The moment they laid eyes on the ruined Bentley, a collective gasp filled the air.
Everyone froze in place.
Then my son shoved a car key into my hands, tears streaming down his face. He wailed loudly, "Mommy, didn't you say this was the most expensive car? You told me if I scratched it, I'd get the biggest Transformer! Why is this uncle yelling at me?!"
His pitiful cries turned every gaze into knives aimed straight at me.
"Rachel, are you insane?!" Richard's voice was raw with fury as he roared at me.
"You actually taught our son to scratch cars?!"
My father-in-law trembled violently, his finger shaking as he pointed at me.
"You—you're trying to destroy our Caldwell family, aren't you?! To ruin us completely?!"
I shook my head, trying to explain. "I didn't— I—"
Smack!
My mother-in-law's hand landed on my cheek with a brutal slap. "You still dare to argue?" she spat.
"Jonas is only six. Do you think a child would lie?!"
"What does a child even understand? If you weren't a useless mother, how could he do something like this?"
"I think you just can't stand our family doing well—you're trying to ruin us on purpose!"
The car owner's eyes sharpened when he saw me. He pulled out his phone and pointed it at me, starting another live stream with a sensational title.
[Shocking News! Evil Mother Teaches Six-Year-Old Son to Scrape a Multi-Million Luxury Car!]
He screamed into the camera, "Everyone, this is the woman! I heard her son say it—she taught him to do it!"
"This car just arrived from overseas and hasn't even been warmed up yet! This woman is crazy!"
Yesterday's scandal hadn't died down; the new livestream exploded instantly, drawing hundreds of thousands of viewers. The barrage of comments scrolled like a tidal wave.
[It's that bitch again, is she sick?!]
[What kind of brain teaches a child to wreck a car worth millions?!]
[People like her don't deserve to be mothers—society would be better off without her!]
[Call the police! Arrest this lunatic!]
The audience's fury was swift and merciless. My face shot up the trending lists across platforms again—new labels slapped me like brand marks: "toxic mother," "car-scratching instigator," "social degenerate."
More people gathered at the scene. Fueled by the car owner, the crowd's temper reached a fever pitch. Fingers pointed, curses hurled, and someone even flicked a cigarette butt in my direction. I stood at the center like a condemned criminal, spat upon by a thousand tongues. I met one pair of eyes after another—hungry, hateful, as if they wanted to tear me limb from limb.
And then I felt the small weight of my son in my arms and saw, for the briefest moment, a glint triumph crossed his face—an expression that only I could see.
I did something that stunned everyone.
