To get revenge on my billionaire parents, a killer announced he would dismember their daughter.

Mom and Dad took every bodyguard and housekeeper to protect their adopted daughter, leaving me—paralyzed from the waist down—completely alone.

The killer hacked off my hands and feet. As I lay dying, he dialed my father's number for me.

He said if they came for me, he'd let me live.

The line was noisy. A bodyguard picked up.

"Your parents are busy! Adela said she's scared, so they brought everyone they could. They're all with her right now. Did you need something?"

My throat tightened. "I've been taken by the killer. I'm in Southside. Can you come save me?"

He hesitated.

"But your dad already warned us—he said you'd fake an emergency to get attention."

"He's had people hang up on over a dozen of your calls today. Haven't you learned your lesson?"

Only then did I understand. Every desperate attempt I'd made to survive—my own parents had crushed them, one by one.

Dad took the phone. His voice was impatient.

"Whatever stunt you're pulling today, we're not indulging you!"

"People will say your mother and I play favorites—that we treat our adopted daughter differently!"

"Do you want to destroy our reputation as philanthropists?!"

"Besides, Adela is so timid. How could we leave her home alone?!"

The line went dead.

The killer carved me into pieces and dumped me in a septic tank.

A month later, my parents held a press conference celebrating that their adopted daughter was safe and sound.

That same day, a grotesquely disfigured female corpse was discovered in a septic tank on the outskirts of the city.

1.

When Mom and Dad were about to leave after Adela Fox's phone call, I stopped them.

"The killer's target is me, not Adela."

"You're going to protect her? Have you even considered my safety?!"

Mom pushed me away, disappointment on her face.

"Adela may be adopted, but who knows if that man might hurt her too?"

"Your father and I have been named Philanthropists of the Year for ten years running!"

"If we stay behind to protect our biological daughter, people will say we treat our adopted daughter differently! Do you want to ruin our reputation?!"

I stared at her, unable to believe what I was hearing.

"The killer is Adela's biological father! What could possibly happen to her?!"

"You'd choose to protect her for the sake of your image and leave your own daughter to die? How much more shameless can you get?!"

A vicious slap knocked me to the ground.

Dad pointed at me, eyes blazing.

"You've really lost your mind—"

Mom's face darkened. She grabbed his arm.

"Gertrude Fox, we've kept our relationship with you hidden from the public for years. Adela is the one who attends events with us. Everyone knows her—she's obviously the target this time."

"Besides, the Philanthropist of the Year nominations are coming up. If something happens to your sister now, your father and I are finished! Can't you think about us for once?"

I laughed bitterly and pointed at my useless legs splayed on the floor.

"Think about you?"

"I already lost my legs and my future because of you. Isn't that enough?"

A flicker of guilt crossed their faces.

Five years ago, a family member of one of the victims killed by Adela Fox's biological father came looking for revenge.

He kidnapped both me and Adela.

Then he grabbed the explosives strapped to his chest and screamed at my parents—demanding to know which of us was the killer's daughter.

He wanted to blow her up to avenge his family.

Mom and Dad's first instinct was to point at me.

The moment the bomb went off, they threw themselves over Adela to shield her.

Meanwhile, I was caught in that man's grip when the blast tore through my legs.

That year, my grades had been good enough to earn me a guaranteed spot at a top university.

While I lay unconscious, my parents pulled strings to transfer that spot to Adela.

When I woke up, I begged them through tears to explain why they'd done this to me.

Their answer: "Back then, we swore to the media we'd never let her suffer for being a murderer's daughter... it was just instinct..."

"You're disabled now. We can't let you go off to school alone. We've decided to keep you here so we can take care of you properly."

"As for the spot... it would've been such a waste. We figured Adela could use it. Besides, it shows people that even a suspect's daughter can have a bright future under our guidance..."

I endured over a dozen surgeries in that hospital. Alone.

My parents threw Adela a lavish graduation party, bragging to everyone about the prestigious school she'd gotten into.

They even took her around to meet university administrators, asking them to look after her.

All I wanted was for them to arrange one of the top blast-trauma specialists from their sponsored programs to operate on me.

They called me ungrateful.

"Absolutely not! If the media finds out, they'll say we're abusing public resources for personal gain!"

"Your father and I are at a critical point in our careers. Are you trying to get us reported and ruin everything? Would that make you happy?"

Without proper surgery, my legs never healed right. The disability became permanent.

