The force of the slap snapped Jagger’s head to the side, his hand falling away from the intercom.
“Your mouth is filthy,” Larissa said, her voice cold. “Let me clean it for you.”
Before Jagger or Helena could react, she slapped him again across the other cheek.
Helena finally found her voice, shouting, “Stop it! You wretched girl, how dare you strike my son in front of me!”
“Please,” Larissa scoffed without pausing her assault, delivering a rapid series of slaps. “You’re an old woman with one foot in the grave. You think I’m scared of you? The more you threaten me, the harder I’ll hit him. Stop me if you can.”
With each slap, she added a warning, “Let’s see you call my mother useless again. I’ll slap that foul mouth of yours until it’s pulp!”
Josette watched, stunned. A strange sense of satisfaction washed over her; perhaps she really was deeply bothered by her husband’s complete disregard for her in favor of his mother.
When she’d had enough, Larissa stopped and turned to Josette. Rubbing her stinging palm, she asked with piercing eyes, “Aunt Josette, are you going to kneel or not?”
Josette shuddered. Her gaze flickered from the convulsing bodyguards on the floor to her husband’s swollen, crimson face. Compared to their fate, kneeling and apologizing seemed like a minor inconvenience.
With a look of resignation, she stood up, her knees slowly bending until she was kneeling before Larissa. “I’m sorry, my dear niece,” she choked out, swallowing her humiliation.
Larissa nodded, satisfied. “See? That wasn’t so hard. If you had just done this earlier, Aunt Josette, none of this would have happened. Now, the Lincolns can’t touch me, so they’ll likely take their anger out on you. You see how you’ve only ended up hurting yourself?”



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