“And I’m not trying to speak ill of her, but you really need to keep your daughter in check,” Derrick sneered over the phone. “She’s been fooling around with different men at the Postnatal Recovery Suite. What’s the matter—being raised by a single mom made her desperate for male attention? It’s disgusting. Vivien is far more pure!”

Then he hung up—just like that—before I could even respond.

My hands shook so badly I almost dropped the phone.

I had divorced shortly after Marla was born. Yes, we were a single-parent family. But so what?

I raised her myself with love and care. She’d always been gentle, quiet, and sensible—not at all like what he claimed. I knew my daughter. I knew her.

I took a steadying breath and immediately called the Postnatal Recovery Suite to reinstate her stay. Whatever happened, her health mattered most right now.

But the moment the line connected, the receptionist responded with a mocking tone.

“So you’re Marla’s mother? Figures. Like mother, like daughter.”

“What kind of shameless woman books the most luxurious room in the name of the Camden Group for a sponsored student?”

“You people from the mountains always dream of clinging to wealth. But at least teach your daughter to behave.”

“She was in the best suite, bringing in a different man every night. We’re a medical facility, not a brothel!”

“Thank goodness Mr. Harlan did the right thing—he kicked her out and gave that room to the real daughter of the Camden Group.”

“If you really care about your daughter, you’d come collect her yourself instead of making demands. You have no money, yet you act like you own the place.”

I was trembling.

My daughter—my well-mannered, innocent child—was being slandered and insulted like filth. By strangers!

And Vivien—the sponsored student I raised like my own—she was claiming to be the daughter of the Camden Group?

I slammed the phone down and turned to my assistant. “Find out exactly what happened. I want every detail. Now.”

Within half an hour, a video landed in my inbox. What I saw made my blood run cold.

Vivien, heavily pregnant, had complained of feeling unwell. To cheer her up, Derrick threw her a party.

But the party wasn’t a celebration.

It was a bet.

The guests were gambling—gambling on how to make my daughter give birth early.

They surrounded Marla, hurling insults, laughing at her tears as she tried to block out the noise.

In the video, Vivien sat calmly with a glass of juice, sneering, “All talk, no action. If you can’t even handle this, don’t bother showing up to my Camden Group’s events again.”

That was the cue.

One by one, the men turned their eyes on Marla—my daughter.

Grinning, they approached her like predators.

“Don’t blame us,” one said, pressing his foot against her swollen stomach. “You messed with the wrong rich girl. We’re just climbing the ladder.”

They escalated. Pushing. Kicking. Mocking her. Until someone reached for her waistband.

She tried to fight back—but it was a dozen against one.

All the while, Derrick sat on the couch, holding Vivien in his arms as they both laughed.

Laughed.

Tears blurred my vision as I watched my daughter—my brave, quiet child—writhing in pain, giving birth prematurely at the hospital.

Then came another clip.

Vivien slapping Marla’s face—once, twice—then leaning down with a venomous smile.

“Marla, you think being born rich makes you special? You gave birth to a useless girl. I’m carrying a boy. The boy.”

“Derrick never loved you. We’re only after your mother’s company.”

“Why should you have all the good things while I was just a sponsored student? From now on, your good life belongs to me!”

I stared at the screen, frozen, as my daughter lay weak and silent in a hospital bed, biting her lips to keep from crying.

And suddenly, I understood why she hesitated every time we had a video call. Why she always smiled through the screen, even when her eyes looked like they were begging for help.

In the end, all she said to me was a lighthearted joke:

“Mom, focus on work—but don’t forget to take care of yourself.”

I had no idea she was enduring such hell in silence.

That moment, I swore—everyone who laid a hand on my daughter would pay. Dearly.

Just then, my secretary leaned in and whispered, “Ma’am, we’ve landed. The car is waiting.”

We were en route to the Postnatal Recovery Suite when a call came through. It was that same smug manager from before, her tone dripping with disdain.

“Marla’s mother, when are you finally picking her up? Our center caters to elite clients, not mountain folks pretending to be royalty. If it weren’t for the Camden Group’s name, I wouldn’t waste time with your kind.”

She let out a cold laugh before continuing.

“Mr. Eric Harlan and the real daughter of the Camden family said you’d offended them. So we’re not obligated to be nice anymore.”

“Your daughter’s in the basement throwing a fit—first whining there’s no food, then complaining it’s too hot. So dramatic. The water still runs. She can walk out and dig through the cafeteria trash if she’s so hungry.”

I cut her off, voice low and deadly calm.

“I strongly suggest you treat my daughter with basic human decency… or I promise, you’ll regret ever being born.”

My secretary flinched.

She’d been with me for eight years—and she knew. When I spoke like that, it meant someone’s fate was already sealed.

But the manager? She just scoffed and hung up.

Seconds later, our car screeched to a halt in front of the Postnatal Recovery Suite. I didn’t wait. I marched straight to the basement, security team behind me.

Before I even turned the corner, I heard it:

Screams. Curses. My daughter’s muffled sobs.

I ran.

There she was—on her knees, cradling her infant in her arms, drenched in sweat and shaking.

“The basement’s too hot…” she cried, her voice cracking. “Please… just take the baby upstairs. I’ll stay. Do whatever you want to me… Just let her breathe…”

Vivien sneered and shoved her, sending both mother and child sprawling.

“You filthy little bitch,” she snarled. “Just like your whore of a mother. You should both die in this heat.”

She kicked again, and this time added with venom, “I might’ve gone easy on you, but your mother dared to offend us. Now? I’ll make sure you suffer every second.”

