Chapter 3

Claire's POV

The winds in the social circle had changed. People began spreading rumors about the real and fake heiresses.

Some hinted that I was a substitute who stole my sister's man, saying now that she was back, I, the impostor, should leave.

Isabelle was clever. She befriended some wealthy heirs and heiresses, crying to them about her tragic experience, fabricating herself as someone who sacrificed for love.

The annual White Corporation charity gala was about to be held.

I went to a top beauty salon for treatments, preparing for the gala.

I'd just laid down when a sarcastic voice came from the next bed.

"I heard Sebastian White's legitimate wife is back? Some bitch occupied the position for seven years. It's time to give it back, right?"

The speaker was Mrs. Walsh, whose family made their fortune in coal mining. She'd always wanted to break into the core social circle and disliked me. So recently she'd been getting close to Isabelle.

Several other society ladies stopped their treatments, waiting to watch the show.

I didn't even lift an eyelid, keeping my eyes closed while enjoying the technician's massage.

"Use more pressure."

I instructed coolly.

Seeing me ignore her, Mrs. Walsh's voice rose eight octaves in anger.

"Stop pretending! Everyone knows you just picked up the leftovers! Once the real wife takes her position, let's see how arrogant you'll be then!"

The noise was too loud, affecting my mood.

I opened my eyes and sat up.

Without even glancing at Mrs. Walsh, I beckoned the manager over.

"Miss Hart, how may I help you?"

The manager rushed over at a trot, bowing ninety degrees.

"Don't let these kinds of riffraff into the VIP area anymore."

I adjusted my robe.

"Too noisy. Lowers the class of the place."

The manager's face changed instantly, immediately turning to Mrs. Walsh.

"Mrs. Walsh, I'm sorry, but please move to the regular area, or..."

"You dare kick me out?"

Mrs. Walsh's face instantly darkened.

"I have a membership card!"

"Your card level isn't sufficient."

The manager's tone was firm.

"Please don't disturb Miss Hart's rest."

Under the security guards' watchful eyes, Mrs. Walsh was driven out cursing like she'd swallowed a fly.

The surroundings instantly quieted.

Those ladies who'd been waiting to watch me make a fool of myself immediately put on fawning smiles without shame.

"Miss Hart is so formidable."

"Exactly, how dare someone like Mrs. Walsh try to cause trouble."

I lay back down.

In this circle, you don't rely on talk. You rely on real financial power and influence.

Gossip couldn't hurt me in the slightest.

As long as I still sat in the position of Mrs. White, they had to butter me up.

Back in the car, I opened my tablet.

The private investigator had sent an encrypted folder.

All photos.

Isabelle's seven years abroad were hardly spent suffering.

In the photos, she wore heavy makeup, mixing in various underground casinos and nightclubs, with different men by her side.

There were also several abortion medical records.

The time span was large, with the most recent one from just six months ago.

Looking at this evidence, I found it utterly ironic.

This was her so-called sacrifice for true love?

This was what my parents called suffering hardship?

She'd turned her life into mud, and now she wanted to come back and play the victim.

Isabelle, if you insist on coming to the gala to seek death, then I'll grant your wish.

When I got home, I heard the sound of a paper shredder as soon as I entered.

Connor was sitting on the carpet, feeding a photo into the machine.

"Connor, what are you doing?"

Connor looked up, his face full of disgust.

"Mom, after school today a weird lady stopped me and insisted on giving me a gift. She even said she was my mom."

My heart sank.

"What gift?"

"A bottle of perfume. It smelled terrible."