Chapter 289: A Man Like a Viper
Elijah Hawthorne’s words were so vicious that even Julian Grant trembled.
His gaze was so intense it was as if he truly meant to chop off his arm.
Before, Julian Grant hadn’t known he was Elijah Hawthorne, so he hadn’t given it much thought. Only now, after learning his identity, did the fear truly set in.
Rumor had it that Elijah Hawthorne loved to gamble. Julian had also heard that Elijah had won his current position as the Family Head of the Hawthorne Family in a bet.
The winner took power, while the loser paid with their life.
It was as if the god of victory was always on his side, as Elijah Hawthorne rarely lost a bet. Of course, he didn’t rely on luck alone. To have reached his current position, he must have possessed both luck and skill in equal measure. A man like that was terrifying.
Sometimes, if you angered him, he would offer you a chance to survive: a gamble against him.
If you won the bet, you were lucky, and all would be forgiven.
But if you lost, you would pay a far more painful price than before.
As for those who lost and tried to renege on the wager, their fate was easy to imagine. Julian had heard a story about someone who tried to run, only to be dragged back by Elijah Hawthorne. That person was never seen in this world again.
This wasn’t an isolated case. Everyone who couldn’t afford to lose paid a heavy price for their wager.
That’s why people said Elijah Hawthorne was a madman—and a capable one at that. When he went crazy, he was capable of anything.
If Quentin Blackwood refused to gamble with him, Julian Grant would have to chop off an arm today. And if not today, then by tomorrow, the interest he’d demand would be even higher—perhaps both arms.
"Your stakes are far too small," Quentin Blackwood said coldly.
Elijah Hawthorne stood up, clapping and smiling. "I like a straightforward man like you, President Blackwood. Feel free to raise the stakes as you see fit."
"I haven’t decided yet. I’ll add it to your tab."
Elijah Hawthorne nodded. "Fine. Then let’s begin."
He picked up a pool cue. "President Blackwood, what are the rules?"
"You decide."
"It’s always refreshing to talk to you, President Blackwood." Elijah Hawthorne stated the rules, and Quentin Blackwood had no objections.
And so, the match began. Elijah Hawthorne broke. Watching Elijah’s style of play, Julian Grant couldn’t help but break into a cold sweat for Quentin Blackwood.
’Quentin has really met his match this time.’ He had just played against Elijah Hawthorne. The man’s playstyle was ferocious and his technique superb, as if he had a death wish.
It was no wonder he was Quentin Blackwood’s nemesis. After all, there weren’t many people who could stand on equal footing with Quentin.
Elijah Hawthorne’s technique was professional, almost flawless. Moreover, the man was insidious, with no sense of honor whatsoever.
After some time, it was finally Quentin Blackwood’s turn. He selected a cue, and Julian Grant covered his eyes, barely daring to watch.
But he still had faith in Quentin. In his eyes, Quentin Blackwood was practically omnipotent.
Sure enough, was there anything Quentin Blackwood couldn’t do? His playstyle was even more extreme—as sharp and cunning as the man himself.
The two of them were neck and neck. It was a complete stalemate, with no clear winner or loser.
The match grew tense. Julian Grant shuffled back to stand beside Graham Sherwood. "You think Quentin will win, right?"
Graham Sherwood glanced at him. "Isn’t this all trouble you started? With that impulsive temper of yours, you’re bound to suffer for it sooner or later."
"How was I being impulsive? You saw how arrogant he was just now. He was the one being infuriating."
Julian Grant continued to chat with Graham Sherwood while watching the game.
The longer the match went on without a conclusion, the more anxious Julian Grant became.
’Can’t I just time-travel to when it’s over?’ It was like a sword was hanging over his head, refusing to fall.
He even started to feel his arm aching. He leaned against Graham Sherwood. "Graham, my arm hurts so much."
"Mr. Grant, what’s wrong with your arm? Should I call a doctor for you?"
Ivy Sherwood’s voice came from behind them, and both men turned around in unison.
"Ivy? What are you doing here?"
Ivy Sherwood had already freshened up, having washed her hair and taken a shower.
So much time had passed, and Quentin Blackwood still hadn’t returned. Ivy Sherwood was a little worried that something serious had happened. Julian Grant had rushed off with Quentin in such a hurry, and she felt uneasy, so she had come to check on them.
As soon as Ivy Sherwood walked in, her eyes met a pair of devil-may-care pupils.
There was a smile in his eyes, but it didn’t quite reach them. His handsome features were sharply defined. He was very good-looking, but his expression was arrogant and flamboyant.
He easily brought to mind a certain animal: a venomous snake.
And the atmosphere in here... Standing just at the doorway, Ivy Sherwood already felt a suffocating pressure—the kind of aura that emanates from a confrontation between two powerful individuals.
"He is..." Ivy Sherwood’s brow furrowed. The man exuded an intense, aggressive aura.
"That’s Elijah Hawthorne, Quentin Blackwood’s nemesis."
The name Elijah Hawthorne was famous. If Quentin Blackwood was a man who kept a low profile, then Elijah was his polar opposite—flamboyant, wanting the whole world to know his every move.
Ivy Sherwood had, of course, heard the name before. She just never expected such a major figure to show up in Lustre.
"It’s a long story, so I’ll give you the short version."
Julian Grant took a moment to explain the situation. Ivy Sherwood now understood that this Elijah Hawthorne had come with ill intentions. This was a gamble, and a high-stakes one at that.
"Quentin, if we keep playing like this, we probably won’t have a winner even by tomorrow. How about this? Let’s have someone else play," Elijah Hawthorne proposed, calling a halt to the game. His gaze then shifted to Ivy Sherwood.
"Miss Sherwood, since you’re already here, why not play a round or two?"
Ivy Sherwood was surprised he knew who she was, addressing her directly as Miss Sherwood. She was certain they had never met. This meant that Elijah Hawthorne must have investigated her beforehand.
Elijah Hawthorne’s words also made Quentin Blackwood frown.
"She doesn’t know how to play."
A smile played on Elijah Hawthorne’s lips. "I didn’t expect President Blackwood to be so protective of his nephew’s fiancée. Oh, but I almost forgot. The internet was buzzing about it last time—Miss Sherwood and the Blackwood Family called off the engagement, didn’t they? In that case, I suppose I shouldn’t call her your nephew’s fiancée anymore."
Although Elijah Hawthorne had only said a few sentences, it was enough to make Ivy Sherwood feel deeply uncomfortable.
This man knew far too much.
And his gaze, though smiling, sent a chill down her spine.
He was like a smiling tiger—amiable on the surface, but ruthless and crazy underneath.
He and Quentin Blackwood were polar opposites. Quentin couldn’t even be bothered to put on an act. For those he disliked, he wouldn’t spare them a single glance. He hated trouble and usually finished off his opponents in a single, fatal move.
Elijah Hawthorne, on the other hand, enjoyed toying with his enemies. He would spend time playing with those he disliked, watching them struggle like a cornered beast. He loved to watch them beg for mercy in fear, finding his own twisted pleasure in it.
"If you don’t know how to play, you can learn. Or perhaps I could teach you personally?" Elijah Hawthorne’s gaze fell upon Ivy Sherwood, his expression unreadable.