The Weston family had always treated dinner like a big deal.

More than a dozen dishes lined the long table, steam curling into the air. Under the crystal chandelier’s bright glow, every expression was exposed, clear as day.

Elara Weston sat at the very end.

Her head was lowered as she ate the rice in her bowl slowly, one bite at a time.

No one spoke to her.

To be exact, ever since Rosalind Pryce had returned to the Weston family, almost nobody at the table took the initiative to talk to her anymore.

Back then, Elara had still tried to keep things going. She would look for topics, ask Alexander Weston about the company, ask Broderick Weston whether work had been going smoothly lately, and she even remembered what Callum Weston liked to eat.

But later, she slowly realized that no matter what she did, it somehow came out wrong.

One tearful look from Rosalind could make the whole family ache for her.

But one explanation from Elara would only be taken as an excuse.

Since that was the case, then fine. She would stop talking.

Just sitting here quietly and finishing a meal wasn’t so bad.

And right then—

“Pff!”

A heavy, muffled sound cut through the room.

Alexander, seated at the head of the table, suddenly doubled over and spat out a mouthful of dark blood.

“Ah!”

A maid screamed on the spot.

In an instant, bowls and chopsticks clattered across the table in a sharp mess of noise.

Broderick shot to his feet. “Alexander!”

Callum’s expression changed on the spot too. "What the hell is going on?"

The dining room, which had still been barely calm a second ago, exploded into chaos in an instant.

Alexander braced one hand against the table, his face draining of color so fast it was visible to the naked eye. A fine layer of cold sweat seeped out along his temples.

That mouthful of dark blood splattered onto the pure white napkin, shockingly stark, almost painful to look at.

Rosalind was the first to rush over.

She grabbed onto Alexander, her eyes turning red almost immediately.

"Alexander, how are you? Are you okay?"

Alexander was breathing hard, his chest heaving violently.

"I... I'm fine..."

He said he was fine, but with how pale he looked, that claim had zero credibility.

Rosalind clutched his hand tightly, like she’d been scared out of her mind.

Then, in the very next second, she suddenly lifted her head and looked at Elara with reddened eyes.

"Elara..."

Her voice was shaking.

"What exactly did you give Alexander to eat?"

The moment those words fell, the entire dining room went dead silent.

Every single gaze turned toward Elara at once.

Elara’s hand paused in the middle of picking up food.

She looked up. She didn’t panic, and she didn’t rush to defend herself. She only glanced at Alexander.

Then she quietly set down her chopsticks.

"Bring over the blood he just coughed up."

The servant froze for a second.

"Miss?"

"Bring it here."

Her voice was soft, almost gentle, but there was no room to argue.

The servant instinctively obeyed.

Very soon, the dinner plate holding that dark, clotted blood was set in front of Elara.

Elara lowered her head and took a look.

Mixed into the black blood were a few deep red clots, and a faint metallic smell hung in the air.

Her gaze shifted slightly. The medicine had started working.

And honestly, it was going even smoother than she had expected.

She pulled her eyes away, her tone calm, like she was casually commenting on the flavor of a dish.

"The medicine is working well."

The whole room went dead still.

"What did you just say?"

Broderick spun around sharply, staring at her like he couldn’t believe what he’d heard.

Elara lifted her eyes. "I said, the medicine is working well."

"You’ve seriously still got the nerve to talk about medicine?"

Broderick completely snapped.

He strode over to Elara in a few quick steps, lowered his voice, and hissed at her in fury.

"Alexander just coughed up blood, and you're still standing there making snide remarks?"

Elara looked at him and said nothing.

Rosalind's tears were already falling.

"Elara, I know you've never liked me. But I've never once tried to take anything from you."

"Even if you're mad at me, you shouldn't use Alexander's health to make a point."

As she spoke, she gently wiped the blood from Alexander's lips.

Her movements were soft, her face full of hurt, like the picture-perfect little sister worried sick about her brother.

Elara only found it ridiculous.

Didn't like her?

Competing for what?

She had heard lines like that for years.

Back then, she would still explain. She would tell them she hadn't done anything, would try again and again to prove she meant no harm.

But now, she didn't even have the energy to defend herself.

Because she knew it too well—no one would believe her.

Alexander wouldn't.

Broderick wouldn't.

Callum wouldn't.

Even Sebastian Merritt, her fiancé on paper, would rather believe Rosalind's tears the second they hit the floor.

Since no one believed her anyway, what was the point of saying anything else?

Elara stood up and turned to head upstairs.

“You guys enjoy dinner.”

“Stop right there!”

Alexander’s voice cut through the room from behind her.

Elara paused mid-step and turned back.

Alexander had recovered a little, but his face still looked awful, pale and tight, like he was forcing himself to hold it together.

“You’re not even going to explain?”

“Explain what?”

“Why did I cough up blood?”

Elara went quiet for two seconds.

“Because the medicine I gave you is finally kicking in.”

Alexander’s brows locked together at once.

“What kind of medicine makes someone throw up blood?”

“To clear blood stasis.”

