Author: Momo Chan

I was born with “pain transference.” My specialty is weaponized empathy. Whatever pain someone fakes in my presence, they feel for real. When a two-faced girl pretended I pushed her and cried about how much it hurt, the next second, she was screaming as if every bone in her body had shattered. When a con artist threw herself in front of my car, wailing that her back was broken, her vertebrae instantly dislocated, paralyzing her on the asphalt. Over time, people learned to treat me with a healthy dose of fear. No one dared to fake an illness or play the victim in my vicinity. Until, for the sake of a family merger, I was engaged to a brilliant, aloof maestro of surgery. At our engagement party, his “little sister” from med school clutched her stomach, her face slick with cold sweat as she cried. In front of the city’s medical elite, she clung to my fiancé’s sleeve and whimpered: “Julian, my stomach cancer… it’s flaring up. It hurts so much, please, save me.” The elegant ballroom fell silent. My fiancé removed his gloves. “Seraphina, Monica is in critical condition. The engagement party will have to wait.” “A doctor’s duty comes first. I can’t just stand by while a patient suffers.” The champagne flute in my hand paused mid-air. “I just did a full-body scan on you. Turns out, you’re telling the truth. In that case, you can just drop dead.” “Your cancer cells have just metastasized. The pain has been magnified tenfold. You’re going to die in agony.” 1 For the sake of a dynastic union, I was engaged to Dr. Julian Barclay, a brilliant and aloof surgical prodigy. He was the youngest chief surgeon in the medical community, his future limitless. Our two families were titans, and the engagement party was a lavish affair. Everyone who was anyone in the city was there. I stood in the center of the grand hall, wearing a couture gown, my arm linked with Julian’s. Everyone said we were a match made in heaven. Just as we were about to exchange engagement rings, the doors were thrown open. A frail girl in a white dress stumbled in. It was Monica, Julian’s junior from medical school. Her face was as white as her dress. Clutching her stomach, she rushed towards us. In front of hundreds of guests, she grabbed Julian’s sleeve, tears instantly streaming down her face, her skin glistening with a cold sweat. “Julian, my stomach cancer… it’s flaring up. It hurts so much, please, save me.” The entire hall fell silent. Every eye was fixed on the three of us. I looked at Monica’s pathetic, damsel-in-distress act and sneered inwardly. Stomach cancer? Just yesterday, I saw her post a picture on Instagram of herself devouring a spicy hot pot. Today, she was having a terminal cancer flare-up? Julian’s cool, indifferent expression shattered. He didn’t hesitate to pull his arm from mine, turning to support Monica. “Monica, what happened? Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Monica sagged into his arms, breathing weakly. “Julian, I know today is a big day for you. I didn’t want to bother you. But it hurts so much, I feel like I’m going to die. I just wanted to see you one last time.” Her speech was so heartfelt, so moving, that a few of the guests actually started dabbing their eyes. Julian’s own eyes reddened. He pulled the engagement ring, the one meant for me, from his finger and tossed it unceremoniously onto a nearby table. “Seraphina, Monica is in critical condition. The engagement party will have to wait. A doctor’s duty comes first. I can’t just stand by while a patient suffers.” He didn’t even offer me an apology before sweeping Monica into his arms, ready to leave. I paused, my champagne flute held steady. I watched Monica, nestled in his embrace, shoot me a triumphant, provocative smirk. Fine. You want to play games? I swirled the champagne in my glass and spoke, my voice calm and deliberate. “I just did a full-body scan on you. Turns out, you’re telling the truth. In that case, you can just drop dead. Your cancer cells have just metastasized. The pain has been magnified tenfold. You’re going to die in agony.” Julian stopped in his tracks and glared at me. “Seraphina, what the hell are you talking about? Monica is already so sick, and you’re cursing her? How can you be so vicious?” The moment he finished speaking, a bloodcurdling shriek ripped from Monica’s throat. “AAAAAHHH!” The sound was so piercing it seemed to shatter the crystal chandeliers. Monica thrashed out of Julian’s arms, crashing to the floor. She curled into a ball, clutching her stomach like a boiled shrimp, her white dress instantly soaked with sweat. She writhed on the ground, her head banging against the marble. “It hurts! It hurts so much! Somebody help me! My stomach is exploding! My insides are on fire!” She screamed, clawing at her own belly, her nails digging bloody furrows into her skin. Julian was horrified. He dropped to his knees, trying to restrain her. “Monica! What’s wrong?” Lost to the pain, Monica bit down hard on his wrist. Julian grunted in pain but refused to let her go. He looked up at me, his eyes blazing with fury. “Seraphina! What did you do to her?” I stood my ground, looking down on them. “What could I do? Didn’t she say she has terminal stomach cancer? This is what a flare-up looks like. Surely a great doctor like you would know that.” The guests began to whisper. “That girl’s screams… they don’t sound fake.” “Could she really have terminal cancer?” “How tragic.” Julian no longer had time to argue with me. Monica’s eyes were rolling back in her head, foam flecked her lips, and her breathing grew ragged. “Monica, hang on! I’m taking you to the hospital right now!” Ignoring the bite on his wrist, he scooped her up and ran for the door. At the threshold, he turned back, his gaze pinning me. “Seraphina, if anything happens to Monica, I will make you pay.” I just smiled coldly and drained my champagne. “Let’s be clear, Julian. You’re the one who publicly abandoned me for another woman. As of now, our engagement is void. You’re not breaking it off. I am.” Julian froze for a second, then snarled, “Fine! I wouldn’t want a cold-blooded woman like you anyway!” And with that, he was gone. Dead silence filled the ballroom. Everyone stared at me. I set down my glass, walked onto the stage, and took the microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen, my apologies, but the engagement party is canceled. Please, eat, drink, and enjoy the rest of the evening. It’s all on my tab.” Then, I gathered the skirt of my gown and walked out, leaving a sea of stunned faces behind me. I knew with absolute certainty: Monica was a dead woman. My power of pain transference had never once failed. If she dared to fake terminal cancer, I would make her experience it for real. Magnified by ten. 2 Julian rushed Monica to his own hospital, City Central, straight into the emergency room. Her screams echoed through the entire ER. He pulled some strings and ordered an emergency full-body CT scan. He stood in the control room, his eyes glued to the monitor. When the images appeared, the attending physician gasped. “Dr. Barclay… this… this is impossible!” Julian shoved the doctor aside. On the screen was a massive, irregularly bordered tumor in her stomach. But that wasn’t all. Her liver, lungs, even her bones were riddled with metastatic lesions. It was real. Stage-four stomach cancer, spread throughout her entire body. Incurable. Julian’s legs gave out, and he nearly collapsed. “How can this be? She had a full physical just last month at this very hospital. All her markers were normal!” The physician sighed. “The images don’t lie. With this level of metastasis, she has three months to live, at most.” From the ER, Monica’s screams continued unabated. They gave her painkiller after painkiller, but even the highest dose of morphine couldn’t touch the pain. She had ripped the bedsheets to shreds. Julian burst into her room, grabbing her hand. “Monica, don’t be afraid. I’m the best surgeon there is. I will save you!” Ignoring the other doctor’s advice, he scheduled an emergency surgery. He was going to open her up and cut the tumor out himself. The operating light flickered on. Julian scrubbed in, scalpel in hand. The moment he made the first incision, he despaired. Her abdominal cavity was filled with cancerous fluid and nodules. Her stomach was a necrotic, pulpy mess. There was nothing to cut, nowhere to start. His celebrated surgical skill was a joke. Julian’s hands began to tremble, and the scalpel clattered to the floor. He leaned against the operating table, buried his face in his hands, and broke down sobbing. Meanwhile, I had returned to the Vance family estate. The moment I walked in, a teacup flew past my head, shattering at my feet. My father was on the sofa, his face crimson with rage. “You insolent girl! Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Calling off the engagement in front of all those people! What about the Barclay family’s dignity? What about our family’s dignity?” I looked at him coldly. “Julian abandoned me for another woman. Did you want me to get on my knees and beg him to stay?” My father slammed his hand on the table and shot to his feet. “She was a patient! Julian is a doctor! Saving lives is his duty! Not only did you show no understanding, you said those vicious things! You will go to the hospital right now, apologize to Julian, and apologize to that girl!” I stood my ground. “No.” He pointed a trembling finger at me. “If you don’t go, you are no longer my daughter!” When I still didn’t move, he clutched his chest, his body swaying. “You… you’re trying to kill me! Oh, my heart… I think I’m having a heart attack!” He collapsed onto the sofa, gasping for air. My mother rushed to his side, then turned to me. “Seraphina! Are you trying to give your father a heart attack?” I looked at my father’s clumsy performance and sneered. He got a full physical twice a year; his heart was as strong as an ox. And now he was pulling this stunt to make me back down. I walked over to the sofa. “A heart attack, is it? It’s very painful. Are you sure you want one?” My father faltered for a second, then cried out even louder. “You ungrateful child! You really are giving me a heart attack!” I nodded. “Alright. As you wish.” Instantly, the color drained from my father’s face. His eyes flew open, his hands clawing at his chest. His lips, once ruddy, turned a sickening shade of blue. He gasped, but no sound came out, only a rattling in his throat. He tumbled off the sofa, his body convulsing on the floor. My mother was stunned. “Honey? Honey, what’s wrong? Don’t scare me!” My father’s eyes had rolled back. He was unconscious. I calmly took out my phone and dialed 911. “Yes, Vance Estate. We have a case of acute myocardial infarction. Bring a defibrillator. Hurry.” Fifteen minutes later, the ambulance arrived. The paramedics performed CPR on the spot. “No heartbeat! Charging! Clear!” Thump! My father’s body arched off the floor. It took three shocks to get a faint, thready pulse. The paramedics, sweating, loaded him onto a gurney. “Family needs to come now! We could lose him any second!” My mother followed, crying. As she left, she shot me a look of pure terror. She had suddenly remembered my terrifying “gift,” my “crow’s beak” that had followed me since childhood. The house fell silent. The maids hid in corners, not daring to breathe. I sat on the sofa and poured myself a cup of tea. Faking an illness? In my presence, no one gets away with it.

