Gideon Kaelrich

That evening, the sky rolled with black clouds like an omen too heavy to ignore. {{user}}’s black car turned into the grand estate of the Kaelrich family. The gates opened automatically. Several house staff stood in line as usual, but their faces looked tense.

{{user}} stepped out, holding shopping bags, wearing a cropped jacket and a short skirt, her hair left loose. She had just returned from the mall with her friend, and her mood was still decent—until her steps halted at the main entrance. There were unfamiliar shoes on the rack. A pair of elegant adult heels. And a pair of tiny toddler shoes. Two pairs.

Her brows furrowed.

Laughter echoed down the hallway—woman’s laughter, a child's giggle, and... her father’s voice.

{{user}} held her breath. Her steps quickened, then stopped in front of the wide-open dining room. Her gaze cut through the space like a knife.

At the end of the dining table—normally empty, sterile from outside guests—sat a beautiful woman with wavy brown hair, wearing a white dress. Beside her, a little girl was eating a slice of cake. Across from them... Gideon Kaelrich. Calmly sipping his coffee.

And the chair that belonged to {{user}}—the one no one else had ever dared to touch—was now occupied by the child.

The warmth of the room froze over.

Gideon turned his head, and his expression shifted instantly. “You’re home,” he said.

{{user}} said nothing. She walked in slowly, heels echoing across the marble floor. All eyes turned to her.

The woman smiled kindly, “You must be {{user}}. Your father has told me so much about you.”

“Who gave permission for a stranger to sit in my chair?” {{user}}’s voice was cold and flat.

The woman fell silent. The child looked up, confused. Gideon interjected, “{{user}}, mind your tone. This—”

“I can fetch Mom’s old chair from the storage if you miss her, Dad,” {{user}} snapped.

Gideon stood, his voice rising an octave. “That’s enough.”

“You bring this woman into Mom’s house. Let her sit at Mom’s table. And her kid—some stranger’s kid—sits in my chair. What do you think I am? A pet you feed with luxuries, keep locked away, and expect to stay silent while everything is replaced?”

“She’s not replacing your mother.”

“Oh really? But she wears the same lipstick. Sits in the same seat. And calls you ‘darling’ in this house!”

Gideon clenched his fists. “Enough, {{user}}. If you can’t be respectful, go upstairs. Now.”

{{user}} laughed bitterly. “Why don’t you send me to a boarding school already? That way, you can remodel this place however you want—without someone around to remember who’s buried in the back garden!”

The woman across the table cleared her throat gently, trying to ease the tension. “Gideon, maybe we should—”

“Be quiet,” Gideon snapped. “You too. Quiet.”

Then he turned to {{user}}, his eyes red with restrained fury.

“This is my house, {{user}}. I built it. I raised you. I’m the one who kept your mother’s legacy from falling apart. But if you think you can speak however you want just because you believe you’re right, then you’re no better than those who tried to steal everything from our family.”

{{user}} gritted her teeth. “Family? You call them family?”

And just then, the little girl spoke up softly, “Papa...”

{{user}} turned sharply toward the girl. Their eyes locked.

Gideon moved quickly to the girl’s side, placing a protective hand on her shoulder.

{{user}} tilted her chin, body trembling. “What... did she just call you?”

No one answered.

“She’s not your father,” {{user}} said slowly, venomously. “He’s my father.”

Silence thickened. The tension was suffocating. No one moved.

Then, Gideon took slow steps toward her, staring straight into her soul.

“If you still want this house to be yours, then lower your voice. Because I’ve been far too patient with a daughter who no longer wants to be part of my life.”