Bending forward and swallowing bile, I began to eat the fish, now mashed into fragments on the floor.
I set aside my dignity and everything else, willing to do whatever it took to keep her alive.
Clara pointed at me and crowed with triumph, "Hahaha! — look, doesn't she look like a dog?"
"She complained the fish was pre-made, and now see how she gobbles it down!"
The servers laughed, cruel and loud.
"Clara deserves to be Mrs. Shaw. She knows how to teach people a lesson."
Ignoring their taunts, I forced the fish down, mouthful by mouthful.
When I finally looked up, I pleaded, "I did what you asked. Now give me medicine."
Clara sneered, "Are you stupid enough to believe that?"
"I lied to you."
She tossed the medicine out the window into the ornamental pond. "No!"
I watched the bottle arc and sink. My chest broke open; tears streamed down my face.
At that instant, Mrs. Shaw trembled violently. Her eyes blurred. She stretched a trembling hand and wiped my cheek. "Wendy... I'm sorry."
Her apology sounded like penance — for my shame, or for Ethan's betrayal. Then her hand fell limply.
Her shallow breaths stopped.
"Mom? Wake up! Mom!"
I shook her, desperately, but she did not respond.
Mrs. Shaw was gone.
I never imagined a trip to Ethan's restaurant would end with a vicious woman like Clara killing her right here.
I howled. The restaurant manager knelt to check for breath, then shouted in alarm, "Clara — that old woman looks dead!"
"What now?" people cried.
Clara frowned, annoyed. "She insisted on coming to my restaurant to scam me. If she dies, that's her problem."
People around us froze; cutlery clinked in awkward silence, and phones recorded the scene. Someone called for help while another guest backed away, face pale. The chef peered from the kitchen, stunned, his apron still on. I wanted to scream, to demand justice, but I could only slump beside Mrs. Shaw’s body. Anger, helplessness, and shame swirled inside me. The manager, pale and shaken, fumbled to his phone and dialed the emergency number with trembling fingers, waiting.
"Besides, my husband is the president of the Prosperity Group. He has powerful backing. With him protecting me, what’s there to fear?"
Hearing this, the waiters, who had been tense a moment ago, breathed a sigh of relief.
Seeing Clara Lane’s arrogance, fury boiled inside me.
Summoning every ounce of strength, I leapt up and gripped her throat tightly.