I Was Never Your Final Choice

My boyfriend was crippled when he saved me, while his adoptive sister suffered from heart failure after protecting us from misfortune. She had to depend on the expensive imported medicines to sustain life.

To pay for their treatment, I sold myself as a lifecasting model on the black market.

Not only were my hands and feet coated in the heated silicon, but I also needed to endure strangers touching me without flinching.

I needed to pay if the replica was damaged.

I begged through my tears, only to receive a few slaps to my face in return.

They scolded, "You signed up for this. Don't act innocent now."

Humiliated, exhausted, and aching, I still took the money straight to the hospital to buy medicine for his sister.

When I passed by the VIP lounge, I heard a familiar laughter.

"Chris, this is the 998th test, isn't it? Are you really marrying her once she passes the 999th test?"

With a slight frown, Christopher answered, "Yeah. Although testing her is a family tradition, and they're having you to supervise, don't overdo it. I won't have another bride."

I froze.

Every sacrifice. Every humiliation. Every bit of pain I had endured—it had all been a test. A game to see whether I was worthy of marrying him.

Staring at my bruised reflection in the fire-resistant glass, I let out a sudden chuckle.

Then, with trembling hands, I turned on the old phone I hadn't touched in two years.

I felt tears roll down my cheeks when I told the other person on the line, "Declan, take me home. I regret everything."

True Colors

After sending the message, I pushed through the pain to leave. I didn't want to run into them.

Suddenly, someone pushed open the door of the VIP lounge.

Instinctively, I slipped into the fire exit and left the door cracked open just enough to see outside. Dianne Emerson stepped out first, carrying a bag of vitamin supplements.

She studied the bottles before mocking, "Riley may be cheap, but her taste is surprisingly good."

To earn the money for those supplements, I had nearly been harassed by a pack of disgusting men.

Back then, all I could think about was her calling my name, her face pale from struggling to breathe.

So, I forced myself to endure it all, just to buy her the medicine.

It turned out that she never needed them.

"Enough. Riley's going to be your sister-in-law soon. Stop talking about her like that," said a voice I knew all too well.

I couldn't believe my eyes when my crippled boyfriend, who struggled to walk on his own in the last two years, rose to his feet.

Christopher Turner approached her at a steady pace and stopped, standing tall and upright.

He was clearly healthy.

He produced a pair of shoes out of nowhere and showed them to her. "Your family sent the limited edition shoes. Try them on!"

"But Chris, I have a heart problem. Help