A Heart Imprisoned by Compassion
After my father died, the illegitimate daughter he had been raising abroad immediately returned to the country to fight me for the estate. Her name was Alma.
I was his only legitimate child, and I even had a will on my side.
However, I still failed to keep my rightful inheritance.
My fiancé Wayne, who could command the entirety of North City with a flick of his wrist, insisted on helping Alma.
He stood protectively in front of Alma’s wheelchair and asked me impatiently, “With the money I gave you, you could buy plenty of houses like that. Are you really so heartless? Why would you fight a disabled person over it?”
I confronted him, my voice trembling with disbelief.
“Fighting? That house is the only thing my mother left me.”
In the end, Wayne helped Alma win the lawsuit.
He looked at my red, swollen eyes with a trace of guilt and said, “Jocelyn, I’ll make it up to you in the future.”
However, I knew then that there was no more future between us.