Author: Momo Chan

One text message was all it took for me to divorce my wife. It was six in the morning when Gwen came home from another all-nighter at the office. Weighed down by exhaustion, she still remembered to bring me a bouquet of flowers. She placed the roses on my nightstand and leaned in, as she always did, to kiss my forehead. But this time, I gently pushed her away. And I asked for a divorce. Gwen stared at me, her face a mask of disbelief. “What? Why? Because I worked too late again?” I shook my head. “No,” I said. “It’s because of the text you sent me at five a.m.” 1. The message was short. Just three words. I love you, honey. The time stamp was 5:07 a.m. The location tag was her office building. When I first saw it, a stupid, happy grin spread across my face. I was about to type back when a line I’d seen online somewhere flashed through my mind. When someone comes home from a cat café, they feel guilty, so they bring their own cat a can of tuna. A cheater does the same thing. After a secret rendezvous, they’ll send an ‘I love you’ to the one at home. I wanted to believe Gwen would never cheat. She loved me. She loved me so much that she’d throw her own body in front of me to shield me from harm. She was a workaholic, so buried in her job she’d forget to eat or drink. A woman like that wouldn’t cheat. She didn’t have the time. That’s what I told myself. But my hand had a mind of its own, already scrolling through her social media. Her private messages, her work chat, even her online shopping history. Everything was normal. Until, at six a.m., I noticed a new follow. A new intern at her company. Evan. Gwen had mentioned him a few times, always complaining. Said he was clumsy and dumb, couldn’t do anything right. At 5:00 a.m., Evan had posted a new picture to his feed. The caption read: Nothing more romantic than watching the sunrise with the one you love after a… vigorous workout. The early morning light fell across his handsome, youthful face. A pale, delicate hand was wrapped around his waist. If that hand hadn’t been wearing the wedding ring I gave Gwen, I might have even found myself thinking, to be young and in love. In that moment, I already had my answer. But eight years of history screamed at me to deny it, to look away. I kept digging, desperate to find some clue, some small detail that would prove this was all a misunderstanding. They say a lover scorned is the best detective. I used the GPS data from her car, the activity logs on her fitness app, even her fuel consumption records. I pieced together her entire night. At 7:00 p.m., Gwen told me she was working late, driving to meet a client. At 8:00 p.m., the meeting went south. She drove back to the office to rework the proposal. At 3:00 a.m., Gwen took Evan to a five-star hotel near her office. At 5:00 a.m., they were finished. A satisfied Evan posted his philosophical musings to the world. And a guilty Gwen sent me that text. Just like the saying went. The owner, back from the cat café, felt bad for her own little cat and opened a can of tuna. Gwen, back from her tryst, felt a pang of guilt and sent me an “I love you.” The bouquet of roses on my nightstand was my can of tuna. 2. When the truth settled in, it was a storm of pain, rage, and denial. I thought about just pretending I hadn’t seen it. About continuing our life together as if nothing had happened. After all, we’d been together for eight years. We had two beautiful children. But the moment Gwen walked through that door, the moment I smelled the sharp, foreign scent of men’s cologne clinging to her clothes, I knew. I couldn’t swallow this lie. And I couldn’t live with a woman who could betray me at any moment. So the word “divorce” tumbled out of my mouth, stripped of all sentiment. Gwen, oblivious, just frowned at me. She rubbed her temples and collapsed onto the sofa, completely unconcerned. “Leo, can you not be so dramatic? I’ve been working all day. I’m exhausted.” Normally, I would have been there to rub her shoulders, to bring her breakfast. Instead, I calmly opened Evan’s social media profile and held the phone out for her to see. His feed was a shrine to her. Dozens of posts. A silhouette of them walking hand-in-hand on a beach at sunset. A photo of their fingers intertwined in a hot spring. There were no faces, but after all these years, I knew her hands, her posture, her every line. I knew it was Gwen. And then there were the gifts. Countless flowers and luxury goods. The most recent post was from just ten minutes ago. Evan, grinning in a field of flowers, holding up a peace sign. A limited-edition Richard Mille watch glittered on his wrist. The caption: Who says guys can’t get flowers? My boss-girlfriend spoils me rotten. That’s when I snapped. I grabbed the bouquet she’d brought me, the one already starting to wilt, and hurled it at her face. “Did you think I’d be grateful for your hand-me-downs? For the flowers he didn’t want?” I screamed, my voice raw. “Did you think I wouldn’t recognize you just because you hid your face? I’m not a fool, Gwen! And I don’t want your garbage!” A thorn scraped a thin, red line across her cheek. The sting on her face and the fear in her heart ignited into fury. She stared at me for a long moment, then lunged, grabbing my wrist. She ripped the watch—my watch—from my arm and shoved it in my face. “Don’t you dare take that tone with me!” she spat. “Look around you! Everything you eat, everything you wear, every single thing you own was bought with my money! Do you think you could afford a watch like this without me?” Her voice dripped with contempt. “My job is stressful. I need to blow off steam sometimes. So what? I came home, didn’t I? If you have so much damn integrity, then get the hell out of my house with nothing but the clothes on your back!” The sharp edge of the watch case dug into my skin. Bright red drops of blood pattered onto the carpet. I looked at her, at the scene, and a bitter, hysterical laugh escaped me. This watch was her wedding gift to me. I remembered that day so clearly. She had kissed the back of my hand, her voice thick with emotion. “Leo,” she’d said, “thank you for being with me on this journey. I promised I’d give you the world one day. And now, I finally can.” Back then, I thought I was the luckiest man alive. Now I knew the truth. I was just the little cat in the story. Eating someone else’s leftovers, wearing a watch someone else didn’t want, and purring, thinking I was loved. The rage brought tears to my eyes, but what little pride I had left wouldn’t let me back down. I shoved her toward the door. “You have no right to throw me out!” I roared. “This house is mine! It was my property before we ever got married. If anyone’s leaving, it’s you! Without me, you wouldn’t have any of this! You think you can kick me out to make room for your boy toy? Dream on!” In the struggle, her blouse ripped open. The angry red marks blooming across her collarbone were an axe, splitting our lives in two. She saw the guilt in my eyes and frantically tried to pull her shirt closed. She opened her mouth to explain, then stopped. Her gaze fell on the family photo on the wall. A picture of the four of us. She pushed me away, a cold, cruel smile twisting her lips. “Who are you to ask for a divorce?” she sneered. “In this entire world, who else would want a broken thing like you? A man who killed his own son?” The words sucked the air from my lungs. That wound, the one I never spoke of, the one that never healed, was ripped open once more. Raw and bleeding. I stood there, frozen, the pain so immense I couldn’t even speak. A look of pure satisfaction crossed Gwen’s face. She muttered “pathetic,” and slammed the door behind her. And I finally broke. I collapsed amidst the wreckage of our life and sobbed. A small, timid voice cut through my grief. 3. My daughter, Maddie, stood in the doorway, clutching her stuffed rabbit, her eyes wide with fear. “Daddy? Did you and Mommy have a fight?” she whispered. “Are you going to split up? Is Mommy coming home?” Seeing the terror in her eyes was like a knife twisting in my gut. I pulled her into my arms, holding her tight. “I’m so sorry, sweetie. Daddy scared you.” My voice was thick. “Go back to bed. I’ll take you to school in a little bit.” Maddie shook her head, her gaze fixed on my phone, still lying on the floor. After a long hesitation, she tugged on my sleeve. “Daddy… I’ve seen that man before.” Her voice was barely audible. “A long, long time ago. On the day Owen died…” “What did you say?” The world stopped. My eyes widened. “Maddie, what do you know? Tell Daddy. What happened that day?” She shrank back, pure terror in her young eyes. Then she burst into tears and threw herself into my arms, her small body wracked with sobs. “That day… Mommy brought that man home,” she stammered between gasps. “She said they were going to play a game, and Owen and I weren’t allowed to bother them. The man gave us chocolate… with stuff inside… and locked us in the bedroom.” “Owen ate his and then he started saying his tummy hurt… and then he just… he fell down and didn’t move.” “I was so scared, Daddy! I banged on the door and screamed for Mommy, but she was playing her game with the man and she wouldn’t… she wouldn’t come out!” “And then… and then Owen was gone. Mommy said it was our secret. She said I could never tell anyone. If I told, she said she wouldn’t want me anymore…” Her voice dissolved into heartbreaking sobs. “I’m sorry, Daddy. I’m not a bad girl for lying. I was just so scared…” I was frozen. I didn’t know how to react. It felt like a blade was churning inside me, shredding my organs. Owen’s death was the great, defining tragedy of our lives. Two years ago, a client had demanded a last-minute meeting. It was a crucial contract for the company. I had no choice but to leave Owen and Maddie with a babysitter and go. When I came back, the babysitter was gone. The apartment was silent, except for Maddie’s hysterical crying. Owen was on the floor, his body already stiff. The doctors said he’d had a severe allergic reaction to the alcohol in a liqueur chocolate. If he’d been brought in just ten minutes earlier, he could have been saved. The shock of it killed my mother; she had a massive heart attack and died a week later. My mother-in-law directed all her grief and fury at me. She’d cornered me at the funeral, her hands around my neck, slapping me over and over. She screamed “murderer” at me. “You worthless bastard! How could you leave two small children alone? Are you even human?” “You knew Owen was allergic to alcohol! Why would you buy those chocolates? Did you do it on purpose? Did you want to kill my grandson?” “You’re a murderer! A monster! I want you to pay for my grandson’s life!” Her relatives had joined in, kicking and punching me. In that moment of chaos, Gwen had arrived. She threw herself in front of me without hesitation, a lioness protecting her mate. “Owen’s death was an accident!” she’d roared at them all. “It wasn’t Leo’s fault. And as long as I’m here, you will not touch him.” That day, Gwen was my hero. My shield against the world. Afterward, she took me to therapy. She held my hand as I clawed my way out of the darkness of Owen’s death. But the trauma left its mark. I couldn’t work. I couldn’t function. I had nightmares every night. I was terrified something would happen to Maddie. Gwen suggested I quit my job and stay home to take care of our daughter. After much thought, I gave up the career I had fought for and became a stay-at-home dad. Maddie was a sweet, wonderful child. And Gwen, despite her long hours, treated me with respect and love. For years, despite the lingering sorrow, I had felt a quiet gratitude. I had found a partner I could trust, a family that was, for the most part, happy. I never, ever imagined she would one day use Owen’s death as a weapon against me. And I never imagined that her affair had been the thing that killed him. She had pushed all the blame onto me. She had built my prison out of guilt, locking me away at home while she lived her life. She had destroyed my family. She had destroyed my life. The wave of pain receded, leaving numbness in its wake. I closed my eyes, my despair a bottomless pit. I gently stroked Maddie’s back. “It’s okay, sweetie. Don’t be afraid.” I told her I would never, ever blame her. And I told myself, with a terrifying clarity: I will make Gwen and Evan pay.

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Father hired two retired mercenaries as bodyguards. The younger one, steel-eyed, only had eyes for my sister. I got Allen—his hearing impaired, body trembling from neurotoxin damage. I chose him, unable to bear him becoming a training dummy for recruits. When his pain flared, I soothed his muscles through sleepless nights. Took him to specialists weekly, though he never thanked me. When he couldn’t protect me, I trained myself instead, begging Father not to send him away. I told myself war had broken him. That my care could fix him. Then came the lab explosion. He ripped the gas mask from my hands. “Rose needs this more,” he rasped. As smoke swallowed me, his last words were: “Next life, I’ll repay you.” That’s when I knew—his silence wasn’t trauma. It was a wall built just for me. I woke back in that sunlit room, the morning we chose our guards. … I stared at the two brothers before me, the silence stretching. My sister, Rose, bit her lip, her gaze flickering nervously toward me. “Oh, Nina… maybe I should take Allen? You’re so delicate, you really need someone strong like Finn to protect you.” As she spoke, she took a tiny, deliberate step away from Finn and closer to Allen. The big, cold-shouldered man instantly went rigid, a flash of pure panic in his eyes. I remained silent, the memories of my first life crashing over me like a tidal wave. Last time, after Rose and Finn had all but chosen each other, I’d been caught in the same hesitation. And just like now, Rose had suddenly offered up the stronger brother, framing it as a sacrifice for my sake. Looking at her now, her face a perfect mask of concern, I remembered how I’d genuinely believed she was looking out for me. I’d been a fool, so sure of her goodness that I’d stubbornly refused. I didn’t want my little sister to be saddled with a burden, and I couldn’t stomach the thought of the frail-looking Allen being sent back to a place that would surely kill him. A decision that led to my death in a burning laboratory, where Rose, feigning reluctance, accepted the gas mask that both my bodyguards had ripped from me. Her chosen guard, Finn, had a perfect score in hazardous environment training. She had an emergency auto-injector of the antidote right there in her purse. But she’d only made a few token protests before accepting her prize. That was always her way. She knew I couldn’t stand to see anyone sacrifice for me, that I would always be the one to step back. She got what she wanted and the reputation of a saint for it. But not this time. “Fine,” I said, my voice calm and even. “Let Allen be your guard.” The self-satisfied smile waiting to bloom on Rose’s face froze solid. She wasn’t the only one stunned. Both brothers snapped their heads up, their expressions a mixture of shock and disbelief. “Don’t be ridiculous!” my father’s voice boomed, directed at Rose. “You are the heir to Leech Enterprises. Your safety is paramount. This man is a liability; he can’t even take care of himself. How can he possibly protect you?” A small, knowing smile touched my lips. So, Father knew the full extent of Allen’s condition. This whole selection process was just for show. But then… Rose’s tense shoulders visibly relaxed. She was just about to conjure up a tear when a voice, rough from disuse but clear, cut through the tension. “I’m fit for duty.” My head shot up. The man who hadn’t spoken a single word to me in five years in my past life was now speaking? My eyes met his. They were weary, haunted, but lucid. And in that moment, I knew. He remembered. He remembered everything. So much for repaying his debt in the next life. He’d come back just as terrified of being stuck with me as he was the first time. Too bad for him. This time, I had no intention of choosing him anyway. “My combat readiness can be tested, sir,” Allen continued, his voice steady. I didn’t doubt his skills for a second. After I died, my spirit had watched him take on three armed thugs to save Rose, his combat knife a silver blur as he slit their throats with chilling precision. The irony was bitter. I’d spent years training in martial arts just so Father wouldn’t discard him like a broken tool. As expected, when he dropped the facade of weakness, it was over in five seconds. A blur of motion, a sharp crack, and our top combat instructor was flat on his back, gasping for air with Allen’s boot on his chest. The tension in my father’s face eased. The budding tears in Rose’s eyes vanished without a trace. To be fair, Allen was handsomer than his brother. If not for the poison and the hearing damage, Rose would have picked him from the start. “Very well,” Father declared. “Allen will be assigned to you. Finn, you’ll protect Nina.” At the final assignment, Finn’s gaze swept over me. When it fell to my legs—useless, twisted things hidden beneath a cashmere blanket—a flicker of undisguised revulsion crossed his face. Suddenly, he dropped to one knee. “Sir, I request a transfer. Back to the compound.” Father’s face darkened. “A seven-figure salary isn’t enough to keep you? You’d rather go back there to die?” Finn didn’t even try to hide it. He deliberately looked away from my wheelchair. “I’m not qualified to protect Miss Leech.” A bitter smile played on my lips. The injury I’d gotten at twelve, saving Rose from being run over, was still the stain I could never wash away. Allen’s coldness in my past life suddenly made a lot more sense. “Finn! How could you say that to my sister!” Rose cried, rushing to his side and striking his shoulder with a trembling hand. When Finn looked up at her, his eyes were blazing with a raw, fierce emotion. “I only came here for one person.” The room fell silent. I let out a soft, humorless laugh. Rose quickly suppressed her triumphant smile, hitting his shoulder again, a little more theatrically this time. “Don’t say things like that! I won’t let you go back!” “Why make things difficult?” I said, my fingers tracing the armrest of my wheelchair. “Rose can just have them both.” Rose’s cheeks flushed. “Nina… what are you saying?” The Leech brothers were undeniably handsome. From the moment they had entered the room, Rose’s gaze had been stuck to them like glue. Father considered it for a moment. “Are you sure you don’t want a guard?” “I’m sure. I don’t want them. Either of them.” Both brothers looked at me then. I could see the question in their eyes, wondering what gave me the right to be so dismissive. Allen’s stare was particularly intense, a storm of emotions I couldn’t begin to decipher. I didn’t want to. I couldn’t be bothered. “Then what about your safety?” Father asked. “Then I suppose I’m not safe,” I admitted, meeting his gaze without flinching. He was clearly taken aback. “In that case, Father,” I continued, “why don’t you send me to work with my uncle? He has more than enough security personnel.” In my past life, all my energy had been poured into Allen. I’d missed every opportunity, every shift in the family’s corporate landscape. My situation and my sister’s were worlds apart. Father always said he loved us equally, but the stock distribution documents only ever had two names on them: Rose and my uncle. While my uncle was conquering markets overseas, growing the family fortune exponentially, Rose’s annual dividends were enough to buy an entire financial district. Meanwhile, I had to grovel with the finance department just to get approval for Allen’s specialized medication. If I wanted to change my fate, I had to get in the game myself. My uncle, who rarely saw his forgotten niece, was dismissive. His secretary assigned me to a dead-end department and left me there. I didn’t complain. I didn’t fight. I just quietly built my own little kingdom. The business acumen I’d never had a chance to use in my past life flourished, surprising even myself. After I landed the toughest multinational contract on the books, my uncle summoned me to his office for the first time. He threw me a belated welcome party and handed me control of the entire Asia-Pacific division. The company was on the verge of going public; even if he favored