Chapter 1
"Please, Diana, don't blame Dad, Mom, and our brothers! It's all my fault..."
Before Diana York could even respond, a resounding slap landed across her face. The force was so powerful that half her face went instantly numb, her ears ringing.
The person who struck her? Her own biological father, Bodhi York.
"Ungrateful child! You know your sister has a weak heart! She's about to have surgery, and you dare upset her? How did I end up with such a venomous daughter like you?"
Diana raised her eyes, looking past his enraged face to the girl behind him—being protected by her mother and oldest brother—crying as if her heart would break.
Six years ago, Diana had been brought back to the York family from Rosewood. Back then, she'd been overjoyed, believing she'd finally found a complete family, blood relatives who would love her.
But over those six long years, she came to realize that she couldn't compare to even a single strand of hair on their adopted daughter, Leila York.
She was nothing more than Leila's personal blood bank, a dark contrast to highlight Leila's pure goodness, a disposable substitute to be sacrificed when needed.
Just like now.
As if she were the most wicked person alive, the entire family glared at her with vigilance and disgust, terrified she might do something to harm Leila.
"Dad, please don't hit Diana..." Leila spoke weakly, her voice trembling with tears. "I'll marry into the Russell family... Even though Rupert Russell is in a vegetative state, I'm willing to do it for the York family."
Every word she uttered was a strategic retreat designed to make Diana look selfish and self-centered. Sure enough, Diana's birth mother, Bella Lavien, immediately pulled Leila into a protective embrace.
"Leila, my darling! What nonsense are you talking? You're about to have heart surgery—how could you possibly marry for good fortune? That Rupert Russell is practically a dead man. The doctors say he won't last the month! You'd be marrying into widowhood while he's still breathing!"
Diana's "beloved" oldest brother, Idris York, shot her a look of extreme contempt. "Diana, have you no shame? Leila is willing to sacrifice her life for you! The Russell family specifically asked for a York daughter. If you don't marry him, are you expecting Leila to go to her death?"
That single phrase—"go to her death"—revealed the true nature of this marriage arrangement.
Rupert Russell, the head of the global financial titan The Russell Group, had suffered a catastrophic accident a year ago, leaving him in a vegetative state.
The Russell family had consulted countless specialists without success, until they somehow latched onto the superstition that marriage could bring good fortune and extend his life.
They had chosen the York family, and Leila was the "fortune" they had selected.
But now, with the wedding date approaching, she'd suddenly suffered a heart attack and was crying that she couldn't go through with it. So Diana, the true daughter who had been forgotten in the corner, was pushed forward instead.
How laughable.
Diana watched her family's united front against her, their perfect harmony in treating her as the enemy, and felt as if an invisible hand was squeezing her heart, making even breathing painful.
In the six years since she'd been found and brought back, had they ever treated her as family?
Leila wore designer dresses worth thousands; Diana wore clothes from street vendors.
Leila played piano and studied ballet; Diana was expected to handle all the household chores.
If Leila so much as whispered she felt unwell, they would summon a doctor in the middle of the night. But when Diana had pneumonia with a raging fever, they accused her of faking illness to avoid donating blood to Leila.
In six years' time, even a stone should warm up when held close. But their hearts remained glacial, never melting for her no matter what she did.
Now, with Leila at the center of everyone's attention, she buried her face in her mother's embrace, yet secretly glanced up to shoot Diana a challenging, triumphant look.
That glance silently proclaimed her victory: 'See, Diana? What does it matter if they found you and brought you back? Mom, Dad, and our brothers will always love me. You're nothing but an unwanted bastard!'
Diana felt a coppery taste rise in her throat, which she forcibly swallowed back down.
Did she regret coming back? No. She felt disgusted.
Diana finally gave up all hope. Under their shocked stares, she spoke slowly, deliberately, her voice eerily calm without a hint of emotion. "Fine. I'll marry him."
Then, without giving them time to react, she turned, went upstairs, and returned to the tiny attic room that bore almost no trace of her personal touch. It was less a bedroom than a storage closet.
Diana owned very little—just one small suitcase. Inside were a few changes of clothes, a photograph left to her by her adoptive mother, and a small medical robot still in development.
After getting lost at age five, she'd been adopted by an elderly professor specializing in biomedical engineering who had passed on to her everything he knew.
If not for that ridiculous notion of family bonds, why would Diana have returned here to be mistreated for six years?
The door opened, and Idris York entered, tossing a black credit card onto Diana's bed. "There's five hundred thousand in this account. Consider it compensation. Diana, don't blame our parents for being heartless—blame your bad luck. After you're married, behave yourself. Don't embarrass the York family."
His tone suggested he was dismissing a beggar.
Diana didn't even glance at the card. "I want my entire bride price. After this, I'll have nothing more to do with any of you."
Her coldness seemed to infuriate him. "What kind of attitude is that? Diana, I'm warning you—even if you marry into the Russell family, don't fantasize about rising above your station. You owe all of this to Leila!" Idris spat these words with disgust before slamming the door behind him.
Diana ignored him and the bank card, dispassionately unzipping her suitcase to organize her meager belongings.
The attic door opened again. This time, her second brother, Dash York, entered. Unlike the volatile Idris, he was always refined and elegant, wearing gold-rimmed glasses like a gentleman from another century.
"Diana." He approached with a glass of warm water, his voice gentle. "I just returned from court and heard what happened. Idris has a terrible temper—don't take it to heart."
He brought the glass to Diana's lips. "Our parents are just confused right now, but they do love you. If you truly don't want to marry him, I'll speak up for you. The daughters of the York family shouldn't have to sacrifice themselves for financial gain."
Of her three brothers, the second had always been the most gentle. Throughout those six years, he was the only one who seemed concerned about Diana's health, worried that her blood donations to Leila might be weakening her.
For a moment, looking at his concerned face, Diana almost believed she had once had a kind brother who cared for her—until she took a sip of water and immediately detected something wrong with the taste.
Years of medical training had sharpened her senses, instantly putting her on alert.
Diana set down the glass and looked up at Dash York, her expression blank. "What did you put in the water?"