The moment Yvette arrived, she grabbed my head and shoved me into a filthy pool of water, screaming at me.
“How can someone as lowly as you look like me?”
It wasn’t until years later that I finally understood her hatred. Back then, Jameson, drunk and delirious, had held her tightly—while calling out my name.
From that day, her torment began. She bullied me relentlessly, taking pleasure in humiliating me and capturing every degrading moment in photos. Those photos became her leverage, used to silence me, ensuring I wouldn’t tell anyone about the abuse.
Her reign of terror only ended when Jameson broke up with her. That year, consumed by anger, she left the country.
Shaking, I dragged myself back to the present and lunged for Yvette’s phone. “Delete it!”
She smirked, taunting me. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. Feeling desperate now, little stand-in? Don’t worry; I’ve got plenty of pictures of you begging and crying. Want me to show you some?”
I stared at her with cold fury as she laughed openly. “Yvette, I’m not the same Lauren you used to bully. If you dare use those photos to threaten me again, I’ll sue you!”
“Oh, the little beggar has grown some claws, huh? I’m so scared! But guess what? I’m not deleting anything. What can you even do about it?”
Her voice turned cruel, her gaze dripping with contempt. “After all these years, you’re still the same—fit only to grovel at my feet like a dog.”
Ignoring the burning pain in my hand, I rushed forward to grab her phone.
Before I could touch her, she took a dramatic step back and deliberately fell to the ground, tears welling up in her eyes. “Lauren, I was only checking if you were hurt. Why did you push me?”
Right on cue, Jameson stormed over, shoving me aside with force. His father, Arthur followed, slapping me hard across the face.
“You bastard child of a servant! Do you think this house is yours? Get out of my sight!”
Clutching my burning, swollen cheek, I instinctively turned to Jameson, hoping—praying—that he would defend me, as he always had.
But there was nothing.
Jameson didn’t say a word in my defense. Instead, he shot me a look of disgust before turning his full attention to Yvette, who was now cradled in his arms. He walked away with her, murmuring words of comfort.
The servants wasted no time shoving me out of the Hall family villa.
Barefoot, I wandered aimlessly through the desolate streets. The bitter wind and snow lashed against my face, but no physical cold could compare to the chill in my heart.
Three years ago, on New Year’s Eve, Jameson had accepted my confession.
He said, “I’ve been protecting you since we were kids. From now on, you can entrust your life to me.”
He defied his family’s rules, stayed with me in my small rented apartment, and celebrated a New Year that belonged to just the two of us.
Back then, when the world was lit with festive lights, he was the brightest one in my life.
Now, I didn’t know how long I had been walking. My feet were numb, and every step felt like a distant echo.
A sudden crackle of firecrackers startled me.
I turned to see a group of children laughing and playing.
“Look! There’s a crazy barefoot lady walking in the snow! Hahaha!”
“Brother, she must be a monster! Let’s destroy the monster!”
Giggling, they began throwing firecrackers at me.
I stood there, quietly watching them, tears streaming down my face. Then, inexplicably, I started laughing along with them.
I took a step toward them, hoping they might share a sliver of their joy with me—just a little.
But before I could get closer, their mother appeared, wary and protective. She pushed me away, shielding her children.
I stumbled and fell into the snow, hearing her faint voice as if through a fog.
“I’m so sorry, Miss. The children didn’t mean it. Please don’t be mad at them.”
She tossed a ten dollar bill at my feet and hurried off with her kids, casting anxious glances back at me.
I understood her fear. To her, I was nothing more than a homeless, broken stranger—someone who might lash out in vengeance against her children.
