Chapter 2The Eight Hundred Dollar Daughter Trap

A few days later, a glossy poster appeared on the campus bulletin boards.

GUEST LECTURE: DIANA MONTGOMERY.

Her name was printed in bold, authoritative serif right in the center. My heart did a violent somersault. I turned to bolt, but Sophie grabbed my arm, squealing with excitement.

"Rose, look! It’s Diana Montgomery! An actual billionaire on our campus!"

"Oh my god, can you imagine being her? I heard she cleared three billion in acquisitions last year alone."

"My mom literally has her autobiography on her nightstand like it’s the Bible!"

I was dragged, kicking and screaming internally, into the packed auditorium.

Diana stood on the stage. She was wearing a suit that probably cost more than my father’s house, speaking with a precision and clarity that commanded the room. She looked nothing like the screeching, bitter woman my father described. She looked... powerful. And terrifyingly calm.

My chest tightened. I felt like I couldn't breathe.

When the lecture ended, the university deans swarmed her like moths to a flame. I kept my head down, trying to melt into the crowd of students heading for the exit.

"Rose Miller."

The hall went silent. A hundred heads turned in unison. I froze, the blood draining from my face.

She didn't acknowledge the deans. She walked straight through the parting crowd until she was standing directly in front of me.

"With me. Now."

She led me out of the hall. I could hear the whispers rising behind us like a tide.

"Wait, is she Montgomery’s daughter?"

"No way. Look at her clothes. She looks like she shops at a thrift bin."

"If that’s her daughter, why does she look so... tragic?"

The words cut deeper than any knife. I clenched my fists, saying nothing.

She led me to the student union cafeteria. It was the lunch rush. I felt her eyes on me as I reflexively went for the cheapest option—a side of steamed broccoli and a scoop of white rice. Four dollars and fifty cents.

She looked at my tray, her brow furrowing into a sharp V.

"I wire twenty thousand dollars to your account every single month," she said. "Is this really what you’re choosing to eat?"

Twenty thousand?

The number exploded in my brain. "What... what are you talking about? Twenty thousand?"

My voice was trembling so hard I could barely get the words out. I only ever saw eight hundred.

She blinked, looking genuinely confused. "On the 15th of every month, a transfer goes out. Twenty thousand dollars."

She pulled out her phone and turned the screen toward me. There it was. A long, unbroken list of transfers. $20,000.00. Every single month.

The recipient's name: Arthur Miller.

My world tilted on its axis. My hands went cold; my mind went blank. Where was the money?

"Your father... he didn't give it to you?" she asked, her eyes searching mine.

I forced myself to stay upright. I swallowed the bile rising in my throat and plastered on a stiff, fake smile.

"Oh. Right. Dad mentioned it. I... I just put it all into a long-term savings account. I forgot."

The moment the lie left my lips, I saw the tension leave her shoulders.

"Rose," she said, her voice softening just a fraction. "I know I haven't been around. I’ve been... busy. I thought the money would at least make things easier for you."

"It does," I lied again.

"By the way," she added casually, "why don't I ever see you driving the Porsche I bought for your eighteenth? Your father said you hated it, so I didn't push, but it seems a waste."

A car? Another thing I had never heard of.

I gripped the fabric of my pockets, trying to stay grounded. "The city... parking is a nightmare. I didn't want the hassle."

I made some more excuses and practically ran back to my dorm. I slammed the door and slid down against it, my body shaking uncontrollably. I pulled out my phone and found the contact I had never dared to call.

Mom.

She picked up on the second ring. "Rose?"

I bit my lip so hard I tasted copper. "Mom... I... I need some money. An emergency."

There wasn't a second of hesitation. "Of course. How much?"

"Fifty... fifty thousand," I said, a number that felt astronomical.

"I’ll send it now."

"Mom, wait. Send it to a new account. I’ll text you the details."

"Done."

Ten seconds after I sent the info, my phone buzzed. $50,000.00. Instant.

The memo read: Don't ever hesitate to ask. Take care of yourself.

I stared at the screen until the words blurred. This was the woman I had hated for eighteen years?

I wiped my eyes and opened a different chat. I took a deep breath and typed to my father:

[Dad, I have a huge emergency. Can you please, please ask Mom for some extra money?]

His reply came back almost instantly.

[You know how she is, Rose. She’ll just use it as an excuse to insult us. You have to learn to handle your own problems. Asking her only makes her despise us more. I’m sorry, honey. My hands are tied.]

I stared at those words. My blood turned to ice. For eighteen years, I had been a pawn in his sick, twisted game.

I took the money my mother had just sent and used it to hire the most expensive private investigator in the city. My goal was simple:

I wanted every single bank statement associated with my father, Arthur Miller.