By admin wealthiest 4
“Do you really think you can fool me with just a face? The world is full of lookalikes—you’ll have to try harder than that.”
The manager snarled and drove his foot into my face. “You’ve got some nerve, you little bitch! Teach her a lesson!”
I crashed into the shattered remains of the champagne tower, glass biting into my skin as blood streaked down my arms.
Blow after blow rained down—fists, kicks—until my face swelled into a grotesque mask of bruises.
“But I’m telling the truth—”
CRACK!
The manager silenced me with a wine bottle to the mouth.
“Shut your damn mouth!”
Shards of glass shredded my lips, and a scream tore from my throat. He shoved the jagged neck of the bottle deeper, forcing blood to gush from my mouth. The fragments lodged in my tongue, stealing my voice with searing pain.
Lena, who had been trembling with feigned distress moments before, finally relaxed. Her eyes welled up with crocodile tears as she clutched her chest dramatically.
“Mom… Dad… It’s only been two years since you found me, and already someone’s trying to steal my life. It breaks my heart…”
Mrs. Foster rushed to her side. “Don’t cry, sweetheart. We’ll protect you. Let’s get you to a doctor—”
I forced myself up, blood dripping from my lips. I had to stop them.
The manager yanked me back by my collar, ripping my shirt open. Laughter erupted as my exposed skin drew leering stares.
“Well, well… Who knew she was hiding that under there?”
But Mrs. Foster froze. Her gaze locked onto my left shoulder—and her face went deathly pale.
She reached out, fingers trembling as they brushed over the black crescent-shaped birthmark.
“Honey… look.”
Mr. Foster’s eyes widened in shock. “You’ve had this since birth?”
I couldn’t speak, so I nodded desperately.
“Our daughter was born with this exact mark…” Mrs. Foster whispered. “How do you have it?”
[Thank God! After all that beating, she almost forgot about the birthmark!]
Just as hope flickered in my chest, Lena lifted her skirt, revealing her shoulder.
“Mom, Dad… I have it too. Hers is fake.”
There it was—an identical black crescent.
My stomach dropped. Donnie.
Sure enough, he sighed, playing the reluctant witness.
“Rachel forced me to take a photo of Lena’s birthmark during her checkup. She used it to get a tattoo.” He pulled out his phone, displaying a photo of Lena unconscious in the exam room, her shoulder exposed. Then he handed over a stack of pictures—strange women, all supposedly me before surgery.
“This is what she really looks like. She altered her face to mimic your daughter.”
My vision blurred with rage. Two years. Two years of love, and this was how he repaid me?
[This bastard is ruthless! She needs to dig up old photos—fast!]
Frantically, I scrolled through my phone, searching for proof.
But every old photo was gone. Even the cloud backups—wiped.
Then I remembered: a year ago, when I got a new phone, Donnie had insisted on transferring my data.
He’d erased my past.
[That rotten snake planned this from the start. He’s not letting her win.]
Clutching my phone, I could only watch in helpless fury as—
With that, she grabbed the cake knife beside her and plunged it toward her heart.
Mr. Foster and his wife lunged forward, seizing her hands, their voices trembling with panic. “Don’t be ridiculous, sweetheart! We love you—we believe you! We’re just—”
Mr. Foster snapped his fingers at the manager. “Call the police. Arrest her now.”
I was yanked back by my coworkers, their grips vise-like. I knew if I didn’t act fast, Lena would silence me for good.
Then I caught the manager’s hushed order to my colleague: “Stick to the plan. You’ll be paid well.”
My blood ran cold. So they were all Lena’s puppets. No wonder they’d been sabotaging me since day one at this hotel—spying, setting me up, waiting to finish me off.
[Damn it. Is the heroine really doomed to die disfigured in some ‘accident’?]
No. Hell no.
Adrenaline burned through me. My vision tinted red as I screamed inside: I’m the protagonist. There’s gotta be a way to flip this script.
With a surge of wild strength, I wrenched free, dove for the fallen cake knife, and dragged it across my wrist.
“She’s slitting her wrists! Call 911!” Chaos erupted. The Fosters whirled around, stunned.
I scrawled two words in my own blood: [PATERNITY TEST]
Someone in the crowd gasped. “If she’s willing to go this far… maybe they should test her?”
“Yeah, what if she is their daughter?”
Mr. Foster’s face darkened like a thundercloud. “Arrange a DNA test. Now. For her and my wife.”