Chapter 3

"Sloane, don't listen to them. You are my only daughter." Julian's voice cracked, the panic bleeding through.

I stared at the sea of bewildered faces below the stage. My voice was deadpan, completely devoid of emotion.

"Is that so? Because your only daughter is currently being accused by your other daughter of being your mistress."

Total panic erupted on the phone. "Ignore her! I'm on my way!"

The call went dead.

A deathly silence suffocated the massive charity banquet hall.

Harper let out a sharp, piercing laugh.

"Great acting. How much did you pay a guy who sounds like my dad to pull off that little stunt?" 

She turned to the crowd. "My dad isn't even in New York!"

The massive LED screen flashed, instantly switching to a social media screenshot.

It was a photo of Julian sipping coffee at a Parisian café. The timestamp was glaringly clear: three hours ago.

I stared coldly at the screen.

It was an old photo from last month. He must have sent it just to pacify Harper.

But the crowd didn't know that.

"Couldn't even get her sugar daddy's schedule straight. Pathetic." A frat boy blew a mocking whistle.

"She's a compulsive liar. Disgusting."

"Bitch!"

The toxic whispers spread through the crowd like a virus.

I took a deep breath, forcing the white-hot anger back down into my chest.

"He's on his way. You better pray he takes your side."

"Save it. What makes you think my dad would ditch me and my mom for you?" Harper rolled her eyes in sheer disdain.

I ground my back teeth together.

Ever since I started at this university, I had fiercely guarded my identity as the sole heir to a top-tier real estate trust, absolutely detesting my family's toxic power plays. I honestly thought staying under the radar would save me from the drama.

But now, that massive information gap had become a trap right at my throat. These people practically worshipped Old Money. To them, Harper was the undeniable, legitimate heiress.

Just then, a woman stumbled onto the stage.

She shoved Harper aside in a faux show of reprimand, but the very next second, she whirled around and dropped to her knees right in front of me.

"Miss Sloane, please... let my daughter and me go," the woman sobbed hysterically, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the hem of my dress. "We can't survive like this!"

Harper immediately dropped down to throw her arms around the woman's shoulders. She shrieked at the crowd: "Do you see this?! She drove a lawful wife to this! Is this who you want as your student representative?!"

The room exploded.

The arrogant mistress forcing the humiliated, desperate wife to her knees—it was a visual narrative so devastatingly effective that it incinerated the last shred of logic in the hall.

I looked down at the weeping woman's face.

And then, the floodgates of my memory broke open.

This was the poor friend my late mother used to sponsor. The same woman my mother had hired full-time at her charity foundation, the one she had let live rent-free in a Long Island apartment.

There was no accidental affair. Julian had been raising his illegitimate family right under my mother's nose from the very beginning—using my mother's own money to do it!

"It's you," I demanded. "When did it start with Julian?"

The woman gave a violent shudder, her fake sobs instantly drying up.

Ignoring the pathetic actress at my feet, I stood entirely straight.

"You'll be facing serious prison time for this. Every single frame of surveillance footage and livestream from tonight is going straight to a courtroom."

But legal threats were useless against a mob out for blood.

"Take out the trash! It's on us!" Harper thrust her arm into the air, lighting the match.

Dozens of self-righteous students bulldozed right through the flimsy security line. A group of girls vaulted onto the stage, ripping at my dress and clawing at my arms.

"Throw her out!"

"Rip that dress off her!"

The faculty members were violently shoved into the corners by the frenzied crowd. The Dean was screaming himself hoarse, but no one cared.

In the blinding chaos, a pair of hands materialized from the crush of bodies and shoved me violently by the shoulders.

I lost my footing entirely, hurtling backward. I crashed hard into the towering, life-sized decorative glass display at the edge of the stage.

The sickening sound of shattering glass pierced through the riot.

Jagged shards of heavy glass sliced my calf, while the razor-sharp debris dug deep into my wrist as I reflexively braced my fall.

Warm, sticky blood instantly welled up, bleeding right through the pristine fabric of my evening gown.

Harper strutted over in her stilettos, looming over me with a venomous sneer. "See that? That's called karma."

Bracing my bleeding hands against the glass-strewn floor, I slowly lifted my head to meet her gaze.

"You will pay for every single thing you did tonight."

My dead-eyed stare made Harper flinch for a split second, but she quickly yelled out to cover her nerves. "We're the real family! You could bankrupt yourself and you still wouldn't win a lawsuit against me!"

"Call 911! Get an ambulance!" the Dean finally shrieked over the mayhem.

Before the words even left his mouth, the heavy double doors at the back of the hall were kicked open with a deafening bang.

Julian stood there, chest heaving, his face drenched in sweat. Two massive bodyguards in black suits violently shoved the gawking students aside, physically carving a path for him through the crowd.

He locked eyes with me—bruised, battered, and bleeding on the floor—and every last drop of color drained from his face.