I Ctrl+Alt+Deleted My Ex and Ctrl+C'd His Uncle novel Chapter 88

**TITLE: Through Silent Meadows We Trace Stories Left Behind Yesterday by Asa Rowan Flint**

Sophie dismissed the wine glass with a swift flick of her wrist, the movement sharp and decisive, as if severing ties with the moment itself. “No need,” she declared, her voice laced with an icy detachment that sliced through the air.

With that, she pivoted on her heel, intent on leaving the oppressive atmosphere behind her. But just a few steps into her escape, an unsettling sensation gripped her scalp, a premonition of danger that sent her heart racing. Before she could react, she was thrust violently against the wall, her shoulder blade slamming into the unforgiving surface with a bone-jarring impact. The sound of a “crack” echoed in her ears, a chilling reminder of her vulnerability.

“Your Chandler family has fallen to this state, and you’re still acting proud for who?” The words dripped with venom as Mr. Peterson loomed over her, his voice a low growl filled with contempt. “Back then, when my wife sought to leave me, if your parents hadn’t intervened behind the scenes, how could she have extricated herself from my grasp so easily?”

He continued, bitterness spilling from his lips like poison. “All these years, your family has basked in happiness while I’ve been left to suffer in isolation. This is all the sin your parents have created!”

Sophie, fueled by a surge of indignation, pushed Mr. Peterson away with all her strength. “Bullshit!” The word exploded from her, a defiant retort that filled the space between them. “My parents helped Mrs. Peterson escape your clutches because you laid hands on her, nearly beating her to death every few days!”

“Not only do you show no remorse,” he spat, his eyes narrowing dangerously, “but now you dare to bring this up? If you’re so dissatisfied, why not take my parents to court? Let Mrs. Peterson testify and see what that gets you!”

Staggering back a few paces in shock, Mr. Peterson regained his balance, his face contorted with rage. He seized a wine bottle, the glass glinting ominously in the dim light, and raised it high, ready to bring it crashing down.

Bang!

The bottle shattered beside Sophie’s ear, the sound reverberating through her very bones, sending tremors of fear cascading through her body. In an instant, a warm, protective embrace surrounded her, blocking out the overwhelming stench of alcohol and the chaos unfolding around her.

“Mr. Peterson, what impressive skills you have,” came the cold, commanding voice of Mr. Morgan, cutting through the tension like a knife.

“I-I didn’t mean to…” Mr. Peterson stammered, his bravado faltering.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

The sound of glass shattering filled the room, each crash tightening the knot of fear in Sophie’s stomach. After a brief silence, Marcus’s voice emerged, casual yet unsettling. “My hand slipped.”

Sophie’s heart raced as she watched the scene unfold, her mind struggling to process the chaos. She caught a glimpse of Mr. Peterson, now sprawled on the floor, glass shards gleaming like dangerous jewels around him.

The sharp, clean scent of the private room enveloped her as Marcus guided her away from the fray. The fresh air filled her lungs, pushing back the nausea that had threatened to overwhelm her.

“Drink some water to settle yourself,” Marcus said, his pale fingers extending a glass of warm water toward her. She noticed the faint traces of blood on his hand, a stark reminder of the violence that had just transpired.

Sophie’s heart clenched at the sight, and she instinctively grasped his hand. “Are you hurt?” The concern in her voice was palpable.

“Just a scratch…” Marcus inhaled sharply, rubbing his elbow. “It’s nothing.”

She knew the truth; that wine bottle should have shattered against her, but Marcus had rushed in to protect her, placing himself in harm’s way. The realization made her chest tighten with a mix of gratitude and guilt.

With determination, she rolled up his shirt sleeve, revealing several fresh cuts at his elbow, glass fragments embedded in the wounds, a sight that made her stomach churn. “Your wound needs immediate treatment.”

Marcus pulled his arm away, his voice steady, almost indifferent. “It’s a minor injury, nothing serious.”

“Did you come here to find me?” Sophie asked, her voice softer now, laced with concern as she watched him withdraw.

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