I was strolling through the mall when a middle-aged woman suddenly lunged out and slapped me across the face. “You home-wrecker!” she shrieked. “I’ll kill you! I’ll absolutely kill you!” Stunned, I clutched my stinging cheek, staring in disbelief at the expensively dressed woman. 1 “Who are you calling a home-wrecker, lady? You’ve got the wrong person!” I finally managed to retort. But that just made her wilder. She grabbed my hair, pinching me hard, all while screaming that I was a mistress and beckoning passersby to witness the spectacle. Confused onlookers pointed fingers, but no one stepped in to help. I opened my mouth to protest, but then I suddenly remembered articles I’d seen on GoodNovel about how human traffickers often use this exact tactic to abduct women. Oh my God. This was a human trafficker! Falling into the hands of traffickers? That’s a fate worse than death. If that’s my destiny, I’d rather take her down with me right here, right now. At least I’d be eliminating one of them. Despite her expensive clothes, her hands were large and calloused, clearly from years of manual labor. That solidified my suspicion even more. So, instead of arguing, I waited for her to speak, then lunged, grabbing a handful of her hair. I went all out, like a damn wildcat, fighting for my life. “Ah—” The expensively dressed woman never expected me to fight back. In her twisted mind, a young girl like me would be too embarrassed, too panicked. She probably thought I’d just cry and try to explain myself. She never saw *this* coming. I yanked her hair so hard, her grip on me loosened, and her knees buckled. She nearly collapsed. I seized the opportunity, twisting her head back, my elbow locked firmly around her neck. The middle-aged woman shrieked in terror, her face beet red. “What are you doing, you bitch! You seduced my husband, and now you dare to hit me? Someone, quick! Come help me beat this home-wrecker!” “What a waste, a young girl like you, being a homewrecker. Let that woman go!” “Yeah, how could you be like that?” “Look at her, dressed so provocatively, crop top and all, she’s definitely trouble.” The onlookers buzzed with chatter, most just there for the show. But then a few “kind-hearted” people actually stepped forward, ready to intervene on Brenda’s behalf. I wasn’t sure if these people were her accomplices, but I knew if they got any closer, I was done for. Without a second thought, I ripped the metal hair stick from my hair. I was incredibly grateful that day, for the first time ever, that I’d chosen a heavy, decorative metal hair stick to go with my outfit. Without hesitation, I plunged the hair stick into the woman’s thigh. She let out a bloodcurdling scream. “Stay back! Come any closer and I’ll kill her!” Blood streamed down the woman’s pants, startling everyone. They recoiled in horror, the scene rapidly escalating from a ‘homewrecker brawl’ to what looked like a full-blown assault. “Ah! Ah! Help! Help me! This crazy woman!” Brenda shrieked, terrified. But I just smirked, a chilling, almost manic grin spreading across my face, like someone who’d just escaped the asylum. “You’re screaming for help, but why not call the police? I can help you with that.” I whispered into Brenda’s ear, just loud enough for everyone around to hear. “What’s wrong? Got something you don’t want the cops hearing about?” At that, Brenda’s face flushed crimson. She nervously averted her eyes and stammered, “You’re full of crap, you homewrecker! How dare you be so arrogant? Oh my God, is there no justice? I stood by my husband, eating ramen and working our butts off at flea markets, just to scrape by. We finally made something of ourselves, and then he throws away all our hard work on *you*! A five-thousand-dollar purse? He probably didn’t even blink!” Brenda’s mind worked fast. She knew exactly what would tug at people’s heartstrings. Clearly, she was experienced. Sure enough, her words instantly garnered some sympathy. “A homewrecker being so arrogant? Don’t be afraid, everyone, let’s go up and grab her, strip her clothes—” An elderly woman, who had been watching from the sidelines with her grocery bags, fumed, hands on her hips, spewing insults, clearly trying to manipulate the crowd, to turn public opinion against me. 2 But before she could finish, I grabbed Brenda’s head and slammed it, *hard*, against the clear glass barrier of the mall walkway. The sudden impact drained all the strength from Brenda’s body, and she crumpled to the floor. But I wasn’t done. I tightened my hold on her neck, glaring at the elderly woman in the crowd who was still trying to rally people against me. Every word the old lady uttered, I punctuated by slamming the suspected trafficker’s head against the glass once more. “Ah—Call 911! Quick, call 911—” A gash had opened on Brenda’s forehead, blood trickling down her face, a truly terrifying sight. She weakly begged the crowd for help. Everyone was shocked and slowly realized something was deeply wrong. Phones were already coming out to call 91
