Chapter 3 The Life They Stole

The music cut off, and thunderous applause erupted throughout the auditorium.

Lucy rose from the piano bench and gave a graceful bow. A polished smile rested on her face, along with the kind of confidence and poise I had never possessed.

"Thank you, Mrs. York, for recognizing my musical talent. Unlike certain art students who spend all day painting garbage no one wants to look at."

Laughter burst through the hall, wave after wave, each one striking me like a blade to the heart.

Heads turned from the stage toward me.

Some students whispered behind their hands. Others pointed openly. A few laughed without even trying to hide it.

The glowing messages flashed wildly across my vision.

"That scheming witch is disgusting. She's the one who rigged things so Wendy's artwork wouldn't be selected."

"Look at that smug smile. She's humiliating Wendy on purpose."

"That cheating jerk and that fake innocent snake teaming up against Wendy is revolting."

Lucy stood beneath the stage lights, wrapped in a golden glow like royalty. And I stood in the shadows, practically invisible.

Every smile, every elegant movement radiated superiority. Even the glances she flicked in my direction, pretending not to notice me, were nothing more than calculated displays of triumph.

Memories came crashing back.

…

The night before the national painting competition, my submission vanished.

I tore apart the studio looking for it, checking every corner, even dumping out the trash. It had simply disappeared.

Gideon stayed with me the whole night, helping me search and comforting me. "It's okay. You're still young. There'll be other chances."

The next day, the judges announced the submission deadline had been extended. For Lucy alone. Because the "gifted young artist" had supposedly fallen ill and needed extra time to complete her piece.

Then, there was the school anniversary performance.

The opening act I had spent two months preparing was canceled just one hour before the show for "not fitting the theme."

From backstage, I watched Lucy walk out wearing the costume I had designed, performing the choreography I had created, soaking in roaring applause.

That night, I was so sick I could not stop throwing up.

Gideon handed me a cup of water, his voice gentle. "Don't overthink it. Your health matters most."

Then came internship assignments.

My name sat alone at the very bottom of the list—elementary school art teacher in a remote mountain area.

Everyone else got placements at city galleries and museums.

Lucy went straight into the York Group's art center.

Gideon had called it a rare opportunity to gain grassroots experience. He even drove me to the station himself.

As he handed me a thermos, he smiled. "When you get back, I'll take you out to your favorite restaurant."

…

Now, looking back, I could see the calculations hidden behind every smile.

Every time I came close to success, every time I had even the slightest chance of crossing paths with the York family, Gideon and Lucy arranged some carefully timed "accident."

Together, they pushed me toward the edge of a cliff, then reached out with helping hands so I would fall into their trap of gratitude.

I thought I was just unlucky. I thought life was simply unfair.

But today, the truth had surfaced. Visible traps. Carefully woven lies.

For three years, every move they made had one purpose—keeping me trapped in the identity of an orphan who could never find her parents.

So that Lucy could steal my life.

So that she could become the treasured daughter of the York family.

"What are you doing here?" Gideon suddenly appeared behind me and seized my arm. There was a coldness in his eyes I had never seen before. His fingers dug painfully into my flesh. "Be a good girl. This is not where you belong."

I clenched my teeth against the pain. Five pale finger marks were already forming on my skin.

His grip tightened, as if he wanted to crush the bone beneath his fingers.

The boy who used to wipe away my tears at the orphanage now looked at me like I was nothing more than an inconvenience.

"Get to Mrs. York. She's your biological mother. You'll die on the operating table and lose your chance forever," came the words.

The glowing words jolted through my nerves like electric shocks.

In the front row, Claire's elegant figure was beginning to turn away.

Maybe this was my only chance.

For 20 years, I had called for my mother in countless dreams. Now, she was only steps away.

A surge of courage rushed through me.

I stomped hard on Gideon's foot. He cried out and let go. I seized the opening and ran straight for the center of the stage.

"Mrs. York!" I screamed until my throat felt raw. "Mr. York!"

The entire auditorium erupted. Every gaze locked onto me.