Faking My Death to Escape My Screwed-up Family

I opened the photo album.

Thousands upon thousands of pictures—every single one capturing moments of the three of them together. Trips, celebrations, everyday life.

In one video, Clara—who had never so much as lifted a finger in the kitchen—stood proudly behind a three-tiered cake she had made herself, laughing as she playfully smeared frosting on Henry’s nose.

For his birthday, she had gifted him the deed to a luxury villa in the heart of the city which was worth billions.

Wyatt, not to be outdone, had handed him the keys to a Bugatti, vowing with absolute sincerity, "You’ll always be my only true brother in this life."

And yet—the photos of us, of the twelve years we had spent together—studying side by side, saving each other seats, teaming up in games, sharing a single cup of instant noodles, promising to grow old in the same retirement home—had all been deleted. Not a single one remained, except in the trash bin.

My vision blurred.

My heart felt like it was being carved apart.

How?

How could a friendship that had once meant everything suddenly become nothing?

I scrolled absently, until my fingers accidentally opened a private group chat—their group chat.

And there, sitting in plain sight, was a kidney transplant agreement.

My breath caught in my throat. My hands trembled as I read it again, my eyes widening in disbelief.

The recipient was Wyatt, and the donor was Henry.

A slow, numbing realization crept through me.

I bit my lip hard, my fingers pressing unconsciously against the scar on my waist.

Years had passed, but the pain returned in full force, as if a knife were twisting inside me all over again.

A sudden thought struck me.

Frantically, I scrolled up, my eyes scanning every message—until I found her words.

[That night, when the villa caught fire, it was Henry who carried me out, unconscious, risking his life. If not for him, I would have turned to ash. In this lifetime, Henry is my everything. No matter the cost, I will fulfill his every wish.]

Henry was her everything?

Then what about me?

The one who had been crushed beneath the falling beams, breaking two ribs?

The one who had been burned so badly that the scars still twisted grotesquely across my back?

Did my life mean nothing?

I let the phone slip from my fingers, my body sinking into the hospital bed as laughter bubbled up from my chest—wet and broken, streaked with silent tears.

For a long time, I simply lay there.

Then, with a steady hand, I wiped my face dry and pulled up a contact I hadn't spoken to in years.

Taking a deep breath, I sent a single message.

[Professor, is it still possible for me to join the confidential overseas software research project?]

The response came instantly.

[Of course. I’ve always admired both your skill and your character. I know the rumors online are nothing but slander, so don’t let them bother you. However, this project is classified, the timeline is uncertain, and your identity must remain confidential. You should discuss this with your family.]

[No need. Please help me erase my identity.]

There was a brief pause.

Then, as if my professor had understood everything, he sent a single reply.

[Okay.]

"Erase your identity?"

The voice came from the doorway.

Clara stood there, her face clouded with unease.

I met her gaze without a flicker of emotion and said, "My ID is expiring. I need to renew it."

She exhaled in relief, stepping forward with a bowl of porridge. "Your body isn’t healed yet. If you need anything, just tell me. We’re family—you don’t have to worry about troubling me."

Family?

Not for much longer.

Behind her, Wyatt stirred awake, his expression hesitant.

"Jayce, the wedding is soon... You’re still not fully recovered, so about the best man position—"

"Let Henry take my place," I flatly muttered.

I already knew what he was going to say. Their chat history had laid it all out.

They had long since commissioned a world-renowned designer to tailor a custom-made, multi-billion-dollar suit for Henry—along with a matching luxury watch and diamond-studded cufflinks. His best man’s attire was even grander than the groom’s.

And yet, Wyatt had been more than willing to let himself be overshadowed.

The moment I spoke, their faces lit up.

Clara beamed with satisfaction. "Jayce, you’ve really grown more sensible."