"Clara, do you have to make things so ugly? You’re already making nutritional meals for your grandmother every day—what’s the harm in making an extra portion for Scarlett?"

"You were both switched at birth. Why was Scarlett able to earn the love of your parents while you were loathed by your foster family? After all these years, have you never stopped to look for the reason within yourself?"

Slap!

The crisp sound of a slap echoed. Tears welled in Clara’s eyes. Ethan knew perfectly well that the Barkers had intentionally swapped the babies to change their own destiny. Her biological parents had spoiled Scarlett only because they thought she was their own. Meanwhile, the Barkers had turned their resentment over their missing daughter into fury, venting it all on her.

During those years with the Barkers, she had lived in a living hell. He knew it all, yet he could still say such things.

Seeing her bloodshot eyes, he seemed to realize his words were too heavy. His Adam’s apple moved as if he wanted to say something, but a piercing scream cut him off.

Scarlett’s eyes were wide with madness as she charged into the kitchen. She lunged forward, grabbing Clara’s hair with a sharp shriek. "You bitch! How dare you hit Ethan? I’ll kill you!"

Clara felt as if her scalp were being torn off. She stumbled as she was yanked. Before she could steady herself, Scarlett slammed her against the wall. Her head hit the cold tiles with a dull thud, and the world went dark for a moment.

In the chaos, Scarlett gave a violent shove. Clara stumbled backward, knocking over the pot of pork rib soup. The boiling white broth poured all over her.

"It hurts!"

A violent burning sensation spread across her skin. Clara trembled with agony, cold sweat instantly soaking her back. Ethan saw Clara sitting on the floor and instinctively moved to check her injuries. But before he could take a step, Scarlett clutched her ankle, her face pale.

"Ethan, I twisted my ankle... it hurts so much..."

He looked at the weeping Scarlett, a flicker of conflict in his eyes. A few seconds later, he leaned down and picked Scarlett up. "Clara, bear with it for a moment. I’ll be back for you shortly."

With that, he strode out. Clara watched his disappearing back as her heart sank inch by inch. She forced herself through the pain, pouring alcohol over the burns. The stinging made her gasp, and her tears finally fell uncontrollably.

After a crude bandaging, a message appeared on her screen: "There are some documents that need your signature."

At the same time, the doorbell rang. She limped to the door, but Ethan beat her to it. He looked at the thick folder in his hand and asked, "What is this?"

Chapter 4

Clara’s heart jumped into her throat. Instinctively, she snatched the folder and held it to her chest, feigning composure. "They're my sketches. They have to stay confidential before the exhibition. You can't look."

She had loved drawing since she was a child. The scratching of a pencil on paper had been her only comfort in a turbulent life. In the past, Ethan had carefully collected even her rough practice sketches and insisted she draw portraits of them together.

"When we’re old, we’ll show them to our grandchildren," he’d say.

When she graduated, Ethan had funded a private studio for her, placing the easel in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows she loved. When the sunlight poured in, he would hold her from behind and whisper, "My Clara can spend forever doing only what she loves."

But at some point, everything changed. He hosted exhibitions for her, yet he never cared about what she actually painted; he was only busy networking with the elite. He even gave some of her works away as gifts to business associates without ever asking her. It was as if everything about her was insignificant.

Ethan didn't press further, but his gaze slowly drifted to her legs. The red marks from the hot soup were still there—vivid and horrifying despite the medication.

"Does it still hurt?" His voice softened as he reached out to lift her leg to check the injury.

Clara flinched as if she had been burned again, taking a sharp step back to avoid his touch. Ethan’s hand froze in mid-air, and his expression turned cold. "Clara, how much longer are you going to keep this up?"

"Scarlett only lashed out because she saw you hit me. The shock triggered her episode. She didn't mean it—is it really necessary to hold onto a grudge like this?"

"If you had just agreed to take care of her from the start instead of constantly antagonizing her, none of this would have happened."

Clara felt as though the blood in her veins had turned to ice. She looked at this man—once so familiar, now a stranger—and remembered him saying he would "always protect her." It turned out those promises were only ever kept by the one who heard them.

The folder against her chest felt like it weighed a ton, crushing her heart. Without another word, she turned and walked into the bedroom. Closing the door, she leaned against it and shut her eyes. When she opened them again, there was nothing left but cold resolve.

Without hesitation, she signed "Clara" on every asset transfer contract. The ink bled through the paper, leaving faint marks on the back, much like the indelible scars on her soul. If she could just endure a few more days, she could take her grandmother and leave forever.

Once she had steadied her emotions, she placed a USB drive inside with the documents and mailed them back. Just as she was about to close the door, a familiar voice called out.

"Girlie!"

The hair on her neck stood on end. She turned stiffly to see a plump woman standing at the door. She had permed hair, wore a faded floral shirt, and wore a hypocritical smile. It was her foster mother—Scarlett’s biological mother.

Clara instinctively wrapped her arms around herself, her voice trembling slightly. "What are you doing here?"

"Clara, is that any way to speak to an elder?" Ethan’s voice rang out. He warmly took the bag from the woman’s hands, his tone full of reproach. "When an elder visits, you don't leave them standing at the door. Where are your manners?"

"Ethan!" Tears blurred Clara’s vision. "What do you mean by bringing her here? You know exactly what she did to me..."

Before she could finish, Scarlett came running out of her room. She threw herself into the woman's arms, her eyes red. "Mom, thank you for coming to take care of me."

"Silly child, you're my daughter. Of course I should take care of you." The woman patted Scarlett’s back, but then turned to Clara with a gaze full of mock affection. "Girlie, I raised you for so many years. Mama will always love you."

Hearing that, Clara felt her stomach churn. When she was three, the woman had forced her to stand on a stool to learn how to cook. When hot oil splashed on her hand and she cried, she was met with a slap across the face. "Useless brat, you can't even cook a meal!"

In the winter, she was forced to wash the entire family's laundry in ice-cold water. If she was even slightly slow, the woman would smash a washboard against her back. Later, as she grew into a beautiful young woman, her foster father would often sneak lecherous glances at her. When the woman caught him, she would drag Clara into a corner and dig her nails into her flesh. "You little harlot, born to seduce men!"

And that "Girlie"... it was never a term of endearment. It was simply the label the woman used for her servant.

Watching the scene of motherly love before her, Clara felt the irony reach its peak. Just as she was about to lash out, her phone suddenly rang.

Chapter 5

"Miss Miller, your grandmother is awake! Come to the hospital quickly!"

The caregiver's voice came through the phone like a crack of thunder, shattering Clara’s chaotic thoughts. Ignoring the mother and daughter duo putting on an act in front of her, she bolted toward the hospital.

The moment she pushed open the door to the ward, Clara’s footsteps faltered.

The caregiver was holding a cotton swab, carefully dabbing water onto her grandmother’s parched, cracked lips.

Grandmother’s eyes were slightly open, her clouded gaze wandering around the room as if searching for someone. When her eyes landed on Clara at the door, they suddenly lit up. She slowly raised a withered hand, a weak, rasping sound coming from her throat, though she couldn't find the words.

Clara’s eyes welled up with heat. She rushed forward and gripped her grandmother’s hand tightly.

"Grandmother, you’re finally awake. I was so scared..."

Heaven knew the terror that had gripped her heart when she received the call about her grandmother’s injury. Grandmother was elderly; her body simply couldn't withstand such trauma. Tears slid down Clara’s cheeks, dripping onto the back of her hand and leaving small marks.