Author: Momo Chan

Chapter 1 Twenty years after my mother’s death, I heard a missing person announcement on the campus radio. “Natalie Hayes, female, missing for twenty-one years.” “Nineteen years old at the time of disappearance. Literature major at South City State University…” My blood ran cold. Natalie Hayes. Wasn’t that my mother’s name? It turned out my mother had been kidnapped and sold to our family. Our entire town was a ring of human traffickers. I remembered the day she tried to run away. I hugged her legs tightly and screamed, “Mom, please don’t leave me!” Then my father locked her in the woodshed. By the time anyone went back in, she was no longer breathing. The night I learned the truth, I stood on the roof of a building, feeling like I had no right to go on living. If it hadn’t been for my scream, she might have made it over the mountain behind the town and back to the city. She might have gone back to South City, finished college, gotten married, and had a child who wasn’t me. I closed my eyes and stepped off the ledge. When I opened my eyes again, I was back in my childhood home. I was six years old. In the corner of the room, a woman so thin she was practically skin and bone was crouching. She stuffed half of a cold, stale cornbread into the inner pocket of her jacket, then carefully tied the cuffs of her pants tight against her ankles. Her right ankle was severely swollen, trembling slightly when she walked. Her back was turned to me. But I knew it was my mother. Natalie Hayes. In my past life, it was today. She took advantage of my father going to the town hall for a roll call and the majority of the town heading to the farmer’s market, and climbed out the back window. She took the path by the old oak tree. But when I woke up and found her gone, I ran outside crying and screaming for her. Hearing me, my father grabbed his carrying pole and chased her up the mountain. The townspeople followed, blocking the roads. She was caught quickly. Three days later, a muffled thud echoed from the woodshed. And from then on, there was no more Natalie Hayes. I bolted upright in bed. The wooden frame creaked. She immediately whipped her head around to look at me. Seeing I was awake, the color instantly drained from her face. It was a conditioned reflex of pure terror. She rushed over and clamped her hand over my mouth, tears instantly spilling from her eyes. “Don’t scream.” Her voice was shaking violently. “Liam, please. Don’t yell for anyone, okay?” My tears started falling too. A six-year-old’s body was too small, my throat too tight. I nodded frantically. Thinking I was lying, she covered my mouth even tighter. The sound of brass gongs outside was getting closer. The crowd heading to the market was about to leave town. We were running out of time. I grabbed her wrist. When my fingers brushed against the crescent-shaped birthmark, my entire body started shaking. I forced the words out of my mouth: “You are Natalie Hayes.” She froze. I continued: “Literature major at South City State University.” “Your dad’s name is Robert Hayes. Your mom’s name is Martha Hayes.” “They’re still in South City waiting for you. Aren’t they?” She stood there, paralyzed, as if she had been struck by lightning. The hand covering my mouth slowly loosened. She stared at me, her eyes slowly turning red. “How… how do you know that?” I was crying so hard I couldn’t form a full sentence. I just grabbed her sleeve. “Mom.” “Don’t take the path by the old oak tree.” “There will be people blocking you there.” “This time, I’m taking you with me.” Chapter 2 2. She didn’t believe me right away. Which was completely normal. Even though I was only six, to her, I was a product of this town. She took a half-step back, her eyes defensive and on the verge of a breakdown. “Who taught you to say that?” “Was it Arthur Evans?” “What is he trying to do now?” Arthur Evans. My father. The head of Oakhaven. The man everyone called an “honest guy.” He always had a goofy smile on his face, handing out cigarettes to everyone he met. But I was the only one who knew that the year he bought my mother, he spent six thousand dollars. The ledger was locked in a metal box inside his cabinet. I saw it when I was digging for money in my past life. That page clearly stated: South City woman, Hayes, $6,000. Plus $500 for the middleman. I climbed out of bed, my bare feet hitting the freezing dirt floor. “No one taught me.” “Mom, just trust me this once, please.” “There’s really something hidden under the stove. Dad hid it there.” I ran over to the stove. In my past life, this was where I dug up the bookmark. Using my tiny hands, I dug frantically through the ash, the dirt turning the skin under my fingernails black. Natalie stood behind me, her breathing growing heavier. Finally, I pried a brick loose. I pulled it out and shook it. A bent, silver bookmark fell to the ground. Along with half of a torn student ID photo. The girl in the photo was even younger than the one on the missing person poster. Her eyes were clear and bright. On the back, written in charcoal ash, were a few lines: My name is Natalie Hayes. If I die, please tell my parents I did not stay here willingly. Natalie slammed her hands over her mouth. She crouched down and clutched that torn piece of photo to her chest, trembling uncontrollably. I watched her cry, but I didn’t dare go over and hug her. I didn’t deserve to. I just whispered: “Mom, we have to get the ledger, too.” She looked up. “What ledger?” “In Arthur Evans’s cabinet.” I didn’t want to call him Dad. In this life, from the moment I knew the truth, he stopped being my father. He was a buyer. He was a murderer. Natalie’s face changed. “His cabinet is locked.” “He keeps the keys on his belt. It’s too hard to get them.” I shook my head. “He had to go to the town hall today to use the PA system, so he changed his pants.” “He hid the keys inside his pillowcase.” I knew this house too well. And I knew that man’s habits too well. I dragged a stool over and climbed onto the bed in the back room. The pillowcase was dirty and stiff. I reached inside and felt a cold ring of keys. Natalie watched me, a flicker of hesitation finally appearing in her eyes. We unlocked the bottom drawer of the wooden cabinet. Inside was a metal box. Besides cash, there were two small ledger books. I flipped through them quickly, found the page, ripped it out, and stuffed it into my shirt. Natalie took one look at it, and her face went completely white. “Hayes, $6,000.” She read the words, her voice sounding crushed. She had always known she was bought. But seeing it written out in black and white—that kind of humiliation was enough to drive someone insane. I grabbed her hand. “Mom, let’s go!” “If we wait any longer, Arthur will be back.” She wrapped the torn ID, the bookmark, and the ledger page in a piece of cloth and tucked them securely against her body. We didn’t leave through the front door. The front door faced the town square. Everyone would see us. The back window was tiny. In my past life, this was how she climbed out. This time, she lifted me onto the windowsill first. I looked back at her. She was so dangerously thin. Her arms were covered in old bruises from beatings. Her ankle was swollen, and her face turned pale with pain as she hoisted herself out the window. I reached out, wanting to pull her up. A six-year-old’s hands didn’t have much strength. But gritting her teeth, she managed to climb out. Behind the house was a cornfield, the stalks growing waist-high. When the wind blew, the leaves rustled loudly. Voices drifted up from the dirt road in the distance. “Headed to the market!” “They’re selling piglets in town today!” Natalie instinctively started to run east. Toward the old oak tree. I immediately grabbed her. “No.” “The east side will be blocked by the townspeople!” She looked down at me, breathing heavily. “Then which way?” I pointed toward the pig-weed hill behind the house. “We’ll crawl through the irrigation ditch.” “Then head up into the old logging camp.” “Halfway up the mountain, there’s an abandoned fire road. It circles all the way to the winding highway.” She was stunned. “How do you know that?” I didn’t answer. I couldn’t tell her. In my past life, after finding out the truth, I ran wild through these mountains countless times. Like an act of penance, I walked every single path she never got the chance to take. Chapter 3 3. As we crawled into the cornfield, a dog barked near the town entrance. Natalie’s body instantly went rigid. She knew that sound too well. In Oakhaven, a woman running away was never just one person’s problem. The dogs would bark, the gongs would sound, the men would come out, the elders would block the roads, and the other women would try to talk her into surrendering. It was a well-oiled machine, practiced more efficiently than weddings or funerals. I pulled her down to a crouch, holding my breath. The barking stopped. It probably just caught a random scent. I exhaled and kept crawling down the slope. The abandoned irrigation ditch was right behind the pig-weed hill. The town had built it years ago, but after a landslide blocked it with mud and rocks, it was abandoned. Kids thought it was too dirty to play in. Adults never used it. But it cut through two terraced fields and completely bypassed the east side of town. The ditch was slick with moss and rotting leaves. It was dangerously slippery. When Natalie carried me down into it, her bad ankle gave out, and she nearly fell. I quickly steadied her. Cold sweat beaded on her forehead, but she gritted her teeth and didn’t make a sound. Watching her like this felt like needles piercing my heart. In my past life, I never knew she had so many injuries. I only ever listened to the townspeople: “Your mom is weak. She fakes being sick just to avoid doing chores.” “Your mom’s heart is too wild. A few good beatings will straighten her out.” “Your mom doesn’t love you. She only cares about the wild men out there.” How could I have believed them? How could I have ever believed them?! At the end of the ditch, a section of the wall had collapsed. If we climbed up through the collapse, we would reach the trail leading up the back mountain. But halfway up the climb, the PA system from the town hall suddenly screeched to life. The broken speaker let out a piercing squeal that echoed through the entire valley. “Testing—Testing—” My entire body froze. Arthur Evans was back. His voice exploded from the speaker: “Listen up, everyone!” “That crazy woman in my house is having another episode!” “And she took the kid with her!” “If anyone sees her, stop her immediately!” “Do not let her leave this town!” Natalie’s face went chalk white. Her fingers dug so hard into the dirt wall of the ditch that her nails broke off. I knew exactly what she was afraid of. With just a few casual words, he turned her desperate fight for survival into the ramblings of a lunatic. Immediately after, the sound of a heavy metal gate locking echoed from the direction of the general store. Clang! That was the iron gate blocking the county road. Brenda Ross was on the move. She was the head of the town’s Women’s Committee, and also the town’s “doctor.” In my past life, she used to hold me in her arms and give me candy. She would say, “Liam, your mom has no conscience. When a woman marries, she has to accept her fate.” She would say, “Your dad has it rough. You have to take his side.” She would say, “That crazy woman will freeze to death if she runs into the woods. Bringing her back is saving her life.” I believed her for years. It wasn’t until much later that I realized: whenever a woman was beaten so badly she couldn’t get out of bed, Brenda was the one who gave her the injections. When a woman’s body was covered in bruises from a beating, Brenda would write up a fake medical report. When women cried and begged Brenda to let them go, she would just smile and say: “Once you enter these mountains, you belong to the mountains. There’s no getting out.” In the distance, someone started banging a gong. Over and over. The dogs started going crazy, their barking filling the valley. Natalie’s breathing became erratic. “We’re out of time. I’ll distract them.” “Liam, hide yourself.” “They only want me. They won’t hurt you.” I shook my head violently. “No.” “They won’t let me go, either.” By helping her escape, I had betrayed Oakhaven. Arthur Evans would never forgive me. But more importantly, I could never let her go alone again. In my past life, she went alone. She had half a piece of cornbread in her pocket, a crippled ankle, and the malice of an entire town hunting her down. And I was the one who hugged her leg, crying and begging her to stay. Thinking about it made me sick to my stomach. I gripped her hand tight. “Mom, listen to me.” “They’re going to block the east entrance and the south slope first.” “No one will go toward the logging camp on the west side, because that’s where the beehives are. The wild bees attack people.” “Let’s go around behind the beehives!” Natalie looked at me, tears suddenly streaming down her face. “Liam.” Her voice was so quiet. “Why are you helping me?” The question felt like a knife. I opened my mouth, my throat incredibly tight. “Because I’m the one who hurt you.” She froze. I couldn’t look at her anymore. I just pulled her hand and kept crawling forward. “This time is different.” “I’m going to make sure you get home.” Outside the ditch, footsteps ran past us overhead. “Check over by the old oak tree!” “She’s got a bad leg, she can’t have gone far!” “Arthur said to tie her up as soon as we catch her, and wait for Brenda to give her a sedative!” Natalie pressed me against the wall of the ditch, too terrified to even breathe loudly. Muddy water dripped down her pant legs. I saw the veins bulging on the back of her hand. She was enduring it. She had endured it for so many years. Once the footsteps faded, I led her up through the collapsed section of the wall. The grass on the west slope was tall and sharp, cutting into my calves. Natalie’s ankle was getting worse. She had to stop every dozen steps. I wanted to carry her on my back. But I was only six years old. I couldn’t even control my own panting. She tried to push me forward instead. “Leave me.” “You go first.” I was getting angry. “If you say that again, I’m never calling you Mom again!” She paused, and somehow, in the middle of all this, she smiled. She said, “Okay. I won’t say it.” We circled around toward the beehives. This was Old Man Miller’s territory. He kept over a dozen hives of wild bees and usually cursed at anyone who got too close. He was probably down the mountain for the market today. But just as we rounded a dirt mound, I heard a woman’s voice. “Liam. What are you running for?”

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In my fifth year as an attending physician in the Emergency Department at City General, my life was destroyed by four college kids fresh off a graduation trip to Africa. It was a sweltering summer night, and the ER lobby was boiling with noise. The guy leading the group rolled up his sleeve, pointed to a cluster of purplish-red blood blisters on his forearm, and winked at me. Beside him, his three friends held up their phones, stifling their laughter as they narrated to their live stream. “Doc, I just got off the plane. This is pure, unadulterated African Ebola. Aren’t you going to rush me into the trauma bay?” “Chat, watch this. The doctor is definitely going to hide under the desk in a second.” “A graduation trip has to be thrilling! This is way more explosive than a standard travel vlog.” According to CDC protocols and strict infectious disease guidelines, faced with patients possessing a travel history to Africa, self-reporting a highly lethal infectious virus, and exhibiting unexplained rashes, I was supposed to immediately smash the red emergency button on the wall. I was supposed to lock down the entire ER, notify Infection Control, and alert the State Department of Health. But in my previous life, their academic advisor, Professor Harrison, had rushed in sweating bullets and grabbed onto my white coat. He pleaded that the kids had just graduated and were scheduled to attend the Statewide Alumni Honors Banquet. He claimed Africa was huge, that they had only visited perfectly safe tourist resorts, and that this was just a normal bug bite. They were just young, reckless kids making a stupid joke. He told me that if I triggered a Level 1 lockdown, the four of them would be forcibly quarantined. Not only would they miss their banquet, but they could also face criminal charges for inciting public panic, ruining their futures forever. Looking at those lively, energetic students who showed zero signs of severe illness, my heart softened. I pulled my hand back from the alarm and told them to go wait in the regular fever clinic line for a blood draw. Half an hour later. The boy who had been sitting in the IV lounge playing games on his phone suddenly went into violent convulsions. Dark, clotted blood erupted from his nose and mouth like a fountain, splashing all over the surrounding patients. In less than three minutes, blood was even seeping from the corners of his eyes. His three friends screamed in terror and fled in every direction. “That ER doctor told us to come out here!” “She looked at it and said he was fine! It must be the dirty air in this hospital that infected him! He was perfectly fine when we got here!” “We’re just college students, what do we know about medicine?!” The entire ER building at City General was forced into an emergency lockdown. Over a hundred innocent patients and medical staff became direct contacts. As the initial attending physician, I was suspended and had my medical license revoked. My photo and home address trended on Twitter, subjecting me to a relentless, vicious cyberbullying campaign. In the end, lying in an isolation ward, I watched massive patches of subcutaneous hemorrhaging spread beneath my own skin. I died in excruciating agony, suffocating as my internal organs liquefied. When I opened my eyes again, the harsh glare of the triage desk monitor stung my eyes. The boy, Liam Carter, was shoving his arm with the purplish-red blisters in my face, a smug, arrogant grin plastered on his lips. “Doc, this is Ebola. Better hurry up and save my life.” I didn’t say a word. I just stared at him. Then, I raised my hand and slammed my fist hard against the glass-covered red emergency button on the wall. BZZZZZT! A piercing, deafening alarm instantly shredded the chaotic noise of the ER lobby. “Initiate Level 1 Infectious Disease Lockdown protocol immediately.” “Drop all isolation shutters, shut down the central HVAC, and notify Infection Control, Hospital Security, and the CDC.” 1. The moment the alarm blared, Nurse Jessica dropped her pen onto her clipboard. She froze for less than two seconds before her years of ER training kicked in. She snatched up her walkie-talkie, her voice taut like a bowstring. “Lock down the main ER doors! Halt all personnel movement in and out. Switch the fever clinic corridors to negative pressure mode!” Red warning lights spun wildly at the ends of the corridors. Heavy metal security shutters descended with a harsh, grating mechanical screech, slamming into the floor and compartmentalizing the massive ER into sealed blocks. The crowd of people waiting to register and see doctors fell into a brief panic. The cries of infants mixed with the frantic questions of family members. But the highly trained security guards were already swiftly rolling out the yellow-and-black quarantine tape. The laughter of the four college students cut off abruptly, like ducks being strangled by the neck. The girl holding her phone up to live stream, Chloe Bennett, lost her smile. Her camera angle shook. “No way, Doctor, we were just filming a prank for TikTok. Why are you making such a huge scene?” I yanked open my drawer, pulled out a disposable hazmat gown and an N95 mask, speaking rapidly but with crystal-clear enunciation. “The hospital emergency room does not provide venues for your escape room games or internet pranks. Ebola is lethal.” Liam pulled his arm back slightly and scoffed. “I got bitten by a bug at our Airbnb. It’s just a bump. Stop overreacting, is this really necessary?” “Whether it’s a bug bite or not, the CDC will tell you after we run your bloodwork, PCR tests, and pathogen sequencing.” “Then why the hell are you locking the doors? We have to go back to campus tonight for our graduation party! We already booked the VIP room!” I pinched the metal wire of my N95 mask tight over the bridge of my nose, refusing to look at him. Because I knew that explaining procedures to arrogant, entitled people would only result in an endless, pointless argument. Behind Chloe, the other girl in the group, Emma Foster, tugged at her sleeve and whispered, “Chloe, maybe we should end the live stream? I feel like this is blowing up.” Before Chloe could move, the tall guy who had been quiet until now, Noah Sullivan, got defensive. “Why should we turn it off? We didn’t lie. We really did just get back from Africa.” “Chat, look closely! This ER doctor at City General is locking down the entire hospital over a mosquito bite. Isn’t this an abuse of power?” I pointed a finger up at the CCTV camera in the corner of the ceiling, then looked dead at Chloe’s phone. “According to public health laws and hospital privacy regulations, cease filming immediately.” Security Captain Mike was already standing outside the quarantine tape with two fully geared security guards. Mike’s face was grim as he barked, “You four, comply with hospital regulations and put your phones away.” Chloe shrank back half a step behind Noah, her face turning ugly. “Why is your hospital forcing us to surrender our phones? Do you have something to hide?” I tied the straps of my hazmat gown into a dead knot behind my waist. “We aren’t hiding anything. We are preserving the scene. You just live-streamed from the core zone of the emergency room, claiming to carry a highly lethal infectious virus. This is classified as a threat to public safety.” “Until the CDC and the police confirm the area is safe, your communication devices must be screened to prevent unnecessary public panic.” All the color drained from her face instantly. Her lips moved, but no sound came out. The Chief of Emergency Medicine, Dr. Robert Davis, came sprinting out from the back. He had just finished a brutal round of CPR, his forehead slick with sweat. Seeing the lowered metal shutters