Author: Momo Chan

The night of our graduation party, I led the drunk campus queen to the bad boy’s room. But my childhood friend, the man I was supposed to marry, mistook me for her. One night of chaos. Afterward, everyone said I had deliberately torn him and the campus queen apart. For years of our marriage, I tried everything to warm his heart, but it remained a block of ice. Until one day, I overheard him on the phone on the street corner. “As long as Bella is happy, I’m willing to spend my whole life tying Laurie down.” “Besides, who would want to marry a nerd anyway?” “She wants a kid? Fine. I’ll give her one.” The piercing shriek of a car horn cut him off. He instinctively turned and saw me standing around the corner. Panic flooded his face as he lunged toward me, trying to push me out of the way. In the next second, we were both thrown into the air by the impact. When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the graduation party. This time, I decided to give him and the campus queen the happy ending they both wanted. 1 Only my childhood friend, James Stanton, knew that I had a crush on the campus bad boy, Jax. The night of our university graduation party, the campus queen, Isabella, asked me to help her to a room to rest. I didn’t know it was Jax’s room. And Isabella’s acting was flawless. The moment we were out of sight, she was instantly sober, a mocking glint in her eyes as she looked at me. In my past life, I was too naive to understand any of it. After all, to everyone else, I was just the scheming, malicious nerd. It wasn’t until I was dying, until I heard James’s phone call, that I finally woke up. I never imagined he would sacrifice his entire life just for Isabella. And I had been foolish enough to believe him when he’d proposed, when he’d said he loved me. Before I died, James and I lay together in a pool of our own blood. As the speeding car barrelled towards us, he had thrown himself in front of me, shielding me with his body. But at that moment, it was useless. The violent impact sent me flying more than a dozen yards. As my consciousness faded, I vaguely saw him. James, not far away, covered in blood, was stubbornly trying to crawl to my side, his body wracked with tremors of pain. The bones in his fingers were visible through the mangled flesh, and his voice was a broken, trembling mess. “Laurie, don’t scare me.” “Wake up! Let me explain!” “I was wrong, Laurie. I was so wrong.” His heartbroken cries made me want to vomit, and a mouthful of blood gushed from my lips. In the last moment of my life, I summoned one final act of defiance. With all my strength, I moved my fingers, pulling away from the hand he was desperately reaching out, trying to lace his fingers with mine. Too late for apologies now. 2 “Laurie? What’s too late?” a voice asked, pulling me from the memory. “You haven’t had that much. Come on, have another.” I blinked, realizing I was back. I had been reborn into my senior year of university. Jax was hosting a graduation party for our class at his family’s empty villa. For most, a graduation party was the start of a new life. For me, in my past life, it was the entrance to hell. The voice belonged to Isabella. Sweet and cloying. James was always telling me to be more like her, to learn how even her anger sounded like a lover’s pout, something no man could refuse. I was never much of a drinker, but when the campus queen personally offers you a toast, refusing makes you look arrogant. Unfortunately, I’d been reborn a moment too late. I’d already downed one glass, and my head was starting to spin. So, no matter how much Isabella coaxed, I refused to take another sip. I just pushed up my glasses, pretending the alcohol was hitting me harder than it was. I had a job to do tonight, and I couldn’t afford to be genuinely drunk. Seeing my refusal, Isabella’s eyes darted around. She raised her glass to the others at the table. “Well, if our star student won’t drink, I’ll drink the rest for her.” I lowered my head, a cold smile touching my lips. She was drinking from her own glass but claimed it was for me. In my past life, I never possessed that kind of cunning. Her words were always prettier than her actions. I poured myself a glass of water and sipped it, quietly watching her performance. By this point, James had already helped get Jax drunk and taken him upstairs. And James, having had too much himself, was resting in the room right next to Jax’s. Isabella, performing with such vigor right now, clearly had an ulterior motive. Soon, her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were hazy as she leaned against me. She spoke just loud enough for everyone to hear. “Laurie, I drank so much covering for you, I feel dizzy. Can you help me upstairs to rest?” She tightened her grip on my arm. “I’m putting my life in your hands. You have to keep me safe, okay, Laurie?” In my past life, I was already drunk by the time she said all this. All I’d registered was “upstairs to rest,” and I’d stumbled up the stairs with her. But now, reborn, I saw the subtle genius in her words and actions. She was publicly declaring that I was the reason she was drunk, that it was my duty to see her to safety. With those words, she planted a seed in everyone’s mind: whatever happened to Isabella tonight, it would be my fault. Her drunken state, the way she had to cling to me just to walk, projected an image of perfect helplessness. But no one could see it. From an angle hidden from the others, Isabella, who was taller than me, wasn’t just resting her hands on my shoulders. She was digging her fingers into my flesh, physically steering me out of the room. The pain made me wince, so I decided to play drunk too. Under the guise of taking off my glasses, I shrugged off her grip. Then, I went completely limp, collapsing into her arms. Half a head shorter than her, with my round, flushed face, I wrapped my arms around her and whined in a soft, pleading voice. “Bella, I’m so dizzy! I can’t walk.” No one saw that coming. In their eyes, Isabella and I were rivals. Because James liked her. And earlier, during a game of Truth or Dare, when asked who I liked, I had said James’s name. Soon, I heard someone gasp. “Oh no! I think Laurie’s really drunk.” Hidden in Isabella’s embrace, I stayed silent, burying my face and feigning intoxication. Where no one could see, a small smirk played on my lips. My move had clearly startled Isabella; her eyes were sharp and clear for a moment. But she needed me to be her scapegoat tonight, so she gritted her teeth and didn’t push me away. Besides, to make her act convincing, she’d genuinely drunk a lot. She was at least eighty percent of the way there. I looked up at her through my messy hair, my eyes blinking slowly. “Bella… let’s sleep together tonight.” 3 I didn’t know what was going through Isabella’s mind, but that was my genuine plan. The only way to prevent the catastrophe of that night was for Isabella to stay with me. And besides, I had lived a decade longer than this version of her. In my eyes, she was just a misguided girl. Perhaps something had happened to her during university that made her so desperate to latch onto a wealthy boyfriend now. But the girl wanted to maintain appearances, which was why she’d set me up. She wanted everyone to believe that I, jealous of James’s affection for her, had deliberately sent her, drunk, to the campus bad boy’s room. In my past life, her plan had been a resounding success. The day after the party, my name became synonymous with “vicious.” Everyone said I had ruined her. Every mention of my name was a curse. Gradually, I started to believe it myself. That it was my fault, that I’d been too drunk and sent her to the wrong room. That I was the reason she disappeared for ten years. That I was the reason James lost the love of his life. So I began to atone. I couldn’t find Isabella, so I poured all my repentance onto James. I learned to love him, tried to warm his cold heart with my sincerity, begging him not to hate me anymore. After all, the Stanton family had taken me in when I was a child. I had a debt of over a decade of care that I could never repay. But in the end, I was the one who had been played the worst. James was willing to sacrifice his entire life, to trap me in a marriage, just for Isabella. All to ensure I wouldn’t have the slightest chance of ruining her happiness. The truth was, on the day of the car crash, I had gone to find James to tell him where Isabella was. I had just found out from Jax himself where she had been for the past ten years. I wanted James to see her true colors. I wanted him to stop feeling guilty for getting too drunk at the party and failing to protect her. But before I could say a word, we were killed. I am immensely grateful that fate has given me a second chance. At the dinner table earlier, I kept thinking. What should I do to repay this gift? I considered taking brutal revenge on Isabella, letting her taste what it felt like to have her reputation destroyed. But looking at the girl, as beautiful and fragile as a flower, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. So when she asked me to help her to a room, I asked her, in front of everyone, if she wanted to sleep with me. If she chose to stay with me tonight, to stop her plan, then I would let go of what happened in our past life. After all, we were separated by an entire lifetime. I had no reason to take revenge on this version of her for what a different version of her did. But if she insisted on being foolish, I would respect her choice. Everyone has to be responsible for their own choices. And so, when Isabella propped me up between the two bedroom doors, I asked her a second time. “It’s your choice. “Sleep here, or come with me to a different room.” The alcohol was hitting her hard now, her eyes hazy as she looked at me. But at my question, she shook her head, trying to stay clear. “Let me think.” “Ugh, I can’t remember.” She tapped her head a few times as she spoke. Seeing this, I put it to her bluntly. “The one on the left is…” I wanted to tell her: Jax is on the left, James is on the right, and I am right here beside you. But before I could finish, Isabella cut me off. “I forgot who I drugged…” Her words were like a thunderclap, ringing in my ears and leaving me stunned. In that instant, my perception of her shattered. She was like a beautiful flower, rotting from the very root. To achieve her goal, she would resort to such a disgusting tactic. I started to wonder if I had been drugged too. I instinctively took a step back, putting distance between us. I asked her one more time. And got the same answer. She said, “Either one is fine. Whoever.” I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. I decided to let go of my savior complex and respect her destiny. So I watched with cold eyes as she stumbled into James’s room. Then I turned and pushed open the door to the room next door. Isabella couldn’t remember who she had drugged. But I had the memories of my past life. The moment she said it, I knew exactly who the victim was. Tonight, I would be the one to save the poor, pitiful campus bad boy. 4 The moment I opened the door, a blast of cold air made me shiver. The room was a chaotic mess, water pooled everywhere. I followed the sound of dripping and saw him. The notoriously cool and arrogant bad boy was sitting miserably on the floor, his back against the sofa. He was dousing himself with ice water. His T-shirt had been thrown aside, leaving him in just a pair of gray sweatpants. Jax’s head was bowed. His short, black hair was plastered to his face, partially veiling his eyes. Droplets of water traced the sharp line of his jaw, dripping onto his pants. One drop, then two, spreading into a dark, damp patch. The sight was enough to make a person thirsty. His long, elegant fingers, the knuckles sharply defined, were crushing the plastic water bottle, making it crackle. Jax tilted his head back, and when not another drop came out, he actually stuck his tongue inside, licking the plastic rim. The tip of his tongue, a shocking shade of red, swirled around the opening before retreating behind his full lips. The Jax in my memory was a rebellious teenager with red hair and an earring, his entire being screaming defiance. Looking at him now, that impossibly handsome face was still just as dazzling. But the flush of his skin and his hot, ragged breaths told me something was very wrong. His reaction was sluggish. He had only just realized someone was in the room. Without looking up, he growled at me to get out. “Who let you in? Get out!” But when he turned his head and saw it was me, the words “don’t touch me” died in his throat. He stumbled to his feet, trying to retreat towards the mini-fridge. But his legs were too weak, and he crumpled back to the floor. I grabbed a bottle of ice water, twisted it open, and handed it to him. “Jax, where’s your phone? I’ll call a doctor for you.” He tilted his head back and chugged, the water he couldn’t swallow fast enough streaming from the corners of his mouth down his neck. Then, dazed, he started fumbling at his sweatpants, searching for his phone. I could see a bulge in his pocket that looked like a phone. But after what felt like an eternity, he still couldn’t find the opening of the pocket. He looked up at me, a bewildered expression on his face. His lips, flushed red, moved, but I couldn’t make out what he was saying. He was taking too long. I brushed his clumsy hands aside and reached in myself. The moment my hand slid in, I regretted it. That was definitely not a phone. Before I could scream, I heard Jax’s ragged breathing right next to my ear. The heat of it tickled my skin, and I instinctively turned my head to avoid it. My eyes met his. They were bloodshot and feverish. “I’ll… I’ll go get someone for you.” I scrambled to get up, but he grabbed my hand, pressing it down. His hand, through the fabric of his pants, was pinning mine in place. Another pained gasp escaped his lips. The stimulation seemed to have shocked him into a moment of clarity, and a low, hoarse voice broke the silence. “Laurie.” I stared at Jax, his mind clearly clouded, and felt a jolt of shock. So that’s what he had been muttering all along. My name. Even in this state, he could still recognize me. But James… in my past life, why had he mistaken me for someone else? Or was it that in James’s eyes, I was just someone he could use and discard at will? The more I thought about it, the more resentment burned inside me. I took a step forward, leaned down, and tilted Jax’s chin up. I looked him straight in the eye. “Say it again. Who am I?” The moment my fingers touched his skin, I felt a searing heat. When I tried to pull away, he captured my hand with both of his, pressing it to his cheek and rubbing against it gently. His gaze drifted from my lips to my eyes, until they locked. “Laurie. Help me.”

