Author: Momo Chan

My people, the merfolk, were being hunted to extinction. To save them, I came ashore with a single purpose: to find Adrian, my childhood sweetheart, now one of the world’s most brilliant scientists, and bind him to me once more. He still loved me. I could feel it in his touch, a desperate, all-consuming passion. For seven days and seven nights, he held me, refusing to let go, lost in a haze of what I thought was rediscovered love. I woke from a dream of bliss to a living nightmare. A searing pain, and the acrid smell of burning flesh as a bucket of acid was poured over my head. Adrian watched me scream, a cruel smile twisting his lips. “So, the immortal merfolk feel pain after all,” he sneered. “But this? This is nothing. A pittance compared to the pain of losing my parents—a loss your kind inflicted on me.” “This is just the beginning,” he hissed, his voice a blade of ice. “You won’t leave this place until you tell me where they are.” For two years, he held me captive. I was forced to watch as he married another woman. He used the lives of my people as leverage, a chain I could never break. He would cut open my chest to retrieve my Heart-Pearl, using its life-giving essence to nourish his new bride. Adrian shackled my ankle to his bedpost, forcing me to stay awake all night, cleaning up the used condoms from his lovemaking. I had to listen to their passion while enduring my own agony, forced to dance on knives to lull his wife to sleep. When she became pregnant, he began to carve flesh from my body, feeding the mermaid meat to his wife as a supplement. He hated me to the very marrow of his bones. And yet, each time I hovered on the brink of death, it was he who would gently spoon medicine into my mouth. “You’re only this defiant because you know I love you,” he’d whisper, his torment a mirror of my own. “Be a good girl, Coralia. Just tell me where my parents are.” I silently endured his contradictory love. But I wouldn’t have to keep his secret for much longer. A mermaid who remains on land for three years without returning to the sea is doomed to die. And my deadline was in three days. … Three in the morning. The cellar door splintered open, kicked in with brutal force. I was hauled to my feet by my hair, and a series of stinging slaps snapped my head back and forth until my lip split and I tasted blood. Adrian’s personal assistant dragged me out by my legs, his voice a low growl of contempt. “The mistress is hurt, and you have the gall to sleep so soundly?” The salty sea air was thick with the scent of blood. A trail of it led directly to Adrian’s bedroom. He saw the bloody path I left on the floor and his brow furrowed in distaste. “Lilah’s been injured. Go and heal her.” I lifted my gaze, my eyes falling first on Lilah’s flushed, dewy face, then to her swollen belly— SLAP! The blow from Adrian sent my head ringing. He loomed over me, his voice dripping with venom. “I told you to heal her. Are your eyes even worthy of looking at her?” I immediately lowered my head. “I’m sorry.” Slowly, I crawled to the bedside. Only then did I learn the cause of the commotion. Lilah had woken in the night to feed the piranhas and one had nipped her finger. Over the past few years, I had grown accustomed to Lilah’s various “illnesses.” I had done this countless times. With a practiced, weary motion, I pulled aside the rags I wore as a shirt. My own sharp fingernails pierced the skin over my heart. Sweat beaded on my forehead as I fought back a cry, digging deep to extract the shimmering Heart-Pearl to heal Lilah. Through the haze of my pain, I heard Adrian’s cold voice. “It’s no use playing the victim, Coralia.” In his eyes, this was just an act. Because a mermaid’s blood could also heal. But my blood… my blood no longer had that power. Lilah awoke with a soft cough, and Adrian immediately rushed to her side, gathering her into his arms. “Does it still hurt?” Lilah bit her lip, her eyes darting to my open wound. “Darling, I don’t know why, but ever since I got pregnant, the smell of blood just makes me want to vomit.” At her words, Adrian kicked me away without a second thought. “Get out and stand guard!” I crawled out of the room, listening to the tender murmur of his voice behind me. “Lilah, my love, you haven’t been sleeping well. Is the baby keeping you up? Let me listen.” My heart, which I thought had turned to stone, clenched painfully. The wound on my chest, not yet healed, began to bleed anew. A maid appeared, dumping a bucket of foul-smelling, fishy water over me. Her face was a mask of disgust. “You filthy monster. Aren’t you supposed to heal? Why are you still bleeding? You’re disgusting!” She threw a mop at my head. It struck my temple, and I flinched from the sharp pain. “Clean this floor. If you don’t, I’m telling Mr. Hayes!” For the rest of the night, I was on my hands and knees, mopping. Through the thin walls, I could hear the sounds of their entangled bodies, the soft moans of pleasure. A single tear escaped and traced a path through the grime on my cheek. Adrian’s look of utter revulsion was burned into my mind. Soon, I thought. Soon I will be free. Even immortal mermaids can die. Three days left. … By the time the last drop of blood was scrubbed from the floor, my wound had finally sealed itself. A new day was dawning at the seaside manor. Adrian emerged from the bedroom, his neck dotted with fresh, red marks. His brow furrowed as he saw the blood-soaked mop. “Why was there so much blood?” I offered no defense, just bowed my head. “I’m sorry. I’ll dispose of this filth immediately.” Nearby, a maid was loudly trimming flowers in the garden, her voice carrying on the morning air. “You won’t believe it, but that monster actually asked me how to make a man happy. Oh my god, is she trying to seduce Mr. Hayes?” “Heh, of course she is. The little tramp. Does she really think she could ever hope to be Mrs. Hayes? If it weren’t for her, Mr. Hayes’s parents would never have disappeared.” I wanted to flee, but Adrian was faster. He kicked the mop aside and dragged me toward his laboratory. He strapped me into the electric chair, the one that could deliver up to a hundred thousand volts. My head swam with nausea. Adrian lounged in a nearby chair, crossing his legs and holding the remote. His face was a thundercloud. “I almost forgot. It’s been a month since your last interrogation.” “Tell me,” he demanded, “where did they take my parents?” He hadn’t even pressed the button yet, but my hands were already clawing at the armrests, a frantic, reflexive terror. My fingers bled. “I don’t know.” The words had barely left my lips before a hundred thousand volts surged through me. My body convulsed in a blinding scream. A hot liquid gushed down my legs. The first jolt ended, but I was still twitching. Adrian shot out of his chair, his jaw clenched. “I’ll ask you again.” I coughed up a mouthful of blood. Every organ in my body screamed in agony. “I won’t tell you.” I couldn’t. It was a secret that protected them. This time, Adrian didn’t press the button. Instead, he had one of his assistants bring him a small pouch. Inside were the few Heart-Pearls I had managed to hide in a crack in the floorboards. My eyes widened in horror. “What are you doing?” “Oh, I think you know exactly what I’m about to do.” A cruel smile played on his lips as he tossed one of the pearls to the floor and crushed it under his heel. My bloodcurdling shriek was music to his ears. “Was that your father’s? Or your mother’s?” he laughed. “I hear the only way to truly kill one of you is to shatter your Heart-Pearl. Otherwise, you just keep coming back.” “You’re a stubborn race… still not talking?” My fingernails had broken, exposing the raw bone beneath. Tears of blood streamed from my eyes. “Adrian, I hate you.” His response was a kiss so brutal I thought he would bite through my tongue. His kiss, brutal as it was, sent a jolt of memory through me, a phantom echo of a time before the hate. My body was growing weaker by the day, and I had almost forgotten how deeply we once loved each other. The merfolk have always been drawn to humans, often taking human form to live and love among them. I was three when I first met Adrian. The first time he saw me, he looked up at his mother and asked, “Mommy, is this the bride you found for me?” She had laughed and tapped him gently on the head. Our families became inseparable. We were always together. Then, when I was fifteen, humans began to hunt and drive out the merfolk. We had to leave. But sometimes, I would sneak ashore to see him. When people asked who I was, I was about to say I was his sister. But he would always correct them, his voice serious and proud. “She’s my girlfriend. And my future wife, Coralia.” That was the moment my heart truly became his. Later, a pact was made between the leaders of the merfolk and a group of elite human scientists. The envoys for this transaction were my parents, and Adrian’s. And then, Adrian’s parents vanished. I was the prime suspect. He hated me. I knew that. But I couldn’t tell him the truth. Years later, Adrian became a brilliant scientist himself. And I, for the sake of my people, had to get close to him again. So many times, I wanted to tell him everything. But I couldn’t. It didn’t matter. The waiting was almost over. Adrian’s fingers trailed fire across my skin. Suddenly, he stopped, staring at the blood on his hands. I looked down and saw that all my old wounds—the places where he’d cut me for flesh and blood—were beginning to reopen. A numb smile touched my lips. “I’m dying, Adrian.” It was as if I’d spoken a forbidden word. He went berserk, grabbing a bottle of pills and forcing them down my throat. His voice was like a glacier. “You don’t get to die without my permission.” He unlocked my shackles only to drag me to a basin of medicinal fluid, forcing my head under the surface. I held my breath, watching him through the stinging liquid. His eyes were bloodshot, his breathing ragged and heavy, as if he were the one suffocating. My face turned blue, my lungs burning. He held me under until the potent healing pills took effect and my wounds stopped bleeding. Only then did he yank me up by my hair. The moment I could breathe again, he shackled me once more. He chained me to the bedpost like a dog. Lilah, her eyes heavy-lidded with desire, curled up against him. Her gaze shifted to me, a strange and venomous light in her eyes. Her red lips formed the words silently, a private, vicious promise. “Coralia, I’m going to kill you.” … In the twilight of a half-sleep, I felt a gentle hand stroking my hair. A tear fell from the person’s eye, landing on my lips. It was salty. “Coralia, if none of this had ever happened… wouldn’t that have been wonderful?” Adrian? Was he… crying? I struggled to open my eyes, but there was no one there. Adrian’s assistant was tugging on the rope tied to my shackle, dragging me out into the manor’s courtyard. Merfolk despise the sun, especially a dying one like me. Lilah smiled sweetly when she saw me. “Coralia, are you hungry?” Adrian was holding her. When I didn’t answer, he kicked me. The blow landed squarely on a wound that was about to burst open. Blood instantly soaked through the fabric of my clothes. Agitated, Adrian refused to even spare me a glance. He tossed the coat from his lounge chair over me. “Lilah can’t stand the sight of blood. Cover yourself!” Lilah’s eyes flickered, and then she smiled again, tossing a chunk of raw meat and a handful of dirt-caked vegetables in front of me. Her voice was like honey. “Go on, Coralia. Eat.” For some reason, I looked up at Adrian. Why did I ever think he felt sorry for me? I lowered my head and began to gnaw on a muddy cabbage leaf, my fingers digging into the earth in humiliation. Lilah’s concerned voice floated over. “Coralia, why aren’t you eating the meat? You need to eat meat to be healthy.” Without thinking, I tore off a piece. My sense of smell was nearly gone, a side effect of my body’s decay. I couldn’t tell what kind of meat it was. “Is it good? Mermaid meat is very nutritious, you know!” I froze, my hand halfway to my mouth. I stared at Lilah. Her smile widened, and a wave of nausea roiled in my stomach. “Ugh—” “Ah! My shoes!” The vomit had splattered on the heel of her shoe. The assistant, without needing to be told, grabbed me by the collar and slapped my tear-streaked face. Adrian, despite his obsessive cleanliness, knelt and began wiping Lilah’s shoe with his own handkerchief. He was so gentle, so meticulous. I remembered how, after he’d used my body for his own release, he wouldn’t even bother to clean me. His displeasure was a cold front. “Ungrateful bitch. If you don’t want to eat it, we’ll feed it to the dogs!” Lilah gave a weak, magnanimous smile. “Coralia’s just not hungry. We shouldn’t force her.” “Why don’t you let her sit with me while I paint? As a way to make up for it.” Adrian sighed, a flicker of something like affection in his eyes. “You’re too kind, you know that?” He shot me a cold glare, about to say more, but his phone rang. He whispered something loving to Lilah, then bent down and gently kissed her pregnant belly. A strange ache bloomed in my chest. After he left, Lilah’s expression turned frigid. “I don’t like being watched when I paint. Go wait in the basement.” I said nothing and went. A maid tossed several small buckets at my feet. Her voice was a pinched, condescending whine. “Hey, the mistress needs red for her painting, and there’s no red more beautiful than blood. Fill these three buckets. Now.” A rusty razor blade was thrown at me. “Use this.” I mumbled, “It’s rusty.” The maid spat on the floor. “What do you think you are, a princess? A monster that can’t die doesn’t deserve anything good.” She crossed her arms, watching me. I picked up the blade without another word and sliced open my wrist. Hot, red blood dripped into the bucket. I didn’t stop until my body was wracked with chills and my lips were blue, the three buckets finally full. I leaned against the wall, dazed. Two maids passed by, carrying laundry and gossiping. “The mistress’s paintings are so beautiful. It’s a shame the materials are so hard to find. She had to kill several mermaids just for a tiny bit of Heart-Pearl dust.” “And some of the blood isn’t pure. Monsters are just monsters, not like us humans.” The hair on my body stood on end. I pushed myself up and staggered toward the courtyard. The first thing I heard was the high-pitched wail of agony. Lilah’s feet were surrounded by the mangled corpses of merfolk. She had her foot on a young mermaid’s tail as she carved out a translucent Heart-Pearl, only to crush it under her heel. I felt my own heart shatter with it. Lilah stood against the light and waved at me, a malicious curve to her lips. “Coralia, I just learned something today! Every Heart-Pearl is a different color!” “Unfortunately, I only want white ones. Why don’t you help me? Dig out all of their Heart-Pearls—”

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My husband’s business empire crumbled, a casualty of failed investments and crushing debt. I decided to sell the gold jewelry he’d given me over the years, one piece for every anniversary. I wanted to see how much of a dent it could make in his financial ruin. That’s when I was told it was all fake. Next, I went to a real estate agent for a property appraisal. He pulled up the records right in front of me. The deed was a forgery. But the house—a five-million-dollar property—was a wedding gift from Kevin. He’d promised it would be in my name, and my name alone. What else was a lie? On a whim, I snapped a photo of our marriage certificate and sent it to my best friend, Lily, who worked at the county records office. Her reply came back in minutes. “Fake.” I stared at the crimson-bordered certificate, the official-looking seal, and a laugh escaped my lips, brittle and sharp. “Thank God,” I whispered. “It was all fake.” 1 My heart hammered against my ribs as I waited for Lily’s final confirmation. In the five years I’d been married to Kevin, I had never once doubted his love for me. His work was demanding, and he often missed our anniversaries, but he always made up for it. He’d shower me with lavish gifts as compensation, and in the days that followed, he’d be doubly attentive, doting on me. I never questioned the authenticity of those gifts. He was my husband. I loved him unconditionally. So I’d spent the entire day, from sunrise to sunset, clutching the tokens of his affection, visiting one high-end boutique after another. I’d grilled every clerk, my last shred of hope evaporating with each sympathetic shake of the head. The final blow came when a jeweler, to prove his point, held a piece of the “gold” to a flame. It blackened and crumbled into ash. The blade that had been hanging over my head finally fell. I steadied myself against the polished glass counter. “Then why,” I asked, my voice trembling slightly, “does it have a receipt from your store?” The clerk checked his system. “The receipt is real, ma’am,” he said gently. “But the jewelry you brought in isn’t ours.” So Kevin had bought the real pieces. He just hadn’t given them to me. I stared at the forged property deed in my hand and dialed the city’s land registry office. “I’d like to check the owner’s name for the property at One Riverside Drive, Apartment 101.” “Of course, one moment please,” a calm voice replied. Just then, my phone buzzed with Lily’s final, damning message. It was the death sentence for my marriage. “Julie, it’s a fake. But I checked Kevin’s records. He has a legally valid, existing marriage. The woman’s name is… Jasmine Vance.” The voice from the land registry returned. “Ma’am, the registered owner of that property is a Ms. Jasmine Vance.” Ten years ago, I had defied my parents to be with him. I’d packed my savings and moved