My sister and I had been fighting over the family fortune for our entire lives. She hit me with her car and sent me to the hospital and I secretly removed her oxygen tube in the middle of the night.

The year our hatred reached its peak, our family suddenly went bankrupt. We were forced to reconcile and each pursue our own livelihoods.

Ten years later, my sister became a prominent business tycoon.

The first thing she did upon returning to England was to destroy the studio where I made my living. She personally tore up the family portrait I had painted and told me to get out and fight again.

"Sharon, we haven't settled the score yet. Why are you being such a coward? Don't you treasure these paintings? If you don't show up, I'll burn them all!"

I raised my fist at her, but my hand pierced through her body. It took a long time for me to react.

The truth was, I had died three years earlier. These paintings were my final gift to my sister and to the world.

——

Sheryl's return to England was a grand occasion. Media reporters swarmed the area and high-ranking figures from all walks of life clamored to meet her. But she refused all offers of collaboration and drove straight to my studio.

It was called a studio, but it was actually just the top floor of an old, run-down building. It had been in disrepair for so long that it didn't even have an elevator.

Sheryl climbed all the way up, panting with exhaustion. She cursed non-stop.

"Sharon, you're so cruel! You actually moved to this kind of hellish place just to hide from me. Just wait, when I find you, I'll break your remaining leg!"

I spat at her, wishing I could claw her face. She couldn't bear it after just one climb. Meanwhile over the years, I've dragged this broken leg of mine back and forth countless times.

Suddenly, a loud bang interrupted my thoughts. Sheryl kicked open the studio door with a bang.

She stood in front of the dusty room, frowning in disgust. "Is this where people live?"

"Sharon, you used to sleep on a mattress that cost less than a million, didn't you? How did you fall so low now?"

After saying that, she plopped down on my stool, breathing heavily.

My leg was broken in that life-or-death struggle.

Sheryl's life wasn't much easier. The brain damage from hypoxia stayed with her for the rest of her life. She developed serious cardiopulmonary problems. To prolong her life, she even spent a fortune on a professional medical team.

"Useless waste." I rolled my eyes.

I watched indifferently as Sheryl directed his men to turn my studio upside down. Alas, they were just as useless as Sheryl. They even dug out the morphine under my bed, but couldn't find any trace of me.

Sheryl glanced around, kicked over the empty medicine box and sneered. "No wonder your life has become such a mess. It turns out you've been tainted by something you shouldn't have been."

"Sharon, with your character, you think you can compete with me for the family fortune? If the Bridgerton Family's fortune had fallen into your hands back then, I would never have been able to rest in peace!"

At this, Sheryl's eyes dimmed for a moment. It was as if she was recalling a distant memory. Remembering the source of our hatred. When she stood up again, a bone-chilling chill filled her.

She glanced coldly around. Finally, her gaze settled on the family portrait in the center of the studio. Seeing my familiar face, Sheryl could no longer control her anger. She quickly stepped forward and ripped it off with all her might.

With just a few swipes, the portrait was ripped to shreds.

"How could you have the audacity of hanging a family portrait? I told you, there's no place for you in the Bridgerton Family and I don't want to have a sister like you! In this life, I have one and only one brother, Shawn Bridgerton!"

This long-lost name made me dazed for a moment.

Sheryl, still unsatisfied, angrily yelled at me to get out and fight again. The silent studio received no response. She pulled out a lighter and waved the flame threateningly.

"Sharon, you coward, you dare not take responsibility for your actions. What's the point of hiding? I tell you, I won't stop until I kill you. If you don't come out, I'll burn all the broken paintings in your room!"

As soon as the words left her mouth, a videotape fell out of the secret compartment behind the family portrait.

Suddenly my voice came from the recorder on the other end. "Sheryl, if you dare touch my paintings, I won't let you go, even if I become a ghost!"

Sheryl was stunned for a moment, then crushed my recorder with her foot.

"You think you can scare me with such a little trick, Sharon? You really haven't improved at all!"

But when she looked at the videotape, she hesitated for three seconds before retracting her foot.

"I want to see what other tricks you have."

The screen lit up, revealing my pale face. The moment she saw me, Sheryl frowned in disgust. In the video, I smiled broadly.

