They canceled my flight, so I returned to my mansion in silence. When I opened the door, I found my four-year-old daughter trembling with hunger, clutching a heavy book while my wife snapped, “If you drop it, you start over.”

Lily instantly lost balance. The dictionary fell first—then she did, dropping to her knees before collapsing sideways onto the hardwood floor.

He rushed to her, heart pounding.

“Lily! Baby, it’s okay—I’m here!”

But instead of running into his arms, she scrambled backward in terror, eyes wide.

“No, Daddy, no!” she cried. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry, Mommy… I didn’t finish… don’t hate me…”

The words pierced him.

His daughter wasn’t afraid of pain.

She was afraid of punishment.

Worse—she thought he would punish her too.

From the hallway, Mrs. Carter rushed in. She dropped to her knees, pulling Lily into her arms. From her apron pocket, she pulled out a small piece of bread wrapped in a napkin.

Lily grabbed it desperately and devoured it like she hadn’t eaten in days.

Alexander froze.

His daughter—heir to everything he had built—was starving in her own home.

“Open your eyes, sir!” Mrs. Carter shouted, tears streaming down her face. “Every time you leave, that woman makes her do this for hours. She won’t let her eat. She tells her she’s fat, ugly—that if she wants you to love her, she has to learn to endure!”

Stephanie stood up slowly, eerily calm. Not a strand of hair out of place. Not a trace of guilt.