Gwen's POV

I’m Gwen Stanton, the only daughter of Hector Stanton—one of New York’s most powerful elites. Raised in luxury after my mother’s tragic death during childbirth, I became the adored gem of the city's high society. My father spared no expense on my education, sending me abroad to study at the world’s finest schools. On my 18th birthday, he gifted me ten million dollars to celebrate my coming of age and dropped a bombshell: he was remarrying. I was thrilled and eager to welcome my new stepmother into our family.

With excitement bubbling inside me, I splurged on a lavish gift for her—over a hundred thousand dollars worth of luxury. My plan was to surprise them both by returning to New York unannounced. But when I stepped off the plane, my world shattered.

The moment I stepped off the plane, my soon-to-be stepmother stormed the airport with bodyguards, her fury unleashed on me. Before I could speak, she had me pinned to the ground, her high heel smashing into my nose and teeth, breaking them. All while streaming the entire scene live.

“You’ve got the nerve to seduce my husband when you’re barely out of school?” she screamed. “He's old enough to be your father, and yet you flaunt yourself in front of him, shameless!"

She went on, “I’ll tear that plastic surgery face apart! Let’s see you steal from me now!”

Just before I blacked out, I saw my dad and a whole entourage from New York’s elite rushing into the airport to greet me.

I had just gotten off the plane and was exhausted after hauling my shopping bags all over. Too tired to stand straight, I sat on my suitcase to rest and opened my phone. Just then, I got a notification. My stepmother had updated her social media. I’d been following her account secretly for months, trying to get a sense of what she liked so I could buy her a gift she’d love. Her posts about her extravagant life had earned her millions of followers—everyone adored Hester Mills.

Expecting another glamorous update, I was shocked when I saw her crying in her latest post. In the video, her voice trembled as she accused some "mistress" of stealing her husband. The comment section exploded with hate, calling the woman every name in the book. Worse, the video was going viral.

Just then, Auntie Hester started a livestream, and in less than two minutes, it exploded to one hundred thousand viewers. Through teary eyes, she wailed, “Beauty doesn’t matter anymore when there are fresh eighteen-year-olds everywhere! My wedding was postponed because of her! And my husband—he transferred ten million dollars to this woman!”

Her voice cracked, and the fury in her words was palpable. “If I hadn’t found the plane ticket charge on his secondary card, I’d still be in the dark!”

She continued, “He’s old enough to be her father, and yet she still won’t let him go! It seems an online affair wasn’t enough for her, so she’s coming here to meet him in person. Such women deserve a teaching they will never forget!"

Ten million dollars? A postponed wedding? My heart raced, my mind spinning. This couldn’t be happening. My father, Hector Stanton, had been devoted to my mother for years, never entertaining another woman until he met Auntie Hester. There had to be some mistakes.

Frantically, I typed a comment into the livestream, urging her to calm down and investigate the situation before she destroyed her marriage over a misunderstanding. But my words were drowned in a sea of hate-filled messages from her enraged fans.

I couldn’t sit still any longer. I called my father, hoping he’d pick up and clear this up, but all I got was an automated response—he was busy. Panic surged through me. If I didn’t act fast, this misunderstanding would spiral out of control. Grabbing my suitcase, I bolted out of the airport, desperate to fix this mess.

But before I could even take a few steps, a group of bodyguards tackled me to the ground. My suitcase flew several meters away, my heart lurching remembering it contained expensive jewelry I had bought for Hester.

“Stop!” I shouted, struggling to get up. “What are you doing? This is an airport! Do you want me to call the police?”

I barely had a chance to react before a camera was shoved in my face. The pressure wiped off the makeup from my nose. Just then, I saw my soon-to-be stepmother glaring down at me, her voice sharp and angry. “Everyone, look! This little mistress dares to call the police!” She sneered, her voice dripping with venom. “As if she could call our police after being so obsessed with foreign life! How dare you, you shameless little tramp!”

She spat in my face, her delicate features twisted in rage.

I was stunned, yet I tried to explain, “There’s been a mistake, Auntie Hester… I’m not—"

Her eyes flared with anger as she leaned into the camera, her voice mockingly sweet. “Did you hear that? Auntie Hester! Just because I’m ten years older, I’m suddenly her ‘auntie.’ Mistresses these days are so bold! Why not call me ‘Granny’ next?”

