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?"

Jessica finally opened her eyes.

Seeing that it was Abby, she reached out, snatched the medical report from Abby's hands, and stuffed it into her bag without a word. Then, without looking back, she walked away.

Abby stood there, watching her retreating figure. After a few seconds of silence, she pulled out her phone and dialed Jack.

"Jack, I really don't understand what Jess is thinking. She actually went to the doctor and got a fake medical certificate saying she has late-stage stomach cancer..."

…

Later, Jessica met with the buyer. The transaction went smoothly.

She didn't feel like going home to cook, so she grabbed a bite outside before heading back.

For the next few days, they were all at the hospital, "taking care" of Abby.

Every day, Abby updated her social media, posting photos, writing captions filled with poetic melancholy. Occasionally, she would send private messages to Jessica, subtly flaunting her condition.

And, of course, she added a few mocking remarks about Jessica's terminal illness.

Jessica never replied. Instead, she took screenshots—one by one, carefully saving them.

One day, all of this would come to light. She would make sure everyone saw Abby for what she truly was—the faker who had fooled them all.

…

In the blink of an eye, there were only two days left before her departure for Paris.

Most of her preparations were complete. The 250 thousand dollars for her parents was nearly secured through her recent design transactions.

She still needed to set aside another 125 thousand for herself—to cover expenses in Paris. It was Europe, after all. The cost of living was high, and she needed to be prepared for any unforeseen circumstances.

As for the gifts Jack had given her over the years, she packed them all away, leaving nothing behind.

Maybe she had grown cold. As she sorted through everything, she felt nothing—not anger, not sorrow. Just a quiet, detached calm. Like she was simply tidying up before moving house.

…

The next day, Abby and the others finally returned.

She was carried into the bedroom by Jack, while their parents trailed behind, carrying the luggage.

Jessica watched them enter, then called out to Jack, "When you're done, I need to talk to you."

It was time to make things clear. There was no need for this wedding anymore.

Jack glanced at her briefly. "Good. I have something to tell you too. I'll come find you later."

Jessica sat on the couch, waiting. Ten minutes later, he emerged from the room.

He looked at her for a moment. She seemed thinner. Worn out. But he didn't dwell on it. He got straight to the point.

"I wanted to talk to you about our wedding."

She remained silent, waiting for him to continue.

"Jess, this morning Abby made a request. She wants to be my bride on the wedding day."

Jessica lifted her gaze.

Expected, yet somehow still absurd.

She didn't object outright. Instead, she asked, "And you? What do you think?"

Jack hadn't anticipated her composure. He had expected anger, tears, or at least a sharp retort. But her calmness made him relax slightly, as if his choice had already been justified.

"Abby isn't in good health. Let's just grant her wish. The wedding will proceed as planned the day after tomorrow, but the bride will be Abby instead."

He continued, "Don't worry, it's just a fake marriage. The one I truly love has always been you. It's just… she kept begging me not to marry you. She wants to be my bride so badly. And she's your sister—how could I turn her away, right?"

Hearing such a noble-sounding excuse, Jessica wasn't sure whether she should laugh.

She thought back to everything that had led to this moment…

There was a time when she and Jack were deeply in love.

He had held her close and whispered, "Jess, no matter what happens, I will marry you. You'll be the most beautiful bride in the world.

"Jess, what kind of wedding would you like? I'll let you decide.

"Jess, I'll take care of all the housework. And if you're afraid of the pain and don't want to have children, we don't have to. I don't want you to suffer."

The warmth of those words still echoed in her ears.

But now, all of that had collapsed into a single, cold sentence—"The wedding will proceed as planned the day after tomorrow, but the bride will be Abby instead."

How absurd.

It felt as though a massive truck had run over her body, crushing her bones, her lungs, her heart—grinding everything into dust. But after a fleeting moment of suffocating pain, she forced herself to smile.

"Alright, I agree… The bride will be Abby. And on that day, I'll prepare a special gift for the both of you."

Jack hadn't expected her to agree so easily. His face lit up with relief, but somewhere deep inside, an inexplicable unease took root. A vague feeling that something important was slipping away.

But he didn't dwell on it. Instead, he praised her. "I knew you'd be the most understanding, Jess. I have to go now—there's still so much to prepare for the wedding."

She watched him leave.

Her grip on her phone tightened. She wanted to cry. But instead, she tilted her head back and swallowed the tears.

Just then, Abby stepped out of the bedroom. Their parents weren't around, and with no one to witness, her face twisted into its usual arrogance.

Jessica casually tapped the recording button on her phone. This "gift" needed more material, after all.

"So? How do you feel?" Abby smirked. "I'll be the bride in two days. You know, I was only joking this morning when I told Jack that I wanted to be his bride. I just wanted to see how much he cared about me. But guess what? He actually agreed."

She tossed her hair back, savoring the moment. "Of course, it's just a wedding. We won't even register the marriage. But if I wanted to… do you really think he'd refuse me if I asked him to make it official?"

Jessica let out a quiet laugh. "Abby, how is it that you can be a mistress and still act so righteous about it?"

"Mistress?" Abby scoffed. "You two aren't even legally married yet. No wedding, no certificate. And even if you were married, as your older sister, wouldn't it be natural for my dear brother-in-law to take care of me? After all, my health is so fragile."

She paused dramatically, then covered her mouth in mock surprise.

"Oh, wait. I'm not the one who's sick. You are—the one with terminal stomach cancer. You don't have much time left, do you? So why keep clinging to Jack? Just let him go."

She took a step closer. "Actually, Jess, you never should have been born in the first place. Because of you, our family had to split everything—money, attention, affection. You were the extra one. The unnecessary one. Ever since you were born, I've wanted to strangle you."

Each word dripped with venom.

Sometimes, Jessica couldn't help but envy other little sisters. The ones who were cherished, spoiled by their families, and protected by their older siblings.

She had wanted to be a princess too.

A sharp, twisting pain spread through her stomach. She clutched it instinctively.

"What's wrong? Gonna start coughing up blood now?" Abby sneered. "How pitiful. Maybe you should just kill yourself and get it over with."

Jessica wanted to hold on, wanted to make it to the bathroom before anyone saw. But this time, she couldn't.

The taste of blood filled her mouth, thick and overwhelming. Blood surged up her throat, seeping into her nose, her lungs, until she couldn't contain it anymore. It gushed out, spilling onto the floor.

And just at that moment, their parents stepped out of their room.

Jessica lifted her gaze to meet their stunned expressions.

She smiled bitterly.

So much for keeping it a secret.