Scrutinizing Angela smiled codly as she recalled all about the betrayal.
Angela adjusted her heels and gown, her heart pounding as she stepped onto the grand stage set up on the beautiful halls.
The entire hall was packed with aristocrate and billionaires. Coming just to celebrate her for her coming of age ceremony.
The crowd stretched endlessly, filled with proud parents, smiling friends, and flashing cameras. For the first time in her life, she felt seen—not as the quiet girl who slipped through life unnoticed, but as someone who mattered.
Her best friend, Amimi, nudged her shoulder. "You've got this," she whispered. "Top of the class and a billionaire's daughter—today's your day, Angela."
Angela smiled faintly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. She didn't feel like a billionaire's daughter most of the time. Her parents, constantly traveling for business, had raised her with more distance than affection. But today, her fiancé Brad had promised something special—something that would change her life forever.
As the ceremony wrapped up, Angela's name was called for the final speech. She walked up to the podium, her hands trembling as she gripped the edges. The sea of faces stared up at her expectantly, and for a moment, she froze.
Then she saw Brad standing near the stage, his calm smile giving her strength. He was her anchor in a world that often felt too big, too cold. With him by her side, she felt invincible.
"Thank you," she began, her voice steadying. "Today is a day I'll never forget. It's not just the end of my time as a student, but the beginning of a future I'm excited to embrace…"
As she spoke, a murmur rippled through the audience. Angela faltered, scanning the crowd. Something was happening—people were whispering, pointing, shifting in their seats.
"Angela!" a voice called out, sharp and accusing. She turned toward the sound, only to see Lilian, her adopted sister, striding forward with a microphone in hand. Dressed in a sleek designer dress, Lilian looked every inch the heiress Angela had always been told she wasn't.
The whispers grew louder as Lilian climbed onto the stage. Angela's stomach twisted.
"What's going on?" she asked, her voice trembling.
Brad stepped up beside Lilian, his face calm, almost smug. He took the microphone from her hand, and the crowd fell silent.
"I have an announcement to make," he began, his voice smooth and confident. "For years, Angela has lived a life that was never hers to begin with. Today, the truth comes out."
Angela blinked, her heart pounding. "What… what are you talking about?"
Brad's gaze locked onto hers, cold and unrelenting. "You're not the daughter of a billionaire, Angela. You were switched at birth. Lilian is the rightful heir—and the woman I intend to marry."
The words hit her like a slap. The crowd erupted into gasps, murmurs, and camera flashes. Angela's chest tightened, her legs unsteady beneath her.
"No," she whispered, shaking her head. "That's not true. It's not possible."
"Oh, it's possible," Lilian said with a cruel smirk. "While you were busy playing princess, I was out there being ignored—watching you steal everything that was meant for me. But not anymore."
Brad turned back to the crowd, his hand resting possessively on Lilian's shoulder. "The engagement is officially called off. My loyalty belongs to Lilian, the true heir. Angela… was nothing more than a mistake."
The words cut deeper than Angela thought possible. A mistake. That's all she had ever been to him.
As the crowd buzzed with gossip and reporters surged forward, Angela's world spun. Her vision blurred, her chest tightening as panic clawed at her throat. She fumbled for her inhaler, her fingers trembling.
"Amimi," she gasped, turning to her best friend. "Help me."
But Amimi stood frozen, avoiding her gaze. Angela's blood ran cold. "You knew, didn't you?" she choked out. "You knew this was coming."
Amimi's silence was louder than any confession.
Angela stumbled backward, her breaths shallow, her heart pounding in her ears. The world felt like it was closing in on her, suffocating her.
And then, as the darkness began to close in, she made a silent vow. But she endured to keep her consciousness.
They thought this was the end.
They thought they could erase her, humiliate her, and leave her broken.
But Angela was nobody no more.
And when she struck back, the world would know it.
---
The cold December air cut through Angela's gown as she stumbled off the stage, her breaths coming in short, panicked gasps. The crowd was a blur of murmurs and flashing lights. Reporters shoved microphones toward her, their questions sharp and invasive.
"Angela, how do you respond to the claims that you're not the Vesper heiress?"
"Did you know about the switch at birth?"
"Are you and Mr. Montgomery officially over?"
The words blended into a deafening roar. Angela clutched her chest, her fingers trembling as she fumbled for her inhaler. She felt her world spinning—Brad's cold betrayal, Lilian's triumphant smirk, Amimi's silence—all replayed in her mind like a cruel, unending loop.
"Miss Vesper! Over here!" someone shouted, but she didn't look up.
She ran.
Her heels clicked frantically against the pavement as she fled the crowd, pushing past onlookers. Snow began to fall in soft, delicate flakes, landing on her hair and melting on her flushed cheeks. The town square was already lit with Christmas lights, their cheerful glow mocking her despair.
At the edge of the park, she collapsed onto a frozen bench, her body wracked with sobs. This was supposed to be her moment. Her victory. Her miracle.
Instead, it was her undoing.
