My Own Father Destroyed My Dream of Getting into Top Universit

At the banquet celebrating the student my father sponsored getting into a prestigious graduate program, my aunt drank too much and let the truth slip.

It's all because Professor Swanson is capable, she slurred, her voice carrying across the table. Charlotte was short by nine points, and he still found a way to get her into Yanda University.

I froze, certain my aunt was joking.

"Auntie, my dad is a man of integrity. When I was short by a single point, he refused to pull any strings for me. How could he possibly break the rules for someone else? Charlotte must have gotten in on her own merit."

My disbelief only agitated her more. She shook off her daughter's desperate grip on her sleeve.

"How is it not true? Charlotte scored a 679. Nine points below the cutoff for the math department. Professor Swanson even declared he'd take Charlotte on as his personal graduate student." Her eyes narrowed at me. "Aren't you Professor Swanson's daughter? Why didn't *you* go to Yanda?"

My head turned slowly toward my parents.

My mother's gaze skittered away, guilt written plainly across her face. "Isabella... Charlotte's family situation is difficult. If she didn't get into Yanda, she wouldn't have been able to handle the blow."

"But you?" A sigh. "You won't do. We have to avoid suspicion. People would talk."

The tears came instantly, spilling over no matter how furiously I wiped at them.

"I understand." My voice cracked. "So being your daughter means you can't participate in my future at all."

The chair scraped harshly against the floor as I stood. "Fine. Then I won't be your daughter anymore. That way, you won't have to rack your brains trying to 'avoid suspicion.'"

Another second in that room would have suffocated me. I turned on my heel and marched toward the exit.

Two steps. That's all I managed before my father's voice boomed behind me.

"Charlotte will be my student. As my daughter, if you walk out now, you are publicly declaring your dissatisfaction with her! Do you have any idea how that will impact her reputation?"

I stopped.

Looked back at him.

He hadn't heard a single word I said. Or maybe he had, and he simply didn't care. His only concern was that my departure might tarnish the reputation of his precious sponsored student.

My mother rushed over, fingers closing around my arm like a vise. "Leaving in the middle of the banquet? Where are your manners? Today, even if the sky falls, you sit there until this banquet ends!"

Before I could react, relatives swarmed in, pressing me back down into my seat.

The anger I had been suppressing detonated.

I stood, grabbed the edge of the round table, and flipped it.

*CRASH.*

Plates, glasses, expensive dishesall of it shattered against the floor. The deafening noise silenced the entire hall.

I stared straight at my father.

"She was short by nine points, and you called in every favor to get her into Yanda." My voice shook. "But what about me? I was short by *one point*. Fine, maybe I wasn't skilled enough then. So I worked myself to the bone. I took the graduate entrance exam. I had the highest written score. I was the most outstanding candidate in the interviews. I had the most awards."

One step toward him. Then another.

"But the advisor I chose told me *you* didn't want me at Yanda."

"Tell mewhy did you do that to me?"

My composure shattered. Tears streamed down my face, hot and humiliating. I was a mess.

I didn't care.

*Smack.*

The force of the slap snapped my head to the side. My cheek burned.

"This is outrageous!" my father roared. "Apologize to Charlotte immediately!"

Charlotte's mother slapped her thigh, wailing theatrically. "Professor Swanson paid good money for this banquet! Even if you don't care about face, you shouldn't waste food!"

I touched my stinging cheek.

A cold, hollow laugh escaped me.

"My business failed, and I owed money. I asked you for a loan, and you said you didn't have any." I gestured at the ruined banquet. "Turns out, the money was all here."

When I got into school, they refused to hold a celebration, claiming it was "too flashy." Yet for an outsider, they booked eighty-eight tables in our hometown just to keep up appearances.

"Since you care about her so much, let her be your daughter." The words came out ice-cold. "From now on, unless one of us is dying, don't contact me."

I shoved past the stunned relatives and stormed out.

My father's face had turned a dark, bruised purple. He hadn't expected me to humiliate him so publicly.

My phone rang incessantly as I walked away. I couldn't hang up fast enough, so I switched it off completely.

