Chapter 151 Harridan
The slap echoed through the hallway, a sharp, stinging report that seemed to freeze everyone in place. Karen's mouth immediately swelled up, the skin turning a shade of red so vivid it was almost theatrical. She touched her face in disbelief, her eyes wide with shock and outrage.
For years, Karen had navigated her social circles with an unchallenged arrogance, her head held high, her demeanor unassailable. She had been the queen of her domain, untouchable, her words law. And yet, here she was, sprawled on the ground, the sting of humiliation burning brighter than the pain on her cheek.
Her temper, always simmering just beneath a veneer of civility, ignited in an instant. Fury lent volume to her voice, and she roared with the ferocity of a cornered animal, "You dare hit me? You wretch, I'll claw you to pieces!" Her words were a visceral growl, a promise of retribution.
As she lunged at Jaxon's wife, her fingers crooked like talons, it was clear that Karen was no stranger to a scrap. Her movements were wild, uncontrolled, driven by a primal instinct to fight, to claw her way back to a position of power.
But Jaxon's wife was not to be underestimated. She stood with the poise of someone who had faced down far worse than Karen's fury. With a swift, practiced move, she blocked Karen's assault and delivered a second slap, her palm connecting with the other cheek with a precision that left no room for doubt—she was in control.
Now, both sides of Karen's face matched—equally swollen, a mirror image of rage and retribution.
"Ah, you hit me again! I won't let you get away with this!" Karen's spirit, unbroken by the blows, fueled her continued struggle against Jaxon's wife. Unfortunately, the difference in their stature was significant. Jaxon's wife's advantageous position atop Karen meant that all of Karen's flailing was in vain, her blows as ineffective as if she were fighting the wind.
In a moment of desperation, Karen turned to Ernest, who had been standing idly by, a silent witness to her downfall. "What are you doing? Don't just stand there—help me take down this fiend!" There was a pleading edge to her voice, a command wrapped in desperation.
Ernest wavered, torn between loyalty and self-preservation. He was on the verge of stepping in, his body tensing as if to move, but Jaxon's wife shot him a warning glance that halted him in his tracks. "Lay a finger on me, and I'll have your legs broken today!" Her voice was ice, her threat a chilling promise that held more weight than any physical blow.
"Hey...I...I'm not involved! Keep me out of this!" Ernest stammered, retreating a few steps, his cowardice on full display. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his eyes darting around as if looking for an escape route.
With no one coming to her aid, Karen turned to the onlookers, her voice rising in a crescendo of panic and indignation, "Don't just stand there, help me! This lunatic is trying to kill me! It's life or death!" Her plea was dramatic, a rallying cry for intervention.
But before the bystanders could even consider intervening, Jaxon's wife seized control of the narrative. "Shame on you, Karen! At your age, not only are you chasing after my husband, but you're also after our property. Just the other day, I caught you with a handful of men. Have you no self-respect, no decency at all?" Her words were like daggers, each one striking true, painting Karen not as a victim, but as a villain.
This revelation swayed public opinion instantly. Those who had been sympathetic to Karen moments before now turned against her. The tide of sentiment shifted, and the crowd began to murmur among themselves, their words a chorus of condemnation.
"She got what she deserved for trying to steal someone's husband!" one onlooker said, shaking their head with a mix of disgust and satisfaction.
"Just look at her—she's the picture of a shrew. No wonder she's in this mess!" another added, their voice dripping with disdain.
"At her age, she should be reflecting on her life choices, not causing scandals. If I were her, I'd be mortified," a third chimed in, their comment tinged with a cruel sort of pity.
Karen was seething, her body shaking with a cocktail of pain, anger, and the bitter taste of public humiliation. But her words were lost in the swell of condemnation, her attempts to defend herself drowned out by the court of public opinion that had turned against her.
Jaxon's wife addressed the crowd with a dismissive wave, her voice carrying the weight of authority. "You've all had your fun, but this is a family matter. Please, mind your own business and let us handle it." Her request was not so much an appeal as it was an order, and it carried the unspoken promise that the drama was over—for now.
Realizing their presence was no longer welcome, the crowd dispersed, their thirst for scandal temporarily quenched. They left behind a tableau of defeat: Karen on the ground, her face a canvas of pain and rage; Ernest, a portrait of cowardice; and Jaxon's wife, the embodiment of righteous indignation.