from the quiet South to this bustling northern city to build a life with him. Back then, Kevin’s career was just taking off, and he was out networking until the early hours of the morning. To make him more comfortable when he stumbled home, drunk and exhausted, I’d wait up for him every night with a thermos of hot, soothing broth. For a decade, I never once slacked. I appreciated how hard he worked to provide for us, so I took on everything at home. I was the cook, the cleaner, the planner. He never once set foot in the kitchen. As his business thrived, the smoke and fire of my domestic life slowly transformed me into the weary, worn-out housewife he now seemed to despise. The years of household labor left me with a chronic ache in my lower back; sometimes if I bent over for too long, I couldn’t straighten up. He’d say he didn’t mind, but whenever his gaze fell on me, I’d catch the flicker of aversion before he looked away. I told myself it didn’t matter. As long as we were together, everything was fine. But the husband I thought loved me down to my bones had been living a sweet, secret life with someone else for the entire decade. Jasmine Vance. Kevin’s high school sweetheart, the one that got away. Now, she was a massively popular influencer. She’d started out with suggestive, borderline-NSFW live streams but had recently rebranded, championing a new philosophy she called “Single and Sovereign.” She preached to her legions of devoted followers that being an unmarried woman was the ultimate form of empowerment, a life of freedom to be enjoyed to the fullest. Just last week, she was trending for her “unapologetically unattached” lifestyle. I opened TikTok and found her profile. A single account had liked every single one of her videos. A quick search confirmed it: the account was linked to Kevin’s phone number. They even had matching profile pictures, a subtle couple’s set. I used to make silly videos myself, nudging him to like them like other couples did. He wouldn’t even glance at my screen, his face a mask of annoyance. “Look at that filter, Julie. It’s embarrassing. Besides, I don’t even have a TikTok.” But under Jasmine’s very first video, he had commented: “Stunning.” I looked at my own reflection in the mirror and saw a ghost of the woman I was ten years ago. I thought my devotion would be seen, would be cherished. I never imagined he didn’t even want to look. Just then, the front door clicked open. Kevin was home. He dropped onto the sofa in silence, waiting for me to scurry over with a hot drink, as I always did. When I didn’t move, he huffed, got up, and began rummaging through the kitchen cabinets. “Where do you keep the water?” he finally barked, his voice laced with impatience. Of course. After all these years, he didn’t even know where to find a glass of water. This man, who had never lifted a finger at home, had meticulously schemed to buy fake jewelry and forge official documents just to deceive me. What was I to him? An unpaid maid? I tossed my phone onto the coffee table in front of him. “Kevin, I thought you didn’t have a TikTok account. Then why have you liked every single one of Jasmine Vance’s videos? I checked. The account is registered to your phone number.” He looked startled, as if it had never occurred to him that I might check. He had been so brazen because he thought I was blind. After a long moment, he finally muttered, “It’s just business.” “Business? You’re too busy to look at your phone? You take hours to reply to my texts, but you have time to—” “Will you drop it?!” he snapped. “Her career depends on engagement and traffic. What’s the big deal if I give her a like?” It was just like before we were married, when Jasmine’s shadow loomed over our lives. Kevin remembered she was afraid of thunderstorms and would video chat with her every time it rained, even though I’d told him, countless times, that I was scared of them too. He knew all her favorite foods, and over time, they somehow became my favorite foods too. After we got married, I threw a few tantrums about it, and he finally seemed to back off. I thought his heart was finally mine. I never realized they had just found a new, more discreet way to be together. Despair washed over me. I turned and walked into the bedroom to pack. “Sweetie, I’ve got the paperwork for the capital injection into Kevin’s company almost finalized. Just waiting on your go-ahead.” It was my father on the phone. I was in the middle of stuffing clothes into a suitcase. I let out a long sigh. “Dad, cancel it. We’re not investing.” “What happened? I thought he was having cash flow problems. Tell me, did that boy do something to hurt you? I told you not to run off so far away, all alone with no one to fall back on, but you wouldn’t listen…” “No, it’s not that. I’m just… a little tired.” “My dear girl,” he said, his voice softening. “If you’re tired, you come home. Dad will take care of you.” Before I moved to this city for Kevin, I’d tested the waters, but he’d always claimed he was too busy with work to even visit my parents once. When we got married, I had a huge falling out with my family, and they didn’t attend the wedding. So, to this day, Kevin had never met them. He believed I was utterly alone, with no one to rely on but him. But what fight between a father and daughter can’t be mended? Years ago, Dad had secretly come to see me, and we had long since reconciled. When I learned Kevin’s company was in trouble, I had prepared a two-pronged plan: first, I would liquidate my own assets to help him pay off his debts; second, I would have my father inject capital to get his company flowing again. A few days ago, Kevin had excitedly told me that an investor from the South had contacted him, and the company was saved. I was genuinely happy for him, smiling and congratulating him, believing I would soon see that confident, ambitious man again. I never imagined that in this marriage I had poured my entire soul into, I was the most insignificant person in his eyes. When I walked out with my suitcase, Kevin looked baffled. “What is this? Are you really doing this over a TikTok account? Seriously? Besides, you don’t know anyone in this city. Where are you even going to stay?” I didn’t answer. I just walked out the door and didn’t look back. But Kevin followed me. I knew exactly what he was thinking. With the investment on the line, he couldn’t afford any drama. He’d once told me that these southern entrepreneurs valued character above all else, and the most direct reflection of a man’s character was his family life. Kevin followed me into my hotel room, his eyes scanning the luxurious suite. “You rented a place this nice? This must cost a fortune.” I just smiled and shook my head. This apartment, located in the heart of downtown, was worth millions. My father had secretly bought it for me the year I got married. After we reconciled, he had the deed transferred to my name. And this wasn’t all. I had over a dozen other properties in my name back south. I had originally planned to use these assets to help Kevin get back on his feet, no matter how badly his company failed. We could have started over. Now, I was just thankful I had decided to check on the gold jewelry first. What a close call. I had almost helped him rise from the ashes. Kevin sat rigidly on the sofa, waiting for me to fawn over him. He still believed he had done nothing wrong. I glanced at the tie he was wearing, a terrible mismatch with his shirt, and I couldn’t help but chuckle. For all these years, I had picked out every single one of his outfits. And all his love, he had given to Jasmine. “Julie, stop this nonsense. Come home with me,” he said, reaching for my hand. I tried to pull away, but his grip tightened, his fingers digging into my wrist. It hurt. “Kevin, what are you doing?!” “I said, come home with me!” I twisted my wrist sharply, breaking his grip. “And what gives you the right to take me anywhere?” He sneered. “What right? We’ve been married for five years. We are a legally married couple!” His eyes were firm, confident. “What kind of wife just walks out like this?” “Is that so? A legally married couple?” “Of course!” That’s when I threw the crimson-bordered certificate on the table. “You mean, with this marriage certificate? The one with a forged seal?” His face went pale. “You… you…” “I had Lily check. Your legal wife’s name is Jasmine Vance.” I watched his expression shift from shock to panic. He tried to deny it. “That friend of yours is just jealous of us, she’s lying to you! You can’t just believe everything she says.” I was prepared for this. I pulled out my phone and showed him the official registration document Lily had sent me. The name ‘Jasmine Vance’ was printed neatly right next to his. His face fell. “Julie, listen to me. I didn’t mean to deceive you. It’s just… she was threatening to kill herself. I did it to calm her down, that’s all… But I’ve been with you all these years! You’re the one I love, you know that!” I let out a cold laugh. “So the fake jewelry, the forged deed… you call that love?” Kevin wouldn’t leave. He kept stammering, pleading with me to go back with him. Perhaps he had forgotten that before I became his wife, I was a doctoral candidate in law. I picked up my phone. “Mr. Hayes, if you don’t leave now, I’m calling the police.” After Kevin left, I stretched out on the plush king-sized bed. So this is what it felt like to do nothing for a whole day. The release of tension was so complete that I fell into a deep sleep and didn’t wake until dusk. When I did, my phone was blowing up with hundreds of notifications. I thought maybe one of my old, silly videos had gone viral. But when I opened TikTok, I saw my inbox was flooded with vicious messages from strangers. “You’re just a housewife, what gives you the right to throw a tantrum!” “You think you can compete with our Jasmine? She’s a queen, single and sovereign!” “Get lost, you bitter hag. Stop trying to ride Jasmine’s coattails!” “With a face like that, playing the victim is your only move. Just leave our Jasmine out of it!” … Confused, I started searching online. Jasmine streamed every day, and screenshots were everywhere. It didn’t take long to find it. During her latest stream, Kevin had suddenly appeared on camera and launched into a tirade, painting me as a freeloader who had lived off him for a decade, now throwing a fit and running away from home over nothing. Jasmine fanned the flames. “It’s just typical little-woman drama. She’ll cry for a day or two and be back home in a week, guaranteed.” Then, feigning innocence, she added, “He’s just my buddy, everyone, don’t get the wrong idea.” It was clear she had no intention of making their real relationship public. At the end of the stream, Jasmine even shared my TikTok handle, encouraging her fans to “go talk some sense into her.” Kevin thought this public humiliation would break me, that I’d come crawling back to be his beast of burden. The last message in my inbox was from Jasmine herself.

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1 I was reborn at fourteen. My father’s smooth voice asked: “Stay with your mother, or take a $20 million trust fund abroad?” In my past life, I’d sobbed “I want Mom!”—only to watch him move his mistress (a company executive) into a mansion, raising their three illegitimate kids while tormenting my mother. She wasted decades before being discarded without a cent. I died destitute overseas, my corpse shipped home via crowdfunding. This time, I signed the papers. “Twenty million. I’ll take it.” Not heartless. Just awake: no one here ever loved us. I won’t be that pitiful girl again. This life, I’ll amass wealth, control the game—and when I’ve won everything, I’ll bring my mother home myself. … I was reborn at fourteen. My father had just come home from a board meeting. His suit was immaculate, his tie perfectly knotted. He sat on the sofa in the study of our old family home, a contract laid out on the table beside him. I stood before him in my wrinkled school uniform, my hair a mess from a long day of tutoring, looking every bit the clueless teenager, utterly ignorant of the family’s turmoil. “Anne,” he said, his voice soft. “Your mother has been… emotionally unstable lately. You have a choice. You can stay here and keep her company, or you can go abroad, to any school you like. When you graduate and come back, I can even let you start managing a portion of the company shares.” He sounded so sincere, so reasonable. The perfect, enlightened father. “I’ve already prepared your living expenses for when you’re abroad. Twenty million dollars, deposited into your personal account, for you to manage as you see fit.” In my past life, standing in this exact spot, I was terrified. Twenty million dollars. It was an astronomical sum. And it was. But what I know now is that it was nothing more than a strategic transfer of assets. My mother sat on the living room sofa, silent, her eyes red and raw. I had cried, torn the agreement to shreds, and thrown the pieces at my father’s feet, screaming, “I want my mother!” I truly thought I had won. Looking back, I was such a fool. I chose to stay with my mother, and what was the result? Within six months, my father sent me abroad anyway, dumping me in his mistress’s home in America. He called it “broadening my horizons,” “training the future successor.” I became the only person in that mansion with no one to rely on. By the end, even the nanny felt she could order me around. The mistress’s twins, a boy and a girl, seemed harmless enough. But they were my father’s secret children, and they were rotten to the core. They would eventually fight for the family fortune, and I, idiot that I was, had treated them like my own siblings. And me? In the end, no one even remembered that I was the eldest daughter of the Sterling family. My mother was still back home, guarding the empty mansion, desperately trying to contact schools, learn English, hire lawyers—anything to bring me back. She thought she was the rightful wife. She thought she still had a voice. Until the day she received a letter from a lawyer, informing her that the title to the house was being reclaimed. She didn’t move. She sat in the cavernous living room, not even bothering to boil water, eating cold leftovers bite by bite. “I’m waiting for Anne to come home,” she’d say. I heard the rattle of pill bottles over the phone and knew. She was so depressed she was afraid to fall asleep. I graduated at nineteen. My first job was scrubbing floors in a diner in Melbourne. My second was cleaning dog kennels for a wealthy family. The day my mother was admitted to a psychiatric hospital, I was handing out flyers in a parking garage. The doctor called me from across the world. “She’s tried to jump from her window three times tonight, but we don’t have your father’s authorization for involuntary commitment.” I stood on the street below the hospital, the phone pressed to my ear, unable to speak. The last time I saw her was five minutes before her cremation. She couldn’t hear me calling her name anymore. It was only then that I understood. She didn’t lose to my father, Edward Sterling. She lost to me. The daughter she had spent her life trying to protect wasn’t strong enough. This life, the agreement was on the table again. I didn’t cry. I picked up the pen and signed my name—Anne Sterling—with a clean, decisive stroke. My father raised an eyebrow, as if seeing me clearly for the first time. “You’re sure about this?” “I’m sure,” I said, looking him straight in the eye, my voice calm. I paused, then added, “As your only child, it’s about time I went out and got some experience.” I put a sharp emphasis on the word only. He froze for a second, then let out a low chuckle. “That’s my girl. Spoken like a true Sterling.” I smiled too. But my smile was colder, clearer than his. He thought I had finally come to my senses, that I was willing to be obedient. But I knew the truth. Sending me away was just an excuse to start bonding with his illegitimate children. He needed me out of the picture so he could finally get rid of “Mrs. Sterling” and install his mistress in her rightful place. My mother would never understand this. She was still living in a dream, believing he would eventually come back to her. She had no idea that the moment I signed that paper, she and I had both been kicked off the Sterling family game board. That night, I closed my bedroom door. The moon outside was a cold, indifferent sliver. I didn’t cry. I just opened my laptop and logged into the black card account he’d set up. Twenty million dollars. Confirmed. I stared at the balance for a full minute, then pulled open a drawer and took out a small notebook. On the first page, I wrote: • Edward Sterling’s illegitimate children: Julian & Aria Vance. Born: New York City. • Edward Sterling’s offshore trust accounts: To be investigated. • Disposition of Mrs. Sterling’s dowry shares in the company: To be investigated. • Objective: Within four years, reclaim everything that belongs to me and my mother. I clicked on a photo of my mother. Her young, smiling face stared back at me. She was wearing a ten-year-old trench coat, her smile endearingly goofy. She later gave that coat to the nanny, saying the woman’s family wasn’t well-off. I found it in the trash later, stained with cake frosting and a dirty footprint. This life, I would trust nothing and no one. It’s not that I’m merciless. It’s that I finally see the truth—in this family, no one ever truly cared about me or my mother. Starting today, I, Anne Sterling, will use this twenty million dollars to burn the entire Sterling family to the ground. 