Author: Momo Chan

I run a pet clinic and often treat stray animals. After stumbling upon a mysterious online forum, I discovered they revere me as their “Godmother.” Scar_the_Ranger: [The Godmother’s getting off work. Who’s on escort duty?] The_Bitty_Brawler: [Pausing my sparring match. I’ll go.] Ambassador_of_Good_Taste: [Treasure hunt canceled. I’ll go.] Mount_Mochi: [Date postponed. I’ll go.] Cheeseburger: [Mouse hunt called off. I’ll go.] I looked out the door at the neat rows of cats and dogs, all standing at attention. No wonder my walk home at night was never lonely. 1 I own a small veterinary clinic called “The Healing Paw.” Most days, the paws I heal belong to cats and dogs. When work is slow, I also treat the stray cats and dogs in the neighborhood. Of course, my services aren’t exactly free. The animals I treat often pay a terrible price. Neutering. You’d think that after “the snip,” the cats and dogs would be psychologically scarred by my clinic and grow to despise me. But surprisingly, the number of new faces only increased, while the old ones became regulars. Lately, even perfectly healthy cats and dogs have been loitering around the clinic. Some have even been tailing me, their movements furtive and suspicious. I suspected they were forming a gang to case the joint, planning some kind of massive revenge plot. But when I looked closer, their big, clear eyes held no trace of malice. Their strange behavior was utterly baffling. 2 During dinner, I noticed a strange new app on my phone. The name was a string of gibberish, and the icon was a single paw print. It looked suspiciously like some kind of scam software. But my anti-fraud app didn’t raise any alarms. Curiosity and fear wrestled in my mind, but curiosity won out. What could a scammer possibly want from a broke, single vet? With that reassuring thought, I tapped the app open and discovered it was an online forum. The posts were bizarre: • Attention! Poisoned bait at Lakeside Park! Everyone be on high alert! • Successfully snuck into the university. From now on, I’m a top cat. • Day 67 of my journey to quit eating poop. These didn’t seem like they were written by people. Not even by an AI trying to act like a person. Based on the keywords, the posts seemed more like they were written by… cats and dogs. I kept scrolling, trying to confirm my theory. • The cat I hate most just got adopted by a human. I’m so jealous I could scream. • WHO THE HELL PEED ON MY TURF AGAIN? DON’T LET ME CATCH YOU! • A Guide to Gourmet Poop. Yep. The users of this forum were definitely cats and dogs. No human could possibly write a post as bizarre as “A Guide to Gourmet Poop.” Considering I was still eating, I avoided that one and refreshed the forum. A new post from an administrator had just appeared: • Sign-ups for Today’s Joint Cat-and-Dog Protection Squad Scar_the_Ranger: [The Godmother’s getting off work. Who’s on escort duty?] The_Bitty_Brawler: [Pausing my sparring match. I’ll go.] Ambassador_of_Good_Taste: [Treasure hunt canceled. I’ll go.] Mount_Mochi: [Date postponed. I’ll go.] Cheeseburger: [Mouse hunt called off. I’ll go.] A little while after dinner, I glanced outside. Cats and dogs stood in neat, orderly rows. Organized. Disciplined. Each one held its head high, its expression deadly serious. The more serious they looked, the more adorable they were. A thought crossed my mind. Could this be… the protection squad? 3 My apartment is close to the clinic, just a seven-minute walk. On my way home, the cats and dogs escorting me were highly trained, flanking me on all sides at a respectful distance. Perhaps because I had joined their secret forum, I could now magically understand their chatter. “Daisy, you mutt, slow down up there! The Godmother is tired after work; she can’t walk that fast.” The mixed-breed dog in front of me visibly slowed her pace. “But don’t get too close, either. It looks too obvious.” Daisy let out a low growl. “Ginger, what is your problem? Always got something to say about me!” A fight was about to break out, but the other members quickly intervened. “Alright, alright, the mission comes first! Street rules: in front of the Godmother, we keep the peace!” Two simultaneous huffs. “Fine. For the Godmother’s sake, I’ll let it slide!” It sounded like these were street cats and street dogs. They had their own world, their own feuds and dramas. I used to think they were just hungry and looking for a handout. Today, I learned they were on a mission to protect me. And I, somehow, had become their “Godmother.” 4 I, a notorious early bird, stayed up half the night. The forum was just too fascinating. The posts were a wild mix of everything: planned rumbles, turf wars, torrid love scandals… Each one was more hilarious and explosive than the last. For example, two packs of dogs traveled miles to fight, only to discover they had friends in the opposing crew. After some negotiation, they called a truce and traveled all the way back home, their limbs aching despite not having thrown a single punch. Then there was the group of tomcats who fought tooth and nail for the affection of a beautiful calico, only to find out the calico was also a tom. As I scrolled further back, I saw my own title mentioned multiple times. • Aroo? Anyone ever made a deal with the Woman in White? Is she legit? OP: [Heard there’s a woman in a white coat in the house on the corner. They say she can snatch you from the jaws of death. All you have to do is give up your… little swimmers… and you’ll be safe for life. Is it true?] Reply 1: [Totally true, my dude! Her skills are top-notch, you can trust her. The word on the street is golden.] Reply 2: [Show some respect, you punk. She’s not just some ‘woman in white,’ she’s a goddess in white!] Reply 3: [Goddess? What’re you, a house pet? Obviously not from the streets. We call her the Godmother!] Reply 4: [Hey, it’s just giving up your baby-makers! For us strays, who can afford to raise kids anyway? Your life is more important!] Reply 5: [After you make the deal, the Godmother even lets you stay for a while and gives you a mother’s care. It’s so warm. My only regret is that I can’t grow another pair to give her!] There were more and more posts like this. It turned out that in their eyes, ordinary me was something magnificent, practically a deity. The flood of praise was overwhelming. I drifted off to sleep feeling giddy and light-headed. In my dream, a horde of cats and dogs bowed to me dramatically, their paws clasped together. “In the city’s neon glow, where a stray will stand or fall, the Godmother’s got our back, she protects us all!” 5 Damn it. I slept through my alarm. When I opened my eyes again, it was almost noon. I shot out of bed and rushed to the clinic. What if a stray had gotten hurt while I was gone? I would be letting down the entire stray community! Yesterday’s forum binge and that surreal dream had filled me with a sense of sacred duty. I was their Godmother, after all. As I left my building, I saw a few cats and dogs peering around corners, their heads popping in and out of view. When they saw me, their eyes lit up. “The Godmother is out! Tell everyone not to worry.” “Beginning escort mission to the Godmother’s workplace. Mission will be completed.” So, all morning while I was gone, the entire stray population had been worried sick about me. A warm feeling spread through my chest. I quickened my pace towards the clinic. I hadn’t gone far when I saw a familiar figure. It was one of my regulars, the owner of a cat named Little Meow. Her eyes were red and swollen, her face etched with anxiety as she clutched a thick stack of flyers. When she saw me, her voice choked. “Dr. Lynn, have you seen my Little Meow? “He was gone when I woke up. “I’ve been looking all morning. I think… I think he’s ‘abandoned’ me.” The flyer showed a picture of her grey tabby. I remembered this cat vividly. He wore a little ID tag—clearly a house cat—but he often snuck out to play with the strays. He was an incredibly smart and perceptive cat. How could he have suddenly disappeared? I patted her shoulder reassuringly. “Little Meow is a smart boy. I’m sure he’ll be home before you know it.” I also shared her “Missing Cat” flyer on my social media. Then, an idea struck me. The cat-and-dog forum. Maybe I could post a request for help there? 6 • Has anyone seen Little Meow? His mom is looking for him! I attached the “Missing Cat” flyer to the post. Replies flooded in almost immediately: [Pfft, who would name their cat something so cute? (This is pure malice.)] [Shame, shame, so big and still needs his mommy to find him, hahahaha sob sob sob, I’m not jealous at all!] [Hey, isn’t that Scar? So his real name is Little Meow. What a contrast.] [SHOCKING! The fearsome forum admin Scar is actually named Little Meow.] [Cat-finding services, now taking orders. DM for details.] [Wait a minute… why is the OP’s identity verified as… human?] [OH MY GOD, A HUMAN IS HERE!] The replies poured in, the post’s popularity skyrocketed, and the forum descended into chaos. Amidst a flood of private messages questioning my identity and motives, one stood out: [Delete the post!] The sender was Scar_the_Ranger. Or, as I now knew him, Little Meow. After obediently deleting the post, I asked Scar—no, Little Meow—when he was coming home. Scar_the_Ranger: [I am getting my mom a new home.] So cool and commanding. I had a feeling he wasn’t the type to cuddle with his mom. I didn’t question him. I suppose I figured that a cat who could be a forum administrator must have some kind of superpower. Though I didn’t get a clear answer, at least I knew Little Meow was safe. I sent a few more reassuring messages to his owner and prepared to open the clinic for the day. I had no idea the forum had already imploded. Users were demanding to know how a human had managed to infiltrate their ranks. Scar, the admin, racked his brain. “My master said… except for the one who saved his life…” Then it hit him. “The one who saved his life is the Godmother!” He quickly made a new post, informing the entire forum: Everyone, don’t panic! It’s the Godmother! I don’t know who started it, but soon the replies were all the same: [In the city’s neon glow, where a stray will stand or fall, the Godmother’s got our back, she protects us all!] 7 The next time I opened the forum, my screen was filled with posts welcoming and professing their love for me: • This is great! It’s the Godmother! We’re saved! • All hail the Godmother! Long live the Godmother! • Godmother, we will follow you forever! • A divine doctor with sacred hands, curing cats and saving canines! The enthusiasm was overwhelming. Little Meow suggested I make a new post to say hello and share my thoughts. After some careful consideration, I earnestly typed out a title: All Un-neutered Animals, Report to Me Immediately. It was, truly, what was on my mind. I wanted to complete the TNR (Trap-Neuter-Return) for every cat and dog in this area. To use limited neutering to stop unlimited culling. My call to action received a massive response: [Playtime is playtime, but don’t joke about the Godmother’s orders.] [Getting fixed is the law. If you don’t wanna, we’ll make you!] [First the snip, then the pledge, then you’re one of us for life.] Not long after I posted, cats and dogs started showing up. Some came willingly; others were escorted by their peers. The turnout was unprecedented. There were too many of them to perform all the surgeries at once. I categorized them by species, gender, age, and weight, assigning each a number for batch surgeries. “Everyone, remember your number. I’ll post on the forum each day to let you know whose turn it is.” “If anyone can’t make it—” Before I could finish, a chorus of voices interrupted me. “Godmother, no matter what, I’ll be here, rain or shine!” “Me too!” “Don’t worry, Godmother, we’ll help you! Whoever’s turn it is, we’ll go get ’em. They’ll come whether they want to or not!” “Yeah! We’ll beat up anyone who doesn’t show!” I rubbed my temples, a headache brewing from the noise. I raised a finger to my lips. “Quiet now.” The entire room fell silent. Cats and dogs sat obediently, some even holding their breath. “Before you come to the clinic, no food for eight hours and no water for four hours. Remember to prepare yourselves.” After explaining the pre-op instructions, I casually told them to go home. They all suddenly looked crestfallen, murmuring in unison, “But Godmother… we don’t have homes.” A tiny voice, barely a whisper, added, “I never had a home.” Many of the younger ones nodded in agreement. “Me neither.” “Me neither.” They were the second and third generations of strays. I seized the moment to explain the purpose of neutering. “That’s why we do this. To end the cycle of new generations being born on the streets.” They nodded, a flicker of understanding in their eyes. Even the ones who had been resistant to the idea seemed to relax their tense expressions. Another quiet voice added, “I used to have a home, but…” You see, every stray cat and dog cherishes the memory of their former sanctuary. They cling to that warmth, using it as fuel to survive. All I could do was sigh. “It’s okay. You will go home again. And you will have homes.” The city is a jungle of concrete and steel, not a place for wild cats and dogs to thrive. The stray population originates from human abandonment. Some foolish people, thinking they are granting freedom, only commit a new kind of cruelty. For a pet, being a stray isn’t freedom. It’s danger and despair. Watching their retreating figures, a crazy idea began to form in my mind. I would do everything in my power to find them all a home. 8 I asked Little Meow for a detailed file on every user in the forum. The more detailed, the better. Photos, names, genders, ages, hobbies, life stories… Using this information, I first filtered out the pets that had gotten lost by accident. I posted their profiles on every social media platform I could find. I reposted them periodically. Over and over, my persistence finally gained traction. Many kind-hearted people started sharing the posts. Some even learned about my crazy idea and offered financial support. I thanked them with all my heart. The news spread like wildfire. Some owners saw the profiles and contacted me, stunned, to verify the information, realizing it was their long-lost pet. Once the information was confirmed, they could take their furry family members home. The owner of a small, champagne-colored poodle had moved out of the city last year. Upon learning her dog was still alive, she drove for hundreds of miles, crossing several cities, just to bring him home. When she saw her poodle, she burst into tears. “Bubbles, Mommy thought I’d never see you again!” Bubbles, the poodle, stared back with wide, disbelieving eyes. He crept closer to his owner and sniffed her pant leg. “Oh my gosh, it really is Mommy…” Reunited at last, the owner held him tightly, too choked with emotion to speak. Before they left, she bowed low, thanking me over and over. Bubbles copied his mom, nodding his little head repeatedly. “Thank you, Godmother.” He finished with a final wave of his paw. Most of the truly lost pets were eventually reunited with their owners. The ones left behind… maybe their owners hadn’t seen the posts yet. Or maybe, they weren’t lost by accident at all. They were abandoned. I messaged each of the remaining cats and dogs privately, asking if they wanted me to find them a new owner. After a long, long pause, each one replied with a single word: [Okay]. All except for a Maltese named Sweetie. [Godmother, I have to wait for my mommy. She loves me very much. She probably just hasn’t seen my profile yet. [I was the most expensive puppy in my litter. When Mommy saw me, she brought me home without a second thought. [She told me I was her most precious baby, and that she would definitely come back for me. [I believe her.] I respected her choice. To have such unwavering faith, her mother must have loved her very, very much to give her that kind of confidence.

