Upon seeing my panic, the camera zoomed in mercilessly, capturing every tremor on my face and broadcasting my agony to the world.
"Renowned pharmaceutical researcher Camila leads a promiscuous life, a prime example of depravity. We urge the public to cherish their bodies and not end up like Camila, who became disabled due to her reckless behavior."
I was nothing more than a spectacle, a stripped-bare clown for their twisted entertainment. The relentless flashes seized my most wretched, most disgraceful state, ensuring every detail was preserved.
"What are you doing?! Who let you in?!"
Bradley barged in, his furious roar slicing through the chaos.
Juliette rushed forward, tearing off her coat and wrapping it tightly around me, her face streaked with tears. "Where are the bodyguards?! Are they dead?! How did these reporters get in?!"
The performance was flawless.
It was so well-rehearsed and perfect, and it made me sick.
A violent tremor racked my body.
My brother crouched before me, his hands gripping mine, his gaze brimming with guilt. "Camila, I’m sorry. It’s my fault for not protecting you and for letting these reporters take advantage of the situation. Don’t be afraid. I’ll suppress the news and make sure their lies never spread. I swear, I won’t let you suffer again."
How laughable.
The very brother who vowed to protect me had delivered the cruelest betrayal of all.
He knew better than anyone that the damage was already done.
The reporters had captured everything they needed. Their headlines would brand me with disgrace, nailing me to the pillar of shame. For the rest of my life, I would be nothing more than a rat scurrying through the streets, trampled underfoot, despised, just as he wanted.
For Amara, the two people I had trusted most had shattered me beyond repair.
The betrayal was too much. My broken body, already at its limit, could take no more. Darkness surged forward, dragging me under.
As my consciousness faded, I vaguely heard my brother’s panicked screams. The experts waiting outside rushed in.
"The delay has been too long; her intestines are necrotic and must be removed. Even if her limbs recover, she likely won’t regain full function. She’ll have to use a wheelchair. The situation is severe; we’ve already missed the best window for treatment. The surgery only has a fifty percent success rate."
My brother’s voice trembled with disbelief. "How could this happen?! You have to save my sister, no matter what it takes!"
The entire time, he never let go of my hand, his voice choked with sorrow.
"Camila, you have to pull through. I can’t lose you."
Juliette sobbed uncontrollably, her voice trembling. "Camila, we promised to be each other’s bridesmaids, to stay happy together. You can’t leave me like this."
I closed my eyes, sinking into numb despair. My heart was as lifeless as cold embers.
When I opened them again, I was back in my hospital room.
Bandages covered me from head to toe, leaving only my slightly less-injured left hand free. The stark whiteness of the room was suffocating.
Juliette sat beside me. The moment she saw me awake, tears of joy spilled down her face.
"Camila, you’re finally awake! Does it still hurt? Are you hungry? Do you need some water?"
Her concern was familiar. But beneath it, I caught the subtle tremor of guilt.
I suddenly wanted to laugh.
They had shattered me and left me in this inhuman state. And now that they had gotten what they wanted, who were they pretending to feel guilty for?
I forced a faint smile, my cracked lips barely moving. "Get some sleep. Those dark circles make you look like a panda."
Relieved by my calmness, Juliette let out a soft breath and lay down on the accompanying bed. Within moments, she drifted off.
The moment her breathing steadied, I reached for the phone she had carelessly left on the bedside table.
As soon as I unlocked it, the wallpaper appeared, an image of the three of them, side by side.
Amara stood in the center, radiant and carefree, linking arms with both of them, her smile dazzling.
I opened the photo album.
Nearly ten thousand pictures flooded the screen, a suffocating display of their perfect world. Snapshots of them traveling, laughing, living, untouched by the pain they had inflicted on me.
A video caught my eye.
In it, Juliette held a carefully decorated three-tiered cake, her hands steady, her expression gentle. She smeared a bit of cream onto Amara’s nose, eyes filled with indulgent affection.
Then came my brother’s voice, soft, devoted. He lifted a delicate princess crown above Amara’s head, his tone dripping with warmth. "I want my one and only sister to be the happiest little princess in the world."
