Author: Momo Chan

The merman I’d raised from a pup betrayed me for a scholarship student. As punishment, I had 99 of his scales torn from his tail. The live comments exploded. They were all cursing me out. 【His tail is so beautiful! How could that evil bitch do that to him?】 【I can’t take it anymore! Run away, Caspian! Go find our sweet, kind-hearted Lily!】 A small, humorless laugh escaped my lips. I had the merman packaged up and delivered directly to the scholarship student’s doorstep. Then I got myself a handsome lop-eared rabbit boy. Two months later, my doorbell rang. It was the merman, awkwardly mumbling something about how he missed me. But from inside my room, the wet, sticky sound of a deep kiss could be heard, followed by a boy’s breathless whisper. “Mistress… is my kissing not good enough? Why are you distracted?” “Hush, darling. Pay him no mind.” 1 Two workers hoisted the tank containing Caspian onto the back of a truck. The old driver stood beside me, wringing his hands. “Miss… are you sure about this? Maybe you should reconsider.” My face was a mask of stone. “Do you reconsider when you take out the trash?” “That’s not what I meant. It’s just… that place is so poor and run-down. They’re lucky if they have running water, let alone a proper filtration system. Mermen are incredibly delicate. Will he even survive out there?” I stared at the familiar blue tank. I had decorated it myself, painstakingly applying each of the tiny, crushed diamonds that glittered on its surface. I could still remember the blisters on my fingers, the sharp sting of the glue. The memory was now just a bitter irony. Caspian was my bonded beastkin, my familiar. He had sworn an oath of eternal loyalty to me. But yesterday, when the school auditorium caught fire, he had shoved me aside without a second thought, scooping up that scholarship student and carrying her to safety. In the chaos, I had fallen. A nail had pierced my calf, and blood had gushed from the wound. In that moment, the chill in my heart was far more painful than the injury. Caspian knew he had done wrong. He had knelt before me that night, his head bowed. He admitted his guilt, but not his error. I had laughed, a raw, ugly sound from my wheelchair. I ordered my guards to pluck the scales from his tail. The iridescent, jewel-like scales, stained with his blood, fell one by one to the floor. His face was pale, his lips bloodless. But he kept repeating the same words, over and over. “If I had to do it again, I would still choose to save her.” “She’s not like you. She doesn’t have a powerful family, but she’s gentle and kind. She’s like a ray of sunshine in my life.” I gave a sarcastic twist of my lips. “So, you’re saying I’m a cruel, manipulative bitch. Is that it?” Caspian looked away. His silence was his answer. The night wind was cold. It made my fingers tremble. I am the eldest daughter of the main branch of the family. Everyone with a claim to the inheritance is watching me, waiting for me to fail. They would kill me if they could. There was a time when I was so paranoid, I even had cameras installed inside my refrigerator. If I hadn’t learned to be cunning, to play their games, I would never have survived. All these years, I had raised Caspian, given him the best of everything. And this was the thanks I got. I closed my eyes. The last flicker of sadness in my heart died out. “Fine,” I said. “I’m done with you, Caspian. Since you’re so fond of that scholarship student, go to her.” The truck’s engine roared to life. The sound seemed to jolt Caspian from his stupor. He struggled to sit up, his eyes finding mine. The driver, a kind old man, took pity on him. “You still have a chance, son. Just apologize to the young miss!” A faint, mocking smile touched Caspian’s pale lips. “I was wrong,” he said, his voice barely a whisper, yet filled with a proud, cutting sarcasm. “My only mistake was choosing such a selfish mistress.” 2 The moment Caspian was gone, I gave the order. I wanted a new bonded beastkin. I was rich, I was beautiful. Why should I waste my time grieving over a single beastkin? He wasn’t worth it. I was just about to head to the beastkin auction when I received a tip from a journalist I knew. My father’s illegitimate son, my dear half-brother, was in trouble. My heart soared. I immediately changed course. The scene in front of the filthy, dilapidated warehouse was pure chaos. It turned out my brother had been exposed for using beastkin in illegal drug trials. A group of pitiful, scarred creatures were being rescued. Without a second thought, I rolled up my sleeves and joined the volunteers. The reporters, seeing me, immediately turned their cameras in my direction. “Look, it’s the eldest daughter of the Morris family! So compassionate!” “And look at her brother… what a monster.” My brother’s glare could have set me on fire. I ducked my head to hide my triumphant smirk. Just then, a pale, slender hand reached out from a rusty cage and tugged on my sleeve. I froze and looked down. I was met by a pair of slate-gray eyes. Two long, floppy rabbit ears drooped in fear. The boy looked up at me, his voice a soft whisper. “Will… will you save me?” Lop-eared rabbits were notoriously timid. I crouched down, my voice gentle. “Yes. I will.” At my words, a shy smile lit up his face. The next moment, his eyes fluttered shut and he collapsed. It was only then that I noticed the dense cluster of needle marks on his neck. 3 Of all the beastkin rescued that day, the lop-eared rabbit was the most severely injured. Rabbits were ideal test subjects, and my dear brother had injected him with countless experimental drugs. The cost of his treatment would be far beyond what the volunteer organization could afford. Without hesitation, I announced that I would cover all his expenses. “Miss, the auction catalog has arrived,” my bodyguard said, opening the brochure. “Tonight’s main event is a fierce lion beastkin. There’s also a keen-witted wolf and a powerful bear that are highly rated…” “That won’t be necessary,” I interrupted. “Miss?” he asked, surprised. “The lop-eared rabbit we rescued today. He’ll do.” I looked towards the intensive care unit, my voice surprisingly calm. “The Morris heiress’s bonded beastkin is a creature she personally rescued. Think of the publicity. I’ll take him to the charity gala this year.” The bodyguard stared at me for a moment, then bowed his head. “Yes, Miss.” Inside the ICU, the lop-eared rabbit boy, as if sensing my gaze, suddenly looked up towards the glass window. The moment he saw me, his little rabbit ears shot up in excitement, then quickly drooped back down in a show of demureness. He gave me a shy, tentative wave. 4 I didn’t return his enthusiastic smile. I simply instructed the nurse to use the best medicine available and left. I had taken him in for the sake of my reputation. As long as he was by my side, everyone would be reminded of my brother’s atrocities. I had no illusions about him protecting me. Lop-eared rabbits were too timid. They could barely protect themselves, let alone anyone else. Because of my leg injury, I was confined to a wheelchair. In my spare time, I began physical therapy. The pain was excruciating, but I gritted my teeth and pushed through. I had a bright future ahead of me. I refused to be an invalid. Days turned into weeks, and I gradually forgot about the rabbit. One day, returning from the hospital, the door to my car slid open. Instead of my bodyguard, a pair of slender hands reached in and gently lifted me out. The sudden feeling of weightlessness startled me, and I instinctively wrapped my arms around his neck. I was met with the pleasant, unfamiliar scent of fresh grass. I looked up, confused, and saw a familiar face. At my stare, the two soft rabbit ears peeking out from his hair twitched, the tips turning a shy shade of pink. He carried me into the living room, gently placing me back in my wheelchair. He then knelt before me, adjusting the footrests. I looked down at him, my voice cool. “What are you doing here?” “The doctor said I’m all better. I’ve been discharged,” he said, looking up at me, his voice bright and eager. “I’m your beastkin. Of course, I’m here to take care of you. To protect you.” I was silent for a moment, trying to recall his name. Leo, I think. Leo Starr. A fitting name, for someone who was clearly a daydreamer. I shook my head. “My life is dangerous. I need a powerful beastkin to protect me. You’re just a rabbit. You’re not strong enough. All you need to do is be my arm candy at the gala. A pretty face.” “No!” he interrupted, his gray eyes wide. “I am strong! I know your last beastkin was a powerful merman, but trust me, I’m no less than him!” The mention of Caspian made my expression harden. I had no patience for this. I steered my wheelchair towards the elevator. Just before the doors closed, I tossed a careless challenge over my shoulder. “Then prove it.” 5 The next day at school, I ran into the scholarship student and the merman who had betrayed me. Lily was wearing a faded school uniform, a white jasmine clip in her hair. She was smiling up at Caspian as he walked beside her, silently carrying her pink teddy bear backpack. The look on his face was one of gentle affection. Until he saw me. The warmth in his eyes vanished, replaced by a glacial coldness. I sighed. How sad. He wasn’t dead yet. “Um… Jade Morris.” Lily’s voice, though soft, carried across the crowded school entrance. “Thank you… for letting Caspian go.” She peeked out from behind him, clutching his sleeve, and gave me a timid smile. Instantly, all eyes were on me. The live comments went wild. 【Our heroine is so brave! Talking to the evil bitch directly! This is the strong female lead content I signed up for!】 【Aww, the male lead looks so surprised! He probably didn’t expect our sweet Lily to stand up for him like that.】 【Daily prayer for the evil bitch to just die already.】 【Am I the only one who thinks that sounded a little passive-aggressive? Can I even say that?】 The comments scrolled past in a blur. The students around me whispered and giggled, their eyes darting towards me in my wheelchair. It was a humiliating situation. But I remained unfazed. I looked up at Lily and said, my voice clear and confident, “I was just throwing out the trash. If you want to pick it up, be my guest.” I turned to leave, but Lily rushed forward, blocking my path. “Jade, you’re angry, aren’t you?” “I just wanted to tell you, Caspian is so much happier now that he’s away from you. He smiles so much more.” She gave me a self-deprecating little laugh. “I’m just a simple person, I speak my mind. Don’t take it personally…” The saccharine sweetness was nauseating. I frowned and tried to push past her. Lily stumbled backward, landing perfectly in Caspian’s arms. He held her close, his eyes glaring at me with suspicion. “Jade, if you have a problem, take it up with me. Don’t you dare hurt Lily.” I was speechless. “Caspian, you really need to lay off the bad romance novels. Has Lily not been aerating your tank properly? Is your brain oxygen-deprived? In what universe did I just bully her?” “Jade, why do you always have to be so aggressive?” Caspian scowled. But then his gaze fell on my legs, uselessly curled in the wheelchair, and his voice softened. “That day… I ran to save Lily because the beam above her was about to fall. I couldn’t just watch her get hurt.” He lowered his voice. “I… I haven’t broken our bond. I… I’ve missed you.” I bit my lip. A flicker of something stirred in my chest. We had grown up together, after all. I opened my mouth to speak, but before I could, the roar of an engine cut through the air. A man in black on a motorcycle was speeding towards me, a dagger glinting in his hand. In my stunned silence, I heard Caspian’s frantic shout. “Mistress! Move!” Move? I almost laughed. I was in a wheelchair. How was I supposed to move? The dagger was inches from my face. The next second, a figure blurred in front of me. A swift, powerful kick. Bang! The heavy motorcycle crashed to the ground, its wheels still spinning. The assailant was thrown, his helmet scraping against the pavement with a shower of sparks. The man, now unmasked, scrambled backward on the ground, his eyes wide with terror. But there was no escape. The tall, broad-shouldered rabbit boy stalked towards him, bent down, and pressed the dagger to the man’s throat, drawing a single, crimson drop of blood. The boy’s eyes were cold, his expression grim. But his voice was soft, polite. “Sir. You shouldn’t have touched her.” I stared at Leo. I remembered his defiant words: “I am strong!” He hadn’t been lying. But I still felt a strange sense of being deceived. What had happened to my sweet, shy, easily flustered little rabbit? Why had he suddenly turned into Godzilla? 6 【On the surface, he’s a sweet, shy boy who blushes easily, but in reality, he’s a total badass with off-the-charts combat skills! Aww, why can’t a man like that be in love with our heroine?!】 【Sweet bunny, don’t help that evil psycho! Come to our Lily!】 【Um, isn’t the merman supposed to be the main love interest? Why is everyone going crazy over this rabbit?】 The comments were a chaotic mess. It was giving me a headache. The assailant was staring at Leo in terror, his hands raised in surrender. “Don’t… don’t kill me…” “You should have thought of the consequences when you decided to attack my mistress,” Leo said coolly. The man’s face went blank, then twisted in a snarl of frustration. “Impossible! I had everything planned! How was I supposed to know you’d show up out of nowhere? What’s your relationship with Jade Morris? I thought her beastkin was a merman! Since when is it a fucking rabbit?!” I couldn’t help but laugh. “It seems my brother’s intelligence is a bit outdated. I have a new bonded beastkin now.” Leo looked up at me, his eyes shining. He knew what those words meant. I had acknowledged him. He could finally, officially, be by my side. His ears perked up, and he puffed out his chest. If he had a tail, it would have been wagging like a helicopter blade. Well, the rabbit had turned into a puppy. I looked at him and sighed softly. Then I caught my reflection in a car window. My lips were curved into a small smile. I was… smiling at him? I quickly schooled my features back into a neutral expression. But I couldn’t stop replaying the moment he had rushed to protect me. My bodyguards finally arrived, surrounding me. “Our apologies, Miss. We were negligent. Please, let us escort you to safety.” Leo restrained the attacker, handing him over to my men. I prepared to leave. But a hand shot out and grabbed my sleeve. I looked up, annoyed. It was Caspian. The usually proud, aloof merman was now hunched over, his expression a mixture of shock and devastation. “You…” he stammered, his voice trembling. “How could you take a new beastkin? I haven’t broken our bond. I haven’t agreed to it…” I frowned, my voice as cold as ice. “I am your mistress. Since when do I need your permission to break our bond?” “But you promised! You promised I would be the only one!” “He’s a rabbit! He’s not as strong, or as fast, or as rare as I am…” Caspian’s eyes grew red, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You can’t choose him…” The live comments were in an uproar. 【What is happening? Why is the male lead begging the evil bitch? Is he jealous?】 【No way. After everything she did to him, he still has feelings for her?】 【Look at the heroine’s face… she looks so pitiful…】 Following the comments’ direction, I glanced at Lily. Yeah, no. I didn’t see pitiful. I saw a look so venomous, it could kill.

