Everyone knew—Jessica Conway had always adored Jack Murray. They were high school lovers, and everyone just assumed they would get married eventually and live happily ever after.

But then, there was Abby Conway, Jessica's elder sister who was "gravely ill."

On the eve of Jessica and Jack's wedding, he said, "Jess, your sister's really really sick. Let's give her a chance to be the bride for now, alright? You know you're the one I love."

Abby echoed, "Jess, promise me you'll come to the wedding, okay?"

Jessica clutched the stomach cancer diagnosis in her hands and said nothing.

On the wedding day, she never showed up.

Jack, realizing her absence, abandoned the ceremony and rushed home—only to find the house empty. The only thing left behind was a single sheet of paper: her final diagnosis.

For three days and three nights, Jack knelt before Jessica, begging for a second chance.

But she never forgave him. Not even in death.

"Jessica, HQ just sent out a notice. They want to send you to Paris for advanced training. In six months, you'll be competing in the Global Fashion Designers' Competition. You’d have to leave in a week. Do you want to go? It’s totally up to you. After all, your wedding with Jack is on the same day. Marriage is a big deal—it should come first."

Jessica had just stepped out of the bathroom, her face pale and drained. The moment she sat down in her dull grey and white room, her phone rang. It was Kelly Winfrey, her boss.

She didn't respond immediately. Through the receiver, she could hear Kelly's steady breathing, waiting.

Just as Kelly was about to give up and consider another candidate, Jessica spoke. "I'll go. As for my wedding with Jack, I'll take care of it in the next few days."

"Wait…" Kelly hadn't expected her to agree. She hesitated for a moment, then failed to hide the excitement creeping into her voice. "You're really going?"

Jessica's gaze drifted toward the group not far from her—people gathered around, singing birthday songs, sharing cake, their laughter filling the air.

She swallowed down the bitterness rising in her chest. When she spoke again, her voice was steady. "Yes. I'll handle everything within these seven days. Tell HQ not to worry."

Then, she hung up.

Some things needed to end.

The intrusive hum of the music from the speakers grew louder, making her head throb. She turned to head back to her bedroom, but before she could take a step, Abby approached, carrying a plate of cake.

She smiled warmly. "Jess, have some of my birthday cake. Mom and Dad bought it just for me. Wasn't your birthday yesterday? They never buy cakes for you, do they? You can have mine."

Jessica's face darkened. Her voice turned cold.

"I don't want it. It's your cake, you eat it. I'm going to my room."

She stepped past Abby, wanting nothing more than to leave.

But in the next instant, Abby let out a strange little smile.

Then—without warning—she smashed the cake into her own face.

With a sharp gasp, she stumbled backward, knocking into the coffee table. Glasses and cups crashed to the floor, shattering upon impact. Shards of glass scattered everywhere, some piercing her hands.

The cake, now a mess of cream and crumbs, lay in ruins on the ground.

Tears welled up in her eyes. "Jess… why… why did you push me?"

Everything happened too fast. Before Jessica could react, the others had already rushed over.

Their father pulled Abby to her feet, his face contorted with worry as he took in her wounds. "Jessica! What do you think you're doing? Abby was kind enough to bring you some cake, and this is how you treat her? You ungrateful, heartless wretch!"

Their mother didn't even pause to question. "You… You always do this! Don't you know Abby is weak? You should be taking care of her! Look at her—there's glass in her hands! She has asthma, too. The doctor said we have to keep her from getting upset, but you never learn!"

Asthma?

Jessica lowered her gaze.

Nobody knew she only had a year left to live, but what did it matter now?

Just then, Jack entered the scene, carrying the family's medicine box. He walked straight past Jessica, then lifted Abby and placed her gently on the couch—right in front of his fiancée.

His eyes bore into Jessica, filled with disappointment.

"Jessica," he said, "when I first met you, I never knew you were this petty. Apologize to Abby so we can be done with this and move on."

Jessica said nothing. She lowered her head and swallowed the tears that threatened to rise.

Only when she was sure her voice wouldn't shake did she finally reply, "I didn't push her. I don't apologize for things I didn't do."

Her mother scoffed. "If you didn't push her, who did? Are you suggesting Abby threw herself into the table? You're useless, lazy, and now, a liar too?"

She grabbed Jessica's wrist, her grip tight and punishing. "Apologize to Abby!"

Jessica wrenched her hand free, thinking why should she apologize for something she didn't do.

