Chapter 117
Her hard–won recovery from the concussion felt like it vanished in an instant.
Ivy’s head snapped to the side from the slap, and for a moment, she didn’t move. The entire living room was still as a grave.
Only Emma wore a smug expression, clearly enjoying the spectacle.
For a long beat, no one spoke. Then Ivy turned her head, ran her fingers through her disheveled hair, and looked straight at Adkins with a bizarre smile.
The smile lingered, but her eyes grew red and glossy with unshed tears.
“What’s wrong? Getting desperate now? Afraid I’ll expose your dirty secrets?” Her voice was icy.
“Enough of your nonsense!” Adkins, furious and humiliated, raised his hand again to strike his eldest daughter.
Ivy stood tall, meeting his glare with a tearful, scornful smile. “What, you want to hit me again? Go ahead–why don’t you try beating me to death? Because if you don’t, I’ll just keep talking!”
Adkins was shaking with anger, but in the end, he didn’t strike her again.
His temper boiling over, he jabbed a finger at her and snapped, “Now I finally see what a troublemaker you are! Slandering Emma wasn’t enough–now you have to accuse me, too!”
Rosetta, sensing something wasn’t right, stepped forward and grabbed her husband’s arm. “Adkins, explain yourself. Did you sneak out with that woman again?”
“There’s no such thing! She’s smearing me, just like she always does!” Adkins, terrified his misdeeds would be revealed, pointed at his eldest daughter and thundered, “Get out! As far as I’m concerned, you’re no longer part of this family! Don’t ever come back!”
Ivy let out a short laugh. “I’ll leave, but not because you’re throwing me out–because I want to. But before I go, there’s one thing I still need to do.”
With that, she spun on her heel and strode from the room.
Everyone else was left bewildered, exchanging confused glances, when suddenly she returned, gripping a baseball bat.
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She’d kept it in her car for self–defense, never imagining she’d need it for this.
There was no way she’d let that slap go unpaid.
She was all in now; if she had to take the family. down with her, so be it.
“Ivy, what do you think you’re doing?” Adkins finally realized her intention, his eyes wide with fear.
But it was too late.
With a flash of anger, Ivy swung the bat and marched straight to the fish tank. The bat crashed down, shattering the glass.
Water and fish spilled everywhere, flooding the living room floor.
But she wasn’t finished. Ivy went on a rampage–smashing everything in her path. Priceless vases, expensive paintings, decorative figurines, even the wine cabinet–she destroyed them all with reckless abandon.
Shards and fragments flew like shrapnel, sending the Windsors and Micah ducking for cover, arms over their heads.
“Stop her! Stop her!” Adkins barked at his son and soon–to–be son–in–law. “What are you two standing around for? Grab her and drag her out!”
Baillie and Micah, both cowering, finally mustered the courage to approach her.
But Ivy snatched up a fruit knife, brandished it, and shouted, “Take one more step and see what happens! You want to catch something? Touch me and you’ll get infected–my blood’s full of disease, and it’ll spread to anyone who gets too close! Go ahead, if you’re not afraid to die!”
That threat made Baillie and Micah hesitate, rooted to the spot.
Ivy let out a cold laugh and went back to her rampage, smashing every last expensive piece in the living room–artwork, antiques, the wine rack–nothing was spared.
The room looked like a disaster zone.
Finally, the police arrived and put an end to her fury.
With an officer holding each arm, Ivy didn’t look the least bit rattled. In fact, she even smiled in satisfaction.
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“Officers, you’re just in time. I want you to witness this. From today on, I–Ivy–am cutting all ties with this family. From now on, they’re no longer my parents or
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Chapter 117
siblings, and I’m not their daughter or sister. We’re strangers–no, less than strangers. We’re enemies. Bitter, lifelong enemies.”
When she finished, one of the officers frowned and asked, “You’re all family?”
Ivy sneered, straightening with the air of someone who had won, “We used to be. But from this moment on, we’re not.”
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