Author: Momo Chan

1 Everyone in Silver Creek whispered the same story: Cecilia Newman, heiress to a fortune, had only settled for me, for this gilded cage of a marriage, because she couldn’t have her first love, Leo. I paid the rumors no mind. I believed that true devotion could move mountains. One afternoon, Cecilia called to say the Alaskan king crab she’d ordered for me had just arrived at the airport, and she was going to pick it up herself. My heart swelled. I pulled out the steamer and the good silverware, happily anticipating her return. But the crab never came. Instead, a call came from St. Jude’s Hospital. “Are you the husband of Cecilia Newman? The car she was in with a male companion crashed into a guardrail on the overpass. They’re both unconscious. Please come to the hospital immediately.” My hands trembled as I logged into her car’s dashcam app. The footage was harrowing. After the airbags deployed, I saw her force her eyes open, her voice a ragged whisper. “If I die,” she breathed, “I voluntarily bequeath all my personal assets to Leo.” I rushed to the hospital. Cecilia was lying in bed, a plaster cast immobilizing her neck, lost in a drugged sleep. The doctor pulled me aside, warning me to be especially careful with the left side of her cervical spine, which had sustained the most severe damage. He theorized that in the instant before the crash, she must have wrenched the wheel hard to the right, instinctively shielding her passenger. I remembered when she’d won a championship racing trophy, she’d boasted to me, “In my car, nothing will ever hurt you.” But I hadn’t been in the passenger seat. “Leo…” The name was a faint sigh on her lips, a ghost from her unconscious mind. Her “last will and testament” echoed in my head, a cold wave of disappointment washing over me. When she finally opened her eyes and saw me, the flicker of worry in them vanished. “I couldn’t bring the crab back for you,” she said flatly. Before I could respond, as if my answer didn’t matter, her voice sharpened with urgency. “Julian, the man who was with me… how is he?” “The doctor said he’s fine. ‘Well-protected,’ thanks to you. Just a few scrapes on his arm.” She caught the ice in my tone. “Julian, don’t overthink this. Leo is my assistant. This was a work-related accident, and it’s my responsibility to make sure he’s okay.” Just then, Leo himself appeared at the door. “Cece!” He rushed to her bedside, grabbing her hand. His voice was thick with emotion. “I thought I’d never see you again… I was so worried.” “Oh, Leo, I’m alright.” A blush crept up her cheeks. “Your arm is hurt, you shouldn’t be walking around. I’ll be fine, and you have to be, too.” She gently guided him to sit on the edge of her bed. Then, she turned to me, her tone shifting from gentle concern to brisk command. “Julian, go talk to the hospital administrator. I want Leo’s bed moved in here. I… I have work to discuss, and it’s more convenient this way.” “This is a private VIP room,” I said, my brow furrowed as I watched them. “The monitoring equipment is set up for one patient. How can they add another bed?” Leo looked up, feigning surprise. “Oh, Mr. Quinn, you’re here…” He shook his head at Cecilia. “Cece, I’ll be fine in my own room. I don’t want to be a bother.” “No, it’s no bother at all!” she insisted, a playful pout on her lips. “They can bring in more equipment. I won’t rest easy unless you’re where I can see you.” She looked back at me. “Julian, go handle Leo’s admission paperwork and pay for it. My phone was smashed in the crash.” “There’s no need to trouble Mr. Quinn,” Leo said, a hint of pride in his eyes. He always believed my family’s business was propped up by the Newmans, and his disdain for me was palpable. “Just transfer me the funds for the hospital bill. I can handle it myself.” He held out his phone. “Mr. Quinn, you can scan my code to add me.” As he extended his hand, the silver cross hanging from a chain around his neck caught the light, and the sight was like a needle in my eye. It was the same design Cecilia had admired on our trip to Bali. She had bought the women’s version right in front of me. I never imagined she had secretly bought the men’s version for him. I transferred him the money. As I did, I noticed a red dot on his social media profile, indicating a new post. I clicked on it. It was a video, taken right after the crash. Cecilia, unconscious, was cradled in his arms. The caption read: “Surviving the crash with the love of my life in my arms. What a blessing to finally have my lost love back.” Beneath it, a flood of likes and comments from our mutual friends, offering their concern and their congratulations. So they all knew. Everyone knew but me. I scrolled down. On every date Cecilia had told me she was on a “business trip,” Leo’s feed was updated with pictures: sprawling ocean-view suites, champagne and candlelight, bathtubs filled with white rose petals, and the unmistakable, angry red love bites on Cecilia’s neck. I closed my eyes, steadying myself against a wave of nausea. I walked out of the room and dialed my assistant. “Marcus,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “Start pulling our capital out of Newman Industries. Prepare to sever all ties.” 2 Our families had been intertwined for years, our business empires woven together. It would take time to untangle everything. Once it was done, I would vanish from Cecilia’s world for good. When I returned to the room, Cecilia’s friends had arrived. They were clustered around her and Leo, laughing and teasing. Cecilia was taking small, delicate bites of porridge that Leo was feeding her with his own hand. Someone nudged their friend, smirking. “You’ve gotta hand it to Julian. The man is incredibly magnanimous.” The comment drew a round of snickers. Another chimed in, praising Cecilia. “Honestly, our Cece is an icon. A queen with her king at home and a prince on the side. We should all be taking notes.” Cecilia’s face was flushed, and Leo’s expression was one of pure devotion. They were the perfect picture of a loving couple. Even the nurses at the station were whispering excitedly. “I always heard Mr. and Mrs. Newman’s marriage was the real deal, a true love match. Seeing it in person… it’s so sweet.” “You don’t know the half of it! It was a marriage of giants, sure, but the Quinn family’s business is in downstream materials—not exactly glamorous. But she was crazy about him! She bought him a whole island in the Atlantic, named it ‘Quinn Isle’ after him, and had ships bring in enough white roses to cover the entire thing for their fairytale wedding! It was the most romantic thing ever!” At that wedding, Cecilia had declared to the world that I was the love of her life. The language of white roses is “I am worthy of you.” I always thought she did it to silence the rumors that my family was leeching off hers, that I was some sort of kept husband. I thought it was her way of showing the world her love for me. It wasn’t until I saw the bouquet of fresh white roses by Leo’s bedside—undoubtedly meant for her—that the truth hit me. It was never about me. White roses were simply the flowers Leo loved to give her. Finally, someone shattered the cloying fantasy. “Julian, you’re here,” said Nancy, one of Cecilia’s friends, spotting me by the door. I gave a curt nod. The nurses at the door realized they’d been fawning over the wrong leading man and scattered in embarrassment. Leo paused with the spoon halfway to Cecilia’s mouth. She pouted, her disappointment obvious. “Julian, Cece is just so crazy about you,” Nancy said, trying to smooth things over. “Yesterday, she specifically told me to go pick up the Alaskan king crab you love from the airport.” She shot Cecilia a look, as if expecting praise for her quick thinking. But Cecilia’s expression only grew more rigid. “I… I heard there was a