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After my family’s bankruptcy, my eerie former follower took me to his tiny apartment. Used to luxury, I scorned the poor food and cramped space. To support me, he worked eight jobs daily—his gaze growing darker each time he watched me. When I finally snapped and prepared to storm out, glowing text appeared in my vision: [Just leave, stupid villainess. Abandon the only person who can restore your fortune.] [Later, she crawls back after learning he could’ve helped her. So pathetic. Then—car crash. The end.] [Go on, throw your tantrum! Our sweet heroine needs you gone to win the male lead~] I froze at “restore your fortune.” “Is the food bad again?” he asked coldly. My hand, mid-slam, hesitated. “…Adequate,” I muttered. 1 To show my sincerity, I scooped up a large spoonful of porridge and stuffed it in my mouth. I didn’t realize that while the surface had cooled, the porridge beneath was still scalding hot. I flinched in pain. “Adrian Denton! Why didn’t you let this cool down before serving it to me!” Tears welled in my eyes. I stuck out my reddened tongue, glaring at him accusingly, completely forgetting my plan to be nice to him for the sake of my inheritance. [I thought the villainess had changed, but nope, still a drama queen! Even if she doesn’t leave, the male lead will get sick of her eventually!] Reading that comment, my arrogant bravado deflated. I was just about to stammer out an apology when Adrian turned and walked away from the table without a word. Panic seized me. I stood there, helpless and frozen. I only snapped out of it when a hand tilted my chin up. Adrian’s gaze, quiet and intense, was fixed on one point. Realizing where he was looking, I tried to retract my trembling, red tongue. An ice cube touched my lips, his fingertips brushing against them. “Keep it in your mouth.” Who gave you permission to order me around? I puffed out my cheeks in protest but, for once, held my tongue. Adrian’s time was limited. After cooking for me, he would quickly wolf down a few bites himself before rushing off to his next part-time job. Before he left, he stared at me for a long moment, his voice low and deliberate. “Wait for me to come back, okay?” I felt a twinge of guilt. If it weren’t for those comments, I would have already stormed out in a righteous huff. But now… running away like a coward wasn’t my style. In Adrian’s eyes, my guilty silence was an admission of my plans. His face darkened, and he strode back, clamping his hand around my wrist. “I’m not going. Helena Vaughn, don’t even think about leaving.” I was on the verge of tears. Our quality of life was already abysmal with him working eight jobs a day. What would happen if he skipped a whole afternoon of work? “I’m not leaving! Adrian, do you still want to buy me designer bags or not? Get to work, now!” After finally shooing him out the door, I collapsed onto the rock-hard bed. The thought of enduring more days like this made me burst into genuine tears. Sob… If I had known, I would have rather died than go home with Adrian that day. 2 For the first twenty-some years of my life, I had everything I could ever want. I was Helena Vaughn, the cherished heiress of the city’s wealthiest family. I was surrounded by an entourage who catered to my every whim. Adrian Denton was the quietest, most unlikable one in the group. As a student my family sponsored, he was quite handsome, and normally I would have enjoyed having someone like that around. But he was utterly incapable of flattery, choosing instead to just stare at me with those somber, unsettling eyes. His constant gaze made me uncomfortable, and I had publicly humiliated him several times because of it. Then, my father’s business went bankrupt, and he was framed and thrown in jail. My former followers moved into my home, and I was thrown out onto the street barefoot. My so-called friends and classmates just laughed at my misfortune. My entourage, threatened by the new powers that be, didn’t dare to help me. Shivering in the cold wind, I was subjected to a level of mockery I had never known. Just as I was sinking into despair, Adrian found me. He gently brushed the dirt and gravel from my feet and, without a word, lifted me onto his back. The hands of this gloomy, cold man were searing hot against my thighs. I sniffled. “What are you doing here? Come to laugh at me, too?” His reply was brief. “I’ll take care of you from now on.” “Why?” The words tumbled out before I could stop them. “I was so awful to you.” I regretted it instantly. Someone was finally here to rescue me, and I was about to freeze to death. After a long pause, Adrian finally spoke. “I’m just repaying a debt. Don’t overthink it.” I was surprised. He actually had a conscience. Shivering, I clung tightly to his back. Adrian looked thin, but his broad shoulders shielded me completely from the wind. He carried me with a steady, unwavering gait, and a strange emotion began to stir within me. I felt an inexplicable urge to cry. I tilted my head up and said, trying to sound nonchalant, “Well… I suppose I’ll allow you to take care of me. For now.” 3 It was only later that I figured it out. That strange emotion must have been gratitude. I was hardly ever grateful to anyone. Since birth, I could have anything I wanted. All the best things in the world were supposed to be mine, so why would I need to be thankful? As a result, my capacity for gratitude was extremely weak. After just one day with Adrian, I was filled with regret and on the verge of a meltdown. When Adrian brought me a glass of water, I sneered, “Did you boil toilet water and decide it was drinkable?” When he cooked for me, I scoffed, “Cheap ingredients combined with your abysmal cooking skills. This is the garbage of all garbage.” I complained all day, right up until bedtime. The moment I lay down, I burst into tears. How could a bed be this hard! Adrian piled everything he could find underneath me, but I still couldn’t sleep. After tossing and turning, I finally sat up. “Hey, stop sleeping on the floor. Get up here.” Adrian’s breathing hitched. “Don’t be ridiculous, Helena. How could I sleep with you?” Everyone else called me “Miss Vaughn.” Only Adrian refused. His defiance only fueled my own. “I don’t care! I want you to be my human mattress!” He didn’t move or speak. I pouted. “Fine. If you don’t come up here, I’m not sleeping.” I sat cross-legged on the bed, ready for a standoff. Moonlight streamed through the window, and I saw a flicker of conflict on his face. Finally, he relented. “Just… don’t move around too much. And I won’t either, of course…” Adrian cautioned. But I had already picked my spot. I curled up expertly and wrapped my arms around him. Adrian’s voice caught in his throat. I felt much better. I used to sleep hugging my giant polar bear plushie. Adrian wasn’t as soft, but he was about the same size. My mood lifted. “Good night,” I announced, and promptly fell into a deep sleep. In my dream, the plushie in my arms grew warmer and warmer, like a little furnace. It was so cozy. I hugged it even tighter. 4 From then on, I always slept in the same bed as Adrian. Tonight was no different. Adrian, looking exhausted, brought me a basin of water for my feet. “Wash up and get into bed. I’ll dump this for you after I shower.” The pop-up comments exploded. [Is this villainess for real?! She eats his food, lives in his house, and still makes him dump her foot water? She should be washing his feet!] [Ugh, when is our sweet heroine going to show up? Only she will truly care for our male lead.] [Soon, soon! Then the shameless villainess can get kicked out and live on the streets!] I was a bit stunned. People had always washed my feet for me; I was used to it. It never occurred to me that there was anything wrong with Adrian doing it. I mentally kicked myself. I had just resolved to be nicer to him today. So, I got out of bed and clumsily emptied the basin myself. Water splashed onto my hands, and I wrinkled my nose in disgust, washing them several times over. When I returned, Adrian was just getting out of the shower. He froze when he saw me with the empty basin. “Why did you empty it yourself?” I pouted. “Because I felt like it.” Once in bed, Adrian habitually tried to pull me into his arms. I refused. I thought to myself, I emptied the water, and I’m not making you my mattress. That’s good enough, right? He won’t kick me out now. Unexpectedly, Adrian sat up, his face dark, his eyes glinting ominously. “Helena, what’s wrong with you today?” I felt incredibly wronged. I was being so nice to him, and he was still scolding me. I snapped, “I’ll sleep how I want to sleep! Is there a problem?” At my words, his eyes turned red, and his expression became even more terrifying. He gripped my wrist so tightly it left a red mark. “Helena, do you think I’m a toy? Something you can just toss aside when you’re done with it?” He guessed right.

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After marrying my childhood friend, we were like polite strangers. He was a man of few words, and I was cold by nature. Our marriage bed remained untouched. What I didn’t know was that he could hear my every thought. In the bedroom, I watched him, fresh from the shower, with a placid, emotionless expression. But inside, my mind was racing: Would making love to him send me into a dead faint? 1 He’d probably rock my world. What was it that book Marcia showed me said…? Something about your vision blurring… About your mind going completely blank. James’s foot slipped on the wet floor, and he nearly crashed to the ground. I lunged forward to steady him. “Are you okay?” Why won’t that towel just fall? What’s he hiding under there? It’s not like a quick peek is going to make anything fall off. God, those muscles are perfect. His fingers are so long, too. “I’m fine.” James’s words tumbled out, fast and clipped, as if he were trying to stop a runaway train. He clutched the towel tightly around his waist. “Sorry, I couldn’t find my bathrobe, only this…” Of course you couldn’t. I threw it out. It’s probably been shredded at the dump by now. Tomorrow, the towel goes, too. I released my grip on him and said coolly, “Be more careful next time.” “…Right.” 2 James changed into his pajamas and slipped into bed. I pretended to flip through a book, my eyes darting towards him from the corner of my vision. He was wearing a dark, long-sleeved pajama set. An old, worn-out tee would be better. Easier for a little late-night groping. A shame I’d only ever dare to touch him while he’s asleep. I’m too scared he’d wake up. God, I’m tempted to slip him a sleeping pill. Then I could have my way with him. I stared blankly at the words on the page. James, who had just settled in, suddenly threw back the covers and got out of bed. I feigned surprise. “Not sleeping?” “Been having trouble sleeping lately. Going to take a sleeping pill.” I didn’t think much of it and went back to my book. When James returned, he was wearing a different shirt. It was that old, worn-out tee. “It’s too hot,” he explained. I gave a faint, “Mm,” in response. He lay down, and perhaps it really was too hot for him. He only pulled the covers up to his navel. One arm was bent behind his head, displaying a broad chest with muscle contours so defined it was hard to look away. He looked better than any of the heroes in my romance comics. He fell asleep quickly. I thoughtfully turned the AC down a few degrees. After reading for a little while longer, I turned off the light and went to sleep. In the suffocating darkness, James’s eyes slowly opened. He turned to look at me, his expression a complicated mess. I was fast asleep, breathing softly, my eyes shut tight. There was no groping. No mind-melting climax. Only James, lying awake, staring into the darkness until dawn. The next morning, I stumbled out of the bedroom, still half-asleep. The delicious aroma of breakfast being cooked by our housekeeper, Mrs. Gable, wafted from the kitchen, instantly waking my appetite. I obediently took a seat at the table. Today, it was thin sweet potato crepes and a freshly made smoothie. Mrs. Gable beamed at me. “How is it, dear?” My mouth was too full to answer, so I just nodded enthusiastically. “Don’t choke, now,” she chuckled, placing the smoothie in front of me. “My own sons won’t even touch my cooking anymore.” She sighed, a familiar lament whenever she spoke of her children. “They don’t know what they’re missing,” I mumbled through a mouthful of crepe. Mrs. Gable was genuinely fond of me. Though I appeared cold on the surface, my eyes would light up like a firework display whenever I tasted something delicious. It gave her a real sense of accomplishment. “By the way, where’s James? He’s not usually up this late.” “He took a sleeping pill last night.” A sleeping pill? Mrs. Gable thought back to her morning cleaning routine. The bottle of sleeping pills in the medicine cabinet had looked untouched. The lid on the instant coffee, however, hadn’t been screwed on tight. 3 I hadn’t expected James to sleep all the way until the afternoon. Even after all that rest, he still had dark circles under his eyes. His sleep quality must be terrible. Good thing I kept my hands to myself last night, or he’d be even worse off. I should probably behave myself from now on. James, who had his back to me, suddenly spun around. He stared at me for a long moment, his eyes dark and unreadable. “I slept great.” “?” And what does that have to do with me? He turned away again, ignoring me. Men. So moody. Annoying. The bedroom door slammed shut with a sharp crack. That evening, the high school group chat lit up. The class president was organizing a reunion. My best friend, Marcia, called me. “Lynn! You’re going, right?” “Yeah, I’m free.” Marcia and I met in high school and, by a stroke of luck, ended up at the same university. We’ve been inseparable ever since. “What about your husband? Is he coming?” Her voice was loud enough to carry. I glanced up at James, who was sitting across from me. He opened his mouth to speak. Don’t you dare say yes. The last thing I want is to bring him. James closed his mouth. He gave a slight shake of his head. Satisfied, I told Marcia, “He’s not coming.” Marcia sounded relieved on the other end. “Oh, good. Because Jason will be there. You know, your old high school flame? Remember him? He’s been single ever since you two broke up. I heard he still wears that beaded bracelet you gave him.” Her voice was crystal clear. “…I see.” I replied, my own voice suddenly feeling dry. “Okay, well, great! Next Tuesday, 7 PM. Don’t be late!” The call ended. Seeing how calm and composed James looked, the flicker of unease in my heart vanished. What am I worried about? He wouldn’t care if I actually cheated on him, let alone over something so small… “No!” James’s expression turned icy in an instant. I jumped, startled, and stared at him, bewildered. What is his problem?! His eyes met mine, and his brow twitched. The tension in his face relaxed. “I meant… I don’t think Mrs. Gable’s cooking is any good.” Mrs. Gable, who had rushed in with a spatula in hand, stood frozen. “?” 4 Before I left on Tuesday, James spent an eternity in front of the mirror. From head to toe, every detail was perfect. He was already handsome, with a body like a clothing mannequin. All this primping just made him even more eye-catching. Marcia always says a man who dolls himself up like that is probably looking for a mistress. James’s hand, poised to spray his hair, froze mid-air. He sheepishly put the can of hairspray down. Turning, his gaze landed softly on my shoulders. “It’ll be cold tonight. You should take a shawl.” “It’s going to be eighty-five degrees.” “…Drive safe.” When I arrived at the reunion, the private room was already packed. Marcia waved me over. I sat down next to her. She nudged me, whispering, “Look at his hand.” Jason had shed some of his boyishness, replaced by a confident ease as he chatted with others. He held a glass in his right hand, and as his sleeve slid back, it revealed a faded, old beaded bracelet. A cheap trinket I’d bought him from a street vendor across from our high school. In high school, James was in the class next to mine. We weren’t close, our bond barely held together by the thread of having grown up together. We hardly spoke at school. But his mom was always asking him to bring me things, and he’d wait for me by my classroom door every day after school. Over time, everyone just assumed we were a thing. Then they started to misunderstand what kind of “thing” we were. I tried to explain a few times, but no one listened, so I gave up. Then, one day, the rumors just stopped. Because of Jason. He took every opportunity to set the record straight for me, more fervently than I ever had. Under his relentless campaign, our classmates grew bored of the gossip and finally left us alone. To thank him, I treated him to a milkshake at the shop across the street after school. It was the first time I hadn’t walked home with James. When I told him, James didn’t say much. He just nodded once and left. Jason was James’s complete opposite. He was warm and bright, his heart always on his sleeve. If he was happy, you knew it. If he was upset, you knew that too. On his eighteenth birthday, he confessed his feelings for me. I didn’t really understand what it meant to like someone or not. But on the thirty-fifth time he asked me to be his girlfriend, I finally agreed. He pestered me relentlessly, begging me to say I liked him. Worn down, I finally gave in. “Fine. I like you.” As the words left my mouth, I saw him. James. He was standing in the doorway, silhouetted against the light, his handsome features cast in shadow. The setting sun made his dark hair look soft and fluffy, rimmed with a golden halo. His expression was distant, impossible to read. I felt a pang of embarrassment. Jason, one hand in his pocket, the other holding my backpack—which still had the little rabbit keychain James had given me—smiled with a wild, triumphant grin. “Hey, James. Lynn and I are together now. I’ll be walking her home from now on. Thanks for all your help before. I’ll buy you dinner sometime.” James stared at Jason, his lips pressed into a thin, straight line. Even someone as dense as me could feel the tension crackling in the air. I walked over and tugged on Jason’s arm, turning to James. “James, I’ll be home late. Can you let my parents know?” “…Sure.” After that day, I never walked home with James again. 5 Everyone in our class knew about my history with Jason. But they also knew I was married, and they tactfully avoided bringing up the past. One classmate, who wasn’t in on the gossip, noticed the bracelet on Jason’s wrist. “Man, Jay, you’re doing so well for yourself. Why are you still wearing a cheap thing like that?” The room fell silent for a beat. All eyes flickered between me and Jason. “It was a gift from someone important,” Jason said, his voice smooth. “It’s priceless.” The classmate nodded, understanding. “Ah, well, then you gotta treasure it.” Jason rubbed the red bead on the bracelet, his gaze drifting over to me, a little too casually. Halfway through the night, I slipped out to use the restroom. When I came out, Jason was there, waiting. He stood with his hands in his pockets, the top button of his shirt undone. “Long time no see.” I glanced at the sinks. “This isn’t the best place to catch up.” “Then let’s go somewhere else.” “We’re not exactly on ‘catching up’ terms.” Jason didn’t seem surprised by my response. “Lynn, you haven’t changed a bit. Just as calm and direct as when you broke up with me. You’re just like him, your precious childhood friend.” My relationship with Jason ended the summer after our senior year. There was no dramatic reason. He was going to study abroad, a decision made by his family. When I suggested we break up, he was incredulous. “I’m not going to be gone forever. I’ll be back as soon as I’m done with school. Why do we have to break up?” “The future is too unpredictable. I don’t like it.” His brow furrowed, a hint of resentment in his voice. “We have something great. We should be able to face the future’s uncertainties together. Lynn, why won’t you sacrifice a little for me?” I calmly retorted, “Why shouldn’t you be the one to sacrifice for me?” He was speechless. We both chose our own paths. We went our separate ways and never saw each other again. “You married James, didn’t you?” Jason asked, following me down the hall. I nodded. “Why? You didn’t even like him in high school. You thanked me for clearing up those rumors about you two.” “I don’t dislike him.” Jason seemed unwilling to let it go, his eyes boring into me. “But a quiet, withdrawn guy like James is all wrong for you. He’s cold, and you’re cold. How does that even work for a married couple?” My footsteps faltered. It was James. He stood at the end of the corridor, leaning against the wall. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing strong, clean forearms. His gaze lingered on Jason for a moment, his eyes darkening.

