Who Is the Real Daughter of Marshalls

As soon as Yvonne finished speaking, the group of women behind her appeared even more menacing, sharpening their knives. Before I had time to react, they seized me by the arms, pinning me down with ruthless force, and the sound of loud slaps echoed in quick succession.

These women were mostly in their thirties, nearing middle age, and each of them looked furious. They slapped me from both sides, as if determined to give me a thorough lesson on behalf of Yvonne. After just a couple of slaps, I could feel my cheeks swelling up, and everything before my eyes blurred.

"You thought you were tough, huh?!" Yvonne’s voice hissed like venom in my ear, her hand delivering yet another sharp slap to my face. "I dare you to seduce another man, you shameless tramp!"

Yvonne spat insults at me, her hand showing no mercy as she delivered more slaps. I was left with no chance to speak.

Despair welled up inside me. When I tried to open my mouth, only a hoarse sound escaped.

Could she really be this bold? Was she really going to kill me?

But I was Wyatt's legal wife. He had trapped me in this cursed manor, forced me to sign a marriage contract, had it notarized, and I’d even seen our marriage certificate with my own eyes. How could I possibly be the mistress?

Suddenly, a panicked voice pierced through the chaos.

“Good heavens—!”

The frantic scream came from the top of the spiral staircase. A maid, breathless with terror, rushed down, her eyes wide with shock. "What are you doing to Ma’am Hart?! If Sir Wyatt finds out that his wife—"

Before she could finish, Yvonne turned on her and spat directly in her face, her expression twisted with arrogance and fury. "His wife?" Yvonne sneered, her eyes narrowing in contempt. "Everyone in San Francisco knows Wyatt loves me! He’s bent over backwards to make me happy. And you, filthy servant, have the audacity to call this woman his wife? Trash breeds trash indeed! You’re just as delusional as your lowly mistress, dreaming of becoming someone important!"

Without warning, Yvonne delivered a swift, brutal kick to the maid’s leg, sending her crashing to the ground. Then, seemingly not yet contented, Yvonne lifted her high heel and stomped down on the poor maid's hand with sickening force.

"Ahhh!" The maid’s piercing scream tore through the room, a sound so agonizing it made my stomach turn.

Meanwhile, Her group of women dragged me down to the floor, forcing me to my knees beside the trembling maid. They yanked my hair, making me meet Yvonne’s crazed gaze. She then leaned down, her face so close to mine that I could feel the heat of her breath.

"That face of yours..." she growled, her voice dripping with disgust. "It makes me sick. It’s like staring at a pathetic copy of myself."

Yvonne spat out through gritted teeth, her eyes bloodshot with madness. Before the upstairs maids or security could arrive, she pulled out a small knife from who knows where. In one swift motion, she slashed my face with it.

"Ahhh!" My scream echoed through the manor, mingling with the maid’s wails.

Blood gushed out instantly, warm and wet, staining my vision red. My face, numb at first, was now overwhelmed by unbearable pain.

I could feel the warm liquid trickling down my cheek, but all I saw was Yvonne's crazed smile.

Standing in front of me and holding the knife, she snarled, "That’s for seducing Wyatt! For trying to be me! Look at you now—let’s see how you’ll continue to use that face to manipulate my man!"