"You ungrateful brat!"

At the bustling bar lit with flickering lights, a crowd of partiers grooved wildly to the blasting rock music.

Suddenly, a sharp, grating female voice cut through the noise.

A plump middle-aged woman had dropped to her knees, clinging tightly to the leg of a tall, lanky man.

Her face was twisted up in grief, tears and snot running down like a mess, as she wailed, “Edgar, my dear son, I worked five jobs just to get you through college! Now you're using my money to sleep around?”

“How could you do this to your dead father? How could you do this to me?”

Edgar Reed flinched, looking uneasy and frustrated. “Who the hell is this crazy woman? You’ve got the wrong person!”

“Edgar, what’s going on?” Standing beside him was a curvy, stunning woman, lips curved in a sneer. “Didn’t you say you were some rich kid? So who’s this old hag? And who exactly is the hooker here?”

“Vivian, babe, let me explain—” Beads of sweat popped on Edgar’s forehead. The middle-aged woman — like she couldn’t see what was going on — lunged toward him again, nearly pulling his pants down with how tightly she clung.

“My son! How can you treat me like this?”

Her pitiful cries only made Edgar more furious. With a grunt, he kicked her hard, sending her sprawling across the floor.

Crash!

The woman slammed into a table, knocking over bottles that shattered everywhere. The crowd went silent before bursting into outrage.

“What kind of heartless jerk hits his own mom?!”

“Yo! Let’s teach him a lesson!”

A storm of fists and kicks came crashing down on Edgar, knocking him flat on the floor. Bruises bloomed all over his body.

No one noticed the fallen woman slowly push herself up. Her movements were way too agile for someone her age. Blending into the shadows, she quietly slipped out of sight.

Five minutes later, she reappeared inside the bar’s restroom.

She turned on the tap, rinsed her hands, and with that — the makeup began to wash away, revealing smooth, fair skin underneath. With a flick of her fingers, she peeled off a thin face mask from her cheek.

She crumpled the disguise and tossed it in the trash before freshening up with a splash of water. Then Clara West raised her head and looked in the mirror.

The woman staring back at her had striking features. Clara was gorgeous, with arched brows and almond-shaped eyes that sparkled with mischief, her naturally red lips curled into a knowing smirk. Even the lift of her brow screamed flirtation.

She pulled out her phone and dialed a number.

“Hey, Fiona? That scumbag’s handled.”

“Clara… thank you.” Her friend’s voice trembled with tears. “Let me take you out for dinner sometime. I owe you big time.”

“What are friends for? No need to be polite.” Clara chuckled softly. After a few more comforting words, she ended the call and walked out of the bar.

She hopped into her Maserati, right into the driver’s seat, and hit the gas.

The engine growled, and smoke puffed out of the back as the sleek car shot down the road. The window was cracked open just a bit, and the wind that slipped in lifted a few strands of hair off Clara’s forehead.

Just a few days ago, her best friend caught her boyfriend cheating. To help her out, Clara had gone full drama mode, disguised herself as an old woman, and orchestrated this little revenge.

Hard to believe they’d been together for three years, only for it to end like this.

Lost in her thoughts, Clara suddenly saw a dark figure dart across the road right in front of her.