Author: Momo Chan

On the eve of our wedding, I was clearing out storage on Sophia’s phone to make room for our professional wedding photos. That’s when I saw it—the “Recently Deleted” folder. At the very bottom lay a dozen screenshots of the same man’s Instagram feed. They were all recent, mundane captures of his daily life: a coffee cup, a blurry sunset, a gym selfie. I handed the phone to her. I didn’t scream. I didn’t throw anything. I just wanted the truth. Sophia stood on the balcony for hours, a silhouette against the city lights. When she finally walked back in, her voice was a raspy whisper. “We had a thing in college. It was a long time ago. I heard he was struggling lately, so I pulled some strings to get him a desk job at the branch office. It was just a favor, Dan. I know who comes first.” Seven years of my life were tied up in this woman. I didn’t want to lose everything over a few screenshots. I wanted to believe her. So, the next morning, I walked into City Hall with her anyway. But just as my pen hovered over the marriage license, Sophia’s best friend, Tiffany, called. The car’s Bluetooth picked it up instantly. “Sophia! Corey found out you’re getting married today. He’s on the roof of his building—he won’t come down! He’s losing it!” The pen jerked, tearing a jagged line through the official document. Sophia bolted upright, grabbing her car keys before the call even ended. “Sophia,” I said, my voice deathly quiet. “If you don’t sign that paper right now, don’t ever bother signing anything with my name on it again.” She didn’t even look back. She sprinted through the heavy glass doors and disappeared. … The air conditioning in the City Hall lobby was aggressive, biting at my skin. The clerk sat there with her hand frozen in mid-air, looking at me with a mix of pity and awkwardness. “Are we… still doing this?” she asked. The couple behind us leaned forward, their impatience radiating in waves. “Hey, buddy, you in or out? We’ve got a reception to get to,” the man grumbled. “Seriously,” his fiancée chimed in. “The girl literally ran away. Why are you still sitting there?” I capped the pen and handed it back to the clerk. “We’re not. Please cancel the application.” The clerk blinked, her mouth opening as if to offer a platitude, but she thought better of it. I took the torn marriage license, ripped it down the middle, and walked out without looking back. The sunlight outside was blinding, cruel in its brightness. I hailed a cab. “The Heights,” I told the driver. When I pushed open the door to the apartment we had spent months decorating, the color white hit me like a physical blow. White roses, white ribbons, white guest favors. A pair of custom-made bride and groom teddy bears sat on the sofa, mocking me. The coffee table was buried under a mountain of invitations and silk-wrapped boxes. My phone buzzed. I slid the screen open. Tiffany had just posted on her Instagram Story. In the photo, Sophia was huddled over a man in a white shirt, frantically rushing him into an Emergency Room. The camera only caught the back of Sophia’s head, but you could see the desperation in the way she shielded his head with her hands. The caption read: First love is the only love that leaves a scar. Ten years of ‘companionship’ can’t compete with a soulmate. A few of our mutual friends had already liked it. I stared at the image for a full minute, then, with a steady thumb, I tapped the heart icon. I closed the app and tossed the phone onto the sofa. I stripped off the custom-tailored white shirt I’d bought specifically for today and changed into a plain black tee and jeans. I headed straight for the hotel downtown. At the front desk, I didn’t hesitate. “I need to cancel the wedding banquet for tonight. I’d like a refund on the deposit, returned to the original card.” The manager’s professional smile faltered. He checked the reservation and looked up at me, confused. “Sir, you didn’t get the message?” I frowned. “What message?” “About thirty minutes ago, a Miss Sophia Miller called. She didn’t cancel. She changed the event name to a ‘Recovery Celebration’ for a Mr. Corey Donald.” A cold laugh bubbled up in my chest. She ditched our wedding to save her ex, and then tried to use my money to throw him a party. “That $15,000 deposit came from my personal account. My name is the only one on the contract,” I said, my voice dropping an octave. “Who authorized a change to the nature of the event without my signature?” The manager started sweating. “Well, Miss Miller said you were as good as married… that her word was yours…” “We aren’t married,” I interrupted. “Refund the $15,000 to my account immediately. Now. Or I’m calling my lawyer and the police to report a fraudulent unauthorized transaction facilitated by your staff.” The manager’s face went pale. He grabbed his radio and called the finance office. Within two minutes, my phone pinged with a banking notification. As I turned to leave, a commotion broke out at the entrance. A group of women walked in, armed with bundles of balloons and streamers. Leading the pack was Tiffany. She was carrying a massive bouquet of red roses, looking like she was on a mission of mercy. “Dan? What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice dripping with artificial sympathy. She tossed the roses onto a nearby chair. “Sophia asked us to come early to redecorate. Corey just had his stomach pumped; he’s incredibly fragile. Sophia wants to throw him a little ‘welcome back to life’ party to lift his spirits.” She looked me up and down, her lip curling. “You were always too controlling, Dan. Too intense. Corey has clinical depression—he almost died because he couldn’t handle losing her. You’ve had seven years with Sophia. You can handle losing one day.” I looked at Tiffany’s smug, self-righteous face. I walked over to the refreshments table, picked up a glass of red wine intended for the guests, and walked back to her. She was still talking. “Corey said his biggest regret was never seeing her in a white dress, so Sophia said tonight—” I threw the wine directly into her face. Tiffany shrieked, clutching her eyes as the dark red liquid soaked into her designer dress. Her friends scrambled forward with tissues, gasping in horror. “Tell Sophia the banquet is cancelled,” I said. “If she wants to throw a party for her side-piece, she can find her own damn money to pay for it. And as for you—if you ever show your face near me again, it won’t be wine. It’ll be boiling water.” I walked out of the hotel, ignoring the screaming behind me. The moment I stepped onto the sidewalk, the sky opened up. A torrential downpour slammed into the pavement. I pulled out my phone to call an Uber, but the wait time was over forty minutes. I decided to walk to my office a few blocks away just to get out of the rain. But as I crossed the second intersection, a white-hot pain seared through my abdomen. I leaned against a bus stop sign, my vision blurring into static. My legs gave out, and I slumped into the freezing puddles on the sidewalk. Before I lost consciousness, I heard a distant voice shouting, “Call 911! Someone’s down!” When I woke up, I was staring at the sterile white tiles of a hospital ceiling. A doctor in a white coat was standing over me, flipping through a chart. “You’re awake. How are you feeling?” I struggled to sit up, clutching my stomach. “What happened?” “Exhaustion, severe dehydration, and an acute stress-induced gastric episode,” the doctor said, adjusting his glasses. “We need to run more tests, but you’re in bad shape. Where’s your family?” I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. The door burst open. Sophia rushed in, breathless. She marched to my bedside, and the moment she saw me leaning against the pillows, her brow furrowed into a knot of frustration. “Dan, are you serious right now? Is this enough?” She didn’t ask how I was. She didn’t ask why I was hooked up to an IV. She went straight to the interrogation. “Corey just stabilized. Why did you ‘like’ Tiffany’s post? He saw your notification and it triggered him. He started crying and trying to pull his IV out!” She pointed toward the door, her chest heaving. “You need to come downstairs to his room right now and apologize. Tell him the wedding didn’t happen so he can rest in peace.” I looked at this woman. I had loved her for seven years. I knew every curve of her face, yet the expression she was wearing was so alien it terrified me. I let out a jagged, hollow laugh. “Sophia… I’m in a hospital bed.” She paused, her eyes flickering to the tubes in my hand. Her voice softened, but only by a fraction. “I know you have a fever because of the rain, but Corey has a mental illness. He could die. You’re strong, Dan. You’ll be fine after a couple of bags of saline. Corey is different.” She sat down, sighing as if she were the one being inconvenienced. “You’ve always been the sensible one. Just do this for me. Corey feels so insecure. I’m thinking of buying him that small studio apartment downtown—putting it in his name. If he has a home, he’ll heal faster.” She looked at me, her tone completely matter-of-fact. “As for our wedding… let’s just push it back a year. Once Corey is stable, we can talk about us again.” My stomach turned. Seven years. From college dorms to the corporate grind. We had shared ramen, cramped studio apartments, and saved every penny for our first down payment. I thought we were a team. I pulled my hand out of hers and pointed at the door. “Sophia, you don’t love me anymore.” Her face hardened. She stood up. “Don’t be dramatic, Dan! He’s a patient! He needs me right now, and I can’t just abandon him.” She ran a hand through her hair, agitated. “Just calm down. I’ll check on you later.” She walked out without looking back. The next morning, I checked myself out against medical advice. I took my discharge papers and went down to the lobby to settle the bill. Passing a private room on the corner, I saw them. Sophia was sitting by the bed, holding a bowl of soup. She was blowing on a spoonful, her expression tender and focused. Corey was propped up on pillows, looking pale and fragile. He opened his mouth and took the soup from her. “This is so good, Sophia. Did you make it yourself?” She wiped a stray drop from his chin. “If you like it, I’ll make it for you every day.” I stood in the hallway, my fingers crushing the hospital bill. Seven years. Every time I had the flu or a migraine, Sophia would just order DoorDash. She always said she couldn’t even boil an egg without burning it. It turned out she could cook. She just didn’t want to cook for me. Corey glanced toward the door and saw me. He let out a sharp cry, flailing his arms and knocking the bowl out of Sophia’s hands. He scrambled under the covers like a terrified child. “Dan… don’t be mad at her. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t be sick. I shouldn’t be a burden.” Sophia didn’t even notice the hot soup splashing onto her own hand. She gathered Corey into her arms, stroking his hair to calm him. Then she turned and glared at me with pure venom. “Dan! Is there no end to this? I told you to stay in your room! Why are you stalking us?” She stormed over and shoved my shoulder. Hard. I was still weak. I stumbled back, my lower back slamming into the sharp edge of the hallway railing. A jolt of agony shot through my gut. I slid down the railing, clutching my stomach, gasping for air. Sophia froze for a second, her hand reaching out as if to help, but then Corey started sobbing again. She pulled her hand back, her face twisting into a mask of annoyance. “Stop acting. I didn’t even push you that hard. Just go home, Dan. Stop making a scene in a hospital.” I grit my teeth, forcing myself to stand despite the cold sweat breaking out on my forehead. “Sophia, look at the paper.” I held up the bill. “I was on my way to the cashier. I have zero interest in your little melodrama.” I didn’t wait for her response. I walked toward the elevator. That night, I went back to the apartment. I had just finished showering when my phone lit up. A Venmo notification from Sophia: $100. Then came two voice notes. “I was stressed earlier. I shouldn’t have pushed you. Use that money to get that lobster bisque you love. Consider it an apology.” I listened to the message, staring at the $100. I typed out a single sentence: I’ve been deathly allergic to shellfish for the entire seven years we’ve been together. You never remembered. She replied almost instantly: Sorry, I’m just exhausted. My head is spinning. I’ll go to the mall tomorrow and pick out something nice for you. Just stay home and wait for me. I didn’t reply. I threw the phone on the bed. Sophia didn’t come home that night. I lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling until 2:00 AM. Then, I got up, went to the storage closet, and pulled out several large moving boxes. I started with my life. My clothes, my books, my laptop. I stood in the living room and looked at the charcoal grey sofa. We had spent three weekends picking that out. The 75-inch TV—we’d saved our bonuses for six months to buy it. I remembered the day it was delivered; Sophia had danced around the room. Back then, her eyes were full of light. Now, the house was still here, but the light was gone. I swept the “His and Hers” mugs off the counter into a trash bag. I took down every framed photo of us and threw them into a box marked “Junk.” By dawn, the apartment felt hollow. My heart felt the same. I taped the last box shut and wiped the dust from my hands. The sun began to bleed over the horizon. I took a long, deep breath and let it out. I was done. At 9:00 AM, the movers arrived. They began hauling my boxes and my furniture out. The door was propped open when my soon-to-be mother-in-law walked in, carrying a bag of groceries. Her face dropped. She slammed the groceries onto the table. “Dan? What the hell is this?” “Sophia didn’t tell you? The wedding’s off,” I said, not looking up from my clipboard. “So she missed one appointment because she was busy! You’re going to tear the whole house apart over that?” she screamed at the movers. “Put that down! Who told you you could take that?” She turned back to me, her voice sharp. “You’re twenty-seven, not a child! Call Sophia right now and stop this before you make our family the laughingstock of the neighborhood!” I didn’t even bother arguing. “Keep moving,” I told the guys. “Take the desk next. Careful with the corners.” Footsteps echoed in the hall. Sophia walked in, leading Corey by the hand. He looked perfectly fine today, dressed in a fresh button-down. Sophia ignored the movers entirely. She led Corey to the center of the room. “Corey, look around. The furniture is all high-end. Pick whatever you like, and I’ll have it moved to your new place.” Her mother blinked, looking between Sophia and Corey. “Sophia… who is this?” “Just a colleague, Mom. He just got out of the hospital, I’m helping him get settled.” Corey broke away from her and walked to my bedroom door. He pointed at the mahogany standing desk—a custom piece I’d flown in from an artisan in Vermont. Sophia hadn’t paid a cent for it. “I like this one, Sophia. This would look great in my study.” I stepped in front of him. “That’s mine. Nobody touches it.” Corey’s lower lip trembled. He grabbed Sophia’s sleeve. “Maybe I should just go. I’ll just buy something cheap at IKEA. I don’t want to cause trouble.” Sophia’s face darkened. She stepped toward me, her hand raised to shove me again. “Dan, don’t be so petty. I’ll Venmo you the cash for it, for God’s sake!” Before she could touch me, a shadow fell over the doorway. My father came charging in, face red with fury. Without a word, he swung. SLAP. The sound of his hand hitting Corey’s face echoed like a gunshot. Corey hit the floor, wailing. My father pointed a trembling finger at Sophia. “You ungrateful, heartless girl! My son gave you seven years of his life, and you not only ditch him at the altar, you bring your little pet into his home to scavenge his things? Do you think he has no one left in his corner?” Seeing Corey on the floor, Sophia’s eyes turned murderous. She helped him up, shielding him, and then she actually squared up to my father, her fist clenched. I grabbed a heavy porcelain vase from the entryway table and smashed it at her feet. She jumped back, startled. I stepped into her space. SLAP. SLAP. SLAP. Three strikes. Every ounce of my betrayal, my wasted years, and my physical pain went into those hits. Sophia was stunned. she stumbled back, clutching her reddening cheeks. “Dan! Have you lost your mind?” she screamed, the veins in her neck bulging. “It’s just a wedding! Corey didn’t do anything wrong! You’re trying to kill him!” I looked at her distorted, ugly face and felt nothing but cold, hard clarity.

