Chapter 7
My declaration was like a thunderclap. The crowd froze, their expressions a mix of shock and disbelief.
Margot was the first to recover. Her face turned crimson as her eyes filled with rage and panic.
“Liar!” she shrieked. “You little liar! How dare you pretend to be the Fitzgeralds‘ daughter? Do you have a death wish?”
“The Fitzgerald Family is royalty in their own right,” she spat. “Do you honestly think someone like you could ever claim to be their daughter? Look at yourself!”
She whirled around to Walton, desperation lacing her tone. “Mr. Gries, don‘ t believe her! She’s gone mad, spouting nonsense to cover her tracks.”
Margot‘ s voice grew shrill, her composure unraveling before everyone’s eyes. I
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almost felt sorry for her–almost.
I understood her reaction. If my words were true, her fate was sealed. So she did what she could, clinging to denial and dragging me down in her attempts to salvage her crumbling image.
The crew members and Kieran stood pale and silent, too afraid to intervene. Their earlier bravado had vanished, replaced by visible unease.
Even Walton looked shaken, his mouth. twitching as though searching for the right words. Before he could respond, a commotion erupted nearby.
A group of people approached quickly, their presence commanding attention.
Among them were the Fitzgerald Family‘ s bodyguards–and my parents.
Walton immediately rushed forward, his usual calm demeanor replaced by a nervous deference. “Mr. Fitzgerald, Mrs. Fitzgerald, I deeply apologize. My
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subordinates acted out of line and caused
you a mess…”
My father raised a hand, cutting him off. His tone was cold and resolute. “This can wait.”
His sharp gaze landed on me, his
expression darkening as he took in the red, swollen mark on my face. To say my father was angry would be an understatement. He had never struck me, not even once and to see me slapped in my own home was an affront to both me and the Fitzgerald Family name.
Margot, oblivious to the storm brewing, approached with a sycophantic smile. plastered across her face.
“Mr. Fitzgerald, Mrs. Fitzgerald, it’s such an honor to meet you. I‘ m Margot Hickman from Velvetline Entertainment. It’s truly a blessing to attend Miss Fitzgerald’s birthday banquet today.”
“But,” she continued, her tone turning
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sorrowful, “something terrible happened earlier. That lowly bumpkin snuck into the estate and tried to steal your family dog. She even had the audacity to claim that she’s your daughter! But don’t worry, we are not going to be fooled by her, so we-”
Before she could say more, my mother stepped forward and slapped her hard
across the face. The sound echoed like a whip crack, leaving Margot stunned. She clutched her cheek, wide–eyed and speechless.
My mother, usually composed and elegant, was furious. Her usual composed demeanor was entirely gone, replaced by a storm of rage. I had never seen her lose her temper like this before.Turning to me, she softened instantly. Gently, she cupped my face, her voice trembling with concern.
“Oh, sweetheart, are you all right? Does it hurt?”
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