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1 Three years. For three years, a stranger wore my skin, lived my life, and shattered my world. Today, I finally clawed my way back. I flipped open my phone, my hands trembling as I scrolled through the cloud-saved security footage. The last three years played out in a horrifying montage: 2021: My daughter, my sweet Rosie, hurt herself for the first time. After that, she never spoke another word. 2022: My husband, Julian, crumbled into a clinical depression. He had me—or the thing wearing my face—sign the divorce papers. 2023: Julian broke completely. He ran his company into the ground and then simply… vanished. No one knows where he is. The last video was from yesterday. The woman who had stolen my life waved cheerfully at the camera. “Mission complete! Company’s bankrupt, husband’s driven mad, and the kid’s a write-off. System upgraded! So, I’m leaving this dumpster fire for you to handle~” Before the shock could even register, my vision was flooded with a stream of translucent comments, like a ghostly chatroom layered over my reality. 【LOL, the transmigrator actually made the villain’s family more villainous. She leveled up her system by maxing out their corruption stats.】 【The daughter bites anyone who comes near her now. The husband drinks himself into a stupor every night.】 【The original owner comes back to find the ‘conquest’ progress bar went in reverse. This is Hell Mode, for real.】 I shut off the video, my stomach churning. As I looked up, my eyes met a pair of small, guarded ones. It was Rosie. In her tiny hand, she clutched a crayon stained with blood. “Rosie…” I whispered, slowly sinking to my knees to meet her gaze. She scrambled back instantly, the crayon dragging a jagged red line across the wall—a warning. My eyes fixed on the back of her right hand. I saw the faint, puckered outline of a burn, the same one I’d seen in the footage, where the impostor had “accidentally” spilled scalding milk on her. Seeing it on a screen had felt suffocating. Seeing the raised, uneven scar in person made the taste of bile and blood rise in my throat. 【Lmao, who is this gentle act for?】 【The little villain won’t fall for that. The impostor brought in a dozen therapists over the years. None of them worked.】 【Honestly, just tie her up and give her a good spanking. A kid this broken is just gonna grow up to be a menace anyway.】 I ignored the floating text, pulling a small object from my pocket. “Look what Mommy found.” It was her favorite strawberry-shaped hair clip from when she was three. A tiny, dried smudge of jam was still stuck to it. The impostor had deliberately thrown it in the trash before she left. Rosie’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second before her lips pressed into a tight, thin line. The tip of her crayon pointed at me, a tiny, makeshift weapon. “Mommy washed it,” I said softly, placing the clip on the floor and gently sliding it toward her. “Does Rosie want it?” She stared at the clip for a long moment. Then, with a jerky motion, she scrawled a single word on the wall: LIAR. 【Pfft, the little psycho is smarter than she looks. No trust there.】 【The transmigrator must have lied to her constantly. She did everything she could to crank up the kid’s darkness points.】 【Just give up. You can’t tame a wild animal like that.】 【Am I the only one who thinks the kid is just… a kid? She’s the victim here. I remember Rosie used to be so sweet.】 A sharp pain lanced through my chest. My daughter was six. She should be lost in a world of fairy tales and scraped knees, not armed with the word “liar” to fend off the person who was supposed to be her safest harbor. “I know Rosie doesn’t believe me,” I said, keeping my distance. I pulled a photo album from my bag. “But look. This is Rosie’s third birthday…” In the photo, she was wearing a little yellow duck raincoat, laughing so hard in my arms that her face was a smear of birthday cake and pure joy. The Rosie in front of me now was drowning in a pajama set that was too small, the cuffs frayed and worn. Her gaze lingered on the photograph for a few seconds. Then, in a flash, she lunged forward, snatched the album, and clutched it to her chest as she retreated to the corner of the room. The crayon fell, the red wax snapping in two. 【Whoa, she didn’t bite?!】 【Did the little villain have a change of heart? This is weird. I thought she attacked everyone.】 【This isn’t normal. For three years, that kid hasn’t willingly touched another person. Every time she tried, the impostor would catch her and, well… you know…】 I knew exactly what unspeakable cruelties were hidden behind that unfinished sentence. I forced myself to inch forward. “Rosie, are you hungry? Mommy can make you—” She suddenly flew into a frenzy, tearing at her own hair, her mouth opening in a silent scream. A choked, guttural sound escaped her throat, a desperate, animalistic noise of pure terror. My heart seized. I froze. In the videos, every time the impostor said she was “making food,” she would end up dumping it over Rosie’s head. I didn’t say another word. I just turned and walked into the kitchen. Rosie didn’t move. She just stood there, her eyes locked on me, wide with suspicion. Half an hour later, I came back and slowly pushed a small food container across the floor. “Mommy will leave the food right here, okay? It’s Rosie’s favorite strawberry cake. And no carrots.” She used to hate carrots with a passion. The impostor had made a point of mixing carrot purée into everything she gave her. Rosie’s little nose twitched. Her eyes darted to the container and then quickly away. But I saw her fingers, which had been clenched around the photo album, loosen just a fraction. 【She actually remembered her daughter hates carrots. Wonder if the kid can be saved after all.】 【Don’t get your hopes up. The little villain is definitely going to kick it over.】 As if on cue, she lifted her foot to kick the container, but her movement was so frantic that she tripped over her own feet. My instincts screamed. I reached out to steady her. She flinched back like a startled cat, her body curling into a tight ball, the album her only shield. “It’s okay, it’s okay! Mommy won’t touch you,” I said, quickly pulling my hand back and retreating. I pushed the container a little further away. “It’s alright if the cake gets smashed. Mommy can always make more.” She peeked at me from behind the edge of the album, one eye visible. Her fingers unconsciously traced the image of my smiling face in the photograph. The sun was setting, casting a single golden ray through the curtains that landed on her hair. I realized then that it had grown all the way to her waist. The impostor never cut it. Once, she’d even threatened Rosie with a pair of scissors, telling her she’d cut off her fingers. “Rosie’s hair is so beautiful,” I said, my voice soft. “Does Mommy want to help you braid it? Like we used to, with two little pigtails…” Suddenly, she threw the album to the floor. Photos scattered across the wood. I bent down to pick them up, but she was faster. She snatched the birthday picture, shoved it deep into her pajama pocket, and then grabbed the container of cake and fled into her room. 【??? The little villain actually took the cake? She’s going to eat something the original owner made?】 【Holy crap, the world’s ending. Did the little villain just crack? The impostor worked for three years to make her like this.】 【Don’t get too cocky, original owner. Just wait until the villain husband gets back. You’re in for it then.】 I knelt and picked up the broken pieces of red wax from the floor. The tip was wet. It wasn’t blood. It was Rosie’s tears. 2 When Rosie finally emerged from her room, the container was empty. She’d eaten every last crumb of the cake. A fragile warmth bloomed in my chest as I looked at the empty box. But as she stepped out, her large eyes were still filled with that same wariness, like a fawn poised to bolt at the slightest sound. Her gaze kept flicking toward her bedroom door—a door that had no lock. To make monitoring her easier, the impostor had removed the entire mechanism. 【Hah, the little villain is still paranoid about surprise inspections. She used to put a single hair on the door to see if it was opened. Looks like the hair is still intact this time.】 【Seriously, that transmigrator was messed up. Doing that to a little kid… Who could stomach that? She’s just a child.】 【Hey, don’t forget she’s the villain’s daughter. She’s destined to be a villain too. Stop with the bleeding-heart act.】 【Yeah, this original owner is just dithering around. The divorce papers are signed, the kid was given to the father. What is she even still doing here?】 Rosie’s fingers twisted the hem of her pajamas, her knuckles white with tension. I followed her gaze to the door and understood her constant, gnawing anxiety. “Rosie,” I said, crouching down to her level. “Mommy has a present for you.” Half an hour later, a repairman finished installing a brand-new lock. With Rosie watching, I placed the one and only key into her small palm. “From now on, only Rosie can open this door,” I said, gently closing her fingers around the cool metal. “Anyone who wants to come in has to knock first. That includes Mommy.” She stared down at the key, her long eyelashes trembling. The sunlight streaming in from behind her cast a tiny, fluttering shadow beneath her lashes, like a butterfly had momentarily paused there. 【Is the original owner insane? Giving the villain-in-training a lock?】 【Get ready to be locked out and left to cry. The kid’s already a recluse. If something happens to her in that room, the villain dad will literally strangle her.】 【My advice: fill the keyhole with superglue. Don’t show mercy to a villain. What a waste of my premium subscription.】 Suddenly, Rosie reached out her other hand. Her fingertips brushed against my wrist, a touch so light it was like the whisper of a feather. It was enough to make my nose sting with tears. But just as quickly as it came, the touch was gone. She spun around and ran back into her room. A moment later, I heard the solid, reassuring click of the new lock. 【Welp, she’s feeding the tiger that’s gonna eat her.】 【Just waiting for the little villain to sneak out with a pair of scissors in the middle of the night.】 【The original owner is gonna get what’s coming to her.】 【Wait, am I the only one who noticed? The little villain hasn’t bitten anyone in two days.】 I leaned against the wall outside her door, listening to the soft rustling sounds from within. As curious as I was about what she was doing, I refused to disturb her. I trusted my Rosie. She was my daughter, after all. Later that night, I found the empty food container placed outside her door. Tucked inside was a wrinkled piece of paper. On it were two wobbly, lovingly drawn strawberries. 3 Contrary to the grim predictions of the floating comments, Rosie didn’t do anything extreme. That night, we both slept soundly. She didn’t emerge with scissors to stab me, nor did she barricade herself in her room forever. In fact, she was up early the next morning. I found her standing in front of the mirror, a comb clutched in her small hand, looking at me with hesitant eyes. It took me a second to understand. She was waiting for me to brush her hair. “Does Rosie want Mommy to do your hair?” I asked softly. She didn’t speak, but she held the comb out to me and then sat dutifully on the little stool, her back straight and facing me. I began to carefully comb through her long hair, my fingers gently working through the knots, terrified of hurting her. It was so long, nearly to her waist, the ends dry and brittle. The impostor had never brushed it properly, often yanking it on purpose to make Rosie fear the simple act of grooming. But today, she had invited my touch. My eyes started to burn. I braided her hair into two small pigtails, and as a final touch, I fastened the little strawberry clip she loved so much when she was three. In the mirror, Rosie stared at her reflection for a long moment. Her small hand reached up to tentatively touch the clip. The corner of her mouth twitched into the faintest hint of a smile. I knew she was happy. At the breakfast table, I set out strawberry toast and warm milk, along with a bowl of fresh strawberries. She ate with her head down, occasionally glancing up at me before quickly looking away. After she finished, I helped her change into a new strawberry-print sundress I’d bought. Strawberries had been her absolute favorite, but the impostor had deliberately dressed her in clothes covered in carrots, the one thing she detested, making the simple act of getting dressed a daily torment. Today, she finally wore something she loved. She stood in front of the mirror, turning this way and that. She was silent, but I could feel the quiet joy radiating from her. When it was time to leave, Rosie paused at the front door. She hesitated for a second, and then— She reached out and took my hand. Her small, cool fingers curled nervously inside my palm. She held on. My heart skipped a beat. I stood perfectly still, afraid that any movement would make her let go. It was the first time she had willingly initiated contact. But the closer we got to the school, the tighter her grip became. Her steps slowed, her eyes started darting around, and she began to shrink behind me. I knelt down, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “Is Rosie scared?” She didn’t answer, but her eyelashes fluttered. I took out her smartwatch and pulled up the emergency contact screen. My number was the only one there. “If you’re not happy at school today, or if anyone is mean to you, you just press this button. Mommy will come get you right away, okay?” She stared at the watch for a long time. Then, she gave a tiny nod. 4 School let out, but after waiting at the gates for what felt like an eternity, there was still no sign of Rosie. The other children had all streamed out, their laughter and chatter filling the air, but my daughter was nowhere to be seen. A cold dread began to seep into my heart. I rushed into the school building and finally found her cowering behind the classroom door. She was alone, huddled in a corner, her hair a mess. The strawberry clip was gone, and the hem of her new dress was torn. A group of kids stood over her, chanting, “Monster! You’re a thief! Little thief!” Rosie just kept her head down, her hands clenched so tightly in her dress that her knuckles were white. Tears fell, one by one, splashing silently onto the floor. But she hadn’t pressed the button on her watch. 【Why didn’t she call?】 【Didn’t you see? In the past, whenever she was bullied and called for help, the impostor would just scream at her. She’d get punished even worse at home.】 【I don’t think she’s afraid of being yelled at. I think Rosie’s afraid that if she causes any trouble, her mom will decide she’s not worth it and leave her.】 【My heart… that last comment makes so much sense. What did she ever do to deserve this? She’s only six.】 I strode over and knelt in front of her, gently cupping her face in my hands. “Rosie. Mommy’s here.” She looked up, her eyes red and swollen, her lips trembling. She was too scared to even try to speak. My gaze snapped to the other children. “Which one of you did this?” They fell silent. One boy, bolder than the rest, jutted out his chin. “She stole my eraser!” Rosie’s head whipped up. She shook it frantically, tears streaming down her face as she looked at me, desperate to explain but unable to form a single word. Seeing her like this tore me apart. I smoothed her hair back, trying to calm her. 【Oh no, Rosie can’t talk. How can she defend herself?】 【How is she supposed to prove anything?】 I looked back into her desperate eyes and asked gently, “Rosie, where is the eraser?” Her hand trembled as she pointed toward a schoolbag lying in the corner. The bag had been ransacked, its contents strewn about. I walked over and lifted it. Lying underneath was a dirty eraser, clearly stamped with a shoe print. 【They went through her bag?】 【Of course the villain’s daughter is a villain. Like father, like daughter. Stealing things, just as expected.】 【Seriously, this original owner needs to stop being a saint. A kid like that should just be gotten rid of.】 I picked up the eraser and turned to the children. “Who stepped on this?” They exchanged nervous glances, no one daring to speak. I fixed my eyes on the boy. “You said she stole your eraser. What does your eraser look like?” He stammered, “It… it looks just like that one!” “Really?” A cold smile touched my lips. “Because this eraser has a name on it. It says ‘Rosie.’” In the corner of the eraser, written in shaky, childish letters, was her name. 【!!! The mom is a genius!】 【Rosie’s writing is so small, I almost didn’t see it.】 【Hahaha, the look on those kids’ faces!】 The boy’s face paled. He turned and ran, and the other children scattered like frightened birds. I knelt down again, gently wiping the tears from Rosie’s face. “It’s okay, Rosie. The bad people are gone. Mommy believes you.” She froze, a tear hovering on her eyelash, and just stared at me. “Rosie would never steal anything. Mommy knows that,” I said, taking her small hand in mine. “If anyone ever bullies you again, you have to tell Mommy, okay?” And then, it happened. A heart-wrenching sob broke from her lips, and she threw herself into my arms, her little hands clutching my shirt as if she was afraid I would vanish into thin air. She finally believed it. She finally believed her mother was really here to protect her.

