For seven years, I tested experimental drugs for my husband, a rising star in the medical world. I stood behind him silently, supporting every breakthrough, every sleepless night, until the day he stepped onto the international stage to receive his award.

But the woman he tearfully thanked under the spotlight wasn't me.

It was Loren Steele—my biological sister.

As the applause thundered around him, my world fell silent. Even our son, whom I had nearly died giving birth to, ran into Loren’s frail arms, clinging to her like she was his true mother. The three of them looked so complete, so loving…like a real family.

On my birthday, they told me they were too busy to celebrate. Later, I saw their smiling faces splashed across social media, flaunting their love with cake, flowers, and the caption: “Grateful to be with the people I love.”

I wasn’t in the picture. I wasn’t even an afterthought.

Because of Loren’s casually cruel suggestion, my beloved dog—my only companion for six years—was drowned.

Across the street, they lived happily in their new home. A house filled with warmth, laughter, and Loren’s delicate touch. I was nothing but a shadow.

I finally confronted them, unable to hold in the rage.

But Arthur Slater, my husband, looked at me as if I were dirt beneath his shoes.

“You’ve been her substitute your whole life. Haven’t you figured out your place yet?”

Even our son, Abraham, chimed in coldly.

“I don’t want you to be my mom. Aunt Loren is better. Dad doesn’t love you—why are you still living here?”

My parents begged me to back down, as always.

“Can’t you let your sister have her way? Must you see her die to be satisfied?”

That day, I made a decision—I would leave everything behind.

But not before Loren cornered me with a smirk:

“You’ll never be better than me—before or now. If you hadn't shown up back then, I would’ve been the one with Arthur. Abraham would’ve been my child. Everything you’ve lost…you brought on yourself.”

She didn’t know I’d already accepted a high-paying offer from a wealthy family.

I was about to become the daughter-in-law of their comatose son.

……

“I’ve made my decision,” I told my best friend over the phone, my voice calm.

The first truly rebellious act of my life was to marry a man who couldn’t speak, move, or betray me.

My best friend laughed in disbelief. “Finally! We’ll come pick you up next month. But... are you really ready to leave your husband? Your son?”

I smiled bitterly, tears trailing down my cheeks.

What husband? What son?

The image of them smiling together at that award ceremony still haunted me.

“Aunt Loren, can you be my mom?”

“I don’t want her anymore. She looks like one of those aunts who sells vegetables. I was humiliated at school last time because of her!”

“Loren is graceful, elegant, well-spoken…how could your mother compare?”

I realized I had walked in at the wrong time. I was the uninvited guest at their happy celebration. The outsider who didn’t belong.

I looked down at my hands—scarred and calloused from years of care, cleaning, cooking, and self-sacrifice.

Looking at my son, who I had raised for seven years, I finally lost control.

“Arthur, choose. Me, or her.”

His eyes flashed with fury. “How dare you insult her? You were late. It was Loren who helped me rise. Don’t you dare bully her!”

Abraham’s small face twisted in anger, and he pushed me with all his strength.

I lost balance and crashed into a wine rack. Glass shattered. Blood ran down my arm.

Arthur rushed forward—not to help me, but to shield Loren from flying glass, cradling her like she was made of porcelain.

The champagne spilled, and with it, the illusion of a happy family shattered completely.

After that day, they no longer hid their relationship. They paraded their love openly.

Today was my birthday. Again, they claimed to be busy. But I saw the truth on social media—Arthur and Loren beaming over candles and roses. In the photo, both of them wore the clothes I had ironed for them that very morning.

I called again and again. He didn’t pick up. Finally, he sent a single message:

“She’s your sister. She’s sick and needs care. How can you be so heartless?”

“Sister.” Just two syllables, yet they bound me like chains.

Loren had a rare blood disease, in and out of hospitals since childhood. All my parents' love went to her. I was born not as a daughter, but as her blood bag.

They threw grand parties for her birthday, forgot mine completely.

She loved flowers, so they filled the house with blooms—even though I was allergic.

They’d leave me hungry and alone, only to return, laughing, their stomachs full.

If I showed even a hint of sadness, I was scolded.

“Your sister is ill! Why are you so selfish?”

Arthur was the only person who treated me differently.

When classmates threatened me to alter lab results, he stood beside me:

“If you don’t want to do it, then don’t.”

He became my light in a world ruled by Loren’s shadow.

I followed him, admired him—for six years. I fell in love.

The night before I planned to confess, someone drugged my drink. We ended up sleeping together. Two months later, I was pregnant.

He agreed to marry me.

At home, we were respectful partners. At work, a flawless team.

But after that night, he never touched me again. I thought he was simply reserved—until the cocktail party.

That night, someone drugged him again. But he didn’t touch me.

