Chapter 2

By the time they found me, I was a bloody mess, and the doctor scolded my mother for letting a child wander off alone.

With tears streaming down my face, I pleaded with the doctor, "Please don't blame my mom; she loves me!"

The doctor looked skeptical but quickly turned his attention to treating my injuries, ignoring my mother.

In fact, I understood everything. I was terrified of facing my mother's wrath once we went home.

And sure enough, she struck me again. My body was covered in bruises as I crawled out of the hospital bed, begging her to stop, telling her I was in so much pain.

She took pleasure in using a thorny switch, whipping my face repeatedly.

"Look at you, pretending to be a victim! What a pathetic person you are! You're just like that tramp. You think I can't see through your pick-me act? You're just a kid, and you're already so good at manipulating others with your sad little story, huh?"

I cried out, repeating, "I'm not being manipulative, Mom! Please stop…"

The soundproofing in the VIP hospital room was effective, and after she was done, I was rushed to the emergency room that night.

A sense of fear gripped my heart; for the first time, I wanted to reach out to my father for help. I wanted to tell him how much it hurt.

But when the nurse dialed his number for me, I heard him dodging my pleas.

"Since you're with your mom now, I'm not your dad anymore…"

My heart sank, and I couldn't express the words I longed to say; I just sobbed in silence.

As soon as he finished speaking, I could hear him softly whispering to his son, his tone cheerful.

"Darling, you're amazing—you got all A+ grades again! What do you want as a reward? I'll get you whatever you want…"

I signaled for the nurse to hang up. She looked at me with pity in her eyes.

However, the next day, I faced an even harsher punishment from my mother.

Apparently, my father had taken the opportunity to scold her, and in turn, she decided to take it out on me.

One whip after another, she struck me with a leather strap, the thorns tearing at my skin.

My flesh bled, and I felt like I was about to die.

From that day on, I became even more cautious around my mother and stopped seeking my father's help altogether.

I felt like a punching bag, a disposable piece of junk that nobody wanted.

Throughout college, I continued to endure bullying, and the tormentor was a girl my mother was sponsoring.

My mother often bragged about how Wendy Morton was a kind and innocent child, saying I could never compare.

But she had no idea that the "kind" girl she praised was the ringleader of my tormentors.

Wendy strutted around in a custom-tailored outfit that my mother had designed, flaunting a luxury diamond necklace around her neck.

I hadn't forgotten how she manipulated me.

At the freshman meet-and-greet, my mother sat proudly in the center as the sponsor, while Wendy wore an old, faded high school uniform and gave a speech about resilience that captivated my mother.

Without hesitation, my mother declared she would adopt Wendy as her goddaughter.

I was the host that day, yet I didn't receive a single glance from my mother, as if I were her enemy instead of her daughter.

During a break, I went to the restroom and accidentally overheard a conversation between Wendy and her friend.

Her tone was smug, as if she had pulled off some grand feat.

"Luckily, your uncle holds a high position at that old witch's company and helped me gather her preferences! Now that I've successfully become her daughter, you all can expect some benefits in the future!"

Her friend chimed in, "I heard she hates pick-me girls, so you'd better not get caught! Haha… just thinking about how easy it is to manipulate that old hag makes me laugh!"