The Unwanted Husband Returns To The Top

Jett's voice was smooth as silk, dripping with the casual authority of a man used to getting his way.

"Gregory, my friend," he said into the phone, pacing in a quiet lounge off the main ballroom. "I've got a bit of a situation. A former driver is harassing my... my fiancée. A real piece of work. I need to know where he is."

On the other end of the line, Gregory Tanner, Uber's Ninverton regional manager, didn't hesitate. A favor for Jett Maddox, a key figure in the Donovan family's local ventures, was an investment.

"Of course, Jett. Not a problem," Gregory said, already typing on his keyboard. It was a gross violation of company policy, of privacy laws, but the rules didn't apply when dealing with men like Maddox.

A few clicks later, he had it. "He's at the Bluebird Cafe on Sixth Avenue. The vehicle is stationary."

"Excellent," Jett purred. He hung up and immediately forwarded the address to Brody Barlowe.

Go get him. Make a scene.

Brody's face lit up with a brutish grin. This was better than any wedding party. He grabbed a few of his sycophantic friends, guys who got off on the reflected glory of the Barlowe name.

"Let's go, boys," he snarled. "Time to take out the trash."

But just dragging Connor back wasn't enough. The humiliation had to be public. It had to be total.

Brody pulled out a second phone. He opened a streaming app, created a private, encrypted live feed, and sent the link to a group chat filled with the younger, more debauched wedding guests.

Live broadcast: Catching the Barlowe family shame. Get your popcorn ready!

At the Von Merri, dozens of phones lit up. Jett and Genevieve both clicked the link, their faces alight with cruel anticipation. They were about to watch Connor's world end, live and in high definition.

The roar of a Porsche engine filled the air as Brody and his crew sped through downtown. The livestream camera, held by one of his lackeys, was shaky.

"Alright, folks," Brody said to the camera, his voice a low growl. "See that piece-of-shit Toyota parked up ahead? Our boy is inside that cafe."

He and his friends piled out of their sports cars, a pack of hyenas closing in.

They burst into the Bluebird Cafe, their expensive suits and loud voices turning every head. The livestream focused on a figure sitting alone by the window.

Connor.

He hadn't moved. He'd watched them arrive, his expression placid.

Brody swaggered over to the table and kicked it hard. The coffee cup rattled, spilling dark liquid across the tabletop.

"Hey, loser," Brody sneered, playing to his audience. "You're coming with us."

Connor slowly lifted his head. There was no fear in his eyes. Only a calm, unnerving stillness. At the wedding, a ripple of laughter went through the guests watching the feed.

"Grandma Eleonora wants you back at the party," Brody continued, reaching out to grab Connor's collar. "To get on your knees and apologize."

Connor leaned back, a fluid, almost lazy movement that caused Brody's hand to grasp at empty air.

He stood up. He was taller than Brody, his frame lean but solid. Despite the slight favoring of his left leg, he seemed to fill the space, his presence suddenly immense.

"And if I don't want to go?" Connor's voice was quiet, yet it carried a weight that made the cafe fall silent.

Brody, enraged by the defiance, turned to the camera. "You all seeing this? The little cripple thinks he has a choice!"

He cracked his knuckles, a theatrical gesture of violence. "I guess we'll just have to break your other leg and drag you there."

At the hotel, Jett leaned closer to the screen, a predator's smile on his face. "Here we go," he whispered to Genevieve. "Showtime."

In the livestream, Brody's fist swung through the air, aimed directly at Connor's face.

The camera zoomed in.

The world held its breath.

And in Connor's eyes, a cold light flickered to life. The man who had endured for three years was gone. The king had returned.