Chapter 3

Early the next morning, I deliberately sat in the living room, flipping through a book while sighing dramatically.

Lydia walked by wearing an expensive facial mask, glancing at me sideways.

"Aria, you're about to go suffer, and you still have the mood to read?"

"Lydia, you don't understand."

I deliberately put on a yearning expression.

"I used to think it would be hard too, but last night I looked up information and discovered that people like Derek are actually hidden masters."

Lydia frowned.

"That balding, bad-breath homeless guy? A master?"

"Yes! Look at these photos."

I opened my phone and showed her several carefully selected, heavily filtered photos of Alaska from online.

Lone pilgrims, and silhouettes of beggars packaged as wandering poets.

"Derek has transcended worldly concerns. The routes he takes are all wilderness areas where you can see the purest starry skies. This kind of soul-shaking experience, you couldn't buy for millions in big cities."

I deliberately lowered my voice and leaned in mysteriously.

"I heard these wandering ascetics have quite a few Alaska antiques and treasures—the savings from decades of wandering."

"Such a shame. A vulgar person like me only thinks about overtime pay. For someone like me to go to such a place would be a complete waste."

Lydia's eyes lit up. That kind of untested arrogance and pathological longing for niche aesthetics was instantly ignited.

"Aria, are you saying Derek is actually rich? And this trip is actually high-end?"

"More than high-end—it's an admission ticket for spiritual aristocrats."

I closed the book with feigned regret.

"If you could go, with your temperament, you'd definitely write a bestselling vagabond literature book."

Lydia bit her lip, her eyes flashing wildly.

"Aria, how about... we switch?"

My heart pounded, but my face showed panic.

"No way! Mom will kill me. She said this was a special blessing meant for me!"

"I'll talk to Mom!"

Lydia snatched the book from my hands.

"Someone as money-obsessed as you really doesn't deserve to go to Alaska."

I watched her determined expression and said silently: Dear sister, you're opening the gates of hell yourself.

"Just don't tell Mom I encouraged you, or I can't take the responsibility."

"I know, look how timid you are. Go to your overtime work!"

Lydia strutted back to her room and even began searching for her most worn-out yet decadently beautiful clothes.

I stood at the end of the hallway, looking at the gloomy sky outside, feeling the air was fresh for the first time.

The day before departure, my mom Rachel called me into her room.

"Aria, this is the budget travel liability waiver the tourism bureau requires. Sign it so Derek doesn't have to worry along the way."

She handed me a stack of densely worded contracts, urging me to sign quickly.

I pretended not to understand the complicated clauses, but as I flipped pages, my fingertips keenly caught a line of hidden small print at the bottom.

This wasn't any liability waiver at all.

It was an accidental death and disappearance insurance policy worth eight hundred thousand dollars!

The beneficiary column clearly read: Rachel Lane.