Author: Momo Chan

I’d been grinding it out on a reality talent show for two and a half years. Singing, dancing, rapping, running errands—I did it all, and I still wasn’t getting noticed. The day before our debut showcase, Arthur Pierce, the chairman of Summit Entertainment, summoned me. It turned out that his precious daughter—the one I ran errands for, the one who suppressed me at every turn and stole my resources—was a fake. I was his real daughter. Only later did I realize he was just looking for me to clear his conscience. The one they truly adored was still the impostor. Whatever. I was just in it for a career. A rich, powerful family? Like I give a damn. 1 For two and a half years, I’d been a face in the back row of this brutal talent competition. I sang, I danced, I rapped, I did every odd job imaginable. My screen time was earned by photobombing, my social media buzz was fueled by me retweeting and commenting on my own posts. As a total nobody, I was still the one hustling to bring hot water to the divas in the center spots right before a performance. Sometimes, I even had to pay for my own stage makeup out of pocket because the artists couldn’t be bothered with me. I was used to it. With no one backing me, I knew I’d never make it to the center. I treated it like free training, and the cash I made from side gigs was a nice bonus. My plan was set: after this final showcase, I was packing my bags, taking the escape fund I’d saved up, and switching careers to become a video editor. But I never saw this coming. The day before the final performance, Arthur Pierce, the chairman of Summit Entertainment himself, suddenly asked to see me. My first thought was that I’d been caught sneaking fried chicken backstage and was about to be fired. Instead, his first words were, “You’re my daughter.” I froze, thinking it was a promo for some new, twisted reality show. Seeing my blank expression, he coolly slid a document across the table. “I’ve already had the DNA test done. It was a mix-up at the hospital eighteen years ago.” “Molly isn’t my daughter. You are.” My mind blanked. Molly? Molly Pierce? The girl poised to debut in the center position, the one whose name was always trending, the one the show had branded as its “angelic sweetheart”? The same Molly who, just a few days ago, had me hauling backdrop props for her rehearsal? The one who’d glare at me during filming, silently warning me not to steal her lines? She was the fake? And I was the real heiress? So what were all my years in foster care? Just a cosmic joke? Bad luck? A bitter laugh almost escaped me. “So… are you going to kick her out?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. Arthur Pierce’s brow furrowed. “Kick her out? Don’t be ridiculous.” “Molly grew up with us. She is a part of this family. That will never change.” He stared at me, his tone flat, business-like. “We’re acknowledging you now to right a wrong, to find closure. Not to start a media circus.” “As for your identity, we’ll keep it confidential for now. Don’t tell anyone, and don’t disrupt the atmosphere on the show.” He sounded so sincere, like a programmer dispassionately fixing a bug in his life’s code. “I’ll speak with the production team. They’ll treat you fairly. But resources can’t be reallocated recklessly.” “Especially anything that’s Molly’s. She has a massive fanbase and a solid reputation. You should watch her and learn.” “You need to learn how to adapt.” I got it. This so-called family reunion was just an exercise in managing emotions and moral obligations. Finding me, their biological daughter, was just to satisfy their sense of humanitarian duty. No big deal. I didn’t care about any of that anyway. The news barely registered a ripple in my heart. What I cared about was debuting and making money. “So, can I still compete?” I asked. He gave me a look. “Of course. But you should understand that she is the one the company is promoting.” “You, on the other hand, should lay low for a while. After the show ends, the company can find another path for you.” Another path? Her understudy? The B-list backup? Or maybe just pushed behind the scenes for good? I nodded. “I understand.” 2 Molly cried for a full afternoon backstage. The rumor was she’d heard the news about the real heiress returning during a company meeting and had a complete meltdown. I had just finished my own rehearsal and went to the break room for some water. There she was, slumped on a sofa, her eyes puffy and red, surrounded by a court of sympathizers. “Don’t be sad, Molly. You’ll always be Summit’s princess.” “You’re the one who grew up with them, who shared everything. She’s just… genetics.” “Exactly. How could someone who’s been gone for so long be closer to the family than you?” The “family” included my supposed older brother, David, Summit’s top director and the mastermind behind a dozen hit shows, and my second brother, Daniel, the VP in charge of talent and finance, a bona fide business mogul. I glanced over. David was sitting beside her, sighing. “Molly, don’t overthink it. Mom and Dad are torn up about this too. They just feel like they owe her something.” “You’re the only sister we’ve ever known.” “If you choose to give her some of your resources, that’s you being kind. She wouldn’t dare push it.” I was about to turn and leave when Molly’s gaze snagged on me. She called out, her voice a fragile whisper, “Stella…” My feet stopped. I turned to face her. She stood up, her voice choked with emotion but soft as silk. “I had no idea you were the real daughter. I… I just couldn’t process it. It’s not about you.” She took my hand, her grip surprisingly firm. “I’ll… I’ll start stepping back. I’ll talk to Mom and Dad, I’ll make them understand.” Her performance was perfectly timed. A cameraman, documenting her emotional turmoil, captured the moment she reached for me, her expression a mask of heartbroken nobility. David nodded at me. “Stella, don’t get the wrong idea. She’s just emotional. She doesn’t hold anything against you.” “For now, just cooperate and film a short video. Clarify that you two are on good terms so the fans don’t speculate.” “Your identity isn’t public yet. Don’t let this create drama for the show.” I looked at the whole pathetic scene. “So what’s my role in this little play?” Daniel spoke up. “The bigger person. Hurt, but reasonable and mature. You’ve had acting lessons.” “If you can’t pull it off, don’t embarrass yourself on stage,” he added coolly. “Dad is giving you a chance. You should be grateful.” Wow. For a guy who’d directed so many flops, he sure knew how to write a script. Molly dabbed her eyes with a tissue, a single, perfect tear clinging to her lashes. She looked so beautifully fragile. “It’s okay if you’re angry with me, Stella. I get it. I’ll… I’ll try to stay out of the spotlight from now on. You’re the real one, after all.” My head was buzzing. How had I never noticed how fake she was? A two-faced, manipulative snake. Was it because I was so insignificant before that I never got close enough to see the real her? Probably. The media machine, as expected, moved at lightning speed. In no time, the headlines were everywhere: #MollyPierceInTearsVowsToStepAsideForTrueHeiress #MollyPierce:SheIsTheRealDaughterIWillNotCompete #HeiressStellaLaneResponds:ThankYouForLettingMeHaveAFamily I… what? I never said that! They were putting words in my mouth! And didn’t they just say to keep my identity secret? Now they were blasting it all over the internet? Underneath the trending topics, Summit Entertainment’s official account had shared a post with a quote from my “mother”: 【We never intended to abandon either of our children. We hope everyone will give Stella time to grow.】 The comments section was a war zone. “Wow, what a spin job. Is Stella Lane really that cold?” “Molly is the one they raised. Stella has no class.” “I heard Stella is a real monster behind the scenes. Stop the act.” I was exhausted. The internet mob was eating it up. I closed the app. I hadn’t been back in the practice room for three minutes when a new message from Daniel popped up: 【Your performance in ‘Wall of Glass’ is canceled. You’ve been moved to the B-team as a backup dancer for ‘First Light.’】 Just brilliant. Molly was performing “First Light.” They wanted me to be her backup dancer. I typed back: “I thought you said all I had to do was cooperate. What is this?” He replied instantly: “Your cooperation wasn’t good enough. You’re not in a position to be demanding resources.” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. I opened my email and downloaded the demo for a song no one ever picked. “Shattered Bloom.” It was a scrapped project from a previous season. The emotions were too raw, the choreography brutally explosive, the lyrics a tangled mess. It was an eight-minute, non-stop marathon for a single performer. No one dared touch it. No one wanted to. I chose it. I didn’t need their hollow affection. Oh, right. There was no affection. I just needed a stage. After all, my goal was to debut and make some serious money. 3 Everyone knew “Shattered Bloom” was a cursed song. A difficult stage, dense choreography, complex lyrics, and a huge emotional arc. The last group that tried it fell apart, the lead singer’s voice cracked, and the company pulled the plug. It was considered one of the show’s biggest failures. It was left to rot in the digital archives, only mentioned as a cautionary tale. I dusted it off. The moment I submitted my choice, the music library manager tried to talk me out of it. “Stella, are you sure? No one can pull this song off. A whole boy band crashed and burned trying to perform this.” I just smiled. “No harm in trying. Think of it as a warm-up.” The production team approved my request, their faces a mixture of pity and morbid curiosity. I expected to be forgotten, but half an hour later, #StellaLanePicksCursedSong was trending. The comments exploded: 【Is she insane? ‘Shattered Bloom’? Is she trying to become a living meme?】 【Molly just announced she’s doing ‘First Light,’ and Stella picks this? Is she trying to lose on purpose to make a statement?】 【Tsk, tsk. So this is the real heiress. All drama, no substance.】 Then came the wave of coordinated comments, clearly paid for: 【Molly steps aside and this is how she repays her? Picking a flop song just to spite her?】 【She has no grace. All she knows is how to stir up trouble.】 I stared at the screen and let out a cold laugh. It hadn’t even been twelve hours. How did the entire internet already decide I was the villain? Unsurprisingly, a “leaked” voice memo from Molly’s fan group chat surfaced late that night: “Stella’s personality might be a bit… intense, but she’s a really hard worker. I support her choice to perform ‘Shattered Bloom.’ She probably wants this stage more than I do.” One part “she’s a hard worker,” one part “I support her,” and a final, devastating “she wants it more than I do.” Just like that, she was the gracious, magnanimous victim. And I was back on the trending list: #StellaLane:ISnatchYourStageForYourOwnGood #MollyPierceInTears:I’veNeverBlamedHerSheIsTheRealFamily Hilarious. They were so good at writing scripts, I felt I could be a showrunner myself. The next day, my “brother” David showed up. He didn’t call. He stormed right into my rehearsal studio, acting like a concerned older brother checking in. I was in the middle of deconstructing the choreography, tweaking the tempo, and syncing the beats on my laptop. He stood in the doorway, his face a thundercloud. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” “I’m rehearsing.” “You’re embarrassing Summit Entertainment.” He killed the music, his voice low and threatening. “‘Shattered Bloom’ is beyond you. Are you using it to attack Molly? To force her out of the industry?” “She already offered to step aside, and you’re still pushing her? Do you have any idea she cried so hard last night we almost took her to the hospital?” I wiped the sweat from my brow, ignoring him as I opened my audio software. “Her crying has nothing to do with me.” David’s eyes narrowed. “Do you have any idea who you are now?” he hissed. “We made your identity public to give you a place, not for you to start a war.” “You’re a public figure now. You represent the company. You represent us.” “Are you trying to make enemies of everyone? To make the entire world hate you?” I stopped what I was doing and looked straight at him, my voice calm. “Then, for now, I don’t represent you.” “If you want to spoil her, go ahead. I won’t fight you for it.” “But I won’t yield, either.” “I don’t need you to acknowledge me, and I refuse to play ‘happy families’ for the cameras.” “I just want to perform on my own stage. Even if I fail, at least it won’t be because I accepted her pity.” David was stunned into silence. He’d dealt with difficult artists before, but never someone like me. Someone who knew her resources were cut, her screen time was limited, and her reputation was being systematically destroyed. And still charged forward. “You keep this up, and you’ll be torn to shreds by the public.” “Fine by me.” I offered a faint smile. “At least I’ll go down with dignity.” He finally turned and left, tossing one last threat over his shoulder. “You’ll regret this.” I sank back to the floor and went back to work on the music. If I wasn’t welcome, I’d carve out my own space. And this time, I was going to make it big. 4 On the day of the “Shattered Bloom” performance, everyone backstage looked at me like they were watching the final seconds before a train wreck. “Are you really going through with this?” the makeup artist whispered for the seventh time. I sat in the wings, my in-ear monitors silent, mentally running through the choreography one last time. No one had come to touch up my makeup; I’d done it myself at 2:30 AM the night before, and my face felt stiff from the absurd amount of setting spray I’d used. All I said was, “How will I know if I don’t try?” The lights went down. The opening notes of “Shattered Bloom” filled the auditorium. The performance began with twenty seconds of absolute stillness, my rhythm dictated only by the rise and fall of my breath. I closed my eyes and sank into the music. The entire venue was silent. Not out of tension, but out of shock. For eight minutes, I transformed the song. I took the original’s jarring emotional shifts and rebuilt them into a layered crescendo of power. Every pause was a breath held, every explosion of movement landed like a punch to the gut. A hair whip, a vocal run, a backbend, a perfectly controlled mic grab, a final, haunting look back. I was rock solid. When I hit my final pose and the lights went dark, a wave of delayed applause erupted, mixed with shouts and screams. “WHO IS THAT?” “IS THAT STELLA LANE?” “THAT WAS INSANE!” As I walked off stage, the contestant next to me was still staring, dumbfounded. “Girl,” she said, “have you been secretly training for this your whole life?” I wiped away the sweat and gave her a small smile, saying nothing. I hadn’t been training secretly. I had been training all along. It’s just that no one was watching. The first thing I did backstage was open Twitter. As expected, #MollyPierceGivesUpAnotherSpot and #AngelicSweetheartStepsBackForSister were trending in the top five. I tapped the screen, looking for a VOD of my performance. “Shattered Bloom” Full Stage: Stella Lane. My entire performance was shown in silhouette, from a distance, or from behind. My face? Not a single shot. Close-ups? Deleted. Even my final, defiant gaze at the camera was gone, replaced with a shot of Molly backstage, silently dabbing a tear. And a new trending topic was pinned: Molly Pierce: I Don’t Blame Her, My Sister Is So Talented. I watched the clip, my expression unreadable. I picked up my phone and logged into my personal account. Ten minutes later, I posted a simple message with a photo of me from behind, scrubbing the floor of the practice room late at night: 【Scrapped song, remixed. Every front-facing shot, deleted. Thanks, production team. It’s fine. I’ll keep dancing until you run out of ways to erase me.】 Within five minutes, the post had ten thousand likes. The comments were flooding in. Twenty minutes later, #StellaLaneFaceDeleted shot to number nine on the trending list. Fifteen different dance critics shared my post. “If you didn’t see the real performance, just wait. I’ll edit it together for you.” #ShatteredBloomRemixIsGodTier #EightMinutesNoBreaks #MySoulLeftMyBodyYouHadToBeThere I turned off my phone, lay down on the cold backstage floor, and closed my eyes. They wanted me to be the counterpoint to their star? Fine. I’ll show them what a counterpoint can do.

