Chapter 1

I was rushing to my desk carrying slips of papers to work on when Stacey called me. "Go and make me a coffee. You know how I like it," she said, and picked up her phone.

"You can see I'm busy. I have a lot of work to do. You can get it yourself since you are not doing anything," I replied and she got provoked.

"How dare you!" Before I could even register the sudden flash of anger on her face, her hand cracked hard across my cheek. The force of the impact snapped my head back, throwing off my center of gravity entirely.

My feet tangled, and I went crashing down onto the cold floor. The stack of papers flew wildly from my hands, fluttering through the air like wounded birds before scattering everywhere, sweeping across the tiles in a sea of white sheets. My cheek throbbed with a burning, searing pain that radiated straight to my jaw.

"Your job is to do whatever I say without questions. You are my slave in this office and slaves don't have a say. Must I continue to remind you that? I thought you already knew your place." She said, looking down on me like I'm a little piece of trash.

"Stacey is the heir of Orton Group. You should be happy that she's sending you on an errand." Bella, her personal assistant, chimed in, taking a step forward to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Stacey.

My name is Vicky, and I am the only biological child of Mr. Orton. My father is the richest and most powerful man in the city. He always cared deeply for me and my mom. Back then, I could proudly say that he was the best daddy in the world.

I always have anything I want. I just need to point at it or ask for it. We were living happily until Mrs. Katrina and her daughter, Stacey, showed up and shattered our lives into unfixable pieces.

Three years ago, my dad invited Mrs. Katrina and her daughter, Stacey to our mansion to celebrate my mom's 50th birthday. Midway through the celebration, my mom excused herself to get something in her room.

After a couple of minutes, Mrs. Katrina and her daughter disappeared. Just then, I had a strange feeling that my mom was in trouble. I slipped away from the party and headed upstairs to check on my mom in her room. When I opened the heavy wooden door, the scene waiting for me froze the blood in my veins.

I caught Mrs. Katrina holding a silver blade stained with blood. Her hand was shaking, looking terrified. My mom was lying on the floor, blood gushing out of her neck, while her daughter, Stacey, stood just inches away, watching the horrific act in fear.

"Mom!" I screamed and sprinted across the room, completely ignoring the danger, and threw myself onto the floor beside my mother.

"What have you done to my mom!" I cried, tears blinded my vision as I frantically pressed my hands against the open wound, trying with all my strength to stop the relentless flow of blood that was soaking through her dress.

My fingers were trembling, slippery with red, and my voice cracked into desperate pleas for her to hold on, to keep breathing. The next second, a blunt force struck the back of my head from behind and I became unconscious.

The next place I opened my eyes was in the police station. My head was throbbing with a feverish, sharp ache. I had been dragged out of our mansion while I was unconscious.

Without a trial, without a single question asked, they had already framed and accused me of brutally murdering my own mother.

My father's face was devoid of the gentle warmth I had known my entire life. I wept and swore to him that I didn't kill my mom. I begged him to listen, frantically telling him that I saw Katrina standing over her with a knife while Stacey watched.

He didn't believe a single word. He looked at me with a cold, disgusted detachment that broke my heart far worse than the blow to my head ever could.

I still don't know what lies they fed him during those hours I was knocked out, or the twisted narrative Katrina spun to make him completely close his heart and refuse to hear my cries. How could he possibly believe I would kill my own mom? She was my world and my safe haven.

Desperate to prove my innocence, I pleaded with the officers and my father to review the house's internal CCTV camera footage. I knew the security system covered the hallway and the entrance to the master bedroom. But when the investigators checked the system, they found out that every single camera on that floor had been tampered with. Every shred of proof that could have saved me was erased.

Fueled by a blind, toxic grief, my father vowed to make me pay for killing his lovely wife. He wanted to send me away to life imprisonment. But because the investigators found no concrete physical evidence, the state couldn't legally keep me behind bars indefinitely. Yet, freedom didn't mean salvation.

From the very day I was released back into his custody, I became nothing more than a helpless slave in my father's house. My dad hated me more than anything else in this world, his eye contact dripping with pure venom whenever our paths crossed in the wide, empty hallways. He stripped me of my surname, revoked my inheritance, and disowned me as my dad.

Mrs. Katrina and Stacey took over the household, stepping into the void my mother left behind. They began to maltreat and bully me as they wanted. They forced me into performing backbreaking labor, handed me scraps to eat, and subjected me to endless physical and verbal abuse day after day.

I dare not complain to my dad. I learned that lesson early on, through hard, painful experience. The one time I tried to speak to him, to plead for a shred of mercy, he turned a blind eye to their cruelty and doubled my punishment.

I dare not try to escape. If I ever tried to run, I would be caught within minutes, brought right back, and forced to face punishments far more severe and cruel. I would only try to defend myself just like today.

"She's never the heir. I'm Orton's biological daughter. Everyone knows that. Your mom hasn't even married my Dad yet," I said, placing my palm over the fiercely burning spot on my face. My eyes were already saturated with tears that blurred the figures looming over me.

"Biological daughter?" Bella laughed. "You ceased to be his daughter from the day he disowned you. Orton gave this branch to Miss Stacey and her mom to manage and made you her errand girl. She's obviously the princess while you are the slave."

The rest of the workers behind them burst into snickers, exchanging amused glances as if watching a pitiful spectacle arranged solely for their afternoon entertainment.

Suddenly, my phone rang in my pocket.

The sharp vibration startled me out of the haze of pain. I reached down with trembling hands, pulled it out, and glanced at the glowing screen. It was my Dad.

My breath caught in my throat. My Dad? He never calls me. He had traveled to a nearby country for two weeks for a business trip. There was a message notification at the top that reads. "Happy birthday Angel"

Wait... He remembered that today my birthday? Has he changed his mind about me? What is happening?