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Five hundred dollars for my mom to show up at the PTA meeting and give me some “social standing.” Two hundred dollars for her to post a single photo of us together on her Instagram feed. She even charged me by the minute for bedtime stories—ten dollars every sixty seconds, flat rate. I paid for all of it. I pulled the bills out of my savings, one by one, and handed them over. My mother called it “Monetizing the Aesthetic.” She told me that a beautiful woman has a market value, and that in this world, love was never a free lunch. 1 My ceramic piggy bank was stuffed with every cent I’d ever managed to scrape together. It was my “Motherhood Fund.” The school’s Family Sports Day was tomorrow. Every other kid would have their parents cheering in the stands, but I just had a price list. I emptied the bank onto my bed, coins and crumpled singles scattering across the duvet. I counted it three times. Four hundred eighty dollars and fifty cents. I was nineteen dollars and fifty cents short. According to my mom’s rate sheet, “Outdoor Public Appearances” started at a base fee of five hundred, and that didn’t even cover the “SPF Surcharge.” I grabbed the wad of cash and ran to her room. She was sitting at her vanity, massaging a three-hundred-dollar night cream into her skin. She caught my reflection in the mirror, her gaze cool and detached. “Do you have the full amount?” she asked. I piled the money onto her marble tabletop, standing on my tiptoes. “I’m nineteen-fifty short, Mom… can I do the dishes for a week to make up the difference?” I asked, my palms slick with sweat. She stopped what she was doing. Turning her chair, she looked me up and down with a flicker of disdain. “Lucy,” she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Rules are rules. If I start giving you a discount, I’m devaluing my own brand. Who’s going to maintain my worth if I don’t?” “But… I really want you to be there.” My head dropped, tears stinging the corners of my eyes. “No pay, no play,” she said, turning back to the mirror to continue her routine. “Or, you could always call that father of yours. The one who thinks a monthly wire transfer is a substitute for a personality.” My dad? I saw him maybe twice a year. He was just a notification on a bank app. I gritted my teeth and ran back to my room. I took a hammer to the piggy bank, shattering it completely. A single gold commemorative coin rolled out. My grandfather had given it to me before he died, telling me it was a “rainy day” fund. I grabbed it and sprinted back to her room. “This! This is worth a lot!” I held it out to her. She glanced at it, and her eyes sharpened. She took it from my hand with two fingers, inspecting the edge. “It’s decent. I’ll give you two hundred for it.” She tossed it carelessly into her velvet-lined jewelry box. “So, tomorrow?” I looked at her, my heart hammering with hope. She finished her makeup, stood up, and smoothed out her designer silk dress. She looked down at me with a smirk that felt like a slap. “The appearance fee just went up. The UV index is going to be high tomorrow, so I’m adding a three-hundred-dollar ‘Skin Damage Premium.’ Your little pile of change? That’s barely enough for me to look at you.” She picked up her Birkin, stepped into her stilettos, and walked out without a backward glance. I stood there alone in the middle of the room, listening to the hollow click-clack of her heels fading away. In that moment, something inside me didn’t just break—it shattered. I was alone that night. She was off at some gala, “maintaining her social capital,” as she put it. I was hungry, so I tried to boil some ramen. I turned on the gas stove, but a flame suddenly shot up, igniting the grease-caked vent hood above. The fire spread with terrifying speed. My legs went weak. I ran for the front door, screaming, but it wouldn’t budge. The deadbolt was jammed. Mom had refused to call a locksmith last week because he “quoted her a price that insulted her intelligence.” Smoke began to billow, thick and black, clawing at my throat. I pounded on the door, shrieking for help. I truly thought I was going to die. Then, I heard heavy footsteps outside. It was her! I heard the key fumbling in the lock. “Mom! Help me! Please!” 2 I pressed my face to the crack of the door, gasping. The door finally swung open. A wall of smoke rushed out. My mother stood there, covering her nose and mouth, her eyes wide with terror as she looked at the flames. She saw me on the floor. But then, her gaze shifted past me—to the vanity in the bedroom, where her jewelry box sat glowing in the reflection of the fire. That box held her diamonds, her necklaces, and the gold coin I’d just given her. That box was her “net worth.” I reached out a hand toward her. “Mom…” She looked at me. For one second—a second that felt like an eternity—our eyes met. And then, she ran. She lunged past me, shielding her face as she grabbed the jewelry box. She turned and sprinted back out the door, never once looking back to see if I was following. I collapsed, coughing violently, tears and soot masking my face. I realized then that on her price list, my life didn’t even make the cut. The heat began to sear my ankles. I closed my eyes, waiting for the end. Suddenly, a dark, grimy figure burst through the smoke. It was Rick, the guy who was doing the renovations on the apartment next door. My mom hated him. She said he smelled like “manual labor and failure.” Every time we passed him in the hall, she’d hold her breath and pull me away like he was contagious. But now, this “filthy” man was charging into the furnace with a wet moving blanket over his shoulders. He scooped me up in one motion. His grip was rough and it hurt, but for the first time in my life, I felt safe. I heard the roar of the fire. A ceiling beam cracked and slammed onto his back. He let out a gutteral groan, but his hold on me only tightened. “Don’t let go! Hang on to me!” he roared, his voice raspy from the smoke. He carried me, step by agonizing step, through the inferno. We burst out into the hallway. The moment we were clear, his knees buckled and he fell, but he used his own body to cushion my head. I lay there, drifting in and out of consciousness, looking at his face—masked in soot and ash. I did the only thing I knew how to do. “How much…” I wheezed. “How much do I owe you for saving me? My mom… she took all my money…” Rick froze. He looked down at me, his face contorted with a mix of anger and pity. “You’re worried about money when you almost died?” he barked. “Forget the damn money! Just stay with me, kid. I’m getting you out of here!” In his arms, I finally let out a sob. It hit me then: some things don’t have a price tag. The ambulance arrived. Both Rick and I were rushed to the ER. I had minor burns and smoke inhalation, but Rick was in bad shape. His back was mangled from the beam, and his arms were severely burned. In the emergency room, I saw my mother. She was untouched. Not a hair out of place. She was sitting on a bench, clutching her jewelry box, frantically checking to see if her precious gems had been discolored by the smoke. When she saw the nurses wheeling my gurney out, she finally stood up. Her first words weren’t “Are you okay?” She pointed a finger at Rick and screamed: “What the hell did you do? You got her filthy! Look at her clothes!” She turned her fury on the paramedics. “And he probably ruined my new Persian rug when he went in there. That rug cost five thousand dollars. Can a grease monkey like him even afford the cleaning bill?” I lay on the bed, feeling a chill that went deeper than the hospital AC. Rick struggled to sit up, but a nurse pushed him back down. He looked at my mother with a look of pure, unadulterated disgust. “Lady, your kid is alive. That’s all that matters,” he said, his voice weak but firm. “I’ll pay for your damn rug.” “You won’t pay for anything!” I rolled off the gurney, ignoring the nurses’ protests. I stumbled over to Rick and stood in front of him, facing my mother. “You ran away!” I screamed. “You left me in the fire for a box of rocks! Rick saved me! Don’t you dare talk to him like that!” 3 It was the first time in my eight years of life that I’d ever raised my voice to her. My mother’s face went livid. She stepped forward and her hand flew out—CRACK—a sharp slap across my face. “Lucy! Is that how I raised you?” she hissed. “You ungrateful little brat! Who do you think I do all this for? Without me maintaining our image, you’d be living in a gutter. This man is covered in bacteria. If you catch something from him, do you have any idea how much the medical bills will be?” She sneered at Rick. “Stay away from my daughter. Poverty is a disease, and I won’t have her catching it.” Rick’s fists clenched, his veins bulging under the soot. But he looked at my bruised cheek and forced himself to relax. “Honey, listen to the doctors. Go back to bed,” he said softly. His voice held more tenderness than my mother had shown me in a lifetime. I shook my head, sobbing. I didn’t want this woman to be my mother anymore. I wanted to give everything I had—my money, my life—to this stranger. Suddenly, the heavy double doors of the ER swung open. A man in a tailored suit stormed in. It was Douglas, my “father.” He glanced at my mother’s rage, then at my disheveled state, and finally at Rick. He frowned, pulled a thick roll of hundred-dollar bills from his pocket, and tossed them onto Rick’s chest. “Here’s for the medical bills and the lost wages. Take it and keep your mouth shut. I don’t want this in the tabloids.” The bills scattered over Rick’s lap. Rick didn’t touch them. He just stared at the two of them—the power couple of the year. Then, he started to laugh. It was a dark, jagged sound. “You two,” Rick said, picking up the bills one by one and folding them neatly. “You’re really something else.” He threw the money back, hard, right into Douglas’s face. “Get lost.” Douglas was stunned. I doubt anyone had ever dared to treat him with such contempt. My mother started shrieking: “He assaulted you! Call the police! I want him arrested! I want to sue!” Douglas held her back. He was a businessman; he hated a scene. “Forget it. Why bother with someone of his class? Let’s just go.” He wiped his face with a silk handkerchief and looked at me. “Lucy, if you’re fine, we’re leaving. The house needs a full renovation. We’ll be staying at the Four Seasons.” I looked at him, then at her. They felt like cardboard cutouts. “I’m not going with you,” I said. “What did you say?” Douglas’s brow darkened. “I want to stay with Rick.” I reached out and grabbed Rick’s uninjured hand. It was rough, calloused, and stained with work, but it was warm. It was real. My mother let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “Fine, Lucy. You want to be a martyr? Go ahead. Stay with the handyman. But don’t you dare come crawling back for your allowance. Let’s see how you enjoy eating canned beans in a trailer.” She was certain I’d break. She’d spent years molding me into a pampered princess. But I didn’t let go of his hand. “I don’t care.” Douglas lost his patience. “Enough of this. Get in the car.” He reached out to grab my arm. Rick suddenly sat up, knocking Douglas’s hand away. “The kid said she doesn’t want to go. Are you deaf?” His eyes were fierce. Douglas sneered. “I’m her legal guardian. Who the hell are you? A kidnapper?” “I’m the guy who saved her life!” Rick roared, the effort causing him to wince as his back wound reopened. The tension was suffocating. Just then, a doctor walked in holding a manila folder, his expression unreadable. “Excuse me,” the doctor said, looking at Douglas. “Mr. Henderson, you asked us to run a standard panel including the blood type verification we discussed earlier. The results are back.” Douglas paused. “And?” He glanced at my mother. My mother’s face shifted for a split second, a flicker of panic crossing her features before she smoothed it over. The doctor handed over the report. “Based on the genetic markers… Mr. Henderson, there is a zero percent chance that you are Lucy’s biological father.”

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The moment I walked in on my “frigid” wife being intimate with our home’s AI butler, my world fractured. Nauseated and blinded by betrayal, I dragged the machine to the disposal plant to be incinerated. I didn’t know that Camille Sinclair would lose her mind, racing after the transport truck in a desperate pursuit that ended in a horrific, fatal crash. From that day on, I became the “clutching, jealous widower” of our social circle—the man whose envy had supposedly killed his wife. Five years passed. Five years of waking up in cold sweats, wondering if I had just been less petty about a piece of silicon, she might still be alive. Until today. I was at a private members’ club in Manhattan to close a deal when I passed a VIP suite with the door ajar. Inside, I heard the playful, mocking voice of her best friend: “So, Camille, how much longer are you going to play dead? This whole ‘tragic accident’ ruse has to have an expiration date.” Then came a voice I would know in the depths of hell—cool, poised, and laced with a hint of indulgent laughter. “Until Oliver’s heart is fully healed. If Adrian hadn’t had that psychotic break and sent the butler to the scrap heap, Oliver wouldn’t have had to fake a system short to escape. I wouldn’t have had to stage my own death just to get him out from under Adrian’s thumb.” Her friend clucked her tongue. “I still can’t believe you pulled it off. Having Oliver wear that custom-made synthetic skin, pretending to be a robot right under your husband’s nose for a year… the kink of it all is legendary.” Fake death? Oliver Whitlock? She wasn’t just alive. The “machine” she had fallen for wasn’t a machine at all. It was my best friend. A passing waiter accidentally bumped into me, his tray clattering to the floor. The conversation inside the suite stopped dead. Camille turned toward the sound, her eyes locking directly onto mine. … She looked at me, and for a second, there was no panic. Instead, her body moved instinctively, stepping sideways to shield a man sitting on the sofa. He was wearing an oversized cashmere cardigan, looking pale as he looked up. It was Oliver Whitlock. My best friend. The man who had sobbed until he collapsed in my arms at Camille’s funeral five years ago. My breath hitched. I gripped the doorframe so hard my nails dug into the wood. “You’re alive,” I whispered, my voice trembling like a wire under tension. Camille looked at me with a faint, mocking amusement. “Well, you heard the highlights, didn’t you?” I stared at her face. For five years, this face had been my ghost. I’d seen it on a headstone, in the hollows of my dreams, and in the hallucinations born of severe clinical depression. I hadn’t slept a full night in three years because of her. I had withered away to nothing, a skeletal hundred-and-ten pounds, consumed by the guilt that I had murdered the woman I loved. I stepped forward, my hand swinging through the air in a blur. The slap echoed through the room. Camille’s head snapped to the side. “Are you done?” she asked coldly, her cheek blooming red. “Why?” I choked out. Tears I couldn’t control spilled over, hitting the plush carpet. “Why lie to me? You gave up your entire life, your identity… you stayed dead for five years just for him?” “Because you’re a goddamn lunatic, Adrian.” Camille took a step toward me, her eyes flashing. “Five years ago, you knew Oliver was inside that skin. You sent him to the incinerator anyway. You tried to burn him alive!” I froze. My mind went blank for a heartbeat. “I didn’t know…” I shook my head violently. “I thought it was a machine! How could I have known there was a person inside?” “Liar,” Camille spat. “The foreman at the disposal plant said you specifically told them to crank the heat to the maximum. You were always jealous of Oliver. You saw through the disguise and decided to murder him under the guise of ‘scrapping a droid.’” I hadn’t. Five years ago, I didn’t even know Oliver had returned to the States. I only knew my wife was choosing a silicone-faced butler over her husband. I was disgusted, I was heartbroken, so I got rid of it. Looking at Camille now, I realized the futility of it. She didn’t believe me. To her, I was already a killer. Oliver reached out and caught Camille’s sleeve, his eyes rimmed with red. “Camille, don’t blame Adrian. It was my fault. I was the one who insisted on wearing the skin just to be near you. I couldn’t control my feelings. If he wanted to burn me, maybe I deserved it.” Camille immediately turned to him, her movements tender, almost reverent. “Go back inside, honey. There’s a draft here, and you can’t risk a chill with your condition.” Her voice was a soft caress. Five years ago, when I was coughing up blood from a stress-induced ulcer and called her in the middle of the night, she told me she was too busy and to call an Uber to the ER. That night, while I was being stabilized in a cold hospital room, she was at home watching movies with a “robot.” “Why did you let me grieve?” I whispered. “You watched me cry for you, and for him, every single day. You stayed in the shadows and laughed at me!” “You both make me sick,” I said, the words heavy with bile. Camille’s expression hardened into stone. “Since you’re so clearly alive, I’m calling the police,” I said, pulling out my phone. “Insurance fraud, faking a death certificate—that’s a felony.” Camille didn’t try to stop me. Instead, she sat down on the sofa, crossing her legs with agonizing composure. “Go ahead. Call them. Just be prepared to watch your father die.” ——– The gala was held at the most opulent hotel in Midtown. When I pushed through the double doors, every head turned. I felt the weight of their gaze—the derision, the mockery, the sheer spectacle of my presence. Camille stood in the center of the ballroom in a perfectly tailored black gown. Oliver was draped on her arm, looking like the picture of refined grace. They looked like the perfect couple. “Camille, Adrian is here,” Oliver whispered, tugging at her sleeve. Camille turned. Her eyes raked over me, lingering on the side of my waist where my suit jacket didn’t quite hide the sloppy, hand-stitched repair I’d made to the fabric. A flash of irritation crossed her face. “Get over here,” she signaled with a tilt of her chin. I dragged my leaden feet toward them. The giant screens in the room lit up, displaying wedding photos of Camille and Oliver. They had apparently married abroad years ago. “Thank you all for coming,” Camille said into the microphone, her voice carrying that effortless authority. “I want to clear the air. The accident five years ago was real, but I survived. I spent years recovering in a private clinic overseas.” “As for Mr. Mercer,” she paused, using my full name like a stranger’s. “The trauma of the accident caused him to suffer a severe psychotic break. He developed a delusional obsession, imagining we were still married and harrassing my current husband.” A collective gasp rippled through the room. People looked at me like I was a rabid dog. “So he really is crazy.” “No wonder he’s been a ghost these past few years. How pathetic.” “Camille is a saint for not committing him to an asylum.” I stood there, my nails drawing blood from my palms. I forced myself to stand straight. Oliver took the mic, tears glistening in his eyes. “I don’t blame Adrian. He’s sick. When he tried to put me in that incinerator years ago, it was the illness talking.” The murmurs grew louder, more hostile. “Attempted murder? Why isn’t he in jail?” I looked at Oliver. He was a master of the craft. “If Adrian apologizes to me today, in front of everyone, I’m willing to let the past stay in the past,” Oliver said, his eyes gleaming with the triumph of a predator. Camille leaned in close to me, her voice a low hiss. “Apologize. Now. Or I pull the funding for your father’s heart transplant before the next hour is up.” I closed my eyes. I took a deep breath. Then I bent my body into a ninety-degree bow. “I’m sorry. I was unstable. I am sick.” The crowd jeered. Oliver smiled. He picked up a glass of neat, high-proof bourbon from the table. “Since you’ve apologized, drink this. A peace offering.” He held it out. I stared at the amber liquid. I have a perforated gastric ulcer. Years ago, while trying to secure an investment for Camille’s startup, I drank myself into the ICU. Camille had stayed by my bed for three days then, slapping herself in grief, swearing she would never let a drop of alcohol touch my lips again. I looked up at her now. Her lips were pressed into a thin, indifferent line. “Not going to drink?” Oliver asked, sounding wounded. “Camille, I don’t think he’s actually sorry.” “Drink it,” Camille said coldly. “Drink it, and the wire transfer goes through.” I didn’t hesitate. I took the glass and drained it. The liquid felt like molten lead searing its way down my throat and into my gut. I couldn’t help it. A violent, racking cough tore through me. A spray of bright red blood splattered across my white dress shirt. The crowd gasped. My legs gave out, and I hit the marble floor. Camille’s face flickered for a fraction of a second. She instinctively took a step toward me, her hand reaching out. “Adrian—” “Ah!” Oliver suddenly clutched his chest, crying out in pain. “Camille! My heart… I think I’m coughing blood too…” Camille’s hand froze in mid-air. She spun around, seeing a tiny red smudge on Oliver’s lapel. She didn’t look at me again. She barked orders for someone to carry Oliver out and sprinted after them. “Call an ambulance! Move!” Her voice was filled with a terror she had never once felt for me. I lay on the cold marble, watching her back disappear into the night. Finally, I felt a sense of peace. I woke up on a plastic bench in the hospital corridor. No private room. No bed. Just a thin, discarded coat a kind nurse had draped over me. “You’re awake?” A janitor mopped the floor nearby. “Your wife dropped you at the ER and left. Said she had to be upstairs in Cardiology for a man who was actually dying.” I didn’t say anything. I sat up, clutching my stomach. It burned like an ember. I pulled out my phone. One unread message. [PATIENT RECORD: Robert Mercer. Due to non-payment of medical fees, life support and medication were suspended. Patient went into cardiac failure at 2:14 AM. Pronounced dead. Please contact the morgue.] My hand shook. The phone clattered to the floor. 2:14 AM. That was when I was forced to drink that glass. When I was vomiting blood while everyone laughed. Camille had lied. She didn’t pay. She used my father’s life to break me, then let him die anyway. I felt a chill settle into my bones, but no tears came. I was empty. Loud footsteps echoed from the end of the hall. Camille was marching toward me, flanked by a swarm of reporters and paparazzi with their phones out. “Adrian Mercer! You staged that little performance at the gala to distract me, and then you pushed Oliver in the confusion! You almost killed him!” Camille stood over me, her voice booming for the cameras. “Get on your knees and apologize to him. Now.” The reporters began shouting questions, accusing me of being a monster. I didn’t hear them. I only looked at Camille. “My father is dead. 2:14 AM. You cut the funding, and he died.” Camille’s brow furrowed. “How long are you going to keep up this act? I checked—you haven’t even been to the morgue. You’re using his life as a pathetic shield for your own violence.” Oliver stood behind her, looking frail. “Adrian, please don’t lie about your father’s death. Just admit you were jealous and tried to hurt me. I won’t press charges if you just confess.” The flashes of the cameras were blinding. Everyone was waiting for my confession. I stood up. In one swift motion, I snatched a phone from a reporter who was live-streaming. “Adrian! What do you think you’re—” Camille started, reaching for it. I bolted. I shoved through the fire exit and ran up the stairs. I didn’t stop until I reached the roof. The wind was howling. I walked to the very edge, stepping over the railing onto the narrow concrete ledge. I held the phone up, looking at the screen. The comments were a blur of “psycho,” “killer,” and “jump.” “My name is Adrian Mercer,” I said to the lens, my voice flat. “My wife, Camille Sinclair, is alive. Five years ago, she faked her death to commit insurance fraud and embezzle millions from our joint estate.” The comments paused for a second, then exploded. “Oliver Whitlock is my former best friend. For a year, he lived in my house disguised as an AI butler to carry out an affair with my wife. I am not insane. Last night, Camille blackmailed me with my father’s life. She stopped his treatment at 2:14 AM. He is dead.” The rooftop door was kicked open. “Adrian! Get the hell down from there!” Camille screamed, her voice cracking with fury. I looked back at the camera. “I’m jumping today to prove I’m telling the truth. I ask the authorities to investigate Camille Sinclair for fraud, embezzlement, and the wrongful death of my father.” With a massive thud, Camille burst through the final barrier. She saw me on the edge and froze. “Adrian! Don’t move!” She reached out, her hand actually shaking for the first time. “Come down! I’ll pay for your father! I’ll take you to see him right now!” She was still lying. She was still using a dead man to trick me. I looked at Camille. I didn’t smile. I didn’t cry. I let go of the phone. It tumbled toward the street below. And then, looking her right in the eyes, I leaned back and let gravity take me.

