The Stand-In Heiress Reclaims Her Life

Prologue I played the dutiful daughter for the Gray family for twenty years, and I waited three years for Ethan Vance to marry me. Yet the moment their biological daughter, Chloe, returned, I was instantly discarded. My bedroom was handed over to her. My birthday party became her grand welcome. And when I got pregnant, Ethan personally had me pushed into the operating room, forcing me to abort his own child. I looked at him one last time and asked, "Ethan, what did I ever mean to you?" He didn't answer. Fine. Then he would never have to answer again. I had already signed the severance papers and the agreement to call off our engagement. I was just waiting to disappear. Clara's POV Ethan and I delayed our wedding for three years, right up until the day I found out I was pregnant with his child. His only response was cold and brief: get an abortion. The moment the Grays brought Chloe, their real heiress, back home, her mother, Evelyn, grabbed my hands and wept. She said her heart broke for how much Chloe had suffered all those years, and that Chloe needed to have the master bedroom. I didn't argue. That very afternoon, I packed two suitcases and moved into the dim, north-facing guest room. I thought if I stepped back, I could earn a shred of peace and keep a small corner for myself in this house. I stuffed my old clothes onto the top shelf of the closet and cleared off the large desk by the window for Chloe. The next morning at breakfast, Evelyn gently blew on a warm bowl of oatmeal, setting it right by Chloe's hand alongside an array of side dishes. My own bowl sat forgotten at the edge of the table. Evelyn didn't spare it a single glance. Chloe took two spoonfuls of oatmeal and whispered that she missed her dad. Thomas Gray canceled all his morning meetings on the spot. He dragged a lawn chair out into the courtyard and spent the entire day soaking up the sun with her. I served myself half a bowl of cold leftovers and ate in silence at the kitchen counter. I told myself that once Chloe settled in, this family would finally remember I was sitting at the table too. On my third day in the guest room, Ethan suddenly invited me out for a birthday dinner. He picked the restaurant. I put on a new dress and sat by the window. The waiter came by four times to ask if I wanted to place my order while the sky outside slowly turned pitch-black. Finally, Ethan called. "Chloe got lost. She's hyperventilating and crying on the side of the road. I have to go pick her up." His tone left zero room for discussion. "If you're hungry, just order whatever you want. Don't worry about the bill." I clutched my burning phone, watching the streetlights flicker on across the avenue. "What about me? I've been waiting here for four hours." "I'll make it up to you tomorrow." He hung up right after. Someone else cried, and he slammed his foot on the gas to rush to her side. I waited an entire afternoon, and he told me to order dinner alone. I didn't touch a single bite. I sat there until closing time, paid the bill myself, and walked all the way back to the Gray residence in my heels. Chloe's pink slippers were neatly placed by the entryway. I took off my shoes and kicked my old worn-out slippers into the darkest corner beneath the shoe rack. My period was a month late. I hid in the bathroom, staring blankly at the two pink lines on the pregnancy test for a long time. Evelyn knocked on the door, telling me to hurry up because Chloe needed the bathroom. I pushed the door open, walked out, and set the lab results on the living room table. Thomas, Evelyn, and Ethan were all sitting there. I stood before them and said, "I'm pregnant. It's Ethan's." The room fell deathly quiet. Evelyn picked up the paper, skimmed it, and tossed it back onto the table. "Chloe hasn't even recovered yet. Why are you causing drama now? Are you deliberately trying to make things harder for her?" I had braced myself for several reactions in the bathroom, but I never imagined she would say that. I thought they would at least ask how I was feeling. "Mom, this is my baby." "Then you should've picked a better time," Thomas said, slamming his coffee mug onto the table. "You can't keep this child." He pointed upstairs. "Chloe suffered for twenty years out there. Our family is finally coming together. You're not going to ruin it with this kind of trouble." I turned to look at Ethan. He was slouched at the other end of the couch, rubbing his temples, not looking at me at all. "Ethan, say something." He was silent for a long moment before finally looking up. "Clara, listen to them for now." I snatched the lab report back and clenched it in my fist. The sharp paper edges dug into my palm, drawing blood. In a room full of people, he was the only one whose opinion mattered