The Adopted Sister's Trap
That winter was exceptionally cold; Michael Silva and I crammed together in a rented room less than ten square meters. The heating had long since stopped, and thick frost bloomed on the glass windows.
That day, we had only one steamed bun left. I broke it in half and offered him a piece, but he pushed it back, saying he had already eaten outside.
Later, I learned that he had been carrying steel rods all day at the construction site and hadn't even had a sip of warm water.
He promised that once he had money, he would give me the very best life.
I believed him.
Three years later, Michael Silva truly rose again, starting his own company and becoming the Mr. Silva everyone talked about.
When he stood there in a tailored suit, holding flowers as he proposed, I nodded through tears, feeling that all my suffering had finally come to an end.
The wedding was grand; I wore a pristine white wedding dress, receiving blessings from everyone. They all envied me for becoming the beloved Mrs. Silva.
But I never imagined that happiness would disappear so quickly.
Less than a year into our marriage, Michael Silva began staying out all night more and more often.
Whenever I asked, he said it was because of work, his tone dripping with impatience.
What chilled me even more was that he had allowed his adopted sister, Vivian Silva, to move into our master bedroom.
That day when I came home, I saw my clothes and makeup thrown on the floor; Vivian Silva was directing the servants to move my things to the basement.
I rushed into the study and asked Michael Silva why, but he didn't even look up; he said Vivian was unwell, and the master bedroom faced the sun, making it suitable for her to recover.
I gazed at his cold profile and was suddenly overcome by a sense of unfamiliarity.
Is this still the Michael Silva who used to save the last steamed bun for me?
The basement was cold and damp. I crouched among a pile of clutter, clutching that old sweater he once wore, and cried for a long time.
The moonlight outside filtered through the small window, falling coldly upon me, much like the look in his eyes at that moment.
The rain that day poured relentlessly, as if determined to drown the entire city.
I was in the kitchen brewing ginger soup when my phone suddenly rang; it was Aunt Martha.
Aunt Martha's voice trembled with tears as she told me that Grandmother had gone out to buy her blood pressure medicine and had yet to return.
My heart clenched painfully. Grandmother is already in her seventies, her eyesight failing—where could she possibly be in such a downpour?
I grabbed my umbrella and rushed out, only to be stopped by Vivian Silva.
"Where are you going?" She crossed her arms and looked down at me with a superior gaze.
"My grandmother is missing. I have to find her." Panic nearly brought tears to my eyes.
"What's the fuss? She's just an old woman. If she's lost, then she's lost. Maybe she's hiding on purpose, trying to extort money."
Vivian Silva's words stabbed sharply into my heart.
I trembled with rage, pointing at her and shouting, "How dare you say that? She's my grandmother!"
"I said it—what are you going to do about it?" As Vivian Silva spoke, she suddenly shoved me hard.
I lost my balance and fell backward, colliding with the stove beside me.
The stove still held a pot of hot soup; the bowl toppled over, spilling scalding soup all over Vivian Silva's arm.
"Ah!" Vivian Silva cried out in pain, clutching her arm as she writhed on the floor.
At that moment, Michael Silva returned.
Seeing the scene before him, his face turned pale as death.
"What happened?" He rushed over, shoved me aside, and knelt down to examine Vivian Silva's wound.
"Brother, she pushed me and even poured hot soup on me. My hand hurts so badly!" Vivian sobbed, shooting me a sharp glance.
Michael Silva lifted his head, his eyes blazing with anger. He fixed his gaze on me and spoke deliberately, word by word:
"Vivian's arm was badly burned and needs a skin graft. The doctor said your skin matches hers—you must donate."
I couldn't believe my own ears. "Michael Silva, have you lost your mind? That's my skin! And she was the one who pushed me first!"
"I don't want to hear your excuses," he cut me off, shouting toward the doorway, "Someone!"
Two bodyguards in black suits immediately stepped inside.
Michael Silva pointed at me and said to the bodyguards, "Take her upstairs to a room, and first thing tomorrow morning, send her to the hospital to have skin grafted from her back for Vivian."
"No! Michael Silva, you can't do this to me! We were so close before—have you forgotten?" I clung to the hem of his clothes, pleading desperately.
He shook my hand off forcefully. "The past is the past. Now, Vivian is more important than you."
After he finished speaking, he turned and gently lifted Vivian Silva, carefully making his way upstairs while soothing her tenderly, "Vivian, don't be afraid. I will definitely cure you."
I watched their backs, my heart sinking bit by bit, as if plunging into a bottomless ice cellar.
It turned out that all those beautiful moments were merely my one-sided fantasies.
I was locked in the room by the bodyguard. Outside, the rain continued to fall, pattering against the glass like tears mourning me.
I leaned against the wall, tears silently streaming down, my heart as cold as ashes.
I don't know how I managed to escape from the room.
Perhaps the bodyguards had let their guard down; seizing their distraction, I slipped out through the back door.
Outside, the storm still raged, icy rain instantly soaking my clothes and chilling me to the bone.
But I couldn't care about that—I was consumed by thoughts of my grandmother; I had to find her.
I ran frantically along the path she often took, calling out, "Grandmother, grandmother, where are you?"
The rain blurred my vision; several times I nearly fell, my knees bruised by stones at the roadside, pain stabbing through me—but I dared not stop.
I searched every nearby alley and every pharmacy, asking everyone I met, but all said they hadn't seen my grandmother.
The sky slowly brightened, and the rain eased, but I still couldn't find any trace of my grandmother.
