What Doesn’t Kill You Makes You Stronger novel Chapter 72

The color drained from Eugene's face as understanding crashed over him like a tidal wave.

Seven years together, and I'd never spoken of my family, artfully deflecting his questions with carefully crafted excuses about their unavailability.

"Victoria... a Montgomery..." The words fell from his lips. Recognition flickered in his eyes as pieces of a puzzle he'd never known existed clicked into place.

The Montgomerys had three sons, each wielding immense power in Boston's elite circles. And a daughter, kept hidden from society's prying eyes.

Now, facing Dempsey's thunderous expression, Eugene watched his carefully constructed empire begin to crumble.

His eyes fixed on my face, hands clenching into white-knuckled fists as I whimpered in my delirium.

"No... please... my eyes..." My broken whispers echoed through the cathedral's vaulted ceiling, each word a testament to his betrayal.

Dempsey's face darkened as he cradled my head, lifting me into his arms with devastating gentleness. He moved past Eugene as if the man had become invisible, heading for the exit with measured steps.

The sound of his retreating footsteps seemed to shatter something in Eugene's carefully maintained facade. The realization that he was losing me - truly losing me - carved itself across his features like a physical wound.

He lunged forward, desperation stripping away years of practiced sophistication.

"Mr. Montgomery," his voice cracked with barely contained panic, "Victoria is my fiancée. Brother or not, you can't simply take her. This is our wedding day - I promised her magnificence..."

"I can arrange a funeral instead." Dempsey said coldly.

His foot shot out, connecting with Eugene's knee joint. The mighty Eugene Thorne crashed to the marble floor, all pretense of power stripped away.

"The Montgomery name carries weight for a reason, Thorne." Each word dripped with centuries of aristocratic menace. "Don't make me demonstrate why Boston's elite still whisper our name in fear."

As the car engine hummed to life outside, Dempsey held a glass of water to my lips, supporting me as if I were made of spun glass, and warmth slowly returned to my frozen limbs.

Dempsey's fingers ghosted across the tablet, his expression darkening with each medical report.

When he reached the details of my forced corneal "donation" and hysterectomy, something primal and dangerous flickered behind his eyes.