Karen's face bore the marks of her defeat, the swelling a testament to the price of her arrogance. Subdued, she murmured an apology, the words scraping against her pride as they left her lips. "I'm sorry...I acted rashly. Please, no more." Her voice was a hollow echo of her former bravado, the volume turned down, the pitch altered by defeat.
Jaxon's wife scoffed, a sound that was both a dismissal and a challenge. "Just a moment ago you were ready to kill me. Come on then, keep it up!" Her taunt was a gauntlet thrown down, an invitation for Karen to rise and continue the battle she had no hope of winning.
Karen cowered, her head shaking in a silent signal that she dared not continue the fight. She had been beaten, not just physically, but in spirit.
"You want mercy? Fine. My husband's inside that room. Go in, kneel, and apologize. Only then will I let you leave. Otherwise, you're in for more," Jaxon's wife demanded, her tone brooking no argument.
Karen hesitated, her mind a whirl of emotions and calculations. To apologize publicly would be to admit defeat, to lower herself in the eyes of those who still respected her. How could she face her son, her friends, her associates, after such a display of subservience? But as she sneaked a glance at Jaxon's wife and saw the unyielding expression on her face, she couldn't help but tremble. The choice was made for her.
"Fine, I'll apologize..." she conceded, her voice barely above a whisper, a flag of surrender in the silent war she had waged and lost.
Jaxon's wife stood, her posture one of victory. She turned to the construction workers, her commands crisp and clear. "Drag them in. Make them kneel and apologize to my husband."
The workers nodded, their movements efficient and unemotional as they hauled Ernest and Karen into the hospital room, the door closing behind them with a sense of finality.
Meanwhile, Ryder escorted Sarah back to SR Group, the weight of the company's crisis resting on her shoulders. The entrance to the company was a gauntlet, a throng of former partners, colleagues, and media representatives clamoring for her attention, each one a reminder of the precarious edge on which the company balanced.
"Sarah, I called you repeatedly yesterday with no response. Are you planning to dodge the compensation payment?" The question was accusatory, a pointed finger in the form of words.
"You can't just ignore the problem. SR Group is now blacklisted! Houston's construction market has no place for an unethical business like yours!" The declaration was a sentence passed down, a judgment that left no room for appeal.
"Sarah, you were unreachable during last night's crisis. Instead, you were seen with this man! Does anyone even know who he is?" The query was a mix of curiosity and condemnation, an attempt to unravel the mystery of her companion and, by extension, her character.
"Sarah, can you give us a moment? Rumor has it your company won't pay a dime for the medical bills of those injured in the warehouse fire." The request for an interview was a wolf in sheep's clothing, an opportunity for the media to sink their teeth into the story.
Surrounded by a barrage of questions, Sarah, escorted by Ryder, strode through the company gates with a determination that was both armor and weapon. She left the crowd to be held back by security, a physical barrier that was a pale reflection of the walls she had built around herself.
Inside, Emily rushed over, her relief at seeing Sarah palpable. "Sarah! You're back! I—" Her words trailed off as she caught sight of Ryder standing beside her.
The lack of communication since the previous night hung between them, an unspoken question that painted Emily's cheeks with the color of embarrassment.
Sarah coughed, a soft but effective derailment of Emily's train of thought. "What's the emergency? Out with it." Her voice was calm, the eye of the storm that raged around her.
Emily's demeanor shifted, the seriousness of the situation etching lines of concern on her face. "Some of the senior execs want a meeting with you. They're saying the company's in this mess because of your brother, and they're threatening legal action for compensation if SR Group goes under."
Sarah's pupils narrowed, the black centers sharp against the stormy blue of her irises. Ryder grunted, a low sound that was both a dismissal of the execs' claims and a recognition of the threat they posed.
"Most of these execs are leftovers from the Smith Group. They're trouble," he said, his voice a warning of the storm clouds gathering on the horizon.
Exchanging a knowing look with Sarah, he understood the gravity of the situation. They were allies in a battle that had been thrust upon them, two generals planning their strategy in the quiet before the onslaught.
"Call a meeting. Get all the senior execs and any partners who are cutting ties with SR Group. Half an hour," Sarah instructed, her words the calm before the tempest that would test the foundations of everything she had built.