Chapter Three
1027 Words
Though asked with feigned casualness, Isha’s question rippled through the crowd like a thrown stone across still water. Murmurs rose, sharp and buzzing, with most of them secretly agreeing she had a point.
How could the hospital, with its countless cameras, have been so careless? Surely, someone must have switched the babies deliberately. Someone desperate enough to secure a better life for their own child, even if it meant destroying another’s.
The whispers about Cara’s biological mother—rumors painting her as a shameless mistress who used despicable means—only added fuel to the fire. Angry gazes lashed out at Cara like invisible whips.
Cara, however, was no stranger to Isha’s little ploys. She had long suspected the girl of stirring trouble, though even she hadn’t anticipated this angle. Tilting her head slightly, she let a small, amused smile tug at the corner of her lips as her gaze lingered on Isha’s smug expression.
Smart girl, she mused. Clever enough to wield public opinion like a blade. But still… lacking. Cara found herself far too lazy to engage in such cheap skirmishes.
“Since your words sound so plausible, I’m certain there must be evidence to prove this was deliberate,” she drawled, inspecting her nails with deliberate boredom. “And since criminals can’t escape the consequences of their actions, I’ll wait respectfully for you to file a lawsuit against me—with evidence.” She blew gently on her nails, then lifted her gaze to meet Isha’s with a smile that was all glittering steel.
Isha’s heart lurched. For reasons she couldn’t quite grasp, this supposed dumbo made her feel… threatened. Clenching her fists in her sleeves, she forced her breathing steady.
“It’s been eighteen years since the incident,” Isha countered, voice sharp. “Any evidence would have been swept away long ago. You’re just being deliberately provocative.”
Cara’s lips curved. “So, you’re speculating without proof—and that’s me putting it kindly. In other words, you’re making false claims and defaming me in the process. You do realize I could put you behind bars for that?”
The air shifted. Isha’s throat tightened. If she stayed locked in Cara’s cool, precise words any longer, the crowd’s sympathy would start to slip away. So she changed tactics.
Her eyes shimmered with sudden tears. Her voice trembled. “You took my place for eighteen years while I lived in a damp, dark basement with that despicable mother of yours. I starved. I suffered. And yet you stand here criticizing me—after I sacrificed everything for you?”
Gasps scattered through the crowd. Mrs. Smith’s face crumpled as guilt gnawed her heart. Her hands trembled when she clutched Isha’s fingers, blinking back tears. To think she had lived comfortably in a grand mansion while her true daughter had languished in misery—it tore her apart.
Cara pressed her fingertips lightly to her temple, exhaling in quiet irritation. The theatrics were giving her a headache.
“We are both victims, Isha,” she said evenly. “I’m not criticizing you; I’m stating facts. And since I’ve already made my decision—I’ll leave this house and reclaim my biological name—there’s no need for either of us to cling to the past.”
Shock froze Isha’s expression, her hurt written plainly for all to see. “Why do you insist on being so cruel? I only want us to move forward. You’ve been living as my parents’ daughter for so long. I fear you’ll struggle with the poverty you’ll return to. So stay—stay, and I’ll treat you as my sister.”
The crowd melted. What generosity! What kindness! Some even dabbed at their eyes, moved by Isha’s gracious heart against Cara’s supposed coldness.
Cara, however, merely smiled faintly. “I appreciate your intention, but I have no place here.”
Stunned, Isha blinked rapidly, as if the script had been torn from her hands.
Mr. Smith seized the moment. With a wave of his hand, a servant hurried forward carrying documents. “Since your mind is made up, you might as well sign the severance agreement.”
In China, an adopted daughter had inheritance rights. But now, with Cara herself choosing to sever ties, Mr. Smith would gladly secure his estate for his true bloodline.
Without hesitation, Cara signed. One copy for her, the other for the Smiths. Rising, she turned toward them, her movements solemn. “Goodbye, Uncle. Goodbye, Aunt. Thank you for raising me.”
She knelt, lowering her forehead to the floor in a formal kowtow, honoring the family who had, at least, raised the body she now inhabited.
“Cara,” Isha cried, her voice cracking with feigned anguish, “please stay. Extravagance is easy to get used to—but poverty will crush you. Stay, so we can be filial daughters together.”
The crowd bristled at Cara’s apparent ingratitude. Was she really going to walk away without repaying the Smiths’ kindness?
Cara turned, her eyes cold. “If I’m not mistaken, Isha… my mother also raised you for eighteen years. Why aren’t you repaying her kindness instead?”
The words struck Isha like a slap. Before she could rally a rebuttal, Cara was already dusting off her knees and turning away.
“Practice what you preach,” she murmured, softly enough for only Isha to hear.
But as she left, her gaze brushed against a pair of eyes—icy, unreadable—half-hidden by a wisp of smoke.
Hendrix.
For a moment, his gaze locked with hers, sharp and unyielding. Then she looked away and vanished into the crowd.
Hendrix’s fingers tapped the table rhythmically, a faint scowl shadowing his expression.
“What are you staring at, Brother Fifth?” Owen asked curiously.
“None of your business.” Hendrix stubbed out his cigarette, rising in one fluid motion.
“But aren’t you going to meet your fiancée?”
By the time Owen looked up again, Hendrix’s tall silhouette had already disappeared through the doorway.
“Wait for me, Brother Fifth!” Owen scrambled after him, but Hendrix didn’t spare him a glance.
- Writer
