The Arms Lord's Captive Bride

Even at dusk, the heat in Trelania remained intense, especially in Valley.

Iris Hawthorne returned home intending to turn on the air conditioner. But, remembering her mother's complaint yesterday about last month's exorbitant electricity bill, she ultimately left it off.

Instead, she turned on a small fan at its lowest setting. Then, she called out, "Mom, the property manager said that you need to go pay the bill."

No one answered.

It seemed her mother had gone out gambling again. Iris sighed softly.

It was unbearably hot—even her thin underwear felt stifling. She undid the clasp and slipped it off.

Her whole body instantly felt lighter and her breathing became smoother.

She placed the folded underwear in the corner of the sofa, then opened the candy box on the coffee table.

The box was divided into twelve small compartments, each filled with a different flavor of fruit candy.

Her favorite was peach.

Just as she peeled open the wrapper, a clatter of heavy footsteps echoed outside the door. They sounded numerous and urgent.

A loud, forceful knock pounded against the door.

Iris jumped at the sound.

Two more heavy knocks followed immediately, making the door panel vibrate.

The impatience was palpable. Iris quickly called out, "Property management? Coming!”

The knocking abruptly stopped.

She popped a piece of candy into her mouth, grabbed the lingerie, and deftly lifted her outer shirt to pull the lingerie on from the waist up.

She slipped the straps over her arms, but the clasp at the back stubbornly refused to fasten. This left her flustered and sweating.

Suddenly, the door was kicked open from the outside, shaking the entire room with a thunderous crash.

Iris hadn't expected such impatience and froze in place.

The intruder wasn't a property manager but a burly man in a black tank top with bulging muscles. He clearly wasn't someone to mess with.

Instinctively, Iris curled deeper into the sofa, her chin resting lightly on the backrest, staring intently at the figures at the door.

"Who are you? Who are you looking for?"

The burly man in the doorway didn't answer or step inside. Instead, he shifted his body to the side, bowed his head, and respectfully called out, "Boss."

Immediately after, a man wearing combat boots and camouflage pants slowly walked in and appeared before Iris.

He idly toyed with a pale gold lighter in his hand while an expensive watch adorned his left wrist.

Iris' gaze followed his straight neck upward and landed on a face with striking features.

She whispered tentatively, "Who are you looking for?"

Donovan Sharpe frowned slightly at the cramped room, which was barely big enough to stretch one's legs.

Jasper Hawthorne had followed his father, Silas, for over a decade and Maxwell for more than four years. Was this the kind of tiny place he had arranged for his wife and daughter to live?

Though compact, the room was well-organized, with simple belongings arranged neatly.

Donovan's furrowed brow gradually smoothed out.

Then, shifting his gaze from the room, he looked at Iris flatly.

She had silky, long hair and large, bright eyes. She appeared exceptionally clean and adorable.

Her top hung loosely, and the outline of her chest was clearly visible—her undergarments were obviously not fastened properly.

Donovan's brow furrowed, and a peculiar expression crossed his face.

Iris felt uneasy under his gaze and quickly covered her chest with her hands, shifting toward the corner of the sofa.

As she drew her legs up, her skirt slid down, revealing her smooth, shapely legs and delicate pink knees.

From Donovan's vantage point, he could make out her light pink panties, which seemed to be adorned with a pattern. But before he could study them further, Iris frantically pulled her skirt back down.

"Interesting..." Donovan chuckled softly and took a few steps to stand before Iris, bending down.

"What's your name?"

"Iris."

Donovan nodded approvingly. "Iris. Is Jasper your father?"

Was he here to find her father? But her father hadn't come home in years.

Truthfully, Iris had rarely seen Jasper throughout her entire childhood.

He seemed to constantly make enemies and was always being hunted by foes. So, every time he returned, they'd have to rush off and move again.

From Veronia to Costaléa to Trelania—in eighteen years, Iris had moved countless times.

After arriving in Trelania, not only did her father never show up again, he also stopped sending money.

Her mother spent all day gambling, leaving Iris, the family's only income earner, to tutor during school breaks.

She lifted her head and stared at the man before her.

His finely chiseled face drew closer, gradually overlapping with the face in a photograph in her memory.

She’d only glanced at that photo briefly.

Dad had deliberately shown it to Mom.

He said the man in the picture was no good.

He’d also said that if this man ever came looking for him, they must claim not to know him and cut all ties!

What was his name again? Donovan.

Iris glanced frantically toward the door. The burly man had just called out to him.

“Boss.”

He was Donovan!

Her heart raced and her eyes instantly filled with fearful tears.

She struggled to control her expression and avoid Donovan's gaze.

But the man reached out and lifted her chin, forcing her to look up.

Before she could speak, Donovan beat her to it, voicing her unspoken words: "You want to say you don't know me?"

He found her rosy cheeks and slightly puffed-out jaw amusing. He chuckled and pinched her cheek playfully.

"Not even recognizing me? You're heartless."

The candy in Iris' mouth hadn't fully dissolved yet. His pinch caused the sugary liquid, mixed with saliva, to spill out, trickling down Donovan's slender fingers. The air filled with the sweet, fruity scent.

Donovan's smile vanished instantly.

Iris felt a pang of fear. She had accidentally drooled on this man. What might the consequences be?

Would he hit her?

Terrified, Iris' long lashes dampened with tears and her body trembled uncontrollably.

Suddenly, Donovan withdrew his hand.

