A highly contagious virus broke out in the city. My entire family was infected—only I was spared.

To eliminate the virus as quickly as possible, I, a specialist in the field, secretly volunteered for a classified human experiment without telling anyone.

However, on the day the miracle cure was finally developed, I realized I could no longer speak.

My brother stood at the press conference podium; every word was a scalpel carving into my heart.

"Sylvia Kenyon, a doctor, stole critical research data and fled the country to avoid infection. There is no cowardice in the Kenyon family like hers."

My adopted sister, Jen Freese, stepped to the mic, her eyes red-rimmed, voice trembling with performative grief.

"If Sylvia hadn't abandoned her post, our father would have lived long enough to receive the special treatment I developed…"

Overnight, I fell from a celebrated pioneer to a national traitor. My family disowned me. My fiancé, Kip Langer—patient zero at our institute—publicly shredded our engagement contract on live TV, then turned and proposed to Jen, his gaze dripping with devotion.

"Jen, you worked yourself to the bone to save me. To save us all. Let me spend my life repaying you."

They never knew. The "miracle drug" formula was perfected through trials I ran on my own infected body. I handed her the finished data myself.

And to seal my "defection," she had me entombed alive in the institute's sub-basement, concrete poured over the entrance.

Two years later, the pandemic was declared over.

The old research complex was slated for redevelopment. An excavator bucket tore through the foundation and unearthed a grotesquely contorted skeleton.

Only when forensics pried the data chip—the one I'd implanted to monitor the drug's effects—from the rotted tissue did the buried truth finally surface.

…

"Weren't all the contaminated remains incinerated?" a worker's voice, thick with fear, cut the damp air. "How… how is there one here?"

In the profound dark, the sound jolted my consciousness awake. A soul, set in concrete for two years, saw fractured daylight again. The first voice I recognized was my brother's.

"Christ, this place is still a bad-luck charm," he muttered, the familiar timbre now laced with a disgust that iced my spectral form.

I shuddered violently, a phantom impulse urging me to lunge at the sound. But I could only watch as my brother—who once carried me on his shoulders—pressed a monogrammed handkerchief to his nose, staring at my remains with pure revulsion.

"Our whole family almost died in this hellhole when we got infected. And that traitor stole the data from right here before running abroad."

My consciousness reeled.

Stole the data? Ran abroad? Who was he talking about?

The entire team had burned out together. There was no defector.

Before I could process it, his next words plunged me into a deeper frost.

"This land has been awarded to our family's hero, Jen, for developing the cure. I was going to build her a state-of-the-art lab as a wedding gift. Now this has to turn up."

My soul trembled. I developed the cure.

A familiar silhouette pushed through the onlookers. Jen's eyes locked onto my skeletal remains, and for a split second, raw panic sharpened her features. Then, composure snapped back into place.

She looped her arm through my brother's, her voice a soothing syrup. "Don't be upset. This was the epicenter. It's not surprising they'd find… leftovers."

She glanced at my bones with fabricated pity. "Probably some staff member, like Sylvia, who tried to desert when things got hard and didn't make it. Total coward move… what a shame."

She made a swift, hollow sign of the cross over her chest. "But the dead deserve dignity. We should cremate it quickly. We can't let some unclaimed body delay your generous gift to me. I'd feel terrible."

Just then, Kip arrived. He tenderly brushed sweat from Jen's temple, his sigh heavy with adoration.

"You're too compassionate, Jen. After everything you sacrificed—the self-experimentation, the pain—you still defend deserters. It hurts to see."

My brother, mirroring Kip's heartache, was about to agree when a construction worker yelled, "Hey! What's that shining in there?"

All eyes pivoted. A cold, metallic glint winked from within my decayed rib cage.

As someone moved to look, Jen's face paled. She tugged my brother's sleeve, her voice climbing an octave. "It's just some trash—a ring or something. It's macabre. My wedding is so soon… let's not invite bad luck. Please, just have it taken away."

Her act was nauseating, but it worked. Kip and my brother melted.

"Alright, alright. It's just some dead deserter. No one's going to do a forensic dive on it. Handle it," Kip said, kissing her hair.

My brother waved a dismissive hand. "Get it out of here. Burn it. Don't delay the construction on Jen's lab."

They ordered my remains hauled away like refuse, destined for the incinerator.

A hatred more corrosive than the virus that once ate my bones burned through my soul. I was powerless, a ghost forced to follow them to a bar.

The neon sign stabbed my vision, a fresh wound.

Sylvia's Bar.

My own handwriting, my love poured into the design. Now, it read Jen's Bar.