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1 My mother-in-law was rushed to the hospital, fighting for her life. My husband Sean, head of thoracic surgery at Mercy General, was her only hope. Yet he let his clumsy, doe-eyed intern, Lana, lead the operation. She stood trembling, unable to even identify basic instruments. Pouting, she tapped her head: “Oh, Seeean… I forgot agaaaain~” He chuckled adoringly, ignoring his open, bleeding patient on the table, and spent ten minutes coaching her before the surgery began. Disaster struck. Lana’s hand slipped, puncturing the tumor. She shrieked and threw herself into Sean’s arms, sobbing. While he consoled her, my mother-in-law’s last chance slipped away. She died on the table. Sean emerged cradling the traumatized intern and shot me a cold glance. “Before you take your mother’s body,” he said flatly, “sign this liability waiver.” He sighed, as if burdened by my grief. “Your mother was a lost cause. Lana is young—we can’t ruin her career.” I stared, the world tilting. It took a moment to process: he thought the woman on that table… was my mother. A cold smile spread across my face. “That waiver,” I said, calmly, “isn’t mine to sign.” … Sean let out an exasperated sigh. “Are you refusing to sign it?!” he snapped. “Don’t be difficult, Ava. What else are you going to do? Sue for malpractice?” Lana peeked out from the safety of Sean’s arms. “Sean, honey, don’t be angry with Ava,” she whimpered. “She just lost her mother, after all. It’s natural for her to be upset…” Her voice broke into a sob. “It’s all my fault. I failed to save the patient. I’m so useless. If only my skills were better, she wouldn’t have died…” Sean’s expression softened into a tenderness I had never seen him direct at me. “Lana, you’re too kind,” he murmured, stroking her hair. “Don’t take all of this on yourself. A patient that sick… no one could have saved her. It’s not your fault.” Then, his gaze hardened as he turned back to me. “Ava, are you happy now that you’ve made the poor girl cry? Just sign the waiver. And while you’re at it, write a glowing five-star review for her. Something about her being a ‘compassionate caregiver’ with a ‘healing touch.’ Got it?” I almost burst out laughing. It was beyond absurd. When Sean had heard I was bringing my mother-in-law to the hospital, he had rushed over with Lana in tow. I’d assumed he was coming to perform the surgery himself. Instead, he’d handed the scalpel to an intern who’d been at the hospital for all of two months. And now, after she’d killed the patient, the family was expected to thank her? But if Sean himself thought his own mother deserved to die, who was I to argue? I forced my lips into a compliant smile and nodded. “Of course, I agree to sign. But it’s not just my decision to make, you know.” I held up my phone. “How about this? I’ll record you stating that you also consent. It’ll just make the hospital paperwork go smoother.” Sean looked at me like I was an idiot. “Are you out of your mind? That’s your mother, not mine. Why would her death have anything to do with me?” His expression… it was so familiar. I remembered finding my mother-in-law’s medical file in her room, the one detailing her diagnosis of a malignant tumor. She had begged me not to tell Sean, not to distract him during a crucial time in his career. But Sean had found the file anyway. Faced with his mother’s pleading eyes, I’d lied and told him it was my mother’s diagnosis. Now, I finally understood the look on his face back then. It wasn’t concern. It was morbid glee. Seeing me just stand there, phone still raised, he grumbled impatiently. “Fine, fine! I, Sean Caldwell, also consent to the waiver. Happy now?” He shoved past me. “Now get out of the way. Can’t you see Lana is completely exhausted from the surgery?” Lana, still nestled in his arms, shot me a look over his shoulder. Her eyes, so clear and deceptively innocent, held a flicker of pure triumph. As he brushed past, Sean sneered, “Stop wallowing. With her condition, if it wasn’t this year, it would’ve been the next.” He was right. I only hoped he could maintain that same detached attitude when he finally discovered whose mother had really died. While the body was being moved to the morgue, someone from the hospital’s risk management department came to speak with me. They were in an awkward position; Sean was both the attending surgeon and the victim’s next of kin. Before they could even start their carefully worded speech, I handed them the signed waiver and the recording of Sean’s consent. They stared at me, their jaws slack. Leaving their office, I headed for the morgue. Halfway there, I ran into Sean and Lana, strolling hand in hand. Seeing where I was going, Sean blocked my path and thrust a piece of paper in my face. “Sign it.” 2 I took the paper. It was an organ and body donation form. Even though the woman lying in the morgue wasn’t my biological mother, a chill ran down my spine. “You know she was religious, Sean. She believed in entering this world whole and leaving it the same way.” My voice was ice. “I won’t agree to this.” Lana let out a derisive giggle. “Oh, please. It’s the twenty-first century. Who still believes in that superstitious nonsense?” She smirked. “If you ask me, your mom must have done some pretty terrible things in her life to get cancer. I mean, why her and not someone else?” Sean chuckled in agreement, not a hint of shame on his face. “Ava, think of it this way. At least now your mother can be useful for something. Do a little good, and maybe she’ll get a better roll of the dice in her next life.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “It’s like butchering a pig. The fresher the kill, the better the meat. We can’t wait too long.” Have respect for the dead. Even if the woman lying on that slab wasn’t his mother, how could a doctor speak like that? A fire ignited in my gut. “She’s your mother too!” I screamed. “Have you no conscience?! I will never agree to this!” I turned to leave, but he grabbed my wrist, his grip so tight I thought the bones would snap. He raised his other hand, his face a mask of menace. “You ungrateful bitch. I tried to be nice about this, but you just won’t listen, will you?” I met his gaze, my eyes like chips of ice. “Sean, you dare lay a hand on me? If my parents find out, they’ll destroy you.” The words were barely out of my mouth before his palm connected with my cheek. A flash of white-hot light exploded behind my eyes. “So you finally married up, and now you’re better than me?” he spat. “You think you can hold your parents over my head forever? You think I’m some pushover?” He wrenched my hand forward and forced me to sign the donation form, then shoved me to the ground. I pushed myself up, staring at him in disbelief. This was the man who once couldn’t even bear to speak a harsh word to me. Now he could hit me? Lana immediately rushed to his side, clutching his arm. “Sean, honey, don’t be angry! Don’t hurt your hands!” Instantly, the rage vanished from Sean’s face, replaced by a look of concern for his precious intern. “I’m not angry, baby. Not for a worthless bitch like her.” He turned to go. “Come on, let’s go prep the body.” Lana’s eyes darted around. “But honey, you have another surgery soon, remember?” she cooed. “Why don’t you go rest? Leave the body prep to me. It’ll be a great learning experience!” As soon as Sean was gone, Lana strode over to the gurney and casually yanked back the white sheet. She picked up a cranial saw and, with a sickening buzz, cut open my mother-in-law’s skull. “Ugh, brain atrophy,” she said with disgust. “Can’t use this for a specimen.” Next, she scooped out the eyeballs. “Old bat was half-blind anyway. Corneas are useless.” In seconds, my mother-in-law’s face was an unrecognizable horror. Lana then proceeded to disembowel the body, tossing the organs onto a tray with careless disdain. As she worked, she took photos with her phone and sent them to Sean. His voice messages came back, filled with praise. “My Lana is so talented. Not scared at all.” “That’s the way to do it. Just dive right in. It’s not like Ava’s mom had anything worth harvesting anyway. At least this way, her death has some value. Good practice for you!” I clamped a hand over my mouth, fighting back a wave of nausea. Lana looked up at me, a sweet, sickly smile on her face. “Your mom was just too old. Not a single salvageable part on her.” She shrugged. “But how would I know without taking a look, right, Ava? It’s just standard procedure. Don’t take it personally.” I took a deep, shuddering breath. Of course I didn’t take it personally. If her own son was cheering this on, what right did I have to object? But now that I had seen Sean for who he truly was, I couldn’t just pretend nothing had happened. I couldn’t stay married to this monster. What if he decided to “practice” on my parents next? I snatched the phone from Lana’s hand and spoke into it, my voice clear and unwavering. “Sean, I want a divorce.” 3 Sean stormed back from the on-call room. “Ava, have you lost your mind?!” he bellowed. “Doctors aren’t gods! Are you going to blame me because your mother died?” “I’m not blaming you,” I replied, my voice eerily calm. “I just don’t want to be married to you anymore.” Sean’s brow furrowed as he struggled to control his anger. “Lana and I did everything we could in that surgery. I know you’re grieving, but don’t use divorce as a weapon.” Lana let out a little gasp, pointing a trembling finger at herself. “Ava,” she whispered, her eyes welling up with tears, “you don’t blame Sean… does that mean you blame me?” She crumpled to the floor, burying her face in her hands. “It’s all my fault. I couldn’t save her. It’s all my fault,” she sobbed. “Ava, hit me, scream at me, do whatever you want! Just don’t divorce Sean! He’s innocent!” Sean rushed to her side, pulling her to her feet. “Ava, that’s enough!” he snarled. “Lana is already under immense pressure after what happened. Are you trying to push her over the edge?” He rounded on me, his face a mask of contempt. “Divorce me? Get a grip. Your mother’s gone, your father’s old. You think you’re still that little girl with mommy and daddy to back you up?! You need to understand something right now. The only person you can rely on from now on is me! Not your parents, who already have one foot in the grave!” I just stared at him, my eyes reflecting the ugly, twisted man he had become. “Finally,” I said softly. “The truth comes out.” “You’ve been living off my parents’ money for years, haven’t you, Sean? And all the while, your pathetic pride has been eating you alive.” I shook my head. “This version of you… it’s truly pathetic.” Sean’s face flushed a deep, mottled red. Lana just looked confused, her gaze darting between us. “Fine! You want a divorce? You’ve got it!” Sean wiped a hand across his face, his eyes bloodshot. “You and your money! You think you’re so much better than me!” He jabbed a finger in my direction. “You’d better pray your precious father never gets sick. Because if he ever needs me, the answer will be no!” As he left, he glanced at the mutilated remains of his mother on the gurney and snorted in disgust. He pulled out his phone and called the crematorium. “I’ve got a useless pile of rotting meat here,” he said. “Come get it. It’s taking up valuable space.” I had thought about letting him see his mother one last time. Now, I realized there was no point. A few hours later, the crematorium called. I picked up the ashes, set up a small memorial hall, and notified Sean and his family. I had been his mother’s daughter-in-law; this was the last kindness I could show her. But when I returned to the hall after making the arrangements, I stopped dead in my tracks. My mother-in-law’s memorial portrait had been splattered with what looked like animal blood. A crude, violent ‘X’ was carved across her face, the black ink running from her forehead to her chin. The table meant for offerings was covered in beer cans and potato chip bags. The solemn chanting from the speakers had been replaced by a grim, discordant dirge. “There! Much more festive, don’t you think?” Lana grinned as she kicked the urn, sending a cloud of gray ash billowing across the floor. She took a marker and scribbled graffiti all over the memorial tablet. I just stood there, speechless, a knot of ice forming in my throat. Just then, the door opened and Sean strode in. His eyes swept over the scene of chaos without a flicker of anger. In fact, I saw a hint of a cold, satisfied smile playing on his lips. Lana winked at him and scampered over. “Sean, honey! You said we shouldn’t make the funeral too depressing. What do you think? Creative, right?” Sean walked over to the portrait and straightened the defaced frame. He nodded, a look of approval on his face. His voice was calm, but every word was a hammer blow. “Excellent work. What’s the point of everyone sitting around crying?” “This is much better. Get the party started. Make it a real send-off. That way, her death won’t be a complete waste.” 4 Even if the deceased wasn’t my own flesh and blood, she deserved respect. No one, absolutely no one, deserved to be desecrated like this. I stared at Sean, my voice trembling with suppressed rage. “How… how can you be smiling?” He just shrugged, a smirk on his face. “It’s a celebration of life. Does a room full of crying people really show more respect?” “Your mother loved a good party when she was alive,” he said. “We’re just honoring her wishes.” “A celebration of life?” I took a step closer, my voice rising. “This is a memorial hall! It’s a place for mourning, for remembrance! And you’ve turned it into a circus! You’ve defaced her portrait so badly you can’t even tell who it is! Is that what you call respect?!” My voice was a raw, ragged shout. “This isn’t honoring the dead! It’s insulting them!” Lana, momentarily taken aback by my outburst, quickly recovered and pouted. “Oh, don’t be so old-fashioned. It’s just a dead person. Why make such a big deal out of it?” Seeing Sean’s completely unconcerned expression, I suddenly started to laugh. “You know what?” I said, my voice dropping to a calm, measured tone. “If you don’t care, why should I?” “Let’s do it your way. Let’s have a celebration.” Sean paused, a slight frown creasing his brow, as if he couldn’t quite decipher the chill in my voice. He chose to take my words at face value. “See, Ava?” he said with a smile. “This is the obedient, understanding wife I married. Don’t worry. From now on, I’ll take good care of you.” Seeing my surrender, Lana cheered and ushered in a group of her rowdy friends. The memorial hall was quickly turning into a nightclub. I sat down, my face a mask of indifference, and watched as they danced, their shoes grinding my mother-in-law’s ashes into the carpet. The funeral director arrived on schedule and stopped in the doorway, his mouth agape, the program clutched in his hand. “What are you waiting for?” Sean commanded. “Let’s get this show on the road.” The poor man cleared his throat and began, his voice shaking. “Friends, family… we are gathered here today to conduct… uh… a celebration of life for the deceased.” A few snickers rippled through the crowd. “I’ve been to a wild wedding, but never a wild funeral!” “If the deceased knew her funeral was this much of a party, she’d be rolling in her grave!” “She must have really pissed some people off to not even get any peace in death!” Lana, beaming with pride, leaned over to me. “See? Even the funeral director called it a celebration! And you were shouting like a banshee. So uncultured. This is how they do it in other countries, you know.” Sean shot me a dismissive look. “Some people are just so stuck in the past. The person’s dead. Why put on such a sad face for everyone to see?” he grumbled to Lana. “We go to all this trouble to create a thoughtful, personalized service for her mother, and she’s still not grateful.” I didn’t react. I just said, slowly and deliberately, “I can tell you for a fact that my mother would not have appreciated this kind of ‘thoughtful’ service. As for your mother… well, I can’t speak for her.” Sean’s eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I just smiled and said nothing. He snorted. “You think a few clever words will bring your mother back from the dead? Pathetic.” Lana immediately wrapped her arm around his. “Don’t listen to her, Sean. She’s just jealous and trying to ruin your mood.” Just then, the funeral director’s voice changed, signaling the next part of the service. “And now, we invite friends and family of the deceased to come forward and pay their final respects.” As he spoke, the large double doors at the back of the hall swung open. An older couple walked in. Sean’s face froze. I stood up and walked over to them. “Dad, Mom,” I said, my voice clear and steady. “You’re here.” I gestured to the chaotic scene. “This was all Sean’s idea. He said this is exactly how his mother would have wanted it.”