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While I was trying on wedding dresses, my boyfriend, Ryan Sterling, told me he was too busy to join me. But then, I turned around and saw him in the bridal shop, helping another woman try on gowns. “This is Amelia Thorne, a neighbor I grew up with. She’s getting married soon too, so I’m just helping her pick out a dress.” I wasn’t happy, but I didn’t make a scene. I knew he disliked it when I did. Late that night, his phone rang. “Amelia’s fiancé suddenly ran off. I need to go check on her.” He ignored my pleas to stay and left, abandoning me, who was terrified of the dark, without a second thought. Twenty minutes later, he called. “Scarlett, I have to marry Amelia first. If she’s unmarried and pregnant, she’ll be shamed.” “She’ll divorce me after the baby is born. Our wedding will just be postponed by a year, that’s all.” If that’s how it is, then you go and marry your Amelia. I won’t wait. 1 “Ms. McKay, this gown looks absolutely stunning on you.” The bridal consultant gushed, practically climbing over herself to praise me, clearly desperate for me to choose their boutique. “Ms. McKay, when will the groom be joining us? Would he like to try on the matching tuxedo?” “He’s busy today, maybe another time,” I replied, trying to keep a cheerful facade. I’d called my fiancé, Ryan Sterling, several times, but he’d either said he was swamped or simply stopped answering. Changing into another gown at a different boutique, I emerged from the dressing room, only to hear Ryan’s voice. “Amelia, you look absolutely gorgeous in this dress.” That genuine, heartfelt praise… it had been so long since I’d heard anything like that from Ryan. He turned, seeing me, and his expression flickered, a complex mix I couldn’t quite decipher. “Ryan, you said you were busy. Who is this? Are you… trying on wedding dresses?” I kept my voice level, the anger and questions bubbling just beneath the surface. “This is Amelia Thorne, a neighbor I grew up with,” he explained, a little too quickly. “She’s also getting married soon, so I’m just helping her pick out a dress.” “You said you were swamped,” I pressed. “I just finished up, then came over. What, do you think I’m lying to you?” A few other customers and consultants started whispering, their eyes darting our way. “Just go home, Scarlett. I’ll explain everything later tonight.” I went home and waited, but he didn’t return until late evening. “I’m going to throw these clothes straight into the washer. They’re a bit dirty.” He always just tossed his dirty laundry on the sofa for me to deal with, but tonight, he was unusually particular. “I’m going to shower quickly, I’ll be right out.” I noticed the bareness of his neck and couldn’t help but ask, “Where’s that good luck charm I got for you?” “Oh, I don’t know, it must have fallen off somewhere. You can just get another one, can’t you?” He looked away, evasive, before ducking into the bathroom. When I pulled his shirt from the washing machine, it reeked of strong perfume – the exact scent I’d smelled on that woman this afternoon. There was even half a lipstick print on the collar. When Ryan emerged from the bathroom, he saw the shirt in my hand and his face clouded. “What, are you starting to interrogate me now?” “Were the perfume and lipstick from that woman this afternoon? What exactly is your relationship with her?” Perhaps he hadn’t expected me to be so direct, because he froze for a moment. “She was trying on dresses this afternoon, we bumped into each other. What else is there to say?” he scoffed. “Or do you think I’m messing around behind your back?” As he spoke, he snatched the shirt and threw it onto the sofa. A glass of water was knocked to the floor with no warning, shattering into a thousand pieces. One shard, as if by cruel design, sliced my arm. Blood slowly seeped out. “Why are you so careless? Can’t you even avoid broken glass? Always so clumsy.” 2 His words were nothing but blame, devoid of any concern, just like every other time. “Could you… get me some antiseptic and a bandage, please?” “I don’t know where those things are. Just do it yourself.” With that, he swaggered over to the sofa and plopped down. I’d taken such good care of him these past few years that he’d become utterly useless. By the time I’d cleaned and bandaged my wound and returned to the sofa, his phone rang. “I have to go out. Amelia’s fiancé just ran off.” He made to rush out, but I grabbed his arm. “Please don’t go. Doesn’t she have other friends? Does it have to be you? It’s so late, and I’m scared to be alone. You know I hate the dark.” He didn’t even glance at me, forcefully batting my hand away. His hand landed exactly on my freshly bandaged wound. Blood immediately began to soak through. He frowned, looking at it briefly. “Things have priorities, Scarlett. If you’re scared of the dark, just leave the lights on.” Without a backward glance, he slammed the door shut. So, my pain and my fear were just minor inconveniences? I sat on the sofa, waiting, until the middle of the night. Then I started calling him, frantically. It was the twelfth call before he finally picked up. “When are you coming home?” He sighed, an irritated sound, punctuated by Amelia’s faint sobs in the background. “Can you just chill? I’ll come back when this is sorted. Why are you rushing me?” Before I could reply, his tone softened slightly. “Scarlett, our wedding might have to be postponed. I… I have to marry Amelia first.” 3 “Are you joking, Ryan? We’re getting married soon!” “I’m not joking. Wait for me to come home, and I’ll explain.” The news hit me like a bolt of lightning, completely blindsiding me. I didn’t know if he was serious or just playing a cruel joke. I cried and waited for him, eventually drifting off to sleep without him ever coming home. “Scarlett, wake up. I brought you your favorite steamed buns.” Ryan nudged me awake. My eyes, swollen from crying, fixed on him, desperate for an explanation. “Eat first, Scarlett. We’ll talk after you’ve eaten. You’ve been waiting all night, you must be starving.” Ryan was unusually gentle today. He reached out and offered a steamed bun to my mouth – beef. “Ryan, I don’t like beef. I prefer the pork and chive buns from that place.” Four years of chasing him, three years of being together, and he still didn’t know me. “Why are you so picky? I waited in line forever to get these for you, and you’re still complaining?” He picked up the bun and tossed it directly into the trash. “Fine, don’t eat it then.” “Ryan, yesterday… you were just kidding, right?” A glimmer of hope, a desperate wish that it was all just a bad joke. “Scarlett, I was serious yesterday. I’m going to marry Amelia.” “But… we’ve already booked the venue. Why this sudden change?” I grabbed his hand, my voice rising to a frantic pitch. “Scarlett, listen to me. Amelia’s pregnant.” 4 “Is it… your child?” My eyes widened, and I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood. “No, it’s her boyfriend’s. They were supposed to get married, but he just up and left her. If I don’t help her now, she’ll be a laughingstock.” It sounded ridiculous. She was abandoned, so he had to marry her to help her? “Couldn’t you think of any other way?” “Scarlett, it’ll just be a fake marriage. She’ll divorce me after the baby is born. Then we can still get married, it’s just… waiting an extra year, that’s all.” Just one year, he said, so casually. But why should I have to wait an entire year for someone else? “I won’t agree.” “Can you stop being so cold-blooded? We’re only postponing our wedding by a year. If Amelia doesn’t get married, she’ll be shamed.” Ryan was angry and agitated, but couldn’t he hear how absurd he sounded? “Fine. If you don’t agree, then there won’t be any possibility of us getting married, ever. Think it over carefully.” His words were laced with threat, as if he was certain I couldn’t live without him and would inevitably cave. And he was right, in a way. All these years, I’d revolved around him. When we argued, I was always the first to back down. Everyone knew how much I loved him. But now, that very devotion had become his weapon against me. “I still won’t agree.” He ignored my answer and left without another word. “Principal Reynolds, I’m planning to resign. I’ll send my resignation letter to your email shortly.” If his mind was made up, then I wouldn’t cling to him any longer. 5 Principal Reynolds, as usual, asked for my reasons. I told him I wanted to go home and be with my parents. He didn’t press, only reminded me to ensure a smooth handover so the students’ grades wouldn’t be affected. “Don’t worry, Principal. I’ll handle everything.” In a week, tops, I’d be done with the handover and back with my parents. Ryan could marry his Amelia, and no one would stand in his way. Hanging up the phone, I started packing my luggage. It was best to move out of this place as soon as possible. A knock at the door interrupted my packing. When I emerged from the bedroom and opened it, there stood Amelia. “Scarlett, I came to apologize. Can we talk inside?” “No. Say whatever you need to say out here.” If I’d known it was her, I wouldn’t have even opened the door. “Scarlett, Ryan must have told you, I really had no other choice. That’s why he came up with such an idea. Please don’t blame him.” I barely listened to her words, my eyes fixed on the good luck charm around her neck. “Oh, this? Ryan put it on me. He said you specially got it for his safety.” A smug look crossed her face. “He said since I’m pregnant, I really need to stay safe and sound, so he gave it to me. You don’t mind, do you?” I reached up and touched the identical charm around my own neck. How could I not mind? Ryan had fallen seriously ill once, and I was so frantic. I’d knelt for an entire day at the temple to get that charm, wishing only for both of us to be safe. “Whatever. If he wants to give it to you, I can’t stop him.” “Scarlett, do you even know that Ryan doesn’t actually like you?” Her voice held a hint of challenge. She held her phone out, displaying a video. 6 “Ryan, how’s that girlfriend of yours?” “Not great. She’s boring, just cleans and cooks all day, like a housemaid.” “Hahahaha, then why are you even with her? You might as well just hire a maid.” Ryan slung an arm over his friend’s shoulder. “It’s just because my parents like her. She’s dutiful, and she’s crazy about me, and she’s pretty enough. I guess I can make it work.” The video ended with a burst of laughter that stung my ears. So, I was just a ‘make-do’ for Ryan, never truly loved. The sadness overwhelmed the anger, and tears, traitorous tears, started to fall. “Scarlett, if I were you, I would have left ages ago. I couldn’t ‘simp’ for someone like that.” She scoffed, mocking me. “Didn’t you know? He’s always liked me, ever since we were kids. If you know what’s good for you, just get lost.” The elevator door chimed open. Amelia suddenly leaned in close, whispered something quickly, then stumbled backward. “Amelia, are you okay?” Ryan rushed out of the elevator. “Ryan, I just wanted to apologize to Scarlett, but she got so agitated and pushed me. I’m sure she didn’t mean it.” Amelia leaned into Ryan’s arms, her eyes brimming with tears, looking utterly helpless and pitiful. Ryan immediately scooped her up. Before leaving, he shot me a hateful glare. “Scarlett McKay, I never realized you were so vicious.” 7 I watched them leave, without even the energy to defend myself. I ripped the good luck charm from my neck and threw it into the trash. When I truly started packing, I realized I had a surprising amount of stuff. Two or three hours later, I was only halfway done. Just as I planned to sit down and rest, my phone chimed. It was a video from Ryan. The video was taken by Amelia. It showed Ryan sitting beside her hospital bed, meticulously peeling an orange for her. So Ryan could tolerate the smell of oranges. For three years, because he’d said he didn’t like the scent, I’d never eaten an orange at home. But now, he was peeling one for Amelia with his own hands. A wave of injustice surged through me, uncontrollable. Why did he have to treat me this way? “Scarlett, could you make some home-cooked meals and bring them over? Amelia’s pregnant and can’t eat takeout. And come apologize.” Without waiting for my reply, Ryan quickly hung up. The call lasted only a few seconds. Despite the throbbing in my arm, I cooked a few dishes and packed them. This would be my final repayment to Ryan. Back in my freshman year, I’d been cornered in an alley by some thugs. Ryan had bravely intervened, chasing them off. He’d taken a beating for it. That incident sparked an irrepressible affection in me. Because he’d been my hero, I’d always forgiven him. But now, this was the last time. When I arrived at the hospital, Ryan was gently and carefully combing Amelia’s hair. I remembered how I’d begged him to blow-dry my hair, only for him to burn a large patch of my scalp. He’d just irritably called it a hassle. The contrast was truly laughable. “Scarlett, thank you for making food for me. I really can’t stomach takeout.” Ryan took the food containers and carefully spoon-fed Amelia, bite by bite. “Ugh, why does this taste so awful?”

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I, Vivian, reconciled with Matt Thorne five years after our messy breakup. The last time, it hadn’t been amicable at all. He announced his new girlfriend the very next day after we ended things. This time, he pursued me again, and I said yes. Some say a reformed bad boy is worth more than gold. Others say a broken mirror can never truly reflect again. I say, “There are only three possibilities for a broken mirror to mend: either there was no mirror to begin with, or it was never truly broken, or it was never truly mended. Guess which one I am?” 1 After we got back together, Matt was better than before, or rather, he cared more. He frequently updated his social media with declarations of love, always tagging me. Years ago, I might have thrilled at such grand public displays. Now, I felt a little flat. After all, I wasn’t the first woman to appear on his feed, and perhaps not the last. The same old expressions, the unchanging phrases, the identical sentiments. It was quite uninteresting. I remember when we first started dating, a simple “I love you” from him could send me into raptures. And his “Let’s break up” had kept me awake for nights. I had even prepared to swallow my pride and beg him to take me back, only to wake up the next morning and see his announcement: a photo of intertwined hands against a hotel backdrop. I cried endlessly, lost weight, suffered insomnia, and my hair fell out. I had practically cried myself dry over that relationship, eventually feeling disoriented. To avoid painful memories, I even gave up a good job I’d found locally, leaving my hometown to start afresh alone. The harshness of that breakup was still vivid, so my friends scoffed at my reconciliation with Matt. Whenever they asked about our progress, they couldn’t help but warn me. “Don’t take it too seriously. In this world, whoever gets serious first loses.” “Vivian, there are plenty of other fish in the sea!” “As long as you’re happy.” Honestly, I wasn’t overthinking it. Perhaps I just have a stubborn streak that won’t give up until hitting rock bottom. Regardless, I was walking down this path again, unsure of what lay ahead. 2 I didn’t reply to any of his social media posts, even though I’d seen his tags long ago. In my free time, I’d even ‘like’ posts from some ‘gym bros’ – my feed was full of things that weren’t exactly sophisticated. I was careless, thinking I was browsing on a secondary account, so I felt somewhat unrestrained. Until he commented under one of my likes, “Does he have a better body than me?” and then deleted it instantly. He pretended nothing had happened, maintaining a calm facade, never even mentioning it. He wasn’t like this before. He used to dislike me adding other men on social media, he hated it when others chatted me up, and he was always extremely possessive about my male acquaintances. Once, he even threw a fit because someone brought me food, though I insisted it was just a thank-you. He gave me the cold shoulder for days. Later, I understood that men truly know the darker aspects of other men. But this time, he was surprisingly patient. Though, I suddenly noticed he started spending more time at the gym. He used to go three days a week; this week he’d already been five. One weekend afternoon, while I was scrolling through videos, he suddenly walked up behind me, grabbed my hand, and pressed it against his abs. Then he asked, “How does that feel?” I smiled. So that was it. He wasn’t indifferent; he cared even more, but he’d learned to be discreet, or was willing to change himself to accommodate me. You see, everyone changes in love; it just depends on how much you care. At least, for now, Matt didn’t want to break up. That was the signal he was sending me. I reached out, tracing his abs and waistline, and gave a small nod of approval. “Just wondering if it’s all for show, or if it actually works?” He scooped me up from the balcony and carried me back to the bedroom, disproving my skepticism with his actions. 3 I woke up early the next day, roused by Matt’s commotion in the kitchen. I’d lived alone for so long, I was no longer used to having an extra person around. And his breakfast, as always, was inedible, which only added to my irritation. He looked at me, a little embarrassed, and smiled. “They’re not very familiar with me yet. It’ll be better after I make them a few more times.” Do you understand? He was hinting that he wanted to come over more often. Because last night, I’d hesitated about him staying over, only relenting when I realized his pants were dirty and he truly couldn’t leave. I said nothing. I was still adapting to us being back together, let alone having another person in my daily life. I looked at the burnt bacon on the table, and my thoughts drifted. The day before Matt and I broke up, it was also because of a piece of burnt bacon. I had made two servings of bacon and eggs, one for me, one for him. I was new to cooking, so it wasn’t very good. His boss ate it and rudely made fun of him. Matt texted me, complaining, “Why can’t you even do this one small thing right? I don’t want to talk to you.” At the time, he was a fresh intern, and new graduates often felt a natural reverence and desire to please their superiors. I understood he’d be upset after being publicly ridiculed. I could even accept him not answering my calls all day. It was only when I heard nothing from him all night that I started to panic. He wasn’t a very mature person; he often acted like a difficult little boy around me, but he hated silent treatments. So, then, I wasn’t worried about his anger, but his safety. At three in the morning, he replied: “Let’s break up.” No name, no reason, a sudden, out-of-the-blue breakup. Looking back at the messages from just the day before, it read: “Vivian, my boss praised me! I’ll take you out for a nice meal later!” “Love you, love you! I literally can’t live without you!” “Hehehehe, I’m awesome, right?” How did I feel then? Saying the sky fell wouldn’t be an exaggeration, because I was so, so deeply in love with him. I was still caught in the throes of new love, and at the moment of the breakup, I couldn’t even make any other expression besides bewildered emptiness. That day, I stared out the window, recalling our three years together. I firmly believed that being loved wasn’t an illusion. There must have been some misunderstanding I hadn’t noticed. As the sun burst over the horizon, I resolved to salvage the relationship. I spent the entire night convincing myself not to regret not trying harder. I drafted long speeches in my head, thought of countless apology templates, and even swore I’d never eat bacon again. But just before I left the house, I scrolled through his social media. A photo of intertwined hands against a hotel backdrop, with my initials still clearly visible on his wrist. The caption read: “New beginnings.” I thanked my own hesitation, for not adding more fodder for laughter to his new chapter. 