Floyd's POV

Astrid was just a girl we took in a couple of years ago. How did she get so much money?

On the other hand, Zera, we raised her to be modest and never show off. The most expensive clothing she owned didn’t even cost a hundred dollars. Curious and uneasy, I called our housekeeper and driver to ask about Astrid.

Surprisingly, they all said the same thing — that Astrid was a sweet, frugal girl. They claimed she rarely spent money on herself, wearing her clothes until they were practically threadbare.

But the more they praised her, the more uneasy I felt. It sounded rehearsed, almost like they were covering something up.

If Astrid was so frugal, then where did the designer bags and expensive jewelry come from? Was I really overthinking things?

When news spread that I was coming back, my employees offered to pick me up at the airport. They joked that after nearly a year apart, they might not recognize their boss.

I’d built my company from the ground up, starting as a low-level employee and working my way up. This past year had been crucial for the company’s growth, which meant I barely spent time with my family. So, I was so excited to see my wife and daughter even before the flight.

As soon as my plane landed after the three-hour flight, I declined my colleagues’ invitation to celebrate my return and hailed a cab straight home.

It was already 11 PM when I arrived — a time when everyone should’ve been asleep. But Zera’s room was still lit.

I crept down the hall and peeked inside. I saw her hunched over her desk, frantically scribbling away. Her face was also tight with anxiety and her eyes were distant and unfocused.

My heart clenched upon seeing her pitiful appearance. Was school piling on too much work? Why was she up so late?

I pushed the door open, hoping to surprise her. But instead, she flinched, instinctively shielding her face like she expected to be hit. Her body then curled into itself, trembling.

"Zera, it’s okay. It’s me."

She froze for a moment before hurling herself into my arms.

"Daddy! You’re finally back!" she whispered, her body shaking. Silent tears streamed down her face as if she was afraid of making too much noise and waking the others.

I held her close, rubbing her back gently. "Daddy's home now. But why are you still doing homework this late?"

I reached for her workbook, but before I could touch it, she quickly grabbed it and hid it from me.

Still, I caught a glimpse of the name on the cover — Astrid Motley.

It wasn’t hers.

Before I could say anything, a soft voice came from the doorway.

"Daddy? When did you get back?"

It was Astrid, standing timidly at the door.

I looked at her, then back at the workbook. "Astrid, why is your homework in Zera’s room?"

Her eyes darted nervously to Zera before settling on me.

"Zera saw I had a lot of homework, so she offered to help," she said with a sweet smile.

But when I looked at Zera, she immediately lowered her head as she confirmed, "It’s true… I offered to help. It’s not her fault."

However, her voice quivered and her small frame was shaking with fear. So, I wasn’t convinced.

But when my gaze shifted back to Astrid, she just shrugged nonchalantly.

"You heard her. Zera wanted to help. I didn’t force her." She then turned to Zera and added in a soft but unsettling voice, "Right, sis?"

That "sis" lingered in the air, syrupy and false.

It sounded harmless to me, but I noticed Zera turned pale.

Floyd's POV

"Yes, sis," Zera whispered.

Seeing her so meek broke my heart and stoked my anger. Zera was supposed to be the cherished princess of this house — when did she start tiptoeing around an outsider?

"Astrid, take your workbook and do your own assignments. Don’t push your responsibilities onto others," I ordered.

Astrid didn’t argue. She grabbed her workbook and slipped back into her room.

Afterward, I turned back to Zera. But I noticed the dark circles under her eyes. She looked exhausted, and her face had lost its color. She was a shadow of the bright girl I remembered before my business trip.

Suddenly, she clung to my hand like I might vanish. "Daddy, you’re staying this time, right? You’re not leaving again?"

Her pleading tone pierced my heart.

"I’m staying, sweetie. Daddy’s not going anywhere."

I’d always believed that giving her a comfortable life was enough — providing a secure home, a good education, and a bright future. But now I realized I’d missed something crucial. At her age, mental health mattered most. She needed me — my presence, my love — and money couldn’t replace that.

When I asked about her mother, she tensed.

"Mom said she had work. She’ll be home late."

I frowned in confusion. Work? At this hour?

Still, I shrugged it off and urged Zera to sleep instead. But she refused to leave my side. In the end, I let her sleep in the master bedroom while I made a bed for myself on the floor.

After I told her a bedtime story and before she drifted off, I gently asked about the bruises on her arms and neck.

But upon my question, she stiffened and glanced fearfully toward the door before whispering, "I… I hurt myself by accident. Daddy, please don’t ask anymore."

Her fear made my heart ache. As such, I didn’t press her, but the unease sat heavy in my chest.

She should’ve been carefree, full of laughter. But instead, she looked like a scared little bird, constantly on edge.