to me. And the second he opened his mouth, he stood firmly on their side. "I gave up my bedroom for Chloe. I ate my birthday dinner alone," I said, staring straight at him, my throat burning. "I'm not giving up my baby." "That's not your decision to make," Thomas said, leaning back without even blinking. Evelyn stepped over, reaching for my wrist. "Don't throw a tantrum. Once Chloe's health improves, you can have as many kids as you want later." I yanked my arm back and laughed bitterly. "That's the exact same lie you fed me when you made me move into the guest room." Evelyn's hand froze in midair, her expression hardening. I turned toward the front door. Ethan stepped forward in a flash, blocking my path. "I have one last question," I said, looking up at him with burning eyes, refusing to let a single tear fall. "What am I to this family? What am I to you?" The living room fell into total silence. Evelyn looked down at her phone. Thomas turned his head to stare out the window. Ethan kept his eyes cast downward, his lips pressed into a tight line. Not a single soul answered. They didn't even care enough to argue with me. I moved around Ethan toward the door, but all three of them rushed forward at once. Evelyn locked her grip around my left arm. Ethan clamped his hand around my right elbow. I fought back with everything I had, screaming at them to let me go. No one let go. Their grip on my joints was terrifyingly tight. They dragged me down the steps, my heels scraping against the stone. The car drove straight into the underground garage of the women's hospital. They shoved me into the elevator. The polished metal walls reflected my ghost-white face. Outside the operating room, a nurse wheeled out a gurney. I gripped the doorframe, looking at Ethan one last time. "Are you really going to throw our child away?" Ethan turned his face away, but his hands didn't loosen their grip at all as he shoved me forward. Before stepping through those doors, I still had a tiny glimmer of hope. If he had said he wanted to keep this baby, I would have called my lawyer right then to tear up the severance agreement. The nurse grabbed my wrist. The double doors swung shut before my eyes. The harsh surgical lights overhead snapped on, blinding me. I remembered how, years ago, Ethan had used these exact hands to kneel down and wipe the dirt from my face. Now, those same hands pushed me into this hell. I lay flat on the freezing cold operating table, tears streaming from my eyes and disappearing into my hair. From this moment on, I would never ask him for anything ever again. The severance papers and annulment agreement at my lawyer's office were already signed. Once the legal paperwork cleared, I was leaving for good.Clara's POV When the anesthesia wore off, a dull, agonizing ache tore through my lower abdomen like a blunt blade sawing back and forth. Lying in the hospital bed, memories of my childhood flooded my mind. I grew up with the Brooks family. My foster mother worked as a live-in maid for wealthy households, while my foster father was an addicted gambler. Whenever he lost money, he would stagger home with a bottle of liquor and smash everything in sight. I spent my childhood huddled behind the door, listening to him shatter bowls and hearing my foster mother scream and weep in the yard. Nobody ever helped me. When I scraped my knees, I crawled up and dusted myself off. When I starved, I chugged cold tap water. I only dared to cry after my foster father passed out drunk. When I was seven, I came down with a burning fever in the dead of winter. My foster father didn't want to waste money on medicine, so he tossed me outside in the cold yard. I lay shivering in a pile of straw for three days straight until I became delirious. A neighbor heard my faint groans, opened their gate, and carried me to a local clinic for an IV drip. That was the only reason I survived. When I turned ten, my foster mother packed a small duffel bag and left. She never came back. Every time my foster father got drunk after that, he grabbed a broom and beat me, screaming that I was a useless burden. That was when I learned that crying and begging were completely useless against cruel people. I learned to swallow every bit of pain. I wore a bright smile, greeted everyone politely, and worked harder than anyone else so no one could find fault with me. The day the Grays pulled up in their luxury car to take me in, I stood outside their massive iron gates, my palms sweating so much that my sleeves were soaked. I genuinely believed my nightmare was finally over. I wore a faded, oversized jacket that day, too intimidated to take a single step forward. It was Ethan who walked down the front steps. He knelt on one knee in front of me and pulled a clean handkerchief from his pocket. Gently, he