Chapter 1

I've died three times.

The first time on an operating table, with a do-not-resuscitate order signed by my own mother.

The second time at a press conference, when my father announced to national media that he was cutting ties with me.

The third time in the freezing waters of a river.

And every single time, they were too busy fawning over their adopted daughter, Elena Shaw, to even notice.

But this time is different—I've been given a second chance.

I woke up on the day of the surgery.

The nurse made her third plea. "Mr. Ellington, Mrs. Ellington, we can't delay Miss Ellington's liver transplant any longer. She won't survive another postponement."

My mom rolled her eyes, her voice dripping with impatience. "She's not going to die. That one's tough as nails. Every time they say she's at death's door, and she always pulls through."

My dad sat in the hallway chair, scrolling through his phone without even looking up. "We'll get to the paperwork later. How's Elena doing? Did her test results come back?"

The nurse hesitated. "Miss Shaw just has a common cold. Her fever's already broken—"

"Still, we should go check on her." Mom stood up, grabbed her purse and headed toward the ward. "What if her condition relapses? Elena's always been fragile. Not like some people—thick-skinned and tough as leather."

I lay in my hospital bed, listening as their footsteps faded down the hallway.

It was the same in my previous life.

I was in the final stages of cirrhosis, waiting for a transplant. The only compatible donor was Mrs. Ellington—my own mother.

But she refused.

"Donating a liver is too hard on the body," she said. "Elena needs me to take care of her. I can't take that risk."

Eventually, I got another donor.

The night before my surgery, Elena complained of a stomachache. They ran tests and suspected cancer.

My mother canceled my surgery to take Elena for a full workup.

It was a false alarm, of course. Elena was perfectly fine.

But my surgery was rescheduled, and the donor went to someone else.

I waited three months, but no other donor ever came. In the end, I died in that hospital bed.

Right before the end, I heard my mother talking outside my room. "Her illness was terminal anyway. Why throw money away on a lost cause? Might as well use it for Elena's yoga classes. She's been feeling down lately."

In my previous life, I just couldn't understand it.

Why was my life worth less to my own mother than yoga lessons for an adopted daughter?

But this time, I didn't want to understand anymore.

I pulled out the IV from the back of my hand and propped myself up on the bed.

My phone was on the nightstand, the screen still lit up.

In the family group chat, Elena had posted a selfie. [Thank you, Mommy, for coming to see me. I'm so happy.]

Everyone had liked it.

My hospitalization notice had been in that same chat for three days. No one had replied.

I got dressed and walked out of my room.

Through the window of the VIP ward, I could see Elena in pink pajamas, my mother sitting beside her peeling an apple, my father on the phone arranging for a nutritionist.

My doctor stopped me in the hallway. "Miss Ellington, what are you doing out of bed? Your test results—"

"Doctor," I cut him off. "Please help me get discharged."

"But your condition—"

"I know," I said with a faint smile. "It's terminal, no donor, nothing left but to wait for the end."

He fell silent.

I walked past him and headed straight for the elevator.

Behind me, I heard Elena's sweet, spoiled voice. "Mom, I want strawberries."

"Of course, sweetheart. Mommy will go buy them right now," my mother replied.

Just before the elevator doors closed, I looked back one last time.

The hallway seemed endless, lined with countless rooms.

Not a single person noticed I had left.

*****

I took a cab back to the Ellington mansion.

The villa was brightly lit, and the servants were bustling around, preparing dinner—a huge seafood spread, Elena's absolute favorite.

The butler spotted me and looked uncomfortable. "Miss Ellington, you're back from the hospital? Mr. and Mrs. Ellington didn't say you'd be coming home, so we didn't make anything for you tonight..."

"That's fine." I headed straight upstairs. "I'm not hungry."

I went back to my room—or more accurately, the storage room Elena left behind.

When I was twelve and finally brought back to the Ellington family, Elena took over my bedroom, saying she'd get insomnia if she had to sleep anywhere else.

My parents didn't even blink—they just put me in the storage room tucked away in the corner of the third floor.

"Elena's been here since she was little, so just let her," my mother said. "It's only a place to sleep, not worth making a fuss about."

I put up with it for thirteen years.

The storage room had no windows, so it was always pitch dark. In the summer, it felt like an oven; in the winter, like an icebox.