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1 I was reborn. The moment of my return was the second before I was about to explain the pre-operative instructions to my boyfriend’s childhood sweetheart. In my last life, I was doing my rounds when I saw the patient drinking a smoothie. I stopped her immediately and informed my boyfriend, the attending surgeon, that the patient hadn’t fasted. For her own safety, the surgery had to be postponed. The patient then blasted the story all over the internet, blaming me for not reminding her. My professionalism was torn to shreds. I tried desperately to explain, to clear my name, but no one believed me. Then, my own boyfriend, Leo, started a rumor that my nursing degree was fake, that I’d gotten my job through shady connections. The internet turned on me. I was doxxed. An enraged stranger threw acid in my face. It wasn’t until after I was run down by a car and killed that my soul, hovering above, saw the truth: the patient was Leo’s childhood sweetheart. It had all been a setup. … They say nurses are angels in white, saving lives. I gave the patient her pre-op instructions. But when I checked on her, I found her sipping a smoothie. Guided by my professional ethics and a concern for her safety, I told my boyfriend, the surgeon, that we had to postpone. The patient, Mia, accused me of never telling her. By that afternoon, I was trending. Another patient in the same room had filmed the confrontation and posted it online. The internet mob questioned my competence. I posted my degrees, my awards, my commendations from university and my career. It did nothing. Then Leo, my Leo, posted a video with his own name attached, claiming I was a fraud who had used connections to get my job. The harassment escalated. Sulfuric acid scarred my face forever. Finally, a so-called “vigilante” ran me over with his car. After I died, I watched as Leo and Mia built their careers on the ashes of my life, profiting handsomely from my public execution. Floating in the air, I watched them embrace, and my ethereal hands clenched into fists. Only then did I understand. It was all a trap they had laid for me. “Brandy? Oh, you’re here! Does this mean it’s almost time for my surgery?” A familiar, nauseatingly sweet voice echoed in my ear. I looked up, and my vision was filled with a deceptively innocent face. A tearing, ripping pain spread from my heart through every inch of my body. It was only when my lungs filled with the sharp, cold, antiseptic air of the hospital that I realized I was alive again. Reborn. In the exact moment before I was to give pre-op instructions to Mia, Leo’s childhood sweetheart. “I’ve been waiting for so long, I’m so excited for the surgery,” she said, her voice raspy. “I even took a whole week off work for this, and I’m still in my probationary period! You’ll take good care of me, won’t you, Brandy?” She touched her neck as she spoke, as if it were a great effort. Last time, I’d felt sorry for her. A fresh graduate, all alone in the hospital. I’d given her extra attention, soothed her anxiety when she fretted, especially when the other patients chimed in on her behalf. Before leaving, I had explicitly told her: no food or water before the surgery. And yet, the next morning, I found her drinking a smoothie. I had told her with genuine regret that we’d have to postpone, that eating before anesthesia was dangerous. Mia had burst into tears. “Why didn’t you remind me properly? Are you trying to get me fired? I’m never coming to this hospital again!” 2 The other patients in the room heard her hoarse, strained voice and saw me standing there, silent and still. They jumped to her defense. “She’s just a young girl who just landed a job! You need to take extra care of her during her probation period. It’s so hard to find a job these days. You can’t be the reason she loses it.” Oh, right. Of course. Saint Mia. Her life is so hard, her situation so fragile. And all of you, with your unsolicited advice, you think you’re so noble. You care more about her than my own boyfriend—no, ex-boyfriend—does. I quietly took out my phone and hit the record button. Then, I launched into my full, by-the-book, award-winning nursing protocol. “Excuse me, are you patient Mia Sullivan?” “Yes, that’s me.” “As per pre-operative procedure, you must abstain from all food and drink. Failure to do so will result in the postponement of your surgery. Patient Mia Sullivan, do you understand?” “I understand,” Mia rasped, a flicker of annoyance in her eyes. A patient nearby snickered. “What’s with all the theatrics? Such pointless formality.” Mia nodded slightly, a smug look crossing her face. “I know, right? All this red tape… I wonder if it actually helps them take care of patients.” I smiled, a tight, professional mask. “Patient Sullivan expressed some anxiety about her procedure. To reassure her and demonstrate my professional competence, I am utilizing this highly structured protocol.” This was the exact procedure that had won me a national nursing skills competition. Damn right it was structured. Looking at Mia’s phony, self-satisfied act, I had to resist the urge to slap her back to reality. The audacity of someone who plays the victim while setting a trap. Let’s see how you play the victim tomorrow. 3 During my pre-op rounds the next morning, I timed my visit perfectly, deliberately avoiding the moment she was eating. With my recording pen active and my professional smile plastered on, I approached her bed. “Patient Sullivan, your surgery is scheduled for this morning. Can you confirm that you have not had any food or water since 10 p.m. last night?” “Of course,” she said, her voice still hoarse but laced with triumph. “I haven’t had a bite to eat or a drop to drink since yesterday afternoon. Well, except for the smoothie I just finished.” As she spoke, she glanced at me from the corner of her eye, watching for my reaction. I, who had been watching her every move, caught the micro-expression. I kept my smile frozen in place. “I’m very sorry, but since you did not follow pre-operative instructions, your surgery will have to be postponed.” Just then, as if on cue, Leo walked into the room. I grabbed his arm and pulled him outside. A tidal wave of pain and despair washed over me. Hatred filled my chest until I thought I would suffocate. In my last life, I gave up a position at a prestigious, top-tier medical center to be a nurse at this small community hospital for him. And he repaid me by destroying my life. My nails dug into my palms, the sharp pain the only thing keeping the volcanic rage from erupting. I forced a smile. “The patient ate before surgery. We have to postpone.” “And also,” I added, “after your shift, let’s call off the engagement.” “What the hell is wrong with you?” he snapped. “Now her surgery has to be delayed. And don’t you dare play these hard-to-get games with me. Who do you think will want you after you break up with me?” We parted on that ugly note. Did he have any idea the trouble I was going to, just to extricate myself from this mess? I truly hope you two vipers have the loving life you deserve. When I returned to the room, Mia was in the middle of a full-blown meltdown, snot and tears smearing her face. “Why didn’t you remind me properly?” she wailed. “You did this on purpose!” The other patients started to comfort her, but when they learned the reason for her hysterics, they fell silent. My grand, formal procedure from the day before had left a deep impression. Even these bystanders knew she was supposed to fast. Her own negligence was to blame. Seeing that she had lost her audience, Mia leaped from the bed, grabbed her thermos, and flung its contents at me. It was the rest of her morning smoothie. I didn’t move. I let the lukewarm liquid splatter across my face. Because I saw it. The other patients in the room, their phones all raised, all recording. I went straight to the restroom and splashed my face with cold water. In the ripples of the sink, I saw my own reflection, a wide, triumphant smile spreading across my face. I looked at my skin, slightly pink from the not-so-hot liquid. Not quite enough. I dried my face and took a small pot of blush out of my pocket—a sample I’d packed in anticipation of this very moment. With Mia’s temper, an outburst was inevitable. I swept a heavy amount across my cheeks, then took a quick photo of my profile. I touched my face, almost laughing out loud. I knew the double-edged sword of the internet better than anyone. Last time, it destroyed my reputation overnight and made Mia a star. But why should a woman like that get to build her success on the backs of other women? Since she used this stage to ruin me, I was going to make sure she choked on her own performance. You wanted to go viral, Mia? You’ve got it. Let’s see if you can handle the fame. After being fired, Brandy is at her lowest point. Her ex-boyfriend has betrayed her, his lover has framed her, and the world believes she is a negligent, incompetent nurse. But Brandy has a plan. Armed with evidence and a deep understanding of the very weapon used against her, she is ready to turn the tables. Now, it was my turn to fight back. And I wondered if Leo and Mia were ready for the storm.

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My biggest problem is that I sleep too well. So well, in fact, that I can be thrown into a survival horror game and still be dead asleep in four seconds flat. A blood-drenched little girl stood at the foot of my bed, but my snores were loud enough to shake the walls. The corpse of a hanged woman in a painting opened its eyes at midnight, only to see me grinding my teeth in my sleep. When I got too hot in the middle of thenight, I rolled over and wrapped my arms around something cool and firm to the touch. It felt nice. The final boss whispered, “…Are you going to open your eyes? Or are you just using me as a body pillow?” [SYSTEM: Game “The Haunting of Crestfall Manor” has finished loading.] [SYSTEM: Player “Eva Nightingale” has entered the game.] [SYSTEM: Player Rank: C] The moment I materialized in the game, the other players seated around a long, mahogany table erupted. “Are you kidding me? We’re all A-rank players, and the system throws a C-rank noob in here?” “Some people will do anything for a few XP, even risk their lives. This one’s got a death wish!” “A C-rank, in Crestfall Manor? I’ll bet she doesn’t even last the night!” Nine men and women sat at the table, all seasoned A-rank veterans who had clawed their way out of countless digital hellscapes. They stared at me as if they’d just seen a ghost, probably horrified that they were now stuck babysitting a rookie. A young woman with a kind face couldn’t take the bickering anymore. She stood up. “Everyone, calm down. For a C-rank to be teleported into an A-rank instance, she must have a secret weapon, right?” “Bullshit! What could a C-rank possibly have?” “Exactly! How many instances has she even seen? She’ll probably piss her pants at the first sign of a ghoul!” The woman looked at me, urging, “Well? Do you have one?” A secret weapon? I actually did. I thought for a moment, then answered earnestly, “I’m an excellent sleeper.” The players fell silent. Then, in unison: “…Are you fucking with us?” The live-stream chat exploded. [Streamer, it’s okay to not have a skill, you know.] [LMAO, you don’t have to embarrass yourself with a skill that lame!] [Can the streamer just go home? Please just go home.] I sighed internally. They had no idea just how powerful a good night’s sleep could be. Once the players recovered from their shock, a man in a leather jacket swaggered over to me, looking me up and down with contempt. “You’re late. We’ve already assigned the rooms.” He pointed downwards. “The one in the basement is yours.” The manor had three floors. The A-rank players had, of course, claimed the prime real estate on the first and second floors. The room they’d left for me radiated a palpable chill, a coldness I could feel from ten feet away. The door was smeared with bloody handprints. Pale moonlight streamed through a grimy window, illuminating a large bed in the center of the room. [CHAT: Damn, even I’m getting scared just looking at this through my screen.] [CHAT: Everyone knows the ghosts in this instance start spawning from the basement. They’re totally screwing her over.] [CHAT: Look, she’s scared. She’s gonna turn around and beg the A-rankers for help!] I turned back to the man in the jacket and gave him a bright smile. “Goodnight.” The chat feed filled with question marks. The man, let’s call him Jax, was stunned into silence by my calm reaction. I shut the door in his face. Then, in one smooth motion, I kicked off my shoes, changed into my pajamas, and dove onto the bed. A king-sized bed! A single room! And the pillows were velvet! Did anyone understand what this meant to a college girl who’d spent four years crammed into a tiny dorm room? This was heaven! I rolled around ecstatically under the covers. [CHAT: Youth is wasted on the young. Falls asleep in a second.] [CHAT: Wait, she’s actually sleeping? Where does the system find these weirdos?] [CHAT: If she’d just looked up for a second, she would have fainted from fright.] Because I fell asleep so quickly, I completely missed the painting hanging over my bed: a portrait of a woman who had hanged herself. This horror instance, “The Haunting of Crestfall Manor,” was based on a real-life murder-suicide that had wiped out an entire family years ago in this very mansion. A family of five, all dead under mysterious circumstances. Ever since, the house has been haunted. As midnight struck, the woman in the painting’s eyes snapped open, bleeding pupils rolling downwards to look at me. Her voice, a dry rasp, filled the room. “He is my deepest nightmare…” “I am his closest secret…” “We share the same blood… Who is he?” I rolled over, tangling my legs in the blanket, and let out a soft snore. The ghost froze for a second, then gritted her teeth and repeated, “Who is he?” I responded with a loud, grating sound as I ground my teeth. The ghost was losing it. She started tearing at her hair and stomping her feet inside the painting. “Who is he!” “WHO IS HE!” “WHO IS HE!” [CHAT: …Wait, is this allowed? Did she just glitch the game?] [CHAT: How many players have been disemboweled by this ghost for getting the riddle wrong? And she just… sleeps through it.] [CHAT: This streamer is a rock. You could start a jet engine next to her ear and she wouldn’t stir.] The next morning, I woke up from my beauty sleep feeling refreshed. The room was normal, except for the hanged woman in the painting, who was now glaring at me with an expression of profound resentment. A system notification told me to go downstairs for breakfast. By the time I arrived, the long table held nothing but scraps and dirty plates. “Sorry,” a guy with bleached-blond hair said, picking his teeth. “I ate your share. A C-rank like you won’t last long anyway. Why waste valuable resources?” A girl handed me something. “Here, this was my hot milk. You can have it.” It was the same girl who had defended me yesterday. I took it. “Thanks.” “My name’s Eliot,” she said. “I’m…” I yawned. “…I’m a bit sleepy. Was there anything else? If not, I think I’ll go take a nap.” Eliot stared at me, speechless. “…Something happened on the first floor last night. A player died,” Jax announced, shaking me by the shoulder. I must have dozed off. “Since there’s a room free, the C-rank can have it.” I blinked my eyes open, realizing the A-rank players were discussing strategy. “Hey! I’m talking to you. Did you hear me?” I yawned again. “Sorry, I drifted off for a second. What were you saying?” Jax looked like he was about to pop a blood vessel. “Do you think this is a hotel? How can someone so young sleep so much!” It wasn’t until he opened the door that I understood why the A-rank players were suddenly being so generous. Before me was a little girl’s bedroom. A fluffy blue cloud-patterned rug was littered with dolls, and in the center stood a pink princess bed. But a stark contrast to the room’s cheerful decor was the massive pool of blood seeping out from under the bed, and the dismembered human limbs scattered across the floor. It was the room where the player had died last night. [CHAT: Well, Sleepyhead Eva is screwed now. Sleeping in here means a guaranteed visit from the little girl ghost. Get ready to be torn to shreds!] [CHAT: The little girl is a mini-boss. You can’t just sleep your way past her.] [CHAT: Don’t spoil it, guys! See? She’s so scared she’s running away… wait, why is she coming back with a broom?] I returned with a broom and dustpan and began sweeping up the body parts with a grunt. Then I took a rag and meticulously wiped every corner of the floor. When I was done, I finished with a spritz of air freshener. “Honestly, this little girl!” I muttered to myself. “No sense of bedroom hygiene at all!” After all, a clean and fresh environment is essential for quality sleep. [CHAT: …Did this woman used to be a professional cleaner? Why is she so calm?] [CHAT: When it comes to sleep, our streamer is dead serious.] [CHAT: Everyone else is here to clear the game, she’s here doing housekeeping. You could use that floor as a mirror now.] Thanks to my daytime chores, I was fast asleep before 10 PM. In the dead of night, a thick, coppery smell of blood seeped under the door. Creeeak—the door swung open. A little girl in a blood-soaked nightgown scuttled into the room on all