Author: Momo Chan

My freshman year of college, I started dating a rich man. He was perfect in every way, except for one thing: he would never let me into his world. I asked him once, “Can we get married after I graduate?” He just lit a cigarette and smiled without answering. Then, one day after class, a gentle-looking woman stopped me at the school gate. She rested a hand on her slightly swollen belly and spoke to me softly. “Are you the girl who wants to marry Julian Bright after graduation?” 1 My fingers tightened around the handle of my suitcase. I bit my lip and said nothing. A cold dread was already coiling in my stomach. “Don’t be nervous, Anna.” The woman offered a faint smile. “My name is Ophelia Kim. I’m Julian Bright’s legal wife.” “I know you’ve been together for two years. And I know you had no idea I existed.” “Today is our third wedding anniversary. He told me he was working late at the office, but the truth is, he’s supposed to meet you at eight-thirty for a movie. After that, he’ll take you to his condo in the suburbs so you can have a place to stay for winter break. Am I right?” Yes. She was right about every single detail. The movie ticket was in my pocket. I’d spent half the lecture just looking at it, my mind spinning with fantasies of snuggling against his arm in the dark theater, lost in some romantic blockbuster. Ophelia’s gaze drifted to the ring on my left ring finger. “Did he give you that?” “The Cartier ‘Starry Night’ ring. It’s beautiful. I used to like styles like that, when I was younger.” Her eyes suddenly reddened, a bitter smile twisting her lips. “As I recall, that’s part of a matching set. He has one too, doesn’t he?” A wave of shame so hot it felt like it would incinerate me washed over my body. I instinctively hid my left hand in my sleeve, my voice a barely-audible whisper. “Yes.” Last Valentine’s Day. My birthday. Julian had booked an entire restaurant. Over a candlelight dinner, he’d slid that very ring onto my finger. My family was poor. When I found out the ring cost over five thousand dollars, I cried with joy. I felt like I would do anything for him, give him my entire world. In my bliss, I never stopped to wonder why he only wore his matching ring that one single night. Now I knew. He was afraid Ophelia would see it. I was furious, ashamed, and wanted to cry all at once. I couldn’t accept it. The man I loved, the man I worshipped, was a monster who was cheating on his pregnant wife. So that’s why he never let me into his world. It wasn’t his world to let me into. I was just the other woman. “Anna.” Ophelia braced a hand on her back, taking a slow, slightly labored breath. “Would you mind joining me for a coffee across the street? Just for a little while.” I looked at her swollen belly and realized a pregnant woman couldn’t stand for long. She must have been waiting for me at the gate for a while. She was at her limit. … We chose a quiet booth in the corner of the cafe. I took off the ring and tried to give it back to her. Ophelia glanced at it but didn’t take it. “Julian never gave me a ring when we got married. He doesn’t love me. I know that.” “You keep it. Even if you don’t want to wear it someday, you can sell it for some money.” Just then, the waiter approached our table. He looked at me. “Ms. Nelson, the usual three? A matcha latte, a classic tiramisu, and a platter of fried snacks.” Before I could answer, he turned to Ophelia. “And for you, miss?” “Just a glass of water, room temperature, no sugar. Thank you.” “Of course. Ms. Nelson, that’ll be $129. It’s already been charged to Mr. Bright’s account.” My stomach dropped. I couldn’t look up. In the shock of it all, I’d completely forgotten that Julian had set up a pre-paid membership for me at this cafe. Ophelia’s expression remained gentle. “It’s alright. I don’t mind.” “You, on the other hand,” she continued, her voice soft, “you still can’t quite believe he’d do something like this, can you?” She was right. I saw Julian through a thick, rosy filter. To me, he was the handsome, older provider boyfriend from a romance novel. We’d met online. The first time we met in person, he pulled up to the school gates in a Maybach. He was a perfect gentleman, well-spoken and cultured. He was nothing like the crude, sloppy boys at school. The first time I saw him, I fell for him completely. What girl doesn’t dream of a rich, handsome CEO falling in love with her? It was a fantasy come to life. I never once considered it could be a trap. Under the envious stares of my classmates, Julian took me to this very cafe for afternoon tea. Before him, my monthly living allowance was fifty dollars. I would never have dared to step foot in a place like this. When he told me I was too thin and needed to eat more, then waved his hand and bought me a pre-paid card for unlimited use, I truly believed he was the kindest person in the world. My own mother would only ever say things like, “Why does a girl need to eat so much? No man will want you if you get fat. Eat less. It’s good for you.” But then she’d turn to my younger brother, Leo, and ask, “Leo, did you eat enough at school today? Is fifty dollars a day enough? Tell Mommy if you need more.” Ophelia stared out the window, her gaze distant. Her eyes were a beautiful, pale amber. “Do you know how I found out about you?” I shook my head. “One day, Julian came home and remarked at the dinner table, ‘It’s so much easier with kids who haven’t been out in the real world. You give them a little spending money, and they’re eternally grateful. Not like those sharks in the business world; you can never give them enough.’” “I saw your chat history. I was up all night.” “I wondered why he didn’t delete it. What if I accidentally saw it? Then I understood. He didn’t care if I found out or not.” “My family is indebted to his. My parents would never agree to a divorce. And he’s a powerful man in this city. Even if I tried to sue him, it would be useless.” She smiled, as if talking about someone else entirely. “I also saw that in the beginning, he sent you a lot of money through transfers, but you never accepted any of it.” “I was curious. Why didn’t you take his money?” My eyelids fluttered. My throat was dry. I couldn’t speak. The truth was, I had a very naive, childish idea. I would only ever feel comfortable accepting money from a man if I was certain I wanted to spend my life with him. Ophelia nodded thoughtfully. “But that’s exactly it. He knew that about you, and that’s how he got you. He knew you were naive and easy to fool, so he figured he could just play with you for a while and it wouldn’t matter.” “All he had to do was spend a little money, and you’d be willing to give him everything in return. From then on, no matter what unreasonable thing he asked of you, you wouldn’t refuse.” “Anna, can you guess how much he spent to marry me?” I pursed my lips. “Fifty thousand?” “Five hundred thousand,” she said, her lips twisting in a self-deprecating smile. “See? When you put it like that, everything he’s given you seems rather insignificant, doesn’t it?” “He was willing to spend that much to marry me then, and now he treats me like something he’d scrape off his shoe.” “I’m not telling you this to be cruel. I just want you to know, he’s not the man you think he is.” “You’re still young. You shouldn’t end up like me, with your whole life already decided for you.” “Oh, and one more thing.” Ophelia took out her phone and showed me a photo. My blood ran cold. She had taken a picture of Julian’s photo gallery. And in Julian’s gallery were hundreds of explicit photos. A grid of my body, some with my face, some without. And the subject of every single one was me. She asked, “Did you send these to him willingly? Or did he secretly take screenshots without you knowing?” My face drained of color. My hands trembled so badly I knocked over my latte. Not long after Julian gave me the ring, he went on a business trip for a whole month. One night, after we hadn’t seen each other for over a week, he video-called me. On the call, the usually serious man acted coquettish for the first time. “Anna, baby, turn on your camera. Let me see you, please?” I knew I should have said no. But I couldn’t resist his pleading. Following his instructions, I turned on the camera. I posed for him in ways that made me burn with shame. I even listened when he told me to use lipstick to write his name on my collarbone. His breathing hitched. “My girl is so beautiful,” he’d rasped. “Be good. When I get back, I have a present for you.” When I’d calmed down, I asked him, my voice filled with fear, “Julian, you didn’t… did you?” He knew what I was asking. He offered to let me use a remote-control app to check his phone’s photo gallery myself. I did. There were no screenshots. “I’m sorry,” I’d said. “I shouldn’t have doubted you.” Julian had laughed. “Silly girl. It’s good to be cautious.” He transferred me five hundred dollars. “Okay, I have to get back to work. Go have fun with your friends.” Just like always. After nine p.m., Julian would start “working.” He rarely replied to my messages after that. That five hundred dollars let me show off in front of my roommates. They used to call me a poor charity case. Ever since they found out about my “boyfriend,” they treated me differently. “Anna, how did you land such a great guy? I want a perfect husband who buys me Cartier and just throws money at me.” “I’m so jealous of you, Anna. Your boyfriend is rich, successful, and he’s not a player. Even when he’s busy, he always makes time to check in with you.” Their praise made me feel like I was floating on air. I was so proud to have a boyfriend like Julian. After that, whenever he asked to “see” me, I always agreed without hesitation. Ophelia’s hand shot out and steadied the cup before the drink could spill on me. I fumbled with napkins, wiping at the table, tears welling in my eyes. “That was the only time he didn’t save your photos.” “Every time after that, he did.” “I see now,” Ophelia stated, her voice calm and even. “He tricked you, Anna.” I covered my mouth, choking back a sob. I couldn’t even bear to think about what Julian might have done with those photos. I didn’t dare imagine if he’d shared them with anyone. “But it’s okay now.” Ophelia deleted the photo from her own phone, then cleared her deleted items folder. “I’ve already deleted all of them from his phone, just like this.” “I also managed to check his flash drives and his cloud storage. There shouldn’t be any other backups.” “Thank you…” I whispered. My mind was a chaotic mess. I felt like all the strength had been drained from my body. I couldn’t understand why Julian would do this to me. Buzz. Buzz. My phone rang. It was him. He’d sent a dozen messages that I hadn’t answered. I glanced at Ophelia. She nodded for me to answer. “Sweetheart, what are you doing? I just got off work. Are you heading to the theater? Do you need me to pick you up?” Listening to his voice felt like a dream. Just this morning, I’d thought it was the most beautiful sound in the world. Now, it just made my skin crawl. I forced back a sob, keeping my voice as steady as I could. “No, it’s okay. I’m suddenly not feeling well. Maybe we can go another time.” “Is it serious? Let me take you to the hospital.” Julian’s voice was so tender, as if he truly loved me. For a moment, I was lost. I remembered a time when I had a bad flu. I wanted to leave campus to see a doctor, but the student advisor wouldn’t let me unless a parent called. But my parents never cared about my health. They thought doctors were expensive and would overcharge. They’d just tell me I was young, that I’d get over it, that not taking medicine would make my immune system stronger. I told Julian about it. He immediately dropped everything at work, drove to the school, and pretended to be my uncle to sign me out. I couldn’t stop the tears from coming. Before a sob could escape, I frantically hung up the phone. Julian didn’t call back. Instead, Ophelia’s phone rang. His contact name was just “Julian Bright.” She answered and put it on speaker. Julian’s voice was stripped of its earlier affection. It was cold and sharp. “You went to see her, didn’t you.” Ophelia stirred her water, not even looking up. “See who?” “Don’t play dumb, Ophelia. I know you know everything. If you have a problem, you take it up with me. Don’t you dare bother Anna. She’s just a kid. She doesn’t know any better.”

