I stayed quiet for a moment.
Then—
“Who,” I repeated, each word slow and calm, “gave you the right to do that?”
Her throat bobbed. “I–I-I don’t need permission to look out for you.”
“You need permission to touch what belongs to me.”
Beatrice stiffened. “That w***e doesn’t belong to you.”
I slammed my fist on the desk, hard enough to make her jump and pull back.
“Call her that again and you’ll walk out of here without your tongue, grand-aunt,” I snapped, my patience already worn out.
Beatrice was silent for a moment, her eyes widened in shock. Then her face reddened in anger.
“Are you threatening your only living relative who cares about you?” She asked, leaning her elbows on the table.
“Yes, I am,” I responded without hesitation.
Her lips parted but it seemed like she had a
