This wasn't a proper cemetery—weeds choked everything, and jagged rocks jutted from the earth.

I stopped in front of an inconspicuous dirt mound tucked in the corner. No headstone.

I pulled a plastic bag from the bike basket. Inside: three pieces of chocolate and a few pages of sheet music, rain-soaked and yellowed. The chocolate had started to melt.

I set them in front of the mound and reached out to pull up the new weeds around it.

"Lily, Mom's here."

I sat on the gravelly ground and stroked the dirt with my crippled right hand.

"Still no money for a cake this year. Mom's useless."

The wind blew.

I tugged at the corner of my mouth and unfolded the sheet music.

"Mom will play piano for you, okay? There's no piano, but Mom remembers the score."

I lifted my hand and pressed down into empty air.

No piano sound—just the faint click of my finger joints moving.

I'd only played two measures when sharp pain shot through my right hand. My fingers curled up.

"Mom's hand hurts. I'll stop here for today."

I dropped my head onto my knees. My tears smashed into the dirt.

My phone rang.

I looked at the familiar-yet-unfamiliar number and answered.

"Alex Henson." Marcus's voice came through. "I'm giving you thirty minutes. Show up at Bluewater Villa. Otherwise, I'll tear down that auto repair shop and make sure your foreman can't work in Rongcheng for the rest of his life."

"You can try." My voice was hoarse.

"You can gamble." His voice was flat. "Gamble on whether I'm joking. Don't force me to get rough. You know I have that ability."

The call ended.

I looked at the little dirt mound and reached out one last time to touch the soil.

"Lily, that bad guy is coming to cause trouble again. Be good down there. Don't be afraid."

Bluewater Villa.

It used to be my marital home. Now it was Marcus and Sophia's.

I parked the e-bike outside the wrought-iron gate and was about to go in when a security guard stopped me.

"Hey, hey, hey! What do you think you're doing? Scrap collectors use the back gate!" He waved his hand dismissively.

I glanced down at my shoes. The canvas was peeling at the edges, smeared with black mud.

"Marcus Abbott told me to come."

He snorted. "Mr. Abbott? Mr. Abbott would know a beggar like you? Why don't you piss and look at yourself in—"

A black Bentley pulled up. The window rolled down, revealing Marcus's face.

Five years had added a bit of maturity.

The guard immediately switched to a grin. "Mr. Abbott, there's this crazy woman insisting she's here because you—"

"Let her in."

Marcus didn't look at me. The window rolled back up, and the car drove through.

I followed on foot into the villa.

The moment I entered the living room, I heard piano music. The third movement of Moonlight Sonata. The player was struggling—wrong notes, one after another.

Sophia sat at a Steinway in a white formal dress.

My dowry.

"Marcus, this piece is too hard. Could Alex really play it with her eyes closed back then?"

She stopped and pouted.

Marcus handed his coat to a servant, his gaze landing on me in the entryway. He frowned.

"Alex, did you just crawl out of a trash heap?"

He took two steps closer, caught a whiff of motor oil, and backed away again, pulling out a handkerchief to cover his nose.

"Dressing like a beggar—is this your way of getting back at me? Trying to make me feel guilty?"

I stood at the edge of the carpet. I didn't step onto it.

"Mr. Abbott is overthinking it. Life forced it."

Sophia turned around. When she saw me, something flickered in her gaze. Then she smiled, lifted the hem of her skirt, and walked over.

"Oh my, it really is Alex."

Sophia reached out her hand.

"How did you end up like this? Come in and sit down."

Before her fingers could touch me, I pulled my right hand back and hid it behind my back.

"Don't touch me."

Her hand froze midair. Her eyes reddened, and she turned to Marcus.

"Marcus, I just wanted to show some concern for Alex..."

His face darkened.

"Alex Henson! Sophia means well—why are you giving her attitude?"

"Five years running wild out there, and you not only didn't learn any manners, you've gotten even cruder!"

I tugged at the corner of my mouth and said nothing.

He pulled a black card from his wallet and tossed it at my feet.

"Since you're back, stop with the pitiful act. Take it and buy some decent clothes. Clean yourself up."

"Don't embarrass me at tonight's banquet."

The card hit the floor.

I looked down at it and didn't move.

He let out a cold laugh.

"What? Think it's not enough? Alex Henson, know when to quit."

"Behave yourself and make Sophia happy, and I might consider letting you back into the Abbott family."

He paused.

"Since you're back, bring your daughter too."

"Sophia's very generous. She said she's willing to be a stepmom—treat her like her own."

I jerked my head up and stared at him.

Bring her back?

Treat her like her own?

My body trembled.

He actually thought Lily was still alive?

After that blizzard—after he threw her on the side of the road—a two-year-old burning with fever could still be alive?

"What? Not willing?"

He looked at me.

"Afraid Sophia will mistreat her? Alex Henson, you're still as petty as ever. Sophia is ten thousand times kinder than you."

I clenched my right hand behind my back, nails digging into my palm.

"She doesn't have that kind of luck."

I forced the words through clenched teeth.

His expression shifted.

"Alex Henson! Don't refuse a toast only to drink a forfeit! That little bast—"

"Marcus Abbott."

I cut him off, bent down, and picked up the black card.

