Sharon's tirade hit me like a bolt out of the blue, nearly knocking me off my feet.
Shocked, I stared at her and her brigade of scorned women, their glares filled with scorn and fury.
The onlookers, convinced by her rant, shot daggers at me with their eyes.
That's when it hit meSharon thought I was Jake's kept woman.
Absolutely absurd!
As a child, Julia and I were kidnapped to extort a hefty ransom from Jake.
Terrified, the trauma caused me to spike fevers and eventually lose all memory of the rescue.
All I remembered was Jake paying the ransom, but they still brutally killed Julia.
Jake, fearing another tragedy, raised me secretly abroad and kept my existence under wraps.
After coming of age, Jake moved back home, nostalgic for his roots.
I stayed abroad to further my studies in design.
He gifted me this jewelry store on my eighteenth birthday.
I personally designed every piece in this collection.
Knowing it was a misunderstanding, I shrugged off Sharon's slap and insults.
I just wanted to clear the air.
"You're mistaken, I'm not the mistress you're accusing me of being, I'm Lind. . . "
"Cut the crap, you conniving witch! It's too late for excuses I'll teach you a lesson you won't forget!"
Sharon interrupted, grabbing my hair and throwing me to the ground.
Agony surged through me as my head crashed into the glass case.
"Ouch!"
The glass shattered, webbing out from the point of impact.
Blood blurred my vision as it trickled from my forehead.
"Attacking without the facts? What happened to decency?"
I fought for breath, struggling to rise.
But Sharon stomped on my face, grinding it like she was squashing an ant.
Sarah was frozen in shock for a moment before snapping back to reality.
She was about to call the police when two of the women grabbed the phone from her.
They shoved her into the VIP room and locked her in.
A voice from the crowd shouted, "That's what she deserves!"
Energized by the shout, the women seemed invigorated as if spurred on by adrenaline.
One grabbed my phone, shoved it in my face to unlock it, and passed it to Sharon.
Sharon gripped my phone, stepping harder on my cheek, mangling my face so I couldn't utter a sound.
She held up the phone to the crowd,
"Look at this! Check out what this homewrecker has my husband saved as 'Dear Old Baby'!"
"And just look at how much he's shelled out for her!"
"You still deny it's you?!"
As she scrolled through the chat history, her hands shook with anger.
Then, in a fit of rage, she smashed my phone.
Jake and I mostly talked over the phone, only texting for gifts or transactions.
My usual name for Jake was "Père", a common French term.
If any of them knew even a lick of French, they wouldn't dare treat me this way.
"Young and already a homewrecker? In the old days, you'd have been drowned for less!"
Suddenly, I was the target of everyone's wrath, facing a barrage of accusations and insults.
Sharon stood towering over me, hands on her hips, looking down with sheer disdain,
"Ladies, you've all been victims of homewreckers. What do you think we should do with this one?"
Her words twisted their faces into masks of vengeance.
They glared at me as if I were their worst enemy.
"Today, we're going to teach you how to behave. "
"Only knows how to climb into bed for money, huh? I squash bugs like you!"
"Ladies, let's tear her face up, and see if she can seduce anyone then!"
They charged at me like wild animals, devoid of any reason, just blinded by hate.
Punches and kicks fell on me like hail.
Their strikes were as ferocious as any grown man's.
My body shook violently from the blows, my organs quivering with each hit.
Defenseless, I curled up, clutching the jade pendant my mother had left, silently enduring the onslaught.
Sharon looked down at me, smirking with a victor's glee.
"Kneel and knock your head on the floor ten times, strip, wear this banner and circle the mall three times shouting 'I'm a slutty mistress, ' and maybe I'll let you go. "
Chilled to the bone, I realized this was my future stepmom. . .
Nothing like the gentle, caring woman Jake had described.
The venom in her eyes was something no truly kind person could harbor.
Jake had clearly been duped by her facade.
Struggling, I managed a weak, hoarse whisper,
"You. . . harpy. . . I will not. . . let you. . . marry. . . my dad. . . "
Though she was crushing my mouth, they failed to hear me say "dad. "
But the word "harpy" rang out loud and clear.