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1 The Northwood High acceptance letter trembled in my hand—not from excitement, but the familiar weakness of years underfed. I rushed to the rotary phone in our rundown farmhouse, heart pounding as I called my “construction worker” parents in the city. Only a hollow dial tone answered. I just wanted to tell them I’d gotten into the county’s best school. To ask if they’d come home for Christmas. Then translucent text flickered before my eyes: 【God, the irony. Her parents are taking her brother to Disneyland】 【Her dad’s “Cross Construction” just landed the West End contract】 【Brother gets new iPhones while she uses this relic】 【The “grandma” who calls her worthless? A $2k/month actress】 Sixteen years abandoned with a woman who hated me— All of it, A lie. I hung up the phone and walked back into the yard like a puppet with its strings cut. The woman I called Grandma was perched on a rickety old stool, snapping beans. She saw me and her cloudy eyes narrowed into slits. “On that phone again? How many times do I have to tell you, long distance costs a fortune! Your parents are out there breaking their backs on some construction site, and you’re just throwing their money away!” I stared at her harsh, wrinkled face, my own lips trembling uncontrollably. The words from the pop-up echoed in my head, and I had to ask. “Grandma,” I began, my voice barely a whisper. “You’re… you’re not really my grandmother, are you?” Her hands froze mid-snap. A second later, she hurled a handful of wilted bean ends at me. “What nonsense are you spouting now, Lia? Are you crazy? Of course I’m your grandmother, you stupid girl!” She struggled to her feet, jabbing a bony finger at my face. “I swear, all that reading has turned your brain to mush! Always lost in your own stupid fantasies! Now get your ass over there and slop the pigs!” I didn’t move. I just held her gaze, watching the flicker of panic that flashed in her eyes before she could hide it. The comments appeared again. 【She’s rattled. Look, she can’t even meet your eyes.】 【Keep it up, lady. The Academy owes you an Oscar for that performance.】 Wordlessly, I turned and walked toward the pigpen. The acrid stench hit me in a wave, and I fought back the urge to gag. Could the pop-ups be telling the truth? But what were they? And why could I see them? That night, I lay on my lumpy mattress, the thin wood planks digging into my back as I tossed and turned. From the next room, I heard the faint, furtive sounds of my “grandmother.” Holding my breath, I slipped out of bed and pressed my ear against the cold, damp wall. “Hello? Sean? It’s me.” “It’s Lia… she was acting strange today.” “She asked me straight up if I was her real grandma. I shut her down, of course, but the girl’s sharp. I’m worried she’s onto us.” “Yeah, you and Reina should probably come down tomorrow.” “And remember… dress the part. You know. Don’t blow our cover.” BOOM. The last thread holding my world together snapped. It was all real. My parents were rich. All these years, leaving me here… it was all part of a script they had written for me. A twisted play, and I was the unwilling star. I crawled back into bed, pulling the musty, patched-up blanket over my head as silent, hot tears streamed down my face. I remembered the winters so cold my hands and feet were covered in frostbite that itched and burned, while she kept the only coal brazier in her own room. I remembered the other kids in their new clothes, while I wore stained hand-me-downs my mother mailed me, the sleeves inches too short, earning me a semester’s worth of mockery. I remembered the time I had a fever so high I couldn’t lift my head off the desk, and she’d just glanced at me and said, “Drink some hot water, you’ll be fine.” All this time, I thought we were poor. But my suffering wasn’t born of poverty. It was born of cruelty. They were living a life of luxury with my brother in the city, while I was abandoned in this desolate place, “raised” by a stranger paid to keep me miserable. What a sick, twisted joke. My eyes ached from crying, and my heart turned to a block of ice, bit by bit. Tomorrow. When they came back. I would tear down this disgusting, sixteen-year-long charade with my own two hands. 2 The next day, with the sun high in the sky, the squeal of tires on the gravel road announced their arrival. A shiny black sedan, polished to a mirror gleam, sat awkwardly at the end of our muddy dirt path. The driver’s door opened and my father, Sean, stepped out, followed by my mother, Reina. They were dressed in faded, worn-out work clothes, their faces artfully smeared with dirt and their hair a mess. They looked every bit the part of weathered, downtrodden laborers. Last, my brother, Theo, slid out of the backseat. He took one step, and his pristine white sneakers sank into a patch of mud. He wrinkled his nose in disgust, his voice just loud enough for me to hear. “Seriously, Mom, Dad? This is where she lives? It’s a total dump. A dog wouldn’t even live here!” His words were a dagger to my heart. A place a dog wouldn’t live in. I had lived there for sixteen years. I studied my parents, their performance flawless. But I could see the truth beneath the costume. The hands that signed contracts and held fountain pens, even smudged with dirt, were too soft. Their fingernails were clean, the skin on their necks smooth. These were not the hands and bodies of people who did hard labor for a living. “Lia!” my mother, Reina, cried out, quickly clamping a hand over Theo’s mouth. Her face was a mask of weary love and guilt. “Oh, honey, we’ve missed you so much! Let me look at you, you’re all skin and bones!” She opened her arms for a hug, but I instinctively took a step back. Her embrace hung, empty, in the air between us. My gaze drifted past them, fixating on the offensively clean, expensive car. “Mom, Dad,” I said, my voice hoarse. “You… you have money now? You bought a car?” I pressed on, my voice pleading. “Can you take me to the city for high school?” My father’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second before he replaced it with a folksy grin. “Don’t be silly! Dad just borrowed this from his boss at the construction site. He heard you got into Northwood and wanted to show you off a bit.” “Besides,” he continued, falling back into the old, tired script, “the city’s expensive, Lia. And your brother’s schooling costs a lot. You just stay here for now…” Always the same excuses. I lowered my eyes, hiding the bitter sarcasm I felt. Borrowed. Right. At lunch, my “grandmother” served a chicken stew, a rare treat. Theo stared at the chipped enamel bowls and the patches on my clothes, his lip curled in a permanent sneer. He refused to sit next to me. “Mom, I don’t wanna sit next to her,” he whined. “She stinks. I bet she has fleas.” A flash of embarrassment crossed my parents’ faces. Reina quickly pulled Theo between her and my dad. “Theo, that’s enough! That’s your sister!” After the meal, my mother pulled a thick wad of cash from her pocket and pressed it into the old woman’s hand. “Mom, here’s two thousand. Thanks for all your hard work this month.” She gestured toward me. “Lia’s starting high school, so she’ll need more things. Make sure you get her some good food, don’t let her go without.” I watched the exchange, a cold laugh bubbling in my chest. This was her salary. The payment for her acting services. And I knew that of that $2,000, I wouldn’t see a tenth of it. For years, I’d done whatever I could to scrape together money for tuition and books. I’d foraged for herbs in the mountains, washed dishes at the diner in town, and even hauled bricks at a real construction site one summer under the blistering sun. My hands were a permanent mess of blisters that burst and reformed, over and over. Every time I’d called to ask for money, they’d tell me their pay was late, or that Theo was sick again, or that life in the city was even harder than life in the country. Eventually, I just stopped asking. I thought they were truly struggling. But now I understood. They weren’t giving me a life of hardship; they were giving me a carefully calculated performance of it. My eyes fell to Theo’s feet. The white sneakers had a bold, red swoosh on the side. I recognized it instantly. The richest kid in my class had the exact same pair. He’d bragged to everyone that his parents had paid a fortune for them, a special order from the city. They were called Nikes. And they cost two thousand dollars. Two thousand dollars. That was more than my entire living allowance for two years. My two years of suffering were worth less than a single pair of his shoes. My hand clenched around my enamel bowl, the chip in the rim digging painfully into my palm. I couldn’t take it anymore. I snapped my head up, my eyes red-rimmed and blazing as I stared them down. “You’re rich, aren’t you?” My voice was choked with tears. “You left me here to suffer on purpose, didn’t you?” Sean’s face darkened, and he slammed his hand on the table. “Lia! What has gotten into you?” Reina shot up, pointing at me. “Have you lost your mind? We’re out there working like dogs to pay for your education, and this is the thanks we get? You stand there spouting ungrateful nonsense! When have we ever done you wrong?” “Done me wrong?” A broken, hysterical laugh escaped my lips. I pointed a trembling finger at Theo’s shoes. “His shoes cost two thousand dollars! I haven’t even had that much to live on for the past two years! And you call that treating me right?” My parents froze. For a moment, they were speechless. Then my father’s composure returned. His face was a cold mask. “They were a hand-me-down from my boss’s son. He was going to throw them out. You don’t know anything, so stop making things up.” My mother caught on instantly, secretly pinching Theo’s arm. He immediately put on a pitiful expression. “Yeah, sis! You have no idea what I had to go through just to get these old things!” I watched the three of them, a family of actors, and a cold certainty settled in my stomach. It didn’t matter what I said. They would never, ever admit the truth. 3 That afternoon, my parents announced they had to get back to the “busy construction site in the city.” As they were leaving, a wild, desperate idea took root in my mind. I was going to see this “construction site” and this “hard life” for myself. I remembered watching my father stuff a sack of farm-fresh produce into the trunk before he left. He had opened it. “My stomach hurts,” I mumbled, clutching my abdomen and dashing for the outhouse behind the main building. The moment I was out of sight, I moved, silent and swift as a shadow. The trunk wasn’t fully latched. With every ounce of my strength, I pried it open just enough to squeeze through the gap, pulling it shut behind me. Through a tiny crack, I saw the old woman waving goodbye from the doorway, a tender expression on her face, as if she were sending off her own beloved children. I curled into a ball in the darkness, my heart pounding against my ribs. The engine rumbled to life. In the car, my family finally dropped their masks. “That was too close,” my mother, Reina, said, her voice shaky with relief. “That damn girl’s eyes… it was like she wanted to eat us alive.” “I think she knows,” my father, Sean, grumbled, a note of irritation in his voice. “We almost blew our cover.” “Thank God I thought of that excuse about my boss’s son,” he continued. “Otherwise, we would’ve been screwed.” “This is all your fault!” Reina snapped. “I told you not to let him wear those Nikes! I told you, when we come here to play our parts, we have to go all in!” “Mom, how is this my fault?” Theo whined, his voice dripping with entitlement. “This whole place is disgusting! There isn’t even a decent road! I’m throwing these shoes out the second we get home. They’re contaminated with poor-people germs!” He paused, then added, “Dad, Mom, why don’t we just… bring her to the city? It’s not like we can’t afford it. We’ve got plenty of empty rooms in the villa.” My breath caught in my throat. A flicker of hope? “Absolutely not!” My father’s voice was sharp, cold, and utterly devoid of warmth. “Have you forgotten what the psychic in Sedona told us? That girl, Lia, she’s a jinx, born to drain our fortune. Her life force is too strong. We have to keep her poor, keep her miserable, to channel all the bad luck onto her and away from us. The moment she gets a taste of our wealth, our luck will turn, and we’ll lose everything!” My mother quickly chimed in. “He’s right, Theo, don’t you get soft on us now. Don’t you remember when you were little? Every time she got a fever, your father’s business would take a hit? The psychic was clear: Lia is our curse. She has to suffer in the countryside to absorb the bad karma for our family!” Curled in the suffocating darkness, a chill colder than any winter wind washed over me. So that’s what I was. Not a daughter, not a sister. I was a sacrifice. A human shield to be kept in squalor to ensure their prosperity. “Oh, I get it,” Theo said, a note of dawning understanding in his voice. “Well, I definitely don’t want to go back to being poor.” He sealed my fate with a casual, thoughtless finality. “So, for my sake… for our family’s sake… I guess it’s better if she just stays miserable out there.” His words were as light as a feather, but they crushed my heart into dust. I bit down hard on the back of my hand, stifling the sob that clawed its way up my throat. Superstition. I’d learned about it in school, a relic of a bygone era. I never imagined my own family, my own flesh and blood, would condemn me to a living hell for something so meaningless. An eternity later, the car stopped. I peered through a crack in the trunk, and the sight that greeted me stole the air from my lungs. This wasn’t some worksite dorm. It was a three-story mansion with a manicured lawn and a sprawling fountain. I watched the three of them get out, casually punch a code into a keypad, and wait as an ornate iron gate swung open. This was their home. I waited a few minutes, giving them time to get inside, before I pushed open the trunk, slipped out, and darted through the gate just before it closed. The inside was even more opulent than I could have imagined. Crystal chandeliers, marble floors, a sweeping spiral staircase. A housekeeper in a crisp uniform was polishing the floor. “Welcome home, Mr. and Mrs. Cross, Master Theo,” she said respectfully. I scrambled for cover, diving under a massive, formal dining table draped with a long tablecloth that concealed me completely. “Hey, Maria, get me a Coke!” Theo demanded, tossing his backpack onto a plush sofa and flopping down like he owned the world. The coffee table was littered with colorful bags of imported snacks, their foreign labels a language I couldn’t comprehend. I thought of the moldy bread I’d eaten to save money, of the bitter wild greens I’d dug up just to have something in my stomach. I watched as my mother, Reina, shed her shabby work clothes for an elegant silk dress, spritzing herself with expensive perfume. “I have an appointment with Mrs. Chen for facials. I won’t be back for dinner.” My father, Sean, disappeared into a walk-in closet and emerged moments later in a tailored suit, his hair slicked back. “I have to go back to the office. I’ve got a major contract to sign tonight.” So this was their “construction site.” This was their “hard life.” Just then, my father’s phone rang. He answered it, and his calm, confident expression vanished. “What?!” he yelled, his voice cracking. “Lia’s gone?! You’ve searched the whole village?!” “You don’t think she… she followed us to the city, do you?” My mother and Theo’s faces went white with panic. “Quick! Check the car! The trunk!” They spun around, ready to bolt for the door. And in that moment, I slowly, deliberately, crawled out from under the table. I brushed the dust from my patched clothes, my voice a dry rasp. “No need to look.”

