Chapter 4

After that uproar with my uncle and aunt, I came to a realization.

Even as a child, I could tell they weren't good people.

If they couldn't be trusted, who could I rely on?

My stepmother?

Would she really sell me off, just like the subtitles hinted?

After they left, I kept my presence in the house as small as possible, afraid of catching my stepmother's attention.

What if one day she decided I was too much trouble and sent me off to some remote mountain?

Luckily, she seemed very busy and was out of the house for several days.

I finally breathed a sigh of relief.

One day, as I rummaged through the kitchen for food, her voice suddenly rang out.

"What are you looking for? Have you eaten?"

Clutching the hem of my shirt, I stammered, "Yes, I have, Ms. Barry."

She let out a cold snort, clearly displeased. "You little brat. You only call me mom when you need something from me, don't you?"

Her tone was sharp, and she didn't look happy.

"I've been busy these past few days. How have you been eating?"

How had I been eating? Just the same as usual: whatever leftovers the maids didn't finish.

I told her the truth.

Opening the fridge, she stared at the leftover chicken bones inside, her brows knitting together.

"So, this is what you usually eat?"

I nodded.

What else could I eat?

I was just one of the many children my father had fathered outside, lucky enough to have been brought home.

Only because my mother had passed away and there was no one else to take care of me.

After he brought me here, my father had practically forgotten my existence. He rarely came home, leaving me to be completely neglected.

The maids, sharp as they were, followed his lead.

Seeing how indifferent he was, they treated me the same.

If I was lucky, there'd be leftovers.

More often than not, I'd go hungry for an entire day.

After a long silence, my stepmother cursed under her breath, using words I didn't understand. Then, she called for all the staff in the villa.

Standing before them, she said loudly, "Do you know who she is? And who you are?

"She's my daughter, and you're feeding her leftovers? Just thinking about it is enough to make me a laughingstock.

"Erika, look at these maids. Point out anyone who's been mistreating you."