Chapter 16
Such a selfish man as Azazel would never look for fault in himself.
Finding himself in this situation, he would only blame Rebecca.
The day after his arrest, he escaped. Instead of fleeing, he found Rebecca and stabbed her to death in a rage.
When my father discovered Azazel was the one who had arranged my assault, he was furious. He wanted to break into the prison and tear Azazel to pieces, angry that I hadn’t told him before.
I smiled and stopped him. “Dad, he’s not worth your effort.”
Then I whispered something in his ear that made him laugh heartily, abandoning the idea of handling it personally.
Through my father’s influence, Azazel’s death sentence was commuted to life
imprisonment. After all, letting him die so easily would have been too merciful.
Then, following my suggestion, my father arranged for Azazel to have some very special cellmates–one who had a preference for men, another who enjoyed dominance games, and
a third with violent tendencies who liked to humiliate others.
My father gave money to their families, ensuring that during visits they would instruct their relatives to “take good care” of Azazel, guaranteeing he would have a very “eventful” life in
prison.
Afterward, I never married. Instead, I joined my father’s company and learned the business.
་ འ བ་
My father often patted my shoulder approvingly: “Daughter, I feel secure leaving my business empire in your hands. Men can’t be trusted–fortunately, you have the talent for
this.”
Though he said this, he still worried I might be lonely and continued trying to find men to marry into our family for my entertainment.
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Seven Years of Obsession: Now I Don’t Even Remember Your Name
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Chapter 16
The line of men waiting for interviews stretched from our home to the company, but I rejected them all.
Eventually, my father gave up on matchmaking and instead hired charming male models to keep me company, rotating them regularly.
No emotional attachments, just pleasant company that money could buy. This time, I didn’t
refuse.
At thirty–two, I suddenly wanted a child. I went to a sperm bank, selected a donor, and after nine months, gave birth to a daughter who belonged only to me. She looked very much like
I did as a child.
Seeing that I had taken over the company, my father retired to help raise my daughter. He adored his granddaughter.
When I tried to suggest he shouldn’t spoil her so much, he wouldn’t listen. “I raised you to be proud and strong, yet in a moment when I wasn’t paying attention, you still suffered. My granddaughter needs to be even more cherished–she must never experience what you did.”
When my daughter was two, half–asleep one night and nestled in my arms, she said:
“Mommy, I actually met you a very, very long time ago.”
Amused, I asked, “How long ago was that?”
She whispered, “I don’t remember clearly. I just remember Mommy saying you were afraid I’d be born without a butthole, so I should come find you in a few years. Mommy, what
does ‘without a butthole‘ mean?”
She blinked her innocent eyes, looking up at me.
I laughed awkwardly. “Time to sleep now, little one. Grow up quickly!”
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