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The day my birth parents found me, my best friend adopted a stray dog—then stole my life. After joining my wealthy family, Jessica—who was deathly allergic to dogs—bought the mutt king crab, permed its fur to match my hairstyle, and called it by my nickname, “Star.” “I just can’t lose you,” she’d say, face swollen with hives. Moved, I paid for everything. I was a fool. Eighty-one days later, I woke up as the dog. Jessica, now in my body, screamed as my parents’ guards beat me bloody. She dumped me at a kill shelter while my family feasted, oblivious. As my soul faded, I heard her tell my fiancé: “Matthew, that soul-swap ritual worked. Now Laura’s life is mine.” I opened my eyes—back to the day she first asked me to feed the dog. … “Hey, sweetie,” her voice, a syrupy confection, dripped through the phone. “I’m out of town for a few days, could you do me a huge favor and feed my dog?” When I didn’t answer immediately, Jessica pressed on, her tone turning pleading. “You wouldn’t just let an innocent little creature starve to death, would you?” A cold sweat drenched my back, my hand shaking so badly I almost dropped the phone. In my last life, I became that dog. I remember the agony of the club striking my bones, the reek of the kill shelter she sent me to. The cold, dull blade slicing through my flesh. No one knows the taste of death better than I do. I forced my voice to remain steady as I agreed. A bottomless hatred bloomed in my chest. Reborn, I had one chance to escape the fate of having my soul stolen. The dog. The problem had to be the dog. The stench of ammonia and filth hit me the moment I opened Jessica’s door. A matted, trembling ball of fur was crammed into a tiny cage, forced to live in its own waste. Its fur was a tangled mess, its eyes red and swollen, crusted with a foul-smelling discharge. It was just like last time. Jessica never cared for it like a pet. Back then, I couldn’t stand to see it suffer. I’d taken it to a premium pet spa, to the vet, and bought it the best food. My compassion had been my death sentence. This time, I pulled out the folding knife I’d brought with me. My plan was simple: kill the dog while Jessica was gone and eliminate the threat. But as it whimpered and cowered in the corner, a pitiful, broken thing, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. The dog was innocent. The real monsters were Jessica and Matthew. After a moment’s thought, I called the local animal rescue league. They would find the dog a proper home, a safe place where it could live out its life in peace. I took a step closer and offered it a piece of jerky. As it looked up at me with wide, teary eyes, I felt a sense of relief. No one would interfere with its fate this time. But in the next second, my world tilted on its axis. Behind the dog’s right ear, a faint black spot was beginning to form. At the exact same moment, the jerky fell from my numb fingers. The spot was in the precise location of my own birthmark. It hadn’t been there a second ago. My heart hammered against my ribs. Had I been reborn only to fall into their trap all over again? I backed away toward the door, forcing myself to think. In my previous life, Jessica was so allergic she practically lived on antihistamines, her face constantly puffy. Yet she insisted on holding that dog every day when she visited me. The conditions for the soul-swap had to be more complex than just the dog’s existence. Watching the rescue workers take the dog away, a fragile sense of calm settled over me. As long as the dog was gone, I had time to find a way to break the curse. I was wrong. The next day, a furious pounding rattled my front door. It was Jessica, holding the very same dog, her voice sharp with accusation. “Laura! I asked you to feed him, not get rid of him! How could you be so cruel?” She shoved the dog into my arms and breezed past me, flopping onto my bed as if she owned the place. I froze, my skin crawling where it made contact with the dog’s fur. I practically threw it to the floor, struggling to keep my expression neutral. “…Aren’t you allergic? I sent him away for your own good.” She ran her hand over my silk sheets, her voice turning sinister. “Who gave you the right to decide for me? I only got a pet so I could always have a piece of you with me!” I had no energy to argue. I simply called for the butler to take the dog outside. Jessica shot up, blocking the doorway. “Are you kicking out the dog, or are you kicking me out? Laura, now that you’re rich, have you forgotten all our years of friendship?” Just as the standoff reached its peak, a call came from Matthew, who was supposedly overseas. He didn’t even say hello. “Don’t you know those so-called ‘rescue leagues’ are just glorified kill shelters?” he demanded. “Laura, you apologize to Jessica right now!” I had been so focused on the dog, I’d forgotten about the other snake in the grass. Ever since I’d returned to my family, Jessica had been a constant presence, and everyone thought we were the picture of perfect friendship. Last time, I was so blind I didn’t realize she and Matthew were having an affair until it was too late. With a sudden burst of strength, I shoved Jessica out of my room and slammed the door in her face. “I’m your fiancée,” I spat into the phone, “and you’re telling me to apologize to her?” I hung up and blocked his number. It took a long moment for the reality to sink in. Jessica had the dog back, and I was still completely in the dark. I wracked my brain, trying to recall every detail from my past life, but my head throbbed with a blinding pain. The next morning, the text messages from Jessica began, a relentless bombardment. 【Laura, can we please meet? I really miss you.】 【Are you mad at me? I was just so worried the other day. I’m sorry.】 【Please don’t ignore me. You’re the only friend I have.】 I could almost see the smug, fake expression on her face as she typed those words. A wave of nausea rolled through me. I gripped my phone, my knuckles white. 【Busy lately. Maybe some other time.】 I breathed a sigh of relief when she didn’t reply immediately. But then I saw she’d posted on social media. 【Friends are the family you choose.】 The post had two pictures. One was of us at the orphanage, two small girls with hopeful smiles. The other was a drawing we’d made together, two stick figures holding hands, the paper yellowed with age. It was a gift I’d given her when we were children. In the comments, all our mutual friends and old teachers were gushing about our decade-long friendship. But I couldn’t smile. Because in the reflection of an inconspicuous nightstand in the photo, I could see the bare arm of a man wearing a Patek Philippe watch. The watch I had given Matthew. A moment later, Jessica commented on her own post, tagging me: We should go back and visit the orphanage soon! She was using our past to guilt-trip me, to trap me in a web of public expectation. Ten minutes later, the orphanage director called. “Laura, dear, Jessica told me you’ve been avoiding her because you think she’s poor now. Is that true?” I bit down on my lip so hard I tasted the metallic tang of blood. I was trapped, unable to explain the horrific truth to anyone. I heard my own voice, cold and distant, reply, “Of course not. We’re actually going shopping together tomorrow afternoon.” The mall lights were blinding. Jessica held the dog, sticking to me like a shadow. “Laura, look at that bag!” she exclaimed, pulling me toward a window display featuring a classic Louis Vuitton monogram—identical to the one I was carrying. “And look! They have a matching accessory for a dog! It’s so cute!” I watched her feigned excitement with cold eyes. Last time, at this exact moment, I had pulled out my black card without a second thought. This time, I just laughed softly. “It’s alright, I guess.” Jessica’s expression froze. She bit her lip, her voice suddenly soft and vulnerable. “I want to buy it for Star, but… I don’t have enough money.” She looked up at me, and even the sales associate’s gaze turned expectant. The air grew thick with unspoken pressure. “If you don’t have enough,” I said, slowly stroking the strap of my own bag, “then you should save up.” “Or maybe find a cheaper one at a discount store? It’s just a dog. It won’t know the difference.” Jessica’s face twisted into a mask of fury. “If you look down on me, Laura, just say it. Do you really think I only deserve cheap trash?” She was about to continue her tirade when she caught sight of something over my shoulder. Her eyes instantly filled with tears. “Laura, you’re still mad at me for losing my temper that day, aren’t you?” She reached for my hand, her voice choked with sobs. “I was just so scared for Star, I wasn’t thinking…” A sharp voice cut through her performance from behind me. “I’ll pay for it.” Matthew. He strode over, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, but his eyes were glued to Jessica’s face. Jessica’s eyes immediately reddened as she ducked behind him like a startled deer. As Matthew gave his membership code to the associate, I heard Jessica whisper to the dog, a triumphant little caress in her voice. “Good boy, Star. You’re getting a new bag.” My nickname, rolling off her tongue, was like a piece of candy coated in blood. While the associate was wrapping the purchase, Matthew turned to me, his voice dripping with scorn. “Really, Laura? You won’t even buy your best friend a handbag? You can take the girl out of the gutter, but…” I stared at the faint red mark on his collar, the exact shade of Jessica’s lipstick today. “You’re quite the generous one, Matthew,” I said coolly. “You know, you two are quite alike,” he continued, a cruel smirk on his face. “Both of you were strays, lost and alone until someone took you in.” His words hit me like a physical blow, throwing me back to the horror of my last life. A ringing filled my ears as his lips kept moving. “I suggest you start treating your friend—and her dog—with a little more respect. The Thorne family has no place for someone as cold and heartless as you.” His smug, self-righteous act made me want to vomit. Last time, he’d always used the threat of calling off our engagement to control me. And every time, I had folded, because I truly, desperately wanted to spend my life with him. If only I had seen their treachery sooner. Suddenly, the dog in Jessica’s arms started barking wildly. It had been forced into the new accessory, a tiny replica of my own, and was struggling uncomfortably. And the black spot behind its ear was now dark and impossible to miss. I don’t remember much of what happened after that. I stumbled home in a daze. A short while later, my mother called me down for dinner. At the table, my parents watched me with loving eyes, constantly putting food on my plate. “Darling, you suffered so much out there,” my father said gently. “But now your mother and I are here, and we’ll take care of you.” “We never gave up looking for you,” my mother added. “We were so lucky Master Silas was able to pinpoint your location. It was truly a miracle!” I felt a pang of emotion. Since I’d come home, they had wanted to give me the world. But soon, Jessica would take my place. The food in my mouth turned to ash. I couldn’t swallow. “It’s a shame Master Silas refused our donation,” my father continued. “A man of his talent is truly rare.” Talent? An idea sparked in my mind, a desperate lifeline. This Master Silas… he might be the one person who could save me. “Mom! Dad! I want to go thank him in person.” On Saturday, I set out at dawn. It was two in the afternoon by the time I finally reached the remote sanctuary perched on the mountaintop. When I stepped inside and saw “Master Silas,” I froze. I had pictured an old, wizened man, not a handsome young man with a serene, otherworldly air. He was dressed in simple, elegant robes, his eyes as deep and dark as a forest pool. He nodded at me in greeting. “Hello, Miss Laura.” I snapped out of my daze and quickly bowed. “Please, no need for formality. Call me Silas.” I told him everything, omitting the part about being reborn and framing it as a vivid, recurring nightmare. As he listened, his calm expression hardened. “A soul-swap,” he murmured, his face grim. “I never thought someone would actually dare to use such a dark and forbidden art.” “I will need to research a counter-ritual. In the meantime,” he said, his eyes meeting mine, “avoid all contact with that dog. Wait for my return.” I thanked him, my eyes welling with tears of relief. Before I left, he handed me a small, ornate box. Inside was a protective talisman. “Keep this with you. Place it under your pillow. It will temporarily shield your soul from any external influence.” After returning from the mountain, I immediately feigned illness and confined myself to my room. Jessica, of course, messaged me daily. One moment she was asking what I ate, the next what clothes I was wearing. If I didn’t reply, she’d video call me. “Star misses you so much, Laura! When can we come visit?” I didn’t dare show my true revulsion, so I gave her vague, noncommittal answers. Matthew started visiting frequently, too. He claimed he was checking on me, but I knew he was there to monitor the situation. To my horror, my parents welcomed him with open arms, believing our relationship was as strong as ever. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. I pulled him into a private sitting room.

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1 My daughter, Michelle, won first place at her school’s sports day. A moment later, she was pushed from the winner’s podium, and I heard the sickening crack of bone. Her leg was broken. I demanded an apology from the boy who did it. His father slapped me across the face. “What the hell? It’s an honor for your kid to be pushed by my Cody! Let me tell you something, my wife is the CEO of Valerius Corp. How about that? Scared now, huh?” When I didn’t respond, he took my silence for fear. “Get your daughter on her knees to apologize to Cody right now, and maybe I’ll have my wife go easy on you.” I almost laughed. Instead, I pulled out my phone and called my wife. “I’ve been away on business for a year,” I said into the phone. “I hear you’ve started a new family?” … The man, Chad, saw me end the call without moving and started spewing venom. “Are you fucking deaf? Didn’t you hear me?” he snarled. “In Newport City, nobody with a brain dares to disrespect the Valerius name. Even the mayor smiles and shakes my hand when he sees me. Who the hell do you think you are?” His son, Cody, sneered, his eyes glinting as he looked at the fresh cast on Michelle’s leg. “So what if I pushed her? For her to be pushed by me? It’s the best thing that’s ever happened to her family. One word from my mom, and your whole pathetic family will be thrown out of this city!” Thrown out of Newport City? A cold smirk touched my lips. Since the day I, Adrian Vance, was born, no one had ever dared to utter those words to me. I was about to speak when Cody lunged toward my daughter again, yelling, “I told you to kneel!” I moved in a flash, blocking his path. He stumbled, lost his balance, and fell flat on his backside, immediately erupting into theatrical, wailing sobs. “You dare touch my son?!” Chad’s face contorted with rage, his voice escalating into a torrent of abuse aimed at me and Michelle. “You worthless piece of trash, and the little bitch you spawned! Just wait. I’ll have my wife break both your legs, and we’ll see how tough you are then.” I’d heard enough of his barking. I raised my hand and brought it down across his face. A sharp crack echoed across the field, silencing the area. Chad clutched his cheek, his eyes wide with disbelief. “You… you hit me?!” He whipped out his phone and barked, “Get over here, now!” Less than three minutes later, two men in black suits stormed onto the school grounds and slammed me to the pavement. A sharp pain shot through my knees as they hit the concrete, but looking at Chad’s triumphant, smug face, I could only find it pathetic. He stalked over, planting his foot on the back of my hand and grinding it into the ground with a vicious twist. “Trash will always be trash,” he sneered. “I tried to be nice.” He grabbed a fistful of my hair, yanking my head back to force my gaze to meet his. “Let me tell you something. In this city, if I want to make someone’s life a living hell, they won’t survive the night.” He glanced at my daughter, who stood frozen with a pale, terrified face. “Your daughter thinks she belongs in the same school as my son? She wins one stupid race with a bit of luck and thinks she’s hot shit. Just like her father. Rotten to the core.” A searing pain shot up my arm from my crushed hand. In all my years in the business world, I, Adrian Vance, had seen it all. But never, not once in Newport City, had anyone dared to treat me this way. The man was practically begging for a death wish. “Who do you think you are?” My silence only fueled his arrogance. He kicked me hard in the ribs. “Wait and see. I’ll get your daughter expelled, get you fired, and your whole family will be begging on the streets!” Seeing me being beaten, Michelle, her eyes red with tears, rushed forward. “Don’t you hurt my daddy!” She dragged her casted leg, limping desperately toward me, only for Chad to swing a vicious backhand across her face. The sickening smack of the blow sent her small, fragile body stumbling backward. She fell heavily to the ground, and five crimson finger marks instantly bloomed on her cheek. “Michelle!” Rage exploded in my chest. I fought against the bodyguards’ grip, but they held my wrists in a vice. Chad looked down at my daughter on the ground, a cruel smile playing on his lips. “Little bitch. Just as clueless as her old man. Trying to protect him? You should have learned your place.” At that, Cody rushed over and started kicking her, again and again. “That’s for stealing first place from me! That trophy was mine! My mom said a gutter-trash kid like you doesn’t deserve to even stand on the podium!” I watched my daughter curl into a ball on the ground, my voice raw as I roared, “Vivian Vance is my legally wedded wife! Didn’t she ever tell you? She’s my daughter’s mother! Do you have any idea the consequences you’ll face for touching us?” Chad froze for a second, then burst out laughing. “Vivian’s husband? Are you fucking kidding me? Did I knock you stupid? A lowlife like you isn’t fit to shine her shoes!” He spat on the ground. “You must be dreaming if you think that pathetic lie is going to scare me. It’s not working!” He took a step toward my daughter. “Today, I’m going to teach this little bitch a lesson she’ll never forget…” 2 “You touch her again, and I’ll kill you!” Adrenaline flooded my veins. With a savage roar, I broke free from the bodyguards, tackling Chad to the ground and landing a solid punch on his face. I raised my fist for a second blow. Just then, the sound of frantic footsteps approached, followed by a teacher’s panicked voice: “Mr. Thompson, over here!” I turned to see the school principal, his face a mask of grim concern, hurrying over with several teachers in tow. When he saw the chaotic scene, his brow furrowed. “What is going on here? Someone separate them, now!” The principal’s eyes fell on Michelle, crumpled on the ground, then on Cody, who was still crying and kicking. His face hardened as he addressed Chad. “Mr. Miller, whatever the circumstances, Cody pushed Michelle off the podium, causing a fracture, and then assaulted her. This is entirely his fault.” He stated firmly, “According to school policy, he must apologize to Michelle, and you, as his parent, are responsible for her medical expenses.” Chad just scoffed. “Principal Thompson, have you forgotten who Cody’s mother is? Do I need to remind you? Vivian Vance, CEO of Valerius Corp. I guess those two buildings she donated to this school were for nothing!” I frowned. Vivian had indeed donated the buildings, but she’d told me it was for Michelle’s benefit. Chad took a threatening step forward. “You’re asking her son to apologize? Do you want Valerius Corp to pull all future funding? Or maybe you want us to tear those two buildings down? Think very carefully before you speak again.” The principal’s face went white. He wrung his hands, forcing a placating smile. “Mr. Miller, please, let’s not be hasty. I didn’t mean it like that… Kids will be kids, they play rough. We can’t take it all so seriously, can we?” He turned to me, his tone instantly becoming harsh. “And you, sir! This is a matter between children. There’s no need to blow it out of proportion.” Principal Thompson cleared his throat, his bias now painfully obvious. “Besides, for Michelle to win first place in this competition… are we sure there weren’t some… underhanded means involved? After all, Cody trains so diligently. How could he suddenly lose to her?” He paused, his voice gaining a self-righteous conviction. “I believe it’s possible Michelle cheated to get her result, and Cody, unable to stand such injustice, acted out of a sense of righteousness. A strong sense of justice in a child is a good thing, you know.” His words set my blood on fire. Before I could retort, the principal fixed me with a stern, lecturing gaze. “Sir, I think you need to focus on your own daughter. Good grades are important, but character is paramount! For a child so young to learn deceit and antagonism… it reflects very poorly on the school’s reputation.” I hugged Michelle tighter, a sense of absurdity washing over me as I stared at the principal’s two-faced-grin. When Vivian had donated those buildings, I had explicitly told her to ensure the school never gave Michelle special treatment. I never imagined it would lead to this. In my arms, my daughter trembled with rage, her voice choked with sobs. “I didn’t cheat! I won the race myself!” The principal’s face darkened. “Still talking back?” he snapped at her. “So young and already so defiant. Have you no shame?” What a spineless, sycophantic worm. I was a fool to ever send Michelle to this school. My eyes darted to a security camera in the corner of the field. “There’s a camera right there. Pull the footage, and let’s see who’s really lying.” The principal’s eyes flickered with panic before he bellowed for security. “Seize him! He’s causing a disturbance and slandering a student! This is outrageous!” Two security guards immediately grabbed my arms. The principal leaned in close, his voice a low, threatening hiss in my ear. “Do you have any idea who you’ve provoked? That is the son of the CEO of Valerius Corp! They’re a titan of industry in this city! Do you really think a nobody like you can afford to fight them? Apologize to them right now, and don’t drag our school down with you!” He pulled back and announced to the surrounding teachers and students, “Given Michelle’s deplorable character and her parent’s disruptive behavior, she is hereby expelled, effective immediately! We will not tolerate such conduct!” I struggled wildly, but the guards and Chad’s bodyguards held me fast. Chad strutted over, his face a mask of triumph, and slapped me twice. The stinging pain was nothing compared to the humiliation. “Not so tough now, are you?” The principal actually nodded in approval. “He deserved that! Someone needs to teach people like him a lesson about their place in the world.” He glared at me. “Are you going to kneel and apologize to Cody or not? Look how you’ve terrified the boy. If this affects his mental well-being, can you bear that responsibility?” I looked at the crowd of liars and cowards, then at my daughter’s tear-filled eyes. Vivian, this bastard you’ve brought into our lives, this spineless principal you’ve bought with your donations… you’ve given me one hell of a surprise. “Kneel?” I let out a cold, humorless laugh. “You just wait. None of you are walking away from this today.” My laugh enraged Chad. He kicked me squarely in the stomach. “Still talking tough? Kneel!” A grunt escaped my lips as the air was forced from my lungs. Seizing the moment of distraction, I threw my weight to the side, knocking the guards off balance. As Chad aimed another kick, I twisted and caught his ankle, sending him tumbling to the ground. “You’re dead!” My vision tunneled red. I lunged forward to finish it, but the bodyguards and security tackled me again, pinning me to the concrete with brutal force. This time, they were merciless, a knee digging into my spine, my arms wrenched behind my back. “Make him kneel!” Chad screamed, his face twisted in pain and fury. One of the bodyguards understood. He released his grip on my head only to slam it down with all his might. My forehead hit the ground with a sickening thud. Darkness swarmed the edges of my vision. They didn’t stop. Once, twice, a third time… Warm blood trickled down from my brow, blurring my sight. “Daddy!” Michelle cried, trying to scramble toward me, but Chad kicked her aside like she was a stray dog. I bit down on my lip, the metallic taste of my own blood filling my mouth. As my consciousness faded, a single, crystal-clear thought burned through the haze. These people… for what they owe me, for what they owe Michelle… they will repay it a hundred times over. 3 Just as the world was spinning into darkness, a sleek sports car screeched onto the field, pulling to a halt nearby. It was Vivian. I was about to call out her name when I realized she hadn’t even glanced in my direction, or Michelle’s. In that moment of distraction, I managed to pull out my phone and send a quick text to my father. She ran straight to Chad, kneeling beside him and taking his arm. “Chad, Cody, are you two alright?” Seeing her, Cody immediately threw himself into her arms, wailing dramatically. “Mommy, they were bullying me! I won first place, but that girl Michelle got mad and tried to push me! She fell down herself, and then her dad attacked us and hurt my daddy so bad!” Chad, clutching his ankle, sighed with practiced weariness. “Vivian, honey, I didn’t want to bother you with this, but they were just… awful. It was an accident when Michelle fell, and we were willing to pay for her medical bills, but her father just came out of nowhere and started hitting me…” Vivian’s expression grew darker with every word. She finally turned her head, her gaze landing on me and Michelle for the first time. A flicker of shock crossed her face when she saw the blood on my forehead, the red marks on Michelle’s cheek, and the cast on her leg. But it was instantly replaced by disgust.