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1 I unclipped the rescue harness from my dog’s back and announced I was done. We weren’t going back into the mountain. Steven, clutching his tiny chihuahua, went pale. “If you don’t take your search dogs back up there, I’ll kill them,” he threatened. I just unhooked the leash and let my dog, a highly trained German Shepherd, bolt for home. I knew how this story ended. In my first life, when the wildfire broke out, Steven claimed he could talk to dogs. He demanded I hand over my search and rescue team, the dogs I’d spent years training. I thought he was insane, of course, and went into the mountains alone with my dogs to find the trapped hikers. But no matter how hard I pushed, Steven, with that ridiculous chihuahua in tow, always beat me to the victims. Every single time, just as my dogs would get a scent, he’d already be there, a so-called hero. I ended up finding no one. He, on the other hand, was credited with saving over a dozen lives. The final report listed more than thirty fatalities. Steven blamed me. He told everyone that if I had just given him my dogs, everyone could have been saved. The victims’ families believed him. In their grief and rage, they cornered me. They beat me and my dogs to death. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day the fire started. “Damien, just give the dogs to Steven!” The familiar voice of my fiancée, Sara, snapped me back to the present. “He can understand them! He’ll find the hikers faster!” I looked around, the scene sickeningly familiar. This was the moment it all began. Steven, holding the chihuahua that Sara and I had raised together, was grandstanding, claiming his mystical ability to speak “dog.” “Damien, are you deaf?” Sara snapped, impatient with my silence. I tightened my grip on the leash, my voice tight. “You actually believe this nonsense?” I looked at the other volunteer rescuers gathered around us. “Are you going to trust an experienced K9 handler, or some random guy who suddenly claims he’s Dr. Doolittle?” The volunteers didn’t hesitate. They chose Steven. To prove his “gift,” Steven let out a string of bizarre, guttural noises. My three search dogs, usually calm and focused, became agitated, barking wildly at the sky. Steven shook his head, a pained, pitying look on his face. “They say you abuse them,” he announced gravely. “That you feed them the cheapest food. They say you worked one of their packmates to death during training. You’re no handler. You’re a monster.” The crowd’s mood turned ugly. Murmurs of “animal abuser” and “disgrace” rippled through the group. As they started to advance on me, my three dogs, my loyal partners, formed a protective barrier in front of me, snarling at the angry mob. “See?” someone yelled. “They’re vicious! They can’t even tell good from evil!” Steven stepped forward again, closing his eyes as if in deep concentration. “They say their friends and family are back at your training facility. They have to obey you, or you’ll hurt them.” Rage boiled in my gut. It was a classic protective stance, any dog owner would know it. But he was twisting it, painting me as a villain. I knew arguing was useless. I had to show them. “I’m not giving you my dogs,” I said, my voice ringing with authority. “If you want to save lives, follow me.” In my past life, I had charged into that burning mountain, driven by a desperate need to help. This time, I had a different mission. This time, I remembered where every single one of those thirty victims was trapped. This time, I’d see how he could possibly be faster than me. My plea fell on deaf ears. The volunteers all rallied behind Steven. The most painful part? Sara didn’t choose me either. She stood right beside him, just like before. “Sara?” I asked, a sliver of hope still flickering. “You don’t believe me either?” “Of course not,” she said, her voice cold. “You might be a great trainer, Damien, but you can’t talk to dogs. Steven is a miracle worker. Now I can finally know what my baby is thinking!” Her “baby” was the chihuahua in Steven’s arms. Sparky. A dog I had helped raise, a dog I had grown to love. Sara used to say she’d never let a stranger hold Sparky. But I’m a dog handler. I could see the tension in Sparky’s body, the subtle signs of distress. Sara, who had spent years with that dog, had to see it too. But she chose to ignore it. A bitter smile touched my lips. Years of partnership, thrown away for this charlatan. But there was no time to argue. People were dying. “Let’s go,” I commanded my dogs, and we plunged into the smoky woods. Behind me, I heard Steven’s smug voice. “Even without your dogs, Damien, I’ll still find them first! Everyone, teams of five! Let’s move out!” The volunteers surged into the mountain. I pulled out my satellite map, the one I had marked with the locations from my memory. I gave the commands, and my dogs, the best I had, shot off in the designated directions. They didn’t disappoint. Within half an hour, they were signaling a find. I raced after them, my heart pounding. In my first life, it had taken an hour for the first victim to be found. I was a full thirty minutes ahead. No one could be faster. As I broke through a thicket of charred brush, I froze. It was impossible. Steven was already there. His team had already stabilized the injured hiker. He looked up at me, not with surprise, but with a look of smug satisfaction. “Well, well, look who finally showed up,” he sneered. “With that kind of speed, are you sure those are even search dogs? I’m starting to doubt your so-called expertise.” “You just got lucky!” I snarled, my hands clenched on the leashes. But I knew it wasn’t luck. The fire had made the terrain treacherous, blocking paths and obscuring landmarks. A human’s sense of smell was useless here. Even a regular dog would struggle. My dogs were the best of the best. How could he have found them so quickly? It was the same question that had haunted my first life. Now, it was screaming in my mind again. I turned to leave, to find the next group. “Hey,” Steven called after me. “If you can’t handle it, just give me the dogs. I could work a lot faster with them.” “Damien, if anyone else dies because you were too slow, it will be your fault!” Sara added, her voice sharp with accusation. I ignored them and pushed on. But the same thing happened again. And again. No matter how early I was, no matter how precise my knowledge, Steven and his team were always there first. It was like he knew my every move. I stopped and knelt, running my hands over my dogs, searching for a tracking device. Nothing. So how was he doing it? If I didn’t figure it out, I was doomed to repeat my fate. Could he really understand dogs? But there were no other dogs on this mountain, except… Sparky. No, that was ridiculous. Sparky was a pet. A pampered lap dog. He couldn’t be a search dog. I looked at my map. I knew of eight locations. Steven had already “rescued” five groups. In my first life, he only found four. The timeline was all wrong. I had to know. I decided to follow him. For two hours, his team wandered aimlessly through the woods. They looked like lost tourists, not a professional rescue team. They found no one else. Finally, exhausted, everyone headed back to the base camp to rest. When I arrived, Steven was already there, a megaphone in his hand, riling up the crowd. “If I just had one proper search dog, I could have found everyone by now! We wouldn’t even need to go back out this afternoon! I wonder how many people our great K9 handler Damien brought back with his three dogs.” He saw me then, and I knew. He had been waiting for me. This was all a performance, a re-enactment of the trap he’d laid for me in our first life. My three dogs made me an easy target. All eyes were on me. “So, how many did you find, master trainer?” Steven asked, his voice dripping with false concern. I wanted to punch him. He could see I was alone. “None,” I gritted out. “What? You had three dogs and you found no one?” A wave of outrage swept through the crowd. Steven fanned the flames. “I heard the dogs say that Damien just took them for a walk in the woods! He wasn’t even trying to find anyone!” I wanted to scream. But they believed him. He was the one who could “talk to dogs,” after all. “I was searching!” I yelled, trying to defend myself. “But somehow, Steven always got there first! You have to believe me!” It was useless. They were already convinced I was the problem. They started demanding I hand over my dogs. Just as they were about to rush me, a group of people with cameras and microphones appeared. The local news. My heart, which had been pounding in my chest, finally settled. This was the one thing I had done differently. The first thing I did after I came back was call the press. The presence of the cameras stopped the mob in their tracks. They immediately shifted gears, praising Steven to the reporters. “It was all thanks to Steven! If he couldn’t talk to dogs, we wouldn’t have saved so many people!” A reporter turned to Steven. “Is it true you’ve rescued eight people so far, all by communicating with a dog?” “That’s right,” Steven said, puffing out his chest. “And if I had a real search dog, I could have saved even more. The most despicable part is that Damien, here, refused to help. I think he was just trying to hoard all the glory for himself.” The cameras swung to me. In front of everyone, I calmly began to unbuckle the harnesses from my dogs. “Since you all think I’m just trying to be a hero,” I announced, my voice clear and steady, “I won’t be taking my dogs on the afternoon search.” The crowd jeered. “Fine by us! Steven can find everyone by himself!” “Yeah, you’re useless anyway! Just stay here!” But to my surprise, Steven panicked. He grabbed my arm, his eyes wide with fear. “No! You and your dogs have to come!” I just smirked and unclipped their leashes. At my command, my three dogs turned and raced back towards our home. Steven screamed and ran after them, stumbling over a rock and falling flat on his face. “No! Come back! You can’t leave!”

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We were on the set of a celebrity talk show, my ex and I. The host posed a dramatic question to the panel. “If you knew you were about to die and could only leave one letter, what would you write?” I paused, then wrote down three wishes on the card provided. When it was my turn to share, I read them aloud. “First, I hope everyone forgets me—” A sharp, derisive laugh cut me off. Mario Atkinson’s face was a mask of icy contempt. “Aren’t you full of yourself, Cora?” he sneered. “Who do you think is going to remember you? Who gives a damn if you live or die?” I managed a patient smile and said nothing. He didn’t know. This letter wasn’t a prop for a game. It was my last will and testament. 1 The taping was halfway through, and by now, everyone was used to Mario’s constant digs at me. After his latest barb, the host just laughed it off, smoothing things over with practiced ease. “Mario, always the comedian, hahaha.” He then turned to me, his voice gentle. “Cora, would you mind sharing the rest of your letter?” I nodded, my expression carefully neutral. “My second wish is to find a new home for Mochi. And the last is to donate my entire estate to charity.” Sensing the unspoken question, I quickly added, “Mochi is my calico cat.” The other guests nodded in understanding. More accurately, Mochi was our cat. Mario’s and mine. I’d found him on a rainy day, a tiny, shivering thing following my every step. I couldn’t leave him. My work kept me on the road, so when I was away, Mario would look after him. He claimed to hate pets. He’d pinch his nose while cleaning the litter box, muttering under his breath the whole time. But no one took better care of that cat than he did. He’d spend hours researching the best food and a fortune on toys and treats. When we fell apart, he left Mochi with me. As I finished speaking, Mario, right on cue, went in for another kill. He let out a cold, merciless laugh. “Cora, with a list that detailed, you’d better actually be dying.” The other guests had given vague, sentimental answers. Mine, by contrast, was unnervingly specific. The atmosphere turned thick with tension. The host froze, unsure how to salvage the moment. It was Liam, the actor sitting next to me, who broke the silence. “Mario,” he said, his voice low but firm. “Maybe try to keep it classy. We’re on camera.” He then smoothly passed me a bottle of water. I took it, my movements slow. Liam and I had just starred in a hit drama together, and the entire internet was “shipping” us. The studio encouraged us to play it up for the publicity, so I didn’t refuse his gesture of support. Mario’s gaze, however, was fixed on the water bottle in my hand, his eyes burning holes into it. Just as I braced myself for another cutting remark, he lowered his gaze and said something strange. “I’m thirsty.” For a beat, I was confused. Then, I offered him the bottle. He took it, but he didn’t drink. He just toyed with it for a moment before casually tossing it into a nearby trash can. His eyes, full of malice, flicked to Liam. “Sorry,” he said, the word dripping with venom. “I don’t drink that brand.” It was the ultimate power play, a move only someone like Mario could get away with. Backed by the immense wealth of the Atkinson family, he was untouchable. The host, wiping sweat from his brow, cautiously tried to steer the show back on track. “Mario, would you mind showing us what you wrote?” For the first time all night, Mario smiled, looking surprisingly agreeable. “Of course.” But when the camera zoomed in on his card, the host’s breath caught. Mario’s bold, aggressive handwriting filled the screen. Everyone stared, stunned into silence. He had written: “Before I die, I have to take Cora with me.” He smirked, reading the words aloud with a swaggering arrogance that filled the studio. The others looked at me with pity. But my face remained a calm, placid mask. It was only natural that Mario Atkinson hated me. After all, the way I had broken up with him was unforgivable. 2 Mario was fiercely possessive. My career as an actress, however, made intimate scenes with co-stars unavoidable. The show with Liam had a kiss scene. When Mario found out, he went ballistic. He demanded we go public with our relationship, right then and there. But we were in the middle of a massive publicity campaign for the show, centered on my on-screen romance with Liam. From a professional standpoint, it was the worst possible time. I told Mario we had to wait, at least until the show’s run was over. His eyes were bloodshot. He gave me a long, deep look, then turned and walked away without another word. I got swamped with work. By the time I had a moment to breathe and tried to call him, I found he’d blocked me on everything. He refused to see me, vanishing for days. The next I heard of him was a single post on his social media. 【My girlfriend, @CoraScott.】 Those four words nearly crashed the internet. But I didn’t know about it at the time. The day he posted it, I collapsed on set. I woke up a day later in the hospital. “Ms. Scott,” the doctor said, his eyes full of a terrible pity. “I’m so sorry. It’s late-stage cancer.” The words didn’t register at first. There was no screaming, no hysterical crying. Just a profound, hollow silence in my head. Before I could fully process it, my phone rang. My agent. He’d been trying to reach me for two days, afraid to bother Mario, and was now unleashing his fury on me. Why did I go public? I had to deny it, immediately, do damage control. He ranted for half an hour. I didn’t hear most of it. I just kept murmuring, “I’m sorry,” and “I understand,” like an automaton. After I hung up, I sat on the edge of the hospital bed for a long time. This was the moment I should have been calling Mario. Explaining that the show with Liam was filmed two years ago, before he’d even moved back to the country. Explaining that I loved him, truly loved him, and had never crossed a line with anyone else. Explaining that yes, I wanted to tell the world I was his. But now… none of it mattered. How long does someone with late-stage cancer have? Six months? A year? It was all too short. And so, Mario, I can’t drag you down with me. As the last rays of sunset streamed through the window, I finally moved. My fingers found my phone, and I responded to his post. 【This joke isn’t funny, @MarioAtkinson.】 Within an hour, my reply had over a million shares. My fans flooded his comments. Do you have any idea how disgusting this is? Spreading rumors like that! Get out of the industry, you creep. As if our Cora would ever look at you. You got called out. How embarrassing for you. This is sick. Trying to force a woman to be with you? Pathetic. Overnight, he became a laughingstock. Rumors swirled that his family, ashamed of the scandal, was threatening to cut him off. Through it all, Mario said nothing. I expected him to release our old photos, our text messages, anything to prove his innocence. But he did nothing. He just took the abuse, the endless tide of hatred, all of it, alone. Then, he sent me a voice message. For the first time, the proud, arrogant Mario Atkinson sounded… broken. “Cora,” he pleaded, his voice trembling with panic. “Do you love me? Just tell me.” A sob caught in my throat. I squeezed my eyes shut, swallowing the bitter taste of unshed tears. It took a long moment before I could type a steady reply. 【Not anymore.】 He never messaged me again. A man as proud as Mario would never beg. And just like that, without another word, we were over. 3 By the time I came back to myself, the host had managed to wrap up the segment. After a thirty-minute break, we started the second game: Truth or Dare. No one in this industry has a perfectly clean slate, so the “truth” questions were always carefully softball. I was relieved. But during the game, Isabelle, another actress on the panel, kept taking subtle jabs at me. We had a history. We’d competed for the same leading role once, and she’d lost. She’d held a grudge ever since, “accidentally” liking negative posts about me and then offering flimsy, insincere apologies. I was too focused on my work to care. Her antics always felt more pathetic than threatening. Until now. I lost a round, and she looked at me with undisguised malice. “Cora, truth or dare?” “Truth,” I said calmly. Her smile widened. She had been waiting for this. “So, what’s the real story? You and Mario. Was it ever a thing?” The host went strategically silent. Every eye in the room darted between me and Mario. Everyone knew the story. It was Mario’s great public humiliation, the one topic that was absolutely off-limits. And she had just thrown it onto the table. Mario didn’t look angry. His fiery gaze was locked on me, waiting. I lowered my eyes, saying nothing. “Don’t want to answer?” Isabelle taunted after a moment. “Fine. The penalty is ten shots of tequila.” She was determined to corner me. Just then, I looked up, my nails digging into my palms, and forced a light, easy smile. “No,” I said, my voice clear. “We never dated.” A collective gasp went through the room. Mario’s face darkened. A chilling smile touched his lips as he immediately backed me up. “That’s right.” “As if I would ever be with someone like Cora.” But in the next second, his knuckles went white. The wine glass in his hand shattered, the sound echoing in the silent studio. Shards of glass bit into his flesh, staining his hand crimson. He didn’t even flinch, didn’t so much as frown. The room erupted in panicked shouts for a medic. The day’s filming was abruptly cut short. Most of the cast rushed over to check on Mario. But a deep, aching pain was spreading through my body, draining me of all strength. I went back to my room, took my medication, and fell into a heavy sleep. 4 At four in the afternoon, a staffer woke me. We were all gathered together and informed that we would be responsible for making our own dinner. “I hear Cora’s a fantastic cook,” Mario said, his eyes glinting with malice. Of course. It was always about me. I instinctively looked up, my gaze falling on his bandaged right hand. I felt a small flicker of relief. He could still move it. The cut wasn’t too deep. At his comment, the other guests turned to me. “Well then, we’re counting on you for dinner!” Isabelle chirped. “Thanks, Cora!” “I’m a disaster in the kitchen, so I’ll stay out of the way.” “I think I see a guitar over there, I’ll go check it out.” In less than a minute, I was alone. I sighed and started preparing a meal for a dozen people. It was a lot of food. At one point, I turned my back for a second and a pan burst into flames. Before I could panic, Liam appeared out of nowhere and swiftly covered it with a lid. “I can’t cook,” he said with a gentle smile, “but I can definitely wash and chop vegetables. Just tell me what you need.” My eyes stung. “Thank you,” I said, my voice thick with gratitude. With Liam’s help, the work went much faster. Two hours later, the last dish was done. As I carried it to the table, I noticed Mario standing in the shadows, his expression unreadable as he watched me. I had no idea how long he’d been there. The illness had left me so deeply tired. I didn’t have the energy for another confrontation. I just averted my eyes and walked past him. At the dinner table, he started in on me again. He took a bite of food, then immediately spit it out. “So, the ‘great cook’ thing was just another one of your personas, Cora?” he asked, a mocking smirk on his face. For some reason, I just felt weary. How could he not know my cooking? He was the one who used to beg me to cook for him every time he had a day off. He was the one who would always clean his plate, down to the last grain of rice. I looked him straight in the eye, and a genuine, brilliant smile spread across my face. “It’s okay,” I said, my tone as casual as if I were discussing the weather. “If all goes to plan, this will be the last time you ever have to eat my cooking.” The ugly smile froze on his lips. For once, Mario Atkinson was silent. I don’t know what he was thinking, but for the rest of the meal, he ate with a strange intensity. No one else saw it, but under the table, his left hand was trembling uncontrollably. I’d only had a few bites when a wave of nausea hit me. I rushed to the bathroom, retching over the sink. I saw the tell-tale red in the basin and frantically washed it away. When I came out, I ran right into Mario. He stared at my pale face, his expression complicated. “Are you sick?” he asked. A mischievous impulse took over. I leaned in and whispered, “I’m pregnant.” His pupils constricted. He stammered, “Is it… mine?” I laughed softly. “I’m kidding.” “Cora!” he roared. Ignoring his fury, I turned and walked away. Back in my room, I locked the door, and the last of my strength gave out. I collapsed onto the bed. It was a good ten minutes before I could push myself up to take my medicine. Just as I swallowed the last pill, my phone pinged. A message from my mom. 【Honey, why did you send me so much money? Is something wrong?】 My eyes burned. I buried my face in the pillow and typed back. 【Everything’s fine.】 【I’m just heading out of town for a long shoot. It’s going to be a while. Take care of yourself, Mom.】 She didn’t suspect a thing. 【Okay, sweetie. I’ll put this in a savings account for you. By the way, I mailed you some of my homemade nougat. It should be there soon. You know how your blood sugar gets low. Keep some with you.】 She went on and on, fussing over me. To every instruction, I replied with a simple, “Okay.” Years ago, she had left my abusive father with nothing but me. She’d since remarried and built a new, happy life. I couldn’t bear to be a burden to her again.

