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.

I curled up into a ball in the cramped and dimly lit motel room. Piercingly cold winds entered through a gap in the window, filling my nose with a damp and moldy stench.

I was also once my parents' so-called "pride."

That year, the Gardner family's business reached a new high. My mother was busy with her career as a surgeon, while my father took over the legal matters at Gardner Corporation.

To maintain the family's reputation, they needed to have a flawless public image, which included having an intelligent daughter with presentable charity work.

Thus, they adopted Stella.

She was an academically high-performing girl with a meek image from the orphanage, making her the right fit for a charity documentary.

Back then, I was such a fool to have thought that having a younger sister would bring joy. In the end, she became my replacement.

She claimed that I cheated and my scholarship was taken away; she accused me of plagiarism and stole my thesis; she spread false rumors that I was mentally unstable, turning me into a monster at school.

I explained myself time and time again, only to be interrupted over and over.

From that day onward, I learned that I was no longer their flesh and blood.

The pain in my chest intensified so much that I almost couldn't breathe.

The doctor told me that I had less than a month to live. Today marked the 29th day since then.

I had a sudden urge to visit the sea. I recalled the time when I was young, sitting on a beach and watching the waves wash away my footprints.

That was my only memory that had not been tainted by those people. However, I couldn't even afford a train ticket to go to the beach.

I leaned against the icy wall and closed my eyes.

A knock came at the door.

I thought it was the owner of the motel, but I saw her—Stella—instead. She was in a beige-colored coat, and her hair was curled to utter perfection.

She stood at the door, smiling and looking like she had just returned from the banquet.

"Winnie," she said, her tone soft yet edged with reproach. "Is this where you're staying? Oh my goodness, this place is tiny."

As she scanned the room, the grin on her face widened. She continued, "But it suits you quite well. It's quiet, and no one's here to bother you."

She walked into the room, staring at me condescendingly. "You look horrible," she remarked, shaking her head.

"If Zachary were to see you right now, he would probably feel for you.

"What I mean is that he'll pity you, not feel for you out of love."

I bit my lip and remained silent.

Suddenly, she bent forward, opening the bottle of medicine I had by my bed.

"Oh? You're still taking these?" She let out a scoff. "Vitamins? They're more like muscle relaxants."

I froze. She leaned forward and whispered in my ear in a tone so gentle, as if she were whispering sweet nothings. "Did you think that you failed to qualify as the wife of the head of The Falcons only because you're naturally weak?

"Truth be told, I was the one who made it such that you failed to qualify. Your hands shook, and you missed your targets during each physical training because I drugged you."

"I made you weak, dull-witted, and vulnerable… All because I wanted Zachary to feel like you weren't good enough to him or worthy to be called the wife of their family's mafia boss."

She patted my face gently as her eyes twinkled with glee. "It's such a pity that he still married you even though you're so weak that you failed their qualification tests three years in a row. That was really a surprise."

My throat was so dry that it was almost impossible for me to say a word.

Stella smiled and continued criticizing, "Though it was fortunate that he couldn't announce your marriage publicly because the Hoods cannot accept such a weak and incapable woman into their family. All they could do was wait till you were 'qualified' before they made their announcement.

"However, you—the mafia boss's secret wife—are about to die. You won't live to see the day when you are acknowledged publicly.

"After your death, the position of the mafia boss's wife will be mine."

She paused, as if she were reminiscing about something. In a sweet tone, she asked, "Do you know what my favorite thing is?

"It's to see that look on your face when you're misunderstood. You cry, explain, and plead with them to believe you. But you don't know that I'm the only one they trust."

She straightened her back and looked down at me.

"Mom, Dad, Zachary, and everyone in the Gardner family… I will be the only one they remember. Your existence is just a joke."

She turned around and headed to the door. "Don't worry. I will take good care of them on your behalf. At your funeral, my tears will also be the most genuine of them all."

The moment the door closed, a gust of wind blew into the room. I sat there quietly, reaching for my phone under my pillow with my trembling fingers.

A red dot on the screen continued to blink. The audio recording was complete.

I pressed the "stop" button and saved the audio file. Then, I opened my list of contacts.

The Gardner family's group, Zachary, reporters, and everyone else who once blocked me. I selected each and every one of them and sent the file.

The howling of the wind became louder and louder as I leaned against the wall, my breathing becoming shallower and shallower.

The glow of my phone screen illuminating my face was the last bit of warmth I had. I uttered so softly that I could barely even hear my voice, "Stella, you've won."

Snow fell on the windowsill as I closed my eyes.

The world finally went quiet.