The divorce agreement made one thing very clear: I didn’t care how he spoiled other women.
But if he dared lay a finger on my daughter—I'd fight him to the end.
Seeing Amanda in such pain shattered my heart.
I pulled her into my arms and whispered, “Don’t worry, baby. Mom won’t let anyone bully you and get away with it.”
I took out my phone and made a call. Five minutes later, a sleek black car pulled up in front of us.
A man in a suit stepped out and bowed respectfully.
“Miss, welcome back.”
“While you were away, your ex-husband Graham took advantage of your absence. He seized multiple businesses under your name, claiming they were joint property from your marriage. And—”
“Continue,” I said coldly.
“Even the jewelry store you opened for Miss Amanda... He took it too.”
My expression turned to stone.
Everyone knew I had spent 17 years building that jewelry store—planning to gift it to my daughter on her 18th birthday.
But all it took was Clarissa saying she liked it, and Graham shamelessly found a way to snatch it away.
He must’ve forgotten—my daughter’s things aren’t so easy to take.
Just then, another message popped up: the supplementary card was maxed out again.
I sneered. “Call the bank. Freeze the secondary card. Actually—cancel it. I’ll apply for a new one.”
Ten minutes later, the assistant returned with a nod.
“It’s done. I’ll accompany you to the bank in half an hour to get a new card for Miss Amanda.”
I took the useless card, snapped it in half, and tossed it in the trash.
I rushed Amanda to the hospital for treatment.
But as I helped her settle into the hospital bed, she tugged nervously at the hem of my shirt.
“Mom... today’s the last day to pay tuition. The teacher said if I don’t pay, I’ll be expelled...”
I was about to comfort her, tell her not to worry, when I turned and saw a bruise on her neck. My expression darkened instantly.
“What’s this? Who hurt you?”
Amanda looked away, avoiding my gaze.
“I... I fell by accident.”
I asked again and again, but she refused to say more—just pulled the covers over her head and curled up into silence.
But the fear in her eyes said everything.
Something was very wrong.
That afternoon, I accompanied her to school to pay her tuition.
She was enrolled in the most expensive international school in Ridgeport. I’d been so impressed with the school’s environment that I even donated three entire buildings.
By all logic, this should’ve been a safe haven for her.
But the moment we stepped past the gates, Amanda shrank back, her shoulders tensing with visible fear.
Something—or someone—inside terrified her.
I approached the payment office.
“Hello, I’m Amanda’s parent. May I pay the tuition here?”
The staff didn’t even glance up, her tone impatient.
“Cut the small talk. Just pay.”
She gave me a once-over and muttered under her breath,
“Always the poor ones making trouble. Savannah, now she’s truly the daughter of Blake Enterprises—paid in full on day one. Not like some people who drag things out till the last minute and embarrass themselves.”
I froze.
“Who did you say is the daughter of Blake Enterprises?”
The woman huffed, clearly annoyed. She looked up and glared at me.
“Are you paying or not? Why are you asking so many questions?”
“People like you will never cross paths with the real Blake family anyway.”
My heart dropped.
I am the daughter of the Blake family. And Amanda is my only child.
There’s only one daughter of Blake Enterprises.
So where did this other daughter come from?
