My Birthday, My Downfall novel Chapter 37

Perhaps, now that their dreams of wealth and status had crumbled, Helen and her mother no longer felt the need to mask their sharp, vicious natures.

"Open the suitcases. I want everything checked," Simon commanded from the steps, his voice stern despite his haggard appearance.

Paul watched the aging man, his own heart filled with a bitter sense of irony.

How pathetic they both were.

How absurd that they had driven away someone as good as Grace for the sake of those two women.

This was their karma, their punishment in this life.

Helen and her mother refused to open the suitcases, resorting instead to hysterical screaming and rolling on the ground.

But in the end, it was futile.

The guards forcibly opened the dozens of large suitcases.

Beneath piles of clothing lay stacks of expensive designer handbags and jewelry.

"Leave the clothes. Everything else stays," Simon ordered coldly, his face dark as iron.

Helen and her mother threw themselves forward, crying and wailing as they tried to reclaim the jewelry and accessories.

But the bodyguards shoved them aside.

Not only were the valuables in the suitcases confiscated, but even the jewelry they wore was stripped off.

Helen struggled so violently that her earlobe was torn. Blood trickled from her neck down to her chest, creating a chilling sight.

The man who once doted on her like a "father" didn't even spare her a glance.

Simon waved his hand dismissively, as if shooing away an annoying fly, instructing the guards to throw Helen and her mother out.

At the front gate, Helen wasn't ready to give up.

Clinging desperately to the doorframe, she screamed hoarsely,

"Paul… you can't do this to me! You can't! I'm pregnant! The baby is yours! You have to take responsibility!"

By the end, her voice had turned hysterical, her appearance that of a crazed woman.

"Paul?" Simon turned to him with a questioning look.

Paul felt a wave of indescribable disgust. He wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all but found he couldn't.

How could he have ever liked someone so utterly revolting?

"Mr. Winston."

Paul stepped forward, meeting the gaze of the older man, whose hair was now streaked with gray.

"I never touched her."