He Stole My Daughter’s Toy for His Mistress

On Lily’s fifth birthday, Brandon sent her the LEGO castle she’d been dreaming of. The very next day, Lily cried and asked me, “Mommy, where did the princess from my castle go?” I turned to Brandon Miller. He casually snuffed out his cigarette, his tone flat. “She probably lost it herself. I’ll just buy her another one.” But an hour later, I scrolled through Chloe Smith’s Instagram–the company’s top sales performer. She’d clipped that limited-edition princess figurine to her car keys, with a caption: 【My Mr. B.M. says I’m his runaway princess, and even the castle’s owner has to make way for me.】 B.M. was the abbreviation of my husband’s name. I didn’t make a scene. I simply commented under her post: “So beautiful. Too bad it’s a limited edition, you can’t buy it anymore.”

Lily cried herself to sleep, and I carried her back to her room. In her tiny hand, she still clutched the castle flag, barren of its princess. After tucking her in, I walked into my study. Chloe Smith’s Instagram ID was【Chloe, The Knight’s Princess】. I scrolled back through her profile, inch by agonizing inch. The car key in that picture was a Bentley. I switched to the company’s internal system. Two months ago, a procurement order for over three million dollars had been approved by none other than Brandon. The listed purpose was “High-End Client Hospitality Vehicle.” I pulled up the car’s usage records. The backend data showed it had never hosted a single client. Every trip pointed to Brandon’s private apartment, and the street below Chloe Smith’s building. I took a deep breath and continued to browse Chloe Smith’s profile. 【My new bag. Mr. B.M. says it perfectly suits my style.】 The photo showed the latest Hermès model, with the floor-to-ceiling windows of our marital home in the background. That day, Brandon had told me he was meeting an important investor. 【Staying up all night for his meeting, I’m exhausted. Good thing he made me some nourishing, special broth himself.】 The picture was a selfie of her wearing a face mask. The sofa in the background was an Italian import brand I had personally chosen. That day, Lily had a high fever. I called him, and he said he was out of town on a business trip and couldn’t come back. So, his “important investor,” his “business trip out of town,” it was all just her. I stared at the screen, my heart growing colder by the second. The study door creaked open. Brandon walked in, smelling of a shower and carrying an air of fatigue. He glanced at Lily, sleeping soundly in her bed, and his brows furrowed slightly. “That child is really spoiled rotten by you. It’s just a plastic figurine, isn’t it? Does she really need to cry like this?” I looked up, silently meeting his gaze. This was the man who, in a leaky rented apartment, had once vowed to build our daughter a real castle. Brandon walked over, instinctively reaching to put his arm around my shoulder, but I subtly shifted my body, avoiding his touch. I said flatly, “Yes, just a piece of cheap plastic. Worthless.” “Might as well throw it away.” Brandon visibly relaxed. “That’s the best way to think about it. Go to bed early, we have a meeting tomorrow.” He turned and walked into the bedroom, without another glance at Lily. I watched his retreating back, then slowly pulled open the bottom drawer of my desk. Inside were the latest group equity documents, detailing the capital I held as the largest individual shareholder. Brandon, since you want to lose this family so badly. Then I’ll make sure you lose the very ground you stand on in this city.