Chapter 6
846words
He looked terrible—unshaven, with bloodshot eyes—though he'd made an effort with a new designer suit that couldn't hide his desperation.
Behind him stood George and Howard Shaw.
The Shaw family had come in full force.
Ethan's arrival ratcheted up the tension in the room.
He strode directly to me, his eyes burning with the desperation of a drowning man spotting a life raft.
"Vivian, I know you're upset. But you have to believe me—there's nothing between Victoria and me. It's always been you! Say the word and I'll marry you tomorrow!"
His "heartfelt" declaration drained all color from Victoria's face.
She stared at Ethan in disbelief, her lips trembling. "Ethan, what the hell are you saying?"
Ethan didn't even spare her a glance. His eyes were locked on me—or rather, on the fortune I now represented.
"Think about it, Vivian. If we get married, the Johnson fortune will save my family's business! Your father only has you—everything he owns will eventually be ours, right?"
His naked greed couldn't have been more obvious if he'd tattooed "GOLD DIGGER" on his forehead.
I looked at him like the pathetic clown he was.
"Ethan," I said flatly, "did you suffer a head injury recently?"
His smile froze.
George quickly jumped in. "Now, Vivian, that's no way to talk. You and Ethan were engaged. It's only right that you help him in his time of need. That's what decent people do."
"Decent people?" I laughed coldly. "Where was your decency when you threw me out like garbage?"
Howard chimed in with a pained expression. "What happened to you, Vivian? You were never this cruel and vindictive before."
"That's because I hadn't seen what you people really are," I shot back.
The audacity of this family—twisting reality and playing victim—was truly breathtaking.
I'd had enough of this farce. "Walter," I called to our butler, "please escort these people out."
"Right away, Miss Johnson."
The Shaws and Ethan looked like they'd been slapped.
They clearly hadn't expected me to be so completely immune to their manipulation.
"You'll regret this, Vivian!" George jabbed his finger at me, his face purple with rage.
"The only thing I regret," I replied, enunciating each word clearly, "is ever considering you family."
Walter and the security team firmly escorted them from the premises.
Blessed silence returned to the living room.
Aunt Sophia came over and squeezed my shoulder. "Don't let them get to you, sweetheart. They're not worth your anger."
I nodded, feeling strangely calm.
That afternoon, Colin called me.
His tone was unusually grave. "Miss Johnson, we have a situation."
"What's wrong?"
"Victoria Shaw has started a livestream. She's crying and making accusations."
I quickly pulled up Victoria's livestream on my phone.
There she was, wearing subtle makeup designed to enhance her "vulnerable beauty," tears streaming down her face in a perfect imitation of heartbreak.
"I just don't know what to do anymore," she sobbed. "All I wanted was to be with my real family. What did I do wrong? Why is she punishing us like this? She stole my fiancé and now she's destroying my family…"
Though she never mentioned me by name, every word painted me as a vengeful, power-drunk villain.
The comments section was flooded with outrage from viewers who knew nothing of the truth.
"What a psycho! The poor girl is the real daughter and this imposter is ruining her life!"
"Right?! She steals 20 years of someone's life, doesn't even say sorry, and now she's getting revenge? What a monster!"
"Stay strong, Victoria! We're all behind you!"
"Someone doxx this fake heiress! Make her face justice!"
Public opinion had turned against me in an instant.
Victoria watched the comments flood in, a fleeting smirk of satisfaction crossing her lips before she remembered to look devastated again.
She was weaponizing public opinion against me.
A clever move, I had to admit.
Victoria's stream rocketed to the top of the trending charts.
Hashtags like #TrueHeiressTragedy, #FakeHeiressRevenge, and #JusticeForVictoria dominated social media.
Internet sleuths quickly uncovered my personal information.
Though they only knew me as "Vivian Shaw," my inboxes were flooded with hate messages and death threats.
Aunt Sophia was livid, already reaching for her phone to call our PR team.
"Dad," I said, calling my father directly, "please don't intervene. I want to handle this myself."
After a brief silence, he replied, "If that's what you want. But remember—I'm right behind you if you need me. Handle it however you see fit."
I hung up and studied Victoria's tear-streaked face on my screen, a small smile forming on my lips.
So she wanted to play the public opinion game?
Game on.
I asked Colin to handle three tasks for me.
First, secure me a slot on the largest streaming platform in the country for an immediate response.
Second, compile all evidence of the hospital baby swap, including confession videos from everyone involved.
Third, investigate Victoria's supposed "years of suffering" in detail.
Colin was nothing if not efficient. Within thirty minutes, everything was prepared.
