"You two can finally rest, and you won't have to go to that damn rundown house anymore to pretend to be poor."
Dad looked smug. "This kid Anna really didn't let down our careful training."
"Just in senior year of high school, she already earned twenty-four thousand dollars. She's got my style from back then."
Serena lifted her glass with a smile.
"I used that money to buy a bottle of 1982 Lafite. Not a cent more, not a cent less—so consider it my little sister showing you two respect ahead of time."
"On my little sister's behalf, I thank you both for your hard work and dedication."
Mom's expression turned doting, with a hint of reproach. "Serena, you've got nerve."
"If it weren't for you only caring about having fun all day, would your dad and I have had to go to such lengths to raise Anna?"
Serena stuck out her tongue playfully, stood up, and clinked glasses with our parents.
"Here's to the 'raise-poor plan' for Anna—a complete success!"
The three of them lifted the crimson wine and, in a cheerful atmosphere, drank it all in one go.
And I finally understood the whole truth.
The illness was fake. The poverty was fake too.
But in these eighteen years, my fear, unease, inferiority, cowardice, and the suffocating guilt more stifling 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 had traded my half-dead body for was being swallowed down by them, mouthful by mouthful.
The intense pain almost devoured my soul.
I wanted to scream at them—why did they treat me like this!
But no matter how hard I tried, I still couldn't make even the slightest sound.
At that moment, a servant rushed over clutching a paper bag. His face was deathly pale.
"Sir, I just found a strange letter in the money pouch sent by the second young lady."
Dad took the letter casually. When he saw what was inside, his face went white with fright…
