Chaos Girl Rewrites the Script novel Chapter 434

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"Hah?" Evelyn scoffed, pointing right at her face. "So you're saying you're a genius?"

Aurelia turned to Caspian. "Grandpa, ever since I was little, I knew I was different from everyone else. I..."

Vivienne looked up, studying Aurelia's side profile.

Are you going to tell them your true experience? Don't do it. No one here will empathize, because no two people view the world exactly the same way.

Aurelia paused, swallowing the lump in her throat. "Since childhood, I've had a photographic memory. Whether it's numbers, text, or faces, as long as I see it once, I'll remember it perfectly even ten years later. It's precisely because my brain stores too many vivid images that I thought I was losing my mind. That's why I begged my dad to keep it a secret for now."

"That's pure nonsense." Evelyn wasn't about to let Aurelia defend herself. Her words were razor-sharp. "You even dare to fool Caspian now. It seems lying has become your second nature."

Aurelia met Evelyn's glare head-on. "Eight years ago, you came to Northwing Court for the New Year's celebration. That day, you were wearing a white-and-gold embroidered silk coat and luminous pearl accessories, and your nails were painted with intricate floral art. You pushed me to the ground, pointed right at my nose, and said, 'Don't think anyone in this family will stick their neck out for you. You'd better behave, or your father will be kicked out of Northwing Court right alongside you.'"

Evelyn's face immediately paled.

She said all of that just to drag the past into the light.

Aurelia's face was terrifyingly calm as she continued describing exactly what everyone was wearing that day, down to the specific outfits of the dozens of maids working at the estate.

Watching her, Vivienne realized Aurelia truly was a different person now.

Aurelia wasn't just rambling; she was providing an ironclad verification of her memory to prove that her accusation against Evelyn was undeniably true. If she could recall the exact shade of lipstick a maid was wearing eight years ago, how could she possibly misremember a direct threat?

Staring at his daughter's frail back, Benedict's eyes turned red.

He couldn't fathom how his daughter had survived the past eight years. He had always pitied her weak, non-confrontational nature. He had only ever focused on accepting and protecting her, never once bothering to find the root cause of her fear.