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Senior year, my parents cut off all my living expenses, trying to force me to drop out of high school. With nowhere else to go, I walked through the gilded gates of Sterling Crest Academy, a boarding school teeming with the children of the one percent. My grades were my golden ticket; the school had waived my tuition. But I still needed to eat. After two weeks of gnawing hunger, dressed in my most threadbare clothes, I finally worked up the nerve. I turned to the classroom of trust-fund kids who treated school like a social club. “Does… does anyone need homework done? It’s… it’s just five bucks a page.” The boisterous chatter of princes and princesses, busy comparing their summer yachts and winter chalets, died down. Every eye in the room swiveled to me, a mix of shock and morbid curiosity on their faces. A moment of stunned silence, and then, an eruption. “Five bucks? Who do you think you’re insulting? I’ll give you five hundred. Do mine first!” “Five thousand! I’m first in line!” “Fifty thousand! In cash!” “Forget bidding. A hundred grand. I dare any of you to try and take my spot!” 1 The day I was kicked out of my home, I had just started my senior year. My father’s face was a mask of fury, his finger jabbing at my nose. “Other girls your age are already bringing value to their families, getting married! But you? All you do is bleed me dry. You’re a worthless money pit.” My mother chimed in, her tone dripping with faux sympathy. “Aria, if you don’t find a husband, how is your brother Kyle supposed to have a future? Where will the money for his life come from?” I clutched a stack of academic awards, my voice raw as I argued with them, but it was useless. I fled the house, his voice chasing me down the street. “Let’s see how long you last before you come crawling back! How are you going to even think about college without my money?” With my transcript in hand, I went from one high school to another. The answer was always the same. “Your grades are impressive, Aria, but who’s to say they won’t slip in your final year?” “The best we can offer is to waive your tuition.” It wasn’t enough. Clutching my last shred of hope, I found myself standing before Sterling Crest Academy. This was a playground for the rich and famous, a sea of trust-fund babies. Their days were a blur of petty fights and ostentatious displays of wealth. No one cared about academics. For them, college entrance exams were just a formality before they were all shipped off to study abroad. When I stood in the admissions office, my worn-out clothes a stark contrast to the polished mahogany, the Dean of Students gave me a once-over, her gaze dripping with disdain. “Are you certain you want to be here? Aren’t you afraid you’ll be eaten alive?” I shook my head, my jaw set. “As long as you can waive my tuition… and maybe offer a small scholarship…” My voice dropped to a whisper. “Just a little… maybe a hundred, no, fifty dollars a month would be enough. I promise I’ll work harder than anyone. I’ll bring honor to this school when I get into the Ivy League.” The dean nodded, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes. She agreed. I clutched the ten thousand dollars they advanced me from a special “hardship fund,” a torrent of thank-you tumbling from my lips as I backed out of her office. The moment the heavy door clicked shut, I heard her scoff to someone in the room. “Fifty bucks a month? Who does she think she’s kidding?” 2 I made it. I was standing in a Sterling Crest classroom. The usual cacophony of the rich and bored paused as they took me in, their eyes wide with a mix of confusion and amusement. “What is she wearing? Are those… holes? Is that Louis Vuitton’s new war-torn Baghdad collection?” “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s obviously Chanel’s dystopian couture.” “The fabric is incredible, though. It’s so worn, but it hasn’t completely disintegrated. Can’t be designer. Only cheap knock-offs are built to last like that.” “Oh, you’d know all about cheap, wouldn’t you?” “Are you calling me cheap? You’re dead! I’m telling my father to pull all his investments from your family’s company tomorrow!” Two of the boys were now wrestling on the floor between desks. I calmly navigated around them, my face a mask of neutrality, and found my assigned seat in the corner, right next to the trash can. I tuned out the whispers and jeers. After the things I’d heard from my own parents, the taunts of these spoiled brats were like background noise. I had a place to study. I had a shot at a real future. That’s all that mattered. To my surprise, no one actively bullied me. During a break, a girl with bright, curious eyes and a genuinely sweet smile bounced over to my desk. Her name was Willow Fairchild. “Aria,” she said, her head tilted. “Why are your clothes so… vintage? Didn’t you like any of the new season’s collections?” “Is it possible,” I said dryly, “that I simply can’t afford them?” “Why not? Did your parents cut off your allowance? You can just draw from your trust fund, can’t you?” I sighed. A trust fund. What was that? Willow propped her chin on her hand. “So, how’d you get here this morning?” “I walked. Woke up before dawn.” “Why didn’t you just have your driver bring you?” “I don’t have a car. Or a driver.” “Oh. Well, why not take your motorcycle?” “Don’t have one of those either.” “Oh! I get it,” she said, her eyes lighting up. “You only fly. Your helicopter must be in for repairs this morning, right?” I hid my face behind my textbook. Forget it. We were speaking different languages. 3 Two weeks into the semester, I was a ghost, a shadow in the corner of the classroom, devouring textbooks and practice exams. The teachers started to notice me, to appreciate me. I was the only student who actually listened, the only one who would raise a hand to answer a question, saving them from the awkward silence of a room full of disinterest. But my focus was starting to fray. I was hungry. So hungry my stomach felt like a hollow, aching pit. I felt like I could gnaw on the corner of my desk. My tuition was covered, but I still needed a place to live. The dean had flatly refused my request to stay in the dorms, claiming my “socio-economic background” would make the other students uncomfortable. So, I had to rent a room off-campus. And in New York City, that was a nightmare. After haggling until my throat was raw, a landlord finally agreed to let me pay six months’ rent upfront for a tiny attic room in a crumbling building miles away in the outer boroughs. My ten-thousand-dollar scholarship advance evaporated, leaving me with just five hundred dollars. After paying for utilities and a metro card, I had nothing left. My grades weren’t good enough yet to guarantee an Ivy League acceptance, so I didn’t dare ask the dean for more money. My life was a frantic balancing act, and despite studying every waking moment, my last exam score was only good enough for a decent state school, not Harvard or Yale. I wasn’t some protagonist from a fantasy novel who could ace every test while juggling a dramatic love life. I was just Aria, and I was starving. It had been over eight hours since my last meal—a half-eaten steak and a mostly intact tuna sandwich I’d salvaged from the cafeteria trash can yesterday. It was delicious, but it wasn’t nearly enough. I bit my lip, watching my classmates pack up for the day. They were chattering about a golf trip to the Hamptons, or maybe a party on someone’s yacht. I squeezed my hand into a fist, my nails digging into my palm. Steeling myself, I stood up and spoke, my voice barely a whisper. “Excuse me… does anyone need homework done? I’m… I’m only charging five bucks a page.” 4 I’d never seen any of these kids do a single piece of homework. Every assignment the teachers gave was dutifully noted by me and me alone, completed under the dim light of a salvaged desk lamp in my sweltering attic room. My question hung in the air. The boisterous chatter of princes and princesses, busy planning their evening’s extravagances, died down. Every eye in the room swiveled to me, their expressions a perfect tableau of disbelief. Willow’s voice, laced with genuine confusion, was the first to break the silence. “Aria, our class president… you actually do the homework?” Ever since I’d become the teachers’ pet, I’d been “promoted” to class president. The title mostly meant I was responsible for all the classroom chores. My voice was as small as a mosquito’s buzz. “Yes. I’m fast, and I’m good. My work is almost always a hundred percent correct. If you ever need someone… you could consider me.” I swallowed hard, trying to sound business-like. “And I’m not expensive. Five dollars per worksheet. Buy four, get one free.” Remembering that their families were all business magnates, I quickly added, “The price is, of course, negotiable.” The shock on their faces cracked, replaced by something wild and competitive. A wave of shouts crashed over me. “Five bucks? Are you kidding me? Who do you think you’re insulting? Five hundred! I want you to do mine first! I want my dad to see that his son is finally hitting the books.” “Five hundred? That’s pathetic. I’ll pay five thousand for the top spot!” “Fifty thousand! In U.S. dollars! Money is the one thing I’m not short on!” “To hell with bidding! I’m putting a hundred grand on the table. Let’s see who’s got the deepest pockets tonight. First one’s mine, and I dare anyone to challenge me!” 5 The classroom descended into chaos. The numbers they were throwing around were getting more and more absurd, as if my scribbled calculus solutions were lost Shakespearean folios. “No, no, please!” I waved my hands frantically. “It’s just five dollars. I can’t take more. If you’re serious, I’ll just take you in the order you asked.” I tried to explain. “It’s just math and science. It won’t take me that long.” This had to be a long-term business. A steady stream of income. I was terrified that if I took too much, one of their parents would notice and shut the whole thing down. I’d learned my lesson back in middle school when I took a six-dollar rush job and the kid’s mom called my house, screaming at me for an hour. The shouting continued, but Willow, with surprising swiftness, claimed the first spot. She triumphantly transferred twenty dollars to my phone. My second-hand phone lagged for a full minute before the transaction confirmed. Staring at the balance—$20.00—a jolt of pure joy shot through me. “You can count on me, Willow,” I promised, my voice filled with genuine gratitude. “I’ll make sure your homework is a work of art.” That day, I made one hundred dollars. Five assignments. I stayed up until one in the morning, meticulously completing each one. I never took on more than I could handle perfectly. Quality was my brand. The next day, as the final bell rang, I watched another hundred dollars appear in my account. I was about to grab the tattered—but authentic—Chanel backpack I’d fished from a dumpster and head home when a figure blocked my path. It was Seraphina Covington, the undisputed queen of the school, the richest and most volatile of them all. She examined her diamond-encrusted nails, then flicked her chin towards her two loyal followers. “Drag her to the girls’ bathroom.” 6 Even the bathrooms at Sterling Crest were more spacious and opulent than my entire attic apartment. But that was cold comfort as sweat beaded on my forehead. School was out. The halls were empty. No one would hear me scream. Was this it? Was she going to beat me up? But why? What had I done? Since the day I’d arrived, I had made myself as small and invisible as possible. I was a ghost, a non-entity. When they flaunted their new toys in my face, I would stare at the dizzying logos and quickly say, “Wow, that’s beautiful. It must have been incredibly expensive.” That always seemed to satisfy them. “Expensive?” they’d scoff. “Only a pauper like you would think so. This little thing was barely a million.” The five dollars I’d earned from her last night wouldn’t even buy a single thread on one of her handbags. Seraphina smiled, a slow, menacing curl of her lips. She reached out and tipped my chin up with a perfectly manicured finger. “You’re our class president…” She drew the words out, each syllable a drop of ice water on my skin. My heart hammered against my ribs. I frantically replayed the last month in my head. I’d never crossed Seraphina. I praised her wealth. I did her homework on time. Her fiancé, Julian, was also in our class, and the only thing I’d ever said to him was, “Julian, Seraphina’s waiting for you downstairs. Something about taking the yacht out.” I couldn’t think of a single thing I’d done to offend her. Her two friends gripped my arms, their fingers digging in like talons. I couldn’t move. Okay, Aria, I thought, my mind racing. If it comes to it, drink some toilet water, beg for mercy. Whatever it takes to appease the queen. Just let me stay in this school. Seraphina leisurely pulled out her phone. The sharp tap-tap-tap of her nails on the screen was the only sound in the cavernous room. Her voice, crisp and clear, echoed from above me. “In a moment, you’re going to talk. Make sure you know what to say… and what not to say.” 7 My heart pounding in my throat, I watched as she dialed a number. A deep, authoritative man’s voice answered on the other end. “Seraphina, sweetheart, what is it?” “Daddy,” she cooed, her voice all sugar and honey. “You won’t believe it, but I did all my homework myself last night. My fingers are still aching! If you don’t believe me, ask my class president. She’s the one who’s on track for a full ride to Yale, you know.” She held the phone out to me, her eyes flashing a silent, deadly warning. I swallowed, my mouth completely dry. “Hello, Mr. Covington. My name is Aria Thorne. I’m… I’m the class president. And, uh… Seraphina really did do her own homework.” “Is that so? When did she find the time?” My brain kicked into overdrive. Seraphina had been out on her yacht all evening. There were no witnesses at sea. “Right after school, sir. She said she wanted to focus on her studies, so she stayed late in the library to finish her assignments.” A satisfied smile bloomed on Seraphina’s face. She nodded. “You hear that, Daddy? I really did it.” “Haha! That’s my girl! Finally taking your studies seriously. You know what? I’m adding an extra million to your monthly allowance as a reward!” Seraphina hung up, looking smug. “You’re smarter than you look,” she said, her voice back to its usual icy tone. “I’m the sole heir to the Covington Corporation. My father doesn’t have any other children, no bastards hiding in the woodwork. The entire empire will be mine.” She leaned in close. “From now on, you do my homework every day. And don’t worry,” she added with a smirk, “I’ll make it worth your while. But if you even think about crossing me… you’ll find out that there are fates worse than being poor.” I nodded frantically, like a bobblehead doll. The hands on my arms released their grip. Seraphina sauntered out, her heels clicking on the marble floor. Only when she was gone did I dare to breathe again. I snatched my bag from the floor and bolted, my heart still hammering as I ran for home. The detour had cost me time. By the time my long journey back to my attic was over, the sky was already turning a dusky gray. All I could think about was the mountain of homework waiting for me. I hurried my steps. As I turned into the dilapidated alley leading to my building, two figures stepped out of the shadows. They had been waiting. My father’s voice, cold and chilling, cut through the evening air. “You’ve been hiding for a month. Did you really think I wouldn’t find you?”

