I wanted to laugh, but my lips wouldn't move.

I tried to reply to Lauren, but my fingers were so frozen I couldn't even tap the screen.

My consciousness started to blur.

In a daze, it felt like I'd been thrown back into those years overseas.

That place was chaotic but somehow full of life.

When I was five, I was kidnapped and trafficked. I was passed from hand to hand until I ended up near the border.

It was Titus Anderson who dug me out of a pile of corpses.

He despised how filthy I was, but still gave me half a ration bar.

Titus, also known as Hawk, was a man of few words. He was also one of the best sharpshooters in the world.

He taught me how to assemble a Glock in three seconds.

He used to say that a gun was a man's partner. They were more reliable than people.

My foster mother, Freya Anderson, was an elegant lunatic.

Code-named T.N.T., she taught me how to turn ordinary cleaning products into liquid explosives. She'd always say, "If someone messes with you, blow them up. There's no need for a debate."

Then, there was Lauren.

She was my foster sister who had crawled out of the dead herself.

She always saved the best meat for me, then laughed as she broke the arms and legs of anyone who made me cry.

I gave up those days of living on the edge, yet surrounded by love, with my own hands.

It was all because I longed for my biological family.

I thought if I had that, I could have a normal home.

So, I took off the "Cheetah" mask and played the role of the obedient but timid heir to the Linder family.

Once, when I had a fever, Whitney handed me a cup of water.

I was so touched I almost cried, convinced that was what warmth felt like.

Reality slapped me hard.

Later, I learned that that cup of water was for Cameron Linder. He thought it was too hot, so he tossed it to me.

A sudden wave of pain ripped through my body, yanking me out of my memories.

It wasn't the warmth of rescue, but the sharp pain of metal smashing into bone.

A rescue worker's shovel slammed into my thigh.

I choked back a groan, my mind snapping clear.

They dragged me out of the snow roughly.

There was no stretcher or first aid as I'd imagined.

A rescue worker looked at me with utter disgust. "You're lucky to be alive. You've been buried for that long, yet you're still alive. We wasted half an hour because of you. Ms. Linder's furious."

He didn't even bother to stop the bleeding. He tossed me onto a supply cart like cargo.

I was hauled back to base camp on a bumpy ride.

The medical tent loomed before me. Warm yellow light spilled out of it. There was even the roar of a heater inside.

Two bodyguards hauled me in.

The warmth hit me, but it wasn't mine.

Cameron sat wrapped in thick cashmere. He was perched on the only soft chair.

Doctors and nurses crowded around him. Their faces were tight with concern.

"Mr. Linder, does it hurt? Quick, bring me the best ointment!"

I forced my eyelids open.

Cameron had only scraped a finger. There wasn't even blood.

The single heater was blasting hot air directly onto his hand.

I was soaked through, thigh torn open, curled in the muddy corner of the tent.

No one cared.

Alfred hurried past and saw the state I was in.

He hesitated for a second, then tossed me an old towel speckled with dirt.

"Wipe yourself off. Don't get the carpet dirty. Ms. Linder's calming Mr. Linder down. Don't go looking for trouble. Stay in that corner and don't move."

I clenched my teeth and stared at the towel.

The last bit of light in my eyes went out.

…

They threw me into an abandoned storage room.

The walls leaked cold air from every crack. It was barely better than being outside.

There was no doctor or medicine. I slumped against the wall. My thigh was still bleeding.

The door creaked open.

Cameron stepped into the storage room wearing a blue hospital gown.

He toyed with a pair of surgical scissors. There was a victorious grin stretched across his face.

His fragile, helpless act was gone. In its place was malice and spite.

He waved off the guards at the door, then shut it behind him. "You're really hard to kill, Skyler."

He traced the sharp tip lightly across my scarred face. The touch made my skin crawl.

"Want to know something? That safety rope didn't snap by accident," he whispered, learning closer. "I cut halfway through it with a blade ahead of time. And that avalanche? I had people set off micro-charges at just the right spot."

I jerked my head up and glared at him.

Even though I'd long suspected those were his doings, hearing him admit them out loud was still unreal.

He caused an avalanche just for attention. He was willing to bury the whole team for that.

Cameron read my thoughts and started chuckling. "I've got nothing to fear. I've got Whitney protecting me. I just wanted to see who she'd choose when it came down to life and death. The answer's obvious, isn't it?"

He tapped my cheek with the scissors. His eyes were full of mockery.

"You, the so-called true heir to the Linder family, lost. Biological ties don't matter in this family. What matters is who plays the role better."

I wanted to tear his mouth apart, but my body was too weak. I couldn't even lift a hand.

My helplessness only fed his pride. "It's not my fault. You shouldn't have come back. Those foster parents of yours were probably trash to society, right? I heard they were scraping by overseas by scavenging trash in refugee camps."

