“It wasn’t me. I am the eldest daughter of the Johansons. A necklace like that is nothing to me. Do you think I’d need to steal it?”
Her calm and composed demeanor eased the suspicions of many in the room.
Joey frowned, still not believing her, but Maisie wasn’t about to let it go. She insisted on accusing Margot.
“If it wasn’t you, then who else could it be? A necklace might not mean much to you, but this one was a gift from Joey. You like him so much—how could you not want it? If you’re truly innocent, then let’s search you!”
Search her in front of everyone?
Margot clenched her fists tightly, her face cold as she rejected the suggestion. “I told you, I didn’t take it. Why should I let you search me?”
“Dad, Mom, Charles, I’m telling the truth! Please believe me!
“Joey, I know I’m just an adopted child. If it were something else, I’d let it go, but that necklace was from you. It’s the only thing you’ve given me, and I don’t want to part with it.”
Seeing her tear-streaked face, several people began to soften.
Then Charles nodded. He made a subtle gesture toward the bodyguards, who immediately stepped forward to restrain Margot.
Margot looked at him in disbelief.
She was his biological sister! Yet now, for Maisie’s sake, he was willing to strip her in front of a crowd.
She struggled desperately, shouting that it wasn’t her, but no one listened.
Margot’s luxurious gown was torn apart, and her neatly styled hair was yanked loose, large tufts of it being pulled out.
She desperately clutched at her chest, her eyes filled with pain.
No matter how much she explained or struggled, the people around her remained unmoved, watching the scene unfold with cold detachment.
Looking at her indifferent parents, and at Joey and Charles, who were too busy comforting Maisie, Margot felt as if she had fallen into a nightmare.
Her parents had once held her in their arms, terrified of her getting hurt, and her brother, who would stand up for her whenever she was wronged, then taught the perpetrators a lesson.
And Joey would always stand by her side, shielding her from the storms of the world.
But everything had changed.
As the last bit of her gown was about to be ripped off, the tears of agony blurred Margot’s vision.
In a moment of despair, she suddenly remembered something.
With all the strength she could muster, her blood-stained hand—her broken nails dripping—shot up, and she shouted with all her might.
“It wasn’t me! I have the footage to prove it!”