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Our honeymoon road trip started with my husband, Liam, driving to a crematorium to pick up his apprentice. Her name was Christine, and she was holding an urn. “I’m sorry to intrude, Nora,” Christine said, climbing into the back seat. “But Liam said you were heading south, and it’s on the way to my hometown. I need to take my father’s ashes home.” I stared at Liam, my voice shaking with rage. “So, our honeymoon is going to be the three of us… plus an urn?” Liam’s face was a mask of sincerity. “It’s on the way. We’ll drop her off at the cemetery, and then our honeymoon can officially start. It’ll only be a few hours’ delay.” I got out of the car and made a call. “Mr. Wright? Prepare the divorce papers. Immediately.” 1 I’d been to the South Coast plenty of times, but Liam hadn’t. I tried to console myself with the thought that as long as it was just the two of us, anywhere could be a honeymoon. But Liam didn’t get on the freeway. We were heading in the wrong direction. That’s when I noticed the GPS. The destination was starkly displayed: “Hillside Crematorium.” Liam had insisted on planning the entire honeymoon himself. “You don’t have to worry about a thing,” he’d promised. “Just enjoy the surprise I have planned for you.” He even shot down my suggestion of planning it together, saying the mystery was part of the romance. I guess this was his “surprise.” I stayed silent, staring out the window, steeling myself. Soon, Liam’s phone rang. His voice was gentle. “We’re almost there. Just wait for us at the gate.” Every fantasy I had about our honeymoon shattered the moment the car stopped. Our honeymoon chariot was parked before the solemn gates of a crematorium. My blood ran cold. “Liam,” I said, my voice hoarse, “what are we doing here?” There, not far away, stood Christine, dressed in black, clutching a wooden box wrapped in red cloth. Liam waved her over. She got in, placing the box on the back seat. When she saw me, she managed a weak smile. “Nora, I wanted to take my father’s ashes back to our family plot. Coach Liam said you were heading that way and that it wouldn’t be too much trouble.” My suitcase in the trunk was filled with new swimsuits and elegant dresses, each one a symbol of my anticipation for our time alone. Now, it all felt like a cruel joke. The most ridiculous part? The new, sultry lingerie I’d bought was in a bag on the back seat, currently crushed under her father’s urn. Who goes on a honeymoon with a third person and an urn? A hot rage surged in my chest. “This is our honeymoon, Christine,” I snapped. “You’re not just ‘trouble,’ you’re deliberately ruining this for me!” “And you, Liam!” I turned on him. “On the first day of our honeymoon, you expect me to travel with an urn? Doesn’t that creep you out?” Liam’s brow furrowed in annoyance. “She’s just catching a ride. She’ll be gone once we get there. Can you stop being so cold? Have a little compassion.” 2 “We’re teammates in the cycling club. Shouldn’t we help each other out? We’re taking her home, and it’s not even out of our way. It’s a win-win,” he argued. “Besides, if I get bored on the long drive, Christine can keep me company.” “And Christine’s a young woman, all alone, carrying her father’s ashes. She can’t get a cab out here. If I don’t help her, who will? You’re usually so understanding. What’s wrong with you today?” My eyes burned with unshed tears. I grabbed at my hair in frustration. “Who gave you the right to change our plans without asking me? Who do you think you are?” Christine leaned forward, trying to soothe me. “Nora, please don’t be angry. This is a big day for my father. Please, let the old man rest in peace.” I shoved her hand away. “Don’t touch me.” Christine flinched back, hitting her head on the roof of the car. Liam immediately jumped out and opened her door to check on her. “This is our first honeymoon, and you want me to spend it with someone else? Do you even want to be married to me?” Before Liam could answer, Christine stopped him. “Coach, it’s my fault. I was so caught up in my own grief that I didn’t consider Nora’s feelings. The honeymoon is more important. I’ll figure something out on my own.” Her tears started to fall. “I have no one here. My dad was my only family. I’m sorry, I just wanted to lay him to rest.” “I can ride my bike. I can even walk home if I have to.” She made a show of getting out of the car, looking at me with a mournful expression. “I’m sorry, Nora. You two should get going.” Liam immediately got into the back seat, blocking her way. “You’re not going anywhere. I told you I’d take you. Have you forgotten? I promised I’d always be your pacemaker.” The word “pacemaker” hit me like a ton of bricks. I’d seen it somewhere… Christine’s social media. A picture of a cyclist’s back. The caption read: “You are my pacemaker for life, shielding me from the wind and rain. I am your devoted follower, forever wrapped around you.” So that’s how it was. Christine and Liam met in the cycling club. He always said she was delicate but tough, with incredible perseverance. He put her in charge of organizing many of the club’s events. I’d even heard other members joke that they were the “official couple,” but this was Liam. The man I’d been with since college, who loved me more than life itself. I trusted him more than I trusted myself. But the evidence of his betrayal was right in front of me. Christine was more than just a teammate, and Liam was no longer just the college athlete I fell in love with. A sharp pain lanced through my heart. This was supposed to be the start of our new life together, and it had turned into this. Liam turned back to face me. “Are you going to keep making a scene? Do you have any idea how far we are from the nearest station? How is she supposed to get anywhere, alone, with an urn?” “You know she can’t get a cab here. Are you really going to pick a fight over something so small when she needs help the most?” He got back into the driver’s seat. I caught a whiff of sweat and something else, something acrid. It was the smell of a serious cyclist, the kind who rides without underwear. A wave of nausea washed over me. It was the scent Christine had left on him when she leaned against him. I turned away in disgust. He turned to Christine. “Sit tight. I said I’d get you there today, and I will.” 3 Blinded by fury, I got out of the car. I yanked open the back door. “Christine, this is my honeymoon. Please get out. I do not consent to you being in this car.” “I can call a car from my company to take you anywhere you need to go.” “Liam, get her out of the car right now, or this trip is over.” He stared at me from the driver’s seat, his patience worn thin. “Just get in the car. I’ll drop you off at the first resort on our itinerary. You can start enjoying yourself. As soon as I get Christine to the cemetery and her father is buried, I’ll come right back.” Christine looked at me, tears streaming down her face. She defiantly wiped them away. “Fine. I won’t ruin your trip. I hope you have a wonderful honeymoon.” Then she looked at Liam, her eyes wet. “You should go. I told you we weren’t heading in the same direction. Why make Nora upset? Just let me figure it out myself.” She lowered her head, clutching the wooden box. “Dad, I’m taking you home.” All talk, no action. She hadn’t moved an inch. Liam, however, exploded. He leaped out of the car, stormed over to me, shoved me aside, and slammed the back door shut. I tried to open it again. He pushed me to the ground. “Enough! How long are you going to drag this out? It’s just a short ride! We’re married now, what are you so afraid of?” “You’re my wife now. You have everything. Why are you making things so hard for Christine? She just wants to honor her father. Are you really going to abandon her here?” “If I had known you’d become this cold and heartless, I never would have proposed.” His every word was an icicle stabbing into my heart. Liam and I met in college. He was an athlete, full of life and energy, but his family was modest, and he was held back by finances. I was the one who bought him his expensive equipment. I scrimped and saved, using the money my parents gave me to buy him three different high-end bicycles, costing a small fortune. After graduation, to support his dream, I begged my father to use his connections to secure the first and most crucial sponsorship for his fledgling cycling club. Finally, his career took off. He went from a small club founder to a nationally recognized event planner. And finally, he gave me a grand, public proposal. I invited all our friends and family to witness our happiness. I thought our future would be as straight and bright as a well-planned race route. But now, watching him defend another woman, watching our honeymoon turn into a funeral procession, I finally understood. Everything had gone off track long ago. I was just the last to know. Liam looked down at me coldly. “I’m giving you two options. One, get in the car, and we stick to the plan. Two, if you insist on making a scene, you can stay here. After all, you’re the one who doesn’t want to be with us, right?” In the reflection of the rearview mirror, I saw a flash of triumph in Christine’s eyes. “Nora, don’t be angry,” Christine said from the car. “Let me talk to him.” Then she turned to Liam. “Coach, don’t be like that. Nora just doesn’t understand the team spirit of us cyclists. You can’t blame her. She’s always been so supportive of the club. You can’t yell at her just because she’s throwing a little tantrum.” Liam snorted. “I’ve spoiled her. That’s why she’s so entitled.” “Get out! Both of you, just get out!” Hearing Christine’s fake peacemaking, her subtle instigation, I lost it. Liam got back in the car. I stared at him in disbelief. He said, word by word, “Fine. If you choose not to get in, you can figure it out yourself.” He rolled up the window, started the engine, and the car sped away without a moment’s hesitation, leaving me alone in front of the crematorium. The honeymoon itinerary slipped from my hand, falling to the ground where it was run over by his tires, left stained and ruined. I stood there, motionless, as my phone buzzed. It was a text from Liam. Since you’re being so immature, I guess you weren’t that excited about this trip after all. Calm down and look at the itinerary. Meet me at the next resort. I’ll come find you after I drop Christine off. I expect my wife to be reasonable and considerate, not selfish and narrow-minded like you. 4 My heart went cold. I let the tears dry on my face, then wiped away the tracks they left. I stood up straight and made a call. “Mr. Wright? Prepare the divorce papers. Yes, immediately.” “And file to freeze all joint assets between myself and Liam.” I hung up and dialed another number. A calm voice answered. “Happy honeymoon, Nora.” I stared at the horizon. “Sheldon, I need a pilot. Now.” “Bring your private helicopter and pick me up. I want to go somewhere I can actually have a honeymoon.” “Send me your location,” he said. “I’ll be there in thirty.” With my arrangements made, I waited. Sheldon Vance. The son of my father’s business partner, and Liam’s biggest rival in the industry. My parents had always preferred him, but for Liam’s sake, I had shut down every possibility. They had warned me that Liam’s ego was fragile. He enjoyed the path I paved for him but resented the powerful family behind me. That was why he always insisted I stay out of his “professional domain” and be the supportive woman behind the man. I never listened, convinced he was just trying to protect me from stress. Now I understood. He was afraid my light would outshine his. Afraid people would know his success was built on my family’s support. Less than thirty minutes later, a thunderous roar grew closer. A helicopter hovered steadily over a nearby clearing. Sheldon leaned out of the cockpit and extended a hand. “Nora, your new journey starts now.” I took a deep breath and his hand. “First stop, the Maldives.” Meanwhile, Liam and Christine were on the road to her hometown. Christine rested her head on his shoulder. “Coach, will she ever understand us?” Liam stroked her hair. “It doesn’t matter. As long as I understand you, that’s enough.” Christine’s eyes were red. “But you’re married now. I know I have no right to say anything. Just being able to see you is enough. But it still hurts. I admit I’m jealous. I don’t want to see you with her.” “Am I being selfish? I don’t want to come between you. I know you have a responsibility to Nora. But I can’t control my heart. I just want to ride with you until the very end.” Seeing her tear-streaked face, Liam pulled her into a hug and kissed her forehead. “Silly girl, don’t overthink it. Besides marriage, everything I can give you, I will.” “But I am married. I can’t betray Nora. I’ll take care of you, but we have to keep our distance.” Christine buried her face in his chest, sobbing harder, but a flicker of triumph crossed her face. Liam’s phone vibrated violently. First, a text from the bank: all joint accounts had been frozen. Then, an email popped up. The subject line: “Divorce Agreement, sent on behalf of Ms. Nora Vance.” His heart sank. His financial manager called immediately, his voice frantic. “Liam, are you insane? You left Nora on the side of the road?” “Do you have any idea what she’s done? Check the news! Sheldon Vance sent his helicopter for her!” “Are you kidding me? Her family’s lawyers have already contacted me. She’s divorcing you and wants me to liquidate the company’s assets.”

