Chapter 1

Mom spent three years paying my dead Dad's debts.

Then, on her deathbed, she learned the truth: he'd faked it all.

He was alive.

...

The door creaked open, and the nineteenth man stepped out of Mom’s bedroom, buckling his belt with a sneer.

"Even half-dead, your mom is still the best ride in town. That cow was worth every damn minute."

He spat on the floor and walked away without a glance.

A faint, wet cough came through the room.

"Iris..."

I rushed in, but my feet froze at the edge of the bed.

The room smelled of stale sweat, copper, and despair. Mom lay there, in a pool of blood, looked like a broken porcelain doll.

Her skin was a map of purple and blue, and a thin trail of blood leaked from the corner of her mouth with every ragged breath.

Yet, seeing me, she forced the corners of her lips upward.

"I paid it off, baby," she whispered, her voice a rattling shadow. "The debt... it's gone. Nobody will ever touch you now."

She tried to raise a trembling hand to touch my cheek, then it dropped.

A hollow thud against the mattress.

"I'm sorry, Iris" she choked out, her eyes beginning to glaze over. "I don't have much time left. You’ll have to walk the rest... alone."

My world blurred. I couldn't scream; I couldn't even breathe.

Then—a violent crack split the silence.

I turned, my eyes widening in pure shock.

Standing there, dressed in a sharp, expensive suit that cost more than our debts, was Dad.

Behind him stood my Uncle Lucas, Mom's brother, looking bored as he checked his gold watch.

The two men I had watched "jump" to their deaths three years ago.

"Still a dramatic one, aren't you, Joanna?" Dad said, stepping into the room.

He didn't look at Mom’s shattered body with pity; he looked at her with cold, clinical disgust.

He pulled a black credit card from his wallet and tossed it onto her blood-soaked chest.

"Remember the charity auction?" he asked. "The day you cancelled Vivian's card in front of the whole social circle? The day you humiliated her."

"You looked so high and mighty that night, didn't you? So we decided to bring you down." Uncle Lucas added.

He stepped around a pool of blood as if it were a common puddle.

"We let you rot three year. Every debt collector, every 'thug' who came to this door?" He smiled, "They were on our payroll. "

"We faked the bankruptcy and debts. We faked the deaths."

"We still watched every single minute of your struggle through the cameras we hid in the walls."

"Now, it's time to end this." Dad leaned over her, his voice soft, almost gentle.

"Kneel. Apologize to Vivian. Promise you'll never bully her again, then we’ll let you be our family again. We'll love you like before."

Mom didn’t cry. A laugh started in her chest. Soft. Hollow.

I looked down. Beside her limp hand lay a small, green plastic bottle.

It was empty. Antifreeze.

Before they broke in, she had swallowed it.

"What's so funny?" Uncle Lucas snapped.

He didn't notice the bottle. He only saw the black blood spray from Mom's mouth onto his polished leather shoes.

"God! Disgusting!" He curled his lip, wiping his shoe on the rug.

"What the hell are you faking now, Joanna? You knew we were coming today. Is this fake blood for sympathy? Do you think we’re idiots?"

"Mom isn't faking!" I screamed, lunging at him, but Dad caught me by the throat, shoving me back against the wall.

"Don't be like your mother, Iris. A liar," Dad hissed.

He walked toward the bed, looking at Mom’s mangled limbs with a smirk.

"I paid those actors myself. They wouldn't dare actually touch you. So stop the act and get up."

"Actors?" My voice broke.

I looked at the cigarette burns on Mom’s thighs.

I looked at the empty space where her right hand used to be—hacked off by a "debt collector" six months ago.

Dad saw the stump, but he didn't flinch.

"Nice prosthetic. Very realistic. How much did that cost you? Or did you steal the money I let you keep for food?"

"That's not—"

Before I finished, Uncle Lucas cut me off.

"Stop wasting words on her. Vivian is outside. She’s been waiting three years for this apology."

"Now get up and kneel, Joanna. Don't make us drag you."

"Apologize?" she whispered. Her laughter turned into a wet, broken wheeze.

"Not... a... chance."

With a final, agonizing surge of will, she tried to push herself up. Yet her remaining arm gave out immediately.

She rolled off the bed, her knees hitting the floor with a heavy, bone-snapping thud.

For a second, the room was silent.

Then, Uncle Lucas lost his temper.

He reached down, grabbed Mom by her matted hair, and yanked her head back.

"I said GET UP! This isn't a choice!"

Mom screamed. The sound cut straight through me.

"Stop it! You're killing her!"

I fought against Dad’s grip, but he held me fast, watching the scene with a bored expression.

Just when I thought all hope was lost—

Uncle Lucas' boot struck the green bottle.

It rolled across the floor, clinking against the bedpost.

My heart hammered.

Look at it. Please, just look at the label.

If they realized she was poisoned, maybe they’d stop. Maybe they’d feel a shred of guilt.

A pause. Uncle Lucas frowned, his eyes following the bottle.

He started to bend down. His fingers were barely an inch from the plastic—

Then the door swung open again.

A woman stumbled in, draped in white silk and diamonds.

Vivian.