NovelGoldChapter 197 His face remained emotionless, but his eyes betrayed a storm of conflicting feelings.
Watching the brutal scene unfold before him as Claire endured the assault, he felt as if needles were piercing his heart, causing an excruciating pain. Yet, he made no move to intervene.
Claire was too stubborn. Her unyielding nature was something he despised. Only by breaking her spirit and stripping away her pride could she learn to be more compliant.
He didn't ask for much-just for her to be ordinary, to be obedient, nothing more.
He was waiting, waiting for Claire to plead with him. The moment she did, he would not hesitate to shield her under his protection.
Follow on NovᴇlEnglish.nᴇtHis eyes fixed intently on Claire, his emotions blatantly clear.
Beg me! Beg me, and I will help you! Amidst the agony and humiliation, Claire slowly lifted her head, locking eyes with Brian. She not only understood the unspoken message in his gaze but also saw the cold indifference, anticipation, and a hint of restrained cruelty.
In that instant, her heart grew cold, and her disgust for him reached a new height. Beg him? Even if it meant death, she would never lower herself to that.
A mocking, cold smile played on Claire's lips, her swollen cheeks making the expression even more striking. Her gaze at Brian was contemptuous, as though she was looking at a ridiculous clown.
Brian felt as if an invisible hand had gripped his heart tightly, sending a sudden jolt of pain through him. He opened his mouth, wanting to explain, but his throat seemed blocked, unable to produce any sound.
In such a scenario, any words would be meaningless. His eyes flickered with a hint of panic and embarrassment. His feet moved instinctively, wanting to rush forward to save Claire, but her icy, piercing gaze was like a bucket of cold water, quenching his momentary impulse.
With a resolute heart, he dismissed the thought of helping Claire, his face returning to its indifferent demeanor, though his tightly clenched fists betrayed the turmoil within.
Mrs. Foster, seeing Claire smile, assumed she was being mocked, and her anger flared to an uncontrollable degree.
"You wretched girl, who do you think you are to laugh at me? Someone as lowly as you, parading around in clothes as if you're something special. Since you like to seduce men so much, let's strip you bare and let you have your fill of attention." She screamed, her hands frantically tearing at Claire's clothes.
The two socialites holding Claire's arms joined in, their claws-like hands leaving bloody scratches on Claire's pale skin.
With a loud rip, Claire's dress was torn wide open.
The elegant gown she wore was reduced to tatters under Mrs. Foster and the other women's frenzied tugging, leaving her barely covered, her fair back and delicate shoulders exposed, marred with bruises and scratches.
Follow on Novᴇl-Onlinᴇ.cᴏmThe tattered fabric clung to her limbs, swaying wildly with her struggles.
Mrs. Foster's face was contorted with madness, her eyes bloodshot, resembling a beast that had lost all sense of reason.
Her hands showed no mercy as they continued to tear at Claire's clothes, each pull a release of the deep-seated hatred within her.
"Wretched girl, today you'll pay!" The other women were relentless, raining blows upon Claire, each punch and kick delivered without restraint. "Hit her, hit her!" Fists pounded down on Claire's body like a deluge.
Instinctively, she tried to shield herself with her hands, but the m frenzied women left no part untouched, continuing to unleash their malice without restraint.
Her face was a mask of agony, tears mingling with blood as they streaked down her cheeks. Her hair was a tangled mess, clinging to her face, creating a pitiful sight. Her ears were deaf to the surrounding chaos, her vision beginning to blur.
Finally, Mrs. Foster, seemingly exhausted, stepped back a few m paces, pointing at Claire crumpled on the floor and shouting: "Get her on her feet. She likes to seduce men, doesn't she? Let's throw her into the party and give those men something to 'admire'!" At these words, the women hesitated, their expressions uncertain.
One of them tentatively spoke, "Mrs. Foster, isn't this too much? It is the matriarch's birthday celebration after all." Mrs. Foster's eyes turned cold, glaring at the woman who spoke. "I'm handling it. What are you afraid of?"
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