Cassandra Bolton, watching, chuckled darkly. "Heh… so this is what it feels like, hm? To be called a slut… by one's own mother." Her voice was deceptively soft, but laced with venom. She tilted her head, her hair falling like a curtain of shadows over her pale face. "Tell me, Mother… do you hate me so much that even my existence poisons you? For you to accuse me of such deplorable acts?"
Hearing her cold and arrogant question, with her chilling smile that appeared smug, Karmilla Visent Bolton wanted to tear the daughter standing in front of her into a thousand pieces. Did the little whore think that just because she had crawled into her powerful son's bed, she now had the courage to open her filthy mouth?
How dare she? How dare she try to seduce her own brother?
Who did this bastard think she was? She should have strangled her the moment she came out of the womb.
"You shameless bitch! How vile must you be to crawl into your own brother's bed? You're a stain on this house! Disgusting vermin! I should have chained you in the Penance Hall and starved you like the rat you are!" Karmilla Visent Bolton spat, her voice shrill with venom, her face twisting in hatred as she turned toward the indifferent figure of her beloved son.
Her cold, elegant and noble demeanour was gone and she looked like a shrew instead.
"Theodore, how could you sl—?" She broke off, her hateful glare leaving Cassandra Bolton to fall upon Theodore Bolton, her expression melting into adoration and doting, and pride though tinged with accusation. Her trembling voice carried both anger and grief, as though she were the one being wronged.
Her demeanour took a full one eighty degree change from when she was questioning Cassandra Bolton.
"Mother, are you saying it's a crime to share a bed with my only biological sister?" Theodore Bolton's tone was flat, his gaze cool as his eyes flickered briefly to the bright red handprint burning across Cassandra's fair cheek. His words were cold, detached, yet carried the weight of dismissal — as though he saw nothing wrong, and nothing worth discussing further.
"Theodore, my son… you don't understand. That cunning little rat is not worthy of being called your sister. She is venom in human skin. She may smile, she may cower, but don't be fooled — she will destroy you if you let her close. I will not allow her filth to stain you!" Karmilla Visent Bolton's voice dropped into a desperate whisper, her words poisoned with loathing. She looked at Cassandra not as her child, but as a parasite to be eradicated.
"First Madame, are you saying that I, a weak little girl, will harm my brother? Look at him. He's a man who could crush nations, while I'm nothing but a scrap of flesh in this house. Or is it that you believe your mighty son is so pitifully weak he could be undone by me?" Cassandra Bolton's eyes glimmered with fury, her lips twisting into a venomous smirk. "Your vulgar imagination is revolting. I don't give a damn about your dirty thoughts. I'll never harm my brother. And don't you dare forget — House Bolton thrives on blood and wickedness. None of us are saints. I'm evil? So what?"
"You wretched bitch!" Karmilla shrieked, her carefully maintained poise cracking as hatred burned through her. "How dare you spit at me like that? I should have ripped you out from the womb before you took your first breath! Theodore is my son — my greatest pride, the strongest of them all! You will not—"
"Enough," Cassandra Bolton cut her off with venom in her voice, her smirk widening into something darker. "First Madame, you disgust me. Your thoughts are filthier than the sewers. To even imagine your son and daughter committing such vile acts… it shows more about the rottenness of your own mind than anything else. I am seventeen. My body is still that of a child. And yet you—my own mother—look at me and spew such degeneracy. Truly, you are the one who is depraved."
Her eyes burned with contempt as she spat her words, her fists trembling with suppressed rage. No matter how hard she tried, she could not find an ounce of maternal warmth in the woman before her.
Why? Why would her own mother, of all people, think her daughter capable of such filth?
Theodore Bolton stood in silence, his face unreadable, as if detached from the scene. His mother's words were repulsive to him, but in that moment his eyes flickered once — sharp and fleeting — toward Karmilla Visent Bolton. A silent command passed between them, heavy and cold. Do not say more.
But Cassandra Bolton did not see it. To her, her brother remained unmoved, indifferent to the firestorm raging around them.