Chapter 123 Too Late for Sorry
Howard yanked his arms up just in time, blocking Tilda’s brutal uppercut. But it didn’t matter. The force behind that punch still sent him flying.
He felt like his jaw had almost been shattered.
His body slammed hard into the ground, the impact so heavy it knocked the air from his lungs.
Breathing became a struggle.
With a frame that massive, hitting the floor at the wrong angle could’ve been catastrophic.
For a moment, the pain sobered him up.
Sweat poured down his body as the aches multiplied.
Blood from his face dripped into his eyes, blurring his vision until he could barely make out Tilda’s form. Just a silhouette now, towering over him.
Her expression was unreadable. No rage, no satisfaction, just disgust, contempt, and disappointment.
Her voice dropped like a funeral bell, landing cold and clear in the one sense he still had left.
“You’re pathetic.”
With that, Tilda turned and walked away without hesitation.
She had thought taking down Howard, the so-called world wrestling champion, would take more effort. Turned out? He was a total letdown. The Jensons—loud on the outside, hollow on the inside. All bark, no bite. Trash like that only belonged with more trash. That old saying? Yeah, it was right on the money. Good thing Tilda had bailed fast, or she might’ve rotted right along with them.
Howard opened his mouth to speak, but the moment he did, blood filled it. He choked on the metallic taste, a sharp pressure clogging his sinuses, his breath caught somewhere between his throat and nose.
No words came out.
He hadn’t expected this. That the one thing he prided himself on—his fighting skills—would crumble like junk metal in front of Tilda.
Howard used to look down on Tilda.
But now, with the very thing he had built his identity on, his so-called unbeatable fighting skills, crushed beneath her feet like they were nothing? What did his contempt even amount to?
Sure, maybe he underestimated her. But in a real fight, there’s no such thing as “underestimated” or “caught off guard.”
There’s only winning or losing.
And Howard? He didn’t just lose, he got obliterated.
The word failure didn’t even begin to cover how pathetic he looked right now.
A searing pain bloomed in his chest like something was trying to tear its way out.
Ever since he’d achieved his dream, won the world wrestling championship belt, and became the youngest foreigner in the sport’s history to do it, Howard had thought he was unstoppable. He believed he was ready to chase even bigger heights, take on every major combat discipline around the world and collect their titles too. He bathed in praise, high on his own hype.
And now, that long-buried feeling came flooding back—a bitter, gnawing burn.
It was the fire born of defeat. Of tears, humiliation, and soul-crushing frustration.
“Tilda!”
Wade finally caught up, having chased their trail for a while. Howard and Tilda had moved too fast for him to follow right away, and it had taken him some time to track them down.
If he hadn’t heard their voices just now….
His heart clenched.
He was terrified something had happened to Tilda.
But when he saw her standing tall, completely unharmed, the first thing he noticed was her white sneakers. Streaked with blood.
“Tilda, are you okay?” Wade rushed up, breath tight in his chest.
He didn’t even realize how anxious he’d been.
The thought of Howard hurting her had him in a silent panic.
“Wade, do you really think I need your fake-ass concern?”
Tilda’s expression didn’t soften, and her voice was cold.
“Get out of my way.”
She didn’t wait for a response, she just brushed past him and walked off.
“Tilda, wait!” Wade called after her.
“I’m seriously worried about you. Whether you believe me or not… just tell me, are you hurt? Did Howard do anything to you?”
Wade knew words wouldn’t change anything now.
He just needed one answer.
That Tilda was safe.
That nothing happened while she was alone with Howard.
If Howard had done something and Wade hadn’t gotten there in time, he’d never forgive himself.
When Tilda turned around and met his worried face, she curled her lips into a cold, mocking smile.
“Wade, don’t you realize how much you look like a lapdog right now? Have you lost your damn mind? Where’s the guy who used to look down on me, insult me like it was your favorite pastime, apply double standards to everything I did? And now what—you’re trying to act like some loving big brother who’s worried about his sister? Why? To make yourself feel a little less guilty about all the disgusting crap you’ve done?”
Tilda didn’t hold back, not when it came to anyone from the Jensons.
Her words shot straight through Wade’s chest like a thousand arrows.
Thinking back to everything he’d said and done to her, the shame crushed down on him like a weight he couldn’t lift.
Why now? Why the hell did he only realize the truth now, after all the pain, all the damage, all the times he chose to believe the worst of her?
Why did it take this long for him to see how badly he’d screwed up?
The coldness in his voice back then, the verbal abuse, the blatant double standards… it made Wade sick to his stomach.
He didn’t deserve to be her brother. Didn’t even deserve to call himself a decent human being.
What kind of person says those things to a sister who had been missing for 19 years? To someone they were lucky to find again? No one with a heart would treat their family that way, and he knew it.