Author: Momo Chan

It was a full-blown hostage situation at the hospital, and I was deliberately provoking the patient’s family member. Enraged, he pressed a knife to my neck and dragged me onto the rooftop. On the brink of death, a strange calm washed over me. Because in my past life, at this exact moment, I became the perfect scapegoat for a murderer. She brutally killed my fiancé, Joey, in his studio. The security cameras captured “me” committing the entire act. And since I had no alibi, I was the killer. Condemned by Joey’s parents in a live-streamed press conference, I was quickly sentenced to death. When I opened my eyes again, I was reborn, two hours before Joey was murdered. 1 The first thing I did after being reborn was grab my phone and call my fiancé. “Joey?” A muffled “mm-hmm” came from the other end. Hearing his voice, I almost broke down in tears. I forced myself to stay calm. “Listen to me,” I said, my voice tight. “Leave your studio right now. Go somewhere with a lot of people and stay there.” He was confused, asking why. I didn’t know how to explain that I had been reborn. Or how to tell him that in two hours, he would be murdered in that very studio. After a moment’s thought, I said, “I was just looking at your horoscope, and it’s a really, really bad day for you. A day of misfortune and danger. You can’t stay indoors.” He chuckled, calling me superstitious. The irony was, he was far more superstitious than I was. He’d ignore any other excuse, but this one, he’d take seriously. “Better safe than sorry, right?” After a long time coaxing him, he finally agreed. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. Even though I wanted to break off our engagement, I didn’t want him dead. And I certainly couldn’t let him die by “my” hands. I just hoped that this time, I could change my fate. After hanging up, I immediately called a cab back to the hospital. In my last life, what I lacked most was evidence. This time, I was going to create an ironclad alibi. When I arrived at the hospital, I walked right into a chaotic scene. A grieving family member was screaming, brandishing a knife. No one dared to get close. In the distance, I saw someone had already started a live stream. I glanced at the time. 2:30 PM. Perfect. With all eyes on the scene, I took a deep breath and walked toward him. Every time the negotiators were about to calm him down, I would say something to deliberately provoke him again. Just a few carefully chosen, inflammatory words. As I’d hoped, after a few rounds of this, his eyes burned with a furious rage directed solely at me. He lunged. He grabbed me, pressed the cold steel of the knife to my neck, and dragged me up to the hospital rooftop. The clock on a nearby building read 3:00 PM. The courtyard below was swarming with onlookers, all staring up with anxious faces. Seeing the security cameras everywhere, I finally felt a sense of relief. The police arrived quickly, positioning themselves next to the hospital administrator, trying to de-escalate the situation. More and more people joined the live streams, their phones pointed toward the sky. A chorus of voices rose from the crowd, all begging the man to let me go. But the more they pleaded, the tighter his arm wrapped around me. The blade of the knife nicked my cheek, and a thin trickle of blood ran down my skin. Poised on the edge of life and death, my mind was perfectly, unnaturally calm. 2 Because in my past life, at this very moment, I was the perfect scapegoat. She murdered my fiancé, Joey, in his studio. The security cameras captured “me” doing it. All I remembered was being asleep. But faced with the crystal-clear video evidence, my denials were useless. I had no proof. According to the text messages, “I” had started an argument with him, confronting him about another woman and demanding an explanation. “I” had furiously called a cab to his studio. The video showed us in a heated fight. It showed me, in a fit of rage, grabbing a knife from his desk and killing him. The face in the video was unmistakably mine. The movements, the expressions—they were all mine. The dress “I” was wearing was a custom piece, the only one of its kind in the world. All the evidence proved it was a crime of passion, that I had killed him out of jealous rage. And while the things he’d done probably meant he deserved to die, he shouldn’t have died by my hand. But this time was different. I had warned him to leave the studio. I was on a hospital rooftop, a hostage in a live-streamed crisis. The entire hospital, the entire city, was my alibi. I wanted to see how she could frame me now. How could “I” send those texts? How could “I” kill him? As the police negotiators drew the man’s attention, his grip on me tightened unconsciously. This was my chance. I timed my move, striking his wrist and sending the knife clattering to the rooftop floor. The police swarmed him instantly, tackling him to the ground. But in his final, desperate struggle, he shoved me hard. I stumbled backward, over the edge of the roof. Luckily, a second-floor awning broke my fall. I survived, escaping with nothing more than a broken arm. As they loaded me onto a stretcher, the influencers who had been live-streaming the event gave me thumbs-ups. “What a heroic doctor,” one of them marveled. A flood of praise and concern washed over me, and I had to stop myself from laughing. In my last life, I had worked a full night shift, then stayed to help with a morning surgery. I was exhausted when I got home. I fell asleep at 2:00 PM and didn’t wake up until 5:00. The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was the police, there to arrest me. No matter how many awards I had won, no matter how much the hospital vouched for me, it couldn’t stop the tide of public outrage. In the face of that damning video, my entire life’s work meant nothing. 3 I couldn’t explain what I was doing between 3:00 and 5:00 PM. I had no proof I was asleep in my apartment. Worse, the elevator camera in my building showed “me” leaving at 3:00 PM. But this time, surrounded by witnesses, I was wheeled into the operating room. All these people were my alibi. I refused to believe things could end the same way. The surgery finished at 5:20 PM. As they wheeled me out, my arm in a cast, the heavy weight in my chest finally lifted. I grabbed my phone and called Joey, needing to know if he was okay. Once, twice, it went straight to voicemail. A terrible feeling crept into my heart. In my past life, “I” killed him. This time, I had warned him. I had an airtight alibi. Had I failed to change his fate after all? On the tenth try, someone finally answered. I was trembling, my voice shaking as I spoke. “Joey?” A sigh came from the other end of the line. “Is this Ms. Cassandra Willis? I’m afraid Mr. Collins has been in an accident…” The phone slipped from my numb fingers and crashed to the floor. My best friend, Maya, who had just walked in, saw the whole thing. She quickly picked up the phone and rushed to my side, trying to comfort me. I couldn’t believe it. Joey was still dead. My mind instantly flashed to the security footage. Was it possible… was “I” still the killer? As I reeled in shock, Maya started yelling at me. “Cassandra, are you insane? You could have gotten yourself killed! Do you have a death wish?” she raged. “Everyone else stayed back, but you had to play the hero?” Her voice snapped me back to the present. I managed a smile that was more like a grimace. I needed to be there. I needed that alibi. But I couldn’t tell her that I had been reborn. All I could do was smile apologetically and promise I’d never do it again. Hearing her scold me was strangely comforting. She was the first person to come see me. My own parents, who spent their days glued to their phones, were nowhere to be found. Even though the hospital administration had tried to suppress the news about the hostage situation, it had definitely gone viral. There was no way they hadn’t seen it. 4 I thought back to my last life. When my parents found out “I” had killed Joey, they never stopped berating me. They seemed completely convinced of my guilt. No matter how much I explained, they refused to believe me. “Even her own parents think she’s the killer. What else is there to investigate?” “It was definitely premeditated.” Their public condemnation, combined with Joey’s parents’ live-streamed accusations, threw me to the wolves. Their testimony was a big reason my death sentence was carried out so quickly. Only Maya never gave up on me. She fought to uncover the truth. But she died in a car accident while searching for evidence. After she finished yelling, her anger melted into concern. “Seriously, Cassie, what’s gotten into you?” A chilling possibility began to form in my mind, one I didn’t want to believe was true. I grabbed Maya’s hand, my expression deadly serious. “I need you to go to this address. Check on someone for me.” Her playful demeanor vanished. “Tell me. You can count on me.” Using the memories from my past life, I gave Maya an address. She had just left when there was a knock on my door. It was Detective Miller. The moment I saw him, my body went rigid. He was the one who arrested me in my last life. He had given me a chance, asked me to provide any evidence that I was at home sleeping. But I had none. He had wanted to believe me, but the public pressure, fueled by Joey’s parents, was immense. He managed to delay things for three months, but in the end, I couldn’t give him what he needed. His face was etched with fatigue, but his demeanor was as sharp as ever. His voice was cold, professional. “Ms. Cassandra Willis?” I nodded, looking at him with a sense of dread. “You’re under arrest for suspicion of the murder of Mr. Joey Collins. You need to come with us.” My mind was reeling, but I didn’t let it show. I forced myself to speak calmly. “Officer, you see my…” I lifted my casted arm. “With my arm like this, how could I have killed anyone? There must be a mistake.” His brow furrowed. He took out a tablet and played a video for me. “The security footage shows you at Mr. Collins’ studio, engaging in a violent confrontation, and then killing him. The evidence is conclusive.” 5 My mind went blank. Why was he still at the studio? And why was the person in that video still me? The expressions, the movements—they were all my habits. For a terrifying moment, my conviction wavered. “Is this… is this a deepfake?” I asked, my voice trembling. “I was at the hospital the whole time. Hundreds of people can verify that!” My heart was hammering in my chest, and I struggled to breathe. He showed me a series of stills. “This footage was taken directly from the security system’s hard drive. There’s no trace of digital manipulation. We also have footage of you getting out of a cab, entering the building, and knocking on his door.” “And we found your fingerprints at the scene.” Panic seized me again. The memories of the trial, the public shaming, the death sentence—it all came rushing back. Was it possible I couldn’t escape my fate? “You need to come with us,” the detective repeated, his eyes watching me warily. “Trust the process. If you’re innocent, I promise you, we will clear your name.” My heart felt like lead. I knew I had no choice but to go with him. I couldn’t understand it. How was I still the killer? What was the person behind this trying to achieve? My only hope was that Maya would find something. As I was escorted out of my hospital room, a crowd gathered. “Officer, are you sure you have the right person?” “Dr. Willis is a wonderful person. She would never kill anyone!” Seeing the supportive crowd, I remembered the scene from my previous life. A crowd had surrounded me then, too. But they were screaming, calling me a murderer, demanding justice, demanding my death. Even my parents had publicly stated that I’d always had a bad temper and had been trying to break up with Joey, conveniently leaving out any mention of his own faults. He was controlling, selfish, and possessive. He had suffocated me. Worse, he was involved in illegal activities. When I found out and tried to end the engagement, my parents were furious. They insisted his flaws didn’t matter, that marrying him was a blessing. They said I was almost thirty and unmarried, a source of immense pressure for them. Now that Joey was willing to marry me, they wouldn’t let me back out. They told me I would marry him, even if it killed me. 6 When I couldn’t take it anymore, I had screamed at them, asking who their real child was, me or Joey? Their answer was to beat me. They told me if I broke the engagement, they would disown me. So it was no surprise that when they saw the footage of “me” killing Joey, they immediately branded me a monster. They cried on camera about how heartless I was, how I had no love for my family. Then they produced a medical document diagnosing me with a sleepwalking disorder and publicly disowned me. The revelation had nearly broken my mind. But this time, as the police led me away, the crowd was on my side. I smiled and thanked them, telling them to trust the police to find the truth. The moment I sat down in the interrogation room, Detective Miller asked the question I had dreaded in my past life. “Where were you today between 3:00 PM and 5:00 PM?” Last time, I couldn’t prove I was asleep. This time, my answer was simple. “At the hospital.” “If you don’t believe me, you can check the hospital’s security footage or talk to anyone who was there. They can all vouch for me.” He valued evidence above all else and immediately had someone verify my claim. Just then, my parents started shouting outside, demanding to see me. The second they entered the interrogation room and saw the gash on my face and the cast on my arm, their expressions changed. I looked at them with a flicker of hope and whispered, “Mom, Dad.” My mother’s response was to slap me across the face. “How could you be so cruel? You’d actually kill someone just to break off an engagement?” “I don’t have a vicious daughter like you,” my father added. The police hadn’t even charged me, but my own parents had already delivered their verdict. Was it so certain in their minds that I was a murderer? A female officer quickly stepped in, explaining that nothing was confirmed, that I might not be the killer. But my mother lunged at me, grabbing my injured shoulder. “Then why is it you in the video and not someone else? There’s nothing to explain! What will people say when they find out I have a murderer for a daughter? How can I show my face in public?” Ha. My parents. How much could they possibly despise me? From a young age, they had dumped me at my grandmother’s house without so much as a penny for my care. My grandmother, who spent her days playing mahjong, never wanted me. She kicked me and cursed me, and I grew up sickly and frail. But I craved their love, so I endured everything. Now I finally understood. I had never mattered to them at all. No wonder it took me until the moment of my death in my past life to see a hint of the truth. Now, the final piece of the puzzle clicked into place. “Mom, Dad, I didn’t kill him. I don’t have an alibi for that time; I was at the hospital.” I corrected myself. “I mean, I do have an alibi.” Hearing this, they didn’t ask for details. They exploded with rage. “The video is so clear, and you’re still trying to lie? You’ve been a compulsive liar since you were a child! Do you think the police will coddle you like we have?” His words felt like a physical blow. A compulsive liar? Since they took me back home, my sister had blamed me for everything. Every time I tried to explain, they refused to listen, accusing me of lying. But it was always my sister who was lying. “If only it was your sister engaged to Joey,” my mother sighed. “She’s so gentle and kind. She would have made him happy. It’s a shame she’s been on a business trip abroad for months.” My sister again. The first time Joey came to our house, my mother pulled me aside and asked me to let my sister have him. But you can’t just “give” someone you’re dating to someone else. After I refused, they tried talking to Joey, but he refused as well. After that, they treated me with cold contempt, blaming me for my sister’s “heartbreak,” which they claimed was the reason for her long trip. Detective Miller, sensing the toxic family dynamic, interrupted them. “The investigation is ongoing. Ms. Willis is only a suspect at this point. Rest assured, we will not let a criminal go free, but we will not frame an innocent person either.” My mother’s eyes darted nervously, and she fidgeted with her hair. But my parents seemed not to hear him. My father stomped his foot and pointed at me. “Have you seen his parents? They’re devastated! They’re on a live stream right now calling you a heartless monster, and I can’t even watch it!” Then he pulled out a piece of paper. A medical diagnosis. “Officer, it’s not that I don’t believe my own daughter. But the thing is… she’s a sleepwalker.” Just like last time. If I didn’t have my own evidence, I would be condemned all over again. After all, if your own parents don’t believe you, who will? Detective Miller looked surprised. “A sleepwalker?” He took the document and examined it closely. Seeing them nod in confirmation, I let out a bitter laugh.

