Part 3After Dying in the Fire, I Witnessed My Family "Selling" Me Cheaply for Money

"It's such a shame your sister died," my father sighed, pouring himself another drink. "I had already arranged a good marriage for her. We could've started preparing for the wedding next month."

"What a waste," my mother agreed, stirring her soup. "I'll ask around about a ghost marriage. Maybe we can still make some money off her."

A ghost marriage.

They were planning to sell my dead body off to a stranger.

Even in death, they still saw me as nothing more than a transaction.

The realization settled over me like a thick layer of ice.

I was never their daughter.

I was currency.

And now that I was gone, they were desperate to squeeze every last bit of value out of my corpse.

Tomorrow was Evelyn’s birthday party.

She slept soundly, curled up in her bed, looking peaceful, unbothered—alive.

I sat on the edge of her bed, staring at her.

I was no longer human.

I didn’t know why I hadn’t disappeared. Maybe it was unfinished business, or maybe it was pure, unfiltered hatred that tethered me here.

I wasn’t sure yet.

But I had time to figure it out.

If nothing else, I could learn how to make her suffer.

I reached out, trailing cold fingers over her cheek.

She shivered in her sleep.

A notification lit up her phone on the bedside table.

I glanced at the screen.

【Give money!】

The message was from an unknown number.

I frowned. Who was Evelyn supposed to give money to?

Was she in debt? Or was she paying someone off?

My mind spun with possibilities, but before I could process them, my mother entered the room.

She pulled the blanket up over Evelyn’s shoulders, tucking her in with careful hands.

A soft, loving gesture.

The kind I had never received.

I remembered all those nights I slept on the cold, hard sofa, my body trembling from the chill.

No one had ever come to cover me with a blanket.

I watched her move, hovering near the ceiling, unseen.

"Is the air conditioner too low?" she mumbled, rubbing her arms.

I smirked.

No, Mother. That’s just me.

The next morning, I witnessed something I hadn't seen in years.

A real home-cooked breakfast.

The table was filled with steaming dishes—both Asian and Western.

My mother bustled around the kitchen, her movements fluid, almost graceful.

I never knew she could cook like this.

When had she learned?

Then, it hit me.

She had to.

Because after I was gone—after I was sent away to work—there was no one left to cook for Evelyn.

She must have struggled at first, forcing herself to get better, to take care of her precious youngest daughter.

The daughter that mattered.

I watched as Evelyn stretched, rubbing sleep from her eyes before skipping over to the kitchen.

"Mom, your cooking is delicious!" she beamed. "I love eating the food you make!"

My mother smiled warmly, reaching up to smooth her hair.

The scene before me was perfect.

A cozy home. A warm meal. A loving family.

Anyone would envy this life.

And for a fleeting moment, I wondered—

Was it my fault?

Had I been too cold, too quiet, too difficult to love?

Had I pushed them away?

Had I done something wrong?

I thought back to the younger version of myself, desperate for affection.

I remembered standing in this very kitchen, eager to help, eager to please.

I remembered the way my mother had shoved me aside, irritated.

"Don't bother me! You annoy me just by being here!"

That was when I learned the truth.

I was only welcome if I was doing something for Evelyn.

That was the only way to earn their approval.

And even then, it was never enough.

I wanted to leave this suffocating house.

To get as far away as possible.

But whenever I moved more than ten meters from Evelyn—

I was pulled right back.

Like a leash.

Like a curse.

Like I still belonged to her.

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CHAPTER