Chapter 471

The restaurant erupted in gasps as Donovan Sinclair crashed to the floor with his chair. "Holy shit!" "What the hell just happened?" "Did that guy really punch him?" Patrons whispered in shock, their eyes wide.

Nathan Black's fist had landed with brutal precision, leaving Donovan dazed and struggling to focus. Before the older man could recover, Nathan was already hauling him up by the collar like a ragdoll and slamming his face into the table. The sickening crack made several diners flinch.

Not a single soul moved to help. Even the manager who'd come running froze mid-step when he recognized the attacker as Nathan Black.

Evelyn Hartley emerged from the restroom just then, her face paling at the chaotic scene. She rushed forward.

"Nathan! Stop this right now!" Evelyn grabbed his arm, trying to pull him away from Donovan.

Nathan's brows were drawn tight, his dark eyes burning with primal fury. He looked every inch the predator about to strike. Turning to Evelyn, his voice came out icy. "Ask him what he put in your drink."

Donovan went sheet-white at the accusation. Evelyn's gaze faltered, confusion flashing across her features. What was Nathan implying? Why was he claiming her as his?

Gasping for air, Donovan managed to croak, "Mr. Black... aren't you and Ms. Hartley already divorced?"

Nathan's expression remained stone-cold. "Divorced or not, she's still my ex-wife. Who gave you the right to lay hands on her?"

"I was wrong, Mr. Black! A moment of madness—I swear it won't happen again! Please, have mercy!" Donovan's words tumbled out in a panicked rush, his entire body trembling.

"Mercy?" Nathan's lips curled into a humorless smirk. Abruptly, he released his grip. Donovan staggered back, gulping air like a drowning man. His relief lasted exactly three seconds.

Nathan reached for the tainted drink on the table. He lifted the glass and set it before Donovan, his voice dangerously calm. "Drink this, and you walk away."

Donovan froze, staring at the glass like it contained venom. Beads of cold sweat dotted his forehead as his pupils dilated in terror.

"Mr. Black—" he began weakly.

Nathan cut him off with a voice like sharpened steel. "Or should I pour it down your throat myself?"

Every word carried the lethal precision of a guillotine's blade.

Donovan's entire body shook, his teeth sinking into his lower lip hard enough to draw blood.