Author: Momo Chan

My father’s one that got away came back. For the sake of true love, my father was willing to leave my mother with nothing, to divorce her and marry the woman he’d idolized since he was a boy. My mother agreed. And I, for one, couldn’t wait to see if his precious first love would still want him when he had absolutely nothing. 1 The atmosphere in our house was thick enough to choke on. My workaholic father was home before me for the first time in memory. My mother, who was always smiling, sat on the sofa with a face like stone. “Kate,” my mother said, her voice flat. “Your father and I are getting a divorce.” The words hit me like a bomb. After she explained, I understood. My father had a first love, the one that got away. When she moved abroad years ago, he lost all hope. Then he met my mother, who fell for him hard and pursued him relentlessly. So, he married her. Now, his first love was back. They’d run into each other, and my father saw it as a sign from the heavens. He was ready to burn his life to the ground to be with her. “Let’s ignore the fact that you haven’t seen this woman in decades,” I said, trying to reason with him. “She didn’t want you when you were a broke kid, but now that you’re the chairman of a public company, she’s suddenly interested? What’s she after, Dad, you or your wallet?” “Don’t you dare speak about Vivian that way!” he roared, his face flushing a deep red, as if I had desecrated something holy. He’d never spoken to me like that. I had always been his pride and joy. My mother and I exchanged a look. The disappointment in her eyes mirrored my own. “Since you’ve both made your decision, I can’t interfere,” I said, changing my tone. “No matter what, you’ll always be my parents.” A look of relief washed over my father’s face. “Kate, I knew you were a good kid. I knew you’d understand.” “But I should remind you,” I added casually, “that when you divorce Mom, you leave with nothing. You’ve poured your heart and soul into the Su Corporation for years. Are you really sure you want to give that all up?” My dad had married into our family. He was a broke but talented nobody when my mother, hopelessly infatuated, insisted on marrying him against my grandfather’s wishes. My grandfather eventually relented, but only after my father signed an ironclad prenup: if they ever divorced, for any reason, he would leave with nothing. My mother was a socialite, better at spending money than making it. My father had always run the company. But even so, the shares, the real power, had always been in my name and my mother’s. He didn’t own a single one. A divorce meant he would get nothing. On the important things, my mother was sharp as a tack. “Vivian and I have true love,” he declared, his chest puffed out. “True love can’t be measured in money. I won’t take a penny from the Su family. I’ll build a new empire with my own two hands and make Vivian happy!” What an inspiring speech. Except he couldn’t manage to build an empire when he was young and hungry. What made him think he could do it now, in his middle age? Years at the helm of the Su Corporation had given him a platform and inflated his ego. Did he really think that without our company, he was still the respected Chairman Thorne? “I respect your choice, Dad. In that case, we should hold a board meeting in a few days. I’ll be taking over as the new Chairwoman.” He stared at me, stunned. “What do you mean? The board appointed me Chairman. Since when is that your decision to make?” I let out a small, humorless laugh. “Have you forgotten, Dad? The board chose you because Mom and I hold the majority of the shares. We voted for you. Now that you’re divorcing her, do you really think we’ll continue to support you? A chairman with no shares doesn’t even have the right to be on the board.” My words choked him. He couldn’t argue, so he turned to my mother. “Eleanor, is this what you want, too?” My mother’s voice was even more venomous than mine. “Do you not understand what ‘leaving with nothing’ means? Once you divorce me, you’re no longer part of this family. Why should you run my family’s company and collect my family’s paycheck? The nerve.” His face was beet red. “I’m still Kate’s father!” “Yes, you are,” I agreed sweetly. “And when you reach retirement age, I’ll be sure to pay your alimony on time. Don’t you worry, Dad. I’ll make sure you’re well taken care of in your old age. You won’t be lonely.” My father’s pride was his greatest weakness. Hearing us talk like this, he dropped the argument. “I don’t need it! The Su family’s money has nothing to do with me. I’ll build my own success. You just wait and see!” He stormed out. The moment he was gone, my mother and I burst out laughing. Seeing she wasn’t heartbroken, I got curious. “Mom, you were so crazy about him back then. You went on a hunger strike and defied Grandpa just to marry him. Why is it so easy to let him go now?” “When I was young, I was blinded by his handsome face,” she said with a shrug. “Now, his beer belly is bigger than his head. The crush faded a long time ago. I was only staying married out of a sense of duty. Now that he’s the one asking for a divorce, why wouldn’t I be happy?” It was true. The best cure for a crush is seeing the guy when his prime has passed. 2 My parents quickly signed the divorce papers and filed them at the courthouse. They just had to wait out the thirty-day cooling-off period, and it would be final. My father began moving his things out to live with his precious Vivian. Although he was leaving with “nothing,” he had earned a lot for the company over the years and had built up a personal slush fund. My mother, in a gesture of generosity, turned a blind eye to it, not wanting to send him out completely penniless. But all their shared properties, stocks, and investments went to her. After buying a new villa, my father’s slush fund was nearly depleted. With the assets divided, it was time to deal with the company. The board meeting was scheduled for the following week. Before then, we needed a PR strategy to manage the fallout from changing the chairman of a publicly traded company. This wasn’t something that could be handled overnight. I thought everything would go according to plan, but I ran into trouble the moment I stepped into the office. “Ms. Su,” my assistant, Alex, said, looking grim. “The deal with Sterling Industries fell through.” “Sterling is one of our oldest clients. The renewal should have been a formality. Why did it fall through?” Alex looked uncomfortable, stammering. My face hardened. “Tell me. What happened?” “It was Ms. Bianca, the manager Mr. Thorne appointed. She handled the negotiations. She felt we were giving Sterling too favorable a discount. She said we’re the only supplier who can produce their parts, so she raised the price on the renewal contract. Sterling refused to sign.” “Why wasn’t I informed about something this important? And who is this Ms. Bianca? How did HR hire such an idiot?” “Mr. Thorne said she had full authority and didn’t need to report up. And HR didn’t hire her. Mr. Thorne brought her in directly.” My father was usually a shrewd businessman, never careless with major company decisions. For him to hire this manager behind my back meant she was more than just an employee. “Schedule a meeting with Mr. Sterling. I’ll talk to him myself. Also, send Ms. Bianca to my office.” While Alex went to get her, I pulled up her file. Bianca White. A degree from an overseas university—one of those diploma mills you can buy your way into. No prior work experience. Parachuted directly into a manager position in the business department. When had the standards at the Su Corporation gotten so low? Then, on her resume, I found the reason. Bianca White’s mother was named Vivian. My father’s one that got away. Of course. 3 When Alex ushered Bianca in, she wore a look of utter disdain. She sat down without even greeting me. “You wanted to see me, Ms. Su?” “You’re fired.” I had planned to ask for her side of the story, but seeing her attitude, I knew I didn’t need to. “On what grounds?” Bianca shot back, defiant. “Robert Thorne hired me personally!” “On the grounds that you sabotaged the Sterling deal. Sterling has been a client for decades. In one move, you lost us their business. For a mistake of that magnitude, who else would I fire?” I said, not even bothering to look up from my files. “The Su Corporation is a huge company. We have other clients besides Sterling. Besides, that discount was costing the company money. I was saving us money!” She sounded so convinced of her own logic that I almost laughed. I had no time to argue with a moron whose head was filled with water. “Alex, take her to HR to process her termination.” But Bianca refused to move. “You have no right to fire me! Do you think Robert knows about this? This is all because your parents are divorcing, isn’t it? You blame my mother! Well, I’ll have you know, my mother and Robert are getting married! Soon I’ll be his daughter, and this company will be his, which means half of it will be mine!” I rubbed my temples. If the daughter was this stupid, the mother couldn’t be much brighter. What on earth did my father see in her? “What are you standing there for? Call security!” I snapped at Alex, who was standing frozen, gawking at the family drama. For the salary he earned, you’d think he’d have more sense. At my words, Alex finally fumbled for his phone. Seeing this, Bianca escalated. She actually called my father. “Robert, you have to come quick! They’re trying to throw me out!” My father arrived in a flash, faster than the security guards. So protective. The moment he appeared, Bianca’s face transformed. She looked at him with wide, innocent eyes, her voice trembling. “Robert, I don’t know what I did to make my sister so upset. She just came in and said she was firing me.” “Don’t worry, I’ll handle this,” my father soothed, then turned to me, his eyes blazing. “Kate, this is between the adults. Don’t you dare drag Bianca into this. She’s innocent.” I laughed coldly. “Innocent? She used her connections to get a job she’s not qualified for and then blew our biggest contract, and you’re telling me she’s innocent?” My father clearly hadn’t heard about the Sterling deal. He looked at Bianca, confused. She immediately started playing the victim. “Robert, I didn’t mean to,” she whimpered, tears welling in her eyes. “That discount was costing you so much money. I was just trying to save your money.” I snorted. She thought the Su Corporation would one day be hers, and she was trying to save her own money. My father, of course, bought her act completely. His tone softened. “Kate, Bianca meant well. She’s young and doesn’t know any better. Forgive her this once. You can train her, and I’m sure she’ll do a great job.” He wanted me to train her? I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. “Excuse me, do I need to remind you both? This company is the Su Corporation. As in my name, Kate Su. Not Thorne. And certainly not White.” 4 My father’s face darkened. Bianca fanned the flames. “Robert, see? Your own daughter has no respect for you! You worked so hard to build this company, and this is how she treats you!” “What do I mean? I mean exactly what I said!” My voice turned to ice. “Dad, I don’t care what your relationship is with this woman, and I don’t care about your sordid affairs. You and Mom are getting a divorce. But this company was left to me by my grandfather, and I will not allow anyone to jeopardize its future.” My father’s temper flared. “I’ve poured twenty years of my life into this company! I care about it more than you do—” “Do I need to remind you?” I cut him off. “You’re divorcing my mother. You’re leaving with nothing. The Su Corporation has nothing to do with you, and it certainly has nothing to do with this girl who is suddenly your daughter. I have every right to fire her, because very soon, you, the Chairman, will be leaving too.” His face went gray. “Kate, must you be so cruel to your own father?” I scoffed. “You left my mother for your first love. To put it nicely, you’re rekindling an old flame. To put it bluntly, you’re having an affair. You didn’t think you were being cruel to my mother when you betrayed her, so how is me stating the facts cruel?” Hearing this, Bianca panicked, clutching my father’s sleeve. “Robert, what does she mean? What do you mean the company has nothing to do with you?” My father sighed. “I’ll explain later when we get home.” He turned back to me. “Kate, Bianca is a good kid. My leaving the company has nothing to do with her. I hope you two can get along as sisters. She could be a great help to you one day.” “I don’t need her help. My mother only had one child. I don’t have any sisters. And,” I looked him straight in the eye, “an idiot like her would only be a liability. She is leaving this company, today.” My father knew my temperament. Realizing he couldn’t win, he turned to Bianca. “Go ahead and process your termination, Bianca. I’ll help you find another job later.” Bianca left with my father, but not before shooting me a look brimming with resentment and jealousy. With her gone, I convened the board, officially removed my father from his position as Chairman, and took his place. All that was left was for my parents to finalize the divorce after the cooling-off period. But things are never that simple. My father had barely left the building when I got a frantic call from my mother. “Kate, you have to get home, now! That woman is here, making a scene!” “I’m on my way!” My mind went blank. I was terrified of what that woman might do to my mother. My mom is a lovely, pampered woman—a hothouse flower, really. My grandfather spoiled her rotten, and she knows nothing of the real world. Even with a butler and staff, I could just picture her letting some lunatic into the house. If that woman tried to bully her, she wouldn’t be able to fight back. My grandfather raised me, and before he passed, he made me promise to take care of her. I couldn’t let anything happen to her.

