When Millie opened her eyes again, she was lying in a hospital bed.

The door swung open.

Lucille walked in.

She carried an elegant gift box, a gentle smile on her lips, though her eyes gleamed with undisguised triumph.

"Miss Sullivan, you're awake." Her tone was light, almost cheerful. "I came by to check on you. Even brought you a little get-well gift."

Millie regarded her coldly. "Get out."

"I'd advise you not to push your luck. Haven't you figured it out yet?" Lucille's voice was soft as silk. "Clint only has eyes for me now. And I intend to keep it that way."

She ripped open the lid of the gift box.

A hiss split the air.

A dark shape shot out of the box.

Millie's pupils contracted. Before she could react, fangs sank into her wrist.

Searing pain exploded through her.

"Ah!"

She flung her hand back, sending the box crashing to the floor. A slender black snake slithered free and vanished beneath the bed.

Blood dripped steadily from her wrist.

But in the very next second, Lucille let out a shriek, stumbling backward and colliding with the edge of the bed. Tears spilled instantly down her cheeks.

"Miss Sullivan! You—why did you lash out at me like that? I only came to apologize..."

Footsteps thundered toward the door.

"Lucy!"

Clint burst in and rushed straight to her side, catching her in his arms.

"Are you all right?"

Lucille collapsed against his chest, weeping like a broken flower in the rain.

"Sir, it hurts so much... I don't know what I did to upset Miss Sullivan. She just threw the box at me out of nowhere. I really was trying to apologize..."

Her body trembled as she spoke.

Meanwhile, Millie clutched her bleeding wrist. Her face had gone chalk-white, and her breathing was already growing erratic.

"It was a snake..." Her voice shook as she reached for the emergency call button. "She put a venomous snake in that box—"

"Enough!" Clint shoved Millie aside, sending her crashing to the floor.

"Do you honestly expect anyone to believe that?"

"Lucy is terrified of insects. You're telling me she went and found a venomous snake to attack you?"

"Millie, if you're going to make accusations, at least put some thought into them. How can you be this vicious?"

Millie burned with the fury of having the truth twisted inside out. She forced herself upright, scrambling toward the fallen gift box. "I'm not lying. If you don't believe me, just look—"

"Stop making a scene!" Clint seized her wrist. The snakebite wound tore open, blood flowing freely. "Lucy lowered herself to come apologize and you wouldn't even accept it. Now you're bullying her on top of that? What is wrong with you?"

The venom was spreading.

Millie's whole body shook with pain.

"Clint..." Her voice was barely a whisper. "Call a doctor..."

Clint frowned, noticing that the pallor of her face didn't look like an act.

But just then, Lucille let out a soft hiss and clutched her own wrist.

"I think... something scratched me just now too. It really hurts..."

Clint didn't hesitate. He scooped Lucille into his arms and strode toward the door.

"Come on. I'm taking you to get checked out."

Millie was still on the floor. She watched his retreating back, that resolute silhouette disappearing through the doorway, and a chill spread from the center of her chest outward.

She never should have expected anything.

In Clint's heart, she had always been the imperfect stand-in. How could she ever compete with a newer, better copy?

In the end, it was a nurse who found her and rushed her into emergency treatment.

By the time Millie woke again, an entire day and night had passed.

Her new supervisor in New York had sent a message saying her desk was all set up and she was welcome to start anytime.

Something dimmed behind Millie's eyes. She typed back: "About five more days. Then I'll be there."

Her new boss replied with a smiley face.

Then a notification popped up from Lucille's Instagram. Millie had followed the account out of curiosity back when she was abroad.

The photo was painfully familiar. She recognized the setting in an instant: Clint's apartment.

Lucille was curled up on the balcony lounge chair like a contented cat, languid and at ease.

Behind her, in the kitchen, Clint had his sleeves rolled to the elbows. He was focused on chopping vegetables, the lines of his profile soft and warm.

Millie stared at the photo on her phone. No surprise. No anger. Only a despair that seeped into her bones.

Since Carrie's death, Clint had never once set foot in that kitchen.

There had been one night when Millie came home late from a business dinner, her stomach churning so badly she thought she might be sick. All she wanted was a bowl of hot porridge. In the end, all Clint did was hand her a glass of warm milk.

A dull, relentless ache bloomed in her chest. She drew a deep breath and forced the tears back.

Don't cry, Millie.

That was what she told herself.

Hadn't she already decided to let go?

She inhaled slowly, then sent the resignation letter she had prepared to HR.

The HR manager panicked and fired off a string of question marks.

