They Faked Poverty to 'Build My Character'—Now I'm Dead

"Pick whatever brand you want—don't you dare try to save us money!"

I stared blankly at the family portrait in the dining room, emotions tangled into knots.

It hit me then: I was the expendable one.

From childhood to adulthood. From being sensible to being obedient. Silently walking every path they'd designed after faking poverty.

Making me an outcast as a kid, too scared to speak up.

Making me hide my illness as an adult, too scared to burden them.

Making me choose death over dragging them down.

So all of it was just... an act they'd constructed on purpose.

And for what? To temper me?

Dinner ended.

Mom picked up her phone and walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room. She pressed the voice-message button, a faint trace of happiness still lingering on her face.

"Ellie, I'm guessing you're still busy—you haven't seen the voice message I sent."

"It's nothing urgent. I just wanted to let you know."

"Your dad and I are at Lakeside Manor, Building 3. Whenever you get off work, just come straight here."

I watched her quietly and tugged a bitter smile from the corner of my mouth.

I wanted so badly to tell her: Mom, I can never come back.

I sat on the massive crystal chandelier in the living room, silently watching from above.

After dinner, my parents and Zachary were still chatting. The fruit on the table had been replaced twice. The black tea had been refilled more times than I could count.

The conversation drifted from choosing college majors to future career plans.

"Zachary, after you graduate, come straight to the company. Start as your dad's assistant—let him mentor you personally."

"We're family. The company will be yours and the younger generation's eventually."

Mom peeled an apple, her tone gentle as always.

"Thank you, Mom. Thank you, Dad." Zachary sat up straighter, cheeks flushing pink. "I'll work hard. I won't let your faith in me go to waste!"

"Listen to this kid—'faith.'" Dad chuckled and waved his hand, voice warm with affection.

"Once you're properly settled, you should start thinking about marriage too."

"A family like ours doesn't need perfect social standing, but we have to know their background. Good character. And sensible."

Mom and Dad exchanged a knowing look, then turned their gaze gently back to Zachary.

His face went redder.

He lowered his head but didn't refuse.

As if he'd silently accepted whatever match they were hinting at.

Then again, he was an orphan—of course he longed for a home where he truly belonged.

I watched the three of them calmly, and slowly, a smile crept onto my face.

Zachary Abbott—he really was my type.

Tall. Fair-skinned and clean-cut, with a scholarly air about him.

And more importantly, every interaction we'd had proved his character was beyond reproach.

The last time we met, some old man tried to take advantage of me. Zachary rushed over without hesitation to confront him.

Even when it landed us both at the police station, he didn't show a hint of regret.

Afterward, he'd comforted me and bought me milk tea.

Watching the warm scene beneath the lights, an uncontrollable thought surfaced—illusory, aching.

If I hadn't gotten sick. Or if the illness had come just a little later.

They'd probably planned my whole life out, hadn't they?

Join the company. End up with Zachary.

Get married. Live close by. Help run the business. Have a child.

On weekends, the family of five would gather for dinner in this spacious villa while the kids played in the garden.

Such a blissful picture—delicate as a dream.

And cold reality had smashed it to pieces.

A self-mocking smile escaped me. I was fully aware that I was already dead.

Dead in that freezing lake. Dead on the road of paying off their debts.