At the banquet celebrating the student my father sponsored getting into a prestigious graduate program, my aunt drank too much and let the truth slip.

"It's all because Professor Swanson is capable," she slurred, her voice carrying across the table. "Charlotte was short by nine points, and he still found a way to get her into Yanda University."

I froze, certain my aunt was joking.

"Auntie, my dad is a man of integrity. When I was short by a single point, he refused to pull any strings for me. How could he possibly break the rules for someone else? Charlotte must have gotten in on her own merit."

My disbelief only agitated her more. She shook off her daughter's desperate grip on her sleeve.

"How is it not true? Charlotte scored a 679. Nine points below the cutoff for the math department. Professor Swanson even declared he'd take Charlotte on as his personal graduate student." Her eyes narrowed at me. "Aren't you Professor Swanson's daughter? Why didn't *you* go to Yanda?"

My head turned slowly toward my parents.

My mother's gaze skittered away, guilt written plainly across her face. "Isabella... Charlotte's family situation is difficult. If she didn't get into Yanda, she wouldn't have been able to handle the blow."

"But you?" A sigh. "You won't do. We have to avoid suspicion. People would talk."

The tears came instantly, spilling over no matter how furiously I wiped at them.

"I understand." My voice cracked. "So being your daughter means you can't participate in my future at all."

The chair scraped harshly against the floor as I stood. "Fine. Then I won't be your daughter anymore. That way, you won't have to rack your brains trying to 'avoid suspicion.'"

——

Another second in that room would have suffocated me. I turned on my heel and marched toward the exit.

Two steps. That's all I managed before my father's voice boomed behind me.

"Charlotte will be my student. As my daughter, if you walk out now, you are publicly declaring your dissatisfaction with her! Do you have any idea how that will impact her reputation?"

I stopped.

Looked back at him.

He hadn't heard a single word I said. Or maybe he had, and he simply didn't care. His only concern was that my departure might tarnish the reputation of his precious sponsored student.

My mother rushed over, fingers closing around my arm like a vise. "Leaving in the middle of the banquet? Where are your manners? Today, even if the sky falls, you sit there until this banquet ends!"

Before I could react, relatives swarmed in, pressing me back down into my seat.

The anger I had been suppressing detonated.

I stood, grabbed the edge of the round table, and flipped it.

*CRASH.*

Plates, glasses, expensive dishes—all of it shattered against the floor. The deafening noise silenced the entire hall.

I stared straight at my father.

"She was short by nine points, and you called in every favor to get her into Yanda." My voice shook. "But what about me? I was short by *one point*. Fine, maybe I wasn't skilled enough then. So I worked myself to the bone. I took the graduate entrance exam. I had the highest written score. I was the most outstanding candidate in the interviews. I had the most awards."

One step toward him. Then another.

"But the advisor I chose told me *you* didn't want me at Yanda."

"Tell me—why did you do that to me?"

My composure shattered. Tears streamed down my face, hot and humiliating. I was a mess.

I didn't care.

*Smack.*

The force of the slap snapped my head to the side. My cheek burned.

"This is outrageous!" my father roared. "Apologize to Charlotte immediately!"

Charlotte's mother slapped her thigh, wailing theatrically. "Professor Swanson paid good money for this banquet! Even if you don't care about face, you shouldn't waste food!"

I touched my stinging cheek.

A cold, hollow laugh escaped me.

"My business failed, and I owed money. I asked you for a loan, and you said you didn't have any." I gestured at the ruined banquet. "Turns out, the money was all here."

When I got into school, they refused to hold a celebration, claiming it was "too flashy." Yet for an outsider, they booked eighty-eight tables in our hometown just to keep up appearances.

"Since you care about her so much, let her be your daughter." The words came out ice-cold. "From now on, unless one of us is dying, don't contact me."

I shoved past the stunned relatives and stormed out.

My father's face had turned a dark, bruised purple. He hadn't expected me to humiliate him so publicly.

My phone rang incessantly as I walked away. I couldn't hang up fast enough, so I switched it off completely.

I bought the next flight out. Only when I was safely back in my apartment did I turn my phone on again.

My phone nearly froze from the barrage of missed calls and notifications.

The first message was from Mom.

*You were excessive today. We raised Charlotte like our own. It hasn't been easy for her. You don't understand. We just hope she has a better life—is that wrong?*

I scrolled down to Dad's message.

*Charlotte isn't like you. She's sensitive. Yanda was her life's goal. When she thought she didn't get in, she was suicidal. I couldn't just stand by! You made a huge scene today—how is she supposed to face people now? Apologize to her immediately!*

I didn't bother reading the rest. I deleted the thread.

Another call came in. I meant to decline, but my thumb slipped.

"Isabella, your mom says you want to cut ties with the family?"

Uncle Tyler.

"Mm." Noncommittal.

"I'm not trying to lecture you," he started, his tone already patronizing, "but you're being ungrateful. Your parents worked hard to raise you, and now you want to disown them?"

He launched into a monologue about my parents' hardships. "Your dad just thought that girl was pitiful. There's no need to take it this far, is there?"

The city lights blurred beyond my window. I stayed silent.

