Author: Momo Chan

My stepbrother hated my guts. But that never stopped me from clinging to him. He paid me two thousand dollars to walk home from school without him. Thirty thousand to transfer out of his class. Each time, though, I’d eventually find my way back to him. After graduation, he wired a huge sum of money into my account. His voice was cold as ice. “That’s five million dollars. Go study abroad. And don’t ever show your face in my family’s house again.” My eyes welled up. I lowered my head and whispered, “Okay.” Yes. He finally took the bait. 1. I walked in on Glenn and the scholarship girl almost kissing. In the dim light of the private room, he was slumped wearily in a corner sofa, his eyes closed. The shadows obscured the sharp, handsome lines of his face. A girl in a white dress stood over him, her hands braced on either side of his head. She leaned in tentatively, her face getting closer and closer to his. That’s when I pushed the door open. She jumped, whirling around to face me with a panicked look. Her eyes were wide and glistening, like a startled fawn. “Alicia, I…” I walked right past her, straight to Glenn. “The driver’s here for me. Dad told me to bring you home, too.” He grabbed his jacket from the sofa, threw it on, and followed me out. The hallway was mostly empty at this hour. He pulled the door shut behind him but didn’t move. He just leaned against it, his posture lazy and loose. “She was about to kiss me.” “…” I said nothing. A note of annoyance crept into his voice. “She’s shy. It took a lot of courage for her to do that.” I unlocked my phone and showed him the time, along with the text from my stepfather. “Dad really did tell me to come get you,” I explained in a small voice. He glanced at the screen and gave a dismissive grunt. “Oh.” “I’m an adult now. I’ve graduated. He can’t control me anymore. Tattling to him won’t do you any good.” The swirling, multicolored lights from the club swept over us, illuminating his face. His cheeks were flushed. He was drunk. I clenched the fabric of my sleeves, my voice barely a whisper. “But…” He cut me off. “Just go home by yourself.” “And one more thing—” His thumbs tapped rapidly on his phone screen. “That’s five million dollars. Go study abroad. Don’t ever show your face in my family’s house again.” “Let’s just not see each other anymore.” “Alicia, I really, truly hate you.” He never wanted to see me again. My eyes instantly turned red. I ducked my head, choking back a sob. “Okay.” Glenn turned, walked back into the private room, and slammed the door shut behind him. I opened my banking app and checked the balance. The number was correct. I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I squatted down, clamping a hand over my mouth to stifle a laugh that sounded suspiciously like a sob. Yes. He finally took the bait. 2. Glenn had hated me for a long time. He was convinced that my mother and I were just gold diggers, after his family’s money. He wasn’t wrong. When I was fourteen, he put two lizards in my bed, trying to scare me into leaving. It worked. I burst into tears. To comfort me, my stepfather gave me some extra allowance. The sight of the money cheered me right up. When I was sixteen, Glenn and I were placed in the same high school, in the same homeroom. He couldn’t stand the thought of it, but he also didn’t want our father to punish him and then console me. So, he skipped a few steps. “Thirty thousand dollars.” “Transfer out of this class.” Freshman year, I left. Sophomore year, I came back. He never specified a time limit. When I walked back into the classroom with my backpack on, Glenn’s face was thunderous. The boy sitting in front of him grinned. “Dude, your stepsister is persistent.” Glenn’s voice was frigid. “She is not my sister.” A few people snickered knowingly. Glenn’s glare found me, his brow furrowed. “What will it take for you to just disappear?” My eyes welled with tears. “Do you really hate me that much?” He held up a number of fingers. I bit my lip. “Sorry, wrong classroom.” 3. I had discovered a gold mine. Glenn was loaded. His mother, who lived abroad, had already paved his entire future for him. When he played golf, I’d tag along as his personal hype squad, holding his water and his jacket. He’d confront me. I’d just look up at him with stars in my eyes. “I just admire my big brother. Is that so wrong?” He’d send me money. “If you have nothing better to do, go shopping. Just stop bothering me.” I was more than happy to oblige. I spent over a year sticking to Glenn like glue. Everyone knew about his clingy stepsister. They even made jokes about our… complicated family dynamic. After a while, Glenn couldn’t even be bothered to explain anymore. He just kept throwing money at me to get lost. But I would never abandon my personal ATM. On his eighteenth birthday, he got drunk. When he stumbled home from the hotel, I was waiting with a cup of sobering tea in one hand, ready to support him with the other. I was hoping he’d be so drunk he’d add an extra zero to his next transfer. He squinted, his eyes drifting down to me. “Alicia,” he slurred, a hint of mockery in his voice, “you’re really something else. So calculating.” My foot froze on the step. Insults cost extra. Suddenly, he grabbed my waist, flicked off the lights, and pinned me against the railing of the spiral staircase. My world went dark. All I could see was his face, impossibly close. His breath was a storm, hot and fierce, as his lips crashed down on mine. Shocked, I shoved him away. The bowl in my hand clattered to the floor, rolling down the stairs with a series of loud thuds. From the top of the stairs, my stepfather called out, “Alicia, what’s wrong?” I suppressed the tremor in my voice and put on my usual wounded act. “It’s Glenn! He’s drunk and throwing a tantrum. He smashed my bowl.” In the darkness, Glenn leaned against the railing, silent. My stepfather sighed. “That’s just how he is. He gets crazy when he drinks. Don’t mind him. You go on to bed. I’ll help him up.” I fled to my room. At 3 a.m., I got a text from Glenn. [Sorry.] [I wasn’t thinking straight. I thought you were someone else.] It was the first time he’d ever apologized to me. And it was a complete humiliation. It came with a money transfer. I didn’t accept it. I didn’t reply. 4. Later, I found out who that “someone else” was. One of Glenn’s many admirers: Lila, a scholarship student who was consistently in the top ten of our year. She was timid and insecure, content to worship him from afar. And for some reason, Glenn noticed her. “She’s just like Alicia,” he’d said once. “Always putting on that pathetic, pitiful act.” “Who does she think she’s fooling?” He hated it in me, but he seemed to enjoy seeing it in Lila. One day, after school, I was waiting in the car for him. I saw him walk out, followed by a girl in a school uniform. The car door opened. He didn’t get in. He was holding her backpack. He just raised an eyebrow at me and said, “Get out.” I froze. Lila gently tugged on his arm, her voice soft. “It’s fine, Glenn. I can get home by myself.” He didn’t budge, his tone turning colder. “I’m taking her home.” “I’ve sent you the money. Take a cab.” Why not send enough for me to buy my own car? Whatever. I knew when to quit while I was ahead. I gave a humiliated nod, bit my lip, and clutched my backpack straps as I climbed out of the car. The evening rush had faded. I stood alone on the sidewalk, staring at my shoes as tears dripped onto the pavement, one by one. Only after the car had disappeared in the opposite direction did I finally wipe my eyes and check the notification from Glenn. $2,000? Good thing I didn’t check that in front of him. I wouldn’t have been able to cry. 5. Glenn’s five million dollars came too late for me to apply properly for the fall semester. I hadn’t prepared for the GMAT or anything. I had to cancel most of my summer plans and lock myself in my room to study vocabulary. Meanwhile, Glenn was downstairs, throwing a party with his friends. The music was blasting. I took off my headphones and went downstairs. “Could you guys turn it down a little?” One of Glenn’s friends patted the empty spot next to him on the sofa. “Alicia, you’re home! Why don’t you join us?” I smiled shyly. “I’m studying upstairs.” “Studying?” Someone finally turned off the music. “I thought people who grind this hard only existed online.” “Even Lila’s here. Come on, take a break.” Glenn didn’t even look up. Lila was sitting next to him. She gave me a gentle smile, then looked at me with faux concern. “Alicia, you’re not planning to retake the year, are you?” I didn’t know her that well. Her using my first name so casually meant things were probably getting serious with Glenn. “It’s okay if you didn’t do well,” she continued. “Your dad is so rich, I’m sure you have plenty of other options.” The room went quiet as everyone sensed the tension. I kept my voice even. “You’re right. My family is rich. It doesn’t matter how I do on some test.” I looked at her. “Lila, are you worried you didn’t do well?” Her face went pale. Glenn finally looked up and patted the back of her hand reassuringly. “Alicia, that’s out of line.” I nodded. “You’re right.” “I’m going back to my room. Please keep it down.” I put my headphones back on and walked up the stairs, feeling several pairs of eyes burning into my back. 6. On the day the exam results were released, Lila was at our house again. This time, her excuse was that her family’s ancient computer had broken down. Even though Glenn knew our province sent results via text, he indulged her and brought her home. Around three in the afternoon, I heard sobbing coming from his study. I couldn’t tell if they were tears of sorrow or joy. The text message didn’t show the total score. Glenn was sitting there with a calculator, adding up her scores subject by subject. I was heading out for a class and walked past his study. The door was open. He was leaning against a bookshelf, reading out the number. “Six seventy-two.” He said it just loud enough for me to hear. He knew I was walking by. He didn’t even look up. “What about you?” he asked, though he wasn’t looking at me. Lila was confused. “What?” I paused at the bottom of the stairs, pulling on my shoes, and called back casually, “Six eighty.” I’d done better than expected. I just waited for him to ask. There was a sudden, sharp clatter from the study, as if something had been dropped. 7. “My dad wants you to apply to NYU.” That evening, Glenn was standing outside my bedroom door. My stepfather was traditional. He valued education and believed his children attending top universities was a reflection on him. I gripped the doorknob, wanting to shut the door in his face. “But you told me to go abroad.” “…” Glenn was silent for a moment, then he smirked. “So you’re actually going to listen to me for once?” I took the money, didn’t I? Though, in the past, I usually only listened halfway. He’d tell me to get lost, I’d get lost for an hour, and then I’d come right back. But this time was different. Five million dollars. I promised myself I’d take it and disappear for good. My mom and I could even have holiday dinners at a separate table. “So you’re not going to listen to my dad?” he pressed. I’d spent years playing the part of the good, obedient daughter at home. I lowered my head, bit my lip, and fidgeted with the hem of my skirt, feigning meekness. “Give me your password,” he said. “I’ll fill out your applications for you.” I looked up at him weakly. “Don’t exile me to some college in Alaska.” Glenn let out a soft chuckle. “You know I wouldn’t.” I didn’t know that. And I didn’t care. I was already planning to accept an offer from a university in the UK. 8. To be safe, Glenn applied to NYU’s agricultural science program for himself. For Lila, he chose mechanical engineering. His mother had more than enough money and connections to sort out his career. He just needed the degree from a prestigious school; the major was irrelevant. As for my applications, he filled out all eighty slots with universities in or around New York City. I had to go back and delete every single one. He and Lila were both accepted. He really didn’t seem to care about her future either. My stepfather was thrilled and started planning a celebration dinner. At the table, he opened a bottle of expensive red wine and toasted my mom. Glenn came downstairs, mentioning casually, “Is Alicia having her party with me?” We’d had a joint celebration after middle school, too. My stepfather smiled. “Not yet for Alicia.” “She’s decided to study abroad. To make sure she didn’t take a spot from another student, she deleted all her domestic applications.” “We’ll celebrate for her next year.” The faint smile on Glenn’s lips vanished. His expression turned dark. “Abroad?” I kept my head down, quietly eating and occasionally taking a sip of the ten-thousand-dollar wine. It wasn’t to my taste, but every sip was money in the bank. I’d certainly never buy it for myself. My stepfather frowned. “Yes. It was a bit of a sudden decision, but I fully support her.” He looked at Glenn. “Why the long face on such a happy day?” Glenn’s eyes were downcast. “I’m not happy.” My stepfather was baffled. “You’re the one who said you wanted to go to the same university as the person you like. You got in, and it’s NYU. What’s there to be unhappy about?” “The major isn’t great, but you can always transfer. It’s not like we’re actually going to make you a farmer.” “Your mother is thrilled, too. She wants you to visit her for a month this summer.” “Which country?” Glenn asked. My stepfather slammed his chopsticks down. “You don’t even know which country your own mother lives in?” Glenn’s gaze shifted to me. “I was asking Alicia.” My stepfather quietly picked his chopsticks back up. I set down my wine glass and cautiously met his eyes. “I haven’t decided yet.” 9. That night, Glenn sat in my room, using my computer to look up information. His was broken. When the acceptance letters came out, Lila had gotten so excited she’d knocked a glass of water all over it. Honestly. A grown woman, playing with water in a study. He was in my desk chair, so I had to sit on my bed. The room was silent except for the clicking of the keyboard and mouse. “Go to the US,” he said suddenly. “Why?” He paused. “It’s far away from me.” But it was where his own mother lived. “…” I glanced at him, then scooted further away on my bed. He shot me a look, and the corner of his mouth twitched in what might have been a ghost of a smile. “Come look at this university.” He was playing the big brother again. So unpredictable. The AC was on high. I stepped onto the cold floor, then immediately pulled my foot back, looking for my slippers. Glenn casually tossed the jacket that was draped over his chair onto the floor. “Step on that.” “…” He was starting his nonsense without even being drunk today. I ignored him, tiptoeing around it to get to the desk. His expression didn’t change as he moved the mouse. “What do you think?” “It’s fine,” I said. He clicked through a few different web pages. I just kept repeating myself. “It’s fine.” “They’re all fine.” Glenn stopped clicking. He leaned back in the chair and stared at me. The truth was, I had already made my choice. I just didn’t want to tell him.