Rose, he needed my skills right now. Soon, the whispers in the business world began to change. My name was being mentioned alongside Rose’s—the “Jewel of Leech Enterprises.” One evening, returning to the family estate, Rose intercepted me on the veranda. “You’re making a lot of noise, Nina,” she said, her voice a sweet poison. I raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been everywhere lately, schmoozing at every event. I’m not trying to be a wet blanket, sister, but a lucky streak doesn’t make you a player. If you stumble, you’ll tarnish the Leech name.” She paused, her eyes darting toward Allen, who stood a few feet away. “Besides, with all this attention on… you… what respectable man would ever propose?” Her gaze lingered meaningfully on my wheelchair. “I think it’s time you stopped bothering Uncle. From now on, I’ll take you to the parties.” I laughed, a cold, sharp sound. “Are you jealous I’m stealing your spotlight?” Her pupils contracted. “Let me ask you something, Rose. In what capacity are you telling me to stand down? As the official heir? The youngest member of the board?” I leaned forward. “No matter what happens, you benefit the most. So where do you get the nerve to tell me to sit down and be quiet?” “Nina, how could you…” Her eyes instantly filled with tears. I cut off her performance with a glacial stare. “And since you brought up my legs, maybe we should talk about that ‘accident’ when I was twelve.” Her face went pale. “I shoved you out of the way of that car, didn’t I? But tell me, who was it that gave me that final, decisive shove, right into the path of the wheels?” Rose stumbled back, her trembling fingers pressed to her lips. “Don’t give me that look. You’re not the one who ended up crippled for life.” I began to turn my wheelchair to leave. “Go on, keep being the Jewel of Leech Enterprises.” She crumpled to the marble floor, a perfect picture of wounded innocence, her tears splashing onto the polished stone. “No, sister… it wasn’t like that… I was so scared…” she sobbed. “How can you think I’m so evil…” “Enough!” Finn strode forward, scooping her into his arms. “That’s enough, Nina,” he growled, his voice dangerously disrespectful. “You’ve gone too far!” Rose immediately clung to his shirt, her voice trembling. “Finn, don’t… I’m fine… really…” The words were barely out before her whole body started to shake. A flicker of pain crossed Allen’s face. He looked directly at me. “You should apologize.” I almost laughed out loud. He just stood there, waiting. The slap echoed in the hallway. Rose gasped, throwing herself in front of him. “Nina! How could you hit him!” I slowly lowered my stinging hand. “You might want to teach your pet some manners, Rose. Before he forgets who signs his checks.” “You—” Finn’s fists clenched, his knuckles cracking. Allen touched his own reddening cheek, his expression one of pure, unadulterated shock. I spun my wheelchair around and left them there, not giving them a chance to say another word. I had planned to pack my bags and move into the corporate apartment, to get away from this toxic swamp for good. But the next morning, my bedroom door splintered off its hinges. Finn burst in, and before I could even process what was happening, he was dragging me violently from my bed. “Rose has been kidnapped! You’re coming with me, now!” In a flash, I had the handgun from the hidden compartment in my wheelchair. I pressed the cold muzzle to his temple. “Move, and you’re dead.” “And for the record,” I hissed, “her being kidnapped has nothing to do with me!” “Still lying!” Finn’s eyes were bloodshot, crazed. He hadn’t slept. “If it wasn’t for the vicious things you said yesterday, she never would have driven off in the middle of the night! The kidnappers want to trade. This is your chance to atone for what you did!” The door was thrown open again and Allen rushed in, his face ashen. He looked up at the second floor. “Did you find her?” Finn yanked on my collar. “The kidnappers agreed to a swap.” His voice was low and menacing. “You started this. You’re going to finish it.” “You’re asking to die,” I snarled, slamming the butt of my gun into his face. His eyebrow split open, blood welling instantly. “A hired goon dares to lay a finger on me?” The blow dazed him, but it only made his eyes more feral. “With all due respect, Miss Leech, you don’t have a choice in this.” His hand shot out, grabbing my wrist in a vice grip. “For Rose, we’ll take the punishment later! Allen! Restrain her!” Against Finn, my marksmanship gave me a fighting chance. Against Allen, I had none. With a deafening clang, my gun was on the floor and I was slammed back into my wheelchair. Allen’s combat boots filled my vision. I struggled, thrashed, but I was no match for the two of them. I looked up, my last shred of hope fixed on him. “Allen… don’t do this… please…” His Adam’s apple bobbed. He turned his face away. “I’m sorry.” Click. The sound of the magazine being ejected from my gun was the sound of my world ending. I was completely at their mercy. On the way to the drop point, Allen himself stood guard over me. “You came back, too,” he said suddenly. A mocking smile twisted my lips. “And you’re still just as cruel to me.” He was silent for a moment. Then, his voice was a low rasp. “I owe you.” SLAP. I struck him again, with all the force I could muster. “Two lifetimes, and your apologies are still this cheap.” His head snapped to the side, his hair falling over his eyes. I could only hear his voice, low and strained. “I swear, this is the last time.” He grabbed my wrist, his grip painfully tight. “We trade you for her. The debt from our last life will be paid.” His voice dropped to a desperate whisper. “After this, I’ll protect you. I’ll spend the rest of my life protecting you, I swear.” I turned my head away and scoffed. His knuckles went white as he squeezed my wrist harder. “This is all for show,” he insisted. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise.” The exchange was set for an abandoned shipyard. The moment I passed Rose, she suddenly stumbled, lurching forward with a cry. “Allen! Finn!” My head whipped around. Allen was the first to move, crossing the distance in a heartbeat to catch her. Finn was right behind him, expertly slicing the ropes from her wrists. Allen’s arms were wrapped around her so tightly his knuckles were white, his whole body trembling. I could just make out the shape of his words as he buried his face in her hair. “I’m so sorry… I failed you… I let you suffer…” A strange, dull ache bloomed in my chest. I had warned myself not to hope, not to expect anything. The rough scrape of rope against my skin broke my trance. Before I could even make a sound, a strip of cold, sticky tape was slapped across my mouth.

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My prized, one-of-a-kind bottle of Domaine de la Romanée-Conti, valued at over three million dollars, showed up on Liam Carter’s Instagram feed. In the photo, the fresh-faced graduate assistant held up a glass, the caption a glaringly arrogant taunt: “Thanks for the love, Ms. Vance. The professor said this bottle could buy a condo downtown~” I sent a single text to my wife, Ava. “You have two hours to get that bottle back here. Or you’ll face the consequences.” Ava left me on read. Two hours later, I stared at my phone screen, my finger hovering over the “Report Crime” button for a full three seconds. A sudden commotion erupted at the charity gala I was monitoring remotely. Through the security feed, I watched as Liam Carter was slammed against a champagne tower by the police, expensive champagne soaking his borrowed designer suit. If they wouldn’t listen to reason, I’d have to teach them a lesson in a language they’d understand. 1 “Brendan Sterling! You called the cops on Liam?” Ava’s voice preceded her into the house, sharp and furious. Her Chanel handbag hit the entryway wall, the metal clasp leaving a dent. I didn’t even flinch. “Your two hours are up.” “He’s my assistant!” Ava kicked off her heels, her voice rising to a shriek. “He just got a letter of recommendation from his professor!” “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? You’ve ruined him!” “Brendan, how could you be so vicious?” “Grand larceny. The value exceeds three million,” I said, turning to face her, my expression calm. “Have you ever read the penal code, Ava?” Suddenly, she snatched the crystal decanter from the coffee table. The twelve-thousand-dollar piece of art shattered at my feet, red wine bleeding across my slippers like blood. “There are over three hundred bottles in our cellar. What’s the big deal if I give one to Liam?” Her nails dug into her palms. “His mentor is the chairman of the awards committee. Do you know how much effort I put in to—” “He’s just a kid from a small town, trying to make it in the city. I was just trying to help him.” “Brendan, when did you become so cold-hearted?” “Help him?” I let out a cold laugh. “Anyone who didn’t know better would think he was your lover. This city is flooded with small-town graduates every year. Life isn’t easy for any of them.” “If you’re so charitable, Ms. Vance, why don’t you sell off Vance Industries and start a foundation dedicated to helping small-town kids?” “You’re being unreasonable, Brendan.” My words left her speechless, her face flushing with anger. “Last year. On this day,” I said, ignoring her and pulling up a photo on my phone. “Our third wedding anniversary. I waited for you at Lakeside Grill for five hours. You were at his thesis defense, cheering him on.” A condescending smirk touched Ava’s lips. “Brendan, are you really jealous of that?” “It was Liam’s patent defense. I went to support him. It was just an anniversary, Brendan. We can celebrate it any year.” I was rendered speechless by her audacity. I swiped to the next photo. A Cartier box gleamed beside a celebratory cake. “For his patent party, you baked a cake and bought him a watch.” “For my birthday, you gave me expired grocery store coupons. Ava, tell me, who is your husband? Me, or Liam Carter?” “Do you need another watch?” Ava tilted her head back, her face a mask of impatience. “Brendan, you’re thirty years old. Are you going to squabble with a child?” “No,” I said, a slow smile spreading across my face. “I’m not going to squabble.” “That’s why I’m sending him straight to prison.” “Brendan!” Ava’s earrings danced as she breathed heavily. She grabbed her car keys. “I don’t have time to argue with you. I’m going to get him. My lawyer will talk to you tomorrow.” “A friendly reminder,” I said, toying with the business card of my contact at the police department. “If he gets out before sunrise, I will have to seriously reconsider whether our marriage has any future at all.” “Are you threatening me?” The doorframe trembled under her fist. “You’re the one who pushed it too far,” I said calmly. “I’ve tolerated your behavior time and time again, but you refuse to show any restraint.” “Fine. Just fine,” Ava roared. “Brendan, I am so disappointed in you.” With that, she stormed out of the house. 2 Ava didn’t come home that night. I had an early surgery the next day, so I went to bed without waiting for her. I woke up to a firestorm on social media. #VANCEINDUSTRIESCEOSECRETRENDEZVOUSWITHYOUNGLOVER The photos were crystal clear. Liam Carter, getting out of Ava’s Porsche. Another, even more damning photo showed Ava holding his hand as they walked into a hotel. The bitter irony was that the hotel was one of my family’s properties. A cold smile touched my lips. I dialed my lawyer. “Draft the divorce papers. Now.” My marriage to Ava was never a simple love match. It was a strategic alliance. I am the sole heir to the Sterling fortune. But I have no interest in business. My passion is medicine. I only ever wanted to be a doctor. After much negotiation with my parents, we agreed on a solution: I would marry a capable woman from a suitable family, and she would help me manage the Sterling empire. Our future children would one day inherit it. Ava was the chosen one. Though her family’s company, Vance Industries, was leagues below ours, I was drawn to her. She was smart, ambitious, and ruthless. Under her leadership, the market value of her family’s company had doubled in three years. When we married, everyone called it a power merger. Even I believed it. It’s why I tolerated so much of her drama with Liam Carter. But I draw the line at betrayal. Just then, my phone rang. It was Ava’s father. “Brendan, my boy, I saw the news. Don’t overthink it. It’s just tabloid nonsense, I’m sure.” “Ava, that girl… she can be stubborn, but she would never do something like cheating.” “Don’t worry. I’ll make her explain everything. I’ll make sure you get a proper explanation!” Two hours later, Ava’s parents dragged her through my door. Her face was a thunderous mask of rage. She stormed towards me, yelling, “Brendan Sterling! Did you plant that story in the press?” I sat on the sofa, not even bothering to look up. “What do you think?” “You’re despicable!” Her face contorted with a hysterical fury. “Is this how you get what you want, Brendan? By stooping to these disgusting tactics?” She lunged for the ashtray on the coffee table and hurled it at me. It grazed my forehead and shattered against the wall behind me. Her father’s face went pale with shock. He slapped her, hard. “Are you insane? Brendan is your husband! What is wrong with you?” Ava clutched her cheek, staring at her father in disbelief. “Dad, you hit me? This is his—” Her eyes welled with tears. I shot them a cold glance and stood up. “Let’s not make this more complicated than it needs to be. Just sign the papers.” As if on cue, the doorbell rang. My lawyer stood on the doorstep, holding a folder. “Mr. Sterling, the divorce agreement is ready.” Ava’s head snapped towards me, her eyes wide with shock. “Divorce agreement? Brendan, you want to divorce me?” I took the papers and tossed them onto the coffee table. “Sign.” 3 Ava stared at the divorce papers, her fingers trembling. “I won’t sign.” She looked up, her eyes red-rimmed. “Brendan, it was just one stupid bottle of wine. You’re going to divorce me over a bottle of wine?” “If you’re angry, I’ll pay you back. I’ll buy you ten bottles, twenty! Just… let’s not get a divorce, okay?” I looked at her tear-streaked face, and for the first time, felt nothing. “Ava, that bottle was one-of-a-kind. It was a gift from my parents for my doctoral graduation.” “I told you the story behind it.” Besides medicine, I have one other passion: winemaking. And that bottle was the final creation of my favorite master vintner. There would never be another one like it in the world. I had told Ava this in our first year of marriage, explicitly warning her never to touch it. “Brendan, I’m sorry.” Ava’s face went rigid. “I… I really messed up.” “I know I was wrong. Please, just forgive me this one time?” Her voice was low, laced with a desperation I’d never heard before. Her father quickly jumped in. “Brendan, Ava was just being foolish.” “You two are still young. Every couple has their disagreements. You make up and move on. Just give her another chance. She’ll learn her lesson this time, I promise.” I let out a cold laugh. “You think a simple ‘I’m sorry’ can erase everything you’ve done?” “Don’t worry, Brendan, we’ll deal with that Liam Carter situation too,” her father added, shooting Ava a pointed look. Ava caught his cue and grabbed my hand. “I’ll transfer Liam to a branch office immediately. I’ll never see him again.” “Brendan, let’s not get a divorce. Please?” Her tears fell onto the back of my hand, her grief genuine. My resolve softened. “This is the last time.” Seeing me relent, Ava wiped her face and immediately called her company’s HR department. Right in front of me, she arranged for Liam to be transferred. For the next two weeks, Ava was a changed woman. She came home on time every day, tying on an apron to busy herself in the kitchen. “Try this,” she said, placing a piece of sweet and sour pork in my bowl. “I spent all afternoon learning how to make it.” I looked up at her. There was a smudge of flour on her forehead, and her eyes were filled with a cautious hope. “It’s good,” I said, and went back to eating. When I was on call at the hospital over the weekend, she showed up with an insulated lunch box. “Dr. Sterling, your wife is here again?” a nurse teased. Ava laid out the food and handed me a freshly brewed coffee. “Your stomach is sensitive. Don’t drink that instant stuff from the hospital,” she said softly. I watched her bustling around, and the divorce papers in my desk drawer began to gather dust. 4 Life returned to normal, and my career quietly reached a new milestone. I was selected to join a team of experts for an international medical conference abroad. It was a huge opportunity. When I told Ava, she was supportive, helping me pack. On the last day of the conference, I received a shocking text message. It was from the head nurse of the cardiology department at my hospital. Nurse Davis: Dr. Sterling, could you please talk to your mother? She’s being very difficult with the on-duty nurses. Nurse Davis: Our department is already swamped, and most of our patients are elderly. The staff can’t dedicate all their time to just one person. You’re a doctor, you understand. Please, ask her to be more considerate. I froze. I hadn’t heard anything about my mother being hospitalized. And my mother was the sweetest woman alive; she would never harass a nurse. Confused, I called home. “Mom, are you in the hospital?” “Nonsense!” Her voice was as vibrant as ever. “I’m in the Maldives, scuba diving!” After hanging up, I texted Nurse Davis back. Brendan: Nurse Davis, my mother isn’t in the hospital. There must be some mistake. Nurse Davis: Dr. Sterling, your wife brought her in personally. She brought you lunch several times, we’ve all seen her. There’s no mistake. A moment later, she sent a short video. A woman with permed hair was jabbing her finger in a young nurse’s face. “My daughter-in-law is the CEO of Vance Industries! You dare to give me substandard care? Believe it or not, she’ll buy this hospital and turn it into a public toilet!” “You nurses are just modern-day servants! What’s wrong with washing my underwear for me? My daughter-in-law paid for the VIP package! That means you serve me! You do whatever I say!” I zoomed in on the video. I didn’t recognize the woman’s sharp, cruel face at all. Alarmed and bewildered, I couldn’t wait for my colleagues. I booked a flight home the same day the conference ended. As soon as I landed, I went straight to the hospital. The old woman was in the VIP room, cracking sunflower seeds, the shells littered all over the floor. “Ma’am,” I said, stepping in front of a furious Nurse Davis. “You said your daughter-in-law is Ava Vance, the CEO of Vance Industries. What is your relationship to her?” “She’s my daughter-in-law!” the woman spat, sunflower seed shells flying from her lips. “And my son is—” I held up my marriage certificate. “What a coincidence. My wife is also named Ava Vance, and she’s also the CEO of Vance Industries.” “I just wasn’t aware that my wife had a second mother-in-law. Or that I had a second mother.” The room went silent. The sunflower seeds scattered from the woman’s lap. “You… you’re Brendan—” “So you do know me,” I said, picking up the nameplate from her bedside table. “Mrs. Miller. And what’s your son’s name?” She suddenly snatched the call bell and threw it at me. “None of your damn business! My son is ten times the man you are!” I sidestepped the projectile and nodded to Nurse Davis. “Call security. And the police. Report it as medical fraud.” The police arrived quickly. As Mrs. Miller was throwing a tantrum on the floor, her son burst into the room. White shirt, gold-rimmed glasses, and a tie that I recognized as one I’d thrown out last year. Liam Carter. “Dr. Sterling?” His face went pale. “You… you’re not supposed to be back yet. When did you get here?” I smiled. “Thanks to you and your mother, I just arrived.” Ava was truly something else. So much for sending Liam to a branch office. This was what she had planned all along. My phone rang. It was a voice message from Ava. “Brendan, send me your flight number. I’ll come pick you up…” I hit the record button on my phone. “No need. Just come straight to VIP room 3 at my hospital.” “And thank you so much for the wonderful surprise.” There was a distinct pause on the other end of the line. “Brendan,” she said, her voice tight. “You know.”