2 The night I signed the papers, the house was dark, but the lamp in the living room was still on. As I started up the stairs, I glanced back and saw my mother, still sitting there. Her eyes were as red and raw as shucked oysters. In her hand, she clutched a small pencil case I’d used in elementary school. My name, Anne Sterling, was spelled out on it in faded stickers. She looked like she wanted to say something, but she closed her mouth, lowered her head, and drifted off, either lost in thought or trying to convince herself of something. I didn’t say a word. I turned and went to my room. The moment the door clicked shut, the world went silent. But my heart was pounding like a war drum. I lay in bed and counted to five hundred, but sleep wouldn’t come. The moon hung frozen in the sky, and she was still awake. I could hear the faint rustle from her room, the soft clink of a pill bottle, the sound of a water glass falling to the floor, and a whisper so quiet it was barely there: “She’s changed…” Of course, she had no idea. What had changed was an entire lifetime of regret and tears. At 2 a.m., I tiptoed downstairs. She was still on the sofa, leaning against a pillow, her eyes wide open, like a doll whose batteries had died. I walked over and draped a light blanket over her. She flinched, startled, and slowly looked up. “You’re still awake?” Her voice was hoarse, like an echo in a sand dune. “Writing my application essays,” I said, a small lie. She nodded. I looked at her, and she looked at me, searching my face for any sign of softness, of hesitation. But there was none. The hope in her eyes died out, like the last rain of summer. “Are you blaming me?” she asked, her voice raspy. “No,” I said. She gave a bitter smile. “Your father didn’t just offer you twenty million dollars out of the blue. He’s not sending you abroad. He’s sending you away.” “I know.” She looked up at me, her eyes suddenly bright with a frightening intensity. “Then why did you sign it?” I didn’t answer. Because I couldn’t explain it to her. I couldn’t explain that I had already lived through one version of her defeat, that if I didn’t leave now, it would be too late for both of us. She clutched the copy of the agreement, and a tear splashed onto the paper, pinning me to the spot. “It’s not that I didn’t try,” she murmured. “I fought with everything I had. But he never intended to let me win.” In that moment, I wanted so badly to hold her, to tell her that this time, I would protect her. But I didn’t move. I just watched as she curled into a ball on the sofa, wiping away tears, biting her lip, looking like a small child who had been cast out of her own home. My chest tightened. But I couldn’t be soft. I knew that in my past life, it was a single hug on this very night that had dragged me back into the emotional quicksand. I let her emotions guide me, and the result was her jumping off a building while I was slaving away at a dead-end job just to save enough for a plane ticket home. This time, I could not afford to be soft. I turned and went back to my room. At 4:30 a.m., she finally fell asleep. But I was wide awake. I opened my email and began preparing. Transfer applications, visa documents, a plan to move the funds before the account was frozen, and the B-plan I had never told my mother about: • A list of all executives in Sterling Corporation’s subsidiary branches. • Records of all recent property transfers under the family name. • A list of all known contract loopholes. • The contact window for the offshore asset management trust. • And—the training program list for the “Future Heirs Initiative.” The first name on the list: Julian Vance, age 3, future student at a prestigious preparatory school in New York. I chewed on the end of my pen and circled the name Julian three times. Julian Sterling. The future heir. How laughable. To think that in a few years, the world would be told that the renowned Sterling Corporation had only one child, a daughter treasured by her father. The thought made me want to vomit. In my last life, I watched him join the company, sign contracts, lead projects, and be praised by the media as a young prodigy, while the world conveniently ignored the fact that he was illegitimate. This life, he would have to go through me first. At 7 a.m., my mother woke up, her eyes swollen, her face sallow. As I was getting ready to leave, she stood in the doorway, blocking my path. “Anne,” she called, her voice trembling slightly. “It’s not too late to change your mind.” I stopped and turned back. “Not this time,” I said. “I’m going out there to win. And then I’m coming back for you.” She looked at me, silent for a long moment. Finally, she nodded. Not a single tear fell. She just said, “Then don’t you dare lose.” I smiled. “Don’t worry. I won’t.” The moment I closed the door and walked away from the Sterling house, the sun was bright, the sky was a brilliant blue, and the wind was cold. 3 The day I left for good, my father, Edward Sterling, drove me to the airport himself. My mother was in the passenger seat, silent. She had spent three hours on her makeup. Her lipstick was a defiant red, the powder on her face too thick, but her complexion was still ashen, bloodless. She stared out the window the entire time, watching the familiar roads pass by, as if sealing herself away in her memories. Edward wore a slightly worn navy blue suit, his smile impeccable. To any outsider, he was the perfect husband and father. He gripped the steering wheel, talking to me about school, then turning to my mother. “I’ve already arranged Anne’s accommodations. Serena Vance will look after her. The child will be much more settled at her place.” My mother didn’t respond. She just tightened her grip on her handbag, her knuckles turning white. Of course she knew who Serena Vance was. The youngest female executive in the company. Thirty-five years old, a double MBA, beautiful, charming, and most importantly—three years ago, she had given birth to Edward Sterling’s twins. The HR department at Sterling Corp even had a nickname for her: the Corporate Princess. My mother wasn’t ignorant. She just pretended to be. Just like now, she was wearing her most expensive dress, a champagne-gold sheath, supposedly the first expensive gift he’d ever bought her after making his fortune. She sat bolt upright, her posture rigid. She was sending me off, and she was going to do it looking like a proper wife. Even if, after I was gone, she would be just another forgotten woman. At the airport, my father’s driver was already waiting in the VIP lane with my luggage. My mother held my hand, her voice a soft whisper. “Do you have your passport? Your allergy medicine? Don’t forget that cashmere scarf…” I nodded, watching her eyes redden. She tried to smile, but her lips trembled. Her voice tightened. “If it gets cold over there, video call me. I’ll mail you some clothes…” My own eyes started to burn, but I held back the tears. This wasn’t a goodbye. It was a deployment. My father stepped forward and wrapped a gentle arm around her shoulders, smiling at me. “Your mother’s been so worried. She hasn’t slept well these past few nights.” My mother flinched, visibly shaken by his use of the phrase “your mother,” as if it had jolted her out of a daze. Her eyes actually welled up, as if she were being loved again. I looked at her, my heart aching with a mixture of anger and pity. This was her. Even knowing she had been betrayed completely, she would still try to scrape together a shred of security from the smallest crumb of false affection. Maybe it was because she had spent her entire youth by his side. I stood up. Just before I walked through the gate, my mother suddenly hugged me. “Anne…” She buried her face in my shoulder, her body trembling. “If it’s too hard over there, just come home. Mom will always be here.” I patted her back. “Mom, wait for me.” “Wait for what?” “Wait for me to come back and take everything that belongs to you.” I whispered it in her ear. She froze, her eyes going blank for a second. Then she nodded. “Okay… Mom will wait.” When I looked back, my father still had his arm around her. They looked like a loving old couple, seeing their daughter off on her great adventure. Only I knew that in his office drawer, there was a photo of Serena with their two children at Disneyland, their smiles more genuine than any in our family portraits. Only I knew that this tender moment wouldn’t stop him from leaving his entire fortune to his children on the side decades later. I walked into the VIP lounge. Serena Vance was waiting for me on a plush sofa. She wore a camel-colored trench coat, her makeup was flawless, her lipstick a cool shade of rose. Her Chanel earrings sparkled. It was clear my father had been generous. She stood up and extended a hand with a smile. “Anne, it’s so good to see you again. Your father has told me so much more about you.” I didn’t take her hand. I just nodded. “Thank you for going to all this trouble.” She wasn’t offended. She smoothly retracted her hand and picked up her tote bag. “It’s no trouble at all. From now on, just think of me as family in America. If you need anything, just ask.” I smiled. She thought I didn’t know who she was. In my last life, I lived in her house for four years. I knew which drawer held the children’s vaccination records, which passport was hidden in the safe, how many nannies she’d gone through, and what time of night she liked to call Edward. She thought I remembered nothing. She didn’t know I was back to settle the accounts. Serena led me onto a private jet. The seats were spacious, a flight attendant bowed as she offered me water. It was all like a fairy tale. I didn’t say a word after I sat down. I just inserted a new SIM card into my phone, enabled location services, network access, and voice recording, and linked my financial accounts to the new number for text verification. I knew that this departure marked the final farewell to my identity as the eldest daughter of the Sterling family. They could now raise their illegitimate children in peace. But they would soon find out that I wasn’t a daughter being sent away. I was a creditor coming to collect.

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1 Thirty years into our childfree marriage, my husband’s twenty-eight-year-old son showed up on our doorstep. This was the second year his son had a legal claim to inheritance, so his reason for being here was painfully obvious. When I asked my husband, Robert, what he was thinking, his eyes darted away. He mumbled something about us getting older and needing someone to look after us, and then, inevitably, “He’s my blood, after all.” Seeing my stony silence, he closed his eyes and played his trump card. “If you had a secret child out there, you could bring them home, too. They could inherit our assets right alongside him.” We’d been together for thirty years, never apart for more than a few months at a time. He was certain I couldn’t possibly have a secret child. But if that was the game he wanted to play, then my guilt vanished. A secret child, you say? Did he really think I didn’t have one? Oh, I did. And I had more than one. … When the young man at my door said he was looking for his biological father, my brain short-circuited for a moment before I told him, logically, “You have the wrong address.” My husband and I had agreed to be childfree before we even got married. How could we possibly have a child? The young man’s polite smile didn’t falter. His gaze slid past me to someone standing behind me, and his voice filled with a sudden, bright surprise. “Mr. Thompson… no, I mean… Dad?” Dad? I turned stiffly, following his line of sight. There, in the middle of our living room, stood my husband, Robert. He looked at us, his expression a guilty, complicated mess. His eyes shifted, darted, and did everything they could to avoid meeting mine. A deep, bone-piercing chill spread through me. At that moment, what was there left to misunderstand? The three of us sat on the sofa. Robert and the young man, Leo, exchanged countless glances, silent messages passing between them. They were already familiar. They must have met in private many times. I was the only stranger in the room. I said nothing. Thirty years of marriage. A husband who had insisted on being childfree now had a twenty-eight-year-old son. I didn’t know what expression to wear, what emotion to feel. We were both nearly sixty, recently retired, and holding onto the life savings we had spent our entire careers building. And now, in the second year that illegitimate children had a legal right to inheritance, this young man’s intentions couldn’t be clearer. 2 Now that the truth was out, all Robert could do was apologize and explain. His excuse was pathetic, boiling down to a single, tired cliché: a drunken one-night stand in his youth. It was laughable. Robert was famous for being able to hold his liquor when he was young. And even if he had gotten drunk, was he even capable of… performing? After more than thirty years together, this man with his salt-and-pepper hair felt like a complete stranger. I looked from him to the young man and asked my first question since Leo walked in. “Why didn’t your mother come with you?” Leo’s lips twitched in a smirk, a look that said, I knew you’d ask that. “Julia, my mom’s a very busy woman. She’s on a trip with some friends right now. She didn’t have the time.” I narrowed my eyes, studying the young man who shared a faint resemblance to Robert. I had a few decades of life experience on him; I wasn’t deaf to the barbs hidden in his words. He held his chin slightly raised, an unconscious air of arrogance about him. Just a secret son, and he thought he had the upper hand with me? A cold laugh escaped me. “So, your mother raised you for all these years without looking for a father, but now she sends you? Did she finally run out of money to support you?” Leo’s face darkened. Before he could speak, Robert barked from the side, “Julia!” I shot him a frigid glare. He still couldn’t meet my eyes, only muttering that I shouldn’t take my anger out on the boy, that the boy was innocent and didn’t know anything. Was the boy innocent? Of course not. As a child born of an affair, his very existence was a sin against our marriage. Leo didn’t stay long. His visit was meant to deliver a single message: he had a girlfriend he wanted to marry, but his current apartment was too small. He wanted to move in with us. After all, our home was a sprawling three-thousand-square-foot condo. What a ridiculous fantasy. I hadn’t worked my entire life just to hand it all over to someone else. I immediately refused. Robert just lowered his head and said nothing. As Leo left, he gave me a look that was half-smile, half-sneer. Robert had already done a DNA test. Even as a love child, his right to inheritance was set in stone. I could block him for now, but I couldn’t block him forever. 3 After Leo left, Robert and I sat in the living room in heavy silence. The situation was what it was. Words felt feeble and pointless. After weighing my options, I swallowed the rage that was threatening to choke me and asked Robert, “What’s your plan?” He hemmed and hawed for a long time. “Julia, look, we’re both getting on in years. We’re not as healthy as we used to be. Having someone around to look after us would be…” “Don’t give me that,” I cut him off. “I will not accept him.” He was his son, not mine. Let him look after us? Was I in a hurry to die? I wasn’t blind. I could see the open hostility in Leo’s eyes whenever he looked at me. It’s not that I hadn’t considered divorce. But divorce meant splitting our marital assets down the middle. Everything we had, we’d earned together over a lifetime of work. I couldn’t stomach the thought of even half of it going to someone like Leo. Robert’s expression shifted, but he managed to suppress his temper. He went on and on, the gist of it being that what’s done is done, Leo was his blood, and he couldn’t just abandon his own son. It wasn’t like he was royalty with a throne to pass down. All this talk of his “only bloodline” was nonsense. Seeing my unwavering coldness, Robert finally gritted his teeth and played his trump card. “Julia, if you have a child out there, you can bring them home, too. They can share the inheritance with Leo.” He dared to say this because we’d spent thirty years together, never apart for more than a few months. He was certain I had no way of having a secret child. I was fifty-seven, well past childbearing age. Their plan was perfectly timed. They’d waited until now to show up, probably fearing I might have changed my mind about being childfree earlier and had a child of my own. But who can really say when it comes to secret children? Noticing my grim expression, Robert softened his tone. “Julia, I admit I made a small mistake when I was young, and I’m sorry. But we’ve been through thirty years of storms together. How many years do we even have left? It’s not like we can raise a child at our age. And Leo… he has half my blood. He can’t be a bad person…” He probably didn’t even realize the smug, triumphant look on his own face. He was the one who had wanted to be childfree, claiming he disliked children, that he had a physical aversion to them. I didn’t care for children either, so we’d reached a consensus. Now, he had stabbed me in the back and was laughing at me for being a fool who didn’t know how to protect herself. 