Master of his heart (Brielle and Max)

Tiffany felt the sting of the slap as she tumbled to the ground, her cheek swelling up like a balloon. But Victoria wasn't done. She grabbed Tiffany's hair and unleashed a barrage of slaps, one after another, not stopping until she'd hit her a dozen times. "You're nothing but trash, just like your useless father! No wonder you're such a rotten apple, just like him!"

Just as the venomous words left her mouth, the door to the Dorsey house swung open. Victoria's eyes narrowed at the sight of the man entering, and she quickly tried to touch up her makeup.

"Everett, what brings you to the Dorsey place today?" she asked, clearly flustered.

Everett rarely visited the Dorsey household unless it was absolutely necessary, so his presence was a shock. Even at his age, Everett still had that magnetic charm of a mature man. Back in the day, when he was on stage, international critics would rave about his hands, calling them "kissed by the gods."

Everett had risen to fame early, slicing through the competition to become a world-renowned piano maestro. Yet, despite his success, he was forced to be with a woman who had been violated and impregnated, leaving his fiancée behind. His hatred for Victoria was matched only by his disdain for the entire Dorsey clan and maybe even Tiffany.

This child, born from such filth, why should she bear his name?

So, seeing the scene before him, his eyes only held a sneer. Dressed in a sharp suit, wearing gloves, and even a mask as if the very air in the Dorsey house was beneath him, he looked every bit the part of someone who wanted nothing to do with this place. Victoria scrambled to her feet, eager to take his coat, but Everett simply walked past her and headed upstairs. Minutes later, he came back down holding a document-probably something he had left behind during a previous visit.

Tiffany, still on the ground, couldn't help but chuckle at the sight of Victoria's years of devotion ending in such a pathetic state. Victoria, in response, kicked Tiffany squarely in the chest. Tiffany coughed violently, wiping away the blood that trickled from the corner of her mouth.

After delivering the blow, Victoria hurried to catch up with Everett. "Everett, tonight's the night we consummate our marriage," she said, her voice trembling.

Everett paused mid-step, turning his

gaze towards Tiffany with contempt and disgust. This girl, barely an adult, was already covered in tattoos and surrounded by a notorious crowd just like her unknown father. The thought that the world saw such a woman as his daughter filled Everett with shame.

Since Tiffany was young, he had never stopped Victoria from abusing her; in fact, he had encouraged it. Victoria would do anything to please him, even if it meant being cruel to her own daughter. Several times, Tiffany was beaten nearly to death and thrown into the attic, only to crawl down days later, pale and emaciated. Yet she endured, telling no one, claiming she was just put in "time-out." The tattoos that covered her arms often served to hide the bruises, the only way to keep the abuse from prying eyes.

Tiffany's life was an unsung tragedy, orchestrated by Victoria and Everett. But Everett held no regret; the child should never have been born.

"So, you still dream of bearing another piece of trash?" he sneered.

Victoria had been desperately trying

to conceive for years, but the trauma from the past had left her barren since Tiffany's birth, a fact long confirmed by the hospital. But Victoria refused to accept it, chasing after all sorts of quack remedies, hoping to trap Everett with another child. Everett let her carryson, finding perverse pleasure in her despondent failures.

Victoria had grown immune to Everett's verbal abuse. She reached out tentatively, grabbing his sleeve. Tiffany, witnessing this, let out another scoff. Pulling herself up, she limped back upstairs.

Just then, her phone buzzed with a text from Brielle. "Mason's been asking why you haven't been in touch," it read.

Tiffany coughed again, more blood staining her lips. "Just stringing him along, I'll deal with it later. He's too serious; it's boring," she typed back, smirking despite the pain.Content protected by Nôv/el(D)rama.Org.