You Are My Suicide Note to the World

My sister and I had been fighting over the family fortune for our entire lives. She hit me with her car and sent me to the hospital and I secretly removed her oxygen tube in the middle of the night.

The year our hatred reached its peak, our family suddenly went bankrupt. We were forced to reconcile and each pursue our own livelihoods.

Ten years later, my sister became a prominent business tycoon.

The first thing she did upon returning to England was to destroy the studio where I made my living. She personally tore up the family portrait I had painted and told me to get out and fight again.

"Sharon, we haven't settled the score yet. Why are you being such a coward? Don't you treasure these paintings? If you don't show up, I'll burn them all!"

I raised my fist at her, but my hand pierced through her body. It took a long time for me to react.

The truth was, I had died three years earlier. These paintings were my final gift to my sister and to the world.

——

Sheryl's return to England was a grand occasion. Media reporters swarmed the area and high-ranking figures from all walks of life clamored to meet her. But she refused all offers of collaboration and drove straight to my studio.

It was called a studio, but it was actually just the top floor of an old, run-down building. It had been in disrepair for so long that it didn't even have an elevator.

Sheryl climbed all the way up, panting with exhaustion. She cursed non-stop.

"Sharon, you're so cruel! You actually moved to this kind of hellish place just to hide from me. Just wait, when I find you, I'll break your remaining leg!"

I spat at her, wishing I could claw her face. She couldn't bear it after just one climb. Meanwhile over the years, I've dragged this broken leg of mine back and forth countless times.

Suddenly, a loud bang interrupted my thoughts. Sheryl kicked open the studio door with a bang.

She stood in front of the dusty room, frowning in disgust. "Is this where people live?"

"Sharon, you used to sleep on a mattress that cost less than a million, didn't you? How did you fall so low now?"

After saying that, she plopped down on my stool, breathing heavily.

My leg was broken in that life-or-death struggle.

Sheryl's life wasn't much easier. The brain damage from hypoxia stayed with her for the rest of her life. She developed serious cardiopulmonary problems. To prolong her life, she even spent a fortune on a professional medical team.

"Useless waste." I rolled my eyes.

I watched indifferently as Sheryl directed his men to turn my studio upside down. Alas, they were just as useless as Sheryl. They even dug out the morphine under my bed, but couldn't find any trace of me.

Sheryl glanced around, kicked over the empty medicine box and sneered. "No wonder your life has become such a mess. It turns out you've been tainted by something you shouldn't have been."

"Sharon, with your character, you think you can compete with me for the family fortune? If the Bridgerton Family's fortune had fallen into your hands back then, I would never have been able to rest in peace!"

At this, Sheryl's eyes dimmed for a moment. It was as if she was recalling a distant memory. Remembering the source of our hatred. When she stood up again, a bone-chilling chill filled her.

She glanced coldly around. Finally, her gaze settled on the family portrait in the center of the studio. Seeing my familiar face, Sheryl could no longer control her anger. She quickly stepped forward and ripped it off with all her might.