37T The Senior Employee Slapped the Intern in Front of the Whole Office… Not Knowing She Was the Chairwoman’s Daughter!

The wealthy woman froze the instant she saw the red crescent-shaped birthmark on the back of the boy’s neck. Her anger over the stolen handbag vanished, replaced by raw panic. She leaned close to the security guard, her voice low, shaking, and vicious. “Drag this child away. The girl too. Do not let them live.” The guard hesitated for half a second, but her terrified eyes forced him into action. He grabbed the boy by the collar and yanked him up from the sidewalk. The little girl screamed and wrapped both arms around the guard’s leg. “Please spare my brother! He was only trying to get some food for me! Please spare him… I’m not hungry anymore, I don’t need food anymore!” The boy cried too, trying to place his skinny body in front of his sister, but the wealthy woman rushed forward and clamped her hand over the little girl’s mouth. The guard covered the boy’s mouth and dragged both children toward the black car parked near the curb. The luxury handbag dropped onto the pavement, forgotten. The only thing the woman cared about now was making the two children disappear before anyone else noticed that birthmark. The muffled crying and violent struggle made the iron gate of the nearby mansion swing open. A wealthy man in his forties stepped out, his expression cold and disturbed by the commotion outside his home. He was the woman’s husband. He saw the chaotic scene at once: the guard dragging two poor children, his wife pale and trembling, several silent pedestrians frozen on the sidewalk, and the handbag lying on the ground. His eyes narrowed. “What is going on here?” he asked. The wife jolted as if she had been caught with blood on her hands. For one second, fear flashed across her face, but she quickly forced a crooked smile. “Nothing serious,” she stammered. “Just a couple of little thieves. I was going to take them to the police station.” But her voice shook too badly. The man did not answer. His gaze moved from his wife’s panicked face to the boy struggling in the guard’s grip. At that moment, the boy’s torn collar slipped lower, exposing the red crescent-shaped birthmark clearly on the back of his neck. The man stopped breathing. His face went pale. “That mark…” he whispered. “No… that’s impossible.” He strode forward and knocked the guard’s hand away from the boy. “Let him go.” His voice was not loud, but it was cold enough to make the guard release him instantly. The wealthy woman grabbed her husband’s arm in panic. “Don’t go near him! He’s a thief!” But the man did not listen. He knelt in front of the boy, his eyes still locked on the birthmark. “What is your name?” he asked, his voice trembling. The boy held his little sister close, scared and suspicious. “My… my name is Daniel,” he whispered. The name hit the man like a blade through the chest. He forced himself to ask the next question. “Where is your mother?” The boy lowered his head, tears cutting through the dirt on his face. “My mom died. When I was four years old, someone pushed me and my mother off a cliff. People from a nearby village rescued me… but my mother used her body to protect me, so she was hurt too badly. Before she died, she gave me a necklace. She said it was the only thing left from the man she had once loved.” With shaking fingers, the boy pulled out an old necklace from inside his torn shirt. There were no words on it, no hidden message, only a small scratched pendant worn down by time. The man took the necklace with trembling hands. The moment he saw it, his eyes turned red. He did not need any writing to recognize it. It was the necklace he had bought before leaving for an overseas business trip years ago, the same necklace he had placed around the neck of the woman he had loved more than anyone. Back then, when the tragedy happened, he had been abroad. The person who called him with the news was his current wife — at that time, only the close friend of the woman he loved, always pretending to help, always pretending to care. She told him that his lover and his little son had died in a traffic accident. When he rushed back home, the funeral had already been arranged and the coffins were sealed. She cried beside him, held him back, and insisted that he must not see their faces one last time, saying the bodies were too badly damaged and that seeing them would destroy him forever. For years, he believed that lie. But now the birthmark only his son had carried, the necklace he could never mistake, the boy’s story of being pushed off a cliff, and his wife’s terror at the sight of the child all joined together into one brutal truth. The man slowly stood, gripping the necklace so tightly his knuckles turned white. He turned toward his wife, his eyes burning with pain and fury. “You told me they died in a car accident,” he said, each word heavy and sharp. “But this boy says he and his mother were pushed off a cliff. He says he was rescued. That means when you arranged the funeral, you knew the truth was not a traffic accident.” The woman shook her head again and again, forcing tears onto her face. “I didn’t know… I only wanted to protect you from the pain…” He exploded: “No. You wanted to protect your place beside me.” Then he turned to the guard, his voice deadly calm. “Call the police. Tell them every word she just said. Especially the part where she ordered you not to let these children live.” The guard went pale and lowered his head, finally understanding the crime he had almost helped commit. The man pulled Daniel and the little girl close, taking off his coat and wrapping it around their trembling shoulders. Daniel stood frozen, not yet understanding why this wealthy stranger was crying while saying his name. The woman collapsed beside her designer handbag, her face twisted with fear. The camera tightened on her eyes as she realized everything was over: the false funeral, the fake car accident, the mother and child pushed off a cliff, and the murder order she had whispered in panic. The boy she had called a thief was not a stranger from the street. He was her husband’s son — the living proof she could no longer bury.