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1 The day billionaire Jason went bankrupt, he tried to jump off a skyscraper. There I was, his trophy wife of five years, clinging to his leg in tears. He looked moved—until I spoke: “Don’t jump! My Birkin payment hasn’t cleared!” His face darkened instantly. Later, after a truck sent him flying, I whispered by his hospital bed: “Honey, Cartier has a new ring. Just 10 years of DoorDash to afford it!” Even in a coma, his eyelid twitched in rage. Floating comments called me a gold-digging parasite. They shut up fast when I funded his comeback with millions. No protagonist halo? Fine—I’ll steal the spotlight myself. “Jason, don’t jump! The final payment on my new Birkin hasn’t cleared yet.” Jason turned to look at me, pure shock on his face. “Why are you still here?” I doubled down on my act. “You promised you’d take care of me for life! You can’t go back on your word, no matter what!” The live comments continued to float past my eyes. [> OMG I see why he hates her later. She so deserves it.] [> He’s about to jump and all she can think about is bags and money. The ML is living a tragedy.] [> How else can they show how kind the real female lead is? When he jumps, she’ll appear and save him. I can’t wait!] My lip twitched as I read them. It was a long shot, but I had to try. I tightened my grip on Jason’s leg. He stared down at the river of traffic below, rubbing his temples. “I’m bankrupt, Chloe. I can’t support you anymore.” “There’s a card on the desk in the bedroom. It has five hundred thousand dollars on it. The pin is your birthday. Just go.” I couldn’t see his expression, but it was the first time I had ever heard such a defeated tone in his voice. Even on the brink of death, he was still thinking about leaving me a way out. I tugged on the hem of his shirt, my voice firming with resolve. “No! If worst comes to worst, I’ll support you!” At that, he whipped his head around, his eyes a storm of complex emotions. Before he could answer, I pressed on. “Today is our fifth wedding anniversary. I got you a present!” The wind on the rooftop suddenly howled, making his dress shirt flap violently against his frame. It made him look even more precarious. After a long moment, the man asked in disbelief, “You… got me a present?” In five years of marriage, Jason had given me countless gifts. This was the first time he’d ever heard of me getting one for him. I held out my hand. “Let’s go home, okay?” He hesitated, then finally, his hand met mine. The comments shrieked. [> Wait, what? Why is the side chick stealing the female lead’s lines?] 2 Back home, Jason stared speechlessly at the “gift” I presented. I held up the latest, skintight designer dress, pressing it against Jason’s broad chest for measurement. “Hmm,” I said with a serious expression. “I think it’s a little small.” Then, with feigned distress, I added, “And they have a strict no-return policy. Oh, well. I guess I’ll just have to wear it myself.” A choked laugh escaped Jason. He turned without a word and headed straight back to the rooftop. Before I could even react, he had vanished around the stairwell corner. I stomped my foot in frustration, letting out a sharp cry. “Jason! You cheapskate!” His magnetic voice drifted down from above. “I left my phone up there. I’m just getting it.” That dress added another two thousand dollars to Jason’s debt. To make ends meet, he had no choice but to start delivering food. But no matter how busy he was, he always rushed home at noon to cook for me. Looking at the man in the bright yellow delivery uniform, drenched in sweat, who could believe that just ten days ago he was a Wall Street titan worth billions? He expertly tied an apron and began chopping vegetables in the kitchen with practiced ease. This entire shoebox apartment was smaller than the master bathroom in our old penthouse. I was curled up on the couch, munching on the mango slices he’d prepared for me, scrolling through the eight-figure balance on my banking app. This was all just pocket money Jason had given me over the years. Then there were the designer bags and jewelry stuffed into half the apartment. All told, it was a small fortune. A pang of guilt made me glance toward the kitchen. I found him with his shirt off, a thin, pink floral apron the only thing covering his torso. Broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and a sheen of sweat highlighting the solid lines of his muscles. He looked like some kind of sinfully hot domestic god. My heart skipped a beat, and my foot kicked the coffee table. “Ow!” 3 Jason heard the noise and rushed over, crouching down to gently massage my foot. “You don’t have to go through this with me, Chloe. I’ll pay back the money for the dress. You should… find a better path for yourself. Don’t waste your time on me.” His eyes were downcast, his voice muffled. I put on my most wounded expression. “I haven’t even complained about you being poor, and now you’re trying to kick me out!” Jason opened his mouth to explain that wasn’t what he meant, but I cut him off with a torrent of accusations. “I get it! You think I spend too much, and now you regret it, don’t you? What did you say when you married me? You said you’d support me forever, and now you want to dump me for some frugal, stay-at-home type, is that it? You heartless bastard!” Jason had to clamp a hand over my mouth to stop the stream of nonsense. His voice was tight, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he struggled to find the right words. “I just feel like I’m making you suffer.” “The apartment is small and damp, the food isn’t great, we can only afford discounted fruit…” “Chloe, you deserve a better, happier life than this.” Normally, when the sugar daddy goes broke, the sugar baby packs her bags and runs. But after five years, it was impossible not to have feelings for him. He was handsome, rich, and ridiculously generous. He was always busy, disappearing for days at a time, but when he returned, it was always with a shower of diamonds and gold. And most importantly, even at his lowest point, his last thought was of me, leaving me every penny he had left. I couldn’t leave. I didn’t want to leave. I grabbed the collar of his apron, flipped him over, and pressed him down onto the sofa. Then I planted a loud, firm kiss on his sexy, thin lips. “You said you’d support me for life. Not a minute less, not a second less. I’m stuck with you, Jason.” A dense cloud of comments materialized before my eyes again. [> Damn, girl is eating good. Let me tap in for a chapter or two.] [> Not gonna lie, the side chick and the ML are hot together. I kinda ship it.] [> Sis, don’t go down that road. The ML belongs to the FL. This won’t end well for her.] [> Btw where is my girl?? Don’t let this evil woman fool you, Jason! The FL is your soulmate!] [> The original plot where they met was already ruined. The next scene is the ML getting humiliated while delivering food. The FL is supposed to show up there.] I pretended not to see them and deepened the kiss, holding Jason’s chin. I watched his eyes flutter nervously, a deep blush spreading from his ears down his neck. Taking advantage of a gasp for air, Jason gently pushed me away. “Ch-Chloe, the soup is on the stove! I-I have to check on it!” [> AAAAAH! A cold-blooded killer in the boardroom, a pure-hearted puppy for his wife! What is this heavenly man?!] [> Okay, the ML and his little drama-queen-trophy-wife are actually kinda cute. I’m in.] [> I’m in too.] [> People, stop letting your morals be guided by hot faces!] [> Don’t ship it, you guys. The side character is destined to be killed off by the plot. You’re just setting yourself up for heartbreak.] I had started seeing these bizarre, floating comments a long time ago. At first, I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. But when the things they talked about started coming true, one after another, I had no choice but to believe them. From their chatter, I learned that my world was a novel. And I was the disposable side character. A mere plot device to advance the love story of the main characters. First, I was the selfish contrast to the female lead’s kindness. Later, I was the obstacle that would strengthen their bond. After seeing the comments, I tried desperately to change the story. But often, the plot would take over, turning me into an unconscious NPC, a puppet on a string. Like the day Jason stood on that rooftop. The plot was forcing me to follow my script: grab the money and run. And Jason was left to face his despair alone. But at the last second, the comments woke me up. And when I saw them mention the exact time the female lead was supposed to appear, a plan began to form in my mind. 4 Jason continued to work from dawn till dusk, delivering food. I was lounging at home, blissfully eating a small cake he’d just brought back for me, when the comments suddenly appeared: [> It’s today! The villain finds out the ML is a delivery guy and orders a cake for the FL’s birthday just so the ML has to deliver it. Then he’s going to humiliate him!] [> My girl is about to make her entrance! Damsel saving the hero! I’m so ready for this!] [> Once the FL appears, Chloe the cannon fodder is done for.] [> I suddenly feel a little bad for Chloe. The first thing the ML did after a big order was buy her a cake. She must think he really loves her, not knowing that personal feelings get erased by the power of the plot.] The day had finally come. I quickly grabbed a hefty-looking designer bag and rushed to the city’s largest hotel. A welcome sign for the female lead, Seraphina Thorne’s, birthday party stood at the entrance. As soon as I walked in, I spotted that familiar splash of yellow. Jason, with his broad shoulders and long legs, couldn’t hide his handsome figure even in a delivery uniform. He was pushing a towering, multi-tiered cake when a group of rich young men blocked his path. The leader was Asher, the villain the comments were talking about. Asher looked Jason up and down, his face a mask of contempt. “Jason, you forced me out of the country back then. I never thought karma would be such a bitch, and so quick.” “Tsk, tsk. Look at you. Pathetic as a stray dog.” The group erupted in laughter. After being overshadowed by Jason for so many years, Asher was eager to kick the man while he was down. To add to the fun, Asher’s friend, Kyle, chimed in. “Hey, Ash, did you hear the best part?” “Jason’s broke, but his little gold digger is still sticking around!” Another guy added, “What a waste! Can he even afford to keep a woman on a delivery boy’s salary?” The laughter grew louder, more piercing. Seeing Jason remain silent, Kyle provoked him further. “How about this? I’ll give you a million dollars. You send that little wife of yours to my place. If she keeps me happy, I’ll…” Jason’s chest heaved. He swung a fist, sending Kyle sprawling to the ground. “You dare hit me?!” The surrounding bodyguards swarmed forward, pinning Jason to the floor. Kyle wiped a smear of blood from his lip, then strode forward and kicked Jason hard in the stomach. “You think you’re still the untouchable king of this city? You can’t protect anyone now.” Jason gritted his teeth, his eyes burning with hatred. “Whatever you have a problem with, you deal with me.” Asher shot Kyle a meaningful look. Kyle understood immediately. He pulled out his phone, aimed it at Jason, and sneered. “I don’t want to make things hard for you. Just get on your knees and crawl through my legs, and I’ll leave your precious little tramp alone.” “What do you say?” [> Using a woman to threaten the ML. The villains are as trashy as ever.] [> This is it! They have to humiliate him so that when the FL steps in to save him, he’ll fall in love at first sight and she’ll become his one true love.] [> The poor ML. Why do they always have to torture him before giving him a tiny bit of happiness? Is that the only way love can happen?] [> Seriously…] [> That’s just how these novels work. How else would it be interesting?] The comments started arguing amongst themselves. I breathed a sigh of relief seeing a few sane voices. If people were questioning it, it meant things could change. Just as the villains were forcing Jason to his knees, and just a second before Seraphina was about to step forward to save him, I charged in. I stormed in, swinging my two-hundred-thousand-dollar handbag like a medieval flail and started wailing on Kyle and Asher’s thick skulls. “Crawl through your daddy’s legs? Well, your daddy’s right here! Get to kneeling!”

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1 I’m trapped in a horror game with my ex-boyfriend. And the four-year-old boss of this twisted world has just one demand: that we become his sweet, loving parents. “Make me happy,” the little boy, Toby, declared, his voice a strange mix of childish innocence and ancient authority, “and in one month, you can return to your world. But if you’re just faking it… you’ll die here.” My ex, Roger, shot me a look of pure contempt. “Is this your latest pathetic attempt to get me back? Dream on.” I fired back, my voice dripping with equal scorn, “You must be blind. Which part of this looks like me wanting you back?” Suddenly, the irises of Toby’s eyes swirled into an inky, bottomless black. “But… you’re supposed to be in love,” he whispered, the temperature in the room plummeting. In love? Once, maybe. A lifetime ago. Now, looking at Roger was like staring at a stranger I despised. He deliberately put six feet of distance between us, his disgust a physical thing. “I don’t know what kind of freak show you’ve cooked up with this… little monster, but your theatrics are wasted on me. Let me out of here, now, or I’m calling the cops.” The words had barely left his mouth when Toby lifted a tiny hand. A swirling black mist erupted from the floor, enveloping Roger and lifting him off his feet. He choked out a strangled cry before being slammed back down onto the hardwood. When he looked up, the arrogance was gone, replaced by raw, primal fear. Toby’s childish voice now held the weight of a death sentence. “In my world, you follow the rules, or you die. Now, I’m sleepy. I want my mommy and daddy to give me a bath and tuck me in.” I wanted to live. I didn’t want to die. Neither did Roger. Without another word, I bolted to the bathroom to run the water. Roger, moving with a grim efficiency, scooped Toby up, stripped off his clothes, and lowered him into the tub. I lathered his hair while Roger washed his tiny feet. I reached for the shampoo, and without looking, Roger’s hand was already there, passing me the bottle. When he lifted Toby from the water, I was ready with a towel, wrapping him in a cocoon of warm terry cloth. The whole routine was so seamless, so practiced, it felt like we’d done it a thousand times. Toby, watching us with an unnervingly perceptive gaze, announced with a smug little smile, “You two work so well together. How can you not be in love? You’re just pretending you broke up to protect each other, aren’t you?” “We really broke up.” The words came from Roger and me in perfect, hollow unison. “But you’re a team…” Toby insisted, confused. My survival instinct kicked in, forcing the truth out of me. “We used to have a dog,” I explained, my voice flat. “A big Golden Retriever named Goldie. He hated baths, so we had to get it done fast. It’s not teamwork, Toby. It’s muscle memory.” “What happened to Goldie?” “He died.” “How?” Toby’s face scrunched up in concern. “He was poisoned. With chocolate.” A muscle twitched in Roger’s jaw. The silence he’d maintained shattered. “You have the nerve to bring that up? It was your fault! You’re the one who mixed chocolate chips into his food and then tried to blame Scarlett for it!” The accusation hit me like a physical blow, throwing me back to that awful day. Toby’s curiosity was piqued. “Who’s Scarlett?” The rage in Roger’s face softened, replaced by a flicker of tenderness. “She’s my fiancée. We’re getting married soon.” A bitter smile touched my lips. A bitch and a dog, a match made in hell. If Scarlett were here, I’d congratulate her on finally getting what she always wanted. Toby was the only one in the room who wasn’t smiling. His face was a thundercloud. “My mommy and daddy have to love me,” he declared, his voice dangerously low. “And they have to love each other. There’s no room for a third person. If you can’t do that… you’ll die, too.” That night, we lay in the same bed, Toby a small, warm barrier between us. I read from a storybook while Roger gently patted his back. Long after Toby’s breathing had evened out into the deep rhythm of sleep, Roger rose. “Claire,” he whispered, letting out a long, weary breath. “We need to talk.” 2 “Do you want to be stuck here forever?” he asked, his voice low and urgent. I shook my head. “Then let’s make a deal. We cooperate. We play the part of loving parents, give Toby what he wants, and get the hell back to reality as fast as possible.” “Fine,” I agreed. He still looked unconvinced, his gaze intense. “Claire, you need to understand this. What’s broken stays broken. We are over. Everything that happens here is an act. We are pretending. I’m marrying Scarlett. You need to move on, too.” A laugh escaped me, sharp and humorless. “I moved on ages ago, Roger. You’re the one flattering yourself.” He didn’t believe me. “You don’t have to lie. Just… help me get through this, and I can forgive you for everything you did. But you need to be crystal clear on one thing: we are never, ever getting back together.” “Okay.” He stared at me for a long moment, a storm of doubt and suspicion in his eyes, before turning and leaving the room. I waited until he was gone before wiping away the single tear that had escaped with my laugh. It was pointless. Arguing with a narcissist was like trying to teach a rock to swim. The only thing that mattered was getting back home. I could endure his self-important delusions for that. Back in bed, Roger tossed and turned, but I found the release of sleep almost immediately. I woke to Toby snuggling into my side. “Mommy,” he murmured, “can we have a picnic in the park today?” “Of course, sweetie. Anything you want.” I was sitting on the checkered blanket when Toby held a slice of mango up to my lips. My heart lurched. I had played this horror game once before, a long time ago. I knew its rules, its cruel tricks. And I knew that here, in this world, my real-world allergies were just as real. And my mango allergy was deadly. “Oh, honey, no thank you,” I said, pulling back gently. “Mommy’s allergic to mangoes.” Roger, who was fumbling with a kite nearby, let out a derisive snort. A moment later, while Toby was chasing a butterfly, he leaned in, his voice a low warning. “Stop the act, Claire. Didn’t you see the disappointment on his face? If you upset him, we both pay the price.” I met his gaze, my own unwavering. “I’ve never been more serious in my life.” Not wanting Toby to see us arguing, I got up and helped him get the kite airborne. When we returned to the blanket, I took the cup of juice Roger handed me, steeling myself against the revulsion I felt. I had to keep up the charade. I’d only taken a few sips when my mouth started to tingle, and a familiar tightness gripped my throat. “Mommy, your eyes!” Toby cried out, pointing at my face. “They’re getting puffy!” The symptoms. I knew them too well. Panic seized me. “I have to go,” I gasped, scrambling to my feet and stumbling toward the road where a taxi was idling. Roger grabbed my arm, his face a mask of irritation. “Where are you going? Toby’s having the time of his life!” “It’s my allergy… get me to a hospital…” The world began to tilt and fade, my last conscious sensations the sound of Toby’s terrified screams and the look of dawning horror on Roger’s face as I crumpled to the ground. I’m afraid you’ve reached a premium chapter. Would you like to unlock it to see what happens to Claire? I woke to the sound of Toby’s desperate sobs. “Mommy, please wake up! I just got a mommy, you can’t leave me!” When my eyes fluttered open, his tear-streaked face lit up. “Mommy! You’re awake!” He grabbed my hand, his small fingers warm and tight around mine. In that moment, the all-powerful game boss was gone, and all I could see was a scared little boy who craved a family. My heart ached for him. After I had soothed him into a watery smile, I sent him home with the NPC nanny. Now, the hospital room was silent, occupied by only me and Roger. A cold, bitter laugh escaped me. “This was you, wasn’t it?” He walked over to my bed, his expression a tangled mess of guilt and confusion. “I didn’t think… I just added a little bit of mango juice to the orange juice. I just wanted to see…” “You wanted to see if I was lying?” I snapped, my voice rising. “Roger, are you stupid or deaf? I’ve told you a million times, I’m allergic to mangoes! It’s not a joke. It can kill me!” He raked a hand through his hair, his eyes filled with a frustration I couldn’t comprehend. “I know, I’m sorry, okay? It’s my fault. But… you used to eat mangoes all the time.” To save my own life from his future ‘tests,’ I decided it was time he knew the truth I had hidden for so long. “That was because of you.” He stared at me blankly. “Because of me?” 3 “The first time I ever had mango, I was four years old,” I began, my voice quiet but steady. “That’s how my parents discovered my allergy. After that, they were banned from our house. The second time… was when your mother sent us a box of mangoes she’d picked herself.” After we started dating, I learned that Roger’s parents owned a huge mango grove. He’d once told me a story about how, when the fruit was in season, his mom had sent a crate to his dorm for him to share. The next day, he found a whole, untouched mango in one of his roommate’s trash cans. When Roger confronted him, the roommate had shrugged. “I’m allergic, man. What was I supposed to do with it?” But later, Roger overheard him telling someone else, “I’m not eating that crap from some farmer. Who knows if his mom’s hands were even clean.” Knowing how sensitive he was about his family’s humble background, I couldn’t bring myself to tell him that I, too, was allergic. I swallowed the words, and instead, I stocked up on antihistamines. “Before I ever took a bite of your mother’s mangoes, I took allergy pills,” I finished, my voice flat. “That’s why you never knew. I did it all to protect your fragile pride, to get your family to like me. Looking back, I can’t believe how pathetic I was.” Roger stood frozen, as if turned to stone. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely a whisper. “So… you didn’t frame Scarlett?” I knew exactly what he was talking about. I hadn’t known Scarlett for long. She was from Roger’s hometown, a childhood acquaintance. Her father had passed away, and the whole village pitied her and her mother, helping them out whenever they could. So when her mother called, begging Roger to let a newly-unemployed and evicted Scarlett stay with us for a while, neither of us objected. I felt sorry for her. I treated her like a younger sister. I even told her about my allergy, and why I kept it a secret from Roger, after she asked about the pills she found in my purse. Not long after, the three of us went to visit Roger’s parents. I took my antihistamines as usual, but after just two bites of mango, my throat started to close up. Luckily, they got me to a hospital in time. Afterward, Roger asked with genuine concern, “What are you allergic to? I’ll tell my parents so they can be careful.” Looking at the crate of mangoes in the corner, I finally broke. “Actually… I’m allergic to mangoes.” His face changed. “What are you talking about? You’ve eaten them before with no problem.” “That’s because I didn’t want to hurt your mom’s feelings!” I explained frantically. “I always took medication beforehand! I did this time, too, but… I think Scarlett might have switched my pills.” I had only ever told her that secret. It had to be her. Just then, Scarlett burst into the room, tears already streaming down her face. “I don’t know anything about this! Claire, I know you don’t like me, but I’m just staying here for a little while! I see Roger as a big brother, nothing more! If you have a problem with me, just say it! Why is it that you’ve been eating these mangoes for years, but the moment I show up, you suddenly have a life-threatening allergic reaction? Are you trying to set me up? Is it because you think you can push us around, a widow and her orphan daughter?” Her mother rushed in, and the two of them put on a masterful performance. “I see what’s going on here! You see my daughter as a rival! Mrs. Chen, look at your future daughter-in-law! No respect, and a petty, jealous heart! She doesn’t deserve a good man like your son!” After that circus, Roger’s parents’ opinion of me plummeted. Now, in this sterile hospital room, I answered Roger’s whispered question. “Of course I didn’t frame her. She orchestrated the whole thing. If anyone was a victim that day, it was me.” He hesitated, running a hand over his face. “It must have just been a coincidence,” he mumbled, though he didn’t sound convinced. “She’s just… overly sensitive. I’m sure she’s not a bad person at heart.” I’m sure? He wasn’t sure at all. The seed of doubt had been planted. And once planted, it was only a matter of time before it grew. 4 Two days later, the preschool was holding a Family Sports Day. To keep Toby happy, Roger and I agreed to participate together. We did the tug-of-war, the jump rope competition, and the classic three-legged race. We didn’t win a single event, but Toby was ecstatic, prancing around like a colt in a spring meadow. During a break, he proudly showed us off to his friends. “This is my mommy and daddy! They insisted on coming to sports day together!” One of the other kids pouted. “You’re so lucky! Only my mom came…” Toby puffed out his chest, the picture of pride. He was a world away from the sullen, angry child we first met. During the swimming relay, Toby noticed a patch of scarred skin on the back of my calf. “Mommy, where did you get that owie?” he asked, his little brow furrowed. I was about to tell him the truth but stopped myself, not wanting to spoil his perfect day. The little guy had completely worked his way into my heart. “It’s a burn,” I said simply. He gently poked the scar. “How’d you burn it?” “Cooking. A little oil splashed on me.” “You’re lying!” he shrieked, his voice cracking. “Why are you lying to me?!” Instantly, the clear blue sky overhead roiled with dark, angry clouds. My heart hammered against my ribs. So did Roger’s. Toby rounded on him. “It was you again! You hurt Mommy! If she was cooking, the oil would have splashed on the front of her legs. That scar is on the back! That means she was facing away when the oil spilled!” Roger’s face went pale. He shot me a desperate, pleading look. I quickly pulled the furious little boy into a hug. “It’s okay, honey, it’s okay! It was Daddy’s fault! He was carrying the hot pan and tripped, and some of it spilled on Mommy. But it was an accident, and Mommy already scolded him for it. We were just afraid you’d be mad at Daddy if you knew.” Roger, catching on, added quickly, “I was scared you wouldn’t love me anymore, Toby!” As if on command, the storm clouds overhead dissipated, and the sun shone through. Toby, after making me promise a dozen times that it didn’t hurt anymore, wagged a tiny finger at Roger. “You have to be more careful! Don’t let Mommy get hurt again!” Later, when we were alone, Roger’s voice was shaky. “That time… was that her, too?” “Yes.” The light was finally dawning. It was Roger’s birthday, the night before we broke up for good. I was in the kitchen, cooking his favorite meal. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Scarlett leaning against the doorframe. “He really loves you, you know,” she said, her voice deceptively sweet. “I tried my best to stir things up, and even though you couldn’t prove your innocence, he still wanted to marry you. He told me, ‘No matter what she’s like, she’s the one I love.’” “If you know that, then back off,” I said, not taking my eyes off the sizzling pan. She chuckled softly. “Maybe I’m just a masochist. The more he loves you, the more I want him. It’s a thrill.” Before I could react, she lunged forward, grabbed the wooden spoon from the pot, and flung a ladleful of boiling oil onto her own arm. Her scream brought everyone from the living room running. “I… I slipped,” Scarlett sobbed, clutching her blistering arm. “It was an accident.” “An accident?!” one of our friends shrieked, pointing at me. “Who accidentally throws that much hot oil on themselves? It had to be you, Claire! We all know you’re jealous of Scarlett, but this is insane! That’s boiling oil! You could have scarred her for life!” “She did it to herself!” I cried, but no one was listening. “No woman would do that to herself,” someone muttered from the back of the crowd. “A scar that big will never fade.” They all stared at me, their faces a mixture of accusation and disgust. I was a monster. Even Roger didn’t believe me. “I am so disappointed in you,” he said, his voice cold with a finality that broke my heart. “I was willing to look past the lies you told about her before. But why would you do this? Did you really want to destroy her that badly?” He wrapped his arm around Scarlett’s shoulders and guided her toward the door, never once noticing the angry red burn on my own leg, the burn that would become that ugly scar. The memory was so vivid it made me sick. Back in the present, Roger collapsed onto a nearby bench. His lips moved, but no sound came out. I leaned closer. “So what was ever real?” he was whispering. I was more than happy to answer him. “Nothing.” “Goldie’s death, the allergy pills, the hot oil, throwing away her necklace… none of it was you?” “Not a single thing.” His voice cracked with a new, infuriating question. “Then why didn’t you explain?” A slow, cruel smile spread across my face. I didn’t bother to hide my contempt. “Oh, but I did. I explained, I begged, I pleaded. And every single time, you chose to believe her. Don’t you see, Roger? She only succeeded because you were her willing accomplice.” “It’s my fault,” he whispered, his hand reaching for mine before falling, defeated, to his side. “I’m so sorry.” His pristine image of the innocent, helpless girl had been shattered, replaced by the portrait of a scheming sociopath. The shock was overwhelming him. And it was only the beginning.

The day my acceptance letter to Stanford arrived, I was in the village feeding chickens. The entire village celebrated with gongs and drums. Along with them came a couple I’d only ever seen on TV: the wealthiest couple in the country. Tears streamed down their faces as they hugged me. “Our dear child, we’re your real parents!” Just as I was about to call them ‘Mom’ and ‘Dad,’ a string of text appeared in the sky, like a spectral comment feed: [The side character actually thinks she’s hit the jackpot. She’s just going back to be a living blood bag.] [If she hadn’t gotten into Stanford, proving her excellent constitution, she wouldn’t even qualify as a blood bag.] [Even though the main character, our sweet baby, is the fake heiress, she’s kinder and smarter. Now she’ll recover quickly and get all lovey-dovey with her handsome, wealthy fiancé~] The chickens clucked at my feet. I looked down at my own chapped, rough, dark hands. And then, with all the strength I could muster, I called out, “Mom! Dad!” and got into the car with them. You think I made it from the rural heartlands to Stanford on luck alone? Think again. 1. I stood before the villa, waiting for a servant to bring me a new pair of shoes. After a while, I gave up and walked inside. Of course. No one was getting me shoes. My new parents were busy comforting a girl who was crying a river of tears. A Samoyed in a frilly dress wagged its tail and nuzzled against her. For a moment, I thought of my own dog, Rusty, who I’d raised from a pup. He was caught and eaten one night while helping my grandpa carry firewood. “Kimberley, why did you come in by yourself? Didn’t I tell you to wait?” My mother spotted me, a flash of annoyance in her red-rimmed eyes. My father’s voice was cold. “Kimberley, you need to learn some manners. You can’t bring your crude country habits here.” Well, that was fast. I hadn’t done a thing, and I was already labeled. “It’s over a hundred degrees outside. I waited for forty-seven minutes, which is beyond what most people can endure.” I gestured to my sweat-soaked clothes, my lips pale and colorless. “It looks like you’ll be busy comforting her for a while longer. I just wonder, if I hadn’t come in on my own, would an ambulance have had to carry me away?” They were speechless. A flicker of guilt crossed my mother’s face. Just as she was about to ask a servant to get me a glass of water, the girl the spectral comments called the “main character,” Stella Sterling, spoke up, biting her lip. “Mom and Dad came in first to check on me because I was upset. It’s all my fault. Please don’t be hard on them. I didn’t realize my sister would rather stand outside than come in and see me. This is all my fault…” She choked back a sob, her eyes brimming with tears as if she had suffered a terrible injustice. “Stella, sweetie, it’s not your fault. We’re the ones who have wronged you,” my mother said, the guilt in her eyes vanishing. She handed Stella a tissue and shot me a cold look. “There’s no need to be so dramatic. Why are you being so passive-aggressive with Stella? She grew up away from her real parents. She’s had it a thousand times harder than you and deserves all our love and care.” A large tear splashed onto the floor. A manipulative adopted daughter and willfully blind parents. Just my luck. “Fine. I’m sorry,” I said, my apology crisp and clean. I turned and walked away. After all, I didn’t come to this house to fight for their affection. 2. Since I was back with my real family, a monthly allowance of a few tens of thousands shouldn’t be too much to ask for the daughter of a billionaire, right? I pictured scenes from TV shows as I happily accepted the card for my living expenses from the butler. “Miss, you will receive eight hundred dollars a month on this card.” I froze. For a second, I wanted to walk back outside to make sure I was in the right house. I was the biological daughter of the richest man in the state. His company was worth billions, and this villa alone was supposedly worth hundreds of millions. “What do you mean? The Sterlings are this rich, and they’re only giving me eight hundred a month?” The butler bowed politely again. “Money doesn’t grow on trees, Miss. You mustn’t be too extravagant.” I fought to keep my temper in check. “What about my college scholarship? I remember Mom and Dad taking my card with the six hundred thousand dollars on it.” That card held not just the prize money I’d earned from every academic competition from the village to the state level, but also the compensation for my grandfather’s death in a construction accident. The butler looked uneasy, stammering, unable to give a clear answer. A voice came from behind me. “I was the one who asked them to take it, sister.” In the short time I’d been there, Stella had changed into another gown, this one adorned with enormous, very real-looking jewels. The spectral comments appeared again: [OMG my baby’s new dress is gorgeous! A true masterpiece from a famous French designer.] [If I remember correctly, that dress costs exactly six hundred thousand. They used Kimberley’s card. Is that really okay?] [What’s the big deal? She’s just a side character. She’ll be gone in a month anyway. If Stella doesn’t spend the money now, it’ll be hers eventually.] “Sister,” Stella said, her voice dripping with fake concern, “I just thought, since you came from a small place, you’ve never seen so much money and wouldn’t know how to use it. I was afraid you wouldn’t be able to adjust.” “Eight hundred isn’t a small amount. Many poor students don’t even have that much. You can’t just forget the struggles of the common folk now that you’re with us.” “Also, the cups in this house are very expensive. I was worried your rough farm hands might break them, so I had them all replaced with paper cups for you.” She turned to leave, but I blocked her way and held out my hand. “Give me my money back, or I’m calling the police.” Stella glared at me, trying to pretend she hadn’t heard, but I grabbed her wrist, my voice rising. “Did you hear me? Give me back my money!” Stella, having been pampered her whole life, burst into tears at my rough treatment. Her sobs were so loud that my parents rushed upstairs. “What’s wrong? Kimberley, are you bullying Stella again?” My mother’s eyes were practically shooting fire. “Stella is fragile! Do you hate her so much that you want to push her to her death?!” Without a second thought, she slapped me hard across the face. My head snapped to the side. I tasted blood. I swallowed and said calmly, “Stella took my six hundred thousand dollars and bought this dress. That money includes the compensation for my grandfather’s life. I just want it back.” My words made her frantic. “Who said I bought this with your money? Mom and Dad love me so much, they give me a huge allowance every month. Why would I want your pathetic little bit of cash?” I looked her straight in the eye. “Then tell me, which account did you use to buy this dress? Six hundred thousand is not a small amount. There has to be a record.” “You… Why should I have to prove anything to you? I bought this dress with my own money!” Stella’s face was red with panic. My parents, seeing this, understood who was in the right. But their bias was strong. They turned to me with stern faces. “It’s just a little money. Is it worth making such a scene and disregarding family ties? Apologize to Stella right now.” “Didn’t we give you a card with three million dollars on it? You shouldn’t be so greedy. Even if your sister took the money, you should have let her have it. We have not wronged you in the slightest!” I laughed and held up the card in my hand. “The butler just told me I’d be getting eight hundred a month on this card. For a second, I thought the family had gone bankrupt. Where is this three million? I certainly haven’t seen it.” My father’s eyes narrowed. The butler immediately panicked. “Sir, it… it was Miss Stella who told me to do that. The three million was transferred to her card…” My parents’ faces tightened. But before they could say anything, Stella let out a piercing scream. She clutched her chest, gasping for air, and collapsed to the floor. 3. It was a tired, old trick, a madwoman’s performance for an audience of fools. But after Stella was “weakly” rushed to the hospital, I did get my money back. As I turned to leave, my mother suddenly called out to me. “Kimberley,” she said, her voice surprisingly gentle. “Take this money and buy yourself some nice clothes at the mall. If there’s anything else you want, just let us know.” “Oh, and do you like jewelry? You can pick whatever you like from my room.” I was still puzzling over her sudden change of heart when the spectral comments appeared again: [This money is just to ease their conscience. After all, in thirty days, the side character will be on the operating table for our main character.] [This surgery has assembled top experts from home and abroad. Failure is not an option. They will drain the side character dry if they have to. This couple has no intention of letting her survive.] Thirty days. Wasn’t that the day before I was supposed to start college? The spectral comments, oddly enough, brought me a sense of relief. If that was their plan, then I could proceed with my own without any hesitation. I immediately went to my mother’s bedroom, opened her jewelry cabinet, and began a frenzied shopping spree. I picked the heaviest gold necklaces, filled all ten fingers with rings, chose the largest gemstones, and made sure not a single wrist or ankle was left bare. Satisfied, I returned to my room, took out my own safe, and stashed everything inside. I had enough money. Now I just needed to wait for the right time to escape. I immediately contacted a real estate agent to buy a house in the city, then fell into a deep, contented sleep. That evening, my parents threw a small welcome dinner for me. As I finished my makeup and prepared to go downstairs, I heard voices from the landing. “Stella, your parents are so biased. They already have you, why did they have to bring that country bumpkin back? It’s just asking for trouble.” “It’s obvious that Kimberley girl is just a gold digger. You need to be careful she doesn’t run off with all the money.” I peeked through a crack in the door. Stella was standing on the stairs with a few other young men and women, her face a mask of practiced sorrow. A boy with short, silver hair and strikingly handsome features put his arm around her shoulder, his voice loud and clear. “I’d like to see which hick dares to take what belongs to Stella. They must have a death wish.” So this was him. The ridiculously wealthy, arrogant heir the comments mentioned, Liam Vanderbilt. Just like my parents, his eyes were bad, and his brain wasn’t much better. No wonder he couldn’t get into Stanford. I waited patiently for them to finish trash-talking me before I opened the door and walked out. The air went silent. The girls wrinkled their noses, letting out soft, disdainful snorts. But the boys’ eyes were wide with surprise. Especially the silver-haired one. His gaze was glued to me. My father had been handsome in his youth, and after making his fortune, he married my mother, a famous actress. I had inherited the best of both of them. It was just that years of farm work had tanned my skin, a stark contrast to the pale, delicate complexions of these rich kids. “You must be Stella’s newly found sister?” he said, his tone surprisingly soft and gentle. “I heard you were the top scholar in our province this year and got into Stanford.” “My sister grew up in the countryside, you know,” Stella said, stepping between Liam and me, a flash of jealousy in her eyes. “She had nothing to do but study. I envy her for having so much time. I, on the other hand, have been swamped with lessons in tea ceremony, flower arrangement, and equestrianism since I was little. If I had even a tenth of my sister’s dedication, I probably would have gotten into Stanford too.” She pouted, her voice full of feigned regret. “I really envy you, sister.” I had to laugh. “You envy me? You wake up whenever you want and have a chauffeur drive you to school, while I have to get up at four in the morning and walk four hours on a