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On my wedding day, I was waiting in my gown for Bill to pick me up. But with the ceremony about to start, he finally called. “Cora gets carsick. She can’t ride in anyone else’s car, only my Cullinan.” “I’m driving over to get her now. It’s out of the way to swing by for you, so just grab a bike-share and head to the hotel. You ride one to work all the time, anyway.” On our wedding day, the groom wasn’t picking up his bride. He was picking up his childhood sweetheart. It was a slap in the face, plain and simple. I opened a group chat called “The Kingmakers” and sent a selfie of me on a bike-share, wedding dress and all. An hour later, the heirs to the city’s most powerful families started arriving at the wedding, all of them on bicycles. My own childhood friend, Sebastian, the wealthiest man in Seacliff City, dismounted with a grim expression and knelt before me on one knee. “Marry me instead. I’ll buy out his company and give it to you as a wedding gift.” 1. The ceremony was in an hour. If Bill didn’t show up soon, I was going to be late. Just then, my phone rang. It was him. I snatched it up, my voice tight with anxiety. “Honey, where are you? Why aren’t you here yet?” Bill’s voice was laced with a casual apology. “Sophia, I don’t think I can make it to you. Cora gets carsick—she throws up in any other car. She’s only okay in my Rolls-Royce Cullinan. I just picked her up, and your place is completely out of the way. Why don’t you just grab a bike-share and meet us there? It’s not like you don’t ride one every day.” I froze, a hot surge of anger rising in my throat. “Bill, are you insane? Today is our wedding, not yours and Cora’s! You’re ditching your bride to go pick up your little sweetheart? Who exactly are you marrying today?” “I’m in my wedding dress! You want me to ride a bike-share in my wedding dress?” A heavy sigh came through the phone. “It’s just a mode of transportation, Sophia. Look, I know you come from a poor family and you’ve never been in a luxury car before. You just want to ride in my Cullinan to show off to your friends that you married a rich guy, right? I’ve been meaning to talk to you about this. You’re getting a little materialistic.” Then, a delicate, timid voice piped up in the background. “Bill, is Sophia mad? Maybe you should just drop me off here. I can call someone else. I might get sick, but I don’t want her to misunderstand. Today’s supposed to be a happy day. You should just give in to her.” “It’s all my fault,” she continued, her voice trembling. “I knew she gets the wrong idea about me, but I still got in your car.” Bill’s tone softened as he soothed her. “It’s not you. She’s just being materialistic, wanting to show off the car to her work friends. I’m not going to enable that kind of behavior.” His voice hardened again as he addressed me. “The only reason she even needs a monthly pass for the bike-share is because she’s always hunting for coupons. Marrying her is my way of pulling her out of that pathetic life. She shouldn’t get entitled and think that just because I agreed to marry her, she can do whatever she wants.” After comforting his precious Cora, his voice turned to ice. “Sophia, we’re getting married today. I don’t want to fight. If you still want to marry me, you’ll ride your bike to the hotel. If you keep throwing this tantrum, you can deal with the consequences yourself.” He hung up. I stared at my phone, at the wedding group chat he’d created. It was filled with his and Cora’s friends. Someone had posted a video. The procession of luxury cars was cruising down Central Avenue, led by Bill’s gleaming Cullinan. “Bill would still drive an hour out of his way for Cora. He can’t stand to see her suffer for a second.” “Sophia’s so dramatic. Marrying Bill is the biggest upgrade of her life. What more could she possibly want?” “I always said she wasn’t good enough for him. If Cora hadn’t gone abroad, she never would’ve had a chance. The one who isn’t loved is always the other woman. Everyone knows Cora is the one Bill truly loves.” Cora quickly sent a voice message. “Guys, don’t say that. Sophia’s in the chat.” She then tagged me directly. “@Sophia, don’t mind them. They just think Bill and I are a better match. No, no, that’s not what I meant! I mean, once they get to know you, they’ll see you two are perfect for each other too.” 2. A moment later, Cora posted a selfie of herself and Bill in the group. She was leaning against his shoulder, her eyes tinged with red, her lips swollen and glistening. The caption read: Let me be selfish one last time. After tomorrow, you’ll be another woman’s husband. Those were the unmistakable lips of someone who had just been thoroughly kissed. The intimacy was suffocating. I let out a bitter laugh. This was his innocent childhood friend? No wonder he’d drive an hour out of his way to pick her up. I sent a voice message, my tone dripping with sarcasm. “What a pure and innocent friendship. Do you two seal it with a kiss, Bill? Truly eye-opening.” The chat erupted. Cora immediately replied with a tearful voice note. “Sophia, please don’t misunderstand that picture. I just bit my lip, that’s all. I know I was his first love, and I know it hurt him when I went abroad and he got with you, but he promised to marry you and take responsibility. I truly wish you both the best.” Her voice was thick with manufactured sobs. Immediately, his friends started piling on. “See? People from the gutter have no class. Can’t take a joke, so thin-skinned.” “How did Bill end up with a wife like this? Hope he doesn’t bring her around us.” “Exactly. Every time she’s here, she makes Cora feel awful. What right does she have? Doesn’t she realize she’s the one who broke them up?” Blood rushed to my head. Bill’s friends had looked down on me from day one, constantly putting me down to feel superior. I couldn’t hold back anymore. I typed furiously: All of you need to shut up. You love simping for Cora so much? Well, now’s your chance. Bill’s getting married, so she’s single. Go shoot your shot, you pathetic lapdogs. Bill immediately started a voice call in the group. “Sophia, apologize to my friends right now. You have no class.” I scoffed. “Oh, so you’re alive now? Where were you when they were tearing me apart a minute ago? You were playing deaf then, but now you want me to apologize?” Bill’s voice rose to a yell. “Do you have any idea how much you’re hurting Cora? She’s a pure soul from a sheltered home. She’s not like you, who grew up fighting for scraps in some slum. She’s not from your world! Do you realize the damage your words can do to someone like her?” In the background, I could hear soft weeping. It was Cora. “I just took a ride in your car,” she whimpered. “Why is she saying such awful things about me and my friends? I only see them as friends.” “Why would she slander me like this? Just because I rode in your car? But her apartment is so close to the hotel, a bike ride would be faster and there’s no traffic. Is her vanity really so important that she has to hurt people like this?” Bill’s voice was a low murmur, comforting her. “Don’t worry. If she wants this wedding to happen, she will apologize to you and my friends. Otherwise, she doesn’t have to show up at all.” Then, turning his attention back to the call, he addressed me. “Sophia, this is your last chance. Did you hear me? Apologize to Cora and my friends before the ceremony, or this wedding is off.” I laughed, the sound sharp and brittle. “Fine. Wait for my apology at the venue.” Cora’s voice, now laced with a triumphant little giggle, purred in the background. “Bill, she really does love you. The moment you get angry, she gets scared. Looks like she’s desperate to marry you.” I ended the call and glanced at the chat, where his friends were already gloating. “Who’s the real simp now? Sophia, willing to lose all dignity for a payday.” “She was acting so tough a second ago. Bill threatens to call it off and she folds instantly.” “Well, marrying into the Thorne family is probably the luckiest thing that will ever happen to her family. They probably think they’ve hit the lottery.” I closed the wedding chat and opened another one: “The Kingmakers.” I snapped a picture of myself in my wedding dress, perched on a bike-share, and sent it with the hotel’s address. Then I typed: My wedding. All guests are requested to arrive via bike-share. The group exploded. “Holy crap, Princess, you’ve been off the grid for two years and this is how you resurface? How’s life as a commoner treating you?” 3. “Anything you say, boss. But… bike-shares? Is that some new trend we missed?” “Quit asking so many questions. If Sophia says we ride bikes, we ride bikes.” “On my way. I’ll be there.” Only Sebastian, my childhood best friend, sent me a private message. “Who are you marrying? Bill Thorne? He’s not worthy of you.” He clearly knew exactly what I’d been up to for the past two years. I typed back: If a certain gentleman were to show up on a bike and propose, I might just say yes. I put my phone away and grabbed the long, heavy skirt of my wedding gown. With a satisfying rip, I tore the fabric, transforming it into a short, rebellious dress. This gown was Bill’s choice—or rather, Cora’s. When it had been delivered, I’d frowned at the style, which was nothing like what I wanted. “This isn’t the short dress I picked out.” Bill had waved it off. “Cora picked this for you. She said it would suit you best. You have to trust her taste; she’s a fashion designer. You can’t possibly know better than a professional. It’s haute couture. You’ve never worn designer brands, so you just don’t get it. Just listen to Cora.” Cora had added, with a sickeningly sweet smile, “Sophia, you might not understand what’s fashionable in our circles. It’s different from your world. You’ll just have to adapt. This dress is the most suitable for you.” Suitable for me? She’d deliberately chosen a style that highlighted all my flaws. And by having it delivered the day before the wedding, she’d made sure I had no time to change it. She wanted me to look ridiculous. I’d met Bill at the Sterling Corporation. He’d pegged me as a low-level employee from the start. It was the company’s Family Day, so we were allowed to bring guests and dress casually. I had just ridden a bike-share back from the store with a huge bag of snacks for my colleagues’ kids. At the entrance, my bike scraped against his car. He claimed it was love at first sight and began pursuing me, insisting my background didn’t matter. At the time, I was in the middle of a two-year bet with my father. He didn’t think I had what it took to handle hardship. So, I’d agreed to work my way up from the bottom of our own company, Sterling Corp, under an alias. If I could last two years without quitting or getting fired, I would prove my worth and become the official heir. The rules were strict: no help from my old life, no contact with my friends. I lived on my entry-level salary in a tiny apartment, commuting by bike-share every day, grinding away in different departments. But it worked. I learned the ins and outs of the company, earned my superiors’ respect, and was even promoted twice. Bill had been good to me, relentlessly pursuing the “ordinary office worker” he thought I was. I’d let my guard down. After a year, he proposed, and I accepted. Today was supposed to be the end of the two-year bet. Today, I could finally reveal who I really was. I had planned to tell Bill, too—to let him know that the Sterling connection he was so desperate to forge was already his. But now? Now I was grateful I hadn’t. A man like him would never be a partner to Sterling Corporation. Riding a bike in a wedding dress drew stares from everyone on the street. In the distance, a car sped toward me, deliberately swerving to plow through a large puddle at the side of the road. A wave of filthy water erupted, drenching me. I swerved to avoid it and tumbled to the pavement. Scrambling up, I heard a chorus of cruel laughter. I looked up and saw Bill’s wedding motorcade. The car that had splashed me was driven by one of Cora’s friends. It was intentional. They wanted to humiliate me. By the time I arrived at the hotel, disheveled and riding a mud-splattered bike-share, Bill’s Cullinan and the rest of his pristine procession were just pulling up to the entrance. I locked the bike, and a loud, electronic voice announced: “LOCK SUCCESSFUL.” The sound drew their attention. They turned, saw me, and burst out laughing. “No way. She actually rode a bike-share here.” 4. “Whoa, did you take a swim in a sewer? You have no shame, showing up in public like that.” “Bill, your girlfriend is really committed. This is the first time I’ve ever seen a bride arrive on a rental bike.” “Is that dress ripped? Did you tear it just so you could ride that thing? How embarrassing, hahaha!” Cora, dressed in a designer cocktail dress that made her look more like the bride than I did, clung to Bill’s arm and wrinkled her nose. “Sophia, you look like a mess. I should have just sent one of the cars for you. It’s all my fault. This only happened because of my carsickness.” She tilted her head. “But… why didn’t you change before coming out? You’re not planning to get married looking like that, are you?” I gritted my teeth. “This is your doing.” She stepped forward, reaching for my hand. I yanked it away. Her eyes immediately welled with tears. “Sophia, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you were too cheap to even call a cab. It would have been, what, twenty dollars? Why be so frugal? Doesn’t Bill give you enough money?” Her voice dripped with false concern. “And showing up like this, on a bike… there are reporters everywhere. What will people think of Bill when they see the pictures?” “He has business partners to meet. They’ll laugh at him! You just don’t understand. If you’re going to marry Bill, you need to learn how to support him, not drag him down.” She leaned in close, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper. “A broke nobody like you thinks you can marry into the Thorne family? Dream on. That position belongs to me.” Then, she grabbed my hand again, her long, red nails digging into my arm as she turned to Bill and his friends with a bright smile. “Bill, don’t Sophia and I look like sisters in our matching outfits?” One of his friends snorted. “Sisters? More like a lady and her maid.” “Yeah, she’s got that desperate, working-class vibe down perfectly.” I ripped my hand from her grasp. “Enough. I’ve had enough of your toxic act for one day.” Cora stumbled back dramatically. “Oh! Sophia, I’m sorry, I was just joking! I didn’t want Bill to be in an awkward position, I thought if we could be friends, he’d be happy.” Bill rushed to her side. “Cora, are you okay?” She shook her head, grabbing his arm before he could turn on me. “Don’t be mad, Bill. She’s the bride, and she had to ride a bike to her own wedding to save money. It’s only natural she’d feel a little humiliated.” She opened her clutch and pulled out a necklace. “Your dress needs a little something extra. I picked this out for you. Let me help you put it on.” She dangled it in front of me. “Be careful with it. It’s worth over a million dollars.” I glanced at the strand of cheap glass. “Is that so? Your family must pay a lot for glass if you think this is worth a million.” One of her friends jumped in. “You’re just a broke girl, what would you know? Apologize to Cora right now!” Bill’s voice was stern. “Sophia, I don’t care what you’re upset about, but you need to act with some grace. Apologize to Cora. Now.” I looked at him, pointing to the scrapes and bruises on my legs from my fall. “You see me like this, and you still don’t know why I’m angry?” He flinched at the sight of my injuries, a flicker of concern in his eyes, but Cora’s words had already taken root. His face hardened. “Go inside and change. Haven’t you caused enough of a scene? If the paparazzi get a shot of this, our PR team will have to clean up your mess.” He looked at Cora. “You’ve always been so sweet. After the ceremony, I’ll have her serve you tea as an apology.” Cora bit her lip, the picture of demure grace. “It’s fine. I’ll be staying in the country now, so I can take some time to teach her proper etiquette. I’m just worried she’ll embarrass herself during the wedding.” I laughed coldly. “Whether I embarrass myself at my own wedding is none of your business.” “That’s enough, Sophia!” Bill snapped. “Where are your manners? You’re acting like a shrew. My patience has its limits. If you don’t apologize to Cora this instant, the wedding is canceled.” I stared at him. “Cancel your wedding? What does that have to do with me? I’m not marrying you.”

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I am the daughter of a tragic romance novel’s female lead. At four years old, I finally understood the strange comments that floated before my eyes: 【The female lead is working herself to the bone to support her daughter, no idea she already has cancer. If she waits any longer, the kid’s gonna lose her mom!】 【If either of the main characters knew how to talk, the whole ‘secret baby’ plot wouldn’t even exist.】 【I feel so bad for their daughter. She loses her mom at six, and the male lead never even finds out she died or that he had a child. He just ends up alone.】 【Our little baby has it the worst. She has a billionaire for a dad but ends up in an orphanage…】 Mommy is going to die? I stared at my beautiful, gentle mother. No way! If they won’t talk, I will! One sunny afternoon, outside a towering skyscraper, I spotted a man in a sharp suit and immediately hugged his leg. “Daddy, give me money! I have to save Mommy!” 1 My name is Aria. Ever since I can remember, I knew I was different. Strings of strange symbols would always drift in front of my eyes. I thought everyone could see them, until the day I pointed at the air and asked my mommy about them. A look of confusion crossed her face. “Sweetheart, what are you talking about?” she asked. I soon realized that only my world had these scrolling, dense lines of text. After a while, I got used to them. Until I learned to read. The scrolling symbols started to look more and more familiar. My mommy knew I was smarter than other kids, so she had started teaching me to read and count when I was very young. This year, at four years old, I finally understood the strange symbols, the things called【The Comments】. 【The female lead is working herself to the bone to support her daughter, no idea she already has cancer. If she waits any longer, the kid’s gonna lose her mom!】 【If either of the main characters knew how to talk, the whole ‘secret baby’ plot wouldn’t even exist.】 【I feel so bad for their daughter. She loses her mom at six, and the male lead never even finds out she died or that he had a child. He just ends up alone.】 【Our little baby has it the worst. She has a billionaire for a dad but ends up in an orphanage…】 Female lead? Like the main character in the shows Mommy watches? I didn’t quite get it. I scratched my head with my chubby little hand. When Mommy came home from work that evening, she had a conflicted look on her face. “Aria, Mommy has to go on a business trip to another city for a few days. How about you stay with Auntie Carole? She can take you to kindergarten.” The strange comments flared up again: 【I can’t even watch. If she just went for a check-up now, they could definitely treat it in the early stages.】 【This business trip is her last chance to meet the male lead again, and she just walks right past him. I’m literally crying.】 【Evelyn, please go to the hospital! Forget about your stupid job! T_T】 【Little Aria is so good. She’s worried about her mom working so hard, with no idea how loaded her real dad is.】 【OMG when she finally gets diagnosed with stomach cancer, it’s already terminal. She gives up on treatment just to leave more money for her daughter. This is killing me, my tears are worthless…】 【…】 I froze. Evelyn. That’s my mommy’s name! Is my mommy the one who’s sick? I whipped my head around to look at her. She was still as beautiful and gentle as ever, but… maybe she was a little thinner. And she hadn’t been eating much lately. Is that because she’s sick? Mommy’s voice broke through my thoughts. “Sweetheart, you’re zoning out again. Did you hear me? Is it okay to stay with Auntie Carole?” “No!” I blurted out. 2 Mommy didn’t expect me to refuse. She opened her mouth to reason with me. “Aria, honey, Mommy has to go to work…” I threw my arms around her legs and looked up, my eyes red. “Mommy, can you ask for a day off for me from school? Take me with you. I promise I’ll be good.” “Aria,” Mommy said, stroking my cheek. “Why are you so sad? I’ll only be gone for a few days. You have to be a good girl and go to school.” “I don’t want to!” I insisted. “I already know everything the teachers are teaching. Please take me with you, Mommy, please…” Mommy could never resist when I begged. Her eyes lit up, clearly charmed by her own daughter. After a moment of hesitation, her resolve crumbled. She called my kindergarten to let them know I’d be absent. “Aria,” she said seriously, “you have to promise to listen to Mommy. When I’m working, you can’t run off, okay?” I nodded vigorously. And so, Mommy took me with her. It was my first time visiting another city. Mommy was always so busy that she usually hired a nanny to look after me. On the way there, the Comments scrolled across my vision: 【Little Aria is going on the trip! I hope she can find her dad and they can be a happy family.】 【I know, right? They’re so in love but so stubborn. I wish I could just jump in there and ask them if their pride is more important than life and death!】 【The company she’s visiting is right next to the Aytes Corporation headquarters! They have a chance to meet!】 【Ugh, I just really want the male lead to know he has a daughter!】 Find my daddy? I knew all the other kids at kindergarten had dads. Mommy told me my daddy was in a very faraway place. I thought that meant he was dead. But maybe not? It was okay not having a dad. But the Comments said Mommy was having a hard time raising me. Daddies are supposed to help raise kids, too! I made up my mind. I was going to find my daddy. If they won’t talk, I will! “Mommy, what does my daddy look like?” It was the first time I’d ever asked. The smile on Mommy’s face stiffened and faded. Her eyes held an emotion I couldn’t understand. “Aria, why are you suddenly asking about that?” “I just want to know.” After a long pause, Mommy finally said softly, “Your daddy is very handsome. But he has a bit of a bad temper.” That must mean a very bad temper. If even someone as gentle as Mommy couldn’t handle him. But having a bad temper doesn’t get you out of raising your kid! 3 Mommy didn’t feel safe leaving me in the hotel alone, so she took me with her to the office building she was visiting. She and her colleague had to go upstairs for a meeting, and it wasn’t convenient to bring me. She checked my kids’ smartwatch over and over. “Call me if you need anything,” she instructed. “Don’t trust strangers. If something happens, you can ask the nice lady at the front desk for help, understand?” I nodded seriously. The moment Mommy disappeared into the elevator, I hopped off my seat and walked out of the building. The Comments were scrolling frantically: 【Aria, see that black Rolls-Royce pulling up? That’s your dad in there!】 【AHHHH I don’t care if this isn’t how the plot is supposed to go! Did the author rewrite this? Let her meet the male lead!】 【Aria! In a second you’re going to see a man radiating pure CEO energy. Don’t hesitate. That’s your dad. Go and claim him!】 【…】 I looked toward another skyscraper that scraped the clouds. A black car was pulling up to the entrance. The car stopped, and two men got out. The one in front had a handsome, cold face and walked with the speed of a storm. The Comments: 【Kiddo! AHHHH that’s him! Go, run, hug his leg! That’s not just your dad, that’s your ticket to a trust fund!】 