Chapter 597 Not a Biological Daughter
The rain was coming down in sheets, making Michael's mansion look even creepier under the flashes of lightning. Emma stood soaked at the front door, rainwater mixing with her tears as they dripped onto the marble steps. She clutched a butterfly hairpin tightly in her hand, the metal edges digging into her palm, but she didn't feel the pain.
George was right behind her, his face dark with anger. He held a phone he had found in Wanda's apartment, the screen showing a photo of Seraphine and Wanda together, stabbing their hearts like a knife.
The door opened. Michael stood there, impeccably dressed in a suit and tie, though his eyes showed a hint of weariness. His gaze fell on the hairpin in Emma's hand, and his pupils contracted slightly.
"Emma," his voice was hoarse, "come inside, it's pouring out here."
"Shut up!" Emma snapped her head up, her eyes bloodshot, "You're Seraphine's father, aren't you?"
Michael's expression froze for a moment but quickly returned to calm. "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm sorry about Seraphine, but..."
"But what?" George stepped forward and slammed the phone into Michael's chest. "Look at this! A photo of Wanda and Seraphine on the day it happened! Are you going to tell me you didn't arrange this?"
The phone fell to the ground, the screen shattering, but the photo remained clear. Michael glanced at it, his eyes flickering. "What does a photo prove?"
"Prove?" Emma's voice trembled uncontrollably. "It proves you planned this all along! It proves you had Wanda undergo surgery to look like me, it proves you..." She choked, tears streaming down her face, "It proves you killed our daughter!"
Michael's expression finally changed. He grabbed Emma's wrist with such force that she cried out in pain. "You think I would kill my own daughter?"
George shoved Michael away. "Let her go!" He shielded Emma behind him and pulled a document from his pocket. "Look at this! Seraphine's blood type report!"
The document arced through the air and landed heavily on the coffee table. Emma stared blankly at the report, which clearly stated: Seraphine, blood type AB.
"So what?" Michael's voice was dismissive.
George turned to Michael, enunciating each word. "Your blood type is O, and Emma's is RHAB. Medically, two O-type parents can't have an AB-type child!"
The statement exploded in the living room like a bomb. Emma staggered back, colliding with a vase. The sound of shattering porcelain was deafening in the silence.
"Impossible." She shook her head. "How could Seraphine not be..."
Michael suddenly laughed, a bitter sound. "Emma, do you finally understand? Seraphine was never my child." He loosened his tie, his voice low. "But I raised her for three years, watched her grow day by day."
His gaze softened, as if seeing something through the air. "I remember the first time Seraphine called me 'Daddy.' I was in my study, working. She toddled in and threw herself at my legs, calling 'Daddy' in her sweet, childlike voice." Michael's voice caught. "That day, I canceled all my meetings and spent the entire day playing with her in the garden."
Emma's face turned pale. She remembered how Michael stayed up all night by Seraphine's bedside whenever she was sick; how he put aside all his work to help her practice piano; how he gently told her bedtime stories night after night...
"So you killed Seraphine?" Emma's voice was as cold as ice. "Just because she wasn't your child?"
Michael walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, his back to them, his voice eerily calm. "I didn't kill her."
Emma's head snapped up, a glimmer of hope in her eyes.
"But I did arrange everything." Michael turned around, his eyes complex as he looked at Emma. "Including having Wanda undergo surgery to look like you."
"And then Wanda killed her, and you think you're innocent?" Emma's voice shook.
Pain flickered in Michael's eyes. He walked to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a glass of whiskey, his hand trembling slightly as he took a sip. "I didn't think you would see me that way." His voice suddenly softened. "Do you really think I'm the kind of person who would harm an innocent child?"
Emma's tears suddenly stopped. She looked at the man she had once loved so deeply, now a stranger. Rainwater ran down her cheeks, indistinguishable from her tears.
"Michael," her voice was as light as a feather but carried a chilling coldness, "do you know? All these days, I've been thinking, if I had been with Seraphine that day, she wouldn't have been in danger."
Her fingers unconsciously stroked the butterfly hairpin, Seraphine's favorite accessory.
"Countless nights, I dreamed of her crying for me, but I could never reach her." Emma's voice began to tremble. "And now you tell me this was all a carefully crafted lie?"
Michael's Adam's apple bobbed as if he wanted to say something, but he ultimately lowered his head in silence.
"And you, George." Emma suddenly turned to George, her eyes full of scorn. "If you had watched her better, Seraphine wouldn't have gone missing, and the bad guys wouldn't have had a chance. The Russell Family, one better at lying than the other!"
George's face turned ashen. "Emma, I..."
"Enough!" Emma took several steps back, as if escaping a terrible plague. "I've had enough of your lies and deceit! From now on, I don't want to see any of you ever again!"
She turned and ran into the rain, her frail figure looking so fragile and determined in the lightning.
George instinctively moved to chase after her, but Michael grabbed his arm.
"Let her cool down," Michael's voice was low. "Chasing her now will only make it worse."
George shook off his hand angrily. "Who are you to decide for her? Do you know what she's been through?"
Michael didn't answer. Instead, he walked to his study and retrieved a delicate photo album from the safe. He gently stroked the cover, his eyes filled with complex emotions.
"These are photos of Seraphine from birth until now," he handed the album to George. "I took every single one of them myself."
George hesitated before taking the album and opening it. The baby in the photo smiled sweetly at the camera, her eyes a mirror image of his own. His hands began to tremble uncontrollably.
"She..." George's voice choked. "She looks so much like Emma."
Michael leaned against the desk, his gaze fixed on the storm outside. "Her first steps were on the living room carpet; she fell three times before she succeeded. She loved strawberry cake but always got cream all over her face. She was afraid of thunderstorms and could only sleep holding that pink teddy bear."
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