"Crack, crack—"

Gregory Ashford had barely stepped through the door after being brought home from the convalescent home when he snatched up his cane without a second thought. His own legs were still shaky, but that didn’t stop him from swinging it straight down on his son—over and over, more than a dozen times.

"You worthless brat! The moment you got yourself a new wife, your real daughter stopped counting for anything, is that it?"

"Your brain must’ve been kicked clean out by a mule! That woman flaps her lips twice and you actually let the girl she brought into this house steal your own daughter’s marriage! Tell me, how do you face Lorraine Sullivan? And how do you face Josephine?"

"I, Gregory Ashford, how did I end up raising such a blind fool like you!"

The heavy thuds mixed with curses echoed across the room. Matthew Ashford knelt on the floor, taking every hit without a word, shoulders stiff, head down, just letting his father vent.

Next to him, Arlene Crawford had shrunk into herself, small as a quail, not daring to breathe too loudly. She kept praying in her heart, Please hit him, just don’t turn around and hit me…

After the eighteenth hit, a soft voice finally spoke.

"Grandpa… please don’t get so worked up."

"My sweet girl, your father’s got no conscience. Let Grandpa handle this. I’ll beat this bastard to death if I have to!"

Gregory Ashford looked at his long‑lost granddaughter with so much regret it almost spilled over. He’d failed his daughter‑in‑law, failed the Sullivans too.

That marriage should have belonged to his real granddaughter… yet his son’s second wife had let her own girl snatch it away. As a grandfather, he felt utterly useless.

"Grandpa, it’s not your fault. This whole thing… sigh." Josephine Sullivan helped him slowly sit down, expression soft but holding something back, like she had more to say but couldn’t bring herself to. She didn’t spare even half a glance at the man kneeling on the floor—her own father.

Following her late mother’s last wish, she had only just returned to the Ashford family estate in the capital yesterday, ready to find her father and follow through with the childhood marriage Gregory had arranged for her.

But when she arrived… she learned the wedding had already happened the day before.

And when the pair saw her standing in the doorway, both her father and stepmother looked like they’d seen a ghost.

It took her only a little probing to pull the truth out.

Her own father and stepmother had let the stepdaughter—Crystal Hawthorne—pretend to be her and marry in her place.

Now that everything was already set in stone, tomorrow she was supposed to return to the groom’s family with the man who should have been her own fiancé.

In the mess she was stuck in now, she honestly had no clue what to do…

Hearing his granddaughter sigh, Gregory Ashford pressed a hand to his chest. He stared at his son kneeling on the floor, disappointment thick in his eyes.

“Dad, Josephine, if you want to blame someone, blame me. I’m the one who told Crystal to pretend. Hit me, scold me, whatever you want—I’ll take it. Just… don’t blame Matthew.”

Arlene Crawford’s voice was low and shaky, her whole posture shrinking in fear, yet her heart loosened with quiet relief.

So what if the lie was exposed? Josephine had come back one day too late.

If she’d shown up even a day earlier, her own daughter would never have married into the Hawthorne family.

Now things had already happened—their daughter and the new son‑in‑law had spent the night together. The marriage was locked in.

At worst, they’d be yelled at a bit, maybe shoo Josephine off. She and her daughter would still get to enjoy the good life.

“Arlene, all these years you two have been taking what should’ve belonged to Josephine and her mother, smiling and acting like it’s all yours. Did you forget how you even got through the Ashford door in the first place?”

“Eating our food, living off us—fine, whatever. But you waited until I wasn’t home and went and stole my own granddaughter’s engagement? Don’t you feel the slightest shame? Clinging on like some stubborn plaster—does that make you proud?”

Gregory Ashford still cared about keeping things decent; harsh as his words were, he held back from truly burning the bridge.

Matthew Ashford stayed kneeling without saying a word. His guilt was so heavy it felt like his insides were being fried.