My strength was utterly spent; darkness swirled before my eyes, and at last, unable to hold on, I fainted by the roadside.
When I awoke, I found myself lying on a hospital bed, an infusion tube inserted in my hand.
Aunt Martha sat beside me; seeing I was awake, she said with excitement, "Melody, you're finally awake. You've been unconscious for a whole day."
"Martha, where is my grandmother? Have you found her yet?" I struggled to sit up, my voice urgent as I asked.
Martha's eyes dimmed, and she shook her head. "Not yet. The police have been helping, but there's not a single lead."
My heart sank once more, and tears streamed down my face uncontrollably. "How could she be nowhere to be found? Grandma is so old—where else could she have gone?"
"Melody, don't be too anxious. The doctor says your health is very fragile; you need plenty of rest." Martha tried to comfort me.
But how could I possibly rest when Grandmother is still outside, perhaps even in danger?
I pulled out the infusion tube from my hand, ignoring Martha's objections, insisting on leaving the hospital to find Grandmother.
"Melody, be sensible. How can you go looking for her in your current condition?" Martha gripped my arm.
"I have to go. She is my only family left; I cannot lose her." My voice was steady and firm.
Martha had no choice but to help me complete the discharge paperwork and accompanied me to search.
We searched all day again, but there was no trace of her.
In the evening, we encountered a woman who was cleaning nearby.
She said that last night she had seen an old grandmother lingering at the crossroads, later taken away by a black sedan.
A sudden chill gripped me as I pressed her for the car's license plate, but the woman said the rain was too heavy to see clearly.
I had a dreadful feeling that Grandmother might be in trouble.
Martha and I arrived at the small house where Grandmother lived. We opened the door to find it empty, completely devoid of life.
On the table lay a half-finished cup of tea Grandmother had left behind, now cold and forgotten.
I walked to Grandmother's bedside and picked up the blanket she usually covered herself with, still imbued with the lingering scent of her.
My heart felt hollowed out, overwhelmed by a crushing unease. I crouched on the floor, clutching the blanket, and wept bitterly.
I stayed in Grandmother's small cottage all through the night, only dragging my exhausted body back home the next morning.
As soon as I opened the door, I was met with a scene of chaos in the living room; Vivian Silva was directing several workers as they dismantled the furniture.
My wedding photo lay discarded on the floor, its frame shattered to pieces. In the picture, Michael Silva and I smiled so happily — yet now it struck me as painfully ironic.
"What are you doing?" I rushed over and stopped the workers.
Vivian Silva turned around, a mocking smile curling on her lips. "I think these old pieces of furniture are too worn out and need to be replaced. What, do you have a problem with that?"
"This is my home. These things were picked out by Michael Silva and me together. By what right do you have to touch them?" I trembled with anger.
"Your home?" Vivian sneered coldly, "I'm the one who makes the decisions in this household now. Even Michael Silva listens to me."
Saying this, she pulled a jade bracelet from her pocket and waved it in front of me.
I recognized it immediately—that was the birthday gift Grandmother gave me, a treasure I had always cherished. Yesterday, when I fled, I accidentally left it behind at home.
"Give me back the jade bracelet!" I reached out to grab it.
But Vivian Silva raised her hand, and the jade bracelet fell to the ground, shattering into several pieces with a sharp crack.
Still unsatisfied, she stepped forward and stomped harshly on the broken fragments. "It's just a worthless bracelet. So what if it's broken? What's the big deal?"
I stared at the shattered jade on the floor—Grandmother's heartfelt gift to me, now trampled and ruined by her.
I rushed over and struggled with her. "You lunatic! I'm going to kill you!"
Vivian refused to yield, grabbing my hair and even biting me.
Just then, my phone rang.
Struggling, I picked up the phone and saw the caller ID was the police station's number; my heart tightened instantly.
I answered, and a deep voice from the police said, "May I speak to Melody Young?"
"We found the body of an elderly woman by the riverside in the suburbs. After preliminary identification, it might be your grandmother. Please come to confirm."
With a deafening boom, I felt as though my entire world had collapsed.
The phone slipped from my hand and fell to the ground; the screen shattered like my broken heart.
I sank to the floor, tears streaming down like loose beads, painful sobs choking my throat—I was utterly broken.
Vivian Silva looked at me like this, showing not the slightest sympathy; instead, she sneered beside me:
"Such a pity, truly. But then, it's better—now you won't trouble us anymore."
I raised my head and glared at her fiercely; if looks could kill, she would have died a thousand times over.
Vivian Silva met my fierce gaze, but instead of fear, she stepped closer and said with a triumphant smile, "Do you know how your grandmother died?"
My body stiffened as I locked eyes with her. "Did you do it?"
"So what if I did?" Vivian smiled.
"She was a nuisance. That day, she saw Michael Silva and me together and wanted to tell you. So I had someone take care of her."
"You devil!" Rage clouded my vision. I grabbed a vase nearby and hurled it at her.
Vivian Silva dodged, and the vase shattered against the wall, scattering shards across the floor.
She screamed as she ran to the door, shouting outside, "Chocolate, come quickly!"
Soon, a large golden retriever charged in—Michael Silva had bought it to keep Vivian company, but it was usually quite fierce.
Vivian pointed at me and commanded the dog, "Chocolate, bite her!"
The golden retriever immediately lunged at me, sinking its teeth into my arm.
I screamed in pain, struggling fiercely to free myself, but it clamped down tightly, and blood soon trickled down my arm.
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