Chapter 6: Rivals, Bruises, and Birthday Truths

I’d expected assassination or poison, but never thought my life would be threatened because I became a tool in my birth mother’s struggle for power. It was a lesson I learned early: in this house, love and loyalty were weapons, wielded as ruthlessly as any knife.

Lillian had a mortal enemy in the household. The tension between them was palpable, a cold war fought in glares and whispered insults.

The young and beautiful Amanda was deeply favored by Dad, so she was arrogant and often contradicted Lillian. Amanda sashayed through the halls in designer heels, her laughter echoing like wind chimes. She was the kind of woman people whispered about at charity galas.

She once secretly pinched me, laughing crisply: “My kid’s gonna be cuter than Abby. Just wait till next year’s Christmas card.”

Her fingers left a faint mark, but her words left a deeper scar. I stared up at her, unimpressed.

Looking at her pretty face with rosy cheeks, I fell into thought. She was beautiful, but something about her was off—a restlessness that spoke of trouble to come.

A horizontal line on the bridge of her nose—a sign of multiple husbands. Hmm… My old fortune-telling instincts kicked in. Some things never change.

Whenever Dad was about to visit Amanda’s room, Lillian would send someone to intercept him. The staff scurried back and forth, caught in the crossfire. I watched, curious and a little afraid.

“Say the little girl is seriously ill. That little tramp can’t have her way.” Her voice was sharp, full of bitterness. I heard it all, even when I pretended to sleep.

“Let her know only I am qualified to bear the heir.” The rivalry was fierce—like something out of an old soap opera, only with higher stakes.

She had the maid unwrap my blanket and place me on the porch in the snow, only satisfied when my little face turned red with fever from the cold. The cold bit through me, stealing my breath. My cries went unanswered, lost in the wind.

The wind was biting, and I shivered and cried. My tears froze on my cheeks, but still, I fought to be heard.

Nanny Ruth couldn’t bear it and tried to persuade her. Lillian stroked her belly and said: Her hands were gentle, but her heart was closed. She looked past me, eyes fixed on something only she could see.

“This child brings disaster to the Jennings family. Thinking of my father and brother still exiled, I just can’t feel close to her. I’d better conceive a son soon.” Her words were cold, final. I was a pawn in a game I didn’t understand.

When I could crawl and walk, frequent illnesses turned into bumps and bruises. My first steps were wobbly, my falls frequent. The bruises became badges of survival.

Sometimes they even fed me medicine to upset my stomach, just to make Dad visit the east wing more often. The staff kept detailed logs, worried faces peeking in every hour. The mansion felt less like a home, more like a fortress under siege.

Marcus Jennings just thought his daughter was born frail, so anxious that he lost handfuls of beard. He paced the halls, muttering prayers, consulting every specialist from New York to Houston. Nothing eased his mind.

Me: small, pitiful, and helpless. But I wasn’t about to give up. Not now.

Complain! I’m going to complain to the authorities! If I’m raised like this any longer, I’ll really become a sickly child.

I worked hard to practice speaking, and in a blink, it was my first birthday party. I counted down the days, determined to make my mark. This time, things would be different.

To show off his only child, Marcus Jennings specially relaxed the rules for board members to attend the mansion party. The invitations were embossed, the guest list carefully curated. Even the mayor’s wife made an appearance, her pearls gleaming under the chandeliers.

Many people came, their gazes probing, jealous, or displeased. Their eyes lingered on me, calculating, measuring my worth against old rivalries and new alliances.

The attending maids put a red cloth bear hat on me, with two bear ears standing up on top, making me look round and festive. I caught a glimpse of myself in the gilded mirror—adorable, if I do say so myself. The staff snapped photos, cooing over my cuteness.

A sycophantic board member immediately exclaimed, “The little girl is just like an angel!” His voice was syrupy sweet, his smile a little too wide. I grinned back, flashing my new teeth.

Hearing this, I smiled and showed two tiny baby teeth. Good taste! I gave him a gummy thumbs-up, relishing the attention. For once, it felt good to be the star of the show.

There were also whispers behind my back: “Just a girl, why is Mr. Jennings making such a fuss?” The words floated through the crowd, sharp as glass. I pretended not to hear, but they lingered anyway.

“Yes, if it were a little boy, wouldn’t it be even grander? I say Marcus should just adopt Ben’s son…” The old guard clung to their dreams, unwilling to accept change. But Dad just smiled, unbothered.

Music and dancing, wine and feasting. The band played jazz standards, the dance floor filled with laughter and clinking glasses. The scent of roast beef and pecan pie drifted from the dining room.

Soon it was time for the grabbing ceremony. It was like a baby’s first birthday game, where you set out a bunch of objects and see what the kid grabs—supposedly predicting their future. Everyone gathered around, their faces shining with anticipation.

Guests had already placed all sorts of things on the long table covered with red silk: books, toy bows and arrows, makeup kits, hairbrushes—everything. The table looked like a treasure trove, each item a possible destiny. The crowd murmured, speculating on what I’d choose.

Lillian casually took off a gold bracelet and tossed it in, not bothering to prepare anything special. Her gesture was careless, but the bracelet sparkled among the other gifts, catching the light.

Grandma smiled as she brought out a fist-sized pearl: “See if my precious granddaughter likes this.” She held it up, her pride obvious. The guests oohed and aahed, impressed by the rare gem.

Dad slowly placed the company’s golden seal on the table as well, his stern face softening. “Abby, come take this.” He set it down with ceremony, as if passing the torch to me. The room held its breath, waiting to see what I’d do.

Instantly, there was a collective gasp. The tension was thick, the anticipation electric. All eyes were on me.

Under everyone’s gaze, I stood up, waddling like a round marshmallow to Dad, grabbed his navy suit, and slowly said, “Abby grabs, Daddy.” The room erupted in laughter, applause echoing off the high ceilings. I beamed, basking in the attention.

Adults make choices; kids want them all. I reached for everything, grabbing toys and treasures alike. It was my moment, and I wasn’t about to let it slip by.

The most powerful man in the city was stunned, eyes brimming with tears. He knelt down, gathering me in his arms. For a moment, he wasn’t a CEO—just a dad, overjoyed and overwhelmed.

While Dad was still emotional, I awkwardly rolled up my sleeve to reveal the bruises on my hand. My hands shook a little, but I knew this was my only shot. I looked up at Dad, my voice barely above a whisper.

“It hurts, Daddy. Can you tell Mom not to hit Abby anymore? Abby will be good, will listen.”

My voice was small but clear, my plea echoing through the halls. Gasps and murmurs rippled through the crowd.

Lillian at the side: “…” Her face went pale, eyes darting from guest to guest. She shrank into herself, guilt and fear written plain as day.

All the guests: “…” Whispers turned to outright stares. The Jennings family drama was suddenly front-page news.