Chapter 2

My soul was trapped in Donovan Manor, drifting like a forgotten ghost through the halls of the home that should have been mine.

The engagement party had ended, and the house finally settled into silence.

The moonlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a faint blue glow upon my soul, reflected on the marble floor.

Lilith walked upstairs arm in arm with Jerry, her laughter hearty and crisp.

I drifted behind them, watching as Jerry tenderly kissed her forehead and as she coyly nudged his chest at the door.

"Good night, my dear," Jerry murmured in a tender voice.

That scene cut right through me.

When I first came to the house, Jerry was the only one who showed me kindness.

I remember how he would patiently teach me to use all those intricate pieces of silverware, and after Lilith played her little tricks on me, he'd discreetly slip me a handkerchief.

He reassured me. "Don't be mad at Lilith. She's just a bit spoiled."

How foolish I was to think he truly cared about me.

I didn't realize the truth until that day when I caught them kissing in the garden.

When Lilith spotted me, she didn't let go of Jerry. Instead, she locked eyes with me and kissed even more affectionately with a defiant look.

Jerry's arm wrapped tightly around her waist, as if she were the most precious treasure in the world.

I drifted after Lilith into her bedroom—the very room that should have been mine.

She hummed a tune as she removed her makeup, pausing to admire her flawless features in the mirror.

Suddenly, her expression froze, and a shadow passed over her eyes.

"I know you're watching," she said to the empty air.

I suddenly froze. Could she actually sense me?

"Emily, if you're really here, then enjoy the show," she said with a cold smile. "Watch how I take everything that should have been yours. Jerry, Mom and Dad's love, and everything the Donovan family has all belong to me now."

My soul shuddered, fury blazing within me like an uncontrollable fire.

I realized in shock that she knew it all along.

She knew exactly what she was doing and knew what she was stealing from me.

Lilith walked over to the dressing table and carefully took out a small box from the drawer's deepest corner.

She opened it, revealing a photo of Jerry and me.

That was the only photo we ever took together.

My face in the photo was riddled with pinpricks, barely recognizable—like she wanted to erase me completely.

"Do you really think he ever had feelings for you?" she sneered at the photo. "It was nothing but pity. I told him to get close to you and be nice to you—all so that when you lose him, the pain would be absolutely crushing."

Her words slithered into my ears like a venomous snake.

It turned out that it was a trap from the very beginning.

Lilith picked up the scissors and cut the photo into fragments.

"How wonderful that you're dead," she whispered. "Now, no one will ever say the Donovan family has a daughter raised in the slums. I'm the one and only heiress of the Donovan family now."

I lunged at her, desperate to wrap my hands around her slender neck, but my fingers passed right through her body.

I forgot I was already dead. I became just a helpless soul.

Lilith suddenly shuddered and touched her neck. "That's weird," she muttered, frowning before walking toward the bathroom.

I drifted out of the room, through the hallway, and into Dylan and Mary's bedroom.

They had already fallen asleep. Mary's head rested on Dylan's shoulder, making a perfect picture of marital bliss.

How ironic. They showed nothing but cold indifference to their own flesh and blood, yet were so affectionate with each other.

"Dylan," Mary murmured drowsily in her sleep, "don't forget to invite the mayor to Lilith's engagement party..."

Even in their dreams, they were still thinking about Lilith.

To them, I was nothing more than a speck of dust.

I was about to drift away, but Dylan's voice suddenly cut through the silence.

"Well... Should we tell Declan about Emily's death?" His voice was barely above a whisper, yet it pierced through the stillness of the night.

Mary rolled over and scoffed, "Why bother? She chose to run away from home. She brought her death to herself."

"But she is our birth daughter, after all," Dylan murmured.

Mary sneered, "Oh, come on. Forget it. Lilith is the one we raised. Emily is just a vulgar, crude girl with no sense of basic manners. Do you know what neighbors say behind our backs? They say we brought home a country bumpkin."

"Well..." Dylan sighed. "It's probably for the best that she's gone. Otherwise, Lilith would've been devastated."

I hovered there. The pain in my heart was so raw that it felt like my soul was being ripped to shreds.

That was how my parents reacted upon hearing I was dead.

I worked myself to the bone trying to earn their approval—studying etiquette, cramming for extra classes, and even enrolling in an elite private school.

No matter how hard I tried, in their eyes, I would always be the vulgar country bumpkin.

Lilith, on the other hand, didn't have to lift a finger to get all their love.

I drifted out of their bedroom and floated into Declan's room.

I still remember his gentle smile when I first came home.

But that smile quickly faded, giving way to impatience and icy indifference.

Declan was still working on his computer.

The glow from the screen illuminated his sharply defined features—a face that bore some resemblance to mine. We both inherited Dylan's tall nose and Mary's thin lips.

