They Accused Me of Seducing My Foster Father

The first time Ethan Chase's fiance, Stella Grant, saw me, she was instantly hostile.

One evening, I came out of Ethan's bedroom wearing my pajamas.

Stella glared at me viciously, then whispered to Ethan in private:

Is that foster daughter of yours deliberately trying to seduce you? She's only twelve years younger than you. She's a woman now.

From that point on, Ethan became very cold toward me.

Soon after, they got married and left the country for their honeymoon.

Ethan left me in the care of his younger brother, Jasper Chase.

When Jasper saw me, his face was full of disgust:

"So you're the kid my brother adopted? Stella told me you've been trying to seduce him, huh?"

I hurriedly explained:

"No, that's not true. That day I was washing my hair and the showerhead broke..."

Jasper kicked the sofa with a sinister smile:

"Cut the crap. Go make me dinner."

After that, he made me wash his sneakers in freezing cold water in the dead of winter. When I cooked, he complained it was too salty.

When I made tea, he complained it was too hot.

The worst time was when my teacher came for a home visit. He said:

"Her? She came from an orphanage. No manners. You teachers need to keep a close eye on her."

I stood in the kitchen doorway holding a fruit plate, forcing back tears.

Steam swirled around me as I stepped out of the first-floor bathroom.

The crystal chandelier in the living room was blindingly bright. I instinctively lowered my head, wanting to quickly slip back upstairs to my room, but a figure blocked my path.

It was Ethan's fiance, Stella Grant.

She wore a wine-red silk dress, her long curled hair casually draped over her shoulders. Her makeup was flawless, her nails long and beautifully painted.

I clutched the corner of my pajama dress tightly. Under her scrutinizing gaze, I felt completely exposed.

"Hello, Miss Grant."

I greeted her quietly.

She didn't respond. Those slightly upturned eyes swept over me from head to toe.

There was no warmth in that gaze. It was like looking at a cheap decoration placed in the wrong spot.

I was so embarrassed I wished I could find a crack in the floor to crawl into.

The showerhead in the second-floor guest bathroom was broken, and Martha had told me to temporarily use the bathroom in Ethan's master bedroom on the first floor.

I hadn't expected to run into his rightful fiance at such an unfortunate moment.

Stella finally withdrew her gaze and turned to Martha, her voice soft:

"Martha, who is this?"

Martha quickly explained:

"Miss Grant, this is the young lady the master brought back from the orphanage recently... Miss Winters. Ava."

"Oh? An adopted child."

Stella drew out her words and gave a light laugh.

"Ethan is so kindhearted. However..."

She paused, her eyes contemptuous:

"She must be sixteen or seventeen now, right? At that age, still living under the same roof as her guardian? That doesn't look good for Ethan's reputation."

My entire body stiffened. My blood seemed to freeze instantly.

I could feel the malice wrapped in her words, like countless tiny needles stabbing into my fragile, sensitive self-esteem.

Martha tried to help me:

"Miss Grant, Ava is a good girl..."

"Martha."

Stella interrupted her, her tone still gentle.

"You're just a housekeeper. When did it become your place to speak about Chase family matters?"

Having said that, she gracefully walked over to the sofa and sat down, as if nothing had happened.

I didn't dare stay any longer. I practically fled upstairs and shut myself in my room.

My heart pounded wildly in my chest. Stella's words circled in my mind like a curse.

I had only been in this so-called "home" for three months.

To me, Ethan was more like a cold benefactor than a father.

He gave me a place to stay, an expensive private school education, but withheld any warm glances.

I desperately tried to minimize my presence, just to have a place where I belonged.

But Stella's appearance reminded me that I was ultimately an outsider living under someone else's roof.

From that day on, I began deliberately avoiding her.

Whenever she came over, I locked myself in my room. I even avoided going downstairs for water.

I naively thought that as long as I didn't appear in front of her, we could coexist peacefully.

Until that dinner, when Ethan was also present.

In front of him, Stella pulled out a blue letter and placed it on the dining table.

