Chapter 2 b***h Couldn't Swim
1062 Words
The elegant woman—no, my biological mother, Eleanor Anderson—stepped toward me and wrapped me in her arms.
Her hold was careful, hesitant, as though she were embracing a stranger.
Sensing her awkwardness, I broke the silence. "Ma'am, what are you doing?"
"My child," she said, her voice trembling. "Don't you see the resemblance? We look so much alike. Years ago, there was a mistake at the hospital. We took the wrong baby home. When we realized it, we searched for you all these years."
I turned to Agatha. Her face was ashen, her lips moving soundlessly as if searching for an excuse. But the presence of so many people robbed her of her usual bravado. She stayed silent.
Eleanor didn't even glance her way. Instead, she took my hand and led me to the waiting limousine.
We entered through separate doors, taking seats on opposite sides of the car. The plush leather cushions swallowed me up, and my ultra-short skirt rode up dangerously high. My thighs and part of my hips pressed against the cold seat.
The driver who had held the door for me stole a brief, lustful glance, while Eleanor's disapproval flickered subtly in her eyes.
I laughed inwardly.
'It was all there, wasn't it? All the clues I'd missed. Back then, I was too blinded by the joy of being claimed as an heiress to notice the cracks in their perfect facade.'
Eleanor, pretending nothing was amiss, handed instructions to a staff member, who wrapped some ice in a cloth from the champagne bucket and passed it to me.
I accepted it with a polite nod, pressing it against my swollen cheek.
"I hope you'll get along with Fiona," Eleanor said after a moment, her mask slipping in this supposed private space. "She's a lovely girl. I'm sure you'll like her."
'A lovely girl?'
The words tasted bitter.
Was she referring to the same Fiona who, in the previous timeline, orchestrated the Andersons' car accident with the help of their so-called adopted son?
But I couldn't reveal the truth—not yet. They wouldn't believe me.
That imposter had been raised as their daughter for sixteen years. To the world, she was the picture of poise and purity.
And me? Their real daughter? A girl from a single-parent household, with a drunk for a mother and a drug addict for a brother. The delinquent who skipped school and swore like a sailor.
It was clear who they'd believe.
Seeing my silence, Eleanor continued, as if to comfort me, "You've been through so much, but don't worry. From now on, whatever Fiona has, you'll have too."
'Whatever she has, I'll have?'
The words sparked something deep inside me.
'Why? Why should I settle for scraps? I'm the real heiress. She stole my life. Not only does she get away with it, but I'm expected to play catch-up? To have whatever she has?'
"Fiona?" I repeated her name, my voice steady. "Does she know about her biological parents?"
Eleanor hesitated. "I think it's better if she doesn't. That family... it's not a good environment for anyone."
She knew.
She knew how that family had treated me.
And yet, she worried about how Fiona might feel if she learned the truth. Fiona, the imposter, deserved her protection. But me? The real daughter? My pain didn't even warrant a mention.
Why?
Why did I have to be the one who suffered?
"Then can you help me find a lawyer?" I asked, my voice deceptively calm. "I want to press charges against them. I'll send them to prison myself."
"Helena." Eleanor's tone sharpened, her emerald gaze locking onto mine. "You are an Anderson. You have nothing to do with the Torren family anymore."
I stared at her, stunned.
"It's for the sake of our family's reputation," she added, almost as if apologizing. "I hope you'll understand."
'So that's it. For the Andersons' image, I have to bury my past. The people who tormented me get to walk away scot-free?'
A storm of anger and injustice roared inside me, rising until it burned my throat and stung my eyes.
'For the Andersons' honor, I'm expendable. They'll worry about Fiona's future, but my suffering doesn't matter.'
I clenched the ice pack in my hand, feeling the burn of fury coursing through me.
'Fine. If that's how it is, then I'll make sure everyone who hurt me pays. Every single one of them.'
The fire of vengeance ignited in my chest, consuming everything in its path.
When I finally spoke, my lips curved into a cold smile.
"Of course, Mo—" The word caught in my throat, the rest refusing to come out.
Even though I had come to terms with reality, I still couldn't bring myself to call her "Mom".
Eleanor's expression shifted, a flicker of disappointment softening her features. "Take your time, Helena," she said, almost wistfully.
The limousine pulled into the Anderson estate's underground garage, where a butler in a black tailcoat was already waiting.
"Mr. Anderson is entertaining an important guest," the butler said to Eleanor. "You and Ms. Helena may wait in the courtyard."
"All right," Eleanor replied. "I'll fetch something appropriate for Helena to wear. Sebastian, take her to the courtyard."
The courtyard featured an Olympic-sized pool, its pristine blue water glistening under the evening lights. By its edge sat a girl, her white dress fluttering softly in the breeze.
She rose gracefully as we approached, her light brown hair styled into a loose yet elegant bun.
"Helena," she greeted me with a sweet smile, motioning to the butler. "You can go now, Sebastian. I'd like a moment alone with her."
Sebastian bowed and exited without a word.
"Helena, I'm so sorry," Fiona said, taking my hand and pressing it to her chest. "I never asked for any of this. I was just a baby—I didn't know what was happening. You don't blame me, do you?"
Her words sounded innocent, but her tone betrayed her true intent.
'A veiled threat,' I thought, my gaze dropping to our position at the pool's edge.
Anyone watching might think I was about to push her in.
Before I could respond, Fiona suddenly threw herself backward. "Help! Helena!" she shrieked, her voice laced with panic. "I can't swim!"
'This b***h,' I thought coldly.
She was trying to frame me.
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