mountain path. You have eggs, ham, and sandwiches for breakfast, a different meal every day, while I have to make do with a scoop of lard mixed with rice. You have so many extracurricular activities, while I have nothing but studying and farm work. Do you have any idea what it’s like to carry a shoulder pole heavier than yourself on a mountain path?” “Stella, this life you have was supposed to be mine. You’ve been living in my place for so long, and now you have the gall to play the victim? What kind of act are you putting on?” 4. That manipulative little act of hers was no match for a brain. My barrage of words left her speechless. She stared at me, wide-eyed, then stomped her foot in frustration, on the verge of tears. But Liam, standing behind her, was looking at me with admiration. “Kimberley, I had no idea you’d been through so much. You’re not like any other girl I’ve met.” I wasn’t a fool. I wasn’t going to fall for some cliché “arrogant rich boy falls for the poor but plucky girl” storyline. I turned and walked away. Behind me, I heard the crude chatter of the other boys. “She’s a little tan, but her features are interesting. And that body…” “Hahaha, you have some weird tastes. I didn’t know you were into country girls.” But Liam threw a punch. “Shut up. What have I always told you? Don’t talk about girls like that.” I found it all so boring. I’d rather be doing a practice exam. Soon, the banquet began. My parents sat beside Stella, urging her to eat more, as if she were the guest of honor, afraid of neglecting her in the slightest. “Stella, have some of this braised shark fin. It’s your favorite,” my father said, placing a piece on her plate. “And drink more soup. It’s good for your stomach and your skin,” my mother added, ladling a bowl of red date and white fungus soup for her. I lowered my head and mechanically ate the seafood porridge in front of me, feeling like a complete stranger. “What’s wrong?” Liam’s voice came from above me, startling me. He was sitting across from me, his eyes on me. I finally snapped back to reality. “Are you talking to me?” I froze. Suddenly, my arm started to itch. I looked down and saw a red rash breaking out. An allergic reaction. My throat was swelling up, and the terrifying sensation of suffocation began to set in. I realized then that all the dishes had been sprinkled with chopped cilantro. I pushed my chair back abruptly. “You’ve seen my medical report. I’m allergic to cilantro. I need to go to the hospital right now!” “Sister.” Stella blocked my path, her grip surprisingly strong, her eyes filled with tears. “We went to so much trouble to throw this welcome dinner for you. There was nothing wrong with your medical report. I know you just don’t like this ingredient. If you don’t like it, you could have just said so. But this is our gesture of goodwill…” Her nails dug into my skin. She bit her lip. “Sister, there are so many guests here tonight. If you just walk out like this, have you considered how it will make our family look? If you’re unhappy, you can take it out on me in private. You can hit me, yell at me, whatever you want…” I felt like I was about to pass out. My father’s eyes turned cold. “Our family doesn’t tolerate liars. Don’t use these tactics to get what you want. I won’t stand for this kind of behavior!” A burning sensation was spreading through my throat. I tried to speak, but no words would come out. I tried to gesture, but Stella, sensing my intent, grabbed my hand. “Sister, please don’t make things difficult for me. I truly want to be good sisters with you. I don’t know why you have such a prejudice against me.” She sobbed. Even her friends were starting to notice something was wrong. “I don’t know, she looks like she’s about to faint. I don’t think she’s faking.” “Ignore her. She’s just putting on a show. She needs to learn her lesson.” My mother didn’t even look at me. In the end, it was Liam who forced his way through, scooped me up in his arms, pushed Stella aside, and drove me to the hospital. As my consciousness faded, I was transported back to my childhood. I’d accidentally eaten cilantro at a neighbor’s house and had an allergic reaction. Grandpa had come running, his face red with panic, and carried me to the village clinic. He had just come back from the fields and didn’t know it was an allergy. He thought I was gravely ill. All the way there, his voice trembled as he prayed. “Oh, merciful heavens, take my life in exchange for my granddaughter’s. Please, protect her. Let nothing happen to Kimberley. If you must take someone, take me…” After that, Grandpa was incredibly careful about my food. Even when I went to boarding school in town, he would walk for a day and a night to get there. He would stand before my teacher, his back bent, and say with the utmost sincerity, “I’m sorry to bother you, teacher. Kimberley is allergic to cilantro. She can’t eat it. Please, could you keep an eye on her?” After the teacher nodded, the wrinkles around Grandpa’s eyes would smooth out. He would press his palms together and repeat, his voice full of gratitude, “Thank you so much, teacher. I’m so sorry for the trouble.” He would leave with his woven bag, filled with the potatoes the teachers had refused, and walk for hours to a construction site to work. … Carrying a hundred-pound bag of cement up eight flights of stairs earned him four dollars. When he climbed the stairs, his palms were practically flat against the floor, pushing himself up step by step under the foreman’s urging. Then he would say, with sincere humility, “Thank you, boss.” During my school breaks, I would sneak off to help him carry cement, and I developed a severe back problem at a young age. What could four dollars buy? A single lunch for me during my school days. And what could two hundred thousand dollars buy? The life my grandfather lost when he fell from a high-rise due to a safety oversight at that same construction site. … When I first arrived at the Sterling house, I stood outside under the scorching sun for forty-seven minutes. I just wanted to know what my grandfather must have felt. Money really is a wonderful thing. It can buy everything a poor person has: dignity, life. “Kimberley, don’t cry. It’s okay. I won’t let anything happen to you, I promise…” Liam’s voice pulled me back to reality. He was clumsily wiping away my tears. And until he brought me to the hospital, my so-called parents never showed up.

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At the Harvest Banquet, my sister drank a drugged wine, and I was made to be her cure. Afterward, our mother revealed we shared no blood and insisted I marry her. But my sister, Seraphina, believed this decree of fate had ruined her life. In a drunken rage, she tried to end her own life with a sword. I lost the use of my hands saving her. Finally, her eyes red with tears, she agreed to the marriage. But once we were wed, she locked me away, forcing me to work as the lowest stable hand. She watched as my ruined hands were followed by crippled legs. After she had my last rib broken, the physician declared I was on death’s door. So she gouged out my eyes and had me thrown into a mass grave, left for the wild beasts. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day she was drugged. This time, Seraphina, I will let you have your love. 1 A hot, wet kiss landed on my ear, and my eyes flew open. I was met with the sight of my sister, Seraphina, her clothes in disarray, her face flushed from the drug coursing through her veins. Her eyes were glazed over with a feverish haze, on the verge of losing all reason. “Cedric, I’m so hot…” A burning hand slid to my waist, and it was then I realized: I had been reborn to the day she was poisoned. All the tragedies of my past life began on this very day. At the Harvest Banquet, someone had drugged her. By a cruel twist of fate, I was the one who walked into her chamber. One night of passion led to a lifetime of torment, my legs broken, my dignity shattered as I was treated like an animal. I shoved her away, hard. The jolt of pain seemed to bring a sliver of clarity back to her. Her gaze dropped to my own disheveled collar, and her eyes filled with an unspeakable contempt. “Cedric Valerius, do not think for a moment that by disgracing me this way, you can win my affection!” she spat. “My heart belongs to Tristan, and Tristan alone!” A thousand tiny needles pricked at my heart. I pushed her away again, fighting the sickening heat rising in my own body. “I’ll go get Tristan now.” A flicker of surprise crossed Seraphina’s face, replaced by a sharp, scrutinizing stare. “You’d really be so kind?” I simply grunted in affirmation and pushed the door open. It took less than the time it takes to drink a cup of tea to return with Tristan. He saw Seraphina on the bed, her face flushed and beautiful, and his eyes immediately reddened with theatrical tears. “Cedric… I know you love her, but how could you do this? She is your sister!” I ignored his deliberate, poisonous words. “She needs you right now. Once you are bound as husband and wife, Mother will no longer stand in your way. Go to her. She’s about to lose control.” In my past life, while Seraphina still had a shred of sanity, she had bitten her own tongue until it bled and broken several of her own fingers trying to resist the drug’s pull. In the end, she still succumbed. But now Tristan was here. She wouldn’t have to endure that agony again. Soon, I heard my sister’s shy gasp from within the room, followed by the sound of fabric tearing. Tristan’s low, guttural moan was audible even through the door. “Seraphina, I love you, I truly love you…” I had heard those same impassioned sounds countless times in our past life, but her eyes had only ever held hatred for me. When had there ever been love? I took a deep, shuddering breath. The stone in my chest finally settled. In this life, the twisted fate between Seraphina and me would not continue. Tristan was once a stable hand I’d rescued from the hunting grounds. I had treated him like a brother. But he had repaid my kindness by destroying the entire field of poppies Seraphina had planted for me. Only Tristan knew what those flowers meant to me, and only he knew of my secret, forbidden affections for my sister. When I confronted him, he’d cried, sliced open his own palm, and knelt at my door, begging for his life. Seraphina had stumbled upon this scene. Her heart moved with pity, she took him in as her personal attendant. From that day on, Tristan repeatedly played the victim, feigning weakness and sorrow in front of her, turning her against me with each passing day. I tried to tell her what he’d done, but she had only raged at me. “A privileged lord like you could never understand the helplessness and pain Tristan has endured.” Remembering the defiant glint in Tristan’s eyes, I finally understood. It had all been his design. For a lowly servant to marry into the noble House of Valerius, this was his only path. In my last life, I had ruined his plan. This time, I would watch my sister walk right into his trap. The poison in my own veins began to burn. The other reason I hadn’t been able to refuse Seraphina in my past life was because I, too, had drunk the drugged wine, my reason stripped away. While I still had some control, I pushed open the door to a nearby chamber, not noticing the woman already inside. Before she could speak, my arms were around her waist. Her skin was cool against mine, and I pressed myself against her, desperate for relief. The woman stiffened, seeming to frown as she tried to push me away. “Help me…” I pleaded. As I fumbled with my belt, I vaguely heard her speak my name. “Cedric Valerius, this is of your own free will.” So noisy. I closed my eyes and silenced her with a kiss. A soft sigh escaped her lips. “Since you’re the one who came to me, you’d better not regret it.” The next moment, I was pushed onto the bed, and a storm of kisses descended upon me. After the feverish night, I found myself drifting back to a memory of my past life. It was the Lantern Festival. Seraphina had taken me to release lanterns on the river, and I had slipped and fallen in. She had dived in after me without a thought for her fine clothes, pulling me from the freezing water. When I brought her home, I saw a gash on her arm so deep I could see the bone. My face was a mask of fury as I cleaned the wound, but she just smiled and said that protecting me was her honor. At that moment, I was lost in the sweet, swelling affection in my heart, completely blind to the jealousy and venom hiding in Tristan’s eyes. I don’t know how I got back to my chambers. When I woke, I was already in my bed. Looking around at the familiar furnishings, a bitter laugh escaped me. Everything in this room was arranged according to Seraphina’s tastes. For more than a decade, she had been my world, and I had spent every ounce of my being trying to please her. I tried to sit up, but my body ached with an unbearable soreness. The memory of yesterday’s reckless abandon brought a flush to my cheeks. Just then, the door opened. It was Seraphina, carrying a bowl of medicinal soup. “You had a high fever yesterday. Mother asked me to bring you this.” She reached out to touch my forehead, but instead of leaning into her touch as I always had, I recoiled, my face cold. Her expression instantly soured. She slammed the bowl down on the table. “I come to check on you, casting aside my grievances, and this is how you act?” Yes. In my past life, a single glance from her was a gift I should have been eternally grateful for. But this time, I didn’t want it. “Is this some new game of yours? Playing hard to get?” Seraphina sneered, assuming this was just another ploy for her attention. She grabbed my wrist, her voice sharp. “Cedric, get rid of these filthy thoughts you have for me! And stop these disgraceful schemes.” She paused, then threw a small packet of powder at my feet. “What happened yesterday concerns Tristan’s honor. You will keep your mouth shut. And also…” Honor? In my past life, after I had been her cure, she had broadcast the affair to the entire capital. Everyone in Cynebury knew I was a shameless deviant who had forced himself on his own sister. No one would associate with me again. Mother had fallen ill from the shame. I had wept and begged her, but she’d simply said I had brought it all upon myself. So she did understand the power of gossip. She knew the sting of rumors. She just didn’t love me. “Seraphina, believe it or not, what happened yesterday had nothing to do with me. It was—” She cut me off with a cold laugh. “Who else would do something so disgusting?” “Whether you like it or not, I am going to marry Tristan.” Meeting her scornful gaze, I bit my lip until I could taste blood. “Seraphina, I stopped loving you long ago!” She snorted, knocked over the medicine bowl, and stormed out. I got up and began to pack away everything Seraphina had ever given me. The room was instantly bare, but for the first time, I felt a sense of peace. So this was what it felt like to let her go. It wasn’t so hard after all. After that day, I moved to our family’s country estate, avoiding Seraphina completely. Even at the inescapable banquets in the capital, I would find a seat as far from her as possible. Mother visited me several times, telling me that Seraphina thought I was deliberately avoiding her. I didn’t know how to explain, so I just silently accepted the accusation. One day, Mother summoned me back to the main house for dinner. The moment I stepped inside, I saw Seraphina and Tristan in the side hall. Mother was seated at the head of the table, her face a thundercloud. Tristan looked as if he had been crying. Upon seeing me, he immediately stood. “My lord, let me get you some soup…” Seraphina yanked him back down, her voice laced with a gentle indulgence I had never heard before. “He has hands, doesn’t he? Why are you serving him?” Tristan answered meekly, “It is my duty. I am used to it.” Seraphina’s face darkened, and she snapped at a nearby servant for being blind. Before she could say more, Mother threw her spoon down. “Is it not a servant’s duty to serve his master?” Seraphina bristled. “He is my man—” “As long as I draw breath, he will never marry into this house!” At this, Tristan’s eyes welled with tears. “Seraphina, I can do it. Please, don’t anger the Matron on my account.” Mother, furious, swept out of the room. Seraphina turned a cold glare on me. “What nonsense have you been feeding Mother now? She comes back and immediately starts attacking Tristan!” I presumed Mother, thinking Tristan was the reason I was hiding from Seraphina, had reprimanded him. Before I could explain, Seraphina took Tristan’s arm and left, not sparing me a single glance. A few days later was Mother’s birthday banquet. The entire estate was decked in lanterns and silks, buzzing with festivity. Seraphina moved through the crowd with effortless grace. I, however, felt suffocated. I slipped away to the small garden for some air, only to see Tristan fawning over a woman. “Your Grace, look how beautifully the lotuses bloom,” he cooed. “I also have some sweet cream pastries I made myself. Would you care to try one?” He smiled charmingly, his body subtly brushing against hers. The woman looked familiar, though I couldn’t place her. A passing maid informed me she was Lady Isolde, the only daughter of the Duke of Ashford, the most powerful man in the kingdom. It was rumored she was cold and merciless, unwilling to marry. Even though my feelings for Seraphina were gone, she was still my sister. The honor of House Valerius could not be trampled by the likes of Tristan. I strode forward. “As an attendant, shouldn’t you be with my sister instead of serving someone else here?” A flash of embarrassment crossed Tristan’s face. Knowing he was in the wrong, he quickly put down the pastries. As he turned to leave, his eyes shot me a look of pure venom. With him gone, I was about to return to the banquet when a hand caught my arm. The woman’s face was suddenly very close to mine. This time, I saw it clearly: the small, crimson mole on the bridge of her nose. My face burned. She, however, seemed to expect it, a light, knowing smile on her lips. “What’s the matter? Last time, weren’t you begging me to save you?” Her familiar, exotic perfume filled the air, and the memory of that wild night flooded my mind. I stumbled back a step. “Lord Cedric, are you thinking of—” Before she could finish, a sharp cry came from behind me. Seraphina rushed forward and pulled me behind her, her eyes blazing. “Cedric! Alone with a woman! Have you no sense of propriety?” This was absurd. I shook her hand off, my face a cold mask. This only seemed to infuriate her more. “Do you think you can grab my attention with these cheap tricks? That I would actually care?” Her righteous indignation was so baffling I could only offer a weary explanation. “I wasn’t.” Seraphina let out a derisive snort, her eyes full of mockery. “Are you going to tell me you don’t love me? That you don’t crave my attention?” To be humiliated like this, in front of Lady Isolde, my face felt like it was on fire. “I followed Tristan here. He was with an—” But Seraphina would never believe me. She cut me off with a frown. “Enough, Cedric! I know you love me, but that’s no reason to push the blame onto Tristan!” “If he hadn’t told me, I would have never known how shameless you truly are!” Her words choked off anything else I might have said. A bitter sting filled my nose. “Sister,” I said, my voice flat. It had been a long time since she had heard me use that formal title. She froze. I continued, enunciating each word. “I will never love you again.” “I will take a wife, and you and I will be nothing to each other.” After the disaster at the birthday banquet, I agreed to a marriage alliance Mother had proposed long ago. The bride was to be Lady Isolde. Mother studied me for a long moment before sighing and promising she would try. To her surprise, when she arrived at the Duke of Ashford’s estate, before she could even state her purpose, the Duchess herself proposed the match. They had already prepared the dowry, waiting only for my consent. I had chosen Isolde not only because she was the woman from that feverish night, but because of something else. In my past life, as I lay dying in the mass grave, wrapped in a straw mat, she had come for me in the pouring rain. On that cold, wet night, she had held my broken body, her voice choked with sobs. “I’m too late. I’m too late.” Once the engagement was set, Isolde began to visit me often. We went boating on the lake, listened to minstrels in the city, and walked through snow-covered woods to find winter blossoms. One day, she presented me with a sprig of vibrant red wintersweet, her smile as radiant as jade. “Lord Cedric, the plum blossoms in the countryside are in full bloom. Won’t you come see them with me?” I put down my book and snuck out of the estate with her. From a distance, Tristan saw us and pointed us out to Seraphina. Seraphina merely glanced our way before saying dismissively, “That’s not Cedric. He knows I don’t like him getting close to other women.” At that very moment, Isolde and I were drinking wine and composing poetry, completely at ease. Half a year was more than enough time for me to know that Isolde was the woman I wanted to marry.

