Chaos Girl Rewrites the Script novel Chapter 92

Dorian’s face was grim as he muttered to himself, “Document No. 49?”

Like everyone else, Dorian didn’t doubt Vivienne. She was just a child and couldn’t fabricate such a lie. The Whitmore father and son must have let it slip.

*

At the same time, at the Talos Club.

A group of teenagers laughed and joked, their arms slung around each other’s shoulders. Passing waiters and caddies flattened themselves against the walls, terrified of getting in the young masters’ way.

At the center of the group, one young man stood out. He was tall, with short, choppy hair, and a pigeon's blood ruby earring in his left ear.

He was looking down at his phone, walking with a casual air, but everyone around him deliberately matched his pace.

“Julian,” his baby-faced friend said, bumping his arm.

The young man looked up, revealing an exceptionally handsome face. His sharp, hooded eyes were roguish—the kind that looked like they belonged to a heartbreaker.

The baby-faced friend pointed toward a glass court in the distance. “Look over there.”

Julian’s eyes lifted, a spark of interest flashing within them. “Let’s go check it out.”

Inside the court, Harrison Montclair was “teaching” a girl how to hold a tennis racket. The girl was clearly uncomfortable but couldn’t refuse him. After a bit of tugging, Harrison’s actions grew bolder. He placed a hand on her rear and pushed it forward, yet his face remained dead serious. “There! That’s it! Thrust your hips forward!”

Many onlookers jeered, ignoring the girl’s tearful expression.

One boy in designer clothes threw an empty bottle at Harrison. “Hey, since you’re in such a giving mood, why don’t you teach us a thing or two?”

Harrison laughed and swore, “Get lost. Don’t get in the way.”

The trapped girl couldn't take it anymore and shoved Harrison away. “Thank you, but… I don’t want to learn anymore.”

Harrison’s face instantly darkened. The hecklers, seeing this, laughed even harder.

The girl panicked, unsure of what to do. Her first instinct was to run.

Harrison grabbed her hand and forcefully pulled her back, his expression grim. “Damn it! Who do you think you are? You dare refuse when I’m teaching you?”

As he spoke, he reached out to drag her toward him again.

*Swoosh—*

Just then, a whistling sound cut through the air.

A lemon-yellow tennis ball struck Harrison squarely in the back of the head. His brain short-circuited, and he crumpled to the ground.

It happened so suddenly that no one nearby reacted.

After a moment, Harrison clutched the massive lump on his head, his voice crazed with fury. “Who was that?!”

“Your daddy.”

A group of uninvited guests strode in. The young man in the lead held a tennis racket, a wild and arrogant smile on his face.

…