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.

Why should I? I might ruined his car seat... So, I kept walking in the rain, pretending I didn’t hear him.

The sound of my wet shoes slapping against the pavement was the only thing I wanted to listen to.

“If you don’t get in,” Damon said behind me, “I’ll drag you in myself. Choose.”

I froze. Then the car door opened with a loud click. I didn’t want to fight. I just got in.

The moment I sat down, water dripped from my hair and soaked into the leather seat. I tried to sit as small as I could in the corner, hugging my knees, shaking.

He gave me one look and scoffed. “You really are pathetic. Even your own parents kicked you out. Guess they finally saw what kind of person you are.”

I didn’t say anything. Just looked out the window. The rain on the glass looked like veins, spreading everywhere, bleeding light.

He didn’t drive us home. We stopped in front of some fancy club instead.

My throat tightened. “Why are we here?”

He smirked and opened my door. “Come on. Let’s play.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Didn’t ask what you wanted.” He grabbed my arm. “Don’t act scared now.”

Inside, the lights were dim. The music was too loud. Harper was sitting in the middle, in her usual white dress, smiling like she owned the world.

When she saw Damon, her face lit up. “There you are! We’ve been waiting forever. Let’s play some games!”

Her friends screamed in agreement, half-drunk already. “Losers get punished!”

It started as truth or dare, or maybe some twisted version of it. It didn't matter. Damon and Harper “accidentally” lost in the first round.

“We should make them drink the wedding cup!” someone shouted.

The girls giggled and pushed the glasses forward. Harper’s face was already pink from wine. Damon looked at me, smiling like he wanted me to break, and raised the glass.

They lost again.

This time one of the girls drew a card and grinned. “Five-minute kiss. Deep. No cheating.”

The room burst into cheers.

Before I could blink, Damon’s hand was on the back of Harper’s head, kissing her like the world wasn’t watching.

I sat there, hands trembling under the table. My stomach burned even though all I drank was water.

The last punishment was worse. They made him lift Harper up and spin her like a princess. Everyone screamed and clapped. Harper’s laugh filled the whole room, loud and sweet, like she knew I was watching.

And he kept glancing at me. Waiting for a reaction. Waiting for me to cry or scream or run.

But I didn’t. I just sipped my water and stood up. “Bathroom,” I muttered. The hem of my dress brushed his knee as I walked past.

In the bathroom, I turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on my face. The woman in the mirror looked like she’d already died. Pale lips. Empty eyes.

When I pushed the door open, Harper was leaning against the wall outside, blocking the way.

“Still pretending to be calm?” she said, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. “You should’ve seen Damon before we came. He said he was going to make you lose face tonight.”

I tried to walk around her. “Move.”

She grabbed my wrist. “You think you’re still Mrs. Whitlocke? He told me he only married you to get revenge. You’re nothing but a placeholder.”

I turned, staring straight into her smug face. “He can hurt me all he wants. But you?” I stepped closer, voice low and steady. “You’re just a stand-in for a dead woman. You really think that’s something to be proud of?”

Her smile twitched, then sharpened. “At least I’m alive. You won’t be, not for long.”

My eyes narrowed. “What did you say?”

She laughed softly. “You really think your pancreatic cancer was bad luck? Poor thing. Those vitamins you took every morning?” She leaned close, her breath brushing my ear. “I switched them. Months ago. Same brand, same bottle... only mine had a little something extra. Toxin. Slow poison. It burns your pancreas from the inside out.”

My stomach turned cold.

She smiled wider, eyes glinting with triumph. “I wanted to watch you rot from the inside. And guess what? It worked.”

“How dare you!”

"Yes, how dare me.”

She grabbed my collar and raised her hand, ready to strike. But then her eyes flicked over my shoulder. She froze.

Damon.

Her face changed instantly into panic replacing venom. She shoved herself backward and screamed.

“Ahhh!”

She hit the floor, clutching her forehead. Blood spilled through her fingers.

Damon rushed over, furious, scooping her up.

“Rhea!” His voice shook with rage. “You killed your sister, and now you want to kill her too? Do you even know she’s the closest I could find to Sylvia?”

The siren of an ambulance wailed somewhere outside.

He carried Harper out carefully, holding her like she was made of glass. Before he got into the car, he turned and glared at me.

“If she dies, Rhea, I’ll make sure you live wishing you didn’t.”

...

When the car drove off, I stood on the steps, the rain falling harder, soaking through everything.

Then I laughed. Damon hates me, his mistress poisoned me... What's there to left?

“Life worse than death,” I whispered. “You think I haven’t been living it already?”

I walked home alone. Damon didn’t call that night. Didn’t show up either.

But I knew he would. He always did.

At three in the morning, the sound of the front door being kicked open echoed through the villa.

The sound of the door slamming open jolted me awake.

Before I could move, Damon was already beside the bed. His face was dark, eyes colder than I’d ever seen. He yanked the blanket off me and grabbed my wrist.

“Get up.” His voice cut like ice. “You’re going to the hospital.”

I blinked at him, confused and half-asleep. “What—why?”

He didn’t answer. Just pulled harder.

“Damon, stop, you’re hurting me!”

He turned, eyes burning. “Harper needs blood. You have the same type. You’re coming with me.”

My stomach twisted. “I didn’t push her. It wasn’t me—”

“Shut up.” He shoved me toward the door. “You’ll do what you’re told.”

The ride was silent. Rain slid down the car window, and I counted each drop to keep from crying.

At the hospital, the fluorescent lights were too bright. Everything looked white and sick. Damon dragged me straight to a small room where a nurse waited.

The nurse took one look at me, hesitated. “Sir, she’s too pale. We can’t draw blood from her right now.”

“Why not?” Damon snapped.

The nurse flipped through my chart, frowning. “She has a serious medical condition. Late-stage cancer.”

“What?”