problem at the office on my way, so I asked Nancy to pick it up instead,” she lied. Then, looking at me, she added coolly, “Julian, I trust you can distinguish between what’s important and what isn’t.” Yesterday, I was consumed with guilt, blaming myself for her getting into an accident while fetching crab for me. Today, I learned that her “important business” was a date with Leo. She had lied to my face. “Do you remember the vows we made at our wedding?” I asked her, my voice low. Her brow furrowed in annoyance. “Julian, don’t make a scene. The quarterly settlement is coming up.” It was a veiled threat. The Quinn family operated as a downstream supplier to the Newman conglomerate. On paper, our accounts always showed a loss. Every quarter, my father-in-law would have Cecilia transfer a large sum to us as a “subsidy.” Cecilia always believed she was plugging the leaks in my family’s failing business. She never denied the rumors that the Quinns were parasites, sucking the Newman empire dry. Except it was all a charade. It was only after my father passed away and I took full control of the company that I understood the game my father and hers had been playing. A game, it seemed, that Mr. Newman had never bothered to explain to his own daughter. “Tch, the third wheel who stole another man’s love has some nerve, putting on airs like that. Pathetic.” One of Leo’s friends spoke just loud enough for the whole room to hear. Every head swiveled in my direction. “All I know,” I said, my voice cutting through the silence, “is that the man with a government-stamped marriage certificate to Cecilia Newman is me. So who, exactly, is the third wheel here? Leo?” Leo’s face flushed with humiliation. Cecilia’s heart immediately went out to him. “That’s enough!” she snapped. “Are you all here to visit me or to cause trouble? Get out! All of you!” As the room cleared, I turned to leave as well, unwilling to be part of this farce any longer. “Julian,” Cecilia called out, her lips pursed. “I have an IV drip this afternoon. Aren’t you going to stay with me?” She had a history of allergic reactions. I used to stay by her side through every single infusion, terrified something might happen. “Will you be short on company?” I asked without turning back, and walked out the door. Leo followed me into the hallway, blocking my path. “Julian, you know Cecilia and I have history. Are you really content being my replacement?” Cecilia and I were supposed to have been the perfect match. Childhood friends from families of equal standing. Our parents were always creating opportunities for us to be together. 3 As a child, I was quiet and reserved, while Cecilia was a blazing sun, brimming with a fierce sense of justice. When a bully at school tore up my textbooks, she slapped him clean across the face and then made it her mission to hunt him down and slap him again every day for the rest of the semester. Though she was a girl, she was drawn to high-octane thrills like car racing. For every race, she insisted I wait for her at the finish line. A track without me at the end, she’d say, was meaningless. But then, the Newman family caught a wave of fortune and soared, becoming the most powerful dynasty in Silver Creek. Suddenly, Cecilia and I were no longer a perfect match. Her parents began to subtly steer our paths apart, transferring her to the international division of our school. They wanted a more prestigious fiancé for her, someone from a truly noble lineage. That person was Leo. Cecilia, rebellious to her core, resisted. With fifty pounds of bone in her body, forty-nine were pure defiance. Leo, at the time a spoiled scion himself, had no interest in the girl who fought him at every turn. On the surface, they were like fire and water. But a knot of unease tightened in my chest. I saw it in her eyes—a stubborn, obsessive need to win. It was the beginning of her fascination with him. Then, Leo’s family went bankrupt. His father vanished, and Leo plummeted from grace, hounded by debt collectors on the streets. When Cecilia heard the news, she grabbed a suitcase full of cash and stormed into some back-alley clinic to rescue him. From that day on, the love story of Cecilia Newman and Leo became the stuff of legend in our circle. Girls swooned over the fallen prince who had won the heart of Silver Creek’s wealthiest heiress, proclaiming that his good fortune was destined to return. To be honest, I envied him too. But the chasm between Cecilia’s status and Leo’s destitution was too vast. Their story was doomed from the start. As their romance reached a fever pitch, Cecilia’s mother summoned Leo. She made it clear that she would never allow her daughter to marry a man drowning in debt. But, she offered to pay off the remainder of his liabilities on one condition: he had to disappear from Cecilia’s life forever. Leo took the deal. He vanished, reappearing somewhere across the ocean. Cecilia searched for him like a woman possessed. When she couldn’t find him, she sank into a deep depression and finally acquiesced to a family-arranged marriage. “As long as it’s not Leo,” she told her friends, “it doesn’t matter who I marry.” In the end, she chose me. I knew why. Of all the candidates, she knew me best. She believed I would never vanish, that I could offer her the security she craved. Her family, scarred by the Leo debacle, quickly agreed that the Quinns were a safe, respectable choice. And because I loved her, I had no regrets. In my youthful ignorance, I truly believed that devotion could conquer all. At our fairytale wedding, we took our vows, promising to be honest with each other, to never deceive. But now, Leo was back. And Cecilia had broken her promise. A replacement? For the first few years of our marriage, we were like most couples in arranged unions: polite, respectful, and living separate lives, though we were both faithful. The tabloids were ruthless. Microphones shoved in my face. “Mr. Quinn, your company’s latest financial reports show another year of losses! Is it true that Mrs. Newman has to bail you out every year?” “Mr. Quinn, what’s your response to the rumors that you willingly serve as a stand-in for your wife’s first love, all to leech off the Newman empire?” Cecilia would always rush to my defense, shielding me from the flashing cameras. “Julian is the husband I chose with my own heart,” she would declare. “Anyone who dares to slander us again can expect a letter from my lawyer.” In those moments, I felt safe. One night, she came into my bedroom, dizzy from too much wine. “Do you know who I am?” I asked, catching her wandering hands. “My husband, of course,” she murmured, her eyes shimmering in the dark. “Julian, what a silly question.” Her hand rested on my chest. “You didn’t answer the reporters’ questions today,” I said, my heart hammering. I clenched my fists, deciding to be brave, just this once. “Are you still in love with Leo?” She nuzzled against me like a kitten. “Of course not. That’s all in the past.” I could no longer contain the desire that had been simmering beneath the surface. I claimed her that night, fiercely, desperately. After that, something shifted. We became like any other couple. Cecilia started paying attention to my daily life, my every move. The delayed affection burned all the hotter, as if trying to make up for five years of missed opportunities. She knew I loved crab, so every autumn, she’d fly with me to a five-star Michelin restaurant in Alaska. She promised we’d return every year, no matter how busy we were. She even gave up racing, because I told her I couldn’t bear even the million-to-one chance of losing her. Was all of that just a reward for being a good stand-in? My thoughts snapped back to the present. Leo was still blocking my way in the hospital corridor. I shoved him aside impatiently. “Garbage belongs in the trash.”

