I return to the country after attending an international anesthesia academic conference. That's when I see the news of my boyfriend and twin sister getting married.

I'm anxious to verify its authenticity, but my sister drugs me and induces me.

"A substitute's child will only be an unwelcome bastard even if it's born. I'm just helping it move on to a better life."

Then, she slices me open with a scalpel. She gouges my womb out, causing me to die from significant blood loss.

Meanwhile, my boyfriend believes her lies. He's sure he's not the father of my child.

He ignores my messages begging him to save me. Instead, he spreads the word about me eloping with someone else. He even wipes all traces of me from his life. "I will never see her again, forever and ever."

Five years later, surveillance footage of my sister cruelly murdering me surfaces.

My soul drifted above, staring at the frozen video frame on the computer screen.

I gazed at my own body lying lifeless on the bed, a deep wound carved into my abdomen. Blood had soaked through the white sheets, pooling onto the floor beside a blurred-out mass of flesh.

Even my face had been blurred out too.

"Who could have been so ruthless? The victim had no strength to fight back—it's as if she was drugged," a colleague said regretfully to Bosco Sharp. "But this video was recorded five years ago. Does it still hold any news value?"

Bosco sat down and said, "No matter how much time has passed, we must always speak up for the weak. Start the video from the beginning."

I watched him—his upright posture, his air of conviction. The nameplate on his desk read, "Chief News Anchor, Bosco Sharp".

So, he had done well for himself in the five years since my death.

Back then, Martha Wagner had whispered lies about me and Mason Hall, and Bosco had believed them without question.

My ashes had likely been taken by Mason, never properly buried.

I had become a restless spirit trapped in the shadows until recently—when someone dug up my urn.

Along with this surveillance footage, it had been sent to Golden Prime Network.

Bosco clicked on the video and a wave of anxiety washed over me. My hands clenched instinctively.

At the very start of the footage, a fetus tumbled from my body.

Bosco muttered, "Judging by the size, it was at least five months old. She was definitely drugged."

Sighing, he added, "It's not easy to conceive. Martha tried for five years before she finally got pregnant."

When I heard that Martha was expecting, my heart twisted. After all this—after everything she had done—my gentle, considerate twin sister was able to carry a child, live her life. But mine… mine would never come back.

A colleague patted Bosco's shoulder. "Good things take time. You and Mrs. Sharp have been through a lot. It's all because Abigail ran away with someone and injured Mrs. Sharp back then, making her frail."

Bosco's eyelashes trembled slightly at the mention of my name. He didn't want to talk about me.

His colleague noticed the shift in his expression and cleared his throat awkwardly.

On the screen, Martha's blurred-out figure ruthlessly drove a knife into me.

Her movements were crisp and precise—not the frail woman who struggled to twist open a bottle cap.

She was shouting, her voice distorted with rage.

In the video, my head lolled to the side, my gaze fixed on the tiny form on the floor. I barely reacted to the pain.

My baby had only a few more months before it would have been born.

It was still moving, still struggling, still reaching out to me for help.

But I had never even gotten the chance to choose a name.

I opened my mouth to scream, but no sound came out. I could only sob in silence as tears streamed endlessly down my face.

Then Martha leaned in, whispering a venomous secret in a voice only I could hear.

"If he finds out Mason fathered this child, what do you think will happen?"

I mustered the last strength to grab her, shaking my head frantically. My voice was a weak, broken whisper. "No… How could I…"

Bosco didn't recognize my voice.

If Martha and I hadn't shared the same face, he probably wouldn't even remember what I looked like.

His expression darkened as he stood and strode toward the broadcast studio.

Then, suddenly, he stopped. "Has this video been handed over to the police?"

His colleague nodded quickly. "Before it was sent here, the person who reported it had already contacted the Westin Police Station."

"Westin…" Bosco frowned as if something had just clicked in his mind. His breath hitched slightly.

His colleague noticed his reaction. "Mr. Sharp, are you alright?"

"Make sure they crack the blur effect," Bosco simply said.

Then, without hesitation, he coldly declared, "Such a cruel murderer cannot be allowed to walk free."

I let out a hollow, sorrowful laugh, my voice lost in the air. "Bosco, if you knew the murderer was the wife you cherished so dearly, would you still say the same?"

I was forced to follow Bosco, watching him broadcast the news from beginning to end.

Everything I had suffered before my death was now laid bare before the public.

But no one knew the truth. And even if they did, no one would believe it.

The victim was none other than the woman who had dominated the headlines five years ago—the international anesthesiologist who abandoned her career, had an affair, and eloped.

Once the broadcast ended, Bosco hurried to a high-rise revolving restaurant in the heart of the city.

In the exclusive VIP section, a woman sat with her back to him, dressed with effortless elegance.

I recognized her instantly—Martha.

Bosco approached, greeting her with an affectionate kiss on the cheek before handing her a gift bag.

"It's for the baby. Our little one will look adorable in this."

Martha's eyes lit up with delight, though she playfully pouted. "You're in such a rush. I'm only two months along. We don't even know if the baby will make it yet."

He placed her hand against his chest, gazing at her with unwavering tenderness.

"No matter what it takes, I will ensure this child is born safely."

I never expected Bosco to cherish his child with Martha so much.

