Chapter 34
"I know you're all talking about me." Ondine's voice trembled, as though she were desperately holding back tears. "But those chat logs… I really don't know what's going on. I never told Rachel to do anything. Those screenshots are fake. Someone forged them. I don't know who's trying to frame me, but—"
She lowered her head. A single tear slipped from her eye, landing on the desk and splashing into a tiny bloom.
"But I know that no matter what I say, none of you will believe me."
Sloane stared at the scene, utterly appalled.
She turned to Seraphine and noticed the faint curve at the corner of her mouth—subtle, carrying some unreadable meaning.
Rachel sat in her seat, head bowed, fingers clenched white around her pen.
Gaia sat beside her, equally pale, lips pressed into a thin line.
After Ondine's tear fell, the classroom went silent for a few seconds.
Then someone spoke up. "Ondi, I believe you."
It was a boy sitting in the back row who usually got along well with Ondine.
His voice wasn't loud, but in the quiet room, it rang clear.
Ondine lifted her head, tears shimmering in her eyes, and gave him a grateful smile. "Thank you."
She looked like a good girl misunderstood by the world but still standing strong.
A few more people began to waver.
"Actually, now that I think about it, those screenshots might not be real. What if they were forged?"
"Right, and Ondine is the Windsor family's biological daughter. Why would she need to target a foster daughter?"
"Maybe that Seraphine staged the whole thing herself—framed Ondine just to climb the ladder."
Sloane couldn't take it anymore. She lowered her voice urgently. "Sera, do you hear them? They're saying you framed Ondine! Aren't you going to say something?"
Seraphine turned a page in her notebook, her tone flat. "Say what?"
"Anything! Tell them those screenshots are real! Tell them Ondine's lying!"
Seraphine glanced at her, the corner of her mouth curving slightly. "Do you think anything I say now will make them believe me?"
Sloane paused.
She understood what Seraphine meant. Words wouldn't help now—those who believed already did. Those who didn't wouldn't, no matter what was said.
Ondine's single tear carried more weight than any evidence.
But Sloane couldn't accept it.
Seraphine was the victim. The evidence was real. Ondine was the one pulling strings from behind the scenes.
And yet now, just by shedding a few tears and putting on an act, Ondine had people doubting Seraphine.
"So we just let them twist the truth like this?" Sloane's voice carried a trace of grievance, as though she were the one wronged.
Seraphine smiled faintly.
Back at Windsor Manor.
The moment Ondine walked into the living room, she sensed something was off.
Valencia sat on the sofa, a cup of completely cold tea in front of her.
She hadn't touched it. Her hands were folded neatly on her lap, her posture upright, her expression serious.
Wesley stood by the window, his back to the room, holding an unlit cigarette.
Seraphine sat on a single-seat sofa across from them, flipping through a magazine, her expression calm.
She looked no different than usual.
Ondine's heart sank, but she quickly adjusted her expression, arranging a sweet, obedient smile on her face.
"Dad, Mom, I'm home." Her voice was sugary, tinged with a playful lilt. "There was something at school today, so I came back a bit late. Have you eaten? Should I have the kitchen—"
"Ondi." Valencia cut her off. Her tone wasn't harsh, but it carried an undeniable seriousness. "Sit down. I need to ask you something."
Ondine's smile froze for a fraction of a second.
"Mom, what is it?" Her voice remained sweet, but a flicker of tension appeared in her eyes.
Valencia looked at her and fell silent for several seconds.
In those few seconds, Ondine felt her heartbeat pounding like a drum.
"Something happened at school," Valencia finally said, her tone steady but each word landing with weight. "I've heard some things."
Ondine's heart dropped.
Her mind spun rapidly, but outwardly, she maintained her innocent expression.
"Mom, what did you hear?" She tilted her head slightly, her tone tinged with confusion.
Valencia didn't answer directly.
She picked up her phone from beside her, tapped the screen a few times, then set it on the coffee table and slid it toward Ondine.
On the screen was a screenshot from the class chat.
Not Rachel and Gaia's snide remarks—but a photo of Ondine crying in the classroom.
Someone had taken a picture and captioned it: [Ondine says the chat logs are fake. Do you believe her?]
Ondine stared at the screenshot, her fingers tightening slightly.
"Mom, this—" She looked up, her eyes already reddening, her voice trembling. "I can explain. Those chat logs really are fake. Someone doctored them to frame me. I don't know who did it, but it wasn't me—"
"Ondi." Valencia interrupted her again, her voice firmer than before. "I'm not asking whether the chat logs are real or fake. I'm asking whether you had anyone target your sister at school."
The living room fell silent.
Wesley stood by the window, still facing away, but the fingers holding the cigarette twitched slightly.
Seraphine turned a page in her magazine. The rustle of paper sounded unusually loud in the quiet room.
Ondine's tears fell.
"Mom, I didn't." Her voice cracked, her shoulders trembling. "I really didn't. I don't know anything about those chat logs. I don't know who started those rumors at school. But I never told anyone to target Seraphine. Seraphine is my family. How could I do something like that?"
She cried hard. She cried convincingly. She cried so pitifully that it seemed cruel to press her further.
Valencia watched her in silence for a long time.
Ondine cried harder, tears streaming down her face like broken pearls.
She didn't wipe them away—just let them flow, looking disheveled and helpless.
Valencia's heart softened.
She thought of Ondine as a baby, the first time she'd been brought home—so small, so soft, crying just like this, tears covering her entire face.
She had raised this child for twenty years, watched her grow from an infant into a young woman.
In all those years, Ondi had never done anything out of line.
Maybe she really was overthinking it.
Valencia sighed, pulled two tissues from the box on the table, and handed them to Ondine. "Stop crying. Wipe your face."
Ondine took the tissues and dabbed at her face, but the tears kept coming.
"Mom," her voice was hoarse, "I really didn't do those things. Please believe me."
Valencia looked at her, silent for a moment, then said, "Ondi, I've raised you for twenty years. I choose to believe you."
Ondine's body relaxed slightly.
"But," Valencia's tone suddenly grew heavier, each word landing like a nail driven into wood, "there won't be a next time."