The Fake Heir's Silent Exit

I didn't know why Jane spoke up for me.

Was it because humiliating me in public would be the same as humiliating her family?

At that moment, something strange and itchy seemed to sprout in my chest, like a bud breaking through frozen soil.

I slowed my steps and strained to listen as my father-in-law said, "Take it away."

Then came a crisp sound. The pen seemed to fall to the ground—but it felt as though something inside me had fallen with it.

That night, I rode my electric scooter at full speed through the streets. The cold wind cut across my face like a blade, scattering my tears into the air.

Only then did I realize a person really could die in silence.

When I finally emptied myself of all emotion and returned home, Jane was already there.

I slipped inside quietly. Gale poked his head out.

"Alex, you're back? I figured you ran out so suddenly earlier that you probably didn't eat, so I took the liberty of packing you some leftovers."

He suddenly covered his mouth.

"Sorry—I forgot you don't eat leftovers. Unlike me… when I was kidnapped to a rural village, I went hungry every day. I couldn't sleep, couldn't eat properly, and I was beaten and scolded all the time. Back then, even having leftovers to eat would've made me so happy…"

Every word he spoke hid a thorn. Each one pricked into me, reminding me that I had stolen twenty-five years of his life as a wealthy heir—that I deserved to die for it.

In the past, I would always snap back, insisting I was innocent too. That even if I wasn't my parents' biological son, we had lived together for over twenty years, and they had loved me just the same.

But that had always been my wishful thinking.

They did not love me.

My in-laws did not love me.

And Jane did not love me either.

I stood by the entryway and politely thanked him.

"It'd be a waste to throw it away. Just put it in the fridge. I can reheat it tomorrow."

Gale froze in place, mouth half-open, so stunned he forgot to blink.

I turned and went back to the guest room. From the drawer, I took out cotton swabs and alcohol, then carefully rolled up my pant leg.

The wound was horrifying—flesh turned outward, still bleeding whenever I touched it.

At that moment, Jane opened the door and walked in.

I assumed she had come to question me, so I spoke first without thinking.

"Sorry, I forgot to change clothes today."

But she did the opposite of what I expected. She took the cotton swab from my hand and personally began cleaning the wound.

I froze.

In the past, I had desperately tried to get even a single glance from her.

But now, my leg muscles tensed tightly, my whole body rigid with discomfort.

"Does it hurt?"

I blinked, about to shake my head.

But she answered for me.

"It must hurt. I remember in middle school, you got a tiny scratch from some punks and complained for ages."

I didn't understand what was wrong with her.

She looked at me. "I had alcohol today. Gale drove me home. Nothing is going on between him and me."

I pulled my pant leg down and nodded casually. "He's your secretary at work. It's normal to have more contact. It's all for work."

Her gaze grew complicated.

I couldn't tell what emotions were hidden in her eyes anymore, and I no longer had the energy to try.

She looked at me for a long time, then finally took out a black card from her pocket and placed it on my bedside table.

"Stop doing those low-end jobs. From now on, I'll transfer your monthly allowance to this card. And don't eat those leftovers. I'll make you a bowl of noodles."