CHAPTER 99: HER BURDEN

The VVIP room was lavish—red velvet seats, gold-plated wall trims, and a chandelier that could probably fund a small country. But no matter how extravagant it looked, the air inside felt suffocating.

Su Jinhe sat comfortably with his legs crossed, a glass of overpriced wine in one hand and the menu already tossed aside.

Dishes were being placed one after another—sea cucumber, foie gras, abalone, sushi, wagyu, the most expensive entries checked off like a shopping list.

And he was already halfway through his second course, chewing loudly like he owned the place.

"Tch. Can you believe the nerve of that waitress earlier?" he scoffed between bites, not even looking at her.

"She said I wasn’t on the list, told me to wait outside! Do they not know who I am?! I told her, ’You think you’re above me just because you work at a fancy place? You’re still just a glorified servant.’ Damn brat almost cried."

He laughed, shoving more food into his mouth while Su Meilin just sat across from him, silent.

She didn’t touch her water, let alone order anything.

"And you," he pointed at her with his chopsticks, bits of food still on his lips, "look at you. What kind of daughter can’t even greet her father properly?"

"Sitting there like a damn statue. You think just because you’re playing house with that man, you’re some high-class woman now?"

His words cut sharp, cruel and casual at the same time.

Still, she said nothing.

She’d been through this before. Let him bark. Let him eat. Let him gloat.

Because the moment she opened her mouth, it would only get worse.

Su Jinhe was a terrible father. He loved money more than anyone or anything else. But no matter how much he chased it, he always failed in business.

That was why, the moment he heard Jin Haolong was a rich bachelor in need of a wife, he didn’t think twice before shoving his young daughter into marriage.

Even when she ended up miserable, it was still Su Jinhe who stopped Su Meilin from leaving. Fear of her father clung to her like a chain.

He wouldn’t hesitate to raise his hands, not just to her, but even to her late mother, who’d passed away a few years ago after years of silent suffering.

"Father, please don’t say that..." Su Meilin muttered, setting her glass of cold water down.

"I couldn’t greet you properly because you were too busy humiliating the waiters."

"Tch! So what?!" he barked, slamming the table lightly with his palm.

"They were the ones acting high and mighty with me first! And I told you, don’t talk back to your father!"

His finger pointed right at her face, voice rising.

"I made you a rich man’s wife, a mistress of a luxurious life! I made your life better! So shut the hell up and stop acting like you’re above me!"

He clicked his tongue, dropping his chopsticks back onto the plate with a loud clatter before wiping his greasy hands with a silk napkin.

Su Meilin sighed deeply, pressing her fingers to her temple. She didn’t want this to turn into another exhausting argument, where he’d inevitably paint himself as the victim again.

"Ah, anyway... your husband’s dead. That’s good, right?" Su Jinhe snorted as he leaned back, already chewing another piece of wagyu.

Her expression hardened.

"So, how’s the inheritance? You got all of it, correct?" He grinned greedily, eyes narrowing like a vulture circling over a carcass.

Of course. He didn’t come to offer condolences. He came for money.

"Father..." Su Meilin let out a long breath. "I didn’t get everything. Half of it will go to Jin Haolong’s sister."

Su Jinhe’s smile instantly disappeared, his expression twisting into disappointment and disgust. He leaned forward across the pristine table and jabbed a finger toward her chest.

"Useless! Absolutely useless! Half? Half?! You let some little bitch walk away with your money?!" he spat, his voice rising loud enough for the staff outside to glance toward the door.

"You really are pathetic," he hissed. "No guts, no brains. You always were a weakling."

"If it were me, I’d be at the lawyer’s office every day until I got every last coin. You should be fighting for that money—it’s the least you can do after everything I did for you!"

Meilin’s hands trembled in her lap, her knuckles white. For years, she’d swallowed every word he threw at her. She’d bowed her head, endured the insults, the guilt-tripping, even the blows.

But now... now she had someone who made her feel human again. Who looked at her with warmth, not demands.

She didnt want him to see how terrible his father was or how her dignity always trampled.

She slowly raised her head, eyes meeting her father’s.

"No."

Su Jinhe paused, mid-rant. "What did you say?"

"I said no, Father," Su Meilin repeated, louder this time.

"I’m not going to fight for anything. I don’t want it. I just want peace, and you... you don’t know how to give anyone peace."

His brows twitched, the corner of his mouth tightening.

"And another thing," she continued, her chest heaving, "I don’t want to see you again. I don’t want anything from you. And you’re not getting anything from me, not even a penny of that inheritance!"

"I have enough of you!"

There was silence. Brief, heavy, suffocating. But Su Jinhe face was reddened as he slowly stood up. His eyes bloodshot looking at her as he raise his hand.

SLAP!

The sharp crack of skin-on-skin echoed through the private room.

Meilin’s head snapped to the side, her cheek burning from the force. The sting spread instantly, like fire across her face.

"You ungrateful bitch!" Su Jinhe barked, standing up and looming over her.

"You think you can talk back to your father like that?! I fed you, raised you, and this is what I get in return?! You little whore!"

Tears welled up in her eyes, but she didn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her crumble. Not here.

She stood up, clenched her purse, and turned toward the door.

"I’m done," she whispered. "Don’t call me again, I will block all of your number and SNS."

And without looking back, she walked out of the room.

***

The wind was colder than she expected even when it was still spring. But maybe it was her heart that was icy like needles.

But she didn’t stop walking. Not even as her feet started to ache. Not even as her phone buzzed repeatedly with angry messages.

By the time she reached apartment complex, her eyes were glassy, her body numb. She couldn’t bring herself to go upstairs.

Instead, she stopped in front of the small garden just before the lobby. She sat on the stone bench beneath the flickering streetlamp.

And then, she broke.

Tears spilled out without sound, her shoulders shaking as she buried her face into her hands. It wasn’t just about today.

It was years of pain—festering, rotting, suffocating inside her—and today it finally spilled over.

She didn’t even know how long she cried there... only that it felt like the first time she allowed herself to.