On my daughter’s eighteenth birthday, I scrolled through a social media post from a parent in her class. "So fortunate to be invited to my child's best friend's birthday celebration." A smile touched my lips. It was good for my daughter to make more friends. But as I looked closer at the photos, a wave of confusion washed over me. A lavish birthday party was in full swing inside my villa, yet the figure at the center of the crowd was a stranger. And the dress she was wearing… wasn't that the million-dollar gown I'd custom-ordered for my daughter? The more I looked, the more wrong it felt. I accessed the security cameras in our home. What I saw made my blood run cold: the unfamiliar girl, smiling sweetly, escorted a woman onto a central stage. She formally introduced her to everyone present. "This is my mother, Ms. Sinclair, CEO of Sinclair Industries." And my daughter? She was on her knees nearby, a group of people pressing her head down, forcing her to lick cream off the floor like a dog. Rage shook me to my core. She was the CEO of Sinclair Industries? Then who, in God's name, was I? 1 "Ms. Sinclair, congratulations on your recovery. You'll be discharged in a few days." In the exclusive recovery clinic, the director held a bouquet of flowers, smiling as he congratulated me. A faint smile touched my lips as I picked up my phone, ready to share the good news. But the next second, I saw a post on social media from Ms. Evans, whose daughter, Emily, was in my daughter’s class. I had never publicly disclosed my identity as the CEO of Sinclair Industries, wanting my daughter to blend in more easily at school. Today was my daughter's birthday. The venue for the birthday party in Ms. Evans's video, and the dress worn by the guest of honor, felt disturbingly familiar. Upon closer inspection, wasn't this my house? Even more unbelievably, the exquisite gown I had commissioned for my daughter, costing a fortune, was now worn by someone else. I frowned. This dress was a gift for my daughter's coming-of-age, a piece I had personally helped design. The gold thread and pearls alone were worth a fortune. A dark shadow passed through my eyes, and I immediately called Mrs. Peterson, our housekeeper. "Ms. Sinclair, Miss Clara is having her birthday party with her friends!" "Miss Clara said she loves all the things you sent back!" "Miss Clara is having birthday cake with her friends. She said she'll call you back later." After hanging up, I felt a deep sense of unease. Was I overthinking this? I messaged Ms. Evans, but she took a long time to reply. "It's the kids' business, we parents don't interfere much," she stammered, unable to give a clear answer. "What do we parents know about these things?" Soon after, when I checked her social media again, I found she had blocked me. I couldn't help but call my daughter's homeroom teacher. "Hello, Mr. Chen, this is Clara’s mother." "I just wanted to check on Clara recently…" But the voice on the other end was full of impatience. "You're Clara's mother? Why are you only calling now?" the voice snapped. "I'm her new homeroom teacher. Mr. Chen has already left." A pang of guilt struck me. For the past two years, due to my health, I'd been recuperating abroad. I hadn't even known her teacher had changed. However, her next words made me jump. "Mrs. Davies, there's something I need to say, whether it's appropriate or not!" she barked. "As the child of the Sinclair family's housekeeper, it's already a great privilege that Ms. Sinclair allowed your Clara to enroll here. I never imagined your daughter would be so ungrateful, taking leave every other day!" "And her tuition for the current semester still hasn't been paid! You need to settle it immediately." "Honestly, I don't know why she can't be more like young Miss Sinclair!" With that, she contemptuously hung up. I nearly crushed my phone. I, a housekeeper? Someone had usurped my and my daughter’s identity? I was furious, then burst into a cold, mocking laugh. I immediately booked a flight back home. I was going to find out exactly what had been happening in my house. At six in the evening, I walked out of the airport, my luggage in hand. I was eager to meet this "Ms. Sinclair" who had seemingly appeared out of thin air. When I arrived at the company, everyone looked at me in shock. "Ms. Sinclair… why are you back so suddenly?" They all knew the true power behind Sinclair Industries was this Ms. Sinclair. No matter how authoritative Mr. Davies seemed, he was merely a figurehead. The one who truly held everyone's fate in her hands, who had built Sinclair Industries from the ground up, was the iron-willed woman standing before them. "My dear, why are you back so suddenly?" Arthur Davies looked at me, his eyes full of a profound guilt. He seemed to have just rushed back from somewhere; usually so meticulous about his appearance, his clothes were noticeably wrinkled. I smiled, straightening his collar, pretending not to notice the faint red lipstick mark on it. "New cologne?" I asked, a hint of a smile playing on my lips. A flicker of panic crossed Arthur’s eyes. The new YSL fragrance was the number one women’s perfume. "Oh, it's nothing! Our daughter, she's grown up and cares about looking pretty now, and she accidentally dropped a bottle of perfume when she went out. It shattered and splashed all over me." His face was filled with doting affection, as if he were truly a father spoiling his daughter. "Is that so?" I watched him spout such blatant lies, then scoffed. My fingers casually scrolled through the social media account of this "Miss Sinclair." Every single limited-edition piece of jewelry I had bought for my daughter abroad was now adorning her. "Arthur, can you tell me how these things, which I acquired for our daughter, ended up on Mrs. Peterson's granddaughter?" My eyes gleamed with sarcasm. "Don't tell me it's a coincidence. Every piece of jewelry is one-of-a-kind." My assistant had already thoroughly investigated the girl's identity: Mrs. Peterson's granddaughter, Madison Peterson. I let out a mocking laugh. Mrs. Peterson had truly raised her well. No wonder everyone assumed she was the young lady of the Sinclair family. Seeing me produce the photos, panic flashed in Arthur’s eyes, but he quickly composed himself, looking at me with disapproval. "It's like this, my dear. Mrs. Peterson is getting