Part 2Dead: Now I’m Their Beloved

The sharp smell of antiseptic forced my eyes open.

Another white ceiling.

Still not dead.

I laughed, but tears slid from the corners of my smile, tasting of salt and bitterness. I was so close. I almost made it home for my mom’s birthday dinner. The thought made me laugh harder, my shoulders shaking.

I sat up abruptly, still laughing, and pulled the IV needle from the back of my hand. A single, perfect bead of blood welled up, shockingly red.

Barefoot, I padded over to the window.

The twenty-eighth floor. Surely, I wouldn’t fail this time.

But the handle had been removed, and the glass was covered with a thick, shatterproof film.

Kian had turned this room into my cage.

The smile froze on my face.

The door opened and Kian walked in, flanked by two bodyguards. He had changed his clothes, but the oppressive aura was the same. His eyes fell on the blood on my hand, then to my position by the window, and his expression turned to ice.

“Aria. Are you done?”

He tossed a file onto the table. “The doctor says you’re suffering from long-term malnutrition and severe depression.”

“Is this your new strategy for gaining sympathy? Testing my limits with self-harm?”

“Mr. Archer,” I used his most formal title, “is a person happily preparing to go home just another line of code for you to debug?”

His expression flickered. A cold smirk replaced it. “Your behavior is illogical. Until I figure out what it is you truly want, you’re not going anywhere.”

He stepped closer, looming over me. “Today is the most important day for Zoey and Danny after their announcement. I don’t want her seeing any trashy headlines.”

“She suffered for twenty years before she was found. She doesn’t need you causing her more pain.”

He was afraid I’d die at an inconvenient time and spoil Zoey’s big day.

He turned and left. The door clicked shut, locked.

I don’t know how much time passed before it opened again.

It was my brother—my adoptive brother—Ethan Sterling.

He had the same cold, detached look, his eyes sharp behind gold-rimmed glasses.

“Kian said you were sick,” he stated, placing a thermal flask on the nightstand. His voice was flat. “Zoey is very worried about you. She couldn’t sleep all night. She asked me to come and check on you.”

Zoey again.

I didn’t move. I just stared at him.

My silent gaze seemed to unnerve him. He opened the flask, and the rich aroma of chicken soup filled the room.

“Our cook made it. It used to be your favorite.”

My stomach churned.

I remembered when Zoey first came to live with us. She was frail and sickly, and the cook made her this soup every day. I’d taken one sip out of curiosity, and Ethan had snatched the bowl away, his face a cold mask. “This is for Zoey. She grew up in hardship, not like you. Can’t you be more considerate?”

But two years ago, when our parents died in a plane crash, when the house felt like a tomb, it was him. He was the one who had clumsily tried to make me soup, coaxing me, “Aria, please. Drink this. It will make the bitterness go away.”

And now, he was offering me the very soup that once belonged to Zoey, the soup that had branded me “inconsiderate.”

I slowly sat up and took the bowl from him.

A flicker of relief, almost imperceptible, crossed his face.

I smiled at him.

And in the next second, with a slight tilt of my wrist, I sent the bowl of scalding soup crashing to the floor. It shattered into a hundred pieces.

“Aria, what are you doing?!”

For the first time, Ethan’s voice was ragged, his perpetually cool facade finally cracking.

I ignored him. While he was stunned, I bent down and picked up the sharpest shard of porcelain. I didn’t say a word. I didn’t threaten anyone. I simply, in front of him, drew the sharp edge across my other wrist. Not too deep, not too light.

A red line appeared, then welled up into beads of blood that began to drip, one by one, to the floor.

“Brother,” I said, looking up at him, guessing the smile on my face was hideous. “The Sterling family’s charity… I’m just the thief who stole someone’s life for twenty years. I can’t accept it.”

“ARIA!”

Ethan’s scream was sharper than the sound of the shattering bowl. He lunged at me, grabbing my wrist. The warm blood quickly soaked the cuff of his crisp, white shirt.