He knew the blade he had driven into me left no room for escape. No chance to breathe, no path to survival.

To clear the way for Amara, the brother who once stood before our parents’ graves and swore to protect me for a lifetime had been the one to deliver my doom.

And Juliette, the friend I once called a sister, had chosen to betray me for the sake of that manipulative adopted girl.

At this moment, I could no longer tell who was truly my brother’s flesh and blood nor who had been Juliette’s inseparable best friend for twelve years.

Even their marriage, I had arranged it myself.

Yet, they had destroyed me with lies, deceit, and merciless betrayal.

I felt nothing. My heart had died long before my body followed.

I no longer spoke.

A doctor approached, holding a bottle of antiseptic, his gaze filled with pity as he took in the sight of my mangled limbs and bloodied wounds.

"Miss Murphy, the specialists haven’t arrived yet. We’ll need to disinfect your wounds first. Please bear with it."

No amount of anesthesia could dull the agony. My teeth clenched so hard that my gums bled, flooding my mouth with the metallic taste of iron.

But the physical pain was nothing.

Not compared to the devastation that hollowed out my soul.

Juliette pressed her hands over her mouth, her eyes welling with tears she had no right to shed.

My brother clenched his fists before abruptly rising to his feet. His back trembled, his movements stiff and unsteady as he turned and walked away.

Their concern seemed almost real, convincing, and flawlessly performed, yet I could no longer feel even a shred of warmth from them.

By the time I opened my eyes again, daylight had already spilled into the sterile walls of the hospital room.

From outside, muffled voices drifted through the door.

"Honey, Camila’s condition is already so severe. Do we really have to call the reporters today and expose her for promiscuity?"

Juliette's voice was hesitant, almost wavering.

A brief silence followed before my brother spoke, his tone firm, certain.

"Yes. She’s already filthy; what’s a little more dirt? Those medical research judges despise scandal. This is the perfect chance to ruin her credibility once and for all. I’m doing this for her own good."

As if betrayal could ever be painted as kindness.

Then, as though he hadn’t just sentenced me to ruin, he reminded her carefully, "Make sure the specialists are ready. Once the reporters leave, they can start treating her immediately."

Juliette nodded without hesitation.

I lay there motionless, staring blankly at the ceiling, my chest hollowed out by something far worse than pain.

Scalding tears traced silent paths down my face.

He knew I had been switched at birth. He knew I had suffered endlessly. He knew I had clawed my way up, working ten times harder than anyone else just to become a pharmaceutical researcher.

Yet, with a single sentence, he crushed everything I had spent half my life building.

Had I known that returning to this so-called family would be worse than death, I would have chosen to let my adoptive mother beat me to death back then.

An hour later, the door burst open. A swarm of reporters flooded in.

They swarmed in, cameras flashing, microphones thrust forward, their voices like the screeches of bloodthirsty bats. Men and women alike rushed toward me, their eyes gleaming with hunger for a story to tear apart.

My breath hitched. My body froze. A deathly pallor spread across my face.

"Miss Murphy, we heard you ended up in the hospital due to excessive promiscuity. Would you say this is karma? How do you feel right now?"

"Miss Murphy, with a reputation like yours, how did you become a pharmaceutical researcher? Did you sleep your way to the top?"

"Miss Murphy, you can’t even move. Are you completely crippled? Have you lost control of your bodily functions?"

Before I could process their venomous words, a hand lunged forward.

In an instant, the thin blanket covering me was ripped away.

A violent shudder tore through me. I couldn’t even lift my arms to shield myself.

Because of my wounds, I hadn’t been able to wear any clothes.

Humiliation crashed over me like a tidal wave, drowning the air from my lungs. My breaths turned ragged, strangled.

"Oh god, this is disgusting! Look at all those wounds!"

"Her limbs are deformed. Hurry, take pictures. This is prime material!"

Their contempt sliced into me like a thousand jagged blades, each word a fresh wound, each laugh a deeper cut.

Tears streamed down my face, hot and endless.

"Miss Murphy, are you refusing to answer because we hit the nail on the head? Were you just born to be a whore?"