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At dinner, my mother-in-law Martha claimed she was a time traveler from twenty years ago. We dismissed it as medication side effects—until she confronted Arthur: “Why are we living worse than twenty years back? I gave you my brother’s factory spot!” Arthur went silent. Later, Martha begged me to tail him on my scooter. We watched as a Rolls-Royce pulled up. A suited man stepped out: “Mr. Thorne, the luxury care suite is ready. No more pretending to be poor.” Martha collapsed against me, sobbing. “Why do you look shocked too?” she gasped. Because in that Rolls sat my “humble delivery driver” husband. 1 Martha, in a daze, stumbled after the disappearing Rolls-Royce, her feet catching on an uneven paving stone. She went down hard. A young couple rushed to help her up, but she just stared at the empty street, refusing to move. “Lady, if you’re trying to pull an insurance scam, you picked the wrong car,” the girl said, half-joking. “That’s a Rolls-Royce. And not just any Rolls—look at the plate, CV-0002.” Martha looked at the girl’s envious face, completely bewildered. “CV-0001 belongs to the famous Vivian Vance, the wife of the Thorne Industries chairman,” the girl chattered on, full of celebrity gossip. “And CV-0002 belongs to the chairman himself, Arthur Thorne. Who knew the head of such a massive corporation was such a romantic? Totally whipped, I bet.” The more the girl talked, the darker Martha’s expression became. When she heard the name ‘Vivian Vance’, her eyes looked like they were about to burst from their sockets. “Arthur Thorne… After twenty years, you’re still with that bitch.” Sensing the shift in mood, the boyfriend gave his girlfriend a nudge, and they quickly made their escape. I was rooted to the spot, my limbs heavy as lead. My phone slipped from my numb fingers, its screen still glowing with a news headline:【INTERNATIONAL SUPERMODEL SHERYL STARR AND HEIR SANDY THORNE HIT THE CLUB FOR A WILD NIGHT OUT】. The man in the photo, his face splashed across the screen, was the same man I knew as my husband. My husband, whose supposed battle with leukemia had drained our life savings and plunged us into a mountain of debt. It wasn’t just my father-in-law who was living a lie. It was my husband, Sandy, too. If I hadn’t seen him with my own eyes, sitting in the back of that Rolls-Royce in a perfectly tailored suit, I would never have believed it. The husband I’d worked three jobs for, the man I’d pulled back from the brink of death’s door by feeding him rice porridge and pickles to save every penny… was the heir to the Thorne Industries empire. Martha had told me her story. Twenty years ago, she had used her family’s connections to get Arthur, who could barely read, into college and land him a respectable job in the city. They had a beautiful son. An accident had thrown her forward in time, and she had expected to wake up to a comfortable, upper-middle-class life. Instead, she woke up to this. The shrill ring of my phone snapped us both out of our stupor. “Kendra, were you moonlighting again? I’ve got customer complaints up to my ears. If I didn’t know you were supporting two cancer patients at home, I would have fired you on the spot. Hello? Are you there?” The voice on the other end was loud enough for Martha to hear every word. Her gaze sharpened, focusing on me. “Two cancer patients? Besides Sandy, who else…?” A horrifying thought seemed to dawn on her. She walked over to a nearby car and stared at her reflection in the side mirror. Sparse hair, a gaunt face, a frail frame paradoxically swollen by a bloated abdomen. “The doctors said you have late-stage stomach cancer,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “They said surgery might have helped, but you refused treatment. You wanted to save the money for Sandy’s bone marrow transplant, so you hid it from him and Arthur.” Martha stared at her reflection for a long, silent moment. Then, a chilling smile spread across her face. “Arthur Thorne,” she whispered to the broken woman in the mirror. “What will you do when you find out that the woman who gave you everything is dying because your little charade kept her from getting treatment?” 2 Following a business news alert, Martha found the hotel where Arthur was holding a meeting that afternoon. Though her mind was sharp and young, her sixty-year-old body was frail. She was panting heavily by the time she reached the lobby. Before she could even ask for the location of the conference room, the front desk clerk was already pinching her nose and rolling her eyes. “Ma’am, we don’t have any cans for you to collect here.” She gestured subtly for security to remove the “eyesore.” But Martha wasn’t leaving. She screamed, “I want to see Arthur Thorne!” Her voice echoed in the opulent lobby. “The land he just sold belonged to my family! How dare he use that money to buy that whore Vivian Vance a private island!” “Where did this crazy person come from?” the clerk muttered, looking at her with a mixture of pity and disgust. I arrived just in time to see her in a standoff with two burly security guards. As I moved to intervene, a pair of familiar figures emerged from the elevator: Arthur and Sandy. “After this meeting, Vivian and I are stepping back to enjoy our lives,” Arthur was saying. “You need to step up, son. Handle things.” “Don’t worry, Dad,” Sandy replied, a smug grin on his face. “I learned from the best. Kendra, just like Mom, is so hung up on a man being faithful. They don’t get it. For men like us, from families like ours, how could one woman ever be enough?” A blade of ice twisted in my gut. My nails had dug so deep into my palms that they’d drawn blood. “Sandy,” Arthur added, his tone more serious, “the empire comes first. Remember, I started with nothing. It was your mother who saved me. And Kendra… even though her family is ordinary, she stuck by you when you told her you had leukemia. She worked herself to the bone to pay off our ‘debts’. You won’t find that kind of loyalty in any of the blue-blooded women in our circle.” As the two impeccably dressed men walked past me, Sandy pinched his nose and quickened his pace. He whispered something to the front desk clerk, who immediately grabbed a can of air freshener and began spraying the path I had just walked, a look of profound apology on her face. At that moment, the guards manhandled a protesting Martha out of the hotel and shoved her onto the hot pavement. Just then, a black SUV pulled up. “Sandy!” Supermodel Sheryl Starr, teetering on stilettos, stepped out. She carefully stepped over Martha’s head to reach Sandy, linking her arm through his possessively. “How can a five-star hotel let in delivery drivers and homeless people?” Sheryl whined, her voice carrying across the lobby. “I almost twisted my ankle trying to avoid her.” Arthur frowned slightly, but the expression vanished as quickly as it appeared. Sandy, however, stroked Sheryl’s nose dotingly. “As long as my baby wasn’t hurt.” He shot a look at the security guards. They understood immediately, forming a human wall and using a velvet rope to cordon me and Martha off from the entrance. “Sandy, you ungrateful wolf! You’d kick out your own mother!” Martha shrieked, her voice raw with anguish. But her cries were lost, muffled by the thick, soundproof glass of the hotel lobby. The 100-degree sun beat down on us. Martha was drenched in sweat, her lips a deathly white. Suddenly, she coughed, spewing a mouthful of white foam mixed with blood. I scrambled to support her slumping body with one hand while frantically dialing Sandy’s number with the other. He rejected every call. Through the glass, I could see my husband. My husband, the son Martha had cherished for over twenty years. He was sitting on a plush leather sofa, his suit jacket off, the muscles of his abdomen visible through his silk shirt as he wrapped his arm around the scantily clad supermodel. Fueled by a surge of adrenaline, I broke through the confusion and charged into the conference room. When Sandy saw me, his eyes darted away. He quickly dropped his hand from Sheryl’s waist. “Kendra, what are you doing here? Don’t get the wrong idea, I’m just shooting a scene.” “Oh? A scene?” I shot back, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Since when are you famous enough for international supermodel Sheryl Starr to be your co-star in an intimate scene? Or is she just so in love she’s willing to be the other woman?” Sandy’s face went rigid. The others in the room, sensing the impending explosion, quickly and quietly filed out. “Sister,” Sheryl said, her earlier disdain replaced by a saccharine smile. “It must be so hot outside. Here, have some iced tea.” She held out a glass, and the massive diamond on her ring finger and the jade bangle on her wrist flashed, searing my eyes. “Oh, this old thing?” she said, noticing my stare. “I found it in Sandy’s room. I said I liked it, so he gave it to me. Later, I heard it was a family heirloom your mother gave you before she died. The one you sold to ‘help’ him. I suppose I should return it to its rightful owner.” Sandy stood there, silent, unable to meet my gaze. When he had told me he was giving up on his treatment because he was out of money, I had tearfully pawned the only thing my mother had left me. And now, it was on her wrist. As Sheryl handed it to me, she “accidentally” let it slip. It hit the marble floor with a sickening crack, shattering into a dozen pieces. Rage, white-hot and blinding, flooded my veins. I swung my hand and slapped her, hard. Sandy leaped in front of Sheryl, grabbing my arm and shoving me to the ground. Shards of the broken bangle dug deep into my palm, but I felt nothing. No pain. Just a vast, cold emptiness. “Kendra, what the hell is wrong with you? It’s just a stupid bracelet!” he snarled. “Don’t you know Sheryl’s a model? What if you hurt her face? How is she supposed to work?” With that, he shot me a look of pure disgust and led a whimpering Sheryl out of the room. My heart felt like a cavern, ripped open by a jagged knife. I couldn’t breathe. 3 By the time Arthur arrived at the hospital, Martha was awake. The moment she saw him, she ripped the IV from her arm, scrambled off the bed, and launched herself at him, her fists pounding against his chest. “Arthur Thorne! You really were with that bitch! I saw it all!” Arthur clutched his stinging cheek, a flicker of surprise in his eyes, but it was quickly replaced by something that looked unnervingly like relief. “Martha, we’re not young anymore. Just focus on getting better. We can live out our days peacefully. That’s what’s important.” In the two years I’d been married to Sandy, Arthur had always been the picture of a refined gentleman, unfailingly polite to family and strangers alike. I’d never seen him lose his temper, not even now, with a red handprint blooming on his face. Even the patient in the next bed was looking at Martha like she was being unreasonable. Martha’s eyes were bloodshot. She glared at Arthur, then lunged again, but Sandy stepped between them. “Mom! You’ve seen who Dad is now! He’s the chairman of a major corporation! He spent years playing along with your little games. Look at yourself! You can’t even dance with him. Now look at Aunt Vivian! Her skin, her figure… she looks like she’s thirty. She goes on trips with us. You never even let me go to summer camp as a kid. In the end, it was Aunt Vivian who took me!” Martha’s face turned ashen. Her lips trembled, and she pointed a shaking finger at Sandy, speechless. “Sandy, you ungrateful brat! I got cancer scrimping and saving for your ‘illness’, and you’re taking their side?” “Cancer?” Sandy scoffed. “You’re still using that old trick? Haven’t you learned anything new in twenty years?” Both Arthur and Sandy’s faces were grim. Sandy shot a quick, accusatory glance in my direction. “Honestly, Mom, just calm down,” he continued, his tone patronizing. “Aunt Vivian helped find this place for you. It’s a luxury care facility. A million a year. We could never have earned that in a lifetime before. Just relax and enjoy your retirement. Dad and I will visit often.” “Get out! Both of you, get out!” Martha shrieked, grabbing a water glass and hurling it at Sandy. Arthur and Sandy exchanged a look, shook their heads, and left the room. Martha lay on the bed, silent and still. “Honey,” the woman in the next bed said to me as I walked in. She was peeling lychees for the man lying in her bed. “Your mother-in-law acts like a twenty-year-old, still expecting fairy-tale love.” Martha’s eyes filled with tears as she watched the couple, perhaps remembering a time when she had cared for Arthur with the same devotion. Suddenly, a machine by her bed let out a piercing shriek. A doctor rushed in, saw the reading on Martha’s blood oxygen monitor, and immediately shoved her into the emergency room. “Her abdomen is completely filled with fluid,” the doctor said gravely when he came out to find the next of kin. “The family needs to prepare for the worst.” 4 I must have called a hundred times. Finally, a sharp, feminine voice echoed down the hallway. “Wow, a total amateur with better acting skills than a professional. Is it money you want? Is a thousand dollars enough?” Sheryl Starr sauntered over, a wave of perfect curls bouncing on her shoulders. She held a wad of cash and shoved it into my hands. “My future father-in-law already told me about your little mother-daughter-in-law act. Consider this your salary for today’s performance.” “Sheryl! Sandy’s mother is in critical condition! She could die at any moment!” I yelled. Sheryl just smirked, tapped her phone, and raised an eyebrow. “Even better. Sandy’s real mother should have always been Aunt Vivian. You and that old hag can crawl back to whatever hole you came from.” A cheerful, middle-aged woman’s laugh crackled from the phone. 【Sheryl, dear, I knew I was right about you. When you and Sandy get married, I’ll give you all the limited-edition bags and jewelry Arthur gave me.】 “Thank you, Aunt Vivian,” Sheryl cooed, her face stretched into a smile so wide it looked painful. She rolled her eyes as she hung up, then immediately picked up another phone. “Aunt Vivian and I have Sandy’s and Arthur’s phones. Don’t even think about reaching them today.” With a flick of her hair, she strode away from the ER doors. I tried calling them again. This time, all I got was the cold, robotic voice of the voicemail service. “We did everything we could,” the doctor said, shaking his head. “The patient’s abdominal cavity was full of fluid. If she had come to the hospital sooner to have it drained, she might have had a few more days.” I looked at Martha, lying still on the bed. Her face was dark and weathered, her skin like parchment from years of collecting scrap under the brutal sun to make ends meet. A chilling thought crept into my mind. If Martha hadn’t time-traveled, in twenty years, would that be me lying on that bed? Before she passed, Martha gave me her last will and testament: her ashes were to be scattered to the wind, never to be given to Arthur Thorne or his son. After handling her affairs, I left a signed divorce agreement on the dining table and walked out of that house for good. A few days later, my phone exploded with calls. 【Kendra, what is the meaning of this? You insisted on marrying me when we had nothing, and now that you know my family is wealthy, you want a divorce? Is this another one of your games? You’d better show your face right now.】 I blocked Sandy’s number, only to receive a message from Arthur demanding to know where Martha was. 【268 Longsea Road.】 I replied. 【Why is she working at a funeral home? What a morbid place.】

