After the divorce, I went abroad for two years. Before leaving, I gave my daughter an unlimited supplementary card to ensure she would never lack anything.

Every month, the card was maxed out. In just five days, she bought a villa. Three days later, a luxury car. Designer bags, shoes, watches—she never held back.

Whenever we video-called, I felt relieved. It was a good thing, I thought, that my daughter knew how to enjoy life—at least she was spending my money.

Until three months ago, when I received a message alert:

She’d used the card to buy a box of condoms worth tens of thousands of dollars.

That was the first time I panicked. I immediately booked a ticket and flew back to China. I just wanted to remind her—gently—to protect herself.

But before I could even leave the airport, my phone rang.

"Hello, is this Ms. Vivian Blake?"

"This is the Ridgeport Police Department. Your daughter, Amanda, was arrested for working illegally. She's a minor. Please come to the station to pick her up."

I froze.

What did they just say? Working illegally? My daughter? That couldn't be right.

Even though Graham Wyatt and I divorced, I left Amanda with that card to cover everything—her tuition, her living expenses. She was one of the most pampered girls in Ridgeport. If she was ever short on money, she could easily sell the villa or the car.

How could she possibly need to work?

Just yesterday, I’d gotten a spending alert. She was still using the card.

——

I tried to convince myself it was a mistake. Maybe it was someone else with the same name. But the officer confirmed again, firmly:

“Her name is Amanda. Please come as soon as possible. Her condition isn’t good.”

When I got to the station, I saw a version of my daughter I could barely recognize.

She was pale and thin. Her hair was dull, her body trembling from hunger.

But what broke me most was the way she limped. Her right leg hung at an awkward angle—broken.

My princess. My Amanda.

She looked up at me with tears welling in her eyes, voice trembling with shame:

“Mom... I really couldn’t afford the tuition anymore. The teacher gave me three days. If I didn’t pay, I’d be expelled...”

Her words stabbed into me like knives. I struggled to hold back my tears.

“But Amanda... didn’t Mom leave you the card? Why didn’t you use it?”

She bit her lip, sobbing harder.

“Last time... Aunt Clarissa fell down the stairs. Dad said I pushed her.”

“He took the card away. Said it was compensation for Aunt Clarissa.”

Aunt Clarissa—Clarissa Hale—Graham’s mistress.

After the divorce, he brought her home and treated her like royalty.

The divorce agreement made one thing very clear: I didn’t care how he spoiled other women.

But if he dared lay a finger on my daughter—I'd fight him to the end.

Seeing Amanda in such pain shattered my heart.

I pulled her into my arms and whispered, “Don’t worry, baby. Mom won’t let anyone bully you and get away with it.”

I took out my phone and made a call. Five minutes later, a sleek black car pulled up in front of us.

A man in a suit stepped out and bowed respectfully.

“Miss, welcome back.”

“While you were away, your ex-husband Graham took advantage of your absence. He seized multiple businesses under your name, claiming they were joint property from your marriage. And—”

“Continue,” I said coldly.

“Even the jewelry store you opened for Miss Amanda... He took it too.”

My expression turned to stone.

Everyone knew I had spent 17 years building that jewelry store—planning to gift it to my daughter on her 18th birthday.

But all it took was Clarissa saying she liked it, and Graham shamelessly found a way to snatch it away.

He must’ve forgotten—my daughter’s things aren’t so easy to take.

Just then, another message popped up: the supplementary card was maxed out again.

I sneered. “Call the bank. Freeze the secondary card. Actually—cancel it. I’ll apply for a new one.”

Ten minutes later, the assistant returned with a nod.

“It’s done. I’ll accompany you to the bank in half an hour to get a new card for Miss Amanda.”

I took the useless card, snapped it in half, and tossed it in the trash.

I rushed Amanda to the hospital for treatment.

But as I helped her settle into the hospital bed, she tugged nervously at the hem of my shirt.

“Mom... today’s the last day to pay tuition. The teacher said if I don’t pay, I’ll be expelled...”

I was about to comfort her, tell her not to worry, when I turned and saw a bruise on her neck. My expression darkened instantly.

“What’s this? Who hurt you?”

Amanda looked away, avoiding my gaze.

“I... I fell by accident.”

I asked again and again, but she refused to say more—just pulled the covers over her head and curled up into silence.

But the fear in her eyes said everything.

Something was very wrong.

That afternoon, I accompanied her to school to pay her tuition.