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Every woman in Port Sterling saw Jim Caldwell as a man hopelessly in love, who had spoiled me into the enviable Mrs. Caldwell. Only I knew the truth—the agony behind that facade. Day after day, I watched numbly as he brought home one woman after another. His latest obsession was Pathy, a sharp-tongued housekeeper he allowed to turn our home upside down with bizarre rules, even for me. She canceled my credit cards, threw away my designer clothes, and limited my grocery allowance to ten dollars a day. I was forbidden from leaving after 8 PM. So when the hospital called at 8:01 PM, saying my mother’s life was hanging by a thread, Pathy’s bodyguards blocked the door without emotion. “My mother had a heart attack. I need to go now,” I pleaded, voice trembling. Pathy didn’t even look up from her nails. “The rules say no one leaves after eight. Even if she’s dying—or dead.” Shaking with rage, I begged Jim to let me go. He looked at me, cold and distant. “As long as you’re Mrs. Caldwell, you will follow Pathy’s rules.” Staring at the man I loved for ten years, I felt like I was seeing a stranger. If this was the price of being Mrs. Caldwell, I no longer wanted the title. 1 The main entrance was sealed tight by the bodyguards, two unmoving statues of muscle and indifference. My legs felt weak, ready to buckle beneath me as I shakily dialed the hospital’s number again. “Please,” I sobbed into the phone, “please start the treatment for my mother. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” “But, ma’am—” Before I could hear the rest, a sharp smack sent my phone flying from my hand. “Another rule of the Caldwell house,” Pathy’s voice dripped with condescension, “no shouting!” The phone hit the marble floor with a sickening crack, the screen spiderwebbing into a black, lifeless void. I sank to my knees, cradling the shattered device as hot tears streamed down my face. “Who’s that miserable face for?” Pathy sneered, pouting as she turned to Jim. “If your wife can’t stand the sight of me, then I suppose I should just leave.” “Don’t be ridiculous,” Jim murmured, pulling her into his arms and peppering her face with kisses. “My darling little tyrant. Who in this house would dare disobey you?” His words were for her, but his actions were for me. He tightened his grip on my chin, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper. “Eliza. Smile.” My mother’s life was on the line; I couldn’t afford to provoke him. I forced my lips into a grotesque imitation of a smile, a grimace that felt more painful than tears. “My mom… she’s in critical condition, Jim. Please, let me go see her.” My voice was a desperate plea. “She was in that car accident last year to save you. You can’t just let her die alone…” For a fleeting moment, I saw a flicker of something in his eyes—guilt, perhaps. He looked at Pathy, his tone softening. “My love, just this once?” “No!” Pathy wrenched herself from his grasp, crossing her arms as she plopped onto the sofa. “It’s just a heart attack, not a death sentence. She’s being dramatic.” She glared at him. “You promised me when you brought me here that everyone in this house would listen to me! Everyone!” “If you let her go, you’re not touching me tonight!” “Alright, alright,” Jim sighed, shaking his head in mock defeat. He scooped her up and settled her onto his lap, tickling her until she erupted into giggles. Pathy’s laughter was a sharp, piercing sound, and her triumphant gaze sliced right through me. Parading his mistress in front of me, grinding my dignity into the dust—this scene had played out in our home more times than I could count. The pitying stares from the household staff were like tiny needles pricking my skin. A wave of hopeless despair washed over me. I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms, and drew a shaky breath. “Jim Caldwell,” I said, my voice surprisingly steady, “let’s get a divorce.” If I wasn’t Mrs. Caldwell, I could walk out that door. 2 The air in the room went ice-cold. A heavy silence fell over the living room, broken only by the ticking of the grandfather clock. Jim’s expression hardened, a cruel smirk twisting his lips. “Eliza Vance, are you serious? You’re threatening me with divorce?” He leaned in closer, his voice a low growl. “You seem to have forgotten how you got here. Remember when your father begged my family to take you in? You weren’t so bold then, were you?” His words were like invisible hands, closing tightly around my throat, squeezing the air from my lungs. The past flooded my mind in a series of sharp, painful flashes. My father had been the Caldwell family’s driver. Ten years ago, when old Mr. Caldwell was ambushed by rivals, my father threw himself in front of him, taking the bullet meant for his boss. On his deathbed, Mr. Caldwell asked him what he wanted. With his last, shallow breaths, my father whispered, “Please… take care of my daughter.” Back then, Jim and I were inseparable, childhood sweethearts. When he heard my father had died, he held me in his arms as I cried, his own tears mixing with mine. “Don’t worry, Eliza,” he had promised. “I’ll take care of you for the rest of my life. As long as I’m here, no one will ever hurt you.” That promise, once my sanctuary, was now just a bitter echo, scattered to the wind. Jim, I thought, a silent scream trapped in my chest, you’re the one hurting me the most. My gaze drifted to the two of them, so comfortable and intimate on the couch. A pain like a physical blow struck my heart. I fought back the lump rising in my throat. Seeing my silence, Jim reached out and stroked my hair, the way one might soothe a pet. “Until the divorce papers are signed, you are my wife. And you will always be my wife.” I knew what that meant. As long as he refused, no one in Port Sterling would dare grant us a divorce. I was trapped. With no other choice, I made a break for the door. Crack! The sound echoed through the room as Pathy’s hand connected with my cheek. My face exploded with pain, instantly swelling. “I told you,” she hissed, her eyes blazing with fury, “no one breaks the rules in this house!” Her smug, triumphant smile was the final straw. I lunged at her, my hands finding her hair, yanking with all my might. “Who the hell do you think you are?” I shrieked. “If anything happens to my mother, I swear I will end you!” My fingers closed around her throat, but before I could tighten my grip, a brutal kick from Jim sent me flying. My head slammed against the sharp corner of a coffee table, and the world dissolved into a dizzying vortex of pain and darkness. “Lock her in the cellar,” Jim’s voice was devoid of all emotion. “Let her think about what she’s done.” Two guards dragged me away like a carcass and threw me into the damp, musty cellar. I pounded on the heavy oak door until my knuckles were raw and bloody, but no one came. Defeated, I slid down the door, my body wracked with sobs. The image of my mother, frail and struggling for breath in that hospital bed, shattered what little composure I had left. Knock. Knock. Knock. A gentle rapping on the door. I looked up to see a small window slide open. A wrinkled hand reached through, holding a piece of bread and a bottle of water. “Ma’am,” a soft voice whispered. “You need to eat something.” It was Anna, our old housekeeper. She’d been with my family since I was a little girl, and had always treated me like her own daughter. “Anna, please,” I begged, scrambling to my feet. “Please, just let me out. I need to get to the hospital…” “I can’t, ma’am. I’m so sorry, but I can’t.” There was a deep helplessness in her voice. She pulled back her sleeve, revealing a latticework of thin, angry red marks on her arm. Punishment. “…Thank you, Anna,” I whispered, my voice thick with unshed tears. I didn’t want to cause her any more trouble. I sank back to the cold, concrete floor, staring at the stale bread and water in my hands. Ever since Pathy had arrived, this had been my reality. She had set my daily food budget at ten dollars. Bread and water were my new staples. Meanwhile, she had Jim wrapped around her finger, taking her to Michelin-starred restaurants every night, showering her with extravagant gifts. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. The wife of Port Sterling’s wealthiest man, living worse than a stray dog on the street. 3 I didn’t sleep a wink. The moment the cellar door was unlocked the next morning, I raced to the hospital, my heart pounding with a frantic, desperate rhythm. My mother was lying in the hospital bed, her breaths shallow and labored. Tears blurred my vision as I rushed to her side, gripping her cold, fragile hand. “Mom, I’m here… I’m so sorry.” “Ms. Vance, you’re finally here.” The attending physician entered the room, his face etched with concern. “We managed to stabilize your mother’s condition last night, but she’s taken a turn for the worse. She needs surgery, immediately.” “Then do it! Whatever it takes, just do the surgery!” The doctor let out a heavy sigh. “The problem is, the funds in your account have been frozen. We can’t proceed without payment, and the surgery requires a deposit of at least two hundred thousand dollars.” His words hit me like a physical blow. The world tilted on its axis, and a cold sweat slicked my skin. I couldn’t believe it. To indulge Pathy in this twisted “housekeeper” game, Jim had actually cut off my mother’s medical funds. He had left her to die. My mother must have seen the despair on my face. She tugged weakly at my sleeve. “My darling girl,” she whispered, her voice raspy, “don’t… don’t go begging him for my sake…” “No,” I sobbed, shaking my head frantically. “You’re all I have left, Mom. I’m going to get you that surgery. I promise.” Through the curtain of my tears, I didn’t see the anguish in her eyes, the way they followed my retreating form with a look of profound, heart-wrenching love. I drove back to the mansion like a woman possessed. When I burst in, Jim was in the dining room, patiently coaxing Pathy to eat her breakfast. The table was laden with an obscene amount of food, a feast for a queen. There was everything from simple toast and fresh-squeezed juice to imported caviar and filet mignon. The stark, brutal contrast between this scene and the image of my dying mother sent a surge of white-hot fury through me. “Jim Caldwell!” I screamed, my voice raw with rage. “How could you? How could you cut off my mother’s medical payments?” Jim looked up, a flicker of genuine surprise on his face. “What are you talking about? I never—” “I did,” Pathy interrupted, daintily wiping her mouth with a napkin. She looked at me, her eyes gleaming with smug superiority. “Mrs. Caldwell, your daily allowance is ten dollars. If your mother needs money for her treatment, I suggest you go out and earn it yourself.” I was trembling from head to toe, my entire body vibrating with a rage so intense I thought I might shatter. I turned to Jim, my voice a desperate whisper. “You’re just going to let her do this? You’re just going to stand by and watch?” “Pathy,” Jim began, a hint of unease in his voice. “Maybe we should—” “Maybe you should what?” Pathy shot back, cutting him off. “Indulge her again?” She slammed her hands on the table and stood up, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. “You promised me! You promised that everyone in this house would listen to me! If one word from your wife can undermine all my rules, then what’s the point of me being here? I’ll just leave!” “No, no, of course not,” Jim said quickly, pulling her back into his arms. “You know I’ll always listen to you.” I stood there, frozen, watching this grotesque performance. My heart felt like it was being methodically ripped to shreds. This was the man I had loved for a decade. My mother and I were nothing more than props in his game, tools he used to appease his new favorite toy. A bitter, humorless laugh escaped my lips as I gestured to the lavish spread before them. “You preach frugality to us, Pathy, but look at you. Isn’t that dress you’re wearing a runway piece that costs hundreds of thousands of dollars?” Pathy just pouted, completely unfazed. “The rules are for the Caldwell family. I’m not a Caldwell.” “Do you have any idea how hard people struggle just to survive?” I pressed on, my voice rising with every word. “The coffee you’re sipping, the food on your plate—that’s probably more than what some people make in a month!” The sight of her, draped in couture while my mother wasted away, finally broke me. I lunged at her, my hands outstretched, aiming for her throat. The next thing I knew, a searing pain exploded across my cheek. Jim had struck me with the full force of his strength, sending me sprawling to the floor. He didn’t even glance at me, his attention solely on Pathy, his hands gently rubbing the skin on her neck where my fingers had been. He turned to me, his eyes dark and menacing. “I told you, Eliza. No one is allowed to hurt Pathy.” Pathy, ever the victim, glared at me, her voice dripping with venom. “You want money? Fine. Go earn it.” She grabbed my arm, her nails digging into my flesh, and dragged me out of the house and into one of their luxury cars. “Tonight,” she said with a cruel smile, “you have special permission to come home after eight.” 4 She took me to a place I recognized instantly—an exclusive, high-end club, the preferred playground for Port Sterling’s elite trust-fund kids. Pathy saw the color drain from my face and her smile widened. “A person should earn their keep, don’t you think? Go on. Serve some drinks, pour some tea, maybe polish a few shoes. You might even earn some tips.” She leaned in, her voice a venomous whisper. “When you’ve scraped together enough cash, then you can go save your dear old mom.” Before I could protest, her bodyguards shoved me into the club’s main lounge. For my mother, I swallowed my pride. I did what I had to do. I knelt on the cold, hard floor, my hands trembling as I polished the expensive leather shoes of men who looked at me with a mixture of pity and contempt. One of them nudged my chin up with the toe of his shoe, while another mockingly fanned my face with a wad of cash, the crisp bills stinging my already swollen cheek. “Well, well, if it isn’t the famous Mrs. Caldwell. How the mighty have fallen.” “What a waste. Can’t even keep her own husband interested. I guess you can put feathers on a crow, but it’ll never be a phoenix.” “You guys haven’t seen Jim’s new flame, have you? I heard last week he went on a ten-billion-dollar shopping spree at an auction, bought out the entire catalog just to make her smile. Didn’t even bat an eye…” Every word was a poisoned dagger, twisting in the raw, gaping wound of my heart. So that’s what my mother’s life was worth to him. Nothing. I moved from one spoiled heir to the next, a hollowed-out shell of a woman, but no matter how much I debased myself, the two hundred thousand dollars remained an impossible dream. The world began to swim before my eyes; I was on the verge of collapsing. Then, a familiar pair of stilettos stopped right in front of me. “Oh, look at you,” Pathy cooed, crouching down to my level. She patted my cheek, her touch condescending. “Still working so hard for your short-lived mother?” “You know, for being such a good, diligent girl, I think you deserve a little show. I’m sure you’ll love it.” I didn’t understand what she meant, but a cold dread began to seep into my bones. She produced a small, ornate box from her purse. Opening it, she scooped up a handful of grayish-white powder. Then, with a theatrical flourish, she tossed the powder into the air. “Let’s call this show… confetti,” she chirped. A terrible premonition tightened its icy grip around my heart. The pain was so sharp, so sudden, it felt like a physical blow. “Pathy,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “What is that?” She feigned a gasp, her hand flying to her mouth in mock surprise, though her eyes danced with malicious glee. “Oh, darling, I thought you two were so close. Don’t tell me you can’t even recognize your own mother’s ashes!” “Look how pretty it is,” she giggled, “just like confetti.” She grabbed another handful and flung it in my face. The fine dust filled my nose and mouth, and I choked, coughing violently. “You should thank me, really,” she said, her voice dripping with faux sympathy. “I’m helping you and your mother have a reunion.” My mind went blank. My hands, acting on their own, fumbled for my broken phone. It wouldn’t turn on. I snatched a phone from a nearby table and dialed the hospital, my fingers numb and clumsy. Every second of the ringing felt like an eternity, a slow, torturous crawl through a nightmare. My vision blurred, tears forming a thick veil over the world. When the nurse finally answered, my voice was a distorted, trembling wreck. “The doctor… my mother… where is she?” There was a moment of hesitation on the other end. “Mrs. Caldwell? Your mother was cremated this morning.” The nurse’s voice continued, distant and muffled, as if coming from the other side of a long tunnel. “She passed away from cardiac arrest last night. We tried calling you and Mr. Caldwell, but no one answered. Finally, Mr. Caldwell’s secretary picked up. She told us to… to proceed with the cremation as quickly as possible.” My gaze snapped to the box in Pathy’s hand, to the fine gray powder clinging to her fingers. A wave of unimaginable grief and rage crashed over me, so powerful it brought the bitter taste of blood to my mouth. That box… it really was… my mother. Pathy met my horrified stare, and then she threw her head back and laughed, a shrill, ugly sound. “You and your mother are both such idiots! All I did was show her a little video of you on your knees, polishing shoes for these men. The old hag got so worked up, her heart just gave out. Pathetic.” She leaned in close, her voice a triumphant hiss. “Honestly, you two belong together. In the ground.” A primal scream tore from my throat, a sound of pure, animalistic agony. “PATHY! I’M GOING TO KILL YOU!” The grief, the rage—it all converged into a singular, blinding focus. I lunged at her, my hands closing around her neck, my only thought to extinguish the cruel, mocking light in her eyes. If what she said was true… I couldn’t bear to imagine it. My mother, the person who loved me more than anyone in the world, seeing that video… the shame, the heartbreak… it would have shattered her. “Jim! Help me! She’s trying to kill me!” Pathy shrieked, her hands clawing at mine. The next instant, a powerful force slammed into my side. I was thrown backward, tumbling across the floor until my head cracked against the leg of a table. The world spun violently, stars exploding behind my eyes. “Eliza, have you lost your mind?” Jim’s voice thundered above me.

