"Honey, Jayce is already in this state. Are you sure we should still invite reporters to expose his... twisted sexual orientation and reckless promiscuity?"
Clara hesitated for a moment before responding firmly, "Yes! He’s already ruined, a little more filth won’t make a difference. Those software competition judges despise personal scandals. This will be a good opportunity to break his spirit—it’s for his own good."
Then, she added carefully, "Make sure the specialists are ready. The moment the reporters leave, they can start treating him."
Wyatt nodded repeatedly.
I lay motionless on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling.
Silent tears streamed down my face, burning hot.
Clara knew—she had always known.
She knew that I was switched at birth, that I suffered endless hardships growing up, that I had to work ten times harder than anyone else to become a software developer.
And yet, with a single sentence, she erased everything I had built.
If I had known that returning to my biological family would be worse than death, I would have rather been beaten to death by my adoptive father back then.
—
An hour later, a swarm of reporters suddenly burst into my hospital room.