NovelReadingChapter 7
“You'll walk normally with proper physical therapy,” the Swiss surgeon explained. “But professional
ballet is unfortunately no longer possible.”
With those words, my dream of returning to the stage evaporated completely.
Over espresso on the clinic's terrace, Grand-pére revealed a stunning truth: he had quietly bankrolled Dad's
startup years ago, channeling millions through shell companies.
“I thought | was helping Elise,” he said, his accent thickening with emotion. “Instead, | financed the lifestyle that
allowed Maxwell to pursue Camilla while my daughter withered away.”
His weathered hands trembled slightly as he set down his cup. “Not only am | liquidating every Rousseau
investment in DagIndustries, but I've instructed our board to systematically acquire their competitors. Your
father’s company won't survive the quarter.”
For three months, | underwent intensive rehabilitation in the private Alpine clinic.
Those first nights were torture-even with pharmaceutical-grade sedatives, I'd wake up screaming, feeling
phantom hands breaking my bones all over again.
Grand-peére would appear within moments, taking the chair beside my bed to share what little he knew of my
mother’s brief twith the Rousseaus.
His stories felt maddeningly incomplete-he could only describe how she color-coded her notes at university, how
she would practice her ballet positions while waiting for elevators, how she never abandoned a goal once she'd
Follow on NovᴇlEnglish.nᴇtset her mind to it.
Our roles gradually reversed. | found myself filling in the twenty years he'd missed-her silent 3 a.m. crying
sessions in the kitchen when she thought everyone was asleep, the way she’d flinch whenever Dad raised his
voice, how she'd spend hours perfecting my ballet buns because it reminded her of her own shattered dreams.
Grand-pere listened intently, his eyes growing heavier with each story. “I will never forgive myself for failing
Elise,” he finally said. “That debt remains unpayable. But you, Valentina-I've restructured everything. The entire
Rousseau Group will pass to you alone.”
| remained silent, wondering if perhaps Mom had simply exchanged one toxic family dynamic for another. Had
Grand-peére once favored his adopted daughter just as Dad had chosen Victoria? Was
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Chapter 7
that why Mom had cut all ties?
Those answers died with her.
After the third reconstructive surgery, | studied my reflection in the mirror. The scars had virtually disappeared.
But the surgeons had done something else-something I'd specifically requested.
Before, I'd been unmistakably Maxwell Dagonet’s daughter. “Carbon copy” was the phrase everyone
used.
Now, every trace of that resemblance had been methodically erased.
“Do | look like my mother now?” | asked the surgeon.
“The bone structure, the eye shape-yes, you favor MadElise considerably more,” he confirmed.
Perfect. I'd severed the last physical connection to the Dagname.
When I finally powered on my phone after three months, a cascade of notifications nearly crashed
the device.
Somehow Dad had traced this number. During my silence, he and Caspian had bombardedwith increasingly
frantic messages:
[Val, please just let us know you're alive. | haven't slept in days. The police think you might have harmed
yourself]
[I was a monster. | see that now. | chose Victoria over my own daughter. | let those men hurt you. | can never
undo what I've done, but please don’t punish yourself for my sins.]
[Your room is exactly as you left it. | sit there every night. Those Misty Copeland posters you wanted that | said
were too expensive? | covered your ceiling with them. Please chome.]
Caspian had gone public with a series of raw confession videos that had gone viral across every platform,
detailing his role in my destruction while sobbing uncontrollably.
“They're destroying themselves,” Grand-pere observed dispassionately over breakfast. “Your father has
abandoned board meetings to search for you. Dagstock has plummeted 68% in three months. They've had
to lay off hundreds of employees.”
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Chapter 7
Follow on Novᴇl-Onlinᴇ.cᴏm| spread marmalade on my toast, unmoved. “How unfortunate for them.”
Despite my continued silence, the messages arrived daily, growing increasingly desperate.
Through them, I learned the aftermath of my security footage leak. The public reaction had been
nuclear.
Initially, Victoria had been America’s sweetheart-the innocent victim of her psychotic stepsister. #ProtectVictoria
had trended for days.
When the hospital surveillance video exposed her elaborate scheme, the backlash was catastrophic. She'd been
forced to withdraw from SAB after death threats. Camilla Winters had taken her into hiding somewhere in
Europe.
| set down my phone. Their felt like a movie I'd walked out of halfway-someone else could worry about
the ending.
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