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The Switched Heiress's Stolen Life

Chapter 5 

Word Count: 649    |    Released on: Today at 18:11

a Bro

my palms, forcing

monster,"

ing, barely visible. Then his gaze drifted to

shed. His loyalty t

e world turne

as the villain. A "grief-crazed mother" wh

tragic accident." Jorja was lauded

at me with contempt. Outside t

" "Jorja i

re torn. My s

, impeccably dressed. Jorja stood

held out

ctors say she needs surgery immediately.

ls were dan

was slip

hoice. They were coer

e settlement. My name appear

the document, h

lijah said. "You'

orja intercepted, gu

lk to her,

her fingers digging i

a?" she whispered. "A

d my ha

ollapsed dramatic

Broderi

the wall with a sickening thud. He

oice sliced thro

m 3B! Nora Drake!

stopped

into Nor

y visible amidst tubes and wires. Her breath

! My

st nurse. "Please! Do

ake... all the specialists... Dr. Drake ha

ke fall. Her

ted every availa

k down th

te bandage around her wrist. Frowning, b

is dying! Nor

ta, stop this charade. Your d

She's fla

ou apologize to

jah's sleeve. "Don'

lp for Nora, you will get on your knees and ap

to killing my

face in my mind. Her de

I would d

I lowered myself

eamed dow

ll my fault. I was neglige

walked over, her hand re

brushed

ace, Krista. Good girl. Now may

face transforming int

take the doc

eart pounding wi

steps towar

desperate and loud, ec

! Nora Drake is fla

the men who should have saved h

gging. Now, I wou

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The Switched Heiress's Stolen Life
The Switched Heiress's Stolen Life
“I was the long-lost heiress to the Alston family, with a loving husband, a protective brother, and two beautiful twin daughters. My life was perfect. But the day my daughters died in a fire, the two men I loved most didn't comfort me. They protected the woman responsible-Jorja, the one I was switched at birth with. They locked me in a psychiatric ward, claiming I was insane with grief. They said Jorja was a hero who had once saved their lives, and they would protect her at all costs. To save my last surviving daughter, who lay in a coma, they forced me to my knees. I had to publicly confess I was an unfit mother and that my children's deaths were my fault. But it was all a lie. They let my last daughter die anyway, diverting her doctors to treat Jorja for a scratch on her wrist. As I walked out of the hospital, carrying my daughter's cold body, my phone rang. It was a prosecutor. "I saw your post," he said. "Do you still need a lawyer?"”