Ch. For Adopted Daughter, My Parents Ruin Me Ch 4 For Adopted Daughter, My Parents Ruin Me Ch 4

Chapter 4 

“Still playing the victim, Evangeline? Don’t you think it’s time to apologize to your sister?” 

The reporter shoved her camera into my face, the lens cold against my skin as she launched a live broadcast. 

“Breaking news–famed singer–songwriter Evangeline Montclair, crippled by vengeful fans after stealing original compositions from her sister, Julienne Montclair.” 

Tears welled in my eyes, distorting the 

harsh lights. I wanted to shrink away, but my 

I 

body refused to obey, every movement an impossible feat. 

Flashbulbs erupted around me, capturing my 

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humiliation in relentless bursts. 

“This is a private hospital. Who the hell let you in here?” My brother stormed into the room, his voice sharp as he ordered them out. 

My mother yanked the blanket over me, shielding me from their prying eyes, while my father snarled, “Leave now, or I swear I’ll drag every last one of you to court.” 

“Mr. and Mrs. Montclair,” a reporter pressed, “as industry veterans, are you really condoning plagiarism?” 

Then, a voice–soft, melodic, dripping with false sorrow–cut through the chaos. 

“Of course. Blood matters more than an adopted child, doesn’t it?” 

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Julienne stepped forward, her pristine white dress a stark contrast to the sterile hospital room. Her eyes were red–rimmed, the picture of grief. 

“My parents are brilliant musicians. Without their guidance, I’d be nothing.” She clasped her hands, her voice trembling. “They’ve never favored me, yet Evangeline–my own sister–couldn’t stand their kindness.” 

She moved closer, her steps deliberate, her expression a masterclass in wounded innocence. 

“Sister, please. How many times must you repeat the same mistakes? You’ve dragged our parents through enough.” A tear slipped down her cheek. “If you want the Starlight Award, take it. If you want their love, take that too. Just–stop this. I can’t bear to see you destroy yourself.” 

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With a choked ‘sob, she dropped to her knees beside my bed. 

My fingers trembled as I typed into the device on my palm: [You’re lying. That song is mine. I have proof.] 

The room erupted. Cameras flashed faster, but the skepticism in their eyes remained. 

My brother hauled Julienne up, his jaw tight. “This isn’t your fault,” he muttered, brushing a tear from her cheek before turning to me. His gaze was ice. “Enough excuses, Evangeline. I won’t watch you ruin yourself any further.” 

Then, under his breath, he said something to Julienne. 

Her face drained of color. She shook her head violently, lips quivering. “No–I can’t. It’ll 

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destroy her.” 

“Damn it, Julienne!” My brother’s voice cracked like a whip. “If you don’t show her the evidence now, she’ll never let this go!” 

The room fell silent. 

Julienne had proof. Proof that I’d stolen from her. 

My parents exhaled in unison, nodding at her. “Just do it.” 

With trembling hands, Julienne reached into her bag–and pulled out a handful of papers. 

When I clearly saw the “proof” she took out, I was stunned. 

No! How on earth did this happen? 

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