Instead, I saw him lock himself in the study—and pleasure himself to a video of Loren.

Afterward, he picked up a call.

“Mr. Slater, why do you stay cooped up in that lab for Loren? You're rich, talented, you could be with anyone.”

“I’m the only one who can develop the drug she needs. Others will take 10 years. She doesn’t have that time.”

“You’re the most devoted man in Las Vegas. I thought you’d moved on after marrying Lora and having a child.”

“Move on? If it wasn’t for that drugged night, Loren and I wouldn’t have lost all these years. Don’t compare them—Lora can’t even match a strand of Loren’s hair.”

“Why not just divorce and marry her now?”

“She won’t accept me while she’s sick. But as her brother-in-law, I can stay close. Once she’s cured…I’ll propose.”

Each word stabbed deeper than the last.

That night, I died inside.

Today, walking past the study, I heard muffled sounds. The door was ajar.

Arthur sat there, hand wrapped around himself, staring at Loren on a screen. She wore a stunning dress, her voice soft and sweet.

“Loren...” he moaned.

He didn't even finish this time. Just stayed there, lost in her.

My stomach turned.

Then his voice cut through the silence:

“Who's there?”

Arthur quickly shut off the tablet, yanked his coat over his lap to hide the bulge, and put on his usual cold, ascetic mask.

His long legs, encased in tailored slacks, were visibly tense as he stood. In that moment of panic, I found myself staring at his chiseled features—his high nose bridge, sharp jawline, and lips that always seemed poised to mock. He really was born with a face that could ruin lives.

Without a word, he picked up a glass of water, walked toward the door, and—splash—poured it straight on me.

He did it on purpose.

He thought I was spying on him.

Arthur's gaze swept from my soaked hair down to my soaked chest, and he turned away with a flash of disgust. "Didn’t I tell you not to come into my study?"

Water trickled down my face, slid over my chest, and soaked through the white blouse I wore. I knew exactly what he was thinking—that I was trying to seduce him again. Fine. I gave him the satisfaction.

I wiped my face, undid the top two buttons of my shirt, and exposed the smooth line of my collarbone. "I was just worried my husband’s excessive desire might burn up his liver."

His eyes flinched toward the glimpse of skin before his face twisted. "Don’t think marriage gives you the right to dream. I will never fall in love with you."

I stayed silent. But his tone grew colder, his words sharper. "I’ll be responsible for you, that’s all. Stop deluding yourself."

What a joke. The man could be aroused just by Loren’s voice, but I could strip naked in front of him and he’d recoil.

My nails dug into my palms to keep myself from exploding.

I grabbed his sleeve. "Do you even know what day it is today?"

I regretted it immediately.

"What now? Didn’t I tell you to stay out if there’s nothing urgent?" He pried my fingers off like I was some disgusting burden.

I felt the embarrassment crawl up my throat, but I forced a smile anyway. My eyes fell to the faint lipstick smudge on his collar—soft pink, definitely not mine. My mind flashed back to that photo: the tenderness in his eyes as he kissed Loren.

He never loved me. He married me because of a sense of duty. I knew that. But I didn’t expect that with time, duty would turn to contempt.

Even our son preferred Loren. Even he told me to get lost.

Loren—the eternal heroine of our shared life. She always had to win. She always did.

But it didn’t matter anymore.

Seven years. That’s all it was.

"Tomorrow’s seminar is critical for the institute’s future funding. As the core member, you’re expected to attend," I said coolly, buttoning my blouse as I turned to leave.

Arthur snorted. "I told you—I don’t waste time on those shallow business exchanges. I’m not going."

I didn’t even glance back. "Loren’s company will be there too."

A pause. Then his voice, low but decisive: "Fine. I’ll go."

My heart clenched.

Right on cue. Mention Loren, and he would toss aside every principle.

It’s fine. Very soon, he won’t have to pretend anymore. I’ll leave, and the stage will be all hers.

—

The next morning, I sat leisurely at the table, sipping hand-brewed black coffee and slowly enjoying a sandwich. For once, the house was quiet. Peaceful.

Arthur came storming down the stairs, irritation written all over his face. He had a wrinkled shirt in one hand and a suit in the other.

"What am I supposed to wear today? Why didn’t you iron anything or help coordinate like you usually do?"

I didn’t even look up. "You’ve always said you hate me touching your things."

"You—" He stopped short, visibly frustrated, but before he could respond, a sleepy voice chimed in.

"Mom, where’s my breakfast?" Abraham rubbed his eyes and looked at the empty plate on the table. His lower lip quivered.

I took another sip of coffee. "I used to wake up early every day to make you breakfast, but you always had something to complain about. From now on, you can ask your dad."