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My arm was linked with a gorgeous model’s, and we were trading flirtatious glances. Across the room, Matt Itzin was gripping a kitchen knife, his face as dark as a thundercloud. Yes, I was a guest star on a reality dating show. And the director’s brilliant idea for my role? Seduce my ex-boyfriend Matt’s on-screen partner. 1. After my breakup with Matt Itzin, I got an invitation to a reality dating show. My job as a guest star was to be the villain, the pot-stirrer sent in to wreak havoc on the show’s established couples. It was a recipe for drama, a surefire way to go viral—even if for all the wrong reasons. The pay was great. For a struggling, D-list actress like me, I had neither the right nor the reason to refuse. Besides, only a fool turns down good money. After a moment’s thought, I gladly accepted. But the second I dragged my small suitcase into the show’s villa, regret hit me like a ton of bricks. Matt Itzin was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, a smug, triumphant look dancing in his eyes. “Regrets?” he murmured, leaning in so close his breath warmed my ear. I straightened my spine, refusing to be intimidated. I tilted my head away, escaping the heat that was making my ears burn. I arched an eyebrow. “Excuse me,” I said, my voice sharp. “You’re in my way.” He mimicked my expression. “Is that so? What a shame.” I didn’t hesitate. I shouldered past him, my body brushing against his in the narrow doorway. The contact was brief, but it was enough. I felt his breath hitch, his body tense. Maybe I’d pushed too hard, or maybe it was something else entirely. I didn’t care to find out. The small act of defiance did little to quell my anger; instead, it only stirred up hazy, heated memories of our bodies tangled together. Matt and I hadn’t exactly parted on good terms. A month ago, some paparazzo had snapped photos of us entering the same hotel minutes apart. The online fallout was instantaneous, and the weight of public opinion came crashing down on me. I’d never had that kind of attention before, and I couldn’t handle it. A week ago, I’d told him it was over. Of course, Matt hadn’t agreed. I blocked his number, his socials—every possible way he could reach me. I even found a new apartment. I’d buried my head in the sand like an ostrich, but it had worked. At least, I’d been confident it had worked. Confident enough to think I could face him again without falling apart. One look, and that confidence shattered. I practically sprinted to my assigned room, dragging my luggage behind me. The moment the lock clicked shut, I felt my soul rush back into my body. “Phoebe, could you be any more of a coward?!” I raged at myself in the silent room. The sharp ping of a text message cut through the quiet. It was the director, summoning everyone to the main living area. I might be a nobody, but I was a professional. I quickly composed myself, plastered on a smile, and headed downstairs to meet the rest of the cast. “Hi, Phoebe! I’m Mia,” a tall, stunning model greeted me, warmly linking her arm through mine. According to the script, Mia and Matt were supposed to be the show’s golden couple. My job was to do everything in my power to break them up. It was a dirty job, but someone had to do it. The male contestants were in the kitchen, putting on a show of their culinary skills. Some magnetic pull drew my eyes that way. Matt’s physique was, to put it mildly, flawless. Tall and lean, the crisp white shirt he wore only hinted at the muscle beneath, creating an aura of restrained temptation. As if he could feel my gaze, he froze mid-chop and looked up, his eyes meeting mine. In that split second, I whipped my head back toward Mia, but it was too late. Mia caught the unguarded emotion in my eyes and a flicker of understanding crossed her face. Her professionalism, however, seemed to have been channeled into her role. “I get it,” she whispered, then leaned in closer, her gaze locked on mine. To anyone watching, we were practically snuggling, exchanging intimate glances. Her intense stare was almost too much. I let my eyes drift away, and they landed, inevitably, back in the kitchen. Matt still held the knife. He was staring directly at us, his face impossibly dark. This dating show was all about fast-paced drama, airing the same day it was filmed with minimal editing. It was raw, and it was real. After the first day’s broadcast, the internet exploded. The gossip about Matt and me hadn’t even died down, and here I was, already getting cozy with his on-screen partner, Mia. Some people thought I was just desperate for fame. Others found it thrilling. What’s more dramatic than a love triangle? A love triangle where the “other woman” sets her sights on the girl! The #PhoebeMia ship started trending, and suddenly, we both had a taste of real fame. Mia pulled me aside later, a glint in her eye. She thought we’d stumbled onto a goldmine—a perfect path back into the spotlight. We decided to pitch it to the director. But the moment we walked into the director’s office, my courage evaporated. There he was: Matt Itzin, our resident “Dark and Brooding Superstar,” his face a mask of irritation as he spoke with the director. He looked up as the door opened, his gaze zeroing in on me. My knees felt weak. If Mia hadn’t been holding onto my arm, I would have bolted. “Phoebe, Mia? What’s up?” the director asked, oblivious. “Director, we… um…” Matt’s stare was like a physical weight, pinning me to the spot. My throat went dry, a wave of guilt washing over me. “Since Matt’s here anyway,” Mia said, jumping in smoothly, “Phoebe and I were talking, and we think we’ve found a new angle.” “A new angle?” It wasn’t the director who answered. It was Matt. “Yeah, Matt,” Mia said, completely missing the dangerous edge in his voice. “The #PhoebeMia ship is blowing up online. If we lean into it, the show’s ratings will go through the roof…” With every word Mia spoke, Matt’s expression grew darker. By the time she finished, he looked like he was about to spontaneously combust. The director nervously wiped a bead of sweat from his brow. “Is that what you want, too?” Matt’s eyes had never left me. He bit out the words, each one a sharp, jagged stone. Under that intense pressure, something inside me snapped. A sudden, reckless courage surged through me. I lifted my chin and met his gaze head-on. “That’s right. I think Mia and I… we make a better pair than you and Mia.” I watched his jaw clench, a thrill of fear and satisfaction running through me. I added, a little shakily, “At least, that’s what the audience thinks.” Mia nodded enthusiastically beside me. The director looked like he wanted to crawl under his desk. A bitter, humorless smile twisted Matt’s lips. He nodded slowly. “Phoebe,” he breathed, “you’ve got some nerve.” The director raised a timid hand. “So, uh, Matt… about the script?” Matt leaned against the desk, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. After a long moment, he sighed. “Change it. Do what she wants.” Mia reacted instantly. She grabbed my arm, pulled me into a perfect ninety-degree bow, and then hustled us out of the room before he could change his mind. That night, the director sent over the new script. Along with it came a contact recommendation for Matt’s number. Phoebe, Matt said you blocked him. Could you… maybe add him back? His profile picture was a solid black icon with a tiny mute symbol I’d doodled on it ages ago. I used to tease him that it was perfect for him, a man of few words. Now, ironically, I was the one who couldn’t find the words to say what I felt. I sent the friend request. He accepted it a second later, as if he’d been waiting. I clutched my phone, my eyes glued to the screen. One second, two… One minute, two… Half an hour passed. Nothing. A sigh escaped my lips, a bitter mix of disappointment and self-recrimination welling up in my chest. I was the one who’d ended things. I was the one who’d run away. What right did I have to feel sorry for myself now? You’re being pathetic, I told myself. But tears betrayed me, streaming down my face as if to mock my own hypocrisy. After lying on my bed and staring at the ceiling for a while, I picked up my phone again and, on autopilot, opened Matt’s social media feed. He rarely posted, so I wasn’t expecting anything. But there it was. A new post, right at the top. A screenshot of tomorrow’s weather forecast, showing a blistering heatwave. The caption read: Don’t forget sunscreen. It hit me then. Back when we were together, Matt had always been the one to check the weather for me. It had become a habit, one I’d completely forgotten. Habits are terrifying things. With a heavy heart, I moved the weather app back to my phone’s home screen. The next day’s activity was a camping trip and a cookout. The other contestants were groaning about the heat. “Which idiot scheduled a camping trip in this heat?” an influencer muttered beside me. “Seriously,” Mia chimed in. “We won’t even need a lighter. We could probably just spontaneously combust.” I was doing okay, thanks to the warning. I wasn’t feeling the heat as badly as the others. Up ahead, Matt, who had been leading the group, glanced back. His eyes swept over me, from my sun hat down to my long sleeves. A small, satisfied smile touched his lips when he saw I was fully prepared. I felt a flush of awkwardness and instinctively ducked behind the person next to me. Only after I’d hidden did I realize my mistake. The influencer gave me a knowing look, then glanced between me, Mia, and his own on-screen partner. “Did we switch partners again without telling me?” he asked, confused. Before I could form a reply, a hard, muscular arm wedged between us, creating a solid barrier. “We didn’t switch,” Matt said, his voice cold and final. “Go find your own partner,” he told the influencer, but his eyes were locked on me. I’d grown somewhat accustomed to his constant staring over the past couple of days. The initial heart-pounding panic had faded into a defiant boldness. I met his gaze. “I need to find my partner, too.” A slow smile spread across Matt’s face. “Go ahead.” But he didn’t move. He stood there, blocking my path. Mia and the others were getting further ahead. Panicked, I jabbed him with my elbow. “Would you move?” He took the hit without flinching. “Your partner is right here. Who are you looking for?” I froze. “What?” He stepped aside, gesturing to the side of the path. A camera was set up there, pointed directly at us. Matt’s features were sharp, but his fair complexion softened his intensity. Backlit by the sun, every strand of his hair seemed to glow, giving him a warm, youthful aura. It was only then I realized he’d been walking just ahead of me the whole time, his body blocking the worst of the sun. My heart began to hammer against my ribs. The feelings I thought I’d suffocated were clawing their way back to the surface. Matt leaned down, his fingers gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear. A devastatingly charming smile played on his lips. “You know what sells even better than a girl stirring up trouble?” he murmured, his voice a low, hypnotic hum. I shook my head, mesmerized. He let out a soft chuckle. “The male pot-stirrer.” I was stunned. What was happening? I thought the script was changed so that Mia and I… And then it hit me. Originally, Matt and Mia were the couple, and I was the villain. But now that Mia and I were the couple, the villain role had fallen to… I looked at him in disbelief. He just winked at me. The director, seeing the perfect chemistry unfolding, gestured for two more cameras to surround us. I was trapped in a 360-degree prison of lenses. I took a deep breath, shoving down my shock, and managed a shy, bashful smile for the cameras. Now that’s professionalism, I thought, giving myself a mental high-five. My pride lasted about three seconds before I was completely outmatched. With a subtle flick of his fingers, Matt hooked the small bag I was carrying out of my hand. As he took it, his thumb brushed deliberately across my palm. A jolt shot through me. I instinctively tried to pull away, but his other hand shot out and steadied me. “Careful,” he whispered. His voice was soft, but his touch was electric. Every inch of skin he’d touched was burning. I lowered my voice. “An A-list actor like you, stooping to play the villain?” He leaned in, his voice just as low. “We dumpees have to be this desperate, you know.” “…” I glanced at the cameras. From the slight smirk on the cameraman’s face, I knew our entire exchange had been captured. But I wasn’t too worried. From the way the director deferred to him, it was clear Matt was the one calling the shots on this show. He’d never let a clip air that showed a superstar like him getting dumped by a nobody. It would be humiliating. I told myself it was only for a few more days and decided to just roll with it. Thankfully, a few other contestants swarmed Matt for some screen time, giving me a moment to breathe. When we reached the campsite, my official partner, Mia, started on the food while I tackled the tent. We kept up the act, exchanging flirtatious looks and “accidental” touches. Working with a beautiful woman was always a pleasure, and I was grinning like an idiot, fully committed to selling our on-screen romance. I was about to lean in for another “candid” moment when the collar of my shirt was yanked, and I was pulled backward. “Phoebe!” Mia cried out, but when she saw who was behind me, her expression shifted to one of subtle amusement. I stumbled into a solid chest, enveloped by a cool, clean scent that felt all too familiar. A soft chuckle vibrated against my ear. “So clumsy,” that familiar voice teased. “…” I said, deadpan. “I wonder whose fault that is.” He accepted the blame without missing a beat. “Mine.” I couldn’t help it. A laugh escaped me, a real, genuine laugh that seemed to wash away all the tension and gloom of the past few days. Matt took the small hammer from my hand and started assembling the tent. He wasn’t just handsome; he was also incredibly skilled. The pile of poles and fabric that had been a confusing mess to me came together like magic in his hands. Within minutes, the tent was halfway done. Other contestants gathered around, drawn by the spectacle. “Wow, Matt, you’re a natural at this!” “I knew you could cook, but you can build a tent, too? Is there anything you can’t do?” “Hey, superstar, help us out next, will ya?” “Get in line! He’s only showing off to impress a certain someone, hahaha!” The group’s playful chatter filled the air, creating a lively, fun atmosphere. Amid the noise, a strange feeling washed over me, and I found myself looking at Matt, the center of attention. His eyes were already on me. Through all the laughter and chatter, his gaze was a steady, burning intensity. It was a look so focused, so unwavering, it felt like he was trying to etch my image into his memory, to brand it onto his soul. So he would never forget. The tent was finished in no time. Matt casually walked over, pulled up a folding chair, and sat down beside me. The other groups were still struggling, making our corner of the campsite feel like a peaceful oasis. “Here you go, babe. Open up.” Mia held out a piece of freshly grilled meat, blowing on it gently before holding it to my lips. “Delicious!” I gave her a thumbs-up. A couple of the other female contestants wandered over to chat. We were in the middle of some juicy gossip when a long, elegant hand appeared in front of me, holding a piece of crisp lettuce. “Here you go, babe. Open up.” I stared in shock at Matt. The others erupted in whistles and cheers. Matt, however, looked genuinely confused. “What? That’s what Mia just called you.” Before I could argue, he pressed on. “She can, but I can’t?” Gasps and whoops echoed around us. My own heart was doing a frantic dance in my chest. No wonder they say you only hate a pot-stirrer when they’re not stirring the pot for you. Experiencing it firsthand was a whole different story. Another group finished their tent just in time to hear his question. Ryan, an actor known for his roles in teen dramas, yelled out, “Matt, a man can never say he can’t do something!” Everyone burst out laughing. To my surprise, Matt played along. “You’re right. I guess I have to, then.” Mia, my official partner, wasn’t about to be outdone. She wrapped her arm around mine and leaned against me possessively. She pointed at Ryan. “Hey! Only I get to call her ‘babe.’ Right, babe?” Caught in the middle, I laughed and nodded, feeling the weight of a dozen pairs of eyes on me, like a row of spotlights. The director, sensing the peak in atmosphere, called for a cut and announced the start of the game. This show was built on drama. Each team was a trio: an on-screen couple and a designated villain. Our team was the exception. We had a male villain. And he was still fixated on whether he could call me ‘babe’ as the director explained the rules. “The four teams will be split into two larger groups. You’ll take turns throwing darts. No one can throw for you. If one person misses the target, the entire team has to start over. The first group where every member hits the target wins a gourmet meal prepared by the crew and a luxury prize.” The target wasn’t far, and under normal circumstances, hitting it would be easy. But after a long, hot morning, everyone was exhausted, which made the challenge significantly harder. “Dude, Matt, are you even human?” After hitting his sixth bullseye in a row, Matt had successfully earned the awe and envy of everyone present. Following his lead, Mia and I, having conserved our energy thanks to Matt’s tent-building, were hitting the target five times out of six. The other team in our group, however, was struggling, barely hitting it at all. Though our two teams had vastly different high points, our low points were surprisingly similar. After the other team failed yet again, Mia grabbed a selfie stick and playfully chased after them. “That’s it, I’m coming for you! I’m starving!” They ran, laughing and dodging, turning the scene into a ridiculous, chaotic chase. I was watching, thoroughly amused, when a weight settled on my shoulder. The cool, familiar scent filled my senses as Matt rested his head on my shoulder, his soft hair tickling my cheek. I squirmed, trying to turn away from the ticklish sensation. The next second, a hand with long, elegant fingers gently cupped my chin, turning my face back to his. The distance between us was dangerously small. Another inch, another breath, and our lips, separated for so long, would be pressed together just like they used to be. Muscle memory is a terrifying thing. My mind went blank, a roar filling my ears as blood rushed to my limbs, paralyzing me. I risked a glance to the side. Mia and the others were still fooling around, oblivious to what was happening here. “Look at me, okay?” Matt’s eyes were hazy, his thumb tracing the curve of my bottom lip. His voice was a low, husky whisper. “Just look at me. Please?” That was something I couldn’t do. My body, frozen for what felt like an eternity, suddenly lurched back to life. Just as his lips were about to touch mine, I shoved him away. Matt, caught off guard by my sudden rejection in the middle of such a charged moment, stumbled back, a look of pure shock on his face.