Upon seeing my panic, the camera zoomed in mercilessly, capturing every tremor on my face and broadcasting my agony to the world.

"Renowned pharmaceutical researcher Camila leads a promiscuous life, a prime example of depravity. We urge the public to cherish their bodies and not end up like Camila, who became disabled due to her reckless behavior."

I was nothing more than a spectacle, a stripped-bare clown for their twisted entertainment. The relentless flashes seized my most wretched, most disgraceful state, ensuring every detail was preserved.

"What are you doing?! Who let you in?!"

Bradley barged in, his furious roar slicing through the chaos.

Juliette rushed forward, tearing off her coat and wrapping it tightly around me, her face streaked with tears. "Where are the bodyguards?! Are they dead?! How did these reporters get in?!"

The performance was flawless.

It was so well-rehearsed and perfect, and it made me sick.

A violent tremor racked my body.

My brother crouched before me, his hands gripping mine, his gaze brimming with guilt. "Camila, I’m sorry. It’s my fault for not protecting you and for letting these reporters take advantage of the situation. Don’t be afraid. I’ll suppress the news and make sure their lies never spread. I swear, I won’t let you suffer again."

How laughable.

The very brother who vowed to protect me had delivered the cruelest betrayal of all.

He knew better than anyone that the damage was already done.

The reporters had captured everything they needed. Their headlines would brand me with disgrace, nailing me to the pillar of shame. For the rest of my life, I would be nothing more than a rat scurrying through the streets, trampled underfoot, despised, just as he wanted.

For Amara, the two people I had trusted most had shattered me beyond repair.

The betrayal was too much. My broken body, already at its limit, could take no more. Darkness surged forward, dragging me under.

As my consciousness faded, I vaguely heard my brother’s panicked screams. The experts waiting outside rushed in.

"The delay has been too long; her intestines are necrotic and must be removed. Even if her limbs recover, she likely won’t regain full function. She’ll have to use a wheelchair. The situation is severe; we’ve already missed the best window for treatment. The surgery only has a fifty percent success rate."

My brother’s voice trembled with disbelief. "How could this happen?! You have to save my sister, no matter what it takes!"

The entire time, he never let go of my hand, his voice choked with sorrow.

"Camila, you have to pull through. I can’t lose you."

Juliette sobbed uncontrollably, her voice trembling. "Camila, we promised to be each other’s bridesmaids, to stay happy together. You can’t leave me like this."

I closed my eyes, sinking into numb despair. My heart was as lifeless as cold embers.

When I opened them again, I was back in my hospital room.

Bandages covered me from head to toe, leaving only my slightly less-injured left hand free. The stark whiteness of the room was suffocating.

Juliette sat beside me. The moment she saw me awake, tears of joy spilled down her face.

"Camila, you’re finally awake! Does it still hurt? Are you hungry? Do you need some water?"

Her concern was familiar. But beneath it, I caught the subtle tremor of guilt.

I suddenly wanted to laugh.

They had shattered me and left me in this inhuman state. And now that they had gotten what they wanted, who were they pretending to feel guilty for?

I forced a faint smile, my cracked lips barely moving. "Get some sleep. Those dark circles make you look like a panda."

Relieved by my calmness, Juliette let out a soft breath and lay down on the accompanying bed. Within moments, she drifted off.

The moment her breathing steadied, I reached for the phone she had carelessly left on the bedside table.

As soon as I unlocked it, the wallpaper appeared, an image of the three of them, side by side.

Amara stood in the center, radiant and carefree, linking arms with both of them, her smile dazzling.

I opened the photo album.

Nearly ten thousand pictures flooded the screen, a suffocating display of their perfect world. Snapshots of them traveling, laughing, living, untouched by the pain they had inflicted on me.

A video caught my eye.

In it, Juliette held a carefully decorated three-tiered cake, her hands steady, her expression gentle. She smeared a bit of cream onto Amara’s nose, eyes filled with indulgent affection.

Then came my brother’s voice, soft, devoted. He lifted a delicate princess crown above Amara’s head, his tone dripping with warmth. "I want my one and only sister to be the happiest little princess in the world."

