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

More than a dozen dishes covered the long table, steam curling into the air. Beneath the crystal chandelier, there was nowhere for anyone’s expression to hide.

Elara Weston sat at the very end.

She kept her head down and ate slowly, taking one quiet bite at a time.

No one spoke to her.

Ever since Rosalind Pryce had returned to the Weston family, almost no one at the table bothered to speak to her anymore.

At first, Elara had still tried. She would ask Alexander Weston about the company, check in with Broderick Weston about work, and make sure the table included Callum Weston’s favorite dishes.

Eventually, she realized that no matter what she did, someone would find fault with it.

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.

So she stopped trying.

Sitting quietly and finishing dinner was easier.

Then a wet cough broke the silence.

Everyone at the table looked up.

Alexander, the eldest of the Weston brothers, sat at the head of the table. Without warning, he doubled over and spat out a mouthful of dark blood.

“Ah!”

A maid screamed.

Plates and silverware clattered as everyone lurched to their feet.

Broderick shot to his feet. “Alexander!”

Callum’s face tightened. "What the hell is going on?"

The dining room, calm only a second earlier, erupted into chaos.

Alexander braced one hand against the table as the color drained from his face. Sweat beaded along his temples.

The dark blood staining the white napkin was impossible to miss.

Rosalind was the first to rush over.

She grabbed Alexander’s arm, her eyes filling with tears.

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

Alexander was breathing hard, his chest heaving violently.

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

No one looking at him would have believed it.

Rosalind clutched his hand, visibly shaken.

Then she looked up at Elara, tears still shining in her eyes.

"Elara..."

Her voice was shaking.

"What exactly did you give Alexander to eat?"

The dining room went silent.

Every single gaze turned toward Elara at once.

Elara’s hand stilled above her plate.

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 fork.

"Bring over the blood he just coughed up."

The servant hesitated.

"Miss?"

"Bring it here."

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

The servant instinctively obeyed.

A moment later, the bloodstained napkin and dish were set in front of Elara.

Elara studied them.

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

Her gaze sharpened. The medicine had started working.

In fact, it was working even better than she had expected.

She looked up, her tone as calm as if they were discussing an ordinary test result.

"The medicine is working well."

No one moved.

"What did you just say?"

Broderick whipped around and stared at her in disbelief.

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

"You’re still calling this medicine?"

Broderick lost his temper.

He crossed the room in a few hard strides and stopped in front of her.

"Alexander just coughed up blood, and you’re standing there acting like this is normal?"

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.

Every movement was gentle, every expression carefully wounded—the picture of a devoted sister terrified for her brother.

Elara almost laughed.

She had never liked Rosalind?

What exactly was she supposed to be competing for?

She had heard lines like that for years.

Once, she would have explained herself. She would have insisted she had done nothing wrong and tried to prove she meant no harm.

Now, she no longer had the energy.

She already knew no one would believe her.

Alexander wouldn't.

Broderick wouldn't.

Callum wouldn't.

Even Sebastian Merritt, the man she was supposed to marry, would take Rosalind’s tears as proof before he listened to a word Elara said.

So what was the point of defending herself?

Elara stood up and turned to head upstairs.

“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 slightly, but he was still pale and visibly strained.

“You’re not even going to explain?”

“Explain what?”

“Why did I cough up blood?”

Elara was silent for a moment.

“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 stayed even. “The blood that’s been collecting inside has to be expelled. Leaving it there is what would put you in danger.”

“You seriously expect me to believe that?”

Alexander gave a humorless laugh. He clearly did not believe her.

A wave of exhaustion settled over Elara. She could not bring herself 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 hardened.

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

Rosalind shook her head, eyes shining with tears.

"Elara, after everything that’s happened, why are you still saying things like that about Alexander?"

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 going to keep doing this?"

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?"

Alexander’s expression tightened further.

Broderick seized the opening, his voice cold.

"Because you were never really a Weston."

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 before anyone could catch the satisfaction on her face.

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

Broderick stared at Elara. "There was a mix-up at the hospital when you were born. You were sent home with the wrong family."

"Rosalind is the Westons’ biological daughter."

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 did years of effort mean less than one wounded look from Rosalind?

Now she understood.

She was the child who had been switched by mistake.

For more than twenty years, she had been living a life that was never meant to be hers—

the false heiress.

Broderick said coldly, "Now that you know the truth, apologize to Alexander."

"If you still want to stay in this family, get on your knees and apologize. Otherwise..."

He paused, leaving the rest hanging in the air.

"If you won’t, then leave."

At that moment, Alexander spoke too.

"Elara."

His voice was flat and cold.

"Apologize to me, and I’ll pretend none of this happened tonight."

"Otherwise, from today on, you’re no sister of ours."

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

Rosalind lowered her head as soon as he finished speaking. A tiny, quickly hidden smile touched her lips.

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

Everyone looked at Elara.

They expected tears. Begging. Another quiet apology, the way she had always swallowed her hurt before.

But after a few seconds, Elara suddenly laughed.

The smile was faint, but for the first time in 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 a few changes of clothes, her identification, and a handful of personal belongings.

Callum frowned. "You’re really 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 reached the door and rested a hand on the knob. For the first time in years, she could breathe without the weight of this family pressing down on her.

Leaving a home that had never truly been hers was easier than she had imagined.

There was no panic. No regret.

Only relief.

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 would never again make herself smaller for the sake of a family bond that had never protected her.

The door slowly shut behind her.

The living room fell quiet again.

Rosalind stared at the closed door, finally letting her satisfaction show.

Elara was gone at last.

Now she finally had the Weston family to herself.