The Genetic Report That Turned My Family Into Monsters Chapter 04

The Genetic Report That Turned My Family Into Monsters Chapter 04

Officer Vickers gently squeezed my shoulder. “Tell me the truth, Eleanor. If it happened like you said, they’re leaving in handcuffs.” 

slowly lifted my head, looking past Vickers‘ protective stance to the disgusted faces of my family, then at the whispering guests. 

Defeated, I crumpled the report and slowly shook my head. 

Mom let out a bitter, mocking scoff. “Calling the police on your own flesh and blood. You ungrateful bitch.” 

“Hey! Watch your mouth, ma’am, or I will put you in cuffs right now!” Officer Mark barked. Mom immediately snapped her mouth shut, though her eyes continued to carve into me like butcher knives. 

Drawing a shaky breath, I turned back to Vickers. “There’s no need to arrest anyone,” I murmured, staring at the floor to sell the lie. “It was just a misunderstanding. The baby… there really is a medical issue. I’m so sorry to have wasted your time.” 

Vickers furrowed her brow, her eyes searching mine in pure disbelief. “Eleanor, you don’t have to lie. We watched the security footage. They clearly assaulted you.” 

“I lost control of myself. They were just trying to restrain me.” 

Without a cooperating victim, the officers‘ hands were tied. Reluctance radiating from her every movement, 

Vickers handed me her business card. “If you change your mind and need help, call me. Anytime.” 

As the cruiser backed out of the driveway, the remaining guests practically scrambled to evacuate the villa. No one wanted to spend another second entangled in this grotesque family scandal. 

Minutes later, the expansive driveway sat dead and empty. Under the sickly amber glow of the streetlights, it was just me, Julian, and Mom and Dad. 

The very second the taillights of the last guest’s car faded into the dark, their civilized masks were violently ripped away. 

Dad delivered a sickeningly heavy slap across my face. The force of it sent me crashing hard onto the unforgiving concrete of the driveway. 

Before I could even push myself up, Mom was on me. she twisted her fingers viciously into my hair, yanking my head back. “You humiliating little piece of trash!” she shrieked, spit flying from her lips. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done to our reputation?!” 

I gasped in blinding pain. Through watering eyes, I looked up at Julian, silently praying to see just a single, lingering shred of humanity. But he merely stared at the swell of my pregnant belly, his eyes completely dead and void of anywhere near a soul. 

“End this, Richard,” Julian commanded with lethal detachment. 

Dad didn’t hesitate. He drove his expensive leather shoe viciously into my ribs. I collapsed sideways 

against the pavement, wheezing in absolute agony. He drew his arm back, his clenched fist aiming directly for my womb. 

“Hey! What the hell are you doing?!” 

A frantic voice sliced through the darkness from the opposite end of the sidewalk. 

The blinding glare of a portable ring light suddenly 

pierced the night. Damian Cross–a notoriously sensationalist local live–streamer–was sprinting up 

our driveway with his small crew, his smartphone lens aimed dead–center at us. 

“We’ve got fifty thousand viewers in the chat right now!” Damian shouted, zooming in relentlessly 

dn Dad’s raised, trembling fist. “Are you seriously jumping a pregnant woman in the middle of the street?!” 

Dad froze mid–strike. Julian instinctively threw a hand up to shield his face from the harsh, blazing LED light. 

But Mom didn’t panic. She didn’t try to cover her face, and she certainly didn’t back down to offer excuses. 

Instead, a bone–chilling smirk slowly stretched across her lips. 

She released her violent grip on my hair, stepped right into Damian’s bright camera frame. 

“You want a show?” she challenged, her voice dripping with ice.