I didn't look back at his astonished expression. I simply let the blood drip from my hand, marking my path as I staggered out of the room.

By the time I reached home, I was running on fumes. I pushed the front door open, only to be greeted by the sharp crash of shattering porcelain from the kitchen.

My heart jumped, conditioning overriding exhaustion.

Faith was on the floor, her body twisted in a pathetic struggle as she tried to hoist herself from her overturned wheelchair. Her arms trembled, seemingly too weak to support her own weight.

When she saw me in the doorway, she shrank back like a child caught stealing. Her eyes rimmed red, instant tears pooling in them.

"Zion... I just wanted to make you something to eat..." she stammered, speech slurred and thick. "I'm so useless. I'm just trash!"

Tears mixed with saliva streamed down her face, dripping onto her clothes. She looked the picture of a patient in the final stages of a degenerative disease—helpless, losing control of her faculties, collapsing under the weight of her own existence.

I stared at her. A cold numbness spread through my chest.

Before her "diagnosis," Faith had been a severe germaphobe. The kind of woman who washed her hands twenty times a day and would have a breakdown if a speck of dust landed on her blouse.

Yet for Nathaniel, she had endured this filthy, degrading charade for five whole years.

Five years.

I had been kept in the dark by her masterful performance, living my life as a complete clown. A puppet dancing on strings she held, while she secretly laughed at my desperation.

A dark thought crossed my mind. I wanted to cut open her chest just to see what was inside—warm flesh and blood, or cold iron and stone.

Seeing that I remained silent, Faith drooped her head, shoulders shaking.

"Zion, do you hate me?" she whimpered. "You should. A burden like me... I can't keep dragging you down. You should just go. Let me rot here. Let me die on my own."

She sat amidst broken shards and spilled food, stubbornly gripping the armrests of the wheelchair. The veins in her hands bulged with "effort," yet she somehow couldn't lift herself an inch.

I walked over silently.

I set the wheelchair upright, hooked my arms under hers, and lifted her into the seat. I turned to the sink, wrung out a warm towel, and wiped the tears and saliva from her face and hands.

I had performed this ritual thousands of times over the last five years. Muscle memory now, carved into my bones so deep that my body moved to care for her even while my mind screamed in agony.

Suddenly, she grabbed my wrist. Her gaze locked onto the fresh, jagged wound on my palm.

"How did you get that?" Her voice sharpened. "Who bullied you?"

I stared at the tension in her eyes. It didn't look fake. That was the worst part—she could care for me and destroy me at the same time.

The bitterness in my throat tasted like bile. "Yeah. I was bullied. By someone who looks a lot like you, Sis."

I paused, forcing myself to look straight into her pupils. "It happened at The Starlight Club."

Faith's expression stiffened instantly. The mask slipped, just for a fraction of a second.

I forced a smile. "But I know that wasn't you. My sister is sick. My sister would never lie to me, right?"

Guilt flashed across her face. She averted her gaze, her voice taking on an unnatural pitch. "Of course. Zion is my only family. I would never lie to you."

I swallowed the lump in my throat, fighting back the stinging heat behind my eyes. Before the tears could fall, I turned the wheelchair around and pushed her out of the kitchen.

After I finished cooking and cleaning up the mess, the living room was empty. Faith had retreated to her bedroom.

I walked to her door, intending to tell her dinner was ready, but stopped when I heard her hushed voice on the phone.

"Just listen to me, okay? I've prepared the biggest birthday bash for you. Tomorrow, I'm coming to celebrate it personally."

On the other end, Nathaniel's voice drifted through, dripping with feigned concern. "But Faith... isn't tomorrow Zion's birthday too? If you spend it with me, won't he be angry?"

Faith let out a soft, indulgent laugh. "You silly boy. You're my only precious little brother. Your happiness is the only thing that matters. Zion hasn't celebrated a birthday in five years—he's used to it by now. One more year won't make a difference."

Nathaniel giggled, satisfied. "I knew you loved me best!"

I stood outside the door for a long time, the silence pressing against my eardrums.

Eventually, I took off my apron, draped it over a chair, and turned toward the front door.

When Faith finally emerged from her room, I was already gone.

On the dining table sat a bowl of noodles, cooked soft and mushy so she could swallow them easily, accompanied by a single expensive imported pill.

She knew I had a night shift. She knew I wouldn't be home.

