The Bastard Calls Me A Mistress?

The next moment, following Henry's demand, I lifted my trembling hand and slapped myself across the face, hard.

"Put more strength into it. If your face isn't ruined, I'll have to ruin your daughter's," Henry's voice dripped with malice, clearly enjoying my suffering.

I gritted my teeth and struck harder.

"I'm a shameless whore, desperate for men…" I choked out the humiliating words. "I destroyed someone else's family without remorse. I pushed someone else's wife to her death, and I deserve to die in the worst way…"

The only sounds filling the hall were the sharp slaps of my palm against my face and my broken voice, reciting lines of degradation and disgrace. The hateful words continued for what felt like an eternity, each sentence more degrading than the last, until I finally reached the end.

"I willingly give up all my assets as an apology to Mrs. Basset."

When the final words left my mouth, my face was numb. I could no longer feel the skin beneath my bloodstained fingers, but the blood dripping onto my hands was a reminder of just how badly I was injured.

Henry's grin widened. "Looks like you really care about your daughter, don't you?"

He paused, then added with a cruel smile, "But just to make sure she doesn't turn out like you—a whore—I should help you by carving up her pretty face."

"You can't go back on your word!" I screamed, panic overtaking me.

Henry only looked more smug. He pulled out his phone and dialed a number. "Do it," he ordered.

On the screen, I watched in horror as one of the boys holding down my daughter ripped the tape from her mouth and pulled out a box cutter. The blade hovered dangerously close to her delicate cheek.

"No, please… no!" My daughter's face drained of color, her voice trembling as she sobbed, trying desperately to pull away, but the boys held her down firmly.

"Don't touch her! I'm begging you! This is all my fault!" I cried out, my heart shattering as blood began to drip from a small cut on her cheek.

Every fiber of my being ached to reach through the screen and save her.

I turned to Henry, dropping to my knees in front of him, tears streaming down my face as I begged, "I admit everything. I'm the one who ruined your family. I'll give you whatever you want, just please, don't hurt her!"

But Henry was unmoved, his eyes fixed on the screen. "Now you beg for mercy? It's too late! You killed my mother, so today, you'll feel what it's like to lose the person you love most."

With those chilling words, the blade dug deeper, slicing a long line across my daughter's face. Blood flowed freely, smearing across her skin, and her screams filled the air.

But it didn't stop there.

The boys continued their cruel work, searching for more places to carve, each cut drawing another scream from my daughter. Each scream stabbed through me like a knife.

My heart shattered countless times as I watched, helpless, while they continued to carve my daughter's face. By the time they finally stopped, her face was unrecognizable—nothing but a mess of blood and torn flesh.

Henry, still laughing with sadistic glee, reveled in my suffering.

I couldn't take it anymore. In a desperate surge of fury, I lunged for him, grabbing at the box cutter in his hand. If I could just take it away, maybe I could stop him from doing anything worse.

But Henry was quicker. He felt me tug at the handle and immediately retaliated, kicking me hard.

"You whore! How dare you fight back!" he shouted as I stumbled to the ground, blood spurting from my mouth.

Not satisfied, he kicked me again, this time in my abdomen, over and over, until the pain became unbearable. My organs felt like they were being crushed, and I could no longer muster the strength to resist. Everything inside me was breaking.

Just then, the piercing sound of police sirens filled the air.

Someone yelled, "The police are here!"

Suddenly, a crowd rushed to the stage. Everything became a blur, but in the chaos, I saw Henry being wrestled to the ground and handcuffed.

A pair of hands lifted me gently from the floor, and a voice spoke close to my ear, filled with concern. "Wendy, are you okay?"

It was my husband, Charles.

But I didn't answer him. Instead, I stumbled forward, desperate, grabbing hold of a nearby police officer. I clung to his uniform, gasping out that my daughter had been kidnapped, pleading with him to find her before it was too late.

The officer listened intently and he promised me they would immediately begin searching for her. Only then did I allow myself to exhale, feeling a small measure of relief.

Charles, standing beside me, tried to comfort me, "Don't worry, the police will make sure our daughter is safe."

I turned to look at him. Without a second thought, I summoned all the strength I had left and slapped him across the face with everything I had.