?Chapter 135:


    He scoffed, adding cruelly, “You know, Ste, I never realized just how—”


    Sharon didn’t let him finish. Her fist mmed into his face with precision and zero hesitation.


    “The hell are you talking about?” she snapped. “How much trash do you have to swallow to spit out crap like that? You show up uninvited and spew nonsense—what, desperate for attention?”


    Marc reeled, blinking through the shock, his cheek turning red from the blow. “You hit me?” he growled.


    Sharon didn’t back down an inch. “Yeah. I did. Want me to pencil you in for a second round?”


    She stood there, chin up, hands on her hips, her whole stance radiating pure defiance.


    Tonight, she wasn’t letting this scumbag walk away untouched. She was going to put him in his ce—properly.


    Marc clutched his nose, pain shooting through his face, his anger simmering just below the surface.


    With a growl, he lunged and grabbed Sharon by the cor.


    “Damn it! Who let this lunatic in here?!” He pulled his fist back, ready to swing—


    But Sharon calmly stepped back, lifted her fingers, and let out a sharp whistle.


    In the next breath, half a dozen men in ck suits appeared behind her, each towering well over six feet and built like tanks. Their gazes locked onto Marc, cold and unflinching.


    “They’re all national boxing champions, Mr. Walsh,” Sharon said with a sweet, dangerous smile. “So unless you’re nning to leave here in pieces, I suggest you back off.”


    And she wasn’t bluffing. This was her bar. Her turf. No one came in here and threw punches—especially not at her.


    Marc froze, his pride bruised more than his nose. After a beat, he let his clenched fist drop.


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    His re shifted to Ste, his eyes full of disdain and disappointment. “Ste,” he sneered, “look at what you’ve be. Just throwing yourself around, no shame at all.”


    Ste tilted her head, genuinely amused by his delusion.


    Who she chose to be with was none of his business.


    She leanedzily against Sharon’s shoulder, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Who I spend time with is none of your business, Mr. Walsh. You and I? We’re nothing. So who are you to judge me?”


    Marc’s face twisted, hand still pressed to his bruised nose. “Fine. I gave you chances, but you just keep pushing it. Don’te crying when you regret it.”


    Sharon rolled her eyes hard enough to strain a muscle, and with one small wave of her hand, her bodyguards stepped forward.


    Marc startled, stumbling slightly before backing away like a scolded dog. He shot onest re at Ste, then turned and stormed off. Sharon watched him leave, grinning with satisfaction. “How’s that for a mic-drop moment? Admit it—I was incredible.”


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