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.

As her parents walked toward her, Jessica took out the medical report and handed it to them.

"I hadn't planned on telling you," she said. "But now that you've seen it, there's no point in hiding it. I have late-stage stomach cancer."

Until this moment, she had believed—no, hoped—that she was still their daughter, that the news of her illness would stir some kind of sorrow in them. That was how it should be, wasn't it? A parent's heart aching for their child.

But the next second, all of that shattered.

A sharp, brutal kick landed squarely on her stomach, sending her staggering backward. She crashed against the corner of the table, pain shooting up her spine.

She gasped, gripping the edge for support, her eyes widening in disbelief at her father. "You… you…"

Before she could finish, her father slapped her.

"Jessica! Have you become the kind of person who lies through her teeth?" he shouted. "If Abby hadn't warned us beforehand that you bought blood bags to fake your illness, we might have actually believed you! You're nothing but trouble!"

Jessica took a slow, shaky breath.

She pointed at the report, her fingers trembling. She wanted to stay calm, to speak logically, but the pain, the humiliation, and the utter disappointment all crashed over her at once. When she spoke again, her voice broke, raw with emotion.

"You think I'm lying? You think a hospital report can be forged?"

Her father sneered. "Of course it can. These days, anything can be faked."

Something inside her went still.

In that moment, she realized there was no point in arguing. They would never believe her. It was a waste of breath.

So she let out a hollow chuckle. "You're right. I made it all up. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have…"

Her mother cut her off. "Enough. Abby's wedding is the day after tomorrow. As her younger sister, you should be helping her, not causing unnecessary drama to steal attention. It's ridiculous."

With a faint smile, she nodded. "Of course. I'll make sure to prepare everything well. And I'll have a very special gift ready for them."

Back in her room, she opened her laptop and checked her sales orders. Another batch had just been purchased. It was enough—enough for a ticket to Paris.

Then she reached out to the wedding emcee.

She would need his cooperation.

But as soon as he heard her request, his answer was swift. "No way. I'm not getting involved in something like this. My job is to host the wedding, not meddle in who the bride is."

"What if I pay you seven thousand?" she asked. "That's more than you'd make hosting multiple weddings, isn't it?"

A long silence followed.

In the end, money won.

"…Fine," the emcee sighed. "I'll do it."

She sent him the files—every piece of evidence she had gathered. Photos, recordings, videos, everything.

'Abby, just wait. Your gift is on its way.'