Chapter 5
1148words
The next day, an exquisitely crafted invitation arrived for Scarlett. Not an impersonal email, but a handwritten note from my mother in her most elegant script, the wording humble and seemingly sincere.
Her voice on the phone was so gentle to Scarlett that it seemed like honey dripping: "Scarlett, my dear. I know there have been some misunderstandings between us, but nothing is more important than family harmony. I'm happy about the new life you and Damian are about to welcome, and this charity luncheon to help unfortunate mothers and babies will be an excellent opportunity for you to officially enter this circle as the future mistress of the Anderson family."
I was standing right there, listening to my mother speak in such a saccharine tone, and it almost gave me goosebumps all over.
But Scarlett was clearly very pleased with it.
She answered on the other end of the phone with the tone of a magnanimous victor: "Of course, Catherine. I've always hoped we could get along well, and since you're showing such sincerity, I'll certainly attend."
After hanging up the phone, the gentle smile on my mother's face instantly disappeared, replaced by a cold, almost cruel calmness. She looked at me and slowly said: "Vanity is the weakness most easily exploited in people."
On the day of the charity luncheon, the banquet hall was filled with elegantly dressed people, with almost all of the city's notables in attendance. The air was permeated with a luxurious atmosphere woven from perfume, champagne, and whispered conversations.
Scarlett was the center of attention.
She wore a light pink loose-fitting gown specially tailored by a famous designer, the cut cleverly accentuating her slightly protruding belly. Her face was adorned with exquisite makeup, radiating a touch of maternal glow, and her hand would casually and lovingly caress her stomach. She was like a proud peacock, weaving through the crowd, enjoying the congratulatory and envious glances, believing she had won the entire world.
My mother and I were like the perfect hosts, wearing appropriate smiles on our faces, gracefully attending to every guest. We were exceptionally polite to Scarlett, even taking the initiative to pull out chairs for her and reminding her to watch her step.
"You look so radiant," mother smiled at her, "pregnant women are always the most beautiful."
Scarlett's chin lifted slightly with a hint of proud showing off: "Yes, Damian has been taking very good care of me. The doctor says the baby is very healthy."
Halfway through the luncheon, according to the schedule, it was time for the guest speaker's presentation.
Mother had invited the most authoritative obstetrics specialist in the city, an elderly doctor with gray hair and a serious demeanor. His lecture topic sounded somewhat dry—"Discernment and Application of Modern Prenatal Diagnostic Technologies."
The guests applauded politely, most of them absentminded, continuing with their socializing. Scarlett was particularly bored, fidgeting with her nails and occasionally stifling a yawn with dignity.
The elderly specialist, in his monotonous tone, narrated the development history of ultrasound technology and analyzed the significance of various data. The entire banquet hall was immersed in a drowsy tranquility.
Then, the climax came.
"Of course, technological advancements have also given rise to certain irregularities." The expert's voice suddenly rose a bit, "Forged diagnostic reports occasionally occur in certain specific cases. For instance, to fight over inheritance rights, or to gain sympathy. Next, I will show everyone a typical case of a forged ultrasound report."
He pressed the remote control in his hand.
A clear ultrasound image instantly appeared on the large screen in the center of the banquet hall.
In that moment, the air in the entire hall seemed to freeze. All whispers ceased, and everyone's gaze was firmly fixed on that image.
At first, people were just curious, but soon, expressions of confusion and surprise appeared on some faces.
I stared intently at Scarlett.
I saw the color draining from her face at a visible speed. Those eyes that were once bright and spirited instantly filled with terror and disbelief. Her hand, placed on her lower abdomen, froze, and her entire body resembled a statue struck by lightning.
"Everyone, please look," the expert's voice was calm and objective, like a surgical knife, precisely cutting open the truth, "this ultrasound report, though it looks convincing, is actually full of flaws. First, the fetal image at this gestational week completely contradicts the displayed values. Second, notice the mark in the upper right corner, this is a watermark from a generic template downloaded from some medical image database website..."
Each word from the expert was like a heavy hammer, striking mercilessly against Scarlett's nerves.
That ultrasound report, except for the name column which was pixelated, had all its data, image angles, and even those subtle watermarks identical to the one Scarlett had tearfully shown to the media a few days ago!
The entire venue was dead silent.
Then, someone drew in a sharp breath, and this sound acted like a signal, instantly igniting the entire venue. All eyes, like searchlights, focused uniformly on Scarlett, whose face had turned as white as paper.
At that moment, my mother, Catherine, slowly stood up.
She took the microphone, with just the right amount of surprise and concern on her face, her voice filled with innocent worry.
"Oh my goodness, Scarlett," she looked toward the girl who was already on the verge of collapse and asked softly, "how could this forged case look so similar to yours? My dear, you must be careful not to be deceived by some unscrupulous doctor."
This sentence was the final straw that broke the camel's back.
It was like a bomb, exploding thunderously among the silent crowd.
"My God, so it was fake!"
"I knew there was no way she could have so quickly..."
"How humiliating, actually using a fake pregnancy to force his hand!"
The whispers, mockery, and contemptuous gazes pierced Scarlett like countless arrows, pinning her to a pillar of shame. Camera flashes erupted frantically as reporters swarmed around her like sharks that had caught the scent of blood.
Scarlett finally broke down. She let out a short, shrill scream and desperately pushed her way through the crowd, lifting up her ironically elegant long dress, fleeing in disarray as countless cameras pursued her.
That evening, my mother and I sat in the study, listening to the sounds coming from Damian's villa through the speaker in front of us.
We clearly heard the sound of a vase being violently smashed, immediately followed by Damian's furious, exasperated roar.
Then came Scarlett's hysterical crying and shouting, her voice shrill and full of hatred.
"Do you think I actually care about your money? I hate your entire family! You destroyed my father, Damian!"