and the flashing red lights, his brow twisted into a fierce knot. “Dr. Evans, what is going on?” I stepped up, reporting from a safe two-meter distance. “Four young patients, self-reporting recent travel history to Africa. One presents with unexplained purplish-red blood blisters on the right forearm, accompanied by a low-grade fever.” “The patients verbally claimed to be infected with the Ebola virus. I have initiated a Level 1 lockdown.” Dr. Davis took one look at Liam’s arm, and his expression instantly went dark. “Contact history? Where exactly in Africa did they go?” “Waiting on the CDC for epidemiological tracing.” Dr. Davis nodded decisively and turned to bark orders at the charge nurse. “Spin up the negative pressure isolation wards. Put these four in solitary confinement. All medical personnel in this zone, switch to Level 2 PPE. Seal every single item they have come into contact with.” The moment the words left his mouth, Emma finally broke down and burst into loud, wailing sobs. The sound was jarring in the echoing, isolated space. Chloe’s eyes went red too. She reached out, trying to grab the plastic sneeze guard on the triage desk. “Doctor… we really just wanted to film a graduation video to get some clout. We worked so hard to graduate. Please, please just let us go.” She spoke in a deliberately hushed, pitiful voice. She pleaded that she had just signed with a top influencer agency, and tonight’s live stream analytics were crucial for her career. She claimed they were just sheltered students who didn’t know hospital rules, and that if this left a mark on her criminal record, her parents would kill her. I looked at her through my protective goggles. “The moment you walked through those ER doors and said those words to your camera…” “…you should have known that in the adult world, ‘just a prank’ is not a get-out-of-jail-free card.” 2. State University’s academic advisor, Professor Mark Harrison, arrived in record time. He had rushed out so fast his shirt was buttoned wrong. Clutching a black leather briefcase, he stood outside the glass doors of the ER, sweating profusely as the security guards blocked his path. “I am a faculty advisor from the State University Business School! Those four students are mine! If there’s an issue, you negotiate with me!” He pounded frantically on the glass, his voice muffled through the heavy, soundproof doors. Dr. Davis signaled the guards to open the door just a crack, allowing him to stand behind the yellow line in the buffer zone. Professor Harrison took one look at the students being led into four separate negative pressure isolation rooms by staff in full hazmat gear, and then at the doctors standing in combat-ready formation. His face turned paper-white. “Dr. Davis… Dr. Evans… Isn’t… isn’t this blowing things a little out of proportion?” He pulled out a tissue, wiped the sweat from his face, and lowered his voice, attempting to use an administrative “let’s handle this internally” tone. “They just got their diplomas. They went to Africa to see the animal migration and got a little too excited. It’s just a normal bug bite. I’ve already lectured them.” “Just release them to me. I promise I’ll take them back to campus and discipline them strictly. If you actually escalate this to the CDC, do you know how many departments will get dragged into this?” “It’ll mess up your hospital’s bed turnover rates too, won’t it?” In my previous life, he had stood behind this exact yellow line, using the exact same earnest tone, even squeezing out two fake tears. He had pulled on my sleeve, begging me, saying he had just been approved for tenure, and that if his students caused a disaster like this, he would be heavily penalized. But later, when everything went to hell and reporters shoved microphones in his face, he washed his hands of it completely. He had said: “The hospital is a professional medical institution. Whether quarantine was necessary was entirely the doctor’s call.” “As laymen, we completely followed Dr. Evans’ arrangements at the time. How were we supposed to know she would be so reckless?” Through my face shield, my gaze locked coldly onto Harrison’s face. “Professor Harrison, are you aware that for the sake of internet clout, they live-streamed in an emergency room, falsely claiming to be carrying a highly lethal infectious virus?” Harrison’s eyes darted away shiftily. “I know they like making TikToks. Young people these days, they all want to be influencers. But I honestly had no idea they would joke about something like this.” Inside the isolation room, Liam heard the voices through the intercom system and immediately started slamming his hands against the glass window. “Professor! Why are you wasting your breath on them?! They’re just trying to scare us! My temperature is only 99 degrees, that barely even counts as a fever!” “Call campus security right now and get us out of here!” Chloe was wiping her tears in the adjacent room. She wept beautifully—no screaming, no throwing tantrums, just staring out with an incredibly helpless, victimized look. “Professor Harrison, I have a massive brand deal meeting tonight. If I don’t show up, I can’t afford the breach of contract fees. I really had no idea this doctor had such a horrible temper.” Hearing “breach of contract fees” and “campus security,” Harrison’s frown deepened. He turned to me and Dr. Davis, adopting the authoritative tone of a university administrator. “Dr. Davis, Dr. Evans. These kids’ vitals look perfectly stable. Aren’t you being far too rigid? Rules are written on paper, but we have to be flexible.” “These are twenty-something college students; they have fragile mental health. Locking them in airtight rooms like this—what if they develop depression or claustrophobia? Who is going to take responsibility for that?” I looked at him, suddenly feeling a surge of nausea. In my past life, he asked who would take responsibility for the students’ mental health. He asked who would take responsibility for the hospital’s PR. The only thing he didn’t ask was: Who is going to take responsibility for the lives of the hundreds of innocent patients they infected? The phone at the triage desk rang directly from the hospital’s executive suite. Dr. Davis put it on speaker. It was VP Wright, his voice laced with exhaustion and severity. “Robert, Sarah, what is going on down there? The Mayor’s office just called my desk. They’re saying the ER is illegally detaining college students, and parents are threatening to jump off the building on the phone.” Liam’s father’s furious roaring blasted through the speakerphone across the triage desk. “My son rarely even catches a cold! Is your hospital so desperate for money that you’ve gone insane?!” “Using a mosquito bite as an excuse to lock people up and force them to do expensive tests?! Let me tell you, I know people on the state medical board! If you don’t release my son to me untouched right now, I will have your entire department fired!” Chloe’s mother was weeping dramatically in the background. “My daughter is an honors graduate! She’s about to be a famous influencer!” “You locked her up in a filthy fever clinic! If she catches some other disease, can you afford to pay for her face?!” Hearing these voices, Chloe cried even louder in her isolation room. Noah even started kicking the metal door of his negative pressure room. “Let us out! I need to use the bathroom!” Nurse Jessica used the PA system to speak to him. “There is a private bathroom inside your room.” “I am not using that disgusting toilet! This is a violation of my human rights!” Noah screamed hysterically. I walked up to the glass of Noah’s room and stared at him with eyes like ice. “Noah. When you were live-streaming earlier, didn’t you say this was Ebola, the most thrilling virus in the world?” “The CDC is already on their way. Why are you suddenly in such a rush to leave?” He froze, his foot hanging in mid-air. In the next room, Chloe suddenly snapped her head toward me, glaring viciously through the glass. “Why are you so evil? We just said it casually, we didn’t realize the consequences! Why do you have to ruin our lives over this?!” I nodded. “Yes.” “Because my job is to make sure the consequences of your ‘casual’ words stay locked behind this glass door.” Her lips trembled. Tears clung to her eyelashes, and suddenly, she couldn’t say a single word. 3. The air in the ER lobby felt as thick as concrete. When the CDC’s epidemiological field team finally arrived, it was 9:30 PM. The team lead, Dr. Richard Vance, was a twenty-year veteran of outbreak control. Donning a heavy, white Level A hazmat suit, he carried two massive silver sampling kits. He completely ignored Professor Harrison, who was pacing frantically outside the buffer zone, and strode directly into the hot zone. Blood draws. Nasopharyngeal swabs. Scraping exudate from the blisters. Every action was meticulously performed inside the negative pressure rooms. The samples were sealed in biohazard canisters and immediately dispatched via specialized courier to the state’s BSL-3 laboratory. Standing at the nurses’ station, I turned my attention to the security monitors. I pulled up the footage from half an hour ago, right when they walked into the ER doors. In the video, they casually tossed four massive hiking backpacks onto the waiting area chairs. The gear looked highly professional, caked with mud, with heavy trekking boots and windbreakers strapped to the sides. Dr. Vance emerged from the isolation rooms holding his clipboard, his brow furrowed deeply. He walked over to me. “Dr. Evans, their stories line up perfectly. They all swear they stuck to the standard tourist routes recommended by their agency. No rainforests, no contact with wild animals.” I pointed at one of the backpacks on the screen. “Dr. Vance, please take a look at this.” I zoomed in. Tucked into the side mesh pocket of Noah’s olive-green tactical backpack was something wrapped in a woven sack. From the exposed corner, you could vaguely make out a bone covered in dried blood and grayish-brown fur. Dr. Vance leaned closer to the monitor. His eyes instantly sharpened into daggers. “What is that?” “I don’t know the exact species,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “But I do know that you can’t buy wildlife remains covered in fresh blood at standard influencer tourist traps.” “And the blood blisters on Liam’s arm—they have a distinct necrotic ring around the edges. That is absolutely not a normal bug bite.” Dr. Vance inhaled sharply and slammed his finger onto his two-way radio. “Team One, execute maximum-level decontamination and sampling of the patients’ personal luggage immediately! Focus on the olive-green backpack!” Inside his room, Noah saw the commotion outside. When the hazmat-suited workers started tearing into his bag, he began slapping the glass like a madman. “What are you doing?! Who gave you permission to touch my stuff?! Those are my personal belongings!” Chloe panicked too. Through the intercom, she yelled, “Noah, what the hell is in your bag?!” No one answered them. Wearing double-layered nitrile gloves, Dr. Vance personally used forceps to extract the bone and drop it into an evidence bag. Outside the buffer zone, Professor Harrison witnessed the entire scene. The placating, administrative smile he had been desperately trying to maintain completely shattered. “Wh-what is going on? Noah! What is that thing?!” he screamed toward the glass. Noah’s face turned bright red. He stammered for a long time. “Th-that… we bought it at an indigenous village… an amulet. They said it was a monkey bone, that it wards off evil spirits… I just thought it was cool. I wanted to bring it back as a souvenir.” “Are you insane?!” Dr. Vance snapped his head toward the glass. Even through his face shield, his fury was palpable. “Smuggling unquarantined wildlife remains across international borders?! Do you have a death wish, or did you just think it was too peaceful back home?!” The atmosphere outside the monitoring room plummeted to absolute zero. These college kids, who had just been screaming about lawsuits and human rights, finally felt the crushing weight of genuine terror. But it wasn’t enough. Fear doesn’t kill viruses. And it wouldn’t make them truly understand the magnitude of the catastrophic stupidity they had committed. The digital clock on the wall clicked to 10:05 PM. Exactly one hour since they had entered the hospital. In my previous life, it was exactly at this moment. I stared dead at the CCTV feed for Isolation Room 1, where Liam was held.

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On the day of the SATs, my parents suddenly burst into the testing center. Ignoring the proctor’s attempts to stop them, they dragged me out by force. “Chloe, we’d never hurt you!” “If you want to live, come with us right now!” Even though I had no idea what was going on, I blindly followed my parents onto a train heading deep into the Colorado Rockies. That afternoon, a news alert popped up on my phone, and my blood ran cold: Right after the SAT Reading section ended this morning, all 1,020 students in my testing center—except for me—dropped dead. With a pale face, I turned to ask my parents what the hell was going on. But they just pointed at the train window behind me, faces twisted in absolute terror: “Don’t look back! We have to get off this train right now!” 1 Just half an hour before that, they had been smiling, telling me to do my best on the big test. But then, they appeared in the testing hall, looking utterly unhinged. “Chloe, you need to come with us right now!” I looked at the grime and dirt on their clothes, then at the school security guard who was knocked out cold near the doorway. My mind just completely blanked. “What happened? Why did you knock out the guard?” They grabbed my arms from both sides in a death grip. “We would never hurt you! Even if we have to knock you out too, we are taking you out of here today!” The proctor, seeing the commotion, rushed over to intervene. “Look here, today is the SATs! This determines your daughter’s entire future!” “Whatever your emergency is, it can wait until the exam is over!” My mom completely ignored her, shoving the proctor hard. “Is the SAT more important than staying alive?!” Before I could even process what was happening, I was dragged out of the testing center. We didn’t go home. Covered in dirt, they hurriedly dragged me onto a cross-country train. It wasn’t until the train finally started moving that the color slowly returned to their faces, though their eyes kept darting around the cabin like hunted animals. What were they hiding from? I couldn’t hold it in anymore. “Mom, Dad, what exactly is going on? What are you so afraid of?” “And where are we going?” My mom pressed a finger to her lips, her voice chillingly cold. “Don’t speak. Don’t ask questions.” Their fugitive-like behavior quickly caught the attention of the conductor, who cornered them and interrogated them for a long time. I asked the passenger in front of us and found out this train was heading straight for the remote Colorado Rockies. My parents didn’t know anyone in the Rockies! Why were we going there? They were still trying to talk their way out of the conductor’s questions. Even if I asked them, I knew they probably wouldn’t tell me a thing. Bored and anxious, I pulled out my phone, thinking I’d look up if anyone posted about the Reading section I’d just missed. But a massive breaking news headline immediately dominated my screen. Mass Fatality at Local SAT Testing Center: 1,020 Students and Proctors Dead from Sudden Cardiac Arrest… I tapped the article, and the blood roaring in my ears drowned out all other sound. The testing center was the exact one my parents had just dragged me out of! They were telling the truth! Other than me, everyone in that room was dead! If they hadn’t pulled me out, I would be just another corpse under a white sheet right now! But could this news really be true? I was just debating whether to call my homeroom teacher when my best friend, Haley, called me. “Chloe! Are you okay?! Mr. Davis is dead! The Class President is dead too!” “Everyone in your testing center—all the students and teachers—are dead!” Her voice was trembling uncontrollably. She was terrified. “Haley! I’m fine. Do you know what happened?” Before I could get another word out, my dad violently snatched the phone from my hand. “Don’t trust anyone!” I was completely lost, desperate for answers. “Dad, you must know something, otherwise you wouldn’t have pulled me out! Tell me! What is going on?!” “Why did everyone in that room die?!” 2 My mom sighed, her voice softening as she tried to comfort me. “Chloe, knowing too much won’t do you any good.” “Just know that we would never do anything to harm—” Her voice cut off abruptly. I looked at her, only to see all the color drain from her face once again. “Mom! What’s wrong?” Hearing my voice, my dad turned to look at my mom. The moment he turned his head toward us, his expression froze. Their eyes were wide with sheer terror, entirely locked onto something right behind me. Through the reflection in their shrinking pupils, I could see a blurry, dark shadow looming at my back. But behind me was just the glass window of the train. Was there something outside the window scaring them? Instinctively, I started to turn my head to look. But my dad slammed his hand onto the back of my head, holding me in place. His lips trembled, producing a tone of voice I had never heard from him in my life: “Don’t look back. Hurry!” I could feel my dad’s hand physically shaking. He was terrified to his core. At the exact same time, a freezing breath of air blew against the back of my neck. The very next second, my dad yanked me out of my seat. He dragged my mom and me, sprinting through several train cars like our lives depended on it. He didn’t slow down until the train pulled into the next station. Without a word, they practically shoved me off the train. “Mom, Dad, what did you see back there?” My only answer was dead silence. They refused to speak, but I hadn’t forgotten the absolute horror on their faces. It felt like if we had been even one second slower, we would have met the same gruesome end as everyone in that testing center. What were they running from? Was it that blurry shadow? Seeing that the sun was starting to set, I suggested we stay at a hotel in the city for the night. But my parents, their faces ashen, immediately flagged down a taxi. “No time! Take us to the airport!” I was shoved into the backseat of the cab. On the way, my phone rang again. It was Haley. I went to answer it. Sitting in the passenger seat, my dad whipped around and warned me: “Do not answer that!” My mom looked at me with intense paranoia. “Chloe, listen to your dad! Right now, we cannot trust anyone!” The driver gave us a deeply weird look through the rearview mirror, but I ultimately let the call ring out. I did, however, shoot Haley a quick text on iMessage to let her know I was safe. She never texted back. Half an hour later, urged on by my dad’s frantic shouting, the driver finally pulled up to the airport. The driver looked highly annoyed, but the moment he caught sight of the dried blood on my dad’s clothes, he peeled away from the curb in sheer panic. The earliest flights out were completely booked. I told my parents we should just fly out tomorrow, but my dad didn’t say a word. He was staring blankly at the airport news monitors. The local news was playing. With just one glance, the blood in my veins turned to ice. Just ten minutes ago… The Amtrak train we had just gotten off derailed and plunged straight into the river. All 1,000 passengers on board died on impact. There were no survivors. The conductor who had been interrogating my parents earlier was shown on the broadcast, a pale, lifeless body floating in the debris. Two brushes with mass-death in a single day. My nerves were finally completely shattered. My parents were right! There really was something out there hunting us, trying to wipe us out. Despite the shock, my dad was the first to snap back to reality. He made a phone call. He seemed to deeply trust whoever was on the other end, either nodding along or repeatedly saying, “Okay, okay.” When he hung up, it was like a switch flipped in him. “Come on. We’re flying to Miami!” Wait, Miami? Weren’t we going to the Rockies? Why the sudden change? I was terrified. “Dad, maybe we should just go to the police!” 3 My dad’s face was deadpan. “The police can’t do anything! We’ll die anyway!” I don’t know how he did it, but he managed to score three tickets for a flight boarding in ten minutes. I sneaked a peek at his boarding pass. The destination was Denver, Colorado. Didn’t he just say Miami? Why did he lie? I was getting completely lost. I had no idea where my dad was taking us, or what he was planning to do. Right before we boarded, he turned off his phone and tossed it straight into a garbage can. Without a second of hesitation, my mom did the exact same thing. They both turned to look at me. “Chloe, our phones will track our location.” Faced with a life-or-death situation, I didn’t care about anything else. I copied them and threw my phone into the trash. Only after the plane was successfully in the air did my mom whisper to me: “Baby, I know you have so many questions, but I promise you…” “Once we reach our destination, I will tell you everything.” “Right now, the only thing that matters is keeping you alive!” I was about to respond when my dad clamped his hand over my mouth. “From this moment on, if you don’t have to speak, keep your mouth shut!” “No matter who talks to you, do not answer, and whatever you do, do not say your name!” I didn’t know why, but I nodded as hard as I could. Half an hour into the flight, the quiet hum of the cabin was shattered by a cheerful ringtone. Everyone on the plane turned to look at me. It hit me—I still had an old backup phone sitting at the bottom of my backpack! My parents’ faces drained of all color. A flight attendant approached me. “Miss, please turn off your electronic device immediately.” Awkwardly, I dug the backup phone out of my bag. The caller ID flashing on the screen was Haley’s name. “Wait, how is she getting a cell signal at 30,000 feet?” The passenger sitting in the aisle seat suddenly asked out loud. I froze, my face turning deathly pale. Because I suddenly remembered something crucial about this backup phone—I never put a SIM card in it. Even if there was cell service up here, it was physically impossible for Haley’s call to come through! While I sat there frozen in horror, my dad snatched the phone from my hand and smashed it onto the floor. “Dad, I—” I tried to explain, but he glared at me with absolute fury. “Shut up!” “Hey man, calm down, your daughter didn’t mean to!” The passenger next to us tried to calm my dad down, but I knew my dad was just enforcing the rule: Do not speak. The phone screen was cracked, and the audio was broken, but the impact somehow unlocked it and automatically opened the iMessage app. It landed right on my text thread with Haley. Our chat history had ended with that text I sent her after getting off the train. But three seconds later, a deeply terrifying message populated on the cracked screen: [Chloe, I’m so glad your mom sees you’re still alive. Too bad our Haley wasn’t so lucky. She and Mr. Davis both died in the testing center today.] 