Author: Momo Chan

“Something came up at work. I can’t make it for Annie’s birthday tonight.” I calmly closed the chat window with my husband. Then I opened my social media feed and saw the photo he’d just been tagged in: Ethan, my husband, holding another woman’s son, both of them beaming with joy. My five-year-old daughter leaned against me, her voice a small whisper. “Mommy, my birthday wish this year is… to never see Daddy again.” So, even a child could see it. The man who was always “too busy” for her school events was the same man who would move heaven and earth for someone else’s kid. 1. It was two in the morning when Ethan finally came home. The sudden glare of the headlights slicing through the window made me instinctively cover my daughter’s eyes. He leaned against the bedroom doorframe. “Honey, I’m home. Why don’t you wake Annie up? We can still celebrate her birthday.” I used to be obsessed with these family rituals. Birthdays, holidays, anniversaries, even the smallest school function—I’d insist Ethan be there. I didn’t want Annie to grow up like I did, knowing her father only through a phone screen. But now— I smoothed the blanket over my daughter, my voice flat. “Don’t bother.” A flash of annoyance crossed Ethan’s face. “Chloe, I was just putting Leo to bed. That’s it. Don’t read into it. This is exactly why I can’t be honest with you, because you’re always so suspicious.” I wasn’t reading into it. And from now on, I wouldn’t be suspicious either. “If you’re done, please go to your own room. Don’t wake Annie. She has school in the morning.” He let out a cold laugh. “Fine. But don’t come crying to me later, saying I’m an absent father.” I turned away and switched off the lamp, gently patting the back of my daughter, who had stirred from the noise. Absent? It didn’t matter anymore. After all, Annie’s birthday wish was to never see him again. The next morning, Ethan didn’t leave immediately after breakfast as he usually did. He sat at the table, watching the morning news. Just as we were about to leave, he stood up, grabbed his keys, and walked over to us, ruffling Annie’s hair. “Daddy’s taking you to school today.” He was speaking to our daughter, but his eyes were fixed on me. Two years ago, when Annie first started preschool, Ethan drove her every single day. But after Stella arrived, he started leaving earlier and earlier, claiming his morning meetings had been moved up. I believed him, right up until three months ago, when I was at Annie’s new school and saw him. The man who was supposed to be in a board meeting was leaning over to lift a little boy out of the backseat of his car. It wasn’t that he didn’t have time to take his daughter to school. It was just that he had something more important to do. We had a terrible fight that night. The next day, Annie stopped asking for him to take her. Even though I had already decided on a divorce, he was still her father. I hesitated for a moment, then nodded. A small, triumphant smile touched his lips as he scooped Annie into his arms. When he opened the car door, I froze. The backseat was a mess of someone else’s life. A Spider-Man water bottle, a toy bow and arrow set, a woman’s shawl tossed carelessly on the leather. Tucked into the seatback pocket was a framed “family photo.” He followed my gaze, and his expression soured. “Stella put that there. She said it makes Leo happy.” He shot me a warning look. “Don’t start. It’s not a big deal.” The old me would have shattered the frame, would have screamed and cried and demanded to know where Annie and I stood in his heart. But the new me just nodded. “It’s a nice picture.” He stared at me, confused. “You’re not angry?” Angry? Maybe I should have been. But all I felt was a vast, hollow emptiness. It was almost funny. How could a man as sharp as Ethan not see through such a clumsy, transparently manipulative tactic? The answer was simple. He saw it. He just didn’t care. “We should go,” I said. “Annie’s going to be late.” His lips tightened, but he said nothing, just opened the driver’s side door. As I was about to lift Annie into her car seat, his phone rang. The ringtone was a cheesy children’s song. “My dad is the best dad, the best dad in the world…” A little boy’s frantic sobs filled the air. “Daddy! Daddy! Where did you go? Don’t you want me and Mommy anymore?” Ethan hung up and, without a single glance in our direction, slid into the driver’s seat. “Leo’s asking for me. I’ll have the driver take you today.” The black Maybach sped away, leaving us in a cloud of exhaust. I knelt down, worried about Annie. “Daddy had an emergency, sweetheart. Next time he’s free, we’ll all go together, okay?” Annie looked at me, her expression startlingly mature for a five-year-old. “Daddy’s never free, Mommy. All his time is for Leo and his mommy.” 2. That evening, Ethan called. “Chloe, I’m going to be late tonight. Leo’s sick…” “Okay.” My response was so quick that his excuses died in his throat. He must have thought I was being difficult, because his tone sharpened with annoyance. “Chloe, don’t be like this.” Then he hung up. Ten minutes later, a series of texts came through. [I’m so sorry, Chloe. Leo has been so clingy with his dad lately.] [But honestly, he shouldn’t have just abandoned you and Annie the moment I called.] [I’ll have a word with him. Don’t be mad.] It was Stella. The texts weren’t an apology; they were a declaration of war. I had no interest in fighting her for a man. I deleted the messages and blocked her number. A moment later, my phone rang again. It was Ethan. “Chloe, what the hell is your problem? Stella apologizes to you, and that’s how you treat her?” In the background, I could hear the faint sound of a woman and child crying. I said nothing. After a long silence, his voice came again, low and cold. “I don’t know who you’ve become, Chloe. I’m so disappointed in you.” Stella had started it, but the moment she cried, Ethan always made me the villain. Back home, I started packing. While Ethan had been on the phone, I’d been consulting with my lawyer. Upon divorce, I was entitled to at least 30% of his company’s shares. And in a custody battle, with our circumstances being similar, the mother is typically favored. There was nothing left to hold me back. I packed my clothes, my bags, my jewelry, and all of Annie’s favorite toys. As I sealed the last box, my hands trembled. My eyes fell on a dusty, wax-sealed trunk I hadn’t touched in years. It was full of love letters. From the Ethan who was seventeen, eighteen, all the way to twenty-two. I broke the seal and opened the one on top. It began: To the 27-year-old Chloe, from the 17-year-old Ethan. This is the first love letter I’ve ever written you. As we agreed, we’ll open this together in ten years. By then, we’ll definitely be married. Maybe we’ll even have a beautiful child. My phone rang again. It was the 27-year-old Ethan. “Chloe! Stella took Leo and ran away! Do you have any idea what you’ve done? If anything happens to them, I will never forgive you.” My eyes fell to the bottom of the letter I was holding. It was signed: Forever yours, Ethan, who will always love his Chloe. A sharp, piercing pain shot through my chest, as if something delicate and precious inside me had just shattered. I hung up the phone and tossed the entire trunk of letters into the fireplace. 3. Ethan didn’t come home that night. I didn’t frantically call him, didn’t cry and promise to be nicer to Stella. Annie didn’t ask about her father either. She just silently took the framed photo of her and Ethan from her bedside table while I was packing. We fell into a cold war. A week later, Annie’s school sent home a permission slip for a field trip that required a parent’s facial recognition signature. I tried to call Ethan, only to find he had blocked my number. Left with no choice, I drove to his office. I didn’t have to wait long before I saw a familiar figure slip into his office. The assistant, pouring a glass of water, looked at me guiltily. “Mrs. Hayes, Mr. Hayes gave instructions that Stella can enter his office whenever she likes.” That “privilege” was my fault, in a way. I used to bring Ethan lunch every day. We’d eat and talk for an hour. One day, Stella came to see him and was stopped by the assistant. By the time Ethan walked me out, Stella and Leo were shivering in the hallway, their lips blue with cold. That was the first time Ethan had ever truly lost his temper with me. He yelled that my daily visits were a waste of his time. He fired the assistant who had stopped Stella. From that day on, everyone at the company knew who was the most important woman in Ethan Hayes’s life. I never came back to the office again. I gave the new assistant a small smile and walked straight toward his office. Ethan was in a meeting. He looked surprised to see me. “What are you doing here?” Stella was perched on the arm of his chair, their bodies so close they were almost touching. He saw me looking and started to stammer. “Chloe, don’t get the wrong idea. Stella just happens to know a little about this project, so…” I nodded and handed him the tablet. “Annie’s field trip. It needs your signature.” “You came all this way just for that?” “Why else would I be here?” The atmosphere in the room grew heavy. I knew Ethan well enough to know that he was in a very bad mood. Stella scoffed. “Honestly, what’s so important about a signature? Ethan, she’s just looking for an excuse to make up with you. You’ve been staying at my place for days. It’s probably time you went home to see Annie.” Ethan’s brow smoothed, and a smug, playful smile appeared on his face. He tossed the tablet onto the coffee table. “Chloe, now you’re using our daughter as an excuse. Apologize to Stella. Otherwise, I’m not signing anything.” Hearing those words used to infuriate me. I’d be furious that he cared so little for his own daughter, and even more furious that he was doing it for Stella. But now, I felt nothing. My only thought was that without his signature, Annie couldn’t go on the trip, and she would be disappointed. I looked at him, then at Stella, still perched on his chair like a queen on her throne. Without another word, I turned and walked out. I’d just tell the school Annie didn’t have a father. I’d only taken a few steps when a clear, cool voice stopped me. “If you don’t mind, Miss, perhaps I could be of assistance.” It was the other man from the meeting. “After all, I’ve been an unwilling audience to your family drama for a while now.” I finally got a good look at him. He was dressed in a sharp black suit, his features cool and aristocratic. He radiated an aura of wealth and power. I simply handed him the tablet. The authorization went through instantly. On the screen, a bold, elegant signature appeared: Julian Prescott.

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During the party, our friends started teasing, asking when Koby and I were finally going to get married. I looked at him, a smile playing on my lips. He just went silent, awkwardly changing the subject. The friend who’d asked the question shot me an embarrassed, apologetic look. My smile didn’t waver. I just took a sip of my drink. I’m a procrastinator, but not a crippling one. And in that moment, I decided. I was done waiting. I was letting Koby go, and in doing so, letting myself go free. 01. The awkward moment passed quickly, and the party roared back to life. I laughed and joked along with everyone else, genuinely happy for the two people at the center of it all—my best friend, Sophie, and her fiancé. The teasing had started because, halfway through the night, Sophie’s boyfriend had dropped to one knee and proposed. With her ecstatic “yes,” Koby and I became the last unmarried couple in our circle. During a round of party games, Sophie slipped into the seat next to me and quietly squeezed my hand. I gave her a reassuring smile. Of all our friends, Koby and I had been the first to get together. Everyone assumed we’d be the first to walk down the aisle. But that was six years ago. And we were still just boyfriend and girlfriend. 02. By the end of the night, only Koby, Sophie, her new fiancé Alex, and I remained. Sophie pulled me into a tight hug, whispering in my ear, “Jennifer, whatever you do, don’t settle for less than you deserve.” I hugged her back, my voice light. “I won’t.” After we waved them off, I turned to get into Koby’s car. He was staring at his phone, not even looking up. “Lola’s working late at the office. Her phone died, so she can’t get a ride. I’m going to pick her up.” “Okay,” I said, my hand already in my purse. The moment he’d said “Lola,” my fingers had instinctively opened the ride-share app. As if on cue, a car was confirmed just as he finished his sentence. He finally looked up at me. “You had a bit to drink tonight. Get home safe and rest up. I’m leaving now.” “Mhm,” was all I said. As his car pulled away from the curb, I took a few quick steps back to avoid breathing in his exhaust fumes. A moment later, my phone buzzed with a voice message from him. Normally, I would have fumbled for my earbuds, eager to hear his voice. Tonight, I couldn’t be bothered. I just let the app transcribe it. 【I’ll head back right after I drop her off. Don’t overthink it.】 That was new. He’d never bothered with reassurances before when he ditched me for Lola. I typed back a single reply: 【OK】 The chat bubble showed he was typing… then it disappeared. He sent nothing. I didn’t really care. Ever since I’d made my decision, a strange sense of peace had settled over me. Before, the thought of Lola—Koby’s childhood friend—had me tied in knots of anxiety and insecurity. She had turned me into someone I didn’t recognize. I’d lost count of the number of hysterical fights we’d had about her. And every time, he’d just watch me with those cold, detached eyes. “When are you going to stop? I see Lola as a sister. Her parents trusted me to look after her, that’s all.” “I gave her a job at the company because she’s qualified. Stop being so paranoid.” “If that’s what you want to believe, there’s nothing I can do.” The same lines, over and over. I could recite them by heart. 03. I went home but didn’t wait up for Koby. I just went to sleep. As expected, he never came home. I knew he wouldn’t. A message pinged on my phone in the morning. 【Lola’s power went out last night. I stayed to help her fix it, got late. Didn’t want to wake you.】 Another ping. 【I got a room at a hotel, didn’t stay at her place.】 He was always so brazenly honest about it, never hiding anything about Lola. He seemed to think that as long as he told me the “facts,” he’d done his part. My phone buzzed again. 【Booked us a table at that restaurant you love. Dinner tonight.】 That was his classic move. An explanation, followed by a treat. Whether I accepted his peace offering or not, he would consider the matter closed. As long as he felt he’d explained himself, I was expected to drop it. So many times, I’d tried to push, to scream that we needed to actually talk things through, but the look in his eyes always said the same thing: he just didn’t get it. He saw me as a petulant child throwing a tantrum. And so, more often than not, I was the one who swallowed my hurt, plastering on a smile and playing the part of the mature, understanding girlfriend just to please him. I replied: 【Sounds good.】 Koby could handle spicy food, but he didn’t enjoy it. He would never suggest that place on his own. I should have been thrilled. Instead, all I felt was a profound emptiness. 04. I knew better than to expect Koby to pick me up, so I called a car myself. And, once again, my instincts were right. On the way to the Szechuan restaurant, we passed by his office building. And there he was. I watched from my car window as Koby, a faint smile on his face, shielded Lola’s head with his hand as she slipped into the passenger seat of his car. A cold certainty washed over me. I unlocked my phone. Sure enough, a series of new messages were there. 【Lola’s joining us for dinner. She’s been working so hard lately, hasn’t had a decent meal in days.】 【She doesn’t like spicy food. We’ll go to that Szechuan place another time, I promise. I’ve booked a different restaurant.】 【Sending you the new address now.】 I switched off the screen. And told the driver to continue to the original destination. Koby had already canceled our reservation, so I had to wait in line. The place was packed. It took an hour before I was seated. My phone buzzed incessantly in my purse, but I ignored it, focusing only on the food. The spice was so authentic it brought tears to my eyes. But it was a good burn. A cleansing one. Only after I’d paid the bill did I finally take out my phone. As I suspected, it was flooded with over a dozen missed calls and messages from him. 【Are you there yet?】 【Are you throwing a fit again? I told you I’d take you next time.】 【Lola has a sensitive stomach, she can’t eat spicy food. You’re practically her sister-in-law, can’t you be a little more understanding?】 【Now she feels so guilty she can’t even eat. Get over here, now!】 The same old script. But it was more than we had texted each other in the last month combined. 05. On the way home, I found myself wondering what had made me fall for Koby in the first place. I think it was that rainy afternoon. He was trying to launch his startup and had just been rejected by an investor for the twentieth time. My boss had just sent back my design draft for the thirty-fifth revision. We both ducked into the same coffee shop to escape a sudden thunderstorm, and just… started talking. It was awkward at first, just small talk to fill the silence. But by the time the rain stopped, we had clicked. After that, getting together felt like the most natural thing in the world. I never believed in love at first sight. It always seemed too shallow, an emotion without foundation, destined to fade as quickly as it appeared. Yet, for six years with Koby, I often thought I was one of the lucky ones, that I’d found my soulmate in a chance encounter. But thinking back now… Were these six years truly a story of mutual love, or was it just me, procrastinating on the inevitable breakup? 06. Sophie took me out for drinks. With wedding planning about to consume their lives, she wanted one last night to just relax before the chaos began. She’s a lightweight, and it didn’t take long for her to get tipsy. But even then, she was slurring, insisting she had to get me home safely first. I felt a bittersweet pang. My best friend, drunk off her ass, was still putting me first. Koby, on the other hand, would always, always choose Lola over me. “It’s okay,” I soothed her. “I’m staying at your place tonight. We can go home together.” I’d moved out of Koby’s place for a few days, needing space to untangle the mess of our relationship in my head. With Alex out of town on a business trip, Sophie had insisted I come stay with her and keep her company during her last few days of “freedom.” When we got back to her apartment, I helped her onto the sofa. She mumbled, her words thick, “Jennifer… if something’s broken, you throw it away. Don’t force it.” She’s known me for over a decade. Even if I never said a word, she could read the turmoil inside me. I smiled and stroked her hair. Just then, my phone lit up with a message from Koby. 【Are you done with your tantrum? When are you coming back?】 【Come home and I’ll take you to that Szechuan place, how about that?】 【You’re a grown woman, Jennifer. Running away when you’re upset isn’t the answer. Do you really think this is mature?】 For the first time, I didn’t reply.

