She Maxed Out My Fortune, Then Ended Up in Handcuffs

After the divorce, I went abroad for two years. Before leaving, I gave my daughter an unlimited supplementary card to ensure she would never lack anything.

Every month, the card was maxed out. In just five days, she bought a villa. Three days later, a luxury car. Designer bags, shoes, watches—she never held back.

Whenever we videocalled, I felt relieved. It was a good thing, I thought, that my daughter knew how to enjoy life—at least she was spending my money.

Until three months ago, when I received a message alert:

She’d used the card to buy a box of condoms worth tens of thousands of dollars.

That was the first time I panicked. I immediately booked a ticket and flew back to China. I just wanted to remind her—gently—to protect herself.

But before I could even leave the airport, my phone rang.

"Hello, is this Ms. Vivian Blake?"

"This is the Ridgeport Police Department. Your daughter, Amanda, was arrested for working illegally. She's a minor. Please come to the station to pick her up."

I froze.

What did they just say? Working illegally? My daughter? That couldn't be right.

Even though Graham Wyatt and I divorced, I left Amanda with that card to cover everything—her tuition, her living expenses. She was one of the most pampered girls in Ridgeport. If she was ever short on money, she could easily sell the villa or the car.

How could she possibly need to work?

Just yesterday, I’d gotten a spending alert. She was still using the card.

——

I tried to convince myself it was a mistake. Maybe it was someone else with the same name. But the officer confirmed again, firmly:

“Her name is Amanda. Please come as soon as possible. Her condition isn’t good.”

When I got to the station, I saw a version of my daughter I could barely recognize.

She was pale and thin. Her hair was dull, her body trembling from hunger.

But what broke me most was the way she limped. Her right leg hung at an awkward angle—broken.

My princess. My Amanda.

She looked up at me with tears welling in her eyes, voice trembling with shame:

“Mom... I really couldn’t afford the tuition anymore. The teacher gave me three days. If I didn’t pay, I’d be expelled...”

Her words stabbed into me like knives. I struggled to hold back my tears.

“But Amanda... didn’t Mom leave you the card? Why didn’t you use it?”

She bit her lip, sobbing harder.

“Last time... Aunt Clarissa fell down the stairs. Dad said I pushed her.”

“He took the card away. Said it was compensation for Aunt Clarissa.”

Aunt Clarissa—Clarissa Hale—Graham’s mistress.

After the divorce, he brought her home and treated her like royalty.

The divorce agreement made one thing very clear: I didn’t care how he spoiled other women.

But if he dared lay a finger on my daughter—I'd fight him to the end.

Seeing Amanda in such pain shattered my heart.

I pulled her into my arms and whispered, “Don’t worry, baby. Mom won’t let anyone bully you and get away with it.”

I took out my phone and made a call. Five minutes later, a sleek black car pulled up in front of us.

A man in a suit stepped out and bowed respectfully.

“Miss, welcome back.”

“While you were away, your exhusband Graham took advantage of your absence. He seized multiple businesses under your name, claiming they were joint property from your marriage. And—”

“Continue,” I said coldly.

“Even the jewelry store you opened for Miss Amanda... He took it too.”

My expression turned to stone.

Everyone knew I had spent 17 years building that jewelry store—planning to gift it to my daughter on her 18th birthday.

But all it took was Clarissa saying she liked it, and Graham shamelessly found a way to snatch it away.

He must’ve forgotten—my daughter’s things aren’t so easy to take.

Just then, another message popped up: the supplementary card was maxed out again.

I sneered. “Call the bank. Freeze the secondary card. Actually—cancel it. I’ll apply for a new one.”

Ten minutes later, the assistant returned with a nod.

“It’s done. I’ll accompany you to the bank in half an hour to get a new card for Miss Amanda.”

I took the useless card, snapped it in half, and tossed it in the trash.

I rushed Amanda to the hospital for treatment.

But as I helped her settle into the hospital bed, she tugged nervously at the hem of my shirt.

“Mom... today’s the last day to pay tuition. The teacher said if I don’t pay, I’ll be expelled...”

I was about to comfort her, tell her not to worry, when I turned and saw a bruise on her neck. My expression darkened instantly.

“What’s this? Who hurt you?”

Amanda looked away, avoiding my gaze.

“I... I fell by accident.”

I asked again and again, but she refused to say more—just pulled the covers over her head and curled up into silence.

But the fear in her eyes said everything.

Something was very wrong.

That afternoon, I accompanied her to school to pay her tuition.