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1 My best friend and I had just finished dinner and were about to leave when a woman blocked our path, insisting I pay for another table’s bill. I refused, telling her I didn’t know them. She exploded. “Damn it, I’m doing you a favor by letting you pay! Who the hell do you think you are, disrespecting the Sterling Corporation in this city? You looking to die?” Before I could respond, she became even more arrogant. “Do you have any idea who I am? I’m the wife of Sterling Corporation’s chairman, Rory Sterling! Scared now, aren’t you?” I froze for a second, then pulled out my phone and dialed Rory’s number. “I hear you have another wife at the company?” … The moment I hung up, the woman flew into a rage. She snatched my phone and smashed it on the floor. “Still trying to call for backup? Believe it or not, I can make sure you never walk out of this restaurant.” “Stop it!” My friend, Moya Devaney, pulled me behind her. “Is this how people from Sterling Corporation behave? Harassing strangers for money and getting physical without any reason?” The woman’s face flushed with anger. “Manners? In this city, the Sterling name is manners! I’m letting you pay my bill because I’m giving you a chance to climb the social ladder, understand? You want to talk about rules? My word is the rule here!” I laughed out loud, looking up at the woman, whose name I now knew was Ivy Lilley. “Sterling Corporation may be big, but I doubt they taught you how to be a highway robber.” Ivy snorted, planting her hands on her hips like a common shrew. “I’m giving you a chance to network! Do you know how many people are lining up to buy me dinner? I wouldn’t even give them the time of day!” A chance to network. As if my family, the Croftons, ever needed to network with anyone in this city. I glanced at Moya, her expression dark. I knew my friend, a princess from the capital’s most elite circles, was shocked to be bullied by someone from a company like Sterling. Ivy sneered and waved a hand toward the door. “Let me tell you something. In this city, what I, Ivy Lilley, say, goes! Grab these two idiots who don’t know their place!” The words had barely left her mouth when seven or eight bodyguards in black suits swarmed in, surrounding us. Moya instinctively pulled me back, her eyes sharp and ready for a fight. But there were too many of them. Before she could make a move, two men grabbed her arms, pinning her. “Moya!” I lunged forward, but a sharp blow to the back of my neck sent darkness exploding behind my eyes. Through the haze, I saw Moya struggling, cursing them, before a fist slammed into her jaw. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth. I was forced to the ground, helpless, as Ivy kicked Moya in the stomach, spitting insults. “You dare meddle in my business? Today, I’ll teach you that you don’t mess with Sterling Corporation!” Fists rained down on me, each blow a dull, throbbing pain. Moya had only come to visit, and now she was caught in this mess. “Ivy Lilley!” I yelled, my voice hoarse. “I am Rory Sterling’s legally wedded wife, Autumn Crofton.” I gestured to Moya, who was still being held down. “And she is Moya Devaney, from the Devaney family of the capital! Let us go now, and we can still forget this ever happened!” Ivy’s foot froze mid-air. Then she burst out laughing. “Rory Sterling’s wife? From the Devaney family? Did you two get your brains beaten out?” The people at her table roared with laughter. “Everyone knows the boss’s wife is Vice President Lilley.” “She’s really got some nerve, making up stories like that.” “The Devaney family? From the capital? Never heard of them. Probably just some name she pulled out of a hat to scare us.” Ivy leaned down and grabbed a fistful of my hair, her eyes vicious. “Say you’re his wife one more time, and I’ll rip your mouth off. I’ll show you what’s real and what’s fake. Only I can say Rory’s name. And I am the only woman who will ever be his.” Moya, still pinned to the floor with blood on her lips, let out a mocking laugh. “Well, Autumn Crofton, looks like you got married for nothing. This woman is claiming your man right in front of you, and you, the actual wife, are the one left looking like a fool.” Her words, strangely, made me want to laugh. And I did, though it was a harsh, bitter sound. Ivy was still pulling my hair. I suddenly jerked my head to the side and bit down, hard, on her wrist. She screamed in pain, her grip loosening. I used the momentum to slam my knee into the groin of the bodyguard behind me. As he doubled over in agony, I grabbed a beer bottle from a nearby table and smashed it over another guard’s head. By the time Ivy realized what was happening, I was on her, my fist connecting with her face. She stumbled back, stunned by the sudden counterattack, blood gushing from her nose. “You bitch! You dare hit me?!” she shrieked, clawing at my face. I caught her arm and threw her to the ground. I straddled her, raining down punches. The Sterling employees at her table, reeking of alcohol, rushed forward to pull me off. “You’re attacking VP Lilley? Are you tired of living?” Somehow, Moya had broken free. She kicked away a man who was coming at me and yelled, “Beat the hell out of her, Autumn! I’ve never been this insulted in my entire life!” In the chaos, someone smashed a chair across my back. I grunted in pain but didn’t stop. Ivy was screaming, scratching wildly at my hair. “Sterling security! Kill her! I’ll take responsibility! Triple bonuses for everyone!” The employees swarmed me like a pack of wolves, grabbing my arms, my waist, kicking at my legs. As I was being pulled back, Ivy kicked me hard in the stomach. I staggered back, and was about to charge again when a voice boomed from the restaurant entrance. “Everyone, stop!” 2 Two men in police uniforms pushed their way in. They frowned at the wreckage, but their expressions changed completely when they saw the bruised and beaten Ivy Lilley on the floor. “VP Lilley? What are you doing here? What happened?” one of the officers, a portly man, asked, his voice dripping with sycophancy as he rushed to help her up. Seeing the police, Ivy acted as if her savior had arrived. She pointed a trembling finger at Moya and me. “Officer Wang! These two outsiders are crazy! They refused to pay for their meal and then started a fight! Look what they did to me! And my employees! They’re all injured!” The portly officer glanced at our own injuries and dismissed them, turning to us with a scowl. “What do you two think you’re doing? Brawling in broad daylight and assaulting employees of Sterling Corporation? You’ve got some nerve!” “She was the one who started it,” Moya said, spitting out a mouthful of blood. “She tried to force us to pay her bill.” “Nonsense!” Ivy interrupted immediately. “I was just trying to be nice, letting them bask in the glory of the Sterling name for a moment, and they just turned on me! They even had the audacity to pretend to be my husband’s wife and some big shot from the capital.” The portly officer clearly believed her. He pointed at the shattered glass and overturned tables. “Regardless, you beat her up like this and destroyed the restaurant’s property. It’s clearly your fault! Let me tell you, in this city, everyone shows respect to Sterling Corporation. VP Lilley is Rory Sterling’s woman. By touching her, you’re disrespecting Sterling, and you’re going against the rules of this entire city!” The other, thinner officer was already brandishing a pair of handcuffs. “Enough talk. You’re coming with us to the station. Oh, and you’ll be covering VP Lilley’s bill, the damages to the restaurant, her medical bills, and her emotional distress compensation. Then, if you get on your knees and apologize, maybe we can settle this privately.” “On what grounds?” I laughed, furious. “She started this, and you’re convicting us without even investigating?” “On what grounds? On the grounds that you’re not from around here!” the portly officer waved his hand dismissively. “You’re in our city, you play by our rules. VP Lilley letting you pay her bill was an honor. Don’t be ungrateful!” Moya sneered. “I’d like to see if the rules of this city are above the laws of this country.” “Still talking back, huh?” The thin officer moved to cuff me. “Looks like you haven’t learned your lesson!” I dodged him. Enraged, he pulled out a stun baton and flicked it on. “You want to do this the hard way?” he said, jabbing it towards me. “Looks like you’re itching for a stay in a jail cell!” A jolt of electricity shot through me. My whole body seized up, and I nearly collapsed. Moya caught me, her eyes blazing. “How dare you abuse your authority?” “Abuse my authority? I’m performing my official duties,” the portly officer said, pulling out his own stun baton and pointing it at Moya. “In this city, anything involving Sterling Corporation is a big deal. People like you who don’t know their place need to be taught a lesson!” Moya grunted as the electricity hit her, the smell of burning fabric in the air. “You power-tripping dogs… you’ll regret this one day…” “Regret it?” The portly officer’s grin widened. He used his baton to lift Moya’s chin. “You can regret it all you want when you’re getting beaten every day in your cell.” He turned to Ivy, his face a mask of fawning servitude. “VP Lilley, is this enough for you? If not, I can turn it up a notch!” Ivy watched, smugly. “A little more. They need to learn who’s in charge here.” The portly officer kicked me, then bowed to Ivy again. “VP Lilley, if you don’t mind my asking, when is the baby due? My partner and I will be sure to prepare a generous gift to congratulate you and Mr. Sterling.” The thin officer nodded eagerly. “Yes, yes! We hope you’ll give us the honor of sharing in your joy. Maybe Mr. Sterling might even consider a little promotion for us…” At the mention of this, Ivy smiled. “About four or five months. I had it checked. It’s a boy.” Ivy… was pregnant. The news hit me like a physical blow. I’d been away on a business trip for six months. I had only just returned, and Rory already had a child on the way. The blood rushed to my head. Rory and I had been married for two years, and he’d always put off having children, claiming he was too busy with the company. I struggled to get up. Seeing me move, the thin officer jabbed the stun baton at the back of my neck. My vision went black. As I was about to fall, Ivy grabbed a stool and raised it over my head. Just then, the sound of hurried, expensive footsteps echoed from the restaurant entrance.