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1 Three years ago, my daughter fell from the twentieth floor. She died instantly. My husband, Ethan, held her body for three days and nights, refusing to sleep. Chelsea, her godmother and my best friend, cried until she collapsed. I refused to believe my daughter, Lily, would go to the rooftop alone. I dedicated my life to uncovering the truth. But no matter how hard I looked, the security footage and every shred of evidence pointed to one conclusion: she had jumped. Until today, the anniversary of her death. I received a call from an unknown number. The voice on the other end was identical to my own. “Lily, sweetie, you be a good girl and wait for Mommy, okay? I’m coming home, and I’ll bring you your favorite strawberry cake.” I froze. Those were the last words I ever said to my daughter. … Before I could process what was happening, the voice on the other end called out again, laced with confusion. My own voice trembling, I whispered my name into the phone. “Amy.” Silence. The Amy from three years ago was stunned, her tone shifting to sharp suspicion. “Who is this? Why do you sound just like me? I was calling my daughter. How did I get you?” I struggled to keep my voice steady, my words rushing out. “I’m you, from three years in the future. Listen to me. Today is the day Lily falls to her death. You have to save her!” A cold, dismissive laugh came through the speaker. “If you’re going to lie, at least make it believable. My daughter is perfectly fine at home.” She sounded annoyed. “I can’t even hang up. What the hell do you want?” If I weren’t living this nightmare, I wouldn’t believe it either. “I know it sounds insane,” I said, my voice firm. “But it’s real, and I can prove it.” “At 1:15, Ethan, who’s supposed to be working late, is going to call and tell you he won’t be home this afternoon.” “You’ll get worried about Lily being alone and call Chelsea to ask her to watch her, but Chelsea will say she just left town for a trip.” “Then, at 1:20, your assistant will call, pressuring you to come in for a critical meeting, and you’ll give up on going home to Lily.” In my three-year quest for the truth, I had replayed that day countless times. Every detail was seared into my soul. As I finished speaking, the clock ticked over to 1:15. Right on cue, Ethan’s ringtone echoed faintly through the phone. This bizarre, time-spanning connection was so clear I could hear their entire conversation. “Honey, work is crazy today. I have to work late again…” Thirty seconds later, Amy hung up and dialed her best friend. Just as I’d said, Chelsea answered, full of regret, explaining she’d left on a trip that very morning. Immediately after, her assistant called, reminding her the meeting was about to start. “Turn the car around and go home right now,” I commanded. “Take Lily with you. The client for that meeting is going to bail at the last minute. The meeting is a waste of time.” A two-second pause, then the roar of an engine. “I’ll trust you this once,” she said, her voice tight with tension. “If there’s even a one-in-a-million chance my daughter is in danger, I’m not taking it.” A wave of relief washed over me. “I know,” I whispered. “We’re the same.” The image of my daughter’s broken body flashed in my mind, as vivid as if it were yesterday. Her tiny frame, twisted and unnatural, her little white dress stained crimson with blood that pooled from the back of her head. The memory was a physical pain, a knife twisting in my gut. I hated myself for not finding the person responsible and making them pay. But now, here it was. A chance to undo it all. A chance I had to seize. She floored it, turning a twenty-minute drive into ten. The moment she burst through the door, I heard Lily’s bright, familiar voice, brimming with life. “Mommy, you’re back so soon!” A lump formed in my throat. I could picture her perfectly, running into her mother’s arms, her eyes crinkling into a joyful smile. The past Amy’s voice was soft. “Sweetie, how about you come to the office with Mommy today? I’ll buy you a strawberry cake.” Lily, of course, cheered with excitement. But just as they were about to leave, I heard the faint click of another door opening, followed by Amy’s shocked voice. “Chelsea? I thought you were out of town!” I stiffened. Chelsea was there that day? I distinctly remembered her telling me she didn’t get back until the day after. But there was no mistaking the voice on the phone—Chelsea’s, laced with surprise and a hint of something unnatural. “You said Lily was alone. I’m her godmother, aren’t I? Of course, coming back for her is more important.” A thousand questions swirled in my mind. All I could manage was to urge Amy to keep Lily by her side before a new call beeped through, severing our connection. It was the Chelsea from my timeline, her voice as gentle as it had been three years ago. “Amy, are you still at the cemetery? I know how hard this is for you, but you have to keep moving forward…” My gaze was fixed on the distance, my voice flat as I cut her off. “The day Lily died, were you really on a trip?” Chelsea paused, a flicker of confusion in her voice. “Yes? I tried to come back, but my flight was canceled due to the weather. Don’t you remember?” Her tone grew heavy, laced with practiced concern and a hint of weary depression. “You haven’t given up on finding this… this ‘truth,’ have you? The police ruled it an accident. Lily was only five. It’s not impossible for a curious child to wander up to the roof.” “You’re going to drive yourself mad inventing enemies that aren’t there, torturing yourself over a tragic accident.” Her voice cracked. “And now… are you starting to suspect me? Amy, I cried until I passed out. They had to take me to the hospital…” I stared at the photograph of my daughter on the gravestone, my resolve hardening. Everyone thought I was crazy. And maybe I was, pushed to the very edge of sanity. This phone call with my past self felt like a fever dream. But I knew it was real. Just as I knew my daughter’s death was no accident. “Of course not,” I replied coolly. “You know I wouldn’t accuse anyone without reason. It was just a random thought.” After hanging up, I desperately tried to reconnect with my past self. When I finally got through, Amy told me she was about to leave with Lily. Chelsea had already gone. “I asked Lily about her day,” Amy added. “She said she hasn’t seen any strangers. Nothing seems out of place.” “So, there was no warning at all before it happened?” A bitter taste filled my mouth. That was the truth. If there had been even the slightest clue, I wouldn’t have spent three years chasing shadows. Amy took Lily to her office. As I’d predicted, the client canceled the meeting without warning. She was too preoccupied to care, delegating the fallout to her assistant while keeping Lily glued to her side. A few minutes later, she called me back, her voice strange. Even without seeing her, I could imagine the grim expression on her face. “You’re not going to believe this. Ethan never worked late today.” “I just called his office. The receptionist said he left early.” Now, my own expression turned to stone. 2 “Why would he lie about leaving work?” I muttered to myself, unable to comprehend his motive. In all our years of marriage, the two people I trusted most in the world had both lied to me on the worst day of my life. “Go home,” I told her. “Install hidden cameras in every corner of the house. Don’t tell anyone. Not Ethan. Not Chelsea.” After a few seconds of silence, she replied, “…I will. But I hope this has nothing to do with them.” I drove away from the cemetery. Just as I walked through my front door, Ethan arrived right behind me. “Amy,” he said gently. “Chelsea told me you went to the cemetery again. You were thinking about Lily, weren’t you?” I remembered the day it happened. When he got the call, he’d raced home, running thirteen red lights, arriving disheveled and frantic. He had knelt on the pavement, clutching our daughter’s body, his eyes raw and bloodshot. Now, as I met his gaze, it was the same as always—gentle, clear, focused only on me. But for the first time, I felt like I couldn’t see him at all. “Ethan,” I began, my voice hollow, “why do you think Lily went to the rooftop by herself that day? She never went up there.” A tremor ran through him, and his face contorted with a familiar agony. “If I hadn’t stayed late at work… if I had been home with her, she never would have gone to the roof. A fall from that high… it must have hurt so much. I’m a terrible father. It’s my fault.” His grief was so profound, so desperate. But then, his tone shifted. “Honey, Lily is gone, but we’re still here. I’m more worried about you than anything. I can’t stand to see you trapped in this shadow.” He pleaded, “Please, can’t you let it go? For her sake? Lily would be so sad to see you like this.” He’d said those words a hundred times. He’d even suggested we have another child to fill the void she left. But he didn’t understand. A thousand children could never replace my Lily. A surge of rage boiled inside me. I spun on him, my voice a raw scream. “What work was so damn important? You promised me you would take care of her! Tell me why, Ethan! Why?” He looked away, his face a mask of regret. “I didn’t know… I didn’t know she was in danger. That’s why I stayed to work…” Still lying. “Get out,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “I don’t want to see you.” The moment Ethan left, the mask of grief fell from my face. Alone in the room, I opened a piece of software on my laptop. Because my past self had installed the cameras, I could now access three years of footage from inside my own home. But when I saw what the storage drive held, my eyes widened in disbelief. Before I could even react, my phone shrilled, breaking the silence. It was Chelsea. “Don’t be angry with him, Amy. Ethan was just trying to help. You know how clumsy he is with emotions.” Her voice was a soothing balm. “I’m on my way over to keep you company, okay?” Chelsea. Always so gentle, always unconditionally on my side. But this time, something felt deeply wrong. To confirm the sickening suspicion taking root in my heart, I answered flatly, “Fine. I’ll be waiting.” The second I hung up, another call came through—a familiar string of garbled numbers. It was my past self. I snatched up the phone. Amy’s voice was a panicked cry. “Lily’s gone!” 3 The world spun, and an icy dread crawled up from my feet. “What do you mean? You were supposed to keep her with you! How could this happen?” “She went to the restroom,” Amy choked out. “My assistant was waiting right outside the door. She was only gone for five minutes. When she went in, Lily was gone.” Five minutes. In a public space covered by security cameras, how could someone vanish into thin air? The background on her end was chaotic. Suddenly, someone shouted they’d seen Lily leaving the building. My mind recoiled—impossible. But when Amy pulled the security footage, it was true. Lily had walked out of the office by herself. The moment she stepped outside, she entered a blind spot. And then, she was gone. Amy’s voice was stretched thin with terror. “I don’t believe she would just walk away without telling me. Something is wrong!” I bit my lip, my thoughts a tangled mess. “Go home now! Check the rooftop, check the whole building for anything unusual!” She was already on her way, calling the police as she sped from the office. She burst into our apartment. It was silent, empty. Amy ran to the building’s security office, but the guard swore he hadn’t seen Lily return after leaving with her earlier. But she had fallen from our rooftop. Even with the newly installed cameras, there were no clues. The rooftop door, always locked, remained shut tight, with no sign of tampering. Amy went door-to-door, her voice low and pleading as she asked our neighbors if they’d seen her daughter. As expected, every answer was no. “How is this possible?” she cried into the phone. “Is she not going to fall this time? Is it something else? Could she have been kidnapped?” She tried calling Chelsea, but the calls went straight to voicemail. Then Ethan showed up, his face etched with worry, asking where their daughter was. Amy’s voice was sharp. “Ethan, do you honestly have no idea where Lily is?” His reply was a fraction too slow. “I just found out she was missing. How could I know where she is? Don’t worry, I’ll go to the police station. We’ll find her.” As he spoke, he took another call and left in a hurry. Listening on my end, the suspicion in my heart grew into a monstrous certainty. There were only thirty minutes left until the time of the fall. The image of my daughter’s mangled body filled my vision. My heart hammered against my ribs, and cold sweat beaded on my forehead. I dug my nails into my palm, trying to stop my hands from shaking. The questions circled relentlessly in my mind. Who lured her out of the office? What did it have to do with the fall? Why were both Chelsea and Ethan lying? Why had Lily gone to the roof that day, and why did she willingly leave the office now? Why did she fall from our building’s rooftop if there was no trace of her ever being there? Suddenly, a thought struck me with the force of a physical blow. “There’s one more thing you need to check,” I said urgently. “I’m certain it’s connected to her disappearance!” At the same time, I rushed back to my study, frantically re-examining the footage from my home cameras. A few minutes later, staring at my computer screen and listening to the clue Amy had just uncovered, I let out a long, shuddering breath. I finally understood. I knew the whole, twisted truth. And I knew how to save my daughter.

