"Can I not decide to see my daughter whenever I wish?" Poppi said, her eyes flaring with anger.
Daisy wanted to scoff back cruelly, to tell her to her face that she was not her daughter—that her real mother had died, and Poppi was the cause of her death. But unfortunately, she couldn't, so she had to keep up her docile act.
"You know this is my workplace, and I cannot bear to lose this job. This is what feeds me and my poor husband since his salary from the construction site can barely cover anything," Daisy said helplessly. Poppi smirked with pride—how could Daisy even think she had grown wings earlier? No, it was definitely impossible; she had cut them off herself. Besides, Daisy's husband was no less than a beggar on the street. It seemed she was thinking too much earlier.
"Hmm, you're right," Poppi said smugly.
"I want you to create new building plans for me," Poppi said sternly, looking into Daisy's eyes, trying to intimidate her like she always did when Daisy was younger.