4 Three days. Robert only managed to act meek and subservient for three days. After that, he began contacting Leo openly in front of me. They had voice chats, video calls, phone calls. The once-quiet living room was now filled with their laughter. In the last two days, Robert had even suggested officially changing Leo’s last name to his. I ignored him, watching his smug performance with cold eyes. Scum like him were masters of disguise, their true nature lying dormant for years. But to maintain a facade for thirty years… that was a rare talent. I was nearly sixty. The ambition of my youth had faded. I lacked the courage to start all over again. Besides, the assets Robert and I had built up were already tied together. Making him walk away with nothing wouldn’t be easy. My silence made Robert believe that accepting Leo into the family was a done deal. After all, there was no denying Leo was his biological son. Even the law recognized it. I couldn’t stand the sight of him anymore. I decided to call my best friend, Claire, and get away for a few days. Robert thoughtfully packed my suitcase for me. As I was leaving, he said with a cheerful smile, “Julia, at our age, there are some things you just can’t change. The best thing to do is to learn to let go.” Claire took my suitcase from him, her smile even wider than Robert’s. “You know, Rob, it’s because of that attitude of yours that Julia and I can go on our trips without a single worry in the world.” Robert didn’t catch her double meaning. He just assumed I hadn’t told Claire about his son and thought she was praising him. The car door closed, and Robert’s figure shrank in the rearview mirror. I turned to Claire. “Are the kids back?” Claire nodded. “They all got back last night. They’re waiting for you at the house.” I didn’t say anything more, just wearily pinched the bridge of my nose. She took my hand. I looked down at it. Claire was only a year younger than me, but the wrinkles on the back of her hand were just as pronounced as mine. I sighed silently and gently squeezed her hand back. 5 I was gone for five days, with no contact with Robert. When I returned, the first thing that shot out as I opened the door was a yapping mutt of some unknown breed. The dog barked furiously at me from inside my own home. A strange woman’s voice called out, “Fluffy, what are you barking at? Is that a guest at the door—?” The woman walked to the doorway and froze when she saw me, swallowing the rest of her sentence. Clearly, she knew who I was. And in this house, she was the guest. An unwelcome one. She looked to be about my age, wearing a pale pink dress and a perm of big, rolling waves. Her face was caked in a thick layer of foundation that couldn’t hide the deep lines around her mouth. She looked both overdone and cheap. Our eyes met. My face was a mask of cold fury. Though I had already guessed her identity, my tone was accusatory. “Who are you? And what are you doing in my house?” Panic flickered across her face for only a second before she composed herself, offering me a decidedly unfriendly smile. “You must be Julia. I’m Renee.” Renee. Leo. Another voice came from inside. “Mom, who is it?” Leo and Robert appeared together behind Renee. Well, look at that. The happy family, all assembled. Robert, at least, had the decency to look guilty. “You’re back early,” he stammered. “You didn’t say anything.” I scoffed. “And if I had, would I have been able to see this little show?” As I walked into the living room, I realized it wasn’t a family of three, but four. Leo’s girlfriend was lounging on the sofa, playing on her phone with her feet propped up on my coffee table. When she heard me come in, she glanced up for a second before returning to her game. To actually bring his old flame and his secret son into our home… Robert had gone too far. 6 I slammed my suitcase down on the table. The girl on the sofa snapped her feet off the table and shot me a dirty look. Leo, her loyal puppy, immediately jumped to her defense, yelling at me, “Can’t you be a little quieter?” I didn’t even bother to look at him. “This is my house. I’ll do whatever I want. What does it have to do with an outsider like you?” “This is my dad’s house, too,” Leo sneered, tilting his chin up to look down his nose at me. There was that bizarre sense of superiority again. “Aunt Julia, at your age, you need someone to rely on. I think it would be wise for you to be a little more polite to me.” I met his gaze and memorized his arrogant face. Renee stood next to Robert, a faint smile playing on her lips. Like a wilted white flower. I ignored them and looked directly at Robert, my voice as even as I could make it. “Robert, sit down. We need to talk.” Robert instinctively glanced at Renee and her son. Renee seemed to let out a cold huff, making no move to leave. Instead, she sat down directly across from me, and Leo sat beside her, his eyes full of hostility. They had no understanding of their place here, and clearly, Robert had allowed it. Robert looked at them, then at me, and finally sat down on the other side of Renee. They flanked her, one on each side, as if protecting her from me, the evil villain of this story. I didn’t waste time on pleasantries. “Robert, you know exactly how much money we have saved up over the years.” At this, everyone’s eyes snapped to Robert. Even the girlfriend, who had been playing her game, turned the volume down and pricked up her ears. A strange silence fell over the living room. Robert looked at me for a long moment before finally nodding. “I do.” Our savings were in a single joint account. The card had a six-digit PIN. I knew the first three digits; Robert knew the last three. When we were younger, we were both reckless spenders. After Robert had a serious health scare and we couldn’t even scrape together enough for the surgery, we realized the importance of saving. To prevent either of us from slipping back into bad habits, we’d come up with this two-part PIN system. In front of everyone, I took the bank card out of my purse and placed it on the table. “There’s three hundred and fifty thousand dollars in that account.” Hearing the amount, no one but the girlfriend showed any surprise. It seemed Robert had already told them. Robert rubbed his hands together, forcing a sheepish smile. “Julia, uh, I’ve calculated the costs for Leo’s wedding. We’d only need about a hundred and fifty thousand—” Before he could finish, Renee cut him off. “Robert, you don’t understand how things are these days. The reception, the rings, the bride price, the photos… we have to do it properly. That’s nowhere near enough…” The girlfriend, who had been lounging, was now sitting bolt upright, her feet planted firmly on the floor. She nodded eagerly. “Your mom’s right, Leo. My best friend got married last year, and her fiancé’s family gave her a hundred thousand dollars. I’m not worth any less than her, am I?” Leo moved closer to her, stroking her head indulgently. “Don’t worry, you’ll get just as much, if not more. Right, Dad?” The ball was back in Robert’s court. He didn’t answer, just shot me a cautious look. “Julia, a wedding is a once-in-a-lifetime thing. What do you think…?” “Let me finish,” I said, opening the calculator on my phone. “The mortgage on the condo has five years left. That’s eight hundred a month. To pay it off in one go, we’ll need eighty thousand.” We’d bought the three-thousand-square-foot condo early, when prices were low. We’d already paid off fifteen years of a twenty-year mortgage. The only reason we hadn’t paid it off sooner was that most of the interest was already paid, and the remaining payments were manageable on our retirement incomes. Before Robert could speak, Renee frowned. “After that, there’s only about two hundred seventy thousand left. That’s barely enough for Leo’s wedding.” Leo chimed in right on cue. “Dad, we have to pay off the mortgage first. Keira’s and my salaries are just enough to cover our monthly expenses. We can’t handle anything else.” I looked up from my phone, taking in their greedy faces, and a slow smile spread across my lips. “What are you all thinking? Do you really believe you’re entitled to any of that one hundred and seventy thousand?” Their faces fell. Robert’s brow furrowed so deeply you could have lost a fly in it. “Julia, I thought you’d come to terms with this. Why are you saying things like this now? I told you, Leo is my only child—” I held up a hand, cutting him off. “You have one child. That’s your business. This is our joint property. So, of course, it should be split equally between our children.” Before Robert could process what I’d just said, I made a call. “Bring the children in.”

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The night before my wedding, I found the pictures on Lawrence’s phone. A girl with a sweet, vibrant smile, captured mostly in candid, stolen shots. I didn’t bottle it up. I didn’t let the poison of doubt fester. I walked straight to him, held out the phone, and demanded an explanation. Lawrence smoked in the living room all night. As dawn broke, he walked into the bedroom and said to me: “I’ll admit it, I have feelings for her. But that’s all.” Ten years. We’d been in love for ten years. Was I really going to throw it all away over a few pictures? The thought was unbearable. So I put on my wedding dress, and I let the ceremony begin. But halfway through, Lawrence’s assistant, Leo, burst through the doors, shouting, “Mr. Shaw! Lily found out about the wedding… she tried to kill herself!” The diamond ring, suspended for a heartbeat, clattered to the cold marble floor. Lawrence bolted for the door like a lightning strike. My eyes burned with tears as I screamed after him, “If you walk out that door, Lawrence, we are done! It’s over!” He paused for a fraction of a second, then vanished without a backward glance. 1. Staring at the endless scroll of photos on the screen, a sharp, cold pain lanced through my heart. There were no intimate selfies, no pictures of them together. Just moments. The glint in her eyes as she focused on her work. The way she pouted, pretending to be mad while eating. The unrestrained joy as she laughed, giddy after getting a bonus. … Most of them were quick, candid snaps. But there were a few where she was looking right at the camera, her face alight with a playful, teasing affection. The old me would have stormed up to Lawrence, smashed the phone against his face, and walked away without a second thought, my pride intact. But now… tomorrow, our ten-year marathon was supposed to reach the finish line. We were supposed to get our happily ever after. We were getting married. We had told all our friends and family, booked the venue, sent the invitations. Happiness was so close I could taste it. And now, at the final hour, I find this. I refused to cry, forcing the tears back, taking a deep, shaky breath. I decided to confront him, to demand the truth. Lawrence is a brilliant man. At such a young age, he had already become the Chief Systems Engineer at a major aerospace firm. Ten years of shared life, of weathering storms together… I thought I knew the man he was. So when I laid the photos out before him, his reaction wasn’t a surprise. He probably never intended to hide it. For eight long hours of darkness, he chain-smoked two packs in the living room while I stared at the stars from our bedroom window. The next morning, just before the makeup artist was due to arrive, he came into the room and confessed. “Her name is Lily Campbell. She’s my assistant.” “And I admit… I’ve developed feelings for her.” The heart I’d been holding in my throat plummeted into the pit of my stomach. But then he continued, his voice earnest. “But Nora, you and I… it hasn’t been easy getting here. I’ll have her transferred out of my team. I promise you, something like this will never happen again.” He looked me in the eye, his promise hanging in the air between us. In ten years, he had never once broken a promise to me. I couldn’t bear to lose him, to sever a love that felt woven into my very bones. So I chose to forgive him. And then, at the wedding, the officiant’s solemn words hung in the air: “Do you, Lawrence, take Nora to be your lawfully wedded wife, to love, honor, and cherish her for the rest of your days?” My heart hammered against my ribs, waiting. Waiting for him to give me—to give us—the perfect ending we deserved. Instead, a single sentence from his assistant was all it took for him to abandon me, leaving the diamond ring to mock me from the cold, hard floor. The entire congregation watched him flee the ceremony. He left me. And just like that, his promise was broken. 2. The venue dissolved into chaos. Our parents, utterly bewildered, rushed to my side. Leo, the assistant, stammered, his eyes darting everywhere but at me. “One of the junior engineers under Mr. Shaw had an emergency… she—she’s got critical project data, and he just had to go check on the situation. I’m sure he’ll be right back.” Leo had worked for Lawrence for eight years. He’d always been respectful, always greeted me with a warm smile and called me “Mrs. Shaw-to-be.” Now, he couldn’t even meet my gaze. I couldn’t begin to imagine how many secrets he’d kept for Lawrence, what role he played in this whole charade with that girl, Lily. A thicket of thorns grew around my heart, the betrayal a physical, piercing pain. My parents held my hands, their voices tight with anger. “This is madness! Who on earth could be more important than his own wedding? To just leave Nora standing at the altar?” Lawrence’s parents were mortified, alternating between frantically calling his phone and trying to soothe me. “Nora, dear, don’t you worry. I’m going to get that boy back here to apologize to you this instant.” The abandoned ring dug into my palm, leaving bloody crescents on my skin. For three hours, every call we made to Lawrence went straight to voicemail. He had run off to be some other girl’s hero, leaving me to burn alone on the pyre of our wedding day, to endure the pitying stares and hushed whispers of our guests. The world tilted, and then it went black. When I woke up, a doctor was speaking to me in a gentle voice. “You need to be careful now. You’re living for two. Try to avoid any emotional distress.” My heart sank as I looked at the ecstatic faces of my parents and Lawrence’s. I managed a bitter, ugly smile as tears finally welled up and spilled over. How was I supposed to tell them that our ten-year love story had just been torn wide open? Not long after, Lawrence arrived. He looked pale, and his eyes were filled with a guilt that felt shallow and distant. My parents left the room, instructing him to apologize properly. The silence in the room was heavy. He took my cold hand, his own grip hesitant. After a long moment, he spoke, his voice hoarse. “Nora, in ten years, I’ve never asked you for anything. We’ve always been so good. But this one time… I’m begging you. Please, don’t let this get out. It could ruin Lily’s reputation. Can you do that for me?” My heart seized, twisting into a tight, painful knot. I could barely breathe. He wasn’t here to apologize to me. He was here to ask for a favor. A person’s first instinct doesn’t lie. He hadn’t spared a single thought for my humiliation at the wedding. He wasn’t worried about why I had collapsed and ended up in a hospital. His first words were for Lily. The tears I’d been holding back broke free, a silent, steady stream soaking the corner of the blue hospital blanket. I forced a single word from my throat. “Fine.” He let out a breath, a wave of relief washing over his face. He continued, “Lily… she didn’t take the news of the wedding well. She’s very unstable right now.” His voice became hesitant, almost pleading. “I was thinking… I need to stay at the hospital with her for a few days, just to make sure she’s okay. Maybe… maybe we can postpone things? Just for a little while. Six months. In six months, we can get married. Okay?” Six months. I had waited ten years. What was another six months? I could wait. I really could. But he didn’t need to do this. It was simple, really. He had fallen for someone else. I could handle that. But a suffocating pressure was building in my chest, a fire searing through my insides. And inside me, a tiny life was waiting, depending on me. I thought for a long, long time. My mind was filled with images of that girl’s smile, and the sickeningly fond look on Lawrence’s face as he had gazed at her photos. The tangled mess of grief in my heart suddenly went still. I didn’t want to wait anymore. I gently pulled my hand from his. “Lawrence,” I said softly. “I’m not a genius. But I fell in love with you when I was eighteen, and I’ve been with you for ten years.” “I remember how your hands trembled when you first asked me out. You were so nervous, it was both funny and endearing.” “I remember you cried when I said yes. You held me so tight, and for the first time, I felt a love as real and powerful as my family’s.” “For ten years, you bought me everything I ever wanted. You kept every promise, fulfilled every vow. For ten years, I truly believed you loved me down to your very soul.” I looked up, and the tears came in a torrent. “But today… today I feel like you don’t love me anymore.” That one simple truth shattered my defenses. We had so many beautiful memories. Lawrence’s eyes reddened, and a single tear traced a path down his cheek. “But Nora,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “She needs me right now.” She needs me. Those three words struck me like a physical blow, grounding me in a new, cold reality. I was finally, completely awake. I didn’t try to stop him. I just watched him walk out of my hospital room, and out of my life. 3. The next day, as I was being discharged, I saw him in the hallway. He didn’t see me. His entire world was focused on the girl he was gently supporting. She was tall and slender, with a pure, innocent face and large, round eyes. So this was Lily. The girl whose suicide attempt had made the unshakable Lawrence Shaw lose his composure and abandon his own wedding. My gaze must have lingered too long, because she noticed me. Her face went white, and she turned away, clutching Lawrence’s arm nervously. Lawrence saw me then. His brow furrowed in annoyance as he walked toward me. “Nora, Lily’s not well. Whatever this is, we can talk about it at home. Don’t make a scene here and embarrass her.” In his arms, Lily looked even paler, as if she were terrified of me. “N-Nora… it’s not what you think. There’s nothing going on between me and Lawrence, I swear.” I clutched the lab report in my hand and offered a small, quiet laugh. “You’ve got it all wrong. I’m just here to pay my bill.” Lawrence stared at me, his anger strangely deflating. I walked past them to the payment window without another word. As I was leaving the hospital, a text from him came through. 