fours, moving like a spider. In a flash, she was on the bed, ready to pounce. My snoring echoed through the room. The little girl froze, then opened her mouth in a silent, jagged scream. I remained still as a log, sleeping like the dead. [CHAT: NOW, LITTLE GIRL! BITE HER! DO IT!] [CHAT: I paid for the premium stream to see some action! I’ve got my popcorn ready!] [CHAT: Is it just me or is the vibe off? I thought this was a horror game, why do I feel like I stumbled into an ASMR stream?] The little girl shredded the bedsheets with her claws and lunged, her fangs aimed at my leg. I shot upright and, in a fluid motion, threw my thick cotton quilt over her. Trapped and disoriented under the blanket, the little girl thrashed and shrieked. I lifted a corner of the quilt, exposing only her head, and tucked the rest of her body snugly inside. When she saw my face, she started screaming again. I gently pinched her lips together with my fingers. “Hush now, little one. No more noise.” The girl froze, her large, crimson eyes staring blankly for a moment. I laid her down flat on the bed and patted her gently, as if soothing a child. “You poor thing,” I cooed. “Look at how bloodshot your eyes are. You’ve been staying up too late, haven’t you?” At my words, a single, dark tear trickled from the corner of her eye. After a long moment, she slowly closed her eyes. [CHAT: Is there a game master? Can someone check this? Is this even legal?] [CHAT: Totally legal. That little girl has been haunting this place for decades and no one’s ever tucked her in. Sleepyhead Eva just scored major points.] [CHAT: Eva’s gonna coddle these ghosts back into the womb at this rate.] As I continued my rhythmic patting, the little girl grew still and quiet, motionless as a porcelain doll. Up close, she was almost cute. The chat was still a waterfall of exclamation points. When I woke up the next morning, the little girl was gone. All that remained were the faint, dark stains on the sheets from her bloody nightgown. Downstairs, the other players stared at me, their faces a mask of disbelief as I walked in completely unharmed. “You… you didn’t encounter the boss last night?” Jax stammered. “Nope. Just met a little girl.” “We slept together,” I added. “She was a good kid. Didn’t even kick the blankets off.” A collective gasp went through the room. [SYSTEM: Congratulations to the remaining players for surviving the first three days.] [SYSTEM: From the third night onwards, the final boss will begin to roam randomly.] After a meager breakfast, the system announcement echoed. “Since this is about a family annihilation, I’m guessing the hidden boss is the killer,” one player theorized. “For safety, we should all move to the third floor and set up a watch schedule. What do you guys think…” “Excuse me,” I started. Jax shot me a withering glare. “A C-rank trying to ally with us? Not a chance. Stay away from us.” “Um, actually…” “Only three people can clear this game. We’re already being merciful by not ganging up on you!” I waited for Jax to finish his tirade, then pointed to a carton of warm milk next to him. “I was just going to ask… if you’re not going to drink that, can I have it?” Jax was speechless. The entire room fell silent, staring at me as if I were a complete idiot. Silence is consent. I happily took the milk and tucked it into my pocket. A little warm milk before bed is the key to a perfect night’s sleep, after all! The A-rank players claimed the two master bedrooms on the third floor, leaving me with a choice between a large and a small guest room. [CHAT: Place your bets, folks! Which one does she pick?] [CHAT: Is that even a question? She’s been sleeping like a log in huge beds for two nights straight.] [CHAT: Definitely the big one.] I stood in the hallway, looking at the two doors, then without a moment’s hesitation, I pushed open the door to the smaller room. [CHAT: …] [CHAT: Is she psychic? Can she see us? Why does she always do the opposite of what we expect?] Fools. Everyone knows a smaller room conserves energy and promotes better sleep. Just as I was about to step inside, a voice echoed from the void. [SYSTEM: Are you certain?] It was the system. [SYSTEM: Do you understand the consequences of staying here?] The system only ever intervened when a player was facing imminent, critical danger. The small room was sparsely furnished: a bed, a bookshelf, a wardrobe. I thought for a moment, then replied, “A wonderful night’s sleep.” The layout, the furniture… it was an exact replica of my childhood bedroom. Without another thought, I took a running leap and dove onto the bed, rolling around joyfully under the covers. Oh, my dear little bed, I’ve missed you so much! [SYSTEM: …] [SYSTEM: What is more important to you, clearing the game or sleeping?!] “Sleeping, obviously,” I replied. Midnight again. Thump. Thump. Thump. Heavy footsteps sounded right beside my pillow. A tall, shadowy figure stood by my bed, its limbs crudely stitched together, long hair hanging down to obscure its face. The chat, invisible to me, was going wild. [CHAT: !!! My husband is here! Who else re-watches this stream just to see the male ghost?!] [CHAT: He’s gonna go on a killing spree! I’m so excited! Snap her neck! Rip out her guts!] [CHAT: The boss has a 99.9% kill rate. The streamer is toast this time… wait. Did she just pull the boss into bed with her?] I was feeling unbearably hot in my sleep when my hand brushed against something icy cool. Without thinking, I pulled it into bed with me. Clutching the cold form in my arms, I felt all the stifling heat dissipate. It was so refreshing, so comfortable. The figure in my embrace stiffened. I mumbled something in my sleep, shifted my position, and nuzzled against its neck. The entity went completely rigid. A moment later, a low, raspy male voice broke the silence. “…Are you going to open your eyes? Or are you just using me as a body pillow?”

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On the way to finalize our divorce, a truck slammed into our car. Before I lost consciousness, I heard my wife, Aria, whisper, “If I could do it all over again, I would have said yes to Ross.” “To live a life full of passion with him… that’s the life I truly wanted.” When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day of our engagement party. Just like last time, Ross knelt before Aria, a ring clutched in his hand, and asked her to be with him. Without even a glance in my direction, Aria slipped the ring onto her finger, tears of joy streaming down her face. “Ross, I will!” I knew then that she had been reborn, too. So, I chose to let them go. She got her wish, living a life of freedom and passion with Ross. But later, she knelt before me, her voice choked with sobs, begging me to go back to the way things were. 1 Ross, stunned by this sudden turn of events, was momentarily speechless. After she confirmed it a second time, tears of ecstasy welled in his eyes. They clung to each other in a tight embrace, completely oblivious to the fact that the atmosphere in the grand hall had plunged to absolute zero. Every guest’s gaze was fixed on me. I calmly removed my bow tie, tossed it aside, and watched their passionate display with cold indifference. Aria then dragged Ross onto the stage and took the microphone. “Today is my engagement party,” she announced, her voice ringing with newfound conviction. “But standing up here, I’ve realized that the man I truly love is Ross. I’ve let him slip through my fingers too many times, and I refuse to make that mistake again. I want to spend the rest of my life with him!” In that room, filled with our family and friends, not a single person applauded their “love story.” Aria turned to me, her voice now flat and detached. “I was confused before. If you want compensation, I can give you fifty thousand dollars. I hope you’ll stay out of my life from now on.” Her eyes, when they met mine, were filled with a chilling apathy—the result of the twenty years of marriage we had shared in our previous life. But when she looked at Ross, she was once again the passionate, vibrant girl from her twenties. We had dated for three years before deciding to get engaged. The moment I proposed, she had excitedly told everyone we knew. We were showered with blessings from all sides, with one exception: Ross. He was a junior from her university who had fallen for her at first sight. He engineered “coincidental” meetings on campus and, after graduation, found every excuse to remain in her orbit. Whenever he saw me, he’d flash a provocative smirk. “You’re not married yet. I’m not giving up. I’ll make her see that life has more than one path!” I never knew how to handle him, but Aria was always resolute. She would grip my hand tightly and reject him with cold finality. In our past life, to prove her commitment to me, she had rushed us into an engagement ceremony right after the proposal. But at that ceremony, Ross had appeared, dressed in a flamboyant suit, his eyes locked on her. “Aria, this is the last time I’ll ever confess my feelings for you. If you reject me again, I will disappear from your world forever.” In our last life, Aria had taken my hand and placed the ring on her own finger, silently rejecting him one final time. This time, however, she took Ross’s hand and confessed her love for him to the entire world. Faced with the suffocatingly tense atmosphere, I simply stepped back and watched them steal my spotlight. When their emotional declarations were finally over, I spoke, my voice devoid of emotion. “I wish you both the best. Aria, I hope we never see each other again.” 2 Aria froze, seemingly shocked that I had agreed so readily. Ross, on the other hand, let out a whoop of joy, peppering her with kisses before finally turning to me, his face alight with triumph. “Fred, I told you! I told you Aria would choose me!” I gave him a noncommittal nod and turned to leave. As I stepped down from the stage, I stumbled. A pair of delicate, fair hands steadied me. “Mr. Green,” a soft voice said, “perhaps you should start noticing the other people in the room.” I looked at the woman who had caught me—Vera Vance. A small smile touched my lips. I recognized her face from countless financial news segments in my past life. I just never expected she would be at my engagement party. “Noticing who?” I asked. Vera’s smile deepened, her pupils reflecting only my image. She pressed a small slip of paper into my palm. “My number. Call me when you have a moment.” I glanced at her before heading to the changing room. My parents and Aria’s parents followed me in, their faces grim. Aria’s parents forced apologetic smiles. “Fred, our daughter has been foolish. Now that things are like this, we can only do our best to compensate you. Whatever you need, just ask. We’ll do anything to make it right.” My mother scoffed. “As if we need your…” I quickly grabbed my mother’s hand, cutting her off. Then, I turned to Aria’s parents with a bright smile. “In that case, Auntie, how about you transfer the Northgate property to me?” The Northgate plot was currently worthless, but I knew that in a few years, its value would skyrocket. It was that very piece of land that had saved Aria’s family business from bankruptcy in our past life. They drafted the contract on the spot. I couldn’t stop smiling. After they left, my mother slapped my arm. “A grown man, publicly humiliated like that, and you’re grinning from ear to ear!” I held up the contract. “Shouldn’t I be happy about this?” And I truly was. In my previous life, a series of disastrous decisions by Aria’s family had dragged my own family’s company, Green Enterprises, into ruin. Their company was only saved by the Northgate plot. To salvage my own business, I had poured every waking moment into work. Aria had thrown countless tantrums, complaining that our life was dull and tedious. She’d ask why I couldn’t just drop everything to travel the world with her. That’s when Ross had reappeared. He had become a famous travel influencer, his location tag hopping from one exotic country to the next. Aria would watch his videos, mesmerized. She started using “business trips” as an excuse, flying to Africa to watch the wildebeest migration with him. One was a free spirit; the other yearned for that same freedom. It was inevitable that they would be drawn to each other. Her “business trips” became more frequent. Sensing something was wrong, I booked a ticket for the same flight and discovered her betrayal. When I confronted them, the cold, dead look in her eyes stopped me in my tracks. She said that being with me was like being trapped in stagnant water, utterly devoid of life. Only with Ross did she feel truly alive. Eventually, she gave up all pretense. “Let’s get a divorce. You can have three-quarters of the assets. You can have the kids. All I want is my freedom.” “A person like you,” she’d sneered, “all you care about is money and profit. You’ll never understand the joy of a life without constraints.” She said it with the same arrogant confidence she’d had at eighteen. All I could do was laugh. A life of passion and freedom sounded wonderful, but without a material foundation to support it, it was just a fleeting high, followed by an empty void. Once she had her fill of adventure, she would realize she had nothing to show for her life. For a long time after, I heard nothing from her. I’d only catch glimpses of her when Ross’s videos popped up on my feed. It seemed she was truly living the life she wanted. It didn’t bother me. I had my own life, and a partner who truly understood me. 3 I walked into the lobby of Veridian Global, holding a proposal for the Northgate project, ready to discuss a partnership. The elevator doors slid open, and I came face-to-face with Aria. “Fred?” Ross, standing behind her, looked up. They were both decked out in high-end ski gear—the kind manufactured by Veridian. I knew one of Veridian’s subsidiaries was looking for influencers for a new campaign; I just hadn’t realized it was them. I gave a curt nod in greeting and moved to step into the elevator. Aria blocked my path. “How did you know I was here?” “Fred, I just got back to the country, and you’re already chasing me. Can you be any more pathetic?” Ross wrapped an arm around Aria, his eyes full of smug satisfaction. “Fred, you acted so tough when you walked away. Why are you stalking her now? Aria and I are doing great. We’re happy. I hear things aren’t going so well for you, though?” “I heard Green Enterprises took a nosedive?” He looked me up and down, his eyes dripping with contempt for a failure. “You’re so pitiful, Fred. Your business is gone, you’re getting old, you’ve never even seen the world, and now Aria doesn’t want you. Tell you what, why don’t you be our assistant? We could even pay you a little extra.” I looked at them like they were a pair of idiots. Did all that traveling leave their brains on a baggage carousel somewhere? Green Enterprises had been restructured and renamed years ago. The old “Green” was just a small subsidiary I’d left for my younger brother to practice with. “No, thank you,” I said flatly. “I’m doing just fine.” I tried to move past them to the elevator panel, but Ross was relentless. He waved at the front desk. “Can just anyone walk into Veridian? Are you people at the front desk doing your job? Does this man even have an appointment?” The receptionist hurried over. “Mr. Green does have an appointment…” Before she could finish, Ross cut her off. “So what if he has an appointment? I was personally invited here by Ms. Vance herself. If you offend me, I’ll have her fire you!” Aria chimed in with a smirk. “Exactly. And besides, this ‘Mr. Green’ isn’t really here to see Ms. Vance. He’s just trying to find a way to harass me. I’ll handle him for her.” She even pulled out an old photo of us from her phone and showed it to the receptionist, as if offering proof. “Fred, you really are desperate, aren’t you? Making an appointment with the CEO just to get to me. It’s pathetic.” “Take this outside. Don’t embarrass yourself at Veridian Global.” The receptionist looked at me, her previously firm expression now wavering. “Mr. Green, perhaps it would be best if you left.” I felt a knot of frustration tighten in my chest. How could these two be so self-absorbed, so convinced of their own distorted reality? I turned to the receptionist. “Please call the CEO’s executive assistant and have them buzz the private elevator.” She looked at me, her expression turning to one of pity. “Sir, you only have an appointment with Ms. Vance. Why would you need the CEO’s private elevator?” “And besides,” she added, “if you’re really just here to see Ms. Lin, you don’t need to bother the CEO at all.” Ross rolled his eyes and snorted. “Give it up, Fred. Your family is practically broke. You dare to ask for the CEO’s private elevator?” The commotion had attracted the attention of other clients waiting in the lobby. Their whispers were loud enough to hear. “Who does that guy think he is? Asking for the CEO’s private elevator?” “Probably another social climber. I heard the CEO is engaged, but that doesn’t stop these guys from trying.” The audience seemed to fuel Ross and Aria’s performance. Their voices grew louder. “Fred, I know we had a past,” Aria said, her voice dripping with false sympathy. “But can you please not make a scene here? Even if we have some connection with Ms. Vance, I can’t just stand by and watch you cause trouble.” “There’s a coffee shop outside. We can talk there.”

