Chapter One
My wife's love is a sickness—and so is my daughter's.
The two of them thrive on seeing me jealous. They even went so far as to hire a man to play the part of a doting suitor, showering him with affection while treating me with cold indifference. Every time they caught the flicker of pain in my eyes, they would secretly tremble in excitement.
I knew their game. I saw through every cruel performance. Yet I never called them out on it. Instead, I played along, silently enduring as the centerpiece of their twisted charade.
That is, until the day Julian Vance and I were both struck by falling debris and rushed to the hospital.
The doctor's face was grave. "Both patients have suffered severely comminuted fractures in the arm. We have only one surgeon available for this kind of reconstruction. Who goes first? Whoever waits risks permanent disability."
As my consciousness began to fade, I heard my daughter's voice. Dahlia. Sweet, childish, but chillingly calm.
"Mom," she whispered, "let's save Mr. Vance first. If Dad's arm is ruined, he won't be able to tour for his piano concerts anymore. That way he'll have more time to spend with us. Don't you want his world to be only us?"
Silence. Then Chloe, my wife, answered softly: "Save Julian Vance first."
Thunder split my heart in that moment. I had always believed—perhaps naively—that my patience and love would heal their sickness. I never imagined they could be this cruel.
I closed my eyes. My last thought before slipping into darkness was simple, cold, and final: *When I wake up, I'm done with them.*
When I finally opened my eyes again, the doctor stood at my bedside. His expression was grim.
"I'm sorry. The surgery was delayed too long. Your hand will never fully recover."
The words echoed inside me like a death knell. My career as a pianist was over.
I turned my head. On the other side of the ward, Chloe and Dahlia were busy tending to Julian. Their laughter, their care, their energy—all poured into him. Not once did they stop to glance at me.
I caused no scene. I shed no tears. I simply endured the days in silence.
A week later, I was discharged. The first thing I did was call my lawyer. "File the divorce papers," I said.Then I began to pack.
As I walked down the inner corridor of our house, I paused before a door to my left. I keyed in my birthday—the code they thought I'd never discover—and entered the study.
The one room I had always been forbidden to enter.
Inside, the air was heavy with obsession.
Photographs of me covered the walls, the desk, even the hidden compartments of locked cabinets. My face—smiling, frowning, performing, resting—everywhere.
Everyone had said the Flaming Phoenix family never loved me. But I alone knew the truth: they loved me too much. To the point of sickness.
After my parents died in a car accident, my grandfather entrusted me to Chloe's family—the Flaming Phoenixes. The first time I saw Chloe, she was standing at the top of the staircase, her eyes like ice as she looked down on me. Cold, distant, untouchable. I fell for her instantly.
I spent years chasing after her. She never spared me a glance.
Even after we married—at her grandfather's insistence—she remained distant. Until one night, by accident, I stumbled into this very study and uncovered her secret. The woman who treated me with icy disdain by day… would spend her nights staring at my photographs, kissing them with obsessive fervor.
Our daughter, Dahlia, was a perfect copy of her mother. At five years old, she mirrored Chloe's coldness in public, but in secret, she collected strands of my hair. Their love was never gentle. It was desperate, obsessive, twisted. To win my undivided attention, they inflicted jealousy, orchestrated cruelty, even brought Julian Vance into our lives to sharpen my pain.
For years, I endured it. I thought patience might heal them.
But in the hospital, when I heard them say, *"Save Julian first,"* I finally understood.
Some love is nothing but a gilded cage.
That night, I threw everything into the trash—clothes, mementos, even the wedding ring I had worn for five years.
Just as I finished, a Bugatti purred into the driveway. Chloe and Dahlia returned, escorting Julian inside. As always, they ignored me completely.
"Mr. Vance was just discharged," Dahlia instructed the housekeeper, her small face sharp and commanding. "He'll be staying with us. Prepare the best guest room. Furnish it as if for the master of the house."
They glanced at me from time to time, waiting—hoping—for the usual storm of jealousy. In the past, it would have gutted me like a knife.
