Chapter 6
818words
They'd finally realized: Chloe, the daughter of Portsmouth's kingpin,
was the girl they'd turned into a doll and delivered.
The girl he himself had just buried.
"Sir, don't be fooled!"
"She's a fraud!"
Yes, one of the lackeys wailed from the floor.
The others joined in, singing the same tune.
Amber clutched her bleeding wound, staring at the man in disbelief.
She even seemed a bit angry. "Honey, don't you love me most? Why, for this bitch…"
Before she finished, my father stabbed her again!
This time, in the face!
She couldn't make a sound, only gurgles!
She covered her mouth, but blood still flowed.
The smell of urine filled the air—one of her friends had lost control.
She dropped to her knees, kowtowing frantically.
"She made me do it! We all just did what she said!"
Her other friends fell to their knees too, knocking their heads on the floor.
"Yes, it was her! She said she couldn't stand you loving anyone else!"
"Said she couldn't tolerate anyone taking your love away!"
"She's the one who told us to hit your daughter!"
"I told her this is your old house, you'd be angry if someone died here! But she wouldn't listen!"
Every word was a knife, striking Amber and my father's hearts.
The initially panicked crowd now didn't dare move.
Though some were secretly calling the police.
But my father seemed not to care at all.
He handed the knife to the women who'd helped.
"Do to her exactly what you did to my daughter!"
"Miss a single step, and I'll finish it on you!"
The venue erupted into panic again!
But soon!
The large screen, which had been playing romantic clips, now showed the video of my torture.
"So you're the little tramp trying to seduce my man, huh?"
Gasp.The sound of sucked-in breath filled the room.
A few timid girls were already crying, hiding their faces in their parents' shoulders, unable to watch.
But that was just the beginning.
My hand was stomped on.
I wrote in the dirt with my bloody hand, mixed with shredded flesh.
Even the bodyguards' eyes turned red with rage.
"Do it!" My father picked up another knife!
Just then, someone else shouted.
"If you won't, I will!"
It was a guest. Maybe someone's father. He tried to step forward but was held back by security.
"How dare she call herself a mother!"
"Killing her wouldn't be enough!"
Some found it too cruel but didn't dare speak.
Amber's face was ashen, blood still flowing.
But the screen kept playing the footage of their private torture session.
One friend gritted her teeth, tears in her eyes, and drove a stiletto heel into Amber's hand!
A scream tore from her.
"Honey, I didn't mean it! I just loved you and Chloe too much!"
My father gave a cold, mirthless laugh, holding me tighter.
"Chloe, do you hear? She did it for your own good!"
"Daddy will be just as good to her, okay?"
"Chloe says okay, so it's okay!"
"..."
Amber cried out in pain, "Honey, Chloe is dead! Dead! You still have me!"
That sentence sent my father into a frenzy. He kicked her kneecap!
Crack.
She passed out from the pain.
My father held me, rocking me gently like he did when I was little.
"Baby, look how many people are here to be with you!"
"Baby, Daddy is so happy you called me Daddy!"
The crowd watched my father holding my deathly pale form, glancing between him and the brutal video on screen.
Me calling for Daddy!
"Daddy!"
But on screen, she was inflicting worse.
The scissors were about to cut off my cries, cut off me calling for Daddy.
Several older couples bit their lips, tears in their eyes.
"That poor child!"
"God damn it!"
Snip. Crunch.
The vicious woman on screen was madly churning the scissors in my mouth.
Even now, watching it again, I felt like I couldn't breathe from the pain.
Someone in the room vomited.
"Sir, let me kill her!"
"Just kill that evil woman already!"
Objects started flying toward the woman and her friends.
Cake, wine bottles, shoes, fruit knives and forks—
She came to, saw the screen, and horror filled her eyes again.
"I was wrong!"
"I was just giving Chloe a gift—"
"It was these bitches who egged me on to beat up the mistress!"
She looked at her lackey friends.
The women on the floor instantly blazed with fury.
Then, someone threw a pair of scissors over—the fancy scissors prepared for cutting the ceremonial ribbon.
My father watched coldly as they started tearing into each other.
The crowd did too.
No one tried to stop them.
People kept throwing things.
On screen, I was being turned into a doll with a staple gun.
The phone was shoved into my belly.
