"Clara, there's something we've been meaning to tell you... it's been on our minds for a long time."
"You're actually not our biological daughter."
In the sleek living room of the Bennett family villa, Clara Bennett sat calmly on a luxurious Italian leather sofa.
Across from her, Vivian Thompson set down her fine bone china teacup and dropped a bombshell.
Before Clara could say anything, Robert Bennett spoke up with a heavy tone from the other side of the sofa.
"Yeah. The hospital messed up years ago. We just found our real daughter, Rachel. She's been struggling in the countryside all this time."
He paused, eyes narrowing as he looked straight at Clara. "Now that Rachel's back, it's only right you return to your birth family."
Robert studied her carefully, expecting tears, panic, maybe even begging.
But Clara just sat there, quietly listening, not the slightest change in her expression.
Vivian got a little anxious seeing her so calm. She quickly added, "Sweetie, don't blame us for being heartless, okay? We raised you for eighteen years. Even a stray cat or dog would mean something after that long. But Rachel... she's our flesh and blood. She's suffered so much."
Vivian reached out, trying to take Clara's hand, but Clara subtly pulled away.
Vivian's hand froze mid-air, and her face stiffened awkwardly. "Don't worry. Even after you go back to the Howards, we'll still check in on you... we'll always be family."
James Bennett chimed in, "Yeah, the Howards aren't rich, but they are your real family. Blood bonds aren't supposed to be broken. You can't keep hogging Rachel's place while she's out there suffering, can you? That's just wrong."
The second brother snorted impatiently. He had a short fuse. "Why are we even wasting time talking? She's the one who's been living a cushy life that never belonged to her. What, is she hoping to stay?"
He shot Clara a sideways glance, full of scorn.
The third brother lounged carelessly on the couch, flipping a lighter between his fingers. He sneered, "Exactly. A chick from a farm should go back to the barn."
The fourth and fifth brothers stayed silent, but their faces said it all—disgust, clear as day.
Clara looked at them coldly, her mind drifting back.
How foolish had she been in her past life?
Even when their faces screamed contempt, she'd wept and begged to stay. Promised to behave herself. Just asked not to be sent away.
What did she get in return?
They said yes to her face and slipped poison into her drink.
She drank that glass without a clue, then everything went black.
Right before she died, she heard her "loving" foster mother say coldly, "We raised her for eighteen years, that's more than enough. But she just wouldn't leave. Taking up Rachel's space? What if she started eyeing the inheritance later? That'd be trouble. She only has herself to blame."
Robert didn't even blink. He just nodded and said, "Make it clean. Don't leave any traces. The Howards are already in the loop. To the world, it'll just look like Clara didn't want to come back."Just when Clara had hit rock bottom with her so-called parents, her older brothers chimed in, voices dripping with disgust. "Hurry up and get rid of her. I've had enough of seeing this fake hanging around for eighteen years. Ugh, I can't wait for my real sister to come back—she's gotta be a hundred times better than her!"
Her third brother chuckled, all smug. "Once the imposter's gone, that room of hers? Perfect for our real sister."
The fourth and fifth jumped in too, parroting the same vibe—no pity, no hesitation. Just raw relief like they were finally tossing out some unwanted junk.
Those words didn't just hurt; they shredded what was left of her once-devoted heart.
But now, Clara was back. Reborn. Standing at the very point where everything had started to go wrong.
She stared at them—wolves in human skin—with a heart that had long since frozen over. There was no warmth left for these people. Just a furnace of cold hatred and deep, simmering fury... and finally, a strange kind of calm.
She had zero expectations from the Bennetts anymore. She just wanted to survive—and when the time came, to make them pay for what they did.
So when every eye turned on her, full of warnings and threats, Clara lifted her head, calm and unshaken. "Sure. I'm good to go. When do we leave?"
Silence slammed into the room like a punch.
No one could believe it. Their speeches? Stuck in their throats.
She... agreed? Just like that? No tears, no begging? Not even a glance back?
Vivian was the first to recover, her fake-sad expression twisting into something that looked downright offended. "Clara! Do you seriously feel nothing for us? For your brothers? After eighteen years of raising you, you can just walk away?"
Was she seriously flipping the script to shame her now?
Clara almost laughed.
Family? When did they ever treat her like one of their own? "Gratitude"? For the poison they fed her last time?
But she didn't fight. Didn't argue. Just met their eyes and said evenly, "What else do you want me to do? Stick around, keep getting in the way of your happy little reunion?"
"You—" her second brother shot up, finger stabbing the air towards her. "Clara, you really are a damn ungrateful traitor!"
Her oldest brother now looked like he'd swallowed a lemon whole. Clara's cool response clearly hadn't been part of his script.
"You really let us down, Clara. Even if you felt that way, you didn't have to act so eager to leave."
Third brother, now really pissed, slammed his lighter onto the table. "Get lost! Seriously, get out! Just seeing your face pisses me off. And don't even think about taking anything with you! Even the clothes you're wearing—we bought those! You wanna act tough? Then get out naked if you dare!"
He wanted her to grovel. To cry. To beg.
But Clara only gave him a bored glance. "Relax. I'm not taking a single thing that belongs to the Bennetts."
Because, honestly? It all felt tainted.
Clara went upstairs and came back down quickly.
One simple canvas bag in her hand.
She handed it to her fifth brother. "Here. Check it if you want."
Face hard, he opened the bag—and inside was nothing but a single old bronze mirror.
Still, his words were laced with venom. "Clara, don't think this poor-little-me act's fooling anyone. Once you're out of this house, you're nothing. That dump of a biological family's waiting for you—and trust me, life ain't gonna be sweet. Can't wait to see how long you last before you come crawling back!"
At the door, Clara stopped.
She didn't turn. Just tilted her head slightly, showing the sharp line of her cold, composed profile.
"Don't worry," she said, voice like ice, "even if I drop dead out there, I'll never step foot in this house again."
Then she added, almost like an afterthought, with a hint of sarcasm in her voice, "And hey—hope you all live happily ever after."
