Chapter 4

The slums were my only shelter after leaving the Pennington house.

Because Adrian had frozen all my accounts, and Patrick had blacklisted me throughout the industry.

I couldn't find work and could only live here.

The black Maybach stopped at the alley entrance, looking completely out of place.

Yara covered her nose, her face full of disgust.

"How could my sister live in a place like this? Didn't Mom and Dad give her living expenses?"

Rachel snorted coldly.

"Give her what? That jinx got your brother killed and tried to hurt you too. I wouldn't give her a single penny!"

At the mention of her brother, Patrick's face instantly turned black as a pot.

This was why they hated me.

When I was five, I took my three-year-old brother out to play.

He was kidnapped by human traffickers and remained missing to this day, alive or dead unknown.

From that moment on, I became the Pennington family's sinner.

Everyone believed I brought misfortune to my family. So they adopted adorable little Yara.

From then on, she was the pearl in their palm, and I was the mud beneath their feet.

Even when I later desperately found clues about my brother, I discovered he'd already died accidentally while trying to escape.

This news—before I could tell them—was stolen by Yara.

She'd said, "Sister, since brother is dead, let's not make Mom and Dad sad. Let's bury this secret, shall we?"

Then she turned around and told my parents that I'd deliberately abandoned him out of jealousy.

...

The group tramped through sewage water to reach the tube building where I'd been renting.

The landlady was drinking tea at the entrance.

Seeing the police and this group of well-dressed people, she startled.

"Oh my, you're looking for that sickly girl?"

Adrian frowned. "Sickly girl?"

The landlady rolled her eyes.

"Of course. Coughing her lungs out all day, thin as a ghost."

"She even owed me rent a couple days ago, said she'd pay when her fiancé came to get her."

She pointed at Adrian.

"You're that fiancé, right? You look decent enough—how could you let your woman live in a pigsty like this?"

Adrian's expression turned ugly.

He'd always assumed I was living comfortably out here.

After all, I'd graduated from a prestigious university with excellent abilities.

He never imagined I'd sink this low.

"Cut the chatter. Open the door."

Patrick snapped impatiently.

The landlady cursed under her breath as she fished out her keys and opened the rusted iron door.

Inside was dark, the curtains drawn tight.

The ten-square-meter space was crammed with junk.

On the table sat a half-bowl of moldy instant noodles and a pile of... medicine bottles.

Yara was so frightened she hid behind Adrian.

As soon as Adrian entered, he stepped on something.

Looking down, he saw a picture frame.

In the photo were him and me at our college graduation ceremony.

Back then, I'd been smiling brilliantly, with baby fat still on my cheeks.

Now the glass was shattered.

My face in the photo was scratched to pieces, covered in dark red bloodstains.

That blood—I'd coughed it up in the dead of night when the pain drove me delirious.

Adrian crouched down as if possessed, touching it.

"Ah! Blood! So much blood!"

Yara pointed at the bathroom doorway, screaming in terror.

Following her finger, they looked.

At the bathroom entrance was a large pool of blood that had long since turned black.

And a phone with a cracked screen.

Adrian instantly rushed over and picked up the phone.

It was still on the text message editing page, showing an unsent message from me:

[Adrian, I didn't push her, but I'm tired. Is giving you my life enough?]