The Unwanted Daughter: When Love Comes Too Late Chapter 45: Can I Leave Now?

Erin held tightly to Winona's hand, trying to hide her feelings as she said, "Winona, I'm really fine."

"How can you be fine?" Winona snapped, furious. "She got caught stealing your work, ran off abroad to hide out of shame, and still holds a grudge against you.

"You forgave her so generously and didn't make a fuss. But she cozied up to Professor Dinwiddie, causing you to get pushed out for no reason, making you look like a joke, and almost ruining your graduation."

Tracy didn't know Erin had been pushed out. Phoebe never told her.

She remembered crying to the professor back when she was sent to the Angelic Etiquette Academy, insisting she hadn't copied anyone.

Back then, Phoebe said she believed her, but Tracy thought that was just to calm her down.

Now she realized Phoebe really did believe her.

Her eyes warmed.

Winona kept yelling with disgust. "Tracy, stealing Erin's work wasn't enough—you had to secretly hurt her behind her back? That's disgusting!"

Tracy didn't care how harsh the words were. Her voice stayed steady. "I didn't plagiarize her."

Everyone stared at her in disgust. "Erin finished the whole piece and earned praise from every teacher, and you still won't admit it?"

Tracy didn't care what they thought. She looked directly at Erin. "Ms. Jackman, you say that peacock painting was your inspiration. Can you explain where that inspiration came from, and what you felt when you created it?"

No one knew the inspiration and feelings behind that painting better than Tracy. Erin might've copied the image, but she couldn't steal those two things.

Erin's eyes filled with tears. "I never wanted to fight you. Please don't hate me.

"I-I'm willing to admit you didn't plagiarize. I'll give up the peacock painting. I don't want anything. It's all yours." She sobbed.

Erin's tears spilled like a dam breaking, as if she'd been bullied.

People around her crowded close with soft words of comfort, their eyes full of even more hatred and anger aimed at Tracy.

Tracy found it ridiculous.

I just asked Erin to explain the inspiration and feelings behind the painting—who says anything about fighting?

Seeing Tracy show no regret, Winona gave a glance to the others.

"Tracy, we called you out to catch up, and this is how you act?

"Don't think we're scared just because you have Professor Dinwiddie at your back. We've all graduated—I don't believe Professor Dinwiddie can do anything to us!

"Erin's always been patient with you, but you humiliate her in front of all of us—who knows what you do when no one's watching?"

With Winona's signal, the group closed in on Tracy again.

They cursed her with disgust and shoved her roughly.

Tracy was pushed backward, stumbling a few times.

Their voices and faces mixed with cruel, twisted memories from the Angelic Etiquette Academy, like wolves ready to tear her apart.

Her body chilled, the familiar nightmare threatening to swallow her whole again.

"Stop it," Erin said, eyes red, stepping forward like a defender, blocking their hands.

"I believe Tracy just hasn't figured things out yet. When she does, she'll accept me." She looked at Tracy with hopeful eyes. "Right, Tracy?"

She reached out to grab Tracy, but halfway there, her face suddenly changed. She took a big step back. "What's that smell? It's so gross!"

As she said it, she covered her nose with one hand and fanned the air with the other.

Hearing this, the others finally noticed the sharp, sticky smell around Tracy.

Everyone covered their noses and stepped back, faces full of disgust.

"Oh, my God! How can someone smell this bad? Did she fall into a bucket of garbage or something?"

"Look at those ragged clothes—she probably picked them out of the trash. No wonder she stinks."

"I don't think it's the clothes. That smell comes from deep inside her—it's disgusting!"

Their loud voices and actions seemed meant to shred Tracy's pride and stomp all over it.

But Tracy stayed calm, as if she wasn't the one being hated.

They tricked me out here just to humiliate and mock me.

At this level of dignity crushing, she didn't even flinch.

She worked in a restaurant kitchen—of course, she smelled like cooking grease.

Those rich kids who'd never worked a day didn't know how many things smelled worse than cooking oil.

After they laughed enough, Tracy quietly said, "If you're done playing, can I leave now?"

She would rather be painting in her room than wasting her time here.

Her calm reply froze all their sneers, making their taunts sound silly instead.