Eight years ago, my cousin Wendy Cooper was involved in a drunk driving hit-and-run. Yet, my parents made sure all the evidence pointed toward me.

The victim's family waited outside my school every day with gasoline, threatening to die with me. Because of that, the school took away my guaranteed admission to university.

That day, my parents and brother all tried to persuade me.

"Wendy's terrified. Just give her your spot to make her feel better."

I refused, fought back, and even tried to talk them out of it. But the next day, they handed me over to the police themselves.

Lance Stewart, my fiance and a powerful business tycoon, had orchestrated it all.

As he was afraid I'd run or cause trouble, he personally pinned several charges on me and sent me to an isolated island prison. He left me with no way out.

When my sentence began, he made me a promise.

"Esme, just endure it for a few years. I'll get you out once Wendy graduates, and then we'll get married."

Eight years later, I finally stepped out of prison.

"Esme Walker, now that you're out, live an honest life. Keep moving forward, and don't look back," a prison guard said.

I took the few personal belongings I had from the prison guard and boarded the fishing boat that had come for me.

Wendy graduated four years ago, but I had spent eight years in this prison.

…

As soon as I stepped ashore in Whitville, I saw a luxury car. The window rolled down, and there was my fiance, Lance Stewart, with the same perpetual indifferent expression.

"I'm sorry you had to go through that. I promised you we'd get married," he said.

I didn't answer him and just got into the car.

I saw myself in the rearview mirror. My skin was dry and sallow, marred by scars of varying lengths and depths.

I looked hideous.

Lance noticed how miserable I looked, too.

"Esme, you—"

He had just started to speak when a ringtone cut him off.

I could already guess who was calling and what was coming next. After all, this sort of thing happened time and time again.

"Esme, I'm sorry. Wendy's sick," Lance said. "She's kind-hearted and has always felt guilty about what happened eight years ago. Your release today reopened old wounds again.

"I need to go to the hospital right away. When you see her, talk to her, okay? Tell her you did everything willingly."

Before he could finish, I got out of the car on my own.

Lance froze for a second. As he looked at me standing by the roadside, his expression grew hard to read.

"I'll arrange for a driver to take you home. As for your injuries, give me a few days. I'll arrange for a consultation with a doctor."

I had been imprisoned and tortured for eight years, and thousands of sunless days had taught me one thing.

All of them, including Lance, never loved me.

I had stopped wanting to marry him a long time ago, too.

When I was eight years old, my uncle, Charles Cooper, drowned. He had tried to save me and my cousin, Wendy Cooper, after we fell into the river.

Two years later, a fire broke out at Wendy's house. My aunt, Beatrice Walker, died in the flames.

Wendy was only four months younger than I was, but she had already lost both her parents.

My mom and dad always believed my childish recklessness was what caused Charles' death, and that it had led to Beatrice's tragedy.

And so, they adopted Wendy.

As for me, I had to give in to her in everything and mind her feelings.

Eight years ago, they even made me go to prison in her place just so she could take my guaranteed admission to university.

To outsiders, I was the one who seemed adopted compared to Wendy. Many didn't even know the Walkers had a biological daughter.

Two hours later, I arrived at Walker Residence. Wendy was still in the hospital and needed help, so the only ones at home were the butler, Perry White, and two housekeepers on duty.

"Ms. Esme, what happened eight years ago caused a huge scandal. Mr. and Mrs. Walker said you shouldn't go out. You'll embarrass the family," Perry said.

He didn't even bother to hide the disgust in his eyes as he spat out the words "embarrass the family" forcefully.

"Ms. Wendy needs help at the hospital, so you'll have to clean up your room yourself."

"Feel free to do as you wish, Ms. Esme."

I glanced at the two housekeepers playing mobile games while lying on the couch.

I understood the reality perfectly. Someone as unloved and unwanted as I was would never truly be seen as the Walker family's daughter.

"Okay," I responded flatly.

The storage room under the stairs had been my room since I was ten years old. No one had ever cleaned it then, and it was no different this time.

But when I opened the door, the dust and mold still made me cough.

Yet, I was too exhausted. I lay on the bed and fell asleep right away.

…

In the middle of the night, I woke up groggy to get some water when I heard my brother, Brett Walker's, voice outside.

"Why did you bring Esme back? It's her fault Wendy got upset again. If anything happens to Wendy, I say we send Esme back into prison and never let her out! That would be doing society a favor."

My father, Richard Walker, sighed and stayed silent.

After a long pause, he finally said, "Esme is still a member of our family. The public may not know about this, but if someone with an agenda digs into it, it could harm Wendy."

"Then what should we do? It's cold and lonely at the hospital. Wendy can't stay there forever," Brett said, seemingly having forgotten that I was his sister, too.