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1 When the city’s richest man came to the orphanage to find his long-lost daughter, I threw myself at his feet. My best friend—the real heiress—silently pressed the family locket into my hand. She knew the truth: in our last life, she’d died mysteriously within a month of joining that family. I’d later discovered why. The fake heiress, Vivi, had a Pain Transference System—every “injury” she suffered was diverted to my friend. To avenge her, I’d jumped from a tower, dragging Vivi with me. Now, reborn, I faced Vivi’s smirk as she whispered, “Sister, welcome home.” I smiled back. “Good to be back, little sister.” What she didn’t know? I feel no pain—and I brought a Hundred-Fold Rebound System. This time, I’d be the one facing her. … “Sister, you’re finally back.” The moment Vivi Blackwell looked at me, her eyes filled with tears and her voice trembled. “Dad talks about you all the time. I… I’ve been so eager to meet you.” Arthur Blackwell, now my father in name, stood by, a mixture of awkwardness and pity for Vivi on his face. He patted my shoulder, his tone gentle. “You two are sisters now. You must get along.” I nodded, saying nothing. Get along with an enemy who wanted me dead at every turn? Sure. I’d be happy to dance on her grave. The atmosphere at dinner was… delicate. Mr. Blackwell tried his best to liven things up, constantly piling food onto my plate and asking about my life at the orphanage. I answered concisely, my attention fixed on Vivi, who sat opposite me. She didn’t disappoint. A tureen of steaming hot consommé had just been served. As soon as the maid placed it beside her, Vivi’s arm “slipped,” her elbow knocking precisely against the edge of the bowl. “Ah!” With a delicate cry, the scalding soup splashed across the back of her hand. In the instant Mr. Blackwell and the staff shot up in alarm, I saw a fleeting, triumphant sneer flash across Vivi’s lips. Her eyes were locked on me, gleaming with venomous anticipation. Here we go. In our last life, a bowl of soup just like this one was the beginning of my friend’s nightmare, the first wave of transferred agony. I knew she was waiting, expecting me to scream from the searing pain she was now channeling my way. But she was about to be disappointed. One second. Two. Three. Nothing. I was born without a sense of pain. Her system was useless against me. Instead, a cold, mechanical voice echoed in my mind. [Malicious attack detected.] [Hundred-Fold Rebound System activated.] The scene she’d envisioned—me screaming in agony—never happened. Instead, it was Vivi whose triumphant face twisted into a mask of pure horror, her delicate features contorting in pain. A shriek, so shrill it barely sounded human, ripped from her throat. “AAAAAAH—” This scream was a hundred times more genuine than her first theatrical cry. Everyone froze, stunned by her sudden outburst. The hand that had been splashed with soup was turning a furious, angry red before our eyes. Blisters, shiny and taut, erupted across her skin as if she’d been branded with a hot iron. “Vivi! What’s wrong?” Mr. Blackwell, horrified, reached for her hand but recoiled from the astonishing heat. “It hurts! It hurts so much! Dad! My hand feels like it’s going to fall off!” Vivi wailed, tears and snot streaming down her face as she slid from her chair. She thrashed on the floor, all traces of her prim and proper heiress persona gone. I immediately stood up, my face a perfect picture of confusion and panic, and rushed to her side. “Vivi, what’s happening? It was just a little splash of soup! Why does it hurt so much?” As I spoke, I looked at Mr. Blackwell with feigned helplessness. “Dad, call a doctor!” Mr. Blackwell stared at his wailing daughter on the floor, then at me. For the first time, a flicker of doubt and scrutiny entered his eyes. He was right to be confused. It was just a splash of soup. Even if it stung, who would react by writhing in agony on the ground? I knelt beside her, a cold smile hidden behind my worried expression as I watched her pain-twisted face. This is only the beginning. Vivi, in this life, every “gift” you try to give me, I will return a hundred times over. The show has just begun. 2 The family doctor was called for Vivi’s hand. After hours of examination, he could only conclude that she was “overly sensitive” or having an “extreme allergic reaction.” After all, besides the frightening patch of red, swollen blisters, there was no sign of any deeper tissue damage. He prescribed some burn cream, offered a few words of advice, and left with his medical bag. For the first time, Mr. Blackwell looked at his daughter with a gaze full of incomprehension and exhaustion. Vivi, however, lay in her bed and glared at me with eyes full of poison. She didn’t believe it. She refused to believe her system had failed. In her mind, last night was a fluke. A one-time accident. The next morning, I came downstairs feeling refreshed and ready for breakfast. As I reached the top of the grand staircase, I saw Vivi waiting for me. She wore a silk nightgown, her face pale. She leaned against the banister, the very picture of frail beauty. When she saw me, a flash of hatred and certainty flickered in her wide eyes. “Good morning, sister.” She offered me a weak smile. I smiled back. “Morning.” Just as I moved to walk past her, she timed it perfectly. Her foot “accidentally” twisted. With a short, sharp gasp, she threw herself headfirst down the stairs. She even made sure to nudge me with her elbow, ensuring I had a clear view of her “accidental” fall. In that instant, I felt a wave of malicious energy, far stronger than the soup incident, surge toward me. It was an invisible net, woven with the projected agony of falling, of impact, of breaking bones, and it was meant to engulf me. In Vivi’s script, I should have been the one screaming as I tumbled down the stairs, ending in a bloody heap at the bottom while she stood safely at the top. However, the moment that energy touched my body, it hit an invisible wall. It was instantly absorbed, compressed, and then, with even greater ferocity, reflected. The cold, mechanical voice in my head spoke again. [Lethal physical attack detected.] [Hundred-Fold Rebound System activated.] I stood perfectly still at the top of the stairs, not a single thread of my clothing disturbed. But Vivi, who had already “fallen” halfway down, seemed to hang suspended in mid-air for a bizarre, unnatural moment. Then, a scream a hundred times more piercing than the night before—a sound that could shatter eardrums—erupted from the depths of her throat. “AAAAAAAHHH!!!” It was a sound of pure, unadulterated agony and utter disbelief, as if, in that one second, she had truly experienced the sensation of rolling down a dozen stairs, of every single bone in her body snapping. Her body went limp like a marionette with its strings cut, and she crashed heavily onto the carpet at the bottom of the staircase. She lay twisted in a horribly unnatural position, convulsed violently a few times, and then her head lolled to the side. She was out cold. The maids downstairs, terrified by the sudden chaos, screamed and rushed over. Startled by the commotion, Mr. Blackwell burst out of his study. When he saw Vivi lying motionless on the floor and me standing unharmed at the top of the stairs, he froze. I immediately adopted a look of sheer panic and scrambled down the steps. “Vivi! Vivi, what happened! Wake up!” I shook her, my voice thick with tears. “Dad! Call an ambulance! Vivi fell down the stairs!” Mr. Blackwell rushed over. He first checked Vivi’s breathing and, confirming she was only unconscious, let out a small sigh of relief. But he didn’t immediately call for an ambulance. Instead, he slowly stood up, lifted his head, and looked at me with an incredibly complex expression. The confusion from last night was gone. In its place was a deep, undisguised suspicion. He was silent for a full ten seconds, the entire hall deathly quiet. Then, in a voice as cold as ice, he asked me, word by word: “She fell. Why were you still standing at the top?” 3 Mr. Blackwell’s voice was like a block of ice crashing against my heart. But my face couldn’t show a single crack. I let out a violent shiver, tears instantly welling in my eyes. My body began to tremble uncontrollably, as if his accusation had shattered my courage. “I… I was scared stiff, Dad.” My voice, thick with sobs, was a complete wreck. “She… she just fell, straight down. I tried to grab her, but I couldn’t reach… It was too fast, everything happened too fast…” As I spoke, I crawled the rest of the way down the stairs on my hands and knees. I threw myself next to Vivi, crying my heart out. “Vivi, don’t scare me! Wake up!” My acting skills, honed over a lifetime of needing to pretend in my past life, were flawless. Mr. Blackwell looked at me, the suspicion in his eyes not lessening, but he didn’t press further. He was a businessman; he wouldn’t jump to conclusions without concrete evidence. He simply scowled and had the butler call an ambulance. Vivi was still unconscious when they carried her away. A heavy gloom settled over the Blackwell estate. That afternoon, the hospital called. Mr. Blackwell put it on speakerphone, and I sat opposite him, listening quietly. “Mr. Blackwell, we’ve conducted a full-body examination on Miss Vivi, including a CT scan and an MRI. Her bones, internal organs, brain… there’s absolutely no damage.” The doctor’s voice was filled with bewilderment. “No damage? Then why did she pass out from the pain?” Mr. Blackwell’s brow was furrowed into a deep knot. “Well… physiologically, we can’t find a cause. After she woke up, she was extremely agitated, insisting that her entire body was in agony, but even a pain pump had minimal effect. After a consultation with a neurologist, the preliminary diagnosis is… it might be a psychosomatic episode.” “Meaning… the pain is psychological. A powerful delusion.” Psychosomatic. I almost laughed out loud. The diagnosis was the perfect cover story, tailor-made for me. Mr. Blackwell hung up the phone and was silent for a long time. He stared out the window, his expression dark and terrifying. A perfectly healthy daughter, repeatedly experiencing exaggerated, dramatic pain from “accidents,” now diagnosed with a psychological condition. The strangeness of it all was enough to make any sane person deeply suspicious. And I seized this golden opportunity. I had to find the system’s conduit. The torment my friend, Valerie, had endured in our past life couldn’t have been created from thin air. Such power, defying all scientific reason, had to have a physical object at its core. My mind raced, replaying every detail I could remember about Vivi. What was it that she almost never took off? A piece of clothing? Jewelry? Or… It hit me like a lightning bolt. 4 A necklace. A platinum necklace, seemingly simple, that I had never once seen her remove. Whether she was at a gala, lounging at home, or even bathing, that necklace was always clasped around her neck. In my past life, I’d dismissed it as a favorite piece of jewelry. Now, I realized it was very likely the source of all her evil. I had to be sure. I walked over to Mr. Blackwell, my face a mask of carefully crafted worry and guilt. “Dad, I want to go to the hospital to see my sister. No matter what, this happened right in front of me. I… I just can’t feel at ease.” Mr. Blackwell gave me a complicated look but eventually nodded. “Go. Have the driver take you.” In the VIP suite, Vivi was lying in bed. She’d probably been given a sedative and was sleeping soundly. The pristine white sheets made her small face look even more pale and pitiful. I told the maid to wait outside and went in alone. First, I checked her handbag on the nightstand. Just cosmetics and a phone. Nothing unusual. I looked through the clothes she’d changed out of. Nothing there, either. Finally, my gaze fell upon her neck. The platinum chain rested quietly against her collarbone. The pendant was a unique, small teardrop, glinting coldly in the soft hospital light. That was it. I took a deep breath and slowly reached out, pretending to adjust the corner of her blanket. My fingertips crept cautiously toward the teardrop pendant. I had to know what its secret was. Just as my finger was about to touch the cold metal, something happened.

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At Crestwood Prep, my only joy was eating in the cafeteria. When classmates called me a fat pig, I’d grin: “Mom’s the top hog breeder in our county.” Then bullies shoved scholarship student Ramona into my food tray. The cafeteria roared as she lifted her head, her gaze chilling. Text scrolled in my vision: [You’re screwed! The heroine’s going dark! In 10 years, she’ll kill everyone here.] I hiccuped in terror. Lose my lunch and get murdered later? Ramona staggered away as the chat pitied her: [Bullying gave her anorexia. Only the male lead cures her—she stays loyal even when he hurts her.] Key detail: Cure her anorexia = Survive. I called Mom: “Got a project—an 80-pound ‘piglet.’ Pretty skinny one.” 1 “What? Son, isn’t that a little… lean for a pig?” My mom, a professional livestock breeder, sounded unimpressed. “Slip of the tongue, slip of the tongue!” I corrected myself. “Not a pig, a person. A scholarship student at my school. She’s so skinny you can count her ribs.” “Ribs?” my mom’s voice immediately brightened. “Now those are delicious! Great in a soup, or braised…” “Mom!” “Misheard you, misheard you! It’s noisy over here. So, you’re raising a classmate, not a pig, right? No problem! You bring her home, and I guarantee I’ll have her fattened up to a hundred and sixty pounds and ready for market in no time!” Hearing my mom’s promise, I breathed a massive sigh of relief. With her on the case, Ramona’s anorexia should be manageable, which meant my life was no longer on the line. I took off at a full sprint and caught up with Ramona. “Hey, classmate! Want to come over to my place for dinner?” The girl, who looked like a walking stick, slowly turned. Her school uniform was still stained with the gravy from my lunch tray. Her eyes were hollow, a ghost in a school uniform. At my invitation, she let out a cold, bitter laugh. “What’s this? Some new kind of prank?” I waved my hands frantically. “No, you’ve got it all wrong! I’m not with them. I just… you look a little thin. I wanted to invite you to my house for a meal.” Ramona acted as if she hadn’t heard me, turning to walk away. I rushed after her, pleading with all my heart. “Ramona, the food at my house is amazing! If you don’t believe me, just smell your uniform.” Hesitantly, she pinched the fabric of her shirt and gave it a tentative sniff. “See? Smells good, right? Today I had braised chitterlings, and the sauce is my mom’s secret…” Before I could finish, Ramona stumbled over to a wall and retched violently. I was stunned. Chitterlings are a delicacy! Why would she throw up? I crept closer, offering her a tissue with a smile. “Actually, it wasn’t chitterlings. It was pig’s head stew.” “Blech!” She threw up again. “Okay, okay, not stew either. It was offal soup!” “…” This time, Ramona didn’t vomit. She just passed out cold. The live chat reappeared in my vision. [Holy crap, is this guy for real? He knows she hates pork and he just keeps listing pig parts!] [Ramona: Looks like she’s breathing, but I think her soul just left her body.] [This side character has to be doing this on purpose, right? This is some next-level psychological torture!] [Forget physical bullying, this dude attacks the soul!] Feeling wronged, I called my mom. The second she picked up, I started wailing. “Mom! Someone hates pigs! Pigs are so cute, how could anyone hate pigs?!” 2 After I finished my tearful rant, I realized Ramona was still unconscious on the ground. With a sigh, I went to help her up. A well-meaning student came over and asked if I needed a hand. But before he could even finish his sentence, I had already hoisted Ramona onto my shoulder. I gave her a little bounce. She was way too light. Eighty, maybe eighty-five pounds, tops. The student stared, a bit awkwardly. Then, his curiosity got the better of him. “Luke, how are you so strong?” I scratched the back of my head, a little embarrassed. “Grew up carrying piglets. You just get used to it.” I took Ramona to the school infirmary, asked the nurse to get her into a clean set of clothes, and put everything on my tab. That’s the one downside to an elite academy—everything costs a fortune. Thank God for the stack of supplementary black cards my mom gave me. The school nurse put Ramona on an IV drip, her brow furrowed. “This student is suffering from severe malnutrition. If this continues, her prognosis is not optimistic.” I nodded in solemn agreement. “How about you write her a medical leave slip? I can take her home to recover.” Just as the nurse was about to write it, Ramona’s eyes fluttered open. “No,” she said, her voice sharp and final. She tried to pull the IV needle out of her arm. I quickly stopped her. “Ramona, your health is in a really dangerous state right now.” “Look, how about this? You come home with me. I’ll cover your food and housing, and I’ll even pay you a monthly salary. Just… be my personal tutor.” Ramona’s eyes were filled with suspicion. Even the nurse chimed in, “Luke, you know that human trafficking and fraud are illegal, right?” I stomped my foot in frustration. “It’s not a scam, it’s real!” Ramona sneered. “Do you rich people just get off on using your money to trample on other people’s dignity? My life may be worthless, but I won’t accept your humiliating charity!” She threw back the blanket and tried to get out of bed. I was out of options. I had to resort to my mom’s ultimate move. I tossed a card onto her blanket. “There’s ten thousand on this. Come back with me and have one meal.” Ramona froze. I threw down another card. “Fifty thousand.” The nurse cleared her throat. “Luke, is your family perhaps looking to hire a…” “Nope.” The nurse shook her head in disappointment. Just as I was about to throw down a third card, Ramona picked up the first one. Her head was bowed, her expression hidden. “Are you serious?” Her voice was as soft as a feather landing on snow. “Of course!” Ramona looked up, a faint glimmer of light in her eyes. “Then we sign a contract.” “Deal!” We were both in agreement. The live chat, however, was not. [What is this side character doing? Corrupting the heroine with money? And the heroine, seriously, giving in so easily!] [Her dad’s dead, her mom ran off, and the grandma who raised her is critically ill. She’s desperate for money!] [If I could be corrupted by a black card, I’d be open to it…] [Agree.] [Same here.] [Couldn’t agree more.] 3 We signed the contract in my Rolls-Royce, parked just outside the school gates. After signing, Ramona’s gaze on me grew even more complicated. She lowered her head, a self-deprecating smile on her lips. “I’ve taken your money. Now you can humiliate me however you want.” As she spoke, she took my hand and pressed it against her own cheek, her expression vacant. “Hit me as you please. I won’t fight back.” A button on her shirt was undone, and through the gap, I could see angry red marks on her skin. I snatched my hand back as if I’d been electrocuted, shaking it out. “No, no, no! I’m not into hitting people.” Ramona looked at me, her eyes filled with confusion and disbelief. “You gave me the money so you could