Fake heiress Real heroine

Chapter 145

After that night, many of the women finally found clarity. One by one, with the help of the bond police, dey on journey home.

There were still countless hardships waiting for them ahead, but the beauty of the bonfire and the vast grasslands that singer gave them a sliver of courage to face whatever was to come.

Quinlyn also took Joseph’s words to heart.

On the way back to the city, she made a call to Yanis Hill, who was managing the foundation, and asked him to do s special fund to support victims in borderlands.

Even if they had nowhere else to go, she wanted to make sure they’d have a safe place to wart over

Three days later. A convoy of luxury cars rolled into the poor, run–down village.

Tucker Lee–the human trafficker who had tormented Nancy–had been arrested two days ago during the foul phase of the operation. Several other families in the village were also under investigation for their involvement in human trading,

The village was already on edge, a place thick with fear and uncertainty. The villagers standing watch at the exe tense at the sight of the vehicles approaching.

But when the car doors opened, they saw that the one got out was Quinlyn, the girl they hadn’t seen in a long time

“Quinlyn? It’s really you! You… you went and became some rich people’s daughter or something?

The villagers clicked their tongues in amazement at her current appearance. They crowded around, bombarding her with questions, stealing glances at the luxury cars and the three young men by her side.

“If you had a chance like this, why didn’t you tell us? We could’ve all gotten rich together. How about coming to my house for lunch?” the village head chimed in, squeezing closer with an ingratiating smile, trying to build a connection

But Quinlyn ignored all the villagers. Without saying a word, she led Joseph and the others toward Matthew’s grave

Although, calling it a “grave” was a stretch. There wasn’t even a proper tombstone–just a cheap wooden coffin buried beneath the earth.

On a low slope, the wooden board Quinlyn had once set there with her own hands had been kicked aside. It was covered in footprints.

“Definitely some punk kid,” Stanley muttered darkly. “How rude. How can this little bastard disrespect the dead? I’ll go find whoever did this!”

He knew how much Matthew had meant to Quinlyn, and he was furious on her behalf, already turning to go after the villagers.

But Quinlyn reached out and stopped him. She shook her head and said, “Matthew once told me when a person dies. there’s nothing left. They’re buried in the ground and they know nothing. So don’t get into fights with others because of

him.”

living for the sake of the dead–there was nothing more

Stanley clenched his jaw, his expression

broken piece of wood, carefully carved the letters on it once again, and placed it back where it belonged. She sat quietly in

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Chapter 145

all brought flowers–each carrying a simple bouquet, which they now placed neatly in front of the

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now. Not by blood, but it doesn’t matter. From now on, I’ll take care of

Thank you for raising her. She’s an incredible girl. If you can see her now,

there, but I swear–if I have something to eat, Quinlyn will never go hungry. Next year, I’ll bring her

chatting away to the grave

conversation.

to remind them that the dead

Matthew.

“sen

could,

began to fall from the sky. Stanley suggested they go take a look at the place where she used to live. So Quinlyn led them around a bend, beneath a giant

it was pitch black. Cobwebs stretched across every surface, and the faint squeaking of rats echoed

the hell–weren’t you gonna take us to your house?” Stanley, who wasn’t afraid of anything–except rats–crossed his arms over his chest, his skin breaking out in goosebumps. “Why did we come to

Quinlyn dragged two old chairs out from under a table and calmly said, “This is where I lived.” Stanley opened his mouth to

ceiling blackened by fire. Walls with peeling paint. A table, p repaired, that once served as an altar. Two battered stools. And in the corner, two beds–one big, one small–covered

everything they wanted at their fingertips. It was impossible to imagine how Quinlyn could survive in a place like

day Matthew found her, she’d lived here, growing

when Matthew died–when she was only five- She spent another five

caring that the rain was soaking him through. He stood under the tree, clenching his fist, and slammed it hard into

and Larry–normally the two most fastidious about cleanliness–sat down without a second thought in the dusty old chairs. They asked Quinlyn about how

measurements, recorded year after year as Quinlyn slowly

the rain

lunch appointment at Marvin’s place waiting, they decided not to

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Chapter 145

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