Seeds of Suspicion

The glowing text of the live comment stream scrolled relentlessly across Hazel’s vision, a merciless barrage of digital venom directed straight at her newfound family. The users were out for blood, tearing into Selma with vicious, rapid-fire accusations.

[Total scam! The Vances are sketchy as hell. Something is seriously wrong with this picture!]

[Yup! Cora has been through absolute hell. The Vances totally screwed her over and left her for dead.]

[Cora is so skinny she is practically a shadow. Starved, no question about it. That snake Selma probably kept food from her on purpose just to watch her suffer. And Cora is so jumpy, always freaking out. That is classic trauma right there. The Vances must have been brutal to her.]

[Oh, for sure! Selma is the type to throw hands at her own man. She knew Cora was the Ashford family's kid all along. I bet she made her life a living hell out of pure jealousy.]

The Stream was ruthless. It painted her biological mother as a heartless, calculated monster, while showering the absent Cora with endless, weeping sympathy.

Hazel scrolled through the barrage of glowing accusations, her brows knitting together in profound confusion. The narrative playing out across her retinas clashed violently with the physical reality standing just outside her door. In person, her birth mom seemed incredibly nice. Selma's face radiated genuine warmth, and her smile was undeniably soft, carrying a maternal tenderness that Hazel had never experienced in the sprawling Ashford estate. The jarring disconnect was messing with Hazel's head, twisting her gut into a knot of defensive suspicion.

Maybe the Stream possesses some hidden truth, Hazel thought, narrowing her dark eyes at the wooden floorboards. I will keep my eyes wide open. If Mom is really that awful, she will slip up eventually. Nobody is that good an actor.

She hoisted her backpack over her shoulder and picked up the small, battered cardboard box containing the entirety of her earthly possessions. Stepping out of her newly claimed room, she offered a casual shrug.

"No need to grab anything extra. You guys got everything covered," Hazel said, keeping her tone light.

Harlan let out a loud, visible breath of relief. He rubbed the back of his neck, the tension draining from his broad shoulders. "Phew, glad you are not picky, kid. We were sweating bullets thinking we would need to find you a new place."

Selma did not share her husband’s relief. Her eyes dropped to Hazel's incredibly sparse belongings. The single faded backpack and the flimsy cardboard box looked pathetic. Soft, maternal hesitation washed over Selma’s features. She took a step closer, twisting her apron in her hands.

"Hazel, when you left the Ashfords, they didn't mess with you, did they? No yelling or getting rough? Or talking smack?" Selma asked, her voice tight with anxious dread.

Hazel locked onto Selma's face. She hunted intensely in the older woman's eyes for a lie, a flicker of manipulation, or any sign of the calculating monster the Stream claimed her to be. She found nothing but pure, unfiltered worry. Am I overthinking this? Hazel wondered, the tight knot in her chest loosening just a fraction.

"Nah, they were fine. I bounced on my own. Honestly, I had it good with the Ashfords for twenty years. I am the one who lucked out," Hazel replied, brushing the concern off with a wave of her hand.

She kept her demeanor chill, projecting an aura of untouchable cool. Inside, her heart felt heavy. Life had thrown her a massive curveball, yanking her from a world of sterile luxury and dropping her into this rustic unknown, and she was still trying to find her footing.

The live comment stream, however, was not buying her casual dismissal for a single second.

[Ugh, she is playing the good-girl card again. And Selma is just sniffing around to see if Hazel brought any bling from the Ashfords. Total gold-digger vibes. Gross.]

[She is such a mooch. Anything the Vances have, she funnels straight to her leechy family. They are like vampires, sucking her dry, and she takes it out on Cora. Look at those two! Healthy as can be, while Cora is a wreck. Poor kid.]

Hazel's frown deepened. The glowing text faded from her direct line of sight, but the relentless accusations gnawed viciously at her mind. The comments were not entirely wrong.

