Clara spoke loudly, but her eyes flickered with guilt, refusing to meet mine.

She knew all too well—after personally driving the knife into me, how could she possibly expect me to breathe again?

To pave the way for Henry, the sister who once stood before our parents’ graves, swearing to protect me for life, was the very one who pushed me to the brink of death.

And the best friend I once trusted with my life? In the end, he too chose to betray me for that manipulative adopted son.

At this moment, I couldn’t even tell—who was truly Clara’s flesh and blood? And who, after twelve years of unwavering loyalty, was Wyatt’s real friend?

Even their marriage was something I had helped arrange. Yet in return, they chose to destroy me with lies and deceit, slicing me apart with their betrayal.

My heart was dead. I had no more words to say.

A doctor approached, carrying antiseptic solution. He looked at my grotesquely twisted limbs and the horrifying wounds on my lower body, his face filled with pity.

"Mr. Evans, the specialists haven’t arrived yet. We can only disinfect your wounds for now. You’ll have to endure it."

No amount of anesthesia could numb the agony. I bit down so hard that I tasted blood in my mouth. Yet the physical pain was nothing—nothing compared to the torment in my heart.

Wyatt clenched his fists, veins bulging, and his eyes were bloodshot.

Clara staggered out of the room, her body trembling.

Their concern looked so real.

And yet, I felt nothing.

—

When I woke up again, it was the next day. Outside the hospital room, I could hear Clara and Wyatt talking.

"Honey, Jayce is already in this state. Are you sure we should still invite reporters to expose his... twisted sexual orientation and reckless promiscuity?"

Clara hesitated for a moment before responding firmly, "Yes! He’s already ruined, a little more filth won’t make a difference. Those software competition judges despise personal scandals. This will be a good opportunity to break his spirit—it’s for his own good."

Then, she added carefully, "Make sure the specialists are ready. The moment the reporters leave, they can start treating him."

Wyatt nodded repeatedly.

I lay motionless on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling.

Silent tears streamed down my face, burning hot.

Clara knew—she had always known.

She knew that I was switched at birth, that I suffered endless hardships growing up, that I had to work ten times harder than anyone else to become a software developer.

And yet, with a single sentence, she erased everything I had built.

If I had known that returning to my biological family would be worse than death, I would have rather been beaten to death by my adoptive father back then.

—

An hour later, a swarm of reporters suddenly burst into my hospital room.

They came armed with cameras, microphones—men and women alike—rushing toward me like a pack of bloodthirsty bats.

Panic seized me. My face turned deathly pale, and my broken body couldn’t even flinch.

"Mr. Evans, rumors say you prefer men and deliberately sought out muscular partners, landing yourself in the hospital. Would you say this is karma? How do you feel about it?"

"With such promiscuity, did you use your ‘skills’ in bed to secure your position as a software developer?"

"Mr. Evans, you can’t even move now—have you been left completely crippled? Do you have unirary incontinence?"

As they spoke, one of the reporters suddenly reached out and yanked away the thin blanket covering me.

I wasn’t wearing anything—my injuries made it impossible.

Humiliation crashed over me like a tidal wave. My chest tightened. My breath came in painful gasps.

"Oh god, how disgusting! So many wounds!"

"Tsk tsk, his limbs are completely deformed. Pretty face, but a total freak. Quick, take as many pictures as you can—pure gold for the headlines!"

Their sneers and contempt cut into me like knives, stabbing straight into my chest.

I wanted them to leave. But my throat felt clogged—thick with the taste of blood.

"Mr. Evans, are you refusing to answer because we hit the mark? Were you born to do this?"

Seeing my panic, a cameraman shoved the lens in my face and began a live broadcast.

"Renowned software developer Jayce Evans has a promiscuous lifestyle, and twisted sexual orientation. Let this be a warning to the public—treasure your bodies. Don’t end up like Jayce, crippled from reckless indulgence."

I was nothing more than a stripped-down clown, unable even to curl up in humiliation.

The relentless camera flashes immortalized my most wretched, disgraceful moment.

"What the hell are you doing?! Who let you in here?!"

Wyatt burst in, his voice thunderous as he ordered them out.

Clara rushed forward, shrugging off her coat and wrapping it tightly around me. Tears streamed down her face as she scolded the guards.

"Where the hell are the bodyguards? Are they dead?! How could you let the press in? Fire them all—get them out of my sight!"

Their performance was flawless—so flawless that it made me sick.

I couldn't stop trembling.

Clara gripped my freezing hand, her eyes filled with guilt. "Jayce, I’m so sorry... It’s my fault for not protecting you, for letting these reporters take advantage of the situation. Don’t be afraid—I’ll suppress the news. I swear, I won’t let anyone tarnish your name. I promise, I will never let you suffer again."

How laughable.

The same sister who swore to shield me from suffering had inflicted the greatest humiliation of my life.

She knew—better than anyone—that those reporters had already captured everything they wanted.

My reputation was ruined. I would forever be branded as a disgrace, shunned like a rat in the streets just as she wished. Trampled into the dirt.

For Henry’s sake, the two people closest to me had destroyed me completely.

The shock was too much. My battered body couldn't take it anymore, and I passed out.

Just before losing consciousness, I heard Clara's panicked screams as the specialists, who had been waiting just outside, rushed in.

