Chapter 53

▫️Betty's POV (Stella's mom)...

I kicked Tom in frustration. That useless bastard! Yesterday, we got a message asking for my fucking chopped-off hand and Tom’s goddamn tongue. Who the hell even sends messages like that? Of course, we asked who the sick fuck was, but the coward hasn’t replied yet, and now his number is unreachable. And how on the earth he got to know about our condition?

To make things worse, that bastard Christian called me yesterday. And Stella? That little brat had the audacity to ask if I was fine. I would have been totally fine if they both had let me live in peace. But why she asked?  Suspicious. She must be suspecting something. But what? And now, here's another fucker asking for my pretty severed hand. Is he gonna hang them around his neck, ridiculous.

I swear to God, I want to rip Christian’s throat out. That son of a bitch ruined everything.

Sighing in frustration, I told Tom to check my phone as it pinged. That anonymous bastard finally responded.

Unknown: Just send me the pic, I'll give you the amount, just name it.

I sneered. Tom typed back, asking what the hell he needed it for.

What if the freak was planning to post it online for some bullshit donation campaign? But then again, he wouldn’t be offering money if that were the case.

Unknown: Don’t you want your revenge on Christian Knight and your pretty daughter? If yes, then send it.

I gritted my teeth. Fuck yes, I wanted revenge! But how the hell was he planning to do that?

Unknown: Your daughter loves you bastards a lot. If I send her the picture of you in this miserable state, she’ll lose her fucking mind. She’ll leave her husband and come running to you. And you sell her to me. Just name your price, and I'll pay it.

I smirked. I’ve lived too long at Christian’s mercy. It’s time to turn the tables. That bitch for a daughter could’ve stopped her psycho husband, but I bet she asked him to do this to me. Baby please chop my bitchy mom's hands,it would be fun. The little cunt deserves what’s coming. I won’t hesitate to sell her. If I’m in misery, why the fuck should she be living like a queen?

Tom messaged back, sealing the deal. “Okay, but I want the money before I hand Stella over.”

Unknown: Deal.

I licked my lips and said ,Tom typed as by Chris's grace my hands are in resting state.

“At least tell me what the hell to call you and how to contact you.”

Unknown: Call me Angel from Hell. Just message me. I’ll update you on what you need to do. Just remember, be nice to your daughter—she loves you a lot.

I chuckled darkly. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll be the sweetest mother in the world.”

Tom and I prepared to make the picture as pathetic as possible. Tom poured some glycerine into my eyes and his, and we started our Oscar-worthy performance. Crying, sobbing, looking utterly miserable. I held up my severed wrists to my cheeks, and he stuck his tongue out slightly for dramatic effect. Click.

Tom sent the picture to Angel from Hell.

“Let’s see, Stella, how the fuck you resist when you see your dear mommy suffering.”

I threw my head back and let out an evil laugh. Then I told Tom to send a voice note to Stella. In my sweetest, most sugar-coated diabetic voice heard ever, I crooned, “Oh, my precious daughter, is everything okay? Why were you so tense yesterday?”

That dumbass saw the message immediately.

Perfect.

▫️Stella’s POV...

This morning, after Chris told me all the shit that had gone down, I could only hope the real culprit was found soon. But at least one thing gave me peace—my husband trusted me blindly. That bastard might be an asshole, but when it came to me, he always took a stand.

Now I'm  having breakfast in my room since no one is here,  then my phone buzzed with a message. I didn’t think much of it until I saw the name.

Mom.

What?

I blinked at the screen, my appetite suddenly gone. She never texts me. Hell, she barely acknowledged me growing up unless it was to complain. May be for my yesterday's act, let's her this one too stella.

A voice note. I hesitated but tapped play.

"Princess, is everything okay? You seemed tense yesterday."

Her voice was...sweet. Too sweet. Like a spoonful of sugar when you’re expecting salt. I frowned. Was I imagining things? Maybe I was just overthinking. Maybe she was just—no, let’s be real, my mother was never sweet.

I couldn’t bring myself to send a voice note back, so I typed instead.

"Yes, Mom, everything’s fine. It was a misunderstanding. I just thought something happened to you. Are you okay?"

She saw it immediately. Like she was waiting. Within seconds, another voice note came through.

"That’s good then, we are absolutely fine, princess."

Princess. My stomach twisted.

I typed quickly. "Thank goodness."

She sent a heart emoji. A heart emoji. My mother, the woman who once told me I was a nuisance she regretted birthing, just sent me a heart.

Something was off.

Before I could think too much about it, another message popped up.

"Have you had breakfast?"

What the fuck? She never asked me that before. I hesitated. Was this some sort of sick joke? Or guilt? Why would she suddenly care?

