Jacob realized then. They knew exactly who he was, and they weren’t about to hold back.


    Jacob’s legs trembled uncontrobly as he stared at Bowen, too terrified to even attempt getting up from the ground.


    Sure, Jacob kept throwing Bowen’s name around every day, but deep down, he knew the truth-he was just himself, and his sister’s status had nothing to do with him.


    Bowen respected his sister, but that didn’t mean he’d treat Jacob like he mattered.


    He could unt Bowen’s name all he wanted-most of the time, Bowen might just turn a blind eye. But if he ever truly provoked Bowen directly, there’d be no mercy.


    Jacob staggered backward, trembling uncontrobly. He had designs on Aubree and only dared to act because he was gambling on Bowen’s indifference toward her.


    “Bowen, I’m sorry. I didn’t know Aubree was yours-if I’d known, I never would’ve dared,” he said.


    Bowen remained silent, pressing his foot down on Jacob’s calf with an impassive expression. Meanwhile, beads of cold sweat erupted across Jacob’s forehead.


    “Ah, Bowen, for my sister’s sake, please spare me,” Jacob said.


    Bowen narrowed his eyes and said coldly, “Do you even deserve to mention your sister?”


    “Mr. Turner, the cops are almost here,” Ethan leaned in and whispered in Bowen’s ear.


    Ethan didn’t bother to lower his voice, so Jacob heard everything. Trembling even harder, Jacob pleaded, “No, Bowen, just treat me like worthless trash and let me go. There’s no need to make things so ugly between our families.”


    Bowen cast a disdainful nce at Jacob, who was cowering at his feet in terror, let out a mocking scoff, andpletely ignored his pleas.


    With deliberate slowness, he lifted his leg and turned to leave.


    Jacob heaved a sigh of relief. As long as Bowen didn’t touch him, the Timbeke family could easily handle the cops.


    Before Jacob could fully calm his racing heart, Bowen’s deceptively light voice drifted to him on the breeze.


    Bowen said, “Can’t even behave yourself, stalking girls every day. Since you are my friends, guess I’ll have to teach you a proper lesson.”


    Jacob’s face instantly drained of color. Everyone knew Bowen had the face of an angel, but a heart cker than the devil’s.


    His words made it crystal clear. He was going to break Jacob’s legs. Whether it was one or both would all depend on his mood.


    Sure enough, just as Bowen’s words fell, the sound of footsteps slowly drew closer.


    Bowen ordered, “Samson, when the cops ask, go with them.”


    As Bowen’s words faded, a blood-curdling scream tore through the night behind him.


    Meanwhile, all hell broke loose at the Timbeke family’s house.


    Jacob was the Timbeke family’ste-born son. Ever since their eldest daughter left, the whole family spoiled their only son to the point ofwlessness.


    The police called, and it was Jacob’s father, Gareth Timbeke, who picked up.


    The police simply said that Jacob was involved in an incident and had been taken to the hospital, offering no further details.


    Gareth was still at a business dinner when the call came. So shocked that his wine ss slipped and shattered on the floor, he rushed straight to the hospital.


    Gareth demanded anxiously, “How’s Jacob?”


    The nurse confirmed his identity and said, “It’s quite serious. Two ribs are broken, both legs are fractured, and there are multiple other injuries.”


    “Who did this?” Gareth bellowed, his vision blurring with rage. In Rithol City, the Timbeke family held considerable influence, not to mention that he was Bowen’s father-inw.


    ‘Who on earth would darey hands on my son?’ Gareth wondered. ‘He’s my only son, bornte in my life-he’s my lifeblood, my very foundation.''”


    “The police didn’t say,” the secretary reported.


    Gareth’s face was livid with rage, and the secretary who had followed him in was trembling uncontrobly behind him. “Call Chief Julien Rourke. Now,” he barked.


    Getting into trouble was nothing new for Jacob-he’d been at it for ages. Gareth had already spent a fortune greasing the right palms to keep things under control.


    “Mr. Timbeke, he’s not picking up,” the secretary reported, voice trembling.


    “No answer?” Gareth saw red, not stopping to think. He snarled, “So he won’t pick up? Fine. Let’s see which fucking bastard daredy a hand on my son. Let’s go. I’ming to the station with you.”


    ‘Who the hell dares touch