They say that I have gone mad, that I put on "an act of life or death" on the day of my younger sister's coming-of-age ceremony. They also claim that I lied to my husband to gain sympathy.

However, they don't know that the true madman is the person whom they have misplaced their trust in.

I am Winifred Gardner, the eldest daughter of the Gardners, and I am also secretly married to Zachary Hood, a mafia boss. He never announced our marriage within the last three years because I'm not yet "qualified" to be the wife of a mafia boss.

My younger sister, Stella Gardner, acknowledges me as her elder sister while mixing muscle relaxants into my medications to render me weak, dull, and unable to fire a gun.

As a result, I am once again mocked as someone useless.

She steals my place, my parents' love, and my husband's trust while I'm labeled as mentally unstable and told that I pretend for the sake of sympathy.

The moment I sign the organ donation consent form, I smile. This is the only document I can sign on my own initiative.

But they're unaware that I've already recorded the truth beforehand. After I die, everyone will know who it was that poisoned me.

When that time comes, they will cry and be filled with regret.

But I will no longer forgive them.

Today, I dragged my weak frame to the organ donation center's registration office at the hospital in the city center.

The lobby was clean and brightly lit. A promotion poster for the "Lifespan Extension Project" had been pasted on a wall.

I picked up a pen and signed my name on the form with trembling hands. All of a sudden, I was filled with relief. At the very least, I didn't need anyone's permission this time.

Nevertheless, just as I signed my name, the doors were flung open.

"Winifred Gardner!"

That roar shook me up so much that I dropped the pen in my hand. My father, Barnabas Gardner, barged into the room in a neat, dark-colored suit. The attorney's badge on his chest glistened slightly.

My mother, Sara Ingram, tagged along behind him. She rushed here right after completing a surgery.

They stormed their way into the registration office as if they were arresting a culprit.

My mother did not yell. She simply interrogated me coldly, "What are you doing at a place like this?"

Her words were matter-of-fact. "It's Stella's coming-of-age ceremony today. How could you put on such an embarrassing show?"

My father scoffed. "Organ donation? Did you think that you'd be able to garner sympathy like this? As a daughter of the Gardner family, you've gone too far with your pitiful act."

I stood there, my limbs trembling.

After three months of sickness and pain, my body was almost at its breaking point. However, they couldn't see my pain. All they could see were the cracks in their reputation.

The volunteers at the registration office lowered their heads, too afraid to look at me or my parents.

My mother seized the file with my medical records and flipped casually through a couple of pages. Then, she sneered, "If you were going to fake it, at least make it convincing! Who wrote this report for you?

"Everyone at the hospital knows that you're a daughter of our family. Who was the one brave enough to help you with pulling this stunt?"

She flung the medical file in my face before everyone.

"Winifred, how is it that you love being the center of attention so much? Even Zachary is attending Stella's coming-of-age ceremony today.

"Reputable people from the mafia families are present and all the media outlets are covering the event, but you just had to come here and put on a whole show about dying, didn't you?"

My father echoed by yelling, "You are making a fool of our family's reputation! Mark my words—if you continue with this nonsense, we will disown you publicly!"

They raised their voices louder, each trying to outdo the other, while I remained completely still, like a weathered statue.

"Mom, don't blame Winnie…"

When I heard that weak voice, I shut my eyes.

Stella Gardner, in a silver evening gown, wore a matching pearl necklace—a symbol of a woman who married the Hood family's mafia boss.

She appeared pitiful as she spoke in a soft voice, "Winnie must've just been lonely. She wasn't intentionally trying to ruin my coming-of-age ceremony today…"

Stella walked toward me, seemingly moving to reach out and support me.

Instinctively, I lifted my hand to avoid her touch. However, my body was weak from the long-term consumption of muscle relaxants. Right as I lifted my hand, it fell back down immediately.

"Winnie, what are you—"

Stella let out a gasp and staggered backward all of a sudden, acting as if I had shoved her.

I lost my balance and fell backward, the back of my head slamming hard against the floor. An intense pain assailed me, and blood ran from my nose.

My mother frowned, her face full of contempt. "Quit the act! You've frightened Stella to tears. When will you finally put an end to all this fuss?"

She took Stella by the hand and prompted coldly, "Let's go. Let's not waste our time at a place like this. The guests are waiting."

My father left me with a final cold remark. "Once you've had your fun, don't bother coming back to us with your pleas."

They then left without even looking back.

The nurse at the reception stared dazedly at me. Gently, she asked, "Who will you indicate as your emergency contact?"

I answered in a soft voice, "No one."

After a moment's hesitation, she asked, "In that case… are you sure you wish to sign this document?"

I smiled and signed my name. "I'm sure."

That was my first and last time doing something without needing anyone's permission.

At night, I returned to the Gardner family's mansion all on my own. The villa, which was used for the mafia's money laundering activities, was brightly lit at this moment.

