Author: Momo Chan

In the third month of the cold war with my A-list actor boyfriend, we were invited onto a reality show and told to call the person we love most. Out of spite, he called his assistant, Hannah. The internet went wild. I dialed an unknown number, a call to my mother in another world. The internet ridiculed me. Hamilton sneered. “You’re an orphan. What mother? You’re so pathetic you’d hire an actress to play your own mom.” I said nothing. As he watched me with that mocking expression, I ran to the window and jumped. The System had just told me. All I had to do was die in this world. Then I could finally go home and be with my mom again. 1. “To stoop so low you’d hire an actress to play your own mom… you have no shame.” Host, if the body in this world dies, you can return home. The two voices echoed in my mind at the same time. I stared blankly ahead, lost for a moment. Hamilton, however, thought I was looking at him and let out a contemptuous laugh. “What’s wrong? Don’t tell me you don’t have a single person you love most? Are you that much of a failure?” His words triggered a wave of laughter from the crew. I was the only one not laughing. He wasn’t wrong. Ever since I arrived in this world and accepted the mission to win him over, my life had revolved around him. To complete the mission as quickly as possible and get back home to cure my mother, I never had time to make friends. I could only rely on him. I was like a fragile vine, clinging to him for survival. The internet had even dubbed me “the world’s clingiest girlfriend.” During the years he loved me most, Hamilton would hold me and make promises. “Anya, I’ll be with you for the rest of our lives. We’ll never be apart.” I believed him. Until the first time I walked in on him and Hannah kissing. He’d explained it away impatiently, his eyes fixed on Hannah’s flushed cheeks. “It was just a dare from a game, can you stop being so paranoid? There’s nothing between us. Don’t make it sound so sordid.” We had a huge fight. Then, three months ago, I found them again, emerging from the bathroom together in bathrobes. I couldn’t lie to myself anymore. He didn’t even bother with an explanation this time. Instead, he deliberately wrapped his arm around Hannah. “All you do is argue, argue, argue. Can’t you learn to be sweet and obedient like Hannah?” In that moment, I finally understood. It was over. This mission… I couldn’t do it anymore. Fortunately, the System didn’t force me to continue. It readily agreed to cancel the mission and even promised to uphold its end of the bargain: to cure my mother. With that, I had nothing left to hold me back. The System’s voice echoed in my mind again. Host, your mother asked me to tell you that she misses you very much. A sharp pang hit my nose, and my eyes instantly welled with tears. That’s right. I did have someone I loved. My mom. And I missed her so, so much. “I want… to go home,” I mumbled, my voice choked with emotion. Hamilton froze, a flicker of remorse in his eyes, but his words were still sharp. “Anya, your acting skills are getting better and better…” I pretended not to hear him. I stood up and walked quickly toward the window. Amid the panicked shouts of the crew and the crash of falling camera equipment, I leaped from the windowsill. I was done with Hamilton. I was done with our five years together. I just wanted to go home. 2. I woke to the sterile smell of antiseptic. For a moment, I thought I’d made it back. But before the joy could even register, a familiar voice shattered my hope. Unfortunately, I hadn’t died. “Anya, you’re going to threaten me with suicide just because I called Hannah? All I did was say a few words to you! And you were the one who started the fight!” “If you really wanted to die, you should have picked a higher floor! A three-story fall won’t kill you. What’s with the act?” Hamilton’s eyes were bloodshot. I stared at him, stunned into silence. Before I could speak, the door opened and Hannah rushed in, her face streaked with tears, looking as if she might collapse at any moment. “Anya, I’m so sorry. Hamilton was just trying to get a rise out of you, to make you jealous. That’s the only reason he called me. I’ll disappear. I won’t bother you two ever again.” With that, she gave Hamilton a look filled with sorrow and reluctance, then turned to leave. She’d only taken a few steps before Hamilton grabbed her wrist and pulled her back. His expression was grim. “This isn’t your fault. Why are you leaving? Don’t cry. I’ll have Anya clear your name.” He turned back to me, his gaze turning to ice. “Anya, because your little stunt was broadcast live, Hannah is being crucified online. You have to make a statement and explain that she’s innocent. She doesn’t deserve to be dragged into your mess.” He continued, his voice hardening. “Everywhere she goes, people are calling her a homewrecker because of what you did. You need to apologize to her. You were in the wrong this time, and I’m not going to enable you.” I almost wanted to laugh. But none of this drama mattered anymore. I tossed my phone to him, my face a mask of calm. “Fine. Post whatever you want.” My voice was flat. “I just want to go home now.” The System immediately responded: Soon, Host. Very soon. I closed my eyes again, shutting them out. “Get out. Both of you, get out.” 3. Hamilton hesitated for a moment, but he didn’t leave. He expertly unlocked my phone and quickly typed out a clarification statement. When he handed the phone back, his eyes were clouded with a complex emotion. “Anya, after all these years, your lock screen is still that same photo.” I didn’t speak, just glanced at the screen. It was a picture of Hamilton and me holding a birthday cake, our smiles radiant and full of love. I felt a pang of nostalgia. Back then, he wasn’t a famous actor. He was running from audition to audition, working as an extra. For my birthday, he’d scraped together all his money to buy me an expensive, beautiful cake. “Anya, thank you for sticking with me,” he had said. “From now on, I’ll buy you the most beautiful, most expensive cake every year. We have to be together forever.” He became famous and kept his promise. But somewhere along the way, the cakes and gifts became cold and sharp. They no longer tasted sweet. All that was left was a lingering, bitter aftertaste. I spent a week in the hospital, my mind consumed with finding another way to die. The day I was discharged, Hamilton came to pick me up. A crowd of his fans had gathered at the entrance. They started shouting the moment they saw me. “Go to hell, Anya! Why didn’t you just die when you jumped?” “Such a manipulative, green-tea bitch!” “And you have the nerve to slander Hannah? You’re the real homewrecker! Who knows how many producers you slept with to get where you are!” The words went in one ear and out the other. After all these years, I was used to it. Hamilton always thought I was strong, good-tempered, and resilient. He’d praised my thick skin more than once. The truth was, I was just numb from the pain. So hurt that my face no longer showed it. We finally managed to shake the fans, and Hamilton’s car pulled up in front of me. The passenger window rolled down, revealing Hannah’s slightly flushed face. “Anya, hurry, get in! Your haters will be back any second. Don’t get us caught in the crossfire, haha.” She stuck her tongue out, grinning like a cat that had gotten the cream. Hamilton wasn’t angry at all. He just smiled at Hannah, his eyes filled with an unconscious softness. The passenger seat, once exclusively mine, had been redecorated. It was now filled with small cosmetics, a makeup mirror, and Hannah’s favorite bunny-eared plushie and snacks. These were all things Hamilton had forbidden me from bringing into his car. He’d claimed they could damage the interior or be misinterpreted by the paparazzi. Looking at it now, I realized the truth. It was never about the car. It was about who he loved. But it didn’t matter. I took two steps back, hailed a taxi, and went back to the small apartment I was renting. 4. I sold most of my belongings and donated the money to a charity for underprivileged children. Just as I was preparing to slit my wrists with a shard of porcelain, the doorbell rang. Hamilton stood outside, his face dark, with a red-eyed Hannah trailing behind him. “Anya, are you determined to keep fighting with me? I honestly don’t understand what I did to upset you this time!” He let out a sigh, his gaze heavy as he looked at me, a hint of helplessness in his eyes. “Fine. It’s your birthday today, so I won’t argue with you. I bought you a cake. I came to celebrate with you.” Hannah blushed and stammered out a “Happy Birthday.” My gaze, however, was fixed on the necklace she was wearing. Hannah touched it, a sweet smile on her face. “Hamilton gave it to me. I liked it the moment I saw it. He said it was just a little trinket, so he let me have it.” Hamilton nodded, walking into the room and sitting down as if he owned the place. “It was old anyway. It was just sitting around. If Hannah likes it, she can have it. Besides, I never really liked it.” I froze, stunned for a moment. That was a matching couple’s necklace we had bought when we first got together. It was only a few hundred dollars, not particularly fancy, but he had treasured it. “I’m going to keep this forever! It’s a symbol of our love, it’s special. If I ever lose it, you can punish me by never letting me see you again, okay?” Every year on his birthday, he would wear that necklace with me. Last year, he stopped. I didn’t ask why. I just never imagined it would end up around Hannah’s neck. 5. When the cake box was opened, Hamilton froze, a flicker of panic in his eyes. I stopped his hand as he tried to close the lid. I saw the four words written in frosting: Happy Wedding. Happy wedding, to Hamilton and Hannah. “They… they must have made a mistake. Anya, you’re not angry, are you? It’s just a cake. We can just scrape the words off.” Hannah’s face paled, but when Hamilton wasn’t looking, her eyes were filled with a triumphant provocation. “Anya, I’m so sorry. I messed up. It’s my fault for not giving the baker clear instructions. I’m so, so sorry. I really didn’t mean for this to happen.” She started to cry, her shoulders shaking. The guilt on Hamilton’s face vanished, replaced by a wave of protectiveness. He gently wiped her tears away, murmuring soft, comforting words. When he saw that I wasn’t speaking, his expression soured. “Anya! Hannah is already crying, why are you being so cold? It’s just a cake! I can just buy you another one.” “Can you stop being so petty? Besides, wasn’t it your little suicide stunt that got her harassed online in the first place? She’s already emotionally fragile, and she made the effort to come celebrate with you. Why do you have to be so difficult?” I rubbed my temples, weary. My heart felt nothing. Hamilton was right. It was just a cake. A flawed one. But was the cake the only thing that was flawed? “Hamilton, let’s break up.” He stood frozen, staring at me in disbelief. I didn’t wait for him to respond. My face was pale, my voice weak. “I’m going home. We won’t be seeing each other again. I wish you two a long and happy life together.” Crash. The water glass slipped from Hamilton’s hand and shattered on the floor. He just stood there, stunned, searching my face for any sign that I was lying. Finally, his voice came out, raw and hoarse. “Go home? Where would you go besides my place? You don’t have a home! Anya, can you stop this? You have no parents, no family, where could you possibly go?” “If you don’t want to apologize, just say so. I won’t force you. But you can’t just throw the word ‘breakup’ around like it’s nothing!” I shook my head weakly. My body was growing heavy, my vision blurring at the edges. Panic finally seized him. Just as I was about to collapse, he rushed forward and caught me in his arms. In his haste, he kicked over the black trash can. The pool of blood I had already let spilled out, staining the floor crimson. My arm, with its freshly cut wrist, slammed onto the hard floor, sending a jolt of pain through me. “Ah! Blood! So much blood!” Hannah shrieked. “Anya! Are you insane?! Anya, who told you to kill yourself! What kind of sick game are you playing now! ANYA!” His voice was fading. Hamilton. Let’s never meet again. Not in this lifetime, or the next.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393918”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My best friend and I were transported to another world together. She became the Empress, and I was her lady-in-waiting. The Emperor adored her for three years, and for three years, she doted on me. She said I couldn’t be single for two lifetimes, so she arranged my marriage to the nation’s top general, a man with an eight-pack, promising me a life of carnal bliss. The reality? After a year of marriage, he hadn’t touched me. I went to the palace to cry on her shoulder. “That bastard is useless in bed! What do I need him for?” She burst into tears right along with me. “The royal physician says the Emperor is sterile! What do I need him for?” Through our tears, our eyes met. “I want a divorce,” I said. “You?” “If you’re leaving, I’m leaving!” And so, a great fire claimed the lives of the Empress and the General’s wife. A few months later, in a small border town, two beautiful, wealthy ladies appeared. … 1 The maid woke me before the sun was up. I, who usually slept until noon, forced myself out of bed, dressed with a heavy heart, and managed to rush out of the general’s residence just as Marcus Thorne was stepping into his carriage. “What are you doing here?” Marcus’s voice was clipped with annoyance as he took in my breathless state. His handsome, chiseled face was a mask of indifference, but his dark, piercing eyes betrayed his impatience. “I need to go to the palace!” I explained hastily. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen the Empress. I wanted to visit her.” He frowned. “Do you have to go right this second?” The way he said it made it sound like I was using the visit as an excuse to ride with him, as if I were some predator looking to devour him. I pouted, mumbling under my breath, “Your carriage is the only one with silver-thread charcoal and a fox-fur blanket. It’s warmer.” He paused, then finally moved aside to let me into the carriage for the journey to the palace. Marcus had always been cold and distant with me. I knew he looked down on me, a former palace maid, believing I was beneath him, a blemish on the honor of the great General Thorne. But after today, he wouldn’t have to worry about that anymore. Because my visit to the Empress was for one purpose: to get a divorce. My best friend, Selena, and I had been transported to this alternate historical reality together. She became a powerful Empress from a noble family, exclusively favored by the Emperor for three years. I became her handmaiden, living comfortably under her protection for those same three years. She’d declared that after twenty years of being single in our past life, I deserved to experience a man in this one. She raved about General Thorne’s physique, promising me he would deliver nights of earth-shattering pleasure. I’d snuck a peek at him once at the training grounds. The way his sweat-soaked tunic clung to his torso, outlining every single one of his eight abdominal muscles… I was hooked. So, Selena had bartered a red lace camisole I’d made for her to convince the Emperor to issue a royal decree of marriage. But a year into our marriage, Marcus Thorne hadn’t laid a finger on me. He had court duties. He had troops to drill. He rose before the chickens and went to bed after the dogs. I, on the other hand, needed fourteen hours of sleep a day. He wasn’t home when I went to sleep, and he was already gone when I woke up. Even on the nights I forced myself to stay awake, waiting for him, he would just lie beside me, stiff as a board. A few times, I’d mustered the courage to place a hand on his chest or wrap a leg around his waist, and he would instantly sit bolt upright. “What do you think you’re doing?!” he’d bark. It made me feel like some villainess forcing herself on an innocent maiden, or a desperate, lonely widow. Overcome with shame, I eventually stopped trying. Slowly, the household staff realized I was a wife in name only. The quality of my food, my clothing, my general care… it all began to slip. The winter was harsh, and my already fragile health gave way to a high fever. With the limited medical technology of the era, I was sick for a month. During that entire time, Marcus never once checked on me, let alone cared for me. What was the point of staying with a man who didn’t even see me as his wife? I had made up my mind. Today, I was going to the palace to ask my best friend to help me divorce Marcus Thorne. 