She had seen Cora. Cora's bony, skeletal frame was undeniable, physical proof of long-term starvation. That kind of alarming frailty was not a one-off issue or a fast metabolism. It took years of going hungry to look like a walking shadow. It was straight-up unhealthy, bordering on life-threatening.

Yet here stood her biological parents. Harlan looked worn and weathered, but his frame was solid, packing the dense muscle of a man who had spent his life working hard manual labor. And Selma? Selma was glowing with vibrant, youthful health. Her skin was clear, her cheeks held a natural rosy flush, and she could easily pass for thirty without a problem.

Next to Cora’s fragile, skeletal vibe, the visual disparity was deeply unsettling. It was like they belonged to entirely different species. If this family was so destitute that Cora starved to the bone, how did Harlan and Selma maintain such robust health?

Hazel forced the dangerous questions down for the moment. She stayed cautious, turning back to lock her meager belongings safely inside her room before following her parents out into the courtyard.

A rustic wooden table sat in the center of the yard, heavily loaded with a gorgeous, steaming spread of food. The aroma hit Hazel like a physical blow, smelling like absolute heaven. Rich scents of garlic, soy, and roasted meats mingled in the evening air. Selma set down a steaming plate of whole braised fish, the skin perfectly crisped and coated in a dark, savory sauce. She waved Hazel over eagerly.

"Come eat, Hazel!" Selma called out, her eyes shining with anticipation.

The spread was a vibrant visual feast. Bright, colorful vegetables, rich cuts of meat, and fluffy white rice filled the table. It was clearly made with intense, painstaking care.

Hazel's stomach let out a loud, demanding growl, staging a violent protest against her ribs. She was starving. Back at the Ashfords' sprawling, echoing mansion, she was perpetually neglected. During the holidays, while her adoptive parents paraded Cora around to elite social gatherings, Hazel had been left behind. She had not even gotten a hot, home-cooked meal, left to scrounge through the commercial-grade kitchen alone.

"Hazel, your mom made all this. Her cooking could school those fancy chefs. Dig in!" Harlan said, grinning widely as he pulled out a chair for her.

Selma blushed furiously, waving a dismissive hand at her husband. "Oh, stop, Harlan. It is just home cooking. Hazel, I hope it is not too basic for you."

Hazel dropped into the chair. She grabbed her chopsticks, bypassed the pleasantries, and snatched a thick piece of braised pork. She popped it into her mouth and bit down. The tender meat practically melted on her tongue, exploding with a perfect balance of savory and sweet caramelized flavors. Her eyes lit up instantly.

"Damn, this is fire!" Hazel blurted out before she could filter herself.

She had eaten at exclusive Michelin-star joints. She had tasted meals prepared by world-renowned chefs hired for the Ashfords' massive, opulent parties. Her taste buds were incredibly spoiled, trained to recognize premium ingredients and flawless technique. But this?

Selma's food was not just good. It was next-level. There was a deep, comforting warmth woven into the flavors that Hazel could not quite place, a rich satisfaction that easily rivaled the cold perfection of fine dining.

Selma's eyes immediately filled with joyful, shining tears at the sudden praise. She reached up, wiping a stray drop from her cheek with the back of her hand.

"You like it? Oh, honey, I will cook for you every single day," Selma promised fiercely, her voice thick with emotion.

Hazel dove in. Her chopsticks flew across the dishes in a rapid blur, transferring fish, pork, and vegetables to her bowl. She ate with voracious speed, yet her movements remained precise and classy, maintaining the aristocratic table manners drilled into her by the Ashfords even while inhaling the feast. The warm food filled the hollow void in her stomach, bringing a strange, unfamiliar sense of physical peace.

But once her stomach was full, the lingering doubts rushed back to the forefront of her mind, sharp and demanding. Hazel swallowed her final bite and set her fork down against the ceramic plate.