wiped the dust from my cheeks. His hands were warm. His touch was incredibly gentle. After cleaning my face, he took off his coat and draped it over my frail shoulders. The coat was huge, hanging past my knees. I hid my hands inside the sleeves, terrified he would see the dirt under my fingernails. Ethan didn't force me. He just whispered, "Let's go inside. Don't stand out here in the cold." In all my life, he was the first person who didn't look at me with disgust, the first person who reached out to wipe my face clean. Every shred of hope I ever carried took root from that single handkerchief. Later on, Ethan guided me into their elite social circle. He taught me who everyone was, how to hold a wine glass, and how to carry myself at banquets. When I walked too slowly in heels, he slowed his pace to match mine, never once calling me clumsy. Once at a high-society dinner, I misspoke, and the whole table chuckled mockingly at my expense. Ethan smoothly stepped in with a warm smile, defusing the tension and handling the room with ease. Back then, I really believed that was his special love for me. During my second year with the Grays, Ethan took my hand in the courtyard. He said, "Clara, until Chloe is found, this family needs a daughter. Hold this spot for Mr. Gray." I nodded. When I said yes, I thought to myself: If I just do well enough, if I hold onto this spot long enough, it will eventually become mine. I treasured every bit of kindness Ethan ever showed me. I remembered the drinks he blocked for me at parties. I remembered his soaked pant legs when he picked me up in the pouring rain. I remembered him saying, "Clara, you don't have to be afraid anymore." And I truly stopped being afraid. I even secretly saved photos of engagement rings on my phone, quietly calculating which neighborhood we might buy a home in one day. I never told a soul about those dreams. I just wrote them down on tiny scraps of paper. I held that position for the Grays for years. I memorized the exact essential oils Evelyn preferred. I woke up early every single morning to brew Thomas's pour-over coffee. I pressed Ethan's shirts and ties until not a single wrinkle remained. I thought if I was just obedient enough, the Grays would be my real family. Until the real Chloe was found.Clara's POV The day their biological daughter returned after twenty years, the Gray household descended into utter chaos. Evelyn broke down in uncontrollable sobs, clutching Chloe tightly. Thomas stood by, wiping his tears, his hands trembling so violently he couldn't even hold his coffee mug. Ethan stood by the entrance, staring at Chloe. The look on his face changed instantly. I stood around the corridor corner holding a bowl of fresh clam chowder, completely out of place. The steam slowly drifted away, leaving a thick, cold film over the surface of the soup. I didn't immediately volunteer to give up everything I had built over the years. Chloe felt overwhelmed after two days, so they sent her to a private country estate to rest and recover. From that day forward, Ethan turned completely cold toward me. Our wedding date was pushed back again and again. The first time, he claimed he was too busy with his company's IPO. The second time, he said it wasn't right to hold a lavish wedding while Chloe was still struggling to adjust. The invitations were printed and locked away in a drawer, never to be sent. He stopped picking me up. The passenger seat in his car was pushed all the way forward, and he stopped opening the door for me. Even on my birthday, the moment Chloe called claiming she was lost, he abandoned me without hesitation. I endured it for an entire year. Every single day, I invented excuses for him in my head. Chloe just came back, so he's overwhelmed. He's busy at work. He's just exhausted. I repeated those excuses like a mantra, desperate to avoid facing the glaring, undeniable truth. I still ironed the ties hanging on the left side of his closet every day. Even though he hadn't touched that side of the wardrobe in over six months, I kept repeating the routine mechanically. I also learned to stop texting him first. I would type out messages, edit them, delete them, and eventually send nothing more than a dry, lifeless "Okay." Ethan took longer and longer to reply—from a few hours to two or three days of complete silence. I would watch my phone screen go dark, tap it awake, and watch it fade to black again. A while ago, news reached the house that Chloe had fallen ill and was living in terrible conditions. Thomas and Evelyn wept in each other's arms in the living room. Evelyn grabbed my hand, practically begging me to go bring her home. So I went. I trudged through the mud into Chloe's moldy rented room. I packed her bags, took her to see a doctor, gave her medicine, and cleaned her up. Chloe held my hand and thanked me profusely. I naively thought she would appreciate what I did. The only reason I agreed to bring her back was to keep one final card in my hand: I was the one who brought her home. For that alone, Ethan might look at me with warmth again. The day I brought Chloe back to the villa, I stood at the turn of the stairs. Ethan shoved the front door open and burst inside. The moment his eyes landed on Chloe, he froze as if struck by lightning. I knew that look all too well. It was the exact look I had spent years desperately wishing to see in his eyes just once. Ethan took long strides toward Chloe. