My Stepmom Faked Her Fall To Frame Me

In the Ward family's morning meeting, order was everything. Discipline ruled. No one dared even have their phone on. Cristian Ward reached instinctively to silence his ringing phone—but was cut off.

"Answer it," Mr. Ward commanded, his tone leaving zero room for argument.

Koen hesitated. "Dad, it's an unknown number..."

Mr. Ward set his cup down with a sharp clink. "Answer it. And put it on speaker."

Koen's brothers shot him sympathetic glances. Trapped, he picked up and hit speaker.

A tiny, timid voice crackled through the line. "Hello... Uncle Koen?"

"I'm Avani... my mommy is Fiona Ward... Are you my Uncle Koen?"

The voice was weak and robotic—stripped of all emotion—like some little wind-up toy talking through a tin can.

Every single Ward froze. Color drained from their faces in one collective wave of shock.

In the stunned silence, the cap slipped from Mr. Ward's pen and clattered to the floor.

Avani's fragile voice went on. "Uncle... it's cold, and I'm so hungry..."

"I didn't push the lady, but they don't believe me..."

"Daddy made me kneel outside... but I'm freezing... Uncle, can you come get me?"

Her voice grew fainter, then nothing. Just the shriek of wind screaming through the phone, like she was trapped in a blizzard.

Koen snapped out of his fog and yanked the phone to his mouth. "Hello? Avani? Where are you?! Tell Uncle where you are!"

Silence.

Mr. Ward, suddenly looking ten years older, barked desperately, "Trace that number! Find her—now!"

**

Little Avani never finished the call. She passed out first, the phone slipping from her fingers into the snow.

Time dragged in slow, unbearable beats before Michael Jordan finally stepped outside and retrieved it. When he saw Avani lying there motionless, he nudged her with his foot.

"If she's dead, so be it," he muttered, bitter as poison.

Years ago, Michael had found a woman in rags and taken her in out of some pathetic charity. Then he'd noticed her beauty. She'd seemed clueless—almost adorably naive—and it had held him spellbound for a while. He'd spoiled her like a lovesick fool, promised he'd never force her, catered to her every whim...

In hindsight, Michael found the whole thing revolting.

A beggar woman, he thought with contempt. She could've been with anyone before he found her—how else to explain Avani looking absolutely nothing like him?

He'd nursed his suspicions but never pushed for a DNA test.

If the test proved his nightmares true, he'd be the laughingstock of Oxford—the most humiliated man alive!

He took the phone and retreated to the snug safety of his study, firing off phone calls nonstop:

"Hello... Mr. Smith, it's Michael! Do you know anyone from the Ward family in Washington?"

"Hello, Mr. White, happy New Year! Quick question—do you know the Wards up in Washington? My company's hit a snag..."

**

Outside, the blizzard wailed on, piling wet snow over little Avani as evening swallowed the light.

She lay there, barely hanging on, trying desperately to open her eyes and failing.

Since her mother died, Avani hadn't cried—not once, not even when they beat her—but now, tears burned at the corners of her eyes.

She'd called Uncle Koen, and nobody had answered. Did they not want her either?

In this whole world, no one liked her.

If her mama could see her now from somewhere beyond, would she reject her too?

Her frostbitten lips trembled as she swore silently: she wouldn't cry. She wouldn't.

Then—engines roared into the estate.

Seven or eight black cars pulled up outside the Ward home. Out of the lead car stepped a man in a black wool coat, and he kicked the gate open without a second's hesitation.

Snow had nearly hidden Avani's tiny body.

Koen Ward scanned the area frantically—she had said she was kneeling by the gate.

His eyes snagged on something. A small mound of snow near the entrance. His expression shifted, and he rushed over, digging with his bare hands until they burned raw from the cold—until finally, he uncovered a tiny, frozen form underneath!

"Avani?!"

Koen lifted the fragile, lifeless weight into his arms. One look at that little face, and he knew. She was theirs. She was a Ward. Those features—they mirrored their lost sister with heartbreaking precision. Their precious niece. Avani.

Avani felt warmth. She was cradled against someone's chest, and he even shrugged off his coat to wrap her up.

She was so numb, but the warmth began to seep back into her bones, and her small body shivered violently, trying to make heat, trying to survive.

Through half-open eyes, she looked up. A face so like her mother's—and yet not quite.

Her lips moved with painstaking effort as she whispered, "Are you... Uncle Koen?"

"Uncle... I didn't push her..."

Barely conscious, she murmured the words mechanically—flat, empty, robbed of any feeling at all.

Koen's eyes blurred with tears.

In his arms was a child in nothing but a thin nightgown. Her little face was a frozen shade of purple, her lips cracked and dark. She was so fragile, so still, like a sculpture of ice, and Koen feared one wrong move would shatter her.

"Avani... Uncle's here. I'm taking you home," he choked out, his voice breaking. He couldn't let himself think about how she'd survived alone this long. Or what would've happened if they'd arrived even a minute later.

With Avani bundled safely against him, Koen hurried through the snow toward the waiting car.

"Hold on, Avani. Stay with me... don't you dare fall asleep..."

"Avani, say something, sweetheart. Anything."

"Avani..."

But she had already slipped away into the dark.

Mr. Ward rushed over, his voice raw with fear. "How is she?!" he demanded, frantic.

Koen, voice thick with desperation, answered, "Now! To the hospital—we need the hospital!"

The entire Ward family, hearts in their throats, piled into the cars and raced to get Avani the help she needed.

Meanwhile, Michael, alerted by the noise and commotion, came downstairs with a mix of cautious hope and barely concealed excitement.

See, the security had blocked the Wards at first, until Cristian announced their name at the gate, which sent a guard scrambling to inform Michael.

Desperate to get into the Wards' good graces, Michael had thought he was dreaming when he heard they were actually here!

He had no clue why they'd shown up out of the blue, but he sure as hell saw an opportunity.

The Jordan family's entire future was hanging by a thread!

Then something hit him. He spun toward a housemaid. "That girl—she's still in the yard? Get her out of here! Clear her out!"

That cursed child. She'd cost him his wife, and now his company was circling the drain.

He finally had the Jordans in front of him. No way was he letting her wreck this.

With fresh resolve, he swore to squeeze every ounce of advantage from this sudden chance—completely oblivious to the family bond that had just, in that very moment, been fiercely reclaimed.