Dropping the Facade

Helena’s hurried footsteps broke the quiet elegance of the foyer as she rushed to the bottom of the sweeping mahogany staircase. Her eyes remained fixed on her daughter descending the steps.

"Your foot hasn't healed yet," Helena said, her tone a soft blend of maternal worry and gentle scolding. She reached out, offering her hand to support Valerie's descent to the ground floor. "Why are you coming down alone?"

Witnessing this genuine display of affection stirred a bitter, burning resentment deep within Monica’s chest. The Thorne family treated Valerie like royalty. To anyone looking from the outside, Valerie was the pampered young heiress born with a silver spoon in her mouth, shielded from the harsh realities of the world.

Monica hated that perception. She felt a sharp pang of dissatisfaction gnawing at her insides. She believed she possessed the same capabilities, the same charm, and the same intelligence as her cousin. Yet, while Valerie swam in unearned privilege from birth, Monica had to constantly navigate her own lesser status, scraping and bowing for every ounce of approval she could get.

Swallowing her intense jealousy, Monica stretched her lips into a sickly sweet, practiced smile. She stepped forward, smoothly inserting herself into the space between mother and daughter.

"Let me help you," Monica offered, feigning deep concern as she reached for Valerie’s arm to guide her to a seat. She let her gaze drop to Valerie’s ankle before looking up, her eyes wide with fake innocence. "How did you get hurt? Didn't Gareth take care of you today?"

The question was a calculated jab. Monica’s tone oozed with feigned warmth, but her overly familiar mention of Gareth only underscored the simmering hostility beneath the surface. She knew very well about Valerie’s public, humiliating rejection earlier that afternoon. Mentioning his name was a deliberate attempt to provoke, meant to remind everyone in the room of Valerie’s failure.

In the past timeline, Valerie would have crumbled. She would have foolishly considered Monica a sister and a confidante, sharing everything with her and even seeking her advice on how to win Gareth's heart. She would have broken down in tears, oblivious to the hidden venom dripping from her cousin’s words.

Not anymore.

Fully aware of the warning signs flashing before her eyes, Valerie gracefully and coldly sidestepped Monica's outstretched hands, leaving her cousin grasping at empty air.

Valerie settled onto the plush living room sofa. She crossed her legs, looking directly into Monica's eyes. Her voice rang out cool and detached, offering no warmth.

"Oh?" Valerie said, raising a single eyebrow. "You like Gareth that much? If that's the case, feel free to have him."

Monica scrambled to recover her footing. A sudden chill ran down her spine at Valerie’s deadpan delivery. She plastered on her innocent victim expression, her tone smooth and composed as she formulated her defense.

"Valerie, what are you saying? I've never had any improper thoughts about Gareth. I'm thrilled you're marrying the man you love!" Monica replied.

Valerie’s smile vanished. Her voice dropped to a razor-sharp, cold edge.

"Monica, do you know what your family's real talent is?"

"W-what do you mean?" Monica stammered, genuinely caught off guard by the sudden shift in atmosphere.

Valerie’s eyes remained icy as she dismantled the Vance family's charade out loud. "I mean your father's shamelessness is almost admirable. Your mother's greed knows no bounds. And you... you have mastered the art of pretending to care so well you have nearly fooled yourself."

Her words were laced with venom, leaving zero room for politeness. No one in that room could fathom the sheer depth of Valerie's loathing for the Vances. If she could, she would destroy Monica right there on the Persian rug. Compared to the horrific murders they would commit against her family in the future, these harsh words were mere scratches.

Monica stood frozen, her face a picture of hurt. "Valerie! How could you say such things about my family?"

Valerie did not flinch. She felt the unspoken, burning hatred bubbling in her veins. She stared pointedly at the expensive designer clothes draping Monica’s frame from head to toe—clothes bought exclusively with Thorne money. She delivered a final, crushing blow.

"Enough with the pretense. Are you really that clueless?" Valerie stated bluntly, her tone firm. "When my father brought your family into our home, he never intended to keep you here forever. Now that you've made yourselves comfortable in Oakhaven City, isn't it time you packed up your things and left?"

Due to family ties, Valerie's parents had never been so direct. But today, Valerie made her stance crystal clear.

Heavy footsteps sounded from the entryway. Arthur and Diane Vance walked into the living room, their arms weighed down by numerous high-end shopping bags. Their expressions darkened instantly as they caught the tail end of Valerie's harsh eviction.

Arthur’s face flushed red. He dropped a shopping bag on the floor and stepped forward, puffing his chest as he aggressively closed the distance to the sofa. Diane flanked him, her eyes narrowed, both ready for a confrontation.

"Valerie!" Arthur demanded, his voice echoing off the high ceilings. "Are you suggesting we have taken advantage of the Thorne family?"

Valerie did not back down. Her smile widened, filled with pure, unadulterated disdain.

"Taking advantage?" Valerie retorted, her gaze locking onto her uncle. "Isn't that exactly what you have done?"

She thought about how people usually felt grateful when accepting kindness. Yet this family lacked shame. They acted like they had every right to impose.

On cue, Monica’s eyes brimmed with tears. She burst into practiced, pitiful sobs and hurried to intercept her parents, her voice trembling with feigned distress.