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1 On our fifth anniversary, I found an old phone in Tim’s safe. The password was his first love’s birthday. Inside, it chronicled every sweet moment of their past. Meanwhile, his current photo album didn’t contain a single picture of me. “Find anything interesting, Kate? Prying into other people’s privacy?” I turned to face the man standing in the doorway. I didn’t shout, didn’t make a scene. I just said, calmly, “Let’s get a divorce.” Tim formatted the phone right in front of me, his expression so detached it was impossible to read. “Is that better?” he asked. “Still want a divorce?” I nodded, my resolve firm. “Yes.” … “Alright, that’s enough. Don’t be dramatic.” Tim’s brow furrowed with a familiar impatience. “Be good,” he said, his voice softening into a practiced, placating tone. “Once the year-end project is done, I’ll make time to take you to Aspen to see the snow, okay?” When I didn’t respond, a ghost of a smile touched his lips. With his usual careless grace, he tapped a finger against my forehead. “I’m not kidding this time. I mean it.” I almost laughed. I’m not kidding this time. So he knew. He knew he’d been kidding all the other times. The trip to Aspen had been a promise he’d postponed year after year. The movie dates where I’d wait alone at the theater entrance until the film started without him. The times he’d sworn he was on his way to pick me up, only to leave me stranded in a downpour, his car never appearing. Tim always broke his promises to me. And now, he thought dangling this one again was some grand gesture, a reward. “No, thank you,” I said, taking a deep breath and repeating myself with unwavering clarity. “Tim, I want a divorce.” This time, the warmth vanished from his eyes, his patience finally snapping. “Kate, you’re being completely unreasonable.” “Go to Aspen or don’t. I’ve given you a way out.” “Just don’t come crying to me later, saying I didn’t keep my word.” With that, he grabbed his coat from the sofa and turned to leave, not even glancing at the dinner I had so carefully prepared to his tastes. I remained silent. For the first time, I didn’t try to make him stay, not even for another minute. He paused at the door, his footsteps faltering for a fraction of a second as he looked back. I had already sat down at the table, picked up my chopsticks, and begun to eat alone. He slammed the door on his way out, the sound echoing with an unvented rage. My heart didn’t ache anymore. There was nothing left but a barren wasteland. I used to think that a man like Tim, so far above it all, would never be touched by ordinary, domestic things. But the phone had shown me otherwise. It showed him cooking for the girl he loved. How a single word of her praise made the cuts on his hands and the blisters from the hot pan feel like badges of honor. He had even whispered such childish, sweet things: “Cooking for the person you love is true happiness.” “I’m going to cook for Isabelle for the rest of our lives. Keep her so happy and well-fed that she’ll never want to leave me.” Reading those entries was the first time I truly understood what a complete and utter joke I was. The next day, I met my best friend, a lawyer, at a coffee shop and asked her to draft the divorce papers. “What happened between you two? Is it really that serious this time?” she asked, her face etched with surprise. She knew better than anyone how much I loved Tim. In the past, our fights never went beyond a few days of cold silence. “I’m just so tired,” I said, gazing out at the traffic. “And… she’s back.” That one pronoun was enough. My friend understood immediately. Isabelle. Tim’s unforgettable first love. Her name was like a tiny needle embedded in my heart. It drew no blood, but it never stopped pricking me with pain. I had never even met her, yet her ghost had haunted my marriage for five years. Tim insisted on his privacy, yet he and Isabelle had shared a music streaming account. Tim hated exposing his life online, yet his old social media was a shrine to her. The art exhibits he took me to were always by her favorite painters. He claimed shopping with me was a waste of time, yet he had once spent weeks exploring every antique market in the city with her. Two years of dating, three years of marriage, and Tim had never once removed her from his heart. I was nothing more than a placeholder, a comfortable habit to fill the empty space she’d left behind. A second choice. “Okay. I’ll handle the papers. I’ll make sure you don’t get screwed over,” my friend promised, her expression worried. “But Kate… are you absolutely sure?” “I told you from the start, he wasn’t right for you. He never cleared out his heart before letting you in. You’ve been torturing yourself by being with him.” “But you just dove in headfirst and wouldn’t listen to anyone.” I stirred my coffee, my eyes downcast. “Some walls you just have to smash your head against until you’re bloody before you’re willing to turn around.” 2 The sky was a dreary gray, and the rain started without warning. My friend’s husband showed up to get her. “I told you not to come,” she chided gently. “And let my queen get wet? Not a chance,” he grinned. “Hey Kate, you want a ride? We can drop you off.” I smiled and shook my head. “You two go ahead. I’ll just sit for a bit longer.” I used to be so envious of their easy affection, the genuine care that flowed between them. Why was it that Tim and I, also husband and wife, always had an invisible wall between us? Why? The answer was simple. He didn’t love me enough. And I had been lying to myself for so long, pretending it was just his nature, that he didn’t know how to love. When the rain lessened, I stepped outside. Just then, a familiar Audi pulled up to the curb. In the passenger seat was a woman in a cream-colored dress, her hair in soft waves, exuding an air of gentle elegance. Tim got out from the driver’s side and started walking toward the coffee shop, likely just passing through. When he saw me, his expression didn’t change, save for a slight arch of his eyebrow. He probably expected me to greet him, but I just looked down at my phone, checking my rideshare app. Distracted, I missed a step and my ankle twisted beneath me. Tim shot me another indifferent glance, his brow furrowing slightly before he disappeared inside. He didn’t help me. I gritted my teeth against the shooting pain in my ankle and continued to wait by the curb. A few minutes later, Tim emerged with two coffees. “Let’s go,” he said, his tone cool and impatient. “Isn’t this what you wanted? For me to give you a ride?” “…I didn’t.” He didn’t bother arguing, simply pulling me toward the car and pushing me into the back seat. He placed one of the coffees beside me. I didn’t take it. The drive was silent, the atmosphere thick with tension. Suddenly, Isabelle pressed a hand to her forehead. “Tim, I think my blood sugar is dropping. Do you have any candy?” Without missing a beat, Tim reached into the glove compartment and handed her a piece of chocolate. “How many times do I have to remind you? You never learn.” Isabelle took it with a small, sweet smile. “I always forget when I get busy. Good thing I have you.” They fell into easy conversation, talking about old times, mutual friends, and shared memories. Their words were woven with an effortless intimacy. I sat in the back, an invisible, unwelcome audience. The scenery blurred past the window. We passed the city park, where the giant Ferris wheel turned slowly. It was where Tim and I had our first date. Legend has it that couples who kiss at the very top will be happy forever. I had stolen a kiss from him then. He had stared at me for a long moment, stunned. I thought it was one of our few shared, sweet memories. Only later did I learn that Tim’s greatest regret was never having brought Isabelle to ride that same Ferris wheel. Flashes of the past flickered through my weary mind—mostly my one-sided hopes and his dismissive responses. I closed my eyes and let sleep take me. When I woke, we were parked in front of our apartment building. Isabelle was gone. Tim unbuckled his seatbelt and turned to look at my swollen ankle, his brow deeply creased. “Kate,” his voice was low, “do you really have to do this?” I looked up, confused. “If you wanted me to pick you up, you could have just said so. Did you have to resort to such a stupid trick to get my attention?” His tone was steady, but it was threaded with an irritation he couldn’t hide. I didn’t know what he was so annoyed about. Maybe I had interrupted his precious time alone with his first love. “You’re overthinking it, Tim.” “I didn’t ask you for a ride.” He probably thought I was just being stubborn. He scoffed. “Oh? And what were you planning to do? Crawl home?” “I could have taken a cab,” I said, looking him straight in the eye. “I’m not helpless without you, Tim. I clung to you because I loved you. It doesn’t mean I’m useless on my own.” “Useless? Kate, you’re welcome to try leaving. Let’s see if I come crawling back to you.” The man’s eyes darkened again. I had no desire to argue with him. Soon enough, the divorce papers would be on his desk. Then he would know. This time, I wasn’t throwing a tantrum. I was serious. 3 I pushed open the car door, trying to get out on my own. But he was faster. He got out, came around, and swept me into his arms. It wasn’t gentle, but he didn’t let me fall. Inside, he found the first-aid kit and inexpertly sprayed my ankle with a cooling spray, his expression still cold. “Don’t do this again.” I watched him in silence. This was Tim’s way. A slap, then a piece of candy. Hot and cold, leaving me in a state of perpetual confusion. Did he have any genuine feelings for me at all? Worrying about whether someone loves you is a fool’s game, and I had been a fool for five years. It was time to wake up. Done trying to read his mind, I simply said, “Thank you.” He stood by the sofa, unmoving. “Is there anything else?” I asked. Tim’s lips thinned. “Don’t you have anything you want to ask me?” I shook my head calmly. The truth was, I’d already seen Isabelle’s social media. The day before, she had posted a photo from the airport. The caption was a single word: “Waiting.” I had scoured the comments. There was no like or reply from Tim. But I knew he would go. And he did. “I’m tired. I want to sleep,” I said, getting to my feet. “I’ll take the guest room tonight.” He grabbed my wrist. “Kate!” For the first time ever, he actually tried to explain himself. “It’s not what you think with Isabelle. I only picked her up because she just got back to the country and doesn’t know her way around. I was just helping out.” “Mm-hmm,” I said. “You should.” He studied my face, searching for any sign that I was faking my indifference. “Kate, it was over between us a long time ago. We’re just friends now.” I nodded, my disinterest genuine. “I know.” He pulled me into his arms, a rare, unprompted attempt at a kiss. His warmth seeped through my clothes, a sensation I had once craved more than anything. He knew I loved physical affection. He thought a simple kiss would fix everything. But I turned my head, and his lips met the air. Tim froze, clearly stunned by my rejection. His face hardened. “Kate, my patience has its limits. You’d better not push it too far.” We slept in separate rooms that night. He left the master bedroom for me. When I woke the next morning, the house was silent. He was already gone. I felt nothing. I went to the office and handed in my resignation. If I was leaving, I was leaving completely. I had only taken this job to be with him, to have more time together. But at the office, he insisted we keep our marriage a secret, saying it would be “unprofessional.” He deliberately kept his distance. Whenever he needed a subordinate to accompany him on a business trip, he never chose me. During meetings, he treated me like I was invisible. Even when I single-handedly closed a major project, I never received a word of praise from him. His coldness was so pronounced that our colleagues whispered, wondering if he had a personal grudge against me. The HR manager was one of the few people who knew about us. “You’re leaving?” she asked, surprised. “But Mr. Sinclair only said you were being demoted, not let go…” I stared at her. “Demoted?” She nodded, her eyes full of pity. “Your position was filled by a new hire, someone from overseas. Mr. Sinclair arranged it himself.” A chill spread through my chest. My voice trembled as I asked, “Is her name… Isabelle?” “Yes, that’s her.” I had to grip the desk to keep from falling. Even though I was already leaving, the news hit me like an earthquake, a crushing wave of defeat. Tim had never given me any special treatment at this company. I had earned my way to the director position through my own hard work and talent. And just like that, he gave it all away to her.