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. His Adam's apple bobbed, yet he couldn't manage a single word for a long time. Leaning against the freezing wall, my fingers slowly released their grip on the banister. Every ounce of patience, care, and tenderness he had ever shown me was never meant for me at all. They were all just gifts he had been holding in escrow for someone else. Now that the true owner had returned, the imposter holding the spot naturally had to leave. The very next afternoon, I met with a lawyer in private. I signed the severance agreement and the paperwork to call off the engagement without hesitation. I also filed for an expedited departure. Across the desk, the lawyer looked at me and asked, "Miss Brooks, are you sure you don't want to negotiate with the Vance family first?" I shook my head. "No." "I've spent years talking to them. And in all that time, not a single one of them ever truly listened to a word I said." I was just waiting for the paperwork to clear before leaving. Unfortunately, that positive pregnancy test arrived before my visa did.Clara's POV When I woke up, the hospital room was dead empty. Under the blankets, everything felt cold and wet. Blood was still oozing out, sticking uncomfortably to my inner thighs. I stretched my arm out to reach for the call button by the bed. I pressed it repeatedly, the plastic casing clicking sharply, but the hallway remained dead silent. I tried to push myself up against the headboard, but my head fell heavily back onto the pillow. Faintly, Evelyn's voice drifted through the door. "Chloe was so frightened her heart started racing. She's at home crying her eyes out. How dare Clara get pregnant at a time like this?" Thomas's voice followed immediately. "If I knew she was this malicious, I never would've brought her in. Even a stray dog wags its tail when you feed it." I slammed my palm against the bed frame and shouted toward the door, "I'm hemorrhaging! Call the doctor!" The voices outside paused for two seconds. The shadows beneath the door gap shifted. Two silhouettes stepped back, and the sound of footsteps faded into the distance. I pulled my gaze back and stared blankly at the ceiling. I foolishly thought that bleeding out would be enough for them to push the door open and check on me. They heard me. And they still walked away. Half an hour later, Ethan pushed the door open, carrying a thermos. He shut the door behind him, set the thermos on the nightstand, and casually slipped my phone from my pillow into his coat pocket. "When you do something wrong, you have to pay the price," he said, looking down at me. "I didn't do anything wrong," I said, biting my lower lip. "The bleeding won't stop. Go get a doctor." Ethan looked down at the dark red stains on the sheet, his brow furrowing slightly. His hand lifted halfway, hovered in the air for two seconds, and then slid back into his pocket. "Just bear with it," he said. "You'll be fine in a couple of days." "Ethan, this isn't a scraped knee from falling down the stairs," I stared at him. "A baby was just torn out of my body, and you're telling me to bear with it?" Ethan turned his head, avoiding my gaze. "I'll go get a nurse at the front desk." He turned and walked out. Ten minutes later, he came back alone, his hands empty, with no nurse behind him. He unscrewed the thermos, poured half a bowl of cream of mushroom soup, and set it on the nightstand. "Drink it while it's hot." I didn't look at the bowl. "The doctor said this is normal after surgery. Stop scaring yourself," Ethan adjusted his collar. "I have an international video conference for the company. I'll come back later." The door clicked shut behind him, the lock engaging with a crisp snap. Bracing myself against the bed rail, I sat up, picked up the bowl, and shuffled step by agonizing step into the bathroom. I poured the soup down the sink and rinsed it completely away. I placed the empty bowl back in the thermos, screwed the lid tight, and stuffed it beneath the cabinet. I crawled back into bed, pulled the blanket up to my chin, and gripped the sheets with white knuckles. Darkness swallowed the room completely. The