Before Wendy came into our family, he used to call me "Mimi" endearingly.

My mother, Gemma Grant, spoke up. "When Wendy comes home, just make sure Esme doesn't come out and be an eyesore."

Although I had always known they didn't love me, hearing my mother say I was "an eyesore" still made my chest tighten painfully.

Suddenly, my phone rang. It was a message from Iris Marino, a professor from the Romeronian Academy of Letters.

"May God bless you, my child. Your poetry shines, and hiding yourself won't keep it from being seen," Iris wrote. "You won the award, didn't you? I told you this before. You were born to be a poet!"

I was momentarily speechless. I recalled how, back in prison, reading and writing were the only things that kept me going—especially poetry.

Nothing was born more vividly than poetry written in blood and tears.

At the time, there was international competition. I asked the prison guard who had secretly looked after me to submit my entry.

I didn't expect Iris to be one of the judges, and I never imagined I would actually win.

"I can't wait to take a genius like you to a place where your talent can shine. Will you come to Romero and be my student?" Iris asked.

I couldn't hold back my tears when faced with Iris, who was like a mother to me. I had never cried in the past eight years.

I met her during a community writing contest when I was in elementary school.

The kind and gentle elderly lady was a literature professor who truly appreciated my work. Even after I grew up, she kept in touch and asked more than once to bring me to Romero to study.

Sadly, before I could make my decision, the scandal eight years ago cut off every path I had.

However, Iris never believed the reports from that time. She worried about me for eight years and reached out the moment I was released.

To her, I was still her child.

Without hesitation, I texted back instantly and asked if I still had a chance to go to Romero.

"My child, God bless you. Literature will always be your home. Give me two weeks, and I'll come pick you up myself!" Iris replied.

She was coming in two weeks. I closed my eyes and started counting down in silence.

In just two more weeks, I would finally leave this place for good and start a new life.

…

The next morning, I was woken up by loud laughter. I pushed open my room door as my head pounded painfully.

What I saw was a warm, cozy scene.

Wendy had been discharged. She was sitting on the couch in a custom-made designer dress, and her makeup was flawless yet understated.

My parents, Brett, and Lance were all gathered around her.

Everyone cheered in unison, "Congratulations to Wendy on joining the company!"

My father laughed heartily, his expression full of pride. "Our Wendy is all grown up now. Time flies, and now she's ready to help out with the family business!"

"That's right. Once you can stand on your own, I'll fund a new company just for you, Wendy!" My mother chimed in.

Wendy gasped in surprise and asked, "Thank you, everyone! Did you all get me presents too?"

"This is a big moment in your life," my mother said as she handed Wendy a beautiful gift box. "How can there be no gifts?"

My father and Brett both handed their gifts to Wendy as well. Lance even placed a sapphire necklace around Wendy's neck himself.

Wendy's eyes were filled with joy, but she still put on a show of modesty.

"When Esme joins the company, you'll prepare even better gifts for her, right?" she asked.

"Sweetheart, what are you talking about?" My mother cut in. "She's not educated and has no character. Why would Richard and I ever let her into the company?"

"Precisely." Brett sneered. "The only reason we even feed her is because we're related. That's already more kindness than she deserves."

At the same time, Wendy noticed me. Her eyes immediately turned red-rimmed.

"Esme, you're awake. Mom, Dad, and Brett were just joking. Please don't take it to heart," she said. "I was unwell yesterday, so I couldn't pick you up. Don't be mad at me, okay?"

Lance glanced at me, then turned his attention back to Wendy. "You're being too kind. You didn't pick her up, that's all. Why would she blame you?

"Esme, come here. Let's celebrate Wendy!"

As I looked at the smug look on Wendy's face, I couldn't force a pleasant expression to appear on my face.

My father huffed angrily. "Eight years in prison, and that lazy streak still isn't gone. You got up this late and still haven't even congratulated Wendy.

"Don't forget. If it weren't for Charles, you'd be dead long ago!"

My father grew increasingly agitated. Just as he was about to grab a vase and throw it at me, my mother stopped him.

"Don't ruin a good day with bad energy!" she said, shooting me a glare when she finished.

They had all forgotten that it was my birthday today, too.

Ever since they adopted Wendy, I have never celebrated my birthday.

"It's alright, Dad." Wendy's eyes welled up with tears. "I don't blame her. It's all my fault."

As she spoke, she looked at me. "Esme, since I just got out of the hospital, will you give me a gift too?"

She paused, then added, "I want Lance. Will you let me have him, Esme?"

She laid bare her filthy intentions, but no one thought anything of it. They were all waiting for my answer.

"No," I said bluntly.