?Chapter 1146:


    Ralph, witnessing the spectacle, remained eerily stoic, though an icy aura rippled around him like a blizzard threatening to consume the room. “Andromache, let go!” His voice, deep andmanding, cut through the chaos like a de through silk.


    But blinded by her own wrath, Andromache didn’t heed the warning, instead tightening her hold, her expression a macabre dance of hatred and lunacy. “If you’re trying to ruin me, Corrine,” she hissed, “then let’s rot in hell together!”


    The onlookers exchanged knowing nces, the realization dawning that Andromache had signed her own death warrant.


    Boom.


    Suddenly, a gunshot shattered the air, and a spray of blood erupted from Andromache’s shoulder.


    The crowd recoiled in shock, their eyes tracking the source of the gunfire—Nate stood at the doorway, his expression as cold and unyielding as stone.


    The scorching pain forced Andromache to release her grip, clutching her bleeding shoulder as she staggered backward.


    Nate moved in a sh, seizing her by the neck, his fury radiating like a storm. He whispered icily, “How dare youy a finger on my future wife! Do you have a death wish?”


    His tone was deceptively calm, each wordced with the promise of unrelenting retribution.


    The audience remained frozen,prehending the unspoken truth—Nate would abandon kinship without a second thought if it meant achieving his goals.


    In his grasp, Andromache was rendered powerless, fear pooling in her eyes as she twisted her neck to seek Ralph’s gaze.


    Her lips moved soundlessly, pleading, “Father, help me…”


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    Ralph, his brows furrowed, fought to maintain hisposure before striding forward and addressing Nate with measured firmness. “Let her go.”


    However, Nate remained unmoved, his grip around Andromache’s neck tightening like a noose drawing taut.


    His gaze flickered to Ralph, a single brow arched with a glint of defiance dancing in his eyes—a wordless deration that the boy who once leaned on his grandfather’s influence had long since vanished.


    It dawned on the crowd like the slow, inevitable rise of the sun—provoking Nate would invite a punishment far more ruthless than the fate befalling Andromache.


    If he could treat his own blood with such cold disdain, what chance did anyone else stand against his wrath?


    Among the spectators, Bryant felt a chill snake down his spine as he realized the bitter truth—Corrine was Nate’s Achilles’ heel, and crossing her meant courting disaster.


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