She was enrolled in the most expensive international school in Ridgeport. I’d been so impressed with the school’s environment that I even donated three entire buildings.

By all logic, this should’ve been a safe haven for her.

But the moment we stepped past the gates, Amanda shrank back, her shoulders tensing with visible fear.

Something—or someone—inside terrified her.

I approached the payment office.

“Hello, I’m Amanda’s parent. May I pay the tuition here?”

The staff didn’t even glance up, her tone impatient.

“Cut the small talk. Just pay.”

She gave me a onceover and muttered under her breath,

“Always the poor ones making trouble. Savannah, now she’s truly the daughter of Blake Enterprises—paid in full on day one. Not like some people who drag things out till the last minute and embarrass themselves.”

I froze.

“Who did you say is the daughter of Blake Enterprises?”

The woman huffed, clearly annoyed. She looked up and glared at me.

“Are you paying or not? Why are you asking so many questions?”

“People like you will never cross paths with the real Blake family anyway.”

My heart dropped.

I am the daughter of the Blake family. And Amanda is my only child.

There’s only one daughter of Blake Enterprises.

So where did this other daughter come from?

After paying the tuition, I had just stepped out of the office when a commotion in the corridor stopped me cold.

A small crowd had formed.

In the middle of it, a girl stood with an air of arrogance—flanked by a group of welldressed girls—mocking and jeering.

And there, cornered against the wall like a wounded bird, was my daughter.

Her face was streaked with tears, a red handprint burning on her cheek. She looked small, broken, and utterly alone.

"Didn’t I tell you to get lost?" the ringleader snapped, grabbing her collar. "You’ve got some nerve showing your face here."

"Believe it or not, I’ll beat you to death today!"

A few girls laughed cruelly and one even spat on her.

My daughter trembled, hands clutched against her chest, whispering through choked sobs.

“Please… don’t hit me. My mom’s here… Please…”

“Please me?” The leading girl laughed and raised her leg, pressing her shoe forward.

“Then lick my soles clean. Do that, and maybe I’ll let you crawl away.”

The others burst into laughter.

“Did you hear that? Our Miss Su is merciful.”

“You think you can compete with Savannah? You couldn’t even afford tuition—just drop out already!”

Two girls grabbed Amanda’s arms and tried to force her to her knees. Her face twisted in shame and fury, but she didn’t resist. She simply closed her eyes, defeated.

“Don’t make me slap you again,” Savannah snapped, lifting her hand high.

I moved.

In an instant, I seized her wrist midair—and with a sharp crack, slapped her across the face.

The corridor went silent.

“Whose child are you?” I hissed. “What kind of parents raise a little thug like you?”

“This is a school, not a gang hideout. Act like a human being.”

Savannah didn’t cower. She lifted her chin, eyes burning with disdain.

“Do you even know who I am?” she scoffed. “In Ridgeport, no one dares to lay a finger on me. You just slapped me—you’re dead. I’ll tell my dad and have you kicked out of this city.”

What a big mouth. I laughed coldly.

“Oh? And who is your dad?”

Before she could answer, I felt a tug on my sleeve. My daughter’s voice came in a whisper.

“Mom… her dad is… Dad. Graham Wyatt.”

Graham?

If Amanda hadn’t reminded me, I’d nearly forgotten that man even existed.

Savannah puffed her chest with pride.

“Now you get it? Go ask anyone—my dad adores me. You think you can touch me and walk away?”

That’s when the pieces finally fell into place.

In the two years I’d been abroad, Graham not only brought Clarissa and her daughter into our home—he raised Savannah like a princess… and erased my daughter like she never existed.

He made sure Clarissa’s child called him Dad.

And mine? He denied her in public, neglected her in private.

No wonder Savannah walked around as if she owned Ridgeport.

But what they all forgot… was that the Blake family is not to be trampled on.

I turned back to my daughter, helped her to her feet, and brushed the dirt from her clothes.

With gentleness in my voice, I asked, “Tell Mom—how many times did she slap you?”

Amanda trembled, eyes darting between the girls.

She hesitated.

“Don’t be scared,” I said, wrapping an arm around her. “Mom is here now. You’ll never be bullied again.”

She finally raised her head. “Six times…”

I nodded. Calm. Certain.

“Then slap her back—six times.”

Her eyes widened. “Mom, I… I don’t dare…”

I crouched beside her and looked at her in the eyes.

“There’s nothing to fear anymore. Anyone who tries to stop you—Mom will break their legs.”