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Seventy-two hours until the next Scourge tide hits. I pushed open the heavy steel doors of the Meta-Testing Lab. Holden was leaning against the peeling paint of the corridor wall. He tossed me half a ration bar. “Let’s go. Debby arrives at the Citadel tonight. I need to be at the gates.” I caught the bar, took a dry bite, and looked at him. “Holden, I actually…” “She’s a new Gifted,” he interrupted, pushing off the wall. “By the way, I haven’t been entirely straight with you.” The casual tone of his voice made my chest tighten. “The only reason I kept you around this long was because your healing abilities were somewhat useful to the Citadel.” The dry ration turned to ash in my mouth. I couldn’t swallow. “What are you talking about?” “Cara, you can’t compare to her. From now on, stop telling people you’re my girlfriend.” He looked at me, his eyes devoid of the warmth that had anchored me for three years. “Debby is a Purifier. Starting today, she is the most vital asset this base has. You’re obsolete.” He reached out, catching my wrist. His thumb brushed my pulse point, a phantom gesture of a dead romance, his tone sickeningly innocent. “If it’s too hard for you to see us together, you can request a transfer out of the Core Sector. It’ll save us both the trouble of awkward run-ins. You won’t have to be sad, and I won’t have to deal with it.” He dropped my hand. “Anyway, what were you trying to say?” I lowered my eyes, staring at my scuffed boots. “Nothing.” In the depths of my heavy canvas pocket, my fingers curled tightly around the crisp edges of my new test results. It didn’t say Healer. It said Purifier. For three months, the entire Citadel had been turning the wasteland upside down for the hope of humanity. And she had been standing right in front of him. 1. At dusk, Holden really did bring Debby home. I stood in the shadows of the second-floor catwalk, watching the armored convoy roll through the reinforced gates. He stepped out first. I watched the man I loved walk around the hood, open the passenger door, and place a protective hand over the roof frame so she wouldn’t bump her head. He used to do that for me. Debby was younger than I expected. She wore her hair in two loose braids, and when she smiled, deep dimples bracketed her mouth. She looked devastatingly untouched by the end of the world. The Citadel’s brass swarmed them. Holden stood at the epicenter of the crowd. He cleared his throat, wrapping a heavy, possessive arm around Debby’s waist. He smiled—a brilliant, triumphant thing. “Debby is a Purifier, and she has graciously chosen to join our ranks. From this moment on, her word is my word. Her orders are absolute.” Purifier. The word sucked the oxygen from the courtyard. A beat of stunned silence was immediately shattered by a collective gasp. It had been three years since the Scourge wiped out the old world. Purifiers were ghosts, myths whispered around oil-drum fires. A Purifier didn’t just heal; they eradicated the Blight from the bloodstream. They could pull the infected back from the brink of mutation. They were the holy grail of every surviving faction on the continent. And now, she was standing in our dirt courtyard. A few of the inner-circle lieutenants, men who prided themselves on knowing which way the wind blew, dropped to their knees. It started a domino effect. Ring by ring, the hardened survivors of the Northern Citadel sank to the ground in reverence. Seeing this, a perfectly calibrated blush crept up Debby’s neck. She rose on her tiptoes, pressing her glossed lips against the pulse of Holden’s throat. “You’re terrible,” she whispered loudly. The courtyard erupted in cheers and wolf-whistles. I stared at the intimate curve of their bodies pressed together. It felt as though a phantom hand had plunged into my ribs and crushed my lungs. I wrenched my gaze away, a wave of pure, unadulterated nausea rising in the back of my throat. Down below, Holden’s eyes swept over the cheering crowd. For a fraction of a second, his gaze flicked up to the second-floor catwalk. He saw me. And with the indifference of a man looking at a smudge on a windowpane, he looked away. It was as if my presence—our shared history—was entirely irrelevant to the space he now occupied. The welcome banquet was held in the Citadel’s Grand Hall. I had planned to stay in my quarters, but Debby had specifically requested my presence. “You must be Cara!” The moment I walked in, Debby waved at me from the head table. Her voice was pitched just high enough, carrying over the hum of the room. Instantly, every pair of eyes in the hall snapped toward me. I had no choice but to walk over. On the table in front of her sat the base’s dwindling supply of hot, freshly cooked food—steaming rice, canned peaches, real meat. In front of my empty chair sat a tin cup of purified water and a single compressed ration block. “Cara, I am so sorry,” Debby said, pouting her lips in a grotesque pantomime of sympathy. “Hot meals are strictly rationed by tier now. With your current rank… this is all you’re allotted. You don’t mind, do you?” When I didn’t answer, she leaned her head against Holden’s broad shoulder, looking up at him through her lashes. “Holden, I’m just following the rules… You’re not mad at me, are you?” Holden chuckled, shaking his head. He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “Never. Whatever you say goes.” Satisfied, Debby giggled and turned her doe eyes back to me. “Oh, right! Holden mentioned you were a Healer?” “A Healer… isn’t that basically just a walking blood bag? That sounds exhausting.” She sighed, feigning profound pity. “But it’s okay. You won’t have to come to the Core Sector anymore. They’re desperately short on Healers out on the Perimeter. You’ll be… somewhat useful out there.” My fingers dug into the edge of the wooden table. Debby peeked over her shoulder at the man beside her. “Right, Holden?” Holden didn’t even hesitate. “Yeah. The Core Sector belongs to you alone.” I remembered, with sickening clarity, the day he had said those exact words to me. It was when the Citadel was first built. He had hammered the wooden sign for the Core Sector onto the door himself, turned around, pulled me flush against his chest, and murmured into my hair, “Cara, this place belongs to you. Only you.” I had held onto that promise like a lifeline. Only now did I realize that the promise was a template. The words remained the same; he just swapped out the girl standing in front of him. “Fine. I’ll pack.” I pushed back from the table, swallowing the battery acid burning in my throat, and turned for the door. “Not going to eat, Cara?” Debby called out, her voice dripping with fake concern. “The food in Sector C is practically sludge. You should really take a bite while you can!” As I pushed through the heavy double doors, I heard her voice shift into a whiny, spoiled drawl. “Holden, does she hate me?” “No. She’s always been cold. Don’t waste your energy on her.” Cold. He could actually say that about me. The audacity of it turned my stomach. The icy night air hit me the second I stepped outside, forcing me to pull my collar up. When I reached the outermost edge of the base, I discovered someone had already moved my meager belongings into a dilapidated supply closet. The bed was a makeshift cot. The blanket was so thin I could see the weave of the fabric through the moonlight. The corners of the room were piled high with rusted scrap metal. The moonlight spilled across the concrete floor, stinging my eyes until they watered. I slid down the rough concrete wall until I hit the floor. Pulling my knees to my chest, I reached into the depths of my pocket and pulled out the crumpled lab report. I stared at it in the dark for a long, long time. Then, carefully, I folded it back up, and shoved it as deep into my pocket as it would go. 2. The next morning, the aggressive pounding on my door startled me awake. Two perimeter guards I didn’t recognize stood outside, tossing a heavily patched, stained hazmat suit at my feet. They looked at me with dead eyes. “Orders from the Purifier. Starting today, you’re assigned to debris clearing in Sector D. All mutant carcasses are your responsibility.” I froze. “Sector D? The toxicity levels there breached the safety threshold weeks ago.” One of the guards nudged the suit with his boot. “The Purifier says Healers have a higher resistance to the Blight than normal folks. Makes you the perfect fit.” I knelt and picked up the heavy, foul-smelling canvas. “Where’s the rest of the protective gear? Masks? Gloves?” “That’s all you get.” The second guard pointed at the suit. His voice softened, just a fraction. “Look, Cara. I wouldn’t cross her if I were you. The whole Citadel dances to her tune now. You—” Before he could finish, his partner grabbed him by the tactical vest and yanked him away. As they walked off, I heard the partner hiss, “Why are you talking to her? You want the Purifier to hear about this and throw us out there with her?” The whisper was quiet, but it rang in my ears like a gunshot. Sector D was the absolute fringe of the Citadel, a wasteland of shattered concrete and twisted rebar. It was the most heavily contaminated zone we had. The carcasses of the Scourge were scattered everywhere. The air was thick with a putrid stench—a sickening cocktail of rotting meat and rusted iron that made me dry heave the moment I arrived. I had no gloves. No respirator. The side seam of the hazmat suit tore open the first time I bent over. Within an hour, the jagged edges of the infected debris had sliced my hands open in half a dozen places. The blood welled up, immediately mixing with the toxic gray ash covering the bones, making the cuts burn and itch with a fiery intensity. I stopped, chest heaving, and looked around the desolate landscape. When I was in the Core Sector, whenever I used my energy to heal a scout, they would look at me with weary gratitude. Thanks for keeping us alive, Cara. Someone would always save me a bowl of hot soup. Someone would always take over my shift when I looked like I was about to pass out. Now, there was nothing. The same scouts walked past the perimeter wire today, but when they saw me, they ducked their heads and quickened their pace. Suddenly, my foot slipped on a patch of slick ash. My hand shot out to catch myself, and a jagged shard of infected bone drove straight into my palm. Blood sprayed. I sucked in a sharp, ragged breath, falling to my knees in the dirt. My fingers trembling, I ripped a strip of fabric from the torn sleeve of the suit, wound it tightly around my palm, and bit down on the end to pull the knot tight, cutting off the circulation. Crouched behind a pile of rotting debris, my mind drifted back to the first year of the collapse. I had been running from three mutated hounds. I had lost my shoes miles back, and the soles of my feet were shredded by broken glass, leaving a trail of bloody footprints. I had backed myself into a corner, curled into a ball, shaking violently. I was so sure I was going to die. And then Holden dropped from the sky. His blade cleaved cleanly through the skull of the lead hound. Black blood splattered across his jaw. He didn’t even wipe it off. He just rushed over, dropping to his knees in front of me. “Where are you hurt?” “Don’t be afraid. You’re radiating meta-energy. Stay with me. I will never let anyone hurt you.” He was so fiercely sincere back then. I believed him. I turned down the recruitment offers from three other major factions just to stay by his side. By the time the sun began to dip below the horizon, I shoved the final cart of contaminated debris into the incinerator pit. My legs shook uncontrollably as I dragged myself back toward the residential ring. In the distance, the main compound glowed with warm, buttery light. As I walked past the Grand Hall, silhouettes danced against the frosted glass. Laughter bled through the walls. Tonight was day two of Debby’s welcome festival. Holden was throwing her a private banquet. “I want you to feed it to me.” “Alright. Open up.” Holden’s voice, a low rumble I used to feel against my spine in the dark. “Is it sweet?” “So sweet.” “Are you talking about the fruit, or me?” “You’re awful~” Then, the unmistakable, sickening sound of shifting fabrics and wet kisses. I didn’t stop to listen to the rest. I pulled my collar up and vanished into the freezing dark. The laughter chased me down the dirt road. It felt like I was running through a field of arrows, and every single one had my name on it. 3. Day three in Sector D was colder. The crude bandages on my hands were soaked through. The old scabs had split open, accompanied by a fresh layer of raw cuts. I was hunched over, trying to tighten the bloody strip of fabric with my teeth, when a sickly-sweet voice floated over the toxic wind. “Cara?” Debby stood a few feet away, bundled in a pristine, white down coat that looked entirely out of place in the apocalypse. “Oh my god. Why are you out here doing this kind of grunt work?” Before I could answer, she practically skipped over the debris and crouched in front of me. When she saw the ruined state of my hands, she let out a dramatic gasp. “Holden is just too much sometimes. How could he leave you out here all alone?” She knitted her perfectly plucked brows together, reached out, and pressed her gloved hands directly over my bleeding palm. “Let me heal you. Don’t move.” I didn’t have the strength to pull away before a surge of meta-energy rushed from her palms into my veins. Instantly, my entire body went rigid. That energy… it was completely alien to my own. This wasn’t purification. I could feel it with absolute clarity. The energy was thick, sluggish. It was merely suppressing the pain receptors and forcing the skin to stitch itself together. But the Blight—the toxic source—was still festering underneath. It was the equivalent of slapping duct tape over a bullet hole. It looked pretty on the outside, but underneath, the poison was multiplying. “Cara, Holden told me about you,” Debby murmured. Seeing my frozen expression, the corner of her mouth ticked up into a nasty, triumphant little smirk. “He said you were so easy to manipulate.” She paused, tilting her head as if considering her words. “Sorry. I’m just a really blunt person. Don’t take it personally.” “I won’t,” I said, my voice dead flat. She stood up, daintily brushing a speck of gray ash from her designer coat. She looked down at me, her eyes cold. “But you really can’t blame Holden. It’s the end of the world. Everyone has to look out for themselves. He couldn’t drag dead weight around forever, right?” “Right,” I muttered, my mind racing a million miles an hour. Debby beamed, pleased with my submission. But her smile vanished the second I opened my mouth again. “Are you really a Purifier?” I locked eyes with her, refusing to blink. “I felt your energy.” “What you just put in my body isn’t a purification reaction. It’s a temporary suppressant. The Blight is still inside me.” Her breath hitched. She took a quick step back. “Cara, you’re just a low-tier Healer. What do you know about purification mechanics?” “I know enough,” I said, slowly rising to my feet. “And I definitely know more than you.” I reached out and grabbed her wrist—the one dripping with silver bracelets she’d likely looted from the Core’s vault. Just then, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a familiar broad-shouldered silhouette striding toward us through the fog. In a split second, Debby’s entire demeanor violently shifted. She recoiled as if she’d been burned, her eyes instantly welling with fat, desperate tears. “Cara, please don’t do this…” The tears spilled over flawlessly. “I know you hate me, but the Citadel needs me! If you hurt me, you’ll doom everyone…” I blinked, momentarily stunned by the sheer cinematic quality of her pivot. Before I could even process it, the heavy crunch of combat boots slammed into the gravel behind me. “Cara!” And then came the deafening crack of a palm striking bone.

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On the bus home, I suddenly got a message from a Q&A app. “My younger daughter graduated college seven years ago and is still freeloading at home. Should I kick her out?” I tapped on the app, and the comments section exploded. The poster continued to complain. “My younger daughter is 28, has no job, is lazy and stupid. She drives me crazy every single day. How can I force her to leave?” “My older daughter, Sarah, is so successful. When I had my stroke, she got me the best doctors. My younger daughter is useless! I birthed them both, how can they be so different?!” “Sarah’s family is coming home for the holidays, and there’s no room. I’ve already packed my younger daughter’s bags. I hope she gets the hint.” I sighed silently to myself. Good thing my mom, who had a stroke, isn’t like that. Good thing I can make money from home, so I’m not freeloading. The bus announcement sounded, and I got off, carrying my bags. As soon as I got home, I saw suitcases neatly stacked by the entrance. And Sarah’s family sitting on the couch.

