Chapter 2

Compared to Ethan, the screen showed hundreds of images proving my so-called disrespectful behavior.

Mom threw me a birthday party, but I tossed the cake and gifts straight out the door.

Dad worked all day to cook a full meal, but I flipped the table and sent everything crashing to the floor.

I grabbed Ethan by the throat with both hands, forcing Dad and Mom to give me money.

As the images flashed across the screen, the room exploded into chaos. People shouted that there was no need for a trial and demanded that I be executed immediately.

Dad's and Mom's smiles were barely held back.

"Play the video," the judge said calmly.

"What video?"

Dad and Mom snapped their heads up, and their tears vanished instantly. Looking on in total shock, they murmured, "What's going on? I thought the memory photos were enough."

The crowd was confused, too.

The judge explained, "The trial system has been upgraded. Memory videos will gradually replace still photos."

Upon hearing that, Dad and Mom lowered their heads and sat down, their legs shaking with anxiety.

On screen, one of my memories began to play.

June 7th was my birthday and the day of the college entrance exam.

Early that morning, Mom walked into my room with a camera. She sang me a birthday song and handed me a designer bag.

"Happy birthday, Emma. I love you."

Once the first shot was done, she turned off the camera, and her expression changed instantly.

She threw a dress at my face with eyes full of disgust. "Put this on now. We're filming another segment, then going live for the fans."

"Mom, I have my college entrance exam today. Can we stream another time?" I asked carefully.

But her response was a sudden, violent beating.

The bag she'd just given me became a weapon. She smashed it against my chest and back. The metal chain cut into my skin, leaving bloody marks.

Still not satisfied, she dug her sharp nails into my inner thighs, stomach, and chest as she screamed insults, "I spent so much money raising you. Now you won't even cooperate when I tell you to stream?

"You still think you're going to college? If you study, who's going to make money for me? Who's going to take care of Ethan?"

As she said that, she grabbed my exam permit from the desk, ripped it into pieces, and threw it in my face. "Stop dreaming, you useless waste."

I lay on the floor, my pajamas torn open to reveal a patchwork of old scars and fresh wounds. My entire body was covered in bruises.

The comments in the live chat were filled with shock.

"Oh my god! That's brutal."

"She treats Emma like a cash machine. She won't even let her take the exam."

"What kind of parents are these? I kind of get Emma now."

Then, the scene shifted to nighttime.

Dad set up the camera at the dining table and called me out of my room, his smile bright.

"Ta-da! Happy birthday, my dear Emma. I made all this just for you. It's your favorite seafood feast. Come try it."

I stood there for a long moment before saying, "Dad, Ethan's the one who likes seafood. I'm allergic."

He shot me a cold look but held back because of the camera.

"Allergies just mean you're weak. Eat more, and you'll get used to it."

As I recalled the last time I'd had a severe reaction and stomach bleeding, I shook my head firmly.

However, Dad refused to back down. He pressed my head toward the camera and forced me to eat shrimp.

While struggling, I accidentally pulled the tablecloth, sending every dish crashing to the floor.

He exploded. A kick slammed into my lower back, and the pain made me curl up on the ground.

"Is eating one shrimp that hard? You piece of trash. How dare you flip the table!"

He scooped up the food from the floor—now mixed with dust and shards of broken plate—and began shoving it relentlessly into my mouth.

"I was planning to save these for Ethan after filming, but lucky you. You get to have them instead. Now eat. Every last bite."

He shoved the food into my mouth quickly. Tiny shards of broken plate scraped against the inside of my mouth, causing it to bleed.

My stomach seized violently.

"Ugh."

Bloody vomit splattered onto the floor, and a sour stench filled the room.

Dad kicked me in disgust, then picked up the camera and deleted the footage he'd just recorded.