The appointment of Susan Moore as the Broadcasting Channel's executive director has forced out the station's more valued news anchor, sparking heated discussions throughout Hayworth.

Susan herself is standing before me right now. She wants to sell her jewelry.

As the manager of a luxury boutique store, I'm here to inspect the goods.

"These are pieces my partner commissioned for me. I have so many that I'm tired of them."

One of them is a diamond-encrusted necklace, featuring a pigeon-blood ruby in the center, worth a few million.

There are also several similar gifts on the table, with the crocodile skin bag the least eye-catching one.

I smiled. "Your husband must really love you."

I set about verifying the purchaser's ID and signature as part of a routine procedure. However, I freeze in place at the sight of the name.

"I'm not his wife," she replied, bringing the coffee cup to her lips. "We're just each other's first loves. He said he missed out on 15 years of my life, so he gave me 15 gifts. Isn't that romantic?"

It is romantic, indeed.

However, it's my father's signature.

For 30-plus years, I assumed that my father was a dull man who had never once surprised my mother.

Susan Moore glanced up with an ambiguous smile when she noticed my stunned expression. "Women need to be raised in luxury. Otherwise, they'd find such opulence astonishing despite being surrounded by luxury goods all the time."

I, Lauren Smith, didn't respond to her veiled sarcasm. Instead, I smiled faintly at her. "I can offer you eight million dollars for the gemstone, Ms. Moore. However, you've just been appointed executive director. Why sell this?"

"I'm selling this to buy my partner a birthday present. The other day, he gave me another pigeon-blood ruby. Do you have any similarly priced watches?" she asked.

A flicker of hope still lingered in my heart. What if this was just a coincidence? What if the handwriting was just similar?

I then asked, "Would it be possible to see a picture of him? I can then recommend something suitable."

Yet, my heart sank as soon as I saw the image.

My father, Jason Smith, was happily embracing Susan, his gaze full of joy. It was a stark difference from his stern persona at home.

"Ms. Smith, you've been staring at him for a bit too long."

Susan put her phone away, looking displeased.

The gleaming ruby was an eyesore.

My parents were married for 30 years, and our family lived on Lark Avenue. It was a one-bedroom apartment where the living room served as my bedroom. The three of us barely had the space to move around in this tiny, 215-square-foot apartment at the same time.

Yet, the same man could afford to buy Susan so much expensive jewelry while my mother only had a plain, misshapen ring.

"I was simply marveling at his devotion. He's been faithful to you for so long," I said.

Susan laughed dismissively. "I knew he started a family after I left, but I don't care. Love and responsibility are two different things. While I was abroad, I joked that he was not macho and only rich. Can you guess what stupid thing he did?"

I didn't have to guess.

A simple joke made by Susan resulted in him pretending to be poor for 30 years, never once helping the family. And because of her coquettish pleading, he immediately reverted to his true self and gave her the best of everything.

Her current luxury apartment and job in broadcasting were both given to her by my father.

…

After agreeing on a watch style with her, I returned home in a daze.

I opened the door to see my mother, Anna Herzog, hunched over and bumping into things all over the tiny space. Purple bruises dotted her arms and waist.

We were poor, and Dad only made 2000 dollars a month. It wasn't nearly enough to support us all. As such, Mom went to work as a helper for a rich family.

Mom was beautiful and was often subjected to harassment by her employer. She came home crying and left for work in tears. Dad never stood up for her, only saying, "Life isn't always what you want it to be."

Thus, she learnt how to keep her head down, resulting in her current demeanor.

Yet, Susan's back was perfectly straight, her head held high. That was because Dad was the source of her strength.

At the secondhand luxury store, I dealt with wealthy clients and naturally had connections. A quick check revealed everything. Dad wasn't just rich; he was powerful, too. He was the Broadcasting Corporation's elusive boss.

Yet, when I fell ill at the age of five, I watched helplessly as my mother cast aside her dignity and fell to her knees before her employer, begging for an advance on her wages. Since there wasn't enough money, the surgery wasn't very successful.

Now, if I even walked a bit faster, my heart would hurt like hell.

Seeing me enter, Mom smiled. "Honey, I've found a new employer recently. She's offering a high salary. We'll be able to buy a new house soon!"

Yet, what she didn't know was that Dad had bought someone a house, and it was a large penthouse in the city center.

I looked at her, my throat constricting as I said, "Mom, I've got something important to tell you."

Mom was sitting on the couch, which was also my bed. She was wearing an old, patched-up shirt, the only gift Dad had ever given her. "What's wrong, Lauren? Should we call Dad home? He recently lost his job, and he should be interviewing at the job fair."

Using that excuse, Dad hadn't come home for three days. Just then, Susan updated her status. "He said I needed to socialize, so he bought a golf course for me."

