The customers and Sophie’s classmates panicked and hid at the back.
I shielded Sophie and snapped:
“I’m the CEO of Ocean Palace Buffet. If you lay a finger on me, you’ll regret it.”
The bodyguards hesitated, intimidated by my authority.
But Clara shrieked:
“You idiots, she’s nothing! Beat this mother and daughter to death if you have to. Edward Shaw will back me up!”
A chill ran through me, but I didn’t flinch.
I discreetly pressed the emergency call button on my phone and glared coldly at Clara.
She faltered for a moment under my stare, but then straightened again, emboldened by her ties to Edward.
“Stop bluffing. In New York, nobody dares touch me!”
She gestured, and the bodyguards raised their clubs and charged at us.
I threw myself over Sophie, taking blow after blow.
After a dozen strikes, my face was ashen, blood dripping from the corner of my mouth.
Sophie screamed, “Please stop hitting my mom!”
Clara, annoyed by the noise, snapped viciously:
“That thieving brat—break her hand!”
Rage exploded inside me.
“If you dare touch Sophie, I’ll fight you to the death!”
My daughter was my everything—shy, intelligent, and gifted in art.
She had won countless children’s painting competitions, and her teacher had predicted she would one day shine in the art world.
She practiced every single day, never once slacking.
If her hand was destroyed, it would be a lifelong regret.
But Clara only smirked.
“Hurts, doesn’t it? Who told your daughter to steal? Since you won’t teach her, I’ll do it for you!”
She ordered the guards to pin me down, then yanked Sophie away.
With a cruel stomp, she crushed her heel onto Sophie’s right hand.
The sickening sound of bones snapping echoed.
Sophie convulsed in agony, her screams piercing the air.
The onlookers couldn’t bear it any longer, shouting for her to stop.
But Clara snarled:
“Anyone who interferes, I’ll smash you too!”
My heart raced wildly, my vision blurred.
Only one thought remained in my mind—Clara must die.
Sophie, overwhelmed by the pain, fainted.
Yet Clara still wasn’t satisfied.
She pressed her foot on my head, grinding it into the floor.
“Bitch, this is the price of crossing me.”
I looked at her through the pain, each word sharp as a blade:
“I will never let you get away with this.”
Hearing that, her face twisted for a moment, and she raised her hand to slap me.
Just then, the police arrived.