【Nora, don’t be angry. I was just on edge earlier. I bought you a gift, it’s on its way.】 When the delivery guy knocked, he handed me a cake box. It was the Disney castle cake he always got me when he’d done something to upset me. I was a romantic, and I could be demanding. He thought this was my favorite. The truth was, I’d been sick of it for years. But Lawrence was so busy, so consumed by his work. I loved him, and I didn’t want him to stress over me on top of his all-night research sessions. So every time he sent this cake, I’d put on a show of delight, hoping it would make him happy, too. Now, finally, I didn’t have to pretend anymore. I gave the cake to the neighbor’s kids and texted him back. 【It’s been ten years. Just like with you, even the best cake gets old.】 He must have understood the jab, because he replied immediately. 【I’m sorry. You’re right. Tomorrow, I’ll go to the mall myself and pick out something special for you.】 He didn’t come home that night. It’s not easy to surgically remove a ten-year relationship from your life. I couldn’t sleep. I got up and started packing. As I tossed my things into boxes, memories ambushed me. The year we graduated, Lawrence had just started at the research firm and was constantly buried in work. A year later, he came to me with a ten-year employment contract and a check for a staggering amount of money. He put them both in my hands. “Nora, I told you I’d give you a home. I keep my promises.” The young man in my memory was so earnest, so brave. When he loved me, his passion burned brighter than the sun. I cried and threw my arms around him. We bought this apartment, kissed under the setting sun, and had giddy, endless conversations while picking out furniture at IKEA. The string lights on the balcony, the worn-in rocking chair that held a decade of our whispers, the spot on the living room rug where we’d cuddle with a watermelon and watch cheesy rom-coms… He said he would give me a home. Now, he was forcing me to leave it. 4. It took me three days to clear out everything that was mine. While I was packing the last of the boxes, both sets of parents showed up. I hadn’t had the heart to tell them what Lawrence had done, so to this day, they still didn’t know the real reason we were breaking up. My parents respected my decision, but Lawrence’s mother pleaded with me. “Nora, you’re about to get married! It’s just a little fight. It’s not serious enough to split up over, is it?” I said nothing, just motioned for the movers to continue carrying boxes out. Just as Lawrence’s parents were about to wear themselves out trying to convince me, Lawrence himself walked in. He was holding Lily’s hand. The room fell silent. Everyone stared at them, their faces a mixture of shock and dawning horror. Lawrence’s mother’s voice trembled. “Lawrence… did you… did you do something to hurt Nora?” His father’s eyes widened in fury. “Son! Who is this girl?” Lawrence didn’t answer them. His gaze swept over the half-empty apartment and landed on me. “Where are you moving?” he asked. He was still so calm, so rational. He accepted my departure without a fight. No explanation. No begging me to stay. And he had the audacity to bring her here. “I’m moving back to my real home,” I said, my voice just as level as his. He nodded slowly. “Okay. I’ll come find you in a few days.” Then, he pulled Lily forward and introduced her to our families. “This is my assistant from the lab, Lily. She was discharged from the hospital today, so I brought her over for a home-cooked meal.” He said it so casually, so openly, that it made all of our suspicions seem petty and small-minded. Lily linked her arm through Lawrence’s mother’s, her smile cloyingly sweet. “Mrs. Shaw, Lawrence takes such good care of me at work. He even offered to cook for me today to celebrate me getting out of the hospital! But I couldn’t let him go to all that trouble. Since you’re both here, why don’t you let me cook for you? You can try my famous lasagna.” Lawrence’s mother shot me a pained, apologetic look. “Nora, maybe we should all just sit down and talk things through…” I was about to refuse when Lily cut me off, a glint of triumphant provocation in her eyes. “Yes, Nora. Stay for dinner. What do you say?” SMACK. It happened in an instant. My eyes flew open as my mother’s hand connected with Lily’s cheek. “Mom, what are you—?” My mother’s eyes were blazing, her voice shaking with rage as she turned to me. “You are my daughter. Did you really think I wouldn’t know?” “You were eighteen when you got with Lawrence! You’re twenty-eight now! Ten years of your life! You came from a good family, but you learned to cook for him, knit for him, bite your tongue and swallow your pride for him! Do you think I believe you’d be leaving if it wasn’t absolutely unbearable?” Her voice rose, ringing through the room. “I don’t ask for you to marry rich, but today, this boy brings this… thing into your home to slap you in the face? I will not stand for it. If my daughter won’t fight for herself, then her mother will!” Her words hung in the air, sharp and final. Lily clutched her red cheek, stunned into silence. Lawrence looked at her, his face dark with anger as he turned on me. “Nora! How old are you? Still running to your parents to complain—” I didn’t let him finish. A dam of fury broke inside me. I lunged forward, slapping him again and again, the sting of my palm against his cheek a bitter release. Finally spent, I reached under the coffee table, pulled out a folded piece of paper from the drawer, and threw it at his chest. “Do you know what my biggest regret in this life is?” He flinched, then unfolded the paper. As his eyes scanned the page, his pupils shrank to pinpricks. “Nora… you’re… you’re pregnant?”

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Noah Thorne asked me if I wanted to marry him. A one-year contract marriage. The pay: one million dollars, with all daily expenses covered. I accepted with giddy excitement. But one year turned into another, and then another. Ten years passed, and he never once mentioned a divorce. Just when I started to think he might have actually fallen in love with me, he left me seventy million dollars and died. I was flooded with relief. Finally, I could live my dream life: rich, no husband, and no kids. Later, I received a box of Noah’s belongings. Inside was an AI robot dog. As a joke, I named it Noah. It said: “Karina, I’m sorry that I love you.” 1 On our tenth wedding anniversary, Noah died. Just before he passed, he asked me, “Karina, is there anything you want to say to me?” I paused for a moment, then blurted out, “Don’t forget to transfer this year’s million-dollar payment.” A man can die, but he can’t skip out on his final paycheck. When it comes to money, I’m relentless. Noah was silent for a long moment, then he suddenly smiled, a spark igniting in his clouded eyes. “Karina,” he whispered, “I love that about you. It’s good.” I tried to smile back, to joke with him like I always did. But Noah had already closed his eyes, and no matter how many times I called his name, he wouldn’t wake up. The smile froze on my face. “Goodbye, Noah.” I watched, impassive, as they wheeled him into the morgue. I went through the motions of the funeral, a perfect, grieving widow, without shedding a single tear. It was only when Noah’s younger brother, Ethan, handed me a box that my composure cracked. Inside was a debit card with a seventy-million-dollar balance and a small robot dog. My calm expression shattered, not from grief, but from pure, unadulterated joy. Noah had already paid me for the full ten years. Why would he leave me another seventy million? “All of this… for me?” Ethan nodded. “That’s what his will said.” He added, with well-meaning sympathy, “Karina, he’s gone. Try not to be too sad.” Sad? Why would I be sad? I was ecstatic! I could barely contain my laughter. I didn’t know why Noah had left me so much money. Maybe it was guilt, or pity. He was, after all, a deeply kind man. Ten years ago, I had held a knife to him and demanded money. He had just looked at me with his gentle eyes and asked, “Are you in desperate need of money? If so, I can offer you a job.” The job was to marry him. He promised he would never force me to do anything I didn’t want to. He just needed a wife in name only, to fend off his parents’ incessant matchmaking. I agreed. I didn’t care about marriage; I only cared about the money. But Noah was always apologizing. He said he was holding me back, wasting my life. He was a soft-hearted man. It made perfect sense that a man like him would leave me seventy million dollars. And since only a fool would turn down free money, I took it without a second thought. Lost in the euphoria of my newfound wealth, I completely forgot about the unassuming robot dog. Sitting alone in the vast, empty living room, I stared at my bank balance on my phone and, out of habit, asked, “Noah, what am I supposed to do with seventy million dollars?” The room was silent. And then I remembered. Noah was gone. And it was wonderful. No one to nag me anymore. No one to disapprove of my bad habits. When I first married Noah, I went on a spending spree. I’d take one bite of a cake and throw the rest away. I bought the gaudiest jewelry, the most expensive, brand-name dresses and shoes. Everyone mocked my lack of taste, and I became a source of constant embarrassment for him. But Noah never got angry. He would just check on me, his voice full of concern. “Did you eat too much? Are you feeling bloated? Do your ears hurt from those heavy earrings? Are your feet blistered from those heels?” He would gently place my feet in his lap and dab iodine on the sores. “Karina,” he’d say softly, “you have to understand. Money is for making yourself comfortable, not for making yourself miserable.” After that, he started planning my days, from my studies to my entertainment, from my diet to my exercise. He meticulously sculpted me, transforming me from a wild weed into a cultivated rose. Everyone thought he was madly in love with me, that I had won the lottery of a lifetime by marrying him. But I knew the truth. He didn’t love me. He just needed a suitable wife. And now that he was gone, I didn’t have to be Mrs. Thorne anymore. I could do whatever I wanted. 2 I went to the one place Noah hated most: a grimy, chaotic nightclub. I booked the best table, ordered the most expensive champagne, and watched the sweaty, muscular men in the boxing ring. To be honest, Noah was never my type. He was too refined, too fragile. A little exercise would leave him red-faced and gasping for breath. I preferred my men sunny and strong. I used to tease him about it all the time. “Noah, you need to work out. You need to live a long, long life.” “You want me to live a long life?” he’d ask, a strange light in his eyes. “Of course! You’re my meal ticket.” In that moment, I could have sworn I saw a flicker of something in his beautiful, almond-shaped eyes—a mixture of resignation and relief. After that, he started jogging and going to the gym with me. But he seemed to be naturally frail. No matter how hard he tried, he remained alarmingly thin. Now, I realize it was because he was sick. “Bored, beautiful? I can keep you company.” A young boxer, fresh from a win, sauntered over to my table, flexing his glistening muscles. I forced the image of Noah from my mind. He was gone. I didn’t have to adhere to the moral code of a married woman anymore. It was time to enjoy myself. I smiled and downed my drink in one gulp. The burn of the alcohol as it slid down my throat was punctuated by the whistles and catcalls from the surrounding crowd. It was a familiar symphony of chaos, vulgarity, and darkness. I was getting drunk. I pulled the young boxer down to sit beside me, my eyes hazy. “Tell me, handsome, how much for a night?” He couldn’t suppress a greedy smile, but he still feigned propriety. “I’m not like that, beautiful. I just like you.” Like. The word instantly killed my mood. I knew, with absolute certainty, that no one could ever truly like me. My mother, unable to bear our poverty, had left us. As she held me tight, her tears soaking my shoulder, she had sobbed, “Karina, my sweet Karina, as soon as Mommy has money, I’ll come back for you.” After she left, my father unleashed all his bitterness and rage on me. He rented me out to an underground boxing ring. “This girl of mine,” he’d boast, “she’s tough. You can hit her as hard as you want, she won’t break. A real bargain!” I became a human punching bag for two hundred dollars a session. There wasn’t a single inch of my body that wasn’t bruised or broken. The only time my father showed me any affection was when he collected his payment, when he would “generously” buy me a small cupcake. That’s when I understood. My father didn’t love me. He loved money. And to earn his love, I had to earn him a lot of it. After I married Noah, he was so generous with me that I had to ask. “Noah, are you giving me all this money because you want me to like you?” He had just stroked my hair and corrected me gently. “Karina, remember this: love isn’t something that can be bought or sustained with money.” I looked into his clear, honest eyes and mumbled, “I know.” And I did know. Noah Thorne didn’t want my affection. He was always so kind, so gentle. His rejection was just as soft, but it was a rejection nonetheless. I should have known better. Who would ever want the love of someone so broken? When I turned eighteen, my body had blossomed into a woman’s curves, and the looks from the men at the gym changed. Their gazes became lewd, their touches exploratory and disgusting. I begged my father to take me away, but he was too busy counting his money. I tried to run, but the owner of the gym caught me. His face was a mask of lust as he lunged at me. 3 He was overconfident. He forgot that being able to take a punch meant I also knew how to throw one. As he tore at my pants, I delivered a crippling blow to his groin. I ran to the police station and reported him. He was sentenced to three years in prison. But my reputation was ruined. I was kicked out of the gym. With no more liquor money coming in, my father’s abuse escalated. “You’re a slut, just like your mother!” he’d scream. “It’s your fault for having a body like that! You’re a shameless whore, seducing married men!” Even my own father said it. So, of course, everyone else believed it. They spat on me, beat me, drove me out of town. I had no education, no skills, and a body covered in hideous scars. No one would hire me. So I found work as a bouncer at a nightclub. I thought time and distance could bury the ugliness of my past. So when a coworker confessed his feelings, promising me a home, a normal life with marriage and children, I gambled. I gave him all my savings, believing he was sincere. He took the money and left, running away with the girl he truly loved. I overheard him later, talking to a friend. “That freak? Being liked by her is disgusting. If it wasn’t for her money, I wouldn’t have even bothered to pretend.” That’s when I finally understood. No one wanted my heart. Not my father. Not my coworker. And not Noah. I hate the word “like.” I smashed my glass on the floor. The young boxer at my side went pale. “This is so boring,” I muttered. I stumbled out of the club and into a taxi. The moment I got home, I went straight to the bathroom to wash off the stench of smoke and alcohol. Otherwise, Noah would find out and start nagging me again. He was like an old man, always gently but relentlessly trying to correct my bad habits. I realized I had forgotten to grab a change of clothes. “Noah,” I called out automatically, “can you bring me my pajamas?” Silence. I froze, the washcloth still in my hand. How could I have forgotten again? He was gone. The first time I came home drunk after we were married, I was a complete mess. I had thrown up all over myself. It was Noah who cleaned me up. When I realized what was happening, I instinctively tried to cover myself. “Noah… is it ugly?” I whispered. I knew how hideous my body was. The scars disgusted even me. But Noah just gently touched the scar on my brow, then pulled me into his arms. He bathed me with a tenderness I had never known, dried me off, and helped me into my pajamas. “Karina,” he said softly, “your body isn’t a test to be graded. Do you understand?” I looked at him, confused. “It belongs to you. You can use it to feel the warmth of the sun, to enjoy the thrill of running, to taste delicious food… Karina, don’t ever judge yourself through someone else’s eyes.” It was the first time anyone had ever said anything like that to me. It was the first time someone had looked at my body without a trace of disgust. On impulse, I leaned in and kissed him. It was quick, light as a feather, almost a mistake. But to Noah, it was a grave error. For the first time, I saw anger and frustration on his gentle face, mixed with an emotion I couldn’t decipher. In that instant, the warmth that had been blooming in my chest turned to ice. How could I have forgotten? He didn’t want my love. But he was so kind, so gentle, that he was constantly, unintentionally, pulling me in. This was wrong. I pretended it had been an accident, a slip. “This tub is so slippery,” I joked. “I almost chipped a tooth. You’re going to have to pay me extra for this.” Noah, ever the good sport, just nodded. “Okay. Whatever you say.”

