Chapter 235: Slap Yourselves In The Face

Matilda’s knees buckled under the weight of April’s glare, and she collapsed onto the cold marble alongside her masters.

The entire core group of tormentors—the Morgans, the Le Morenos, and their loyal dog Matilda—were now forced down onto their knees in a humiliating, broken line before the twins and the elites of the country.

Frantic, terrified whispers erupted from the surrounding socialites, social elites, and board members standing frozen along the perimeter.

"Isn’t this illegal?!" a high-society woman whimpered, clutching her pearls in sheer panic. "What are the authorities doing?!"

"They can’t get a call through!" a corporate investor hissed back, his hands trembling as he stared at his dead phone screen. "The signals are jammed! Every door is locked from the outside! No one is coming!"

The realization hit the entire room like a suffocating wave: April literally held the entire ballroom under her thumb. No one could leave, no one could call for help, and no one could stop the absolute execution of justice unfolding before their eyes.

"What do you want from us?!" Steven Morgan gasped from his knees on the stage, his voice trembling with a pathetic mix of desperation and anger. "Money? Riches? Land? We can give you anything! Just name your price and stop acting ridiculous!"

"Ridiculous?"

April let out a hearty laugh that echoed clearly across the silent, terrified hall. She tilted her head, her dark eyes sparkling with cold, razor-sharp mockery.

"Yes, I’m being very, very ridiculous," April murmured softly, stepping closer to the base of the stage. "Almost as ridiculous as your precious wife, who seems to have a sick fetish for harming girls and women alike."

Madam Morgan flinched, her bloodshot eyes bulging with pure hatred, but April paid her no mind. She turned back toward the center of the hall, casually clapping her gloved hands together with a crisp, decisive CLACK.

"Anyway, let’s get down to business, shall we?" April declared smoothly, her gaze sweeping over the row of kneeling figures—the Morgans, the Le Morenos, and Matilda. "From now on, you all are going to slap yourselves in the face. One heavy slap for every single crime you’ve committed."

A wave of utter confusion and disbelief rippled across the grand ballroom.

The socialites along the perimeter exchanged bewildered, nervous glances, whispering frantically behind their hands. Slapping themselves? Is she out of her mind? What kind of demand is that?

Even Steven looked up in absolute bewilderment. "Are you crazy?! You expect us to—"

"If you don’t slap yourselves," April interrupted coolly, her voice cutting through his outburst like a razor, "I’ll have my enforcers do it for you."

She gestured lightly behind her.

Standing in an ominous row right behind the kneeling families were five towering tactical operatives from Nat’s covert unit. They stood over six-foot-four, their massive frames clad in dark combat gear, their arms as thick as tree trunks.

Their stone-carved faces were utterly expressionless, their eyes cold, grumpy, and completely devoid of human warmth.

"And trust me," April added with a sweet, lethal smile, "their hands are practically made of metal. I doubt your jaws would survive a single strike."

Selma, Sir Le Moreno, and Steven stared at the five iron-faced giants in pure terror. Looking at the sheer size of those fists, a single blow from one of those men would easily shatter a cheekbone or knock out half a mouth of teeth.

Yet, even in her humiliated state, Selma’s arrogant high-society pride flared up once more.

"Don’t you dare!" Selma shrieked, her voice cracking hysterically as she tried to pull her ripped silk dress around herself. "Do you know who I am?! Do you know who we are?! How dare you ask us to slap ourselves in front of the city’s entire elite! You wretched, low-class—"

SLAP!

The sharp, thunderous crack of a hand striking flesh echoed through the massive ballroom, instantly cutting off Selma’s tirade.

Selma’s head was knocked violently to the side, her body tumbling sideways onto the marble floor. She clutched her burning, red cheek in total, stunned shock, tears of pain immediately welling in her eyes.

Emily stepped back smoothly, casually shaking out her gloved hand as if brushing away dust. She looked down at her former mother-in-law with an icy, calm smile.

"Consider that a bonus," Emily whispered, her sweet, clear voice carrying straight across the room. "That one wasn’t part of the slaps April ordered... but I’ve really wanted to do that for a very long time."

Emily tilted her head, her dark eyes flashing with a sudden, chilling intensity that made Selma shrink back in horror.

"Now... you know we’re serious, right?"

April reached out, her fingers catching Emily’s wrist and pulling her back softly into her side. She laced her fingers through her sister’s, taking a silk handkerchief from her clutch to gently wipe Emily’s gloved palm.

"Don’t touch filth," April murmured softly, her fingers catching Emily’s wrist. Without breaking her glare from Selma, April unbuttoned the delicate pearls at Emily’s wrist and peeled the silk glove straight off her sister’s hand.

She tossed the white glove onto Selma’s lap like a piece of worthless trash. "It’s contaminated now anyway."

Emily offered her sister a sweet, radiant smile as April laced their fingers together. April always thinks of me so much, shethought, her heart swelling with deep affection.

Yet, as her eyes drifted back down to the whimpering woman clutching her swelling cheek on the marble floor, a dark, exhilarating sensation bloomed deep in Emily’s chest.

That felt good.

It felt overwhelmingly, intoxicatingly good to strike the woman who had spent years torturing her. The same mother-in-law who was never satisfied with anything she did, who had mocked her meekness, forced her into degrading servitude, and actively colluded with Johan to make her life an unbearable, living hell—including the loss of her unborn children.

If she could, she would mete out the same suffering and torment on her, watch her writhe in pain and agony for the rest of her pathetic life.

April saw this dark look in Emily’s eyes and wondered for a second if she had corrupted her innocent twin.

Selma lay on the floor, her eyes wide with terror as she looked back and forth between the two identical sisters. The sight of Emily’s pure, innocent smile turning into a subtle, cold glint of triumph sent an icy chill straight through Selma’s veins.

"Now," April said, tossing the used handkerchief onto the floor beside Selma, her voice dropping into an absolute, sharp command that vibrated through the silent ballroom. "Start slapping."