Chapter 2

By the time I finished cleaning up the mess on the floor, the sky had already darkened.

The cold wind blew against my burned and blistered skin, and the pain made me tremble uncontrollably. I was just about to get some ointment to apply when my parents came back with Kayla.

Mom grabbed me by the collar and locked me out on the balcony.

"It's all your fault for scaring Kayla! Stay here and think about what you've done!"

I fell hard to the ground. The blisters on my arm burst open, staining the floor red.

Yet, Mom didn't even spare me a glance. Instead, she and Dad were huddled on the couch with Kayla in their arms. She even carefully peeled a clementine for Kayla.

Unable to hold back any longer, Hades said, "If you don't treat those burns, they could get infected. Hurry up and tell them to open the door."

I looked at him indifferently, and my emotionless gaze seemed to unsettle Hades for a moment.

"It's no use," I explained.

After I wiped the blood with the hem of my shirt, I walked over to the corner and squatted down. Then, I wrapped my arms around my legs and kept rubbing my hands together.

Hades couldn't wrap his head around it. "But I seem to remember that you're their biological daughter."

Indeed, I was the true daughter who had been brought back.

I was ten years old that year. I thought that having parents would mean a better life. But instead, it turned into one nightmare after another.

For ten whole years, Mom and Dad packaged themselves as parents who had gone through great hardship to find their lost flesh and blood.

To maximize their online traffic, they even bought a house specifically for me. Dad even donated a kidney to me because of my uremia.

This also got them in the news, earning them a grand reputation as parents who loved their daughter deeply.

They made a fortune off the persona they built around me. But in reality, they treated me like a maid. There was endless housework every day. They didn't even let me go to school, just to give Kayla a better environment.

In fact, it was Kayla who had uremia. And the one who donated the kidney wasn't Dad, but me.

I didn't answer Hades' question. Instead, I just lowered my head and sat there quietly.

The next morning, bone-chillingly cold water was suddenly dumped over my head. I was instantly jolted awake from my half-asleep daze.

Mom looked me over with disgust. There wasn't a trace of pity in her eyes.

"You slept all night and still don't know you were wrong? Look, you've dirtied the floor again. Clean it up right now."

I forced my weak body up. However, no sooner had I steadied myself than a wave of dizziness washed over me. Staggering, I braced myself against the wall.

At that moment, Kayla peeked out from behind Mom. In her hands were a glass of warm milk and a sandwich.

She beamed at me and said gently, "Elsie, just apologize to Mom and Dad, and it'll be over. Why must you put yourself through this?"

Before I could even open my mouth, Mom kicked me in the calf.

"What are you dawdling for? Hurry up! Kayla's going out shopping later, and there's a ton of chores waiting for you."

I stumbled and fell to my knees. Grabbing the rag, I started scrubbing the dried bloodstains on the floor.

I had barely finished cleaning the balcony when Dad dumped a dozen pairs of brand-name sneakers covered in mud in front of me and told me to wash them all by hand.

The moment my burned arm touched the water, a tearing pain shot straight to the top of my head. The blisters burst open in patches, and dirty water mixed with blood dripped down my arm.

The intense labor, combined with not having eaten anything, made me dizzy and feverish. On the verge of collapse, I quietly begged them to let me rest for a moment.

Mom splashed a basin of cold water onto my burning back.

"Stop pretending to be weak. You didn't die when you donated your kidney, so don't tell me you can't handle washing a few things."

Kayla sat on the living room couch eating imported strawberries and watching with a smile as Mom scolded me.

Hades stood in the shadows, his expression dark and frightening. He could no longer bring himself to say the words he'd uttered earlier—that a miserable life was still better than death.