During my sister’s baby shower, my mom said, “at least her baby has a father.” my aunt laughed, “unlike her sister’s bastard child.” my 9-year-old son walked over with a gift bag and said, “i got something for you, grandma. dad told me to give this to you.”…

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The air in The Hamptons in May always has a distinctive scent: the smell of sea salt mingled with the smell of old money. The Van Der Hoven family mansion, a magnificent Shingle-Style castle perched on a cliff overlooking the Atlantic, was lavishly decorated today to welcome its fourth generation.

I, Clara, stood in the corner of the garden, a glass of iced lemonade, trying to make myself as small as possible. I wore a worn-out chiffon dress bought from a thrift store, a stark contrast to the sea of ​​people dressed in pastel Chanel and Dior.

Today was my sister Isabella’s baby shower.

Isabella sat on a throne-shaped wicker chair, surrounded by a mountain of gifts. Tiffany, Cartier, Hermes… the blue, red, and orange boxes piled up as a statement of status. Isabella smiled brightly, stroking her pregnant belly, beside her husband—Richard, an investment banker with a polished smile and cold eyes.

I looked down at my son, Leo. He was nine years old, wearing the tiny suit I’d spent months starving myself to buy him. Leo stood silently beside me, his intelligent eyes observing everything. He didn’t run, jump, or play with the other children. He knew he didn’t belong here.

“Mommy, when are we going to give him his presents?” Leo whispered, clutching a simple brown paper bag, the cheap, recycled kind people use for lunch.

“Soon, darling,” I stroked his hair. “But remember what Daddy said?”

“I remember,” Leo nodded firmly. “At the right time.”

I took a deep breath. Ten years ago, I was kicked out of this house like a stray dog. Why? I fell in love with and became pregnant with a man my mother called “a piece of trash.” She did everything she could to separate us, even framing him and sending him to prison for three years. When he went to jail, I was thrown out onto the street with my pregnant belly, cut off from all financial support.

I survived. We survived. And today, we’re back.

The clinking of glasses echoed. My mother, Eleanor Van Der Hoven, rose. She wore a cream-colored silk dress, a South Sea pearl necklace worth as much as my rented apartment. She was still beautiful, with the sharp, ruthless beauty of an uncrowned queen.

“Thank you all for coming,” Eleanor said, her voice resonant, sweet but artificial. “Today is the happiest day of our family. Isabella, my beloved daughter, is about to bring a worthy heir to the Van Der Hoven family.”

She glanced affectionately at Isabella and Richard, then her gaze swept over me. The smile on her lips froze for a second, then turned into a look of contemptuous pity.

“I’m so proud,” she continued, deliberately raising her voice. “Because Isabella chose the right person, the right path. Family is the foundation, and the purity of blood is the most important thing.”

The crowd applauded. Aunt Margaret, my mother’s sister, a more sour copy of her, giggled and said loudly enough for the whole garden to hear:

“That’s right, Eleanor. At least her child has a father.”

The words fell like a stone. Giggles spread. Curious, scrutinizing glances fell on Leo and me.

I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my flesh. I was used to this humiliation, but hearing it directly in front of my son still made my heart ache.

Aunt Margaret didn’t stop there. She glanced at Leo, then turned to whisper to the group of ladies beside her, deliberately keeping the volume at a “public” level:

“Unlike his sister’s bastard child. Poor thing, nine years old and not even knowing who his father is, a criminal.”

Leo looked up at me. I saw his jaw tighten. He wasn’t crying. He was angry.

My mother, Eleanor, smiled with satisfaction. She raised her glass. “Come, let’s raise a glass to perfection! To the children born in honor!”

“Cheers!” the crowd shouted.

This was the moment.

I released Leo’s hand. “Go, son.”

Leo took a deep breath and stepped out of the shade of the oak tree. He walked straight toward Isabella and Eleanor’s “throne.”

Leo’s appearance silenced the crowd. A well-dressed but out-of-place “illegible” child was making his way into the center of the party with a cheap paper bag in his hand.

Isabella frowned, about to wave the boy away. Richard looked at him with obvious displeasure.

But Leo didn’t stop. He walked straight to Eleanor. He stood tall, head held high, looking directly into the eyes of the woman who had never held him.

“Eleanor,” Leo said. His voice was clear, resonant, and sharp, cutting through the melodious jazz music.

Eleanor frowned, looking down at the crumpled paper bag. “What is this? Did your mother teach you to come here to beg for money?”

Leo shook his head. He held up the bag.

“I have a gift for you. My father told me to give this to you.”

The entire garden fell silent.

Eleanor chuckled, a crisp but sarcastic laugh. “Your father? Oh, that gardener or that…”

“Some kind of thief that your mother had an affair with? Did he have money to buy me a gift? Or is it a letter begging for something?”

“Just open it, ma’am,” Leo said, frighteningly patiently. “Father said you’ll love it.”

Aunt Margaret burst out laughing. “Open it, Eleanor, and see what the ‘bastard’ has given you.” “It must be homemade cookies or some cheap crafts.”

Eleanor, determined to humiliate my mother and me to the very end, picked up the paper bag with two fingers as if it contained germs. She turned the bag upside down on the banquet table, right next to the three-tiered cake.

No cookies.

No crafts.

Only two things fell out.

An old black “brick” phone.

And a thick stack of files held together with metal clips.

Everyone was stunned.

