Episode 19: When the Terror Breaks Lose

⚠️Viewer Discretion Advised ⚠️

This episode contains scenes of physical violence, emotional intensity, and implied threats that may be distressing to some readers. It explores themes of trauma response, possessive behavior, and psychological tension. Reader caution is advised, especially for those sensitive to depictions of assault, rage, or coercive encounters.

Please prioritize your well-being. If this content feels overwhelming, consider skipping this chapter or reading with care.

MANILA POLO CLUB

Polo Playing Field

VANESSA

Later, as the sun shone high over the field, casting golden warmth across the well-dressed crowd as laughter and the rhythmic thuds of feet pressing divots back into the grass echoed through the open polo grounds. Music played lightly from a nearby quartet under a white canopy while champagne flutes clinked, heels were cast aside, and tailored suits and designer dresses wandered barefoot across the torn-up turf.

Vanessa, barefoot and glowing under the afternoon light, strolled with Natalia and Nicole, their skirts fluttering gently in the breeze. Vanessa held her red stilettos carefully in one hand, the other shading her eyes as they admired the horses lined along the side, their muscular frames being watered and brushed before the second half began.

“I swear,” Nicole said, eyeing Vanessa’s shoes, “if those weren’t custom, I’d steal them off you.”

Vanessa grinned. “They’re not just custom. They fit my weird tubby toes like gloves.”

Natalia laughed, “Girl, you’re so dramatic. Your toes are adorable.”

From a few paces away, Vincent stood with his teammates, absently listening to Marisse reviewing strategy while his gaze flicked to Vanessa. He didn’t hear a single word Marisse was saying, until his tone sharpened.

“Vincent,” Marisse snapped, waving the clipboard, “are we playing polo today or playing stalker boyfriend?”

That caught the others’ attention.

“She lives in your house, bro,” Voltaire added with a teasing smirk. “Why are you being clingy now?”

Vincent shot him a look so cold it silenced Voltaire mid-sip.

Marisse came in between the twins and told Voltaire off. “Stop annoying your lovesick brother, Terry.”

Andrew chuckled. “Oof. Marisse, you’re starting to sound like my dad.”

Marisse rolled his eyes and threw the clipboard onto the bench with a groan. “Well, it was fun while it lasted, gentlemen. Enjoy your boys’ club. I’m done.”

Voltaire blinked. “Wait, what about the game?”

Andrew smirked. “We’ll play, Terry. We’ll play.”

As the two men sauntered back toward their wives, Voltaire muttered a string of curses under his breath, dragging a cloth from his saddlebag to wipe his boots. “Thank the gods above,” he murmured, “that I don’t have to juggle high-strung heiresses and play pretend at love. Long live bachelorhood!"

But on the field, things were shifting.

Lucien had quietly approached Vanessa. With Natalia and Nicole momentarily drawn away by an arriving celebrity, Vanessa was suddenly alone with him. Vincent’s eyes narrowed. He took a step forward, muttering, “Give me a minute.”

But Voltaire grabbed his arm. “Bro. Chill.”

“She’s alone with Lucien,” Vincent said darkly.

“So?” Voltaire shrugged. “You trust her, right? Or not?”

Vincent hesitated, and the familiar burn of fury flickered behind his eyes. He was too far from Voltaire when he finally spoke his mind. "I trust her, fine. It's him I'm worried about..."

Vanessa needed to distract herself from the view of Vincent and thoughts of her sister that when Lucien joined her and her friends, his attention came as a welcome reprieve from the maddening thoughts rambling through her head.

She was too worked up about her conversation with Franchesca that she did not even realize that she was already following Lucien inside the Alfaro Team's grooming tent. 

However, she felt safe when she saw a number of staff working coming in and out of the grooming tent and as soon as she saw the beautiful stallion that Lucien had there waiting for him to ride, she momentarily forgot about Vincent.

Lucien, ever the showman, stood beside his chestnut horse and extended an apple toward Vanessa. “Here, let him take it. Flat palm. Don’t flinch.”

Vanessa, curious, followed the instructions, giggling as the horse gently plucked the apple from her hand.

“He’s beautiful,” she said softly, reaching to stroke the steed’s neck.

“He’s mine,” Lucien said, with something darker in his tone.

Vanessa stepped back. “I should get back. Caleta’s waiting…”

Two of Lucien’s teammates entered the tent, both with smirks laced with menace.

“Well, well,” one sneered. “Did the youngest Zaragoza sister lose her taste in men?”

“Vincent?” the other mocked. “Seriously? If you like brooding loners, you’d love us.”

Vanessa straightened. “You don’t know anything about me.”

Lucien laughed. “Actually, we know you’re already socially contaminated by him. You’re practically invisible now. We're doing you a favor, giving you attention.”

Vanessa’s hand snapped across the loudest one’s face. “Get out of my way, Lucien. I’m going back to my seat.”