My heart skipped a beat. I instinctively gripped my fork tighter.

That letter was mine.

I had written it a few days ago to thank Ethan and wish him a happy Father's Day.

Since he wasn't home at the time, I had left it on his study desk.

How did Stella get this letter?

"Ethan,"

Stella began, her voice like poison coated in sugar.

"I know Ava is young and doesn't understand things well. But we should guide her properly."

Hearing this, Ethan put down his knife and fork. His gaze shifted to me, his eyes probing.

I was so nervous I could barely breathe. I hurried to explain:

"Sir, that was a thank-you letter I wrote..."

"A thank-you letter?"

Stella laughed lightly, cutting me off.

She elegantly picked up the letter, her slender fingers brushing the edge of the paper.

Holding it up to the light, she read in an almost lyrical tone:

"Thank you for giving me a home so I no longer have to wander. I will study hard and live up to your expectations."

She paused, then her tone sharpened, her eyes suddenly piercing:

"Ava, these words are beautifully written. But how do you explain this last sentence?"

I looked at her blankly.

Then I saw her red lips part as she read in French:

"I love you, and I want to be the one who holds your hand for life."

My mind went blank with a buzzing sound.

"I didn't write that!"

I shot to my feet. The chair scraped loudly against the floor.

"I never wrote anything like that!"

"You didn't?"

Stella pushed the letter toward Ethan, pointing at the line at the bottom.

"Ethan, look at this handwriting. How could it not be hers?"

I rushed forward to grab the letter, but Ethan's icy glare stopped me.

His eyes lingered on the paper for a moment. His brow furrowed almost imperceptibly.

"Sir, it really wasn't me!"

Tears welled up in my eyes. My voice trembled with fear.

"The last line of my thank-you letter was wishing you a happy Father's Day!"

Stella let out a timely sigh, her tone full of helplessness and tolerance:

"Ava, don't be scared. I know you're dependent on Ethan. That's normal. But this kind of feeling is unhealthy and must be corrected early. You're still young. You have a long road ahead. You can't waste your thoughts on the wrong things."

Every word sounded like she was looking out for me.

But every sentence was nailing me to the pillar of shame for "improper thoughts."

Ethan finally spoke, his voice devoid of warmth: "That's enough."

He adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses. The lenses reflected a cold light.

"Ava, your priority is your studies."

He looked at me, his gaze distant, as if looking at a troublesome stranger.

"I don't want anything like this to happen again."

My heart sank, cold as if it had fallen into an icy pit.

He believed her. He didn't even give me a chance to defend myself before condemning me.

"Stella and I are going to Europe for our honeymoon next week."

Ethan's voice was calm.

"During that time, I'll have Jasper move in to supervise your studies."

Jasper Chase.

Ethan's good-for-nothing younger brother who did nothing but fool around.

The day after Ethan and Stella left, the doorbell rang.

I opened the door to see Jasper's impatient face.

He didn't even look at me properly. He barged past me, bumping my shoulder, and walked right in.

He casually tossed a suitcase into the living room.

With a clatter, he threw a set of car keys at me.

The sharp metal edges hit my cheekbone precisely. It stung painfully.

"Hey, I'm staying in the south-facing room on the second floor. Take my stuff up there."

He gestured toward the suitcase with his chin, his tone commanding.

"Don't touch my things with your dirty hands. Use gloves."

He looked at me like I was garbage that spread disease.

From that day on, my nightmare officially began.

He would come home at midnight covered in mud after partying outside, then throw his limited-edition sneakers at my feet.

"They're dirty. Wash them."

It was winter. The water from the balcony faucet was as cold as ice.

I scrubbed those shoes that cost more than all my clothes combined.

My fingers turned bright red from the cold and nearly lost all feeling.

He leaned against the doorframe watching me the whole time, a malicious smile playing at his lips.

He would violently bang on my bedroom door in the middle of the night, demanding I make him a late-night snack.

But after I finished cooking, he would complain:

"This tastes awful! Like pig slop."

