Chapter 85
"I see."Marissa's reply was curt,and she studiedTheodore's face as though trying to read thethoughts behind his calm expression.
It surprised her to realize that the stilettos were moretrouble than she could manage.
Had she known how much they would hurt,shenever would have worn them in the first place.
She leaned forward to remove the shoes,yet whenher eyes caught the carpet covered in vivid floraldesigns,she froze.The thought of what might belurking in those fibers made her skin crawl,so shestood upright again,pretending nothing hadhappened.
In her mind,true authority never relied onappearances. Still, she was aware that manners had their place.
There were certain events, like this grand banquet,where elegance was expected.
Marissa's attention drifted to her phone.
The gossip linking her to Marc had slipped to fourth on the trending list, and as she watched the screen,the number continued to drop.
At the same time, gossip about the two Fletcher daughters fighting over one man was spreading like wildfire, pushing its way into the top three headlines.The app struggled to keep up, freezing for moments before sluggishly reloading.
Shadow cloaked Marissa's features, leaving her face unreadable.
Chaos filled the trending section.
"Fake heiress storms the wedding to snatch the real one's fiancé!"
"Adopted daughter lashes out at her family's chosen heiress after being kicked cut of the wedding
ceremony!"
"Revealing the secrets of the Fletcher family!"
Marissa's thumb lingered on the glowing screen as
she scrolled down. Each article seemed to echo the
same foolish nonsense.
slums, and even after twenty years with the wealthy
Fletchers, she never quite learned their manners.
They said a person carries bad habits in their blood,
impossible to erase no matter their upbringing.
Altogether, she was painted as nothing more than a
pathetic wretch, stripped of any decency or grace.
Insults piled up, each one dirtier than the last, until her name was buried under a mountain of contempt.
It didn't take a genius to notice how many of those voices were paid to steer the crowd's opinion.
"My goodness, how could she be that brazen? She tried to snatch her sister's fiancé!"
"The Fletchers? Never heard of them. Who are they?"
"Word is, they've got money but prefer to keep things quiet."
"Oh, really? Sounds like you know more than you're letting on. Tell us everything."
"It's just another cliché-rich family mess! Don't you people read those novels? The two women were swapped at birth! Look at the pictures yourself. The adopted one looks plain compared to the real daughter."
"Since we're already talking about this, l've got a drama recommendation for you." "If she doesn't know how to do her makeup, she can pay someone to do it."
"Right, that's what I was thinking!"
Despite its place among the top trends, the discussion lacked substance.
Most of the comments were a jumble of nonsense,fueled by trolls and gossipmongers rather than people with sense.
A few users seemed to live for chaos, latching onto popular tags without even glancing at the article,which led to strings of comments that made no sense at all.
Marissa's name was front and center in the trending post, and the mob of trolls followed the trail to the Fletcher Group's official page. The account was flooded with mentions, and the staff behind it didn't dare type a single word in response.
On the screen before her, Marissa pulled up one of the circulating photos and enlarged it. If her name hadn't been plastered on the post, she doubted she would have recognized the woman in the picture.
The image had been distorted beyond reason-her skin roughened, freckles multiplied, blemishes deepened, and someone had even painted a garish shade of red across her lips.
As if that weren't enough, the photo showed her with jutting teeth and limp strands of thinning hair.
One glance at it could send a child wailing through the night.
It was obvious that whoever had done this bore deep resentment. They had gathered countless pictures of her, twisted them mercilessly, and crafted a version of her that even her closest friends wouldn't believe was real.
The amount of time spent on such cruelty was almost impressive.
A faint laugh escaped Marissa. She continued scrolling,amused at the wave of comments flooding in-praising the real daughter for her grace while tearing down the fake one for her lack of shame.
Marissa skimmed through the posts with sharp focus, her quick memory catching every detail boefore she slipped her phone back into her purse.
All that effort and money had been wasted. She could leave the place right now, and no one would even realize she was Marissa.
Her fingers brushed against her chin as an idea began to take shape in her mind.
Nearby, Theodore had witnessed almost everything she'd seen.
He lowered his gaze to study her face, his lips tightening slightly. A subtle movement of his throat followed as he tried to steady the flicker of emotion in his eyes.
She carried herself with far more strength than he'd expected, and that spared him from offering any words of comfort.
However, he couldn't decide whether her composure made him relieved or uneasy.
A short distance away, a couch waited quietly for guests in the corner of the hall.
Theodore's gaze lingered on Marissa for only a moment before he moved without warning. In one smooth motion, he lifted her into his arms and carried her toward the couch, lowering her onto the cushions with deliberate care.
A quiet breath escaped her lips as surprise flickered across her face, realizing his gesture had crossed a line.
Even so, she found no discomfort in his nearness.The thought of stepping back never once crossed her mind.
A wave of contemplation followed.
She had always believed she wasn't the kind of woman easily moved by a man's charm. When her eyes caught the sharp edges of his profile,she gave a subtle nod to herself. In her mind,Theodore was bound to be her husband.
Once she was steady on her feet, Theodore reached into his suit, pulled out his phone, scrolled to a name,and typed a brief message before sending it.