Chapter 3
Arthur Vance forced his shoulders back, attempting to reclaim a shred of his corporate dignity, though his trembling knees betrayed him. He tried to brush off the biker’s hand again, but the heavy grip remained immovable, a vise forged from raw muscle and unyielding resolve. "This is a domestic matter," Arthur stammered, his voice lacking the booming authority it had carried just moments earlier when he was terrorizing Elena. "You have no business interfering in our affairs. Let go of me right now, or you will regret it." The biker, whose name was Marcus, did not blink. He slowly released Arthur’s shoulder, giving the executive just enough room to stumble backward half a step. Marcus didn't pursue him; he simply stepped between Arthur and Elena, creating an impassable human barrier that shielded the younger woman from further harm. Elena pulled her light blouse tighter around her shoulders, her fingers tracing the faint red mark left on her cheek by Arthur’s blow. She looked up at Marcus with a mixture of profound gratitude and deep-seated caution, having lived too long under the thumb of men who demanded absolute submission. Arthur adjusted his tie with a frantic, jerky motion, his dark eyes darting toward the diner exit as if calculating his chances of a clean escape. The elderly waitress emerged from behind the counter, holding a heavy wooden broom not to clean the shattered coffee cup, but to ensure Arthur didn't try anything foolish. "Get out of here, mister," the waitress said, her voice weathered and stern. "We don’t tolerate your kind in this establishment." Arthur glared at them all, his pride severely wounded, yet his self-preservation instinct ultimately overriding his fury. He shot one last venomous glare at Elena, a silent promise of future retaliation, before turning on his heel and marching stiffly out the door. The chime above the entrance rang out merrily, a jarring contrast to the heavy, palpable tension left in his wake.
