Trafficked

“Suzy Smith, my patience is running out. You better know when to stop.”

My mother spoke coldly.

I remained unmoved and stared at her without blinking.

This might have been the last time I would ever be this close to her.

I leaned in a little more.

Her brows knitted tightly together, and a flash of offended irritation crossed her eyes.

She raised her hand as if to shove my face away with a slap, but in the end, she lowered it again.

We remained locked in a standoff for a full minute.

The elderly women shopping for groceries nearby had already stopped to watch.

Unable to endure the curious stares, my mother finally gave in.

Her gaze swept across my face, still covered in fish scales.

“You’re filthy. Go wash your face.”

A surge of secret delight rose inside me, but I kept the same shameless grin on my face.

I rinsed away the grime and immediately leaned my face toward her again.

“All clean now. Ms. Sharp, your inspection is welcome.”

She closed her eyes, held her breath, and brushed her lips against my cheek as quickly as possible.

The moment it was over, her expression turned completely cold again.

She spun around and headed for the exit.

“Follow me.”

As we walked out of the market, the butcher from the neighboring stall leaned out and called after me.

“Hey, Suzy, closing up this early today?”

“Who’s the fancy lady? Buying fish from you?”

I waved at him.

“I quit. Time to go be a rich kid.”

“Sir, the rest of the fish are yours!”

Ahead of me, Wendy Sharp slowed for a moment, her expression turning even colder.

She let out a cold scoff.

“Five years apart, and all you seem to care about now is money.

“When you chose to follow your wonderful father back then, I thought the two of you might actually accomplish something remarkable.”

I didn’t argue.

Instead, I obediently followed her into the Rolls-Royce parked by the curb.

A faint woody fragrance lingered inside the cabin.

My mother leaned back in the front passenger seat, her gaze drifting past me toward the scenery outside the window.

In an even tone, she began describing the position she held now:

“Most of our competitors are under my umbrella now.

“With a single signature, the revenue involved is already in the seven figures.

“You could work your entire life and still never earn what my interest generates in a day.”

But she never mentioned how she reached this point over the past five years.

I knew exactly how many cold stares and humiliations we endured within the family in my previous life.

I looked at her elegant yet unmistakably weary profile and felt genuinely happy for her.

At least she no longer had to relive the misery of our past life.

When she finished speaking, I calmly replied with a simple, “Oh.”

That single casual word infuriated her.

She whipped around and glared at me.

“I never should have had any expectations for you.

“You’re completely hopeless. There’s not a single useful thought in that head of yours.”

The atmosphere inside the car instantly turned icy.

She turned away again, presenting me with the back of her head and making it clear she had no intention of continuing the conversation.

After a while, I took the initiative to break the silence:

“What’s the name of this marriage candidate? I should at least know who my future husband is.

“If he’s some eighty-year-old grandfather, I’ll need to stock up on heart medication in advance.”

Her eyes remained closed. She didn’t even bother looking at me.

“Julian Cooper. About your age.”

I froze instantly.

My heartbeat skipped.

Julian Cooper?

Wasn’t that the name of my ex-boyfriend?