Abby let out a small, pitiful sob, her shoulders trembling as she gasped for air. Her breathing grew uneven.

Their mother hurried to soothe her, patting her back, while Jack handed her a glass of water.

And then, just as if she were truly drowning in guilt, Abby spoke.

"It's my fault," she whimpered. "I shouldn't have shared my cake with Jess. I didn't mean to upset her… I'm sorry, Jess. Will you forgive me?"

Then—without hesitation—she raised her hand and slapped herself across the face.

The more Abby put on her act, the more Jessica felt an overwhelming sense of disgust.

Since childhood, Abby had mastered the art of appearing fragile, drawing sympathy from everyone around her. Every misfortune, every conflict, was inevitably laid at Jessica's feet. She was always portrayed as the villain—the heartless, unreasonable one who "apparently" bullied her weak older sister.

But who was truly bullying whom?

Who was the one in this house forced into insignificance? Who was the one constantly misunderstood and disregarded?

In the past, she had endured it all in silence. But not this time.

"That's right. Slap yourself harder. Make sure it stings," she said coldly. "After all, you were the one who smashed that cake onto your own face, only to turn around and pin the blame on me. With acting skills like yours, why not aim for an Oscar?"

Slap—

The sound rang clear in the air. A sharp pain exploded across her cheek.

Jack had struck her.

A metallic taste of blood filled her throat. She swallowed it down, standing still.

She looked at Jack—her fiancé she had been together with since high school.

For a long moment, she simply stared, her mind refusing to process what had just happened. He had hit her.

But…

Once upon a time, Jack had held her close and whispered, "Jess, whatever love you lacked in your family, I will make up for it."

And now?

He had raised his hand against her—for Abby.

Behind him, Abby let out a soft, insincere murmur. "Jack, how could you hit Jess? She's my little sister."

Their father's voice followed immediately after. "Jessica, open your eyes and see! Abby's still standing up for you despite everything. And what have you done to her?"

Pain coiled through her insides, twisting, tearing. Her gaze swept over the faces around her—her father, her sister, her fiancé.

It was always like this. Wherever Abby was, she was the sun, and everyone else merely revolved around her.

But it didn't matter.

Seven days. Seven more days, and everything would be over.

She was leaving. Leaving this wretched place. Leaving these people.

She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, another rush of nausea surged up her throat. She turned away swiftly, disappearing into her room before anyone could see.

Behind her, Abby continued crying, repeating the same old lines. "It's all my fault."

And the others? They did what they always did—blamed her.

In the bathroom, Jessica splashed cold water on her face. Then, gripping the sink, she coughed violently. Blood spilled from her lips.

It took several long moments before she felt steady enough to move. Reaching into her bag, she retrieved the last two pills she had left and swallowed them.

Tomorrow. She had to go to the hospital tomorrow to get more medication.

It had been two weeks since she had gone in for a check-up, two weeks since she had been told she had late-stage stomach cancer. A year, they had said. Give or take.

At first, she had refused to believe it. But eventually, she had come to accept it. Death was inevitable for everyone. Hers was just arriving earlier than expected.

She turned her attention to the suitcase lying open on her bed.

November. Paris would be cold. Temperatures ranged between 8 to 15 degrees Celsius, with frequent rain. She packed thick sweaters, coats, and scarves. Summer clothes, too—just in case. By the time she finished, her suitcase was stuffed to the brim.

Then, she opened her laptop and logged into the selling site, listing dozens of her design pieces for sale.

Her parents had never loved her as they did her sister. That much was clear. But at the very least, they had brought her into this world and raised her. That counted for something, she supposed.

250 thousand dollars. That would be her final repayment for all their years of upbringing, despite the neglect.

After everything was done, exhaustion swept over her. She was just about to sleep when her phone screen lit up.

It was a new post from Abby.

Nine photos—birthday cake, gifts, family, friends. A perfect tableau of happiness.

The caption read: [Thank you, Daddy, Mommy, and Jack, for all your love. Happy 23rd to me. Forever your little princess.]

Bitterness curled in her chest, but she forced it down.

And then, her phone rang. It was a video call request from Abby.

She hesitated, unwilling to answer. But then, a thought crossed her mind.

She pressed record, switched on the microphone, and picked up.

The moment the call connected, Abby's face filled the screen, smug and triumphant.

"You saw my post, didn't you?" she sneered. "I posted it just for you. Jess, you never should have been born. You can never win against me. And now, even the fiancé you painstakingly found is siding with me. That slap must've hurt, huh?"

