“What do you mean worse?” Damon sounded irritated. “It’s just a stupid pill. You pumped her stomach already, didn’t you? She’ll live.”

The doctor hesitated. “It’s not just that. The tests show signs of late-stage—”

“I already know,” I croaked, cutting him off. “No need to tell him. He doesn’t care.”

I turned my head away. I couldn’t look at Damon.

He gave a small, cold laugh. “You’re right. I don’t. As long as you’re not dead, I’m fine.”

He turned to leave, but his phone rang. I could hear the woman’s voice through the speaker: sweet, soft, disgusting.

“Damon? Where are you? I miss you.”

He glanced at me, then smiled faintly. “At the hospital. Come here if you miss me that much.”

When he hung up, he looked at me again, smirking. “Didn’t you say you wanted me to stay with you for the next two weeks? Guess your wish is coming true.”

I didn’t answer. I just closed my eyes. My whole body was shaking.

A few minutes later, the door opened and Harper walked in. She froze when she saw me on the bed, then quickly looked down and walked straight to Damon.

He slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her close. “Come here,” he murmured before kissing her, right there in front of me.

She kissed him back deeper and the sound of it made my stomach twist harder than the medicine ever did.

Something in me snapped.

I grabbed the vase on the bedside table and hurled it at them. “Get out!” My voice cracked. “Get the hell out of my room!”

The vase shattered. Damon turned fast, blocking Harper with his arm, but a shard still grazed her cheek. A thin line of blood appeared.

He glared at me. She gasped and clung to him like a scared child.

“Damon…” Harper covered her cheek with both hands, tears spilling down her face. “My face—it hurts…”

I watched the way Damon froze. His whole expression changed, like someone had punched the air out of him. Then that panic came—real, desperate panic. The kind I never got to see.

He rushed to her side, lifted her into his arms as if she’d break. “Don’t touch it. You’ll make it worse.”

He turned to the guards, “Get the head of dermatology. No, forget it, call the top foreign doctors. Use the helicopter if you have to! Now!”

They scattered instantly.

I just sat there, leaning against the cold metal bedrail, watching him disappear down the hallway with Harper in his arms. His voice echoed from afar—“Make sure she heals clean. No scars, do you hear me?”

The sound of it felt like a knife scraping over my ribs, slow and dull.

I looked down at my hands. The back of them was full of tiny purple bruises from needles. My fingers were shaking, but I still laughed—quiet, dry, bitter.

Harper only looked a little like Sylvia. Just enough to fool him. Just enough for him to lose his mind over her.

And me the woman he married could bleed out right in front of him, and he wouldn’t even blink.

My stomach twisted again, sharp pain spreading through me. I curled up and waited for it to pass, the thin hospital gown sticking to my skin with sweat.

The next few days blurred together. Pills, injections, pain. Everything hurt. I was so thin I could see the outline of my ribs. My hair came off in handfuls. Even the nurses looked at me with pity, sometimes slipping extra painkillers into my IV.

I didn’t ask. I didn’t thank them either.

Then one afternoon, the door slammed open. Damon stormed in, his face like thunder.

Before I could sit up, he yanked me off the bed by the arm. “Harper almost lost her face because of you!” His voice was cold enough to make my skin crawl. “Are you proud of yourself now?”

I could barely stand. “It was just a scratch,” I whispered.

His hand tightened. “Shut up! You think you can hurt her and get away with it?”

He dragged me down the hall. I stumbled after him, too weak to fight back. Two bodyguards followed close behind.

When we reached the staircase, I saw broken glass scattered all over the steps. My heart dropped.

“Damon—what are you doing?”

He didn’t even look at me. “You like causing pain, right? Let’s see how you handle it.” He nodded to the guards. “Do it.”

I clung to the railing, breath trembling. “She’s not Sylvia! You’re losing your mind!”

He finally looked at me, eyes wild. “She doesn’t need to be Sylvia. She just needs to look like her.”

“Damon—”

He gestured.

The guard shoved me hard.

Pain exploded through my body as I hit the stairs, glass digging into my skin. I couldn’t even scream properly; all that came out was a choked sound. Blood ran down the steps in a slow trail.

Before I could even lift my head, another push came. Then another.

By the third fall, I couldn’t move anymore. The taste of blood filled my mouth. My chest burned. I heard someone shouting, then nothing but ringing in my ears.

When I woke up, I was back in the hospital. Everything hurt. My body, my chest, even breathing.

Outside the curtain, two nurses were whispering.

“Miss Harper’s fine already,” one said softly. “President Whitlocke’s been by her side every day. He treats her like she’s made of glass.”

The other sighed. “And the woman in bed 302... she’s covered in bruises. No one even visits her. Isn’t she his real wife?”

“Shh, don’t talk about it. You’ll get in trouble.”

Their voices faded as they walked away.

I closed my eyes. My throat burned, but no sound came out. Tears just slipped down the sides of my face, soaking into the pillow.

I stayed a few more days, but there was no point anymore. The painkillers barely worked. The doctors couldn’t help.