I bought the next flight out. Only when I was safely back in my apartment did I turn my phone on again.

My phone nearly froze from the barrage of missed calls and notifications.

The first message was from Mom.

*You were excessive today. We raised Charlotte like our own. It hasn't been easy for her. You don't understand. We just hope she has a better lifeis that wrong?*

I scrolled down to Dad's message.

*Charlotte isn't like you. She's sensitive. Yanda was her life's goal. When she thought she didn't get in, she was suicidal. I couldn't just stand by! You made a huge scene todayhow is she supposed to face people now? Apologize to her immediately!*

I didn't bother reading the rest. I deleted the thread.

Another call came in. I meant to decline, but my thumb slipped.

"Isabella, your mom says you want to cut ties with the family?"

Uncle Tyler.

"Mm." Noncommittal.

"I'm not trying to lecture you," he started, his tone already patronizing, "but you're being ungrateful. Your parents worked hard to raise you, and now you want to disown them?"

He launched into a monologue about my parents' hardships. "Your dad just thought that girl was pitiful. There's no need to take it this far, is there?"

The city lights blurred beyond my window. I stayed silent.

"Isabella?"

"Uncle Tyler." My voice came out soft. "Since I was little, my dream was Yanda University."

"We all know that..."

"Back then, I missed the cutoff by one point. I begged Dad for help. He's been at Yanda his whole lifegetting me in would have been trivial. He told me he despised people who used connections."

Silence on the other end.

"But Charlotte got in. Nine points short, and she got in." A dry laugh scraped my throat. "With me, it's about integrity. With someone else, it's charity. Uncle Tyler, I'm his daughter, so I have to 'avoid suspicion.' Does the student he sponsors not need to avoid suspicion? It's a double standard."

Dad sponsored several students, but none received the investment or effort Charlotte did. To the world, he was the benevolent "Papa Swanson."

To me, he was barely a father at all.

"Your dad is doing good deeds," Tyler stammered. "You shouldn't argue over..."

"Uncle Tyler." My head was pounding. "Last year, I passed Yanda's graduate written exam. My interview scores were stellar. I was practically guaranteed a spot."

"But I didn't get in. Do you know why?"

"Why?"

"Because my father personally went to the admissions office to block me. He thought if I got into Yanda, people would say I used his connections."

I let the words hang there.

"Charlotte was hand-picked as his graduate student. Don't you find that funny?"

Dead silence.

After a long moment, Tyler spoke again, his voice subdued. "Try to understand him. He's a renowned professor. If his sponsored student failed to get into his own university, he'd lose face."

The anger flared white-hot in my chest.

"Am I not enough to give him face?" I demanded. "I've been first in my class since childhood. I've won so many awards my hands are tired of holding them. Why must I be sacrificed for his reputation? Why is it that to avoid suspicion, I can't go to the school I love?"

"Why should we wrong our own flesh and blood for an outsider?"

My voice went cold as steel. "Tell them this. I will fulfill my legal obligation to support them financially in their old age. But that is where it ends. Just money. No family."

The breathing on the other end of the line changed.

Victor Swanson.

He had been listening the entire time. Now, realizing I wasn't going to back down, he couldn't stay silent.

His tone was as lofty and arrogant as ever. "Do you still not realize you are wrong?"

I scoffed. "You have moneywhy didn't you lend it to me when I was desperate?"

"You"

"Eighty-eight tables. Fifteen hundred to two thousand dollars a table. You have a fortune to help her show off, but not a dime to help your daughter in an emergency."

True to his professorial nature, Victor remained infuriatingly calm. "That is my money. I have the right to dispose of it as I see fit."

"I know." My grip tightened on the phone. "It's your money, your connections. Use them on whoever you want."

A breath. Steadying.

"Then how I use my future money and my time is also my business."

I hung up and turned off the phone.

Finally, the world was quiet.

...

In the adult world, there is no time for self-pity.

After being blocked from Yanda, I went to another grad school. Unwilling to settle, I tried starting a business with friends. Predictably, it failed, leaving me with several hundred thousand dollars in debt.

