Chapter 1
To compensate for their “real daughter,” my family deliberately fabricated medical records, telling the world I had a serious illness.
They used this excuse to transfer all my resources to her—my roles, my endorsement contracts, my trust fund.
I silently accepted it all.
At the press conference where Dad announced my “illness,” I suddenly began coughing up blood.
Afterward, they praised me for being so cooperative. Even Wes Holt ended our cold war and spoke to me again.
“That’s more like it,” he said, squeezing my shoulder. “Rosalie was out there struggling for years while you were living her privileged life. It’s only right that you help us make it up to her.”
I could only offer a bitter smile in response.
He had no idea that I was ACTUALLY sick.
And that I was truly running out of time.
—
Before I die, I want to meet my birth parents.
According to Rosalie, my birth parents were sexist and irresponsible people who abandoned her to enjoy their lives elsewhere, leaving her to suffer in an orphanage.
I’ve always been the type who needs to see things with my own eyes to believe them, so I hired someone to track down my biological parents.
When Rosalie found out, she smashed my phone against the wall.
“You’re bringing back the people who hurt me?” she cried, tears streaming down her face, her nose reddened from crying. “Are you deliberately trying to torture me? How can you be so fucking selfish?”
I wanted to argue back, but the pain twisting through my organs left me with only enough strength for a bitter smile.
She had reunited with her family. Was it so wrong that I wanted to meet mine too?
I was dying. Couldn’t I at least see them once before I went?
Using every ounce of strength I had left, I lifted my eyelids to look at her. “I’ve given everything back to you. This is my only request.”
Before I even finished speaking, her palm connected with my cheek in a stinging slap.
“You have no shame! Who the hell do you think you are to make demands of me? You lived as the precious Blake daughter for twenty-three years while I suffered and was bullied because of YOU! Because of YOU, I lost twenty-three years of parental love! Everything was rightfully mine in the first place—returning it to me is the bare minimum. You can never repay what you owe me!”
The slap made my head ring so loudly I could barely hear her words. My vision began to blur around the edges.
Was this it? Was I dying already?
When I opened my eyes again, I’d been out for two days straight according to the wall clock.
Rosalie was gone. Someone else occupied the chair beside my bed.
The familiar scent of sweet olive perfume wafted through the air—Mom’s signature scent.
It was Mom.
Since Rosalie’s dramatic return, Mom had made herself scarce in my life.
I forced my heavy eyelids open, finally making out her expression. Cold detachment with a dash of disappointment, and hiding underneath it all—a carefully concealed concern she wasn’t brave enough to show openly.
She examined my face with clinical interest. “So Rosalie slapped you, huh?”
I said nothing.
“Christ, don’t look so pitiful. You absolutely deserved it,” she scoffed. “What kind of twisted stunt were you trying to pull by tracking down those garbage humans? Were you deliberately trying to torture her? Because that’s exactly what you did.”
“Rosalie was pulled from earthquake rubble when she was five,” I said weakly. “That’s when she went to the orphanage. She wasn’t abandoned.”
“Oh, save your little theories,” Mom snapped. “Rosalie told us everything. She watched those monsters climb into a rescue vehicle and leave her behind. She ran after them screaming until she couldn’t breathe, but they never even looked back. Before that, they’d beat her black and blue just for not being born a boy. That earthquake? Perfect timing for trash parents looking to ditch their kid. Why the hell would you want to dig up people like that?”
I clutched the jade pendant in my hand, my gaze hardening with stubborn determination.
“She’s going to flip out when she finds out you came to see me.”
Mom’s expression twitched slightly. “Not this time. I’m here to drag your ass to her production launch ceremony.”
A rushing sound filled my ears as I closed my eyes. “Do I really have to go?”
“Are you kidding me right now?” Mom barked. “Your rabid fan base knows exactly how much blood and sweat you poured into prepping for that role. If you don’t show up, the internet will explode with theories about how Rosalie used daddy’s money to steal your part. Is that what you want?”
Too weak to fight back, I let Mom dump me into a wheelchair and push me out.
The venue was packed to the rafters, with my fans making up nearly the entire crowd.
They held up handmade signs with my name, tears streaming down their faces as they chanted for my recovery. Each face was streaked with mascara and genuine grief.
My chest tightened painfully. I didn’t want to die. I didn’t want to leave them behind. I wanted to give them so many more performances, so many more characters to fall in love with.
Mom bent down, her lips practically touching my ear as she hissed:
“Cough up some blood. Now. Make them believe you’re actually dying.”
“Jesus, what are you waiting for? I gave you those blood capsules earlier. Just bite one and let’s get this show on the road.”
A wave of genuine pain surged through my body, and suddenly my vision exploded with real crimson.
The crowd erupted in horrified gasps. Mom, ever the opportunist, immediately wheeled me toward the exit.
Perfect. This little display would kill the rumors about me faking my illness while ensuring I didn’t steal precious Rosalie’s spotlight.
Just before darkness claimed me, I caught Mom’s confused whisper:
“Damn, these blood capsules look freakishly real—they even smell like the real thing.”