Millie simply replied, "Don't tell Clint yet."

She and the HR manager were on good terms, so all the woman could say was, "Just remember, you'll need to get Mr. Gilbert's signature yourself for the final approval step."

Millie agreed.

She didn't want to waste time sitting around in a hospital. It had been ages since she'd been home, and she wanted to see how her parents were doing.

She stood at the base of their apartment building, gazing up at the familiar silhouettes bustling around in the kitchen window. Her eyes stung.

Those were the outlines of her mother and father, shapes she'd known her entire life.

She'd texted them that morning, and she hadn't expected them to actually prepare a proper meal.

Ever since she was little, she'd craved their love. Had they finally moved past Carrie's death? Were they finally willing to spare even a sliver of affection for her?

But the warmth barely had time to settle before the front door swung open—and there stood Lucille.

Faced with Millie's shock, Lucille was perfectly at ease. "Hey, sis. You're home."

Sis?

Millie stood frozen, her gaze drifting past Lucille to the living room, where Clint and her father, Greg Sullivan, sat on the couch, chatting like old friends.

So the person busy in the kitchen hadn't been her mother at all—it had been Lucille?

Her mother, Judith Sullivan, waved a spatula from behind the stove, confirming the suspicion. "Lucy, come taste this for me—tell me if it needs more salt."

That tender, familiar tone. Millie hadn't heard it in this house since Carrie was alive.

Without realizing it, Millie's fingers curled inward, nails biting deep into her palms.

It wasn't until everyone was seated around the dinner table that Judith offered a casual explanation.

"Lucy and I just clicked. I've taken her in as my goddaughter. Millie, she's your little sister now. Whatever unpleasantness happened before, let's put it behind us."

"Even if you won't do it for Clint's sake, do it for your sister's."

At the mention of Carrie, Judith's eyes glistened. Greg drained his glass in one heavy swallow. Clint went still, staring at nothing.

It was Lucille who broke the silence, cracking a lighthearted joke that coaxed the mood back to life.

Millie sat motionless, a sheet of ice spreading through her chest.

Not a single dish on the table was something she liked. Every plate, every bowl, was prepared to Carrie's taste.

But unlike before, there were two new additions—seafood dishes that were clearly Lucille's favorites.

Millie had never been given that courtesy. Not once.

Lucille ate with obvious relish, and Greg and Judith fell over themselves to heap more food onto her plate.

Clint watched Lucille with a soft gaze, his eyes clouded with tender reminiscence.

The scene was a near-perfect replica of how things had been when Carrie was alive.

And Millie, as always, sat tucked in the corner, quietly scooping plain rice into her mouth. No one spared her a second glance.

So it was true. Not a single person at this table loved her.

After dinner, Millie retreated silently to her old room to pack her things. Then she heard a noise from the study next door.

Uneasy, she went to check—and found Lucille on her tiptoes, stretching for the porcelain vase on the top shelf.

It had been Carrie's most treasured possession.

Millie's heart lurched. "Don't touch that—it's fragile!"

The words had barely left her mouth when Lucille's foot slipped.

A sharp crash. The porcelain vase shattered into pieces across the floor.

Clint was the first to rush in. His eyes locked on the fragments, and the color drained from his face.

"I'm s-so sorry..." Lucille's eyes were already rimming red, her voice small and trembling. "Millie asked me to get the vase down for her, and I—I couldn't hold on..."

She pointed a quivering finger at Millie before Clint even had a chance to ask.

Millie looked up in disbelief. She opened her mouth to defend herself, but Clint was already staring at her, his expression frigid, his eyes full of disappointment and accusation. "Millie, I know you've always resented Carrie's things, but you had no right to take it out on this."

A second later, Judith stormed in and slapped Millie hard across the face, sobbing so violently she could barely breathe. "You can't even stand to let your sister's things exist, can you?"

"Why couldn't it have been you who died instead?"

Greg arrived last. He didn't say a word, but the fury in his eyes was as solid as a fist.

No one was willing to hear a single word of her explanation.

Her cheek burned. Memories she'd spent years burying clawed their way to the surface, one after another.

Their parents had always favored Carrie. When both girls fell sick at the same time as children, Greg and Judith spent the whole night at Carrie's bedside.

Their birthdays were barely a day apart, yet only Carrie's was ever celebrated.

It wasn't until Carrie died that their parents finally turned their eyes toward Millie—even asking, on occasion, if she was tired.

She had told herself that was its own kind of reward after years of suffering.

