The airport terminal was packed with people.
Suddenly, flashes of light erupted and the crowd stirred. Aditya, draped in red silk, approached amidst a swarm of bodyguards, lawyers, and reporters with cameras ready—not here to pick someone up, but to claim what she believed was hers.
"Elia Chen, you have no right to stand here," she said coldly, like a blade slicing through air. "Three years ago when you vanished, you signed a voluntary relinquishment agreement."
All lenses turned to the woman in the floral dress standing by the corner window. Pale, blood seeping through her knees, yet she stood straight—like a dying flower refusing to fall.
"I didn't sign a surrender," she coughed, a trickle of blood at the corner of her lips. "I signed 'Wait for me until I find the evidence.'"
Security rushed forward to remove her, but she didn’t resist. Instead, she raised her wrist and played a recording aloud—
[Voice plays]
"As long as she's alive, the marriage is invalid. Clean it up. Leave no trace."
It was Aditya’s voice.
Silence swallowed the hall.
Then, a dark figure crashed through the crowd. A man in a sharp suit dropped to one knee and pulled Elia tightly into his arms, voice trembling: "Adia... why do you keep doing this to yourself?"
Aditya’s pupils contracted sharply.
She stared at him, frozen. "What did you say? What did you call her?"
The man looked up, eyes icy. "She's your sister. And my legally married wife. You haven’t just stolen her inheritance—"
He slowly removed his glasses, revealing an old scar on his brow.
"—you’ve also stolen the memory of how she saved your life."
A flight delay announcement echoed over the PA.
No one heard it.
The main screen abruptly switched—a surveillance video appeared: three years ago, a rainy night. A car veered off a mountain road. The woman in the passenger seat threw the other out just before impact.
The survivor crawled from the wreckage, covered in blood, lifting her face toward the camera—
identical to the Aditya standing there now.
And the one thrown clear, face caked in mud, eyes open, whispering weakly:
"Sister… don’t leave me…"
The screen went black.
Sirens wailed closer.
Elia smiled, blood trailing down her chin.
"Now it's my turn to speak—
You have no right… to say my name."