lights weren't on, leaving me in pitch-black isolation. A violent chill seized me, and my entire body began to shake. I opened my mouth to call for help, but my throat was parched, producing nothing more than a dry, wheezing gasp. In the dead of night, my fever spiked dangerously. Everything in front of me spun wildly. One moment, I was back in that leaky shack from my childhood; the next, my foster father was raising a broom over me; and then, Ethan was kneeling to wipe the dirt from my face. I reached out to grab something, but my fingers closed only around cold sweat. My body tilted, and half of my torso slipped over the edge of the mattress. My head hung suspended in the air, without an ounce of strength left to pull myself back up. The call button cord dangled against the floor tiles just a short distance away. I stretched my fingertips out, fell inches short, and blacked out as I crashed to the floor. When I opened my eyes again, the frantic rattling of gurney wheels filled my ears. A nurse was shoving an oxygen cannula into my nose as the gurney crashed through the emergency room doors. "Temperature 103.6! Severe uterine infection and massive hemorrhaging!" The nurse screamed down the hall, "If you'd brought her in twenty minutes later, she would've been dead!" I kept my eyes open, watching the fluorescent ceiling lights blur past. I hadn't died. By the time they finished resuscitating me and wheeled me back to a standard ward, it was already the following afternoon. A nurse's aide wiped the cold sweat from my forehead, sighing and muttering that the rounds nurse had found me hanging halfway off the bed, surrounded by pools of blood, my face as pale as chalk. "The doctor was furious with your family all night. He said they were heartless to leave a patient alone overnight right after a D&C." My voice came out raspy. "Did anyone come looking for me last night?" The aide shook her head. "Not a single person. No one even called." I nodded slowly and closed my eyes. From now on, I had nothing left to do with any of them. It took two full days for my fever to break, leaving my lips cracked and peeling. The Gray family sent their driver with a gift basket; I told the aide to throw it straight into the trash. Ethan's assistant sent flowers and fruit; I turned them away at the door just the same. The aide asked me, "Miss Brooks, the hospital still needs a family member's signature for your follow-up medication. Are you really not going to call them?" "I'll sign it myself." "You're so young. Why stay mad at your family?" I turned my head toward the window, looking at the bare, lifeless tree branches outside. "I'm not mad. I'm just clearing the space for them." On the third morning, Ethan pushed the door open. Carrying an expensive gift box, he walked briskly over and stopped beside my bed. I turned my face toward the plain white wall, not even bothering to lift an eyelid. Ethan stood there for a moment before picking up the water cup on the nightstand. He poured some warm water, tested the temperature against the back of his hand, and placed it within my easy reach. I stared at the tiny crack in the wall paint. Two nights ago, when I was hanging off the bed desperately reaching for the call cord, he was nowhere to be found. Today, he showed up playing the devoted caretaker, meticulously testing the temperature of a cup of water. It was a laughable, sickening joke.Clara's POV Ethan took an apple from the fruit basket and pulled out a small folding knife. The peel dropped into the trash can in smooth, continuous ribbons. He sliced the apple into neat, bite-sized pieces, arranged them on a small plate, and set it beside my pillow. Pulling out a chair, he sat down by my bed. "I canceled all my meetings for the next three days," Ethan said, looking at me. "I'm staying right here in the hospital with you." I leaned against the pillows, my eyes completely motionless. Over the past three years, I had waited to hear those words countless times. Now I was finally hearing them, but the price had been the life of the child in my womb. Ethan hadn't even been sitting there for ten minutes when his phone buzzed in his pocket. It was a FaceTime request from Evelyn. He swiped his thumb across the screen to answer. Evelyn's voice boomed out immediately, with a stunning, sun-drenched Hawaiian beach in the background. Chloe had her arm looped through Evelyn's, wearing a wide-brimmed sunhat, her cheeks glowing with health. "Ethan, the ocean breeze here in Maui is so lovely! Chloe's appetite has been wonderful these past two days—she finished an entire bowl of oatmeal this morning." Evelyn tilted the camera closer to Chloe's face. "If you're done with work over there, book a flight and come join us! Chloe's been talking about how much she misses you since