Abraham pouted, turned to his father, and said, "Buy me something. Give me money." Then he grabbed the cash and stormed off.

Arthur stood there, dumbfounded. Something about Lora felt... off lately. Different. But he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

He shook his head and buried the thought. He had more important things to do—like seeing Loren.

When we arrived at the venue, Loren was already there. Her light yellow dress made her stand out like a spotlight in the crowd.

The moment Arthur saw her, his previously cold expression softened noticeably. From the moment we walked in, I could feel his gaze glued to her—he didn’t even bother hiding it.

“Sister!” Loren beamed and ran over. “I’m so happy to see you here!”

She leaned in and kissed Arthur lightly on the cheek. His ears flushed red on contact.

Then she reached out to touch me.

I blocked her with the file in my hand. “No need.”

Her smile froze midair, her eyes welling up, but she quickly straightened, forcing a brave little grin. “When I’m fully recovered, maybe you won’t hate me so much. I’ll do everything I can—”

Arthur’s face darkened slightly. His eyes finally shifted to me—not with concern, but with irritation.

I didn’t have time for this performance. My focus was on the upcoming partnership meeting. But Loren giggled softly and playfully tapped Arthur’s chest with both hands.

“Arthur, I heard that last time I had an episode at the hospital, I really wanted pickled fried radish. You and Abraham waited two hours in the snow just to get it for me and bring it to my ward? That’s so sweet... I was in a coma then, and I’ve been recovering, so I never got the chance to say thank you.”

Arthur’s expression melted. “We’re family. It was nothing.”

Family? What a joke.

That day, I was writhing in pain at home from a stomach infection, barely able to stand. He left with Abraham for three hours, claiming he had to attend a father-son event.

Turns out, their little “family” event was for Loren.

“Then I owe you and Abraham a big dinner,” Loren said in a coy, sugary voice.

Arthur didn’t decline. A faint smile curved his lips. “Sure. Whatever you say.”

“And of course your sister should come too,” Loren added sweetly. “We all live nearby, don’t we?” Her tone was gentle, but her eyes gleamed with challenge when they landed on me. “Sister, why do you look so tired? I’m the one who's been sick for years, remember?”

I had no interest in this game. “Just focus on taking care of yourself. Stop worrying about others. Maybe if you stopped thinking so much, you wouldn’t be so anemic.”

Her expression faltered before she quickly masked it with a smile. Arthur’s brow furrowed, deeper this time, but he said nothing.

Thankfully, the host announced the start of the seminar, bringing a welcome end to this farce. I walked straight to my seat. One more second around them, and I would’ve thrown up.

I’d be getting married in Hawaii soon. It was likely I wouldn’t be able to continue my research after that. This seminar was important—not just for the institute, but for me. I needed to secure a strong partnership for the team and close the chapter on the years I’d poured into this work.

I had once been accepted to a top-tier medical university. But because it was over a thousand kilometers from home—and I wouldn’t be nearby to donate blood to Loren—my parents altered my application behind my back and forced me into a local nursing program.

They chose nursing not for my future, but because it would help me “take better care of Loren.”

When I resisted, they cut off all financial support. I worked part-time jobs to survive, finally got into graduate school, and chose the major I really wanted. But I got pregnant shortly after, and again, everything was put on hold.

To help Arthur’s research, I even volunteered to be a test subject. It wasn’t until earlier this year that I was finally invited to join this research team. I treasured the opportunity.

I had prepared meticulously for this seminar. I could confidently back up every point with research and evidence.

Loren, on the other hand, with her so-called prestigious education, said almost nothing. Her silence was telling.

When Sterling Company expressed strong interest in collaborating with our team, her face visibly darkened.

“Sister, do you even have the credentials to say that?” Loren finally snapped. “You studied nursing, didn’t you? If you make a mistake, the consequences could be serious.”

I didn’t even bother to look at her. I calmly continued presenting the project and fielding questions from industry professionals, winning nods and applause across the room.

“Professor Steele’s team has a sharp vision and offers truly innovative ideas for drug applications,” an elderly expert praised warmly.

Meanwhile, Loren’s presentation quickly unraveled under scrutiny. A few targeted questions left her floundering. Her expression turned pale as she fumbled with her notes.

“Uh… our data is still being compiled…” she stammered, beads of sweat forming on her brow.

I smiled faintly. I knew exactly how little this “sister” of mine was worth.

Her education had been bought. She couldn’t conduct research if her life depended on it. She’d just heard that healthcare was profitable lately and thought she could ride the wave.

Her company was notorious in the industry for being all talk and no substance—flashy presentations, but no deliverables.

Just then, a man in a tailored suit walked into the center of the venue and made a bold announcement:

“Professor Steele’s project—The Slater Family is investing 500 million.”