My brother's condition finally stabilized, but he still lay in a deep, unbroken sleep. Our scheduled trip abroad was only a week away.

I had already been quietly gathering evidence against Hector. That routine surgery—the one that should never have been life-threatening—had turned my brother into a vegetable because someone increased the anesthesia. Whether it was malice or recklessness, Hector and Hillary would both pay!

Just as these thoughts churned in my mind, my phone lit up with a call from an unfamiliar number.

"Meredith."

It was Tristan's voice—cold, firm, leaving no room to refuse. "Tomorrow is Grandma's eightieth birthday. Be there."

He hung up before I could say a word. He assumed I would come—and he was right. Grandma was the only person in the Palmer family who had ever truly cared for me.

The next day, I walked into the Palmer household in a black dress. From the gate, I saw Hillary linked arm in arm with Tristan, both poised and practiced like a perfect couple welcoming guests. The moment she saw me, she hustled over and clasped my hand with exaggerated warmth.

"Sister, you finally made it! I was worried you'd refuse... After all, today we're announcing some good news."

I froze for a heartbeat, then glanced at Tristan. He avoided my gaze, muttering in a low voice,

"Grandma has always wanted a great-grandchild... Hillary and I just want to make her happy."

I slipped my arm free of Hillary's grasp and said flatly,

"Whatever you're planning has nothing to do with me. I'll see Grandma, then leave."

Without waiting for their reaction, I walked into the banquet hall.

Grandma sat supported by Samantha, Tristan's mother, smiling warmly as she accepted the guests' blessings. I knelt beside her, lowering my voice. "I wish Grandma longevity as boundless as the East Sea, and health as everlasting as the Southern Mountain."

Just as I was about to present my gift, Samantha snatched the box from my hands. She opened it, and with a shrill laugh, she jeered, "Mountain ginseng? We have warehouses full of them. Did you bring this to poison the old lady?"

"What nonsense!"

Grandma frowned and gently reclaimed the gift box, patting my hand with her thin fingers.

Everything Meredith picks comes from the heart. She's just being thoughtful."

Her eyes softened with love and guilt.

"Tristan has been confused lately and wronged you. Grandma will make him answer for it."

I wanted to protest, but her happiness made me hold my tongue. I whispered instead, "Thank you, Grandma."

She seemed ready to say more, but Hillary suddenly cut in. She pushed my hand away and pressed Grandma's palm onto her own lower belly, her smile radiant.

"Grandma, guess what surprise Tristan and I prepared for you?"

eyes widened, then lit up with joy. "Hillary, are you... pregnant?"

Hillary blushed and nodded. "Almost three months now. We checked and it's a boy."

"How wonderful! Hillary, you're our family's blessing!" Samantha hugged her, beaming. Then she glanced at me with thin cruelty. "Unlike some people who haven't even managed to keep a child after so many years." She turned to Tristan, voice sharp, "You'd better take good care of her. If anything happens again, don't bother coming back to this house."

Tristan nodded solemnly. The three of them walked off together, laughing, as if I no longer existed.

"Meredith," Grandma said softly, her eyes full of pity. "The Palmer family has wronged you—Tristan, he..."

I cut her off with a shake of my head and forced a smile. "I'll handle my relationship with him. You just eat well and live to one hundred."

I shook my head, forcing a smile.

"I'll deal with him myself. You just need to eat well, rest well, and live to a hundred."

My words made her chuckle, and she said no more.

After settling Grandma, I turned back toward the banquet. Hillary stood at the center of a glowing crowd, basking in the admiration, as if she were already the rightful Madam Palmer.

I clenched my fists, not with jealousy, but with cold hatred.

"Enjoy your happy days while you can," I muttered to myself. "They won't last."

Just then, Tristan suddenly wrapped his arms around me from behind. "I'm so glad you finally came to your senses," he whispered.

I stiffened, instinctively struggling to pull away, until his whisper brushed against my ear:

"I know you've suffered for me. Next week is our seventh anniversary. I'll make it up to you."

He kissed my forehead tenderly. I fought down the nausea rising in my throat and let him hold me—without pushing him away.

Our anniversary fell on the same day I'd planned to leave the country. I dressed carefully so Tristan wouldn't suspect a thing.

