The three of them lifted the crimson wine and, in a cheerful atmosphere, drank it all in one go.
And I finally understood the whole truth.
The illness was fake. The poverty was fake too.
But in these eighteen years, my fear, unease, inferiority, cowardice, and the suffocating guilt more stifling than death itself—those were real.
They had conspired in a vile game, and the price was my life.
The last bit of money I had traded my half-dead body for was being swallowed down by them, mouthful by mouthful.
The intense pain almost devoured my soul.
I wanted to scream at them—why did they treat me like this!
But no matter how hard I tried, I still couldn't make even the slightest sound.
At that moment, a servant rushed over clutching a paper bag. His face was deathly pale.
"Sir, I just found a strange letter in the money pouch sent by the second young lady."
Dad took the letter casually. When he saw what was inside, his face went white with fright…