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1 After the catastrophic defeat at the Battle of the Crimson River, my senior, Zera, searched through ten thousand corpses before she found me, clinging to life in a sea of blood. I thought she was moved by my years of devotion. Instead, as I lay helpless, she carved out my Core of power. Zera looked down at me, her gaze imperious. “You were born with a divine essence. Forming a new Core is only a matter of time for you. But it took Kael a thousand years to reach this point.” “When we return to the Order, I will help you reform your Core. Don’t be ungrateful.” It had all been her plan from the start. I watched as she fused my power into Kael’s body. Eight hundred years. And in that moment, I finally admitted to myself: her heart was a stone I could never warm. … “Senior, your medicine for the day.” My junior acolyte tossed the bowl onto the table with cold indifference. The hot broth sloshed over the side, scalding my arm, but she didn’t even glance my way. Ever since I returned from the Crimson River, the acolytes who once begged me to teach them swordsmanship now treated me with nothing but contempt and scorn. I weakly called out to her as she turned to leave. “Please, ask Zera to come see me. I have something to discuss with her.” The acolyte scoffed, her words a torrent of abuse. “Senior Zera is at the Celestial Pool, helping Brother Kael heal! She has no time for you! I don’t know how you have the gall to even ask for her! The battle was lost because of you. Saving you was more than you deserved!” She stormed out, but her words echoed in my mind. Zera had taken Kael to the Celestial Pool. Everyone in the Order knew what that meant. A man and a woman, healing together in the Pool, could only be done through dual cultivation—a deeply intimate act. The defeat at the Crimson River… it wasn’t my fault. It was Kael who had foolishly trusted the Demon Lord’s lies. But to protect Kael, she had pinned all the blame on me. My heart felt like it was being battered by her words, the pain so sharp I could barely breathe. Despite her venom, the acolyte must have delivered my message. Zera returned to my chambers, but she brought Kael with her, leading him directly into the main bedroom. My vision turned red. “Zera! That is our bed! How can you let him sleep there?!” She ignored me, her brow furrowed in annoyance. She gently helped Kael lie down, her voice softening as she spoke to him. “You can rest here tonight. The Azurefall Palace is close to the Celestial Pool. It will be easier for me to take you for your treatments tomorrow.” That warm, gentle smile of hers was a rare sight. A sight Kael seemed to enjoy constantly. He took her hand. “Will you stay with me tonight? After the battle… I’m scared at night…” “Of course. I’ll stay.” She pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, then turned to face me, her expression instantly hardening into a cold mask. “Be quiet. If you wake Kael, I will place a silence spell on you.” I stared at her, my eyes blank, the fury slowly curdling into self-mockery. This was my palace, yet since she’d “saved” me, I’d been relegated to a crude servant’s cot. She had taken Kael, who had only lost some of his cultivation, to the Celestial Pool for intensive healing, while I, who had lost my very Core, was left here to rot. “Zera, the defeat at the Crimson River was not my fault. Go and make it clear to the Order. I will not bear the blame for Kael’s mistake.” Her brows drew together, her voice like ice. “Kael was looked down upon his whole life because he was born without a spiritual root. He was bullied relentlessly in the Order. If this news gets out, what do you think they will do to him?” “You were by his side when he first joined. Have you no empathy?” My body trembled, a pain like a knife twisting in my heart. “So I’m supposed to endure the scorn and hatred of my juniors?” “Yes,” she said, her voice casual, dismissive. “You are.” The ache in my chest tightened, making it hard to breathe. I broke into a violent fit of coughing. Zera waved her sleeve in front of her nose, a look of disgust on her face. She cast a silence spell on me without a second thought. “I told you,” she snapped, “don’t make any noise and wake Kael.” As our eyes met, the pain in my chest suddenly erupted, and a mouthful of blood sprayed from my lips. There was no pity in her eyes, only a deep-seated revulsion. “Disgusting. Clean it up yourself.” A faint cough came from the inner chamber. Her face immediately softened with worry, and she hurried back to Kael’s side. “Are you still uncomfortable? I’m here. I won’t leave you.” Her voice, so gentle for him, was like a razor blade to my ears. I closed my eyes, exhausted. I tossed and turned, but sleep would not come. Zera, this time, I am truly giving up on you. I wrote a letter to my parents, informing them of my decision to return to the Aethel Clan. Then I went to the back mountain to see my Master. He poured me a cup of tea, offering no resistance to my plan. “You were never truly meant for Spirit Mountain. I support your decision. But wait three days. Leave after the Grand Cultivator’s Assembly.” “I will.” Returning to the Azurefall Palace, I was met with a barrage of glares and whispered insults. This was the scorn Kael should have endured, but Zera’s favoritism had redirected it all to me. So this was what it meant to love someone. To bear the weight of their pain. Eight hundred years was a long time. Long enough, finally, for my heart to die. The journey back to my palace, once a simple flight on my sword, was now a long, arduous walk. Without my Core, I could no longer summon it. The image of Zera, her face a mask of ruthless determination as she tore my Core from my body, was seared into my mind. I was just a child when it happened. My parents and I were on a night hunt when we were ambushed by wraiths. Zera appeared, a vision in azure robes, her sword a blur of silver as she saved me. She stroked my hair, asking if I was hurt. Before she left, I grabbed the corner of her robe. “Sister, which Order are you from?” “Spirit Mountain. Zera.” The image of her, robes billowing as she walked away, was forever etched in my memory. I dedicated myself to my training, my only goal to one day join Spirit Mountain. When I first arrived, my Master saw the way I looked at Zera and chuckled. “Your Senior Sister is a solitary soul. It will take more than a little effort to win her favor.” He wasn’t wrong. Zera was cold and proud, barely deigning to look at me. To earn even a sliver of her attention, I trained relentlessly, winning first place in every disciple competition. The day I formed my Golden Core, the entire Order celebrated. I was the youngest to ever achieve such a feat. Zera finally started to notice me. I redoubled my efforts, baking her favorite osmanthus cakes, repairing her palace, taking on any task related to her. During a great battle against the demon race, I rushed to her side, saving her when she was on the verge of defeat. She fell gravely ill afterward, and I was the one who scoured the lands for rare herbs, the one who kept vigil by her bed. From that day on, her gaze softened from indifference to something akin to pity. It took four hundred years, but she finally agreed to be with me. Not out of love, but out of pity for my one-sided devotion. Even when we shared a bed, she remained distant. “I feel nothing for you, Joric. I will never love anyone in my life.” Her words didn’t deter me. As she slept, I would secretly hold her hand, whispering so softly the words were lost in the air, “I’m not greedy. Just being by your side is enough.” Slowly, her attitude toward me softened. Just as I was beginning to believe my persistence was paying off, that she might finally be falling in love with me, Kael appeared and shattered my illusions. Zera fell for him. The cold, distant woman I knew became warm and attentive to someone else. I confronted her, my eyes burning. “You said you would never love anyone!” Her face was etched with guilt, but she didn’t deny it. She had once told me she could only be attracted to someone stronger than herself. That’s why it hurt so much when she favored Kael. I had groveled and fought for a single glance from her, yet Kael had it all without lifting a finger. Four hundred years to get close to her. Another four hundred to be utterly disillusioned, to force myself to let her go. Kael was sitting in my usual meditation spot. When he saw me enter, he smiled, his voice dripping with malice. “Brother Joric, thank you for your Golden Core. It has helped me reach a level I never could have achieved on my own.” His tone shifted, becoming boastful. “Of course, I have Senior Sister Zera’s favoritism to thank for all of this.” I scoffed. “Something that isn’t yours can never truly be yours. What do you think will happen when the Order finds out the battle was lost because of you? How will the acolytes who already despise you treat you then?” His eyes narrowed, and he snarled, “You wouldn’t dare! Zera would never let you!” “Watch me.” A flicker of panic crossed his face, and he scrambled out of the room. I knew where he was going. To Zera, to cry and complain, to have her fight his battles for him. Finally, some peace. I sat down and began to cultivate. Without my Core, my body healed at a glacial pace. The wounds from the battle were a constant, throbbing ache. Zera came in with a bowl of medicine. “Drink this, Joric. I went to the Apothecary Pavilion myself to find these celestial herbs. They will help you reform your Core.” Her voice was gentle, making my heart tremble. But this time, it was useless. I kept my eyes closed. “I don’t need it.” She scooped up a spoonful, blew on it, and brought it to my lips. “Be good,” she cooed. “Let me feed you.” I slowly opened my eyes and met her tender gaze. “I spent all morning searching for these herbs. Now, drink up.” Under her coaxing, I opened my mouth and swallowed the medicine. She then produced a piece of candy from her sleeve and popped it into my mouth. “Such a good boy, my Joric,” she purred, smiling. “Kael told me you were planning on telling the Order the real reason for our defeat.” “If you let me feed you like this every day, you won’t say anything, will you?” It was the same smile, but this time, I saw the ice in her eyes. It was always for Kael. For him, she would endure anything, even this reluctant show of affection. The sweet candy suddenly tasted bitter. I turned my head away. “Zera, I can’t.” Instantly, her smile vanished, replaced by a storm of fury. “If you won’t be persuaded by kindness, then don’t blame me for being cruel.” 2 The Grand Cultivator’s Assembly proceeded as planned. After today, I would leave Spirit Mountain forever. The disciples gathered in the main hall, awaiting our Master. Zera presided from her high seat. “Our losses in the Battle of the Crimson River were severe,” she announced. “But we can take solace in the fact that, in our darkest hour, Kael saved the lives of many of our junior disciples.” The acolytes erupted in cheers, chanting Kael’s name, calling for him to come forward. Zera familiarly made space for him at her side, in the spot that had once been mine. They looked like a perfectly matched couple. She took his hand and declared, “Since his return, Kael’s cultivation has improved dramatically. I propose that Joric step down from his position as Sword Master, and that Kael take his place, leading our disciples in their training from this day forward.” The position of Sword Master… Zera had begged our Master to give it to me. He had thought I was too young, but she had knelt in the back mountains for half a month, pleading for him to give me a chance. She had said she couldn’t bear to see my talent wasted. Now, she was ruthlessly tearing it away from me. Kael shot me a triumphant smirk. “Sorry, Brother Joric,” he whispered. “Zera was worried you’d spill the beans about the battle. She had to make sure everyone would despise you.” Zera walked toward me, her face a cold mask. “To convince everyone,” she said, her voice devoid of emotion, “you will duel Kael.” The disciples roared their approval. It was a perfect trap. Whether I fought or not, I was doomed. To be defeated by Kael without my Core would be the ultimate humiliation. I forced a tight smile. “I will give him the position voluntarily. There is no need for a duel.” “That won’t do,” Zera said, raising her hand. With a flick of her wrist, a spell sent me flying onto the dueling platform. Kael landed opposite me on his sword, bowing with false sincerity. “My apologies, Senior Brother.” My Core had supercharged his power. He came at me with killing intent. I had no way to defend myself. The duel was a one-sided slaughter. I was left broken and defeated on the platform. The disciples looked at me with contempt. “He’s the reason so many of us died! He’s finally getting what he deserves!” Kael raised his sword in victory. “I am the victor!” The hall erupted in cheers. Zera, her face beaming, announced, “Good! Then the position of Sword Master now belongs to—” Before she could finish, I forced myself to my feet. “There’s no need to humiliate me further. I am leaving the Spirit Mountain Order. I will never set foot here again.” As my words echoed in the silent hall, the main doors swung open. Our Master strode in, his voice a sharp rebuke. “Enough of this foolishness!”

