Chapter 208: Were the Johnsons Gold Diggers?
Seaside City. The promotional tour for the new film A Road Full of Blooms was in full swing.
Fans clutched glow sticks and banners, corralled into orderly lines by security, their whispers punctuated by excited squeals.
Suddenly, the crowd surged.
A sleek black sedan rolled to a stop. The director and lead actors emerged one by one. Camera flashes erupted in a blinding storm of light, and the roar of the crowd threatened to blow the roof off.
The female lead waved and smiled at the front. James followed behind, occasionally stopping to sign autographs for overeager fans.
Inside the theater, the host's voice boomed through the microphone, struggling to cut through the deafening cheers.
James offered a gentle smile, raising a finger to his lips in a subtle gesture for quiet.
The venue fell silent almost instantly.
The host exhaled in relief and launched into the day's program.
Emily stood buried in the crowd, her nails digging crescent moons into her palms.
She stared at James on stage—radiant, composed, adored. He smiled warmly as the host interviewed him, basking in the adoration of his fans.
All of this should have been mine too.
"James—"
Her voice cracked, trembling yet clear enough to slice through the entire hall.
The room went dead silent.
James's gaze swept across the audience. The moment his eyes landed on her, his pupils constricted.
"James... do you really not want me anymore?"
Tears brimmed in her reddened eyes, sliding down her cheeks with perfect timing. She swayed unsteadily, as if she might collapse at any moment.
The audience erupted into murmurs.
"Who is she?"
"Wait, she just called him by his first name?"
"Oh my God, I remember now! Isn't she Emily? The one from that whole switched-at-birth scandal with the Smiths five years ago?"
"What's going on? Didn't she abandon the Johnsons for the Smiths' money?"
This was exactly the reaction Emily wanted.
She knew the power of public opinion all too well.
Five years ago, when she'd left the Johnsons, everyone had called her a gold digger and an ungrateful wretch.
But now? She was going to flip the narrative entirely. She'd make everyone believe it wasn't her who abandoned the Johnsons—it was the Johnsons who abandoned her.
Emily's voice broke as she spoke, as though forcing the words through unbearable pain. "I know Sophia is better than me. She grew up with the Smiths. She knows all the right people, has all the right connections. She can bring so much more to the Johnsons than I ever could. And me? I'm nobody. I'd only drag you down..."
"But James..." She lifted her gaze, crystalline tears trembling in her eyes. "I really just... want to come home."
The theater exploded.
"Oh my God, there's so much to unpack here!"
"Wait, so the Johnsons threw out the daughter they raised for seventeen years for money?"
Reporters smelled blood in the water. Cameras flashed frantically. Within seconds, Twitter was on fire—
#JohnsonFamilyGoldDiggers
#JamesJohnsonHeartless
James's expression shifted. The gentle, scholarly warmth vanished, replaced by something frozen and remote.
He hadn't expected Emily to pull this.
Back then, she'd been the one desperate to return to the Smiths, loudly proclaiming that "the Johnsons were bottom-feeders."
And now she was rewriting history, painting herself as the victim the Johnsons had cruelly discarded?
Worse still—it was working.
Sophia's recent birthday gala had showcased her brilliance to the world. The Johnsons' business empire had flourished because of her connections and influence.
Paired with Emily's sob story, it was easy for outsiders to believe the Johnsons had callously traded in one daughter for a more profitable model.
James glanced toward the back of the room. His manager, Calista, stood with her arms crossed, the diamond watch beneath her blazer catching the light.
She tapped the watch face lightly—a silent reminder to clarify the situation now, before the damage became irreversible.
But in the few seconds he hesitated, public opinion had already tipped decisively in Emily's favor.
"The Johnsons are heartless. She was their daughter for seventeen years, and they just threw her away because the biological one was more useful?"
"Poor Emily..."
Emily kept her head lowered, but a faint smirk tugged at her lips.
There was no concrete evidence of who had abandoned whom. The Johnsons couldn't prove otherwise, which meant public opinion would drag them through the mud.
They had two choices now—
Admit they'd "abandoned" her and accept being crucified by the media.
Or take her back. Meanwhile, at Vertex Innovations Group, Sophia was hard at work.
"Ms. Johnson, Emily just crashed the promotional event. The internet's tearing James apart right now. Shouldn't you... do something?" Tony stood beside her desk, tablet in hand, watching as she worked without so much as glancing up.
Sophia didn't lift her eyes from the document in front of her. "If they can't handle something this trivial without me stepping in, then they're worthless to me."
Tony choked on his words.
This is James we're talking about—your own brother! Can you really measure family in terms of value?!
Out of the corner of her eye, Sophia noticed Tony still standing there, frozen. She glanced up. "Anything else?"
"No, ma'am." Tony shook his head quickly and retreated.
The heavy wooden door clicked shut. Sophia closed the folder and pulled up her computer to scan the current online chatter.
Then she smiled.
Emily had been clever—for once. But she was still just a pawn on the board, not the player moving the pieces.
Back at the promotional event.
James walked down from the stage under a barrage of accusatory stares, stopping directly in front of Emily.
He adjusted his cufflinks, then smiled—warm, gentle, disarming.
"Emily, do you remember what you said when you were seven years old?" His smooth voice carried through the microphone, filling the theater.
Emily's expression faltered. How was she supposed to remember something from that long ago?
James pulled out his phone and posted a few updates to Facebook.
A second later, the theater's big screen flickered to life, displaying a video.
In the footage, a young Emily—no more than seven—sat in a lavishly decorated mansion, clutching a plush raccoon doll. She grinned at the camera. "I love the raccoon James gave me! I'm gonna sleep with it every single night!"
Off-camera, a gentle voice—Mary's—asked, "You have so many new stuffed animals. Are you sure you still like the little raccoon?"
"Of course!" Emily's smile was radiant, almost angelic. "I love this raccoon the most—just like I love James the most!"
James swiped his phone screen. Another video began to play.
This time, the setting was not a grand mansion but a cramped, shabby apartment.
Emily stood with her back to the camera, hurling the raccoon doll onto the floor. "Cheap trash! Who wants this garbage?! This dump isn't even as nice as our old garage! Once I'm back with the Smiths, I'll never have to deal with this junk again!"
The theater erupted. Emily's face cycled through shades of white and red.
At that moment, the theater doors burst open.
A young woman in a strappy sundress strutted in on stiletto heels, followed by a crew of professional cameramen.
She stopped in front of Emily, smiling sweetly—though the warmth never reached her eyes. "Emily. Long time no see. Remember me?"