When She Ended It With Divorce (Chiara and Titus) novel Chapter 102

**Chapter 102**

A wave of nausea washed over Queenie, and she instinctively averted her gaze, unable to bear the horrific scene unfolding before her.

The man on the floor continued to grovel, his forehead pressed against the ground as he pleaded for mercy, his voice quivering with palpable fear.

“Goodman!” he shrieked, the word escaping his lips like a desperate prayer.

Then, as if the very air had been sliced open, a blood-curdling scream pierced through the room, sending shivers down the spines of everyone present.

Queenie spun around, her heart racing as horror flooded her senses.

Her eyes widened in disbelief as she beheld Titus, gripping a jagged shard of mirror, which he had just driven mercilessly into the man’s… Groin!

Fear gripped Queenie, rendering her immobile, as if she had turned to stone.

Even Paul, who stood slightly off to the side, felt a lump form in his throat. He swallowed hard, his eyes darting nervously as he mustered the courage to intervene.

“Mr… Mr. Goodman, please! You need to calm down!” Paul shouted, his voice trembling with urgency.

*At this rate, someone is going to die!* Panic surged within him, a relentless tide that threatened to drown his rational thoughts.

“Help! Somebody help me! He’s killing me! He’s killing me!” The man’s voice rose in pitch, cracking under the strain of terror and desperation as he clutched at his mangled groin.

Blood flowed freely from his wound, pooling on the floor as his cries of agony filled the room, yet everyone remained paralyzed, rooted in shock, too fearful to step forward and offer assistance.

“It hurts! Oh God, it hurts! Somebody, please! Save me! Save me!” His wails echoed, a haunting melody of pure panic that reverberated off the walls.

Outside the door, Lena stood frozen, a hand clamped over her mouth, stifling a scream that threatened to escape.

Terror danced in her eyes, nearly spilling over as tears cascaded down her cheeks, flowing unchecked.

Chiara, too, heard the man’s agonizing screams, and a creeping unease settled in her heart.

“Titus…” she whispered, her voice barely audible, a fragile thread of sound as her strength waned.

Queenie, still in shock from Titus’s brutal actions, felt her mind go blank.

Suddenly, she sensed a faint stir from Chiara in her arms. Leaning closer, she finally grasped the urgency in Chiara’s quiet plea.

She quickly turned her gaze back to Titus, her voice steadying as she said, “Mr. Goodman, Chiara keeps calling for you. Perhaps you should check on her?”

As anticipated, Titus hesitated for a brief moment, then discarded the shard and rose to his feet.

He was about to approach when he caught sight of the blood smeared across his hands. A look of revulsion crossed his face, and he marched straight to the sink, scrubbing his hands clean before finally lifting Chiara into his arms.

The moment she caught his familiar scent, Chiara murmured, “Titus?”

Titus leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.

“Yeah, it’s me. Don’t worry. I’m right here. Just rest,” he said softly, his voice a soothing balm against the chaos.

As his comforting words washed over her, Chiara surrendered to sleep, her eyelids fluttering shut.

The only sounds in the bathroom were the gentle cadence of Titus’s voice and the anguished howls of the man he had attacked.

Titus carried Chiara out, and Paul hurried after him, frantically dialing the hotel manager to summon security and arrange for the man’s transport to the hospital.

It didn’t matter if the man was left crippled; he simply couldn’t die.

Titus came to an abrupt stop as he passed Lena, who remained paralyzed with fear, her body rigid and unyielding.

Lena was rooted in place, too terrified to lift her gaze. Her fists clenched so tightly that her knuckles turned white, and she held her breath, as if exhaling would shatter her fragile composure.

*Why did Titus stop near me?* Lena’s mind raced, confusion swirling within her.

Paul noticed Lena’s state and frowned, thinking, *Man, Lena’s even worse at keeping her cool than Queenie.*

What Paul failed to see was that Lena’s breakdown stemmed not from weakness, but from an overwhelming sense of guilt.

“Mr. Goodman?” Paul called out, noticing that Titus had halted. He sensed that Titus had something more to say.

“Investigate!” Titus barked, his voice a low growl filled with authority.

That single word carried the weight of his fury, pressing down on everyone in the room.

Paul understood that this was no mere accident. Mrs. Goodman was clearly not herself tonight.

“Yes, Mr. Goodman. I’ll get to the bottom of it,” Paul replied, his voice steady despite the tension.

Lena flinched at his words, her face draining of color. She looked as though she had seen a ghost, frozen in guilt and fear.

Paul watched as Titus carried Chiara away, then glanced sideways at Lena. Something was definitely off about her; he could feel it in his gut.

A spark of realization ignited in his mind, and he suddenly understood the implications of Titus’s command.

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify