"Tell me—why did you do that to me?"
My composure shattered. Tears streamed down my face, hot and humiliating. I was a mess.
I didn't care.
*Smack.*
The force of the slap snapped my head to the side. My cheek burned.
"This is outrageous!" my father roared. "Apologize to Charlotte immediately!"
Charlotte's mother slapped her thigh, wailing theatrically. "Professor Swanson paid good money for this banquet! Even if you don't care about face, you shouldn't waste food!"
I touched my stinging cheek.
A cold, hollow laugh escaped me.
"My business failed, and I owed money. I asked you for a loan, and you said you didn't have any." I gestured at the ruined banquet. "Turns out, the money was all here."
When I got into school, they refused to hold a celebration, claiming it was "too flashy." Yet for an outsider, they booked eighty-eight tables in our hometown just to keep up appearances.
"Since you care about her so much, let her be your daughter." The words came out ice-cold. "From now on, unless one of us is dying, don't contact me."
I shoved past the stunned relatives and stormed out.
My father's face had turned a dark, bruised purple. He hadn't expected me to humiliate him so publicly.