My Great Escape Led Me to You (Emily Blair) novel Chapter 1126

Andrew Lane dropped his head, swiping a smear of blood from the corner of his mouth with his thumb. He let out a low, mocking laugh.

He had already shrugged off his suit jacket, knowing full well his words would piss off Tristan Davis. He was more than ready for a fight.

So when Tristan’s fist connected with his jaw, Andrew barely flinched. He’d seen it coming. That didn’t mean he was just going to stand there and take it.

He yanked open the buttons at his collar, his expression dark. Then he balled his fists and met Tristan head-on.

Andrew grabbed Tristan by the collar and slammed him into the wall, landing a solid punch. Tristan spat, kicked Andrew hard in the stomach, and swung again.

It was chaos—punch after punch, neither of them holding back. No one was defending, just trading blows, both of them willing to get hurt if it meant hurting the other.

They were both in shape, all muscle and quick reflexes. The fight was a blur, both of them getting bruised and bloodied. Their faces were marked up, shirts ripped, but neither one was backing down.

Buttons flew off. Tables and chairs crashed over. Plates hit the floor, food splattering everywhere. A painting fell and shattered, glass spraying across the carpet.

Neither of them made a sound. Pain just made them angrier, made them fight harder. Their clothes tore, veins stood out on their necks and foreheads, and they looked completely wrecked.

By the time the restaurant manager showed up with his staff, the private room looked like a war zone. Broken vases, overturned furniture, food smeared into the carpet, and shattered glass everywhere. It was a total disaster.

In the middle of it all, Andrew and Tristan were still at it, eyes blazing with hate. Even with people watching, they kept swinging, faces already bruised and bleeding.

Tristan had taken a beating, his anger barely contained. The manager’s nervous chatter just made it worse.

He forced himself to calm down. He’d said what he needed to say, thrown the punches he wanted to throw. His point was made. He didn’t want to stay in the same room as Andrew a second longer, especially not with everyone gawking at them.

When Tristan moved to get up, the waiters watched him like he was a wild animal about to attack. The manager flinched, ready to intervene again.

Tristan let out a sharp laugh, grabbed a tissue to wipe the blood from his mouth, and straightened his shirt collar. “I’m out of here.”

He glanced around at the wreckage and said, “Mr. Lane’s paying for all this. Just send him the bill.”