Bloody Revenge: Dear, Please Lay Down Your Weapons!

When the official arrived, I had already poisoned my foster family.

I thoughtfully hung each one of them in the corridor, including the recently found true daughter of the family.

My foster parents treated me, their fake daughter, exceedingly well, and my foster brother cherished me more than his real sister.

The official was my childhood companion.

"You killed them all, why?" he asked me, having a mental breakdown.

What went around came around.

All the filth couldn't escape my eyes.

1

I was covered in blood, my clothes still stained.

Silas Conway stared at the row of bodies in the corridor, his face pale with fear. He drew his sword, pointing it at me in disbelief.

"Did you kill them all? Cecilia, say something!"

Silas, my childhood companion, was once betrothed to me—or rather, to the true daughter of the Stanley family.

The people surrounding me feared I would go on another killing spree, terrified by the scene.

"Tell me, why? Your parents treated you so well, even when they knew you weren't their biological daughter."

Silas lost control, never imagining that the seemingly gentle and obedient me could commit such acts.

Today was supposed to be the day the Stanley family welcomed back their true daughter, Susana Stanley. My foster mother started preparing early in the morning.

She worried I might feel sad, so she told me in front of the servants, "Cecilia, you will always be a daughter of the Stanley family, just like our own."

She said everything that was mine would remain mine, and I wouldn't have to give up my room to their true daughter.

Everyone in the household praised their kindness. We stood at the gate, waiting for Susana.

When she stepped out of the carriage, she was dressed simply. My foster mother's eyes reddened instantly. Holding back tears, she said, "My dear, you've suffered."

"Though you are my biological daughter, you were raised in the countryside. The capital is full of noble ladies, so you must stay indoors to avoid embarrassment," said my foster father, Matthew Stanley.

With that, he walked away.

Susana approached me timidly and called me sister.

I noticed a butterfly birthmark on her collarbone. It was glaringly red. My head ached, and fuzzy memories surged.

Seeing me dazed, my foster mother, Marlene Stanley grabbed my hand, comforting me, "Cecilia, what's wrong? From now on, you and Susana are both my daughters."

I tried to pull my hand away, but they took my actions as displeasure.

My brother stormed in from outside, not even asking a question before accusing Susana. "Did you bully Cecilia the moment you came back? Don't you dare throw your weight around! Cecilia is my sister!"

They protected me, fearing I'd be upset by Susana's return.

Onlookers praised Matthew and Marlene for their generosity, treating me, the fake daughter, as their own.