Chapter 3: Cutting Ties and Showdown at the Gala

Ever since I stopped worrying about that troublesome sister, life became so much better.

A weight lifted off my shoulders. I slept better, laughed more, even started going out with friends again.

I worked for a large, publicly traded company with a good salary. The past few years, I’d rented a shabby place to help pay for her college, but now I could afford something nicer.

I toured apartments with big windows and hardwood floors, places I’d only dreamed of before. For once, I put myself first.

Mr. Grant felt bad asking me to keep tutoring, but since he’d helped me, I agreed to finish the year. He was generous and paid me for it.

His daughter warmed up to me, and I found I actually enjoyed teaching her. It felt good to be appreciated.

Sometimes I’d think of Wendy.

Her name would pop up in my contacts, but I’d scroll past. I wondered if she ever thought of me, too.

After graduation, she worked in the same city as me. At first, I wanted her to live with me, but after one look at my place, she said it was too far from her job and found an apartment with new coworkers instead.

I felt a pang of disappointment, but I let her go. Maybe we both needed space.

When I helped her move, I realized she’d rented a luxury place.

The lobby had marble floors and a doorman who called everyone “ma’am.” I felt out of place just carrying her boxes inside.

She said, “Sis, this complex has great security, so you don’t have to worry about me. Plus, the three of us split the rent—it’s just over two thousand each.”

She tossed her keys in the air, grinning. I tried to hide my concern about her spending.

She spent recklessly and never saved a penny. Who knows where she’d end up living now.

I pictured her surrounded by shopping bags, eating takeout every night, never thinking about tomorrow.

…Whatever. Let her live wherever she wants.

I shrugged it off, telling myself she’d learn eventually.

After that, she never contacted me again.

It was strange, how quickly someone could vanish from your life. I got used to the quiet.

Who’d have thought, two months later at a business reception, I’d see Wendy again.

It was a Thursday night, the kind where you wish you’d stayed home in sweatpants. But there I was, standing in a crowded ballroom, clutching a glass of cheap wine.

They called it the Maple Heights Wood Exec Mixer. Most folks were local small- and mid-sized business owners—great for networking and future deals.

The room buzzed with small talk, the clink of glasses, and the faint tang of cologne and hors d’oeuvres. Everyone tried to outdo each other.

Our company is a Fortune 500 giant. Leadership didn’t care for flashy events like this, but since we got an invite, Manager White and I were sent to make an appearance.

We joked about being the “token big shots”—just there to smile and shake hands.

Wendy appeared just as I was eating a mousse cake. I was so shocked I almost smeared it on my chin.

I froze, fork halfway to my mouth, as she swept into the room like she owned it.

She wore sparkling heels and a wine-red couture gown. The off-shoulder cut showed off her perfect collarbones. Her earrings swung gently, glittering under the lights.

She looked like a magazine cover—confident, glamorous, totally at ease.

Clinging to her arm was a middle-aged man with half his hair gone and a big belly.

He was laughing too loud, trying way too hard. His hand rested possessively on her waist.

I sucked in a sharp breath.

My heart skipped a beat, and I nearly dropped my plate. I hadn’t expected to see her here—certainly not like this.

“Mr. Parker, got yourself a new girl? They keep getting younger!”

Someone nearby nudged him, winking. He just laughed, looking smug.

“This is my long-lost daughter!” He patted Wendy’s shoulder. “Come on, meet Mr. Lee.”

Wendy smiled sweetly and offered her hand.

She slipped into her role like a pro, voice syrupy-sweet. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Lee.”

“Hello, Mr. Lee. I’m Wendy Parker.”

She flashed a practiced smile, the kind that made people want to say yes to anything.

I sucked in another breath.

My mind buzzed.

Everything felt surreal, like I’d wandered into someone else’s story.

She’d found her biological father?

If that was true, then… what about my mom?

Didn’t Mom leave home all those years ago to find this man?

A million questions raced through my mind. I tried to piece together the timeline, but nothing made sense.

I asked Manager White, “Who’s that Mr. Parker?”

He peered over his glasses, then shook his head. “No idea. Never seen him before.”

The lights came on, glasses clinked.