The suitcases by the door looked familiar, but I didn’t think much of it. “Sarah, you’re back.” I hadn’t expected Sarah’s family to return so early. After greeting them, I headed toward my room. But Sarah suddenly spoke. “What are you doing?” Her voice was tense, and I stopped. “Just tidying up my room. Usually, when you guys visit, I sleep on the balcony, and you take the bedroom, right?” We only had two bedrooms. Mom and Dad always had one, and Sarah had the other. I always had to make a small bed on the balcony. It wasn’t until Sarah got married and moved out that I temporarily got to use the bedroom. But whenever Sarah came back, I still had to sleep on the balcony. “Chloe, no… no need.” Sarah refused, a hint of guilt in her voice. I assumed Mom had already prepared the room, so I didn’t insist. Turning around, I handed the toy I’d bought to my nephew. “Leo, look, Aunt Chloe bought you a toy!” But the next second, five-year-old Leo threw the toy on the floor. “No! Aunt Chloe is a freeloader, a parasite! I don’t want anything you buy!” My hand froze in mid-air. Instantly, the air in the living room froze. After a few seconds, Sarah chuckled lightly. “Chloe, kids say the darndest things, don’t take it to heart.” Seeing my expression still stiff, Sarah pretended to be angry and lightly slapped Leo’s bottom. “Leo, apologize to Aunt Chloe right now.” Leo immediately burst into tears. Mom, who always doted on her grandson, immediately looked displeased. “Apologize for what? Leo’s not wrong. Your sister just sits at home doing nothing all day, what else would you call it but freeloading?!” My heart was pierced, and I instinctively replied. “Mom, when have I ever freeloaded? I told you, I make money online from editing!” Mom, comforting Leo, grumbled at me. “You call that a job?! I’ve never seen you contribute a single penny to the household, and I still have to support you with my pension. What else would you call it but freeloading?!” Mom’s monthly rehab costs were around $8,000, our living expenses were $1,500, plus other costs, totaling almost $10,000 a month. I took on jobs day and night, but the money I earned each month was barely enough to cover expenses. There was never any extra to give her. It wasn’t until last month, when Mom fully recovered, that I finally had a little savings. A wave of injustice washed over me. “Mom, your pension is $2,000. You give Sarah $1,200 a month and me $300. Do you really think our mother-daughter living expenses are covered by just $300?” Hearing this, Mom impatiently cut me off. “Sarah has a tough life in the city, what’s wrong with me helping her out financially? If you’re so capable, go get a job in the city too.” “And you’re complaining about $300? I think you’re just after my pension!” I never imagined that seven years of meticulous care would, in Mom’s eyes, become a calculated move. My heart turned cold inch by inch, watching her in disbelief. “Mom, have you forgotten? I was working in New York, and I was about to get a promotion and a raise. You had a stroke and pleaded with me to come back.” “I hired caregivers for you, but you drove three of them away, insisting I had to come back…” Mom coldly interrupted me. “Enough, Chloe. I was just sick and needed you to take care of me for a bit. Do you really need to keep bringing it up?!” That “bit” Mom mentioned? It was the most precious seven years of my life. A bitter ache spread through my heart. “Besides, isn’t it normal for children to care for their parents? Why else would I have raised you?!” My eyes welled up, looking at her, unwilling to give in. “If that’s the case, why didn’t you let Sarah come back to care for you then? Why did you even make me keep it a secret from her?” When Mom had her stroke, she was partially paralyzed and hospitalized for six full months. Every morning, I’d help Mom with her daily routine – washing, eating, sponge baths, changing clothes, medication, turning her over, and physical therapy… In the scorching summer, to prevent bedsores, I’d get up seven or eight times every night to turn her. Finally, I collapsed from exhaustion and had to call Sarah, only to be met with Mom’s grumbling. “Sarah is busy with work, why are you bothering her? You’re so inconsiderate!” … Now, faced with my distress, Mom’s eyes held only disdain. “How dare you compare yourself to Sarah? Why don’t you compare who’s more successful?” “Besides, when Sarah found out, didn’t she immediately arrange for me to go to the best rehab hospital and have specialists consult on my case? How else could I have recovered so well?” “With your clumsy hands, who knows how long I would have been stuck in bed?!” As soon as she finished speaking, Sarah’s eyes darted away, a flicker of guilt crossing her face.

My heart gradually cooled, and I just stared intently at Sarah. “Was it you who arranged it, Sarah?” I had booked that specialist at the rehab hospital three months in advance. I even paid an extra $300 to a fixer to rush the appointment. But I never told Mom any of this. “Sarah, Mom’s monthly $8,000 rehab fees, you didn’t pay those either, did you?” I stared at Sarah. “If not Sarah, then who? You?” Before she could answer, Mom interrupted again. Sarah managed a stiff smile. “Chloe, these are… minor things, not worth… mentioning.” Hearing this, Mom again looked at me with displeasure. “Chloe, can’t you learn from your sister? You only took care of me for a few years, put in some effort, and you keep bringing it up all the time.” “Your sister contributed both money and effort, and she doesn’t complain at all. If I’d known you were so useless, I wouldn’t have bothered giving birth to you!” Finally, my last shred of reason was shattered. I rushed back to my room, intending to retrieve all the medical bills and payment records from the past seven years to prove my capabilities. But the moment I pushed open the door, I froze. All my things were gone from the room. I stood stunned for two seconds, then turned to Mom’s room. My things weren’t there either. I slowly backed out, my gaze falling on the suitcases by the entrance. Suddenly, I remembered the post I’d seen on the bus. Those weren’t Sarah’s bags for coming home. They were Mom’s signal to kick me out. I felt like plunging into an ice pit, unable to snap out of it for a long time. Until Mom’s calm voice rang out. “Sarah’s family is back, there’s no room. You should move out for now.” “It’s good, you need to learn to be independent. I don’t want to always have a daughter freeloading.” Seeing I still hadn’t reacted, Sarah spoke again. “Chloe, David and I are planning to start a business back home. You’ve taken care of Mom for so long, you can trust us to take over now.” “Don’t worry, we’re still family. You have to come home for Christmas dinner, okay?” Hearing this, Mom disagreed. “Forget it, Chloe. This year, I don’t want relatives gossiping about me because of you again.” “Just let us have a peaceful holiday as a family.” So they were the family, and I was just an outsider. So Mom always thought I was an embarrassment. I gave a mocking laugh, utterly heartbroken. “Fine, I’ll go.” Hearing this, both of them visibly relaxed. “But from now on, Mom and I have nothing to do with each other.” Sarah froze, her voice trembling. “Chloe, what… what do you mean?” I twitched my lips. “Since Mom thinks having me as a daughter is such an embarrassment, then let’s just pretend she never gave birth to me.” As soon as I finished speaking, Mom shot up from the couch. “Chloe, you… you… what do you mean? Are you disowning me?!” I looked at her coldly. “Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted?” Mom was furious. “Good! I wish I never had a daughter like you!” “From this day forward, I have nothing to do with you ever again!” I said nothing, just dragged my suitcase out the door. Downstairs, Sarah ran after me, breathless.

“Chloe, don’t blame Mom. She just wanted to push you a little. How could you really cut ties with her?” “You’re old enough now, you should find a job. Staying home all the time isn’t right.” Listening to Sarah’s seemingly caring words, I gave a cold laugh. “Sarah, when I quit my job to care for Mom, didn’t you praise me for being so devoted?” “After Mom was out of danger, I suggested hiring a caregiver and splitting the costs between us sisters. Didn’t you say a hired caregiver wouldn’t be as devoted as her own daughter? Didn’t you tell me not to work and to keep taking care of Mom?” Sarah’s face stiffened, her lips trembling for a long time, unable to utter a single word. “Seven years, a full seven years. When Mom was bedridden and unable to care for herself, did you ever feed her a single meal, or empty her bedpan even once?” “You graduated from a prestigious university, worked for an international company, earning hundreds of thousands, but you wouldn’t even pay Mom’s monthly $4,000 rehab fees. What right do you have to accuse me?” Sarah’s face flushed crimson. “I… I have… my own family, you know.” I gave a cold laugh. “So, you can righteously abandon your sick mother, yet claim all the credit for yourself?” Sarah’s face turned beet red. I continued. “Sarah, more than Mom’s blatant favoritism, I despise your hypocrisy!” “But since you want to play the devoted daughter, then play it well. Don’t let anyone see through your hypocritical facade!” With that, I dragged my suitcase away. The moment I turned, tears I had suppressed for so long spilled out. The biting wind felt like knives against my skin, but it couldn’t compare to the pain in my heart. Just then, my phone buzzed. That post from earlier had been updated. Every word oozed with the poster’s happiness. “Alright, I’ve kicked my younger daughter out. This year, we can finally have a joyful holiday!” I tapped on the poster’s profile. The background image was a picture of my nephew’s back. I silently wiped away my tears and took my suitcase to a nearby convenience store. I picked up a cup of instant noodles and a hot dog. After checking out, I quietly calculated my account balance. After buying holiday essentials, I only had $3,000 left. I needed to find a job and start before the holidays, otherwise, in another week, all companies would be on break. I pulled out my phone and called Lily, my best friend. “Lily, you said your company was looking for an editor, could I try?” “Chloe, you finally came to your senses?! You wouldn’t believe how impressed my boss was with your previous edits.” “But, it’s almost the holidays, why are you suddenly looking for a job? Aren’t you always worried about your mom?” Lily asked hesitantly. A faint ache throbbed in my heart. I swallowed all my emotions and slowly spoke. “My mom kicked me out.” After a few seconds, Lily’s indignant voice came from the other end. “What?! Chloe, how could your mom do that to you?!” I managed a bitter smile. “She said I was freeloading at home all day with no job, and she couldn’t hold her head up in front of others. Plus, Sarah’s family was coming home for the holidays, and there was no room, so she kicked me out.” “‘Freeloading’? You edit videos day and night, earning two or three thousand a month, and she calls that freeloading? What if Sarah’s successful? From the moment Mom got sick until now, she hasn’t contributed a single penny or a single bit of effort!” “If it weren’t for you, paying and putting in all the work to care for her, how could Mom’s stroke recovery have been so good?!” Lily grew angrier as she spoke. “Chloe, why didn’t you explain? You did all the work, how did the credit go to Sarah?! Your mom is too biased!” I took a deep breath, calming the indignation in my heart. “It’s no use. She wouldn’t believe me.” “Forget it, we have nothing to do with each other anyway. Now I can pursue my own life without any strings attached.” There was a moment of silence on the other end, then a sigh. “You’re such a fool. So, when are you coming to New York?” I thought for a few seconds. “Give me a day to get some good sleep. I’ll be in New York the day after tomorrow.” After chatting with Lily for a bit, I hung up. Immediately after, I booked a plane ticket. Just then, messages popped up in the family group chat. Mom had posted a picture of herself eating seafood. “My older daughter is so good, she takes me out for lavish meals as soon as she’s back.” Immediately, relatives in the group chat chimed in. “Sarah is so successful, well-educated, and has a great job! She’s truly the pride of our family!” “Exactly, Eleanor, you’re so lucky! To have such a wonderful daughter!” “I always tell my granddaughter to learn from Sarah, not Chloe…” The relative’s words trailed off. I knew that because my education wasn’t impressive and I didn’t have a “proper” job, relatives had always looked down on me. “That’s right, don’t learn from Chloe, freeloading at home at her age.” “And always going on about not getting married or having kids, she should look at herself, what right she has to be so picky. She’s an embarrassment to me, but thankfully, from now on, I only have Sarah as a daughter! I won’t have to feel ashamed because of her anymore!” Mom finished the relative’s unspoken words. Her tone was full of disdain. I said nothing, just quietly left the group chat.

I ate my instant noodles completely, not even leaving a drop of broth. After eating, I found a motel, checked into a room, and took a hot shower. Before getting into bed, I turned off all the alarms on my phone. 6:30 AM: Prep breakfast for Mom; 7:00 AM: Give Mom her medicine; 8:00 AM: Take Mom to physical therapy; 10:00 AM: Cook lunch; … 8:00 PM: Massage Mom; 10:00 PM: Help Mom with her nighttime routine… For seven years, my life was filled with alarm bells. Now, I could finally get some proper sleep. After doing all this, I turned off my phone, snuggled under the covers, and comfortably drifted off to sleep. I woke up a full day and night later. I packed my luggage and headed to the airport. While waiting for my flight at the airport, I idly scrolled through my SnapChat feed. I happened to see Sarah’s latest post. “Today, I personally cooked all of Mom’s favorite dishes.” The dining table was incredibly lavish: pot roast, creamy mashed potatoes, fried chicken, bacon, a rich lasagna… Mom’s bowl was piled high with rich, high-fat, high-sodium foods. My brow furrowed. After Mom’s stroke, the doctor specifically warned her to eat less high-fat, high-sodium foods to prevent another stroke. I instinctively left a comment, “Seniors should eat lighter.” Three seconds later, Sarah replied with a crying emoji. Immediately after, Mom’s voice message came through. I tapped it open, and a harsh, shrill voice filled my ears. “Chloe, who told you to criticize your sister?! Are you jealous of me living well, is that it?!” “When I was with you, I ate bland food every day. Sarah came back and felt sorry for me, giving me good nutrition. What’s wrong with that?” “You’re such a killjoy! Besides, we’ve cut ties, why are you still bothering with me?!” I took a deep breath, about to type an explanation. But the next second, a red exclamation mark appeared after my message. It was glaring. Mom had blocked me. I scoffed at my own foolishness. Just then, the boarding announcement sounded. I grabbed my bag, passed through security, and from that moment on, I had no connection to that city anymore. A few hours later, I arrived in New York. Lily came to pick me up and took me straight to the company. After the interview, I signed the contract on the spot. I immediately breathed a sigh of relief. “Chloe, you can stay at my place first. Once your probation period is over, you can move out.” After leaving the company, Lily spoke directly. I was about to politely decline, but she pulled me into her car. “It’s fine, Chloe. I also started out struggling in the big city.” With that one sentence, I knew she understood my predicament. I no longer hesitated, but that day, I sent her a $1,500 e-red envelope via PayPal. After that, I completely said goodbye to my past, throwing myself into work, even applying for overtime during the holidays. Soon, the holiday break began, and I was the only one left in the office. My SnapChat feed was filled with photos of family reunions. Only I went to and from work, and ate, alone every day. Though it was a bit lonely, my heart was incredibly peaceful. Eight days later, the company reopened. Lily often took me out to dinner with her friends, and my life gradually became more lively. Just as I thought my life would continue this way, the day after Valentine’s Day, I received a call from Sarah. Her voice on the other end was frantic. “Chloe, it’s terrible! Mom had another stroke and is in critical condition, hurry back!”

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On my wedding day, I was assaulted by my fiancé’s best friend. Afterward, everyone advised me to just let it go. “They’ve been inseparable since childhood with your husband. If you make a fuss, how can you expect him to choose a side?” “Besides, if people find out, what about your reputation?” I didn’t listen to a word. I took them straight to court. On the day of the hearing, however, Ryan tore open their shirt in front of everyone. “Stella, we’re both women.” “Why don’t you tell the judge how I, a woman, could possibly assault you?” I stared at their flat chest, my mind blank. But that day, they clearly had a *tool* for the crime, didn’t they? The courtroom was silent for three seconds. Then it erupted. “A woman?” “So it’s a false accusation?” “I knew it was impossible…” Ryan stood in the defendant’s box, shirt open, their chest binder creating red marks, chest as flat as a board. They didn’t cover up. They even turned sideways, letting Judge Hayes see more clearly. “Judge, Liam and I grew up together. To him, I was always just like a brother.” Ryan forced a smile. “Stella drank too much on her wedding day and insisted on talking to me.” “I helped her to the lounge to lie down, and I was out of there in less than two minutes.” “I don’t know why she’s falsely accusing me.” As they spoke, their eyes welled up slightly. “Perhaps it’s because… Liam is too good to me?” The gallery stirred again. “So this whole thing is about jealousy?” “That’s just too crazy, they’re a woman!” “Some women just can’t stand their husbands being nice to other people…” Judge Hayes rapped the gavel. “Silence.” He looked at me, his gaze complex. “Plaintiff, do you have any response to the defendant’s statements?” What did I have to respond to? I opened my mouth. The scene from that day flooded back. The door locked. I was pressed onto the sofa, my head spinning, figures blurred before my eyes. “You’re so fair, Stella.” It was Ryan’s voice. I felt their hand, their weight, and that *thing*. Cold, hard, pushing inside. I couldn’t be mistaken. “That day…” I clenched my fist. “You had *a device*.” Ryan paused, then burst out laughing. “What *device*? I’m a woman, what would I use…?” They didn’t finish. But everyone understood. Someone chuckled. “Plaintiff, please provide evidence,” Judge Hayes frowned. Evidence. I had the hospital report, which indeed showed signs of intrusion. But the report stated that no traces of semen were detected. At the time, I didn’t think much of it. I thought Ryan had taken precautions. Now I understood. That *thing* wasn’t a biological organ to begin with. “I…” “Judge.” Mr. Davison, Ryan’s lawyer, stood up, cutting me off. “The defendant is female and does not possess the physical means for such an act. If the plaintiff cannot provide evidence, this itself constitutes a false accusation.” “We reserve the right to counter-sue.” Counter-sue. Malicious prosecution. I was now the accuser of a false accusation. “Plaintiff?” Judge Hayes’s voice came. “Do you have anything else to say?” Everyone was looking at me. Ryan was looking at me too. They were too calm. Not like a victim of false accusation. More like they were watching me make a fool of myself. I took a deep breath. “Judge, I request a recess.” “I need to gather additional evidence.” As soon as I spoke, someone in the gallery stood up. It was Liam. “Judge, may I say a few words?” Judge Hayes glanced at him. “And you are?” “The plaintiff’s husband.” He paused. “And also the defendant’s best friend since childhood.” The courtroom fell silent.

