Ch. For Adopted Daughter, My Parents Ruin Me Ch 3 For Adopted Daughter, My Parents Ruin Me Ch 3

Chapter 3 

Before the specialist my father had summoned arrived, I overheard my brother and mother speaking in hushed tones. 

“Cormac, Evangeline has suffered enough. Do we really need to bring those reporters here today and accuse her of plagiarism? We don’t even have solid proof.” 

My brother exhaled sharply, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. “It has to be done. Her voice is ruined–she’s finished either way. What’s one more stain on her reputation now?” 

He paused, then added coldly, “This is the only way Julienne wins the judges‘ sympathy. The Golden Melody Award will be hers.” 

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“Julienne grew up in this family. She wouldn’t lie,” my mother murmured. “Even without evidence, I’ll stand by her testimony.” 

My father’s voice was firm. “Don’t soften when the cameras are rolling, Cormac. Let Evangeline face the consequences. She needs to learn.” 

“Understood,” my brother replied, his tone dark. 

I lay motionless on the hospital bed, my tears long dried, my heart a hollow shell. 

Ten years ago, my brother had found me because of a singing competition video I’d made in the orphanage. When they brought me home, I worked twice as hard as Julienne, clawing my way into the same prestigious music school. Later, I wrote 

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Drown in Moonlight–a song that earned a Starlight Music Award nomination. 

And now? My own brother was willing to lie for Julienne, to bury me in disgrace. 

If I’d known this would be my fate, I’d have stayed lost forever. 

The ward door burst open. Reporters swarmed in, cameras flashing, microphones thrust forward like weapons. 

“Evangeline!” one sneered. “Word is you got what you deserved–hacked up by haters for stealing your sister’s work. Learned your lesson yet?” 

A woman at the front feigned shock. “Oh, right–you can’t talk now, can you?” She yanked the blanket off me, exposing my mangled limbs to the crowd. “Let’s give 

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everyone a good look!“. 

Laughter rippled through the room. 

“Guess you won’t be plagiarizing anymore with those broken hands,” a man jeered. 

“Unless she learns to type with her tongue,” another added, grinning. 

The cameras clicked relentlessly. Their scorn carved into me, deeper than any blade. Humiliation burned in my throat, but I had no voice left to fight back. Tears welled again, blurring the faces of my tormentors. 

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