I actually wanted them to call. To get the police there faster, I slammed her head down again. One, two, three times, until blood was gushing from her forehead. Only then did I stop. “No! No! Help me!” Brenda was dazed, her vision blurring, feeling like she was about to pass out. “I’m a homewrecker? Strip my clothes off? You think I don’t know your trafficker tricks? First you slander me, then you abduct me. What the hell!” Feeling a surge of satisfaction, I whispered into Brenda’s ear. My voice was just loud enough for the onlookers to hear clearly. *Trafficker?* Hearing me, the crowd exchanged bewildered glances. Just then, mall security arrived, standing ten feet away, telling me to calm down. “Don’t come any closer! I don’t trust you! Who knows if you’re in cahoots with her, trying to abduct me? I’ve read novels where traffickers even impersonate police!” “Ma’am, please calm down. We’re mall security, not traffickers, and we’re not with them. Just calm down for a moment.” “Calm down my ass! Don’t you dare come any closer! If you do, I’ll take her down with me! I’d rather die than be trafficked off to some remote, godforsaken place to be a baby-making machine! You, yes, you! I don’t trust them, help me call 911!” I suddenly pointed at a pretty young woman, staring her down until she called for help. “Oh, okay.” The young woman, startled by my sudden command, nodded after a moment of愣, probably also suspicious. “You, call 911! Nobody leaves here until the police arrive!” I roared, doing my best impression of someone completely unhinged. I thought that would be the end of it, but it seemed the conspirators weren’t done with me. A middle-aged man, standing in the crowd, spoke up gravely, “Look at this girl, so manipulative. Go on, jump! Playing the victim, calling an innocent woman a trafficker, it’s sick! Someone, help her!” The onlookers listened to Mr. Davies, then looked at me, confusion flickering across their faces. I just bared my teeth in a smile, then, without warning, I grabbed Brenda’s head and slammed it against the glass once more. “Ah! Ah! No! Help!” I planted my foot firmly on Brenda’s instep, screaming at Mr. Davies: “Keep talking! Let’s see whose accomplice dies first, yours or mine!” “You… you’re talking nonsense! Who’s her accomplice?” Mr. Davies hadn’t expected to be targeted so directly. His eyes darted nervously, and he quickly started to backtrack. I was furious. Trying to morally blackmail me, huh? I could play that game too. So I screamed at him, my voice cracking, “I’m willing to jump to prove I’m not a homewrecker! Are *you* willing to jump? Come on, jump to prove you’re not her accomplice!” 3 Mr. Davies was taken aback, waving his hands frantically. “You, you’re crazy! Who said anything about jumping?” “You’re the one spouting off, calling me a homewrecker and accusing me of bullying her? You sound like you saw it all yourself, so confident! Come on, jump and prove it! Let’s go together! Don’t be scared!” I chuckled, my smile growing even more unsettling, unnervingly abnormal. “Yeah, the young lady is willing to jump, why don’t you?” A young guy filming with his phone chimed in, egging him on. Mr. Davies, clearly not expecting me to go to such extremes, backed away quickly, muttering curses under his breath, then turned and ran. Seeing him leave, I finally breathed a sigh of relief. Just then, the police and firefighters arrived together. At my insistent demand, the firefighter accompanied me to the police station. Before leaving, I addressed all the onlookers: “When you upload those videos, please blur my face. Or at least put a beauty filter on me!” That evening, the police issued a statement, confirming that Brenda, the middle-aged woman, was indeed a human trafficker. I became a trending topic online. Everyone started calling me the ‘Chaos Queen’ or ‘Mad Glamour Girl,’ and netizens nicknamed me ‘Queen C.’ I didn’t really care about any of it. I never imagined that this unexpected incident would be a turning point in my life. On Monday, I went to the office, and my boss, Mr. Vance, specifically called me in. I thought my excellent work performance had finally caught his eye and I was due for a promotion. Instead, he presented two reports. One was a diagnosis for my bipolar disorder. The other, a diagnosis for my violent tendencies. That’s right, I’ve always had bipolar disorder. Normally, I seem just like anyone else, but if I’m bullied or provoked, I become extremely manic. Every time I have an episode, I have to hit someone. Unless I lash out, it feels like the incident isn’t truly over for me. I’d been on medication to control it for years, and I hadn’t had an episode since