He didn’t even glance at the name on the certificate. He simply assumed it was one more scheme—driven by jealousy and desperation.

Andrew, his arm wrapped tightly around Chloe, looked at me with thinly veiled disdain.

“Even if you’re that desperate to get married,” he sneered, “you’ll have to wait until Chloe gives birth.”

His eyes flicked to my hand as I tried to pull it free from under Daniel’s shoe.

“Pour your heart out all you want,” he added, “but neither Daniel nor I are going to marry you.”

Chloe, nestled smugly against Andrew’s side, tilted her head toward me.

“Oh? What’s that in Auntie Elise’s hand?”

Andrew’s gaze sharpened. He immediately recognized the ring on my finger—an heirloom of the Whitmore Family.

The same ring Demi had placed on me during the quiet, makeshift ceremony in the cemetery.

He stormed toward me and tore it off my hand.

“For the sake of your little performance, you actually stole from our family?”

“I didn’t steal it!” I shouted, my voice cracking. “Your mother gave it to me.”

Daniel slammed his foot harder on my already bruised hand.

“My mom isn’t even allowed to touch this heirloom. And you expect us to believe she handed it to you?” he growled. “You obviously stole it—and you’re still lying.”

Chloe chimed in, her tone deceptively light.

“Wow. So Auntie Elise has sticky fingers. I wonder what else she’s hiding...”

She didn’t finish the sentence, but her meaning was clear.

Andrew and Daniel exchanged a glance.

Then they turned to the house staff. “Search her room.”

Within minutes, the staff returned with a large bag filled with jewelry, designer items and keepsakes.

Andrew’s face went red with fury. “Still denying it? These are all expensive—family heirlooms. You think you can afford this stuff freeloading off us?”

I stared at the pile. Each piece was familiar—gifts given to me, secretly, by both of them over the years. Gifts offered in guilt, affection and rivalry.

“I didn’t steal those,” I said firmly. “You both gave them to me. Don’t you remember?”

But they only grew more enraged.

Andrew barked, “Smash it. All of it.”

The servants obeyed.

I watched in helpless silence as the room I had once called mine was reduced to rubble—glass shattering, wood splintering, every trace of memory turned into debris.

When one of the staff reached for the last item—an old clay figurine—I rushed to stop them.

Just as I moved, Chloe stumbled backward dramatically and collapsed to the floor.

She clutched her belly and cried out in pain.

“Auntie Elise, I know you’re angry… but how could you push me? My baby… is innocent…”

Andrew and Daniel immediately abandoned the wreckage and raced to her side.

Their eyes, once filled with fury, now burned with fear.

“If anything happens to that baby,” Daniel hissed, stepping toward me, “we won’t let you walk away.”

They kicked me—one after the other.

The first blow landed in my ribs. The second slammed me into the wall.

Pain tore through my chest. I felt blood rise in my throat and spill out across my lips.

They froze as I coughed and choked.

For a moment, maybe, they were about to check on me.

But then Chloe began to convulse on the floor.

“Her condition’s flaring up again!” one of the staff shouted.

They rushed her out of the room, completely forgetting I was even there.

I looked after them—after the only people I had once believed would protect me—and smashed the small clay figurine still clutched in my hand.

It had been their gift to me, the very first when I was brought into their home.

Maybe it was all a mistake from the beginning.

I was just a nameless girl. An orphan. Why had I ever thought I could deserve something like love?

I struggled to rise, but before I could stand, a group of bodyguards barged in.

They didn’t speak.

They didn’t pause.

They just grabbed me, ignoring my cries and dragged me straight to the hospital.

When Andrew and Daniel saw me arrive, they didn’t express guilt or regret.

They looked relieved.

“You’ll go in right away,” Andrew said. “I already signed the papers.”

Daniel nodded, lips tight. “They’re prepping the OR now. You’ll be donating bone marrow to Chloe.”

I stared at them in disbelief.

“I’ve been sickly since I was a child,” I said hoarsely. “The medications, the injections—I barely made it here alive. Have you forgotten all that?”

They knew. They had watched me suffer for years. How could they decide something so invasive for me—without my consent?

Daniel and Andrew looked away briefly, guilt flickering across their faces. But they pressed forward regardless.

“If you hadn’t pushed Chloe out of jealousy, she never would’ve gotten sick in the first place,” Andrew snapped. “This donation—it’s how you make amends.”

“And don’t worry,” Daniel added, “even if your health declines, we’ll take good care of you.”

Before I could say another word, they forced me into the operating room.

I was strapped down.

Numbness crawled through my limbs as the anesthesia kicked in. Just before everything went black, a memory surfaced—a foolish promise we had once made in childhood.

“If you break your vow,” they had said, “you’ll lose your love forever.”

How ridiculous.

I was the only one who ever meant it.

But fine. If this was what it took to repay the Whitmore family for raising me, then so be it.

From now on, I had nothing to do with them.

When I woke up, the hospital room was silent.

Empty.

A nurse came in to check my IV and change the dressing on my arm. She sighed sympathetically.

“There’s a patient on the top floor—pregnant, lucky girl. Two handsome men at her bedside, round the clock. They’ve taken over the whole ward. Doctors on standby from every department.”

She gave me a pitiful look.

“Unlike you. Out cold for three days and not a single person came to visit.”

Three days. I had been unconscious for that long.

Noticing my face paling, the nurse quickly finished up and left without another word.

Moments later, the Whitmores arrived.

Demi stepped into the room, her expression tight with sorrow.

“You poor child,” she murmured. “You’ve suffered. I’ll take you home the day after tomorrow.”