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My husband’s childhood sweetheart got blackout drunk one night and ended up with a stranger. When she resurfaced, she was pregnant, just like me. On the day I gave birth, my husband, Sebastian, handed me divorce papers. “Amanda is planning her comeback,” he said. “I have to give her and the child a proper family. If this scandal gets out, the public will destroy her.” Dragging my weakened body, I calmly signed the papers. In my past life, I had refused to step aside. I went live on social media, holding our infant daughter, and accused the award-winning actress Amanda Shaw of knowingly being the other woman. The public crucified her. She lost every endorsement, and the crushing weight of the breach-of-contract penalties drove her to suicide. Sebastian handled her funeral with a quiet composure. But afterward, he allowed her fans to harass me on the street, to throw things at me, and eventually, to set fire to our home, trying to burn me and our child alive. It was only when I saw him lock the door from the outside that I finally understood: he wanted me dead. I open my eyes again, and I’m back on the day he hands me the divorce papers. 1. Because she was premature, my daughter, Annie, was taken to the NICU incubator the moment she was born. And that’s when Sebastian handed me the divorce papers. “You know Amanda was a top-tier actress before… all this,” he said, his voice flat. “These ten months off have already killed her career momentum. If a scandal about her having a child out of wedlock breaks now, the online mob will tear her apart.” I had just clawed my way back from death’s door; the slightest movement sent searing pain through my stitches. To be reborn on this day… it meant fate was giving me a second chance. “Fine, I’ll sign,” I said, my voice raspy. “But first, you get our daughter a birth certificate. And I want a settlement.” Sebastian had clearly rehearsed a speech to counter the hysterics he’d been expecting. Hearing my calm acceptance, he let out a visible sigh of relief. “Of course. A hundred thousand dollars. Is that enough?” Sebastian was a billionaire, yet he was offering me a pittance. I gripped the bedsheet. I knew asking for more was pointless; he wouldn’t give it. I could only nod. He took care of the certificate. I verified it and signed the papers. With the agreement in hand, Sebastian left without a second glance at our child, eager to run to Amanda’s side. The room next door was filled with laughter and celebration. But I had no parents, and now, no husband. I was utterly alone. Two days later, Annie was out of the incubator. I bundled both of us up, preparing to go home. On the way, I got a call from his secretary. “Miss Quinn, please remember to share the company’s official press release.” The divorce wasn’t even finalized, yet I was no longer worthy of being called “Mrs. Hayes.” To give Amanda a graceful entrance, Sebastian had instructed me to state that our marriage ended due to “irreconcilable differences.” I agreed without hesitation, but my phone was dying. I decided to post it when I got home. When I walked into the villa, I called for the maids to close the windows, but no one answered. As I carried Annie to the nursery, I overheard them whispering in the kitchen. “The nerve of her, bringing another man’s bastard back to this house.” “Mr. Hayes is too soft on her. He doesn’t even press charges, and instead of being grateful, she’s trying to use that brat to get his money!” I froze, a cold sweat breaking out on my back despite the thick layers of clothing. Irreconcilable differences? Why were they saying I cheated? “What are you talking about?” I demanded, pushing open the kitchen door. The maids, who had always respectfully called me “Ma’am,” looked up at me with open contempt. The head maid, Mrs. Gable, was bold enough to spit in my direction. “What are we talking about? The company put out a statement. You cheated on your husband, and now we can’t even say a word about it?” I rushed back to my room, plugged in my phone, and opened social media. The top trending topic was: Sebastian Hayes Announces Divorce. The official statement read: “Due to Ms. Lara Quinn’s marital infidelity, Mr. Sebastian Hayes has terminated their marriage. This serves as public notice.” My head exploded with pain. To pave a smooth path for Amanda, Sebastian was willing to destroy my reputation. I was about to write a clarification under the trending post when my phone buzzed, nearly waking the sleeping Annie. I answered. It was a police officer, his voice jubilant. “Miss Quinn, the human trafficker confessed! You were abducted from Lakeside City!” “We’ve already contacted the Lakeside police to cross-reference families with missing children. You’ll need to come here for a DNA test within the next three days!” My heart, so thoroughly broken by Sebastian, soared. Tears streamed down my face. Ever since I was abducted and brought to this city at the age of five, I hadn’t known a single day of peace. I thought marrying Sebastian was a new beginning, but it was just another hell. But now… now I had a chance to find my real parents. My daughter would have a family who loved her! I hung up, quickly packed a few things for myself, and turned to the nursery to grab some baby supplies. Just as my hand touched the doorknob, the front door of the villa was thrown open. “Lara, who said you could go in there?” Sebastian stood in the doorway, his brow furrowed in displeasure. 2. “I just need to get a few things for the baby.” “Everything in that room is for Amanda’s child. If you want something, buy it yourself.” Every single item in that nursery had been chosen by me, with love and care, for my daughter. And now he was giving it all to Amanda’s child. A child that wasn’t even his. I swallowed my disappointment and didn’t argue. But Mrs. Gable suddenly grabbed my arm, her face a hard mask, and began dragging me toward the door. “Mr. Hayes wants us to go to the postnatal care center to look after Miss Shaw.” The movement pulled at my stitches. “I just gave birth too!” I cried out to him. “I need to recover!” Sebastian didn’t even turn around. “Exactly. You have experience.” His voice was dismissive. “Stop whining. You’ve done manual labor your whole life. You’re tough. You don’t need a formal recovery period.” He got into his Maybach. I was shoved into a minivan and taken to the postnatal center. When we arrived, Amanda was lying in bed, surrounded by a dozen nurses and caregivers. Seeing me, she struggled to sit up. “Sister-in-law, you’re here! Please, sit. Giving birth is so exhausting…” Sebastian gently pushed her back down, then shot me a look. “She could run a marathon on a broken leg. This is nothing to her.” He turned his attention back to me. “Lara, if you take good care of Amanda, I’ll give you another hundred thousand. A pretty good deal, right?” Another hundred thousand. It was tempting. I bit my lip. “No. My baby is at home