I am Zachary Spencer's Daughter

Yet they gave me no chance to explain. Bertha Louis, while hitting me, cursed, "You slut, daring to seduce my husband and you can't even admit it?"

"Ha, I didn't expect you to have the nerve to show up here!"

"What, you come to show off on your wedding day? Trying to warn me?"

"Let me tell you, I am Zachary Spencer's wife, you will always be nothing but a streetwalker, never a phoenix rising from the ashes. Stop dreaming, once I marry into this wealthy family, I'll make sure you're sold to a brothel!"

"You like men, right? I'll find plenty to satisfy you!"

Growing up, I had never heard such filthy insults. I yelled, "Bertha Louis! You've really lost your mind! I am not Zachary Spencer's mistress! Call him now, let him come here!"

Facing such an irrational woman, I knew explaining was futile; I had to have Dad intervene. I remembered the videos and photos he had shown me with my stepmother, who appeared so kind and caring in them. I had thought I was getting a wonderful stepmother. But at this moment, I realized I was mistaken. She was so bitter and unyielding, not giving me a chance to explain.

And no one would listen to me. Bertha Louis kept on sharply, "Funny, you think I'd call my husband for you? Dream on!"

"Want to see him? Fine! I'll take you to him soon and let's ask him who pleases him more, you or me?"

"You're just a plaything for Zachary Spencer when he's lonely! With me here, you can forget about ever marrying into a wealthy family!"

"His cars, houses, and wealth, they will all be mine!"

I bit my lip in pain, sweating profusely. I could hardly imagine what it would be like if Dad really married this woman. Until today, I had been full of hope about getting along well with my stepmother. Suddenly, the violence interrupted my thoughts.

"Hmph, kill this slut!"

"Strip her of her clothes, let's see how she dares to seduce men after this!"

Bertha Louis's friends rolled up their sleeves.

They stared at me like a pack of wolves eyeing their prey. I was pinned to the ground by four women, my mouth covered. Bertha Louis sat on top of me, tearing at my dress.

With a rip, my dress was shredded, exposing patches of my skin. Everyone looked on with schadenfreude, my bloodied and exposed body before them. Whether I was the mistress no longer mattered. The scene of my humiliation and beating became their thrilling spectacle, satisfying their morbid curiosity.

My hair was pulled, the pain was excruciating, almost knocking me unconscious. Tears streamed down my face. In a daze, I even saw someone pull out a phone to take photos. They groped for my underwear, my heart pounding fiercely. I bit hard on the hand over my mouth; the woman screamed and jerked back. Just as they were about to remove the last of my protection, I screamed out, "Bertha Louis! I am Zachary Spencer's daughter!"