The Daughter Book Novels & Stories

I put my six-year-old daughter in my mother-in-law’s hands as I was busy with an overseas project. Every month, I would send her 20,000 dollars in allowance, not including holiday cash gifts. My mother-in-law would always talk about how well my daughter ate and slept during every video call. In the video, a feast was always laid before my daughter. So when her teacher claimed that she had fainted out of hunger during class, my first thought was that she must have called the wrong number. I rushed back home and headed straight to the hospital. The doctor said that my daughter was suffering from long-term malnutrition and her weight was far below the average. She also had severe post-trau

she asked, a smile plastered on her lips, though it looks too fake if seen by someone she knows, because even if she tried her hardest best to give a truthful happy smile, her still eyes didn’t move, still the same melancholic as before. Her dark green eyes stared at her daughter in hidden sorrow, as the wolf inside her whimpered, an agonized howl escaping right after, affecting her once steady mood. Her eyelids twitched, clenching the fork on her hand, looking straight at her daughter watery eyes. Ana, her daughter, with a birthday hat topped with a number five, worn on her head, silently looked at her with eyes that was once bright in the morning, gone completely lifeless at this time.

Her arm wrapped around me, palm gently patting my back — the same gesture she'd used when I first learned what our family truly was. "My daughter," she murmured, her voice calm and composed, "she didn't take anything that was truly yours." I shook my head. "You don't understand—" "She took nothing," she repeated firmly. "You are still Nancy DeLuca — the sole heir to this empire. No one — not that ungrateful foster child, not those blind fools — can take away the power in your blood or the dominion that awaits you." Her words didn't chase away the chill in my heart, but they steadied my pulse.

Late that night, she carried the urn into the storage closet where I had hidden after coming home. The closet was unheated, crowded with broken furniture, and barely wide enough for a child to lie down. For the first time, she understood what it had meant for her daughter to sleep there. Mother sat between the narrow stone walls and held the urn tightly against her chest. “Ivy,” she whispered, “I am the one who deserves your forgiveness least.”

“For all of you. Always.” Like mother, like daughter. Except this time, the daughter has an Alpha, a Beta, and reasons to keep standing.

“Your father seduced my daughter, Riela. He used her, manipulated her, for his rebellion!” Her eyes blazed, voice trembling now with restrained rage. “We barely kept her alive after what he did. He nearly killed her. And now… my daughter lives in a state worse than death. She’s lost her sanity.” She stepped closer, her presence suffocating. “So tell me, daughter of Cain, how exactly do you plan to make that right?” the Queen Mother questioned. Before Althea could respond, one of the Queen Mother’s attendants stepped forward and silently offered a small cup in front of her.

Before my mother died, she arranged a marriage for me. My bride-to-be was Rosalind Young, Kingsford's most formidable financial tycoon. Before I married her, I added three clauses to the prenuptial agreement. First, no feelings. Our marriage was purely business. Second, she could live her life however she pleased, while I'd live mine. Third, I would step aside immediately if her true love ever came along. Nevertheless, I would be getting double the alimony. Rosalind was quite pleased that I knew my place. Our marriage was a peaceful one until the day a teenage girl who bore a striking resemblance to her knocked on the door of our mansion and calmly said, "Sir, I'm Rosalind's daughter.

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she repeated clearly. "Triceratops." "Tops." "Close enough." After the dinosaur book, she yawned. Finally tired. "Night night, Mama," she said, curling into my arms. "Night night, baby." I held her while she fell asleep. Watched her little face relax into unconsciousness. Advanced or not, she was just Isabella. My daughter. Who liked books and elephants and saying no to naps. That was enough. More than enough. --- I found David in the kitchen, cleaning up from dinner.

“The Miami project has been losing money for three months. I will go there and fix it.” In my past life, my father took the trust fund my mother left me, and all of it ended up in Seraphina's pocket. When things got bad, I asked her for fifty thousand dollars. She laughed and transferred thirty thousand with a note that said her sister loved her. I learned my lesson, and I refused to make the same mistake again.