Fighting My Cruel Father for My Mother's Legacy

After the SATs, I started working odd jobs.

While others were getting their ears pierced, dyeing their hair, and getting manicures, I was busy making milkshakes, washing dishes, and carrying trays.

...

My father, Tyler Smith, had been working in Los Angeles for years, but the money he earned was only enough to cover my tuition fees.

To cover my living expenses, I worked part-time while attending middle and high school. On top of that, unscrupulous employers would often underpay me, claiming I was just a child worker.

Finally, I landed a job in Los Angeles as a cleaner for a wealthy family.

The job offered nearly 3,000 dollars a month and came with free room and board, so I quickly packed my bags and went for the interview.

But why was my father in this mansion?

At first, I thought it was just someone who looked like him, but then I heard Monica Smith, the woman of the house, mention his name.

"Tyler Smith! You've just gotten home for one night, and now you're heading out on another business trip? Leon didn't even get to see you! Are you planning to abandon your son and wife?"

Monica crossed her arms, pretending to be angry, while the man across from her scratched his head. They looked like a happily married couple.

"Come on now, I'm doing all this for our happy life! How about I buy you that new handbag you've been eyeing?"

Wife?

Son?

What's going on here?

The man, carrying a briefcase, had a neat hairstyle, and his suit was perfectly pressed.

The watch on his wrist was worth several hundred thousand dollars, and his thumb sported a ruby ring that symbolized power.

Everything about him was so different from the father I remembered, who wore the same few yellowed shirts every day.

But he also had a burn scar on the web of his left hand, just like my father's scar, which was caused by the hot water I accidentally spilled on him as a child.

I stood there with my luggage, staring blankly at the scene unfolding in the garden.

My clothes clashed starkly with the mansion's luxurious decor.

Monica walked over, a look of disdain on her face.

"Are you here to apply as a maid?"

"Yes, ma'am," I replied.

The blatant disgust in her eyes made me uncomfortable. Before I could enter, she covered her nose and sprayed me down from head to toe with a disinfectant.

"Oh my god, how can you wear such rags? Don't ever wear this in front of me again. Erica, take her to change."

I looked down at my clothes. They were just a little worn from frequent washing, not exactly rags.

But compared to this lavish mansion, my clothes did look out of place.

The woman called Erica led me to a storage room and tossed me two sets of clothes.

"Put these on. I'll show you around."

It had been a long time since I'd seen such a luxurious house.

When my mother was still alive, I lived in a place like this too. But when I was five, she jumped to her death, and I was sent back to the countryside to study while my father worked in Los Angeles.

He said he had to pay off my mother's business debts, which was why he couldn't give me much money.

As I thought about it, a little boy, who looked about five or six, came running out of the playroom.

"Mr. Smith, slow down!"

I was stunned the moment I saw him—his face was a mini version of my father's.

"Hahaha, stinky maid, the new stinky maid."

"Yes, yes, she is a stinky maid. Mr. Smith, please go back to your room."

I couldn't understand how such words could come out of a child's mouth. My brows furrowed, and my face darkened.

Clearly, no one here was properly disciplining this child.

Erica noticed my expression and sneered.

"If you can't handle this, you'd better leave now. Just a few mean words from Mr. Smith, and you're already pulling a face."

"Do you think you're some rich person now just because you're working as a maid for them? What makes you any different from me?"

I wasn't about to let her walk all over me, so I snapped back. Erica was momentarily at a loss for words and quickly finished showing me around the villa before going off to do her own thing.

The place I was given to stay was just a small storage room under the stairs, just big enough to fit a three-foot-wide bed.

I immediately pulled out my phone and called my father. It wasn't until the last second before the call was about to disconnect that he finally picked up.

The background noise on his end was loud, but I could still make out the irritation in his voice.

"Aren't you supposed to be working after your exams? Why are you calling me for money?"

"Dad, where are you right now?"

"Do I need to report my whereabouts to you? I'm earning money to pay off your mother's debts."

"Are you in Los Angeles? I think I saw you today."

"What are you doing in Los Angeles? I'm in San Francisco right now."

He sounded anxious, which only made me more convinced of what I had been suspecting.

He had another family, and they were living very comfortably.

"Maybe I was mistaken. You go ahead and get back to work."

Even the maid's uniforms here were custom-made by a luxury brand. The owners of this place were undoubtedly very wealthy and powerful.

I put the maid's uniforms aside and walked back to the playroom from earlier.

The little master, Leon Smith, was inside, busy building a block tower as tall as he was.

"Go away, stinky maid!"

Seeing me step into his territory, Leon immediately stood up, trying to chase me out.

I bent down next to him, took a deep breath, then covered my nose, and took two steps back, making a face as if I was utterly disgusted.

"Mr. Smith, what are you talking about? Is it because you soiled your pants that you've been saying there's a bad smell?

"Do you want me to help you change?"

Upon hearing this, Leon started to sob. Kids this age were easy to handle.

"I did not soil my pants! I don't stink! You go away!"

"Alright, alright, I get it."

I pulled out my phone and showed him a picture of my father.

"Who is this? Do you know him?"

"Why do you have a picture of my dad?"

