People around us froze; cutlery clinked in awkward silence, and phones recorded the scene. Someone called for help while another guest backed away, face pale. The chef peered from the kitchen, stunned, his apron still on. I wanted to scream, to demand justice, but I could only slump beside Mrs. Shaw’s body. Anger, helplessness, and shame swirled inside me. The manager, pale and shaken, fumbled to his phone and dialed the emergency number with trembling fingers, waiting.
"Besides, my husband is the president of the Prosperity Group. He has powerful backing. With him protecting me, what’s there to fear?"
Hearing this, the waiters, who had been tense a moment ago, breathed a sigh of relief.
Seeing Clara Lane’s arrogance, fury boiled inside me.
Summoning every ounce of strength, I leapt up and gripped her throat tightly.
"You monster, I’ll kill you!"
In that instant, I wanted to avenge Mrs. Shaw’s death!
"Damn it! How dare you touch our boss lady?"
One waiter shouted and kicked me.
The others rushed over, fists and feet pounding me. Blows rained down, knocking me to the floor.
Agony ripped through me, my whole body breaking apart, but Clara Lane wasn’t satisfied.