4 Haley is dead?! How is that possible? She wasn’t even taking the SATs in the same room as me! And if she died this morning, who had been calling me all day? Was it a ghost?! I looked at my parents in pure horror. They looked just as shocked. My mom’s face twisted in pure despair as she muttered: “It didn’t fall for the trick! It still found us…” So my dad loudly announcing we were going to Miami was a trick to throw it off. But Mom said it was here! Where was it? I frantically looked around the cabin but saw nothing suspicious. Who—or what—was it? No one could give me an answer. My dad shot my mom a desperate look. Taking a deep breath, my mom looked at me with heartbreaking sorrow. She reached into her pocket, pulled out a pill, and dry-swallowed it. “Mom—!” What did you just take? Before I could get the rest of the sentence out, my dad slapped his hand over my mouth again. “If you don’t want to get everyone on this plane killed, shut up!” Watching my mom begin to violently foam at the mouth, I had to bite my tongue to hold back my sobs. My dad let go of me and caught my mom just as she slumped over. “Susan! Susan! What’s wrong with you?!” “Somebody help!” he roared, perfectly playing the part of a devastated husband. “My wife is having a medical emergency! We need to land this plane immediately!” Seeing this play out, I finally understood what she had taken. This was their contingency plan. The only way to force the plane to land was to stage a severe medical crisis. To avoid a fatality onboard, the pilot made an emergency dive toward the nearest available airport. The second we touched down, we followed the paramedics into an ambulance. My dad looked at my tear-streaked face and wiped a tear from his own eye. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. If we hadn’t forced a landing, that plane would have crashed. We, and the hundred other innocent people on board, would all be dead right now.” I forced my crying down, grabbed a pen and paper, and wrote: [Dad, is the Grim Reaper hunting us?] It was the only logical thing I could think of. But my dad just shook his head. “Wait until we reach the Rockies…” After an hour in the ER, my mom was stabilized, though she remained in a deep coma. At the same time, the local news reported something horrifying. The hundred-plus passengers from our flight hadn’t died, but every single one of them had collapsed into an unexplainable, sudden coma—exactly like my mom. My dad wanted to leave immediately. He said we had to make it to the mountains before dawn. But I refused to budge. If we left, what would happen to Mom? Maybe my dad couldn’t bear to leave her either, or maybe he was just too exhausted to fight me. He didn’t push the issue. Instead, he deadbolted the hospital room door and gave me one final, severe warning: “Tonight, no matter who knocks on that door, do not open it! And do not say a single word!” After he said that, he fell into a deep sleep on the visitor’s couch. Actually, it didn’t look like sleep. It looked exactly like the unnatural coma the passengers on the plane were in. At midnight, a knock echoed against the hospital room door. “Room 301, rounds. Please open the door.” It was a nurse’s voice. I was about to stand up, but then I remembered my dad’s warning. Whether it was really a nurse or not, I wasn’t going to touch that handle. The knocking continued for a few moments before fading away, and the shadow under the door crack vanished. Ten minutes later, Haley’s voice drifted through the door. “Chloe, it’s me, Haley. I heard your mom was in the hospital, is she okay? Can I come in and see her?” My heart leaped! It really was Haley’s voice! Did that mean she wasn’t dead after all? But just as I took a step toward the door, a second voice chimed in: “Yeah, Chloe, I came too…” My hand started violently shaking. It was Caleb, the Class President. But I had clearly seen his body zipped in a body bag on the morning news. He was dead! He couldn’t physically be here! I stumbled backward, entirely paralyzed by fear, keeping my mouth shut. But the voices outside were multiplying. “Chloe, it’s your lab partner Tyler…” “Chloe, open up, it’s Mr. Davis…” … “Chloe, open the door.” It sounded like everyone was out there. The mass of shadows blocking the light from under the door grew thicker and thicker… What the hell was going on? I backed up until I tripped and fell onto the hospital bed, my flailing hands accidentally hitting the TV remote on the nightstand. The TV flickered on. I looked up at the midnight broadcast covering the SAT tragedy, and suddenly, every piece of the puzzle clicked into place. 5 The news anchor reported that the 1,020 bodies of the students who died during the SATs this morning had inexplicably vanished from the county morgue. Staring at the dense, black mass of shadows shifting beneath the hospital door, all the hairs on my body stood on end. Did they come back from the dead just to hunt me down? My dad was right. As long as I didn’t make a sound or acknowledge them, they couldn’t breach the room. I clamped both hands over my mouth, terrified to even breathe too loudly. I waited in agonizing silence for what felt like hours. Slowly, I watched the shadows under the door dissipate, one by one. Just as I finally let out a sigh of relief, a hand shot out from behind me. My comatose mom had suddenly bolted upright and wrapped her fingers around my throat, choking me. Pure instinct took over, and I let out a muffled scream. In that exact fraction of a second, the shadows that had just left the hallway swarmed back to the door in a frenzy. “Chloe!” “Chloe!” The voices morphed from friendly and gentle to agonizingly shrill, and then violently aggressive… They started slamming themselves against the heavy hospital door. My limbs were completely frozen in terror. Just as the door hinges began to groan under the pressure, my dad snapped awake. “Don’t just stand there! Put your weight against the door! We can’t let them in!” He yanked me off the bed, and we threw our entire body weight against the wood. We held the line against the brutal pounding for roughly ten minutes, until the faint sound of a rooster crowing echoed from the window… Instantly, the violent crashing stopped. I looked through the peephole. The shadows in the hallway were completely gone. My dad collapsed onto the floor, utterly drained. “It’s okay. They’re gone.” My heart finally began to slow down. “Dad, did they get infected by some kind of virus? Are they zombies?” It was the only logical explanation I could grasp! But my dad shook his head. “It’s not a virus! And it’s not a curse. Stop guessing.” “Then what is it?!” I was losing my mind. This kind of relentless, suffocating dread was something I thought only existed in horror movies. My dad stood up, checked on my mom—who was fully unconscious again—and his eyes hardened. “We need to leave. Now. Or we’re going to get everyone in this hospital killed.” “But Mom?” “Your mom will be fine. Once this is all over, she’ll wake up. Everyone will.” Before I could even process what that meant, my dad was pulling me out the door. I don’t know where he got it, but he had another burner phone. He dialed that same person again. “We survived the night. Those things don’t dare come out in the daylight.” “We will make it to the Rockies today.” He hung up, snapped the phone in half, and tossed it into a trash can. I didn’t dare speak. It wasn’t until my dad rented a car and we were driving the desolate highways toward Colorado that he finally sighed. “Chloe, do you know what kind of space we live in?” I blinked. “Three-dimensional.” He didn’t acknowledge my answer, but instead started talking about his past. “Your mom and I spent our college years researching the fourth dimension. And, through certain unconventional methods, we proved it actually existed.” “Though calling it the fourth dimension is a bit inaccurate. ‘Alternate dimension’ fits better.” “Humans can’t access an alternate dimension because there is a barrier between our worlds. That barrier is upheld by a specific set of rules.” “If a rule is broken, the barrier shatters, and things from the other side can cross into our world.” The concepts he was throwing at me were way over my head. “Dad, are you saying… the things trying to kill us are entities from an alternate dimension?”

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I worked myself to the bone for three years, becoming the absolute pillar of the Engineering Department. On the day I finally resigned, the CEO personally intercepted me. “What will it take for you to stay?” I gave a hollow smile and slid my pay stub across her desk. $3,800. In this city, that wasn’t even enough to cover rent and the cheap cafeteria food downstairs. She took it, glanced at it, and her hand immediately started to tremble. She snatched up her phone, her voice shaking with rage: “Run a full audit right now. Whoever touched his salary, fire them immediately!” I stood there, completely frozen. Because the monthly salary she had originally approved for me… was $38,000. 01 I drafted my resignation letter three times. Not because I was overthinking the wording. But because my hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Three years. I had bled for this company for three solid years. Caleb Wright, Engineering Department, Employee ID: 0217. I built the entire system architecture for the department from scratch. Last year, when we launched the Enterprise Data Hub, I stayed awake for three days and three nights straight to get it across the finish line. I carried that project on my back. On the day the client signed off, everyone clapped. Nathan Cross stood right at the front, slapping my shoulder and boasting to the client, “This is my guy. I trained him myself.” Nathan Cross. Head of Engineering, my direct manager. He interviewed me on my very first day at the company. He told me, “Work hard, Caleb. I promise I’ll take good care of you.” I believed him. I believed him for three years. For three years, my monthly take-home pay was exactly $3,800. After deducting my $2,200 rent, I had $1,600 left. I skipped breakfast. For lunch, I ate the cheapest $18 combo meal at the cafeteria. For dinner, I ate ramen noodles. Once, I worked overtime until 3:00 AM. My stomach cramped so hard from hunger I couldn’t stand up straight. I squatted in the stairwell of the office building and texted my mom: “Mom, payroll is delayed this month. I’ll send you some cash in a few days.” Actually, it had already cleared. It was just that little. My mom texted back: “No rush, honey. Mom has money. Don’t starve yourself.” The next day, she transferred $2,000 to my bank account. My mom’s monthly pension was only $3,100. That day at lunch, I didn’t go to the cafeteria. I sat in a bathroom stall for half an hour and cried. It’s not that I never thought about asking. In my third month, I gathered my courage and went to Nathan. “Nathan, I was just wondering, how exactly is the compensation structure determined in our department?” He was eating takeout—a fifty-dollar gourmet steak bowl. His chopsticks paused. “Caleb, you just got here. The salary during the probationary period is a bit lower.” “But I’ve passed probation.” “There are still performance tiers after probation. It’s company policy. I don’t have the final say.” He put down his chopsticks and looked at me sincerely. “Do you trust me? I promise I’ll fight to get you a raise.” I believed him. I believed him for another year. The second year, I asked again. This time, he sighed heavily. “Caleb, it’s not that I don’t want to help you.” “The company isn’t doing well this year. The Board is tightening the belt. Everyone is taking a pay cut, you know that.” Did I know that? I looked around the office. Coworkers were upgrading to the newest iPhones, leasing new cars, ordering $50 UberEats lunches without blinking. Everyone took a pay cut? I didn’t ask again. Not because I didn’t want to. But because I genuinely started to believe that maybe I was only worth that much. After all, Nathan said it was company policy. After all, Nathan said he didn’t have the final say. Then came the third year. The company landed a massive account, entirely relying on the system I had built. At the celebration dinner, Nathan had a few drinks. He threw his arm around my shoulder and announced to the entire table, “Caleb is my most valued guy. The Engineering Department couldn’t function without him.” That night, I walked out of the restaurant into the freezing wind. My phone vibrated in my pocket. Direct deposit alert. $3,800. The wind howled. I stood on the sidewalk, staring at the number on my screen, for a very long time. The next day, I wrote my resignation letter. Nathan’s office door was open. I knocked on the frame. “Nathan. My resignation.” He looked up, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Why the sudden decision to leave?” “I’m burned out.” “Caleb, don’t be impulsive.” He stood up, walked around his desk, and stood in front of me. “Did someone give you a hard time? Tell me.” “No.” “Is it the salary? Because I was actually planning to submit a raise request for you next quarter.” “There’s no need, Nathan.” I placed the resignation letter on his desk. He looked at the piece of paper, silent for a few seconds. Then, he smiled. “Alright. If you want to leave, I won’t stop you.” “But the offboarding has to follow protocol. Go back to your desk and wait for HR.” I turned and walked out. I went back to my cubicle and started packing my things. A coffee mug, a phone charger, and a dog-eared coding manual. Three years, and that was all I had to show for it. I carried my bag toward the elevator. As I walked past the reception desk, the receptionist stopped me. “Caleb, wait a second.” “What’s up?” “The CEO wants to see you.” I froze. The CEO? Victoria Sterling? In my three years here, I had seen her maybe five times. And always from a distance, sitting on a stage during annual galas or all-hands meetings. How did she know I was leaving? Before I could even process it, the receptionist added, “Ms. Sterling said to send you up immediately.” 02 The CEO’s office was on the 18th floor. I had never been up there before. When the elevator doors opened, the hallway was dead silent. The carpet was so thick it absorbed all sound. The office door was open. Victoria Sterling was sitting behind her desk, reviewing a file. I stood in the doorway. “Ms. Sterling, you wanted to see me?” She looked up. Glanced at me. “Caleb Wright?” “Yes.” “Come in. Have a seat.” I walked in, but I didn’t sit. I just stood there. She didn’t force it. She set down the file and leaned back in her chair. “I hear you’re leaving.” “I’ve already submitted my resignation.” “Why?” I didn’t answer. What was I supposed to say? That the pay was garbage? That I was starving? Complaining about those things to the CEO felt pathetic. “Caleb, you’ve been in the Engineering Department for three years. You were the lead architect on the Enterprise Data Hub project last year.” I was a little surprised. She knew about that? “That project helped the company secure three major enterprise clients. The combined contract value is over twenty million dollars.” She stated the facts with a completely flat tone. “I know exactly what you are capable of.” “So I want to ask you: what will it take for you to stay?” I didn’t expect her to be so direct. I stayed silent for a few seconds. “Ms. Sterling, it’s not about negotiating terms.” “I just feel like… never mind.” “Feel like what?” “I feel like the sacrifice doesn’t match the reward.” She frowned slightly. “What is your current salary?” I hesitated for a moment. Then, I pulled this month’s pay stub out of my pocket. I unfolded it and handed it to her. I originally thought she was just going through the motions. That she’d say something polite, followed by, “Well, I respect your decision.” But when she took the pay stub and glanced at it, her hand stopped moving. Her entire body went rigid for about two seconds. She read it again. Then, she looked up at me. I will never forget that look for the rest of my life. It wasn’t anger. It was absolute, pure disbelief. “$3,800?” Her voice changed. “Your monthly take-home is $3,800?” “Yes.” “For three years?” “For three years.” She placed the pay stub on the desk. Her fingers were shaking. I saw it perfectly clearly. The fingertips of the hand resting on my pay stub were trembling. “Caleb.” “Yes.” “When you were hired, I personally approved your compensation package.” I didn’t say anything. “Thirty-eight thousand. The monthly salary I approved for you was $38,000.” The entire room fell dead silent. I could hear my own heartbeat. Thirty-eight thousand. Not three thousand eight hundred. Thirty-eight thousand. I thought I misheard her. “Ms. Sterling, how much did you say?” “Thirty-eight thousand dollars.” “I personally reviewed your resume and your interview evaluations, and I personally signed the approval form.” “Thirty-eight thousand a month. Eighty percent during probation, and the full amount after you were officially onboarded.” My brain short-circuited. Three years. 36 months. Shortchanged by $34,200 every single month. Three years… I stopped doing the math. I didn’t dare. Victoria had already picked up the desk phone. Her hand was still shaking as she dialed. “Run an audit.” Her voice was incredibly low, but every single word carried lethal force. “Caleb Wright. Employee ID 0217. Engineering Department. Run a full audit on his payroll approval process for the last three years.” “Starting from the moment I signed his approval form.” “Every single step. Every single person who touched it. I want a full investigation.” The person on the other end said something. She cut them off immediately. “By the end of the day.” “If you can’t find it, the entire HR department will be brought in for disciplinary review.” She hung up. She looked at me. “Don’t leave yet.” “Ms. Sterling…” “Caleb, listen to me.” She stood up. She walked out from behind her desk and stood right in front of me. She wasn’t tall, but her presence commanded the entire room. “Someone has been stealing your salary.” “For three years, and I didn’t know.” “This is my failure.” I opened my mouth. I didn’t know what to say. Three years. I thought I was worthless. I thought $3,800 was my market value. The $2,000 my mom transferred to me. The half-hour I sat hiding in the bathroom stall. Every single morning I squeezed onto the subway on an empty stomach. All because of a reason I didn’t even know existed. “Sit down,” Victoria said. This time, I sat. Because my legs felt weak. 03 Victoria had her assistant bring me a glass of water. I didn’t drink it. The glass just sat in front of me as I stared at the surface of the water. My mind was completely consumed by that number. 38,000. “Caleb.” She dropped my last name. “I am going to investigate this to the very end.” “Can you tell me exactly how your salary has been paid out over the last three years?” “Who is your point of contact?” “Direct deposit into my bank account. On the 15th of every month.” “And your pay stubs?” “Nathan sends them. He messages them directly to each person privately on Slack.” Her eyes narrowed. “Nathan Cross.” “Yes. The Head of Engineering.” “Have you ever asked him about your salary?” “Twice.” “What did he say?” I recounted exactly what Nathan had told me both times. Probationary tiers. The company isn’t doing well, everyone took a pay cut. Victoria’s face changed, inch by inch. “Company-wide pay cuts?” “That’s what he told me.” “Caleb, since the day this company was founded, we have never once instituted a pay cut.” Those words hit me like an anvil. My brain buzzed again. Never a pay cut. So everything Nathan told me… Was a complete lie. Victoria picked up her cell phone and dialed a number. “Michael, are you in the building?” “Come to my office right now.” “Bring the complete payroll disbursement records for the Engineering Department for the last three years.” “Physical copies and digital files.” She hung up. Dialed another number. “HR?” “Pull Caleb Wright’s onboarding file.” “Scan the original compensation approval form and email it to me right now.” Hung up again. She did all of this rapidly. No wasted words, no hesitation. I sat in the chair, my palms sweating. Fifteen minutes later, the CFO, Michael Vance, walked in. He was in his fifties, wearing glasses, and carrying a thick stack of folders. When he walked in and saw me, he paused. “Ms. Sterling, who is…” “Caleb Wright. Engineering.” “Michael, look at this first.” Victoria handed him the pay stub. Michael took it and glanced at it. He frowned. “$3,800? In Engineering?” “What do your disbursement records show?” Michael opened a folder and scanned through it. His finger stopped on a row of numbers. “Caleb Wright, ID 0217… Monthly disbursement amount…” His voice hitched. “Thirty-eight thousand. Finance has been disbursing $38,000 every single month.” My hands gripped the armrests of my chair tightly. “Deposited into which account?” Victoria asked. Michael flipped a page. “Deposited into… the Engineering Department’s Discretionary Bonus Account.” “What exactly is a Discretionary Bonus Account?” “It’s… an account requested by the department head.” “The justification was that the department has an agile performance-based bonus distribution mechanism.” “The total payroll is deposited into the department account, and then the department head distributes it to the individuals based on KPIs.” Victoria slammed her hand onto the desk. It wasn’t a loud noise, but Michael flinched. “Who approved that?” “This… this was approved three years ago. HR handled it at the time.” “I asked who approved it.”