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Everyone believed Christine Thorne adored me. Even after my father and I were exiled from the family empire, she kept our engagement. She rehearsed our wedding ninety-nine times for perfection. What no one knew? Each rehearsal had a different groom—one of her ninety-nine lovers, chosen by lottery. “Scott, darling,” she’d purr, “you’re already my husband. Let them have one wedding each… that’s fair, no?” I’d take her cash and rush to the hospital. The charade shattered on our real wedding day. When she walked down the aisle with my mother’s illegitimate son, I broke. “Anyone but him!” I begged. Her smile was icy. “I’m pregnant with his child. Don’t be like your pathetic father, begging for his hospital bills.” Under a hundred mocking stares, I fled with the money—just in time to see my father jump. His blood hit my face as his dying whisper came: “Stop begging her.” 1 I held my father’s cooling body, my own blood turning to ice in my veins. My mouth was open, but no sound came out. Christine’s ringtone sliced through the silence. I answered on instinct. Her lazy, sensual voice purred through the phone. “Scott, darling. Leo and I are having our wedding night, but we’re out of condoms. Be a dear and pick some up.” My fingers trembled, about to end the call, but she wasn’t finished. “Oh, and grab a bag of those gummy bears he likes. The boy has a sweet tooth. I need to keep him happy.” My mind flashed back to the night she rescued my father and me from a squalid little apartment. She had slipped a ring onto my finger, her touch gentle. “Trying to hide from me? You made me look for so long.” “Even if you’re not a Vance anymore, you’re still my husband, Scott. I will give you the most perfect wedding.” That first night, I was still in a daze. She popped a candy into my mouth, her voice laced with pity. “Don’t be scared. Have a candy. From now on, life will only be sweet.” I knew about her reputation, her notorious flings, but I fell for her anyway, greedily devouring every scrap of affection she threw my way. I never cared about the lovers; I told myself it was all an act. But Leo was different. She was carrying his child. In our five years of marriage, no matter how passionate things got, Christine always took precautions. My greed had finally caught up to me. The one exception she made was for the person I hated most in the world. If it weren’t for Leo and his mother, my father would still have a wife, and I would still have a mother. As always, she hung up first. I watched, numb, as the men from the funeral home wheeled my father away. When they handed me a small, heavy box, I finally shattered, the sobs tearing from my throat. Just as I received the death certificate, my phone rang again. “Mr. Vance? The DNA results are in. Your father was the long-lost son of Alistair Kane.” “We’ve already booked you a flight. Would you be willing to meet your grandfather? And please, don’t be afraid. The rumors about him are greatly exaggerated.” I clutched my father’s ashes, tears blurring my vision. “Yes,” I whispered. “Excellent. In three days, have your documents ready. Someone will be there to pick you up.” I returned to the villa, a ghost in my own home. A group of drunk women were laughing loudly in the living room. “Christine, isn’t Leo your husband’s half-brother? I thought you hated him. Why was he the groom today?” Christine swirled the red wine in her glass, a slow, deliberate smile spreading across her face. “I had no choice. The father of my child needs to have a respectable lineage.” After a round of boisterous cheers, someone asked cautiously, “But what about Scott?” Christine’s smile turned wicked. “Oh, Scott? He’s so well-behaved. I could fuck other men right in front of him, and he’d just dutifully hand me a condom. It’s just a wedding. I’ll make it up to him later.” The women roared with laughter. “Aren’t you afraid he’ll actually get mad and leave? I mean, if it weren’t for Leo, he’d still be the Vance heir!” Christine shrugged. “He won’t. Even if I kicked him out, he’d get on his knees and beg me not to leave him.” “After all,” she added, her voice dripping with contempt, “his pathetic, dying father depends on my money to stay alive.” I staggered backward, bumping into someone standing silently behind me. “Brother, you’re back.” I turned to see Leo’s face, my eyes hardening. “I don’t have a brother.” I started to walk away, toward the side door, but Leo let out a sudden, sharp cry. “Ah!” The chatter in the living room died instantly. 2 Christine sauntered over, hands in her pockets. She saw Leo on the floor and then gave me a long, meaningful look. “Did you push him?” Leo scrambled to explain. “No, no, it wasn’t my brother! I just tripped.” Then, he started to sob softly. “Christine… my stomach hurts…” Christine clicked her tongue and helped him up, then shot me a cold glare. “Come here.” She guided Leo back into the main villa, lifting his shirt to inspect his stomach as if he were a precious, fragile treasure, completely ignoring my presence. The other women exchanged glances and quietly slipped out, whistling mockingly as they passed me. Before, no matter how promiscuous she was, they never would have dared to be so brazen. They were smart. They could see that Leo was different from the ninety-nine other lovers. And so, I was now relegated to their status—an object to be toyed with and disdained. The realization sent a splinter of pain through my long-numb heart. She didn’t ask a single question. She just looked at me, her face a mask of indifference. “Scott. Apologize.” I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood. “I didn’t push him.” A cruel smile touched Leo’s lips as he whispered to the butler, “Go get the master’s cat.” My blood ran cold. “What are you doing?” Christine’s smile was brutal. “Scott, Leo isn’t like those other men. He’s my partner, the heir to the Vance Corporation, and he is carrying my child.” “I will not tolerate anyone hurting the father of my baby. Including you.” “So, you need to learn your lesson. There are consequences.” As she finished speaking, the cat—my cat—was thrown into the scalding hot pot on the dining table. It let out a shriek of agony that would haunt me forever. I lunged forward, but Christine grabbed me, forcing my head down, making me watch as the little creature that had been my only comfort for ten years was boiled alive. She leaned in, her whisper a venomous caress in my ear. “This time, Scott, it’s just the cat. If you dare touch Leo again, the next thing you should weigh will be your father’s life.” A single, silent tear slid down my cheek. The memory of her defending me in front of her other lovers now felt like a cruel joke, a boomerang that had come back to strike me between the eyes. Then, she slid a divorce agreement in front of me. “Sign it. My child can’t be born a bastard.” I stared, trembling, at my cat floating in the bubbling broth. It was the only solace I had left after being thrown out of my home, and now, just like my father, it was gone. This marriage had no meaning anymore. I took the pen and signed my name with a steady hand. Christine’s brow furrowed for a split second, a flicker of surprise that I hadn’t hesitated. She scoffed. “Since you’re no longer my husband, you can move into the servant’s quarters. From now on, you’ll earn your father’s medical fees with your own labor.” A bitter smile twisted my lips as I remembered my father’s last words. “That won’t be necessary.” Just then, the sound of retching came from my room. My heart sank. I burst in to see my bedsheet, a gift from my father, covered in vomit. Leo stood up, a look of faux apology on his face. “Sorry, brother. It’s my wedding day with Christine, I guess I drank a little too much.” He pulled a ten-dollar bill from his wallet. “This sheet looks pretty old anyway. Here’s ten bucks for a new one.” SLAP! My eyes were bloodshot as I struck him across the face. “Leo, you’ve gone too far!” He clutched his cheek, looking tearfully at Christine, who had followed me in. “Christine, I didn’t mean to! I already apologized!” The next thing I knew, a searing pain exploded across my own cheek. 3 She had used all her strength, knocking me to the ground. She didn’t even glance at me. Instead, she rushed to Leo’s side, gently examining his face. “Did that make you feel better?” Leo whimpered, burying his face in her arms. “It was my fault. I ruined my brother’s bedsheet.” Only then did Christine’s gaze fall on the filthy mess on my bed. “Burn it,” she said, her voice flat. “No! My father gave that to me! I can wash it, please, don’t burn it!” She knew. She knew I had nightmares every night, that only by clutching that sheet could I find any peace. But she ignored my desperate pleas, turning to the servants behind her. “The new master of the house has arrived. Throw out all of this old junk.” CRASH! Our wedding portrait was torn from the wall and swept out of the room like trash. All I could hear was the echo of her vow from that day. “I, Christine Thorne, swear to love only Scott Vance for the rest of my life.” As the flames licked at the sheet, I dove toward the fire pit, snatching it from the embers with my bare hands, trying to smother the fire with my own body. Blisters immediately rose on my skin. Christine rushed to my side, grabbing my hands, her eyes sharp. “Does it hurt?” But then Leo suddenly clutched his stomach, pointing at the open urn on my nightstand. “I’m allergic to dust! Brother, what are you doing with a box of ashes?” “Christine, help me! I can’t breathe!” “NO!” I lunged forward, a primal scream tearing from my throat. But it was too late. Leo kicked the urn, sending my father’s ashes scattering across the floor. The rage I’d suppressed for so long finally erupted. I grabbed his hair, my eyes blazing red. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?” “You bastard! It wasn’t enough for your father to be a homewrecker who seduced my mother, now you have to be one too and steal another man’s wife!” Leo shrieked, “Christine, he’s lost his mind! He’s trying to kill me!” My hands closed around his throat, but one of Christine’s bodyguards kicked me so hard I flew across the room. I landed on the shattered pieces of our wedding portrait, the shards digging deep into my flesh. Blood began to pool beneath me. Ignoring the pain, I crawled across the floor, trying to gather my father’s ashes, leaving a bright red smear in my wake. Tears dripped onto the gray dust. “Dad, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…” But in the next instant, Christine snatched the urn from my hands. And with chilling indifference, she poured what was left of my father into the toilet. The sound of the flush was a roar that threatened to shatter my eardrums. I knelt before the porcelain bowl, stunned, then slowly looked up at her, my eyes blood-red. “Christine,” I whispered, my voice a blade of ice, “I will never, ever forgive you.” For a split second, shock and pain flickered in her eyes. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared. Leo held up a clump of his hair, his voice tragic. “Christine, look what he did! Maybe we shouldn’t have the baby. If he’s like this over a wedding, what will he do when our child is born? Will he try to kill me?” Christine pulled him into a tender embrace, cooing softly. “No, my love. I’ll protect you.” Her gaze then fell on me, cold and lifeless, as if I were an inanimate object. She called to a servant at the door. “Get the scissors.” She took them and stood over me, grabbing my chin and forcing my head up. “Scott, have I been too lenient with you?” Then, she began to cut. She pressed the cold steel against my scalp, shearing off my hair in rough, uneven chunks, like a patch of worthless weeds. The day before our wedding, she had held my hair in her hands, calling it her most precious treasure. When she was finished, my head was nearly bare, with only a few pathetic strands remaining. She tossed the scissors aside and turned back to Leo, kissing his hair with a reverence that made my stomach turn. “Are you happy now?” Leo’s tears turned to a triumphant smile, his eyes glinting with victory as he looked at me. “Hah! Brother, you look like a clown!”

