The Second Life of a Discarded Heiress novel Chapter 121

A few days later, something bizarre happened in Havencrest.

No one knew which reckless soul had the nerve to provoke the Aldridge family's young master, but word quickly spread: someone had beaten Quentin Aldridge so viciously that three of his ribs were broken. The attack was so brutal, in fact, that Quentin nearly lost his life.

But that wasn't even the most absurd part. The real scandal came later that same evening, when Havencrest's high society was gathered at Siren's Whisper to celebrate the birthday of a local bigwig.

By some twisted stroke of fate, Quentin's assailant decided to dump him—bloodied and battered—right at the entrance to the party. The place was packed with influential guests, and the moment someone spotted Quentin, a shriek rang out, drawing everyone's attention.

There Quentin lay, sprawled on the floor, black and blue from head to toe, wearing nothing but his underwear.

Now, inside a private room at Havencrest Prime Medical Center, Quentin lay in bed swaddled in layer after layer of gauze. Even his mouth was bandaged, leaving only his eyes visible—and those eyes were blazing with fury.

Moments earlier, Quentin had thrown a raging fit, shattering anything within reach of his hospital bed.

The bodyguard stationed by the door—still holding a lunchbox—stood stiffly at attention. His face bore fresh bruises, courtesy of Quentin's outburst.

Bob, the bodyguard, only grinned and scratched his head, acting as if the bruises didn't bother him at all. "Boss, let me help you take off the bandages so you can eat something, at least a little bit."

Bob wasn't exactly the sharpest tool in the shed, and he hadn't realized just how much trouble his words might cause. He repeated himself, utterly oblivious: "You need to eat, sir. And don't worry—no one's going to see your face swollen up like—well, like that."

Quentin's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Like what, Bob?" he growled, his voice low and threatening.

Bob shivered, suddenly aware of how cold the room felt. "No, sir, I didn't mean your face looks—like that. I just meant…" He scratched his head, struggling for an explanation but coming up empty.

"Shut it," Quentin snapped. Just the mention of his face sent a fresh wave of rage and humiliation through him. His chest ached as if something heavy was sitting on it.

Beneath the bandages, Quentin's face turned an even uglier shade. He'd just finished venting his anger, and after smashing everything he could get his hands on, his entire body now felt like it had been run over by a truck. He hurt everywhere and was too exhausted to lash out any further.