My daughter turned to Derrick, desperation in her eyes.

“Derrick… She’s your daughter too. Can’t you see she’s suffocating? Please…”

He hesitated—just for a breath.

Marla’s eyes lit with faint hope.

Then he stepped forward.

And kicked her—hard—in the stomach.

“You think that brat can compare to my son?” he snapped. “Vivien just gave me an heir. You gave me a liability.”

My blood boiled.

No mother could witness this and remain calm.

Fortunately for me, I’ve been training every day overseas for years—and it paid off.

With a snarl, I lunged forward and kicked Derrick square in the jaw. His head snapped back, and two of his teeth flew across the room.

Then I turned and slapped Vivien across the face—once, twice, three times.

Silence fell. Every onlooker froze.

Then Derrick staggered back, clutching his mouth and roaring, “What are you all waiting for?! She just assaulted the president and the Camden Group’s daughter! Beat her to death!”

The crowd jolted—but before anyone could move, my bodyguards stepped forward and blocked the path.

I grabbed Derrick by the collar, dragging his bleeding face up to mine.

“Who are you going to hit? Say it again.”

He looked at me—and finally, recognition flickered in his eyes.

“Derrick. Vivien,” I hissed, “I took you in when you had nothing. Fed you, clothed you, educated you. And this—this is how you repay me?”

I shoved him back.

“You bullied my daughter in the dark. Now I’ve come to bring your sins into the light.”

Derrick and Vivien froze.

My daughter, eyes swollen from crying, finally realized it was me. She scrambled into my arms, her voice shaking with panic.

“Mom, please… save the baby! She’s burning up!”

I looked down.

My granddaughter’s tiny eyelids were shut tight. Her flushed face glistened with sweat, her hair plastered to her forehead, her skin scorching to the touch.

My heart seized.

“Call the nearest top hospital,” I ordered my assistant. “Get an ambulance here now!”

But just as she turned to act, a Postnatal Recovery Suite staffer stepped forward and blocked her path, sneering.

“Who the hell are you? Some peasant from the sticks playing hero?”

“You assaulted the president and the true daughter of the Camden Group. If you don’t kneel and beg for forgiveness, I won’t let any ambulance in—even if one shows up! Saving scum like you is a waste of resources!”

I stared her down coldly.

“My name is Quinn Camden, President of the Camden Group. Stand aside. Now. Or prepare to face the consequences.”

The woman burst out laughing.

Just then, Derrick stepped forward, supporting an older woman with Vivien by his side. He pointed at her dramatically and sneered, “Now this is my mother-in-law! The real president of the Camden Group!”

He gestured toward me with mockery in his eyes.

“You? What a joke. Stole some clothes and brought a few hired thugs—what are you, a scam artist? Or did your daughter swipe my mother-in-law’s wardrobe for you?”

The woman beside him was instantly recognizable.

Vivien’s mother. Years ago, I’d seen her struggling to make ends meet. Out of kindness, I hired her as a live-in nanny and paid her far above market rate.

So much for gratitude.

The men lurking nearby joined in with jeers.

“How shameless can you be? Living off charity and still stealing clothes?”

“Mr. Harlan, should we strip her down and take back what’s yours?”

One of them snickered. “Didn’t get to enjoy the party last time. Marla gave birth too early. But her mom’s still got some fire. Want to place a new bet?”

Disgust curdled in my gut.

My assistant leaned in and whispered something. Rage surged through me.

After my daughter entered the Postnatal Recovery Suite, Derrick—to entertain Vivien—had let different men harass her daily. Then he twisted the narrative, accusing her of being promiscuous.

These degenerates? Just a few of the culprits.

Even worse, they weren’t nobodies. They were the next-generation heirs of powerful Chicago families—people whose parents used to sit across the negotiation table from me.

But now? Those silver-spoon brats didn’t even recognize me, Quinn?

I turned, my gaze sharp as a blade, and began naming them, one by one:

“The Landry family—seafood trade.”

“The Zeller family—hotel conglomerate.”

“The Zane family—import-export logistics…”

“Greta,” I said evenly, “cut ties with all of them. Effective immediately.”

These people built their fortunes on contracts from my company.

And now they dared to touch my daughter?

They weren’t expecting that. Whispers broke out among them, and their confident smirks began to falter.

Derrick’s face twisted in fury, jaw clenched tight.

Just then, the sound of engines roared in from outside.

A fleet of black Cayennes rolled into the driveway—over a dozen, sleek and unmistakable.

The Camden Group’s official vehicles.

A group of men and women in suits emerged, one after another, each wearing a staff badge from different departments—finance, legal, human resources.

But not a single one of them was familiar to me.

They marched up to Derrick and Vivien in perfect formation and bowed.

“Mr. Harlan, Miss Knox—we apologize for the delay!”

Derrick looked toward me, triumphant.

Vivien leaned in with a smirk.

Then Derrick leaned closer, smirking with arrogance.

“Old woman, you really don’t know what’s going on, do you? While you were off playing boss overseas, I replaced every single person in your company.”

“The Camden Group belongs to us now. Be smart—kneel and apologize to Vivien and me, and maybe I’ll even toss you a job later.”

The men around them roared with laughter.

“She impersonated the president? What a joke! Let’s call the police and have both these bitches locked up!”

I smiled, calm and unfazed.

Because that was exactly what I was about to do.

Without raising my voice, I turned slightly and said to the crowd, “You all saw what happened here. The evidence is clear, the criminals are present, and justice is overdue.”