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An old man waved his passbook at me, demanding I transfer his $3 million. The recipient? An offshore shell company—a classic scam. “I can’t do this!” I slammed his passbook down. “Sir, just wait five minutes—” “Don’t ruin my fortune!” he snapped. I called the police and stopped the transfer. Furious, he turned on me: “She’s after my money! Waiting for me to die!” Tabloids twisted his words, fueling a viral hate storm. I begged my coworker Ava to defend me—instead, she testified against me: “She stuffed her underwear in his pocket!” Branded a gold-digger, even my husband Jonny left me. Broken, I jumped from the bridge. Then I woke up—back at my teller window, on that day again… 1 “Next customer, please!” The mechanical voice sent a jolt through my entire body. I snapped my head up. The screen above glowed with the number “023,” and standing before me was an old man with thinning, gray hair. Mr. Davies. The man who had orchestrated my ruin and death was now scowling at me through the bulletproof glass. My breath caught. For a moment, my heart felt like it would hammer its way out of my chest. This wasn’t a dream. I had been reborn. “Miss! Are you deaf? I need to make a transaction!” Mr. Davies tapped impatiently on the glass, his amplified voice yanking me back to reality. I shot up from my chair, forcing a brittle smile onto my face. “Sir, I’m so sorry, but this window is now closed. Please see one of my colleagues for assistance.” Before he could reply, I bolted for the staff-only door behind me. “Hey! Where are you going? Get back here!” the old man shouted after me, his voice muffled by the glass. I didn’t look back. Under the counter, my fingers fumbled with my phone, quickly hitting the record button. No matter what happened this time, I was getting proof. Mr. Davies was still yelling. “What kind of service is this! I have your employee number! I’m going to file a complaint!” I rattled off the standard bank script. “Large transfers require dual authorization. I’d advise you to contact a family member to confirm the transaction first.” “Bullshit! You’re just trying to ruin my good luck!” he sputtered, his face turning red. Ava poked her head out of the breakroom, a look of confusion on her face. “Chloe? What’s going on?” I stared at her, at that face filled with feigned concern, and a wave of nausea washed over me. In my past life, that was the same mouth that had confidently told the entire country I had tried to seduce Mr. Davies. “Stomachache,” I said curtly. “Going to the hospital.” She hurried after me, blocking my path. “Can’t you just tough it out? There’s a customer waiting!” “Move,” I said, shaking her hand off my arm. “Are you crazy?” she hissed, her voice low and threatening. “You want to lose this month’s performance bonus?” I raised my voice, making sure the entire lobby could hear. “If I drop dead at my desk from the pain, are you going to be the one to collect my body?” The bustling bank hall fell silent. Every eye was on us. Ava, clearly not expecting such a forceful response from the usually gentle me, was momentarily speechless. I seized the opportunity, grabbed my bag, and headed for the exit. “Chloe Harris! If you leave without taking official leave, you’ll be fired!” Ava threatened from behind me. I muttered under my breath, “What’s a job when my life is on the line?” With a shove, I pushed open the heavy glass doors and stepped out into the world. I burst into a nearby convenience store, nearly knocking over a rack of chips. I snatched the cheapest bottle of vodka I could find, ran into the restroom, twisted the cap off, and took a swig. Then I fished a compact out of my bag and violently dabbed bright red blush onto my cheeks. Once I was sure I looked sufficiently flushed and drunk, I got into my car and gunned it toward the nearest police station. Sure enough, I didn’t make it two blocks before the flashing lights appeared in my rearview mirror. “Ma’am, please step out of the vehicle.” I stumbled out of the car, purposefully breathing a cloud of alcohol-scented air in the officer’s direction. “Have you been drinking?” the officer asked, his brow furrowed. I feigned guilt, slurring my words. “I have a canker sore… just used a little alcohol to rinse my mouth.” He was obviously unconvinced. He steadied me as I pretended to lose my balance. “Ma’am, I need you to cooperate with a breathalyzer test.” I dutifully blew into the device, watching with satisfaction as the numbers skyrocketed. “Ma’am, you’re suspected of driving under the influence. We need to take you to the hospital for a blood test.” I put up a token struggle before “reluctantly” letting them guide me into the back of the patrol car. I could have smiled from ear to ear. In the hospital’s phlebotomy room, the nurse had just withdrawn the needle when the young officer exclaimed, “Her blood alcohol level is zero?” I put on my best aggrieved expression. “I told you, I was just rinsing my mouth.” The officer cleared his throat and pulled out his phone. “Standard procedure requires us to notify your next of kin.” The call connected, and Jonny’s cold voice came through the line. “What is it now?” “Mr. Harris, your wife is at the hospital—” “I’m in a meeting. I don’t have time for this.” The line went dead. The officer awkwardly put his phone away. “Well… how about I give you a ride home?” I nodded enthusiastically, a wave of relief washing over me. I’d dodged the bullet this time, right? Suddenly, my phone vibrated violently. A news alert, emblazoned with a fiery “BREAKING” icon, popped onto the screen: #BankTellerChloeHarrisDefraudsSeniorCitizenOfRetirementSavings The smile froze on my face. 2 I stared at the headline in disbelief, my finger trembling as I tapped on the link. I was met with an avalanche of insults and doxxed personal information. Someone had even crudely photoshopped my face onto a funeral portrait. The comment section was a cesspool of words like “die” and “slut.” Pinned at the top was a video of Mr. Davies, weeping as he gave an interview. “She told me she could help me invest my money, but as soon as the transfer went through, she vanished! That was my life savings!” The memories of my past life—the public crucifixion, the loss of my family and my life—came flooding back, and I began to shake uncontrollably. I hadn’t even processed his transaction this time. How could this still be pinned on me? When the police car pulled up to my apartment building, I gasped. The entrance was swarming with people. Reporters with cameras and microphones, neighbors pointing and whispering, and a group at the front holding a banner that read, “FRAUDSTER, GIVE ME BACK MY HARD-EARNED MONEY.” “There she is! That’s Chloe Harris!” someone shouted, and every camera instantly swiveled in my direction. Flashes exploded like a thousand tiny suns, blinding me. A reporter shoved a microphone so close to my face I could smell his coffee breath. “Ms. Harris, do you have anything to say about defrauding an elderly man?” “Where did the three million dollars go?” I stumbled backward, my back hitting a solid chest. Two police officers were already striding toward me. “Chloe Harris? You’re under suspicion of financial fraud. Please come with us.” As they moved to cuff me, I forced the words through gritted teeth. “I took the day off work as soon as I got in! What does this have to do with me?” The officer frowned and glanced at a document in his hand. “According to the bank’s system logs, at 9:47 this morning, you processed a three-million-dollar transfer for a Mr. Davies.” I snatched the paper from him. The transaction record was there in black and white, clear as day, with my employee ID and name. “How is that possible?” I whispered, my mind reeling. Just then, a familiar voice cut through the crowd. “Chloe! You have the nerve to show your face here?” I looked up to see Jonny pushing his way through the onlookers, his face a mask of cold fury. “The police showed up at my office! You have a perfectly good job, and you throw it all away to become a con artist?” Hearing the same words in two lifetimes still felt like a punch to the gut. “You’re my husband. Did it even occur to you to ask me what happened before you pronounced me guilty?” He scoffed. “The police are here. What’s left to argue about?” Before I could respond, another commotion broke out. Ava was helping Mr. Davies push to the front, a camera crew trailing right behind them. “That’s her!” Mr. Davies shrieked, pointing a trembling finger at me. “That black-hearted woman scammed me out of my life savings!” Ava, for her part, looked heartbroken. “Chloe, we’ve been best friends for ten years. I can’t believe I never saw this side of you.” I stared at her, my gaze like ice. “Ava, perjury is a crime. Are you sure you want to do this?” She avoided my eyes, sighing with theatrical sadness. “Even if we are best friends, I can’t cover up a crime for you!” Then she turned to my husband, her voice softening. “Jonny, you should convince her to turn herself in…” “Enough!” I cut her off, my voice sharp. “If you’re going to frame me, you’d better have some real evidence!” My eyes flickered to Ava’s hand, which was still resting on Jonny’s arm. I let out a cold laugh. “The two of you are so eager to sling mud at me. You haven’t been sleeping together, have you?” 3 That question was a bomb that detonated in the middle of the crowd. “Are you insane?!” Jonny’s face paled. He instantly shook Ava’s hand off his arm and roared, his voice betraying a hint of panic. “How dare you say something like that in front of all these people!” Ava’s reaction was even faster. Her eyes immediately welled up with tears, and she pointed a trembling finger at me. “Chloe! You’re the one who’s done something shameful, and now you’re trying to blame us?” She turned to the onlookers, her voice catching with a perfectly timed sob. “This is the woman I’ve called my best friend for ten years!” Whispers rippled through the crowd. A few older women shot me looks of disgust. “Enough! Save your act!” I raised my voice. “The issue here is, on what grounds are you accusing me of fraud?” I pointed to the young traffic cop who had brought me home. “He can be my alibi! I’ve been with him since nine o’clock this morning!” Every head turned to the officer. He looked momentarily surprised, then stepped forward. “That’s correct. I pulled this woman over at 9:10 AM for a suspected DUI, and she has been with me, cooperating with the investigation, ever since.” “This is a police matter! Unrelated personnel should not interfere!” Ava shrieked without thinking. I laughed coldly. “He’s a police officer. How is he ‘unrelated personnel’?” She blurted out, “You… you must have hired an imposter! Are you crazy? That’s a felony!” The traffic cop’s expression hardened. He pulled out his badge and presented it to the investigating officers. “I’m with the East Precinct Traffic Division. Here’s my identification.” The officer took the badge, examined it, and spoke into his radio to confirm. When he looked up again, his eyes were sharp. “This officer’s credentials are real. I’m going to need an explanation.” His gaze darted between Ava and Jonny. “Why would you identify someone as a suspect when she has a confirmed alibi?” The statement landed with the force of a thunderclap. Ava, who clearly hadn’t anticipated this turn of events, took a nervous step back, trying to hide behind Jonny. I was about to press my advantage when Mr. Davies suddenly lunged forward, pointing a finger at my face. “I can prove she’s the fraud!” He shakily pulled a crumpled piece of paper and a scrap of fabric from his pocket and handed them to the officer. “Here’s the evidence, officer!” “Last week, at a community event, it was her! She kept pestering me to invest in some retirement project, making it sound like the deal of a lifetime.” “She specifically told me to come to the bank today, said she’d get a commission.” “I was foolish enough to transfer the money, and then she ran off without even giving me a proper contract!” I countered, “I’ve never even been to your neighborhood, and I don’t handle investment products.” “Besides, you’d believe a total stranger just like that?” Mr. Davies licked his lips, his cloudy eyes raking over my body. “Such a bad memory for a young girl. You worked very hard to get me to invest, you know.” He lowered his voice, but just enough for everyone nearby to hear. “Those three nights… you were very enthusiastic. It’s been a long time since this old man has been taken care of so well!” Camera flashes erupted. The crowd gasped. “Shut up!” A chill ran down my spine. “I can sue you for slander!” Unfazed, he pulled a pair of lace panties from his other pocket and shook them out for everyone to see. “Here’s the proof. You left in a hurry that morning and forgot these on my bed.” “I’ve been cherishing them.” The dubious stains on the fabric were sickeningly visible in the daylight. But what truly made my blood run cold was that they were, unmistakably, a custom-made pair my husband had given me for our wedding anniversary. On the inside, my initials were embroidered in silk thread. C.H. 4 The crowd exploded. “Tsk, tsk. She looks so proper, but she’s doing things like that!” “Don’t you get it? The old guy’s got a pension! That’s prime real estate!” “Her poor husband! Cheated on with an old man!” Jonny seized the moment, lunged forward, and slapped me hard across the face. “No wonder you never wanted to have kids with me! You were sleeping around this whole time!” “What did I ever do to you to deserve this humiliation?!” An officer immediately stepped between us. “Sir, please remain calm! Settle your personal matters in private!” Jonny reluctantly backed away, his face a mask of feigned heartbreak. I wiped the blood from my lip. My heart felt like it was being torn apart. He was using the child we lost… as a weapon against me. The child I had given up to honor his wish to be child-free was now just another tool for his moral grandstanding. The officer picked up the underwear with two disgusted fingers. “Ms. Harris, does this belong to you?” I took a deep breath. “Yes, it’s mine, but…” The reporters pounced on my hesitation, their cameras flashing relentlessly. “But I have no idea how it got there,” I finished, swallowing my humiliation. “I lost that pair a while ago.” Jonny sneered. “How else? You tried to seduce him and failed, didn’t you?” But I didn’t break. I pulled out my phone and calmly played a recording. It was the audio of me calling Ava to ask for time off. Her voice was crystal clear. “Okay, I’ll cover for you. You just focus on getting better.” I held the phone out for the officer to hear, showing him the time-stamp on the recording. Ava’s face went slack with shock. “You… you recorded me?” she stammered. The next second, she was scrambling to recover. “That’s impossible! It must have been edited!” “If you don’t believe it,” I said calmly, “we can have it professionally authenticated at the station.” Ava seemed to receive a message on her phone, because she suddenly grabbed the officer’s sleeve. “Officer, I just got the bank’s surveillance footage! It’s much more reliable evidence than some recording!” The video that played on her screen made my blood run cold. It showed me, after leaving the bank, returning to my station to process Mr. Davies’s transaction. The “me” in the video was wearing the exact same beige trench coat I had on today, right down to the hairstyle. A smug, triumphant look crossed Ava’s face. “See? Who are you trying to fool with an edited recording?” “Everyone, look closely! She asked for a day off, then turned right around to scam an old man!” “That’s impossible! I was at the hospital getting my blood drawn! The police and the hospital have complete records!” “This is obviously a deepfake!” I whirled on Ava. “Do you get some kind of sick thrill from framing me?” She stood up straighter. “What are you talking about? That’s you in the video. I didn’t have time to fake anything. You’re just a coward who can’t admit what you’ve done!” Jonny immediately jumped in to support her. “Ava is just trying to help you get on the right path! If you can’t even see that, then I want a divorce!” The crowd began to stir again, a fresh wave of murmurs washing over me. My temples throbbed. Remembering the tragedy of my past life, I gritted my teeth. “I have video evidence, too!” The traffic cop retrieved his body camera from his patrol car. “From 9:10 AM onward, Ms. Harris was under my surveillance the entire time. That includes the blood draw at the hospital, which was also fully recorded.” He played the video. The footage clearly showed my movements at the exact same time as the bank video, creating a direct and impossible conflict. The scene fell into a dead silence. Faced with two completely contradictory videos, everyone was stunned.