on in years and some chores are difficult for her, so she asked Madison to help out. Madison and Clara hit it off and are like sisters. They've been living and eating together for the past two years." He smiled, an oily, placating expression. "Darling, it’s normal for girls to share, isn't it?" Rage made me laugh. Normal? Sure enough, Arthur soon received a phone call. His face visibly paled, and he looked at me with incredulity. "My dear, why did you freeze my bank accounts?" I looked at him, concealing a dark intent in my eyes. "Arthur, where exactly did you pay our daughter's tuition fees?" "Clara herself didn't want to study, and she even broke school rules." He tried to defend himself. "Don't you believe me? Why don't you ask Clara?" "I will investigate thoroughly." With that, I turned and left. A chilling resolve settled in my heart. Since childhood, I knew my daughter's character better than anyone. When she was little, she always begged me to sign her up for various music, dance, and art classes, claiming these were essential for becoming a princess. Now, in her final year of high school, she was on the verge of entering her dream university! A few years ago, Mrs. Peterson, our housekeeper, had moved into our home. Her cooking was beloved by my daughter, so I kept her on staff to manage my daughter's daily life. However, I suddenly had a relapse of my old illness and had no choice but to entrust the company to Arthur. During this time, Arthur consistently assured me that our daughter was doing well. He even claimed she had made a good friend, Mrs. Peterson's granddaughter. I frowned, arriving back home. My daughter was on the sofa, looking at me timidly. "Mom, you're back." She carefully tried to hug me, and I pulled her into my arms. But my daughter cried out in pain. Realizing something was wrong, I gently pushed up her sleeve. A landscape of greenish-purple bruises was revealed. A cold rage flashed in my eyes. "Who did this?" I asked, my voice low and dangerous. But Clara hid in my arms. "Mom, I just fell... I'm sorry, it's Clara's fault..." My daughter trembled, apologizing incessantly. Seeing my daughter’s unusual behavior, my heart ached. She wasn't like this just a few years ago. It was all my fault. Now, no matter what, I wouldn't leave my daughter's side. I led my daughter gently back to my bedroom. "Mommy will stay with you tonight..." With me by her side, Clara seemed to relax. It seemed I had a lot to investigate. As I pondered, the bedroom door suddenly burst open with a kick. My daughter woke up, startled, trembling. A delicate figure in silk pajamas pointed at my daughter's nose and cursed. "You bitch, who told you you could sleep here?" She stormed in, but stopped dead in her tracks the moment she saw me. "Who are you?" My face was utterly cold. "And why do you open the door without the owner's permission?" The girl paused, surprised. "This is my parents' house! Why would I knock?" I looked at her with chilling eyes. "Your mother? I don't have a daughter like you..." My voice dropped to a menacing whisper. "Get out before I lose my temper." The girl was about to explode, but Mrs. Peterson quickly rushed in, covering her mouth. "Madam, this is my granddaughter. Sometimes she sleepwalks. Please don't mind her." With that, she dragged Madison downstairs. She smiled, handing me a bowl of red date and white fungus soup. "Madam, Miss Clara didn't eat dinner tonight. This is a dessert I prepared for her." I nodded. "You can go now." I subtly noticed my daughter seemed particularly resistant to the two of them being near her. "Clara, are you hungry?" I asked gently. "Have a little something." My daughter shook her head. "Mom, I don't want to eat... Mom, please, I don't want to eat. I hate how I look right now." I looked at my daughter. Her slender figure was gone, replaced by a dark, bloated form. For some reason, her face was covered in a dense rash of acne. "I don't want to drink it..." My daughter kept repeating, looking at the bowl of white fungus soup. But I remembered how much she used to love this. "Alright, if you don't like this, I'll make you something else tomorrow." My daughter seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, then quietly fell asleep beside me. I looked at the bowl of white fungus soup, a dark glint in my eye, and immediately dialed a number on my phone. "Assistant Lewis, I need you to help me send something for testing... Yes, now." My voice was firm. "Also, I need you to retrieve all deleted security footage from the house, no matter the cost!" Assistant Lewis was incredibly efficient. Soon, the technical team provided the results. But the content they sent nearly made my heart explode. The most recent security footage was from my daughter's coming-of-age party. Yet, on that day, in this house, the one wearing the million-dollar gown was not Clara! "Such a beautiful dress is wasted on you!" Madison's voice echoed from the footage. "Trash like you only belongs with dogs. You were just lucky to be born well... but some things don't belong to you, they'll never be appreciated by you." "I hear it's your birthday today too," Madison continued, her smile malicious as she threw a piece of cake onto the floor. "Here's some cake for you!" "Hurry up and lick it clean, don't waste it." "You're just the housekeeper's daughter. Young Miss Sinclair is doing you a favor by letting you be her dog." The people beside her echoed her words, some even grabbing Clara's hair, forcing her face into the cake on the floor. Clara struggled, trying to reach out in a certain direction. "Asher..." The next second, Madison stomped her foot viciously on Clara's hand. "You bitch, know your place!" "Asher is mine!" My daughter's agonizing cries were drowned out by the music. Asher Kent, a childhood friend who had been Clara's shadow since they were little, was now watching Clara with cold indifference, allowing Madison to debase her. I was boiling with rage. Just then, Assistant Lewis's text message came through. "Ms. Sinclair… the food you asked me to test earlier… it contains a large amount of hormones..." Looking at my daughter's distorted figure and scarred face, my heart ached. So that was it. Madison, so young, yet so vicious. If that was the case, I wouldn't let her get away with this.
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