But now, all it took was one woman who resembled her sister's personality, and every last one of them fell right back under the spell.

Millie pressed her hand to her stinging cheek and laughed—a low, hollow sound. Then she pulled out her phone and opened a video recording.

The video had captured the entire incident in crystal-clear detail.

Millie still wore a smile, but it was bone-chillingly cold, laced with undisguised mockery. "She keeps pinning one thing after another on me, and I'm not about to play along with her little act. I don't remember my sister ever being so eager to shift blame."

She paused, letting the words sink in.

"If you're going to find a replacement for Carrie, you could at least set the bar a little higher."

Greg and Judith's faces darkened, their expressions so stormy they could have wrung water from the air.

Clint lowered his gaze in silence, a storm of emotions churning behind his eyes. Anger, yes, but also a thread of irritation he couldn't quite name.

The old Millie had always bent over backward to please her parents, to please him. What had changed?

Before the thought could fully form, Lucille burst into tears again.

Millie watched it happen. The three people who had just worn such varied expressions instantly softened in unison at the sound of that single sob, crowding around Lucille, falling over themselves to comfort her in gentle voices.

The divide was stark. Millie stood on the other side of it, the only outsider.

Her heart clenched again, every breath dragging a dull ache through her chest.

She kept smiling, as if steeling herself for something.

"Since none of you seem to mind the substitution, why not just have Lucille change her last name to Sullivan and marry Clint herself? Wouldn't that make everyone happy?"

She turned on her heel and walked toward the door.

"You ungrateful brat! We say a few words to you and you dare threaten us?"

"If you've got the nerve, drop the Sullivan name! If you've got the nerve, walk out that door and never come back!"

The insults chased her like shadows. Millie pressed her hands over her ears and walked faster.

Eventually she broke into a run.

She didn't stop until her legs gave out, and she crumpled to the ground.

Maybe this is for the best. At least now she could leave with nothing holding her back.

With no home left to return to, Millie stayed at a hotel.

She planned to go back to the office and finish her resignation paperwork.

But Clint never showed up. Lucille had vanished too.

Word was they'd gone on a business trip together.

Officially, it was to meet with a client about a partnership. But Lucille's social media told a far more colorful story.

Strolling through streets. Candlelit dinners. Between every overwrought caption, she broadcast Clint's blatant favoritism for all the world to see.

Colleagues cast complicated glances Millie's way. She pretended not to notice and kept working through what was left on her desk.

Even though Clint hadn't signed off yet, she dutifully found someone to hand her responsibilities over to. A clean break, as amicable as she could make it.

Only three days remained. Millie packed up her personal belongings and had just stepped out of her office when—

Slam.

A file hit the floor at her feet.

Clint's face was thunderous, his voice barely containing his fury. "Millie Sullivan, did you leave your brain overseas? You got core data wrong. Are you trying to drag the entire company down with you?"

Millie blinked, then bent to pick up the file.

One glance was all it took. Her brow furrowed.

This wasn't the version she'd signed off on.

She looked up, her tone level. "This data has been tampered with."

"And now you want to dodge responsibility? You have the guts to do it but not to own it?" Clint stared at her with open disappointment.

Lucille spoke up as if summoning her courage. "Miss Sullivan, do you have any idea how much the company stands to lose because of one altered figure?"

A colleague nearby couldn't hold back. "Mr. Gilbert, the data Director Sullivan verified at the time was correct—"

"Shut up." Clint cut them off, his tone razor-sharp. "You're one of hers. Of course you'd cover for her."

Millie looked at him, and something close to a laugh stirred in her chest.

From Lucille's schemes to company matters, every single time a problem surfaced, Clint convicted her without a shred of evidence.

All those years by his side, and he wouldn't grant her even a sliver of trust?

She drew a slow breath, still holding her patience together. "Fine. Let's say people can lie. But the system logs don't. One look at the workflow records—"

Lucille jumped in immediately. "The cloud drive just crashed. The tech team is working on it, but all recent files are gone."

What impeccable timing for a crash.

The warmth drained from Millie's eyes degree by degree. She turned her gaze on Clint, and all that remained in it was contempt.

Something tightened in his chest under that look, but he pressed on. "Fine. Everyone makes mistakes. We'll let this go for now, but don't let it happen ag—"

"That won't be necessary."

Millie reached up and unclipped her badge in one swift, decisive motion.

"Since I've already lost all credibility in your eyes, Mr. Gilbert, there's no point in me staying at this company."

She held out the resignation letter—the one that needed only his final signature to be complete.

"I quit."