Chapter 133: Brooke Walsh's Booming Voice Echoed Through the Corridor

"Oh my! Isn't that Clara? I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me when I saw you in the hallway earlier!"

Brooke Walsh's booming voice echoed through the corridor. She was their next-door neighbor, notorious for being the neighborhood gossip. Her husband taught at the same high school as Daniel Whitmore, and the two families had lived across from each other for over a decade.

Spotting Clara, Brooke scurried over in three quick strides, her eyes scanning Clara up and down like searchlights. "My, my! Look at you! The city life sure agrees with you. Our little girl has grown up so well!"

Clara pressed her lips together.

"Just look at this outfit, this poise, this bag..." Brooke clicked her tongue dramatically before lowering her voice. "Clara, I heard you've met quite a few wealthy businessmen in the city. Could you introduce my second daughter to one?"

"What kind of introduction?" Clara frowned.

"You know, the rich ones! My girl has the looks, the figure—she's only twenty-two..."

Clara's expression turned icy as she took a step back. "Aunt Brooke, I work a legitimate job in the city. I don't have those kinds of connections."

Brooke's smile stiffened. "We're neighbors! Can't you do this small favor? Now that you've made it big, shouldn't you help others too?"

"Who am I to help anyone?" Clara scoffed.

Seeing her resistance, Brooke's face twisted instantly. "Oh, don't act so high and mighty! Everyone knows what you've been up to out there—"

"Brooke Walsh!" Daniel Whitmore slammed his bicycle down and shielded his daughter behind him. His face was livid. "You can eat whatever nonsense you want, but don't you dare spew it from your mouth! My Clara is pure and blameless. The only filth here is what's coming out of yours!"

"Me? Spewing filth?" Brooke shrieked. "The whole building knows what your daughter—"

"Shut your mouth!" Daniel trembled with rage.

"Dad!" Clara quickly steadied him, fishing his blood pressure medication from her bag.

When she looked up again, her gaze was sharp as a blade. "I called you 'Aunt' out of respect. But if you don't want it, don't blame me for what comes next!"

With that, she grabbed the wet mop leaning against the wall and swung it at Brooke with full force.

"Ah—she's hitting me!" Brooke screeched, dodging but still getting splashed with dirty water.

"Sorry, I just finished mopping the bathroom," Clara said coldly.

Brooke turned pale, as if she could actually smell the stench. "You little bitch! Just you wait!"

"Wait for you to come back for another beating?" Clara raised the mop again.

Brooke fled like a rat, but not without a final shout from the stairwell. "That damn wisteria vine of yours is creeping into my yard! I'm chopping it all down tomorrow and burning it!"

"Try it!" Clara brandished the mop and chased after her.

Only when Brooke's figure vanished down the stairs did Clara finally exhale. But when she turned back, her father's grave expression sent a chill through her heart.