Chapter 3

Felicity froze in place, as if her consciousness was finally clearing a bit.

After a moment, she forced a smile.

"Do you know what Mom and Dad said most often when we were growing up?"

I knew.

They said my birth was a mistake from the start.

After having my sister, they hadn't planned on another child.

An accident brought me into existence.

And so they resented me for dragging their already struggling family into the abyss.

"If we hadn't accidentally gotten pregnant with you, we wouldn't be struggling like this! Do you know that because of you, we've never even had a proper vacation?!"

But did they ever consider that I had no choice in coming into this world?

From that point on, whenever there was anything good to eat at home, it always went to Felicity's bowl first, because "sister is growing," even though she was much sturdier than me.

New clothes were always Felicity's hand-me-downs, or her old ones directly.

If Felicity accidentally fell and scraped her knee, the whole family would immediately go into emergency mode, rushing her to the doctor.

But I was sickly from childhood, and every time I had a fever and needed hospitalization, all I heard was my parents' endless reproach: "How did we end up with a burden like you? If you can't be cured, you might as well just die!"

Sebastian was the light that entered my bleak childhood.

He was the young master from the neighboring family, growing up with my sister and me.

He understood my flights of fancy and saw all the heartache I endured.

He said: "Keep going. You can get through this."

But then I saw Felicity fall, and he was the first to rush over and help her up, comforting her gently.

When I fell, he would just stand there, frowning slightly, saying: "Evelyn, why are you so careless? Watch where you're going."

The tone carried the same impatience as my parents.

That's when I realized—children are still just children.

He'd inadvertently learned the adults' behavior.

And as we grew up, Felicity became worse.

When I got into the best law school while she needed the family to pay dearly to get her into a third-rate university...

When I earned my position at a top law firm through merit while she idled away in a small art gallery...

When Sebastian ultimately chose to marry me, even though... he may never have truly understood me...

She would always be the first to step forward, slandering me as a thief, a drug user, even claiming I sold my body for money.

Simply because she hated that I'd stolen all the spotlight.

Hated that I'd stolen the show.

She hated the applause that rang out for me, hated that I'd gotten everything she couldn't have.

But she never considered that her incompetence and decadence were the direct result of our parents' unprincipled favoritism.

"I remember. So what?" I said. "The severance papers have been sent. Remember to sign them."

"And from now on, grandmother is my only family. You have no right to attend her memorial. Get out."

I pulled out my phone to call the police.

Felicity had been caught by police multiple times for drunken disturbances and drugs.

The moment she heard "police," she reflexively bolted for the door—only to crash into a solid chest.

It was Sebastian.

Seeing Felicity's panicked state, he instinctively moved to shield her, looking at me with wariness.

Felicity clutched his arm. "I just wanted to say goodbye to grandmother, but..."

She burst into tears.

Sebastian's displeasure was barely suppressed. "Evelyn, what are you trying to do now? Haven't you caused enough trouble? Can't you let your sister go? Haven't you hurt her enough?"

Something stung my eyes, making them ache.

How absurd.

I closed my eyes. "I'm going to kill her. You should run."

Sebastian's anger flared. "Evelyn, you're absolutely impossible!"

With that, he pulled Felicity away and left.

Felicity looked back with a triumphant smile.

But I had no energy left to deal with any of it.

After burning those worthless papers, I sat alone beside grandmother's portrait and cried myself to sleep.

When I woke up, I was home—in the house Sebastian and I shared.

Seeing me awake, he sighed with impatience. "You know you're in poor health, why get so emotional at the memorial?"

"If Felicity hadn't gone to find you and been driven away by you, I wouldn't have known you were there."

"Honestly, Felicity bears no grudge and helps you again and again. Don't you think you should—"

"Shut up!" I cut him off.

What a convenient omission of facts.

Not a word about what Felicity did in between!

"Felicity disrupted grandmother's entire memorial service, that's why I made her leave. What do you know?!"

Sebastian watched my agitation and shot me a look.

"Stop painting everyone as villains, Evelyn."

He pulled out a stack of documents from his bag—the divorce papers I'd had delivered.

"I'll assume you said that in anger. I'm leaving them on the table."

He put on his shoes to leave.

I opened the papers. He hadn't signed a single line.

Not one.

"Sebastian, do you not understand human speech? I said I want a divorce!"

He looked exasperated.

"Right, right, divorce. Every time it's about your sister, you bring up divorce."

"How many times now?"

"You'll just come back begging anyway, so why not save yourself the trouble and let this whole thing blow over?"

"Your grandmother's death was an accident. Stop bringing it up."

He opened the door, his tone flat. "There's food in the fridge. Stop making a scene and get some rest."

The door clicked shut with a soft sound.

That gentle click was utterly mocking.

All my resolve felt like a punch into cotton—utterly powerless.

He made me feel like a hysterical lunatic while he remained the calm, rational one in control.

A pressure built in my chest, unable to rise or descend, suffocating me until my vision darkened, nearly making me faint.

I pounded the cold floor, venting the emotion in my chest.

As if only this way could the oppressive feeling dissipate even slightly.

Suddenly, a sharp ring shattered the dead silence.

A male voice with a distinctive British accent came through the phone.

"Good afternoon, is this Ms. Evelyn Archer?"

"This is Damian King."

"We're organizing a two-year advanced research project, and we'd like to invite you to Oxford to discuss your potential participation in person. Would that be possible?"