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After reading through both paternity test reports, Dora Hendrix looked up at the couple before her. “So. I was switched at birth with the Acosta family’s child? Linda Acosta is your real daughter?”
For seventeen years, the Hendrix family had poured time, money, and effort into raising Dora to be the perfect image of grace and poise.
Audra Hendrix, merely gave a quiet “Yes” in response, her face blank and unreadable.
Next to her sat a girl with a messy ponytail and worn–out clothes, quietly sobbing. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying. “I’m sorry. this is all my fault.”
She lifted her tear–streaked face to look at Dora, eyes full of false innocence. There was a flicker of jealousy–well hidden, quickly smothered.
“Dora, please don’t be mad. If you don’t want me here, I’ll go back,” she said softly, casting herself in the role of the pitiful underdog–vulnerable, humble, and oh–so–lovable.
Too bad no one in the Hendrix family had any interest in her little performance.
“There’s no need to apologize,” Dora said flatly. “I’ll leave on my own.” She didn’t bother putting on a show for the Hendrix couple. She didn’t care–and neither did they.
“Your real parents are poor,” Linda added, head lowered, fingers nervously twisting her skirt. “I just don’t want you to suffer with them.”
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It was a well–crafted line–on the surface, kind and selfless. But
underneath, the message was clear: Dora had lived a luxurious life for seventeen years under false pretenses.
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Now that the truth was out, any attempt to stay would seem greedy and inappropriate. Not only did Linda take a subtle jab at her, she made herself look generous and considerate in the process.
To an outsider, Linda’s words might evoke sympathy. One might imagine how much hardship she must’ve endured with the Acosta family to grow into such a sweet, self–sacrificing girl. Some would be moved to shower her with affection, desperate to make up for the seventeen years she lost.
Unfortunately, her acting wasn’t convincing. The three people in the room didn’t buy it for a second.
A heavy, awkward silence settled over the room.
Dora gave a faint smile and studied Linda for a moment.
Where Dora’s beauty was sharp and striking, Linda’s features were plain and forgettable.
Her personality, at least, matched the files Dora had seen. She just hoped Linda would dial back the melodrama when it came time to meet the Hendrix family’s two sons.
Dora sat down in a single armchair. Betty Campos, the housekeeper, rushed over and placed a steaming cup of coffee on the table. Dora set the folder beside it and took a sip, her calm demeanor making her seem like nothing more than an onlooker.
“What’s your plan?” Jerrold Hendrix finally asked, voice low and steady.
“Since your real daughter is back, I’ll go find my real parents,” Dora said calmly. The coffee had steeped too long–its bitterness lingered on her
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tongue.
Jerrold had always believed they’d raised Dora well–she was capable, composed, and elegant. But in the end, blood was blood. No amount of polish could match the value of a biological daughter.
So when Dora said she was leaving, he didn’t try to stop her.
“You’ve got two weeks to leave. I’ll give you 1 million dollars. After that, you’re on your own,” he said.
It wasn’t concern for her future. The money was a buyout–a clean break. From that moment on, Dora and the Hendrix family would have no
further ties.
The Hendrix family had spent decades clawing their way through the business world. They knew better than to make enemies unnecessarily- alliances were always more valuable. Ruthlessness had its place, but they never went for the kill unless absolutely necessary.
There was no signed agreement, but the 1 million dollars served as a leash of sorts–a silent guarantee to safeguard the family’s reputation.
“1 million dollars? That’s way too much!” Linda shrieked, all traces of her earlier sweetness and humility gone. Her expression twisted with fury, as if she wanted to tear Dora apart on the spot.
“You think that’s a lot?” Jerrold shot her a cold glance. Despite being her biological father, there wasn’t a shred of warmth in his eyes.
That single look carried a crushing authority, like a predator sizing up its prey. Linda instantly shrank back, her bravado evaporating. “No, I just didn’t expect you to be so… generous with her, Dad.”
Dora took a sip of her freshly brewed coffee, the corners of her lips twitching in amusement. “Thank you, Mr. Hendrix. I’ll remember your
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kindness over the past seventeen years.”
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The subtext was clear: she would take the money and walk away quietly, with no intention of slandering the Hendrix family or causing a scene. It was her way of drawing a clean line–settling the past without burning the bridge.
