Chapter 3

After the court hearing, I moved in with Dad at the Riverside Mansion in Savannah.

I played the part of a dutiful little girl who cared deeply for Dad’s happiness.

I didn’t question why a supposedly broke man could suddenly afford a luxury mansion.

Instead, I cheerfully declared, “Wow! This house is amazing! Aunt Vanessa will be so much more comfortable having the baby here!”

I immediately ran to Dad, making a big show of my commitment to taking care of the unborn baby.

Maybe Dad still had a tiny shred of fatherly love for me because he transferred $5,000 to my bank account without hesitation, telling me to use it as I wished.

Then he hurried off, claiming he had work to do.

Of course, I knew better. I wasn’t an actual child anymore. I knew exactly where he was going—and so did Vanessa.

As soon as Dad left, Vanessa’s sweet façade crumbled.

“You shameless little brat!” she snapped. “You’re old enough to know better. Stop mooching off your father!”

There was something in her eyes—something dark and desperate I couldn’t quite read.

She dug her sharp nails into my forehead, snatched my phone, and transferred the $5,000 into her account.

Then, in her shrill, affected tone, she declared herself my “stepmother” and warned me not to breathe a word of this to “dear Daddy.”

“If you do,” she hissed, “you’ll regret it.”

I blinked up at her, feigning submission. “I won’t tell him,” I whispered timidly.

Inside, I was laughing.

Oh, Vanessa, you think I’ll stay quiet just because you told me to?

03

The following day, I got up early and set the breakfast table. The food was already waiting when Dad finally came downstairs after his morning routine.

He stopped short at the sight of three bowls of bland oatmeal and two plates of pickles set on the costly cherrywood table. His lips twitched, trying—and failing—not to grimace.

I could almost hear his thoughts: How am I supposed to stomach this pathetic excuse for breakfast?

But I stared at him with my big, hopeful eyes, like a kid desperate for approval.

After a moment of hesitation, he picked up a spoon and took a symbolic bite.

He spat it out dramatically one mouthful later, his face contorting in absolute horror.

Internally, I was dying of laughter.

This was no ordinary oatmeal. Oh no, this was cursed oatmeal, something I’d “enhanced” to ensure maximum misery.

It took Dad a while to recover, and when he did, he glared at me.

“Where on earth did you get this garbage?” he snapped. “You’re old enough to know better. Can’t even buy a decent breakfast!”

Then his eyes landed on my school uniform—too short and visibly worn out. His scowl deepened.

“I gave you money yesterday. Can’t you at least buy yourself clothes that fit? Walking around like that makes me look bad!”

His rant woke Vanessa, who waddled lazily out of the bedroom, her pregnant belly leading the way. Leaning against the railing, she smirked, clearly enjoying the show.

I bit my lip and let my expression crumble into pure heartbreak. Internally, I was screaming with joy.

Perfect. Everyone’s here. Showtime!

Tears streamed down my face like tiny pearls, and my voice trembled as I turned to Dad.

“Daddy, please don’t blame Aunt Vanessa for taking my money.”

I gasped and covered my mouth.

“Oh no, I wasn’t supposed to say that! Aunt Vanessa, I’m so sorry! Please don’t kick me out!”

Then the waterworks started. I sobbed and stammered apologies to both of them, making myself look like a pitiful little victim.

It was Oscar-worthy. Seriously, where’s my trophy?

Maybe my performance was too good, or maybe Dad was fed up with Vanessa’s overbearing attitude. Either way, he rounded on her furiously.

“You’re not even my wife yet! If you can’t give me a son, you can pack your bags and leave!”

To appease me, he handed me his secondary credit card.

I took it with wide, cautious eyes, pretending to be nervous.

“Thank you, Daddy,” I murmured, earning a dismissive, “Don’t act so cheap” from him.

Sure, I got scolded, but who cared? My grin was practically impossible to suppress.

I figured Vanessa might back off after that public dressing down.

I was wrong.

Vanessa’s energy levels were infinite. After all, she’d clawed her way to the top of the mistress hierarchy to secure her pregnancy.

The next day, she crushed peanuts and mixed them into my breakfast, knowing I had a mild allergy.

Coincidentally, that was also the day of my entrance exams for school placement. I guess she really couldn’t stand the idea of me succeeding.

Smiling coldly, I “accidentally” spilled most of the oatmeal onto her massive belly.

It was fall, so the porridge wasn’t scalding hot, but the sudden sensation still startled her. She yelped, and her bladder betrayed her—pregnancy hormones and all.

Watching Dad walk off in disgust while Vanessa’s trembling fingers clenched her dress was a chef’s kiss.

A week later, she paid some of my classmates to bully me.

What she didn’t know? I was the class president—unanimously elected; thank you very much.

I took the hush money she’d given them, used it to treat the entire class to a barbecue feast, and turned the would-be bullies into my loyal allies.

Two weeks later, she staged a dramatic fall, trying to frame me for hurting her unborn baby.

I raised an eyebrow, pointed at the three newly installed security cameras overhead, and asked, “Are you okay?”

Her eyes widened, and she scrambled to her feet, pretending nothing had happened.

After that fiasco, I walked away without a scratch, while Dad became even more reluctant to come home.

Vanessa officially became the “main wife” at home, but Dad’s flings were still in full swing elsewhere.

Meanwhile, I happily went to school every day, playing the role of the sweet, innocent daughter whenever Dad was around. I even convinced him to drive me to school a few times personally.

Thanks to that, the entire school knew I had a rich CEO dad, and no one dared mess with me anymore.

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