A Mother's Wrath

A sudden splash of scalding boiling water hit Diana squarely across the chest. The shocking burn caused her to shriek in sudden agony, the violent jolt forcing her swinging hand to narrowly miss Hazel’s blank face. Steam hissed as it rose from her drenched designer clothing, the blistering heat soaking rapidly through the fabric to scorch her skin.

Looking down in absolute outrage, a fuming Diana found four-year-old Declan standing firmly in the middle of the hallway. He held an empty glass in his small hands, his knuckles white from the tight grip. His dark eyes were burning with protective fury, refusing to yield a single inch to the towering, screeching adult in front of him.

"Who threw hot water at me?!" Diana roared. The moment she registered Declan's defiant stance, she threw all caution and adult decency to the wind. She lunged with manic aggression to grab the small boy's collar, rearing her arm back to strike him down with maximum force.

Clara closed the distance in a flash. She stepped between them and caught Diana's descending arm mid-swing with a bone-crushing, unyielding grip. The sickening impact of Clara's block sent a dull shockwave up Diana's forearm, stopping the strike dead in its tracks.

"Do you resort to abusing children the second I turn my back, Diana?" Clara sneered. Her voice dripped with lethal disdain, her cold gaze piercing straight through the older woman.

Shoving her cousin violently away, Clara quickly pulled a tense Declan and an oblivious Hazel into a tight, fiercely protective embrace. She stood her ground, glaring at the seething woman stumbling backward. "Despite the years apart, you remain as uncivilized and barbaric as ever."

Livid and clutching her red, blistered chest, Diana pointed a trembling finger at Hazel. She roared like a madwoman, abandoning any semblance of high-society grace. "Your mute daughter slapped my precious son, Tate! Either you let me slap her back right now, or you do it yourself!"

Clara looked over and saw a faint red palm print marking Tate's tear-stained face. The boy was hiding behind a nearby pillar, sniffling loudly to draw attention. Before Clara could even begin to process the accusation or the red mark, Declan spoke up. His young voice was heavy with immense self-blame, his shoulders slumping.

"Mommy, it wasn't Hazel’s fault at all," Declan looked up at his mother and clearly explained the situation. "Tate maliciously called her a mute. Then he spat directly at her."

Declan tightened his small fists. His granduncle had called him away just a moment ago to ask a quick question about the microchip. He had stepped away from Hazel for mere minutes, but it was enough time for someone to corner and bully his defenseless sister. He blamed himself for leaving her unprotected.

A fierce, uncontrollable inferno of rage instantly ignited within Clara. She could absolutely not tolerate anyone calling her children derogatory names. Furthermore, mocking Hazel's severe medical condition was an unforgivable offense, a guaranteed death sentence in Clara's eyes.

Without a single moment of hesitation, Clara raised her hand and delivered a resounding, lightning-fast slap squarely across Diana's cheek. The sharp crack echoed loudly through the massive hall, instantly silencing Tate's dramatic sobbing.

Diana's head snapped violently to the side. She cupped her rapidly swelling cheek, her eyes wide with shock. "You witch, how dare you hit me?!" she shrieked.

Completely abandoning her high-society image, Diana lunged wildly. Her manicured nails were bared like claws, aimed directly at Clara's throat to draw blood.

Clara, hardened by four years of grueling survival on her own, coolly sidestepped the crazed, clumsy attack. Using Diana's own momentum against her, Clara grabbed her shoulder and shoved her forward. The swift counterattack sent Diana crashing face-first into the hard marble floor.

A sickening thud rang out as bone met stone. Diana lay in a bloody, pathetic heap, groaning in pain as crimson fluid poured freely from her nose and stained the pristine white tiles.

Looking down at the groaning woman, Clara coldly stated, "Since your son has such a foul mouth, that slap was payment on his behalf."

She turned her back on the gruesome sight and tenderly scooped up an entirely oblivious Hazel. Her daughter’s long eyelashes fluttered softly, completely unaware of the brutal takedown that had just occurred in her defense.

Trembling with sheer fury, Beatrice immediately stepped up from the parlor to blindly defend her downed daughter. She viciously cursed Clara, her face contorting with sheer ugliness. "You whore!" Beatrice screamed. "As long as I remain a Callahan, don't you even dream of staying in this mansion!"

The shouting was instantly silenced when Madam Callahan emerged from the adjacent study. She planted her heavy wooden cane firmly against the floor with a loud thwack. She stepped forward, physically shielding Clara with her own body to block Beatrice's path.

"Do you intend to chase the head of the household out as well?" Madam Callahan asked coldly, her piercing gaze locking onto her daughter-in-law.

Beatrice frantically backpedaled, the color draining from her face. She stammered out weak excuses, her voice shaking under the matriarch's scrutiny. "That is not what I meant, Mother. Clara's arrogance will only bring unrest to our peaceful family..."

"You are the one bringing unrest!" Arthur roared, storming into the hallway. He immediately shut his wife down, speaking with unprecedented authority that rattled the windows. He fiercely commanded, "If you cannot accept Clara in this house, you can pack your bags and return to your own maiden family!"

Deeply humiliated and boiling with indignant rage, Beatrice realized she had no ground to stand on. She hastily gathered the bleeding, weeping Diana from the floor and grabbed a wailing Tate by the arm. They retreated upstairs in absolute disgrace, leaving a trail of blood drops on the grand staircase.

Despite the swift and decisive end to the conflict, Clara’s heart remained incredibly heavy. It was only her very first day back in the country, and a vicious, bloody physical fight had already broken out in the hallway. Knowing she could not possibly watch over Hazel every single second of the day, she was terrified. The resentful relatives would undoubtedly find a sneaky way to further traumatize her daughter and worsen her condition when she wasn't looking.

Sensing Clara's deep hesitance to remain in the toxic mansion, Madam Callahan reached out and gently patted her hand. She pleaded with her to stay just a little longer.

"I have a grand intention to hold a massive birthday party for you," the elderly matriarch announced, her tone softening with affection. "I will ensure that the entire high society knows that the most beautiful woman of Bay City is alive and thriving. You can move out immediately afterward. Please, just stay until then."

Not wanting to disappoint her beloved grandmother after so many agonizing years apart, Clara reluctantly agreed to stay until the party concluded.

Still, her intense anxiety regarding Diana's unhinged aggression lingered strongly. She glanced down at the lingering bloodstain on the floor. Flatly refusing to leave her vulnerable children alone in a snake pit, Clara brought them along with her when she went to Callahan Corporation the next day.