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During the morning rush hour, the CEO’s wife slammed a black silk camisole onto the receptionist’s desk and shrieked: “Which one of you tramps wears a size small?!” “Whoever the mistress is, step forward right now!” The first-floor lobby was packed. The receptionist was too terrified to move, coworkers were already holding up their phones to record, and clients paused in their tracks to watch the drama unfold. Standing in the crowd, I opened my eyes and heard my best friend, Mia, lean in close to my ear. Her voice was trembling, yet perfectly pitched for everyone around us to hear: “Chloe, don’t you usually wear a size small?” In my past life, it was this exact sentence that condemned me as the boss’s mistress. The wife slapped me. The boss forced me to confess. My “best friend” hypocritically cried while begging for mercy on my behalf. When the video hit the internet, I lost my job and my apartment. My mother had a heart attack from the stress and ended up in the ICU. Ultimately, I died alone in a cheap, rented room. And Mia? She stepped on my corpse to become the “loyal best friend.” She gained a hundred thousand followers and was promoted to the executive suite by the CEO, Richard Vance. Crying into the camera, she promised her audience she would live a good life in my memory. When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the exact same public trial. I smiled. I, a 5’7″, 130-pound woman, slowly looked up and down at my 5’3″, 100-pound “best friend,” Mia. 1 I didn’t respond to her. She bit her lip, her voice softening even more. “…Chloe? Could there be some kind of misunderstanding with this shirt?” The moment the words left her mouth, every pair of eyes in the lobby snapped toward me. Eleanor Vance, the CEO’s wife, looked over too. Her gaze swept from my face, down to my loose oversized cardigan, and then back to Mia. “You’re saying she wears a size small?” Mia acted like she was terrified, quickly waving her hands. “Mrs. Vance, I didn’t mean it like that! I just… Chloe and I are roommates, so I know her pretty well. She’s really thin, and when she buys clothes she usually…” She stopped abruptly and covered her mouth, acting like she had just realized she said too much. But the damage was already done. Eleanor stepped toward me in her Louboutins, heels clicking sharply against the marble floor. She picked up the camisole and shoved it directly in my face. “Your name is Chloe Sterling?” I nodded calmly. “Yes.” “Is this shirt yours?” I glanced at it. Black lace. The price tag was cut off. The neckline had a deliberate smudge of foundation on it. Before I could even speak, Mia anxiously grabbed my arm. “Chloe, hurry up and explain yourself to Mrs. Vance!” Her fingertips were ice-cold, but her grip was surprisingly tight. Like she was afraid I’d run away. I pulled my arm free and looked at Eleanor. “Mrs. Vance, since you came here with evidence, don’t just ask about a single piece of clothing.” Eleanor narrowed her eyes. “What does that mean?” “If you’re going to accuse me of being the mistress, you need to present a complete chain of evidence.” My voice wasn’t loud, but it carried perfectly in the quiet lobby. “Where did the shirt come from? Who tipped you off? What was the time, the location, and who was I supposedly with?” “There are a lot of people here today, and everyone is recording.” “If you’re going to put me on trial, do it properly.” Mia’s expression shifted imperceptibly. Eleanor stared at me, the burning fury in her eyes pausing for a fraction of a second. She probably hadn’t expected me to not cry, nor immediately deny everything in a panic. She sneered. “Fine.” “I’ll make sure you understand exactly why you’re going down today.” Eleanor raised her hand, aiming to throw the camisole right into my face. I sidestepped to avoid it. The woman standing behind Eleanor immediately barked: “You dare dodge?! You’ve got a lot of nerve for a home-wrecker!” She lunged forward, raising her hand to slap me across the face. I caught her wrist mid-air. Eleanor froze. The entire lobby went dead silent. I didn’t squeeze hard; I just held her arm firmly in place. “Mrs. Vance, don’t be hasty.” “If you really want to catch the mistress, don’t let someone else use you as their weapon.” Her eyes darkened. “Who’s using me as a weapon?” I let go of the woman’s wrist. “Whoever sent you the anonymous tip, that’s who you should be interrogating.” Eleanor pulled a piece of paper from her Birkin bag and threw it at my feet. “Hotel billing records. Last Friday night at 8:20 PM, Richard booked a suite at the St. Regis.” “This camisole was found in the laundry bag of that exact suite.” “That same day, his car’s GPS showed he drove to the apartment complex you live in.” She held up her phone. “And someone texted me, saying the mistress is a female employee who wears a size small, lives in the Oakwood Apartments, and her last name is Sterling.” “Chloe, I don’t care how you try to spin this. Either you confess right now, or I release all this evidence online and make sure you’re blacklisted from this industry forever.” I didn’t answer immediately. I just looked down at the printed paper on the floor. “Oakwood Apartments, Building 3, 18th floor. Two young women live in that unit.” I looked up. “The tipster knew the apartment complex, the building number, and even the exact clothing size. Yet, they only dared to say ‘last name Sterling.’ They didn’t provide a full name, and they didn’t provide the exact apartment number.” “Don’t you find that suspicious?” The whispering in the lobby paused. The male coworker who had been cursing me out the loudest just seconds ago frowned, as if finally realizing something was off. Mia’s face turned pale. She quickly interjected: “Chloe, stop trying to confuse everyone! The tipster was probably just afraid of getting into trouble, so they kept it vague.” I looked at her. “And how do you know the tipster was afraid of getting into trouble?” Mia’s lips trembled. “I… I just guessed.” I smiled. Eleanor’s eyes grew darker. “Release it.” Mia froze. “What?” “Release all the evidence.” I took a step back, standing dead center in the lobby, ensuring every single camera was pointed directly at me. “Stop squeezing the toothpaste out bit by bit.” “Since you claim I am Richard Vance’s mistress, bring out every single piece of evidence that supposedly proves it. All at once.” Panic flashed in Mia’s eyes, but she quickly masked it. She probably thought I was just bluffing. Taking a deep breath, she suddenly pulled her phone out of her purse. “Mrs. Vance.” She looked as though she had finally made a deeply painful decision. “I didn’t want to say anything, but since things have escalated this far, I can’t just stand by and let everyone be lied to.” She opened a video on her phone. “I have security footage.” Mia handed her phone to Eleanor. The man standing behind Eleanor immediately took it and connected it to the massive presentation screen behind the reception desk. The moment the screen lit up, the lobby fell silent again. It was security footage from the elevator lobby of Building 3 at Oakwood Apartments. The timestamp read: Last Friday, 9:06 PM. In the video, Richard Vance, wearing a face mask, stepped out of the elevator. He walked straight down the hallway toward the unit Mia and I shared. Less than thirty seconds later, a woman with long hair, wearing a beige trench coat, walked into the frame. Her head was lowered. She had a slender build, and her side profile looked vaguely like mine. Watching the footage, a cold laugh bubbled up in my chest. Eleanor stared at the screen, her breathing growing heavier. “Is there more?” Mia, acting as if it pained her deeply to continue, let her tears fall faster. “There are also text messages.” She swiped to several screenshots. The profile picture was of me. The contact name was saved as “Chloe.” The messages were explicit and intimate. “Richard, I’m wearing the black one you like tonight.” “Will your wife find out?” “I miss you.” Below that was a screenshot of a Venmo transfer for $5,200. The recipient’s full name was blurred out, leaving only a faint “*loe.” The crowd instantly erupted. “Oh my god, they even have the text messages.” “How is she going to talk her way out of this one?” “She was so calm just a second ago. She’s a total psychopath.” “Imagine being a mistress and daring people to pull out the receipts. Hilarious.” Mia looked at me through her tears. “Chloe, why would you do this? You knew Mr. Vance was a married man.” I looked at her. “Who gave you these chat logs?” Mia bit her lip. “Someone sent them anonymously to Mrs. Vance. I was just… I just helped confirm them.” “Confirm what?” “Confirm that the profile picture is you, the address is yours, and the clothing size matches you.” Just then, the elevator doors dinged open. Richard Vance stepped out. He was wearing a dark grey Tom Ford suit, his hair immaculately styled. Seeing the massive screen in the lobby and Eleanor standing there, his expression noticeably shifted. But he quickly recovered, putting on the facade of a dignified, respectable CEO. “Eleanor, haven’t you caused enough of a scene?” Eleanor turned around, her eyes red. “Richard. You finally decided to show your face?” Richard frowned. “This is a place of business. Not a place for your tantrums.” Eleanor threw the black camisole directly at his chest. “Then tell me, who does this belong to?!” Richard didn’t even look at the shirt. His gaze bypassed Eleanor and landed squarely on me. That look. I knew it all too well. It was the exact same look he gave me in my past life. A warning. A threat. An implication. It said: You better play along. Sure enough, a second later, he sighed deeply. “Chloe.” He said my name, his tone heavy with manufactured disappointment. “Things have already reached this point. Stop trying to make excuses.” The lobby fell dead silent. Mia lowered her head, barely able to suppress the victorious smirk on her lips. Richard continued: “It’s not terrible for young people to make mistakes. What’s terrible is refusing to take responsibility for them.” “If you confess right now, I will consider the hard work you’ve put into this company and do my best to minimize the fallout for you.” He lowered his voice slightly, but just enough so only I could hear. “Isn’t your mother still in the hospital?” “Chloe, don’t escalate this to the point where everyone gets hurt.” My fingertips went ice cold. The fury in Eleanor’s eyes completely ignited. “Did you hear that?! Even he admitted it!” I looked right at her, enunciating every single word: “I will confess to whatever you want.” “But first, why don’t you verify what size I actually wear?” Eleanor laughed coldly, gesturing to the two massive bodyguards behind her. “Fine. What are you waiting for? Strip off her clothes.” Everyone froze. I was genuinely shocked. Even if I proved I wasn’t the mistress, if I was stripped naked in the middle of the lobby, how could I ever show my face in this city again? The two bodyguards pinned me down. I couldn’t move an inch. Everyone was eagerly waiting for my humiliation. The corners of Mia’s mouth twitched upward in a barely noticeable smirk. Just as she thought she had won, I spoke up. “You don’t need to touch me. I’ll do it myself.” Eleanor narrowed her eyes and eventually signaled them to let me go. After all, she only wanted to catch the mistress; she didn’t want to catch an assault charge. Mia’s expression finally faltered. She instinctively blurted out, “Chloe, stop making a scene…” “Me? Making a scene?” I turned to look at her. “From the very beginning until now, you’ve mentioned that I wear a size small at least three times.” “What, do you know my body better than I do?” Mia’s eyes darted around in a momentary panic. “We’ve been roommates for so long, of course I…” “Then look closely.” I unzipped my oversized cardigan. A collective gasp echoed through the lobby. People excitedly raised their phones higher. Underneath, I was wearing a basic, slightly loose white t-shirt. I grabbed the collar and flipped the inner tag out, holding it directly in front of Eleanor and the sea of cameras. On the black-and-white tag, a bold, capital “L” was printed clear as day. Just to be absolutely certain, I even reached back and pulled out the tag of my bra. Also a large “L.” Eleanor’s pupils contracted violently. I grabbed the black camisole off the receptionist’s desk and flipped the hem over to find the wash tag. “S.” I held the two tags up side-by-side. “Mrs. Vance. The shirt in your hand is a size Small.” “The shirt on my body is a size Large.” “I haven’t worn a size Small since I was a freshman in college.” The lobby was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Even Richard’s face froze for a fraction of a second. The female coworker who had been aggressively recording and calling me a “shameless tramp” silently lowered her phone a few inches. I looked at Mia. Her knuckles were bone-white as she clutched the strap of her purse. I smiled. “Mia. You just swore to everyone that I normally wear a size small.” “But the shirt I’m wearing right now is a large.” “So why don’t you tell everyone…” “Who exactly does that camisole belong to?” Every ounce of color drained from Mia’s face. But she was quick on her feet. Her eyes filled with tears, and she immediately shook her head. “Chloe, how could you ask me that? Clothing sizes change! When you were skinnier, you definitely wore a size small!” “Besides, the shirt isn’t what matters. What matters is that you and Mr. Vance went to a hotel together!” She grabbed Eleanor’s arm, her voice desperate: “Mrs. Vance, don’t let her manipulate you! The hotel records are real, the text messages are real, and Mr. Vance himself just said she made a mistake!” Richard’s face looked incredibly grim, but he went along with her narrative, his voice turning severe: “Chloe. Stop playing word games.” I nodded. “Fine. Let’s talk about the hotel.” I looked at Mia. “You’re claiming that last Friday night, I went to the St. Regis with Richard Vance, correct?” Mia gritted her teeth. “That’s exactly what the evidence says.” I pulled my phone from my pocket and opened my Amtrak app. “Last Friday at 2:17 PM, I took the Amtrak from Penn Station to Boston.” “I arrived that evening at 7:35 PM.” I held up the digital ticket receipt. “The next morning at 9:00 AM, I attended a client pitch in Boston.” “Here is the approved corporate travel request, here is the train ticket, and here is my hotel check-in record.” I swiped through the screenshots, holding the phone up for everyone to see. “Guest Name: Chloe Sterling.” “Location: The Langham, Boston.” “Check-in Time: Last Friday night, 8:03 PM.” “So please, someone tell me… how did I magically teleport back to New York by 8:20 PM to check into a suite with Richard Vance?” Whispers erupted across the lobby. “Boston is like a four-hour train ride from here, right?” “The timeline is literally impossible.” “Did we actually falsely accuse her?” The male coworker who had cursed at me earlier quietly pocketed his phone and shrank toward the back of the crowd. Mia was panicking. “You can buy a ticket, and you can fake a hotel record! Who knows if you planned this as an alibi beforehand?!” I turned and looked toward the back of the crowd. “Sarah.” The woman I called out stiffened. “That night, we shared a double room.” I stared at her. “Do you remember?” Every single eye in the room shifted to Sarah. Sarah turned pale, clutching her corporate ID badge, hesitating to speak. Richard glared at her coldly. “Sarah. Be very careful about what you say.” Sarah flinched. I didn’t rush her. A few seconds later, as if she had finally made up her mind, she took a step forward. “I remember.” Her voice wasn’t loud, but it was crystal clear. “Last Friday, Chloe did go on a business trip to Boston with me. We arrived at the hotel around 8:00 PM, checked in, and ordered room service together.” “At 10:30 PM, I even asked her to help me edit a PowerPoint presentation.” “She was sitting right next to me the entire night.” Eleanor immediately whipped her head toward Richard. His jaw was locked tight. Mia scrambled to intervene: “Sarah, are you sure you aren’t remembering wrong?! The marketing team goes on so many business trips…” Sarah shook her head. “I’m not remembering wrong.” “Because there was a massive thunderstorm in Boston that night. Our shoes got completely soaked. I even posted about it on Instagram.” She pulled out her phone and opened her Instagram feed. In the photo, I was sitting at a hotel desk, my hair half-wet, typing on a glowing laptop screen. Location tag: The Langham, Boston. Timestamp: Last Friday, 10:48 PM. The crowd of onlookers went completely, utterly silent. The young receptionist looked at the screen, then back at me, her face turning bright red. She probably remembered that she had been laughing along with the crowd just minutes ago. I looked at Mia. “The hotel accusation? Destroyed.” Mia gritted her teeth, her tear-stained face twisting. Suddenly, like a drowning woman grabbing a lifeline, her head snapped up. “Then how do you explain Mr. Vance going to your apartment?!” She pointed frantically at the security footage paused on the presentation screen. “The Oakwood Apartments security footage isn’t fake, is it?!” “He literally walked into the apartment you and I share!” Eleanor instantly ordered the security guards to replay the apartment footage. On the screen, Richard Vance stepped out of the elevator. Shortly after, the woman with long hair wearing a beige trench coat walked past, her head lowered. Mia seemed to regain her confidence. “Chloe, you can say the hotel timeline doesn’t match, but what about this?!” “You’re the one on the lease for that apartment! That beige trench coat is yours! If the person in that video isn’t you, who is it?!” “And the morning after that night, Mr. Vance even ordered breakfast delivery to our neighborhood.” As she spoke, her voice cracked, sounding genuinely heartbroken. “I really didn’t want to speak against you, but you can’t keep lying like this.” I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. “Mia. You really should have moved to LA to become an actress.” Her face went white. I pulled out another stack of documents. “Since we’re talking about the days following last Friday, let’s look at the timeline.” “You claim Richard went to my apartment that night and stayed with me until the morning.” “But after my business trip ended on Friday, I took a train straight back to my hometown in upstate New York.” Eleanor frowned. “Your hometown?” “My mother suffered a massive heart attack.” I opened my hospital patient portal app. “Saturday morning, 1:16 AM. My mother was admitted to the emergency room at County General.” “I took an 11:00 AM train from Boston, and arrived at the hospital by 4:00 PM.” “Here are the diagnostic reports, the billing receipts, and the visitor log.” I handed the screen directly to Eleanor. “From Saturday afternoon until Monday morning, I was sitting by her hospital bed.” “I also have the security footage from the inpatient ward hallway.” Eleanor stared intently at the hospital security footage. “Then who was inside the shared apartment?” I didn’t answer. Every single person’s gaze in the lobby slowly shifted toward Mia. Mia’s voice spiked in panic. “Why are you all looking at me?! I wasn’t home those few days either! I was staying at my cousin’s house!” I asked: “Which cousin?” She stammered. “My… my mom’s side. You don’t know her.” “Address?” “Why should I have to tell you that?!” “Then how are you going to prove you weren’t there?” The moment I said that, her expression completely shattered. In my past life, everyone backed me into a corner, screaming at me to prove my innocence. Now, it was finally her turn. I pointed at the presentation screen. “Could you zoom in on the security footage, please?” The receptionist hesitated, glancing nervously at Eleanor. Eleanor’s voice was like ice. “Zoom in.” The frame zoomed in tightly. Although the woman with long hair had her head down… When her right hand reached out to stop the elevator doors from closing, a red string bracelet was clearly visible on her wrist. Hanging from the red string was a tiny, distinct gold bead. I turned to look at Mia. Almost entirely out of instinct, she tried to yank her right hand up into her sleeve. But it was too late. The coworker standing right next to her gasped. “Mia… don’t you always wear a red string bracelet exactly like that?” Mia panicked and shook her head frantically. “Lots of people wear red string bracelets! That doesn’t prove anything!” “Of course it doesn’t prove anything on its own.” I nodded in agreement. “That’s why I said earlier… we need to look at the evidence that actually matters.” Eleanor narrowed her eyes. “What evidence?” I looked at Richard, and then at Mia. “The money.” “When a man cheats, his mouth can lie, security footage can be cropped, and chat logs can be photoshopped.” “But the money he spends will always leave a paper trail.” Richard’s face instantly darkened to a thunderous scowl. “Chloe Sterling. This is a private family matter. It is not your place to dictate how this is handled.” I laughed. “When you were trying to force me to confess to ruining your marriage two minutes ago, you certainly didn’t call it a private family matter.” Eleanor turned to look at her husband. The fury in her eyes had suddenly changed. It was no longer just anger; it was the humiliating, chilling realization that she had been played for an absolute fool. She gripped the printed hotel records in her hand so tightly her knuckles turned white. “Audit the accounts.” Richard’s voice boomed across the lobby: “Eleanor!”

