Whitney's POV
Andrea pressed in closer and, with a cold and triumphant voice, pressed, “I’m right, aren’t I?”
She dipped her fingers into the thick slime of the snake egg. “Whitney, speak.”
Her fingertip was about to touch the prayer cloth when I doubled over and gasped for air.
“I admit it.”
The words had barely left my mouth before the entire room erupted in laughter.
“I knew it! Whitney’s the type to do anything for money and power, even making up crap about being some descendant of Eirian.”
“Right? She could’ve just come clean from the start. It took Miss Elledge to corner her before she cracked.”
“Well, now it’s settled. Let’s see how David tears her apart.”
David walked slowly toward me. His expression was more terrifying than before, eyes swirling with fury, like a storm ready to break loose.
“Whitney,” he said, his voice cold and biting, “this whole game was just meant to let Andrea blow off some steam. But now… I see what kind of woman you really are.”
“You played me like a fool. Does that make you happy?” he bellowed. “You said you married me to cure my illness. Claimed you were descended from Eirian. Fine. Then let me peel off your snake skin today and see if there’s anything underneath.”
He raised a dagger high over his head, ready to bring it down on my neck, but Andrea stepped in again, gently stopping his arm.
She smiled sweetly and said, “David, if she dies just like that, isn’t it too easy for her? The real show is just getting started.”
Everyone followed her gaze, turning to look behind us.
A strange smell drifted in, steamed meat, faintly sweet, but laced with blood.
Then, a platter of steamed snake eggs was brought in.
The same people who had been clamoring to try them now backed away, faces pale.
“Holy shit. Are we actually supposed to eat that? It smells like death.”
“Smells worse than rotten eggs. Maybe the chef messed up.”
“Or maybe Whitney injected something into the eggs to fake them. God, how twisted can she be?”
Andrea didn’t care about the speculation. She gave the chef a nod, and he brought the platter directly to me.
“Go on. Eat it,” she said, eyes fixed on mine. “You know exactly what it is. More than anyone here.”
“If you finish this… foul little dish, my brother and I might consider sparing your life,” she offered.
I stared blankly at the plate in front of me.
The reddish liquid, the gelatinous bits floating in it, was my third child. She never had the chance to be born—not even the chance to fully form.
When I carried her, I used to imagine hearing her tiny voice call out “Mama” and “Papa.” I dreamed of holding her little body, soft and warm. I pictured her growing up, where by six, she’d be old enough to take human form. I wondered if she’d look more like me or like David.
Behind me, his cold voice snapped me back. “Whitney. Why are you just standing there?”
What a joke. This was the ending I waited for?
My youngest child was steamed alive. My second child was condemned to eternal suffering.
My blood began to boil, crashing through my veins, ready to burst through my skin.
I threw my head back and laughed, “David, you idiot!”
“What did you just say?!” he roared, vexed.
“I said,” I laughed harder, tears burning my eyes, “you absolute fool!”
The very next second, David, one of the snake eggs on the wall, and I all began to violently tremble.
Gasps and screams filled the room.
David’s face twisted in shock.
“No… That’s not possible. This can’t be happening!”