I didn’t hesitate. I sprinted forward on my short little legs and, with lightning speed, latched onto the man’s leg. Then I tilted my head back and yelled: “Daddy!” “Give me money!” “I have to save Mommy!” Daddies raise kids. Kids save mommies. The logic was flawless. For a moment, the world went silent. Then, a gruff, impolite voice sounded from above me. “Where did this chubby kid come from?” Chubby kid? Me? I jerked my head up to see a man who seemed impossibly tall. He was looking down, meeting my eyes. Just like Mommy said, he was very handsome. But he also looked very mean. “I’m not chubby,” I corrected him. Mommy said I was just growing, and that I was cute and cuddly. Another man in a gray suit beside him wiped imaginary sweat from his forehead. “Mr. Aytes, perhaps she’s one of the employees’ children.” He crouched down to my level, his voice gentle. “Little one, can you tell me who your mommy and daddy are? I can help you find them.” I looked back up at the man whose leg I was holding. “But my daddy is right here.” “Who?” the man in gray asked, confused. He pointed at the man I was hugging. “You mean… Mr. Aytes?” I nodded emphatically. The man in gray stood up and stammered to his boss, “Mr. Aytes, I… uh…” The man called Mr. Aytes looked down at me and scoffed. “Hey, chubby kid, did your parents ever teach you that you can’t just go around saying whatever you want? Since when do I have a daughter your size?” “Well, I’m telling you now, so now you know,” I replied. “…I’m not.” “But you are my daddy!” “Who told you that?” he asked, crouching down to look me in the eye. “Do you even know my name, or are you just picking random dads?” “Of course I know. Your name is Leo Aytes,” I said. The Comment ladies told me. He blinked, surprised. “You know me?” “You’re my daddy. Of course I know you.” He stared at me for a long moment, then a smirk played on his lips. “Alright, chubby kid, who put you up to this scam?” “My name is not chubby kid. You can call me Aria.” “Fine, Aria. Look, I don’t have time for games. Go with this man, and he’ll help you find your parents, okay?” “No. Are you abandoning your daughter?” I stared at him. “Mommy said you weren’t that kind of person. Were you lying to her?” A few other adults, who I guessed were my dad’s employees, were standing nearby, their faces lit up with the thrill of office gossip. He looked like he was about to laugh from sheer frustration. “Fine. You tell me who your mother is. I’d love to know who I supposedly had such a big daughter with.” “My mommy’s name is Evelyn.” 4 The air went still again. “You said,” he began slowly, his voice suddenly tense, “your mother’s name is Evelyn?” I nodded. “Yup!” His gaze sharpened, studying my face as if searching for a ghost. The next second, before anyone could react, he scooped me into his arms and strode forward. “Mr. Aytes? Sir?” the other man called out, confused. I was carried into an elevator, my arms wrapped around the neck of the man who was supposedly my father. He wasn’t very good at holding children, so I had to wiggle around to get comfortable. “What are you squirming for?” he grumbled. “Daddy, you’re not holding me right.” He fell silent and let me adjust myself in his arms. “There.” The man named Leo Aytes stared at me. After a moment, he asked, “How old are you?” “Daddy, I’m four.” He went silent again. Then he said, “Are other four-year-olds this heavy?” I got a little mad. “Mommy never says I’m heavy when she holds me. And I’m not complaining that you’re bad at holding kids.” The other man who had followed us into the elevator stood silently in the corner like a statue, though his eyes looked like they were screaming. The elevator doors opened, and I was carried into an office. We passed several people who stared with wide, shocked eyes. I heard someone whisper behind us, “Mark, whose kid is that with Mr. Aytes?” The man called “Mark” just shook his head. I was placed on a sofa, and the man and I stared at each other. He got a pen and paper. “You said your mom is Evelyn, right? Here. Write her name.” The man who had followed us couldn’t help but interject. “Mr. Aytes, a four-year-old might not know how to write…” Before he could finish, I picked up the pen and wrote “Evelyn” on the paper. The letters were a little wobbly, but I would never get Mommy’s name wrong. My dad stared at the name for a long time, then his eyes returned to my face. “Did your mother tell you I was your father?” I shook my head. He scoffed again. “Then how did you know? Maybe she had you with some other guy. Why else wouldn’t she bring you to me?” The Comments popped up again: 【He’s so stubborn! He’s totally freaking out with excitement on the inside, though.】 【This is why he’s fated to be single forever. So damn stubborn.】 【Just get a DNA test, dude! Aria, honey, pull out a few of his hairs for him. Make sure you get the roots!】 【LOL he’s probably already decided to keep her whether she’s his or not!】 【…】 I thought for a moment, then reached up and started pulling at his hair. One. Ouch. Two. Ouch… My dad grabbed my hand. “What are you doing?” Tears were welling up in my eyes from the sting. I placed the small clump of hair in his palm. “Daddy, go get a test. Then you’ll know if I’m your kid.” He froze. “Who taught you that? Your mother? Where is she?” “Mommy’s at work.” “Do you know her number? Call her and have her pick you up.” My dad seemed very insistent on seeing my mommy. I shook my head again, looking at him with disapproval. “I already told you, Mommy is working. You shouldn’t bother her.” “Is she at work, or is she just too scared to see me?” “Mommy didn’t do anything wrong. Why would she be scared to see you?” I heard him scoff again. This dad really did have a bad temper. 5 His phone on the desk lit up. I glanced over and saw the screen was a photo of two people. “Wow,” I said in surprise. “You have an old picture of Mommy!” The mommy in the picture looked so young, and she was wearing what looked like a school uniform. Before my dad could say anything, I showed him the wallpaper on my smartwatch. “Look, I have a picture with Mommy, too.” On the tiny screen was a photo of Mommy holding me when I was two. She was looking at the camera with a gentle smile. My dad stared at the photo for a long time. Then he suddenly asked, “Why did you think I was your father, and not someone else?” “Because Mommy cries when she looks at your picture,” I said, looking him straight in the eye. That part wasn’t from the Comments. I’d seen it myself. Mommy had someone in her heart who made her sad. When I was younger, she would sometimes look at a photo on her phone late at night and cry. “Mr. Aytes,” the man beside him prompted, “it’s almost time for the meeting.” He stood up, looking down at me for a moment before turning to his assistant. “Have Sarah from my office come and watch her. And don’t let anyone pick her up until the meeting is over.” Soon, I was alone in the huge office with a pretty lady. She brought me lots of snacks and smiled. “Hi, sweetie. Want me to play with you?” “Okay!” Sarah, the secretary, patted my cheek, and then patted it again, apparently liking how soft it was. “So, honey,” she whispered conspiratorially, “what’s your relationship with Mr. Aytes?” “He’s my daddy.” Her hand froze on my cheek. She cupped my face, her voice filled with a mix of envy and resentment toward her capitalist overlord. “Him? He can produce a daughter this cute?” I could tell Sarah suffered a lot under her boss. Mommy’s work was taking longer than expected. When I got bored, I sent her messages on my watch so she wouldn’t worry. About an hour later, my dad returned to the office, his face as cold as ever. “Mr. Aytes,” Sarah said, standing up. My mouth was full of potato chips. “Daddy!” I mumbled. My dad looked at Sarah. “You can go.” “Yes, sir.” The office door clicked shut. He walked over and sat down in front of me. “Hasn’t your mother contacted you yet? Don’t tell me she abandoned you and just dumped you on me.” Excuse me? I put my hands on my hips and glared at him. “Leo Aytes, you are not allowed to talk about my mommy like that!” “No respect,” he muttered, reaching over to wipe the chip crumbs from my mouth. “Weren’t you just calling me ‘Daddy’ a minute ago?” “Mommy likes you, so you’re my daddy. If Mommy liked someone else, he could be my daddy,” I said, full of righteous logic. “Mama’s girl,” he sneered. Mommy’s precious girl? I puffed out my chest and nodded. “That’s right! I am a mama’s girl!” “…” As dinnertime approached, I patted my tummy and tugged on his sleeve. “Daddy, I’m hungry.” “Didn’t you just eat a mountain of snacks? You’re hungry already?” He poked my belly, as if to check if I was telling the truth. “Snacks are snacks. Dinner is dinner,” I said seriously. “Such a little know-it-all,” he mumbled, but he picked up his phone and ordered food to be delivered. It was the first meal my dad and I ever shared. For some reason, he kept staring at my face. He even tried to feed me at first, but I’m a big kid. I can eat by myself. After dinner, Mommy still hadn’t come. Her work must have been really tough. I was getting sleepy and hadn’t seen any new messages from her. I leaned against my dad and drifted off. Sometime later, my smartwatch started ringing. In a sleepy haze, I felt someone answer it. I vaguely heard Mommy’s voice on the other end, but my eyelids were too heavy. Someone gently shook me. “Aria, your mommy is coming to get you.” I instinctively snuggled closer. “Daddy, I’m so sleepy.” The voice stopped. The next thing I knew, I was being lifted into a pair of strong, broad arms. 6 I woke up to the sound of arguing. I opened my eyes from the sofa and saw Mommy. “Leo, I already told you, Aria is not your daughter.” In the dim light, Mommy looked so small and fragile standing across from my dad. “Not your daughter? Then why did she run up and call me ‘Daddy’?” I heard my dad scoff. “She said she’s four. If she’s not mine, that means you cheated on me, Evelyn. So tell me, who’s the bastard?” “What’s the point of talking about this now?” Mommy’s voice was weary. “It’s all in the past, Leo. She’s not your child. I’m taking her home.” “You say she’s not, and that’s that? I took her for a DNA test this afternoon. We’ll see who’s lying when the results come in.” Mommy flinched at his words. Her lips moved, but no sound came out. “Mommy,” I called out. “Aria,” Mommy’s attention finally shifted to me. She rushed over and hugged me, her eyes red. “You scared Mommy to death.” I snuggled into her cheek. “I’m sorry, Mommy.” She kissed my face. “No, I’m sorry. It was my fault for being so busy with work. I should have watched you better.” An ill-timed voice cut in from the side. “So, is this a touching mother-daughter reunion? What does that make me, the villain?” I looked over. My dad’s handsome face was dark with anger. “Mommy,” I asked her, “why did you ever like someone so mean?” “…” The silence was mutual. I blinked, looking between them. “Aria, let’s go home,” Mommy said, picking me up to leave. But my dad reached out, his voice still cold. “Let me hold her. I don’t know how you’ve been managing these past few years, but you’ve gotten so thin. Don’t you know how heavy she is? You’ll throw out your back.” “Daddy, I’m not heavy,” I reminded him. He bounced me in his arms and snorted. “Looks like all your food money went to feeding this one.” I decided not to talk to him anymore. Mommy walked silently beside us, her expression complicated as she watched me and my dad. In the elevator, my dad finally spoke. “Evelyn, you were the one who broke up with me without a word and disappeared. Why?” Mommy looked down, silent. “If you really didn’t care about me, why did you have my child?” The Comments started scrolling again: 【AHHHHH MALE LEAD YOU FINALLY ASKED! FEMALE LEAD I’M BEGGING YOU, FOR MY SAKE, PLEASE TALK!!】 【My friend said she’ll die with regrets if you two don’t clear up this misunderstanding!】 【Because your mom gave her five million dollars to leave you, you idiot! And she didn’t even take the money, that’s what makes me so mad!】 【And do you remember your supposed fiancée from five years ago? Evelyn probably thinks you’re married by now! Explain yourself!】 【…】 I blinked. “Daddy, are you married?” The arms holding me lifted, and I was suddenly face-to-face with my dad. His expression was flat. “Who taught you to spread rumors about your father like that?” “Daddy, are you not married because no one likes you?” I tilted my head. “Lots of people like my mommy.” “Is that so?” He seemed to glance at Mommy. “And with so many admirers, your mom isn’t married either, is she?” “That’s different!” I corrected. “My mommy doesn’t like them. You’re the one nobody likes.” “Okay, Aria, that’s enough,” Mommy said, covering my mouth with her hand.

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“Mario, you listen to me and you listen good,” Sophia said, her voice cutting through the chatter of the company dinner. “I will never, ever have children. There isn’t a man on this planet worth putting my body through nine months of hell for!” I left the party under a hail of awkward, pitying stares. When I got home, a courier package was waiting for me. Inside was Sophia’s pregnancy report. She was one month along. I’d been out of the country on business for the past two months. I had only gotten back yesterday. Presented with undeniable proof that my wife was cheating on me, I should have felt a tidal wave of grief. Instead, all I felt was… relief. A deep, profound exhalation of breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding for seven years. I called her. When she picked up, my voice was unnervingly calm. “We need to find some time to sign the divorce papers.” “Mario, what is this now?” Her tone was laced with disgust. “You’re going to divorce me just because I won’t give you a baby?” Before I could answer, a syrupy, effeminate voice chirped in the background. It was her childhood best friend, Ron. “Sophia, sweetie, look at these tiny little socks! Wouldn’t they be perfect for our baby?” 1 The line went dead. I looked around the house I had once considered my home, a place I had built for us, and let out a long, weary sigh. I’d bought this place outright before we were married, but now, staying here felt… sickening. I decided to pack my things, move out, and sell it. I was taping up a box when the front door swung open. Sophia swept in, with Ron clinging to her arm. “Mario, where are the slippers?” she demanded, her tone that of a queen addressing a servant. “Ron’s feet get cold. Go fetch him a pair.” Ron shot me a look of pure, triumphant provocation, though his voice was soft as silk. “Thanks so much, Mario. You’re the best.” I ignored them, carefully placing a stack of design blueprints into my suitcase without a word, without a glance in their direction. The sight of them together churned my stomach. The nausea was physical, like the queasy roll of a hangover on a bumpy car ride, trapped with the cloying scent of cheap perfume. A cold sweat broke out on my forehead. “Are you deaf?” Sophia snapped. When I didn’t respond, she kicked off one of her stilettos and hurled it at my head. I dodged it easily, finally meeting her gaze with a look of cold indifference. Still, I said nothing. Her eyes finally landed on the packed suitcase. She frowned. “What’s the meaning of this?” “I told you on the phone,” I said, my voice flat, devoid of any emotion. “We’re getting a divorce.” I had once loved her down to my very bones. But when disappointment piles up, layer by agonizing layer, love can vanish in a single, silent instant. “Mario, honey, are you throwing a tantrum because of me?” Ron cooed, his voice dripping with false sympathy. “But I’ve told you before, I’m not into women. Sophia and I are just like sisters!” He simpered. “Look, I’ll apologize. Please don’t be angry. I’ll try my best not to see Sophia anymore, okay?” “Ron, what do you have to be sorry for?” Sophia immediately jumped to his defense. “It’s Mario’s own fault for being so petty and jealous! It has nothing to do with you!” She shot me a look of pure loathing. “And he’s only acting like this because I won’t have his baby! Mario, if I had known you were this kind of man, I never would have agreed to marry you!” “It’s not too late to fix that mistake,” I said, zipping the suitcase shut. I did a quick check of my drafting equipment, then started for the door. “I’m listing the house with a realtor. You should find a new place soon.” “You’re selling our home?” Her voice rose to a shrill shriek. She grabbed my arm. “Mario, is this really just because I won’t have your child? We agreed! You promised you would never pressure me. So you bring it up in front of everyone at the dinner tonight, I say a few words back, and now you want a divorce?” “Don’t touch me,” I said, shaking her hand off like it was something unclean. “You’re filthy.” 2 “Filthy?” Her pride, always her most prominent feature, was clearly wounded by my open disgust. “Mario, are you insane?” “Am I wrong?” I shot back. “And for the record, it was Mr. Harrison who brought up the topic of kids tonight, not me. But even if it had been me, you should have shown me some respect in public. You didn’t. In your eyes, am I just some piece of trash with no dignity?” “Everyone knows you and Harrison are close! He was just speaking for you!” she retorted. “Besides, what dignity do you need? I’m the CEO of the company. Being my husband is what gives you dignity. What will you have once we’re divorced?” Her face was a mask of derision. I stared at her, speechless. It was hard to believe the woman standing in front of me was the same one I had married. Seeing my silence, she mistook it for submission. She pointed a finger at me. “Now, you will apologize to Ron. Immediately. Or I will never forgive you.” “Sophia, it’s okay,” Ron interjected, his voice a study in magnanimity, even as his eyes danced with victory. “Mario loves you so much. It’s only natural for him to be a little jealous. He doesn’t need to apologize.” “You hear that, Mario?” Sophia sneered. “Ron is so kind and understanding. And you? You’ll always be petty and small-minded!” She let out a bitter laugh. “You know, if Ron actually liked women, I might never have chosen you. You’re such a disappointment.” Seeing I still wasn’t responding, Ron’s voice took on a wounded, quavering tone. “Please, Sophia, don’t make things harder for Mario. You know what? I’ll apologize to him. If it makes him feel better, I’ll even get on my knees.” And with that, he actually knelt before me. “Mario, it’s all my fault,” he whimpered. “Even though I’m not attracted to women, I know I’m still a man in everyone else’s eyes. Me being so close to Sophia all the time… it must have been embarrassing for you. That was thoughtless of me.” Tears started to stream down his face as he spoke. “I am formally apologizing, and I promise, I will cut all ties with Sophia from now on!” He then proceeded to bow, touching his forehead to the floor. The lengths he would go to were truly pathetic. This performance only enraged Sophia further. She lunged at me, her hand raised to slap me. I caught her wrist, my grip firm, and stared them both down with cold fury. Were they serious? After what they’d done, she thought she could hit me? “You dare to stop me?” she gasped, her face a picture of disbelief. I looked her dead in the eye. “Sophia, I was on a business trip for two months. You are one month pregnant with another man’s child. I’m genuinely curious, where in the hell do you get the audacity to come in here and yap at me?” As I spoke, I pulled the pregnancy report from my pocket and slapped it against her face. The color drained from her cheeks, her eyes wide with panic. But only for a second. The fear was instantly replaced by a hardened fury. “Mario! I am your wife! How could you investigate me? Do you have zero trust in me?” I almost laughed. “You’re pregnant with another man’s baby and you have the nerve to talk about trust? You’ve really set a new standard for shamelessness.” I held up the envelope. “And for the record, I never investigated you. This report was delivered by courier an hour ago.” Ron started sobbing again. “Sophia, it must have been me! I probably put the wrong address on the form. This is all my fault, that’s why Mario is so angry.” “It’s not your fault!” Sophia snapped, her eyes fixed on me. “And it’s not a big deal! He has no right to be angry over something like this. Mario, your mind is just so dirty, you see filth everywhere you look!” So now I was the dirty one? 3 Honestly, when I first found out, alongside the anger, there was a wave of relief. Because I didn’t love her anymore, I didn’t truly care. But her complete and utter lack of shame… that was starting to genuinely piss me off. “Enlighten me,” I asked, my voice dangerously calm. “How exactly is my mind dirty?” “The baby is Ron’s,” she said, “but it was done through IVF. We never did anything.” “And?” I prompted, on the verge of laughter. “What do you mean, ‘and’?” she shot back. “Mario, do you have any compassion at all? Ron’s family has been putting immense pressure on him because of his orientation. He wanted a child of his own to appease his parents. We grew up together! It was my duty to help him! Or would you rather just watch him suffer under all that pressure?” She spoke with the righteous indignation of a saint who had just performed a great miracle. I laughed again, a harsh, humorless sound. She really was something else. The logic was breathtakingly twisted. “Sophia, we’ve been married for seven years, and you refused to have a child with me. Just tonight, you announced to the entire world that no man was worthy of you carrying his child. But as you said those words, you were already carrying another man’s baby.” I smiled coldly. “Where is your shame?” She glared at me. “See? This is still about me not giving you a baby! You’re so childish, Mario. I am so disappointed in you!” “Alright, that’s it,” I said, holding up my hands. “I’m done. I’m not going to waste my time trying to reason with insanity.” I waved a dismissive hand. “I’ll have the divorce papers drawn up as soon as possible. And you need to be out of this house.” As I turned to leave, Ron started crying again. “Sophia, if you get a divorce, our baby will be born into a single-parent home!” He was clearly hoping she would turn to him, declare she’d marry him instead, and solve the “problem.” But instead, Sophia grabbed my arm again, her eyes filled with that familiar disgust. “Mario, stop this nonsense. You heard him. If we divorce, this baby won’t have a father. You can’t be that heartless!” “So what’s your plan?” I asked, wanting to pry open her skull to see what was inside. “We stay married, and I help you and Ron raise your baby?” Ron, ever the helpful one, chimed in. “You don’t have to worry, Mario. After the baby is born, I’ll come over often to help take care of it.” “And the four of us will live happily ever after?” The sheer absurdity of it was making me giddy. He actually nodded. “Wouldn’t that be nice, Mario?” “Nice for who?” I finally snapped. “Are you an idiot? Do you think I am? What normal man would be okay with his wife carrying another man’s child?” I wrenched my arm from Sophia’s grasp and strode toward the door. “Mario, that is so classless! How could you use that kind of language?” she shrieked, grabbing me again. I turned, my voice dropping to an icy whisper. “Sophia, we’re adults. Have some dignity. Get your affairs in order for the divorce.” Then I walked back to where Ron was still kneeling, took one look at his smirking, tear-streaked face, and drove my fist into it. There was a sickening crunch as blood exploded from his nose and mouth. He collapsed, howling in pain. “That,” I said, looking down at him, “was a warning. Don’t push me.” I leaned in closer. “If I were you, I’d take your little tramp and build a life together. But stay the hell away from me.” I turned to walk away. “Mario, you’re crazy! You can’t just hit people!” Sophia screamed, clawing at me. “And who are you calling a tramp? I’m your wife!” My hand moved on its own, a sharp crack echoing in the silent room as my palm met her cheek. She stumbled back and fell to the floor, stunned. “Listen to me, Sophia. When I loved you, I tolerated a lot. But I don’t love you anymore. So you need to take a good long look at yourself, and maybe you should remember exactly how we got together in the first place.” For the first time, she seemed to realize I was serious. The disbelief in her eyes was replaced by a flicker of genuine fear. 4 I left the house and drove to my penthouse apartment near the office. I’d owned it for a while but rarely stayed there. After a quick shower, I threw myself into my work. The firm had a massive project in the pipeline, and the final blueprints were due. In the past, a fight with Sophia would have left me emotionally crippled, unable to focus. But now, with the love gone, all I felt was a sense of liberation. I worked through the night, finishing the project just as the sun came up. After a few hours of sleep, I headed to the office. A project this big required a final presentation to the board of directors. I was in the middle of my report when the boardroom door was thrown open with violent force. Sophia marched in, followed by Ron and a dozen security guards. Ron was wearing a tailored suit, the effeminate act replaced by an air of smug superiority. He pointed a finger at me, his voice ringing with authority. “Mario, you’re fired. Get out. Now.”

