Chapter 3

I was brought back to this family when I was twelve.

My parents didn't like me.

But the floating comments kept telling me they just didn't know how to interact with me. They said blood is thicker than water, and no parents could ever hate their own child.

Just like the first time we met. They looked at my shrinking, timid posture and spoke with disgust.

"Greet us. Why are you so rude?"

"This child is too cowardly. She can never handle big responsibilities."

I gripped my sleeves, my whole body trembling.

Then, the floating comments appeared for the first time.

[Is this the real daughter? She looks so unlikable and gloomy.]

[Why hasn't she noticed that her mom's eyes are swollen from crying? Her dad is so nervous he keeps checking his watch. They're just too tense, so they use criticism to hide their affection. In reality, they want nothing more than to run over and hug her!]

I froze. I quietly observed their micro-expressions. Finding that they matched the comments, I ran forward crying and hugged them.

"Mom, Dad."

My mother's eyes welled with tears. My father kept a stern face.

"It's good that you're back. Remember, children of the Andrews family do not cry."

They drummed this rule into my head for ten years.

Until the year I graduated.

I was at a restaurant celebrating with my classmates when a gas explosion tore through the shopping mall.

The flames roared, and everyone ran for their lives. Because of my chronic malnutrition, I was knocked to the ground by the stampeding crowd.

Surrounded by fire, I saw my father’s silhouette rushing in, and I heard my mother’s desperate screams.

When I woke up, my mother was draped over my hospital bed. For a woman who was always perfectly put together, her eyes were swollen, and her clothes were a mess.

My eyes welled with tears of gratitude. But my father, who was working on his laptop in the corner, looked up with deep disapproval.

"Why do you always bring trouble to us? Why can't you be more like Evie? Just stay home quietly."

"From now on, you are not allowed to go out without my permission."

The tears spilled onto my wrists. I let out a bitter smile.

There was no comfort. No hug. Only a barrage of accusations.

But I couldn't have predicted the explosion. I had only gone out with friends to buy a thank-you gift for my parents.

Forget it. It didn't matter anymore.

The comments kept scrolling.

[Oh my god, don't believe his cold words! Your parents ran to the mall like madmen when they heard you were trapped!]

[They’ve been watching over you for days. He’s only saying this because he’s terrified of losing you again. If you don't believe me, look at your dad. He hasn't shaved in days!]

[They already lost you once. They can't bear to lose you again!]

I strained to lift my head, but I only saw his hurried back as he walked out of the room.

After that day, I stopped looking at what they did or listening to what they said.

I clung desperately to those floating comments, feeding on the tiny drops of love hidden between the lines.

I told myself they really loved me.

They must love me, otherwise, why would they bring me home and give me this luxurious life?

But love has tiers.

They were business people. And business people never make a losing investment.

Compared to Evie, who was clever, elegant, and beloved by everyone, I was like a swamp rat.

I couldn't understand the financial reports of the company, nor could I master their elite social etiquette.

Even at a simple high-society tea party, I couldn't bring any pride to my mother.

Gradually, my father’s eyes turned to complete disappointment. My mother felt embarrassed to even walk beside me.

To save face, they simply gave up on announcing my true identity. They let Evie remain the public's one and only "biological" daughter of the Andrews family.

I cried silently at night. The comments told me that in billionaire families, interests and alliances were the most important things.

They said Evie was just a tool for business alliances. They told me to be understanding.

But I couldn't understand. I couldn't accept that my own parents were letting a thief steal my life.

Yet, that was the reality.

Once I saw the truth, I became quieter and quieter. No matter how they treated me, I submitted to it all.

I thought as long as I stayed in this house, I still had parents.

But now, I was truly exhausted.

What didn't belong to me would never be mine.