Chapter 3

"Excuse me, are Mr. and Mrs. Maxwell not here?" I asked calmly amidst their silent appraisal.

More than my siblings, I wanted to see my biological parents.

Though the brother and sister had stopped their conversation, they didn't seem to care whether I'd heard it.

That deep-seated arrogance, I'd witnessed it many times before.

Back when I was younger, just starting my career.

By now, very few people dared to look at me or my children with such disdain.

"Mom and Dad aren't feeling well; they're still at the sanatorium today, but they should be on their way back," my biological younger brother said. He looked at me and finally introduced himself. "I'm Aaron Maxwell, your biological younger brother."

He then introduced the others: "This is my sister, Eleanor Maxwell, and this is her only daughter, Isabelle Thorne."

The scene was eerily awkward.

After about two seconds of tense silence, Eleanor was the first to act.

She stood up, walked over, and took my hand, speaking earnestly: "Sister, you've suffered all these years."

My gaze fell on her well-manicured hand, adorned with a dazzling, massive diamond ring.

In contrast, the wedding band on my left ring finger had no pavé diamonds, looking pathetically plain.

I hadn't suffered, not really. It was just thinking about the truth behind my background that left a bitter taste in my mouth, a deep sense of unease.

"Izzy, these are your aunt and cousins. Say hello," I heard the woman holding my hand tell her daughter.

Then, the equally polished and impeccably dressed young lady reluctantly said, "Aunt."

Her eyes weren't even looking at me.

Her arrogance surpassed her mother's.

It was simple: her mother was the fake heiress, but *she* wasn't.

The Maxwells were undoubtedly one of the wealthiest families in the area, and Eleanor Maxwell's husband naturally came from a family of equal standing.

Aaron, my brother, now held a position of power within the Maxwell corporation. He said:

"We'll host a welcome dinner for you tonight. Mr. Jenkins will show you to your rooms to rest soon."

He kept me in the side parlor for a few extra minutes, though.

My biological younger brother told me, "No matter what happened in the past, it's over now. My sister is a victim too. If Dad and Mom hadn't had everyone in the family tested on a whim this year, we would never have known about this."

He explained that after discovering the daughter they’d raised for years wasn't their biological child, my parents immediately reported it to the authorities.

Because my information had been in the DNA database all along, they were able to contact me quickly.

The search process wasn't difficult at all; in fact, it was surprisingly simple.

Compared to other families who had lost children.

"My sister has been with us since birth. She's always been a Maxwell, not to mention she's Mrs. Thorne. The one who made the mistake was her biological mother, not her."

They clearly had a strong bond, these two siblings.

I smiled at him and asked a question: "She's a victim, but what exactly did she lose in these 45 years?"

Aaron opened his mouth, but no words came out.

"The one who was abandoned and nearly died was me."

I only said that much, but it was far from the whole truth.

She had enjoyed a life of luxury that rightfully belonged to someone else, claimed my family, and in doing so, received an excellent education and an enviable marriage.

Forty-five years of usurpation – how long is a person's life, really?

And how many people don't even live past 45?

Had I endured a life of hardship and instability, this 45-year-delayed truth would undoubtedly have been a double torment, both mentally and physically.

Could my good fortune somehow cancel out the harm done to me?