Chapter 806: Spectating

Bernice didn’t dare open her eyes. She could even hear a few familiar voices—neighbors she usually greeted, alongside some notoriously gossipy live-in maids. She had really been dumped on Ashton Road. Those thugs had actually gone through with it.

She didn’t dare move a muscle, terrified someone would notice she was awake. Her only hope now was that no one would recognize her. If only the crowd would disperse, she could sneak back home. She prayed Ethan hadn’t returned yet, that he remained entirely oblivious to all this.

“Tsk, tsk. Who dumped her here? That’s just wicked.”

“Who knows what she does? She doesn’t look like a decent woman.”

“You don’t think she’s dead, do you?”

“She’s not dead. She’s still breathing. Look at her chest going up and down,” a man pointed out. A sharp slap immediately followed. “Ouch! What did you hit me for?” he protested.

“Enjoying the view? Getting a good look, are you? Where exactly are your eyes wandering? Get your ass back inside and cook!”

The furious voice belonged to the man’s wife, who clearly wore the pants in the family. Casting a few reluctant, lingering glances at Bernice, the husband obediently scurried off.

“Bah! What a shameless tramp. She probably messed around with a bunch of men and brought this upon herself. And seriously, of all the places to dump her, they had to choose our neighborhood. What if the kids see?”

The domineering wife spat at Bernice in disgust, branding her a degenerate harlot. The other women nodded in agreement; after all, a proper lady would never end up in such a state.

Regardless of the era, even in modern civilized society, whenever a woman found herself in trouble, she was inevitably labeled a slut—even if she was the victim. This victim-blaming mentality ran deep, especially in this conservative age. The crowd glared at Bernice with sheer contempt, entirely devoid of sympathy.

“There’s a piece of paper on this tramp. What does it say?” Someone spotted the note Goldie had drawn and leaned in for a closer look.

The men living in this area were mostly respectable intellectuals. Naturally, their comprehension skills far exceeded those of common street thugs. They understood the crude drawing at a glance, their expressions turning awkward. Those who couldn’t decipher it grew anxious at the others’ strange reactions, pestering them for an explanation.

“Isn’t the drawing clear enough?” one of the men explained. “A broken door means she’s a busted tramp. Fifty cents a pop, and she made six bucks last night. Tsk… You’d think she’d be scared of working herself to death.”

Realization dawned on the crowd. They looked at Bernice with mounting disdain, treating her like absolute trash.

“Just a slut, like I said. I knew she got into trouble by sleeping around. Serves her right,” a woman spat.

“It’s a pretty good deal, actually,” someone mocked. “Six bucks a night means a hundred and eighty a month. That’s more than our factory manager’s salary. All she has to do is spread her legs. Easiest job in the world.”

“Then why don’t you go make that easy money? Forget a hundred and eighty, a hundred would do.”

“Bah! I’ll tear your filthy mouth off! I have some self-respect. I’d rather starve to death than earn that kind of dirty money. Hmph, when a tramp like her dies, even the King of Hell will find her too filthy to judge. She’ll be reincarnated as a beast!”

As the vicious gossip swirled, someone finally began to question the woman’s identity.

“Why does this tramp look so familiar? It’s like she lives around here. I swear I’ve seen those shoes before,” a woman muttered in confusion, staring intently at the brown sheepskin boots on Bernice’s feet.