I was standing on the rooftop, ready to jump, when a notification stopped me cold.

A familiar profile picture. A local forum post, pushed to my feed.

[My wife hurt the person who matters most to me—my little sister. I taught her a small lesson. Accidentally sent her to the ICU ten times. Now that the punishment's over, how should I make it up to her?]

The comments erupted with outrage.

But the poster replied with breezy indifference.

[You people don't get it. Her own parents signed off on everything. That tells you all you need to know—she had it coming.]

[She waltzed back home flaunting her status as the real daughter, immediately went after her adopted sister, snatched the most expensive hair clip, and made my sister cry for ten straight minutes. Her eyes were red and swollen.]

[So when she got pregnant, I staged a kidnapping. Made her believe she'd been assaulted by her captors. Then I forged ten separate paternity tests to prove the baby in her belly was some criminal's bastard. That way she'd be too ashamed to keep making trouble in front of my sister.]

[I only did it so she'd understand my sister's pain. A hard lesson now means she'll treat my sister better later. Really, it was for her own good too.]

I stared at that profile picture—an avatar I knew down to my bones—and my heart seized so violently my fingertips trembled.

In my daze, another notification popped up. Someone new had liked the post, then commented.

[The poster's wife is my biological daughter. Everything my son-in-law did was just to help her fix that jealous, petty streak of hers. If you want to blame someone, blame her. Don't you dare drag my precious girl into this.]

The commenter's profile picture was the same as the poster's—Lucinda Vance's favorite little cat icon.

So that was it. Every ounce of suffering I'd endured had been a gift from the people I loved most, all for the sake of their adopted daughter.

Fine.

If that's what they wanted, I'd give them their happy family reunion.

I closed my eyes and stepped off the edge.

"System... this time, I'm really going home."

...

My parents' tirade was still going.

[Ever since we brought her back, our precious girl developed depression because of her. We thought once she was assaulted by those kidnappers—once people were whispering about her carrying some stranger's bastard—she'd finally settle down and stop competing. But no. She turned around and set her sights on the company instead, clawed her way up to general manager, and made everyone point at our baby and call her a useless ornament!]

Nathan Sanchez followed up immediately beneath their comment.

[Luckily, I used my position as the client to make things as difficult as possible for her. Then I handed the contract she'd closed over to Lucy and promoted Lucy to general manager. But even over something that small, she had to go and cough up blood and land herself in the ICU again—just to frame Lucy. Poor Lucy had nightmares the entire night.]

I bit down on my lip until I tasted iron.

That contract. I'd begged and scraped and drank until my stomach bled to close that deal.

It was the light I'd clawed toward with my own two hands, dragging myself out of the abyss of being called a whore carrying a stranger's child.

And because of one tearful complaint from Lucinda—

the people I loved most snuffed it out with their bare hands.

A commenter asked him: [If you hate your wife so much, why did you marry her? And what's with this "how do I make it up to her" post? You're scum. Just get a divorce already. If I were your wife and found out about all this, I'd lose my mind!]

One minute later, Nathan posted a single line.

[Are you kidding me? She's crazy in love with me. So what if she finds out the truth? A little lesson like this—all I have to do is sweet-talk her and she'll get over it. But Lucy's different. She and I grew up together. She depends on me more than anyone. She's suffered enough from not being the one I married. It's only natural I treat her better.]

My parents chimed in right below.

[If it weren't for the fact that our son-in-law was in a coma after his car accident, we never would have brought her home in the first place. We even gave her the honor of being his healing bride. We've been so good to her, and she still doesn't know how to be grateful—always going after our Lucy. Our Lucy is the one who's been wronged the most here.]

Every word dripped with righteous indignation.

They were so worked up, they forgot to hide the names.

It didn't take long. Sharp-eyed users online were already connecting the dots.

"A ritual marriage to ward off bad luck? In the last five years, the only case like that was the Sanchez heir—comatose after his car accident, needed a bride for the ceremony."