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1 Everyone in our elite Upper East Side circle knew that Harrison Sterling, heir to the Sterling real estate empire, treated his female best friend like absolute royalty. He pampered that tomboy so much that he even used a modified, high-velocity paintball gun to shatter my wrist just to protect her. Looking down at me with pure disdain, he scoffed, “She’s a girl too. So what if she felt you up a little? Stop acting like some prudish saint.” I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I just nodded calmly. That very night, I had someone smash him over the head with a bat, strip him down to his boxers, and dump him in an abandoned warehouse. Then, I paid fifteen of the filthiest, most hulking homeless men from the grimiest underpasses of the city to keep him company for the entire night. The next morning, listening to his half-dead, agonizing screams for mercy… I stood in the mud, smiling with the utmost warmth. Didn’t he like “inspecting the goods”? Well, he was certainly getting his fill now. I am Serena Vance, the legitimate heiress of the Vance family. I am also Harrison Sterling’s arranged fiancée. Our families are old money, our business interests deeply intertwined. That’s exactly why, even though I’ve always known about the boundary-less “female best friend” constantly glued to his side, I always turned a blind eye. I couldn’t be bothered to care. The girl’s name was Chloe Thorne. She sported a choppy wolf cut and lived in oversized men’s streetwear. She hung around Harrison and his crew of trust-fund frat boys, constantly dropping F-bombs and acting like one of the guys. She prided herself on being brash, unfiltered, and “not like other girls.” Whenever anyone pointed out how weird it was that she and Harrison shared water bottles or smoked from the same vape, she would roll her eyes dramatically and call them insecure, conservative idiots. “I’m Harry’s bro. We’re practically blood. You manipulative, petty bitches don’t understand shit.” Oh, I understood perfectly. I understood the disgusting, blatant game of wearing the “bro” disguise just to shamelessly occupy the space meant for a man’s partner. This afternoon. The largest outdoor tactical paintball arena on the outskirts of the city. It was an event organized by Harrison. Mrs. Sterling had practically begged me to go, calling it a “bonding experience.” In reality, she just wanted me to keep an eye on her reckless son. I was wearing a heavy, cumbersome tactical vest, feeling incredibly bored. The game had been going on for nearly thirty minutes. I was walking slowly through the woods, kicking through mud and dead leaves, just waiting for the timer to run out so I could go home. Whoosh— Suddenly, a savage shadow lunged out of the waist-high bushes beside me. Before I could even react, a massive force tackled me hard to the ground. My back slammed into a muddy puddle, splashing filthy water everywhere. Mud instantly filled my mouth and eyes, tasting bitter and gritty. “Got a straggler!” An obnoxious, piercing female voice exploded next to my ear. Chloe straddled my waist, pinning me down with her entire body weight. I frowned, trying to wipe the muddy water from my face, my voice dropping to a freezing temperature. “Chloe, what the hell are you doing? Get off.” “Get off? We’re in the middle of a war, future wifey!” She stared down at me with a sickening smirk, but her hands were incredibly rough. Under the guise of “searching for loot,” she violently grabbed the collar of my tactical vest. She yanked hard. The zipper burst open. I thought she was just getting carried away with the game and instinctively tried to push her off. “It’s just a game, don’t cross the line!” But the very next second, I realized how wrong I was. She wasn’t playing a game at all. She stared at the silk camisole visible under my vest, a flash of undisguised jealousy and malice crossing her eyes. Then, she suddenly reached out with both hands and grabbed the fabric of my silk top. Riiiiip— The sound of fabric being violently torn echoed piercingly through the quiet woods. Cold air rushed in. A large expanse of my pale skin, along with the edge of my bra, was completely exposed to the open air. I froze. My brain short-circuited for a second or two. A short distance away, the rapid crunch of footsteps approached. Harrison and his crew of frat boy friends were walking down the ridge, taking in the entire scene. Over a dozen pairs of eyes stared directly at my half-exposed chest. Someone even let out a sickeningly vulgar wolf whistle. Not only did Chloe not let go, but she turned her head and yelled up the ridge toward Harrison: “Harry! You’re a lucky guy!” “I just inspected the goods for you, and damn, future wifey is packing heat!” The group erupted into roaring laughter. Those laughs felt like stinging slaps to my face. I stared up at Chloe, still straddling me. Every line of her face was radiating the sick thrill of a successful revenge. She wanted to use the most degrading, disgusting method possible to trample me—the official fiancée—in front of Harrison’s entire social circle. She wanted to strip away my dignity and turn me into a cheap joke for them to sexualize. The sheer humiliation mixed with blinding rage instantly incinerated my rationality. I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I just expressionlessly reached my hand into the mud beside me and grabbed a jagged, heavy rock. Fuck the arranged marriage. Fuck my high-society etiquette. I was going to crack this bitch’s skull open right here and now. I violently raised my arm, aiming the heavy rock directly at Chloe’s smug face, and brought it down hard. BANG! A heavy, muffled gunshot echoed through the trees. Immediately following it, a blinding, excruciating pain exploded in my right wrist. It was a blunt-force agony that felt like my bones had been physically shattered. My hand spasmed open. The rock rolled harmlessly into the mud. The sheer impact of the hit made me gasp sharply, my body collapsing weakly back into the muddy puddle. I clutched my wrist as a bright red liquid dripped through my fingers—not blood, but the red paint from an exploded paintball. But that hard-shell, high-velocity paintball had already left a horrifying, dark purple welt on my wrist bone. My wrist was swelling up like a balloon, sending spasms of agony through my arm at the slightest movement. My face pale, I turned my head. Thirty feet away. Harrison stood holding a modified, heavy-duty paintball marker with one hand, a faint wisp of white vapor escaping the barrel. He looked down at me from his elevated position. There wasn’t a single shred of concern for his humiliated fiancée in his eyes. Only thick annoyance and disgust. He casually tossed the gun to the guy next to him and marched down the slope. He grabbed Chloe’s arm, hoisted her off me, and carefully checked to see if any mud had gotten on her clothes. Then, he pulled Chloe behind him protectively and glared at me like I was a psychopath. “Serena, what the hell is wrong with you?” Harrison frowned, his voice dripping with ice. Using my uninjured left hand, I struggled to pull my torn shirt together, holding it tightly against my chest. I looked up at this man—the man who, on paper, I was supposed to spend the rest of my life with. “What’s wrong with me?” My voice was hoarse, but my articulation was razor-sharp. “She tackled me into the mud, ripped my clothes open, and put me on display for your entire crew to gawk at.” “Harrison, are you fucking blind?” Harrison scoffed, acting as if he had just heard the most ridiculous joke on earth. He took a step forward, looking me up and down with utter contempt. “Serena, are you having a paranoid delusion right now?” “We’re all out here having fun. Chloe is a girl too, what exactly is she going to do to you?” “So what if she felt you up a little? You screamed so loud, it’s like you were desperate for everyone to know how much of a slut you are, trying to seduce my boys.” From behind him, Chloe poked her head out, pouting and speaking in a sickeningly condescending tone: “Exactly, Serena. I’ve always been a tomboy, I was just making a joke.” “If you can’t even handle a little joke, how are you ever going to fit in with our circle?” The trust-fund boys behind them chimed in immediately. “Yeah, Serena. Chloe hangs out with us in the hot tub all the time, we don’t care. We’re all bros here.” “Blowing this completely out of proportion is just killing the vibe.” I stared at the people standing in front of me. I looked at their ugly, twisted faces. I looked at Harrison’s arrogant, ‘if you keep throwing a tantrum, I’m dumping you’ posture. The agonizing pain in my wrist continued to throb, pulling at my nerves. If I were the old Serena—the one who always compromised for the sake of the ‘bigger picture’—I might have cried from the injustice, or simply stormed off in a huff. But I wasn’t. I slowly stood up from the mud. I didn’t look at Chloe. I locked eyes solely with Harrison. Suddenly, I pulled the corners of my mouth into a smile. My absolute, boiling rage had reached its peak, transforming into a bizarre, eerie calmness. “Okay.” I nodded, my voice very quiet, but loud enough for everyone to hear. “I see. So ripping someone’s clothes open to ‘inspect the goods’… is just a joke.” “I understand.” With that, I didn’t spare a single glance at any of them. I turned around and, dragging my pain and my mud-soaked body, walked out of the woods step by step. I heard Harrison scoff coldly behind me. “If you understand, then get your ass home and change. Stop embarrassing me out here. Call me when you’re done throwing your little fit.” I ignored him. I walked to the parking lot, opened the door to my G-Wagon, and got in. I didn’t go home. I pulled out my phone and dialed a number. It rang three times before it was answered. A lazy, yet undeniably ruthless male voice came through the speaker. “What’s up, Princess? Finally decided to kick that Sterling idiot to the curb?” It was Julian. My childhood best friend, the notorious “Grim Reaper” of the city’s elite underground, and the man who controlled more than half of the Vance family’s security and shadow networks. I looked down at my grotesquely swollen wrist. My tone didn’t have a single ripple of emotion. “Julian.” “Bring me ten of your tightest-lipped, most efficient guys.” “And while you’re at it, head down to the shadiest, most abandoned underpasses outside the city.” “Hire fifteen of the filthiest, most hulking homeless men you can find. Make sure they haven’t touched a woman in years.” The line went dead silent for two seconds. Then, Julian let out a dark, highly amused chuckle. “Understood. I’m on it.” 2 That night. 1:00 AM. The underground parking garage of the tactical arena was dimly lit. Harrison’s post-game dinner had ended. He was completely wasted, humming a tune and tossing his car keys as he stumbled alone toward his sports car. He had already sent Chloe home in the Sprinter van earlier. He probably thought today was a massive success, because the great Harrison Sterling was in an excellent mood. He reached his car and reached out to pull the door handle. From behind two black SUVs parked nearby, two massive men wearing balaclavas lunged out without any warning. “What the fuck are you do—” Harrison was still drunk, his words slurring as he tried to curse them out. Standing right behind him, Julian held a solid aluminum baseball bat. He didn’t even blink. THWACK! The bat swung with absolute precision, slamming directly into the back of Harrison’s head. The force was controlled perfectly—not fatal, but absolutely enough to instantly neutralize any physical resistance. Harrison didn’t even make a sound. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, and he collapsed onto the concrete like a puddle of wet mud. I stepped out from the shadows a short distance away. Julian rolled his shoulders, gave the unconscious Harrison a kick, and turned to look at me. “Where to?” I stared expressionlessly at the man on the ground. “The abandoned auto shop on the West Side.” 3:00 AM. West Side, abandoned auto repair shop. The air was thick with the suffocating stench of motor oil, mildew, and an indescribable, sour body odor. SPLASH! A bucket of filthy, ice-cold water was dumped directly over Harrison’s face. “AHHHHHH!!!” Harrison let out a bloodcurdling scream, his eyes snapping open as he coughed violently. When his vision cleared and he registered what was happening, his entire body went rigid. He was bound to a massive, discarded tractor tire with rough nylon rope. His arms and legs were spread wide open in a horrifically degrading position. He couldn’t move an inch. But what broke his mind even faster was the realization that… His expensive designer streetwear was gone. He was stripped completely bare, save for a single pair of black boxer briefs. The cold wind blew through the shop, making him violently shiver. But it wasn’t just the cold making him shake. Surrounding him in a tight, suffocating circle were over a dozen men. These men were covered in grime, their hair matted, thick black dirt caked under their fingernails. They reeked of the putrid stench of not having showered in years. They were staring at his nearly naked body with a predatory, cloudy, almost pathologically excited hunger. Like they were admiring a prime cut of meat sitting on a butcher’s block. “Who… who are you people?!” Harrison’s voice trembled like a leaf in a hurricane. His usual arrogant swagger had completely vanished. “Do you know who I am?! I am the heir to the Sterling family! If you even touch me, I will end your entire bloodlines!” No one answered him. The homeless men just rubbed their hands together, letting out spine-chilling, guttural chuckles. I was sitting on a dilapidated sofa just outside the circle of men, my legs crossed. My injured right hand was now wrapped in a cast. In my left hand, I held a cup of freshly brewed hot coffee. I blew on it gently. Listening to his impotent rage, I finally spoke, my voice slow and methodical. “Look at the great Harrison Sterling, trying to throw his weight around.” Harrison’s head snapped toward the sound, spotting me through the gaps between the men. His pupils dilated instantly in absolute disbelief. “Serena?! You?!” He thrashed wildly, the nylon rope creaking against his skin. “Are you insane?! Do you have any idea what you’re doing?! Tell them to untie me right now! Or I’m marching straight to your house tomorrow to cancel the engagement!” I laughed. I laughed so hard my shoulders shook. Cancel the engagement? He actually still thought this was just a petty lovers’ quarrel. I casually tossed the paper cup onto the floor, coffee splattering across the concrete. I stood up and slowly walked up behind the circle of men. I looked at Harrison’s face, twisted in pure terror, and my voice was as gentle as if I were soothing a child: “This afternoon, didn’t your ‘bro’ Chloe inspect the goods for you?” “It’s only polite to return the favor.” “Tonight, I found a group of bros for you, too.” I turned my head, glancing at the eagerly waiting men beside me. I raised my left hand and gave a gentle wave. “Go ahead.” “Do a thorough inspection. Let’s see what kind of goods the great Harrison Sterling is packing.” The moment the words left my mouth. Over a dozen foul-smelling men swarmed him like starving wolves descending on a carcass. “Don’t touch me! Get off! Don’t put your filthy hands on me!” “AHHH!! GET OFF! HELP ME!!” Harrison unleashed a series of agonizing, soul-tearing screams. Over a dozen pairs of hands—hands as rough as sandpaper from years of digging through trash—mercilessly roamed over every single inch of his skin. Following my instructions, they didn’t actually cross the final line. But the overwhelming, suffocating groping, pulling, and malicious scratching was more than enough to obliterate the psychological defenses of any sane human being. His only remaining piece of clothing, those boxer briefs, was already hanging by a thread under the assault of multiple hands. His dignity, inside this decaying repair shop, was ripped to shreds. I watched him sob hysterically, watching him writhe and thrash against the tire like a skinned dog. I felt absolutely zero pity. The next morning. The first rays of sunlight pierced through the broken windows of the shop. The sour stench in the air seemed even thicker. Harrison lay slumped against the tire like a dead fish. His entire body was covered in scratches, bruises, and even bite marks from the men. The boxer briefs were long gone. His voice was completely gone, his dead eyes staring blankly up at the rusted tin roof. Hearing the sharp click of my heels against the concrete, his eyeballs rolled agonizingly slowly in my direction. The moment he saw me, pure, unadulterated terror and hatred exploded in his eyes. “Serena… you’re a demon…” He opened his mouth, his voice so raspy it was barely a whisper. “My parents… they will kill you…” I stopped three feet away from him. Julian, standing next to me, handed me a wet wipe. I wiped my hands, looking down at him from above. Looking at his body reduced to a pile of garbage, the smile on my face grew wider. “Harrison, why are you acting like a victim?” I mimicked the exact impatient, condescending tone he had used at the paintball arena yesterday. “You’re all men here, what exactly are they going to do to you?” “So what if they felt you up a little? You screamed so loud, and spread your legs so wide…” I leaned in slightly, my eyes as cold as absolute zero. “It’s almost like you were desperate for everyone to know what a slut you are, trying to seduce them, right?” “You—Blegh!”