Jessica didn't respond. Instead, she saved the screen recording before hanging up the call.

Before leaving, she wanted everyone to see what kind of person the "apparently" delicate and fragile Abby really was.

And yet, her chest still ached as Abby's words echoed in her mind.

"Jessica, you never should have been born. You can never win against me."

That's true. Why had she even been born?

She was supposed to be the cherished younger sister. But because their parents were afraid of hurting their eldest daughter, Abby, they gave all their love to Abby instead.

They had said, "Be sensible. If it weren't for you, Abby would have had everything. Now she has to share some of it with you."

But had anything ever really been shared with her?

From childhood to now, Abby had pretty dresses and dolls—she had none.

Abby was sent to various art and talent classes—she was not.

Abby celebrated her birthday every year, with cake and presents—she did not, even though their birthdays were just one day apart.

Ah, but no, that wasn't entirely true.

She did have one birthday celebration. The year she met Jack.

Back then, Jack gave her love, warmth, and everything she had been missing.

For years, he remembered her birthday, giving her gifts without fail.

He was always there for her, protecting her, telling her, "Jess, don't worry. The past is the past. I'll give you a future. A future beyond futures."

That night, when his youthful lips brushed against hers, the sky was filled with countless stars.

But now, that same Jack had slapped her across the face—without hesitation—for Abby.

Jessica wiped away the tears she hadn't even realized had fallen. She found a small storage box and placed inside it everything Jack had ever given her.

It was time to put an end to this.

As for the wedding, she'd find a chance to call it off.

She barely slept that night, and the next morning, she was up early.

After washing up, she checked the selling site. Someone had already placed a bid. The buyer insisted on an in-person transaction to inspect the goods.

They had arranged to meet today—at any time.

Jessica finished freshening up and headed downstairs. Just as she stepped out of her room, she ran into Abby.

Remembering the evidence she needed, she slipped a hand into her pocket and switched on the recording function on her phone.

At this hour, only the two of them were home. Abby dropped all pretense.

She strolled over, arms crossed arrogantly. There was no sign of the weak and delicate girl she pretended to be.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. Jess, why did you hang up last night? Were you heartbroken? All I had to do was just put on a little show, and Mom, Dad, and Jack were wrapped around my finger. Oh, and I told Jack I wanted breakfast this morning. Guess what? He's bringing it for me. And he's your fiancé. You two are getting married in six days. How could he?"

She let out a laugh, covering her mouth as if she had just shared a delightful joke.

Jessica felt another faint, imperceptible pang in her heart.

Once, Jack had only cared for her.

But it didn't matter anymore.

Still, she couldn't hold back. "You're right, he's taking care of you now, but in a few days, I'll be the one standing next to him as his bride. What does that make you? A mistress?"

Abby kept smiling. "Jess, do you really believe that? If I want, I can make sure Jack never marries you. And as for being a mistress… Well, I'm just a fragile older sister who needs looking after. Who would ever call me a mistress?"

Jessica opened her mouth to retort—

But just then, the doorbell rang.

She walked over and looked through the peephole.

It was the framed artwork she had sent out for mounting.

She had spent nearly three months designing this piece. It was this very work that had earned her the opportunity to study in Paris.

Jessica signed for it and was about to carry it to her bedroom when Abby suddenly lunged forward.

"Let me see," she sneered. "What kind of useless trash have you designed this time? You even got it framed?"

Jessica didn't want her to touch it and tried to take it back.

But in the struggle, the painting slipped—

With a loud crash, the glass shattered against the floor.

Shards scattered everywhere.

Some lodged into the skin of Jessica's foot. Blood seeped out.

She looked at the broken frame, her chest tightening.

There were only a few days left before she had to send this piece to Paris. Now it was ruined. If she had to get it reframed, would she even make it in time?

Abby, standing at a safe distance, was unscathed. She was just about to mock her when—

The sound of a key turning in the lock interrupted her.

In an instant, she changed her expression.

"Jess, how could you?" she gasped, her voice trembling. "I just wanted to see your design! Why would you throw it at me?"

Jessica was speechless. 'Here we go again.'

And in the next second—

Jack rushed in, holding a bag of breakfast. Without even stopping to assess the situation, he launched straight into accusations.

"Jessica, you really are vicious!" His voice was sharp and cutting. "Abby just wanted to see your work. What's the big deal? How could you throw it at her?"