Blurb：
In the chilling winter, Michael Silva and I shared a tiny rented room, surviving on half a steamed bun as he vowed to give me the best life. Years later, he became the successful Mr. Silva, and I became Mrs. Silva in a grand wedding. But happiness shattered when Michael grew distant, letting his adopted sister Vivian Silva take over our home. Trapped in a cold basement, I clung to memories until a rainy day crisis erupted—Vivian’s cruel words about my missing grandmother led to a violent clash, leaving her scalded. When Michael returned, he accused me without a second thought. Is this the same man who once saved food for me? Dive into this emotional turmoil of betrayal, love, and secrets involving Michael Silva, Vivian Silva, and a heartbroken wife fighting for justice.Content：
I always think of the rain at the alley's edge late at night.That winter was exceptionally cold; Michael Silva and I crammed together in a rented room less than ten square meters. The heating had long since stopped, and thick frost bloomed on the glass windows.
That day, we had only one steamed bun left. I broke it in half and offered him a piece, but he pushed it back, saying he had already eaten outside.
Later, I learned that he had been carrying steel rods all day at the construction site and hadn't even had a sip of warm water.
He promised that once he had money, he would give me the very best life.
I believed him.
Three years later, Michael Silva truly rose again, starting his own company and becoming the Mr. Silva everyone talked about.
When he stood there in a tailored suit, holding flowers as he proposed, I nodded through tears, feeling that all my suffering had finally come to an end.
The wedding was grand; I wore a pristine white wedding dress, receiving blessings from everyone. They all envied me for becoming the beloved Mrs. Silva.
But I never imagined that happiness would disappear so quickly.
Less than a year into our marriage, Michael Silva began staying out all night more and more often.
Whenever I asked, he said it was because of work, his tone dripping with impatience.
What chilled me even more was that he had allowed his adopted sister, Vivian Silva, to move into our master bedroom.
That day when I came home, I saw my clothes and makeup thrown on the floor; Vivian Silva was directing the servants to move my things to the basement.
I rushed into the study and asked Michael Silva why, but he didn't even look up; he said Vivian was unwell, and the master bedroom faced the sun, making it suitable for her to recover.
I gazed at his cold profile and was suddenly overcome by a sense of unfamiliarity.
Is this still the Michael Silva who used to save the last steamed bun for me?
The basement was cold and damp. I crouched among a pile of clutter, clutching that old sweater he once wore, and cried for a long time.
The moonlight outside filtered through the small window, falling coldly upon me, much like the look in his eyes at that moment.
The rain that day poured relentlessly, as if determined to drown the entire city.
I was in the kitchen brewing ginger soup when my phone suddenly rang; it was Aunt Martha.
Aunt Martha's voice trembled with tears as she told me that Grandmother had gone out to buy her blood pressure medicine and had yet to return.
My heart clenched painfully. Grandmother is already in her seventies, her eyesight failing—where could she possibly be in such a downpour?
I grabbed my umbrella and rushed out, only to be stopped by Vivian Silva.
"Where are you going?" She crossed her arms and looked down at me with a superior gaze.
"My grandmother is missing. I have to find her." Panic nearly brought tears to my eyes.
"What's the fuss? She's just an old woman. If she's lost, then she's lost. Maybe she's hiding on purpose, trying to extort money."
Vivian Silva's words stabbed sharply into my heart.
I trembled with rage, pointing at her and shouting, "How dare you say that? She's my grandmother!"
"I said it—what are you going to do about it?" As Vivian Silva spoke, she suddenly shoved me hard.
I lost my balance and fell backward, colliding with the stove beside me.
The stove still held a pot of hot soup; the bowl toppled over, spilling scalding soup all over Vivian Silva's arm.
"Ah!" Vivian Silva cried out in pain, clutching her arm as she writhed on the floor.
At that moment, Michael Silva returned.
Seeing the scene before him, his face turned pale as death.
"What happened?" He rushed over, shoved me aside, and knelt down to examine Vivian Silva's wound.
"Brother, she pushed me and even poured hot soup on me. My hand hurts so badly!" Vivian sobbed, shooting me a sharp glance.
Michael Silva lifted his head, his eyes blazing with anger. He fixed his gaze on me and spoke deliberately, word by word:
"Vivian's arm was badly burned and needs a skin graft. The doctor said your skin matches hers—you must donate."
I couldn't believe my own ears. "Michael Silva, have you lost your mind? That's my skin! And she was the one who pushed me first!"
"I don't want to hear your excuses," he cut me off, shouting toward the doorway, "Someone!"
Two bodyguards in black suits immediately stepped inside.
Michael Silva pointed at me and said to the bodyguards, "Take her upstairs to a room, and first thing tomorrow morning, send her to the hospital to have skin grafted from her back for Vivian."
"No! Michael Silva, you can't do this to me! We were so close before—have you forgotten?" I clung to the hem of his clothes, pleading desperately.
Download the SnackShort app, Search 【 132413 】reads the whole book.
The End