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My famously cheap roommate suddenly smiled brightly on the first day of the semester and announced: “I’m treating the whole dorm to high-end sushi this Saturday! Nobody flake on me!” The room instantly exploded. Everyone was screaming with joy—except me. A chill ran straight down my spine. This was a girl who would demand compensation if you used one extra tissue of hers. Now she wanted to treat six people to an expensive omakase dinner? The more I thought about it, the more my stomach tied in knots. That very night, I submitted a request for a leave of absence. The next morning, I packed my bags and went straight home. On the third day, while I was at the hospital accompanying my mom for a checkup, my phone started vibrating like a jackhammer. I opened it to find 78 missed calls from my roommates, and 99+ messages in our group chat. The most recent message read: “You are so lucky you didn’t come! Do you have any idea what she did to us?!” I opened the chat and instantly understood everything. Just as I suspected, that extravagant “back-to-school dinner” was never a free lunch. 01 Chloe clapped her hands twice, smiling with terrifying enthusiasm. “Girls, listen up!” The dorm quieted down. “This Saturday night, dinner is on me! I’ve already booked a private room at that new high-end sushi place downtown!” The air went dead silent. A second later, the dorm nearly flipped upside down. “Are you serious?! That place is like two hundred bucks a person!” “Chloe, did you win the lottery or something?” “Starting the semester off as a high roller!” Maya practically threw herself at Chloe in a hug. Harper was already pulling up the menu on Yelp. Everyone’s face was flushed with pure excitement. Standing in the center of the room, Chloe smiled, looking incredibly satisfied. “Oh, it’s not that much money.” “We’re juniors now! It’s to celebrate the new semester, and to thank you all for putting up with me for the last two years.” The room erupted into another round of cheering. But my brain was rapidly flashing through every interaction I’d ever had with Chloe. Last semester, we bought a bulk pack of laundry detergent for the dorm. It came out to $13.80 per person. Chloe pretended she didn’t see the Venmo request until the very end of the semester, and then reluctantly sent $10. When we ordered UberEats together, she always claimed she didn’t have Uber One, forcing someone else to place the order—but she conveniently never chipped in for the delivery fees. When someone had a birthday, she accepted expensive gifts without hesitation. But when it was her turn to give, she bought a $9.99 pack of hair ties from Amazon. One time, Maya used a single tissue from Chloe’s desk to blow her nose. That very night, when Maya wasn’t around, Chloe took half a pack of Maya’s makeup wipes, justifying it by saying, “Well, she uses my stuff all the time anyway.” And this person was suddenly treating the entire dorm to a luxury sushi dinner? I called bullshit. When someone who calculates every single penny down to the bone suddenly decides to drop serious cash, it’s always because they expect a much larger return on investment. What does she want from us? My eyes instinctively swept across the room. Sitting on our desks were our freshly unburied Student IDs, driver’s licenses, financial aid paperwork, and various debit cards we had taken out for syllabus week registration. Chloe’s eyes were doing the exact same thing. She was casually scanning those exact items. In that split second, a layer of cold sweat broke out across my back. That night, the girls were still buzzing, discussing which dresses they were going to wear on Saturday. I sat quietly at my desk, logged into the university portal, and submitted a request for a leave of absence. Reason: Unexpected family emergency requiring me to act as a medical caregiver for my mother. The system pinged: Submitted. Pending Advisor Approval. Then, I opened my Amtrak app and bought a train ticket home for the crack of dawn the next morning. Just as I locked my phone, a text from Chloe popped up. “Stella, you’re definitely coming on Saturday, right?” I replied: “A family emergency came up. I probably won’t be able to make it.” She replied instantly. “What kind of emergency? Can’t you just come back for dinner on Saturday and leave after?” Staring at those words, the knot of anxiety in my chest pulled tighter. I replied: “No. I can’t.” Immediately, her messages started coming in rapid-fire. I flipped the silent switch on my phone and placed it face down on the desk. The dorm was brightly lit, echoing with my roommates’ laughter. Lying in bed, the more I analyzed it, the more terrifying it felt. Chloe was not the kind of person who gave without a reason. When she treated someone well, it was never out of kindness. It was an investment. 02 The moment the sun came up, I washed my face, grabbed my backpack, and marched straight to the academic advising office. My advisor, Ms. Davis, looked surprised when she saw me. “Stella? You want to take a leave of absence on the second day of classes? What happened?” I lowered my eyes, keeping my voice as steady as possible. “My mother’s health took a sharp decline. She needs to undergo a series of comprehensive tests, and there’s no one else at home to accompany her.” Ms. Davis frowned in concern. “A leave of absence is a huge deal. You have a stellar GPA, and your junior year courses are critical. Are you absolutely certain?” “I am certain.” She studied me for a moment, but didn’t press further. “Alright. I’ll file it as an extended medical family leave alongside a preliminary withdrawal application.” “Thank you, Ms. Davis.” Right before I walked out the door, I added one more thing. “Ms. Davis, I’d like to temporarily deactivate my dorm keycard access. And if I return next semester, I’d like to request a room transfer.” Ms. Davis froze. “Did you have a falling out with your roommates?” “No. The situation at home is just highly unstable right now, and I’m worried about losing my keycard while traveling back and forth. It’s a security concern.” Though she looked a bit suspicious, she nodded. Leaving the advising office, I went straight to the campus ID center. Reported my card lost. Paid the replacement fee. Froze the old card completely. The staff member asked, “You’re sure you can’t find the old one?” “Yes,” I replied. “I’m worried someone else might try to use it.” With the logistics handled, I returned to the dorm to pack. Chloe was the only one in the room. She was scrolling on her phone, but when she saw me dragging my suitcase out from under the bed, the color drained from her face. “Are you actually leaving?” “Yeah.” “Seriously, Stella? It’s just one dinner. Do you really have to be this disrespectful to me?” I folded my shirts into the suitcase one by one. “There’s a family emergency.” She walked over, her tone softening dramatically. “But this dinner is really important to me. I wanted to tell you guys some things face-to-face, to thank you, and… well, I actually have a small favor to ask.” My hands stopped moving. “What kind of favor?” Her eyes darted away for a fraction of a second. “I’ll tell you guys when we get there! It’ll be easier to explain when the vibe is good.” I went back to packing. “I’m sorry. I can’t go.” Chloe stood frozen, the fake smile slowly peeling off her face. “Stella, do you just look down on me? Do you think because I’m usually frugal, I can’t afford to treat you guys?” I zipped up my suitcase and looked her dead in the eye. “No.” “Then why do you have to leave?” “Because there is an emergency at home.” She stared at me, a fleeting, deeply sinister shadow crossing her eyes. “Fine. Then hurry back when you’re done. Are you absolutely sure you can’t make it Saturday night?” “I can’t make it.” I swung my backpack onto my shoulders and grabbed my suitcase handle. Just as I opened the door, she suddenly spoke from behind me. “Stella. Don’t regret this.” My footsteps paused. When I looked back, she had already lowered her head back to her phone, acting as if the threat had just been a casual remark. I didn’t answer her. After I got home, my phone was peacefully quiet for the entire night. My mom asked me, “Why do you look so zoned out?” I smiled. “Probably just tired from the train ride. Haven’t fully processed being home yet.” I turned my phone completely off, indulging in a moment of absolute tranquility. It felt like the dead calm before a hurricane. 03 For a brief moment, I questioned if I was just being overly paranoid. Maybe Chloe was just letting her vanity get the best of her, wanting to play the big shot for once. Maybe by ditching, I had just alienated my entire dorm over nothing. But looking at the black screen of my phone, I didn’t regret my choice. There are some parties you can skip, and the only consequence is missing out on some gossip. But there are other parties where, once you sit down at the table, you never get to leave. The next morning, I was sitting with my mom in the waiting room of the outpatient testing center. The hallway was packed, smelling faintly of bleach and cheap coffee. My mom was reading through her pre-checkup paperwork. My phone had been completely powered down since yesterday afternoon. After a night of peace, the self-doubt started creeping back in. Was I really overthinking this? Maybe Chloe actually did win some money, or maybe she genuinely just wanted to thank us? Was it way too dark of me to assume the absolute worst about her just because she was cheap? I picked up my phone, staring at it for a long time. To turn it on, or not? I took a deep breath of the sterile hospital air. Running away wouldn’t solve the mystery. I needed to know the answer. I held down the power button. The moment the lock screen illuminated, the entire device began violently vibrating. BZZZZ—BZZZZ—BZZZZ— It jumped in my palm so aggressively I almost dropped it. Notifications, pop-ups, and missed call alerts cascaded down the screen like a digital avalanche. It felt like I was holding a live grenade. Missed calls: 78. They were from Maya, Harper, Lily, and even my advisor, Ms. Davis. Chloe’s name was in there too. But only once. The little red notification badge on my iMessage app read “99+”. My heart slammed against my ribs. The blood rushed straight to my head. Something happened. Something really, really bad happened. With trembling fingers, I opened my chat with Maya first. The screen was a solid wall of frantic texts and voice memos. “STELLA! WHERE ARE YOU?!!” “CALL ME BACK RIGHT NOW!!” “WE ARE SO SCREWED!!!” Her most recent message was followed by a string of sobbing emojis. “YOU ARE SO LUCKY YOU DIDN’T COME!! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT CHLOE DID TO US?!” My fingertips went ice cold. My lungs felt tight. I didn’t reply to her. Instead, I backed out and opened the dorm group chat. “Suite 4B Girlies 💕” The name felt like a sick, twisted joke now. The chat looked like a war zone. “What do we do?! Is this actually legal?!” “My parents are going to literally kill me!” “CHLOE! GET IN HERE RIGHT NOW! ARE YOU EVEN HUMAN?!” “She’s gone! She cleared out her half of the room! SHE RAN AWAY!!” I scrolled frantically up through the panic. Until I hit a photo. And my breathing completely stopped.

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The night before my wedding, my parents vanished from the head table guest list. Ethan spread the revised seating chart on the table in front of me, casually mentioning that Chloe’s family had twenty unexpected plus-ones, so my relatives would need to be moved to the overflow tables at the back of the room. I stared at him in utter disbelief. “What about my parents?” “They can sit back there too. Mr. Anderson is a respected elder; we can’t exactly leave him off the head table.” He looked down at his phone, texting Chloe back. His tone was as casual as if he were ordering appetizers. In my past life, terrified of causing a scene and ruining the wedding, I actually nodded and agreed. The next day, my dad, wearing his brand-new suit, stood by the doors of the reception hall. He watched me give my toast from across the room, smiling and telling the guests around him: “As long as the kids are happy, we don’t care where we sit.” Three months later, he died of a sudden, massive heart attack. While sorting through his belongings, I found his head table place card, folded perfectly and tucked away. After that, Ethan and I were married for ten years. Chloe always had a seat at the table. And I was always the one expected to make room. Right up until the day I died, his eyes had welled with tears as he asked me: “Did you stop making room for me in your heart a long time ago?” When I opened my eyes again, the revised seating chart was still sitting under my hands. Ethan frowned, rushing me. “Just sign off on it, Mia. The venue is waiting to set the tables.” I picked up the pen and firmly crossed out the groom’s name. He froze. I pushed the seating chart back to him. “Not enough seats, right?” “Perfect.” “I won’t be taking one either.” … Ethan stared at the name I had aggressively crossed out. He was stunned for two seconds before a smirk crept onto his face. “Mia, we aren’t even married yet, and you’re already threatening to call off the wedding?” He snatched the seating chart away, pulled out a fresh copy, and shoved the pen back into my hand. “Fine. I owe you one tonight.” “After the wedding, I’ll take your parents out for a nice private dinner, alright? If you’re still mad, I’ll get down on my knees in the sand on our honeymoon and beg for forgiveness.” His tone was half-joking, half-serious—a mix of coaxing and a subtle warning that I needed to drop it. In my past life, as long as he gave me an inch, I would swallow the miles of humiliation that followed. I didn’t take the pen. I just watched him, curious to see if he would act any differently in this life. Right on cue, our wedding planner pushed open the door. “Ethan, Chloe says her mom’s sciatica is acting up and the mattress in her standard room is too soft. She’s asking if they can swap for the bridal penthouse suite on the top floor.” My mom, who had just walked up to the doorway, stopped dead in her tracks. My dad had booked that suite six months ago. He didn’t know much about wedding traditions, but he heard it was best for the bride to spend the night before the wedding with her parents. So, he paid for it in full, months in advance. He even asked the hotel to add an extra armchair by the window. He said he wanted him and Mom to sit there and watch me get my makeup done the next morning. Ethan didn’t hesitate for a second. “Make the swap.” The planner glanced at me nervously. “But Mia and her parents are supposed to stay in that suite tonight. The photographer is scheduled to do the ‘getting ready’ shots there tomorrow morning.” “There’s a bridal lounge downstairs. Just put two folding beds in there.” I already knew he was going to say that, but I still asked: “Are you sure about this?” The planner stayed silent. Ethan frowned. “It’s just one night, Mia. Are you really going to be this picky?” My mom immediately stepped in, forcing a smile to smooth things over. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Your dad and I can just grab a room at a motel nearby.” Ethan’s face softened. “See? Even your mom doesn’t mind.” He reached out to touch my hand, then glanced at my barely touched dinner plate. “Why are your hands so cold? Did you not eat dinner? You know your stomach hurts when you get cold.” He turned and instructed his assistant: “Go get her some chicken noodle soup. Hold the parsley, extra warm.” He always remembered the little things. His phone rang. Chloe’s voice came through the speaker. “Hey Ethan, my mom says the bed in this room is too hard… also, please don’t fight with Mia over the room. If she doesn’t want to swap, it’s totally fine.” Ethan was already grabbing his car keys. “Don’t make your mom suffer. I’ll be right there to sort it out.” Chloe asked, “Is Mia mad?” He glanced at me, smiling helplessly. “She’s just having a little pre-wedding mood swing. Once the ring is on her finger tomorrow, she’ll forget all about it.” He hung up the phone and draped his cashmere coat over my shoulders. “It’s just a few hours. Your parents aren’t that fragile. They can handle one night somewhere else, right?” Half an hour later, my parents and I were dragging our suitcases across the street to a cheap motel. The room was tiny, and the window only opened a crack. My dad pushed the two twin beds together for my mom and me to sleep on, while he grabbed a blanket and curled up on the small armchair by the window. I told him to book another room, but he waved me off. “No need to waste the money. We have to be up at dawn anyway.” He was still wearing the brand-new dress shoes he bought for the wedding tomorrow. He was wearing them to break them in so his feet wouldn’t hurt on the big day. As he sat down, he leaned over and carefully wiped a smudge off the leather. In my past life, after he died, I was cleaning out his closet and realized the soles of those shoes had only been worn on my wedding day. My dad suddenly asked in the dark: “Mia, when you crossed Ethan’s name out earlier… were you just throwing a tantrum, or have you made up your mind?” Through the cracked window, I could see the lights on the top floor of the luxury hotel across the street. The penthouse suite. I pulled my gaze away. “Dad, you and Mom already gave up your spot tonight.” “Tomorrow, don’t give up your spot for anyone.” At 6:00 AM the next morning, someone knocked on the motel room door. The makeup artist had just finished pinning my veil when our driver rushed in. “Ms. Mia, the lead wedding car has been reassigned.” My dad, who was practicing how he would walk me down the aisle in front of the mirror, turned around. “Did the car break down?” The driver looked incredibly awkward. “Mr. Anderson’s SUV broke down by the highway exit. Ethan said Chloe’s dad had knee surgery recently, so he sent the lead wedding car to go pick them up.” I looked out the window. The spot where the vintage Rolls-Royce had been parked was empty. My dad had picked that car out himself. He didn’t know anything about luxury cars. He just went to the rental agency and sat in the back of every single one, asking the dealer if the backseat was wide enough for me to sit comfortably in my massive ballgown. My mom’s face immediately darkened. “Doesn’t the rental company have other cars?” “They do, but Ethan said the lead car has the best suspension.” “Don’t worry, Mrs. Vance, it’ll be back in twenty minutes.” The door pushed open, and Ethan walked in holding a shoebox. “Mr. Anderson has bad knees. We couldn’t just leave him standing in the cold by the highway.” He looked at me. “What, you’re giving me the silent treatment again?” He crouched down in front of me and opened the shoebox. Inside were the pearl flats I had fallen in love with six months ago. “Give me your foot.” I didn’t move. He looked up. “You rubbed your heels raw yesterday, and you still want to wear heels? Are you planning to limp down the aisle to make me look bad?” His words were obnoxious, but his hands were incredibly gentle. He held my ankle, carefully avoiding the blistered skin, and pressed down on the toe of the shoe to check the fit. “Alright, it’s not too tight.” In my past life, I secretly cried when I received these shoes. Just because I had stared at them in a shop window for ten seconds, he remembered them for six months. But having lived this life once already, I simply asked in a flat tone: “If it had been my dad stranded on the highway today, would you have rerouted Chloe’s car to pick him up?” Ethan’s hands stopped. “Why are you comparing the two? Your dad is perfectly healthy. Mr. Anderson’s leg…” “So my dad is supposed to just wait?” He stood up. “When did I ever say your dad should wait?” “But that’s the choice you make every single time.” Ethan’s brow furrowed heavily. “Mia, are you purposefully trying to pick a fight with me today?” When I didn’t answer, he reached out and adjusted my veil. “Fine. I owe you for the car, okay? Just give me some face today. After the wedding is over, you can punish me however you want.” Right at that moment, Ethan’s phone buzzed. Chloe sent a photo. She and her parents were sitting comfortably in the back of the vintage Rolls-Royce. [Borrowed your bride’s ride for a sec. Don’t be jealous! Teehee ~] Ethan glanced at it and chuckled. “She always knows exactly what to say.” “Of course she does. She knows exactly what to say to make me uncomfortable.” The smile faded from Ethan’s face. “Are you done? It’s just a joke, is it really worth throwing a fit over? You never used to be this petty.” I didn’t reply. Eventually, the rental company sent over a white cargo van normally used for transporting camera equipment. Terrified of catching my dress in the sliding door, my dad crouched on the dirty pavement, carefully tucking the layers of tulle inside. After getting in, he pulled a folded index card from his inner suit pocket, stared at it, and quickly shoved it back. “Is that for me?” He smiled, looking a little embarrassed. “I’ll read it later. I have to wait until I officially hand you over.” When we arrived at the venue, confetti cannons went off. Through the tinted glass of the cargo van, I saw the vintage Rolls-Royce parked at the very center of the red carpet. Ethan opened the door for Chloe, his hand instinctively hovering over the doorframe to protect her head. A relative laughed and yelled: “The bride is here!” Chloe doubled over laughing. “Stop, stop! The real star of the show is right behind us!” Ethan smiled too. He didn’t correct them immediately. The actual bride was sitting outside a side entrance in a van labeled ‘AV Equipment Rentals.’ That’s when I noticed my dad was tightly gripping his index card, completely silent. “What if he forgets his speech?” Ethan chuckled. “With all these people here today, who could possibly forget your dad?” He walked over and tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “Keep your head straight.” His voice was low, sounding intimately affectionate. “Didn’t you say you wanted to hang our family portrait in the living room forever? Smile. All our relatives are watching. Don’t let everyone see that you’re picking a fight with me again.” “But my dad is almost entirely cut out of the frame.” Ethan glanced back at the photographer’s monitor. “We’ll take another one later.” “When?” His patience was wearing thin. “Mia, why are you being so difficult today?” Chloe immediately took a dramatic step backward. “I’ll just step out, then. I don’t want Mia to be uncomfortable looking at me.” Mrs. Sterling grabbed her arm. “This is an issue between husband and wife. You haven’t done anything wrong. You stand right where you are!” Ethan frowned too. “You don’t need to move.” Having said that, he turned back to me, lowering his voice to coax me. “We’ll get something to eat as soon as pictures are done. You barely ate breakfast. If you pass out on stage, you’re the one who’s going to suffer.” He remembered that I was hungry. But he completely failed to notice my dad. To make room for Chloe and Ethan to look like “one big happy family,” my dad had been pushed so far to the edge he was practically out of the frame. The camera flashed a second time. I didn’t smile. But my dad kept smiling. Probably terrified that people would realize our family was unhappy, he kept the corners of his mouth pinned up until the photographer yelled “Got it.” Only then did his smile slowly fall. After the crowd dispersed, he looked down at the digital proofs syncing to the photographer’s iPad. I walked over. “Do they look good?” My dad immediately hit the sleep button on the iPad. “They look great.” But before the screen went black, I saw it. Only half of my mom’s shoulder was visible. And my dad’s face was still partially blocked by a potted plant. In that moment, I suddenly remembered my father’s funeral portrait from my past life. It was the only photo from the entire wedding where he was standing completely unobscured in the center of the frame. Because no one was there to block him anymore. At 11:40 AM, the MC walked in holding the itinerary. “We ran seven minutes over during the photoshoot. Everything else has been compressed to the absolute minimum.” “Tradition dictates that dinner must be served exactly at 12:18 PM. We only have a seven-minute buffer.” “Chloe’s piano solo transition is exactly seven minutes. The Father of the Bride’s speech is roughly three minutes. We only have time for one.” My dad’s hand, which had been adjusting his tie, stopped. “I can cut it down to one minute.” I looked at Ethan. He didn’t even look at the itinerary. “Keep the piano solo.” The room went dead silent. “You didn’t even have to think about it?” “The piano is already mic’d and set up. Your dad can give his speech at home later. What’s the difference?” My dad nodded hurriedly. “Right, right, exactly. We can just do it at home.” “He said he only needs one minute.” Ethan frowned. “Dinner starts at 12:18. What if we miss the auspicious timing?” “So you’re cutting my dad’s speech?” His face darkened. “Mia, why do you have to twist every single thing into me victimizing you?” I stared at him. “The bridal suite. The wedding car. The family portrait. And now, you’re taking away his one minute to speak?” “Which one of those things matters to you?” He was silent for a few seconds, then reached out to touch my face. “Fine. I messed up the schedule. Can we just get through the wedding first, and you can chew me out tonight?” I didn’t argue anymore. Perhaps simply because I had already lived through the ending of this story once before. The processional music began to play. My dad held my hand and walked me into the banquet hall. As we passed the overflow tables at the very back of the room, my mom, sitting on the outermost edge, smiled at me from afar. My dad placed my hand into Ethan’s. He squeezed my fingers tight. “Be a good girl. Don’t cry. If you ruin your makeup, you won’t look pretty anymore…” The house lights dimmed. Chloe, wearing a pristine white dress, sat down at a grand piano. The massive projector screen behind her displayed the family portrait we had just taken. I faintly heard guests whispering: “If you didn’t know any better, you’d think Chloe was the one marrying into the family.” I looked toward the back of the room. My dad had already retreated to the overflow table. I watched him take the index card he had spent two weeks writing, fold it in half again, and shove it back into his pocket. Suddenly, I didn’t want to go to the head table anymore. Before the toasts began, I walked straight to my parents’ table at the back. “Dad. Let’s go home and make some pasta.” He froze for two seconds, then smiled. “Okay!” I took off my veil and slipped into the comfortable flats my dad had been carrying for me since this morning. By the time Ethan chased me to the elevator lobby, I was already helping my mom inside. “Mia!” He slammed his hand against the elevator doors, his words stumbling over each other. “Are you out of your mind?! You’re leaving?! Your whole family?! I…” “Isn’t Chloe great at entertaining a crowd?” “What is that supposed to mean?!” Ethan looked absolutely furious. “Fine, I was wrong, okay…?” “Just come back out here and finish the wedding…”

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A single reassignment order threatened to banish me to a branch office over a thousand miles away. I went to find my boyfriend. He didn’t even look up from his screen: “Some intern must have messed up the system. Just go to HR and cancel it yourself.” I stood in front of his desk and stared at him for three seconds. Then, I turned and left. Not to HR, but straight home. Because I had already checked the internal system, and he was the one who personally signed the order. That very day, I packed my bags and moved out of his apartment. He finally panicked, chasing me down to the lobby and grabbing my suitcase: “What are you doing? Didn’t I tell you to go cancel it?” I yanked my suitcase back: “No need.” Some things, once canceled, never need to be reinstated. 01 I stared at the transfer order in my inbox, reading it twice to be sure. Transferred to the Northwest Regional Office. Effective immediately. I had worked at this company for three years, and I had never heard of a transfer order being “effective immediately.” I grabbed my phone and went straight up to the fourth floor. Mark’s office door was open. He was looking at his computer monitor. I walked in and stood right in front of his desk. “I received a transfer order.” He didn’t look up; his fingers kept flying across the keyboard. “What transfer order?” “Transferring me to the Northwest Regional Office.” He frowned slightly, his eyes still glued to the screen: “Who sent it?” “I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking you.” He finally looked up at me. His expression was the exact one he used when dealing with a subordinate’s annoying problem—pure impatience. “Some intern probably messed up the system. Just go to HR and cancel it yourself.” I stood in front of him, unmoving. He lowered his head and went back to typing. I stared at his profile for three full seconds. This was a face I had looked at every day for two years. The last face I saw before falling asleep, and the first face I saw when waking up. But in that moment, he felt like a total stranger. Not because of the transfer order itself. But because of how smoothly he had delivered that lie. There was no shock. No follow-up questions. No “Let me check the system for you.” Any normal boyfriend, hearing that his girlfriend was suddenly being banished a thousand miles away, wouldn’t have reacted like that. I turned around and left. I didn’t go to HR. I went back to my cubicle, logged into the internal HR portal, and used the clearance I still had to track the approval chain of that exact transfer order. Initiator: HR Specialist, Lisa Wang. Approving Manager: Director of Operations, Mark Evans. Time of Signature: Yesterday afternoon, 3:14 PM. Yesterday afternoon at 3:00 PM, I was in the conference room delivering my quarterly report. He was sitting directly across from me. He had even nodded at me approvingly. At 3:14 PM, while I was on my third PowerPoint slide, he was on his phone, signing the order to banish me to the middle of nowhere. I screenshotted the approval chain and saved it to my phone. Then I shut down my computer, grabbed my purse, and left the building. I went back to his apartment. I say “his apartment” because his name was the only one on the lease. I had lived there for a year and a half. I had bought the curtains, the couch cushions, and every single pot and pan in the kitchen. But it was his apartment. I pulled my suitcase out of the closet and started packing. It wasn’t much. Just my clothes, my personal documents, and a few books. I didn’t touch the pots and pans. I didn’t take down the curtains. I had bought a lot of things for that place, but I bought them for the home. Since the home was no longer mine, the things could stay. Halfway through packing, my phone rang. It was Mark. I didn’t answer. It rang again. Still ignored it. On the third try, I picked up. “Where are you? Why aren’t you at your desk?” “I came back to pack my things.” “Pack what things?” “My things.” He paused for a second: “What is that supposed to mean?” “Exactly what it sounds like.” “Chloe, stop throwing a tantrum. I told you to go to HR and cancel the transfer.” “There’s no need.” I hung up. Twenty minutes later, I heard the sound of a car door slamming downstairs. I dragged my suitcase out of the lobby doors and bumped right into him. He stared at the suitcase in my hand, all the color draining from his face. “What are you doing?” “Moving out.” “Moving out?! Didn’t I tell you to go cancel it?” He reached out and grabbed the handle of my suitcase. I looked down at his hand. “Mark. You signed the transfer order.” His hand froze. It was only for a fraction of a second, but I saw it clear as day. His Adam’s apple bobbed. Then he asked, “Who told you?” Not “I didn’t sign it.” Not “You must be mistaken.” But “Who told you?” I yanked the suitcase handle out of his grip. “No need.” I dragged my luggage past him and kept walking. He yelled from behind me: “Chloe! Just listen to me explain!” I didn’t look back. Some things are over the exact second you discover the truth. There’s no need for an explanation. 02 I dragged my suitcase to the front gate of the apartment complex and called an Uber. Mark chased after me, standing right next to the car door, refusing to let me close it. “Where are you going?” “That has nothing to do with you anymore.” “What do you mean it has nothing to do with me? Come back upstairs, we need to talk.” The Uber driver shot us a look through the rearview mirror. I looked at the driver: “Sir, please lock the doors.” Mark was still gripping the door frame: “Chloe, can you please not do this?” “Do what? You signed the transfer order. Me leaving is exactly what you wanted, isn’t it?” He opened his mouth, but no words came out. Taking advantage of his hesitation, I slammed the door shut. “Let’s go.” As the car pulled away, I watched him in the rearview mirror. He was standing exactly where I left him, holding his phone up to his ear, making a call. I didn’t know who he was calling. And it didn’t matter anymore. I went straight to Mia’s place. Mia was my college roommate and the only close friend I still kept in touch with in the city. When she opened the door and saw me standing there with my luggage, she froze for two seconds. “What happened?” “We broke up.” “You and Mark?” “Yeah.” She pulled the door wide open and ushered me inside without another question. That was the best thing about Mia. She knew exactly when to ask questions, and when to keep her mouth shut. I put my suitcase in her guest room and sat on the edge of the bed in a daze for a while. My phone wouldn’t stop buzzing. Mark had called six times and sent eleven text messages. I skimmed through them. The first three were: “Where are you? Just tell me you’re safe.” The middle ones were: “There’s a reason for the transfer order. Please, just let me explain.” The last one was: “Please don’t ignore my calls. I’m really worried about you.” Worried. I stared at that word for a long time. I wondered if he was worried about me yesterday afternoon at 3:14 PM when he signed the order to banish me. I flipped my phone face down on the bed. Mia walked in holding a glass of water and sat down beside me. “If you want to talk, talk. If you don’t, get some sleep.” “He transferred me to the Northwest Regional Office.” Mia’s brow furrowed tightly: “What?” “An internal transfer order. He signed it. When I asked him about it, he lied to my face and said it was an intern’s mistake.” “And then?” “I checked the system. The final approver was him.” Mia was silent for a few seconds. “Why would he transfer you away?” “I don’t know.” That was the truth. I knew what he did, but I didn’t know why. When a man signs an order to banish his girlfriend of two years a thousand miles away, and then lies to her face about it, there are only two possible reasons. Either I was in his way. Or there was someone else. Or both. Mia asked, “What are you going to do?” “I’ll crash here for a few days until I find my own place. As for the transfer, if it’s signed, I guess I’m going.” “You’re actually going to the Northwest office?” “The order is finalized. If I don’t show up, it’s considered job abandonment, and they can legally fire me for cause. He probably signed the order hoping I would refuse to go, giving him the perfect excuse to terminate me cleanly.” Mia cursed under her breath. I didn’t say anything. The next morning, I went to work as usual. As soon as I sat down at my cubicle, my coworker Rachel leaned over. “Chloe, did you hear?” “Hear what?” “Our department is getting someone new. Parachuting straight in, starting next Monday.” “Who?” “I don’t know her name, but I heard she’s being transferred directly from Corporate. Guess which desk she’s getting?” She nodded her head toward the empty space next to me. I followed her gaze. The cubicle right next to mine had been empty for three months. Just yesterday, it was still being used as a dumping ground for extra office supplies. Today, it was completely cleared out. There was a brand new dual-monitor setup on the desk, and a brand new ergonomic chair. Rachel lowered her voice to a whisper: “I heard from Admin that this new girl has the exact same job title as you.” I stayed quiet. Rachel added: “And rumor is, Mr. Evans personally approved the transfer.” Transferred me away. Brought someone else in. To the exact same role. And he personally signed off on both. I stared at that pristine, empty desk for a few seconds. Every single question I had was finally answered. 03 I sat at my desk all morning, doing my job exactly as I always did. Around noon, Mark texted me: “Let’s grab lunch. I’ll explain the transfer to you.” I replied with two words: “No need.” He texted back: “Chloe, how long are you going to throw this tantrum?” I didn’t reply again. At 2:00 PM, Rachel came back from the HR department, looking incredibly secretive as she leaned over my divider. “I got the dirt. The new girl’s name is Jessica.” “Do you know her?” “Never heard of her. But the HR coordinator let something slip that was super interesting.” “What?” “He said that on Jessica’s transfer request form, under the ‘Internal Referral’ section, it explicitly lists Mark Evans.” Internal Referral. The person who approved my transfer away was him. The person who referred Jessica to take my place was also him. I nodded slightly but didn’t say anything. Rachel saw how eerily calm I was and actually got anxious for me: “Chloe, don’t you think something is seriously wrong here?!” “I do.” “Then aren’t you going to go ask him about it?” “Ask him what? Ask him why he gave my desk to another woman?” Rachel opened her mouth, but couldn’t find a response. I said, “Even if I asked, he wouldn’t tell the truth.” At 4:00 PM, I took a trip down to HR. Not to cancel the transfer. But to confirm the details. Linda, the HR manager, received me. “Chloe, your transfer paperwork is all ready on my end. You just need to report to the Northwest office by next Wednesday.” “Linda, I’d like to request to see the complete approval chain for the transfer order.” Linda hesitated for a moment: “According to company policy, you are permitted to view your own records.” She pulled it up on the system for me. Initiator: Lisa Wang. Department Approval: Director of Operations, Mark Evans. (Approved) HR Review: Linda Davis. (Approved) VP Approval: David Lee. (Approved) I noticed a crucial detail. Lisa initiated the transfer request on Tuesday at 10:00 AM. Mark signed his approval on Wednesday at 3:14 PM. There was a gap of more than a day. Meaning, he didn’t sign it in a moment of impulse. He thought about it for at least an entire day before pulling the trigger. “Linda, who authorized Lisa to initiate this transfer request?” Linda’s expression shifted slightly. “I’m not entirely sure about that. You would have to ask Lisa herself.” “Is Lisa in the office?” “She called in sick today.” Called in sick. The moment the transfer order went through, the initiator conveniently vanished. I didn’t ask any more questions. I thanked Linda and returned to my desk. Just before the end of the workday, Mark appeared on our floor. He rarely ever came down to the general bullpen. He walked straight to my cubicle, leaned over my partition, and lowered his voice. “Come home with me after work. I’ll cook dinner, and we can actually talk about this properly.” I didn’t even look up from my screen: “We have nothing to talk about.” “Chloe.” “What?” “Did you… hear something?” I finally looked up at him. There was a probing, calculating look in his eyes, trying to gauge exactly how much I knew. “Mark. Who is Jessica?” His pupils contracted sharply. It was incredibly subtle, but I caught it. “She’s a new employee transferring from Corporate. What does she have to do with you?” “She has the exact same job title as me. She’s sitting right next to me. And her internal referral was you. Tell me again, what does she have to do with me?” He stood up straight, falling silent for three full seconds. “This is strictly a business decision. Don’t let your imagination run wild.” “My imagination isn’t running wild. I’m just stating facts.” “The fact is that the department needs a reshuffle, and the Northwest office is short-staffed. It’s just a reallocation of resources.” “Then why me? There are six people on this team, and four of them were hired after me. Why am I the one being shipped off?” He had no answer for that. I said, “Forget it. You don’t need to answer. I accept the transfer. I’ll report to the Northwest office next Wednesday.” He froze. He absolutely did not expect me to say that. He thought I would cry, scream, and interrogate him about whether he was cheating on me. But I didn’t. I started packing my personal belongings on my desk into a box. He stood there and watched me for a moment, then turned and walked away. He took a few steps, then turned back. “Chloe, stop doing this just to spite me.” “I’m not spiting you. You signed the order, and I’m executing it. Isn’t this exactly what you wanted?” A muscle in his jaw twitched. “When did I ever say I wanted this?” “Then what exactly were you hoping for when you signed the order?” He didn’t say another word. He turned and left. This time, he didn’t come back.