When I unexpectedly became pregnant, I had gone to him, heart brimming with joy. But he had met me with nothing but indifference, citing his career was unstable and that he couldn't afford to raise a child. He told me to get rid of it.

He hadn't even bothered to look at the ultrasound report in my hands.

I had once believed he simply didn't like children. But now, I understood—he just didn't want mine.

Martha tightened her grip around her glass, a faint crease forming between her brows.

"It's my fault for being so useless. Five years, and I still couldn't make you a father."

Bosco gently took the glass from her hands, letting her squeeze his hand instead.

"Don't say that. It was your sister who ruined you. She's the reason you've suffered so many miscarriages, endured so much pain."

"I only went to speak to her out of goodwill…" Her expression suddenly shifted, her shoulders trembling as she clutched her head in distress. "She's not my sister! She doesn't deserve to be!"

Bosco's heart ached at the sight, he pulled her into his arms.

"If I ever see that wretched woman again, I'll make her pay. I'll make her apologize to you! Alright, alright. Don't cry. You can't let this affect the baby."

I remembered that Martha had an incomplete uterine septum, a congenital defect that made pregnancy difficult and miscarriage likely.

She had once been deeply ashamed of it, even hiding it from her own family.

But to cover up her crimes, she had told everyone that I was the one who had injured her.

Now, I finally understood.

Out of sheer jealousy, she had stolen my healthy uterus.

I shook my head furiously, screaming the truth over and over again.

But no one heard me. No one responded.

At that moment, Bosco pulled out his phone and made a brief call.

"I told Phoebe you weren't feeling well, so you won't be attending her 60th birthday tomorrow. You know how much she dotes on you—when has she ever refused you?"

I had always been expected to attend Mom's birthday banquets back then because I had been the daughter she loved most, the one she was proudest of. Martha, on the other hand, could do as she pleased.

But now, things had changed.

For the sake of Martha's pregnancy, Mom had agreed without hesitation to let her miss her 60th birthday.

Martha sighed. "Mom loves me the most. Even if she says it's fine, she'll still be disappointed. She's already been disappointed enough by Abigail. That's why I'll go tomorrow."

A sharp, searing pain spread through my chest.

She had stolen my marriage and taken my life—now, she had even stolen Mom.

But no one knew.

As I watched in despair, Bosco tenderly wiped the tears from her face. "Martha, you're just too kind."

Rather than a birthday banquet, it felt more like they were hosting another wedding reception.

From the moment Martha entered the venue arm in arm with Bosco, they became the center of attention.

Mom sat beside them, watching them with a face full of affection.

I spotted my closest colleague, Faith Bowen, in the crowd.

Out of habit, I raised my hand to wave at her—only to see her walk straight past me and embrace Martha instead.

"Babe!" she called warmly.

She used to call me that.

"Martha, did you see the news? The one your husband reported yesterday? I think it happened at our hospital!"

For the first time, I eagerly anticipated seeing a flicker of panic cross Martha's face.

But to my disappointment, she remained perfectly composed. "Hmm... I think so too."

Faith shook her head. "I wonder if this will hurt the hospital's reputation. Our last PR crisis was five years ago when Abigail abandoned her job and caused an uproar."

That was the first time I'd heard Faith speak of me with such disdain. It was a bitter departure from her usual staunch defense of me, standing by my side no matter what.

Martha took a slow sip of tea. "I'm sure Abigail had her reasons."

Faith slammed her hand on the table in fury. "Reasons? What excuse could she possibly have for cheating on Mr. Sharp and walking away from so many patients?"

Her outburst drew the attention of everyone around.

"So many people were left waiting. Some were in critical condition and nearly died because of the delays. Others suffered complications from postponed exams. Even Mr. Torres was so furious that he fell ill."

Bosco chimed in then. "Fortunately, we had Martha. Despite her injuries, she stepped up to help that person to complete the urgent work."

Hearing the way he referred to me—never even saying my name—sent a piercing ache through my chest.

Eugene Torres approached, patting Martha's back.

"Yes, even though it went against protocol, it was lucky you acted in time. And later, you even proved with your skills that I made the right decision in letting you take Abigail's place."

The surrounding colleagues burst into applause, heaping Martha with praise.

Even Mom stood up, lifting her glass in a toast.

"Even though they're twins, this daughter of mine is far better than the other. That one might as well be dead."

Upon hearing the contempt in Mom's voice, I felt my heart twist in unbearable pain.

"But Mom… I am dead. If you knew, would you mourn me?"

Martha's eyes flickered with satisfaction before she turned to Bosco with feigned curiosity.

"Honey, if Abigail died, would you be sad?"

"No."

His response was immediate—so swift it felt rehearsed, like he had practiced it a thousand times before.

"She is shameless… Even if that illegitimate child had been born, it should have been trampled to death. She betrayed her profession and ruined so many lives. She deserved to die under the knife—to be cut open and gutted like the disgrace she was!

"Her death would be a blessing to humanity."

I stared at Bosco, listening to him predict my manner of death, and in a daze, I recalled the despair and agony of that moment.

"But my child was not illegitimate. It was your child, Bosco!" I shouted.

Tears of blood slipped from my eyes as I let out a hollow, bitter laugh. "Bosco, congratulations. You finally got what you wanted."