"Mom, Dad, don't be upset," Monica cried, playing the absolute victim to perfection. "I'm sure Valerie didn't mean it like that. It's our fault. Maybe we should leave..."

Helena quickly stepped in. She hated conflict and wanted to maintain the delicate family peace at all costs. She moved between her daughter and the furious relatives.

"No, it's not like that at all," Helena insisted, her brow furrowed in distress as she tried to ease the situation. "Valerie didn't mean it. You are welcome to stay—we are family."

Though they were not ready to drop the issue, the Vance couple's expressions softened slightly at Helena’s reassurances. Emboldened by Helena’s soft approach, Arthur scoffed. He crossed a dangerous line.

"Still," Arthur remarked, his tone thick with bitterness as he glared at the girl on the sofa, "it seems Valerie doesn't see us as part of the family anymore. It's disappointing. We cared for her so much when she was little, and now that she's grown up, she's learned to turn her back on her own blood."

Something snapped in the air.

Helena’s fierce maternal protective instincts flared. Helena had always been gentle and warm-hearted, but her breaking point was her children. Her usual warmth vanished, replaced by a rigid, icy posture. No one attacked her daughter in her own home.

"Enough of this!" Helena snapped sharply.

Arthur flinched.

Helena leveled a hard, unyielding glare at the Vance couple. "You must be exhausted from shopping on our dime all day. Go and rest."

The uncharacteristically sharp command shocked Arthur and Diane into silence. Their anger simmered beneath the surface, but they hesitated to push any further against the matriarch of the house. They stood rooted to the spot, their mouths hanging open in disbelief.

The thick tension suffocating the room was abruptly broken by the sound of a car pulling up outside.

"Mr. Thorne is back," a helper cheerfully announced from the hall.

Marcus Thorne strode into the entryway, shrugging off his tailored suit jacket with his characteristic confidence.

Seizing the opportunity to gain support and turn the tide, Arthur, Diane, and a sobbing Monica abandoned the living room and ambushed him right at the front door.

"Marcus, look at how your daughter is behaving!" Arthur shouted, frantically pointing back toward the living room. "She is trying to drive us out into the streets!"

Diane chimed in quickly, her voice shrill. "It's clear we are nothing but outsiders here. It's a pity our parents aren't around to see how their granddaughter treats us so ungratefully."

Monica clutched Marcus’s sleeve, her tears flowing freely. "Uncle Marcus, I must have done something terrible to upset Valerie. That's why she's treating us this way and wants us gone."

With her dramatic flair, Monica exaggerated the situation, painting Valerie as a heartless tyrant.

Marcus frowned heavily as he walked in. He was a man who deeply valued family ties. He believed that a few extra mouths to feed were not worth quarreling over, especially when it came to his own blood. Hearing this chaotic barrage of complaints right as he stepped through the door irritated him. He unbuttoned his collar, fully prepared to march in and reprimand his daughter for her behavior.

He walked past the whining trio and stepped into the living room. He opened his mouth to speak.

Then, his eyes locked onto Valerie’s face.

She was sitting on the sofa, looking back at him. Tears were streaming silently down her pale cheeks.

Marcus’s powerful protective instincts instantly took over. His irritation vanished, replaced by a surging tide of parental fury. Outside, Marcus was a prominent, respected figure in the business world, but his greatest flaw was his immense doting on his children. No matter the issue's importance, it paled compared to a single tear from his daughter.

"Who made my daughter cry?" Marcus bellowed, his deep voice shaking the air. He spun around, glaring daggers at the Vances. "I will deal with them myself!"

Arthur recoiled, surprised by the sudden shift in Marcus's demeanor. He muttered under his breath, "It's just a few tears, Marcus. You're overreacting to fake crying."

Marcus took a menacing step toward his relative. He shot Arthur a furious, sharp look.

"Tears?" Marcus roared. "My daughter's tears are not just tears. They are as precious as pearls and diamonds!"

On the sofa, Valerie covered her mouth with her trembling hands. The tears slipping down her face were not an act.

Memories of the past timeline flooded her mind like a torrential storm. She saw the grim images playing out before her eyes. She remembered seeing her father sitting in his study, his hair prematurely graying from the sheer weight of their family's manufactured crises. Back then, her own naivety and poor decisions had only added to his heavy burdens.

The weight of their tragedies had eventually overwhelmed Marcus. She remembered the day his physical strength gave out, his body collapsing from immense stress and anger. His tragic, painful death had been directly caused by Monica's calculated betrayal, tearing him away from Valerie forever.

Now, looking toward the entryway, she saw him. He was vibrant. He was healthy. He was standing tall, fiercely defending her against the very parasites who would one day ruin him.

A profound, agonizing mix of love and regret crashed over her soul.

Without a second thought, Valerie pushed herself off the sofa. She rushed across the vast living room, ignoring the shocked gasps from her relatives. She threw herself into her father's arms.

Marcus caught her instantly, his strong arms wrapping around her shaking frame.

Valerie clung to him tightly, burying her face against his chest. "Dad," she sobbed, her voice trembling with raw, genuine emotion. "I missed you so much..."