His tall and mighty back faced her coldly, unlike the warmth of his embrace as they roused from their slumber just few minutes ago. A cold smile appeared on her lips, as disappointment flashed in her eyes which she herself failed to notice.
"How presumptuous! You gutter-bred thing! You dare open that mouth against me?" Karmilla Visent Bolton screamed, her hands trembling with rage. "Have you grown bold now that your brother has returned to shield you? Theodore, how can you stand there and let this little monster disgrace her mother?"
Her usual elegance was shattered, her voice shrieking like a madwoman's, her poise reduced to nothing but venom.
Theodore Bolton's gaze lingered on his mother, cool and unwavering. Then, with a silence more suffocating than words, he turned his back and walked out of the room with his long legs — indifferent, unshaken, as though none of it mattered at all.
Cassandra Bolton sighed faintly, watching the tall figure of her brother stride away without once looking back. His cold indifference had always been a constant—past or present, Theodore Bolton had never spared his only sister even the smallest trace of warmth. Yet, despite her hardened heart, a thin, bitter thread of disappointment curled inside her chest. She hated herself for feeling it.
Technically, they had just met less than thirty hours ago. Still strangers and maybe, even enemies. Yet, the deep seethed yearning and affection of the original Cassandra Bolton was still there, influencing her as well.
How annoying. Irritation surged up in Cassandra Bolton's heart at her current situation. She wanted to vent but found no outlet.
"Drag Cassandra Bolton to the Penance Hall! Discipline her well on how to respect her elders!" Karmilla Visent Bolton's sharp voice cracked through the silence like a whip. Her high stilettos clacked against the polished marble floor as she paced across the grand bedroom, her elegant figure swaying with venomous authority.
She had already regained her noble and elegant appearance.
The servants kneeling along the walls trembled and sighed with relief at her verdict. For them, the storm had passed—at least it would not strike them.
Theodore Bolton and Karmilla Visent Bolton had not yet stepped through the gilded double doors when one of the four female bodyguards sneered and approached Cassandra Bolton. She reached out, as she always had, to seize the girl by her hair like a ragdoll, her face twisted in disdain.
But before her hand could close, something impossible happened.
"AAAAARRRRHHHHGGHHHHH!"
The shriek was inhuman, raw, and guttural.
Blood sprayed in violent arcs, splattering across the pristine ivory walls, painting the polished floor in streaks of crimson. The bodyguard fell thrashing, her scream dissolving into choked sobs as she writhed on the ground—her right arm torn clean from her shoulder.
Theodore Bolton and Karmilla Visent Bolton spun around.
Cassandra Bolton was standing calmly, her delicate fingers dripping crimson. With a devilish grin, she hurled the severed arm onto the marble floor. The grotesque limb landed with a wet smack, sliding until it rested at the very feet of Karmilla Visent Bolton. The blood seeped across the hem of her expensive gown, staining it in spreading blotches of dark red.
Karmilla Visent Bolton's face twisted, colors shifting grotesquely—white, then green, then blue.
Cassandra Bolton's expression was that of a demon clothed in silk and skin. Her pale face was drenched in blood, her lips curled into a smile both terrifying and strangely beautiful, like the blooming of a red spider lily in a graveyard.
Theodore Bolton's eyes lingered for a moment. His little sister, who had appeared fragile and helpless only last night, now looked every inch a Bolton—cruel, merciless, unflinching. Like a monster born of their bloodline.
Heh. The little beast was finally showing her claws.