Phoenix Rising: From Heartache to Heroism

Chapter 137 Conflict

In the middle of their conversation,

a piece of paper floated out from the store.

Violeta took a step forward, picked it up, and glanced at it. She saw a few words scribbled on it.

Wally Houle most likely wrote it.

At first glance, the writing was truly atrocious.

Before, Cyril had criticised Sophia's writing as mere scribbles. Compared to her writing, Wally would receive a good scolding.

"Whether you agree to sell it or not, you will sell it today!"

A gruff voice emanated from within the shop. Violeta discarded the paper and stepped inside.

Inside, the young asisstant stood in front of Cyril, who was clearly upset. The shop was in disarray, with items scattered and broken everywhere.

The man in his twenties sitting on a chair by the shelves was likely Mr. Wally, the heir of the Houles.

Cyril was stubborn as ever. He declared, "Your handwriting is unworthy of my pens. Even if you beat me to death today, I won't make a custom pen for you." Wally was infuriated by his claim. He retorted, "Fine! You're still being stubborn? Boys, give him a good beating!"

"Yes, Mr. Wally!"

A few servants stepped forward, raising their fists, ready to beat Cyril.

"Stop it!"

stepped in and blocked their path. She said, "You can't hit

he got hurt, who would

and

the chair, paused. Wally eyed Violeta, captivated by

is none of your concern. Is there no law here? You can't

of amusement. He asked, "Law? Here, the

couldn't find the words

met with such arrogance was Nyla

lowered her eyes and

his stubbornness, the old man didn't want to involve outsiders. He warned Violeta, "You shouldn't get involved. They have more people. You're just a young girl; you'll

that the old man was looking out

he had a protective side, which

they

"Oh, such big talk."

chin, barely concealing a leer in his gaze as he looked at Violeta. He asked, "Who are you to this old man? Why are you standing up for him? You look quite appealing to me. If you're his granddaughter

Violeta furrowed.

disgrace. No matter how much wealth you inherit, one day you'll

servants widened

hated being called a

"Beat this old man to death! Hit

"Yes, Mr. Wally!"

The servants charged forward.

aside. She grabbed a broken plank from the wreckage. She swung it left and right,

"Arghh!"

Whoosh!