They were celebrating Stella's coming-of-age ceremony. She would turn 18 tonight.

I entered from the back door and walked through the opulent hallway. The sounds of music, laughter, popping champagne, and flashing cameras came from upstairs.

It was as if none of that had ever belonged to me.

I returned to my bedroom, which was a small storage room. I had a few old clothes, old books, and a few thousand dollars, which I saved up from working in secret.

I wrote my bank card number and password on a piece of paper and left it on the table.

Fireworks soared into the sky outside the window. That was their celebration, and the start of the three days before the end of my life.

I brushed my fingers gently across the organ donation consent form. The paper felt cold to the touch, but it was the kindest decision I had ever made in my life.

This document wasn't proof that I sought death. Instead, it was proof that I could finally decide how I wanted to die, who I died for, and how I could die with pride.

I didn't want to die in this house, nor did I want to remain trapped in their world after I died.

Nevertheless, my belongings still had to be taken care of.

That room of mine—the smallest storage room in the Gardner residence—was less than 100 square feet. The wallpaper was peeling, and there were cracks in the floor.

It was full of old books from my high school days, examination papers that had yellowed under the sun, and I also had a few T-shirts that had been washed till they faded almost white.

A discolored desk and a rusty chair sat in a corner.

In comparison to Stella's room, which was fit for a princess and came with an en-suite bathroom and wardrobe, we seemed to live in two entirely different worlds.

At this residence, I wasn't even treated like a guest—more like a maid. I was just a shadow that no one would miss.

I started sorting through my belongings. There were old photographs, letters, and a medical record that was once soaked in sweat.

Everything felt as insubstantial as dust.

A folder lay on the desk. It was a quotation from when I contacted a funeral parlor a few days ago.

My phone screen lit up. A woman spoke in a gentle tone, asking, "Ms. Gardner, we have reserved a time for cremation services and a floral memorial display for you. May I confirm your reservation?"

I fell silent for a moment before answering, "I don't need it anymore."

"Alright. I'll cancel it for you, then."

I ended the call. No one needed to know about my funeral either.

All of a sudden, footsteps came from the other side of the door. I looked back, only to see Zachary Hood standing at the doorway.

He wore a flawlessly-tailored black shirt. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing the tattoo on his wrist—the symbol of his mafia family, nicknamed "The Falcons."

He held control over the underworld in this city, and he was also an ally of the Gardner family. More importantly, he was my husband.

The husband who hid me and with whom I didn't even have a wedding celebration.

A marriage alliance between the Gardners and The Falcons should have been a merging of power that was the envy of all.

However, although I was the one eligible for the marriage pact, the marriage was kept a secret temporarily because I wasn't qualified to become the wife of the Hood family's mafia boss.

They said that they could only acknowledge who I was publicly after I passed the physical training. My hands should not shake when I held a gun, and I had to hit my targets accurately.

As such, I had never been acknowledged as Zachary's wife these three years.

"You're back," I said in a low voice that carried a tinge of exhaustion.

Zachary spoke frigidly, his face gloomy. "Haven't you embarrassed yourself enough through that act of yours at the hospital today?"

I pressed my lips together tightly. As expected, just like the others, he assumed that I was putting on an act.

"Did you know how many strings I had to pull in order to stop the news outlets from reporting on that ridiculous behavior of yours?"

He took a step forward. In a deep voice, he continued, "Winifred, what in the world are you trying to do by registering for organ donation on the day of Stella's coming-of-age ceremony?

"Are you aware of how others will perceive this?"

I chuckled, my voice hoarse. "I just wanted to do one thing that I decided for myself."

"Oh, don't lie to me," he replied frostily.

"You were just trying to draw attention to yourself. You always felt like you were neglected and overlooked, so you wanted to validate your existence through extreme measures like this. Am I right?"

Every word he said was like blades stabbing straight into my chest. I wanted to speak, but I couldn't make a sound.

He fixed his eyes on me, the fury in his eyes turning into exhaustion. "Winifred, Stella once lived under the care of others and was criticized since she was young.

"Now that she's finally having her coming-of-age ceremony, you, as her elder sister, created such a fuss. Can't you just be more tolerant of her?"

"I've never had a proper birthday celebration…" I muttered.

Zachary furrowed his brows, his tone impatient. "Your birthday was over a long time ago. What's the point of bringing it up now? Don't be so calculative."

I lowered my eyes and did not reply. He couldn't see my pain or hear the stutter of my heartbeat.

The sound of the doors unlocking broke the silence in the room. Stella entered the room with Mom and Dad in the lead.

They beamed from ear to ear, as if they had just returned from a success.

"Oh, Winnie, you're home."

A hint of hesitation flashed across Stella's face when she saw me. Immediately after, she put on a tender expression.