2 It had been a month since we’d last seen each other. Selena hugged me tightly, her heart aching for me as she cursed Marcus’s name. “It took me three years to finally get some meat on your bones,” she fumed. “Is the General’s residence a monastery? How did you get so thin?” I nodded. It might as well have been a monastery. And Marcus was the celibate monk. When I first arrived in this world, I wasn’t Selena’s handmaiden. I was a lowly servant in the palace gardens, rail-thin and weak. One day, I was weeding under the scorching sun when I looked up and saw her standing before me, her eyes wide. “Ivy?” “Selena!” We shouted each other’s Earth names, confirming what we both suspected, and burst into tears, hugging each other tightly. To the astonishment of the other servants, Selena took my filthy self back to her opulent chambers and spent the next three years fattening me up. She told me later she’d thought some maid was squatting to take a dump in the royal garden and went over to see who was so bold. Turns out, it was me. I told her she was even bolder, wanting to watch someone else poop. She said it was because she missed the satisfying squat of a modern toilet, having to use a chamber pot since she became Empress. I told her that as the Empress, building a squat toilet shouldn’t be that hard. A lightbulb went off in her head, and she had me draw up plans for one immediately. My best friend was a beautiful idiot who knew nothing but… well, bodily functions. So, for three years, I used her power as a shield while I quietly navigated the treacherous court, eliminating dangers and obstacles for her. It was because she was such an idiot that I rarely complained about my troubles at the General’s residence. I didn’t want her to get involved and be accused of meddling in state affairs. Besides, apart from being a lonely wife, life wasn’t too bad. But after my illness, my perspective had shifted. “Selena,” I said, stopping her as she tried to stuff another pastry into my mouth. “It’s time for some real talk. My husband… he’s impotent. I was too embarrassed to tell you before. But I’ve had an epiphany. I want to divorce him. Can you help me?” Selena froze. Her eyes welled up, and she let out a loud sob. I rushed to wipe her tears. “I’m the one getting a divorce, not you. Why are you crying?” “I… I have something to confess too,” she choked out. “The royal physician told me the Emperor was poisoned years ago… he can’t have children! I’ve wanted to leave him for ages!” “You know my greatest wish is to have a baby. I used to get my fix by mothering you, but now that you’re married and the damn Emperor is shooting blanks, I’m miserable!” Selena and I had grown up together. She was a stunning but naive woman, constantly being fooled by men. One ex had even caused her to have a miscarriage, leaving her unable to conceive. Her greatest dream was to have a child of her own. And me? I’d seen her cry over so many worthless men that I was convinced all men were trash. I’d never even tried to date. And now, here we were in a new world. She still couldn’t have a baby. And I still hadn’t had a man. “You’re in line to inherit the throne,” I tried to console her. “Don’t worry. Even if the Emperor can’t produce an heir himself, he’ll find a baby for you to raise.” “Just help me first. Help me divorce that useless husband of mine.” Selena just kept crying. “But it wouldn’t be my baby! He’s good for three rounds a night, you know! How can he not make a baby?” Her words just made me angrier. The Emperor, a man who looked like a gentle scholar, could go three times a night, but Marcus, with his rock-hard muscles, couldn’t manage even once? When she finally cried herself out, she wiped her tears and asked, “Are you absolutely sure you want a divorce?” I nodded. She gripped my hand. “If you leave, I’m leaving too!” “You’re the Empress,” I reminded her. “It’s not that easy to get a divorce.” “But I can die, can’t I?” 3 Faking one’s death to escape a miserable life was a classic trope in the novels we both loved. We were well-versed in the concept. After confirming she was serious about leaving, I laid out my entire plan. I would “die” first, and she would follow a few days later to avoid suspicion. I told her to go to the Azure Cloud Temple to pray for me three days after my disappearance. I reminded her to convert her jewelry into cash and gold for easier transport, suggesting hiding places for when she left the palace. I even told her to bring something to prove her identity… She was giddy with excitement, talking about how she’d always wanted to see the world outside the palace. She’d heard the border towns had spring-like weather all year round and were far from the capital… We chatted excitedly for hours. It wasn’t until a eunuch came to summon her for dinner with the Emperor that we realized the entire day had passed. I said a hasty goodbye and rushed out of the palace just before the gates closed. I was surprised to see the General’s carriage still waiting. I assumed the driver had dropped Marcus off and come back for me. But when I pulled back the curtain, I found Marcus sitting inside. He had been resting with his eyes closed, but the sound of my arrival made him open them. The first thing he did was frown. I had run all the way from the inner palace, and the cold wind had whipped my face raw. A thin layer of sweat had broken out on my forehead, leaving my cheeks flushed and hot. I figured my disheveled appearance must be an embarrassment to him, hence the displeasure. “It’s been a while since I saw the Empress, so we talked for a bit longer than expected. I almost missed the gate closing,” I explained, sitting down and trying to smooth my windblown hair. “Mm,” he grunted, adding more charcoal to the brazier. After a moment of silence, he spoke again. “What did you and the Empress talk about? Did she ask you anything in particular?” The Empress asked me if Marcus’s impotence meant he couldn’t get it up at all, or if he was just a three-second man. I obviously couldn’t tell him the truth. “Nothing much,” I said vaguely. “She was just concerned about my health and had the royal kitchen make me some of my favorite foods.” “She thinks I’ve been mistreating you?” His gaze fell on my noticeably thinner face. Before I could answer, he added, “You were sick for a month. It’s no wonder she’s worried.” I nodded. Then his tone turned cold again. “You have only yourself to blame.” “What kind of wife goes to the palace every three days, more faithfully than a pilgrim visiting a shrine? The only reason you stopped was because you fell ill last month.” My best friend was a lovable idiot. If I didn’t check on her frequently, what if she got bullied? But faced with his criticism, I just lowered my head meekly. “Yes, you’re right. I was wrong. I won’t do it again.” My submissive attitude clearly surprised him. Even with my head down, I could feel his intense gaze on me. After all, on our wedding night, his first words to me had been, “Now that you’ve left the palace, you should cut ties with the one in it.” Before our marriage, there had been a series of “accidents” in the palace during the selection of new concubines. One beauty drowned in a lake shortly after being favored by the Emperor. Another, praised for her singing, was poisoned and lost her voice… The frequent mishaps involving the Emperor’s new favorites had all benefited Selena. I knew Marcus suspected that she and I were behind it all. He wouldn’t listen to my explanations. So I, in turn, refused to listen to his commands. I continued my frequent palace visits, right up until I fell ill. Perhaps my newfound obedience pleased him, or maybe he was just in a good mood today. He actually took my hand, which had been resting on my lap, and held it in his. His large hand was warm, and his usually cold voice now had a touch of gentleness. “Good. As long as you understand.” “The winter is harsh. For the sake of your health, you should stay away from the palace for the next few months.” I nodded. “Okay.” It won’t just be the next few months, I thought. It’ll be the next few decades. 4 The thought of leaving this place with Selena filled me with a nervous excitement. I, who usually fell asleep the moment my head hit the pillow, found myself wide awake. When Marcus returned from his late-night training and slid into bed beside me, I still hadn’t drifted off. Maybe it was a warrior’s keen senses, but even in the pitch-dark room, he asked in a low voice, “You’re still awake?” I squeezed my eyes shut, feigning sleep, and didn’t answer. He was silent for a moment. “Did you catch a chill today?” he asked again. “Are you not feeling well?” I continued to play dead. He let out a soft sigh. Just when I thought my ruse had worked, he rolled over, his arm expertly sliding under my neck, and pulled me into his embrace. I had always been a cold-natured person due to my poor health in my youth. No matter how many blankets I used, I was always chilled. Marcus’s body was a furnace, a giant human hot-water bottle. He smelled faintly of the soap he’d just used, the same scent as mine, so I didn’t resist his embrace. In fact, it felt… comfortable, almost familiar. The warmth sparked a flicker of reluctance in me, but I quickly extinguished it. Other men are probably just as warm and smell just as good, I told myself. Why hang myself on this one crooked tree? I was leaving. I shouldn’t be coveting his body anymore. But then again… I wondered if other men had an eight-pack. I wondered if other men’s arms were as strong as his… My mind wandered, and soon, drowsiness washed over me. I fell into a deep sleep. I slept soundly and woke, as usual, when the sun was high in the sky. After I woke, I pocketed a few banknotes and several heavy gold ingots, along with a small bag of gold nuggets shaped like melon seeds. Under the pretense of going shopping, I went to find Autumn, the owner of a local dressmaking shop. When we were alone, I pressed all the gold into her hands. She understood immediately, her eyes turning red. “Ivy… are you really… leaving?” Autumn had been a fellow servant with me in the palace gardens. When Selena had rescued me, I hadn’t forgotten Autumn. I’d asked Selena to arrange for her release from the palace and had given her a large sum of money to start her own shop. Not long after marrying Marcus, I had discovered his… issue. That, combined with other factors, had led me to start planning my escape long ago. I’d had everything arranged for months, just waiting for the day I was finally ready to go. “Yes,” I nodded, pressing a few large banknotes into her hand. “Tomorrow afternoon, I’ll be passing by the Eternal River…” “After this, we probably won’t see each other again… take this money, for yourself…” Tears streamed down her face. “Why so sudden? It’s been half a year. I thought… I thought you weren’t going to leave.” I gently wiped her tears, wanting to comfort her but not knowing what to say. I was afraid that if I opened my mouth, I’d end up crying with her, and the servants outside would notice. It wasn’t sudden. It was the culmination of a heart that had finally died. That night, I had insomnia again. When Marcus came back late and lay down beside me, he asked in surprise, “You’re still awake?” He must have night vision, I thought. How else would he know? He pulled me into his arms, just like the night before. Feeling the warmth of his body and the hard muscle beneath his thin nightshirt, my mind started to wander. I was leaving tomorrow. Finding another man with an eight-pack in this era wouldn’t be easy. I mustered my courage and reached out, my hand tentatively touching his abdomen. Just a few more touches, I told myself. I won’t get another chance. 5 The moment my hand touched his stomach, I felt his entire body go rigid. I didn’t care. I was going to enjoy this while I could. My hand roamed over his abdomen, tracing the lines of his muscles. His abs felt like warm jade, smooth and hard. I couldn’t get enough. Soon, I heard his breathing grow heavier. The arm around me tightened, and in one fluid motion, he was on top of me. A soft, searing heat pressed against my lips, a gentle rain that quickly turned into a demanding storm, stealing my breath. My mind went blank. When he finally released my mouth, the soft, fluttering kisses moved to my forehead, my cheeks, the corners of my lips, behind my ears, down my neck… My body felt strange, an unfamiliar ache building inside me. I squirmed, trying to find some relief. But my thigh brushed against something hard. Marcus let out a muffled groan, a sound somewhere between punishment and pleasure, and bit my shoulder lightly. The faint sting didn’t clear my head; it only made me dizzier. A soft moan escaped my lips, echoing in the silent night. It was a sound of pure, liquid desire. I clapped a hand over my mouth in shock. That… that sound had come from me? Marcus pulled my hand away. Ashamed of the sound I had made, I clamped my jaw shut, determined not to make another peep. His other hand began to explore, his voice a low, sexy rasp. “Don’t be afraid. I’ll be gentle.” The next second, a sharp pain shot through me. I cried out, tears instantly springing to my eyes. Wasn’t Marcus impotent? How could this be happening? Before I could think, he was using even more torturous methods to make me relax. I grew more and more tense, pushing against his chest, trying to escape. But it was too late to turn back. He held me tightly, whispering for me to not be afraid, but his movements were anything but gentle. I couldn’t get away. At some point, my arms had wrapped themselves around his neck. The bed creaked and groaned for what felt like an eternity. When it was finally over, my eyes were swimming with tears. I leaned in and whispered in his ear, “Liar!” The next day, I woke up, once again, late in the morning. My body ached as if I’d been run over by a carriage. My throat was dry and tight, and I barely had the strength to get dressed. Thankfully, Marcus had helped me into a nightgown before he left. I called for the maid outside, my voice a hoarse croak. When she came in to help me up, her eyes widened at the red marks on my neck, then darted to the messy sheets and the small, dark stain on them. “Madam,” she gasped. “You and the General… you consummated your marriage last night?” Even the maid was shocked. So was I. Had Marcus found a miracle doctor? Had he suddenly been cured? After a whole year of marriage, he just happened to become potent on the very day I was planning to leave. Seeing my silence, the maid realized she’d overstepped. She quickly lowered her head, her lips pressed together nervously. I didn’t blame her. “What time is it?” I asked. “Noon.” I had one hour until my rendezvous with Autumn… “Madam said yesterday she wanted to try the food from the Fragrant Pavilion,” the maid said. “Should I send someone to fetch a few dishes?” My aching body and the winter chill made me want nothing more than to take a hot bath and crawl back into my warm bed. My legs were weak and trembling; I was in no condition to go out. I hesitated for a second. “The food will get cold,” I said. “Let’s go out.”