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1 On my wedding day, compromising photos were leaked. My fiancée Maya took my stepbrother Brent’s hand and switched grooms. Then her sister Lindsay offered me $10 million to marry her—despite my disgrace. Moved, I agreed. It was all a lie. After a crash left me near-paralyzed, Lindsay arrived with a property transfer, not consent forms. “Sign your company over to Brent, or stay on that table,” she hissed. Trembling, I obeyed. Her love? A calculated act. Years later, she fell to her knees, slapping herself. “You swore to love only me! Why do you have a child with another?!” … When I opened my eyes, Lindsay was gently moistening my dry lips with a cotton swab. I turned my head away. She simply leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to my cheek. “Darling,” she murmured, “I wasn’t trying to force you to sign just now.” “Brent is your family’s stepson. Without any real assets to his name, it’s hard for him to find his footing in our world. He just called me, said Maya’s mother was screaming at him again. I was just so worried, I rushed you. With the company, he can finally hold his head high.” Her eyes were filled with that deep, convincing affection. It would have been so easy to drown in it. But this time, a wave of nausea rolled in my stomach. The searing pain tearing through my body was a constant, brutal reminder of what had just happened in that operating room. I’d been hit by a drunk driver. The doctors at the hospital said my spine was severely damaged; without immediate surgery, I’d be paralyzed for life. After more than ten hours of emergency procedures, they needed to use a new, adKinsmand technology—an artificial spinal implantation. My wife, the one who should have been signing the consent form without a moment’s hesitation, showed no panic, no fear. Instead, she forced me to sign away my company. The business my mother had bled for, her life’s work, was now in the hands of my stepbrother, Brent. The memory of teetering on the edge of death was still a fresh terror. The woman who had cherished and protected me had used my future, my health, my very ability to walk as a bargaining chip. Lindsay was still tucking the corners of my blanket in, her touch gentle and caring, as if she wasn’t the same woman who had threatened me for another man just moments before. A bitter, acidic feeling rose in my throat. Sensing my despair, she sighed. “Leo, you just had surgery. Getting angry isn’t good for your recovery.” “The company is no use to you now; it would only drain your energy. But for Brent, it’s a lifeline. You’re his brother. Be the bigger person.” “Besides,” she added, a perfect picture of loving concern, “I earn more than enough for both of us. What more could you want?” Her words, meant to sound so considerate, sent a chill through my heart. I lowered my gaze. “What did the police say?” I asked softly. “Did they catch the driver?” A flicker of guilt. She touched her ear, a nervous habit. “Not yet. But don’t you worry, Leo. I will make the person who did this to you wish they were never born.” Not a shred of remorse in her voice. But I’d heard her. In the hazy moments before I lost consciousness, I’d heard her on the phone with Brent. “Brent, you’re saying your friend was the one who hit him?” A pause. “He’s hurt this badly… I can’t just let this go.” But after a few wheedling pleas from Brent, she had relented with a sigh. “Don’t worry about Leo. He’s so in love with me, he’ll believe anything I say. I’ll just make up some excuse to placate him. Besides, he’s fine now. The surgery was a success, so what’s the big deal?” Just because the man who nearly crippled me was Brent’s friend, she was willing to ignore my suffering and let the perpetrator walk free. A numbing pain spread from my heart through my entire body, and I couldn’t stop shaking. Later, my vision blurred with unshed tears, I wheeled myself to the doctor’s office to discuss my prognosis. On my way back, I saw Lindsay by the window, on the phone. “Maya, don’t worry. No one in the family will dare look down on Brent now.” “Don’t thank me. We both did it for him. He just chose you back then, so all I could do was watch over him from a distance.” “And remember,” her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, “the night you got Leo drunk, and I arranged for those photos to be taken… we have to keep that a secret forever.” 2 “As long as I’m here, Leo won’t be able to make any trouble.” I took a deep breath, my eyes closing as I slumped in the cold wheelchair. The chilling words brought me back to my senses with a jolt. The company was the last thing my mother left me before she died. Less than three months after her funeral, my father brought Brent and his mother into our home. For years, my father had tried to wrestle the company from me, but as a man who had married into my mother’s wealth, he had no legal standing. He always failed. Lindsay knew how much the company meant to me. And still, she had ruthlessly torn it from my hands and given it to Brent. I had been a fool. Trapped in a scheme orchestrated by her entire family, a scheme that had almost cost me my life. When the scandal broke, everyone saw me as a disgusting, cheating scumbag. Only Lindsay had accepted me, stayed by my side. During the two years of my deep depression, she never gave up on me. But what I thought was my salvation was just her strategy to control me. From the very beginning, her goal was to seize my company and ensure I would never interfere with Brent’s happiness. The life I thought we were building was nothing but a dream woven from lies. I pulled out my phone and sent a text to a number my mother had given me years ago, one I had never used. [Uncle Marcus, it’s time. Please come get me. I want to come to Emeria.] The doctor who had come to change my bandages found me frozen outside my room. “Mr. Kinsman? You’re still weak. It’s cold in the hallway. You should be in bed.” The door to my room flew open. Lindsay stood there, her expression unreadable, but a flash of anxiety crossed her eyes. “Leo, when did you get back? Why didn’t you call me to come get you?” I forced a smile as she wrapped her arm around me and guided me back to bed. “Darling, the wheelchair does all the work. I’m not tired.” “I just ran into the doctor. He said I have a long road of physical therapy ahead of me.” As the doctor changed the dressing on my back, cold sweat beaded on my forehead. The pain was so intense I couldn’t stop trembling. Lindsay offered her arm to me. “Leo, if it hurts, bite me,” she said, her voice thick with pity. “Don’t just suffer in silence.” She played the part of the doting wife so perfectly. If I hadn’t already seen her true face, I might have been foolishly moved. Now, I couldn’t even be bothered to argue. I just bit down on the corner of the blanket, ignoring her. She looked at me, startled, and was about to say something when her phone rang, interrupting her. “Brent? Don’t worry, I’m on my way now. Yes, I can handle it.” She hung up, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Leo, something urgent came up. I’ll be back as soon as I’m done.” “You be a good boy and listen to the doctor. I’ll bring you back some seafood bisque.” She rushed out, completely oblivious to the fact that the doctor had just strictly forbidden any rich or spicy foods near my wound. Her superficial concern was nauseating. The tragic joke was that I had mistaken all her past deceptions for love. A woman whose phone password was my birthday had been acting for eight long years. Suddenly, a nurse rushed in. “Mr. Kinsman, great news! The hospital has secured a top-of-the-line artificial spine for you. We just need your signature to confirm.” My heart leaped. The quality of the implant would determine my future mobility, my control over the lower half of my body. This was a miracle. I hurried to the nurse’s station to sign, but the administrator looked up from her records, a confused expression on her face. “Mr. Kinsman, I’m sorry, but your wife has already authorized the transfer of this implant to another patient.” Her words fell, and my heart plunged into an icy abyss. I fumbled for my phone, trying to call Lindsay, but my fingers were shaking so violently I couldn’t even press the dial button. The nurse looked at me with pity and held the phone for me. Lindsay answered quickly. “Darling, missing me already…?” I had no patience for her act. My voice was sharp, desperate. “Where is my artificial spine?” There was a pause. She recovered quickly, her tone soothing. “Oh, that. Darling, one of Brent’s old university classmates has been paralyzed for years. She just wants a chance to stand again.” My voice shattered with rage. “That implant was specifically requested for me! Do you want me to be like this for the rest of my life? Bring it back. Now.” Lindsay sighed, a hint of impatience creeping into her voice. “Leo, you’re usually so kind. What’s wrong with you today?” 3 “You’ve always disliked Brent, I know that. But you can’t be so cruel as to gamble with someone else’s health just to spite him!” She hung up before I could even respond. I called back dozens of times. Finally, she just turned her phone off. The pain in my chest was suffocating. My legs gave out, and I crumpled to the floor. For Brent, for a complete stranger, Lindsay had cast aside my health without a second thought. Her love was truly great. It was just a shame that the one she loved was Brent, and the one left broken was me. The doctor took off his mask, his eyes full of sympathy as he looked at my bloodshot gaze. “Mr. Kinsman, in all my years, you are the strongest patient I have ever seen. Your spine was almost completely destroyed, yet you had such a powerful will to live.” “The top-tier implant is difficult to get, but I promise you, I will do everything in my power.” I let out a shuddering breath. As I reached out to thank him, I realized that blood-tinged tears were streaming down my face. My grief, my rage, my agony—it all poured out. My heartless wife? I was done with her. If she loved Brent so much that she would sacrifice her own marriage for him, then I would grant her wish. Let them have their great love story. I spent another two weeks in the hospital. Lindsay came every day. She brought books to keep me from getting bored and massaged my numb legs for hours. She acted as if she wasn’t the one who had forgiven the man who crippled me, as if she wasn’t the one who had given away my chance at a normal life. The despair I’d felt when she refused my calls still threatened to swallow me whole. But now, looking at her hypocritical face, I was too tired to even scream at her. During that time, my uncle Marcus arranged to have my official records wiped. Before sending his people to get me, he called one last time to confirm. “Leo, are you absolutely sure you want to come to Emeria?” “I’ve thought it over,” I said, my voice firm. “I’m sure.” I hung up the phone and turned to see Lindsay standing behind me. “Darling, where are you going?” she asked, a flicker of confusion in her eyes. I curved my lips into a smile. “Remember we talked about seeing the Northern Lights in Iceland? I was just contacting a guide I know.” She visibly relaxed, a wave of relief washing over her. She kissed my forehead, her voice full of affection. “Anywhere you want to go, darling, I’ll be right there with you.” Her performance was so convincing it almost made me dizzy. But one night, while she was asleep, I secretly opened her phone. She had a special folder of notes, all dedicated to Brent. [Took Brent skydiving in New Zealand today. He was so happy.] [Brent and Maya had a fight. To cheer him up, I bought him a small private island. He loved it.] [Brent came over today and was frightened by the chihuahua Leo raised. Can’t keep an animal that doesn’t know its true master.] Every entry was a fresh stab to the heart. She had meticulously documented Brent’s every mood, every preference. Yet when I had asked her to ride the Ferris wheel with me, she’d refused, claiming she was afraid of heights. When I was burning up with a fever, delirious, she was out of the country shopping with Brent. And my beloved dog, the one I had raised for three years, the one I had cried inconsolably over when it was poisoned—the culprit was her. I scrolled, a self-loathing masochist, reading about how she had memorized Brent’s shoe size, his favorite brands. A bitter smile twisted my lips. It must have been so painful for her, suppressing her love for Brent all those years while pretending to care for me. The day I was discharged from the hospital happened to be my father’s birthday. I didn’t want to go. But Lindsay insisted. “Leo, your mother’s ashes are still in the family shrine at the villa. How long has it been since you’ve seen her?” She had a point. I agreed. She buried her face in my chest, her voice soft. “Leo, I knew you’d be reasonable. This is the perfect opportunity. We can announce the company transfer at the party, introduce Brent to the shareholders. It will make things easier for him going forward.” “Darling, you always worked so hard you forgot everything else. From now on, you just rest. I’ll take care of you.” Her words were sweet, but her mind was entirely focused on paving Brent’s way into the company. The Kinsman family home was no longer my home. My life had become a living hell the day Brent and his mother moved in. Their schemes for favor and torment were endless. My own father, though alive and well, looked at me with nothing but disgust. My mother’s death had taken the man who used to give me piggyback rides with her. I had no expectations left for him. And yet, when he saw me in the wheelchair, his stern expression softened, just for a moment. 4 Brent approached, with Maya on his arm. “Little brother, you finally decided to come home! You have no idea how happy Dad is.” “I know he yelled at you back then, calling you shameless, but he was just worried about you. Afraid you’d catch some disease from your… flings.” “I heard you were in an accident,” he continued, his voice dripping with false concern. “Don’t tell me one of your old flames came back for revenge.” He covered his mouth in a parody of shock that made my stomach turn. “My health is fine,” I said coolly. “You don’t need to worry about me. But you… coming to a birthday party with a hickey on your neck? Didn’t you think to cover that up?” His lips tightened. He awkwardly tried to hide his neck with his hair as Maya shot him a suspicious look. “Don’t listen to my brother,” Brent stammered. “It’s a mosquito bite. He’s always loved slandering me.” Maya, seemingly satisfied, drifted off to mingle. The moment she was gone, Brent leaned in close, his voice a triumphant whisper. “Dear brother, do you know how many times Lindsay cried out my name while I was trying on this suit today? You can barely even stand now. I doubt you’ll ever be able to perform your duties as a husband again. You certainly can’t satisfy her anymore.” I looked down, hiding the bitterness in my eyes. Lindsay’s excuse about buying me new clothes—she had been with Brent. So much for her silent devotion. In the end, she couldn’t resist temptation. I ignored his taunts and turned my wheelchair toward the restroom. When I came out, I saw him. Brent was holding a small urn. My mother’s ashes. He was tossing it up and down in his hands like a toy. My vision went red. I wheeled myself forward, charging at him. “Are you insane?! Put my mother’s urn down!” “Brent, I know you’re ruthless, but I never thought you’d stoop to disrespecting the dead!” I shoved him. He stumbled, spilling his drink on his pants. He leaned in again, his voice a vicious hiss in my ear. “Leo, your bitch of a mother gave birth to a bastard like you. Even in death, she’s nothing but a plaything.” “Oh, are you angry now? That’s not all. I even pissed in the urn.” Hearing him insult my mother, I finally snapped. I raised my hand and swung, slapping him hard across his smirking face. The next second, I was shoved violently to the ground. I lay there, helpless, my legs pinned beneath the heavy wheelchair, pain shooting through me. “Leo, how dare you raise a hand to your own brother!” Lindsay’s voice was sharp, all pretense of the doting wife gone. Her beautiful face was tight with rage, veins pulsing at her temples. Clearly, my slapping Brent had enraged her. Brent, his eyes red, buried his face in her arms. “Sera, my brother didn’t mean it. Don’t blame him. He’s just jealous that my legs are fine. I provoked him.” “You’re lying!” I spat, gritting my teeth. “He was going to smash our mother’s urn! Brent, I’ve put up with your schemes and your bullying, but I will not let you insult my mother!” My father strode over, his brow furrowed. For a fleeting moment, I thought he was going to defend me. Instead, he kicked me squarely in the chest. “You’re just like your mother! A troublemaker, the both of you! Did you deliberately cause a scene at my birthday party? What are you trying to do, you little bastard?” “Leo, let me tell you something! If Lindsay hadn’t begged me to let you in the door, I wouldn’t have ever wanted to see a degenerate piece of trash like you again!” My own father, using the vilest words to humiliate me. The surrounding guests stared, their eyes filled with scorn. Brent’s face was a mask of smug triumph. It was Lindsay who finally pulled me up and put me back in my wheelchair, diffusing the situation. “It’s just a family matter. Please, everyone, continue enjoying the party.” She pushed me into a quiet corner, her grip on the chair handles tight. “Leo, you were in the wrong today. In a little while, when I announce the company transfer, you will apologize to Brent. You’re brothers, after all. Don’t make things too ugly.” “You’re always so obedient, aren’t you, darling?” she whispered, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear. There was no affection in her eyes. She led Brent to the stage, ready to make her grand announcement. I looked at her one last time, my heart a barren wasteland of grief. Then, without looking back, I let the foreign bodyguards who had come for me wheel me out of the ballroom. Lindsay, enjoy my final gift to you.

