My Second Chance
Copyright© 2026 by BillMax
Chapter 7: Even Scum Has Someone to Fear
Marcus’s voice seemed to rise from the depths of hell itself. Blake Calloway’s soul tightened with fear, and for an instant he truly believed he had already died once.
What Marcus said was the truth.
In his previous life, Claire hadn’t known she was pregnant and hadn’t refused the drink, so Alan Prescott never drugged her. That meant when Blake tried to assault her, she still had enough consciousness left to choose dignity over surrender. With no escape, she crashed through the balcony door and jumped.
Marcus, shattered by grief, personally threw Alan Prescott off a high building. Then he spent months tracking Blake before kidnapping him and taking his revenge.
But the dead don’t come back, and enemy blood couldn’t wash away the regret in his heart.
Even in this new life, even after saving Claire’s fate, his hatred for Blake hadn’t lessened at all.
In this life, too, Blake still had to die.
“You ... you can’t...”
Blake’s face turned purple as Marcus choked him. “I’m the only ... the only son of the Calloway family. If you kill me, my father won’t let you—”
“The only son?”
Marcus suddenly smiled, dark and knowing. “Hearing you say that makes killing you seem too easy. Mr. Calloway, my personal advice: go home and get a paternity test with your father. Then see if you still have the nerve to say ‘only son.’”
Just as he was about to let go, the private room door burst open and seven or eight burly men in suits rushed in.
Marcus shifted instantly, placing himself in front of Claire.
She stared at his broad back, her gaze impossibly complicated.
This man had given her the sweetest love she’d ever known and pain sharp as a blade. He had taken all her hope and all her despair. Now he seemed to be changing again.
For better or worse?
She didn’t know. She was afraid to find out.
“Miss, it was him!”
Two restaurant staff members were shoved forward by security. The moment they saw Marcus, their eyes flared with anger.
“This is the guy who stormed in and hurt us. Mr. Calloway, are you all right? Don’t worry—we’ll break his legs right now.”
The crowd of guards parted, and two people stepped through.
The woman in front wore a white dress, ethereal and untouchable. Elena Shaw. Beside her, unmistakable, was her devoted shadow Serena Blake.
“Damn, it’s you! You slipped away on Antique Row this afternoon, and tonight you strut in here like you own the place. You’re begging to die.”
Serena Blake had been born to play lackey. His expression matched the smug cruelty of a man who enjoyed kicking down.
“Mr. Hale, you’d better give me a reasonable explanation,” Elena said, voice still cold.
Marcus smiled faintly and stepped aside to present Claire. “First, allow me to introduce my wife. Also, I didn’t realize Cloudcrest Restaurant belonged to Miss Shaw. From the way your doorman behaved earlier, I thought Blake Calloway owned the place.”
Elena was quick. His introduction of Claire and mention of Blake told her most of the story. She knew Blake’s habit of preying on other men’s wives. Considering Marcus’s behavior on Antique Row, if he weren’t desperate to save his wife, he wouldn’t have risked offending both the Calloway family and Cloudcrest in one night.
Her icy gaze drilled into the receptionist’s face. “What exactly happened? Tell the truth. There are cameras at the front of the restaurant.”
Realizing both Miss Shaw and Serena Blake knew Marcus, the receptionist’s stomach dropped.
With surveillance as evidence, he didn’t dare lie. He recounted the entire incident, shook off the guards holding him, and dropped to his knees.
“Miss, I was wrong. I misjudged the situation. I only wanted to keep valued customers from being disturbed. I was doing it for the restaurant.”
Elena’s face was frost. “You knew a guest was in danger, turned a blind eye, and stopped others from helping. That’s what you call doing good for the restaurant?”
The receptionist, drenched in sweat and out of excuses, saw Elena losing patience.
“You’re fired. Get him out of here.”
Two security guards grabbed him by the collar and dragged him toward the door.
“Break the other leg before you throw him out. Who told you to kiss Blake Calloway’s ass? Rotten luck.”
Serena spat in disgust, then glanced at Blake slumped by the balcony window. “What did you do to him?”
Marcus shrugged. “Nothing much. Gave him a little scare.”
“Ha! You’ve got nerve.”
Serena gave a thumbs-up, swaggered over to Blake, pulled out his phone, and started snapping photos.
“Mr. Calloway, your turn. Did you wet your pants? Let’s have a look.”
Blake flushed with humiliation. If his legs weren’t still shaking too badly to stand, he would have punched that contemptible face.
“Serena Blake, moderation. We all move in the same circles. Don’t make it impossible for everyone to save face.”
“Please. Who moves in your circles? I don’t have the hobby of coveting other men’s wives.”
As he spoke, Serena uploaded the photos to the Westlake Trust-Fund Kids group chat.
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