So one morning, I signed myself out.

If I was going to die, I didn’t want to do it here alone, under white lights, waiting for him to remember I existed.

When I got home, Damon was sitting on the couch, flipping through something on his phone. He glanced at me, expression flat, and stood to walk toward his study like I wasn’t even there.

“Damon,” I called out softly, leaning against the wall for balance. My voice cracked. “It’s my birthday the day after tomorrow.”

He stopped, turned his head slightly. “So?”

“I just… I want to spend it with you. One last time.”

His brow twitched. “Last time? What, are you dying or something?”

I smiled weakly. “Maybe. Can I?”

He snorted, shaking his head. “Fine. I’ll give you a surprise you’ll never forget.” His tone dripped with sarcasm. I knew that look... he was planning something cruel.

Two days later, I showed up at the hotet that he texted me. The moment I opened the door, my legs almost gave out.

The entire hall was white and cold, filled with wreaths of chrysanthemums. A coffin sat in the middle. My photo hung on the wall, framed in black ribbon. Guests in black suits turned to look at me. Nobody said a word.

“Do you like it?” Damon’s voice came from the corner. He stepped out of the crowd, smirking. “A funeral for your birthday. Thought it suited you.”

I stared at my picture, my lips trembling. Then I laughed. “Y-yeah. I love it.”

He froze, just for a second. “If you love it that much, stay still,” he said coldly, waving his hand.

His friends came over, each holding incense sticks, grinning like hyenas.

“The sooner you go, the better.”

“Don’t haunt Nikolai in your next life, okay?”

“Have a safe trip.”

Their laughter filled the room. I just stood there, smiling like it didn’t hurt. Maybe it really didn’t anymore.

When it was over, I turned to leave, but Damon grabbed my arm.

“What’s your game?” he hissed.

“My game?” I repeated quietly.

“Why aren’t you fighting back? You always scream, break things, cry. Why trying to act pitiful now?”

I met his eyes. “It’s not humiliation anymore. I actually like what you did.”

Because this time, it felt real. Like a rehearsal for what was coming.

He stared at me for a long time, confusion flickering across his face, then scoffed. “You’re getting creative now. But it won’t work, Rhea. I’ll never forgive you.”

I didn’t reply. I just looked at him until he looked away first and stormed out.

....

When I got home, the pain hit so hard I couldn’t breathe. I stumbled into the bathroom, barely made it to the sink before blood spilled from my mouth. The red splattered across the tiles like paint.

I rinsed it away, took my pills with shaking hands, and slid into the bathtub. The hot water felt good for a while.

When I tried to comb my hair later, a handful came off with the brush. Is this really me? I stared at my reflection. Hollow cheeks. Pale lips. I smiled bitterly.

I wasn’t sure I’d make it another two weeks.

The next morning, I went to a small photo studio downtown. It smelled of old wood and film.

The old man behind the counter looked up, startled. “You want what?”

“A m-memorial photo,” I said simply. “Something nice. Something that looks like me when I was still alive.”

He hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Alright. I’ll make sure it’s beautiful.”

I put on a red dress I hadn’t worn in years. Painted my lips. Smiled into the camera like I used to: bright, proud, pretending the world hadn’t beaten me down.

When it was done, the man asked, “You want to take it home after it’s developed?”

I shook my head. “No. Just fix it a bit and send it to this address.”

I wrote it down. It was my home address.

I wanted my photo to be beside my sister’s... so at least in death, I’d still look like I belonged somewhere.

...

The ancestral hall smelled like dust and old incense and I stood in front of Slyvia and Nikola's portraits, fingers resting on the black frame like it was the only thing holding me to them. Sylvia’s smile looked like it always did; soft, the kind that made the world slow down. Nikolai’s eyes were the same calm I used to hide in as a child. I whispered, barely audible, “I’ll be with you soon.”

I pressed my forehead to the glass for a second and let a single tear fall onto the altar. “This stupid feud,” I said to the empty room, “it’s almost over.”

“You think you can come in here whenever you want?” Damon’s voice cut through the quiet like a slap. He was behind me before I could turn. I jumped and my elbow hit the frame. The glass shattered with a sharp crack that seemed to echo forever.

He didn’t look surprised. He looked furious. He grabbed my wrist hard enough to bruise. “You already killed them! Now you break their things too?”

“I d-didn’t mean to,” I stuttered, pulling back. “You scared me. If you hadn’t snuck up—”

“Save it.” He shoved me forward. “You’ve got no right to touch any of it.”

“I came to see them. Is that a crime?”

He laughed, “See them? You don’t deserve to look at them.”

Before I could get my footing, two guards stepped up. I hit the doorframe with my knee and almost fell. “Let me go,” I shouted, “Damon, are you out of your mind?”

“You’re the one who’s crazy,” he said, and before I could brace myself one of the guards forced me down toward the center of the hall. “Since you want to stay, then stay here and atone.”

