Chapter 7
1019words
No filters, no makeup—just my bare face and the truth.
The moment I went live, millions of viewers poured in, most coming straight from Victoria's stream to attack me.
The comment section immediately filled with vile abuse.
"Look who finally showed her face! The ungrateful bitch herself!"
"Acting all high and mighty while destroying a family. You're pure evil!"
"Get on your knees and beg Victoria for forgiveness!"
I ignored the vitriol and began speaking calmly.
"Hello everyone. My name is Vivian Johnson—not Shaw. Yes, I'm the 'fake heiress' you've all been talking about."
My calm demeanor seemed to momentarily stun the audience.
"I understand you're angry. You think I'm heartless and cruel. But before you judge me, would you give me ten minutes to tell you my side of the story?"
I didn't scream denials or dissolve into tears. I simply told my story—the complete, unvarnished truth of the past twenty years.
I explained how I was switched at birth, how the Shaws discovered the truth, how they cast me out like garbage, and how they later came crawling back when they realized who my father was.
I didn't dramatize or exaggerate—just presented the facts as they happened.
Then I played my first piece of evidence.
Security footage showed George Shaw pointing at me, his face contorted with rage as he demanded I kneel before Victoria.
The video was crystal clear, the audio unmistakable.
"How could our family raise such a heartless bitch! Get on your knees and apologize to Victoria right now!"
The comment section went eerily quiet.
Next, I played my second piece of evidence.
Security footage from the Johnson estate showed Mandy and Victoria kneeling before me, begging for mercy.
The contrast between their theatrical sobbing and my composed responses was striking.
"This is the 'kind-hearted true daughter' and 'loving mother' you've been defending," I said quietly.
The comments began to change tone.
"Wait a minute… something's not adding up here."
"So they kicked her out like trash, and now they're literally on their knees begging her for help because she's rich? That's messed up."
"The Shaws have zero shame. Wow."
Finally, I revealed my most damning evidence.
A confession video from the elderly nurse who had been involved in the baby swap.
In the video, the frail, white-haired woman tearfully admitted to deliberately switching the babies for money.
The person who paid her? Victoria's adoptive mother—another hospital employee.
Jealous of the Shaw family's wealth and bitter about her husband's gambling addiction, she had orchestrated the swap so her daughter could live a life of luxury.
By cruel coincidence, the babies she swapped were Victoria and me.
Victoria's supposed "years of suffering" were a complete fabrication.
While not as wealthy as the Shaws, Victoria's adoptive family had provided her with a comfortable life. More importantly, she had always known she was the Shaws' biological daughter, biding her time until she could claim her "rightful" place.
The livestream exploded with reactions.
"Holy shit! This is insane—better than any Netflix drama I've ever seen!"
"So Victoria has been playing everyone? She's the real manipulator here?"
"That nurse and Victoria's adoptive mother are monsters! They destroyed two innocent lives for their own selfish reasons!"
"I'm so sorry, Vivian Johnson! I judged you without knowing the facts. You didn't deserve any of this!"
"The Shaws deserve everything coming to them. They threw her away like trash and now they're begging for scraps. Karma's a bitch!"
Public opinion flipped completely in my favor.
Victoria's livestream was now flooded with angry commenters.
"You lying snake! Get off the internet!"
"I want my sympathy back! Can't believe I fell for your act!"
"Congrats on your Oscar-worthy performance, you manipulative witch!"
Victoria clearly hadn't anticipated I'd have such concrete evidence. She abruptly ended her stream, her carefully constructed facade crumbling.
My viewer count had surpassed fifty million and was still climbing.
Watching the flood of apologies and support messages, I felt strangely at peace.
"Thank you all for hearing me out," I said, giving a small bow to the camera. "I didn't do this for sympathy or to encourage harassment. I simply wanted the truth to be known."
"As for the Shaws and Victoria—they'll face the appropriate legal consequences for their actions."
With that, I ended the stream.
But the story wasn't over.
The following day, the police released an official statement.
Victoria's adoptive mother was arrested on charges of child trafficking.
Victoria herself was brought in for questioning as a knowing accomplice.
The Shaw Group came under investigation for tax evasion and financial fraud. George and Howard were barred from leaving the country pending criminal charges.
The once-mighty Shaw empire crumbled overnight.
And I had been the catalyst.
I sat on the terrace of our estate, sipping my aunt's perfectly brewed tea, watching the online firestorm with a strange sense of serenity.
My phone rang, breaking the peaceful moment.
An unknown number.
I answered to hear a cool, familiar voice.
"Congratulations."
Frederick Foster.
I raised an eyebrow. "You keep close tabs on current events, Mr. Foster."
"I watched your livestream," he said, a hint of admiration in his voice. "Masterfully handled."
"You're too kind," I replied neutrally, unsure of his intentions.
A brief silence followed.
"Aren't you curious?" he asked suddenly. "Why I helped you that night at the gala?"
I was, in fact, extremely curious.
"I'm listening."
"Because we're cut from the same cloth, you and I," he said simply.
"What exactly does that mean?"
"We've both been betrayed by those who should have loved us most." His voice carried a shadow of old pain.
I was taken aback.
Frederick Foster—heir to one of the world's largest fortunes, a man who seemed to have everything.
Had he suffered as I had?
Before I could probe deeper, his tone shifted back to casual detachment. "Are you free for dinner tonight? I'd like to invite you out."
"Why?" I asked directly.
"To celebrate your phoenix moment."
After a moment's consideration, I accepted his invitation.
Partly from curiosity, partly because something told me I could trust him.