Liam stood there, looking at me across the aisle, his brows deeply furrowed. “Stella, Ryan is a girl; I’ve always kept this from you.” “I was just afraid you’d misunderstand.” He sighed, his tone like he was coaxing a child. “If you’re jealous, take it out on me at home, whatever you want.” “But you sued them.” “Today, they publicly unbuttoned their shirt in front of everyone, just to prove their innocence.” He paused, his voice dropping low. “How can they ever show their face in public again?” Someone in the gallery chimed in. “This is really too much. Couldn’t she have talked it out? Why go to court?” “A young woman like that, how will they ever marry now?” “Liam isn’t having it easy either, wife on one side, best friend on the other, how can you expect him to choose?” He seemed not to hear those words. He just looked at me, his gaze full of weariness. “Stella, I don’t blame you.” “But you owe Ryan an explanation.” “Apologize, and we can put this behind us, okay?” His tone was so gentle. So gentle that it made me feel like I was the unreasonable one. But then I remembered. That night, when I was pinned to the sofa, desperately screaming for help. There were footsteps outside the door. They paused. Then walked away. I had always thought it was someone unrelated. Now, looking at Liam’s face. I suddenly remembered the rhythm of those footsteps. It was very familiar. I didn’t answer him. I stared at him. “Liam.” “That night, you passed by the lounge door, didn’t you?” Liam’s expression froze for a moment. “Stella, what are you talking about?” He frowned, his tone confused. “That day at the wedding, I was busy greeting guests in the main hall the whole time. How could I have been near the lounge?” “Are you… mistaken?” He said it so smoothly. So smoothly, it was like he had rehearsed it. “I’m not mistaken.” I stared straight at him. “Your footsteps, I wouldn’t mistake them.” Liam was silent for two seconds. Then he sighed, turning to Judge Hayes. “Judge, may I say a few words?” “Regarding my wife’s… condition.” Judge Hayes nodded. Liam paused, as if choosing his words carefully. “Stella… she’s been under a lot of stress these past six months.” “She started having insomnia before the wedding, and her emotions haven’t been very stable.” He looked at me, his eyes full of concern. “I didn’t want to say anything, for fear of hurting her pride.” “But in her current state…” “I’m afraid something serious might happen to her.” I was stunned. “Last October, I took her to see a doctor.” Liam pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. “This is the diagnosis from that time.” He handed it to Judge Hayes. “The doctor said she has an anxiety disorder, and…” He lowered his voice, but just enough for those nearby to hear. “…a tendency toward paranoid personality traits, prone to delusions.” The gallery instantly erupted. “I knew it, how could a normal person sue a woman…?” “No wonder Liam’s been protecting her; he was afraid she’d have an episode.” “A mental illness, that makes sense then.” I felt cold all over. “I don’t!” I violently pulled away from his hand as he tried to steady me. “Liam, what are you talking about? I never saw any doctor!” Liam didn’t get angry. He just sighed, his gaze growing even gentler. Judge Hayes took the paper and glanced at it. His brows furrowed. I snatched it. Black and white. “Anxiety disorder with paranoid personality traits, medication and psychological counseling recommended.” The signature was from St. Jude’s Medical Center, the most reputable mental hospital in this city. I stared at the paper. My mind buzzed. October 12th last year… I had indeed gone to St. Jude’s Medical Center that day. But not for a psychiatric visit. It was to accompany my dad for his pre-op checkup, and I had a routine physical myself. I had never seen a psychiatrist. This diagnosis was fake. But how could I prove it?

“Judge.” Liam’s voice sounded again, interrupting my thoughts. “I’ve kept my wife’s condition a secret from outsiders, including her own parents.” “I thought if I just took good care of her, she would slowly get better.” He looked up, his Adam’s apple bobbed. “I never expected something like this to happen on our wedding day.” “She might have been under too much pressure, drank alcohol, stopped her medication, and so…” He paused, as if it was difficult to say. “So she had hallucinations.” “Her memory of Ryan helping her to the lounge was twisted in her mind into… another version.” The gallery again buzzed with whispers. Liam took a deep breath, looking at Judge Hayes. “Judge, I’m not here to accuse my wife.” “I just want to take her home, to get proper treatment.” “This lawsuit… can it please end here?” “Please, don’t provoke her any further.” As he spoke, his eyes were red. Only I knew how fake those tears were. Judge Hayes was silent for a few seconds. He looked at me, his gaze complex. “Plaintiff, do you have anything else to say?” I opened my mouth. My throat felt like it was clogged with something. Say what? Say this diagnosis was fake? But it had the hospital’s official stamp and a doctor’s signature. And I had indeed been to that hospital that day. I was speechless. “This case is adjourned.” Judge Hayes rapped the gavel. “The plaintiff must provide additional evidence within seven days, otherwise, it will be considered a withdrawal of the lawsuit.” “Also, given the plaintiff’s questionable mental state…” He glanced at Liam. “It is recommended that family members take her for a medical re-examination as soon as possible and provide a formal mental health assessment report.” Liam immediately nodded, his face full of gratitude. “Thank you, Judge. I’ll take her tomorrow.” He turned and walked toward me, extending his hand. “Stella, let’s go home.” I stared at his hand. On our wedding day, this was the hand that held mine as we exchanged rings. Amidst everyone’s blessings, he kissed my forehead and said, “Stella, I’ll protect you for the rest of my life.” Now, this hand was going to send me to a mental hospital. I stepped back. “Don’t touch me.” Liam’s smile faded for a moment. But he quickly put on his gentle expression again, walking over and grabbing my arm. The grip wasn’t strong, but I couldn’t break free. “Stella, listen to me.” He leaned close to my ear, his voice very low, so only I could hear. “You know how much I love you.” “But in your current state, I have no choice but to send you for treatment.” He sighed, as if genuinely helpless. “Once you’re better, we’ll have another wedding, okay?” I froze. He straightened up, his face once again displaying that deeply affectionate look. “Come on, let’s go home.” I was pulled by him toward the exit. Passing the defendant’s box, Ryan was still standing there. They looked at me, a slight upward curve to their lips. “Stella, take care.” They spoke, their voice very soft, only I could hear. “Next time you want to sue me, remember to get your illness treated first.” That night, I was trending online. #BrideAccusesFemaleOfSexualAssaultAndIsRevealedToHaveMentalIllness# The comment section was full of people cursing me. I turned off my phone, lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. Every detail from the courtroom replayed in my mind. Mental illness. Delusions. False accusation. They had everything planned. Even if I screamed it from the rooftops, no one would believe me. The next morning, I went to the hospital to retrieve records. But when I searched, that record was gone. I sat in my car, gripping the steering wheel. Liam could make hospital system records disappear. How far did his influence stretch?

I suddenly remembered something. Last year’s corporate physical examination. It was jointly organized by Sterling Corp. and Brightwood Corp., and Ryan had also participated. The report should still be there. No matter how powerful Liam was, he couldn’t have anticipated that I would check that report. I immediately called Sterling Corp.’s administrative department. “Please retrieve a copy of last year’s corporate physical examination records for me, specifically Ryan’s. Send it over.” Ten minutes later, I received the scanned document. I screenshotted that report and sent it to a doctor friend. “Can you take a look at these results for me? Is there… anything unusual about this person’s condition?” Five minutes later, my phone buzzed. I opened my friend’s reply. I stared at the screen for a long time. Then, I smiled. So that was it. No wonder Ryan dared to unbutton their shirt in court. From the very beginning, they were certain there would be no evidence. I leaned back in my chair, closing my eyes. I couldn’t reveal it directly. If I did now, they would accuse me of slander. I had to make them confess in front of everyone. I picked up my phone and dialed Liam’s number. “I’ve thought it through.” I made my voice sound tired and submissive. “You’re right. Maybe I really was overthinking things.” There was a two-second silence on the other end of the phone. “You… you’ve really thought it through?” “Yes.” I took a deep breath. “I want to hold a press conference to clarify everything.” “This incident has caused such a stir; I need to give an explanation.” Liam clearly breathed a sigh of relief. “Stella, you’re finally being sensible. I’ll have the PR department arrange it immediately.” “How about tomorrow afternoon?” “No problem.” The press conference was scheduled for the ballroom of a five-star hotel. Liam’s PR team was highly efficient, notifying all mainstream media outlets within a day. An hour before the press conference, Liam held my hand. “Stella, just read from the script later, don’t improvise.” He handed me an apology draft. I took it, glancing over the contents. “I understand.” I nodded obediently. Liam smiled in satisfaction, kissing my forehead. “Good girl. After this, we’ll finally live our lives together.” Ryan also came. This time, they wore a white dress, sitting in the front row, looking gentle and harmless. Seeing me, they smiled, their eyes full of triumph. I walked onto the stage, facing dozens of media cameras. I took a deep breath, picking up the microphone. “Good afternoon, media friends.” “Today, I’ve called this press conference to clarify the events of the past few days.” The hall fell silent. All cameras focused on me. “First, I want to thank everyone for your concern.” “During this time, there’s been a lot of discussion online. Some say I made a false accusation, others say I have a mental illness.” I paused. “These words have indeed caused me great pain.” I glanced at the script in my hand. “I want to say I’m sorry to Ryan.” The reporters in the audience began to whisper. “She’s really apologizing?” “Looks like it really was her fault…” The smile on Ryan’s face was now undisguised. Liam also relaxed, leaning back in his chair. “On our wedding day, I did drink too much.” I continued, “My memory might have been skewed…” “So…” I took a deep breath. “So today, I want to clarify the truth in front of everyone.” Liam’s expression changed. I put down the script in my hand. “But before that, I want to ask Ryan a question.” The ballroom was eerily quiet. Ryan’s smile froze. “Stella…” Liam stood up. I ignored him, walking off the stage, step by step toward Ryan. I stopped in front of them. Looking into their eyes. “Ryan.” “In court, you tore open your shirt, and your chest was indeed female; I don’t deny that.” I paused. The entire room held its breath. “But…” I leaned close to them, lowering my voice. “What about your lower body?”

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I was a child from a single-parent home. Mom always said I was her hope, bought at the cost of half her life. To pay for my ridiculously expensive prep courses, she worked three jobs a day. Her hands were raw and cracked, she wouldn’t even splurge on a pair of socks for herself. Our walls were plastered with ‘Straight A’s or Else!’ posters, making the whole place feel like a prison. I got a 99% on my final exam, the highest score in the entire school. When I got home, all I wanted was five minutes of sleep on the couch. The moment Mom saw my eyes close, she instantly tore my test paper to shreds. Her scream pierced my eardrums: “I slave away to support you, and you have the nerve to sleep? Where did that point go? You’re bleeding me dry!” She lit the curtains like a maniac, threw all my books into a fire pit, and locked the front door. “You want to sleep, huh? Wake up in this fire! If you don’t get a perfect score, we’ll die together!” Thick smoke filled my nostrils. I watched Mom’s twisted face in the flickering flames and stopped calling for help.

The flames shot up the synthetic curtains like a greedy red snake, licking at the countless award certificates plastered all over the walls. The edges of those certificates curled, blackened, and fell as ash. It was like a black snow. Mom had already retreated outside the door. She was frantically pounding on the steel door, even kicking it. Not to save me, but to make me give in. “Ashley! Do you understand what you did wrong?” “Tell me loudly, will you get a perfect score next time?” “Say it! Say it, and I’ll let you out!” Her voice, muffled and shrill through the metal door, sounded like nails scraping a chalkboard. I huddled by the couch in the corner, the intense heat causing a strange, phantom pain on my exposed skin. My throat seized up from the thick smoke, each breath like swallowing burning coals. I wanted to speak, but no sound came out. Even if it could, I wouldn’t say anything. I was too tired. Honestly, just too tired. I remembered half an hour ago, I just wanted to lie on the couch for five minutes. Just five minutes. To prepare for this test, I hadn’t touched my bed in three days, so tired I felt like I was floating when I walked. But now, it was so hot around me, yet I felt a cold shiver deep inside. I saw the shredded 99% test paper curl in the fire pit, that bright red “99” turning into a heap of black ash. I thought about going to the bathroom to wet a towel. My survival instinct made me move my leg. Then I saw the empty doorframe. The bathroom door? Mom had ripped it off last month. She said I took too long in there, probably secretly reading novels or hiding from vocabulary drills. How was I supposed to hide with no privacy at all? And now, the water source was on the other side of the inferno. The fire was too big; Mom had poured alcohol on it to fuel it earlier. I couldn’t get through. I leaned back against the corner, watching the flames devour my desk. It was my battlefield, and my execution ground. Now, let it all burn. The pounding outside the door continued, accompanied by loud kicks. “Ashley, you’re being stubborn, huh?” “Not going to talk, huh?” “Fine, let’s see how long you can last!” “You ungrateful brat! Even a dog knows how to wag its tail. I should’ve gotten a dog instead of you!” I’d heard those words for seventeen years. As long as I could remember, they were served with every meal. Before, I would cry, I would beg her on my knees, I would swear I’d get a perfect score next time. But today, I didn’t want to kneel. Rather than crawl out to face her yelling, to face the endless practice questions, to face her perpetually disappointed eyes. I’d rather just sleep here. My consciousness began to fade. My body felt so heavy, like it was filled with lead, yet also like I was floating on clouds. Finally, I could rest. Even on the scorching floor. Even surrounded by deadly toxic smoke. Through the door crack, it was no longer air seeping in, but her desperate, screaming curses. “Why don’t you just die! You’re a waste of space just living!” Mom, as you wished. I’m really going to die. In the last blurry moment of my vision, I saw a corner peeking out of my backpack’s side pocket. That small, silver tin box. It was the hand cream I’d saved three months of breakfast money to buy. I wanted to put it on her hands, those hands covered in cracks. I wanted to tell her, Mom, I feel for you too. But there was no chance now. Darkness surged like a tide, completely engulfing me. I closed my eyes in the raging fire, with a light smile. This sleep, finally, no one could wake me from.

My soul seemed to float upwards. It was light, cool, weightless. I floated on the ceiling, looking down at the small body curled up below. It was dark, like a piece of burnt charcoal. The commotion outside the door grew louder. Mr. Peterson, our neighbor, smelled smoke and was frantically slamming the door with a fire extinguisher. “Open up! Quick, open up! Eleanor, what are you doing?” “Can’t you see there’s a fire in there? The kid is still inside!” But Mom clung to the doorknob, like a wild animal guarding its kill, hair disheveled, eyes bloodshot. “Don’t interfere! This is my family business!” “She’s reflecting! She hasn’t begged for mercy, so she hasn’t learned her lesson yet!” “None of you are getting in! If she gets spoiled, how will she get into college? How will she ever make something of herself?” Mr. Peterson’s face turned purple with rage. He shoved her away. “You’ve lost your mind! Someone’s going to die!” Mom stumbled but still screamed, “She won’t die! She’s just faking it! That brat is such an actress!” “Last time she had a 104-degree fever, she was just faking it to get out of vocabulary drills!” The hallway was in chaos. Someone called 911, others were trying to break up the fight. Mom was being held back, still cursing. “What are you calling 911 for? Who dares to call 911?” “If you break the door, are you going to pay for it? That security door costs over two thousand bucks!” “Ashley! Get out here! Don’t think you’ve won just because I won’t go into the fire!” I looked at her twisted face, feeling no ripple of emotion inside. Before, seeing her angry would make me tremble. Now, I just found it pathetic. The firefighters arrived. Their orange uniforms stood out starkly in the hallway. Hydraulic cutters brutally sheared through the deformed security door. “Pfft—” High-pressure water hoses blasted in, and billows of white smoke poured out. The choking smell of smoke permeated the entire hallway. Mom collapsed on the floor, letting out a cold scoff. “Oh, you’ve gotten so clever, learning to team up with strangers to scare your own mother with fire.” “When she comes out, I’ll break her legs.” The fire was put out quickly. After all, the apartment wasn’t big, and there wasn’t much to burn. The room was a mess. The once pristine white walls were now black as ink. All the ‘Perfect Score,’ ‘Ivy League,’ ‘Top University’ slogans plastered on the walls were gone, burned away. Only mottled black ash remained, like mocking ghost faces. The firefighters entered the room. A few minutes later, two firefighters emerged, their faces grim, carrying something. It was my body. Curled, charred, stiff. To protect the backpack in my arms, my posture was strange, like a shrimp boiled alive. The neighbors gasped, some aunts covered their mouths, tears streaming down their faces. The air was deathly still. Only the lingering smoke drifted. Mom climbed up from the floor, dusting off her pants. She rushed over, a look of victorious fury on her face. Not to embrace me, not to check for injuries. She raised her hand and slapped the “black figure” on the head. “Faking death? Ashley, get up!” “Don’t think playing dead will get you out of reviewing!” “Were you feeling smug just now? Letting you keep silent! Letting you defy me!” “Smack!” The slap was crisp and loud. It landed on the stiff corpse, with no echo, no cry of pain. My head was knocked to the side, still maintaining that curled posture. The firefighters froze. The neighbors froze. The whole world went silent. Only Mom was still panting heavily, pointing at my face and yelling: “Don’t pretend! I’ll count to three, if you don’t get up, I’ll sign you up for double the advanced math classes tomorrow!” I floated in the air, watching the scene. Mom, this time, I really can’t get up. Even if you sign me up for ten times the advanced math classes, I won’t be able to get up.