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On Valentine’s Day, my mother-in-law was stabbed twenty times and left for dead. I took the killer to court. But my wife, a star attorney, chose to represent him, arguing for his acquittal. When I confronted her, my voice shaking with rage, she brushed it off with an infuriating calmness. “Derek’s brother is just a college kid, Jacob. Can’t you show a little compassion?” She continued, her tone leaving no room for argument. “Derek and I will bring him by to pay respects to your mother. Then you’ll drop the lawsuit. Don’t wait to lose in court and embarrass me.” I looked at the photograph of the mutilated corpse, a sound clawing its way up my throat. It wasn’t a sob. It was a laugh, dark and hollow. She still didn’t know. She had no idea it was her own mother who was dead. I had just arranged for the body to be taken to the funeral home when my wife, Miranda, arrived with Derek and his younger brother, Dylan. Derek surveyed the simple viewing room I was setting up, his face a mask of disapproval. “Come on, Jake,” he said, shaking his head. “I know Miranda makes good money, but you can’t just throw it away on a dead person like this. It’s such a waste.” Dylan, the killer himself, was even more brazen. He stepped forward and spat, a glob of saliva landing squarely on the shrouded form. “You think you deserve this, you old hag?” he sneered. A bolt of pure fury shot through me, and I lunged forward. Miranda shoved me back, hard, shielding the two of them behind her. “Derek and his brother are just speaking the truth,” she snapped. “Your mother is dead. What’s the point of wasting another dime on her?” I stared at Miranda, a cold wave of disbelief washing over me. It was surreal. From the moment her mother had been murdered, Miranda hadn’t asked a single question, hadn’t shed a single tear. Instead, when I sued the killer, Dylan, she announced she would be his defense attorney. She’d even pulled strings—and spent a small fortune—to get him out on bail. I had assumed Derek had somehow brainwashed her, twisted her logic until she was unrecognizable. But it was so much worse than that. So much more insane. She thought the victim was my mother. The absurdity of it was almost suffocating. Derek, wearing a smug grin, continued to needle me. “Seriously, Jake, you should go get a refund. This setup must have cost a few thousand, right?” He clicked his tongue. “Your mom was always trying to squeeze money out of Miranda when she was alive. Are you trying to do the same now that she’s dead?” A look of pure disgust twisted Miranda’s features. “What else would you expect? The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” She didn’t even glance at the body. “A woman as vicious and greedy as your mother… getting stabbed was probably what she deserved.” My hands clenched into fists at my sides. “My mother has never done a single thing to wrong you. Don’t you dare insult her.” Miranda ignored me completely, turning to the funeral home director. “Cancel the service and refund the money. We’re not doing this. You can dispose of the body however you see fit.” Derek pointed towards a filthy drainage ditch that ran behind the building. “Miranda, honey, we should still be respectful of the dead,” he said with mock solemnity. “Why don’t we just place the body over there for a simple farewell? After cremation, we can scatter the ashes right into the ditch. A return to nature! We’d even save on an urn and a burial plot.” He turned to me, his eyes gleaming with malice. “What do you think, Jake?” Miranda scoffed. “He should be thanking you for your kindness.” Without another word, she ordered the staff to move the body to the edge of the foul-smelling ditch. I tried to stop them, but her men held me back, their grips like iron. I watched, helpless, as they placed my mother-in-law’s body beside the sludge and grime. My heart ached for her. Miranda’s father had died when she was just a child, and it was her mother who had worked herself to the bone to raise her, taking on the role of both parents. Her mother would eat nothing but stale bread for days just so Miranda could have tutors and attend the best schools. And this was her reward? To be denied even a dignified funeral? With a sickening thud, Dylan kicked the body. It tumbled over the edge and splashed into the murky water. He shot me a defiant look, his expression purely wicked. “Oops, my foot slipped. You’re not gonna get mad, are you, old man?” Before I could even speak, Miranda shot me a venomous glare. “It was an accident, Jacob. Just get some water and rinse it off yourself. There’s no reason to get so upset.” I looked at the desecrated body, floating amidst the filth in the ditch, and the rage inside me curdled into a chilling calm. A slow, terrifying smile spread across my face. “You will regret this, Miranda.” I hoped she would remember this moment—remember these exact words—when she finally learned that the corpse she was treating like garbage was her own mother’s. … “What could I possibly have to regret?” Miranda said, refusing to spare another glance at the body. She switched to her sharp, lawyerly tone. “I’m here for a pre-trial settlement conference. I don’t want to waste any more time on this nonsense.” She gestured towards Dylan. “You will sign a forgiveness letter for Derek’s brother. He’s a college student. We can’t let one mistake ruin his entire life.” My voice was ice. “Never.” My mother-in-law had been killed for no other reason than she’d caught Dylan stealing from Miranda’s house and tried to stop him. He had stabbed her twenty times. To prolong her suffering, he had deliberately avoided any vital organs, letting her bleed out in agony. How could a monster like that ever deserve forgiveness? And how could Miranda, a lawyer and her own daughter, so callously defend the man who murdered her own mother? The thought was sickening. Her mother would never rest in peace. Miranda’s patience snapped. “Jacob, this isn’t a negotiation. It’s a last chance!” she hissed. “I’m a star attorney. Even if this goes to trial, I have a dozen ways to get him acquitted. I’m just trying to spare you the humiliation of losing in my courtroom. It reflects poorly on me, you know. Everyone knows you’re my husband.” I remained unmoved. “If you’re so worried about me embarrassing you, let’s get a divorce.” Her face flushed with fury. “Jacob! How dare you? You’re threatening me with divorce over this petty issue?” She pointed at Dylan, who was now “helping” by poking at the body in the ditch with a stick. “So he accidentally kicked your mother into the ditch! Look, he’s trying to clean her off now. He’s showing remorse! He deserves forgiveness!” I followed her finger and my blood ran cold. Dylan wasn’t cleaning the body. He was urinating on it, a triumphant, wicked grin on his face. I looked back at Miranda, at her contorted, ugly expression. She was a stranger. To call that vile act “cleaning”… what had happened to her? Where was the young, idealistic lawyer who once swore to fight for justice? It all started when Derek became her intern. Derek, who ignored evidence and built cases on pure conjecture. Miranda had covered for him, twisted the truth, and sent innocent victims to prison just to protect his fragile ego. I had warned her, told her it was wrong. She’d just claimed she was “mentoring a promising young talent.” My disappointment was a physical weight in my chest. “I’ll have the divorce papers drawn up. You’ll have them by tomorrow.” Derek stepped in, feigning concern. “Jake, come on. Miranda only spent Valentine’s Day with me because she felt sorry for me being single. If that’s what this is about, I apologize. Please don’t scare her with talk of divorce. She’ll take it to heart.” His words were gasoline on the fire. Miranda’s hand flew up and a sharp sting exploded across my cheek. “You are being completely unreasonable, Jacob!” she shrieked. “And let me tell you something. Not only will I not divorce you, but I will also exercise my right as your wife to issue a forgiveness letter on behalf of the family!” She immediately had someone bring her a pen and paper. Right there, in front of me, she scribbled out the letter, signing her name with a flourish. “And I will make sure you never even get a chance to testify,” she snarled, her eyes burning with a cold fire. “You brought this on yourself, Jacob.” After Miranda left, I paid a small fortune to have my mother-in-law’s body recovered and properly cleaned. I hired new staff to prepare the viewing room again. Then, I had a lawyer draft the divorce agreement and called Miranda, telling her to come sign it. Derek answered the phone. In the background, I could hear Miranda’s soft, breathy moans. “Jake, buddy,” Derek said, his voice dripping with condescension. “Miranda’s a little busy right now. Can’t come to the phone.” He paused, letting me hear a particularly loud cry from her. “She told me to tell you, don’t even think about using a divorce to invalidate the forgiveness letter.” He didn’t hang up. He let me listen. Fighting back a wave of nausea, I recorded the call before ending it. If she wouldn’t sign, I’d file for divorce. I submitted the application online, took a screenshot, and sent it to her. “See you in court.” The day of the murder trial, I arrived at the courthouse to a notification on my phone: my divorce filing had been rejected. Of course. It had Miranda’s fingerprints all over it. Then, another call came through. It was the funeral home. They told me the viewing room had been vandalized and the body had been forcibly removed. The director sent me a video. I opened it, and my vision went red. My mother-in-law’s body was gone from the refrigerated coffin. In its place was the carcass of a large pig. Flanking the coffin were wreaths bearing my mother’s name, with condolence ribbons covered in vile, obscene insults. Miranda and Derek arrived, fashionably late. She saw the video on my phone, and her voice was laced with pure malice. “This is what happens when you refuse to listen, Jacob.” Her threat was clear. “If you insist on testifying today, you will never see your mother’s body again.” Derek pointed at the pig in the coffin on my screen. “See? A perfect match for your mother, don’t you think? It took Miranda and me ages to find a replacement with just the right look.” He chuckled. “Now all your relatives can kneel and bow to a pig. It’s all the same, really. You’ll get your real mom’s body back after my brother is acquitted.” I never imagined they could sink this low. It was all a desperate attempt to stop me from testifying because they thought the victim was my mother. As the direct next of kin, my refusal to forgive would override any letter Miranda wrote. My control snapped. I swung, my fist connecting with Derek’s jaw. “You’re less than human!” Miranda shrieked, throwing herself in front of him. “Jacob! Don’t make me have you thrown in jail, too!” My eyes, burning red, locked onto hers. “The only ones who belong in jail are you two! Desecration of a corpse is a felony!” She laughed, a harsh, grating sound. “Did you forget who I am? I’m the lawyer here. I’ll never see the inside of a cell. Your threats are meaningless.” Her voice dropped to a menacing whisper. “So you need to decide. Do you want to testify, or do you want your mother’s body back?” A cold, mirthless smile touched my lips. “Miranda, has it ever occurred to you that maybe, just maybe, this isn’t my mother’s body we’re talking about? Maybe it’s yours.” Miranda just rolled her eyes. “My mother is a kind, decent woman. She would never be so horrible that a sweet college kid would feel compelled to stab her to death.” She pulled out her phone and started a video call. “One word from me, and your mother’s corpse will be food for maggots.” The screen flickered to life. It showed my mother-in-law’s body being dragged toward the edge of a septic tank. As they moved her, a large, old burn scar on her forearm became visible. She’d told me about that scar once. When Miranda was a little girl, she’d knocked over a kettle of boiling water. Her mother had shielded her with her own arm, receiving a terrible burn. To keep Miranda from feeling guilty, she’d always told her it was just a birthmark. Derek’s eyes widened for a split second before he recovered. “Wow, Miranda,” he said quickly, pointing at the screen. “Jake’s mom was a real copycat. It was bad enough she was always trying to dress like your mom, but now she even fakes a birthmark to match? How pathetic.” The flicker of doubt in Miranda’s eyes instantly vanished, replaced by her usual disgust. “Mine is a birthmark. Is that one a burn scar she got on purpose? The lengths some people will go to are just disgusting,” she sneered. “I can’t believe my mother ever called that woman a friend.” My mom, a copycat? The truth was, my mother always felt sorry for my mother-in-law, raising a child on her own. Whenever she bought new clothes or jewelry for herself, she would buy a matching set for her. It was my mother-in-law who, out of gratitude, had always treated me with such kindness. A bitter wave of sadness washed over me. I had to stop this. “That is your mother, Miranda! And that isn’t a birthmark. It’s a burn she got protecting you!” Derek leaned in, whispering to Miranda, “It’s bad luck, having a dead woman with the same ‘birthmark’ as your mom. We should get rid of it.” He took the phone and spoke to the men on the other end. “Do it.” I lunged for the phone, but Miranda swung her handbag, the heavy metal clasp striking my forehead. “Derek is right! Leave him alone!” Blood trickled down my face. On the screen, I saw a knife flash. They were carving into the already damaged arm, turning the scar into a grotesque, bloody mess. I was shaking with a rage so profound it left me breathless. “Miranda! Do you have any humanity left?” “The only one without humanity is you!” she screamed back. “You’re the one trying to send an innocent boy to prison! I gave you a chance, Jacob. You’re the one who threw it away!” She snatched the phone back and yelled into it, her voice cracking with fury. “Throw the body in the septic tank! Now!” Then she shoved the phone in my face, forcing me to watch as my mother-in-law’s body disappeared into the filth. Satisfied, she looked at my face, twisted in anguish, and smiled like a conquering hero. Then, head held high, she took Derek’s arm and walked into the courthouse. The trial began. The judge started by reading the facts of the case. “The defendant, Dylan Evans, following a conflict arising from a burglary attempt, did repeatedly stab the victim, Laura Collins, resulting in her death.” Miranda’s triumphant expression evaporated. Her face went blank. Laura Collins was her mother’s name. She shot to her feet, interrupting the judge. “Your Honor, there must be a mistake in the victim’s information. That name… that can’t be right.” The judge frowned, looking at her with a strange, piercing gaze. “The victim’s identity has been confirmed, counsel. The deceased is your mother, Laura Collins.” Every muscle in Miranda’s face froze. She stammered, asking to see the case file. The judge slid it toward her. There, in black and white, was the name. Her mother. The victim. A smile, more gruesome than a grimace, stretched her lips. “But… my mom’s fine. She’s alive. How could she be… dead?” Her hands trembling, she fumbled for her phone and dialed her mother’s number. From the evidence table, a phone inside a plastic bag began to ring. The ringtone was a cheesy pop song Miranda had set for her mom years ago as a joke. Tears finally streamed down her face. She spun around, her eyes wild, and shrieked at me. “Jacob! What did you do? How did you bribe all these people to lie to me, to play this sick joke?” Her voice broke. “She was just talking to me a few days ago! She was going to bring me lasagna! How can she be dead?” I met her gaze from across the courtroom, my own eyes cold and hard. “I don’t have that kind of power, Miranda. And last I checked, slander is a crime. You’re an officer of the court. You should be careful with your accusations.” I had told her. More than once, I had tried to tell her the truth. She was the one who refused to believe it. She was the one who had committed those unspeakable acts.