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The year I turned thirty, all my single friends married. Even my mother, who’d always opposed my dating, finally relented. “When are you getting married?” she’d ask pointedly each time I visited. “You’re almost thirty…” Before I could answer, my boyfriend Jackson would cut in sincerely, “Auntie, it’s my fault. Phoebe and I are engaged—we’ll set a date after New Year.” His earnestness and her smile made me believe our rocky relationship was finally heading toward a happy ending. But before the wedding, I dropped by his office. On the company photo wall was a collage from a recent team trip—Jackson in every shot with another girl: hiking, boating, cycling. She leaned against him, smiling brightly as if staking her claim. That night, we had our worst fight. I accused; he called me paranoid. “She’s just a kid who sees me as a brother,” he argued. Later, I unlocked his phone. My chat was muted. His only pinned chat was with a cute cat avatar—the girl sharing daily details, him replying patiently to every message. A bitter smile touched my lips. All those times he’d ignored me, his care had gone to her. Fine. He could have her. I didn’t want him anymore. 1 It was three in the morning when the bedroom door creaked open. Jackson sat on the edge of the bed, his head bowed, lost in thought. After a long silence, he placed a small box on my nightstand. The sound of the shower running startled me. I opened my eyes and looked at his phone on the pillow beside me. A new message notification glowed on the screen. As if possessed, I swiped it open. As I scrolled through his chat history, my suspicions were confirmed. My conversation was muted. While he had nothing to say to me, he had endless words for another girl. Over the past six months, his replies to her had evolved from cold and perfunctory to patient and engaged, culminating in a daily exchange of life’s trivialities. [Are you asleep? Thanks for driving me home.] [Let me buy you dinner to say thank you! (cute cat emoji)] [Goodnight, sweet dreams~] The bed dipped beside me as he lay down. The phone’s light flickered. He was silent for a long moment before he turned and wrapped his arms around me. “You’re awake?” “I’m sorry,” he murmured into my hair. “Something came up today. I couldn’t make it to your wedding dress fitting.” “My business partner had an emergency. He asked me to drive his sister to the next city for a dance troupe audition. He said it was crucial for her future…” “I thought I could make it back in time.” His excuses felt hollow, flimsy. My hand, clenched into a fist, felt strangely weak, as if all the strength had been drained from my fingertips. It was like trying to hold onto sand, watching it slip through the cracks. It was a bitter, helpless feeling. A familiar sting pricked my eyes, and a tear escaped, landing on the back of his hand. He flinched as if burned. He sighed, pulling me closer, burying his face in my neck. “I’ll be more careful from now on,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “I’m sorry.” “We’ll reschedule the fitting.” “Once this project is done, we’ll go abroad for our wedding photos, okay?” His warm breath ghosted across my skin, followed by a trail of soft kisses. The temperature in the room began to rise, but a single, stark question cut through the haze of intimacy. “Jackson, do you still want to marry me?” 2 I met Jackson when I was eighteen. After graduation, it seemed I had finally earned a sliver of my mother’s approval by outperforming the child of her ex-husband—a constant, invisible competitor in my life. It felt like the only way to divert her attention, even for a moment, was to be better, to be more successful. But I always seemed to disappoint her. In my junior year, a story I wrote was adapted for the school play. Watching my words come to life on stage planted a seed in my heart. As I continued to trudge through the endless, joyless calligraphy and violin lessons she forced on me, that seed began to sprout. I wanted to make my own choice, just once. I didn’t choose the practical, stable career path she had laid out for me. For the first time in my life, I defied her. The price was being thrown out of the house. I had less than twenty dollars to my name. She was trying to break me, certain I would come crawling back, ready to fall in line. If it hadn’t been for my best friend, I probably would have ended up on the streets, just as she’d predicted. To pay for tuition and living expenses, I slept four hours a night and worked every other waking moment. I was a waitress at a diner at dawn, a barista in the afternoon, and a clerk at an internet café late into the night. It was exhausting, but I had never felt so free. Then, on an ordinary afternoon, filled with the drone of summer cicadas and the tinkle of a wind chime, he appeared. A boy who carried the heat of the summer in his bright, intense gaze. He burst into my life and changed everything. 3 The next morning, he was gone. Staring out at the sunlight, my mind drifted back to the night before. My question had been met with a long, heavy silence. His passionate kisses had stifled any further words, and the unresolved topic had been buried. I rubbed my temples. A glint of light caught my eye. Sometime during the night, he had taken the ring from the box and slipped it onto my finger. The diamond sparkled, so bright it made my eyes water. … To reassure me, it seemed, Jackson started coming home for dinner every night, no matter how busy he was. We would curl up on the sofa and watch cheesy soap operas. On weekends, he would take me to plays and late-night movie premieres. We would walk home under the stars, just like we used to. For a while, it felt like we had gone back in time. My mother once told me I couldn’t even bake a decent cake, unlike my stepsister, who excelled at everything. Our tenth anniversary was coming up. I decided I wanted to bake Jackson a cake. Late one night, after he’d fallen asleep, I tiptoed into the kitchen. Following a video tutorial, I carefully measured and mixed. Slowly, a cake took shape under my hands. It turned out I wasn’t completely useless after all. 4 The next morning, as I reminded Jackson to take the wedding invitations with him, I caught a glimpse of a restaurant reservation on his phone. My heart skipped a beat. A flicker of hope. The sun was shining. I hummed as I pruned the wilting roses on the windowsill. After getting dressed up, I picked up the cake and headed to his office. I hadn’t been there in a long time. Perhaps too long. The receptionist stopped me at the door. “Hi, I’m here to see Jackson.” “Do you have an appointment with Mr. Thorne?” I shook my head. She was new. Her expression soured when I said his name, her tone shifting. She glanced at the cake in my hand. “No appointment, no entry.” I was taken aback by her hostility. I tried calling Jackson, but he didn’t answer. She rolled her eyes and started texting someone. “Please leave,” she said, her voice sharp with impatience. Just then, Liam, Jackson’s best friend and business partner, stepped out of the elevator. The receptionist’s face lit up. “Liam! You’re here!” Liam smiled back, then his eyes fell on me. He looked surprised. “Phoebe? What are you doing here?” “Am I not allowed?” I asked, a smile playing on my lips. He quickly backtracked. “Of course, you are! I just haven’t seen you here in a while. Why are you waiting out here?” He glanced between me and the receptionist. “Come on in.” “Liam!” the receptionist protested. “She doesn’t have an appointment…” Liam’s expression darkened. “This is Mr. Thorne’s fiancée. She doesn’t need an appointment.” The girl’s eyes widened. I shot her a questioning look before following Liam inside. Behind me, I could hear her urgently speaking into her phone. In the hallway, I asked casually, “When did that receptionist start? Is she a relative of someone?” “A friend asked me to give her a job,” he said, rubbing his nose. “She’s new. Don’t mind her.” 5 As we entered the main office area, a sweet aroma hung in the air. There was a small, elegant dessert on every desk. “This is amazing! Did Mr. Cheng’s sister make this?” one woman whispered. “Yeah, this is the second time this month, right?” “Don’t forget the cookies from last week!” I walked into Jackson’s office. It was empty. On his desk was a half-eaten slice of cake and a bag of almond cookies. My fingers tightened on the ribbon of the cake box. “You’re here.” Jackson looked surprised to see me, a flicker of something strange in his eyes. “Why didn’t you call?” “I did. You didn’t answer,” I said flatly. He patted his pockets, then came over and took my hand. “Sorry, I was in Nick’s office. My phone wasn’t with me.” His gaze fell on the cake box. Just as he was about to speak, a cheerful voice came from the doorway. “Jackson! Time for lunch! When are we leaving?” A young woman with a bright, sunny smile walked in. She froze when she saw me. I looked her over. She was pretty, with fair skin and a youthful energy that was impossible to ignore. “And you are?” I asked, turning to Jackson, though I already knew the answer. He squeezed my hand. “This is Nick’s sister, Tessa,” he said, his voice low. I stared at him for a long moment, then let out a cold laugh. The girl looked at me nervously. “You must be Phoebe. It’s nice to meet you. Jackson talks about you all the—” “Where are you two going?” I cut her off. Tessa looked at Jackson, flustered. Jackson stood up, pulling me with him. “Just to grab some lunch. You haven’t eaten, have you? Join us.” She looked like she wanted to protest, but seeing our joined hands, she just lowered her eyes and forced a smile. 6 In the parking garage, as Jackson opened the passenger door for me, his eyes instinctively darted towards Tessa. My heart, which had been tentatively warming up, was instantly doused in ice water. A lump formed in my throat. The car ride was tense. We were each lost in our own thoughts. A sad, melancholic song played on the radio. Who, I wondered, was the real third wheel in this relationship? … The restaurant was a new, trendy spot that was impossible to get into without a reservation. We knew each other so well; a single glance could speak volumes. As he held the door for me, he didn’t even spare Tessa a look. “Welcome. Do you have a reservation?” Jackson showed them the text from that morning. It felt like a cruel joke. The waiter led us to a private room. Almost every dish on the table contained almonds. Jackson and I both hated almonds. It was painfully obvious who this meal was for. My heart sank. I leaned forward, my hands clasped under my chin. “Do you two have lunch together every day?” I asked Tessa directly. She stammered, “I… I just graduated and I haven’t found a job yet. My brother’s been busy at lunch, so…” Jackson cut in, his brow furrowed. “Her brother just got a girlfriend. He asked me to look after his sister. I saw she was alone at the office, so we just grabbed lunch together.” “Phoebe, don’t misunderstand,” Tessa added quickly. “It’s just…” “Didn’t you know he has a fiancée?” I interrupted. “Do you think it’s appropriate to have lunch with an engaged man every day?” She was speechless. Jackson’s face darkened. “Can you stop being so paranoid? Now I can’t even have a meal with a friend?” “A friend?” My voice rose. “An engaged man, spending every day with another woman—you think that’s normal?! You promised me!” “Jackson was just being nice to me…” Tessa started to explain, but her phone rang, cutting her off. She quickly excused herself. A moment later, she rushed back in, her eyes red, her knuckles white as she gripped her phone. “Jackson! The dance troupe just called! There was a mistake in my application, and I have to resubmit it by five o’clock today! It’s the last day… Can you please, please drive me? I won’t make it in time!” Jackson shot up from his seat, completely forgetting about me. “Don’t worry, I’ll take you.” I grabbed his wrist. “You can’t go.” He turned, his eyes filled with disappointment and impatience. He yanked his arm away. “Can you stop being so unreasonable?!” I stared at his retreating back, my voice hoarse. “Jackson, have you forgotten what day it is?” He paused for a fraction of a second, then walked out without looking back. And just like that, the last thread holding me together snapped.

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1 In the eight years I was married to Andrea Chabrol, I never once laid eyes on our son. The moment he was born, Andrea whisked him away to the family estate. He’d sighed, his voice laced with a weary resignation. “Seraphina,” he’d said, “marrying you was already an exception. When it comes to the heir’s upbringing, my parents will not bend.” He’d looked at me then, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. “Besides, with your level of education and background… do you honestly think you can raise a worthy successor?” I swallowed the bitter pill of my inadequacy, telling myself this was just how these old-money families operated. Until last night. For the very first time, my son asked to see me. My heart was bursting, every fiber of my being humming with the joy of finally meeting him. But the first words out of my seven-year-old son’s mouth were: “So you’re the mistress my dad keeps on the side?” The world screeched to a halt. My head whipped around to face Andrea. … Panic flashed across Andrea’s face. He immediately tried to hustle our son out of the room. “Where did you learn such language? That’s disgraceful! Go home right now and copy your calligraphy exercises, ten times!” But the reprimand only fueled the boy’s anger. He dodged Andrea’s hand and ran towards me, shoving me hard. “You really are something else! You didn’t even have to say a word to get my dad to punish me!” he sneered. “Today, I’m going to teach you a lesson for my real mom! You filthy homewrecker!” I stared at the small, furious face before me, a face that was a near-perfect mirror of my own. A crumpled, sour dread began to churn in my stomach. “Don’t you know,” I started, my voice trembling, “I’m the one who…” “Seraphina! That’s enough!” Andrea’s roar cut me off. Confused, I opened my mouth to protest, but just then, a woman walked through the door. The scent of expensive perfume wafted from her sleek, dark hair. The tailored trench coat she wore fit her like a second skin. She had the unmistakable air of someone who had been coddled her entire life, untouched by hardship. Her eyes flickered over me, a subtle, dismissive glance that made me instinctively tuck a stray strand of my own coarse, dry hair behind my ear. Then, she walked right past me and ruffled my son’s hair. “There you are. You ran off again. Mommy’s really going to have to let Daddy punish you this time.” My son melted into her arms. “Mommy, I’m sorry! You have no idea how horrible this woman is!” My hand, still hovering near my ear, froze. A chill crept through my veins. So she was the “Mommy” he was talking about. Andrea’s childhood sweetheart—Isabelle Vance. She had always been the Chabrol family’s first choice for a daughter-in-law. Her family was their social equal, and she and Andrea had grown up together. I was just the poor scholarship kid who had managed, by sheer academic force, to walk the same university halls as him. So even when Andrea had chosen me, his parents had never stopped accusing me of being a gold digger. That was when I started working myself to the bone, desperate to prove I didn’t need their money. Andrea would secretly slip his credit cards into my purse, but I never touched them. I knew it was his way of respecting my pride while still worrying about me. Then, he’d taken our son to the estate, citing his “education.” Seven years had passed, and he had never once let me see him. “Do you have any idea how much a mother’s genetics influence a child?” he’d argued. “Don’t you want what’s best for our son? Just wait. Once his character is formed, my parents will let you see him.” I had always believed we loved and understood each other. I trusted him. I respected his decisions. But Isabelle—the woman my son was now calling “Mommy”—hadn’t even gotten into a real university. Her family had donated a building to get her a diploma. It finally hit me. It wasn’t that my education was insufficient. It wasn’t that this was some sacred, old-money tradition. It was simply that they could not bear for the world to know that the mother of the next Chabrol heir was an ordinary woman. It wasn’t just his parents. Even Andrea had never truly respected me. The realization was a punch to the gut, stealing the air from my lungs. By the time I came to my senses, Andrea was already leading our son out the door. I took a step forward, but Isabelle blocked my path. She smiled, a cold, sharp thing. “I wouldn’t waste your energy. Both Andrea and the boy… they belong to me.” I ignored her, my heart pounding with a desperate urgency. I tried to push past her. Isabelle let out a short, sharp laugh and grabbed my arm. “Are you deaf?” Her long, pointed nails dug into my flesh, leaving angry red marks. I tried to pull away, but her grip was like steel. After a moment of struggling, I finally looked up, my eyes burning. “I don’t want Andrea anymore,” I choked out. “I just want my son.” 2 The words felt raw and foreign in my mouth. The moment my son called her “Mommy,” my world had shattered. Ten months I had carried him. And even though I was never allowed to see him, the primal, unconditional love of a mother had always been there. I had swallowed seven years of longing, telling myself it was for his own good, so he could have the best education imaginable. Even my friends couldn’t understand. They’d urged me to adopt, to have a child by my side, something to hold onto. I had been horrified by the suggestion. Now, I saw how foolish I’d been. How could I have been so naive? How could I have trusted Andrea so blindly? The regret was so intense I wanted to die and start over. Isabelle’s lips curved into a smug smile. “What are you thinking? You didn’t know? I was the one who was afraid of the pain of childbirth, of ruining my figure. That’s why Andrea had you do it.” “Andrea will never be yours,” she continued, her voice a cruel whisper. “And the child will never be yours. Because from the moment he was in your womb, he was destined to call me Mother.” Her words were a physical blow, leaving me stunned and reeling. For a moment, I thought I must be hallucinating. “What are you talking about?” “Think about it,” she said, her tone dripping with contempt. “If I had been willing to give birth, do you really think someone like you would have ever been worthy of carrying a Chabrol heir? You, a low-life from the gutter, you reek of poverty. How could the mother of the next Chabrol be someone with no background, no name? Tell me, does that sound right to you?” She reached out and twirled a strand of my hair between her fingers, then burst out laughing. “You were just ashamed of yourself a moment ago, weren’t you? You know it, too. From head to toe, not a single hair on your head can compare to mine.” My private moment of self-doubt, laid bare and mocked. A hot flush of humiliation washed over me. I yanked her hand away. But as I pulled back, Isabelle suddenly crumpled to the floor in a graceful heap. I froze. Even though I knew she was faking, my first instinct was to help her. But Andrea, who had just put our son in the car, was already rushing back. He didn’t hesitate. He slapped me, hard, across the face. “If you have a problem, you take it up with me! I was the one who told him to call her ‘Mommy’! What do you get out of bullying her?” His eyes bored into me, cold and accusatory, like I was a criminal. The stinging pain on my cheek was a stark reminder of a time when his eyes had held nothing but tenderness for me. Even when we fought, I’d never seen such pure hatred in them. They say you can see love in a person’s eyes. I don’t know when it changed. But in that moment, as the force of his blow resonated through me, I realized I no longer cared. Andrea gently lifted Isabelle from the floor and settled her on the sofa. “Are you okay? Where does it hurt?” Isabelle’s eyes filled with tears, her lower lip trembling. “Everywhere,” she whimpered. “I think I twisted my ankle.” Andrea was beside himself with worry. He spun around and yelled at me, “What are you waiting for?! Get the first-aid kit! She was raised in comfort, you think she’s tough like you?!” Watching them, it all became painfully clear. Once, after I’d fallen during a track meet in college, he had been just as frantic, practically carrying the school nurse to my side. Now, his concern was just for a different person. I silently retrieved the first-aid kit and handed it to him. As he took it, I heard myself say, “Andrea, let’s get a divorce.” “The house, the cars, the money… I don’t want any of it. I just want my son.” His hand, which had been gently massaging Isabelle’s ankle, froze. 