The slam of the car door echoed like a warning. A man stepped out—sharp suit, sharper eyes—but it wasn't him who made the noise swell inside the compound.
It was Violent's mother.
The moment she saw Emma approaching the entrance, her rage ignited like gasoline to fire. She marched forward, her heels scraping the tiles in quick, angry clicks.
"How dare she!" she shouted, her voice shrill with accusation. "How dare Emma show her face here after everything she's done to my daughter!"
Her words spat out like venom. "She has gone too far! She thinks she can ruin Violent's life and walk around with her head held high?"
Emma said nothing. Her face was still, but her heart thudded inside her chest. She walked with quiet restraint, refusing to flinch under the burning stares.
But Violent's mother wasn't finished.
She charged forward, raising her hand mid-air—ready to deliver a slap that had more hatred than discipline.
Then, it happened.