The moment I rushed in, I finally understood how my daughter got those wounds.

For the past two years, I naively believed that Graham—her biological father—would at least protect her.

But I was wrong.

He wasn’t a father. He was a beast.

Not only did he turn his back on her—he let others humiliate her, torment her, treat her like trash.

But today, that ends.

Encouraged by me, Amanda slowly stood up. Her body trembled, but her gaze began to harden.

The group of girls backed off slightly, fear flickering across their faces—though they still tried to act tough.

"Amanda, you dare touch us?" one of them snapped.

"Don’t forget how pathetic you looked when we humiliated you. If you lay a hand on Savannah, her dad will skin you alive!"

At those words, my daughter faltered. She dropped her gaze. That name—Graham—still had power over her. Still made her feel worthless.

Seeing her hesitation, Savannah smirked.

"I knew you didn’t have the guts. Trash like you isn’t even worthy of carrying my shoes—"

Crack!

She didn’t finish her sentence before my hand connected with her face.

A clean, merciless slap.

"If your parents won’t teach you manners," I said coldly, "then allow me to do it for them."

I rolled up my sleeves and turned to my daughter.

“Watch carefully, Amanda. This is how you deal with people who bully you.”

They clearly forgot—when I was 18, I was a national State Kickboxing champion.

A few teenage girls? Please.

Every move I made was sharp, controlled, and devastating.

In less than five minutes, they were crying, scrambling, and on the floor—faces red, pride shattered.

I turned to my daughter.

"Amanda, come here. Show me who hit you. Every slap she gave you—you return it now."

With my support, my daughter finally stood tall. Her eyes burned with courage.

She walked straight up to Savannah, raised her hand, and—smack!

"Savannah, this is for slapping me earlier."

Smack!

"This one’s for pulling my chair and making me fall."

Smack!

"And this is for pushing me off the swing last semester."

Each strike was measured—not just revenge, but release.

As my daughter listed every cruel act they had inflicted on her, my vision blurred with unshed tears.

I never knew.

This was the life she’d been enduring while I was gone.

Suddenly—

“Stop this at once!”

A group of teachers came running in, their faces filled with panic.

“Are you insane?!” one of them shouted. “Do you know who you just hit?!”

Two of them hurried to help Savannah, who was wailing incoherently, her face swollen beyond recognition.

Whispers spread through the crowd. Teachers, students, even janitors had gathered.

Some gasped. Others just stared in disbelief.

“It’s over,” one muttered. “Call the principal—this is big.”

I stood there, arms crossed, utterly calm.

Let them panic.

They had all known what was happening.

They’d turned a blind eye, bowed to power, and let my daughter suffer.

One teacher scowled at Amanda.

“Amanda again! You’re always causing trouble. I’m expelling you right now!”

My daughter’s eyes widened in fear, and I immediately stepped in front of her.

“Touch her, and I’ll sue you so hard you won’t work in education again.”

I narrowed my eyes. “On what grounds do you expel her? What rule did she break?”

A teacher in glasses looked me up and down with disdain.

“Do you have any idea who Savannah is?” he scoffed. “You dared to lay a hand on her? Are you trying to die?”

“Her father is Graham, president of Blake Enterprises. He owns half of Ridgeport. He could crush you like an ant.”

"Her father donated three teaching buildings to our school," the teacher snapped, arms crossed. "Do you think someone from a rich family like that is someone you can afford to offend?"

I chuckled coldly.

“Oh? Since when did those three teaching buildings become his donation?”

The teacher snorted, looking at me like I’d just told the joke of the century.

"If not him, then who? You?"

I gave a calm nod.

"Yes. I did."

The teachers burst out laughing.

"Unbelievable—do you even hear yourself?"

"With what? Your daughter couldn’t even pay her tuition until today, and you expect us to believe you donated three entire buildings?"

Clearly, these were new hires. They weren’t around back then.

I raised my eyes and said coolly,

“Call your principal.”

The teachers exchanged glances but made no move. It was clear they didn’t believe me and assumed I was bluffing.

"Refusing, are we?" I pulled out my phone.

"Then I’ll call him myself."

I dialed. The call connected almost instantly.

“This is Vivian. I’m at your school. Come here—now.”

More laughter followed, and one teacher scoffed.

“Please, enough with the act. Do you really think the principal has time for your little drama?”

“Right? Why don’t you save yourself the embarrassment? Even your daughter’s watching.”

