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?"

Jessica fell silent.

She lowered her head, staring at the blood seeping from the back of her foot. Then, she glanced at Abby—unscathed and untouched.

Biting her lip, she forced herself to stay firm. "Can't you see? My foot is bleeding."

Only then did Jack notice the wound. His brows knitted slightly, and he stepped forward, intending to help her. But before he could, Abby's delicate voice, tinged with grievance, broke through the space between them.

"Jack, it's my fault. I shouldn't have looked at Jess's things. I knew she wouldn't like it… Just like yesterday, with the cake. I shouldn't have given it to her."

Her voice trembled, her shoulders shook, and in the next moment, she started convulsing, her breath becoming labored.

"Asthma medication. Take it first!" Jack's mind snapped back to the immediate crisis. He didn't have time to think about anything else—he rushed to grab Abby's medicine.

But it was too late. Abby, overcome with exaggerated distress, collapsed into his arms.

He caught her just in time and swiftly scooped her up. "I'm taking you to the hospital."

As they stepped out, they ran into Jessica's parents returning home.

One look at the mess inside, and the conclusion was drawn instantly.

"Abby's condition has worsened because of you! We won't forgive you for this!"

With a loud bang, the door slammed shut.

The living room was empty now, except for Jessica.

She clenched her jaw and tended to her own wound. Then, she picked up the scattered artwork, smoothed out the edges, and called a courier to have it framed again.

Once that was done, she left for the hospital for her own checkup.

The waiting dragged on. By the time the results came out, two hours had passed.

The doctor studied the report, sighed, and looked at her with an air of reluctant sympathy. "Your cancer cells are spreading. Medication alone won't be enough. You should consider hospitalization for chemotherapy. If you're lucky, you might have another year or two."

"No," she said. "I don't want to spend my last days in a hospital."

She took the test results, folded them neatly, and left the consultation room.

She had always feared chemotherapy. The thought of losing all her hair, of looking sickly and wretched—it scared her. No, she wasn't going to do that. Even on the day she died, she wanted to look beautiful.

As she stepped into the corridor, a voice caught her attention.

"Dr. Langston, I've paid you enough, haven't I?"

She paused mid-step. That voice was so familiar.

Moving back a little, she peered into the respiratory department's office.

There stood Abby.

But she wasn't the frail, pitiful girl she always pretended to be. She was upright and poised.

What is this?

Without hesitation, Jessica pulled out her phone and hit record.

Abby, oblivious, continued speaking to the doctor, her tone laced with condescension.

"You have no right to threaten me. At most, I've been faking an illness. But you? You've taken quite a lot of money from me, not to mention all the bribes from other patients' families. If I report you, you can say goodbye to your career. I also know you're running for the deputy director position. One mistake and it's over for you."

Jessica's fingers trembled around her phone and she nearly dropped it.

So… Abby's asthma had been fake all along. She wasn't sick at all.

She wanted to keep recording, to gather more evidence, but suddenly, a metallic taste of blood rose in her throat.

She turned, hastily making her way to the restroom.

Inside, she cupped cold water in her hands and splashed it over her face. Her reflection stared back at her—pale, hollow, exhausted.

The frequency was increasing. The blood she coughed up was more than before.

If it kept up like this, she wasn't sure if she'd even last a year.

She gritted her teeth, swallowing down the nausea, then reached into her bag for her medication. Her body curled against the cold tile floor as she waited for the pain to subside with her eyes shut tightly.

At that moment, Abby stepped into the restroom.

She halted, her gaze flickering with something unreadable. Then, as if sensing something off, she casually reached for the medical report sticking out of Jessica's bag.

She pulled it out, skimmed the contents, and then—

Her pupils dilated.

A slow, delighted smile curled on her lips.

"Jess… you have late-stage stomach cancer?"