They called it a welcome-home gala, but the truth was, I was just a misplaced asset, the biological daughter of the Hawthorne fortune, finally found after twenty-three years. At the height of the Recognition Dinner, my adopted sister, Isla, suddenly pointed at me and gasped. “Aubrey, you look so familiar,” she exclaimed, her voice pitched high for maximum attention. “Aren’t you one of the specialty dancers from the Onyx Lounge?” She paused, then lowered her voice only slightly. “I think the woman squatting with her head covered in the vice-raid news two years ago—the one they blurred—had a red mole behind her ear, just like yours.” Isla then dramatically scurried into my mother’s arms, whispering loud enough for the ballroom to hear, “Oh, I’m so sorry, Mother. And you, Aubrey. That was rude of me. That’s your privacy, I shouldn’t have said it out loud…” The whispers started instantly. The rich relatives—the entire East Coast elite—turned their collective gaze on me, their eyes filled with instant contempt. “How can someone with that kind of background be allowed through the Hawthorne front door?” “It’s the environment, isn’t it? The apple doesn’t fall far. Country-raised trash is just trash.” My biological parents’ faces hardened into masks of black disappointment. In that moment, they looked like they wished they could un-claim me. I stood my ground. I adjusted the cuff of the ill-fitting dress the housekeeper had found for me and studied the trembling figure of Isla. “Familiarity is expected, Isla,” I said, my voice cutting through the sudden silence. “For three years, while you were serving time at the State Correctional Facility for Women, I was your commanding officer.” I had been back at the Hawthorne’s sprawling Greenwich estate for less than three days when they threw this spectacular dinner. Mr. and Mrs. Hawthorne stood at the head of the room. Though their faces were arranged in polite smiles, their bodies leaned subtly toward the other side of the stage—where Isla stood. Isla, the cherished fake heiress they had raised for twenty-three years. She was radiant in a custom, diamond-encrusted white gown, clutching my mother’s arm, her smile perfectly sweet and innocent. I, on the other hand, was wearing a faded, off-the-rack dress the staff had dug out. It hung on me, making me look every bit the impoverished outsider. The guests didn’t bother to hide their judgment. “That’s the daughter they found in the sticks? She looks like she’s wearing a costume.” “I heard she dropped out of middle school to join the streets. Zero class. Not a fraction of Isla’s poise.” “Blood only matters so much, I say. Nurture is what makes a Hawthorne.” Every word was a needle, but I stood there, expressionless, my back ramrod straight. It was a physical habit, ingrained from years of discipline in the police department. My father, Mr. Hawthorne, cleared his throat, ready to begin the formal introduction. Isla seized the moment. She stepped forward, her eyes wide with what looked like shock. “Oh my God!” Her dramatic gasp pulled every eye in the room to her. She pointed at me, her finger shaking faintly. “Aubrey, how do you look so familiar? You’re one of the headliners from the Onyx Lounge, aren’t you?” The ballroom went instantly silent. The Onyx Lounge. Everyone knew it was the city's infamous black hole, a high-end cash-for-flesh establishment. My father’s face instantly darkened. He snapped at her, “Isla, stop that ridiculous chatter!” Isla flinched, appearing terrified, but her voice didn't lose its volume. “But Daddy, I’m not! I saw the news years ago. The one they arrested during the vice bust, the one squatting against the wall with her head down—it was her!” She gestured toward my left ear. “They blurred her face in the video, but she had a distinct red mole right behind her ear. Just like Aubrey's!” The crowd surged forward, every pair of eyes scanning the spot behind my ear. I involuntarily raised my hand, touching the small, raised mark. It was definitely there. The murmurs became a roar, full of naked, brutal judgment. “Good God, a working girl?” “No wonder she has that vibe. She’s been in the gutter.” “The Hawthornes are ruined. They brought this… this filth into the house.” My mother swayed, her face ashen, looking at me with a mix of shock and utter disgust. Isla, seeing the effect, made her eyes water instantly. She fluttered her hands, her voice cracking with fake distress. “I am so sorry, Aubrey. I truly didn’t mean it… I was just so shocked. I shouldn't have revealed your scar.” She was careful to use the word scar. “Please, don’t hate me, Sister…” The more she apologized, the more the guests despised me. Her apology was the nail in my coffin. I watched