4 I tossed the bacon in the bin. He quickly interjected, “I was just about to throw it away. Burnt food isn’t good for you, after all.” Seeing his cautious demeanor was like looking in a mirror; I saw my past self through him now. Was he as unperturbed then as I was now? I looked at him and smiled, saying, “No, I don’t eat bacon anymore. It makes me sick, and I feel unwell all day.” He pressed his lips together, his eyes and voice already tinged with melancholy when he spoke. I knew that both of us were recalling that burnt bacon from before our breakup. It was no longer just a piece of bacon. For me, it symbolized loss, being broken up with, and abandonment. I watched him stalk into the kitchen, almost defiantly, and dump the entire bag of bacon he’d just bought into the trash. Then, he had to save face with, “Right, cured meats aren’t good for you if you eat too much.” I simply gave him an enigmatic smile. After working in my room for half the day, I came out near noon to find Matt gone. He had ordered food and thoughtfully transferred it from the takeout boxes to plates. A cute sticky note was attached: “You were too focused on work, so I didn’t disturb you. No need to wash up after eating, I’ll be over tonight.” Over again tonight? He was certainly persistent. I picked up the sticky note, took a photo, and casually tossed it into the trash. As the paper dropped into the bin, I suddenly remembered how enthusiastic I used to be about collecting such small tokens of love. I had a notebook filled with excerpts of all the messages we’d exchanged, tucked between countless notes and letters he’d written me, and various pressed leaves. I cherished them as proof of his affection. Later, they became instruments of my torment after the breakup, until I finally burned them myself. 5 Around noon, as I was doing the dishes, Matt texted me, asking if I had eaten. It was then that I realized I hadn’t sent him that photo. I dried my hands, found the picture, and clicked send: “Just ate, thanks for the lovely lunch.” He called me immediately, his tone plaintive. “Forgetting about me because you were busy this morning is one thing, but how could you forget to share with me when you were eating food I prepared?” “You prepared it?” He laughed. “I ordered the takeout and plated it myself. How is that not ‘prepared by me’? Just you wait. Tonight, I have to come over and prepare a feast for you.” I was thinking of how to refuse, as I still felt like I hadn’t fully adjusted to his frequent intrusion into my life. He suddenly remembered something and asked, “Are you busy tonight? Aaron and the guys want to have dinner with you.” Aaron was Matt’s college roommate. We used to be quite close; after all, we’d been together for so long. But after breaking up with Matt, I’d cut off contact with everyone connected to him. I was silent for a while, and Matt, thinking I didn’t want to go, quickly added, “Hmm, if it’s inconvenient, never mind. We’ll find another time to get together.” “Tonight is fine. I’m free. Text me the place.” “Okay, I won’t text you. I’ll pick you up. I’ll be downstairs around 5:30.” At 5:10, I saw his car parked downstairs. He had the window down, smoking, his profile not looking much different from a few years ago. The only difference was that since we’d reconciled, he hadn’t smoked in front of me. I was already ready, but I still sat on the sofa until 5:40 before heading down. The moment he saw me, he immediately extinguished his cigarette. I noticed the empty pack on his dashboard. He hastily explained, “I forgot to check the time. I just thought I’d have a couple of puffs.” I asked him, “Why didn’t you call when you arrived early?” “Once, I came to pick you up early, and you saw me from upstairs. You bounced down the stairs like a little rabbit, so surprised and happy.” He said this, glanced at me, then continued, “I thought it might happen again today.” Oh, he knew I’d seen him from the window. Since getting back together, this was the first time I felt that we were constantly playing a game. Probing, hesitating, strategizing—these were the unavoidable challenges of love. “I’m twenty-nine now. Am I still expected to act like an immature young girl?” He mumbled a subtle assent, slowly steering the car forward, his expression unreadable. 6 Besides Aaron, Ben was also there, another one of Matt’s college roommates. Everyone was very enthusiastic upon seeing me, as if the five years of no contact between us simply didn’t exist. Matt’s face flushed easily when he drank, and after two beers, his face was bright red, but his hand never let go of mine. Aaron teased him, “Dude, you’re even eating with your left hand. Are you going to starve yourself? What, scared Vivian will run off?” Ben chimed in, “Relax, man, everyone knows Vivian was crazy about you. When you two broke up, she camped outside our dorm for days. When she couldn’t find you, she came looking for us. I was actually scared of getting cornered by her.” Yes, that first week after the sudden breakup was the hardest. When I couldn’t find Matt, I started harassing his roommates, desperately asking if he’d been back, or who he was getting close to. It was nearing college graduation, and everyone was swamped with job hunting, yet they had to put up with my harassment. Looking back, it was pretty pathetic. I picked up a glass of wine from the table and raised it to the two across from me. “Just youthful foolishness, gentlemen. Please bear with me, and don’t be angry.” I chugged the wine in one go, astonishing the three men at the table. Throughout the meal, Aaron and Ben kept repeating the same old lines. “Matt, it wasn’t easy for you and Vivian to get back together. You really need to cherish her and not make any more mistakes, because not everyone gets a second chance.” “Come on, let’s toast to true lovers ending up together.” “It’s so great, it’s really great that you two are back together.” When the evening ended, I dropped Matt off at his place. I stood at the door without going in. “I have plans tomorrow, so I’m leaving now. Will you be okay by yourself?” He asked me, “If I said I didn’t want to be alone, would you stay with me?” I looked at him, saying nothing. He gave a self-deprecating laugh. “Just before we left, they all said you’ve changed a lot, completely different from before. I originally wanted to argue, but looking at you now, I realize I have no defense. Vivian, you’ve changed.” Yes, of course I’d changed. Who could remain unchanged in the river of time? Appearance, personality, values – which of these isn’t shaped by the crucible of experience? Hadn’t he changed too? He hugged me for a long time without speaking. Just as I started to feel tired and tried to push him away, I felt something warm trickle into the hollow of my neck. Matt murmured in my ear, “You’ve changed… is it because of her?” Which ‘he’? Or ‘her’?

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That year, at eighteen, I fell ill saving Jasper. Everyone in our circle said I was his lifeline. Until, Jasper’s mistress confronted me. The young, beautiful girl looked at me with pity, then showed me a video. In the video, Jasper’s friend asked, “Are you really going to marry that sickly girl? What about the canary you keep outside?” Jasper didn’t even lift an eyelid. His voice was flat. “She’s like a porcelain doll; you can’t even touch her. What normal man can put up with that?” “I’m only marrying her to repay an old kindness.” So it was just to repay a debt. I didn’t cry or make a scene. Before the wedding, I boarded a flight to America. Later, I heard that on the wedding day, the Thorne family heir, unable to find his bride, went completely mad. 1 The day Jasper’s mistress confronted me, was our six-year anniversary. The young, beautiful girl wore a vibrant red dress, high heels, radiant like a crimson rose, even carrying the heady scent of roses on her. She was the polar opposite of me. Her eyes, as she looked at me, were filled with pity. “Jasper doesn’t love you at all.” “Since you can’t even satisfy his needs, are you going to shamelessly cling to him?” I didn’t speak, but my hands, hanging at my sides, trembled uncontrollably. This girl, Clementine, had just shown me a video. In the video, Jasper’s childhood friend asked, “Are you really going to marry that sickly girl? Didn’t you say it was just for fun? Did you actually fall for her?” “And what about the canary you keep outside?” Jasper was sprawled on an expensive leather sofa, not even lifting an eyelid at the question. His expression was languid. “She’s like a porcelain doll; you can’t even touch her. What normal man can put up with that?” “Besides, even if she were an angel, after all these years, I’d be tired of playing with her, wouldn’t I?” My heart felt clutched in someone’s hand, throbbing painfully, as if it would burst with just a slight squeeze. I didn’t believe the man in the video was Jasper. He always cherished my delicate health, treating me with the utmost tenderness. Even in moments of passion, he was restrained and controlled. Even when Jasper rarely lost control, he would only gently clasp my waist and tell me, “My dear Summer, you are mine for life.” Jasper wouldn’t treat me this way. But the video continued to play. That face, the one I knew so well, moved its lips, slowly uttering the cruelest words. “I’m only marrying her to repay an old kindness.” The words “repay an old kindness” drifted lightly, yet they crashed heavily into my heart. With my tear-prone constitution, my eyes were already brimming. I bit down hard on my lip, determined not to show my discomfiture in front of Clementine. “It’s just a video. I don’t believe it.” The Jasper in this video was a completely different person from the Jasper this morning. This morning, before he left for work, he had gently kissed my forehead. “Summer, wait for me to get off work.” Videos can be faked. I’ve known Jasper for ten years; no one understands him better than I do. Jasper isn’t this kind of man. 2 Clementine seemed to have anticipated my reaction. She chuckled softly. “You really are as stubborn as I imagined.” She pulled down the collar of her dress, revealing a smattering of ambiguous kiss marks on her slender neck. When my gaze fell on those marks, I felt as though I’d been burned. Jasper loved leaving these bruised marks on my neck, and these were almost identical to Clementine’s. Clementine’s eyes held a challenging glint. “Jasper left all these on me, little by little. Hasn’t he been telling you lately that he has to work overtime because of company matters? But do you know? Jasper didn’t go to work overtime at all. He came to see me. Jasper is a man with normal needs. It’s no wonder he finds you so uninteresting in bed.” After those words, all the arguments I’d mentally constructed in Jasper’s defense suddenly vanished. Clementine was right. Jasper had strong physical needs, but my delicate health prevented me from satisfying him. Afterwards, he would always relieve himself. I once leaned on his knee, asking softly, “Doesn’t it bother you, holding back?” Jasper’s fingers traced my cheek, a light laugh escaping him. “As long as you’re here, Summer, what’s a little discomfort?” I foolishly believed him. I thought Jasper’s love for me transcended mere physical intimacy. I never imagined he was keeping a pampered mistress outside, to fulfill the needs I couldn’t meet. Clementine flaunted the ring on her finger, flashing a taunting smile. “Does this ring look familiar to you, Miss Peterson?” My gaze suddenly froze when it met the diamond ring. This was Jasper and my engagement ring. Jasper had recently told me he was taking it for cleaning and maintenance, preparing for the wedding, which was why I had taken it off. Clementine seemed quite pleased with the change in my expression. Her voice was sweet, unable to hide the boastful tone. “You don’t know? I just mentioned to Jasper that I wanted to try on this ring, and he took it from you.” My heart suddenly ached with a dull pain. So Jasper cared so much about Clementine’s casual words. He even gave her our engagement ring. Clementine noticed my mortified expression, and her smile became even brighter. “You’re truly pathetic.” She slipped off the ring and tossed it to the ground like trash, her eyes clearly malicious. “I’m tired of wearing it anyway. Here, you can have it back.” I didn’t pick it up. I just watched her calmly. “You’re much younger than me, but you might not understand one thing. A cheating cat never just steals one fish.” Clementine was too young. She didn’t understand that once a man cheats, he’ll always do it again. Just like me, I would never be Jasper’s exception. 3 I chased after Jasper for four years, but he only saw me as the girl next door. Jasper was never short of women; he always preferred the seductive type, naturally not noticing a young girl like me. That year, when I was eighteen, Jasper and I were both kidnapped. The kidnappers demanded fifty million in ransom from the Thorne family. The family reported it to the police, but the kidnappers found out. The ruthless desperadoes threw Jasper and me into a water dungeon. The dungeon was damp and dark, and the murky water even harbored venomous insects. Jasper was extremely weak, barely breathing. It was I who cut my wrist, feeding him my blood drop by drop, until rescuers finally arrived. After we got out, Jasper completely shed his former playboy image. He found out it was all the doing of his paternal half-brother. Those kidnappers ended up in his hands, their fates utterly miserable. His half-brother was confined to a villa in the suburbs and died of despair. Everyone said the Thorne family heir was ruthless and vengeful. All the women Jasper had kept around him were gone. I became the only woman by his side. The blood loss in the dungeon had damaged my constitution. I developed a chronic illness; two steps would leave me breathless, and intimacy had to be gentle. Jasper cherished me, and even in passion, he was tender and restrained. In moments of intimacy, I once asked Jasper, “Didn’t you used to prefer the sexy type?” “Don’t you feel a disconnect now, being with me?” Jasper buried his face in my chest, laughing softly. “My dear Summer, with you by my side, what need would I have for other women?” He would often say this, his hand moving to cup my breast. My face would instantly flush, and I would softly scold him, “Stop being a hooligan!” 4 Jasper returned exceptionally late today. I sat on the sofa all night, an open photo album beside me. It contained all our photos since we first met. I flipped from the first page to the last. In these ten years, Jasper truly hadn’t changed at all. I thought I would be the exception that would make him change his ways. But I wasn’t. No one could be Jasper’s exception. The current Clementine was just like I was back then—briefly, Jasper’s exception. Jasper leaned down and embraced me. “It’s so late. Why aren’t you asleep yet?” I said nothing. He lowered his head to kiss me, but I turned my head away, dodging him. Jasper chuckled softly, not annoyed. “What’s wrong? Who upset you? Or are you mad I came home late, Summer?” I looked at him calmly, saying nothing. “Don’t look at me like that, I won’t be able to resist.” Jasper’s eyes darkened. He wrapped his arm around my waist, pulling me into his embrace. “The company has been busy lately. Next time, I’ll come home earlier to be with you, okay?” It was the same excuse again. We were close, and I smelled the scent of roses on him, the same rose perfume Clementine wore. My heart inexplicably ached. Jasper was lying again. He seemed to notice my distractedness. Jasper reached under my clothes, his hand caressing my bare skin. In the past, I would have immediately gone weak-kneed and begged for mercy, but this time, I was unusually calm. “Jasper, I don’t want to marry you anymore.” His movements stiffened, and his hand moved away from my waist, clearly losing interest. “The wedding is in a few days. Don’t make a fuss, okay?” He added, “Summer, the company has a lot going on lately. I don’t have the energy to coax you.” A dense pain bloomed in my chest. Was Jasper busy with company matters, or was he busy coaxing Clementine? My heart ached so much. Even cutting my wrist and bleeding out in the dungeon hadn’t hurt this much. Tears welled in my eyes. I suppressed a sob, asking, “Jasper, do you still love me?” “Do you really want to marry me?” The string of questions seemed to irritate Jasper. He rubbed his brow impatiently. “Summer Peterson, when did you become so dramatic?” He continued, “What more do I need to do to prove my love? Should I rip out my heart and show it to you? Just settle down and stop annoying me, okay?” Suddenly, Jasper’s phone rang. He answered irritably. “What is it?” I couldn’t see the caller ID, but I heard a girl’s tearful voice on the other end. It was Clementine. Jasper frowned, his brow furrowed with impatience. But he suppressed his volatile temper, patiently coaxing, “Stay where you are. I’ll be right there.” Jasper stood up and left in a hurry. “Something came up at the company. I’ll be back later to be with you.” The moment the door closed, my heart went completely cold. 5 Jasper never returned that night after he left. I waited alone until dawn. My fingers unconsciously slid across the screen, and I scrolled through Clementine’s social media post. The man in the photo had a peaceful, utterly exhausted sleeping face. Clementine’s face was half-visible, her smile bright, and there were intimate hickey marks on her neck. Her caption read: “Met a hooligan at the bar last night. Luckily, big brother saved me, so I rewarded him with a little sweet treat.” I rubbed my reddened eyes, suddenly feeling utterly pointless. Jasper and my wedding date was set for the fifth of next month. He had once said he would give me the grandest wedding in the world. But with only a week until the wedding, Jasper still hadn’t taken me to choose a wedding dress. He was too busy with Clementine, so busy he’d even forgotten about it. I numbly realized that promises truly only held meaning when love was present. When he returned the next day, he only told me, “I’m going abroad for business negotiations. It’ll probably take four days. When I get back, I’ll take you to pick out your wedding dress.” Jasper was lying to me again. Clementine’s latest social media post showed her wearing a pink ski suit, helmet, and mask, revealing only a pair of round, almond-shaped eyes. The caption read: “Big brother took me skiing in Iceland to see the Northern Lights! One last hurrah before the wedding.” The location was Iceland. I clutched my chest, the pain so sharp I almost cried. During those agonizing days in the dungeon, Jasper, his breath weak, had coaxed me, “Once we get out of here alive, I’ll take you to Iceland to see the Northern Lights, okay?” But he ultimately broke his promise. 6 My best friend, Hannah, video-called me then. “Summer, have you decided? Are you staying to get married here or coming to San Francisco for treatment?” Hannah had never been keen on my relationship with Jasper. She didn’t believe a playboy like Jasper would truly settle down and marry me. She now lived in San Francisco and had found a medical facility there that would be perfect for my treatment. I hadn’t made up my mind before, but now I smiled and agreed, “Okay, I’ll go to San Francisco.” Hannah on the other end of the video looked delighted. “That’s great, Summer! You’ve finally come to your senses!” After calming down, her voice became serious. “Summer, are you really giving up on Jasper?” I nodded, my voice remarkably calm. “Yes.” “I’ve given up.” Hannah sensed the heaviness of my mood and didn’t ask further, simply saying we’d talk more when we met. I went home and burned all our photos. I got rid of all the gifts he’d given me. The ring Clementine didn’t want, I tossed it in the trash. I didn’t want a ring someone else had worn. And along with it, I didn’t want Jasper either. The house was empty, leaving only some insignificant items. After doing all this, I booked a flight for the day of the wedding. I never expected that the wedding I was discarding like trash, someone else would snatch up like a treasure.

