Chapter 2

"Agreement Generating... Terms: Host, Anna Yates, hereby voluntarily relinquishes all social ties, identity, and assets in her current world. In exchange, the "System" will match you with a new world perfectly aligned with your soul's essence and provide an ideal initial identity.

"Execution Method: Irreversible physical death. Countdown: 168 hours."

As the icy voice in my mind fell silent, I felt something being drawn out of me—something heavy, viscous, the emotion named "hope."

The world instantly sharpened into quiet clarity.

Grace was still shrieking, "What is that look on your face? So resentful! I'm telling you, Anna, if you dare upset Marissa today, you can get out!"

James added coldly, "Apologize."

David, steadying Marissa, who looked like she might collapse any second, frowned deeply. "Anna, stop making a scene."

They were all sticking to their roles in this victim-blaming drama, like it was some kind of play.

How predictable. Not even a new line.

As I watched them, a profound boredom settled over me.

I didn't freak out or start bawling as they expected.

Calmly, I walked to Marissa.

She flinched, burying herself deeper into David's embrace, tears falling like scattered beads.

"Anna, please... don't look at me like that. I'm scared. I know you blame me. I shouldn't have come back. I'll give Mom, Dad, and James back to you. I'll leave..."

Her performance was flawless. Every tear, every trembling syllable accused me of cruelty.

Sure enough, Grace stormed over, trying to shove me away.

"You crazy woman! What are you trying to do to Marissa?" Grace yelled.

I stepped back, avoiding her grasp.

Then, I bowed slightly to Marissa. "I'm sorry."

A dead silence choked the living room.

Stunned faces all around. They had prepared a thousand accusations, but not for this.

Marissa's tears were still clinging to her lashes, frozen in place.

I looked at her shocked face and continued, "I shouldn't have brought out my homemade gift on your big ten-year homecoming and killed the vibe for everyone. I shouldn't have even thought I'd get a birthday wish from my family, just to make things awkward for you. And I definitely shouldn't have expected my husband to care about me after you lost your baby, just to make you feel bad."

My voice was calm, not a single ripple in it.

Each word hung in the air, a silent slap to the faces of the Yates family.

Grace's face alternated between red and pale.

James' icy stare shifted to shock and suspicion.

David's hand froze mid-air.

Ignoring them, I turned toward my studio—the only space in this house that was mine.

Inside stood my easels, rows of paints, brushes, and stretched canvases.

I picked up a nearly finished oil painting, "White-Plumed Swan", a piece I had poured six months into for this year's Royal Art Prize.

It was the one passion I hadn't abandoned since being brought from that poor village to this family, and the thing they deemed most "unbecoming."

Grace often complained, "What's the use of holing up in there, daubing paint? No decorum for a socialite. An embarrassment."

James would say, "Your time is better spent on flower arranging or equestrian lessons. Marissa excels in those."

David offered empty consolation. "I know you enjoy it, Anna, but keep it as a hobby. Don't embarrass yourself publicly."

They never understood—this was the only ray of hope I clung to from those dark years of my childhood.

Marissa followed me in, lingering at the doorway, her voice barely above a whisper, timid and apologetic. "Anna, I'm sorry. I didn't mean for this to happen..."

I glanced back at her, who was holding a glass of red wine, probably here to pretend we're having some deep talk.

She bit her lip, tears welling again. "I know you dislike me. But they're my family now. I can't lose them..."

Here came the classic fake innocent routine.

I said nothing, quietly watching her performance.

Seeing no reaction, she stepped forward to take my hand. "Can't we talk, Anna? We're sisters."

Just as her hand was about to touch mine, she "accidentally" slipped—yeah, right.

"Ah!" She let out a sharp scream.

The crimson wine arced through the air, splashing across the canvas in a violent stain.

The white swan seemed to bleed.

All my effort was ruined in a heartbeat.

Marissa gasped, hand over her mouth, a flash of triumphant glee in her eyes—so brief one might doubt it was ever there. But I saw it.

"No! No! Anna, I swear I didn't mean to!" she cried, scrambling to wipe the stain, only making it spread even worse.

The others came running the moment they heard her scream.

First thing they saw: Marissa on the floor, and me, just standing there, expressionless, staring at my ruined painting.

"Marissa!" David and James rushed to her side at the exact same moment, practically tripping over each other to help her up.

"Are you alright? Did you get hurt anywhere?" they blurted out, voices full of panic.

Grace charged at me. Taking in the destroyed artwork, she showed no pity. Instead, her hand swung hard.

The slap rang out, crisp and loud.

My head snapped to the side, the sting blooming across my cheek.

"Anna! You lunatic! Marissa came in here to comfort you, and you pushed her? You even staged this to frame her! How could you be so cruel?" Grace screamed.