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For Valentine’s Day, the company booked out a small private theater. The official story? A reward for us single employees: an all-night slasher movie marathon. As a fan of thrillers and, conveniently, unattached, I signed up immediately. But when the twelve of us settled into our seats, the projector flickered to life with a black-and-white film none of us had ever seen. Onscreen, a man in a top hat and a smiling mask was methodically laying out an array of knives and a chainsaw. “What is this garbage? Who watches this old-timey crap anymore?” someone muttered. Bored, I retreated to the back row, slipped on my noise-canceling headphones, and drifted off to the sound of my own playlist. The next morning, the smell is what dragged me from my sleep—a thick, metallic stench that seemed to coat the inside of my throat. When I finally forced my eyes open, I saw police officers stringing up yellow tape, piecing together the eleven bodies scattered across the scene. A pale-faced theater employee told me, his voice trembling, that they hadn’t played any movie in this theater last night. The man with the smiling mask… He wasn’t on the screen. He was right here, in front of us. 1 I didn’t wake up naturally. I was ripped from my sleep by the smell. It was a foul mix, like rust and the cloying sweetness of an old butcher shop, so thick it felt solid, choking the air from my lungs. A wave of nausea churned in my stomach. Clamping a hand over my mouth and nose, I blinked, my vision taking a moment to focus. The theater was dark, save for the ghostly green glow of the emergency exit signs. But it was enough. It was enough to see the hellscape before me. Dark red splashes coated the backs of the seats in front of me. The floor was smeared with dark, sticky trails, already blackening as they dried. Figures in police uniforms moved with quiet precision, carefully assembling the dismembered remains scattered across the aisles and chairs. Black body bags lay open nearby, disturbingly lumpy and misshapen. My stomach seized, and I nearly threw up. I bit down hard, my teeth chattering uncontrollably. A young officer canvassing the area noticed me. In the eerie green light, his face was unnaturally pale, his eyes wide with a mixture of shock and suspicion. He quickly motioned to his partner. Soon, two officers were standing over me. Their expressions were professionally stoic, but I could see the disbelief churning behind their eyes. One of them gestured for me to remove my headphones. “Ma’am, are you alright? Can you speak?” the older officer asked, his voice low, as if afraid of disturbing the dead. I managed a weak nod, my throat as raw as sandpaper. “What’s your name? What company are you with? We were told you were here for a corporate event?” Again, I nodded, forcing out the words. “Lily… Nova Media…” “What happened last night? Do you remember anything?” I nodded, the memory replaying in slow, horrifying motion. “I remember… it was Valentine’s Day. The company arranged this ‘perk’ for us singles. The twelve of us were supposed to have an all-nighter, but the theater started with this weird black-and-white movie…” My voice was a ragged whisper. “It looked really old… vintage. There was a man on screen in a top hat and a smiling mask. He was sharpening knives, getting a saw ready…” The two officers exchanged a loaded glance. The younger one instinctively looked toward the massive, dark screen. The older cop pressed on. “And then?” “And then… I got bored, so I put on my headphones to listen to music… and I must have fallen asleep.” I hugged myself, a deep, penetrating cold seeping into my bones, a chill that had nothing to do with the theater’s air conditioning. Just then, a man in a theater manager’s uniform was escorted over. He stayed at a distance, clearly terrified of getting any closer to the scene. “Officers, we—we checked!” he stammered, his voice shaking. “There was no film scheduled for this theater last night! No playback record in the server! And… and our old film projector has been broken for years. It’s impossible for it to have run!” His words were like daggers of ice piercing my heart. No movie? A broken projector? Then what did I see? The manager’s next words sent me spiraling into an abyss. “And… that man with the smiling mask… we checked our old promotional materials. That was a scrapped mascot from a horror-themed event we ran ten years ago. Nobody’s thought about him in years! How could he possibly be in a movie?!” A wave of goosebumps erupted across my skin. What did he mean, not in a movie? Could it be… Last night, he wasn’t on the screen. He was standing right in front of it, putting on a live performance for all of us. 2 I was taken downtown. The interrogation room at the precinct felt even more suffocating than the theater. The cold, sterile light of the fluorescent bulbs illuminated every corner of the room, and every flicker of expression on my face. The officers questioning me now were from the Homicide Division. One was a middle-aged man, Detective Miller, with eyes as sharp as a hawk’s and an unshakeable calm. Next to him, a young female officer, Davis, took notes. “Ms. Brooks,” Miller began, his voice even but carrying an undeniable weight. “Walk me through what happened last night again. Don’t leave out a single detail, no matter how insignificant you think it is.” I took a deep breath, fighting to control the tremors running through me, and started from the moment we entered the theater, recounting everything up to the bizarre black-and-white film. I described every detail I could remember: the grainy, low-resolution quality of the picture, the lack of a soundtrack—only ambient noise—and the soft shhhk, shhhk of the masked man sharpening his blade. I even remembered how he’d looked up at one point, straight into the camera, his smiling mask seeming to pierce through the screen and stare right into the audience… “You said he looked at the camera?” Miller seized on the detail. I nodded, my throat tight. “Yes… it felt like he was looking right at us…” “When did you fall asleep?” “Maybe twenty minutes after the movie started? I’m not sure…” “And after you fell asleep? You were completely out? You didn’t hear any unusual sounds? Feel any vibrations? Smell anything strange?” I searched my memory. “I think… I think I had a short dream. I heard this heavy, rhythmic thudding? Like something banging against a wall… but I fell back into a deep sleep.” “As for smells… right before I drifted off, I think I smelled something faintly sweet, kind of like almond brittle…” At that, Miller’s expression shifted almost imperceptibly. He nodded at Officer Davis. She held up a clear evidence bag containing my noise-canceling headphones. “Ms. Brooks, your headphones are the XN-5 model. They feature active noise cancellation and a 30-hour battery life. We checked—they still have over 60% charge.” Miller’s gaze returned to me. “Our tech department ran a test,” he said slowly. “At that power level, the noise-cancellation is more than capable of blocking out the operational hum of a vintage film projector.” My heart clenched. “However,” he continued, his tone shifting, “it can’t completely block out strong, low-frequency physical vibrations. For instance, a heavy object striking a wall.” I stared at him, confused. What was he saying? That the thudding in my dream was real? His gaze pinned me in place. “According to the preliminary M.E. report, most of the victims suffered multiple blunt-force trauma wounds to the head. The weapon is believed to be a vintage fire axe that was mounted as a decoration in the back of the theater.” He paused. “The old fingerprints on the handle had been wiped clean, but the blade itself showed clear, fresh marks of recent use.” A cold sweat drenched my back. A fire axe? In the back of the theater? That was right near where I was sitting. “As for the almond brittle smell…” Miller leaned forward slightly. “That’s a common scent for a high-concentration inhalant anesthetic mixed with a cyanide derivative.” “It induces rapid unconsciousness and, eventually, asphyxiation.” “Interestingly, we found the remains of a dispersal device inside the air conditioning vent. It could have been triggered by a simple timer. Or… a remote control.” A remote? “Ms. Brooks, besides your phone, did you have any other electronic devices with you last night?” “No… nothing!” I said quickly. “Oh?” Miller slid a crime scene photo across the table. It showed a small, black, matchbox-sized device, like a tiny power bank or Bluetooth receiver. “We found this wedged deep in the cushions of your seat. It’s a modified, high-powered micro-transmitter. One of its frequency channels is a perfect match for the receiver on the dispersal device in the vent.” My mind went completely blank. “That’s not mine! I’ve never seen that before in my life!” “But it was under your seat, Ms. Brooks,” Miller’s voice turned to ice. “And it had only one person’s fingerprints on it. Yours.” 3 Suddenly, the door to the interrogation room opened again. Two more detectives walked in. The one in the lead was younger, maybe in his thirties, tall and imposing with a sharp, steady gaze that radiated authority. I recognized him from local news reports—Detective Chen, head of the Homicide Division, famous for cracking a string of bizarre, high-profile cases. He was followed by a junior officer carrying a file. Chen’s eyes landed on me. Without a word of greeting, he gestured to the officer, who pulled out a tablet and swiped through several photos, pushing it in front of me. They were crime scene photos, enhanced to show details on the floor and chairs. “Ms. Brooks, we found a significant amount of blood and physical evidence at the scene,” Chen began, his voice calm but crushing. “But what’s strange is that nearly all of the directional evidence—the drag marks, the drip patterns, the arterial spray—all of it either originates from, or terminates at, the exact seat where you were found.” The accusation was so monstrous I almost leaped out of my chair. “It wasn’t me!” my voice was a shrill shriek. “It really wasn’t me!” “I don’t know anything! I woke up and saw… I saw that! They were my colleagues! Why would I kill them?!” Chen remained unmoved by my outburst. He simply watched me, his expression unreadable, until my energy was spent and I collapsed back into my chair, gasping for breath. “We’ve reviewed the security footage from the theater’s exterior and lobby,” he said, changing tactics. “It shows the twelve of you entering last night. Between that moment and when the staff found you this morning, no one else entered or exited that theater.” A locked-room massacre. The thought sent a fresh wave of terror through me. “However,” Chen continued, “we did lift a single, clear fingerprint from the interior handle of an emergency exit. It doesn’t belong to you or any of the victims. And from the outside, there were no signs of forced entry.” My heart hammered against my ribs. “That proves it! Someone else was in there! Right? The man in the mask! He must have been hiding inside, or someone let him in!” Chen didn’t answer directly. He just nodded to the junior officer, who laid out several printed documents. “Lily Brooks,” Chen said, his voice devoid of emotion, “we ran a background check. It seems you have a rather… unusual interest in the ‘smiling mask’ motif.” A printout was pushed in front of me. It was a piece of artwork I’d re-posted to my Twitter six months ago: a man in a top hat and a smiling mask. My caption read: “Mysterious and so cool. The perfect aesthetic for a crime.” Below it was a thread of replies, discussions with other users about perfect crimes, locked-room mysteries… The blood rushed to my head. “That—that was just a random post! It doesn’t mean anything!” “Oh?” Chen arched an eyebrow. “And this?” He pushed another document forward. It was a log from an anonymous psychology forum. The department’s tech unit had apparently traced the IP address back to my home network. The post, dated three months ago, was titled: How to stage the perfect mass disappearance? I stared at the paper, a paralyzing cold seeping through me. That wasn’t me. I never wrote anything like that. “I… I don’t know anything about this… I didn’t post that!” My defense sounded pathetic and weak even to my own ears. “But the account was registered with your personal email, which you still use,” Chen stated coolly. “The password, while complex, contains the name of your pet and your birthday. That wouldn’t be too hard for you to remember, would it?” I felt like I’d been struck by lightning, frozen in place. The email was mine. The pet’s name and my birthday were correct. But how was that possible? “Ms. Brooks,” Chen’s gaze became intensely focused, a look that seemed to see right through me. “A locked room. Eleven victims, incapacitated by a chemical agent. A crime scene that perfectly matches your ‘aesthetic’ interests. And a single survivor who conveniently slept through the whole thing after seeing a ‘movie’ that never existed. And now, all the evidence seems to be pointing in one direction…” He paused, each word a hammer blow against my sanity. “So tell me,” his voice dropped to a low, menacing growl. “That smiling mask…” “…was it you who was wearing it?”

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In the year our love was at its purest, she took three cuts for me. One across her eyebrow, one on her ankle, one down her back. Everyone said Scarlett loved me more than life itself. Until another man showed up, bold and brazen. “You’re Nick Waner, right?” he sneered, throwing a stack of photos in my face. “Scarlett doesn’t love you anymore. I’d advise you to be smart about this and get lost.” In the photos, Scarlett’s eyes were soft, her expression tender. I watched the rain begin to fall harder, and with a flick of my wrist, the man’s scream was swallowed by the storm as he was thrown out, his final words hanging in the air. “Scarlett won’t let you get away with this!” But I just sat there, my gaze cold, as I faced Scarlett across the table. She was here to demand justice for him. “Sign it,” I said, pushing the papers toward her. “I find you… repulsive.” 1 “Nick!” Scarlett sat across from me, flanked by the lieutenants she had spent the last two years promoting. A dozen of her men surrounded us in my spacious living room. It felt less like a negotiation and more like an ambush. I watched her tap a finger on the table, her anger barely contained. “He’s still in the ICU.” She raised an eyebrow. The light caught the scar there, making it stand out in sharp relief. “He’s innocent,” she said, her voice low and menacing. “He’s only twenty, Nick. Twenty years old, and you nearly killed him. Do you know what the doctors told me?” “They said he might never walk like a normal person again.” Her voice blended with the rhythmic drumming of the rain against the window. I remembered the man, gasping for breath but still managing to shout, “Scarlett won’t let you get away with this!” “So,” I said, meeting her furious gaze as I handed my teacup to a servant, “you’ve brought your whole army here to, what, get revenge for him?” I chuckled, amused. “What’s it going to be? Half my life? Or are you going to break one of my legs to make up for the fact that he can’t walk?” I smiled and pulled the blanket tighter around my shoulders. The butler immediately adjusted the room’s temperature. I looked at Scarlett. “Who the hell is he, anyway, that you would come here to confront me? Scarlett, have you forgotten who’s been by your side all these years? It was me, not him. Are you planning to turn on me for him, or are you here to take my life today?” My voice was calm, unhurried. The butler, ever-vigilant, instantly drew a pistol and aimed it at her head. Her men tensed, but Scarlett just laughed along with me. “Nick, the days of bloodshed are over. I don’t want to fight you,” she said, pushing aside the divorce papers I had prepared. “A divorce would be messy and painful. I won’t do it. But you will go to him and apologize. Personally. Or don’t blame me for what happens next.” She rose from the sofa, walked over to the butler, and grabbed his wrist, pressing the barrel of the gun to her own forehead. “Shoot me?” she challenged. “Are you even worthy?” With a sharp twist, she dislocated his wrist. A sickening crack echoed through the room. At the same moment, a loud bang erupted from one of her men. My hand shot out, and the fruit knife from the table embedded itself in the man’s thigh. I met Scarlett’s incredulous stare and smiled. “Scarlett, my people don’t fight back against you out of respect for me. But that doesn’t mean,” I said, walking over and taking her hand, slowly prying her fingers from my butler’s, “that you can touch them.” I knew then. This was the end for us. As the doctor was setting the butler’s wrist, he was still fuming. “Sir, after everything you went through for that girl, are you just going to let this… this upstart walk all over you?” 2 I didn’t answer. A new friend request had popped up on my phone. The profile picture was of the man, Leo, kissing Scarlett. I accepted. A voice message came through immediately. “Nick, I told you Scarlett wouldn’t let you get away with this. Dislocating your butler’s wrist was just a warning. Scarlett said you have to apologize to me in person. I’ll be waiting.” “Everyone says Scarlett loves you more than life itself. I’m curious to see just how much,” he sent, along with several more photos. “Which bed do you think would be most comfortable?” “Scarlett said the most dangerous place is the safest. As soon as I’m out of the hospital tomorrow, I’m moving into your house.” “That room no one is allowed to enter? I’m coming for it.” I listened to his taunts, then looked up at the giant wedding portrait hanging in the hall. It was a mockery. The dagger I was toying with flew from my hand, embedding itself in the smiling face of Scarlett in the photograph. “Filthy,” I muttered. I walked out of the hall and saw Scarlett directing her men as they unloaded a bed from a truck. She was ordering them to carry it into the house. We came face to face. For a rare moment, she looked flustered. I leaned against the doorframe, listening to Leo’s cheerful voice. “Scarlett, why aren’t you going in?” Then, he turned and saw me. “Oh, it’s Brother Nick,” he said, linking his arm through Scarlett’s, his tone dripping with provocation. “Are you here to welcome me? Decided to apologize?” I watched his arrogance, and the undisguised affection in Scarlett’s eyes. A thousand tiny needles pricked at my heart. Before I could respond, Scarlett spoke for him. “The doctor said Leo needs to rest,” she said, her voice softening as she said his name. “You have your own staff to cook for you. It’s just one extra plate. Nick, don’t throw away the chance I’m giving you.” I couldn’t understand it. How could Scarlett be so certain that I would just take this? That I would abandon all my principles for her? I listened to her self-righteous tone and laughed. My laughter was joined by the sound of the butler ordering the defaced wedding portrait to be taken down. “Sir, where should we put this?” he asked. I saw the color drain from Scarlett’s face. I pointed to a large trash bin. “Have it shredded. And throw it out.” The butler nodded and sent someone for shears. “Stop!” Scarlett shouted, striding toward me. “What is this, another one of your tantrums?” “Nick,” her voice turned cold. “I’ve told you, you were the one in the wrong here. I’m helping Leo recover as a way of atoning for your sins. Don’t be ungrateful.” “That’s right, Brother Nick,” Leo chimed in. “Scarlett told me everything. You were the one who caused the death of your child. A mystic told her that if you ever want another child, you have to accumulate good karma. You don’t appreciate her kindness, and you just keep causing trouble. You’re forcing her to look elsewhere.” Leo’s words were a dagger to the heart, reopening a wound I thought had scarred over, leaving it to fester and rot. I looked at his smug face, then at Scarlett, who was just about to silence him. I grabbed Leo by the hair and laughed. “Who gave you the nerve to speak to me like that?” Before he could beg for mercy, I slammed his head against the solid wood of the front door. There was a sickening thud. Leo screamed. Scarlett grabbed my arm. “That’s enough,” she said, her eyes fixed on mine. “Leo is young, he doesn’t know what he’s saying! But he’s not wrong. How long are you going to keep this up?” 3 I stared at her in disbelief. It was her reckless business dealings that had gotten them targeted. She had dragged our child into her mess. I had risked everything to save her, storming the enemy’s stronghold to take down their leader. I had saved her, but I had lost our child. Afterward, she had knelt before me, slapping herself ninety-nine times, her forehead bloody as she kowtowed and wept. “Nick!” Her face was swollen, blood and tears streaming down her face, her voice choked. “If I, Scarlett, ever betray you in this life, may I be struck down by lightning!” “I, Scarlett!” she had vowed. “For the rest of my life, I am Nick Waner’s dog!” Her words still echoed in my ears. She had ordered a complete blackout on the news, forbidding anyone from speaking about the child, knowing it was a wound that would never heal. We never spoke of it, but we prayed for our child together. Now, I looked at her face and let go of Leo. Scarlett visibly relaxed, her tone softening. “Nick, your temper—” I plunged the dagger into her eyebrow and smiled. “Scarlett, those who betray a true heart must swallow a thousand needles. This is the first.” The blade pierced flesh, then was withdrawn. Blood splattered on my face. I watched the scar that had once been a badge of honor for her disappear, replaced by a mangled, bloody wound. I gave a mocking smile, but Leo shoved me hard. I stumbled back. When I looked up, his eyes were burning with hatred. “What gives you the right to hurt her?” I walked toward him and punched him in the face. “If you had any real strength, you wouldn’t just be a kept man.” “Either do something that impresses me,” I said, grabbing his hair and kicking the back of his knee, forcing him to the ground, “and make Scarlett divorce me so you can be her next husband.” “Or,” I leaned in close, smiling, “you can just wait for me to play you to death.” Leo’s eyes were red with tears, his trembling body like a cornered deer, but his gaze was defiant. “Go ahead and kill me! If you don’t, I will never leave Scarlett!” Tears streamed down his face, catching the light of the setting sun. “I will be with her forever.” I froze. I remembered when I was sixteen. My father had been ambushed, his body lost to the sea. My mother had given her life to get me to shore. The sunset was stained with blood. And Scarlett was there, waiting for me, her youthful courage defying death itself as she carved a path for me to live. It was Scarlett, the scar on her eyebrow a medal, the brutal wounds on her back a testament to her loyalty, who had crashed into my heart, shouting, “Young master! Run!” I was terrified, but I had plunged back into the fray, and together, we had fought our way to this day. Scarlett shoved me away, blood still streaming from her eyebrow, dripping from her eyelashes like tears of blood onto my heart. “Nick,” she said, one eye squeezed shut in pain, “you have truly disappointed me.” “I’m not divorcing you, but it’s not because of love.” She pulled Leo into her arms. “It’s because your parents were good to me, and we have a bond forged in blood. Don’t push my patience any further, or you will regret it.” Leo sobbed in her arms. “Scarlett! I don’t want to live here! I don’t!” “I’m scared!” he cried, clutching her collar, hysterical. “I don’t want to live with this madman! He’ll kill me! He’ll kill me!” 4 The air grew still. I saw myself at sixteen, pushing Scarlett away in a fit of madness, only to be held tight as she whispered, “Don’t be afraid. I’m here.” Now, she held Leo, gently stroking his back. “Don’t be afraid,” she said. “I’m here.” “I’m here,” she repeated, her eyes locking with mine, full of warning. “I won’t let you hurt Leo. Since you’re unwilling to cooperate, you have no one to blame but yourself.” The day she moved out, she took Leo to the Seychelles. He’d said he wanted his own private island, so she bought him one. She took him to Iceland to see the Northern Lights. He posted photos of the sapphire she bought him, and a picture of a star he had named, with the caption: [From now on, whenever I look up, I’ll see my star. Scarlett and Leo, a romance for the ages.] Her love was a whirlwind, loud and proud, for all the world to see. I admired her devotion to him. I looked around the half-empty mansion, at the simple silver ring on my finger that she had bought for me years ago for a few hundred dollars, and I smiled. “Mr. Abernathy,” I said to my butler. He refilled my tea. “As I recall,” I said softly, “the largest supplier to the Thorne Corporation does business with us out of respect for my parents.” The butler immediately placed a contract in front of me. “Sir,” he said, pointing to a clause. “Your parents worked tirelessly to secure your future. This is the path they paved for you.” I read the contract, thinking of the sunsets in the Seychelles, the Northern Lights in Iceland, and that star. I dialed Scarlett’s number. It went to voicemail. I tried a video call. Leo answered, his upper body covered in fresh love bites. “What is it?” he asked. “Scarlett’s in the shower.” He panned the camera to the bathroom, the steamy glass hinting at intimacy. “I thought you would have gotten the message by now. Why are you still clinging to her?” He sat on the bed, biting his lip provocatively. “Actually, there’s something I probably shouldn’t tell you, but I don’t think keeping it a secret is a good idea either.” “Nick,” he said. “Do you know why Scarlett loves me and not you?” The video call ended. I sat in the living room, the air thick and suffocating. My heart began to pound erratically. I made a second call. Scarlett and Leo’s grand banquet made local headlines. Everyone was saying that Leo had finally won, that he was no longer just some boy toy, but a man of status. People now greeted him with a respectful, “Mr. Thorne.” The more sycophantic ones would add, with a smile, “You and Miss Scarlett make a perfect couple.” In the ballroom, Leo stood with his arm around Scarlett, bathed in the glow of the spotlights. They looked like a real-life fairy tale prince and princess. Their mere presence commanded applause. “Tonight,” Scarlett said, her voice soft as she looked at Leo, “I want to introduce someone to all of you.” “He is Leo Thorne—” The doors burst open. A flood of men in black suits stormed the ballroom. The man in the lead slapped a stack of IOUs on Scarlett’s face. “You’re Scarlett Thorne, right?” She was furious, about to call for security, when she realized there wasn’t a single one of her own men in the room. “The debt you owe,” the man said, pressing the barrel of a gun to the still-healing scar on her eyebrow, “is due.”

