The duchess took advantage of the momentary freedom and slapped Beatrice across the face. "Don't you dare touch me with your filthy hands, you lying bitch!" she spat, her eyes flashing with anger.
"You're the one who's been spreading rumors about us, and now you're trying to attack me? You're sick, Beatrice."
Beatrice's chest heaved as her anger boiled over, igniting a fiery rage that burned through her veins. Her hands shook with fury, and she struggled to contain the overwhelming urge to lash out. How could her mother do this to her?
Beatrice was ready to strike back with all the pent-up anger and frustration because of her mother's blaming and delusion. But Richard's cold voice cut through the tension like a knife.
"Enough of all of this," Richard said, his voice firm but icy. "Let's end this here. Beatrice and Arthur, both of you go back to your room."