"We’ve delayed too long. His intestines have started to rot—we need to remove the damaged sections. Even if we repair his limbs, he might never regain full function. He’ll likely be wheelchair-bound for life. The situation is critical—we've already missed the optimal window for treatment. The success rate of the surgery is only fifty percent."

Clara’s voice trembled with disbelief. "No... How could this happen? You must save my brother, no matter what it takes!"

She never let go of my hand, sobbing as she whispered, "Jayce, you have to hold on. I can’t lose you."

Wyatt’s voice was hoarse with emotion as he said, "Jayce, we promised each other—we’d be each other’s best men, standing together on our wedding days. I won’t allow you to leave me behind."

I closed my eyes, feeling the barren emptiness in my chest.

—

When I woke up, I was back in my hospital room.

Aside from my slightly less-injured left hand, my entire body was wrapped in bandages.

Wyatt sat beside the bed. The moment he saw me awake, his face lit up in relief. "Jayce! You’re finally awake! Do you feel any pain? Are you hungry? Do you want some water?"

His usual concern was laced with careful, uneasy guilt.

I suddenly wanted to laugh.

They were the ones who had ruined me, left me less than human. And now that they had gotten what they wanted, they dared to act remorseful? Who were they trying to fool?

I forced a weak smile, my cracked lips barely moving. "Get some sleep. Those dark circles—how are you supposed to be a groom like that?"

Wyatt visibly relaxed at my attempt at humor. He lay down on the bedside cot and soon drifted into a steady sleep.

Watching his even breaths, I slowly reached for the phone he had left on the nightstand.

The moment I unlocked it, the screen lit up with his wallpaper—a photo of the three of them.

Henry stood in the middle, grinning widely, an arm slung around each of them.

I opened the photo album.

Thousands upon thousands of pictures—every single one capturing moments of the three of them together. Trips, celebrations, everyday life.

In one video, Clara—who had never so much as lifted a finger in the kitchen—stood proudly behind a three-tiered cake she had made herself, laughing as she playfully smeared frosting on Henry’s nose.

For his birthday, she had gifted him the deed to a luxury villa in the heart of the city which was worth billions.

Wyatt, not to be outdone, had handed him the keys to a Bugatti, vowing with absolute sincerity, "You’ll always be my only true brother in this life."

And yet—the photos of us, of the twelve years we had spent together—studying side by side, saving each other seats, teaming up in games, sharing a single cup of instant noodles, promising to grow old in the same retirement home—had all been deleted. Not a single one remained, except in the trash bin.

My vision blurred.

My heart felt like it was being carved apart.

How?

How could a friendship that had once meant everything suddenly become nothing?

I scrolled absently, until my fingers accidentally opened a private group chat—their group chat.

And there, sitting in plain sight, was a kidney transplant agreement.

My breath caught in my throat. My hands trembled as I read it again, my eyes widening in disbelief.

The recipient was Wyatt, and the donor was Henry.

A slow, numbing realization crept through me.

I bit my lip hard, my fingers pressing unconsciously against the scar on my waist.

Years had passed, but the pain returned in full force, as if a knife were twisting inside me all over again.

A sudden thought struck me.

Frantically, I scrolled up, my eyes scanning every message—until I found her words.

[That night, when the villa caught fire, it was Henry who carried me out, unconscious, risking his life. If not for him, I would have turned to ash. In this lifetime, Henry is my everything. No matter the cost, I will fulfill his every wish.]

Henry was her everything?

Then what about me?

The one who had been crushed beneath the falling beams, breaking two ribs?

The one who had been burned so badly that the scars still twisted grotesquely across my back?

Did my life mean nothing?

I let the phone slip from my fingers, my body sinking into the hospital bed as laughter bubbled up from my chest—wet and broken, streaked with silent tears.

For a long time, I simply lay there.

Then, with a steady hand, I wiped my face dry and pulled up a contact I hadn't spoken to in years.

Taking a deep breath, I sent a single message.

[Professor, is it still possible for me to join the confidential overseas software research project?]

The response came instantly.

[Of course. I’ve always admired both your skill and your character. I know the rumors online are nothing but slander, so don’t let them bother you. However, this project is classified, the timeline is uncertain, and your identity must remain confidential. You should discuss this with your family.]

[No need. Please help me erase my identity.]

There was a brief pause.

Then, as if my professor had understood everything, he sent a single reply.

[Okay.]

"Erase your identity?"

The voice came from the doorway.

Clara stood there, her face clouded with unease.

I met her gaze without a flicker of emotion and said, "My ID is expiring. I need to renew it."

She exhaled in relief, stepping forward with a bowl of porridge. "Your body isn’t healed yet. If you need anything, just tell me. We’re family—you don’t have to worry about troubling me."

Family?

Not for much longer.

Behind her, Wyatt stirred awake, his expression hesitant.

"Jayce, the wedding is soon... You’re still not fully recovered, so about the best man position—"

"Let Henry take my place," I flatly muttered.

I already knew what he was going to say. Their chat history had laid it all out.

They had long since commissioned a world-renowned designer to tailor a custom-made, multi-billion-dollar suit for Henry—along with a matching luxury watch and diamond-studded cufflinks. His best man’s attire was even grander than the groom’s.

And yet, Wyatt had been more than willing to let himself be overshadowed.

The moment I spoke, their faces lit up.

Clara beamed with satisfaction. "Jayce, you’ve really grown more sensible."