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.

“President Wilson, your husband has used part of the company’s funds for other purposes. Are you sure you want to keep investigating?”

Assistant Jones’s voice was hesitant. After all, what they were uncovering was no small matter.

If the board caught wind of this, they wouldn’t let Bennett off the hook.

“Of course I want to investigate. Go over every transaction, line by line.”

“Understood.”

Before I left the country, Bennett had promised me that he’d take care of everything while I focused on my recovery.

Thankfully, I never gave him full control.

I hung up the call with Assistant Jones and took a deep breath. If I kept digging, Bennett might be blacklisted by the entire financial industry.

This wasn’t some small error—this was massive.

We were husband and wife once. For the sake of those years, I didn’t want to completely destroy him.

Besides, he was still Frances’s father.

But before I could call to ask about what he’d been doing lately, I heard something—Frances’s pained, gasping cries.

I rushed toward the corridor.

Several girls had pinned her to the floor. One, with bright red hair, yanked her by the hair and forced her to lick dirt off her shoes.

“These are the newest limited edition shoes from Louis Vuitton. Can a maid’s daughter even afford to pay for the damage?”

“If Demi hadn’t taken pity on you, what would you even be? You actually tried to steal her boyfriend? Today, I’m going to teach you a lesson—for her!”

“During the last parent-teacher meeting, President Martinez said that Demi is his daughter!”

The truth slammed into me like a truck.

So that’s what it was. The housekeeper’s daughter had stolen my daughter’s identity.

And Bennett knew about it the whole time.

I rushed forward and pulled my daughter into my arms, my eyes locking onto Demi, who stood in the corner, eyes gleaming with cold calculation.

Without another thought, I slapped her across the face.

“You dare hit me?” she screamed. “You’re just some woman my dad sleeps with. Who do you think you are?”

“Do you think I can’t have both of you thrown out of here right now?”

I looked at her and everything became crystal clear.

She thought Bennett held absolute power in Wilson Holdings.

“You’re just a pretty little housemaid. Do you even know who Demi is? She’s the crown princess of the Wilson family!”

“Her mother donated all these school buildings! Who the hell do you think you are?”

I glanced at her with a faint smile. “Is that so?”

“Even if the principal himself came, he’d still have to treat Demi with respect—because of President Wilson!”

She didn’t know, did she?

All these buildings she spoke of with such arrogance—they were funded by me. Supervised by me. Every brick, every wall, it was all my doing.

“Is that right, Principal Houston?” I said calmly, turning my gaze toward the red-haired girl’s back. “Funny, isn't it? I don’t remember having such an impressive daughter.”