"Don't smile. I hate your smile. Lucky you, you can still smile. But look at me… Look at me," Emily muttered, her voice weak and trembling. She gazed at the billboard above her, at the handsome young man staring back with a carefree grin.
"Stop smiling. You're so irritating," she scolded, though deep down, his smile gave her an inexplicable warmth. But right now, warmth wasn't what she needed. How could she bear to see happiness when all she felt was despair?
Some people had everything handed to them—happiness, security, love. She had lost it all.
No answers came, only the rain soaking her skin, weighing down her soul. The pain in her chest was suffocating, her breathing ragged. Her body shivered, cold and exhausted, barely clinging to what little strength she had left.
She forced herself to look at the man in the picture once more. His bright, effortless smile taunted her. She exhaled shakily, lips curving ever so slightly in response, then everything went dark.
And that was where it all began.
Even in the depths of unconsciousness, his face lingered, the last thing she saw before the world faded away. An angel. Her angel. The only presence in her most painful moment. She wasn't sure if it had been real or just a cruel dream.
The next day, she packed her things and left her grandmother's house.
Claudette and Nichole stood at the doorway, watching her every move with suspicion. The moment she stepped past the gate, their lips curled in smug satisfaction, laughter spilling from their mouths.
Emily turned, staring at the house she had loved so much. The place that was filled with memories of warmth and safety, now claimed by strangers.
She clenched her fists.
One day, she would take it back.
She swore she would never let them win.
Five years passed in a blur.
One hour before Emily met Charles, after a long shift, she finally stepped out of work. The exhaustion weighing on her was undeniable, but her heart still fluttered with excitement from earlier that morning.
She had gone to Nixon Square just to see him.
Charles Adam. Her superstar.
Time had made him even more breathtaking—matured, powerful, exuding an untouchable charm that made the crowd scream his name with unwavering devotion.
Emily was one of them.
She had watched him from afar for years, attending every show she could, feeling like her soul was tethered to him despite the reality that she was only one among millions.
A speck in the universe.
She had even skipped class for that fleeting moment.
And it had been worth it.
Thinking back, she smiled softly while walking home, but her joy was short-lived.
Her phone rang.
She stiffened.
That number.
She had tried for years to erase it from her memory, to forget the man on the other end of the call. But some things could never be forgotten.
Her father.
After five years, he had finally remembered her.
Emily's grip tightened around her phone, her breath slowing as old wounds ripped open.
She wanted to reject the call, to block him like she should have done long ago.
But midnight calls meant emergencies.
A small part of her hesitated.
Against every instinct, she answered.
"Emily, your mother, Claudette, personally prepared dinner for you tonight. Can you come?" His voice was calm, like they had never had any issues in the past.
Emily froze.
Mother?
Dinner?
At midnight?
Something was wrong.
"Why?" she asked coldly, the word barely escaping her lips.
She already knew the answer.
Claudette had never been a mother to her. No matter how much she tried to play the role, Emily saw through her. For years, she had suffered under that woman and her daughter. They had treated her like a servant, like she was nothing, taking advantage of every opportunity to humiliate her.
But now, Emily wasn't bound to them anymore.
"The situation is different now, Emily," her father said. His voice lacked any warmth, any remorse.
Emily's pulse quickened.
She wanted to hang up, but she held on.
Then—his real intention spilled out.
"Emily, we're selling the house."
Silence.
Her world tilted.
"You can't do that!" she screamed, her heart pounding wildly. "That's my grandmother's house! You don't have the right!"
Her breathing turned erratic, anger drowning out everything else.
"Don't make me hate you more," she whispered, voice trembling.
For years, she had obeyed him.
For her mother's sake, she had bowed her head, swallowed her pride, endured every humiliation.
But her mother was gone.
Her father could no longer control her.
There was nothing left tying her to him.
No family.
No home.
Claudette and Nichole had already stolen everything, treating her like an inconvenience, like a pest they wanted to be rid of.
The same day they arrived, Nichole had claimed Emily's room as her own, pushing her into the storage room like she was nothing.
Her father had let it happen.
Now, he wanted to sell the house, the only thing left of her grandmother, her mother, her past.
Emily clenched her fists, her nails biting into her palms.
He had stolen her childhood.
He had stolen her home.
But this time, Emily would fight back.
"Shameless!"
Emily's voice erupted in fury, shaking with rage as she glared at the man who had taken everything from her.
"Where is my mom's company? Her money? She left you everything, but instead of protecting what she built, you used it to indulge your mistress and her daughter! And now—now, you want to sell my mother's house? I will never agree!"
Her screams echoed through the silence, raw and furious.
But her father remained unmoved.
Emily had left that house with nothing—not a dime from the company that was once hers, not a single shred of the wealth her grandmother had left behind.
She had been forced to fend for herself, working day and night just to survive, while her father had basked in riches that weren't his to begin with.
He had drained every last penny, lavishing his mistress and Nicole with luxuries.
And now that they were bankrupt?
He wouldn't even spare her the house.
Her home.
Her last connection to her mother.
Emily clenched her fists, nails biting into her skin as she fought the tears threatening to spill.
Her father sneered, stepping closer, voice laced with venom.
"Even if you're an adult now, I can still make your life a living hell if you don't cooperate," he hissed, his gaze cold and merciless. "Do you understand?"
A chill ran down Emily's spine, but she refused to cower.
She had endured his cruelty for years.
She had swallowed her pain, obeyed his demands, and sacrificed everything for the sake of her mother's treatment.
But now, there was nothing left to hold her back.
Emily raised her chin, glaring at the man who had once been her father.
"You already made my life a living hell."
She stepped back, her voice steady, her heart burning with resolve.
"And I survived."
Her father smirked, unfazed by her defiance.
But Emily knew…
He had no power over her anymore.
And she would never let him win this time.