All these years, since marrying into the Everly family, Salome had never once felt cared for by anyone—not a single member of the Carmichaels had ever shown her kindness. And now, when things finally came to a head, it was her seventeen-year-old niece who stood up for her. The memory of her niece fiercely defending her, landing punch after punch on Derrick, made Salome's eyes sting with emotion.
Meanwhile, Noah and Mabel had already helped Derrick to his feet. Seeing his son so badly beaten, Noah's face darkened, his aged voice trembling with barely restrained anger. "Who are you, barging into the Everly household like this?"
Worried her niece would be blamed, Salome stepped forward and shielded her, locking eyes with Noah as she replied coldly, "She's my niece."
Noah narrowed his eyes, his glare razor-sharp as he turned it on Salome. "Salome, what's the meaning of bringing your niece here to cause trouble? And letting her beat my son like this—what exactly are you after?"
Salome had endured enough after all these years. For the first time, she met Noah's challenge head-on, her voice icy and unflinching. "It was your son who hit me first. My niece was only defending me. Mrs. Everly, surely you know what kind of man your son truly is?"
Noah remained unbothered, her expression as composed as ever, as if nothing had happened. "Don't forget, Salome—it's because you can't have children that my son ended up like this. If you'd given us a grandson, he wouldn't have had to look elsewhere, let alone lay a hand on you."
She shifted all the blame onto Salome, just as she always did. This excuse had always gotten Salome to back down, and Noah expected it would work yet again.
Salome's eyes flickered; at Noah's words, her face went deathly pale.
"Don't be afraid, Aunt Salome," Citrine whispered, feeling her aunt's hand tremble in hers. She squeezed it gently, offering silent comfort.
Noticing the change in Salome's expression, Noah assumed victory and opened her mouth to speak—but Citrine cut her off.
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