Floyd's POV
But Zera didn’t seem happy. In fact, she carried a kind of sadness that felt far too heavy for someone her age.
I didn’t want my ambition to cost her a childhood without love and attention. Work could wait — so, from now on, my family would come first.
Watching her sleep peacefully, I finally felt a little relief. But just as I began to relax, a sudden shout from downstairs jolted her awake. Her eyes flew open, wide with fear.
I rushed out to see what was happening and found Astrid sprawled on the sofa, legs crossed, furiously playing a game on her phone. She cursed under her breath, oblivious to the disturbance she’d caused.
"You idiots! Do you even know how to play?!"
Seeing her like that made my blood boil. My fists clenched at my sides.
"Astrid, keep your voice down. Zera’s sleeping."
Yet, she didn’t even glance at me. Instead, she irritably shot back, "What do I care if she’s sleeping? Don’t bug me, I’m about to win!"
I stared at her, incredulous. Did she really think she could do whatever she wanted here?
Without another word, I walked over and switched off the Wi-Fi.
"What the hell?!" Astrid shot up, livid. "Why’d you cut the internet?! Do you have any idea how close I was to winning?!"
I met her glare with an icy stare. "This isn’t your house. You don’t get to act like it is. I told you to be quiet, but you didn't follow. Next time, you can pack your bags and leave."
For a moment, she looked like she wanted to argue. Then, she muttered, "Mom never yelled at me like you did." After that, she stormed off to her room and slammed the door so hard the whole house shook.
That was it. As soon as my wife got home, Astrid was leaving. No more excuses. No more charity.
The next morning, our housekeeper, Mandy Motley, knocked on the door to let us know breakfast was ready. I helped Zera get cleaned up, and we made our way downstairs.
As we reached the dining room, we bumped into Astrid. The second Zera saw her, she shrank behind me like a frightened mouse and didn't even dare to meet her gaze. What had Astrid done to make her so afraid?
Holding my daughter's hand, we sat down at the table, where my parents were already eating quietly. Across from them was Astrid.
Soon, Mandy brought out two different breakfasts — one for each girl. Astrid’s plate had fresh milk, while Zera’s didn’t.
Seeing this, my blood immediately boiled.
"Mandy," I said, trying to keep my voice calm, "why are their breakfasts different? Astrid has fresh milk. Where’s Zera’s?"
She barely looked up as she answered, "Astrid’s a growing girl. She needs the nutrients. While Zera had already drank plenty of milk when she was younger — giving her more now is just a waste."
At that point, my patience snapped. I slammed my palm against the table, making everyone jump.
"Can you hear yourself? Since when does my daughter not deserve a glass of milk?!"
Mandy muttered something under her breath before reluctantly saying, "I'll go get one now."
However, it took her nearly half an hour to return, and when she did, she slammed the glass down so hard that milk sloshed over the sides.
"No more fresh milk. This is all we have."
Seeing the frozen milk, I frowned and snapped, "What do you mean no more fresh milk? We get fresh milk delivered every morning. There should be more than enough."
Hesitating, she glanced at Astrid before forcing out an excuse. "Well… with so many people in the house, it only makes sense."
Doubting her, I turned to Zera and kneeled beside her. "Sweetheart, do you drink a lot of milk?"
She shook her head in response until Astrid’s cold gaze landed on her. As such, she changed her answer with a shaky voice, stammering, "Y-Yes, Daddy. I drink a lot."
That’s when pieces started to fall into their places. Besides Mandy's suspicious behavior, her surname — Motley, which is the same as Astrid's — also solidified my hunch.
