Bowen’s hand tightened around Aubree's wrist, parting a strand of her hair. At the sight of his broad back, Aubree took note of his presence. The usually impeccable Bowen was slightly disheveled, as if he'd been in a live chat, and his expression had hardened.

When was the last time Mr. Turner tested his temper? The Wilsons were quite meddling with him, they have got to have. Bowen had just ended his negotiation when Keyin hurriedly returned with his pin. The usually composed man was unusually agitated.

Red raced back alone, flooring the gas pedal, and stormed into the house with his guard before the car even fully stopped.

Bowen clicked his tongue, irritated. He was a step too late—Aubree was already hurt. Moreover, he stared down at the Wilsons, eyes narrowed.

His gaze, heavy with suppressed rage, pinned Ronald and Bryan. Even the two seasoned businessmen felt suffocated.

Ronald forced a strained smile. “Our apologies, Mr. Turner. We didn’t realize this was your place.”

A low, derisive chuckle escaped Bowen. “Mr. Wilson, did you mean me when you just said ‘sugar daddy’?”

The remark left Ronald flushed—so he’d heard the "sugar daddy" comment.

Bryan’s scalp prickled with cold dread. ‘Of all people, Aubree’s protector was Bowen?’ he mused.

“It’s all a misunderstanding, Mr. Turner,” Bryan interjected quickly.

“Misunderstanding?” Bowen took a step forward, making both men involuntarily draw back.

Towering over Bryan, he snapped, “You call breaking into my home, assaulting my people, trying to kidnap my guest, and insulting me a misunderstanding?”

Bryan felt sweat beads form on his forehead. “There’s a rational explanation,” Ronald began, desperation in his voice.

The reality was stark: they were entirely in the wrong, and offending the Turners was unthinkable. Worse, Ronald’s blood ran cold as he remembered Wilson Group’s upcoming partnership with Turner Enterprises.

‘Of all people, why Bowen?’ His furious glare flicked towards Aubree behind Bowen’s shoulder. This troublemaker picked the worst possible man.

Aubree barely noticed their panic, too busy marveling at Bowen’s dominance. A fierce, unfamiliar satisfaction surged through her.

Aubree thought, ‘So this is what it feels like to have someone on my side. No wonder Carmen loves playing the victim—this feels incredible.’

Watching the arrogant Wilsons cower before Bowen, Aubree couldn’t help but revel in satisfaction.

‘Someday, I’ll be powerful enough to make them fear me like this,’ she thought.

Bowen, however, hadn’t missed Ronald’s look. A dangerous smile touched his lips. “Did you give my Bree a chance to explain earlier? Why should I listen to your misunderstanding?”

Aubree mused, ‘Since when did I become yours?’

Bryan bristled silently. Since when did a Wilson belong to the Turners?

Bowen may have looked like a gentleman, but anyone who’d known him knew the truth: “reckless” was a better word for him than "gentleman."

He unfastened his cufflinks, the royal blue silk shirt draping elegantly on his frame. Rolling up his sleeves was like tearing off a mask, revealing the raw arrogance beneath.

The look he leveled at the Wilsons was pure, undiluted dominance.

Aubree instinctively took a tiny step back. ‘So this is the real Bowen,’ she thought.

If Bowen knew the person he was protecting was quietly wary of him, he’d probably laugh out of anger.

Bryan’s muscles tensed—for a moment, he swore Bowen was about to lash out. And he wasn’t mistaken. If not for their blood relation to Aubree, Bowen would’ve already laid them out.

He’d watched Aubree, once vibrant and healthy under his care, reduced to a shadow in the Wilsons’ hands. He’d finally nursed her back to health, only for her abusers to come crawling back.

Bowen’s rage was like he’d carefully kept a cat, only to see it mistreated by others until it was skin and bones. Now, just after he’d brought it back, its abusers had the nerve to come asking for its return.

Suppressing his rage, he shoved the papers Zachary had given him toward Bryan.

“Think before you act. Don’t just swallow whatever story you’re fed. I’m almost impressed Mr. Wilson built the Wilson empire on such poor judgment,” he said indifferently.

The word ‘fed’ was deliberate, laced with contempt for their blind trust in outsiders over their own family.

Ronald flushed, humiliated by the public airing of private shame.

Bryan skimmed the papers and frowned. Unlike the others blinded by affection for Carmen, his business acumen recognized manipulation.

Before, it hadn’t mattered to him, but now he was not so sure.

As the papers passed to Ronald, Bowen added, “I had my guys question Magnus. They didn’t lay a finger on him. He lied, so they knocked him out and checked his phone. The chat logs were deleted, but we recovered them.”

The Wilsons didn’t doubt him—Bowen did not need to lie about such things.

Ronald opened his mouth to defend Carmen, “It… it can’t be Carmen, she was just venting. That Magnus twisted it. She was tricked!”

“I don’t care about Carmen or Cameron,” Bowen cut in. “Now that the truth’s clear, I think my Bree deserves an apology from Mr. Wilson.”

‘A father apologizes to his daughter? No way.’ Ronald began to argue, but Bowen’s icy stare silenced him.

“Save it. His apologies make me sick,” Aubree snapped, her disgust palpable.

The words hit Ronald like a physical blow, a pang of something sharp piercing his anger. ‘My daughter found me… disgusting?’

Bryan didn’t want to dwell on other matters—he only wanted to take Aubree home. He said, “I apologize for today’s incident, Mr. Turner. You must allow my sister to come home with us.”

“Sure thing,” Bowen agreed smoothly, stepping aside. His gaze settled on Aubree. “But whether Bree stays or goes isn’t your decision, or mine.”

“The choice is hers,” His eyes swept over the guards. “If she wants to stay, not twice this number will take her from me.”

His tone was light, but his words carried absolute authority—he respected Aubree’s decision and refused to let anyone bully her under his watch.

Aubree met his gaze, a genuine, relieved smile touching her lips for the first time since entering the house tonight.

Bryan closed his eyes briefly, then opened them with renewed determination. He couldn’t believe Aubree would abandon blood ties. “Aubree,” he said, voice thick with forced sincerity. “I was wrong before. Come home.” He held out his hand toward Aubree, confident.

Aubree was baffled by his arrogance. Without a glance, she stepped firmly beside Bowen. “I’d have to be insane to go back.” Bowen smiled with satisfaction.

Ronald glared, ready to shout, but Bowen’s smile stopped him. “Mr. Wilson, if you can’t speak properly, perhaps it’s better to stay silent?”

Bryan couldn’t understand she’d choose a “stranger” over family.

As if reading his mind, Aubree snapped, “The ‘stranger’ in your eyes, Bryan, respects my choices. He treats me like a human being.”

In the Wilson family, Aubree had been nothing but a disposable pawn.

Bryan felt tightness in his chest, as if struck by a hammer. It dawned on him that he’d never once asked Aubree what she liked or wanted—every arrangement had been his own decision imposed on her.

Bowen’s fleeting good mood vanished, his eyes darkening. ‘What the hell had the Wilsons done to her? They will pay for this anyway!’

His voice, when he spoke next, was dangerously low. “Chris. Samson. See them out.”