"The mansion, the luxury cars, the family business—it'll more than make up for what she's suffered."
"And you two can finally rest. No more pretending to be poor in that rundown dump."
Dad smirked. "Lily really didn't disappoint our careful training."
"Only a senior in high school, and she already earned twenty-four thousand dollars. She's got my style from back in the day."
Serena lifted her glass, smiling.
"I used that money to buy a bottle of '82 Lafite. Not a cent more, not a cent less. Consider it my sister showing filial respect ahead of time."
"On her behalf—thank you both for your hard work."
Mom looked indulgent, her tone gently reproachful. "Serena, you've got nerve."
"If you hadn't spent all your time playing around, would your dad and I have had to go to such lengths with Lily?"
Serena stuck out her tongue, stood, and clinked glasses with her parents.
"To the complete success of Lily's 'raise her poor' plan!"
The three of them raised their crimson wine and drank deeply, the atmosphere light and celebratory.
And I finally understood the full truth.
The illness was fake. The poverty was fake.
But in these eighteen years, my fear, my unease, my inferiority, my cowardice—and that suffocating guilt more unbearable than death itself—those were real.
They had conspired in a vile game. And the price was my life.
The last bit of money I'd traded my half-dead body for was sliding down their throats, mouthful by mouthful.
The pain nearly devoured my soul.
I wanted to scream at them—why did you do this to me?
But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't make a single sound.
At that moment, a servant rushed to the table clutching a paper bag.
His face was deathly pale. "Sir, I found a strange letter in the money bag the second young lady sent."
Dad took the letter casually. The moment he saw what was inside, his face went white…
