed he calculated. The wind from Keven's fist brushed against his cheek. Donavon panicked, dropping his center of gravity purely by accident, stumbling awkwardly under the punch. In a frantic, adrenaline-fueled scramble, he grabbed Keven's extended right arm with both hands. With a desperate, uncoordinated heave, he used the entirety of his body weight to shove Keven forward, violently twisting the trapped arm in the process.

Crack.

A sickening pop echoed through the hallway.

Keven let out a blood-curdling scream. His knees buckled, and he slammed face-first into the wooden banister.

Donavon pinned him there, pressing his forearm against the back of Keven's neck. If he applied one more inch of pressure, the wrist would snap completely.

Jacquelin collapsed against the wall, screaming hysterically. "Help! Somebody help! She's trying to kill him!"

The massive oak door of the master bedroom flew open.

Dara stepped out into the hallway. She was wearing Donavon's black silk robe, her broad shoulders squared, radiating absolute dominance.

She looked down at the chaos.

Jacquelin saw her 'son' and scrambled toward him, grabbing the hem of his robe. "Donavon! Look what she did! She went insane and attacked us!"

Dara looked at Keven, who was sobbing against the railing, and then at Donavon, whose face was a mask of cold, calculated violence.

Dara didn't look at Jacquelin. She opened her mouth, letting the deep, authoritative rumble of Donavon's voice fill the corridor.

"Enough."

The single word hit the air like a physical weight. The screaming stopped instantly.

Dara walked over to Donavon. She met his eyes and gave a microscopic shake of her head. Let him go before you break it.

Donavon let out a disgusted scoff. He shoved Keven away like a piece of garbage. Keven crumpled to the floor, cradling his swollen wrist and groaning.

Jacquelin looked up at Dara, her eyes shining with malicious triumph. "Throw her out, Donavon. Call the police and have her arrested for assault."

Dara turned slowly. She looked down at Jacquelin with a gaze so cold it could freeze water.

"I am sick of this pathetic circus in my house," Dara said, her voice dripping with venom.

She pointed a massive finger at Jacquelin. "As of this moment, your two black Centurion cards are frozen."

Jacquelin's jaw dropped. The color drained from her face. "What?"

Dara shifted her gaze to Keven, who was whimpering on the floor. "And your trust fund distribution for next month is suspended."

"You can't do that!" Keven yelled, his voice cracking.

Jacquelin stood up, her face twisting in outrage. "Donavon Monroe! I am your mother! Have you lost your mind? You are punishing your own family for this... this whore?"

Dara took one step forward, closing the distance. She leaned down, her physical presence completely overwhelming the older woman.

"Are you telling me how to run my finances?" Dara asked softly, the threat hanging heavy in the air.

Jacquelin shrank back, terrified by the murderous look in her son's eyes. She clamped her mouth shut.

Before Dara could order them out of the house, the heavy front doors downstairs slammed open.

The synchronized, heavy thud of combat boots marching onto the marble floor echoed up to the second story.