But now?
Now, I had no tears left to shed.
When my lack of reaction soured their expressions, they grew more animated, fussing over Julian as if to sharpen their performance. But I watched them quietly, my heart already far beyond their reach.
This time, their cage had lost its prisoner.
Chapter 2
Julian had begun acting as though he owned the entire estate. One moment he was critiquing the roses in the garden.
"These are nice, I suppose," he said dismissively, "but they don't suit the house. Red roses would be much better."
Without hesitation, Chloe ordered the gardener to rip out the white roses I had planted with my own hands and replace them with Julian's choice of red.
Next, he complained that the drapes were too dark. Again, Chloe obeyed without question, rearranging the house I had carefully designed until it became unrecognizable.
Through it all, I sat silently, watching. Julian grew uneasy at my stillness.
"I'm only staying for a few days, and already we've changed so much," he said nervously. "Won't Author be upset?"
"My husband's opinion doesn't matter," Chloe replied coldly.
That evening at dinner, the housekeeper served the meal. Chloe and Dahlia fawned over Julian. Chloe peeled his shrimp for him, while Dahlia pushed the choicest pieces of soup into his bowl—as if I were invisible.
Lost in thought, I lifted a spoonful of fish soup to my lips. Suddenly, a sharp bone lodged in my throat. My face drained of color as I clutched at my neck, choking violently. For a brief moment, Chloe and Dahlia's faces flashed with panic. They started toward me—
But then Julian clutched his own throat dramatically, groaning, "Ah! A bone's stuck in mine too!"
They froze. Their eyes darted between us. And in the end, they chose him. Chloe rushed to give Julian vinegar, while Dahlia cried for the housekeeper to fetch the private doctor.
My vision blurred as the bone tore cruelly at my throat. I coughed, blood spilling from my lips, before darkness swallowed me.
When I awoke, my throat raw and burning, I heard Chloe and Dahlia berating the staff.
"Who made that fish soup?" Chloe's voice was sharp. "It nearly killed Mr. Julian! All of you are fired!"
I forced myself upright. "Don't fire them," I rasped.
They turned to face me, startled. My gaze was hollow. The ones who hurt me most weren't the staff. They were the wife and daughter who stood by and did nothing.
Chloe's face hardened. "You don't get a say in this. We weren't worried about you—we were worried about Julian."
Exhaustion weighed me down. "How long are you going to keep this up?" I whispered.
"What did you say?" Chloe narrowed her eyes. Dahlia frowned beside her, as though neither of them had truly heard me.
Before I could speak again, the butler rushed in. "Madam, Mr. Vance is awake. He's asking for you."
Chloe and Dahlia exchanged a glance, then turned to leave without hesitation.
"You just rest," Chloe said flatly. "We're going to take care of Julian."
And with that, they were gone—without a single backward glance.
The days that followed were more of the same. Chloe fed Julian his medicine by hand. Dahlia never left his side, attending to him with tireless devotion. I knew it was all an act—an elaborate show meant to provoke me—but I no longer cared.
Then came Julian's birthday.
The Flaming Phoenix mansion glittered with extravagance. Crystal chandeliers bathed the ballroom in golden light, while a towering pyramid of champagne gleamed at the center. Guests whispered among themselves.
"Miss Flaming Phoenix certainly seems taken with Mr. Julian," one said.
"Indeed," another replied. "Author has been part of this family for years, and Chloe never threw a party like this for him. Even their daughter dotes on Julian. Author must feel like a complete failure."
Their words reached my ears, and I managed a bitter smile. Yes. A failure. Who would have guessed that a wife and daughter who claimed to love me could choose to express it in such a cruel way?
In the center of the room, Julian stood in a tailored suit, every inch the master of the house. Chloe and Dahlia clung to his arms as they presented him with lavish gifts and smiled as he blew out his candles.
But their eyes kept flicking toward me, searching for cracks in my mask—for jealousy, for pain.
I sat quietly in the corner, expression blank, as though none of it touched me.
And slowly, their smiles faltered.