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After the divorce from my movie-star husband, I took my settlement, bought a run-down property on the outskirts of the city, and opened a shelter for stray animals. His new flame, an actress and viral sensation, took a swipe at me on their celebrity reality show. “Some people just don’t have what it takes,” she said to a live audience of millions, “so they surround themselves with helpless animals to feel important.” The entire internet was waiting for me to become a punchline. The next moment, on a globally televised broadcast from the World Economic Summit, the richest man on the planet interrupted his own keynote speech to make an urgent, public plea. “Whoever finds my cat,” he said, his voice tight with desperation, “will be rewarded with a ten percent stake in the Sterling Tower.” The photo he displayed on the screen behind him was of the hungriest, most mischievous orange cat currently living in my shelter. 1 “Liam, is your ex-wife… okay?” On the live feed of the celebrity reality show Living with the Grays, Chloe Summers draped herself over my ex-husband’s arm, her laughter tinkling like cheap wind chimes. “While we’re out here hustling, building our careers, she takes your money and opens some dilapidated animal shelter on the outskirts of the city. Spends all day with a bunch of dirty cats and dogs.” She leaned into the camera, a conspiratorial glint in her eye. “I mean, some people just don’t have what it takes, so they surround themselves with helpless animals to feel important.” Liam Gray, Hollywood’s newest leading man and my ex-husband, tenderly brushed a stray strand of blonde hair from Chloe’s forehead. He offered the camera a weary, indulgent smile. “Don’t be like that,” he said, his voice dripping with magnanimity. “She just… has a big heart.” The tone was pure condescension, the kind you’d use for a child who just can’t seem to understand the grown-up world. The live comments exploded. [OMG Liam is such a gentleman! I ship them so hard! #Loe] [Chloe’s savage but she’s not wrong. Who even knew who Willa was before she married him?] [I heard she got a massive settlement. And she opens a shelter? Talk about throwing your life away.] [LOL, she gave up being Mrs. Liam Gray to go scoop poop. Is she crazy?] My phone vibrated incessantly on the counter, a stream of screenshots and “Are you okay?” texts from my few real friends. I ignored them. Setting the phone face down, I gently lifted a sleeping orange cat from the top of a scratching post. “Cheeto, you’re putting on weight again. We’re going to have to talk about portion control.” I’d named him Cheeto. He was the shelter’s hungriest, most mischievous, and most affectionate resident. I managed two strokes down his back before he pushed my hand away with an impatient paw, hopped to the floor, and expertly tore open a bag of freeze-dried salmon treats, the crunching sound echoing in the quiet room. I sighed and reached for the dustpan. The whole internet was waiting for my response, hungry for a tearful, hysterical breakdown. But all I felt was tired of the noise. When we divorced, Liam gave me this small, run-down property and a sum of money he considered “more than generous.” He expected me to wither like a vine cut from its tree, lost without his spotlight to sustain me. He never understood that all I ever wanted was to get away from the glare, to live a quiet life of my own making. On the television, a financial news network was covering a global business summit. Liam and Chloe were still on screen in a smaller window, performing their roles as the perfect, aspirational couple. I muted the volume and turned to refill the water bowls for the dogs in the yard. As I turned my back, a familiar face filled the silent screen. Alistair Sterling. The richest man in the world. A man who typically only appeared on the cover of Forbes was now standing at a podium, broadcast live across the globe. He seemed to have gone off-script, his expression etched with a raw urgency I’d never seen on a man of his stature. The next moment, he leaned into the microphone, his voice steady but laced with a barely concealed desperation that cut through the silence of my living room. I fumbled for the remote, turning the volume up. “…anyone who can help me find my cat, I am prepared to offer a ten percent stake in the Sterling Tower as a reward.” An assistant quickly projected a photo onto the massive screen behind him. It was a chubby orange cat with a comically imperious expression. It was identical to Cheeto, who was at that very moment trying to wedge his entire head into the treat bag at my feet. 2 “Willa, have you completely lost your mind?” Liam’s voice on the other end of the line was a low, controlled burn of fury. “Isn’t this embarrassing enough for you? For me?” he seethed. “Posting that kind of thing online… Do you have any idea that Chloe was mobbed by reporters all day because of you?” I’d just settled the last of the puppies for the night, my back aching from the strain. “What did I post?” “Don’t play dumb with me!” His voice shot up an octave. “That billionaire’s cat! Why did you have to jump on that bandwagon? The entire internet is laughing at you, calling you a delusional gold digger. Are you trying to drag my name through the mud with you?” I stayed quiet. After seeing the news report, I’d been stunned. But then I’d thought, there are millions of orange cats in the world. It’s probably just a coincidence. I’d gone to bed and put it out of my mind. But this morning, while trimming his claws, I’d noticed it: a faint, heart-shaped marking on the pad of Cheeto’s back paw. It was a perfect match for the detailed close-up photo Alistair Sterling had released to the press. After a long hesitation, I’d filmed a short, quiet video of Cheeto and posted it online. I didn’t show my face. It was just clips of him eating, sleeping, and attempting to shred a new armchair, ending with a clear shot of the heart-shaped mark. I hadn’t been thinking about the reward. My only thought was that somewhere out there, a man was desperately missing his pet. I never imagined it would cause such a firestorm. My Instagram followers had jumped by a million overnight, but the comments were a cesspool of mockery. [Thirsty much? Find a random ginger cat and claim it’s the billionaire’s? Pathetic.] [Nice photoshop job on the paw print. Almost looks real. ] [Just let it go, Willa. You’re divorced. Liam has moved on. Try to have some dignity.] Liam’s call was just gasoline on the fire. “Willa, I’m warning you. Delete that video right now, and post an apology. Stop living in this fantasy world. There are limits to chasing clout.” “But what if it really is him?” I asked softly. A humorless laugh crackled through the phone, followed by Chloe’s syrupy voice in the background. “Liam, honey, don’t waste your breath. She’s just jealous we’re trending, so she cooked up this insane scheme to get some attention.” Liam’s tone softened, shifting into that familiar, patronizing gentleness. “Willa, listen. I know it’s not easy for you on your own. If you’re short on cash, you can just ask me. You don’t have to resort to… this.” “I don’t need your money,” I said, cutting him off. “I was just posting a lost pet announcement.” I hung up. The phone rang again almost immediately. It was Liam’s agent. “Ms. Hayes,” he said, his voice cold and professional. “Liam and Chloe are at a critical stage in their careers. We must insist that you cease using your former association with Mr. Gray to generate publicity that negatively impacts their public image. If you refuse, our legal department will be in touch.” A threat. A bald-faced, Hollywood threat. I looked out the window. The animals I’d rescued were chasing each other across the small patch of grass, bathed in the warm afternoon sun. A wave of exhaustion washed over me. I had escaped that world, so why wouldn’t they just let me go? That evening, Chloe went live on Instagram. The theme: “Chatting about my sweet, misguided friend.” She never mentioned my name, but every word was a perfectly crafted dart aimed directly at me. “So, I have this friend,” she began, sighing dramatically. “She’s been having a really hard time since her divorce, always dreaming that some miracle will just fall into her lap. Recently, she started telling everyone she found a billionaire’s lost cat. Isn’t that just the saddest, funniest thing you’ve ever heard?” Her fans flooded the comments with laughing emojis. [LMAO, I think we all know who Chloe’s talking about.] [It’s her, isn’t it? The ex. This is the funniest story of the year.] 3 Chloe covered her mouth, her shoulders shaking with faux giggles. “No, no, you guys, don’t speculate. I’m just sharing a funny story. But seriously, you have to be realistic in life. If you spend too much time daydreaming, you can really lose your grip on reality.” The stream’s viewership soared. My name, Willa Hayes, scrolled across the screen in an endless, mocking loop. I had become a national punchline. The next day, a new kind of trouble arrived at my gate. A group of clout-chasing YouTubers, phones held out like weapons. “What’s up, guys! We’re live on the scene, about to expose the truth behind the Celebrity Ex-Wife’s Billion-Dollar Cat-fish!” They laughed as they pushed open my unlocked gate, their cameras panning across the modest yard. “Check it out! This is it. The so-called ‘palace’ where the Sterling cat is supposedly being held hostage.” “Yikes, this place is a dump. Any cat would get depressed living here.” The dogs in the yard erupted into a frenzy of barking. The more timid cats vanished. I put down the bag of kibble I was carrying and walked outside. “This is private property. You need to leave.” The leader, a guy with bleached-blond hair, shoved his phone in my face. “Whoa, the main character has entered the chat,” he sneered. “Don’t get your panties in a twist. We’re just curious. We want to see the cat that’s worth more than our entire careers combined. We’re giving you free publicity! If the billionaire sees this, you’ll be set for life. You should be thanking us.” Their live chat was a waterfall of vulgar insults. My jaw tightened. I pulled out my phone to call the police. Seeing this, the blond guy’s expression soured. He lunged, trying to snatch the phone from my hand. “What the hell are you doing?” I stumbled back, but one of his friends blocked my path. “What’s the big deal? It’s just a few pictures. Who are you trying to fool with this prim-and-proper act? We all know you posted that video for attention.” They closed in, their words sharp and humiliating. One of them shoved me, and my back slammed against the wall, a sharp pain radiating through my shoulder. Suddenly, an orange blur shot out of the house like a rocket. It was Cheeto. He launched himself through the air, a furry cannonball, and landed squarely on the blond YouTuber’s face. “Aaaargh!” A blood-curdling scream. The guy stumbled back, claw marks instantly welling up with blood on his cheek. Cheeto landed gracefully, arched his back, and let out a guttural hiss that promised more violence. The would-be internet stars, shocked and terrified, scrambled over each other to get away, tumbling out of the gate and disappearing down the street. Silence returned to the yard. I knelt and stroked Cheeto’s head. “Good boy,” I murmured. He rubbed against my hand, a deep, rumbling purr starting in his chest. Looking at him, the last of my hesitation vanished. This wasn’t about money or fame. It was about getting this little warrior home. And it was about finding a way to live my own life, on my own terms, without being pushed around by anyone. I took out my phone and recorded a new video. This time, I spoke. “His name is Cheeto. I found him in a dumpster during a rainstorm about a month ago,” I said, my voice calm and clear. “He’s a picky eater and turns his nose up at cheap kibble. He’s the undisputed king of this yard, and all the other animals know it. And he has a heart-shaped mark on the pad of his back-left paw.” I kept my tone even, factual. “I don’t know if he is the cat you’re looking for. But if your cat is anything like him, please contact me.” I took a deep breath. “I don’t want the reward. All I ask is that you make a donation of food and medical supplies to my shelter.” I paused, turning the camera to the other animals playing in the yard. “They need a home, too.” 4 The video ended with a lingering shot of the shelter’s residents—each one a survivor, each one a soul that had been thrown away. Less than half an hour later, Liam called again. “Willa, are you finally admitting this is about money?” His voice was thick with contempt. “Done playing the saint? Now you’re openly asking for donations? Couldn’t you at least try to be a little less obvious with your scheming?” I listened, saying nothing. “I’m telling you for the last time, take the video down. Stop causing problems for me. Chloe has a major gala next week, and I don’t want her name associated with this kind of desperate circus.” “Liam,” I said, my voice flat. “We’re divorced. What I do has nothing to do with you or with Chloe Summers.” “You—” I ended the call and blocked his number. And his agent’s. And his mother’s. The silence that followed was bliss. My new video began to circulate, and this time, the public reaction started to shift. The mockery was still there, but new voices emerged. [Say what you want, but that shelter looks spotless and the animals look really healthy and happy.] [Her voice is so calm. She doesn’t sound like a crazy person.] [Whether the cat is real or not, advocating for shelter animals is always a good thing.] That night was the season finale of Living with the Grays. The host, of course, brought up the incident with the YouTubers at my shelter. Chloe immediately adopted a look of pained innocence. “I was just horrified,” she said, her lower lip trembling. “I had no idea some of our fans would be so reckless. I’ve already told them their behavior was unacceptable.” She looked into the camera, her eyes welling up. “Honestly, I feel for Willa. It must be so hard for her, all alone with so many animals. Liam and I would be more than happy to help her if she’s struggling. We just wish she would reach out in a… more conventional way.” In one fell swoop, she painted herself as a benevolent saint, heartbroken over her “troubled” friend. Liam, ever the supportive partner, gazed at her with adoration. “She wasn’t always like this,” he added, shaking his head sadly. “I think living alone, all that stress… it can make people do extreme things. I just hope everyone can give her some space and stop harassing her.” Their tag-team performance was flawless. They had successfully crucified me on a cross of their own making, labeling me as unstable, desperate, and pathetic. The live chat became a torrent of hatred aimed at me. [Chloe is literally an angel.] [Liam is still protecting her! What a man!] [Willa, get help! Seriously!] I turned off the broadcast. I looked at their faces on my phone’s dark screen—the man I once shared a bed with, and the woman who had taken my place. They were basking in the glow of public adoration, while I was being treated like a rat in the sewer. I expected to feel a surge of anger, a sting of pain. But strangely, there was nothing. My heart was a placid lake, still and silent before a coming storm. The animals were asleep, and the yard was quiet except for the rustle of wind in the trees. I picked up my phone again and opened the comments on my video. A new comment had been pinned to the top. It had a gold checkmark next to the name, shining like a tiny beacon. It was from the official, verified account of Alistair Sterling. The message was five simple words. “Send us the address. On my way.” For the first time in a very long time, I smiled. A real, genuine smile that reached my eyes. I picked up the remote and switched the television back on. On screen, Chloe was dabbing a tear from her eye, her voice thick with fake emotion. “I just hope Willa can find her way back to reality soon, and stop living in a fantasy.” As the words left her mouth, the giant screen behind the stage suddenly flickered and changed. My video appeared, playing for the entire studio audience and the millions watching at home. And beneath it, highlighted for all to see, was that shining, golden comment. The host froze. The director was probably screaming in the control room.

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1 After failing to win over my first three targets, I made a final, desperate play: I got engaged to the paralyzed heiress of the Beaumont family. I spent every last point I had with the System to grant her the ability to walk again. The very first thing she did with her newfound strength was to publicly annul our engagement and throw a spectacular wedding at sea for a man named Adrian Thorne. From the deck of a nearby boat, I watched as all four of my targets gazed at Adrian, their faces soft with a tenderness they had never once shown me. A sudden, overwhelming wave of homesickness washed over me. I wanted to go home. So I turned my back on it all and threw myself into the ocean. But as my body hit the cold water, four figures dove in after me, their expressions twisted in masks of terror and regret. … On the lavish yacht, Seraphina Beaumont, radiant in her wedding gown, was sharing a blissful kiss with Adrian. As the guests cheered, the System’s mechanical voice echoed in my mind. 【Host has failed the mission. You will be terminated in fifteen days.】 A bitter smile touched my lips. I had been reborn into this body, transmigrated from my own world with a single purpose. The System had given me four targets. If I could get just one of them to a 100% affection score, my original body, riddled with a terminal illness, would be cured. For years, I had debased myself, humbled myself, and catered to their every whim. But every single time, just as I was about to reach that final threshold, Adrian Thorne would appear, and my progress would be wiped clean, my affection scores reset to zero. And now, my very last target was marrying him. With that thought, I walked to the edge of the deck and let myself fall into the deep, dark water. The ocean embraced me, a cold, silent shroud. I spread my arms, surrendering to the crushing weight, letting my body sink toward the abyss. But then, an arm hooked around my chest, dragging me back toward the suffocating light. Fresh air flooded my lungs, and before I could even register what was happening, a vicious slap sent my head snapping to the side. “You chose Adrian’s wedding to pull a stunt like this? You just had to ruin it for all of us, didn’t you?” I wiped a trickle of blood from my lip and looked up into the disgusted eyes of the woman who held me. The pain in my heart was a familiar, throbbing ache. My sister, Clarissa Rhodes. My first target in this world. After our parents died, we had only each other. When the car crashed, I hadn’t hesitated to shield her with my own body, taking the brunt of the impact. It left me with ruptured organs and a long stay in the ICU. She had wept over my hospital bed, promising that no matter what, she would always protect me. We were, she’d said, the only family we had left. But the day I was discharged, she brought Adrian home, announcing he was our new “little brother.” She moved him into my room and did nothing when he tortured my dog of eight years to death. Every argument between Adrian and me, she took his side, calling me petty and cruel for not being more welcoming. The ninety-seven points of affection I had painstakingly earned over eight years were erased by Adrian in less than a week. From that day on, her affection for me plummeted, and she eventually stopped acknowledging me as her brother at all. Seeing me sitting there, dazed and silent, Clarissa fished a bottle of heart medication from her purse and threw it at my chest. “Are you going to fake another heart attack? Take your pills and get the hell out of my sight!” I didn’t have a heart condition. The chest pains were a punishment from the System. In the past, she’d always carried these pills out of fear for my life. Now, her gesture held no warmth. I picked up the bottle, twisted off the cap, and poured a handful of the small white pills into my mouth. Clarissa’s eyes widened in shock. “Ethan, are you insane?!” she shrieked, slapping the pills from my hand. The bitter tablets scattered across the deck. She gripped my wrist, her hand trembling. I wasn’t insane. I just wanted to go home. I wanted one last chance to say goodbye to my real sister. I remained silent. Clarissa shot me a venomous glare. As a crowd of wedding guests began to gather, she impatiently ordered her bodyguards to drag me off the boat. Just as I set foot back on the main yacht’s deck, I heard the click of high heels behind me. A sweet, melodic voice followed. “Ethan, what are you doing here?” A soft gasp. “Oh my god, you’re soaked!” I turned to see Seraphina Beaumont, the woman who was almost my wife. A sliver of warmth pierced through the icy despair in my chest. So, she did still care, didn’t she? 2 As I opened my mouth to speak, her hand flew out and struck me across the face, the force of it sending me stumbling. “Did you really think I’d give you a second look just because you pull a stunt like this? Don’t make me laugh!” she sneered. “You’ve disrupted my wedding, and I promise you, you will pay for it.” Before I could react, she grabbed me by the throat, her grip like iron, and forced the upper half of my body over the railing, dangling me above the churning waves. The world began to blur as the air was crushed from my lungs, but I didn’t struggle. Maybe it’s better this way, I thought. To just die. I closed my eyes, ready to accept the end. But my passivity seemed to unnerve her. She yanked me back onto the deck, her eyes wide with a strange mix of shock and fury. “Why aren’t you fighting back? Why aren’t you saying anything? Do you actually want to die?!” Would she believe me if I tried to explain? I had tried so many times before, but she’d always dismissed my words as pathetic excuses, pushing her further and further into Adrian’s arms. A cold, hollow laugh escaped my lips. “I’ve already lost everything. Death doesn’t seem so bad.” Seraphina’s face went pale. She seized the front of my shirt, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “Your life is mine to take! You don’t have my permission to die!” When we were first engaged, her family had despised me, doing everything in their power to break us apart. To defy them, she had endured her family’s brutal ‘discipline’ time and time again, beaten black and blue but never yielding. When I found out, I went to the Beaumont estate and took the punishments in her stead. As I lay bleeding and broken, she had held me, making me promise that I would never, ever die without her permission. I looked up at her, about to speak, when a small, delicate girl pushed her way through the crowd. Lily. My second target. My best friend in this world. She didn’t say a word. She just ground her heel into my cheek and threw a stack of photographs at my chest. “Since you had the nerve to ruin Adrian’s day, I have no reason to spare your dignity, Ethan!” The photos scattered around me. Me, tied up and beaten like a dog. Me, forced down and ridden like an animal. Me, stripped naked with the word ‘TRASH’ carved into my skin. Lily had taken every single one. She had an artist’s eye, carefully framing each shot to capture the humiliation on my face in perfect, sharp detail. She did it all because I had exposed Adrian for cheating in a photography competition, shaming him in front of everyone. As the crowd gasped and jeered, Lily raised her camera and snapped a picture of me, kneeling and broken on the deck. In the corner of the camera, a small, elegant engraving glinted in the light. Lily & Ethan It was a gift from me. Her mother had died when she was young, and her father was a monster who brought home a string of cruel women. They took pleasure in tormenting her. We became friends by chance, and one night, I fought off one of her father’s lecherous friends to protect her. The beating I took left me temporarily blind. To comfort her, I gave her the camera and asked her to capture all the beauty in the world that I could no longer see. My vision returned, but her passion for photography remained. Until, one day, her camera started filling with pictures of Adrian. “Get on your knees and apologize to Adrian right now,” she said, her voice like ice. “Or I will post every single one of these online and see how you ever show your face in public again.” When I didn’t move, her voice dropped even lower. She grabbed me by the collar and hauled me to my feet, but my body was too weak. I crumpled, my knees hitting the hard deck with a sickening crack. Seraphina frowned, taking a step forward to help me, but Lily blocked her path. “Don’t be fooled by his pathetic act, Miss Beaumont. I trusted him once, and because of me, Adrian can never take another photograph.” She glared down at me. “Ethan, you were so desperate to beat Adrian in that competition that you not only hired thugs to assault him and take those disgusting photos, but you also framed him for cheating. If I hadn’t gotten there in time, Adrian would have killed himself!” Hearing this, Seraphina’s expression hardened into pure loathing. “Get out of here,” she hissed. “If you disrupt this wedding any further, I will personally ensure that everything Adrian suffered happens to you, ten times over. I’ll make you—” I didn’t wait to hear the rest. I scrambled to my feet and ran, not toward the exit, but straight for the busy road just beyond the pier. A massive truck was thundering toward me. I closed my eyes, ready for the impact. But just before the end, a body slammed into mine, shoving me out of the way. 3 Seraphina dragged herself toward me, her leg bleeding and bent at an unnatural angle, and seized my collar. “Who are you trying to impress with this death wish, Ethan? Do you think this makes me feel sorry for you?!” At the same time, the System’s voice chimed in. 【Host, detecting a rise in Seraphina Beaumont’s affection score. Do you wish to resume the mission?】 I stared at her in shock. She was already on her phone, telling her assistant to cancel the rest of the wedding ceremony. She felt my gaze and looked up, her expression unreadable. I calmly looked away. “No.” All I want now is to go home. A driver took me back to my small apartment. It was only then that I noticed the scrapes and bruises covering my body, caked with a mixture of grime and dried blood. I found a first-aid kit and was about to clean the wounds when the door was kicked open. Lily stormed in, her face contorted with rage, and kicked me squarely in the stomach. “Where did you take Adrian? If anything happens to him, I’ll make you wish you were never born!” Seraphina and Clarissa followed her in, their expressions just as menacing. “So that’s what this was all about,” Clarissa sneered. “All those pathetic suicide attempts were just a distraction to cover your tracks. I’m telling you, Ethan, if Adrian is harmed in any way, I will kill you myself.” I had no idea where he was. But their words sparked a dark, desperate thought. If they cared about him that much… maybe his disappearance would finally push them over the edge. Maybe they would finally kill me. Seeing my silence, a flicker of pure hatred crossed Seraphina’s face. “It seems you won’t talk unless we give you a reason to.” She grabbed a bottle of rubbing alcohol from the first-aid kit and poured it directly onto my open wounds. The sharp, searing pain made my body seize. A cold sweat broke out across my forehead. But they weren’t finished. Bodyguards pinned my arms and legs to the floor. Lily returned with a pair of fire tongs, glowing red-hot from the stove, while Seraphina continued to douse my cuts with alcohol. I was terrified. I wanted to die, but not like this, not tortured to death! I thrashed wildly, but a heavy blow to the back of my head silenced my struggles. Blood streamed down my face, and the strength drained from my limbs. I could barely whisper. “Just… kill me…” My defiance only seemed to fuel Seraphina’s rage. She grabbed a fruit knife from the kitchen counter and knelt over me. The tip of the blade, gleaming with cold light, hovered less than an inch from my left eye. “Do you really think this will make us feel pity? I’ll ask you one last time. Where is Adrian?!” My face was ashen, but I forced my lips into a triumphant, mocking smile. “Adrian? Oh, I killed him,” I rasped. “I threw his body into the sea for the sharks!” I looked at each of them, my voice rising with a delirious, final burst of energy. “You all loved him so much, didn’t you? You all wanted to marry him! Too bad that will never happen now.” “So go on! Kill me! Avenge your precious Adrian!” Seraphina’s eyes blazed. With a guttural scream of pure fury, she plunged the knife deep into my chest. My body went limp. As the world faded to black, a cheerful, familiar voice drifted in from the courtyard. “Hey, what’s everyone doing here? I brought snacks! Ah! Why is there so much blood?”

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All because her young assistant, Aiden, threw a drunken scene at our engagement party, sobbing that she couldn’t marry me, my fiancée, Luna, publicly slipped off the diamond ring I had just placed on her finger. She looked at me, her face a mask of distress, her eyes pleading. “Ethan, if we continue with the ceremony, Aiden will truly break down. I swear, as soon as I calm him down, we’ll get married immediately.” “Don’t worry,” she whispered, “I only see him as a little brother. You will always be the man I love most.” I watched her tear off her veil without a second thought and rush to Aiden’s side, her voice a soft murmur of comfort. And in that moment, I knew I had to call it off. She would never know that I had made a sworn pact with my family. If I wasn’t married in three days, I would have to return home and accept the alliance they had arranged for me. It seemed our time was finally up. 1 The first time Aiden caused a scene, shouting for Luna not to marry me, she had shut him down instantly, her face stern as she publicly reprimanded him. But as I prepared to place the ring on her finger for the second time, he started again. He smashed a wine bottle on the floor, held a jagged shard to his own neck, and sobbed uncontrollably. “Luna, if you marry Ethan Quinn, I’ll die right here in front of you!” This time, Luna panicked. She was no longer the strong woman who, just moments before, had defended my honor by scolding her unruly assistant. Instead, she frantically pulled the ring from her finger, tossing it aside as she rushed to him, her voice a gentle plea for him to be calm. She turned to me, her words tumbling out in a rush. “Ethan, Aiden is unstable right now. We have to stop the engagement. I know it’s not fair to you, but darling, our engagement can be postponed. Aiden only has one life.” “And don’t worry,” she added, her eyes locking with mine. “Even if we cancel this, you are the only man I will ever love.” When I remained silent, she bit her lip, her voice turning bitter with unshed tears. “The choice is yours. But no matter what you decide, my love for you will never change.” I saw the suppressed pain in her expression and understood. She was giving me a choice in name only. The decision had already been made for her. In that instant, I didn’t feel sadness. I felt a profound, chilling sense of desolation. Luna and I had been in love for six years, and this wasn’t the first time she had chosen Aiden’s feelings over mine. I had been jealous, I had argued with her, but every time, after soothing me with gentle words and promises, she would turn around and meet with him again. Over time, I’d learned to let it go. After so many years, the thought of breaking up was unbearable, especially with our wedding so close, the culmination of a long-held dream. But today’s spectacle made one thing brutally clear. There was no going back. “Fine,” I said, my voice flat. “Cancel it.” Luna’s eyes filled with a mixture of tenderness and pity. But her next words were for him. “So, the rest of the ceremony…” She didn’t have to finish. I knew what she wanted. She needed me to dismiss the guests, to give Aiden an out. So I did as she wished. “Everyone,” I said into the microphone, my face a blank mask. “Today’s engagement ceremony is canceled. Thank you all for coming. Please, you may leave.” As I spoke, I saw Aiden lower the shard of glass, his breathing steadying. But the guests were not so calm. Their whispers followed me, sharp and critical. One man even walked up to me, his lip curled in a sneer. “What a doormat. Another man steals your fiancée right in front of you, and you just let him?” Arguing felt pointless, so I said nothing. But Luna wouldn’t stand for it. She rushed over, shielding me protectively. “What do you know?” she snapped at the man. “My Ethan does this because he loves me! As long as I’m here, no one gets to bully him. Now get out!” The guest, taken aback by her ferocity, muttered something under his breath and scurried away. A bitter irony washed over me. No one gets to bully Ethan? But you’re the one doing the bullying, Luna. As the crowd thinned, she turned to me, her voice soft again. “Ethan, don’t worry. I’ll plan the next engagement party myself. I promise, you won’t be wronged again.” I didn’t respond. Just then, Aiden shuffled over, his head bowed in mock shame. “Ethan, I’m so sorry. I was just drunk. I’m sober now. Why don’t you two… continue with the engagement?” He looked up, his dark eyes wide and sincere. “I promise I won’t cause any more trouble. Really.” If he had said that before every last guest had walked out the door, I might have actually believed him. Luna frowned at him. “You may be sober, but you’ve already ruined the party,” she chided gently. “Aiden, you were completely out of line this time. You’ve caused Ethan a great deal of trouble. He’s my fiancé, your future brother-in-law. You need to apologize to him properly.” Aiden mumbled a weak apology, then looked up at her with a pathetic, pleading expression. “Luna… you know you promised to go to that spa retreat with me? I already bought the tickets. Can we… can we still go later?” He glanced nervously at me. “If Ethan doesn’t agree, then… we don’t have to.” Luna’s expression softened with pity. She paused, then turned to me. “Ethan, why don’t the three of us go together?” Before I could answer, Aiden chimed in again, his voice barely a whisper. “I’m sorry, Ethan… the tickets… they’re for a couple’s package. They’re all sold out now. Maybe you and Luna should go. I’ll just… stay behind.” Luna was trapped. I could see the conflict warring on her face, the words to send him away stuck in her throat. I remembered clearly how much she despised public spas; she’d always said they were unsanitary when I’d invited her. But for Aiden, she was suddenly interested. I decided to make it easy for her. “You two go,” I said, my voice devoid of emotion. “I’m going home to rest.” I turned and walked out of the hotel. Luna, her face etched with guilt, hurried after me. I could see her wrestling with the decision, wanting to say she’d stay with me but unable to form the words. We reached the parking garage. We’d only brought one car. Aiden had mentioned the spa was thirty miles away. Snow had begun to fall, dusting the pavement in a fine white powder. “Take the car,” I said, handing her the keys. I decided to walk home. It was only a couple of miles. She watched me, a lone figure turning to face the cold, and her expression deepened with heartache. A moment later, she ran to catch up, her hand instinctively reaching for mine. “Ethan, your hands are freezing!” Without another word, she unwound her scarf and pulled off her gloves, bundling them onto me. She leaned in close, her breath warm against my ear. “Don’t overthink this, Ethan. I’ll arrange the wedding soon. I promise.” Her eyes were liquid pools of affection. I didn’t answer. I just nodded and walked away. The snow was coming down harder now, catching in my hair, the cold seeping into my very bones. My phone rang. “Ethan. We heard the engagement was canceled.” The voice was cold, familiar. “As per our agreement, you have three days. Then you will return home and fulfill your obligation to this family.” 