Chapter 1

The diagnosis report shook in my hands, the words terminal gastric cancer searing into my vision like a brand.

"There's one last slot for chemotherapy," the doctor said carefully, "but..."

I didn't need him to finish. Frederick had already pulled every string to secure the entire stock of specialized medication—all for Vanessa.

"I refuse treatment." I signed the waiver without hesitation and accepted the bottle of painkillers meant to ease my final days.

As the pills dissolved on my tongue, bitter and metallic, I did the math. Seventy-two hours. That's all I had left.

When I pushed open Vanessa's hospital room door, Father was meticulously peeling an apple for her, the blade gliding in smooth, practiced strokes. Mother clung to her hand, eyes wet with worry.

What are you doing here? Father dropped the knife and stepped between us like a bodyguard, his expression hardening.

Mother sighed. "Nicole, Vanessa needs her rest. And we still haven't discussed your little performance with that fake illness."

Behind him, Vanessa peeked out just enough to shoot me a smirk—victorious, as always.

"Dad. Mom." I reached into my bag and pulled out the documents. "I'm signing over all my shops and companies to my sister."

Silence. Their faces went slack with shock.

"You… you're serious?" Mother's voice wavered. "But you always said—"

I held out the pen, my grip steady. Vanessa practically lunged for it, as if afraid I'd come to my senses.

"Finally thinking straight," Father said, his mouth curling into something almost resembling approval. "Vanessa's always had a better head for business than you."

Mother reached up to pat my head—a gesture so rare, it stung more than comforted. "You've matured, Nicole."

I ducked my gaze to hide the bitterness twisting inside me. They'd never know this maturity came at the price of my life.

The scent of garlic and herbs hit me the moment I stepped into the house. Frederick moved around the kitchen in an apron, Yvonne at his side, giggling as she handed him ingredients.

"Mom!" Yvonne's smile dropped the second she saw me. "Why are you home?"

Frederick fumbled, the spatula clattering to the floor. As he bent to pick it up, the glow of his phone screen caught my eye—Vanessa flashed across it, an unread message waiting.

"We need to talk." He pulled off the apron, avoiding my eyes. "Your parents… they want me to marry Vanessa after her surgery."

Yvonne clapped her hands. "Yes! I always wanted Aunt Vanessa to be my mom!"

I didn't answer. Just walked upstairs, locked the bedroom door behind me, and stared at the divorce papers bathed in the dying light of the sunset.

Three days from now, when they found my body—would they finally feel regret?