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I was in a rush to change out of my sewage-splashed clothes, but the sales associate blocked my way to the fitting room. “I’m so sorry, ma’am, but you can’t try on a white blouse with makeup on. It would be a shame if you got foundation or lipstick on it.” I frowned but understood the policy. “Fine. I’ll just buy it, then. I’m in a hurry.” She quickly snipped off the tag but then made no move to take my card. Losing my patience, I tried to grab the blouse to change, but she blocked me again. “I’m so sorry, ma’am, but you haven’t paid yet!” I shoved my credit card in her face, my voice rising. “Well, maybe you could actually take my money, then?!” Her face remained a mask of professional courtesy. “I’m so sorry, ma’am, but I don’t have the authorization to process payments. If you could please wait for about forty minutes…” … 1 While waiting at a red light, a speeding car hydroplaned through a puddle right at the crosswalk. I was standing at the very front. I took the full force of the splash. My white silk blouse was instantly a mess of splattered ink, and even the hair on the left side of my head was dripping. “What the hell!” “Jerk must be late for his own funeral!” “This is insane! Every time it rains, I get splashed at this intersection!” “Son of a… did anyone get the license plate? Let’s report that bastard…” The other pedestrians who’d been hit started cursing a blue streak. My own blood was boiling. But my client’s flight was about to land, and I was in a rush to get to the airport. I didn’t have time to chase this down. Going home to change was out of the question. Luckily, there was a boutique just ahead. I walked over, dabbing at my hair with a tissue. I had barely stepped over the threshold when a young woman in a sharp black suit greeted me warmly. “Welcome, ma’am. My name is Angela, your personal sales consultant. How may I help you today? Would you like a recommendation—” “No, thanks. I’m in a hurry. I can manage on my own.” Angela’s smile tightened at being cut off. I paid her no mind, grabbing a white blouse off the rack and heading for the fitting room. But Angela stepped in front of me, blocking my path. “I’m so sorry, ma’am, but you can’t try on a white blouse with makeup on. It would be a shame if you got foundation or lipstick on it.” I frowned. “It’s a button-down, not a pullover. It won’t touch my face. Besides, I’m in a rush. If it fits, I’m wearing it out of the store. I’m not just trying it on for fun.” “I’m afraid that’s not possible, ma’am.” Seriously? My first instinct was to turn and leave. But a quick glance around revealed… there were no other clothing stores nearby. As I hesitated, I met Angela’s eyes. They held a hint of a smirk. “Ma’am, you’re quite dirty, and your hair is still dripping. You’ll definitely stain the new clothes if you go in like that. And if you came out and claimed the blouse was already dirty, well, I’d have no way to defend myself, would I?” The corner of her mouth twitched downward. The anger that had been simmering inside me all morning finally erupted. “Well, yeah! The only reason I’m here buying a new shirt is because mine got ruined! I’m trying to give you my business!” “And obviously, I’d clean myself up before I change, but first you have to let me into the fitting room! Or what, you want me to stick my hands up my shirt and wipe myself down in the middle of your store? You want me to strip right here? Huh?!” Angela just smiled, not saying a word, continuing to block my path. Furious, I threw the blouse down. “Okay, fine! I won’t buy it. I’m leaving. Happy now?” “Wait…” Angela’s hand landed on my shoulder. I slapped it away instinctively. “Don’t touch me! What is this, a hostage situation?” “Ma’am, you’ve misunderstood me. That’s not what I meant…” “I don’t care what you meant! Get out of my way!” I stormed out, pulling out my phone to call a cab. Suddenly, a hand gripped my wrist. Angela was blocking me again. “What is wrong with you?” I seethed, wrenching my arm free and turning to let her have it. But Angela let out a little cry and collapsed onto the floor. In her hand was a hairdryer. “You…” When she looked up, her face was a mask of tearful vulnerability. “Ma’am, you misunderstood. I was trying to tell you that we have towels and a hairdryer. You could dry your hair here first…” I froze. Angela scrambled to her feet and solicitously guided me to a chair, ready to blow-dry my hair herself. Snapping out of my daze, I quickly stopped her. “I’m so sorry, I completely misunderstood. I can do it myself.” 2 The drone of the hairdryer couldn’t drown out my embarrassment. Maybe I was just so on edge that everything seemed like an attack. I took a few deep breaths, silently calming myself down. Once my hair was dry, the mud on my blouse had hardened into an ugly cement-gray. I handed the hairdryer back to Angela, apologizing again for the misunderstanding, then picked up the blouse and headed for the fitting room. But once again, Angela grabbed my wrist. “I’m so sorry, ma’am, but store policy prohibits trying on white garments with makeup on.” My heart sank, and my expression hardened. Angela seemed not to notice, continuing with a cheerful explanation. “It’s a store rule, there’s nothing I can do. This blouse is a hundred dollars. As a simple sales associate, I can’t afford to take that risk. I hope you can understand.” Fine. I exhaled slowly. For the sake of the hairdryer, I’d let it go. I pushed the blouse toward her. “Okay, I’ll pay for it first. Can you please hurry? I’m in a rush.” “Of course.” Angela agreed sweetly, took the blouse, swiftly snipped the tag, and started to put it in a shopping bag. “Wait, don’t bag it. I’m going to change into it now.” “Of course.” I raised my phone to scan the QR code for payment. A hand suddenly covered it. Angela smiled. “I’m so sorry, ma’am, that code is no longer in use. We’re currently only accepting credit cards via the POS terminal.” “…Fine.” I pulled out my credit card and held it out. But Angela didn’t take it. She just kept fiddling with the computer. A minute passed. “Is there a problem?” I asked. “Is your internet always this slow?” She gave a weak smile. “Yes, it can be a little sluggish.” Two more minutes passed. Angela remained glued to the screen, the sound of her mouse clicking away like a time bomb in my head. I had run out of patience. I reached for the blouse. “You keep working on that, I’m just going to go change…” “You can’t.” Angela’s hand shot out, pressing down on the blouse. She looked up, her eyes locking with mine. “I’m so sorry, ma’am. You haven’t paid yet.” A vein throbbed in my temple. I waved the credit card I’d been holding for the last five minutes. “Well, then maybe you could actually take my money?!” “I’ve been standing here this entire time with my card out! Am I the one who’s not paying?!” Her voice remained infuriatingly calm. “If you could just be patient for a few more moments, ma’am.” More frantic clicking. Fine. I’d wait. I watched the second hand on my watch go around, and around, and around. Finally, I snapped. I spun the computer monitor around to face me. “Let me see this. What kind of ancient computer and dial-up internet are you running that it takes this long to process a simple—” The moment I saw the screen, I almost choked on my own rage. It was covered in the classic, green-felt background of a game of Spider Solitaire. I stared at Angela, dumbfounded. “You’ve just been sitting here, clicking away, playing a game this whole time?! Are you messing with me?” Unfazed, Angela maintained her polite smile. “I do apologize, ma’am. I truly don’t have the authorization to process payments. You’ll have to wait for the store manager to return to assist you.” 3 I almost laughed. “Are you insane? Or do you just not understand English? I keep telling you I’m in a hurry! If you can’t take my payment, why didn’t you say so from the beginning?” Angela looked wounded. “Well, you didn’t ask…” Ha. This was absurd. I was the crazy one for even engaging with her this long. Angela continued her robotic soothing. “The manager will be back shortly. If you could please just wait a little longer. Would you like a cup of chamomile tea to calm your nerves? We also have lemon water, rosehip…” I glanced at my phone. “How long is ‘shortly’?” “Hmm… if you could please wait for about forty minutes,” she said with a bright smile. I turned and walked away. Angela scrambled out from behind the counter and grabbed my arm. “Wait! Ma’am, you can’t leave! You haven’t paid!” “I don’t want the blouse anymore. Get off me.” “No, the tag has been cut! You have to buy it!” I scoffed, pulled my arm free, and strode toward the door. “Don’t you move! If you leave now, that’s theft! I can call the police!” “Go ahead,” I said with a sneer, grabbing the handle and pushing. Huh? It wouldn’t budge. The glass door rattled in its frame but remained firmly shut. Angela was no longer in a hurry. She strolled leisurely up behind me. “I’m so sorry, ma’am. The tag on the blouse has been removed. You cannot leave the premises until payment has been made.” Something inside me snapped. My God! It wasn’t that I didn’t want to pay! It was this psycho who wouldn’t let me! “I must have been cursed to walk down this street and into this store…” I muttered, running a hand through my hair in frustration. Just as I was about to unleash a tirade, a flicker of movement in the corner of my eye caught my attention. Angela had darted a quick glance toward the upper right corner of the room. A faint red light glowed from a security camera. I paused. When I met Angela’s dark eyes again, a chill shot up my spine. She was deliberately trying to provoke me. Perhaps disappointed that I hadn’t exploded yet, she took two steps closer, her voice dripping with provocation. “You don’t seem to be in that much of a rush. Surely forty minutes won’t make a difference. Please, just be patient. The moment our manager returns, I promise you’ll be the first person she helps.” My voice was a little hoarse. “So, if I pay, you’ll open the door and let me leave?” “Of course.” I put my phone away and dug through my purse, pulling out a wad of cash from a birthday card. “Fine. The blouse is a hundred dollars, right? Here. Cash. You must be able to take cash. Now open the door and let me out!” But Angela just smiled and pushed the money back. “I’m afraid not, ma’am. I truly, truly do not have authorization to process any payments. Please don’t make this difficult for me.” Enraged, I threw the money at her. “What is wrong with you? I’ve given you the money! Why won’t you let me go? What do you want?” Just as I suspected. The more agitated I became, the more triumphant she looked. She raised an eyebrow, her smile unwavering. “I’m so sorry, ma’am. Even with cash, you’ll have to wait for the manager. For now, you cannot leave.” I clenched my jaw. “So you don’t have authorization to take my money, but you do have authorization to illegally detain me?” “Why have you locked the door? Why are you forcing me to wait for your manager? Are you doing this on purpose? Or… are you a human trafficker?” “What?” Angela’s fake smile froze on her face. I feigned a sudden realization, dramatically knocking over a clothing rack. “That’s it! It all makes sense now! You’re traffickers, and this is your den! That’s why you were stalling, making excuses, trying to keep me here! You’re waiting for your accomplices to come and kidnap me! You monsters, where are you planning to sell me? How many other victims are there? I’m calling the police! I have to get out of here!” Angela stared at me, her face a mask of disbelief. “What are you talking about? Are you delusional? No, what are you doing?! Put down the fire extinguisher! Ma’am, stop—”

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I was driving my husband’s new Tesla to the airport to pick up a client. I connected my phone to the Bluetooth, intending to play some music, but a memo popped up on the center console screen instead. The title was “Notes on Caring for My Little Kitten.” My little kitten loves strawberry-flavored candy, not mint. My little kitten needs to be held when she sleeps, or she’ll cry. When my little kitten is on her period, buy her painkillers and a hot water bottle in advance. I scrolled through the list, one item at a time, until I reached the final note, written in bold, red font: “Crucial! Next month, take the little kitten for her prenatal check-up.” My face was a mask as I closed the memo and dialed my husband’s number. “Honey,” I said, my voice deceptively sweet, “what brand of painkillers does your little kitten like? I can pick some up for you on my way.” 1 On the other end of the line, my husband, Hugo Walter, paused for a beat. “Emma, what are you talking about, honey?” His voice was the same deep, steady, and gentle tone I had listened to for five years. “What little kitten? I don’t follow.” He let out a soft chuckle, his tone laced with a fond, patronizing helplessness. “You’re the only little kitten I have.” My hands tightened on the steering wheel. I watched the river of traffic ahead and smiled. “The one from your memo,” I said lightly. “The little kitten who needs a prenatal check-up.” His tone instantly brightened with a feigned flash of understanding. “Oh, that! That’s for Leo’s cat. She’s pregnant.” “His phone was broken yesterday, so he borrowed mine to jot down some notes. He thought he deleted it, but I guess it synced.” It was a perfectly crafted excuse. Leo was his best friend, the best man at our wedding. He was sure I would believe him. “You know how he is, so forgetful,” Hugo continued smoothly. “I’ll have a word with him. Can’t have him leaving random notes on my phone and making my wife worry.” “Is that so?” I murmured. “Well, Leo must really love his cat, remembering her prenatal appointments and all.” Hugo played along seamlessly. “Tell me about it. I’m almost jealous.” “Emma, don’t let your imagination run away with you. You’re the only one for me. What do you want for dinner tonight? I’ll get everything ready.” “Don’t bother. I’m picking up a client. I have a dinner meeting tonight.” I hung up, pulled the car over, and took a picture of the memo. Less than half an hour later, Hugo was home. The moment he walked in, he wrapped his arms around me from behind, resting his chin in the crook of my neck. He still carried the faint chill of the evening air. “Emma, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I rescheduled with my client and came straight home.” He cupped my face, his eyes filled with sincerity and a deep, aching concern. “Have I been too busy lately? Have I been neglecting you? Is that why you’re feeling so insecure?” “When I heard that tone in your voice on the phone, my heart just dropped. Work isn’t as important as you are.” “It’s all my fault.” He took all the blame, shouldering every ounce of responsibility, painting me as the irrational, paranoid wife. Looking at the face that had once made my heart race, a bitter wave of sorrow washed over me. “No,” I said, my voice soft. “Maybe I was just being too sensitive.” He let out a visible sigh of relief. “You silly girl.” He tapped the end of my nose. “Alright, let’s not think about it anymore. I’ll go make dinner.” He shrugged off his suit jacket, tossing it casually onto the sofa. I watched him walk into the kitchen, then picked up the jacket to hang it properly. A folded receipt slipped from the pocket. I unfolded it. It was from a high-end maternity and baby boutique. 2 The list of items was long, from imported formula to a custom-made crib—all for a newborn. At the bottom, a handwritten delivery address. It wasn’t our home. Nor was it his friend Leo’s. Clutching the receipt, I called my best friend, Whitney. She was a top-tier private investigator with connections that ran deep. “Whitney, I have an address. I need you to run a check on the resident. Find out if she has any connection to Hugo Walter.” For the next few days, Hugo was almost sickeningly perfect. Morning kisses, goodnight hugs, chauffeuring me to and from work, taking over all the household chores. He acted like a man terrified by a near misunderstanding, desperately trying to make amends. On Wednesday night, my mother-in-law called. After a few perfunctory pleasantries, her tone shifted. “Emma, you and Hugo have been married for five years now. Isn’t it about time we heard some news?” “You know how men are, they all want children. You need to put in a little more effort.” “Our Hugo is successful, he’s a family man. You need to hold on to him tightly.” Every word was a needle—not painful, just a sharp, irritating prick. I gave her some vague answers and hung up. Hugo emerged from the kitchen with a plate of sliced fruit and sat down beside me. “Was that Mom, pushing for a baby again?” I nodded. He sighed, pulling me into his arms. “Don’t listen to her. We’ll let it happen when it happens.” “Whether we have children or not, I’ll always love you.” His words were so beautiful. I leaned against his chest and smelled nothing but the stench of rotting lies. On Friday, Whitney called. “I found her.” Her voice was ice. “The resident is Isla Croft. Twenty-two years old. She started at Hugo’s company two months ago.” “She has that innocent look, but she’s a sweet-talker, knows how to play the game.” “Most importantly, I found an appointment record from a private maternity hospital.” “The appointment was made by Hugo Walter. For patient Isla Croft.” A sharp pain shot through my chest, and I couldn’t breathe. Whitney let out a cold laugh. “And it gets worse.” “I hacked her social media. She has it set to private, viewable only by a select group.” “It’s a highlight reel of her love affair with Hugo.” I hung up and opened the screenshots Whitney had sent. Isla’s handle was PamperedKitten. The most recent post was from three days ago. [Mr. W says I’m his most precious treasure, that he’s going to give me and our baby a real home.] [He has a surprise for me at the family banquet next month.] The accompanying photo was of a lavish jewelry box. Inside lay a diamond necklace I had never seen before. The brand was one Hugo had mentioned just last week, when he told me he’d bought a “small gift” for an important female client. I scrolled down. [Period cramps are the worst. Mr. W came over in the middle of the night with a hot water bottle and painkillers and held me all night.] [He said he’ll never let me be in pain again.] The photo was of Hugo’s profile as he slept soundly, one arm draped over Isla’s waist. The location was our spare bedroom—the room I had set up specifically for him to use when he worked late and didn’t want to wake me. I kept scrolling. [Mr. W has such good taste. This white Tesla is gorgeous! He said it’s the first stroller for our baby~] The photo showed her sitting in the passenger seat, making a peace sign at the center console. On the screen was the very same memo I had discovered. The phone slipped from my trembling hands and clattered to the floor. 3 I curled into a ball on the sofa, all the strength draining from my body in an instant. Ten years. Ten years, from high school sweethearts to husband and wife. The sweet nothings he had whispered, the things he had done for me—they all transformed into razor-sharp blades, slicing through my memory again and again. He said he loved me, yet he held another woman in our home. He said he was busy with work, yet he was running to another woman’s side in the middle of the night. He said having children would happen when it happened, yet he had already gotten someone else pregnant with his child. A wave of nausea washed over me. I ran to the bathroom and threw up until only bitter acid remained. Why? What had I done wrong? Hugo, how could you do this to me? My heart felt like it had been ripped in two. I couldn’t breathe. I sank to the floor and sobbed. But as the tears flowed, a laugh bubbled up from my throat. I stood up and wiped my eyes. Pain wouldn’t break him. And my tears? They were worthless. Hugo, I thought, you want a family, do you? Fine. I’ll help you get one. Just then, Hugo walked in. His face changed when he saw me. “Emma? What’s wrong? You look terrible.” He rushed over, his hand flying to my forehead to check for a fever. I looked up, my eyes red and swollen. “Hugo,” I whispered, “I think… I’m sick.” He froze, his face a perfect mask of concern and heartache. “Where does it hurt? We’re going to the hospital right now.” He moved to grab his car keys. “Don’t.” I stopped him. “It’s just… my heart. It hurts.” Hugo stopped moving. He knelt before me, taking my hand in his, his face a portrait of self-reproach. “It’s all my fault. I’ve been so focused on work, I haven’t been taking care of you.” “Emma, listen to me. Work doesn’t matter. Nothing matters but your health.” “I’ll take time off tomorrow. We’ll go to the Maldives, okay? You’ve always wanted to go.” As if all my pain was simply a result of his neglect, not his betrayal. I looked at him and, suddenly, I smiled. “Okay,” I said. “Whatever you say.” 4 The family banquet next month was for his mother’s sixtieth birthday. The Walter family was well-known in our city, and the party was an extravagant affair, held in the grand ballroom on the top floor of a five-star hotel. As the favored son, Hugo was the center of attention. He wore a custom-tailored white suit, looking sharp and confident as he moved through the crowd of guests. My mother-in-law stood beside him, dripping with jewels, a proud smile plastered on her face. “Emma, come here,” she beckoned. I walked over, and she pulled me aside, lowering her voice. “Everyone who is anyone is here tonight. Don’t you dare walk around with that long face. People will think the Walter family is mistreating you.” “And another thing,” she hissed, “you’d better get that womb of yours in gear!” “Let me tell you, our Hugo is a real catch. There are plenty of younger girls out there who would kill to have his baby! If you can’t produce an heir, you should get out of the way. Don’t just warm the seat!” Her words were venomous and cruel. I stared at her, my face a blank canvas, and said nothing. She was about to say more when Hugo walked over. “Mom, what are you talking to Emma about?” he asked, smoothly wrapping an arm around my waist and smiling at his mother. “Emma’s not feeling well today. I told her to rest and not talk too much.” He was always like this, always defending me in public, always preserving my dignity. My mother-in-law sniffed and turned to greet another guest. Hugo leaned down and kissed my forehead. “Don’t mind her. You know her bark is worse than her bite.” I smiled, my gaze drifting over his shoulder to a familiar figure. 5 Isla was wearing a pale pink maternity dress, draped in a white Chanel cardigan. Her long hair was perfectly styled, her makeup flawless, and her face glowed with a shy, blissful smile. One hand rested protectively on her stomach. She stood near one of Hugo’s friends, looking as if she were his date for the evening. Hugo’s eyes fell on her, too. For just a second, before he looked away. But in that one glance, I saw it all—the tenderness, the affection. It was unmistakable. Halfway through the party, it was time for the presentation of gifts. As the son, Hugo went first. He walked onto the stage and took the microphone. “Today is my mother’s sixtieth birthday. As her son, I didn’t prepare anything too extravagant.” He paused, his eyes sweeping across the room before they finally settled on me. “I just want to tell you that very soon, you’re going to be a grandmother.” The room was silent for a moment, then erupted in thunderous applause and congratulations. “Congratulations, Mr. Walter!” “Mrs. Walter, what a blessing!” My mother-in-law gasped, her hand flying to her mouth as her eyes filled with tears. She rushed onto the stage, grabbing Hugo’s hand excitedly. “Hugo! Are you… are you serious? Does this mean Emma is…” She whirled around to look at me, her eyes shining with an unprecedented fervor. I stood rooted to the spot, an outsider at my own life’s drama. In the crowd, Isla rested a hand on her belly, a triumphant smile spreading across her face. Hugo didn’t answer his mother. He just smiled, held the microphone, and continued. “This child… was not easily conceived.” “And so, I’d like to take the opportunity of my mother’s birthday to make another announcement.” His gaze finally left my face, turning cold and resolute. “I, Hugo Walter, will be dissolving my marriage to Ms. Emma Sterling.” The room exploded in a chorus of gasps and murmurs. “What? A divorce?” “So the baby isn’t hers?” “My God, what is happening? He’s announcing their divorce in public?” My mother-in-law’s face fell. She tugged at Hugo’s arm. “Hugo! What nonsense are you talking about?” He shook her off, his voice like ice. “I’m not talking nonsense.” “Emma and I have irreconcilable differences. Our marriage has been broken for years.” “For years, she has used every excuse in the book to avoid having children. Out of respect for our marriage, I tolerated it.” “Until I met a woman who was willing to give me everything. A woman willing to bear my children.” He turned and extended a hand toward Isla. “Isla, come up here.”