with no one to look after her.” A flicker of hesitation crossed his eyes, but Amanda grabbed his hand. “Sebastian, if she doesn’t want to take care of me, just let her go back. I don’t want to make things difficult for you.” He squeezed her hand reassuringly, but his gaze on me was filled with disgust. “Letting you take care of Amanda is a privilege. You’re an orphan with no money and no connections. Marrying me brought me no value, and you can’t even keep up appearances. Serving Amanda well is the most useful thing you can do right now.” He was used to belittling me, completely ignoring my pale, drawn face. He ordered Mrs. Gable to go back to the villa. But I knew she despised me for “marrying up.” There was no way she would take proper care of Annie. Sebastian waved away my protests and told me to feed Amanda her meal. I looked at the closed door, realizing I was trapped. Exhausted and hungry, I had no choice but to start feeding her. Just as a spoonful of soup reached her lips, she jerked back, crying out in mock pain. “Ah, it’s hot!” Sebastian snatched the bowl and threw it at me. The greasy chicken soup splattered all over my clothes. “What is your problem? You could have burned Amanda! You’re not eating today!” Amanda leaned against him, fat tears rolling down her cheeks. “Sebastian, don’t be angry, she didn’t mean to…” “Don’t call her sister-in-law. I’m taking her to finalize the divorce tomorrow!” I stood there, ignored, smelling of stale soup, with no one to offer a single word of comfort. The next day, Sebastian took me from the center to the courthouse. We got the divorce certificate. Afterward, he got into his car alone. “I’m going to buy Amanda the latest designer bag. You can find your own way back.” His face was grim. “Lara, if you’re not back at the center in half an hour, you know the consequences.” The Maybach sped off. I turned and immediately hailed a cab back to the villa. The moment I stepped through the gate, I heard a baby crying from the small room in the yard. That was the security guard’s quarters! I burst through the door and saw my Annie, lying on a filthy single bed. My carefully packed diaper bag and formula were right next to her, yet her face was pale, her cries weak and listless. She probably hadn’t been fed or changed since yesterday. Forgetting all about confronting Mrs. Gable, I scooped her up, changed her, and fed her. After burping her, Annie gave me a sweet, gummy smile. My eyes welled up, a tear splashing onto her blanket. Amanda’s child had a team of nannies, while mine was forgotten, deprived of even a drop of milk. “Don’t be afraid, Annie,” I whispered. “Mommy’s going to take you away from here.” Suddenly, there was a loud banging on the door. I opened it, and Sebastian’s hand swung, slapping me hard across the face. “Lara! How dare you bring all these lowlifes into my house!” 3. Clutching Annie, I was shoved into the villa by Sebastian. Amanda, bundled up like a precious doll, followed behind, surrounded by her entourage of nannies. Inside, the villa was in chaos. Several thuggish-looking men were passed out on the floor, their faces flushed from a night of heavy drinking. The place looked like it had just hosted a wild party. There were more people sleeping in the bedrooms and the study. The master bed was occupied by five people, one of them completely naked. Panic seized me. “It wasn’t me! I haven’t even been inside!” Mrs. Gable emerged, her voice choked with fake sorrow. “Mr. Hayes, last night, dozens of thugs broke in. They said Miss Quinn gave them a key and told them to come have some fun…” “They said the baby was in the way, so they threw her in the security shed…” I was trembling, shaking my head violently. “I don’t know them! I was at the postnatal center all day yesterday, how could I have given them a key?” “That’s right…” Amanda tugged on Sebastian’s sleeve. “Sister-in-law was taking such good care of me yesterday. Sebastian, maybe we should wake one of them up and ask?” The storm clouds on Sebastian’s face cleared instantly. He ordered one of his men to wake the nearest drunk. “Who let you in here?” he snarled. The man blinked blearily. “Some lady… Lara Quinn… gave us a key. Said the house was empty, invited us over to party… Hey! Another ten bottles!” He was holding a set of keys. My keys. With my little teddy bear keychain still attached. I instinctively checked my pocket. It was empty. “No, my keys were stolen! It wasn’t me!” “Still lying? It’s a good thing Amanda was worried about you and insisted on coming home. Otherwise, I would never have known you had such disgusting habits!” His voice dripped with contempt. “You wanted to have an orgy in my house!” Sebastian’s patience wore thin. He ordered Mrs. Gable to lock me in the security shed. Behind him, Amanda was cooing sweetly. “Sebastian, she was just having a little fun. Why are you so angry?” “She needs to be taught a lesson. This house is filthy now. We’ll go to one of my other villas.” The shed door was locked. Through the small glass pane, I watched them leave in a grand procession. Amanda, at the center of it all, shot me a triumphant smile. Late that night, after finally soothing a crying Annie to sleep, the lights went out. The wiring in the shed was probably faulty. I took out my phone to buy a train ticket. Suddenly, I heard the sound of a key in the lock. The door creaked open, and Amanda appeared, silhouetted against the moonlight. Without Sebastian, her eyes were cold and vicious. “A hundred thousand dollars for a divorce? Lara, I really underestimated your shamelessness!” I clutched Annie and scrambled backward, but the tiny room offered no escape. “Amanda, I’ve done nothing to you. Why do you keep trying to destroy me?” “Nothing? If it weren’t for you, I would be the one married to Sebastian!” I frowned. It was true. An orphan like me had no right to marry him. Last year, I had saved his grandfather from a sudden heart attack. Out of gratitude, his grandfather had threatened to take his own life if Sebastian didn’t marry me. Sebastian had no choice but to comply. We had no wedding, just a one-sentence announcement from the company. After the marriage, he treated me like an object for his release, exhausting me night after night. I was pregnant within a month. I thought I would finally have a stable life, a family. But his grandfather passed away a week before I gave birth, leaving me completely without support. So she believed I had stolen her place as Mrs. Hayes? “But you have what you wanted now. Why won’t you just leave me alone?” “No! If you hadn’t married him, I wouldn’t have gone to that bar to drown my sorrows! I wouldn’t have this bastard child!” she shrieked. “It’s all your fault! Lara, I want you dead!” She grabbed a police baton from the table and lunged at me. I dodged, and in the next second, she let out a piercing scream, throwing herself against the corner of the bed and collapsing to the floor. Sebastian burst in. “Lara! Are you insane?”

