Chapter 2

Chloe's POV

My mother's false promises echoed in my ears.

I had been the family sinner since I was a child.

I was only six when Vivian shook off my hand.

I begged her to stop, but she was kidnapped anyway.

Yet, my parents stubbornly believed I intentionally abandoned her.

In their eyes, my life was only meant to atone for her suffering.

Tonight, we attended a top-tier billionaire's charity gala.

Ostensibly, it was to celebrate Vivian's "upcoming recovery."

She paraded through the ballroom.

Vivian intentionally wore my limited-edition haute couture gown. She did it just to steal the spotlight.

Alexander stayed right by her side, fetching her drinks, introducing her to his elite inner circle.

While I could only stand in the shadows.

A dying ghost, dragged along merely as a prop.

Suddenly, a piercing shriek shattered the elegant classical music.

"You cheap knockoff! How dare you wear the same color as me!" Vivian screamed.

Desperate to prove her special status to Alexander, she arrogantly grabbed a glass of hot mulled wine.

She viciously threw it right at the woman across from her.

The scalding liquid ruined the woman's flawless makeup.

It destroyed her priceless gown.

But Vivian had picked the wrong target.

The woman was Kayla Pembroke.

The only daughter of a ruthless underworld boss.

Kayla screamed in agony.

Within seconds, heavily armed men in black swarmed the hall.

They surrounded my sister.

Mr. Pembroke strode forward, his eyes burning with lethal, bloodthirsty fury.

"Hand over the culprit!" the mafia boss roared.

His voice shook the crystal chandeliers above us.

He laid down the ultimate threat.

If the culprit wasn't handed over, the entire Sawyer family would be wiped off the face of the earth tonight.

Vivian's arrogant facade instantly crumbled.

Her legs gave out.

She collapsed to the floor, wailing uncontrollably.

"Alexander! Daddy! Save me! He's going to kill me!"

My parents trembled violently, practically dropping to their knees to beg for mercy.

But Mr. Pembroke was a stone wall. He remained completely unmoved.

He demanded blood for blood.

Alexander clenched his jaw.

Without a second of hesitation, he stepped in front of Vivian, shielding her behind his back.

"Mr. Pembroke," Alexander spoke up.

His voice was cold and impossibly calm.

"Give me three hours."

"In three hours, I will personally deliver the person responsible into your hands."

The underworld boss coldly scrutinized him.

Finally, he let out a dark, menacing scoff.

He turned and left with his men.

The immediate crisis was averted.

But it was only the start of a deadly countdown.

Instantly, every single gaze in the room snapped toward me in the corner.

Alexander's dark eyes held absolutely zero emotion.

"Chloe," he commanded.

His tone left no room for negotiation.

"You're going in her place."

My heart violently seized. "What?"

He was forcing me to take the fall.

"Vivian's body is too weak. She won't survive Pembroke's methods," Alexander lied smoothly.

He sounded completely justified.

"You two look alike. As long as you keep your mouth shut, they won't know the difference."

I stared dead at my husband.

The man I had sworn to love until my very last breath.

To protect another woman, he didn't hesitate to shove me straight into hell.

My parents nodded frantically, as if granted a royal pardon.

"Yes! Chloe, you have to go!" My mother rushed over, her nails digging viciously into my arm. "If you don't go, they'll kill your sister!"

Once again, they were trading my life for hers.

Without a shred of guilt.

I looked down at Vivian, cowering behind Alexander's tall frame.

Through her layer of fake tears, I clearly caught the cold, victorious smirk playing on her lips.

She knew exactly what she was doing.

It was entirely on purpose.

The drilling agony deep in my bones flared up fiercely once more.

A brutal reminder of my ticking clock.

I was going to die anyway.

Did it really matter if I died from bone cancer, on a black market operating table, or by a mob boss's torture?

What was the difference?

I let out a harsh, bone-deep sigh of exhaustion.

"Fine," I whispered. "I'll take her place."

The three-hour countdown began.

We returned to the massive Sawyer mansion.

Not long after we walked through the door, the sound of cheerful laughter drifted up from downstairs.

It was my parents and Vivian, rejoicing over her narrow escape.

They were popping champagne.

Celebrating Vivian escaping without a scratch.

That laughter was like a rusty saw, slowly cutting through my flesh and blood.

I dragged my shattered body up the stairs, alone.

I returned to my room.

Cold. Dark. Completely empty.

I walked over to the nightstand.

There sat a framed photo of our family of four.

Right next to it was my wedding photo with Alexander.

I stared at his handsome, smiling face in the picture.

A face that now only looked at me with absolute disgust.

I didn't shed a single tear.

I grabbed the family portrait and the wedding photo, and smashed them both into the trash can.

The sound of shattering glass was deafening.

Just like my heavily scarred soul.

Suddenly, a devastating wave of dizziness struck me.

I collapsed onto the edge of the bed, gasping painfully for air.

A warm liquid rushed out of my nose.

Trembling, I raised my hand to wipe it.

Blood.

A violent nosebleed, triggered by my bone cancer, dripped onto the pristine white sheets.

Large, blindingly red drops.

I scrambled for a towel, desperately trying to muffle the sickening, metallic taste rising in my throat.

Right then, the bedroom door was violently pushed open.

In a sheer panic, I grabbed a pillow.

I firmly pressed it down, hiding the terrifying pool of blood on the bed.

Alexander stood in the doorway.

He didn't see my face, as pale as a ghost.

"Time is up." He spat the words out heartlessly. "Someone is here to pick you up. Come out."