take out your frustrations on me, right? Or… do you have something even worse in mind?” I was taken aback. I never imagined that’s how she would see things. What on earth had she been through to become this way? “Ramona, your grades are incredible. I’m paying you to tutor me!” Her eyes remained wary, as if the world had never shown her an ounce of kindness. I let out a breath and extended my hand with a smile. “Let’s start over. I’m Luke, from class 2-B. It’s a pleasure to meet you properly.” Ramona hesitantly shook my hand. “Ramona. Class 1-A.” I brought Ramona to my house. Not long after, my mom came home. She had a jade pendant the size of a car air freshener hanging around her neck and two or three thick gold bracelets on each wrist. From head to toe, she screamed one thing: nouveau riche. And she was. That’s why I never talked back when the kids at school called me a rich brat. They were right. Besides, I didn’t see it as an insult. Plenty of people would kill to be nouveau riche. Mom was thrilled to see Ramona. “Well hello there, young lady!” She slapped Ramona on the shoulder, a friendly gesture that sent the poor girl into a fit of coughing. “Mom!” I yelped, rushing to pour Ramona water and pat her back. I tried to smooth things over. “Ramona, please don’t be mad! My mom doesn’t mean any harm, she’s just… got a bit of a strong hand.” If Ramona got angry and added my mom to her future kill list, it would be a disaster. The world of animal husbandry would lose a shining star. Ramona, her face flushed from coughing, just shook her head. “It’s okay, I’m fine.” My mom pulled me aside. “Son, you’ve never brought a classmate home before, especially not a girl! And seeing how nervous you were… don’t tell me you…” She wiggled her eyebrows at me. I didn’t disappoint, nodding firmly. “You’re right, Mom. I like her.” “So, I need you to do whatever it takes to get her healthy, happy, and well-fed!” My mom immediately snapped a salute. “Yes, sir, young master!” When it came to animal husbandry, I trusted my mom completely. When she was young, she raised pigs back in our home county. She was so good at it they called her the Pig Whisperer. Not a single pig she sold weighed less than three hundred pounds. Later, a few colorful birds showed up in our yard. Mom just tossed them some feed on the side. Before we knew it, our yard was overrun. Just as she was about to whip me up a nice pheasant stew, some officials from the city showed up. Turns out they weren’t just any birds; they were a critically endangered species of pheasant. The same birds that experts were struggling to keep alive were thriving and multiplying under my mom’s care. After that, my mom started raising everything. Now, our family owns dozens of large-scale wildlife parks and conservation centers across the country. Ordinary animals come to us and get fattened up like prize hogs before having a dozen babies. Rare animals breed like they’re trying to become an invasive species. If she could handle all those tricky animals, I had no doubt she could handle one skinny girl named Ramona. 4 Ramona, taking her new role as my tutor seriously, started spreading her textbooks out on the dining table, ready to begin my lesson. While she wasn’t looking, I quietly whisked the stack of worksheets and review books away. When Ramona turned back, the papers she had just laid out were gone. She looked around, confused, even checking under the table. “In our house,” I explained quickly, “the dining table is a sacred space. Mundane things like books and papers are not allowed to defile it.” It was a bizarre excuse, and Ramona stared at me for a long moment. I suspected the top chemistry student was trying to analyze the elemental composition of my brain. Before she could produce a new set of worksheets, my mom started bringing out the food. With a platter of Lobster Thermidor in her left hand and a tureen of seared foie gras in her right, she bellowed, “Dinner’s served!” She set the dishes down with a flourish. She winked at Ramona. “Luke told me you don’t like pork, so tonight is a Pork-Free Fiesta!” The name was definitely her creation. Ramona stared at the two extravagant dishes, stunned. After a moment, she stammered, “Isn’t this… a little too much food?” My mom’s use of stainless steel serving platters the size of hubcaps had clearly intimidated her. I was about to explain when our household staff began to march in, a parade of culinary excess. “Roast duck, one whole!” “Bouillabaisse, one tureen!” “Roasted leg of lamb, one!” … I think Ramona’s brain short-circuited. Dish after magnificent dish was placed before her. Things that flew in the sky, ran on the ground, and swam in the sea were all present on our table. Ramona slowly turned to me, her eyes wide with undisguised shock. I held up one of her confiscated worksheets. “See? I told you. No room for study materials on the table.” She frowned, looking completely baffled. The live chat started laughing at me. [Hahaha, he really messed up! The heroine can’t stomach anything rich or meaty at this stage! And he serves her a feast of flesh.] [Does he really think her anorexia is that easy to cure? Only the male lead has the magic touch!] Ramona opened her mouth to speak, but I shot up from my seat. “Wait! I know what you’re going to say!” I turned to my mom, my expression more determined than ever. “Mom, change of plans! Swap out the menu!” Ten minutes later, the table was a sea of green. Several of the salads looked like they’d been plucked from the garden moments ago. I presented a pair of chopsticks to Ramona with both hands, flashing a triumphant smile. “Ramona, please, eat whatever you like.” Who are you kidding? I thought. We’re professional breeders. We can produce any kind of food on demand. That night, Ramona only managed a few bites. My mom and I, on the other hand, ate a field’s worth of salad. Our household staff got the full multi-course feast. As Ramona ate, she took tiny, delicate bites, her brow constantly furrowed as if swallowing was a monumental effort. When it was time for her to leave, I couldn’t stop staring at her. I followed her every move, terrified she might throw up the few precious lettuce leaves she’d managed to eat. Finally, at the door, she couldn’t stand it anymore and asked. “Luke, that thing you said earlier… were you serious?” I blanked. I’d said so many things. Which one was she talking about? Ramona took a deep breath, her slender fingers twisting the hem of her uniform until the fabric was mangled. Her eyes darted around, nervous sweat beading on her forehead. “The part where you said… you… you like me…”

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At the New Year’s Eve gala, my brother, who was supposed to sing, suddenly lost his voice. He was humiliated in front of a national audience. Everyone thought I was the one who drugged him. Even my fiancée joined the crusade to avenge him. Sophia Carlisle cut off all my resources without a second thought. The glory I had fought for for three years was snatched away by her own hands. My stage name, “Zane,” was registered as her trademark; I couldn’t use it commercially without her permission. My songs were reclaimed by the company; without her signature, I no longer had the right to sing them. She even branded me as the other man, accusing me of interfering in their relationship. My moment at the top was shorter than a firework display. 1 While I was being torn to shreds by a relentless storm of online hate, Leo Kane made a high-profile announcement of his relationship. He posted a photo from his hospital bed, no makeup, looking pale but serene. “Sorry to have worried everyone. The doctor says my voice will be fine after half a month of rest. Also, a little update for you all: we’re back together!” In the photo, the notoriously private and never-photographed female CEO was there, her head bowed as she carefully peeled an apple. That woman was my fiancée, Sophia Carlisle. When my parents heard the news, they rushed to the hospital. Over the phone, they refused to listen to a single word of my defense. My mother, hysterical with anger, spat out words she couldn’t take back. “Zane, how could I have raised such a vicious son! If you have any conscience left, you’ll come down here and apologize to your brother right now!” A paparazzo recorded the call and posted it online. Now, the entire internet was convinced. The evidence was irrefutable. I, Zane, was the villain who had drugged his own brother, Leo, during a live New Year’s broadcast because I was afraid of being outshone. And I, Zane Kane, was also the homewrecker who had come between Leo and the CEO of Carlisle Entertainment, serving as his substitute for five years only to tear them apart. “Having a brother like that, Leo Kane must have the worst luck in the world!” “I used to like Zane, but I had no idea he was such a scumbag!” “The other man, and he probably poisoned his own brother? This guy needs to be kicked out of the entertainment industry! Canceled, for good!” I had no way to defend myself. One man’s plea of innocence was a whisper against the hurricane of manufactured outrage and boycotts. All my endorsement deals were terminated. The brands I had signed with demanded compensation. Every penny I had earned over three years was gone, paid out in damages. I was left buried in debt. Perhaps seeing how pathetic I had become, or perhaps wanting to sever ties completely, Sophia finally stepped in and covered the remaining payments. When Leo found out, he wasn’t angry. He was magnanimous. He handed Sophia a bank card with a million dollars on it. “It’s not much, but it’s a gesture,” he said. “Sophia, please tell Zane for me that I don’t hold a grudge. In fact, I’m grateful to him. He gave you back to me, and that’s more important than anything.” “Also, tell him to come home when Mom and Dad have cooled down.” The victor stood alone on his pedestal, basking in the glow of our parents’ favoritism and his lover’s devotion. And me? After years of silent suffering, I was still nothing more than a stray dog kicked to the curb. 【It’s a shame you can’t be here to share my joy.】 【Sophia is throwing a celebration party for me. Want to come?】 The text was from Leo. He was always like this, effortlessly flaunting his perfect life. He was the heir to a wealthy dynasty, the cherished “white moonlight” of a powerful CEO, the successful protagonist of his own story. Even strangers couldn’t help but envy him. “Leo Kane truly has it all!” 2 And I was a rat, crawling through the gutter. No matter how hard I had worked, it was all worthless now. When I didn’t reply, Leo even put on a show at his party, his face a mask of guilt and sadness. “Zane didn’t reply. Is he still angry with me?” Sophia’s expression was unreadable. “If he doesn’t want to come, then don’t worry about him.” Leo and I are fraternal twins. Growing up, he was better than me at everything. I used to wonder if my genes were defective. Compared to my mediocrity, his life was on easy mode. My parents groomed him to be the heir. I was the invisible one, which suited me just fine. It meant freedom. The only thing I was good at, the only place I had any talent, was music. It was Sophia who approached me first, back in our first year of high school. I had just won the school’s singing competition, and she, as the student council president, presented me with the award. Under the spotlight, for the first time, I felt like I had stepped out of Leo’s shadow. I even found a sliver of confidence. As the heiress to Carlisle Entertainment, Sophia took an interest in me. We started spending more time together. I knew Leo was infatuated with Sophia. So when he suddenly developed an interest in music, something he had always scorned, I wasn’t surprised at all. Soon enough, they became the couple everyone envied. After graduation, Sophia offered me a contract with Carlisle Entertainment. That was also the year Leo abruptly rejected the golden path our parents had laid out for him. He vanished, spending six years abroad completely off the grid. Our family was thrown into chaos. Sophia, usually so composed, was devastated. Six years later, when Leo returned, he was a graduate of the Berklee College of Music. With a single tear, he made our relieved parents forget every harsh word they’d planned, and made my fiancée, Sophia, begin to waver, consumed by a guilt she had carried for years. That one tear effortlessly stole everything from me. Now, Leo was basking in the adoration of the public, his name trending on every headline, while I was holed up in a company-owned apartment, teaching myself to write songs. 【The malicious slander, twisted and turned for sport. The years of hard work, dismissed with a careless flick of the wrist.】 My account with ten million followers had long been banned. I started a new one under my real name, Zane Kane, and began uploading my original work. Within half a day, every track was taken down due to malicious reports. The second year of my blacklisting by Sophia. I had no songs to sing, no shows to book. The company gave me zero resources. My manager and assistant were taken away. My contract was a prison, preventing me from even taking on small commercial gigs. My performances were censored, my face blurred out in variety show appearances. As a “disgraced artist,” all my accounts were silenced. Even my burner account on a short-video app was swarmed by haters until it was locked. Meanwhile, under Sophia’s protection, Leo won the “Best New Artist of the Year” award at the National Music Awards. The third year of my blacklisting. Leo competed on Celestial Voice, the top music competition show in the country, and won the title of “King of Singers.” My five-year contract with Carlisle Entertainment finally expired. I did not renew. My former manager, Anna, heard the news and rushed over to persuade me. “Ms. Carlisle is on a business trip in Paris. Why don’t you wait until she gets back?” I knew she was in Paris. In the family group chat I had muted, Leo, who was on vacation with her, was posting photos of their trip almost daily. Seeing my indifference, Anna grew anxious. “Zane, I heard from the higher-ups that before Ms. Carlisle left, she told people to start preparing for your comeback next year. You’ve endured for three years. We’re so close to the finish line. Wouldn’t it be a shame to leave now?” 3 Carlisle Entertainment was a top-tier company, a titan of the industry with immense power, connections, and resources. It was the first choice for countless musicians. But after three years of being crushed under its heel, how could I possibly stay? I continued to organize my lyrics and compositions. Anna pleaded, “Zane, you have to think this through. Once you leave Carlisle, your stage name, your songs—they’re all gone. Are you really willing to let them go?” My hand froze. It was a question I had asked myself a thousand times during a thousand sleepless nights. I didn’t even dare to casually play the songs I had sung countless times. The moment my fingers touched the keys and the intro began, the grief would overwhelm me, and tears would stream down my face. The moment they became a tool for someone to control me, they were no longer mine. I pushed the door open and left without another look back. Anna chased me to the entrance, frantic. “Zane, if Ms. Carlisle doesn’t give the okay, no one in this industry will dare to sign you!” I didn’t turn back. There was nothing here worth looking back for. That night, my phone vibrated. A message from Sophia. 【Have you made up your mind?】 I didn’t reply. I became a spinning top, whipping myself into a frenzy. I started running, constantly moving. I knew it would be hard. Even though three years had passed, no company in the country would dare to sign a disgraced artist like me. Even without Carlisle’s direct pressure, the hashtag #ZaneGetOutOfShowbiz was still trending. “Zane, you’re still singing?” “Sorry, Mr. Kane, but this is a fan-driven market. Our company isn’t willing to take the risk.” “Mr. Kane, we recognize your talent, but our company has a lot of partnerships with Carlisle Entertainment, so…” I walked out of the last agency into a downpour. A curtain of rain blurred the world in front of me. Defeated, I opened my umbrella, a lone black boat adrift in a sea of rush-hour commuters at a crowded intersection. I knew starting over would be difficult. I just didn’t realize it would be impossible. To get a gig, I drank glass after glass with a wealthy female producer. She draped her arm around my shoulders, her touch too familiar. She kissed my cheek, her audacity breathtaking. I ended up hunched over a toilet, vomiting until my throat was raw and bitter. “Don’t be a fool. They’re just messing with you. Who would dare to use you now?” her assistant said, finishing her makeup and glancing at my limp form in the mirror. My head was bowed, my hair a mess. The world was a blur of squalor. I don’t know what happened to me these past two years, but the tears just wouldn’t stop. The moment I looked down, they would fall, relentless and free. I closed my eyes, hot, searing tears pooling in my sockets before spilling over, plunging into a hopeless abyss. The assistant, a woman I’d only just met, seemed to struggle with herself for a moment before pinching her nose and helping me up. “You should go. If you stay any longer, it won’t just be about drinking.” The next day, my name was in the headlines. BREAKING: FORMER POP STAR ZANE REDUCED TO SINGING AT DINNER PARTIES FOR A COMEBACK! The video showed me at the request of a drunk, wealthy woman, standing in front of a crowd, singing an a cappella version of my debut hit, “Radiant Days.” Everyone else was blurred out. Except me. I knew what these women were about, their cruel little games. I could even see the sickening lust in some of their eyes. But I stood up and sang anyway. What if it was a chance? I just didn’t expect that my leaving early would anger someone. They sent the casually recorded video to a gossip account for sport. “So Zane has become a rich woman’s plaything?” “Say what you will, but his three-octave high notes are still unmatched.” “Hate to admit it, but the comment above is right.” “How dare this jinx show his face again? Shouldn’t you just fade into obscurity with your precious master? Why do you have to come out and disgust people?” 