I had tried to borrow from my parents, but they preferred throwing banquets for strangers.

I was on my own.

I moved into the graduate dorms at my university. A cramped double room, inconvenient and loud, but I only had to pay utilities. It saved me a fortune in rent.

Without my parents, I would still pay off this debt.

Despite the business failure, I had built a network. Outsourced projects started coming in. The profit margins were decent.

I became a machine.

Intense schoolwork and freelance projects blurred together. I woke up working and collapsed into bed working. Even in the shower, my mind raced with data models and code.

My mother, unable to reach me by phone, eventually ambushed me at the school gate. She brought Aunt Lucy as a mediator.

"Isabella, why are you living in a dorm?" Mom's eyes swept over my tired face. "You hate living with other people. Why did you give up your apartment?"

I checked the time on my phone. Twenty minutes until my meeting.

"Because I can't afford rent. The dorm is free aside from utilities."

Her eyes reddened.

Aunt Lucy chimed in. "Isabella, you and your parents need to talk this out..."

"Talk about what?" I snapped. "Aren't I doing exactly what they wanted? I'm avoiding suspicion. Mom, you shouldn't be seen here. People might say I used connections to get into this school, and we wouldn't want to smear Professor Swanson's reputation, would we?"

I brushed past them and ran for the bus.

If I missed this one, I'd have to take a taxi. Until my debt was paid, every penny had to be spent with surgical precision.

A shout rang out.

"Watch out!"

*BANG.*

An electric scooter whipped around a blind corner and slammed into me.

Instinctively, I curled around my laptop bag, taking the brunt of the impact. The pavement rushed up. I rolled.

My laptop was safe.

Fire shot up my left leg. My ankletwisted. The pain so sharp I couldn't stand.

"Daughter! Are you okay? Don't move!" Mom screamed, rushing over. "I'm calling an ambulance! Youwatch where you're going!"

I gritted my teeth against the agony. "Give me the phone first. I need to send the files for the meeting."

My phone had skidded across the ground when I fell. Mom snatched it up before I could reach it.

"At a time like this, you're thinking about work? About money?" She glared at me, trembling with indignation. "Is money more important than your life?!"

She held my phone out of reach and ended the call.

My voice cracked, raw and ragged.

"Because I'm *drowning* in debt! Because my parents would rather throw a lavish banquet for a stranger than lend their own daughter a single cent!"

The words ripped out of me, each one a blade. "What choice do I have except working myself to death?" I thrust my hand out, palm up. "Give me the phone."

The outburst stunned Mom into silence. Aunt Lucy fumbled, snatching the phone from Mom's frozen grip and shoving it into my hand.

I dialed back immediately.

A brief, humiliating explanation. Then I hung up and planted my feet, waiting.

The woman on the electric scooter glanced between usme, rigid with fury; Mom, pale and mute. She read the room. Without a word, she transferred me a thousand dollars and patted my shoulder. One pitying look at Mom, and she drove away.

Nothing needed to be said.

The silence said everything.

Mom's face burned crimson. Shame. *Finally.*

She stayed, hovering on the roadside until my ride arrived. But old habits die hard.

"Isabella, your priority right now is your studies. Once you finish your master's, you'll have your pick of"

I pulled up my call log and shoved the screen in her face.

"I get at least a dozen debt collection calls a day." The numbers glowed, accusing. "Do you really think I can study with this noose around my neck?" I pocketed the phone. "I'm not asking for your help anymore. Just stop interfering with my work."

Her lips parted. Dry. Brittle. "Isabella... do you hate us?"

I looked her dead in the eye.

"I'm just disappointed."

She left in a daze, like she'd been slapped.

---

Not long after, Dad appeared on the local news.

Charlotte Fox was on screen, choking back tears, thanking him. Calling him her "second father."

Dad dabbed at his eyes, playing the benevolent mentor to perfection.

I watched with hollow eyes. Then I turned off the TV and threw myself back into the grind.

---

My last project paid out fifty thousand dollars. The noose loosenedjust a little.

The cash injection was gasoline on a fire. I worked with renewed fervor. If I could have split every minute in two, I would have.