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Julian McCann and I grew up together, yet despised each other. He blamed me for Serena’s death—the love of his life. I resented him for never feeling anything for me. Ten years of marriage left us scarred and broken. But when our car plunged into the ocean, he gave me the only oxygen tank. “Swim,” he gasped, shoving me from the wreck. “Live a good life… alone.” As the car sank, his final words were: “My debt is paid. If there’s a next life… may we never meet again.” They only recovered his body—still clutching his true love’s ring. That night, I slit my wrists to follow him. But I woke up reborn—on the day of my arranged marriage. “I’ll marry into the Thorne family,” I told my father. “Let Serena have Julian.” This time, I’d endure the Thornes’ cruelty. Let him finally be happy with her. … “Do you have any idea what kind of place the Thorne estate is? It’s a den of wolves that chews people up and spits them out!” My father’s eyes were wide with disbelief. Serena and I were half-sisters, and we’d never gotten along. For me to suddenly renounce the love of my life and take her place in a dangerous marriage alliance was enough to shock anyone. “I know,” I said, my voice unwavering. “I just need you to agree.” My father looked at me, his expression a mixture of confusion and concern. The Thorne family was the wealthiest in the great port city, a sprawling dynasty of old money and new power. The head of the family, Damien Thorne, was rumored to have killed his own father to seize control. They said he was violent, sadistic, a true monster. Because my father carried a deep guilt over what happened to my mother, and because he knew how much I loved Julian, he couldn’t bear to send me into that nightmare. But now, seeing my resolve, he had no choice but to consent. His new wife had been tormenting him over sending her precious Serena away. This solved all his problems. He could have his peace, and his conscience would be clear. After speaking with my father, I went to the McCann estate. The marriage between Julian and me had been arranged by his grandfather, and it was only right that I inform the old man of my change of heart. As I stepped into the grand hall of the old mansion, the sharp crack of a whip echoed through the air. In my past life, Julian had refused the marriage, declaring his love for my sister, Serena. He had willingly submitted himself to the family’s brutal discipline to defy his grandfather. Back then, desperate to marry him, I had thrown myself in front of him, taking ninety-nine lashes meant for him on my own back. Crushed by guilt, he had finally agreed to marry me, going against his own heart. That act had sealed Serena’s fate. She was sent to Port Sterling in my place and was tormented to death by the Thornes. And for that, Julian had hated me for the rest of our lives. This time, as I entered the hall, I walked right past him. He was on his knees, his back a bloody mess, but I didn’t spare him a single glance. I went straight to his grandfather. “Grandfather, I need to speak with you.” The old man lowered the whip. Before he could speak, Julian’s raw voice cut through the silence. “Anya, I’ve only ever seen you as a sister. Why are you so desperate to marry me?” I took a deep breath, fighting back tears. “I’m not.” Julian tried to say more, but another sharp crack of the whip silenced him. When I left the study, the old patriarch looked grave. But my mind was made up. He could only watch me go, his heart full of regret. In the center of the hall, Julian was still kneeling, his face pale as a sheet. “Anya Linwood, don’t you understand?” he rasped, his voice laced with accusation. “If I don’t marry Serena, she’s the one they’ll send to Port Sterling. She’ll die there!” A sharp pain shot through my heart. I wanted to scream that I was the one going, but I held my tongue. Instead, a bitter question escaped my lips. “The Linwood family has two daughters. If she doesn’t go, then it’s my turn. Does that mean I deserve to die?” His eyes darted away, unable to meet mine. A self-mocking smile touched my lips, and I turned to leave. “Does it have to be the Thornes?” he called out after a moment of silence. “Do you have so little faith in me? You think the McCann fortune can’t save your family?” My back was to him. “Yes,” I said, each word a shard of ice. “It can’t. The Linwood corporation is two hundred million in the red. How exactly were you planning to help with that?” Silence. I didn’t look back. I walked out the door as tears streamed down my face. Julian, you got your wish. In this life, you can be with the one you love. Staying away from you is my final gift. I didn’t sleep that night. I had died once, but it would be a lie to say I wasn’t terrified of marrying into the Thorne family. In my last life, Serena’s ashes were sent back after only six months. How long could I survive on that knife’s edge? The next morning, I decided to visit my mother’s grave. As I opened my front door, a hand shot out and clamped around my neck, slamming me against the doorframe. The strong scent of cigars filled my nose. Julian’s eyes were shot with red. “Anya Linwood,” he snarled, “are you really going to stand by and watch your own sister die?” His grip tightened. I clawed at his arm, my vision starting to blur. “Julian… let go…” But he was like a man possessed. “Anya, this cold-blooded monster you’ve become… you’re a perfect match for that devil in Port Sterling. You’re the one who should be going!” His voice dropped to a venomous whisper. “A person like you deserves to die at his hands.” My body went rigid. It was happening again. His face, his words—they were identical to a memory from my past life. The world blurred. Tears streamed down my face. The sight of them seemed to snap him out of his rage. He let go, stumbling back, the madness in his eyes clearing. He grabbed my hand, his voice shaking. “I’m sorry… Anya, I’m so sorry. I… I was just so angry.” His eyes were filled with regret, his lips trembling. But I turned away and got in my car. I knew his kindness was born from duty. My mother had been his mentor, his teacher. He felt he owed her. I was the fool who mistook obligation for love. I’d spent a lifetime being a fool. It was time to wake up. From the cemetery, I could see Julian and Serena in the garden, working at a pottery wheel. He was sitting behind her, his hands covering hers, their bodies pressed close. My father must have told Serena about the change of plans, but warned her not to tell Julian yet. Knowing her dream was about to come true, Serena was beaming. “Julian,” she cooed, “are you always this… intimate… when you teach pottery?” He squeezed her hands, his eyes filled with a tenderness I had never seen. “Only with you. And one other person.” A knife twisted in my chest. That other person was me. My mother was a master potter, and Julian had been her most prized student. I’d never cared for pottery until he came along. Then I spent every day in my mother’s studio, begging him to teach me. He never refused, always patient, always kind. He would even sculpt little animals for me. After my mother died, Julian became my entire world. He promised he would protect me in her place. But then my father brought his mistress and their illegitimate daughter, Serena, into our home. And everything changed. Julian changed. Serena’s voice pulled me back to the present. “Julian, let’s make a kitten mug!” Julian’s hands flinched on the clay, nearly sending it flying. I loved kittens. My mother used to make me all sorts of cat-shaped ceramics. After she was gone, Julian had taken up the tradition. I looked up and met Serena’s eyes. They were filled with triumph and provocation. I knew she was doing it on purpose. But I refused to fight her. I turned and went back to my room. The next morning, a small, unglazed clay kitten was sitting on my windowsill. I knew it was from Julian. It was our secret pact from childhood. Whenever he made me angry, he would leave a clay kitten as an apology. It was meaningless now. As I came downstairs, Serena’s voice came from behind me. “Going to Port Sterling means you’ll be reunited with your short-lived mother soon. You must be so happy, dear sister.” I spun around. She was smiling, her fingernails trailing lightly down my cheek. “I suppose I should thank you for making this all possible.” I slapped her hand away. “Serena! Don’t you dare speak about my mother.” Her smile widened. “Or what?” I trembled with rage, my hand raised to strike her. In that instant, Serena’s eyes darted past me. A cold smirk flashed across her face. She grabbed my arm and threw her weight backward, pulling us both down the stairs. “Anya, no! Don’t push me!” she screamed. The world spun. We landed in a heap, Serena on top of me. My head slammed against the corner of a table. A blinding pain, and then the warm rush of blood. A familiar figure appeared in my blurry vision. “Help… me…” I rasped. But Julian strode right past me. He knelt and gathered Serena into his arms. Only after he had settled her on the sofa and confirmed she had nothing more than a few scrapes did he seem to remember I was there. I struggled to sit up. But as Serena began to sob, Julian’s face hardened. “How could you be so vicious?” he snapped at me. “Pushing your own sister down the stairs? What if she’d been seriously hurt? Did you think you could take her place in the alliance then?” I clutched my bleeding head, trying to explain. “Julian, it wasn’t me…” “Enough!” he roared. “You disappoint me, Anya. How did you become so hateful and jealous? Is this how you honor your mother’s memory? Is this…” SMACK. I dragged myself to my feet and hit him, hard. He froze, stunned. His hand came up as if to strike back, but stopped in mid-air. Looking at him, a thousand moments from our past life flashed before my eyes. We were always like this. We knew each other so well, we knew exactly where to stick the knife. My body trembled as I glared at him, my teeth clenched. “No one has the right to speak of my mother,” I spat. “Not even you.” And then the world went black. Julian stood guard outside my hospital room for three days and three nights, but I refused to let him in. On the day before the wedding, I was discharged. He cornered me at the hospital entrance. “Anya,” he said after a long silence. “Don’t worry. I’ll marry you.” I was still weak. I didn’t answer. “I promised your mother I would protect you for the rest of your life,” he continued. “I won’t break my word.” I took a deep breath and looked up at him. “If I’m the one being sent to Port Sterling, how are you going to protect me then?” The silence was deafening. I pushed past him. As I walked away, he spoke again, a bitter twist to his lips. “Anya, your father would never let you go to Port Sterling… and you wouldn’t go.” In that instant, my heart froze over. I pulled my arm from his grasp and walked away without another word. I packed my bags for Port Sterling. I told my father not to send an entourage. Just a driver. Today was also the day of Julian and Serena’s wedding. My car had just left the villa when it was blocked. I couldn’t see who it was through the tinted windows until I heard Julian’s voice. “I’m sorry, Serena…” My heart skipped a beat. He’d left his own wedding to see me. No… not me. He was here to see Serena.

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When I told my wife I wanted a divorce, she was at the sink, washing dishes. Her hands, slick with soap, paused for a fraction of a second. Then, she gave a slight nod. “Okay.” This was the fifth time I had brought it up. The first four times had been a storm of shock, anger, and grief, her pleas grating on my last nerve. But this time, she simply agreed. Just like that. A casual, weightless acceptance, as if I’d merely commented on the weather. I watched her slender back, a silhouette against the kitchen window. A surge of exhilaration washed over me, but beneath it, a strange and unfamiliar feeling bloomed in my chest… 1 I was still on the sofa, trying to decipher the strange knot of unease in my gut, when Isabella called. “So? Did she agree this time?” Her voice was soft, but laced with a nervous tension. I snapped back to the present, shaking my head as if to clear it. A smile broke across my face. “Yeah. She agreed.” Silence on the other end for a few seconds. Then, her voice trembling, “Really? Ethan, you’re not joking, are you?” A pang of sympathy hit me. “Bella,” I said, my voice softening, “it’s true. She really said yes. We can finally be together, out in the open.” A quiet sob came through the phone. “Oh, thank God… I can finally have you.” Her raw, overwhelming emotion brought a sting to my own eyes. This was the fifth time I’d asked Christine for a divorce. The first four had been met with a hard no. Over two years, her reactions had devolved from shock and fury to a painful, pleading despair. And I, in turn, had gone from guilt and shame to a weary, numb annoyance. Every failed negotiation felt like a personal failure, a betrayal to Isabella. She was always so hopeful, so full of longing, yet so patient. Even with the disappointment clouding her face, she would be the one to comfort me. “She’s a woman, I get it,” she’d say. “And you two have a child. It’s fine. We’ll just work harder, land a few more projects, and we can offer her a bigger settlement. God, if it wasn’t for true love, why would we be doing any of this…?” Today was the first time I had been home in two months. I’d called ahead. When I walked in, a full dinner was on the table. Christine was sitting under the warm glow of a floor lamp, lost in a book. She looked up as I entered, folded the corner of a page, and calmly told me to wash up for dinner. Our daughter, Sophie, was at a friend’s birthday party downstairs. Before coming, Isabella and I had made a pact. If Christine refused again, we would increase the settlement offer in the divorce agreement by another twenty percent. I had steeled myself for another all-night battle. I never could have predicted this. I’d barely gotten the words out, and she had agreed without a fight. On the phone, even Isabella was puzzled. “Ethan,” she said after a thoughtful pause, “she’s not planning something, is she? Some kind of trick?” I couldn’t blame her for being suspicious. As the head of negotiations for my company, her mind was trained to look for the hidden angle, the trap in every easy victory. I shook my head, even though she couldn’t see me. “I doubt it. Christine’s a stay-at-home mom. She doesn’t know the first thing about corporate backstabbing.” Isabella’s voice grew gentle again. “You can never be too sure. She might not know how, but that doesn’t mean she can’t find someone who does. For the company… for our future… I think you should be careful, Ethan.” I was silent for a moment. “Don’t worry,” I said. 2 Christine emerged from the bedroom holding a file. I watched her, studying her expression. Her eyes were placid pools, her face a calm mask. None of the tearful breakdowns or hysterical rage I’d grown used to. “I’ve already signed it,” she said, holding the papers out to me. “Just let me know when you’ve scheduled the appointment at the courthouse.” She handed me the document and turned to make tea. The kettle began its low, gurgling song, and soon the rich, earthy scent of dark tea filled the room. When she poured, I instinctively reached out to take the cup from her. But she brought it to her own lips, taking a slow, deliberate sip, her expression one of pure, relaxed contentment. Seeing my outstretched hand, she looked at me, a flicker of genuine confusion in her eyes. “The divorce papers are in your hand, aren’t they?” My brow furrowed. I pulled my hand back and looked down at the agreement. Ten minutes later, I looked up, bewildered. “This is the same one I gave you last time. You haven’t changed a single word?” Christine was curled up on the sofa, sipping her tea and returning to her book. She glanced up, a momentary blankness in her eyes before she registered my question. “Oh. No, I didn’t. It seemed fine to me.” I stared at her for a long moment, then decided to press on. “Christine, if this is still too hard for you, I can increase the settlement amount.” She tilted her head, a faint smile playing on her lips. “Increase it? Has Isabella approved that?” A familiar wave of irritation washed over me. For the past two years, every conversation about the divorce inevitably circled back to Isabella. In Christine’s eyes, I was the weak-willed cheater and Isabella was the shameless homewrecker. She had no idea what we’d been through—the guilt, the agonizing struggle, the painful journey that had led us to this point. 