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1 Every fight triggers my boyfriend’s social media countdown—a relic of our dumb “three-day silence equals breakup” rule. For ten years, he’s weaponized it. When he skipped our 67th courthouse wedding date to help his “just-divorced” childhood friend—then posted their marriage certificate—I finally snapped. I liked the post and wished them well. His rage exploded: “Mandy accidentally clicked ‘share’! Must you be so petty? She’s fragile right now!” “It’s just paperwork. I’ll marry you when she’s stable. Apologize now.” This time, I hung up. The countdown began again. But no desperate texts. No begging outside his door. Just my resignation submitted. Done. After I hung up on a dozen of his follow-up calls, he finally sent a text, his patience worn thin: “Merrin, you’ve got some nerve. Hanging up on me? You think you’re in the right here?” “You have five minutes to post an apology, or we’re through.” Ten years together, and I’d heard threats like this a hundred times. Every single time, I was the one to cave, to plead for forgiveness. This was the first time I’d ever just hung up. When I didn’t respond, Steve started the countdown on his social media feed. He knew how much I loved him, and he used it. Every fight, he’d start the clock, piling on the pressure. For ten years, that stupid rule was his leash, and I was always the one to come crawling back just before time ran out. But now, I’m tired. I’m so tired of being played. Not long after Steve’s post, Mandy, the childhood friend, posted one of her own, tagging me specifically. “Just a little joke with Steve that I accidentally made public. I didn’t realize Merrin would get so upset. I guess I shouldn’t even talk to her anymore, I’m so afraid of setting her off.” Steve, who rarely even looks at his feed, was the first to like it. “It’s someone’s own issue, Mandy, don’t blame yourself. And why should you hide it? If you want to post something, post it.” “Someone,” of course, meant me. Our mutual friends, whose businesses relied on Steve’s law firm, quickly followed suit. “Merrin is so petty. Don’t let someone like her get you down, Mandy.” “No wonder Steve won’t marry her. I wouldn’t marry a woman that insecure either.” I let out a bitter laugh. He would bend over backwards to defend Mandy, terrified of her feeling even a sliver of discomfort. But me, his girlfriend of ten years? I was always met with cold indifference. Mandy could sneeze, and he would ditch our appointment at the courthouse. I’d complain, and he’d get angrier than I was, accusing me of being controlling and petty. But now that I’d finally let go and congratulated them, he was back to his threats and countdowns, demanding I apologize. It was never about right or wrong. The scales of his affection had tipped long ago. “Ma’am, the man whose ID you provided is already married. Would you like to change the applicant?” The clerk looked at me with pity. I took the ID back and smiled. “That’s something to consider.” The young couple behind me cheered as I stepped out of line. It was Valentine’s Day, and appointments at the clerk’s office were a hot commodity. I had waited for hours just to get this spot. But now, looking at the registration form in my hand, I ripped it to shreds without a second thought and tossed it in the trash. I had filled out that form 67 times. I had given him 67 chances. Every time, I would show up early, full of hope, watching the happy couples while I waited for him to arrive. And every time, just before our appointment, he would call with an excuse. The firm was busy. A client was in crisis. “Merrin, these are people’s lives on the line,” he would say, his voice dripping with self-importance. “You want me to abandon them for a piece of paper? How can you be so selfish?” He never knew that after he ditched me for Mandy, she would send me texts, gloating. “Steve’s cooking is amazing. I bet you’ve never had it, have you?” “I walked a little too far today, and Steve was so worried he bought me a luxury car. You’re still using a bike share, right?” And now, he’d even gotten a marriage license with her. It was time for our story to end. 2 The moment I stepped out of the municipal building, I got a notification. My resignation request had been rejected. HR told me Steve hadn’t been in the office for days and couldn’t approve it. They gave me an address and told me to find him myself. Gritting my teeth, I went. The address was a pool hall. Mandy had posted that she wanted to learn to play pool, and Steve, the workaholic, had apparently skipped work for days to teach her. When I found him, he was leaning over Mandy, guiding her shot, their bodies pressed close. The moment she saw me, a contemptuous smirk played on her lips. A few of his office sycophants saw me and swarmed over. “Well, well, look who’s here for Mr. Big Shot.” “Told you. The three-day countdown wouldn’t even last one. She came crawling back.” “Our boss really has her whipped. One word and she’s on her knees.” “Alright, alright, pay up. A bet’s a bet.” I frowned. I’d heard their taunts a million times before, but it never stung like it did now. “I’m not here to make up.” My words sent them into a fit of laughter. “Don’t pretend, Merrin. Everyone knows you’re Steve’s number one groupie. You wouldn’t leave if he set you on fire.” I ignored them and slapped my resignation papers on the table. “Steve, sign it.” He was about to look at the papers when Mandy whined, “Steve, honey, how do I make this shot?” He immediately dropped the papers, pulled his personal seal out of Mandy’s pocket, and tossed it to me. “Sign it yourself. And don’t bother me while I’m teaching Mandy to play.” Steve was obsessed with his privacy. He never let me near his safe. He’d shield his phone like it held state secrets when he typed in a password. And his personal seal? He never let it out of his sight. But now, he had just given it to Mandy. He was so wrapped up in their “date” that he couldn’t even be bothered with official company documents. I clutched the stamped resignation letter, my heart feeling like a cavern with the wind howling through it. I turned to leave, but Steve called out to me. “Mandy’s busy for the next few days. Can you handle her caseload?” He tossed a thick stack of case files at me, each one with nothing but a title. I’d lost count of how many times he’d asked me to do Mandy’s work. Every time, she would take the credit. But if I made a single mistake under the crushing workload, the blame was all mine. Sometimes I’d refuse, but then he’d accuse me of not caring about him or the firm, of letting him down. He’d say if I didn’t do it, he’d have to do it himself. And I, worried about him overworking himself, would always give in. All my sacrifices just earned me his contempt and the right to be ordered around. But I was an ex-employee now. The firm’s problems weren’t mine anymore. “No, I already qui—” My words were cut off by Mandy’s pathetic whimper. “Steve, it’s okay if Merrin doesn’t want to. I can do it myself.” “You just got divorced,” Steve cooed, full of sympathy. “You’re in no state to work. Go have fun. Don’t worry about it.” He turned back to me, his tone glacial. “You know, you’ve already upset Mandy enough with that stunt on your feed. I’m giving you a chance to make it up to her, and you’re refusing? If you keep this up, in three days, you could be on your knees begging, and I still wouldn’t take you back.” I laughed bitterly. When my mother died unexpectedly, I had collapsed from grief multiple times. All Steve had said was, “Pull yourself together and get to work on time. The firm needs you.” But Mandy, who had been divorced for two years, could still use “not feeling up to it” as an excuse to skip work. “Fine by me. I don’t care.” I turned to leave. Steve’s face was a mask of shock. The colleagues were stunned too. “Is she really leaving?” Mandy just chuckled. “Oh, Merrin, if you don’t want to do the work, just say so. No need to play hard to get.” At her words, Steve’s brow smoothed, his confidence returning. His tone softened. “Alright, Merrin, I know I’ve been neglecting you. Be a good girl and finish Mandy’s work, and in three days, we’ll go get our license, okay?” Another empty promise. But this time, I had no appetite for it. I didn’t answer. I just walked away. The colleagues started their snide remarks again. “Look at her, pretending to be tough. Just wait. By tomorrow, she’ll be back, begging for forgiveness.” A wicked thought crossed my mind. I wanted to see them lose. I smirked and looked back at them. “Fine. Then you just wait and see.” 3 Once my resignation was finalized, I went straight to my best friend’s company. In the legal world, clients follow the lawyer, not the firm. My friend was so thrilled to have a top-tier lawyer like me join her team that she practically bowed at my feet. She offered me ten times my previous salary and a villa. I finally moved out of my shabby little apartment. Many of my old clients had been shocked to learn that a “gold-medal lawyer” lived in such a rundown place. I’d always just brushed it off, saying I wasn’t materialistic. The truth was, I’d willingly taken a junior-level salary for years to help Steve’s firm grow. At first, he was grateful. Then, he started to take it for granted. When the heat broke in my apartment one winter, and I asked for money to replace it, he called me extravagant, accused me of being a gold-digger. But for Mandy? He’d buy her a mansion without a second thought. Even Mandy’s dog had a heated doghouse. On the day I moved, I ran into Steve and Mandy. His parents were with them. The four of them were having a happy family dinner at a high-end restaurant. I froze. I remembered the first time I went to Steve’s house. I came bearing gifts, but his parents served me a table full of leftovers. When I awkwardly suggested we all go out to eat, they accused me of being a leech, a spendthrift living off their son. In the end, I cooked for the whole family. After I’d prepared a feast, Steve’s mother slammed her chopsticks down and declared my food too salty. “Only peasants who do manual labor eat like this,” she sneered. “Just what I’d expect from someone with your background.” The gifts I brought them ended up with the building’s cleaning staff. The contrast made me feel like a clown. Steve’s parents were eagerly piling food onto Mandy’s plate. “Mandy and our Steve are just perfect for each other,” his mother gushed. “If only you hadn’t been tricked by that other man, you two would have been together years ago. I think the time is right. You should be together.” His father chimed in, “Yes! Mandy landed several big clients for Steve as soon as she joined the firm. Her future is limitless. Not like that useless Merrin, who can only cook and clean.” Hearing this, I trembled with rage. I was the one who landed those clients. Steve just credited them to Mandy. The money I earned practically supported the entire firm, but Steve never once praised me. Instead, he constantly belittled me, saying I only got cases because of the platform his firm provided. Now, listening to his parents’ slander, he didn’t even try to correct them. He just sighed. “Well, we’ve been together for so long. It’s comfortable.” My heart plummeted. All these years, to him, I was just… comfortable. His mother was not satisfied. “Steve, I’m telling you, that Merrin girl is bad luck. Just look at how her parents died so young. Marrying her will bring you nothing but trouble.” Steve didn’t respond, but I was already in tears. My parents had died giving blood to save his. After a car accident, Steve’s parents were in critical condition. My parents, who had a matching blood type, donated without a second thought. But it wasn’t enough. Steve was a mess. My parents, knowing how much I loved him, secretly donated more blood than their bodies could handle. Steve’s parents were saved. Mine were gone. At first, his family felt guilty. They promised to compensate me, to take care of me. But the compensation never came. Instead, I became the “bad luck” they talked about. I couldn’t listen anymore. I turned to leave.

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After the class reunion, my best friend, Monica, naturally expected me to be the driver and take everyone home. I agreed. But on the way, my car was rear-ended by a limited-edition Rolls-Royce. The owner of the luxury car claimed to be a wealthy tycoon. He said dealing with insurance was a hassle, that our crash was fate, and with a grand gesture, he simply gave me the car. Later, watching me drive around in a million-dollar car every day, Monica went insane with jealousy. When I wasn’t looking, she tampered with my car, causing a crash that killed me. My boyfriend, instead of helping me, testified that I had been driving while fatigued. The shock was too much for my parents; they both died of heart attacks. When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the class reunion. 1 “I’ll drive! I know the roads around here better than anyone. It’ll be safer if I get everyone home!” Monica’s voice cut through the haze. I snapped my eyes open to see her dangling my car keys, looking expectantly at the group. I realized then: Monica had been reborn, too. Seeing my silence, she gave my shoulder a tentative push. “Ava, I’m just trying to help since everyone’s so tired. It’s just your old car. Don’t overthink it.” In my previous life, Monica knew I was allergic to alcohol and couldn’t drink, so she’d pestered me into driving my own car to the reunion. Whenever a classmate mentioned leaving early to catch the last train, she’d point at me with a sly grin and say, “What’s the rush? We’ve got our personal chauffeur, Ava!” “She used to be our class president. What’s wrong with serving us a little now?” “Next time any of you are in a jam, just do what I do. One call and she’ll pick you up. She’s so nice, she never says no.” Back then, I thought she was just tactless. She was my best friend, and I was genuinely happy to help. But now, her words dripped with a sarcasm so thick it was suffocating. After dying once, I finally understood. She never saw me as a friend. I was just her servant. I snapped back to the present and snatched the keys from her hand. “This is my car. If you’re really so kind-hearted, you can pay for everyone’s Uber.” Monica froze, then put on a wounded expression for the crowd. “Oh, so Ava drove here tonight just to show off how rich she is!” she whined. “It’s just an old car. Do you have to be so possessive?” Heads turned in my direction. “Tch, always such a show-off. She hasn’t changed a bit since graduation.” “Monica’s the only one nice enough to stay friends with her all these years.” “It’s just a beat-up car. If you love it so much, you should have just locked it up at home!” Even my boyfriend, Liam, chimed in, tugging at my arm. “Come on, Ava. Monica’s just trying to be nice and get everyone home safely. Just let her.” I stared at him, my heart a cold knot of fury. If I hadn’t been reborn, I never would have known that he and Monica had been sleeping together for who knows how long. I yanked my arm away. “Have you forgotten? Monica’s been drinking! If she gets in an accident in my car, who’s going to be responsible?” The air went still for a few seconds. Everyone exchanged uneasy glances. “She has a point. Forget it, Monica. If she doesn’t want to lend you her car, we’ll just find our own way home.” “No!” Monica waved her hands frantically. “I have to be the one to drive you all home!” She lowered her voice, trying to sound reassuring. “Don’t worry! I only had a tiny sip! Besides, it’s after one in the morning. The cops won’t be out. Trust me.” She reached out and clamped her hand over mine on the car keys. Her grip was surprisingly strong. It wasn’t hard to guess why she was so insistent. In my last life, my car was rear-ended by a Rolls-Royce. The owner, a supposed tycoon, didn’t want the hassle of insurance and just gave me the car. But how could she be so naive? To think someone would just hand over a car worth millions? Seeing my continued refusal, she suddenly burst into tears. “It’s so late! There are girls here! It’s dangerous to take a cab! It’s safer if one of us drives.” “Ava, if you think we’re taking advantage of you, I can pay you for the gas.” She fished five crisp hundred-dollar bills from her purse and shoved them at me. “Is this enough?” Liam snatched the money, pressed my keys into Monica’s palm, and turned on me. “Just let her do it!” he sneered. “Monica is just worried about everyone’s safety. I think you’re just jealous that she’s prettier and more popular than you.” Before I could retort, Monica had already plopped herself into the driver’s seat. The others started pulling me toward the back. “Come on, let’s go. I’m exhausted.” As soon as I was in the car, I heard Monica whisper excitedly, “Just you wait. This time, that million-dollar car will be mine!” I took a deep breath and smiled to myself in the darkness. You’re in such a hurry to die? Fine. I’ll help you. 02 Monica pulled out onto the road, her eyes, reflected in the rearview mirror, gleaming with a manic light. “Monica, slow down!” the classmate in the passenger seat warned. She just giggled. “Don’t worry, I’m a great driver!” I don’t know if it was the excitement or the alcohol, but we hadn’t even left the parking lot when the car lurched into a sharp, sudden turn. My stomach clenched. Before I could even open my mouth to scream, there was a sickening crunch. An electric scooter was on its side, and a woman was sprawled on the pavement. The car erupted in chaos. “Monica, what the hell are you doing?” “Can you even drive? Maybe you should just give the keys back to Ava!” As the others berated her, Monica’s face went pale, her hands trembling on the steering wheel. Liam panicked. He quickly unbuckled her seatbelt. “Monica, get in the back! Quick!” He lowered his voice, his eyes darting around nervously. “When the police get here, we’ll just say Ava was driving.” I stared at him in disbelief. “You want me to take the fall for her?” Liam squared his jaw, his voice dripping with self-righteousness. “Monica is your best friend. What’s the big deal with helping her out?” “You haven’t been drinking, and you have insurance. What are you so afraid of?” He yanked Monica out of the driver’s seat. “Hurry, Monica. I won’t let anything happen to you.” But Monica suddenly snapped back to reality. She glanced at her watch, then violently shook her head, pulling away from Liam. She ran over to the woman on the ground. “How much do you want?” “Name your price. Just don’t call the police. I can give you whatever you want!” The others started whispering. “What’s wrong with Monica? A private settlement will cost a fortune.” “Yeah, what if the woman asks for something outrageous?” “Monica, Ava’s car is insured. Just come back.” Monica ignored them, pressing the woman insistently. “Tell me how much you charge! Quick, I’m in a hurry!” The woman staggered to her feet, looking Monica up and down. “You think you can just leave? How do I know I won’t have long-term injuries?” Monica pointed at my car. “If you’re worried about that, take a picture of my license plate. But I really am in a hurry. Just name a number. I can afford it.” Liam, utterly confused, grabbed her arm. “Monica, are you drunk?” Monica surreptitiously pulled him aside and whispered something in his ear. The color drained from Liam’s face. His demeanor shifted instantly. He turned to the woman and shouted, “Monica’s right! You have the license plate. If you have any problems later, you can find the owner of this car. We have to go now!” I couldn’t believe them. This was my car! I quickly pulled out my phone, secretly started recording, and got out of the car. “I’m calling the police and my insura—” Before I could finish, Liam clamped a hand over my mouth. “Don’t!” Seeing everyone staring at him, he stammered, “Monica was just being nice driving us home. We can’t rat her out. If the police get involved, she’ll never be able to get her license. What about her reputation?” Hilarious, I thought. What about my reputation? Before I could argue, Liam leaned in close, his voice venomous. “Ava, we’re getting rid of this piece of junk tomorrow anyway. When I’m rich, I’ll buy you a new one.” Monica pulled him to her side and sneered at me. “Alright, you just think that because I was driving, you can extort me for money, right? I suggest you think bigger. There’s nothing that can’t be solved with a little cash.” At her words, the older woman held up five fingers. Monica let out a sigh of relief and immediately took out 5,000 dollars from her wallet and gave it to that woman. The woman’s jaw dropped. Monica, looking completely unfazed, said, “I thought it would be a lot more. It’s only fifty thousand.” The others were even more stunned. “Monica, I thought your family wasn’t that well off. When did you become so rich?” “Yeah, that lady looks fine. A few scrapes at most.” “Did you accidentally add an extra zero?” The woman swallowed hard, quickly righted her scooter, and took off. “Since it’s settled, it’s settled. This was your choice. Don’t come looking for me later!” The others started to go after her, but Monica stopped them. She looked smug, almost mystical. “After tonight, I’m going to be a rich woman. Think of this fifty thousand as paying to ward off a disaster. It’s no big deal.” 03 With that, Monica slid back into the driver’s seat, muttering under her breath, “Good thing that old hag didn’t waste too much time. My luxury car should be showing up any minute now.” Liam’s face lit up with excitement. He rubbed his hands together. “This is great! We’re about to be millionaires!” The people in the back seat ignored them, probably thinking they’d both lost their minds. Sure enough, ten minutes later, as Monica drove onto the same stretch of road where I’d been rear-ended in my past life, a limited-edition Rolls-Royce appeared in the rearview mirror, following closely behind. Monica saw it and started trembling with excitement. “That’s it!” She slammed on the brakes. A second later, the Rolls-Royce crashed into us. This time, the others had had enough. They started crying and screaming at Monica. “What is with our luck tonight?” “Seriously! If you can’t drive, stop trying to show off with someone else’s car!” “Let us out! I’m not riding in this car anymore!” “Monica, did you do that on purpose?!” But Monica just sneered. “Oh really? Well, when I’m a millionaire, don’t come crawling back to me.” She got out of the car, feigning bewilderment as she looked at the crumpled trunk. “What happened…?” A man hurried out of the Rolls-Royce, frowning. “Why did you brake so suddenly?” He looked to be in his thirties, his hands adorned with gold jewelry. Monica put on an innocent act. “Oh, did I? I didn’t notice. Isn’t that a crosswalk up ahead? I was just trying to slow down.” She batted her eyelashes, looking pitiable. Liam’s eyes were glued to the Rolls-Royce. “Monica, you’re a genius. It really happened…” He looked up at the driver, his tone suddenly aggressive. “No matter what, a rear-end collision is always the fault of the car behind! How dare you yell at Monica? So, how are you going to pay for this?” I pretended to panic. “This is my car! Look what you’ve done to it…” Monica shot me a sharp look. “What do you mean, your car? The car I’m driving is mine! I only let you borrow it because we’re best friends. I can’t believe you started telling people it was yours.” Liam chimed in with a smirk. “That’s right. I can vouch for that. I’m Ava’s boyfriend, I know the whole story. Monica was just trying to protect her feelings by not calling her out.” The others immediately started pointing fingers at me, sneering at my supposed hypocrisy. “So Ava’s just a poser.” “Yeah, driving someone else’s car and pretending it’s hers.” “How pathetic.” Just then, the Rolls-Royce driver glanced at his phone, and his face went white. He stumbled forward, interrupting them. “You said you’re the owner of this car, right?” he asked Monica. “Look, I just got back from overseas. I’m not familiar with the police and insurance procedures here. Besides, I have too many of these cars at home.” His voice trembled slightly. “Since I hit you, why don’t I just give you the car?” At his words, everyone sobered up instantly. “No way! What kind of crazy luck is that?” “He’s just giving away a million-dollar car?!” “Oh my god, that’s insane!” Monica was so excited she was on the verge of tears, but she tried to play it cool. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly…” The driver then looked at me. “How about I give it to you?” Before he could finish, Monica lunged forward and grabbed his arm. “Well, if you insist, I’ll accept! Let’s transfer the title tomorrow. What time works for you?” The man was sweating profusely. He hastily gave her a phone number. “Three o’clock tomorrow afternoon. I’ll meet you at the DMV.” Then he flagged down a taxi and sped away.

