Arriving home, I was shocked once again.
This villa covering more than 200 square meters, am I really that rich?
So, am I a wealthy woman now?
Grabbing York, who was about to go upstairs, I asked, "Did I buy this place?"
York impatiently broke free from me, "If you're going to talk, just talk. Why are you grabbing me?"
Hey, how dare he talked to me like this.
I clung to his arm tightly and said, "Come on, let's see who's stronger, you or me."
York looked down at me and said, "How old are you? How childish are you?"
Me:...
I can't stay here, I'm going to run away from home!
York is reincarnated from a contrarian, he won't speak unless he's arguing with me.
It's a testament to my kindness that he's grown up unscathed.
But he did reveal some useful information.
He said that I'm a first-generation property owner, a landlord, and a beauty online celebrity.
He said that years ago I bought several properties, and thanks to my good eye, they were all taken for public use, the government compensated me with a substantial sum of money, allowing me to accumulate my first fortune.
Then I became obsessed with hoarding properties.
Now I own several properties and live off the rent.
At the same time, I post short videos teaching others how to apply makeup when I'm not busy.
I took a look at the personal homepage he showed me.
Wow, I have over a million followers!
So, here's the question.
"Where did I get the original funds to buy those houses?"
York glared at me, "You're asking me? I was just an embryo back then!"
I scratched my head awkwardly, that was indeed true.
"It couldn't have been your dad..."
York jumped to his feet.
He said coldly, "I don't have a father."
Ah, what a headache!
I haven't even figured out how to be a daughter, and now I'm suddenly a mother. It's really overwhelming!
York clearly has a poor relationship with his mother, that is, me.
And he's easily angered and impulsive, almost always ready to explode.
Although I'm thirty-four, in my mind, I've just gone through adolescence.
So I understand the reasons behind his personality.
To put it simply, I want to eat pears, but you insist on giving me apples.
Not only that, you want me to eat them without any complaints and with a smile on my face.
This psychological resistance makes him instinctively protect himself.
So, what should I do in this situation?
There are two methods.
First, use softness. With patience, even the hardest steel can be shaped by steady hands..
Second, confront. Either he will overpower me, or I will overpower him.
Specifically, what should I do?
I'll figure it out tomorrow, tonight I'm going to sleep.
Eighteen-year-old Anne needs to take care of thirty-four-year-old me.
Fact is, being a mother isn't easy.
In order to surprise my new son, I got up early to cook him some eggs, hoping to mend our fragile mother-son relationship.
Unfortunately, the eggs burned.
York frowned, unsure whether he was disgusted by the food or by me.
I hurriedly offered him a hundred-dollar note.
"Your Highness, shall we move downstairs for breakfast?"
York grunted and walked out.
Seeing me follow him, he glared at me, "What are you doing?"
I said pitifully, "I'm hungry too!"
At the breakfast place, York ordered a few dishes he liked and then asked me, "What will you have?"
I said, "The same as usual."
York looked blank and said, "You didn't use to eat breakfast."
That was awkward.
I promised, "Starting from now, I'll have breakfast with you every day."
York was taken aback: "What does that have to do with me?"
"Yes, yes, it has nothing to do with you. It's me, I want to change and start anew."
Though York said no with his words, his actions spoke differently, and the breakfast was unusually harmonious.
After breakfast, he went to school, and I went home to catch up on sleep.
Waking up without having to go to school was a wonderful feeling.
But before I could finish sleeping, I got a call from the school.
"Is this York's parent? He got into a fight at school and injured someone. Could you come here right away?"
I was stunned.
York? Fight? Parent?
What does this have to do with me?
Oh, right, I'm thirty-four years old, and I have a son named York.
My fighting spirit was instantly ignited.
But when the taxi driver asked me "Where to?" I was lost.
Right, which school does my son attend?
There was no other option but to ask Talisa for help.
"Honey, which school and class is my son in?"
As I asked this question, I could feel the driver's disapproving gaze.
I felt weak and helpless.
Talisa told me that York attends Nobel High School.
"My son is doing well!"
"… Shut up!" Talisa said irritably, "He wanted to go to Common High School, but you insisted on putting him in the Nobel. You two had a huge argument about it."
Common High School? That's my alma mater!
"Why?"
"You said it was to lay a foundation for his overseas studies."
"There should be a twist here."
Talisa scoffed: "But York doesn't want to go abroad at all!"
Talisa warned me to be more mindful and not to let things escalate between mother and son.
I was speechless too.
Am I so authoritarian as a parent?
Sigh, indeed, we eventually become the very thing we least want to be.
How sad, how lamentable!
