Ch. For Adopted Daughter, My Parents Ruin Me Ch 15 For Adopted Daughter, My Parents Ruin Me Ch 15

Chapter 15 

He told me that even if I could no longer sing, my creativity alone was enough to carve out a place for me in the music industry. 

As for Julienne? Without me to steal from, she faded into obscurity within six months- just another face in the crowd. 

A year later, I released a new song titled “Metamorphosis,” performed by a labelmate whose voice echoed mine. The track traced my journey–rage, doubt, and finally, rediscovery. Transformation. Growth. 

It took three days to top the charts. 

Critics and fans alike praised it–not just for its haunting melody, but for lyrics that cut straight to the soul. When they looked 

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Chapter 15 

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deeper, they found my name: Evangeline. Composer. Lyricist. The truth hit like a shockwave. 

They dug further. I’d left Cormac’s company. Cut ties with the Montclairs. And then- inevitably–someone unearthed the past. 

One of Julienne’s hired men, drunk on newfound wealth, bragged in a bar about the cruise ship job. How Cormac paid him off. How he’d moved his family to the city center, splurging on bottles and bad decisions. A rival with a grudge leaked the recording. 

The media swarmed my parents–the legendary superstars–demanding answers. Flustered, they stammered that they’d “respected my choices.” 

Julienne became a laughingstock. The internet dragged her. A scrappy pheasant 

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playing dress–up as a phoenix. But no amount of preéning could dim the real thing. 

Desperate, she cornered my father. “You promised,” she hissed. “A duet at the awards -something to bury her.” When he refused, she snapped. “Fine. Then I’ll tell the world you hired the man who ruined her voice. You and your precious son.” 

The family froze. She’d recorded them. 

Trapped, my father wrote the song. 

Onstage, Julienne clutched at him mid–performance, milking the moment for tears. Look how he loves me, her grip screamed. Look how he chose me. 

My father recoiled like she’d burned him. 

Cameras caught it all. Whispers spread: The 

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adopted daughter’s finally out of favor. 

Then my song played. The praise 

crescendoed. And then–someone noticed. The melody. The phrasing. It mirrored the “original” Julienne had “written” the year before. 

The crowd turned on her. Questions exploded. And when I stepped onto the podium, I let the truth take flight. 

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