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Chapter 5

Author: Scarlett Chase
After a long string of coaxing and placating, Kiera finally managed to calm Vincent's seething anger to a simmer. She tugged at his arm, steering him towards their room to change out of the formal attire they'd worn for the wedding.

As they reached the stairs, Kiera glanced back and saw Deidre sitting quietly on the living room sofa. Her gaze was fixed on the front door, unblinking, her expression unreadable but for the faint furrow in her brows.

Kiera hesitated, then called out, "Deidre, go change into something else, won't you?"

Deidre didn't move. It was as if her ears had turned deaf to the sound of her stepmother's voice.

"That girl's just like her mother—a cursed woman through and through!" Vincent spat as he ascended the stairs. "What bad luck it's been to have a daughter like that!"

Deidre's eyes flickered for a moment, a ripple disturbing their stillness. Her hands clenched tightly, nails digging into her palms.

It wasn't long before Valerie and Johnny returned. The atmosphere in the house had barely settled when their chatter filled the space again.

"What a disaster today turned out to be," Valerie muttered as she stepped inside, slipping off her shoes. She paid no attention to the figure rising slowly from the living room sofa. "I told you from the beginning—this match was doomed from the start. Why force it? Marrying into wealth, what a joke..."

Johnny trailed behind her, nodding absentmindedly as she spoke. But before she could take another step, she found herself face-to-face with Deidre.

Startled, Valerie took a step back, her eyes scanning the figure before her. Deidre stood there in her wedding dress—filthy, tattered, with her hair in disarray. The left side of her pale face was swollen.

For a brief moment, Valerie froze, as though she'd seen a ghost. Then her expression twisted into irritation. "What are you doing, standing there looking like that? Trying to scare someone to death?"

Deidre's voice was calm, so calm it was unnerving. "It was you, wasn't it? On your eighteenth birthday, you forced me to drink, sent me to that hotel. And the pictures on the wedding screen—those were your doing too."

The tone carried no inflection, just a straightforward certainty. It wasn't a question. It was a fact laid bare.

Valerie faltered, her bravado wavering under Deidre's steady gaze. "You… I…" Her voice stumbled, and her eyes darted away, the guilt she tried to suppress bubbling to the surface.

Before she could stammer out a denial, Deidre's hand moved swiftly. The slap landed on Valerie's cheek. Johnny snapped to attention, rushing forward to push Deidre away.

"Don't hit my sister!" Johnny shouted, his fourteen-year-old frame trembling with indignation. The shove was forceful, and Deidre stumbled back several steps before regaining her balance.

Valerie, clutching her cheek, finally processed what had happened. Her shock quickly morphed into rage. "Even Dad has never hit me! How dare you?!" she shrieked, rushing toward Deidre with hands outstretched, aiming for her face.

But Deidre caught her by the wrist, her grip unyielding. Another slap followed, sharp and deliberate. Her voice, low and icy, cut through the chaos. "You deserve it."

"You… you hit me again?!" Valerie's voice cracked into a wail. But before she could retaliate, Deidre's hand moved for the third time, another slap echoing in the room.

"Stop hitting Valerie, you useless freak!" Johnny yelled. He rushed over, intending to help his older sister. But when his eyes met Deidre's gaze, he froze. As a fourteen-year-old boy who had been pampered his whole life, he had never seen anyone with such a murderous look in their eyes. Terrified, he hesitated.

"Stop it this instant!" Kiera's voice rang out as she descended the stairs, her heels clacking rapidly against the steps. Her sharp eyes took in the scene—her daughter red-faced and wailing, Deidre standing unmoved, cold as stone. "How dare you hit your sister? Have you lost your mind?"

Vincent wasn't far behind, his fury reignited at the sight of his precious daughter's reddened cheeks. He stormed down the stairs, his voice shaking with anger. "You want to die, don't you? Hitting your sister like this? I'll kill you myself!"

Deidre watched them all—the righteous fury on her father's face, the manufactured concern in her stepmother's eyes, and the unbridled hatred radiating from Valerie. Her chest tightened, the ache so deep it numbed her.

Valerie broke through the cacophony with a scream, her voice shrill with rage. "Yes! I did it! I made you drunk that night and sent you to that hotel! And those photos on the screen—I had those taken! You think you deserve to marry into wealth? You're nothing! A crow pretending to be a phoenix—know your place!"

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