Chapter 2

"Lily, smile! Aren't your parents big-shot prosecutors?"

"Have them come save you! Let's see if they protect you or me—their model poverty case."

The bathroom stall door slammed open. A bucket of ice water mixed with cigarette ash poured over my head.

I huddled by the toilet, soaked to the bone, my uniform plastered to my skin.

Claire held up her phone, the camera lens shoved almost into my face, the flash so bright I couldn't open my eyes.

I bit down hard on my lip, the taste of blood filling my mouth.

That evening, I knelt on the marble floor of our living room, clutching my medical report and voice recorder.

"Mr. Sterling, I need to report this to the police. Claire took photos of my..."

"Shut up."

Rachel wore her crisp uniform, holding a cup of freshly brewed tea, not even looking up.

"Go change your clothes. You smell terrible. What a disgrace."

I looked up in disbelief, my knees aching against the hard floor.

"Ms. Rachel, this is evidence! She held me underwater. She's going to post it online..."

Dad sat in his usual spot on the sofa, an unlit cigarette between his fingers.

He finally looked at me, his eyes cold.

"Lily, give me your phone."

I handed it over with trembling hands.

The next second, he expertly powered it off, pulled out the SIM card, and tossed it into the ashtray in front of him.

"Starting today, your phone is confiscated. You'll stay home and reflect on your behavior."

I jerked my head up.

"Why? I'm the victim! Mr. Sterling, listen to the recording—she was humiliating me..."

"I said shut up!"

Dad slammed his hand on the table, making the teacup rattle.

He stood and walked over to me.

"Call the police? Do you know what that means?"

"What will the media write? 'Prosecutor's daughter abuses power, destroys poor student's future.'"

"Claire's family is poor. Her father is paralyzed. She's the city's model of perseverance and self-improvement."

"What matters more to us—our reputation or your little grievance?"

I opened my mouth, but my throat was dry. No sound came out.

My grievance? Being photographed naked, having my head shoved in a toilet—in his mouth, that was just a "little grievance."

Mom set down her teacup and walked over.

"Lily, you need to be reasonable. In our position, countless eyes are watching us."

"Claire has it hard too. She's just a bit aggressive, trying to get attention."

"You're the older one. You need to have perspective. To avoid any appearance of impropriety, this must be settled privately."

She pulled a sheet of paper from her briefcase and pushed it in front of me.

"Letter of Understanding."

Party A: Lily. Party B: Claire.

The content stated: This was horseplay between classmates. Party A will not pursue charges and waives all legal claims.

Dad handed me a fountain pen.

"Sign it. Don't make us force you."

I stared at that pen—the one I'd given him when he was promoted to Chief Prosecutor.

"What if I don't sign?"

Dad let out a cold laugh.

"Don't sign? Then you'll take a leave from school. We'll send you to stay with Grandpa in the countryside."

"Either way, without my approval, no case will be filed. No one will dare take it."

These were my parents.

For their pristine image, for their so-called "reputation," they were willing to sacrifice their own daughter.

My hand trembled as I took the pen.

The tip tore across the paper as I signed my name.

Mom collected the document with satisfaction, her face brightening with a smile.

"That's better. Mom knew you'd be reasonable. Are you hungry? I'll make dinner."

"No need."

I pushed myself up from the floor, my knees numb.

Back in my room, I dug out my backup tablet.

Half an hour later, a notification popped up on Instagram.

It was Claire's post.

A grid of nine photos.

Giant king crab, Australian lobster, and two hands raising glasses in a toast.

One wore Mom's diamond ring, the other Dad's watch.

Location tagged: Ocean Cloud Restaurant.

Caption: "My parents said they'd treat me to calm my nerves. Some princesses just need to be put in their place."

"Thanks, Ms. Rachel and Mr. Sterling! Love you!"

I stared at those words, my stomach churning.

So "making dinner" actually meant they had reservations all along, taking my abuser out to celebrate.

I rushed to the bathroom and vomited into the toilet.

In the mirror, my face was deathly pale, my lip still split.

While on my phone screen, the three of them looked like a perfect happy family.

Since you love this "daughter" so much...

Then I won't be your real daughter anymore.