3 million dollars – that’s the price Jim Marshall offered me to take the place of my sister, who passed away a long time ago, and stay by his side for a year.

“Evelyn, you killed Emma. You should spend your life drowning in guilt, never to be loved,” he said, tossing a thick stack of money at me. His cold eyes narrowed as he looked down on me, his expression filled with contempt.

In the bar, he used a wooden cane to lift my chin, disregarding the last shreds of my dignity, treating me like some pet he was buying at a market.

Everyone around watched with amusement, eager to see my reaction.

They were all former classmates from college. To them, I was always the girl who prided herself on being untouchable, refusing any charity, even when I was dirt poor.

3 million dollars – let’s be honest, that’s more than I’m worth.

So, what would I choose?

Without much hesitation, I grabbed the cane, forcing a smile onto my face.

“All right, Mr. Marshall,” I replied. “From now on, I’m in your care.”

Jim quickly shook off my hand in disgust, his eyes filled with loathing.

His abrupt rejection made me stumble and fall to the ground. My waist collided with the edge of the table, and pain shot through me, but I kept that forced smile on my face.

This was the last shred of dignity I could cling to.

I needed those 3 million dollars.

The crowd laughed louder, their voices dripping with mockery and admiration for Jim.

“Classic Jim! I remember Evelyn from college – she thought she was better than everyone else, too good to accept anyone’s help. Didn’t she always say something like, ‘Poverty doesn’t mean you lack ambition’? Ha! Guess we just didn’t offer enough money!”

“Right? Evelyn, I remember you used to act all high and mighty back then!”

“That’s why Jim is the best! Come on, let’s toast to him!”

My family, the Joneses, were once well-regarded. But after my mom passed, my father brought his longtime mistress and her daughter into the house.

From then on, I was an outsider in my own home.

My half-sister, Emma, became the cherished princess of the Jones family, while I was nothing but a shadow, an insect lurking in the corners.

Even creatures in the darkness dream of the light.

I studied hard and pushed myself to succeed.

My mom always taught me that even if you’re poor, you should still have ambition. I lived by her words, becoming independent and strong.

Back in the day, all those rich boys who tried to win me over with their money – I rejected them all.

But that pride, that sense of ambition, has now been crushed to pieces, not even a shred left.

And I became the joke in everyone’s eyes.

Originally, Jim Marshall and I had nothing to do with each other, like two parallel lines that would never cross. But everything changed after Emma died. From that moment on, he hated me.

He believed that I was the one who killed her.

But Emma died from a heart condition – nothing more, nothing less.

Emma and I never got along. No matter how hard I tried to avoid her or steer clear of any conflict, she would always go out of her way to pick a fight with me.

In her eyes, being the daughter of a mistress was a shameful label.

But if I, the daughter of the “real wife,” were out of the picture, she could finally stand in the light, untainted.

So, the phrase Emma used most often when talking to me was: “Evelyn, if I were you, I’d have killed myself a long time ago.”

After all, I was the one with an absent father, a deceased mother, a stepmother who despised me, and a stepsister who constantly tormented me.

But in the end, it was Emma who died first.

That day, she planned another one of her nasty tricks. She sent me a message to meet her at the equipment storage room, intending to lock me in there for the entire night.

How did I know? I overheard her scheming with her friends on a phone call.

So that night, I didn’t go to the equipment room.

Emma went there alone. Her heart condition suddenly flared up, and without anyone to help her in time, she died.

My stepmother later told Jim that it was me who had lured Emma to the equipment room.

And that was the beginning of his hatred toward me.

He never believed me, no matter how much I tried to explain myself.

Driven by the memory of his deceased “perfect girl,” and because I happened to resemble her, he sought me out.

He wanted me to be her replacement.

If it had been any other time, I would have outright refused such an absurd arrangement.

But life played a cruel joke on me.

I was terrified that if I didn’t agree, I might be the next to die.