Chapter 4
Lunchtime.
There were still four people at the dining table.
I, Jace, my mom, and her dressed–up dopamine doll.
Luxurious gowns, exquisite jewelry, and high top hats.
Not haute couture, but high–top.
I looked at Hana, with eight layers of cake on her head as decoration, her face painted like a medieval ghost, and my sympathy was beyond measure.
From childhood to adulthood.
As an international film queen, Mom has always been dedicated to creating the most beautiful
dolls.
Unfortunately, I was mediocre in talent and carefree in nature, which always made her hesitate.
While Jace, with his exceptional talent, perfectly inherited the commanding presence of my father,
a financial tycoon, he learned to kill with his eyes from a very young age. Every time, he left my
mother defeated and frustrated.
But I know that even though my mom has been quiet, she never gave up. She has a whole bunch of
dolls, and she even ordered silicone dolls in my dad’s name.
This matter had once been involved in a scandal of the wealthy and powerful.
Snapping out of my thoughts, I looked at Hana, who was tightly bound around the waist and unable
to sit down, only able to eat while standing.
As she was sandwiching the dishes, the eight–layer cake on her head was on the verge of collapsing.
She lowered her head, and the lead powder on her face fell into the bowl.
Jace: “It’s not Christmas, so let’s not put up a Christmas tree.”
“Splash –”
I generally didn’t laugh unless I couldn’t help it.
My mother, upon hearing this, immediately became unhappy. “Isn’t the baby good–looking? It looks just like a doll…”
Chapter 4
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Her pair of peach blossom eyes blinked and blinked.
Jace: “The doll doesn’t need to breathe, but she was still almost suffocating.”
My mom felt guilty.
Looked at Hana with concern.
But I also didn’t know what Hana, whose face had turned purple from holding her breath, was thinking. Faced with my mom’s rare display of emotion, she forced herself to gather strength and managed to squeeze out a smile that was even more unattractive than crying, saying, “No, I’m
fine.”
“Don’t force it.”
I kindly reminded.
But she didn’t appreciate it, and she retorted, “You simply don’t understand. The love between parents and their daughter is as heavy as a mountain. The burden on me is not shackles, but the weight of my parents‘ love!”
After she finished speaking about her “heavy love,” a crisp “click” sounded in the air.
Hana’s expression twisted, and her body started shaking.
Finally, under the pressure of the eight–layer cake, the whole person fell backwards and made a deafening crash…
The following was a chaotic scene with people falling and horses flipping.
Indeed.
A parent’s love, heavy as a mountain.
