Saintess's Worthless Husband Turned Dragon Commander novel Chapter 219

CHAPTER 161 PART 1

Marcus Steel surveyed the room with dragon eyes that missed nothing-the trembling hands, the pale faces, the way every person present was carefully avoiding looking directly at Atlas Lancaster’s broken form on the floor. Fear had settled over the space like a physical presence, thick enough to taste.

“Everyone,” Marcus said quietly, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. “Line up.”

The young elites exchanged panicked glances. Line up? For what?

“I said line up,” Marcus repeated, his dragon aura flaring just enough to make breathing difficult. “Single file. You’re each going to give Atlas Lancaster exactly what Trevor just gave him. One slap. Clean. Hard. Then you can leave.”

The horror on their faces was almost comical. Atlas was still conscious enough to process what Marcus had just ordered, and his swollen eyes widened with fresh fear.

“Wait,” Atlas managed through split lips, his voice barely recognizable. “Wait, Brother Steel. Let’s… let’s talk about this.”

Brother Steel. Not “you bastard.” Not threats about the Lancaster Family. Brother.

The shift in tone was so dramatic it would have been funny if it weren’t so pathetic.

“Brother?” Marcus raised an eyebrow. “That’s new. Five minutes ago I was a dead man who didn’t understand who he was dealing with. Now I’m ‘Brother Steel’?”

“I was… I was angry,” Atlas forced out, each word clearly painful. “I didn’t mean those things. We’re both men of the world. We can reach an understanding. You want to save face-I understand that. But if everyone here hits me, if this becomes public…” He paused, gathering what little dignity he had left. “The Lancaster Family will have to respond. There won’t be any choice. It’ll be war. But if you stop now, I swear-I won’t tell them what happened. We can both walk away from this.”

Marcus studied him for a long moment. Atlas actually believed his offer was generous. That keeping this secret was some kind of favor Marcus should appreciate.

“You’re right about one thing,” Marcus said finally. “If this becomes public, the Lancaster Family will have to respond.” He paused. “Which is exactly why I’m making sure everyone here participates. So you can’t pretend it was just me. So the story that spreads is about how the mighty Atlas Lancaster got beaten by an entire room of people and couldn’t do anything to stop it.”

“You can’t-”

“I can,” Marcus interrupted. “And I am. So here’s what’s going to happen. Everyone takes their turn. Anyone who refuses gets the same treatment Trevor got. And when we’re done, you’ll crawl out of here understanding exactly how powerless you really are.”

Atlas’s face – what was visible beneath the swelling and blood-twisted with impotent rage. But there was nothing he could do. Nothing except endure.

The young elites shuffled into a reluctant line, each one knowing that participating meant burning bridges with the Lancaster Family, but also knowing that refusing meant immediate violence from the Dragon King.

“I won’t,” one young man-Carter Woods, son of a pharmaceutical executive-declared with false bravery. “I won’t hit someone who’s already down. It’s cowardly and-”

Marcus’s kick caught him in the ribs with dragon-enhanced force that lifted him off his feet and sent him

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crashing into the wall. Carter crumpled, gasping, clutching his side where bones had definitely cracked.

“Anyone else want to take the moral high ground?” Marcus asked the room at large.

Carter scrambled to his feet, his earlier righteousness evaporating instantly. “I’m sorry! Atlas, I’m so sorry!” He lurched forward and delivered a weak slap to Atlas’s face before practically running back to safety.

The lesson was clear. Integrity was worth exactly nothing when faced with immediate consequences.

The line moved forward mechanically. Each person approached Atlas like they were walking to an execution- their own or his, it was hard to say.

“Sorry, Atlas.”

Slap.

“I didn’t have a choice.”

Slap.

“Please don’t remember this.”

Slap.

Each apology was more pathetic than the last. Each slap added to the grotesque swelling of Atlas’s face. By the time half the room had taken their turn, his features were barely recognizable-just a mass of bruises and blood that occasionally made sounds of pain.

Then Ives Abbott stepped forward.

Unlike the others, she didn’t shuffle or hesitate. She walked up to Atlas with her head high, her expensive heels clicking against the marble floor with confident rhythm.

“Ives,” Atlas managed through his ruined mouth. “Don’t. Your father… the Abbott Family… this will cause-”

“Cause what?” Ives interrupted, her voice cold. “A diplomatic incident? A business rivalry? Oh no, however will we survive?” She leaned down, getting close enough that her words were clearly audible despite being nearly whispered. “You threatened to hurt me earlier. You told your men my father was too scared to stop you. You thought being one of the Four Great Young Masters made you untouchable.”

“It does-”

The slap cut off his words. Ives had put her full weight behind it, her palm connecting with Atlas’s swollen cheek with a crack that made several people wince.

“Guess what?” Ives continued, straightening up. “You’re not that special. You’re not that powerful. You’re just another arrogant rich boy who finally met someone he couldn’t bully.” She paused. “And watching you get what you deserve is the most satisfying thing I’ve seen all year.”

She turned and walked back to her seat with the same confidence she’d approached with pulling out her phone as she went. Her fingers moved across the screen rapidly, but nobody paid attention-they were too focused on their own turns approaching.

By the time the last person had delivered their slap, Atlas Lancaster was barely conscious. His face had swollen to almost twice its normal size. Blood covered his expensive suit. He swayed where Allen’s men held him upright, making sounds that might have been words but were too distorted to understand.

Ives, meanwhile, had been busy. She’d recorded the last dozen slaps on her phone-careful angles, clear footage,

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Atlas’s destroyed face visible in every frame. And she’d already posted it to her social media with a simple caption:

“Can anyone guess who this pig is?

Within sixty seconds, her phone started buzzing with responses. Her social circle-the children of Five-River Province’s elite-began commenting, sharing, reacting.

“OMG who is that??”

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