But as she looked at the lonely bowl of noodles, a vague unease pricked at her.

She suddenly remembered the gash on my palm. My abnormally pale complexion, the way my skin seemed translucent under the kitchen lights. My back as I stood at the stove—so thin, so frail, it looked like a bundle of dry firewood held together by cheap fabric.

Panic flared in her chest. For the first time in years, she realized she couldn't remember what I looked like when I was healthy. She couldn't recall the Zion who was once high-spirited, brilliant, and full of life.

A sharp, phantom pain pierced my chest.

An ominous weight settled in my stomach, dragging guilt along with it.

Faith picked up her phone and dialed with trembling fingers.

The next morning, I took my sister to the hospital for her checkup.

Her attending physician greeted us with barely contained excitement. "Mr. Gilbert, excellent news. A private research institute abroad has developed a breakthrough treatment for ALS. Clinical trials are showing remarkable results. They're only accepting two subjects, but I've secured a slot for your sister."

While Faith wept with joy, I remained still. "What are the odds of full recovery?"

"Eighty percent."

Faith grabbed my hand, tears streaming. "Zion, did you hear that? I can recover. I can be with you forever."

I forced a smile. "If only one of us can survive, Faith, I hope it's you."

She froze.

Something in my tone must have cut through her performance. For a split second, she forgot to be fragile. Her voice sharpened. "Don't talk nonsense. We'll both live long lives. Once I recover, I'll restore Gilbert Corporation. You're still the heir."

The heir.

I didn't want that title anymore. Didn't want the corporation. Didn't want this family.

I'd leave it all to Nathaniel.

"The examination will take some time," the doctor interrupted, ushering me out. "Please wait outside."

Before, I would have believed them. Would have rushed off to work odd jobs, desperate to pay for her care.

Now I knew better. These were excuses to get rid of me.

I stood in the corridor shadows. A moment later, Faith emerged—already changed out of her hospital gown. No limp. She walked briskly to the elevator and disappeared. A luxury car was waiting downstairs.

I turned and walked into a different office.

The neurosurgeon studied the scans on the lightboard and sighed. "Mr. Gilbert, the tumor's grown too large. It's inoperable. If you'd come two weeks ago, we might have had a chance."

He faced me, expression grim. "You have days. Go home. Say your goodbyes."

Silence stretched between us. I nodded.

"When I die, cremate me immediately. Send the ashes to the Gilbert Estate, addressed to Faith Gilbert."

I left the hospital with nothing but the clothes on my back.

My phone buzzed. A single message from Nathaniel.

Come to the mansion. Take a look.

I spent my last cash on a taxi to the city's most exclusive district.

Five years. I'd believed our home was lost—auctioned to pay debts.

The mansion blazed with light, more alive than I'd ever seen it. Guests mingled on the lawn. Luxury cars lined the driveway. The air reeked of expensive perfume and champagne.

I stood outside the gate. A ghost among the living.

Nathaniel held the center of the celebration in a bespoke suit, Faith on his arm. They stood before a six-tier birthday cake, his face radiant with laughter. Behind him, gifts piled toward the ceiling.

He clasped his hands, eyes closed. "I wish to be Faith's only brother in this life. Her Little Prince for eternity."

Faith smiled—a look of tender adoration I hadn't seen in years. She pulled a velvet box from her pocket.

The lid snapped open. My blood turned to ice.

A jade pendant.

When Faith and I were born, our parents commissioned an eminent monk to consecrate two pendants. Chanted over for a year. Engraved with our names. Placed around our necks.

Our parents' blessing. Proof of lineage. The only connection I had left to them.

Even starving, I'd refused to sell mine.

Now Faith lifted the jade. My name had been ground away.

In its place: Nathaniel.

Before the city's elite, she placed the stolen birthright around his neck.

"My Little Prince," she whispered. "Your wish has come true."

I don't remember turning away. I simply walked into the darkness, leaving my heart behind.

My phone buzzed relentlessly in my pocket—a barrage of malice.

"I recognized you at the Starlight Club immediately."

"Did you really think you could hide?"

"The jade pendant is mine. Our sister is mine. You're nothing but a stray dog no one wants."

"Your life is such a failure... if Big Brother doesn't die soon, it just wouldn't make sense, would it?"

When I didn't reply, Nathaniel sent one last message.

