Chapter 2 I'm Thomas Wrenn's Daughter

"Do you know about the rivalries that come with being born into a wealthy family?"

As I listened to Susan's animated description, I found myself captivated. "No, I don't."

With a snap of her fingers, she continued, "It's all about disputes over inheritance. You're going into this blind—who knows if he wants to acknowledge you?

"And what about your half-siblings? But if you let me help you connect with him, you can observe how your father and his family react."

Her words began to make sense, and I found myself nodding along. "You've got a point."

A satisfied grin spread across her face. "If they reject you and toss you aside, I can step in for you. That way, I get a taste of family life, and you avoid any potential traps. It's a win-win!"

"But…" I hesitated. "But I really want to meet my father."

Susan grasped my shoulders. "Easy! Your father must need a housekeeper. You could work for him!"

I pondered the situation from every angle, but something still felt off.

Yet, as Susan continued to press, my resolve began to waver.

In the end, I placed the keepsake my mother had given me into her hands. "No matter how this turns out, you have to make sure you explain everything to him."

"Don't worry; I've got this covered," she replied confidently.

I trusted Susan because she had helped me in the past.

We met after graduating from college.

At that time, I was a fresh graduate, overwhelmed by the chaos of an internship.

I joined a company where, within a month, I found myself being undermined by colleagues.

Susan was a team leader there, and she didn't hesitate to step in when she saw injustice. With her support, the harassment I faced started to fade.

When I discovered that Susan and I were alumni of the same school, our friendship blossomed quickly.

Growing up in a single-parent home, I never met my father.

While other kids called out to their fathers, I could only watch with envy. It left me somewhat reserved and self-conscious from a young age.

Now, as Susan offered to help me navigate the risks of being cast out by my father, I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude toward her.

It felt like a lifeline for someone like me, who often struggled with social anxiety.

Following the address my mother had given me, Susan and I made our way to my father's house.

As we arrived, we both gasped. "Wow…"

Before us stood a grand mansion radiating wealth and privilege.

My mother and I had spent our lives in a rundown rental, constantly battling the presence of mice and cockroaches.

Yet, despite our struggles, my mother never once asked my father for a dime.

The amount of money she had could be counted on one hand.

"I'm Thomas Wrenn's daughter. Let me in."

Susan sprang into action, pulling out the keepsake my mother had given me. "This is a keepsake from my mother. Show it to my father, and he'll know it's me."

The security guard at the entrance paused, exchanging glances with his colleague.

But as gatekeepers of a mansion, they had seen their fair share of drama.

"Notify Mr. Wrenn quickly," one said, dismissing any further hesitation.

Once we handed over the keepsake, it took barely ten minutes for my father to appear.

He rushed over, clutching a sachet hand-stitched by my mother.

Susan's shoulders began to tremble, and she burst into tears.

When my father spotted me, his expression froze for a moment.

Then, slowly, a look of pure joy spread across his face.