3 The truth is, Isabella and I couldn’t stand each other at first. My business partner had hired her as our Director of Negotiations, and she was everything I wasn’t used to. A whirlwind of stiletto heels, blood-red lipstick, and figure-hugging pencil skirts. She was a shark at work—ruthless at the negotiating table and unafraid to challenge me in front of the entire team. Christine was her polar opposite. Gentle, quiet, and unassuming. She rarely wore makeup, her clothes were simple, and her world revolved around me, our daughter, and her little universe of tea, books, and houseplants. I had never encountered a woman like Isabella in my personal life. One day, as I was complaining about her yet again, Christine was carefully trimming an orchid. She looked up from between the vibrant green leaves and smiled at me. “You’ve been mentioning her a lot lately.” My perception of Isabella shifted the day I found her crying in the stairwell, huddled on the steps with her face in her hands. Our eyes met. Hers were red-rimmed and raw. She wiped her tears away, scrambled to her feet, and mumbled an apology before marching away, head held high. I later learned from my partner that she was a single mother, divorced due to domestic abuse. She was raising a seven-year-old daughter on her own while her ex-husband continued to harass her. Knowing the vulnerability hidden beneath her tough-as-nails exterior changed everything. In turn, her attitude towards me softened. We became a team, our professional synergy growing stronger by the day. In meetings, she understood my unspoken intentions; I knew when her bravado was a bluff. At boozy client dinners, she’d discreetly block a drink for me or slide a cup of hot tea my way when I’d had too much. Then came the night I saw her ex-husband cornering her, getting aggressive. I didn’t think; I just charged in and threw a punch. I heard her gasp. I remember coming home that night with my head bandaged. Christine was terrified. She clung to me, her voice trembling. “Does it hurt? Your head can’t get hurt! Are you really okay?” Isabella and I didn’t sleep together until three years after we met. It was at the company’s annual retreat in a charming, historic town. Christine had always dreamed of visiting a place like that. For one of her birthdays, she’d wished for me to take her and Sophie on a trip to a quaint old town. So, when the events department asked for a location, the words “a historic town” just tumbled out of my mouth. My original plan was to surprise Christine, but by then, my relationship with Isabella had become a tangled, unspoken thing. On some dark impulse, I never told Christine about the trip. The nights in that town were too beautiful, the wine too easy to drink, the scenery a mesmerizing blur. Isabella, wearing only a silk nightgown, knocked on my hotel room door. We spent a wild, forbidden night together. We both knew we had crossed a line. When we got back, I wrestled with my conscience and decided to cut off all direct work contact with her. She accepted my decision without a word of protest, but her eyes were filled with a silent, sorrowful reproach. Later, Christine saw the photos from the trip on my phone. “When did you go to a historic town?” she asked, her face lighting up. “Why didn’t you take me?” Guilt coiled in my stomach. “It was just for a conference,” I mumbled. “A one-day thing. It wasn’t worth mentioning.” Eventually, Isabella resigned. I agreed it was for the best. We both knew it was the only way. After she left, we didn’t speak once. Until three months later, when we found ourselves on opposite sides of a negotiation table. She had gone to work for a competitor. At the dinner that followed, their CEO and his cronies were relentless, forcing drink after drink on me. Just as they were about to pour another one down my throat, Isabella, who had been silent all evening, grabbed a bottle and smashed it over the CEO’s head. She lost her job, her savings, and spent fifteen days in a holding cell. I was there to pick her up the day she was released. We went straight to a hotel. We barely left the room for days. And in that haze, I had an epiphany. You only live once. To hell with duty, to hell with morality. Call me a scoundrel, a homewrecker, I didn’t care. I was going to dive in. I was going to be reckless. I couldn’t betray a woman who had sacrificed so much for me. …My thoughts snapped back to the present. On this day, as my seven-year marriage was finally ending, the last thing I wanted was to hear Isabella’s name from Christine’s lips. “I’ll let you know when the appointment is set. Don’t be late,” I said coldly, and left. As I stepped into the elevator, I ran into my daughter, Sophie. She was holding a slice of birthday cake, a huge grin on her face that vanished the moment she saw me. “Sophie, Dad’s—” She brushed past me without a word, her face a blank mask. I frowned. Sophie used to throw her arms around my neck and shout “Daddy!” the second she saw me. After two months apart, she was looking at me like I was a stranger. I had specifically told Christine not to tell Sophie about the divorce yet. Clearly, she hadn’t listened. From the lobby, I glanced up at our apartment window. Sophie was there, happily feeding a piece of cake to Christine, who was leaning down to accept it, her eyes crinkling into a smile. My phone buzzed. A text from Isabella. [Honey, come home soon. Your wife has a big reward waiting for you tonight!] It was the first time she had ever called me that. I could feel her excitement, her elation, vibrating through the screen. I let out a long breath and walked away, not looking back. 4 The divorce agreement stipulated that Christine would get full custody of Sophie and the apartment we lived in. Since my company was about to go public, my shares would remain untouched, but I would pay her a settlement of eight hundred thousand dollars, due in one year. When Isabella saw the amount, her heart ached for me. “You built this company from scratch, Ethan. All those sleepless nights. To just give that much away… how many projects will it take to earn that back?” “I’m the one who wronged her,” I reassured her. “We should be grateful. If she’d pushed for half of our marital assets, it would have been far, far more than this.” Isabella rested her head on my shoulder. “I just worry about you working yourself to death.” She was incredibly efficient. Within days, she had scheduled the appointment to finalize the divorce. I sent the time to Christine. She replied with a single word: [Okay.] In the days leading up to it, Isabella was visibly glowing. And why not? It had been two long years since I first asked for a divorce. We had endured so much, carried so many burdens to get to this point. Still, a part of her couldn’t quite believe it. “Why did she suddenly agree? Are you sure there isn’t a catch? It just feels too good to be true.” It wasn’t just her. I had my own doubts. Late one night, as Isabella slept soundly beside me, I stood by the window smoking, my mind a tangled mess. A small incident surfaced from my memory. About a month ago, I was in a meeting when Christine called, her voice tight with anger. “Why did you give Sophie’s spot in the piano competition to Isabella’s daughter?” I was instantly annoyed. “Sophie competes every year,” I snapped. “Belle has never had an opportunity like this. What’s the big deal letting her have a turn? Besides, I’m a patron of that arts academy. Sophie will have plenty of other chances.” There was a long silence on the other end. Then, in a low voice, Christine said, “Do you have any idea how hard Sophie has worked for this competition? She said she wanted to prove that her dad didn’t play favorites. She wanted to win first place to make you proud…” I hated being emotionally blackmailed like this. “I’ll buy her a gift to make up for it,” I said gruffly. “Belle is a child who’s had a rough life—” She hung up before I could finish. On the day of the competition, I drove Isabella and Belle to the venue. We got stuck in traffic, and through the car window, I saw Christine and Sophie on her small scooter. Christine didn’t know how to drive, and while the academy wasn’t far, the roads were always congested. The wind was strong that day, whipping their hair into a tangled mess. They looked small and vulnerable. I glanced over at Belle in her exquisite princess dress, sipping milk and nestled safely in Isabella’s arms. Suddenly, a car cut them off. The scooter tipped, and Christine and Sophie tumbled onto the pavement. A primal urge to jump out of the car seized me, but Isabella gripped my arm, shaking her head slowly. “She already dislikes me and Belle. Showing up now will only make her angrier. Look, they’re okay. They’re getting up.” I looked. They were helping each other to their feet. Just then, Belle rolled down her window. “Sophie!” she yelled, her voice dripping with triumph. “We’re going to the competition in Ethan’s car! Are you going too?” In a flash of panic, my eyes met Christine’s. I braced myself for an outburst. But she only gave me a fleeting, unreadable glance before turning to comfort Sophie. A moment later, they were back on the scooter and gone. …Ever since I’d chosen this path, I’d made a conscious effort not to dwell on things that might weaken my resolve. I couldn’t do right by everyone. I told myself that a generous settlement would make up for it. For a stay-at-home mom who had never worked a day in her life, it was a windfall. Compared to most, she was lucky. I stubbed out my cigarette, extinguishing the unwanted memory along with it. 5 On the day of our appointment, Isabella insisted on coming with me. She said she wanted to offer Christine a sincere apology. I hesitated. “What if she makes a scene? Does something to you…” She gave a bitter smile. “Then I’ll have deserved it. It’ll be my penance.” We arrived at the courthouse ten minutes early. Isabella squeezed my hand, a silent gesture of mutual support. When Christine walked in, I didn’t recognize her at first. She was a world away from her usual simple, makeup-free look. She wore a navy-blue trench coat cinched at the waist and a pair of high heels. Her long, dark hair, glossy as satin, cascaded down her back. Her makeup was subtle, accentuating her naturally fair skin and making her eyes sparkle. She walked with an easy grace, her hands tucked into her pockets. She seemed to possess a strange, calming aura. Wherever she stood, a sense of peace settled over the space. It was true at home, and it was true here. The noisy lobby seemed to quiet down, all eyes drawn to her. For a disorienting moment, I felt a wave of distant, hazy familiarity wash over me. I stood up and walked toward her. The first words out of my mouth were, “You can wear heels?” She blinked, clearly not expecting the question. “Yes.” “I’ve never seen you wear them before.” A slight frown creased her brow. “I have something on today.” I wanted to ask what, but Isabella walked over just then. Her eyes widened for a second when she saw Christine, but she quickly composed herself and smiled. “Christine. I hope you don’t mind me being here.” Christine looked at her for a few seconds, then the corners of her lips curved upwards. “Not anymore.” Hearing that, a strange irritation pricked at me. “This is a public place,” I said harshly. “Don’t start crying and making a scene like you used to.” I wasn’t being unfair. During the two-year-long ordeal of our separation, she had cried and screamed. More often, she would just stare at me with red-rimmed eyes, murmuring things that made no sense. “Ethan, you do love me. You just don’t remember.” “Ethan, what am I going to do with you?” “Ethan, I can’t hold on much longer. Please don’t blame me…” We had loved each other once, deeply. But I had changed. Towards the end, my patience had worn thin. “Christine,” I’d told her, “the past is the past. People change. You have to accept it.” Now, Christine just lowered her gaze and smiled faintly. “Let’s go sign the papers.” The process was smooth. The clerk informed us there was a one-month cooling-off period before the divorce would be final. As we stepped out of the courthouse, Isabella gathered her courage. “I came today because I wanted to say I’m sorry,” she said earnestly to Christine. “What happened with Ethan and me… I guess some things are just fated.” Christine smiled and glanced at the designer handbag on Isabella’s arm. “Are you sure you didn’t just come to show me that bag?” The two women stood in silence, the autumn leaves swirling around them. Then Isabella smiled back. I had no idea what they were talking about. I looked closer at the bag. A silk scarf was tied around the handle. It looked familiar… Then it hit me. I had bought that bag for Isabella six months ago. It was obscenely expensive, worth more than some people’s cars. As Isabella was kissing me in thanks, Christine had called, her soft voice reminding me it was her birthday and that she was waiting for me to come home for dinner. A pang of guilt had struck me, but Isabella, ever so magnanimous, had urged me to go. “A friendly divorce is better for the company’s IPO,” she’d said. “Don’t be stubborn.” She had smiled and untied a silk scarf from the bag’s handle. “This brand’s scarves aren’t cheap either. Take this for her birthday present. It’ll save you a trip. I’ll just get another one from the store later.” I remember Christine had been so happy with the scarf, her eyes like a doe’s as she tried it on this way and that. And now, her gaze swept coolly over the new scarf on that very same bag, then drifted away without a trace of emotion. 6 I didn’t know what was wrong with me. Ever since Christine agreed to the divorce, forgotten moments and overlooked details kept surfacing, unbidden. I told myself it was just nostalgia, my brain’s way of severing ties with the past. I took Isabella to meet my parents. She put on her most humble demeanor, bearing expensive gifts, but my parents were cold and distant. They had always been vehemently against the divorce. During our worst argument about it, my father had pointed at me, his voice trembling with rage. “You goddamn fool! You’re throwing away something you nearly died for! Do you have any idea what she gave up for you? One day, you’ll regret this!” “Stop it!” my mother had shrieked, cutting him off. “Do you want him to go back to how he was before…?” Isabella was hurt. She cried in the car on the way home. “The one marrying you is me, not my family,” I comforted her. “Don’t let it get to you.” She quickly pulled herself together. “Your mom said she didn’t want you to go back to how you were before… what did she mean?” I laughed. “You probably can’t imagine it, but I used to be a real handful. Drinking, fighting… I did it all. Got my head smashed in a brawl once, was in a coma for a while. Ever since, I get these splitting headaches when I get too worked up. They’re probably just worried about that.” That night, to cheer Isabella up, I took her to a new bar. It was an elegant place with a traditional theme. The air was filled with the sound of classical music, and all eyes were on the woman on stage. She wore a stunning, form-fitting cheongsam, her body poised and graceful. She held a pipa, her head tilted slightly, her long hair obscuring her face. As her fingers danced over the strings, a melody flowed out, as clear and beautiful as a mountain spring. I stared, transfixed. That same distant, hazy feeling washed over me again, a thousand tiny needles pricking at my heart. Isabella chuckled, leaning close to my ear. “You really fell for me at that company retreat, didn’t you?” I snapped out of my trance and smiled. “You saw right through me.” She rested her head on my shoulder, her voice full of sweet nostalgia. “I wore a cheongsam and played the pipa for the talent show that night. It was just a recording, but the way you looked at me then… it’s the same way you’re looking at the stage now.” The piece ended. The woman on stage rose gracefully, smiled at the audience, and walked off. I felt a jolt. Beside me, Isabella murmured, “She kind of looks like Christine…” I shook my head, a small laugh escaping me. “A little, maybe. But Christine doesn’t know how to play any of that stuff.” My phone rang. It was my younger brother, Owen, calling from France. I stepped into the hallway to take the call. His voice was unusually serious. “Did you really divorce Christine?” “What do you mean, Christine?” I snapped, annoyed. “Call her your sister-in-law.” The words were out before I could stop them. I paused. “The process has started.” Owen was silent for a moment. “I’m coming back next month.” “You just landed a major investment. What are you coming back for?” “For Christine.” I was speechless. I couldn’t understand why my own family was so fiercely protective of her. Annoyed, I went to the window and lit a cigarette. Through the cool night air, I heard voices from outside. “I can’t believe it. You haven’t played in years, but you’ve still got the touch of a gold medalist.” A gentle female voice replied, “Thank you for the opportunity to perform, Mr. Chen.” “With a reaction like that from the crowd, I should be thanking you!” I followed the voices with my eyes. Two figures were walking away. One of them was the woman in the cheongsam. As the wind blew, her hair swept back from her face. And I saw her profile. 7 I pushed open the side door and stepped outside almost without thinking. The woman smiled as she said her goodbyes, then wrapped her coat tighter around herself and walked alone into the night. The sharp, rhythmic click of her heels on the stone path echoed in the autumn silence. I followed her at a distance. The cigarette burned down to my fingers. I yelped, dropping it to the ground. The woman turned around. When I saw her face clearly, I froze. “It’s really you?” Christine squinted at me through the dim light. “Ethan? What are you doing here?” I was at a loss for words. What was I doing here? Why had I followed her? In that split second, my mind had been blank. It was as if my body had made the decision before my brain could catch up. “Ethan!” Isabella’s voice came from behind me. “I was looking all over for you. So you were—” She saw Christine. She stopped, her eyes widening in disbelief, mirroring the question in my own heart. “That was you on stage? You can play the pipa? Or was that just… part of a performance?” Christine let out a soft laugh, not answering her question. Her gaze drifted coolly over the two of us, and then she turned and walked away. The car ride back was thick with a heavy silence. Suddenly, Isabella turned to me. “What were you doing out there? Did you recognize her all along? I thought you said she didn’t know how to play.” “I didn’t know,” I said, my eyes fixed on the road. “She never played for me.” “You were married for seven years and she never once played for you? How is that possible…?” Isabella’s expression was strange. She gave a short, sharp laugh. “She’s really changed. The makeup, the heels… she’s a completely different person. She’s probably already found her next guy. I knew it was too easy when she agreed to the divorce—” I slammed on the brakes. The car screeched to a halt, throwing Isabella forward against her seatbelt with a cry of alarm. I turned to her, my voice low and dangerous. “What are you talking about? Christine is not that kind of person!” Isabella rubbed her shoulder where the seatbelt had dug in, staring at me in shock. Then, her voice rose in anger. “Right, she’s not that kind of person, but I am! I’m the one who threw herself at you, who was happy to be your mistress! I’m the despicable, immoral one!” I scowled. “You don’t have to talk about yourself like that.” Her eyes were red, her emotions spilling over. “I’ve always been a proud woman, Ethan. I have my pride, my self-respect! If it wasn’t for you, for this relationship, why would I have ever put myself in this situation…?” Her voice broke on a sob. I fell silent, letting out a long sigh. “I know what you’ve sacrificed. Let’s just… we’ve come so far. Let’s not fight about things that don’t matter, okay?” She bit her lip, finally nodding with a quiet “mhm.” That night, she wore a new piece of lingerie she’d bought, her movements a mixture of contrition and seduction as she leaned over me. After a long while, I pulled away. “I’m sorry,” I said, frustrated. She looked up, her eyes shining in the darkness. She stroked my cheek, her voice gentle. “It’s okay. You’ve been under a lot of stress lately. I’ll get some herbal remedies tomorrow to help you relax.” I numbly got dressed and told her I was going to the balcony for a smoke. The world outside was silent. As the smoke curled around me, a thought took root in my mind, one I couldn’t shake: There was a side to Christine I had never seen.