It took me a few seconds to process this information—my father really did have another family, and his son was already five years old.

"Do you know what your dad is doing?"

"He's on a business trip. When he comes back, he's going to bring me the newest toys."

Leon's face lit up with pride as he talked about his father. He no longer felt like crying.

But I wasn't about to let him stay happy for long.

"No, he's not. Your dad was taken away by the police. He's been telling you a huge lie."

"You're the liar! My dad would never lie!"

"Believe whatever you want, but your dad hasn't come back in a long time, right? They're all lying to you."

As soon as I said that, Leon started bawling. I quickly ran back to my room, put on the maid's uniform, and then rushed back out, pretending to be concerned.

Erica and Monica were already gathered around him.

They treated the child's words as nothing more than a joke, and after some coaxing, the incident was brushed off.

But the look in Leon's eyes when he glanced at me held a level of resentment far beyond his years.

My job was to clean the second floor, where there was a study that was not only locked but also specifically off-limits to everyone.

That was Tyler's workspace, and I had a feeling something important was inside. Otherwise, why would they keep it locked all the time?

"Are you new here?"

A teenager, with a backpack and wearing a school uniform, appeared. His hair was dyed neon green, and he had piercings in his ears, lips, and nose, creating a strong sense of discord.

He was the eldest son of the family, Ryan Smith.

"Yes, Mr. Smith. I'm in charge of cleaning the second floor."

Ryan scanned me up and down, but instead of appreciation, there was malice in his gaze.

"Is that so? Then make sure you take out the trash from my bathroom on the third floor. Only you are allowed to do it, understand?"

"Yes, Mr. Smith."

I forced a smile as I made my way up to the third floor. When I saw the used condoms in the trash can, I rolled my eyes and cursed in my mind.

Starting to jerk off at such a young age would wear his body out sooner.

As I completed the employment paperwork, Erica gave me a list of things to keep in mind, and it clearly stated that Ryan was allergic to peaches.

I secretly sneaked into the kitchen, scraped some peach fuzz, and scattered it in his bathroom and on his bed.

Less than half an hour after Ryan came home that evening, an ambulance arrived and parked in front of the villa.

I was forced to get in and accompany him to take care of him, while Monica then took Leon to the hospital.

I suppressed my disgust as I fed the rash-covered Ryan some water, but his gaze was even more revolting than it had been that morning.

Later, Monica told me to take good care of Ryan and took Leon home.

I went to the restroom and rubbed the peach fuzz I had brought with me all over my arms.

"Mr. Smith, you should rest now. Call me if you need anything."

"I need something right now. Come here."

I really didn't want to, but I had no choice. With a forced smile on my face, I walked over to him.

"Anything I can help you with?"

In the next second, Ryan grabbed my wrist and tried to pull me onto the bed.

Too bad for him—I'd been doing physical labor since I was a kid, and a bedridden patient like him couldn't budge me.

"Come here!"

Ryan was clearly embarrassed. I took a few steps back, maintaining my perfect smile.

As expected, a few minutes later, the doctor came to examine him again.

This time, his face was swollen, and he was unable to speak. He was too drained to harass me any further.

I stayed in the hospital for a few more days until Erica called and told me to hurry back to work—Tyler had returned.

On the way back, I deliberately went to a flower shop, and by the time I got back to the villa, I was already covered in rashes.

"Jean Smith! What's wrong with you?"

Monica frowned and backed away a few steps, covering her nose as if I were the plague.

"Ma'am, I'm not sure what's happening, but it'll clear up quickly after I take some medicine. It won't affect my work."

"No way. Stay out of sight until you're better. Looking at you makes me sick."

Having achieved my goal, I bowed but didn't obediently return to my room.

Instead, I took the allergy medicine I'd prepared earlier and hid in the storage room on the second floor.

I squatted in that room for almost three hours, and my legs went completely numb.

There was a recording device under the dining table that could connect to my phone. When I heard the voices of the family of four, I quietly crept to the study door.

I gently turned the handle, and sure enough, the door opened.

My heart pounded in my chest. I had a gut feeling that there was a huge secret hidden in that room.

I took out a tiny camera and placed it on the highest bookshelf, aiming it directly at the desk in the center.

After that, I sneaked back to the storage room and watched the footage on my phone.

After dinner, Tyler pulled out a small safe from under the study desk and placed a stack of papers, which looked like contracts, inside.

Unfortunately, he was standing directly in front of the safe, so I couldn't see the password.

Once everything was done, I returned to my room and made a phone call.

"Hey, Dad."

"What now?"

"Are we really that poor?"

"Of course. Can't you tell?"

I saw him fiddle with his new watch while talking on the phone.

The camera didn't capture it clearly, but I could see that the watch was worth at least six figures.

"I had a dream. I dreamed that you had another family and were really wealthy."

"Don't be ridiculous! I'll transfer 100 bucks to you later. Don't bother me if there's nothing wrong."

He hung up the phone. Then I saw him carefully wipe down each of his watches before putting them away in the surveillance video.

He used to make a fuss when I asked for just a few bucks to buy lunch, but now he was unexpectedly generous.

Turns out, everything was an act.