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On my daughter’s fifth birthday, Cynthia posted a photo on Instagram with the caption: 【My little one was fussy before bed, wanting her daddy, and Super Dad dropped everything to rush right over.】 The man lying in bed with her, smiling at the camera, was my husband—Chris. I glanced at the text message I’d received just ten minutes earlier: 【Something came up at the office. Don’t wait up for me and Mia.】 I liked the post. Then I dialed my divorce lawyer. 1 It was two in the morning when Chris finally came home. The harsh glare of the hallway light spilled into the room, and my first instinct was to shield my daughter’s eyes. Chris leaned against the doorframe. “Honey, I’m home. Let’s wake Mia up. I can celebrate her birthday with her now.” I used to be obsessed with these family rituals. Birthdays, holidays, anniversaries, even kindergarten events—I always insisted that Chris be there. I didn’t want Mia to grow up like I did, seeing her father mostly through video calls. But now— I straightened the covers, my voice flat. “That won’t be necessary.” A flicker of annoyance crossed Chris’s face. “Clara, I just went over there to put Leo to sleep. Don’t misread the situation. This is exactly why I can’t be honest with you, because you’re always so suspicious.” I wasn’t misreading anything. And from now on, I wouldn’t be suspicious, either. “If there’s nothing else, you should go to your own room. Don’t wake Mia. She has school in the morning.” Chris let out a cold laugh. “Fine, have it your way. Just don’t come crying to me later, accusing me of being absent from Mia’s childhood.” I turned my back to him, switched off the lamp, and gently patted Mia, who had started to stir from the noise. His absence didn’t matter anymore. After all, Mia’s birthday wish this year was: “I don’t want to see Daddy anymore.” The next morning, after breakfast, Chris didn’t leave for work immediately as he usually did. Instead, he sat on the sofa, watching the morning news. Just as we were about to leave, he grabbed his keys and walked over, ruffling Mia’s hair. “Daddy’s taking you to school today.” He was speaking to our daughter, but his eyes were locked on me. Two years ago, when Mia first started kindergarten, Chris drove her every single day. But after Cynthia came into the picture, he started leaving earlier and earlier, claiming his morning meetings had been moved up. I believed him. Until three months ago, when Mia transferred to a new school. I was standing by the gate when I saw him. The man who was supposed to be in a meeting was leaning over, lifting a little boy out of the back seat 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 massive fight that night. The next day, Mia stopped asking for him to take her. Even though I’d already decided on a divorce, he was still Mia’s father. I considered it for a moment and didn’t refuse. A small smile played on his lips as he bent down and scooped Mia into his arms. When he opened the car door, I froze. The back seat was cluttered with someone else’s life. A superhero water bottle, a wooden toy bow and arrow, a woman’s shawl… And hanging from the back of the passenger seat was a “family photo.” Chris’s expression tightened when he saw where I was looking. “Cynthia just hung that there. She said it makes Leo happy. Don’t start a fight over something so trivial.” The old me would have torn that picture to shreds and tearfully demanded to know where Mia and I stood in his heart. But the new me just nodded. “It’s a nice photo.” Chris stared at me, a strange look in his eyes. “You’re not angry?” Angry? Maybe I should have been. But for some reason, my heart was a flatline. I almost wanted to laugh. Did Chris, always so sharp and calculating, really not see through such a clumsy, transparent ploy? The truth was simpler. He just didn’t care. “We should get going. Mia’s going to be late.” At my prompting, Chris’s lips thinned into a tight line, and he opened the driver’s side door. Just as I was about to lift Mia into the car, his phone rang. The ringtone was a child’s voice singing, “My Daddy, my hero…” On the other end of the line, a little boy was crying hysterically. “Daddy! Daddy! Where did you go? Are you leaving Leo and Mommy?” Chris hung up and, without a single glance in our direction, scrambled into the car. “Leo’s crying for me. I’ll have the driver take you today.” The black Maybach sped away, leaving us in a cloud of exhaust. Worried about Mia, I knelt down to comfort her. “Daddy has something important to do today. Next time he’s free, we’ll have him take you to school, okay?” Mia’s face held a maturity far beyond her years. “Daddy will never be free, Mommy. All his time is for Leo and his mom.” 2 That evening, Chris called. “Clara, I’ll be home late. Leo is sick…” “Okay.” I agreed so quickly that his prepared explanation caught in his throat. He must have thought I was being difficult, because his tone hardened with irritation. “Clara, don’t be like this.” Then he hung up. Ten minutes later, I received a series of texts. 【I’m so sorry, Clara. Leo has been really clingy with his dad lately.】 【But really, Chris shouldn’t have just abandoned you and Mia the second I called.】 【I’ll be sure to scold him. Please don’t be mad.】 The last text was punctuated with a giggling emoji. It was Cynthia. The messages weren’t an apology; they were a declaration of war. I had no interest in fighting her for him. I deleted the texts and blocked her number. A moment later, Chris called again. “Clara, what is your problem? Cynthia apologizes to you, and this is how you act?” I could faintly hear the sounds of a woman and child sobbing in the background. I said nothing. After a long silence, his voice came back, low and heavy. “Clara, how did you become like this? I’m so disappointed in you.” Cynthia was the one who had provoked me, but the moment she cried, Chris laid all the blame at my feet, as if I were some kind of wicked villain. When I got home, I started packing. While Chris had been on the phone, I’d been consulting with my lawyer. In a divorce, I was entitled to at least 30% of the shares in Chris’s company. And since our parenting conditions were comparable, custody of our daughter would likely be awarded to me, the mother. My last hesitation vanished. Clothes, bags, jewelry, Mia’s favorite toys—they were all coming with us. As I sealed the last box, my hands trembled. For a moment, I paused, then I broke the dusty wax seal on an old chest in the corner. It was filled to the brim with love letters—from the Chris who was seventeen, all the way to twenty-two. I opened the one on top. It began: 【To the twenty-seven-year-old Clara, this is the seventeen-year-old Chris.】 【This is the first love letter I’ve ever written to you. As we promised, we will open this together in ten years.】 【By then, we’ll definitely be married. Maybe we’ll even have a beautiful child.】 My phone rang. On the other end was the twenty-seven-year-old Chris. “Clara! Do you have any idea that Cynthia took Leo and ran away from home? If anything happens to them, I will never forgive you.” My eyes fell to the last line of the letter. 【Signed: The Chris who will love his Clara forever.】 A sharp pain lanced through my chest, like something delicate had finally shattered. I hung up the phone and tossed the entire box into the fireplace. 3 Chris didn’t come home that night. I didn’t frantically call him over and over like I used to, crying and promising I would never give Cynthia a hard time again. My daughter didn’t ask about her father either. She just quietly took the framed photo of her and Chris from her room while I packed. Chris and I were locked in a cold war. It lasted a week, until Mia’s kindergarten needed a parental consent form signed, which required facial recognition. I tried calling Chris, only to find he’d blocked my number. With no other choice, I took the form and went to his office. I hadn’t been waiting long when I saw a familiar figure slip into Chris’s office. The assistant pouring water nearby looked guilty. “Mrs. Thorne, Mr. Thorne gave instructions that Ms. Cynthia can enter his office whenever she likes.” That special privilege was, in a way, my fault. Back when I still brought Chris lunch every day, we would eat and talk for an hour. One day, Cynthia showed up, but the assistant at the time stopped her at the door. By the time Chris walked me out, Cynthia and her son Leo were shivering in the hallway, their lips blue from the cold. That was the first time Chris ever truly lost his temper with me. He yelled, saying my daily lunch deliveries were a waste of his time. The assistant who had stopped Cynthia was fired. From that day on, everyone knew Cynthia was the one who held Chris’s heart. I never came to the office again. I gave the new assistant a small smile and walked straight toward the office. Chris was indeed in a meeting. He looked surprised to see me. “What are you doing here?” Cynthia was perched on the armrest of his chair, their bodies so close they were almost touching. He noticed my gaze and faltered. “Clara, don’t get the wrong idea. Cynthia just happens to know a little about this project, so…” I nodded and handed him the tablet. “Mia has a field trip. It needs a parent’s signature.” “You came all this way just for that?” “What else?” The atmosphere in the room grew heavy. I didn’t know why, but I knew Chris well enough to recognize he was in a foul mood. Cynthia scoffed lightly. “What a complicated way to get a signature. Chris, she just wants to make up with you. You’ve been staying at my place for days. It’s about time you went home to see Mia.” The tension in Chris’s brow eased. He tossed the tablet onto the coffee table and gave me a smirk. “Clara, so now you’re using our child as an excuse.” “Apologize to Cynthia. Otherwise, I’m not signing this.” Hearing those words used to infuriate me. I’d be furious that he didn’t care about his own daughter, and even more furious that he was doing it for Cynthia. But now, I felt nothing. My only thought was that without his signature, Mia would miss her field trip, and she would be disappointed. I looked at Chris, and at Cynthia still sitting on his armrest, then turned and walked out of the office without a word. I could just tell the teacher that Mia didn’t have a father. I’d only taken a few steps when a clear, masculine voice called out. “Ms. Thorne, if you don’t mind, perhaps I could sign it for you.” It was the other man from Chris’s meeting. “After all, I’ve been an audience to your family drama for some time now.” I finally got a good look at him. He was dressed in a sharp black suit that radiated a cool authority, his features handsome and severe. He clearly came from money and power. I simply handed him the tablet. The verification went through instantly. Three elegantly written words appeared on the screen: 【Kyle Cole.】 4 The divorce papers were drafted. I unilaterally ended our cold war and told Chris to come home that evening. When I went to pick Mia up from kindergarten, his Maybach was already waiting. The window rolled down, revealing Cynthia’s triumphant smile from the passenger seat. “Clara, here to pick up your child, too? This is an elite kindergarten, you know. Are you still wearing last year’s coat? Aren’t you afraid Mia will be embarrassed?” I couldn’t be bothered with her and moved a little farther away. Cynthia turned to the driver’s seat, her face a mask of wounded innocence. “Chris, did I say something wrong again? I think I made Clara angry.” For once, Chris didn’t respond. He just stared at my thin coat, his voice stiff. “Clara, it’s windy out. Get in the car.” I moved even farther away. I don’t know when it started, but the distance between us had grown so vast that even a simple word of concern sounded forced and hollow. As we neared the school gate, a scuffle broke out in the line of children. I frowned, and my heart sank when I saw that one of them was Mia. I rushed over and pulled them apart, only then realizing the other child was Leo. He froze when he saw me, then immediately threw himself on the ground and began to wail. “Waaah! The mean lady hit me! It hurts, it hurts!” Chris and Cynthia hurried over. Cynthia swept her son into her arms, her face filled with indignation. “Clara, I know you don’t like me, but you can’t take it out on a child. They were just playing. There was no need to get so aggressive.” Chris looked at me with disapproval, completely forgetting that Mia was his own flesh and blood. The teacher looked torn. “Mrs. Thorne, Mrs. Cynthia, the children both saw Mr. Thorne and started insisting he was their father. They argued, and then they started fighting.” It was dismissal time, and the area was crowded with parents. The whispers started immediately. “What a mess. Two kids fighting over a dad? Must be the wife and the mistress.” “That guy looks loaded. Maybe the little boy is just a liar, trying to show off. Who knew the real daughter would be right there?” “A little gold-digger in the making. What are they teaching him at home?” Leo was still crying, clinging to Chris’s neck and screaming “Daddy.” But Mia… she just held my hand tightly, her eyes fixed on Chris, unblinking. The other children chimed in curiously. “Mister, who’s your real kid? You have to tell us! The one who’s lying has to apologize.” Chris opened his mouth. “I’m Mia’s…” At that exact moment, Cynthia gave his sleeve a gentle tug, her eyes pleading. In an instant, I knew. He was wavering. Just like countless times before, all it took was one look from Cynthia, and my daughter and I became his second choice. I gritted my teeth, my voice like ice. “Chris, your answer right now will affect Mia for the rest of her life. Think very carefully before you speak.” His body went rigid. His eyes were downcast, his expression unreadable. Then, in a voice that was quiet but loud enough for everyone to hear, he said: “I’m Leo’s father.” He looked at Mia. “I think you’re mistaken, little girl.” My heart seized, as if it had been struck by a sledgehammer. The pain was so intense I could barely breathe. This is our daughter. The crowd of parents immediately turned on Mia. “Little girl, why would you lie about who your dad is? And then hit his real son?” “Yeah, the truth is out and she’s not even apologizing. No manners at all.” “She’s just jealous he’s rich. Wants to be a rich man’s daughter.” “Her mother doesn’t look like a good person either, all done up like that. Probably taught her daughter to call rich men ‘daddy’ to try and trap one.” “Chris, you’re not even human…” I started to say, but a sharp pain in my palm cut me off. Mia was biting her lip, her grip on my hand astonishingly tight. The light in her eyes was fading fast. “Mom, let’s just go.” Then she turned woodenly to Chris and bowed. “I’m sorry, sir. I was mistaken.”

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1 My brother gave me a diary in which he could see everything I wrote. In my first life, that diary was filled with my love for him, with all my depravity. He despised me, abandoned me, and as I stood on the ledge of a twenty-eighth-floor rooftop, he demanded I wish him a “happy wedding.” Reborn into this life, I’ve learned my lesson. The day I got the diary, I wrote: 【I hate my brother so much. I wish he would just disappear from my life.】 But later, my brother knelt before me, stripped bare. “Everyone else has a sister who loves them. I’m the only one who doesn’t.” “Stella,” he begged, “can’t you find it in your heart to feel just a little bit sorry for me?” … I can’t remember the last time my brother, Leo, smiled at me. I remember even less the last time he held me. The weight of the diary in my hands feels impossibly heavy. Leo is wearing a blue floral apron, cinched tight around his slender waist. He looks as though he could snap in two. “What, cat got your tongue?” he teases. “I know you like it, but don’t…” His playful tone falters. Because I’ve launched myself at him, burying my face in his chest. My fingers clutch the fabric of his apron, still warm and smoky from the kitchen. I’m trembling. In my last life, at some point I can no longer pinpoint, my brother suddenly began to distance himself from me, to despise me. On the day of his wedding, I stood on the rooftop of a twenty-eight-story building. The moment I leaped, he shielded me with his own body. He shattered on the pavement before my eyes. As we fell, he had held me just like this, so tightly. Even the warmth of his body and the faint scent of cedar are the same. I’ve returned to ten years ago. It’s a miracle. Ten years ago, my brother isn’t dead. And he doesn’t yet know about the obsessive, twisted love I have for him. Just two hours ago, I was at my brother’s funeral. The woman who was supposed to be my “sister-in-law” was weeping hysterically. The moment she saw me in the memorial hall, she looked like she wanted to shove me into the coffin with him. “Stella, who else but you would have such a disgusting obsession with your own brother!” What kind of sister tries to kill herself on the day her brother is closest to happiness? That would be me. I couldn’t stand to see him happy, because the person standing beside him wasn’t me. She had thrown out the wish diary my brother gave me ten years ago. It was filled with every one of my vile thoughts. 【I love my brother so much. Can he stay with me forever?】 【Sometimes I wish my brother were blind, so his eyes would never hold another woman. Is that so wrong?】 【He’s starting to avoid me. I won’t allow it.】 【Just die! Everyone should just die!】 He gave me that diary ten years ago. From the moment I wrote the first word, he began to hate me, to avoid me, to resent me. But the one thing I could never understand was why. After so many years of loathing me, why did Leo abandon his own grand wedding to come find me? He was the only one who died in that fall. His skull shattered. He was always so composed, so immaculate. But when he ran up those twenty-eight flights of stairs, his hair was matted to his face with sweat. The moment he grabbed me, he whispered, “Stella, if there’s a next life, don’t do this again.” I knew what he meant. If there’s a next life, don’t cross that line. Don’t let your love for me become something more than what a sister should feel. My old, stubborn self would never have agreed. But now, looking at my brother—alive, breathing, human enough to reach out and wipe a tear from the corner of my eye, to gently scold me, “Crying again. Stella, what did I do in a past life to deserve you?”—I feel something shift. I push him away, turn, and close the door behind me. Tears fall freely, uncontrollably. I uncap the pen and write. 【I hate him. I hate my brother so much.】 【Can he just disappear from my life completely?】 I’m lying. I would rather never see my brother again for the rest of my life than watch him die so horribly on his wedding day. My brother was adopted. My parents brought him home from an orphanage. He wasn’t the child they had intended to choose. But I pointed at the gloomy boy in an apron, baking cookies by the oven. “Mom, Dad,” I said, “I want him to be my brother.” Leo was stunned. He had a limp. He didn’t know how to say the right things to charm adults. His only handsome feature, his face, was hidden behind a curtain of long hair. He just stammered. My almost pathological fascination with him had already begun. Even when the director of the orphanage insisted he wasn’t the right child, I clung to his leg and refused to let go. “He is. He’s beautiful.” My parents couldn’t win against my stubbornness. They agreed to take him home for a “trial period.” That’s how adults are. They weigh the pros and cons, hoping everything comes with a return policy. But my brother is a person, not a product. I would never let them send him back. In three months, I transformed him. I secretly slipped notes under his door with hints about my parents’ preferences. I spoke the words he couldn’t say, building him up in their eyes. By the time I was twelve, we finally looked like a real family of four. But our happiness was short-lived. My father was laid off, and my mother was scammed out of all our savings. One night, they turned on the gas. My brother, always the lightest sleeper, pulled me from my room just in time. My parents were gone. My brother became my father and my mother. After the funeral, he had only twenty dollars to his name. When I cried that I was hungry, he bought a can of peaches from a corner store. It was a big can. He held my hand and told me, “Stella, wait for me. I’ll come back and we’ll leave this place together.” I waited for three days. Everyone told me he had abandoned me. They said he was heartless, that I shouldn’t wait. I didn’t believe them. When I was hungry, I ate the canned peaches. Three days later, my brother returned, walking through a gauntlet of cold, judgmental stares. His fingernails were black with coal dust. In his pocket was the fare for a train to the city. He lifted me onto his back. He limped, his steps unsteady, but he refused to put me down. After that, taking care of me became a part of his DNA. In my last life, the first wish I wrote in that diary was: 【I want my brother to be with me forever.】 He quit a high-paying job in City A without telling me. He bought a large apartment near my university and started his own business. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner, my favorite dishes were always on the table. And so was he. He was like a magical wishing tree. Whether I wanted newly released shoes and bags, or a 4.0 GPA for the semester, he always found a way to make it happen. I suspected. I even asked him. “Leo, do you sneak into my room and read my diary when I’m not here?” He just tweaked my ear and replied shamelessly. 2 “Who do you take me for? Can’t it just be that your brother is your soulmate?” I was a freshman in college that year. Boys and girls, fresh out of their simple high school lives, were all falling in love. Someone cornered me once. “Stella, don’t you want to date someone?” “All you ever talk about is your brother, your brother. Don’t you get sick of it?” When Leo came to pick me up, I took the gift bag a boy who was pursuing me had offered and dangled it in front of him. “Leo,” I asked, “do you think I should date him?” His hand on the steering wheel tightened. His face darkened. “That piece of trash thinks he’s good enough for you?” That night, I read a steamy romance novel. The heroine was pressed against the hood of a car, ravaged by the male lead. The face that appeared in my mind was my brother’s. My love for him was anything but pure. I wanted his love to be mine and mine alone. The diary was like a subtle, hidden metaphor. A thin veil over a truth about to be exposed. I remember that night, my brother made crispy sweet and sour pork. I believed that any wish made in the diary would come true. I was naive, and with a heart full of love, I wrote: 【I want to fall in love. With my brother.】 