The moment I stepped in, he came forward and a flash of admiration crossed his face. "Meredith, you look beautiful tonight."

He bent as if to kiss me.

I batted his hand away playfully. "Not yet—dinner first."

His Adam's apple bobbed and his voice turned low. "Okay."

Under the candlelight and the glow of roses, his profile looked impossibly handsome. He sliced my steak with slow, considerate movements, and for a second I drifted back to the easy, untroubled version of us. The feeling didn't last—grief and cold clarity tugged me back.

Halfway through the meal, he suddenly dropped to one knee and presented a velvet box. "You've suffered for me, Meredith. After Hillary gives birth, I'll hand the child to you to raise. You will always be Mrs. Palmer. No one can replace you."

Inside the box, a diamond necklace glittered. I didn't reach for it.

Suddenly, a sharp ringtone cut through the moment. He looked embarrassed and rose to answer. On the other end, Hillary's faint and fragile voice sounded. "Tristan... I think I'm hypoglycemic. I'm dizzy..."

Tristan's voice changed at once. "Where are you? I'm coming!"

She sniffled with practiced vulnerability. "I might need a transfusion... If something happens to me, save the baby first..."

"No—don't say that! You and the baby will be fine." His voice trembled. Then he glanced at me, like a man remembering a detail.

I spread my hands. "I didn't touch her."

He hurried over. "Meredith, you have the rare blood type—only you can save Hillary."

Before I could reply, he'd already called the family doctor and ordered a blood draw.

Seven years of deception finally snapped into brutal clarity: he hadn't chosen me for love. I was nothing more than his emergency blood bank—a backup for Hillary. The truth left me cold.

When the needle touched my skin, I placed a hand over his arm. Irritation flashed in his eyes. "Hillary can't wait. I'll give you anything you want."

I took out a divorce agreement from my bag, and said calmly, "Sign this and I'll give blood."

Without hesitation, he took the paper, flipped to the last page and signed.

"Good. Draw more—fill the bags. That way Hillary can use it whenever she needs it."

The needle pierced me again and again. Every bag filled was another stitch in the net they'd woven around me.

"Why didn't you bother to read it?" I asked softly as the tube warmed in my hand.

He waved me off. "It's only a transfer of assets. If it saves Hillary, I'll give you whatever you want."

His certainty made me laugh coldly. Fine. The faster this farce was done, the sooner I could dismantle it.

By the time dizziness washed over me and my vision blurred, the doctor finally couldn't bear it anymore and said,

"Miss Meredith's life will be in danger if she continues to give blood."

Tristan's brows drew together.

"Are you sure this is enough for Hillary?"

When the doctor confirmed, he gave a short nod and reluctantly agreed to stop.

As we were prepared to leave, he noticed my pale face and the hand pressed to my arm.

"What happened today was my fault," he sighed. "Once Hillary's stable, I'll give you a better anniversary."

Seeing that I didn't answer, he tentatively called out again. "Meredith?"

"Mm."

My reply was faint, barely audible.

The moment the door clicked shut, I rose without hesitation and walked away.

On the way to pick up my brother, Hillary's message popped up.

[Did you see it? As long as I say a word, Tristan will abandon you without hesitation. So what if you've been Mrs. Palmer for seven years? He only listens to me now. Meredith, you'd better be smart and leave on your own. Otherwise, I don't mind letting you watch with your own eyes as I take him from you—and leaving you with nothing.]

Attached was an intimate photo of her with Tristan.

I stared at the screen, lips curving into a cold smile.

With a simple tap, the pre-set auto screen recorder captured everything, turning her arrogance into ironclad evidence.

She didn't realize—the more brazen she became, the deeper she dug her own grave.

I sneered and blocked her without hesitation.

The play was over. Time to close the net.

All the evidence would be packaged and sent straight to the lawyer, along with a single command. [Sue immediately. I want Hillary to rot in prison for the rest of her life.]

As for Tristan—he owed me far too much.

I would collect the debt of those unborn children, with interest.

Once on the plane, I powered off the SIM card with care.

The night outside the window stretched endlessly, and I whispered to myself, "The real show starts now."