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I’m supposed to be an emotionally stable capybara, but I’ve been dropped into the body of a tragic wife, complete with all her baggage—every last ounce of her heartbreak. Her husband, Jack, dotes on his childhood sweetheart, Sophia. Even their son, Tim, dreams of Sophia becoming his new mother. This is great. I don’t want to do anything, anyway. So when Jack gets a call late at night and tries to sneak out, I don’t make a scene. Instead, while clutching the phantom ache in my chest, I calmly hand him his coat. 1 The sound of Jack’s voice, hushed and urgent, pulled me from sleep. He was tiptoeing out of bed, his voice a low murmur of concern for the woman on the other end of the line—his precious Sophia. He slipped on his clothes, grabbed his car keys, and made a beeline for the door. “Wait.” The sound of my voice froze him in his tracks. He turned, a flicker of annoyance crossing his handsome features. “Sophia’s alone,” he began, his tone already defensive. “The power’s out, and I—” “Put on your coat before you go,” I said, my voice flat. “It’s cold out.” His irritation morphed into stunned disbelief. He stared at me for a long moment, as if seeing a stranger. But I just turned away, listless, gently rubbing the ache in my chest that wasn’t truly mine. Seeing that I wasn’t gearing up for the usual tear-filled fight, Jack’s expression softened. He walked back to the bed and pressed a quick, dutiful kiss to my forehead. “Don’t be difficult, Erika. I’ll be back soon.” I nodded, feeling nothing but the relentless throb in my heart, which now seemed to be intensifying. The click of the front door was my cue. I dragged myself out of bed and swallowed a painkiller. It was a futile gesture, more for psychological comfort than any real relief. It’s been two months since the original Erika tried to end her life, paving the way for my arrival. This late-night drama with Jack was routine. I was too tired to be angry. For a capybara, anger is just too much trouble. Even if I am cursed with her memories and her pain. The feeling, or lack thereof, persisted the next morning. I’d woken up early to make breakfast for our son, Tim. He took one look at the oatmeal I’d prepared and wrinkled his nose in disgust, scraping the bowl’s contents directly into the trash. “Mom, I’ve told you a million times, I want pancakes for breakfast! Sophia always remembers. Why can’t you?” His disdain was written all over his face. I should have been furious. I should have felt a pang of hurt. Instead, I just picked up my own bowl and slowly ate my oatmeal. “Then you should go ask her to make you breakfast.” Tim, who had been ready to launch into a full-blown tirade, choked on his next words. My quiet suggestion, meant to be helpful, landed like a venomous dart. His face crumpled, and he burst into tears. With a furious swipe of his arm, he sent his own empty bowl and silverware crashing to the floor. “You’re a bad mom! A horrible mom!” he wailed, his voice echoing through the cavernous villa. “Why did Daddy have to marry you? I want Sophia to be my mom!” I continued to eat my oatmeal, calmly turning away from the mess. Capybaras don’t do drama. Not interfering was the best I could offer. My lack of reaction only fueled his tantrum. He swept everything within his reach off the table, the sound of shattering porcelain filling the air. Children have a cruel, innate understanding of how to inflict the deepest wounds. “No wonder Daddy likes Sophia more than you!” he screamed between sobs. I ignored him, though the phantom pain in my chest was becoming unbearable. I set down my bowl, moved to the living room couch, and turned on the morning news. It was my primary way of understanding this world; smartphones were a labyrinth of complexity I had yet to master. Two months in, and I could barely send a text message. The television was so much simpler. “What is going on in here?” 2 Jack stood in the doorway, his gaze sweeping over the wreckage in the dining room. Tim, spotting his father, immediately ran to him, a fresh wave of sobs racking his small body as he tattled on my supposed morning-of-terror. Jack, who clearly hadn’t been home all night, scooped him up and stormed over to me, his face a mask of fury. “It was just a little outburst, Erika. He’s a child. Did you have to be so cruel? What if he cries himself sick? If you can’t handle something this simple, then maybe you shouldn’t be looking after him at all.” I gave a slight nod, my eyes still fixed on the television screen. “What is that supposed to mean?” he seethed. “Don’t think playing the silent treatment is going to work. One more incident like this, and I’m asking Sophia to move in.” “Okay,” I said. Jack’s rage intensified. “Fine,” he snapped, his jaw tight. “You said it. Don’t you dare regret it.” As if afraid I’d change my mind, he immediately pulled out his phone and started dialing. While he was on the phone, a news report caught my eye. It was about a spectacular firework display at the city’s largest amusement park. “Last night at midnight,” the cheerful anchor announced, “Ashton City’s largest theme park was exclusively booked by Jack Kartalian, CEO of Kartalian Corporation. Mr. Kartalian had the park’s entire fireworks inventory set off in a single, breathtaking display to woo his sweetheart. The two were seen in a tender embrace, a truly enviable picture of romance.” The screen showed two figures silhouetted against the glittering sky. Even from the back, they looked perfect together. I noticed the coat draped over the woman’s shoulders. It was Jack’s. He turned back to me just then, the very same coat now looking glaringly out of place on him. He seemed to realize it too, fidgeting with the glasses on his nose. “Erika, listen, it’s not what you think. Last night was just—” A sharp, sudden pain lanced through my chest. I shot up from the couch. “You don’t have to explain,” I said, my voice strained. “I trust you.” I tried to keep my tone even as I turned and hurried toward the bedroom. But Jack followed, his voice insistent and grating. “Erika, what is this new game you’re playing? Sophia is like a sister to me! I did that for her as a friend. Can’t you stop listening to tabloid nonsense?” Every word he spoke was another dagger in my heart. As I reached the stairs, the pain overwhelmed me, and the world went black. I collapsed. Through the fog of my fading consciousness, I thought I heard Jack’s voice, cold and distant. “Don’t think playing the victim is going to work on me.” “Get up, Erika.” “Fine. Stay there. See how long you can keep it up.” The last thing I heard before slipping into complete darkness was the decisive click of the front door closing. He had really just left me there. A small, detached part of my mind silently condemned his callousness. I couldn’t fathom why the original Erika had ever fallen for a man like this. And yet, every time the thought of divorce surfaced, a powerful, deep-seated obsession from her memories would rise up, sealing my lips shut. When I finally woke up, the house was empty. And for some reason, a profound sense of relief washed over me. I knew this emotional rollercoaster wasn’t normal. I went online and booked an appointment with a psychiatrist, determined to figure out what was wrong with this body. “Your condition,” the doctor said, peering at me over her glasses, “presents as a severe case of Emotional Transference Syndrome. Given the unique circumstances, I’d recommend you first try to redirect your emotional focus. Find a new anchor—a hobby, a passion, anything. But a person can never be your sole pillar of support. If that fails… we may have to consider more intensive treatments, like ECT.” Her words echoed in my mind all the way home. I pushed open the front door to the sound of cheerful laughter. 3 Sophia’s luggage was already in the entryway, but she herself was comfortably settled on the couch, sharing a slice of cake with Jack and Tim. Jack fed a bite directly to Sophia, and Tim giggled, playfully complaining that his father was showing favoritism. They looked like the perfect family. The moment I stepped inside, the laughter died. The smiles vanished. Tim shot me a cold glare and turned his head away. Jack’s face hardened. “Well, well,” he said with a sneer. “Done with your fainting act?” I just nodded, my emotional state still strangely placid. My chest didn’t even hurt. It was an unexpected, welcome reprieve. Ignoring them, I started walking toward my bedroom. A sweet voice called out from behind me. “Erika.” I turned. Sophia was looking at me, a shy, almost blushing expression on her face. “Erika, I was just looking around, and I absolutely adore your room… the master suite. It’s so lovely. Do you think… could I have it?” Her words hung in the air. Both Jack and Tim swiveled their heads to look at me, their eyes filled with a silent warning. It was clear: if I protested, they would pounce. But… throwing a fit was simply not in my nature. “Okay,” I said. “It’s yours.” A flash of triumph, sharp and provocative, lit up Sophia’s face. “Oh, thank you, Erika! I knew you wouldn’t mind. Could you possibly help me with my things? My self-care skills are a bit weak, and Jack always says you’re so good at housekeeping. It would be such a help.” The thinly veiled insult was impossible to miss. It was a direct jab, and for the first time, I felt a flicker of genuine annoyance. Without a word, I walked over and took her suitcase. And then I kicked it, hard. It went flying, tumbling down the short flight of stairs with a series of sickening thuds. The smug smile was still on Sophia’s face when the final crash echoed through the hall. “Erika, what the hell are you doing?!” Jack was on me in an instant, his voice a furious roar. “If you didn’t want to help, you could have just said so! Why would you kick her luggage?” Seeing Jack leap to her defense, Sophia’s eyes immediately welled with tears. “Jack, it’s not that I want to make a fuss,” she sobbed, “but… the porcelain inside… it was a piece I’ve been working on for a year…” She knelt and opened the battered suitcase. Inside, a ceramic vase lay in a thousand pieces. Jack couldn’t stand to see his beloved cry. He wrapped his arms around her, murmuring comforting words. “It’s okay, it’s okay. I’ll make her apologize. She’ll pay for it.” A simple ceramic pot, of course, wasn’t worth much. But Jack wasn’t about to let it go. He grabbed my arm, his grip like iron. “Erika. Apologize.” I shook my head, a flicker of satisfaction in my aching heart. “Don’t make me say it again. Apologize!” “Miss Kartalian,” Sophia whimpered, her eyes misty and pathetic, “if you’re angry with me, that’s fine. But please, don’t take it out on my art. I…” “No apology,” I said, my voice steady. “You deserved it.” I was simply stating a fact. Who in their right mind packs fragile porcelain in a suitcase for a move, instead of, say, clothes? “Erika! If you don’t apologize right now, we are getting a divorce! You can get the hell out of this house today!” I had expected a wave of sorrow to crash over me. But, surprisingly, my heart remained calm, my breathing even. “Okay.” I wrenched my arm free and marched to the bedroom, quickly packing a small bag. “If you walk out that door,” Jack yelled after me, “don’t you ever come back!” I nodded. As I passed Sophia, I slipped the wedding ring from my finger and placed it on the table beside her. “This,” I said, “should cover your vase.” The sight of the ring on the table finally seemed to break through Jack’s rage. A flicker of panic crossed his face. “What do you mean by that, Erika?”