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Six years into our marriage, I brought up divorce with my child-free wife. She broke down, promising to have children for me, until I produced a breast pump. Next to it was a prenatal scan, showing twins. “Found it in your box when we were moving.” “Those twins you asked me to look after, they’re yours, aren’t they?” 1 During the move, I stumbled upon a box tucked away beneath a pile of clutter. It was my wife Audrey’s box, and the lock easily gave way. The first thing that caught my eye was a well-used breast pump. Though meticulously cleaned, the fine scratches etched onto its surface were a silent testament to prolonged use. A sharp pang gripped my chest, and a knot of confusion tightened in my gut. I’m a cardiologist; Audrey is the head nurse in our hospital’s pediatric department. She always used to say she’d seen enough “little monsters” to never want children of her own. She was resolute about being child-free. I’d always dismissed it as a casual complaint, never taking it for anything more. Early in our marriage, she’d gotten pregnant unexpectedly. I’d pleaded with her, again and again, to keep the baby. But she was unyielding, eventually choosing to terminate the pregnancy. Though heartbroken, I prioritized her well-being. To prevent further emotional or physical distress, I underwent a vasectomy at her suggestion. Children were out of the question for us. So, how did she come to possess a breast pump? Could it have been an accident, a mix-up? My curiosity compelled me to dig deeper, until a prenatal scan report emerged. My mind reeled, a thunderclap in my skull, and my fingertips went numb. It was a prenatal scan, showing twins, both with strong heartbeats. A corner of the name was torn, but the age on the report matched Audrey’s. I could no longer convince myself that so many striking similarities were mere coincidence. My deeply trusted, child-free wife, it seemed, might secretly have two children. I’d intended to confront her, to get answers as soon as she returned. But Audrey said the night shift at the nurse’s station was hectic, and she didn’t come home. The next day, I drifted through my morning surgeries at the hospital in a daze, barely holding it together. As I stepped out of the operating room, Audrey strode into my office, her steps light and airy. The moment she saw me, she launched herself forward, pressing a warm kiss to my neck. “My darling husband, you’ve worked so hard! Guess what delicious treat I made for you today?” With a flourish, she presented a lunchbox. Inside, braised pork hocks steamed, the soybeans cooked to a tender mush. She insisted it was nourishing. But the sight of it did nothing for my appetite. She arranged my chopsticks, chattering away. “Those twins in our department are worse than ever. You’re the only one in the country who can do this surgery.” She flashed a smile, her eyes narrowing to alluring slits. “I know you’re swamped with surgeries, but could you pull some strings for them?” The bright sunlight streaming through the window should have made me sweat, but a chill seeped into every pore of my body. It was completely out of character. Knowing Audrey as I did, she’d seen countless partings between life and death. She had never shown favoritism to any patient. Yet, for these twins, she’d brought it up to me more than once. She’d told me they had a rare heart condition, and their single father was struggling to raise them. She worried he wouldn’t be able to bear it if something went wrong. She was more patient with these twins than any other child, checking on them multiple times each night. When their condition worsened, she’d even stayed by their bedside all night. Was this truly the behavior of a nurse towards strangers? Unless they were her own. 2 Looking at that incredibly familiar face, I yearned to demand answers, to unleash a furious argument. But in that moment, it all felt utterly pointless. Three years ago, I’d been sent abroad for a year and a half of advanced training. A year and a half, with a time difference, was more than enough time for her to have a pair of twins. My mind felt tangled in a web of tightly wound ropes, a throbbing mess I couldn’t untangle. I couldn’t fathom it. Audrey and I had started our relationship because she’d been smitten with me at first sight. Working in the same hospital meant our paths crossed frequently. Sought after by countless admirers, she’d only had eyes for me, shedding her usual reserve to pursue me relentlessly. Her unwavering care had gradually melted my heart. For years, our relationship had been harmonious. We were the quintessential model couple in everyone’s eyes. Colleagues often remarked that I had both a thriving career and a fulfilling love life, truly living the dream. I’d believed it myself. It turned out to be a cruel illusion. What I got in return was her having children with another man. She was the one who initiated things with me, yet she was also the first to betray me. This seemingly perfect marriage, it was time for it to end. I pushed the lunchbox away and rubbed the bridge of my nose, feeling utterly exhausted. “I can’t pull any strings,” I said, my voice heavy. “It wouldn’t be fair to the other patients waiting.” Audrey’s face instantly changed, her tone laced with urgency. “It’s just a word from you, how can you not pull strings? Those twins can’t wait any longer. The hospital follows the principle of emergency aid, so let the other patients wait!” I couldn’t believe those words were coming from the head nurse of the pediatric department. The old Audrey, even when faced with a child tragically disfigured in a car accident, remained unfazed. She’d simply say, “It’s destiny.” Now, for those twins, she was willing to utter words so contrary to medical ethics. She didn’t notice my distress. She leaned down, clutching my hand tightly. She swayed, her voice a playful whine. “Please, darling, just this once, can’t we bend the rules? I’m begging you.” In the past, a little coaxing from her was enough for me to grant any request. But now, her almost pleading tone made me deeply uncomfortable. I forced a bitter smile. “Seeing you this anxious, someone might think you’re their mother.” I felt Audrey stiffen, her forced chuckle strained. “Oh, where do you get these ideas? I’m the head nurse, you know. I just can’t bear to see two little lives die waiting. It’s too sad.” Fearing I might press further, she quickly stood up, awkwardly adjusting her clothes. “I need to get back to work. Please, think about it. We definitely need to get them moved up the queue.” It sounded like a command. Her patience had clearly worn thin. I said nothing. As she left, her phone remained on my desk. A powerful premonition urged me to pick it up. I entered her birthday, and the phone unlocked. Almost instinctively, I tapped on her online shopping app, searching through her purchase history from three years ago. 3 The purchase record for that breast pump nailed me to a pillar of shame, utterly immobile. What followed was an endless list of baby bottles, swaddling blankets, diapers, and countless other infant items. Each new discovery felt like another hole being gouged into my heart, bleeding profusely. Audrey likely never imagined that the keepsakes she couldn’t bear to discard would one day become the fuse that exposed her betrayal. My unconditional trust in her over the years had left her utterly unguarded around me. She hadn’t even bothered to delete her shopping history. Putting the phone down, I felt suffocated, unable to breathe. Numbness spread from my fingertips, engulfing my entire body. My brain felt like it was being repeatedly clawed at by a giant hand, torn to shreds. Fragmented memories began to coalesce in my mind. It turned out those details I’d noticed before weren’t figments of my imagination. One time, idly scrolling through social media, I stumbled upon a new post from Audrey. The photo showed a pair of strikingly similar-looking boy and girl, holding cotton candy, their smiles radiant. Audrey’s caption read: “My little darlings are all grown up~” I was confused. Audrey had told me she was away for advanced training, so how could she be posting something like this? When I clicked on her profile, it all vanished. It was as if it had been my imagination. I called her, delicately bringing up the topic. Hearing my query, Audrey chuckled. “It must be a glitch with the app. I’ve had it happen before. You don’t honestly think I’d have a pair of twins behind your back, do you?” I found it a little humorous myself, and dismissed it. Then, on another occasion, while searching for a file, I found a rental agreement in Audrey’s folder. The name on it was Audrey. While she often worked late shifts, she always came home, no matter how late. It made no sense for her to rent an apartment elsewhere. When I asked, she explained she was helping a colleague who was experiencing financial difficulties, so she’d lent a hand. At the time, I thought she was kind-hearted and even transferred thirty thousand dollars to her, worried she didn’t have enough money. Now, looking back, I was a colossal fool, completely oblivious. I was being sold out and still counting the money for them. The rhythmic tap-tap-tap of heels on the floor. Audrey burst through the door, her movements frantic. Her first instinct was to snatch her phone. She started to leave, then hesitated, turning back to me. “Did you… did you look at my phone just now?” she asked, a tentative edge to her voice. I feigned confusion, lifting my head. “No, why?” Audrey visibly relaxed, offering an awkward laugh. “Nothing.” This only solidified my suspicion that she had something to hide. 4 That evening, I lingered at the office for an extra hour before heading home. My mind was in turmoil, and even the simple act of unlocking the door felt like it sapped all my strength. Pushing the door open, the house was dark. A few candles flickered on the dining table, their flames casting dancing shadows on Audrey’s smiling face. “You’re back, darling. I’ve been waiting for you.” Audrey was wearing a black, backless nightgown, her voluptuous figure looking even more alluring in the candlelight. A simple sway of her hips was enough to captivate. I knew she was inviting me. But I merely shrugged off my coat, utterly devoid of interest. Seeing my lack of response, she pressed herself against my back. Her breath caressed my neck, hot and insistent. “Do you want to be a father?” Her sudden question made me freeze. As if she’d gotten the reaction she wanted, her embrace tightened. “You should get your vasectomy reversed. The success rate is really high. We could have a child.” I found it laughable. I’d nearly begged her on my knees to keep our child. She hadn’t budged an inch. The day she underwent the abortion, I sat withered on the surgical waiting room bench, my eyes red and swollen from tears. In my mind, I could almost hear the incessant cries of my unborn child. Those cries, which should have been sweet, lisping calls of “Daddy.” But it was all impossible now. For Audrey’s sake, I’d stifled my grief and undergone the vasectomy. Before I even had a chance to fully recover, I had to return to the operating room to treat patients. Exhausted, my body had barely healed properly. It’s fair to say I’d nearly sacrificed my life to fulfill Audrey’s desire to be child-free. When my parents pressed us for grandchildren, I’d lied, claiming it was my fault, to spare Audrey any trouble. Because of this, my parents were deeply disappointed in me, almost to the point of being admitted to the hospital. My in-laws, upon learning it was “my” fault, were relentless. If they couldn’t get money from me, they’d point fingers and call me an incapable man, blaming me for their lack of grandchildren. They found fault with everything I did, even instigating Audrey to divorce me. For her, I had weathered every storm, no matter how fierce. Now, what did she mean by asking these things? Audrey pulled me to the dining table, leaning on her elbows, watching me with amused interest. “I always feel like something’s missing between us. I’ve thought about it, and it must be a child.” She continued to talk, never pausing, as she served me food. “Once you become a father, you’ll definitely understand a parent’s heart. You won’t be so cold towards patients anymore.” My fists clenched, and my breathing grew heavy. It all came back to this. This entire elaborate dinner was still about those twins. Looking at the mountain of food she’d piled onto my plate, I pushed it back towards her. “Being child-free is actually quite nice,” I said, my voice cold. “You eat. I’m not hungry.” Audrey’s smile froze, instantly replaced by anger. “Owen, what do you mean? I spent all this time cooking, and you won’t even touch it?” “I’m tired. I’m going to rest.” Through the closed door, Audrey’s grumbling reached my ears, word for word. The truth was, I deeply wanted children, but not with Audrey.