joining the company. Although, I knew keeping it a secret was wrong. “Um, Mr. Vance, I, I didn’t mean to hide it—” “You don’t need to explain. I have a better job offer for you. Five million dollars. Interested?” Five million dollars! My eyes nearly popped out of my head. I nodded without a second thought. It turned out Mr. Vance had a sister, Eleanor, who was incredibly soft-spoken. In college, she fell in love with a guy. Her family disapproved, so she secretly eloped with him. Eloping itself wasn’t the issue. If she’d been happy, the family would have eventually accepted it. But the man turned out to have severe violent tendencies. After they got married, he constantly beat her. Because she’d eloped, Eleanor was too ashamed to ask her family for help. Eventually, trapped and desperate, she jumped from a building to her death. Since it was ruled a suicide, the police couldn’t legally charge the scumbag. Mr. Vance couldn’t swallow that. Since the law couldn’t touch him for what he did to Ellie—they couldn’t even charge him, can you believe it?—he was going to use other means. “So, the five million is for me to—” “I want you to get close to Damian Thorne, become his girlfriend. Make his life hell, just like he did to my sister. After all, he got away with it legally, didn’t he?” Oh. I understood. I agreed to Mr. Vance’s request. After all, I’m a kind person, and I can’t stand scumbags. So, under Mr. Vance’s arrangements, I became the daughter of a newly rich family, successfully seducing Mr. Vance’s ex-brother-in-law, Damian Thorne. Damian, true to form, was the ultimate scumbag. He sweet-talked me into meeting his parents, calling it “my big chance to make a good impression.” Maybe I played the ‘desperate puppy’ a little too well, making him think he had me completely wrapped around his finger. “Babe, your big chance has arrived.” “Oh? What chance?” I raised an eyebrow, looking at Damian with feigned disinterest. The idiot actually thought I was hopelessly in love with him. He grinned, “It’s my mom’s birthday. Buy her a gold necklace, and there’s your chance to shine. Oh, and my sister will be there, so get her a gift too, a Gucci bag. And my little nephew, Leo, he loves Lego, so pick one up for him. My dad? He just likes cigarettes and liquor. You can get him some of that. Doesn’t have to be too fancy, just some good whiskey and three or four cartons of premium cigarettes. He’ll be thrilled.” Damian rattled off the list, completely dictating my purchases. 4 As soon as I heard it, I realized this wasn’t just a birthday celebration for his mom; it was like a tribute offering to their entire family. If it weren’t for the mission, I would have cussed him out, called him a total jinx, maybe even spit on him. “Of course,” I replied with a smile. “Don’t worry, I guarantee your parents will be completely satisfied.” Mr. Vance’s budget was generous, but the thought of spending so much on this family infuriated me. Scumbags weren’t worth my money. So, I conspired with my best friend, Chloe, to pull a switcheroo. The designer bag would be a knockoff, the toy bought from Wish. As for the whiskey and cigarettes, I’d buy the real stuff, but then empty the bottles and cartons at home, replacing them with cheap imitations. Mission accomplished, I arrived at their house with a pile of fakes. Damian’s family seemed genuinely convinced that Damian had me completely under his thumb. Their attitude towards me was cold, and they mocked me throughout dinner. “Cassandra, is it? What does your father think about you finding a boyfriend from Northwood?” Mrs. Thorne asked, her voice dripping with passive aggression. Northwood? Does that pay the bills? I rolled my eyes internally, about to say something, when Mrs. Thorne cut me off. “He must be thrilled. Someone from the countryside like you, suddenly rich, but deep down, you just don’t have the same pedigree as us established families.” Mrs. Thorne said, oozing superiority. Damn it, they live in some rundown block, practically a slum, and she thinks *she’s* got pedigree? I was so annoyed I almost laughed, but to ensure the mission went smoothly, I kept my plastered-on smile. “You’re absolutely right! My dad is ecstatic! He’s always dreamed of me marrying a man from Northwood.” “I’m his only daughter, so all our family assets will eventually be mine. And what’s mine, of course, is Damian’s.” “You’re right about everything, Auntie.” “The dinner bill? Auntie, how could I let you pay? It’s on me.” I played the dutiful, humble girlfriend, making sure Damian’s family felt completely served and satisfied. Mrs. Thorne, in particular, was quite pleased with me. “Cassandra, dear, we’re a very proper family. Before you marry into our family, you’ll need to sign a prenuptial agreement. One clause is that we’ll get the legal papers done first, then we’ll consider a wedding. And as for a dowry or any of those old customs? Please, it’s the 21st century, we’re beyond that.” *Heh.