When Sasha opened her eyes, she was in a hospital bed.

A nurse was swapping out her bandages. The second she noticed Sasha was awake, she let out a shaky breath. "You've been out for two days. Finally woke up. How're you feeling?

"Your sister passed out from the shock when she brought you in. Your parents and your sister's fiance are in the next room taking care of her. Want me to call them?"

Sasha blinked slowly. Then shook her head. "No. They don't wanna see me, and I don't wanna see them."

The nurse hesitated, eyes soft with pity, then slipped out of the room.

"Both girls are their daughters, but the younger one almost bled out and landed in the ICU. They haven't even stopped by. Been fussing over the older one like she's the only one who matters."

"I heard the older sister's engaged to the president of Scythe Corp. No wonder the parents ditched the younger one—she's not marrying into a fortune. But the fiance? He hasn't left his fiancee one's side—feeding her meds, soup, even brought in a retired therapist. Her room's practically buried in gifts."

The nurses' voices weren't loud, but every word landed sharp in Sasha's ears.

Her face didn't flicker.

She'd seen this all before.

That afternoon, the doctor called her in for a follow-up. No one came with her. So she dragged her weak body out of bed and walked there alone.

As she passed the next room, she caught a glimpse—her parents and Vincent gathered around the bed, fussing over Mira.

Donald gently tucked the blanket around her while Diana sat peeling grapes, popping them one by one into her mouth.

A soft, sugary smile bloomed on the older sister's face. Her voice was sweet and careful. "Dad, Mom, you've been taking care of me this whole time and haven't even checked on Sasha.

"I'm full now—why don't you bring her the rest of the fish soup? She's really hurt. She should have something nourishing."

Donald shut that down instantly. "Don't worry about her. That girl could survive anywhere. Your mother spent all night on that soup. Giving it to her would be a waste."

Diana nodded like that made perfect sense.

Vincent brushed the older sister's bangs back, eyes soft with concern. "The doctor said you fainted from worrying too much.

"Sasha's always been cold—never cared about being your sister. She even had the nerve to go after your fiancé. She's not worth it."

Sasha let out a low, bitter laugh. No heat—just hollow.

She'd been allergic to seafood forever. Couldn't touch anything from the ocean. But Mira? Obsessed with shrimp, crab, fish—so that's what was always on the table. Sasha survived on toast and boiled veggies, still got slammed for being "too picky."

In public, Mira played the sweet, worried sister. Behind closed doors? She mocked, shoved, slapped.

Then came the waterworks. Mira would cry, twist everything, whine about how she was the victim.

Donald and Diana didn't blink. They made Sasha kneel in the rain all night.

After that, Sasha stopped fighting. Gave Mira whatever she wanted and kept her head down.

In her last life, the only thing Sasha fought for was Vincent.

And look how that turned out.

This time? She was done. No more fights. No more proving anything. No more love. Just her, living for herself.

Sasha grabbed her meds solo, prescription in hand, and headed out. The pharmacy sat behind the hospital, just past a garden and fountain.

Right as she hit the path—blockade. Mira.

"Wow, already walking? Guess you weren't that messed up," Mira sneered. "Anyway, Mom and Dad are backing me. So even if you whine to Vincent about being THE ONE who stuck by him, it won't matter. Spare yourself the drama."

Sasha didn't flinch.

"Relax. I'm over Vincent. You can have it all."

Mira's grin stretched wider, drunk on the power.

"Have? Babe, I don't need you to give me anything. I take what I want. You? You live off my leftovers. You'll never win—not in this life."

Sasha wasn't about to play Mira's game. She turned to leave.

Mira scowled, ready to snap again—then froze. Someone familiar was walking down the corridor.

In a blink, she yanked Sasha's wrist and dragged her into the fountain.

Neither of them could swim.

They splashed, kicked, screamed for help.

Sasha's stitches ripped open. Blood spread fast.

Freezing water shot up her nose—she choked, coughing hard.

Her body gave out. Everything burned, then went numb. She sank.

Right before it all went black, she saw Vincent sprinting toward the fountain—then diving in.

He swam right past her—didn't even look her way—and dragged Mira to the edge.

Mira, eyes red and watery, collapsed into his arms. She peeked back at Sasha, still sinking, then threw on a worried face.

"She... She pushed me in by accident," she said sweetly. "Vincent, she's my only sister. Can you get her too?"

Vincent's face iced over. He glanced at Sasha, flailing and half-submerged.

"Mira, don't defend her. She clearly tried to drown you, then jumped in for show. If she wants to play the victim, let her soak in it."

Every word cut deep.

Her face burned purple, lungs empty. A sharp ringing swallowed everything. The world smeared and tilted.

Through the blur, she saw Vincent carrying Mira away.

Then darkness.

A blast of cold air snapped Sasha awake. She shook hard as she opened her eyes.

Donald and Diana loomed over her, faces tight with fury.

"Are you insane?" Diana snapped. "How dare you shove Mira into the water? Were you trying to kill her and steal Vincent? As long as we're alive, that'll never happen."

Donald's voice hit just as hard. "You'll never compare to your sister. You're not worthy of Vincent. Face it and quit the fantasy."

Their yelling cut colder than the water. Sasha's chest tightened, eyes filling with something heavier than tears—pure, bone-deep despair.

But the pain? It finally cracked wide open.

"Not worthy? SHE'S worthy?" Her voice shook. "If you hadn't lied and faked everything, Vincent wouldn't have looked at her twice. You stole what was mine and handed it to her. Doesn't that shame you at all?"

Diana flushed. Donald's hand flew.

The slap snapped her head sideways.

