Chapter 51 She’s My Birth Mother
Chapter 51 She’s My Birth Mother
Arthur’s heart clenched at the scene before him, his eyes blazing with fury. He roared, “Stop!”
He lunged forward, raising his hand to strike Camila, the force of his motion cutting through the air.
Sensing danger, Hazel instinctively rushed to block him. “You can’t hit her! If you hurt Miss Jackson, there’s no way to secure the marriage alliance with Mr. Campbell!”
“Get out of my way! I’ll kill this wretched troublemaker today!” Arthur snarled. Without hesitation, he grabbed a potted plant from the coffee table and aimed it at Camila’s head.
His actions made one thing painfully clear–he, as her father, felt not a shred of affection for his own flesh and blood. Every blow he dealt carried a lethal intent.
Hazel refused to back down. She stood firmly between Arthur and Camila, determined to shield her no matter what. Meanwhile, Camila smashed the ashtray in her hands against Agnes’s head, again and again, until blood streamned down her face.
Harry panicked and rushed forward, grabbing Camila’s arm. “How long are you going to keep this madness up?” Camila flung the ashtray, and it struck Harry’s forehead dead center.
Blood gushed instantly, streaming down his face. He grunted in pain, clutching his wound as he staggered back.
Agnes lay on the ground, her head cradled in her hands, wailing in agony as blood pooled beneath her.
But Camila wasn’t finished. The hatred burning in her eyes had consumed all reason.
With both hands, she slapped Agnes repeatedly, each strike landing with a sharp crack. Agnes’s cheeks swelled, her lips split, and fresh blood seeped from the corners of her mouth.
Belinda threw herself forward, sobbing. “Camila, stop! Please, stop!”
But Camila was beyond reach. For years, she had endured and endured, becoming nothing more than a silent punching bag–yet her patience had never earned her even a sliver of genuine care from this family.
She had had enough. Tonight, she would end it all. First, Agnes. Then, Arthur.
Her hands trembled–not with fear, but with uncontrollable rage.
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a box cutter, raising it high above Agnes’s throat, ready to strike.
“No!” Belinda shrieked in terror, her voice breaking.
In her desperation, she grabbed the blood–stained ashtray from the ground and, using every ounce of her strength, slammed it against the back of Camila’s head.
A sickening thud echoed through the room. The box cutter clattered to the floor. Camila slowly turned her head, her vision blurring, and saw Belinda standing there, shaking, the ashtray slipping from her grasp.
“Camila… I didn’t mean to… You wouldn’t listen… I had no choice…”
Camila’s vision dimmed. Her body gave out, and she collapsed, unmoving.
Hazel’s heart clenched with panic, yet no one paid Camila any attention.
Harry scooped up Agnes and carried her upstairs, Belinda trailing closely behind.
Not a single person spared a glance at the unconscious Camila.
Hazel, overwhelmed with sorrow, finally spoke. “Mr. Jackson, Miss Jackson is bleeding heavily. Please, save her-”
Arthur cut her off coldly. “Hazel, we don’t need a nosy servant like you. You’re fired. Get out of my sight.” His tone was devoid of warmth, completely indifferent.
Tears welled in Hazel’s eyes, but her concern for Camila outweighed her own fate. Even as she was being thrown out, she couldn’t help but question, “Mr. Jackson, I just don’t understand. Miss Jackson is your biological daughter.
“Why do you treat her so cruelly? She didn’t grow up with you, and now that she’s finally home, shouldn’t she be cherished? Do you even have a heart?”
Arthur’s eyes flashed with rage. “Shut up! My family affairs are none of your business. Get lost!”
Hazel didn’t budge. She stood her ground. “I’ll leave, but not before I tend to Miss Jackson’s wounds.”
Belinda had shown no mercy–she had struck Camila’s fragile skull with the sharp corner of the ashtray, leaving a gaping, blood–gushing wound. The crimson stain had already soaked into the carpet.
But before Hazel could retrieve the first–aid kit, Arthur ordered his men to drag her outside and throw her into the rain.
Arthur then turned to look at Camila, her head still bleeding profusely on the cold floor. His gaze held no guilt, no concern-
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Chapter 51 She’s My Birth Mother
only disgust.
He kicked her aside, staining his polished shoes with her blood. His lips curled in revulsion as he muttered, “Damn nuisance. All she ever does is cause trouble.”
No one cared. Camila lay there, abandoned, left to die on the freezing floor.
Outside, the rain began to fall.
It started as a drizzle, then gradually turned into a relentless downpour, drenching Hazel’s thin clothes.
She clung to the iron gates of the villa, rain and tears mingling on her face as she cried out desperately, “Mr. Jackson, Mrs. Jackson, I beg you! She’s your daughter! Look at her–she’s bleeding out! If you don’t help her now, she won’t survive!”
Her voice cracked from the strain, but the house remained silent.
Each raindrop that struck the ground felt like it was pounding against Hazel’s shattered heart. She stared at the lifeless figure lying in the pool of blood, sobbing. “Miss Jackson… how could you suffer so much…”
Time passed. Camila finally stirred. A searing pain tore through the back of her head, and her vision swam.
The house was silent, cold, and empty. Her so–called family had long since disappeared, leaving behind nothing but a gruesome bloodstain–a testament to the brutal attack.
Her fingers curled into fists. The hatred in her eyes burned like a raging inferno. “You will pay for what you owe me… a thousand times over.”
With immense effort, she dragged herself out of the Jackson family.
The moment she stepped outside, she saw Hazel, drenched to the bone, waiting for her in the rain.
Tears welled in Camila’s eyes. “Hazel… I’m sorry. This is all because of me.”
Hazel rushed to her side, hands trembling as she supported her. “Miss Jackson, thank God you’re awake! Get on my back, I‘ Il take you to the hospital!”
Camila wanted to refuse, but Hazel had already crouched down, ready to carry her.
Her heart warmed at the sight. Without another word, she leaned against Hazel’s back.
The rain poured relentlessly, drumming against the ground as Hazel trudged through the mud, step by painstaking step.
She was old, her body frail, and every movement felt like lifting a mountain. But she gritted her teeth and held Camila tightly, afraid she might slip and fall.
Camila’s eyes reddened.
Rainwater streamed down Hazel’s hair, dripping onto Camila’s hand–cold, yet carrying an unmistakable warmth.
The cruelty of her family had left her numb, but this moment… this kindness… burned into her soul.
Hazel staggered toward the roadside, waving desperately at the passing cars.
“Stop! Please, someone help us!” she shouted, her voice hoarse.
Rainwater filled her mouth, choking her, but she didn’t stop.
One car after another sped past, splashing water over them, leaving them drenched and shivering.
Hazel wobbled, nearly collapsing under the force of it all. She gritted her teeth, adjusted Camila’s weight on her back, and whispered, “Miss Jackson, just hold on.”
But Camila’s consciousness was fading. Her burning forehead pressed against Hazel’s icy neck, her pained murmurs barely audible.
Just as Hazel was about to lose hope, a sleek black Rolls–Royce glided to a stop before them.
The window rolled down, revealing a pair of piercingly cold eyes.
The man’s gaze swept over them and landed on Camila’s pallid face. Hazel’s voice trembled with desperation. “Sir, please… save her. She’ll die if we don’t get her help soon!”
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