2 I was supposed to be the heir to the Quinn dynasty of Sterling City. But I refused to be a pawn in their corporate alliances, so I left for the quiet city of Oakhaven to make my own way. That’s where I met Luna. We fell in love. When my family found out, they used all their power to try and force me back. I stood my ground, and we struck a deal: if I wasn’t married within three years, I would return and accept their terms. I used to think marriage was just a formality, a piece of paper that couldn’t change the love Luna and I shared. Reality had just slapped me in the face. After agreeing to my family’s terms, I walked home. The winter air was biting. Even with Luna’s scarf and gloves, I couldn’t stop shivering. As if on cue, a text from her lit up my phone: Are you home yet? I typed back, Home, then stepped into a scalding hot shower. When I emerged, a new voice message from Luna was waiting. I pressed play. The background was filled with the sound of splashing water and laughter. “Stop it, Aiden, you little monster! You’re getting my robe all wet!” “Look, Luna! I’m swimming over to you!” I knew their voices instantly. A bitter taste filled my mouth. A moment later, the message was retracted. Then, my phone rang. It was her. I let it ring a few times before answering. “Ethan? Did you… did you get a message from me just now?” Her voice was tight with anxiety. “What message?” I said coolly. “I just got out of the shower.” I heard her breathe a sigh of relief. “Oh, nothing,” she said with a forced laugh. She told me to stay warm, that she probably wouldn’t be coming home tonight. I grunted in acknowledgment and hung up. A suffocating sadness settled over me. Looking around our home, everything—from the pattern on my pillows to the style of the furniture—was a testament to our shared history. She used to look at me with stars in her eyes and say, “Ethan, you’re the light of my life. I will love you forever.” How could a love like that just… change? I threw myself into my work. If I was leaving, I had affairs in Oakhaven to wrap up. An email notification popped up. My inbox, which was synced with Luna’s, was flooded with over a thousand photos. I opened one. It was them. Luna and Aiden at the spa. Under the warm, ambient lighting, they posed in matching robes, laughing in the thermal pools, lounging on tatami mats. The pictures were playful, intimate. The chemistry between them was palpable, their gazes charged with a restrained heat. I scrolled through them, one after another, a creeping numbness spreading through my chest. The next morning, I was jolted awake by a call from Luna. She was frantic. “Ethan, you saw the photos, didn’t you? Aiden and I were just messing around, I swear. Please, don’t get the wrong idea.” 3 “Ethan, if you’re angry, just yell at me. I know I crossed a line with Aiden,” she pleaded, her voice trembling. “I’m so sorry. It will never happen again. Please don’t keep it bottled up. Please?” My silence only made her more agitated. Finally, I spoke. “It’s fine.” She didn’t believe me. “No, it’s not,” she said, her voice cracking with a sob. “I know you’re hurting. Wait for me. I’m packing now, I’m coming home. I’ll explain everything in person. Please, Ethan, don’t be upset.” She hung up abruptly. I glanced at the clock. A little after seven. Time to pack my own bags. As I was zipping up the last of my suitcases, our housekeeper saw me and gasped. “Sir? Are you leaving? Miss Luna will never allow it.” She was right. Everyone who worked for us knew how much Luna adored me. The day she brought me here, she had gathered the entire staff and declared, “Ethan is the master of this house. His word is law. You must take care of him above all else. No one is to ever make him unhappy.” If I tried to leave, she would fight tooth and nail to keep me. She couldn’t imagine a life without me. “It’s okay,” I told the housekeeper. “I’ll talk to her.” I was gone before Luna got back. I checked into a hotel downtown. Two hours later, there was a frantic knocking at my door. I opened it to find Luna, her hair a mess, tear tracks staining her cheeks. The moment she saw me, she sagged with relief and threw herself into my arms. “Ethan, why did you move out? You scared me to death!” Before I could respond, Aiden appeared from around the corner, his expression wounded. “Ethan, all we did was go to a spa to relax. Do you really need to run away from home just to get attention? You’re doing this just to hurt me, aren’t you?” His voice choked. “If that’s the case, maybe I should just go die and stop being a burden to everyone!” Luna immediately pushed me away and rushed to Aiden’s side. “Aiden, don’t say things like that!” she hissed. After a few quiet words to him, she grabbed my arm and pulled me back into the room, closing the door behind us. She looked exhausted, her voice low and strained with disappointment. “Ethan, I know you don’t like Aiden, but can you please not provoke him? I told you, you’re the only man I’ll ever love. You don’t need to test me like this. It just makes everyone miserable.” The desolation in my heart deepened. “Sorry,” I said flatly. “It won’t happen again.” My calm demeanor seemed to soften her. “Okay, Ethan,” she said, her voice gentle again. “I’m not blaming you. I just don’t want you to be jealous. Now, come home with me. Stop sulking, okay?” I pulled my arm from her grasp. “I’m not coming back. Let’s have dinner tonight. There’s something I need to tell you.” A flicker of unease crossed her face. Before she could speak, Aiden reappeared at the door. “Luna, my head hurts,” he whined. “Can you take me to the doctor? I feel like I’m going to faint… can you help me?” Luna sighed, a flash of irritation on her face, but her body moved on instinct, stepping forward to support him. She had no choice but to leave with him. I went downstairs and booked a private dining room, inviting a few of my closest friends from Oakhaven to join me that evening. It was time to tell them—and Luna—that I was returning to Sterling City for an arranged marriage. As I was finalizing the plans, a new text arrived. It was from Aiden. A photo of Luna, wearing an apron, cooking in our kitchen. The message read: Still waiting for Luna to come get you from your lonely hotel room, Ethan? Keep waiting. She’s busy making me my favorite homemade soup. You’re just a clown. His taunts barely registered. I felt nothing at all. That evening, the private room filled with my friends. Only Luna was missing. I called her five times. On the fifth try, she finally picked up. “Ethan, I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice filled with guilt. “Just wait a little longer. I’ll be there as soon as I’m done here.” “It’s fine,” I said. I hung up and turned to the waiter. “We’re not waiting. Bring out the food.” 4 When I told my friends I was going home for an arranged marriage, they were stunned. But they didn’t ask questions, just offered their congratulations. Someone mentioned that I should probably tell Luna, given our long and famously devoted history. As I was debating what to do, the door to the room swung open. It was Luna, with Aiden in tow. The mood in the room shifted. Even I was shocked that she had brought him here, to this. “Ethan, I’m so sorry I’m late,” she said, sliding her arm through mine. “I didn’t realize you’d invited so many people.” She smiled brightly. “I’ll drink three glasses as an apology to everyone.” She poured three shots of whiskey and downed them without hesitation. Aiden chose that moment to speak, his tone dripping with faux innocence. “Wow, Ethan, you gathered all your best friends for this dinner. Are you planning some kind of surprise for Luna?” He sighed dramatically. “I shouldn’t have come. I’m just being a third wheel and making you uncomfortable.” His cloying act made everyone in the room visibly cringe. Even Luna shot him a warning look. “Aiden, be quiet.” He stuck out his tongue and looked down, feigning hurt. I watched them, a pair oblivious to the world, wearing matching couple’s watches, emanating the same subtle perfume. And I knew with absolute certainty that the woman who had once loved me so fiercely was gone forever. “So, Ethan,” Luna said, turning her attention back to me. “You said you had something to tell me. What is it? Is this… a proposal?” A shy, pleased blush colored her cheeks, mixed with a hint of apprehension. She leaned in, whispering, “Ethan, can we postpone the proposal? It’s not really appropriate with Aiden here. Maybe next time…” One of my friends couldn’t take it anymore. “You’ve got it wrong, Luna,” he said, his voice flat. “He’s not proposing to you.” “He’s telling you he’s going home for an arranged marriage.” Every eye in the room turned to Luna. The smile on her face froze. She stared at my friend, then at me, her expression bewildered. “An arranged marriage? What are you talking about?” Her voice trembled, but she forced a gentle tone. “Ethan, what are they saying? I don’t understand…” I could see the panic rising in her eyes. I took a deep breath. “Luna,” I said, my voice steady and clear. “I’m going back home to marry my fiancée.” “We’re breaking up.”

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My wife Eleanor despised our arranged marriage. On the day she tried to run away with her lover, a car crash left her paralyzed. I found her, saved her, and cared for her unquestioningly for the rest of our lives. We even raised three children together. I assumed we’d have a quiet, if not passionate, life. I never imagined she resented me every one of those years. As we grew old, she brought her lover home to live with us. “If it weren’t for you,” she spat, voice trembling with hatred, “Andrea would have saved me. You ruined my life and my true love. I never want to see you again!” My children echoed her, urging me into a nursing home. “You had Mom’s love for a lifetime. Be grateful,” said my eldest. “Uncle Andrea has no one. He’d be miserable in a home,” my second son pleaded. “Mom doesn’t have much time left,” whispered my daughter. “Let her be happy.” They cast me aside, spending my pension while playing family with him. Rage and grief overwhelmed me. A stroke left me paralyzed, trapped. When the flood came, I drowned alone. When I opened my eyes, I was back on the day my wife ran away. If her greatest regret was never being with him, this time I would grant her wish. 1 “Father, I want a divorce.” Across the grand living room, a younger, vibrant Eleanor stood defiantly before her father. The suffocating feeling of floodwater filling my lungs still lingered, a phantom pressure in my chest. I looked around at the familiar yet strangely distant room, the heavy velvet curtains, the polished mahogany table. It took me a moment to understand. I was reborn. On the ornate chair at the head of the room, the old man’s face was a mask of fury. “Nonsense!” he barked. Seeing my father-in-law, Mr. Ashford, alive again after so many years, brought a sting to my eyes. I was an orphan, a beggar he had found on the street and brought into his home. In an era where most struggled for a single meal, he gave me new clothes and full bowls of rice. He taught me to read, sent me to school, and personally mentored me in his business. When I came of age, he gave me a home, a name, and his daughter’s hand in marriage. He was more of a father to me than anyone. I owed him everything. My lips parted, about to voice the name I hadn’t called him in decades, when Eleanor’s sharp voice cut through the air. “Father, I have never once disobeyed you. You told me to marry this… this coarse, uneducated boy you took in, and I did,” she declared, her voice dripping with disdain. “But I don’t love him. He can’t discuss literature or philosophy. He’s vulgar. We have nothing in common.” Her gaze softened as she continued. “Only Andrea understands me. He loves me, he respects me. Only with him do I feel alive, truly in love. Mother is gone. Can you really be so cruel as to watch me waste my life with a man I despise?” Her accusations sent a tremor through Mr. Ashford, but he controlled his anger, turning to me with an apologetic look. “Eleanor is young and foolish, Jacob. Don’t pay any mind to her words.” I gave a bitter smile. Young? Our three children were already old enough to run around the yard. But perhaps in a father’s eyes, a daughter never truly grows up. Eleanor’s cold, merciless gaze shifted to me. “My father says he raised you to take care of me. But I have hands and feet. I have a staff of servants. I don’t need you.” She took a step closer. “I’ve wanted to say this to you for a long time. I have never loved you. Not now, not ever. Jacob, I’ve made myself perfectly clear. Are you really going to shamelessly cling to this family where you don’t belong?” Those familiar words were a key, unlocking a vault of memories I had buried deep. I glanced at the calendar on the wall, my head spinning. In my last life, on this exact day, Eleanor had come to Mr. Ashford to demand a divorce so she could be with Andrea. My father-in-law, knowing my loyalty and my quiet, lifelong adoration for his daughter, refused. He had seen how I’d cared for her, and in his eyes, I was the only man for the job. When her father said no, she turned on me. Back then, I believed him—that she was just being spoiled and childish. I couldn’t bear to leave her or our children, so I refused as well. In a fit of rage, she tried to run away with Andrea. They didn’t get far. A car crash crushed her legs, leaving her crippled for life. I put aside my hurt and devoted myself to her. She, however, blamed me for her fate. She resented me for not letting her go, for “trapping” her. She cursed me for saving her, for caring for her, accusing me of using my service as a weapon to hold her captive, blocking the only path for Andrea to be with her. To the world, she was the tragic heroine, and Andrea was her lost love. And me? Her husband, who served her hand and foot for a lifetime? I was a relic of a bygone era, a symbol of her father’s feudal mindset, and the villain who had destroyed her one chance at happiness. Fine. This time, I would step aside. This time, I would grant her the love story she so desperately wanted. Eleanor and her father were still arguing. I sighed softly and looked at the old man. “Sir,” I said, my voice steady. “Her heart is set. Let her have her way.” 2 Though Eleanor and I had raised three children, we hadn’t gotten a proper marriage license for over a decade. Back then, all it took was her father’s approval and a written marriage contract. Annulling it was simple. All we needed was his nod. “Even after all this, you still won’t agree, you spineless…” Eleanor’s tirade faltered as my words finally registered. She stopped mid-insult. She shot me a surprised look, the hostility in her eyes lessening just a fraction. “Good, you’ve finally come to your senses,” she said, her tone shifting. “If you behave, I might consider your years of service to this family and make sure you don’t starve.” Her words were as arrogant as ever. Just like on our wedding day, when she stood beside me, a beautiful, untouchable statue of ice. The birth of our children had thawed her slightly; we lived as courteous strangers, sharing a roof but not a life. Then, six months ago, Andrea had arrived. Hired as a tutor for the children, he immediately caught Eleanor’s eye. From that moment on, she despised my lack of formal education. I couldn’t discuss foreign literature with her; all I was good for was fetching her tea and massaging her tired shoulders. I studied cuisines from around the world to please her palate; she complained I smelled of kitchen grease. I spent a fortune importing a rare cologne from France just to see her smile. She took it from me and gave it to Andrea. “Things of this quality,” she’d said, “are meant for cultured, educated men.” Andrea would fold a simple paper flower, hand it to her with a flourish, and murmur, “A beautiful flower for a beautiful woman.” She would blush and giggle like a schoolgirl. I planted an entire garden of roses for her, a breathtaking sea of color under the sun. She mocked me for it, calling me a pathetic, posturing clown. In her eyes, I could do nothing right. Even the sound of my breathing grated on her. She said I was loud as an ox and belonged in a barn, not a house. She saw me through a lens of prejudice. Andrea was her perfect man. She was blind to the truth. No one is perfect. The more perfect someone seems, the more likely they are a carefully crafted trap. In my last life, during my time in that desolate nursing home, I was consumed by a need for answers. I’d spent my last ounce of energy investigating Andrea and found a mountain of evidence. He was a grifter, a con man who left a trail of financial ruin wherever he went. But by then, it was too late. When I showed the proof to my family, they accused me of slander. The memories still stung, a fresh wave of injustice washing over me. Mr. Ashford’s voice pulled me back to the present. “Jacob, don’t be hasty. Think of your three children. What will happen to them if you two separate?” A triumphant smile finally broke across Eleanor’s face. “Don’t worry, Father. The children are very sensible. They feel the same way I do. They adore Andrea.” She leaned forward. “If you don’t believe me, I’ll call them in. They can tell you themselves.” A few moments later, the children entered, but they weren’t alone. The elegant, scholarly Andrea was with them. Mr. Ashford erupted. “Get out! This is a private family matter. You have no place here, outsider!” Before he could continue, our eldest son, Daniel, stepped in front of Andrea. “Uncle Andrea isn’t an outsider.” Our second son, Leo, sniffled. “Grandpa, please, we wanted him to come. Don’t make him leave.” And our youngest, Lily, nestled in Andrea’s arms, pointed a tiny finger at me. “I don’t want that dirty beggar!” she chirped. “I want Uncle Andrea to be our daddy.” Even knowing this was coming, seeing it with my own eyes—the children I had raised and protected siding with a stranger, shaming their own father—was a bitter pill to swallow. I looked at them, and they instinctively flinched, hiding the candy in their hands behind their backs. So that was it. Andrea indulged their every whim. They constantly complained of toothaches, so I was strict about sugar. Because of me, not one of them had a single cavity. But when they were older, they wrote bitter diary entries about my “tyranny.” It’s all genetic anyway. My friend eats candy for breakfast and never brushes her teeth, and she’s fine. My dad never bought us sweets, and if he caught us not brushing, we’d get a spanking. The pain of a toxic childhood… Thinking of this, I looked away. I wouldn’t interfere again. Andrea shot me a smug glance, then gently chided the children. “You mustn’t be rude to your elders. If you do that again, Uncle won’t like you anymore.” They immediately fell silent, chastened. Eleanor raised an eyebrow at her father. “You see? Jacob only knows how to use brute force. The children are afraid of him. Andrea uses modern, scientific methods. He is far better suited to be their father.” Mr. Ashford, who had been so vehemently opposed, now fell silent. Eleanor turned her gaze back to me. “Jacob, you were brought into this family. After the divorce, the children will stay with me. Do you have any objections?” The children stared at me, their eyes wide with alarm, terrified I might try to take them. I smiled, a hollow, empty thing. “That’s perfectly reasonable,” I said, nodding. “I have no objections.” Defeated, Mr. Ashford could only agree. When the marriage contract was brought out, he hesitated one last time. He looked at his daughter, his voice grave. “This contract is the only thing binding you. Once it’s torn, it’s over. Are you absolutely sure you won’t regret this?”

