Chapter 3

Scarlett's POV

Father's fingers froze on my wrist, then abruptly let go. He collapsed back onto the sofa, covering his face as he erupted into coughing fits that sounded soul-wrenching—at least they sounded like it.

He gasped for air, his voice weak. "I've been home all day..."

I didn't respond.

I just looked at that pale face of his. For five years, that face had been written with pain, fragility, and dependence on me. I used to think it was real.

"Of course that wasn't you." I finally spoke, my voice steady enough to surprise even myself.

His coughing stopped.

The kitchen was cramped, moldy smell mixing with the scent of cheap cleaning products. I opened the refrigerator—only half a carton of eggs, a bag of wilted carrots, and half a loaf of bread left from last week. The diet of a "bankrupt patient."

My movements were mechanical. When my wounded palms hit the water, the pain shot through me like needles, but I didn't stop.

Rustling sounds came from the living room.

Then a lowered voice.

I turned off the faucet.

"...sweetheart, don't worry... of course Daddy remembers tomorrow is your birthday..."

The voice squeezed through the door crack.

"...the biggest surprise is ready... yes, at the mansion... your mother will be back too... our whole family will celebrate together..."

I gripped the kitchen knife tighter.

After the phone hung up, the living room fell silent.

I finished cooking, portioned out a serving, then took a pill from the bottle. A three-thousand-dollar pill. I held it in my palm for three seconds.

Then placed it beside the bowl.

I took off my apron and grabbed my coat.

"Where are you going?" Father emerged from the bedroom, already changed into that faded old pajama shirt.

"Night shift." I didn't turn around. "Food's on the table, medicine's beside it."

"Scarlett..." his voice trembled, "that person... really wasn't me, right?"

I stopped at the door, turned around, and looked at him. This man who once carried me on his shoulders to watch fireworks. This man who had spent five years, my entire life, performing a cruel charade.

"Of course not." I said. "My father wouldn't lie to me."

He deflated like all the bones had been pulled from his body, leaning against the wall to stay upright.

"That's good... that's good..." he murmured, not daring to meet my eyes.

I opened the door and walked into the cold wind of a New York winter night.

The next morning at seven, I pushed open the rental apartment door.

Father sat at the dining table, wearing that shirt with the frayed collar, his eyes bright.

"Scarlett!" He grabbed my hand. "Good news! Incredible news!"

I didn't pull my hand away, just looked at him.

"The hospital called!" His voice trembled with excitement. "They said... they said they found a suitable heart donor! 80% compatibility!"

I blinked.

"Really?" I heard my own voice, surprised, full of hope, perfect like it had been rehearsed a hundred times. "This... this is wonderful!"

"We need to go to the hospital right away!" He stood up, his movements agile for a supposed "heart patient." "The doctor says we need comprehensive tests immediately to determine the surgery plan!"

"I'll change clothes." He said, slipping into the bedroom.

Five minutes later, he came out, still in that shabby outfit.

"Let's go." He said, coughing twice.

The hospital corridor was blindingly white.

Before Father was led into the examination room by a nurse, he gripped my hand tightly. "Wait for me, Scarlett. When Daddy gets better, I'll make it all up to you."

I nodded hard, my eyes reddening. "If I could trade my life for your health, I would do it without hesitation."

He froze for a moment, his gaze flickering.

Then the door closed.

I stood in the hallway, watching the clock on the wall. 9:15 AM.

Vivian's birthday party started at ten.

At 9:30, the examination room door opened. Father walked out, looking "exhausted."

"The doctor said... we still need to wait for several test results." He gasped. "About two hours..."

"Then I'll go to my part-time job first." I said immediately. "I'll come pick you up this afternoon."

He hesitated for a second. "Okay... be careful on the road."

I turned toward the elevator, stopped at the corner, and slipped into the stairwell.

From the stairwell window, I could see the hospital's main entrance.

At 9:45, Father walked briskly out the side door. A black Bentley glided silently to stop in front of him. He opened the car door, and before getting in, he took off that old coat and casually tossed it into a roadside trash can.

Inside the car was a perfectly pressed charcoal gray Armani suit.

The Bentley drove away.

I leaned against the cold wall and smiled.

Then I turned around, went upstairs, and pushed open the door to the hematology department.

"Miss Pembroke." Dr. Evans looked up from his medical charts, his expression grave. "Your test results... aren't good."

I sat down across from him.

"The acute leukemia has entered the accelerated phase." He pushed his glasses up. "If treatment had begun a month ago, there might have been a 30% chance. But now..."

He stopped.

"How long do I have?" I asked.

"...A few days. A week at most."

I nodded. "Please have me cremated after I die. Send my ashes to the Pembroke house."

Evans stared, stunned. "Is that your home?"

I froze, then smiled. "It used to be. Not anymore."

I stood up. "I'll transfer the payment. Thank you."

As I walked out of the office, my phone buzzed.

Unknown number, one text message: "Come back to the mansion and see. Now."

I knew who it was.

The taxi stopped outside the Pembroke estate.

The ornate iron gates stood open, luxury cars filling the courtyard.

I circled around to the backyard, crawling through the broken window of the abandoned greenhouse.

From here, I had a full view of the great hall.

Under the crystal chandelier, Vivian wore a diamond tiara and an ivory custom gown, her arm linked with Father's.

Guests formed a semicircle.

"Make a wish, sweetheart." Father kissed her forehead.

Vivian closed her eyes, hands clasped together.

"I wish..." she drew out the words, opened her eyes, her smile sweet as poison, "to become Father's only daughter, to be the little princess of the Pembroke family forever."

Applause erupted.

Father reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a deep blue velvet box.

"Happy birthday, my sweetheart." He opened the box.

The hall lights focused on what lay inside.

My breath stopped.