My Cold-Hearted Husband Wants Me Back
Chapter 127: A Little Payback

Chapter 127: A Little Payback

Eryx leaned forward sharply, tapping the driver’s shoulder.

"Uncle, turn back," he ordered. "We’re going home."

The driver nodded and made a quick turn onto the narrow side road. But just as they were about to merge back onto the main street, the car slowed to a halt.

Up ahead, a van had stopped in the middle of the road, hazard lights blinking. Two men stood nearby, pretending to check the engine, though it was clear they were just blocking the way.

Eryx’s eyes narrowed.

Before he could say a word, the passenger door of the van swung open and out stepped someone Eryx instantly recognized.

It was the photographer.

The same bastard he had thrown out for harassing Lunara.

The man sneered as he sauntered closer, his hands casually shoved into his pockets, walking towards Eryx’s car.

"Well, well, Mr. Grantham," he said mockingly. "Fancy running into you tonight."

Eryx’s fingers curled into fists against his thighs, but he remained still, coldly assessing the situation.

This wasn’t a coincidence.

"Uncle, stay inside and call Callum," Eryx said, his voice steady as he unlocked the car and stepped out into the cool night air. He shut the door behind him with a quiet click.

"What do you want?" he asked, his gaze sharp.

The photographer smiled lazily, like he had all the time in the world.

"Just a little payback," the photographer said as he slipped a pair of brass knuckles onto his hand, the metal glinting under the streetlights.

Eryx’s jaw tightened. Two men, the photographer, and one more he didn’t recognize.

He calculated quickly. He could handle two if it came down to it.

But just as he shifted his weight, ready for whatever came next, two more figures climbed out from the back of the van.

Four in total.

The photographer grinned wider. "I heard most... Well, not all but most of the rich men don’t know how to fight. That’s why they hire bodyguards, isn’t it?" He spun around theatrically, scanning the area for any sign of Eryx’s security. "Looks like you played it easy tonight. Didn’t even bring your dogs."

Eryx said nothing, his gaze cold and sharp.

The photographer clicked his tongue. "Tsk. Pity. Would’ve been fun to make a bigger scene."

The others started to spread out slowly, forming a loose circle around Eryx.

Still, Eryx didn’t move. His mind was clear, still calculating.

The driver inside the car nervously clutched his phone, trying to call Callum again while keeping his head low.

The photographer cracked his knuckles. "Ready to cry for mommy, rich boy?"

Eryx finally smirked, slow and sharp. "No," he said coolly. "You should be."

At that moment, the first punch came flying straight at Eryx’s face.

He sidestepped easily, grabbing the attacker’s wrist and twisting it hard enough to make the man yelp in pain before driving his elbow into the man’s ribs.

The man staggered back, clutching his side.

"Guess you got it wrong," Eryx smirked, raising his fists, steady and ready. His eyes gleamed coldly as he added, "You picked the wrong man to mess with."

Another man lunged at him, but Eryx ducked low, sweeping his leg out and knocking the guy off balance.

Without missing a beat, he swung around and landed a sharp punch to the third man’s jaw, sending him stumbling backward.

Breathing steadily, Eryx tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable, "If you run now, you might still walk tomorrow."

The photographer’s face twisted in anger at Eryx’s words.

"You arrogant piece of—" he snarled, storming toward the van and yanking a metal bat from inside.

Eryx’s eyes narrowed, muscles tensing.

Without warning, the photographer lunged forward, swinging the bat with all his strength.

Eryx sidestepped neatly, and the bat missed him by an inch, slamming into the front bonnet of the car with a loud, metallic crunch.

The driver inside flinched at the noise, but Eryx didn’t even blink.

He straightened slowly, his gaze turning colder than steel.

One of the other men, seizing the moment, rushed in from behind.

Before Eryx could fully turn, a hard punch landed against his jaw, snapping his head slightly to the side.

The taste of blood touched his tongue.

For a second, the world went still.

Then the moment he regained his conscious back, Eryx slowly turned, wiping the corner of his mouth with his thumb.

He gave them a thin, humorless smile.

"You had your one shot," Eryx said coldly, his voice low and dangerous. "I guess this is enough. I don’t have time to play with you."

The photographer’s face twisted with rage.

Without warning, he lunged back to the van and grabbed a bat, swinging it violently toward Eryx.

Eryx sidestepped, the bat missing him by inches and slamming hard into the front bonnet of the car with a loud, metallic clang.

The impact left a deep dent, but Eryx didn’t even flinch.

Another man rushed at him, and Eryx swiftly ducked and drove his fist into the attacker’s gut, sending him sprawling to the ground.

His movements were sharp, calculated, and unforgiving.

"I warned you, you should run while you still can," Eryx said, voice like ice.

For a second, it looked like the men might hesitate.

But the photographer growled, "I didn’t know Mr. Grantham talked this much! Get him!"

Two rushed in at once.

Eryx took one down with a quick kick to the knee and an elbow to the jaw, but the other managed to land a punch across Eryx’s cheekbone.

The blow forced his head to the side, but he didn’t fall.

Instead, he wiped the blood from his lip with the back of his hand, eyes burning coldly.

"You’ll regret that," he muttered.

But just as he steadied himself, the photographer swung again and this time, the bat caught Eryx cleanly across the side of his head.

A sickening crack echoed through the night.

The world tilted violently.

Eryx stumbled, fighting to stay on his feet, but his knees buckled.

He hit the cold road hard, the darkness quickly closing in around him.

The last thing he heard was the muffled sound of footsteps approaching.