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The day of the verdict, Teri begged me to take the plea deal. “I know you’re innocent,” she whispered, tears in her eyes, “but Aiden’s too fragile. I can’t let him go to prison.” She squeezed my hand. “This is for your own good.” I signed the confession. Last time, I resisted—and paid dearly. Now, reborn, I gave her what she wanted. The next day, headlines exploded: ZANE FORD ADMITS TO CORPORATE ESPIONAGE. Aiden, the star witness, claimed he’d seen me sneak into Moses Industries. But in court, Isabelle Moses stood and dropped the charges. Silence fell as she walked to me, pulled out a ring, and knelt. “Zane,” she said, unwavering, “this time, will you marry me?” 1 The moment I’d signed the confession, a flicker of triumph had flashed in Teri’s eyes. She’d hidden it in a heartbeat, replacing it with a look of profound distress the instant she saw me looking. “Zane, don’t you worry,” she’d said, her voice laced with manufactured concern. “I’ll get you the very best lawyer.” “And when you’re inside,” she continued, her performance flawless, “I’ll make sure to smooth things over, pull some strings. We’ll get you out on parole as soon as possible.” I had to physically bite back a sneer. “Don’t bother,” I said, my voice flat. Her face immediately contorted into a mask of frantic worry. “Zane! I know you’re devastated right now, but you can’t just give up like that. If you just let this happen, what about your parents…?” She kept on, a relentless performance of her supposed “care” for me. If it weren’t for the scars of my past life, I might have actually believed her. Last time, when I refused to confess, she’d shown her true colors. She’d not only forged evidence to imprison me but had also stolen my future, my right to ever have a family. The rage simmered inside me. It was her greed that drove this, her desire to steal the secrets of Moses Industries. She had used Aiden to do the dirty work, so why the hell was I, the only innocent one, the one fated to suffer the most brutal consequences? “Zane?” Teri’s voice snapped me back to the present. “You look so pale. Are you alright?” I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms, the sharp pain a welcome anchor. “I’m fine.” I forced a weak smile. “Just… the thought of prison. It’s a little scary.” She reached for my hand, but I pulled away before her fingers could touch mine. A flicker of surprise crossed her face, but it was quickly swallowed by the sheer joy of her victory. She carefully slid the signed confession into her briefcase as if it were a holy relic. “I’ll present this to the judge at the hearing in three days,” she promised, her eyes shining with false sincerity. “Until then, I’ll keep this under wraps. No one will know.” I gave a cold, dismissive nod. After signing the papers, I was released on bail. As we left the courthouse, Teri held the car door for me, her hand hovering protectively over my head, a familiar gesture from the past three years of our life together. But I knew, with chilling certainty, that nothing was the same. She was still playing the part of the devoted fiancée, her gaze soft and loving. “Zane, let me take you home.” Home? A bitter laugh echoed in my mind. The villa that once held all our memories was likely no longer a place for me. My suspicions were confirmed the moment we walked through the door. The air was thick with the scent of an unfamiliar, expensive men’s cologne. The minimalist decor I’d chosen had been replaced with an avalanche of gaudy, ostentatious furniture. And our wedding portrait, the one we’d taken in the rose garden, was now treated like trash, shoved in a storage closet, coated in a thick layer of dust. Teri saw me staring at it, and a flash of guilt crossed her face before she rearranged it back into that look of deep affection. “Zane, this was all Aiden’s idea…” she began, her voice a soft apology. “You know how he is, with his illness… his emotions have been all over the place…” 2 I said nothing, my face a blank mask as I turned and walked toward the master bedroom. I pushed the door open. The cloying scent of that same cologne hit me like a physical blow. The bed was a mess of rumpled sheets and lacy lingerie that was decidedly not mine. On the nightstand, a framed photo of Teri and Aiden, laughing intimately, had taken the place of our own. “You’re sleeping in my bed?” I turned, my voice dangerously low. Teri rushed to explain, her words tumbling out in a panic. “It’s just temporary! As soon as Aiden is feeling a little stronger, I’ll have him move to the guest—” “Don’t bother,” I cut her off. “I’m just here to get my things.” I strode to the closet, only to find it stuffed to the brim with Aiden’s designer clothes. My own wardrobe had been unceremoniously crammed into a single suitcase and tossed in a corner. “Zane, please don’t be like this…” Teri tried to grab my arm. “I know you’re hurting, but…” I shook her off. As I reached for the suitcase, ready to leave this nightmare behind, my phone buzzed. A news alert lit up the screen. BREAKING: FORD HEIR SIGNS CONFESSION, ADMITS TO STEALING MOSES INDUSTRIES SECRETS! Beneath the headline, a flood of comments. “Oh my god, I can’t believe a Ford would stoop to corporate theft!” “I thought he was innocent! I really believed he was taking the fall for Aiden.” “Throw him in jail and lose the key!” My world tilted. I looked up at Teri, a cold, stark disbelief washing over me. I had done exactly what she asked, signed away my life, and she couldn’t even keep a simple promise for three days. She saw the headline on my phone, and her expression soured with guilt. “Zane… about that… let me explain…” “I… I was going to keep it a secret, I swear. But you know Aiden… he’s sick, and he was a suspect, too. This was the only way to make sure no one would bother him, so…” Disappointment, when it reaches its absolute peak, becomes a strange, cold calm. “It doesn’t matter,” I said, my voice devoid of emotion as I put my phone away. “The hearing is in three days anyway.” Teri let out a visible sigh of relief. She took my hand, her touch feeling repulsive and phony. “I’m so glad you understand, Zane. And don’t you worry. Once you’re… away… I’ll take good care of your parents.” I fought the urge to be sick, pulling my hand from her grasp and moving to a spare room for the night. Later, in the dead silence of the house, I dialed a number I hadn’t called in a lifetime. When the call connected, I took a deep, steadying breath. “Ms. Moses? This is Zane Ford. There’s something I think we need to discuss. In person.” 3 The next morning, I was up and dressed before the sun. I was heading for the door when I ran into Teri in the foyer. She frowned, taking in my suit and tie. “Where are you going so early?” “Out. I have some things to take care of,” I said, keeping my head down as I put on my shoes. She suddenly slammed her hand against the door, blocking my exit. Her voice dropped, taking on a hard edge. “This is a sensitive time, Zane. You shouldn’t be wandering around.” “You’re out on bail. What if someone recognizes you…?” I was done playing games. “Move,” I said, my voice cold and sharp. Teri’s face darkened, the mask of concern melting away to reveal the ugly truth beneath. She grabbed my wrist, her grip like steel, her nails digging into my skin. “Zane Ford, you need to recognize the situation you’re in!” I struggled, but she was strong, dragging me back toward the stairs. “It seems I’ve been too kind to you…” She suddenly released me and clapped her hands. Two burly men in dark suits appeared as if from nowhere. “Tie him up,” she commanded, her voice dripping with ice. “Lock him in the basement. He’s not to leave this house until the hearing.” They were on me in an instant. I fought, but it was useless. They bound my hands tightly behind my back. “Teri, are you insane?!” I yelled, struggling against them. “This is kidnapping!” Her eyes were dark, bottomless pits of cold ambition. “Don’t blame me, Zane. You brought this on yourself.” The basement was damp and cold, the only light coming from a single, weak bulb hanging from the ceiling. Teri stood at the doorway, a dark silhouette against the light from upstairs. “You’ll stay here until the hearing,” she said, her tone final. With that, her men shoved me inside. I stumbled, crashing hard against the concrete wall. A sharp, searing pain shot through my shoulder. “Nngh—” I let out a choked groan, glaring at her with all the hatred I could muster. For a moment, her expression flickered. She gestured for her men to untie me. Then, she pulled a box from her pocket, revealing a watch glittering with diamonds. “Zane…” Her voice was soft again, tinged with a hint of remorse. “This watch… I had it custom-made for you. Think of it as… compensation.” She held it out to me, the diamonds glinting mockingly in the dim light. I just stared at her, my hands remaining at my sides. “What, you think I’ll try to escape?” I scoffed. “So you’re trying to pacify me with a toy?” Teri’s jaw tightened. She sighed. “I just want you to know that I do still have feelings for you.” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “Your ‘feelings’ involve letting me take the fall for your lover and then locking me in a cellar?” Before she could answer, Aiden’s voice drifted down the stairs. He bounded down, saw the box, and snatched it from her hand. “Wow, what a beautiful watch!” he exclaimed. “Is this for me, Teri?” Teri was taken aback. “Aiden, this is for—” “I don’t care, I want it!” Aiden snapped, already fastening the watch around his wrist. He shot me a contemptuous look. “He’s going to prison anyway. A watch this nice would be a waste on him.” Teri’s eyes darted between me and Aiden. In the end, as always, she gave in to him with a doting smile. “Alright. If you like it, it’s yours.” But Aiden wasn’t finished. A cruel little smile played on his lips. “But if I get his present, what does he get? How about…” He paused, then ripped the cheap, old watch from his own wrist and shoved it in my face. “Here. You can have this one as your gift.” Teri pretended not to notice his malicious little game. “You see, Zane?” she said to me. “Aiden is so thoughtful. I just know you two will get along wonderfully in the future.” I stared at the dull, scratched face of the cheap watch, a dark, humorless smile touching my lips. “Oh, and Zane,” Teri continued, her voice turning clinical. “Considering Aiden’s poor health, and… well, the doctor did say it would be difficult for you to have children… I’ve decided to cancel our engagement. Aiden and I are getting married.” Even though I’d been expecting it, the words still felt like a knife twisting in my gut. “But don’t worry,” she added, as if offering a great charity. “I’m not heartless. When you get out, I’ll arrange a place for you to live, a job. After all, we were once…” “Teri,” I cut her off, my voice dripping with ice. “Do you really think I believe a single word of your bullshit?” Aiden wrapped his arm around Teri’s waist, looking down his nose at me. “Don’t be an ungrateful bastard,” he sneered. “Teri’s taking pity on you. Who else would want a man who can’t even have kids?” My hands balled into fists so tight they trembled. The pain was the only thing keeping me grounded, reminding me not to strike. Not yet. The time for revenge had not yet come. 4 Late that night, the basement door creaked open. I looked up, my brow furrowing as Aiden swaggered in. He stood over me, a smug, triumphant grin plastered on his face. “Tsk, tsk. I almost envy you sterile guys. You can live anywhere. Not like me. I simply must have my high-thread-count Egyptian cotton.” “Get out,” I said, my voice a low growl. His smile widened, a venomous glint in his eyes. “You know, Zane, the real reason Teri never got pregnant wasn’t because of you.” My heart stopped. “What are you talking about?” “She’s been grinding birth control pills into your food for years,” he whispered, leaning in close, his breath hot against my ear. “A high enough dose to make sure you’d be sterile for life. It was all part of the plan. Once you were broken, she could dump you, take your money, and marry me without any complications.” So that was it. That was why. A volcano of pure rage erupted inside me. I shot to my feet and slapped him across the face, the crack of the impact echoing in the small room. “You sick, twisted bastards!” Aiden stumbled back, but then a strange, crazed smile spread across his face. He took a few steps back, then threw himself dramatically to the floor and let out a blood-curdling scream. “Aah! What are you doing?!” The basement door was kicked open. Teri rushed in with her two goons. “Aiden!” she shrieked. She scrambled to his side, and seeing the red mark on his cheek, her face contorted with fury. She rounded on me. “Zane Ford! What did you do to him?!” Aiden buried his face in Teri’s shoulder, sobbing pathetically. “Teri, he… he tried to kill me!” “That’s a lie!” I roared. “He threw himself on the ground!” Teri wasn’t listening. Her eyes, fixed on me, were murderous. “Seize him! Tie him up!” Her men grabbed me, slamming me roughly against the wall and binding my hands. “Teri! You animal!” I thrashed against the ropes. “You’ve been poisoning me, haven’t you?! You’re the reason I can’t have kids!” Her face paled for a second, but then hardened into a mask of pure cruelty. “So what if I did? A man like you doesn’t deserve to have my children!” She turned and pulled a leather whip from a hook on the wall. “You dared to hurt my Aiden. Now, you’ll pay the price.” She raised the whip, a sadistic smile on her lips, and brought it down with a vicious crack. “AARGH!” The pain was blinding. The first lash tore open the skin on my back, leaving a weeping line of red. “That one,” she hissed, “is for Aiden!” CRACK! The second lash followed immediately. The blows rained down on me, a relentless storm of agony. I soon blacked out from the pain, only to be jolted back to consciousness by a bucket of icy water so the torture could continue. After the ninety-ninth lash, I was a broken, bleeding mess, collapsed on the filthy floor, barely breathing. Teri tossed the blood-soaked whip aside. “Drag him to the courthouse. I want his confession finalized today.” I was hauled out of the basement and shoved into a car. Every movement was agony as the raw wounds on my back scraped against the coarse fabric of the seat. By the time we arrived at the courthouse, dawn was breaking. Thanks to Teri’s “generosity” with the court officials, the hearing had been moved up. The moment I was dragged into the courtroom, Teri’s lawyer was on his feet. “Your Honor, my client voluntarily confesses. We request an immediate sentencing.” The judge picked up his gavel, ready to bring it down and seal my fate. But just as he did, the grand doors of the courtroom burst open. Every head turned. There stood Isabelle Moses, flanked by her legal team and a group of paramedics. She was dressed in a pristine power suit, every inch the commanding CEO, but her eyes, when they found me, were filled with a gut-wrenching pain. “As the plaintiff in this case,” she announced, her voice ringing with authority, “I am withdrawing all charges.” “Furthermore,” she continued, her gaze sweeping over my broken form, “I request immediate medical assistance for my fiancé, Mr. Ford.”

