Agnes felt her more and more disappointed.
She had known all along that there was a direct link between Beatrice and that incident.
But, when she heard her admit it herself, Agnes felt a pang of pain in her heart.
Agnes's voice grew colder: "What do you think I've taken from you, from what you had?"
Beatrice's voice quivered with suppressed rage. "Agnes, I've resented you for as long as I can remember. Why were you always the golden girl of the Pritchard family, while I was pushed to the sidelines? Whispered rumors labeled me the result of an affair. Why? Our parents were genuinely in love, yet everyone saw our family as an impediment. Knowing I had a half-sister was a stain on my identity, all because of you. Father always had a soft spot for you. Remember the marriage proposal from the Whitfield family? He handed it to you, as though you were his only daughter. Did he ever think maybe I was better suited for Jared? You were aware of my feelings for him, yet you stepped in and overshadowed me. Every step of the way, you've been a thorn in my side. My resentment for you? It runs deep. If I could, I'd erase you from my life."
Agnes felt these words were nothing but ludicrous.
With rage clouding her judgment, Beatrice charged at Agnes, her nails outstretched. But Agnes, composed and quick, caught her assailant's wrist, gripping it with such force that Beatrice's face twisted in pain. The pressure was so intense, it felt like her bones might shatter.
Once satisfied she'd made her point, Agnes released her. "Beatrice," she began, her voice cold and steady, "I've tolerated your antics before. But what you've done lately is far too much. This slap? Consider it a warning. Just because I chose peace before doesn't mean I'm defenseless. Mess with me, especially using underhanded schemes, and you'll regret it. Next time? I won't be as merciful."
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