Early the next morning, Philip has already left for the office.
On the table sit the vitamin pills he prepared for me, along with a sticky note listing reminders.
In the past, gestures like this would have moved me to tears.
But now? I don’t even glance at them.
Instead, I start packing my suitcase.
Downstairs, the party is in full swing–Lydia invited her friends over.
She’s still acting like the lady of the Grant house.
Right now, she’s loudly discussing her eighteenth birthday party.
“My eighteenth birthday was perfect,” she gushes.
“James and Philip had custom gowns made for me, booked New York’s top pop stars, and countless elite guests attended…”
Lydia basks in past glory, her expression dreamy.
The next second, she catches sight of me from the corner of her eye–dragging my suitcase down the stairs.
She suddenly flashes a sweet smile.
“Clara, how was your day? We share the same birthday, don’t we?”
Lydia looks genuinely sincere, as if she’s merely curious.
But I know she’s doing this on purpose–deliberately reopening my wounds.
Because all of New York knows how badly I was beaten that day.
My adoptive parents stormed into the Grant estate, demanding I come home.
They screamed profanities:
“You little vagrant! After everything we did for you, you think you can just abandon us?”
When I refused, they slapped me hard. I hit the floor.
Right in front of a crowd of Upper East Side socialites and media reporters, they beat me with fists and kicks.
Lydia, wearing a custom gown worth tens of thousands, looked down at me with pity:
Chapter 4
“Clara, your parents miss you. You should go home with them instead of abandoning family for money.”
James and Philip stood beside her, watching me coldly.
I wasn’t rescued until Dad arrived.
Seeing that I’m ignoring her, Lydia’s expression darkens.
She gives a strange smile, picks up the remote, and presses a button.
Then the living room TV starts playing a video–my agonized screams instantly fill the entire estate.
My head buzzes. My blood turns to ice.
It’s that video–the one of me being beaten.
Philip and James had promised it would be destroyed.
My teeth bite through the inside of my mouth. The taste of blood fills it.
I rush forward, grab a nearby glass, and hurl it at the screen.
With a tremendous crash, the TV screen shatters into pieces.
Lydia and her friends burst into laughter.
“Oh my God, did you see her face? She’s terrified!”
I stand there trembling, forcing myself to breathe.
On my phone, a reminder pops up:
Surgery appointment notification.
I glance at the screen, ignore their mockery, grab my suitcase, and head for the door.
But the next second, Lydia blocks my path.
She kicks my suitcase with the tip of her designer heel, asking smugly:
“What’s inside? Everything here belongs to the Grant family. Open it and let me see.”
I freeze for a moment–humiliation washing over me.
The girls crowd around, grabbing me and the suitcase.
“Why so quiet? Open it up and show us!”
Lydia snorts coldly: “She’s looks guilty. Probably stole valuable Grant family items to sell!”
Chapter 4
What a joke.
The entire Grant estate is legally in my name.
What would I need to steal?
I slap her hand away and say coldly: “Get lost! Don’t touch me!”
Lydia freezes, unable to believe that the once–timid me would dare speak to her like this.
After exchanging glances with her short–haired friend, she kicks over my suitcase.
It tumbles down the stairs, contents scattering across the floor.
Lydia’s eyes narrow when she spots the designer brands.
Jealousy flashes in her gaze.
These clothes once belonged to her–until I took her place.
Lydia hooks a piece of lingerie with her heel: “When did you stop wearing those old–fashioned granny panties?”
The short–haired girl giggles.
“Oh please! She’s just trying to look sexy now!”
“Right! No wonder she stole someone else’s man!”
Lydia stares at my pale face, then suddenly reaches out to tear at my clothes.
“Let me see how–ah!”
But before she can finish, I grab her and slam her to the ground.
After eighteen years of farm work, I’m much stronger than these pampered girls.
I hit her–once, twice.
She doesn’t even get a chance to fight back.
I unleashed all the fury I’d been suppressing for years on Lydia.
After the abortion procedure was over, I would board the private jet my father had arranged for me and fly to Monaco.
From this moment on, Philip and I were finished.