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My brother was the story’s villain—a frail, brooding soul plagued by an eating disorder. In the original novel, the heroine used gourmet food to wrap him around her little finger. Once she grew bored, she tossed him aside like trash. He ended up starving to death, all alone in our mansion. But now, he has me. His bratty, food-loving, grudge-holding little sister. I won’t touch food that’s a touch too bland or a pinch too salty. I won’t swallow rice that’s a grain too hard or a second too soft. No takeout. No frozen meals. And if he didn’t make it with his own two hands? Forget it. I was his personal, one-man wrecking crew. So when the story’s heroine arrived at our door, a gourmet basket in hand, ready to tame her gloomy little puppy… She shrieked, her composure shattering at the sight of the mountain of a man expertly flipping a skillet in our kitchen. The chat comments that had been scrolling beside me for the last five years trembled with laughter. 【LMAO, the mermaid in the pond turned out to be a megalodon. Who wouldn’t have a meltdown?】 1. When I opened my eyes on the hospital bed, a chaotic stream of text messages floating in the air gave me a splitting headache. 【WTF, wasn’t the villain’s sister supposed to die young? Why is she still alive?】 【Who knows. Even alive, she’s just a burden. The villain is a senior in high school, and their parents died in a car crash last year. How is he supposed to take care of a sick two-year-old?】 【Don’t be so harsh. Everyone knows Fred Blackwood treats his sister like she’s his whole world. He’s been running to the hospital every day since she was born.】 【Totally. In the book, he dropped out of school after his sister died. No parents, no friends, no college. He just spent his days street racing and skydiving until he wrecked his legs and went back to the mansion to die. That is, until the heroine showed up with her food to win him over…】 【Pfft, please. He only survived because he latched onto our Stella. The cripple was lucky to get a decent meal. And he still had the nerve to ask her why she left him before he died? Pathetic.】 My eyes snagged on the words “decent meal.” I glanced down at the delicate platinum bracelet on my wrist, easily worth a few million, and smacked my lips in confusion. Why wouldn’t my brother get a decent meal? Are we poor? 【Quit fighting! He’s here!】 【Damn, no cap, Fred Blackwood’s face is a masterpiece. The whole room just got brighter.】 【Broad shoulders, narrow waist, legs for days. That girl Stella is eating good!】 “Willow?” A pair of gloomy, intense eyes met my own wide, curious ones, and suddenly, the boy’s entire being seemed to spark with life. He dropped his backpack and rushed toward my bed, his long legs covering the distance in three quick strides. He carefully scooped my tiny, soft body into his arms and gently nuzzled his cheek against mine. Pure joy radiated from him, his lips threatening to split his face with a grin. “Willow! You’re awake!” “Thank God, you’re awake.” A warm drop landed on my cheek, and his choked whisper hung in the air. “I thought… I thought you were going to leave me all alone, too…” The noisy chatter of the floating comments fell eerily silent. I grinned, patting my brother’s face with my clumsy baby hands. Starving? Legs broken? Hmph! Not on my watch. 2. After no less than a dozen check-ups, my brother, Fred, was finally allowed to take me home. The doctor instructed him to start me on some soft, pureed foods. “Open up, Willa. Here comes the airplane…” Fred held a tiny spoon, patiently trying to feed me some creamed chicken porridge. I obediently opened my mouth and took a small taste. A smile touched his lips. My sister is so good. The next second, I spat it all out. A mess of saliva and porridge dribbled down my chin and onto my clothes, leaving a nasty stain. Fred fumbled for a napkin, frantically trying to clean me up. The comments exploded. 【Dude, get the kid a bib! Toddlers are messy!】 【Why’d she spit it out? Was it too salty?】 【No way, the cook didn’t add any salt.】 【See? I told you she was a burden. Can’t even eat properly.】 【If you don’t like it, get lost. Don’t ruin the mood.】 【Maybe it was too hot? My puppy spits out his food when it’s too hot.】 【Nah, I saw Fred check it with a thermometer before he fed her.】 Fred frowned, staring at the bowl in his hands. He’d had an eating disorder since he was a kid. More than once, he’d survived only thanks to an IV drip. Getting him to willingly eat something was harder than pulling teeth. But his sister had just rejected the food. After a long hesitation, he still couldn’t bring himself to try it. He waved over the butler, Mr. Evans, who tasted a spoonful. “Not too hot, not too salty, perfectly smooth. There’s nothing wrong with it, Master Fred.” Fred cautiously offered me another spoonful. I took it into my mouth, and then promptly spat it all out again. His expression slowly darkened. He stared at the bowl of porridge with the intensity of a man facing his executioner, a storm of emotions churning in his eyes. The floating comments were already placing bets on whether he’d actually taste it. My flailing hand slapped him across the cheek. He let out a long, defeated sigh. With a look of pure resignation, he opened his mouth and swallowed a large spoonful of the porridge. Before I could even celebrate, his face turned pale. He shot up from his chair and bolted for the bathroom. I could hear the violent sounds of him retching from the living room. When Fred returned, his eyes were ringed with red. Seeing my curious gaze, he forced a smile and brought the spoon to my lips again. “It’s okay, Willa. Big brother tried it, it’s really yummy. How about one more bite?” I stared at him, obediently took a mouthful, and spat it all out. The living room plunged into a dead silence. 3. The comments flickered nonstop. 【Oh god, don’t tell me his sister has an eating disorder too. She’s so frail, she’d never survive it. Is the villain doomed to be alone forever?】 【Please, Willow, just one bite! Your brother has no one else left! He’s so scared right now his lips are turning white!】 【Ahhh what do we do?! Can the heroine show up early and save her?】 【Maybe she just doesn’t like chicken porridge? What about a different flavor?】 Fred suddenly leaned in and kissed my cheek, his own face a ghostly white. He managed a strained smile. “I get it now. Willa doesn’t like the chicken porridge, does she?” “It’s okay, I don’t like it either. How about I go make you something else?” I calmly played with my fingers, ignoring him. Under the guidance of our cook, Mrs. Gable, my clumsy brother managed to prepare a small bowl of butternut squash puree. His nerves were stretched so taut that he instinctively bypassed his own aversion, scooping a bit into his mouth to test it first. Sweet, smooth, and perfectly soft. Fred’s hand trembled as he extended the small spoon toward me. Please, Willa. Please don’t be like me. Don’t… don’t leave me all alone. Mr. Evans and Mrs. Gable watched with bated breath. The comments bounced around, praying to every deity they could think of. Meeting my brother’s anxious gaze, I opened my mouth, let the puree slide in, paused for two seconds, and slowly swallowed. A collective sigh of relief filled the room. Mrs. Gable chuckled. “Well, what do you know. It seems our little miss will only eat what her brother makes for her.” Fred’s tense shoulders relaxed, and a brilliant smile bloomed on his face as he offered me another spoonful. I tilted my head, my big eyes blinking up at him. The next second, the butternut squash puree came right back out. The smile on my brother’s face froze. The comments, which had just been cheering, went completely silent. “Willa, what’s wrong…? Is… is something not right?” His smile was more painful than a grimace. I stared at his spoon, saying nothing. He wrung his hands, thinking hard for a long moment. Then, he picked up his own spoon, took a large bite while fighting the urge to gag, and hesitantly offered the small spoon to me again. With everyone watching, I slowly swallowed the puree. He repeated the process three more times. And each time, I obediently swallowed my bite. Mr. Evans slapped his forehead in a moment of revelation, his voice shaking with excitement. “Master Fred! She’s copying you! She’s learning how to eat from you!” “From now on, just take a few bites yourself before you feed her, and she’ll eat without a problem!” The comments whispered amongst themselves. 【Is it just me, or does it feel like the little sister is doing this on purpose?】 【You know, you might be onto something. When has the villain ever eaten this much? This is probably more than he eats in a month.】 【Don’t be ridiculous, she’s only two years old.】 【I think it’s possible. Don’t forget, this is the kid who was supposed to die.】 【True… so all this back and forth was intentional? That little rascal! She’s playing us!】 【Hahaha, this is great! Finally, someone can handle the villain. He never thought that after all his stubborn fasting, he’d one day be on his knees begging his little princess to eat.】 【Wait, no! If he keeps taste-testing everything, his anorexia will be cured! Then how is our Stella supposed to win him over?】 【That’s disgusting! Why should Fred have to starve to death just to satisfy your heroine’s power trip?】 【Exactly! His eating disorder, his parents’ death—it was all just a setup for her special ability. Hasn’t the villain suffered enough?!】 … 4. The comments argued endlessly while I grew up, bite by bite, on the delicious food my brother personally fed me. On my first day of preschool, I was four years old. Fred, now a sophomore in college, held me at the school gate and wailed like a fire hydrant had burst. “Waaaah… my precious Willa, what will you ever do without me?” “Sob… I know you’re picky and greedy and have a bad temper, and you hold grudges and are vain and petty, but I still love you so, so much! Waaaaah…” I saw the barely suppressed laughter from the people around us and his two best friends. Beside me, the comments were practically distorted with hysterics. I deadpanned and gave him a solid thump on the arm. He wasn’t wrong, though. In the past two years, I’d grown teeth and learned to talk, and my palate had become even more demanding. A touch too bland, a pinch too salty—nope. A grain too hard, a second too soft—forget it. No takeout, no frozen meals. I ate only what Fred made himself. The portions were small, but the variety had to be extensive. My cravings were endless; if I saw it, I wanted it. Every dish that landed on my table was something he’d learned, step by step, from Mrs. Gable. If I wasn’t satisfied, he had to remake it. If he was too slow, I’d bite him. And if he dared to get angry, I’d give him the silent treatment for three days. Over time, he learned to just take the pain. But with Mr. Evans, Mrs. Gable, and his friends Mason and Silas, I was always perfectly polite. He was the only one I tormented. What can I say? The day I first learned to call him “brother,” he dropped to his knees, hugged me with tears streaming down his face, and swore he’d cook for me for the rest of his life. I patted his arm, which was no longer so frail. All that forced taste-testing and pan-flipping over the years had built some serious muscle. “Brother, just leave the lunchbox and go. Study hard, and no street racing or skydiving with your friends, you hear me?” “Okay,” Fred sniffled, rubbing his cheek against mine one last time. “But Willa, you haven’t told me you love me most today.” In front of everyone? No way. I leaned forward, my face impassive, and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Alright, you can go now.” Fred, finally satisfied, slung his arms around his friends and left. 5. When I started elementary school at seven, Fred was in his first year of grad school. Mason was still his roommate, while Silas had already adopted a serious haircut and taken over his family’s corporation. My brother had also made two new friends through a programming competition. The number of people picking me up from school grew from one to three, then back to two, and finally to four. “Willa, sweetie!” Fred waved a brawny arm, running over to scoop me up and plant a big kiss on my cheek. “Haven’t seen you in a week! Did you miss your big brother?” I hung limply in his rock-solid embrace, not saying a word. “Whoa, what’s this?” Mason peered at me curiously. “Who dared to make our little princess unhappy?” Two unfamiliar handsome faces leaned in, their eyes filled with curiosity. “Fred, is this the precious sister you never shut up about?” Fred grunted in confirmation, lifting me out of his hug to hold me up high. He frowned at my red-rimmed eyes. “Willa, who bullied you? Tell me, and I’ll go sort them out!” The tears finally spilled over. “Brother,” I asked miserably, “am I a bad kid with no parents and no manners?” The words hung in the air, and the smiles on all four young men’s faces instantly vanished. The comments had already gone ballistic. 【Willa, don’t listen to that little bully! He’s just jealous your family is rich! Tell your brother to teach him a lesson!】 【Yeah! Tell your brother he started it! He snatched your notebook and deliberately smashed your favorite ceramic bear!】 【Trash kids come from trash parents. Those two foul-mouthed parents of his are no better! Willa, don’t go easy on them. Have your brother get a lawyer and make them pay and apologize!】 【Don’t be sad, Willa. You’re the sweetest, kindest little girl we’ve ever seen! It’s all that biased teacher’s fault, and that awful family’s!】 【Exactly! She was so scared of distracting her brother during his competition that she didn’t even call him after being bullied. She let those monsters get away with it!】 … 6. His face a dark storm cloud, Fred hugged me tighter. The five of us stormed the principal’s office like an avenging army. After reviewing all the security footage, Fred said nothing. He simply grabbed the trembling teacher, Ms. Albright, and dragged her out the door. Mason and the others sat me down on a chair, a united front making it clear they were here to back me up. When Principal Wallace opened his door, he saw the heirs to four of the city’s five great families—the ones every financial journalist dreamed of interviewing—sitting right there. The only one missing was Silas. His heart sank. He trembled, about to fall to his knees and beg for mercy, but Fred grabbed him by the collar with one hand and hauled him away. Mason followed them out. The little bully who had tormented me was now bawling his eyes out, while his mother, the woman who had pointed a finger at me and called me mannerless, was slumped on the floor in a stupor. I nervously peeked out from behind the two new brothers, but they just smiled and gently covered my eyes and ears. The air grew thick with a strange, metallic scent. When I opened my eyes again, the lead attorney who was always with Silas was smiling down at me. “Hey there, Princess Willa! Long time no see!” I never saw the bully, his family, or the condescending Ms. Albright ever again.

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At Janice’s bachelorette party, I watched her—a woman with crippling mysophobia—casually sip from her mentor’s glass. In that moment, I knew I’d lost her. I stayed quiet as they talked effortlessly about projects and personal matters. That night, alone, I gave her an ultimatum: call off the wedding, or I’d ruin his academic career. She vanished overnight. The next morning, she returned, pale and exhausted. “The wedding will go on,” she said. But at the ceremony, in my tuxedo, I watched something break in her. She sobbed, “I can’t marry someone I don’t love. I never should have let him go.” Before anyone reacted, she posted a statement online, turning me into a joke. Within an hour, photos of her in her wedding gown kissing her mentor at the airport were everywhere. Every decision has a price. Ten minutes later, Mason Industries’ stock dropped ten points. If she chose public betrayal, she can’t blame me for her ruin. … My phone screen was still lit up, displaying Janice’s latest social media post. The caption was short: This time, I choose love. The photo accompanying it showed her, radiant in white, throwing herself into Lucas Thorne’s arms at the airport terminal. Below it, comments from our mutual friends flooded in. [Janice is so brave! How mortifying for Liam Sinclair.] [Ditching the groom at the altar to run off with her mentor? Wow. Liam deserved better.] [Is Janice insane? She’s going to bankrupt her family over a guy?] I dragged my gaze away from the phone and looked down at the wedding rings resting on the table. Our initials were engraved on the inner band. Janice had designed them herself, embedding tiny, powerful magnets into the settings so that when brought close, they would click together, inseparable. It was her symbolic gesture. Because of her severe mysophobia, she couldn’t always handle physical intimacy. The rings, she claimed, were proof that her heart would always overcome her condition, always gravitate toward me. I never pushed her. I respected her boundaries. But then I saw it with my own eyes at the party: her lifting Lucas Thorne’s glass, drinking without a moment’s hesitation. When Lucas noticed me staring at the glass in her hand, he actually turned to me with a dismissive little laugh. “We get stuck in long meetings for hours. We just share whatever water is around. It’s a habit. You don’t mind, do you, Liam?” Before I could answer, someone else slung an arm around my shoulder. “Mind? Come on, Liam Sinclair is bigger than that. Don’t insult the man’s character.” They worked in tandem, painting me into a corner where any objection would make me look petty and controlling. But how could I not mind? When I confronted Janice about it later that night, she flushed with embarrassment and apologized profusely, promising to be more careful next time. Looking back now, it was all a lie. She wanted the backing of the Sinclair fortune, and she wanted to keep her lover. She wanted everything. My assistant knocked and entered. “Sir, Chairman Mason is on line one. Will you take the call?” I glanced at the blinking light on the console. “What’s the damage report?” “Down seven points. Market cap loss approaching forty million.” Not enough. Not nearly enough to balance the public humiliation I’d endured. “I see,” I said, my voice flat. “Tell the Chairman to control his daughter. If he won’t, someone else will do it for him.” “Understood. And shall I have the PR department manage the online narrative?” “No.” I looked back at the photo of Janice, her expression one of almost religious sacrifice for love. “She chose love. Let everyone see just how much her love is worth.” The assistant retreated. I rose and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window. The city lights were beginning to ignite, outlining the cold, glittering skyline. The assistant must have relayed my message, because Chairman Mason didn’t call back immediately. I hadn’t anticipated how much leverage he still thought he had. A few minutes later, my phone buzzed again. This time, it was Janice. The name I once had pinned to the top of my contacts flashed on the screen. I ignored it, letting the call ring out until silence returned. Seconds later, a text message illuminated the screen: [You’re ruthless, Liam. Just because I chose Lucas, you’re going to destroy my family? You’re that pathetic a loser?] Another one followed immediately. [I know I hurt you, but you can’t force feelings that aren’t there. Why can’t you just be a man and let me go with dignity? Why resort to these dirty tricks? You disappoint me more than I can say.] I paused, a humorless smirk touching my lips. She could have ended things cleanly. But for the sake of the merger benefits, she chose to perform this charade. She, with her debilitating mysophobia that made her flinch from my touch, had no issue sharing saliva with Lucas Thorne. She, who had looked me in the eye and promised to proceed with the wedding, had chosen the most humiliating method possible to abandon me. She thought she could play us both, a delicate game between two powerful men. She nailed me to a cross of public ridicule, making me the butt of every joke in the city. And now she dared lecture me about dignity? I sent a message to my assistant. [Accelerate it. I want a full ten-point drop by morning.] After receiving the confirmation, I swiped away from the airport photo and watched the live feed of Mason Industries’ stock value evaporating. I trusted Chairman Mason would eventually understand the gravity of the situation. My phone lit up again. Janice. Her tone had shifted dramatically. [Liam, please, can we talk? This chaos isn’t helping anyone. My parents are frantic. I’ll come back. I won’t run away again. Just give me one more chance, please?] [I know I embarrassed you today. I can fix it. I’ll do whatever you want, any punishment you choose. Just stop going after my father. This has nothing to do with him.] My fingers tapped lightly on the screen as I replied. [If you’re asking for a truce, then show some sincerity.] The reply came back almost instantly. [Okay. I know what I have to do.] Reading that line, a strange feeling pricked at me, but I dismissed it. After finishing up at the office, I drove toward my private villa. Halfway there, my closest friend called, his voice tight with panic. “Liam, where are you?” “Just left the office, heading home…” “Turn around. Get back here now. Janice Mason is on the roof of the Sinclair tower. She’s threatening to jump, telling everyone you drove her to it. She just posted about it, and the press is already here. You need a strategy, fast. The entire narrative has flipped against you.”

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