I struggled. “I’ll atone in my own way. This isn’t how—”

He didn’t let me finish. His boot came down on my knee so fast the pain knocked the breath out of me.

I screamed. I hit the broken glass and felt hot lines cutting my skin. Blood soaked the skirt.

Someone called his name softly. “Damon.” Harper stood in the doorway, “I’m sorry. Did I come at a bad time?” She looked like she might cry. She lifted her foot and it slipped. A candlestick tipped over and the flame caught the scattered photos.

The portraits curled at the edges, then blackened. Paper turned to smoke. Nikolai and Sylvia’s faces burned until only ash drifted into the air. Damon’s face changed in a way that pulled something in me apart. He froze, then scooped Harper into his arms like she’d just broken.

“I didn’t mean to,” she blurted, tears starting to fall. “I didn’t mean to! Please don’t be angry.”

For a second he was nothing but panic. He wiped her cheeks like a man who’d been taught that soothing hands could fix anything. “It’s okay,” he murmured into her hair. “It’s fine.”

That look... how he softened, how he rushed felt like a blade twisting in my chest. I ripped free of the guard’s grip and shoved him hard. “Wake up! She’s not Sylvia! She’s a cheap copy who had surgery just to look like my sister.”

Damon’s face shut down into something cold and hard. He grabbed my wrist so tight I thought my bones might crack. “I know she is not,” he said, voice low. “I know. But can you bring Sylvia back to me? No!”

I opened my mouth and nothing came out. I wanted to scream that she was dead, that nothing could fix this, but all I could taste was metal. Tears filled my eyes. He was so close I could see the steam rising from his skin.

“Tie her up,” he ordered. He stepped back and watched like a judge.

They bound my hands with coarse rope and forced me to my knees in the center of that hall, the place I used to run wild as a kid. My wrists chafed, my dress was soaked with blood, and the smoke from the burned photos stung my nostrils.

I knelt there while he cradled the woman I’d loved him into hating. I knelt while the family portraits blackened into nothing. I knelt and thought about how long I’d been falling and how there might not be any ground left to hit.

When Damon walked out with Harper, he didn’t even look back at me. The door slammed shut so hard it shook the floor. Darkness filled the ancestral hall. The ropes cut into my wrists as I fell to the ground. My knees hit cold stone, and tears just… fell on their own.

I looked up at what was left of Sylvia’s portrait. Half of it had burned away. The part with her smile was gone. I laughed through the tears. “You see that, sister?” My voice was shaking. “He can’t even tell what’s real anymore.”

I leaned my head against the floor, whispering to no one. “I’ll see you soon. When I get there, tell him yourself, okay? Tell him how stupid he’s become.”

Outside, I could faintly hear Damon’s footsteps. The faint click of his lighter followed, over and over. He smoked like he was trying to burn the air. I imagined Harper’s voice next... sweet, high, the kind that used to make him melt.

“Damon, you’re scaring me. What’s wrong?”

“Go home,” he said flatly.

“But I want to stay with you—”

“I said go.”

She left eventually. I heard her heels fading down the hallway, one by one. Then there was silence.

He stayed there, though. I could feel it. Maybe he was staring at the door, maybe thinking about breaking it open. But he didn’t. He left me there like he always did.

I don’t remember falling asleep. When they finally untied me, the sun was already setting again. My legs wouldn’t move right. My knees were black and blue, and my back ached like someone had taken a bat to it.

A servant tried to help me, but I shook my head. “Don’t. I’m going out.”

They looked scared to argue. I didn’t have much time left anyway. I just wanted to see my parents once. Just once.

I stood across the street from the old house. The lights were on inside, warm and soft, like they used to be. For a moment, I almost turned back. But the door opened.

The old housekeeper gasped when he saw me. “Miss Rhea? My God, it’s really you—”

Before he could finish, my father came out. His face went pale, then red. “Who told you to come here?”

“D-dad…”

“Get out!” he shouted. “You killed Sylvia, and you still have the face to come back?”

My mother stormed out behind him with a belt. “We don’t have a daughter like you! You’re cursed!” She swung it hard. The belt hit my back again and again. I didn’t move. I didn’t even block it.

“I just wanted to see you,” I whispered. “Just for a minute.”

“What’s there to see?” He kicked my leg. “Go back to your husband. Go die there if you must!”

Die? I smiled bitterly and nodded.

The rain started suddenly, pouring down, turning the ground to mud. I slipped when they shoved me. The belt fell from my mother’s hand, but she didn’t reach for me.

I stayed there, on my knees. Then I bowed three times, forehead touching the wet pavement each time. “Take care of yourselves,” I said quietly. “I won’t bother you again.”

Then I turned away.

The rain got heavier. It soaked me until I couldn’t tell the difference between tears and rainwater. I just kept walking. I didn’t even know where I was going.

A car slowed beside me, black and sleek, headlights cutting through the downpour. The window rolled down. Damon’s face appeared, stone cold, cigarette between his fingers.

He looked at me like I was just another stranger on the street.

"Get in the car," he ordered.