Three years after my own brother exiled me to the lawless borderlands of South America, we finally met again at a private airport in New York. That place was Cartel territory. I had been gravely injured trying to protect the local children in that chaotic war zone and was rushed back to the States for emergency treatment. Meanwhile, Julian was preparing to take his precious adopted sister, Chloe, on a vacation to Europe. Our eyes met. He looked at my blood-stained clothes, his voice dripping with that familiar, arrogant disappointment. "I warned you, Serena. That place is a Cartel crossfire zone. No one but the Vance family could protect you, yet you still ran around causing trouble like a wild brat." He adjusted his cufflinks, looking down at me. "I can let the family’s private doctor save you, but only on one condition: You must apologize to Chloe for what happened three years ago!" I lay paralyzed on the stretcher, coldly averting my gaze. "No need, Julian. We haven't been siblings for a long time." I had found a new protector in hell—he was the King of the Underworld. The best surgical team in New York was already on standby for me. ... My body was riddled with shrapnel wounds of various sizes. Especially my leg. The nerve pain was so intense it felt numb. Just speaking that one sentence brought the taste of rusty iron to my throat. Julian’s face darkened. It was the typical look of an alpha male being defied. "Three years, Serena. Are you still playing this rebellious game?" "You're half-dead, and you still haven't learned your lesson?" I wanted to retort, but the movement pulled at my wounds, making me hiss in pain. The two soldiers from the Moretti family carrying me tried to move forward, but Julian’s bodyguards blocked them. "Serena Vance, is it so hard to just say 'I'm sorry'?" The stretcher jerked to a halt, sending a piercing agony through my right leg. I gritted my teeth. It was an instinctual reaction to extreme pain. "I did nothing wrong. Fuck your apology!" Beside him, Chloe grabbed Julian's arm. He was wearing an expensive custom suit. She tugged at it gently, acting like a frightened little deer. "Julian, forget it. My heart is fine now, really..." "You're still defending her?" Julian looked at her with a mix of adoration and frustration. "If she hadn't slapped you three years ago, would you have suffered that heart attack? Would you have needed to recover for this long?" He glared at me again. "Look at her. Covered in injuries. She obviously got into a brawl with some gang members. Since she still doesn't know she's wrong, sending her to the border was clearly too light a punishment!" The South American border is a lawless place. Naturally, Julian assumed my injuries were from a street fight. But he was wrong. Those were fragments from an RPG explosion. I had thrown myself over two children to save them. My leg was ruined, and one of my ears was nearly deafened by the blast. I looked at him with mocking eyes. "Yeah, you should have just put a bullet in my head back then." "You want an apology? Maybe when hell freezes over!" Julian’s face turned green. His fists clenched tight, a sign he wanted to hit something. Just then, the airport announcement called for him and Chloe to board their flight to Paris. My soldiers were getting impatient. Hands rested on their holsters as they scowled, ready to push past. Chloe tugged his sleeve again. "Julian, let's go. We'll miss the flight!" Her face was pale, her voice weak and breathless. Julian always fell for this act. His tone softened immediately. "Okay." When he looked back at me, his eyes were ice-cold again. "Wait until I get back from vacation with Chloe. We will settle the score then!" Surrounded by bodyguards, he and Chloe disappeared down the VIP channel. The two foreign soldiers rushed my stretcher to the waiting ambulance, speeding straight toward Mount Sinai Hospital. Three top surgical experts examined me quickly, their expressions grave. The only Asian doctor among them spoke to me in a heavy tone. "Ms. Vance, please rest assured. You came back in time. Your leg can be saved." "Mr. Moretti gave a strict order to cure you at all costs. We are prepping for surgery immediately!" Mr. Moretti was my new brother—Dante Moretti. Hearing his name, I instantly felt safer. I nodded weakly and was wheeled into the operating room. The shadowless lights turned on. Anesthesia flowed through my veins. Consciousness faded, and I slowly closed my eyes. But right then, a commotion erupted outside the operating room. It was Julian’s furious roar. "Where are the doctors? My sister Chloe is having a heart attack! Get me your best surgical experts! I have money!" My heart sank with a heavy thud. But before I could think, the drugs took over, and I plunged into darkness.