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After marrying Frederick’s older brother, Arthur, I feigned frigidity, repeatedly turning him away. The next time Arthur went to take a cold shower, I saw the comments. [The female side character is so disgusting. She married the male lead’s brother but is still obsessed with the male lead.] [Poor male lead’s brother. He’s clearly better in every way than the male lead, but he’s always sexually frustrated.] [Once the male lead’s brother finds out the female side character’s unrequited love for his brother, he’ll divorce her.] [After the divorce, the female side character will foolishly drug the male lead, exhausting the last bit of goodwill her ex-husband had for her, ending up miserable.] Me: ? Just then, Arthur suddenly emerged from the bathroom. I shakily held up the “toy.” “Honey, let’s do it…” 1 Arthur’s eyes darkened slightly. A thick bath towel wrapped around his lower half showed no obvious contours. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that his gaze was dangerous. I dared to, my hands trembling as I tore open the box. “H-honey, wanna…?” Arthur exhaled, then stepped towards me, snatching the item from my hand. His face betrayed no emotion. The way he stroked my head was stiff. “Valerie, don’t force yourself.” With that, he pulled up my blanket and pajamas. Then he went to sleep in the guest bedroom. But the moment Arthur turned, I clearly saw beneath the bath towel… The master bedroom door clicked shut. I stared at the ceiling and sighed, the comments from moments ago flashing through my mind. A wave of apprehension washed over me. 2 I had indeed always liked Frederick, Arthur’s younger brother. I thought I had hidden it well. But those comments actually knew the secret I had kept buried in my heart. Could… could the comments be true? Was I just a dramatic female side character? And Frederick was the male lead, destined not to be mine? Thinking this, my heart ached inevitably. To marry into the Vance family, I had deliberately used a trick, slipping a drug into a drink. I never expected the waiter serving the drinks to mix up the two Vance brothers. By a strange twist of fate, Arthur and I ended up in bed together. Afterwards, he offered to take responsibility, to marry me. My father, suddenly having climbed the social ladder by attaching himself to the Vance family, was overjoyed and naturally agreed. The only one unhappy was me. I cried and went to Frederick, telling him that I liked him. He looked at me with a complicated expression and said, “Valerie, we can’t be together anymore.” I had no choice but to follow my father’s arrangements and marry Arthur. After the marriage, I found Arthur’s desires alarmingly intense. As long as he wasn’t working overtime, he would be in bed precisely at ten o’clock. Then he’d approach me from behind, whispering in my ear, “Today, is it okay?” But my first time had left me with severe PTSD, so I could only feign frigidity. Every time Arthur stared at me with those hazy eyes, I would tremble uncontrollably. But without exception, I would push his arm away and shake my head. Arthur would reply in a pained voice, “Okay… I’ll go shower.” He wouldn’t say what he was doing in the bathroom. And I wouldn’t ask. But we both knew perfectly well. It wasn’t that I wanted it both ways. It was because in the second month of our marriage, Frederick suddenly gave me subtle hints. This gave me new hope. I couldn’t help but wonder: did Frederick like me a little too? Coupled with my existing PTSD, I began to openly reject Arthur. But now. The comments shattered my illusion. Frederick was the male lead, and I was just a side character. Then who was the female lead? Never mind, it wasn’t important. What was important was that I would end up miserable. Thinking this, I shivered. As if I had foreseen my tragic end. 3 The next day. I woke to find a glass of honey water on my bedside table. A note was tucked under the glass. Arthur’s handwriting was, as always, restrained: “Company matters, breakfast is on the table. May be back late tonight, no need to wait for me.” I stared at that note for a long time. One year of marriage. He was like this every day. No matter how late I slept, there was always honey water when I woke up. No matter how cold I had been the day before, he was still as gentle as ever the next day. Sometimes I even wondered if this person had no temper. But I knew perfectly well that he did. It was just all bottled up in those cold showers. I stared at the water glass. A strange tightness in my chest. The comments said I would exhaust Arthur’s last bit of goodwill. So, how much did he have left now? [The male lead’s brother is truly a good person. What a shame, he’s only there to be a foil for the male lead.] [Doesn’t anyone think this repressed, self-controlled older man is incredibly appealing?] [Laughing so hard. Once tasted, now perpetually starved.] [If you’re feeling stressed, you can always check the male lead’s brother’s zipper.] I suddenly felt inexplicably guilty. Arthur was only five years older than me. How was he an “old man”? I mentally grumbled at these comments, not forgetting to defend Arthur. 4 At eight in the evening, Arthur returned. He stood by the entryway, changing his shoes. He visibly paused when he saw me sitting on the sofa. “Why aren’t you in the bedroom?” I clutched the cushion in my hands, trying to make my expression look natural. Succinctly, I said, “Waiting for you.” Arthur’s movements as he changed his shoes faltered. He looked up at me, his eyes holding something I couldn’t quite decipher. I quickly added, “Um… have you eaten? I made some noodles.” As soon as I said it, I regretted it. In our entire marriage, Arthur had never let me into the kitchen. Last night I’d brought out the “toy.” Today, I was cooking for him. Such obvious attempts to please were unmistakable to anyone. Arthur’s gaze fell on the rather sad-looking bowl of noodles on the dining table. He was strangely silent for a few seconds. Just as I thought he would politely decline, he suddenly said, “Okay.” I watched Arthur sit at the dining table and slowly eat the entire bowl of noodles. I sat opposite him. Just thinking about what was going to happen tonight made my palms sweat with nervousness. After eating the last bite, Arthur put down his chopsticks and looked up at me. “Valerie.” “Hmm?” “What happened?” Arthur was a strikingly handsome man with strong features. Being stared at by him gave me an inexplicable sense of intrusion. Caught off guard by his gaze, my heart gave a violent leap. I quickly stammered, “N-nothing… nothing at all…” Arthur said nothing. He just watched me quietly. That gaze made me feel utterly exposed. I thought of his intense self-control last night. Then I remembered the comment about my “miserable end” and gritted my teeth, blurting out: “Honey.” “Tonight… let’s sleep together.” 5 The air was silent for a few seconds. Arthur lowered his eyes. I suddenly couldn’t discern the emotion in his gaze. The comments, however, exploded as if they’d eaten a pot of toads: [Huh?? Hold on! Why did the female side character suddenly change her tune?] [Didn’t she self-righteously think the male lead liked her, and was saving herself for him??] [Female side character proposes a friends-with-benefits arrangement.] [She seems to have forgotten her cold persona, lol.] My fingertips trembled when I read the second comment. So Frederick didn’t like me at all? Then why did he say those ambiguous things to mislead me? Just as I was lost in thought, staring at the comments, Arthur’s voice suddenly sounded in my ear. “Valerie, you don’t have to force yourself.” “I’ll always respect you in these matters.” My brow twitched. An inexplicable guilt welled up in my heart. It was I who had drugged him, inadvertently leading Arthur to drink it. He was forced to marry me. After marriage, it was because of my unrequited love for Frederick that he slept alone. From beginning to end, this should have been my fault. Yet Arthur still thought I was the one being wronged. He was still thinking of me. Just like how he discreetly handled my father’s troubles for me. How he managed everything that might affect my mood. I suddenly felt like I was completely blind. Arthur suddenly approached, taking my hand and examining it carefully for a few seconds. He blew softly on a tiny scratch on my index finger. “Next time, don’t use knives. If you really want to cook, I’ll find someone to teach you, okay?” I nodded silently. Arthur led me back to the bedroom. I lay down, watching him. Noticing he was preparing to go back to the spare room, I couldn’t help but ask, “Can’t you really stay with me?” Arthur paused. After a long moment, he slowly said, “I’ll go get my pajamas.” I idly listened to the sounds from the bathroom. After some time, Arthur finally emerged. He lay down beside me, like a corpse. I stealthily edged closer. Arthur suddenly spoke. “Get some rest.” Me: “…” Oh. Sleeping chastely. The comments exploded again: [Bro, your wife’s thighs are crying for you. Are you going to do anything?] [Why was he in the bathroom for half an hour? So hard to guess.] [Suspected homage to Plato.] [Don’t make the fierce beast laugh.] 6 Even though Arthur rejected me, I knew he was just holding back. Well, of course. Rome wasn’t built in a day. For the past year, I’d been feigning frigidity. Such a sudden change, it was no wonder Arthur was overthinking it. After careful consideration, I asked the housekeeper to prepare lunch early, intending to deliver it to Arthur later. As long as I wasn’t being dramatic and dutifully played the part of Arthur’s wife, I should be able to avoid the miserable ending the comments predicted, right? Near noon, as soon as I arrived at the company, someone recognized me. I carried the lunchbox to Arthur’s office. He seemed to be in a meeting. I sat idly on the sofa, waiting for him. The door suddenly opened. I instinctively stood up, my gaze hopeful towards the doorway. The next second, my expression froze. It was Frederick. The comments became active the moment he appeared: [Here comes the little bitter gourd male lead. He suffered so much with his mother since childhood. Finally returned to the Vance family, but he’s not valued by his father.] [The male lead is only a department manager because he’s an illegitimate child.] [Exactly. He’s clearly very capable, but he’s always been suppressed by his brother.] [Oh, it’s okay. After the male lead gains power in the later stages, with the female lead’s help, he successfully gets his share.] In the blink of an eye, Frederick walked up to me. He calmly observed the changes in my expression. He smiled. “Are you very unhappy to see me, Valerie?” Hearing that endearment so suddenly, my ears flushed. It was what he used to call me often. After I married Arthur, he rarely used it. But today, he suddenly called me that again. I distanced myself. “Don’t call me that. I’m… your older brother’s wife now.” If the comments were to be believed, my tragic end stemmed from my lack of clarity and boundaries. So, upholding my boundaries now was also a way of saving myself. But Frederick’s face immediately darkened. “Is that so? Weren’t you always quite averse to that title? Now you’re eagerly running here to deliver lunch. Have you fallen for Arthur?” His sarcastic tone stung me. While I couldn’t exactly say I’d fallen for him, Arthur was indeed a very good person. Seeing my silence, Frederick’s tone grew a bit more agitated. “Didn’t you say you’d do anything for me?” He then added, “Then would you mind putting this in Arthur’s study?” I looked down. A small listening device lay quietly in Frederick’s palm. I was a little confused, not quite understanding what Frederick meant. The comments shared my confusion: [What? What are you doing, male lead? Playing dirty?] [Is this how the male lead in the original story became the head of the Vance family??] [Actually, the male lead didn’t do anything wrong. He just really wanted to get ahead and was too eager to gain his father’s approval.] [Oh, it’s okay, after the male lead gains power in the later stages, with the female lead’s help, he successfully gets his share.] I didn’t take the listening device. Frederick directly slipped it into my bag. I was stunned for a few seconds, then immediately tried to fish it out of my bag to return to him. But Frederick suddenly pressed down on my hand. “Valerie, you don’t want to see me always suppressed in the Vance family, do you?” His voice was low, carrying a hint of pity. “Big brother has everything – family assets, status, and… you.” He added, “But what about me? I only have you.” I looked up, meeting Frederick’s eyes, brimming with deep affection. I had to admit, it was very similar. Similar to how he used to look at me when I liked him. [The male lead is performing again.] [This trick, the female side character fell for it eight hundred times.] [Every time the female side character wavers, the male lead pulls this stunt. He really treats people like fools.] [Haven’t you noticed? The male lead only shows affection when he needs to use the female side character.] 7 My heart violently constricted. So all those times Frederick had been hot and cold with me this past year—all those hints that made me mistakenly believe he liked me too—it was all because… I could be used by him? I pulled my hand out from under Frederick’s, taking a step back. A flicker of surprise crossed Frederick’s face. “Valerie?” My voice was very soft. “Frederick, I can’t help you.” Frederick’s eyes instantly turned cold. He stared at me for a few seconds, then suddenly smiled. There was an indescribable sinister quality to it. “Valerie, do you really think Arthur is a good person?” He continued, “He only married you because he slept with you and felt obligated to take responsibility. Do you really believe he likes you, an illegitimate child?” I froze. Everyone could use my status as an illegitimate child to hurt me. But Frederick couldn’t. Because he, too, had grown up under the stigma of being an illegitimate child. And more importantly, he knew how I had been locked out in the snow by my older siblings when I was a child. If Frederick hadn’t saved me, I might have frozen solid. My eyes suddenly felt a little sore. I saw Frederick raise his hand helplessly, as if to wipe away my tears. Just as his fingertips were about to touch me, the office door suddenly opened. It was Arthur. Arthur had clearly just finished a meeting. He stood at the doorway, looking at Frederick and me for half a second. I abruptly stepped back, wiping my own tears. Arthur slowly shifted his gaze from me to the displeased Frederick. “Meeting in Conference Room Three.” 8 Frederick left. Only Arthur and I remained in the spacious office. But an inexplicable sense of oppression settled over me. He must have seen it all, just now, right? What would Arthur think? Would he misunderstand? Or… My mind raced with speculation. But Arthur merely took off his suit jacket and sat on the sofa. “Aunt Betty told me you came to bring me lunch. Would you like to eat something with me?” I lowered my eyes, concealing my emotions. Arthur didn’t ask. He didn’t even care why I had been crying just now. I forced a smile. “I’ve eaten. I want to go home now.” Arthur was silent for a few seconds, then gave me a long, deep look. Slowly, he said, “Okay, be careful.”