Lucien leaned in, eyes flashing. “Stop pretending you’re not enjoying the attention.”

She had followed Lucien into the Alfaro grooming tent because it was safer than sitting next to Vincent after the conversation he had with her friends. Her head was a swarm of heat and regret. She didn’t realize she’d stepped into a trap.

The tent was quiet at first…too quiet.

Then Lucien’s voice smooth, smug declared, “You’ve got fire. I like that in a woman.”

His two teammates moved behind her, cutting off her exit. They weren’t laughing. They were circling.

Vanessa clocked it instantly. The angle. The silence. The tension was predatory.

“You made a mistake coming in here alone,” one of them murmured.

Vanessa didn't flinch. “Then let me fix it. Get the hell out of my way.”

Lucien blocked her step. “Why pretend? Vincent treats you like a pawn. We’re giving you attention.”

“Unwanted attention,” she said coldly. “Which is another word for assault.”

They laughed.

Wrong move.

Vanessa moved faster than any of them expected.

CRACK!

Her stiletto jabbed straight into Lucien’s instep. He yowled.

In the same breath, she twisted, dodged the first guy’s grab, and jammed her elbow back into his solar plexus. He doubled over.

The third reached for her arm but then---Pssst!

A burst of pepper spray from the pearl on Vanessa’s bracelet made him reel. He screamed, clawing at his face.

Lucien lunged again, wild now but Vanessa pivoted and smashed a grooming brush across his jaw, sending him crashing into a crate of reins.

“I said don’t touch me,” she hissed.

She hurled her stilettos at Lucien’s face and bolted, her breath ragged as her heart raced. She knew they weren’t down, just disoriented.

She turned to run, only to have one of the men block the tent flap again, bleeding and furious.

Cornered near the edge of the grooming quarters, grass crunching beneath her bare feet, she screamed for help. Once. Twice.

“STOP!”

The shout froze them all.

Vanessa turned.

Vincent. Blood in his gaze. Wrath in his step. And a voice, quiet but deadly, muttering into a comm piece, “I found her. Standby.”

Lucien laughed. “What, trying to play hero? Your daddy’s gone. You’re nothing here now.”

Vincent tilted his head. “My father’s status never mattered. Unlike you, I never needed permission to break someone’s face.”

He grabbed a glass bottle nearby and SMASHED it against a wooden post. The crack of it echoed like a gunshot across the stables, and Vanessa flinched behind him as slivers of glass showered the grass.

What followed wasn’t a fight. It was punishment.

Vincent’s strikes were precise. Efficient. The other three tried to copy his bottle-breaking bravado but lacked the instincts. Within minutes, they were battered and breathless, holding each other upright.

*******

VINCENT

Several staff came to check what was causing the commotion, but Vincent was not done

He didn’t think. He moved.

Vincent didn’t see Lucien.

He saw Vanessa, barefoot, breathless, cornered, afraid.

He saw the way her eyes had widened but not in fear of Lucien, but in the shock of knowing what she’d almost endured. Of how close it had gotten. Of how fast it could have been worse.

And in that moment, something inside Vincent unhooked.

He lashed out, mechanical and merciless. His fists were precision-forged hammers, driven by panic and fury. Every hit was fueled by the image of Vanessa trapped, Vanessa alone, Vanessa screaming.

He didn’t feel the pain of his knuckles splitting. He didn’t hear the gasps around them, or the pleas from Lucien’s teammates, who tried and failed to drag him off. He didn’t even feel his own breath, just the burn.

Keep him down. Break him. Make sure he never touches her again.

That voice in his head. Cold, primal, commanding, overrode reason. If he just kept going, if he kept hitting, Vanessa would be safe. That was all that mattered. Lucien wasn’t even a man anymore. He was a threat. A symbol. A shadow clawing too close to what Vincent couldn’t afford to lose.

And for one terrible moment, Vincent felt good doing it.

He lost track of how many punches he’d thrown. How many seconds had passed. His vision tunneled, red at the edges, his heart thundering like hooves.

It took Vanessa’s scream to shatter the trance.

“Enough!”

He stopped, chest heaving.

Lucien was crumpled beneath him, bloodied and limp, barely conscious.

Vincent’s hands were trembling as blood and sweat were smeared across his fingers, streaked down his arm. His breath came in sharp bursts, the aftershock of rage finally surfacing. He looked at Vanessa. Her face was pale. Her lips were parted like she wanted to say something, but her eyes held something else.

Fear.

Not of Lucien.

Of him.

The others limped away, dragging Lucien’s unconscious form with them. Vanessa, frozen, looked at the broken glass and back at Vincent. She opened her mouth to thank him, but his voice tore through the silence first:

“How dumb can you be?! Letting Lucien lure, you out like that?!”

Her eyes flared.

SLAP!

*******