I nearly crushed my phone in my hand.

Me? A housekeeper?

Someone had dared to replace both me and my daughter!

Furious, I let out a bitter laugh and immediately booked a flight back to America.

I needed to see for myself—what the hell had happened to my home?

By six in the evening, I stepped out of the airport, with a suitcase in hand.

Let’s see just who this so-called “President Wilson” was.

When I arrived at the company, everyone stared at me in shock.

“President Wilson... why are you back so suddenly?”

They all knew the truth—the real power behind Wilson Holdings wasn’t Bennett, no matter how commanding he pretended to be.

It was me—the iron-blooded woman who had built the company from the ground up.

No one dared forget that.

“Darling, what brings you back so suddenly?” Bennett rushed over, his expression full of guilt.

It looked like he had just come from somewhere in a hurry. His usual polished appearance was off—his shirt was wrinkled, and he reeked of discomfort.

I smiled sweetly and reached up to straighten his collar, pretending not to see the faint red lipstick stain on it.

“New perfume?” I asked, my tone laced with irony.

Panic flickered in his eyes. Ralph Lauren's latest fragrance—it was the top-selling women's scent this season.

He chuckled awkwardly. “It’s our daughter. She’s grown up and cares about how she looks now. Dropped her perfume on her way out and it spilled all over me. That girl’s been so spoiled.”

He smiled dotingly, putting on the act of a devoted father.

“Oh really?” I gave a mocking laugh as I casually scrolled through Demi's social media page.

Every single piece of limited-edition jewelry I had bought for my daughter overseas—she was wearing all of them.

“Bennett,” I said coldly, “would you care to explain how the things I personally picked out for our daughter ended up on Emma's granddaughter instead?”

“Don’t bother telling me it’s a coincidence. Every one of those pieces is one-of-a-kind.”

The sarcasm in my voice cut like a blade.

My assistant had just confirmed the girl’s identity—Emma's granddaughter, Demi.

What a good job Emma had done raising her. No wonder everyone just assumed she was the Wilson family heiress.

When I showed Bennett the photos, panic returned to his eyes—but he quickly forced calm over his expression and spoke disapprovingly, as if I were overreacting.

“Well, Emma is getting older and has trouble with housework. Demi came to help out. She and Frances hit it off—they’re like sisters. They’ve been living and eating together these past two years.”

“Sharing between girls is normal, isn’t it?”

I let out a cold, mirthless laugh.

Normal?

Just then, his phone rang. He stepped aside to answer, and as the call ended, his face turned pale.

He looked at me with disbelief in his eyes.

“You froze my bank cards?”

I stared him down, hiding my true thoughts behind a calm expression.

“Bennett, where exactly did my daughter’s tuition money go?”

“She’s the one who didn’t want to study! She was constantly breaking school rules. If you don’t believe me, ask her yourself!”

“I will,” I said, turning to leave. “And I’ll get to the bottom of all of it.”

I knew my daughter better than anyone else. Her character, her dreams, her determination.

When she was little, she’d begged me to sign her up for piano, dance, painting—she said those were musts for a princess.

Now, in her final year of high school, she was just steps away from getting into the university of her dreams.

A few years ago, our housekeeper, Emma, moved into our home.

Her cooking won over my daughter immediately, so I decided to keep her on to help care for her.

But not long after, my old illness flared up again, and I had no choice but to step away from the company and let Bennett take over temporarily.

During my recovery, Bennett reassured me repeatedly—our daughter was doing well.

He even said she had made good friends with Emma's granddaughter.

Now, frowning deeply, I returned home.

My daughter was curled up on the sofa, her eyes wide with uncertainty.

“Mom... you’re back,” she whispered.

She moved toward me hesitantly, trying to hug me.

I pulled her into my arms—but she let out a soft cry of pain.

Alarmed, I gently rolled up her sleeve, and froze.

Bruises. Ugly, dark ones. Purple and green.

A cold sharpness flashed through my eyes. My voice dropped into a dangerous tone. “Who did this to you?”

But my daughter buried herself in my arms, trembling. “M-Mom... I fell. It was my fault...”

“I’m sorry... I really didn’t mean to...”

She kept apologizing, her body shaking with fear.

My heart ached.

This wasn’t how she used to be.

It was my fault for leaving her alone for so long.

Now that I knew she wasn't doing well, I wouldn't leave her side again.

Gently, I led her to my bedroom.

“Tonight, Mommy’s staying with you.”

With me there, she finally relaxed and drifted off to sleep.

Looking at my daughter, I clenched my fist in anger. I needed to get to the bottom of this.

Just as I was deep in thought, the bedroom door was suddenly kicked open.

My daughter jolted awake in terror, her whole body trembling.

A girl in silk pajamas burst into the room, eyes blazing with fury, and jabbed a finger at my daughter as she shouted, “You filthy thing! Who said you could sleep here?!”

She stormed toward us—but froze the moment she saw me.

“Who are you?” I asked coldly, my gaze sharp as ice.

“And why did you open the door to the master bedroom without permission?”

The girl blinked, confused. “Why would I need permission? This is my parents’ house.”

