Chapter 2

Giselle hesitated as she looked at the cut on my forehead. Slowly, she walked over to me, but I was still pinned to the ground by the crew leader, a mess of dirt and frustration.

The crew leader apologized profusely, bowing deeply, while a service staff member rushed over with a look of concern. "Mr. and Mrs. Sullivan, we're so sorry for the mistake!" she exclaimed. "How about we provide a free makeup artist for the wedding as compensation?"

Of course, it wasn't for my wedding anymore.

As I caught Kevin's mocking expression, my anger flared even more.

I had worked tirelessly, risking my health and sanity to support them, only to find out they'd been living the high life behind my back—driving luxury cars and enjoying lavish meals, while I had been fooled into believing they were in debt. I had been nothing but a puppet, controlled and humiliated.

Giselle stepped forward, reaching out to help me, but I pushed her hand away.

At that moment, I couldn't hold it in anymore. I shouted, "So, you guys weren't in debt at all? You probably even have millions in assets! You lied to me. You were just afraid I'd use the money and block Kevin's path, right?"

Kevin grabbed Giselle's hand and sneered, "Why are you yelling? We've already done you a favor by letting you reconnect with your real family. What more do you want? Before you found us, weren't you working yourself to the bone anyway?" he continued, smirking. "What's wrong with doing that now?"

Giselle shot me a resentful look before bursting into tears. "Do you want me to suffer with you for the rest of my life?" she sobbed. "Can't I choose a better life?"

It was clear now—she was admitting to her relationship with Kevin. All my years of care had been nothing but an illusion. In her eyes, I was just someone to suffer with, not a partner to share joy with.

Did she even realize what kind of life I had given her? The clothes she wore were custom-designed by top designers hired by my foster parents, and the meals she ate were at exclusive, private restaurants. Was that really "suffering"?

I couldn't hold back anymore. I laughed bitterly. "I'm such a joke," I mocked myself. "You'll never have to go through that kind of suffering again."

My mother, standing nearby, chimed in, defending Kevin. "We were just trying to keep you from picking up bad habits. We wanted to toughen you up, but you're still acting like some uneducated swine!"

My father added, "Having a son like you is a disgrace to me."

Their words hit me like daggers. I couldn't even form a response. My heart ached, heavy with the unbearable truth that they had been using me all along.

They had said they spent all their money to search for me, which was why they had gotten into debt. I had felt sorry for them and returned to the Sullivans to help.

For five long years, I worked without rest, terrified that I might fail them. I ate plain bread and pickles while they dined on feasts.

I pushed myself to exhaustion, working non-stop to make sure my sick mother stayed in the best hospital room, even though it nearly killed me. And all she did was complain, telling me not to waste money.

At that moment, it finally clicked. She didn't care for the effort I had put in. She probably thought the room I had found for her was beneath her.

Seeing them all together, mocking me, I started laughing uncontrollably. The laughter shook my body, and even Kevin seemed to doubt my sanity.

But I wasn't crazy.

Wiping the tears from my eyes, I remembered the foolishness of breaking ties with my foster parents. I was so blind!

They had warned me that my real parents were not what they seemed, that they might even be lying to me. But I didn't listen. I didn't believe that my real parents could deceive me. I thought my foster parents just didn't want me to find my biological family, so I severed the relationship out of anger.

Now, I understood. Giselle had been in on it all along, eager for me to reconnect with my biological family. She had already planned everything.

I had always been their puppet, dancing on their strings, unaware of the truth.