She Was the Treasure All Along novel Chapter 877

The alcohol instantly evaporated from Alfie's system. His face drained of all color, his entire body trembling violently.

Hank's thumb pulled back the hammer of the gun. The metallic click was the loudest sound in the room.

"Hank!" Giselle screamed.

Hank didn't even blink.

His eyes remained deadlocked on Alfie, his finger slowly tightening on the trigger—

"Don't!"

Two arms wrapped desperately around his waist from behind.

Giselle's voice was shaking, thick with tears. "Please... don't kill him in front of my daughter..."

Hank's entire body went rigid.

He looked down, seeing those slender, trembling hands clinging to his waist.

Gigi was still sobbing hysterically by the doorway.

Hank squeezed his eyes shut.

He lowered the weapon, delivered a vicious kick to Alfie's ribs that sent him sliding across the floor, and turned around to look at the woman standing before him.

She was pale, her eyes red, but she was biting her lip so hard it was nearly bleeding, refusing to let the tears fall.

She just stared at him—full of fear, extreme caution, and something else he couldn't quite name.

Hank's Adam's apple bobbed.

He wanted to tell her not to be afraid.

He wanted to promise he would never hurt her.

He wanted to say that he just couldn't handle seeing another man put his hands on her.

But he stayed silent. He knew that nothing he said right now would be believed. He had hurt her too deeply, forcing her to endure too much on her own at such a young age.

Without a word, he stripped off his jacket and draped it gently over her shoulders. Then, he bent down, scooped the wailing toddler into his arms, and murmured in a hoarse, unexpectedly gentle voice:

"It's okay. Daddy's here."

Wrapped in his strong arms, Gigi sniffled, staring up at the handsome stranger with wide eyes. Slowly, her crying faded into hiccups.

Hank then carefully transferred the child back into Giselle's arms, his voice dropping to absolute zero. "Take her outside and wait. I'll clean this up."

Meeting those dark, bottomless eyes—eyes that held a far more dangerous maturity than they had years ago—sent a shiver of terror down Giselle's spine. She averted her gaze, clutched her daughter tight, and practically ran out the door.

Hank kicked the door shut. He walked slowly toward the kitchen, where Alfie was desperately trying to crawl away.

Alfie pushed himself up amidst the broken plates, his face a mask of sheer panic.

"Stay back!" Seeing the monster approaching, Alfie scrambled backward until his spine hit the cabinets. Trapped, he blindly grabbed a fruit knife off the counter and held it out with shaking hands.

Hank towered over him.

There was no blind rage in those crimson-rimmed eyes, no psychotic frenzy. There was only an icy, suffocating calmness—a calmness far more terrifying than the murderous intent from a moment ago.

"Which hand touched her?" he asked.

His tone was conversational. He might as well have been asking about the weather.

Alfie's lips trembled as he waved the knife. "This is attempted murder! I'll make sure you rot in jail for the rest of your life!"

Hank's foot snapped out, kicking the knife from his grip. As Alfie lunged to grab it, Hank stomped down hard on his right hand.

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