On the day a street enforcer threw acid in my face, my mother was at my cousin's coming-of-age ceremony at the Ferraro estate.

Ironically, it was also my birthday.

Dying, I sent my mother a desperate voice message for help. She shot back a text: [Stop playing these games for attention. You don't fool me.]

That same night, Mom got called back to handle an internal inquiry — a woman's body had been found on Ferraro territory.

The body was beyond recognition, and her limbs were mutilated.

For three straight days and nights, Mom pieced together that the victim had suffered unspeakable abuse and died in utter despair.

She cursed the killer's cruelty.

What she didn't realize was that the dead woman was me, the daughter she hated.

They found my body three days later in a trash pile at the waterfront market, deep inside Ferraro territory.

It reeked so bad that a stray dog sniffing around for food started barking like crazy.

A Family associate on patrol, alerted by the noise, discovered the disfigured corpse. He made one call. Within the hour, the compound knew.

Quickly, the Family assembled an enforcement detail under La Giustizia, led by my mother, Gianna Ferraro.

When my mother arrived at the scene, she looked upset. Her crew, aware she had taken a personal day, murmured apologies. "Donna Ferraro, we know you were off for your daughter's feast day. But this one landed on our territory. If we don't handle it before the Feds catch wind, the Commission will have questions. You're the best we've got."

Mom's expression softened slightly, but she didn't clarify that she had actually been at her niece Serafina Marchetti's ceremony, not her daughter's. She treated Serafina as her own.

Despite her years running La Giustizia, Mom appeared pale and gravely serious at the scene. Two soldiers flanked the perimeter. No one spoke above a murmur.

"Looks like she went through hell before she died," Mom muttered, examining the body's wounds.

Her face twisted in anger as she spat out, "Asshole. So damn cruel."

There I was, silently watching over my own corpse. Even as a spirit, the memories of my final torment brought pain and fear. My hand drifted to my throat, reaching for the pendant that used to hang there — the one engraved V.F. — and closed around nothing.

Right then, Salvatore Greco walked over, his hands scrubbed raw and red, a grim look on his face as he shared the latest findings with Mom. "She bled out from her liver. And..." he hesitated, "Her fingerprints were destroyed. Identifying her is gonna be tough."

Mom paused, her mind racing back to a similar case from a few months ago.

"There was a killing like this in Calabrese territory recently. Same method," she directed one of her crew. "Dominic, dig into that."

Standing there as a spirit, watching my mom work so intently, I couldn't help but think, "Mom has always been the person I looked up to, all my life."

The crew hadn't found much since this wasn't the primary scene. Eventually, about a thousand feet from the dump site, they stumbled upon a cake smashed on the ground, its frosting spoiled.

"Probably the victim's," one of the soldiers guessed.

Mom bit her lip, pulled out her phone, hesitated, but finally made the call. All she got was a busy signal.

She hung up quickly, her face clouding over as she muttered, "Where the hell is Valentina messing around now? Didn't even show up for Serafina's ceremony. She's becoming ruder by the day, completely ignoring me."

Suddenly, I was overwhelmed with sadness.

I realized then, "Mom actually forgot that Serafina's ceremony was on my birthday."

On that birthday, Mom had left with Serafina right in front of me, not even bothering to say a word.

They rewrapped my body and sealed it in a black waterproof body bag.

Like handling a worthless piece of merchandise.

I was carried to the lowest level of the Ferraro Manor.

That was where the family disposed of their "shady" possessions.

Salvato was there.

He managed the family's underground medical facility and was the most familiar with the corpses.

The heavy iron door closed, cutting off all outside sound.

Cold white light shone on my remains.

"Identifying me will be troublesome," Salvato said, removing his mask, his tone as calm as discussing the weather. "The face is completely destroyed, and the fingerprints are gone."

"We'll have to go through the family's DNA channels; it'll take at least a few days."

He finished speaking and rewrapped the body shroud around me.

His movements were devoid of any extra emotion.

My mother nodded.

She didn't look at me again.

As if confirming that the body was no longer of any value.

She removed her gloves and turned to leave.

Dominic stood to the side, his gaze lingering on my face for a moment.

