Chapter 1

On my first day as a teacher, a student pulled me aside and whispered, "Don't mess with Mia Shaw in our class. Her family has powerful connections."

However, during an open class, Mia deliberately humiliated me.

Mia sneered, "Miss, you've got such child-bearing hips. With a figure like that, you look like a barrel."

I calmly closed my book and replied, "Seems someone wasn't raised well. No surprise though—bad roots grow crooked trees."

Seeing her face clouded with rage, I smiled.

This pathetic little illegitimate brat—my useless, freeloading father's secret—thought her "connections" could scare me?

Mia pointed at the trash barrel—the latest prop in her attempt to mock me.

The entire class had erupted in laughter. Even the school administrators sitting at the back attempted, but failed, to hold back their laughter.

The Dean of Discipline had joined in. "Ms. Lawrence, you're a PE teacher—you might want to live up to the job title."

However, after I spoke, the whole class fell completely silent.

Looking around, I noticed that everyone's face had darkened.

Mia was the first to respond. She retorted, "Ms. Lawrence, are you saying I wasn't raised right?"

She pointed at the administrators behind her.

"The dean also agreed with me. Are you insulting him too?" she added.

I smiled at Mia. "I'm not insulting you, nor the dean.

"I'm referring to people who body-shamed others."

It was obvious that Mia had Googled backhanded swears to use against me.

She never expected me to respond so swiftly.

She was embarrassed for a moment, but still had the nerve to challenge me. "As a teacher, shouldn't you answer your students' questions?

"Or are you just a PE teacher—all muscles and no brains—and completely incapable of answering?" Mia snapped.

Although I was a PE teacher, I got straight A's in every subject when I studied abroad.

Teaching high school math would be a breeze for me.

But Mia thought I was uneducated and mocked me at every turn, just because I was hired as a PE teacher.

I met Mia's smiling eyes and replied deliberately, "Since you're so interested in this topic, why not read more related papers online?

"Then again, most research results probably weren't written in toddler-level language. Think your vocabulary can handle it?"

Mia's smirk began to crack. She was unable to maintain her earlier arrogance.

And I didn't stop there. "I've got enough knowledge to teach you plenty, and on top of that, I do know a thing or two about how to throw a punch."

As the bell rang, I grabbed my books and walked out of the classroom.

Mia called out behind me.

She followed me into a hallway corner. Her pretended sweetness vanished, replaced by a sinister coldness.

She said, "Ms. Lawrence, didn't you realize something?

"I was clearly mocking you. But none of those administrators dared to stop me—in fact, they chimed in.

"That's right. I've got connections.

"If you apologize to me publicly, maybe we can still get along well."

As she spoke, Mia clasped her hands behind her back and swayed from side to side, as if trying to act cute.

But all I saw was a joke. This illegitimate brat really thought her "connections" could scare me?

She really should go ask her father what it felt to be a freeloading loser.

I found out that Mia was my father's illegitimate daughter during my first week at the job.

She couldn't tell the brand of my clothes, so she just assumed I wore knock-offs.

Then, during the class break, she came up to me and asked, with a sugary-sweet voice, "Miss, is that Chanel's new season? I don't think I've seen that piece before."

I patiently explained it was actually from a niche luxury brand.

Later, someone told me Mia was actually mocking my clothes.

She also warned me, "Be careful around Mia."

The previous homeroom teacher caught Mia cheating.

She fell down the staircase the very next day, seriously injured and unconscious on the spot.

Mia had powerful connections—her mysterious billionaire father. The whole school tiptoed around her.

After that, I began to pay closer attention to Mia's clothes.

And I realized—they looked awfully familiar, like clothes I'd given away.

Then I remembered a batch of new arrivals I had sorted through. I kept the ones I liked and had the rest sent to storage, marked with tags.

Not long after, I spotted one of those tags on Mia's coat.

At first I thought it might be an inside job—a thief under my own roof.

Then Mia humiliated me again.

She giggled, pointing to my freshly dyed hair. "Your hair reminds me of my puppy Micki, with all those curls."

She even showed me a picture of her dog to prove it.

The moment I saw it, my scalp went cold.

That wasn't her dog; that was my Kiki!

My late Bichon died giving birth and left Kiki behind.

I fed her with a syringe from the day she was born. She was family to me.

But three months ago, Kiki went missing.

My father told me he'd seen Kiki run off a cliff after being hit by a car—said she was gone for good.

Turned out, he stole my dog and gave her to this illegitimate brat as a gift!

Just then, a tattooed guy swaggered over with a cigarette dangling from his lips.

He said, "Mia, is this bitch giving you trouble?"

I shifted my gaze from the embroidered mark on Mia's collar.

The guy in front of me was Crestwood High's resident bully, and Mia's boyfriend.

Mia snuggled into his arms and pouted, "No, Ms. Lawrence was just apologizing to me.

"And as compensation, she even said I could perform at Friday's ceremony!"

I cut her off with a sneer. "Friday's ceremony is a big deal. The school didn't go through the selection process just to pick out some trash."

Mia froze for a moment, then shouted, "You called me trash?!"

I shrugged. "Come on, Mia, you know I don't lie to my students. I only speak the truth."