So she knew. She had learned everything.

I looked at her—this elegant, powerful woman who’d once made me feel like family—and saw genuine sadness in her eyes.

“I’m fine,” I told her quietly. “It’s my debt to the Whitmores. I owed it.”

She sat with me for a while before quietly excusing herself.

After she left, the silence returned. Heavy. Crushing.

Then the door burst open.

Andrew and Daniel stormed in. Without hesitation, they yanked me out of the bed.

“You’ve really changed, haven’t you?” Andrew growled. “Running off to tattle on us to your precious aunt and grandmother?”

My body hadn't healed and the sudden pull tore at the surgical wound. I cried out in pain.

“She yelled at Chloe,” Daniel snapped, “and you—what did you do? You used it to get closer to our grandmother. Trying to replace your own family, are you?”

Andrew grabbed my neck and squeezed hard.

“You want Chloe’s baby gone so you can win favor and glory? That’s your play?”

“I… I didn’t…” I choked out, barely able to breathe.

Daniel finally pulled him off me.

“That’s enough,” he muttered. “Don’t forget why we came.”

He grabbed my arm and flung me aside like trash.

“The doctor says Chloe’s condition is still unstable. You’ll have to donate more bone marrow. And your hand…”

He stopped mid-sentence, eyes narrowing as he looked at me lying there, gasping.

“Chloe’s always wanted to be an artist,” he said quietly. “But thanks to your little shove, her hand’s ruined. You’ll need to make it right.”

A chill ran through me.

I lifted my head slowly. “What are you going to do?”

Andrew’s brows twitched and for a moment, there was hesitation in his eyes.

Then he nodded once at the bodyguard behind him.

Without speaking, the guard stepped forward, seized my wrist and with one brutal stomp, shattered the bones in my hand.

The scream tore out of me before I could stop it.

“No—my hand—!”

Daniel sighed.

“That’s what you owe Chloe—just a hand.”

I stared at Daniel and Andrew in horror.

They stood there, unmoved, watching as I writhed and sobbed in agony. Only when my hand was nearly crushed beyond recognition did the bodyguards finally let go and dragged me—limp and broken—to Chloe’s hospital room.

She was already in bed, looking pristine and well-tended despite the act she had played earlier. When she saw me crumpled on the floor, barely conscious, she eased herself into Andrew’s arms with calculated fragility.

“Uncle Andrew,” she murmured, “how could you let Aunt Elise be treated this way? As long as the baby is safe, I can handle a little suffering…”

There was pity in her words, but the contempt in her eyes burned through me.

Daniel stepped forward and kicked me, hard.

“She’s repaying her sins. Keep an eye on her. If anything happens to the baby, she’ll pay tenfold.”

I looked up at the three of them—Chloe nestled safely in Andrew’s embrace, Daniel looming protectively beside them—and for a moment, it was like they were posing for a portrait. The perfect family.

Except I was the discarded piece. The forgotten extra.

The clown.

The bodyguards dragged me from the room and darkness swallowed me whole.

Memories clawed their way back, my parents’ accident, the moment I was disowned by my foster family, the threats of being cast out of the only home I had ever known. It all returned like a fever dream.

But this time, something was different.

A figure appeared in the black haze—warm, protective. Someone I had known before. Someone who wrapped me in their arms and didn’t let go.

Who was he?

I faded into unconsciousness.

When I finally awoke, my hand was heavily bandaged. The pain was distant but present—constant and throbbing. It hadn’t been a nightmare.

My hand was gone. Destroyed.

Demi Whitmore—their grandmother—was seated beside me, her eyes glassy with tears.

“Elise, sweetheart, you’re finally awake,” she said softly.

I glanced down at the wrapped mass where my hand had once been and let out a broken sob.

Why?

Why did they do this to me?

My cries startled her. She reached out, desperate to soothe me.

“It’s going to be okay. Your hand… we’ll find the best doctors. I promise we’ll try everything to fix it.”

But the more she comforted me, the harder I cried.

Eventually, the sobs overtook me and I slipped into unconsciousness again, the pain too much to bear.

I hadn’t even truly fallen asleep when my phone vibrated against the nightstand.

A message from Daniel lit up the screen.

[If you don’t want anything to happen to your parents’ inheritance, go back to Chloe’s room and do as you’re told.]

Attached was a picture—a precious box from my late parents.

My heart stopped.

No.

Those were my parents gave to me. The only people who had ever truly loved me.

I yanked out the IV and stumbled from the bed. My mind screamed in panic, overriding the pain as I rushed barefoot down the hallway to Chloe’s ward.

When Daniel and Andrew saw me barge in, disheveled and desperate, they let out sighs of relief.

“We didn’t want to force you,” Andrew said calmly. “Just behave, wait for Chloe to deliver the baby and no one will touch your parents.”

But how could I ever trust them again?

They were the reason I was in this state to begin with.

I snapped.

I lunged toward Chloe and wrapped my good hand around her neck.

“Give me back that box—or I swear I’ll choke you right here.”

The rage, the grief, the betrayal—it all came pouring out.

Andrew and Daniel went pale. They didn’t dare touch me.

Finally, Daniel gave in. He nodded to a guard, who pushed forward a metal cart with the box resting on top.

“This is what you wanted. Take it. Just let her go.”

I released Chloe’s neck and grabbed the box.

But the moment I did, Chloe jerked her arm and knocked the cart over.

The box tumbled to the floor and landed with a hollow thud.

Nothing spilled.

It was empty.

I looked up, fire in my chest.

“You lied to me?” I roared. “Where the hell are the things inside?!”