Chapter 520
Chapter 520:
It was late at night, and the campus had settled into an eerie stillness, the occasional student drifting back from the library like shadows in the dark.
When Bonita caught sight of Beckett, a jolt of icy dread traveled up her spine, leaving her shivering. She slowed her pace, her feet dragging as she stopped a few steps away from him, hesitant and wary.
Beckett, seeing her timid demeanor, felt a fiery storm ignite within him. He pictured her laughing and gaming with that man late into the night. Fury swelled in him, a tide threatening to drown all reason.
Without a word, he surged forward and struck her across the face. The slap was so fierce that Bonita’s head snapped to the side. She staggered backward, her steps faltering, until her shoulder collided with the wall.
Her head thudded against it, the impact leaving her disoriented, unsure whether the pounding ache came from her skull or her burning cheek.
Beckett, still seething with rage, closed the gap between them with predatory strides.
He reached out and grabbed a fistful of Bonita’s hair, hauling her up as if she were nothing more than a rag doll. His jaw locked tight, his face etched with fury, and his eyes flared red with rage, like a tempest on the verge of tearing through everything in its path.
“You’re really something!” Beckett spat, his voice dripping with venom. “I warned you, but you just had to push it. Bonita, after everything, you’re still betraying me!”
Bonita felt as though her jaw might shatter under the pressure, the searing pain unbearable. Frozen with terror and suffocated by grievance, resistance was a luxury she couldn’t afford.
Just as Beckett’s hand rose for another strike, someone seized his arm mid-swing.
Fernanda stepped forward, gripping his wrist with unwavering strength and pulling him aside.
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Caught off guard, Beckett lost his footing and tumbled to the ground. Fernanda crouched before Bonita, her touch gentle as she patted her trembling shoulder.
When Bonita’s eyes landed on Fernanda, a flicker of hope lit her despair. She latched onto Fernanda’s arm like a sailor clinging to driftwood in a storm.
“I will call the police,” Fernanda said firmly, her tone soft yet commanding. “Don’t be scared; I’ll handle it if you can’t.”
The tears Bonita had held back through the storm of blows finally spilled over. The sight of Fernanda broke the dam she had so desperately fortified.
“Hey, stay out of this!” Beckett barked, his voice hoarse with rage. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll walk away right now!”
Fernanda, unfazed, dialed the police. Her eyes met Beckett’s with an icy calmness that could have frozen fire.
“Oh, it’s you,” Beckett sneered as recognition dawned. “You think calling the cops will do any good? What did I ever do to her? This is just a little spat between a couple. The police don’t care about things like this.”
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