Chapter 7
But my dad still made sure to get a little payback for me right then and there.
Whether it was Ryan, Chloe, or their friends, my father’s bodyguards forced two bottles of strong liquor down each of their
throats.
“This is the price for bullying my daughter. Go home and wait. None of you are getting away.”
He made sure to say it while they were still conscious enough to hear.
After that much alcohol, they were soon all passed out.
By the time we returned to the Wynn estate, it was already late.
Looking at the mansion I had lived in until I was ten, it felt like nothing had changed.
My father sat on the couch, exhaling slowly.
“With me here, no one will ever dare to hurt you again.”
The house felt empty, with only the housekeeper and maids.
After my mother left, my father had never remarried, leaving no trace of another woman in the home.
In that moment, I wondered if my mother had misunderstood him back then.
Tears welled up in my eyes.
“Lena, have you eaten? I remember you always loved my chicken and rice soup.”
“And seafood. Why don’t you rest while I make something for you?”
My father had always doted on me when I was little.
My mother had too. He just was not good at expressing it.
As for my mother’s accusations of infidelity, I had always wanted to ask him.
In the kitchen, he was already rolling up his sleeves to cook.
There was a faint, almost unnoticeable smile on his face.
“Dad, I’ve always wanted to know…”
His hands paused slightly before he sighed.
“I know what you want to ask.”
He rinsed the rice as water splashed softly, then spoke again.
“I never cheated. The photo your mother found was of my first love.”
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“She betrayed me long ago. We broke up and never spoke again.”
“The only reason I kept that photo,” he said, “was because back when we were in love, I tucked it inside a book and forgot
it was there.”
It sounded like a flimsy excuse, but the helpless look on his face made me believe him.
He had never been good at expressing himself, and my mom, when she was young, had a flair for drama.
That was how the misunderstanding began, and it was never resolved.
Yet for all those years, even with Mom refusing to work, we had always lived comfortably.
It was clear Dad had been quietly footing the bills all along.
Mom’s stubborn grudge, right up until the day she passed, had fooled me into believing her side of the story and cost me
three years of needless pain.
“Dad, tell me the truth,” I asked. “Did you really love Mom?”
He finally turned to me, nodding with absolute sincerity.
“Of course. I loved her personality. A little sweet, a little feisty, a little over the top.”
“When she left with you, even though we were apart, she was still the love of my life. I kept waiting for you both to come
home.”
“Unfortunately…”
Unfortunately, he had waited more than a decade, and she never returned.
Instead, a sudden illness took her from us a few years ago.
Maybe her grudge had only been a way of blaming him for not coaxing her back gently.
But I believe their hearts had stayed tied to each other all those years.
Mom, too, had been waiting for her oblivious prince to come and bring her home.
In the end, they had simply missed their chance.
The familiar taste of his cooking made my eyes sting with tears.
But Dad kept piling food into my bowl, promising to make me the happiest princess in the world.
The smile he couldn’t hide forced me to swallow the lump in my throat.
“Eat up, then get some rest,” he said. “And think about how you want to deal with the people who hurt you. I won’t let
anyone push you around.”
“Oh, and your old room’s furniture is outdated. I had a new one prepared. If you don’t like it, just stay there for tonight, and I’ll have it redone tomorrow.”
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He said it so casually, but when I stepped into the bedroom I hadn’t seen in over a decade, the sight hit me hard.
Everything was still there, exactly as I’d left it.
The things were old, but they’d been kept clean and intact, not a single item damaged.
I realized then that no place would ever be warmer than home.
Only family will truly have your back.
Not someone like Ryan, who lied to me and used me.
That night, I slept more peacefully than I had in three years.
In the morning, a private chef had already prepared breakfast.
Dad seemed more talkative than I remembered-maybe because he was afraid I might leave again.
I slipped back into the life of a billionaire’s daughter, torn between wearing couture to go shopping or a pair of
one-of-a-kind designer sneakers.
I also started learning the ropes of business management.
Dad said the family empire would one day be mine to run.
In just a month, I’d almost forgotten those three miserable years.
Until one day, I stepped outside and found Ryan kneeling at the front gate.
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