My Death Was Never About You

I was the Whitmores’ biological daughter, lost to the slums. To survive, I’d worked nights in clubs—singing, dancing, drinking with customers, even flirting with them. They despised that sordid past. To them, I was a filthy burden on the Whitmore name. The only daughter they had ever acknowledged was Chloe. Their delicate, beautiful, beloved art prodigy. Fine. Then I would show them just how rotten a soul could hide inside that pretty angel. And drag them all to hell. Chloe’s painting had been stolen. The robber had slashed her right hand, cutting down to the bone. Everyone suspected I had hired him. Ethan Hayes held the sobbing Chloe in his arms and glared at me. “Lily Brooks, you’ve gone too far this time!” My father slapped me. “If we’d known what a vile little thing you were, we never would have brought you home!” They had stormed in together, and they swept out just as quickly, crowding protectively around the injured Chloe. Leaving me, the “culprit,” standing silently in the empty gallery. The bizarre paintings around me seemed to mirror the absurdity of my life. Everyone knew Chloe was an artistic genius. Tomorrow, this gallery was supposed to host her exhibition. She would unveil a painting she’d spent five years creating, one she had supposedly finished just days ago. None of us had seen the finished work. She’d said she wanted to surprise us at the exhibition. But half an hour ago, she had called us all, saying two robbers had broken in, stolen the painting, and slashed her hand. Through her tears, she asked me, “Lily, was it you? I heard one of them say, ‘That should make Miss Whitmore happy.’” “And you’re the only real Miss Whitmore.” Our parents immediately comforted her. “Chloe, you’ll always be our daughter. You’re a Whitmore, too!” Ethan rounded on me. “You know how important her right hand is! How could you have someone hurt it?” “Lily Brooks, you’re disgusting!” My name was Lily Brooks. That was what everyone called me. Yet I was the Whitmores’ daughter. Chloe and I had been switched at birth. The truth had only come out two years ago. I was brought back to the Whitmore family. Chloe stayed. Nobody in that house truly welcomed me, all because of my shameful past. The daughter they had raised fulfilled all their dreams. I was a tumor contaminating their name and bloodline. They hated me. They refused to believe me. Just like now. I hadn’t said or done anything. I had merely stood there, and somehow that made me the criminal who had hired thugs to hurt Chloe. Her hand was badly injured. The doctor said she might never again be able to hold a brush for long periods. Ethan looked as if he wanted to tear me apart. “You’ve destroyed her future!” Looking at the man I had known for ten years, I finally asked the question I could no longer swallow. “From beginning to end, the only thing pointing to me is something Chloe said. There isn’t a single piece of evidence. Why are you so sure I did it?” “Isn’t her word enough? You used to do things like this all the time. This is exactly the kind of person you are!” I gave a cold laugh. “All those things I did back then—wasn’t it so you’d have the money to chase your dream? “You were the one who benefited from all that filth. Have you forgotten?”Embarrassment flickered across his face. “Can you stop bringing up the past? What’s the point?” But weren’t they the ones who kept using my past to punish me? I met Ethan on a street in the slums. Back then, he was just Ethan. A group of thugs were beating him. I played a police siren on my phone and scared them away. He shared a piece of his bread with me. You needed friends to survive in that neighborhood, so we became friends. He told me he loved painting. He said an accomplished artist passing through had once told him he had talent. Art supplies cost money. Paint cost money. Lessons cost money. So I found ways to earn it. “I’ll take care of the money. You just stay home and paint.” But making money was never that simple. I collected scrap, swept streets, and delivered food through blazing heat and pouring rain. Meanwhile, I could only bring myself to eat other people’s leftovers. It was too slow. Nowhere near enough to cover his expenses. So I started working in clubs. I sang, danced, sold drinks, and flirted with customers willing to pay. The money started pouring in. Back then, I was naive enough to think he would worry about me. I didn’t dare tell him where the money came from. I only said I’d found a generous boss. Eventually, he found out anyway. One of the girls at the club thought I was stealing her business. While I was dancing, she deliberately threw broken beer bottles onto the stage. I injured my foot and couldn’t perform for weeks. But I knew that if I let her have the stage to herself, she would steal my regulars. So backstage, I hurt her leg. An injury for an injury. Then we fought, and both ended up at the police station. I would never forget Ethan’s expression when he walked in and saw my heavy makeup and revealing clothes. Shock. Disgust. Revulsion. He said he never imagined this was how I made my money. And that I would even hurt someone to protect my own interests. I told him she had hurt me first. He wouldn’t listen. All he could think was that my hard-earned money was dirty. The brushes and paints I bought him were dirty, too. He smashed them all over the floor. I cried and apologized. I promised I would never do it again and begged him to forgive