The Mistress's Daughter Claims Legitimacy

Vivian's mother's words instantly ignited the crowd.

"Mrs. Spencer, are you saying Alice is an illegitimate child? Seriously?"

Face twisted with anger, she opened the locket on the necklace. Inside was a photo of a family of three. "Here's the evidence. How could this be fake?"

"I've suspected for years that he must have a bastard out there somewhere. Never expected her to show up at my doorstep.

"And that dress belonged to Vivian. She tried it on once but felt it was too big, so she left it at home. A few days ago, while cleaning, I realized it was missing. I thought we'd lost it. Who knew he'd give it to his illegitimate child instead?"

She then pulled out her phone and showed everyone a photo of Vivian wearing the dress.

The details on the cuffs and the unique stitching were crystal clear—obviously nothing like the one I had on.

Gasps rippled through the crowd.

"They're identical… Looks like it really is Vivian's dress. No wonder the craftsmanship looks so meticulous."

Hearing her mother's accusation, Vivian's face twisted with fury. Her voice turned icy.

"No wonder your mother never showed up for parent-teacher meetings. She was afraid someone would recognize her as the mistress."

Her words sent the others spiraling.

"If her mom was a homewrecker, who knows what she's been doing? I couldn't stand her in high school. Always wearing that cold, stuck-up expression—like we owed her money."

"Exactly. She even seduced boys from the neighboring class to fight for her. I used to wonder what was so irresistible about her. Turns out, being a vixen runs in the family."

"She only looks innocent. Behind the scenes she's a mess. Back in high school, I heard she went to hotels almost every day. I even saw her hand a room card to a middle-aged man once."

"Oh my god. Seriously? Acting like that in high school? But I guess it tracks—she bullied the legitimate daughter, so what wouldn't she do?"

Even my former deskmate—someone who used to get along with me—looked at me with disgust.

"Alice, I didn't expect you to be so morally corrupt. I hate mistresses and illegitimate children more than anything. And you're both.

"Don't you dare say we were ever deskmates. Just thinking about the things you've done makes me sick."

More guests gathered, drawn by the commotion. They pointed, whispered, stared.

I glanced around. Hardly anyone recognizable. So this was the extent of Desmond's connections? A room full of strays?

Then it clicked—he didn't want anyone my mother knew discovering all the filthy things he'd been hiding.

The crowd thickened. Almost everyone had their phones out, cameras pointed at me. Some even used flash, aiming directly at my eyes.

I raised a hand to block the harsh glare and walked straight to Vivian's mother.

"First you slander my mother as a mistress. Then you slap me without knowing anything. Do you think you're above the law?"

Vivian erupted the moment she heard me speak to her mother like that. She shoved me hard to the ground, her tone dripping with arrogance.

"So what if my mother slapped you? Do you think anyone can touch me?

"You think I'm still the same girl you forced to drop out? Even if I cripple you today, your homewrecker mother won't dare say a word."

She glanced down at me, grabbed a glass of wine from a servant, and poured it straight over my head.

"Maybe you'll end up begging my dad for money later. This glass wasn't cheap. Think of it as me helping you wash that dress."

One of her followers jumped in immediately.

"One glass isn't enough. Who knows how dirty her clothes are? Let's all help wash them!"

She grabbed another glass and splashed it on me.

The crowd followed suit.

"Hahaha, scrub that stench off her!"

"Look at her. She probably loves it. This must be nothing compared to what she and her mom have done for money."

Carl, eager to show off, grabbed a bottle of champagne. He shook it vigorously, aimed it at my face, and laughed.

"Come on, drink up! Clean yourself from the inside too!"

My ankle was twisted—I could barely move. When he raised the bottle as if to smash it down, I could only lift my hand to block it.

The bottle struck the back of my hand, leaving a bright red welt.

"Alright, that's enough. This is my recognition banquet—I can't have anything serious happen.

"Alice, as a former classmate, I'll overlook your past and your identity—for today. But remember this: starting now, you'd better keep your head down whenever you see me."

I forced myself to stand, ignoring the pain. My jacket was soaked through. I peeled it off and wiped the wine from my face as best I could.

Then, with a cold, steady gaze, I surveyed every person who had just hurt me.

I pulled out my phone and dialed a number.

"Mom," I said calmly, "I'm at the Hillside Estate. I'm being bullied."