Ch. My sister’s punishment, my billionaire prize 11 My sister’s punishment, my billionaire prize 11

always lowered, even when speaking to the housekeepers. 

Especially compared to Amber, I seemed nothing like a daughter raised in the Parker household. So she felt guilty about me, but more than that, she was disappointed in me. 

She kept wondering why I couldn’t be lively and confident like Amber. 

Perhaps because of these biases, everything I did appeared calculated in her eyes-even giving her massages seemed like manipulation to gain favor. 

She remembered how the slightest smile of approval from her would make me incredibly happy, like a child rewarded with candy. 

Each time she saw that expression on my face, she felt a secret satisfaction, but mostly contempt. Too many people tried to please her. In her mind, I was no different from them. 

But today she finally realized I had gotten nothing from her. 

She had seen my “room”-even the housekeepers lived in better conditions. There were almost no personal items, and the clothes I’d packed were made of the cheapest materials. 

It seemed like she was discovering for the first time just how poorly I, her daughter, had been living. Sometimes she couldn’t help but think that the love she gave to charity cases in impoverished mountain regions each year probably exceeded what she’d given me. 

A sharp pain suddenly gripped her chest. Unable to sleep anymore, she got up and went to my former 

room. 

The hallway was dark without a single light. She walked fearfully. 

She suddenly remembered once noticing obvious bruises on my knees. For some reason, she had asked about them. 

I had explained that I’d fallen while going to the bathroom at night. 

At the time, Amber had laughed uproariously: 

“Isn’t the bathroom right in your room? It has lights-how could you possibly fall like that?” 

“Violet, were you deliberately hurting yourself to get Mom’s sympathy?” 

After hearing this, she’d thought I was being manipulative. She hadn’t even finished her massage, just ordered me out of the room. 

Now, walking this route herself, she finally realized how terribly she’d misjudged me. 

Entering my room, which didn’t even have a window, she was hit by a blast of damp, cold air that made her shiver. 

Frowning, she looked around and spotted a picture frame on the small bedside table. 

She recognized this frame. 

When I was sent to Vermont, it was the only thing I’d taken with me. 

But when she turned it over, she discovered it was empty.