"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.

On the other end of the line, the assistant's voice trembled, every word cutting through the silence of the lounge.

"M-Mr. Abbott…"

"The day after that blizzard… a patrol officer dug a child's body out of a snowdrift by the highway…"

"After verification… it was… it was the little miss…"

Marcus's hand spasmed. The phone cracked against the floor.

The screen stayed lit. The assistant kept talking.

"Cause of death was… organ failure from severe hypothermia… The medical examiner said she was frozen in the snow for an entire night…"

"And also… Miss Henson's right hand… that same night, digging through the snow to save the child… severed tendons, nerve necrosis… completely destroyed…"

Dead silence.

Marcus stood frozen, his face the color of ash. His lips trembled. His gaze drifted to me, then down to my right hand hidden inside my sleeve.

I braced myself against the wall and straightened.

Slowly raised my right hand.

Knuckles. Scars. Exposed under the light.

"Marcus."

I looked at his face. My voice was soft, but every word was clear.

"This is the daughter you wanted to see."

"And the piano you wanted to hear."

"How is it? Does it sound good?"

The shattered phone rang out across the banquet hall, and the room went instantly silent.

Marcus's body was rigid, his eyes locked on my hand suspended in the air.

A broken sound scraped out of his throat:

"No… impossible…"

"Alex, you're lying to me… you and them—you're all lying. How could Lily be dead? She's only two…"

He staggered toward me, reaching out, trying to touch my ruined hand.

"This hand is fake too… all to deceive me…"

The instant his fingertips were about to make contact, I yanked my hand back and slapped him across the face with my left.

Crack.

I put everything into it. My palm went numb from the impact.

His head snapped to the side. Blood seeped from the corner of his mouth. But he only stared at me, blank and hollow.

I looked at him with disgust.

"Marcus, don't touch me."

"You touched Sophia's hand, and now you want to touch my wound? It makes me sick."

Sophia had been trembling beside us the whole time. Seeing things turn, she lifted her skirt and tried to shrink back into the crowd.

"Stop."

I spoke coldly.

"Sophia, the show from five years ago isn't finished yet. And you want to leave already?"

She froze. Forced herself to turn around. Her makeup had run, smeared by cold sweat, making her face look grotesque.

"Alex… what are you talking about?"

"Marcus, don't listen to her nonsense—she's just jealous of me…"

I ignored her. Pulled out a voice recorder. Pressed play.

I'd recorded it five years ago. On a truck with no brakes. Recorded it with my life on the line.

From the speaker came Sophia's smug voice, layered over howling wind and snow, echoing through the dead-silent banquet hall.

"Alex, do you know why your brakes failed? I had someone cut them."

"Marcus told me—only if you die can I become Mrs. Abbott."

"And that little burden of yours? Best if it dies with you."

"Oh, it's useless to beg for help. Marcus is in my bed right now—who has time to care about your little bastard with a fever?"

The recording cut off.

The room erupted.

Countless stares—contempt, shock, horror—stabbed toward Sophia all at once.

Marcus's body jolted. He turned his head slowly, his neck making a mechanical cracking sound.

He stared at Sophia. His eyes were so hollow they were terrifying.

"It was you…?"

His voice was barely a whisper. Like a ghost.