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The front door of my house is a portal through time. One moment, I open it and see my husband as he was seven years ago, newly married and full of reckless passion. The next, he’s the man he is today: mature, composed, a master of his craft. I found myself with both a hot-headed boy-toy and a sophisticated, worldly Daddy. And when you stumble upon something this good, you keep it to yourself. I thought I had my secret perfectly under wraps, until I overheard my husband, Liam, talking to his secretary. “Why haven’t you found him yet? The other man.” “Does she hide him so well because she loves him more?” “Is it because he’s younger?” “Find him,” Liam’s voice commanded, strained with a desperate edge. “I don’t care what it costs, find that bastard.” The secretary had almost reached the door when Liam called him back. His voice was a raw mix of despair and surrender. “And don’t let my wife know.” 1 I stumbled home after a business trip, so exhausted I collapsed onto the sofa the moment I walked through the door. When I woke up, the sky was dark. Liam was curled around me, his arm draped protectively over my waist. I studied his face in the dim light. I didn’t know when it had started, but Liam had become busier, more serious, more… distant. We rarely did silly things like fall asleep together on the sofa anymore. The idea that love deepens with time? Maybe that was always a lie. A soft chuckle rumbled in his chest. “You’re awake. Let’s get some dinner.” I tilted my head back and met his gaze. His eyes were burning with an intensity that was almost… unfamiliar. My hand instinctively went to his hair, smoothing it down. He leaned into my touch like a contented puppy. But wait. I’d only been gone for a week. How could his hair have grown this long? Before I could puzzle it out, his lips were on mine, kissing me with a raw hunger that felt like he wanted to devour me whole. When I finally managed to gasp for breath, I pushed him away and sat up. That’s when I saw it. The room. This was our first apartment. The one we lived in seven years ago. The painting by the door was one we’d hung right after our wedding, and it had only stayed up for a few months. The appliances, the furniture—it was all from that time. I lifted Liam’s shirt. The skin on his right side was smooth, unblemished. The jagged scar he’d gotten saving me from that car accident wasn’t there. I had actually traveled back in time. I turned back to him, and he was already taking off his pants. My first instinct was to run. Liam grabbed my ankle, pulling me back into his arms. “Liam, wait. I need to ask you something.” “Nope,” he growled, his voice thick with desire. “You were just touching me, teasing me. Whatever it is, it can wait.” “I just lifted your shirt! How is that teasing?” His mouth was closing in again. I pressed my hand against his lips, my voice firm. “No, you have to answer. How many days have we been married?” A look of delighted surprise lit up his eyes. “Ninety-nine. Is there a reward?” I met his hopeful gaze and swallowed the words I was about to say. “I guess you could say that.” … The next morning, I woke up staring at the ceiling, my body aching in places I’d forgotten could ache. Now I understood the true meaning of “youthful vigor.” It took another nap before I could finally drag myself out of bed. I wandered through the apartment, a wave of nostalgia washing over me. So many of these things were gone in seven years. I wasn’t in a hurry to go back. I was here now. Might as well enjoy it. The twenty-three-year-old Liam was so much easier to handle than his thirty-year-old counterpart. I could get him to agree to almost anything with a little sweet talk and a pout. The older Liam was a fortress of logic and suspicion, his mind a complex honeycomb of defenses. Youth was so much better. Full of energy, and so delightfully gullible. With a young, sweet husband to dote on me, who needed the old man at home? 2 I came home laden with shopping bags, a spring in my step. A young, pliable husband was the perfect subject for a few… experiments. I opened the door and saw him sitting on the sofa. My heart sank. It was the thirty-year-old Liam. The smile froze on my face. “What are you doing here?” I blurted out. Liam’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean, ‘what am I doing here’?” I panicked and slammed the door shut. Wrong way to open it. I closed my eyes, picturing the younger Liam. I opened the door again. Still the older one. I tried again. And again. After several failed attempts, I gave up. Liam was already at the door. He pulled me inside, pinning me against the wall. “Explain yourself. What did you mean by that?” I looked down, playing dumb. “Nothing. You misheard me. I meant, ‘what are you doing home so early’.” He didn’t look convinced. I stood on my toes and peppered his face with kisses. “I’m hungry. Let’s eat~” Liam gave me a long, searching look, but decided to let it go. For now. He reached for the bags in my hands. My body moved faster than my brain. I clutched the bags and took a step back. The contents were for the younger Liam. If the older one saw them, I was done for. “I can get it. Just move.” He stood his ground, his eyes fixed on me. My heart hammered against my ribs. Just when I thought I was going to have a heart attack, he stepped aside. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. When I came out of the shower, Liam was on the balcony, reading through some documents. I toweled my hair as I approached. “Why aren’t you working in the study?” He put the documents down, and I saw that his bathrobe was hanging open. A step closer and I could smell that unique, crisp scent of his. He must have showered in the guest bathroom while I was in the master. If the younger Liam was overtly seductive, the older one was a master of subtle temptation. He wanted to conquer not just your body, but your mind as well. And while I was a sucker for it, I was determined not to be so easily swayed this time. Seeing my lack of reaction, Liam slowly took off his gold-rimmed glasses. The simple gesture sent a jolt of electricity through me. He took my wrist and pulled me into his lap. I wasn’t as good at pretending as he was. I couldn’t resist. I grabbed his head and kissed him, a desperate, hungry kiss. He just wrapped his arms around my waist, letting me do as I pleased. When I finally pulled away, breathless, I could have sworn I heard him sigh in relief. He shifted me in his lap so I was facing him directly. I looked at him, confused. He smiled, and from behind his back, he produced two shopping bags. The ones I had brought home. I swallowed hard. “What are you doing with those?” His hand tightened on my waist. There was no escape. He ignored my question and started pulling things out of the bag. He held up a small, lacy piece of fabric. “What’s this? Is it for me?” “If you li—” I caught myself and shook my head violently, grabbing his hand. “That’s not for you.” Are you kidding me? The thirty-year-old Liam in that? I wasn’t suicidal. His face fell. He ground his teeth, forcing out the words. “If it’s not for me, then who is it for?” 3 A chill ran down my spine. “It’s for me. It’s a matching set. The salesclerk must have given me the wrong one.” The lie hung in the air. Liam’s face was still a mask of cold fury. He scrutinized me, his eyes sharp and piercing. In a different context, that look would have been incredibly hot. A real daddy vibe. I couldn’t help but lean in and kiss him. “That’s the look. It’s so hot. I’ve got inspiration. I have to go draw.” The mention of work made him instinctively loosen his grip. But then he caught my waist again. “Tomorrow night, I want to see this ‘mistake’.” I mumbled an agreement and ran to the study. Inspiration was fleeting. Seven hours later, I finally looked up from my drawing. It was a masterpiece, if I did say so myself. I tweaked a few details, pulling an all-nighter without even realizing it. I don’t remember how I got to bed, but when I woke up, it was already afternoon. Liam would be home in three hours. I threw on some clothes and rushed out, finally finding a store that sold a similar women’s version of the lingerie. I got home just before he did. The moment I opened the door, he pulled me into his arms. “Honey, you’re finally back.” The word “honey” told me everything. It was the twenty-three-year-old Liam. I almost cried with relief. Evasion was cowardly, but it was also effective. I hugged him tightly. “Oh, Liam, you’re so much better.” He stiffened slightly, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes, but I was too relieved to notice. He shifted, and his foot knocked over one of the shopping bags. The contents spilled out. Liam quickly picked it up. He stared at the flimsy piece of fabric, stunned. “Honey, why did you buy this?” A slow smile spread across his face. “Is this my hundred-day anniversary present?” “Yes,” I lied, my heart weeping silently. This was supposed to be my present. I looked at his beautiful, youthful face. The gambler in me took over. I pulled away from him. “I’ll be right back.” “Will you… be back tonight?” “I’ll try,” I said distractedly, my mind already mapping out the quickest route to another store. Behind me, the color drained from Liam’s face. He pulled out his phone. The anniversary counter on his wallpaper had already ticked over to 101 days. I had forgotten I was in the past. It took me hours to find something suitable. When I finally got back, I took a deep breath before opening the door. But it swung open before I could touch it. Liam was there, looking like a wounded puppy. He bent down, burying his face in my shoulder. I sighed in relief. It was the younger Liam. He didn’t say anything, just held me tighter. “What’s wrong? Did I make you wait too long? It’s because…” He cut me off with a kiss. “I don’t want to hear it…” 4 Before Liam went into the bathroom, I handed him the paper bag. “Baby, can you wear this for me?” He peeked inside and agreed without hesitation. “Of course. Anything for you.” I couldn’t help but giggle as I pushed him into the bathroom. Young guys were so easy. When he came out, he was a little shy, fidgeting awkwardly. God, I loved it. I circled him, admiring the view. “It’s perfect,” I breathed. I sometimes drew risqué original characters for my online portfolio. There was always one comment that got a lot of likes: “Hey, draw something dirtier.” I had. More than one. I couldn’t post them, but I could admire them in private. And I had clearly, subconsciously, used Liam as my model. His body was more perfect than any 2D character. After admiring him from every angle, I realized his expression was blank. He seemed to have zoned out. He must have misunderstood. “I mean, you look just like my drawing.” The light returned to his eyes. “Just a drawing? Can I see it?” I refused instantly. There was no way I was showing him those. I barely dared to look at them myself, and only as a reward after a long day of work. “I drew them a long time ago. I deleted them.” His eyelashes fluttered. It took him a moment to find his voice. “Oh. Okay.” I stood on my toes and kissed him. “Baby, shouldn’t we be getting down to business?” He seemed rooted to the spot. “Am I… not mature enough sometimes?” He must have had a bad day at work. I shook my head. “Don’t think like that. Being young has its advantages.” “You might not have the money, the experience, or the social skills yet, but you have youth. And trust me, you’ll grow into all of that. You’ll be amazing. And hey,” I whispered, “I’ll let you in on a little secret. Your company is going to go public in five years.” He didn’t look comforted. “And you? Do you prefer the mature type?” My hands wandered to the lace trim on his new outfit. “Not at all. I like you just the way you are. When you’re all mature and serious, you won’t play these little games with me anymore.” A look of understanding dawned on his face. He pressed his forehead against mine. “Okay. I get it. Whatever you want me to be, I can be.” … For a week, I avoided the front door, terrified of being thrown back into the future. On the eighth day, I couldn’t resist ordering a small cake. The moment I opened the door to get the delivery, I was back. Seven years in the future. 5 I ran to the mirror. Thankfully, no marks. Still, a strange sense of guilt washed over me. It was almost time for Liam to get home from work. I changed my clothes and decided to go pick him up. The top floor of his office building was silent, everyone hunched over their desks, trying to be invisible. I walked all the way to his office without anyone noticing me. “Why haven’t you found him yet? The other man.” It was Liam’s voice. My hand froze on the doorknob. I ducked into a nearby alcove and listened. “He’s probably younger than me. My wife has a thing for good-looking men. We can rule out anyone ugly.” His secretary’s voice trembled. “Sir, these are all the people your wife has been in contact with recently. The man you’re describing isn’t on the list. Are you sure you’re not just… under a lot of pressure lately?” Liam’s voice was tight with suppressed rage. “Impossible. I know her. Her eyes used to only be on me. Now, there’s someone else in them.” “Do you think she hides him so well because he’s younger? Am I old?” His voice cracked. “That’s right. I’m thirty. I can’t turn back time.” The secretary, though timid, had a sharp tongue. “Sir, have you seen a doctor? These symptoms sound like… early-onset menopause.” A loud thud. Liam had thrown something. “He exists. Find him. I don’t care what it costs.” The secretary turned to leave, but Liam called him back. He closed his eyes, his voice a mix of despair and surrender. “Don’t let my wife know.” I saw the secretary coming and quickly moved to the door, pretending I had just arrived. He looked surprised to see me, then followed me to open the door, knocking first. “Sir, your wife is here.” He smiled at me and left. Inside, Liam was back to his usual dapper self. If I hadn’t heard it with my own ears, I would have thought I’d imagined the whole thing. He stood up. “I came to pick you up,” I explained. He gave a self-deprecating laugh. “A sudden burst of concern, born from guilt.” He was too far away for me to read his lips. “What did you say?” He quickly composed himself. “Nothing. I still have work to do. You can wait in the lounge.” I didn’t argue. I needed a moment to process everything. Lying on the lounge sofa, my mind was a mess. Liam thought I was cheating on him. After all these years, he was the only man I had ever loved. If it weren’t for him, I probably would have never gotten married. He had crashed into my life when I was at my lowest point. I was lying on the ground after a car accident, and he appeared, a silhouette against the blinding light. The first thing he said to me was: “I’m in the middle of starting a business, and I’m millions in debt to the bank. If you try to blackmail me, I’ll take you down with me.” Maybe it was the concussion, but I thought I saw stars around him. The image was burned into my memory. As soon as I recovered, I painted the picture that launched my career. From then on, it was like a switch had been flipped. My career took off. You don’t betray your muse. I could never betray him. Of course, falling for the twenty-three-year-old version of him didn’t count. That was just human nature. I replayed some of our recent conversations in my head. I must have said something careless that made him suspicious. I decided to apologize to him tonight. But would he believe me if I told him I had been traveling back in time?

