Chapter 2

When I opened my eyes again, I wasn't dead.

I was lying on the bed in my room, my wrist wrapped in thick layers of gauze. The whole family stood gathered around me.

My sister, Lizzie Zeder, looked as pale as paper. To my surprise, her wrist was wrapped in bandages too.

My mother's eyes were red and swollen. She clutched my hand, her voice trembling.

"Jeff, why would you do this? Whatever it is, why couldn't you tell me?"

Before I could say a word, Shane began his performance.

"Jeff… do you not like me? Is that why you resorted to something as extreme as suicide—to get Mom and Dad's attention? Do you know how worried you've made them…?"

His voice was low, and the look he gave our parents was filled with guilt and helplessness.

"Dad, Mom… maybe I should move out. I don't want to make Jeff unhappy."

Our parents' expressions darkened.

Pathetic as I was, I couldn't come up with a single word to fight back.

Shane was delighted, shooting me a smug, provocative glance.

"Shane, you're right," my father said.

Hearing that, the corners of Shane's mouth lifted, barely able to hide his satisfaction.

"In that case, you can move to the apartment in the city center for now. It's closer to your university."

The smile froze on his face. "I… I'm the one moving out? N-No, wait, that's not how this was supposed to go…"

"What's wrong? Didn't you suggest moving out?" Lizzie asked coolly.

Shane was left speechless, stammering for a long moment. As our parents' frowns deepened, he finally spoke in a wounded tone.

"Of course… he's your biological son. But I've been with you for eighteen years. Does all that mean less than blood ties?"

Before anyone could respond, he bit his lip and ran out, as if he were the one being wronged.

My father sighed and gently patted my shoulder.

"Jeff, it took us so long to find you. We want to make up for the eighteen years of love you were missing. So don't hurt yourself again. You've lost too much blood. You need to rest. We've already hired the best nutritionist and a psychologist for you."

After giving a few instructions to the servants, my parents left.

Only Lizzie stayed behind. She sat on the sofa not far from me, watching in silence, her gaze complicated.

"Why?" she finally asked. "You were finally brought back and finally became the heir of a wealthy family. What could you possibly be so upset about that you'd throw away a good life like this and choose death?"

I shot her a glance, irritated. She was meddling too much. What did my life or death have to do with her?

When I was a child, my adoptive father would beat me with a belt whenever he lost money gambling.

If my adoptive mother was in a bad mood, she'd make me kneel in a corner and starve me.

When I tried to fight back and called the police, it only earned me even harsher beatings from both of them.

Now, the way Shane looked at me was exactly the same—like I was nothing but trash.

I didn't dare take revenge on him, and I had nowhere to run. Was I not even allowed to die?

The more I thought about it, the angrier I became.

I threw off the covers, walked to the window, and pushed it open.

This was the third floor.

If I jumped… I might—just might—die for good.

"What are you doing?!" Lizzie shot to her feet.

I ignored her. One leg was already over the ledge.

Just as I closed my eyes, ready to leap, someone grabbed me by the back of my collar.