Alpha Donovan, my—no, Daisy’s—father, stepped onto the dais, his voice booming through the room.
“Tonight, we celebrate the return of our real daughter, Daisy,” he announced, his tone filled with pride and emotion. “She has endured so much, suffered greatly, but now she’s back where she belongs. From this day forward, she will be cherished and treasured as she deserves.”
Applause erupted, loud and enthusiastic. I stood at the edge of the crowd, feeling like a ghost.
“She’s stunning,” someone whispered behind me.
“Poor Daisy. Imagine what she went through while Remi was here, living her life,” another added.
My cheeks burned as I heard their words, my heart sinking lower with every hushed comment.
“She’s a fake,” one voice muttered.
“Just look at her,” another said with a sneer. “What a joke.”
My throat tightened, and I swallowed the lump forming there. I wanted to disappear, to vanish into thin air.
“Remi.”
The voice jolted me, and I turned to see Daisy approaching, a glass of red wine in her hand. Her smile was sweet, but her eyes were sharp, glinting with something darker.
“Are you happy with what you see?” she asked, her tone laced with mockery.