3 He slowly looked up. His eyes scanned my reddened cheek, but there was no flicker of remorse. “I was just upset,” he said flatly. He rummaged through the kit, pulled out a tube of anti-inflammatory gel, and tossed it to me, completely ignoring my previous statement. I didn’t catch it. I just watched it clatter onto the table. He hadn’t even offered a simple “sorry.” Andrea’s hand, still holding the gel, paused mid-air. When he saw I wasn’t going to take it, he dropped it on the table. “You were the one in the wrong. Being overly dramatic will just make you seem pathetic.” A chill went through me. It was in that moment I realized that in our relationship, Andrea had always seen himself as the one in power. That’s why he would never apologize, never consider my feelings, never listen to what I had to say. Even when I discovered that he had let my own son call another woman “Mother,” he felt no need to explain himself. I had thought we were equals, that we at least had mutual respect. Isabelle sighed dramatically. “Darling, it’s not a big deal. Please don’t be angry.” She then clamped a hand over her mouth, feigning a mistake, and looked at me apologetically. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I’m just so used to calling him that in front of the boy. You understand, don’t you? It’s important for a child’s development to have both a mother and a father figure.” I could only laugh coldly. “He has a real mother. I’ll be taking him back, so you won’t have to play pretend anymore.” Isabelle’s eyes instantly filled with tears. “I’ve been with him for seven years,” she cried. “He’s like my own son. You can’t just take him away! Do you know his favorite food? Do you know which classes he hates? Do you know which little girl in his class always wants to play house with him? You know nothing! Are you even fit to be a mother?” She paused, turning her head away to wipe a tear. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “I lost control. I just don’t think you are a qualified mother.” Andrea wrapped an arm around her, comforting her. “You didn’t say anything wrong. It’s okay, don’t cry. No matter what anyone says, this family and our son will only ever recognize you as his mother.” I was shaking with rage. Her words were like daggers, carving into my heart. She had stolen my role, my life, and now she was calling me unqualified. Just as I was about to retort, I felt a force from behind. I stumbled forward, catching myself just before I fell. I turned around. It was my son, his little fists flailing at me. “You ugly homewrecker! You bullied my mommy! Go to hell! You’re shameless! You bitch!”

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Just before bed, a sponsored post popped up on my feed. The algorithm had flagged it as something my husband had “liked.” The title read: A Love That Marriage Cannot Contain: My Knight Will Always Ride for Me. The article was a travel blog, chronicling the author’s trip through the Sahara with her boyfriend. The blogger called herself “Wildcat.” But not a single photo in the post showed her boyfriend’s face. My husband, Caden, is a cop. He doesn’t read this kind of sentimental drivel. And a week ago, he missed the birth of our child because he was away on a “training exercise.” The location? Africa. A coincidence? To be sure, I called him. “Where are you?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. His tone was clipped, impatient. “Still in the Sahara for drills. Can you stop being so paranoid? I’m hanging up.” I froze. Just before the line went dead, I heard it—a soft, distinctly female giggle in the background. … I forwarded Wildcat’s blog to my grandfather’s personal assistant and then dove into her archives, reading every post she’d ever written. There weren’t many, but they all chronicled her adventures with her boyfriend. And in every single one, his face was conspicuously absent. The titles were strange, too. They had nothing to do with travel. A Love That Marriage Cannot Contain. Only the Unloved Choose Marriage. What Drab Housewife Can Compete with a Wildcat in the Sun? My Knight Doesn’t Want a Pregnant Lady. A free-spirited couple, committed to love but not to marriage? My gut told me this was no coincidence. When I checked my social media feed again, the “liked by a friend” feature had been disabled for Caden’s account. I could no longer see his activity. The knot in my stomach tightened. Just then, a message came through from my grandfather’s assistant. “Ma’am, the blogger ‘Wildcat’ is a young woman from the mountains you once sponsored. Her birth name was Cassie Miller. She later changed it and became a travel blogger, spending most of her time abroad.” Suddenly, a memory surfaced. It was right after we got married. Caden, who was usually so reserved, came up behind me and started massaging my shoulders. He told me he’d been on assignment in a remote mountain region and had seen girls who couldn’t afford to go to school. He asked if I would sponsor their education. It was such a rare moment of tenderness from him. I was so touched, I agreed without a second thought. My fists clenched. A sickening suspicion began to form. Just then, Wildcat’s blog updated again. “Hey guys! Next stop is the ancient site of the Hanging Gardens of Babylon! My boyfriend is so worried about me, he’s insisting on coming along to protect his girl! Tee hee!” “Way better than giving birth alone in a loveless marriage, amirite? A real knight by my side is all I need!” A wave of relief washed over me. Caden had said the training exercise was only a week long. He should be home in a day or two. I felt a pang of guilt for doubting him. This was all just a series of bizarre coincidences. He was distant, yes, but that was just his nature. And he had, in his own quiet way, told me he loved me before. Feeling reassured, I sent him a few pictures of our newborn baby. He hadn’t even seen him yet. But hours passed, and there was no reply. I was just drifting off to sleep when the unique notification tone I’d set for his messages chimed. I snatched up my phone. It was a cold, terse update. [Not coming home tomorrow. The squad’s been deployed to the Middle East for a counter-terrorism drill.] The blood drained from my face. The Hanging Gardens of Babylon are in the Middle East. I stared at the screen for a long moment, then immediately tried to video call him. It didn’t even ring for a full second before he rejected it. [What are you doing?! You’re interrupting my training!] His text was sharp, accusatory. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. He had time to type out a lecture, but not one second to answer my call? And what kind of training exercise lets you keep your phone on you? Was I interrupting his training? Or was I interrupting something else entirely? I called again. Rejected. And again. Rejected. Finally, another message came through, laced with fury. [Grace, did giving birth scramble your brain?!] [Do you have any idea how seriously you are compromising my mission right now?!] [So I’m coming back a few days late, what’s the big deal?! You’re getting more and more pathetic!] I was stunned. He was calling me, his wife who had just given birth to his child, “pathetic”? Still, a foolish part of me clung to hope. [Honey, I’m really not feeling well. Can you please just ask for leave and come home?] [Don’t you guys get paternity leave?] [My C-section incision is healing so slowly. The pain at night is so bad I have to take a handful of painkillers just to sleep.] [The baby is so fussy, and your mom won’t let me hire a nanny. I can’t handle this alone.] His response was another barrage of blame. [And you think I can handle it any better?!] [You’re a mother now, a woman in your thirties. Stop being so damn dramatic!] [Every woman goes through this! What makes you so special? So fragile? You’re not a teenager anymore!] His words struck me dumb. I couldn’t believe a husband, a new father, could be so callous. I was about to type a furious reply when I saw it: a red exclamation mark. He had blocked me. From the bassinet beside the bed, the baby, sensing my distress, began to wail. I forced myself up, ignoring the searing pain in my abdomen, and went to soothe him. Looking at his tiny, red, crumpled face, a cold realization dawned on me. Since the moment I went into labor, Caden had not once asked how I was, or how the baby was. Was it really just his “cold nature”? Or was it something else entirely? Utter, absolute indifference. After rocking the baby back to sleep, I opened Wildcat’s blog again, torturing myself by scrolling through her past posts. When I reached the very beginning, I covered my face with my hands as silent, hot tears streamed through my fingers. The dates of every single one of her trips, her “romantic getaways,” corresponded perfectly with every single one of Caden’s “business trips” and “training exercises.” It was true. He was cheating on me. When the tears finally ran dry, a cold, hard calm settled over me. I called my assistant and booked the first flight to the Middle East. Without a word to his mother, I dropped the baby off with the trusted nannies at my family’s estate. The next day, I was standing on the sun-scorched earth of an ancient land. I had to see it with my own eyes. Only then would I let my heart truly die. I used Wildcat’s latest post to find her location, staking out a spot near the ruins of the Hanging Gardens. I disguised myself, wrapped in scarves like a thief. My C-section scar throbbed violently, a pain that even the strongest painkillers couldn’t completely numb, a searing pain that crawled through me like thorny vines. Then I saw her. The blogger, Wildcat. My heart leaped into my throat. She was tan and tall, radiating a vibrant, youthful energy. She was undeniably beautiful. And the man beside her— He stood straight and proud, his handsome face softened by a gentle, adoring expression. An undeniable pair. Anyone would say they looked perfect together. If only the man hadn’t been my husband of ten years. Even the t-shirt he was wearing… I had picked it out for him myself. The world went dark at the edges. There, in front of the ruins of a wonder of the ancient world, my husband was kissing another woman. Wildcat’s post from the night before flashed in my mind: The Gods of Babylon will forever bless lovers who kiss before their temple. It was over. Maybe it was because I had prepared myself for the worst, but in that moment of shattering heartbreak, my first instinct was strangely clinical. I raised my phone and took a picture. Evidence. My heart was a gaping wound, but my mind was crystal clear. For the rest of the day, I shadowed them. I watched Wildcat leap onto Caden’s back like a playful child. Caden—the man who was so stoic with me he’d never once uttered a word of sweet-talk—was now carrying her with a tender smile I had never seen before. I remembered once, by the river at night, I’d asked him to take a picture of me with the city lights. He’d refused instantly. “My hands are for holding a gun, Grace. Not for doing useless things like that.” But now, this same man was patiently taking shot after shot as Wildcat handed him her camera, posing and preening. So, all those third-person photos on her blog… they were taken by my husband, whose hands were “only for holding a gun”? A desolate coldness seeped into my bones. It wasn’t that he couldn’t. It was that I wasn’t worthy of it. I pulled out my phone and dialed his number. His phone rang. I watched him, my expression unreadable. Wildcat leaned over to see the screen, then pouted. I was close enough to hear every word. “Is it that old hag again?” she whined. “Hang up! Or I’ll get mad! Your time is my time! You are mine! She already has your marriage, your love can only be mine! Your eyes, your heart, your body—they all belong to me!” Faced with her tantrum, Caden immediately went to soothe her. My call, unsurprisingly, was rejected. The next time I tried, I’d been blocked. The sun was blindingly bright, but I felt a chill deep in my bones. And this woman, this vibrant, sunny creature, was a willing homewrecker. Just then, another message came from my grandfather’s assistant. As I read the contents, the full, sickening scope of the deception came into focus. Eight years ago, Caden had an accident during a mission in the mountains. He’d fallen into a ravine. His captain called me immediately. Frantic, I’d rushed to the airport, and on the way, I got into a car crash. While I was in the ICU, fighting for my life, my husband, Caden, was in a remote village, celebrating a makeshift wedding ceremony with Wildcat. She was the one who had found him in the ravine and “saved” him. After a few nights alone together, her parents had used her “ruined reputation” to force Caden to marry her, demanding a hefty sum to make things right. I suddenly remembered Caden asking me for thirty thousand dollars around that time. He’d said it was for the widow of a colleague who had died in the line of duty. I had personally funded his dowry to another woman. And shortly after that, he’d approached me with the idea of sponsoring her education. I was the fool. The clown in their twisted little play. If he was going to betray our marriage, then he could not blame me for being ruthless. I didn’t just want a divorce. I wanted to ruin him. I followed them all day, numbly documenting every kiss, every touch, every loving glance. That night, Wildcat’s blog updated again. As I suspected, the photos were all taken from Caden’s perspective. The title was another dagger to my heart: Marriage is Nothing. True Love is Everything! I finally understood. The nonsensical, unrelated titles were her justification. The pathetic mantra of a mistress trying to paint her affair as something noble. To my surprise, she added a little note at the end of the post. [Hey guys, my amazing boyfriend got me a job offer at a Fortune 500 company! Should I take it?] [Oh, and I mentioned I needed a new car today, and he said he’d buy me a luxury car when we get back home! I’m so spoiled!] The comments were a flood of fawning praise. [I’ve followed Wildcat forever! Their love is like a fairytale, and her boyfriend is crazy rich! He buys her designer everything!] [Marry him already, girl! Before someone else snatches him up!] Wildcat replied personally to that second comment. [When you have true love, who needs marriage? Marriage is just a safety net for people who aren’t really loved!] I laughed out loud, a harsh, grating sound. With Caden’s police salary, he couldn’t afford a single one of the designer bags she flaunted. But I, worried he might be short on cash, transferred him hundreds of thousands of dollars in “spending money” every month. He had been using my money to fund his “true love.” Suddenly, my phone buzzed with that special notification tone. Caden had unblocked me. [Cooled down yet? Had a night to think about it?] [If you pull a stunt like that again, I won’t be so forgiving.] [Oh, by the way, the widow of my fallen comrade needs a car. You have that Maybach in the garage, right? Give it to her. It’s the least I can do.] [And talk to your father. I have a friend who needs a senior management position at his company. Make sure you take care of her.] The audacity. The sheer, unmitigated gall. When I loved him, I would have given him the world. I extended that generosity to all his friends and family. That kindness had not only given him the courage to be arrogant but had also fed his greed and his nerve. And now, he was shamelessly asking me to provide for his mistress. This was the man I had loved for ten years. I took a few deep breaths, forcing the rage down, and typed out the compliant, agreeable response he wanted to hear. Pleased with my “reasonableness,” he chatted for a bit longer, even graciously informing me that he had a celebratory banquet with his squad next week and wouldn’t be coming home that night. I simply agreed. After all, the best dishes, and the best dramas, are worth waiting for. I had a very special gift planned for him.

