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.

For the past few days, almost no one at Ferraro Manor has slept a wink.

Not because of grief.

But because—things have spiraled out of control.

In the underworld, corpses are acceptable.

But not on their own turf, and without a trace.

That would be a challenge to authority.

And an insult to "Donna Ferraro."

The family's law enforcement organization, "The Justice Organization," has mobilized its entire force.

All outposts, all informants, all peripheral connections—all have been mobilized.

They must resolve this before the vultures of the Federation smell the blood—

It must be resolved.

My mother hasn't left the underground operations room for three days.

The lights there are deathly white, the air as cold as a morgue.

She's kept going with coffee, like a machine that never stops.

Seraphina isn't here.

She went north to "visit" the Marchetti family.

Naturally—

No one brings my mother food anymore.

Late at night.

Dominic walked in carrying a case of coffee and pastries.

He handed out paper cups one by one, a smile on his face.

“Your precious niece didn’t bring lunch today?”

He said casually, then turned to my mother.

“And—Mrs. Ferraro.”

“Your biological daughter, I’ve never actually seen her even once.”

He swirled the coffee in his hand.

“You’re not hiding her, are you? Afraid we’ll take her away?”

My mother paused, her espresso sizzling.

Her brow furrowed.

“Don’t mention her.” Her tone was as cold as a knife. “It’s annoying to even think about her.”

Dominic didn’t notice.

He leaned against the table, twirling an unlit cigarette between his fingers.

“True.” He smiled. “I heard you were removed from your seat on the committee a few years ago for illegally carrying a gun.”

“I haven’t had a chance to go back since.”

He clapped his hands.

As if lamenting her loss.

“But this time is different.”

“If this case goes well—”

“That position might just be yours.”

The air fell silent for a moment.

My mother looked up at him.

Her eyes were cold and devoid of warmth.

“Dominic.”

“If you don’t want to spend your whole life at the bottom.”

“Stop talking nonsense.”

She slammed her cup down.

“Get to work.”

At that moment.

The entire operations room fell silent.

I stood beside her.

Suddenly, I felt like laughing.

So.

My life.

If it could bring her back to that position.

In her eyes—

it would probably be a worthwhile trade.

“Mom.”

“If that’s really the case.”

“Then the cost of ‘raising’ me all these years will finally be recouped.”

I said softly to myself.

I don’t know why.

She suddenly paused.

It was as if something had gently touched a nerve.

She took out her phone.

Frowning, she scrolled through it for a while.

As if searching for something.

Then—

She dialed a number.

My number.

She hadn't even saved a name.

Just a cold, impersonal number.

In contrast.

Seraphina's name was pinned at the very top.

Next to it was a small red heart.

The phone rang a few times.

No answer.

Her patience quickly wore off.

"Tsk."

She put her phone away, her tone full of disgust.

"Haven't replied for days."

"Where has she gone to sell herself again?"

She sneered.

"With that face of hers, who would want her?"

"What a waste."

I stood there.

Suddenly, I didn't feel sad anymore.

Just a little empty.

“Mom.”

“You really…hate me.”

“It’s okay.”

“You’ll never see me again.”

“You should be happy.”

The people in the operations room fell silent.

No one dared to speak.

They had never seen her like this—

Speaking such words to her own daughter.

Someone lowered their head to flip through documents.

Someone subtly shifted their chair.

The air was heavy, suffocating.

Two in the morning.

Finally, someone pushed open the door.

Salvato Greco walked in.

He looked completely drained.

His white coat was stained with indelible dark marks.

His fingers were red and cracked from repeated disinfection.

He held a stack of reports in his hand.

“There’s progress.”

Everyone looked up.

The air instantly tensed.

He handed over the documents.

His voice was low.

“The victim had multiple signs of continuous sexual abuse.”

“And—”

He paused.

“We found something deliberately hidden inside her.”

My mother looked up.

Her gaze sharpened instantly.

“What?”

Salvato pulled a photograph from a file folder.

Placed it on the table.

“A pendant.”

“The killer removed it and hid it inside her.”

“Like…deliberately concealing their identity.”

I leaned closer.

Just one glance.

I froze.

It was mine.

A silver pendant I'd worn since childhood.

The edges were worn smooth.

Engraved with two letters.

V.F.

I instinctively reached up to touch my neck.

Empty.

Nothing there.

It was given to me by my father before he died.

He said.

“Take it with you.”

“Even if I’m not here, someone will remember who you are.”

My mother’s hand slowly tightened around the photograph.

Her knuckles turned white, one by one.

“Are you sure?”

Her voice was low.

So low it didn’t sound like her.

Salvato nodded.

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“It was well hidden; I almost missed it.”

“Judging from the bone age, the victim is no more than twenty years old.”

His voice held a barely suppressed anger.

“So young.”

“Tortured like this.”

Someone muttered under their breath in the operations room.

Dominic walked over.

He looked down at the photograph.

The cigarette was still in his hand.

But he forgot to turn it.

He frowned.

Staring at the two letters.

“V…F?”

He murmured.

“What does this mean?”

I looked at the two letters.

Suddenly, I felt a little ridiculous.

Those were the initials of my name.

Valentina Ferraro.

Right in her hands.

Right before her eyes.

But she hadn't recognized me yet.