me. After a very, very long time, he pulled me into his arms. “Lily, I forgive you. From now on, you need to get a respectable job.” But I had no impressive education, no special skills. Those respectable jobs paid far too slowly. Ethan’s expenses couldn’t wait.I watched him grow more miserable each day, and eventually I went back to the clubs. I just hid it better. He was an artist with principles. I could be the “dirty” club girl. He said that once his paintings became famous, he would give me a good life. We would never have to live in the slums again. I looked forward to that day. I believed he could do it. And he did. One of his paintings won a national award, making him famous overnight. Then he vanished. The next time I saw him was after the Whitmores brought me home. He attended the family dinner as Chloe’s fiancé. After he became famous, the Hayes family had found him. They recognized him as their youngest son, who had been abducted years earlier. Just like that, Ethan became Ethan Hayes. And Ethan Hayes wanted to cut away every trace of the boy he had been. That past was humiliating to him. Even if I was part of it. Chloe sobbed so hard she looked ready to faint. “I don’t care that I got hurt, but that painting means everything to me. Lily, please give it back.” Our parents immediately turned on me. “Lily Brooks, hand over that painting.” “If you don’t return Chloe’s painting right now, we’ll have no choice but to put justice above family and take you to the police!” Family? When had they ever treated me like family? “Why will you only believe Chloe? Why won’t you believe me?” “We raised Chloe. We know what kind of person she is. She wouldn’t lie.” “But you? We thought you might have changed after two years with us. Apparently, you’re still as rotten as ever!” The small hospital room felt so suffocating I could barely breathe. “Then call the police.” When I got home, I found all my belongings packed up and thrown into the yard. I asked the housekeeper what was going on. “Your parents ordered it. They said you’re not allowed back in this house until you return Miss Chloe’s painting.” They had thrown me out. It was finally time to wake up from this little dream of finding my family. When the Whitmores first found me, I’d been so excited I couldn’t sleep all night. I thought I finally had a family. Even when they treated me badly, I accepted it. I kept believing that one day, they would accept me. I had entered that house with one suitcase. I left with one suitcase, too. Over the next two days, I lost my job. Hotel after hotel refused to give me a room. Someone discreetly hinted that the Whitmores and the Hayeses were behind it. I gave a faint, cold smile, found a warm pedestrian underpass, and lay down in a corner without taking off my clothes. In my dream, I was back a few years earlier. Ethan had painted me sleeping. He had even included the drool. I smacked him in embarrassment, and he laughed as he pulled me into his arms. He said we would be together forever. The past I dreamed of would never return.When I woke up, I was in an abandoned factory. My hands and feet were bound. I had been kidnapped. My kidnapper was a rough-looking man holding a knife. The blade pressed against my neck. One wrong move, and it would cut into my flesh. “Give me five hundred thousand dollars, and I’ll let you go.” I assumed he knew I was the Whitmores’ daughter and wanted ransom. “I have nothing to do with the Whitmores anymore. They won’t pay you.” “I don’t want their money. I want yours. Or you can get someone else to put together the five hundred thousand.” I had never heard such a ridiculous ransom demand. “I don’t have five hundred thousand dollars.” “Don’t you have a painting? That’s worth a lot more.” Suddenly, I understood. This was all a badly staged performance. A mocking smile tugged at my lips. “What if I don’t have what you’re talking about? Are you going to kill me?” He froze. Apparently, he hadn’t expected me to remain so stubborn with my life on the line. But the show had to go on. He moved the knife to my wrist. “Then I’ll cripple your hand.” I laughed until tears filled my eyes. Then I raised my arm and dragged it against the blade. He jerked back in panic, but a deep red cut still opened in my skin. “That—that wasn’t on purpose! You did that yourself!” “Why pull away? Just make the cut.” “You all think I ruined her right hand. Then ruin mine. An injury for an injury.” Realizing I had seen through their little production, they emerged from the shadows. All four of them. One complete, happy family. Ethan untied my wrists and ankles, scolding me. “Are you insane? You pushed your arm into a knife!” He tried to take me to the hospital. Chloe didn’t like seeing him beside me. She walked over and deliberately stepped between us. “Lily, we weren’t going to hurt you.” “I never imagined you’d use a trick like this to get our sympathy.” Understanding dawned on Ethan’s face. “Lily Brooks, you’re getting more manipulative by the day.” I shoved Chloe away. She stumbled into Ethan. “You know exactly where your painting went. When are you going to end this little show you wrote for yourself?” My father pulled Chloe behind him and slapped me across the face. “You never learn!” “Fine. As far as the Whitmores are concerned, you’re no daughter of ours. Get out!” The taste of blood filled my mouth. “Fine.” I spoke slowly. “From this day forward, I have nothing to do with the Whitmores.” “Or any of you.”