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It was in the seventh year of our marriage that I learned my husband had a six-year-old son. I was hiding behind a bright yellow slide at a ridiculously expensive Manhattan preschool, my breath catching in my throat. I watched Julian, my Julian, crouch down and swing a little boy into his arms. The laughter that echoed across the playground was so familiar, yet it struck me like a physical blow. “Daddy, you haven’t visited in so long,” the little boy chirped, his arms wrapped tightly around Julian’s neck. My husband, the man who had sworn his life to me, smoothed the boy’s hair. “Daddy’s been busy with work, Ethan. You be a good boy for Mommy, okay?” A roar filled my ears, and the world went white. Daddy? Mommy? The two of them, the man and the boy, stood there like a perfect picture. The same dark hair, the same sharp line of their jaws. It was a resemblance so stark, so undeniable, it screamed a truth I couldn’t escape: the man who promised to love me for a lifetime was a liar. He had already built another life, another family, behind my back. We were supposed to be one of those epic love stories. The kind that starts in childhood and lasts forever. I once took a knife for him. A single, brutal thrust that pierced my abdomen, stealing not only the child I was carrying but also my ability to ever have another. I remember Julian kneeling beside me on the cold pavement, his eyes red-rimmed and frantic. “I don’t want any other kids, Elara,” he’d choked out, his voice cracking. “I just want you. Only you is enough!” The tremor in his voice from that day was still a phantom vibration in my soul. But the scene in front of me now—this man, this child—it ground that sacred vow into dust. I stumbled backward, my heart feeling as if it had been carved into a thousand bloody pieces. The pain was a living thing, sharp and relentless. I couldn’t watch anymore. I was terrified I’d march over there and demand an answer, even more terrified that I’d dissolve into a pathetic, weeping mess, another scorned woman for the world to pity. So I turned, and I ran. Outside the preschool gates, my best friend, Chloe, was waiting. She saw my face and was out of her car in a flash. “Elara? What happened? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Her son, Leo, had said I’d just forgotten something and run back inside. It was Chloe who had dragged me along to this parent-teacher conference in the first place, a cruel twist of fate. My face was a pale, tear-streaked mask. “Chloe,” I managed, my voice a raw whisper. “I need you to run a check on someone.” “Who?” “Julian…” I swallowed, the name like acid in my throat. “He has a son.” Later that night, a message lit up my phone. [Julian]: Baby, I’ve got one more week here. Miss me yet? Tears streamed down my face, hot and silent, dripping onto the cold screen. Every July, for the past six years, he’d had a “business trip.” A two-week inspection of our company’s overseas branches. Six years, and I had never once suspected a thing. Reality had just delivered a brutal slap across my face, its laughter echoing in the empty rooms of our home, mocking my idiocy. There was no business trip. There was only his mistress and their illegitimate son. If it hadn’t been for Chloe begging me to come with her today, I might have remained in the dark forever, the perfect, clueless wife. I tortured myself, swiping through the pictures Chloe’s private investigator had sent over. Outside, a torrential downpour lashed against the windows. Lightning split the sky, illuminating my paper-white face in stark, terrifying flashes. Maybe I should have seen this coming. The Astors were old money, steeped in tradition. How could they ever truly accept a barren woman as the matriarch of their dynasty? Unless… unless they had already arranged for a solution. And the man who loved me so deeply, my Julian… what part did he play in all of this? The pain was a physical ache in my chest. We’d grown up together. Everyone always said Elara and Julian were inevitable, a permanent constellation in the sky. When I was eight, I fell out of a treehouse, and he threw himself underneath me without a second thought. He broke his arm and just grinned up at me through the pain, saying it didn’t hurt a bit. When I was twelve, I got my first period at a school dance and ruined my dress. He was just a boy, terrified and clueless, but he saw my tears and swore he’d die with me right there in the gym. The night of my eighteenth birthday, he snuck out to compete in an illegal street race, a dangerous gamble to win the prize money. He came back, bruised but victorious, with a simple, perfect ring. “Elara,” he’d said, his voice full of the pure, fierce passion of youth, “I’m going to love you for the rest of my life.” My heart had been his long before that. Years later, just before our wedding, I was kidnapped by one of his business rivals. They held me for three days. By the time Julian found me, I was barely breathing. In the fight to get me back, they broke three of his ribs. And in the final, chaotic moments, I took a knife meant for his heart. That was the moment I lost our baby, and with it, my right to ever be a mother. His mother, Eleanor, tried to break us up after that. But Julian, his body still a canvas of bruises and bandages, knelt for three days in the old family estate’s private chapel, refusing food and water. “I’d rather lose the Astor name than lose Elara,” he declared. His mother was forced to yield. We were married as soon as we recovered. The entire city had witnessed our epic, almost tragic, love story. And in the end, he betrayed me anyway. My phone rang, the screen glowing with two words that now felt like a cruel joke: My Husband. I answered, my movements numb. His voice, warm and gentle, wrapped around me. “Baby, are you eating properly at home by yourself? Are you missing me?” Any other time, I would have melted, my own loving words tumbling out in a rush. But now… I was afraid if I opened my mouth, a sob would be the only thing to come out. “Baby? Is something wrong? Don’t be scared, whatever it is. I’ll come home right now.” The concern in his voice was so real, so convincing, he was already making moves to leave. But seeing him now was the last thing I wanted. “I’m fine,” I forced out, my voice raspy and unrecognizable. “Just… a bit of a cold. Don’t come back, work is more important.” It was the first lie I had ever told him. He didn’t seem to notice. His attention was clearly divided, but he still fussed over me for another moment. “Okay, get some rest. Promise you’ll call me if you need anything. Don’t make me worry.” “Mmm,” I managed. Just as I was about to hang up, I heard it. A woman’s voice in the background, low and intimate. “Julian, Ethan’s asleep. We can…” I heard a sharp, ragged intake of breath on his end. The line went dead. My hand clenched around the phone, my knuckles turning white, but the grip couldn’t contain the icy dread flooding my soul. He was with her. Right now. The thought was a venomous serpent, coiling in my gut. A choked, guttural sob escaped my lips, a sound I couldn’t control. A giant hand was squeezing my heart, a fatal, crushing pressure. I had tried to tell myself, for a fleeting, desperate moment, that maybe he was forced into this because of the child. But the evidence was clear. He wasn’t a victim. He was a willing participant. The bedroom door creaked open. Chloe rushed in, her face a mask of concern. She saw the dead look in my eyes and froze. “Elara… he’s not worth this.” My tears dripped onto the photograph in my hand, a picture of Julian and the boy, smiling. Chloe’s heart broke for me. She wrapped her arms around me, holding me tight as I fell apart. “That bastard,” she seethed, her voice a low growl. “He fed you all those sweet lines when he proposed, and this whole time he’s been keeping another woman and child on the side.” I closed my eyes, letting the tears fall freely. My heart was shattered, but in the ruins, a decision was already taking root.

The next morning, the storm had passed, leaving the city washed clean. I hadn’t slept. I’d spent the entire night staring into the darkness, replaying every moment of our lives. I had known love in its purest form. How could I ever accept this tainted, broken version of it? I was Elara, the woman who loved Julian Astor with every fiber of her being. But I was also Elara Vance, heir to the Vance fortune. And my world had no room for this kind of betrayal. I picked up my phone and dialed my father. “Dad, wasn’t the company looking to expand our operations in the UK? Chloe’s husband is from a British aristocratic family, and she’s taking Leo back to visit in two weeks. I was thinking of going with them to scout things out.” My father sounded puzzled. “Is this Julian’s idea?” “No,” I said, a bitter smile touching my lips. “This one is all mine.” Everyone, even my own father, saw us as a single entity. JulianandElara. “Ellie, what’s going on?” his tone sharpened. “Did that boy do something to hurt you?” I bit my lip, choosing to deflect for now. “Dad, please don’t ask. I’ll explain everything once I get to London.” The Astor and Vance families were old allies, their ties strengthened by our marriage. I wouldn’t let my personal tragedy cause collateral damage to my family’s business. My father, unable to refuse me anything, relented. “Alright. Then come by the office today. I’ll have the London team brief you.” After hanging up, I dragged myself to the bathroom. The woman in the mirror stared back, her eyes swollen into puffy, bruised almonds. The ache in my chest was a dull, constant throb. The divorce papers, already drafted by my lawyer, sat on my nightstand. I still hadn’t figured out how to bring it up to Julian. So many years… how do you just sever a part of your own soul? I skillfully concealed the evidence of my grief with makeup, trading my sorrow for a mask of professionalism. Dressed in a sharp power suit, I left my room. Downstairs, Chloe was having breakfast with her son, Leo. He must have been frightened by my state yesterday. “Auntie Elara!” Leo scrambled off his chair and ran to me, his little legs pumping. He took my hand and blew on it gently. “Mommy said your heart was hurting yesterday. I’ll blow on it so it feels better.” The pure, innocent sweetness of a six-year-old. I stroked his cheek. “Thank you, sweetie. Auntie’s all better now. Go on, back to your mom.” He nodded, still a little confused, and scurried back to the safety of Chloe’s arms. A pang of longing shot through me. I thought of Julian laughing with that other boy. If our child had lived… he would have been a little older than him. I took a deep breath, pushing down the bitterness, and after a quick word with Chloe, I headed out. But as I stepped out of the villa’s gate, I froze. A sleek Maybach was parked down the street. Leaning against it, wreathed in a cloud of smoke, was Julian. He looked exhausted, a cigarette dangling from his lips. I was stunned. According to the PI’s report, both Isabelle and her son’s birthdays were in July. Hers had just passed, but the boy’s hadn’t. Why was he back so soon? My stare must have been intense, because he looked up. The moment his eyes locked on mine, the weariness vanished, replaced by a sudden, brilliant light. He strode towards me, closing the distance in three long steps, and pulled me into his arms. His embrace was as warm as I remembered, but this time, it felt like a brand, searing my skin. “Is your cold any better?” he murmured into my hair, his voice laced with genuine worry. “Your voice on the phone… I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I took the first flight back.” “I went to our place and you weren’t there. I figured you must be with Chloe.” His concern was so palpable, it felt real. I still couldn’t understand it. How could a man who loved me this much live with himself, sharing his life, his body, with another woman? My lips trembled. I swallowed the lump in my throat, fighting the urge to scream at him. Instead, a weak, pathetic sentence came out. “I’m fine. I was just heading home.” Julian let out a breath of relief. “Next time you’re sick, you have to tell me. You’ll worry me to death.” His voice was a low, tender murmur, and for a split second, everything felt normal, as if the last twenty-four hours had been a nightmare. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw her. A slender figure standing under a nearby tree, phone pressed to her ear. The next second, Julian’s phone buzzed. He glanced down at the screen, and a flicker of conflict crossed his face. “Something urgent came up at the office. I have to go.” My breath hitched. I’m not blind. I saw the name flash on his screen for a fraction of a second. Isabelle. The bitterness threatened to choke me. I forced my voice to remain steady. “Okay. Go on, then. The company is important.” Guilt flickered in his eyes. He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead before getting into his car and speeding away. The moment he was gone, Isabelle hung up her phone. She sauntered over, her hips swaying. “Miss Vance. Hello. My name is Isabelle. I’m…” She trailed off, her eyes landing on my tightly pressed lips. A knowing smile spread across her face. “Ah. It seems you already know about Ethan and me. Well then,” she purred, “let the games begin.”