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Married to a man who seemed to have the libido of a houseplant, I satisfied my cravings by scrolling through videos of hot guys online. The comments were all variations of the same theme: “It’s so hot out today. Speaking of hot…” I laughed and typed a reply: “Hot or not? ” Suddenly, a private message popped up. “Hey, wanna see mine?” I yelped and threw my phone across the bed. Just then, a knock came at my door. A man stood there, his eyes glassy with drink and glistening with unshed tears. He stumbled into my arms, his voice a broken whisper. “What are you looking at?” he murmured, his breath warm against my ear. “Baby, I’m so much better than them. You don’t have to look elsewhere…” 1 It was late, and I was in bed, mesmerized by a video of a guy with washboard abs dancing. That’s when the message popped up: “Hey, wanna see mine?” I shrieked, my skin crawling. But curiosity, that treacherous beast, got the better of me. I clicked on his profile. Oh my. A chiseled, boy-next-door type, dancing shirtless. I spent the next hour happily lost in a sea of rippling muscles and smoldering gazes. Then, a knock shattered the silence. At this hour, it could only be my husband, Brent—all looks, no action. The man who treated his stomach with more care than his wife. “Ava,” he slurred as I opened the door. “My head hurts. Do you have any painkillers?” He was a tall man, but right now, he was all dead weight. The moment the door was open, he collapsed into my arms. “Brent! Hey! Are you completely wasted? You’re so heavy, I can’t hold you.” You wouldn’t believe it, but in two years of marriage, this was the closest we’d ever been. “Ava, my head… it hurts so much. Can you blow on it for me? Please?” Was he possessed? Was this the same robotic man whose entire vocabulary seemed to consist of “Okay,” “Thank you,” and “Good night”? His warm breath tickled my ear as he nuzzled against me. “Ava, it hurts.” He was being so clingy, refusing to move until I did as he asked. I blew a quick puff of air onto his forehead. “There, all better? Let me get you to your room.” With a grunt, I managed to heave him onto my bed, shoes and all. I landed beside him with a thud, stars exploding behind my eyes. He murmured into my ear, his voice thick with sleep. “Stay here.” I looked at the man passed out on my bed and sighed, rubbing my temples. What a handful. Two years ago, to fend off my parents’ relentless nagging about my single status, I had posted a ridiculous, half-joking message online: “Someone, anyone, please marry me.” That night, Brent, a man who had been a silent ghost in my contacts list since college, actually messaged me. “Ava, hello. I believe we might be in need of the same thing.” He then proceeded to send me a ten-page PowerPoint presentation outlining the pros and cons of marrying him. 1. My parents are open-minded and will not interfere. 2. I have a demanding job, but I will ensure your daily needs are met. 3. I’m an excellent cook… His face, I had to admit, was devastatingly handsome. So, in a moment of weakness, I made the same mistake countless women have made before me. And now, I was regretting it. Who knew that at twenty-five, Brent would be living the life of a monk? I went to the kitchen to get him a glass of water. When I came back, he was sprawled out on the bed… and my mind started to wander. It wasn’t that he was unattractive. Far from it. He was probably just not interested in me. Otherwise, what man could resist a 34D? “Here, drink this.” As he reached for the glass, his fingers brushed against mine, and he held my hand as he drank. Water dribbled down his chin and onto his shirt. “Brent, are you doing this on purpose? Are you faking being drunk?” I had seen him turn off my phone before he collapsed. His brow furrowed, a flicker of guilt in his eyes. 2 I scoffed. If he was trying to seduce me, he was doing a terrible job. I tried to pull my hand away. “I’m going to sleep in your room.” Thump. His arm shot out, wrapping around my waist. “Don’t go.” “Brent, what’s gotten into you? Are you having some kind of drunken fever dream?” The smell of alcohol was strong. Could it be that when my robotic husband got drunk, he turned into a clingy mess? His face was flushed as he mumbled, “Why were you watching those sleazy guys dance? Am I not good enough?” Well, well. The robot could get jealous. So where was this jealousy when I’d tried to seduce him in a slinky nightgown, only to be pushed out the door with a cold, “Ava, please have some self-respect”? The absurdity of it all was staggering. “Baby,” he whispered, his voice a low thrum against my skin. “I’m so much better than them. You don’t have to look elsewhere…” He leaned closer. “Do you want to see mine?” My face was on fire. I scrambled out of his grip and fled the room. If he was this good at flirting, was it possible his whole “robot” persona was just an act? If so, this marriage was definitely over. 3 The next morning, I found Brent in the kitchen, already making breakfast as if nothing had happened. Hmph. So innocent. “Hey, Brent. Can we talk?” The morning air was cool, but a wave of warmth radiated from him as he turned, carrying the scent of his cologne and something else, something intoxicatingly masculine. “Morning. What’s got you up so early? Hungry for breakfast?” he asked, his voice back to its usual calm cadence. “I was drunk last night. Thanks for taking care of me.” What a fossil. “Breakfast will be ready in a minute.” “Brent,” I said, cutting to the chase. “Let’s get a divorce.” His hand, which was pouring milk, froze. His eyebrows shot up, then furrowed. “I know you don’t like milk. I made juice.” His voice was low, betraying no emotion. He was pretending he hadn’t heard me. “I said, let’s get a divorce.” This time, he didn’t stop. He continued to meticulously arrange a picture-perfect breakfast, completely ignoring my words. “We’re not a good match. You’re a night owl, I’m an early bird. There are no feelings between us. It doesn’t make sense, right?” He stiffened for a second, his eyes downcast. No response. The silence was infuriating. I marched over and punched him lightly on the arm. The cute, frilly apron he was wearing seemed so out of place. “I never knew you had such a… flamboyant side, Professor Osmond.” He didn’t reply, just stood there rigidly, his eyes darting to mine for a fleeting moment. “Eat. I don’t want to repeat myself.” “Just think about it. I’ll have the divorce papers drawn up soon.” He walked into the bathroom, still wearing the apron. His steps were unsteady, his back slightly hunched. At the door, he finally responded, a hint of anger in his voice. “Fine. I’ll consider it and give you an answer.” My gaze fell on the balcony. For the umpteenth time, some of my lingerie had gone missing from the clothesline. Brent always said the wind must have blown it away. Today, I was going to get to the bottom of it. Where exactly was he hanging this stuff that a gale-force wind strong enough to blow away a dozen pairs of underwear kept showing up? I knocked on his bedroom door for a long time. All I could hear was the sound of running water from inside. No answer. I pushed the door open and tiptoed in. The glass door of the shower was fogged up, revealing the tantalizing silhouette of a well-built physique. And then I heard it—a few deep, ragged breaths, followed by a whispered word that made me freeze in my tracks. “Ava.” 4 My eyes dropped to the floor, and my heart stopped. Strewn across the carpet were all my missing undergarments. A flash of red lace was peeking out from under the bathroom door. A moment later, the man in the shower moved. I was about to dive for cover when I saw the corner of red fabric being pulled into the bathroom, as if clutched in a hand. The color was stark against the frosted glass. I fled in a panic. If Brent was this… passionate, why had he been avoiding me? My brain felt like a bowl of mush. That sneaky, repressed man. No, I had to confront him. I needed evidence. That night, I crept into the living room, ready to sneak into his bedroom. “Are you looking for me?” a voice from the sofa stopped me cold. Brent was sitting there, wearing his gold-rimmed glasses, a book in his hand. He didn’t even look up. The cold, robotic persona was back in full force. The memory of what I’d seen in his room made my courage evaporate. “Are you hiding something from me?” I asked, deciding to be direct. “And what’s your decision on the divorce?” Brent pushed his glasses up his nose and raised an eyebrow. “What are you talking about? I bought you that necklace you wanted.” I followed his gaze to a jewelry box on the coffee table. I gasped. Overjoyed, I momentarily forgot my mission. He cleared his throat. “Let’s eat. I’ve been waiting for you. Are you hungry?” Looking at the table full of my favorite dishes, a strange feeling washed over me. Setting aside his… condition, Brent was a very thoughtful husband. A little bland, maybe, but meticulous and considerate. And what if the robot was just an act? A sudden urge to see Brent beg, to see his face flush with embarrassment, seized me. He came up behind me, his voice a cool murmur. “Is your headache back? Let me rub your temples. I learned a technique from a traditional medicine expert.” His slender fingers, coated in a soothing oil, gently massaged my temples. The tension in my body melted away. His hand moved to the back of my neck, sending a shiver down my spine. His warm breath fanned my ear as he deliberately lowered his voice, a husky whisper that made my whole body go limp. “How’s that, Ava? Is the pressure to your liking?” I smirked. “Not bad. But, Professor Osmond, what about the divorce?” His hands stilled. I could feel the tension in his touch. I fought to keep the smile off my face. Would he beg me not to leave him this time? Oh, the anticipation…

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After the psychologist hypnotized my husband, a single keyword would switch him into a mode of relentless seduction. One day, while I was out, my sister snuck into our house and started a video call. Through the screen, she smiled, a taunt in her eyes. “Sis, what do you think will happen if I say the keyword? Will he listen to me, too?” Just then, the study door opened, and my husband, Julian, walked out. With chilling confidence, my sister spoke the word. And I could only watch, paralyzed, as my husband began to walk slowly, deliberately, toward her. 1 After Julian’s therapy session concluded, a message from his psychologist, Dr. Sharma, lit up my phone. 【The hypnotic suggestion has been successfully implanted.】 【Activation Phrase: Начинать】 【Deactivation Phrase: Конец】 【Upon activation, he will perceive the speaker as his beloved wife and embody the role of a perfect, attentive lover. Afterward, the memory of this period will not exist in his conscious mind.】 【WARNING: Do not reveal the keywords to anyone.】 I sent a quick “Understood” and slipped the phone away, my heart thumping as I approached the study. Inside, Julian sat behind his large oak desk, pinching the bridge of his nose, the weight of his corporate world etched onto his brow. “How are you feeling?” I asked, my voice softer than I intended. He looked up, his eyes holding their usual, frustrating distance. “Better. Thank you.” A relieved smile touched my lips. “Good. You’ve been under so much pressure with the company. I thought a little professional guidance might help.” The psychologist was my idea, framed as stress relief. The truth was far more selfish. It was a desperate gambit to bridge the chasm between us. After a year of marriage, we were little more than polite roommates, our relationship a masterpiece of respectful distance. But I yearned for him. All of him. He noticed me lingering. “Is there something else?” Taking a deep breath, I stepped inside and clicked the door shut behind me. The keywords were set. It was time to see if this audacious plan would work. Could the cool, aloof Julian really transform into the devoted husband of my dreams? I walked to his desk, met his gaze, and let the first word slip from my lips, a tentative whisper. “Начинать.” We had chosen the Russian words for “begin” and “end” to avoid any accidental triggers in daily conversation. Slowly, a change began to ripple through his eyes. The calm, bottomless pools I knew so well started to churn. And in their depths, something new and feral sparked to life. Desire. 2 Julian’s gaze softened, now molten with an affection I’d only ever dreamed of. He rose from his chair, his movements fluid and purposeful. Taking my hand, he pressed a lingering kiss to the back of it, his eyes never leaving mine. “My love,” he murmured, his voice a low thrum that vibrated through me. “It’s time for bed.” His lips began a slow, torturous ascent, a fiery path from my hand, over my wrist, along the sensitive skin of my forearm, until they reached the curve of my shoulder. A year of touch-starved longing erupted in a full-body shiver at every point of contact. Panic flared, sudden and sharp. I snatched my arm back. “Wait, just—just a second.” He stopped instantly, his tenderness unwavering. His fingers gently toyed with a lock of hair at my neck. “What is it?” I bit my lip, my skin still burning where he’d touched me. “The… the bedroom.” I grabbed his hand and pulled him, a willing captive, toward our room. He followed without protest, a gentle, knowing smile playing on his lips. It was like looking at a stranger—a warm, passionate stranger wearing my husband’s face. The ice mountain I had married had melted into a volcano. In the bedroom, I sat on the edge of the mattress, my nerves a tangled mess. Julian knelt before me, his voice a husky whisper. “Tell me what you want, my love.” The heat in my face intensified. But then I remembered: he wouldn’t recall any of this. A fresh wave of boldness washed over me. I unlocked my tablet, pulled up a video I’d carefully selected, and held it out to him. “Like… like this.” His eyes flickered to the screen, and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “As you wish.” He was a perfect student. He replicated every move from the video with a precision and passion that left me breathless. But as we neared the point of no return, my courage evaporated. This was my first time, and I wasn’t as ready as I’d thought. I gently pushed him away. He paused, his body coiled with tension, yet his voice was laced with nothing but concern. “Is something wrong? Did I hurt you?” I sat up, pulling my clothes back into place, feeling foolish. “No… it’s just… not tonight. Could you go back to the study for now?” “Of course,” he rasped, his voice thick with unspent passion. He dressed quickly and left without another word. I followed him back to the study, my own heart a confused, racing drum. As he settled behind his desk, I spoke the deactivation word. “Конец.” 3 The haze in Julian’s eyes slowly cleared, the familiar, cool detachment returning like a mask being lowered. After a moment, he looked at me as if seeing me for the first time since I’d entered. “Is there something else?” he asked again. I shook my head, feigning nonchalance. As I turned to leave, he stopped me. “Don’t forget the Dalton’s gala tomorrow night.” He paused, adding, “You can go to bed. I have more work to do.” “I know,” I nodded, my voice as flat as his. “You should get some rest, too.” I retreated, the door clicking shut on the polite stranger who was my husband. The intimacy we had just shared might as well have been a dream, a fantasy played out by two other people. A hollow ache bloomed in my chest. Halfway to the bedroom, I remembered a question I’d forgotten to ask and turned back. This time, I didn’t knock. I just pushed the door open. “By the way, should I wait for you to come home before we head to the gala tomorrow?” Behind the desk, Julian straightened up abruptly, a flash of something like panic in his eyes. His shirt was unbuttoned by two buttons, and a faint flush colored his cheeks. I frowned. “Are you hot?” It was already autumn, and the evenings were cool. “A little,” he said, his voice deeper, thicker than usual. “And no, don’t wait for me. Just have Arthur drive you. And from now on,” he added, his tone firm, “knock before you enter.” The sting of his words was sharp. His wife, treated like an intruder. “Got it.” I spun on my heel and marched back to my room, a new resolve hardening inside me. One day, I vowed, I would make him pay for this on my own terms. In our bed. 4 That day came sooner than I expected. At the Dalton’s gala, my sister, Rachel, “accidentally” smeared a slice of cake down the front of my gown. “Oh my gosh, Danielle, I am so sorry!” she cooed, her apology dripping with false sincerity. “My hand just slipped.” Rachel and I weren’t related by blood. I was the adopted daughter, she was the biological one they found years later. If the Daltons weren’t such a crucial business partner for Julian, I would have avoided this party entirely. I knew she would pull something; she’d always believed she was the one who deserved to be Mrs. Julian Vance. But the triumphant smirk on her face curdled a moment later. Julian appeared at my side, took my arm, and steered me away without giving Rachel so much as a glance. He led me to a private suite on the second floor to change, waiting patiently outside the door. But as I peeled off the ruined dress, a bitter resentment began to brew. I pictured him downstairs, the center of attention, a king in his court. I’d seen the way other women flocked to him, offering him drinks, their eyes hungry. A married man, acting like he was still on the market. A wicked idea sparked in my mind. “Julian,” I called through the door, my voice deliberately helpless. “Could you come in and help me? I can’t reach the zipper on this dress.” “Of course.” The door opened, and he stepped inside. His fingers, cool and professional, brushed against my spine as he worked the zipper. The light, fleeting touches were electric. As he pulled the zipper up, I whispered the word. “Начинать.” The movement on my back stopped. A beat of silence, and then strong arms wrapped around my waist from behind. His warm breath ghosted across my ear. “Tell me what you want this time, my love.” A shiver traced its way down my spine. I turned my head, capturing his lips with mine. It was like a starving beast finally tasting blood. He responded with a ferocious hunger that stole my breath. In the heated space between kisses, I breathed my command. “I want you on your knees.” A dangerous light flashed in his eyes, but he obeyed without question, sinking to the floor before me. I untied the silk tie from his neck and used it to bind his hands behind his back. Then, with deliberate slowness, I began to unbutton his shirt. With each button, I let my fingertips trail over his skin, a soft, taunting caress. After a few agonizing moments, his breathing grew ragged. A dark flush crept up his neck and stained his ears. He looked up at me, his eyes pleading, desperate. “My love…” I stroked his cheek, leaning in close, my lips hovering just above his. “First, you have to please me. Understand?” 5 I don’t know how much time passed, but the air in the suite grew thick and heavy with unspoken promises. Later, Julian was zipping up my dress again. But as the zipper reached the top, his warm hand didn’t retreat. It slid around to my stomach, pulling me back against him. He leaned in, nipping gently at my earlobe. “Do you want more, my love?” he whispered, his voice a low growl. My body trembled, but I gently removed his hand. “Not right now. Next time.” “As you wish.” He obediently stepped back, his hands falling to his sides. After a quick touch-up in the mirror, I ushered him out of the room, restoring the scene to how it was before. Then, I opened the door and spoke the deactivation phrase. “Конец.” The haze in his eyes flickered and then cleared. “All changed?” he asked, his voice back to its usual cool tenor. “Mhm. Let’s go.” I nodded and headed downstairs ahead of him. At the bottom of the staircase, we ran into Julian’s secretary. “Mr. Vance, Mr. Albright has been waiting for you for quite some time.” “It’s only been a few minutes,” Julian said dismissively. “What’s the rush?” The secretary shot a nervous glance in my direction. “Sir, with all due respect… it’s been over half an hour.” Julian froze. “Half an hour?” Sensing disaster, I quickly interjected. “I’m so sorry, that’s my fault. I must have taken longer than I thought. I have to go, I’ll see you at home.” With that, I hurried away, finding a quiet corner to call Dr. Sharma. After I explained the situation, she confirmed my fears. This kind of “fragmented time” was an unavoidable side effect. She advised me to control the setting and duration, suggesting that right before bed was the most suitable time. “Okay, I’ll stick to using it at night from now on,” I said, my voice low. Just as I finished the sentence, a cold voice spoke from directly behind me. “Using what at night?” I nearly dropped my phone. I spun around to find Julian standing there, one hand in his pocket, his eyes narrowed with suspicion. I swallowed hard. “Oh, uh, nothing. My doctor… she prescribed some therapeutic heat packs for my bad sleep. She said nighttime is the best time to use them.” Julian’s brow furrowed, a thoughtful, calculating look on his face. “Is that so? In that case, we should sleep in separate rooms for a while. I wouldn’t want to disturb you.” I stared at him, dumbfounded. If I didn’t know for a fact that he had no memory of what happened, I would have sworn he was doing it on purpose. 6 For the next few nights, I tossed and turned, sleep-deprived and frustrated. Once you’ve tasted sweetness, the bitter days are unbearable. And Julian, in his “attentive lover” mode, had been intoxicatingly sweet. I was… hooked. But my pride wouldn’t let me be the one to suggest we share a bed again. To make matters worse, it seemed Julian had suddenly discovered the art of seduction. He started parading around the house after his showers wearing nothing but a towel slung low on his hips, a stark contrast to his usual modest pajamas. He’d leave the top buttons of his shirts undone, offering tantalizing glimpses of the hard muscle beneath. And all I could do was watch, my frustration mounting with every casual, calculated display. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. I started packing for a tour with my old dance company. Julian leaned against the doorframe, sipping a coffee, watching me. “I thought you only accepted private invitations or television gigs now. What’s with the sudden urge to go on tour?” It’s because of you, you damn siren, I screamed internally. “I just miss dancing with my old troupe,” I said aloud. “It’s been too long.” “When will you be back?” “A week, maybe.” A week was long enough to get myself under control. “Good,” he said, taking a slow sip. “Getting more exercise should help with your sleep. When you get back, we won’t need separate rooms anymore.” My hands stilled over a silk blouse. I suddenly had a feeling a week wouldn’t be nearly enough. There was a smug, teasing quality to him lately that I couldn’t place. He couldn’t possibly remember, could he? I glanced up, studying his face. He met my gaze over the rim of his cup, his expression unreadable. “What is it?” “Nothing. I learned a new dance. I’ll perform it for you when I get back.” I looked away, focusing on my packing, and completely missed the way his hand trembled, nearly sloshing hot coffee over the floor. 7 The tour was a whirlwind of motion and music, a welcome distraction that almost made me forget the complicated man I’d left at home. Almost. On the final day, as I was in the wings doing my final stretches before the closing performance, a video call from Rachel popped up on my screen. She never contacted me unless she wanted something. Worried it might be about our parents, I hesitantly answered. She was walking, the camera jostling, a wild, gloating look on her face. The background was unnervingly familiar—the garden of my own home. “Danielle,” she purred. “Guess where I am?” A cold knot of dread formed in my stomach. “What are you doing at my house, Rachel?” She laughed, a low, venomous sound. “I overheard your phone call at the gala, sis. The one about your little ‘keyword’. What do you think will happen if I say it? Will Julian listen to me, too?” As she spoke, she pushed open the front door of my villa. My blood ran cold. The command would make him see the speaker as his wife. Any speaker. This was exactly what Dr. Sharma had warned me about. As my mind raced for a solution, the screen went black. But I could hear Julian’s confused voice through the speaker. “Rachel?” The screen flickered back on, showing me a strange, skewed view of the living room. I saw Julian step out of his study. Rachel shot a final, triumphant look at the camera, then, with chilling confidence, she spoke the word. “Начинать.” I watched, frozen in horror, as Julian’s posture shifted. He turned his head and began to walk slowly, deliberately, toward her. I immediately ended the call and tried to dial Julian’s number. It rang and rang, unanswered. Panic seized me. “Danielle, it’s time!” A fellow dancer grabbed my arm. “We’re on!” Before I could protest, she plucked the phone from my trembling hand and pulled me onto the stage.

