His Mistress’s Twins Bullied My Daughter, So I Fought Back

One after another, all seven or eight bodyguards crumpled, completely powerless against me.

The crowd began to stir.

By the time I had the last one pinned to the floor, his arm twisted firmly behind his back, the twins finally panicked.

“Let me go, you old witch!”

The older one thrashed wildly. “My dad’s gonna kill your whole family when he gets here!”

The younger screamed, “Poor people should be our dogs! Don’t you dare touch me!”

I let out a soft, mocking laugh.

“Then let everyone take a good look at what exactly makes the so-called richest family’s children so different from us poor folks?”

Ten seconds later, the two boys stood before the crowd in nothing but their cartoon underwear.

The spectators buzzed with whispers, many failing to hide their glee.

I dusted off my hands and looked toward Dakota, mimicking her usual cold tone.

“So? How much compensation do you want?”

Dakota trembled with rage, a few strands of her perfectly curled hair now hanging loose.

She pointed at me, her fingertip trembling. “Y-you’re insane?! You dared lay a hand on my sons? Do you even know who I am? With a single call, I can make sure you and your daughter won’t survive in Jacksonville!”

“I know.”

I spoke slowly. “A woman who clawed her way up by crawling into a man’s bed, Dakota Stewart, right?”

Her face flushed a furious red. “You filthy, do you believe I won’t rip that mouth of yours apart?! Do you even have the means to pay for what you’ve done?”

“My sons’ uniforms are custom-made from imported fabric!”

I stayed calm. “So what?”

Dakota’s expression twisted, growing uglier with every breath.

“Honey!”

She pulled out her phone and made a call, slamming it on speaker.

“Send me money now! Someone bullied our sons, tied them to a tree! Now she’s throwing money at me to mock me. I want her to pay for this!”

There was a pause on the line, then came a deep male voice.

“Wait.”

Just one word, and my hand curled into a fist.

That voice was far too familiar.

But I shoved the thought away. Paul Chalamet would never betray me.

“Principal, could you please bring the brown bag from the back seat of my car?”

The principal froze for a moment, then broke into a jog toward the parking lot.

Three minutes later, she returned, panting, with the brown bag, its surface covered in my daughter’s cartoon stickers.

I unzipped it, pulled out three bundles of neatly stacked cash, and tossed them at Dakota’s feet.

“Your sons, this is probably what they’re worth, right?”

Applause erupted around us.

“Well done!”

A parent couldn’t hold back.

“My daughter had her face scribbled on with markers by those two. It still won’t wash off!”

“And my son!”

A father stood, his voice tight with emotion. “They made him eat chalk dust. Said our family’s so poor, we should get used to garbage!”

“My son fractured a bone, pushed down the stairs! All because he didn’t give up his seat fast enough!”

Another dad held up his phone.

“I’ve got every bit of it recorded!”

Under the rising storm of voices, Dakota began to step back.

“Everyone…”

I stepped onto the flower bed, my voice cutting through the noise.

“Today, I’m not speaking as the mother of a victim.”

“If a three-year-old girl can be punished simply for rejecting harassment and we all stay silent…”

I pointed directly at the twins. “Then tomorrow, it could be any of your children tied to that tree.”

The crowd erupted.

“Well said!”

“Someone should’ve taught them a lesson long ago!”

Fuming, Dakota screamed from where she stood. “I’ll have every one of you blacklisted!”