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The day the werewolf I’d raised for a decade defied me for an illegitimate girl, I had him lashed eighty-eight times. As my whip fell, the live-stream comments in my vision scrolled into a furious blur. [My God! Is this venomous bitch insane with jealousy?! She’s actually trying to kill him!] [How is this any different from treating him like a dog?! This is straight-up abuse! No wonder he chose to save the other girl instead of you!] [If she weren’t so tyrannical, always threatening him, he would’ve left her side ages ago!] Threaten him? Threaten a disloyal dog? I was silent for a long moment, then let out a bitter laugh. I ordered his things thrown out. Then, I went straight to the fighting pits and picked out a new wolf whelp. It wasn’t until two weeks later that he heard the news. He came from the girl’s apartment, running through a storm, and seized my arm. His eyes were bloodshot, his voice trembling as he asked, “Is it true? You got a new Beastman?” 1 When I brought the blood-soaked wolf whelp home, a chilling silence fell over the villa. No one had believed me. The day before, I’d made my threat, and today, I’d actually returned with a new Beastman. The butler, fumbling a vase he nearly dropped, steeled himself and approached. “Where shall we… put him, my lady?” I shot him a sideways glance. “Where do you think?” A Beastman had to be trained personally. His room would be next to mine. He hesitated. “And the things in the room…?” “Throw them out,” I said, my voice like ice. By now, everyone knew the story. The Beastman I’d raised for ten years had defied me for a slip of a girl, the bastard daughter of my father. When we both fell into the water, he hadn’t hesitated to swim in the opposite direction. Last night, I’d reined in my fury and given him eighty-eight lashes. But even as the whip grew slick with his blood, his face remained a stony mask. He refused to make a sound. I was soaked to the bone, my palm burning. With the final, vicious crack of the whip, a spray of blood erupted from his lips. “Speak!” I commanded. He finally looked up, his eyes empty of emotion. “Speak? What would you have me say, my lady?” He knew I was incandescent with rage, yet he goaded me with question after question. “You bought my life. You shattered my bones and set them yourself. You carved your every rule into my flesh. What’s wrong? Is the wolf you raised no longer obeying your commands? Has it wounded your pride?” It was laughable. He knew he was my creation, yet he’d chosen to save that wilting flower, the one trying to steal my inheritance. The endless night stretched around us like spilled ink. He tugged at the corner of his mouth in a smirk. “You have plenty of people who care about you, my lady. You don’t need me.” “Don’t need you?” I scoffed. “Lucian, have you forgotten why I raised you in the first place?” His gaze was mocking, his posture defiant. “I can’t begin to guess your motives, my lady.” “I only know that you stand above everyone, the sun around which all planets orbit. On the shore, a dozen hands reached for you. But she… she had no one.” “Perhaps you’ve never known the feeling of drowning, with only a single blade of grass to cling to. But I have. In that moment, she was the only one I saw.” The chill of the night wind seeped into my bones. I gave a sardonic twist of my lips. “And?” His eyes were cold, his words sharp and clear. “She only had me.” Only you? The absurdity of it all bloomed in my mind. For a full thirty seconds, our eyes locked in a battle of wills. He didn’t flinch. I clicked my tongue against my teeth. “You want to be her dog?” I asked. “Fine.” “I’ll deliver you myself.” A werewolf’s pride, his very blood, screamed against the insult of being called a dog. But I needed to humiliate him. I drove him through the night to Lily’s little rental. When I kicked him out of the car, he barely winced. He simply stood,Enduring the blood seeping through his shirt, and began to limp toward the distant lights of her building. His silhouette was proud and cold, his head held high. He would never bow. 2 They say once bitten, twice shy. No one expected me to get another wolf whelp. At the underground fighting pit, the owner showed me a parade of different Beastmen. But I surveyed them all, row after row, and found none to my liking. Annoyed, I decided to leave. Just as I rounded a corner, about to step out of the long, damp corridor, a blood-caked hand shot out from a cage in the shadows and gripped my boot. I turned my head, my gaze drifting down. I had seen countless beasts on the brink of death. They were usually hysterical, numb, or begging pitifully. But this was different. Amidst the filth and the cold, flickering light, I saw a pair of black eyes, stubborn and startlingly clear. He told me he would be my dog. All he asked for was a scrap of food. I glanced at the tag on his cage: REJECT. The chattering owner beside me saw what I was looking at and broke into a cold sweat. I raised a hand, stopping him before he could intervene. Pulling off my black leather glove, I slowly crouched down. In the perpetual stench of rust and rot that was the Pit, a single shaft of light happened to fall on my fingertips. I tipped up his chin, studying him. If he had watched me select my prospects, he would know how impossibly high my standards were. And here he was, broken and bleeding, hovering on the edge of death. His heart hammered in his chest, so loud I could almost hear it. He was conscious of every ragged breath. The three minutes I spent assessing him must have felt like a century. Yet, he saw no flicker of emotion on my cold face. Just as the light in his dark eyes began to fade, I raised an eyebrow. “You’re willing to come with me?” His drooping wolf ears shot straight up. He began to wag his tail frantically, like a puppy, and a fire ignited in his pupils. He nuzzled my wrist, repeating the words with a desperate, fervent heat. Willing. Willing to go with me, willing to be my dog, willing to be loyal for a lifetime, to never betray me. Good. Those were the words I liked to hear. I looked at the terrified owner. “He’ll do.” 3 I had no intention of keeping the wolf whelp. He was a reject, after all. He would never survive my long and brutal training. When his wounds had mostly healed, I told him, “You can go.” He stared at me for a long time before asking, “Why?” A storm of emotion churned in his damp, black eyes. He watched me, unblinking. I nonchalantly flipped a page of my newspaper. “No reason. Consider it an act of charity.” The butler stepped forward to lead him away, whispering, “Look, kid, our lady only keeps the strongest, most loyal Beastmen. Don’t get your hopes up. Your predecessor was sent away overnight for being disloyal, and he’d been with her for ten years. She didn’t even bat an eye…” As the butler rambled on, the boy suddenly vanished from his side. The young Beastman had returned. His voice was raspy, still laced with breathlessness from his sprint back to me. “Can I have a chance to be better than him?” For once, I bothered to lift my gaze. “In what respect?” He clenched his fists, enunciating each word with fierce determination. “In every respect.” Strength. Loyalty. He would surpass the predecessor the butler spoke of in every conceivable way. I set down the newspaper and studied him properly. In the spacious, brightly lit living room, he waited, tense and anxious, for my verdict. I hadn’t paid much attention to his appearance when I brought him back. Now that he was clean, I saw that every line of his face was sharp and aggressive. A high brow, blade-like eyes. But the effect was softened by his damp lashes, creating a strange vulnerability. His eyes were the same as that day in the Pit—stubborn and clear. That was the real reason I’d taken him. After a long, silent appraisal, I finally spoke. “Very well.” “If you can survive it.” 4 My training methods were notoriously cruel. The ones I’d acquired before—One, Two, Three, Four, and Five—none of them had survived this period. He was to be the ninth. The name was just a designation. Besides bearing my family name, the name “Kai” had no special significance. But he still nodded with solemn gravity. I didn’t intend to start with high intensity. But his potential far exceeded my expectations. In just one week, he completed all the basic training and was already asking for more difficulty. It made me wonder if the “Reject” label had been a mistake. At dusk, he had just finished a sixty-mile mountain run with a two-hundred-pound pack. The muscles in his calves were twitching uncontrollably, and he had to brace his hands on his knees to keep from collapsing. A hundred kilometers in six hours, maintaining perfect marksmanship even as his muscles were tearing themselves apart. He achieved it on his third try. I was leaning against the window of my SUV, one hand on the frame, talking idly on the phone, but my eyes never left his retreating figure. Suddenly, as if sensing my gaze, he turned. Our eyes met across the distance. Backlit by the setting sun, he began to run towards me, down the slope. The wind on the summit tossed his damp, dark hair. He drew closer, until I could see the flushed skin of his neck and the single drop of sweat clinging to his throat. The call was from my father, summoning me to a gala. He said if I would just bow my head, he would forgive my “aggression” towards his illegitimate daughter. Laughable. A man so ruthless in his youth had become sentimental about family in his old age. I gave a few noncommittal replies and hung up. “My lady.” He fought to even his breathing as he came to a stop before me. Watching his chest heave, I suddenly realized he did this every evening—ran to me, gasping for air. Even today, when his body was at its absolute limit. I chided him gently, “What’s the hurry?” “I was afraid you’d get bored waiting.” My hand, poised to put the key in the ignition, paused. I glanced at him. “Get in,” I said coolly. “I came to pick you up. There’s no ‘bored’ about it.” After he buckled his seatbelt, he turned his head, his throat bobbing as he finally managed to say the words he’d been holding back. “It only took six hours today.” “Hmm.” “And I didn’t miss a single shot.” “Hmm.” He didn’t need to report to me. A team was already recording all his data. His physical stats, his reaction times—they were all top-tier. I knew that Lucian’s best time had been seven hours and three minutes. And Kai had shattered that record in just one week. The comment stream was in an uproar. [No way a new Beastman is stronger than the main love interest!! Who is this guy?! He’s totally stealing the male lead’s thunder! Someone needs to fix this!!] [What’s the big deal? Did everyone forget this is a polyamory story? A stronger Beastman showing up is totally normal. Why is everyone so shocked? In the end, they all fall for our sweet heroine anyway.] [Exactly. Who could resist our gentle, kind, and complimentary heroine, Lily! Once this little wolf sees the bitch’s true colors, he’ll run straight into our girl’s arms.] [Ugh, I wish it was our heroine there instead. The little wolf is so obviously looking for praise!! He worked so hard, finally got the courage to ask for it, and all he gets is a couple of cold ‘hmms’! My heart breaks for him!!] I had learned to ignore these idiotic comments. But the last one that floated by made me pause and think. Was he asking for praise? 5 The car entered the city, and the evening glow washed over the congested traffic on the overpass. I couldn’t stop myself from glancing at the passenger seat. His ears did seem to be drooping a little. His lips were pressed into a thin line. He stared down at the bloodstains on his clothes, lost in thought. I rehearsed the words in my head a few times before finally speaking his name. The young Beastman looked up. His thick lashes fluttered, half of his body bathed in the sunset’s glow, which unexpectedly softened the fierce aura he usually carried. Damn it. The words were on the tip of my tongue, but I couldn’t say them. I started to speak, then stopped. Then started again. “Take tomorrow off,” I finally said, my grip tightening on the steering wheel. It wasn’t praise, but it was concern. That should be enough to lift his spirits, right? But after a moment of stunned silence, he protested, “I’m fine. I can continue training.” I turned my head, my gaze falling to his blood-streaked calves. Fine? I frowned. The comment stream helpfully provided the answer. [He thinks he didn’t do well enough today, that he failed to meet her expectations. Poor little wolf. Lily, where are you?! This evil villain is going to crush his confidence!] [Sigh. He’s terrified of being thrown away for not being good enough, so he’s trying to prove himself. Too bad he’s stuck with a heartless monster. If it were the heroine, she’d be showering him with praise right now.] [Hold on, let’s be rational. The heroine has a lot of love to give, so she can share it. But for a villain like this, who was never loved as a child, it’s hard to learn how to love others. I kind of get her.] [You’re defending this venomous bitch? Get real. Her being twisted is her problem. What did our little wolf ever do to deserve this?] The argument in the comments intensified. I ignored it, my gaze fixed on Kai’s face. The last rays of sunset fell across his cheek, making the blood on his neck seem almost beautiful. The colors of the sky spread out like spilled ink, so vibrant it was dizzying. My prolonged stare made his knuckles clench. His heartbeat grew stronger, more frantic. He couldn’t bear being scrutinized like this. His ears turned a burning red, and he couldn’t stop his eyes from dropping. Just as he was about to turn away completely, to escape my gaze, I spoke. “You were brilliant today.” He froze mid-turn. “So,” I added, “you can have tomorrow off. This is your reward.” The gridlocked traffic on the overpass finally began to move. Not everyone is born knowing how to love, but I didn’t mind learning. Especially for the wolf whelp I was raising with my own two hands.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394312”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The pop superstar adjusted my earpiece, and then, on instinct, kissed my hair. We both froze. Because this was a reality show about divorce. And we were from different couples. 