His daughter had come to find him, but she’d brought devastating news: his ex‑wife had passed away three years ago.

Lorraine Sullivan—dead.

The woman who once looked as stunning as a rose… gone.

Ever since the day he agreed to the divorce, he’d been holding onto a foolish hope.

He’d imagined that one day she’d soften, turn back, and the two of them could patch things up.

But he never expected that in the fifteen years since the divorce, she hadn’t even called home once.

Turns out… she’d already been gone for three years.

Even on her deathbed, she hadn’t sent word, hadn’t left a message through their daughter—hadn’t left a single final note.

"…"

Arlene Crawford’s face went ghost‑white. She opened her mouth, but not a single word came out. She just kept her head down, cursing silently, thinking how this stubborn old man still refused to keel over.

Sure, she had pulled a few tricks back then to get into the Ashford family, but was all of it really her fault? If Matthew Ashford and Lorraine Sullivan hadn’t already been falling apart, how could she have squeezed in at all? She only nudged things a little, and Matthew threw everything aside to marry her. She never forced Lorraine to leave—Lorraine walked out on her own with the child, even changed the girl’s surname.

While Gregory Ashford was still fuming, Josephine Sullivan gently tried to calm him down. She reached over, her pale, slender fingers lifting the teapot. She poured him a cup of tea and set it in his hand so he could take a sip and cool off.

Then she offered a small, polite smile. Turning toward her father, she spoke in a tone that carried a faint distance.

"Dad, I know that in these ten‑plus years, it’s been Auntie Crawford and Sister Crystal by your side. So it’s normal you’d side with them."

But then her voice shifted, firmer. "Still, I’m your daughter. I carry the Ashford blood. That engagement was mine."

"You and Auntie Crawford helped Crystal take my place. If the Hawthorne family ever finds out and comes knocking, the mess is yours to clean up. Don’t drag me into it."

"Alright… I’ll handle it. I won’t let it affect you."

Matthew Ashford looked at his daughter, whose face carried nearly the same features as his late wife. Guilt washed over him like a rising tide. Seeing that distant look in Josephine’s eyes—that careful restraint mixed with disappointment—his heart sank. He knew he had broken something in her, maybe for good.

"Matthew Ashford," Gregory snapped, "do you even realize how much your nonsense with Arlene cost Josephine? A perfectly good marriage arrangement, ruined just like that."

"I’ll make myself perfectly clear today—you two are going to pay up and make it right for her. If you don’t, I swear on these old bones, I’ll march straight to the Hawthorne family and lay everything out. I’ll get that engagement back myself!"

After saying this, the old man took a long sip of tea, forcing down the anger pounding in his chest.

In his eyes, Josephine was the one who had truly been wronged—and the person who hurt her was her own father. Nothing stung worse than that.

Since her engagement had been stolen, there was no reason to let her suffer the loss in silence.

Back when Crystal Hawthorne got married, Arlene Crawford kept bragging that every bit of the dowry came from money she earned herself.

Fine, he let her talk. He’d already made things clear to his son anyway—there were real grandchildren in this family, both a grandson and a granddaughter.

If his son ever dared dump all their savings into the stepdaughter’s dowry, he’d cut him off right then and there, put it in the papers if he had to, and never acknowledge him again.

So over the years, his son’s salary had stayed tucked away, untouched.

And now? Now that the boy had actually stolen his own daughter’s marriage arrangement and handed it to a stepdaughter, who knew what uglier things he might do down the road?

At this point, the only thing he could do was squeeze every last cent of his son’s savings out for his real granddaughter.

"Fine. I’ll get it now."

Matthew Ashford didn’t dare argue. He pushed himself off the floor, shaky and stiff, and when he looked at his daughter, his eyes were full of pain and shame.

Arlene Crawford went pale in an instant. This was bad. She’d secretly taken the passbook from the cabinet and withdrawn two thousand yuan to add to her own daughter’s dowry.