He Said I Love Him Enough to Let Him Marry Her and Kill Our Child Chapter 06

He Said I Love Him Enough to Let Him Marry Her and Kill Our Child Chapter 06

Tristan’s mouth opened and closed. “Mr. Grant,” he stammered. “You’re joking, right?” 

My father didn’t waste a single word on him. 

My mother came running through the crowd, tears streaking her face. She wrapped her arms around me, her hands gentle as she catalogued every bruise, every cut. 

Then she rounded on my father and slammed her fists against his chest. “Harrison Grant. Is this what protecting our daughter looks like? She was beaten, humiliated and you just 

stood there?” 

My father drew a long breath and faced Tristan. “Everyone 

who hurt my daughter. Step forward. Now.” 

Silence. Frozen, terrified silence. 

Tristan’s forehead was slick with sweat. He forced his voice 

steady. “Mr. Grant, they didn’t know. Let me explain…” 

My father cut him off with a raised hand. “I see. So it was all of 

you.” 

He made a small gesture. His security team surged forward 

like wolves. 

Tristan’s panicked eyes found mine. “Elena, I…” 

I closed my eyes and turned away. 

Bianca was already crying. It didn’t help her. These men didn’t care about tears. Within seconds, the room erupted into chaos, bodies scrambling, designer dresses torn, hair ripped out of 

careful up–dos. 

These polished, pristine women looked like they’d been 

dragged through a back–alley brawl. And Tristan’s 

meticulously maintained face was now a mess of purple and 

black bruises. 

Tristan couldn’t take it anymore. He cowered against the wall, blubbering. “Mr. Grant. Please. Tonight was supposed to be about Elena. You’re reunited, this is her moment. There are people out there. Important people. You don’t want this getting out.” He was shaking. “Please. Just let us walk away.” 

My father’s laugh was pure iron. “Important people? Good. The more people watching, the better. I want every last one of them to know Elena Grant is my daughter. And nobody, 

nobodytouches what’s mine. You try, you pay.” 

Tristan opened his mouth again, but a security guard’s fist 

met his jaw, and he never got the words out. 

When it was over, the guards threw every last one of them out 

the front doors. 

My mother brought in her staff. They helped me into fresh 

clothes. A medical team arrived and treated every wound with careful, precise hands. I rested for four hours. Every single guest waited. No one complained. 

When my strength returned, my father took my hand and walked me into the banquet hall. He introduced me to every notable person in the room. That night, I was the center of everything, a princess surrounded by admirers. 

I’d walked in worried that these upper–class types would be sharp–edged and fake, that I wouldn’t know how to handle them. But after what they’d seen of my father’s wrath, they all understood exactly what I was: Harrison Grant’s most 

precious possession. Not to be crossed. 

So they poured on the charm. Twelve out of ten kindness from 

every direction. 

The banquet was perfect. By the end of the night, everyone in the room knew my name, my face, and exactly whose 

daughter I was. 

My mother and I walked out arm in arm after the banquet 

ended. 

As we approached the car, I spotted Tristan. His face was beaten to hell. He was kneeling on the pavement outside 

Belmont Manor. 

“Elena.” His voice was a wrecked, pitiful rasp. 

He knelt there on the open street. Didn’t care about the people walking past, the stares, the judgment. He just stayed on his 

knees. 

He lifted his eyes to mine, full of fake remorse. “Elena, I’m sorry. Can you forgive me?”