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.

Floyd's POV

Moreover, our driver’s last name was also Motley. What were the odds? Was this all just a coincidence? I recalled that both the driver and the housekeeper were hired by my wife, Rhea. She claimed they were distant relatives of hers and assured me they were trustworthy.

Still, I wanted to install security cameras in the house, but Rhea insisted it would invade our privacy. She refused. Now, without any footage, I had to find the truth another way.

Then I remembered something else. Rhea once asked me for a credit card. I assumed it was for her personal use, so I didn’t question it. But just a few days ago, I noticed a huge charge — someone had bought an LV handbag. At first, I thought it was Rhea. But the more I thought about it, the stranger it seemed. Rhea wasn’t into that brand.

Curious, I opened my banking app and checked the transaction history. But my heart sank upon seeing it.

In just one month, nearly 30,000 dollars had been spent on that card.

I called one of the stores to ask about the purchase, and what I heard made my blood boil. The clerk told me the buyer was a young girl, about fifteen, with a mole on her face.

It was Astrid.

The clerk also told me she was very generous at that time as she even treated each of her two friends who traveled with her with bags.

Fighting to stay calm, I checked the dashcam footage from the driver’s car. But as soon as I watched it, the veins on the back of my hand bulged with rage.

The driver was supposed to take Zera to school every day. But the footage showed him only ever driving Astrid.

Where was Zera? How did she get to school?

I needed answers. I stormed outside to confront Astrid but ran into someone unexpected — Carter Johnson, our part-time gardener and a distant relative of mine — a trustworthy man.

He only came by a few times a month to tend to the garden, but I paid him a full salary regardless. He was always hardworking, occasionally helping around the house when needed.

I saw surprise in his eyes when he saw me, but it was soon replaced with hesitation.

"Carter," I said, pulling him aside. "You looked like you had something to tell me. What is it?"

He hesitated, then sighed. "Floyd, I don’t know if I should say this… but you need to keep a closer eye on things at home."

I pressed him for answers, and he finally told me everything.

"That housekeeper of yours? She’s a thief. I’ve caught her sneaking things out to sell more than once. She even hikes up prices on groceries and pockets the difference. When I confronted her, she threatened to break my legs if I ever spoke up."

His face darkened. "And the driver… He’s no better. I said something once, and the housekeeper called him over. He threatened to kill me if I didn’t shut up. If it weren't for you, I would have left long ago."

"And Astrid?" I asked, dreading the answer.

"Spoiled rotten. I once saw her pouring fresh milk down the drain just to wash her feet and face. When I told her to stop wasting food, she called me a ‘worthless old farmer’ and said I had no right to tell her what to do."

Uncle Carter’s eyes filled with regret. "I’ve also always seen her push Zera around. Yell at her. Even hit her."

My hands clenched into fists as rage surged through me. Immediately, I instructed someone to look up the trip histories of the drivers and vegetable merchants the nanny often works with.

Then, I found Zera and gently asked her if Astrid had been bullying her. But she hesitated, eyes darting nervously, and only shook her head.

Left with no choice, I just checked her phone, only to find a video that made my blood run cold. Only then did she confess everything with a terrified look.

In the video, a group of girls shoved Zera into a corner, kicking and punching her. One girl even jammed a filthy mop into her mouth and jabbed the handle into her back repeatedly.