The Jilted Heiress' Return to the High Life - Chapter 580

Chapter 580:

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It deepened, his pent-up frustration evident as he bit her lip, almost as if to punish her.

Corrine winced, her eyebrows knitting together, but she retaliated with a gentle bite.

Their intense moment was interrupted by a sudden cough.

As reality snapped back to Corrine, she tried to push Nate away. But Nate, lost in the moment, didn’t budge and kept kissing her.

She bit his lip again, a mix of panic and confusion rising within her.

When the taste of blood mingled between them, Nate finally stepped back reluctantly.

His forehead rested against hers, their breaths blending in the tense silence.

Nate touched her swollen lips gently with his thumb.

“I’ll deal with this when I get back,” he murmured.

With those words, he stood and left.

As Nate passed Matias in the hallway, he glanced at him sharply. Matias felt the piercing coldness of Nate’s look, and a chill of dread swept over him.

The two entered the study, Nate leading.

“You’ve got two days to get the hell out of Lyhaton,” he commanded as he sat down.

“So, we’re just going to let this slide?” Matias asked after a brief silence, his voice laced with disbelief.

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The rivalry between Hell and Nate had never tilted decisively in either direction. It was an unspoken war—two kings circling each other, each refusing to make the first reckless move.

But now, Hell had discovered Corrine’s existence. He would manipulate, break, or threaten her to force Nate’s hand.

Hell’s subordinate had already laid a hand on her. If Nate let them walk away unscathed, it wouldn’t just be a loss—it would be an insult. Letting this go? That wasn’t Nate’s style.

Nate pressed his fingers against his temple, his index finger tapping lightly against his brow. His dark eyes gleamed with an icy sharpness, his expression unreadable, yet his voice carried the signature edge of quiet arrogance.

“Do you really think I had Saul Hopkins leave for no reason?”

Those who dared harm Corrine would not walk away unpunished.

Matias felt his brow twitch involuntarily. He had seen this look on Nate before, and it never ended well for the other party. Hell was in for big trouble this time.

Hell’s phone buzzed. The name flashing on the screen: Bleacher.

The moment he answered, a deafening explosion tore through the speaker, followed by panicked shouting.

“Boss! Our base has been attacked—the losses are catastrophic!”

Hell’s expression turned to stone. His grip on the phone tightened as chaos erupted on the other end of the line.

Explosions. Gunfire. The gut-wrenching screams of his men.

His jaw clenched, muscles coiling with barely restrained fury.

Then, slowly, a smile curled at the edge of his lips—a sharp, humorless grin that sent a shiver through the air.

“Nate,” he murmured, his voice low, lethal.

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