The emcee announced the start of the program, and people began drifting to their seats. I tried to focus, but my thoughts kept circling back to Wendy.

Manager White and I sat in a remote corner, but plenty of people still came over to toast us.

Every handshake felt like a distraction. I forced a smile, pretending I belonged.

I forced a smile and chatted with them, pushing my thoughts aside.

I nodded at their small talk, but my eyes kept darting around the room, searching for Wendy.

Just as I sat down, a slim figure appeared in front of me.

She moved like she was gliding, her dress shimmering under the lights. I braced myself.

“Sis, how can you dress so plain for an event like this?”

She looked me up and down, tone dripping with disdain. I glanced at my simple black dress, suddenly self-conscious.

Wendy swirled her wine glass, looking down at me with a socialite’s air.

She raised one eyebrow, as if daring me to defend myself.

Before I could answer, she sneered:

“My dad says everyone here is a big boss, a mover and shaker. What are you, just an employee, doing here pretending you belong?”

She put heavy emphasis on “big.”

She practically spat the words, her voice loud enough for nearby tables to hear.

Every word of “pretending you belong” was spat out, full of contempt.

I could feel the heat rise in my cheeks. I clenched my fists under the table.

Manager White was about to defend me, but I shook my head.

I didn’t need anyone fighting my battles. Not tonight.

I slowly stood up.

My chair scraped against the floor, the sound sharp in the quiet room.

Without warning, I slapped Wendy hard across the face.

The crack echoed, and every head in the room turned. My hand stung, but I didn’t regret it.

She stared at me, stunned, not even reacting to the broken glass that drew everyone’s attention.

Her wine glass slipped from her fingers, shattering on the floor. Red wine splattered across her dress.

“Why did you hit me?”

Her voice was small, almost childlike. For a moment, she looked lost.

“Because I’m your sister.”

I met her gaze, daring her to deny it. The room held its breath.

She glared at me, lips white, embarrassed by the crowd. She bit her lip and snapped:

She tried to regain her composure, straightening her shoulders, voice rising in anger.

“I’m now the daughter of George Parker, Mr. Parker from L Company, a real heiress. How dare you hit me?”

She tossed her hair, as if the title alone made her untouchable.

…

I slapped her again, crisp and clear.

The second slap was even louder. I could see the shock ripple through the crowd.

“Wendy,” I said, voice sharp, “I’m not just your sister—I raised you, put you through school. Without me, you’d have been homeless.”

I could see tears welling in her eyes, but I didn’t stop.

“Now you’ve found your rich dad and come here to mock the sister who raised you? Ask yourself if you don’t deserve another slap.”

She lost it and tried to hit me back.

She lunged at me, but her heels slipped on the marble floor.

I grabbed her wrist. She lost her balance in heels and nearly fell.

I steadied her, just enough to keep her from crashing down. “Not here,” I whispered. “Don’t embarrass yourself more.”

“I can hit you. You don’t get to hit back.”

With that, I shot a cold look at her and turned to the man—Mr. Parker.

I could feel his eyes burning into me, but I didn’t flinch.

She’d just called him George Parker.

He was furious at first, but when he realized our relationship, he was shocked. Then he charged over, ready to make a scene.

He puffed up his chest, nostrils flaring. I braced myself for a fight.

Manager White stepped between us. “Let’s talk this out.”

He raised his hands, trying to keep things civil.

Mr. Grant appeared out of nowhere with some friends, standing beside me in silent support.

I felt a surge of gratitude. I wasn’t alone this time.

Seeing our numbers, George Parker hesitated. “Which company are you from?”

He scanned our group, trying to gauge our status. I saw the doubt flicker in his eyes.

I understood why he asked—everyone here was a “big boss.” He wanted to know our background before making a move.

He was calculating, always looking for leverage.

“Mr. Parker,” I smiled, “this is just a family matter. It has nothing to do with the company.”

I kept my tone polite but firm, not giving him an inch.

Wendy immediately ran to him, sobbing in her trademark cutesy voice.

She clung to his arm, burying her face in his shoulder, playing the victim for all she was worth.

I got goosebumps.

