Karma Doesn’t Sleep: The Revenge Queen Rises novel Chapter 46

Amelia felt like her heart had been punched, over and over, until every breath burned with pain and anger.

Penny might have been little, but she was sharp. She knew how to play innocent, so she hid the bracelet and then patted Amelia’s hair, acting like nothing had happened.

“All done!” Penny said in her brightest voice. But she couldn’t look Amelia in the eye, her gaze flickering away, guilt written all over her face.

Even though she knew Amelia was blind—couldn’t possibly notice her tricks—Penny’s stomach twisted with nerves. She’d just done something bad…

But then she remembered all the things this “bad woman” had done: almost slamming Momma Kristen’s hand in the door, trying to take her job. How could anyone be so awful?

All she’d done was make sure this woman got yelled at. Was that really so terrible?

Thinking this way made Penny feel a little better. She grabbed Amelia’s hand and tried to pull her forward, but Amelia wouldn’t budge.

Penny frowned and looked back. “Why aren’t you coming?”

Amelia’s eyes weren’t focused, just staring into space, but something about her made Penny uneasy—as if Amelia could see straight through her.

Penny shrank back a bit, then waved a hand in front of Amelia’s face to check. No reaction. She let out the breath she’d been holding. Dad was right—she really couldn’t see anything. No way she could know what Penny had just done.

“Penny.” Amelia’s voice trembled, pain barely hidden. “Do you hate your mom?”

Penny didn’t answer.

She didn’t really hate Amelia. She just didn’t want to call her Mom. She wished Momma Kristen could be her mother instead… but Momma Kristen said she could only have one mom.

To Amelia, Penny’s silence was as good as an answer.

Amelia closed her eyes, feeling like her heart was being ripped apart. She bit back her tears, forcing herself to smile—just barely.

“Okay. I get it,” she said softly, giving Penny a thin, shaky smile.

When Penny turned away, Amelia watched her small figure, her own gaze turning cold and steady.

Across the room, Mrs. Salmeron had finished checking Timmy’s homework and was now quizzing him in French.

Mrs. Salmeron had studied in France for years, so her French was effortless and elegant. Timmy, only five, managed to answer in French, too—he was a little shaky, but for his age, it was incredible. Amelia felt a rush of pride. At least Timmy was being raised well.

As Amelia approached, cane in hand, Mrs. Salmeron looked her up and down with open disdain. Then, right in front of her, she switched to French and said to Timmy, loud enough for Amelia to hear, “Sweetheart, I really don’t think this woman deserves to be your mother. She’s foolish, she’s tacky, and her background is far beneath ours.”

Amelia’s expression didn’t change as she walked by.

Mrs. Salmeron thought a girl from a poor doctor’s family couldn’t possibly understand a word of French.

But in reality, Amelia understood everything. Her French was almost perfect—practically native.

She’d always pretended not to understand, ever since the day Mrs. Salmeron had asked Clive, “What do you even see in her?”

Clive had replied, “She’s a genius in medicine, she’s useful at work. Other than that, she’s clueless, innocent, obedient—and that’s exactly what I want.”