How to Train Your Ex-Billionaire novel Chapter 77

Just then…

CRASH! A bottle shattered against the back of the man’s head.

Wine, blood, and shards of glass trickled down his hair.

The man froze, stunned. He let go of Winifred and wiped the liquid from his face before spinning around.

Yvan stood there, the jagged neck of the broken bottle still in his hand, his face a mask of cold fury.

“You motherf— you’re dead meat…”

Before the man could finish his threat, Yvan grabbed the hand that had touched Winifred, slammed it down on the bar, and drove the broken bottle straight into it.

The man screamed in agony, but before he could even process the pain, Yvan’s fist connected with his face.

The man collapsed to the floor, unable to get up.

But Yvan wasn’t finished. He strode over, grabbed the man by the collar, and began punching him again and again.

Winifred stared in shock. When she finally snapped out of it, she rushed over and grabbed Yvan’s arm.

“Stop it, Yvan! Don’t hit him anymore!”

Yvan ignored her and kicked the man a few more times.

Winifred pulled at him with all her strength, dragging him away and out of the bar.

Once they were outside, she finally let go of him, her voice trembling with anger. “Yvan, can’t you think before you act?”

Yvan’s eyes were still blazing with a fierce light. “He deserved it!”

“I know he deserved it!” Winifred shot back. “But you can’t just beat someone to death! What if you’d killed him?”

Yvan’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t say anything. He had the same stubborn, defiant look he used to get in high school.

An image flashed through Winifred’s mind…

It was her senior year. By then, she was officially Yvan’s girlfriend, but they barely interacted.

They didn’t talk much at school, and after the final bell, they always went their separate ways.

She clutched her backpack to her chest, trembling so hard she couldn’t even scream for help.

Just then, a figure shot out of the darkness and launched himself at the thugs.

It was Yvan.

He was ruthless. The thugs may have outnumbered him, but they were scrawny and no match for his ferocity.

Yvan fought like a man possessed, and soon, the thugs were on the ground, begging for mercy.

But Yvan wasn’t going to let them off. He kicked one of them hard, and the boy curled into a ball.

Winifred was terrified. “Yvan, stop,” she said, her voice shaking. “Let’s just go.”

These thugs were always here, and she and Yvan had to pass by this street every day. She was afraid that if he hurt them too badly, they would retaliate later.

Yvan had the same expression then as he did now—lips pressed into a hard line, defiant and cold.

She didn’t know where she found the courage, but she grabbed his hand and pulled, dragging him away from the scene, not stopping until they were back on a busy, well-lit street.