Another waved at the security guards.

“Escort them out.”

I raised a brow.

“Are you sure you want to do that?”

"You might want to think carefully. When your principal arrives, he just might expel all of you instead.”

“Get real. What a shameless woman. Still putting on a show after all that—”

“Stop it—right now!”

A voice cuts through the chaos.

Everyone froze as the principal came rushing down the corridor, redfaced and panting.

“Miss Blake! My deepest apologies—I didn’t know you were here. When did you return to the country? Why didn’t you let me know in advance?”

The hall went dead silent.

All eyes widened as the principal practically bowed before me.

The teachers who had just mocked me stood there, pale and dumbfounded.

“Wait… did he just say Miss Blake?”

“She’s the eldest daughter of the Blake Enterprises? The real one?”

“No way… could she really be the Blake family’s heiress?”

Even Savannah’s face drained of color.

“No… this can’t be. You’re lying!”

I didn’t even glance her way.

Instead, I looked at the principal, voice calm but laced with steel.

“I remember three years ago, you were just the teaching director. Do you remember who recommended you for promotion?”

The principal wiped the sweat from his forehead and bowed again.

“Of course I remember. If not for your endorsement, Miss Blake, I wouldn’t be standing here today.”

“You supported me when no one else did—I owe my career to you.”

I gave a small nod.

“Good. Then let me make myself clear.”

I motioned toward the girls huddled behind the teachers.

“I hit them. Because they’ve been bullying my daughter for over two years—with the school turning a blind eye.”

“I want justice. And if this school doesn’t resolve this properly, the Blake family will cut all donations. All funding. All investments.”

The principal bowed deeply.

“Understood, Miss Blake. I will handle it personally.”

And he did.

Within two hours, the arrogant teachers who mocked us were terminated.

Only then did they realize...

They’d bet on the wrong family.

The teachers, now jobless and disgraced, turned their anger elsewhere.

“It’s all Savannah’s fault!” one of them grumbled bitterly. “She’s not even the real daughter of the Blake Enterprises—just a counterfeit.”

“If it weren’t for her lies, we wouldn’t have lost our jobs!”

Less than half a day later, the principal returned with the surveillance footage.

Sure enough, the recordings from the past six months showed Savannah and her clique repeatedly bullying Amanda—shoving her, humiliating her, sabotaging her desk, even spilling food on her uniform.

There was no denying it now.

All the girls involved were expelled on the spot.

The principal turned to me carefully. “Miss Blake, are you satisfied with how the school handled the matter?”

I gave a cool nod.

“I am. But make sure it doesn’t happen again. Not just for my daughter—for any student. Strengthen your management. This school should protect its children.”

Meanwhile—

At an extravagant auction venue across town, Graham was releasing a sky lantern with Clarissa. He’d just purchased a diamond ring worth tens of millions.

At least, he thought he had.

When he handed over the black supplementary card, the payment failed.

Graham frowned. “What’s wrong with your machine? This is an unlimited card.”

The staff bowed nervously. “Sorry, sir. Let us try again.”

They switched out the POS device—twice. Still failed.

Clarissa’s voice rose sharply. “What kind of garbage equipment is this? I have an unlimited card! How could it be declined?”

“I want to speak to your organizer!”

The auction manager arrived quickly. They tried a different card—it worked.

“Mr. Wyatt, Miss Hale, the machine’s fine. Perhaps you could try another card?”

Clarissa’s face went pale. “Impossible…”

Graham, now sweating, called the bank.

The verdict was swift.

The supplementary card had been frozen.

Furious, Graham stormed out and headed straight to find his daughter.

When he saw her, his rage boiled over.

He didn’t hesitate—he slapped, kicked, and shouted.

“Amanda! Call your mother now! Why can’t the card be used? What the hell is going on?”

“Tell her to reissue it immediately! Aunt Clarissa still hasn’t bought the diamonds!”

I stood in the shadows, fists clenched, barely holding myself back.

Instead of reacting, I calmly raised my phone and captured the scene.

Then I sent the video directly to my father.

Me: Dad, your granddaughter was beaten and humiliated. Can you tolerate that?

Our Blake family isn’t just the wealthiest in Ridgeport—

We’re feared. And that fear starts with my father.

He once ruled this city with a name that sent chills down spines: Victor Blake.

His reply came seconds later.

Dad: Isn’t that bastard your exhusband? How dare he touch my granddaughter? I’ll destroy him. He’ll lose everything—his reputation, his businesses, his peace.