Chapter 2

My mother slowly crouched down.

Her previously straight back finally slumped at that moment, as if all her strength had been instantly drained away.

She raised her hands, covered in purple bruises from IV drips, and gently stroked my hair. "Becky, don't cry. Because Camilla is too stupid. So stupid that she'd never think of framing me for faking my illness. She could only eagerly show off the evidence I hand-delivered to her."

She gently caressed my face. "Becky, remember this. When Nelson eventually discovers that this report was forged, and when he sees with his own eyes that I've become a cold corpse... From then on, no matter what evidence Camilla produces about me or herself, Nelson will absolutely never believe her again."

The 'boy who cried wolf' trick, if played to the absolute extreme, could completely obliterate a person's entire defense of trust.

I looked at her, only half-understanding.

All I knew was that she was dying.

My tears fell even harder.

My mother's eyes grew red, too.

She pulled me tightly into her embrace, resting her chin on my shoulder, and let out a long, drawn-out sigh.

My mother was once a canary kept by a Wall Street financial tycoon.

And my father back then was just a down-and-out pianist, bowing and scraping at banquets, begging for sponsorships.

My mother merely sat on the tycoon's lap and acted a little coquettish, and my father received the massive sponsorship that changed his destiny, along with a ticket to top-tier concert halls.

Later, the financial tycoon went to federal prison for fraud.

Meanwhile, my father had ridden the winds of success to become an internationally acclaimed pianist worth hundreds of millions.

Amidst the undisguised mockery of New York's upper crust, my father retrieved the mother who had been treated as a trophy by the rich.

There was no nonsense, no disgust.

He dragged her straight to Las Vegas and signed a marriage certificate.

After the wedding, my mother was pampered by my father into becoming the most arrogant and delicate woman in Manhattan.

He gifted her an ancient castle in southern France and gave her a fifty-percent stake in all his solo tours and record royalties.

Even when my mother got pregnant with me, he threw down tens of millions of dollars to buy the permanent naming rights to an asteroid for her.

"Jamie is the only salvation in my rotting life." He had once sworn this in front of all the media, kissing the back of her hand.

He used to be a man of his word.

They could have continued loving each other so madly and happily forever.

Until my birth.

I suffered from a congenital heart defect, and my father had been constantly searching for a heart donor for me.

Three years ago, when my father first brought Camilla home, he held me, his eyes full of paternal love.

He said, "Becky, this is Camilla. Her heart is a perfect match for yours. She is a walking donor sent to you by heaven."

But what happened later?

I was critically ill and in emergency resuscitation. The doctors said they had to do a surgical rehearsal immediately and needed Camilla to cooperate with the examinations.

Camilla merely frowned and said, "I'm afraid of pain. I'll faint if I see the surgical lights."

To my shock, my father slapped my mother right in front of all the doctors. "Jamie, Camilla is a living, breathing person, not a cold organ! You are too vicious!"

I almost died on the operating table that day.

While my father was holding Camilla's hand, celebrating her narrow escape at an open-air restaurant in Manhattan.

When I snapped back to reality, my mother was already sitting in front of that old vinyl recorder.

It was the only gift my father had given her before he became famous.

Trembling, she pressed the record button.

"Nelson, this is the tenth year. Do you still remember what you said when you proposed under the Brooklyn Bridge?"

My mother's voice was faint and broken.

She wanted to carve this decade of humility, concessions, and the vows my father had once made with his own mouth into this vinyl record, word by word.

She recorded very slowly, stopping to gasp violently for air after every sentence.

It was her final weapon to protect me.

Halfway through recording, she suddenly shuddered all over, toppling from the chair without any warning and smashing heavily onto the floor.

"Mom! Zoey! Somebody help!" I roared in terror.

Outside the window, a New York rainstorm poured down without warning.

I couldn't afford to wait for Zoey. With trembling hands, I rummaged through the drawer for the special painkillers my mother usually took.

It was empty.

I looked at my mother's face, twisted in agony, and my heart contracted.

I grabbed the supplementary credit card my father had given my mother and plunged headfirst into the freezing rain.

I had to get the medicine; I couldn't let her die from the pain like this!

The torrential rain pricked my face like needles.

I ran desperately, my broken heart drumming madly against my ribs.

I fell into the mud, my knees scraped bloody, then scrambled back up to my feet.

Finally, I burst into the 24-hour pharmacy on the corner.

"Medicine! Give me the painkillers in this medical record! Hurry!" I slammed the black card onto the counter, completely soaked, looking like a maniac.

The cashier gave me a look of pity and swiped it through the machine.

Beep— The red light flashed.

"I'm sorry, little girl, but this card is frozen."

I froze. "Impossible! Try it again! This is an unlimited card!"

"It really won't work. The system shows the account has been closed by the primary cardholder."

Trembling, I took out my phone and dialed my father's number.

It rang for a long time before the call was picked up.

It wasn't my father who answered, but Camilla.

"Hello? Who is this?" Her voice was languid.

"Let my dad answer the phone! What right does he have to freeze the card? My mom is dying from the pain, and I need to buy medicine!" I roared despairingly into the phone.

Camilla chuckled lightly. "Oh, it's Becky. Nelson said this is a lesson for Jamie."

"Since she bribed a doctor to forge a report, that means she doesn't need painkillers at all, right?"

"You're talking nonsense! That was fake! My mom is really throwing up blood!"

"Whether it's true or not, Nelson doesn't care anymore." Camilla's tone suddenly rose, carrying uncontainable excitement. "Do you know where we are? We're on the George Washington Bridge. To celebrate the complete success of my solo recital tonight, Nelson specially closed off the bridge to set off fireworks for me."

"Now the traffic in the entire city is paralyzed; there are traffic jams everywhere."

"Nelson said the fireworks tonight are even more beautiful than when he first met your mother."

"You..." I was just about to speak when a sudden, electric shock of agonizing pain shot through my heart.

My vision went black, and I collapsed onto the floor.

When I woke up again, the first thing I saw was Zoey's bloodshot eyes.

"Becky, you're finally awake! You were in shock for two whole hours!"

I turned my head and saw my mother lying in the adjacent hospital bed.

She looked at me, her voice as cold as if it had crawled up from hell. "Nelson didn't answer the phone, did he?"

My nose stung, and tears rolled down in streams.

Just then, my father's assistant, Jack, called.

"Madam, photos of Mr. Knight and Miss Camilla picking out furniture for a nursery have been exposed. Now the entire internet is gossiping about Mr. Knight's private life."

The assistant's voice was as cold and indifferent as a robot's.

"Mr. Knight wants you to record a clarification video immediately. Just say that Miss Camilla is his relative, and they were picking out furniture for a friend's baby. Mr. Knight said these trivial matters cannot be allowed to affect the box office of his tour next month."