She was enrolled in the most expensive international school in Ridgeport. I’d been so impressed with the school’s environment that I even donated three entire buildings.

By all logic, this should’ve been a safe haven for her.

But the moment we stepped past the gates, Amanda shrank back, her shoulders tensing with visible fear.

Something—or someone—inside terrified her.

I approached the payment office.

“Hello, I’m Amanda’s parent. May I pay the tuition here?”

The staff didn’t even glance up, her tone impatient.

“Cut the small talk. Just pay.”

She gave me a once-over and muttered under her breath,

“Always the poor ones making trouble. Savannah, now she’s truly the daughter of Blake Enterprises—paid in full on day one. Not like some people who drag things out till the last minute and embarrass themselves.”

I froze.

“Who did you say is the daughter of Blake Enterprises?”

The woman huffed, clearly annoyed. She looked up and glared at me.

“Are you paying or not? Why are you asking so many questions?”

“People like you will never cross paths with the real Blake family anyway.”

My heart dropped.

I am the daughter of the Blake family. And Amanda is my only child.

There’s only one daughter of Blake Enterprises.

So where did this other daughter come from?

After paying the tuition, I had just stepped out of the office when a commotion in the corridor stopped me cold.

A small crowd had formed.

In the middle of it, a girl stood with an air of arrogance—flanked by a group of well-dressed girls—mocking and jeering.

And there, cornered against the wall like a wounded bird, was my daughter.

Her face was streaked with tears, a red handprint burning on her cheek. She looked small, broken, and utterly alone.

"Didn’t I tell you to get lost?" the ringleader snapped, grabbing her collar. "You’ve got some nerve showing your face here."

"Believe it or not, I’ll beat you to death today!"

A few girls laughed cruelly and one even spat on her.

My daughter trembled, hands clutched against her chest, whispering through choked sobs.

“Please… don’t hit me. My mom’s here… Please…”

“Please me?” The leading girl laughed and raised her leg, pressing her shoe forward.

“Then lick my soles clean. Do that, and maybe I’ll let you crawl away.”

The others burst into laughter.

“Did you hear that? Our Miss Su is merciful.”

“You think you can compete with Savannah? You couldn’t even afford tuition—just drop out already!”

Two girls grabbed Amanda’s arms and tried to force her to her knees. Her face twisted in shame and fury, but she didn’t resist. She simply closed her eyes, defeated.

“Don’t make me slap you again,” Savannah snapped, lifting her hand high.

I moved.

In an instant, I seized her wrist mid-air—and with a sharp crack, slapped her across the face.

The corridor went silent.

“Whose child are you?” I hissed. “What kind of parents raise a little thug like you?”

“This is a school, not a gang hideout. Act like a human being.”

Savannah didn’t cower. She lifted her chin, eyes burning with disdain.

“Do you even know who I am?” she scoffed. “In Ridgeport, no one dares to lay a finger on me. You just slapped me—you’re dead. I’ll tell my dad and have you kicked out of this city.”

What a big mouth. I laughed coldly.

“Oh? And who is your dad?”

Before she could answer, I felt a tug on my sleeve. My daughter’s voice came in a whisper.

“Mom… her dad is… Dad. Graham Wyatt.”

Graham?

If Amanda hadn’t reminded me, I’d nearly forgotten that man even existed.

Savannah puffed her chest with pride.

“Now you get it? Go ask anyone—my dad adores me. You think you can touch me and walk away?”

That’s when the pieces finally fell into place.

In the two years I’d been abroad, Graham not only brought Clarissa and her daughter into our home—he raised Savannah like a princess… and erased my daughter like she never existed.

He made sure Clarissa’s child called him Dad.

And mine? He denied her in public, neglected her in private.

No wonder Savannah walked around as if she owned Ridgeport.

But what they all forgot… was that the Blake family is not to be trampled on.

I turned back to my daughter, helped her to her feet, and brushed the dirt from her clothes.

With gentleness in my voice, I asked, “Tell Mom—how many times did she slap you?”

Amanda trembled, eyes darting between the girls.

She hesitated.

“Don’t be scared,” I said, wrapping an arm around her. “Mom is here now. You’ll never be bullied again.”

She finally raised her head. “Six times…”

I nodded. Calm. Certain.

“Then slap her back—six times.”

Her eyes widened. “Mom, I… I don’t dare…”

I crouched beside her and looked at her in the eyes.

“There’s nothing to fear anymore. Anyone who tries to stop you—Mom will break their legs.”