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The day high school ended. My sister was raped and her body dumped. The killer was never found. Ten years later. I went live online and confessed. [I’m the one who raped and murdered my sister.] The internet exploded. My girlfriend broke up with me, my boss fired me in a rage, and my inbox flooded with messages so vile I couldn’t read them. In the interrogation room. A detective watched me, his eyes sharp. “We did find male DNA on your sister’s body back then,” he said. “It doesn’t match yours.” “So what is this all about? What’s your real game here?” 1 [So, streamer, you’re really saying you raped your 18-year-old sister right after she finished her finals, and then you dumped her body in the woods??] [That was your own half-sister. Are you even human?] [Is this a script or for real? You’d sell your soul for clout!] The comments in my live stream were a torrent of fury. I sat bolt upright under the harsh glare of the overhead light, the white glow making the world feel a little hazy. “That’s right,” I said, my voice steady. “I did it.” The moment the words left my lips, my stream blew up. Viewers flooded in so fast the chat began to lag. Newcomers were lost, so the regulars quickly brought them up to speed: [The Brookwood County Jane Doe case. It’s infamous around here.] [The victim was on her way home from her last day of school. It was just a two-mile walk. The killer raped her, mutilated her… He even pulled out her intestines and tied them in a knot…] [I went to high school with her. The victim, Lyla, was beautiful and kind. She got the highest SAT score in the state. She was a shoo-in for an Ivy League school!] [Back then, her father offered a $100,000 reward for any leads, but they never found the bastard. After that, no one in our town let their kids walk anywhere alone.] Another comment chimed in: [I lived in their neighborhood! Her brother, Liam, used to be so good to her. He’d buy her candy all the time. He even dropped out of school and took on odd jobs just so she could stay in a good high school.] [Reading that now sends a chill down my spine. Who knows how long he was abusing her in secret…] The chat room erupted. [You disgusting animal!! You destroyed a genius!] [I hope you rot in hell, streamer!] [Hey streamer, I bought you a VIP ticket for the express lane to hell. Next time you see a semi, just do a swan dive in front of it, will ya? Give the driver a little scare.] People started spamming the police. [@BrookwoodPD, get in here! We’ve got a live one!] In the middle of the chaos, a pig’s head emoji suddenly appeared over my face. Someone had sent me a gag gift. I froze for a second, then a shameless smile spread across my face. “Hey, thanks for the gift,” I said. “And we just hit 100,000 followers. Thanks for all the attention, everyone.” 2 That just made them angrier. [Shameless!!] [I’m now convinced some people are just demons reincarnated.] [Did you really kill your sister or is this just a sick stunt for followers? You’ll do your time for this fake-out and then come back to open an online store?] [Don’t worry, I’ve already called the cops! If he’s telling the truth, he’s going to prison for life! If he’s lying, it’s a public disturbance charge, and he’ll still get locked up!] [Why is this scumbag still allowed to stream and make money? Everyone, report his account!] A red warning box popped up on my screen. [Your stream has been reported for disturbing content. Please moderate your broadcast.] By now, my stream had skyrocketed. From number one in Brookwood County, to number one in the “Lifestyle” category, to the top of the entire platform. Over a million people were watching. I figured the only reason I was still live was because the police were using it to pinpoint my location. Otherwise, the platform would have banned me instantly. A few viewers caught on. [Hey, everyone, stop reporting him. What if he logs off and makes a run for it?] Just then, a comment from an account named “Officer Miller” appeared: [We have officers en route.] [Justice may be delayed, but it is never denied.] I shrugged at the camera. “Don’t worry,” I said. “I’m not going anywhere.” I leaned in closer, looking directly into the lens, and spoke each word with chilling clarity. “I’m at 6 Garden Apartments, Unit 502.” “I’ll be waiting for you, Officer.” 3 In the interrogation room, two officers sat across from me. The younger one glared at me every few seconds. The name on his badge was Miller—probably the righteous “Officer Miller” from my chat. The older detective, however, was calm, even offering me a small, disarming smile. “No need to be tense, Liam. We’re just here to ask a few questions.” “What you said on your live stream… was it all true?” I nodded. “Every word.” His expression hardened. “Can you describe the events of that day?” I closed my eyes, dredging up the memory. “June 8th, 2013. A day I’ll never forget.” “It was the last day of final exams. My dad was ecstatic. He’d already booked a table to celebrate, ordered flowers, and sent me to pick up a cake for my sister, Lyla.” “Lyla’s school was about two miles from our house. I was on my way back from the bakery when I saw her walking home.” “It was hot that day. She wasn’t in her uniform, just a simple white dress. I followed behind her, my eyes fixed on the pale, smooth skin of her calves. I realized, somewhere along the way, she’d blossomed. She was a woman now.” “I don’t know… something just snapped. I came up from behind, clamped a hand over her mouth, and dragged her into a nearby alley. And I… I took her.” The old detective’s voice was steady. “And why did you mutilate her?” “Because…” I paused, a sneer twisting my lips. “She fought back.” “Why would she fight back?” I asked, my voice rising. “I was so good to her. The money for her school? That was me, working my ass off! She was so pretty and perfect, all because of me. What was wrong with letting me have a little fun?” Officer Miller slammed his hand on the table, his face contorted with rage. “She was your sister, you sick bastard!” I laughed, a short, ugly sound. “Maybe not. Her mom was a tramp. She cheated on my dad, that’s why they got divorced. Heh. Mother and daughter… both bitches.” The older detective cut me off. “Was this the first time you assaulted her?” “Yes,” I said. “But I’d touched her before. Kissed her at home.” Officer Miller let out a loud, contemptuous snort. The detective pressed on. “Why did you choose the alley? You could have waited until she was home, like the other times you mentioned.” I hesitated. “Like I said, it was a spur-of-the-moment thing. Besides, it’s more exciting outdoors.” Miller looked like he was about to lunge across the table and strangle me. The older detective put a restraining hand on his arm. “And then what happened?” the detective asked. My fingers twitched, a nervous tremor. I glanced at the case file on the table in front of him and smiled, a wide, triumphant grin. “The rest is all in that file you’re looking at.” “I used a knife. 36 times. I pulled out her intestines. I was going to tie them into a pretty butterfly knot, but my hands were too slippery with blood… so I just kind of tangled them up.” 4 “Did you hate her?” “Maybe,” I mused. “When her mom was in charge, she was never good to me. Always shorting me on my allowance.” “Eventually, I started to hate Lyla, too.” “I hated how she knew nothing, how she’d act all innocent and ask me for things. ‘Brother, can you buy me this dress? Brother, can I have money for a milkshake?’ All while I was breaking my back for her.” I curled my lip, continuing my story. “When I came to my senses, I wiped my prints off the weapon. The alley had no cameras. I left her there, clothes torn, and walked home with the cake like nothing happened. I even said hello to a neighbor on the way.” “It wasn’t until 8 PM that night, when my dad still couldn’t reach her, that he finally called the police.” I chuckled mockingly. “You cops were a bunch of useless fools back then. Rushed around for weeks and found nothing. And now, ten years later, the case is colder than a morgue slab.” The old detective didn’t take the bait. Instead, his gaze sharpened. “So why confess now? And why do it on a live stream?” “For the clout,” I said with an indifferent shrug. “Making money is hard these days. I’m tired of working. I figured I could become an influencer, rake in millions. Didn’t you see? One hour on stream and I gained over a hundred thousand followers.” “A while back, some girl went viral for being the ‘Hottest Fugitive.’ I figured I could aim for ‘Most Handsome Killer.’” The detective was silent for a moment. Then he asked, “And what evidence do you have to support any of this?” “Lyla was buried,” I said. “You can get a court order, exhume the body. The DNA in her system will prove it.” “It’s been ten years. I assume your forensics department isn’t as useless as it used to be. Don’t disappoint me.” This time, Officer Miller couldn’t hold back. “Of course it’s not!” he roared at me. “Nothing stays buried forever. Every crime leaves a trace. Liam, I swear to God, I will see you brought to justice!” I didn’t argue. I just smiled, a faint, chilling curve of my lips. “I’m counting on it.”

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It was for Julie’s birthday. I was hiding in the supply closet of her office, a surprise cake balanced on my knees, waiting to jump out. Then I heard his voice, thin and fragile, just outside the door. Nolan. Her childhood friend, the one who was always sick. “So you’re really with him? With Leo?” he asked, his voice laced with a tremor of disbelief. Julie’s reply was a shard of ice. “It’s just an act, Nolan.” A pause. Then she delivered the killing blow. “He has to be. He’s Rh-negative, just like you.” I finally remembered. She’d asked me out right after the company health screening, the one where they’d tested our blood. 1 “So… you’re only with him for my sake?” Nolan’s voice cracked, full of a dawning, vulnerable hope. “Of course,” Julie said softly. The rustle of expensive fabric filled the silence. Through the thin slat of the closet door, I saw them embrace. A flush of color crept into Nolan’s pale, almost translucent face. At the same time, the warmth in my own chest turned cold, then froze solid. I looked down at the cake in my hands. The cheerful red heart piped onto the frosting seemed to mock me, a bloody, sarcastic smear. “Okay,” Julie murmured, pulling away. “I should get you back.” “Are you worried Leo will see me here?” Nolan asked, a hint of a pout in his tone. Julie hesitated for a fraction of a second. “No. Your condition just stabilized. You can’t be away from the hospital for too long.” “Alright,” he relented, though his eyes lingered on her, full of a possessive longing. He opened the door and left. Julie followed a moment later. The office plunged back into a dead, suffocating silence. My limbs felt like lead as I pushed the closet door open and stumbled back to my own desk in the open-plan area. My colleague, Sarah, noticed the cake. “Hey, you never gave it to the boss?” I couldn’t meet her eyes. “She wasn’t in.” A knot of acid twisted in my gut, so sharp it made me double over. I collapsed into my chair, resting my forehead on the cool surface of the desk, waiting for the wave of pain to recede. When it finally did, I wiped a sheen of cold sweat from my brow and opened a new document. I started typing my resignation letter. I’d only gotten a few words down when she returned. Her eyes landed on the cake instantly. They lit up, a brilliant, false warmth I now saw for what it was. “Is that for me?” she asked, her voice bright and eager. Sarah, ever helpful, chimed in before I could speak. “It is, Ms. Vance! Leo was going to surprise you in your office…” Panic flickered across Julie’s face, a tiny, almost imperceptible crack in her perfect mask. “Leo? You were in my office?” I shot Sarah a look, silencing her before she could say more. “Yeah,” I said, my voice flat. “But you were out.” She visibly relaxed, a soft sigh escaping her lips. “Right. I was just seeing a client out.” A client. If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I might have even believed her. A bitter smile formed on my lips. She was so good at this. It clearly wasn’t her first time lying. It all made sense now. Miracles don’t just happen. A woman like Julie Vance—wealthy, beautiful, the heir to the Vance Corporation—would never fall for a nobody like me. Not for who I was, anyway. Ignoring my silence, she reached for the cake. “Thank you, honey. I’m starving.” I snatched it away before her fingers could touch it, stood up, and dumped the whole thing into the trash can by my desk. “It’s spoiled,” I said. “Can’t be eaten.” She stared, bewildered. “But it looked perfectly fine.” “Some things look fine on the outside,” I said, my voice dangerously quiet, “but they’re completely rotten to the core.” That’s when she finally realized something was wrong. She leaned in closer, her brow furrowed in a flawless imitation of concern. “Leo, what’s going on today? Is something on your mind?” Her gaze dropped to my computer screen. Her voice shot up, sharp with alarm. “Why are you writing a resignation letter?” “I’m not feeling well. I don’t want to work here anymore.” My pale face and the lingering sweat on my brow were perfect evidence. Her concern sharpened, becoming urgent. “What? What’s wrong? Why are you suddenly unwell?” The worry in her eyes was so convincing it almost made me doubt what I’d heard. This was the Julie I thought I knew. The woman who would panic more than I did anytime I got so much as a paper cut. The woman whose gentleness had made me fall for her. But now I knew. She wasn’t worried about me. She was worried about her walking, talking blood bank. A humorless laugh escaped my lips. “It’s nothing. I’ve just always been a bit fragile.” Julie’s brow tightened. “If it’s not serious, then don’t talk about resigning. I won’t approve it.” “I’ve already decided. You’re my boss, not my owner. You can’t legally force me to stay.” “You…” She was getting angry now. “I’m your girlfriend, for God’s sake! Can’t you at least discuss major life decisions with me?” I looked at her, my eyes cold. “Then let’s fix that. We’re through. As of now, we are nothing to each other.” “Why?” she demanded, her voice cracking with disbelief. “What did I do wrong?” Heads were starting to turn in the office. The curious gazes of our colleagues felt like physical pressure. Julie took a deep, steadying breath and grabbed my hand. “Let’s talk about this outside.” “I have nothing to say to you.” I tried to pull my hand away, but her grip was like steel. “Then at least give me a reason!” Her eyes were red-rimmed, glistening with tears. She looked for all the world like a woman who couldn’t bear to lose me. But I knew better. She couldn’t bear to lose my blood. I laughed, a harsh, grating sound. “The reason is you—” My sentence was cut short by the sharp ring of her phone. She glanced at the screen, and her grip on my hand loosened as she stepped away to answer it. I couldn’t hear what the person on the other end was saying, but I saw the color drain from her face. “…Okay, okay, I’m on my way,” she said, her voice tight with panic. She ended the call and lunged for me, grabbing my arm. “Leo, you have to come with me. Now.” Her face was a mask of sheer terror. Her nails dug into my bicep, sharp and painful. “What are you doing? Let go of me!” She ignored me, dragging me toward the elevator. The icy wind that hit us as we exited the building lobby carried a terrible premonition. I dug my heels in, yanking my arm from her grasp. “Let go! What the hell is going on?” Julie grabbed me again. “Get in the car. I’ll explain on the way.” I shook my head, resolute. “Not until you tell me what this is about.” She wasn’t listening. She was all brute force now, half-pulling, half-shoving me toward a black Range Rover idling at the curb. “Leo, now is not the time to be stubborn!” With a final, desperate shove, she pushed me into the back seat. She slid in after me and barked at the driver, “Go!” The car lurched forward into traffic. Panic clawed at my throat. “Where are you taking me?” She finally looked at me, her eyes stripped of all pretense. “It’s Nolan,” she said, her voice flat and cold. “He was in a car accident. He’s losing a lot of blood. You have the same blood type as him…” Her words hung in the air, and in that instant, I knew. I knew exactly what she intended to do. Nolan. Rh-negative. He already had a blood disorder, and now a car crash on top of it. He was in desperate need of a transfusion. On any other day, I might have done it. But today? After what I’d heard? This blood was the one thing she wanted from me. And I would rather die than give it to her. “Julie, you’ve gone too far!” I yelled, my voice raw. “Blood donation has to be voluntary! This is kidnapping! It’s assault!” I had never raised my voice to her before. My violent reaction seemed to startle her; a flicker of conflict crossed her face. Then, her phone rang again. She put it on speaker. Nolan’s voice, faint and reedy, filled the car. “Julie… where are you? I don’t think… I’m going to make it…” The last shred of hesitation in Julie’s eyes vanished. “Nolan, just hold on. I’m almost there. I have Leo with me. He has your blood type. He can save you.” “Really?” Nolan whispered. “Is… is he willing?” “I’M NOT!” I roared, lunging for the phone. Julie snatched it away, her eyes boring into me with a chilling