Outside my door, I heard the crash of a shattered bowl. Things spiraled out of my control. He started avoiding me. He started to despise me. For ten long years. I had noticed it, of course. When I wrote something like that, he wouldn’t show up the next day. He had always prioritized me above everything else. But I never thought he would be so absolute. At the dinner table, my best friend Ruby, who he had asked to be my roommate, asked me softly, “Stella, did you and your brother have a fight?” “He bought a ticket for a red-eye flight to City A. He told me he’d be busy with work from now on and couldn’t come back often, so he asked me to stay with you.” My brother had fought tooth and nail to afford this apartment. But now, just to put distance between us, he was starting over in a new city. Sometimes I really wondered. He was willing to give up everything important in his life for me. So why couldn’t he just love me? But I will never forget the time in my last life when, emboldened by alcohol, I sat on his lap and swayed against him. “Brother,” I’d whispered, “help me, please?” “I’ll do anything. Anything at all.” He had dragged me by the wrist and shoved me under a cold shower. He hadn’t been drinking. He wasn’t sick. He just stood there with me, under the freezing water, for what felt like hours. He cupped my face. “Are you sober now?” “Look at me, Stella. See who I am.” Fueled by desperation, I’d laughed. “But you’re the one I want, Brother.” After that, my brother moved out. He never spent time alone with me again, not even for holidays. The fastest way to push him away was to tell him I hated him. The second fastest way was to tell him I loved him, that I was going crazy with it. Now, I’ve tried both. My relationship with my brother seems to be a dead end. But hating him seems to offer a longer-lasting existence in this life than loving him. My brother let me live on my own. But I think he overestimated me. He overestimated the body that had been so coddled under his care that it would collapse at the slightest breeze. When the thermometer spiked to 102 degrees, my vision blurred. I knocked over the glass of water on my nightstand. Ruby was out on a date with her boyfriend. I was home alone. My insides felt like they were on fire. On instinct, I fumbled for my phone and called my brother. It rang twice before he picked up. I heard him say my name. “Stella?” “Mhm,” I managed. In my last life, after he moved out, he rarely answered my calls. When he did, it was usually just three short phrases. “Busy.” “In a meeting.” “I’ll call you back.” He had gotten very used to using those lines on me. I deserved it. But there were times when the medicine didn’t work. I once ran to his office building in a downpour, clutching a can of peaches. He always worked late. Perhaps that was how he’d climbed to the top so quickly. He’d looked at me coldly, not even offering me an umbrella. He watched as I struggled to open the can. Rainwater dripped into the syrup. I held it up to him. “Leo,” I said, “have some.” He didn’t take it. He pushed me, not hard, but enough to make me collapse onto the wet ground. Covered in mud, I held my arms out to him. “Brother,” I pleaded, “look at me.” “You used to love me most. And you loved canned peaches most.” He didn’t turn back. A black car pulled up in front of him. Its tires sent a spray of water arching through the air. When the silence returned, the ground was littered with scattered slices of peach. Burning with fever, I can’t tell if the sound outside my window is the rain from that night or if this is the present, before the final break with my brother. I mumble into the phone, my voice thick and slurred. “Leo, you finally decided to answer my call?” “You used to go out and buy me peach nectar every time I had a fever.” “Leo, you’re not home. I’m scared.” On the other end of the line, I imagine his fingers tightening around his phone. Slowly, I lose my strength. The phone slips from my hand and lands on the pillow beside me, my breathing heavy. In my dream, it feels like the front door opens. It feels like my brother came back. When I open my eyes again, there are two cans of peach nectar on my nightstand. Ruby is looking at me with a pained expression. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a fever?” My nose is so stuffy. I can’t tell if the faint scent of cedar is in the air. Clutching a can, I ask Ruby, “Was my brother here?” She shakes her head instantly, frowning. “Are you delirious? He’s in City A. By the time he bought peach nectar and brought it here, you’d have burned to a crisp.” From City A to my home is a four-hour train ride, not counting travel time to and from the stations. And I had called him at three in the afternoon. It’s now seven. Even if he flew, he couldn’t have made it that fast. But I can’t risk even that sliver of a possibility. I throw both cans into the trash can and wash my hands. My face is cold as I tell Ruby, “Good. I don’t like canned peaches anymore anyway.” “It’s a poor man’s food. Too pathetic, too sweet.” She just stares at me, stunned. Autumn in City B is long. To break free from the withdrawal symptoms of my separation from my brother, and to completely extinguish any desire to disturb his life again, I dress warmer than anyone else. I go to bed early and wake up early. I eat three meals a day on time. I will not get sick again. I will not be vulnerable again. I will not instinctively reach for my brother in moments of powerlessness. But I never expected the university to invite him back as a distinguished alumnus to give a speech. All freshmen are required to attend. I can’t escape. He’s on stage, seated in a chair that hides his limp. Questions, interviews—he answers them all fluently. Many in the audience are just staring at his face. The host guides him toward an interactive session. His dark eyes sweep silently across the thousands of seats below. I shouldn’t think he’s looking for me. I shouldn’t think he’d be able to spot me in this crowd. But the girl who gets called on is sitting just in front of me. She clutches the microphone, her voice trembling with excitement. “Leo,” she asks, “are you single?” The entire hall erupts. 3 My brother freezes for a moment, his gaze flickering over me. When I was eighteen, he had promised me. “If you ever want to date someone, you have to get my permission first, Brother.” He had laughed at me then. “In that case, I’ll probably have to be single for the rest of my life.” On stage, he stands up. He takes a few steps, deliberately slow, his gait uneven. This is my brother. While nodding, he is also clearly telling everyone: I am flawed. I have a limp. It is a polite, distant refusal, one that lays his own imperfection bare. As if it doesn’t hurt him at all. The girl in front of me sits down with a sigh, but the girl next to me grows even more excited. “Oh my god, don’t you think that kind of beautiful, broken vulnerability is the most attractive thing ever?” she whispers. “I am definitely getting his number after this.” Someone reminds her that I am Leo’s sister. A note is passed into my hand. “Come on, you wouldn’t say no, right?” She tilts her chin confidently, a proud, radiant girl. “I mean, there aren’t many girls as great as me out there,” she says. “If your brother dates me, I’ll treat him really well.” It takes all my strength not to crumple the note and throw it away. In my last life, this girl wouldn’t have even had the chance to talk about my brother in front of me. My brother deserves the best in the world. But after a moment of consideration, I nod slowly. “My brother doesn’t just add anyone. I’ll take you to him later.” “Great!” After all, the person standing by his side… It can be anyone but me. It has been almost three months since I last saw my brother. The auditorium is vast. As the crowd disperses, he stands quietly on the stage, waiting, his back straight. But I know his leg must be killing him. I find a pain-relief patch in my bag. Timing it perfectly, I lead the girl to him. “She has something to say to you.” My brother looks down, his long lashes casting a shadow. He didn’t sleep well last night. But when he sees the patch in my hand, a faint smile touches his lips. “Go on.” “Leo, you’re single, and I’m single,” the girl says, straight to the point, holding up her phone with a QR code. “Any interest in dating?” My brother’s eyes look past her, to me. There’s a stunned, cold emotion in his gaze. It reminds me of the time in my last life when I deliberately accepted a gift from another man in front of him. He finally speaks, his brow furrowed. “Is this what you want?” I dig my nails into my palm, look away, and nod. “Sure, why not? You’re all alone anyway.” “It would be good to have some…” Before I can finish, Leo takes out his phone, scans the girl’s code, and walks away. The lights of the long corridor illuminate his hasty, almost comical retreat. One by one, the lights in the auditorium go out. The girl beside me is practically jumping with excitement. “Thank you so much! When I become your sister-in-law, I’ll treat you to dinner.” I am silent, my fists clenched. Because I heard the words “sister-in-law,” and because… My brother is angry. I’m sure of it. What is he angry about? He has to find a girlfriend eventually. He can’t be my brother forever. What is he angry about? My brother stops coming to see me completely. Even on the anniversary of our parents’ deaths, all I ever see is the bouquet of flowers he leaves at their grave. No matter how early I go, hoping for even a glimpse of him, he is never there. Gifts for every holiday still arrive at my doorstep. Ruby stays over more and more often, becoming a sort of stand-in for “him.” But in the dead of night, I still dream of those misty, haunted eyes. Of him shattering a glass, grabbing my collar, and demanding, “Stella, look at me! See who I am!” In my dreams, I am always silent. I know that if I speak, even the chance to see him in my dreams will be gone. He will slam the door and leave, again and again. … The next time I see my brother is four years later. I think if he had known I would be at that party, he wouldn’t have come. He has changed a lot. His limp is almost unnoticeable. Broad shoulders, long legs, the ends of his hair slightly curled. With a face so cold and indifferent, it’s hard not to stare. And his power in City A is even more captivating than his face. My supervisor during my internship pushes me towards him, whispering urgently, “Go on, offer him a toast. That’s Mr. Leo Lin.” “An intern like you might not get another chance to meet him for years.” I lower my head, a sour feeling rising in my nose. It’s true. It takes a long time to see my brother now. My wine glass trembles, finally meeting the man’s palm. My brother’s Adam’s apple bobs before he says, “Don’t force her.” He is different in public than he is with me. The authority he exudes is suffocating. So when my supervisor asks in surprise, “Do you know him?” I answer instantly, “No.” The atmosphere in the private room chills. I see my brother raise an eyebrow at my words. He puts down the wine glass he had just lifted, and the already tense air practically freezes. Coincidentally, someone asks him, “Mr. Lin, I heard your sister is also studying in City B. Why didn’t you bring her along?” My brother looks down, his dark gaze sweeping over me. The straight line of his knuckles seems to suddenly lose its strength. “She hates me,” he says, his voice low and heavy. “She hates me very, very much.” Sometimes, all it takes to break a person is a single look, a single sentence. I suspect if I stay in this room any longer, if I see that cold, shattered look in his eyes again, I might just rush over and kiss him, and explain everything. Tell him all those ugly words I wrote in the diary were lies. But in the end, I can’t forget the black-and-white photo from his funeral. My fingernails dig into my palms. I stand up. “I’m going out for some fresh air.” I have this habit of smoking whenever I think of my brother. I don’t know when it started. It’s as if the nicotine can numb me, let me live in a haze where I can pretend he loves me. A small point of fire is extinguished between someone’s fingers. When I come to my senses, my brother is standing by the window. Four years. His features have matured, and his words have grown sharper. “Is this your idea of ‘fresh air’?” I choke, my eyes instinctively drawn to his curled fingers. “Does it hurt?” He laughs, his thin lips twisting into a cold arc. “Don’t we not know each other?” “Why would you care if I’m in pain?” He’s still holding a grudge about what I said in the private room. I stammer an explanation. “I don’t want to use your name to get ahead…” He cuts me off, his voice laced with irritation. “Got it. You still hate me.” “But can I ask why?”

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The moment I successfully completed my redemption task and was free to leave the world of the novel, the second male lead, Michael, confessed his love for me. I couldn’t bear the thought of him returning to the lonely, desolate life he’d lived before, so I chose to stay. We fell in love, a whirlwind romance just like any normal couple, and with everyone’s blessing, we walked toward the altar. Until our wedding day, when a girl crashed the ceremony. “Michael will betray you in the future! Don’t marry him!” she screamed. “Who are you?” Michael’s voice was firm, his eyes fixed on me, filled with nothing but adoration. “Allison and I are deeply in love. If you continue to spread these lies and ruin our wedding, don’t expect me to be polite.” The girl ignored him, her gaze locked on me, her eyes red-rimmed and desperate. “Mom,” she pleaded, “please, believe me… this man will not make you happy.” 1 Every guest in the hall froze. A few seconds later, the tense silence broke into a wave of poorly suppressed chuckles. I’m twenty-four. The girl looked like she had just turned eighteen. How could I possibly be her mother? But she seemed oblivious to the mocking stares, her eyes still fixed on me, pleading. “He won’t bring you happiness. He’ll only make you cry.” “He’ll tell you he’s busy with work on every holiday, but he’ll be spending them with someone else.” “He and that bitch, Samantha, have been tangled up for over a decade!” At the name “Samantha,” a chill ran down my spine. She was the original female lead of the novel, the woman Michael had been secretly in love with for years. How did this girl know about Samantha? “What nonsense are you talking about? I haven’t had any contact with her in years!” Michael’s voice was sharp, and he turned to me, his expression laced with anxiety. “Allison, don’t listen to her. We haven’t seen each other at all.” 2 Michael wasn’t lying. Samantha had moved abroad four years ago and had never come back. In those four years, our relationship had been wonderful. We had never once fought over the ghost of his past love. “I believe you,” I said. “Mom, he’s lying…” The hotel security finally arrived, unceremoniously hauling the girl out. “False alarm, everyone! Let’s continue, let’s continue!” “Now, where were we?” Friends and family raised their glasses, trying to salvage the atmosphere, but it was impossible. The floral arrangements were knocked over, the aisle was a mess, and the officiant, having never witnessed such a scene, stood there in a daze. The hotel manager came to apologize personally, offering to compensate us and reschedule the entire event. “What kind of security are you running here? You can’t even handle a teenage girl?” Michael’s face was dark, a rare flash of anger directed at someone other than me. Only after the manager left did his features soften. He rested his chin on my shoulder. “You’re not angry at all?” How could I not be? When the System had told me my task was complete, that I could go home, it also meant my story with Michael would end. 【You want to stay?】the System had asked. “Yes. Michael just confessed to me.” I’d always read fairy tales and imagined the prince and princess lived happily ever after. Now, someone had just crashed my own fairy tale to tell me the ending was a complete train wreck. My mind was a chaotic mess. That night, I tossed and turned, unable to sleep. A pair of strong arms pulled me into an embrace. Michael, half-asleep, murmured as his hand moved down, finding my cold feet. “Did the cold wake you?” He expertly tucked my feet under his shirt to warm them, shivering himself from the chill but pulling me even tighter. Listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing, I just shook my head, trying to banish the chaotic thoughts from my mind. 3 Sensing my low spirits, Michael took charge of all the wedding arrangements. He told me to just relax and wait, promising he would give me the grand, once-in-a-lifetime ceremony I deserved. In the meantime, I went back to work. I didn’t expect to see the girl from the wedding—she’d called herself Thea—at the coffee shop downstairs from my office. I had wondered if she was a Tasker like me, but the System had been clear: there could only be one outsider in each book. Thea stared at me for a long time. “This is the first time I’ve seen you dressed like this.” It was just standard professional attire, but it seemed to trigger a flood of memories for her. “I’ve never seen you in heels. Your hair was always tied back in a bun, never down like this—it was inconvenient for housework.” “You never wore belted coats like that one. They’re too hard to maintain, and you never had anywhere to wear them.” Her gaze shifted to my wrist. “Your hands were always bare, except for a simple wedding band. You were devastated when you lost one earring, so you just wore plastic spacers to keep the holes from closing. Eventually, you got too busy and forgot even that. The piercings closed up.” I managed a small smile. “That won’t happen. I don’t like that kind of life.” “What is your life like now?” Although I was still an orphan in this world, the System had given me a proper identity. I had a history here—I went to college, pursued Michael, fell in love, and made friends. I had my own social circle, my own career, and I was about to start a family with the man I loved. “So I won’t end up like you described,” I said. “I’m very happy with my life right now. I love my job.” I picked up my bag to leave, but Thea grabbed the corner of my coat. “But what if you get pregnant?” 4 I froze, studying Thea’s face carefully for the first time. When she furrowed her brow, she looked so much like Michael. That night, Michael’s kisses trailed from my shoulders down to my waist, his touch a teasing fire through the fabric of my nightgown. The moment his fingers hooked the strap to pull it aside, I instinctively caught his hand. Michael smoothed my hair back, his lips moving to my ear. “I thought we agreed to just let nature take its course?” “If we have a child, who will take care of it? Will I have to quit my job? I’m up for a promotion right now, and I don’t want to miss this opportunity.” Michael stilled. After a long moment, he spoke. “Allison, you believed her, didn’t you?” I was taken aback. “Ever since that girl showed up, you haven’t been yourself. You believed what she said, that I would neglect our family, that I would be a bad husband to you.” I rubbed my temples. “If we let nature take its course, these are all things we have to consider.” Michael’s voice grew heavy. “She’s a complete stranger, Allison. But you’re already letting her words define our future.” In the darkness, I couldn’t see his expression. I lifted the covers and slipped into his arms, my face brushing against the stubble on his chin. He had been so busy, juggling work and replanning our wedding, that he hadn’t even had time to shave. But a sense of unease still plagued me through the night. I took a day off and went to the doctor. As I sat staring blankly at the test results, Thea appeared and sat down beside me. “My birthday is July 23rd,” she said softly. Nine months from now. The report in my hand confirmed I was already over a month pregnant. After we had decided to get married, we had stopped being careful. One of those times had planted this seed. “You compromised,” Thea said. “No,” I denied it instantly. “I have no intention of giving up my career.” Thea just looked at me. “That’s not what I’m talking about.” I froze, my mind flashing back to the night before, to the drawer I had opened and then closed. “You didn’t retreat all at once,” she whispered. “You gave ground, step by step.” 5 Looking at Thea, I was suddenly terrified of what she might say next. As I was leaving, she reached out and grabbed my arm again. “You still don’t believe me?” “We’re a couple about to get married. Getting pregnant is a perfectly normal thing.” As for what came after, we could work it out. It didn’t have to end up the way she described. “Give it two weeks,” Thea said, closing her eyes. “Decide whether you’ll tell him in two weeks.” I didn’t know what she meant by that. That night, Michael said something urgent had come up at the office and threw on his coat to leave. I followed him. His car didn’t go toward his office. It parked next to a restaurant. He sat alone for fifteen minutes before a familiar figure pushed through the door. Samantha. “It’s been a long time,” she said, extending a hand. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.” 6 I hadn’t seen her in four years, but she was just as the novel described her: pure, gentle, and graceful. I unconsciously crumpled the menu in my hands, watching Michael’s reaction. His expression was cold, distant. “I forgot to tell you,” he said, ignoring her outstretched hand. Samantha awkwardly retracted it and was about to sit down. “I’m getting married.” The words came out in a rush. Michael’s hand moved instinctively toward his pocket for a cigarette, then stopped as he remembered he was in a public place. He looked calm, but I knew him. That small, aborted movement was a sign of immense turmoil. “Married?” Samantha nodded. “I heard. To Allison, right?” “Yes.” Michael seemed agitated, as if he couldn’t bear to stay a second longer. “I have to go. There’s something at the office.” Samantha grabbed the hem of his coat, her expression wounded. “Michael, I know it’s probably too late for me to come back now. But… can’t we at least be friends? You helped me so much in the past… If it’s okay, could you just… walk with me for a bit?” 7 The moment the words were out, Samantha seemed to realize her mistake. She let go of his coat, stood up first, and mumbled an apology before walking out of the restaurant. Through the glass door, I saw her raise a hand to wipe away a tear. Michael hesitated, then his steps toward the exit seemed rushed, almost frantic. He pushed the door open, then stopped dead in his tracks. He turned back and asked the waiter for a pack of tissues. I couldn’t hear what he said through the glass. I only saw his hand, holding his coat, lift as if to drape it over her shoulders, then fall back to his side. He didn’t give her the coat, but he stood in front of her, shielding her from the wind. He couldn’t bring himself to refuse her. They walked down a familiar street, golden leaves scattered like lonely confetti on the cobblestones. Before Samantha left the country, this was the street where Michael would “accidentally” run into her every day. His bright eyes would dim the moment he saw the male lead walking beside her. And every time, I would be trailing behind, waiting for Michael to turn around. “Why are you turning back? You got all dressed up, even got a haircut, just to walk down this lane, didn’t you?” The teenage Michael was stunned at being found out. “It would be a shame to leave now,” I’d said. “The person I was waiting for stood me up, too. Why don’t we walk together?” “I wasn’t waiting for anyone,” he’d retort, but his ears would be burning red. “Okay, okay, you weren’t waiting. Consider it my invitation, then.” The truth was, I had also worn my favorite dress and a new hairclip. But just as Samantha never saw him, Michael never saw me. He refused my invitation, but that didn’t stop us from becoming partners in misery on that lonely lane. After it happened enough times, Michael finally snapped. He stopped and turned to me, his voice harsh. “I will wait for her. I am waiting for her. Stop wasting your time.” I looked him straight in the eye. “And I will wait for you.” Michael froze. And so did I. 8 The truth is, I had fallen for Michael long before the System brought me into this world. So when I was tasked with his redemption, I was ecstatic. Every day, my only thought was to make him a little happier, just a little bit more. The first time we walked down that lane together, we didn’t say a word. The second time, the third, the fourth… we finally started walking side by side. Then came holding hands, then kissing. We used the fallen leaves as our wedding confetti as he whispered his confession in my ear. He had faced so much disappointment. I wanted to fill every empty space, piece by piece. One day, I thought, he would finally see me. I would make him see only me. A dry twig snapped under my foot with a sharp crack— I came back to the present and stopped walking. Michael and Samantha were walking side by side, not speaking. He was just silently accompanying her down the entire length of the street. Their silhouettes blurred in my vision. 