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1 After helping my husband, Anthony, build his company from the ground up, I settled into the quiet life of a stay-at-home mom. For our daughter Mia’s tenth birthday, I wanted to do something special. I booked a lavish party at the Hilton, with catering that cost $2,500 a table. But when I went to pay, the manager gave me a strange look. “Mrs. Cole,” he said, his voice laced with pity, “this card can’t even cover a fifty-dollar charge.” Mortified, I rushed home to confront Anthony. He had the grace to look apologetic. “The company’s in a bidding war right now,” he explained, running a hand through his hair. “The new commissioner is… demanding. I’ve had to spend a lot out of pocket to grease the wheels.” He pulled me into a hug. “Once the deal closes and the cash starts flowing again, I promise I’ll throw Mia the birthday party of the century.” I nodded, playing the part of the understanding wife. But as soon as he was gone, I started digging. You see, the new commissioner is my father. And his department hasn’t had a public bid in months. I needed to see exactly where our money was going. This was our joint household account; just last month, it had over a hundred and fifty thousand dollars in it. The transaction history had been wiped clean, so I went straight to the bank and pulled the full statement. The largest charge was from the very same Hilton I’d just left. One hundred and twenty thousand dollars. The description read: Birthday Celebration Package. “Daddy must be planning a surprise for us, right, Mommy?” Mia’s eyes were wide with innocent excitement. “Let’s go! We can surprise him, too!” Looking at her hopeful face, I couldn’t bring myself to imagine the worst. Maybe he really had planned something. When we arrived at the grand ballroom, the first person I saw was Anthony. Dressed in a tailored suit, he stood at the entrance, laughing with guests. And clinging to his arm was a woman in a slinky red dress, the two of them looking like a portrait of success. I recognized her instantly. Vivian Shaw, his secretary. One of the company’s first employees. “Mrs. Cole, your son is the spitting image of his father,” a guest gushed to Vivian. “Such a handsome young man.” “Isn’t he?” another chimed in. “Honestly, Vivian, everyone at the company envies you and Anthony. Your son is getting so big, and you two are still like newlyweds.” My blood ran cold. Following their gaze, I saw a little boy standing between them. He had Anthony’s eyes, Anthony’s jawline. A five- or six-year-old echo of my husband. “Daddy, they spelled my name wrong!” Mia suddenly pulled her hand from mine and darted towards the entrance. “It’s M-I-A, not L-E-O!” My eyes snapped to the ornate display stand next to the door. In gleaming gold letters, it read: Happy 7th Birthday to our beloved son, Leo! Before the world could even tilt on its axis, I heard a sharp cry. Vivian had shoved Mia, sending her tumbling to the polished floor. “Where did this brat come from?” Vivian sneered. “No manners at all.” I lunged forward, scooping Mia into my arms. Beads of blood welled up on her scraped knee, and a white-hot rage blinded me. “Anthony!” My voice trembled, raw with fury. I held Mia tight as she began to sob. “You take our family’s money to play house with this woman, to raise your bastard son, and now you let her hurt our daughter?” Vivian muttered under her breath, just loud enough for me to hear. “What family money? Every dime in this company was earned through my blood, sweat, and tears alongside Anthony. Some people get used to being a canary in a gilded cage and start thinking they own the place.” A wave of whispers rippled through the guests. Their eyes darted between us, hungry for drama. “Is that the mistress? Crashing the party with her kid?” “The nerve of some people. Showing up to flaunt herself in front of the real wife. Shameless.” “And look at the daughter. An apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, you know. Trash raises trash.” Their stares—a mixture of pity, contempt, and morbid curiosity—pricked at my skin like a thousand needles. “What the hell are you talking about?” I shouted, my voice cracking. “Vivian is the mistress! That boy is the one who shouldn’t exist!” A few snide chuckles broke out from the crowd. A man with a beer belly swirled his champagne flute. “Everyone knows Vivian has been with Anthony for years. She’s the power behind the throne.” Another woman added, “Anthony and his wife are solid. This woman is clearly just some gold digger trying to shake him down for money.” I locked eyes with Anthony, my voice dropping to a dangerous low. “Anthony. Tell them. Tell them who I am.” He finally spoke, a weary, patronizing smile on his face as he addressed the room. “My apologies, everyone. A little misunderstanding. This is Julia, our nanny. She’s been reading a few too many trashy romance novels, and I’m afraid she gets… confused sometimes.” He turned back to me, his eyes now cold steel, a clear warning. “Julia, why don’t you take your daughter home? You’re making a scene.” The words hit me like a physical blow. This man, my husband of twelve years, the man I shared a bed with, was erasing me in front of a room full of strangers, painting me as a delusional servant. Seeing Anthony side with her, Vivian’s confidence swelled. Her voice became shrill and commanding. “Julia, I know it must be hard raising a child on your own, but this is just pathetic. Tell you what. You go home now, and I’ll have the butler add three months’ severance to your final paycheck.” The guests erupted in derisive laughter. “The nanny trying to usurp the throne? That’s rich! What won’t people do for money?” “I almost feel sorry for the little girl, having a mother like that.” “She’s just a little con artist in the making, taught to play the victim by her grifter mom.” Vivian smirked, victorious. She crouched down to speak to her son, Leo. “See, sweetie? This is why you have to study hard. Otherwise, you’ll end up like some people—nothing but a pathetic clown.” Leo tilted his chin up, his eyes holding a cruel glint that didn’t belong on a seven-year-old’s face. “You stupid woman! How dare you yell at my mommy?” He lunged forward and shoved me hard. Caught off guard, I stumbled back, nearly taking Mia down with me. Leo puffed out his chest, the perfect little spoiled prince. “My daddy said this whole company will be mine one day! Who do you and your little brat think you are, trying to steal my dad? You’ll end up just like your mom—a maid, cleaning up after us!” The laughter from the guests grew louder, more vicious. Someone actually clapped. “That’s the spirit, young man! A future titan of industry!” Just then, a few hotel staff members walked by with trays. One of them was the manager who had dealt with me earlier. He saw me and, with theatrical volume, said to his colleague, “Hey, isn’t that the ‘Mrs. Cole’ who tried to book a $2,500-a-table party but didn’t even have fifty bucks on her card?” He snickered. “Some people love to pretend they’re rich. Play the part of the society wife right up until the bill comes, then they scurry away like rats.” Vivian heard him and let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “Can’t even scrape together fifty dollars? No wonder she’s causing a scene.” The man with the beer belly swaggered over, his greasy gaze crawling over me and Mia. “You know,” he said with a lecherous grin, “for a nanny, she’s not half bad. The little girl’s a cute piece, too.” He leaned in, his breath sour with alcohol. “Look, you’ve got no future with Anthony. How about you come with me? I’ll give you three grand a month, room and board for you and the kid. How’s that sound? You won’t have to worry about fifty-dollar problems anymore. I’m a generous guy, right?” The crowd roared. Someone yelled, “Hanson, you’re too generous! Is she really worth three grand a month?” Vivian, nestled securely in Anthony’s arm, laughed along with them. I stared at my husband. “Anthony,” I pleaded, my voice raw. “Are you just going to stand there and let them humiliate me and Mia like this?” He watched, his face a mask of indifference, as if I were a complete stranger. When the laughter finally died down, he spoke, his tone cold and impatient. “Julia, stop embarrassing yourself. It’s my son’s birthday. Take your daughter and leave, or I’m calling security.” Mia trembled in my arms, her little hands clutching my dress. She buried her face in my chest, trying to hide from the cruel, laughing faces. “Mommy,” she whispered, her voice choked with fear, “is it true? What they’re saying?” Her question felt like a knife twisting in my heart. Twelve years of marriage, of love and sacrifice, all culminating in this public crucifixion. “No, sweetie. No, it’s not…” I covered her ears, a bitter wave of memories washing over me. How could I even begin to explain? When Anthony was just starting out, we worked out of a cramped, hundred-square-foot office. We couldn’t afford employees, so I did everything—I was the receptionist, the bookkeeper, the sales rep. I swallowed my pride and begged for meetings with every distant relative and old family friend I had, all to help him land clients. I remember the day he signed his first major contract. He was so ecstatic he spun me around in circles, then used his first commission to buy me an expensive dress. I didn’t have the heart to tell him the client was one of my uncle’s oldest friends. As the company grew, and after Mia was born, Anthony insisted I stay home. He’d looked at me with such tenderness. “I’ll take care of you now,” he’d promised. “You’ve worked so hard for me. It’s time for you to rest and enjoy life.” But now… I glanced down at my own dress, a simple thing I’d owned for three years. Then I looked at them. Anthony in his bespoke suit, Vivian draped in designer labels. They were a perfect match, accepting the crowd’s adoration. And me? I was the nanny. No one even questioned it. “Ma’am,” Vivian said, her voice dripping with false sympathy. “I know life is hard, but a child this age understands things. If you have no shame for yourself, at least have some for your daughter.” She pulled a slim, designer wallet from her clutch and fanned out a small stack of hundred-dollar bills. She held the money out to me, her chin high. “I don’t have much cash on me, but take this. Two thousand dollars.” As she leaned in, she whispered so only I could hear, “So what if you met him first, Julia? The one who isn’t loved is always the other woman.” Then, in front of everyone, she let out a theatrical “Oh!” and her fingers went limp. The cash slapped against my face before scattering across the floor around my feet. “Oops,” she said with a smug, unapologetic smile. “Silly me. My hand slipped.” The VP, Hanson, boomed, “Now that’s class! A true lady! See? Generous to a fault!” Anthony shot me a look of pure disgust. “Pick it up,” he commanded. “And get out.” I started to laugh, a broken, hysterical sound. “Two thousand dollars? Is that what you think I’m worth? Anthony, do you have any idea how a startup like yours landed those massive initial contracts?” My voice rose with every word. “Every single penny you’ve spent on her and that bastard son is our marital property. If I want it back, I will take every last cent!” Vivian scoffed. “Wow, you’ve really spun yourself a fantasy, haven’t you? What billionaire romance are you living in? The patriarchy is dead, honey. Time to stop playing the dutiful wife.” But I had hit a nerve with Anthony. His face darkened. “Julia, that’s enough—” SLAP! The sharp crack of my palm against his cheek echoed through the silent room. “You say my name again,” I hissed, “you dare attach one more lie to it, and I will see you in court.” Stunned, Anthony touched his cheek, his eyes flaring with rage. In a flash, he lunged, his hand clamping around my throat. His knuckles turned white as he squeezed. “You think I won’t hit a woman?” he snarled, his face inches from mine. “Don’t push me.” The world began to tunnel. Air became a luxury I couldn’t afford. Black spots danced in my vision as I clawed uselessly at his wrist. Just as I thought I would pass out, Vivian stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “Anthony, darling, she’s not worth it. Don’t let this trash upset you.” He released me. I collapsed to the floor, gasping for breath, tears streaming down my face. In that moment, I saw it in his eyes. He had wanted to kill me. Vivian tenderly caressed the red mark on his cheek and, right there in front of everyone, stood on her toes and kissed him. “There, now. Don’t be angry. It’s Leo’s special day. Let’s not let her ruin it.” Anthony’s expression softened as he wrapped an arm around her waist. Suddenly, the ballroom lights dimmed. A projector flickered on, casting a large image onto a screen. A slideshow had begun. It was Leo. From his first moments in the hospital to his first day of school, a montage of a cherished life. And in every photo, there they were: a happy, smiling family. Anthony and Vivian. My own daughter, Mia, had so few photos with her father. He was always “too busy.” Mia’s and Leo’s birthdays were on the same day. That’s why, for the past seven years—since the year Leo was born—Mia had never seen her father on her birthday. Leo shot Mia a triumphant sneer. “He’s my daddy. Where are your pictures with him?” Mia’s face fell. She turned to me, her voice a tiny, wounded whisper. “Mommy… am I really… a bastard?” I shook my head, my heart shattering. But then the screen showed a series of family vacation photos, and the background of one of them stopped my breath. The deck of a cruise ship, the vast ocean behind them. Anthony and Vivian, their cheeks pressed together in a loving embrace. I knew that ship. It was the luxury cruise I had booked for our fifth wedding anniversary. He must have bought her a ticket, too. Another photo showed them at an amusement park—Bayview City. The date stamp in the corner was the exact same day Anthony had taken Mia and me there. It all clicked into place. The “urgent business meetings” that always seemed to pop up during our family trips. The “last-minute calls” he had to take. My perfect marriage was a lie, riddled with holes I had been too blind to see. While I was still reeling from the shock, Leo suddenly charged at Mia and slapped her hard across the face. “Your mommy hit my daddy!” he shrieked. “So I’m gonna hit you!” Mia’s head snapped to the side, a red handprint already blooming on her cheek. She was taller than Leo, and at that age of fierce pride, her first instinct was to fight back. But Vivian grabbed Mia’s arms, her nails digging into her fragile wrists. “Don’t you dare!” she hissed. “What a little savage! Utterly without breeding!” With Mia restrained, Leo saw his chance. He started kicking and punching her, a flurry of childish, uncontrolled blows. Scratches appeared on her arms. Mia’s eyes filled with tears, but she bit her lip, refusing to cry out. “Stop it!” I screamed, trying to pull Leo off her, but Anthony grabbed my arm, his grip like iron. “It’s just kids roughhousing, Julia. What are you getting so worked up about?” he said, his voice casual. “Leo’s a smart boy. He knows his limits.” “She’s your daughter!” I shrieked, my voice tearing from my throat. “Anthony, she is your flesh and blood! How can you stand there and watch this happen? How can you be so cruel?” He turned his head away, refusing to meet my eyes. His reply was quiet, but his words were daggers. “He’s my son.” Just then, Leo landed a vicious kick to Mia’s stomach. She doubled over, her face going pale with pain. “Mia!” I screamed, my heart seizing in my chest. Mia tried to shield her stomach, but Vivian still had her pinned, leaving her completely defenseless. Emboldened, Leo drew back his foot, aiming for Mia’s already bleeding knee. “ENOUGH!” I finally wrenched myself free from Anthony’s grasp, lunged forward, and shoved Leo away, pulling my daughter into my arms. Mia was trembling uncontrollably, her small hand gripping my dress. “Mommy,” she whimpered, “it hurts so much…” Leo, who had stumbled and hit a table, started wailing. Vivian rushed to his side, frantic. “My baby! My precious boy! Leo is going to inherit a multi-million-dollar corporation! If you’ve hurt him, you’ll never be able to pay for it!” Seeing them in a heap of tears, Anthony raised his hand, his face contorted with rage. “Julia, you vicious bitch!” The blow never landed. The ballroom doors swung open. A man in a sharp black jacket strode in, flanked by an assistant carrying a briefcase. He had an air of quiet authority, a powerful presence that instantly silenced the room. Hanson, the VP who had insulted me, immediately transformed into a fawning sycophant, scrambling to greet the newcomer. “Commissioner Dong! What an honor! Your presence truly graces us!” He turned to Anthony, beaming. “Anthony, this is the man I’m always telling you about! The new commissioner for the state!” Anthony stared, his face draining of all color. “Father… in-law?” I clutched my injured daughter, looked at that strong, familiar face, and the dam finally broke. “Dad…” I choked out.

