Chapter 1

It was the seventh year since my parents divorced when I ran into my dad at school.

He held his young daughter while having a meal in the teacher's cafeteria.

When he saw me serving myself at the counter, he froze for a second.

When it was time to pay, he quietly took out a wad of cash from his wallet and handed it to me.

He said, "You shouldn't be working here. Go back to class and focus on your studies. Tell your mom to take you out for a nice meal, get some real nutrition."

I stayed silent and gave the money back to him.

His face stiffened, and his brows knitted together.

He said, "Why are you so stubborn like your mom? If you'd stop being so hard-headed and listen to me, you wouldn't have to work here, would you?

"Tell your mom, if she admits she messed up, I'll have the principal transfer you to the best class. That's way better than wasting your youth working here."

The scar on my chest started to itch.

I stared at him coldly, saying nothing. Did he really not know that my mom had died seven years ago?

*****

My dad looked me up and down, his eyes lingering on my dirty school uniform and the grease on my hands. For a moment, I saw a flicker of pity in his eyes.

He muttered, "I shouldn't have agreed to let you leave with your mom. Look at you. See what kind of tough life you've ended up with after going with her."

I kept my expression cold.

I said, "Mr. Tyler, you really don't need to concern yourself with us. How we're doing is none of your business."

His face darkened. He looked like he had more to say, but in the end, he fell silent.

After a long moment, he turned and walked away, his daughter in his arms.

The students around me caught wind of the gossip and started crowding around, their curiosity written all over their faces.

One of them whispered, "Isn't that Mrs. Reilly's husband? I heard he's the CEO of Tyler Group, and he's still crazy about his ex-wife."

I let out a cold laugh. "If he was really so in love, why would he ditch his wife and kid to marry someone else?"

Seeing my skepticism, the classmate hurried to explain, "He actually went against his whole family for his ex-wife. He gave up the privileged life of a young master and willingly spent over a decade with her in the countryside.

"He even built a school in a poor countryside area, all in their daughter's name. Isn't that proof enough of his devotion?"

I clenched my fists, struggling to keep the hatred from spilling out.

I said, "He spent eleven years pretending to be broke, tricking his wife into selling her blood and even her kidney to pay off his fake debts.

"When they had no money for his daughter's heart surgery, he blew seven million dollars on a honeymoon in Bloania with his side chick, but wouldn't cough up even 70 thousand dollars for her medical bills.

"And when his wife tried to donate her heart to save their daughter, he literally snatched it away. Tell me, does that sound like devotion to you?"

The classmate's eyes widened in shock. "You—"

I swallowed the bitterness in my throat and said calmly, "Yeah, I'm his daughter."

She immediately fell silent, but after a moment, couldn't help but ask, "But isn't your mom—"

My heart throbbed with pain.

I remained silent, swallowing the pill with a pale face.

I headed to the hospital by myself.

The doctor looked over my file and sighed. "Your mechanical heart is the cheapest, most substandard model they make. After seven years, it's barely hanging on. I'm afraid—"

I left the hospital without picking up any more medicine.

With the last bit of cash in my pocket, I bought a bunch of white chrysanthemums and went back to my old house in the suburbs.

The place had long been demolished, leaving nothing but a pile of rubble.

When I was little, my dad buried a time capsule beneath the old oak tree in front of our house.

He said, "When Violet turns eighteen, we'll dig it up together. A gift for her coming of age."

Now, I was finally eighteen.

There was no time capsule beneath the tree. Only a small mound of earth.

On a wooden plaque, the words I'd carved seven years ago were still there, messy and uneven.

It read, "Betty Austin's Grave."

I placed the white chrysanthemums beside my mom's grave, my voice rough and hoarse. "Mom, I'm here to see you."

*****

The next day, as soon as I walked into school, my homeroom teacher dragged me straight to the office.

Dad was sitting on the couch, looking like he was ready to tear the place apart, his gaze cold and cutting.

He said, "My wife got food poisoning from your cafeteria food. How do you people even handle hygiene around here?"

The principal kept wiping his sweat, bowing and scraping as he apologized, "I'm sorry, Mr. Tyler. We'll make sure to give you a proper explanation for this."

Before the principal could finish, my dad glanced at me with that familiar, suffocating pressure in his eyes.

One look, and I knew he was here for me.

I clenched my jaw, staring him down with a cold, unyielding look.

I said, "What do you want? Are you going to make my mom and me beg Julia for forgiveness again, just like you did seven years ago?"

His face changed in an instant, and for a split second, I saw a flicker of struggle and guilt in his eyes.

It was the same look he gave my mom and me seven years ago.

Ever since my dad went bankrupt, my mom and I never talked about money around him again.

My mom worked so many jobs every day, she was so tired she could fall asleep standing up.