Chapter 2 Get On Your Knees And Beg

• Chris flung Edward aside like trash, the man crashing into a table and groaning in pain. Without missing a beat, Chris spun toward the tall, fair-skinned woman blocking his path. Her biceps flexed under her black sleeveless gown—Miss Poison wasn’t just muscle; she carried authority in her posture.
• “Why are you harassing them?” Chris asked, his voice low but sharp. “Who the hell gave you the right to walk into this banquet uninvited?”
• Before she could answer, Alice’s voice rang through the air like shattered glass.
• “Why are you wasting time asking questions? Deal with that useless pig!” she snapped, pointing at Edward, her nostrils flaring. “He slapped my mom and me! Don’t pity him—break his bones!”
• Chris clenched his jaw, the veins in his temple twitching. He was hot-headed by nature, but now, he kept a terrifying calm. His eyes locked on Miss Poison’s like a predator waiting for a twitch.
• As if on cue, Edward groaned and picked himself off the floor, brushing dust off his tuxedo.
• “What took you so long?” Edward asked, his lips pulled into a scowl. “You were supposed to be here before I put the damn ring on Alice’s finger.”
• Miss Poison didn’t even flinch. “I don’t owe you an explanation, Mr. Jones,” she said flatly. “Let’s deal with this young man you claim has been harassing you.”
• She turned to Chris. “What do you want me to do with him?”
• Chris didn’t respond. His face was set like stone, unreadable.
• “He’s dirt-poor!” Katherine hissed, stepping beside Miss Poison. “He can’t even fight! Just ask your men to handle him!”
• But Miss Poison snapped her fingers at her. “I wasn’t talking to you, Mrs. Steel,” she said coldly. “That question was for Mr. Jones. This will be my little gift for showing up late to his wedding.”
• Edward’s lips curled into a cruel grin. He liked this power trip. Slowly, he walked toward Chris until they were nose to nose. Then, with mock sympathy, he smiled.
• “I want him dead,” he said, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Beat him until he stops breathing.”
• Miss Poison raised her hand. “You heard the man. Do it.”
• The Dragon agents—over fifty of them, clad in sleek black suits, dark glasses, and earpieces—advanced toward Chris.
• But before they could reach him, Edward held up a hand. “Wait!”
• The agents froze mid-step.
• Miss Poison turned her head slightly. “A change of heart, Mr. Jones?”
• Edward grinned like a man with a twisted joke. “Yes. I’m feeling generous.”
• He looked at Chris. “Listen, peasant, I’ll let you walk out of here with your bones intact if you get on your knees right now and beg me for mercy. Loudly. In front of everyone.”
• Gasps and murmurs swelled from the crowd, like wind stirring through dry leaves.
• “That sounds fair enough! Beg him, boy!” one of the guests called out.
• Chris stepped forward slowly, eyes never leaving Miss Poison. “You want me to beg?” His voice was soft—too soft. “Alright… I’ll beg.”
• In a blur, he yanked Edward by the collar, pulled him forward, and twisted his fingers in a way no one had seen before. A sharp, grotesque crack echoed as Edward’s neck jerked sideways.
• “Aghhhh!” Edward shrieked in pain, stumbling back like a broken puppet.
• Miss Poison’s face contorted. “Attack him!” she screamed.
• The agents surged forward—but Chris didn’t flinch.
• With one swift motion, he reached into his coat and raised something high—a thick, golden sigil etched with the roaring face of a dragon. The symbol glowed faintly, pulsing with power. It was no ordinary metal—it shimmered like it was alive.
• The moment the sigil caught the light, a thunderous silence dropped over the room. Every black-clad agent fell to their knees as if pulled down by invisible strings.
• Miss Poison dropped too, forehead nearly touching the floor. “Forgive us, my Lord… We had no idea you were the Dragon Lord!”
• Whispers rippled like wildfire among the stunned guests.
• “The Dragon Lord?”
• “That sigil… That’s real!”
• Edward sat hunched on the floor, eyes bulging, mouth wide open. His mind raced. The sigil—the legendary dragon sigil—was only ever held by the Dragon Lord himself. If Chris had it… did that mean…
• Before he could finish his thoughts, Alice scoffed loudly.
• “You brought this woman to fight Chris? Look at her now, shaking like a wet puppy. She calls herself Miss Poison? More like Miss Pathetic.”
• Smack!
• Miss Poison shot up and slapped Alice hard across the face, sending her stumbling backward.
• “You will not call the Dragon Lord by name!” she bellowed. “Do you have a death wish?”
• Everyone froze again.
• Miss Poison dropped back to her knees, her voice calmer but still trembling. “Please, my Lord. On their behalf, I beg you—how shall they be punished?”
• Chris raised one hand and shook his head. His eyes never left her, but his message was clear—let them go.
• The agents remained kneeling.
• Edward’s lip twitched in confusion. “He’s bluffing,” he muttered. “The real Dragon Lord has no mercy. He’s ruthless, feared by kingdoms.”
• He stood up, wobbling, and pointed at Chris.
• “You’re faking it! You’re not the Dragon Lord. You’re just a lucky bastard who found a toy and decided to play god!”
• Chris’s gaze darkened.
• “You want me to prove it?” His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “Maybe I’ll start with your family.”
• Katherine stepped up beside Edward, pointing a shaky finger at Chris. “You don’t know who you’re messing with. The Jones family is untouchable! Our influence—our wealth—no man can shake it.”
• Chris didn’t blink. He pulled out his phone.
• “In five minutes,” he said calmly, “I want you to erase everything the Jones family owns. I mean everything. Their estate. Their businesses. Their stocks. Even this overpriced banquet hall. Burn it down.”
• Edward let out a loud, mocking laugh.
• “Are you high? We’re worth over $100 billion, genius. You think you can wipe that out in five minutes with a phone call? You think this is Bollywood?”
• He laughed harder. “You were class president, right? Pity. I guess all your brainpower was used for organizing talent shows.”
• But before his laughter could echo again, a hand grabbed him from behind.
• Whack! Whack!
• Two brutal slaps rang out. Edward’s head whipped sideways. The hall gasped.
• He turned around slowly, only to lock eyes with his father.
• Mr. Jones was shaking, not from rage—but humiliation.
• “Who did you offend, Edward?” His voice was hoarse. “Because of your stupidity, we’ve lost everything. We’ve gone bankrupt. Even this hall—people are here right now to evict us!”
• Edward blinked fast, his mind rejecting the truth. He dropped to the floor.
• “No… This can’t be real,” he whispered. “It’s a joke, right?”