Mom's hands were swollen from years of hard labor, but the hands Dad held in the picture were fair and slender.

"Mom, Dad's having an affair."

I dared not look at her and silently lowered my head.

"Lauren, how could you say such a thing?" Mom exclaimed. "He's only been away for a few days. He's doing this for the family!"

I simply pulled out my phone and showed her the buyer information for the luxury jewelry purchased today. The handwriting, his appearance, and his ID were all a perfect match.

I immediately presented more evidence.

"Mom, Dad's been faking being poor for 30 years, but he's actually filthy rich. He doesn't need to work and has tons of money."

I stared as Mom's shoulders trembled uncontrollably. Tears fell from her eyes like pearls slipping off a string.

Dad only gave her a small allowance each month. She'd paid for my school fees by humbling herself repeatedly.

Not only was she a cleaner for a wealthy family, but she even swept the streets and cleaned public restrooms. She never had a day off.

She gave everything she had for the family, but Dad never once prepared any surprises for her. He even forgot their anniversary each year, claiming, "With our situation, what's the point of celebrating our anniversary?"

Although Mom looked forward to it, she never brought it up again.

Yet, Dad remembered every single one of Susan's preferences, and every gift held meaning.

"Mom, Susan is Dad's first love. He was only faking being poor because of a joke she made."

To make her see things clearly, I was mercilessly laying out the facts.

Mom stared at my phone screen and wept.

"On your birthday, which was the 15th of this month, he not only didn't give you a gift—he didn't even come home. On the same day, he splurged at the auction house and bought Susan a pigeon-blood ruby—"

The more I spoke, the tighter my throat was.

Mom interrupted me, her voice choked with emotion. "Can I just pretend I never found out about this?"

My blood boiled.

She still wanted to defend him at a time like this?

Yet, she added, "You're his daughter. He's so wealthy, so he'll definitely take care of you. It's fine if he divorces me, as long as he treats you well."

I didn't plan on crying, but I broke down in tears, too.

The hardship and pressure of life had molded Mom into a doormat, yet Susan got whatever she wanted because my Dad spoiled her.

How was this fair?

I wiped the tears from her face and said, "Even if you divorce, I'll take him to the cleaners!"

Mom hesitated. "But he's so influential. Can we really get a divorce?"

Because we were poor, I was bullied a lot as a kid. Dad never stood up for me, which made me very vengeful. Since he owed us so much over the years, I was determined to make him pay.

I nodded. "Trust me, Mom."

I found Jennifer Aguilar's contact details. Jennifer was the famed news anchor whom Susan had ousted.

"I'll give you a juicy story that can have you restored to your initial position," I told her.

"Alright," she replied.

Yet, the purchase records alone weren't enough to prove Dad's infidelity. Susan's social media posts never revealed his face either.

Thus, using the expensive watch as an excuse, I personally paid her a visit in BC.

After I delivered the watch, she happily fished out her phone and took pictures. She then sent him a voice note. "This is my present to you. Will you pick me up at work later?"

He also responded, and Susan opened it without hesitation. "Susie, your companionship is the best gift I could ask for. You didn't have to get me a present."

Just then, Mom sent me a screenshot.

She'd asked if Dad was coming home for his birthday. She said the only gift he wanted was for her to stop nagging at him and fretting over when he was coming home.

Susan crossed her legs and chuckled softly when she saw my lowered head. "Jealous of my love life, miss? But you're just a retailer for secondhand luxury items. Blame your parents for not raising you properly."

Her words were already sarcastic, but hearing them made it worse.

Dad didn't raise me well, but he treated Susan very well.

When I entered the office building, I overheard many employees gossiping about her incompetence behind her back.

The ratings over the last few days weren't even half of what Jennifer had when she was there.

"I recently started a segment interviewing the poor like yourself. I bet it'll be fascinating."

She kept wiping the watch down with disinfectant wipes.

I had brought the item over wearing gloves, but her gaze was full of disdain for me.

It was as if my blood was tainted.

After she signed the confirmation forms, I left her office. I sat for a long time in the cafe outside BC and waited until the work day ended.

Susan strode out of the building in her heels, and my dad drove there in his sports car. The two embraced and shared a kiss, with Susan chuckling softly as she leaned into Dad's embrace.

I coldly took pictures to show Mom when I got home.

I was worried that she would cave in and beg Dad to come back.

Mom used to try to get close to Dad and be coquettish with him, too, but there was always a hint of disdain in his eyes.

When she saw those pictures, she smiled faintly. "I'm looking at houses. Once we get divorced and I get the money, we can just buy one."

Yet, before I could send all the photos to Jennifer, I received news that something had happened to Mom.