He thought he’d guided the conversation naturally with a leading question—but he’d been completely wrong. The child had snapped right back to reality. The aloof, haughty expression she’d been wearing until now vanished in an instant, replaced by a cynically mature look unbefitting of a child. The moment Winston saw it, he realized his mistake.
“I told you, kids like me don’t get presents, Mr. Campbell.”
He’d even told her she could call him Winnie if she wanted, but Angela had never once used the name. And now she was calling him Mr. Campbell. A surge of frustration boiled in Winston’s chest, and he had the urge to smack himself across the face. Idiot. You pushed too hard.
“But you’re not poor anymore. You’re my daughter now.”
He, too, dropped the butler act and spoke as Winston Campbell—but even with his voice softened to the gentlest tone he could manage, the child didn’t budge.
“I’m still me. You’re the one who’s rich, not me.”
Is she really just four years old?
Even if she was simply mimicking lines she’d heard in books or on TV, her delivery and recall were uncanny. Far from ordinary.
She must be incredibly intelligent.
Along with the urge to test her IQ came a strange, swelling pride. It was bizarre, really. That Angela’s cleverness could make him this happy. As if she truly were his own child.
A smile tugged at his lips before he even realized it—but he quickly snapped himself out of it. This wasn’t the time to be feeling sentimental. Ahem. Winston cleared his throat and tried a new approach.
“Angie, this year Santa really is going to come. Won’t you trust me, just this once?”
His tone was as gentle and coaxing as he could make it, but her face remained full of skepticism. She simply scrunched her nose and stared at him instead of replying. Winston opened his mouth again.
“I know why Santa hasn’t come to see you until now.”
“……Really?”
Angela still looked doubtful, but the moment of silence that followed betrayed her curiosity. Winston nodded slowly.
“The reason Santa hasn’t visited you until now is because he was too busy visiting kids who had even less. He thought Angie would understand.”
Winston crafted the lie, banking on the girl’s precocious maturity. As expected, Angela pursed her lips in serious thought. Winston didn’t let her dwell on it too long.
“You’ve been so patient all this time. So this year, let’s ask Santa for a present. What do you think? Is there something you want?”
It only took Angela a few seconds to reply, but to Winston, the silence felt excruciatingly long. He had to fight the urge to press her again. He’d already pushed her hard enough. Any more would cross the line into coercion. All he could do now was hope Angela would choose to believe him.
He sighed inwardly, scolding himself for having such a limited reservoir of patience—when at last, Angela opened her mouth.
“Santa doesn’t need to be told. He already knows.”
“That’s not quite true.”
Winston continued the conversation with the utmost care, as if afraid that even brushing the edge of a rainbow might make it vanish.
“Santa only knows if you tell him. Let’s do this—how about you write him a letter? Since you’ve been so patient all this time, ask him to bring you something you really want this year.”
Without missing a beat, he picked up his suit jacket that had been carelessly tossed on the floor and pulled an envelope from the inner pocket. Here. He unfolded the stationery inside and handed it over. The child stared intently at the recipient address printed on it.
“Is this Santa’s house?”
“No, it’s the place where all the letters to Santa get collected and forwarded to him. If you send it here, it’ll reach him.”
It wasn’t exactly a lie. The address was for Winston’s executive secretary’s office. All mail sent there was sorted and passed along to him. He hadn’t lied—he simply omitted one small detail: that he was Santa.
Of course, this was just a backup plan. If Angela wrote a letter and handed it to the butler, it would be discreetly rerouted to Winston, who would then act accordingly. Unaware of this arrangement, the child stared down at the envelope for a while as if deliberating, then finally looked up.
“I haven’t always been a good kid… It’s not like I was waiting patiently. I just thought I didn’t have a choice.”
She hesitated for a moment, then added quietly, “I’ve had bad thoughts before… Is that okay?”
“It’s okay.”
Winston responded without the slightest hesitation, firm and certain.
“Santa knows everything.”