"Oh my God! Then 'Lucy' must be Lucinda Vance! They were childhood sweethearts, and she turns out to be a fake heiress!"

"Am I the only one who thinks the real bombshell is that the Sanchez heir is already MARRIED?"

That last comment wrapped around my throat like a fist.

Because he didn't love me, even something as simple as being acknowledged was too much to ask.

I wanted to laugh, but the tears came instead—rolling down my face like a broken string of pearls, impossible to stop.

The moment the anonymous account was exposed, the screen flickered and the post vanished.

In its place: a cease-and-desist letter from a law firm.

"This thread shall not be linked to any real individuals. Any comments defaming Miss Vance's reputation will be pursued to the fullest extent by Sanchez Group Legal."

Miss Vance.

No need to guess which Miss Vance they meant. That shield was for Lucinda, and Lucinda alone.

In the ten minutes I'd spent scrolling, a crowd had already gathered at the base of the building.

Nathan ignored the firefighters trying to hold him back and climbed onto the rooftop.

He hadn't even caught his breath before he was moving toward me, face tight with panic, voice trembling as though he were terrified.

"Tilly, please—don't do anything rash. This is all my fault, every bit of it. I can't live without you."

That desperate, guilt-ridden tone—

a completely different man from the one who'd just had that post scrubbed clean.

For a moment, I genuinely couldn't tell which version of him was real.

Ever since I arrived in this world and accepted the mission to win his heart, my entire life had revolved around him.

Nathan had been a minor branch member of the Sanchez family. Under my careful devotion he woke from his coma, and with me holding the script of future events, he rose through the ranks and inherited the Sanchez empire without a single obstacle.

During the years when I loved him most, Nathan used to hold me and whisper promises.

"Tilly, without you, being alive means nothing. We'll never be separated—only death could part us."

I believed him.

When I was "violated" by kidnappers, I locked myself in the bathroom and scrubbed my skin raw until the bathwater turned red with blood.

When I found out the child I carried was supposedly another man's, the revulsion was so unbearable I grabbed a pair of scissors and tried to cut the baby out of my own body.

When my contracts and my position were stolen from me, he said I wasn't capable enough to command respect—better to stay home and rest. I obeyed. I waited through thousands of cold, empty nights for him to come home.

It was during that stretch of darkness that the System appeared.

[Host, your heart is breaking. I'm not going to ask you to complete the mission anymore. Let me take you home...]

The System said that even though the mission was unfinished, it could still grant my wish—

A pair of parents who truly loved me.

A partner who would never betray me.

Back then, I hadn't seen through the filth hiding beneath Nathan's and my parents' so-called care.

I only told the System, "Isn't that exactly the life I'm already living?"

Now the lies and the masks had been ripped away by that single post.

I couldn't keep lying to myself anymore.

When I came back to my senses, the System's voice echoed in my mind again.

[Host, Nathan is here. You're definitely going to go soft again. It's windy up here—if you're not going to jump, at least go back inside.]

Ten trips to the ICU. Nine of those times, I'd been on my knees begging the System to let me live.

Every word out of my mouth had been about Nathan and my parents.

I'd made them my entire world.

And what had they made me?

"No, System. This time I'm really going home."

The words slipped out in a murmur, my voice cracking.

Nathan heard me and let out a quiet scoff. A flash of contempt darted through his eyes—

Ten ICU visits, and when had she ever actually died?

But the loving-husband act still had to be maintained. He forced his eyes to redden and stepped closer again.

"Tilly, if you jump, I jump. I'll die right alongside you—"

I didn't hear him. Didn't want to.

I closed my eyes and spread my arms wide.

In the chorus of screams rising from below—

I stepped off the edge.

Nathan Sanchez, I'm done.

Mom, Dad—I don't need you either.

Consider this my gift. Now you and Lucinda can have your perfect family reunion.

When I came to, the sharp sting of antiseptic flooded my nostrils.

For one breathless moment, I thought I'd made it back.

But before the hope could even take shape, a familiar voice shattered it.

