Chapter 1Behind The Bandages Of The Billionaires Forgotten Daughter

The moment my skin suddenly fractured, splitting open and bleeding uncontrollably, my father finally admitted that my mother carried the gene for Butterfly Syndrome.

He saw the outbreak—he saw me—as a plague. He took my healthy sister and stormed out, abandoning me.

My mother, thankfully, seemed heartbroken. She meticulously wrapped every sharp object in the house and stayed by my side, refusing to leave.

But a week later, she also vanished. She couldn’t overcome her crippling aversion to blood, or so she claimed, leaving me, who had just begun to rebuild hope, utterly alone.

I understood the agonizing burden of caring for someone with Epidermolysis Bullosa (EB). I didn't blame my parents for leaving.

At least they—people of supposedly modest means—had left me their only asset: this old, run-down condo, a roof over my head. I prayed my sister, Eliza, would stay healthy, sparing our already poor family further tribulation.

Unable to hold a regular job, I survived by streaming my artwork online.

Then, two years later, during a random stream collaboration, I connected with the daughter of a billionaire who also had EB.

And on the screen, I saw my sister.

She didn't recognize me beneath the bandages covering most of my face. She simply treated me like a stranger—a fellow patient to commiserate with.

The chat exploded, comparing Eliza's pristine appearance to my own stark, painful reality.

“Ugh, average people can’t afford Butterfly Syndrome. Just look at the difference between this woman and the billionaire’s daughter.”

“She said she lives alone. No wonder her condition is so much worse than the billionaire’s daughter, who’s been lovingly cared for.”

“Imagine having parents who are billionaires and who stand by you even with this disease, caring for you like a normal person. I wish I had parents like that!”

It hit me then. I hadn’t been abandoned because of the disease.

I had been abandoned because I was unloved.

* * *

My sister on the screen looked flawless.

If it weren’t for the word “EB” in her stream title and the expensive silk compression gloves covering her hands, no one would guess she suffered from this incredibly painful, rare condition.

Eliza spoke to me with genuine kindness:

“Hi there. What a coincidence to connect with a fellow EB patient. How long have you had it? Why so many wounds? Are you having trouble managing your daily life? If you’re really struggling, you can contact me off-stream. I’d be happy to offer some help.”

The sudden, brutal truth had left me paralyzed. I couldn't utter a word.

The prolonged silence made Eliza look awkward. She forced a strained smile.

The comments immediately turned hostile towards me:

“The heiress is so genuine and kind, why is this girl giving her the cold shoulder?”

“I know her type. Thinks the world owes her everything just because she’s sick.”

“The heiress is fighting the same disease! Who are you to give her attitude? You deserve to be abandoned by your family!”

Seeing the chat call her "the heiress," and seeing the luxurious, meticulously curated furniture behind Eliza, a paralyzing, agonizing ache shot through my whole body.

They were rich. Billionaires.

No wonder they could so easily abandon the old, cramped apartment to me—the one they’d used to raise us while supposedly scrimping and saving. It was all a lie, a cruel set-up meant only for me.

I trembled, unable to stop myself. Tears gushed out, blurring the insults flashing across the screen.

“Stop playing the victim. You ignored the heiress first.”

“She’s obviously jealous that the heiress is richer, kinder, and prettier.”

Eliza’s worried, gentle voice cut through the noise:

“Everyone, please stop arguing on my behalf. I apologize if I was too forward. Please don’t be mean to her.”

Then, she spoke carefully to me:

“Are you alright? Did I remind you of something painful?”

That familiar tone dragged me back to a time we shared: a life of manufactured poverty where we leaned on each other. We would pool months of savings from odd jobs just to afford a cheap takeout meal. We’d stay up late whispering secrets, and comfort each other after a scolding from our parents.

But the sister who was so close to me had participated in the deception, keeping the truth of our wealth hidden and abandoning me when I fell ill. She offered a helping hand to a stranger—someone she thought was a stranger.

Why did she turn a blind eye to her own sister?

If not for this accidental connection, I might have died never knowing I was betrayed by my entire family.

I looked at Eliza’s genuinely concerned face and spoke, my voice raw:

“Yes. You reminded me of my sister. She and my parents left me behind because they were disgusted by my disease.”

A flicker of discomfort crossed Eliza’s eyes.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize you had a sister, or that you’d been through that.”

The angry comments paused.

“Seriously, lay off the insults. You’re being cruel to a patient.”

“I noticed earlier that she looked upset and couldn’t answer. Now you’ve forced her to open up about something tragic.”

“Exactly! The heiress streams to help people with EB, and you’ve managed to turn the first collaboration into a bullying session!”

That last comment caught my attention. I spoke softly:

“Are you new to streaming? When were you diagnosed with EB?”

Eliza looked confused by the sudden change of topic but answered honestly:

“About six months ago. We’ve been traveling all over to see specialists. My condition has improved recently, so I decided to start a stream to raise awareness.”

I clenched my fists so hard my skin instantly tore and bled, but I didn’t feel the pain.