I hailed a cab and followed her. At the hospital, I stood outside the private room, a silent observer to the scene unfolding within. A sharp, piercing pain lanced through my heart. I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood, willing myself not to make a sound. Julian’s son—their son—was on an IV drip, his small face pale and listless. He looked so fragile. Julian was pacing the room like a caged animal, his voice a low growl of fury. “What the hell am I paying you people for? You can’t even treat a simple fever!” The doctor trying to calm him was a man I recognized. Marcus Thorne, one of Julian’s oldest and closest friends. “He has a cold, Julian, probably from getting chilled. It’s not your staff’s fault if you can’t take proper care of him,” Marcus shot back, his tone sharp. “I don’t know what you’re thinking. You said you were going to pay the woman off after the baby was born and send her away. Now you’re dragging me into this for a common cold? What if Elara finds out?” There was a long silence. Then Julian’s voice, heavy with exhaustion and resignation. “What choice do I have? Every time I try to send Isabelle away, Ethan has a meltdown. They have a bond. I can’t just let my son cry himself sick.” “Right,” Marcus scoffed. “Is it the kid who can’t let go, or is it you? You know the answer to that.” Julian’s frustration boiled over. He rubbed his temples, a vein throbbing. “Don’t be ridiculous. The only woman I will ever love is Elara. But the Astors need an heir. You have to help me keep this from her. It would destroy her.” He paused, his voice softening just a fraction. “And as for Isabelle… she gave me a son. I can’t just cast her aside.” As if on cue, Isabelle chose that moment to enter, her face a mask of tear-streaked tragedy. “Julian, it’s all my fault. I didn’t take good care of Ethan. He started running a fever right after you left last night, and he was crying for you… I didn’t want to bother you and Mrs. Astor, so I waited…” Julian’s anger melted away as he touched the boy’s hot cheek. His heart softened. He pulled Isabelle into his arms, comforting her. “Don’t cry, Isabelle. I’m not blaming you. He’s our son. If anyone’s failed, it’s me, for not being a better father.” She clung to his shirt, her fingers tracing a line over his heart. “Julian, I know I can never compare to Miss Vance, but I just can’t bear to see our child suffer…” Julian’s expression hardened. “No one will ever make my son suffer. But you need to take care of yourself, too. Look at you, your makeup is a mess from all the crying.” He gently raised a hand and brushed a tear from the corner of her eye. The intimacy of the gesture was a dagger to my heart. My hands clenched into fists, my nails digging into my palms, leaving bloody crescent moons. I felt nothing. No pain could compare to the agony ripping through my soul. The heavens opened up again, and a cold, relentless rain began to fall. I walked away from the hospital, letting the downpour soak me to the bone. Rain streamed down my face, blurring the world around me, but it couldn’t wash away the filth and shame I felt. By the time I reached the Vance Corporation headquarters, my ankles were raw and bleeding from my heels. The receptionist gasped when she saw me, rushing forward to help. “Miss Vance! What happened to you? Should I call Mr. Astor? He’ll be so worried if he sees you like this.” My heart was numb. Yes, of course. The whole world believed in Julian’s perfect love for me. They had no idea that love was poisoned with lies and betrayal. I gently pushed her away. “I’m fine,” I rasped. “It started raining unexpectedly. Could you just have a change of clothes sent to the nearest conference room for me?” I handed her my black card and locked myself inside the room. The moment the door clicked shut, the dam broke. I had thought seeing the photos had immunized me, that I had already faced the worst. But seeing them together—a perfect little family—had ripped open the deepest scar in my soul, leaving it raw and bleeding. My ragged, heartbroken sobs echoed in the vast, empty room. I wanted to scream at Julian. Why? Why was it you who made all the promises, and why is it you who is living a second life with someone else? A soft knock on the door pulled me from my despair. The person was already gone, but a fresh set of clothes, my black card, and a glass of warm water were waiting for me. Tucked under the glass was a handwritten note: Don’t worry, Miss Vance. I didn’t call Mr. Astor. I know you wouldn’t want him to worry. A wave of conflicting emotions washed over me. I tore the note to shreds and threw it away. I changed in the restroom. A few minutes later, I emerged, once again the proud, untouchable Elara Vance. Nothing could break me. I spent the rest of the day buried in work, my heels clicking purposefully on the marble floors of the executive suite. Julian sent a barrage of texts. I didn’t read a single one. It was late evening when I finally dragged my exhausted body back to the villa, intending to pack my bags and leave for good in the morning. But when I opened the door, the sound of a child’s laughter filled the air. And there, in my living room, stood Isabelle.

She was wearing the standard uniform of the staff from the Astor family’s main estate. Across the room, a little boy was gleefully making a mess of my immaculate living room. When Isabelle saw me, she stepped away from Julian’s side, a picture of demure grace. “Madam, you’re home. The main estate sent me over to look after the young master.” My jaw tightened. Breathing suddenly became a monumental effort. How dare he? How dare he bring them here, into our home? Julian saw the look on my face and rushed to explain. “Baby, I sent you a text this afternoon, you must not have seen it. This is Ethan Astor. Mom brought him home from an orphanage, said she felt an instant connection with him.” All the pain I had felt, all the tears I had shed in that empty conference room, had burned away, leaving behind only cold, white-hot fury. They were treating me like an absolute fool. “Julian, are you deliberately trying to rip my heart out?” My voice trembled with rage. He frowned, genuinely surprised by my hostility. “Baby, don’t be angry,” he pleaded, his voice laced with confusion. “You know the family needs an heir, and I know how much you’ve grieved for… for our baby. I thought… I agreed to Mom’s request for you.” “If you don’t like him, I’ll have him sent back right now!” Everyone knew Julian Astor’s golden rule: Elara came first. Always. And here he was, proving it again, willing to send away his own son if I just said the word. But this time, his devotion just made me feel sick. I was about to blow the whole thing wide open when the child, Ethan, scrunched up his face and began to wail. “You’re a mean lady!” he shrieked, pointing a finger at me. “Daddy, why are you with this mean lady? Don’t you want me anymore?” The child’s piercing cries grated on Julian’s nerves. He snapped, “Ethan, who taught you to speak like that!” He turned to the household staff. “Are you all deaf? Get the young master to his room, now!” Several maids rushed forward, clumsily trying to placate the screaming child as they led him away. Isabelle looked panicked. “Mr. Astor, it’s all my fault. Please don’t be angry with the young master.” As she spoke, she cast a look at Julian, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, a look designed to melt any man’s heart. Julian sighed, his tone softening. “I’m not angry with him. He’s just a child, he doesn’t know any better. Go on, go look after him.” I watched the entire exchange, the ice around my heart growing thicker. I pulled away from Julian’s touch and went straight upstairs, shutting the bedroom door in his face. He stood outside, his voice muffled by the wood, full of frustration and pleading. “Baby, it’s my fault. I’ll send him away first thing in the morning, I promise.” “I know you don’t want me around right now, and that’s okay. Just get some rest. We can talk about this tomorrow.” I slid down the door, my back pressed against the cold wood, and listened to his footsteps retreat. My heart was so numb I couldn’t feel a thing. What good would sending the boy away do? Blood is blood. A bond that can never be broken. The one who needed to leave was me. I didn’t answer. I just turned the lock. Alone in the dark, I finally let myself collapse. I was so tired. Bone-tired, soul-tired. I don’t know how long I sat there before my phone buzzed. A new friend request. It was Isabelle. [Isabelle]: Mrs. Astor, since you’ve kicked your husband out of your room, I suppose you won’t mind if he comes to mine. My pupils contracted. I shot to my feet and threw open the bedroom door. Down the hall, a faint light seeped from under the door of Julian’s study. The door was slightly ajar. I could hear a woman’s sultry voice from within. “Julian, you’re hurting me…” A man’s low grunt, his voice rough with something primal. “You’re the one who lured me in here. A little pain is what you wanted, isn’t it? You’re trouble, you know that? Even with a kid, you can’t keep still.” The world tilted on its axis. I was plunged into an icy abyss, the blood freezing in my veins. He couldn’t even wait one night. The sounds from within continued. Isabelle’s suppressed moan. “Julian… I just saw how upset the madam made you. I thought I could… help you feel better.” “Don’t make excuses for your own desires. And remember, if you want Ethan to stay in this house, you will not cause trouble for my wife.” I couldn’t listen anymore. I don’t even know how I made it back to my room. I stumbled into the bathroom and retched into the sink, my body convulsing with disgust. I heaved until my stomach was empty and cramping, then I slowly straightened up, looking at the pathetic, hollowed-out woman in the mirror. My tears were gone. I was Elara Vance. Pride was in my blood. This was beneath me. I don’t know how long I stayed in that bathroom. The sky was beginning to lighten when I finally crawled into bed. This time, I was the one leaving him.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393914”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My period was two months late, and my mom, in a full-blown panic, dragged me to the gynecologist. When the clinic door swung open, I nearly slid off my chair. The doctor sitting before me was the ex I’d dumped so spectacularly two months ago. He stared coldly at his keyboard. “Lie down on the exam table. Pants down to your knees.” When I remained frozen, he pulled on a pair of gloves, walked over, and hooked his cool fingers into my waistband, yanking them down. The second the privacy curtain closed, he suddenly ripped off his glasses and leaned over me, his warm lips brushing against my earlobe. “We never finished last time, did we? So whose is it? Hmm?” 1 Fate has a twisted sense of humor, always arranging for me to run into my ex at my most humiliating moments. The moment the name “Dr. Sean Boyce” flashed on the screen in the waiting room, I felt like I’d been struck by lightning. It has to be a different person! I clutched my appointment slip, praying to every god I could think of. But when I pushed open the door to his office, there he was. The white coat did little to hide his tall, lean frame, and the pair of familiar eyes behind gold-rimmed glasses made my breath catch in my throat. He didn’t even look up from his keyboard, his voice clipped and cool. “Name?” He spoke as if he’d never seen me before in his life. “Chloe Reaser, is that right?” he continued, his tone relentlessly professional. “What seems to be the problem?” Wow. We’d been broken up for all of two months, and he had the “complete stranger” act down perfectly. He was ruthless. Then again, the things I’d said to him were ten times more ruthless. My parting words had been: “Don’t even think about seeing me again after this, unless you’re on your deathbed begging for me. Then, maybe, I’ll consider stopping by.” I guess my words came true. Except I was the one lying down… His appointments were impossible to get. I hadn’t been able to book one myself. It was my mom who’d deployed the power of cash, paying a scalper double the price for a last-minute cancellation. I’d overheard some girls in the waiting room gushing about how handsome the doctor was, how the pictures online didn’t do him justice. They said you didn’t even need medicine; just getting his number was enough to cure you. His face was just that devastatingly handsome. At the time, I’d wondered if all doctors with that name were blessed by the genetic lottery. I had to see for myself. And now I had. Devastatingly handsome, indeed. Except the devastation was all mine. 2 I, who could normally talk my way out of anything, felt like my tongue had been stolen the moment I stepped into his office. My mom, however, was completely oblivious to the turbulent undercurrents between Sean and me. She launched into a dramatic recital of my symptoms. “Doctor, her period is two months late! It’s either a baby or a disease. You have to give our Chloe a thorough check-up!” The sheer awkwardness was enough to power a small city. I wanted the floor to swallow me whole. “Of course, ma’am. Let’s take this one step at a time,” Sean said, his voice the epitome of a caring, reassuring physician. It was the kind of calm demeanor that put patients at ease. But I saw it. As he lowered his head to write on my chart, I caught a glimpse of his notes: “Patient presents with suspected pregnancy. Delayed menstruation. A seamless rebound is one thing, but to be pregnant with someone else’s kid after only two months…” Hey! Was that last part really necessary for my medical record? “Are you sexually active?” It was a standard GYN question, especially concerning a missed period. Before I could speak, my mom jumped in. “Oh, yes, yes! And Chloe and her boyfriend are so in love, they’re practically inseparable!” “Have you taken a pregnancy test?” “Not yet! The moment I found out her period was late, I rushed her over. It’s so hard to get an appointment these days,” my mom chirped. “I see.” On the surface, Sean’s expression was perfectly placid. But my danger senses were tingling, and I could see the truth. The hand gripping the ballpoint pen was clenched so tightly his knuckles had turned white. The pen’s tip was bent at a sharp angle, pressing so hard it had torn through three layers of paper on the clipboard. Dude, get a grip! That’s my medical chart, not your personal death note! “So, it’s very likely she’s pregnant, right?” my mom asked, her voice filled with hopeful anticipation. I shot up from my chair. “You know, I think I’m fine now! I suddenly feel like my period is about to start!” I knew Sean’s possessive streak. If I stayed here any longer, I was doomed. But my mom shoved me right back down. “What are you talking about, child? Do you know how hard this appointment was to get? Now that we’re here, you tell the doctor whatever is bothering you.” I was on pins and needles, a knot of dread in my stomach. Sean finally adopted a thoughtful tone. “Ma’am, perhaps Chloe is a bit shy with you in the room.” Realization dawned on my mom’s face. As she walked toward the door, she said, “What’s there to be shy about? I’m your mother, I’ve seen it all.” But do you know what kind of man this Dr. Boyce is? I screamed internally. In bed, he’s an absolute animal! This whole saintly doctor thing is just an act! 3 If my life were a movie, it would be a disaster film, and right now, the camera would be holding a long, dramatic shot on my face. The office door slowly clicked shut. To me, it sounded like the fall of a guillotine. The sole audience member for our little drama was finally gone. Sean dropped the act. He tossed down the pen he hadn’t even been using to write notes. The cool, aloof, ascetic doctor was gone. Behind his silver-framed glasses, his handsome eyes glinted with a cold smile. “Well, well, Chloe. You’ve really outdone yourself. Who’s the father?” “It’s only been two months, and you’re already knocked up.” “That person who texted me wasn’t wrong. You really are a fickle…” He cut himself off, his voice turning icy. “Forget it. From now on, you’re just a patient. This has nothing to do with me.” I was completely lost. What text? What did he mean, fickle? Had Sean fallen for a phishing scam? The heavens could bear witness to my devotion! Okay, fine, before Sean, I might have been a little bit of a flirt. My first meeting with him was neither romantic nor dramatic. One night, after finally hitting a brutal client deadline, I’d called up a few friends to go see a male revue. The crappy GPS led us to a quiet, upscale cocktail lounge instead. We didn’t look too closely and just walked in. The bar was chic, but my tastes are more… straightforward. After a quick look at the menu, I ordered a rum and Coke. As luck would have it, Sean was one of the bar’s investors and happened to be on-site. When he brought our drinks, he offered a gentle warning. “Mixing cola and alcohol isn’t great for your heart rate…” By then, my friends had already plied me with a round of shots. I was dizzy, and all I saw was a ridiculously handsome man standing before me. I grabbed his hand. “Wow, the dancers at this place are incredible! How much for a night?” “Damn, look at these hands, these abs… The quality here is top-notch.” I was too drunk to remember the details, but according to my friends, I didn’t just touch him; I tried to wrap my arms around his waist and kiss him. They were so mortified they wanted to crawl into a hole and pretend they didn’t know me. The next day, when I sobered up and learned what I’d done, I was mortified too. But I couldn’t get his face out of my head. I shamelessly went back to the bar to find him, claiming I wanted to apologize, but I couldn’t stop myself from tugging at his sleeve and admiring his chest. I did this for over a week until finally, Sean snapped. He cornered me against a wall. “Chloe, are you here to apologize or to grope me?” I just giggled. “If you’re with me, you can’t go to any more male revues,” he’d said, laying down his terms. “And you can’t oogle other handsome men. Can you do that?” “Of course! From now on, my heart belongs only to you,” I’d sworn. That night was actually the first time I’d ever tried to go to a male revue. It was just for the novelty. By a twist of fate, I’d stumbled upon the man of my dreams, and I truly hadn’t looked at anyone else since. I was the one who’d delivered the harsh breakup lines, but he was the one who had initiated it. His reason? “I’m too busy at the hospital. I don’t have enough time for you, and I don’t want to hold you back.” What kind of garbage excuse was that? Naturally, I’d fired back with my own harsh words, determined not to lose face. But now, he was calling me “fickle” and mentioning some mysterious text? There had to be more to this story. 4 The reason I hadn’t chased after Sean these past two months was because I wanted freedom. After we got together, he told me his real job was being a doctor. And the biggest problem with having a doctor for a boyfriend is that he micromanages everything. Other couples would stroll hand-in-hand, sipping iced milk tea on a hot day. Sean would stop me, explain how cold drinks on a hot day were a direct assault on my lungs, and hand me a thermos of ginger-date tea instead. When ordering takeout, I craved bold flavors—spicy stir-fry, grilled skewers. He would launch into a detailed analysis of how those foods increased my risk for various diseases by X percent, scaring me into canceling my order. So, when he broke up with me, even though I was confused, a small part of me was relieved. I could finally gallop through a paradise of fried foods, late-night street food, ice-cold beer, and spicy crawfish. No more pinching my nose to down the various “wellness potions” he concocted. Those harsh words I’d said were just a front, a way to keep him from showing up at my door and finding me binge-watching shows while eating street food at 3 AM. For the past two months, my social media projected the image of a heartbroken girl, posting lyrics from sad love songs like “How Could You Bear to See Me Sad” and “Thinking of You All Night.” But in reality, freed from his watchful eye, I went wild. I ate my way through every takeout menu in my neighborhood. I binged on anything and everything—icy, greasy, scalding hot. I stayed up all night, every night. And I’d managed to land myself in the hospital. My plan had been to eat my fill, then shamelessly go win him back. But fate had other plans, and here we were. And damn it, if I’d known I was going to see my ex, I never would have worn my Hello Kitty matching bra and panty set! The cat’s big, innocent eyes were staring right out from my chest, looking utterly ridiculous. Every other time I’d seen Sean, I’d dressed to kill. Lace, silk, beaded thongs—anything to keep his eyes glued to me. If he saw that my true preference was for cartoon cats, my reputation would be ruined… 5 While I was having a silent panic attack, Sean’s voice cut through the air, cold and commanding. “On the bed. Shirt up, pants down.” I clamped my hands on my waistband, refusing to budge. “There isn’t a single part of you I haven’t seen. What’s there to be shy about?” When his words didn’t work, Sean decided to use his hands. “No, you can’t!” I wriggled like a worm on a hook. The commotion must have alerted my mom. She walked back in to see me struggling desperately to escape his grasp and crawl off the exam table. She boomed, “Child, what are you doing? To a doctor, there’s no such thing as gender! He’s just trying to help you!” She rushed forward and pinned me down. “Dr. Boyce, please, just examine her.” “I want a different doctor!” I croaked. “This is the hardest hospital to get an appointment at! I was refreshing my phone for three days straight to get this slot! You can’t just leave!” my mom said, extinguishing my last flicker of hope. “Besides, didn’t you say you wanted to marry your boyfriend and spend the rest of your lives together? Do you want to drag this illness out and make him worry?” “He’s already so busy every day, and you want to cause him more trouble? Don’t you love him?” In my mind, Sean and I were on a fake break, so I hadn’t told my mom. Everything she was saying now was a regurgitation of the beautiful future I had described to her months ago, back when Sean and I were still together. These vows of a shared life were sweet and moving. But in this context, the more my mom talked, the darker Sean’s face became. He thought she was talking about the new boyfriend who’d supposedly knocked me up. And I, thinking about the tangled mess I’d have to explain later, felt a headache coming on. A jarring ringtone suddenly shattered the tense atmosphere: “We should have a clean break…” Sean’s phone was playing the same few lines of a sad breakup song on a loop. Talk about holding a grudge. If he was really over it, would he be using that as his ringtone? He silenced the screen, and in that brief moment, I caught a glimpse of his lock screen. It was a photo of us together. Except it was in black and white. Was he mourning our dead love? It hit me then. The breakup, for him, was real. 6 I didn’t care about my Hello Kitty pajamas anymore. Just then, Sean finally cut my mom off. “I need to perform the examination now. Family members, please wait outside.” Seeing that I was now lying obediently on the table, my mom shot me a warning look, pulled the privacy curtain, and left. As my shirt was slowly lifted, Hello Kitty’s big, cute face popped into view. And I’m a C-cup, for the record. Sean glanced down. “Your taste these days… is truly something else.” With my mom gone, I seized the opportunity to explain. “What my mom was saying… it’s not about some new boyfriend. I’ve only ever been with you.” Sean just snorted, ignoring me completely. He squirted cold gel onto my stomach, the probe sliding across my pale skin. With only my mouth free to move, I decided to launch a nostalgia attack. “Sean, maybe it’s your baby. My period has been late for two months, remember?” “And if you count the days, it lines up perfectly with that last night we were together.” “Is that so?” There was no warmth in his eyes. “We didn’t exactly finish things that night, did we?” Suddenly, Sean, still in his white coat, leaned down, his lips brushing against my ear. His warm breath traced the shell of my ear, and my treacherous heart began to pound. He was so close, it felt like he was flirting. Was he going to… right here, right now? A thousand X-rated scenarios flashed through my mind.

