"How dare you speak my na? Let tell you again, your mother committed suicide, it has nothing to do with ! She was the designer for the company, I paid her a salary, she worked for , perfectly reasonable!"
"Is that so? As the chief designer of the Weaver Clan Group, what was her annual salary? Tell , where is her inheritance?! Why did she give birth to ? Why leave her daughter alone in this world and choose death for herself!"
As Isabella Weaver spoke, tears fell down.
She had never seen her own mother, only in photographs—an extraordinarily beautiful woman who seed so gentle, how could she bear to abandon her baby to die?
Isabella couldn’t believe it!
"How would I know where her inheritance is!"
Christopher Weaver, in his anger, wished he could grab Isabella and give her a beating. That woman was a taboo he could not ntion!
No one dared to ntion her in front of him, except this reckless daughter, Isabella.
"Do you think your mother was so saint? She was much harsher than I am—abandoned her daughter just like that, whereas I, even at my worst, never abandoned you! I raised you with good food and plenty, and this is how you repay ? Go back ho at once, you’re not allowed to go out again!"
As soon as Christopher finished speaking, he hung up the phone with a bang.
Tears fell from Isabella’s eyes as she laughed sarcastically. It would have been better had he been crueler and abandoned her. She didn’t want to be his daughter at all; she would rather be an orphan.
Go ho?
Going back would only an more beatings and scoldings; she had no intention of going back.
She took out a photograph from her worn-out wallet and looked at it for a long ti.
In the photo was a young, delicate woman with softly curled long hair, her features exquisite, a sweet smile on her face, leaning against a tall and handso man.
The man was a young Christopher Weaver, and the woman was her biological mother, Shiely Morrison.
Shiely Morrison had imnse artistic talent, having won national awards for painting, later specializing in jewelry design. She joined the Weaver Clan Group, quickly rising from a re intern to chief designer. The watches she designed remained popular for years and were the main source of inco for the Weaver Clan Group.
She was with Christopher for eight years and gave birth to Isabella at the age of 30, after which her life was cruelly cut short.
Much of her information was erased by Christopher. Isabella had to put in a lot of effort to piece together the outline of her life.
Isabella thought she looked a lot like her mother, even sharing the sa talent. This was probably the main reason Christopher despised her.
She placed the photo back in her wallet, cald her emotions, and turned to the nutritional cookbook she borrowed from the library today.
She wouldn’t be living at school anymore. Without the school cafeteria, she couldn’t keep eating out at expensive restaurants daily—it was better to cook for herself.
After glancing through a few pages, she found the ho-cooked dishes simple enough, so she put on a coat, drove to the supermarket, and bought so ingredients.
However, she had seriously underestimated the difficulty of cooking. She thought it would be as straightforward as painting, but she ended up either burning the pot, undercooking, or the taste was completely off.
When Harry Hunter returned from work, he found his little wife standing in the kitchen, her face smudged black, holding a ladle, staring blankly at the ss in the pot.
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