1 After I divorced Ashton, everyone thought I would be the one clinging to him. He had announced our marriage at the peak of his fame. After successfully transitioning his career and finally winning awards, my name would always come up. “How did she get so lucky?” they’d say. “She doesn’t deserve him.” I was the one who asked for the divorce. But he had been waiting for it for a long time. While he was on set with his co-star, an actress named Vera, wearing his clothes, using his phone case, playing the part of a “set couple”… I was still at home, flipping through a calendar, waiting for him to come back, only to have my calls rejected again and again with the excuse of being “busy.” Until one day, I ran into Vera in first class. She greeted me with a warm, beaming smile. “Did you know,” she whispered in my ear, “I paid for this flight with his card.” She was doing it on purpose. Trying to force me to divorce him. I gave her what she wanted. I went home and was packed and gone within half an hour. I don’t want things that other people have touched and soiled. Thank God, we didn’t have any children. Ashton leaned against the doorframe, watching me. His reaction was muted. He only asked one thing: “What else do you want?” “Your phone.” He was taken aback but handed it over without a fight. In the years when he loved me most, when I was by his side as he climbed from obscurity to stardom, I had always been his one and only pinned contact. Now, I had been replaced. All that was left was “Do Not Disturb.” We signed the papers. He gave me everything he had earned over the years, just begging me to let him go quickly. He said he was truly in love with Vera. After signing a non-disclosure agreement, I left, thinking I would never have contact with him again. Until he called me, one month after the divorce. “We need to meet.” “We can’t let the fans find out you cheated. The show still has to air.” I had arrived early. In the break room, Ashton’s manager was trying to persuade him. “You’re divorced, but you’re still a top-tier actor. And her? She’s just a nobody waiting to become a laughingstock.” “She’s definitely not going to take this lying down.” “So, you just trick her. Tell her you want to go on a divorce reality show with her.” “Let her think she still has a chance to win you back, make her grovel and please you.” “Then, in the final edit, we’ll make her look annoying, and you’ll get to keep your ‘devoted lover’ persona.” The manager nudged him. “Are you even listening?” Ashton had his legs propped up on a low table, lazily playing a game on his phone. “Yeah,” he grunted. “I’m telling you, you snap your fingers, and she’ll come crawling back like a grateful puppy.” In the meeting room. Ashton toyed with his phone with one hand. He said a few simple words. And I agreed. “I’ll do the show.” He stared into my eyes, hesitating for a moment. “Are you really that… desperate for me?” He was so confident, so easy to fool. I lowered my lashes. “Yes.” “Ashton,” I whispered, “is there still a chance for us?” His gaze was cold. He turned his face away and said softly, “We’ll see how you perform.” “But,” he added, “the premise of this show isn’t what you think.” This divorce reality show was set to air during the broadcast of his new drama with Vera. It was all to hype up their on-screen couple pairing. The show’s theme was “Try a different lifestyle, see the problems in your marriage.” Vera would be in a room with him. And I would be in a room with Vera’s husband. The man who, at nineteen, shot to fame with a single drama, won every major award, and then promptly retired to get married: Cole. Ashton had basically picked up Cole’s scraps. He had risen to fame with a face that was seventy percent similar to Cole’s. The rumor was that Vera and Cole lived apart after their marriage. That she loved him, but he didn’t love her back. 2 A hot spring resort. Two rooms, separated by a single wall. A live broadcast. There was an observation room for the cast and a live comment feed for the audience. 【OMG, Ashton and Vera are on a divorce show, in the same room! They’re playing with fire!!!】 【They have insane chemistry. They look so good together.】 【I’ve been saying for ages that Ashton and his wife had no feelings left. Who wants someone who just drags them down?】 【I’ve been waiting for them to get divorced for so long!】 【He must have been blind… he used to love her so much…】 The staff fitted Ashton and Vera with heart rate watches. “Once your heart rate hits 70, you can leave the room.” 【That’s gonna be instant, right?】 But to everyone’s surprise, both of their heart rates stalled at 68. In private, he and Vera had done everything. They were too familiar with each other, so they were afraid of slipping up on camera. In front of the cameras, they put on an act. 【Vera is so polite. She doesn’t even dare to get too close.】 【Ashton, don’t hold back! We support you!】 Vera sat by the door. Ashton stood on the balcony for some air, from where he could see a corner of my room. Cole hadn’t arrived yet. I sat alone on the bed, wearing my own heart rate watch. There was a knock on the door. It was a tall, slender man. A baseball cap shadowed half his face, and his bangs were damp with the mist from the hot springs. A light rain was falling outside. He smelled of the deep, misty night. 【My first love is back!!!】 【What can I say, Ashton? There’s no harm without comparison.】 【No hate, please.】 “You need to put this on,” I said, handing the other heart rate watch to Cole. Ashton hated it when people said he looked like Cole. In the first year of our marriage, we were taking a late-night walk when I stopped, mesmerized by a giant luxury ad featuring Cole. Ashton had pulled my hat down over my eyes and said sourly, “I knew you liked that type.” Now, in the other room, Ashton, on his balcony, watched clearly. He watched Cole enter the room and close the door behind him. He watched him put on the watch. Ashton wasn’t worried. He had known since that night that Cole, the man he could never catch up to, the man he was sick with jealousy over, was in a contract marriage with Vera. Cole didn’t even like Vera. So, of course, he wouldn’t be interested in an ordinary, divorced woman like me, someone Ashton himself had cast aside. Ashton scoffed, unconcerned. But he watched my every reaction, missing nothing. “Hello, Chloe,” I said, my heart rate steady at 50, extending my hand to Cole. “I’m Chloe Taylor.” “Cole,” he said, taking my hand. A few seconds later, the watch emitted a shrill, piercing beep. Cole’s heart rate had skyrocketed. But he himself was calmer than anyone. “The watch is broken,” he said. “Oh,” I replied. 3 After changing the watch, it worked normally. Ashton and Vera played a few “chemistry games,” and their heart rates surpassed 70, allowing them to leave the room early. As for me and Cole, his heart rate remained stubbornly at 25. Pathetically low. “If it never goes up,” I asked a staff member, “do we have to spend the night in the room?” Cole overheard. He stood tall, shoulders broad in a thin black hoodie, his gaze distant and empty. The staff member replied, “It counts as a failed mission. You can come out in an hour.” Cole and I were the last to leave. 【What a failure.】 【They have absolutely zero chemistry.】 【Get them out of here. Can we please not look at her? I just want to see Vera and Ashton.】 The comments were brutal, right up until the live stream ended. The post-interview rooms were crowded with cameras, lights, and people. Ashton stood in a corner, watching Vera’s interview, his gaze inadvertently sweeping over to me. “Excited?” he asked out of the blue. “Was there a moment when you thought Cole might actually be interested in you?” I ignored him and tried to walk away, but he blocked my path. “What am I going to do, Chloe?” he said, hands in his pockets, tilting his head to look at me. “I’m starting to think divorcing you was the best decision I ever made.” Someone passed by. Ashton straightened up, instantly transforming back into that gentle, soulful, yet heartbroken man. As if I were the one who had hurt him the most. After her interview, Vera walked over to me, under the watchful eyes of everyone, and took my hand. “Chloe,” she said, an old red string tied around her wrist. “You should cherish Ashton. He really loves you.” That red string. I had seen it before. Last year, on our wedding anniversary, Ashton had a minor car accident after being followed by obsessive fans. He was fine. I took him to a temple to pray for his safety. I closed my eyes, my heart filled with prayers for him. When I opened them, I saw him buying a red string. I thought he was going to give it to me. But he said he was getting it for himself, to put my mind at ease. And now, it was on Vera’s wrist. “Stop being difficult,” Vera continued, playing to the cameras. “More than anyone, I want you two to be happy.” I didn’t say a word. Ashton didn’t know. Vera didn’t know. The truth was, I had agreed to do this show for another, more hidden reason. That day, when I closed my eyes to pray, Ashton wasn’t the one on my mind either. 4 The show filmed on weekends, following a “weekend couple” concept. During the week, I went back to my old profession, trying to get my job back as a talent manager at my former entertainment group. “Cole and Vera are divorced,” my old boss told me. “His ten-year contract with her father’s company is finally up. He’s setting up his own studio, and I recommended you to him.” I went to the address he gave me and found Cole at a photo studio. His profile was silhouetted against the light, his features sharp and untamed. It was a face made for the screen. He was even harder to approach than I had imagined. I waited outside for a long time. Finally, his assistant came out. “I’m sorry, Ms. Taylor, we probably can’t talk today.” On the way back, my car broke down. Eleven o’clock at night, in the middle of nowhere, and it was raining. I stood under my umbrella, waiting for a tow truck, watching the cars pass by like phantoms in the night. None of them were for me. Headlights flashed. The window of a black minivan rolled down. Cole’s assistant said to me, “Ms. Taylor, get in.” Cole was in the back seat, a baseball cap pulled low, asleep. His breathing was shallow, his long legs slightly bent. The space was a bit cramped for him. The van was filled with clutter, and two suit jackets hung by the window. The crisp scent of pine. The same scent from the day he had held my hand. “Ms. Taylor, I’m going to grab a drink from the gas station up ahead. Do you want anything?” the assistant asked quietly. “Just call me Chloe. I’ll go with you.” “No, no,” he said, waving his hand as he got out. “I’ll go. I’ll be right back.” The door closed, leaving just me and Cole in the van. No one else. No cameras. The headlights flickered, casting the interior in a dim glow. Though we were separated by a row of seats, his breathing sounded as close as if it were right next to my ear. I stared out the window at the blue glow of the convenience store not far away, where the assistant was lingering by a shelf. I remembered once, at a supermarket, seeing an ad for Vera. “She’s so beautiful,” I had said to Ashton at the time. His reaction was flat. “She’s okay.” I didn’t know that this “okay” would be the reason he stayed away from home, time and time again. Later, I heard from others that Vera was his first love. They had broken up when he was still struggling to make it big. He couldn’t forget her. But at that moment, in the supermarket, he had just deftly changed the subject, asking me, “Sweetheart, you never dated anyone before me?” “No,” I had said. At least, that’s what I told everyone, including him. In the van, someone was kicking my leg. A long leg extending from the back seat. Not accidentally. But deliberately, mischievously, childishly, kicking me in a soft rhythm. I moved my legs out of his reach. I didn’t say anything, didn’t turn around. I maintained my posture, as if nothing had happened. “Chloe Taylor,” he said, his voice husky from sleep, laced with a reckless, youthful charm. “Long time no see.” After all these years, why did he still like to say my name like that? Just like in that small, humid, hot rental apartment… Drowning again and again… In his gentle yet unrestrained, invasive touch. 5 After that day, Cole and I had no contact. Until the next weekend. The show’s live broadcast operated on a rotation system. This weekend, we were supposed to switch back to our original couples. “Director,” Vera said, her tone full of feigned consideration for the show. “Ashton and I are so popular right now. If you switch us back, the audience will be furious.” The director thought for a moment. “But—” “Ashton,” Vera turned to him. “What do you think?” In front of me, she asked Ashton, “Who are you choosing tonight?” She had been waiting for this moment. The more a thing has to be hidden, the more one craves for it to be chosen in public. Ashton understood her. He deliberately glanced at my face, then leaned back in his chair. “Is that even a question? The audience doesn’t want to see her.” Vera got the answer she wanted and turned to me. “Chloe, you don’t mind, do you? But you’ve been a housewife for so long, you probably don’t have much work experience. The audience’s approval is the most important thing. You should think about the big picture…” “Fine,” I said curtly. Ashton looked up at me. They all thought I was going to make a scene. That way, they could edit my reaction into a special segment to highlight Vera’s thoughtfulness. They didn’t expect me to be so agreeable. Vera, with a speech she had memorized, was left with nothing to say. She finally managed a dry, “Good. No take-backs.” “Let’s just keep it this way from now on,” I said. Her face stiffened for a second, then she smiled, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Are you trying to make Ashton jealous?” she whispered. “Everyone knows you’re on this show to win him back. Too bad he’s not jealous at all, and you have to watch him walk into my room.” The director’s team called out. They decided to continue with last week’s setup. Before leaving, Ashton asked Vera, with a hint of amusement, “Aren’t you afraid of her being in a room with Cole?” At the mention of that name, Vera’s reaction was a bit over the top. She laughed as if she’d heard the world’s biggest joke. “I’ve never seen him like anyone. Her? He could be locked in a room with her for a year and still not be interested.” They exchanged a knowing look and a smile. Ashton, in front of me, deliberately took off his coat and put it on Vera. “Chloe, if you want to win me back, these tricks aren’t good enough.” He wanted to provoke me, to make me break down in public so he could play the victim. Ashton and Vera were taken to a luxury villa, a reward for being the couple with the highest heart rate last week. Vera posted a picture of their candlelit dinner on social media. The comments were all from ecstatic fans. I saw all this on my phone in the production team’s van. The van was heading towards the old part of the city. 【If their heart rate doesn’t go up today, they’re going to be eliminated, right?】 【They won’t eliminate Cole. His status is too high. They’ll probably just switch his partner.】 【This is boring. Why did Cole even agree to do this show?】 【The weirder it gets, the more I ship it. I have a feeling something is going to happen.】 【The person above is nuts!!! If anything actually happens, I’ll eat my own poop on a live stream!!!】 