Chapter 1
To reward my stepdaughter for her grade bump, I copped the Chanel dress she'd been drooling over.
It cost $4,000, but I didn't even blink.
That night, as I was walking it to her room, another mom dropped a screenshot in our WhatsApp group.
It came from the big "223-Fun-Study" chat.
[How ridiculous! My stepmom's such a clueless ATM. She actually thinks throwing a few thousand at tutoring makes me grateful.]
The avatar and handle were blurred, but I recognized Vivian Lane, my "sweet" stepdaughter, instantly.
She kept going:
[That's literally all she's good for—paying for peace and quiet.]
[Always flexing how much she "spoils" me so she can play the saint in public. So gross.]
[Once I bleed her dry, I'll have Dad kick her to the curb. What upscale family wants a wife who's basically just a nanny stuck between the stove and the car-pool line?]
I stood there clutching the dress, blood pounding in my ears.
That was when it hit me: every second I'd poured in was just "rich-and-dumb" ammo and a punchline about being the "upscale family's nanny."
In her eyes, I was tacky and only threw cash around to play the saint.
So I decided from that day on, not one more dime of mine was going toward her.
When I first met Vivian, she was lounging on the couch, doing her nails.
At the sound of the door, she glanced up. Her whole face burst into a sparkly smile, voice ringing out sweet and clear.
"You're home, Dad. And this is Ms. Simmons, right?" she called out.
She set her polish aside, skipped over, and hooked her arm through mine as if we were already old friends.
"Ms. Simmons, you're so young and beautiful. Dad, you really have great taste," she said.
She acted super friendly and proper, like she'd been counting down the days until I walked in.
Back then, I breathed a tiny sigh of relief, thinking maybe it wouldn't be as bad as I'd feared.
But she changed when Richard turned away to set down his keys, even if just for a split second.
Her smile froze cold, and she flashed me a sharp, chilling throat-slitting gesture.
It was quick, silent, and dripping with malice.
That was how our very first encounter went down.
But honestly, I didn't let it get to me. I knew her parents were divorced, and Richard spoiled her out of his mind—he basically bent over backwards for her, no question.
I also got that it was nearly impossible for a rebellious teenage girl to warm up to a new woman in her life overnight.
From that day forward, I promised myself I'd treat her like she was my own flesh and blood.
I noticed her school uniform was so unflattering and went all out buying her designer sportswear and shoes, just so she wouldn't feel embarrassed in front of her classmates.
When I saw that her phone was ancient, I didn't hesitate to have someone bring back the latest smartphone from overseas for her.
When I heard she was struggling with math, I didn't even blink. I pulled every string I could to get her into a one-on-one session with the best-renowned tutor in town—one hour cost more than what most people made in a whole day.
This time was no different. Richard told me that Vivian couldn't stop mentioning a Chanel dress, and he thought that since her grades had picked up lately, it'd make a pretty good reward.
The very next day, I headed right over to the boutique and bought that exact dress she'd been dreaming of.
It cost 4,000 dollars.
As I swiped my card, all I could picture was that moment when she laid eyes on the dress, a flash of surprise or joy on her face.
But what blindsided me was seeing her merciless review of all I'd done for her.
The harshest, most honest take on my efforts was staring back at me.