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After I got pregnant, my boyfriend’s grandmother smashed her head against a wall and died in front of me, leaving behind a secret. Everyone who learned that secret is now dead. First, my boyfriend’s father. Then, his mother. Finally, my boyfriend swallowed a bottle of pills and died right before my eyes. The media dug into the story like a pack of rabid dogs. The police hauled me in for questioning again and again. An army of online trolls descended upon me. Everyone wanted to know the secret. They said I had cursed his entire family, that I had killed them all just to keep the secret for myself. I never defended myself. I remained silent. Until the seventh day after my boyfriend’s death. At his funeral, I saw someone in the crowd. In that moment, I stroked my swelling belly, my heart as still as a frozen lake. It was time for my baby and me to die, too. … 1 After I found out I was pregnant, my boyfriend, Jason, took me home to meet his family. The moment his grandmother saw my baby bump, she let out a piercing wail and smashed her head against the living room wall. Blood splattered across the plaster. She didn’t die instantly. But what was truly terrifying was the look in her eyes. They were wide with a horror so profound that tears of blood began to seep from the corners. Her once-kind face was a mask of pure terror, as if she were staring at something unspeakable. It was a grotesque sight. Jason’s mother fainted several times. His father cradled the dying woman in his arms, his body wracked with sobs. A neighbor, drawn by the commotion, gently pointed out that his grandmother seemed to be trying to say something. We all fell silent, straining to hear her last words. In the end, only his father heard them. She whispered a secret to him, and then her last breath escaped. His father’s face twisted in horror, his hands trembling as he held her body. He let out a shattered cry, “This is a death sentence!” His reaction sent a chill through all of us. His wife rushed to his side, her voice a hushed whisper. “Honey, what did she say?” He gave us all a long, hollow look, then shoved her away. Before anyone could react, he threw himself at the same wall. Blood pooled on the floor as he collapsed over his mother’s body. And his final expression was the same as hers: pure, unadulterated terror. As he lay dying, his wife begged him to hold on, screaming that the ambulance was on its way. But when she heard his final, whispered words, her face went ashen. She hung up the emergency call. After that, she refused to speak of it. No matter who asked, no matter how hard the police pressed, she never uttered a word about their final secret. After the funeral for his grandmother and father, Jason seemed to age a decade overnight. He looked at his mother, his voice drained of all life. “What was the secret Grandma told you? Why did Dad kill himself right after hearing it?” His mother stroked an old family photo, silent tears tracing paths down her cheeks. “Don’t ask. There is no secret.” “Your grandmother and father… their deaths were just a tragic accident. Don’t overthink it.” Jason’s voice was raw, cracking with grief. “That was my dad! That was the grandmother who raised me! I watched them kill themselves! How can I do nothing?” “At least tell me why!” My heart ached for him. I tried to help, speaking gently to his mother. “Ma’am, they died right in front of us. How can we just move on? They died right after learning that secret. And you heard it too. We’re worried about you…” I knew my words were clumsy, but my fear for her was real. Before I could finish, she cut me off, her voice like stone. She hurled the family photo to the floor, shattering the glass. Her eyes were bloodshot, her gaze fixed on me, filled with a sudden, searing hatred. “I told you, there is no secret! You two couldn’t control yourselves, getting pregnant before you were married! You shamed them to death! Are you happy now?” The mention of their deaths brought fresh tears, and it was clear her grief was deeper than anyone’s. But just as quickly, she composed herself, taking a deep breath and apologizing. “I’m sorry. I’m just… overwrought. I didn’t mean that.” “His grandmother and father both had underlying health conditions. The economy has been tough these last few years. Maybe they just didn’t want to be a burden on you two.” “That’s enough,” she said, her tone final. “Suicide is a shameful thing. We will not speak of this again.” Her attitude was a wall of ice. No matter how much we pleaded, she refused to say another word. But a deep unease settled in my heart. I rested a trembling hand on my belly. I had to know why his grandmother, who had always been so fond of me, would choose to end her life the moment she learned I was carrying her great-grandchild. I had to know her secret. 2 Jason was even more desperate to know the secret than I was. On the seventh day after his father’s death, his mother drank herself into a stupor. As she slurred and stumbled around the house, Jason saw his chance. He coaxed the secret from her lips. Her voice was so low he had to lean in close to hear. But the moment he understood, his face contorted into the same look of pure terror I had seen on his father and grandmother. Watching him, a cold dread washed over me. I rushed to his side. “What is it? What’s the secret? Why do you and your mom look so horrified?” He didn’t answer. He just stood there, shell-shocked, holding his mother up. Frantic, I tried to get closer to his mother, to hear for myself. But Jason’s reaction was even more shocking. Tears streamed down his face, his expression one of pure, helpless panic. And then, he shoved me, forcing me away from his mother. I was furious. “I’m pregnant! What are you doing, pushing me?” “What did she say? Why are you hiding it from me?” No matter how I demanded, he refused to answer. He just looked at me, his eyes filled with a profound sorrow. “Clara,” he whispered, “I wish you could never know this secret.” I stood frozen, unable to comprehend what kind of secret could drive an entire family to such despair. Why did it fill them all with such terror? Why did his father choose to die the instant he learned it? Just then, his mother seemed to sober up. Her eyes, empty and hollow, drifted toward us. A bitter, broken smile touched her lips. Slowly, it grew into a wild, maniacal laugh. She grabbed Jason’s hand, laughing so hard that tears streamed down her face. “Son, you were the one who had to know. Now you get to live in the same torment as me.” I felt like I was breaking apart. How had everything gone so wrong? I had come here with gifts, excited to meet the family of the man I loved, believing our future would be one of happiness. Jason was a good man—stable, gentle. We had been together for three years and never had a single fight. His family was just like him: warm, loving, kind. They never raised their voices. He had told me so much about me, said they were all eager to meet me. His grandmother had been especially fond of me, often sending him money to buy me gifts and reminding him to cherish me. She would even mail me local delicacies and check in on me. But all of that shattered the moment I said, “I’m pregnant.” His grandmother killed herself. His father followed. His mother became a hollow shell of herself, and even Jason grew distant, lost in some dark, private hell. It felt like the entire world had turned against us. In my darkest moments, I would wonder over and over: what was the secret she left behind? Many people had the same question, especially after the neighbors posted the story online. The next day, bowing to public pressure, the police showed up at our door again.

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1 Cassandra’s childhood obsession, Scott, was throwing another one of his tantrums, which meant she was getting ready to divorce me again. My heart felt like a dead weight in my chest. I looked at her, my voice flat. “This will be divorce number eight.” Her face was a mask of guilt, her eyes pleading. “Daniel, I don’t have a choice. You know how Scott gets. He’s threatening to… hurt himself. I can’t just let him, can I?” “But don’t worry, Daniel,” she added quickly, a line I knew by heart. “As soon as I calm him down, we’ll get married again. I promise.” I said nothing. She’d said those exact words to me countless times. We’d been married eight times and divorced eight times. The clerks at City Hall knew me by name. I heard them whispering behind my back once, calling me part of the “Revolving-Door Couple.” I held the freshly printed divorce certificate in my hand. Behind the counter, a clerk asked with a smirk, “So, when are you coming back for wedding number nine?” I just shook my head, my voice hollow. “There won’t be a next time.” Walking out of City Hall, I saw Cassandra already doting on Scott, cooing at him. The same Scott who, less than an hour ago, had been threatening to end his own life, was now beaming, completely pacified by a few of her sweet words. Every time I saw it, a sense of surreal disbelief washed over me. Was this smiling boy really the same person who had smashed a glass bottle, held a jagged shard to his own throat, and screamed until his voice was raw? Today was supposed to be my third wedding anniversary with Cassandra. The irony was laughable. It had been three years since our first wedding, but that time was fractured by an endless cycle of divorces and remarriages. Our most recent “I do” was only a month ago. And now, we were divorced again. Three years. Eight marriages. Eight divorces. I used to see memes online about couples like this and laugh. I never imagined it would become my reality. As I walked out of the building in a daze, Scott shot me a triumphant glare, twisting the knife in my already bleeding heart. “Cassie, are you tricking me?” he whined, his voice cloying. “How did you get the divorce done so fast? Did Daniel try to stop you again? He just wants me dead so he can have you all to himself.” Cassandra looked exhausted. This time, she didn’t defend me. She didn’t say a word in my defense. She just soothed him, handing the divorce certificate over as proof. “See? It’s right here. I wouldn’t lie to you.” Scott’s face lit up as he examined the document. He fell silent, but when Cassandra wasn’t looking, he shot me a look of pure contempt, his chin held high in victory. Even though I knew he was just trying to provoke me, a storm of emotion still churned inside me. It was almost too ridiculous to believe. The reason for this latest drama? A month ago, Cassandra had given me an early anniversary present. Scott saw it and flew into a jealous rage. We had just remarried, and almost immediately, Scott’s tantrum had us back at City Hall, filing for divorce once more. I remembered the clerk who handled our paperwork that day, shaking her head. “You two are here more often than my mailman.” I was so ashamed I could have crawled into a hole. In three short years, we’d been to City Hall nearly thirty times. Every employee recognized us. But Cassandra had exploded, pulling me behind her like a protective lioness. “Just do your job! Why do you care? My husband and I enjoy getting married and divorced. It’s our hobby! What’s it to you?” The clerk, stunned by her ferocity, had silently processed the paperwork. Ever since that day, Scott had been counting down the thirty-day waiting period. And this morning, he couldn’t wait another second, forcing Cassandra to drag me here to finalize it. 2 He’d smashed a glass, holding a shard to his throat to threaten her. “If you two don’t get divorced today, I might as well just die!” Cassandra, who had been planning to just placate him, panicked. She grabbed my wrist, her nails digging into my skin, leaving deep red crescents. “We have to do it today, Daniel,” she hissed. “Or Scott will do something terrible!” In that instant, something inside me finally clicked into place. It didn’t matter if I married Cassandra a hundred times, or a thousand. I would never be more important than her precious Scott. “Alright, alright, it’s all done. Let’s go home,” Cassandra said, pulling Scott toward her car. Out of habit, I reached for the passenger door, but Scott blocked my way. He pouted, his face a mask of displeasure. “Daniel, you and Cassie aren’t married anymore. It wouldn’t look right for you to ride in her car, would it?” I instinctively looked at Cassandra. She frowned and tugged at Scott’s arm, but he shook her off. “I’m just speaking the truth, Cassie! You’re divorced. What will people think if they see you two together in the same car?” he continued, turning his lecture on me. “Besides, Daniel, you’ll have to marry someone else eventually. You should learn to keep a little distance from your ex-wife.” Every word was calculated, every point seemingly logical. Cassandra could only look at me, her expression pained. “Daniel… maybe it’s for the best if…” She didn’t have to finish. I understood. The soft flesh inside my cheek was raw where I’d been biting it. My voice tasted faintly of blood when I spoke. “It’s fine. I’ll walk.” The moment the words left my mouth, Scott’s face broke into a satisfied grin and he hopped into the passenger seat. Before they drove off, Cassandra gave me a look filled with apology and guilt, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Don’t mind him, Daniel. He’s just not in a good mood today, so he’s acting out.” “Wait for me. Once he’s settled down, we’ll go get married again. And this time, it’ll be for good. I swear.” I didn’t say anything. At Scott’s urging, she sped away. I had believed that same promise seven times before. Every single time, I was a fool. The first divorce was because Cassandra forgot Scott’s birthday. The second was because Scott’s beloved cat ran away. The third was because Scott had a nightmare that Cassandra would abandon him once she was married. And this time? It was because she bought me a gift and not him. The reasons grew more absurd with each iteration, yet each one was enough for Cassandra to choose him, to abandon me. Over the years, I’d argued. I’d fought. I’d raged against the unfairness of it all. But the result was always the same. She would soothe me with empty promises, then go right back to catering to Scott’s every whim. Now, after the eighth divorce, I was done. I was letting go. No matter how fiercely a fire burns, enough cold water will eventually extinguish it. My love was finally out. I walked back to Cassandra’s house in a stupor. Before I even opened the door, I could hear them laughing and playing inside. I walked in to see Cassandra’s face dusted with flour, her expensive clothes speckled with white. I remembered a time when a single drop of soup had splattered on her shirt, and she had berated me for my clumsiness. She had a touch of OCD, a obsession with cleanliness. Yet here she was, covered in flour for Scott, without a hint of anger. Seeing me, Cassandra breathed a sigh of relief. She untied the apron from her own waist and tried to put it on me, giving me no time to even catch my breath. “Daniel, you’re finally back! Get cooking, will you? Scott and I are starving.” Scott, sprawled on the sofa like a king, issued his command. “I want pot roast today. And make sure the meat is extra tender, falling right off the bone.” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. I looked straight at him. “You want to eat? Why don’t you make it yourself? With all the time you two spent playing with flour, you could have cooked a five-course meal.” 3 The words had barely left my mouth when Cassandra shoved me, her face contorted with rage. My lower back slammed into the sharp corner of the dining table, and a jolt of white-hot pain made me break out in a cold sweat. “Daniel, what the hell do you think you’re saying?” she hissed. “I ask you to make one meal, and you give me this attitude?” I clenched my jaw against the pain, saying nothing. In her eyes, my silence was defiance. Scott chimed in from the couch, his voice dripping with venom. “See, Cassie? I told you. Daniel can’t stand me. Every time you ask him to do something for me, he throws a fit. If he were really my brother-in-law, you’d probably have to kick me out of the house.” At that, something in Cassandra snapped. Her eyes blazed. She grabbed my arm and dragged me into the kitchen, throwing me against the counter. Her face was a cold, merciless mask. “If you don’t cook what Scott wants to eat tonight, you can spend the night in here.” Slam. The kitchen door shut. My wrist was already bruising, and where my elbow had hit the corner of the stove, the skin had broken. I could see blood welling up. A moment later, I heard Scott’s delighted laughter from the other room. Cassandra came back in. Seeing me standing motionless, her brow furrowed. “Daniel, are you deliberately trying to defy me? You’re his brother-in-law! What’s the big deal about making him a meal?” I straightened up slowly, lifting my head to meet her gaze, a sneer playing on my lips. “Did you forget? We’re divorced. That title doesn’t apply to me anymore.” A flicker of embarrassment crossed her face. She cleared her throat, then softened, wrapping her arms around me in a gentle hug. Her voice was a low, soothing murmur. “I lost my temper just now. But I told you, this is just temporary. As soon as Scott’s feeling better, we can get remarried anytime. Don’t be angry over such a small thing.” She pressed a piece of paper into my hand—a list of dishes. Her expression turned serious, a subtle warning in her eyes. “I’m giving you a chance here. If you can make Scott happy, we can get remarried that much faster. Just be good, Daniel. Please.” She left, closing the kitchen door behind her. A wave of desolation washed over me. When had our marriage, our life, become such a “small thing” in her eyes? And she wanted me to please Scott? I’m sorry. I couldn’t do it. I’d rather sleep on the cold kitchen floor. I sank to the ground, leaning my back against the cabinets, and closed my eyes. I must have dozed off, because the next thing I knew, an icy shock jolted me awake. I opened my eyes to see Scott standing over me, a wicked grin on his face, an empty basin in his hand. A puddle of freezing water was spreading across my clothes and the floor. “Scott, are you insane?” He tossed the plastic basin at me. The rim caught me squarely on the forehead. “I asked you to cook, not to take a nap, Daniel! You think a pathetic loser like you deserves to marry Cassandra? Dream on!” Rage, pure and hot, surged through me. I grabbed the basin he’d thrown and hurled it back at him with all my strength. Scott shrieked. He dodged the basin itself, but the remaining water splashed all over him. Hearing the commotion, Cassandra burst in. She took one look at the soaked and sputtering Scott and, without a second thought, grabbed me by the collar. “Daniel, have you lost your mind? Who gave you the nerve to hurt Scott?” She was pulling so hard, her face a mask of fury, that I thought she would rip the fabric. I had to rise onto my toes just to breathe, craning my neck to get the words out. “He threw water on me first! He hit me with the—” My words were cut off as her eyes widened, flashing with a cold, brutal light. “You deserved it!” she snarled. “I asked you to do one simple thing—make dinner—and you defy me? You’re lucky Scott was merciful enough to only throw cold water on you. If it were me, I’d have thrown you out on the street!”

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