In front of a refined and elegant European-style villa stood a beautiful, poised woman in her late thirties.
She held the hand of a little girl around seven or eight years old. Their modest clothing stood in stark contrast to the luxurious surroundings.
The summer heat hung heavy in the air, and the occasional chirp of cicadas echoed through the trees.
Cornelia clutched her daughter's hand tightly, her body trembling as she braced herself for the confrontation ahead.
A regal-looking woman appeared at the entrance, her face twisted with impatience. Anila glanced at the mother and daughter who had been waiting outside for some time, her eyes filled with disdain. Like a queen looking down on commoners, she snapped coldly, "What are you doing here again, Cornelia? Harold has no intention of seeing you!"
Cornelia's voice was soft but steady. "I just want a place for Janice and me to stay. Must you really be so heartless?" Her pale face showed traces of resilience, though bitterness surged in her heart. She was once Harold S. Louis's woman too, but she had stepped aside to let him return to his family. Now, with her home facing demolition, she and her daughter had no one to turn to but Harold.
"Cornelia, I don't care how much you beg. It won't work!" Anila barked. "I'll give you two choices: First, take your little bastard and disappear from Harold's life. Second—"
Anila's eyes turned cold and vicious. When she noticed the little girl's clear, unblinking eyes staring at her with silent defiance, something dark stirred inside her. She wanted to tear them both apart. Even now, her husband remained obsessed with Cornelia—a woman full of grace and allure. Forced to stay with Anila due to pressure from her powerful family, Harold had never truly let go of the woman before her. And that delicate, beautiful child was a constant reminder of his betrayal.
Cornelia's breath caught as she saw Anila's gaze shift menacingly to her daughter. She stepped forward protectively, shielding Janice in her arms, waiting for the rest of the threat.
"Second," Anila hissed, her eyes narrowed, "I'll make sure you disappear from this world completely."
"I want to see Harold. He wouldn't be this cruel to us. Let me talk to him—unless I hear it from his own mouth, I won't leave!" Cornelia pleaded, her tear-streaked face full of desperation. What she didn't know was that Harold had no idea any of this was happening. Everything was being controlled by the ruthless woman in front of her.
"If you're going to be this stubborn, don't blame me for being ruthless," Anila growled. The more she saw Cornelia's tearful, delicate face, the more disgusted she felt. This was the face that had bewitched her husband.
As Anila turned to leave, a girl stepped out of the villa. She looked about twelve, with a red ribbon in her hair and a puffy princess dress. The resemblance to Anila was unmistakable. Her eyes landed on Janice with a mixture of contempt and jealousy.
"Mom, why is that little brat here again?" Elvira Louis sneered. She towered over Janice and looked her up and down. Seeing how lovely and angelic Janice had become—like a lotus blooming from the water—she felt a surge of envy, just like her mother.
"You're the brat! You bullied my mom! You're both bad women!"
Little Janice, barely eight, somehow found the courage to step out from behind her mother. With tears brimming in Cornelia's eyes as she shielded her daughter, Janice pushed forward, facing Elvira's sharp, scornful gaze with unexpected strength.
"You dare talk back to me, you little brat? Your mom's a homewrecker, and you're just a worthless bastard!"
Elvira screeched, her face twisted with rage as she lunged forward, yanking Janice by the hair. Before Janice could react, Elvira's hand shot up and slapped her hard across the face—a cruel gesture of vengeance, not just for herself, but for her mother.
She had overheard Harold mention, more than once, that she had a half-sister. But she would never accept it.
Cornelia, frantic, rushed forward and shoved Elvira aside. She knelt and gently pulled Janice into her arms, her hands trembling as she touched her daughter's now bloodied lips.
"Janice, does it hurt? I'm so sorry… it's all my fault."
"Mom, can we just leave? They're all mean. I don't want a dad anymore."
Janice's voice quivered, but no tears fell. She held her head high, her eyes glassy but unyielding. Her mother once told her that she did have a father, someone named Harold S. Louis. He just wasn't with them right now. But one day, he would come back for them.
That day, Janice learned what it felt like to be struck—and the man at the root of it all was that name: Harold.
Cornelia stood up, turning to face Anila. Her voice was resolute.
"Mrs. Louis, if Harold himself tells me he doesn't want us anymore, I will leave without another word. But unless I hear it from his lips, not even death will drive me away."
She said nothing more, lifting Janice into her arms and walking away from the estate.
From Cornelia's shoulder, Janice peered back. Her eyes locked with Elvira's, who stood far off in the distance, stomping her feet in rage. In that moment, the pain in Janice's gaze turned to something deeper—clear, cold determination.
She would never forget this humiliation. She would remember this cruel mother and daughter forever.
"Mom, is that little brat trying to steal my dad from me? I hate her! Can't you just make her disappear?"
Elvira whined as she buried her face in Anila's arms. Her cheeks bore two faint scratch marks, courtesy of Janice's flailing. Despite her young age, Elvira already showed the makings of a calculating mind.
She didn't want that girl in her house. She didn't want to share anything—not her home, not her father, not her place.
"My sweet girl," Anila whispered darkly, watching Cornelia's thin figure vanish in the distance, "No one will ever ruin what we have. No one."
Cornelia's parting words echoed in her ears like a threat. Anila's beautiful face grew colder, her heart already settled on a cruel decision.
This path… she chose it herself. She had no one to blame.
"Mom, I want to walk on my own."
Janice slipped gently from Cornelia's arms, her tiny hand reaching for her mother's. Step by step, they made their way down the hillside road. This area was filled with private villas owned by the wealthy, and the nearest bus stop was all the way at the bottom of the hill.
Their own place—a modest resort bungalow far from here—was tucked away in a remote area with beautiful surroundings. It had been arranged long ago by Harold, a gesture of responsibility more than affection. He had never once visited them.
But Cornelia, kind-hearted by nature, had always tried to understand him. She knew the pressures he faced. Remembering the tenderness they'd once shared, the warmth of his past affections, she couldn't bring herself to believe he was a cold or heartless man.
She never thought much about herself—only about giving her daughter a better life.
"Janice, be careful—!"
Cornelia had been lost in thought, her eyes downcast. She hadn't noticed Janice letting go of her hand and running ahead.
At the curve in the road, Janice didn't see the luxury sports car speeding down from the incline.
By the time Cornelia cried out, it was already too late—