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The moment the fraudulent heiress kicked me out of the game’s safe zone, I collapsed outside, sobbing. That’s when the Boss happened to pass by. He must have mistaken my simple white dress for some kind of employee uniform, because he simply took me with him. “Done crying over there? Come cry over here.” Just when everyone thought I was dead, a monster was introducing me to my new colleagues. “This is our new hire.” “She’s an excellent crier. We’ll make her our new Atmosphere Engineer.” 1 This whole nightmare started the day I came home. I was dragged into a horror game—a twisted world blending Eastern mysticism with Western rules—by Claire, the girl who had stolen my life. It was a scenario straight out of the melodramatic dynastic dramas my adoptive mother used to watch, only this was real. I was the long-lost daughter, and Claire was the fraudulent heiress. In a corner where no one else could see, she smiled and winked at me. “Let’s make a little wager,” she whispered. “Blood ties are no match for eighteen years of shared history. They’ll never choose you.” She wanted me to understand my place. She was the meticulously groomed successor, a shareholder in the family company since she turned eighteen. Poised, confident, with a resume that shone like gold. I was timid, a shrinking violet who flinched at her own shadow. I would never be the one they chose. Even my return, in her eyes, was an act of audacious ingratitude. Claire turned to our parents, her voice dripping with practiced sweetness. “It’s just a game, Mom, Dad. You’re both so busy, it’s rare we get to do something fun together. Besides, it’s a great chance for my new sister to get to know us.” I was the “new sister” she spoke of. Our parents, utterly charmed by her, agreed without a second thought. I trailed behind them in silence as we walked into a forest shrouded in a black, clinging fog. Deep within the woods stood a dilapidated, ramshackle mansion. Claire pointed at it, her eyes alight with excitement. “There it is!” The starting point of the game. She gathered the hem of her dress and sprinted ahead. Only I noticed it. Peeking out from beneath the overgrown weeds was a rusty, bloodstained sign. 【YOU ONLY LIVE ONCE.】 Die in the game, and you die for real. 2 I was thrown out on the very first night. I had barely settled onto the sofa in our designated apartment when large, crimson letters began to bleed through the white paint of the wall. 【EACH APARTMENT CAN ONLY HOUSE THREE PEOPLE.】 “Those are the rules of the game,” Claire announced. “Break them, and you’re forcibly ejected.” She turned to me, a picture of feigned apology. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know the rules beforehand. I only booked one apartment.” My mother looked at her, a hint of chiding in her tone. “Why didn’t you book more? It’s not like we can’t afford it.” Claire’s lip trembled. “To make it feel real, you have to book the rooms with Grave Tokens. I just… found it too morbid.” It was a good excuse. “I suppose so,” my mother conceded. Her gaze then shifted to me, heavy with hesitation and a sliver of guilt. “Stella…” “It’s just a game. Please don’t blame your sister.” I choked back a sob and nodded. “Okay.” Without another word, I picked up my bag and turned the doorknob. No one tried to stop me. I only heard the collective sigh of relief from behind me. “We knew you’d be understanding.” They wanted me gone. They’d just found a polite way to say it. I pulled the door shut. The moment it clicked, I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I leaned against the cold hallway wall and wept. 3 I could have had a good life. A wonderful one, even. It was my adoptive mother who had swapped me with Claire at birth. Karma came for her in the end; she was diagnosed with a terminal illness in her early forties. Only then, on her deathbed, did she finally confess the truth. I didn’t have to start working grueling summer jobs in high school. I didn’t have to endure my alcoholic adoptive father snatching my tuition money. All of it, just because of one woman’s selfish desire. And now, even after being reunited with my real parents, I was homeless once again. Dressed in a simple white dress, my hair unbound, I crouched outside their door and cried. When the grief hit, the world around me simply ceased to exist. In the dim hallway, the motion-activated light flickered on and off, on and off, a silent witness to my despair. My hands trembled as I messaged the game’s support line. 【Can I still book a room after the game has started?】 The reply was a stark, three-word sentence. 【No.】 Dusk was falling. A string of red exclamation points materialized on the corridor wall. 【PLEASE RETURN TO YOUR APARTMENT BEFORE NIGHTFALL.】 I pushed myself up and tried knocking on other doors. No one answered. Defeated, I stumbled back to my original spot and sank to the floor, my sobs escalating until I sounded like a teakettle at full boil. The sky bled from orange to deep violet. Footsteps echoed down the hall. Something was prowling nearby. I couldn’t see it, but its massive, distorted shadow danced on the wall, growing closer and closer. A low, deep voice rumbled from directly above me. “Starting your shift this early?” 4 I froze. I’d been crying so hard my eyes were raw and swollen. My hair was a mess, damp strands stuck to my tear-streaked cheeks. I was still hiccupping, struggling to catch my breath, and couldn’t manage a single word. An icy hand clamped onto the nape of my neck, lifting me as if I weighed nothing. My legs dangled in the air, kicking instinctively. “Don’t move,” the voice commanded, its tone chilling me to the bone. I went perfectly still. A moment later, it set me down. “Done crying over there? Come cry over here.” I found myself sitting at the far end of the hallway, utterly bewildered. The entity offered a helpful clarification. “Start from here.” Confused but compliant, I took a ragged breath and began to cry again, my wails echoing through the empty corridor as I started to wander like a lost spirit. My voice was raw from overuse, and I could no longer summon that initial, world-ending shriek. Suddenly, my phone screen lit up. A message from Claire. 【Are you okay?】 【It’s pretty intense out here. There’s some kind of ghost, just crying its head off.】 【Think you’ll run into her?】 The walls were thin. They could hear everything. My biological parents had listened to my heartbroken sobs all afternoon and had done nothing. The thought drained the energy from my weeping, but then a fresh wave of despair washed over me, and the tears came renewed, bitter and sharp. I didn’t reply to her. Instead, I drifted right up to her door and let out the most mournful, blood-curdling cry I could muster. Suddenly, I felt a tug on the hem of my dress. “Sister, it’s time to switch shifts.” My gaze traveled down. I shuddered. It was a baby, its skin a mottled canvas of blue and purple. It was standing, staring up at me with hollow, vacant eyes. “It’s my turn to cry now,” she said softly. The scene was profoundly bizarre. It was like going to a pediatrician and finding out your doctor was a toddler. I clapped a hand over my mouth. “Oh, right. You go ahead.” 5 The walking infant was surprisingly capable. She could cry and talk to me at the same time. “Aren’t you going back to rest, sister?” My own wretched situation flooded my mind again, and a fresh wave of tears streamed down my face. She jumped, startled. “Wow, you really can cry.” For them, it was a job. For me, it was my miserable life. “I have nowhere to go,” I sobbed. “I’ll just stay here and keep you company.” She clearly misinterpreted my meaning. “No dorm? Are you a new hire?” “I can be,” I whispered. I stayed with her for half an hour, until a zombie shambled up the stairs to take over her shift. She told me her name was Pip, she was thirteen months old, and had been working here for thirteen years. This game wasn’t just inhumane; it was a violator of infant labor laws. The employee-monsters occupied the first four floors when they were off-duty. The human players lived on the floors above. Pip led me to her employee dorm. It was a nursery. I felt the tears welling up again. Even a strange, ghostly baby was kinder to me than my own parents. Pip stood on her tiptoes, offering me her baby bottle. “Don’t cry, sister. Have some milk-milk.” Not wanting to hurt her feelings, I took it and managed two small sips. Gag. It was coppery, metallic. Like blood. “Sorry, I really can’t… urgh…”

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The summer Asher Vance got engaged to the real heiress, I threw myself into the river. Back then, the heiress and I were locked in a war with no rules. It ended with my little dog, my only companion, beaten to death. My classmates called me a thief who had stolen another’s nest. I was imprisoned in my own home, forced to become her ghostwriter… Even Asher, the boy next door, knelt and caressed my face, his voice a low murmur. “Why can’t you just learn to behave?” he’d said. “Just be obedient in the Rosenberg family, and your future will be limitless.” When I was finally pulled from the river by a kind stranger, twenty years had passed. In those twenty years, Asher Vance never married. The Rosenberg family never stopped searching for their missing adopted daughter. And the real heiress, Amelia, vanished without a trace, a topic the Vance and Rosenberg families refused to discuss. I felt nothing anymore. I had no intention of revealing myself to any of them. I was focused on my sweet, new life with my sweet, new boyfriend. But on the day I went to meet his parents, my heart pounded with a sickening familiarity as we drove down a street I knew all too well. “Alex,” I asked, my voice trembling. “Why didn’t you ever tell me your father was Asher Vance?” 1 “Don’t be nervous. My father is very easygoing. He won’t give you a hard time.” Alex was clearly from a wealthy family, but for the life of me, I couldn’t place the name ‘Kensington.’ Perhaps they were new money, rising to prominence in the twenty years I’d been gone. Would a family like that really allow their son to marry a woman with no past? Alex gently squeezed my cheek. “Mia, have some confidence. You’re a wonderful girl. No one could possibly dislike you.” Twenty years had changed the city of Westbrook dramatically. Skyscrapers lined the streets where old buildings once stood. The amusement park I used to love was gone, replaced by an elementary school. To me, it was a brand-new, alien city. As the scenery outside the car window shifted, the driver turned toward the suburbs. The closer we got, the heavier my heart became. Unlike the transformed city center, this road was almost exactly as I remembered it. I had traveled it countless times. The trees were just a little taller, a little fuller. “Alex,” I said, digging my nails into my palm and forcing a smile. “You’ve never told me about your family.” He was oblivious to the storm brewing inside me. He took my hand, his touch meant to be reassuring. “I didn’t want to worry you with things like family status and background.” He paused, and seeing my persistent gaze, he finally lowered his voice. “My father’s last name is Vance.” For a moment, my mind went blank. I didn’t have time to wonder why a father and son would have different last names. There was only one Vance family on this road. And I had once lived right next door to them. 2 After twenty years, I was as good as dead to them. They probably wouldn’t even recognize me. Who remembers the face of someone they utterly despised? As we talked, the car pulled into the Vance family’s courtyard. My eyes instinctively darted to the villa next door. It looked abandoned, the walls weather-stained and crumbling, the garden overgrown and untended. Alex led me by the hand into the main hall. The butler greeted us with a warm smile. “Young Master Alex, you’ve returned. Mr. Vance has been waiting for you.” He then turned to me with perfect courtesy. “And you must be Miss Summers…” He stopped mid-sentence, his eyes widening in unconcealed shock. After more than forty years of service, this was likely the first time he had ever lost his composure in front of a guest. His gaze flickered between me and Alex before he gave a self-deprecating laugh. “My apologies. My old eyes are playing tricks on me. For a moment, I thought I had seen you somewhere before, Miss Summers.” “I just have one of those faces, I suppose,” I replied politely. As I followed Alex inside, I froze. The interior was almost identical to how it had been the year I left. Memories I had deliberately buried surged to the surface, only to be silenced by the sight of the man’s back on the sofa. Fate has a cruel sense of humor, forcing me to face the one person I never wanted to see again. But this time, I wouldn’t run. “You’re back?” Asher’s once-clear voice had deepened with age. Even sitting, I could see he was still tall and well-built. He put down his phone and looked up, a smile in his eyes that froze the moment he saw me. “This is my girlfriend, Mia Summers.” 3 The room fell silent. The silence was only broken by the clink of a fruit platter being set on the table by the housekeeper. Asher tore his gaze away and poured himself a glass of water. Alex led me to the seat across from him and presented a gift bag. “Mia picked this out especially for you.” Asher, ever polite, opened the gift. When he saw what was inside, his eyes shot back to me. His stare was so intense it felt like a physical weight on my face. I cursed myself internally but managed a sweet smile. “Alex mentioned you enjoy tea, so I bought a tea set. I hope you like it.” “Thank you. You have excellent taste. Did you pick it out yourself?” he asked, toying with one of the cups, his tone laced with intrigue. If I had known I was meeting Asher Vance, I never would have bought a white porcelain tea set. Years ago, in an effort to please my adoptive parents, he had been the one to teach me how to judge the quality of white porcelain, from its translucence to the way it held water. The set now sitting in front of him was a perfect reflection of his own aesthetic. “The shopkeeper helped me choose. I don’t know much about these things.” He nodded, saying nothing more. Sensing my tension, Alex squeezed my fingers and speared a piece of pineapple—my favorite—for me. Asher watched our interaction, his expression a complex mix of nostalgia and sorrow. “Mia, what do your parents do?” he asked, finally looking away from our joined hands, his gaze dropping to his teacup. “My parents passed away a long time ago. I grew up in an orphanage.” “Your mother passed away? Was her name…” he started, then cut himself off, forcing back the name that was about to escape his lips. I pretended not to hear. I exchanged a glance with Alex, who gave me a subtle, reassuring lift of his eyebrows. My story was full of holes to him, but he clearly had no intention of exposing me right now. “Alex, you stay here with Mia for a while.” Asher rose, looking utterly lost. The butler’s hushed words drifted over. “The resemblance is undeniable, sir. It’s almost a perfect match.” “No wonder we could never find Miss Rosenberg. It seems she…” “Should we notify the Rosenberg family?” Asher was silent for a long time before he answered, his voice weary. “Mr. Gable, a person like her… she would only think of revenge. How could she possibly… die so easily?” His voice trailed off, becoming indistinct. I glanced at my reflection in a nearby mirror. My face was fuller now, my eyes bright and full of life. I had a short haircut I’d never tried before. I looked like a completely different person from the girl I was a year ago, let alone the girl they remembered from twenty-one years in the past. I let out a breath of relief. The idea of time travel was too outlandish. They would never suspect that I was the real Renee Rosenberg. 