sunrise. She wants you to take her out on a sailboat." Lying in the bed, I heard every single word crystal clear. I turned my head, fixing my gaze on Ethan's face. Ethan lowered his voice. "Evelyn, I don't have time. Clara just had surgery, and she needs someone to—" "What could possibly happen to her?" Evelyn interrupted bluntly. "She's young and resilient. A few days in bed and she'll be good as new. Do you honestly think the hospital is going to let her starve?" Evelyn waved her hand dismissively on screen. "Get over here right away. Don't drag your feet. Chloe is waiting for you to take her out on the water." The phone camera shifted slightly, catching a glimpse of my deathly pale face. Evelyn offered a perfunctory smile. "Clara, you just get plenty of rest in the hospital. Don't distract Ethan from his business." I looked at the screen and said flatly, "I'm fine. Have fun." With that, I closed my eyes. He had claimed he cleared his schedule to take care of me, yet a single phone call from them was all it took to pull him away. The call ended. Ethan placed his phone face down on his lap. The only sound left in the room was the rhythm of our breathing. "Go," I said without opening my eyes. "I'm not going," Ethan said, his voice dropping an octave. "I told you I'm staying here with you for these three days." "Chloe's waiting by the beach for you to tie her sandals," I said, my voice completely flat. "Sitting here looking at you makes me sick. I can't even stomach food with you in the room." Ethan shot up from his chair. The metal legs screeched sharply against the linoleum. "Clara, what do you actually want from me?" "I want you to leave." "Have you just been waiting for an excuse to push me away?" I didn't even open my eyes. In the past, I had begged him to stay, even if it was just to finish a simple dinner with me. The response was always, "Chloe needs me." Now, he was staying only to ease his own guilty conscience. I refused to give him that pathetic absolution. Ethan stood frozen at the foot of the bed for two minutes. He let out a cold, bitter laugh, grabbed his coat, and slammed the door as he stormed out. The heavy wooden door rattled in its frame, shaking a dusting of plaster from the wall. His dress shoes clicked briskly down the hallway, fading without the slightest hesitation. I slowly opened my eyes. Reaching out, I shoved the plate of neatly sliced apples into the far, dusty corner of the nightstand. Over the next two days, my phone buzzed incessantly. They were all high-definition photos sent by Chloe. The first was a picture of her under a palm tree by the ocean, clinging to Ethan's arm, beaming brightly. The second was an afternoon tea spread at an oceanfront restaurant, accompanied by a caption: Clara, Ethan mentioned you always wanted to come here. He brought me to try it today, but honestly, the food is pretty mediocre. The third was on the sandy beach. Ethan was down on one knee in the sand, his head bowed, tying the loose straps of Chloe's sandals. I looked at them without an ounce of emotion. I had saved that oceanfront restaurant in my phone notes three years ago. Back then, Ethan said it was too far away and he never had time. He remembered all along. He just chose to take someone else. Chloe sent over a dozen messages. Each time, I replied with just a single word: "Okay." "Fine." "Got it." On the fifth afternoon, Chloe sent another photo showing Ethan's back as he swiped his black card at a duty-free luxury boutique. I tapped on Chloe's profile, went into the settings, and muted her notifications. Then, I backed out to the chat list, held down her thread, and hit delete. Every time I looked at those photos, I felt physically ill. I placed my phone face down on the table, slipped out of bed, and pulled the blackout curtains shut, plunging the room into darkness. In the far corner of the nightstand, the plate of sliced apples had shriveled into a dried, oxidized mass of dark brown. I never looked at it again.Clara's POV On the day of my discharge, the nurse's aide helped me into a taxi. My body was still painfully frail. I sat in the back catching my breath for a long time before heading back to retrieve my car. I drove into the gated community. Just as I turned toward the building entrance, a figure suddenly lunged from behind the bushes straight toward my hood. I slammed my foot on the brake. The tires screeched violently against the asphalt, but the front bumper still clipped the person. The seatbelt cut violently into my lower abdomen, sending a sharp, tearing pain through my surgical incision. My hands shook uncontrollably as I pulled the keys, shoved the door open, and stepped out. Chloe was lying on the pavement, clutching her right leg and groaning pitifully. I walked over and crouched down to look. Her