Karma Doesn’t Sleep: The Revenge Queen Rises novel Chapter 271

The rest of the clothes in the closet—well, those were the ones he’d picked out for her over the years. Not that there were many. Most of the stuff was just Caroline’s old designer pieces, the kind she’d wear for a season and then toss. Whenever she was done with something, she’d just bag it up and hand it off.

Caroline’s wardrobe was all high-end labels, never anything cheap, and she never kept anything longer than a few months. Clive never thought twice about passing those clothes to Amelia. Honestly, he figured Amelia was getting a sweet deal—any one of Caroline’s cast-offs probably cost more than everything Amelia owned combined.

So what could Amelia possibly have to complain about?

He remembered when she first accepted those clothes—she’d smiled, washed every piece, and folded them all neatly in the closet.

Clive stared at that closet now, packed tight with rows of fresh, spotless clothes. Not a wrinkle in sight. Every piece looked brand new.

That’s when it all started coming back.

Amelia never actually wore any of them. Not once.

She’d said, I like my own clothes. I’m fine, really. Your sister is thoughtful, but I’m good.

Except—no, there was one time.

He remembered her that night, tugging at his sleeve, her voice soft and nervous. “Clive, please don’t be mad…”

Why had he been so annoyed with her?

Clive pressed his palm to his forehead, feeling a slow, throbbing ache.

Then the memory snapped into focus.

It was Caroline—her tone dripping with sarcasm—who’d said, “I gave Amelia so many nice things, but she never wears any of them. Maybe she thinks I’m just too tacky for her taste.”

He’d turned on Amelia then. Or, at least, his version of it: a cold stare, a deep frown. That was always enough to make her back down.

It always worked.

At that party, halfway through, she’d quietly slipped out, gone home to change.

For fifteen years, Clive had always been the one calling the shots with Amelia.

Fifteen years. Long enough that he just expected she’d always give in, always go along with whatever he wanted. That was how things were supposed to be. She was supposed to stay the same, always.

How did she dare change, all of a sudden?

Clive pressed his hands to his head, not sure if the pain in his chest or his head was worse.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the laundry basket in the corner.

It was stuffed with old clothes, things headed for the donation bin. But he remembered—there should’ve been something else in there.

A wave of panic hit him. He tore through the basket, tossing clothes everywhere, digging until he reached the bottom. But the pile of old, battered keepsakes he was sure he’d find was gone.

In the living room, Donna had already pieced together the broken remains of her phone. She snapped a picture with her backup and sent it off to Mrs. Salmeron.

“Ma’am, Salmeron smashed my phone. My son bought it for me this year, and I’ve only had it a few months!”

Salmeron was still storming around the house like an angry bull. Donna knew better than to get in his way.

Her paycheck came from Mrs. Salmeron, and she’d only gotten the job because of her. So, for now, Donna figured her best bet was to ask the old lady for help.

Donna watched, stunned.

She knew Salmeron was a neat freak. The idea of him digging in the dirt with his bare hands was insane.

Had he finally snapped?

The more Donna thought about it, the more anxious she got. She rushed back inside, about to call Mrs. Salmeron.

But then she hesitated—Mrs. Salmeron was old. What if this kind of news made her sick?

She didn’t have any other numbers for the Salmeron family.

Should she call Mrs. Salmeron herself? That didn’t seem right. If she showed up, who knew what Salmeron might do in this state.

And honestly, even on his best days, Salmeron wasn’t good enough for Mrs. Salmeron. Right now, he didn’t even deserve to be in the same house.

Better to let her have her peace, Donna decided.

Just then, the sound of a key turning in the front door echoed through the house.

For a second, Donna thought maybe Amelia was back. She hurried to the door.

“Ma’am, you—” But when she saw who it was, her face fell, her eyes going cold and sharp. “What are you doing here at this hour? Get out, or I’m calling the police!”

It wasn’t Amelia.

It was Kristen—showing up uninvited, as usual.