Where Petals of Vengeance Bloom novel Chapter 394

“You’ll die a miserable death...” Sophia spat through gritted teeth, her face twisted with defiance.

“I can’t say what fate has in store for me,” Mandy replied coolly, “but I guarantee you, your end will be far worse.” She drew her knife and plunged it into Sophia’s chest again, shredding her heart beyond repair.

Sophia died in agony, terror and hopelessness etched across her face.

Standing over the two bodies, Mandy let out a derisive snort. Without another glance, she turned and strode away.

It wasn’t until the next day that someone discovered Sophia and Garnett Brown’s corpses. The police were called soon after.

. . .

Mandy sped down winding country roads, eventually arriving at a remote village.

Following the directions Sophia had given her, she finally stopped in front of a shabby house that didn’t even have a fence.

She barely stepped out of the car before angry shouting reached her ears. “You little brat! Stealing your baby brother’s food at your age—shameless! You’re not even fit to eat real food. You deserve pig slop!”

Mandy turned toward the commotion, just in time to see a scrawny child hurled out the front door like a rag doll.

The tiny girl hit the ground hard, then burst into tears, sobbing, “Mommy, I didn’t take his food! He dropped it, said he didn’t want it, so I just picked it up... I’m so hungry...”

A moment later, a middle-aged woman stormed outside, clutching a feather duster in her fist. Her face was broad and harsh, eyes burning with contempt.

“You filthy little wretch, still lying to me? God knows what kind of trash your parents were to produce a worthless thing like you,” she spat.

“If it weren’t for all those years I couldn’t get pregnant, I’d never have bothered with a useless mouth like yours. Now that I finally have my precious son, you dare steal from him? Greedy little mongrel—let’s see if a beating teaches you some manners.”

She cursed as she brought the feather duster down on the tiny girl—who couldn’t have been more than two or three years old—again and again.

The child curled up, her cries growing louder with each lash, desperately begging, “Mommy, I’m sorry, I won’t do it again, please, Mommy, please forgive me—don’t hit me anymore!”