Ten minutes later, Janice and Ben stood, rubbing swollen faces, glaring at each other with undisguised resentment. Bonnie watched them—Janice and Ben—who moments before had been slapping each other. Her gaze fell to the silver gun on the table; she sighed.
Just ten minutes earlier, after the door closed, Yvette had made no attempt to intervene. Seeing Yvette produce the gun, Janice and Ben had been terrified, losing all composure. They blamed each other, escalating to a physical fight. Throughout, Yvette sat silently on the couch. Now, they were reduced to this pathetic state.
Janice fared worse. Ben, being stronger, had inflicted considerable damage. Her screams, a tragic, shrill cry, had pierced the air.
Finally, they stopped. Ben, his face wounded, spat on the ground and pointed at Janice. “She started this,” he said to Yvette. “She dragged me into it. I was fooled. If you’re angry, take it out on her. I’m innocent.”
He trembled, his fear palpable as he saw the gun. He understood he'd crossed a line. Years of navigating society taught him the implications of a woman casually drawing a weapon—he'd stirred a hornet's nest.
Janice, lying on the floor, slowly raised her head. Bruised and battered, every inch of her body ached. Her eyes locked onto Yvette, calmly seated on the couch, a figure resembling a demon. Her chest heaved with labored breaths, her eyes wide with seething anger, tears of hatred welling up. “From the moment I saw you, Yvette, I hated you,” she hissed. “Why is even my sister on your side? All I have is this old man to help me get what I want. It's not fair! I'd be a thousand times better than you.”
Yvette possessed heaven-granted beauty and a wealthy boyfriend, Jeremiah; everything came easily. Janice, in contrast, had to struggle, manipulating a man as old as her father to survive. Even Bonnie, for Yvette's sake, readily cast aside their years of sisterhood, refusing to hear Janice speak ill of Yvette.
Yvette lowered her head slightly, her gaze piercing. Her eyes were sharp as ice, chilling and emotionless. Leaning back, her profile was distant and indifferent, her expression devoid of warmth. This indifference, this untouchable aura, stung Janice deeply. Yvette seemed so superior, almost divine, making Janice feel insignificant.
Bonnie stepped forward, observing Janice's expression. In that moment, she moved on. With calm clarity, she said, “This is the last time I speak to you as family. You always complain. The truth is, you're not Yvette, and you never will be. Even if you were, you'd still be using your body to get what you want through men. You've created an enemy in Yvette to justify your inadequacy.”
Janice froze, stunned. That's bullshit, she thought. Yvette is to blame. Why does someone like her exist, showing me how pitiful I am? This is what they mean by unexpected failure. Even an exceptional person, doing nothing, makes others jealous.
She covered her ears and screamed, “I don’t want to hear it, Bonnie! You’re a fool! It’s all Yvette’s fault! You’re my sister, not hers!”
Ben, processing Janice's words, paused in confusion. She’s insane, he thought. Why did I get involved with her? She deliberately caused trouble for her sister, making a scene in her store. What a madwoman.
Bonnie watched Janice cling to her delusions. “Maybe I’ve never really seen you for who you are,” she said, her voice low and firm.
Janice sneered, madness in her eyes. “You’re right. When you were five, I wanted to drown you. Too bad the hunter saved you. Afterward, I burned down his house while he was hunting. His pregnant wife died in the fire. He paid for his meddling.”
Her words were casual, almost proud. If the hunter hadn't interfered, Bonnie would have died, and she would have been her grandmother's only granddaughter.
Bonnie stared, shocked. She'd been too young to remember the fire that ravaged their village, but now understood Janice's role in the hunter's family's suffering. The realization hit her like a slap.
Her lips trembled with rage as she glared at Janice, still smiling with twisted satisfaction. “You…you’re hopeless,” Bonnie’s voice rose in fury.
Ben, realizing he'd been involved with a murderer, paled. Fear consumed him; he shrank back, speechless.
Yvette, rising from the couch, approached Janice with calm indifference. She looked down, her eyes cold. Humans are inherently good, but some are born evil, she thought.
She crouched and slammed Janice's head against the ground repeatedly, exuding an eerie, cold aura. Each strike was a death sentence; the sickening sound echoed through the store.
Janice didn't react quickly enough. Her mind grew fuzzy; only the repeated thuds echoed. Only when Janice's head was a bloody mess did Yvette stop.
Bonnie looked at the gasping Janice, silent. She produced gloves from her pocket, walked to Yvette, and said, “Take these, Yve.”
Yvette took them, wiping her hands calmly, as if nothing had happened.
Terrified, Ben had retreated to the corner, watching in horror. His eyes darted between the bloodied Janice and the unmoved Yvette. He was so scared he could barely breathe, fearing any misstep would provoke Yvette's wrath.
Yvette's gaze flickered to Ben; her expression was glacial. His knees buckled. “Please, Ms. Zeller,” he sobbed, “I swear I saw nothing! I’m not close to Janice! She came to me at the bar yesterday, and I was drunk. Please, don’t hurt me! I swear, if I knew she was a murderer, I’d never have gone near her!” His tears flowed freely, making him pitiable.