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1 “I need you to fake a private plane crash for me. It’s the only way I can leave Adrian Lyons for good.” My best friend Gillian’s jaw nearly hit the floor. She looked at me as if she’d misheard, the same stunned expression she’d worn when I told her Adrian and I were getting married. A penniless girl from the mountains and the golden heir of Zenith City. We were from two different worlds, a match no one saw coming. The gossip had been relentless. Some said I was just a novelty for him. Others whispered I was a stand-in for a lost love. A few even wagered our marriage was the result of a drunken bet. But for three years, Adrian silenced them all. His actions screamed a simple, undeniable truth: he married me because he loved me. Loved me to the point of madness. He’d claimed it was love at first sight, launching a courtship of breathtaking intensity. He donated billions in my name to charities and built a global network of schools, all named ‘The Luna Project.’ He wanted the world to know me, so that if I ever stumbled, a helping hand would be there. He gave up his high-society life to work part-time jobs with me—waiting tables, sorting packages. The hands that once coaxed symphonies from a violin grew calloused and rough, all just to be near me. His devotion won me over, but the chasm between our families was too vast. To win his parents’ approval, he endured their brutal discipline sixteen times, his back a latticework of scars. When that failed, he renounced his inheritance, walking away from a fortune that could last lifetimes, all for the freedom to marry me. Our life together was a dream. He replaced his entire staff with men, installed a tracking system on his phone for me to check anytime, and reported his every move without me ever having to ask. The world called it a fairy tale. But the world didn’t know that my perfect husband had a secret family, that he’d fathered a set of twins with another woman. When I found out, the pain was so visceral I coughed up blood and collapsed. Adrian rushed back from an overseas deal, abandoning billions to sit by my bedside. He held my hand, warming the IV fluid with his own body heat, his eyes filled with a terror that was achingly real. His love was real; I could see it. But as I looked at him, a new, agonizing thought twisted in my gut: had he looked at her—at Isabella—with this same devotion? Isabella. His childhood friend. The same woman who had bullied me relentlessly, who had even hired thugs to assault me—an attack Adrian had thwarted by sheer chance. He had ruined her family for what she’d done. I never would have believed he could betray me with her. Not until I saw the videos. And the paternity test. I turned my head away, tears soaking the pillow. “Luna,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, “the doctor said… you’re two months pregnant. We’re going to have a baby.” His joy was childlike, pure. “Our anniversary is in five days. This is the best gift imaginable.” My eyes snapped open. I’d been told I might never conceive. Now, a child was coming. At the worst possible moment. A sob escaped my lips. He pulled me into his arms, murmuring comforting words. But all I could smell was a faint, unfamiliar perfume on his collar, mingled with the scent of baby formula. I shoved him away, a wave of nausea overwhelming me. He thought it was morning sickness, cupping his hands to catch my vomit, completely unconcerned about himself. He had a severe case of germaphobia, yet for me, he would do anything. For a moment, a desperate hope flickered within me. Maybe we could fix this. If he would just leave her… Then his phone buzzed. “An urgent matter at the office,” he said. He kissed me and hurried out. Half an hour later, a photo arrived from Isabella. It was Adrian, holding the twins, kissing their foreheads. My last illusion shattered. I left the hospital and went straight to Gillian. I needed an escape. A permanent one. 2 After leaving Gillian’s, I scheduled an abortion in another city. The Lyons family’s reach was too long. Just before I went into the operating room, Isabella sent another video. It was two and a half hours long. In it, she was in lingerie, and Adrian was in a suit, a table of sex toys beside them. They were in our home, their bodies entwined in a display of raw, unrestrained lust I had never seen from him. It was torture, but I watched every second. “Ma’am,” the doctor said gently, “are you sure you’re ready?” I hadn’t realized I was crying, shaking from the horrifying realization that even now, I still loved him. Ripping him from my life felt like tearing out my own heart. I decided to give him one last chance. I called him. “Where are you? I miss you. Can you come back?” His voice was tense. “Honey, something really important came up. Tonight… ah!” He let out a muffled groan. “I won’t be home tonight!” He hung up. He had never, ever hung up on me before. “I’m ready,” I told the doctor. “Let’s begin.” I returned home late, exhausted. A message from Gillian was waiting: “Baby, it’s all set. Showtime in two days.” I spent the night in tormented wakefulness. Adrian came home the next morning, full of plans for our baby and the island he had bought for us. He didn’t notice my silence until he saw the tears streaming down my face. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice trembling with panic. “Nothing,” I said. “Pregnant women get emotional.” I told him about my plans for the day—a class reunion, visiting old professors. It was my farewell tour. 3 He insisted on coming with me to the reunion. The moment we walked in, the room erupted in good-natured teasing. Adrian just smiled, handing out lavish gifts. “You’re so lucky, Luna,” one of them sighed. “To have a husband who loves you so much.” I managed a polite, empty smile. Suddenly, the door swung open, and Isabella strode in, dripping with jewels. “Having a reunion without me?” The mood soured. Isabella, uncaring, sat down. “Chanel,” she mused, eyeing the gifts. “Famous brand. But I suppose none of you knew that I founded it.” She explained that her new “husband” had invested billions to set up twenty-six companies for her two years ago. Her gaze flickered to Adrian, then back to me, a triumphant smirk on her lips. Two years ago. Adrian had been incredibly busy then, claiming he was expanding the business overseas. But he had been building an empire for her. A sharp pain lanced through my chest. Adrian rushed to my side, but I pushed him away. In the hallway, Isabella cornered me. “Don’t think you’re important,” she sneered. “I gave him children. His heart is already mine. All I have to do is say the kids have a fever, and he’ll come running.” When I returned, Adrian was agitated. “Honey, something urgent came up at the office.” I grabbed his sleeve. “You said you’d stay with me. Please, stay.” He hesitated, a flicker of panic in his eyes, as if he knew that if he left, he would lose something irreplaceable. But he chose her. He gently pried my fingers from his sleeve. “I’ll be back tonight, I promise.” Half an hour later, Isabella sent me a video of Adrian doting on her, promising her the very island he had just gifted to our unborn child. “See?” her message read. “You’ve lost, Luna.” 4 That afternoon, an old professor took me to a temple. A monk there recognized my name. A year ago, Adrian had come, kneeling all the way up the mountain to pray for a protective charm for me. As I was leaving, the monk handed me three other charms Adrian had requested. The names on them were Isabella and the twins. That night, Adrian came home to find me already in bed. This was a first. He held me close, whispering how much he missed me. Then he lied about the island, claiming the feng shui was bad and he’d bought me two others instead. “I want to take the private jet abroad tomorrow,” I said, forcing a playful tone. “I’ve ordered a special gift and want to pick it up myself.” He was hesitant but eventually relented. The next morning, after he left for “the office,” I began to erase him. I shredded the clothes I’d made him. I gave away the jewelry he’d bought me. I threw our photo albums into the fireplace. He returned unexpectedly and saw the last of our memories being consumed by flames. He plunged his bare hands into the fire to save a single charred book. “Why?” he choked, his voice trembling. “They were ugly photos,” I said lightly, hiding my true intentions behind a mask of concern for his burned hands. After he left again, Isabella texted. “Grand Luxe Hotel. Your husband is here. There’s a good show waiting for you.” I knew it would destroy me. But I went anyway. It was the twins’ birthday. Adrian, his parents, his friends—all of them were there, celebrating. The staff called Isabella “Mrs. Lyons.” Adrian didn’t correct them. His mother praised Isabella for giving them grandchildren. Adrian just smiled. “Everything Luna has, she has too. I always buy two of everything.” I thought I was prepared. But in that moment, something inside me exploded. All the love, all the tenderness—it all shattered, the shards turning inward, leaving me bleeding. They all knew. My one-of-a-kind love was just one of a pair. 5 I hid behind a pillar, overhearing Adrian talking to his cousin. “I love Luna,” he’d said. “But Isabella gave me children. I can’t abandon her. This works for me. She won’t find out.” I stumbled out of the hotel. The relentless emotional assault had taken its toll. My vision tunneled, and the world went black. I awoke in an unfamiliar room. A man in a sharp suit sat on a sofa nearby. It was Adrian’s uncle, Dominic Lyons. “You’re awake,” he said, his voice calm. “The doctor said you fainted from emotional distress, compounded by a recent miscarriage.” He saw the question in my eyes. “Adrian doesn’t know, does he? If he did, he wouldn’t have let you collapse alone on the street.” I begged him to keep my secret, and for some reason, he agreed. When I returned home, Adrian was there, ready to cook for me, offering me yet another piece of jewelry identical to one he’d given Isabella. I just laughed, the sound hollow and brittle. “I want to go to the ‘Little Grotto’,” I said. It was the estate he’d built for me, a place filled with memories. It would be my final goodbye. He paled. He’d given Isabella the keys. He made an excuse and sent her a frantic text to leave. When we arrived, the place was changed. Her flowers, her curtains, her children’s toys. I pretended not to notice and went to the bedroom to retrieve our last photo albums. But when I opened one, I froze. It was filled with pictures of Adrian and Isabella and the twins. In all our special places. Defiling every last sacred memory. As I turned to leave, his phone pinged. He excused himself to the restroom. I followed. Outside the door, I heard his frantic voice, then hers, sultry and suggestive. “With her just downstairs… isn’t this even more exciting?” I heard his breathing grow heavy. “…You little vixen.” The sounds that followed were unmistakable. I stood outside the door, my heart a dead, still thing. I had come from nothing, taught myself to love, and he had taught me how to break. 6 A few minutes later, Adrian emerged. I looked at him, then held up my wrist. “This bracelet you made for me… it’s faded. Will your love for me fade, too, Adrian?” “Never!” he declared, pressing a reverent kiss to my hand. I had planned to leave quietly. But now, I changed my mind. I would make him pay. I wrapped my arms around him. “I love you too, Adrian. So you have to wait for me, and for our baby, to come back.” I handed him a file. “A gift. Don’t open it for two days.” Inside was the report from my abortion and screenshots of Isabella’s taunts. When the news of my “plane crash” reached him, he would open it. He would know his betrayal had cost him everything. “I’ll wait for you,” he said, his eyes shining. As I walked away, I took one last look at him. He had already turned his back to me. “Goodbye, Adrian,” I whispered. “Goodbye, forever.”

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Tristan Chase, the campus heartthrob with a chiseled six-pack, confessed his love to me. Just as I was about to nod, a stream of text scrolled across my vision, like comments on a livestream: 【Don’t tell me she’s actually falling for it.】 【He’s just using a random girl to make Bea jealous.】 【This girl is such a clown! She’s so plain, there’s no way a guy like Tristan would ever be into her!】 I cocked my head. “So, you’re single right now?” Tristan nodded without a moment’s hesitation. The next second, I pulled him down by the collar and kissed him. … Tristan froze, his entire body rigid. I, however, was just getting started. I grinned and bit his lower lip, just for fun. The comments exploded: 【What the hell! He hasn’t even kissed Bea yet! How dare this nobody get his first kiss!】 【Does this girl have no shame?】 If you’re going to use me as a prop, I might as well get paid for it, right? You play with my feelings, I’ll play with your body. Seems fair to me. Tristan’s face was flushed crimson. With rage. Ignoring his look of utter disbelief, I chirped, “Well, boyfriend, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” He shoved me away, his face contorted in disgust. “Haven, you’re way too easy. Let’s just forget about this—” He didn’t get to finish. A girl in a short skirt was walking toward us from a distance. Tristan’s words died in his throat. The comments cheered: 【Bea’s finally here!】 【He lost sleep all night just because Bea was seen walking with a freshman. He spent hours just staring at her photo, poor baby!】 【My babies need to get together right now!】 Tristan’s eyes were locked on the approaching girl, but his words were directed at me. “My dear girlfriend,” he said through gritted teeth, “let me walk you home.” I scratched my head. “Didn’t you just say we should forget about it?” Tristan hissed, “You. Heard. Wrong.” “Oh, okay,” I said casually, grabbing his long-fingered hand. “Why go home? Let’s go to a hotel.” He was clearly taken aback. “A hotel? What for?” I leaned against his chest, taking the opportunity to give a firm pec a squeeze and trace the outline of his six-pack. “Oh, stop it, darling,” I purred. “What do you think?” Tristan went completely still. Seeing him hesitate, I raised my voice. “You’re not just playing me, are you? Are you using me to make someone else angry? You don’t actually want to be my boyfriend at all!” He frantically clamped a hand over my mouth. “Shut up!” “Fine! Fine! We’ll go!” 【Aaaah, what is this random girl doing! Who gave her permission to date him!】 【Bea looks like she’s about to cry!】 【This is disgusting! She’s nothing but a homewrecker!】 【To be fair, I’m grossed out too, but he did say he was single…】 【Homewreckers should die!】 Heh. I’m not going to die. I’m going to get a room. I immediately hailed a cab and gave the driver the name of the nearest hotel. Soon enough, we were standing in front of a king-sized bed in a “romance suite.” Tristan still looked dazed, as if he had no idea how he’d ended up here. I didn’t give him a chance to back out. I shoved him onto the bed. Click. The handcuffs were on. Tristan’s model-perfect face went blank for a second, then twisted into a mask of anger and regret. Definitely no sign of pleasure or excitement. But I didn’t care. I traced the line of his strong nose, then slid a finger into his mouth, playing with his tongue for a moment. The handcuffs rattled against the metal bed frame. As I pulled my finger away, trailing a silvery thread of saliva, tears welled in Tristan’s eyes. I wiped my hand on his chest, tilted my head, and smiled. “By the way, my name is Autumn. Not Haven.” “Don’t get it wrong later.” Yes. I knew. Even without the scrolling comments, I knew the truth. Tristan Chase didn’t like me. He’d never even noticed me. He’d just picked a familiar-looking name off an elective class sign-in sheet and hadn’t even read it correctly. But I had been watching him for a long time. Son of a movie star and a billionaire CEO. The guy who showed up to class in a Bentley. The guy whose shirt would ride up when he played basketball, revealing a perfectly sculpted six-pack. A prime specimen delivered right to my door. The comments telling me not to touch were just jealous haters. Skrrt~ And I happened to be under a lot of stress lately. So, I wasn’t angry at all. In fact, I was grateful. After all, a normal college girl like me would never cross paths with a rich, handsome guy like him. When I was a kid watching shows like Boys Over Flowers, I always imagined I could be the tenacious, ordinary girl who wins the heart of the rich bad boy. Growing up, I realized that doesn’t happen in real life. The only girls in the F4’s world are the beautiful, elite upperclassmen. From the first day of school, everyone knew Tristan and Beatrice “Bea” Wu were a thing. They claimed they just grew up together. Bea even helped other girls pass love letters to him. Tristan threw every single one in the trash. We weren’t blind. Before today, I was just another face in the background of their love story. But after today? Who knows. I lit an afterglow cigarette and glanced at the beautiful body sprawled on the bed. Tristan’s eyes met mine. He flinched, his fingers tightening on the sheets. “If you get back on this bed, I-I-I’ll kill you!” The comments, which had been silent all night, finally reappeared, flooding my vision. 【?】 【??????】 【My heart, once full of hope, is now dead. He’s no longer pure.】 【He must be really furious to sacrifice his own body just to make Bea jealous!】 【He’s just practicing on this random girl so he can be better for Bea later!】 【Does he look like he got any practice? He looks like he’s been completely drained…】 I looked with satisfaction at the marks covering his body. “Tough talk,” I purred. “But you seemed to enjoy it.” Tristan bit his lip, humiliated. “No, I didn’t!” “Stay away from me!” “Don’t worry,” I soothed, “I have to meet my advisor soon. No time for another round.” I was already dressed. As I reached the door, Tristan’s voice, laced with frustration, called out. “You’re just leaving? Aren’t you forgetting something?” I walked back to the bed and leaned down to give him a quick peck on the lips. “There, there. No pouting. I have important things to do.” Tristan’s eyes went wide. He started trembling with rage, which, I had to admit, was quite adorable. “I meant the handcuffs!” he roared. “Oh, right,” I said, as if just remembering. I pulled the key from my pocket and tossed it to the foot of the bed. A little hard to reach. But not impossible. Worst case, he could always make a phone call. And with that, I left without a backward glance. … In the days that followed, I didn’t contact Tristan. I heard he took two days off. When he reappeared, he was wearing a turtleneck in the middle of summer. When a girl accidentally bumped into him on the path, he leaped a foot in the air like a startled deer. We met again in gym class. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. The battle was intense. Tristan was playing tennis. I was practicing Tai Chi. When I finished my routine, I went to admire his form for a bit. The strong lines of his arm muscles, the power in his legs, and the way his shirt would lift with each swing, revealing the abs that haunted my dreams. He was too focused to notice me. His opponent was another rich kid. After Tristan missed several shots in a row, the guy teased him. “What happened, man? You were on fire a minute ago. Suddenly choking?” “Your girl Bea isn’t even here. Wait, no, she is here. You should be playing even harder.” “Or did you see someone who scares you?” Tristan told him to shut up. Just then, Bea appeared, holding a water bottle. “Tristan, I brought you some water. I added lemon and amino acids.” Tristan didn’t reach for it. Bea’s expression turned awkward. I picked up my own water bottle and walked over. Tristan didn’t reach for mine either. His face clearly said: Who the hell do you think you are, offering me water? I asked sweetly, “Boyfriend, do you need me to feed it to you?” His expression froze. He snatched the bottle from my hand. Bea’s eyes instantly turned red. “But… you only ever drink the water I bring you…” The comments arrived right on cue: 【My poor Bea. My heart hurts for her.】 【He’s just being petty again. He was so happy the second he saw her.】 【The more smug this random girl is now, the bigger a clown she’ll look when the truth comes out!】 【Am I crazy, or does he look less like he’s trying to make her jealous and more like… he’s terrified?】 After my good deed for the day, I turned and left. My advisor had asked me to attend a dinner tonight. I had no time for these comments, and I left Tristan and Bea far behind me. The private room was full of old men I didn’t know. After several glasses of wine, my advisor smiled benevolently. “Autumn, that paper of yours is quite good. Old Mr. Clark’s son is working in the same field, and he’s in need of a first-author publication…” I didn’t say anything. My advisor’s face darkened. “Do you want to graduate or not?” I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms. This wasn’t the first time he’d made a request like this. The crushing pressure of my dead-end days, with no release in sight. It felt like being held underwater, my throat constricted. Someone else, pretending to be a peacemaker, said, “Autumn, hurry up and pour a glass for your professor! Apologize!” I was already unsteady on my feet, but a glass was shoved into my hand anyway. Just then, the door to the room was kicked open. Tristan Chase appeared in the doorway like a hero descending from the heavens. … The night air cleared my head a little. Standing on the curb, I casually stopped the audio recording on my phone. “Thank you,” I said to Tristan. He raised an eyebrow, looking a little smug. “Don’t get any ideas. I was just returning your water bottle.” He muttered under his breath, “Who makes someone go all the way to a place like this just to return a stupid water bottle…” Yes, I had sent him the address of the dinner. I knew he had a hero complex. “Still, thank you,” I said gratefully. “Let me buy you dinner.” “Not necessary.” “Then… let me get you a room?” Tristan’s face froze. His lips moved. I think he mouthed the word “pervert.” He was about to leave, but as he took the first step, I leaned over a trash can and threw up. Afterward, I closed my eyes and passed out. In the end, Tristan resignedly dragged me to a hotel. In my semi-conscious state, I clung to his abs, murmuring “thank you” over and over again. He blushed. This time, from shyness. The comments were a unified chorus, calling me shameless for taking advantage of the situation. There were also a few well-rounded individuals who shipped everything. … The next morning, I woke up to see Tristan still asleep in the adjacent bed. In the soft morning light, I took a moment to appreciate his beauty. Before I left, I couldn’t resist leaning over and planting a soft kiss on his cheek. Tristan didn’t open his eyes, but his eyelashes fluttered rapidly, like the wings of a broken butterfly. For the next few days, we went back to having no contact. Until one morning, he was waiting for me outside my dorm. He demanded to know why I hadn’t been in touch. “Autumn, don’t tell me you forgot we’re boyfriend and girlfriend.” I answered honestly. “I don’t have your number.” We hadn’t even added each other on any social media. Tristan was speechless. Then he took my phone, added himself as a contact, and handed it back. The contact name was already saved: 【Boyfriend】. I felt a little dazed. The comments appeared, right on schedule: 【Don’t flatter yourself, prop girl. He only did this because he saw Bea going to class with that freshman today.】 【He’s going to parade her around to get back at Bea!】 【The second Bea apologizes, he’ll drop this girl like a hot potato!】 【And to make Bea happy, he’ll probably even give her the girl’s PhD spot.】 That last part was a bit too absurd. I didn’t buy it. Sure enough, Tristan asked me to go to class with him. I glanced at my own schedule and shook my head. “I have my own class.” He looked annoyed but left anyway. At noon, he texted me, asking me to lunch. I went. A Michelin-star restaurant. That evening, he invited me to a barbecue with his friends. I went. In a Bugatti Veyron. We watched fireworks on a private beach at a five-star hotel. Life was too good. Tristan introduced me to a world I’d never known. One night, drunk and happy, I found myself telling him everything. From the time I blew up a septic tank at age eight to leaving home for college at eighteen. Tristan watched me, his eyes never leaving my face. He told me he wanted to spend his upcoming birthday with me. We pinky-promised. Then, one day, he was looking at me, his head tilted. “You seem… happier now,” he said. In that moment, I could hear my own heart beating. I had never cared about the comments before. But now, they were starting to get on my nerves. Especially when they announced that today was the day Tristan and Bea would finally get together. … I was walking through a small grove of trees, wearing flip-flops and carrying four takeout boxes for my roommates. The sound of a girl crying made me look over. A tall boy and a petite girl were standing face-to-face. Bea was sobbing uncontrollably. “Tristan, I-I-I was wrong,” she stammered. “Please don’t punish me like this anymore. I’ll never talk to another guy again… Please, Tristan, forgive me.” I saw the man who was just sharing his gaming victories with me yesterday now looking at the girl before him with a mix of helplessness and heartache. 【Angsty hero vs. damsel in distress, they’re so perfect for each other, I’m literally deceased!】 【Finally, I don’t have to look at that random girl’s plain face anymore! Hooray!】 As the comments cheered, Bea threw herself into Tristan’s arms. “Tristan, let’s be together…” I sighed. I had a thesis to finish; no time for melodrama. I turned to leave. But in that instant, as if sensing something, Tristan looked up. Our eyes met. His lips parted, as if he wanted to say something. The next second, the delicate, pretty girl stood on her toes. A kiss landed on his chin. Tristan froze. It was a beautiful picture. And there I was, in my faded t-shirt and flip-flops, shuffling further and further away. I wasn’t interested in Tristan’s answer. It was obvious. The comments erupted in celebration: 【The random girl is finally offline!】 【Look at her, scurrying away like a stray dog with its tail between its legs.】 【Don’t insult dogs, they’re cute. You can’t compare them to her!】 【I don’t know… I suddenly feel a little bad for her…】 No. Don’t feel bad for me. I have an education, a loving mother, and a bright future. Back in my dorm, I got a message from Tristan. 【?】 【You just left?】 【Don’t you have anything to say?】 I didn’t reply. The screen showed that he was typing for a long time. Finally, a new message came through: 【I’m sorry for what happened before. Is there anything you want as compensation?】 I typed back: 【I hate it when people ask me so many questions.】 Then, I blocked him.