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To manufacture a meet-cute, she planned to rear-end the heir to the Hawthorne fortune, Adam Hawthorne. She was driving my new car. I slammed on the brakes in time, telling her the Hawthornes weren’t fools. That car was a bespoke hypercar, something we couldn’t afford to replace even if we sold our souls. Later, Adam Hawthorne threw a wedding so lavish it became national news. My sister was consumed with a venomous jealousy, insisting that if I hadn’t stopped her that day, she would have been the bride. Fueled by that resentment, she ran me down with her car. I open my eyes again, and I’m back in the passenger seat. A confident smirk plays on my sister’s lips, her eyes locked on the hypercar ahead. “The second he sees me, Adam will be completely captivated,” she says, her voice dreamy. “And when that happens, I won’t be caught dead in a piece of junk like this.” This time, I don’t stop her. She stomps on the accelerator. With a gut-wrenching crunch, our car slams into the back of the eight-million-dollar machine. 1. The force of the impact sent the hypercar sliding several feet before it shuddered to a halt. The deafening noise drew a crowd of onlookers, their phones already out. The damage was catastrophic. The rear wing had snapped off, clattering onto the asphalt, and the carbon-fiber body was grotesquely buckled. My sister, June, paid it no mind. She recovered from the jolt with practiced ease, immediately checking her reflection in the rearview mirror. She artfully tousled her bangs, rubbed her eyes to induce a tearful sheen, and ensured her lipstick was smudged just so. If I hadn’t witnessed the whole thing, I’d have mistaken her for a frightened little rabbit. Her primping complete, June glanced at me. She seemed surprised to find me sitting perfectly still, my expression unreadable. She had cushioned her side with two thick pillows and had floored it when I wasn’t looking. If I hadn’t been prepared, my hand already gripping the overhead handle, my face would have been smashed against the dashboard. She’s been like this since we were kids, always engineering situations to make me look flustered and foolish, to better highlight her own poised beauty. “Adam rarely makes public appearances,” she muttered, dipping a finger into a compact. “Just play along and don’t ruin this for me.” She smeared the pale powder onto my lips without asking. “When I’m Mrs. Hawthorne, I’ll let you be a maid at the estate. The pay’s better than what you make now.” With a final tug to lower the neckline of her tight-knit sweater, June pushed open the door and stepped out. In my last life, June blamed me for ruining her shot at a fairytale ending. She held me responsible for the train wreck her life became. This time, I’m curious to see if her own machinations will change her fate. June’s appearance caused a stir. A few men on the sidewalk were already snapping pictures. She’d always been proud of her figure, and the form-fitting dress she wore did its job, drawing every eye. Adam didn’t get out of the car. Only a chauffeur in a crisp suit emerged, circling the damaged vehicle before leaning in to speak with his employer. June bypassed the driver, walking straight to the passenger-side window and rapping on it with her knuckles. She spoke in a trembling voice, wiping away imaginary tears as the wind whipped her long, dark hair around her face, creating a perfect picture of broken fragility. After a moment, the hypercar’s gull-wing door swung upward. Adam Hawthorne emerged, his gaze sweeping past his car before landing on me. Then, his eyes settled on June. The legendary Hawthorne heir was notoriously private, a phantom pursued by countless starlets who could never find a way into his orbit. June lowered her head, her perfectly manicured hands twisting together nervously. Then, as if making a momentous decision, she pulled out her phone to call the police. I saw Adam raise a hand, a silent command for her to stop. He strode toward our car. Thanks to the deathly-white powder June had smeared on my mouth and a week of sleepless nights from overtime, I must have looked ghastly, my lips bloodless against my pale skin. Through the windshield, I saw Adam Hawthorne up close for the first time. It was the middle of August, yet a silk scarf was wrapped around his neck. From beneath it, a scar snaked its way up to his left cheekbone. Even with what was clearly expensive scar revision treatment, the skin was ridged and uneven, a testament to the severity of the original wound. June hurried over, her voice laced with concern. “My sister suddenly doubled over with stomach pains. I was rushing her to the hospital, and I must have mixed up the gas and the brake…” “But it doesn’t matter,” she added quickly. “It’s all my fault. I’ll cover all the damages, I promise.” The scene seemed to move him. The icy mask on Adam’s face thawed slightly. “Don’t worry about it for now,” he said, his tone flat. “Get your sister to the hospital first.” “My driver, Alex, will handle the rest.” As Adam turned to leave, June stepped in front of him, holding out a business card. “This is my contact information. I won’t run from my responsibility.” Adam’s eyes dropped to the pristine white card in her hand. It listed her as a partner at a veterinary hospital and a guest lecturer at a local college. He looked her up and down, a slow, deliberate appraisal. Then, he took out his phone. “Let’s not make it complicated. Just add me on WhatsApp.” 2. A Maybach arrived to collect Adam, and a flatbed truck hauled away the mangled hypercar. The hood of my own car was crumpled, one of the headlights shattered. “I just picked this car up yesterday,” I said flatly. “What are you going to do about this?” June ignored me the entire ride home. The moment we walked through the door, she ran to our father, Stephen, clinging to his arm and complaining that I was giving her a hard time. Dad patted her arm indulgently before turning to me. “You can handle it yourself. Why are you fighting with your sister over something so trivial? You’re supposed to be the older one.” June had insisted on driving that morning. She didn’t have a license, having failed the driving test five times. Dad, worried for her safety, had made me go with her. My stepmother, Brenda, emerged from the kitchen with a platter of fruit. It held only three forks. They sat there, happily eating watermelon and mango, as if I didn’t exist. “He couldn’t take his eyes off me,” June bragged, pulling out her phone to flash Adam’s contact information. “I thought the Hawthorne heir would be a tough nut to crack, but he’s just like any other man.” “When June marries Adam, we’ll be family with the Hawthornes!” Brenda clapped her hands, and Dad was instantly lost in the same beautiful daydream. June’s tone shifted. She speared a piece of durian and held it to Dad’s mouth. “Dad, I still owe $50,000 for my tuition.” Dad’s brow furrowed. He didn’t agree immediately. Our family lived off the income from a small shop on the old town road, but business had been dismal ever since the city’s new development plans bypassed our street. The so-called “Finishing School” June attended charged each student $75,000, guaranteeing they would cross class barriers and marry into wealth. June, a community college graduate, hadn’t worked a day in three years, too busy with cosmetic procedures and curating a “socialite” persona online. The initial $25,000 payment had already drained Dad’s savings. “Stephen, June is only taking these classes so you can have a better life,” Brenda said, pushing at the heavy gold bracelet on her wrist. “If you won’t even pay for this, don’t expect to ride her coattails later.” Her eyes flicked to me. “Besides, someone in this house has a job. A family should help each other out.” The implication was clear: I was to foot the bill. In my past life, the Kimo family had drowned in debt funding June’s high-society ambitions. Debt collectors had even shown up at my office, causing such a scene that I lost my job. And right now, they seemed utterly oblivious to the gravity of the situation with Adam’s car, blithely assuming he wouldn’t make June pay. I wasn’t about to pin my hopes on their delusional fantasy. Before they could ask me for money, I made my own announcement. “I’m moving out. I’ve already found a place, and I’ll be transferring my residency records as well.” Brenda scoffed. “You’re just jealous. You can’t stand to see June become a lady of luxury.” She looked me up and down with contempt. “A pretty face is a woman’s greatest asset. Marry a rich man. You can be as jealous as you want, Stella, but it won’t change a thing. Moving out on your salary? Don’t make me laugh.” My phone vibrated. A colleague was messaging me about a last-minute meeting. I went to my room to grab my files. “She’s wasting her time,” June said loudly, making sure I could hear. “Killing herself for a pittance. She’ll never make in a lifetime what I’ll have on one finger.” Dad’s tone was condescending. “Stella, you need to start sucking up to June now. If you make her happy, she might throw a condo your way. Then you wouldn’t have to rent.” June smiled magnanimously, waiting for me to bow and scrape. I tightened my grip on my portfolio, my gaze sweeping over the three of them. “The Hawthorne money isn’t June’s. But the money I earn will always be mine,” I said, my voice level. “Beauty is an advantage, yes. But when it’s all you have, it’s a catastrophe. You all should probably start by finding out what kind of car Adam Hawthorne actually drives.” 3. The emergency meeting was about a new joint venture with the Hawthorne Group: the Clearwater Creek tourism project. The Hawthornes were handling development; my company, Alpha Media, was in charge of marketing and publicity. I had joined Alpha Media five years ago through their graduate recruitment program. As a top-tier global media firm, the work was demanding, but the compensation was excellent. I had, however, told my family I was a low-level gofer there, making minimum wage. Given that Brenda and June already looked down on me, they believed it without question. After briefing us on the project’s progress, my director made a solemn announcement. “The lead on this project has been changed to Adam Hawthorne himself. This is the first major project he’s managing as the official heir.” He continued, “Mr. Hawthorne is not satisfied with our current proposal. We need to prepare two alternative strategies for a review session with him in two weeks. The heir is extremely detail-oriented and has already slashed the budget. Everyone needs to be on their A-game.” After the meeting, my colleagues gathered in the breakroom, gossiping about the Hawthornes. “I heard Adam’s face was disfigured when he was a kid. That’s why he’s so reclusive.” “Disfigured? Who would dare?” “No idea. My mom was a reporter back then. She managed to get a covert photo of him at the hospital, but her editor forced her to delete everything.” “You have no idea what goes on in those old-money families. The death of his older sister was suspicious, too. A little girl, going to the beach alone in the middle of the night?” “Old man Hawthorne has three ex-wives and four sons. Adam is the youngest, yet he’s the heir. He must be ruthless.” “Let’s just focus on our work. You heard the director; the guy’s a perfectionist.” I recalled the face I’d seen through the car window. Even with the scar, he was handsome. But there was a profound darkness about him, an inscrutable depth like a whirlpool. He was nothing like the easily manipulated, lust-driven man June imagined him to be. Sipping my coffee, I idly opened Instagram. June had posted a new set of photos. She was in a Chanel suit, sipping red wine on a hotel balcony, surrounded by massive bouquets of flowers. Two distinguished-looking foreign men were artfully included in the shot. The caption read: Another delivery of the ’82 vintage from the Italian vineyard. The aroma fills the palate, a truly romantic experience. Girls, you should really start collecting high-end wines. Out of frame, there were probably a dozen other girls in meticulous makeup, waiting their turn. The finishing school provided its students with a shared collection of props for their photoshoots: luxury cars, designer goods, jewelry, ocean-view penthouses. The goal was to cultivate an image of good breeding and refined taste. It was an effective lure for wealthy men who didn’t know any better. To complete the illusion, they also pretended to be career-driven. June’s “partnership” and “professorship” were all fabricated by the agency. My realtor sent over two more listings for me to consider. I had saved enough over the years to buy a two-bedroom apartment near the office. I needed to cut ties with my family as soon as possible, before their drama dragged me down with them. Three days later, the video of June’s “accident” was trending online. The comments hailed her as a “once-in-a-generation natural beauty,” even comparing her favorably to A-list celebrities and claiming half of Hollywood would be out of a job if she ever decided to become an actress. Soon after, people started reposting her Instagram photos, gushing about her family background and exquisite taste. It was a brilliant PR move. It made it impossible for Adam not to notice her, and a positive public image was the best stepping stone into a family like the Hawthornes. I had to admit, the finishing school was ruthlessly efficient. After signing the purchase agreement for my new apartment, I went back to the family home to pack my things. Brenda opened the door, her eyes sweeping over me with disdain. “So, did you find a place to rent in the slums?” Dad didn’t even look at me. He was huddled excitedly around June, looking like he’d just won the lottery. “It’s Adam! Adam messaged me first!” “Kat said that once you get the man to make the first move, you’re halfway there!” June closed her eyes, clutching her phone to her chest for a few dramatic seconds before finally opening the message. The three of them stared at the screen, silent for a long time. I put down my suitcase and walked over to look. The message from Adam read: The car is being sent back to the headquarters in Sweden for repairs. The estimated cost is $1.2 million.

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1 In my past life, when I got into Yale, my grandfather gave me a priceless locket engraved with our family crest, a piece worth millions. I never once dared to wear it. But the scholarship student my family sponsored stole it from me. When I confronted her, she stared at me with wide, innocent eyes. “Was it really that expensive? It looked like a cheap trinket from the dollar store. You never even wore it, so I just gave it to a homeless man on the street.” I was furious and threatened to call the police, but I was stopped. Dorien, my childhood best friend who had sworn to protect me forever, called me a spoiled brat for bullying someone less fortunate. My own brother, who had always doted on me, said my arrogance and selfishness made me unworthy of being his sister. To appease the scholarship girl, they forced me into a car and sent me deep into the rural backwoods to “experience poverty.” There, her grandmother tried to break me, to marry me off to her slovenly, cruel grandson. When I fought back with everything I had, she fed me a bowl of soup laced with rat poison. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day she stole my locket. “I’m so sorry, Avery. I had no idea your locket was so valuable. I really thought it was just a costume piece from the dollar store, so I gave it to a homeless man I saw on the street.” The sound of that voice, so familiar it made me sick to my stomach, hit me like a physical blow. I stared at her, my eyes wide with the horrifying realization. I had been reborn. The girl in front of me, looking so fragile and small, was Sarah, the student my mother had sponsored for years. Right now, she was nestled pitifully in Dorien’s arms, her voice trembling with manufactured distress. “What do I do, Dorien? Avery is so upset with me. It’s all my fault, I’m so sorry…” she sobbed. Dorien’s face softened with adoration. He hugged her tighter. “It’s okay, Sarah. It’s not a big deal. It was just a locket. What’s given is given.” A cold laugh escaped my lips. A family heirloom worth millions. Was it really theirs to just give away? Hearing me, Dorien’s face hardened, and he pointed an accusatory finger at me. “Avery, what’s so funny? Why can’t you be more like Sarah, so kind and generous? You just kept that locket locked away in your room like a decoration. It’s better off being given to someone who needs a little joy!” I remembered my last life. I had argued, pleaded, explained that it was a birthday gift from my grandfather. But Dorien hadn’t helped me. He had sided with Sarah, berating me for my selfishness. “Dorien, what right do you have to take my things? And taking without asking is stealing! I could have you both arrested!” I shot back, the words tasting like ash. Hearing the word “arrested,” Sarah panicked, clinging to Dorien and bursting into a fresh storm of tears. “I’m so, so sorry! I really didn’t know it was worth so much! I just saw that poor man, and he looked so miserable. I thought… I thought giving him a gift might cheer him up, you know? I was just trying to help someone. Why is Avery so angry with me for trying to do a good deed, Dorien?” Her words ignited Dorien’s righteous indignation. He turned on me, his voice sharp with condemnation. “Avery, don’t you dare go too far! Sarah was being charitable, and you’re attacking her for it! Besides, if it was so precious, why didn’t you keep it locked up in a safe? When you think about it, this is really your fault!” I was speechless. Even if I hadn’t kept it in a bank vault, was that an excuse for her to steal it? I remembered how, in my last life, I had run to my brother, Miles, hoping for support. But he hadn’t helped me either. He had defended Sarah. “Avery, I’ve spoiled you rotten. How did you become so petty and materialistic? Why can’t you be more like Sarah and give me some peace of mind?” Later, when I refused to apologize, my brother had personally driven me to Sarah’s family home. “You need to have your attitude adjusted,” he’d said coldly. “Go see what Sarah’s life was like. Maybe then you’ll develop some empathy.” And just like that, I was abandoned in the middle of nowhere. Sarah’s family included a grandmother who was clearly unhinged. Surrounded by dense forest and mountains, there was no escape. I was forced to do back-breaking farm work from dawn till dusk and endure the grandmother’s constant abuse. Finally, she put rat poison in my food and killed me. After my death, my murderer was never caught. Instead, my brother officially adopted Sarah as his god-sister. He moved her entire family into the city. They took my place, living a life of luxury that should have been mine. 2. Knowing my brother would be no help, I called my mother. But when she heard the story, she just sighed and chided me for being immature. “Avery, what have I taught you? Don’t use your status to bully people. I know Sarah. She’s a kind, considerate girl. She would never do something like that.” She paused, her disappointment palpable even over the phone. “I wish you were as sensible as your brother.” I stood there, phone in hand, stunned by her response. She was siding with a stranger over her own daughter. I hung up, my hands shaking with rage, and immediately dialed my grandfather. When he heard what had happened, his voice boomed with fury. “And I thought he was a decent young man! I was even considering him for you! How dare he treat you this way!” His tone softened. “Avery, I’m sending the car for you right now. You’ll come and stay with me for a while. And don’t you worry, this business with the locket is far from over.” Hearing his voice, a sense of calm finally settled over me. The butler arrived quickly. But no sooner had I stepped into my grandfather’s house than my brother, Miles, showed up. “Avery, is this how I raised you? What kind of person picks on those weaker than them? I’ve spoiled you, that’s the problem. It just so happens that Sarah’s family is in the middle of their harvest season. I’m sending you to her home in a couple of days. It’s time you learned how hard life can be!” Hearing the exact same words from my past life, I blinked slowly. “It’s not that I don’t want to go, Miles,” I said sweetly. “It’s just that Grandpa missed me. My hands are tied.” My brother’s face contorted