Groomed for 18 Years to Be a Mistress

I was the most valued heir in my family.

My parents were extremely strict in raising me.

At two years old, I had just learned to walk when they made me practice my posture on a balance beam until my feet were swollen, red, and bleeding.

At three, I practiced piano from dawn to dusk.

Miss a single note and they wouldn't give me food.

All year round, I had to wear black long sleeves and long pants.

Every night, I had to bathe in milk heated to 140 degrees Fahrenheit.

My meals were always boiled vegetables and chicken breast.

Even the length of my hair had to be precisely calculated.

Any violation of these rules would result in severe beatings and scolding.

In contrast, my twin sister Jennifer didn't have to do anything.

She could enjoy life to the fullest.

When I was suffocating under the pressure and vented online, one comment caught my attention.

"Do you know what a groomed companion is? Your family doesn't seem to be raising an heirit's more like they're grooming a mistress for some rich man."

My heart jumped. I quickly asked what he meant.

He explained at length:

"A groomed companion is a product customized to satisfy a wealthy person's preferences. He gives your parents money or other benefits, and they raise you according to his requirements to become exactly what he wants."

"When you come of age and meet his standards, you'll become the rich man's mistress."

I instinctively resisted accepting this, but thinking carefully, my sister and I were twins, yet our parents educated us completely differently.

For example, Mom bought Jennifer all kinds of pretty clothes, but always made me dress like a nun. She said:

"Claudia, this is for your own good. Your clothes are all silkthey guarantee your skin stays delicate and smooth."

Mom glanced at my sister with disdain. "Jennifer isn't like you. She's vulgar, she likes these flashy rough fabrics. She deserves the bumps they leave all over her skin."

I clutched the black clothes in my hands, not daring to make a sound.

Actually, I also wanted to wear pretty clothes like a normal little girl.

But whenever I brought it up, my parents would look severe.

"Claudia, we've spent so much effort raising you, and you're learning bad habits from others, only thinking about looking pretty. How disappointing!"

In middle school, after gym class, I secretly went to the school store and bought a bottle of cold soda.

When I got home, Dad found the empty bottle. He stormed to school, dragged me out of the classroom, and made me stand under the scorching sun as punishment for three hours.

Students passing by pointed and whispered about me.

I lowered my head in embarrassment, but Dad insisted I keep my neck straight.

He gripped my back and made me recite loudly with him: "I promise never to drink any beverage except water again, or may I die a horrible death."

I bit my teeth in grievance, tears welling in my eyes.

But Dad showed no mercy. "Say it!"

Like a wooden puppet, I stood stiffly under the sun, making that vicious oath over and over.

When school finally let out, Jennifer drank a big gulp of Coke in front of me, then poured the rest over my head.

The brown liquid soaked my hair and ran into my mouth.

She laughed mockingly: "Claudia, now that you've drunk a beverage, why aren't you dead yet?"

The ridicule and mockery around me crawled into my ears like poisonous snakes.

I clenched my fists hard, letting my fingernails dig into my palms.

Remembering every incident over the past eighteen years, my fingers flew across the keyboard.

"Please, how can I confirm whether or not I'm a groomed companion?"

The reply came quickly: "Rich men who keep mistresses don't want them too educated, and don't want them exposed to the public."

"If you do these two things and your parents react strangely, it means they have ulterior motives and aren't genuinely trying to help you."

From elementary school until now, Dad always insisted teachers seat me in the very back row of the classroom.

I constantly squinted to see the board, and before long I became nearsighted.

When I carefully told my parents about this, they refused to get me glasses or take me for laser surgery.

Instead, they said: "If you really can't see, you don't have to go to school. I never wanted you poisoned by school education anyway. After the SAT, we'll send you straight to Europethat's where you'll learn real skills."

In the end, I insisted on attending school, so they didn't process my withdrawal.

Thinking of this, I walked into Dad's study.

He was in an unexpectedly good mood, looking up from his documents. "Claudia, what is it?"

