Twisted Ties of Love novel Chapter 482

Now, it seemed absurd to say it, but Bell’s glory had nothing to do with them.

The family was consumed by regret, yet no one would let them off the hook just because they admitted their mistakes.

Myra tried to reason, ready to call the police on her phone, but the nearest person knocked it out of her hands, shattering it to pieces.

Ron was nothing but a spineless man in the village, unable to protect his wife. The sight of a bunch of thugs bursting in had him cowering in the corner.

Myra, cradling her grandchild, didn't dare to fight back and could only resort to throwing tantrums helplessly on the ground.

The gang of thugs were irritated but knew better than to harm the elderly or the young. They had mostly left the couple alone, until their son, Fredric, arrived. He looked a perfect outlet for their frustration, and they immediately surrounded him, punching and kicking while hurling threats.

"I'll make you pay for stealing our money! You dare call the cops? The cops won't even arrive before I chop off your hand. Oh, it seems there’s already one missing finger." One of the men grabbed Fredric's bloody hand, "How about we chop off the rest?"

Fredric was in excruciating pain, mumbling incoherently, pleading for mercy with blood at the corners of his mouth, "I'm sorry. It’s our fault, please stop."

Fredric was too scared to call the police. He had lost five hundred thousand dollars in a poker game and had signed IOU for the debt. If he involved the police, those thugs might leave him limbless. City folks were not to be trifled with, and now, all he wanted was to return to the village and live the simple life.

Once, the thing he least wanted to do had become his deepest wish.

Carrying her grandson and seeing her son's hand, Myra was terrified. No matter how useless her son was, he was still her precious child. She had never hit or scolded him, yet here he was, his fingers chopped off by someone.

"Please stop," Myra cried, "I'll do anything as long as you stop hitting my son."

Sure enough, the gang ceased their attack, looking at the pathetic family with contempt, "Then bring out our money."

"We really didn't take your money. How many times do I have to say it?" As soon as Myra finished, she saw the man pinning Fredric to the ground, twisting his right hand back. One more bit of force and his hand would snap.

Fredric was being beaten up for the first time, unable to find any help. He could only beg Myra to save him.

"Mom, please help me. I don't want to die. It hurts so much."

Myra was in tears, hurriedly uttering, "We don't have any money on us now, but we will work hard to pay you back."

Only then did the thugs let Fredric go. They noticed something sticking out of Fredric's pocket and he pulled out a note showing a debt of five hundred thousand dollars.

"You owe five hundred thousand, which means you had money to gamble, but you still claim you didn't steal our money? Did you lose the money we left here?" A thug stepped on Fredric and asked.

Myra was stunned, "W-what, five hundred thousand? Fredric, you lost that much? Where are you going to get that kind of money? How could you gamble?"

"I was tricked!"

"This note is real. You are the one who borrowed and lost the money. Who tricked you? Your hand was chopped off at the gambling den, wasn't it?"

All the talking was in vain. The thugs took Myra and Ron, leaving the child behind. As for Fredric, with such a huge debt, they considered him a liability.

Myra and Ron were dragged to an underground sweatshop, working day and night. Any attempt to rest resulted in a beating.

Work was exhausting. They were unpaid, and the food was terrible. They subsisted on bread and watery soup. The occasional bit of meat was nothing but scraps.

In just a month, the couple had lost a significant amount of weight. They were in constant regret. They had come to the city hoping to get money from Bell, but instead, they were robbed as soon as they stepped off the train. Now, they were trapped here.

They had no idea how their son and grandson were doing. If they had known it would come to this, they would have stayed in the village.

Even now, Myra still hoped that someone would rescue her, preferably Bell.

Instead of help, what came was illness. Myra collapsed one day, paralyzed.

But those people still didn't let her go. They made Ron drag her onto the streets every day to beg for money.

Today, as usual, Ron dragged Myra with one hand and held a cardboard sign with the other. Once they reached their usual spot, he sat her down to beg.

His eyes were dull, fixed in one direction, occasionally uttering a desperate plea.

"Please help us, have mercy on us."

Myra reeked terribly. She was paralyzed and drooling, unable to go to the bathroom herself, soiling herself right there on the streets. The stench was unbearable, driving away the few passersby who might have given them money.

It seemed they wouldn't make any money today. Once they got back, they would definitely be beaten again. Ron was in a state of despair. He had considered running away, but after witnessing the brutal beating of a fellow worker who tried to escape, he dared not.

As Ron hung his head, he caught sight of a pair of shoes in the corner of his eye. He followed the line of sight upwards until his gaze landed on a face. His pupils dilated, and his lips trembled.

It was Bell, their daughter who had become a superstar. Had she come to rescue them?

"Bell, my daughter, you finally came."

Izabella gazed down at them, void of any expression. She looked at them with cold eyes, like they were nothing more than two rats.

Izabella, in an attempt to resemble the Bell they once knew, wore no makeup and dressed plainly, showcasing her features as much as possible.

As Ron locked eyes with Izabella, he fell silent. Despite the striking resemblance, the look in her eyes told him that this was not his daughter anymore.

"How have you been this past month?"