I came home just in time to see my injured father crawling across the marble floor while my stepmother laughed above him. “Crawl faster, Richard, or you get no medicine,” she said, pressing her heel near his trembling hand.

I walked into the mansion just in time to see my injured father dragging himself across the marble floor while my stepmother stood over him laughing. “Move faster, Richard, or you don’t get your medicine,” she sneered, pressing the tip of her heel dangerously close to his shaking hand. My stepbrother grinned nearby, wearing my father’s watch like a victory prize. They still believed I was the helpless daughter who disappeared years ago. They had no idea I returned carrying evidence, attorneys, and one final signature capable of destroying everything they built.

My stepmother forced my injured father to crawl across the marble floor just to serve her tea.

She laughed when the cup trembled in his hands and spilled over the bandages wrapped around his wrist.

“Pathetic old man,” Vivian said, lifting one crimson heel and pressing it lightly against his shoulder. “You once owned half this city. Look at you now.”

My father—Richard Hale, founder of Hale Construction—tightened his jaw and stayed silent. His right leg was still damaged from the accident. Several ribs had not healed properly. And his dignity bled worse than any physical wound.

I stood frozen in the doorway with a suitcase still in my hand.