At that instant, his expression finally changed slightly.

“Donna Ferraro,” he said in a low voice, “whoever her daughter is, her family is in hell right now.”

“We have to find her.”

His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried a suppressed anger.

My mother didn’t respond.

It was as if she’d heard those words far too many times.

Dominic paused, then smiled again.

“However, with you here, this person won’t live much longer.”

She was used to this kind of flattery.

She didn’t even bother to show any emotion.

“Retrieve the files,” she said calmly. “Retrieve all similar cross-regional methods recently.”

“I don’t believe this was a solo operation.”

The order fell, as swift and decisive as a knife.

I stood to the side, watching her.

Just like when I was a child.

I’d known since I was very young that she was strong.

Strong enough to inspire awe.

The corridors of Ferraro Manor are long.

As a child, I often hid around a corner, watching her walk by.

She was surrounded by a group of armed men.

Everyone bowed their heads, barely daring to breathe.

The sound of her high heels clicking on the ground felt like a hammer blow to the heart.

They called her—

"The Goddess of Justice."

The most untouchable person in the underworld.

At committee meetings, she always sat in the center.

Calm, her tone steady.

"The family's interests are above all else."

"Procedures cannot be broken."

No one dared to contradict her when she said these words.

I was once proud.

And I longed for it.

I wanted to be like her.

But later I understood.

She never considered me "part of the family."

I suddenly wanted to ask her:

If one day, the person you dissected was me,

Would you stop?

Would you be sad? The answer, I already knew.

—No.

I remember it clearly.

She grabbed my neck and pinned me against the wall.

Her eyes were bloodshot, her voice hoarse.

“I’d rather you were the one who died.”

At that moment, I forgot to struggle.

Now, thinking back.

She was probably serious.

The night grew deeper.

The manor was eerily quiet.

Only the low hum of the surveillance system echoed in the air.

Dominic glanced at her.

Her shoulders were slightly tense.

It was a rare sight of exhaustion.

He spoke tentatively.

“Donna Ferraro, I’ll keep an eye on the rest.”

“You should go back and be with your daughter.”

“It’s her birthday today.”

My mother paused.

She looked down at her phone.

The moment the screen lit up, her expression softened.

There was even a hint of a smile. That smile, I'd never seen before.

"Not my daughter," she said casually, as if correcting a trivial mistake. "She's my niece."

"She's waiting for me at the manor for dinner."

With that, she turned and left.

Even her footsteps were lighter than before.

Like…impatient.

I stood there.

Suddenly, I felt a chill.

Dominic didn't move.

He took a cigarette from his pocket, slowly twirling it between his fingers, but didn't light it.

He muttered something under his breath.

"Niece…"

"She comes to the manor often."

"But her biological daughter…I've never seen her even once."

He paused.

As if suddenly realizing something.

But he didn't continue thinking about it.

I looked at him.

Suddenly, I found it ridiculous.

This question.

I've asked myself countless times.

Unfortunately.

I died before I could find the answer.

I've been missing for a full week.

In the Ferraro family, this means one thing:

I've been implicitly considered "disposed of."

The irony is:

No one in the entire manor has mentioned me.

It's as if I never existed.

The first person to "discover" my disappearance was Serafina.

She stood in the center of the main hall, her white dress so pristine it seemed otherworldly.

Delicate, harmless, perfect.

"Aunt Gianna..." her voice was soft, as if it would dissipate in a breeze, "Valentina hasn't returned for several days... Do you think something might have happened to her?"

As she spoke, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

The movement was clean, restrained, and perfectly timed.

As if meticulously rehearsed countless times.

My mother looked at her.

At that moment, her expression held a tenderness I had never seen before.

“Ignore her,” she said indifferently. “That heartless person didn’t even come to your initiation ceremony.”

“She’s probably out fooling around again.”

She reached out and straightened Serafina’s collar.

The gesture was painfully intimate.

“I’ll always be with you.”

“Just like your mother entrusted me with this before she died.”

Seraphina’s eyes instantly reddened.

She threw herself into my mother’s arms, her voice trembling.

“I knew…you’re the best person for me.”