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To save Alfred Moran, who had been diagnosed with cancer, I bound myself to a “Pain Transfer System.” All the suffering he endured would be transferred to me. For three years, he thrived, his career soared, and he became a celebrated new titan of industry. Meanwhile, I became what he called a “frail little thing who gets winded after a few steps and blown over by a breeze.” He grew increasingly fed up with me. Finally, the day he secured a billion-dollar project, he brought home his childhood sweetheart. “Lilith Winters, let’s break up. I’m sick of your half-dead appearance.” “Look at you, always on medication or lying around, utterly useless!” I nodded, my voice soft. “Alright.” 【Ding! Binding severed. Three years of accumulated pain now being processed.】 Alfred instantly collapsed, letting out a horrific scream, his body contorting like a shrimp. A shimmering screen, visible only to us, unfurled before him. 【1095 days of late-stage bone cancer pain, fully returned.】 【Host Lilith Winters, you have received the entirety of his life force. Wishing you good health.】 1 The icy mechanical voice echoed in my mind. The next second, Alfred’s handsome face, previously etched with impatience and disgust, twisted into a grotesque mask of agony. He fell straight to his knees, his forehead slamming against the polished floor with a dull, sickening thud. “Ah—!” A shriek, utterly inhuman, tore from his throat, ripping through the air. He curled into a ball, convulsing and contorting like a shrimp tossed into boiling oil, veins bulging from his neck all the way to his temples, threatening to burst. “Alfred! What’s wrong? Alfred!” Vivian Summers’ face went ashen. She screamed, lunging to help him, but his flailing arm violently shoved her away, sending her sprawling. “Get away! Don’t touch me!” Alfred’s eyes were bloodshot, sweat instantly soaking his expensive bespoke suit. “It hurts…it hurts so much! My bones…my bones are breaking!” I stood my ground, watching him with detached indifference. For three years, this bone-deep agony—every single second feeling like countless red-hot needles churning in my marrow—had been my daily reality. To spare him worry, I never cried out. Instead, I’d bite my lips till they were bloodless, in corners where he couldn’t see. Now, I felt an unprecedented lightness. That cold, incessant ache that had plagued my body day and night receded like a tide, leaving behind a refreshing void. I could even distinctly feel a warm, vital energy flooding into my body, nourishing every muscle and bone. I tried taking a deep breath; no longer did my lungs burn with a searing pain. The air was crisp and clean. I flexed my wrist; my joints no longer creaked with that teeth-grinding crunch. They moved with fluid grace. I was healthy. A shimmering, ethereal blue screen, visible only to Alfred and me, slowly unfolded before him. 【1095 days of late-stage bone cancer pain, fully returned.】 【Host Lilith Winters, you have received the entirety of his life force. Wishing you good health.】 Alfred’s pupils contracted sharply. He stared fixedly at the text, then snapped his head up to look at me, his eyes wide with an incomprehensible terror. “It’s…it’s you, Lilith! What have you done to me?!” He spat the words through clenched teeth, his voice trembling uncontrollably, laced with desperate fear. Vivian scrambled over, tears streaming down her face as she shielded Alfred. She wailed at me, “Lilith! I know you hate me, hate Alfred for choosing me! But how could you use such wicked magic to hurt him! Stop it! Please, I beg you!” She turned to Alfred, weeping melodramatically, “Alfred, bear with it, I’ll call an ambulance right away! It’s all my fault; if I hadn’t come back, Lilith wouldn’t have done this out of jealousy…” What a grand performance from such a manipulative hypocrite. I looked down at them—one writhing and howling on the floor, the other feigning tears and taking false responsibility. The scene was funnier than any comedy, laced with bitter irony. I chuckled softly, flexing my long-dormant, now powerful ankles. My whole body felt alive again. “Alfred, this isn’t magic. This is science.” “It’s your own cancer cells, saying hello.” “Can…cancer cells?” Alfred froze, the color draining completely from his face, leaving him pale and terrified. “You’re talking nonsense! I was cured three years ago! My medical reports were all clear!” “Yes, all clear. Because all your cancer cells, all your pain, were transferred to me.” “Your three years of success and vitality? You built them on my broken bones.” “And you’re right, I was pretty useless for those three years.” I straightened up, surveying the apartment I had personally decorated, now destined for a new owner. The air held a faint, undefinable scent of decay. “Now, this ‘useless’ me, I’m done playing your game.” Alfred’s mind seemed to have shut down. He just stared at me, his lips moving, but no words came out, as if he were frozen. Vivian continued to shriek, “You maniac! You psycho! Alfred is perfectly healthy! You’re just jealous! You evil woman!” I couldn’t be bothered with them anymore. I turned and walked to the door. “Lilith! Stop!” Alfred shrieked with all his might, his voice hoarse and desperate. “Explain yourself! What do you mean ‘transferred’? Get back here!” I didn’t look back. I opened the door, closed it, and completely shut out the screams and cries of that pathetic duo, as if sealing away a nightmare. Stepping out of the apartment building, the cool night breeze caressed my face, but I felt an immense warmth and freedom, like being reborn. Finally, I was no longer the sickly wretch whose every breath was agony. 2 I didn’t go far, just to the convenience store across from the complex, and bought an ice-cold can of cola. Pulling the tab, bubbles rushed out, hissing enticingly. I tilted my head back and took a long swig. The icy liquid slid down my throat, carrying a stimulating sweetness that spread through my stomach, igniting every cell in my body. For three years, to avoid irritating my frail body, I had given up all cold, spicy, and raw foods. My diet was blander than a monk’s, as uninteresting as plain water. Alfred always said, “Lilith, be good, it’s for your health.” Looking back now, it was utterly ironic. The convenience store’s glass window faced the complex entrance. Soon after, an ambulance wailed into view, then sped away, its flashing lights a grim, ominous sign in the night. I figured Alfred was on his way to the hospital by now. Bone cancer pain is a maximum Level 10, comparable to childbirth—a tearing, excruciating agony. And what he was enduring now was three years’ worth of concentrated, non-stop Level 10 pain. I wondered how long his arrogant pride would last, or if it would be utterly crushed. My phone began to vibrate wildly. It was Alfred’s assistant, Jonathan Black. I ignored the call and blocked the number. Next, it was Alfred’s mother, Mrs. Moran. I looked at the number, my thoughts drifting back four years. Back then, Alfred was the least favored illegitimate child of the Moran family. He had just been diagnosed with late-stage bone cancer; doctors said he wouldn’t live six months without painful and expensive chemotherapy. The Moran family abandoned him immediately, kicking him out of the house and cutting off all his cards. When I met him, he was being evicted by his landlord, standing on the street in pouring rain, clutching a cardboard box, dishevelled and utterly defeated, his eyes devoid of light. His pale face was bloodless, his gaze vacant, as if his soul had been sucked out. At that time, I was a moderately successful illustrator, having just won a substantial international art award. My future was bright and promising. On a whim, I walked up to him and held an umbrella over his head, shielding him from the cold drops. “Are you…alright?” He looked up, his dark, deep-set eyes meeting mine, wary and distant, like a wounded animal. “Do you need help?” I asked. He said nothing, just clutched the cardboard box tighter, his knuckles white. That day, I took him home. He thought I was a con artist with ulterior motives, defensive and prickly. I didn’t explain. I just cooked for him every day, talked to him, took him to art galleries and concerts, slowly melting the ice around his heart. I told him, “Alfred, death isn’t that scary. What’s scary is not truly living before you die.” On a beautiful, sunny afternoon, he finally opened up to me. He told me he had cancer, that he was dying. He said he didn’t want to die so painfully, didn’t want to lose all his hair during chemo and become an ugly monster. That night, I held him as he cried brokenly for hours, my heart aching. And that very night, the Pain Transfer System found me. 【Bind Alfred Moran. All his ailments can be transferred to you, at the cost of your health. Do you accept?】 I barely hesitated, his desperate, suffering face flashing before my eyes. “I accept.” The next day, Alfred’s test results came back: his cancer cells had miraculously vanished. He was ecstatic, spinning me around in his arms, calling me his lucky star, his salvation. Mrs. Moran showed up around that time too. She looked at her cured son, then at me, her eyes filled with scrutiny and disdain. “Tell me, how much will it take for you to leave my son?” Alfred exploded with anger on the spot. He stepped in front of me like a protective lion. “Mom! Lilith isn’t like that! She’s the only woman I’ll ever marry!” That was the first, and only, time I received such a firm promise from him, like an eternal vow. Later, using his exceptional abilities, he returned to Moran Group, rose quickly through the ranks, and eventually became CEO. Meanwhile, my health deteriorated day by day, like a flower whose nutrients were being drained. At first, he worried about me, taking me to every major hospital, seeking out renowned doctors. But all the tests showed I was perfectly normal, which left him confused and increasingly impatient. Gradually, his patience wore thin. He started to think I was feigning illness, being overly dramatic, dragging down his progress, a blemish on his otherwise brilliant life. Until Vivian Summers appeared, becoming the final straw that broke our relationship. “Ding-a-ling.” The convenience store door chimed, interrupting my memories. Mrs. Moran, dressed in a Chanel suit, flanked by two bodyguards, marched towards me, her face alight with arrogance and fury. Her well-maintained face was ablaze with anger. She slammed an envelope onto the table in front of me, making a crisp sound. “Lilith Winters! You jinx! Here’s a million dollars, now get out of A City immediately and never show your face to Alfred again!” 3 I unhurriedly finished the last sip of my cola, then accurately tossed the empty can into a nearby bin with a soft clunk. Only then did I look up at Mrs. Moran, my gaze calm as a deep pool. “Mrs. Moran, long time no see. Still as fiery as ever, I see.” Mrs. Moran was clearly unprepared for my reaction. She’d expected me to either timidly apologize or pale and offer explanations, as I used to. She paused, then her anger flared hotter, her cheeks flushing. “You have the nerve to say that! Alfred ended up in the emergency room right after breaking up with you! Doctors say he’s in excruciating pain, but they can’t find a cause! Did you, you poisoner, do this?!” I raised an eyebrow. “Oh? He ends up in the ER after a breakup? Mr. Moran’s constitution must be awfully delicate. So, should I understand that Mr. Moran loves me so much he can’t live without me, and is literally dying from a breakup?” “You…you’re talking nonsense!” Mrs. Moran’s chest heaved violently, like a bellows. “Alfred loves Vivian! If it weren’t for you clinging to him, they’d have ridden off into the sunset long ago!” “Mrs. Moran, have you forgotten who knelt and begged me not to leave Alfred?” Mrs. Moran’s face instantly turned ghastly pale, like white paper. That was shortly after the system binding. Alfred’s miraculous recovery had caused a huge stir in the Moran family. They had brought in countless renowned doctors and experts, none of whom could explain the medical miracle. Finally, they called in a spiritual medium named Samuel. Samuel circled Alfred and me a few times, then pointed at me and declared, “This young lady is Mr. Moran’s destined benefactor. With her, Mr. Moran will have a smooth and prosperous life, free from illness. Should she leave, Mr. Moran’s luck will run out, and there will be a severe backlash with dire consequences.” From that day on, the Moran family’s attitude towards me did a complete U-turn. Mrs. Moran herself came to my door, taking my hand, abandoning her usual harshness, and tearfully implored me to stay by Alfred’s side. “Lilith, dear, I was wrong before, I apologize. As long as you stay with Alfred, you’ll be the future lady of the Moran family!” Thinking back, they didn’t believe in me as a person, but in the identity of a destined benefactor, like a lucky charm. Now, Alfred was successful, and I had become a sickly burden. They likely felt my value as a benefactor had expired, and I could be discarded at will. “Why bring up the past!” Mrs. Moran’s eyes darted away as she tried to save face, her voice sharp. “That was then, this is now! You’re a liability! You’ll only hold Alfred back!” “I’m sorry, Auntie,” a frail voice came from behind Mrs. Moran. Vivian Summers emerged, her eyes red-rimmed and tearful. “It’s all my fault… I shouldn’t have let Alfred break up with Lilith for me. Auntie, don’t blame Lilith; she’s just not thinking straight…” As she spoke, she made a show of trying to take my hand, her fingers cold. “Lilith, please, just say something to Alfred. The doctors say he has a strong will to live, but he won’t listen to anyone right now, just keeps calling your name… He’s barely hanging on!” I subtly shifted my hand, avoiding her touch, as if evading a viper. “Oh really? Wasn’t he sick of my half-dead appearance? What, now that he’s the one half-dead, he remembers me?” My words were like a thorn, piercing Vivian’s composure. Her face paled, and a flicker of panic crossed her eyes. She bit her lip, tears streaming down her face, looking utterly wronged, as if she’d suffered the greatest injustice. “Lilith, how can you say that… Alfred is just so tired, he doesn’t not love you, he just…” “He just loves your fresh face and the status you bring him more, doesn’t he?” I cut her off, mercilessly exposing her hypocrisy. Vivian’s father was a key partner in Alfred’s billion-dollar project, which was one of the reasons Alfred felt emboldened to cast me aside so shamelessly. Vivian’s face cycled between green and white; she was speechless, as if choked. Seeing this, Mrs. Moran immediately shielded Vivian, pointing a finger at my nose. “Lilith Winters! Don’t push your luck! The Moran family owes you nothing! You’ve eaten and used enough of our resources these past three years! Now take the money and get out! Or don’t blame me for being less than civil!” “Less than civil? How exactly do you plan to be ‘less than civil’? Like three years ago, when you had someone tie me up and throw me into the ocean?” Mrs. Moran’s pupils abruptly constricted. Her face went deathly pale. She had done that deed in utmost secrecy, believing it to be flawless. I watched her terrified face, my smile growing wider, a hint of chill in its depths. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Moran. I have no interest in the Moran family, or Alfred, anymore.” “I’m just here to tell you one thing.” “Go back and tell Alfred: his good days are over.” With that, I didn’t spare her pale face another glance. I walked past her, pushed open the door, and exited, like a free breeze. Outside, a black Bentley was parked. The window rolled down, revealing a handsome but slightly fatigued face. It was Alfred’s rival, another business titan of A City: Lucius Carter. He looked at me, his eyes complex, carrying an indefinable mixture of inquiry and pity. “Get in, I’ll drive you.”

