My Hollywood Mogul Parents Disowned Me For Adopting a Baby 14 Years Ago — Then My Daughter Read Their Rejection Letter Aloud at Her Graduation Gala
The hallway leading to Dean Pendelton’s office smelled of stale coffee and industrial-grade disinfectant. I knew the layout from Chloe’s countless drama club meetings, a network of rooms I once thought were solely dedicated to nurturing young talent. Now, they felt like the control center of a hostile takeover.
I watched through the glass panel as Dean Pendelton ended a phone call, then slipped into the administrative records room down the hall, leaving his office door slightly ajar. It was a stupid risk, but Victor and Eleanor had already stripped me of my parental rights in front of the entire school. What more could they do?
I moved quickly, my worn sneakers barely whispering on the polished linoleum. The records room was a maze of filing cabinets and shelves, but Chloe’s file, thick with years of academic and artistic achievements, was easy to spot. It was practically glowing under the fluorescent lights, a beacon of her bright future.
My fingers trembled as I opened it. There, staring back at me, was a page that made my stomach clench. The adoption papers, the ones I had painstakingly filed, were still present, but a new document was stapled directly on top. It was a formal declaration from Ellison Entertainment Guild, dated just yesterday.
The document proclaimed Victor Ellison as Chloe’s “primary educational benefactor and guardian of artistic legacy.” Gavin Cross’s signature, smooth and confident, was at the bottom. The original adoption record now looked like a footnote, obscured by a corporate letterhead. They weren’t just erasing me from the present; they were rewriting Chloe’s entire history.
A sharp buzz from my pocket startled me. It was Chloe, texting. *“Mom, something’s weird. Publicists everywhere. My dressing room is crawling with cameras.”*
My breath hitched. They were already moving. I quickly snapped a photo of the forged document with my phone, then slid Chloe’s file back into its slot, trying to make it look untouched.
Moments later, I spotted Victor Ellison himself, striding down the opposite hallway. He was dressed in an impeccably tailored navy suit, his silver hair glinting under the lights. A young assistant trotted behind him, juggling a stack of papers and a designer briefcase. They disappeared into the performing arts wing, toward Chloe’s dressing room.
I felt a cold dread settle in my bones. Victor was already with her. I knew exactly what he was doing.
I pushed open the heavy double doors of the performing arts hall and saw Gavin Cross directing a camera crew outside Chloe’s private dressing room. The air hummed with forced excitement. Flashbulbs popped like tiny explosions.
Victor emerged from the room, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. Chloe followed, her expression a mix of confusion and forced politeness. She clutched a folded piece of paper in her hand.
Victor caught my eye across the crowded hallway, his smile hardening. He lifted his hand slightly, a dismissive gesture. “Nora,” he said, loud enough for a few nearby publicists to turn their heads. “Lovely to see you. Chloe and I were just finalizing her valedictorian speech.”
He gestured to the paper in Chloe’s hand. “A few… strategic amendments. To properly reflect the Ellison family’s heritage, of course.” His eyes, cold and triumphant, locked onto mine. “It’s all about brand, Nora. Something you always struggled with.”
Chloe avoided my gaze, her fingers tightening around the paper. It was a draft, a script for a performance I hadn’t prepared her for, written by the very people who had once disowned her.
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