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.”

The moment I rushed in, I finally understood how my daughter got those wounds.

For the past two years, I naively believed that Graham—her biological father—would at least protect her.

But I was wrong.

He wasn’t a father. He was a beast.

Not only did he turn his back on her—he let others humiliate her, torment her, treat her like trash.

But today, that ends.

Encouraged by me, Amanda slowly stood up. Her body trembled, but her gaze began to harden.

The group of girls backed off slightly, fear flickering across their faces—though they still tried to act tough.

"Amanda, you dare touch us?" one of them snapped.

"Don’t forget how pathetic you looked when we humiliated you. If you lay a hand on Savannah, her dad will skin you alive!"

At those words, my daughter faltered. She dropped her gaze. That name—Graham—still had power over her. Still made her feel worthless.

Seeing her hesitation, Savannah smirked.

"I knew you didn’t have the guts. Trash like you isn’t even worthy of carrying my shoes—"

Crack!

She didn’t finish her sentence before my hand connected with her face.

A clean, merciless slap.

"If your parents won’t teach you manners," I said coldly, "then allow me to do it for them."

I rolled up my sleeves and turned to my daughter.

“Watch carefully, Amanda. This is how you deal with people who bully you.”

They clearly forgot—when I was 18, I was a national State Kickboxing champion.

A few teenage girls? Please.

Every move I made was sharp, controlled, and devastating.

In less than five minutes, they were crying, scrambling, and on the floor—faces red, pride shattered.

I turned to my daughter.

"Amanda, come here. Show me who hit you. Every slap she gave you—you return it now."

With my support, my daughter finally stood tall. Her eyes burned with courage.

She walked straight up to Savannah, raised her hand, and—smack!

"Savannah, this is for slapping me earlier."

Smack!

"This one’s for pulling my chair and making me fall."

Smack!

"And this is for pushing me off the swing last semester."

Each strike was measured—not just revenge, but release.

As my daughter listed every cruel act they had inflicted on her, my vision blurred with unshed tears.

I never knew.

This was the life she’d been enduring while I was gone.

Suddenly—

“Stop this at once!”

A group of teachers came running in, their faces filled with panic.

“Are you insane?!” one of them shouted. “Do you know who you just hit?!”

Two of them hurried to help Savannah, who was wailing incoherently, her face swollen beyond recognition.

Whispers spread through the crowd. Teachers, students, even janitors had gathered.

Some gasped. Others just stared in disbelief.

“It’s over,” one muttered. “Call the principal—this is big.”

I stood there, arms crossed, utterly calm.

Let them panic.

They had all known what was happening.

They’d turned a blind eye, bowed to power, and let my daughter suffer.

One teacher scowled at Amanda.

“Amanda again! You’re always causing trouble. I’m expelling you right now!”

My daughter’s eyes widened in fear, and I immediately stepped in front of her.

“Touch her, and I’ll sue you so hard you won’t work in education again.”

I narrowed my eyes. “On what grounds do you expel her? What rule did she break?”

A teacher in glasses looked me up and down with disdain.

“Do you have any idea who Savannah is?” he scoffed. “You dared to lay a hand on her? Are you trying to die?”

“Her father is Graham, president of Blake Enterprises. He owns half of Ridgeport. He could crush you like an ant.”