* I sneered internally, but nodded in agreement. And so, I moved into Damian’s house, beginning our pre-marital cohabitation. On the second day of living with Damian, I started cozying up to the neighbors. When they learned I was Damian’s girlfriend, they all subtly, or not so subtly, urged me to break up with him. Especially Mrs. Peterson from across the hall, who clutched my hand and said bluntly, “Honey, this family isn’t good people. You need to run, take an old woman’s advice.” I just smiled and assured her I’d be fine. Adding silently to myself, *Don’t worry, Grandma. I’m no saint either.* After moving in, Damian tried to get intimate with me, but I slipped him a sleeping pill every night, so he never got the chance. Damian was easy to handle; his family, however, was a whole other level of trouble. They were a family of oddballs, treating me like a maid. Especially his sister, Paige, who brought her boyfriend, Marcus, to stay and even demanded I wash his underwear. *Hmph!* I smirked at the overflowing laundry basket, thinking of the packet of itching powder in my bag. That night, Marcus, fresh in his newly laundered underwear, jumped up and started tearing around the house, yelling for half the night. Apparently, he swelled up so badly, and even Paige, who’d been intimate with him, ended up in the emergency room. The hospital couldn’t find anything wrong. After a day on an IV drip, they slunk home, embarrassed. The incident should have been over, but thanks to my deliberate ‘leaks,’ the whole complex knew Paige and her boyfriend ended up in the emergency room after… well, after their private time. Paige was too mortified to leave the house. “Bro, it has to be that bitch! She’s the one who spread it around! I can’t even show my face!” Damian immediately glared at me. The scumbag had already condemned me. I rolled my eyes internally but maintained an innocent expression, saying, “It wasn’t me! I didn’t do anything!” Mrs. Thorne, meanwhile, fanned the flames. “It has to be her! We don’t gossip! Son, women like her don’t listen unless you hit them!” Fueled by Mrs. Thorne’s incessant prodding, Damian finally snapped and lashed out at me. “Bitch, watch your damn mouth!” Damn it, I wanted to hit him back right then and there, but I forced myself to endure it. Damian was stronger than me, and with his entire family living under one roof, I was at a disadvantage. So, I swallowed my anger, knowing I’d get my revenge eventually. Of course, while I waited for my chance, I made sure to parade my bruises around the complex, solidifying the neighbors’ impression of Damian’s domestic abuse. Sure enough, the neighbors started looking at Damian’s family with disdain. Even the building security guards would mutter under their breath, ‘What a jinx,’ whenever Damian’s car pulled up. This infuriated Damian, and the first thing he did when he got home was try to hit me. “Bitch, have you been running your mouth again?” Damian pulled out his belt, ready to strike. I feigned a terrified scream. Damian chased me, and as I ran, I started knocking over furniture. The TV, no problem. The air conditioner, the dining table, everything I could see, I shoved over. Sometimes I wasn’t fast enough, and Damian’s belt lashed me a few times. Damn it, that made me even angrier, so I maneuvered myself behind Mrs. Thorne. Using Mrs. Thorne as a human shield – I couldn’t overpower Damian, but his mother? Absolutely. Mrs. Thorne got hit by Damian’s belt once and let out a bloodcurdling scream, like a banshee. Paige, who was unemployed, rushed out when she heard her mother’s cries. Seeing me using her mother as a human shield, she lunged at me in a rage. “Ah! Help! He’s killing me! Mrs. Peterson! Mrs. Huang! Mrs. Lee! Ms. Wu! Help me! Someone call the police!” I stuck out my leg, tripping Mrs. Thorne, then seized the chance to yank Paige Thorne by her hair, pulling her in front of me to shield myself from Damian’s belt. No choice but to use Paige. She was always on some crazy diet, barely ate anything, and was way lighter than her mom. A much easier human shield. “Bitch, let go of my sister!” Damian fumed, trying to grab me. I wouldn’t let him near me, so I decisively used the scrawny Paige as a target. “Bitch! Bitch! Let go! Bro, help me!” “Ow, ow, ow!” The living room wasn’t large, and as we played hide-and-seek, it was inevitable to step on the fallen Mrs. Thorne. I even managed to stomp on the old woman’s hand, hearing a satisfying *crunch*. 5 The scene was pure chaos. Finally, when Mr. Thorne returned, the police arrived, just in time. If the police hadn’t shown up by the time Mr. Thorne got home, I’d probably be dead. Fortunately, the neighbors came through.
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