4 “That’s just what homewreckers do. They’ll do anything for fame and fortune.” When public opinion decides to destroy someone, they see that person’s very existence as a mistake. My father’s call came for the first time in three years. He launched into a tirade. “Zane, are you not going to stop until you’ve completely disgraced the Kane family name?” I hung up. I didn’t want to hear any more. I drew the heavy curtains in my rented apartment, blocking out the sunlight that seemed to mock me, and buried myself completely under the covers. Five hours after the scandal broke, I got a call from Sophia. “Zane, you really know how to piss me off.” Her voice was devoid of any warmth in the darkness. I heard that the usually stoic CEO, Ms. Carlisle, had been uncharacteristically furious during a financial report meeting today for some unknown reason. In the room, the only light was the name “Sophia Carlisle” glowing on my phone screen, so bright it hurt my eyes. “I’m asking you one last time. Are you coming back or not?” Her voice was as cold and unyielding as I remembered. “Sophia, do you still think I was the one who drugged him?” My hand gripping the phone was nearly white. “Does it matter?” she retorted. I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood. A profound sense of powerlessness washed over me. She was right. It didn’t matter. To her, nothing I did mattered as much as a single one of his tears. My efforts, my explanations—they were all meaningless. I hung up, feeling as if I had been plunged into an icy abyss. It was only then that I realized the truth. The truth had never mattered to Sophia. The six years Leo was gone had bound her to him with chains of guilt. As long as he wanted something, she would give it to him, no matter the cost. The screen went dark. I stared at the ceiling, the hair at my temples soaked with bitter, cheap tears. At 21, I became an overnight sensation with “Radiant Days.” After three years of hard work, my fanbase, the “Lucky Stars,” was a sea of people. Now, at 26, I was trapped in the mud, unable to move. I thought sacrificing my dignity would buy me a chance. I thought enduring the humiliation would lead to a better tomorrow. But in the end, I had only fallen into a deeper, filthier pit. All my struggles, in their eyes, were just the pathetic, self-inflicted failures of a desperate man. I threw an arm over my eyes and let out a wretched, hollow laugh. I laughed until tears streamed down my face, laughed until my body shook. This past year had been agony. In a swamp of despair, I wrote a rock song stained with my own blood. 【They throw mud at me; I use the mud to grow lotuses.】 The track was still reported and shadow-banned. The song still went unheard. The fourth year of my blacklisting. Leo won “Best Male Artist of the Year.” His concert tour sold out arenas from the mainland to the Hong Kong Coliseum. Forbes named him the most commercially valuable male artist in the country. And then, at the height of his fame, Leo announced his retirement from music. He said he was just “playing” in the entertainment industry. Now that he had achieved a grand slam of music awards, he was going back to fulfill his promise to help his parents run the family company. At his final, sold-out farewell concert, Leo sat on a throne in a custom Pronovias suit, looking out over the sea of faces like a king. He was handsome, radiant as the morning sun. “Actually, I’ve been waiting for someone,” he said into the mic. “I want to ask a certain lady, tonight, are you willing to let me be your groom?” The atmosphere exploded. The giant screen split. On the right was Leo on stage, his eyes full of anticipation. On the left was Sophia, in a special VIP seat, her expression completely unreadable. In the end, the crowd witnessed a fairytale moment as the dark knight walked toward his princess. The screams nearly blew the roof off the dome. This “winning the beautiful bride” finale was the perfect end to Leo’s music career. 5 Fans posted videos of the concert online, hailing it as an “epic, perfect farewell.” Countless people witnessed their happiness. The music I had chased with every fiber of my being was just a fleeting, whimsical experience in Leo’s brilliant life. Now that he’d had his fun, he was going back to inherit his billion-dollar fortune and marry the love of his life. In the face of their happiness, all my resentment and frustration, all the lyrics and melodies I had written, seemed ridiculous, meaningless. My life was a complete and utter failure. I couldn’t write another song. The fifth year of my blacklisting. Sophia and Leo held their wedding of the century. Leo personally delivered an invitation to my home. I didn’t go. I got drunk, so drunk I collapsed in an alley behind a bar. The night was pitch black, a hopeless void. My heart was empty. I didn’t feel sad, just an overwhelming sense of being lost. The next day, the morning light spilled onto me. A woman selling breakfast from a street cart tossed a large meat bun at me. She was a whirlwind of activity amidst the steam and sizzle of her stall. “Get up, will ya? A big guy like you, lyin’ around here? Don’t block my business!” Holding the bun, I inexplicably thought of the assistant who had pulled me up from the bathroom floor. Two complete strangers, living their own lives, with no connection to each other. Yet they had both shown me a sliver of kindness. Tears welled up in my eyes. I had faced so much blatant cruelty that I had begun to hate the world and my own fate. For years, I had been a tireless madman, desperately craving success, hard and unyielding as a stone. All because I wanted to prove something to the people who had wronged me, who had mocked me. I wanted to see them repent, to see them in pain. But in the end, I discovered the truth. They didn’t care. If I died in the street right now, no one would notice. Maybe that was the real reason I had shattered. It wasn’t until today, staring at the sun through the steam of a food stall, that I finally understood what it meant to be alive.

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The campus belle, pure and principled, swatted the black card from the rich boy’s hand. “Don’t insult me with your dirty money!” I, being even more destitute, picked up the card that had landed at my feet. I carefully handed it back to the rich boy, Caleb Thornton. Caleb’s eyes swept over me. “You convince Riki to take the card,” he said, his voice low and bored, “and I’ll sponsor you, too.” Afraid the card might actually end up with me, Riki snatched it. And just like that, both Riki and I began receiving financial support from the Thornton family. The difference was, I got my sponsorship by groveling to Caleb. Riki got hers with Caleb groveling to her. Years later, Riki went abroad for her master’s, and I started my career. Caleb pulled me into his bed and made me her substitute. Until the day Riki returned. “Riki’s a little uncomfortable knowing about us,” he told me. “You should go find a boyfriend.” I said, “Okay.” 1 No one knew Riki was coming back early. The night before, Caleb and I had been tangled in the sheets until the early hours. I fell asleep curled in his arms. The next morning, a message buzzed on his phone. He shot up in bed, ripping the covers off me. I was completely naked. The sudden cold made me shiver, and I mumbled without opening my eyes, “What’s wrong?” “Riki’s back. Get up, now. Clean this place up, erase every trace of yourself from this room. I don’t want her to find anything. Hurry.” He was already pulling on his pants, his voice urgent and sharp. I was wide awake now. I sat up, acutely aware of my own naked, mark-covered body. The shame hit me like a physical blow. I felt like a dirty secret, a mistress who couldn’t be seen in the light of day—even though he and Riki had never officially been a couple. “Hurry up. I need you gone before I get back with her.” He strapped on his watch and, without another glance at me, strode out the door. After I’d meticulously tidied his apartment, I left quietly. Not long after, my phone rang. It was Caleb. “Riki’s back and she’s craving your cooking,” he said. “Come over and make dinner.” I paused. “Okay.” I returned to Caleb’s apartment, let in this time by the housekeeper. Riki was lounging on the sofa, dressed in an elegant but comfortable-looking loungewear set, the very picture of effortless beauty. “Ava, it’s been so long. You haven’t changed a bit,” she said, her greeting lazy but polite. I managed a small smile. “You’re even more beautiful.” Caleb emerged from the hallway. “Ava, get started on dinner. Riki’s getting hungry.” Riki smiled, shifting over to make room for Caleb beside her. “You know,” she sighed dramatically, “the one thing I missed desperately while I was abroad was your cooking, Ava. I’m so glad I can finally have it again.” Caleb chuckled. “See? If you’d come back sooner, you could have had it every day.” “Hmph,” she pouted. “I had to finish my degree. You’re always trying to distract me.” They bantered and laughed, their joy filling the room while I toiled in the kitchen, just as I had countless times before. After dinner, Riki went upstairs to rest in the room Caleb had always kept for her, right next to his. As she left, she asked if my room was still the small maid’s room downstairs. I said yes, but added that I had my own place now. A few days of this routine passed. As I was leaving one evening, Caleb stopped me. “Riki found out about us. She’s… a little uncomfortable.” “Ava, go find a boyfriend. It’ll put her mind at ease.” I stood there for a long moment, the words hanging in the air. Finally, I nodded. “Okay.” “I’ll do my best.” 2 Riki was hired at Stellar Corp, a key subsidiary of Thornton Holdings, which Caleb personally managed. The position of Associate Director in the Strategy Department, a role I had fought tooth and nail to achieve, suddenly had a new Director. She was my boss. I took a few team members to her office to walk her through our current projects. As she flipped through a file, she looked up at me. “Ava, could you get me a coffee?” The other two people in the room shot us a surprised look. They were clearly wondering why the new Director was asking her second-in-command to do a coffee run instead of her assistant. I just nodded. “Of course.” I had always known my place in our little trio. I was the add-on, the bonus prize. I was the lackey trailing behind them, the gofer who ran their errands. Even now, as adults, Riki’s attitude hadn’t changed, and I had learned to accept these small humiliations. On Friday, Caleb announced a get-together to welcome Riki back, telling me to be there early. As I approached the private room, I heard my name. I froze. “Caleb, are you really done with Ava for good?” one of his friends was asking. “What else? Just watch what you say later,” Caleb replied casually. “Don’t bring this up in front of Riki.” “Damn, Caleb, you’re a true romantic,” another voice chimed in. “From high school until now, it’s only ever been Riki. You were just using Ava as a stand-in, right? To keep your family off your case until you could make it official with the real deal.” “To be fair, Ava’s not bad,” the first friend mused. “She’s cleaned up well—good-looking, poised, nothing like that timid, mousy girl from high school. And she’s utterly devoted to Caleb, so obedient. Does anything he asks. You sure you want to let that go?” Caleb laughed. “I had no choice. Riki is my moon, the only one. Ava was a decent way to pass the time, I guess. She’s obedient, compliant.” “But now that Riki’s back, everything else has to be swept clean. I’m just waiting for her to officially say yes.” The friends erupted in laughter, praising his unwavering devotion. “Ava? Why are you just standing at the door?” Riki’s voice came from right behind me. 3 Everyone in the room turned to look. Seeing me, they remembered what they’d just been saying, and a wave of awkwardness rippled through the group. Even Caleb stiffened for a second, a rare sight. But when he saw my neutral expression and Riki walking toward him, he relaxed. He kicked the friend next to him, motioning for him to give up his seat for Riki. I walked in and quietly took a seat in the farthest corner. “Ava, what are you doing all the way over there? Come sit here!” Riki called out magnanimously. I shook my head with a smile. “It’s fine, I can see everything from here.” After the initial awkwardness, the party slowly came back to life with drinking games. Riki, having been away for so long, was rusty and lost several rounds. Caleb drank for her every time. At one point, someone laughed and said, “The last time I got that drunk, I made a total fool of myself. If it hadn’t been for Ava—” He cut himself off abruptly. The atmosphere turned tense for a split second before someone quickly changed the subject. Later, on my way back from the restroom, I heard familiar voices coming from the fire exit stairwell. “Hmph. I don’t like how familiar you and your friends are with Ava,” Riki said, her voice laced with displeasure. “Ava was part of our group for years, of course we’re familiar,” Caleb said, a note of weariness in his tone. “Besides, if you’d just agree to be with me, none of this would matter. You saw how they were all cheering for us tonight.” “Hmph. I’m still observing you,” she cooed. I quickly tiptoed past, making no sound. During a lull in the party, Caleb cornered me in the hallway. “How’s the boyfriend search going?” he asked immediately. He seemed to suspect I was just paying him lip service, and that my lack of action was affecting things with Riki. Impatience flickered in his handsome features. “I really am trying,” I said softly. “Don’t worry, I’ll stay out of your way.” He looked at me, and for a moment, a hint of guilt seemed to cross his face. “Well… make sure you find someone suitable.” “I will.” 4 That weekend, I had dinner with Mark Thompson. We’d met through a corporate partnership. He was the Director of Marketing at his company, tall, good-looking, and had been pursuing me for a while. I hadn’t been interested, but… I sighed internally and forced myself to focus, to engage in conversation, to actually give this a chance. After a couple of dates, we grew more comfortable with each other. When Riki found out, she cornered me in the breakroom, her eyes wide with feigned surprise. “Wow, you already have a boyfriend? I thought you were so in love with Caleb you’d never be able to accept anyone else.” Her words were a casual, stinging slap. I felt my face flush. I forced a smile. “The past is the past. You have to move forward.” “Well, my birthday is this weekend. You should bring him,” Riki said with a bright smile. “Caleb will probably be happy to see you’ve found someone.” I nodded. “Okay.” … Caleb spared no expense for Riki’s birthday party. It was extravagant, a grand affair. Mark and Caleb exchanged pleasantries, Mark eagerly shaking Caleb’s hand and calling him “Mr. Thornton.” Caleb gave him a brief, assessing look, then glanced at me before giving a cool, noncommittal nod. After the main celebration, the party moved to the riverfront to watch the fireworks display Caleb had arranged for Riki, lighting up the entire southern skyline of the city. I watched them from a distance. Riki and Caleb stood in the best viewing spot, her eyes on the glittering sky, his eyes on her, a look of such tender devotion on his face he seemed ready to pluck the moon from the heavens for her. I looked at Caleb’s tall, imposing figure and saw it merge with the image of the arrogant, vibrant boy from all those years ago. The day he said he would sponsor me, he changed the course of my life. Back then, my gambler of a father kept showing up at school, trying to drag me out, trying to marry me off to a fifty-year-old limping widower to pay off his debts. One afternoon, he was beating me right at the school gates, and no one dared to intervene. Caleb saved me. “I said I’d sponsor you,” he’d declared, “and that means I’ll protect you.” He was the one who helped me escape my father for good. It was the Thornton family’s money that got me through high school and into the university of my dreams. My life finally began to have color. I knew I was just an accessory, a means to an end so Riki would accept his money, a runner he could keep by his side. But the boy who descended from the heavens in my dreams was also the moon I gazed up at. And in that moment, watching the brilliant fireworks explode and fade, I felt something inside me fizzle out and disappear along with them. 5 There was a disaster at the company. A structure at a venue Riki was in charge of collapsed, nearly injuring several major clients. Those clients and a few corporate partners immediately demanded compensation and terminated their contracts. Stellar Corp was hit with a flood of complaints and a full-blown credibility crisis. Thornton Holdings headquarters demanded an explanation, and heads were going to roll. Caleb summoned me to his office. Riki was in his arms, sobbing pitifully. When Caleb saw me, he hesitated. But then Riki tugged on his shirt, and he spoke. “Ava, Riki just got back. It’s her first time managing a venue this big, so it’s understandable she’d make mistakes. As the Associate Director, you should have been assisting her properly. This wouldn’t have happened if you had.” A bitter, ironic smile tugged at my lips. Everyone in the department knew Riki had rejected every single one of my suggestions. “Riki’s professional reputation can’t be ruined by this one incident,” he continued. “She has a bright future, she needs the clients’ trust. And I can’t have my father thinking she’s incompetent.” “You, on the other hand, have a great reputation with our clients, Ava. One mistake like this won’t affect you too badly.” “So, Ava… you’ll take responsibility for this one. Give the public and headquarters an answer.” “I’ll make it up to you later.” I listened to his words, my expression unchanging. I wasn’t even surprised. It was the same role I had played back in school. But still, I couldn’t help it. I stared at him, searching his face, hoping for even a flicker of regret. All I saw was him avoiding my gaze as he comforted Riki. “Forget it,” Riki sniffled, pulling away from him. “If Ava won’t do it, I’ll take the blame. I’ll just leave the country. I can’t stay here and be a disgrace.” “Riki,” Caleb said, pulling her back into his arms. He frowned at me. “Ava, is this really so difficult for you? You’re the best at handling these kinds of situations. Are you saying you won’t do it?” I watched his entitled, impatient expression. My lips moved. “Fine.” Caleb let out a breath of relief. He cooed at Riki, “See? It’s all sorted. Don’t worry. Ava will handle it. The partners trust her the most.” “Ava, thank you,” Riki said, offering me a faint, triumphant smile. I turned and walked out of his office. I went to headquarters. Mr. Thornton Sr. threw a file at my head and screamed at me for ten minutes. He ordered me to personally win back every partner, every client, and to cover all the damages. I left Thornton Holdings in disgrace and began the humiliating process of begging. I was belittled, mocked, and thrown out of offices. I bowed and scraped and pleaded for forgiveness. Finally, I posted a public apology on Stellar Corp’s official website and announced my resignation. My colleagues in the department knew the truth. They felt sorry for me, but they were powerless to say anything. I went to Caleb’s office one last time. “I know it’s been tough these past few days,” he said. “You don’t have to resign. I’ll give you paid leave. Take a good long rest.” I shook my head. “I want a permanent rest.” He sighed. “Fine. When you want to come back, just let me know.” I didn’t answer that. Instead, I said, “I’ve transferred some money to your account. It’s to repay you for your sponsorship and care over the years.” He sat up straight, stunned. “I never expected you to pay that back. You don’t have to.” I shook my head again. “I should. I’ve been saving up for this. Thank you, Caleb.” Thank you for giving me a new life with a single sentence. Thank you for saving me from hell. And thank you for finally giving me a reason to sever all ties, to leave without a single lingering feeling. Caleb stared at me. “Are you angry that I asked you to cover for Riki?” “I already explained, it would have had a huge impact on her career. You’ve been in the industry for years, everyone trusts you. You even handled the fallout perfectly.” “Why are you making such a big deal out of one little thing?”