I let out a soft, cold laugh. “Your parents? I don’t recall having a daughter like you.”

“Now get out, before I lose my temper.”

The girl opened her mouth to argue—but before she could get a word out, Emma came rushing in and clamped a hand over her mouth.

“Madam, this is my granddaughter. Please don’t mind her—she has a habit of sleepwalking,” she said hastily, dragging the girl away.

Before leaving, she plastered on a smile and handed me a bowl of apple and soup.

“Madam, Miss Frances hasn’t eaten anything tonight. I made this for her.”

I nodded slightly. “You may go now.”

Once they left, I noticed it—my daughter seemed deeply uncomfortable around the two of them.

“Frances, are you hungry?” I asked gently.

“Come on, have a little something.”

She shook her head quickly. “No, Mommy... I don’t want to eat.”

“Please, don’t make me eat. I hate what I’ve become...”

I looked at her and felt another sharp pang in my chest.

Her once slender figure was gone—she was now bloated, her skin dull and rough.

Her face was covered with pimples, something she never used to have.

“I don’t want it...” she repeated, staring at the bowl of soup with terror in her eyes.

But this had always been her favorite food.

“...Alright,” I said softly, stroking her hair. “If you don’t like it, Mommy will make you something else tomorrow.”

She finally relaxed, curling up beside me and falling asleep.

I glanced down at the untouched bowl of soup. A dark glint passed through my eyes.

Quietly, I picked up my phone and dialed my assistant.

“Assistant Jones,” I began, keeping my voice calm, “I need a favor. Send someone to test something for me.”

“Yes... right now.”

"And another thing—recover the deleted surveillance footage from the house. I don't care what it costs. Do whatever it takes!"

Assistant Jones was swift. Within a short time, the tech team sent over the restored data.

But the footage they recovered almost made my heart explode in my chest.

The latest video was from my daughter’s coming-of-age celebration.

But the girl wearing that million-dollar gown wasn't Frances.

"Such beautiful clothes are a waste on you," she sneered, her voice dripping with disdain.

“Trash like you should be crawling with the dogs. You were just lucky to be born into this house, but some things were never meant for you. Even if you have them, they’re worthless on you.”

“I heard today’s your birthday too. Here—you can have this cake.”

With a venomous smile, Demi tossed a slice of cake onto the floor in front of my daughter, eyes full of cruelty.

“Come on, lick it up. Don’t waste it.”

“You’re just the housekeeper’s daughter. Being ordered around like a dog by Miss Demi should be an honor.”

Laughter and mocking followed. One of them even grabbed Frances by the hair and shoved her face into the cake on the ground.

Frances struggled, eyes full of tears, turning toward a boy off-camera.

“Jericho… please…”

But the next moment, Demi stomped viciously on my daughter’s hand.

“Bitch. Know your place!”

“Jericho is mine!”

My daughter’s desperate screams were drowned out by music and laughter.

Jericho—the boy who had grown up with my daughter, her childhood best friend, her shadow—stood there, expressionless, as Demi humiliated her.

He didn’t say a word. He didn’t even lift a finger to stop it.

Rage boiled in my chest.

Just then, another message came in from Assistant Jones.

“President Wilson, the food you asked us to test came back positive. It contained large amounts of hormones.”

I stared at my daughter’s bloated figure, her bruised face.

So that was why.

That innocent bowl of soup wasn’t just food—it was poison.

Poison that changed her appearance, destroyed her confidence, and stole her light.

Demi, at such a young age, was already this vicious?

Very well.

I would not let her go unpunished.

—

The next morning, Emma knocked on the door with breakfast.

“Frances, it’s time for school...” I gently tried to wake her.

But she trembled violently in my arms. “M-Mom... please, I don’t want to go. I never want to go back again...”

I let out a soft sigh. “Alright, sweetheart. I’ll take you to withdraw from school.”

But just then, I was told the driver had already taken Demi to school.

A sharp glint of anger flashed in my eyes. “They go to the same school,” Emma said quickly. “Besides, Frances usually doesn't want to go, so Demi left first, and the driver just—”

I cut her off coldly.

“If a driver can’t tell the employer’s daughter from someone else, then he’s clearly not fit for the job. He’s fired.”

With that, I turned and headed straight to the garage.

—

On the way to school with Frances, I noticed people whispering and pointing at us.

Their mocking gazes were sharp as knives, cutting through the air.

Frances hunched her shoulders, wishing she could disappear.

“Oh look, the little mutt the Wilson family raised has shown up.”

“I heard she’s here to drop out.”

“A housekeeper’s daughter is dreaming of becoming a phoenix. What a joke.”

“Still pretending to be some kind of heiress!”

“Rats belong in the sewers. Clearly, the last lesson we gave her wasn’t enough.”

“And the woman next to her, you think she’s President Martinez’s mistress?”

“Old bitch bringing in her little bitch? Gross.”

“Disgusting. Nothing good ever comes from trash like that.”

Each cruel word made Frances flinch harder, her hands shaking.

Just then, Assistant Jones' call came through.