Chapter4

After the diagnostician finished that sentence, my father took half a step back. The living room stayed silent for a few seconds.

Vivian spoke first.

“Dad…” Her shoulders drew in as if she had suffered some unbearable grievance. “Dad, I never dared to say it before. I was afraid you’d think I was targeting her… but now that this gentleman diagnosed it, the more I think about it, the more it fits. The Marco thing was proof—she hasn’t been accurate for a long time, and she still forced herself to pretend she was. And because of that, our family lost thirty million…”

She lowered her head and sniffed. “I’m really scared. I’m scared that if she stays, she’ll drag you down too. Dad, you’re my only dad. I can’t just watch something happen to you…”

My father’s gaze stayed on me. His expression shifted—shock, then disgust. I recognized it. In my last life, he had looked at me the same way after someone declared that I would bring misfortune.

“I…” I took half a step back, my spine pressing into the wall. “Dad, I didn’t—”

“Shut up,” he said.

Vivian stepped forward again and stood beside him. “Dad… how about we lock her up first? We can figure out what to do after we’ve thought it through. She’s still my sister. I don’t want to see her end up on the street…” As she said that, she lifted a hand to cover her mouth, and her shoulders trembled slightly.

The diagnostician stood by the doorway, watching in silence.

My father stayed quiet for a long time. He looked at Vivian, then at me. Then he spoke.

“Deal with the basement door tonight.”

He turned away. He didn’t look back, only angled his face slightly. “Tomorrow, I don’t want to see her again.”

Vivian lowered her head, her voice very soft. “Okay.”

She walked over and grabbed my arm. Her grip was strong enough to make me stumble forward a step. “Come on, little sister.” Her lips nearly brushed my ear. “Don’t keep Dad waiting.”

As we went down the basement steps, my knees shook. Vivian’s hand never loosened until the last step, where she suddenly shoved hard. I pitched forward, catching myself on the concrete with my palms.

The iron door above slammed shut. The lock turned twice.

I lay on the floor, gulping air, curling in on myself as I scooted toward the corner, a hand over my face, my shoulders shaking uncontrollably.

I couldn’t cry out loud. They might still be listening up there.

I waited a long time. There were no footsteps overhead anymore.

I let my hand drop and felt along the inside seam of my sleeve for the small screwdriver—stitched into the lining, hidden on purpose last night.

I had loosened the vent hinge screws two nights ago. I crawled to the wall, found the screw by touch, set the driver into the slot, and turned. Once. Twice. Three times.

The hinge loosened.

I pushed the vent cover inward an inch. The duct was tight; my shoulder scraped against the sheet-metal edge, sending a sharp burn across my skin. I bit my lip and wriggled in, getting scraped again and again. I didn’t stop.

Near the exit, I heard voices above me.

The basement door was slammed open again.

“Where is she?!”

Vivian’s voice blew up, followed by the crash of the iron door hitting the wall and her frantic footsteps pounding down the stairs.

“Dad! She’s gone—! She’s gone!”

I stopped caring whether it hurt. I shoved forward with everything I had, knees grinding on the metal, elbows forcing the vent baffle aside. Night wind rushed in. I shot out of the opening and hit the grass, and I didn’t dare pause—I scrambled up and ran.

Behind me, the whole villa blazed with lights. Doors banged open. Someone shouted, “Search left!” I cut right.

The moment I hauled myself onto the wall, I tipped forward and nearly went over. My shoulder slammed into the iron post of the neighbor’s awning, and pain flashed white in my vision. I clapped a hand over my mouth and shrank into the wedge between the awning and a lawn mower. A flashlight beam swept over the fence line, slid across my face, and passed within two meters. I held my breath.

“Nothing here!” Vivian shouted. Footsteps faded.

I sagged against the post, shaking all over.

Then the back door cracked open.

The boy in the white T-shirt stood in the doorway, hair messed up, one button on his shirt fastened wrong, barefoot like he had been dragged out of bed by the noise.

He saw me.

His brow furrowed.

“In the middle of the night? How did you get in?”