Are you still my daughter?

Are You Still My Daughter

The hall was as lively as ever.

Frederick continued to watch his wife and son while Nora kept trying to bring up topics to engage them like before. But each attempt failed, and Alex, reading his mother's mood, did his best to support her efforts despite knowing he couldn't change the atmosphere.

Some servants paused to get a glimpse of the family, while others pretended not to notice. This scene wasn't new. It had been like this for God knows how long—so many years had passed, yet some people's smiles still faded at the sight.

Everything was going as usual until the sharp, distinct sound of heels clicking against marble stairs cut through the noise.

Nora, mid-conversation, noticed that one of the main dishes hadn't been served yet. While Frederick and Alex sat with empty plates, she busied herself with arranging just one.

Her eyes scanned the room, searching for the maid responsible. When she found her standing still, staring toward the stairs, irritation flared. "What are you doing? Zoning out in the morning? Go bring me that dish—" Her words halted as her gaze followed the maid's and landed on Becky.

Becky was walking down the stairs, her eyes sweeping across the hall. Every pair of eyes was fixed on her, making her falter mid-step.

Like many novel readers, Becky had once dreamed of traveling into a fictional world. People think they can live however they want in a novel, free from the constraints of reality. It's not entirely a lie—this world did feel distant, like a dream. But dreams can still have ghosts. And once you're inside, it becomes your reality.

Becky had imagined countless things she'd do if she ever entered a novel. But standing here, her heart pounded with a nervousness she hadn't anticipated.

The cold sweat forming on her palms and the death grip she had on the railing made it all too real.

"Um… good morning," she greeted, swallowing her nervousness. The calm, unfazed expression that Elizabeth was known for helped her steady herself.

Nora's eyes remained wide, disbelief written all over her face. The maids, however, moved in unison, placing one hand on their chests and bowing. "Good morning, Lady Elizabeth."

For a moment, Becky felt foreign to the title—Elizabeth? Right. She had to remember that.

She gave a slight nod and carefully continued down the stairs, gripping the railing as if it were a lifeline.

"Whoa!" Alex blurted out. "Who is this woman—?"

A sharp smack landed on the back of his head. He winced, glancing at Nora through squinted eyes while rubbing the sore spot. "That was a hard blow," he mumbled.

Nora, however, didn't seem to notice her son's reaction. Her entire focus was on Becky. She quietly pushed aside the plate she'd been arranging. One of the maids, quick to catch the signal, retrieved it and slipped away toward the kitchen.

Nora's lips parted, but the words caught in her throat as if forming a sentence was too difficult. "Um… ah…"

Before she could say more, Frederick spoke, voice cold and unyielding. "If you wanted something, you could've just ordered it. Have I ever stopped you from getting what you want?"

She froze mid-motion, her fingers just about to pull out the chair.

Silence blanketed the hall. Her gaze stayed on the table, while Nora glared at her husband.

"I had a special request," Becky said softly, pulling out the chair and sitting down.

She knew nothing about Elizabeth's past life. The author never revealed why Elizabeth became a villainess. Was it her family? Her environment? The mystery left her mind racing—until the sound of a plate being placed in front of her broke her thoughts.

"Here." Nora set the plate down with a warm, genuine smile. "We cooked all your favorites."

Her eyes flickered, a memory surfacing like a shadow from the depths of her mind—

A woman lay sprawled on the floor, surrounded by empty beer bottles. She wore a red dress, elegant but out of place in that cramped, shabby room. The door creaked open, and a man entered. He dragged the woman into another room, slamming the door behind him. Moments later came the sounds—muffled thuds, cries, the crash of glass.

A girl huddled inside a closet, hands pressed against her ears, whispering to herself. "Everything will be alright… Mom loves me… she loves me—"

Then the scene shifted: darkness. Rain poured down, soaking the black plastic bags she lay between. The sharp, rotting stench made her gag. Nearby, a voice spoke through the rain. "Now you're free."

"ELI!"

The sharp voice yanked Becky from the memory. Nora stood beside her, gripping her shoulders with visible concern. Her eyes darted between Becky's as if searching for answers.

"Are… are you alright?"

She met her gaze, as if she is calculating something hurriedly. With each passing second, her nails dug deeper into the fabric of her dress until her knuckles turned white.

"I… I'm fine," she said, lowering her gaze to her plate. She has done calculating.

Nora's face tightened with sorrow. Her lips moved soundlessly as if she wanted to ask more—Are you really alright?—but held back.

"I… see," she replied softly, returning to serve the others. Frederick and Alex remained silent observers.

The atmosphere had shifted. The hall, once lively, was now blanketed in an unnatural stillness. The servants moved quietly, heads lowered. Only the sound of utensils scraping against porcelain remained.

Frederick finished his meal first. Setting down his fork and knife with precision, he leaned back. "Now," he said, voice devoid of warmth, "tell me. What do you want this time?"

She thought for a moment, her heart steadying as she replied, "I want to attend today's ministerial meeting under your name."

The collective gasp was immediate.

Frederick's jaw tightened, his fists clenching until his knuckles turned bone-white. His eyes blazed with cold fury.

"Do you still consider me as your father?" he asked, voice sharp and cutting as his gaze bore into hers.

Alex stiffened, his brows knitting in disbelief. Even he hadn't expected his father to utter something so cruel.

Nora's heart sank. As if she feared both the question and the answer of it.