coldness that terrified me. “It doesn’t matter if he’s willing or not.” I snapped. I swung my hand and slapped her, hard, across the face. “His life matters, but mine doesn’t? Is that it?” She clutched her cheek, her eyes blazing with fury. “It’s just a little blood, Leo! It’s not going to kill you. Can you stop being so selfish for one second?” “You’re insane! There are sick people all over the world! Why don’t you donate all your money and your own goddamn organs if you’re so generous?” “You can’t talk to her like that,” Nolan’s weak voice piped up from the phone. “Julie’s just trying to help me. I know this is an inconvenience for you… I’ll have her compensate you. Just name your price.” The implication was clear: I was just a low-life shaking them down for money. The audacity of it, the sheer, slimy condescension, was breathtaking. “You son of a bitch!” I screamed. “Using her to play the big shot with someone else’s life! You’re both disgusting.” “Leo!” Julie was truly furious now. Fearing what else I might say, she quickly soothed Nolan and hung up the phone. I glared at her, my whole body trembling with rage. “This was always the plan, wasn’t it? Keep me around as his personal blood bag? Well, you can forget it. In your dreams!” She shot me a final, dismissive glance. “You don’t have a choice in the matter. But don’t worry,” she added, as if it were a kindness. “I’ll hire a private nutritionist for you. We’ll make sure your levels stay up.” 2 The car screeched to a halt in front of the Vance Family Private Hospital. The doors were pulled open before I could even react. Men in white coats—orderlies, not doctors—pinned me down and dragged me into the sterile, cold building. Julie was right. It wasn’t up to me. No one listened to my shouts for help. They forced me onto a gurney in a small, stark room. I watched in helpless fury as they roughly shoved my sleeve up and swabbed my arm. Then, the needle. I watched my own life, dark red, draining away through a plastic tube. A dull, aching numbness spread through my arm. An exhaustion so profound it felt like it was dissolving my bones began to creep through me. Through it all, Julie stood by the glass partition, her eyes fixed on the room next door where Nolan lay. She didn’t even blink. My fingertips went numb. The world began to tilt, black spots dancing in my vision. My voice was a dry, rasping whisper. “Julie… I’m in pain. Please… make them stop.” Her gaze finally shifted to me, empty of emotion. “Just hold on a little longer, Leo. It’ll be over soon.” I tried to speak again, but no sound came out. The black spots consumed everything, and I fell into darkness. 3 I don’t know how much time passed. When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed. The room was empty. Sunlight streamed through the window, but it felt cold. I tried to move, but it felt like every ounce of strength had been siphoned out of me. My throat was sandpaper. “Nurse…” I croaked. “Water…” Only silence answered. Licking my cracked lips, I fought against a wave of dizziness and slowly, painstakingly, swung my legs over the side of the bed. My room was at the very end of a long, quiet corridor. Faint voices drifted from the other end of the hall, near the nurses’ station. I used the wall for support and shuffled toward the sound. It was coming from inside another room. Nolan’s room. The door was ajar. Through the gap, I could see a crowd: doctors, nurses, and Julie, all gathered around his bed. “The wound is healing exceptionally well, Mr. Hayes,” a doctor was saying cheerfully. “You’re a lucky man. Once you’ve fully recovered, we can proceed with the bone marrow transplant.” “Thank you, Doctor. It’s all thanks to you. And Julie… you’ve done so much for me,” Nolan said, his voice much stronger now. Julie smiled, a warm, genuine smile I hadn’t seen directed at me in a long time. “Of course. As long as you’re okay, that’s all that matters.” “How’s Leo, by the way?” Nolan asked. “Oh, he’s strong. He’ll bounce back with a few good meals,” Julie said with an airy wave of her hand. “I mean, he’s not mad at me, is he? You only did all this because of me.” Julie paused. “It doesn’t matter if he is. Saving a life is the most noble thing a person can do. He’ll understand that one day.” No, I won’t, I screamed in my head. I’m not a saint. I’m not some benevolent martyr. I just want to live. And for anyone who threatens my life, revenge is the only language I speak. I closed my eyes, forcing down the inferno of rage building inside me. While they were all preoccupied, I slipped away. I crept past the nurses’ station, down the elevator, and out the front doors of the hospital. My first stop was the police station.

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My fiancée photoshopped my head out of our engagement photos and replaced it with her first love. Then she posted it for all the world to see, with the caption: “A decade of waiting, finally answered today.” When I angrily confronted her, she was completely nonchalant. “What’s the big deal? It’s obviously photoshopped. Can’t friends have a little fun? It’s normal.” The result? On our wedding day, every single one of Ava’s friends and family thought her first love was the groom. When I pulled Ava aside, begging her to acknowledge me as her fiancé, she pretended not to know me and wrapped her arm around the other man’s. Treated like some crazed wedding crasher, I was beaten until my ribs broke and rushed to the hospital. Lying in that hospital bed, my heart finally gave out. I dialed the number of the mother I hadn’t spoken to in three years. “Mom,” I said, my voice hollow. “I’ll do it. I’ll agree to the arranged marriage.” 1 During my hospital stay, my fiancée, Ava, didn’t call once. Instead, her first love, Justin, posted a picture to his social media. Curvy and stacked. Someone’s getting lucky tonight. The accompanying photo was of Ava, dressed in lace lingerie, leaning over to shave Justin’s face. The angle was deliberately provocative. The whole image was suggestive, designed to make your mind wander. The old me would have seen that photo and immediately called her, demanding to know why they couldn’t respect boundaries, asking if she even remembered she had a fiancé, begging to know if she still loved me… But now? Staring at the picture, I felt nothing. I even managed to tap the ‘like’ button. A second later, my phone rang. It was Ava. She launched into her explanation. “Honey, don’t misunderstand. Justin’s hand got hurt at the wedding, I was just helping him shave, that’s all.” Hurt at the wedding? A cold laugh escaped my lips. Because Ava had replaced my face with Justin’s on our wedding photos, all the guests had assumed Justin was the groom. When I, the actual groom, had tried to get Ava to clarify things, to prove my identity, she’d announced to everyone, “The groom is Justin. This guy is just some pathetic dog who follows me around.” That’s when her friends and family had surrounded me, beating me to a bloody pulp. And Justin’s “injury”? He’d tried to snatch the boutonnière from my chest and pricked his finger on the pin. The difference between who she loved and who she didn’t was painfully, brutally clear. I was lying in a hospital bed, unable to move, while Justin was apparently incapacitated by a pinprick. A sharp, final pang of pain shot through my heart. In that instant, any remaining feeling I had for her vanished completely. “Mm,” I said into the phone. “I’m not misunderstanding.” “If that’s all, I’m hanging up.” But Ava, as if terrified I wouldn’t believe her, kept talking. “At the wedding, I just didn’t want Justin to feel embarrassed when everyone mistook him for the groom. That’s why I didn’t clear things up for you. Don’t be upset about it, okay? We can just have another wedding.” I listened silently. She was afraid of embarrassing Justin. What about me? “I don’t care,” I said, my voice flat. “You don’t need to explain.” Perhaps my lack of emotion, my failure to immediately forgive her as I always did, set her off. Her tone, previously apologetic, sharpened. “Ethan, I’ve already explained it to you. What is this attitude?” “Are you giving me the silent treatment?” I said nothing. My attitude? For all the years we’d been together, no matter what mistake she made, no matter how many of my boundaries she crossed, all she had to do was cry a little, act soft, and offer some flimsy excuse. I would instantly crumble, pulling her into my arms and comforting her. “It’s okay, it’s okay, it was my fault too. Please don’t cry. I can’t stand to see you cry.” And now, after this, she still expected me to forgive her. A profound exhaustion washed over me. Every bone in my body ached as if it were broken. Her insistent questioning continued on the other end of the line. I couldn’t take it anymore. I was about to hang up when she added one more thing. “Oh, and check yourself out of the hospital tonight. You’re a grown man, what’s a little injury? Don’t be so dramatic.” “On your way home, pick up some ribs from that famous barbecue place across town. I’m craving them.” The barbecue place was in the north. Our home was in the south. A ninety-minute round trip. She really did see me as nothing more than an errand boy. 2 I checked myself out of the hospital. The cast was still on my arm, a dull ache throbbing beneath it. I had to take a cab home. My injured hand meant the fingerprint scanner wouldn’t work, and I kept fumbling the password. Figuring Ava was home, I knocked. The person who opened the door was her first love, Justin. He welcomed me in with a broad, warm smile. “Ethan, you’re back! Ava’s in the shower.” He gestured to his hand. “Oh, man, it’s my fault. You know, my finger is injured, and Ava was worried I wouldn’t be able to use the fingerprint lock, so she changed the password.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “It’s the anniversary of the day Ava and I first got together. I bet you didn’t know that. I’ll text it to you in a bit.” An anniversary? Ava couldn’t even remember my birthday, but she remembered the anniversary of her relationship with her first love. I looked at Justin. He was wearing the matching set of couple’s pajamas that belonged to Ava and me. His hair was damp, his face cleanly shaven, and he was holding a hairdryer. Justin noticed my gaze. “Ava asked me to dry her hair for her. You have no idea, back when we were together, she used to insist on it. Couldn’t miss a single night.” He held up his hands placatingly. “Don’t get the wrong idea, we’re just friends now.” “If you’re not happy about it, here, you can do it.” Justin shoved the hairdryer into my injured hand. Just then, the bathroom door opened, and Ava emerged, wearing the same style of pajamas as Justin. She was toweling her hair dry. “Justin,” she said, “aren’t you going to dry my hair? Why aren’t you coming in?” Then, she saw me. Her face, flushed pink from the steam, instantly went pale. She rushed over to explain. “I was just tired, so I asked Justin to help me with my hair. Don’t misunderstand.” Honestly, there was nothing left to misunderstand. His hand was too injured to shave. Her arms were too tired to dry her own hair. Useless on their own, but a hundred percent willing to do it for each other. I handed the hairdryer back to Justin and walked toward the bedroom. Ava grabbed me, her voice sharp with panic. “Ethan, what is your problem? You wouldn’t talk on the phone, and now you’re acting like this in person.” “Don’t push your luck!” Her grip on my wrist was crushing, completely disregarding my fresh injury. “And where are the ribs? Didn’t I tell you to get ribs?” “Why don’t you ever listen to me? Go out and buy them now!” The pain was sharp, and my patience finally snapped. “I’m not buying them!” I shook her hand off and continued into the bedroom. The sight that greeted me was a floor littered with clothes—a jacket, underwear—and on the bed, a pair of torn stockings and boxer shorts. And there, hanging from the frame of our wedding portrait, was a single, snapped black bra strap. 3 Ava scrambled in front of me, shutting the door. “I was just changing in here. It’s a bit of a mess.” “Go buy the ribs, and I’ll have the room cleaned up by the time you get back.” I gave her one last look, then turned and went into the guest room. The walls were thin. I could hear everything from the living room. “Ava, don’t be angry. I don’t have to have the ribs. Ethan’s in a bad mood, you shouldn’t make things harder for him.” “If you’re hungry, how about I cook for you?” “Oh, Justin, you’re just so generous and forgiving. Not like him. I tell him something a hundred times, and he still insists on defying me.” “Okay, okay. Let me dry your hair first. I’d be heartbroken if you caught a cold.” The whirring of the hairdryer started up. It was the perfect cover. I dialed the number of the mother I hadn’t spoken to in three years. “Mom,” I said, “about that arranged marriage you mentioned. I’ll do it.” My mother’s voice was filled with joy. “Oh, son, you’ve finally come to your senses! Your father and I are getting old, and you’re our only child. You have no idea… for that woman, you gave up your inheritance, everything. These past five years, your father’s hair has turned white with worry.” “We heard about what happened at the wedding. A woman like that is not worthy of you. She’s flighty and unfaithful, she doesn’t deserve you.” “But since you’ve agreed… how does the eighth of next month sound for the wedding?” My mother’s voice was now tinged with the frailness of age. My eyes welled up. I had been so foolish. I had thought love was everything. When my parents disapproved of Ava, I had run away with her without a second thought, cutting off all contact for five years. But all I ever had to do was turn around, and they were still there, waiting for me. “Okay,” I said, my voice thick. “I’ll wrap things up here and come home. You two can help me with the wedding preparations.” “Wedding? What wedding?” The guest room door opened without warning. I coolly hung up the phone and looked at Ava. She was holding a takeout container, which she placed on the nightstand. “What were you saying about a wedding?” “Didn’t I tell you we’d have to postpone it? Are you that desperate to get married? Afraid of ending up an old bachelor?” Seeing the anxiety on her face, I answered calmly, “I was just explaining the situation to a friend.” Ava visibly relaxed. She opened the takeout box, revealing the ribs inside. “You didn’t buy them, but Justin did.” “He was afraid you’d be upset, so he bought you a whole rack. Ethan, let’s just drop this, okay? Don’t be so unforgiving.” I covered my mouth and nose, turning my head away. Annoyance flashed in Ava’s eyes. “What is that reaction? Justin was kind enough to apologize, and you’re acting disgusted?” “Are you just going to waste his kindness? Ethan, don’t take this too far!” I took it too far? “You know I have a physical aversion to barbecue, don’t you?” 4 Back when Ava and I first ran away together, we had less than two thousand dollars to our names. To help me adjust to a normal life, Ava got me a job at a popular barbecue joint. At the time, she’d said, “Ethan, I love barbecue. If you work here, does that mean I’ll get to eat it all the time?” For that one sentence, I spent my days plucking feathers and cleaning hundreds of chickens, my body permanently steeped in the cloying, greasy smell. Over time, I developed a visceral disgust for it. Even the cooked meat made me sick. Back then, Ava would ignore the smell, throwing her arms around me the moment I got home. “Ethan, I don’t like barbecue anymore. Please, quit that job. I can’t stand to see you working so hard every day.” So, what is love? I told her to take the food away. Ava opened her mouth, then closed it. Finally, all she could manage was: “I’m sorry, Ethan. I forgot.” She didn’t forget. She just didn’t love me anymore. In the past, when I came home from work, she would have my clothes washed and would scrub the whole apartment with disinfectant, just so I wouldn’t have to smell a hint of that greasy smoke. She once stood in hundred-degree heat wearing a stuffy mascot costume, handing out flyers just to buy me a birthday cake. She had accepted the simple ring I wove for her from blades of grass, tears streaming down her face as she said yes to my proposal, promising to be my wife. But you can’t chase the past. I took a deep breath, but the smell of the barbecue still drifted into my nose. I couldn’t stop myself from gagging. Ava quickly tied up the bag. “What do you want to eat, then? I’ll make you something.” I was about to say I didn’t need anything. A knock came at the door. “Ava, I spilled the container! I burned my hand! Can you take me to the hospital?” Hearing Justin’s voice, Ava immediately rushed to the door, her face etched with concern. “How could you be so careless? It’s all red! Your hands are so precious, we can’t let them get scarred.” Before she left, she remembered to toss a line over her shoulder to me. “Ethan, I’m taking Justin to the hospital. He’s a pianist. His hands can’t have anything happen to them.” The door slammed shut, leaving me in the silent room with the takeout container on the nightstand. After a moment, I picked it up and walked out to throw it away. Just as I reached the hall, I saw them by the elevator. Ava was holding Justin’s hand, blowing gently on the small red patch of skin. The elevator dinged. They stepped inside. A single door closed, separating two worlds. And sealing the end of our future together.