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My author girlfriend, Sonia, in another fit of writer’s block, swept the dinner I’d handmade for her off the table. Just then, text floated into my vision, shimmering like a heat haze: 【She regretted it the moment she did it. Look at the guilt in her eyes… my heart is breaking.】 【If he just goes and hugs her now, she’ll be so moved.】 Sonia… felt guilty? Moved by me? Mustering my courage, I gently brushed my fingers against hers. “It’s okay. Do you want me to make you something else?” Her eyes, when they met mine, were chips of ice. “What, are you addicted to playing maid for me, you useless trash? Can’t you see I’m pissed off right now? Get lost!” She shoved me away with her foot. Staring at the palm of my hand, now pierced by shards of broken porcelain, a profound sense of exhaustion washed over me. This one-man show… I was tired of it. … I said nothing, just quietly retrieved the first-aid kit and began bandaging my hand. 【You can see the pain in her eyes, she’s heartbroken for him…】 【Just give in already! She’ll definitely apologize and help you with that cut!】 【She’s a born loner, bad at communicating. Can’t this useless boyfriend at least open his mouth?】 I glanced at Sonia. She still wore that same cold expression, as if the world owed her a million dollars. There wasn’t a hint of concern in her face. It was laughable that I’d actually believed the floating comments. Just as my heart was turning to stone, Sonia pushed her laptop towards me. “It won’t turn on. Take a look.” This was her usual way of making peace—she never apologized directly. But this time, I wasn’t going to play along. I pushed the laptop back. “I’m your maid, not your IT guy. Find someone else.” 【This guy is such a jerk! She’s already extending an olive branch, what’s his problem?】 【A genius author is willing to humble herself for him, and he’s still not satisfied? I hope she dumps this loser!】 She bit her lip, then deliberately stepped barefoot into the broken porcelain on the floor. “There,” she said, her voice tight. “Can you forgive me now?” My breath hitched. I rushed forward, sweeping her up into my arms to clean the wound. “Sonia! Are you insane?” Seeing her hurt, I couldn’t help it. My heart still ached for her despite myself. Ignoring the stream of digital abuse floating in the air, I held her close. That night, her protégé, Cox, sent me a text. She was drunk, he said. I needed to come pick her up. I rushed to the private room at the bar, only to find Sonia perfectly sober, complaining to her friends about me, her “free live-in maid.” Her friends laughed, asking her to find them one, too. Sonia shook her head, her tone serious. “You couldn’t.” A wave of relief washed over me. “You could never find one that pathetic!” she crowed. “Honestly, whenever I’m mad, all I have to do is play the victim, and he comes crawling right back.” The comments exploded. 【She’s so good to him! She’s willing to let a loser like him be her personal assistant just to keep him by her side!】 【She’s just saying that! She was bragging about how great he was at first, then got scared her friends would try to steal him, so she started putting him down!】 I felt none of the love the comments were deciphering. I just felt like a joke. A chill ran through me, rooting me to the spot. It wasn’t until I met Cox’s mocking gaze that I snapped out of it and pushed the door open. Sonia tensed when she saw me. “You heard that?” I nodded, and she said, with a dismissive wave, “It was just a joke. Don’t take it seriously.” The last flicker of hope in my heart died. She was a genius author, clueless about everything outside of writing. To take care of her, I had given up everything. And in return, I was her free maid, the punchline to a joke for her friends’ amusement. A bitter laugh escaped me. “Was it really just a joke, Sonia? Or was it what you truly think?” She said nothing, her jaw tight as if holding something back. 【He’s being such an ass. She already explained, why is he still throwing a fit!】 【She’s about to cry… Can we get a new main character, someone more considerate?】 【Yeah, Cox seems pretty nice.】 Cox, as if summoned by the comments, stormed over and grabbed my collar. “You’re going too far, man! I told you she was out with us tonight. You didn’t have to come here and check up on her!” Rage flared in my chest. I swung my fist, connecting squarely with his jaw. “You’re the one who—” “Enough!” Before I could finish, Sonia threw her arms out, shielding Cox with her body. “This is between us! Don’t drag other people into it!” I stepped toward her instinctively. “He’s the one trying to cause trouble!” She thought I was going to hurt her precious protégé. She shoved me hard, sending me stumbling to the floor. Then she grabbed the thermos of soup I’d brought for her and hurled it at me. “Don’t you dare touch him!” Stars exploded behind my eyes. I took a deep, shuddering breath and asked her one last time, “Are you really choosing to attack me, for him?” Her hands were clenched into fists. She said nothing. 【She was clearly just trying to stop a fight from breaking out! How can he be mad about that?】 【I feel so bad for her… no good deed goes unpunished!】 Was that really it? Just then, Cox dropped to his knees in front of me. Facing away from the others, a sly grin spread across his face, but his voice was thick with tears. “I’m so sorry! This is all my fault for meddling!” Sonia gently helped him up. “It’s not your fault. You don’t have to apologize.” Once he was on his feet, she pointed a finger at me, her voice ringing with fury. “He’s the one who should be apologizing!” The woman who had just spoken so softly to her protégé was now looking at me with absolute contempt. “Apologize!” she demanded. “If you don’t, we’re breaking up.” I was frozen. She was going to break up with me over another man. 【Don’t do it! She doesn’t mean it!】 【Just say you’re sorry! She’ll forgive you if you just apologize!】 There it was again. The comments, always using her supposed hidden love to emotionally blackmail me. I was always the one apologizing. This time, I was done. Looking at Sonia’s cold, expectant face, I gave a calm nod. “Fine. Let’s break up.” Her breath hitched. She shook her head slightly, as if in disbelief. I took the other container out of the insulated bag I’d brought. “Drinking on an empty stomach is bad for you,” I said, holding it out. “I made you a late-night snack.” A smug smile touched her lips, a look that said, I knew it. One of her friends whispered, “Jeez, I thought he was actually going to break up with her. He just came crawling back again.” “Who else would want a loser like him?” Sonia looked triumphant as she reached for the container. “Hmph. Fine, I forgive you this time. But next time, don’t you dare—” Just as her fingers were about to touch it, I pulled my hand back. Right in front of her, I tipped the contents directly into the trash can. “I figured you wouldn’t need food made by a useless maid.” She stomped her foot in fury. “Fine! Be a dog with some pride, then! Once you’re gone, don’t you dare come back!” As I walked away, I heard one of her friends ask, “Shit, you think he’s really not coming back this time?” Sonia’s voice was nonchalant. “Don’t worry. He’ll come crawling back within three days. A parasite like him… how could he ever leave me?” After I left, I called my father. “Well, well. Decided you can spare a moment for your old man? Wasn’t it you who cut off the family for that woman?” “Dad,” I said, my voice cracking despite myself as the weight of my wasted years hit me. “I was wrong.” I took a deep breath, the decision finally solidifying. “Dad, I’ll do it. I’ll agree to the alliance with the Langleys.” My father sighed on the other end of the line. “Good. It’s not too late for you to wake up. Isabelle is a good girl. Don’t you dare fail her.” After hanging up, I started packing my things. I was struck by how little I actually owned in this apartment. I used to buy little trinkets to decorate the place, telling myself it was to make it feel more like a home. In reality, it was a desperate attempt to assert my own existence here. In the eyes of her friends, I was just a roommate they could ignore. Gradually, my little decorations had filled every corner. Until the day Cox stayed over and casually remarked, “Sonia, your taste is terrible.” The next day, she threw all of my things out, telling me never to buy such useless junk again. Later, she asked me why all the gifts she’d given me had disappeared, wondering if I was so broke that I’d secretly sold them. I just nodded and took the blame, never telling her she was the one who had thrown them all away. As I was about to leave, the door opened, and I came face to face with Sonia. Cox was right behind her. A smirk played on her lips. “What’s this? Weren’t you breaking up with me? Why are you still here, clinging to my apartment like a stray?” I ignored them and tried to push my suitcase past. But Sonia grabbed the handle, blocking my way. “Stop. Open the suitcase. I need to check it.” I froze. This Sonia felt like a stranger. “What do you mean? You think I’m a thief?” 【He’s so dense! She obviously doesn’t want him to leave! This is her way of keeping him there!】 【She even brought Cox back to apologize, and this guy doesn’t appreciate it at all…】 Keeping me here? Apologizing? I shook my head, a bitter taste in my mouth. The scorn in her eyes said it all. They opened the suitcase and tore through my belongings, turning everything upside down. “Are you done?” I asked, my voice cold. Just then, Cox pulled out a dress shirt from the bottom of the case. “Sonia, look at this…” Sonia glanced at it, and then her hand cracked across my face. “I was wondering where this shirt went! So you’re the one who stole it!” I held my cheek, stunned and hurt. “What are you talking about? You gave that to me for my birthday!” Sonia let out a sharp, derisive laugh. “Are you deaf? I just told you to try it on, not that it was yours!” A wave of sadness washed over me. “And I thought it was the first real gift you’d ever given me.” Meeting Cox’s mocking gaze, I answered calmly, “If it’s yours, then you can have it back.” Just like I’m giving you back, I thought. But my answer didn’t satisfy her. She threw the shirt in my face. “Have it back? It’s already filthy. How can I take it back?” “Filthy?” I started to explain. “I’ve never even worn it—” Her eyes were filled with disgust. “Anything you touch is filthy, you useless waste of space.” 【This guy is so pathetic. He steals a gift and makes her clean up his mess.】 【Even I understood that. She just meant that Cox is a germaphobe.】 While I was still processing the floating comments, Cox suddenly lunged forward and dumped the entire contents of my suitcase onto the floor. “Sonia, let me help you check if he stole anything else!” And then he found it. His eyes lit up when he saw the small, velvet ring box. He presented it to Sonia like a prize. She stomped her foot. “So you really are addicted to stealing!” She snatched the box and ripped it open, only to freeze when she saw the 10-carat diamond ring inside. Then she scoffed. “A loser like you could afford a diamond ring? Where did you steal this from?” My hands trembled at my sides. But I managed to keep my voice steady. “I bought that with my own savings. It’s an engagement ring. I was planning to propose to you tomorrow night, at seven, at the International Grand Hotel.” She gave me a suspicious look. “Is it secondhand? Or fake?” I never imagined that her first reaction to an engagement ring would be that. I was shaking with rage. “Are we done here?” I bit out. She grunted, then nodded with a look of satisfaction, as if I had finally learned my place. She kicked my scattered belongings toward me. “Well, if you’re going to propose, then stop with this drama. Clean up the house like a good boy and wait for me to come home for dinner. I’m going with Cox to get you a proper gift.” 【She’s all talk! She’s obviously going to get him an engagement gift!】 【This loser is finally acting like a human being. It’s a good thing Sonia was willing to sleep at Cox’s last night just to give him some space to cool down.】 【She was crying on Cox’s shoulder all night… I’m so glad her suffering is finally over.】 Reading the scrolling text, I couldn’t help but laugh, a hollow, bitter sound. So she had been cheating on me all along. And I, like a fool, had been played by both her and these phantom words of love. I turned away, not wanting her to see the devastation on my face. She didn’t even glance at me. She just linked her arm through Cox’s and started to leave. Before she closed the door, she reminded me to buy extra groceries. “Cox is staying for dinner tonight. Consider it your apology to him.” As if I were truly her maid, and not the man who loved her. Using the last ounce of strength I had, I said, “Sonia, I’m done.” She didn’t even pause. The only reply was the slam of the door.