I hadn't died after all.

"Tilly, you're finally awake. Do you have any idea—if you'd jumped even a little more to the side, you would've missed the safety cushion entirely. And if you hadn't woken up soon, I was about to call an emergency shareholders' meeting just so I could follow you."

Nathan's eyes were rimmed red, his voice trembling and choked with emotion. He gripped my hand so tightly it hurt, like he was clutching something precious he'd nearly lost forever.

But the moment he leaned down to press a kiss to my forehead—

I saw the marks on his neck. Fresh, unmistakable hickeys that hadn't been there before. And clinging to his clothes was the scent of magnolia—Lucinda's signature perfume.

Details I'd never noticed before.

My stomach lurched. I dry-heaved right there in the bed.

Nathan's face went white. He called in every doctor in the hospital.

He stood to the side, eyes locked on the medical team, looking for all the world like a man who'd rip the pain out of my body and bear it himself if he could.

The doctor checked my thready pulse, his expression grave.

"Mrs. Sanchez's body is severely depleted. There's significant emotional distress compounding her condition. She needs careful, sustained care—and absolutely no further agitation."

He paused, then continued more quietly. "The day of her incident, I was called to the Sanchez residence. I don't know what happened, but by the time I arrived, she was in full respiratory alkalosis—convulsing, barely breathing. Ten more minutes and she would have been gone." He glanced at Nathan. "Mr. Sanchez, I'd strongly recommend paying attention to your wife's mental health."

The memory hit me without warning—Biscuit's glassy eyes staring up at me, wide open, unseeing. Blood seeping along the grout lines between the tiles, creeping up the soles of my shoes.

My hollow gaze trembled.

Biscuit had been my longest companion in this world. My most faithful friend since I'd arrived.

And Lucinda had poisoned him with a cup of drugged milk, then butchered him into hot pot.

Nathan must have felt me shaking. Something raw flickered behind his eyes, and he pulled me into his arms.

His voice dropped low, dangerous, as he turned to his assistant. "Find out exactly what happened that day. Whoever's responsible—I want them begging Tilly for forgiveness on their knees. With their life."

The words had barely left his mouth when the door slammed open.

Lucinda swept in wearing a white couture dress, her makeup immaculate, two perfect tears glistening on her cheeks. She looked like a delicate flower—pure, fragile, innocent.

But the instant her gaze landed on me, something venomous flashed through her eyes. Gone in a blink.

She dropped to her knees in front of me. In her pale, slender hands, she held a leather riding crop.

"Nathan, this is all my fault. If I'd known my sister would react this way, I would have let Biscuit bite me to death before I ever hurt him. It's all because of me." She lifted the crop toward me, her voice breaking. "Please, hit me. I deserve it."

Nathan froze. But beneath the shock, that telltale softness crept into his eyes.

My parents filed in behind her. When they saw Lucinda kneeling there, their fingers twisted into the hems of their clothes, knuckles white—barely holding together the performance of parents who loved me.

Nathan reached out to pull her up. "What is this about?"

But Lucinda refused to move. She stayed rooted to the floor, stubborn and trembling, tilting her tear-streaked face up at him.

"Nathan, if my sister can't bring herself to do it, then you do it for her. If she doesn't get this anger out, her depression will only get worse. It's just a few lashes." Her voice quavered with rehearsed courage. "Hit me as hard as you can. Even if it tears the skin off my back—as long as it makes her feel better, I'll take it willingly."

She pressed the riding crop into Nathan's hand, closing his fingers around it.

That look on her face—wounded, selfless, enduring—made it seem like I was the one bullying her from my sickbed.

Even the doctor standing nearby softened toward her. The look he turned on me was one of barely concealed disgust.

She could do this every single time. A few carefully chosen words, and suddenly I was the villain.

Before, I would have scrambled to defend myself. Argued. Explained.

But not anymore.

While Nathan hesitated, I grabbed the riding crop. But before I could hurl it away, his hand clamped around my wrist.