Rebirth: Love me Again - Chapter 220

Chapter 220: The Cost of a Slap
[BONUS Chapter for reaching 400 PS! Thank you all!🤍 ]

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The next morning, the Rosette family found themselves in an imposing glass tower that loomed high above the city skyline—the headquarters of Blackthorn & Kingsley International.

Its polished obsidian facade reflected the harsh morning sun like a monolith, its very existence projecting wealth, power, and untouchable authority.

A place where titans of industry and rulers of nations came to seek refuge, not judgment. For Sullivan, Sophia, and Sophie, walking through its entrance was akin to stepping into a lion’s den.

The silence inside was unnerving. The floors gleamed with a mirror-like finish, swallowing their reflections whole.

At the reception desk, staff clad in sleek black suits greeted them with cold professionalism, their movements robotic, their gazes indifferent.

Sullivan felt a shiver crawl down his spine as the receptionist led them to a private conference room on the top floor.

Everything about Blackthorn & Kingsley screamed power. The firm was known to be selective, representing only clients they deemed worthy—those with undeniable leverage or insurmountable evidence.

Their name alone was enough to silence boardrooms and courtroom rivals alike. A single letter with their insignia carried the weight of a thousand judgments. No one who faced them came out unscathed.

Sullivan’s nerves betrayed him as they waited inside the massive conference room. It was spacious and sterile, dominated by a long mahogany table surrounded by leather chairs that seemed to mock their presence.

Wall-length windows offered a breathtaking view of the city below, but none of them dared to look. They could only focus on the three pristine chairs across from them, waiting for Blackthorn & Kingsley’s representatives.

The door opened.

Two figures strode in, their presence alone commanding attention. Leading them was Victoria Blackthorn, a woman known as the Steel Queen of law—ruthless, sharp, and utterly unflinching. Her tailored navy suit was immaculate, and her heels clicked against the marble floor like the ticking of a doomsday clock.

Beside her was Marcus Kingsley, her counterpart and equal—a man with an air of quiet menace. Tall and broad-shouldered, his charcoal-gray suit exuded power, and his sharp, calculating eyes missed nothing.

Sullivan stood hastily, forcing a polite smile as his heart pounded in his chest. “Ms. Blackthorn, Mr. Kingsley, thank you for meeting us in person—”

“Let’s dispense with the pleasantries, Mr. Rosette,” Victoria cut in sharply, her tone icier than the room’s air conditioning.

She and Marcus took their seats across from the Rosettes, their gazes leveling Sullivan, Sophia, and Sophie with unspoken authority. “You know why we’re here.”

Sophia shot Sullivan a nervous glance, but he gritted his teeth and straightened his spine. “We’re here to settle this misunderstanding,” he said carefully. “There’s no need to take this matter to court—”

“It is far from a misunderstanding,” Marcus interjected, his deep voice like gravel grinding against stone. He slid a document across the table. “Allow us to clarify. Regarding the defamation case, our client, Ms. Eve Rosette, is willing to settle on the condition that you release an official public statement detailing the truth—” he paused, looking directly at Sophie—”including naming the individual who pushed her.”

Sophie blanched. Her fingers curled into her lap, trembling. Of course no one push her! It was all a fake to ruin Eve’s name and make the public side with her!

“If you remain unresponsive to our client’s requests within a week,” Victoria continued, her voice steady and sharp as a blade, “we will have no choice but to escalate this matter. This includes reassessing Miss Sophie’s injuries independently—without your chosen doctors.”

The weight of the statement landed like a thunderclap in the room. Sophia’s chair scraped against the floor as she bolted upright, her eyes blazing. “Are you calling my daughter a liar?” she snapped, her voice trembling with fury.

“No, Mrs. Rosette,” Victoria said coolly. “It’s simply part of the legal proceedings. A neutral assessment is necessary for transparency.”

The color drained from Sophia’s face as her composure cracked ever so slightly. Her hands clenched the edge of the table, the knuckles white against her flawless manicure. Beside her Sophie sat frozen, her usual defiance replaced by the dawning realization of the precarious situation they were in.

Sophia’s mind raced as the implications of the threat sank in. A third-party assessment? That would mean the end of their carefully orchestrated narrative. The bruises Sophie had painted on her cheek, the exaggerated limp, the fainting spells—all of it would be exposed as nothing but theatrics.

Sophie looked at her mother, wide-eyed and silent, her earlier confidence nowhere to be found. The unspoken fear between them could be felt. They both knew the truth, and more importantly, they knew what would happen if that truth came to light.

Sophia forced a tight smile, though her voice betrayed her unease. “That won’t be necessary,” she said, her words measured but strained. “We’ll have our answer for you within the week.”

Victoria inclined her head ever so slightly, a gesture of acknowledgment that held no warmth. “I trust you’ll make the right decision.”

Marcus then added, “However, regarding the assault,” his tone turned sharper, “our client is prepared to settle for a sum of ten million dollars per slap.”

The words rang out like a gunshot in the room. Sophia’s head snapped up in disbelief. “What?! That’s absurd!” she burst out. “It was just a slap! It’s not like I had shot her!”

Victoria’s gaze swung to Sophia with such chilliness that it silenced her immediately. “That slap, Mrs. Rosette, left our client unable to attend this very meeting. Her cheek suffered visible damage, requiring medical care, and the emotional and psychological trauma inflicted on her cannot be overstated.”

Sullivan shifted in his seat, beads of sweat forming on his brow. “Twenty million dollars—for that? You can’t be serious.”

Victoria arched an elegant brow. “Do I look like I’m joking, Mr. Rosette?” She leaned forward slightly, her voice dangerously calm. “Your wife’s actions were not only violent but humiliating. Ms. Rosette’s mental and emotional state has been severely affected, leaving her unable to perform her day-to-day responsibilities. Twenty million dollars, in light of her suffering, is a very small price.”