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1 In the fifth year of my marriage to Paul, I discovered he was secretly planning to divorce me for another woman. And I, fool that I was, still loved him. So, on the very day he was about to serve me the papers, I beat him to it. I handed him the doctor’s confirmation of my pregnancy. That night, Paul stood on the balcony and chain-smoked until dawn. The next day, he broke up with the girl. This fragile peace lasted until I was six months pregnant. That’s when the girl showed up at our front door, a wedding invitation in her hand. “Mr. Crawford,” she said, her voice trembling, “my wedding is tomorrow. If you ask me to stay, just say the word, and I’ll call the whole thing off for you.” With that, she dropped the invitation and fled in a storm of tears. Paul shot up from his chair, ready to chase after her. Watching his back, the back of a man about to abandon me, I clutched my aching belly and my voice cut through the air. “Paul, if you walk out that door today, I’m going to the hospital to have an abortion.” He froze for a heartbeat. But only a heartbeat. Then, he walked out anyway. … I first realized Paul was planning to divorce me when the corporate lawyers started hounding me with paperwork. Changing the company’s legal representative. Switching the corporate bank accounts. He was even trying to offload our properties, selling them at suspiciously low prices. The company’s finances told a similar story. An enterprise that had been thriving just six months ago was now bleeding money, month after month. His excuse was a constant stream of business trips, disappearing for weeks at a time. He claimed the company was in crisis, and he was desperately trying to turn things around. I never called him on his lies. I never told him I’d seen the viral clip of them—him and his precious girl—kissing passionately at a sold-out pop concert. It had even made the rounds on a “CEO scandals” trending list. Why did I stay silent? Why did I endure it all? Because I still loved him. Five years of dating, five years of marriage—you don’t just sever a decade of your life because of an affair. It’s not that simple. So, I pretended not to notice the love bites on his neck when he came home. I ignored the cloying scent of a perfume favored by younger women clinging to his clothes. I even feigned ignorance when he moved into the study, sleeping in a separate bed, refusing to even touch me. I didn’t want a divorce, but he clearly did. As fate would have it, the lawyer he hired to draft the divorce papers worked for a firm I had secretly invested in. So not only did I know how much he agonized over the decision, how stressed and irritable he’d become, but I even knew the exact day he planned to give me the papers. To save our marriage, I took a desperate step. I went through a round of IVF. The night before he was set to end our life together, I called him, insisting he come home. He was clearly annoyed. The dinner I’d cooked for him had to be reheated three times by our housekeeper before he finally deigned to walk through the door. He didn’t even glance at the food on the table. Seeing me on the sofa, he just gave a cold, dismissive nod and disappeared into his study. Two hours later, after a long shower, he finally emerged. “You said you had something to tell me,” he said, his tone clipped and hard. It was the same voice he used with his employees. “What is it?” I didn’t say a word. I just calmly handed him the papers from the clinic. “I’m pregnant. Two weeks.” Paul’s breath caught in his throat. The veins on the back of the hand gripping the report bulged. I knew why this was such a shock. My mother had died in childbirth with my younger brother, and I had seen enough of women sacrificing everything for a marriage. From the very beginning of our relationship, I’d made it clear: I was child-free by choice. I would never have children. Back then, blinded by love, Paul had agreed without a second thought. But after we married, as the years passed, he started bringing it up more and more. Each time, I refused, even lashing out at him for breaking his promise. And now, here I was, handing him proof of a pregnancy. He took several deep, shuddering breaths, as if trying to reclaim his sanity. “Thank you,” he finally managed to say. “Thank you for being willing to do this… for me.” He stood up so abruptly that his knee slammed into the corner of the coffee table. Clutching the report, he stammered, “Sorry, this is just… it’s a lot to take in. I need a minute to process.” He fled back into his study, the door slamming shut behind him. It was only when the echo of the slam faded that I noticed the fruit fork in my hand. I’d been gripping it so tightly it had broken the skin of my palm, a single drop of blood blooming like a dark flower in my glass of water. 2 That night, the faint smell of smoke crept into my room. It was enough to tell me that Paul had probably been on the balcony all night, chain-smoking. The two rooms were close, but not that close. For the smell to be that strong, he must have gone through pack after pack. The next morning, I received a call from HR. Paul’s new secretary had resigned. And just like that, the business deals he was trying to unload were reversed, and the company began to operate normally again. The day I got the news, I lay in bed, my hand resting on my still-flat stomach, and cried until my pillow was soaked. Somehow, against all odds, I had saved our once-beautiful love from ending in a storm of cold calculation and betrayal. After that, Paul slipped back into the role of the loving husband he used to be. He accompanied me to every prenatal check-up. He spent weeks meticulously researching and selecting the best postpartum recovery center. He bought mountains of baby supplies, enough to last until our child was ten. He did everything a father-to-be should do. But he never moved back into our master bedroom. He still slept in the study. And he never, not once, initiated any physical intimacy. I even caught him once, late at night, watching videos and looking at photos of her on his phone while he pleasured himself. The absurdity of it was almost laughable, a bitter, stinging irony. Which brings us to now. To the girl, Jessie, brazenly showing up at our villa. She’d tossed her wedding invitation at me like a gauntlet, spewed some nonsense, and then run off. And Paul’s first instinct wasn’t to explain or reassure me. It was to chase after her. Even when I called out, forbidding him to leave, he just turned on me, his face a mask of pain and frustration. “Ava, I’m already trying to make this work! What more do you want from me?” he roared, his voice cracking. “She’s getting married tomorrow! Can’t I even say goodbye?” I looked at the sharp furrow of his brow, the undisguised disgust in his eyes. I wiped away a tear that had escaped without my permission. “No, Paul, you can’t. If you go after her today, I will abort this child.” His whole body went rigid. He stared at me, his eyes burning into mine. After what felt like an eternity, he exploded in a torrent of frustrated rage. “You are a truly vicious woman, Ava Jiang.” Vicious. The word struck me like a physical blow, leaving me breathless and numb. Was I vicious? For the sake of this marriage, to keep him, I had played blind. I had betrayed my own deepest convictions, enduring a belly bruised black and blue from IVF injections, all to give him the child he wanted. I had fought so, so hard to keep him. And in his eyes, all of that just made me… vicious. Tears streamed down my face like a torrential downpour. But my tears, and the child in my womb, were not enough to hold him back. He kicked the sofa in a fit of raw impatience. “Fine! Go to the hospital! Have your damn abortion! I’m going to her, and nothing you do can stop me!” And with that, he was gone, chasing after her like a reckless twenty-year-old, a desperate, frantic blur leaving my life. Watching him disappear, my fingers trembled as I dialed 911. He had made his choice. Now, it was time for me to make mine. I would abort the child he’d longed for, and then I would burn his entire world to the ground.

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1 I was fitting my wedding dress when my fiancé called, voice shaking. “Scarlett, the new house… it’s burned down!” At the scene, my seven-year-old nephew Ethan sobbed in a reporter’s arms, covered in soot. “It was Auntie! She tried to burn me alive for our family’s money!” Under flashing cameras, he revealed bruises on his neck. “She beats me, drugs my water, even puts thumbtacks on my bed!” The internet erupted: “Her sister’s barely buried, and she’s stealing from a child!” “Monsters like her deserve execution!” My fiancé’s family’s pity turned to horror. What Ethan didn’t know? For him, I’d torn up a deal—his father’s house in exchange for a lighter sentence—and sent the man to death row myself. I’d spent my savings raising him… only for him to paint me a murderer. Nausea hit me. This nephew? I was done. … “Scarlett Evans, you piece of trash!” “How dare you get married after trying to kill your own nephew! Your sister must be turning in her grave!” My phone buzzed relentlessly, the messages on the screen making my scalp tingle. I stood outside the police tape, my wedding dress stained with ash. The phone rang again. It was my fiancé Leo’s mother, her voice like ice. “Scarlett, you’ve dragged the Chen family’s name through the mud! The wedding is off! Off, do you hear me?!” She hung up before I could explain. Through the crowd, I saw Leo. He tried to rush over, but his mother held him back, her grip like a vise. His eyes were filled with pain, but also with a wavering doubt. The way he looked at me, as if I were a monster, froze the last bit of warmth in my heart. Memories from the past few months flooded my mind, each one a knife twisting in my gut. It started with him stealing money from my wallet. Five thousand dollars, gone in less than a day on game skins, virtual items, and tips for streamers. When I confronted him, he ran to school, crying, telling his teachers I had forced him to steal because I wouldn’t feed him. They believed him. At the parent-teacher conference, the other parents looked at me like I was a child-abusing demon. I explained, I begged, I showed them receipts for everything I bought him. It was useless. Then, he deliberately pushed a classmate at school. The little girl broke her leg. When her parents came to our door, he hid behind me, his eyes wide with tears, and whimpered, “My aunt wants me to get expelled so she can send me to an orphanage.” I emptied my savings to pay for the girl’s medical bills. I enrolled him in the most expensive after-school programs, bought him every toy he wanted. In return, his schemes only grew more elaborate. A month ago, in the principal’s office, Ethan sobbed his heart out, pointing a small finger at me. “Teacher, my aunt made me steal it! She said our family was starving and we had to steal something valuable!” The limited-edition fountain pen was worth three hundred dollars. I paid for it on the spot. Worse, I had to apologize in front of all the other parents, admitting to my “improper parenting.” The looks they gave me were the same as the reporters’ now—filled with disgust and contempt. And then, ten days ago, the neighbor’s cat fell from the sixth floor and died instantly. Ethan stood there, his eyes red and puffy, looking aggrieved. “It scratched me. I just gave it a little push. I didn’t think it would fall.” But I had seen the cat’s body. I saw the raw, pink flesh where patches of fur were missing, oozing blood. I saw the small, still-bleeding puncture wounds on its hind leg, clearly made by a small knife. I remember the look in that cat’s eyes before it died—pure terror. And Ethan, once he was back inside, didn’t shed a single tear. Thinking back now, it wasn’t an accident. He did it on purpose. I looked past the police tape to where Ethan was surrounded by reporters. His tears came on command, his trembling voice pitched with just the right amount of fear. “My aunt said I’m a murderer’s son and I don’t deserve to live! She said I’m a burden and she’s wanted to kill me for a long time!” Every word was a bullet, hitting its mark with deadly precision. Watching Ethan’s masterful performance for the cameras, the last shred of hope I had cherished was extinguished. I had naively believed that at seven, he was still just a child who didn’t know any better. That even if he did wrong, with enough guidance and love, I could set him on the right path. But now, watching him expertly manipulate public opinion, calculating every last detail, I finally understood—I could never teach him. 2 A police officer approached, his expression grim. “Ms. Evans, we need you to come with us for questioning. Your nephew, Ethan Thorne, has accused you of arson and attempted murder.” I looked at him and said, word for word, “I did not do it.” I was escorted by two female officers toward the charred remains of my bridal home. Strangers and neighbors pointed and whispered. “That’s the black-hearted woman! Lost all her conscience for money!” “Yeah, that’s her. She always seemed so quiet and gentle, who knew she was so vicious.” “Right, even tried to burn her own nephew to death, what a beast!” I tried to explain that I hadn’t killed anyone. That I had given all my love to care for my nephew. But no one around me believed a word. My legs started to feel weak, a buzzing filled my head. Just then, a familiar voice called out, “Scarlett! Scarlett Evans!” I turned to see my best friend, Kendra. She was desperately pushing through the crowd, trying to reach me. “Let me through! I need to see Scarlett!” Kendra finally broke through to me, her eyes filled with tears. “Scarlett, what on earth happened?!” “Ethan is not just your enemy’s child, he’s also your sister’s only son!” My heart sank to the pit of my stomach. Even Kendra doubted me. “I didn’t do it!” I screamed, my voice raw. Kendra took a step back, a flicker of fear in her eyes. “Scarlett, you need to calm down…” The female officer pulled me forward, and my mind started replaying the past. After my sister’s funeral, my brother-in-law’s parents knelt before me, a property deed and a bank card placed beside them. “Scarlett, sign this leniency plea, let your brother-in-law live, and all of this will be yours!” His mother wailed, heartbroken. “Your brother-in-law just made a mistake. If your sister knew, she wouldn’t want Ethan to lose his father and become an orphan!” I looked at the plea, my hands trembling. A house worth two million dollars, a bank card with half a million. Enough for Ethan to live comfortably for the rest of his life. But my sister, she was only 26, in the prime of her life. She never got to see Ethan grow up. In front of all our relatives, I tore the plea to shreds. “My sister’s life is not something a house can buy!” The relatives gasped. Someone started to reason with me, “Scarlett, you’re being too impulsive.” “Exactly, the dead can’t be brought back. What’s the point of doing this?” “You’re a single woman, raising a child is hard. With the money, at least your life would be secure.” I looked at them, my heart twisting in agony. My brother-in-law’s parents scrambled up from the floor, their eyes filled with venom. “Fine, Scarlett Evans. You want him dead? We’ll make you pay for the rest of your life!” At the time, I thought they were just angry words. I never imagined it was a declaration of their revenge. Even when my sister was alive, her husband had instilled in Ethan the idea that “money can solve everything.” Whatever Ethan wanted, his father bought. The most expensive toys, the finest clothes, the latest gadgets. My sister once worried, “If you keep spoiling him like this, he’ll be ruined.” Her husband was dismissive. “My son deserves the best.” Once, Ethan lied at school, claiming a teacher had hit him. When my sister found out the truth, she spanked him in anger. When her husband found out, he immediately held Ethan and yelled at my sister, “You dare touch my son!” My sister cried in frustration. “I was trying to teach him a lesson, he can’t get into the habit of lying.” “Teach him?” Her husband sneered. “You’re a Thorne. What right do you have to discipline a Chen family child?” That night, my sister cried in my arms for a long time. “Scarlett, am I really not a good mother?” I comforted her. “Sis, you did the right thing. Children need discipline.” Thinking back now, the seeds of Ethan’s evil were planted long ago. 3 I was taken to the scene, the air thick with the acrid smell of smoke. The bridal home was burned to a black skeleton, and my heart felt like it had been ripped apart. “Scarlett Evans, you venomous woman!” Ethan’s grandmother had arrived at some point, and the moment she saw me, she lunged, trying to claw at me, only to be held back by the police. She pointed at me, wailing to the onlookers and reporters, “First she killed my son, now she won’t even spare my only grandson!” Her eyes were vicious, as if she wanted to tear me to pieces. The crowd began to murmur, some taking pictures, others recording videos. “You really can’t judge a book by its cover.” Leo’s mother stood to the side, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Our family almost married a murderer.” Her words were a knife, plunging straight into my heart. This woman, who had once held my hand and said, “Scarlett, from now on, you’re my daughter,” now wished I would just disappear. My eyes started to burn, and I fought back tears. “Scarlett.” Leo finally walked over to me, his voice hoarse. “Tell me, why did you lock the door from the outside?” He used the word “why,” not “I believe you.” My heart plummeted. Even my fiancé didn’t believe me! “I didn’t lock the door!” I screamed. “Auntie said she had a surprise for me.” Ethan, hiding in his grandmother’s arms, pointed a small finger at me, his voice trembling. “After I went in, I heard a ‘click’ from outside. She locked me in!” His performance was flawless. The trembling voice, the perfectly pitched fear, even the “click” sound was mimicked with eerie accuracy. The crowd grew agitated. “The kid’s details are so specific, it must be true.” “Worse than an animal! People like her should get the death penalty.” My breathing quickened, and the world began to spin. “The investigation at the scene confirms the door was indeed locked from the outside.” A firefighter’s words shattered my last line of defense. Leo took a step back, a flicker of fear in his eyes. His mother immediately rushed forward, grabbing his arm. “Son, let’s go. Don’t get involved with a murderer.” “Wait!” I lunged, trying to grab Leo’s hand. But he stepped back, avoiding my touch. The man who once said, “Scarlett, I’ll protect you for the rest of my life,” was now looking at me like I was a monster. Tears streamed down my face. “Leo, you don’t believe me either?” “Scarlett, I…” Leo’s voice was full of pain and conflict. “Forget it.” I wiped away my tears, my voice strangely calm. “You don’t have to say anything. I understand.”

