PART 3 – BLOOD AT MY DOOR
While lost in thought, my phone suddenly buzzed with an anonymous message:
“Feeling sad?
The mother and brother you love so much belong to me now.
In their hearts, you’re nothing but an ATM without a PIN – they can withdraw whenever they want,
however much they want.
Controlling you is as easy as flipping my hand!”
“Good sister of mine, just obediently be the ATM, don’t dream of anything more.”
Every word dripped with arrogance.
No need to guess – besides Scarlett, no one could be this childish.
How ridiculous.
Someone who could manipulate even their own blood relatives –
how could she be sincere with an outsider like my brother?
Late at night, the doorbell rang incessantly in the empty house, shattering my brief sleep.
I glanced at my phone – 2:35 AM.
I shuffled to the door in slippers.
Before I could react, I smelled a thick, fishy stench.
Splash! – a basin of thick, sticky liquid hit me in the face.
The slimy substance dripped down my hair, sticking to my skin and pajamas.
The metallic smell of blood shot straight up my nose, making me dry heave violently.
Marcus stood there, shaking with rage, throwing the basin to the ground:
“Why won’t you transfer the money?!
What did Scarlett do wrong that you have to hurt her?
Now she’s in the hospital – are you satisfied?!”
I stood stunned, wiping my face with blood-stained hands.
This afternoon she was still texting to provoke me, and by evening she was hospitalized?
I pulled up the text messages on my phone and showed them to him, my eyes red:
“Can you be a little less stupid?”
Marcus looked even more frenzied after reading them, grabbing my phone and smashing it to the floor:
“You still dare falsely accuse Scarlett?!”
I trembled violently.
Before I could react, several slaps rained down.
My vision blurred, tears flowed, and blood dripped from my face onto my shirt, creating a long streak.
The person hitting me was the very brother I had once doted on.
Perhaps still not satisfied, he cursed a few more times, then slapped me again:
“If you dare touch Scarlett again, I’ll cut all ties with you!”
The words “cut all ties” echoed in the empty hallway, making my ears buzz.
Doors opened in neighboring apartments, residents cursing loudly at being disturbed.
Marcus panicked and ran away.
My phone kept ringing with messages:
[Scarlett is a good person, she couldn’t have said those things.
Besides, Mom and I never loved you anyway.
The person who sent those messages was right.]
[I’m the only son of the Harrison family, the money you earn rightfully belongs to me.
I’m just using it a little early!]
[Don’t even think about using these messages to threaten Scarlett.]
Neighbors who saw the bloody scene called the police with shaking hands.
I lay motionless on the floor, my mind blank.
After the police arrived, they videoed the scene and photographed my swollen, bloody face.
From the hallway security camera, you could clearly see Marcus coming to cause trouble while I didn’t
fight back at all.
A female officer took my hand and gently patted it in comfort:
“Don’t be afraid, we’ll help you get justice.”
With police and lawyer support, I went to the hospital for examination.
Results: perforated eardrum due to external force.
The next day, I formally filed charges against Marcus.
With sufficient evidence, police quickly arrested him at the hospital cafeteria.
He was still eating breakfast and humming cheerfully, completely unaware of what awaited him.
Since my injuries weren’t severe enough to constitute a criminal offense,
he was only detained administratively for seven days and required to apologize.
Watching him reluctantly bow his head, saying “sorry” while his face remained defiant,
I just shook my head and walked away.
Perhaps my counterattack panicked the entire Harrison family.
From then on, they disappeared from my life.
One evening, after a client dinner, while waiting for my ride, I casually browsed social media.
The first headline that appeared: Marcus Harrison and Scarlett Barrett’s wedding canceled.
Scarlett’s brother had decided to marry her off to a wealthy man in his fifties.
A friend sent me a video:
In the video, Scarlett sat across from a portly man whose belly spilled over his shirt buttons,
bald head, wearing an ordinary Vacheron Constantin watch.
He talked while twisting his watch, the heavy cologne overwhelming even the audio.
“I’ll give you fifty thousand a month for expenses.
But you need to maintain your current figure – not fatter, not thinner.
I like how you feel right now.”
As he spoke, he reached over to stroke Scarlett’s hand.
Just then, Marcus rushed in, throwing a glass of hot water at the man:
“Trash like you doesn’t deserve to touch her!”
“Scarlett and I truly love each other – she’s only here because her family forced her.
She only loves me!”
The man wiped his face, angrily shouting:
“You cheap whore!”
Scarlett burst into tears, hiding behind Marcus, but her wet eyes still glanced toward the wealthy man.
I smiled slightly – clearly she was already swayed by his wealth.
Obviously, she’d stayed with Marcus before because I was successful in business and willing to help my
brother.
Marcus was just a stepping stone for her to climb higher.
Now that there was nothing left to gain from our relationship,
Scarlett immediately turned to find someone new.
The baby in her belly – whose father it really was hadn’t even been sorted out,
yet she was already jumping to another ship.
She really didn’t know the meaning of fear.
Less than a day later, my friend sent another video.
Dim lighting, pulsing music.
In the bar, Scarlett wore a low-cut dress, looking seductive as she danced closely with a man.
Not Marcus.
It seemed she really was talented – simultaneously sweet-talking Marcus into coming back while coolly
seducing others.
Her “performance” was truly “as good as ever.”
After watching, I just smiled coldly.
Their love-hate drama had nothing to do with me anymore.
It wasn’t until I heard news of Scarlett again that it came through a phone call from Marcus using
someone else’s number.
His voice trembled:
“Sis…
Scarlett… miscarried.”
This time, he spoke with unusual “sincerity” – apologizing to me.
He said Scarlett’s previous hospitalization was because she “accidentally engaged in vigorous activity”
with another man, threatening miscarriage.
This time was the same – playing “rough games” with the man in the expensive watch,
causing severe bleeding.
Blood soaked through the sheets before they discovered it and rushed to the hospital,
but it was too late.
The doctor said: The uterus was severely damaged, and she could never conceive again.
Scarlett held Marcus in the hospital, crying that her brother had drugged her and forced her into that
man’s bed – claiming she was “raped.”
“Sis, you have to take responsibility!”
Sometimes, people are so speechless they can only laugh.
I seriously wondered – with his brain and logic, how did he even get into Stanford?
Did he cheat?
I sent him all the photos and videos of Scarlett’s affairs that my friend had investigated.
The other end went dead silent, even his breathing sounded shaky.
The air seemed to freeze.
He exploded:
“Sophia, you’re so despicable!
You’re jealous of Scarlett so you’re making up stories about her betraying me!”
“I bet when Mom gave birth to you, she threw away the baby and raised the placenta instead!”
That vicious insult cut through my heart like a knife.
I had clearly provided evidence, yet he still stubbornly believed her.
“She loves me, truly loves me!”
“Yes, yes, she loves you.
You two lock yourselves together!”
I hung up immediately.
No point wasting breath on an idiot.