The moment he mentioned my foster parents, my gaze shifted.

It turned deadly.

I forced a cold smile.

"You'll regret this."

Cameron flinched at my glare.

That kind of killing intent was something he had never seen in his sheltered little world.

His face twisted with embarrassment and rage. He slapped me hard.

The blow was so heavy that my ears rang.

"You trash!" he hissed. "How dare you glare at me?"

He rose and ground his polished shoe into my wounded thigh.

"Ah!"

I couldn't hold back my groan. The wound split open, and blood pooled on the ground.

Cameron wiped his shoe on my clothes with disgust. "Whitney's going to finish you off soon anyway. You being alive makes me nervous. Once you're dead, everything the Linders have stays mine."

He lifted the scissors and angled them toward my eye.

Just then, hurried footsteps echoed outside.

Cameron moved with terrifying speed.

In an instant, he tucked the scissors away, dropped to the floor, and clawed his hair into a mess.

His posture was akin to that of a trembling, frightened deer.

The door burst open.

Whitney strode in.

The moment she took in the scene, her face darkened immediately. "What's going on here?"

Cameron looked like he had spotted salvation. He scrambled to his feet and threw himself into Whitney's arms.

Tears spilled on command. They slid down his cheeks.

"Whitney! Skyler's lost it!" he screamed, holding his perfectly uninjured hand before pointing at me. "I came to check on him and get him some medicine, but he woke up and tried to kill me with a pair of scissors. He said he was going to ruin my face and that I stole his place!"

His voice broke into gasps. "Whitney, I'm scared… My chest hurts…"

After complaining to Whitney, Cameron pretended to faint in her arms.

His performance was so flawless that he probably deserved an award for it.

Whitney didn't spare a glance for me in the corner. Her eyes were fixed only on that harmless-looking fraud of a brother.

"Cameron! Cameron, what's wrong?" she shouted in panic. Then, she turned her gaze on me.

Hatred burned in her gaze. "Skyler, you crazy wretch! If Cameron dies, you'll pay with your life!"

She strode over and kicked my wounded thigh. The pain was blinding. Cold sweat soaked my back instantly.

A doctor stormed into the storage room. The second he saw the situation, he understood exactly what was expected of him.

He put on a show and pretended to check Cameron. "Ms. Linder, this is bad! Mr. Linder is suffering from myocardial ischemia due to extreme shock! If we don't transfuse blood immediately, he could go into heart failure! But the camp is remote, we don't have a blood bank…"

What a pathetic lie.

Since when did being scared mean one needed a transfusion?

This was outright robbery.

Whitney's eyes instantly locked onto me. She knew I was O-negative—a universal donor.

"Take his blood!" she ordered without hesitation. "Do whatever it takes to save Cameron. Drain him dry if you have to!"

I lifted my head weakly and stared at the sister I shared blood with. "I… just survived an avalanche… I've already lost too much blood… If you draw now… You'll kill me…"

My voice was hoarse. I was barely clinging to reason.

Whitney laughed. She crouched down and grabbed a fistful of my hair, yanking my head back. "Do you think you get to talk about life? You're tough. You won't die from a little blood loss. If Cameron doesn't wake up, I'll make your whole family pay."

She pinned my struggling arm down, then gave the doctor the signal.

The doctor didn't hesitate. He pulled out a thick needle and shoved it straight into my already shrunken vein.

He didn't use any disinfectant and was rough.

Bright red blood began to rush through the tube and into the collection bag.

As the liquid drained from me, my vision blurred.

The cold sank deeper into my bones. My heartbeat slowed to a crawl.

Still in Whitney's arms, Cameron cracked one eye open. He let out a cruel smile at me. It was like he was watching an animal being bled out on a hook.

I smiled back.

It was a smile of release.

I finally understood everything as I watched that bag fill with what should have been my lifeblood. Blood ties were nothing but a shackle around my throat.

With the last of my strength, I cried into the void. "Mom! Dad!"

The next instant, a deafening explosion thundered.

The entire wall of the storage room blew apart in a controlled blast.

Stone and debris exploded inward.

The doctor holding the blood bag was thrown off his feet by the shockwave.

The bag flew from his hands, hit the ground, and burst open, splattering across Whitney's face.

The smoke cleared.

Three figures in elite black combat gear stood against the light.

They were like gods of war descending onto earth.

Freya held the latest C4 detonator in one hand. Her red lips were curved into an elegant yet unhinged smile.

Titus had a sniper rifle raised. The red laser dot sat perfectly centered on Whitney's forehead.

Lauren spun a kukri in her hand.

"Skyler."

Lauren's voice was bright with a chilling thrill. "Looks like that sister of yours isn't just stubborn, but she's also a vampire. Want me to drain her dry for you?"