Joy stepped out of the taxi at the corner of a rundown district. She’d asked the driver to stop two blocks early—no one needed to know where she came from.

Clutching her luxury designer bag tight, she hurried past rows of grimy five‑story flats, dodging puddles of filthy water on the cracked sidewalk.

She slipped into one of the suffocating buildings, climbing the rusty iron stairs that groaned under her weight, heading toward her family’s cramped apartment.

The moment the door swung open, the stench hit her—cheap cigarette smoke mixed with rotting leftovers. This place had always been her personal hell.

“Where the hell have you been, you cursed brat? You’re two days late! We need food!”

The shrill voice of a middle‑aged woman lashed out, greeting Joy’s return to the nightmare she called home. Joy exhaled sharply, lowered her head, and dragged her feet toward the living room.

There sat her mother, glaring at her with the same look of resentment Joy had endured every single day of her life.

Suddenly, a door slammed open. Out stumbled her older brother, a scrawny young man with a disheveled appearance, stepping into the scene with raw hostility.

That was Jack—Joy’s unemployed older brother, the one their parents always defended no matter what. Joy often wondered if she was adopted, given how differently she was treated compared to him.

Jack lunged at her, eyes sharp like a vulture spotting fresh meat. Without a word, he snatched Joy’s bag and tore through it for cash. The bag was small, and Jack’s patience even smaller, so he flipped it upside down, spilling everything across the floor.

Joy’s eyes widened in fury as her expensive compact powder and pricey palette cracked from the impact. But unlike the arrogant way she carried herself with Ashley, here at home she was powerless—unable to act out.

“What the hell is this? Why’s there only this much?” Jack barked, his voice rising. Joy shrank back, mind scrambling for an answer, when suddenly their father staggered out of another room.

The stench of alcohol hit first, followed by his unsteady steps—proof the old man was drunk.

“Shut up! Hand that money over to me!” he snapped. Jack obediently passed the wad of bills to him.

Without even counting, the father knew it was far less than last month. The stack was barely half as thick. His murky eyes narrowed, fixing Joy with a sharp, accusing glare.

Joy swallowed hard, bracing herself to run—but years of violent trauma had frozen her body in place. It was always like this whenever she tried to escape.

Her father lunged forward, yanking her hair so brutally that her head snapped back toward the mold‑stained ceiling. The stench of cheap liquor poured from his mouth.

“You think you can act up now? If it weren’t for that pretty face of yours, good enough to seduce rich men, we wouldn’t even bother keeping you here! Send more money tomorrow—or I’ll show up at your young boss’s office and expose you for what you are: a whore!” he hissed right into her ear.

Then he jerked her hair one last time before shoving her down, her body crashing onto the filthy, musty carpet. The corner of her lip split open when it struck the edge of her broken makeup palette.

Her mother sneered, muttering that raising a daughter was the most useless thing she’d ever done.

Joy wept, clutching her face and stomach. The moment was a cruel reminder of her worth—or lack thereof. To her family, she was nothing more than a commodity, valuable only if she brought in money.

Even when she did, all she ever got in return were screams and insults.

What was love? What was warmth from a family? No matter how far she went—even selling herself to a wealthy old man—it meant absolutely nothing in their eyes.

Joy was obsessed with Georgio Miller. Georgio was the only young, handsome, clean man who treated her like a woman of worth. In his arms, Joy could forget the stench of that suffocating flat and pretend she was a rich girl, adored and cherished. Georgio was her golden ticket out of hell—forever.

“Next week… I’ll bring more money,” Joy whispered hoarsely from the floor, scalp throbbing from her father’s grip.

Her father only grunted, uninterested, before staggering off with Jack to blow the cash at the nearest bar. Her mother retreated to her room, unwilling to help Joy even stand.

With what strength she had left, Joy rose. She gathered the scattered contents of her bag, mourning the shattered pieces of her expensive compact. Once everything was stuffed back inside, she walked out of the flat without looking back.

In the taxi carrying her to her luxury apartment, Joy stared at her reflection in the dark window. Mascara streaked down her cheeks, her hair was a mess, and blood stained the corner of her lip. Tears slid silently, but within seconds her gaze hardened—cold, ambitious.

Her trembling hand dug into her bag, pulling out tissues to wipe away the black smudges, then opening the cracked compact powder. With practiced motions, she concealed the bruises, reapplied her bold red lipstick, and rebuilt the mask: Joy, the glamorous, cheerful assistant.

She stroked her still‑flat stomach. Time was running out. Robert, the wealthy old man, had started seeing her less—a sign he was growing bored.

The fresh funds from Robert would soon dry up. Joy had to drain what remained, funnel it into Gio’s company, and then force Gio to sign the marriage papers—so the secret of the child she carried would remain safe.

Joy’s phone suddenly shattered the silence in the taxi, the name “Gio Darling” flashing across the screen. A smile lit up her face as she cleared her throat and answered, “Hey, babe? What’s up? I missed you…”

“Joy! It’s bad—really bad!” Gio’s panicked voice cut her off, high‑pitched and frantic. His breathing was ragged, like he’d just been chased by demons.

Joy’s heart dropped. “Gio? Calm down, what happened?”

“Our cosmetics distribution contract across Celeste Mall just got canceled—out of nowhere! No reason given! They’re kicking all our products out within 24 hours!” Gio’s voice cracked with frustration, the sound of things crashing on his desk echoing through the line.

“We could lose billions and go bankrupt overnight, Joy! Call your uncle right now! Tell Mr.Robert we need emergency funds, fast!”

Joy froze in the back seat. The phone in her hand felt like a block of ice. Her freshly polished face drained of color, pale as death.

The nightmare at home wasn’t even over, and now the foundation she’d built with Gio was crumbling faster than she could have imagined.