Chapter 8

Brandon Mitchell was enraged, finally reaching the end of his patience.

With a single glance from him, two bodyguards understood and restrained Jessica.

Brandon's face turned ashen, "I'll ask you one last time, where's my brother?"

"Dead."

'Slap!'

Another slap landed, causing Jessica to spit blood.

Jessica, now desperate, retorted, "Brandon Mitchell, you’re no man! You’re 30, and that boy was at least 7 or 8. How could he be your brother?"

"You deceived me! What a vicious heart you have!"

"Stubborn fool."

In his fury, Brandon kicked Jessica to the ground.

He took out his phone and showed her a family portrait:

"Look closely, this is my real mom, and he's my real brother."

In the photo were my loving husband, our handsome older son, and our adorable younger son.

Fear finally appeared in Jessica's eyes.

As the bodyguards took her away, she trembled, pleading:

"Brandon Mitchell, I was wrong, please forgive me!"

"I really didn’t know she was your mother!"

"Auntie, I know I was wrong, please forgive me..."

Her voice faded into the distance.

I turned away, not finding much joy in the punishment of the villain.

I had survived, but was left with scars all over, and my younger son was lost to me forever.

That day, my husband returned. His face was somber, but he didn’t ask me much.

He must have learned the details from Brandon Mitchell.

"Don’t worry, honey, I’ll make him pay."

Jessica was fired, but that was far from enough.

My husband was known for his ruthless tactics in business when he was young.

Our gentle and elegant older son inherited this trait.

Together, father and son would be Jessica’s nightmare.

On the day I was discharged, Jessica appeared.

She looked fine on the surface but was trembling all over, humbly almost kissing my high heels.

"I’m sorry, Mrs. Mitchell, I didn’t recognize greatness, please forgive me."

"I’ve already been punished, I really can’t take any more."

"Where’s your brother?" I suddenly asked.

Jessica froze for a moment but still replied, "In prison."

I sneered, "He’s not even dead, why can’t I take it?"

Someone handed me a video of Jessica kneeling naked, slapping herself.

While hitting herself, she said, "I am a bitch, I am a slut, I deserve to die."

I didn’t need to think to know Brandon Mitchell was behind it, but how could this comfort my younger son’s spirit?

I transferred some money to someone.

The next day, Blond Guy was released from prison.

Then someone approached him and took him gambling, where he initially kept winning.

Thousands, tens of thousands, even up to a million in one night.

He thought he was destined to win.

Unfortunately, when he dove in headfirst, he started losing.

To recoup, he sold his car, house, and even some gifts Brandon had given Jessica.

But Jessica knew nothing, busy trying to calm Brandon Mitchell’s anger.

Letting Brandon hit and me scold.

She also had to deal with compromising photos circulating online.

Yet she believed that as long as she pleased Brandon, he would help her out of all her predicaments.

I didn’t reveal the truth to her, instead watching her sink deeper into my imagined scenario.

I even told Brandon to be nicer to her.

People need to fall from the highest point for it to hurt enough.

Otherwise, how could I face my unprotected younger son after I die?

Blond Guy's gambling debt grew until it couldn’t be hidden.

So he sold his sister.

That is Jessica.

The day Jessica was captured by the casino people, she called Brandon for help.

Unfortunately, I answered the call.

"Brandon Mitchell won’t save you."

"Because all of this was his plan."

"You’re a murderer, just going to jail is too light for you."

There was a mad scream on the other end.

But I had already hung up, cutting off her only hope.

Looking at Brandon Mitchell before me, I asked, "Will you blame Mom?"

Brandon shook his head, gritting his teeth, "If you hadn’t wanted revenge yourself, I would have personally scattered her bones!"

I nodded in satisfaction.

At least he didn’t forget his most beloved brother for love.

Later I heard that Jessica suffered a lot of beatings at the casino. At first, she wasn’t given food or clothes, soaking in a cold pool daily.

She finally couldn’t take it and agreed to solicit clients.

Once leads to twice, and she became more relaxed, living more easily.

So I chose to report it to the police.

Murder, prostitution, either charge was enough to keep her in prison for life.

I even spent a lot to hire her a top lawyer, fearing she’d be sentenced to death.

For the rest of her life, I want her to suffer in prison to atone for my younger son.

The End.