Mr. Peterson, the neighbor, couldn’t bear to watch anymore. He rushed forward and grabbed Mom’s arm. “Eleanor! You’re insane! Look at Ashley!” Mom shook him off, her strength astonishing. “Get lost! I’m disciplining my child! No one interferes!” Her eyes were red, her chest heaving violently, her finger trembling as she pointed at me on the floor. “You don’t know, she’s the laziest one.” “Only 99%, what good is being first in school? That one point is the key!” “If she doesn’t get that one point back, how will she compete with others? How will she cross the single-plank bridge?” As she spoke, she pulled out the shredded test paper from her pocket, clumsily taped back together with clear tape. It was covered in black ash, the tape almost melted. She crouched down, trying to force the test paper into my charred, purplish-black hand. “Take it! Get up and redo it for me!” “I’ve prepared your mistake notebook; if you don’t finish this sheet today, don’t even think about dinner!” My hand was stiff as iron tongs. My fingers were tightly clenched into a fist, protecting what was inside my backpack. She couldn’t pry my fingers open. “Let go! Did you hear me? You’re defying your mom, huh?” She pulled hard, her fingernails digging into my burnt flesh. The surrounding firefighters finally reacted. Two young men rushed forward, trying to pull her away. “Ma’am, please calm down! The victim needs urgent medical attention!” “Urgent medical attention my ass!” Mom turned and spat at them. “She just wants to be lazy! She just wants to sleep!” “In this house, as long as she has breath in her body, she has to study!” “Even if she dies, she has to finish the test first!” She struggled free from the firefighters’ grasp and turned towards the kitchen. There was still water there. She filled a basin with cold water and, with a splash, violently threw it onto my face. “Wake up! Don’t you dare act like a corpse in front of me!” The black ash was washed away by the cold water. Revealing my pale, bloodless face. My eyes were tightly closed, my lips purple, lifeless. Water flowed into my nostrils, down my throat. Normally, I would have jumped up coughing by now. But there was no reaction. Water droplets clung to my eyelashes, like tears that would never fall. Mom’s hand visibly trembled. She froze for a second, then that neurotic smile reappeared on her face. “You’re a really good actress, Ashley.” “The Oscars owe you a trophy, don’t they?” “Fine, you can tolerate it, huh? Let’s see how long you can tolerate it!” She rushed forward and pinched my philtrum. Her fingernails dug deep into my flesh, leaving red marks, even breaking the skin. I remained motionless. Like a broken rag doll, letting her do whatever she wanted. The people around started whispering, their eyes filled with fear and disgust. They looked at Mom not as a strict mother, but as a lunatic. Mom, however, didn’t notice. She leaned close to my ear, using her usual, most effective killer move, her voice chilling: “Ashley, if you don’t get up now, I’m canceling your tutoring classes tomorrow.” “I’ll give that five hundred bucks to a dog before I spend it on you!” “If you dare make me waste money, I’ll die right here in front of you!” This was her spell that had worked a hundred times before. As soon as she mentioned dying, no matter how sick I was, I would crawl up and do my homework. Because I was afraid of her dying. I was afraid of not having a mom. But this time, the “if you don’t get up, we’ll die together” spell failed. Mom. Keep the money. Giving it to a dog is great, a dog will wag its tail at you. I only made you angry. In the distance, the wail of an ambulance siren approached, cutting through the neighborhood’s silence. Emergency doctors, carrying their bags, rushed up the stairs, pushing through the onlookers, sweat dripping from their foreheads. “Make way! Everyone, make way! Where’s the victim?” The doctor’s face fell when he saw me on the floor. He knelt down and reached for my carotid artery. No pulse. He took out his stethoscope and placed it on my smoke-covered chest. The heart beneath it, which once pounded wildly over a single lost point on an exam, which tightened at the sound of Mom’s footsteps. Now, it was finally quiet. The doctor frowned, pried open my eyelid, and shone a flashlight into it. Pupils dilated, no light reflex. The doctor sighed, checked his watch, stood up, and shook his head: “Pupils dilated, no vital signs, time of death approximately one hour ago.” “Nothing to be done. Notify the funeral home.” This simple sentence, like a clap of thunder, exploded in the narrow hallway. Everyone fell silent. Except for Mom. “Bullshit!” A sharp roar erupted. Mom charged like a cannonball, tearing at the doctor’s white coat. “What are you saying! You quack!” “She’s just sleeping! She stayed up late studying last night, she’s just tired!” “She’s only seventeen! How can she be dead! If you dare curse my daughter again, I’ll tear your mouth apart!” She frantically clawed at the doctor’s face. Two police officers quickly rushed forward and forcibly restrained her. “Ma’am! Please calm down!” The police officers pinned her against the blackened wall. Mom’s face pressed against the cold, rough surface, flushed and swollen from struggling. Her gaze was forced directly onto me, on the floor. After that basin of water was splashed, my hand had fallen from its curled state. That hand, aimed right at her face. My fingertips were melted by the heat, the skin charred and curled, revealing the stark white bone beneath. That was the hand that held pens. That was the hand that helped her wash dishes. That was the hand that countless times tried to hold hers, only to be shaken off because she found it sweaty. At this moment, she finally saw clearly. That wasn’t sleep. A living person’s hand wouldn’t reveal bone. “Ash… Ashley?” Her voice suddenly softened, as faint as a mosquito’s buzz.

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On Christmas Eve, I stood in the yard, holding a tube of fireworks, watching Chloe slowly light the fuse. “Chloe, do you have any wishes for the new year?” I asked, smiling. Chloe leaned against the wall, taking a nonchalant puff from her cigarette. “You’re the one who should be making new year wishes.” I blinked. “Why?” “You were switched at birth. Mom and Dad are already making arrangements to bring Ethan home.” She flicked off the ash. “Wish you don’t get sent back to some remote place.” My world suddenly went silent. In the distance, fireworks still bloomed, and children’s laughter faintly drifted over. I opened my mouth, but the words got stuck in my throat. What I actually wanted to say was: Chloe, my wish is that when I die, Mom, Dad, and you won’t be sad. Now, my wish was about to come true. But why did my chest hurt so much? “Do you think I’m lying?” Chloe pulled a folded piece of paper from her pocket and unfurled it in front of my eyes. The fireworks were bright, and I clearly saw the line of text: Liam Hayes has no biological kinship with Mr. and Mrs. Hayes. She pulled out her phone, and the screen lit up, displaying a photo of a boy. His eyes and brows were so much like Mom’s; his smile was identical to hers. “I overheard them in the study today. They’re already discussing sending you away.” Chloe saw my stunned expression and scoffed. “What, scared stiff? They won’t just abandon you. The Hayes family isn’t so poor they can’t afford to keep someone around.” I remained frozen in place. I used to think I was the happiest kid in the world. A wealthy family, loving parents. When I was twelve, I said I wanted a piano, and the next day, a Steinway stood in the living room. When I was fifteen, I casually mentioned wanting to see the Northern Lights, and that winter break, the whole family flew to Iceland. On my eighteenth birthday, Mom cried, saying she hated to see me grow up, and Dad gave me a small apartment downtown. I could easily get anything I wanted, including everyone’s affection. Except for Chloe’s. As long as I could remember, she had hated me. When I was little, I’d bring her my perfect test papers for her to sign, and she’d roll her eyes, saying, “What are you showing off for, brat? Go away, don’t bother me.” When I choked on water while learning to swim, she’d sneer, “Who are you putting on a show for? No one cares if you drown, so just keep flailing.” When I received my first love letter, she tore it up in front of me and tossed it into the trash. “Oops, my bad, I thought it was scrap paper.” Mom always said, “Your sister just acts tough, but she’s really soft-hearted.” Dad would sigh beside her, “She feels like you stole our love. She’s just childish; don’t mind her.” But I felt that Chloe genuinely hated me, hated me so much that she never gave me a kind look, hated me so much that she wished I would disappear from her life. Even so, I would follow her everywhere. I’d watch her play games, I’d secretly cook noodles for her when she stayed up late, and I’d prepare her birthday gift three months in advance. I thought, one day, Chloe would smile at me. A few days ago, I had a stomachache and went to the hospital for a check-up. The doctor held my report and told me. “Late-stage pancreatic cancer, it’s already metastasized. At this point, a cure is unlikely. With aggressive treatment, you might have six months.” I was stunned for a long time, then asked, “What if I don’t get treatment?” “Around three months.” I originally wanted to tell Chloe this secret first. She hated me so much, she definitely wouldn’t be sad for me, which was good—I hated seeing people cry the most. But now, they were no longer my family, and Chloe wasn’t my sister. Saying it now would just make me seem self-pitying. So, I kept silent.

Chloe stubbed her cigarette out on the wall, looking at me playfully. “You’re not going to be unable to accept reality and hang yourself in your room tonight, are you?” “If you’re going to die, do it at your own place. Don’t ruin our property value.” She always spoke so cuttingly. Before, no matter what she said, I would always laugh and try to get closer to her. But this time, I said nothing. I had once imagined a happy passing, surrounded by my parents. My only regret was not having a good relationship with Chloe. But now, I was about to lose all the family I loved most. “Aren’t you going to say your New Year’s wish?” Chloe pulled a small box from her pocket. “Since you look so pathetic, I’ll indulge you this year. I’ve got a little trinket for you—” I ignored her and ran off. Back in my room, I buried myself under the covers. I didn’t want to cry out loud, just bit the corner of the duvet and sobbed, my chest aching. In the dead of night, I was half-asleep, half-awake, burning with fever. I clearly heard my parents’ conversation outside the door. “In a couple of days, we’ll send Liam back. He’s been occupying our son’s life for too many years.” That was Dad’s voice. “I always thought he didn’t look like either of us.” Mom’s voice sharpened. “Look at him, he can’t learn anything well. Eight years of piano lessons, and he can’t even play a full Chopin Nocturne. Painting, dance—what is he good at? All these years, he’s had an elite education, yet he’s still not as exceptional as our Ethan. Hmph, it’s truly a base streak in his genes, just like his real parents.” “Forget it, we won’t send him back,” Dad said. “We’ve raised him for so many years; he should contribute something to our family.” “Go see if any families are looking for a marriage alliance. We can marry him off for some benefit. Doesn’t Mr. Harrison have a daughter? Even if she has some issues, we can ask for a smaller dowry.” I wanted to cry and beg them to stop. Please, stop. Why did fate have to make me learn all this right before I died, shattering my beautiful dream? But my limbs were stiff, I couldn’t move, couldn’t fully wake up. My body felt nailed to the bed, my consciousness floating. They never loved me after all. All that tenderness, all that doting, was just for the “Hayes family’s golden boy” identity. Now that the real one was back, I, the impostor, had to exit the stage, preferably after being squeezed for every last drop of value. A moment later, the door opened. A cool hand rested on my forehead. “Whoa, such poor coping skills. This little bit of news scared you into a fever. Should’ve known not to tell you.” Her voice held its familiar mockery. I wanted to retort: I’m sick, not weak! But I couldn’t make a sound, only a faint gasp escaped my throat. “Why are you so delicate? You’re not the golden boy anymore, so stop acting like a spoiled brat.” She half-hugged me, her movements unexpectedly gentle. With her other hand, she held a cup, and the bitter medicine was poured into my mouth. I frowned, wanting to spit it out, but she pinched my chin and made me swallow. “Swallow it,” she commanded. Then I heard Mom say, “Is Liam sick? Why didn’t he call the family doctor?” My heart warmed. Mom still cared about me; I knew she wouldn’t completely stop loving me. Then she spoke again, “I’ve arranged a blind date for him in a couple of days. What if he looks sickly and they don’t want him?” So that’s how it was. I thought I would cry, but I was surprisingly calm. Maybe it was because I was going to die soon. Once a person dies, everything dissipates, so nothing really matters anymore. Chloe put me back on the bed and tucked me in. She stood by the bed for a while. My eyes were closed, but I could feel her gaze. “Such a pain,” she finally said, and her footsteps receded, the door closing softly.

Two days later, Mom and Dad called me to the living room. They sat on the sofa, their expressions normal. Mom even waved gently at me, “Liam, come, sit with Mom.” I almost thought everything I’d heard was just a nightmare from my fever. But the dream quickly shattered. “Liam, ask Maria to help you get ready. Mom bought you new clothes, go try them on.” Mom smiled gently, pointing to a paper bag on the coffee table with a luxury brand’s logo. “For your future happiness, Mom and Dad have arranged a few blind dates for you this afternoon. They’re all from good families; go meet them.” Dad echoed, “That’s right, you’re twenty now; it’s time to think about your future.” I looked at their smiling faces and suddenly felt utterly alienated. “Is this really for my happiness? Or are you trying to sell me off?” I heard my voice tremble. Mom paused, then looked at Chloe, who was leaning nonchalantly by the window. “Did you tell him about his identity?” Chloe stood with her hands in her pockets, gazing at the snow outside. “He was going to find out eventually. What’s the point of hiding it?” The smile vanished from Mom’s face. She looked at me, her eyes cold and arrogant. “True.” She stood up and walked towards me. “Since you already know your identity, then you should also know that we can’t let you enjoy twenty years of our son’s life for free.” Her voice was hard. “All those lessons, all those resources, they rightfully belonged to our biological son.” Dad also walked over, standing beside Mom. “Ethan suffered for twenty years out there, while you enjoyed twenty years of fortune in our home. That’s not fair.” “This is the price you have to pay.” Mom said, word by word, “You owe him, you owe the Hayes family.” These words made my head spin; I could barely stand. A sharp pain shot through my abdomen, my legs buckled, and I fell to the floor. My forehead hit the corner of the coffee table, and warm liquid trickled down. Mom instinctively took two steps forward. “What’s wrong with you?” But she quickly stopped, the concern in her eyes fleeting, replaced by suspicion. Chloe walked over and helped me into a chair. “Such a pain. Why are you so weak? Are you still feverish?” Mom sneered, “He was full of life just two days ago. Yesterday, he heard Ethan was coming home and started faking illness. It’s just his rotten nature; what kind of cheap sympathy trick is he playing?” She walked over, her heels clacking coldly on the tile floor. Then she raised her hand and slapped me hard. “SLAP!” A sharp sound echoed in the living room. I fell to the ground, my ears ringing, my cheek burning. I struggled to grab her sleeve. “Mom, I’m not faking it. I’m really sick…” She disgustedly kicked my hand away. “Don’t call me Mom! I only have one son, Ethan!” Dad called for Maria. “Drag him out. Search him for anything valuable. From today on, he’s no longer a Hayes.” Two housekeepers came over, grabbing me by each arm. I struggled, but I was too weak from illness. They started stripping off my coat, taking my jewelry, and snatching my bag. I desperately clutched the watch on my wrist. It was a birthday gift Chloe gave me when I was fifteen. It was the only gift she ever gave me—a wristwatch studded with tiny diamonds, with “LM” (my initials) engraved on the inside of the dial. The housekeeper forcibly pried my hand open, snatched the watch, and put it on her own wrist. “Let you experience the hardship Ethan went through,” Mom said, looking down at me with icy eyes. “When your bad habits are gone, then you can come back!” I was dragged out the door. The heavy wooden door closed behind me with a dull thud.