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I bankrupted my own company to take my girlfriend’s public, making her dream a reality. At her IPO celebration, I planned to reveal myself as a billionaire heir and announce our relationship. But she stepped on stage arm-in-arm with another man. “Bryan,” she said, trembling with excitement, “the pregnancy rumors are true—he’s the father!” Silence filled the room. Everyone turned to me. I stood, forced a smile, and started clapping. The crowd erupted. Watching Sophia glow in Bryan’s arms, I realized—if this was her happiness, I wouldn’t stand in her way. I walked out and called my father: “Kill Sophia’s funding. Let her figure out the IPO alone.” 1 My father, sharp as ever, knew instantly that something was broken between Sophia and me. He sighed, a heavy sound over the phone. “Bill, are you sure about this? If we pull this funding, Rosewood Tech won’t just fail to go public. They’ll go under completely. That hole from their tax evasion is too deep to fill.” He paused. “I won’t ask why you’re making this decision. I just… it’s been seven years, son. I don’t want you to have any regrets.” Seven years. After I got with Sophia, I cared more about her career than she did. When I first got involved, her company was a black hole, and to keep it from collapsing, I cannibalized my own successful business. She’d cried, telling me how much it hurt to see me work myself into a bleeding ulcer for her, swearing she would never let me down. She promised that once the company went public, we would finally make our relationship official. So I worked even harder, all for the day I could stand by her side without hiding. But promises? They’re just hot air from the person making them, and only a fool believes them. “Dad,” I said firmly. “Just trust me on this.” He didn’t press further. The moment I hung up, Sophia stormed out after me. “Bill! You’re the host. You can’t just walk out! That’s so unprofessional!” A cold, humorless laugh escaped my lips. “My duties didn’t include emceeing the public announcement of your affair.” Her face went rigid. “You’re the host, you host the whole event! You don’t get to pick and choose.” Her voice rose, dripping with indignation. “Besides, I was telling the truth. Bryan is the father of the child in my belly! I can’t very well lie and say it’s you, can I?” She hadn’t told me she was pregnant. I found the test in the trash can myself. I didn’t question it, just naturally assumed the child was mine. I started taking even better care of her, and she let me, never correcting my assumption. I never imagined I was just a placeholder, a glorified caretaker for another man’s woman and child. The thought was as nauseating as swallowing a fly. I didn’t want to waste another breath on her. “I’m going home.” After a quick shower, I collapsed onto the bed. My phone buzzed. It was a video from Bryan. I opened it, and the sounds of Sophia’s moans filled the quiet room, each one louder than the last. She moved with him, trying different positions, her face a mask of pure ecstasy. “Oh, Bryan,” her voice cooed from the speaker, “only with you… only with you does it feel like our souls are truly merging.” So, they really were a perfect match. That video showed me a side of Sophia I’d never known. With me, she’d just lie there like a starfish, a mechanical, lifeless participant. I had always thought she just had a low libido. Turns out, that wasn’t it at all. She just didn’t love me. My eyelids felt like lead weights. A wave of exhaustion washed over me, deeper than any I’d ever felt. I, who always needed to get to the bottom of everything, now just wanted to sleep. I dropped my phone and let the darkness take me. 2 In the dead of night, Sophia came home, propping up a drunken Bryan. The blankets were ripped off me, and a blast of cold air hit my skin. I opened my eyes to see Sophia’s face, arrogant and demanding, hovering above me. “You’re sleeping on the couch,” she ordered. “Bryan’s taking the bed.” She had always treated me this way, with a casual, high-handed authority. After seven years, she was used to me being her servant. I didn’t move. “Doesn’t he have his own home?” “Can’t you see he’s drunk? I have to take care of him.” Her tone was matter-of-fact, as if Bryan were her rightful partner. How considerate. I remembered the time I drank myself sick to land a deal for her company. I called her to pick me up, but she said it was too cold to go out. I had to drag myself home, collapsing the moment I walked through the door. I spent the night on the freezing floor and woke up with a raging fever. I had to call the ambulance myself. She didn’t visit me once in the hospital. “Ah, I almost forgot,” I said, my voice flat. “He’s the father of your child.” Sophia took my words as agreement. “Exactly. So are you going to move, or not?” “Bill, I know you’re angry,” she said, her voice softening slightly, “but I can’t let my child call another man ‘daddy’.” What a noble mother. But who created this mess? I looked at her, truly looked at her, and for the first time, she utterly disgusted me. I started to get up, but she stopped me. Her expression was a mix of conflict and resolution. Finally, she let out a breath. “The person I love is Bryan. The baby and I… we can’t be without him.” She paused, as if offering me a grand concession. “So, here’s the plan. The three of us will live together. You’ll keep managing the company, and you’ll get your share. I won’t cheat you.” A laugh bubbled up inside me. The sheer audacity of it. She wanted to have her cake and eat it too. Make her grand public declaration with Bryan, and keep me around as her free labor and glorified butler. “No, thank you,” I said. “Since you chose him, I wish you both the best.” Sophia looked at me as if I’d told the funniest joke in the world. “Can you stop being so dramatic? Without me, how would you even survive? I’ve been supporting you all these years.” She waved a dismissive hand. “Just stay put. The three of us can make it work. It was Bryan’s idea, too.” Just then, Bryan made a retching sound. Sophia immediately rushed to his side, all concern and worry. I went to the study to sleep. It wasn’t long before the study door was being pounded on, the noise shaking the frame. “Get up and make breakfast! Bryan and I are hungry. We want noodles, hurry up!” I pulled the covers over my head, pretending not to hear. After a while, the knocking stopped. My sleep was ruined anyway. When I finally got up, they were both gone. Perfect. Time to pack. The stench of stale alcohol in the master bedroom was overwhelming. She could really tolerate anything for Bryan’s sake. I opened the closet. My clothes were just a few items, all of which I’d bought myself before moving in. After a moment’s thought, I gathered them all and threw them in the trash. If I was letting go, I was letting go of everything. Besides the clothes, I also threw out the matching couple’s toothbrushes, slippers, and dishes I had bought. As I cleared things out, it dawned on me: the only person invested in our “couple” status had been me. Sophia’s set of everything was still in its original packaging, untouched. As I was clearing out the shoe rack, I found something tucked away in a corner. A pair of men’s underwear. Not my size. The blood in my veins turned to ice. I looked around the apartment, our home, and a sickening montage played in my mind: Bryan and Sophia, laughing, touching, living in every corner of this place, while I remained completely in the dark. Thank God I was finally awake. 3 After shipping my few remaining personal effects back to my family’s estate, I headed to Rosewood Tech to resign. Beyond funneling resources to Sophia from behind the scenes, I also held the official title of General Manager. For seven years, day in and day out, I had been the one closing deals, solving crises, and pushing the company upward. I pushed open the door to my—to the General Manager’s office—and found Sophia and Bryan wrapped around each other, directing a secretary who was packing up a desk. My desk. Now that they were public, they certainly weren’t shy. I thought back to all the times I had asked, begged, for us to be more open, and how Sophia had always refused. She was the boss, she’d said, she had to set an example. What would happen if all her employees started office romances? How could she maintain control? “Throw all of his junk out,” Sophia’s sharp voice cut through the air. “I don’t know why we let such garbage accumulate in here. It’s cheapening the place.” They turned as I entered. Sophia’s face was a mask of cold indifference, while Bryan shot me a look of pure, triumphant provocation. “Bill,” Sophia announced, her tone brittle, “in light of your immature behavior at the celebration party yesterday, you’re being demoted. Bryan will be the new General Manager. You can be his deputy.” She gestured towards Bryan. “That funding deal from New York? You’ll assist him in finalizing it from now on.” The New York deal. The one I’d spent a month wining and dining the client’s representative for, drinking until I gave myself a bleeding ulcer just to get a foot in the door. The deal that was only truly secured because of my father’s influence. Now that they thought it was a sure thing, they were trying to kick me to the curb and steal the credit. How utterly predictable. I didn’t bother arguing. I simply pulled the resignation letter from my jacket and placed it on the desk in front of her. “Ms. Rosewood, this is my resignation. Please approve it.” The sudden move caught them completely off guard. Sophia and Bryan exchanged a shocked glance. She frowned, her eyes searching my face for some hidden motive. Bryan, however, was practically vibrating with excitement. With me gone, the project—and all the glory—would fall squarely into his lap. “Come on, ‘Deputy’ Vance,” he sneered. “Are you really going to quit just because of a small demotion? Or do you actually think this company can’t function without you? Pulling a stunt like this right before the IPO… real classy.” Any hesitation Sophia might have had vanished at Bryan’s words. Her face darkened with anger. “I don’t know why I ever hired you in the first place!” she snapped. “You want to leave? Fine! I accept. Now pack your things and get the hell out! And don’t you ever think of setting foot in Rosewood Tech again.” I nodded, quietly placing my few belongings into a cardboard box. Just then, Sophia’s assistant rushed in, out of breath. “Ms. Rosewood, the representative from the New York firm is here! They said they’re ready to talk about the financing!” Sophia immediately started fussing over Bryan, straightening his tie. “You’ve got this,” she whispered encouragingly. “It’s all been negotiated. All that’s left is the signature. Don’t be nervous.” “I won’t,” Bryan said, puffing out his chest as he walked out of the office. I finished packing and walked out with my box. In the hallway, I saw Bryan, a fawning smile plastered on his face as he extended a hand to the representative. “Hello, sir. My name is Bryan Carter. I’m the new General Manager here, and I’ll be handling the financing deal with you.” The representative didn’t even glance at his outstretched hand. His eyes lit up when he saw me. He immediately came over, taking the box from my arms. “Mr. Vance,” he said, his voice loud and clear for everyone to hear. “I’ve already been notified about the situation. I’m actually here today to officially cancel the investment.” He gestured vaguely back toward Bryan. “This whole deal was contingent on your involvement, as a favor to your father. With you gone, there’s no reason for us to stay.”

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The day the King was ambushed, my husband—the Captain of the Royal Guard—was busy placating his childhood sweetheart, who had stormed off in a fit of pique. I did not light the signal flare in my hand. Instead, I stood before the King, my belly swollen with child, and became his human shield. I made this choice because, in my previous life, I had lit that flare. My husband had abandoned his precious Elara to rush to the King’s side. He was hailed as a hero, named Lord Protector of the realm for his valor. But Elara, left alone, fell into the assassins’ trap and was killed on the spot. My husband said nothing at the time. But on the day I gave birth, he threw me into the Beast Pit. As the creatures closed in, I screamed at him, demanding to know why. He gave me a single, cold glance. “The King has a legion of guards. Why did I, and only I, have to return? It must be that you, with your eyes only for power and wealth, deliberately summoned me!” “If you hadn’t lit that flare, would Elara have died? The suffering she endured… I will make you repay it, tenfold!” The beasts tore me apart, devouring even the newborn child from my womb. When I opened my eyes again, I was back. Back on the day of the King’s assassination. … 1 “Protect the King!” The black-clad assassins moved with deadly precision. I took a reflexive step back. I was truly reborn. And it was right at the beginning. My eyes fell to the signal flare clutched in my hand. While no one was watching, I hurled it into a nearby lake. Then, with all my strength, I threw myself in front of the King, who was locked in a desperate struggle with the attackers. I saw the shock in his eyes as I became his shield, absorbing blow after brutal blow meant for him. I watched as the confusion in his gaze slowly gave way to disbelief, then to a dawning sense of awe. I knew, in that moment, that my gamble had paid off. My husband, Lord Valerius, was the Captain of the Royal Guard. He was meant to be by the King’s side at all times. Yet today, with the King’s life in peril, he was absent. He was chasing after his pouting first love, Lady Elara. In my last life, I had lit the flare, fearing he would be reprimanded for his absence. Instead, after being showered with titles and honors, he decided I was a power-hungry shrew who had orchestrated Elara’s death. He had me thrown into a pit of wild beasts he had “prepared” just for me, a final, gruesome end for me and my child. Since the heavens had granted me a second chance, I would not walk that same path to ruin. I shielded the King with my life. Blades plunged into my body, but I gritted my teeth and refused to make a sound. The King had other guards nearby; if I could just hold on until reinforcements arrived, I would live. The King understood this. Though it pained him, he took shelter behind me. The assassins, realizing my intent, exchanged a look. Then, one of them drove his sword deep into my abdomen. My child. I was eight months pregnant. I felt him move within me every day. In my last life, just before the end, I could have sworn I heard him cry. This single blade felt more agonizing than being torn apart by a hundred beasts. A raw scream tore from my throat. My vision swam with red. I felt their killing intent focus on me, the final blow about to fall. A sharp, tearing pain radiated from my core, different from the agony of my first death. I felt something precious, something vital, slipping away from me. I reached out, but my hand only found the King’s blood-soaked tunic. The thunder of approaching footsteps. I heard the King’s frantic roar. “Healers! Where are the Royal Healers? Whose lady is this? Someone, attend to her!” I opened my mouth, but only blood came out, spilling in crimson waves. The King knelt beside me, heedless of the gore. With the last of my strength, I forced out the words. “I am… the wife of the Captain… of the Royal Guard… Lord Valerius.” 2 After speaking, I felt myself slipping into darkness. But a sharp prick from a healer’s needle jolted me back. “My lady, you cannot sleep,” he urged, wiping sweat from his brow. “If you sleep now, you may never wake. Think of your husband, your child! They are waiting for you!” The King’s voice joined his. “Yes, yes, that’s right. You have saved the Crown. When you recover, I shall name you Lady Protector of the Realm, and you will want for nothing. And your child! If it is a girl, she shall be betrothed to my son, the Prince. If a boy, he will be granted a great title. You must hold on! I’ve already sent for Lord Valerius!” I managed a weak, bitter smile. I was no fool. The moment that blade entered my womb, I knew my child was lost. As for Valerius… he would not come. Just then, the messenger the King had dispatched returned, breathless. He fell to his knees, his eyes fixed on the floor. The King’s brow furrowed. “Where is Lord Valerius?” The page trembled. “My lord… Lord Valerius refuses to come. He said… he said not to use such cheap tricks to gain his sympathy.” The boy’s head hit the stone floor with a dull thud. I knew Valerius must have said far worse, things the page dared not repeat in the King’s presence. Of course. In Valerius’s heart, I was worth less than a single hair on Elara’s head. And yet, I was his lawfully wedded wife. Elara was merely his mistress. He had abandoned his post, abandoned his King, to chase after her. That signal flare… I had knelt and begged him for it before he left. In my last life, I lit it, and he called me ambitious. In this one, the King himself summoned him, and he ignored the call. If he loved Elara so much, why had he ever married me? Rage surged through me, and I coughed up another mouthful of blood. The healer, his cap askew, glanced nervously at the King. “Your Majesty, the Lady’s emotions are too volatile. If she does not have family by her side at this critical moment, I fear she will not survive!” The King looked at me, his jaw tight with fury, but he swallowed his anger. He pulled a heavy, carved jade pendant from his belt and threw it to the page. “Go. Tell him it is a command from his King. If he does not come, I will have his head!” He was truly enraged now. He was surrounded by guards, yet on this day, the one who mattered most was gone. I had nearly died for him, yet he could not even summon my husband. For a man of his absolute power, it was a profound humiliation. My condition was too fragile to be moved. The healers could only keep me alive with needles and potions while they brewed a stronger draught. When the page returned again, I was still conscious enough to hear his report. This time, he was not alone. With great effort, I opened my eyes. I saw a face I knew all too well from my past life: Elara’s handmaiden, Leah. Leah had originally been my maid. But after I became pregnant, she had started poisoning my food. By the time it was discovered, I was on death’s door. I had been about to have her executed when Valerius had walked in, Elara on his arm. I still remember the way he looked at me—with such coldness, as if I were not his wife, but his mortal enemy. Elara had been weeping, clutching Leah’s hand, her eyes pleading with me. “My lady, how can you be so cruel? You are not dead. Why must you take this girl’s life? It is monstrous! Valerius, my love, perhaps you could give her to me? Though I am only your mistress, surely I have the power to save one small life.” 3 Valerius had turned to Elara, sighing with a weary fondness. “You are too kind, my love.” Then he faced me. “Elara is right, Lyra. You are not dead. Why make such a fuss? Give Leah to Elara. And in the future, try not to be so dramatic over trivial matters.” I had stared at him in disbelief. I was carrying his child, and had almost been poisoned to death, yet he thought it was a trivial matter because I had survived. There was no justice in it. But at that time, I still loved him. I believed he was simply blinded by Elara, and that as his wife, I should be magnanimous. Then one day, I overheard them talking. Valerius’s eyes were full of adoration. “You silly girl. Next time you use poison, be more discreet. If you’re caught again, I won’t be able to help you.” Elara wrapped her arms around his, cooing. “I know, I know. Thank you for your help this time, my lord.” Leah stood nearby, smiling. The three of them, a perfect picture of harmony. And I, standing in the shadows, felt as if I’d been plunged into a frozen hell. All along, Valerius