4 The rest of the meal was painfully awkward. Asher acted as if his earlier lapse had been a figment of my imagination. He played the part of a perfect father, extending his affection for his son to me. He ordered a feast from the kitchen and, aside from his relentless probing into my past, his conversation was that of any normal parent meeting their child’s partner. “Why aren’t you eating the shrimp?” he asked, his brow furrowed with concern. “Is it not to your taste?” I was severely allergic to shrimp. One bite, and my lips would swell up. After Amelia, the real heiress, returned, she had once peeled a shrimp and tried to force-feed it to me. I had obliged her, making a scene as she’d hoped, but she hadn’t gotten away unscathed. I’d poured the rest of the shrimp and the sauce all over her designer dress. Of all the dishes on the table, why did he have to mention the one thing I loathed? As I was trying to come up with an excuse, Alex smoothly intervened. “She had some grapes earlier at home. They don’t mix well with shrimp.” Asher stared at us for a long moment, a thoughtful smile playing on his lips. He didn’t ask any more questions I couldn’t answer. Before we left, as was customary, Asher gave me a red envelope with money. As I stepped forward to take it, it was the first time I had been so close to him all day. Time had been relatively kind. At first glance, he looked much the same as he had twenty years ago, just with a more commanding presence. But up close, I could see the strands of grey in his hair and the fine lines around his eyes. “Do I look much older to you?” he asked suddenly, out of the blue. My heart skipped a beat. “Not at all, sir. You look very young.” His gaze was scrutinizing, but his tone was wistful. “Every time I see you two, I’m reminded of how old I’ve become… I’m not the man I used to be.” His seemingly casual words were laced with subtle tests. I didn’t know what he suspected, or what he wanted. Wasn’t it better for everyone if Renee Rosenberg was dead? That was what they all wanted, wasn’t it? Alex wrapped an arm around my shoulder and bid his father farewell. On the drive home, he tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, a relaxed smile on his face as he shared his secret. “I’m actually Asher’s adopted son.” After a moment, he asked, “And you? Are you ready to tell me your secret?” I was silent for a long time. Thinking of everything he had done for me, I finally chose to be honest. “I’m from twenty years in the past.” 5 When I was five, I was adopted by the Rosenberg family. They named me Renee. Everyone envied my good fortune, but no one knew that my name, Renee, meant ‘shadow.’ I was nothing more than a shadow of their lost daughter, Amelia, brought in to comfort her grieving mother. Mrs. Rosenberg’s mental state was fragile. On her bad days, I was forced to wear Amelia’s old clothes, my six-year-old face a pale imitation of hers, a comfort object for a broken woman. On her good days, she would fly into a rage at the sight of me. She would stare at me with cold eyes, as if I were the one responsible for her daughter’s disappearance. “Who told you to wear her clothes? Who gave you permission to call me ‘mother’?” “My Amelia is suffering somewhere, while you live in her place, enjoying her life.” The initial joy of being adopted vanished, replaced by a sickening, pale dread. But that wasn’t enough for her. She would rip Amelia’s old clothes off my body and make me stand outside in the courtyard as a punishment, a warning not to harbor any delusions. Mr. Rosenberg would sip his tea, cast a dismissive glance in my direction, and then go inside to console his weeping wife. Snowflakes fell on my shoulders. I clutched my threadbare shirt, and when I turned, I saw Asher Vance. He was only eight, but he carried himself like a miniature adult. He walked past me without a second glance. Mrs. Rosenberg, her composure restored, greeted him with a smile. No one cared about the girl shivering in the corner. To the Rosenbergs, I was a tool, a means of providing comfort to Mrs. Rosenberg whenever she needed it. She would hold me tenderly one moment, and then, in a moment of clarity, shove me to the ground. Only Fluffy, the dog Amelia had left behind, didn’t care about true or false. He would follow me everywhere, his tail always wagging. As I shivered, a warm coat was draped over me. Asher looked down at me. “Auntie Claire wants you to come inside. Don’t hold it against her.” “She just can’t accept that Amelia disappeared right under her nose. She’s really angry at herself.” “Being in the Rosenberg family is a good thing. It’s better than the orphanage, no matter what.” I didn’t resent Mrs. Rosenberg. I was just… disappointed. For a fleeting moment, when they adopted me, I truly believed I had found a family. 6 Mr. Rosenberg provided for my basic needs and even enrolled me in the best school in the city. Compared to that, Mrs. Rosenberg’s intermittent abuse seemed a small price to pay. Asher would sometimes bring me to his house, a temporary refuge from Mrs. Rosenberg’s anger. We grew close. Not exactly childhood sweethearts, but we did grow up together. Perhaps my presence as a substitute did have some effect, or maybe time simply dulled Mrs. Rosenberg’s pain. She gradually became calmer. She even started trying to have another child. My sole purpose in the Rosenberg household vanished, leaving me in an awkward position. Luckily, the Rosenbergs were wealthy enough not to mind supporting an extra, useless person. After their son, Nathan, was born, the once-somber Rosenberg house seemed to come alive again. Even the stern Mr. Rosenberg was often seen smiling. I carefully tried to win them over, using my scholarship money to buy toys for Nathan and gifts of jewelry and tea for his parents. Nathan adored me, and for his sake, Mrs. Rosenberg would even grace me with a smile. It was the most peaceful time of my life. I even began to feel like I was a real part of the family. Until I overheard a conversation between Nathan and his mother. “Mommy, why can’t I call her Sister Renee?” The smile on Mrs. Rosenberg’s face vanished. “Nathan, you must remember, you only have one sister, and her name is Amelia.” “Then what is she?” “She is a thief who stole what wasn’t hers.” It was then that I finally understood the complex emotions swirling in Mrs. Rosenberg’s eyes whenever she saw my report card or saw me asking Asher for help with my homework. The mixture of disgust and sorrow. She must have been thinking that if Amelia were still here, all my achievements would have rightfully been hers. I stood outside the door, listening silently. I had no right to be sad. My mind was already calculating the cost of my years with the Rosenbergs, wondering how long I would have to work to pay them back. In my second year of high school, Amelia, who had been missing for twelve years, was finally found. She looked up timidly, her face an uncanny resemblance to Mrs. Rosenberg’s.

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My wife, who had always hated stuffed animals, suddenly bought a life-sized teddy bear and started taking it to bed with her every single night. I was cast aside, ignored. I finally reached my breaking point and announced I was filing for divorce at our son’s first birthday party. Everyone was stunned. My wife, Isabelle, hurled a glass of wine in my face. “You’re jealous of a teddy bear?” she screamed, her voice shaking with fury. “Have you lost your mind?” I wiped the wine from my face, my voice as cold as ice. “You’re the one who’s always talking about spending your life with that bear. I’m just making it official.” … “Noah Sutton!” “Our son just turned one, and you’re using an excuse this absurd to divorce me? You’re a complete and utter bastard.” Isabelle’s eyes were red-rimmed, her entire body trembling with rage. “Sign it,” I said, my voice flat. “I’ll see you at the courthouse tomorrow morning. Nine o’clock.” I had no patience for more arguments. I slapped the divorce papers onto the table and turned to leave. The entire room of guests fell into a stunned silence once more. No one could understand how we, the couple everyone envied, had suddenly imploded. A flash of panic crossed Isabelle’s face. Her parents’ expressions darkened, their brows furrowing in unison. They had clearly never expected me to be this resolute. Her assistant, Julian Croft, grabbed my arm, pulling me back. “Don’t all women like stuffed animals?” he pleaded. “Stop acting crazy, Noah. Just apologize to Isabelle.” “And don’t forget what she went through to give you your son,” he continued, his voice rising. “A difficult birth, and she refused the epidural, holding on until she passed out from the pain. She slept in a separate room with the baby because she didn’t want to disturb your rest. Why can’t you see how much she’s sacrificed for you?” The other guests quickly joined in, their voices a chorus of condemnation. “Julian’s right. Your life is perfect, what are you doing? Do you have any idea how many men would kill to have a wife like Isabelle?” “If you have a problem, you talk about it. You don’t take it out on your wife and throw the word ‘divorce’ around.” Isabelle took a deep, steadying breath, composing herself. She rushed forward and threw her arms around me. “Darling,” she began, her voice soft. “We’ve known each other for twelve years. We’ve loved each other, built a life together. I know you. You’re a gentle man; you never lose your temper.” “Is something wrong with the company? Are you worried about dragging me down, and that’s why you want a divorce? Just tell me. We can face it together.” Her unwavering defense of me only made me look worse. The guests murmured their approval of her, their glares at me intensifying. “Noah,” my father-in-law, Mr. Vance, finally spoke, his voice heavy. “I may be retired, but my name still carries some weight in this town. If you’re in trouble, just say the word.” “We’re family,” my mother-in-law added. “Don’t keep it bottled up.” They still trusted me, the son-in-law they had handpicked themselves. Ignoring the sea of judgmental eyes, I shoved Isabelle away from me. My voice was glacial. “It’s simple. I don’t love you anymore.” The room fell dead silent. “What? Say that again…” Isabelle stared at me, tears beginning to well in her eyes. “I said, I don’t love you anymore! Did you hear me clearly this time?” With that, I tried to walk past her and leave. “Stop right there!” The next second, Julian was in my face, grabbing me by the collar. “What the hell is wrong with you? Even I can’t stand by and watch this anymore!” he roared. “Have you forgotten how much you loved her? You pursued her for three years! It took another six before you finally got married! Have you forgotten your vows? To have and to hold, for better or for worse. She has never given up on you!” “And you have a child! A one-year-old son! Do you want him to grow up in a broken home?” Seeing him championing her cause so fiercely, a smirk touched my lips. “Why are you so worked up about this? It couldn’t be that…” Julian cut me off, his voice growing louder, more arrogant. “Anyone with a shred of decency would be disgusted by a thankless bastard like you.” “You came from nothing. Isabelle never looked down on you. She brought you into her family’s company, made you who you are today.” “Without the Vances, would you have this life? Would you be sitting in the CEO’s chair?” SLAP! I struck him across the face, the sound echoing in the silent room. “You’re just an assistant,” I snarled. “You don’t get a say in this.” Isabelle gasped, instantly rushing to his side. “Noah, are you insane? How could you hit Julian?” She pushed me away, helping a staggering Julian to his feet, her eyes filled with nothing but concern for him. “He deserved it,” I said, my fists clenched. I felt no remorse. My actions triggered a wave of revulsion through the room. They now saw my usual good nature as a façade, a mask for a violent, hypocritical monster. Julian looked up at Isabelle, his voice laced with faux apology. “I’m sorry, Isabelle. It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have spoken out of turn. I made Mr. Sutton angry. Please, don’t blame him.” He hung his head, the perfect picture of remorse. “It’s not your fault,” Isabelle soothed, then turned to me, her voice now pleading and small. “Darling, our problems shouldn’t involve other people. Today is our son’s first birthday. Please, don’t do this. I’m begging you.” As she spoke, tears streamed down her face. Her submission. My aggression. The contrast was stark. The entire room was on her side. Mr. Vance took another deep breath, trying one last time. “Noah, for years you’ve been a hardworking, devoted, and respectful man. There’s no need for this. If you can provide any real evidence that you’ve been wronged, I swear I will stand by you.” He was offering me an out. I didn’t take it. My expression remained a mask of stone. “This divorce is happening.” Mr. Vance’s face turned ashen. Tears streamed down Isabelle’s cheeks. “Noah… is there someone else?” “Think what you want,” I said coolly. “If that’s what you want to believe, then fine.” “Enough!” Mr. Vance finally snapped. “Noah Sutton, I’m giving you three days to think this over,” he thundered. “Either you get your act together and be a husband, or I’ll see you in court. And you will walk away with nothing. Don’t you forget, everything you have today, I gave you.” The threat was clear. Everyone expected me to back down. But I just turned and walked away. Outside, my junior from law school, Claire Sterling, was waiting for me. “I’ve already sent my people to Europe,” she said with a small smile. “We should have answers to what you’re looking for very soon.” “Thank you,” I said, slumping into the back seat, utterly exhausted. “In three days, I’m facing Isabelle in court. I’ll need you there as my lawyer.” I pulled out my phone and played a video from a hidden camera. On the screen, Isabelle’s beloved teddy bear was walking, bold as brass, out of the spare bedroom. It even did a little dance for the camera in the living room. Three days. It was enough time to prepare, enough time to let the truth finally come crashing down. I had planned to stay at a hotel, but my credit cards were all frozen. I’d forgotten that over the past year, financial control had slowly shifted back into the Vance family’s hands. The bank accounts were now under Isabelle’s name. It seemed I lived in a warm, happy home, but in reality, I was utterly alone. I crashed at Claire’s for the night. The next day, I went to my office to collect my things. The moment I walked into the lobby, the whispers started. “He married into the family and doesn’t even appreciate it. Filing for divorce? Dumber than a box of rocks.” “So what if Mrs. Vance likes sleeping with a teddy bear? I like it too! What’s the big deal?” “He probably saw that she gained some weight after the baby and got tired of her. I bet he’s got seven or eight mistresses on the side.” They looked at me as if I were a hardened criminal, their eyes full of judgment. Before I could say anything, Isabelle’s voice cut through the noise. “All of you, be quiet. Who gave you permission to gossip? Get back to work.” The employees scattered. “Darling,” she said, her voice soft again. “I bought you a watch. Try it on.” She pulled a brand-new watch from her bag. A gasp went through the remaining onlookers. “A limited edition Patek Philippe! Only three were ever made, all bought by a mysterious collector.” “Mrs. Vance must have pulled every string to get her hands on that. She’s so thoughtful.” Everyone was envious. But my attitude remained glacial. “I’m here for my family heirloom. You can give the watch to the teddy bear.” At my words, Isabelle froze. The employees erupted in a wave of indignation, cursing me under their breaths. I ignored them and headed for the elevator. When my parents passed away, the only thing they left me was a small pendant. They said it would ward off evil. I always wore it. Some time ago, Isabelle had complained that her office felt cold and that she heard strange noises. So I took off the pendant and hung it in her office. The strange occurrences stopped. Now, she no longer deserved to have it. I walked into her office and saw Julian playing with my son. “Mr. Sutton,” he said, a bright, welcoming smile on his face. “You’re back. A happy home is better than anything, right? Come and see your son. He’s so adorable. How could you bear to abandon him?” He picked up my son and brought him over to me. “Get out of my way,” I said, my brow furrowed in disgust. “Mr. Sutton,” Julian pressed, his voice rising in performative disbelief. “This is your son! You won’t even look at him?” “Move!” I shoved him impatiently, striding past him to the wall where my pendant hung. I snatched it down. As I turned, I heard a cry. I looked back to see both Julian and my son on the floor. Just then, Isabelle and several senior executives walked in, witnessing the scene. Isabelle rushed to our son, frantically checking him for injuries. Finding none, she let out a breath of relief. “What happened?” she demanded, her gaze shifting between me and Julian. Julian looked down, his voice shaky. “I… I just wanted Mr. Sutton to see his son. But he didn’t want to, and he pushed me.” “It’s my fault. I’m so clumsy. If I’d just kept my balance, I wouldn’t have fallen.” What? Isabelle turned and slapped me hard across the face. “You’ve become so cold-blooded! That is your son!” she shrieked. “He’s only one year old! What if he had been seriously hurt?” My reaction was still ice. “Say what you will. If he’d died from the fall, it would have nothing to do with me.”