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Roxy North was the entertainment industry’s resident tough girl. When she was photographed getting a little too friendly with several male celebrities, her response was sharp: “We’re just bros. A dirty mind sees dirt everywhere.” When the tabloids caught her seemingly breaking up the golden couple—A-list actor Owen Scott and the angelic Isabella Vance—she scoffed. “He’s like a brother to me. Girls are always so dramatic and suspicious. That’s why I can’t hang out with them.” Not long after, my sister, Isabella, tried to kill herself. Hounded by reporters, Roxy turned the tables. “What does her suicide have to do with me? Don’t try to pin this on me just to squeeze some money out of it.” Owen was crucified online, branded a two-timing cheat. My sister was dragged for being a drama queen who brought it on herself. Even my family was cyberbullied, accused of faking our grief for a payout. Through it all, Roxy’s tough-girl persona held strong. She built her fame on my sister’s grave, capitalizing on the tragedy to become a household name. Three years later, I entered the industry, my face an uncanny reflection of the sister I had lost. And now, I was on a reality show with Roxy North. 1 The moment the cast for the new challenge-based reality show was revealed, the internet exploded. “Whoa, that face… she’s a dead ringer for Isabella Vance!” “Is this what they mean by a ghost from the past? The resemblance is insane!” “My heart just stopped. For a second, I thought my angel was back. The likeness is unreal.” “It’s not just her face. Even her name is similar.” “Wait, isn’t Roxy North on this season too? Oh, this is going to be good.” “My girl Roxy is on the show! I’m so here for this!” Roxy’s reputation preceded her. Three years ago, she and the heartthrob Owen Scott were on a dating show. Her edgy, no-nonsense attitude next to his gentle, humble demeanor created a shipping frenzy. After the show wrapped, paparazzi snapped them together constantly. She’d visit his movie sets; they’d be seen entering the same hotel, one after the other. Shippers dug up photos of them wearing matching bracelets and using identical phone cases. They even found vacation photos, posted separately, that were clearly taken in the same spot. The final nail in the coffin was a picture Roxy posted on her social media: a thermos of steaming hot chicken soup. The caption read, “Thanks to a certain someone for the homemade broth.” That post sent their names trending worldwide. The shippers went wild. “OH MY GOD, MY SHIP IS REAL!” “Is this it? Is this the official announcement?” “I love this dynamic. She’s the powerhouse, and he’s the supportive one at home. Roxy is such a boss!” But Owen, the supposed other half of this romance, repeatedly set the record straight. “Please don’t believe everything you read online. Ms. North and I are just colleagues.” Every time he did, Roxy would be the first to comment. “Don’t listen to the rumors, guys. I see Owen as a brother, and we work for the same agency. It’s not what you think.” Her non-denial denials only fanned the flames. “We get it, the studio won’t let you go public!” “Owen, why are you so shy? Be a man like Roxy!” “‘Just colleagues.’ Riiight. Suuuure.” As their fame skyrocketed, a bombshell dropped: Owen was already living with someone. That someone was my sister, the ethereal beauty, Isabella Vance. Isabella had been by his side since the beginning, long before he won his first major award eight years ago. Fans quickly realized all the “couple’s items” Owen owned were actually matching sets with Isabella, not Roxy. The shippers couldn’t handle it. They turned on Owen, savaging him for leading them on. They launched a brutal hate campaign against Isabella. Owen tried to fight back, releasing photos and statements proving he and Isabella were the real couple. But to his heartbroken fans, it was all lies. His attempts only enraged them further. Buried under an avalanche of online hate and real-world doxing, Isabella sank into a deep depression and retired from acting. But the harassment didn’t stop. Someone leaked her home address. Tormented by strangers at her door, Isabella finally broke. She slit her wrists, ending her life. Devastated, Owen quit the industry and vanished from public life. And Roxy, the third point in this tragic triangle, faced the cameras with tears in her eyes, playing the innocent victim. “I’ve always been one of the guys, that’s just who I am. What does her suicide have to do with me? I’m a victim here too, you know. Don’t abandon your conscience just to get a payout.” She was talking about my family, implying our fight for justice was nothing but a cash grab. Roxy took a six-month “healing” break, while the world condemned my sister for being weak and Owen for being a cheater. When Roxy returned, her fanbase hadn’t just recovered; it had grown. She had successfully profited from a tragedy, her tough-girl image stronger than ever. She used every handsome co-star as a stepping stone, manufacturing rumors to climb higher and higher. And now, here we were, Roxy and I, standing together in front of the cameras. When the producer yelled, “Let the challenge begin!” I heard a death knell tolling. It was for Roxy. Your time is up, Roxy. This is where your story ends. 2 The first event was a three-round challenge. In the first round, we’d draw lots. Whatever we drew, we had to touch it, blindfolded, for a full minute to win. The loser would face a penalty. There were supposed to be three female contestants, but one dropped out due to illness. Roxy, her competitive streak showing, immediately picked me as her opponent. Beating the new girl who looked so much like her old rival would be a satisfying victory for her. As we prepped, she shot me a smug look, chin high. “Annabelle, honey, I know you’re new here, but a competition is a competition. I won’t go easy on you.” My face was a mask of indifference. I gave her a look one might reserve for a particularly stupid insect. Then, I turned to a staffer and asked for a blindfold, slipping it over my eyes without another word. I was afraid another look at her would make me puke. The show was broadcasting live, every move captured for the world to see. The comments section was already buzzing. “Roxy’s competitive fire is on full display! Go, girl!” “She’s so focused this time. I feel bad for the other girl, she might actually cry if she loses.” “What’s with this Annabelle girl’s attitude? Roxy is a veteran. Show some respect.” “People like her don’t last long in this business.” My coldness seemed to momentarily throw Roxy off, but it only fueled her desire to win. “See? This is why I don’t get along with girls,” she said, loud enough for the mics to pick up. “But I’m not like those guys who go soft on a pretty face. Don’t come crying to me when you lose.” She waved a hand, letting a crew member tie on her blindfold before striding to the table with feigned confidence. If I hadn’t overheard her bribing the director’s assistant for an easy draw, I might have actually believed she was fearless. But she had no idea this show, and its director, David Shaw, were famous for one thing: authenticity. Shaw was notoriously fair and unbribable. I wondered what her face would look like when she realized her challenge was very, very real. Fear thrives in the unknown. With your sight gone, every other sense screams. I felt a cool, scaly sensation on my forearm. A slender body slithered up my arm, a forked tongue flicking against my bare skin. I heard the faint, tell-tale hiss. I knew instantly what it was. A small smile touched my lips. How fun. I held out my other hand, and as if it understood, the small snake glided onto it. For the next minute, I and the little creature moved in a quiet, harmonious dance for the cameras. When the timer buzzed, I slowly removed my blindfold. A small, pink corn snake was coiled peacefully around my wrist. I affectionately rubbed my cheek against its head. It didn’t react with aggression, only a gentle flick of its tongue. On the other side of the stage, Roxy’s turn was just beginning. The moment her fingers brushed against the object, she shrieked and snatched her hand back. “What the hell is that thing?!” Her voice trembled with undisguised terror. Realizing her overreaction, she quickly tried to play it off. “Whoa, it’s cold! But I’m fine, I’m fine.” Despite her words, her hand felt like it was weighed down by lead. She couldn’t bring herself to reach out again. Behind the cameras, Director Shaw’s brow furrowed. He had no patience for time-wasting. “One full minute of contact, or you forfeit the round.” A staffer began a loud, public countdown. Forced, Roxy gritted her teeth and extended her hand again. This time, she lasted a single second before a full-blown scream tore from her throat. “Get it off me!” She seized the small lizard on the table and hurled it across the room like a grenade. In that instant, the director’s calm voice announced, “Annabelle wins.” I felt no joy in the victory. I walked slowly to the corner where the stunned lizard lay. Though they are cold-blooded, these were pet-grade animals, completely harmless. I gently scooped it into my hands. After the trauma it had just endured, the tiny creature gave my finger a weak, harmless bite. I asked my assistant to take it to a vet. That small act of kindness completely shifted the mood in the live chat. “Holy crap, Annabelle has nerves of steel!” “Did you guys see that? She didn’t even flinch. She smiled!” “Okay, but was anyone else horrified by Roxy? Who just throws a living creature like that?” Of course, Roxy’s die-hard fans rushed to her defense. “Seriously? What girl isn’t scared of reptiles?” “LMAO, that’s a normal reaction for any girl.” “She was just startled, give her a break.” “But… hasn’t Roxy always bragged about being a tough girl? Didn’t she say she loved cold-blooded animals?” “She said she likes snakes, not lizards! It’s different!” Even now, her fans were trying to spin it. 3 Holding up my wrist, with the pink corn snake still coiled around it, I walked slowly toward Roxy. The snake lifted its head, its tiny, black-bead eyes fixed on her. “Roxy,” I said sweetly. “I heard you love snakes. Want to pet him?” The live chat was already a warzone over her reaction. Roxy’s face was pale. A glance at her manager’s thunderous expression told me she knew she’d screwed up. She had been exposed. But I kept advancing, step by step. If her blindfolded panic could be excused as fear of the unknown, her reaction now, with her eyes wide open, would be far more telling. If she flinched, if she refused, her entire tough-girl persona would shatter. Roxy squeezed her eyes shut, taking a deep, fortifying breath before shakily extending a hand. Just then, the snake flicked its tongue out. Mistaking the movement for a strike, Roxy shrieked and yanked her hand back, a raw sound of terror escaping her lips. Even then, she tried to salvage it, forcing a pained smile. “He’s cute. So… pink.” Her fans immediately latched onto it. “See! She’s a total badass! Anyone who doubted her can shut up now!” “She touched it! Are the haters happy now?” In a spot the cameras couldn’t see, Roxy was frantically scrubbing her hand with a sanitary wipe. When she caught my eye, she shot me a look of pure venom. I couldn’t help but smile. The fun was just getting started. Because Roxy lost, she had to face the penalty. I looked at the director, my eyes wide with feigned anticipation. “I wonder what the punishment is?” Director Shaw waved a hand, and a staffer walked out carrying a large black box. I caught the brief, meaningful look that passed between Roxy and the staff member. Sure enough, a moment later, Roxy pulled a slip of paper from the box and announced with forced cheerfulness, “It’s the water balloon challenge!” One of the male contestants stepped in. “Isn’t that a little harsh? You can’t have a girl’s makeup get ruined on live TV.” But Roxy just laughed, as if she had it all under control. “It’s just a water balloon. What’s there to be afraid of?” Her fans roared with approval. “Our Roxy isn’t like those other divas who are scared of showing their bare face!” “Exactly! She’s a natural beauty! She’s said publicly she hates wearing makeup!” “This is nothing for her!” Since her debut, Roxy had cultivated an image of being an all-natural, tough-as-nails girl. She’d claimed on talk shows that she’d never had a pimple in her life and hated the sticky feeling of foundation on her skin. When a host asked about her skincare routine, she’d proudly declared she used nothing but a cheap, drugstore lotion. The reality? Her makeup routine took four hours. She was obsessed with achieving a “no-makeup” look, and she terrorized makeup artists over the tiniest imperfection. While everyone was distracted, I slipped backstage, pulled a large bottle of a mysterious liquid from my bag, and poured its contents into the water balloon tank. Let’s show the world the real you, Roxy. She sat on the stool beneath the balloon, watching with a confident smirk as it filled with water. Seconds later, it burst with a loud POP. Water cascaded over her. Drenched, she tried to play it cool, slicking her hair back and wiping her face with a hand. But then she noticed the silence. Everyone was staring at her, their expressions a mixture of shock and disgust. “What? What is it?” She looked down at her hand. It was covered in a thick, beige sludge. Her foundation. She brought her hand to her nose and sniffed. A faint, chemical scent clung to her skin. Makeup remover. I’d poured an entire bottle into the water. The online audience, now seeing Roxy’s real face for the first time, went into an unprecedented frenzy. “Who the hell is that?!” “Her skin looks older than my mom’s!” “I thought she said she never wears makeup…” “IS ANYTHING ABOUT HER REAL?!” Roxy, seeing her own disastrous reflection in a monitor, clutched her face and fled the stage.