Elara’s tone was flat. “The stagnant blood built up inside your body has to come out. If it keeps pressing there, that’s when it actually gets dangerous.”

“You seriously expect me to believe that?”

Alexander let out a cold laugh, the disbelief in his eyes basically written all over his face.

Elara looked at him and, all of a sudden, felt bone-deep tired. She was so drained she couldn’t even be bothered to argue anymore.

“Believe it or not. Up to you.”

After saying that, she turned and kept walking upstairs.

But when she reached the staircase, she suddenly stopped, like something had just crossed her mind.

Elara turned back and looked straight at Alexander.

"One more thing."

"Before midnight tonight, you're going to have another episode."

Alexander's face darkened on the spot.

Broderick snapped instantly, "Elara, are you seriously not done yet?"

Rosalind was teary-eyed too, shaking her head like she couldn't bear it.

"Elara, it's already come to this. Why are you still saying things like that about our eldest brother?"

Elara ignored her completely. She only kept her eyes on Alexander, her voice flat and steady.

"If you want to stay alive, don't take medicine randomly tonight."

Alexander stared at her, his gaze icy enough to cut.

"How long are you planning to keep this up?"

Elara met his eyes without a flicker.

"I'm not making a scene."

"You drugged me and made me cough up blood, and you call that not making a scene?"

"I didn't hurt you."

"Then explain it!"

Elara went quiet for a moment. In the end, she only said one sentence.

"If you don't believe me, what's the point of explaining?"

That line made Alexander's expression turn even uglier.

And Broderick, like he'd finally found the perfect opening, spoke in a cold voice right away.

"Because you were never really one of the Weston family."

Elara’s gaze froze for a beat.

The whole living room dropped into a dead, crushing silence.

Rosalind’s fingers tightened bit by bit at her side.

She lowered her head, hiding the flash of satisfaction in her eyes.

So, in the end, it had still come out.

Broderick stared at Elara and gritted out, "Back then, the hospital mixed up the babies. You’re the one who was taken to the wrong family."

"Rosalind is the real daughter of the Weston family."

Elara said nothing.

Truth was, it wasn’t like she had never sensed it over the years.

Why had everyone changed the second Rosalind came back?

Why did their parents always lean toward Rosalind, no matter what?

Why was it that no matter how hard Elara tried, it could never beat one soft, hurt little, "Sister doesn’t like me"?

So that was it.

She was just the child switched by mistake.

The girl who had taken up the Weston family’s place for more than twenty years—

the fake heiress.

Broderick said coldly, "Since you know now, then apologize to our eldest brother."

"If you still want to stay in the Weston family, get on your knees and say sorry. Otherwise..."

He paused, leaving the rest hanging in the air.

"If that's how it is, then leave the Weston family."

At that moment, Alexander spoke too.

"Elara."

His voice was ice-cold, not even a trace of warmth in it.

"Apologize to your eldest brother, and I'll pretend none of this happened tonight."

"Otherwise, from this day on, the Weston family has no sister like you."

"From now on, this family has only one daughter, Rosalind."

The second those words landed, Rosalind lowered her head. The corner of her mouth lifted ever so slightly, almost impossible to catch.

She had been waiting for that sentence for far too long.

Every pair of eyes in the room turned to Elara.

They all thought she would cry. Thought she would beg. Thought she would do what she always did before—swallow the hurt, lower herself, and apologize in a small voice.

But after a few seconds, Elara suddenly laughed.

It was a faint smile, barely there, yet for the first time in more than twenty years, she looked genuinely relieved.

"Sure."

Alexander froze.

"What did you say?"

"I said, I'm leaving."

Her voice was calm. No tears, no scene, not even the slightest hint of reluctance.

Elara turned and walked upstairs.

This time, no one stopped her.

Ten minutes later, she came downstairs with nothing but a plain black backpack on her shoulders.

Inside were only a few changes of clothes, her ID, and some small personal stuff.

Callum frowned. "You're seriously leaving just like that?"

Elara glanced at him, calm and flat. "Wasn't this what all of you wanted?"

No one said a word.

She walked to the door, fingers resting on the handle. All of a sudden, she felt like a huge stone that had been crushing her chest for years had finally been lifted away.

So this was what it felt like to leave a home that had never truly been hers.

It wasn't as hard as she'd once imagined.

If anything... it felt weirdly freeing.

Elara turned around and looked at the place she'd lived in for over twenty years.

"From now on, you don't need to worry about me anymore. And I won't be worrying about any of you either."

With that, she pulled the door open, and the night wind rushed straight at her face.

She stepped out without the slightest pause, without looking back once.

Starting today, she was no longer the Weston family's daughter. She no longer had to clean up anyone else's mess.

And she definitely didn't need to keep swallowing her pain for the sake of some so-called family bond, over and over again.

The door slowly shut behind her.

The living room fell quiet again.

Rosalind stared at the tightly closed door, and the smile in her eyes finally slipped free.

Elara was gone at last.

And now, the Weston family finally belonged to her alone.