Then he added, careful not to arouse suspicion:
“But if he thinks you’re not good enough for a present, he might not come this year either. You already expected not to get anything again, right? So there’s nothing to lose. If it goes well, you get a gift. If it doesn’t, well… you’re no worse off.”
Not that such a thing would ever happen. Whatever Angela wrote on that paper, she’d get it all.
The girl, deep in thought with a serious expression, finally gave a small nod as if she’d come to a decision.
“Okay. I’ll write the letter here. Thank you.”
The polite way she remembered to say thank you filled Winston with an overwhelming sense of satisfaction. He was honestly in awe that despite all the financial hardship Seol Yu-jin had endured, he’d still managed to raise her this well.
Yes, she really lived a life hard enough to understand poverty.
That passing thought quickly pushed away his sense of satisfaction, leaving behind a quiet weight in his chest. The only criminal record he knew of for Yu-jin was the one he’d already uncovered. And yet, the effort he must have poured into trying to live with his daughter—those traces were evident in Angela herself.
The more Winston tried to get close to Angela, the more he felt like he was discovering a side of Yu-jin that he had willfully ignored. The way Yu-jin had poured such deep love into this child—it was nothing like the man Winston had imagined. Until now, he’d believed Seol Yu-jin to be nothing more than a greedy opportunist blinded by money and desire. But for Angela… he had been willing to give everything.
Is that what it means to be a parent?
Just as that thought crossed his mind, Angela stood up with the letter paper and envelope in hand. Winston’s gaze followed her without thinking, and the child spoke clearly and politely.
“I need to write my letter now. Would you mind stepping out, Mr. Campbell?”
That formal tone had definitely come from a drama or a book—there was no doubt about it. Winston chuckled softly and stood up, jacket in hand. On instinct, he reached out to pat her head, but stopped mid-motion when Angela took a step back.
Still not ready, huh? he thought—only for her to cover her head with both hands and say,
“Please don’t touch my hair. It’ll mess up my hairstyle.”
A perfectly reasonable answer. Oh, come on, Winston almost burst into laughter but just barely managed to hold it in.
“Alright. I’ll be more careful from now on.”
Instead, he gave her cheek a light tap with his finger before casually exiting the room.
Left alone, Angela picked up a pencil and sat at the tea table, diligently beginning her letter. It took nearly half a day, but once she’d completed it, she asked the butler to help seal the envelope with glue.
“I’ll mail it along with tomorrow’s outgoing post.”
The butler reached to take the letter as he said this, but Angela, unsurprisingly, wasn’t that easy to deal with.
“No! I want to send it myself. That’s the only way I’ll feel safe.”
Her firm tone caught the butler off guard, and he immediately reported it to Winston.
“Let her do as she wants.”
Winston approved without hesitation. The next day, just as she wished, Angela headed to the nearest post office with the butler in tow. She went up to the counter herself, bought a stamp, and mailed the letter. Only then did she return to Delights with a look of peace and pride on her face.
***
“Welcome home, Mr. Campbell.”
The butler greeted Winston with a respectful bow—it was earlier than his usual return time. After glancing around discreetly, he reached into his inner pocket and handed over an envelope. As Winston had instructed, the moment Angela mailed the letter and turned her back, the butler had sent another staff member to retrieve it.
“Good work.”
Winston smiled in satisfaction and slipped the envelope into the inner pocket of his suit. He’d been unable to concentrate on work all day, consumed with curiosity over what she might have written. As soon as he received word that the operation had gone smoothly, he’d begun preparing to leave. The urge to open that letter had him on edge. Unlike his usual composed self, he bounded up the stairs two or three steps at a time.
He reached his study in seconds, instructed the butler to bring tea, and opened the door.
Closing it behind him, he strode with long steps across the spacious room to his desk. Pulling out his chair and sitting down, he took a deep breath.
Finally.
It felt like he’d been waiting for this moment all day. His hands trembled faintly as he pulled the envelope from his inner pocket.
Then, taking out a paper knife, he carefully sliced open the sealed envelope.