Outside the door, I desperately cried out, “I didn’t mean to bully him! I just lost my footing!” The door didn’t open. I pounded on the door, my hands quickly turning red and numb from the cold. Finally, I gave up. Turning around, I stumbled through the snowy night. My house slippers quickly soaked through; the snowmelt seeped in, freezing my toes until they were numb. I walked aimlessly, not knowing where to go. For the first time in twenty years, I realized that outside the Hayes family, I had nowhere to go. The pain in my abdomen started again, more intensely this time. I crouched by the roadside, curled into a ball, trying to ease the pain. After who knows how long, I stood up and continued walking. I had to go home, I had to explain clearly that I wasn’t faking illness, I was truly sick, I didn’t want the people I loved most to misunderstand me… I went to the family company. Every time I came before, the receptionist would smile and call me “Mr. Liam,” and the security guard would respectfully open the door. Now, they stopped me at the entrance. “Mr. Hayes… no, sir, you cannot enter.” The receptionist’s eyes darted away. “Mr. Hayes (senior) gave instructions not to let you in.” I went to the convenience store on the corner and borrowed the public phone. My fingers were so numb they wouldn’t cooperate; it took several tries to dial the right numbers. I called Mom first. A long busy signal, then it automatically hung up. Then I called Dad. The same result. Finally, relying on memory, I called Chloe. I had never called her before; I’d seen her number accidentally once and couldn’t quite remember it. After a few beeps, the call connected. I surprisingly felt like crying, my voice thick with tears. “Chloe, can I come home? It’s so cold outside, and I feel terrible…” A stranger’s voice came from the other end, an old woman. “Child, you’ve dialed the wrong number, haven’t you?” I hastily apologized, hung up, and left the convenience store. The shopkeeper looked at me with pity. I lowered my head, afraid to meet his gaze. Sitting on a park bench by the road, I curled up. My stomach hurt terribly. I clutched my abdomen, cold sweat beading on my forehead, yet I felt feverish in the cold wind. Just then, someone hugged me. I looked up and saw an older woman in a worn-out winter coat. She looked to be in her fifties, her face etched with deep wrinkles. But her eyes were so gentle, so gentle they made me want to cry. “Liam, it’s Mom,” she choked out, her rough hand stroking my cheek. “I’m your biological mother, we’ve been looking for you for so long…” She looked very shabby, her winter coat’s cuffs shiny from wear, its color faded. My mind was a jumbled mess, but her embrace was so warm. In that moment, I clung to that warmth, like a drowning person grasping at driftwood. I buried my face in her shoulder and sobbed uncontrollably, crying out all my grievances, fears, and pain. “There, there, don’t cry anymore, Mom will take you home,” she patted my back. I had a home again. She took me back to her home, a small, worn-out but clean bungalow. “You rest here for now, Mom will go get you something to eat.” She tucked the blanket around me, her eyes gentle. “Look at your pale face, you must be frozen, dear?” I sniffed, lying quietly under the covers. My stomach hurt badly, but I didn’t say anything. I was afraid that if I did, this little bit of warmth would also disappear. She left for a while and didn’t return. I needed to use the restroom. Struggling to get up, I realized there was no bathroom inside; I had to go to the outhouse. As I reached the door, I heard her talking to another man, just outside.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “409876”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

My sister, Chloe, and I are fraternal twins, but we couldn’t be more different. She was unattractive and overweight, but her intellect was unparalleled. I, on the other hand, was hopelessly dense but undeniably beautiful. From the day we were born, Chloe excelled at everything. At school, she was the teachers’ favorite, always taking the number one spot in our grade. And I was the pretty but utterly foolish girl, consistently ranking dead last. No matter how hard I tried, the information simply wouldn’t stick. Chloe only needed to skim her textbooks right before an exam to easily secure the top spot. The teachers constantly marveled at her, calling her a one-in-a-million genius. For me, the teachers only had sighs. “They’re twins, so why is Harper so slow? No matter how hard she tries, her grades just won’t improve.” Because of this, our parents showed a glaring favoritism towards her. Whenever our family of four went out, Chloe always walked in the middle, Mom and Dad holding her hands on either side. I could only walk silently behind them. Occasionally, a neighbor would compliment my looks. My mom would gently pull Chloe close and begin to belittle me. “What’s the use of being pretty? She’s got a head full of rocks. She comes in last on every test; she’s completely clueless.” “Not like Chloe. She’s top of the class every single time.” My dad would nod in agreement from the sidelines. “Two daughters. One is a blessing, the other is a curse.” 2 Once we started school, Chloe got first pick of all toys and clothes. I only got the hand-me-downs she rejected. When I was eight, right before a dance competition on Children’s Day, Mom bought me a pair of white embroidered canvas shoes, exactly as the teacher required. But the night before the competition, Chloe snatched the shoes away without a word. I cried hysterically. Without the uniform shoes, I wouldn’t be allowed to perform on stage. They all knew this. My mom watched me coldly. “Harper, you have to let your sister have her way.” My dad shoved me to the ground, his tone harsh. “If you don’t spend time studying, what are you doing dancing? Our family can’t afford to support your dancing anyway.” The next day, without the shoes, I was cut from the performance I had practiced for over half a year. I had to sit in the audience alone and watch my classmates perform. From that day on, I never looked forward to Children’s Day again. Later, Chloe stepped in dog poop by the neighborhood flowerbeds and tossed the shoes back to me in disgust. Little me sat on a small stool, carefully scrubbing those shoes over and over again. I wore them for a long time, until they simply didn’t fit anymore. The meals at home were always tailored to Chloe’s tastes. Even though I was highly allergic to seafood, Chloe loved it, so we often ate fish and shrimp for two weeks straight, with no other dishes available. “What allergy? You’re just being dramatic. Eat it or don’t, I don’t care.” My mom scolded me while smiling and piling peeled shrimp into Chloe’s bowl. “Your sister thinks she’s a princess, but she’s got a servant’s fate.” “Worst grades, highest demands.” My dad, half-drunk, slammed his hand on the table, his tone severe. “I think you just have too much free time! Let’s starve you for a couple of weeks, and I bet you’ll eat it then!” “After high school graduation, you’re going to work in a factory to pay for your sister’s college tuition!” Chloe picked up a shrimp from her bowl, narrowing her slightly upturned eyes, and mockingly sneered at me. “Harper, do you know why you’re so dumb? It’s because you don’t like eating fish!” She dropped a piece of fish into my bowl, a malicious smile blooming on her puffy, acne-scarred face. “Eat more, maybe one day it’ll finally click. I wouldn’t want my dear sister to drop out and work in a factory at eighteen. That would be so sad.” “But if you do go work, maybe some old factory boss will take a fancy to you and keep you as his mistress. Then you’d have it made.” I picked the piece of fish out, my tone calm. “If you’re so jealous, why don’t you go instead?” Before Chloe could speak, my mom stood up and slapped me hard across the face. “Get out if you’re not going to eat! Stop talking nonsense, your sister is going to Stanford.” “And after she even took the time to tutor you.” When Chloe tutored me, she always taught me the most complicated methods. The more she taught me, the worse my grades got. The worse I did, the more it highlighted how exceptional my twin sister was. She didn’t even like seafood originally. It wasn’t until I once ate seafood and broke out in red hives all over my body and face that Chloe suddenly developed a taste for it. Chloe always got perfect scores in Biology. She knew perfectly well that a severe allergic reaction could be fatal. She just didn’t care. I probably knew the root cause of her hatred for me. 3 Growing up, every boy Chloe liked, without exception, ended up liking me. This was the only useless advantage my beauty gave me. For example, the transfer student she currently liked—the school’s golden boy, Liam. Chloe pursued him aggressively. During morning study hall, she’d snatch my milk to give to Liam. When he played basketball, she’d bring him towels and water. She even skipped a math competition just to watch one of his games. Even the school dogs knew Chloe liked Liam. Behind her back, classmates laughed at her, saying she was aiming way out of her league. Liam’s grades were terrible, but his family was incredibly wealthy. His father had donated several buildings to the school, while my family was strictly middle-class. Blushing furiously, Chloe shoved a love letter into Liam’s hand and, dragging her heavy frame, stumbled away without looking back. Without even a glance, Liam crumpled Chloe’s letter and tossed it into the trash can by the door, his voice cool and clear. “Forget your sister, she’s too ugly.” He leaned in close to me, his hot breath brushing my ear. A wicked smile played on his thin lips, his tone suggestive. “But you… I might consider you.” This was the first time Chloe’s ‘genius halo’ had failed her, and it was in her pursuit of Liam. I didn’t like Liam, but I didn’t want to reject him either. I just smiled alluringly. “Why don’t you write me a love letter then?” “You must have a lot of guys writing you love letters, huh?” Liam tapped his long, pale fingers against the desk, the amusement in his eyes clear. “Teach me. How should I write it so you’ll like it?” His tone felt almost coaxing. I looked up at his handsome, untamed features, a surge of uncontrollable malice rising within me. “Have my sister deliver your love letter to me, and I might consider it.” He was clearly taken aback, seemingly not expecting me to say that. I played innocent, blinking my eyes, and added. “My sister really likes you.” “I don’t want to hurt her, but if we’re going to be together, we have to tell her. It’s better if you’re the bad guy.” Liam ran a hand through his messy hair, hiding the rebellious gleam in his eyes. “You’re the first person who’s ever dared to make demands of me.” Then, he reached out with his long, bony fingers and lightly flicked my forehead, a half-smile on his face. “Just wait, sweetheart.” This was one of the few chances I had to beat Chloe. She had been winning her whole life, and I resented it. 4 As soon as I got home, Chloe couldn’t wait to list my crimes. “Mom, Dad, look! Harper doesn’t study at school, she just spends her time trying to seduce boys. We might as well pull her out of school right now!” Liam’s love letter was spread out on the coffee table. But my mom, uncharacteristically, turned gentle towards me. “Harper, what do you want to eat? I’ll make it for you.” My dad, smoking a cigarette, couldn’t hide the greed in his eyes. “Liam… is he the only son of the Sterling Group CEO? Harper, you need to seize this opportunity.” He looked at Chloe in dissatisfaction. “Stop picking on your sister. The Sterling Group has no shortage of Ivy League graduates. You might have to beg your sister to get you a job in the future.” It turned out my parents didn’t love one specific daughter; they loved the daughter who was useful to them. The jealousy and anger in Chloe’s eyes deepened. I smiled gently. “Anything but seafood.” From that day on, seafood never appeared on our dining table again. No matter how much Chloe threw a fit. “I need to eat fish for brain power! High school is so demanding, what if I can’t get into Stanford?” My mom just brushed her off. “Your sister’s allergy is severe. If something happens to her, our family is ruined.” The dynamic between Chloe and me at home completely flipped. At school, Liam used every trick in the wealthy playboy handbook to pursue me. Every day after school, his dark purple Lamborghini would be parked at the school gates, waiting to take us to a fancy French dinner. Beautiful clothes and expensive gifts were constantly delivered to me. Liam even woke up early to personally make me a “love bento” breakfast. I became the center of attention for the entire school. The boys who hung out with Liam would respectfully call me “sister-in-law” every time they saw me. Afraid of upsetting me, Liam made his disgust for Chloe painfully obvious. When the class rearranged seats, students with good grades got to pick their desk mates first. Chloe chose Liam. She was probably hoping he’d discover her inner beauty. But Liam was utterly repulsed and even complained to his mother about Chloe harassing him. The next day, everyone in the class was moved to single desks. The whole class knew the reason, and rumors inevitably spread throughout the school. The confidence Chloe had built up since childhood was being chipped away bit by bit. On the night of her seventeenth birthday, seeing the fifty-thousand-dollar bracelet on my wrist, Chloe nearly lost her mind as she confronted me. “Why?! Why does everyone like you?! Whether it’s Liam or any other guy! You can’t do anything! You just have a pretty face!” “How are you better than me?! How do you deserve that bracelet?!” I pulled her in front of the mirror. The girl in the reflection was twice my size. Because of our parents’ favoritism, I had been malnourished since childhood, while she was over-nourished. My voice was very soft, carrying a hint of temptation. “Sister, if you were a man, who would you choose?” Chloe stared blankly at her reflection. Perhaps the contrast was too stark. She remained silent for a long time, said nothing, pushed open the door, and went back to her room. The mechanical system voice I had been waiting for finally echoed in my mind. “Host, Chloe has requested to exchange her intelligence for your beauty. Do you consent?” I didn’t hesitate. “I consent.” Jealousy had finally driven her mad. This time, the winner would definitely be me. Hard work layered on top of natural talent—that’s the ultimate winning hand. 5 During the winter break of my junior year, my body swelled up like a balloon, and fields of acne erupted on my normally clear face. At the same time, I experienced photographic memory for the first time. For most multiple-choice questions, I only needed one glance, and the answer would instantly pop into my head. I didn’t even need a pen to calculate. When encountering unfamiliar concepts, flipping through the textbook allowed me to instantly grasp the key points. I fell in love with the feeling of doing math problems, instead of getting dizzy and nauseous at the sight of them. The old me would study the same type of math problem over and over, but the moment the parameters changed slightly, I couldn’t find the right answer. It was as if my brain was shrouded in thick fog; I could never untangle the logic of the problems. My sister, just as the teachers said, was a one-in-a-million genius. Her starting point was a destination most ordinary people could never reach in a lifetime, but she never valued that gift. Chloe’s body slowly became slender, and no matter how much junk food she ate, she didn’t gain weight. Her round face transformed into a delicate oval, her dark skin gradually became smooth and pale, and the angry red acne vanished one by one. Throughout the entire winter break, I studied through the night, refusing to waste a single drop of my new talent. Chloe spent day and night researching makeup and fashion, unwilling to waste a speck of her new beauty. When school started, Chloe was even more beautiful than I used to be. The love letters that used to pile up on my desk were now piling up on hers. The boys who had once sworn undying love and eternal devotion to me in those letters now looked at me with unconcealed disgust and revulsion. Some cruel boys even treated their past pursuit of me as a dark secret, insulting me without restraint. “Damn, Harper from class three is ugly, stupid, and fat now. She looks like a warthog. I must have been blind to like her before, thank god she didn’t accept me.” “Tell me about it. But her sister… talk about a glow-up! That’s what you call inner beauty shining through.” “…” There might be people in the world who don’t like money, but no one dislikes beauty, especially hormone-driven teenage boys. Liam was no exception. His eyes drifted uncontrollably towards Chloe, and he only offered me perfunctory, brief responses. Liam officially won Chloe over at the school’s welcome back gala. 6 Chloe wore a pure, light pink tulle dress, dancing gracefully on stage and singing a popular innocent love song. “Stand on tiptoe, lift the edge of your skirt, let my hands rest gently on your shoulders.” The moment her voice rang out, a warm white spotlight beamed down from above onto the center of the dark stage, highlighting her delicate features. A low, raspy male voice chimed in at just the right time. “Graceful steps, shallow breaths, how sweet is the waltz of love.” Liam wore a perfectly tailored black suit jacket over a white shirt with the top two buttons undone, revealing a glimpse of his collarbone. His tall, slender silhouette was cast long onto the stage by the lights, his refined profile hidden in the shadows. Liam naturally took Chloe’s extended hand. “Step by step, hold me tighter; spin by spin, I’m more certain, I want to keep spinning with you.” “…” “Our future is the most beautiful existence.” As the song ended, Chloe leaned charmingly against Liam’s shoulder, while Liam grinned mischievously, wrapping an arm around her incredibly narrow waist. Chloe’s gaze drifted down to me in the audience, seemingly showing off that she had beaten me once again. I just lowered my head, pondering a problem that had stumped mathematicians worldwide for years—Seetapun’s Enigma. Countless brilliant mathematicians had dedicated their lives to proving it. Seetapun’s Enigma… a world-class mathematical proof problem that had fascinated me even when I was a terrible student. The passionate, vibrant youth was irrelevant to me. I only wanted to spend my life devoted to the quiet pursuit of mathematics. 7 After the first monthly exams of senior year, the two boys sitting behind me were arguing fiercely over whether the final multiple-choice question on the math test was B or D. I listened while trying to derive a proof for Seetapun’s Enigma. It was great being smart; I could finally try to climb the peak of human intellect. The boy who chose B started explaining his calculations step by step. Hearing his error, I turned around and said. “The answer is D. You made a mistake here, it should be…” The boy who chose B looked at me like I was an idiot, while the one who chose D started groaning. “I’m screwed! If you chose D, it means I definitely got it wrong! Help me, how did I pick the same answer as Harper, that idiot!” Before I could say anything else, the math representative walked into the classroom carrying a thick stack of answer keys, passing them down from the first row. I checked the answer key; it was B. Looking closer, the error in the answer key’s derivation was exactly the same as the boy’s. It truly was a tricky question. Noisy chatter erupted behind me. “See, I told you it was B.” “It’s all Harper’s fault. Whatever she chooses is definitely wrong. She thinks she’s Chloe, trying to teach us math. So ugly and stupid.” Who would have thought that just two months ago, they were my desperate suitors. Math was still the best. Once you understood it, it never abandoned you. Much more reliable than men. I didn’t say anything; I just corrected the answer key with a red pen. As the ancients said, never argue with a fool. 8 The monthly exam rankings shocked everyone. Out of over a thousand students in our grade… I shot up from the very bottom to the top thirty, while Chloe dropped from her perpetual first place to the four hundreds. Her foundational knowledge from freshman and sophomore years was still there, but because she was busy dating and no longer had a brilliant mind, she couldn’t effortlessly handle the high-intensity science and math problems of senior year. As for me, my foundation from the first two years was too weak, so I had to slowly catch up. Fortunately, Chloe’s brain was smart enough; one year was more than enough time. A good brain is a terrible thing to waste. If she didn’t want it, I did. Hehe. Because of Liam, my parents’ attitude towards Chloe and me did another complete 180. I was used to being neglected since childhood, so I really didn’t care. Chloe, however, seemed to have recovered her lost dignity and worked even harder to maintain her beauty, to the point where she was constantly looking in the mirror. Finally, during a math class, the math teacher, who had always considered Chloe his star pupil, couldn’t take it anymore. He confiscated her mirror, his tone unprecedentedly serious. “Chloe, if you keep slacking off like this, you’ll have trouble getting into a state college, let alone the Ivy League.” “Do you remember when I said you had the potential for Stanford? Before, you could excel without trying hard, and I could turn a blind eye. But now, I really don’t want to watch you waste your talent. Such talent is the best gift heaven could give you.” “One wrong choice could ruin your entire life. Do you understand?” With that, the math teacher shot a meaningful glance at Liam, who was sleeping in the back row. But Chloe just brushed him off. “Mr. Smith, getting first place is easy. The material in the textbooks is too simple; I get it with one glance. Why waste so much time and energy studying? I promise I won’t disappoint you on the APs.” Chloe’s plan was probably to swap our intellects back right before the final exams. She didn’t know that swapping intellect and beauty required the consent of both parties. The system only told me, not her. And I would never consent. Instead of letting her waste this brain on dating, it was better to let me prove mathematical theorems and make a small contribution to the advancement of human foundational science. Chloe spread her hands, speaking brazenly. “Please give me my mirror back. I guarantee you’ll get your bonus for producing a top scholar. A genius like me doesn’t need your discipline.” The math teacher’s expression went from shock to bitter disappointment in just one second. From that day on, he never offered her another word of advice. She and Liam increasingly ignored school rules, appearing together in every corner of the campus. Liam even started coming to my house openly. My parents were delighted and thoughtfully prepared his favorite meals and snacks. Liam enjoyed it; he said our home had warmth, unlike his cold, massive mansion where he was always alone. The walls in our house were thin, and the soundproofing was terrible. I could always hear them flirting, constantly interrupting my train of thought while doing math. Out of desperation, I packed my backpack and went to a nearby university library to study. 9 On the library shelves, there was the book I had been looking for, “Mathematical Thought from Ancient to Modern Times.” Unfortunately, the shelf was too high. I couldn’t reach it even on my tiptoes. I sighed and turned around, intending to find a librarian to borrow a step stool, but bumped right into the boy standing behind me. A faint scent of pine wood reached my nose. The boy was wearing a white uniform from the Third High School. His bangs hung down, but they couldn’t hide his deep, sculpted features. The top button of his collar was undone, revealing a pale, defined collarbone. He reached up and easily pulled out “Mathematical Thought from Ancient to Modern Times.” Realizing this might be the only copy I could find in the city, after hesitating, I shamelessly asked. “Excuse me, when you’re done with this book, could I borrow it?” I was prepared to be rejected. Since I became ugly, most boys treated me terribly, as if my ugliness—which had nothing to do with them—had somehow deeply offended them. But the handsome boy simply chuckled, revealing slightly pointed canine teeth. “I’m borrowing it for my dad. He’s the head of the math department at the local university.” “You go to the Second High School? You really like math?” I gave a noncommittal response. The boy’s striking eyes narrowed slightly. “Then leave me your contact info. When my dad’s done, I’ll bring it to you.” I pulled out a sticky note and wrote down my name and phone number. A faint smile touched his thin lips as he asked. “Harper, will you be reading in the library all night?” I pointed to a seat by the bookshelves where my copy of “Mathematical Logic Theory” lay open, and nodded. He casually picked up my scratchpad. After staring at it for a long time, he looked shocked, stuttering as he spoke. “H-Harper… are you… are you trying to prove Seetapun’s Enigma?” “This is the research topic for the Ph.D. students my dad supervises! My dad said his dying wish is to see Seetapun’s Enigma proven!” “Since this conjecture was proposed in the 1990s by the British mathematical logician Seetapun, countless mathematicians have tried and failed to prove it. My dad has been researching math for almost thirty years and hasn’t made much progress. Are you seriously a high school student?! Please accept my worship!” I scratched my head in embarrassment. Having been considered an idiot for over a decade, this was the first time someone looked at me like I was an academic god. Why did this feel so bizarrely satisfying? Before I could speak, the boy closed my scratchpad and dragged me towards the library exit without explanation. “Hey, hey, hey, what are you doing?” I tried to pull my hand away. The boy looked at me with pure reverence. “I have to introduce you to my dad. If he finds out I missed the brightest rising star in American mathematics, he’ll disown me! No, he’ll probably deport me and ban me from eating barbecue forever!” “It would be terrifying!” With that, he ran a hand through his hair, his sharp, attractive eyebrows furrowing. Then, as if remembering something important, he extended his long, jointed hand towards me. “Oh, right, I forgot to introduce myself. Hi, Harper. I’m Julian Hayes.” I laughed at his words. Coincidentally, I also needed an experienced math professor to guide me, so I stopped struggling and got onto the back of his bicycle. At the Hayes’ house, Professor Hayes and I hit it off immediately. After a fierce discussion, Professor Hayes realized my proof was only missing one crucial step. But no matter how hard we racked our brains, we were completely stuck on that step. I didn’t know how much time had passed until Julian brought out bowls of tomato and egg noodles from the kitchen, and I realized I was starving and dizzy. While eating, Professor Hayes slapped his thigh and made a major decision: he decided to transfer Julian from the best high school in the city to my school. His justification: “Sacrificing one unimportant brat to protect the rising star of American mathematics is totally worth it.” I found out later that Julian had already won a gold medal in the Physics Olympiad and had early admission to MIT. On the way home, Julian tilted his defined jawline, his tone excited. “Harper, do I really have the honor of being your classmate?! When your paper wins international awards, can you mention me in the acknowledgments?! My dad is mad that I studied physics instead of math, and he absolutely refuses to put me in his acknowledgments.” Who knew that a cool, handsome academic god was actually a needy chatterbox in private. I chuckled. “I’ll write it, absolutely. If anyone tries to stop me, I’ll fight them.” Seemingly surprised by my quick agreement, Julian grabbed my hand and insisted I swear on it. It wasn’t until I raised three fingers and made a solemn vow that he finally relaxed and draped an arm over my shoulder in relief. “If you make it big, don’t forget me!” “If I get incredibly lucky and publish a world-class physics paper, I’ll put you in my acknowledgments too!” When I got home, it was only eleven o’clock, not too late. I decided to read “Mathematical Thought from Ancient to Modern Times” for two hours before bed. But Chloe lost her mind, insisting the sound of me turning pages was too loud and keeping her awake, demanding I stop studying immediately. Ironically, when I was stupid, her favorite thing was watching me stay up late studying and achieving absolutely nothing.