"Big Brother, I asked Faith to bring you a birthday gift. Enjoy it."

I wandered the streets all day, drifting like a ghost. It wasn't until I returned to my rental apartment, dazed and spent, that I understood what Nathaniel's "gift" meant.

The front door hung open.

Inside, the place had been ransacked. Debris covered the floor, and in the chaos, Faith was pinned down—struggling like a cornered animal on the verge of death.

The scene was so familiar my whole body trembled. Old fractures seemed to ache with phantom pain.

"Hey, brat. Long time no see," a rough voice sneered. "When are you paying this month's interest?"

The blood drained from my face. "I paid off the debt. Every cent. What more do you want?"

The leader picked his teeth with a wood splinter and spat on the floor. "If I say you owe, you owe. Don't want to pay? Fine. I wonder how many blows your sister's fragile bones can take."

He tapped the iron rod against Faith's back.

"Zion!" she cried. "I'm a burden—just leave me! Don't worry about me. I'm already a cripple. If they beat me to death, so be it! I don't want to drag you down anymore!"

The exact same words.

For five years, I'd heard this script countless times.

I looked at the room full of men, their faces twisted in cruel amusement. Then at my sister. Despite her disheveled appearance and desperate pleas, her eyes were clear. Too clear.

The fog lifted.

It was ridiculous I was only seeing it now. Over the years, these men had forced me to pay exorbitant sums again and again—yet they'd never actually touched Faith. Not once.

And I, desperate to protect the sister who'd lied to me, had suffered broken ribs, a fractured leg, countless scars.

I swallowed the bile rising in my throat. "What exactly do you want?"

The leader looked me up and down and laughed. "Kid, I really hate that stubborn look in your eyes. How about this? We have over a dozen brothers here. You crawl between everyone's legs and bark like a dog three times. Do that, and I'll consider the debt settled—just for the entertainment."

"No, Zion!" Faith's voice turned shrill. "You can't! Don't humiliate yourself!"

I let out a dry, hollow laugh. The last trace of warmth in my heart turned to ash.

"Since that's what you want," I said flatly, "let's settle it cleanly."

I was speaking to the thug, but Faith flinched. Panic flickered in her eyes for just a second. She opened her mouth, then stopped herself.

She remembered her promise to Nathaniel. This was the final punishment.

Just this last lesson, she told herself. Once he learns his place, I'll restore his identity as the Gilbert heir. I won't let him suffer ever again.

She truly believed she had a lifetime to make it up to me.

Convincing herself it was for my own good, she averted her gaze. Secretly, she angled her phone and snapped a photo of my humiliation to send to Nathaniel.

I lowered myself to the filthy floor.

One by one, I crawled through the gauntlet of men. I barked like a dog. I threw away the last shreds of my dignity to pay a debt I didn't owe.

When the crowd finally dispersed, laughing and jeering, I stayed prone on the ground. I didn't have the strength to stand.

Faith crawled over, eyes red-rimmed with tears. She opened her mouth to offer her usual pitiful platitudes—but the words died when she saw my eyes.

Dead ashes. No light, no anger, no love left.

The next day, a doctor arrived to take Faith overseas for her "treatment."

Before getting in the car, she turned back repeatedly, her expression distraught. "Zion, wait for me. I promise... I'll make you the most dazzling Young Master of the Gilbert family again. I won't let anyone bully you ever again."

I offered a faint smile and said nothing.

I watched the car disappear from sight. Only then did my composure crack. I covered my mouth, body convulsing as I coughed up dark blood.

The doctor had told me that once the tumor ruptured, it would be the end.

Strangely, as darkness encroached and I collapsed, I didn't feel an ounce of fear.

Memories of my sister flooded my fading mind. How she used to coax me to eat. How she'd sneak me candy. How she stayed by my bedside through fevers that wouldn't break.

"When I grow up," she had promised, "I'm going to earn lots of money. I'll give our Zion the best of everything. I'll make you the most dazzling star in all of Jiangcheng."

I swallowed hard. With trembling, blood-stained fingers, I typed out one final message.

Sister, I won't wait for you anymore. Consider my life the final payment for everything I supposedly owe you and Nathaniel. Please, just bury me beside Mom and Dad.

I hit send.

My eyelids dragged shut like lead curtains.

Somewhere on the floor, my phone buzzed violently against the wood—a frantic, mechanical heartbeat echoing into silence.