Chapter 307

As we walked through the lavish home, Mia greeted everyone with a warm smile, introducing me as her beloved daughter. The opulent surroundings seemed to amplify the tension, and Timothy's presence became an unspoken challenge. Mia, however, glossed over any potential discomfort, determined to maintain a facade of familial bliss.

All around, I felt the scrutinizing eyes of Timothy's family on me. The air was thick with unspoken judgment, and I couldn't bear the weight of their assumptions. Looping my arm through Timothy's, I made a silent statement of solidarity. It was a small act, but it spoke volumes about our commitment to each other.

Timothy leaned in, his voice low and filled with concern. "Evie, maybe it would've been better for me to lay low tonight. My family members can be…opportunistic when it comes to drama."

I shook my head, determination in my eyes. "Let them talk, Timothy. We have nothing to hide, and I won't let them dictate how we have fun tonight."

The family gathering appeared pleasant at first. Polite smiles and small talk masked the underlying tension. However, as the questions about Mia and my lives started pouring in, the atmosphere took a turn for the worse.

Mia took on an air of grandeur as she spoke, weaving a web of lies about our backgrounds. "Evie and I come from a wealthy background," she declared, her tone oozing with false pride.

My eyes widened in disbelief. I knew we had our struggles, but Mia seemed intent on projecting an image that was far from the truth. As the family members leaned in, curious about our supposedly affluent lives, Mia continued her fabrications.

"We've claimed many eligible, wealthy men in our lifetime," she bragged, a sly smile playing on her lips.

I shot her a disapproving look, my frustration simmering beneath the surface. I couldn't understand why she felt the need to create such a fantastical narrative. The gap between truth and fiction widened with every word she spoke.

Timothy, sensing the discomfort, turned to me with a raised eyebrow. I decided to step in while the others fawned over my mother’s stories. "Mom, we don't need to exaggerate. You don’t owe these people some grand fairytale about our lives."

Mia waved him off dismissively. "Oh, Evie, you're too modest. We have to make an impression, don't we?"

I gritted my teeth, torn between exposing the truth and maintaining a semblance of peace. "Mom, this isn't necessary. We don't need to pretend to be something we're not."

But Mia was relentless in her charade, spinning a web of lies that became increasingly intricate. The family members, caught up in the allure of supposed wealth and social status, seemed oblivious to the deception. While their judgmental looks seemed to lessen, it did little to calm my nerves.

As the evening progressed, I found myself cornered by a particularly nosy aunt who seemed intent on prying into our fabricated lives. "Tell me, dear, which wealthy families do you associate with? Any notable connections?"

I took a deep breath, struggling to maintain composure. I didn’t want them to find out from me that my mother was a liar. "Uh, let me get back to you on that one. So many people in one lifetime."

The aunt's eyes narrowed, a skeptical look on her face. "You can't fool us, dear. Your mother has always been quite the socialite. Wealth and connections run in your blood. You ought to know some at the top of your head."

I exchanged a glance with Timothy, frustration etched on both our faces. Timothy, sensing the need for a change of atmosphere, suggested, "Perhaps we should join the others in the main hall?”

I nodded, grateful for the opportunity to escape the onset of questions. As we mingled in other parts of the house, the weight of Mia's falsehoods pressed upon me, each lie a reminder of the stark contrast between the fabricated reality and the hardships of our past.

Mia's claim that we hailed from a wealthy background rattled me to my core. My memories flashed back to my lower middle-class father, struggling to pay bills and drowning his sorrows in alcohol. I had to chip in at a young age to make ends meet. The stark contrast between Mia's illusions and the reality of our past was both infuriating and disheartening.

Timothy, catching the unease in my expression, leaned in and whispered, "Why would your mother lie about something like that?"

I shook my head, unable to comprehend Mia's motives. "I have no idea, Timothy. It's as if she's living in a different world altogether."

The tension in the air thickened, and I couldn't bear the charade any longer. "Let's just separate from her. I can't handle this," I suggested, my frustration boiling over.

But Mia, oblivious to the storm brewing within, clung to us, hoping we would run into Kamran together. Her persistence only fueled my anger. "Mom, we need some space. We'll catch up with you later," I asserted, attempting to extricate ourselves from the tangled mess.

As we navigated the crowd, attempting to distance ourselves from Mia's elaborate falsehoods, we ran into a woman. Mia’s face lit up and she pulled me along as she rushed toward her.

"Mia, darling! It's been ages!" The woman exclaimed, her tone carrying a surprising amount of warmth.

Mia returned the greeting with a smile, and as they exchanged pleasantries, my eyes fell upon the woman. Something about her seemed vaguely familiar, and I struggled to place where I might have seen her before. Mia, sensing my confusion, turned towards me.

"Evie, meet Monica Fitzgerald. She's Mr. Fitzgerald's wife," Mia introduced, her voice carrying a note of sincerity.

Monica extended her hand with a friendly smile. "Nice to meet you, Evie. I've heard so much about you from Mia."

The name sent a jolt of recognition through me. Mrs. Fitzgerald – Stella's mother. It clicked, and I suddenly recalled the face that had adorned countless social events with Stella. The woman standing before me was no stranger; she was Monica Fitzgerald, Stella's mother. The realization struck me with a force I hadn't anticipated.

"Oh, I see," I managed to respond, my voice feigning casualness as I shook Monica's hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Fitzgerald."

Monica's eyes sparkled with a mix of warmth and grief. "Please, call me Monica. And it's truly a pleasure, though I wish it were under different circumstances."

I forced a smile, the weight of unspoken truths hanging between us. Stella's passing remained a delicate topic, one that cast a shadow over the festivities. Monica's gaze, however, seemed free from any preconceived notions, and I couldn't help but wonder why.

"I've been away on vacation," Monica explained, her eyes filled with a mix of sorrow and exhaustion. "I only just learned about Stella, and I rushed back as soon as I could."

My discomfort grew as I realized that Monica hadn't recognized me as the supposed "enemy" in Stella's life. It was an unexpected twist in the narrative, leaving me with a mix of relief and confusion. Stella's perception of our relationship had been one fraught with tension and attempted murder, yet Monica seemed oblivious to any animosity.

"I'm so sorry for your loss, Monica," I offered, my words genuine despite the complexities of our past.

Monica's smile wavered, a flicker of gratitude in her eyes. "Thank you, Evie. Life is unpredictable, isn't it? We never expect to lose someone so young. But we must find a way to carry on."

As I nodded, Monica’s attention shifted to the figure standing beside me. I hadn’t even realized Timothy had been catching up the whole time, though I was sure that was Mia’s plan.

Monica’s demeanor shifted abruptly as she spotted Timothy. Without warning, she started screaming, her voice piercing through the gathering.