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My engagement to Adrian Pearce, heir to Crestfall’s wealthiest family, was meant to be a fairy tale—until a stranger approached me while shopping. “I like your blue bra,” he smirked. “Better than yesterday’s red one.” Ice shot through my veins. He was right. I’d never seen him before. As I tried to drag him to the police, he sneered, “Don’t act innocent. You’re the one livestreaming your life for attention.” He wasn’t lying. Somewhere online, my every moment—showering, sleeping—was broadcast. I hired hackers, moved, even sought spiritual help. Nothing stopped it. Crestfall mocked me: 【Free show of the Prady heiress! Guess I’m elite too now.】 Adrian used the scandal to dump me and propose to my adopted sister, Chloe. On my would-be wedding day, the venue screen was hacked—displaying the livestream. Vile comments flooded in: 【Hope they broadcast the wedding night.】 【She’s definitely been around.】 Humiliated, I jumped from the rooftop. As I died, I saw Chloe smirking in Adrian’s arms: “She loved the spotlight. Too bad she never knew it was all thanks to—” Then—I woke up. Back on that street. The day it all began. 1 The man’s leering words were so vile I had to duck into an alley to retch. When I was done, I pulled out my phone, my hand trembling as I opened the link to that cursed website—a site I had visited a thousand times before. On the screen, the version of me in the livestream was also staring down at her phone, her face a mask of grim realization. This wasn’t a dream. I was really back. But I had only returned to the start of the nightmare. The livestream was still active, a relentless shadow I couldn’t shake. In my last life, I had tried everything. The police told me the site’s domain was untraceable, a ghost in the machine. They couldn’t shut it down, let alone find the culprit. I offered a top-tier hacker ten million dollars; he turned me down flat, saying the site’s architecture was unlike anything he’d ever seen, something beyond his capabilities. Desperate, I moved, consulted spiritualists, and even hid myself away in a secluded retreat, but nothing worked. Each failed attempt only dragged me deeper into despair. Then came the public humiliation of Adrian breaking our engagement, followed by the relentless storm of ridicule, both online and in person. The weight of it all became unbearable. I, who had always been so terrified of pain, found myself standing on that ledge. After I died, Chloe inherited my life. She took my place in the family business and married Adrian. The two of them were disgustingly intertwined at my funeral, laughing about how my death had paved their way. The memory still makes my teeth ache with hatred. I only heard half of Chloe’s confession before I died, but it was enough. Knowing she was the one pulling the strings, I wouldn’t be fumbling in the dark like last time. I had to figure out how she was doing it. The first thing I did when I got home was call a demolition crew and tell them to tear down my bedroom wall. Last time, I’d noticed the livestream only ever showed my room from a single, fixed angle. I’d had it scanned for bugs, but nothing turned up. This time, I was going bigger. Sledgehammers. The noise quickly drew my mother and Chloe. 2 My mother, still unaware of the livestream, was furious. “Vivian, what is the meaning of this? Are you tearing the house down?” Chloe stood beside her, a picture of faux concern. “Vivian, I know you have a temper, but taking it out on the walls? Isn’t that a bit much?” I tilted my head, my eyes narrowed, catching the flicker of triumph in hers. “Who said anything about a temper?” I replied, my voice cool. “I’m looking for a hidden camera. Someone has been livestreaming my every move, and I’m going to find out who.” I pulled out my phone and showed them the website. My mother gasped, horrified. Chloe, by contrast, was unnervingly calm. Got you. She raised an eyebrow. “Even if someone was filming you, why would they put a camera inside a load-bearing wall? Vivian, are you losing your mind?” I stared at her, dissecting her expression. No shock, no alarm. It wasn’t the wall. “Fine,” I conceded. “We won’t tear it down. Get me a signal jammer. The most powerful one you can find.” I’d consulted an expert who suspected a wireless camera was more likely than a wired one. He suggested using high-frequency electromagnetic waves to disrupt the transmission. As the technicians set up the equipment, I watched Chloe’s reaction. She met my gaze, then turned away with a cold, dismissive smirk. A knot of dread tightened in my stomach. My nails dug into my palms. A technician began cranking up the frequency. My eyes were glued to the livestream on my phone, but the picture remained perfectly stable. Not so much as a flicker of static. My breath came in ragged gasps. “Higher!” I shrieked. “Turn it higher!” Finally, the technician shook his head, telling me they were at maximum output. The stream was as clear as ever. Damn it. It hadn’t worked. “Oh, Vivian,” Chloe said, her voice dripping with mock sympathy, though her eyes danced with unconcealed glee. “You’ll have to be so careful from now on. Maybe just… stop showering altogether.” My heart hammered against my ribs. I leaned in close, my voice a low, menacing whisper in her ear. “I know it was you. I just don’t have the proof yet.” Chloe flinched for a fraction of a second before her composure returned. “Don’t make baseless accusations,” she said, her tone breezy. “Soon you won’t even be able to use the bathroom in peace. If I were you, I’d have already killed myself.” The word suicide sent a phantom shock of agony through me—the dizzying fall, the shattering impact. I trembled, the memory a physical blow. The hacker I’d hired had told me the website’s code didn’t seem like modern technology. His words had sent me down a rabbit hole of superstition and prayer, but all along, it was just a trap set by Chloe. But how? How did she do it? A few days later, I showed Chloe a set of photos. Pictures of her and Adrian in bed together. “You put my life on display, so I’ll return the favor. Let’s see how you like being the star of the show.” Her face paled, but she recovered quickly. “Don’t be ridiculous. The family is already dealing with one scandal because of you. Releasing those would just humiliate the Pradys and the Pearces even more. I’d think twice if I were you.” “I’m done thinking,” I snarled. “I have more. Much more. Shut down that stream, or everyone will see exactly what kind of person you are.” I stormed off, but a nagging feeling told me something was wrong. Chloe was too confident. I had paid a fortune for those photos and videos; they were undeniably real. What did she have up her sleeve? The next day, the livestream was still running. And my parents cornered me, demanding I drop the blackmail. I was stunned, a wave of disbelief washing over me. “She seduced my fiancé! She’s the one who betrayed this family! I’m the one who’s supposed to be marrying into the Pearce family!” My father wouldn’t meet my eyes. “Vivian, be reasonable. This merger is critical. With this scandal, the Pearces are… dissatisfied with you. They’ve suggested Chloe as a replacement. It’s a difficult situation.” “We were going to tell you,” my mother added softly, “but we didn’t want the conversation to be… broadcast.” A chill seeped into my bones. They had already made a deal behind my back. They had let the Pearce family humiliate me, discard me, without a fight. Then, Adrian called. “Because of that stream, everyone has seen you,” he said, his voice cold and distant. “Marrying you now would be a stain on my family’s name.” My fingers tightened around my phone until my knuckles were white. This was the same man who once flew across the country just to make me chicken soup when I had a cold. The same man who would be sleeping with my sister the moment I was in the ground. No one was on my side. The feeling of absolute abandonment made my eyes burn. I clutched the hem of my shirt, my voice barely a whisper. “Fine.” Later that night, lost in a daze, I replayed the recording of the previous day’s livestream. To my astonishment, the entire confrontation with Chloe—the photos, the threats—was missing. It had been completely wiped. In disbelief, I searched online archives and torrent sites. Nothing. The footage was gone everywhere. A spark of excitement cut through the gloom. That night, I gathered my pillow and a blanket and walked into Chloe’s room. “We used to have sleepovers when we were kids,” I said with a bright, false smile. “I thought it would be nice to get close again.” 3 The color drained from Chloe’s face. “I don’t like sharing my room.” I ignored her, cheerfully setting up my makeshift bed on her floor. “Don’t worry, I won’t be in your bed.” Her reaction confirmed it. She had some way of controlling the unseen cameras around me. If Chloe didn’t want her own privacy invaded, then I would become her shadow. I checked the livestream. Sure enough, the screen was black. Relief washed over me. From that day on, I stuck to Chloe like glue. I even started mimicking her style, copying her makeup and clothes. After all, the only reason my mother had picked her from the orphanage was because of her slight resemblance to me. Now, with a little effort, we looked nearly identical. In my past life, she’d accused me of being a show-off. The truth was, her years in the orphanage had left her with a crippling inferiority complex; she saw slights and condescension where there were none. Being followed constantly was clearly getting to her. Her brow was perpetually furrowed, but her voice remained steady. “This won’t work, you know.” I took her lack of protest as a sign that I had finally cornered her. The stream had stopped, and for the first time in weeks, I could breathe without feeling the weight of a million eyes on me. But a few days later, my parents arrived with two paramedics. They were here to take me to a psychiatric hospital. Chloe stood behind them, squeezing out a few crocodile tears. “Vivian’s had a complete breakdown. That’s why she’s been copying me. We can’t just let her get worse, can we?” My mother’s face was heavy with disappointment. “This obsession with your sister is unbecoming. A daughter of the Prady family with mental problems… The scandal would be unbearable.” “Mom, I’m not sick!” I pleaded, my voice cracking. “It was the only way to stop the stream! You have to believe me! As soon as I started dressing like her, the stream went black. Chloe is behind all of this!” My parents exchanged a look of pity and disbelief. A doctor stepped forward. “Persecutory delusions are a classic sign of a developing psychiatric condition,” he explained gently. “It’s very important that we start medication and treatment right away.” Panic seized me. “No, I’m not lying! I can prove it!” My fingers trembled as I pulled up the livestream on my phone. On the screen, my own frantic, desperate face stared back. My world froze. I turned my head and met Chloe’s eyes. They were filled with faint, mocking amusement. The stream had never stopped. She had just been toying with me. My father saw the live feed and took a step back. “We understand you’re under a lot of pressure, Vivian. But your actions have already damaged this family’s reputation. Replacing you with your sister for the merger was a necessary evil. Why must you keep trying to drag her down with you?” Chloe wrapped her arm around my father’s. “I think a stay at a mental health facility is for the best. She needs proper treatment.” My parents didn’t object. The paramedics moved in, grabbing my arms to pull me out the door. If they took me to that hospital, I’d never find a way to stop the stream. I would have no hope left. I twisted out of their grasp, scrambling backward while frantically wiping off my lipstick and pulling off the wig. “It was an act! I was just pretending! I didn’t want to lose Adrian!” 4 “Is there any point in admitting that now, Vivian?” Chloe’s voice was cold. “Just go with the doctors quietly.” They forced me into the ambulance. I clawed at the door, but my strength gave out. At the hospital, I tried to explain to every doctor and nurse that I wasn’t sick, but my pleas fell on deaf ears. They just had the orderlies hold me down and force pills down my throat. The medication left me in a constant, heavy fog. The only way to keep my mind sharp was to inflict small pains on myself, tiny anchors to reality. My parents visited once. My eyes were red and swollen as I clutched their hands, begging them to take me home. “I’ll be good, I promise. I won’t ever try to imitate Chloe again.” My father gently pulled his hand away. “Chloe’s engagement party is a major event for the family. We can’t risk any… disruptions. It could affect our investors. Just stay here and rest. The doctors will take good care of you.” The livestream continued, relentless and cruel. Was this life destined to be a carbon copy of the last, a slow-motion train wreck broadcast for the world’s entertainment? After a month of compliant behavior—swallowing my pills without a fight—I finally earned back my internet privileges. I spent hours poring over every frame of the archived streams. And then I saw it. I finally found Chloe’s secret. It was hidden in plain sight the whole time. A tiny, insignificant object. A feeling of release, so profound it was almost violent, washed over me. I found myself laughing and crying in front of the screen, a madwoman illuminated by the glow of my own prison. The live chat flooded with comments about how I’d finally lost it. 【The Pearce family dumped her and her own family locked her up. It was only a matter of time before she snapped.】 I silently closed the laptop. My mind, for the first time in ages, was crystal clear. It was time for Chloe and Adrian to pay.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393675”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 My new little snake won’t stop headbutting me. Worried something was wrong, I frantically messaged the online shop I bought him from. 【Hi there! That just means your snake’s head is feeling a little itchy. Just give him a few more pets and he’ll be fine.】 I shot back a reply immediately. 【No way, I’ve already pet his little head so much it’s practically raw.】 The seller: 【We didn’t mean that head.】 A few days ago, the baby snake I’d ordered online arrived, and he was the sweetest, most docile little thing. I couldn’t resist. I placed another order. But the shop owner replied: 【Hey, so sorry, but that particular snake has been so popular it’s completely sold out. If you don’t mind, we could offer you another one of our precious serpents from the shop.】 I stared at the product page, which showed a sales count of exactly ‘1,’ and fell into a thoughtful silence. This had to be some kind of marketing gimmick. I was about to refuse when the picture they sent completely captivated me. It was a perfect shot of my absolute weakness: a man with a lean, chiseled torso, those V-lines disappearing tantalizingly below the frame. Coiled on his porcelain-pale skin was a baby black king snake, no thicker than a finger. The tiny serpent was latched onto a pectoral muscle, nursing so intently that it was completely oblivious to its crime being documented. I practically drooled. Ooh, and they were pink. They were both from the same shop, so how come this snake was eating so well? 【If you place the order now, we’ll even throw in a collection of the baby snake’s growth photos for free~】 【Does that include pictures of the abs?】 I typed back. 【Of course.】 I had to admit, their honey-trap strategy was first-rate. So pale, so… generous. I’d call him Snowy. I placed the order in a flash. Hilarious. There wasn’t a trace of lust for those abs in my eyes—it was all pure, unadulterated adoration for little Snowy. Snowy and Inky looked so much alike; their personalities had to be just as sweet, right? The moment my payment went through, the seller played right along. 