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Every year on our anniversary, Vincent would send me 999 roses. This year, my four-year-old niece, Lily, was visiting. She was absolutely captivated by the enormous bouquet. Suddenly, she scampered over, tugging on my sleeve. “Auntie Maria,” she chirped, “there are nine hundred and ninety-eight flowers, right?” 1 I paused, then smiled, ruffling her hair. “No, sweetie, you miscounted. There are nine hundred and ninety-nine.” Lily pouted. “Nuh-uh! It’s nine hundred and ninety-eight!” Seeing the determination in her eyes, I knew I couldn’t just dismiss her. You have to show a child, not just tell them. “Alright then,” I said with a playful grin. “How about we count them all again, together? We’ll see who’s right.” Lily nodded eagerly. Twenty minutes later, I stared at the sea of roses spread across the floor. Nine hundred and ninety-eight. I felt a strange blankness. How could one be missing? Lily clapped her hands in triumph. “Auntie was wrong!” Snapping back to the present, I forced a smile. “You’re right, Lily-bug. You’re so smart! As a reward, how about a cookie tart?” She nodded so fast her head bobbed like a little bird. That evening, my sister Sophia came to pick up Lily. As she stood in the doorway, holding her sleeping daughter, she looked at me intently. “Ellie, is something wrong?” I flinched slightly but shook my head. Sophia didn’t press, just told me to call her if I needed anything. After I closed the door, the house fell silent. The last rays of the sunset spilled through the window, painting the floor in gold, but I was in no mood to appreciate it. I just sat on the sofa, lost in thought. It was just one rose. It was probably just a careless mistake at the florist. A simple miscount during packaging. But a knot of unease tightened in my gut. I couldn’t shake it. Night had fully fallen when Vincent finally came home. The house was dark. “Maria?” he called out, flipping the light switch. When the room flooded with light, he saw me on the sofa. “Hey, why are you sitting in the dark?” Before I could answer, he noticed the scattered roses on the floor. His brow furrowed in surprise. “What happened here? Did you take them apart?” I stood up, taking his jacket from him. “Lily did. She wanted to count them.” Vincent froze for a second. “Funny thing,” I continued, my voice carefully neutral. “There were only nine hundred and ninety-eight. One was missing.” He was unbuttoning his cuffs, his head bowed, so I couldn’t see his expression. After a moment, he looked up, shrugging it off. “The florist must have messed up. I’ll buy you another one tomorrow to make up for it.” He leaned in, kissed my forehead, and headed for the shower. I stood there, rooted to the spot. A scent lingered on him, not his usual cologne, but a pure, complex fragrance—a mix of countless different flowers. My heart clenched. A moment later, I found myself pulling his phone from his jacket pocket. In five years of marriage, I had never once checked Vincent’s phone. I’d always believed that a relationship without basic trust wasn’t worth having. This was the first time. I knew myself too well. If I didn’t put this doubt to rest, it would fester, becoming an unhealable crack in our marriage. His passcode was my birthday. It had never changed. I opened his messages and quickly found the contact for the florist. The name was “Alicia,” with a little hand-drawn sunflower as the profile picture. I tapped open their chat. The conversation was clean—just orders for bouquets, straightforward questions and answers. Nothing overtly flirtatious. But then I scrolled up. And up. My finger froze. He had been ordering from her for the last three years. That, in itself, wasn’t the problem. Vincent was a creature of habit; once he found something he liked, he stuck with it. The problem was that he had kept their entire chat history. Three full years of it. Vincent had a quirk: he obsessively deleted his chat logs to keep things tidy. It had once caused him to lose an important file and nearly torpedo a project. After that, he’d tried to be more careful, but he still rarely kept a conversation thread for more than a week. I was the only exception. From our first date to this very day, he had saved every single one of our messages, meticulously backing them up whenever he got a new phone. And now, there was a second exception. My hand started to tremble. Sometimes, a woman’s intuition is terrifyingly accurate. Taking a deep breath, I clicked on Alicia’s social media profile. It was mostly ads for her flower shop, but one post stood out. It was a photo of a slender hand holding a single rose. The caption read: Even a sliver of your heart is a precious gift. It was posted on our anniversary. Vincent hadn’t replied, but he had liked it. In that instant, a chilling cold seeped into my bones, as if I’d been plunged into a frozen lake. I don’t know how long I stood there. Vincent came out of the bathroom, toweling his hair dry. He saw me with his phone and paused. Then he grinned, a teasing light in his eyes. “Maria, finally getting curious enough to check my phone?” 2 I turned to face him. There wasn’t a shred of guilt on his face, only playful amusement. For a split second, I felt a desperate urge to believe I was overthinking it all. I took a steadying breath, refusing to be pulled into a spiral of suspicion and anxiety. I held up the phone, showing him Alicia’s post. “One rose was missing from my bouquet,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “And this post was made on our anniversary.” I locked eyes with him. “Vincent, I need an explanation.” He looked genuinely surprised. “Honey, it’s just a coincidence.” “You liked her post,” I countered, my voice hardening. “And you’ve saved three years of your chat history with her.” The silence that followed was heavy and suffocating. Finally, he sat down beside me, taking my hand. He sighed. “Maria, it’s not what you think.” “I saved the chat history to track orders,” he explained. “They messed up an order once and wouldn’t admit it, so I started keeping the logs as proof. As for the ‘like,’ it was just a mindless scroll. I probably didn’t even read the caption.” I said nothing. The excuse sounded plausible on the surface. But I knew Vincent. He had a visceral disdain for incompetence. He’d once transferred his own executive assistant for making a single, minor error. For Vincent to break his own rules for someone meant they were special. Seeing my silence, his brow furrowed. “Maria, don’t you have even a little faith in me?” I looked at him, my voice soft but firm. “If that’s the case, then delete her contact. We can find a new florist. That shouldn’t be a problem, right?” His expression shifted. “Maria, you really don’t trust me, do you?” I just stared at him, my silence an unyielding demand. His face contorted with a flicker of emotions before settling into a cold mask. He shot up from the sofa, his voice hard with what sounded like petulance. “Fine! Do whatever you want!” I nodded. Right there, in front of him, I deleted “Alicia” from his contacts. His face grew even darker. “Are you satisfied now?” he snapped. I didn’t answer. He snatched the phone back and stormed into the bedroom, slamming the door behind him with a resounding bang. The fight went out of me, and I sank back onto the sofa, only then noticing how violently my hands were shaking. I stared at the closed bedroom door, a bitter smile twisting my lips. Was he angry because I’d overstepped? Or because I’d uncovered a secret he wasn’t ready to face? The next few days were a blur of icy silence. We were in a cold war. He didn’t try to coax me out of my anger like he usually would, and I didn’t press him further about Alicia. In my heart, I knew they probably hadn’t crossed a physical line. But they had absolutely shattered the boundaries of a normal professional relationship. On the tenth day of our standoff, I came home from work to find Vincent in the kitchen, wearing an apron. The aroma of cooking filled the air. He heard the door and turned, offering me a small smile as if the past ten days of tension had never happened. “Wash up. Dinner’s almost ready.” I stood there for a moment before turning toward the bathroom. As I passed the dining table, I stopped. There was a new bouquet of flowers, the brand card from a different, well-known florist dangling conspicuously, as if placed there for me to see. It wasn’t from Alicia’s shop. I understood immediately. This was his peace offering. His way of surrendering. I stood there for a long moment before taking the flowers and arranging them in a vase. When I came out of the bathroom, dinner was on the table. All my favorites. I stared at the spread, a wave of nostalgia washing over me. The last time Vincent had cooked for me was years ago, back when he was just starting his company. We’d poured every penny we had into the business. There was a time we were so broke, we’d stretch a single packet of ramen with plain noodles, just to have enough for two. He would always pick out all the flavored ramen bits and put them in my bowl. I’d been so moved back then. Thinking about it now, it was both pitiful and sweet. Then his company took off. He’d taken me to the finest restaurants, and we never had to huddle over a tiny table sharing a bowl of noodles again. But sometimes, I missed those days. Not the hardship, but the fierce, all-consuming love we had for each other back then. Now, we were on different career paths, shining in our own separate worlds. We had less and less to talk about. Maybe neither of us had noticed, but the moment our conversations started to dwindle, the first cracks in our marriage had already appeared. 3 The cold war between Vincent and me ended unspoken over that dinner. It wasn’t forgiveness. It was the weary compromise of adulthood, the necessity of turning a blind eye. If I were twenty, I would have slapped him across the face and walked out without a backward glance. But I was twenty-nine. The law firm I’d co-founded was in its crucial startup phase. Our partnership with Vincent’s company was a strategic move that maximized our profits. So, as long as he didn’t cross my ultimate line, I wouldn’t burn everything to the ground. I thought the incident was behind us. But two weeks later, while reviewing a case with a client, a wave of nausea hit me so hard I had to run to the bathroom, gagging over the toilet. A dreadful premonition washed over me. A trip to the doctor confirmed it. I was pregnant. I sat on the hard bench in the hallway, staring at the ultrasound report with a storm of emotions churning inside me. I was over two months along. The doctor said the baby was healthy. But the timing couldn’t have been worse. After a long while, I crumpled the report in my fist and took a deep, steadying breath. This wasn’t a decision I could make alone. Vincent was the father. He had a right to know, a right to be part of the choice. As I walked out of the clinic, the sun warm on my shoulders, a sliver of hope flickered within me. Maybe this was the universe giving us a chance to fix what was broken. I drove to his office. The young woman at the front desk recognized me, smiling brightly. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Hamilton.” I nodded, but my eyes were drawn to a long table against the wall. I froze. On the table sat a large cardboard box filled with single-stem roses, individually wrapped. The receptionist, skilled at reading people, noticed my gaze. “Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day,” she explained cheerfully. “Mr. Hamilton ordered a rose for every woman in the company. We just pick one up on our way out.” I barely heard her. My eyes were glued to the familiar, hand-drawn sunflower logo printed on the side of the box. After a moment that felt like an eternity, I managed to tear my gaze away. “Does he do this every year?” I asked, my voice a dry rasp. She thought for a second. “He started about three years ago.” A hammer slammed into my chest, the impact stealing my breath. An indescribable, acidic bitterness flooded my heart. I forced a weak smile and headed for the elevator. I was about to knock on Vincent’s office door when it swung open from the inside. A young, beautiful woman stepped out, a radiant smile on her face that instantly froze when she saw me. Silence. We stared at each other, no words needed. We both knew exactly who the other was. The silence drew Vincent’s attention. When he saw me, his face went pale. He instinctively moved to stand in front of Alicia, shielding her. “Maria, it’s not what you think,” he began, his words tumbling out in a rush. “She was just delivering the flowers. The Valentine’s order was placed ages ago, it couldn’t be canceled…” I held up a hand, cutting him off. “Vincent, stop. The excuses are just making you look pathetic.” His face darkened, as if I’d just insulted his very core. Before he could retort, Alicia stepped forward, her chin held high in defiance. “Ms. Bishop, that’s a horrible thing to say,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “Mr. Hamilton and I have nothing to be ashamed of!” She bit her lip, then turned to look at Vincent with an expression of pure, heartbreaking adoration. “It’s all me. I’m the one who loves him, but he’s never once led me on. His heart belongs only to you! He’s a wonderful man, Ms. Bishop. You should treasure him.”

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