Chapter 7: Exile and Return

The real drama was that the mistress dared to switch the children, making the legitimate and illegitimate girls swap places, letting the true pearl gather dust for over ten years.

These punks probably never thought that, after the New Year, with a change of decorations and a snowfall, this pitiful girl would become the legitimate daughter of the senator’s house. Her mother, the late President’s eldest daughter, doted on her, even allowing her husband into office. Her mother was the current First Lady’s mother. She would give her the best resources and plan every step for her.

I squinted to identify the kids. The one throwing stones, if I remembered correctly, would die violently in the street later.

I watched intently, lost in thought, and accidentally met Victoria’s gray eyes, calm as dead water, unreadable. She quickly lowered her head, like a timid little animal.

I smiled playfully—a favor delivered shouldn’t be refused.

At the university, I was known for being unruly, which spared me many troubles. For example, now, I took off the leather belt at my waist, walked over slowly, and the punks all made way. They thought I would whip Victoria, but instead I struck the concrete at their feet with a crisp sound.

The crack of leather echoed, sending the boys scattering. My reputation was enough to clear a path.

The bullies all jumped back in shock.

“Hayes, what’s your problem?” Marissa, the ringleader, demanded.

“Starting trouble, can’t you see? Bullying a little girl, aren’t you all supposed to be gentlemen? Didn’t your parents teach you any manners?”

I played with the belt, unconcerned.

Marissa was clearly angered. “We’re teaching her a lesson. None of your business.”

I was about to retort and end this with words. Unexpectedly, Marissa shouted, “Born of a mother, not raised by one—I think you’re the one with no upbringing, vulgar!”

My eyes darkened. I lashed her mouth bloody.

The belt snapped through the air, a blur of righteous anger. Marissa crumpled, the others frozen in shock.

Everything happened in a flash. Marissa fell to the ground, curled up in pain. The others, realizing my madness, dared not protest and quickly dragged her away to find a doctor.

I put away the belt and looked at Victoria. Rarely, surprise appeared in her eyes. Seeing me look at her, she quickly resumed her stiff demeanor and simply said, “Thank you.”

The sunlight was dazzling; she stood backlit in a halo. I reached out my hand to her. Perhaps she had stayed in the tree too long—she slipped while coming down, and I caught her. She was light as a feather, with a faint scent of lilies.

She blushed after standing. I thought, after today, there would be trouble.

Before I could say more, a White House staffer arrived, respectfully inviting me to the First Lady’s office.

Was Victoria’s mother so quick?

When I reached the East Wing, I realized today was Victoria’s mother’s visit day. Fruits and flowers were served, the First Lady kind and dignified. She asked kindly, “Audrey, you hit Marissa today—I know you both have tempers. Was there an argument?”

The parlor was thick with tension, the air perfumed with cut flowers and expensive cologne. I could feel the eyes of every matron in the room on me.

Victoria’s mother was clearly angry, Marissa sobbing beside her, fanning the flames.

I tilted my head and said out of nowhere, “Marissa really doesn’t look like her mother—so petty, not like a legitimate daughter.”

The First Lady and Victoria’s mother ignored this, dissatisfied that I dodged their question. The First Lady stopped the angry mother, helplessly scolding, “Audrey is too unruly. You’re grounded for a month.”

Victoria’s mother protested, “Madam President!” Marissa cried harder, hoarsely calling, “Grandma.”