Isla’s flawless performance with cold detachment. Three years in lockup had really polished her acting skills. I was about to speak when my mother shoved away my hand as I tried to steady her. “Don’t touch me!” she shrieked, batting at her dress where I hadn't even made contact. “You are a crushing disappointment!” Her scream drew more attention. My mother was shaking, her finger pointed directly at my face. “Aubrey Hayes! Tell me the truth! What did you do out there for all those years? Did you really resort to that kind of vile business for money?” I looked at this woman, my biological mother. Three days ago, she’d wept in my arms, swearing she owed me the world. Now, based on one accusation from the girl who stole my life, she was ready to disown me. I took a slow, deep breath. “I didn't,” I said, my voice steady. “I was a civil servant. I had a legitimate career.” “A civil servant? Puh-lease.” A wealthy woman—Isla’s godmother, of course—snickered. “You? A country girl without a high school diploma, somehow passing the Civil Service exam? Try harder with the lies. Isla is right. You’re stained by whatever club you were in.” My father’s face was dark. He swept his eyes over mine. “Aubrey, the Hawthorne name demands integrity and a spotless reputation. If you truly did that kind of work, admit it now. We’ll give you a settlement and you can leave. Don’t make a spectacle of us.” Any flickering hope I had for this family died right there. “I told you, I did not. Slander is a crime.” “Do you want proof, Aubrey?” Isla timidly pulled a phone from her expensive clutch. “I didn’t want to do this, but you won’t own up to your mistakes, and you’re still trying to deceive Mom and Dad…” She pulled up a photo—a blurry news screenshot. In it, a group of scantily-clad women were huddled against a wall, their hands covering their heads. The face of the woman in the front was pixelated, but the red mole behind her ear was unmistakable. The angle matched mine exactly. “Everyone look. This was the original news photo.” Isla turned the phone, making sure all the relatives got a good look. “I remembered it because the mole was so unique. Aubrey, will you still deny it?” The relatives clustered, then pulled back, buzzing with certainty. “It’s an exact match!” “What else can she say? The proof is right there!” “She’s unfit to enter the Hawthorne family. An embarrassment!” “Like mother, like daughter. The rats always find the hole. That’s what comes from a cheap, country upbringing.” Vicious words rained down on me. My mother stared at the photo, clutching her chest. “You… you utterly shameless creature!” she choked out. “How could I have given birth to you! If I had known you were this, I would have left you where you were!” Isla rushed to support my mother, rubbing her arm while giving me a look of false concern. “Please, Sister, just apologize to Mom. If you admit it, they’ll forgive you. You’re their biological daughter, after all.” She spoke of forgiveness, but her eyes glittered with malice. She knew the Hawthornes. They prized reputation above all else. A daughter who had been a stripper or a prostitute was a permanent stain on their legacy. I let out a short, hollow laugh. “That’s a decent photoshop job, Isla. How much did that little manipulation cost you?” Isla reacted with a perfect, instantaneous shriek. “How can you say that! This is the news photo! You're trying to discredit me just because I told the truth?” She spun, collapsing into my mother’s arms, sobbing hysterically. “Mother, look at her! She’s trying to throw mud on me! I’m scared…” My mother hugged her tightly, her eyes blazing at me. “Enough! Aubrey, shut your mouth!” “Shut my mouth? Why should I?” I scanned their faces, the contempt radiating off them. “You would all rather believe a blurry screenshot than run a background check on me? Check my official records?” “Your records?” My father sneered, slamming his glass down. “What good are your records? Do they list which back alley club you worked in?” He was spitting mad. “You’ve humiliated us all!” The chorus of relatives joined in the baiting. “She’s buying time! Her records must be a mile of criminal activity!” “I hear women from those places carry diseases. Keep your distance, everyone!” A circle of empty space opened up around me. I was the quarantined subject. If I were an ordinary girl, I would have broken down. But I was Captain Aubrey Hayes, the correctional officer who managed the most volatile unit in the State Facility. This was nothing. Isla, mistaking my silence for fear, wiped her tears and walked toward me. Then, she dropped to her knees. “Sister, I know you’ve suffered. I know you were desperate.” She looked up, her expression a perfect