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1 My mother-in-law had been accidentally poisoned. She was knocking on death’s door, and I, the only toxicologist in the city who could save her, was her last hope. I had just hung up the phone and was about to leave when my husband, Aiden, blocked my path. “Today’s the grand opening of Nina’s Terror Dome,” he said, his voice laced with annoyance. “If you take off, who’s going to play the penniless NPC?” My face hardened. “The golden window for the antidote is thirty minutes. One second late, and your mother could die.” Aiden just rolled his eyes. “If your janitor mom kicks the bucket, she kicks the bucket. I’ll throw some extra cash at her funeral, big deal. But if you dare cause a scene today, I’ll ruin you.” His female bestie, Nina, draped herself over him with a playful laugh. “What’s the hurry, Dia? Itching to sneak out and meet some other guy? Look at that long face, longer than when you’re getting off. Right, my big boy?” I almost laughed at their shamelessness. It clicked. Aiden thought the one dying was my mother. “Fine,” I said, my voice eerily calm as I put the case containing the serum back down. “I won’t go.” Aiden blinked, clearly taken aback. He probably expected me to burst into tears, to beg him, or to make a desperate run for the door. He sized me up, a frown creasing his brow. “Scared, are you? Good. Nina’s grand opening is a hell of a lot more important than your worthless mother.” Nina giggled, playfully punching his chest. “See? I told you my big boy knows how to train a woman. I bet you broke her in bed to make her this obedient. That new position you tried on me last time had my legs sore for three days!” They collapsed into a fit of laughter, grabbing at each other. I cleared my throat. Aiden’s patience snapped. “What now, Dia? Just let your filthy, foul-smelling mother die. The stench of piss and shit just clings to her.” He sneered. “Did she poison herself digging through another dumpster for dinner? Honestly, why would you even go? To collect her corpse? Just flush it down a sewer and be done with it.” I had always told myself that Aiden was just being influenced by Nina, this toxic “one of the guys” type of woman. That his cruelty was a temporary lapse in judgment. But I never imagined he would think it was my mother who was dying. And that my mother’s life, in his eyes, was worth less than the grand opening of Nina’s tacky haunted house. The disgust was suffocating. I pulled out a chair and sat down. “Fine. I’m not leaving. Your good time is what’s most important. What’s a life in comparison?” Aiden stared for a second, the contempt in his eyes deepening. “Glad you know your place. So you finally admit your stinking mother’s life is cheap.” Nina cackled, hanging off Aiden like a vine. “It’s for the best you see reality, Dia. I bet your mom is just trying to scam some money before she croaks. Were you planning to rush over and grab your cut before she stopped breathing?” Aiden basked in her attention, letting her hands roam over his body. “Let me tell you something, Dia. I invested thirty million dollars in this Terror Dome. It’s my gift to Nina. If you dare ruin our mood, I won’t just let your mother die. I’ll make sure your entire family joins her.” Just then, Aiden’s phone rang. He answered on speaker, his voice dripping with irritation. “Is this Mr. Blackwood? Your mother is fading fast! If Dr. Hayes doesn’t get here with the serum, there’s nothing more we can do!” That’s when Aiden exploded. He lunged at me, grabbing my arm so violently that the serum case I was holding clattered to the floor. “Don’t you dare compare that old hag to my mother!” he roared into the phone. “If she’s going to die, tell her to get on with it! Call and harass me again, and I’ll burn your damn hospital to the ground!” He slammed the phone down and, in a fit of rage, brought his heel down on the serum case. The delicate vial inside shattered, the sound echoing the final snap of my mother-in-law’s lifeline. To create that single, tiny vial, my team had spent three years locked in a lab. We’d failed over a thousand times, burning through enough funding to buy ten of his ridiculous theme parks. That was the only finished dose in existence. Aiden, however, looked triumphant. “Just let your broke-ass mom rot and stink up the hospital,” he sneered. “If it weren’t for that pretty face and the fact that you put out in bed, do you think you would have ever married into the Blackwood family?” Nina stood on her toes and kissed his chin. “Isn’t it a good thing your mom’s dead, Dia? Now we won’t have to deal with her constantly trying to leech off us. Last time, she asked me to find her a job sweeping a park, said she could collect an extra twenty bottles a day! Can you believe it? So pathetic!” I had to laugh. The annual interest from my mother’s trust fund alone could buy out the Blackwood family ten times over. Who the hell did they think they were? The Blackwood business was a sinking ship I had secretly bailed out because I felt sorry for him. Ever since I was kidnapped as a child, the resulting trauma had made my mother insist I keep my identity a secret. And here he was, using my money to buy gifts for Nina while humiliating me for my supposed poverty. The audacity was breathtaking. “Whether you want to save a dying person is your business,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “But if you dare insult my mother again, don’t blame me for what happens next.” Aiden’s face twisted in a sneer. “Are you threatening me? Don’t want to collect your mother’s corpse anymore? I’ll have you know, her dying today is a sacrifice to bless the opening of Nina’s Terror Dome!” His friends chimed in. “Yeah, Ryan! The park opens tonight! We still haven’t tested that new extreme horror theme.” Aiden glanced at me, then waved at his bodyguards. “Since you’re so eager to run your mouth, you can be Nina’s test subject!” I fought, but they were too strong, pinning me to an operating table in a room designed to look like a biohazard lab. Nina stood over me, holding a massive, prop syringe. “Welcome to my laboratory of horrors!” she announced to the room. “Today, we will be conducting a thrilling live experiment!” The crowd roared with laughter. “Damn, this is good! The effects are amazing. I’m gonna live-stream this; it’ll create a huge buzz for tonight’s opening.” Just then, my phone, still in my jacket pocket, began to ring incessantly. Annoyed at the interruption, Aiden snatched it. His eyes fell on the caller ID: “Chairman Hayes.” With a roar of fury, he smashed the phone against my head. “You’ve got some nerve, Dia! Already found yourself a sugar daddy!” Nina poked him in the chest. “A Chairman, huh? You’re really something, Dia. Stringing my big boy along while you’re hooking up with some old geezer on the side?” Her voice turned venomous. “I bet you killed your own mother on purpose, just to scam some cash so you could run off with your new rich boyfriend!” As she spoke, she drew a viscous, unnerving liquid from a beaker into the syringe. “Let me teach you a lesson, you shameless whore.” Aiden’s eyes gleamed with excitement. “Great idea, Nina! Later, we’ll strip her naked and lock her in a cage for all the visitors to see!” Hearing this, Nina lunged, aiming the needle straight for my neck. But the escape artist training from my childhood kidnapping hadn’t faded. In a fluid motion, I broke the rope bindings and twisted, redirecting the syringe and plunging it deep into the back of her hand. “AHH!” Nina’s scream was bloodcurdling. The skin on her hand began to corrode, sizzling as white smoke rose from it. “My hand! My hand!” she shrieked in terror. Her friends, who had been laughing moments before, backed away in horror. “What the hell? I thought that was a prop!” “Is… is that real acid?” Panic seized Aiden. He rushed to Nina, cradling her and kissing her rotting hand, before turning on me and slapping me across the face. “You bitch, Dia! You dare hurt Nina! If you don’t get on your knees and beg for her forgiveness right now, I swear I’ll make sure they never even find your mother’s ashes!” At that moment, a commotion erupted at the entrance. “Dr. Hayes! We tried calling you a dozen times! We had to use your phone’s GPS to find you!” Several paramedics rushed in, their faces grim. “The patient was still holding on, waiting for your serum, but on the way here…” One of them sighed heavily. “She’s gone. We’ve brought the body for the family. You should start making arrangements.” Aiden looked disgusted. “God, Dia, your mother is relentless even in death.” Nina, her face a mask of pain and hate, screamed, “They brought the corpse here? Well, isn’t that a grand opening gift! A special guest of honor for the premiere!” Her twisted joke broke the tension, and the friends started laughing again. “Aiden, you’re a genius! A real corpse as a prop for opening night? The publicity will be insane!” “It does stink a bit, though. What is that smell?” Aiden pinched his nose, then kicked the gurney with disgust. “Get this unlucky trash out of here! Can’t even die in peace!” The body rolled off the gurney and hit the floor with a sickening thud. The face was swollen and purple, completely unrecognizable. But Aiden had found a new source of amusement. He grabbed my hair and forced my face down toward the corpse on the floor. “Dia, if you get on your knees right now and bark like a dog to apologize to Nina, I might consider sparing your mother’s remains. Otherwise, she’s going to be the Terror Dome’s first real ghost!” The pain in my scalp was excruciating. But all I could feel was a strange, dark amusement at the scene unfolding before me. I slapped his hand away. “You’re the one who’s so good at acting like an animal. Why don’t you show me? Let’s hear what a pair of dogs in heat sound like.” Aiden’s face contorted with rage. “You dare talk back to me, you bitch!” He lifted his foot and brought it down hard, stomping on the head of the corpse. I just smiled. “Aiden, I only ever said ‘my mother’ was poisoned and dying.” “What if,” I continued, my voice sweet as poison, “the head under your foot isn’t my mother’s… but yours?” He threw his head back and roared with laughter. “My mother? Dia, has grief finally broken your brain? My mom is on vacation in Europe. You’re wishing death on her now?” He sneered. “Let me tell you, the entire world could die before my mother does. Comparing your dumpster-diving, filthy old hag to my mother is like comparing heaven and hell.” Nina clutched her blackening hand, her eyes spitting venom. “Don’t waste your breath on her, big boy! She’s doing it on purpose! Look what this bitch did to my hand! Chop up her dead mom! Do it now!” Aiden’s eyes turned murderous. He grabbed a fire axe from a wall display and raised it over the body. “Whatever my precious Nina wants, she gets. These limbs will look great in the haunted house tonight. Give the guests a touch of realism!” The heavy, wet thud of the axe echoed through the room, over and over. But I just laughed. Aiden was truly, stupendously idiotic. I couldn’t wait to see his face when he found out whose body he was currently dismembering. He was still gloating. “How about that, Dia? This is your mother’s final contribution to our Terror Dome. You should be thanking me.” “I’ll give you one last chance. Get on your knees, chop off the hand that hurt Nina, and I’ll let you collect what’s left of your mother.” He reached for me. I grabbed a heavy iron skillet from a nearby prop table and swung it with all my might into his face. The impact sent him staggering backward, blood gushing from his nose. Everyone froze, stunned into silence. Nina pointed a trembling, corroded finger at me. “You hit my big boy! Get her! Cut off her hands and feet!” The bodyguards started to move, but Aiden wobbled back to his feet. He wiped the blood from his face, his eyes glowing with a terrifying, manic light. “Good. Very good,” he hissed. “It seems I’ve been too kind to you. You’ve forgotten what you are.” He grabbed the severed head of the corpse and began dragging it toward the back courtyard. The guards seized me, forcing me to follow. In the courtyard was a massive industrial shredder. “Dia,” Aiden snarled, his voice a low growl, “since you refuse to learn your lesson, you can watch your mother get turned into pulp!” He switched on the machine. With a triumphant roar, he tossed the dismembered body parts into the grinder. The machine roared to life, a gruesome fountain of blood and viscera spraying everywhere. Aiden stood beside it, drenched in the gory mess. He even spread his arms wide, reveling in it. “HAHAHA! DO YOU SEE THAT, DIA? THAT’S YOUR MOTHER’S FINAL FATE! GROUND TO A PASTE! YOU WON’T EVEN BE ABLE TO COLLECT HER ASHES!” He turned his head, his crimson eyes locking onto me. “Now, it’s your turn!” Just as he raised the axe and charged toward me, the courtyard gates burst open. My father-in-law rushed in, his face pale with urgency. He swung his cane, cracking it across Aiden’s face. “Your mother is dying, and you’re stopping Dia from saving her?” he screamed, his voice breaking. “Where is her body? The hospital said they delivered the body! Where is it?”

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It all started because I walked in on them. Mike Connolly—the city’s most powerful CEO—and Isabella Thorne, his first love, fucking wildly in a stairwell. The next day, she stood before him with red-rimmed eyes, accusing me of spreading vicious rumors about her, claiming she’d nearly slit her wrists from the shame. But in that critical moment, Mike stood firmly by my side. He even weathered the storm of public opinion to give me the wedding of my dreams. On our wedding night, however, he had me bound and taken to international waters, where he auctioned off my virginity to the highest bidder. I was tortured to death, my body posed in grotesque positions and filmed for a series of naked videos. Isabella then used an AI deepfake to plaster her own face over mine in the footage, weeping to Mike that I had thrown her to a pack of wolves. Fury coiled in his gut, Mike came looking for me, only to find my sister, Renee, cleaning up the makeshift memorial in our family home. His face was a mask of ice. “Where is Emily Monroe? Tell her to get her ass out here.” Renee gave a numb, cold laugh. “My sister’s already in the ground, Mike. Are you planning on joining her?” 1 The words had barely left her lips when Mike’s hand cracked across her face, his rage boiling over. “Renee Monroe, you’re a loyal dog to the very end. You’d even say your sister is dead just to protect her.” He snarled, his voice a low growl. “I’m telling you, if Emily doesn’t get out here and apologize to Isabella this instant, I don’t care if she is dead. I will personally dig up her corpse and grind her bones to dust.” His tone was venomous, as if he longed to devour my flesh and drink my blood. My sister smiled, a desolate and mocking expression. “Then you’re doomed to disappointment, brother-in-law. You will never see my sister again in this lifetime.” Mike’s face turned ashen. He lunged forward, his fingers wrapping around Renee’s throat as he hissed, demanding to know where I was. She said nothing, just stared at him, her gaze slowly tracing the lines of his face, her swollen cheek a canvas of pure contempt. Seeing her defiance, Mike let out a cold chuckle and released her. “Fine. You won’t talk. Since you’re so determined to shield Emily, don’t blame me for what comes next.” With a sharp wave of his hand, a flood of black-suited bodyguards poured into the house, their presence instantly shrinking the spacious living room. Mike’s gaze swept disdainfully across the scene—the floor littered with white flowers, memorial cards, and the ash from burnt candles. In the center of the room, a large memorial portrait of me still hung on the wall. “Trash it,” he commanded. A symphony of destruction erupted. Glass shattering, wood splintering. Renee’s face went white with horror. “No!” she screamed, her voice tearing from her throat. Her eyes, blazing with grief, fixed on Mike. “Mike, she was just buried! How can you desecrate her memorial? Wasn’t killing her enough for you? Do you have to torment her even in death?” A cruel smirk played on Mike’s lips. “I told you. I want her to come out and apologize to Isabella. If she won’t, this is the only way.” He checked his watch. “I’ll give you three minutes, Renee. If Emily isn’t here in three minutes, breaking things will be the least of your worries.” Renee stared at him, disbelief warring with horror on her face, her chest heaving. She threw herself at the bodyguards, a moth trying to stop a hurricane, forced to watch as they ripped our living room to shreds. CRASH. The sound of the family portrait hitting the floor echoed off the walls. She froze, her eyes fixed on the shattered glass. Tears streamed down her face as she stumbled forward and dropped to her knees, desperately trying to shield the broken frame. Shards of glass bit into her palms, but she didn’t seem to notice the pain. Mike glanced impatiently at his Rolex. Three minutes were up. His patience had run out. “Find her,” he ordered, his voice devoid of warmth. “I want her alive, or I want her body. Tear this house apart if you have to, but bring Emily Monroe to me.” His men scattered, beginning their ruthless search. “No!” Renee cried, her voice raw with desperation. “Mike, please, my parents are resting upstairs! You can’t do this! Tell them to stop! My sister is really dead! She’s been buried!” She scrambled to her feet, grabbing his pant leg. “My parents were devastated by her death. They can’t take any more of this. Mike… brother-in-law… I’m begging you. For the love of God, have mercy. Stop them.” She knelt before him, pleading, but her words fell on deaf ears. “I told you,” he said coldly, “I only want Emily. My patience is wearing thin. If she doesn’t show herself, I can’t guarantee what I might do.” He then raised his voice, letting it carry through the house. “Emily Monroe, I know you’re in here! Listen to me! If you come out and apologize to Isabella like a good girl, I might let you continue being Mrs. Connolly. But if you insist on being stubborn… you know what I’m capable of.” Yes, I was there. But only as a wisp of a soul. Mike didn’t know. I had died a month ago, at that godforsaken auction. And as for being Mrs. Connolly? Even if I were alive, I wouldn’t want it anymore. 