Chapter 2

Brad smashed his glass against the floor. The sharp shatter of glass instantly silenced the room.

"I don't want to hear this again. If these words reach Kathy's ears, I'll make you pay dearly."

His voice carried a low, cutting edge. "Are you trying to insult Kathy by comparing her to Wendy?"

The words fell like a relentless downpour, breaking apart every sweet memory I had of Brad and me.

A lie—everything had been a lie.

The person he had risked his life to save during the earthquake wasn't me. It was his first love.

It felt as if I'd been plunged into freezing water, the chill seeping through my veins, hardening into icy shards that tore me apart from within. I wanted to grab the whiskey from the table and smash it over his head.

Why? What gave them, these people born into privilege, the right to trample on others? What had I done to deserve this?

But I couldn't act recklessly. If I had no one, I might have risked everything, my life included. But I had Grandma. She scavenged trash to raise me. I couldn't let her bury her own granddaughter.

The thought of her snapped me out of my spiraling rage. I stumbled toward the door, desperate to leave. Brad's presence here meant he hadn't sent the money to the hospital.

I didn't have the luxury of heartbreak. Grandma was waiting for that money to save her life.

Just as I reached the doorway, I collided with someone.

"Ouch, that hurt!" a woman exclaimed.

Flustered, I started to apologize, but before I could utter a word, a sudden kick sent me sprawling to the floor.

"Ugh," I groaned, clutching my stomach. Pain, sharp and relentless, stabbed through my abdomen, where the ache had already been simmering. Blood rushed to my throat, and I coughed, staining the blue mask I wore a deep red.

I looked up. The one who had kicked me wasn't a stranger. It was Brad, my boyfriend of three years.

But he didn't even glance at me. Instead, he reached for the woman I had bumped into, his voice laced with concern.

"Kathy, when did you return to the country? Why didn't you tell me? Did you get hurt?"

I stared, dumbfounded, at Kathy. When her face came into focus, a new wave of bitterness and fury churned inside me.

It was her.

The one Brad was head-over-heels in love with was none other than my half-sister.

This world really was a cruel joke.

I lay curled on the ground, my body trembling. Despair and rage twisted together, making my vision blur.

Kathy didn't spare me a glance. She pinched Brad's cheek playfully, her smile soft.

"I'm fine. My flight landed just tonight. I came straight here to find you. Are you touched?"

Brad smiled, the kind of smile I had never seen before, full of warmth.

"Touched? Of course. But you should've told me earlier. I could've picked you up at the airport. Oh, by the way, here's your gift!"

He pulled out his phone and typed something. Moments later, a server appeared, holding a bag.

Brad swiped a card on a portable POS machine. Kathy took the bag and opened it.

"An Hermès bag? It's nice, but I already have this one," she said, her tone light.

Brad pressed his lips together, but before he could speak, she leaned into him, hugging the bag close.

"Still, since it's from you, I love it."

Brad's smile widened. "I've also ordered a Ferrari for you. It'll arrive soon."

I forced myself upright, leaning against the wall for support, and stepped back into the room.

The atmosphere inside had turned lively with Kathy's arrival. No one noticed me.

Brad was truly wealthy.

I remembered the child I once carried, the one he told me we couldn't afford to raise. I had chosen the cheapest option—a pill that cost less than 70 dollars.

Even as I bled endlessly afterward, I stood for hours at the supermarket checkout, earning 4 dollars an hour.

Brad had simply held my hand and signed, "I'm sorry, Wendy. It's all my fault. If I weren't mute, if I had money, our child could've lived."

But the bag he gave Kathy could have sustained our child for three years. The Ferrari? That was another world entirely.

It wasn't that he lacked money. He simply didn't love me.

I left the room. Tears streamed down my face, the cold wrapping around me like a vice.

His lies hadn't even been elaborate, yet they had ensnared me completely.

I hailed a cab back home, crying as memories of our first meeting flooded my mind.

He'd been beaten nearly to death by a group of thugs, and I had called the police. Afterward, he had pretended to be mute, clinging to me like a lost puppy.

Raised by my grandmother, I had grown up kind and optimistic, too soft-hearted to turn him away.

I let him into our cramped apartment, where he helped care for Grandma while I worked. I thought he was good at heart. I fell for him.

And Kathy? She was my mother's daughter with her wealthy husband, the same mother who had abandoned me and Grandma.

In high school, Kathy had led a group to bully me, framing me for theft and getting me expelled.

The irony was unbearable. The thugs who had beaten Brad that day? They were under Kathy's orders.

I had seen her that day, sitting in a luxury car with a strange man, laughing like nothing mattered.

When I got home, I searched for my bank card. The one with 10,000 dollars in savings—money for Grandma's hospital bills—was gone.

I remembered the card Brad had used to pay for the bag. It looked just like mine.

I collapsed onto the floor, trembling, the icy realization piercing through me.

With shaking hands, I typed out a message to Brad.

Wendy: [Where's my bank card?]