Shame My Sister, Face My Wrath

The call had just connected when the woman, Susan Turner, snatched my phone and smashed it on the floor.

"You're just a filthy nobody from the countryside! How dare you cause a scene here?" Susan bellowed.

"What are you waiting for? Grab her! Do you all want to lose your jobs? You actually let someone like her crash my party?"

A second later, a group of new security guards closed in on me. As they moved closer, I drew in a sharp breath.

"Don't you dare! Do you even know who I am?" I warned, my eyes flicking from one face to the next.

Susan's voice dripped with disdain as she retorted, "Why the hell should I care who you are? Who in Southford could possibly be above my sons? Guys, go on. Tell her who I am."

The crowd immediately fell over themselves to flatter her.

"Everyone knows who Mrs. Simmons is! She's so lucky to have three incredible sons. In just a few years, they're already running Prescott Group!"

Susan basked in their praise. But all I could see was the emerald around her neck. It had belonged to my mother. There was no mistaking it.

Back then, I had pitied the Simmons brothers. They had been forced to drop out because they couldn't afford tuition.

So, I paid for their schooling and even arranged internships for them at Prescott Group after they graduated.

Who would have thought that a few years of success would only feed their greed? They actually had the nerve to pass themselves off as members of the Prescott family.

I fixed my gaze on Susan and snarled, "No matter how capable your sons are, they're still just Simmonses.

"Gladys Prescott is coming back today. If she finds out you had her sister hung from a helicopter, your sons are done for!"

Without missing a beat, Susan burst out laughing. It was as if I had just said something utterly ridiculous.

"Gladys? That sickly thing's been overseas recovering for three years. She's probably dead!" she said smugly. "And even if she comes back, what could she possibly do? The company's already filled with my sons' loyalists. She's been completely shut out."

Agnes Turner, the young woman beside Susan, pointed at me. "Aunt Susan, don't let her fool you. She's that mute's sister. She got out of an old man's car earlier.

"That explains it. That mute is always dressed in rags. She can't even afford a proper meal and is always picking through our leftovers. I was wondering how she suddenly showed up looking so put-together. Turns out her sister snagged herself a rich guy."

I snapped, "Watch your mouth! I send my sister hundreds of thousands of dollars every month. How could she not even afford clothes?"

"Wow! You really go all out with your lies," Agnes shot back with a sneer. "Hundreds of thousands of dollars? Come on, she doesn't even have ten bucks to her name."

With that, she pulled up a video on the large screen.

In the footage, my sister, Harper Prescott, was dressed in worn-out clothes. And to my horror, she was rummaging through a trash can for food.

The moment I saw it, rage flared inside me. I wanted nothing more than to tear the Simmons brothers apart.

Three years ago, when I left Southford, I had trusted them to take care of Harper, who was autistic. I couldn't believe this was how they treated her.

Just then, Susan drove her foot hard into the back of my knees.

My legs buckled, and the moment I looked up, she slapped me across the face.

"So, that's why you've been running your mouth. You're that trash's sister! No wonder you look like a pauper, just like her. And you've got the nerve to sneak into my villa. You really don't know your place! Pathetic wretch! What are you staring at?"

The blow sent me sprawling to the ground. Then, Susan turned and signaled for Agnes to work the controls in her hand.

At that very moment, the rope snapped. Harper plummeted from three stories up and hit the ground hard, blood gushing from her mouth.

My blood ran cold at once, and tears streamed down my face.

"She's dying! Can't you see that? Call an ambulance!" I screamed.

Yet, not a single person dared to move.

Susan let out a cold laugh, spat on the ground, then pressed down on the back of my neck. "You want to save your trash of a sister? Fine. Lick it clean."