Chapter 4

The dinner table turned cold in an instant. My refusal had shattered their fake warmth, and for a long, tense moment, no one spoke. I pushed my chair back, ready to leave, but Jiang Muyan shot up from her seat, eyes blazing. "Anyway, you're a minor! You won’t get the death penalty—you’ll just be in jail for a few years!" Her voice rang through the dining room, sharp and desperate. "You’ll lose your freedom for a little while, but I’ll lose my life if they convict me!" She acted as if taking the fall for her was my duty—like my refusal was a crime worse than murder itself. At this point, my stepfather finally spoke, his voice calm but firm. "Yueyue, we’re family. We have to help each other out." Family. That single word made my stomach turn. And, as expected, the moment he said it, my mother instantly took his side. I had no love for Jiang Muyan. No connection to my stepfather. But my mother… She was the woman who had carried me for ten months. I knew her pregnancy with me had been difficult. She nearly miscarried, enduring painful injections just to keep me alive. At seven months, the doctors warned her I was weak—fragile. They told her to give up, that raising an unhealthy child would be a burden. But she refused. She fought for me. And when I was finally born—against all odds—I was strong. Stronger than most kids my age. My mother used to brag about it, telling anyone who would listen how she had defied the odds, how she and my father would always love me. I had known her love once. But she didn’t love me anymore. And the truth was… she hadn’t for a long time. I had just been too blind to see it. For the first time, I let myself accept the truth. My mother had abandoned me in every way that mattered. She must have sensed it—the moment I gave up on her. Her expression faltered, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her face. But then Jiang Muyan whined, curling into her side like the spoiled little actress she was. And just like that, the hesitation vanished. The last piece of love I had for my mother died in that moment. "No," I said, my voice unwavering. Her face twisted with rage. The next thing I knew, she grabbed my arm and shoved me out onto the balcony. She slammed the door shut, locking it behind me. "Stay out here until you’re ready to confess!" she snapped. But I had nothing to confess. The night air was cold against my skin, but for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel pain. I didn’t feel heartbreak. I felt relief. I looked up at the dark sky, where a few lonely stars twinkled weakly. People always said that when someone died, they became a star, watching over their loved ones. I hoped that wasn’t true. Because if it was, my father would be up there watching me suffer. And that thought was more painful than anything else. That night, I thought about many things. But for the first time in my life, I felt something I had never allowed myself to feel before. Hatred. And it was directed at the woman who had given birth to me. ********