At first, I would argue back. Eventually, I became numb.

I silently cleaned up the mess, telling myself I'd move out once I had the means.

The real breaking point came the day Ms. Smith made her home visit.

Ms. Smith praised me profusely, saying that although I was introverted, my grades were stable and I was a promising student.

I kept my head down, nervously clutching my clothes, but felt a rare warmth in my heart.

Then Jasper came downstairs in a tank top and slippers.

He grabbed an apple from the table, took a bite, and smiled maliciously at my teacher:

"Ms. Smith, you really need to give her a good talk. After all, she's a wild child from an orphanage. My brother's giving her a chance to study, which isn't easy. She shouldn't be getting improper ideas."

The smile on Ms. Smith's face froze instantly.

The home visit ended abruptly.

The next day, rumors about me being an orphan somehow spread throughout school.

My desk was vandalized with drawings. My textbooks were torn. People pointed and whispered about me in the hallways.

That day after school, as soon as I walked in the door, Jasper cornered me in the entryway.

He held a note in his handone my deskmate had written asking about a math problem.

But he waved that note in front of my face, his tone both flippant and vicious:

"Oh, can't control yourself already? Hooking up with male classmates now? What, you planning to write him a love letter too?"

"'I love you and want to be the one who holds your hand for life.'"

He deliberately mimicked Stella's tone, humiliating me word by word.

In that instant, all my pent-up emotions exploded like a volcano.

The rational string in my mind finally snapped.

I don't know where the strength came from, but I shoved him aside, spun around, and grabbed the heavy jade sculpture from the entryway table.

With all my strength, I hurled it at his face!

"Shut up!"

I screamed hysterically, tears flooding out.

"Why does everyone keep bullying me! What did I do wrong!"

He dodged.

The jade sculpture shattered at his feet.

I stood there like a cornered animal, chest heaving violently, glaring at him with all my might.

I expected him to rage like usual, to grab me by the hair and throw me out.

But he didn't.

Jasper just stood there. The mockery and malice on his face slowly faded.

For the first time, he looked at me with an expression I couldn't read.

Silence stretched between us, suffocating and oppressive.

After a long while, he finally moved, turning and walking into the kitchen.

Soon, a chaotic clattering sound came from inside, like a battle.

Half an hour later, he emerged carrying a bowl of noodles and placed it on the coffee table in front of me.

The bowl was... a disaster. The noodles were clumped together. Half-cooked vegetable leaves floated on top, along with a burned fried egg.

"Today is your birthday, right?"

His voice was stiff, with an unnatural awkwardness.

"My brother told me to watch over you carefully. Keep you from learning bad things outside."

He explained clumsily, as if trying to find a lame excuse for all his previous cruelty.

I looked at that bowl that was supposedly "longevity noodles." My heart felt nothing.

I said nothing. I turned and walked straight upstairs.

That night, I finally understood everything clearly.

Ethan's adoption was nothing more than a charity show to boost his reputation.

My father had been one of Ethan's founding employees. He and my mother died in a car accident while on a business trip.

I was sent to the orphanage. It was years before Ethan remembered me.

He didn't need a daughter. He just needed a prop to demonstrate his benevolence.

Early the next morning, before dawn, I grabbed the worn duffel bag I had arrived with and left that luxurious prison without looking back.

I returned to the orphanage.

When the director saw my pale face, she sighed and pulled me into her arms, gently patting my back.

"Ava, eat something first."

Just that one embrace broke me. I hugged her and sobbed uncontrollably.

That evening, an international call came through.

It was Ethan.

His voice carried the tone of a superior placating a subordinate:

"Ava, stop throwing a tantrum. Jasper doesn't know better. I'll discipline him. Wait until Stella and I come back to handle this."

I gripped the receiver, listening to him with unusual calm.

"Mr. Chase,"

I spoke softly, surprising even myself with how calm I sounded.

"I just have one question for you."

There was a pause on the other end.

"Do you really believe I wrote that French love letter? I've never even taken a French class at school."