My mother rushed over, fingers closing around my arm like a vise. "Leaving in the middle of the banquet? Where are your manners? Today, even if the sky falls, you sit there until this banquet ends!"

Before I could react, relatives swarmed in, pressing me back down into my seat.

The anger I had been suppressing detonated.

I stood, grabbed the edge of the round table, and flipped it.

*CRASH.*

Plates, glasses, expensive dishes—all of it shattered against the floor. The deafening noise silenced the entire hall.

I stared straight at my father.

"She was short by nine points, and you called in every favor to get her into Yanda." My voice shook. "But what about me? I was short by *one point*. Fine, maybe I wasn't skilled enough then. So I worked myself to the bone. I took the graduate entrance exam. I had the highest written score. I was the most outstanding candidate in the interviews. I had the most awards."

One step toward him. Then another.

"But the advisor I chose told me *you* didn't want me at Yanda."

"Tell me—why did you do that to me?"

My composure shattered. Tears streamed down my face, hot and humiliating. I was a mess.

I didn't care.

*Smack.*

The force of the slap snapped my head to the side. My cheek burned.

"This is outrageous!" my father roared. "Apologize to Charlotte immediately!"

Charlotte's mother slapped her thigh, wailing theatrically. "Professor Swanson paid good money for this banquet! Even if you don't care about face, you shouldn't waste food!"

I touched my stinging cheek.

A cold, hollow laugh escaped me.

"My business failed, and I owed money. I asked you for a loan, and you said you didn't have any." I gestured at the ruined banquet. "Turns out, the money was all here."

When I got into school, they refused to hold a celebration, claiming it was "too flashy." Yet for an outsider, they booked eighty-eight tables in our hometown just to keep up appearances.

"Since you care about her so much, let her be your daughter." The words came out ice-cold. "From now on, unless one of us is dying, don't contact me."

I shoved past the stunned relatives and stormed out.

My father's face had turned a dark, bruised purple. He hadn't expected me to humiliate him so publicly.

My phone rang incessantly as I walked away. I couldn't hang up fast enough, so I switched it off completely.

I bought the next flight out. Only when I was safely back in my apartment did I turn my phone on again.