They'll Regret This

A suitcase was placed in front of Cynthia Harris.

"You've been separated from your birth parents long enough . I won't stand in your way any longer."

Richard Harris spoke with a hint of reluctance in his eyes. His mind drifted back to that unexpected phone call months ago, when someone claimed to be Cynthia's birth mother...

After much back and forth, Richard had finally found his own biological daughter, Patricia Harris.

Richard let out a quiet sigh.

"You're heading back to Millersburg. The mountain roads there are treacherous, and once it gets dark, it's not safe."

He had heard that Cynthia’s birth family lived in poverty, often barely able to put food on the table. If he became entangled with a family like that, who knew how much trouble it would cause down the line?

"I won't see you off."

Better to avoid being spotted by her family on the spot, or they might latch onto him instead.

Cynthia slowly stood up, her expression calm and unreadable as she stared at the suitcase.

"I don't want any of it."

With that, she turned to leave.

Just as she stepped out the garden's back door, her mother, Jane Smith, blocked her way. A pair of sharp, assessing eyes looked Cynthia from head to toe.

"That shabby little town you’re going to isn’t exactly high society. This coat is far too extravagant—it’ll only invite criticism. Better take it off. I'm doing this for your own good."

Jane had asked someone to find an international haute couture designer to custom-make this coat. The gemstones on it were worth a fortune. She'd only gritted her teeth and spent that money on the engagement with the Miller family, hoping to impress the guests and media.

Now that Cynthia was about to walk off wearing it, Jane felt like she was losing a huge sum for nothing.

As she spoke, she reached out, not giving Cynthia any time to react, already eager to pull the coat off her.

"I'll do it myself."

Cynthia stepped back half a step and took off the coat.

She didn't think much of it, just grabbed another one from the closet rack and put it on. She never would have imagined that the woman she'd called mother for eighteen years would now look at her like she was guarding against a petty thief.

"Cynthia, when you get there, just behave yourself."

Jane said while casually taking Cynthia's hand, her expression seemingly concerned, but her movements quietly pushed up Cynthia's sleeve.

Seeing the wrist was bare, she finally felt truly relieved.

"Where else do you want to search?"

Cynthia looked at her coldly and simply raised both hands. "Or should I strip right here so you can see I haven’t stolen any of your precious treasures?"

Jane froze for a moment, then her face turned pale and flushed alternately, her guilt quickly replaced by anger.

"We raised you all these years! Never asked your birth parents for a cent in child support, and this is the attitude you give us?"

"Whatever attitude you give me, I'll give right back."

Cynthia wasn't the least bit intimidated.

Jane's chest heaved violently with anger, and she raised her hand to slap Cynthia.

But Cynthia caught her wrist firmly.

"You don't have the right to hit me anymore."

Cynthia knew exactly how many times Jane’s palm had struck her face over the years.

"What an ungrateful child!"

Jane was furious, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't break free from Cynthia's grip.

When did Cynthia get so strong?

Then Richard's palm came down, and Cynthia's cheek suddenly stung with pain.

She snapped back to reality to find Richard already standing in front of her, having slapped her without hesitation.

"She's the mother who raised you for eighteen years! You actually dared to lay hands on her—what a waste raising you all these years!"

Her attention had been entirely on Jane; she hadn't noticed when Richard had approached.

Her cheek burned with stinging pain, but this was the Harris family estate—there was no justice for her to be found here right now.

Cynthia lightly touched her burning face, her eyes cold as ice. "I'll pay you back for this slap sooner or later."

She dropped those words and turned to leave.

Before going, she cast one last reluctant glance at the rose garden deep in the yard.

Her grandmother had arranged for her grandfather to plant it for her before falling seriously ill, saying she hoped Cynthia's life would be as bright and beautiful as these roses, surrounded by tenderness and love.

That was her only remaining attachment to this place.

She had planned to prune them one final time, but that chance was now gone.

Light pink high heels studded with rhinestones slowly stepped into the flower bed, trampling the blooming roses directly underfoot, grinding them forcefully into the dirt.

"Cynthia."

Patricia, wearing an elaborate dress, stood beside Derek Miller, the eldest son of the Miller family.

He had once been Cynthia's fiancé.

"Dad, why did you have to hit Cynthia?"

Patricia spoke softly. "Cynthia is suddenly going from a privileged socialite to a small-town girl. Of course she’s upset. A family like ours should be more generous about it."

Her sweet voice eased much of the frustration in Richard's chest. Looking at Patricia, beyond sympathy, he felt more gratified.

"She took your rightful place for so many years, yet you’re still defending her. This is what a Harris family daughter should be like—tolerant and kind."

Praised like this, Patricia spoke even more gently. "Cynthia, don't feel bitter. I'll take good care of Mom and Dad for you."

Cynthia had no patience for the fake concern and simply reminded her coldly,

"You stepped on my flowers."

"Those are our family's flowers."

Patricia turned back with a smile, but her eyes carried a victor's smugness. "I'm planning to replace all of this with lavender. Large patches of purple would be so romantic and beautiful, perfect for the garden. These roses are just too tacky."

She was clearly calling Cynthia tasteless.

"Grandfather planted these himself."

Cynthia's voice turned cold. "You don’t have the authority to replace them."

Most of the Harris family's core assets and voting rights still rested with Grandfather's hands. Even Richard and Jane didn't dare defy him.

Her words were clearly a reminder—even living in this estate, Patricia didn't even have the right to redesign the garden; she could only run her mouth.

Patricia's expression instantly darkened, her nails digging deep into her palms.

Seeing Cynthia turn to leave, she steeled herself and quickly caught up, already calculating in her mind.

But she kept up appearances verbally. "Cynthia, let me walk you to the door."

She walked up beside Cynthia in a few steps, and as Cynthia descended the stairs, her eyes turned cold, preparing to quietly shove her down.

But Cynthia had already sensed the move. The moment Patricia lunged at her, Cynthia stepped aside, letting her miss completely.

Losing her balance in an instant, Patricia tumbled down the stairs.

Her dress was instantly covered in dust, and Patricia's once-refined face bore a shocking, bloody gash from the edge of the steps.

The pain left her momentarily speechless. Instinctively reaching to straighten her disheveled hair, her fingertips came away sticky with blood.

She'd always treated her appearance as her entire dignity. In this moment, her heart was instantly filled with terror and hatred, and she glared viciously at Cynthia.

Before she could speak, she saw her parents rushing over and immediately put on a helpless, fragile expression.

Tears welled up as her voice trembled.

"Dad! Mom! I was kindly seeing Cynthia out, and she suddenly pushed me down the stairs! I know Cynthia's upset, but she can't take it out on me!"

Patricia cried hard, her sobs making Jane's heart tighten.

She helped Patricia up with concern, her eyes burning with fury toward Cynthia.

"You vicious woman! You deserve that miserable dump! If anything happens to Patricia today, I'll never let you go!"

Derek also rushed over at the commotion. Seeing the wound on Patricia's face, his expression turned thunderous.

"Cynthia, I never knew you could be so despicable!"

"Derek."

Patricia nestled in Derek's arms, crying until her voice was hoarse. "My face hurts so much..."

The protective instinct stirred in the man instantly overpowered his reason. He stared at Cynthia, looking at her like an enemy.

"No one's letting Cynthia leave today! If Patricia's really disfigured, she'll have to pay the price!"