clothes weren't torn, there was no blood, and her bones clearly weren't broken. I didn't reach out to help her up. Instead, I pulled out my phone. I dialed 911 directly. I clearly reported the address and my license plate number to the dispatcher, keeping the call active on my screen. She had sprinted head-on toward my car. I knew Chloe was trying to set me up, so I made sure the dispatch recording and my dashcam footage were completely secure. The ambulance sirens wailed as they loaded her in. I drove behind them to the hospital. Outside the emergency room, Thomas and Evelyn were already there, pressed against the glass doors, peering frantically inside. I walked over, but before I could utter a word, Evelyn spun around and shoved me violently backward. "What are you even doing here?! If so much as a hair on Chloe's head is harmed, it's entirely your fault!" My back slammed hard against the corridor wall. I didn't say a word. Fifteen minutes later, the ER doors swung open. The attending physician walked out holding a stack of charts, his brow knitted into a deep frown. He glanced left and right, pulled Thomas into a quiet corner of the hallway, and lowered his voice. "The injuries on this patient were definitely not caused by a car accident today." Standing just a few feet away, I heard every single syllable. "These are old contusions. There are over a dozen of them. Some subcutaneous hematomas have already scabbed over, while others are still weeping fluid." The doctor looked sharply at Thomas. "As her family, do you mean to tell me you never noticed this at home?" Thomas's face drained of color. His lips twitched, but no words came out. "Who does she live with?" the doctor pressed. Thomas snatched the medical charts, rolled them into a tight cylinder, and clutched them in a death grip. "This is a private family matter. We'll handle it ourselves at home." The doctor stared at him for two seconds, slipped his pen back into the pocket of his white coat, and shook his head before walking back into the clinic. I stood frozen in place, my fingers curling tightly into my palms. In this entire hospital, the only person who had spoken the truth was a doctor who didn't even know me. I thought that with those bruises exposed, Thomas would at least turn around and ask me what happened. I looked up. Thomas immediately averted his eyes, staring blankly at the wall clock. He didn't even ask, "How did you get here?" The medical chart was crushed in his fist, and the truth was crushed right along with it in that hallway. The Gray family didn't care about the truth. They just needed an outsider they could blame. I turned to leave. Suddenly, a hand clamped down on my wrist from behind, gripping the bone so hard it throbbed with pain. I hadn't even noticed when Ethan had arrived. He was still wearing yesterday's tailored suit, his tie slightly crooked, his palm cold as ice. "Until this is sorted out, you're not going anywhere." I looked up at him. His eyes were filled with nothing but cold suspicion. The ER doors opened again. Chloe was wheeled out on a gurney, her face pale. The second she saw me, she shrank back, pointing a trembling finger in my direction and bursting into loud, hysterical sobs. "It's her! She hit the gas and ran me down on purpose!" Chloe reached out to grab Evelyn's jacket. "She even hired thugs to beat me up outside! Look what they did to me! Dad, Mom, please save me!" The corridor fell dead silent. Several visitors and family members turned their heads, their eyes landing squarely on me. I stood in the center of the hall, my arms hanging limp. I looked at Chloe on the gurney, then down at the rolled-up chart in Thomas's fist. All three of them knew exactly who had given her those bruises, yet not a single one opened their mouth. I took half a step backward. My body was too weak from the recent surgery; my knees buckled, and I nearly hit the floor. Ethan's fingers gripped my wrist so tightly they bruised. Not once did he ask me for my side of the story. I kept my mouth shut. Who would I even tell the truth to? There wasn't a single person in this hallway willing to listen to me. Evelyn charged forward like a madwoman, raised her hand, and slapped me across the face with everything she had. The force snapped my head to the side, my cheek stinging and flushing crimson instantly. I didn't raise a hand to block it. "Clara Brooks, you wicked monster!" Evelyn screeched, pointing her finger inches from my nose. "What did Chloe ever take from you?! You actually tried to kill her!" Thomas stormed over, grabbed me by the collar, and dragged me away from the wall into the middle of the hallway. He raised his hand, ready to strike. I stood there, choked by the tight collar, my voice sounding as dry as stagnant water. "Are you done hitting me?"