My family had always been strict with their rules, and the weekly family long-table dinner was the most direct expression of that.

Papa always sat at the head of the table, the seat that symbolized absolute dominion. On either side, arranged in order were Mamma, Fabio, Luca, and the utterly spoiled Francesca.

Fido sat on the handwoven rug at Fabio's feet, Neve rested on a velvet-cushioned chair, and the spot next to Francesca was Pico's exclusive high chair.

Even the three pets had their own seats of honor at the table, as Mamma said this helped them integrate into the family.

Meanwhile, I—the eldest daughter—had to huddle on a folding chair shoved at the very end. The seat was so far from the dishes that I usually had to half-stand like a fool, stretching my arm out as far as it'd go.

The humiliation from the party had lodged in my heart like a thorn.

Today, for the first time ever, I felt a flicker of rebellious defiance.

Half an hour before dinner, I dragged the folding chair right next to Francesca and Pico's designated spots. I wanted to prove that I couldn't possibly be worth less than a rat.

As dusk fell, my family entered the dining room one by one.

Papa glanced coldly at me, then walked straight to the head of the table without saying anything.

Mamma furrowed her brow deeply, her gaze like a blade.

"Valentina Coppola, what are you doing sitting here? Go back to your place."

Clutching the hem of my clothes, I said quietly, "Mamma, that spot is too far from the food. I want to change seats—"

"That's Pico's place," she cut me off coldly. "It's used to sitting here."

What? A rat was used to the spot, so I had to give way?

I gripped the armrest. "Can't we just put Pico a little further away?"

The words had barely left my mouth when Francesca screeched, "Are you out of your mind? Pico will be terrified if it can't see me!"

Luca, slicing the steak on his plate, said without even looking up, "You're being really annoying, making such a fuss over a seat."

Fabio let out a cold snort. "If you still want to eat at this table, get back to your original spot right now."

Finally, Papa set down his wine glass and cast an icy look at me.

"Do as your Mamma says."

Five people with five pronouncements. No one thought it absurd for a rat to be at the table, nor did they see anything wrong with me being exiled to that distant corner.

I swallowed the bitterness in my throat and wordlessly dragged my chair back to the cold, shadowy edge.

At the table, the discussion ranged from the company Fabio had just acquired, Luca's plan to win gold at next month's competition abroad, and Francesca's upcoming fan meet-and-greet, to some secrets of the underworld.

No one spared me a glance.

In front of me was a plate of cold, hard spaghetti. The nearest dish was well beyond my reach.

I turned my head and looked pleadingly at the household staff standing by in attendance, signaling her with my eyes to help me.

But she simply pretended not to have seen anything, turning instead to pick up a plate of fruit, vegetables, and rodent feed. She then approached respectfully to feed Pico.

Even the household staff knew exactly who the lowest rung in the family was—someone who could be slighted at will.

I lowered my head and gave up reaching for the food. I simply ate my spaghetti in silence, tasting the salt of my tears in every bite.

Dinner ended amidst a facade of a "harmonious and cheerful" atmosphere.

As Mamma rose, she swept her gaze over me and casually tossed out a command.

"Don't forget to go to the front hall and sort out the packages that arrived. Bring up Pico's cage accessories, Fido's custom raw meat and bones, and Neve's canned cat food."

I nodded numbly.

Late at night, I carried the heavy boxes into the lounge area on the second floor.

On the table lay the new custom family portrait Mamma had commissioned.

I stopped and went over to take a look.

There were Papa, Mamma, Fabio, Luca, Francesca, Fido, Neve, and Pico.

Five people and three pets, yet not a single trace of me.

I calmly withdrew my gaze, then stuffed the pet supplies into their respective storage boxes.

Finally, I walked down the narrow hallway back to my room. This place saw no sunlight year-round and didn't even have a decent bathroom.

After locking the door, I lay down on the creaking folding bed and closed my eyes.

I didn't say a word, because I knew better than anyone that even if I spoke up, no one in this family would care.

I knew Francesca had never considered me as family. When she first started at an elite school, the headmaster, Carlo Basso, personally came to the house to register her.

When filling in the family members section, Francesca counted on her manicured fingers and smiled sweetly.

"There's Papa, Mamma, Fabio, Luca, and me. That makes exactly five of us."

Papa and Mamma gazed at her adoringly, and Mr. Basso chimed in with a flurry of flattery.

Not one of them corrected her.

I stood off to the side like a maid, holding her heavy designer schoolbag for her.

