Married To The Mad Vampire Lord novel Chapter 103

Chapter 103: The boutique_Part 3

And before Belle knew it, the other girl had raised her hand and slapped her on the other cheek.

"You should know where you belong even if you are covered in fine clothes, bitch. In here, you follow our orders. Emma, go get the knife and cup, we need to teach this bitch a lesson today for thinking she is better than us for being a lowlife slave."

Belle made no move to turn her face, which had been forcefully jerked to the side by the second slap. She pressed her hand to her burning cheek, where her ears were ringing. The sting of the slaps brought back painful memories she didn’t want to revisit, but the pain seemed to make her see them.

She recalled the days she had endured insults from other noblewomen in Aragonia, who called her a servant of the Dawson household and the ugly, unfavored daughter of her own family. They would pour drinks on her on purpose at events and pretend it had been a mistake—some would hit or push her and act like it was an accident.

She suffered many bruises because of those so-called mistaken hits and pushes in public. Being a girl who, according to rumors, was possessed in her childhood, she went through so much at the hands of people.

She had borne those things in silence and even taught herself to ignore them, to appear unbothered, because she didn’t want to fight back and drag her family’s name through scandal when the others claimed it as an accident. No matter how cruel the treatment, she had believed it was better to remain silent than to cause further disgrace for herself.

She had taken everything until people eventually grew tired of targeting her, because she had become so skilled at pretending it didn’t hurt. They had eventually gotten tired and let her be, but so many times it happened in the past, she had wanted to strike back, but the thought of bringing shame upon the Dawson name had kept her in check.

Not to mention she had no backing of her own father’s name to dare fight another noble.

And so, she had swallowed things no one should ever have to. She became the silent girl who wanted to be liked and accepted. She did everyone’s bidding in order not to fall victim to such bullying ever again. All in the name of not displeasing her parents and family, she became everyone’s pushover.

But now... she had nothing left to protect. No name to defend in Nightbrook. In fact, she had the feared name of her husband as backing, and the king who had personally told her to come to him if ever she wanted something. Not that she would ever go to him, but she knew those words meant something. She was ranked higher than these two humans who had decided to target her, and she could put them in their places.

Still, she hadn’t wanted to. She understood what it was to be humiliated, to be looked down on, and she had even given them the chance to apologize and let the incident go as a simple mistake. After all, they weren’t nobles, and they didn’t know she was the bride brought from Aragonia—someone who wasn’t to be touched.

But then they had slapped her twice. Wouldn’t she be a fool if she let this go? She was exhausted from being people’s doormat, the one they could step on every time!

She had had enough of everyone. She was tired—tired of being trampled on, of swallowing pain for the sake of appearances. Belle’s hands slowly balled into fists as she raised her head.

Before the girl standing before her could register what was coming, Belle lifted her hand and delivered a slap so powerful it sent the girl stumbling backward, crashing against the signboard by the front entrance.

The boutique was designed so that you had to climb the stairs to browse through the upper-level shops. When the crash sounded below, some of the patrons who had been browsing inside came out to the railing to look down and see what was happening.

The girl who had gone to bring the knife and tea cup was one of them. Seeing her partner being hit, she cursed under her breath, rushed down the stairs and went at Belle with angry steps.

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