I asked: "You mentioned sending me abroad to study before. The SAT is in a monthhave you found a school yet?"

Dad was clearly stunned, as if he'd completely forgotten about it.

Recovering, he forced a relaxed laugh. "Claudia, there's no rush. Your SAT scores aren't out yet, so it's pointless for me to look now."

"Don't worry. Once the scores come in, Dad will definitely find you a good school."

He enthusiastically ushered me out, but my heart felt cold.

I'd decided to study abroad long ago. If Dad truly had plans for my future, he wouldn't be this flustered when asked about studying abroad, much less completely clueless.

They'd deliberately held me back academically for over a decade. If I did poorly on the SAT and couldn't study abroad...

An heir turned into a useless person would become everyone's laughingstock.

Having gotten my answer, I walked to school in a daze.

While running on the track, I suddenly heard screaming ahead.

Getting closer, I saw a classmate from class had fallen and broken open their head and arm.

The homeroom teacher looked anxious. "Bob has hemophilia. The wound won't stop bleeding. This is very critical."

Everyone wore shorts and short sleeves in summeronly I had more coverage.

I immediately took out the small knife I carried and cut off both pant legs.

"Tie them tight to stop the bleeding first. Stay here and wait for the school nurse."

My long pants became shorts, exposing two legs so pale they were almost blinding.

Someone said in surprise: "Claudia, your legs are so beautiful. Why don't you ever wear skirts?"

I smiled awkwardly without answering.

But immediately, she understood why.

As soon as Bob was carried away, Mom rushed over.

Without a word, she slapped me across the face.

"Claudia Morrison, how can you be so shameless, so cheap? Do you need everyone to see your body to be satisfied?"

Someone tried to explain: "Ma'am, Claudia only did it to save someone..."

One slap wasn't enough for Mom. She grabbed my hair and violently threw me to the ground.

"Claudia, you've really grown bold, even teaching others to speak up for you. Who is she? Is she your friend? Didn't I tell you not to make friends!"

"You little slut, I'll beat you to death today!"

Mom first wrapped my legs tightly with her jacket, then slaps rained down like hail.

Feeling my burning cheeks and the numbness spreading across my back, I was finally certainmy parents didn't love me. Not at all.

I could never be the Morrison family heir.

After my own mother called me cheap in front of my classmates, I covered my face and fled.

Back home, my mind was in chaos. What benefits had my parents received to cruelly sell their own daughter?

If I really was a groomed companion, who had reserved me?

Was it one of Dad's two friends, or some corporate CEO?

Lost in thought, my head gradually grew heavy. I realized something was wrongthere was something in the water Dad had given me earlier!

When I woke again, I found myself on a theater stage with all the Morrison family relatives sitting below.

Mom held a white dress, smiling as she walked toward me.

"Claudia, I was too impulsive at school yesterday. I apologize. If you'll forgive me, put on this white dress and dance for everyone, okay?"

I clutched my sleeve, looking up at the bright spotlight overhead, extremely uncomfortable.

The relatives below looked at me like I was an exquisite commodity.

"Claudia, your mother worked so hard raising you all these years. Just dance for everyone so we can see the results. Don't embarrass your mother in front of all these people."

"That's right. Claudia is the Morrison family heir. Your sister was sacrificed to achieve what you are today. Be generous about it, don't be difficult."

Mom moved a high-definition camera in front of me, her smile eerily strange.

The camera's red light blinked in the dim seating area, particularly glaring.

I felt like I was being dissected for everyone's viewing pleasure, every inch of skin, every movement exposed with nowhere to hide.

Under dozens of watching eyes, I panicked and tried to flee.

"No, I won't dance. I want to leave."

Mom reached out. Years of malnutrition made me easy preyshe caught me effortlessly.

"Claudia, this camera is for recording your competition video. Why are you so resistant to it?"

"Listen to Mom. Come back and put on this white dress."

Mom's smile grew even warmer. To outsiders, she looked like a devoted mother planning for her daughter's future.

