Where Petals of Vengeance Bloom novel Chapter 311

Claire Linwood stood frozen, numb to Brian Cole’s desperate pleas and tears. She watched him with a blank stare, as if she couldn’t hear a word he said.

Brian’s heart felt as though it were being torn apart. Regret clawed at him from the inside out. If he’d known that his actions would break her so completely, that he’d leave her battered and her life hanging by a thread, he never would have made that terrible choice.

But it was too late for if only.

He’d hurt the person he loved most, and all the guilt and remorse in the world couldn’t change what he’d done.

Brian dropped to his knees at Claire’s feet, half-crazed, grabbing her hand and smacking himself hard across the face with it.

The sharp sound of each slap echoed down the hospital corridor—one after another, crisp and relentless.

It didn’t take long before red welts bloomed across his pale, handsome face.

Claire was like a puppet with its strings cut, her body limp and unresponsive, letting Brian do whatever he wanted without protest.

May couldn’t stand another second of it. She stormed over and shoved Brian away with all her strength.

Caught off guard, Brian collapsed onto the cold linoleum floor.

May scooped up Claire’s hand, her heart aching as she saw the angry red marks swelling across Claire’s palm.

Fury flashed in May’s eyes as she glared at Brian, disgust plain on her face.

“If you really feel sorry for what you did,” she snapped, “and you want to make amends, then stay away from her. You know she can’t stand to see you, but you keep showing up and making things worse. Is this your idea of atonement? Because right now, you’re just making her suffer even more!”

She turned Claire’s swollen palm upward, demanding, “Are you punishing yourself, or are you just torturing her?”

Brian’s gaze dropped to Claire’s hand. A fresh wave of guilt stabbed through him, so sharp he could barely breathe. He choked on his words, shaking his head over and over, unable to explain himself.

He looked at Claire, eyes full of pleading and regret, silently begging for even the briefest glance. But she wouldn’t meet his eyes.

Brian felt like he was suffocating, as if a knife were wedged beneath his ribs. His chest ached so badly he couldn’t even manage an apology.

But before they could get there, something by the curb caught Claire’s attention—a battered trash can, beside which a man with no legs rummaged through a pile of garbage.

He finally found a scrap of moldy bread. Clutching it like treasure, he devoured it hungrily.

His clothes were filthy and his tangled hair hung in greasy clumps from weeks without washing. His head was bowed, long hair obscuring most of his face, making it impossible to see what he looked like.

Flies buzzed all around the trash, but he didn’t seem to notice.

Claire’s gaze lingered on the thin, frail man, and a wave of pity washed over her.

Some people, she thought, are born with every advantage, living in comfort and luxury; others come into the world only to face hardship and pain.

He looked young, despite his haggard appearance—his skin still showed the traces of youth. Losing both legs at his age meant his life had been derailed beyond repair, leaving him to survive on whatever scraps he could scavenge from the streets.

It was autumn—not freezing yet, but the chill was coming.