Her Divorce, His Downfall (Sophia and Damian) novel Chapter 132

Chapter 132

With a sharp crack, his shirt split open, revealing livid welts that bloomed crimson across his skin.

A pained grunt escaped Damian’s lips as his face drained of color.

Knuckles white, he clenched his fists, sweat beading at his temples. Yet he refused to bow his head.

His bloodshot eyes remained fixed on Sophia’s form, the leather whip still gripped in her hand.

One strike. Then another. And another. By the tenth lash, Damian’s clothes were soaked through with blood, a trickle of red escaping the corner of his mouth.

Muffled sobs rippled through the gathered crowd, though no one dared step forward to plead for mercy.

Bruce was known for his unyielding justice, and Damian himself stubbornly refused to admit any fault.

It seemed like a deliberate march toward destruction, and nobody wanted to risk Bruce’s wrath.

The pain was overwhelming. Every attempt to straighten his Spine failed.

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His body swayed violently before collapsing to the floor.

Drifting in and out of consciousness, Damian managed a whisper, each word a struggle. “Sophia… do you… feel even a little better now?”

Sophia halted, her expression complex and unreadable. She pressed her lips into a tight line, offering no reply.

“What’s the matter? Losing your strength? Twenty lashes remain!” Bruce’s voice cut through the tension, calm yet

resonant.

Before Sophia could react, a tall, steady figure broke from the crowd. “Ms. Fitzgerald, please, have mercy!”

Samuel’s voice was thick with emotion as he appealed to Bruce. “Dad, Damian was wrong, but he’s not evil at heart. Thirty lashes will kill him or leave him broken. I beg you, show some leniency.”

Anger aside, Daniel couldn’t bear to see his son in such a state,

Blood ties still mattered.

Seeing Samuel take the lead, he quickly joined in, Catherine at his side.

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“Uncle Bruce, the fault is mine for failing to raise him properly. Please consider his past service to the family. Spare him this once.”

Bella rushed forward, tears streaming down her face, her small hands clutching desperately at Bruce’s sleeve.

“Please, I beg you, forgive my brother! He’ll never do it again!”

Barry joined in, adding his own plea, “Grandpa, Damian… he looks like he’s dying. Please, stop.”

A chorus of appeals rose from the younger generation.

Bruce surveyed the somber faces, his gaze finally resting on Damian’s battered form lying motionless on the ground. His brow furrowed deeply.

Seizing the moment, Samuel spoke again.

“Dad, Damian made a substantial donation to the military–a new generation of reconnaissance drones.

“They provide surveillance, tracking, real–time intelligence, and execute missions, significantly reducing troop casualties. High command praised it highly. It brought honor to the Hall family. Please spare him for that.”

Bruce’s frown deepened. That donation had indeed ea ned 13:05

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notable praise from military brass, a point of pride for the family.

Beating Damian to death would be a loss.

His eyes traveled over the young man, now little more than a bloody heap on the floor, yet still staring with desperate intensity at Sophia. Finally, his resolve wavered. He sighed, weariness settling into his features, and waved a tired hand.

“Alright. Damian has been punished. Julian, let this matter rest.

“He is still your nephew, part of this family. Guide him. Be patient with him.

“Young men can be too proud. I’m tired. Get him to a hospital.

Now.”

With that, Bruce turned and strode from the room, his steps still firm despite his evident fatigue.

Catherine and Bella immediately threw themselves beside Damian, weeping uncontrollably.

“Ford! Ford, arrange for a car!” Catherine cried out.

The study descended into chaos–calls for help, shouts for the driver, frantic movements.

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Julian’s gaze, unreadable, lingered on Damian’s broken form for a final moment before he turned away in silence.

Moving to where Sophia stood, her face pale and her body trembling with the night’s exhaustion, he extended a steady hand. His voice was a low, gentle murmur, an offer of sanctuary. “Come on. Let’s go home.”

A faint, weary nod was her only response, the last of her strength utterly spent.

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