Chapter 50
50:
Finnegan spun to face Joselyn, his voice sharp with disbelief. “Mrs. Dawson, this woman just insulted your son—and you’re honestly going to let that go?”
“Christina Jones!” Joselyn hissed, her words trembling with a volatile mix of shame and anger. She jabbed an unsteady finger at Christina, her eyes wild. “You fucking bitch! One more word out of you, and I’ll snuff that mouth of yours permanently.”
Christina exhaled, the sound thick with mocking exhaustion. “Alas! Guess I really am a hopeless case, huh?”
Katie’s lips twisted into a venomous smirk. “What’s this? Finally smartened up and realized you’re just a loser?”
Christina’s smile turned languid, almost lazy, her eyes radiating an icy indifference. “I just realized that no matter how hard I fall, I can’t even get close to the bottomless pit of shamelessness of you guys. Honestly, I’m impressed. I could never compete.”
Outrage swept through the group, every face twisted with indignation, each of them looking ready to throttle Christina right then and there.
Yolanda pushed forward, her eyes glistening with theatrical misery. “Christina, if you’re angry—if you have some grudge—then take it out on me. Please, just leave the Dawson family out of it. I can shoulder it all,” she pleaded, her voice trembling as if she might break.
Christina’s gaze flicked to Yolanda, cold and contemptuous. She didn’t bother with words—a single withering look was enough to send Yolanda reeling back, panic flashing across her face as she nearly toppled over.
Joselyn and Katie hurried to Yolanda’s side, their faces knotted with worry as they hovered over her, fussing and whispering anxious questions.
The whole performance was so absurd that Christina nearly let out a laugh. All she’d done was look at Yolanda, yet these women acted as if she’d pulled a knife.
Sheila’s voice rang out, cold and shrill. “How could you be so vicious? The Dawson family once welcomed you as one of their own. Is this what you do—get divorced and start flinging insults? You even insulted your ex-husband! Don’t you have a shred of decency left? The Dawsons treated you well, but now you’re out here smearing their name just for spite, showing no respect to your elders—aren’t you afraid of what that might bring?”
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Christina’s gaze, languid and unbothered, slid over to Sheila as she took an unhurried step forward. Sheila immediately shrank back, fear flashing in her eyes for a split second.
For a heartbeat, Sheila felt as if Christina’s cool, razor-sharp stare had sliced straight through her, laying bare every secret she’d ever tried to hide. She couldn’t breathe—her throat seemed to tighten under that icy scrutiny.
With a slow, crooked smile, Christina spoke, her voice laced with mockery. “Interesting. No wonder you all get along so well—your private lives are just as messy as your gossip.”
Sheila’s complexion went ghostly pale, but she quickly composed herself, forcing a sneer. “Ha! Stop slandering me. Word is, you’re just the Jones family’s charity case—some adopted nobody, parents unknown. If anyone here is illegitimate, Christina, it’s you.”
Finnegan’s face turned an ominous shade as he jabbed a finger in Christina’s direction, his voice thundering. “What bullshit are you spewing? Every Mitchell child has a paternity report—they’re all mine! Keep talking and I’ll drag you to court for slander!”
Christina didn’t even flinch. “By all means, try it,” she replied aloofly, a sly, mocking smile tugging at her lips. Her gaze cut straight through Finnegan and Sheila, ice-cold and unyielding. “But let’s not kid ourselves—at least one of you isn’t related to your kids by blood.”
Panic flashed across both Finnegan’s and Sheila’s faces, though Finnegan’s temper snapped first.
“You goddamn piece of scum! I’ll shut that mouth of yours for good!”
Finnegan snapped, storming toward Christina with murder in his eyes.
Yolanda’s voice trembled as she called out, “Dad, please—don’t get upset!”
But she made no effort to intervene, secretly wishing he’d hurt Christina. If he landed a blow, the most they’d have to do was pay some hush money—nothing truly damaging.
Yolanda had always dealt with her victims the same way—crush them and then toss them scraps. To her, the poor were pitiful creatures, too desperate to chase justice once money entered the picture. In her eyes, poverty itself was a crime—one she had no intention of forgiving.
The onlookers gathered, anticipation flickering in their eyes, waiting for Christina to be humiliated.
But in the split second before Finnegan’s foot could land, Christina slipped nimbly aside.
Finnegan’s leg whipped through empty air, his own momentum pitching him forward. With a sickening thud, he crashed onto the floor, the room reverberating with the impact. A pained groan slipped from his lips as he lay sprawled and unmoving.
The group, who moments before looked eager for violence, blanched at the sudden turn.
“Dad!” Yolanda shrieked, bolting to his side, her face drained of color.
Finnegan shifted ever so slightly, and the collective tension in the room broke—their relief as palpable as their shock. He hadn’t died from the fall, but the spectacle they’d expected had shattered in the blink of an eye.
Yolanda immediately burst into tears, her sobs echoing through the room. “Dad! Dad, say something—please, don’t scare me like this!”
Finnegan tried to speak, but Yolanda threw him a sharp, warning look—an unspoken cue.
Catching on, Finnegan obediently let his hand flop to the floor, squeezing his eyes shut.
“Dad, answer me! What’s wrong with you?” Yolanda wailed, wringing her hands in theatrical distress.
Sheila’s voice rang out, shrill and panicked. “Darling! Please, don’t do this—don’t leave me!”
Joselyn rushed over, her tone pitched high with alarm. “Mr. Mitchell! Wake up—please!”
The room erupted into overlapping cries, the chaos sharp enough to rattle the windows.
Katie whipped around, her wrath fixed on Christina. “This is all your fault, Christina! Look what you’ve done!”
Christina lounged against the wall, arms raised in a lazy stretch. “And what exactly does this have to do with me?” she drawled, unfazed by the hysteria.
“If anything happens to Mr. Mitchell, we’ll make you pay!” Katie spat, her glare seething with accusation.
Christina met her glare with a faint, dismissive smile. “You’re really blaming me? He fell over his own feet—how’s that my fault?”
“It’s all on you!” Katie bellowed, her voice sharp as a slap. “You have to take full responsibility!”
A quiet chuckle slipped from Christina’s lips. “Let me get this straight: you think I should’ve just stood there and let him try to kick me?”
Christina shot Katie a look, her eyes cool and fearless. That kick had been meant to put her in the hospital, maybe worse.
Katie crossed her arms, refusing to back down. “If you hadn’t dodged, would he even have fallen? You’re young. It’s not like you would die from a kick!”
Christina arched a brow and gave a sly, taunting grin. “If you’re so sure, why don’t you stand right there and let me kick you to test that theory?”
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