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The moment my best friend swooped in and bought the foreclosed property I’d been eyeing, right under my nose at the real estate office, I knew for certain: she was back, too. In my last life, my best friend, Tiffany, and I both had a little bit of savings. She threw all of hers into the stock market. I decided to buy a place to live. My funds were limited, so I settled on a house with a dark past—a place where a murder had occurred. It was cheap. But inside, hidden in the space above the ceiling, I found a safe. It was filled with ten million in cash and over a dozen gold bars. Meanwhile, Tiffany’s money got trapped in a market downturn. She lost everything and ended up deep in debt. Watching me move into a mansion, drive luxury cars, and spend money like it was water, she snapped. She lured me onto the highway and watched as a speeding truck mowed me down. After I died, my soul lingered. I watched as she and my boyfriend, Kyle, lied to the police, telling them I’d been drinking, that I’d ignored traffic rules and stumbled into the road. A tragic suicide. When I opened my eyes again, I was back. Back on the day I was supposed to buy the murder house. 1 “I’ll take this one!” Tiffany’s voice detonated next to my ear. I stood frozen, staring at the scene unfolding before me. The real estate agent shot me an apologetic look before turning to Tiffany. “I’m sorry, miss, but this lady was looking at it first.” “So what? She hasn’t paid. I’m paying now. That makes it mine.” The look of absolute certainty on her face told me everything I needed to know. She had been reborn, too. “Jessica,” she said, her tone suddenly wheedling, a hint of probing in her eyes. “I really want this house. Why don’t you look at some of the others? There are plenty like it in this development.” She was testing me, trying to see if the Jessica from the last life was looking back at her. I snapped out of my daze and frowned, playing my part. “Alright, fine. If you like it that much, it’s yours. I’ll see what else is available.” A wave of relief washed over Tiffany’s face. She turned back to the agent, ready to seal the deal. “Miss Hayes,” the agent said, a note of caution in his voice, “I must remind you, a homicide took place in this house. That’s why the price is so low. Are you sure you want to buy it?” “Positive. They caught the killer, so what’s there to be afraid of? Besides, it’s not like I’m going to be living there…” She cut herself off, but it was too late. I smiled. I knew exactly what she meant. In my past life, I’d been tired of renting. With a small nest egg, I’d decided to put down roots. But my options were slim. The agent finally showed me the murder house. A couple had lived there; a domestic dispute ended with the husband killing the wife. He was serving a life sentence now, and the house, tainted by the crime, was a hard sell. I’d bought it without a second thought. After all, what ghost is scarier than the ghost of being broke? But then I found the fortune, just as Tiffany’s life hit rock bottom. This time, she was determined to steal the fate that was meant for me. She shot me a mocking smile. “You should just put your money in stocks. You might get lucky, and then you could afford a real mansion.” I pretended not to understand her dig. “But this place has a mortgage of several thousand a month. Are you sure you can handle that? You don’t have much saved up. It might be a struggle. If you need help, I could always lend you some.” Tiffany only had enough for the down payment. My words, combined with the vision of the treasure she was about to claim, pushed her over the edge. “Who says I can’t?” she snapped. “I’m paying in full. All cash. Don’t even think about competing with me. This is mine!” The agent, stunned by her fanaticism but delighted by the prospect of a cash sale, immediately forgot I existed and turned all his attention to her. “Excellent, Miss Hayes! How will you be paying?” Having made her boast, she couldn’t back down now. She pulled out a card. “I’ll put down a deposit now, and I’ll have the rest for you in three days. That should be fine, right?” The agent took the card, beaming. “Of course! No problem at all. Let’s go sign the contracts.” My work here was done. I turned and walked out, heading back to my rented apartment. 2 That night, just as I was getting into bed, my boyfriend, Kyle, called. His voice was cold, devoid of any emotion. “Let’s break up, Jessica. I’m sick of you. Don’t bother me again.” I listened, my face a blank mask. As his words faded, I heard the faint, triumphant giggle of a woman in the background. I knew exactly who it was, but I feigned shock. “Are you cheating on me? Who are you with right now? Kyle, you can’t do this to me!” The more furious I sounded, the more pleased they became. “Honestly? I was only with you so you’d get me a job at your company,” he sneered. “Now that I’m in, I don’t have to pretend to be into you anymore. It was making me sick.” So that was it. My resume was strong, and I’d landed a position at a top corporation right out of college. Once I was established, I’d gotten both Kyle and Tiffany internal referrals. “Just let it go, Jessica,” Tiffany’s voice purred as she took the phone. “We’re going to be rich now. We’re not in the same league anymore. Don’t try to force your way into a world where you don’t belong. This is goodbye.” “The two of you?” I gasped, playing the part of the betrayed lover to perfection. “You stabbed me in the back!” They both erupted in cruel laughter. I seized the opportunity. “Hmph. Let’s see how well you do without me. So you bought some crappy old house? What’s so great about that?” “Oh, you’ll see,” Tiffany sang. “You’re just a pathetic little wage slave. How could you ever compare to me?” After they hung up, I let out a cold laugh. Utterly, breathtakingly stupid. In a society governed by laws, did they really think a massive, untraceable fortune could just fall into their laps without the authorities noticing? The next day at work, I watched as Tiffany and Kyle marched into our boss’s office and resigned. The sudden request was strange, and our manager tried to persuade them to stay, but Tiffany shut him down with staggering arrogance. “Sorry, boss, but I’ve had a bit of a windfall. Nothing major, just a few easy million. Working just isn’t really necessary for me anymore.” The manager looked like he’d misheard. Colleagues nearby swarmed her desk. “Tiffany, are you still asleep? A few million? Did you rob a bank?” “Did you win the lottery? How’d you do it? Any tips? You gotta teach me!” “You’re kidding, right? You’re all talk. That’s hilarious.” Basking in the mix of flattery and disbelief, Tiffany decided it was time to show them all. “Tell you what,” she announced, “come to my new house in three days. You’ll see for yourselves.” She then dropped the address into the company group chat. Seeing she was resolute, the manager gave up and approved their resignations. As she was packing her things, Tiffany’s eyes landed on the Chanel bag sitting on my desk. She froze. “How can you afford that?” she shrieked. A second later, she seemed to figure it out. “Oh, I get it. You bought a knockoff to keep up appearances, didn’t you? Trying to one-up me.” Her voice dripped with condescending pity. “Give it up, Jessica. There’s no need to pretend. A ten-dollar canvas tote is more your style.” I rolled my eyes and shoved the bag in her face. “Open your damn eyes and look. Does a fake have stitching this perfect? I bought it at the boutique yesterday. You want to see the receipt?” 3 Tiffany stared at the bag, her eyes darting back and forth, trying to find a flaw. After a moment, she regained her composure. “So what? It’s just one bag. I could buy a hundred. As for you,” she sneered, “I bet that took a huge chunk out of your salary. Don’t let me find your nudes on some payday loan website a month from now.” I fired back, “Tch. All talk, aren’t you? Go on, buy one and show me. I think you’re just bluffing.” “Hmph. I’m going right now. You just wait.” Tiffany shot me a hateful glare, stormed out of the office, and went straight to the mall, where she proceeded to buy several luxury handbags. She immediately posted them on all her social media, then sent them to me privately, making sure I wouldn’t miss it. I did some quick mental math. Those bags weren’t cheap. At least twenty thousand dollars, all told. It was obvious where the money had come from. In the days that followed, it became a game. I’d post a picture of a new bag, and she’d immediately post a better, more expensive one to counter me. What she didn’t know was that my posts were all set to “Visible to Tiffany Only.” She took the bait, just as I’d planned. That weekend, I took a trip to the mall. I had a gala coming up and needed some jewelry to complete my look. A sales associate was showing me several sets, explaining each one. Suddenly, a commotion erupted at the entrance. “Show me your most expensive diamond ring!” a voice boomed. Everyone in the store turned to look. It was Tiffany and Kyle. Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world… A sales associate approached them, giving their outfits a quick, dismissive once-over. “Ma’am,” she said diplomatically, “our most expensive pieces are in the seven-figure range. Are you certain that’s what you’re looking for?” Tiffany, new to money and its realities, was stunned. “Seven figures? Why so expensive? Isn’t a diamond just carbon?” A ripple of laughter went through the store. I chuckled, too. Her eyes found me. She and Kyle marched over. “What are you doing here? This isn’t a place for poor people like you. Did you follow us?” Kyle asked, convinced I was still hopelessly in love with him. “Are you insane? I was here first. If anything, you followed me.” The sales associate backed me up. “It’s true, this young lady was here first.” Unable to win the argument, Tiffany changed tactics, her eyes falling on the jewelry I was considering. “Can you even afford that? You’re just wasting their time.” “What’s it to you? It’s not like you can afford it either.” Thinking she had me cornered, Tiffany’s confidence surged. “Of course I can! How much for all these sets? I’ll take them all.” The associate smiled politely. “That would be five hundred thousand per set, ma’am. Two million in total.” They both went silent for a beat, then started picking faults. “Actually, I think these are a bit… average. Besides, what would I do with so many?” I cut her off, my voice sharp with impatience. “Are you buying them or not? If not, I will.” I turned to the associate. “Please wrap all of them up for me.” 4 Her plan to flaunt her wealth had backfired spectacularly. Tiffany looked like she was about to grind her teeth to dust. She slapped her hand down on the counter, stopping the associate. She pointed to a ruby set. “I’ll take that one!” Kyle looked worried. He tugged at her sleeve and whispered, “Five hundred thousand? Isn’t that a little steep?” But Tiffany was too consumed by rage to listen. She demanded the associate wrap it up. They swiped card after card, each one declined for insufficient funds. In the end, they had to pool every cent they had, completely emptying their accounts, to barely cover the cost. Three days passed. Tiffany scraped together the money for the house, met the agent, completed the transfer, and got the keys. The time had come. I made my way to the housing development. My old colleagues were already there, buzzing with anticipation, eager to see how Tiffany was going to strike it rich. Soon, Tiffany and Kyle arrived. She scanned the crowd, and upon confirming I was present, nodded in satisfaction. “Good. Let’s all go up together.” As we walked, one of the colleagues looked around at the run-down environment. “Tiffany, this complex is really old. It can’t be worth much.” “Yeah, there’s no landscaping, and it’s all senior citizens.” “No schools or anything nearby, either. The only good thing is that it’s close to the office, but since you quit, that’s useless.” Tiffany looked at them like they were idiots. “The house itself is cheap, you’re right. It’s worthless. But what’s inside is valuable. And now that the house is mine, everything inside belongs to me, too.” One colleague gasped, remembering a news story he’d seen online about people finding millions in cash in foreclosed properties. The crowd murmured in shock, though some remained skeptical. “You’ve never even been inside the house,” one of the more rational ones asked. “How can you be so sure there’s something good in there?” Even Tiffany wasn’t stupid enough to say she was reincarnated. “The heavens work in mysterious ways,” she said cryptically. Her air of mystery actually worked on some of them. “Tiffany, when you make it big, don’t forget about us!” one gushed. Her ego swelled to its absolute peak, her face beaming. When we reached the apartment door, Tiffany inserted the key. It wouldn’t turn. Her smile froze. She jiggled the key, twisted it back and forth, but the door remained stubbornly locked. The others noticed. “What’s wrong?” Tiffany forced a laugh. “The key’s probably just a little rusty. Hard to open.” She put more force into it, grunting with effort. And at that exact moment, the door swung open from the inside. “Who in the hell is trying to pick my lock! You got a death wish?”

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