Chapter 3
Now, I needed an excuse to get outside.
I started acting erratic—staring blankly at walls for hours, breaking into random tears.
Helen eventually couldn't take it anymore.
She was terrified I'd lose my mind before they could harvest my heart for Vivian.
"Marcus, take her out. Get her a cat, a dog—whatever. Just don't let her mope around like a ghost."
Marcus shot me an icy look and dragged me to the pet clinic.
I pretended to be mesmerized by the kittens in the glass cages.
While Marcus took a call, I slipped out the back door.
A man in a baseball cap was waiting—a contact Dylan had found for me at a third-party genetic testing lab.
I handed him the sealed bag from my pocket.
"Rush it. I need the results ASAP.
"Money's already transferred."
He silently took the bag and disappeared into the alley.
When I returned to the clinic, Marcus had just finished his call.
He eyed me suspiciously. "Where'd you go?"
"Bathroom," I mumbled, keeping my head down, playing scared.
Marcus waved dismissively. "Pick one already. Stop wasting time.
"This is the last favor you're getting. Ask for anything else, and you'll regret it."
Clutching a scrawny Ragdoll kitten, I followed Marcus back to the Lynn Manor.
Soon, Vivian's birthday arrived.
The Lynns threw her a lavish party packed with the city's elite.
I was dressed like a maid, stationed in the corner on standby—in case Vivian felt unwell and they needed to drain my blood on the spot.
At the party, Charles' grandfather spotted me.
He studied me with cool scrutiny and pure disgust, his very presence radiating authority.
He pulled Charles aside, and I caught fragments of their conversation.
"Blood ties." "Family reputation." "Murky origins."
Charles' expression darkened instantly.
Vivian held court surrounded by fawning guests, like a real princess.
She received a mountain of expensive gifts.
Then, champagne glass in hand, she sauntered over to me.
She grabbed the cheapest music box from a server's tray and shoved it at me.
"Here. You look so lonely standing there."
The guests around us snickered. Public humiliation.
I looked up at her with a grateful, almost humble smile.
"Thank you, Vivian."
I took the music box and clutched it to my chest like it was treasure.
The moment I turned around, the smile vanished.
Late at night, my phone buzzed.
Encrypted email.
I ducked under the covers, fingers trembling as I opened the attachment.
Paternity test result.
The conclusion at the bottom hit like a punch to the gut.
[DNA results: Richard Lynn is not Evelyn Lynn's biological father. Helen Lynn is not Evelyn Lynn's biological mother.]
I wasn't their daughter.
I clapped a hand over my mouth, fighting the urge to laugh.
Tears streamed down my face.
So this was the truth.
No wonder they hated me from the start.
No wonder they could use me as spare parts without blinking.
I deleted the report and called Dylan.
My voice shook with excitement but carried cold clarity.
"Dylan, I need another favor.
"Can you look into hereditary dilated cardiomyopathy?"
The surgery was scheduled—one week away.
The whole manor buzzed with tension and anticipation.
They no longer looked at me with just disgust and contempt.
Now I was a priceless organ, about to serve its final purpose.
Vivian, spoiled rotten, was growing increasingly willful.
She said she wanted to relax abroad before surgery.
Charles actually canceled a multi-million dollar merger meeting to personally fly her out.
The next day, Vivian posted luxury hauls all over social media.
Caption: [Thanks, Charles. Once I'm better, we're getting married.]
In the background, Charles tenderly dabbed at her lips.
Helen shoved the photo right in my face.
"Eve, look how happy Vivian is. All your suffering—totally worth it."