Beyond the Family's Shadow

The first thing Elara Vane did after her rebirth was buy a one-way ticket out, costing a cool hundred mil.

"Deal's done."

Watching the green figures flicker on the encrypted screen, Elara Vane felt a jolt she hadn't felt in years.

This was the payoff for three years in the underground black market, slaving as a ghost artist, fueled by countless sleepless nights and paint she could never scrub off.

In her last life, she’d died with that money still burning a hole in her pocket.

This time, it wasn't just numbers; it was her escape card.

A pop-up blinked in the corner of the screen:

"Destination: Private Island 'Sanctuary'.

Owner: Julian Thorne.

Confirm one-way ticket?"

Julian Thorne.

The name was whispered in the New York underworld, a curse uttered in hushed tones.

The Godfather who held the East Coast shipping lanes in his fist, a tyrant with zero mercy.

But to Elara, he was her lifeline.

She’d saved his life once, a chance encounter, and in return, he’d offered her sanctuary, no questions asked, anytime.

Back then, she’d thought she was happy, never needing to cash that favor in.

Now, she took a deep breath, staring into the mirror.

Pale, gaunt, with shadows under her eyes that wouldn't fade, like a porcelain doll on the verge of shattering.

But she knew.

Beneath this frail shell was a rage that could burn the world down.

This time, she wasn't Elara Vane anymore.

Not the ghost haunting the Vane family, less than a servant.

Not the walking blood bag, existing only to serve their precious Serena.

This damn life? She was finished.

"CRASH!"

The heavy oak studio door splintered inward with brutal force, the lock groaning.

Dante Rossi stormed in.

He wore an expensive, custom-made suit, tie askew, smelling of whiskey and that sickly sweet perfume Serena always wore.

He didn't spare a glance at Elara's finished painting.

He just blurted, "Serena collapsed at the party.Now.You're coming with me, immediately."

No greeting, no explanation, not even a polite "please."

Just orders, as if she were livestock he owned, ready for slaughter.

"I'm not going," she said, snapping her laptop shut.

Her fingers flew across the keyboard one last time, scrubbing her browsing history clean.

She turned, her composure unnerving.

Dante froze for a beat, as if he hadn't registered her words.

Then he strode over, his hand clamping down on her wrist with a grip that threatened to crush her bones.

"Elara, what are you doing?! You know how frail she is.Doctors say it's acute anemia.She could die!"

"She could always die if I don't give her blood," Elara spat, nausea churning as she looked at his handsome face contorted with rage.

"What is it this time? Covering for you at the bar, or putting on a show for those spoiled brats?"

A flicker of pain crossed Dante's eyes, quickly masked by resolve.

"Just come.Now!" He yanked her wrist, ignoring her protests, dragging her from the room.

Her ankle slammed into the doorframe with a sickening thud, but he didn't even glance back.

Half an hour later, the VIP room of the sterile, alcohol-scented private clinic.

Before Elara could even steady herself, her mother, hovering by the bedside, slapped her hard across the face.

"You damn girl! Didn't I tell you to protect your sister at all times? What kind of sister are you?"

Her father stood beside her mother, his eyes radiating disappointment.

"Elara, I thought you were a good girl.Dante told me on the way here your sister was in danger, and you refused to help.I don't have a cold-hearted daughter like you!"

Her brother, Leo, was busy coddling his beloved Serena, not sparing Elara a single glance.

"Why are you wasting breath on her? Just draw the blood! I don't want anything happening to Serena!"

As soon as he spoke, a thick needle plunged mercilessly into Elara's vein.

The nurse had to stab her twice because her veins were so thin.

Crimson liquid flowed through the clear tube, making its way to the girl on the other bed.

Serena, meanwhile, looked flushed, hardly like someone who'd just collapsed.

But Dante sat by her bedside, holding her hand tightly, whispering softly in her ear, "Don't worry, the blood'll be in you soon.You'll be okay, my angel."

His gaze was a study in tenderness, as if she were fragile crystal.

Elara, on the other hand, didn't even get a glass of warm water.

It was a dark joke.

She and Serena were born minutes apart.

Because she arrived first, she bore the burden of being the older sister.

Then, at two years old, Serena was diagnosed with a rare genetic defect.

This family blood disorder meant that even a minor injury required transfusions from direct relatives.

From then on, she became her sister's walking blood bag.

Her father, mother, and brother even blamed her for hoarding her sister's nutrients in the womb, making Serena so frail.

In her last life, no one in her family loved her.

Only her fiancé, Dante, had stuck by her.

But she later discovered Dante and Serena had been having an affair all along.

He'd only been close to her for Serena's sake.

Elara let out a bitter laugh.

This time, she wouldn't chase love that would never be hers.

As the blood drained, her fingertips began to numb.

A chill seeped into her bones.

Her gaze drifted to her left ring finger.

A massive pink diamond ring, the symbol of the Rossi matriarch.

It was a promise she'd clung to, even during blood donations.

How ironic.

In her last life, that ring had been a chain, binding her for ten years.

But now, she wanted no part of it.

The moment she pulled the needle out, Elara felt a dizzying wave, but she bit back a gasp, gripping the bed frame, standing steady.

Slowly, she slipped the ring off.

The cool metal slid over her knuckles.

"What are you doing?" the nurse yelped.

Dante turned, frowning, impatience and frustration clouding his features.

"Elara, quiet.Serena just fell asleep; she needs absolute quiet."

Elara ignored him.

She walked directly to the medical waste bin marked with the yellow biohazard symbol.

Inside lay wads of cotton and gauze stained with her blood, emitting a faint, sickly sweet smell.

She let go.

Clink.

The priceless pink diamond ring traced an arc through the air, landing in the pile of refuse, blending perfectly.

She turned and walked towards the door, her back ramrod straight.

"Elara! What do you think you're doing? Pick up the ring!" Dante warned in a low voice behind her, disbelief etched on his face.

"Don't think I'll tolerate this forever.That's a position a lot of women would kill for!"

She turned back and gave him a look he'd never seen before, chillingly cold.

"Leave it for the trash, Dante.

It belongs there, just like your love."

She pushed the door open, leaving everything behind.

The hallway was empty.

Dante didn't follow.

He was too confident in his assumptions.

He thought she was still the same woman, that a flick of his wrist or a bit of sweetness would have her wagging her tail, begging for his forgiveness.

But he didn't know.

This was a final goodbye.