A few days later, a notification lit up my phone.

Mom had transferred eighty thousand dollars.

I stared at it for a long time.

*Pride says send it back. Reality says take it.*

I needed money. Desperately.

I accepted the transfer. Then I wrote a formal IOU and mailed it to her.

Her call came immediately.

"Isabella, that money is a gift. Keep it. There's no need for"

"We need to keep the accounts clear." My voice was flat. "I will pay you back."

A sigh. She knew she couldn't win this one. So she pivoted.

"Charlotte feels terrible. She thinks she's the reason your relationship with your father is strained. She wants to apologize in person. Can you make time for a meal?"

Eighty thousand dollars sat in my account. The refusal died in my throat.

A transaction. Take the money, endure the dinner.

"Fine. Send me the time and address."

---

I rearranged my schedule and took a taxi to the restaurant.

But when I pushed open the private room door, my stomach dropped.

Dad sat at the head of the table, relaxed and authoritative. Beside himUncle Tyler. My second aunt.

My gaze cut to Mom.

She ducked her head, avoiding me, but her hand clamped around my wrist and dragged me to a chair.

"Sit," she whispered.

Silence descended like a wet blanket. The air thickened, suffocating.

Charlotte stood, raising her glass to break the tension.

"Isabella... the Professor helped me because he didn't want to hurt you, not because he favors me. The culprit here is me. I've let you down."

She lifted the wine to her lips.

Dad reached out and stopped her hand. Then he turned to me.

That look.

The familiar, crushing disappointmentthe look one gives a piece of iron that refuses to become steel.

"Look how sensible Charlotte is," he said, his voice dripping with comparison. "Unlike youthrowing tantrums at the drop of a hat. We'll let it go this time. But in the future, you need to help Charlotte more. She's from a small town. She isn't used to city life."

Mom chimed in, echoing the sentiment. She rambled on about Charlotte's hard life, her grit, her success against all odds.

A dry, humorless laugh escaped my throat.

I reached into my bag, pulled out the official suspension notice, and slapped it onto the rotating glass table.

"I'm not doing so great either." My voice was steady. "The university forced me out. Since we're handing out pityhow about you spare some for me?"

Dad's gaze snapped to the paper. His finger, pointing at the bold **SUSPENDED** stamp, began to tremble. Rage flooded his face.

His palm slammed the table. He shot to his feet.

"It wasn't enough that you threw a fit and stopped coming home? Now you've *quit school*?!" Spittle flew. "Even if it isn't Yanda, it's still a top-tier university! How dare you waste it!"

"I didn't have a choice." I stayed seated. "My parents had plenty of money to host a gala for a stranger but nothing to lend me when I was drowning. I fell behind on tuition. On credits. Suspension was the only option."

I leaned forward, mocking. "I'm so pitiful, Dad. Why don't *you* help me?"

"I really don't get it." My voice dropped, quiet and dangerous. "You pour your heart and soul into an outsider, yet you're ruthless to your own flesh and blood."

"I used to think you were a man of integrity. Rigid, but fair." A sneer twisted my lips. "But after watching what you did for Charlotte Fox, I realized the truth. My father isn't noble. He's just a politician playing a game."

I had figured out his angle a long time ago.

Dad was up for full professorship next year. He'd failed the evaluation multiple times. Yanda was shark-infested waterstalent everywhere, his credentials merely average. He needed an edge. He needed *hype*.

What generated more "positive energy" than a heartwarming story? The noble professor sponsors a poor studentwho then gets into the very university where he teaches.

At such a critical juncture, he couldn't afford to let *me* get into Yanda. People might whisper. They might say he pulled strings for his daughter, tainting his "impartial" reputation.

But I could have passed that entrance exam on my own merit.

In his grand scheme, he got the fame. Charlotte got the benefits.

And I?

I was the sacrificial lamb. Played like a fool.

Now suspended. Drowning in debt.

Exhaustion seeped into my bones. "If you want to avoid suspicion so badly, let's make it permanent."

My gaze hardened. "From today on, act like you don't have a daughter."