portrait of suffering saint. “I forgive you for being mean to me. If you’ll just turn your life around, I want to help.” This act of kneeling put her on an unassailable moral pedestal. The guests cooed with admiration. “Isla is too good for this world.” “She’s defending her sister, even after being abused. That’s class.” Isla’s voice was pleading and earnest. “I know a wonderful place, Aubrey. A Redemption and Etiquette Program upstate. It teaches young women character and self-respect. We can send you there for a while. To cleanse the filth from your mind. Then you can come back whole.” A "re-education camp" disguised as piety. She truly was evil. My mother nodded eagerly. “Isla is right. That kind of stain needs to be scrubbed off! Lock her up for a year. We'll bring her back when she's learned how to behave like a respectable woman!” A flash of triumph crossed Isla’s eyes. Send me to a remote, controlled environment, and she could arrange for me to have an "accident." Everything would go back to how it was. I laughed, the sound low and cold. “Turn my life around, Isla? You seem very familiar with that whole process.” I took a step closer, looking down at the girl kneeling before me. “It makes sense, I suppose. Only people who have actually been inside know the ropes, don’t they?” Isla’s face froze. Her eyes darted away. “Sister, I don’t know what you’re talking about…” “You don’t?” I crouched down, close enough to whisper into her ear. “Tell me, in those three years you spent 'studying art in Milan,' did you ever pick up a paintbrush? Or did you just learn how to act pathetic in the common room?” Isla’s pupils contracted violently. Her body went rigid. She shoved me hard and screamed, jumping to her feet. “You’re a liar! You’re insane! Daddy! Mommy! She’s threatening me! She said she’d hurt me! She has a violent past!” Isla scrambled behind my father. “She threatened to kill me! She’s a lunatic! She worked at that club too long, she’s completely unhinged!” My father, enraged, didn't ask questions. He stormed at me, raising his hand to deliver a vicious slap across my face. “You rotten thing! You dare threaten your sister!” The force behind the blow was substantial. It was meant to knock me down. But I wasn't just Aubrey. I tilted my head an inch, avoiding the strike effortlessly. My father, unbalanced, stumbled, his anger escalating. “You dodge me? You absolute savage! Guards! Get in here!” he roared. “Pin this wretched girl down! If I don’t break her legs tonight, I’m changing the Hawthorne name!” Two massive security guards immediately moved in. They were professionals, and their grip was like steel. My mother stood by, nodding approvingly. “Do it! Teach her respect! That’s the rule in this house. You do wrong, you pay for it!” Isla, hiding behind my father, a smug look playing on her lips, continued her performance. “No, Daddy, please! Don’t hit Aubrey! She’s just confused… If she’ll just apologize and kneel to me, I’ll forgive her. Please, don’t hurt her.” Her plea just highlighted my father’s belief that his real daughter was the cruel one and his adopted daughter was the angel. “Hear that, Aubrey? Isla is still pleading for you! Now, you will get down on your knees and beg her forgiveness! You will stay there until she says you’re done! Or you won’t walk out of this room!” The relatives chanted. “Kneel!” “Pay your dues, tramp!” “If she won’t kneel, snap her legs! Let’s see her attitude then!” The two guards clamped down on my shoulders, trying to force me to the floor. The enormous pressure on my traps couldn’t break my posture. I stood tall, my spine locked. Surrounded by their sneering, superior faces, their judgment burning into me, all remnants of attachment were scorched away. My father screamed, “Kick her knees! See how tough her bones are!” One guard drew his foot back. That was the trigger. I dropped my shoulders, shrugging off their combined weight. My hands shot up, grasping their wrists, and twisted. Crack. Crack. Two sickening sounds echoed through the room. The guards screamed, instantly releasing me, clutching their broken wrists. A profound silence descended. I raised my head, my eyes zeroing in on Isla. “You really thought I was kidding, Isla?” I advanced slowly. “You’re right to feel like you know me.” I stopped three feet from her, letting the weight of my uniform—the one they couldn't see—crush her. “You served three years at the State Correctional Facility, A-Pod. And I was Captain Aubrey Hayes, your Unit Officer, code number zero-nine-eight. Did you forget the one person who kept you in line?”
? Continue the story here ?? ? Download the "MotoNovel" app ? search for "389896", and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel