Chapter 2

Throughout her three years of high school, she lived under my suffocating iron grip.

I was her homeroom teacher, her dean, and her father.

This suffocating dual identity robbed her of any room to breathe.

Other kids could at least whisper curses behind my back to blow off steam. She didn't even dare to do that.

Because my bedroom was right next to hers.

During her junior year, a group of traveling indie musicians came through our small town.

They had dyed hair, played scuffed acoustic guitars, and sang loudly about freedom and endless roads.

Chloe was enchanted. Every day after school, she took the long way home just to hear them perform.

I noticed her class rank slip by five spots.

So, I followed her.

On that run-down public square, I saw her cradling a battered guitar, smiling so brightly, so radiantly.

It was a smile I had never once seen on her face at home.

The lead singer, a young guy with long hair, was holding her fingers, showing her how to press the chords.

Blinding rage consumed my senses in an instant.

I charged forward, snatched the guitar right out of her hands, and smashed it onto the concrete with all my might.

With a deafening crack, the strings snapped, and splintered wood flew everywhere.

The music died instantly. Everyone froze, staring at me in sheer terror.

Chloe turned pale as a sheet, trembling violently. "Dad..."

"Don't you dare call me Dad! I don't have a daughter who humiliates me like this!"

I shoved my finger an inch from the young man's face, spitting with fury:

"Stay away from my daughter! You deadbeat bums, don't you dare drag my student into the gutter!"

"And you, Chloe! Think you're tough now?"

"Throwing away your future to pretend you're a rebel? Screwing around with rock music?"

"Is this how you repay me? Is this what your late mother died for?"

I grabbed her collar in broad daylight and hauled her through the streets like a stray dog.

Bystanders stared and pointed at us the entire walk home.

She lost one of her sneakers along the way, her bare heel scraping blood onto the pavement, her screams tearing the air apart.

"I hate you, Arthur Vance! I will hate you for the rest of my life!"

The moment we got inside, I took out the heavy wooden discipline paddle I had used for decades.

"Hold out your hands!"

She bit her lip stubbornly, refusing to raise her arms.

"Refusing? Fine!"

I didn't strike her. I struck myself.

With full force, I slammed the heavy paddle against my own thigh.

"If you won't turn out right, it means I failed as an educator!"

Smack! Smack! Smack!

Blow after blow, delivering each strike with everything I had.

Blood quickly seeped through my trousers, the fabric sticking to the torn flesh.

Chloe finally broke. She dropped to her knees, wrapping her arms around my legs, sobbing uncontrollably.

"Dad! Stop, please stop! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!"

"I won't ever go back! I'll study, I swear to God!"

That night, father and daughter wept together on the cold floor.

And that was the very last time she ever called me "Dad."

After that, the light in her eyes vanished completely.

She became dead silent, obsessively studious, bordering on self-harm.

She slept only four hours a night, drilling vocabulary flashcards even while chewing her food.

In the end, she earned her acceptance letter to an Ivy League university, just as planned.

The day the thick envelope arrived, the whole school erupted in celebration.

Holding that sheet of paper, my hands shook.

I reached out to pat her head, to tell her, "You did great, kid."

She stepped back, glaring at me with eyes as cold as ice.

"Dean Vance, my assignment is complete. Am I allowed to leave now?"

"I want to major in Art History and Archaeology."

My brows furrowed, and I objected without thinking:

"Archaeology? There are zero jobs in that field! How will you ever buy a home or survive?"

"Listen to me. Major in Computer Science or Finance. That's where the future is. That's where the real money is."

She glared at me, her eyes bloodshot.

"Arthur Vance, I got into an Ivy League school! Do I not even have the right to choose my own major?"

"No, you don't!" I snapped mercilessly. "I'm your father. I've walked ten times more roads than you have! I am doing this for your own good!"

"Your so-called dreams are worth nothing when you can't even afford to eat!"

I forced her to change her academic enrollment form, overriding her choice with Computer Science.

She locked herself in her room and didn't speak a single word for three days.

On the morning she left for college, she refused to let me drive her to the bus station.

She left only a short note on the kitchen counter:

"You won, Arthur Vance. But I swear, as long as I have breath in my lungs, I will run so far away from you that you will never find me again."

She kept her promise.

During all four years of college, she never returned home once.

She paid for every single expense by working part-time jobs, refusing to take a single dime from me.

Whenever I dialed her number, the call went straight to voicemail or was blocked.

I knew she was avoiding me on purpose.

Frank tried to console me: "The girl has grown her wings, Arthur. Let her fly."

I wanted to let her fly. But the world out there was cutthroat, and I was terrified she would fall.

I could only ship her local food and care packages through Frank, pretending they were school care packages from our hometown.

I saved every penny of my monthly paycheck, thinking I would hand it to her as a massive down-payment gift when she got married and bought her first home.

I never imagined that before I could deliver that surprise, a nightmare would strike first.