*Clink.*

The definitive sound cut through the warm, domestic chatter. Hazel wiped her mouth with a napkin, her spine straightening as she shifted her posture. She was ready for real answers, and she was not leaving this table without them.

She did not go straight for the throat. Instead, she locked her dark eyes directly on her parents, keeping her tone conversational but heavy.

"I saw Cora when I left the Ashfords."

At the mere mention of Cora's name, Harlan and Selma instantly froze. The relaxed, joyful atmosphere evaporated from the courtyard in a heartbeat. Harlan’s jaw clamped shut, and Selma’s hands went still in her lap. They exchanged a quick, incredibly tense look, the kind of panicked, silent communication shared by people hiding a massive secret. They stayed dead quiet.

Hazel leaned in aggressively, resting her forearms on the table. She watched them closely, studying every micro-expression, every nervous twitch.

"She was skin and bones. My foster parents were freaking out. They are getting her top doctors and medical experts to check if she has been hurt. Like, for a long time," Hazel stated plainly.

She wasn't bluffing. She had stood in the lavish hallway of the Ashford estate and overheard her foster parents frantically planning it.

Hazel knew exactly how the Ashfords operated. If those top-tier medical experts confirmed that Cora had been systematically starved and mistreated, the Ashfords would come down hard. Their immense wealth and unchecked social power were no joke. They would marshal their legal teams, their media connections, and their endless resources to seek vengeance. Hazel wanted her birth parents to understand the impossible stakes bearing down on them.

Spill it, Hazel thought, her intense gaze boring into Harlan. Tell me the truth. Maybe we can fix this before they ruin you.

The live comment stream in her vision went absolutely wild, feeding off the sudden spike in tension.

[Yesss! Hazel is asking the good stuff! What did they do to Cora? Break them down!]

[Cora has bruises all over her arms, and she is in really rough shape. Thank God for Treasure Trowel's miracle meds. She is getting better fast. But now Hazel has the trowel. Ugh, this is so unfair.]

[I hope those Ashford experts hurry up. If the world goes to hell, it will be too late. The Vances need to pay for what they did to Cora. Lock them up and throw away the key!]

Hazel's gut twisted violently as she read the scrolling text. Bruises? If Cora was really bruised and battered on top of being starved, the Ashfords would absolutely crush the Vances. They would rip this peaceful courtyard to shreds and throw Harlan and Selma in a concrete cell.

This was incredibly serious. She needed the truth, right now, before the impending apocalypse or the Ashford lawyers got here first.

Yet Harlan and Selma only mumbled. Harlan stared intently at his empty plate, his heavy shoulders hunched defensively. Selma looked down at her lap, her fingers twisting her napkin into a tight knot. They continually and guiltily dodged Hazel's intense, demanding gaze.

Hazel's patience finally snapped. The warm comfort of the meal vanished, replaced by a surging, righteous frustration.

"What are you hiding?" Hazel demanded, leaning further forward over the table, her voice turning razor-sharp. "Do not tell me Cora's condition is not your fault. Look around! You guys are eating like royalty. You are cooking like pros. If Cora was eating normal meals in this house, would she look like a walking skeleton?"

She slammed her hand flat against the table, the sudden noise making Selma flinch.

"The Ashfords have unlimited cash and massive clout. You think you can just skate by? You think they are going to let this go?" Hazel pressed, her tone relentless.

Her heart raced in her chest, hammering against her ribs with an unfamiliar mix of turbulent emotions. She felt a sudden, fierce anger directed at the two people sitting across from her, warring with a deep, unexpected sympathy for Cora. Whatever the spoiled, privileged girl was doing now, she had clearly suffered here. Maybe it was the horrifying idea of having parents capable of such calculated cruelty.

Either way, a dark, terrible thing had happened to Cora in this house. Hazel set her jaw, her eyes blazing with determination. She had found a cozy room and a delicious meal, but she could not stay here. She firmly realized she could not trust this new family, not until she unraveled the entire, ugly story. She had them cornered, and she was not backing down.