Part 1The Billionaire's Heir and the Forgotten Girl

My mom once dumped the richest man in our city.

Eight years later, I beat up the billionaire's son, and my teacher forced my mom to kneel and beg for mercy.

The billionaire pushed open the door: "I used to treat you like a princess, terrified of you getting hurt. And you're f***ing kneeling to someone?"

"Chloe, whose face are you disgracing right now?"

* * *

I never had a dad, and I'd never met any relatives.

It was always just my mom and me.

She worked the night shift at a convenience store and often came home very late.

So she asked our neighbor, Mrs. Miller, to set an extra plate for me when she cooked dinner for her granddaughter.

Of course, it wasn't a free meal. My mom paid Mrs. Miller every month.

But Mrs. Miller would take that money, turn around, and buy me milk and fruit.

She often sighed about how hard my mom worked and told me not to tell her.

I nodded, and she praised me for being such a good girl.

Honestly, I just felt that if I was a little better behaved, my mom's life would be a little easier.

At school, I was the most invisible student in the class.

I paid attention in class, but I never stood out.

My classmates sometimes called me a "little mute" because they thought I didn't like talking.

Actually, I just liked eavesdropping on their conversations.

The most common topic for third graders was their families.

Some kids would even tell everyone about their dad's hemorrhoids or their mom fighting off mistresses.

There was a boy in my class named Leo Vance. He was a new transfer student, and he was always complaining about his CEO dad.

He said his dad had a temper like a rabid dog and a face as cold as a widower.

He said his dad had no time for him, and usually, it was just the driver and the nanny at home.

He said his dad only cared about money, and for his birthday, he just had his secretary pass along a black Amex card.

...

In short, he didn't like his dad.

But I envied him for having one.

I don't know why, but out of all the kids in class, I wanted to be close to Leo the most.

Because I didn't have a dad, and rumor had it, Leo didn't have a mom.

In a way, we were the same.

While walking in line after school, Leo was complaining about how bad his dad's cooking was.

I couldn't help but chime in: "The desserts my mom makes are really delicious."

I thought if he just said one thing back, I could bring him some of my mom's desserts.

But Leo turned his head and glared at me fiercely: "What's that supposed to mean?"

I looked at him in confusion.

"You're mocking me for not having a mom, right?"

Leo shoved me hard, his face full of hostility.

I fell to the ground. While I was still in a daze, our homeroom teacher, Ms. Evans, yelled from behind:

"Audrey! Are you blind? You're ruining the line's discipline. Get up right now!"

I had no choice but to slowly climb up and dust off my clothes.

Ever since I spoke to Leo after school, I inexplicably became a thorn in his and his followers' sides.

Every time he walked past my desk, he would pinch my arm through my clothes.

If we met face-to-face, he would slam his shoulder into mine.

Not to mention, he was always surrounded by a group of lackeys. Every time I walked by, they would yell out of nowhere:

"Audrey, the little mute. So embarrassing," and make weird noises at me.

I mustered up the courage to tell a teacher.

But when I went to Ms. Evans's office, she was sitting cross-legged, holding her phone, talking to someone. She kept saying "Mr. Vance," smiling from ear to ear.

I stood at the door for ten minutes, but she didn't even notice me.

The bell rang for the next class, English.

I had to go back.

The English teacher assigned an essay today titled "My Father."

I didn't know how to start, so I just sat there awkwardly for the entire period.

The sky outside was grey, looking like it was about to rain, making everyone feel heavy.

However, Leo was very happy. He told everyone that his dad was coming to pick him up today.

When school ended, a torrential downpour started, just as expected.

Surprisingly, in the entire huge school, Leo and I were the only ones left waiting.

The security guard brought us to the guardhouse.

Leo looked terrible. He kept yelling into his smartwatch:

"I don't care! I don't want to hear any excuses! You have to come pick me up!"

Then he put his watch down and started stomping on the floor, "Bang, bang, bang."

I thought he really looked like an angry, unreasonable monkey.

I don't know how long it had been, but the Vance family driver finally appeared outside the guardhouse.

"I don't want you. Where's my dad?" The little tyrant threw a tantrum at the driver outside the window.

The driver awkwardly made a phone call. Not long after, a man holding a massive black umbrella walked over at a leisurely pace.

The sky was still gloomy, and the wind was howling outside.

Even though the umbrella shielded his face, you could tell the man had an upright, straight posture, possessing a calm composure that feared no storm.

Leo had already jumped up, rushed out of the guardhouse, and sprinted into the man's arms.

The man extended a hand, firmly grabbing Leo by the collar.

It was a pair of hands that looked powerful and reassuring—wide palms with pronounced knuckles. It looked exactly like the kind of hands a dad should have.

The man set Leo down, held the umbrella with one hand, and tilted most of it toward Leo's side.

Then, without mercy, he smacked the back of Leo's head.

That crisp smack sounded like someone thumping a watermelon. I stared, a little dazed.

Leo didn't mind. Instead, he suddenly turned around and flashed me a smug, gloating smile.

"Poor little thing." He mocked me with a funny face. "Keep waiting by yourself!"