Chapter 3

The parents turned their eyes toward my car and instantly burst into louder, more merciless ridicule. Someone mocked, "Oh my, I'd rather die than be seen driving around in that garbage heap!" Another added, "The real Mrs. Fraser is standing right here, and she's still out here putting on an act. Talk about shameless!" "Just look at her—poor and desperate. You can tell her daughter no better. The two of them were clearly born to be stepped on." "I don't get why people like her force themselves into an elite preschool like this. It's disgusting!" The car behind me was a birthday gift from Bradley ten years ago. It might have been a Redhawk model from a local automaker, but it definitely wasn't cheap. It just looked modest and wasn't commonly seen, so most people didn't know its worth. Nonetheless, I never imagined that the car's understated design would become the very thing they used to discredit me. Teresa shouted, "Today, I'm going to show you what happens when you pretend to be me—Mrs. Fraser!" Before I could even explain, she bent down, picked up a loose brick from the sidewalk, and started smashing my car with full force. She didn't spare anything, shattering the windows and headlights, and even bashing the hood like it was personal. The other parents quickly joined in, grabbing whatever they could find to join the destruction. Once the glass was broken, they climbed inside and began slashing the seats and tearing apart the interior like maniacs. Within minutes, the clean, well-kept car was reduced to a crumpled pile of wreckage. "Look, there's stuff in her trunk!" one parent shouted in surprise after prying it open. Teresa strutted over, casually pulling out a framed painting, and scoffed. "Does someone who drives junk like this really think she could fake sophistication with some fake art collection?" Without hesitation, she ripped the artwork in half right in front of my face. Everything in the trunk had just come from the charity auction—I hadn't even had time to bring them home yet. Watching her tear through the delicate artwork without a second thought, I warned in a low voice, "Those weren't cheap. I hope you're just as generous when it comes time to pay for the damage." Teresa laughed scornfully and snapped, "Do you think someone like you could own anything valuable? It's probably a bunch of worthless knockoffs—not even worth my lunch. And let's be clear—I'm Mrs. Fraser. Even if you sue me, no court would dare make me pay a dime." Then, she went back to smashing the other antique pieces without a shred of remorse. With her taking the lead, the rest of the parents went wild, ripping and smashing every item I had just spent a fortune on. They were like a pack of hyenas, completely lawless. I pulled out my phone and made a call, my voice icy. "Why aren't you here yet? I want you in front of me within three minutes!" Before the person on the other end could respond, one of the parents snatched my phone and slammed it hard onto the pavement. She spat, "Are you trying to call in backup? You're pathetic. Do you think some nobody from the gutter, putting on airs like you, actually matters?" Another chimed in, "What's with the act? Are you running for a Best Actress award? Who do you think you are?" "This is hilarious. What's she gonna do—summon a bunch of hobos to back up her sad little act?" They laughed wildly, mocking me without restraint. I stared at my shattered phone on the ground and said coldly, "I hope you're all still laughing in a few minutes." Then, I turned to Mariam and asked, "Keira was bullied right under your nose. You knew about it and let it happen, didn't you?" Mariam narrowed her eyes at me with open disgust and said, "So what if I did? A useless kid with a poor mother is nothing but society's trash. Darius was just making her clean up the trash. What's wrong with that?"