The Genetic Report That Turned My Family Into Monsters Chapter 06

The Genetic Report That Turned My Family Into Monsters Chapter 06

“Police! I have my weapon drawn! Step away from her right now, or I will drop you where you stand!” 

The lethal authority of a loaded firearm did the trick. 

Cursing under their breath, the three thugs instantly released my legs, scrambling frantically into the dense brush. Their heavy boots crunched against the gravel, the sound quickly swallowed by the depths of the night. 

Laurel didn’t risk a blind pursuit into the hazardous dark. Holstering her weapon with practiced efficiency, she sprinted back to my side and dropped to one knee in the freezing mud. 

“Eleanor? Look at me. Are you okay?” 

The moment the pale beam of her flashlight illuminated her face, the fragile dam holding back my sanity completely shattered. Divested of all words, I blindly grabbed the lapels of her uniform and unleashed a violent, uncontrollable sob. I wept so fiercely my chest heaved, practically choking on my own tears in the dirt. 

“It’s over. I’ve got you,” Laurel murmured with absolute conviction. Hauling me to my feet, she stripped off her heavy, insulated patrol jacket and draped it over my violently shivering shoulders. “Come on. I’m taking you to my place.” 

An hour later, the scalding water of Laurel’s shower washed the mud and the sickening, sterile stench of 

the clinic off my skin, but it couldn’t scrub away the suffocating rot of my own self–hatred. 

When I finally shuffled into her living room, Laure stepped forward, offering a steaming mug of tea. 

I didn’t take it. Staring dead at the floorboards, a crushing wave of self–loathing completely engulfed me. 

“Why did you follow me?” I suddenly snapped, my voice raw and hollow from screaming. “Why the hell did you save me?! You should have just let them kill me in those woods!” 

Laurel frowned, setting the mug down hard on the coffee table. “What kind of garbage are you talking?” 

“I don’t deserve to be alive!” I dropped to my knees beside the sofa, clutching my head in my hands as I broke down all over again. “I am disgusting. My very existence is a pathetic mistake. You risked your life to save a filthy piece of trash, and it wasn’t worth it!” 

“Shut your mouth and stop with the self–pity,” Laurel cut in sharply, dropping down to sit on the rug directly in front of me. “I’m a cop. But less than an hour ago, my captain officially killed your case. He said the Blackwood family functionally owns this city, and we don’t even have a cooperating victim. I trailed 

you off–duty, completely against protocol. Do you want to know why?” 

I looked up through a blinding haze of tears, giving a slow, dazed shake of my head. 

“Because of the look in your eyes on that security. footage,” Laurel said, her gaze piercing and resolute. “That was not the look of a delusional psychiatric patient. That was pure, marrow–deep terror. And I recognize that look… because years ago, I lost my 

own child. I know exactly what kind of agony drives a mother to the brink.” 

She leaned forward, her hands closing tightly over my freezing, trembling fingers. “Tell me the truth, Eleanor. Tell me exactly what was printed on that piece of paper. I swear to you on my badge, I will help you fight back.” 

Her uncompromising empathy unraveled the very last defensive wall around my heart. The excruciating secret I had planned to take to my grave finally spilled from my trembling lips. 

“A few months ago… at a family dinner party at the estate,” I choked out, tears completely blurring my vision. “My biological brother… he slipped something my drink. He assaulted me. In my own childhood 

bedroom.” into Laurel went completely rigid. Pure, unadulterated shock washed over her face. 

“When my parents found out,” I sobbed in absolute despair, “they didn’t call the police. To protect the pristine Blackwood reputation, they closed ranks. and covered the whole thing up. But I got pregnant… Julian forced that abortion because the baby belonged. to my own brother.” 

Hearing a tragedy so grotesquely vile, Laurel didn’t push me away in disgust. Instead, she shifted up onto the sofa and pulled me into a fiercely protective embrace. 

This is not your fault,” she whispered vehemently into my wet hair, her jaw resting against the top of my head. “Listen to me, Eleanor. This is *not* your fault. 

We are going to burn them to the ground.” 

For the next entire week, Laurel kept me stashed safely in her apartment. 

Acting as an anonymous whistleblower, she reached out to a fiercely trusted investigative journalist. Leveraging internal precinct dispatch logs and her personal case notes, Laurel blew the lid off the scandal, exposing exactly how this elite medical dynasty violently forced a pregnant woman into a clandestine abortion. 

The public fallout was instantaneous and explosive. The internet erupted in a deafening crusade against the Blackwood family. 

But our meager victory lasted only a matter of hours. Because Damian struck back–undoubtedly puppeted by my parents. 

Desperate to squeeze every last drop of clout from this viral wildfire, Damian immediately went live. He projected a high–definition scan of the genetic report. 

directly to hundreds of thousands of foaming viewers. 

“Look at these genetic markers!” Damian shrieked into the camera, using a digital red pen to furiously circle the mutated, incestuous DNA data. “She’s no 

innocent victim! She was secretly sleeping with her own biological brother behind her husband’s back! This disgusting freak got exactly what she deserved!” 

In a matter of seconds, the narrative violently flipped. 

Within twenty–four hours, the cyberbullying mutated into untethered mob justice. I was aggressively doxxed across every platform. Vicious death threats choked my social media feeds. 

Damian’s rabid, self–righteous fan base quickly hunted down Laurel’s home address. Hundreds of vigilantes swarmed the street below, entirely barricading us inside the building. The riot escalated, and soon, jagged rocks and rotten eggs were violently smashing through our living room windows. 

Standing in a living room heavily carpeted with shattered glass, Laurel decisively racked the slide of 

her service weapon, chambering a round. 

Gripping my shoulders, she swore she would aggressively break through the violent mob, get to the precinct, and find the concrete evidence of my rape to definitively clear my name. 

But it was too late. 

Before she could uncover a single shred of proof… my parents broke into the apartment.