"But why should I be the one to give him my company? He's my nephew, not my son. Even if he were my son—if he were this ungrateful—I still wouldn't hand it over."
"Let alone a piece of trash like him."
Smack.
Dad rushed over and slapped me across the face.
"Do you still have any respect for me and your mother?"
"You're just a money-losing waste. Thirty-five and still can't get married—we can't even get a bride price out of you. What's wrong with telling you to give the company to Ethan?"
"And now you're acting wronged? You shameless, embarrassing thing."
"Ethan is young—he needs encouragement. Apologize to him. Right now."
When I was little, no matter who was right or wrong, whenever there was conflict between me and my brother, I was always the one who had to apologize.
I spent years desperate for my parents' approval, trying to change their favoritism.
Even when they refused to let me go to school, I didn't give up. I got my diploma through self-study. I built a business from scratch.
All of it—for approval.
These past few years, as the company grew, I built them a villa. Bought them luxury cars.
I really did believe it was working. That my place in this family had changed.