Chapter 1

Chapter 1

My sister was bullied and humiliated by a local gang, yet there was nowhere to go for justice.

My husband, a top-tier attorney in the country and the only person capable of helping her, refused to lift a finger―all because he was busy tending to his high school sweetheart's sprained ankle.

In the sweltering July heat, I knelt on the scorching pavement, begging him to intervene.

He looked down at me with pure annoyance, helping his precious 'first love' walk away.

"It's just a petty case. Do you have to make such a big scene?"

"So she was harassed? It's not like she's going to die!"

Later, my sister had a mental breakdown and jumped from the eighteenth floor. I lost the person I loved most in this world.

Yet, on the day we divorced, he knelt before me, begging for a second chance!

…

When my sister jumped, I was still kneeling in the heat waves, desperately pleading for Silas Vance to pursue justice for her.

Silas stood there, helping Chloe Sterling―who had merely twisted her ankle―and watched me with cold, detached eyes, as if I were nothing more than a stray dog.

"Why is your family so dramatic? It's just some harassment; it's not like it's fatal. Why can't you wait a couple of days? Can't you see Chloe is in pain?"

"Can't anything wait until I'm free? Could you be any more selfish?"

"Besides, who knows what your sister did to bring this on herself? Do you really expect me to jeopardize my entire career for a woman with no morals?"

It was the peak of summer, but his words sent a chill deep into my marrow, freezing me from the inside out.

Ever since she had been targeted by those thugs, my sister hadn't dared to step foot outside. She'd been fired from her job and spent her days at home, wallowing in despair, wishing for death.

Even then, those monsters wouldn't let her be. They hired online trolls to spread vicious, salacious lies about her, and strangers would mail us razor blades and funerary urns. Some even left dead rats and splashed paint on our door every single day, driving her to the brink of a nervous breakdown.

The neighbors complained about the noise, and my sister had nowhere left to hide.

She was a kind soul. She had only tried to stop a group of thugs from hurting an innocent girl, and for that, she was marked as their prey.

We had tried to clear her name, but it was like tossing a pebble into the ocean―it made no ripple.

Silas was one of the best lawyers in the country. If he stepped in, my sister's name would be cleared in an instant.

As I listened to him slander her, my heart felt like it was being shredded. I kept repeating, "That's not true. She isn't like that. She's being driven to the grave."

But Silas just scoffed.

My sister had always been so good to him, giving everything she had whenever he needed support.

"Summer, you're disgusting me. I'm busy. I'll think about it when I have time."

"Besides, someone like your sister? I'd be embarrassed to call her family. If she can't handle life anymore, let her just jump."

Silas walked away, supporting Chloe. Before they left, Chloe turned back to look at me, her eyes filled with cold, stinging triumph.

In truth, we weren't blood-related. We had both grown up in an orphanage. Years ago, when I was small, my sister had sacrificed her best chance at adoption just so I wouldn't be bullied.

We had clung to each other until we reached adulthood. She worked three jobs to put me through school. While other girls were out shopping and focusing on their beauty, she was scrubbing dishes in greasy diners and picking through trash, wearing rags.

Even when I was at school, she always sent money on time. I never lacked for anything, not in terms of material things; she never let me suffer.

A girl like that, who gave her entire life for a sister who wasn't even related by blood.

Maybe because we were both abandoned as children, we hungered for family even more. We survived together until I graduated and landed a decent job, met Silas, and my sister started saving for our wedding dowry.

Though she was only five years older than me, she looked twenty years older.

I felt so much guilt and gratitude toward her. I never let her live a single day in comfort.

A loud thud snapped me back to reality. A dark, visceral feeling washed over me. A single drop of red liquid splattered onto my white sneaker. I looked down, dull and mechanical, trying to wipe it away, but the stain wouldn't budge.

As the crowd began to scream, I looked up. A circle had formed, and through the gap, I saw a wrist on the body―adorned with a familiar red string bracelet.

I kept telling myself I was wrong. The world was full of mass-produced trinkets; it couldn't be hers.

My phone rang. My hands trembling, I pulled it out to see a message she'd sent five minutes ago, one I hadn't noticed until now.

"Sis, I'm sorry. I can't hold on anymore. Please, you must live well. And stop being so kind to everyone."

My legs felt like lead. I slowly pushed through the crowd and saw her lying in a pool of blood. My body felt as if it had been struck by a high-voltage current, the pain shooting straight to the tips of my nerves.