This place had been Kip's three-year anniversary gift to me—the sacred ground of our love.

This was Kip's gift to me for our third anniversary. His soul's sanctuary, he'd called it, at the bar counter where we'd had our first kiss. Every memory here was a romance now defiled.

And there, in our booth—the one where we'd whispered forever—Kip now nuzzled Jen's neck. Her fingers, tipped in venom-red polish, stroked the leather I'd chosen, deliberately grazing his hand.

"You seem distant," she murmured, pulling back to study him. "Are you… thinking about Sylvia?"

Before he could answer, she let a tear trace her cheek and reached for her glass, tilting it back dramatically.

Kip snatched it from her lips, his voice fraught. "Don't! Your system is still compromised from the drug trials. No alcohol."

He pulled her close, his voice gravelly with faux anguish. "I'm sorry. Sylvia's betrayal… it wrecked me. I just…"

Jen buried her face in his chest, the picture of solace. "You have me now." Then she coughed, a weak, rattling sound. "I just wish I was more like her. Smarter. Stronger. Prettier…"

"Don't you dare say that." Kip held her tighter, his conviction absolute. "If it weren't for you, sacrificing your own health to test the cure, my entire family would be dead. You are the best thing that ever happened to me. You're perfect."

I screamed, a silent, raw torrent of rage.

'It was me! I bore the trials! I made the cure!'

My fury dissipated into the stale bar air, unheard.

Jen lifted her head, wiping her tears, a fragile smile playing on her lips. "I should be grateful to Sylvia, in a way. If she hadn't run, your parents might never have taken me in as their own."

Kip smiled, kissing her forehead. "They took you in because you earned it. Because you deserve every bit of love you get."

The bar lights blurred, a kaleidoscope of our stolen past. I learned then that a soul can indeed feel pain—a pain a hundred times worse than the bone-burning agony I'd endured when the virus ate through my body during those drug trials…

My soul quaked in the hollow silence, screaming without a sound, 'She deserves this… but what about me? For a year, I let the drug eat my body from the inside. Then, I was buried alive. For two years, I rotted in the dark. What did I endure it all for?'

But Kip couldn't hear me. He was too busy sliding a hand around Jen's waist, bending her backward into a deep, possessive kiss.

When he finally pulled away, he cradled her face, his eyes blazing. "I'm going to give you the wedding of the century. I want the whole world to watch you become my wife."

Jen cast her eyes down in a show of fragile hesitation. "But you… you were supposed to be Sylvia's. People are already talking. If we make it more public, I'm afraid—"

Kip pressed a finger to her lips, his voice dropping to a low, vehement promise. "I want them to talk. I want everyone to know you're the strongest, most selfless woman I've ever met. The only one worthy of standing beside me."

Then he reached into a hidden compartment in our booth—our booth—and pulled out a velvet box. Inside, a diamond the size of a pigeon's egg glinted under the lights.

He dropped to one knee, his gaze a furnace of devotion. "Jen. Marry me."

The vision lanced through my spectral form.

I was thrown back to three years ago, under this same chandelier. The same man, in the same spot, on the same knee.

"Sylvia," he'd said, voice thick with emotion, "you're the only person I have ever wanted to marry."

Now, my ring was buried in the rot of my own corpse, forgotten.

And he was offering a new one to my murderer.

The memories surged—jagged and vivid.

I saw Jen at the gates of the research institute years ago, in worn-out jeans, her eyes red and swimming.

"Sylvia," she'd wept, bowing deeply, "without you, I'd never have been allowed inside a place like this…"

Her thin frame had shook with sobs. "You're like a second mother to me."

I'd laughed, tousling her mousy hair. "Don't be silly. From today, you're my little sister."

Kip had wrapped his arms around me from behind, his chin resting on my head, his laughter vibrating through me. "My Sylvia has the softest heart in the world."

His lips had brushed my ear. "Someone as good as you deserves every beautiful thing life has to offer."

I'd batted him away, flushed and smiling. "Stop it. It was nothing."

I knew the brutal cost of research. I'd lived it. So when I saw the desperate hunger in Jen's eyes, I'd opened my hand without a second thought.

"Come work in my lab."

Back then, she was all deference and awe, handling every file as if it were sacred scripture. I remember her first day in a lab coat, plucking at the stiff fabric, asking in a small voice, "Sylvia… do I even belong here?"

But what followed? She was a creeping vine, slowly, patiently strangling the host tree. My open invitation became her unwavering entitlement.

At my mother's sixtieth birthday party, she'd thrown herself to the floor with a dramatic thud, forehead pressed to the tile.

