Chapter 3

Mom dragged me by my hair, pulling me down the stairs.

My scalp screamed in pain, and my forehead hit the cold, hard concrete steps, instantly drawing blood.

“Let go of me! Mom! Please let me go!”

I cried out, struggling desperately, but it was useless.

Muttering curses, she dragged me all the way down to the street below our rental building, where people were coming and going.

“Everyone look! Come and see this heartless daughter!”

Mom’s voice, shrill and piercing, instantly drew the attention of everyone around.

Neighbors, passersby, vendors… countless eyes turned to stare at me.

My clothes were disheveled, my hair a wild mess, blood from my forehead streaking down my cheek – I looked utterly wretched, like a street beggar.

“My daughter died, she died for this one! Now there’s a chance for her to come back to life, but this one is stopping it!”

Mom pointed at my nose, accusing me with dramatic sobs.

“She’s just jealous! She’s always been jealous that her sister was prettier, more likable!”

I shook my head frantically, my lips trembling as I tried to protest:

“I didn’t… I’m not…”

“You didn’t?”

Mom sneered, her words more venomous than the winter wind.

“Kian Thorne, the one who bullied your sister, he was after *you* initially, wasn’t he? You just hate your sister for 'stealing' your man!”

“I bet if Kian hadn’t died, you would’ve been eager to get rid of your sister just to climb into his bed!”

“You’ve always been like this! Stealing your sister’s dresses, snatching her allowance – you’re a thief! You’re an ungrateful piece of trash!”

**截断点**

My mind went blank. These baseless accusations shredded my soul, tearing me apart limb by limb.

The pointing fingers and hushed whispers around me became a deafening roar, completely engulfing me.

“Oh my God, so she’s really like that…”

“She always seemed so quiet, who knew she had such a wicked heart.”

“To be jealous of her own sister, it’s terrifying.”

“Smack!”

Dad rushed forward too, and without a word, slapped me hard again.

“How could we raise such an animal?! Your sister’s death is all your fault!”

“Smack!”

Mom slapped me backhanded again, making blood seep from the corner of my mouth.

“Are you signing or not?! If you don’t sign today, we’ll beat you to death!”

They took turns slapping my face. I was dizzy from the blows, barely able to stand.

My heart ached more than my bruised body.

Just as I was about to pass out, an old, strong voice rang out from beyond the crowd.

“Stop this at once!”

I struggled to open my eyes. Seeing the newcomer, a flicker of hope ignited in my heart.

Uncle Marcus, our great-uncle, was the most senior elder in our family. He had been a teacher in his youth, and he surely could stop Mom and Dad’s madness.

Uncle Marcus, leaning on his cane, pushed through the crowd, his face grim as he approached my parents.

“What do you think you’re doing?! Beating your own daughter in the street, you’re disgracing our Clarke family name!”

Mom and Dad’s bravado instantly deflated; they sheepishly released their grip.

I looked at him like he was my lifeline, tears streaming down my face.

“Uncle Marcus, I didn’t… I don’t not want Maeve to come back. I’m just afraid they’re being scammed…”

My voice choked with tears and injustice.

Uncle Marcus sighed, a complex pity in his eyes.

He turned, steadied me, and his voice softened.

“Rowan, I know your heart is hurting. But the dead cannot return. Those of us still living must think of the family.”

I froze, not understanding what he meant.

He patted my hand, speaking earnestly.

“Your parents have gone mad. You can’t reason with them. Just play along, give them something to hope for, and life can go on.”

I stared at him blankly. He seemed not to notice the despair in my eyes, continuing to persuade me in his esteemed tone.

“It’s just a signature, isn’t it? Are you really going to watch this family fall apart completely just for your so-called principles?”

“Listen to your Uncle Marcus, a harmonious family is a prosperous family, remember that.”

“A harmonious family is a prosperous family…”

I murmured, repeating the words, finding them utterly ironic.

My pain meant nothing under the pressure of this “harmonious family for prosperity.”