She turned back to me, her voice growing darker. “Caught in the act and still pretending to be innocent. You think I won’t deal with you just because you keep denying it?”

Before I could defend myself again, one of her bodyguards kicked the back of my knee under Auntie Hester's signal. Pain exploded through my leg, and I collapsed to the ground, gasping in shock. He yanked my hair, forcing my head back and exposing my face to the camera. I could feel the sharp sting of humiliation as Auntie Hester’s eyes burned with vindictive satisfaction.

With a sneer, she lifted my chin using the tip of her high heel, her voice low and full of malice. “Take a good look, everyone. This is the slut trying to steal my husband! Look at that mixed-race face—just how much did it cost to make her this pretty? No wonder my husband can’t stop throwing money at her!”

I tried to shake my head, to deny the accusations, but the bodyguard’s grip on my hair sent pain shooting down my neck. My face contorted. Desperately, I glanced around, hoping someone would step in, but the crowd just watched. Some middle-aged women were even cheering her on.

Realizing no help was coming, I tried to reason with her. “You’ve got it all wrong. I’m not a mistress, and I could never seduce your husband. He's my—”

But before I could finish, her hand whipped across my face, the slap echoing in the air.

Gwen's POV

The sharp sting of her nails carved deep, uneven scratches across my face, and I reeled from the slap, my vision blurring as stars danced in front of my eyes. The words I had been trying to say were lodged in my throat, suffocated by shock and pain. How had this woman—the one my father had described as elegant and refined—turned into this crazed, vindictive stranger?

I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to remain silent, unwilling to air our dirty laundry in front of the ever-growing crowd. But Auntie Hester wasn’t done. She whipped out her phone, flashing screenshots of bank transfers. It was the transaction history from the secondary credit card my father had given me.

“You spent tens of millions of my husband’s money in just six months, and you still dare to deny it?” She jabbed her finger at the screen to show me the list of transactions. “This is all the evidence I need when I sue you! You thought hiding abroad would protect you? Now that you’ve dared to come back and walked right into me, I won't just leave you here without paying for this!"

She leaned in so close I could smell her expensive perfume, her mocking gaze scanning my face. “Oh, they’ve done wonders on you overseas. Not a single trace of surgery left! No wonder even the most powerful man here in New York is wrapped around your little finger."

Her voice dripped with malicious amusement as she continued, “You could’ve been an influencer, made your millions on social media like any other pretty face. But no, you had to target my husband. Well, today I’m going to ruin that perfect face of yours and show him what kind of trash you really are!”

Before I could react, she grabbed my chin with a vicious grip, the pressure sending shockwaves of pain through my jaw as though my bones would crack under the force. I could only stare up at her, terror tightening around my chest.

My mother belonged to an ethnic minority, so my looks were entirely natural!

“My looks are natural!” I defended. “You’ve got it all wrong! I’m not a mistress—I’m Hector Stanton’s daughter. His biological daughter!”

I thought that revealing my identity would snap her out of her madness,

, but the words had barely left my mouth before her hand swung again. This time, the blow shattered one of my contact lenses, the shards slicing into my eye. Blinding pain ripped through me, my vision flooded with blood and tears. But I still refused to cry out.

Desperate, I pleaded through the haze of pain. “I’m telling the truth,” I said weakly. “If you don’t believe me, call him. I have pictures with my dad on my phone. I’m really his daughter.”

But Auntie Hester’s fury had already overtaken her reason, her face flushed with anger. “Shut up! You think I’ll believe you? Everyone knows Hector’s daughter is abroad. Stop playing roles in front of me—it’s disgusting!"

With a sneer, she tore open my coat, her eyes scanning my outfit with disdain. “A so-called ‘socialite,’ yet wearing a knockoff like this? What a joke. Only a slut desperate for attention would wear something like this to seduce men!”

Arching up her brow, she looked at me in pity and spat, "Your parents must have been dead. That's why no one taught you right and became a mistress. Well, then, your parents should thank me now as I’ll teach you some manners on their behalf!"

She raised her hand to strike again, but I screamed, “Wait! If you don’t believe me, call my father’s secretary! She knows me—she can confirm who I am!”

For a moment, doubt flickered in her eyes, her hand pausing mid-swing. She pulled out her phone, suspicion etched on her face. After barking a question to my father’s secretary, she listened impatiently.