2 The bodyguards tore through the house, their search fruitless. They didn’t find me, but they did wake my parents. They stumbled down the stairs, their eyes widening at the wreckage. My father, his face contorted with rage, swung a fist at Mike. “Mike! Wasn’t it enough that you killed my daughter? Now you dare to come here and cause this scene? You heartless bastard, why don’t you just die?” Before the punch could land, Mike caught his wrist, twisting it with brutal efficiency. A sickening crack echoed through the room, and my father’s face went pale. Mike shoved him away with cold indifference. “You old fool. You’re the heartless one, cursing your own daughter.” My father crumpled to the floor, his arm bent at an unnatural angle. My mother screamed in terror and launched herself at Mike, a wild animal protecting her young, only to be kicked to the ground. My own non-existent heart seized. I rushed to help her, but my hands passed straight through her body. Renee’s broken sobs filled the air. “Mike, my father nearly died helping your family years ago! How can you repay his kindness with such cruelty?” For a moment, Mike froze. Years ago, the Connolly family had been targeted by rivals, pushed to the brink of bankruptcy. My father, to help them through the crisis, had poured most of our company’s capital into the Connolly Corporation. In doing so, he became a target himself, narrowly escaping several staged car accidents. It was only after the Connollys regained their power that the threat to my father subsided. A flicker of guilt crossed Mike’s face. He took a half-step forward, but just then, a figure rushed in from outside. “Mike, did you find Emily?” Isabella Thorne cried, her face pale and tear-streaked. “That video… it’s gone viral. People are harassing me, calling me… I’m so scared.” Mike’s expression softened instantly, all thoughts of guilt vanishing as he pulled her into a protective embrace. His face hardened once more. “I’m giving you one last chance,” he growled at my family. “Tell me where Emily is.” Renee just wept, her voice hollow. “I told you, she’s been buried. You just won’t believe me.” Mike scoffed. “I only auctioned off her first time. Is she really so fragile that one night with a man would kill her?” He sneered. “Since you all insist on bringing this suffering upon yourselves, why should I hold back?” A bitter laugh escaped my spectral form. Just her first time. He had no idea what I had endured that night. He had his men bring in several vicious attack dogs and then forced my parents and Renee into separate iron cages. I stared in horror, my ghostly heart pounding. The dogs snarled, their eyes glowing with feral hunger as they circled the cages. No! I shook my head, screaming until my soul felt raw. But no one could hear me. I could only watch as the dogs crept closer and closer to the cages. Renee’s face was as white as a sheet. She gripped the iron bars, her voice a shredded scream. “Mike, you’re insane! Don’t hurt my parents! I’m begging you, please! My sister is dead! I’m not lying to you! I swear I’m not!” “She’s buried in Evergreen Memorial Park!” she shrieked. “Go and see for yourself! You’ll know I’m telling the truth! Just go!” Ignoring her pleas, a bodyguard opened my father’s cage. The dogs, starved and frenzied, lunged. A chorus of horrific screams and growls filled the living room. One of the dogs tore a chunk of flesh from my father’s thigh. Blood gushed from the wound, and his agonized cries pierced the air, an assault on everyone’s eardrums. My mother’s pupils constricted. She clapped her hands over her ears, shrieking in terror, curling into a tight ball against the bars of her cage, muttering over and over. “She’s dead… she’s dead… she’s dead…” Suddenly, she scrambled to the edge of the cage and screamed at Mike, her voice cracking with madness. “She’s dead! DEAD! You killed my daughter!” Mike’s dark eyes narrowed, his gaze locking onto my mother with pure fury. A moment later, a chilling, mirthless smile spread across his face. “Emily once told me that liars have to swallow a thousand needles,” he said, his voice deceptively calm. “Since the whole Monroe family seems to love lying, I’ll teach you all a lesson today.” So he remembered. He still remembered our past. Back when we were in love, he’d been hospitalized for two weeks and had hidden it from me. When I found out, I was furious. I’d threatened him, half-joking, that if he ever lied to me again, I’d make him swallow a thousand needles. He’d pretended to be terrified, swearing he would never deceive me again. I never imagined those careless words would come back to haunt my family. 3 The long, silver needles glinted under the lights. I surged forward, trying to snatch them from the bodyguard’s hand, but my form passed right through him. One guard grabbed my mother’s hair, while another dislocated her jaw. I screamed in helpless rage, forced to watch as they shoved needle after needle down her throat. Blood bubbled from her lips. Guttural, choking sounds were the only noises she could make, her face a mask of unimaginable agony. My heart felt like it was being torn apart. I regretted ever meeting Mike Connolly, ever falling in love with him. I threw myself at him, punching and kicking his form, screaming his name, trying to snap him out of his madness. A sudden, unnatural chill swept over him. Mike frowned, instinctively reaching out a hand, but he grasped nothing but air. He looked at the gruesome scene before him, and for the first time, a flicker of unease stirred in his gut. He called for them to stop. The dogs were led away. My father lay in a heap on the floor, barely breathing, his body a canvas of blood and torn flesh. In some places, bone was visible. My mother’s mouth was a gaping, bloody wound, her eyes crimson, her face smeared with gore. Mike watched it all, his expression unreadable. “Even now,” he asked coldly, “you’re still protecting Emily?” “She did a disgusting thing, and all I’m asking for is an apology. I don’t want her life. Is it really worth all this? Tell me, where is she?” Renee, her face a deathly gray, just repeated the same numb words. That I was dead. That I was buried in Evergreen Memorial Park. Her words ignited Mike’s fury once again. “Renee Monroe, you’d rather watch your parents die than give up that bitch, wouldn’t you?” he spat. “Fine. Truly fine. You Monroe women… you’re all venomous snakes.” Isabella, hiding behind Mike, flashed a triumphant smirk before wrapping her arms around him, her voice dripping with feigned concern. “Mike, I just wanted Emily to clear things up. It’s not Uncle and Auntie’s fault, and it’s certainly not Renee’s.” She sighed dramatically. “It’s my fault. I never should have come back and disrupted your life with Emily.” “Since she won’t help me, then let it be. The video has been shared millions of times anyway. If I can’t live here, I’ll just go abroad. I’ll leave and never come back.” She dabbed at her eyes, and as she moved her hand, fresh scars on her wrist came into view. Mike’s pupils contracted. He seized her wrist. “You did it again? Isabella, I told you, don’t punish yourself for other people’s mistakes! Why won’t you listen?” “If you really died,” he said, his voice tight with emotion, “what would I do? I can’t bear to lose you again.” Isabella pulled her hand away, a bitter smile on her face. “But I can’t control it, Mike. Everyone knows I’m… soiled. I don’t want to live every day with people fantasizing about me, hearing their filthy words, being pointed at on the street.” “I’m so scared,” she sobbed. “I don’t understand why Emily would do this to me. Spreading rumors is one thing, I can explain, I can endure it. But why did she have to hire men to violate me? And why film it and post it online, so I can never hold my head up again? How is that any different from killing me?” With a cry, Isabella lunged toward the wall. Panic seized Mike. He moved in a blur, catching her around the waist. “Don’t!” he pleaded, his voice trembling. “Isabella, don’t do this. I’ll make Emily clear your name. None of it is true. I’m begging you, just calm down.” She collapsed in his arms, weeping uncontrollably. The spectacle was too much for Renee. She knew Isabella’s true colors, knew how she had framed me time and again. Gripping the bars of her cage, she screamed, “Isabella Thorne, stop your act! My sister never hurt you! You’re the one who set her up, over and over! All she did was walk in on you screwing some other man, and for that, you wanted her dead! You’re a monster, and you will get what you deserve!” Mike’s face darkened with rage. He slapped Renee hard across the face, then grabbed a fistful of her hair, shoving his phone in her face. “You say Isabella framed her? Renee Monroe, open your damn eyes and look! Does this look like a frame job?” Renee’s eyes widened in stunned disbelief as she stared at the screen. A cold dread crept into my own soul. I had a sickening feeling I knew what it was, but seeing it still sent a spear of ice through my heart. How could this be… 4 In the video, Isabella Thorne was surrounded by several men, the scene a graphic depiction of sexual assault. But it was me. I was the one who had lived through that nightmare. It was Mike who, on our wedding night, had me taken to the open sea and auctioned me off. I couldn’t fight, couldn’t escape. In the end, my body was dumped into the ocean. I felt like I was trapped in a block of ice. Why? Why, even after I was dead, couldn’t Isabella just leave me alone? Renee shook her head, refusing to believe it. “No. This has to be fake. My sister would never do something like this. That bitch Isabella is lying.” Her eyes blazed with hatred. “Mike, you’re blind and heartless, and you will pay for this. You’re going to hell.” Mike’s face was a thundercloud. He yanked her hair, striking her again and again. “You dare call Isabella a bitch? Who’s the real bitch? Your sister! Your sister is the venomous, cold-hearted bitch!” He sneered. “You two sisters are quite a pair. Since you’re so determined to protect her, you can pay her debt.” My heart leaped into my throat. I had a terrible premonition. I spun in frantic circles, wanting to scream at Renee to just apologize, to not provoke him. A cornered Mike was capable of anything. But Renee just stared back at him with a mocking gaze, her swollen face devoid of life, as if nothing mattered anymore. Mike waved his hand dismissively. His bodyguards immediately dragged Renee from the cage. His smile was chilling. “She’s all yours. Make sure you get it on video. Every angle. Then upload it online. Let’s see how long Emily can stay hidden then. How dare she let her own sister take the fall for her crimes?” I felt like I’d been struck by lightning. My mind went blank. Seeing the dead look in my sister’s eyes, I collapsed at Mike’s feet, weeping and begging him to spare her. But no one heard my desperate cries. I threw myself over Renee, trying to shield her with my ghostly form, but countless hands passed right through me to grope and tear at her clothes. A wave of nausea washed over me, the disgusting touches and vulgar whispers dragging me back to that horrific night on the boat. My soul turned to ash. I watched the sneer on Mike’s face, the phony protests from Isabella, and I wished with every fiber of my being that I could become a vengeful spirit and drag them both to hell. Just then, a bodyguard rushed in, whispering something urgently in Mike’s ear.

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For five years, I dedicated myself to saving Alberto Morris, trying to rewrite the tragic ending where he dies for the story’s heroine. But when she was in danger again, he didn’t hesitate for a second to throw his life away for her. He stopped fighting, letting his enemies plunge their knives into him, again and again, all to protect her. When I rushed to the scene, I found Alberto kneeling in a pool of his own blood, his trembling hands wiping away the heroine’s tears. He gently soothed the terrified Amelia. “Don’t cry, Mia. It’s okay. I don’t feel a thing.” Looking at this picture of devoted love, who would have guessed that just yesterday, this same man was whining to me about a tiny scratch on his hand? “Babe, it hurts.” Back then, I was naive enough to believe I was special to him. Now, I finally understand. The devoted male side character belongs to the heroine. And dying tragically to save her is the ending he would willingly choose. Five years. This time, I’m truly done. 1 The warehouse was a wreck. The man across from them sneered. “Three more cuts. Do it yourself, and we’ll let her go.” Alberto looked down at Amelia, who was shivering in his arms. His throat bobbed. “Fine,” he rasped. I stood behind them, my nails digging into my palms, unable to move a single step. I watched as Alberto picked up a blood-stained knife from the floor. He gently covered Amelia’s eyes. “Mia, close your eyes. Don’t look.” He raised the knife, his movements fluid and without a trace of hesitation. Seeing this, my heart felt like it was being squeezed by an iron fist. Just as the blade was about to fall, I forced myself to speak. “Wait.” Every eye in the room turned to me. Alberto looked over his shoulder. His pupils contracted when he saw me. His lips parted as if to say something, but all that came out was a violent cough. I deliberately ignored his gaze, walked past him, and handed the briefcase in my hand to the kidnapper. “The money’s here. I’m taking them with me.” The leader of the group grinned, taking the case. He leaned in close, his breath hot against my ear. “We’ll take the money. But a pretty thing like you… why don’t you stay and play with us for a while?” As his hand reached for me, I instinctively took a step back. I bumped into a tall metal pole behind me. It teetered for a second before crashing down with a deafening clang. The pole landed right between Amelia and me. Alberto reacted on pure instinct, shielding Amelia with his entire body, his back to the falling pole. “Mia, look out!” It slammed onto the concrete an inch from my feet, the impact kicking up a cloud of dust that settled on the hem of my dress. My heart stopped. Watching them clinging to each other, a loud ringing filled my ears, and the world went silent. “Hands up!” A swarm of people rushed in. My backup had finally arrived, subduing the kidnappers. Only then did I manage to regain what little composure I had left. I took a deep breath, slowly righted the fallen pole, and walked toward the two still locked in a desperate embrace. Amelia looked up from Alberto’s arms, her eyes filled with tears. “Thank you for saving me and Alberto, sister.” I didn’t answer her. I just stared at Alberto. He immediately let go of Amelia, his eyes wide with a flicker of panic as he looked at me. “I…” He opened his mouth, but no words came out. “The ambulance is here,” I said flatly, cutting him off. He refused to get into the ambulance until Amelia’s private driver arrived to take her home. Inside the vehicle, he carefully tugged at the corner of my shirt, his voice impossibly soft. “Babe, my arm really hurts…” The moment Amelia was gone, he was back to being the Alberto who knew how to play on my sympathy. Before, my heart would have ached for him. Now, I found it almost funny. Hurts? That’s not what he told Amelia just a few minutes ago. I looked at the red stain his bloody hand had left on my clothes. After a long silence, I pried his fingers off my sleeve. “It’s dirty,” I said softly. He froze. When he spoke again, his voice was laced with confusion. “Babe, I lost a lot of blood today…” “Yes,” I replied calmly. “I saw.” His breath hitched. He stared at me for a long moment, and when he saw that I remained unmoved, he finally turned his head away and fell silent. He was sulking, expecting me to coddle him. But this time, I didn’t. I saw things more clearly than ever. This was a man who had been the young heiress’s personal bodyguard since he was eight years old. A man whose body was a roadmap of scars from knives and bullets. How could he possibly be fragile? And yet, he had shown me his vulnerability time and time again, making me believe that I was different, that I was special to him. But now… I lowered my eyes, hiding the emotions swirling within them. I felt a dampness on my fingertips. Looking down, I saw that the gash I’d gotten from the falling pole was bleeding. And Alberto hadn’t even noticed. 2 We didn’t speak for the rest of the ride. I stared out the window, the passing city lights blurring into a meaningless smear. My mind drifted back five years, to the day I first met him. He had been covered in blood then, too, kneeling ramrod straight outside the gates of Amelia’s family estate, taking the blame for her mistake. Rain mixed with the blood running down his body, staining the pavement a dark crimson. I had knelt in front of him, holding an umbrella over his head. “Do you need help?” I had asked. He had lifted his dark, bottomless eyes, studying me for a long moment before raising an eyebrow. “And if I do? You’ll save me?” I had nodded. From that day on, I used the points I had accumulated over the years to piece his broken body back together. His tendons were torn, his back and abdomen a mangled mess from the beating he had taken. The healing process was excruciating. But he never made a sound. He would just stare at me with those dark, guarded eyes, his body tense with suspicion. Until the very last treatment. He had suddenly reached out and grabbed my sleeve, forcing out a single, clumsy word: “Hurts.” That was the first time he had ever shown me his weakness. After that, he grew more and more dependent on me. He would reach for me in his sleep when nightmares plagued him. He would rest his head on my shoulder when the pain from his old wounds flared up. He would cling to my hand during thunderstorms. It was then that I confidently accepted the mission from the System. Save the devoted male side character. Change his tragic fate. I naively believed I could be the light that saved him. But gradually, I came to understand. In the world of a devoted side character, the heroine is always the exception. Even though he only ever showed his vulnerability to me, even though he spent months planning our wedding, even though he whispered “I love you” in my ear countless times. The moment Amelia needed him, he would drop everything and run to her side. He would protect her with a self-destructive recklessness that tore open all the wounds I had so carefully healed. The first time was the day after our wedding. He took a call and left in a hurry. When he came back, he had seven new bullet holes in him. The wounds were too compromising to take him to a hospital. I had to treat him myself, at home. Covered in his own blood, his eyes shimmering with tears from the pain, he looked utterly pathetic. He clung to my sleeve, his feverish eyes hazy as he called out my name over and over again. “Babe… babe…” I should have been furious. But with every weak call of my name, my heart softened. The second time was on my birthday. He abandoned me in front of all our friends, diving off a yacht to save Amelia, who had “accidentally” fallen overboard. I stood on the deck that day and watched a real-life reenactment of Titanic. When I found him, he was half-frozen, but he was still clutching our wedding ring so tightly that his palm was bleeding. And in that moment, my resolve wavered again. It had been like this for years, one time after another. The heroine truly was the heroine, always surrounded by danger, always in need of a protector. I told myself over and over again that it was a matter of life and death, that of course he would choose to save her. I just hadn’t been in that kind of danger. The moment I was, he would surely choose me. Until today. When that pole came crashing down, he didn’t hesitate for a second. He chose her. And I finally saw the truth. His choice would never be me. 3 Alberto’s injuries were severe. He passed out from blood loss on the way to the hospital. The System’s life-support alarm blared in my head, over and over again. I sighed. I had no points left. If I wanted to save him, I would have to trade something else. I leaned in close to his pale face and whispered in his ear, “Alberto, this is the last time.” In the end, I chose to trade all of my feelings for him in exchange for a sliver of a chance at his survival. The moment the System extracted those emotions from my heart, the world went quiet. I looked down at the unconscious man on the gurney and saw a stranger. All the pain, the joy, the sleepless nights—it all vanished in an instant. There were six months left on the mission timer. An idea, one I had never considered before, popped into my head. So what if the mission fails? The worst that could happen is I don’t get my bonus. If he dies, I won’t. Besides, if he was so determined to walk into his own grave, what could I possibly do to stop him? I looked at the blood splattered all over the ambulance and took a disgusted step back. 4 I considered just leaving, finding some quiet corner of the world to hide in until the mission was over. But abandoning a mission mid-task would likely result in some unforeseen punishment. I decided to just phone it in, to do the bare minimum until the end. On the third morning, Alberto finally woke up. He shifted slightly and let out a soft groan.

