On the day of my engagement, my adopted sister, Hunter, stormed in, tearfully claiming she had been attacked.

The next day, I was ambushed by a gang of thugs in an alley. The embarrassing photos spread like wildfire on social media. I rushed home in tears, hoping my family would help, but they all just laughed.

"Did you seriously think anyone would care about you?" they mocked. "We just hired someone to pretend, as a prank."

I stood there, feeling as if I'd been dropped into an icy abyss.

---

Bruised and wearing a tattered Victorian-style dress, I had dark marks encircling my wrists and blood stains on my thighs. My brother, Nixon, glanced at me with a smirk.

"What's wrong? Reliving the fun? Did you enjoy it?" he taunted.

My sister, Hunter, took a sip of coffee with a grin. "Brother, don't say that about Ellie. She had the thrill of being fought over, right?"

My parents looked at me with contempt. "Pathetic, clinging to memories like that," they said.

I couldn’t grasp why they blamed me for something so appalling. Tears streamed down my face.

"You’re crying over just a few words. Such a bother," my mother, Angelina, scoffed. "Go wash Hunter’s clothes. You've been out all day without anyone doing it."

They went into the dining room to enjoy their meal, leaving me in my sorry state.

I mechanically went to the bathroom to start washing clothes. In this household, I was no better than a servant. Each time I tried to stand up for myself, my parents' resentment deepened.

My mother had always been obsessed with appearances. She disliked me from the start because I looked ordinary. When I was ten, she adopted Hunter from a foster home—a budding beauty who resembled her.

Initially, my father, Rayden, and Nixon cared for me, but gradually, their affections shifted to Hunter. Even my childhood friend and fiancé, Nixon, fell for her.

I was invisible at home until Hunter falsely accused me of pushing her into a pond, which led to her catching a cold. My mother, without a word, broke my finger and locked me in the storage room. From that day, I became Hunter’s personal maid.

I gazed at my misshapen fingers, a result of untreated injuries. At least I would marry into the Nelson family in a month. Even though Nixon’s love for me had faded, it was better than remaining here.

After washing the clothes, I returned to the living room. The dining table was littered with greasy leftovers, making me queasy. My stomach growled for relief; even scraps would help. But when I lifted the pot lid, it was spotless, like someone had polished it clean.

I hesitated, then heard snickers from the dining area. Hunter lounged on the sofa, her legs crossed, and her pet dog, Cocoa, scarfing down pulled pork from its bowl.

She looked up, feigning remorse. "Oh, sorry, Ellie. I thought you’d already eaten, so I fed it all to Cocoa..."

Nixon reclined in his chair, speaking nonchalantly, "What’s the difference? Who cares who eats it?"

Hunter burst into laughter.

A wave of anger rushed over me. I kicked the dog's bowl, scattering pulled pork everywhere, some landing on Hunter’s new pants.

She shrieked dramatically. "Ah! My new clothes!"

The next moment, a stinging slap hit my face. I stumbled back, looking up at my fiancé, Nixon, whose face was distorted with rage.

"Apologize!" he demanded, colder than I’d ever seen.

"Ellie, being engaged doesn’t mean you can mistreat Hunter. Remember, she’s the one I truly love."

My heart sank. Years of buried grievances erupted. "Do you even know what they’ve done to me? Do you understand what Hunter has done? They hired people to shame me!"

Nixon frowned, dismissing it. "It’s not like they actually hurt you."

"I paid them so they wouldn’t genuinely harm you."

"And really, with your looks, do you think anyone would want to attack you?"

His blatant disdain pierced me like a thorn in my heart. When I was younger, he reassured me when my mother criticized my appearance, saying worth wasn’t only about looks, that I was a star. Yet now, Nixon was unrecognizable. Trembling, I asked, nearly broken, "Were you involved?"

Nixon was indifferent. "Of course, I even filmed the whole thing. It was quite the show."

"If you weren’t engaged to me, Hunter wouldn’t have been upset and gotten into trouble."

"This is what you owe her," Nixon concluded.

Hunter’s eyes lit up. "Is there really a video? Show me!"

He held up his phone, showing them the video.

Uriah jabbed at the screen, laughing, “Look at her! She’s actually crying with her nose running. Begging them on her knees, hahaha, it’s ridiculous.”

I stared intently at the small screen replaying my pitiful scene. My own desperate cries echoed around me, mingling with the vile insults they spewed at me.

It felt like I was back in that suffocating alleyway in a bustling corner of the city, struggling to breathe, helplessly clutching my collar. The faces of those who had mocked and belittled me blended with the faces of my family, laughing at the video, suffocating me.

My face was pale, “Why? Why? Am I not your daughter?”

The despair in my eyes seemed to touch something in Angelina, as she hesitated, about to approach me.

Hunter whimpered softly, “Ugh, I feel a little dizzy…”

Her voice immediately diverted Angelina's attention back, and she rushed to her side, fussing over her.

Hunter blinked pathetically, “These images remind me of when I was bothered. I’m so afraid of people talking about it…”

Nixon gently stroked her hair, comforting her, “Don’t worry. You see, Ellie was harassed too. I’ve already posted it online. From now on, everyone will talk about her instead.”

I blinked, struggling to understand his reasoning, “Why! How could you post those videos online!”

Hunter’s so-called harassment had been nothing more than a man bumping into her on the street. But they actually had someone degrade me and then shared it online.

It was absurd.

“Are you trying to ruin me, Nixon?”

He shrugged dismissively, unaware of the gravity of his actions, “What’s the big deal? People will just talk about you. But Hunter might have gotten depressed from her incident.”

Her supposed depression was nothing more than some vague posts on social media. She hadn’t even seen a doctor, yet they all fussed endlessly over it.

Angelina frowned with disapproval, “You’re out all day; what decent girl does that? So, what’s wrong with someone touching you a bit?”

Since starting college, I had neither tuition nor living expenses. I barely survived by juggling three part-time jobs every day, yet she thought I was just wasting time.

Rayden looked at me disapprovingly, “You’ve already upset Nixon by stealing his spotlight. Now, is it too much to make a small sacrifice for your sister’s condition? You need to be more generous and stop being so petty.”

Uriah added, “Are you trying to make Hunter’s depression worse?”

I stumbled back. It was as if I wasn’t their daughter but an unforgivable criminal.

Hunter began to sob again, “Sister, why won’t you? I know you hate me…”

Nixon immediately wrapped his arms around her, “Don’t cry, Hunter. Look, it’s already trending online.”

He waved his phone, “#HeiressScandal is trending. People will soon forget about your incident.”

My eyes widened, and I snatched the phone from him. Sure enough, the video of me struggling in that alley had spread everywhere. The comments were filled with mockery and disdain.

“Just got engaged and already messing around? Can’t keep from itching, huh!”

“Look at her. She probably wanted it, didn’t she?”

“Wonder if a hundred bucks can get a go at that?”

My hands shook uncontrollably, and my vision darkened. Is this what they wanted? Not just to harm my body but also to destroy my reputation?

Meanwhile, those who orchestrated it all watched contentedly.

Nixon kept wiping away Hunter’s tears, soothing her softly, “Don’t worry, nobody will dare gossip about you with me around.”

I glared at them, filled with hatred, my blood boiling, fists clenched tightly.

“I’m calling the police!”