The memories of our twelve years together, studying side by side, chasing after our favorite stars, running beneath golden sunsets, laughing and crying in each other’s arms, swearing to grow old in the same nursing home, had been tossed away like yesterday’s trash.

Photos she once vowed to cherish forever had been wiped clean, erased without a trace.

Tears blurred my vision as agony twisted deep inside me.

I couldn’t understand. How could a bond so close shatter overnight?

By chance, my trembling fingers tapped into their private group chat, only to be met with a cold, undeniable truth.

A kidney transplant agreement.

My breath caught in my throat. My pulse pounded against my skull.

The recipient's name was Juliette.

The original donor was me.

But now, the name had been replaced. Amara Murphy.

A shudder ran through me. I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood. My fingers instinctively pressed against the scar on my lower back as if that alone could stop the wave of nausea crashing over me.

Years had passed, yet the pain felt as raw as the day it was carved into my flesh, a blade twisting all over again.

A sudden thought struck me, and I scrolled frantically through the chat history.

Then, I saw it.

A single message from my brother.

[Back then, during the villa fire, Amara risked her life to carry me out while I was unconscious. For the rest of my life, she is my everything. I would sacrifice anything to fulfill her every wish.]

She was his life. His everything.

Then what was I?

I was the one crushed beneath the falling beams, ribs snapping under the weight. The one who bore the searing kiss of the flames, leaving my back wrinkled and scarred beyond recognition.

Did any of that matter to him?

A bitter chuckle escaped my lips as I slowly set my phone aside and sank onto the bed, laughter spilling through my tears. It was laughable, really, how pain could be so easily forgotten when it didn’t belong to them.

After a long while, I wiped my face dry, my fingers steady as I scrolled through my contacts and found a long-buried name.

"Professor, can I still participate in the secret international drug research project?"

The reply came instantly.

"Of course. I've always admired your talent and integrity. I know the rumors online are false; don’t let them shake you. However, this project is classified, the duration was uncertain, and your identity must remain confidential. You should discuss it with your family first."

A faint smirk curled my lips. Family?

"There’s no need. Please help me erase my identity."

A brief pause. Then, a single-word response.

"Understood."

"What do you mean by 'erase your identity'?"

The voice startled me. The door had been pushed open, and my brother stood there, his expression flickering with unease.

I turned to him, my face unreadable. "My ID is expiring. I need to get a new one."

Relief washed over his face. He carefully blew on the oatmeal he had brought before scooping up a spoonful and holding it out to me.

"You're still recovering. If you need anything, just tell me. We're family; don’t worry about bothering me."

Family?

Not for much longer.

Beside him, Juliette stirred awake, hesitation flickering in her eyes before she spoke. "Camila, my wedding with your brother is coming up soon. Since you haven’t fully recovered, about the bridesmaid…"

I didn’t need to hear the rest. I already knew.

"Ask Amara to take my place. She’s more suitable than me."

In their chat history, they had long since arranged for a world-renowned designer to create a bridesmaid dress worth billions, crafted solely for Amara, complete with a dazzling set of jewelry. The ensemble outshone even the bride’s gown, yet Juliette was perfectly content to be overshadowed.

My response made them both light up with joy.

My brother beamed at me. "Camila, you've really become more sensible."

Juliette squeezed my hand tightly. "Camila, even if you can’t be my bridesmaid, you’ll always be my best sister, my only best friend."

Lies. Every word was a fabrication.

I pulled my hand away and shut my eyes.

I no longer wanted this family.

I no longer wanted any of them.

A week later, the wedding unfolded at a luxurious seaside hotel. The waves whispered against the shore, oblivious to the deceit laced within the celebrations.

Amara stood at the heart of the crowd, radiant in her exquisite bridesmaid dress, basking in admiration. Every eye was drawn to her, just as planned.

The moment she spotted me approaching in my wheelchair, she hurried over, her expression painted with false concern.

"Sis, how are you? I heard your injuries were really serious. Your intestines even spilled out! I was so worried about you!"