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The first time I saw Victor, he was just another street punk, slick with blood. The only clean thing about him was the raw, clumsy sincerity in his eyes when he tattooed my name over his heart. Later, when he seized power, he gifted me half the Waterfront as a wedding present. Everyone in the city knew: I, Ava Costello, was his everything. Until today, when the little starlet Victor was keeping shimmied into my home. She stood there, one hand on her swelling belly, her eyes curving into a smug smile as she offered her advice. “Ms. Costello, are you going to walk out of here with your dignity, or are you going to wait for my son to grow up and throw you out?” I raised a hand and had my men drag her away to “take care of the problem.” Victor saw the pool of blood spreading beneath her and his face twisted with fury. He pressed a knife to my throat. “Ava,” he hissed, his voice a low growl, “you need to learn some goddamn gratitude.” I just laughed, the sound soft as I pressed the muzzle of my pistol against his heart. “You’ve really changed. Good thing I haven’t.” “The only thing real in my heart… has always been my ambition.” Bang. The gunshot echoed through the hall. 1 The one who fell was Limpy, the man who had hobbled in Victor’s shadow for a decade. “That attached to her, are you? It makes sense. Limpy was the one who so carefully trained that little actress before delivering her to your bed. I suppose he did a fine job, if she could make you this furious with me.” My gaze dropped to the sliver of cold steel still resting against my neck. I scoffed. “Aren’t you going to do it, Victor? You were never this indecisive before.” “What’s the matter? Your hand is shaking.” My mocking gaze was a physical blow. In the silent war of our eyes, he was the first to break. He threw the knife down, the clatter echoing his defeat, and sank back onto the sofa. “Limpy was with me for ten years. What you did… it was too much, Ava. Too cruel.” A faint smile touched my lips as my men dragged Limpy’s body from the room. “He wasn’t you.” “You’re the only one I’m ever soft on.” Victor looked at me, his expression a tangled knot of emotions. “I want Vivian to stay.” “This life… it’s all blood and shadows. I’m tired, Ava. Vivian is like… an open window. She lets me breathe. She makes me feel like a simple man, someone who could have a normal life, buying groceries and cooking dinner.” I didn’t answer right away. I placed my gun on the table beside me. I took my time lighting a cigarette, the smoke curling around my fingers before I finally spoke. “Normal?” “Victor, have you told her about the blood on your hands? The dirty money in your ledgers? The enemies who hunt you in the dead of night? You want to place her quiet little world of picket fences into the middle of all this?” “That’s not a simple life. That’s a death wish.” Victor’s brow furrowed, his patience wearing thin. “Ava, I’m not discussing this with you.” “I’m informing you.” He stood and walked into the other room, returning with Vivian in his arms. Her bleeding had stopped, and her pale, unconscious face was nestled against his chest. In the flickering lamplight, she looked disturbingly like a younger version of me. “Ava, just be the lady of the house.” “This is your last chance. If you dare touch Vivian again, I won’t show you any mercy.” Victor swept out with his men, the wide-open door letting in a gust of wind that extinguished the cigarette between my fingers. My right-hand man, Justin, stepped forward and relit it for me. “The gun was aimed off-target,” he murmured. “Did you go soft?” I exhaled a plume of smoke, repeating his words with a dry, mocking tone. “Soft? I never intended to kill him.” “One bullet is all it would take to end Victor’s life. But what I want are the passwords to his Swiss accounts, the ledgers of his gray-market dealings, and every last one of his legitimate businesses.” “Death would be getting off easy.” Justin, who had just been unsettled by my apparent mercy, now felt a chill run down his spine at the venom in my words. He asked a question that was almost naive. “Don’t you… don’t you love him?” A thousand memories flashed behind my eyes, leaving only a faint shadow of something like exhaustion, or perhaps nostalgia. “Love him? Of course, I do.” “Otherwise, what were the last ten years of dodging bullets with him for? A game?” “But love is a painkiller, Justin. Power… power is oxygen. You take a pill when you’re in pain, and it helps. But you can live without it. Cut off the oxygen, and you’re dead in minutes.” As if on cue, the grandfather clock in the hall chimed the hour, its crisp notes slicing through the silence. Justin glanced at a text that had just appeared on his phone. “Latest update, boss. The head of the Northside Outfit, Don Costello, just died. They’re saying… heart attack.” “Hm,” I replied, a single, cold syllable. Justin couldn’t help but take a half-step closer, his voice laced with confusion. “You’re… not surprised? He was your father, after all.” The corner of my mouth twitched into something that might have been a smile. “Why would I be surprised?” “That was my work.” Justin’s breath caught in his throat. His eyes widened, and the color drained from his face. I watched his horrified expression, my voice as calm as if I were discussing the weather. “Any stone in my path gets cleared.” “My own father… was no different.” The ember at the tip of my cigarette reached my fingers. I crushed it out in the ashtray and looked at him. “Any more questions?” Justin bowed his head, not daring to ask another word. I stood, picking up the gun from the table and gesturing vaguely toward a spare room. “Victor said he wants Vivian to stay? Fine. Let her stay.” “The show’s just getting started.” 2 The sharp click of heels echoed from the foyer. Vivian’s sweet, cloying voice drifted in as she directed Victor’s men with her luggage. “Be careful with that!” “Victor bought that for me at an auction. Don’t you dare scratch it.” She stood in the center of the opulent villa, her eyes sweeping over everything with a greedy, defiant hunger. Her gaze finally landed on my back as I sat on the sofa, reviewing a stack of documents. She sauntered over. “Sister,” she began, the word dripping with false sweetness. “Victor said the air is better out here. He wants me to move in so we can get to know each other.” “You don’t mind, do you?” I didn’t look up. I turned a page of the financial report, my voice flat and devoid of emotion. “I do.” Vivian was taken aback by my bluntness, by the fact that I wouldn’t even pretend to play nice. She froze for a second, then her smile widened, blooming with a foolish arrogance. “It doesn’t matter if you mind.” “This is what Victor wants. He said that once I learn the ropes of the business, I’ll be the new lady of this house.” As she spoke, she wandered over to the liquor cabinet. She picked up one of my prized crystal glasses. “This is nice. I’ll use it to drink my sweet tea.” Seeing that I was still ignoring her, Vivian marched over and sat down beside me, snatching the documents from my hands. “What are you looking at?” “You’re not allowed to see these anymore. From now on, only I can read these papers!” The freshly printed A4 paper was sharp. As she ripped it away, its edge sliced a thin, stinging line across my palm, drawing a bead of blood. Only then did I finally turn my gaze to her. I looked at her the way you might look at a piece of trash, with a coldness utterly devoid of feeling. Honestly, it had been years since I’d met someone so eager to die. “Who let you in here?” “Victor, of course. Who do you think you—” I cut her off, my voice still quiet, but carrying the weight of unspoken threat. “There is only one master in this house.” My presence seemed to stun her for a moment. But she quickly recovered, puffing out her chest and standing to look down on me. “You dare touch me?” she sneered. “Victor told me that yesterday was the last time he’d tolerate your behavior. If you lay a hand on me again, he’ll throw you out on the street!” A small, cold smile touched my lips, but it never reached my eyes. I stood up, pulling the pistol from the small of my back and reloading it right in front of her. “Touch you?” “You’d dirty my hands.” I suddenly raised the gun— Vivian shrieked, dropping to the floor and covering her head, her eyes squeezed shut. But the shot she expected never came. My aim wasn’t on her. It was on the liquor cabinet behind her. The next second—CRACK! The explosive sound of shattering crystal ripped through the room. Flying shards of glass peppered the air, one of them slicing a deep, bloody gash across Vivian’s calf. She was frozen in terror, her face ashen. She had forgotten how to even cry. “It’s filthy now,” I said calmly. “Have someone clean it up.” Justin immediately nodded. I looked down at the trembling girl and leaned in close. I spoke each word with chilling precision. “The last person who dared to act like this in front of me was named Limpy. Yesterday, I sent him to meet his maker.” “If you don’t believe me, I can send you down to ask him yourself.” With that, I straightened up, pulled out my phone, and dialed Victor’s number. I put it on speaker. “You have twenty minutes to get your girl and her trash out of my house.” “Otherwise, you can start planning a funeral.” 3 Twelve minutes later, the screech of tires tore through the quiet afternoon. Victor stormed into the villa, his face a mask of thunder, with his top enforcer, Bruno, right behind him. His eyes immediately found Vivian, collapsed on the floor with a bloody leg, weeping hysterically. Behind her, a massive hole had been blown through my liquor cabinet. His rage ignited. The moment Vivian saw Victor, she scrambled toward him like he was her savior, collapsing into his arms. Her sobs grew more pathetic. “Victor, she… she’s trying to kick me out!” “And… and she tried to shoot me! I was so scared…” Victor murmured a few comforting words to her before turning his fury on me. “Ava, what the hell is the meaning of this?” “I just warned you yesterday! She lost our child because of you! She’s still recovering!” I remained seated on the sofa, not having moved an inch. I met his blazing eyes with a calm that was almost terrifying. “The meaning?” “Was I not clear enough on the phone?” My unshakable composure only fueled his anger. “Ava, this is my house!” “I’ll have whoever I want live here. You don’t get to give the orders.” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. An image flashed in my mind: Victor bringing me here for the first time. His young face was flushed with excitement as he showed me the unfinished house, waving his arms around wildly. “Ava, this will be our home. You can decorate it however you want, do whatever you want. In this house, you’re the boss!” And now, here he was, ordering me to tolerate his mistress. I stood up. “Your house?” “Victor, have you forgotten? This villa… whose name is on the deed? And while we’re at it, the legal ownership of all your ‘clean’ businesses… who holds that title?” Victor was momentarily speechless. But one look at the weeping girl in his arms hardened his resolve. “You…” My gaze flickered to Vivian, still playing the victim. “For her? A toy you’ve known for seven months, one who was hand-picked and trained just for you?” “You’re willing to burn everything down between us for that? Have you thought this through?” Victor’s towering rage suddenly deflated, his bravado gone. I smiled and stepped closer. My voice dropped to a low hiss, like a viper’s whisper. “What do you think would happen if I took those real ledgers from your safe and sent them over to the Northside Outfit? I hear their new boss is looking to make a name for himself. Or perhaps I could give them to Detective Miller at the Financial Crimes Unit…” “Do you think you’d still be able to stand here, parading your little lover in my face?” Victor fell silent. When my eyes swept over Bruno, even he instinctively lowered his head, unable to meet my gaze. I gave Justin a slight nod. He immediately understood and stepped forward, making a polite, but firm, “this way” gesture to Victor. “Sir, the car is waiting outside.” Victor’s face was dark as a storm cloud. He held Vivian tight and stalked out of the villa without a backward glance. “Ma’am,” Justin said quietly once they were gone. “Showing your hand so openly like that… Victor is bound to make a move.” “You…” I just shook my head, a faint smile on my lips. “That wasn’t a trump card, Justin. That was me, being merciful, and giving him one last chance.” “If he dares to make a move, that’s when he truly loses.”

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