My scalp prickled with fear.

"No, you're lying. The video is clearly being recorded for that person. I won't let you manipulate me!"

The moment I finished speaking, Mom's smile vanished and her expression turned cold.

"Claudia, I'm warning youTake care of yourself. If you don't dance today, you'll never leave this place!"

She clapped her hands. Immediately, two rows of bodyguards rushed out from backstage, ready to drag me away and lock me up.

I had no choice. Humiliated, I put on the custom-made tight white dress.

Since childhood, my pants had never shown my ankles.

But now this dress was so short it nearly exposed the lace on my safety shorts.

I bit my teeth and struggled to stand on tiptoe, dancing before the camera.

Mom harshly stopped the music. "Smile! Why do you look like a corpse!"

The video finally finished. The relatives applauded half-heartedly with occasional compliments.

But most of their comments were about my lotus-white legs.

I fled the scene in shame and cried hard in my bedroom.

My phone vibrated. The anonymous user had sent another message.

"Girl, you're turning eighteen this year, right? Your birthday is the delivery date. To cover their tracks, something will definitely happen. Be careful."

I stumbled out of bed and grabbed the calendar from my desk.

A certain date was circled in red pen.

My eighteenth birthday was tomorrow!

No, I couldn't just sit and wait.

I packed my documents, planning to escape from home. Looking down from the second floor, I saw bodyguards on patrol everywhere.

My sister was leisurely eating watermelon and teasing them: "Are you all here to guard that sickly thing? Makes senseshe's the Morrison family heir, precious as gold."

After her taunts, the bodyguards wouldn't engage with her. I couldn't find any opening.

I opened my bedroom door to check the situation when Dad suddenly appeared from outside, right in front of me.

"Claudia, where are you going this late?"

His voice was deep, making my heart tighten.

"Nowhere, just getting some fresh air."

His lips curved slightly in a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"You can get fresh air on your room's balcony just as well."

With no other options, I retreated back inside and reopened the post I'd made earlier to continue editing.

"I'm Claudia of the Morrison family. My parents have imprisoned me and seem to have sinister intentions. Tomorrow I'll livestream everything. If the situation looks wrong, please help me call the police!"

I paid to boost the post. Comments immediately started refreshing.

"Claudia? The Claudia who was designated heir at just 100 days old? Your parents treat you so wellwhat could possibly happen? Stop wasting our time."

I ignored the sarcastic comments and kept scrolling.

"If you think you're in danger, why not call the police now?"

I quickly replied: "It won't work. I don't know what will happen tomorrow. Even if I report it now, they won't admit anything."

The wealthy family secrets attracted many onlookers.

Most came to watch the drama, hoping the livestream would proceed.

"Girl, don't worry. We've got your back."

After posting, I attached an inconspicuous camera to the skin on my wrist.

I connected remote AI glasses to my phone's livestream screen.

To prevent being drugged unconscious again, I got fully dressed at midnight and started the livestream.

Recording video on a phone could be destroyed, but people appearing in a livestream would be recorded for real.

With so many witnesses, all criminal activity would have nowhere to hide.

This time, I would find out who had reserved me as a groomed companion!

Right after finishing these preparations, I grew drowsy and fell asleep again.

When I woke, I was bound hand and foot in an abandoned warehouse, surrounded by three masked men in black.

Among a flood of "Holy shit, something really happened, already called police" comments, I found the anonymous user's comment.

"Girl, this is a hero-saves-beauty setup. The kidnapping isn't the goalwatch out for whoever comes to rescue you."

"He'll use his position as your savior to make you repay him. In the eyes of the world, he'll successfully turn you into a mistress who's willing to throw herself at him."

My breathing quickened with the content of this comment.

Listening to my drumming heartbeat, I waited quietly for that person to arrive.

The kidnapper took a phone call, then raised his club to swing at my head.

At the critical moment, the door burst open and a familiar face appeared.

The person who had reserved me for eighteen years, who'd treated me like a commodityit was actually him!