Chapter 4

Arya

Chiara and I are twins, but she's hated my guts since we were in diapers.

If I got a toy, she wanted it smashed. If I had a dress, she wanted it shredded. She couldn't stand me having a single thing to myself.

Back when we were kids, My parents kept her in check. They'd slap her wrist and tell her to back off.

Then came the kidney surgery five years ago.

That was the day my life was stolen from me, turning me into the family scapegoat who supposedly "abandoned" My father, while Chiara wore the crown of a saint. Ever since then, every argument turned into a rigged trial. I was guilty before I even opened my mouth.

I stopped fighting back years ago. What's the point?

"Yeah, you won," I muttered to the empty walls.

Two hours. That was all the time I had left before they wheeled me down to carve out my last remaining kidney. By then, the ricin coursing through my veins would finish destroying my organs. Nothing would be left but a cold corpse.

When I'm dead and stiff on a slab, will My mother, My father, or Matteo shed a single tear?

Not a chance. They'd probably throw a party. With the family scapegoat gone, Chiara could finally rule the roost.

Out in the VIP suite, the three of them were already huddled around Chiara's plush bed. They were kissing her ass like she was a saint.

"Don't worry, baby," My father murmured. His tone was soft and sickening—a tone he never once gave me. "The surgery's gonna be a breeze. You'll bounce right back."

"I'm cooking whatever you want the minute you're discharged," My mother cooed, dabbing fake tears from Chiara's face.

Matteo stepped up, dangling a diamond bracelet right in front of her nose. "Won this at the syndicate poker game. Look way better on your wrist anyway."

They were so busy worshiping Chiara that none of them even remembered I was sitting in the corner, waiting to die.

I was used to being invisible. But watching this garbage right before my execution date still made me want to throw up.

"Would you guys even care if I didn't survive the surgery?" I blurted out.

My mother whipped her head around, her face twisting in pure venom. "What kind of sick trash are you spewing? It's a standard organ swap. Stop trying to make yourself the victim!"

My father slammed his fist on the tray table. "Shut your damn mouth! Cursing yourself like a stray dog—have you no shame? Chiara's the one who needs support here, not you."

"Yeah, quit whining," Matteo added, throwing me a cold, dead stare. "You've always been tougher than her. Stop acting like a coward."

Bile burned my throat. Matteo had promised me the world when we got engaged. Yet here he was, saving his sweet talk for the girl about to take my kidney.

Let them have each other. In seventy-two hours, my dead body would be all they had left.

The orderlies walked in, grabbed my gurney, and wheeled me toward the operating room. Not a single member of my family looked back.

As the underground surgeon lowered the scalpel into my side, the ricin finished rotting my veins. My breathing stopped for good.

Right before my eyes went black, one thought hit me:

When My father finds out it was my kidney keeping him alive all these years—and that Chiara traded my blood for a pack of lies—will he choke on his own guilt?

Probably not. And honestly? I wouldn't be around to watch him bleed for it anyway.

If there's an afterlife, I pray I never have to look at their faces again.