"Mom, I'd like to have the chocolate cake that Winnie makes."

My mother gave me a sidelong glance. "Winnie? What is she capable of doing? Quit joking around. We've ordered custom desserts from the hotel for the banquet."

"That isn't an issue, Mom."

In a gentle voice, Stella insisted, "I just want to have the cake that Winnie makes. It tastes really unique."

As she said that, she walked to my side and tugged on my sleeve gently. She pleaded, "Please, Winnie. Just make me a small cake, will you?"

My lips curled into a smile.

"Aren't you allergic to cocoa, though?" I asked.

Stella froze. All the color drained from her face instantly as the air in the room came to a standstill.

"I was so excited that I forgot I was allergic to cocoa."

She hung her head low as tears trickled down her face.

"You won't blame me, will you, Winnie?"

As she uttered those words, she wrapped her hands around my arm all of a sudden and squeezed up close to me.

Instinctively, I wanted to retreat. However, she tightened her grasp, clawing at me.

The sharp pain forced me to pull my hand back abruptly. In the next second, she let out a gasp of shock and staggered a couple of steps toward the tea table and leaned against it, looking as white as a sheet.

"Stella!"

My mother dashed toward Stella and threw her arms around her. Frigidly, she exclaimed, "That's enough, Winifred! You've lost your mind again, haven't you?"

"I haven't!" I screamed.

A resounding smack sounded, and my face was flung to the side.

My father pointed straight at me and roared, "If you're still going to be so immature, you'll destroy the Gardner family sooner or later. The mafia family is also going to end up being criticized by the public because of you!"

The ringing in my ears continued for a while as I listened to their discussion.

"Get the public relations department to bury the news tomorrow. For now, just say that she had an adverse drug reaction and that it's not a psychological issue."

"She went berserk during the day and made a fuss about signing the papers to donate her organs after death. And now, she's lashed out at her younger sister. She's gone out of control!"

I stood there like an outsider. It was as if they weren't talking about me at all. "She" was just trouble, a piece of humiliating news that had to be covered up.

I turned around silently and returned to my room without saying a word. Then, I picked up my luggage, which I had packed beforehand.

Stella was taken aback momentarily when she saw the luggage in my hand. She blurted, "Why is she carrying luggage?"

"What else could she be doing? She's just running away from home," my mother said in disdain, rolling her eyes.

"Save it, Winifred. You always run away from home whenever you make a mistake in order to garner sympathy. Well, that won't work!"

"That's exactly right!" my father echoed.

He shot me a glare, then grabbed a mug without any hesitation and flung it straight at me.

The mug hit me right on the head and shattered into pieces instantly. Fresh blood trickled down my forehead before dripping onto the floor.

I wiped the blood off my face and declared numbly, "I will never return."

My mother rolled her eyes and chided scornfully, "Then so be it! Who cares if you're not coming back? It works out just right. Our family won't have a daughter like you.

"Leave and never come back again!"

At that moment, I let out a laugh so soft that I barely made a sound. As it turned out, this "home" that I strived to protect all these years was never mine.

I headed for the door, pulling my luggage behind me.

"Winifred!"

Zachary ran out after me after recovering from his shock. "It's really late. Where are you gonna go?"

"It's none of your business," I said.

He remained quiet for a moment before pulling out a few banknotes from his pocket and stuffing them into my hands. "This is all the cash I have left on me. Spend a night away from home for now. Once you've calmed down, you can come back tomorrow and apologize."

I lifted my head to look at him. After all this time of knowing one another, this wasn't his first time telling me to apologize.

Before I could say anything, Stella ran outside. She snatched the cash out of my hands. In a voice so ear-piercingly gentle, she questioned, "Zach, why are you enabling her? If she runs away with the cash, won't she just feel even more like the victim?"

A flicker of emotion crossed Zachary's face. He looked at me briefly, his brows knitting together. "Stella is right."

As he said that, he took the money back and put it away.

"Winifred, we can't stop you if you truly wish to leave. If you get hungry, come back on your own accord. Don't put on this act any longer."

He turned around and went back indoors, closing the door heavily behind him.

I stood at the door, feeling the iciness in the air. Even the wind blew mockingly.

Fireworks lit up the night sky at the other end of the street. Colors of gold and silver interwove with one another.

That was Stella's coming-of-age celebration. And to me, it was my second last day of life.

I had a sudden realization that true death was never just the cessation of breath. Instead, it was a life where nobody believed you.

A ripping pain tore through my chest. I bent forward, barely able to catch my breath.

I coughed up a mouthful of blood, and I reached my shaky hand out to a wall for support.

The night breeze blew through my hair, the cold cutting like a knife. With all I had within me, I steadied myself.

I advanced, pulling my luggage along. I walked out of the wealthy residential area and booked a room at the budget motel with the money I saved up from working part-time in recent years.