A Christmas carol drifted through the air from a nearby street musician. "Hark! The herald angels sing…" The cheerful tune felt like a cruel joke. She was no angel. She wasn't even Angela anymore. She was nobody.
"Why?" she whispered to no one, her breath visible in the icy air. "Why would they do this to me?"
Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and she hesitated before pulling it out. The screen showed a flood of messages—some from unknown numbers, others from supposed friends.
Angela, I'm so sorry. Are you okay?
Did you really lie about being a Vesper?
You should be ashamed of yourself.
She dropped the phone, letting it clatter onto the snow-dusted ground. She couldn't face it. Not now.
"Get up," a voice in her mind whispered. But she couldn't. Her legs felt like lead, her chest hollow.
As the snow fell harder, blanketing the town in white, Angela closed her eyes. A part of her wished the snow could bury her pain, her shame, her entire existence.
But deep inside, another part of her stirred—a spark she didn't recognize. It wasn't hope or anger. It was something colder. Sharper.
They think I'm nothing now, she thought, her hands curling into fists. They think I'm done.
But I'm not done. Not yet.
Somewhere in the distance, a church bell chimed. Christmas was coming. Angela's heart, fragile and aching, latched onto the idea of a miracle. Not the kind you wished for. The kind you made.
Her Christmas miracle would start here.
And it wouldn't be for her family, her friends, or even her lost love. It would be for herself.
The cold seeped into her bones, but Angela didn't move. Snowflakes clung to her lashes, and her gown felt thin and useless against the freezing wind. A couple walked past, arm in arm, laughing as they admired the glowing Christmas tree in the center of the square.
She hated them.
No. Not them, she realized. She hated what they had—love, security, a life that didn't feel like it could shatter at any moment.
Angela clenched her jaw, forcing the bitter thought aside. She wasn't like this. She didn't want to become this—a jealous, bitter nobody. But how could she not be, when everything she thought was hers had been ripped away in a single afternoon?
Footsteps crunched on the snow behind her. Angela tensed but didn't turn around.
"Angela?" The voice was soft, hesitant.
She looked up and saw Amimi standing a few feet away, bundled in her coat. For a moment, Angela's heart leaped, hoping her best friend had come to comfort her, to apologize.
But the look on Amimi's face wasn't one of remorse. It was guilt.
"You knew," Angela said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Amimi's eyes widened. "Angela, I—"
"Don't lie to me," Angela snapped, surprising even herself. She stood, the frozen bench creaking beneath her. "You knew, didn't you? About Brad, about Lilian, about everything."
"I didn't know how to tell you," Amimi said, her voice trembling. "It all happened so fast. Brad said—"
"Brad said?" Angela's laugh was sharp, bitter. "You've been talking to him? While he was planning to humiliate me in front of everyone?"
"I didn't want to hurt you," Amimi insisted, stepping closer.
Angela took a step back, shaking her head. "You didn't want to hurt me? Then why did you stand there and say nothing while they tore me apart?"
"I thought you'd understand—"
"Understand?" Angela's voice rose. The few people nearby turned to look, their faces curious, judgmental. She didn't care. Let them stare. Let them see the wreckage of her life.
"I've spent my whole life trying to be good enough," Angela said, her voice breaking. "For my family, for Brad, for you. And now I find out none of it was real? That I was never enough because I was never supposed to be anything?"
Amimi reached out, but Angela pulled away. "Don't," she said. "Just… don't."
Tears pricked Amimi's eyes, but Angela didn't care. For once, she didn't care about anyone's feelings but her own.
Without another word, she turned and walked away, her heels crunching on the snow.
Angela wandered through the town, the Christmas lights blurring as tears filled her eyes. She didn't know where she was going—just that she couldn't stop moving.
She ended up outside the Vesper estate, the grand mansion glowing with lights and decorations. It looked like something out of a holiday postcard.
Angela stood there for a long time, staring at the house that had been her home for twenty-two years. The house where she had been loved—or at least, she thought she had been.
Now it was just a building. A building that belonged to someone else.
A car pulled up to the front gate, and Angela stepped back into the shadows. She watched as Lilian stepped out, draped in a fur coat, her heels clicking on the stone driveway. Brad followed, his hand resting on the small of her back.
Angela's chest tightened. She wanted to scream, to cry, to storm up to them and demand answers.
Instead, she turned and walked away.
The cold night air bit at her cheeks as she made her way to the crooked hospital bed. Outside the neon sign flickered, casting an eerie glow on the snow-covered ground. It was a far cry from the luxury she was used to, but she didn't care.
That was how she found herself in an hospital how crude.
Inside the hospital, Angela dropped her gown and shoes onto the floor, curling up on the lumpy bed. She stared at the cracked ceiling, her mind racing.
They thought she was finished. They thought they'd won.
But they were wrong.
Christmas was about miracles, wasn't it?
Angela would make her own miracle.
As far as they had made her life miserable she didn't plan to let them go so easily.
Life was too short to be making more friends rather than foes.