Chapter 3

No, it had to be an illusion or someone with the same name.

Back when we were together, he was just an ordinary medical student. How could he be the heir of the Godfrey family?

I leaned back in my seat, my mind buzzing.

The car smoothly entered a luxurious hillside estate.

When my mother led me into the main hall, quite a few people had already gathered inside.

Elegant piano music echoed through the air.

I recognized several familiar faces at a glance.

Those relatives who had mocked and even kicked us when we were down in my previous life.

Now they all fawned around her, having become her subordinates.

When their gazes fell on my hoodie reeking of fish, they didn't bother hiding the contempt and mockery in their eyes.

My aunt Linda covered her nose and exaggeratedly stepped back two paces.

"Diana, is this that girl of yours who followed her gambling deadbeat father?"

"That smell on her could knock someone out."

"Anyone who didn't know better would think some beggar broke in here."

My mother looked at me sideways.

I knew she wanted to see self-consciousness and shame on my face.

Even tears of regret for not choosing her back then.

Since she wanted to see it, I'd play along.

I looked around awkwardly, like a clueless clown, and moved closer to Linda.

Linda's face paled in fright as she kept backing away:

"Go, go, go! So filthy! Don't touch my clothes—you can't afford to pay for them!"

My mother watched my actions, the disgust in her eyes deepening.

She looked away, the corners of her mouth lifting in a smile of satisfied revenge.

"Take her upstairs."

After giving instructions to a nearby servant, my mother turned to socialize.

I was left alone in a spacious guest room on the second floor.

The servant pointed to the dress on the bed and said expressionlessly:

"Madam wants you to clean yourself up and change into new clothes."

After the door closed, I let out a long breath.

Walking to the mirror, I pulled off my hoodie.

My skin was covered with wounds of all sizes.

These were marks left from five years of struggling at the bottom with my scumbag father.

When he got drunk, he'd get violent, and I could only endure it.

I walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower.

Warm water washed over my exhausted body, taking away the fishy smell.

Just then, a sharp pain pierced through the depths of my mind.

I bent over in agony, my hands gripping the edge of the sink.

My vision began to blur.

A strong taste of blood surged from deep in my throat.

I opened my mouth and spat blood into the basin.

I gasped for breath, skillfully turning on the faucet.

Washing away the blood traces until they were completely clean.

I raised my head, looking at my deathly pale face in the mirror, forcing out an ugly smile.

Time was running out, but I had to hold on a little longer.

As long as my mother could be well, it didn't matter if I rotted in the mud.

Just as I was steadying my breathing, a knock came from outside.

I quickly wiped away the cold sweat at the corners of my mouth.

Rapidly pulled on the dress and hurried to open the door.

Outside stood a little girl in a princess dress.

About seven or eight years old, delicate as a porcelain doll.

She looked up at me, staring for quite a while.

"Quinn, you're so pretty, but you look so weak."

I crouched down to meet her eyes, showing a gentle smile:

"It's okay, big sister just hasn't eaten yet."

"How come you're here all by yourself?"

She didn't answer my question but tilted her head curiously instead:

"What's your relationship with Diana? I saw her bring you in earlier."

I lowered my gaze, my voice very soft:

"I'm Diana's daughter."

The little girl blinked, then suddenly smiled:

"I'm also Diana's daughter!"

My heart skipped a beat, dense waves of sourness spreading through my chest.