Chapter 1000
At the Hawkins Estate, a woman clad in designer fashion was seated in the living room of the main house, her fury palpable enough to terrify the household staff into silence.
In a fit of rage, she hurled her tea cup to the floor, shattering it as she shrieked, “Witch! Witch! Witch p>
The maids, petrified, knelt in unison, trembling uncontrollably.
This woman was Helen Murphy, known among the Hawkins as their own Helen. Nearing her fifties yet with a beauty regimen that made her appear barely over forty, Helen was innately jealous, especially since she didn’t possess the natural beauty of Pamela Patel, Elysia’s mother.
The object of her long-standing unrequited love, Clayton Hawkins, had chosen Pamela over her. Adding insult to injury, on the very day both women married into the Hawkins family, Old Mrs. Hawkins, Betty, had disregarded Helen’s feelings entirely, passing the family reins to Pamela during the wedding celebrations.
Hence, from the day she married into the Hawkins family, Helen saw Pamela as a thorn in her side.
However, Pamela, before losing her sanity, had been the lady of the Hawkins Estate. Helen had to mask her hatred with respect, playing the part of a loving sister-in-law.
Pamela’s descent into madness was like springtime for Helen, freeing her from the need to hide her true feelings. She vented her frustrations on Pamela whenever she could. If not for the consideration of Clayton and the Patel family, Helen would have sought Pamela’s demise long ago.
The source of Helen’s current rage was a humiliating experience at a high-society luncheon earlier that day. A wealthy rival had publicly exposed her, claiming her husband, Carl Hawkins, was entangled with a tall, leggy inte star, making her the subject of gossip.
Mockingly, the woman had advised Helen to “keep a tighter leash” on her husband. As if! Carl, known for his philandering ways, had countless mistresses. Their marriage, a result of Helen’s scheming, lacked any foundation of love, leaving her powerless against his abuses.
The insult was clear: Helen was being publicly shamed.
Furthermore, the woman claimed that the Hawkins family was now solely upheld by Clayton, insinuating that the rest were mere parasites. Equally infuriating was their praise for Pamela, now considered a lunatic, as “Oceanopolis’s most graceful woman,” her beauty and intellect unmatched even in madness.
Fuming, Helen cursed, “Even in her madness, she dares to overshadow me? What serene grace, what scholarly poise, what nonsense! She’s just a crazy dead woman walking!
That damned witch, why doesn’t she just die already!
Always babbling about her daughter, as if the dead care. She should be searching in hell, for that’s where her daughter must be!
She must be doing this to spite me, living out of sheer malice. A heartless, vile witch p>
As if on cue, Pamela staggered into the living room, her presence a stark contrast to the tension. Her beauty, undiminished by her disheveled state, was a bitter reminder to Helen of her own insecurities.
Despite Helen’s reluctance to admit it, Pamela was indeed more beautiful.
Oblivious to Helen’s rage and the servants cowering on the floor, Pamela headed straight upstairs, murmuring, “Irene, Irene, mommy’s home p>
Her maids, indifferent to her plight, approached Helen with sycophantic smiles, eager to align with the power within the Hawkins Estate, “Mrs. Murphy, how can we assist you p>
In the grand homes of the elite, loyalty was as fickle as the shifting balance of power.