"You ungrateful brat!" he barked. "We gave you life. Everything you have came from us. If we wanna take it and hand it to Mira, we will. You think you get a say? You dare speak the truth again—just try it and see what happens—"

The door slammed open.

Vincent stepped in, frowning. "The truth? What truth?"

Donald and Diana jolted, scrambling to cover.

"W-We were just disciplining her," Donald stammered. "Trying to get her to admit she pushed Mira."

"She won't confess no matter what," Diana added quickly. "We're furious—don't even know how to punish her."

They shot each other a quick look, smoothly dodging the topic.

Vincent didn't think much of it. His stare landed on Sasha—cold, sharp.

"Still won't own up? Lock her in the morgue. Let her out when she figures out what she did wrong."

Donald and Diana nodded like it was genius, then waved the guards in without hesitation.

Sasha clutched her burning cheek, eyes blank, checked out.

Fighting back would only make it worse. So she didn't. Let them drag her off.

The morgue was a freezer. Bone-deep cold. She wrapped her arms around herself, shaking like crazy.

Her mind drifted, foggy and frayed.

She saw flashes of the old Scythe estate—those stormy nights when she and Vincent huddled together under one coat. He'd pull her close, hold her hand tight, whisper over and over, "I'm here. You're safe."

Those memories stabbed sharper than the cold.

Minutes blurred. Her stomach screamed, her body numb. She could barely think.

Then the door creaked open.

Vincent stepped in, expression stone-cold, eyes cutting.

"You've been in here a full day and night. Ready to admit what you did?"

Sasha stayed curled up, voice raw and rasping. "I admit it. I was wrong."

He looked satisfied.

She wobbled to her feet and walked out, whispering to herself. 'Wrong for believing you'd be with me. Wrong for ever falling for you.'

After getting discharged, Sasha went home and purged every trace of Vincent.

Old diaries, crumpled love notes, hidden photos, unopened gifts, the little surprises...

She was supposed to tell him everything once they made it.

But that was never happening. Not now. Not ever.

None of it meant anything anymore.

She dumped everything. Turned around—and slammed right into Vincent.

He'd just dropped Mira off.

His eyes flicked to the trash. Then back to her.

Still cold. Still blank.

Mira noticed too. She latched onto his arm, all fake-sweet. "Vincent, looks like Sasha finally got the message. She won't bug you anymore. She's my little sister, y'know. Don't be so harsh."

Vincent didn't even blink. "I've never been nice to people I don't like. No point pretending."

Sasha just stood there, quiet.

One breath. Swallowed it all down. Then turned and walked back to her room.

***

The next day was Mira's birthday bash.

The hall buzzed—packed with guests, all gossip and glam.

"Vincent went all out, huh? Flew in those flowers from Eurphie this morning. Three days of fireworks, can you believe it? And that necklace Mira's wearing? He snagged it at Sotheby's—cost a fortune."

"He's totally obsessed with her. Mira hit the jackpot. The Clarke family's about to blow up... though it sucks they've still got Sasha hanging around, obsessing over Vincent. So pathetic."

"Right? Same blood, but Sasha's just... less. Forget looks and personality—she's got zero shame. Still chasing her sister's fiance? If my kid pulled that, I'd have kicked her out ages ago. Donald and Diana are way too soft."

Sasha heard every word. Felt none of it.

Just silence inside. Cold, hollow silence.

She sat off to the side, quiet, invisible—trying not to exist.

A few feet away, Donald and Diana stood with Vincent, all smiles around Mira like she was their sun.

They fussed over her dress, blocked her drinks, lit her candles. Sang like it was the happiest day ever.

Sasha watched. And remembered.

Her own birthdays? Mira always dragged their parents off somewhere, leaving Sasha to light her own candles in an empty house.

Back when she was with Vincent, he used to be there. Cake, wishes, little gifts—just enough to make her think maybe she wasn't alone anymore.

But even that scrap of warmth was gone now.

And she wasn't chasing it anymore.

In the middle of all the noise and glitter, Mira shut her eyes and made her wish.

Guests lined up with gifts—designer bags, diamonds, all the luxury.

She opened each one slow, soaking up the spotlight, smile locked in place.

Then came the final two.

Donald stepped up first. "After thinking it over, Diana and I have decided—Mira will be the successor to our company. She's inheriting everything."

The room lit up.

Vincent followed. "My gift to Mira is fifty percent of Scythe Corp... and my family's heirloom ring. My grandma always said any couple who wears these rings will grow old together."

He turned to Mira. "You're the only one I want to marry. Thank you for saying yes."

With everyone watching, he slipped the ring on her finger, pulled her close, and kissed her like the rest of the world didn't exist.

The whole hall exploded—cheers, applause, nonstop congratulations.

From the sidelines, Sasha watched, chest tight like she couldn't breathe.

Her nails bit into her palm. She was ready to bolt—until Mira's voice cut through.

"Sasha, where's your gift? When are you giving it to me?"

Just like that, every head turned.

Sasha froze. Then slowly pulled the gift she'd prepared ages ago from her bag and handed it over.

Mira was mid-smirk, ready to drop some snide comment—

But Vincent stopped cold.

His eyes zeroed in on Sasha's hand. "Where'd you get that bracelet?"

She blinked, thrown by the bite in his voice. Her fingers drifted to the bracelet, like muscle memory.

Back when he was blind, she used to dress up anyway—like he could see her. She always wore that bracelet. He'd hold her hand, trace the stones, ask about them.

Now? She stayed quiet.

Vincent lunged, grabbed her wrist. "Answer me. Why do you have this? Who are you?"