I begged the butler, “Please, even just a piece of bread!”
But it was too late. Anne had gone too long without eating and collapsed on the floor.
I panicked, holding her in my arms. “She’s just a child! Please!” I pleaded.
The butler didn’t even glance at us. “I'm sorry, sir. Without Lady Bloom’s approval, I can’t pay for anything.”
Desperate, I ran around the mansion asking everyone. Finally, a maid whispered, “The Madam went out with Mr. Mars and his son.”
Anne was only a child, after all. Three days without food or water and she was barely conscious.
“Dad… I’m hungry,” she whispered. Even speaking was too hard for her now.
“Anne, stay with me! Don’t fall asleep!”
I shouted, shaking her gently. As I held her close, I searched online for news. Wherever the city’s richest woman went, the paparazzi always followed, or so I hope.
Sure enough, the top trending post read: [Lady Theresa Bloom rents out an entire luxury restaurant to celebrate the birthday her first love's son!]
It was winder that time. The window was opened and the cold wind rushed in, cutting through my body like ice.
So... that woman could remember his son’s birthday, but she’d forgotten Anne’s? Ironic, her birthday was three days ago too.
That day, the weather suddenly turned colder. Anne was shivering. I bought her a $5 pair of socks without “reporting” it first. Exactly because of that, Theresa locked us in the basement.
She always said she was “afraid of being poor,” and that’s why she controlled every penny we spent. She gave us luxury houses, cars, the best schools, but if we spent anything without permission, we would get punished.
In that grand mansion, even a vase received more care than my daughter and me.
Now, Anne was foaming at the mouth from hunger.
The servants looked at us with pity, whispering to each other. I felt like a bird trapped in a golden cage, waiting to die.
Outside, the rain poured down. Anne’s condition was getting worse.
I clenched my teeth, lifted her in my arms and ran through the storm for half an hour until we reached the hotel that my wife owned.
It took me a long time to convince the staff that I was Theresa’s husband. The manager looked at me strangely but finally let us in.
When the elevator doors opened, I saw Theresa dining happily with Gregory and his son. The boy, Cedric, noticed Anne and smirked cruelly.
He lifted his soda and splashed it all over her. “Where did this beggar come from?” he shouted.
Anne froze, drenched in cola, trembling as she hid in my arms. “Daddy, I want to go home,” she whispered.
Theresa saw us, frowned in disgust and walked over. “Who told you to come here? You look filthy you’re embarrassing me!”
Of course we did! She had locked us up for three days, we weren't even allowed to shower.
Theresa ignored Anne’s pale face. And continued speaking impatiently, “Go home now. Don’t make a scene here!”
I held back my anger and said calmly, “We’ll leave right away. Just please sign the note so I can get food for Anne before we go.”
At that, Theresa’s expression darkened.
