There was a moment of silence on the other end.

Just as the reporter thought there would be no answer, the calm female voice spoke.

"He isn't kneeling for me," Summer’s voice was light, yet every word was clear, reaching countless listeners through the airwaves. "He is kneeling for his own uneasy conscience and for his biological sister’s life. None of this has anything to do with me."

The reporter hadn't expected such a blunt and cold answer. After a pause, they pressed further: "Then regarding Miss Skylar's current situation, do you truly feel no sympathy at all? After all, a life is at stake."

"Sympathy?" Summer repeated the word. Her tone betrayed no emotion, yet it made one’s heart feel cold for no reason. "I remember her saying that on her eighteenth birthday, her greatest wish was for me to disappear completely."

She paused again as if reminiscing, then said softly:

"Now, as she wished, I have disappeared completely. She should... have her wish fulfilled now."

The interview ended there.

There was no tearful venting, no accusations, not even intense emotion—only the plain statement of facts and a marrow-deep indifference.

The video of this interview spread at an incredible speed.

The melodramatic scene of kneeling for a lung was already eye-catching, and Summer’s response about "having her wish fulfilled" ignited public opinion instantly.

Some cursed Skylar as malicious and deserving of her fate.

Some sighed over Summer’s experiences, remarking that "one who hasn't suffered another's pain should not advise them to be kind."

Others stood on a moral high ground, accusing Summer of being cold-blooded for refusing to save a life.

But regardless, Summer’s response was like a silent slap to the faces of everyone trying to kidnap her using "kinship" or "life."

And this video was also sent to Skylar’s ward by someone with intentions.

By then, Skylar was terminally ill. Wearing a ventilator, she was so thin she was deformed, her eyes sunken. Her former beauty had been stripped away by pain, leaving only a withered, dying grayness.

When the video finished playing on the tablet and Summer’s words "She should have her wish fulfilled now" echoed in the dead-silent ward, Skylar’s clouded eyes widened suddenly. Her chest heaved violently, and a raspy, gargling sound came from her throat.

"Ah—!!!"

Drawing strength from somewhere unknown, she violently tore the ventilator mask from her face, gasping like a dying fish. Her trembling finger pointed at the now-black screen, her face turning a deep purple.

"She... how dare she... that bitch! Summer, you bitch! You’ll die a horrible death!!"

She cursed hoarsely, her voice shattered. Then, she suddenly coughed up a large amount of dark red blood, which splattered onto the white sheets, terrifying to behold.

"Skylar!" The mother, guarding by her side, was scared out of her wits and lunged forward to hold her down.

But Skylar violently pushed her mother away. Due to the overexertion, she tumbled off the hospital bed and curled up on the floor, coughing blood while convulsing, her eyes staring venomously in a certain direction as if Summer were standing there.

"Even as a ghost... I won't let you go... Summer... I curse you..."

Medical staff rushed in, frantically performing emergency rescue.

Confusion, the sharp alarm of monitors, and the mother's heart-wrenching wails intertwined.

Skylar was resuscitated once again, but the doctor shook his head and told the older brother privately that her body and spirit had reached their limit; she could fade away at any moment.

A transplant was the only slim hope, and that hope was being completely extinguished by Summer’s "wish fulfilled."

The mother couldn't take the blow and broke down completely.

She stopped crying and pleading; instead, she stared at her son with bloodshot eyes. That look wasn't like a mother looking at a son, but more like an enemy.

"You!" she screamed his full name, her voice sharp and ear-piercing. "I’m telling you! If you don't get Summer back today and dig out her lung to give to Skylar, I’ll jump off the roof of this hospital! Since Skylar is dying, I won't live either! We’ll die together and leave you with an uneasy conscience for the rest of your life!"

As she spoke, she actually struggled to rush toward the window.

The son and the orderlies held her back firmly.

The mother fought, kicked, and bit like a madwoman, her nails leaving bloody gashes on his face.

"Mom! Calm down!" he roared, his voice thick with heavy exhaustion and despair.

His face stung with pain, but it didn't compare to a ten-thousandth of the pain in his heart.

On one side was the dying Skylar—who had used every means to do evil but was still his biological sister—and a mother who was no longer sane and was threatening suicide.

On the other side was Summer, far away in Switzerland, whom he had hurt so deeply and who had resolutely said they would never meet again.

There was also the cold warning and the crushing retaliation from the Sterling family.

He was being roasted over a fire, his soul nearly torn in two.

Chapter Twenty

On the other side, the childhood friend locked himself in his apartment, watching the video of Summer’s interview countless times without sleep.

Her calm voice and that phrase "wish fulfilled" were like the sharpest files, repeatedly grinding his already blood-drenched heart.

He also watched the video of the older brother kneeling over and over, seeing that once-proud and noble man crawling on the ground like a dog, covered in tears and snot.

He only found it pathetic and laughable.

It was too late.

Everything was too late.

What Summer wanted was never for them to kneel, nor was it their after-the-fact remorse.

What she wanted, perhaps from the very beginning, was just basic trust and justice.

But what did they give her?

Prison, injustice, a near-death allergy attack, and... those hands that were brutally destroyed.

The childhood friend’s gaze fell upon his own long, clean, well-defined hands.

These hands had once gently brushed Summer’s hair, had played piano duets with her, and had also... firmly held down her other wrist, fixing her to the cold floor while the hammer fell.

"When I was holding her hand down, she said to me, 'Julian, I hate you'..."

In his memory, Summer’s hoarse, desperate cries overlapped with the older brother's wails in the video.

Hate.

She said she hated him then.

But he only understood now that hate exists because there is still expectation, still resentment, and still love.

But that last look she gave him was empty.

There wasn't even hate left.

That was the true end—a separation more cruel than hate: irrelevance.

He suddenly began to laugh low, the sound echoing in the empty apartment, sounding worse than crying.

As he laughed, tears fell without warning, hitting the cold floor.

He grabbed his car keys and rushed out.

He didn't go to the Sterling company, nor to the former family's house.

He directly contacted familiar media outlets and, in his capacity as the heir to his family's group, requested an emergency press conference.

The news ignited attention once again. Everyone thought he was going to speak for the former family or announce that he would stand by them.

The conference venue was crowded with media, cameras and microphones pointed at the podium.

He appeared.

He wore a simple black suit without a tie. His hair was a bit messy, there were heavy dark circles under his eyes, and stubble had grown on his chin.

He looked utterly haggard, but his eyes were terrifyingly bright, burning with a flame that bordered on destruction.

Without pleasantries or an opening statement, he walked straight to the microphone, opened his laptop, and connected it to the large screen behind him.

"Today, I am not standing here as the heir to my family's group," his voice was hoarse but exceptionally clear, reaching every corner of the venue through the microphone. "I am standing here as a sinner, a blind man, and a bastard."

The room fell silent for a moment before a buzz of discussion broke out.

He ignored it and clicked on the first video file.

It was the restored stairwell surveillance from three years ago.

The footage played clearly: Skylar tilting herself backward, pushing away Summer’s extended hand, and rolling down the stairs.

"The truth about Miss Skylar falling down the stairs three years ago," his voice had no ups or downs, as if he were stating someone else's business. "Summer did not push her. It was she who threw herself down and framed Summer."

The crowd was in an uproar!

Following that was the second piece of evidence: screenshots of bank transfer records showing that Skylar’s account had sent large sums to several hoodlums just before the "dress shop incident."

"This is evidence of Skylar bribing thugs in an attempt to humiliate Summer."

The third: surveillance footage from a convenience window showing Skylar’s personal maid secretly purchasing a large volume of gasoline.