My mother hugged her.

For a moment, her movements even carried a kind of… cautious tenderness.

“You are my most beloved child.”

She said.

Word by word.

Without the slightest hesitation.

I stood beside her.

Suddenly, I felt as if my chest had been ripped open.

Something I had never received.

She gave it to someone else.

Without hesitation.

My father died long ago.

She died in a family purge.

Not even her body was left.

From then on, only she and I remained in the manor.

Later—

Lucia Marchetti fell ill.

For two whole years.

The kind of illness that slowly drains you.

Before she died, she was placed in the most secluded wing of the manor.

The heavy curtains were drawn tightly, not even letting in sunlight.

The air was thick with the smell of medicine and decay.

I stood outside the door.

I heard her say with her last strength—

"Seraphina…I'm entrusting her to you."

My mother didn't hesitate.

She nodded.

Like accepting a responsibility.

Like receiving a replacement.

The next day.

Seraphina moved into my room.

And I was kicked out.

I refused to move.

That was my only space.

I clung to the doorframe, refusing to let go.

Her patience quickly ran out.

"Slap—"

The first slap landed.

Before I could react.

The second one landed.

My face burned with pain.

But I didn't even dare to cry.

She stared at me.

Her eyes held no emotion a mother should have.

Only disgust.

"Valentina," her voice was as cold as a knife, "you dare disobey me now?"

"If you don't behave, I'll throw you out of the manor."

At that moment, I truly believed it.

She could do it.

That night.

I huddled in a corner of the basement.

Damp, cold, and dark.

I covered my mouth, afraid to cry out.

Upstairs, I heard the sounds of guns being disassembled and assembled, and men talking in hushed tones.

The family world continued to function.

But it had nothing to do with me.

The next day, she saw my swollen, red eyes.

She said nothing.

As if she'd seen something insignificant.

From that moment on, I understood.

She truly hated me.

I came to my senses.

I felt a sharp pain in my chest.

Like it was belated.

And final.

Seraphina took a certificate from her pocket.

She smiled, pure and proud.

“Aunt Gianna, look, I got first place.”

My mother took it.

The light in her eyes was gentle yet blinding.

She bent down and kissed her on the cheek.

“My darling, you're so amazing.”

“You're my proudest daughter.”

Seraphina paused.

As if gathering her courage.

“Then… can I call you Mom?”

The air was silent for a moment.

I even instinctively held my breath.

My mother was stunned.

Then.

She smiled.

Her eyes were slightly moist.

“Of course.”

“My daughter.”

At that moment.

Something severed completely in my heart.

Seraphina bit her lip, as if suddenly remembering something.

“Then…what about Valentina?”

“She’s your own daughter…”

Her voice was cautious.

As if speaking for me.

But I knew.

She was just pushing the knife a little deeper.

My mother’s face instantly turned cold.

“Her?”

She scoffed.

“She never calls me Mom.”

“What kind of daughter is she?”

She paused.

Her tone was light and airy.

But it was more ruthless than a knife.

“She’s no different from being dead.”

I was stunned.

Then, I slowly smiled.

So that’s how it is.

“Mom.”

“You’ve finally got what you wanted.”

She hugged Serafina. Like holding her true bloodline.

And me.

Standing to the side.

Like a superfluous shadow.

I suddenly understood something.

It wasn't that I wasn't good enough.

It was that from the very beginning—

She never intended to have me.

Ever since Serafina arrived.

She had been playing the role of the perfect daughter.

Obedient, docile, sensible.

Accompanying her to banquets.

Handling favors for her.

Even when Serafina was busy cleaning up the "dirty work," she would personally deliver meals to the law enforcement office.

She knew what she wanted.

And how to get it.

And me.

I knew nothing.

The night grew deeper.

The manor lights remained bright.

Infrared surveillance cameras swept across the high outer walls.

Armed guards stood ramrod straight.

They protected this family.

A place I never truly belonged to.

I floated in the night.

A cold wind pierced my body.

Suddenly, I wanted to ask.

In this night surrounded by lights.

Would she, for a fleeting moment?

Think of me.

Think of her—

Daughter celebrating her birthday.