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The male and female leads overcame countless family obstacles to hold a grand wedding. And I, the vicious female antagonist, was drugged and framed. On a rainy night, I ended up sleeping with the second male lead, and a new little life took root in my belly. 1 This 3,000-chapter billionaire romance web novel only featured me and the second male lead in its final three chapters. The stoic, aloof, and taciturn second male lead, Ethan Hayes, was “defiled” by me, the evil antagonist. Even though he didn’t like me, because of the baby in my belly, he had no choice but to bury his feelings for the female lead deep in his heart and compromise by marrying me. He was just starting his tech startup and desperately needed money. Yet, I kept recklessly swiping cards for luxury designer bags. I even constantly used the baby to threaten him, forbidding him from having any contact with Chloe Sterling, the female lead. This pushed him to the brink of misery and a mental breakdown every single day. I don’t know if the author suddenly felt sorry for Ethan at the very end. But in the finale of the novel, she hastily wrote me off with a sloppy car crash. … When this future plotline flooded into my brain, I had just finished showering and was lying in bed. This was the very first day of my marriage to Ethan. So, I wasn’t worried. I still had plenty of time to change my ending. Our marriage started like a bad soap opera cliché. On the night of the male and female leads’ wedding, someone slipped a drug into my glass. Dizzy and disoriented, I was helped into a hotel room by a waiter. There was a hidden micro-camera in the room, and the steamy, intimate moments were broadcast live onto the massive screens in the wedding banquet hall. Even though the feed was violently cut off after just two seconds, the rumors still spread like wildfire. With my reputation ruined, I lost all value for a strategic high-society marriage. My father tracked down Ethan, using threats and bribes to force him to take responsibility for me. He even lied, claiming I was pregnant with Ethan’s child, attempting to guilt-trip him into submission. Actually, the baby was real, but I hadn’t dared to tell him yet. … I touched my still-flat stomach, then got up. The already cramped apartment was stuffed to the brim with the bags and clothes I had brought over. Even though most of it was unnecessary. But Ethan hadn’t said a word; he just quietly helped me pack everything into the bedroom. He very calmly integrated me into his life. No coldness, no hostility, and no warnings. This deviated slightly from the original novel. Perhaps… he was just hiding his pain in the shadows. It was a one-bedroom apartment. A bit messy, sure. But the warm yellow wallpaper, glowing under the lamplight, added a lot of coziness. Ethan had just finished his shower. His dark hair was still slightly damp as he stood by the window hanging up laundry. Outside, the night was heavy, and the distant city lights were dazzling and brilliant. That translucent lavender slip dress brushed right against his undershirt, swaying in the breeze in a way that made my heart flutter. He finished hanging the clothes, turned around, and saw me standing in the bedroom doorway. “Ethan, let’s sleep in separate rooms.” I thought about it over and over, and finally spoke up. As long as I kept my distance, didn’t interfere with his choices, and didn’t pressure him, Ethan wouldn’t feel miserable. If Ethan wasn’t miserable, then my final ending wouldn’t be so tragic. Besides, he didn’t like me anyway. Just when I thought he would agree to my suggestion without hesitation… He simply stated, “There’s only one bedroom.” “What about the couch?” “What do you think?” he asked calmly. That beat-up old couch was indeed tiny. Even I wouldn’t fit on it. So, I shut my mouth. 2 I always felt like I had known Ethan from somewhere before. But whenever I tried hard to remember, I came up blank. I didn’t recall having any deep interactions with him back when I was busy chasing the male lead. To me, he was at best a stranger I had crossed paths with a few times. But that day, when I woke up with my head pounding and saw him for the first time, I was hit by an overwhelming sense of familiarity. It felt like… the heart-stopping thrill of reuniting after a long separation. Such a strange feeling. As I was lying on my stomach on the bed, mindlessly scrolling through my phone, a glass of warm milk was handed to me. Drinking milk before bed was a habit I’d had since childhood. But how did he know? Even stranger. “Just heated it up.” “Oh.” I sat up on my knees, holding the glass with both hands and taking small sips. Halfway through, it suddenly hit me: I needed to lay down some ground rules before his disgust for me deepened. “Ethan, we need to talk.” “About what?” The edge of the mattress dipped slightly. He pulled back the thin blanket and sat down on the bed. I looked at him seriously and said, “Listen. When we’re outside, no matter how much you hate me, please don’t show it. Please, please don’t humiliate me in public.” “I know you didn’t want to get married. Once this blows over, we’ll quietly get a divorce.” He looked at me calmly, saying nothing. The persona of a willful, arrogant, prideful rich heiress was already baked into my blood. After I finished, I added another line: “Oh, and I don’t like Chloe Sterling. Don’t go seeing her, or I’ll be absolutely sick to my stomach.” My aura and the female lead’s truly repelled each other. No matter what, I couldn’t stand the idea of someone on my marriage certificate treating her well right under my nose. Ethan looked at me, slowly lowered his eyes, and replied with a soft, “Yeah.” I let out a long sigh of relief, my mood uncontrollably lifting. It seemed Ethan was a very reasonable guy after all. I couldn’t finish the milk. Just as I leaned halfway over to put the remaining half-glass on the nightstand… He grabbed my wrist. The man’s knuckles were distinct, his palm warm. I looked up, slightly stunned. His gaze lingered on my face for a second, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly. Then, he lowered his head, leaned in, and his pale lips pressed against the exact spot I had drunk from. Guiding my hand, he slowly finished the rest of the milk. It was such an intimate, natural gesture. The spot where his hand wrapped around my wrist was faintly burning. That sense of familiarity hit me again. I suddenly blurted out, “Ethan, did we know each other before?” “What do you think?” He placed the glass back on the table and fired the question back at me. The halo of the bedside lamp fell on him. The only sound in the quiet room was the ticking of the wall clock. As our eyes locked and our breaths mingled, his gaze grew increasingly searing. 3 I had a boyfriend in college. He was a financial aid student. Not only did he work multiple jobs every day to pay off debt, but he was also quiet and introverted. In every way, he was nothing like the type of guy I would normally fall for. And truthfully, I was just playing around. Because I had heard from rumors that this guy had a massive crush on Chloe Sterling. I had the money, the looks, and the family background, but in the male lead’s eyes, I still couldn’t compare to Chloe, the innocent little flower. So, I decided to prove that the male lead was blind for picking Chloe by conquering this guy myself. Any normal guy would know to pick me. I threw one hundred percent of my enthusiasm into chasing him. Every day, I would cross half the campus to find him at his department. I sat with him in lectures, kept him company during study sessions, and ate lunch with him. After grinding him down for two weeks, his attitude remained lukewarm. Until a gang of debt collectors tracked him down. His gambling addict father had died from alcoholism, leaving all the debt squarely on his shoulders. I went to find him that day and bumped right into the loan sharks. Wielding baseball bats and spewing vile threats, they backed him into a corner. Over a million dollars in debt was enough to crush a college student. But to me, it was just the price of a designer handbag. I casually tossed a platinum debit card at them. The crushing weight of survival was instantly lifted off him. The young man stood frozen in place, his eyes turning red. After a long while, hot tears rolled down his face. A couple of days later, he asked for my bank account number, promising to pay me back once he made money. I didn’t care much. Everything went smoothly after that. He dropped all his defenses around me. Whenever I was with him, I didn’t need to initiate holding hands or hugging. He seemed aloof and disciplined, but he always loved pulling me into empty hallways or secluded corners of the campus, wrapping his arm around my waist, keeping his head lowered as he kissed me over and over again. Once, in an empty lecture hall, he kissed me so passionately he lost control, gripping me so tightly it felt like he wanted to fuse me into his own body. Someone even recorded a video of that moment and posted it to the university’s anonymous gossip account. The comments section was completely obsessed with us. But not long after, I initiated a breakup. Things that came too easily were just too boring for me. Plus, the male lead and Chloe seemed to be getting closer, so I had to hurry up and sabotage them. On that sweltering afternoon, he pressed his lips together in silence, stubbornly staring at me without blinking for a very long time. Trying to read my face to confirm if I was serious. The summer wind blew hot waves through the trees, the deafening buzz of cicadas fading into background noise. The ice cream in his hand was supposed to be for me. But now, it was slowly melting over his fingers. White vanilla cream dripped down the cone, drop by drop, impossible to save. I probably said some really harsh things at the end. He stood there blankly, watching me walk away. No fighting, no demanding answers, no begging me to stay. After a brief intersection, we returned to our separate lives. Later, whenever I occasionally thought of that relationship, my memories were blurry and vague. I couldn’t remember his name or his face at all. But it was all in the past anyway. For the longest time, I had zero desire to look him up. Besides, that relationship barely took up three chapters in the novel. There really was no point in remembering it. But now. I felt like I was looking into the eyes of that boy from that summer through Ethan’s gaze. 4 To confirm my theory, I rejoined the university gossip page. But after scrolling for an entire morning, I couldn’t find the kissing video. I lay in bed, staring at the stark white ceiling, feeling a strange sense of loss. So, was that boy really just a nameless extra who vanished after his plot purpose was served? I let my thoughts run wild until I finally dragged myself out of bed at noon. My phone had a message from Ethan sent earlier that morning: [Breakfast is keeping warm in the kitchen. Remember to eat when you wake up.] [Some of your clothes are in the walk-in closet. Call me if you can’t find them.] Undoubtedly, Ethan was putting effort into taking care of me. The wardrobe, shoe rack, and vanity in the apartment were all brand new. So was the AC unit and the mattress. None of this was mentioned in the original plot. The only logical explanation was that the boy from back then was Ethan. 5 The club was loud and buzzing. My best friend Stella laughed out loud when she heard my theory. “Princess, is it possible he’s just being nice because of the baby in your belly?” “You’re pregnant with his kid. Isn’t it normal for him to treat you well? What is there to obsess over?” I doubled down on my theory: “But he really resembles that boyfriend I had in college.” “Impossible,” Stella declared definitively. “Even though I don’t remember your ex, it definitely wasn’t Ethan Hayes.” “Ethan was a legend in the Finance department back then. If you had dated someone that high-profile, wouldn’t I remember? Plus, your majors were located on opposite corners of the campus. You guys wouldn’t have even crossed paths.” “Besides, you were so toxic back then. If Ethan was that guy, he would definitely be out for revenge. Why would he treat you so well?” I defensively shot back: “Who was toxic?! I only dated him! He was the only guy I ever kissed! I didn’t let anyone else near me!” Stella scoffed. I looked down and texted a few other friends. The results were unanimous. Everyone remembered I had a boyfriend. But nobody remembered his name or what he looked like. I closed my eyes and let out a long breath. This whole situation was an absolute mystery. Faced with this puzzle, my efforts were entirely useless. “Alright, Princess, why are you hung up on this? Instead of wasting time, shouldn’t you be trying to find out who spiked your drink?” “I can’t find out,” I groaned, collapsing hopelessly onto the leather sofa. “Seriously? Shouldn’t your prime suspect be Chloe Sterling?” I stared up at the dazzling, chaotic disco lights and said nothing. Right now, Chloe wasn’t just the CEO male lead’s wife; she was also Ethan’s untouchable, unrequited first love. If I dared to lay a finger on her, those two men would ruin me in a heartbeat. I had calculated the stakes perfectly within sixty seconds. Whatever. It didn’t matter. Let it be. 6 The torrential rain poured down without stopping until 10 PM. Under the howling wind, the city lights blurred through the restless night. I was eating a fruit platter while watching the club dancers perform. My phone buzzed twice. It was Ethan. [Where are you?] [At a club with a friend.] [Are you coming to pick me up?] I typed out the two messages and hit send. This was part of my life, so I didn’t see the need to hide it. [Address.] I dropped a pin. Then, I added a sticker: Thanks hubby, kiss kiss. The music in the VIP room reached its finale. The young dancer, dripping in sweat, locked eyes with me. I gave him an enthusiastic thumbs-up. Grabbing my purse, I waved at Stella. “I’m heading out. The bill’s on you, Stella.” I only made it two steps before someone grabbed my wrist from behind. “The rain is crazy out there. Won’t you stay and play a little longer, Harper?” The young, handsome guy curved his lips, giving me an obedient, sweet smile. His fingers silently stroked my palm. Stella laughed from the couch. “Don’t break his heart, Harper. Finn waits for you every time.” “Knock it off.” I pulled my hand back. Seeing that I was actually leaving, the boy didn’t push it. “Let me walk you out. The entrance is a bit far, and cars can’t pull all the way in.” “Fine.” I hadn’t brought an umbrella anyway.

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