The exclusive charity gala was a suffocating display of elite hypocrisy, a world I, Gabrielle Johns, knew all too well. My stepfather and his golden child took center stage, gushing over a scholarship student named Maria Chavez. But Maria was no fragile victim; she was a snake, waiting for her moment to strike. And she did, seizing the microphone to publicly accuse me of relentless bullying and making her life a hell. Suddenly, her gaze locked on mine, and she wailed about being driven to self-harm, pulling up her sleeve to reveal faint scratches that were obviously fake. My stepbrother, Andrew, blinded by rage and infatuation, lunged at me, his eyes spitting venom. "You monster," he snarled, "you made her want to die!" The crowd' s sympathy for Maria solidified into open disgust for me, painting me as the entitled villain. Even my stepfather, Matthew, the man my mother married, stood by, playing the disappointed patriarch, complicit in the charade. Yet, as the room swam with their judgment and their lies, I refused to move, refusing to kneel. How could these people, who claimed to care about charity, be so easily duped by such a transparent act? Why was the man my mother made powerful so quick to turn on me, his own stepdaughter? This wasn' t just a malicious accusation; it was a cold, calculated strike against everything I believed my family stood for. But they had made a fatal mistake: they hurt me. And they had no idea who they were truly dealing with, or what I was capable of doing to protect what was mine.
The exclusive charity gala was a suffocating display of elite hypocrisy, a world I, Gabrielle Johns, knew all too well.
My stepfather and his golden child took center stage, gushing over a scholarship student named Maria Chavez.
But Maria was no fragile victim; she was a snake, waiting for her moment to strike.
And she did, seizing the microphone to publicly accuse me of relentless bullying and making her life a hell.
Suddenly, her gaze locked on mine, and she wailed about being driven to self-harm, pulling up her sleeve to reveal faint scratches that were obviously fake.
My stepbrother, Andrew, blinded by rage and infatuation, lunged at me, his eyes spitting venom.
"You monster," he snarled, "you made her want to die!"
The crowd' s sympathy for Maria solidified into open disgust for me, painting me as the entitled villain.
Even my stepfather, Matthew, the man my mother married, stood by, playing the disappointed patriarch, complicit in the charade.
Yet, as the room swam with their judgment and their lies, I refused to move, refusing to kneel.
How could these people, who claimed to care about charity, be so easily duped by such a transparent act?
Why was the man my mother made powerful so quick to turn on me, his own stepdaughter?
This wasn' t just a malicious accusation; it was a cold, calculated strike against everything I believed my family stood for.
But they had made a fatal mistake: they hurt me.
And they had no idea who they were truly dealing with, or what I was capable of doing to protect what was mine.
Introduction
26/06/2025
Chapter 1
26/06/2025
Chapter 2
26/06/2025
Chapter 3
26/06/2025
Chapter 4
26/06/2025
Chapter 5
26/06/2025
Chapter 6
26/06/2025
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