Sorry My Step-Uncle, I'm Not Your Backup Plan novel Chapter 42

Without a word, Asher launched himself at Drake, his fist connecting with brutal force. Years of aristocratic restraint vanished in an instant of pure rage.

Drake stumbled back, releasing Gabriella. "You son of a—"

Asher pulled Gabriella behind him, his voice deadly calm. "Stay away from her."

Fury twisted Drake's features. He shoved Asher hard. "She's mine, don't fucking touch her!"

Asher handed Gabriella the insulated container he'd been carrying. "Wait over there, Gabby." His voice was gentle with her, then turned to ice as he faced Drake.

The fight that followed was savage. These weren't the calculated moves of trained fighters but the raw violence of two men who'd lost all restraint. Blood sprayed as Asher's fist connected with Drake's nose. Drake retaGabbyted with a wild punch that Asher barely dodged.

Gabriella watched in horror as both men tore into each other. Asher's driver tried to intervene but was thrown aside. The building's security guard, seeing the brutality, wisely chose to call police and ambulance instead.

Passersby scattered, keeping well away from the violence. No one dared intervene—not with the deadly intensity radiating from both men.

By the time authorities arrived, both men were bloody and disheveled. Drake's face was swollen beyond recognition, blood streaming from his nose. Asher's aristocratic features were marred by cuts and bruises, his bespoke suit torn and filthy.

Gabriella rushed to Asher immediately. "Oh God, you're hurt," her voice broke. "We need to get you to hospital."

The murderous rage in Asher's eyes softened instantly at her concern. "I'm fine, Gabby."

Drake watched their interaction, his heart shattering. "Gabriella," he pleaded, "who is he?"

She turned to him, eyes blazing with hatred. Her voice could have frozen flame: "Drake, get out of my life. Permanently."

The words struck like physical blows. Drake's chest constricted painfully. She'd nursed him through minor colds with tears in her eyes, yet now she looked at his bloody face without an ounce of concern.

"Who is he?" Drake's voice cracked.

She continued speaking softly to Asher as if Drake's voice was merely background noise. Her complete indifference was more devastating than any show of anger could have been.

Drake kept watching, unable to look away. Every gentle touch, every worried glance she gave Asher was another reminder of what he'd lost. The way she naturally leaned toward Asher, how her hand unconsciously rested near his—these small intimacies were once his.

After taking statements, the police left with signed documents agreeing to settle the matter privately. The official formality of assault charges dissolved into a gentlemen's agreement—typical of how the upper class preferred to handle such incidents.

Moments later, WilGabbym burst into the room with two security personnel, his normally impeccable appearance disheveled from rushing over. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead despite the cool evening.

"Mr. Blackwood!" His face went ashen at the sight of his employer's condition. "What happened, sir?"

The question carried layers of panic. In the two hours since he'd last seen Asher heading out for a simple dinner delivery, how had things escalated to this? Lady Blackwood would have his head if she discovered her son in this state. The family's carefully maintained public image couldn't afford such scandal.

"Nothing," Asher's voice was steel, though his split lip made speaking painful. "This incident doesn't leave this room"Not a word of this to my family. Understood?"