The phone suddenly rang.

The ringing was shrill and jarring in the silent space. Eleanor looked at the phone, then at me. She was about to ignore it, but the screen lit up, displaying just one word: JUDAS.

Judas – the traitor.

Eleanor’s hands began to tremble. She picked up the phone and put it to her ear.

“Hello?”

I couldn’t hear what the person on the other end said. But I saw her face. Eleanor.

The color drained from her face in an instant. Her proud, rosy complexion turned as white as paper. The crystal glass in her other hand fell to the ground.

Crash!

Red wine splattered onto her cream-colored silk dress, looking like a bloodstain.

Eleanor’s hand dropped, the phone falling onto the table. She stared blankly into space, her mouth stammering incoherently.

“Mother? What’s wrong?” Isabella asked anxiously.

Just then, Leo reached for the file on the table. He opened the first page and read aloud:

“Property Seizure Order and Criminal Prosecution Notice. Defendants: Eleanor Van Der Hoven and Richard Sterling.” Charges: Money laundering, securities fraud, and attempted murder.

“What the hell is this?” Richard, Isabella’s husband, lunged forward and snatched the file.

He glanced through a few lines, and then, too, he collapsed. He fell to the ground, drenched in sweat. “No… no way… How did he get this evidence?” “These transactions were wiped clean five years ago…”

“Nothing is wiped clean, Richard,” a deep, powerful voice boomed from the mansion’s main gate.

Everyone turned.

A convoy of black SUVs screeched to a halt in front of the gate. A man stepped out of the lead vehicle. He wore a perfectly tailored Tom Ford suit, exuding an authoritative, cold demeanor. His eyes, sharp as razors, swept across the panicked crowd.

It was Daniel.

The man who, 10 years ago, was called “a piece of trash.” The man wrongly imprisoned.

But now, he was no longer the poor boy he once was. He was Daniel Vance, CEO of Vance Capital, the investment firm that had devoured half of Wall Street in the past three years. And more importantly, he was the man who had quietly bought up all of the Van Der Hoven family’s bad debts.

“Dad!” Leo exclaimed, running towards Daniel.

Daniel lifted him up. He kissed his son on the forehead, then walked straight into the middle of the party. He stood beside me, put his arm around my waist, and stared directly at Eleanor, who was trembling like a leaf.

“Hello, Eleanor,” Daniel said, his voice calm but full of menace. “Long time no see.”

“You… you…” Eleanor stammered. “You should have died in prison…”

“Almost,” Daniel chuckled. “You paid a fellow inmate to kill me, didn’t you? But you forgot one thing. In prison, the smartest are king, not the richest. I learned law there. I learned how money works. And when I was exonerated, I spent every second building my empire… just waiting for this day.”

Daniel pointed at Richard.

“Richard Sterling, my dear brother-in-law. You used your bank to launder dirty money for Eleanor, to save this crumbling fortune.” “I’ve been tracking that money for two years. And this morning, I sent the entire file to the FBI.”

Sirens blared in the distance. Not just one car, but a whole convoy of police and FBI vehicles was approaching the estate.

“And you, Eleanor,” Daniel turned to his mother-in-law. “This house? This garden? All your property? The bank foreclosed this morning. And I bought it all. You’re standing on my land.”

“No…” Isabella screamed, clutching her pregnant belly. “You can’t do that! I’m pregnant! This is my home!”

Daniel looked at Isabella, his eyes cold. “Don’t worry. I’m not as cruel as your mother. I won’t kick you out immediately.” “But from now on, you’ll know what it feels like to live constantly watching other people’s expressions.”

Aunt Margaret, who had just been loudly mocking Leo, now shuffled away.

“Wait, Aunt Margaret,” I said. This was the first time I’d spoken at the party.

She stopped.

“You just said my son doesn’t know who his father is, right?” I smiled, approaching Daniel and Leo. “Now you know. His father is your creditor. And according to the records I have, you also owe his company $2 million in mortgage loans, right?”

“Mr. Daniel?”

“Yes,” Daniel nodded. “And the deadline is tomorrow.”

Aunt Margaret’s face turned ashen.

The police stormed in. The lavish party turned into a scene of chaos.

Mrs. Eleanor was handcuffed. She screamed, cursed, and blamed everyone, but no one cared. The image of the proud queen crumbled, revealing a frightened and greedy old woman.

Richard was escorted away, leaving Isabella sobbing uncontrollably amidst the now meaningless pile of extravagant gifts.

As the police car carrying Mrs. Eleanor disappeared from view, Daniel turned to Leo and me.

“Let’s go home,” he said.

“Where?” I asked.

Daniel looked around the magnificent mansion. “Not here. This place reeks of hypocrisy. I bought back the little lakeside cottage we once dreamed of.” “It’s cleaner.”

I smiled, tears of happiness welling up.

Leo took my hand and Daniel’s hand. The three of us walked out of the gates of the Van Der Hoven mansion.

Behind us, the high-society guests were whispering, but this time, they didn’t look at us with contempt. They looked with fear and respect.

“Bastard”? No.

Leo was the son of a new king. And more importantly, he was the son of love and patience.

“Mom,” Leo looked up at me as we got into the car. “Eleanor’s face on the phone was so funny.”

I kissed his forehead. “Yes, my love. It was the face of someone who had just realized: Never underestimate a child just because they carry a paper bag.”