Another time, I used money I'd saved up for ages to buy a limited-edition vinyl record. When the package arrived, Francesca was right in the middle of filming a video with gifts from her fans scattered all over the floor.

She stared at the box with my name on it for three seconds, then turned around and tossed it straight out the window.

I rushed downstairs, only to find the crushed remains of the record on the road.

While grooming Pico, Francesca poked her head out the window to look at me.

"Valentina, what are you doing running into the middle of the road? It's dangerous! Oh? So that dirty box was your stuff? I thought it was garbage. Sorry about that."

As I looked at her innocent smiling face, it suddenly dawned on me that to her, I was nothing more than garbage to be thrown out at any moment—just like the record.

In comparison, Fabio seemed to treat me a little better.

But that was only because I was still a reasonably obedient and unpaid maid.

In this enormous mansion, dozens of professionally trained household staff were clearly employed. Yet, whether it was brewing coffee, cleaning up pet excrement, or signing for those heavy packages, he naturally dumped all these tedious chores on me.

Once, at 3:00 am, he called me and said, "Bring the documents from home to the office, and be quick about it."

Afraid of holding things up, I forced myself to stay awake and helped him bring it over.

Without even looking up, he just said, "Leave them there."

There wasn't even a token word of thanks from him.

Even so, deep in my heart, I still longed for the shelter of my family.

In middle school, a few boys in class talked all day about the business genius from the Coppola family and the game he made in elementary school.

They went on about how fun that game was, how much money it made, and how great it would be to know him.

I couldn't help but murmur, "That's my older brother."

They instantly burst into loud laughter.

"Look at you, all shabby with no game console, and you've got the nerve to say Fabio is your older brother?"

I ran home with red eyes, wanting to borrow Fabio's crest pin, which represented his status, as proof.

But he looked up from his papers and said with eyes full of scorn, "You want me to lend it to you so you can make a fool of us?"

Mamma was nearby, frowning with disgust. "Where on earth did you learn such shabby behavior?"

Papa also reprimanded me coldly, "I sent you to school to study, not to cause trouble under this family's name."

And so, saddled with the label of "liar", I was mocked all the way until graduation.

Later, while cleaning Fabio's room, I saw that the very crest pin I'd begged for and been denied was casually tossed into the dog bed as a toy.

As for Luca, the sports star who won gold medals in every competition so effortlessly, his disdain for me was even more blatant.

He won a national championship at 12 years old, and by 15, he was sweeping international competitions.

When I used the first bit of money I'd saved from my part-time job to buy him a gift to celebrate his latest gold medal, he looked me up and down with confusion.

"Are you really Papa's kid? How come you've got none of the elite genes?"

Later, I found the paternity test report between Papa and me on his desk, which clearly showed a confirmed biological relationship.

In the margins, Luca had scribbled in red pen, "Paternity confirmed. Yet, entirely lacking the family's elite genetic markers. A curious case, indeed."

I took that report and went to confront him.

But he didn't so much as bat an eye as he said with perfect composure, "I was just a little curious. Don't you think you don't look like one of us at all?"

Last year, Luca won first place by a landslide in the world's most prestigious competition, earning immense prestige for the family.

Overjoyed, Papa threw him a grand victory party at the club.

Under the spotlight, Luca took the microphone and said, "I'd like to invite my family on stage for a photo to share this honor."

Papa, Mamma, Fabio, and Francesca went up in turn. Luca even turned around and scooped Neve up onto the stage.

Meanwhile, the emcee hesitated, looking toward me, who was standing on the sidelines.

"What about that young lady over there?"

But Luca just glanced at me, his tone dripping with contempt. "Oh, just ignore her. She's our maid."

The club erupted in thunderous applause as camera flashes lit up the room.

On stage, the five of them beamed with dazzling smiles. The occasional glances they cast my way passed through me as if I were nothing but air.

I stood alone in the shadows below the stage, digging my nails into my palms.

It was the first time I realized that at the very depths of sadness, tears were impossible to hold in.

As for Mamma and Papa, it wasn't that I never tried to win them over.

Back in school, desperate for Papa's approval, I studied from dawn till dusk and finally earned the top score in my grade.

When I excitedly handed him my report card, he was on the phone discussing business. He just gave it a cursory glance and then casually placed it into a pile of scrap paper.

That same day, Fabio merely tossed his exam paper—which also had the top score—onto the table with indifference, and Papa was so delighted he cracked open a good bottle of wine.

"Now that's my son."

Papa raised his wine glass and looked straight past me at Fabio, not sparing me a flicker of attention.