I put my phone away and asked the staff, “Where are Cole and I staying tonight?” “Your heart rate was the lowest, so you have to face a penalty. Tonight, you’ll be staying in…” The van stopped. He tilted his chin towards the old residential building in front of me. “There,” he said. “A rental apartment.” I got out of the van. Only one live camera, from inside the van, was filming me. It was far away, only capturing my back, and couldn’t pick up any sound. I stood at the door, my mind blank for a few seconds. I took out my phone and called my ex-boss, who was also my long-suffering best friend. “Cole said to me, ‘Long time no see.’” I desperately needed her to pour a bucket of cold water on me right now. “So? What else could he say?” she replied, just as I expected. “Let’s be real, who doesn’t have an ex? He has so many options. Why would he choose you, a divorcee? Because of those few months you relied on each other? Honestly, that was the lowest point of his life. Who would want to remember that?” She was right. I hung up and opened the door. Cole was on a stepladder, fixing the light on the ceiling. As he raised his arm, the muscles rippled smoothly. Just like before. Except back then, he had a bandage wrapped around his waist from a wire-work accident. The old-fashioned tungsten light in his hand flickered on and off. It was all too familiar. So familiar that I stood at the door, unable to step inside. “Dinner,” he said, seeing me. A simple word, no extra emotion. It made my own unease seem out of place. I was the one overthinking. For him, this show was probably just a safe way to publicize his divorce. Outside, it was snowing. He was tall, with strong features, leaning over the counter preparing a hot pot. He exuded a sense of domesticity. I took a picture of his back and posted it on social media, completing my task for the show. After we ate, he didn’t even let me do the dishes. He washed his hands efficiently and then, strangely, started making the bed for me. There was only one bed. He said he would sleep on the floor. “Your waist injury,” I asked, “do you need to change the bandage?” “I can do it myself,” he said. When I came out of the bathroom after my shower, a thin blanket was already spread out on the floor. He was rummaging through his suitcase for a long bandage. I instinctively looked away and took out my phone. Ashton sent me a voice message. My hands were wet, and I accidentally played it on speaker. He had seen my post. “You can handle hot pot? Last time at home, you said you wanted that cake from the bakery. I got it for you on my way.” I had said I wanted that cake on my birthday last year. He never bought it for me. After all this time, he was only buying it now to maintain his “devoted” persona for the show. I stared at my phone. The light above was blocked by Cole’s shadow. “Can you help me?” he asked, holding the roll of bandage. Didn’t he just say he could do it himself? Changing the dressing, wrapping the bandage. My arms weren’t long enough, so I had to loosely encircle him with both hands. This rental apartment in the north. The heating was inadequate. The snowy, rainy air seeped in through the cracks of the old building. It was so cold. Yet we maintained our distance. My fingertips could only touch the bandage. His face had to be turned away, looking elsewhere. Unlike that year, in the southern rental apartment. Muggy and sunless. It was so hot. Yet again and again, as if there were no tomorrow, we possessed each other with abandon. Click. The tungsten light flickered on. We were standing under it. In that year of poverty and hopelessness, we couldn’t even afford to replace a light bulb. We used it until it couldn’t be used anymore. That old tungsten light, repaired again and again, would always flicker in the middle of the night. Back then, an eighteen-year-old Cole had told me, “Every time it flickers, it means I’m thinking of you.” Tonight, in an age where we lacked for nothing, the tungsten light flickered countless times. I looked up at Cole. “You didn’t fix it properly?” He froze, then looked down into my eyes. “Yeah. I did it on purpose.” “Why?” I asked. “If I fixed it, you wouldn’t hear it flicker.” I was stunned. He took the bandage from my hand and deftly wrapped it around himself. “Chloe Taylor,” he said my name. “Hmm?” “Do you like hot pot, or do you like cake?” One must always be honest about food. “Hot pot.” 6 【Okay, I’ll eat my poop.】 【This awkward, deliberately avoidant vibe… something’s not right.】 【Oh, Cole turned off the light.】 【Is there anything my premium VIP membership doesn’t let me see???】 In reality, nothing happened. Cole, wrapped in a thin blanket, slept on the floor. His breathing was extremely shallow. I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep. Because the bed was too squeaky. Every time I turned over, it would creak. I used to complain to him about it, too. But my complaints were always accompanied by a resigned sigh. “Cole, don’t be so… hold back a little.” We were young and reckless back then. Now, one turn. Creek. And I remembered. And I wasn’t the only one who remembered. Cole threw off the blanket, wearing only a thin gray t-shirt, and walked out the door, closing it behind him. Flick. In the deep, neon-lit night, a cigarette glowed in his hand. When I first knew him, he didn’t smoke. He was a good boy. He wasn’t smoking now either. Just lighting it. In the distance, headlights swept by. Cole and Ashton, who had just gotten out of a car, came face to face. “Delivering the cake,” Ashton explained, craning his neck to peer through the window. He saw the separate blankets on the bed and the floor. A knowing smile spread across his face. “What can I say,” Ashton said. “She’s just too clingy.” Though they barely knew each other and the other man wasn’t responding, Ashton felt an inexplicable need to assert his presence. “She’s been wanting this for a long time. She insisted I buy it. She won’t eat it if anyone else gets it for her. Tomorrow, when she wakes up and sees it, she’ll be moved to tears.” “Hey,” Ashton raised his eyes. “You don’t know, do you? I was her first love.” “Is that so?” the other man finally replied. “Why would I lie?” Ashton said. “She’s on this show to win me back.” The cake. I didn’t see it when I woke up the next day. The live stream ended. This time, for the post-interview special, all four of us were gathered together for the first time. I was late, the last to arrive. A staff member handed me an earpiece. My newly washed hair was too smooth, and I couldn’t get it to stay on. Across the room, Vera and Ashton were drawing question cards. I lowered my head. The earpiece was about to fall off. A hand from my left swiftly caught it. “Thanks,” I said, trying to take it from Cole. But he didn’t let go. Instead, he helped me put it on, adjusting it as he did. It wasn’t an overly intimate gesture. Just colleagues helping each other out. After all, the cameras were here, the crowd was here. “It’s caught,” he said. My hair and the earpiece. He had to lean in closer. From across the room, Ashton’s voice came, his peripheral vision catching me and Cole. It was a normal action. If not for the fact that Cole, on instinct, kissed my hair. The scent was too familiar. I rarely change the products I use; my shampoo has smelled the same for years. The scent of his own washed hair. The room suddenly fell silent. Ashton shot to his feet. Cole pulled his hand back and said to me, with extreme politeness and restraint, “Sorry, I accidentally brushed against it.” The producer, realizing what had happened, quickly saved the situation. “It happens. Let’s move on to the next question.” After all, it was just a fleeting moment, a touch and then a retreat. So fast that Ashton didn’t even get a clear look. It must have been an accident. He sat back down. The question game. When it was my turn to draw a card, I got the “First Love” card. The producer asked me, “Is your first love your greatest love?” Ashton, who had been lounging lazily, sat up and looked at me. The eyes of everyone in the room darted between me and Ashton. Everyone thought he was my first love. “Yes,” I said. Hearing my answer, Ashton sat up straighter, unable to resist a smug glance at Cole. But the other man was distracted. Cole was turned to the side, looking at the snow falling outside the window. The window reflected my face. “Same question,” the producer said. “For Cole to answer.” He was in my group. The card questions were the same. Vera was not his first love. No one knew who that person was. “She’s annoying. She’s really, really annoying.” Cole’s voice was extremely soft. So soft that the end of his words carried a hint of unprecedented grievance. Everyone in the room perked up, their ears open for gossip. “Such resentment,” the producer asked. “What did she do?” “For example,” he turned his head, drawing out his words, “marrying someone else, but saying that I was her greatest love.” It made no sense. No one in the room understood. But Ashton still frowned unconsciously. The producer flipped the last card. “Chloe, what do you want to say to your first love right now?” A hundred safe answers popped into my head. But what came out was, “I hope he doesn’t hate me too much.” It was a reasonable answer. Everyone in the room could understand it. They all thought I wanted to reconcile with Ashton. Ashton’s smugness returned. He raised an eyebrow, clearly intending to string me along, not giving me an easy way out. Until, to the same question, Cole answered, “I was lying just now. I don’t hate her.” That’s when Ashton started to realize that something was not quite right.

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“My childhood best friend, Leo, has depression. It’s the kind of depression that requires him to be coaxed into eating, held to fall asleep. The kind that made him slice at his own wrist with a penknife that one time he couldn’t get hard. It wasn’t until the arrival of the woman who was clearly meant to be his savior—the protagonist of his redemption story—that I realized I was just a supporting character. An insignificant extra. So, I quit. When Leo tried to cut his wrists, I sharpened the knife for him. When he threatened to jump from the balcony, I opened the window. And in the middle of hate-fueled sex, I called him a minute man. As I saw the heroine of his story nearing the completion of her quest, I took the initiative and asked for a divorce. That’s when Leo grabbed my waist, his voice a raw shout. “”How do you think my depression got better? Don’t you have any clue at all?”” 1 I knew Leo was different from the time I was still running around in diapers. While I was climbing trees like a little monkey, he’d be in his room, silently shedding tears. When I was slinging a tiny backpack for my first day of preschool, barely able to recognize the letters of the alphabet, he had already written one hundred and eighty suicide notes. The reasons for wanting to end it all were always different. From accidentally stepping on an ant, to losing a single strand of hair, even wetting the bed in the middle of the night—they were all justifications for why he couldn’t go on living. And at the end of every single note, he’d write the same line: 【Dear Mom and Dad, if I die, please leave everything I own to Clara.】 At seven, “”everything he owned”” was a small box of a thousand paper stars, painstakingly folded from candy wrappers. At ten, it was the Christmas money he’d saved up all year. At sixteen, it was a binder full of his perfect, straight-A report cards. That’s right. Even with his crippling depression, he was still a bona fide genius who aced every class. By the time we were twenty-two, his most precious asset had become me—his beautiful wife, Clara. That’s why every time I looked at the listless, half-dead version of Leo, who sometimes lacked even the energy to properly tie a noose, I would erupt in helpless fury. “”What right do you even have to be depressed?”” I’d demand. “”Your family’s company is practically a national chain, you’re so ridiculously good-looking that talent scouts have tried to recruit you, and you sailed through school without ever getting less than an A+. What the hell do you have to be depressed about?”” Hearing me say that, his innocent, deer-like eyes would mist over, the corners turning red. He was one bitten lip away from whimpering, “”I want to die.”” But instead, he’d say, “”You’re right. Besides being handsome, rich, brilliant, and married to a perfect wife, what else do I have going for me?”” He’d sigh dramatically. “”My life is such a failure.”” And then he’d reach for a penknife to drag across his thigh. It wasn’t because his arms were too sensitive; it was because I’d been away on a business trip, and his forearms were already a latticework of pale, scarred lines, with no clean space left. 2 I snatched the penknife out of his hand. “”Don’t die just yet,”” I said. Leo looked at me, surprised, his eyes wide with the expectation of some warm, comforting words. After all, since we were kids, I had practically been his designated therapist. In preschool, when he wouldn’t eat, I’d feed him spoonful by spoonful, cooing, “”Good boy, Leo. Just one more bite.”” In elementary school, my parents left for a research sabbatical in Antarctica, leaving me in the care of his family. From that point on, Leo’s dad became my legal guardian, and I, in turn, became Leo’s. That’s when I discovered he couldn’t sleep at night without being soothed and told a bedtime story. His parents never had the time, so they handed that monumental task to me. And so, I spent my nights whispering tales of Snow White while holding him in my arms. To put it bluntly, we went from sharing a crib in diapers to sharing a bed in a wedding dress and a tuxedo. Leo’s father knew his son was unreliable. At eighteen, Leo could barely string ten words together with anyone other than me, let alone be expected to inherit the family business. To ensure I could seamlessly take over the company, his parents pushed us to get married the moment Leo turned legal age. Before Leo could even process what I was doing, I walked into the kitchen and grabbed a brand-new chef’s knife from the block. I started sharpening it right in front of him, the steel gleaming under the lights. “”If you’re serious about this, use this one,”” I said, my voice flat. “”Stop trying to scare me with that little toy.”” Leo froze. His eyes were a mixture of hurt and utter shock. “”Clara, if I died, what would you do?”” I let out a dry laugh. “”Find someone new, I guess.”” Then I turned and walked into the bathroom to take a shower. 3 Inside the bathroom, the shelves were neatly lined with an array of… toys. Before my trip, they had been scattered about, but now Leo had cleaned them and organized them back into their box. My gaze, however, was drawn to a faded little pill bottle tucked away in a corner. I remembered when we were freshly eighteen, and I decided it was time to initiate him into the ways of the flesh. He was so nervous that, after several attempts, he still couldn’t get it up. His face was flushed, sweat tracing the sharp line of his jaw and dripping onto my collarbone. He had whispered to me in that sexy, raspy voice of his, “”Clara, I’ll try… I’ll try one more time.”” But after what felt like an eternity, all that teenage bravado wilted like a flower in the sun. It was over in less than three seconds. I tried to be encouraging. “”Don’t be nervous. Just think about what we were watching earlier.”” “”Or… you can just touch me, if that helps.”” But Leo couldn’t handle the failure. He rolled off me, pulled out the penknife he always carried, and said, “”Clara, I’m so useless.”” He was about to bring the blade to his arm. I can swear on my life that was the most terrified and helpless I had ever felt. Dear God, who could have imagined that trying to seduce an innocent boy would end with him threatening to die on the bed? “”Wait,”” I said, stopping him. I pulled out the little pill bottle I’d brought just in case. I had only intended to give him one or two, and was worried he’d be too proud to take them. I never expected him to snatch the bottle and down nearly half of it. Three days later, we limped out of that hotel, our legs aching and our bodies sore. It was like a switch had been flipped in him; he never needed that bottle again. When I tried to throw it in the trash, Leo fished it out, cradling it like a treasure. “”Let’s keep it,”” he’d said. “”As a souvenir.”” 4 A loud crash echoed from outside the bathroom. I was determined not to get involved with whatever Leo was doing. I took my time, lingering in the steam, but then another, louder bang followed. “”Leo, what are you doing?”” I called out as I emerged, only to find he’d knocked over and shattered a pair of antique vases. “”Honestly,”” I snapped. Leo was taken aback by my tone, clearly confused as to why one business trip had caused such a seismic shift in my attitude. He asked tentatively, “”Clara… are you cheating on me?”” I stared at the two large words floating above his head: MAIN CHARACTER. My heart ached with a strange mix of grief and resignation. I don’t know when it started, but one day I could suddenly see that label above him, a label no one else seemed to notice. I had thought it made me special, that I was destined to be his leading lady. But a few weeks ago, I had seen two different words floating over the head of Leo’s psychiatrist. FEMALE LEAD. I could even see another line of text materializing in the air around him. Leo’s Depression Level: 100% That’s when it all clicked. She was the heroine of the redemption story. And I was just the disposable side character. The starter wife. So, I quit. As for Leo, he could do whatever the hell he wanted.”

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