"Sheryl, how come you're still alive after all these years? What a shame. But don't get too cocky. I've prepared a great gift for you. Wait until you've finished reading this, then die!"

The scene shifted to the bedroom. I was bending over to sort through the paintings. Beneath my loose nightgown, two bony arms, pockmarked with needle pricks, were visible. I held up the family portrait at the top and held it up to the camera.

This painting depicts our family of four. I held Sheryl's hand, smiling shyly yet happily. The date was July 8, 2013. It was the day before I returned to the Bridgerton Family.

The police had cracked a major case and arrested my adoptive parents. They said the old couple who had been beating and scolding me all day weren't my biological parents. They were the murderers who had taken me away and ruined my life.

The police officer caressed my head with heartache. He pressed a few photos into my hands.

"Don't be afraid. We've found your biological parents. Once the paperwork is completed, they'll take you home."

That night, I was so excited I couldn't sleep. I drew my imaginary family portrait based on the three people in the photo. My gentle mother, my tall father. My sister, who would protect me and grow up with me.

When I actually returned to that home, I found a family portrait there, too. The family photo was exactly as I'd imagined. The only thing was, there was no place for me.

My father looked at me as I awkwardly explained, "After you went missing, your mom was so heartbroken she fell ill. We had no choice but to adopt a boy your age from an orphanage."

My mother also hugged me, crying, "It's okay, Sharon. You and Shawn are both my children. This is God's compensation for me. From now on, we'll be a family, never to be separated again!"

They found a psychologist to help me with counseling. They contacted the best beauty salon to get scar removal surgery.

The attentive Shawn was the first to notice the whip marks on my back and my missing teeth. When he learned they were from my adoptive parents beating me, he burst into tears.

He held my hand and said, "Sharon, I'm sorry."

There was no play for favoritism. Everyone in the family did their best to treat us equally. Whatever Shawn had, I also had. Whatever Shawn didn’t have, they would bring it to me if I ask.

Although I could always sense a slight barrier between us, I was content with this life of well-fed, well-dressed and loved.

Seeing this, Sheryl clenched her fists.

"Sharon, I knew you had bad intentions. My parents and Shawn were so kind to you back then, but you... After all these years, you're still trying to provoke me with that lousy painting. Sharon, you're so shameless! You deserve a horrible death!"

Sheryl stood up angrily, intending to smash the videotape. But the second before her fist fell, she froze in her tracks. Because, in the video, I had revealed a second painting.

This one was of Shawn. He lay there peacefully, his eyes closed, surrounded by pure white lilies. The date was June 10, 2015. The day Shawn died.

I spent two years of peaceful and tranquil life at the Bridgerton Family's. My missing teeth were filled and the burns on my body healed. The scars from years past gradually faded. Just when I thought everything was moving in the right direction, Shawn committed suicide.

Before he died, he left behind a suicide note. Every word was filled with apologies. Only then did I realize that for those two years, Shawn had been subjected to online bullying. Unscrupulous media outlets, seeking attention, fabricated a story about a real young master being swapped with a fake one.

They said Shawn's parents had ruined my life. How could he have taken my place and lived such a good life?

After two years of online bullying, after seeing the horrific wounds on my body, guilt finally overwhelmed this kind and sensible little man. He chose death to atone for his sins.

I remember this sentence in his suicide note. "When my books were shredded and a dead mouse appeared in my drawer, I thought about going home to talk to my parents and sister. But when I saw the scars on Sharon's body, I was speechless. What I've been through is not even one-tenth of what she endured. I shouldn't distract my parents and sister anymore, I shouldn't take away the attention that rightfully belongs to him."

So, on a quiet night, Shawn quietly took his own life. He was truly kind, leaving everything he had to me before his death. He didn't even make a sound, afraid to disturb everyone's rest.

It wasn't until dawn that my mother saw Shawn's body. She broke down in tears, traumatized. My father's hair turned gray overnight and he looked decades older. Sheryl, on the other hand, vented all her hatred on me.

She grabbed my hair and knocked me down in front of Shawn's portrait, demanding questions.

"Why?! Why did you do this? Shawn is such a gentle and kind person. After you returned to this family, he's been so tolerant and cautious. Why did you force him to death?"

I didn't know what to explain it.