It was like watching a stranger—someone I barely recognized.

He actually fell for it, his fatherly love rekindled. He pointed at my forehead from afar:

He wagged his finger at me, voice booming across the room.

“I order you to apologize to my daughter!”

The demand was so absurd, I almost laughed. Who did he think he was?

I laughed coldly, giving Wendy a look before turning to George Parker.

I took a step closer, lowering my voice so only he could hear.

“First, I raised Wendy for over ten years. You, as her father, never showed up.”

I let the words hang in the air, daring him to contradict me.

“Everyone knows parents are obligated to raise their kids, but sisters aren’t obligated to raise their siblings.”

I could see the realization dawn on him. The crowd murmured in agreement.

“If you want to get involved, then settle the debt for all the years I raised your daughter.”

I crossed my arms, waiting for his response. He sputtered, caught off guard.

His belly heaved with anger. It took him ages to spit out:

He tried to regain his composure, but his voice shook.

“Wendy said you made her wear your old rags. Some sister you are!”

I rolled my eyes. “We were poor. Poor people live differently. You never raised her, so don’t come here judging me. That’s laughable.”

The room buzzed with whispers, people nodding in agreement.

By now, the crowd realized Wendy and I were half-sisters and started whispering.

I could feel their eyes on us, their curiosity sharpening.

“Hey, who’s this Mr. Parker? Never seen him before.”

Someone snickered, “Just a wannabe, trying to act high society.”

“Total fraud…”

The gossip grew louder. George Parker’s face turned red and white, but he didn’t dare lash out.

He looked like he wanted to disappear. Wendy clung to his arm, her confidence crumbling.

I stepped closer and said quietly:

“You really want to air the family’s dirty laundry here?”

He glanced around and tried to leave with Wendy.

He muttered something under his breath, grabbing her elbow. She dug in her heels, refusing to budge.

She panicked, broke free, and shouted, “Dad, why are you afraid of her?”

Her voice rang out, desperate and shrill.

“She’s just a country girl working in the city. It took her years to become a supervisor. She’s acting all high and mighty. If people find out you let your daughter get bullied, they’ll laugh at you!”

She glared at me, daring me to respond. I just shook my head.

“Shut up!” Even George Parker lost his patience with her.

He snapped at her, voice harsh. The crowd watched, fascinated by the drama.

Manager White spoke gently: “Should I call you Miss Zheng or Miss Parker? So you look down on rural folks and wage earners?”

He addressed the room, his voice calm but commanding.

“Ask the people here—how many came from the countryside? How many started as employees? They worked hard for what they have.”

A few people raised their hands, nodding in solidarity. The mood shifted, sympathy growing for me.

People nodded in agreement.

I felt a swell of pride, grateful for the support.

Manager White went on:

“This event is annual. I’ve been many times and know most people here. I’ve never seen your father before.”

He let the implication hang in the air. George Parker’s face darkened.

“Mr. Parker, you must be new to the industry, right?”

George Parker nodded eagerly, missing the underlying sarcasm.

He tried to save face, but everyone saw through him.

Manager White was nearly fifty, highly respected in the industry, and backed by a world-class company. Just standing there, he commanded respect.

People listened when he spoke. Even the waitstaff paused to hear what he’d say next.

“This event is for sharing knowledge and helping companies and the industry grow—not for showing off or putting others down.”

His words landed like a gavel. The room was silent for a moment.

“That’s right!”

A few people clapped, breaking the tension.

“Manager White is spot on!”

Someone raised their glass in agreement. George Parker looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him.

George Parker’s face turned dark.

He clenched his fists, but said nothing more.

Manager White raised his glass and introduced me to everyone:

“Colleagues, Maya Zheng is my coworker and my greatest help at work. Please look out for her.”

He smiled at me, and I felt a wave of gratitude.

Mr. Grant also raised his glass, laughing: “Honestly, I used to be an employee too—under Manager White.”

The crowd chuckled, the mood lightening.

Someone gave him a thumbs up: “No wonder Fortune 500 companies produce such capable employees…”

The compliment made me blush, but I appreciated it.

…

The room was now our turf.

I could finally breathe, surrounded by people who had my back.