…

Last night, I had a sudden, severe allergic reaction.

Large red hives broke out all over my body, my throat swelled severely, and even breathing became incredibly difficult.

Fighting the agony of suffocation, I dialed the number for the family's private medical team to beg for help.

But the line that was supposed to be on standby around the clock was constantly busy, and I couldn't get through no matter what.

In desperation, I called Mamma, who managed the family's private medical team.

"Mamma, I'm having a severe allergic reaction. I can't breathe or get through to the medical team—"

She cut me off dismissively. "Just take some medicine, okay? I'm busy right now. I'll call you back later."

The next second, she heartlessly hung up.

Stumbling, I took a taxi to our family's private hospital, only to be told that all the specialists were out.

In the end, I barely escaped with my life thanks to a panicked intern nurse in the emergency room who scrambled to inject me with the anti-histamine shot.

While I lay weakly in the hospital bed, I scrolled through Francesca's Instagram updates.

The photo showed the family's private medical team and the hospital's specialists, all fully geared up, gathered around Pico.

The caption read, "I was nearly scared to death when my precious Pico choked on a nut. Luckily, Mamma brought in the best specialist right away."

The comments below were all flattery and words of comfort.

With a bitter smile, I glanced at the red hives on the back of my hand that still hadn't fully faded.

My own Mamma went to all that trouble for a pet rat, yet she couldn't even be bothered to call and ask if I was alright.

When I pushed open the door to the house the next day, the scene inside was exactly as I had left it. Dirty dishes were piled on the table, and the trash can was knocked over on the floor.

I was about to go lie down and rest when I heard Mamma say, "What happened last night gave me such a shock. Thank goodness Pico is alright."

Then came Francesca's soft, coy voice. "Mamma, you were so amazing, calling all the specialists over. I don't know what I would've done without you."

They walked into the living room and saw me and the mess I hadn't had a chance to clean up.

"This house is an absolute mess. Valentina, why didn't you clean it up?" Mamma asked with a frown.

"I was in the hospital last night," I replied.

She looked me over. "What happened?"

"I had a severe allergic reaction and almost went into shock. I called you and told you about it."

She was dumbfounded.

I thought perhaps she might show a flicker of concern. But no, she just shrugged and said, "Well, you're perfectly fine now, aren't you? Is something so trivial really worth trotting out for sympathy?"

I looked at her. "But you called away all the doctors to treat Pico, so I almost died."

Mamma's frown deepened. The look she gave me held no guilt, only irritation.

"Are you blaming me? What have I ever done wrong by you? I raised you all these years. And now you're jealous of Pico, of all things? Honestly, you're just tiresome."

Here I was being called tiresome again. Yet all I ever wanted was just a little bit of care from my family.

Finally, all the emotions I had held back came flooding out, and the words slipped out.

"To you, I matter less than a rat. If that's the case, why did you even have me in the first place?"

She froze, then slapped me across the face.

"You ungrateful brat! How can you blame us for your allergic attack? All you ever do is whine about how nobody cares about you. Have you ever stopped to ask yourself why you're such a worthless, utterly disappointing waste of space?"

Francesca, cuddling Pico in her arms, watched me with a grin.

"Alright, alright. If you're really that jealous of Pico, I'll apologize on its behalf. Now go take out the trash."

Papa stood to the side, his face dark. He jabbed a finger at my face and roared angrily, "That's enough! Do as Francesca says, now!"

The three of them stood shoulder to shoulder with a rat at their side. They looked more like a family than I ever did with them.

Meanwhile, I lay sprawled on the cold floor, clutching my swollen cheek, too drained even to shed a tear.

I braced myself against the wall and slowly stood up. Head lowered, I said numbly, "Since I'm so worthless, I'll leave. From now on, just pretend you've lost a maid. That way, I won't be an eyesore to you anymore."

Papa let out a cold snort. "Getting bold enough to threaten me, are you? Walk out that door and don't expect to get another cent from this family!"

He was about to hurl more insults when Francesca suddenly shrieked, "Oh no! My precious Pico seems to be coughing!"

Papa's and Mamma's expressions instantly changed, panic flaring. "Quick! Call the doctor immediately!"

They hurriedly brushed past me.

The heavy wooden door slammed shut in my face with a bang.

I stood quietly in place for two seconds, then turned around and went back to my cold and gloomy room. I stuffed the few clothes I had into my bag.

It was well below freezing outside. Bracing against the biting wind, I dragged my peeling suitcase and walked resolutely into the depths of winter without looking back.