The morning sun filtered through the ornate lattice of the Shen estate's west wing, casting geometric patterns on the marble floor. Aria Yan awoke in a narrow hospital bed tucked into a small recovery ward, the hum of ventilators and distant footsteps her only companions. She sat up, limbs heavy, ribbons of gauze crisscrossing her pale torso. Each breath carried a dull ache—proof of the surgery that had saved Mrs. Shen's life, but stolen part of her own.
A nurse entered, fluttering in white like a ghost. “Good morning, Miss Yan," she murmured, checking the IV line. “Dr. Sun will see you shortly. Try to rest."
Aria nodded, her voice trapped behind a lip that barely quivered. Instead, she pressed one hand over her incision and drew a single deep breath. *Invisible scars*, she signed in the
