CHAPTER 2 — THE FATHER'S WRATH
No one dared to breathe.
The billionaire stepped farther into the foyer, his polished shoes echoing against the marble floor.
His eyes never left his daughter.
She looked thinner than when he had left three months earlier.
Her hands were raw.
Her knees were bruised.
The oversized maid's uniform hung from her small frame like chains.
"Dad..."
Her voice cracked.
That single word shattered him.
He dropped his briefcase.
It hit the floor with a deafening thud.
He rushed across the room and knelt before his daughter, ignoring the expensive suit pressing against the wet marble.
His trembling hands cupped her face.
"Who did this to you?"
She lowered her eyes.
"I... I wasn't allowed to tell you."
His heart stopped.
He slowly rolled up her sleeves.
Purple bruises.
Old cuts.
Fresh scratches.
Weeks...
Perhaps months...
His daughter had suffered in silence.
Behind him, his wife forced a nervous laugh.
"Darling, she's exaggerating. Children are dramatic."
He stood.
Slowly.
Calmly.
Too calmly.
"Explain."
His voice was barely above a whisper.
The woman swallowed.
"I simply taught her discipline. She has to learn responsibility before inheriting your company."
"You call this responsibility?"
He pointed toward the bucket and rag.
"She refused to listen."
"So you made my daughter scrub floors?"
"I..."
"So you dressed the sole heir of this family like a servant?"
The servants standing nearby lowered their heads.
No one defended the stepmother.
Because everyone knew the truth.
For months she had ruled the mansion through fear.
She dismissed anyone who questioned her.
She isolated the little girl.
She intercepted phone calls.
She even forged cheerful letters so the billionaire would believe his daughter was happy.
His fists tightened.
"I trusted you."
His voice trembled.
"You tortured my child."
The woman finally lost her composure.
"It was never supposed to go this far!"
May you like
Silence.
Those seven words sealed her fate.
