Chapter 2

For a moment, I couldn't process what he'd said.

"What?" My ears rang with disbelief. "No—that can't be right," I said quickly, shaking my head. "I just paid you. You saw the transfer come through. The money's there. Why would you stop now? He needs this surgery, he'll die without it, you can't possibly—"

"I'm sorry. There's truly nothing to be done."

The floor seemed to shift beneath me. I staggered backward, my heart pounding so violently it ached.

Jimmy.

I fumbled for my phone, my fingers slipping as I dialed his number.

He answered almost immediately.

"Calling already?" His voice carried genuine amusement. "What's this about, Iris? Missing me so soon?"

"Jimmy!" My voice cracked. "Please, I'm begging you, don't do this. My father needs that treatment. I already paid, I did everything you asked, I drank every single glass, I—"

"And?" he interrupted, sounding thoroughly unbothered. "He had surgery last week, didn't he? Missing one round won't kill him. Unless you're telling me your father is truly that fragile."

My knees buckled beneath me.

"Please," I whispered. "I'm on my knees for you. Don't make him pay for this. If you're angry, direct it at me instead. I'll do whatever you want, just don't—"

"Of course this is punishment," he said, his tone hardening further. "This is for wounding and shaming Mirasol. Did you honestly believe you'd walk away without consequence after upsetting her?"

Silence swallowed everything.

The call disconnected.

And then—

A single tone.

Then another, unbroken.

I froze. Slowly, I turned my head. The line tracing across the monitor had gone flat. It wasn't moving anymore.

"No!"

The phone slipped from my grasp and struck the floor. I lunged toward the bed, seizing my father's hand. It had already gone cold. Far too cold.

"No, no, no... Dad!" My voice shook uncontrollably. "Please wake up. I'm here now. I brought the money, everything's fine now, you're going to be okay, so please..."

He remained motionless.

"Dad..." My grip tightened, my entire body shaking. "Dad!!!" The scream tore out of me and ripped through the room. No one answered.

—

I lost track of how long I remained there afterward. Hours, perhaps longer. By the time morning light began filtering through the window, I was still kneeling, my eyes dry and hollow.

He was gone. The doctor approached softly and pressed a letter into my hands.

"Miss Iris... your father left this for you before the end. Please, take care of yourself."

My hands trembled as I unfolded it.

Iris, my daughter. Please run. Don't let Jimmy destroy your life.

A broken laugh escaped me, and then the tears came and wouldn't stop. Even in his final moments, he'd told me to go. To keep living.

—

After the funeral had been arranged, after everything had finally been settled, after nothing remained to bind me to that place any longer...

I sat staring at my phone for a long while.

Then I dialed.

"Professor Hale," I said once the call connected, my voice quiet but unwavering. "I've made up my mind."

A pause stretched on the other end.

"I want in on the research project."

I shut my eyes. Jimmy had taken everything from me. But this time, I would be the one who walked away.

Professor Hale's voice trembled the instant he recognized mine. "Iris? Is that truly you? Are you certain about this? Has your father's situation been resolved? And what about the man you love?"

I closed my eyes briefly before responding, my voice flat. "My father has passed. And I won't love that man again. Not now. Not ever."

Silence stretched for only a couple of seconds, yet it felt unbearably heavy. Then his tone gentled. "Iris... I don't know what you've endured these past five years, but the periods that hurt the most are often when we grow fastest. Your life hasn't ended. It's only beginning."

Only beginning. I exhaled slowly. Was that even possible? After everything that had happened, could I truly start fresh? Still, I answered, "Yes. I understand."

Perhaps I really had cared for Jimmy once. He was attractive, occasionally gentle with me, generous with his wealth—he'd covered my father's medical bills and given me things I'd never dared to imagine owning. So what reason did I have to feel unhappy? I used to ask myself that question often.

Until Mirasol returned.

I still remembered that particular night clearly. Jimmy had never touched alcohol before, not once in all our time together, but that night he drank as though he'd lost all restraint, and then he said it—plainly, rawly. "Mirasol... I missed you so badly it drove me insane. If you weren't my step-sister, things could have been different between us."

I stood there, utterly frozen.

Later, I retrieved a photograph that had fallen to the floor. She was stunning, radiant, and bore a faint resemblance to me. That was the moment everything became clear. Between the two of us, he had never truly chosen me. I was merely her replacement—someone he could touch freely, use without consequence, someone around whom he never needed to hold back.

From that instant onward, whatever affection I'd still carried for him withered away completely. Yet I remained. Why? Because my father was still fighting for his life in that hospital bed, because I needed Jimmy's support to keep him alive. So I played my part, silent and obedient, absorbing everything Jimmy wished to inflict but couldn't direct at Mirasol herself. I told myself it was temporary—that once my father recovered, I would leave and never glance backward again.

But in the end, all that remained of him was his body. Cold. Lifeless.

And Jimmy still had the audacity to message me: "Do you even understand what you did wrong?"

I stared at those words for a long time. Did I understand? Was my mistake simply existing in his life? Almost without thinking, I opened his social media feed. Beach, ocean, a glowing sunset, and there he was, smiling freely beside Mirasol, utterly relaxed, as though nothing had happened at all. As though my father's death carried no weight whatsoever.

My chest constricted painfully. Everything he currently possessed felt like it had been constructed on the foundation of my father's life.

I clenched my phone tightly and hailed a taxi back to the villa. I needed to pack my things and leave before I shattered completely.

The moment I stepped through the door, I found him seated on the sofa, his expression dark. "Where did you go? Why haven't you answered my messages? Do you think you can simply vanish like that?"

I said nothing and walked past him.

He rose immediately and followed me up the stairs, then shoved me hard. "Iris, you upset Mirasol, and now you're ignoring me entirely? Who exactly do you think you are, taking your frustration out on me?"

My back collided with the wall and something tore open, warm blood trickling down, but I didn't react at all. I simply looked at him. "So what?" I said quietly. "What would you like me to do this time?"

He paused, clearly caught off guard by my response.

I tilted my head slightly. "How should I apologize now? Kneel on broken stone in front of your friends? Break my other arm to match? Or perhaps drink another thirty glasses until I lose consciousness entirely—would that finally satisfy Mirasol?"

For a moment he simply stared at me. Then his expression gradually smoothed over, as though nothing at all had transpired. "Pack your things. Come back to the family estate with me. Grandfather wants to see you."

I didn't move.

He added, almost as an afterthought, "I'll give you fifty million. You know what to say and what to keep quiet about. Don't embarrass me in front of him."

A small laugh escaped me. I couldn't even say anymore what exactly I found funny.