"I'll go buy clothes."

The moment I walked out the villa door, I heard Sophia's voice behind me.

"Marcus, don't be mad. Maybe Alex just can't accept it yet..."

After leaving the gated neighborhood, I tossed the black card into a roadside trash can.

Too dirty.

Back at the rental apartment, I dug a red evening gown out of a box under the bed.

My battle outfit from the Vienna solo recital five years ago.

The hem had a big hole chewed by rats, spotted with mildew.

Holding needle and thread, I used my trembling right hand to clumsily mend the tear.

Someone knocked on the door.

Chloe rushed in, eyes swollen and red.

"Alex..."

She hugged me.

"I found it—I found it!"

"Found what?"

"That car accident..."

She was shaking.

"That truck wasn't an accidental loss of control! It was Marcus—"

"He had someone slash your tire, forcing you into that rigged car, just to buy Sophia time to escape!"

The needle stabbed into my fingertip. A bead of blood welled up.

So that's how it was.

I looked at the drop of blood and smiled.

"Good to know."

"Chloe, help me with my makeup. Tonight, I'm attending a funeral."

The evening charity banquet was held at a five-star hotel.

Crystal chandeliers blazed overhead; a champagne tower rose in the center.

I appeared in the hall wearing that mended red gown, and the room went quiet.

The style was outdated. The stitches at the hem were crooked.

"Is that Alex Henson? Oh my God, she looks so much older."

"I heard she's been missing for years—why would she show up dressed like that? Looks like street-stall junk."

"What's with her hands? Why does she keep them tucked in her sleeves?"

The whispers drifted over.

I straightened my back and walked toward the corner.

Marcus stood surrounded by guests, sharp in a black suit. Sophia clung to his arm, smiling.

When he saw me, his gaze darkened, but he didn't lash out.

Sophia released him and walked over.

"Alex, you made it. Sit down—the performance is about to start." She lowered her voice and leaned close to my ear. "Look around. Everyone here thinks I'm Mrs. Abbott. And what are you? A stray dog with nowhere to go. You really think you can fight me?"

I glanced at her makeup. "How's your piano practice going? Try not to butcher your scales."

Her expression stiffened, then twisted into a sneer. "Don't worry about me. You'll see soon enough."

The emcee took the stage. "Next, please welcome the renowned pianist Ms. Sophia Pruitt, performing Liszt's 'La Campanella'!"

Applause rose.

Sophia lifted her skirt hem, climbed the stage, bowed, and sat down.

The music began.

At first it was smooth enough, but when she hit the midsection with its big leaps, she started struggling. Notes scattered. The rhythm dragged.

Someone in the audience frowned.

Sophia suddenly stopped, stood up, and took the microphone.

"Sorry, everyone. This piece is too difficult, and my hand is a little uncomfortable today." She paused. "But as it happens, my sister—the former genius pianist Alex Henson—is also here. I'd like to invite her up to help me finish the second half. What do you all say?"

The spotlight hit me.

I narrowed my eyes at the stage.

She did it on purpose. She was the only person in Rongcheng who knew my hand was ruined.

"Alex Henson? Didn't she retire?"

"Let her play! Let's see if the genius is still there!"

Marcus looked at me. "Go. Sophia is giving you a chance—don't be ungrateful. Perfect time to get your feel back. Stop touching that worthless scrap metal all day and making your hands rough."

I sat in the shadows and didn't move.

His face darkened. He strode over and grabbed my wrist. "What are you still throwing a tantrum about? With this many people watching, do you want to humiliate Sophia?"

He squeezed hard—right where the bones had broken.

"I'm not going."

"You don't get to decide."

He dragged me up from my seat and shoved me toward the stage. "Play. If you don't play well today, I'll bulldoze your crappy repair shop flat."

I stumbled onto the stage.

The lights were blinding.

In front of me sat that familiar set of black-and-white keys.

Sophia stood by the piano, smiling.

Trembling, I reached out my right hand.

Under the lights, my hand was fully exposed.

A collective gasp rose from the audience.

"Oh my God, what happened to her hand?"

"That's horrifying—it looks like it was broken…"

Marcus stood below, frowning. "What are you spacing out for? Play!"

I placed my fingers on the keys.

Since you all want to hear it.

I pressed down.

Clang—

Noise.

My fingers couldn't bend, couldn't exert any strength. The instant I pressed down, sharp pain shot through me, and I ended up mashing a whole cluster of keys.

The room went dead silent.

Sophia covered her mouth in exaggerated alarm. "Alex, what's wrong with you? Did you do that on purpose? If you didn't want to help me, you could have just said so—why did you have to ruin my performance?"

"Mr. Abbott, we... we found something on the hillside behind the Abbott family estate..."

"Found what?"

The assistant's voice trembled.

"It's a grave... The tombstone has the child's name on it... She, she..."

It was like a bomb went off in Marcus Abbott's head.

He slowly looked at me.

I supported myself against the doorframe, laughed silently, and tears streamed down my face.

"Marcus Abbott, Lily is dead."

"She died five years ago, that snowy night..."

"Do you still remember where you were that night?"

Marcus Abbott's face turned deathly pale.

"I was sleeping... with Sophia Pruitt."

That sentence fell like a huge rock, crashing into dead silence.