Chapter 3

My mother hung up the phone with Jack.

She didn't cry or scream, nor did she become hysterical. Instead, she set up her phone tripod with terrifying calmness.

"Mom, what are you doing?!" I rushed over in a panic, wanting to knock over the camera. "Why should you be the one to take the fall? Dad is the shameless one! I won't let you humiliate yourself!"

My mother grabbed me and held me tightly against her chest. She even managed to force a dignified, flawless smile onto her pale face.

"Becky, be a good girl and listen. This isn't just Nelson's company; this is your future inheritance." My mother stared directly into the camera lens, her voice gentle yet piercingly cold. "What does it matter if I suffer a little indignity, as long as the company's interests are protected?"

The video was posted.

In the video, she smiled calmly and explained to the netizens, "Everything is a misunderstanding. Camilla is just Nelson's distant relative. Since she is pregnant and has no one to take care of her, I was the one who asked Nelson to accompany her to buy that baby furniture."

In less than half an hour, the entire internet exploded.

Twitter and Instagram were flooded with mass mockery directed at my mother. Everyone branded her the "most pathetic wife" and a "spineless gold-digger who threw away her dignity for money."

But my father was very satisfied.

That night, he finally deigned to come home.

He took off his suit jacket, offered my mother a rare hug, and even planted a seemingly affectionate, fatherly kiss on my forehead.

"Jamie, I knew you would understand the bigger picture." He smiled, pulling two velvet boxes from his pocket like he was handing out charity. "This is a reward for the two of you. Specially custom-made necklaces. Go ahead, put them on."

The boxes clicked open. Inside lay two crudely shaped metal necklaces, radiating a cheap, inferior quality.

I looked up at my father, a faint glimmer of hope stirring deep within my battered heart. Did he still care about us, even just a little bit?

That was until my father made an excuse to go practice in the piano room and left. Then, my phone buzzed.

It was an Instagram notification for a favorited account.

Camilla had posted a new update. The attached photo showed a breathtaking, exquisitely vintage antique cello.

The caption was unbearably arrogant: [Nelson spent five million dollars at an auction to win this priceless antique cello for me! The cheap, rusted metal clasps from its old, discarded case weren't wasted either—they were just enough to be melted down into two necklaces.]

Boom.

My blood instantly ran completely cold.

I stared fixedly at the necklace in my hand, a wave of churning nausea rising in my stomach.

So this was his so-called reward!

I shrieked in fury, grabbed the necklace, and lunged forward to smash it against his door!

"Becky, stop right there," my mother's voice rang out, incredibly calm.

Expressionless, she took the necklace off her neck as if it were a piece of virus-infested garbage, and casually tossed it into the trash can.

Then, right in front of me, she calmly dialed the numbers for Zoey and her lawyer.

"Zoey, we can finalize the date for my euthanasia," my mother said, her voice devoid of even a hint of a tremor. "Schedule it for next month, on the night of the celebration party for Nelson's international tour premiere."

Zoey's devastated, agonizing sobs echoed from the other end of the line, but my mother simply listened in silence.

After hanging up, she turned around and fixed her gaze on my tear-streaked face.

"Becky, memorize this. By choosing that specific night, from now on, whenever he steps onto a stage, whenever he hears applause, he will be forced to remember my death!" My mother's voice bled with a chilling, absolute madness and resolve. "Only by trapping him in a nightmare and a shadow forever can your inheritance be maximized to the fullest!"

I shook my head frantically as my tears completely broke the dam.

I didn't care about maximizing my benefits! I just wanted my mom!

But my mother forcefully wiped my tears away, her hands gripping my shoulders. "Starting tomorrow, you have to learn to take the initiative in front of the media and provoke Camilla!"

"Tell the reporters that she's nothing but a cheap knockoff who could be discarded at any moment! You have to infuriate her and make her lose control like a lunatic in front of everyone! You must step over my corpse and seize every single bargaining chip you deserve!"

I didn't dare argue. I could only hide in my room, bury my head deep under the blankets, and hopelessly count down the remaining days of my mother's life.

My mother would constantly drag her agonizingly painful body into my room to hold me. She would gently coax me, promising that after she died, she would turn into a star in the sky and stay with me forever.

I was ten years old. How could I possibly still believe that kind of childish nonsense?

I knew she was lying to me. But I could only bite my lip until it bled, forcing a smile and swallowing down all my breakdowns. I absolutely refused to let her carry a single shred of worry before she passed.

The footsteps of the grim reaper always approached with terrifying speed.

The celebration night for my father's international tour premiere finally arrived.

It was the most exclusive gala in Manhattan, packed with celebrities and illuminated by flashing cameras.

My mother had injected a massive overdose of heart stimulants. Wearing her most magnificent haute couture gown, she linked her arm through my father's and smiled flawlessly, making them look like a match made in heaven.

But right as the atmosphere reached its absolute peak, Camilla appeared.

She was dressed in a pitiful white gown. With one hand deliberately resting on her slightly bulging belly and her eyes rimmed red, she put on a desperate, trembling act, as if she had suffered all the grievances in the world.

Under the watchful gaze of hundreds of pairs of eyes across the hall...

My father didn't hesitate for a second. He threw off my mother's hand in front of everyone.

"There are too many people here, and Camilla is pregnant. I have to go protect her so she doesn't get bumped," he threw out hastily as a flimsy excuse. Then, he practically sprinted over to Camilla, protectively and tenderly shielding her in his arms.

A dead silence fell over the hall, immediately followed by a wave of undisguised whispers and gasps.

Countless gazes—a mix of pity and mockery—stabbed into my mother like sharp blades.

Yet, my mother simply smiled and shot a meaningful look at the man standing in the corner.