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1 After luring me abroad, Randall O’Neill held a lavish engagement party with his first love back home. I saw it on a stranger’s phone—him, taking her hand, slipping my wedding ring onto her finger. The guests were buzzing with surprise. “So she’s the one Mr. O’Neill truly loves!” Randall just smiled, a silent confirmation. Then, he announced he would offer the legendary stallion, Obsidian, as a betrothal gift to his new fiancée. Seeing this, a calm smile touched my lips. My heart, weary and heavy, simply teleported back across the ocean. What Randall didn’t know was that I came from a thousand years in the past, here only to repay a debt to his family. And Obsidian, the legendary stallion? He was my companion, my steed. I had given him to Randall as a gift on the day we registered our marriage. Now, watching their fingers intertwine, a profound exhaustion washed over me. A promise that spanned a millennium, shattered in a single moment. It was time for Obsidian and me to go home. … Randall probably never imagined I could teleport, faster than any airplane he could charter. By the time I returned, his proposal to Isabelle had been a resounding success. Photos of their blissful moment still scrolled across the grand screens of the hotel ballroom. I was sitting in the office of the Keeper of the Veil, the guardian of time travel, watching it all unfold. The Keeper, Silas, was trembling. “My lady,” he stammered, “are you sure? Perhaps Mr. O’Neill has a reason for all this… a difficult situation…” I pointed a slender finger at the giant screen outside the window, at the intimate photos of the happy couple. “Are you suggesting I’m blind, Silas?” He shook his head frantically, trying to placate me. “But Mr. O’Neill gave explicit orders to have everything restored to normal before your return! He still cares for you, my lady, he does—” I raised a hand, cutting him off. My voice was sharp as ice. “A mere Keeper,” I said, “after a few days as Randall O’Neill’s assistant, have you forgotten your place and your duty?” In truth, I knew exactly what Randall was doing. Isabelle was his childhood sweetheart, a dream from his youth. Now that she was back, they had a silent understanding. This was their chance to give their “missed connection” a perfect, storybook ending. This engagement party was their gift to themselves. He had coaxed me into taking a trip abroad precisely to keep me in the dark while he and Isabelle carried on with their sordid affair. He wanted to give her a love that was bold and public, while I remained his secret, hidden wife. But I saw it. And I would not tolerate impurities in my love. If Randall chose her, then he could have nothing to do with me. Silas, shaking, processed the paperwork and stamped my release. “The full reversal process will take seven days,” he informed me. I slammed my palm on the desk, shattering it into splinters. “Seven days is too long. You have three.” I turned and left without another word. Behind me, I heard Silas stamping his feet in frustration. “Oh, Mr. O’Neill, what have you done? You foolish, foolish man! It’s over now. You can live with your regret.” Once outside, I teleported to a high vantage point, a spot with a perfect view of the hotel where they were celebrating. The guests had all departed. Through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows of the presidential suite, I saw Randall and Isabelle, their gazes tangled, electric. They were wrapped around each other. After several glasses of champagne, Isabelle had gone limp in his arms. I saw a flicker of conflict in Randall’s eyes, but it passed. His hands slid around her slender waist, and he carried her upstairs. Even though I knew it was over, I picked up my phone and called him. “Randall,” I said, my voice light, “where are you? Do you miss me?” His voice was thick with guilt, trembling slightly. “Cathy! Of course I’m at home. I miss you so much. I wish I could fly to my beautiful wife’s side right this second.” A cold smile touched my lips. Oh, really? Then let me grant your wish. “Then come pick me up. I’m at the airport.” Randall shot to his feet, glancing at Isabelle, who was now stirring on the bed. His brow furrowed. “Cathy, isn’t your flight supposed to land tomorrow night? Why don’t you head home first? I have to leave right now, the office just called an emergency meeting.” “Alright,” I said, and hung up. A chill seeped into my very bones. I had given him a chance. He chose Isabelle. The moment he hung up, Randall frantically ordered his subordinates to take down all the public screens and begin damage control. On the bed, Isabelle let out a soft moan. Randall turned, a fond look on his face as he gently pulled the covers over her. She had been faking it, of course. Seeing her chance, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down for a kiss. Without a moment’s hesitation, Randall loosened his tie, unbuttoned his shirt, and their bodies became a mess of tangled limbs. Watching them, I couldn’t say I wasn’t hurt, but a greater sense of release washed over me. After centuries of wandering, my heart longed for my family from a thousand years ago. Now, finally, I could go home. The sight of their carnal embrace disgusted me. I had no interest in watching the rest. I turned and went back to the house Randall and I had shared. As I was packing the few things I had left there, a picture message arrived on my phone. It was from Isabelle. It showed her and Randall, locked in a passionate kiss, her body covered in love bites. Along with the photo came a single, taunting sentence. “Cathy, has he ever been this wild with you? Two boxes of condoms are already empty.” A sharp pain lanced through my heart, but I was never one to take an insult lying down. I sent back a photo of my own. “I don’t know about Randall, but I’ve certainly seen the pictures of you getting wild with that muscle-bound trainer in Europe.” Message sent. I could just imagine Isabelle, sleepless and frantic all night. It was wonderful. I slept like a baby. 2 The next day, after clearing out my room, I went to the stables to retrieve Obsidian. Obsidian was more than a horse I had brought from the past; he was family. He had once saved Randall’s life when he’d nearly been thrown from another horse. Randall had always doted on him, even building him a private, state-of-the-art stable. But I was sorry. I could part with everything else, but not Obsidian. I was taking him back to our time. Our family was waiting. The moment I teleported to the stables, I heard his cry of pain. I rushed inside, and the sight that greeted me made my blood boil with rage. Obsidian was chained, and Isabelle—holding a barbed whip she’d gotten from who-knows-where—was lashing him relentlessly. Her eyes were filled with a vicious cruelty. Every strike was meant to maim. “You ugly beast! You think you’re worthy of being my wedding gift? One day, I’ll throw you and that bitch of a master out of here!” she shrieked. “That pathetic bitch dared to threaten me with a photo? I’ve already had all the evidence destroyed. Let’s see how she threatens me now!” Obsidian screamed in agony, his glossy black coat split open, blood pouring from the wounds and pooling on the pristine grass in a shocking, crimson puddle. The scene drove me to the brink of madness. I flashed over to Isabelle, grabbed her, and delivered a series of sharp, stinging slaps. She shrieked in terror, her viciousness vanishing the moment she saw my face. She immediately began to beg. “Cathy! What are you doing here?! No, I’m sorry, please, don’t hit me!” I sneered and raised the whip, ready to bring it down on her. But it never landed. Randall caught it mid-air. The second Isabelle saw her protector, she burst into theatrical, tear-streaked sobs. “Randall, save me! Cathy’s gone crazy! She’s trying to kill me with this whip!” Randall, who I hadn’t seen in days, didn’t even spare me a glance. He rushed to Isabelle’s side, comforting her. “Don’t be afraid, I’m here now. She won’t dare to touch you.” Finally, he looked up at me, his voice a block of ice. “Cathy, what is the meaning of this?” I pointed a trembling finger at Obsidian and told him exactly what Isabelle had done. Isabelle panicked, her sobs growing louder. “Randall, darling, I didn’t mean to! It was Obsidian, he was being disobedient, he kicked me in the stomach! I just lost my temper and hit him a few times, I didn’t realize I’d grabbed the wrong whip… I really didn’t mean it…” It was the most ridiculous excuse I had ever heard. But Randall believed her. He lifted Isabelle’s shirt to look at her stomach. Sure enough, there was a faint red mark. He turned his cold glare on me. “Cathy, Obsidian is just an animal. So what if Isabelle hit him? It wouldn’t matter if she beat him to death. How can you compare a beast to a person? You shouldn’t take advantage of my affection for you to attack Isabelle. Apologize to her. Now!” My heart shuddered. Obsidian had saved his life, and now he was calling him a beast. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “Apologize? Fine. On one condition: we get a divorce.” At the mention of divorce, Randall flew into a rage. “Cathy, have you not caused enough trouble? You want a divorce over something so trivial? Can you stop being so unreasonable?” “Unreasonable? Why don’t you check the security cameras? Then we’ll see who’s being unreasonable!” At the mention of cameras, Isabelle, who had been enjoying the show, went pale. “Randall, darling, I’m fine, really. Please don’t fight with Cathy because of me…” She made a show of trying to stand, looking faint. Randall immediately rushed to support her, his glare fixed on me. “Cathy, Isabelle is being the bigger person here. I don’t want to argue with you. Go home and think about what you’ve done.” He then helped Isabelle walk away. As they reached a safe distance, she turned and flipped me the middle finger. I turned back to Obsidian, unfastening his chains. I whispered in his ear. “My brave boy, want to get some revenge?” Obsidian understood. He let out a powerful neigh and shot forward like an arrow, closing the distance to Randall and Isabelle in a heartbeat. With a single, powerful kick, he sent them both sprawling, face-first, into the mud. I clutched my stomach, doubled over with laughter. Randall glared at me, his face a mask of fury. Isabelle, however, was more cunning. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she collapsed in a dramatic faint. Randall panicked. He made a huge scene, rushing her to his family’s hospital. I stroked Obsidian’s neck as he trotted back to me, sighing. “Well, my boy, I think we might be in a little trouble.” 3 When the test results came back from the hospital, an exhausted Randall called me. “Cathy, look what your beast has done. The doctor said Isabelle was kicked in her womb. She’ll never be able to have children. This is your fault. Come to the hospital and apologize. If you beg, maybe she’ll forgive you for my sake.” My hand holding the phone trembled slightly. Obsidian was incredibly intelligent. He would never have truly harmed her. Besides, even I, an outsider, knew that Isabelle had spent years planting her own people throughout Randall’s hospital network. Forging a medical report would be child’s play for her. When I arrived at the O’Neill Family Hospital, a group of doctors glared at me with contempt. “How can another woman be so vicious? Forcing her animal to attack like that.” “Please. Everyone knows she’s just jealous that Ms. Isabelle is Mr. O’Neill’s first love.” I ignored them, my gaze fixed on Randall, who was silently feeding Isabelle a spoonful of medicine. He hadn’t told anyone about our secret marriage, and it was clear he had no intention of clarifying things now. I remembered my father’s words about the life debt. I could tolerate being nameless, but Obsidian was my line in the sand. An apology was out of the question. But I was willing to offer compensation. “Randall,” I said, my voice steady, “this entire incident began because Isabelle attacked Obsidian first. She was the one in the wrong. However, I am willing to give her this hospital as compensation—” Before I could finish, Isabelle’s face went white. She pouted, tears welling in her eyes. “Randall, darling, she’s cursing me! Who wants a hospital as compensation? I just want that beast dead! Or I want its stomach cut open!” Isabelle screamed hysterically, and Randall wrapped his arms around her, soothing her. “Okay, okay, Isabelle, don’t get excited. I promise you, darling, whatever you want…” A cold laugh escaped my lips. “Randall, if you dare touch a single hair on Obsidian’s head, I will make you and Isabelle pay a price you cannot imagine.” Randall stood up, his fingers digging into my arm as he leaned in, his voice a venomous hiss in my ear. “Cathy, what do you have to threaten me with now? Have you forgotten that after we married, you signed all of your shares over to me? You’re not the Vice President of O’Neill Industries anymore!” He smirked. “Be a good girl. Be the wife behind the man. Don’t talk back to your husband.” His words were like a snake’s poison. I looked up at his triumphant face, and my heart turned to ice. Was this truly the descendant of the man who saved my grandfather? How could he be so selfish, so utterly repulsive? Seeing the dawning realization on my face, Randall smiled. Isabelle, too, looked satisfied. The medical staff in the room snickered. But I simply pulled out my phone. “Hello, Linda,” I said into the phone. “Issue a corporate directive. Effective immediately, Ms. Isabelle is blacklisted from all O’Neill Industries subsidiaries and affiliates. Anyone who dares to employ her or work with her is to be terminated, no exceptions.” Randall stared at me in disbelief. He lunged forward, snatching the phone from my hand and smashing it on the ground. “Cathy, are you insane? It’s just a horse! Do you have to be so malicious?” He grabbed my wrist, his voice a growl through clenched teeth. I grinned. “Randall, have you forgotten? Obsidian saved your life. Without him, you would have broken your neck and died during that riding lesson years ago. You wouldn’t even be here to be such an ungrateful bastard.” Randall fell silent. He let go of my hand, looking helplessly at Isabelle on the bed. Finally, he turned back to me. “Cathy, this is the last time. If Obsidian dares to hurt anyone again, I will not be so lenient.” His tone shifted, becoming cold and official. “However, I will be sending out a memo. From this day forward, you no longer have any say or decision-making power in the company. To compensate Isabelle, I will be appointing her to your former position as Vice President, and she will join the core management team.” At this, Isabelle’s eyes lit up with joy. The doctors and nurses in the room immediately began congratulating her. I just laughed, looking at him as if he were the biggest fool in the world. Did Randall really think I had made a real phone call? They didn’t realize it, but in that moment, I had completely and cleanly severed myself from O’Neill Industries. 