The assistant's face went white with horror. "Her presence in the store is due to staff negligence, not your continued indulgence," Maxwell explained quickly.
The store manager rushed in, sweat beading on his forehead. "Remove her immediately," he barked at security.
"Get her out of my sight," Ethan's voice was arctic through the phone.
James and I shared a moment of silent camaraderie as security approached Victoria's wheelchair. I pulled out my moonlight-infused sanitizer, carefully disinfecting the hand James had used to touch her.
The gesture was subtle but stinging—a clear message of contempt for the woman who killed my daughter.
Ethan's voice came through the call again, softer now. "Olivia, I'm sorry—"
James hung up coldly. The message was clear: I didn't want to hear from him.
(Victoria's POV)
This couldn't be happening. I fumbled for my black card with shaking hands, trying to process the transaction myself.
"Declined," the machine beeped mockingly.
The staff who had once bowed to me now watched with barely concealed satisfaction. Security guards flanked my wheelchair, their expressions professionally neutral but their eyes cold.
"Ma'am, you need to leave," one of them said firmly.
"You can't do this to me!" I shrieked, but my voice cracked with desperation.
They wheeled me toward the exit despite my protests. Other shoppers stared as I was forcibly removed from the store.
Outside Shadow Creek Mall, they unceremoniously dumped me—wheelchair and all—on the pavement. The wheels caught on the curb, nearly tipping me over.
A passing Good Samaritan approached, offering help. I lashed out at him in my humiliation, screaming obscenities until he backed away in shock.
I was left to crawl and beg for assistance, my pride shattered. Olivia and James emerged from the mall with their purchases, witnessing my complete degradation.
Their eyes held no pity, only cold satisfaction. They walked past me as if I were invisible.
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