Just as he suspected—she was a coward. She was already scared even before he'd done anything. Not a shred of Jasper's courage.

"Go turn on the air conditioner. Set it to 17 degrees.”

Donovan flicked the remote control toward Iris with his left hand. Then, he turned and entered the bathroom adjacent to the living room.

The bathroom doorframe was so low that he had to duck to enter, and the interior was so narrow that it was difficult to turn around.

The hand soap and shower gel were fruity scented!

Donovan washed for a long time, but the sweet scent on his hands didn't fade—it only grew stronger.

The last shred of patience in his heart was exhausted.

"Why is it taking so long to find a woman?"

"Boss, she's here."

A loud wail erupted outside the door, instantly drowning out Iris' quiet sobs.

Immediately after, the door slammed open as if someone had been pushed inside.

Donovan stepped out of the bathroom to find Iris like a frightened kitten, darting from the sofa to throw herself at the person who had entered.

She clung tightly to her disheveled mother, weeping bitterly.

Donovan saw shards of broken glass embedded in the back of her mother's hand and blood flowing freely—a sight that made her heart race.

Donovan couldn't stand women crying.

In his view, once they started, they never stopped. To them, the smallest thing felt like a disaster.

“Harrison!”

Hearing his voice, Harrison Vance immediately stepped out of the doorway and pulled the sobbing Iris away from Margaret.

"Mom!"

Iris tried to struggle back, but Harrison merely flicked his fingers, effortlessly catching her collar and lifting her as if she were a small cat.

The thin straps slipped from her shoulders and hung in the crook of her arms while her small hands flailed wildly in the air.

“Let go of my daughter! What do you want from her?"

Seeing this, Margaret leapt up as if possessed, screaming as she tried to rush forward. Donovan pulled her back with his raised hand.

The fabric of her dress was too thin, and Donovan tore it apart in an instant, revealing a patch of snow-white skin.

Margaret was thirty-six, well-preserved, and still possessed a certain alluring grace.

Unfortunately, she was now screaming incessantly, her voice shrill and unpleasant.

Donovan detested such noise.

Without mercy, he flung her back to the ground.

With his eyes half-closed, he pinched the bridge of his nose—a sign that his patience was exhausted.

"One more cry, and I'll gouge out her eyes and cut out her tongue."

Though he spoke softly, his tone was unmistakably firm.

Iris' eyes widened in terror as she stared at the military knife twirling in Harrison's hand.

She clamped her mouth shut, daring not to cry out. Yet, tears continued to fall uncontrollably, and her shoulders shook with unstoppable sobs.

The room finally fell silent.

Donovan seemed somewhat satisfied. He crouched before Margaret and wiped the tear stains from her eyes slowly with the shredded cloth he'd torn from her.

The gesture seemed tender, yet it felt terrifying.

"Jasper stole something from me. Tell me, where is it?"

Margaret shook her head repeatedly, tears still streaming. "Jasper hasn't been back for over a year. I don't know."

"Over a year? Doesn't he care about his wife and child at all?"

Donovan tossed the cloth aside and pressed his thumb firmly against the lacerated back of Margaret's hand.

With his forceful motion, the embedded shards shifted violently within her flesh.

The sound of glass scraping against raw flesh sent shivers down one's spine. Blood immediately spilled forth, causing Margaret to jerk back in agony and emit a wretched cry.

"Ah! I, I don't know...”

"Mom..."

Iris' eyes trembled uncontrollably and tears streamed down her face. Just as she was about to cry out, she saw Donovan rise and walk toward her. Terrified, she quickly covered her mouth with her hands.

She was scared, wondering if this man would really cut out her tongue when he got angry.

Her body shook uncontrollably.

Donovan reached Iris, pried her hands away from her mouth, and smeared the blood from her mother's wound, still wet on his thumb, across her pale, smooth cheek.

Tears mingled with blood, making her look even more pitiful.

Donovan was satisfied with the sight.

He pulled out his phone, took two pictures of the mother and daughter, and sent them to an unfamiliar number.

Harrison rarely saw the boss engage in such unnecessary actions. He could just take action to threaten Jasper. Breaking arms and legs would be far more effective.

Maybe it was because he had just returned to Trelania and didn't want to make things too bloody.

Or maybe he occasionally showed a bit more leniency when faced with a woman utterly powerless to fight back?

But this time, Jasper had crossed the line!

"Give Jasper three days. If he doesn't show up by then, send the woman into prostitution. As for this girl..." Donovan's gaze shifted to Iris. "Sell her to the underground fighting circuit."

The underground fighting circuit?

It was a place steeped in violence and cruelty, utterly devoid of humanity.

If a young woman ended up there, she would become a tool for men to vent their frustrations. It wouldn't take a year or two before her life was utterly ruined.

The boss was terrifying as ever!

Donovan lit a cigarette with deliberate calm before turning to leave.

Harrison released his grip, and Iris collapsed to the floor.

He immediately followed Donovan out the door, whispering instructions to the five bodyguards stationed there. "Keep an eye on her."

"Yes, sir."

The moment Iris was free, she wasted no time. Trembling and sobbing, she crawled toward her mother on all fours.

Only when the men's footsteps had completely faded down the stairs did she finally dare to cry out loud.

"Mom..."

"Iris, don't be afraid," Margaret said, clutching her daughter with her uninjured arm despite the pain. "Your dad will come and save us."