Chapter 2
1323words
"The Blackwood heiress," "the missing daughter Daphne"—these words stirred something deep within me.
I'd always known I was adopted. But what if I really came from a wealthy family?
"Zoe, take these clothes to the dry cleaner's, then go grocery shopping," my foster mother ordered.
She handed me a long shopping list. Lately, they'd been sending me on all sorts of errands.
I couldn't argue. Arguing never ended well.
The entire week went like this. I was out from dawn till dusk with barely any rest, while Bianca stayed home.
Several times when I returned, I caught her whispering with my foster parents in the living room, only for them to fall silent the moment they saw me.
I sensed they were hiding something, but lacked the courage to ask directly.
Friday night, I got home later than usual. An executive had spilled coffee, forcing me to clean the entire conference room again.
"Zoe, we need more flour and eggs. Go get them now," my foster mother said the moment I stepped through the door.
I wearily looked at the falling snowflakes outside. "Now? It’s already late."
"Now," she insisted. "We need them for tomorrow morning."
I sighed and put my coat back on.
The wind was biting cold as I hurried toward the small grocery store, head down.
The store owner was about to close. "You're cutting it close," he said, but let me in anyway.
"Sorry, my family suddenly needed these things." I quickly grabbed what I needed.
The owner shook his head, looking at me with sympathy. "Your family's always like this, aren't they?"
I didn't answer, just paid and walked back into the cold night.
On the way home, my fingers grew numb from the cold, plastic bags swinging in my hands. My shoes were soaked through.
When I finally reached our doorstep, I saw a luxury sedan parked outside—the kind never seen in our rundown neighborhood. Laughter drifted from inside, a sound so rare in our home.
I pushed the door open.
The scene in the living room stopped me cold. My foster parents sat on the sofa, wearing sycophantic smiles. Bianca sat beside them in an elegant dress.
But most striking were the two strangers sitting across from them—an elegant middle-aged woman and a handsome young man.
"Ah, back so soon?" Bianca said with displeasure when she saw me.
I stood there, melting snow dripping from my hair, grocery bags suddenly feeling impossibly heavy.
"Mrs. Victoria, this is our younger daughter, Zoe," my foster mother quickly said, her eyes warning me to stay quiet.
The elegant woman—Victoria—turned to me. "Hello, Zoe."
Her voice was warm and gentle. Her gaze lingered on my face as if searching for something.
The young man also looked at me. "I’m Logan Everest."
My heart suddenly raced. Everest—the name of the company I worked for. This young man was the owner.
"Hello," I said softly, uncertain about what was happening.
"Zoe, put those things in the kitchen and go to your room to rest," my foster father ordered.
I hesitated, but my foster father's look made me obey. I walked toward the kitchen, deliberately slowing my pace to hear their conversation.
"So, as I was saying, we found Bianca fifteen years ago in the suburbs. She was injured and had lost her memory," I heard my foster mother say.
I stopped in my tracks, turning in shock. What? Bianca was adopted? That couldn't be right.
"We adopted her and gave her a home," my foster father added.
"I've always felt like I didn't belong here," Bianca said with fake emotion in her voice. "But I'm grateful they took me in."
I couldn't believe my ears. Bianca was lying! She wasn't adopted—I was!
"My daughter," Victoria's voice trembled. "My Daphne."
I watched Victoria stand up and walk toward Bianca with outstretched arms, tears in her eyes.
"Mother," Bianca said softly, also standing.
The two embraced as Victoria's tears finally fell. "I've searched for you for so many years, and finally found you."
Logan stood nearby, his expression unreadable.
"We have adoption papers," my foster father said, pulling out some documents from a folder. "And childhood photos of Bianca."
I knew those photos. They were MY childhood photos. They were lying.
Victoria took the documents, examining them carefully.
Unable to contain myself any longer, I rushed back to the living room. “What does this mean? Bianca wasn’t adopted—I was.”
The room fell silent. Everyone turned to me.
"Zoe! Don't be rude!" my foster mother snapped.
"But it's true! I'm the one you adopted when I was five!" I insisted.
Victoria looked confused, her gaze moving between Bianca and me.
"Please forgive her," my foster father stood up, grabbing my arm. "She's always had an active imagination."
"No, I'm not imagining things! You're lying!"
A loud slap landed on my face.
"I'm sorry," he said to Victoria and Logan. "My daughter gets like this sometimes."
"I'm not your daughter," I whispered as tears gathered in my eyes.
Victoria stood up, concern on her face. "What... what's going on here?"
Bianca instantly put on an understanding expression, gently taking Victoria's hand.
"Mother, don't be upset. Zoe doesn't mean harm—she just longs for a better life."
She turned to Logan with a sweet smile. "We grew up together, and she's always envied my opportunities."
Her hand lightly touched Logan's arm. "You understand that feeling, don't you?"
I stood there, shocked by her hypocrisy. Not only was she stealing my identity, but she was also trying to win Logan's sympathy.
She turned to me with fake compassion. "I understand how you feel, Zoe, but pretending to be me isn't right."
I opened my mouth to object, but my foster father's warning look stopped me.
Just then, Logan's gaze fell on my wrist. His expression suddenly froze.
"That bracelet—where did you get it?" he asked abruptly.
Everyone's eyes turned to my wrist. I looked down at the silver bracelet, my only treasure.
"This? I've always had it, for as long as I can remember."
Logan strode to me, took my hand, and examined the bracelet carefully.
"There's an inscription," he said, his voice slightly trembling with excitement.
I'd never noticed any inscription. It was too small, and years of wear had made it almost illegible.
Logan's fingers gently traced the silver surface. "I gave this to Daphne on her fifth birthday. We promised to marry when we grew up..."
Victoria's head snapped up, her eyes filled with shock. "What?"
Just then, Bianca rushed forward and grabbed my wrist. "How dare you steal my bracelet!" she screamed.
She yanked off the bracelet and held it up. "This is MY bracelet! I've been looking for it everywhere!"
I looked at her in surprise. "That's not yours. It's always been mine."
"Liar!" Bianca roared. "You stole my things and now you're trying to steal my identity!"
Bianca's face turned pale, but she quickly regained composure. "Zoe must have stolen it from my room. Logan, you remember me, right? We promised to always be together."
"No, this bracelet has been on my wrist since my earliest memories," I said firmly.
The atmosphere in the room grew even tenser. Victoria's gaze moved back and forth between Bianca and me.
"I have a suggestion," Bianca suddenly said. "Since someone is questioning my identity, why don't we do a DNA test?"
Everyone looked at her in surprise. Smiling, Bianca plucked a few strands of her hair and handed them to Victoria.
"Mother, take this and run a test. It will prove who I am."
Victoria hesitantly took the strands of hair.
"That's a good idea," Logan said. "Science doesn't lie."
"I completely agree," my foster father quickly added. "This will settle everything once and for all."
"We'll talk more tomorrow," Logan finally said. "It's getting late."