9 When Michael came home, he brought a box of raspberry mochi. I had once told him it was my favorite, but the private dessert shop that made it was in the next city over. He took off his coat and came over, his hands closing around my cold ankles. “Why are you standing barefoot on the floor again?” He gently put socks on my feet and tucked them into my fuzzy slippers. I looked down at his gentle face. “Where were you?” “I had a last-minute meeting.” “Do they sell this mochi in your conference room?” The air went still. Michael rubbed his brow. “What are you trying to say?” I just stared at him, not speaking. He seemed to grow irritated under my scrutinizing gaze. “How long are you going to let those baseless accusations make you paranoid?” My heart felt like it was being squeezed, a sour, painful ache spreading through my chest. “You didn’t meet with Samantha?” Michael froze, then his face filled with disbelief. “You followed me?” 10 He let out a long sigh. “She came back a few days ago. I only found out today. She was just catching up with old classmates, not just me.” “You should have told me.” “I was afraid you’d overthink it.” He reached for a cigarette again, then glanced at me and stopped. “Since you saw everything, you know we just met for a moment.” “Just met?” A bitter laugh escaped my throat. Michael’s brow furrowed. “Can you stop with the sarcasm? Did we kiss? Did we flirt? Did we sleep together?” No. None of that. Not even a touch of hands. To anyone else, it would look exactly like two old friends catching up. Nothing more. Was I being too possessive? Too petty? I had seen Michael with Samantha before, when his crush on her was at its peak, and I’d never felt like this. “But this is different.” “How is it different?” “How could you walk down that lane with me, and then walk down it with someone else?” “It’s just a street, Allison!” Just a street. Is that all? I waited on that street for him. For so, so long. Through wind and rain, thunder and scorching sun. I waited for so long just for him to finally turn around. And in his eyes, it was just an insignificant road he could walk down with anyone? “Then why did you wait on that street every single day back then?” Michael suddenly fell silent. “You understand, don’t you?” I whispered. “You were just like me.” He knew it was different. 11 I can’t remember the last time Michael and I gave each other the silent treatment. But this time, our friends were more anxious than we were. After the disastrous first wedding, they were all eagerly awaiting the second one, for a sense of finality. “He met with Samantha,” I told my best friend over the phone. There was a moment of silence on the other end, then a cautious, “What did they do?” I realized I didn’t know how to explain it. It seemed everyone would think it was just a walk, no big deal. That I was being overly sensitive. “That doesn’t seem like a huge deal, does it?” Her response was exactly what I’d expected. “If they walked together in broad daylight, doesn’t that prove they’ve really moved on? Allison, honestly, are you letting what that girl said get to you?” They told me to think about the good times. When it came to Michael and me, my friends were always full of stories. On Christmas Eve of our first year together, Michael took an overnight train just to bring me a single, perfect candied apple. To experience the first snow of winter with me, he stood outside my dorm for hours until I came down, bleary-eyed for my 8 AM class, and pulled me into his arms. “Michael? What are you doing here?” “You said so,” he’d murmured, repeating a message I’d sent him about an old saying—that to be covered in the same snow meant growing old together. Michael was clumsy with his hands, but because I loved embroidery, he learned to use a needle, often pricking his fingers until they bled. He even designed and hand-embroidered my wedding shoes, staying up for nights on end, nearly exhausting himself into a stupor. When my friends recounted these memories, their faces would light up, as if it all happened yesterday. They were right. We had so much history. They just met once after four years and took a walk. It didn’t mean he didn’t love me. 12 I recounted these stories to Thea, my voice bright and animated. “Did you know? That winter, he stood in the snow for—” “For hours, just to see the first snow with you,” Thea interrupted, finishing my sentence. “He also used to go to the next city over to buy you your favorite raspberry mochi. And he knitted you both matching scarves. You were once sharing one while walking down the street and almost got hit by a car. He held you so tight and rolled with you to the curb to save you.” She spoke with such familiarity, as if someone had told her these stories a thousand times. I stopped, taking a sip of coffee. “We were happy after we got married, weren’t we?” Thea suddenly went quiet. It was the first time I’d seen her so silent. “You always use these stories to prove to me that you were in love,” she said softly. “But Mom, how can a person live their whole life on memories?” “If you were really so in love, why did you have to keep telling these stories?” I realized my hand, holding the coffee cup, was trembling. I gripped the spoon tightly and stirred. “Them meeting… did I tell you about that, too?” Thea shook her head. “You never said a bad word about him in front of me.” She wrote a string of characters on a napkin and slid it across the table. “I saw it here.”

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To save a buck, I rented a notoriously haunted apartment. The first night, the faucet turned on by itself. I yelled into the empty air, “You’re paying the water bill!” The water shut off instantly. I thought that was just the beginning… I just never expected that the next day, I’d find a three-course meal waiting for me on the dining table. 01 The note was written in what looked like blood. Crimson, with a faint metallic tang in the air around it. The handwriting was sharp, elegant, radiating an air of non-negotiable, C-suite authority. I, Chloe, a perpetually broke optimist just trying to outrun my rent and bills in the big city, just stared at that slip of paper for a solid thirty seconds. My brain did a quick calculation. Three dishes and a soup. A perfect balance of meat and vegetables, plated beautifully, wafting a soul-snatching aroma. A meal like this from any restaurant would set me back at least fifty bucks. Going Dutch, that’s twenty-five. Worth it. What is fear, anyway? To someone who’d been living on instant noodles for three days straight, “fear” was just an adjective that couldn’t fill my stomach. I picked up my fork and speared a piece of glistening, braised short rib. I put it in my mouth. Rich but not greasy, it melted on my tongue. So good I nearly swallowed my own tongue. As I devoured the meal like a starved wolf, I mumbled at the air between mouthfuls. “I mean, seriously, Mr. Ghost? You’re a little cheap, don’t you think? You’re already dead, what’s with all the penny-pinching? Lighten up a little, will you?” The air was silent, filled only with the sound of my chewing. After I finished, I let out a satisfied burp. Staring at the greasy plates, my inner sloth took over. As a little test, I piled them in the sink and left them there. Consider it a little experiment to probe my new “roommate’s” boundaries. The next morning, I was woken by the faint clinking of pots and pans. I tiptoed to the kitchen doorway and peeked in. The dishes in the sink were sparkling clean, stacked in a perfectly neat pile, like a row of soldiers awaiting inspection. Next to them was another note. Not in blood this time, just a standard black pen. The handwriting was still impossibly elegant, but the message was ice-cold. “Dishwashing Fee: $5 per service. To be settled at the end of the month.” I burst out laughing. Unbelievable. Truly. I, Chloe, in my twenty-odd years of life, had never met a ghost with such a strict moral code. My competitive spirit was officially ignited. So, he wanted a battle of wills? Fine by me. Game on. I deliberately left a full garbage bag by the front door, blocking half the entryway. Let’s see you take this out, I thought. The next day, the garbage bag was gone. A sticky note was on the door: “Errand Fee: $10.” I came home late one night after working overtime, dragging my half-dead body through the door and fumbling for the light switch in the dark. Click. The living room lamp turned on by itself. It was a warm, gentle glow from the floor lamp, soft and easy on the eyes. For a moment, a corner of my heart softened. And then, a slip of paper fluttered down from the lampshade. “A light left on for you. Electricity bill to be calculated separately.” That tiny spark of warmth was instantly crushed by the words “ELECTRICITY BILL.” I rolled my eyes at the ceiling. This guy. A giant man-child whose corporate habits followed him even into the afterlife. The days trickled by in this ridiculous, comical “war.” I gradually started to figure out my ghost roommate’s personality. His name was Sebastian. That was the answer he finally gave me after I spent a week writing “What’s your name?” on sticky notes. Two elegant, blood-red words appeared beneath my question. Sebastian. He was a neat freak. If I shed a single hair on the floor, it would float its way into the trash can. He had OCD. If a single book on my shelf was out of height order, the entire thing would be perfectly reorganized by the next morning. He was a master chef but held a grudge like no one I’d ever met. I complained once that a dish was too salty, and he served me nothing but plain boiled vegetables for the next three days. He was also brutally honest. I bought a dress on sale and was twirling happily in front of the mirror. Words slowly condensed in the steam on the glass: “Questionable aesthetics, questionable taste, and an even more questionable wallet.” I stomped my foot in frustration, yelling at the air, “Who asked you? You’re a penny-pinching cheapskate who wants to go Dutch even in death!” The words on the mirror changed: “Right back at you.” I started getting used to his presence. I even started to enjoy it. At least I never had to eat instant noodles again. At least, in this cold, sprawling city, there was now a “person” who would leave a light on for me. Even if I had to pay for it. One day, my one and only best friend, Jessica, came to visit. I gave Sebastian a heads-up. “My best friend is coming over. She scares easily, so you behave yourself today, you hear me?” In the air, a magazine levitated off the couch and flipped open to a page with a giant “OK” printed on it. The second Jessica walked in, she took an exaggerated sniff. “Chloe, did you win the lottery? Did you hire a maid? This place is way too clean to be yours.” I let out a dry laugh. “Just turning over a new leaf.” As soon as the words left my mouth, the TV, which had been playing a reality show, suddenly flickered and switched to the business channel. A crisp, articulate male voice began analyzing stock market charts. Jessica jumped. “Where’s the remote?” “Probably… a loose connection,” I said, straight-faced, as I changed the channel back. We were chatting when the cup in front of Jessica slid a few inches across the table on its own. “Ah!” she shrieked, a sound that could shatter glass. “The cup! The cup just moved by itself!” I calmly slid the cup back and patted her shoulder. “Don’t worry. That’s just my roommate. He’s a bit of a prankster, but he makes great food.” Jessica stared at me in horror, her eyes screaming that she was looking at a crazy person. “Chloe…” Her lips trembled. “Are you… are you under too much stress? Are you hallucinating?” I sighed. I knew there was no explaining this. After sending a thoroughly spooked Jessica on her way, I slumped onto the couch, feeling a little dejected. See? An encounter like this was destined to be a lonely one. No one would ever believe me. The light in the living room dimmed slightly, becoming softer, warmer. I turned and looked toward the huge floor-to-ceiling window. The evening sun coated the glass in a layer of gold. And for the first time, the tall silhouette of a man in a white shirt appeared before my eyes, clearer than it had ever been. He was still translucent, like a walking mist, but I could make out his neat, short hair and his ramrod-straight back. He was holding a cloth, meticulously wiping a smudge on the window I’d missed that morning. His movements were focused, deliberate, with an almost obsessive elegance. Suddenly, my friend’s worry, the world’s disbelief… none of it mattered. In this massive, lonely city, I finally had a home. And a very, very unique family member. 02 The good times didn’t last. The cold winds of corporate downsizing finally blew their way to a low-level worker like me. Layoffs. A sterile email, a few lines of soulless corporate jargon, and just like that, the meager salary I endured a two-hour daily commute for was gone. I walked through the crowded streets, clutching a cardboard box of my personal belongings, feeling for the first time like a piece of discarded trash. Back home, I threw myself onto my bed and pulled the covers over my head. All the frustration and anxiety I’d been suppressing finally broke through. I cried my heart out, as if trying to purge every single hardship I’d endured in this city over the years. I don’t know how long I cried, but eventually, the faint, soaring melody of a classical piece drifted in from the living room. It was Dvořák’s “New World Symphony,” my favorite. I had mentioned it once over dinner, just talking to the air. “This piece is so beautiful. It makes you feel like you can get through anything.” I sniffled and dragged my heavy feet out of the bedroom. On the dining table sat a plate of steaming Coke-glazed chicken wings, my absolute favorite comfort food. Next to it, a note lay quietly. It had only two words. “On the house.” Tears, traitorous and hot, streamed down my face again, splashing onto the dark wood of the table. This time, they weren’t tears of self-pity. They were tears of warmth. I ate and cried, and for the first time, I spoke to the empty room with genuine sincerity. “Thank you, Sebastian.” It felt as if a faint sigh echoed in the air. With a full stomach came renewed strength. I wiped my tears, opened my laptop, and started blasting out my resume. Reality was harsher than I’d imagined. The resumes I sent vanished into a digital black hole. The few interviews I landed all ended in rejection after the final round. The number in my bank account dwindled daily. Rent, utilities, and Sebastian’s meticulously kept “ledger” of my debts felt like mountains pressing down on me, suffocating me. Anxiety gnawed at my nerves. I started having sleepless nights. Finally, I received an interview notice from a company I’d only dreamed of working for. It was the endgame in my career plan. I dug out the only decent suit I owned from the back of my closet, ironing it again and again, terrified of a single wrinkle. On the day of the interview, I woke up extra early. I was so nervous that when I bought breakfast at the coffee shop downstairs, my hand trembled, and I spilled an entire cup of scalding Americano all over my crisp white shirt. In that instant, my world collapsed. I ran home in a panic, threw the stained shirt on the sofa in despair, and stared at my red-eyed reflection in the mirror. I wanted to die. The interview was in an hour. There was no time to buy a new one. Was this it? Was I going to have to give up? I sank to the floor, defeated, tears welling in my eyes. Just then, I heard the low hum of the washing machine starting up in the laundry room. I froze. I scrambled over and saw my coffee-stained shirt tumbling inside the machine. Twenty minutes later, the wash cycle finished. The dryer kicked in. Another twenty minutes passed. A clean, warm shirt, smelling faintly of fresh linen, appeared on a hanger, dangling from my bedroom doorknob as if held by an invisible hand. I stared at the pristine shirt, feeling like I was in a dream. I threw it on and bolted out the door. The subway station was a nightmare of rush-hour traffic. I watched the seconds tick by, sweat beading on my forehead. Just as I was about to give up and try to fight my way onto a bus, the subway turnstile directly in front of me beeped, the light turning green as the gate swung open. I didn’t have time to think. I darted through. On the platform, the doors of my train were slowly sliding shut. It’s over, my heart sank. But just as the doors were about to meet, they seemed to catch on something. A harsh alarm blared, and they sprang open again. I practically fell onto the train. I gasped for air, my heart hammering against my ribs. It was all too much of a coincidence. A coincidence that felt like someone was clearing a path just for me. I arrived at the company five minutes before the interview was scheduled to start. Sitting in the conference room, every second I waited for the interviewers felt like an eternity. My turn. I took a deep breath and walked in. Four interviewers sat in a line, their expressions grim. My palms were sweating. The self-introduction I had practiced so many times completely vanished from my mind. My brain had just blue-screened. As I stood there, mortified and wishing the floor would swallow me whole, a black pen on the table suddenly rolled to a stop right next to my hand. I instinctively picked it up. The cool touch of the metal helped to calm my racing heart. I glanced down and saw a single, tiny but clear word meticulously carved into its side. Steady. My heart settled instantly. That one word was like a shot of adrenaline straight to my soul. I looked up, met the lead interviewer’s gaze, and offered a confident smile. “Good afternoon, everyone. My name is Chloe…” I have never aced an interview like that in my life. A week later, I got the offer. The day I got my first paycheck, I rushed to the supermarket, bought a good bottle of wine, and a ton of fresh ingredients. Back home, I cooked up a feast. I filled two glasses with wine, raised one to the empty living room, and declared loudly, “Sebastian, this one’s for you! Thank you for being my five-star support system!” In the air, the other wine glass trembled slightly, clinking against mine with a soft, clear sound, as if in response. I smiled, but my eyes were wet. I knew, without a doubt, that I wasn’t alone. I had an invisible guardian angel. 03 After landing the new job, my “cohabitation” with Sebastian entered an era of unprecedented harmony. I was the breadwinner, and he was… well, he was the one who kept the house in immaculate order while using his elite corporate logic to supervise my spending and plan my finances. I even started to savor this unique companionship. Coming home to a hot meal every day; having a “CFO” help budget my salary each month; finding relevant books and materials mysteriously appearing on my desk whenever I hit a wall at work. He was like a silent mentor, an all-powerful butler, a… a complete stranger I knew better than anyone. I knew nothing about his past. And as our silent partnership grew stronger, so did my curiosity. Sebastian, how did he actually die? The vague online news report said he died from an “accidental gas leak.” But it never sat right with me. A man with such intense OCD that he arranged books by color and height, a man obsessed with rules and order to a pathological degree… how could he make a rookie mistake like forgetting to turn off the gas? I tried to ask him. “Sebastian, how did you die?” The lights in the room flickered. The cup on the table vibrated. He seemed to be trying to communicate something, but it was as if some force was holding him back, preventing him from getting the message across clearly. The more violently he reacted, the more suspicious I became. I decided to start with the apartment itself. I found the real estate agent who had rented me the place, a man named Marcus. I asked to meet him at a nearby café, using the excuse of wanting to discuss renewing my lease. Marcus was the same as I remembered, warm and friendly, with sincere-looking crinkles around his eyes when he smiled. “Ms. Chloe! How are you settling in? I told you, didn’t I? Great location, great layout. It’s just… you know, what happened before. Not everyone can handle it. But you look so well, I knew you’d be fine,” he said, making easy small talk. “It’s been great,” I smiled, then casually brought it up. “I was just a little curious about what actually happened here. I looked it up online, but the news was so vague. Just said the owner passed away in an accident.” Marcus took a sip of his coffee. His eyes darted away for a fraction of a second. “Ah, well, that’s all in the past. Just an accident. You’re young, don’t dwell on things like that. Just enjoy the apartment. It’s actually got great feng shui, you know. Look at you, you haven’t been here long and you’ve already landed a better job. Your luck is turning around!” He expertly changed the subject, repeatedly advising me not to overthink it, not to dig into it. His friendliness, right now, felt jarringly off. A normal agent would only care about rent and contracts. Why was he so concerned with my “psychological well-being,” so insistent on stopping me from learning about the apartment’s history? The meeting, far from easing my doubts, sent my internal alarms screaming. That night, I had a dream that terrified me… In the dream, I was standing in a thick, white fog, unable to see anything around me. I heard two voices arguing fiercely. One was familiar, yet strangely different. It was Sebastian. His voice was laced with fury and disappointment. “…I treated you like a brother, and you touched that money! Marcus, are you insane?!” The other man’s voice was muffled, a mix of pleading and viciousness. “Sebastian, just help me one more time, just this once! I swear I’ll pay it all back!” “No! That’s client money! What you did is a crime!” “So you’re just going to let them destroy me?”

