"You carry my blood, Melissa," Phillipe reminded her coldly as if the words meant nothing more than a simple statement of fact.
"Blame your mother for giving birth to you, not me." He looked at her with an expression of indifference. "Your whining has no use before me. Prove your worth to me if you want to live well." With that, he stood up from his chair, dismissing her words as if they were nothing more than a nuisance.
Melissa stood her ground, the bitterness and more resentment bubbling up within her.
"Father, I won't do anything for you," Melissa declared firmly with an unwavering voice. She knew Phillipe had always seen her as a pawn, to be used and discarded at his whim. And she knew that his intentions were never for her benefit—only for his own gain. It was this very manipulation that had earned her Radulf's disgust and contempt.