His phone lit up with a message from Lilith. [Declan, can you come with me to try on wedding dresses tomorrow?]

Declan replied instantly. [Sure, my little princess.]

Princess—that was what he always called Lilith. But me? He'd either coldly call me by my name, or worse, act like I didn't even exist.

Beside his computer sat a framed photo of Declan and Lilith together.

In the photo, Declan was giving little Lilith a piggyback ride, both of them beaming.

That was a memory forever beyond my reach.

I suddenly remembered that shortly after I returned to the Donovan family, I summoned up the courage to ask Declan if he could take me out too.

"I'm busy," he muttered without looking up, his eyes glued to his phone.

"Just one hour," I pleaded, barely daring to look up. "Maybe we could go grab a coffee, or..."

"Can you just stop bugging me?" He scowled and snapped, "Lilith never pestered me like this."

I remember that night, Lilith skipped cheerfully into Declan's room, clinging to his arm and asking him in a sweet voice to watch a movie with her.

Without a moment's hesitation, Declan dropped everything and accompanied Lilith to the home theater.

I stood in the shadows of the hallway, watching them walk away together. For the first time, it hit me that in this family, I'd always be an outsider.

Memories came flooding back, and I couldn't help but recall just how blatantly Declan favored Lilith over me.

On her birthday, he surprised her with a brand-new sports car.

On my birthday, he couldn't even be bothered to pick out a gift himself—he just told his assistant to grab a random designer handbag to brush me off.

When Lilith caught a cold, he drove through the night to get her favorite food. But when I was burning up with a 104-degree fever, he didn't even step into my room.

And now I was dead, and Declan didn't even know that. Or maybe he did, but it made no difference to him.

I drifted over to Declan's desk and watched as he opened a folder. Inside were the meticulous planning documents for Lilith's engagement party.

He pored over every detail, making occasional notes, with the kind of focus you'd expect from someone closing a multi-million dollar contract.

"Lilith's engagement party must be absolutely flawless," he murmured to himself.

What about my funeral? What about my death? Did I not even deserve a single thought?

Rage and sorrow surged violently through my soul, and suddenly, an eerie wind swept through the room.

Declan shuddered and glanced up at the AC vent.

"That's strange," he muttered absentmindedly and immediately returned to his work.

I couldn't bear to watch it any longer. Drifting through the walls, I went to the garden.

In the garden, my ashes had already blended into the soil.

Tomorrow, the gardener would plant new rose bushes here—Lilith's favorite variety.

What a cruel irony. My life ended right here, reduced to nothing but fertilizer for her happiness.

As the night breeze swept by, I was suddenly overcome with deep exhaustion.

Could a soul grow weary? I had no idea.

But I knew I was trapped here, with no escape from this torment.

I was trapped in this place that should have been my "home," forced to watch as those who took everything from me continued living their happy lives.

One by one, the lights in the house went out, until only Lilith's room remained bright.

Drifting closer, I saw Lilith on a video call with Jerry.

"Jerry, I'm so happy today," she cooed. Her feigned voice made me sick. "You know what? I keep feeling Emily's soul is watching me."

Jerry chuckled from the other end of the screen. "Stop overthinking. She's dead. She'll never bother us again."

"But..." Lilith nibbled her lower lip in pretended worry, her voice dropping slightly. "What if she really has become a ghost?"

"So what?" Jerry's voice turned icy. "She couldn't even compete with you when she was alive, and what could she possibly do after she died?"

His words were the final straw that completely shattered my last shred of hope.

I was naive enough to believe that Jerry had ever truly cared for me, even just a little.

Now I finally understood that I was nothing but a pathetic joke in their love game.

Lilith smiled, blew a kiss at the camera, and said, "I love you, Jerry."

Jerry replied, "I love you too, my dear. Sweet dreams."

The screen went dark as Lilith turned off the lights and settled into bed.

I hovered at the foot of her bed, watching as she slept peacefully.

Even in her sleep, this woman still looked absolutely flawless, like a real-life Sleeping Beauty straight out of a fairy tale.

However, I was the forgotten Cinderella with no prince, no magic, and not even death could earn me a single pitying glance from anyone.

Moonlight slipped between the curtains, tracing a slender line across the floor.

In that pale light, I felt my soul grow even more translucent and more insignificant than ever.

This was how my story ended.

No one mourned me. No one remembered I ever existed.

Emily Donovan, twenty-three, died of stomach cancer and was buried beneath the rose bushes.

In the deathly quiet manor, only my vengeful spirit wandered, seething with unresolved hatred and anguish.

Tomorrow, the sun would rise again, and the Donovans would continue their picture-perfect lives, as if nothing ever happened.

I'd forever be the family's stain—a failed, discarded true heiress.

My soul couldn't shed tears, but if it could, I'd be drowning in tears right now.