I typed: "Yes."

"Good. Stay happy and healthy."

Another heart emoji.

I stared at my phone, my hands slightly shaking. What the hell was going on? This wasn’t right. But I swallowed the unease and forced myself to eat, pretending it didn’t matter.

Or did it made me overwhelmed by happiness.

I needed a distraction. I'll surely end up overthinking.

So, I called Chris. He picked up instantly.

"Yes, sweetheart?"

The way his voice softened for me, the way he always picked up my calls, it calmed something in me.

"I want to go shopping."

"Ava’s busy, but you can take the guards."

"What about you?"

"Busy too. And even if I was free, I'm sure as hell I wouldn’t step foot in the girl's section while you put tops and bras on me, expecting to see how you’d look in them through my reflection."

I laughed, shaking off the weird feeling from earlier. "Okay, okay."

"Just come to garage."

When I went downstairs to the garage, I spotted Chris near the cars. Without thinking, I ran up and hugged him. His arms tightened around me, like he was anchoring me to reality.

"I’m sending them with you. Don’t leave their side, okay?" he murmured against my hair.

"Okay."

I picked his G-Wagon because—well, because it was his, and I loved driving it. The guards took their positions: one in front, three behind. The security was tight, but it wasn’t unusual.

The drive cleared my head, and by the time I reached the Valentino store, I felt a little lighter. Shopping always helped.

The saleslady was sweet, showing me different heels. I chose a ruby-colored pair and a white one. Just as they were being packed, my phone buzzed.

I smiled, expecting a text from Chris.

But it wasn’t from him.

Unknown Number.

I frowned and opened it.

"Your husband did it. If you doubt me, call your parents and confront them."

My stomach dropped.

What the fuck?

Bullshit.

I should have ignored it. I should have deleted it and moved on. But something in me—some sick, twisted curiosity—made me reply.

"What do you mean?"

The response was instant. A picture.

I hesitated before clicking it open.

And then I wished I hadn’t.

My hands turned ice cold. My breath hitched.

It was my mother. And her hands—

No. No. No.

This had to be fake. Had to be edited. It had to be some disgusting joke.

"This is fake," I typed with shaky fingers.

"Ask your parents," came the reply.

My fingers were numb. But I facetime my mom. My heart pounded as the call connected.

Mom picked up.

"Princess, what... ?"

"Show me your hands."

She hesitated. Why the fuck was she hesitating?

"What happened, dear? Why—"

"SHOW ME YOUR HANDS!"

I didn’t care that I was in public. Workers were staring, but I didn’t give a flying fuck. The saleslady flinched at my outburst, but I couldn’t think about that.

Finally, after a long, excruciating pause, she lifted her hands.

Or what was left of them.

I felt the ground tilt beneath me.

"What the fuck happened to you?" My voice was barely a whisper, but the rage and panic underneath it were a storm.

She smiled—a fucking SMILE—like it wasn’t a big deal. "It was just an accident, princess. Don’t worry."

Accident? My ass.

My vision blurred by tears and I with my all strength and trembling voice asked," Who did this to you?"

She put a polite smile and said "No one sweetheart. It was just.."

I burst out, "Was it Ch..Christian? Christian Knight?"

My mind is screaming she should say a fucking no.

But no.

Mom put her hand or we can say wrist on her eyes and said, "I don't even know what I did that offended him to do this act. My life is miserable. I am scared. He will kill me."

I can't believe this. I screamed, " MOM , YES OR NO. Was it CHRISTIAN?"

She nodded.

Tears streamed down. Why Chris?

"He’ll hurt you, Stella. He’s taking revenge."

Revenge? For what? My heart pounded against my ribs, my mind spinning in frantic circles.

"Come to me. I'll tell you everything. Come soon, or else he will kill us."

The call ended, and I was left staring at my reflection in the black screen of my phone. My pulse roared in my ears.

Chris.

I had no doubt that if he wanted someone dead, he wouldn’t hesitate. But the part that gutted me, the part that sent icy dread crawling up my spine, was that if he had killed them, I would’ve never known. Not unless he wanted me to.

And yet, there was something bigger here, something I didn’t understand. Revenge.

What revenge? And why me?

Is my mom speaking the truth? But he had already hurt her in an inhuman way.

I swallowed against the tightness in my throat, my body aching under the weight of uncertainty.

My poor heart—it would shatter if I found out the truth.

And it would destroy me if I didn’t.

Let's have a talk with my mom first then Chris. Because if it's revenge he'll surely kill me and my parents.

I don't want to die.

I don't want to lose my parents.

I don't want to hate Chris.