"Isabella?"

"Uncle Tyler." My voice came out soft. "Since I was little, my dream was Yanda University."

"We all know that..."

"Back then, I missed the cutoff by one point. I begged Dad for help. He's been at Yanda his whole life—getting me in would have been trivial. He told me he despised people who used connections."

Silence on the other end.

"But Charlotte got in. Nine points short, and she got in." A dry laugh scraped my throat. "With me, it's about integrity. With someone else, it's charity. Uncle Tyler, I'm his daughter, so I have to 'avoid suspicion.' Does the student he sponsors not need to avoid suspicion? It's a double standard."

Dad sponsored several students, but none received the investment or effort Charlotte did. To the world, he was the benevolent "Papa Swanson."

To me, he was barely a father at all.

"Your dad is doing good deeds," Tyler stammered. "You shouldn't argue over..."

"Uncle Tyler." My head was pounding. "Last year, I passed Yanda's graduate written exam. My interview scores were stellar. I was practically guaranteed a spot."

"But I didn't get in. Do you know why?"

"Why?"

"Because my father personally went to the admissions office to block me. He thought if I got into Yanda, people would say I used his connections."

I let the words hang there.

"Charlotte was hand-picked as his graduate student. Don't you find that funny?"

Dead silence.

After a long moment, Tyler spoke again, his voice subdued. "Try to understand him. He's a renowned professor. If his sponsored student failed to get into his own university, he'd lose face."

The anger flared white-hot in my chest.

"Am I not enough to give him face?" I demanded. "I've been first in my class since childhood. I've won so many awards my hands are tired of holding them. Why must I be sacrificed for his reputation? Why is it that to avoid suspicion, I can't go to the school I love?"

"Why should we wrong our own flesh and blood for an outsider?"

My voice went cold as steel. "Tell them this. I will fulfill my legal obligation to support them financially in their old age. But that is where it ends. Just money. No family."

The breathing on the other end of the line changed.

Victor Swanson.

He had been listening the entire time. Now, realizing I wasn't going to back down, he couldn't stay silent.

His tone was as lofty and arrogant as ever. "Do you still not realize you are wrong?"

I scoffed. "You have money—why didn't you lend it to me when I was desperate?"

"You—"

"Eighty-eight tables. Fifteen hundred to two thousand dollars a table. You have a fortune to help her show off, but not a dime to help your daughter in an emergency."

True to his professorial nature, Victor remained infuriatingly calm. "That is my money. I have the right to dispose of it as I see fit."

"I know." My grip tightened on the phone. "It's your money, your connections. Use them on whoever you want."

A breath. Steadying.

"Then how I use my future money and my time is also my business."

I hung up and turned off the phone.

Finally, the world was quiet.

...

In the adult world, there is no time for self-pity.

After being blocked from Yanda, I went to another grad school. Unwilling to settle, I tried starting a business with friends. Predictably, it failed, leaving me with several hundred thousand dollars in debt.

I had tried to borrow from my parents, but they preferred throwing banquets for strangers.

I was on my own.

I moved into the graduate dorms at my university. A cramped double room, inconvenient and loud, but I only had to pay utilities. It saved me a fortune in rent.

Without my parents, I would still pay off this debt.

Despite the business failure, I had built a network. Outsourced projects started coming in. The profit margins were decent.

I became a machine.

Intense schoolwork and freelance projects blurred together. I woke up working and collapsed into bed working. Even in the shower, my mind raced with data models and code.

My mother, unable to reach me by phone, eventually ambushed me at the school gate. She brought Aunt Lucy as a mediator.

"Isabella, why are you living in a dorm?" Mom's eyes swept over my tired face. "You hate living with other people. Why did you give up your apartment?"

I checked the time on my phone. Twenty minutes until my meeting.

"Because I can't afford rent. The dorm is free aside from utilities."

Her eyes reddened.

Aunt Lucy chimed in. "Isabella, you and your parents need to talk this out..."

"Talk about what?" I snapped. "Aren't I doing exactly what they wanted? I'm avoiding suspicion. Mom, you shouldn't be seen here. People might say I used connections to get into this school, and we wouldn't want to smear Professor Swanson's reputation, would we?"

I brushed past them and ran for the bus.

If I missed this one, I'd have to take a taxi. Until my debt was paid, every penny had to be spent with surgical precision.

A shout rang out.

"Watch out!"

*BANG.*

An electric scooter whipped around a blind corner and slammed into me.

Instinctively, I curled around my laptop bag, taking the brunt of the impact. The pavement rushed up. I rolled.

My laptop was safe.

Fire shot up my left leg. My ankle—twisted. The pain so sharp I couldn't stand.

"Daughter! Are you okay? Don't move!" Mom screamed, rushing over. "I'm calling an ambulance! You—watch where you're going!"

I gritted my teeth against the agony. "Give me the phone first. I need to send the files for the meeting."

My phone had skidded across the ground when I fell. Mom snatched it up before I could reach it.

"At a time like this, you're thinking about work? About money?" She glared at me, trembling with indignation. "Is money more important than your life?!"

She held my phone out of reach and ended the call.