Hidden Identity

My dad was a “Yin Guest”-or, in plain terms, a grave tester.

When rich people picked out a burial plot, they would hire someone to spend a night there and see whether the gravesite was clean.

My dad had been in that line of work for years.

Until his last job. When he came home, his body was covered in livor mortis.

I was a male celebrity drowning in scandals.

Online, people said I had schemed my way to the top. They said my private life was filthy and promiscuous.

My family said I was jealous of the adopted son they had taken in, that I had racked my brains trying to ruin him.

My friends said I was two-faced and treacherous, not someone worth getting close to.

Even my fiancé believed I could never compare to my younger brother, who was generous, graceful, kind, and innocent.

If that was how it was, then I would leave your world behind.

I was never meant to be defined or controlled by anyone.

I am a lactation consultant, specifically catering to wealthy socialites.

To gain my clients’ trust, I intentionally pretend to be blind.

I never expected that one day, when I arrived for a home visit, I would discover that my client had become a corpse.

And her husband was currently discussing how to dispose of her with another woman.

The man I secretly loved was the legitimate princess’s fiancé.

I was the unfavored Seventh Princess, and the fiancé bestowed upon me was a drunken libertine who gambled, kept concubines, and maintained a mistress outside his estate.

But that was all right.

My best friend had the ultimate cheat code.