My Mom Called It Fairness. I Called It Betrayal.

Chapter 3

My secretary, Megan, came sprinting over, panic written all over her face.

"Ms. Lawson, something terrible happened."

She handed me her phone, and the second I saw the photo on the screen, my hands and feet went numb. An icy jolt shot through my entire body.

In the picture, I was kneeling on the floor in an almost see-through slip dress, my hair messy and plastered to my face. The pose looked wildly suggestive to anyone who saw it without knowing the truth.

Below the photo was a caption: Ungrateful daughter Lauren Lawson called the cops on her own mother.

My phone buzzed again. It was Ryan calling.

"Hey, Lauren, this is the new gift Patricia and I got for you. Like it? Patricia was right about you. You're just a slut who'll sleep with any guy to get what you want. And I've got plenty more photos where these came from! Here's what you're gonna do. Buy me a house and hand over 10 million, or I'll make sure your reputation is ruined so badly you'll never dare show your face in public again."

I clenched my phone so tightly that my knuckles turned white, my whole body shaking as if I'd been thrown into a bottomless pit of ice.

The woman in those photos was definitely me. It had happened during the second half of my junior year of college.

Our school had required us to complete an unpaid internship, which meant I couldn't take a part-time job on the side.

I'd already fallen behind on my tuition payments. Then the registrar's office called and gave me an ultimatum: pay up or get expelled.

Just when I was at my breaking point, a guy from my class slipped me a small card with a sleazy grin, which read 'Earn 5,000 for one photo shoot.'

I thought about it for a long time before finally agreeing to go. But the moment I stepped into the studio, I realized exactly what kind of photos they planned to take.

I scrambled to call the police and fought like hell to push them away, but they drugged me until I blacked out and took those disgusting photos anyway.

By the time the police arrived, I was unconscious, and the photographer had vanished without a trace.

The officers took pity on me. The department chipped in and raised enough money to cover my tuition.

I kept those horrible photos as evidence, planning to use them someday if I ever found a way to track down the people responsible.

But I never could've imagined that my own family would get their hands on them and use them to blackmail me.

The corner of my mouth curled into a bitter, mocking smile.

What a sick joke.

Megan noticed how pale I'd gone, and her voice trembled even more when she spoke, "Ms. Lawson, I already called the police. The company has also activated its crisis PR team, but several firms that were supposed to sign contracts with us today said they want to put the deals on hold for now..."

Her voice grew quieter and quieter until it faded completely.

I already knew what that meant. The proposal our entire team had spent three months working on, pulling countless all-nighters to finish, was dead.

So were 50 million in research funds.

I gave a small nod, my expression completely blank.

"I understand. Use money from my personal account to cover the team's bonuses. They've worked hard these past few months. Clear my schedule. I have some family business to deal with."

As soon as I left the office, I made a call.

After hanging up, I went straight home and collapsed into bed for the rest of the day.

*****

Early the next morning, frantic pounding on my front door jolted me awake.

Patricia's shrill, hysterical voice rang through the hallway.

"Lauren, get your ass out here! Where did you take my son? You did all that disgusting stuff, and now you're too cowardly to admit it?!"

She was screaming so loudly that my neighbors started poking their heads out of their apartments to watch the spectacle.

When she saw the crowd growing by the second, she suddenly dropped to the floor with a heavy thud.

"All of you, tell me who's in the wrong here! Our family has always believed in equality between children. We never gave my son any special treatment! I gave her the family home. So what's wrong with asking her to buy a house for her own brother? That's equality, isn't it? I've always been the fairest mother there is!"

The property manager hurried over, looking awkward and uncomfortable.

"Ma'am, you're seriously disturbing the peace. If you don't leave right now, I'm calling the police."

Patricia sprang to her feet, jabbing a finger in his face as she shrieked. "What, are you sleeping with my daughter or something? Why else would you keep taking her side? Lauren, you're such a filthy w***e! You'll spread your legs for any man who comes along, even a property manager? Can't you go five minutes without a man in your bed?!"

The manager was stunned by her unhinged, vulgar accusations. His face turned bright red with anger.

Inside the apartment, I actually burst out laughing. What a perfect little show to start the morning.

I yanked the door open so hard that Patricia stumbled and fell to the floor.

She froze for a split second, then quickly scrambled back to her feet. "Finally found the guts to show your face, huh? Where the hell did you take your brother? He hasn't been home all night!"

She tried to push her way inside as she spoke, but I blocked her.

"Shut your mouth!" I stared her down, my expression ice-cold. "This is what you call equality? Patricia, after all these years, how much more obvious can your favoritism possibly be..."

Before I could finish, she slapped me hard across the face. "I'm your mother! How dare you talk to me like that? You wouldn't even exist if it weren't for me!"

Rage made my whole body tremble. My hand flew up on instinct, but I forced it back down.

That slap erased the last shred of our mother-daughter bond.

But Patricia completely lost control.

She barged past me, grabbed the baseball bat propped behind the door, and started smashing everything in sight.

Glass shattered. Wood splintered. Furniture toppled with every swing.

Within minutes, my entire apartment was a wreck.

Her hair hung in wild, tangled strands around her face. She turned toward me, glared, raised the bat, and swung it straight at my leg.

White-hot pain exploded through my calf.

I summoned every ounce of strength I had left, grabbed my phone, and called the police.

Then heavy footsteps thundered toward the doorway.

Several police officers rushed inside, barking out urgent questions, "Which of you is Ryan's family? He was found on the outskirts of the city, covered in injuries. He suffered especially severe injuries to his genitals. He's already been rushed to the hospital."