I thought that after three years, I wouldn't care about the old nightmares anymore. But in my sleep, I returned to the Vance family manor—that place that eats people alive. I was kidnapped at seven. When Julian found me, I was seventeen. In that lost decade, our parents died in a plane crash. Crushed by grief, Julian developed severe depression and fell into substance abuse. His therapist suggested adopting a child to shift his focus. That was Chloe. Chloe was three years younger than me and knew exactly how to wrap Julian around her finger. When I was found, their bond was at its peak. Julian always warned me: "Serena, Chloe has a congenital heart condition. She can't handle stress. Stay away from her and don't provoke her." "She helped me through rehab. I can't send her away, but don't worry, you are my only blood relative!" I knew Julian had a hard time running the family business, so I endured everything. But in corners Julian couldn't see, Chloe showed her fangs. She got me grounded during charity galas, claiming I didn't know etiquette. She stole the jewelry family friends gifted me. If I said a word, she would clutch her chest and collapse on the sofa, gasping for air. Eventually, Julian became disappointed in me. "It's just small stuff, Serena. Chloe has a bad heart. Do you want to kill her?" I held it in until Chloe "accidentally" smashed the herbal medicine I had spent hours brewing for Julian's stomach ulcers. It was a small thing, but it lit the fuse of all my grievances. "Julian drank too much and has gastric bleeding! If you won't help, why make it worse?" I slapped her. The next second, she collapsed, clutching her chest. An Oscar-worthy performance. I will never forget the cold look Julian gave me. "I'll deal with you when I get back!" He carried Chloe and rushed to the garage. I was terrified. The next morning, Julian came home, threw a passport and a one-way ticket at me. "Chloe has heart failure. It's serious. You can't stay here. Go to the house in South America and reflect on your actions." I couldn't believe it. I screamed and cried, "If you send me away, I'll never recognize you as my brother again!" He didn't care. He signaled the bodyguards to drag me to the car. "You've been nothing but trouble since you came back. You think you're a princess? If you can't fix that temper, don't come back!" "I can protect you in New York, but down there, it's Cartel territory. No one will save you!" I cried until I couldn't breathe, repeating myself like a broken record. "I didn't do anything wrong! If you send me away, you're dead to me!" He pressed his lips together and crushed my last hope. "Then consider me dead. You are going to South America!" It was an exile. Within a year, I was on the streets, living in a slum worse than a refugee camp. I don't dare think about how I survived those three years. When I opened my eyes again, I was crying. The surgical lights stung my vision. A young intern stood next to me, holding a scalpel, his voice trembling. "I'm sorry, Ms. Vance... All the specialists were forcibly transferred by a Mr. Julian Vance. He donated ten million dollars to the board and used family connections, so..." My ribs were broken, and I had hundreds of stitches all over my body. The intern had managed to clean the wounds, but my right leg... Because Julian took my surgeon away, I missed the window for vascular reconnection. I faced amputation. "Ms. Vance, the bone is shattered, and the tissue is necrotic. You don't have time to think." "Amputation is the only way to save your life. Prosthetic technology is very advanced now." Someone kept buzzing in my ear with that damn professional tone. My head was spinning. Images of maimed people in the slums flashed before me. When the RPG hit, those who couldn't run were blown to pieces. I wanted to keep my dignity. I didn't want to be buried missing a leg. My voice choked with sobs. "What happens if I don't amputate?" "Sepsis. Muscle atrophy. Infection spreading. You could lose the other leg, or even die. If you amputate now, you can use crutches. If you wait, it'll be a wheelchair for life..." I covered my face with my hands, tears streaming through my fingers. Suddenly, the phone under my pillow rang. It was a FaceTime from Dante. I took a breath, wiped my face dry, and forced a smile before answering. "Hey, Dante. What's up?" He showed me a plane ticket, his dark eyes full of worry. "I'll be in New York the day after tomorrow. Just wanted to let you know." "Is the surgery done? How's the recovery?" "I found the best trauma experts in the US. Everything went well, right?" I shifted the camera, showing only half of my pale face. "It went great. Don't worry." He let out a sigh of relief. A rare smile appeared on his stern face. "Leo and Mateo insisted on coming. They say you saved their lives." Two little Latino boys burst onto the screen, waving and speaking excited Spanish. I forced a smile to greet them, then hung up, claiming the anesthesia was making me sleepy. As soon as I put the phone down, Julian’s voice came from the hallway. "Is this Serena's room? I was in a rush earlier and borrowed her doctors. I want to apologize and discuss compensation." The door opened. Seeing me, Julian froze as if he’d seen a ghost. "The person in the OR... was you?" I looked at him with pure mockery. "Let me guess. Did Chloe make a miraculous recovery the moment she arrived at the hospital? Just like every time before?" Before Julian could answer, the intern urged urgently. "Ms. Vance, have you decided? Amputation or not?" "If you choose amputation, we must operate immediately. Infection markers are rising!" Julian’s face turned pale. "Amputation? What's going on?" The intern confirmed our relationship and explained the situation. When Julian learned that because he stole the experts for Chloe's "palpitations," I missed the golden hour for surgery... His expression became hideous. But almost instantly, he reverted to the decisive head of the Vance family and made the choice for me. "Amputate. We can't let both legs rot!" I clenched my fists and shouted, "No! I choose conservative treatment!" I had to wait for Dante. Maybe there was a way. Moretti resources were far superior to Vance resources. Julian scowled. "Serena, why are you so stubborn? Did you hear the doctor?" "It's just an amputation. Even if you can't stand, the Vance family will support you forever. Who dares to mock you?" My voice cracked. "No! I'd rather die than lose my leg!" "We cut ties long ago! You have no right to decide for me!" "This..." The doctor looked conflicted. This was America; patient consent mattered. Julian frowned and pulled out legal documents. Passport, ID, and a medical power of attorney. He handed the papers to the doctor with a grim satisfaction. "I am Serena Vance's legal guardian. She signed this proxy agreement before. Her mental state is unstable. Listen to me!" "We choose amputation. Do the surgery now!"
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