Elena's room was on the sunny second floor, with floor-to-ceiling windows, a private bathroom, and a walk-in closet that was bigger than my whole room.

I pulled out the suitcase from under my bed and started packing up everything that was truly mine.

There wasn't much—just a few clothes, a photo of me and my best friend Yvette Winthrop, and a diary.

That was it. After thirteen years in this house, everything that belonged to me didn't even fill up a single suitcase.

Footsteps sounded at the door.

Ethan Ellington, my brother, pushed the door open with a frown. "You're discharged? Mom wants to know what you want for dinner. She'll have the kitchen make something for you."

I didn't even look up. "No, thanks."

"Maya, can you not be so dramatic?" he said, his voice full of impatience. "Elena's got a fever today, so Mom's just paying a little more attention to her. Do you really have to act like this?"

I paused, then looked up at him.

Back in my last life, Ethan was the person I trusted more than anyone.

When I was little, he took me to amusement parks, carried me down long paths, and said, "I will always protect you."

But after Elena said she wanted to go too, he never took me by myself again.

Later, when Elena said I'd pushed her down the stairs, Ethan didn't even look at me. He locked me in the storage closet for three days without food.

When I finally got out, Elena was curled up in Ethan's arms, smiling sweetly. "Elena, I forgive Maya now. Can you let her out?"

Ethan ruffled her hair. "You're just too kind."

I stood at the door, too weak to stand straight.

But not a single person asked if I was hungry.*****

"Maya?" Ethan raised his voice. "I'm talking to you. Are you even listening?"

"I heard you," I said, zipping up my suitcase after packing the last piece of clothing. "Ethan, let me ask you something."

"What?" he asked.

"If I was dying and needed you to give me half your liver, would you do it?" I asked.

He blinked, then laughed. "Seriously? Why are you suddenly talking about that? Elena already said you're faking your illness for attention—"

"Would you?" I pressed.

His smile faltered.

He was silent for a few seconds.

"Elena's not doing well lately. If I have surgery, who's going to take care of her?" he said quietly.

"So, you're saying you won't donate," I replied.

"I never said I wouldn't!" he snapped, clearly flustered. "I'm just saying, let's wait until Elena's feeling better—"

"Fine," I said, grabbing my suitcase and brushing past him. "I get it."

He grabbed my wrist, demanding, "Where are you going?"

"I'm leaving this place," I replied.

"Stop being so dramatic. It's the middle of the night—where can you go alone?" Ethan said, frustrated.

I shook off his hand. "Somewhere you people aren't."

He followed me downstairs, voice anxious. "Maya! Stop! Are you trying to scare Mom and Dad again? Last time you vanished for three days, Mom couldn't sleep—do you care?"

I stopped and turned to look at him.

"Mom wasn't worried at all," I said dryly. "When I returned after three days, she was in the living room with Elena, laughing at a Korean drama. She only said, 'So you finally came back,' then, 'Elena's hungry—make her noodles.'"

Ethan opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

"She wasn't worried about me," I said. "She was just bothered that I ran off, because there was nobody left to cook for Elena."

I dragged my suitcase out the front door of the Ellington mansion.

Behind me, Elena's voice was syrupy and pleading. "Maya, where are you going this late? It's so cold out, please don't leave, okay? It's all my fault, I shouldn't have gotten sick and made Mom worry about me..."

I didn't even look back.

In my last life, whenever I heard stuff like that, I'd get soft and start blaming myself for being too sensitive or petty.

But this time, I'm not buying it.

I ordered a cab and told the driver to take me to Yvette's place.

On the way, I checked my phone and saw the family group chat was blowing up again.

Elena sent a voice message, sobbing so hard she could barely breathe. [Does Maya hate me now? Did I mess up? Mom, I feel so awful... I'm really, really sad.]

My mother replied, [Don't bother with her, she's always like this. She'll be back soon enough.]

My father replied, [Yeah, let her see what it's like out there. She'll come running back once she realizes how good she's got it here.]

Ethan replied, [Hey, don't cry, Elena. Tomorrow, I'm taking you shopping—I'll get you a new purse, okay?]

I turned off my phone and leaned back in my seat.

The city lights outside flashed by as the car sped away.

Goodbye, Ellington family.

This time, I was done being the sad loser waiting for you to love me.