Chapter 600 Shattered Bonds

“Tilda… I–I mean it. I’m not just saying this. You truly are a daughter I’m proud of—someone I can be honored to call mine!”

Russell tried to explain, but Tilda cut him off without mercy.

“I mean it? Daughter? Don’t make me sick! I cut ties with you a long time ago! Anyone else in this world can use the words ‘proud’ and ‘honored’—but not a scumbag like you!”

“Oh, that’s right, Russell. Of course, you’re being sincere now. Because I’m famous, because I’ve proven myself. That’s the only reason you brag about me being your daughter, about me carrying your blood. You’re just feeding that pathetic pride of yours by clinging to my success and my status!”

Tilda’s voice cut deep, every word like a blade. “Russell, how can a man be this shameless? Take a good look at yourself. Back when I was first brought home, I was a nobody that hadn’t made a reputation for myself. How did you treat me? And now you put on this fatherly act just to brag about me? Don’t make me sick!”

Every word felt like a knife twisting in Russell’s chest.

What hurt most were her eyes—dark, bottomless, and cold as stone.

When Tilda gave him that look, it felt as if she could see through his soul, even the parts he didn’t know existed.

His lips went pale. They trembled as he tried to form words. “I–I’m not like that, Tilda. For everything I did before, I’m truly sorry. I know I was wrong. I want to make it right. I want to change.”

Tilda’s response came sharp and fast. “Then why didn’t you tell me that when I first came home? Back when I was just Tilda—your daughter who had been missing for nineteen years—why didn’t you do this? Wasn’t it then, when I was the one that you needed to compensate the most? If it hadn’t been for your mistakes, I never would’ve been lost in the first place. Nineteen years! I lived as an orphan for nineteen years! You swore you’d do everything to bring me home. When you finally did, why did you toss me aside? You gave me hope, only to crush me with even greater despair!”

“And let’s not forget—after I left, you, Russell, kept pushing me. Again and again you pressured me, hurt me, and misunderstood me. Some of it the world already knows. The rest—you know exactly what you did.”

At those words, Malcom and Owen felt their stomachs drop.

Malcom’s eyes grew darker, his thoughts turning as he studied Tilda.

His gaze was sharp, filled with calculation, weighing her not with warmth, but with profit.

Ashby, meanwhile, wanted to kick himself.

If he had known this was the truth, he never would’ve dragged Malcom here to see Russell. Now that they had learned all of this, how could they ever sit down and share drinks with Russell again?

Tilda didn’t care what Malcom and Ashby thought. If they were here, fine—let them watch. Let them see what kind of twisted hypocrite their friend really was.

“Now you say you know you were wrong. Now you feel guilty and want to make amends?” Her voice was flat and cold. “If I were still that weak, useless girl who only tried to please you, would you say those things to me?”

“You’d probably hoped for me to die the second I left home. You’d be praying that this shameful failure who embarrassed your family would disappear. Or that you’d just forget her.”

Each word hit like a storm. There was iron in her tone. It crushed the air between them.

Russell felt his heart stop.

A new kind of grief flooded him. He didn’t know what to do.

He clenched his fists and bowed his head. He let Tilda pour out years of anger.

His nails dug into his palms until blood appeared.

He didn’t notice the pain.

The ache in his chest was far worse than the pain he endured physically.

Tilda was right about everything.

Back then, Russell was certain Tilda wouldn’t survive once she cut ties with the Jensons. In his mind, she had no chance on her own. Either she would crash and burn, or this was just some ploy—her way of forcing him to bow his head and beg her to return. He told himself that if he begged her to come home, he would give Tilda more say in the family.

He dismissed her as a dreamer. He sneered at her rebellion, calling it nothing more than a spoiled habit he refused to indulge. Even if Tilda walked away, Russell believed he already had the perfect daughter in Kyla.

Tilda had never truly mattered to him. If she kept quiet and caused no trouble, he figured he could throw her a slice of the family fortune—enough to keep her comfortable for life. But if she refused to obey, if she kept fighting back, then she would get nothing. Not the Jensons’ name. Not the title of daughter. Nothing but the gutter. He had even told himself she could go dig through trash if that was what she chose.

In Russell’s mind, this was generosity. He believed he was the forgiving father, merciful enough to leave her something despite her defiance. Even now, humiliated by her words, he thought offering her money was a grand gesture. What he never understood was that the inheritance he clung to—so dazzling in the eyes of outsiders—was nothing to Tilda. To her, it was nothing.