"Godmother! You are my real mother now!"

My mother had stared, bewildered. I was speechless at the audacity. But when I felt the rough calluses on Jen's palms—a testament to a harder life—my resolve softened.

"Mom," I'd said, "just accept her. What's one more daughter to love?"

Soon, she was calling out to my brother with a sweetness that put my own casual tone to shame.

She lavished attention on Kip—little gifts, trinkets, a clumsily knitted scarf.

My mother would tug my sleeve, whispering, "Jen's intensity… it unsettles me."

My brother would shudder. "She linked arms with me today. Gave me the chills."

Even Kip grew uncomfortable, confessing, "She brings me lunch every day. It's getting hard to politely refuse."

Every time, I made excuses.

"Jen had a difficult childhood. She's just expressing gratitude.

"Don't overthink it. Just be kind."

How stunningly naive I was. What a perfect, tragic fool.

I had built a nest of warmth and opportunity, and the viper I sheltered used it to learn where to strike. She weaponized my own compassion, biding her time until she could steal everything.

My legacy. My family. My love. My life.

And I—

Even my bones are condemned as a traitor's, fit only for the flames of a pauper's pyre.

My soul ached as if countless hands were tearing it apart. In a daze, I felt as though I'd been dragged back to two years ago.

Back then, the virus was raging, and the hospitals were overflowing with patients.

My parents and my brother ran the largest pharmaceutical company in the country, yet even they were powerless against this new virus.

There was no miracle drug, no mature treatment plan—only the helpless sight of one infected patient after another collapsing.

Half a year later, the bad news came in waves—

Kip. My parents. My brother. They had all been infected. They were rushed to the research institute where I worked and placed in emergency isolation.

The hallways were packed with desperate families. Relatives clutched at the sleeves of doctors and nurses, crying and pleading, "Please save them! We're begging you!"

Inside the wards, painful groans echoed. The alarms of the monitoring equipment rose and fell without pause.

I stood outside the glass, staring at their pale faces, my heart carving itself apart.

Suddenly, I remembered something my mentor had once said, "If we can find a naturally immune blood sample, it might speed up the research…"

A terrifying thought flashed through my mind—

As their closest contact, I had never been infected. Did that mean… I was the naturally immune blood sample?

That thought circled my mind for three days. In the end, I made up my mind.

I stormed into the lab, found the director of the institute, and said—my voice trembling, but firm, "Let me join the human trials. I'll be the test subject."

The director, whose hair had long since turned white from stress, snapped his head up and scolded harshly, "Nonsense! This violates regulations. We can't let you take that kind of risk!"

For the first time, I lost control and shouted back, "People are dying by the minute! One day sooner means countless more lives saved!"

That scene was witnessed by my mentor standing not far away.

He watched me in silence, his gaze complicated.

Later, I begged him again and again. The last time, he let out a long, heavy sigh. As he turned away, a key "accidentally" slipped from the pocket of his white coat.

It was the access key to the underground laboratory.

I began my secret work, but the intensity of the experiments was far beyond anything I'd imagined.

Constant blood draws, drug testing, data logging, dosage adjustments… they drained almost every last bit of my strength.

With no other choice, I brought Jen in as my assistant.

To ensure the integrity of the data, I had a microchip implanted in my body to continuously record my vital signs and external conditions.

And so, I endured half a year in that sunless laboratory…

Finally, I succeeded.

In the second before I completely lost consciousness, I handed the formula and sample of the miracle drug to Jen.

Back then, she cried like a rain-soaked flower.

"Don't worry, Sylvia. I'll make sure this medicine saves everyone…"

Now, looking back, she hadn't been lying.

She did save everyone.

She just took the drug I'd risked my life to create and claimed it as her own.

She saved everyone… except me.

Only now did I finally understand that she had never been a helpless sheep. She was a vicious wolf in sheep’s clothing.

Just as that realization settled in, a wave of cheering exploded in my ears, growing louder and louder.

"Marry him! Marry him!"

The next second, Jen covered her mouth, as if she couldn't withstand the sudden happiness.

After a long pause, she seemed to finally make up her mind, her voice trembling with shy emotion, "I… I will."

I watched with my own eyes as my fiancé and the woman who killed me kissed in front of everyone.

My soul was flayed by a dull blade, the pain so deep I felt it might shatter me apart—

That was supposed to be my beloved. My life.

The agony left me barely able to stand. Even the crystal chandelier above began to sway violently.

The scattered light and shadows trembled like my shattered hatred—quivering, unseen by anyone…