The secretary’s voice came through faintly, but the words sealed my fate. “Mr. Stanton’s daughter? I haven’t heard anything about her returning to the States. As far as I know, she’s still completing her studies abroad.”

Upon hearing this, Auntie Hester abruptly hung up and threw the phone at me with force, the device hitting my forehead with a sharp crack.

“You hear that?” she hissed. “What now? What lies will you spin next? Get her!”

I never imagined my plan to surprise my dad would turn into a nightmare I couldn’t explain my way out of.

The bodyguards closed in on me, following her orders. My eye throbbed with sharp pain, and panic surged through me. Desperate, I screamed, “Stop! Or I’ll call the police!”

Unfortunately, my powerless threat sounded like the biggest joke to her. She simply kept responding to her livestream comments, her attention completely on her audience. The bodyguards didn’t stop either.

When one of them reached for me, terror took over.

“You want money?” I shouted. “I’ll give you a million! Just let me go, and I’ll transfer it right now!”

Gwen's POV

However, contrary to what I had expected, Auntie Hester’s fury erupted like wildfire even further. Her eyes blazed red with wrath, and she shoved the bodyguard out of her way. She charged at me, unhinged, and her hand cracked across my face with a sharp sting, over and over.

“You little viper!” she screeched. “How much money did my husband transfer to you? Tell me! Didn't you know half of that belongs to me? It's mine!”

Her voice dripped venom. “No wonder my grand wedding was postponed! All the money he promised me—on my big day—ended up in your filthy hands!”

She leaned closer, her voice dropping into a low hiss. “How dare a mistress threaten me? Just as you know, I get anything I want. And right now, I want my money back and your life!”

With a flick of her hand, she signaled the bodyguards. They swarmed me, pinning me to the cold, unforgiving airport floor. The livestream camera zoomed in again, capturing every humiliating second of my downfall.

Auntie Hester’s manicured fingers dug into my face, gripping my already injured eye. Blood trickled down, the red staining my skin. At that moment, I could feel the wet warmth of it running down my cheek.

I lay there, broken and weak, barely clinging to consciousness. My body felt heavy, drained of all strength, as though life was slowly sucked out of me. The overwhelming shame clawed at my mind, suffocating me under its weight.

Still, despite her attack, my face remained intact, aside from the redness of my skin. Seeing that, Auntie Hester became furious and cursed through gritted teeth, “So you’ve gone and gotten some work done, huh? Think that’ll protect you? Think again!”

With a terrifying smirk, she ripped off one of her high heels and, with a calculated move, slammed the pointed heel down on my nose. The sound of bone cracking filled the air, and I felt the sharp, searing pain as one of my teeth flew out. Blood gushed into my mouth, the metallic taste making me gag.

I spat onto the dirty floor, a pool of red forming beneath me. Auntie Hester didn’t care; she paraded in front of the camera, basking in her victory.

“Ladies, this is how you handle a mistress!” She spun, her voice a triumphant echo. “Like and share, let the world see what happens when you try to steal someone else’s man!”

She planted her hands on her hips, glaring down at me. “I’ll always be Mrs. Stanton. No amount of his money will ever make you me!”

Her voice began to fade as my vision blurred, my consciousness teetering on the edge. My lips brushed the filthy airport floor, the dust clinging to every shallow breath I took. Just then, in the corner of my eye, I spotted movement—a shadow creeping toward my suitcase.

The thought of the hundred thousand in jewelry inside that suitcase gave me a surge of strength. Summoning the last remnants of my strength, I rasped, “Stop… don’t touch… my things.”

Auntie Hester’s gaze followed mine, her eyes narrowing at the suitcase. She waved a hand, and a bodyguard rushed to retrieve it. The would-be thief bolted, but Auntie Hester wasn’t done.

She released me, striding over to the suitcase like a lioness about to devour her prey. I could feel panic rising in my throat. I couldn’t let her take that jewelry. She didn’t deserve it!

Dragging myself across the floor, my limbs heavy and uncooperative, I reached her just as she opened the suitcase. The glint of diamonds and gold under the airport lights was almost blinding. As such, Auntie Hester’s eyes gleamed with unbridled greed.

As she reached out to claim her spoils, I threw myself over the suitcase, clutching it with desperate hands, my body trembling from the effort.

Seeing me covering my suitcase, her face contorted with rage, and she screeched to the bodyguards, “What are you waiting for? Pull this wretched thing away! Anything bought with my husband's money belongs to me!”