4 Seeing that I had no objection to his decision, Randall let out a sigh of relief. He dismissed the medical staff, then turned back to whisper a few sweet nothings to Isabelle, which made her blush deeply. He pulled me out to the parking garage, his expression and tone instantly softening. He looked at me with deep affection as he explained. “My darling wife, there were so many people there. You have to help me keep up appearances, right?” He continued, “And about Isabelle… yes, she’s my first love, that’s true. But I also feel sorry for her. Both of her parents are gone. In this whole world, I’m the only one she can rely on. Do you understand?” I smirked, a bitter irony twisting my lips. Randall seemed to have forgotten that in this world, I, too, was all alone. But it didn’t matter. After tomorrow, Cathy would cease to exist. I couldn’t care less what kind of sordid life he wanted to live with Isabelle. As for our marriage certificate, the Keeper would handle its annulment. After his little speech, Randall made an excuse about having work to do and left. I knew he was going back to Isabelle. Just to be safe, I took Obsidian to the Keeper’s sanctuary. With that done, I returned home. The moment I opened the door, I saw Isabelle lounging on the sofa, eating fruit, while Randall massaged her calves. Seeing me, Randall jumped up and began to explain. “Isabelle has nowhere else to go…” I waved a hand, a generous smile on my face. “It’s fine. Do you want me to give you the master bedroom?” Randall frowned, but Isabelle, surprisingly, was incredibly polite to me. “Cathy, I’m so sorry to impose. Don’t worry, as soon as I find a place, I’ll move out. I promise I won’t disturb you and Randall.” Her sincere expression sent a shiver down my spine. After Randall went upstairs to prepare a room for her, Isabelle sat across from me and began to prepare tea. “Heh,” she began with a little laugh. “Randall told me he hasn’t touched you yet. He says you’re an old-fashioned prude, insisting on a grand wedding before you’ll sleep with him. What century are you living in? A woman like you will never be able to hold onto a man.” I watched her skillful, practiced movements as she prepared the tea, saying nothing. She placed one cup in front of me, and one in front of herself. I almost laughed out loud. Such a clumsy, pathetic attempt at a setup. Just as we heard Randall’s footsteps coming down the stairs, Isabelle suddenly raised her voice, a bright smile on her face. “Wow, Cathy, the tea you made smells amazing!” With that, she drank her cup in one gulp. Randall reached the bottom of the stairs just in time to see it. He was about to praise my tea-making skills when Isabelle suddenly coughed, spraying a mouthful of blood onto the floor. Randall was horrified. He rushed over to her, frantic. Isabelle clutched his shirt, her voice weak. “Randall, darling… I tried so hard to please Cathy, but it seems she still can’t accept me…” At that moment, any explanation I could offer would have been pointless. I expected Randall to fly into a rage, to lecture me and protect Isabelle. Instead, he calmly called for an ambulance to take Isabelle to the hospital. Then he walked me back to my room and kissed my forehead. “My love, so much has happened these past few days. You must be exhausted. I haven’t made you my special soup in so long. Tonight, I’ll make some for you, to help you recover.” He turned and went downstairs. I watched his retreating back, an infinite coldness spreading through my heart. If I didn’t know what he was planning now, I was no better than a fool. After he coaxed me into drinking the sweet soup, a look of relief flashed across Randall’s face. I pretended my consciousness was fading. His soft voice whispered in my ear. “Sleep, Cathy. Sleep now. Don’t blame me…” Next, I was carried into a black van. Randall, his face a mask of sorrow, kissed my forehead one last time, finally revealing his true intentions. “Cathy, I know what you’re capable of. For Isabelle’s safety, I have to do this. Just for a little while. Once you’ve cooled down, once you’ve learned to coexist peacefully with Isabelle, I’ll let you come back…”

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The day I returned, an airline official said there was a problem with my luggage. They led me to a private room. When the door opened, the scent of roses overwhelmed me—the floor covered in red petals. And there was Ethan, my Ethan, the man I once thought was the love of my life, kneeling with a ring, his eyes full of longing. The Grant family erupted in cheers. “Marry him! Say yes!” Everyone expected me to cry and whisper “I do.” After all, I’d spent five years worshipping him before he noticed me. But they’d forgotten. Forgotten how, three years ago, Ethan accused me of plagiarizing his protégé’s work. Forgotten how he reported me for alcoholism, blaming me for a patient’s death. I was thrown out like trash, beaten by the grieving family outside. With every door closed, I fled the country to rebuild my life. Now, Ethan’s father claimed, “He spent everything to clear your name. He’s waited for you, crying over your photo.” I stayed silent, my gaze drifting to my bag—to the marriage certificate inside. 1 “That whole incident was a huge mess, Audrey. You had to give him time to sort things out. Why did you just run off in a huff?” “He’s been a wreck these past three years because you left without a word. He barely eats, barely sleeps. He’s torn this city apart looking for you.” From the moment I’d been ushered into this room, Mr. Grant had been clinging to my hand, his words a relentless stream. He had aged considerably in three years. The sharp, judgmental glare he used to give me—the one that screamed I wasn’t good enough for his son—was gone, replaced by a weary sadness. But his words were still as sharp as ever. He was trying to paint his son as a tragic romantic hero, but all I heard was blame. Honestly, the name ‘Ethan’ sounded foreign to me now. Three years is a long time. More than enough to wash away a past that was never worth remembering in the first place. It was obvious they had no idea I was married. I gently pulled my hand from Mr. Grant’s grasp, my expression a placid mask. “Mr. Grant, Ethan and I ended things three years ago. I don’t understand why you’re telling me any of this.” The Grants stared at me, their faces a collective mask of disbelief. This was not the reaction they had anticipated from the girl who once would have done anything for Ethan. The girl who had thrown away an acceptance letter from Johns Hopkins just to work at the same city hospital as him. Just to be near him. Just to take care of him. Being a doctor is a grueling profession, but I made sure he had three home-cooked meals a day. I took on his extra surgeries to ease his workload, even when I was so exhausted I could barely stand by the end of my own shifts. I even put his name on my research papers so he could get promoted faster, forcing myself through sleepless night after sleepless night, my body growing paler and more fragile. But when Ethan finally accepted my proposal, none of it mattered. It was all worth it. Suddenly, my life was a dream. I’d return to my office to find a hot coffee on my desk, a small note with his sweet words scrawled on it. When a patient’s family got aggressive, he would step in, a solid wall of protection. As our wedding day approached, we’d spend hours planning our honeymoon, picking out venues together. He once fought with the hospital director just to get a day off so we could go try on wedding dresses. I remember the look in his eyes as I twirled on the platform in a cloud of white lace—pure, unadulterated adoration. Even the shop assistant sighed, “I’ve never seen a couple so in love.” Back then, I truly believed I must have saved a nation in a past life to deserve a man like him. And then, a new doctor transferred to our department. Her name was Chloe. From that day on, Ethan stopped talking about the wedding. The coffee on my desk disappeared. At first, I told myself he was just busy, mentoring the new subordinate. I didn’t want to bother him. But then the venue coordinator called, saying they needed Ethan’s final signature. I had no choice but to knock on his office door. He sighed, annoyed. “It’s such a hassle. Can’t you just sign for me?” But when I arrived at the venue, the coordinator handed me two contracts. One for me. And one for Chloe. The groom’s name on both was Ethan Grant. 2 My hand, clutching the papers, was slick with sweat. It’s just a coincidence, I told myself, a simple mix-up of names. But when I returned to the hospital, I found my colleagues gathered around, each holding a small box of wedding candy. They were showering Chloe with congratulations on her marriage. And Ethan… Ethan was leaning against the far wall, a soft, tender smile on his face as he watched the girl at the center of the crowd. In that moment, it felt like a scalpel had plunged straight into my heart. The pain was so sharp I couldn’t breathe. He turned, and his eyes met mine. He saw the tears welling up, the crimson blush of betrayal on my face, but there wasn’t a flicker of sympathy in his expression. Just a cool, detached inquiry. “You’re back already? Did you get it signed?” My gaze swept over the laughing crowd, then back to him. I slapped the documents against his chest. “Which one are you talking about?” I asked, my voice trembling. “Mine? Or Chloe’s?” My accusation made him frown. “Can we talk about this at home? I’ll explain everything. Everyone’s having a good time right now. Don’t make a scene and ruin the mood.” A scene? Ruin the mood? A bitter laugh escaped my lips. I couldn’t believe it. The man who was whispering “my wife” in my ear just a few nights ago was now standing here, humiliating me. Perhaps my laughter stung him, because a flash of guilt crossed his face. He softened his tone. “Look, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. Don’t overthink things.” He glanced at his watch. “I have a surgery now. I’ll come to your office as soon as I’m done, okay, Audrey?” He reached out, his hand gently patting my arm in a placating gesture. I flinched away, wiping the corner of my eye with the back of my hand as I turned to leave. “Fine,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. Ethan started to call after me, but he stopped himself. I waited in my office, staring blankly at a patient’s chart, the words blurring into meaningless shapes. I don’t know how much time passed before a knock came at the door. “Come in.” Ethan entered, holding a cup of coffee. “Brought you this. I heard you have a long surgery later. This should help.” I glanced at the cup. It was blank. No note. I gave a quiet “mmhmm.” “Chloe is my junior from medical school,” he began, his voice earnest. “Her family is very traditional, and they’ve been pressuring her to get married. A few days ago, her mother threatened to kill herself over it. She asked me to help her out, just for a little while.” He paused, watching my reaction. “I didn’t tell you because I was afraid you’d misunderstand.” I sipped the coffee, listening in silence. Finally, I asked, “So, you two are legally married?” He hesitated for a fraction of a second before nodding. Seeing the look on my face, he rushed to explain. “Don’t worry. As soon as I meet her parents and they’re satisfied, we’ll get a divorce. Chloe’s not the clingy type. She promised.” He sounded so sincere, but the whole story was just… insane. I couldn’t wrap my head around it. Seeing my continued silence, he reached into the pocket of his white coat and pulled out a small box. He dropped to one knee, his eyes locked on mine. “Trust me, Audrey. You’re the only one I love.” His voice was a low, desperate plea. “I know this is hard on you. But once this is all over, I promise I’ll give you the grandest wedding you’ve ever seen.” Before I could even think to refuse, he slid a diamond ring onto my finger. Then he took out the matching band and put it on his own. The brilliant sparkle on my hand seemed to calm the storm in my heart, just a little. Maybe… maybe he really was just helping a friend. 3 He never wore that ring again. His excuse was flawless: he couldn’t wear it during surgery. He and Chloe became inseparable at the hospital, acting for all the world like a devoted couple. They were in the conference rooms together, the cafeteria, the hallways. They were the hospital’s golden couple. And I became the “crazy ex.” Rumors started to spread that I was a bitter mistress who couldn’t accept defeat. I was about to set the record straight when Chloe cornered me. She strolled up to me, hands stuffed in her pockets, a smug, challenging look in her eyes. “Dr. Lin,” she began, using my formal title, “Ethan is my husband. I hope you’ll stop bothering him from now on.” She smirked. “He told me everything. He only got with you because you hounded him relentlessly. No wonder a relationship built on begging is so fragile.” Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “Do yourself a favor. Resign.” My nails dug into my palms, but my face remained a mask of calm. “Chloe, I have no intention of resigning. And you are not my superior. You don’t have the authority to fire me.” She laughed, a sharp, unpleasant sound. She pulled her hands from her pockets and crossed them over her chest. “Oh, really? Let’s make a bet, then. A bet on how you’ll be leaving this hospital.” I ignored her and simply showed her the door. That evening, I told Ethan everything. To my shock, he didn’t believe me. Instead, he turned on me. “I already told you I’m going to divorce her! Why can’t you just be patient? Why do you have to make up such ridiculous stories to attack her?” His voice rose with frustration. “She’s trying to force you to resign? Logically, isn’t it more likely that you’re the one trying to drive her away?” “Audrey, stop it. I’m trying to focus on my career right now. I thought you’d support me, help me, like you used to. The least you can do is not add to my stress.” … I hung up the phone. I pulled the ring from my finger and tossed it into the back of a drawer. Ethan was right. I needed to focus on my career. My own ambitions had stagnated while I poured all my energy into him. It was time to change that. I threw myself into studying for the annual board certification exams. In the weeks that followed, Ethan and I became ghosts to each other. We didn’t speak. We didn’t text. If we passed in the hallway, we were strangers, not even colleagues. Finally, the day of the exam results arrived. I was called into the director’s office. He slammed his fist on the desk, his face red with fury. The research paper I had submitted was identical, word for word, to Chloe’s. Faced with the accusation, I wasn’t nervous. I knew my work. I was a far more skilled researcher than she was. But no one in that room believed me. Someone shoved a phone in my face. It was Chloe’s social media feed, filled with daily updates on her “progress” with the paper. My colleagues had, in effect, watched her “write” it from scratch. A torrent of insults rained down on me. “Plagiarist.” “Thief.” My eyes scanned the room, past the accusing faces, until they landed on Ethan, standing at the very back. He deliberately avoided my gaze. And in that moment, I knew. There was only one other person in the world who knew the password to my computer. It was his birthday. The evidence was damning. The director demoted me on the spot. I ignored him. I pushed through the crowd of scornful colleagues and walked straight up to Ethan. I grabbed his chin and forced his head up, making him look at me. “Ethan,” I asked, my voice deadly calm, “do you also believe I copied her?” I saw the flicker of doubt in his eyes, a tiny hesitation before it was extinguished, replaced by a single, devastating word: “Yes.” A small, broken laugh escaped my lips. I let him go. As I turned away, my eyes burned so intensely I felt they could bleed. “Audrey…” I heard him call my name, his voice suddenly uncertain. But I didn’t stop. I walked straight out of that conference room and didn’t look back. After that day, my colleagues began to shun me completely. No one wanted to be associated with the “plagiarist,” the “homewrecker.” I didn’t care. I buried myself in my work, a phantom flitting between the office and the operating room. A demotion was nothing. I could climb my way back up. Until the day the director threw a letter in my face. An anonymous tip. An accusation that I had performed surgery while intoxicated, resulting in a patient’s death. For a moment, the world tilted. The words were English, but they made no sense. “Director, there must be a mistake,” I stammered. “That patient had a severe congenital heart defect. He was critical when he arrived.” The director didn’t speak. He just gestured to the witness he’d brought in. The anesthesiologist from that surgery—Chloe’s best friend. “Director, she’s Chloe’s closest friend! Chloe and I have a history. This is a setup!” “Enough!”

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