【Your order will be personally delivered by our model and owner! We hope you have a wonderful time~】 A warmth spread through my chest. The way they phrased it, you’d think if you bought the snake, they’d throw in the owner for free. 2 Less than half a day later, my doorbell rang. But when I swung the door open in excitement, I didn’t see the handsome model with the chiseled torso. In fact, I didn’t see anyone at all. Deeply disappointed, I was about to shut the door when a notification popped up on my phone: “Your item has been delivered.” I glanced down and finally noticed a small cardboard box nestled among the clutter by my doorway. Inside the box was the pet snake I’d ordered. What happened to the personal delivery by the model-owner? Never mind not seeing him, but who just dumps a package like this on the doorstep? I was starting to get annoyed. I was seriously considering leaving a bad review. But Snowy was just too beautiful. And so clingy. The moment I opened the box, he poked his little head out and slithered up my arm without any hesitation. According to the girls in my snake-enthusiast Discord, when a snake willingly coils around its owner’s wrist, it’s a sign of trust. This was our very first meeting, and Snowy already trusted me this much. He was just as well-behaved as Inky! My heart swelled with joy, and all thoughts of leaving a bad review vanished from my mind. Cradling Snowy, I brought him over to Inky’s enclosure, hoping they’d get acquainted. Normally, Inky was timid and shy around new things. But this time, the second I placed Snowy inside, Inky immediately rolled over, exposing his soft underbelly. Inky seemed incredibly excited, constantly trying to snuggle up to Snowy. After a long while of being pestered, Snowy finally gave Inky’s belly a brief, dismissive nudge with his head. His expression was one of pure disdain, as if to say, “Alright, you can get lost now.” I snapped a picture of the scene and posted it in the Discord server with the caption: “My new baby male snake seems to be getting along great with the resident! Any tips for a newbie raising a male?” Almost immediately, someone tagged me. I expected some helpful advice, but their comments were… suggestive. 【@Penny, girl, you’re eating well! And you got two of them!】 【These Serpents have so much energy, one is enough to leave me exhausted. You got two?! Girl, are you trying to get your back broken?】 【Once upon a time, I was an innocent soul who didn’t know what a Serpent-brand powerhouse was. I’ve learned my lesson now.】 【They look so much alike, I can’t even tell them apart. I heard Serpents are jealous creatures. Yours don’t fight?】 I took a moment to reply: 【Nope, they’re both very good.】 My response was met with a chorus of envy in the chat. 【You must have them well-trained! Mine won’t even let me look at my phone! He gets so jealous and tells me that for every minute I’m on my phone, he’s adding ten more rounds.】 【Ugh, same! He’s only been letting me catch a break because he’s pregnant and sleepy lately. That’s the only reason I have a second to reply to you guys.】 【Same here, just like my man.】 【Everyone knows Serpents have two… you know. So you’ve got two Serpents, which means four! Whoa, girl, are you even gonna survive that? Will you be okay?】 I felt a little weirded out. What did they mean, “will I be okay?” And those other women… did the snakes tell them all that in a dream or something? It was a bit much. How could a snake possibly talk? But to keep the peace in the group, I just ignored that last comment and replied to the one before it. 【No, I have one female and one male.】 The chat instantly exploded. 【Damn, girl, you’re playing on expert mode!】 I exited the chat, feeling utterly bewildered. The girls in that group were definitely strange. Thankfully, someone with more experience sent me a private message. 【This male looks quite a bit larger than the female. Are you sure you bought a baby snake?】 I replied: 【Don’t they look the same size?】 The response was swift: 【You really are a complete newbie, aren’t you? Didn’t you know that male snakes of this breed are several times smaller than females of the same age?】 【Judging by the size, you bought an adult male. The seller probably scammed you.】 Most buyers preferred to raise serpents from when they were babies. Very few would buy a fully grown male. For one, adult males had trouble bonding with a new owner. And two, any good adult male wouldn’t be on the market. If he was being sold again, it meant his stamina and endurance were probably lacking. Otherwise, why would his previous owner give him up? Besides, buyers had a thing for raising serpents from the start. A male who’d had too many owners was considered undesirable. But I didn’t really care about any of that. It wasn’t like I was looking for a husband. It was just a pet. Still, I was definitely going to leave that seller a bad review. 3 The Discord server was a goldmine of daily tips for raising serpents, and I learned a ton from it. Ever since I got my two little snakes, I found myself sneaking peeks at the group chat during my work breaks. 【Hey guys, my snake has been a little down lately. Any suggestions?】 【That’s easy! A little physical affection solves everything. Just give his little tummy a good rub.】 【There are still good people in this world.】 【OMG, girl… that’s way too spicy. I just gave him a little touch, and things got completely out of hand.】 I put down my phone. I’d noticed my two serpents had been off their food recently. One morning, I even woke up to find them coiled on my chest, nuzzling against me. I’d asked the group about it, and they all said the same thing: the snakes were hungry. But the food I left in their bowls remained untouched. Seeing how highly everyone praised belly rubs, I decided to give it a try myself. That evening, I called my two little ones over, ready to put the theory into practice. Everyone said it was best not to keep serpents in a tank, or they might get depressed, so mine had free roam of the house. Right now, though, they were nowhere to be found. I called their names several times, but neither appeared. I tried calling again. Since I often had trouble telling them apart, I’d given them little hats to wear for differentiation. This time, there was a stir. A moment later, a snake with a tiny pink hat slithered up to me. It was Snowy. I gently poked his little head. He didn’t flinch, just stared up at me with those big, round, innocent eyes. I placed Snowy on my lap and flipped him over to expose his little belly. The sudden movement seemed to stun him for a second. Usually, he was the one showing me his belly to be cute; I’d never been the one to initiate it. When Snowy snapped out of it, he excitedly wrapped his body tightly around my hand. I started by gently stroking his tiny tail before moving on to his belly, using the rubbing technique I’d seen in the group chat. The texture was incredible, so soft and yielding. I couldn’t resist giving it a little squeeze. At that, the tail that had been coiled tightly around my fingers went slack, quivering faintly as it rested against me. Seeing how well it was working, I happily continued rubbing lower. I’d heard that if you rubbed them just right, you could make them squeak. I’d only ever heard them hiss, and the thought of a little squeak made me incredibly curious. But before I could find the right spot, the little snake suddenly arched his back and began to thrash wildly. He was trembling so violently that I thought I must have hurt him, so I eased up on the pressure. But then, he started shaking even more intensely. And in a flash, he wriggled free and darted away. Did the belly rub work? Maybe he ran off to eat? I couldn’t find him anywhere, so I decided to let him be and turned my attention to calling for Inky. Ever since Snowy arrived, Inky hadn’t been as clingy as usual and was harder to summon. I had to call his name several times before he finally, sluggishly, appeared. Inky’s little blue hat was askew, threatening to fall off with the slightest movement. Looking closer, I saw that his entire body was trembling uncontrollably. Putting this together with Inky’s strange behavior over the past few days, I knew at once: Snowy had been bullying him! I had no idea where Snowy had scurried off to. After a long search, I finally found him curled up asleep in his little bed. Without a second thought, I scooped him up. “Snowy, were you bullying your sister?” He tilted his head, a look of pure confusion on his face. A tiny head, filled with big questions. He looked like he was about to burst into tears. My heart melted at the sight of his pitiful expression, but I knew I had to set some ground rules for Snowy. I forced myself to be firm. “You’re the big brother. You can’t bully your little sister. Look how miserable she is,” I said, pointing towards Inky. Snowy followed my finger. He saw “Inky” swaying unsteadily, looking as if he was about to faint. Seeing “Inky” in such a state only seemed to confuse Snowy more. Though he clearly didn’t understand what was happening, he dutifully nuzzled my fingertip and then rubbed his soft little head against my palm as if to soothe me. This soft, cuddly little thing was trying to comfort me. My resolve crumbled. I let him off with a warning not to do it again. But my little sister still needed comforting. To make it up to her, I gave her an extra-long belly rub. The whole time, “Snowy” kept cheekily nuzzling against me. I just pushed him away, my face impassive. “No. Didn’t I just give you a belly rub?” The little guy scurried away in a huff. Even by bedtime, “Snowy” hadn’t shown his face. I knew the little guy was sulking, but I didn’t go looking for him. I just snuggled up with “Inky” and went to sleep. He was a big boy snake. A real man. There was no need for all those tears. 4 I didn’t sleep well that night. In my dreams, I kept hearing a man’s voice, soft and gentle. “There, there, Mommy didn’t mean it. It must be because you keep climbing onto her at night, begging for milk. She’s not getting enough sleep, that’s why she got upset with you, baby.” The reply was a barely audible hiss. The man chuckled softly, his voice a low murmur. “Daddy only eats because Mommy lets him. Mommy didn’t say you could.” The hissing grew louder, punctuated by the rhythmic thump-thump-thump of a snake’s tail hitting the floor. The force was so great it sounded like it might crack the tiles. “I’m not lying. Be a good boy and go to sleep. If you don’t, Mommy will get angry with you again.” At the man’s words, the temper tantrum stopped. The sounds ceased. The little snake seemed to say something. But the man refused without a moment’s hesitation. “No. You’ve had more than enough today. No more. If you drink it all, what will Mommy have? Daddy needs to save some for Mommy, too.” Ever since that day, I made a habit of giving my two little snakes regular belly rubs. But lately, I noticed that even the usually clingy Inky was ignoring me. He’d also developed a habit of stealing my extra-sweet bubble tea. Every time I woke up from a nap, the milk tea I’d ordered before I fell asleep would end up in his stomach. And how did I know? Well, Inky was too dense to destroy the evidence. I’d always find the empty cup in his little bed. Stealing my bubble tea was one thing, but now he was addicted to the internet. He’d skip meals just to watch videos on my tablet. I’d even set a passcode, but somehow, he always managed to unlock it. The girls in the Discord said this was all normal, but I was still worried about his eyes. Conversely, it was the usually proud and aloof Snowy who was now constantly seeking my affection, acting cute and cuddly. One day, I came home from work to find Snowy curled up in a perfect little doughnut shape, waiting for me by the door. I gave his soft little head an absentminded pat and then went to the sofa to find Inky. Sure enough, there he was, nestled in his bed, engrossed in the tablet. I tiptoed up behind him, curious to see what he was watching so intently. I thought maybe he was watching something that was teaching him bad habits. Instead, I found him watching the same video on a loop. He’d even saved it to his favorites. I leaned in closer. This time, Inky noticed me. He seemed to have a bone to pick with me, agitatedly pointing his little tail at the screen. I followed his tail and read the text on the video. 【The following behaviors are actually the serpent deliberately acting cute.】 【The serpent world has its own manipulative charmers.】 【When a serpent frequently tilts its head to look at you, dear owners, do not be fooled! It’s just putting on a cute act!】 I glanced at Snowy, who was, at that very moment, tilting his head to look at me, and I couldn’t help but laugh. Every single point seemed to be aimed directly at him. Inky must be jealous. Given Inky’s clear dissatisfaction, I decided to give him the first belly rub of the evening. He was unusually excited today, acting as if it were his first time. He kept pointing his little tail here and there, completely different from his usual self. With Inky happy, now Snowy was displeased. He kept “accidentally” brushing his head against me. Soon, even belly rubs and head pats weren’t enough. He started bumping his head against me. At first, I just thought he was being playful and told him to stop messing around. “Behave now. Settle down.” He did settle down, for a bit. But later that night, Snowy was still restless. 5 I was woken up by Snowy nuzzling me. The spot he chose was so… awkward. Blushing, I fished him out from under the covers. “You little pervert, you can’t rub there.” He seemed to be doing it unconsciously, his eyes looking at me with a dazed, confused expression. His body felt hot to the touch. In the haze of sleep, I thought I felt Snowy’s tongue flick out. “Are you hungry?” I asked. The little snake didn’t answer, just kept bumping his head against my palm. The force was light, but something felt very, very wrong. I posted in the Discord server, but the replies were not very helpful. 【Mine’s never done that before. First time I’ve seen it. Is he hungry?】 【Mine hasn’t either. Maybe he’s sick? You should ask the seller, they should offer some after-sale support.】 Thankfully, it was the weekend, so even though few people were online, a couple of kind souls replied. Following their advice, I reached out to the seller, not sure if they’d even reply at this hour. I hesitantly typed out my message: 【Hi, I think something’s wrong with my snake.】 To my surprise, they replied instantly: 【Hi there! Can you describe the problem in detail?】 I was thrilled. 【He keeps headbutting me, and he was rubbing against me while I was sleeping… oh, and his body temperature is really high! Is he sick?】 【Could you be more specific? For example, where did he headbutt you, and where did he rub against you?】 I felt a flush of embarrassment. 【Well… here and there…】 【…】 It took a long time for the seller to reply. When they finally did, their diagnosis was: 【Hi there! That just means your snake’s head is feeling a little itchy. Just give him a few more pets and he’ll be fine.】 I immediately shot back: 【No way, I’ve already pet his little head so much it’s practically raw.】 The seller: 【We didn’t mean that head.】 After a patient explanation from the seller, I finally understood. Snowy was in heat. I was starting to panic. Snowy’s temperature was getting higher, and he kept trying to burrow into my clothes. 【So what do I do?】 【You do it!】 I felt like their answer was completely useless. I was still clueless. 【Is there a video tutorial or something? I don’t know how!】 【? I’m sorry, but we don’t provide video tutorials for that. Besides, saying too much could get our account banned.】 【If you… really want one, you could try looking for a link online.】 No way. How would I even search for that? Where would I even look? 【Girls, emergency! Does anyone know what to do when a serpent is in heat?】 I typed furiously, clamping my legs together, terrified that Snowy would find his way inside if I wasn’t careful. I could only hope someone in the group would send me a link soon. It was one of the same girls from before who replied. 【What else can you do? You do it!】 【How?! This is my first time dealing with this! Can someone send me a video? Or even a text guide would work!】 【LMAO, I’m dying. This is the first time I’ve ever seen someone ask for something like this. Must be your first time, huh?】 【Yes! Can someone seriously send me a video? My snake is starting to chew on my clothes!】 【I got you, girl, I got you! I’m looking for one now!】 My sisters, my saviors. A two-hour-long video link quickly popped up in the chat. 【I won’t show you the rest, don’t want to get reported. Of course, if you’re worried you won’t get the angle right, I can DM you a tutorial video.】 This comment brought out all the night owls. 【Damn, you really don’t see us as outsiders, do you!】 【Woooow, you’re eating well too! Your Serpent is a dark-skinned muscle man!】 【That video is so well-shot, it’s making me want to drag my own snake over for another round.】 I felt like I’d been thrown a lifeline and quickly tapped the link. But the sounds that came from my phone almost made me throw it across the room. What the hell? What kind of video was this?! And on the screen… why were there two people?

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393674”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel