He doubled over, laughing so hard he nearly fell over. His dogs joined in, even starting to sing “Chrysanthemum Terrace” as if mocking my shattered pride. But in that moment—tied up, face down, powerless—I still had one last ounce of fight left. I kicked. Hard.
My foot landed square on Tommy’s shin. He lost his balance and crashed to the floor, the back of his head slamming into the ground with a nasty thud.
“You bastard!—” He clutched the back of his head, wincing in pain.
“You dare fight back?! I swear, I’ll kill you right here and now and no one will say a damn thing!”
Raging, he scrambled to his feet, grabbed a dining fork and aimed straight for my neck. He stabbed down. Blood bubbled up the moment the fork pierced the artery in my throat. But then—
“Wait! Tommy!”
The steward's voice cut through the chaos, panicked and breathless.
“She’s here! Miss Wilson just arrived—she’s asking for the Great-Grandfather!”
They froze. Because none of them realized the person she was looking for—the real great-grandfather—was the same person they were torturing and humiliating.