Memory of the Wronged
To find the missing fake heiress, my family forced me to undergo a memory extraction.
They were convinced that I had bullied her for the past three years and driven her to run away.
I gave a bitter smile and let them continue.
As the memories surfaced one after another, the truth became clear. I was the one who had been bullied all along.
My parents, overcome with guilt, clutched my hands so tightly they nearly fainted.
My brother’s eyes were bloodshot, his teeth grinding until he drew blood.
In their arms, I looked up in confusion and asked softly, “Who are you?”