"WHAT ARE your conditions?" Cynthia asked, her voice frantic, holding the phone to her ear.
She didn't even know who she was talking to. A man named like a letter. An alias. Just like Borza's Bourbon. All these clans are maddening!
Just this morning her secretary told her every investor in her hotel project had pulled out. She had demanded answers. Four years of work. A hotel in the capital. Gone overnight!
Are you kidding me?
So the phone call came.
"Madam Ang."
It was a male, mechanical voice.
Definitely an underling of someone sabotaging her project.
"Don't worry," he continued. "The hotel project is simply on hold—unless, of course, both sides fail to get a satisfactory result. You see, the Ang family offended my master again by going after a student. But we're not that vengeful."
Cynthia froze.
She thought of her daughter.
What had that fool done?
"We'll send your daughter to stay abroad. Six years," he added.
Cynthia blinked. A sound between a scoff and a bitter laugh escaped her lips. "Abroad? My daughter?"
"Yes," the man said.
He named the country.
Cynthia's eyes widened. "That's too much! She won't survive—"
"She will," the man said, calm. "In fact, it will teach her something useful."
Silence.
"W-where is your boss? I want to speak to him. Are you Arsenio's staff?" Cynthia's breath caught. "Is the young heir of the Arsenio clan protecting Miss Jiran?"
Were Arsenios interested in her potential?
"Speculations are a waste, Madam. I'm simply in charge of these matters. If we end this call without resolution, I'll interpret that however I see fit," he replied mechanically.
She was pacing back and forth in her office.
More silence.
"Give me the details," she exhaled harshly, her fist clenching.
"Of course, Madam. We'll arrange everything. May the Angs refrain from causing more trouble from now on. We've confirmed the Chamber will not meddle, and we'd prefer not to resort to stronger methods," the man said.
Cynthia sneered.
The Chamber had already warned her it wouldn't step in again.
"I… I will do it," she said.
The other line went dead.
Then she slapped the phone down on her glass-covered desk, making the secretary standing nearby jolt in shock.
The phone rang. Her daughter.
Cynthia didn't answer.
It rang again.
She switched it off.
Stupid!
Seconds later, the door burst open.
"Mom, I don't want to attend—"
Cynthia lunged.
Pak!
Her hand cracked across Danica's face. Cynthia's teeth ground as she stared at her daughter. Tears slid down Danica's cheeks. She didn't scream. She didn't sob. Her fists closed tight. But she turned to her mother sharply.
"What the hell-?"
"I told you not to cause trouble!" Cynthia shouted, cutting her in. "You're too stupid to even get that. What do the maids feed you?"
"Why is this such a big deal!" Danica shouted.
"All you have is massive pride and a small brain!" Cynthia snapped. Her face was contorted, her lips tight. She pointed a finger at Danica. "You--you what did you do?"
"It was just some stupid rumor."
"Ha! That's what you're good at!"
Danica flung her arms wildly. "When I told you I never liked Mizuri, when I said I wanted fashion, when I said I didn't want to take the exam, did you listen? You act like—"
Pak!
Danica's tears burst forth this time, her hand clutching her cheeks, still numb from the slap.
"Did you prove anything to make you worthy? You've not!"
Cynthia exhaled, lifted her chin, and looked away. "You've got what you want! I'll send people to release you from Mizuri!"
Danica blinked. "Release me?"
Cynthia turned to her sharply.
Danica's heart raced—this felt bad.
"What do you mean?" Danica pressed, gritting her teeth.
"I won't allow you to ruin my years of hard work just because of your stupidity. You're going abroad," Cynthia said with finality.
"What do you mean—"
"Get out!"
Danica stared at her mother, who strode back to her desk without looking at her, as if her words no longer required explaining.
As she hurried out of her mother's office, Danica grimaced.
Did they ever look at her and ask what she wanted?
Did they ever ask how she was feeling?
Damn them all!
All they cared about was stupid legacy.
She wished the hotel would collapse on its first day and she'd see all their long faces. Your face, Mother!
*