The Princess They Made Me Out To Be, The Starving Girl I Was Chapter 05

The Princess They Made Me Out To Be, The Starving Girl I Was Chapter 05

The live broadcast paused immediately. I was escorted into a private lounge where the doctor told

me to lean back and stop eating.

A glass of water and stomach medication sat on the table.

I stared at the pills, cold sweat dampening my palms.

I had ruined everything.

Thomas had warned me never to mention money on camera, yet I’d told the entire live audience. What would happen to next month’s $300?

The door swung open. Mom stepped inside in a tailored black suit, hair disheveled as if she’d run

straight over.

I stood up automatically. “Mom.”

She halted by the doorway, looking me over. Her expression wasn’t the icy anger I’d expected;

shock, raw agony, white-hot rage, and something I dared not name-regret-swirled in her eyes.

“Sit down,” she said hoarsely. “The doctor says your stomach hurts badly.”

I slowly sank back.

She walked over and knelt right in front of me.

She knelt before me, brushing fingertips across my palm marked with indentations from gripping the wicker basket. Her fingers twitched. “Does it hurt?”

I shook my head. “It’s fine.”

The lie sounded ridiculous even to my own ears. I always answered that way, pretending I was never

hurting.

Mom squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them, she held out her smartphone. “Hazel, look at

this.”

The screen displayed a long list of bank transfers.

[Recipient: Thomas.]

[Amount: $30,000.]

[Note: Hazel monthly living and food expenses.]

Every first day of the month, without a single break.

I stared at that huge number, stunned, as if struck by a physical blow.

Thirty thousand dollars. Not three hundred.

Mom scrolled further down the history.

[Hazel university start-up fund, $20,000.]

[Hazel seasonal wardrobe allowance, $6,000.]

[Hazel dental and medical check-up, $10,000.]

[Hazel nutritional stipend, $8,000.]

Every line item bore my name. Each transfer glared up at me, exposing years of quiet deprivation

I’d endured.

I could

rds. “All of this… was meant for me?”

I assumed you received every cent.”
were too young to manage large sums without squandering everything. He

old the money and budget it responsibly for you.”

me even thirty thousand was never enough, that you splurged constantly on takeout, ry, and designer clothes.”

e said you were endlessly greedy and ungrateful. And I believed him.”

Her voice shook violently. “I can’t believe I believed every lie.”

My phone had been returned by the staff, and I fumbled to open my bank transaction log.

I typed my passcode wrong twice before finally accessing the records.

The list was pitifully short.

[Sender: Thomas.]

[$300.]

[$300.]

[$300.]

One month only $280.

His attached notes were tiny, precise cuts.

[Don’t waste it.]

[Enough for meals.]

[Don’t trouble your mother.]

[Asking for more gets you nothing.]

I handed my phone to Mom. “This is all I ever received. I never knew you sent so much money. I

always thought you…”

I couldn’t finish the sentence.

I had thought you’d given up on me.

I had thought I was nothing but a burden to you.

I had blamed myself, convinced I was incompetent and wasteful even with a measly $300, always going hungry.

Mom scanned my sparse history and froze as though wrapped in ice.

She didn’t sob loudly; heavy tears splattered onto the glass screen.

She wiped them away, but more kept falling.

Seconds later, she stood up and called out firmly. “Lucas.”

Lucas pushed the lounge door open. “Ms. Sullivan?”

Mom placed both smartphones side-by-side on the coffee table: her thirty-thousand-dollar transfers beside my three-hundred-dollar deposits. The contrast was brutal, truth laid bare

between two screens.

“Reconnect the live feed. Get Thomas on camera now and demand an explanation.”

Lucas’s expression turned grave. “This is deeply private family business. Are you certain you want

to broadcast this live?”

Mom lifted her head, gaze sharp and unflinching.

“When my daughter was paraded on this show branded a spoiled brat, starving so badly she clung to cornbread, he didn’t worry about privacy. Now it’s his turn to face the cameras and answer for

what he’s done,”

Ten minutes later, the livestream resumed

Thomas appeared via video call from his living room.

Behind him stretched a new display cabinet packed with model kits, sneaker boxes, and collectibles

all belonging to Seth Fox.

Lidia Fox sat neatly beside him, makeup perfect, Seth slouched lazily, showing off crisp white designer sneakers.

Thomas sighed, “Miranda, don’t let a few emotional words from our daughter mislead you. At her

age,

she will manufacture any sob story to win sympathy,”

Mom cut through his performance without hesitation, holding, both phones close to the lens.

“Thomas, every month I send $30000 to you, clearly noted for Hazel’s food and living costs. Why

has she only ever gotten $300 in her bank account?”