Returning home on leave from the Federal Intelligence Agency, my four-year-old daughter suddenly dropped to her knees before me, begging me not to send her back to kindergarten. She said she didn’t want to go to school anymore.

I asked her why, but Emma only cried and shook her head, too frightened to speak.

Sensing something was terribly wrong, I lifted her shirt. My heart clenched when I saw her back and arms covered in dense clusters of needle marks.

I was trembling with rage as I snapped a photo and posted it in the kindergarten parents’ group:

“Who did this?”

An arrogant reply came instantly from someone labeled as Ethan’s mom:

“I told my son to do it!”

Then she uploaded two photos.

One was her wedding photo with my husband, Adrian Brooks.

The other was of me, Adrian, and Emma together.

She mocked:

“You filthy mistress! How dare you steal my billionaire husband and even give birth to an illegitimate daughter? I was merciful not to have my son beat that little brat to death.”

The group chat erupted. Parents hurled insults at me and my daughter.

Even the homeroom teacher chimed in, tagging Ethan’s mom:

“Ethan did well. Tomorrow, I’ll reward him with a gold star sticker.”

After sending a smug emoji, Chloe Davis, Ethan’s mom, tagged me directly:

“If you’re not convinced, come find me. My son and I are still at the kindergarten.”

Clutching Emma, I rushed to the kindergarten while dialing a special number:

“Adrian Brooks is suspected of bigamy and has an illegitimate son. Investigate him thoroughly according to the law!”

“Also, my daughter was assaulted at the kindergarten. Send people immediately—I want those responsible to pay a heavy price!”

Because of my classified work, I rarely interacted with the outside world. Even after marriage and childbirth, I saw my husband and daughter only occasionally.

This leave, I had returned home just to spend time with them. But the moment I stepped back, I discovered my daughter had been bullied this brutally.

When we arrived at the kindergarten, the moment I stepped out of the car with Emma, I saw Chloe standing proudly at the gate, surrounded by other parents from the class.

“You’ve been hiding it too well, Chloe. If this hadn’t happened, we’d never know your husband is actually New York City’s top billionaire!”

“No wonder you had that aura about you. Turns out that’s just the natural poise of a billionaire’s wife.”

“We came here today to support you. We’re all respectable mothers—we can’t let a home-wrecking mistress bully you.”

“Exactly. What kind of child could a mistress raise? Ethan truly deserves praise. Even at his young age, he knows how to rid society of filth!”

The homeroom teacher bowed low, fawning over Chloe:

“Chloe, just tell me what Ethan likes to eat. From now on, the kindergarten meals will be tailored to his tastes.”

Chloe soaked in the flattery from teachers and parents like a peacock strutting in full glory.

Adrian had never been capable enough. Without marrying me and gaining the protection that came with it, his rivals would have devoured him long ago. He never would have climbed to the status of billionaire.

Yet now, this very fact had become the source of Chloe’s pride and arrogance.

When the parents noticed me arriving, the same people who had been eager to flatter her instantly frowned, their faces twisting in disdain—as though I were filth contaminating the air.

The homeroom teacher walked straight up to me, face cold and severe:

“Emma’s mother, the principal asked me to inform you—effective immediately, Emma is expelled.”

I fixed my eyes on the teacher, my voice like ice:

“My daughter was beaten in your kindergarten, and instead of seeking justice for the victim, you expel her? Just to curry favor with the powerful?”

The homeroom teacher sneered with indifference:

“This is an elite private kindergarten. Every child here comes from wealth and privilege. A mistress’s illegitimate daughter staying here would only corrupt our school’s reputation.”

My expression darkened, and I said coldly:

“You’d better investigate clearly who the real mistress is—and who the illegitimate child truly is.”

The words had barely left my mouth when Chloe Davis suddenly strode up to me. With a sharp crack, she slapped me hard across the face.

“You filthy mistress, how dare you act arrogant in front of me, the legal wife?” she spat.

“Did you really think giving birth to some bastard child would be enough to steal my place as the billionaire’s wife?”

Other parents quickly joined in, pointing fingers and jeering at me:

“Look at you—acting all prim and proper, but what do you end up doing? Spreading your legs for another woman’s husband to bear his child?”

“Some women pretend to be decent, but behind closed doors they’re nothing but sluts. The moment they see a wealthy man, they go into heat like animals!”

“A mistress is the shame of all women—and her child deserves even worse!”

Their accusations drew a larger crowd. Strangers pointed and gossiped, their faces twisted in contempt. Some took out their phones, filming me, while others spat at me.

I slipped off my coat and tossed it into the trash, then turned to face Chloe directly.

“First you incited your son to torment my daughter, and now you strike me in public. Who gave you the courage to act so lawlessly?”

Chloe raised her chin with arrogance:

“A legal wife disciplining a mistress—it’s only natural. Besides, I am the billionaire’s wife, the queen of New York City. What’s the big deal if I not only beat you and your daughter, but even take your lives?”

