Chapter 6

“This woman is terrifying! She must have rage issues!”

“A daughter like this is worse than no daughter at all!”

“This type of woman is just asking for trouble; are outsiders more important than her own father?”

“This is why people in our country don’t want to have daughters. Girls always abandon their families for outsiders!”

Kevin was also jumping in the comments, stirring the pot. “My sister is in the import-export business; she even has a small company. For Dad’s sixtieth birthday, such an important day, she only gave him a car charm. Who knows if she’s really broke or just stingy with Dad. We can’t say anything, because if we do, she’ll just accuse Mom and Dad of favoring their son.”

Dad replied below: “Even if she gave me a gold bracelet, I wouldn’t want it. Who knows if her money came from some shady dealings?”

“Not like my good son. He earns his money honestly, and Dad is happy to receive it.”

The two of them portrayed a perfect picture of fatherly love and filial piety.

My blood boiled.

When I started college, Mom and Dad cut off my allowance and tuition, claiming money was tight. I worked tirelessly, juggling multiple part-time jobs, just to scrape through university.

After graduation, I started my own business. The moment I had some savings, Mom would cry poor, and soft-hearted, I gave her a card, transferring money into it every month.

In fact, many of the items in their home were purchased by me out of my own pocket.

In contrast, Kevin spent a fortune on community college only to drop out. Now, he sat at home all day, doing nothing, relying on others for support, and gave Dad a cheap, gold-plated bracelet whose authenticity was questionable. Yet *he* was the model son?

The community was small, and Dad’s post didn’t hide his IP address. Soon, “righteous” netizens were threatening to dox me.

“Expose her! This unfilial daughter’s true colors should be seen by her business partners. Let’s see who dares to work with someone like her again!”

My vision blurred.

I’d worked my ass off for years; I absolutely couldn’t let this fabricated post ruin my career.

Clutching my phone, I rushed upstairs, determined to make Dad take down the post.

The front door of the house was ajar, and snippets of three voices drifted through the slightly open gap.