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Chapter 1 As soon as my dad and I walked into the boutique, a female sales associate hurried over. The moment she saw my dad, her eyes lit up. “Mr. Sterling! You’re finally here.” “The bag you requested has already been pulled from the vault.” After she said that, she looked me up and down with a condescending glare. “Oh, and you brought a little friend with you.” I frowned. But my dad just smiled at her. “Brought her out to see the world.” The sales associate, Chloe, immediately turned sideways and guided my dad toward the VIP lounge. They walked incredibly close together. Her arm practically brushed against his sleeve. “Mr. Sterling, this suit jacket is a little tight on you. I told you last time you should size up.” My dad laughed. “I rushed over straight from the office, just threw whatever on.” Chloe playfully patted his shoulder. “You look more handsome just ‘throwing whatever on’ than most guys do trying their hardest.” I followed behind them, watching their back-and-forth, my footsteps slowing down. Listening to their conversation, a strange feeling began to creep into my stomach. They were too familiar. So familiar that Chloe knew my dad had flown to Miami for a business trip last week, and she even asked if he brought her back a souvenir. But my dad had only been to this boutique a handful of times, and always just to accompany my mom. When I stepped into the VIP lounge, champagne, sparkling water, and macarons were already laid out. Two glasses. One at the head of the table, and one next to Chloe’s seat. None for me. Chloe acted as if she had just noticed, covering her mouth with a laugh. “Oh, my apologies! I didn’t expect we’d have a plus-one today.” She said “my apologies,” but made absolutely no move to get another glass. My dad sat at the head of the table, and Chloe naturally sat down right next to him. I stood there for two seconds, then dragged a single armchair over for myself. A flash of annoyance crossed Chloe’s eyes. I ignored her and cut straight to the point: “Did my limited edition matte-gold croc-embossed Birkin arrive?” Chloe didn’t even look at me. She picked up an iPad and handed it to my dad. “Mr. Sterling, take a look at our new season lookbook first.” “You mentioned last time you preferred something more understated, so I specifically set aside a few pieces just for you.” I repeated myself: “I asked about the limited edition.” “Order number ending in 1907. The allocation was secured from the North American High Jewelry & Leather Goods preview event.” Chloe finally looked up at me. Her gaze swept from my Converse sneakers up to my plain Uniqlo t-shirt, before finally landing on my face. Her smile faded. “Sweetie, you don’t need to put on a show in front of me.” “For picking up merchandise of this caliber, it’s best if Mr. Sterling handles the confirmation.” My dad glanced at me too. “Don’t interrupt.” “I’ll handle the bag. You just sit there and watch.” My chest suddenly felt icy cold. My mom was the one who texted me the verification code. I was listed as the authorized contact on the account. How could he make it sound like I was just here as eye candy tagging along for the ride? Chloe seamlessly pulled a dark grey handbag out of its dust bag and placed it on the table. “Mr. Sterling, look at this one. The leather is sophisticated, and the color is gorgeous.” I stared at the bag for three seconds. “That’s not the right bag.” Chloe’s hand froze. “What do you mean?” “I ordered a matte-gold croc. The hardware is brushed platinum.” I pointed at the bag on the table. “This is just a standard premium leather. The color might be similar, but the price point and the collector’s value aren’t even in the same universe.” The smile completely vanished from Chloe’s face. She pushed the bag closer to my dad. “Sweetie, you can’t understand top-tier luxury handbags just by reading internet forums.” “Color, leather texture, silhouette—it all comes down to how it complements the wearer’s aura.” She turned back to my dad, her voice dripping with sugar again. “Mr. Sterling, this one is much more versatile and suits your refined taste.” “A bag that’s too flashy isn’t always the best choice.” My dad stroked the leather, nodding in agreement. “You’re right. Being too flashy isn’t a good look.” I stared at him. “But I’ve been waiting for that bag for months.” He looked up, impatience clearly written across his face. “This bag isn’t for you anyway.” “Chloe is the professional. If she says it’s a better fit, then it’s a better fit.” Chloe looked down, a smug, triumphant smile curling her lips. Chapter 2 The limited edition matte-gold bag my mom, Evelyn, had reserved was an exclusive piece from the brand’s anniversary exhibition tour. My mom hadn’t even planned on buying it. The Head of North American Operations had personally flown out to negotiate a corporate sponsorship with her company, and casually offered her the reservation slot as a courtesy. She thought it looked nice, so she ordered it. My dad had been there when it happened. Holding a glass of wine, he had smiled and said: “If you like it, get it. You’ve worked so hard for half your life, you deserve a reward.” His tone was so gentle back then. So gentle that thinking about it now made me feel physically sick. In the VIP lounge, Chloe was still enthusiastically pitching the standard stock bag. “While this isn’t a limited edition piece, its strength lies in its timeless, understated elegance.” “With a discerning eye like yours, Mr. Sterling, I know you appreciate true classics.” When she said, With a discerning eye like yours, she deliberately shot a side-eye at me. I picked up the glass of sparkling water on the table. A junior associate had brought it in a few minutes later. No ice. No coaster. “Who gets the commission on this standard stock bag?” Chloe’s face changed slightly. “The Client Advisor providing the service today, of course.” “And if I cancel the original order, whose inventory pool does the limited edition bag go back into?” Her fake smile finally cracked. “Sweetie, that’s not something you need to worry about.” “As the authorized contact on the account, I’m not allowed to ask?” The room went dead silent for a moment. My dad frowned. “What authorized contact?” I waved my phone. “The authorized contact sent here to pick up the bag.” Chloe’s eyes darted nervously for a split second. But she quickly recovered her sweet smile. “Oh, so the verification code is on your phone! That makes things even easier.” She pulled up a page on her iPad and slid it across the table toward me. “We just need to confirm the client’s change of preference here, release the original reservation, and ring up the standard stock bag.” I didn’t touch it. The form on the screen was already filled out. Client Preference: Original limited edition item no longer suitable. Requested switch to standard stock item. Notes entered by: Chloe Thorne. Timestamp: 20 minutes ago. Which meant, barely minutes after I walked into the store, she had already altered the system notes. The suspicion that had been gnawing at the back of my mind sank like a stone. “Who told you the client’s preference changed?” Chloe let out a soft, condescending chuckle. “Mr. Sterling already expressed that.” I looked at my dad. “Why are you trying to cancel the order?” My dad’s face darkened. “I can’t make decisions about things in my own household?” “You are just an accompanying guest. You are not the account holder.” “Mia Sterling.” He used my full name. “Is this how you speak to your elders after all those years of education?” Chloe immediately poured him a fresh glass of champagne and handed it to him, her voice soothing. “Mr. Sterling, please don’t be upset.” “Young girls are all like this nowadays. They think they know a few rules and suddenly they want to argue about everything.” I glared at her icily. “Who are you calling a young girl?” She smiled innocently. “I can’t exactly call you Ms. Sterling, can I?” “You look way too young for that.” The moment those words left her mouth, I finally understood why she had been using that patronizing tone since we walked in. In her eyes, I was probably just some young piece of arm candy my dad had brought along. A pretty little ornament relying on an older, wealthy man to get into the VIP lounge, hoping to be bought a shiny gift. That’s why she kept calling me “sweetie.” That’s why she referred to my mom as the “mature woman.” My dad heard all of this, yet he didn’t correct her. He let her assume. He was actually enjoying the misunderstanding. My stomach churned violently. I stood up. “I’m going to step out and make a phone call.” Chloe smiled and offered a helpful warning: “Sweetie, don’t go giving out the verification code to just anyone.” “Once a limited edition allocation is lost, you can’t just act cute and bat your eyelashes to get it back.” I looked back at her. “Don’t worry.” “The one losing out today won’t be me.” Chapter 3 I walked out of the VIP lounge, the blast of AC from the mall atrium hitting my face. Gripping my phone, my fingertips were ice-cold. Soft piano music echoed from the floor below, the sunlight filtering beautifully through the glass dome roof. The entire space felt elegant and serene. But my mind was screaming with Chloe’s phrase: “mature woman.” And the look on my dad’s face as he basked in her disgusting assumption. Just as I was about to dial my mom’s executive assistant, a soft voice called out from behind me. “Ms. Sterling?” I turned around. It was another sales associate from the boutique. She was wearing a sleek black suit, her hair pulled back into a low ponytail. Her nametag read: Harper Evans. She was holding a glass of lukewarm water, a protective paper cover resting over the rim. “You look a little pale. Would you like some water?” I took the glass. The temperature was perfect. She didn’t pry. She simply said: “The order ending in 1907 that you mentioned earlier… is that Ms. Evelyn Sterling’s matte-gold croc?” I looked at her, surprised. “You know about it?” “There’s an internal flag on the VIP system for it.” “That bag arrived in-store today. It requires either the client’s physical presence, or the primary authorized contact’s verification code to be released.” She paused, lowering her voice. “An accompanying guest is allowed to enter the private suite, but they have zero authority to release an allocation.” My heart jumped. “What if someone preemptively altered the client preference notes in the system?” Harper’s expression shifted slightly. “Please wait here for a moment.” She guided me to the VIP concierge desk nearby. It wasn’t on the main sales floor; it was a semi-private reception alcove. She logged into the system. After verifying my ID and the authorization code, her brow furrowed deeply. “Someone did indeed alter the notes.” She turned the monitor toward me. It clearly showed: 20 minutes ago: Chloe Thorne submitted ‘Client hesitating. Suggested switch to standard stock.’ 10 minutes ago: Chloe Thorne added the standard stock item to Ms. Evelyn Sterling’s ‘Pending Confirmation’ cart. I let out a cold laugh. “She works fast.” Harper pressed her lips into a thin line. “This is a severe violation of protocol.” “Especially since your mother is a VVIP client. Any release of her allocations requires a secondary, managerial override.” She immediately picked up the internal phone. “Inventory, please freeze all status updates on order 1907. Transfer it to the VIP Escalation Protection Vault. Yes, immediately.” She hung up the phone and looked at me. “Ms. Sterling, the order is now frozen. Only your mother in person, or you with the verification code, can sign for it.” I nodded. “Thank you.” She hesitated for a second, then added: “Chloe is currently competing for the Sales Director position. She’s under a lot of pressure to hit her quotas.” I smirked. “So she’s using my mom’s allocation as a stepping stone for her promotion?” Harper didn’t respond. Between adults, silence is an answer. I looked over at the new season lookbook resting next to the monitor. “Are these three available to order?” Harper was slightly taken aback. “Yes, but they are VIP-exclusive pre-orders. They have to be processed through Ms. Evelyn Sterling’s account.” “I have authorization.” “Will we be using the primary payment method on file?” “Yes.” I paused, then added: “And make sure you list yourself as the Client Advisor for the commission.” Harper looked at me, a flash of genuine surprise in her eyes. But she quickly reverted to her professional demeanor. “Absolutely. I’ll process the order for you right now.” “All order histories and unauthorized system alterations will be logged and preserved according to protocol.” I liked smart people. They didn’t ask unnecessary questions. They didn’t put on a show. They just got the job done. When I walked back into the VIP lounge, Chloe was half-kneeling beside my dad’s chair, adjusting a men’s cashmere scarf around his neck. “This color brings out your complexion beautifully. When you wear this out, Mr. Sterling, everyone will immediately know you have impeccable taste.” My dad was smiling so hard he looked ten years younger. The standard stock handbag had already been placed next to a luxury shopping bag. The iPad was paused on the final confirmation screen. Seeing me walk in, Chloe immediately slid the iPad across the table toward me. “Sweetie, done with your phone call?” “Come on, just type in the verification code.” I sat down, refusing to look at her. “You don’t need to worry about the original order anymore.” Her fingers stiffened. I spoke slowly and deliberately: “Harper Evans just secured the limited edition bag for me.” “Oh, and while I was out there, I went ahead and pre-ordered three new VIP-exclusive pieces through her.” Chapter 4 Chloe’s face dropped instantly. My dad’s hand, holding his champagne flute, froze in mid-air. But Chloe was quick on her feet. She stared at me for two seconds before letting out a sharp laugh. “Sweetie, I think you’re a little confused.” “VIP-exclusive pieces aren’t something you can just click a button online and order.” I looked her dead in the eye. “That’s exactly why I didn’t order them online.” The smile vanished from her face. “Harper Evans overstepped her boundaries and poached a client. I will be reporting this to the Store Manager immediately.” “Be my guest.” I picked up my phone and opened the confirmation text I had just received. “But before you do that, you might want to figure out how you’re going to explain your little ‘Client hesitating’ system note.” Chloe’s composure finally shattered. My dad, completely lost, frowned and asked: “What note?” Chloe immediately pivoted to him, her voice dripping with victimhood. “Mr. Sterling, I was just drafting some preliminary notes based on our conversation.” “I think this young lady might have misunderstood my intentions.” She was finally willing to drop the “sweetie” act. Too bad it was too late. My dad looked at me, his face turning thunderous. “What exactly are you trying to pull?” “I’m picking up the bag.” “Pick up what bag?! Didn’t we agree this one is a better fit?” “Agreed with who?” “With me.” I let out a scoff. “Then buy it for yourself.” My dad looked as if I had slapped him across the face in public. His voice dropped to a menacing growl: “Mia Sterling, don’t you forget that every single penny you spend comes from this family.” “The money I’m spending is from the account my mother explicitly authorized me to use.” “Is your mother’s money not my money?!” Hearing that, a glint of smug triumph flashed in Chloe’s eyes. She pushed the iPad closer to my dad. “Mr. Sterling, actually, if the secondary household contact signs a supplemental waiver, we might be able to push through a special override. After all, you and Ms. Sterling are husband and wife.” My dad held out his hand. “Give me your phone.” I didn’t move. He repeated himself, louder this time: “Give me the verification code.” “Why should I?” “Because I am your father.” He surged out of his chair and lunged to grab my phone from my hand. I leaned back, dodging him. His hand swiped empty air, and his face twisted in fury. Chloe let out a soft, dramatic sigh. “Ms. Sterling, your father is just trying to do what’s best for your family.” “So many young girls these days are so sheltered, they think they can make all the decisions themselves.” “But when it comes to major financial purchases, it’s really best to let the adults handle it.” I glared at her. “When you say ‘major financial purchase,’ are you talking about my mother’s bag… or the massive commission you’re about to make on this standard stock item?” Chloe’s smile twitched violently. “You shouldn’t view Sales Advisors as being so materialistic.” “Then open your commission tier sheet and show it to me.” She shut her mouth. Boiling with rage, my dad slammed his hand onto the table. “Enough!” “I came out here today in a good mood to spend time with you, and you insist on throwing a tantrum and making a scene?!” I looked at him. “Spend time with me?” “Are you saying you didn’t?” “Your mother was too busy, so I carved time out of my schedule to bring you here. And you have the nerve to give me an attitude?” For the first time in my life, I felt like I was looking at a complete stranger. Growing up, he had always been the gentle, loving father of the house. He was the dad who warmed up milk for me before my finals. The dad who cried at my graduation, saying his little girl was all grown up. But now, he was sitting intimately close to another woman. Using my mother’s hard-earned luxury allocations to play the big shot. And telling me to shut my mouth. Sensing an opening, Chloe slid the iPad right in front of my face. “Ms. Sterling, please don’t put your father in a difficult position.” “Just type in the code, and we can put all this behind us.” I looked down at the blinking cursor in the input box. Suddenly, I smiled. “We can’t put this behind us.” The sound of hurried footsteps echoed outside the door. A man in a sharp, dark suit strode into the room, followed closely by Harper. Chloe instantly snapped to attention, her posture rigid. “Mr. Davis.” The Store Manager, Mr. Davis, didn’t even acknowledge her. He walked straight up to me. “Ms. Sterling. I am so incredibly sorry. The VIP Concierge Desk just alerted me to a critical system anomaly.” Chloe’s face drained of all color, turning a sickly white. My dad sat frozen in shock. Mr. Davis continued: “Your mother’s order has currently been placed under Maximum Security Lockdown.” “Until a full compliance audit is completed, no one—absolutely no one—has the authority to alter it.”

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