Chapter 2

The moment the blade sliced across my skin, I felt a sharp sting, followed by warm liquid trickling down my wrist. I opened my eyes to see bright red droplets falling onto the carpet, like scattered drops of paint.

The pain somehow cleared my head. I hadn't made a fatal cut like in the movies—just a shallow but visible cut. The bleeding wasn't excessive, but enough to prove this wasn't a joke.

I pulled tissues from my nightstand drawer and pressed them against the wound. The bleeding stopped quickly. Looking at the bright red gash on my wrist, a thought suddenly struck me.

Since they think I'm acting, I'll show them what's real.

I picked up my phone and opened the camera. In the dim room, only the screen emitted a faint glow, casting everything in shadow. I adjusted the angle to clearly capture the wound and blood.

Click.

The photo came out clear—the blood, the wound, my pale skin—everything looked so real. Looking at the image, a strange satisfaction washed over me.

This time, they can't say I'm faking it, right?

I opened our family group chat "Martinez Family," which included my parents, brothers, and Grace. Usually, it was just them sharing Grace's various achievements or arranging family dinners. No one ever thought to ask what I was doing.

Taking a deep breath, I sent the photo with the caption: [Happy birthday to me. A gift to myself.]

The message showed as delivered, and then I saw those dreaded read receipts.

Miguel read. Carmen read. Diego read. Santos read. Grace read.

They all saw it.

I stared at the screen, waiting for their reactions. Maybe this time they'd realize the gravity of the situation. Maybe Miguel would rush upstairs, Carmen would hug me crying, saying they were sorry, that they were wrong.

My phone vibrated.

Miguel: [Nice makeup skills, looks so real 😏]

Carmen: [Why are you ruining Grace's special day? Such a mood killer 😡😡😡]

Diego: "You'll do anything for attention, won't you?"

Each message hit like a punch. They still didn't believe me.

Grace sent a voice message. I played it, and her sickeningly sweet voice:

"Nova is acting again. Last time she claimed she was being bullied, but security footage caught her running into walls to frame innocent classmates. Now she's using these tactics for sympathy, even making the blood look realistic. Sis is so creative—maybe she could be a special effects makeup artist in Hollywood someday."

A row of laughing emojis followed in the chat.

[😂😂😂]

[😂😂😂]

[😂😂😂]

[😂😂😂]

They were laughing. Laughing at my blood, my pain, my desperation.

Santos sent the final message, the cruelest cut: [If you really want to die, go die somewhere else. Don't put on a show here and ruin our mood.]

They think this is fake blood? That I'm acting? That I'm ruining their mood?

My hands trembled so badly I could barely hold the phone.

I looked down at the wound on my wrist, still throbbing with pain—real pain, real blood. But in their eyes, it was all fake, all lies I'd concocted for attention.

Even the bullying incident had become my malicious framing in Grace's version. It was actually her who instructed those girls to isolate me, forcing me to eat lunch alone in bathroom stalls. Now somehow I was the one who ran into walls to frame them.

I opened the chat history and deleted their cruel messages one by one. With each deletion, my heart grew colder. When the chat screen was finally empty, I felt completely empty inside too.

There's no place for me in this family. There never was.

I stood up and walked to the mirror. The girl staring back had a pale face and empty eyes, like I was already dead. I opened my closet and took out my prettiest white dress—the one I'd secretly bought myself for my birthday last year but never had the courage to wear.

Today was a special day. It deserved my most beautiful outfit.

I changed into the dress and sat at my vanity to apply makeup. Foundation, lipstick, eyeshadow—I took my time with each step. I wanted to make myself beautiful, like something out of a movie.

Because in fairy tales, princesses always leave this world at their most beautiful, making everyone who hurt them regret it for the rest of their lives.

I looked in the mirror at my perfect self. If they saw me like this, wouldn't they feel regret? Wouldn't they wish they had cherished me?

I took out a piece of paper and wrote my final words: "You'll regret this, but it will be too late."

My handwriting was neat, just like when teachers taught us to write as children. I placed the note on my pillow, then grabbed my room key.

This time, I wouldn't give them another chance to mock me.

I tiptoed out of my room. The celebration downstairs continued. They were toasting to Grace's future, completely unaware that I was preparing for my own ending.

I crept down each step, not wanting to alert anyone. This was the last time I would walk these stairs, the last time I would pass through these spaces I once thought belonged to me too.

I reached the top floor and pushed open the door to the roof.

The night wind hit my face, carrying October's chill. I took a deep breath. The city lights twinkled below scattered across the darkness.

This will be the last night view I ever see.

But as I fully stepped outside, I froze.

Someone was already on the roof.

A man stood at the edge, his posture elegant and composed, as if admiring some precious work of art. Not far behind him, a silver Maserati was parked, its body gleaming in the moonlight—clearly worth a fortune.

He seemed to sense my presence and slowly turned his head.