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It was our wedding anniversary. My husband, Marcus, told me an urgent M&A deal had come up and he had to fly to Paris. So I went alone to one of the city’s most exclusive galleries. I’d decided to buy myself the Modigliani I’d been coveting for months as my own anniversary gift. I’d barely sat down in the VIP lounge with a cup of tea when I saw him. Marcus, who was supposed to be in Paris, was standing there with his new assistant, Jenna—the one who always looked at me with a barely concealed sneer. Jenna had her eyes on the very painting I was there to see. She sashayed over to me, and in front of several collectors I knew and the gallery director, she took a crumpled hundred-dollar bill and flippantly tucked it into the folds of my Hermès scarf. “Mrs. Thorne, first time seeing a Modigliani? Are you sure you can… appreciate this level of artistry?” Her voice was sickly sweet, dripping with contempt. … When I remained seated, not even glancing at the money, she scoffed and looped her arm through Marcus’s, pressing her entire body against him. “Marcus, look how stubborn she is. She just won’t listen. She doesn’t know the first thing about art, but she booked the viewing first. She’s just trying to spite you.” Marcus showed no trace of guilt at being caught. “Bianca, go tell the gallery you’re canceling your appointment, and then leave. Now.” I looked at him, motionless. I was getting that painting today. Jenna’s eyes darted around the room, finally landing on my face, full of malice. “So, the lady won’t yield. Then how about we let our wallets do the talking? A friendly auction?” The gallery director’s eyes lit up, his gaze turning to me expectantly. I raised an eyebrow. “If you want to play, I’ll play.” A triumphant look crossed Jenna’s face. “Then let’s make a little wager, shall we? The loser—the one who doesn’t get the painting—has to kneel and crawl out of the gallery. That Chanel couture you’re wearing is lovely, Mrs. Thorne. It would be a shame to get it dirty.” A few muffled snickers rippled through the room. A couple of the other wives exchanged amused, expectant glances. Marcus watched me with cold eyes, saying nothing. They thought this would be enough to make me fold. I suppressed the icy smile that threatened to form on my lips. “Just crawling? Where’s the fun in that? If we’re going to play, let’s play for real stakes.” 1 The atmosphere in the VIP lounge instantly turned to ice. Marcus, Jenna, the collectors, the gallery director—a dozen pairs of eyes were suddenly fixed on me. Before becoming Marcus’s assistant, Jenna had supposedly been a jewelry appraiser at some auction house. She’d climbed her way up to Marcus by leveraging her looks and her ability to read a room. The idea that I would not only accept her challenge but raise the stakes was, to them, utter madness. “Has Mrs. Thorne lost her mind? Picking a fight with the assistant in front of everyone? What’s the point?” “Well, after what Jenna said, who wouldn’t be angry? But you have to know when you’re outmatched…” “Please. Everyone knows Mrs. Thorne is just a pretty face. She knows nothing about her husband’s business except how to spend his money. Jenna is Marcus’s right-hand woman, he trusts her completely. What could she possibly have to play with?” “Why can’t she just be a good trophy wife? A man as successful as Marcus is bound to have a few women on the side. Why make a scene?” “Poor Marcus. Not only is she useless, she causes trouble for him.” The whispers reached my ears. Marcus’s face darkened with impatience. “Bianca, stop making a scene!” he hissed, his tone that of a man scolding a petulant child. “Jenna is young and impulsive, she didn’t mean anything by it. Why are you stooping to her level? I have important investors with me today. Don’t you dare embarrass me. Go home.” I shifted into a more comfortable position, leaning back against the velvet chair, my gaze perfectly calm as it met his. “I reserved this painting a week ago. The gallery’s policy is first come, first served. If the price is right, I can purchase it directly. There is no reason I should yield to you. Your assistant wanted to play a game, and I have graciously agreed. I suggest you don’t push your luck.” My defiance seemed to enrage him. He leaned in close, his voice a low, threatening growl. “Bianca, have I spoiled you too much? Don’t you forget who pays for your entire existence. You’re not a somebody. When I tell you to get lost, you get lost.” My eyes narrowed, lingering for a moment on his body pressed tightly against Jenna’s. “Marcus, the bet has been made. The only decision you need to make today is whether you’re standing with her, or with me.” He sneered at me, his tone growing uglier. “Who the hell do you think you are? What do you do all day besides shop and drink tea? Every single thing you own, I bought. Don’t you dare pull this act with me. A trophy wife should know her place. Get out, and I’ll forget this happened. But if you insist on making things difficult, then you can get ready to crawl.” So, he had made his choice. My voice turned to ice. “I’m buying that painting today.” 2 Marcus was about to explode, but Jenna stopped him, giggling and shaking his arm. “Marcus, honey, don’t get angry with her. She’s just a kept woman, completely dependent on you. Why let someone so clueless get under your skin? If Mrs. Thorne wants to play, I’ll play with her. Think of it as free entertainment for our guests.” She sighed dramatically. “She’s only acting out like this because she’s jealous of me being by your side… Maybe I should be the one to leave.” She made a show of turning away, and Marcus immediately pulled her back into his arms. “She’s the one who should leave, not you. If she wants to crawl, we’ll let her.” They were acting like love-struck teenagers right in front of me, his wife. A wave of disgust washed over me. A portly, balding man—a Mr. Harrison—clapped Marcus on the shoulder. “No wonder you take Ms. Jenna everywhere, my boy. Not just beautiful, but smart, too.” At the compliment, a smug look appeared on Marcus’s face. Jenna shot me a triumphant, provocative glare. “So, how high are we playing, Mrs. Thorne? A million a hand?” “A million? Don’t make me laugh,” Mr. Harrison snorted, tapping his fat fingers on the armrest. “Playing for small stakes is boring, Mrs. Thorne. Let’s do this: when the public auction begins, whoever wins the painting gets ten percent of the final sale price from the loser, in cash, on the spot. What do you say? Do you have the guts?” Jenna’s expression faltered. Ten percent. If the painting sold for ten million, that was a million dollars. While she had Marcus, a sum like that in cash… “Mr. Harrison, isn’t that… a bit much?” she hesitated. Harrison, enjoying the drama, waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t you worry, Ms. Jenna. I’ll cover your bet. I just feel for my friend Marcus here. So young, so successful, and married to… well, a decoration.” Jenna beamed, thanking him profusely before turning back to me, her eyes gleaming like a predator’s. “Well, Mrs. Thorne? It’s not too late to back out and apologize.” 3 Every eye in the room was on me. I didn’t look at Jenna, addressing Harrison instead. “With so many witnesses, can we take you at your word, Mr. Harrison?” “Of course! It’s all about the thrill,” he said, puffing out his chest. I nodded and turned to the gallery director. “Please prepare a formal betting agreement, and have a notary present. Once the agreement is signed, we can begin the auction.” Marcus looked stunned. “Bianca, are you insane? Where are you going to get that kind of money? Don’t expect me to pay a single cent for you if you lose.” I laughed coldly. “The word ‘lose’ isn’t in my vocabulary.” Jenna gave me a smug look. “Don’t forget, Mrs. Thorne. The loser has to crawl.” “That’s exactly what I was about to say to you,” I retorted. Jenna’s smile widened as she turned to Marcus, her expression now one of wounded innocence. “Marcus, will you be angry with me for making this bet? She is your wife, after all. If she crawls out of here, it will be a humiliation for you, too.” “She eats my food, lives in my house, and still dares to give me attitude? Crawling is getting off easy. She should be on her knees, begging for your forgiveness.” “Oh, Marcus, she’s still your wife. I would never humiliate you like that. Let’s not get angry with this simpleton.” She looked back at me. “Mrs. Thorne, this is a game of money. You’re so used to spending Marcus’s, you’ve probably lost all concept of what it’s worth.” I looked at Marcus. “Are you sure you want to foot the bill for Jenna’s bid?” “Of course. Unlike you, she has been a huge asset to my career. If she wants it, I’ll get it for her. As for you, don’t expect a dime from me.” I scoffed. So, it was just about who had more money. I wasn’t worried. The notary arrived, the papers were signed, and the auctioneer took the stage. After a brief introduction, the bidding began. Jenna raised her paddle first, her voice crisp. “Five million.” “Excellent! Ms. Jenna starts off strong!” Harrison cheered from the side. I lifted my teacup, feeling its warmth against my fingertips, and said nothing. The room grew quiet. “Five million, going once…” the auctioneer called. “Giving up so soon, Mrs. Thorne?” Jenna simpered, covering her mouth with her hand. “I thought she had more fight in her,” Harrison chimed in. “Turns out it was all a bluff. Well, looks like a sure win for Ms. Jenna. My money was well spent. A little live entertainment to cap off the evening.” Jenna’s triumphant smirk was practically glowing. She stood to get a glass of champagne, and as she passed my chair, the pointed toe of her stiletto “accidentally” snagged the hem of my dress. “Really, Mrs. Thorne. Why do this to yourself? Wouldn’t it be better to leave with some dignity? If you crawl out of here like a dog, you’ll be a laughingstock in your little social circle.” Her voice was a low, venomous hiss. 4 Marcus frowned, his patience worn thin. “Bianca, stop embarrassing yourself. Many of these people are my most important partners. You’re humiliating me. Get out now, and I’ll let this go. I won’t even cancel your credit cards. Otherwise, I will cut you off completely.” He was red in the face with anger. Jenna nestled against him, fanning the flames. “Marcus, sometimes I just feel so sorry for you. You’re so brilliant, so successful, running this massive company… and yet… your wife is good for nothing but spending money. It breaks my heart.” I raised my eyes, my gaze like daggers. “It sounds like you care a great deal for my husband.” Jenna paused, then adopted a look of profound devotion. “Yes. I admire him. And I would rather spend my life supporting him and helping him achieve greatness than be a leech, like some people. A shameless leech who publicly humiliates him.” I let out a short, sharp laugh. “How noble. But the man you admire has a wife. Isn’t it a little pathetic to be so obvious about it?” “Bianca, watch your mouth!” Marcus finally exploded, slamming his hand on the table. “Jenna is innocent and dedicated! How dare you slander her with your filth! She’s not like you. Know your place.” “I never loved you,” he snarled. “If my father hadn’t seen some value in your family’s old connections, I never would have married you. What do you have besides a pretty face? You’re not worthy of me.” “Push me again, and I’ll throw you out on the street today. Without me, you’d have to sell yourself to survive.” I stared at his face, twisted with rage, and the last ember of warmth in my heart died. I had agreed to this arranged marriage because I saw his drive and ambition when he was starting out. I thought he was different from the other lazy, entitled heirs. I never imagined he would be so foolish as to be manipulated by a shallow assistant and publicly humiliate me. Seeing Marcus leap to her defense, Jenna shot me a triumphant look and began to gently pat his back. “Marcus, don’t be angry. It hurts me to see you upset.” She turned her blazing eyes on me. “If I win, I don’t want your money, and I don’t want you to crawl. I want… his freedom.” My voice was flat. “Freedom? You mean, you want us to divorce?” Jenna looked at Marcus, her eyes full of love and a desperate, reckless courage. “Marcus, I am willing to fight for your freedom. Are you willing… to break free from this cage?” Marcus looked at Jenna’s young, beautiful face, then at the smirking faces of his “partners.” A wave of vanity and reckless impulse washed over him. As everyone watched, he slowly, deliberately, nodded. 5 My hands, resting on my lap, clenched into fists so tight my nails dug into my palms. A feeling like hot oil seared through my chest. My marriage was a joke. Someone let out a low whistle. A voice called out, “Go, Jenna! True love wins!” “Marcus deserves to be free!” “She’s a beautiful woman, though. If she’s single again, maybe we can have a taste…” Hearing this, a sly look entered Jenna’s eyes. “Bianca, I’m raising the stakes again. If you lose, you not only have to divorce Marcus, you also have to…” She paused, her voice turning sinister. “You have to spend a night with Mr. Harrison. For free.” Harrison glanced at Marcus, who remained impassive. His lecherous gaze then shifted to me. “So, Bianca. Do you still dare to play?” The room erupted in jeers. “I’m in on that! If she loses, she spends a night with me too!” I looked at Marcus’s cold, indifferent face. A chilling smile spread across my own. “Alright. But if I’m the prize, you’d better be prepared to offer a prize of your own.” If they were going to serve their faces up on a platter, I was more than happy to slap them. I was going to show Marcus and his disgusting partners exactly what it cost to insult me. 6 Amidst the jeering crowd, Marcus finally spoke. “Bianca, I never knew you were such a shameless, degenerate woman. Using your own body as a bargaining chip. Win or lose, a woman like you is not fit to be my wife. Since you insist on this, sign the divorce papers first. My wife will not be a whore.” Jenna was the one who made the bet. I accepted, and suddenly I was the degenerate. His bias was breathtaking. I looked at him, my eyes cold. “Are you sure? You don’t want to reconsider?” “If you leave right now, apologize to Jenna, and treat her with respect from now on, I’ll let this go,” he said, his tone one of magnanimous condescension. “But don’t forget, today’s bet is about who wins the auction. It’s about money. You are guaranteed to lose.” I smiled. “Then please, bring me the divorce papers.” He stared at me in disbelief. “What did you say? Do you have any idea what will happen if you lose? I’m giving you one last chance. Answer me again.” His shock was becoming tiresome. “That’s my business. You won’t need to worry about it, ex-husband-to-be. Weren’t we signing something? Let’s get it over with.” Marcus was stunned into silence. Perhaps he never imagined that the woman he thought of as his dependent could have such a spine. I could tell the divorce was just a threat, a tool to control me. But now, he was trapped. Jenna must have sensed his hesitation. She leaned in and whispered, “Marcus, she’s bluffing. She just wants you to back down. If you do, what will your partners think? She’s a housewife who you support. She’d never leave you. She’s just trying to scare you. Look, they’re all watching.” Her words seemed to solidify his resolve. He looked at me, his eyes cold. “Fine. If you want to debase yourself, I’ll help you.” The auction was paused. A lawyer, conveniently on hand, quickly produced two copies of a divorce agreement. I looked at Marcus with amusement. “You’re sure about this?” He signed without looking at me. So ruthless. Harrison sidled up. “Shouldn’t we get our little bet in writing, too?” The man was so legally ignorant it was almost funny. But to put them at ease, I signed his paper as well. The wager: fifty million dollars. If I lost, I was theirs for a night. If I won, they paid. The thought of several hundred million dollars appearing in my account out of thin air… I really had Jenna to thank for all this. The auctioneer, seeing our business was concluded, resumed the proceedings. Jenna, full of confidence, pushed the price to eighty million. “Go, Jenna! The painting is worth every penny!” Harrison cheered. He shot a greasy look my way, an air of certainty about him. I lifted my teacup, tapping a finger against the rim. My gaze swept over Harrison. “Is this how your company makes its investment decisions? Blindly, based on the whims of an assistant?” Harrison’s face turned a blotchy purple. “Who the hell do you think you are, talking to me like that? If it weren’t for Marcus, you wouldn’t even be allowed in this room. The old man of the Thorne family must have been senile. Marcus has such a bright future, and you’re just a stone around his neck. But I guess it makes sense. A woman who would bet her own body isn’t exactly high-class. Don’t you worry. Tonight, I’ll take good care of you.” So this was the caliber of Marcus’s partners. His bankruptcy was well-deserved. My own family’s investment in his company, however, was now at risk.

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