...

Their silence gave me a sliver of hope.

But before I could say anything, Adela's choked voice came through the phone.

"Mom, Dad, don't come! She's right—I'm the one who wronged her back then. I'm the one who should've lost her legs!"

"If that killer really comes for me tonight, I deserve it... Consider it my life for hers!"

She hung up.

My parents' hesitation vanished. Their expressions twisted.

"Gertrude! Look what you've done to your sister!"

"You'd better pray nothing happens to her before we get there! Or we will never forgive you!"

I felt nothing anymore.

"And if something happens to me? Will you refuse to forgive her too?"

Dad's face went red with rage. He kicked my wheelchair over, sending me sprawling.

"How did I end up with such a selfish, ungrateful daughter?"

"If I had a choice," I said from the floor, "I wouldn't be your daughter either."

My words only earned me the slam of the door as they stormed out.

Not long after they left, Adela posted a photo on social media—nestled between Mom and Dad, all three of them smiling.

The caption read: "Just because I said I was scared, Mom and Dad brought everyone to protect me. I'm so blessed."

Messages started flooding in from family friends:

"Gertrude, how can you be so inconsiderate? Getting jealous of your sister at a time like this? You're putting people in danger, you know that?"

"Your identity has always been kept secret. The killer would never come looking for you. Meanwhile, Adela's been attending events with the Foxes on your behalf this whole time, taking on all that risk for you. How can you be so ungrateful?"

But my parents didn't keep me hidden because they worried about my safety.

It was because they were afraid others would find out I was the daughter of the famous philanthropist couple and treat me too well.

They always lectured me:

"We work ourselves to the bone to help people, not so you can enjoy special privileges."

To make sure no one discovered our relationship, they registered my household under my grandmother's name out in the countryside.

They never attended a single parent event for me. Growing up, I was constantly mocked as an orphan.

But Adela was different.

By adopting the daughter of a murderer and refusing to let the sins of the previous generation affect an innocent child, my parents became nationally celebrated philanthropists.

So they poured all their love and attention into Adela.

They lifted her up, accompanied her to performances and events. They even let her open social media accounts under the name "Daughter of the Fox Philanthropists," turning her into an influencer.

When I confronted my parents about their favoritism, their only explanation was:

"The whole country knows she's our daughter now. Of course we have to take good care of her. Otherwise people will criticize your father and me!"

"You're our daughter—you'll be fine no matter what. But Adela came from such a pitiful background. Naturally we have to favor her a little more..."

...

If my father hadn't kicked me over, maybe I could have wheeled myself somewhere to hide.

But now I could only lie helpless on the floor as the killer climbed through the broken window and dragged me away.

My broken nails clawed grooves into the floorboards.

He tied me to the back of his car like a dead dog and dragged me to an abandoned warehouse in Southside.

Ten kilometers of dirt road. Half my body was ground raw. One arm snapped.

When the pain peaked, I nearly blacked out, but I still forced myself to keep dialing for help.

Call after call to emergency services. Disconnected, every single time.

The moment the car stopped, I sent one last text.

"Killer is in Southside. Save me."

This time, someone finally answered.

Hearing my garbled screams through the phone, my mother went silent.

Then she snapped:

"Gertrude! Do you have any idea that tonight, every emergency line in the city is waiting for tips about the killer?"

"You've been jealous of your sister and clogging the hotlines with prank calls! Do you realize that if a real victim tried to call during that time, you could have gotten them killed? How are you any different from that murderer?"

Her voice turned cold:

"Don't bother calling anymore. We've had every hotline block your number."

Then her tone shifted to bitter resentment:

"Do you have any idea? Now everyone knows that our biological daughter was so jealous she abused the emergency system and interfered with the operation. You've completely humiliated your father and me! How did I give birth to such a vicious, selfish daughter? If only you could take Adela's place in being scared for her life! Or better yet—die in place of those innocent victims!"

Before she finished, the killer crushed my phone under his boot.

I stared at the scarred, hideous man in front of me, my whole body shaking uncontrollably.

He bared his yellow teeth and ground his heel down on my fingers, snapping all ten.

My screams were swallowed by the storm.

He strung me up from the rafters and recited every grievance he'd nursed against my parents over the years.

With each one, he carved another cut into my body.

When he got to his biological daughter—Adela—a gleam flickered in his eyes, and he looked at me with satisfaction.