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My sister and I are snakes. When we heard that José Vance, the crown prince of Manhattan’s elite, was a man of formidable vitality, we decided to take turns being his girlfriend. It was a perfect arrangement—siphoning his energy to strengthen our own powers. Then, one day, José asked my sister: “What are snakes most afraid of? Arsenic or sulfur?” Convinced the jig was up, I grabbed my sister, and we staged a dramatic “death” before bolting back to the deep woods under the cover of night. But in the dead of night, the scent of fried chicken lured me out of my own freshly dug grave. As I poked my head out to forage, two cold chuckles echoed from behind me. Two uncannily similar-looking men stood there, their eyes glinting in the moonlight as they watched me. “Bro, which one is this? I can’t really tell them apart.” “She’s mine. Last night, she told me that when she died, I had to place a family-sized bucket of fried chicken on her grave.” 1 My name is Lexi. Six months ago, my sister Lily and I were running low on power, struggling to hold our human forms for long. So we found a high-quality source of vital energy—José Vance, the veritable king of New York’s high society. We’d drain his energy to boost our own. The schedule was simple: I took Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Lily had Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays. Sundays, we gave José a break, stocking his fridge with steak, oysters, and every superfood known to man to help him… you know, recharge. To avoid slipping up, we even created a shared alias for when we were with him: Bianca. And I have to say, José was a true workhorse. He wasn’t like other men who needed a cooldown period. Oh no. I could be with him in the morning, Lily could take over at noon, I could have another go in the afternoon, and Lily could still have him for the evening. The man was a powerhouse. Plus, he was incredibly generous. If Lily or I so much as glanced at something or mentioned it off-handedly, it would materialize, gift-wrapped, by the next day at the latest. In just six short months, our joint bank account had swelled to eight figures. Our apartment was overflowing with luxury goods. Diamond bracelets, gold bangles… there was simply no room to store it all. Sometimes, for fun, I’d shift back into my snake form, slither into the pile of jewelry, and play a little game of ring toss, looping ten bracelets around my body until I was glittering from head to tail. Lily would snap pictures for my private Insta story, and the other snakes in our circle would go wild with envy. “Lexi, girl! Where did you land? You’re living the high life!” Of course, all these posts were hidden from José. 2 Today was Saturday. I’d just bought two-for-one tickets for the all-you-can-eat hot pot downtown and was waiting for Lily to get home so we could go. When she finally walked in, her face was a ghostly white, her eyes wide with terror. “What’s wrong, Lily?” I asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Lily wordlessly stalked to the fridge, grabbed a can of ice-cold coconut water, and chugged it in one go. Only after she’d calmed down did she speak. “Lexi, you will not believe what José and I talked about today.” I thought for a moment. “Did he finally buy us that yacht? The other day I mentioned wanting a private one in Monaco to watch the city lights from the water, and he nodded and said he’d arrange it.” Lily shook her head frantically. “No! I wish… that would have been amazing.” She took a deep breath, still shaken. “He asked me what snakes are most afraid of. Arsenic or sulfur. “Holy crap, Lexi, you have no idea. I was in the middle of unboxing this cute little whip I’d just bought, daydreaming about all the fun I was going to have with him later. His question just… it killed the mood instantly. And then he had the nerve to look all confused and ask me, ‘Hey, why’d you stop?’” I went silent. “He let you… whip him?” Lily looked at me, bewildered. “Lexi, are you seriously focusing on that right now? The point is, I think he knows! Shouldn’t we be packing our bags and running for the hills?” “No, Lily, listen to me,” I said, dead serious. “That one time I playfully tapped him with a charging cable, he…” He’d pinned me down, tied me up, and growled, “Looks like someone needs to be taught a lesson.” That night, he’d pushed me so close to my limits I thought I was going to meet our Great Serpent Matriarch in the afterlife. Now it was Lily’s turn to be dumbfounded. “What? José can be that dominant? I always have to be the one to initiate everything. With me, he’s a total sub. Oh my god, do you think he has some kind of split personality disorder?” I slapped my thigh in frustration. “Can we worry about that later? Let’s just get to the restaurant. The after-work crowd is about to descend, and we’ll be stuck in line forever.” Lily just stared at me. 3 Safely seated at our table in the hot pot restaurant, Lily and I went back to dissecting the José situation. The more we talked, the weirder it got. Her José was a McDonald’s—eager to please, always available. My José was a Starbucks—strong, intense, and sometimes a little bitter. What the hell was going on? I decided to post a question on a forum: “What are the main features of a Switch?” A helpful user replied almost instantly: “Which model, OP? The V1 and V2 have different screens, looks, and battery life.” “Are you trying to decide between an Xbox and a Switch? I have both, I’d still recommend the Switch.” Lily typed out a reply: “No, guys, I’m not talking about that Switch. I’m talking about, you know… that kind of Switch.” The replies were confused. “Huh? A Switch is a gaming console. What else would it be?” Useless. We deleted the thread. As I swirled a piece of duck intestine in the bubbling broth, my phone buzzed. It was a message from José. José: Meeting’s over. José: What are you doing? I reluctantly put down the half-eaten crab stick I was nibbling on and snapped a picture of the glorious, bubbling hot pot. The beef balls and fish roe pockets were bobbing happily on the surface of the spicy red oil. On the table, a feast awaited: duck blood curd, potatoes, shrimp paste, fish balls, luncheon meat, garlic spare ribs, fatty beef rolls, napa cabbage… the list went on. Next to my dipping bowl sat a mountain of vanilla-milk shaved ice. José: You ordered the four-person set? José: Eating so little today? Bad mood? I bit my chopsticks, puffing out my cheeks as I typed. Me: Don’t be ridiculous! Me: I’m not a little piggy! I’m a hognose snake, I thought. Totally different. José: [Transfer: $52,000] José: I know, little piggy. Eat up. I have to get back to work. Seeing the golden glow of the transaction notification, I couldn’t suppress a grin and sent back a cute, nodding emoji. Lily looked over curiously. “What’s got you smiling like that, Lexi?” I showed her my phone. “José just sent us our allowance! Is this enough, Lily? If not, we can order another round.” Lily froze, the straw halfway to her lips. “Wait. You have José’s number?” I nodded. “Yeah, he gave it to me yesterday.” “But… he asked me for my number today!” she exclaimed, shocked. “He said we’d been seeing each other for so long, and I still hadn’t given him a way to contact me. Here, look.” She handed me her phone. The moment I saw the screen, I paused. “That’s weird, Lily. Your José’s profile picture and screen name are totally different from mine.” Mine used a black-and-white photo of a man in a suit. Hers had an anime character. But the most unbelievable part was how much her José texted. Her José: Baby, baby, whatcha doin? Her José: Miss youuu, let’s cuddle, smooch smooch. Her José: Why aren’t you answering me? Did you find someone else? Her José: What’s wrong? Found a new puppy to play with? Her José: Does he love you more, understand you better, obey you more than me? I don’t believe it. Her José: … Meanwhile, my José’s entire vocabulary consisted of: My José: ? My José: Answer your phone. My José: [Transfer] My José: Mmm. My José: Busy. My José: I miss you too. Lily and I stared at each other, our minds reeling. We couldn’t comprehend how one man could have two completely different personalities when dealing with us. Half an hour later, after I’d scraped the last slice of fatty beef from the pot, I made a solemn declaration. “Lily,” I said, my voice grave. “We need a plan. It’s time to fake our deaths and get the hell out of here.” 4 Lily was all for it. With the money we had, we could build a ridiculously luxurious villa back in the mountains and live like queens. The only problem was, how could we pull off a convincing fake death? If we just disappeared, José would find us. He was so vindictive. I remembered the time I took a tiny sip of his milk, and he insisted on drinking mine to get even. I kept telling him I didn’t have any, but he was adamant. I was terrified he’d get so angry he’d burn down our entire ancestral forest. So, we devised the perfect plan. Tomorrow, José was scheduled for his annual pilgrimage to the mountain temple to pray for good fortune. He’d already promised to take me with him. Lily would play the part of a phony psychic, ambushing us on the path. She’d point at me and declare that my time was up. Once we got home, I’d start the “dying” process. Playing dead was our specialty as hognose snakes. José would totally buy it. After he buried me, I’d just dig my way out and vanish. Hehe. Perfect! 5 We spent the night acquiring a full psychic costume and rehearsing a script to bamboozle José. Everything was in place. We just needed the curtain to rise. What I could never have anticipated, however, was that the temple José was visiting was on Shadowfen Peak—our old stomping grounds. There was indeed a temple on that mountain, dedicated to the Great Serpent Matriarch, my great-great-great-great-grandmother. The thing is, my great-great-great-great-grandmother never granted wishes. She’d told us she only built the temple so her descendants would think she was a total badass. That was it. Maybe it was a guilty conscience, but I was unusually quiet the entire drive up. José, taking a break from his work, glanced over at me. “You’re being strange today.” I stiffened. “What do you mean, strange?” He closed his tablet. “Normally, you can’t go a minute without talking. Today, you’ve been silent for exactly twenty-one minutes and thirty-one seconds. What’s on your mind?” Terrified he’d see the guilt on my face, I quickly buried my head in his lap. “Thinking about you,” I mumbled into the fabric of his pants. José sucked in a sharp breath. His voice was strained, laced with a mix of exasperation and something else entirely. “Could you… perhaps not think about me in that particular position?” Realizing my mistake a moment too late, I shot upright and scooted to the far side of the seat. Ugh. So embarrassing. I huffed against the car window, fogging it up. I hate you, José Vance. I drew a little circle on the glass, cursing him to step in dog poop later. 6 The weather in the mountains was bleak, a steady, misty rain dampening the air. José suggested I wait for him at the base of the mountain. Panicked, I blurted out, “No! I’m coming with you!” He raised an eyebrow, studying me with curiosity. “You’ve never been this eager before.” To hide my nervousness, I jumped out of the car and started marching up the path ahead of him. “I just want to pray to the spirits to protect you, is that a crime?!” Behind me, there was a brief silence, followed by a soft chuckle. “Of course not.” José caught up, taking my hand in his. With every stone step we climbed, he would pause, carefully helping me up. I don’t know how many thousands of steps we climbed, but I was soon bent over, hands on my knees, gasping for air. Great-great-great-great-grandma, I thought, no offense, but this is why I never visit. You built your temple way, way, WAY too high. Just as I felt I didn’t even have the strength left to complain, I finally saw her. Lily. Dressed in mystic robes, wearing a pair of small, round, black sunglasses, and sporting two tufts of a fake mustache, she looked ridiculous. Just as we had rehearsed, she leaped out and blocked my path. “Young friend, halt!” José immediately pulled me behind him, his brow furrowed. He was about to demand what was going on when Lily beat him to it, pointing a dramatic finger at me. “My mystic senses tell me… that tomorrow, she will… she will…” She trailed off, her voice faltering. She turned her back to us, furtively fumbling inside her wide sleeve for something—obviously, the cheat sheet with her lines. Watching her panic, I was terrified José would see through the ruse. My heart hammered against my ribs. I started coughing violently. “Cough, cough, cough…” Thank God, it worked. José’s attention snapped to me, his focus instantly shifting. “Screw it!” Lily must have decided to just go for it, because she threw her hands in the air and yelled, “Whatever! The point is, she’s gonna kick the bucket tomorrow!” Hearing those words, my world went dark. I would later find out that the piece of paper she’d been fumbling for in her sleeve wasn’t our script. It was the receipt from our hot pot dinner last night. In her haste to leave, she’d grabbed the wrong thing. 7 At her words, José’s body went rigid. He turned to confront the psychic, but Lily was already gone, a tiny, sprinting dot vanishing into the mist. She’d made a run for it. José seemed to have lost all interest in the pilgrimage. Without another word, he swept me into his arms and started striding back down the mountain. “Shhh, don’t listen to that lunatic,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble against my ear. I nodded obediently, but when I looked up, I saw the hard, tight line of his jaw. Seeing him trying so desperately to stay calm for me, a wave of guilt washed over me. Maybe… maybe I shouldn’t have deceived him like this. No, snap out of it! I told myself. He was asking about arsenic and sulfur! He was planning something! My life and Lily’s are what matter here! Worried I was still upset, José took me on a shopping spree, loading me up with bags and boxes of gifts before we finally went home. That night, after a long bath, I lay in bed, my mind racing with fantasies of my new life. I was about to become a single, wealthy, independent snake! I’d drive luxury cars, live in a mansion, and hire the most handsome men in the world to be my personal models! I was so giddy with the thought that I started rolling around on the bed, stifling little squeals of laughter. Just then, José returned from his study. He leaned against the doorframe, watching me. “Has anyone ever told you,” he began, pausing for effect, “that you look like a complete idiot right now?” My laughter died in my throat. I immediately burrowed under the covers, leaving only my eyes exposed to glare at him. “Hmph!” He sighed, a fond smile playing on his lips as he came over and pulled back the duvet. He gently ruffled my hair. “Not an idiot. Not at all.” “My little treasure is the smartest girl in the world.” Okay. That’s enough. It’s showtime. I clutched my stomach, instantly switching into character. My voice came out as a weak, reedy groan. “It hurts!” I started gasping, making it look like I was about to pass out at any second. José clearly fell for it. He lunged forward, gathering me in his arms, his voice tight with panic. “Don’t be scared, sweetheart. We’re going to the hospital, right now!” I grabbed his collar, my voice a frail whisper. “No… there’s no time… José.” I controlled my breathing, making each word sound weaker than the last. “I think… I’m really going to… kick the bucket… Before I go… can you… promise me two things?” The Faked Death spell was about to take effect. Soon, all my vital signs would temporarily cease. Even the most advanced medical equipment wouldn’t detect a thing. José’s eyes turned red, and he held me tighter. “Don’t say that!” I ignored him, pushing on. “José… for the sake of our time together… please, just do these two things for me.” “First… bury me on Shadowfen Peak… the feng shui is good there.” “And second…” I paused, as if gathering my last ounce of strength. “Could you… on my grave… leave a family-sized bucket of fried chicken?” As the words left my lips, José’s arms, holding me, went completely still. He just stared, frozen in place.

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