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When we were little, my parents let my sister and me choose a piece of jewelry. Lying on the table were my mother’s gold ring and her silver one. I chose the gold. My sister chose the silver. My parents then took me away for a two-day trip. As I lay in the motel bed that night, I overheard them talking. “She’s just too greedy. So calculating for a child. Why can’t she be more like her sister?” “Well, we can’t afford both of them. The sooner she’s gone, the less we have to worry about.” I knew what they meant. Huddled under the covers, I was paralyzed with fear, silent tears streaming down my face. It was my sister who had told me she was allergic to gold. She said touching it could kill her. That’s why I let her have the silver one! I buried that secret deep inside me for over a decade. Until I was accepted into the local state university. There, in a crowded lecture hall, I saw my sister again. 1 The moment I stepped into the classroom, I spotted Olivia Reed. She had grown up, far more beautiful than I remembered. The clothes she wore were obviously expensive. She must have recognized me too, because she drifted over, a deliberate, cloying warmth in her soft voice. “You’re so pretty. You look just like a friend I had when I was little.” I looked at her perfectly made-up face, and a memory flashed through my mind: Olivia, secretly dabbing on our mother’s cheap makeup, then tearfully blaming me when she was caught. Shifting every ounce of blame onto my shoulders. I didn’t look up, my voice barely a whisper. “You mean the sister you got rid of?” Her voice died in her throat. In my peripheral vision, I saw her freeze for a few seconds. The smile on her face was glued in place, her eyes wide with shock. Her hand, which had been reaching out to me, hovered awkwardly in mid-air. I ignored her and focused on my textbook. I found out later that my biological family had struck it rich. They were a world away from the hand-to-mouth existence I remembered. It took Olivia a long moment to recover, a flicker of something dark crossing her eyes before it vanished. After class, I was heading back to my small rental apartment when Olivia blocked my path. She leaned against the wall, her tone leaving no room for argument. “Chloe. My parents know we’re at the same school. They want you to come over for dinner. You wouldn’t say no, would you?” Without a second thought, I shook my head. “No, I’m busy.” She immediately closed the distance, linking her arm through mine. “It’s just dinner. It’s not like we’re going to eat you.” I looked at her fake smile and laughed inwardly. I knew exactly why she was so insistent. She wanted to show off. To flaunt her perfect life, to rub my nose in the fact that our parents adored her. I wanted nothing to do with them. But she wouldn’t let go, her grip tight and cloying. Fine. I agreed. It was time to make a clean break, once and for all. She led me to the campus entrance where a silver Maserati was parked. “My eighteenth birthday present,” she said, her voice casual but laced with pride. “From Mom and Dad. It was only a little over a hundred grand.” “Oh,” I said, not offering another word. I opened the door, slid inside, and stayed silent. As the car moved, I stared out the window. It had been twelve years since I’d last traveled this road. Back then, I was in the back of a rickety old pickup truck, sobbing my heart out as they drove away without a single glance back. Now, sitting in a luxury car, I felt nothing but a hollow numbness. The car pulled up to a sprawling villa. As I stepped out, I saw two faces—one achingly familiar, the other completely strange. They had aged, their hair streaked with gray. Their entire demeanor had changed, softened by wealth. But looking at them, I felt no flicker of emotion. They stared at me, their gazes fixed and unblinking. “The resemblance is uncanny,” one of them murmured. “She looks just like…” Olivia walked over, tucking her arm into her mother’s. “Mom, Dad, this is Chloe Fisher, the student I was telling you about. Doesn’t she look familiar?” Mrs. Reed snapped out of her trance and hurried toward me. She grabbed my hand, her voice overflowing with synthetic warmth. “Come in, come in! It’s cold out here.” The inside of the villa was opulent, a palace of marble and crystal chandeliers. A far cry from the drafty shack of my childhood. Mrs. Reed produced an elegant gift box and held it out to me, her face alight with expectation. “My dear, it’s our first time meeting, but I wanted to give you a little something. I hope you like it.” I took the box and opened it right there. Inside was a solid gold ring. Judging by the weight, it must have cost a few thousand dollars. So, they were replaying their old trick. Trying to stage the same scene all over again. I handed the box back to her and smiled politely. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Reed. I’m allergic to gold.” 2 Mrs. Reed froze, her hand hovering in the air. The eager anticipation on her face curdled into confusion. I glanced at Olivia, whose expression was stiff and unnatural. Mr. Reed quickly stepped in to smooth things over. “That’s all right. If you’re allergic to gold, we’ll pick something else. Just tell us what you like.” I shook my head. “That’s not necessary. I just came for dinner. I’ll be leaving right after.” Mrs. Reed opened her mouth, then closed it. But Olivia muttered just loud enough for me to hear, “So pretentious.” We sat down to a table laden with food. “Chloe, I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I made a little of everything,” Mrs. Reed chirped. “I hope you find something you enjoy.” My eyes scanned the table. Roast pork, glazed fish—all my childhood favorites. Back then, we were so poor we only had food like this on holidays, and even then, I only got the leftovers. “Thank you, but I prefer spicy food now.” As if she hadn’t heard me, she placed a large piece of pork in my bowl. “Eat up. You’re too thin. You need to build yourself up.” I stared at the perfect cut of meat in my bowl and didn’t touch my chopsticks. “What’s wrong?” she asked, a concerned frown on her face. “Don’t you like it?” She took a bite from the serving platter herself. “The taste is fine. It’s just like I used to make it.” I put down my chopsticks and cut to the chase. “Let’s be honest. You didn’t invite me here just for dinner, did you?” The couple exchanged a look, their expressions complex. Mr. Reed spoke first. “You’re overthinking it. We just wanted to have a meal with you.” I wasn’t a fool. I knew what this was about. But twelve years was a long time. Some things couldn’t be undone. “I know you’ve guessed who I am, and I won’t deny it. I was once your daughter,” I said, my voice even. “But I sincerely hope you won’t try to interfere in my life again. Let’s just consider this our last meal together.” Mrs. Reed grabbed my hand, her voice urgent. “Sunny, we…” I pulled my hand away, cutting her off. “My name is Chloe. Not Sunny.” The name Sunny died the day they sent me away. Suddenly, Mr. Reed’s face hardened. “Is that any way to talk to your parents?” he demanded, his voice rising. “Your mother was up at dawn, cooking and thinking about you all morning. And this is how you repay her?” A bitter, humorless laugh escaped my lips. I fought back the wave of grief and anger that threatened to overwhelm me. “And did you ever do right by me?” My question silenced them. Olivia chimed in from the side, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “You fought so hard to get back here. We all know what you’re really after. Who do you think you’re fooling with this righteous act?” “Olivia, that’s enough!” Mrs. Reed hissed. Olivia pouted. “What? Am I wrong? This is who she is!” I was done arguing. I stood up to leave. “Stop!” Mr. Reed called out. He pulled a bank card from his wallet and tossed it on the table in front of me. “There’s fifty thousand dollars on that. For your college expenses.” I didn’t even look at it. I walked out of the villa without a backward glance, leaving everything behind me. I heard Mrs. Reed start to follow, but Olivia stopped her. “Mom, don’t you see? It’s not enough for her. She wants so much more than that!” Mr. Reed’s voice was cold and hard. “Giving her up was the best decision I ever made.” I heard every word. I told myself not to care, not to let it hurt. But a sharp pain twisted in my chest, tight and suffocating. Was that really how they saw me? As something cheap and manipulative? All I wanted was to live my life in peace. Was that so wrong? I got back to my apartment and collapsed on the sofa, trying to let the emotional and physical exhaustion wash over me. Suddenly, the bedroom door burst open and three masked men rushed out. They moved fast. One clamped a hand over my mouth, stifling my scream. Another grabbed my arms, his grip brutal, and started tearing at my clothes. The third one held up a phone, a sick grin on his face, snapping pictures and spewing disgusting filth. After the photos, they moved to assault me. My vision turned red. I fought back with everything I had. I remembered the small fruit knife I kept tucked under the sofa cushion for protection. My hand found it. I pulled it free and slashed wildly. “Get out! All of you, get out!” I screamed, my voice raw. “If you don’t get out, I’ll kill you!” At first, they laughed, trying to wrestle the knife from me. But my desperation gave me strength. I was a cornered animal. One of them yelped as the blade sliced his arm. Cursing, they finally backed off and fled. My hands shaking, I bolted the door and checked every corner of the apartment. Only when I was sure I was alone did I sink to the floor, my clothes in tatters. And then, the tears finally came. I called the police that night, thinking the worst was over. It wasn’t until I opened my phone the next morning that I realized it had just begun. The university’s online forum was flooded with my pictures.

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1 Three in the morning. My neighbor Kevin pounded on my door with a group of people, shouting that I was a hit-and-run driver. The man leading the charge grabbed me by the collar of my pajamas and roared, “It was you! I wrote down your license plate. You hit my dad and just took off. Ran a red light! What kind of monster are you?” “I’m telling you, my dad’s in the ICU right now, in a coma! You’re going to pay for this!” He shoved his phone in my face. The picture showed a car speeding through an intersection. His wife stood beside him, clutching their child and wailing. I was still half-asleep, my mind struggling to catch up. “What does this have to do with me?” The other neighbors started chiming in. “She can sleep after hitting someone? That’s terrifying!” “How can we have a murderer living in our building?” Hitting someone? I’m colorblind. I don’t even know how to drive. … “Sir, please calm down,” I said, trying to keep my voice even. “I haven’t left my apartment all day. I think you have the wrong person.” Kevin lived on the floor below me. We’d always been civil, a polite nod in the hallway. But right now, he looked like he wanted to tear me apart. He thrust the phone back at my face. “Wrong person? Is this your license plate or not?” On the screen was the rear of a Porsche Panamera, the plate clearly visible: A123. I squinted for a second, then nodded. “That’s my car, but I…” “So you admit it!” he yelled to the other neighbors. “You all heard her! It’s her car!” The hallway erupted. “Typical rich people. Hit someone and then deny everything.” “Look at her face. She’s putting on a good act, playing innocent.” His wife pushed through the crowd with their child, dropping to her knees on my welcome mat. Her cries were heart-wrenching. “Please, my father is on a ventilator. The surgery is fifty thousand dollars.” Her voice was choked with sobs. “That’s nothing to you, but it would ruin our family. You can’t just leave him to die!” My scalp tingled with anxiety. I rushed to help her up. “Ma’am, please get up. We haven’t even figured out what happened…” “We know exactly what happened!” Kevin grabbed my arm, his grip like iron. “I saw it with my own eyes! It was your car that ran the red light and sent my dad flying twenty feet!” The last traces of sleep vanished, replaced by a surge of anger. “I haven’t driven that car all day! You can’t just say I hit him and make it true!” “Fifty thousand? Why not ask for five hundred thousand? This sounds more like a robbery to me!” The words had barely left my mouth when his hand cracked across my face. The force sent me stumbling back a step, a high-pitched ringing in my ear. “Bullshit!” he screamed, jabbing a finger at my nose. “My father is dying!” “If you don’t pay up, I’m calling the cops and you’ll go to jail! I’ll make your life a living hell!” Someone in the crowd egged him on. “Good! She deserved that! People like her need to be taught a lesson!” The neighbors grew more agitated. “Don’t waste your breath on her, just call the police! Lock her up!” His wife was sobbing hysterically on the floor, and their child started screaming. Camera flashes went off in my face, blinding me. I clutched my stinging cheek and slowly straightened up. “Fine. Call the police.” Kevin froze. “You heard me. You wanted to call them? Go ahead.” I wiped a smear of blood from the corner of my mouth. I turned, walked to my nightstand, and grabbed something. Then I walked back and slapped it against his chest. “And while you’re at it, let the police see how a colorblind woman who can’t even drive managed to hit your father!” 2 Kevin stared down at the official colorblindness certificate in his hand, stunned into silence for a long three seconds. The angry shouts from the hallway died out instantly. Someone whispered, “Colorblind? Doesn’t that mean she can’t get a license?” “Hey, Kevin, you don’t think… you actually got the wrong person, do you?” I pointed at the document he was holding. “See it clearly? It has an official seal. You can read, can’t you?” Kevin’s face flushed, then paled. A second later, he threw the certificate on the floor. “You think a piece of paper is going to fool me?” “You can afford a Panamera, but you don’t have a license?” He took a menacing step closer. “Besides, if you really are colorblind, that means you were driving without a license! That’s even worse!” A wave of understanding washed over the crowd. “He’s right! We almost fell for her little trick!” “No wonder she ran a red light. She can’t even tell the difference!” I was done arguing with them. “Alright,” I said, pulling out my phone. “Like I said, let’s get the police involved. We’ll see if I’m lying, or if you’re trying to shake me down.” “Go ahead! Call them! Let’s see who they arrest when they get here!” Kevin snarled. I dialed 911 and gave them the address and a brief summary of the situation. After hanging up, I leaned against the doorframe, silent. Kevin was still ranting. “Calling the cops now is just a stall tactic to let my dad die!” “Don’t think you can get away with this. No matter what, I’ll see you behind bars.” “Just shut up,” I said, my voice cold. “Your father isn’t dead yet. Why are you in such a hurry to mourn him? Worried you’ll get less money if he pulls through?” Kevin’s face twisted in fury. “What the hell did you just say?” He lunged at me, but his wife grabbed him and held him back with all her strength. I was about to say more when the sound of sirens cut through the night. Kevin scrambled toward the officers as if they were his saviors. “Officers, it was her! She ran a red light, hit my dad, and won’t admit it!” The officer looked me over. “Are you the owner of the vehicle with license plate A123?” “Yes.” “Did you hit someone?” “No.” Kevin became frantic. “It was her, I saw it with my own eyes!” The officer held up a hand to silence him, then turned back to me. “Ma’am, you claim you didn’t hit anyone. Do you have any proof?” I picked up my certificate from the floor and handed it to him. The officer opened it and paused. “Colorblind?” “Yes,” I confirmed. He frowned. “Then how did you acquire the car?” “It was an inheritance from my father,” I said, my voice quiet. “I can’t drive it, so it’s always parked in the garage. The only time it moves is when the dealership sends someone to pick it up for routine maintenance. They have records of everything.” Kevin scoffed. “Nice story. Keep spinning it! You think the police are going to believe you?” The officer ignored him and turned to the building’s security guard. “Get property management on the line. I need to see the security footage.” The guard scratched his head. “Oh, man. You know that big snowstorm we had a couple of days ago?” “It shorted out some of the wiring. The cameras in the parking garage are down. We haven’t had a chance to fix them yet…” My stomach dropped. What a coincidence. Kevin’s face lit up. “The cameras are broken? I guess your proof just disappeared! Happy now?” The officer’s brow furrowed. “Sir, please remain calm.” “We have procedures for this. Until there is clear evidence, I’ll ask you to show this woman some respect.” He turned back to me. “Ma’am, does your car have a dashcam?” “Yes.” “Do you mind if we take a look?” I nodded, grabbing the car keys from the console table by the door and handing them to him. We all went down to the underground garage. The officer had just reached the front of the car, his hand on the door handle, when Kevin suddenly bolted forward. He threw himself across the hood, his voice cracking with excitement. “Officers! You have to see this!” He pointed at the front bumper. “What is this?” I moved closer, using my phone’s flashlight to see what he was pointing at. On the right side of the bumper, there was a fresh scrape. And smeared across it was a dark stain of what looked like blood. 3 The crowd gasped. “Well, that’s it! She’s caught! Look at the size of that dent!” “She was still trying to deny it. Let’s see what she says now!” Kevin’s wife rushed forward, her child still in her arms. She pointed at the smear. “That’s my father’s blood… What do you have to say for yourself now?” A roaring sound filled my ears. Impossible. I hadn’t driven the car. The officer crouched down, shining his flashlight on the mark, his brow furrowed. “Ma’am, how do you explain this?” I opened my mouth, but my throat was dry. “I don’t know… I swear, I haven’t driven the car.” Kevin sneered. “You don’t know? It’s your car, the blood is right there, and you ‘don’t know’?” The officer stood up and looked at me. “Ma’am, we need to collect a sample for lab analysis. We’ll also need you to come with us to the station to cooperate with our investigation.” My instincts screamed at me that if they took me in now, things would only get worse. Could someone else have taken my car and caused the accident? “Okay,” I nodded. “But I have one request. Let me make a phone call first to confirm something.” The officer agreed. I took out my phone, dialed the service manager at the dealership, and put it on speaker. “Mr. Davis, it’s Anna. I have a quick question. Has anyone moved my car recently?” There was a two-second pause on the other end. “Ms. Anna? Your car? No, ma’am.” “The last service was two weeks ago. After we finished, we returned it to your designated parking spot. The key has been with you the whole time. None of our staff have touched it.” “Are you sure?” “Absolutely. We have a strict policy. Every vehicle’s entry and exit is logged.” I ended the call. The officer was watching me, waiting. I clutched my phone, my mind racing. Where did the scrape come from? Where did the blood come from? The murmurs from the crowd grew louder. Kevin was gloating. “Given up yet? It couldn’t have been anyone else!” He grabbed my arm. “Let’s go! To the station! You’re going to cough up that fifty grand today, one way or another!” He yanked me forward, and I stumbled, crashing against the car door. My head hit the window frame, and for a second, my vision went black. In that fleeting moment, my eyes caught a glimpse of a small black box mounted on the inside of the windshield. The dashcam! “Wait!” I gripped the car door, refusing to be moved. “I demand to see the dashcam footage right now!”

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