had known. He had even encouraged it. I was the only one who had been a fool. The hatred from that memory boiled within me, and seeing Leah again made my blood run hot. But in her eyes, my agitation was a sign of guilt. Her initial timidity vanished, replaced by a smug confidence. “Lady Lyra, my lord says he is with my lady Elara now. As for you, as long as you don’t die, it’s fine. If you bother him again, he will send you a writ of divorce! Not only that, he will make the child in your belly call my lady ‘Mother’!” “My lord also said that he never liked you. He only married you because your family had power and could help his career. Now that he is Captain of the Royal Guard, he keeps you around out of the kindness of his heart. If you continue to cause trouble, you will have only death to look forward to!” By the time Leah finished, the King’s face was black with rage. He smashed his teacup on the floor, and the servants in the hall dropped to their knees in a wave of fear. But Leah, oblivious, strode up to my bedside, sneering. “Lady Lyra, I advise you to save your energy. Your little act won’t work on my lord. And as for this… commoner?” She gestured vaguely at the King. “If you think you can make my lord jealous, you are sorely mistaken.” “When I tell my lord how you risked your own child to carry on an affair with this man, do you think he will have you drawn and quartered, or simply torn limb from limb?” She was gloating. The King’s royal robes had been ruined, and he was now wearing a simple linen tunic. She had mistaken the King of the realm for my secret lover. The King’s expression was unreadable, a mask of cold fury. He gave a sharp, humorless laugh, and with a nod, the guards who had just arrived seized Leah. She finally realized her mistake and opened her mouth to scream, but a page muffled her cries and dragged her away. “Take her,” the King’s voice was like ice. “Have her drawn and quartered. And throw her remains before Lord Valerius. I am very curious to see what is so special about this man that Lady Lyra would suffer so much for him.” I noticed the King’s choice of words. Lady Lyra. He had already separated me from Valerius in his mind. My gamble had not been in vain. 4 The life-saving draught the healers had been preparing was finally ready. I drank it down and gratefully fell into a deep sleep. When I awoke, a strange handmaiden was helping me sit up. “My lady, the attempt on His Majesty’s life is a matter of great importance. The King has returned to the palace, but he has commanded that you are to rest and recover here, under his protection. He will visit you once things are settled.” I nodded. In my last life, the investigation into the assassination had been a long and arduous affair. It was only after it was concluded that Valerius received his rewards. The King had been through a great ordeal; it was a testament to my sacrifice that he remembered me at all. All I had to do now was wait. I was just about to speak when the sound of frantic footsteps approached. Before I could turn, a rough hand seized my chin. It was Valerius. His face was a thundercloud. “You have some nerve,” he snarled, “to have Leah tortured and killed behind my back!” “Do you have any idea how much Elara grieved when she saw Leah’s body? You venomous shrew! I must have been blind to ever choose you!” His blow sent my head snapping to the side, my cheek burning. “Is that so?” I whispered, wiping away a tear. “Then let us divorce.” I had been holding those words in for so long. I had planned to wait for the King’s official decree, to leave Valerius with honor and grace. But I couldn’t bear it any longer. The hatred and grief from my past life, combined with the pain of this one, swirled around me like a suffocating cocoon. Valerius, who had been so self-righteous, froze. He frowned, his eyes raking over me, and just as I wondered what he was thinking, Elara appeared. The previous day’s turmoil seemed to have had no effect on her. She was as beautiful as ever. The moment she entered the room, Valerius had eyes for no one else. He gently gathered her into his arms, the same hand that had just struck me now caressing her face with infinite tenderness. “What are you doing here? You haven’t fully recovered.” Elara shook her head. “My lord, I was worried about you. I came to see you, only to hear you arguing with my lady again, and all because of me. I cannot bear to see you and my lady in such pain. Perhaps… perhaps it would be best if you divorced me! Then you would have no more worries.” She began to weep, her tears falling onto Valerius’s tunic. He was beside himself with pity, fumbling to comfort her. “Don’t say such foolish things. You know you are the only one in my heart. Her… she has my pity only because she carries my child. A woman like her could never raise a child properly. Once she gives birth, I will give the child to you to raise, and I will make you my equal wife!”

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The day my wife gave birth to my brother’s child, my whole family stood guard outside the delivery room—not out of concern for Lina, but fear I’d cause a scene. Mom watched the elevator nervously. “Ethan wouldn’t take the stairs, right?” Dad called security again. “Six-foot-three. Seen him?” Jake paced, fists clenched. “If he shows up, I’ll protect Lina and my son.” But I never came. After the birth, Lina handed Mom her phone. “Call Ethan. If he agrees to be godfather, we can still be family.” She felt no guilt—just pride in giving our parents a grandchild. What they didn’t know? I wasn’t coming. I was under the scorching sun, training for a peacekeeping mission in Africa. A deployment I might not return from. 1 Lina came home after a week in the hospital. I had just gotten back from the training grounds. I opened the front door to find the whole family gathered around the sofa. “Oh, just look at him! He has Lina’s eyes and nose, but that mouth… that’s all Jake,” my mother cooed. “Mom, he’s so little, you can’t tell yet,” Lina murmured, though she was beaming. “Lina, you’ve been through so much,” Jake said, leaning down to kiss her forehead, his eyes filled with an undisguised love. My father sat to one side, smiling so broadly that new wrinkles creased the corners of his eyes. “Of course you can tell! And I say, thank God the baby looks like you two. If he was Ethan’s kid, he’d probably be a disappointment anyway.” He used to be so proud that I was a soldier. He’d always said that a man’s highest calling was to protect his country, even if it meant long deployments without a return date. But now, coming home, it seemed everything had changed. I watched their perfect little family of five, a bitter, ridiculous taste filling my mouth. Four years ago, I’d left home to join the service for a critical mission. Lina and I were newlyweds. I couldn’t bear the thought of her waiting for me, practically a widow if my mission failed. I’d offered her a divorce, urging her to find a new life. But Lina had only gripped my hand, tears in her eyes, refusing. “Ethan, is that the kind of woman you think I am? One who can’t handle being alone?” she’d said, her voice trembling. “My husband is defending our country. How could I, your wife, leave you at a time like this? I’ll take care of your parents. I’ll be here, waiting for you.” The day I left, my parents and Lina saw me off at the airport. My parents were crying, their hands clutching mine, their clouded eyes tracing the lines of my face. “Ethan, don’t you worry,” my father had choked out. “Your mother and I will be right here, waiting for you to come home safe.” “He’s right,” my mother added. “We’re so proud of you. Just focus on your duty.” I’d walked the line between life and death more times than I could count. The thought of them was what always pulled me back. But when I was discharged and came home two months ago, I walked into a completely different world. My place had been taken, firmly and completely, by another man. “Ethan, you’re back.” Jake’s voice snapped me out of my thoughts. The others looked up. My father’s face immediately soured when he saw me, covered in dirt and grime from training. “Look at the state of you! Are you trying to embarrass us? Did you have to show up looking like a mess on the day Lina comes home?” “Are you doing this on purpose? Trying to bring bad luck into this house?” my mother added, her voice sharp. The same woman who used to fret over every cut and bruise from my training now looked at me with pure disgust. Lina, reclining on the sofa, glowed with the light of new motherhood. “Ethan, I know you’re resentful,” she said softly. “But you were gone for years. Even if I could wait, your parents needed a child. You can’t be so selfish as to deny them a grandchild.” Hearing her words, I couldn’t help it. I laughed. “An adopted son’s child isn’t a real heir.” “Ethan, what did you just say?!” my father roared, slamming his hand on the table and glaring at me. “If it werent for Jake, I would have died of a heart attack on the street! He had no family, and he shares our last name. He was a gift from heaven! I’m telling you, if you watch your mouth, there’s still a place for you in this home. But if you insist on making trouble, I won’t hesitate to throw you out myself!” When my father got angry, his eyebrows shot up and his eyes bulged, a truly terrifying sight. In the past, worried about his heart condition, I would have immediately backed down and apologized. But now, I just stood there, unmoved. Seeing my silence, my father raised a hand to strike me, but Jake stopped him. “Dad, it’s okay. It’s normal for Ethan to need some time to accept this.” Jake stood between us, his expression sincere as he looked at me. “Brother, I hope you can come to the christening. As the baby’s father.” I did a quick calculation. The christening was a month from now. The exact day I was due to return to my unit. In that case, I would give them a christening they would never forget. “Fine,” I said. 2 I went into the bathroom to shower. The sound of their happy chatter wasn’t muffled by the door; it flowed right through, clear as day. “Jake, what should we name the baby?” “Whatever you want, Lina. You’re his mother; you have the final say.” Jake’s voice was gentle, and Lina’s tone was filled with a soft reliance on him. Cold water streamed down my neck, clearing my head. I could still remember the overwhelming joy and excitement I felt two months ago, coming home at last. But when I pushed open the door, the first thing I saw was Lina, her belly swollen and round. There was no surprise or happiness on her face. Only fear. “You! What are you doing back?!” Before I could speak, a strange man walked out of our bedroom. “Who is it, Lina?” he asked. He was wearing my pajamas and my slippers. The moment he saw me, he moved to shield Lina behind him. Our wedding photo, once prominently displayed, was gone. Jake stared at me with wary eyes. “Who are you?” he demanded. “Jake, he… he’s Ethan. My husband.” In that moment, it felt like all the blood in my body rushed to my head. My thoughts shut down, replaced by a dull ringing in my ears. Hearing Lina’s words, Jake’s face broke into a smile, and he walked toward me. “Nice to meet you. I’m Jake, your brother. And the father of your child. I…” My fist was my answer. “You son of a bitch!” I threw him to the ground, punching his face again and again. Lina’s screams filled the air as she tried to stop me, too scared to get close. All I could think was, I’m going to kill this parasite who snuck into my life. It wasn’t until my mother’s slap stung my cheek that I stopped. My father pulled me off, and I collapsed onto the floor. My own parents stood over me, their voices a torrent of accusations. The condemnation and disgust in their eyes became a recurring nightmare that would haunt me for a long time. Later, I learned the whole story. In the four years I was gone, Jake had become my parents’ adopted son. He’d taken care of them. And then, he started taking care of my wife. That night, I sat on the sofa and smoked an entire pack of cigarettes. Lina sat beside me, crying through a whole box of tissues. “You’re gone for years at a time,” she sobbed, claiming she did it all for me. “I can handle it, but what about your parents? They’re getting older! They just wanted a grandchild to keep them company. What’s so wrong with that? Jake even said the baby would call you Dad, that he would have nothing to do with him. He’s already given up so much, why can’t you just accept it?” In the dim light of the living room, I looked at her face. It had only been four years, but it felt like a lifetime had passed. As the last cigarette burned down to the filter, I asked in a raw voice, “Do you love him?” Lina didn’t answer, but the way her hand froze told me everything I needed to know. In that instant, all my anger and humiliation felt utterly ridiculous. “Ethan, Jake will be staying in your room for a while.” I had just stepped out of the shower when my father gave the order. “You can pack your things and move into the guest room.” “Why?” My voice was flat. But they reacted as if I’d shouted a challenge, jumping to their feet. My mother pointed a finger at me. “Jake is kind enough to let the child call you Dad! But he is the biological father! What’s wrong with him sleeping in the same room as the mother and child? Ethan, stop being so selfish.” I’d heard that word—selfish—countless times in the past two months. Whenever I showed the slightest hint of disapproval, they’d use it to crush me. But the selfish ones were not me. I wanted to argue, but then I remembered I’d be gone in a month. So I just shut my mouth, gathered my things, and moved into the spare room. That night, exhausted from a full day of training, I should have fallen asleep the moment my head hit the pillow. Instead, strange noises from the room next door kept me tossing and turning. “Wait, I just gave birth, we can’t…” “What do you mean, we can’t? Lina, I’ve missed you like crazy these past few days.” “Ethan’s in the next room!” “So what? He can’t hear. And besides, wouldn’t it be more exciting if he could? Lina, tell me, who’s better? Me, or your husband?” “Mmm… you, of course…” I closed my eyes, my fists clenched so tight my knuckles were white. An image of my first date with Lina flashed in my mind. Back then, she would blush just from holding my hand. Maybe time really does change everything. 3 I didn’t sleep well that night. The next day, I was up before dawn and heading back to the training grounds. This next mission was going to be even more dangerous than the last. I had to be in peak physical condition to avoid being a liability to my team. But as I trained, the ugly memories kept replaying in my head. The loving way Lina looked at Jake. My parents’ fierce protection of him. It all fueled a burning rage inside me. I channeled that rage into my training. I imagined the punching bag was Jake’s face. And I destroyed it. On the way back, I stopped to buy a few buns to fill my stomach. Suddenly, I heard a familiar voice. “Brother?” I turned. The four of them were standing not far from me. Jake was dressed in a sharp suit, his hair slicked back with gel, a pair of gold-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. He looked quite respectable. “Ethan, it really is you! What are you…” He trailed off, looking me up and down. I’d just come from the training grounds, disheveled and sweaty, wearing only a white tank top with my jacket slung over my shoulder. Compared to Jake, I looked like a wreck. Lina stood beside him, frowning, one hand held delicately over her nose. I saw the gesture and my mind flashed back. After every training session in the past, Lina would throw herself into my arms. I’d often push her away, telling her I was covered in sweat. But she never cared. She used to say my sweat was for our country, that she couldn’t be prouder, so how could she ever be disgusted? I guess the difference between love and no love really is that obvious. “Ethan, what have you been doing to look so pathetic?” my mother’s voice cut through my thoughts, dripping with disdain. “If you have no shame, we do!” It was as if all those times she’d tenderly bandaged my wounds and cooked me soup belonged to another lifetime. “Brother, I get it now,” Jake said, his expression one of feigned sympathy. “You were discharged and couldn’t find work, so you started doing construction?” “Ethan, if you need a job, you could have just told me! I can help you find something! There’s no need to degrade yourself like this.” He sounded like he was looking out for me, but without me saying a single word, he’d branded me a manual laborer. I opened my mouth to explain, but when I saw the disgust on Lina’s and my parents’ faces, I closed it again. “Him? Let’s not have him embarrass your company,” my father scoffed, not even bothering to look at me. “He’s got nothing but a pile of muscles.” When I’d first enlisted right out of military school, my father had posted about it on social media for days, bragging about me. Someone had mocked him, saying I was just a dumb jock who was good at fighting but not at thinking. My father had stayed up all night arguing with the man. The next morning, with dark circles under his eyes, he’d clapped me on the shoulder with a proud smile. “Son,” he’d said, “you go protect our country. I’ll protect you.” But now, he was the one calling me a meathead. I looked down, hiding the bitterness in my eyes. “Well… Ethan, we’re heading to dinner. Do you want to join us?” Jake offered. “Let’s not, Jake. That place has a dress code. Ethan, looking like that…” Lina’s voice was soft, but her meaning was crystal clear. “Right,” Jake agreed. “In that case, we’ll see you later, brother.” He gave me a little wave. I watched them walk away, Jake at the center of the group, holding Lina’s hand, looking completely at ease. Fine. This was what they wanted—a son and a husband like Jake. So be it. I’d give them what they wanted. 4 Half a month flew by. It was time for my father’s post-op check-up. I got up early to get ready to take him to the hospital. No matter how he’d treated me, he was still my father. Besides, the surgeon who’d operated on him was a man I’d pulled strings to get, calling in a major favor from a high-ranking officer in the army. The doctor was one of the best in the world and rarely operated on anyone. But when my father saw me ready to go, he just frowned. “What are you doing?” “Taking you for your check-up.” “Save it. Jake is coming to pick me up. If it wasn’t for Jake, I’d be dead from that heart attack! Hmph, raising you has been the same as not having a son at all! Jake met me once and was willing to go beg Dr. Peterson to operate on me!” My father’s words were like a bomb exploding in my head. Dr. Peterson was the surgeon I had arranged! “What are you talking about?! I’m the one who got Dr. Peterson! I…” “You got him?! Ethan, stop lying through your teeth! Do you even know who Dr. Peterson is? Who are you? You think you have that kind of influence? You spent a few years in the army and now you think you’re some big shot.” My father sneered at me, cutting me off. But the moment he saw Jake, his expression changed completely. “Ethan, are you coming to the hospital with us?” Jake asked. “Why would we bring him? He’d just get in the way,” my father said, grabbing Jake’s arm. As they walked out, he glanced back at me. “Ethan, I suggest you learn to be more honest. Don’t disappoint your mother and me again.” In that moment, I finally understood. The truth didn’t matter. What mattered was that in his heart, he had already chosen Jake as his son. As for me, I was just the inconvenient one who came home from service when I wasn’t supposed to. I sat on the sofa as my phone buzzed with notifications. Lina was on a shopping spree with my supplementary credit card. During my four years in the service, I’d earned numerous commendations. The severance pay the military gave me upon discharge, I had it all deposited to that card. I had wanted to give Lina a better life. Now, it was clear that was just my own wishful thinking.

