The floor was so littered with debris there was barely a place to step. A trail of splattered blood led directly to where the two men were fighting.
But the two men showed no signs of stopping. Aaron Wyatt snatched up a chair and hurled it at Leona Grant. Leona dodged it, but his forehead was grazed in the process.
Leona Grant, completely unfazed by the injury, grabbed a nearby vase and threw it back. Aaron Wyatt dodged as well, but a shard from the shattered vase cut his face.
The two were evenly matched. A fight between such well-met opponents was a stalemate, with no clear winner emerging.
Under the swaying crystal chandelier, they glared at each other, covered in wounds from head to toe. Both tilted their heads and spat out a mouthful of blood.
Leona Grant casually wiped away the blood, his voice arrogant. "Listen up, Wyatt. Annabelle Linton is my woman. Stay away from her, got it?"
