Chapter 179
Tom's eyes turned red with rage as he hurled the most vicious curses at my most precious treasure, "A shameless woman like you can't possibly raise a decent daughter. She's just as lowly as you are, no wonder nobody wants her. When she grows up, she'll be nothing but trouble! She'll die a miserable death!"
My brain went blank with a buzzing sound.
All reason, all restraint, all careful calculation—in that moment, everything turned to ashes.
Insult me all you want, but curse my daughter to death? Absolutely not!
I didn't think. My body reacted before my mind could catch up.
I lunged forward two steps, and in the instant when Tom let his guard down slightly, drunk on his own venom, I raised my arm and used every ounce of strength I had.
A resounding slap landed hard on Tom's face, twisted with hatred.
The force was so great that his head snapped to one side, five clear red finger marks instantly appearing on his cheek.
I barely paused before my other hand came back and delivered another slap to his other cheek.
The sharp crack of the slaps echoed strangely at the busy hospital entrance.
The whole world seemed to fall silent for a moment.
My hand hung in mid-air, palm burning with pain that traveled up my arm and through my whole body, which trembled uncontrollably. Not from fear, but from the physical reaction to extreme anger.
Tom was completely stunned.
He covered both sides of his rapidly swelling face, staring at me in disbelief, his eyes nearly popping out of his head.
After a brief daze came volcanic fury and humiliation. His features twisted grotesquely as he let out a hysterical roar, "You bitch! How dare you hit me?"
My palm burned, my arm still trembling.
But facing Tom's eyes that looked ready to tear me apart, my heart was filled with icy determination.
"I hit you on purpose." My voice was slightly hoarse from the outburst, but exceptionally clear, each word hammering into Tom's twisted face, "Say one more word about my daughter, and I swear, even if it means killing you today, I'll do it!"
This wasn't a threat.
I remembered my past life, watching helplessly as Milly lost her warmth in my arms, then jumping from that high-rise building holding her small, cold body—that crushing despair and madness.
That pain, that regret, was branded into my soul.
In this life, Milly is my life, my everything, the treasure I must protect in this second chance.
Whoever touches her dies!
To protect her, I could shed all weakness, become sharper than anyone, more reckless than anyone.
Tom was clearly shaken by my desperate, almost crazed look.
His raging eyes finally showed a trace of instinctive fear.
But he was used to running wild, especially under George's tacit approval—he'd long stopped taking me and my mother seriously.
How could he swallow this humiliation?
"You... you crazy bitch." He panted heavily, the burning pain on his face and the curious glances around us making him feel utterly humiliated.
In his shame and rage, he still wanted to save face. He raised his hand again, trying to use his male strength to overpower me and return those two slaps.
I watched his hand coming down without dodging or retreating.
Just as his palm was about to touch my cheek, I suddenly raised my arm and grabbed his wrist firmly and accurately.
My fingers tightened, nearly digging into his flesh.
Tom winced in pain and struggled, but couldn't break free immediately.
He looked at me in shock, seemingly surprised that I had such strength and quick reflexes.
I raised my head, my hateful gaze like two ice-cold knives stabbing straight into his eyes, "Tom, don't think I'm still the same Grace you could push around and bully at will!"
I kept my voice low, but with a chilling coldness, "Those dirty things you and Sarah have been doing behind the scenes, those shady dealings—you really think they're foolproof, that nobody knows?"
I saw Tom's pupils contract sharply, a flash of undisguised panic crossing his face.
I leaned closer, speaking in a volume only we could hear, enunciating each word, "No, I know. I know far more than you imagine."
"So don't push me."
"If you force my hand, I'll hand over a USB drive with enough on it to put you all where you belong for a good while."
"You... what are you talking about?" Tom jerked back like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, stumbling back two steps to distance himself from me.
He clutched his still-aching wrist, his face alternating between pale and flushed, looking at me with uncertainty, his eyes full of disbelief and deep fear.
He was trying to judge whether I was bluffing or actually had something damning on him.
"What's going on?" Just then, a voice I knew all too well but found disgusting came from behind Tom.
George.
I don't know when he'd left the hospital, but he now stood on the steps at the entrance, Sarah by his side looking concerned.
He wore well-tailored casual clothes, his face still somewhat pale from illness, but his inherent coldness and condescending air remained undiminished.
Seeing our standoff, especially the unmistakable red, swollen handprints on Tom's face, his brow furrowed almost imperceptibly.
Tom practically crawled to George like he'd found his savior and protector, pointing at his swollen face, his voice full of grievance and anger as he began his performance of twisting the truth, "George! Look! Look what Grace did to me! This woman is too violent, too vicious!"
He pointed at my nose, accusing, "I was being kind, seeing her mother's company in trouble, trying to give her some advice on restructuring to help her through the crisis."
"And her? Without a word, she flew into a rage and slapped me twice."
"I'm her elder, and she dared to hit me! She's nothing but a shrew! A lunatic!"
Sarah also stepped forward timely, taking George's arm, her face showing just the right amount of surprise.
She looked at me, her tone reproachful, "Ms. Brown, I know you've been in a bad mood lately, with your mother in the hospital and the company facing difficulties. But if you're angry, you can take it out on me—why take it out on my uncle? And hit him so hard..."
As she spoke, her eyes even seemed to redden, as if she felt sorry for Tom.
I ignored Sarah's performance and didn't even look at Tom's revolting face.
My gaze passed over them and landed directly on George's face.
I wanted to see what this man would say this time.
George's eyes finally moved from Tom's swollen face to me.
His gaze, as always, was indifferent, unfathomable, showing no emotion.
He looked at me, his thin lips parting, "You hurt someone. Shouldn't you apologize?"
"Why are you looking at me? I won't back you up."
"Because you're the one who's wrong."
Of course.
The same bullshit again.
I almost wanted to laugh.
I thought, 'George, as expected, you always stand on Sarah's side. You won't ask me why I hit him. You won't let me explain what happened. You won't even spend one second thinking about whether Tom is really as innocent and well-meaning as he claims.'
'Because in your heart, I, Grace, am inherently wrong. My existence, my emotions, my resistance—in your eyes, they're all immature behavior. You have no place for me in your heart, so you won't give me any chance, won't give me even the slightest bit of trust or favoritism. No matter whose fault it is, it must ultimately be mine. I must apologize, without any excuses. And you, George, will never be my support, will never stand up for me.'
I looked at him, the corners of my mouth slowly curving into a cold, mocking smile.