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A year into my overseas assignment, my daughter sent a selfie. “Daddy, I miss you,” read the message. Her downcast face made my heart ache—until I noticed a red scratch on her neck and dark bruises on her arm. Scrolling in shock, I found a post from Stella, the girl we’d taken in. It showed her birthday gifts—designer goods spread out, with my daughter Melinda’s beloved doll perched on her headboard. I called my wife, Leah. “It’s just an old doll,” she dismissed. But checking Stella’s spending on my card confirmed my worst fears. The real shock? My wife was letting it happen. 1 I had just closed a massive, multi-million dollar contract with our biggest international client when Melinda’s selfie popped up on my phone. Seeing the shadow in her eyes, that forced little smile, was a knife to the heart. My first instinct was to tell her I was wrapping things up, that I’d be home in a few days and we’d take that vacation she’d always wanted. But the sight of those faint, half-hidden injuries stopped me cold. I decided to play it carefully. I tried asking a few gentle questions, but her replies were jumbled and vague. Then, she just stopped replying altogether. Hoping to get a sense of her life lately, I checked her social media, but it was quiet. That’s when I saw the post from Stella, our sponsored daughter, from the day before. She was flaunting a haul of new things. What made my breath catch wasn’t the expensive handbag, but the doll sitting on her headboard. Melinda’s doll. The one she’d treasured for years. I vividly remembered a trip to her grandma’s when we’d forgotten it; Melinda had cried herself into a fever so high we’d feared the worst. After that, the doll went with us everywhere. It was her constant companion, her furry little confidant. I called Leah. Her voice was clipped, impatient. “She’s thirteen, Todd. She’s growing up. It’s perfectly normal for her to outgrow a doll.” “Maybe Melinda just didn’t want it anymore and gave it to Stella,” she added dismissively. “Look, just focus on your work. Don’t overthink things.” Then she hung up. Her sharp, defensive tone set off alarm bells. This wasn’t the Leah I knew, or at least, the one I thought I knew. She used to be so fiercely protective of Melinda. I remembered Melinda tripping on the sidewalk as a toddler, and Leah had scooped her up, tears in her own eyes, insisting on a trip to the emergency room. She couldn’t have forgotten the incident with the doll and the fever; it had terrified both of us. But over the last couple of years, a distance had grown. Now, if Melinda got a cut, Leah would just tell her to grab the first-aid kit and deal with it herself. My mind was made up. I handed off the final details of the project to my colleague and booked the first flight home. While waiting at the gate, I opened Stella’s social media profile again. This time, it was completely blank. A wall of privacy settings. I remembered I had an old, unused account that I’d added her on ages ago. I logged in. Her profile was still there, public and proud. She had simply blocked me. I scrolled through the photos, my unease turning to cold fury. Everything she wore, everything she owned, was high-end luxury. A thirteen-year-old girl with a limited edition Louis Vuitton bag. The necklace she was wearing? I did a quick search. It was worth over ten thousand dollars. She was a girl from a disadvantaged background we’d agreed to sponsor. Where was she getting this kind of money? I had always taught my own daughter, Melinda, the value of humility. Her most expensive outfit probably cost less than a hundred bucks. Desperate for answers, I called our housekeeper and our driver. But their answers only deepened the mystery. They spoke of Stella in glowing terms, a chorus of praise. They said she was incredibly frugal, wearing her clothes until they were faded and worn. The more they praised her, the more I felt like I was listening to a script. As if they had all rehearsed their lines. If Stella was so thrifty, then how could she afford designer bags and diamond necklaces? Or was I truly losing my mind? 2 When my team heard I was flying back, they all offered to pick me up from the airport, joking that after a year away, they might not even recognize their own boss anymore. These past few years had been a blur. I’d clawed my way up from nothing, starting a company that was now finally taking off. This last year was the most critical, a whirlwind of travel that had kept me away from my family far more than I’d liked. Before the plane had even taken off, I was already staring out the window, picturing the moment I’d see Leah and my precious daughter. Three hours later, I landed. I turned down my colleagues’ invitations for a welcome-back dinner and grabbed a cab straight home. It was eleven at night, a time when the house should have been dark and silent. But a light was still on in Melinda’s room. I let myself in quietly, not wanting to disturb anyone. I crept up the stairs and peered into her room. She was at her desk, hunched over a textbook, her face etched with anxiety, her eyes hollow and unfocused. My heart clenched. The amount of homework they piled on these kids was criminal. I pushed the door open, ready to surprise her. The moment she heard the sound, she flinched, her arms flying up to shield her face in a reflexive, terrified gesture. She curled into herself like a cornered animal. “Melinda, it’s okay,” I said softly. “It’s me. It’s Dad.” Hearing my voice, she froze. A second later, she launched herself into my arms, burying her face in my chest. “Dad! You’re finally back!” she sobbed, a torrent of silent tears streaming down her face. She was trying so hard not to make a sound, as if afraid of waking someone up. I held her tight, stroking her back. “I’m back, sweetie. I’m back. Why are you still up doing homework so late?” I reached for the notebook on her desk, but she snatched it away. It was too late. I’d already seen the name written on the cover. Stella Vance. It wasn’t her homework. Just then, a figure appeared in the doorway, her voice a saccharine-sweet murmur. “Dad, when did you get back?” It was Stella. I looked from her to the notebook in Melinda’s hands. “Stella, why is your homework in Melinda’s room?” A flicker of panic crossed Stella’s eyes, but her gaze shifted pointedly to Melinda. “My sister saw I had too much work, so she offered to help me out.” Melinda’s head dropped. “It’s… it’s true,” she mumbled, her voice trembling. “I offered to help my sister. It has nothing to do with her.” Her whole body was shaking, a leaf in the wind. I wasn’t buying it. I kept my eyes fixed on Stella. She just shrugged, a small, smug smile playing on her lips. “You heard her. She offered. I didn’t force her.” She paused, her voice dripping with false sweetness. “Right, sis?” That one word, drawn out and laced with poison, made the color drain from Melinda’s face. “Yes, sister,” she whispered. Seeing her so small, so humbled, in her own home sent a fresh wave of rage through me. She was supposed to be the princess of this house, not cowering before an outsider. “Stella,” I said, my voice low and firm. “Take your homework and go do it yourself. It’s time you learned to handle your own responsibilities.” Stella didn’t dare argue. She snatched the notebook and stalked back to her room. As I drew Melinda close, I finally saw the full extent of it. The dark circles under her eyes were deep trenches, signs of chronic exhaustion. But it was her complexion that truly shocked me. She was sallow, gaunt, a shadow of the vibrant, rosy-cheeked girl I’d left behind a year ago. She clung to my hand, her grip desperate. “Dad, you’re not leaving again, are you?” The plea in her voice was heartbreaking. “No, sweetie. I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying right here with you.” In my relentless pursuit of success, I’d convinced myself that providing for her was the ultimate expression of love. Now, I saw how wrong I was. I had built a gilded cage but had neglected the soul of the person inside it. No amount of money could replace a father’s presence. I asked her where her mom was. Melinda’s eyes darted nervously towards the door. “Mom said she had something at the office. She’ll be home late tonight.” More questions. Leah’s company had work this late? I told Melinda it was time for bed, but she refused to let go of me, insisting on sleeping in my room. I relented, setting her up in the master bed while I made a spot for myself on the floor. I read her a story, and once she seemed a bit more relaxed, I gently brought up the marks on her neck and arms. Her eyes shot towards the closed door, wide with fear. She stammered for a moment before finally mumbling, “Don’t ask, Dad. Please. I was just… clumsy.” Seeing the terror in her eyes, I didn’t push. But a thorn had lodged itself in my heart. She was in the prime of her youth, a time that should be filled with laughter and light. Instead, she was withdrawn and fearful. The guilt was a physical weight on my chest, a constant reminder of my own neglect. I decided then and there to put work on hold. My only job now was to be a father, to take my daughter away from this house, to help her heal. I tried calling Leah, thinking I could convince her to come home, to be with her daughter. Her response was sharp and dismissive. “I’m busy, Todd. I’ve partnered with a friend on a new startup. You be with her.” A new startup? This was the first I was hearing of it. But this was Leah’s way. She made decisions, and I was always the last to know. I’d grown used to it. Two years ago, she had brought Stella home without warning. She’d said the girl’s story broke her heart, that she was worried Melinda was lonely and needed a companion. I had been against it. Sponsoring her was one thing, but bringing her into our home felt like a massive overstep. Leah gave me the silent treatment until I caved, just to keep the peace. But from the moment Stella arrived, she acted less like a grateful guest and more like a conqueror. She saw Melinda’s beautifully decorated room and demanded it for herself. She helped herself to Melinda’s favorite snacks without asking. Leah dismissed my complaints, saying Stella was just “spirited” and “genuine.” I had hoped having another girl in the house would bring Melinda out of her shell. Instead, it seemed to have plunged her into a quiet, premature sorrow. I couldn’t let my ambition rob my daughter of her childhood. Watching Melinda finally drift off into a peaceful sleep, a small smile touched my lips. But a sudden shout from downstairs shattered the silence, and I felt Melinda jolt awake in the bed, startled. I slipped out of the room. Down in the living room, Stella was sprawled on the couch, controller in hand, screaming at the TV. 3 “You bunch of idiots! Do you even know how to play?” My fingers curled into fists, my knuckles white. “Stella, keep it down,” I warned, my voice tight. “Melinda’s asleep.” She didn’t even glance at me, her eyes glued to the screen. “Who cares if she’s sleeping? Don’t bother me, I’m about to lose!” The sheer audacity of it, the absolute certainty that she was untouchable in my own home. I walked over to the router and shut it off. Stella shot to her feet, her face contorted with rage. “What the hell? Why did you turn off the internet? I was at the final boss!” I stared her down, my patience gone. “Do you think this is your house? That you can do whatever you want?” My voice was cold steel. “I told you to be quiet. Did you hear me? One more time, and you’re out. For good.” She saw the fury in my eyes and finally backed down, glaring at me with pure hatred. “My mom never yells at me like that,” she muttered under her breath. She stomped back to her room and slammed the door with such force the entire house seemed to tremble. Right then, I made a decision. As soon as Leah got home, Stella was leaving. The sponsorship was over. The next morning, our housekeeper, Mrs. Vance, knocked on the door to announce breakfast was ready. I helped Melinda get ready, and we went downstairs to the dining room together. As we came down the stairs, we ran into Stella. The change in Melinda was instantaneous. She shrank behind me like a mouse spotting a hawk, her eyes darting away, unable to meet Stella’s gaze. I still couldn’t understand the depth of her fear. I took Melinda’s hand and led her to the table. We sat on one side, Stella on the other. A moment later, Mrs. Vance came out with their breakfasts, and my blood began to boil. “Mrs. Vance,” I said, trying to keep my voice even. “Why are these two breakfasts different? Stella has fresh milk, but Melinda doesn’t?” Mrs. Vance looked at me as if I were an idiot. “Stella’s at a growing age. She needs the extra nutrition. Melinda… well, she drank milk all the time when she was little. She’s had plenty. Anymore would just be a waste.” I slammed my hand on the table. The sharp crack made everyone jump. “Are you listening to yourself? What do you mean, ‘she’s had plenty’? Is my own daughter not allowed to have a glass of milk in her own home?” Mrs. Vance mumbled something under her breath before reluctantly turning back to the kitchen. “I’ll go get her a glass now.” She was gone for nearly half an hour. When she returned, she slapped a glass of milk down on the table in front of Melinda. “The fresh milk is all gone. This is from the carton in the fridge.” It was ice cold. My brow furrowed. “How could we be out of fresh milk? I have several quarts delivered every single day. There’s enough for the whole family.” Mrs. Vance’s eyes flickered guiltily toward Stella. “Well, with more people in the house, things get used up faster.” I turned directly to my daughter. “Melinda, do you usually drink a lot of milk?” She started to shake her head, but then she saw Stella staring at her. Her expression changed instantly. “Y-yes. Yes, I do.” In that moment, I understood. Something was deeply wrong here. Mrs. Vance’s behavior was more than just suspicious. And then it hit me. Her last name. Vance. Even more unsettling? The driver’s last name was also Vance. Could it all be a coincidence? I remembered now that Leah had hired both of them, saying they were distant relatives of hers, people she could trust. I’d wanted to install security cameras, but Leah had thrown a fit about privacy and refused. Without cameras, I’d have to find another way to get to the truth. I thought about the credit card Leah had asked for a while back. At the time, I assumed it was for her. But a few days ago, I’d gotten a notification for a large purchase at Louis Vuitton. I’d thought it was Leah, but now I realized… she never wore that brand. I opened the banking app and pulled up the statement. My face went dark. In just one month, nearly twenty thousand dollars had been spent on that card. I picked a random charge and called the store. The store manager’s words made my blood boil. He told me the purchase was made by a young girl, about fifteen, with a small mole on her cheek. She’d been feeling generous, he said, and had bought matching bags for her two friends. The girl with the mole on her cheek was Stella. Fighting to control my rage, I pulled up the dashcam footage from the car. The veins on the back of my hand stood out like cords. The driver I’d hired specifically to take my daughter to and from school had, for the past year, been chauffeuring only one person: Stella. So where was my Melinda? How was she getting to school? I was about to storm into Stella’s room and confront her when I ran into a familiar face. It was Ben, our part-time gardener. He was a distant cousin, an older, trustworthy man I’d known for years. He only came a few times a month to tend to the grounds, but I paid him a full monthly salary for his loyalty. He was always diligent, sometimes even doing odd jobs around the house for me. He looked surprised to see me, but there was something else in his eyes, something he was holding back. I pulled him into a quiet corner of the garden. “Ben,” I said gently. “It looks like you have something to tell me.” He hesitated, then let out a heavy sigh. “Todd, I don’t know if it’s my place to say… but you need to be careful. You need to keep a closer eye on what’s happening in this house.” I knew he was holding back. I pressed him, and the whole ugly story came pouring out. “That housekeeper of yours, she’s got sticky fingers. I’ve seen her sneaking things from the house to sell. And when she buys groceries, she gets the vendors to inflate the prices so she can pocket the difference. She caught me watching once and threatened to have my legs broken if I said a word.” “And the driver,” he continued, his voice low and angry, “he’s in on it. I tried to speak up, and she called him over. He said he’d kill me. If it wasn’t for you, Todd, I’d have been long gone.” “And that girl… Stella. She acts like she owns the place. I’ve seen her pouring fresh milk down the drain, using it to wash her face and feet. I told her not to be so wasteful, and you know what she called me? A good-for-nothing old peasant who had no right to talk to a princess like her.” His final words hit me like a punch to the gut. “And I see her with Melinda. I see the way she pushes her around, yelling at her. Hitting her.” My face went numb with fury. I immediately hired a private investigator to look into the housekeeper’s transactions and the driver’s routes. Then, I found Melinda. I asked her, point-blank, if Stella had been bullying her. She stammered and denied it at first, her eyes wide with fear. But then I showed her my phone. I had found a video, sent to me by the investigator. It was a video of my daughter. When she saw it, her composure shattered and the full, horrifying truth came out. The video was grainy, shot in a dark corner of what looked like a school bathroom. My Melinda was pinned against the wall by a group of girls. They were hitting her, kicking her. One of them shoved a grimy mophead into her mouth, while another jabbed her back with the handle. And the ringleader, laughing and directing the whole thing, was the girl I had welcomed into my home. The girl I had sponsored for two years. Stella. I saw red. I couldn’t breathe. I stormed into Stella’s room, my phone shaking in my hand. “What is this?” I roared, shoving the screen in her face. “Explain this to me. Now!” When she saw the video, the color drained from her face.

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