Ex Wife's Collapse After Divorce novel Chapter 96

Chapter 96

Marcus’s face flushed dark red.

“You’ve gone too far!” He stepped forward, fists clenched. “That’s my man you just-”

“Your man?” Ethan turned slowly. “Your man just lied to you, manipulated you into a fight that could’ve destroyed a multimillion-dollar partnership, and you’re angry at me?”

“You don’t get to decide-”

“I just heard him on the phone with Nathan,” Ethan said. “Nathan. The same Nathan who has a personal vendetta against me. You want to tell me that’s a coincidence?”

Marcus’s jaw worked. His nostrils flared. He could see it in the way his eyes flickered, the way his certainty cracked for just a fraction of a second.

It wasn’t enough.

“Everyone!” Marcus barked at his men. “On me. Now.”

The thugs exchanged glances. Nobody moved eagerly, but nobody disobeyed either. They fanned out, forming a loose semicircle around Ethan.

The scarred man-the one who’d called Bianca-stepped forward reluctantly. “Boss, maybe we should wait. I already called your sister. She’s on her way-”

Marcus whipped around. His face was livid.

“You called Bianca?” His voice shook with fury. “Who told you to call her? When did I say I needed my sister to handle my business?”

The scarred man flinched. “Boss, I just thought-”

“You thought wrong.” Marcus’s pride burned in every word. He was twenty-four years old, running his own crew, building his own name. He didn’t need his older sister swooping in to clean up his messes.

Not tonight. Not ever.

“You’re either with me right now, or you walk out that door and don’t come back.”

The scarred man swallowed hard. He stepped back into the line.

Marcus turned to face Ethan. His men closed ranks behind him.

Ethan looked at the semicircle of bodies. Then at Marcus.

“You’re really going to do this?” he said quietly. “For Rocco? He’s not worth it, Marcus. Not even close.”

“Shut up.”

Marcus dropped into a fighting stance. His men followed.

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The door slammed open.

Bianca walked in flanked by four of her own people. Her heels clicked sharp against the ruined floor. She’d expected to find Marcus humbled, cowed, maybe nursing his pride in a corner.

Instead she found him squared up with a dozen men at his back, ready to charge.

Bianca’s eyes went wide. “Marcus! Stop! Right now!”

Marcus didn’t even look at her. “Stay out of this,” he said. “This is between men.”

He lunged.

Ethan’s eyes hardened.

He stripped off his jacket in one fluid motion and tossed it onto the bar. His shoulders rolled back. His stance shifted-feet apart, weight centered, hands open and loose.

Bianca’s voice pitched high. “Marcus, don’t-!”

Marcus charged. His men surged behind him.

Then the light hit.

The overhead fixture caught the buckle at Ethan’s waist-dark gold, engraved, unmistakable-and threw a blade of reflected light directly across Marcus’s eyes.

Marcus flinched. His feet locked. His fist stopped mid-swing, hovering in the air like it had hit an invisible

wall.

Behind him, every single one of his men froze. Not because of the light. Because Marcus had stopped. And nobody-not one of them-actually wanted to fight the man who’d sent their boss flying with an open palm.

Marcus stared at the belt. His pupils dilated.

Dark gold. Serpent-and-crown insignia. The initials “C.U.C.T.” etched along the inner edge.

His hand dropped to his side.

‘The Capital Underground Combat Tournament.’

He knew that belt. He’d spent years following the tournament online-grainy footage, encrypted forums, whispered legends. The annual event held in the capital’s deepest underground. No cameras allowed. No names published. Only one winner each year.

And the winner received one thing: that belt.

The King’s Belt.

One champion per year. One belt. Forged in dark gold alloy, presented by the tournament’s founders themselves. Its existence was barely known outside the combat world-no mainstream coverage, no

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media, no fame. Just pure, undiluted proof of absolute dominance.

And it was wrapped around Ethan Carter’s waist.

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