Parents echoed her words:

“If you hadn’t been a mistress, would Chloe need to hit you? You brought this on yourself.”

“Running into the real wife and not tucking your tail between your legs, still daring to provoke her—you’re lucky it was only one slap!”

“Exactly. Sluts like you get addicted to playing the victim, acting innocent for sympathy. But we’re not those men blinded by lust!”

Even the onlookers chimed in, their curses growing harsher with every shout.

Chloe, emboldened by the crowd, turned her glare toward my car, fury flashing in her eyes.

“A lowlife mistress like you, driving a car bought with my husband’s money—aren’t you ashamed?” she shrieked.

“Today, I’ll make sure you cough up every penny you’ve stolen!”

She snatched up a brick from the roadside and smashed it into my car, targeting the windows, headlights, and hood without restraint.

“She’s the billionaire’s wife! We can’t let a mistress like her be bullied!” someone in the crowd yelled.

That was all it took. Parents grabbed whatever they could find—sticks, stones, tools—and joined in, striking my car in a frenzy.

But my vehicle was no ordinary car. Outfitted with bulletproof protection, their assault left nothing more than scratches on the surface.

Frustrated, they shouted:

“What kind of car is this? Why is it so damn tough?”

I fixed them with a steady, icy gaze.

“You’d better stop now. This isn’t just any car. Damaging it won’t be solved with money alone.”

My warning only made Chloe more furious.

“Just a cheap domestic piece of junk,” she sneered.

“I’ll smash it however I want—what can you do about it?”

The next second, she and several others yanked open the doors, climbed inside, and began tearing at the seats and scraping the interior with sharp objects.

In moments, the once pristine cabin was shredded into tatters.

My car was indeed manufactured domestically. But it was no ordinary car. It was a Cadillac Presidential Limousine, specially assigned to me by the Federal Intelligence Agency—a symbol of honor.

Watching this mob of lawless lunatics, I silently took out my phone and dialed my superior:

“Sir, the agency’s assigned vehicle has been vandalized.”

Before I could hear a reply, one of the parents suddenly snatched the phone from my hand and smashed it to the ground.

“You still dare complain? You’re nothing but a mistress feeding off men—where do you get the face to act so high and mighty?”

“She probably wanted to call one of her johns to come stage a show of support, hahaha!”

“Pathetic! Pretending to be someone important—who do you think you are?”

“Exactly! Were you born out of a trash can, since you love to put on airs?”

They roared with laughter, their mockery sharp and unrestrained.

I stared at my shattered phone on the ground, my voice cold as ice:

“Let’s see if you’re still laughing later.”

Then I turned to the homeroom teacher.

“My daughter was bullied here. You must have known, didn’t you?”

The teacher glared at me with disdain.

“So what if I did? A mistress’s bastard daughter is nothing but society’s trash. Ethan was just taking out the garbage—what’s wrong with that?”

Parents clapped in approval:

“No wonder she’s the teacher. That judgment is fair and precise!”

“Exactly! This is an elite school, not a place for strays to sneak in.”

“A mistress’s daughter doesn’t need an education. Why not just teach her to seduce men from the start? That’s how you live, isn’t it? Maybe she’ll surpass even you one day and land an even richer sugar daddy!”

Chloe grew bolder, her tone dripping with contempt:

“See? This is what happens when you’re a mistress. You and your bastard daughter are doomed to crawl at society’s lowest rung, despised by everyone.”

The crowd joined in, hurling curses and insults until the air thickened with hatred. The louder they jeered, the wider Chloe’s triumphant smile grew.

Sensing an opportunity, the homeroom teacher flattered her further:

“Mrs. Brooks, the principal said—if we handle this matter to your satisfaction, perhaps you could grant us a small favor. You know, our kindergarten is planning to expand, but the surrounding land all belongs to Brooks Corporation…”

Chloe folded her arms, chin lifted arrogantly.

“Don’t worry. I’m very pleased with how you’ve handled things today. I’ll simply say the word, and my husband will hand that land over to you.”

The teacher grinned from ear to ear.

“Then let me thank you in advance, Mrs. Brooks.”

Other parents rushed forward, vying for Chloe’s attention:

“My husband has worked with Brooks Corporation before. Could we be given priority for future contracts?”

“My company is preparing a transition—we’d love a chance to collaborate with Brooks Corporation as well.”

“Mrs. Brooks, here’s an unlimited shopping card from our mall. Please accept it—I hope our families can stay close.”

One by one, they shoved gifts, business cards, even bank cards into Chloe’s bag.

She reveled in it, her entire presence exuding arrogance and pride.

Finally, she strutted over to me, her head held high, and sneered:

“Do you see it now? The difference between people in this world is wider than that between man and dog. A lowly mistress like you is destined to spread your legs and beg for scraps.”