The Princess They Made Me Out To Be, The Starving Girl I Was Chapter 07

The Princess They Made Me Out To Be, The Starving Girl I Was Chapter 07

The next day, all original show assignments were canceled.

The wooden courtyard table was replaced with a conference-style one, and the livestream headline no longer mentioned “reforming a spoiled rich girl.”

Lucas sat at the center, far more solemn than before.

Mom had called in her brother Bertrand, a lawyer.

He entered carrying a briefcase and an insulated food bag, setting the latter before me first. “Oatmeal, boiled egg, warm milk. The doctor recommends small, frequent meals.”

I glanced toward Mom, but Bertrand spoke calmly, “Don’t look to her for permission. Eat if you’re hungry. Food isn’t a reward.”

That sentence struck me to the core.

With Thomas, meals had always been conditional prizes-$300 for good behavior, leftovers only if

I held my tongue, approval only if I never complained.

I opened the oatmeal and ate slowly, spoonful by spoonful.

At nine-thirty, Thomas arrived with Lidia and Seth.

Lidia wore sunglasses and spoke sharply the moment she stepped through the gate. “We’re willing to talk, but there’s no need for such a dramatic spectacle.”

“The boy is still young,” Bertrand repeated flatly, “yet he seemed perfectly capable of handling expensive splurges when it was his own family spending the money.”

Seth’s face flushed pale, then red.

The livestream went live.

Bertrand opened the first stack of documents. “Exhibit A: all funds Ms. Sullivan transferred to Mr.

Lane over the past four years.”

Itemized records appeared on the monitor: fixed $30,000 monthly plus additional payments for tuition, medical bills, clothing, and stipends. The grand total reached $1,964,000-all bearing my

name in the memo line.

Staring at that number, my hands and feet went numb.

More than 1.9 million dollars, while I’d cut overnight pads in half to use during the day to save

money, walked five miles in freezing winter to avoid bus fare, and filled my stomach with hot water to skip dinner.

Next came my personal bank records showing roughly $300 monthly deposits, followed by campus grocery purchases alarmingly low.

Then Jenna appeared on video, eyes swollen, clutching my handwritten expense notebook.

“I’m Hazel’s roommate. She isn’t faking poverty or dieting; many days she simply can’t afford enough food.”

She flipped to pages of scribbled debts: Owed Jenna: breakfast $3, painkillers $12, hot-water bottle $19.90, one egg $1.50.

Her voice cracked. “Hazel tracks every borrowed egg. People claim she spends thirty thousand a month–I want to ask where exactly that money is going?”

Mom turned away, shoulders trembling faintly.

Bertrand then displayed Thomas’s transaction log: within days of each $30,000 deposit, most

funds were forwarded to Lidia.

Large-ticket purchases followed immediately-Seth’s prep school tuition, private coaching,

gaming PC, overseas camps, designer streetwear, Lidia’s spa packages and luxury shopping sprees.

One entry stood out painfully: a downtown condominium down payment registered under Seth’s

name.

Mom’s voice turned as cold as ice. “While my daughter survived on free cafeteria broth, you spent her money buying an apartment for Seth?”

Lidia grew flustered and defensive. “That was money Thomas chose to give Seth for his future! Besides, Hazel is a girl. She’ll get married someday. What does she need so much money for?”

A heavy silence fell.

Studying her face, fragments of the past clicked into place: why fridge food never felt mine, why Seth’s trophies lined the shelves, why I felt like a guest in my own home while he acted as master.

In their eyes, I would leave eventually; my money could stay right where it was–for them.

I asked quietly, “So you knew all along that the money was meant for me?”

Lidia’s features stiffened. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

Bertrand brought up a chat log on screen.

Messages Lidia had sent to Thomas:

[Has Miranda’s transfer arrived? Seth’s school is pressing for payment.]

[Keep Hazel on three hundred a month. Don’t give her more. She’s timid; she won’t dare question

it.]

[Keep telling Miranda she wastes money. If she ever sends funds directly to Hazel, we’ll be in

trouble.]

Thomas’s replies appeared underneath: [Don’t worry. I’ll manage it.]

The next page displayed messages Thomas had sent to Miranda:

[Hazel ordered takeout again, over two hundred dollars for one meal.]

[She complains the home-cooked meals are not good enough.]

er classmates carry designer handbags, and now she wants one too.]

estly can’t discipline her any longer.]

Several screenshots were attached.

Bertrand zoomed in for the camera. “Mr. Lane, you blamed every purchase made by your second wife and stepson on your biological daughter.”

Thomas’s face drained of color.

Mom fixed her gaze on him. “You convinced me she was hopelessly spoiled while making her believe I didn’t want her. You profited from driving a wedge between mother and daughter, turning us against each other.”

Seth suddenly slammed his phone hard down onto the table. “Enough! You rich people love tallying every dollar! What’s wrong with me spending a little? Uncle Thomas chose to give it to me!”

I looked straight at him and gave a faint, bitter laugh.

“You wear $20,000 sneakers and mock me for eating cornbread. You bought an apartment with my money, lived off what was mine, and say a girl like me has no right to a home once married. Seth,

you certainly know how to spend far better than I ever did.”

His face flushed an ugly red. He couldn’t find a single retort.