After discovering I was the only daughter of the richest man in the country, my part-time private tutor actually decided she wanted to be my stepmother.
On her very first day, the new tutor pointed at my desk full of stationery and barked,
“They say failing students always have too much stationery. What’s all this colorful junk? No wonder you can’t focus!”
She moved to throw my pen case into the trash, and I hurried to stop her.
“Ms. Brooks, the set of pens you’re holding is a Montblanc Limited Edition collection. The cheapest one costs at least $7,000.”
Brooks’ eyes widened before she snapped at me,
“You spoiled brat! Spending that much on stationery—what man would ever want to marry you?”
I smacked her hand away, irritation rising. “My dad’s willing to buy it for me—why should you care? Instead of worrying whether I’ll get married, maybe worry about yourself!”
It was a casual remark, but Brooks clearly took it to heart.
While I was out shopping, she slipped into my designer dress, slathered on my skincare products, and lounged on my bed.
“A little girl like you doesn’t even know how to use these expensive things. You should let me take them off your hands!”
“Besides, in a couple of days, I’ll be married to your dad. Then I’ll be your stepmom, and you’ll have to do as I say!”
I took a step back and pulled out my phone.
“Dad, aren’t you and Mom on the Alaska wilderness research trip? When did you have time to find me a stepmother?”
…
On her first day in my home, Amanda Brooks tried to establish dominance by pointing at my desk and scolding,
“They say failing students always have too much stationery. What’s all this colorful junk? No wonder you can’t focus!”
I bit back a sigh and tried to explain patiently.
“Ms. Brooks, I actually use all of this for studying. Most of it is a reward from my family whenever I score well. None of it distracts me.”
But it was as if she couldn’t understand human speech. She swept a stack of my loose-leaf notebooks onto the floor.
“Talking back already? I’m in charge of your summer studies. If I say you can’t keep it, it’s gone!”
She grabbed my pen case and peered inside with disdain.
“As long as a pen writes, it’s fine. Why buy so many fancy ones? Totally impractical! Probably not worth much anyway—let’s just toss it all!”
Seeing she was about to dump the entire case in the trash, I stepped in quickly.
“Ms. Brooks, that’s a Montblanc Limited Edition set. The cheapest pen is worth at least $7,000. Together with two rare enamel antique pens, the whole set is worth over $400,000.”
Before I could finish, Brooks interrupted with a mocking laugh.
“Four hundred grand? Why not say four million while you’re at it? Who’d believe that a tiny pen case could be worth as much as a downtown condo?”
“You’re too young to be so dishonest. I’ll just see for myself how much this ‘junk’ is really worth!”
She snapped a few photos of the pens and searched them on a shopping app.
I used the chance to snatch the case back. “Believe it or not, these are my personal belongings. You have no right to touch them.”
When the search results popped up, Brooks’ face paled. She muttered, “No way… fake, right? How could they really be worth that much?”
Her eyes roamed my desk again and landed on an oil painting my dad had given me, his signature neatly at the bottom. She stared at it for a long time.
“Alexander Hayes? That name sounds familiar… isn’t that the same as the chairman of Hayes Group?”