Guilt gnawed at me. I’d been so focused on work that I’d neglected what mattered most — my daughter. Realizing that, I promised myself I’d take some time off and spend it with her. Maybe a trip would help her unwind.

I tried calling my wife to tell her to come home, but she brushed me off.

"I’m busy. I started a new business with a friend. You take care of Zera."

A new business? This was the first I’d heard of it. Then again, I remembered she’d always kept me in the dark about her plans.

Two years ago, she suddenly brought Astrid home, saying the poor girl reminded her of Zera. She claimed she wanted to give Zera a companion, someone to grow up with. I’d been against the idea at first. Sponsoring the girl was one thing, but bringing her into our home was another.

However, my wife wouldn’t budge. We fought about it for days. Yet in the end, I gave in for the sake of our marriage.

But the moment Astrid arrived at our home, she demanded to swap rooms with Zera upon taking a liking to it. She also took Zera’s favorite snacks without asking, acting like she belonged here more than Zera did.

Whenever I voiced my concerns, my wife brushed them off, insisting Astrid was just "straightforward" and "spirited."

At the time, I convinced myself that having another child around would help Zera open up.

Floyd's POV

But Zera didn’t seem happy. In fact, she carried a kind of sadness that felt far too heavy for someone her age.

I didn’t want my ambition to cost her a childhood without love and attention. Work could wait — so, from now on, my family would come first.

Watching her sleep peacefully, I finally felt a little relief. But just as I began to relax, a sudden shout from downstairs jolted her awake. Her eyes flew open, wide with fear.

I rushed out to see what was happening and found Astrid sprawled on the sofa, legs crossed, furiously playing a game on her phone. She cursed under her breath, oblivious to the disturbance she’d caused.

"You idiots! Do you even know how to play?!"

Seeing her like that made my blood boil. My fists clenched at my sides.

"Astrid, keep your voice down. Zera’s sleeping."

Yet, she didn’t even glance at me. Instead, she irritably shot back, "What do I care if she’s sleeping? Don’t bug me, I’m about to win!"

I stared at her, incredulous. Did she really think she could do whatever she wanted here?

Without another word, I walked over and switched off the Wi-Fi.

"What the hell?!" Astrid shot up, livid. "Why’d you cut the internet?! Do you have any idea how close I was to winning?!"

I met her glare with an icy stare. "This isn’t your house. You don’t get to act like it is. I told you to be quiet, but you didn't follow. Next time, you can pack your bags and leave."

For a moment, she looked like she wanted to argue. Then, she muttered, "Mom never yelled at me like you did." After that, she stormed off to her room and slammed the door so hard the whole house shook.

That was it. As soon as my wife got home, Astrid was leaving. No more excuses. No more charity.

The next morning, our housekeeper, Mandy Motley, knocked on the door to let us know breakfast was ready. I helped Zera get cleaned up, and we made our way downstairs.

As we reached the dining room, we bumped into Astrid. The second Zera saw her, she shrank behind me like a frightened mouse and didn't even dare to meet her gaze. What had Astrid done to make her so afraid?

Holding my daughter's hand, we sat down at the table, where my parents were already eating quietly. Across from them was Astrid.

Soon, Mandy brought out two different breakfasts — one for each girl. Astrid’s plate had fresh milk, while Zera’s didn’t.

Seeing this, my blood immediately boiled.

"Mandy," I said, trying to keep my voice calm, "why are their breakfasts different? Astrid has fresh milk. Where’s Zera’s?"

She barely looked up as she answered, "Astrid’s a growing girl. She needs the nutrients. While Zera had already drank plenty of milk when she was younger — giving her more now is just a waste."

At that point, my patience snapped. I slammed my palm against the table, making everyone jump.

"Can you hear yourself? Since when does my daughter not deserve a glass of milk?!"

Mandy muttered something under her breath before reluctantly saying, "I'll go get one now."

However, it took her nearly half an hour to return, and when she did, she slammed the glass down so hard that milk sloshed over the sides.

"No more fresh milk. This is all we have."

Seeing the frozen milk, I frowned and snapped, "What do you mean no more fresh milk? We get fresh milk delivered every morning. There should be more than enough."

Hesitating, she glanced at Astrid before forcing out an excuse. "Well… with so many people in the house, it only makes sense."

Doubting her, I turned to Zera and kneeled beside her. "Sweetheart, do you drink a lot of milk?"

She shook her head in response until Astrid’s cold gaze landed on her. As such, she changed her answer with a shaky voice, stammering, "Y-Yes, Daddy. I drink a lot."

That’s when pieces started to fall into their places. Besides Mandy's suspicious behavior, her surname — Motley, which is the same as Astrid's — also solidified my hunch.