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My mother, Eleanor, dropped a bomb in the family group chat: she was bringing home a foster daughter. This girl, Isabelle, claimed to be a brilliant, underprivileged student recommended by a prestigious charity foundation. What she didn’t know was that my entire family could now hear my innermost thoughts. So, as Isabelle tried everything she could to win over my father, I stood by, thinking to myself: If Dad knew she was actually Mom’s illegitimate daughter with her secret lover, he’d probably have a heart attack. 1 In my past life, after Isabelle came to live with us, my family showered her with affection. Me? I was assaulted by thugs she hired and left to die in a corporate parking garage. Only in my final moments did the truth dawn on me: she was the daughter of my mother and her long-time lover. My mother, Eleanor, would never have married my father if he hadn’t been a self-made man who founded the Sterling Group from nothing. After their wedding, her single-minded obsession became seizing the family fortune and leaving my father with nothing. Everything was going according to her plan. But then, I was reborn. I woke up on the exact day my mother brought Isabelle home. “From now on, Isabelle is your little sister. You need to take good care of her, alright?” Mom said, a warm smile plastered on her face. Isabelle hid behind her, eyes shimmering with unshed tears, the very picture of pitiable innocence. It was this same damsel-in-distress act that had wrapped my entire family around her little finger in my last life. My father’s face softened into a kind smile as he saw her, and he reached out to draw her closer. I sneered internally. Heh. My mother’s daughter with her secret lover. If Dad knew, I wonder if he’d just have a heart attack on the spot? My father’s hand froze in mid-air. He glanced around the living room, as if searching for the source of the voice. The house staff were all in the kitchen preparing dinner. It was just the four of us. Finally, his gaze landed on me. “Claire? Was that you who just spoke?” Seeing my blank, confused expression, he started to reach for Isabelle again. I thought silently, If he knew the truth, he would flip this house upside down. He snatched his hand back as if he’d been burned. In my previous life, my father had doted on Isabelle. He never imagined that his affection would be the very thing that destroyed our entire family. Seeing my father retract his hand, Isabelle’s face immediately crumpled into a mask of hurt. Tears welled in her eyes as she tugged on my mother’s sleeve. “Aunt Eleanor,” she whispered, “does… does Uncle not like me?” My mother stroked her hair, her voice dripping with sympathy. “Don’t be silly. Now that you’re here, you’re my own daughter. You’re part of this family. Don’t you worry.” With that, she ordered the housekeeper to prepare a guest room. “Aunt Eleanor, that room is so beautiful,” Isabelle said, pointing toward the second floor. She was pointing at my suite—the entire floor was mine, complete with a terrace filled with my favorite roses. In the May air, they were in full, glorious bloom, their fragrance filling the house. My mother nodded, then turned to me. “Isabelle grew up in an orphanage. You’re the older sister, Claire. You should let her have it.” I didn’t say a word, but I couldn’t stop the sarcastic thought from bubbling up. So that’s why Mom’s been ignoring me lately. She was too busy taking care of my new “sister.” My mother couldn’t hear my thoughts, but my father heard every single word. His face darkened. He stopped the housekeeper, who was already heading upstairs. “That is Claire’s suite. Who gave you permission to make decisions for her?” “I’m so sorry, Mr. Sterling! I just thought the room was beautiful, I didn’t mean anything by it. I’m sorry, it’s all my fault.” Isabelle was quick on her feet, immediately playing the part of the contrite victim. Before I could even speak, she had launched into a one-woman drama. This was her signature move. In my past life, it made my father pity her, while I was chastised for being selfish for not wanting to give up my own room. Isabelle sobbed. “Please don’t be angry, Uncle. It’s my fault. I grew up in an orphanage, I’ve just… I’ve never seen such a beautiful room before…” Watching her, a wave of familiar frustration washed over me. Here we go again. Dad’s going to get angry with me. I guess I should just give it to her. But… he’s the one who designed that room just for me. My father looked at me, a flicker of pain in his eyes. He remembered. The room was his gift for my thirteenth birthday, a custom design he’d commissioned himself. Back then, the company was just starting out, and he was drowning in stress, his brow constantly furrowed with worry. I had learned to bake a cake just to surprise him and see him smile. He was remembering that. 2 “Who are you, a stranger, to claim my daughter’s suite? That room belongs to Claire,” my father said, his voice ice. He then instructed the butler to clear out the storage room in the basement for her. Isabelle was stunned, clearly not expecting this turn of events. She bit her lip, fresh tears welling up instantly. Grew up in an orphanage? I scoffed internally. The moment my mother got her hands on the first investment return from my father’s startup, she bought Isabelle an entire wardrobe of luxury goods. Her old flame was in some kind of trouble, which is the only reason Mom brought her here—to push us all out. She had told my father I was too introverted and needed a sister for company. In reality, it was all a meticulously crafted plan to drive my family out and seize control of the Sterling Group. My father was a workaholic, obsessed with growing the company. He was completely blind to it. But this time, I was here to ruin her perfect plan. My mother grew anxious and grabbed my father’s arm. “Darling, Isabelle has had no one to care for her. It’s only natural she’d want a nice place to live. Why are you so upset?” Just then, he heard my voice in his head again. Mom’s old flame has a lot of connections in the city. It wouldn’t be smart to have a full-blown confrontation right now. My father visibly suppressed his anger, turning to take my hand and lead me away. Mom started to say something but stopped herself. Dad was rarely home, so this was her prime opportunity to have Isabelle charm him. But my father’s patience was gone, his mind now a storm of suspicion. My mother and Isabelle exchanged a look, probably wondering how my straightforward, unsuspecting father had suddenly become so sharp. Inside his study, my father pulled me close, his expression serious. “Claire, what’s wrong?” “Huh?” I feigned ignorance, but my mind was racing. Don’t tell me he’s starting to believe them? Well, he fell for their act completely in the last life. It led to the ruin of our entire family. His expression grew even darker, a hint of fury now coloring his features. He stood up, ready to confront my mother, but I quickly grabbed his hand. I opened my mouth, but no words came out. Instead, my thoughts did the talking. No, I can’t let him confront her now. If they get desperate, who knows what they’ll do? I need him to find hard evidence on her old flame first. Something concrete. My father paused. He looked at me for a long moment, then patted my shoulder and left the room. Just like in my last life, Isabelle acted impeccably behaved and diligent after moving in. She practically tripped over herself to do chores, quickly winning over the household staff. She stood respectfully by my mother’s side, looking at me with a face full of envy as she spoke to my father. “Claire is so lucky. Unlike me… I only know how to do simple things like serve coffee.” The cup in my hand trembled, and I pulled back as if shocked, lowering my head. It’s all my fault. But if I started doing the butler’s job, what would we be paying him for? I bit my lip. “I’m sorry, Isabelle. It’s my fault. I… I won’t drink this coffee.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my father glaring at Isabelle, his face a mask of stone. Isabelle, however, thought my father was impressed with her humility and lowered her head shyly. I hid a cold smile. She sidled up to my father. “Uncle, please don’t blame Claire. She’s had people waiting on her since she was a little girl…” “That’s enough!” My father finally snapped. He slammed his coffee cup down on the table, making Isabelle jump. “Un-Uncle… please don’t be angry. Claire just…” Even now, she had no idea why he was furious, still thinking he was about to defend her. On the surface, she was putting on a show, but inside, she was probably thrilled. My father shot her a glacial look. “I don’t care what games you’re playing, but now that you’re here, you will behave yourself. Stop the theatrics.” He threw a glare at my mother, then turned and stormed out. Isabelle’s eyes were wide with bewilderment. Once my father was gone, my mother anxiously pulled Isabelle aside, whispering urgently. “What happened? You told me he was an oblivious workaholic who wouldn’t suspect a thing!” My mother was just as confused. My father had always been gentle and easygoing with her, at least until Isabelle arrived. She racked her brain and concluded that he must be having trouble at the office. “It’s fine. As long as you’re in this house, you’ll have your chances. The most important thing now is to deal with Claire. The Sterlings have arranged a marriage for her with the Crestwood family—they’re the wealthiest family in the city. All we need to do is ruin her reputation.” “Then you can take her place. The Sterling Group will be ours.” Crestwood Industries was the pinnacle of high society. Becoming the young mistress of the Crestwood family meant unlimited wealth and status. As my mother spoke, a greedy light shone in her eyes. Isabelle’s mouth hung open, her gaze distant, as if she could already see herself as Mrs. Crestwood. She nodded vigorously. In my past life, I was so sheltered that I never suspected my sudden “sister.” I not only deferred to her in everything but also covered for her mistakes. Under my mother’s constant persuasion, I truly came to see her as my own flesh and blood. But they were vipers. They destroyed my family, killed the man I loved, and ultimately consumed the entire Sterling Group. Watching her lost in her fantasy, my nails dug unconsciously into my palms. Did she really think this life would be just as easy? 3 My 24th birthday was in a few days. My father had booked the penthouse suite at the city’s most luxurious five-star hotel for a lavish party, inviting a host of business tycoons and socialites. Isabelle had been remarkably quiet lately, no longer trying to get my father’s attention. She had clearly sensed his coldness and decided to stop wasting her time. David Crestwood was my childhood friend. We grew up together, and we were in love. He founded his own company right after graduation, promising to give me the world. But in my past life, Isabelle drugged my drink at this very party, causing me to be dishonored. The scandal ultimately led David to die of a broken heart. Seeing him again now, I could barely hold back the tears. Before I could pull myself together, Isabelle had already pushed her way to his side. Her eyes raked over him with an aggressive gleam. “You must be Mr. Crestwood. I’ve heard so much about your success. It’s an honor to finally meet such a prodigy.” This was how she’d approached him last time, too. David, like me, was young and innocent, unversed in the world’s darker games. While he had been dismissive of her in our past life, he never truly saw her as a threat. But Isabelle was relentless, and her unrequited love eventually twisted into a vengeful hatred that destroyed him. I remained silent, but my thoughts were a frantic storm: Oh no, she’s starting already. David is so guileless. What if he falls for her tricks? I could feel David’s gaze fixed on me. He frowned slightly, a hint of confusion in his eyes. Isabelle has been targeting me from the start. Mom treats her like her real daughter and ignores me completely. What am I supposed to do? If only David knew she was the reason we both died in our past life. He would lose his mind. David’s expression turned to ice. Isabelle, completely oblivious, prattled on. “Mr. Crestwood, I read your company’s project proposal. It’s absolutely brilliant. I love studying financial projects. I’ve heard, however, that Claire isn’t very interested in such things…” Before she could finish, David roughly shoved her away. “Get lost!” This was a side of David I had never seen. He was always so gentle and polite. This was the first time I had ever seen him truly angry. He had pushed her so hard that she stumbled and fell to the floor. Isabelle’s face flushed a deep crimson, but she didn’t dare say a word. She scrambled back to her feet, tears in her eyes, a perfect picture of wounded grace. “I don’t know what Claire might have said to you, Mr. Crestwood, for you to treat me this way.” Her words drew the attention of the surrounding guests. “Isn’t that the foster daughter the Sterlings took in from an orphanage?” “Yes, I heard it was a very small, poor one. The poor girl.” “Right? And the Sterling heiress seems so petty.” Isabelle listened to the murmurs with satisfaction, hoping David would see her in a new, more favorable light. No wonder everyone hates me. I should just leave. I lowered my head, about to turn away. David quickly stepped forward and grabbed my hand. Then, he turned to Isabelle, his voice stern. “Stay away from me. And for the record, I don’t recall Claire having a sister. Don’t go around claiming relationships that don’t exist.” Seeing her plan about to implode, Isabelle’s eyes darted around frantically, finally landing on the gift box in David’s hand. “Mr. Crestwood, is that for Claire? It looks so expensive. Claire’s jewelry box is filled with pieces I’ve never even seen before. If only I could have something so beautiful.” I had to admit, Isabelle’s acting was Oscar-worthy. Her ability to play the victim was second to none. No wonder she insisted on dressing so plainly today, not wearing a single piece of the clothing or jewelry my mother had bought her. She had even told my father, “Today is Claire’s birthday party. I shouldn’t steal her thunder.” It was so convincing it made my father question if he was hearing things correctly. Hah. So that was her plan. Dressing like that was just to make everyone think she was being mistreated. I let out a silent, cold laugh and began my inner monologue. Is she complaining that we treat her poorly? The moment she arrived, Mom took her on a shopping spree at the international plaza. She bought her five complete designer outfits, each worth six figures. I’ve never gotten that kind of treatment. Mom is just so good to her. Isabelle was still weaving her sob story. “In the dead of winter, I used to scavenge for bread people threw away outside the orphanage. I had only one set of clothes for the whole year. Sometimes, when I was hungry, I had to drink tap water to fill my stomach.” Too bad she couldn’t see it. My father’s face was now as black as the bottom of a pot.

