Chapter 3

The reply came quickly: "Rich men who keep mistresses don't want them too educated, and don't want them exposed to the public."

"If you do these two things and your parents react strangely, it means they have ulterior motives and aren't genuinely trying to help you."

From elementary school until now, Dad always insisted teachers seat me in the very back row of the classroom.

I constantly squinted to see the board, and before long I became nearsighted.

When I carefully told my parents about this, they refused to get me glasses or take me for laser surgery.

Instead, they said: "If you really can't see, you don't have to go to school. I never wanted you poisoned by school education anyway. After the SAT, we'll send you straight to Europe—that's where you'll learn real skills."

In the end, I insisted on attending school, so they didn't process my withdrawal.

Thinking of this, I walked into Dad's study.

He was in an unexpectedly good mood, looking up from his documents. "Claudia, what is it?"

I asked: "You mentioned sending me abroad to study before. The SAT is in a month—have you found a school yet?"

Dad was clearly stunned, as if he'd completely forgotten about it.

Recovering, he forced a relaxed laugh. "Claudia, there's no rush. Your SAT scores aren't out yet, so it's pointless for me to look now."

"Don't worry. Once the scores come in, Dad will definitely find you a good school."

He enthusiastically ushered me out, but my heart felt cold.

I'd decided to study abroad long ago. If Dad truly had plans for my future, he wouldn't be this flustered when asked about studying abroad, much less completely clueless.

They'd deliberately held me back academically for over a decade. If I did poorly on the SAT and couldn't study abroad...

An heir turned into a useless person would become everyone's laughingstock.

Having gotten my answer, I walked to school in a daze.

While running on the track, I suddenly heard screaming ahead.

Getting closer, I saw a classmate from class had fallen and broken open their head and arm.

The homeroom teacher looked anxious. "Bob has hemophilia. The wound won't stop bleeding. This is very critical."

Everyone wore shorts and short sleeves in summer—only I had more coverage.

I immediately took out the small knife I carried and cut off both pant legs.

"Tie them tight to stop the bleeding first. Stay here and wait for the school nurse."

My long pants became shorts, exposing two legs so pale they were almost blinding.

Someone said in surprise: "Claudia, your legs are so beautiful. Why don't you ever wear skirts?"

I smiled awkwardly without answering.

But immediately, she understood why.

As soon as Bob was carried away, Mom rushed over.

Without a word, she slapped me across the face.

"Claudia Morrison, how can you be so shameless, so cheap? Do you need everyone to see your body to be satisfied?"

Someone tried to explain: "Ma'am, Claudia only did it to save someone..."

One slap wasn't enough for Mom. She grabbed my hair and violently threw me to the ground.

"Claudia, you've really grown bold, even teaching others to speak up for you. Who is she? Is she your friend? Didn't I tell you not to make friends!"

"You little slut, I'll beat you to death today!"

Mom first wrapped my legs tightly with her jacket, then slaps rained down like hail.

Feeling my burning cheeks and the numbness spreading across my back, I was finally certain—my parents didn't love me. Not at all.

I could never be the Morrison family heir.