Through bloodied lips, I whispered, “You’ll never deserve it.”

The crowd had swelled into a sea of onlookers, their curious faces turning the scene into a twisted spectacle. After a long moment, airport security finally arrived, but they struggled to push through the throng of spectators.

My once-pristine designer coat, worth tens of thousands, hung in tatters around me, ripped apart by the bodyguards’ brutality. The cold air kissed my exposed skin, sending a shiver down my spine, but I barely registered it—my focus was on survival.

Even so, Auntie Hester seemed unsatisfied and her patience snapped like a brittle thread. She planted her hands on her hips, her voice dripping with venom. “Are you all weaklings? Can’t even pull her off? Hit her if you have to! I paid you—don’t waste my time!” She narrowed her eyes, fury dancing in them. “Is it because she’s pretty? That’s it, isn’t it? Men are all the same—pathetic!”

Without waiting for a response, she spat, “Move! I’ll handle it myself.”

At her command, the bodyguards kicked me hard in the back, their boots landing with bone-rattling force. Each impact sent a wave of agony through me, as if my insides were being pulverized. It wasn’t greed that kept me holding onto the jewelry—I couldn’t let the humiliation break me. I couldn’t let her win.

My injured eye had long filled with blood, my vision fading completely from that side, but I refused to scream, even as the pain became unbearable. Teeth gritted, I held on.

Finally, the bodyguards grew tired of my resistance and hauled me up like a rag doll, throwing me aside with brutal indifference. The suitcase burst open on impact, scattering the jewelry across the floor. Some of the shards sliced into my chest, embedding themselves into my skin and leaving me covered in blood.

For a moment, the pain cleared my mind. I locked eyes with Auntie Hester, her face a mask of cruelty, and forced out a whisper, “Daddy won’t let you get away with this.”

Her smirk faltered for a brief second. Dropping the livestream camera, she stomped over to me, barefoot, and drove her heel into my back. She twisted and ground her foot into my spine. With everything my body had received, my blood was now soaking the airport floor, pooling in a grotesque display beneath the suitcase.

Even so, I didn’t let go. My hands, trembling and slick with blood, clung desperately to the suitcase’s handle.

Seeing me still reluctant to let my suitcase go,

Auntie Hester’s patience reached its breaking point. With a snarl, she bent down and began prying my fingers off one by one. The force was brutal, and my nails tore from my skin, each one sending a fresh wave of searing pain through my body. My fingertips bled freely, the agony so sharp it sent cold sweat rolling down my face.

Finally, she wrenched the suitcase free, sneering as she stomped on it. “It was never yours,” she hissed. “No matter how hard you try, it’s useless!”

She raised her phone again, pointing it at my bruised, bloodied face. “This is what happens to mistresses! Challenge me, and I’ll tear your skin off in public!”

She laughed, a wicked, hollow sound. “My husband only loves me. As for the money he gave you, I’ll get back every single cent!” Her voice rose, addressing the invisible audience. “Let this be a warning to any homewreckers out there—this is the price you pay for touching what’s mine!”

Just as the last word left her lips, security finally surged through the crowd. Chaos erupted as two groups collided, the onlookers scattered in fear.

Even though Auntie Hester maintained her smug expression, I saw the flicker of anxiety behind her eyes. She leaned down toward me, her voice low and full of mockery. “You think I wanted that trash for myself? What a joke. It’s all fake garbage. I don’t care about it. I just wanted to teach you a lesson.”

Barely conscious, I lay on the ground, my body going numb from the pain and blood loss.

She grabbed the last remaining pieces of jewelry from the floor and hurled them at my face, the jewels shattering on impact, raining down over my bloodstained skin like broken glass.

Still not satisfied, she picked up the now-empty suitcase and slammed it onto my body, the weight of it knocking what little breath I had left out of me. When she was done, she dusted off her hands as if I were nothing but dirt beneath her feet.

The pain was so intense, I could hardly feel anything anymore. I hovered on the brink of unconsciousness, my body heavy with blood loss and agony. Just as my vision began to blur, I heard heavy footsteps—familiar, authoritative.

Through the haze, I saw him—my father, flanked by the most powerful men in New York. Their presence parted the crowd like the Red Sea, and a wave of relief washed over me.

My phone buzzed next to me, barely audible over the chaos. It was a call—from him.