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Sofia was my college girlfriend—or rather, the girl I paid to date me. Though I never treated her as a plaything, that’s how others saw us. No one believed a rich kid would truly love someone from her world. Then I dumped her without explanation. Years later, we met again—I was a masseur at a luxury spa, and she, now a millionaire, booked me for a private session. After graduation, my family went bankrupt. My father fled with his mistress. That same year, I killed a man in “excessive self-defense” and served two years in prison. Inside, an old inmate taught me therapeutic massage. Now, at the spa, former socialites who once chased me book sessions just to humiliate me. I endure it—I need the money. Today, as I was about to leave, the manager called: “Jason, VIP Suite 888. A major client requested you. Nail this, and you might not need to work all year.” “On my way.” I grabbed the kit I’d just packed up, a knot of apprehension tightening in my gut. The wealthier the client, the higher the chance they were a creep. Just this morning, I’d had a session with a woman who had to be over four hundred pounds. She’d periodically slap me across the face as I worked on her. A thousand dollars a slap. So, I endured it. I knocked on the door to 888. “Come in.” The voice was cool and young. I opened the door and saw a woman sitting on the living room sofa, dressed in a sleek black power suit. Her long hair cascaded loosely over her shoulders, a touch of languor that created a striking contrast with the sharp, professional lines of her attire. Her face was breathtaking. More beautiful than I remembered from college. She’d been gorgeous then, but with a lingering innocence. Now, she possessed the captivating allure of a woman in full bloom. It was her. Sofia. The girl I had “kept” in college. Back then, her world had fallen apart. Her father, a construction worker, had been seriously injured on a job site, but the contractor skipped town without paying a cent. Faced with suffocating medical bills, she’d considered dropping out of school. Her mother, however, insisted she stay, saying it would be a waste for the family’s brightest to quit. So, her underachieving younger brother dropped out instead and got a job at a bar. One night, some thug’s girlfriend looked at him a little too long, and the thug and his friends broke her brother’s legs. The shock sent her mother into a spiral, and she was hospitalized with a severe illness. Suddenly, the weight of her entire family landed on Sofia’s shoulders. It was a burden so heavy that a young college student saw only one way out: selling her body. The campus rumor mill painted me as a playboy with deep pockets. I had, in fact, tried to flirt with her once, but she’d turned me down. I left her alone after that; I was more talk than action, a smart-ass who liked to flirt but never pushed it. But then, she found me. In front of a crowd of people, she announced she would be my girlfriend, on one condition: I had to lend her five hundred thousand dollars. I agreed to the loan but told her she didn’t have to be my girlfriend. I wasn’t the kind of guy who took advantage of someone’s desperation. But the day I transferred the money, she showed up at my door. I was living in a sprawling penthouse I’d bought off-campus. It was raining, and the downpour had soaked her white blouse, making it cling to her. I wanted to look, but I didn’t have the nerve. I let her in, found her some dry clothes, and we sat in silence. She was the one who finally broke it. “Jason, until I pay back that five hundred thousand, I’m yours. When the debt is clear, you can give me my freedom back.” I wanted to tell her it was unnecessary, that the money meant less to me than what I’d spend tipping some streamer in a week. But I knew that would crush her pride. So instead, I said, “Then you can be my housekeeper.” From that day on, Sofia lived with me. She cooked my meals, managed my life, and even cleaned me up when I came home blind drunk. The girls who chased me were relentless, constantly harassing her, calling her a whore trying to claw her way into high society. She never told me about it, never defended herself. She just silently endured it. When I found out, I confronted them, telling them to back off. But that only made things worse for her. She’d get “accidentally” hit in the face with a basketball or “accidentally” shoved down a flight of stairs. I realized the more I protected her, the more she suffered. So I changed my strategy. I started treating her horribly, even announcing to a crowd that she was just a dog I kept, one I wouldn’t even let into my bed. After that, the physical “accidents” stopped, though she was still a target for vicious gossip. Then came the end. The company went bankrupt. My father fled with his mistress. I killed a man and went to prison. Before I was taken away, I did two things: I broke up with Sofia and signed the deed to the penthouse over to her as a “severance package.” And now, here we were, our roles completely reversed. I was no longer the profligate heir but a spa masseur, a profession one step away from being a gigolo. And Sofia was the CEO of a gaming company, a woman I had to look up to, both literally and figuratively. She saw me frozen in the doorway, a cold smile playing on her lips. “I hear that these days, you’ll do anything for the right price.” “Something like that,” I said, forcing down the tidal wave of emotions inside me. The taunts from my old friends had never truly hurt. But to be seen like this, like an ant beneath her shoe… that pain was real. It was sharp. Sofia nodded, pulling open the vintage Louis Vuitton bag at her side and casually tossing several thick stacks of cash onto the sofa. That bag… If I remembered correctly, it was a birthday present I had given her. She’d never once used it, saying it was too precious. Why did she still have it? “I hear your technique is quite good,” Sofia said suddenly. “Come and massage my feet.” I snapped back to the present and nodded. I prepared a basin of water, testing the temperature before carrying it over to her. Sofia lifted one leg, her stiletto-clad foot hovering in front of me. I pulled over the small stool used for foot treatments, but before I could sit, she kicked me squarely in the shoulder. “I believe you once told people that when I washed your feet, I did it on my knees. I’m not mistaken, am I?” She looked down at me, her gaze imperious. She wanted me to kneel before her. I had said those words, but only to protect her. The girls who pursued me came from families as wealthy as mine, some even wealthier. I had no real power over them. Belittling her was the only way I could think of to lessen her suffering. My heart throbbed. I wanted to explain, to tell her everything, but I held back. I was afraid she wouldn’t believe me, or worse, that she wouldn’t care. So, I dropped to one knee, reaching out to remove her high heel. Sofia kicked me again. “One knee?” she sneered. “Am I not paying enough?” She grabbed the cash and started flinging the stacks at my face. I stood there and took it. When she finally stopped, I looked her deep in the eyes. “If it makes you happy, I’ll kneel.” I lowered myself to both knees. A satisfied smile finally graced her lips, and she extended her foot again. I slipped off her shoe, carefully cradling her small, delicate foot in my hands. I used to steal glances at her feet, so small and pale, like they were carved from white jade. But I’d always been a coward, too afraid to even look for too long. “Test the water.” I scooped some water with my hand and gently dabbed it onto her perfect foot. She flinched, her elegant brow furrowing. “Is this how you provide a service?” I knew she was just trying to make things difficult. The temperature was perfect. But I didn’t argue. I just reached for the kettle to adjust it. Suddenly, she plunged both feet into the bamboo basin, splashing water all over my face and shirt. She stared at me, a cruel smirk on her face. “Jason, name your price. How much would it take for you to drink this water?” My heart seized again. I never imagined she could hate me this much. But then again, it made perfect sense. The old Sofia had been sensitive and fiercely proud. And I had publicly degraded her. If our roles were reversed, I would hate me too. God, I wanted to explain. I wanted to tell her it was all to protect her. But I couldn’t. I was afraid of her scorn. I was even more afraid that she might come back to me. If she dismissed my explanation, it would shatter what was left of my heart. And if she came back to me… did I even deserve her? I looked at her, my voice steady. “No charge. If it makes you happy.” I bent down, leaning over the foot basin like a dog lapping at a bowl. From an angle where I couldn’t see, her eyes reddened for a fleeting moment. Then she lifted her foot and kicked my shoulder, knocking me away. She burst into laughter. “Jason, have you completely lost your pride? ‘If it makes you happy?’ Or did you figure saying that would make me give you more money?” I stumbled back, landing hard on the floor. I couldn’t meet her eyes. She had no idea. No one else could trample on my dignity because, frankly, I didn’t care what they thought. But she was different. All it took was one scornful laugh from her, and my pride was already in a million pieces. I shook my head, saying nothing. Sofia beckoned to me with one finger. “Come here. On your knees.” I crawled back to her, kneeling so close. I had been this close to her once before, when she’d fallen asleep at her desk while coding late at night. I had wanted to steal a kiss, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Back then, I had leaned down to cover her with a blanket. Now, at the same distance, I had to look up at her, and she looked down at me as if I truly were a dog. Sofia tilted my chin up. “Jason, two years and you’ve become more… interesting. But why aren’t you smiling? You’re a gigolo. Is this how you treat your clients?” I couldn’t help but correct her. “Not a gigolo. A masseur.” Sofia laughed. “Is there a difference?” I didn’t argue further. I just forced a smile. She nodded, satisfied. “Begin.” How many times had I dreamed of holding these feet in my hands? But I never dared, afraid it would upset her. I figured no woman would want a man’s touch to be transactional. So I never crossed that line. I sympathized with her plight, admired her resilience, and respected her ambition. All of that coalesced into love. Or maybe I would have loved her anyway, without any of it. Why I loved her, what it was about her… I didn’t really know. I just did. In prison, the only thing that kept me going for two years was the thought of seeing her again, just once. The hell I endured in there would have been enough to kill me ten thousand times over otherwise. Thanks to the old-timer in my cell, my skills were excellent. For the rest of the foot massage, Sofia didn’t give me any more trouble. When the session was over, I dried her feet and carried the basin away. After tidying up, I managed another strained smile. “Ma’am, the foot treatment is complete. If there’s nothing else, I’ll be on my way.” I turned to leave without waiting for her reply. Yes, I was running. I was even ready to quit my job. Because this, being stripped of all my dignity in front of her, was the one thing I couldn’t bear. “Stop.” “Did I say you could leave?” Her voice came from behind me, sharp and cold. I knew it. She wasn’t going to let me off that easily. I hesitated for a moment, then turned back to face her and let out a long sigh. Under her amused gaze, I dropped to my knees again, a self-deprecating smile on my face. “I admit it. I said a lot of things that hurt you, and I apologize. If you can’t accept my apology, then please, punish me all at once. Get it over with, and then just… let me go. Can you do that?” A complex expression flickered across her face. She stood up and walked toward me, barefoot. Her fingers found the gap between the buttons of my shirt and she gave a slight tug. “Get up.” I rose, following the gentle pressure, but I couldn’t meet her eyes. “Jason, am I stupid?” she asked. I was taken aback. I shook my head. If she were stupid, how could she have built a multi-million-dollar empire? I had no idea why she was asking me that. She didn’t seem to expect an answer. Instead, she walked toward the plush king-sized bed. “Just my feet isn’t enough. Give me a full-body spa treatment.” She sat on the edge of the bed and then gracefully lay on her side, her body forming a breathtaking curve. “Jason, I asked the manager about you,” she said, her tone laced with mockery. “He said your patron this morning, the four-hundred-pound one, was praising your ‘Golden Fingers.’” “So let me see for myself. Show me just how much pleasure a gigolo like you can give a woman.” Then, right in front of me, she began to remove her clothes, piece by piece.

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