with anger. “Avery, how can you be so selfish! Sarah has so little, yet she works so hard. Why are you so lazy?” “She looks up to you as a sister! What’s wrong with helping her out a little?” I snorted internally. Sister? I didn’t have a sister. Sarah’s parents had four daughters before finally having a son. Her family was pathologically obsessed with having a male heir. Her three older sisters had been married off for a bride price the moment they graduated high school to support their younger brother. Sarah was latching onto my family to avoid the same fate. Her plan was to get my brother to send me to her home, where she hoped I would be forced to marry her brother. In my past life, my refusal to do so was what led to my murder. I looked at my brother with cold eyes and stepped behind my grandfather, who had just come downstairs. “Miles, if you have something to say, you can say it to Grandpa.” My brother feared my grandfather more than anyone. At my words, he shot me a glare but fell silent. I went upstairs and watched from the balcony as Dorien and Sarah waited below. Dorien was comforting her, and in a moment of passion, he pulled her into a hug, promising he would always have her back. Sarah, crying prettily in his arms, whimpered, “Dorien, what if Avery is so angry she stops sponsoring my education? I just want to go to school… maybe I should get on my knees and beg for her forgiveness?” Dorien’s face darkened. “Kneel for what? Don’t worry. Not only am I going to teach her a lesson, I’m going to make her give you her spot on the university’s new research project.” The research project Dorien mentioned was a prestigious fellowship I had just been accepted into. It was a huge opportunity, something that would be a cornerstone of my resume. Sarah wanted in on it, too. Hearing Dorien’s promise, her face lit up. “Really, Dorien? Oh, I love you so much.” She stood on her toes and kissed him. I raised my phone and took a picture. Flushed from the kiss, Dorien immediately called me. “Avery, I’m willing to overlook how you’ve been bullying Sarah. Give her your spot on the research team, and I’ll forgive you. Otherwise, I never want to see you again. Got it?” I don’t know if I got it. I just knew he sounded like a complete and utter idiot. So, I followed my heart and told him so. “Fine!” he sputtered, so angry I thought he’d smash his phone. “You just wait!” 3. The next day was the university’s annual autumn gala. It was a major event, and all the school’s top administrators and donors were in attendance. Halfway through the program, Dorien pulled Sarah onto the stage. He held the teary-eyed, trembling Sarah protectively in his arms and spoke into the microphone. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I’m here tonight because I have to expose a disgusting truth.” “Avery Thorne, a senior in the pre-med program, is not who she seems. She has a history of academic dishonesty, forcing my friend, Sarah, to help her cheat on multiple major exams. The spot she secured on the new research fellowship was also obtained through fraudulent means. I hope she will do the right thing and return this opportunity to the person who truly deserves it.” After his speech, Sarah began to sob. “I’m so sorry, everyone. I didn’t want to cover for a cheater, but Avery threatened me. She said if I didn’t help her, her family would cut off my scholarship. I just want to finish my education.” “It took all my courage to stand up here tonight… I’m so, so sorry.” Her words sent a shockwave through the audience. Murmurs erupted from the crowd. “No way. I’m in her class. I always thought she was so hardworking. I can’t believe she’s that kind of person.” “That’s disgusting. Cheating your way into a research fellowship?” “Someone like that has no right to be on the team.” “Hold on, let’s not jump to conclusions. What if it’s not true?” “How could it not be true? Look at how heartbroken Sarah is!” “Wait, wasn’t Dorien best friends with Avery? For him to turn on her like this… wow, rich people drama.” Opinions were flying, but a significant portion of the crowd remained skeptical. But then, my brother, Miles, suddenly appeared on stage. “I’m Avery’s older brother,” he announced, his voice heavy with disappointment. “Our father passed away when we were young, and I’m afraid I’ve failed in raising her properly. I want to apologize to all of you for the mistakes my sister has made. Rest assured, she will be returning the spot on the research team to its rightful owner.” The moment my brother finished speaking, the auditorium exploded.

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I was reborn as the wicked stepmother in a novel, and my only goal was to meet the KPIs set by my “System.” To do that, I ordered the son, Matt, to do the laundry and mop the floors, while the daughter, Monica, had to wipe the windows and weed the garden. A year later, the male lead—my husband—finally returned, bringing his one true love with him. I had my bags packed, ready to be kicked to the curb and jet off to the Maldives to find a hot young model. But his true love pointed a manicured finger at my suitcase, demanding I leave all my gold and jewels behind. That’s when my stepson, Matt, stepped forward. “Don’t worry, Mom. You go on ahead. I’ll be right behind you.” My stepdaughter, Monica, nodded in agreement. “We don’t need this junk anyway. Dad has a safe. As soon as I crack the lock, I’ll wire all the money to you.” The male lead: … Me: ? 01. “Host, all you have to do is maintain your ‘wicked stepmother’ persona and torment them!” the System’s voice echoed in my head. “Make them suffer! Make them despair! When the male lead returns with his beloved, the two little ones will be so moved by her maternal grace that they’ll flock to her. Then, your mission will be complete!” “Your reward? Forty years of ageless youth!” I practically burst into tears of gratitude. This System got me. Because a woman’s heart stays young forever! That was a prize more tempting than any amount of money. And speaking of money, I wasn’t worried. In this mansion, a single vase was worth a fortune. On the day I was thrown out, I’d just secretly pocket a few trinkets—enough to live lavishly for the rest of my life. Once this gig was over, I was going to chase after college boys! I immediately snapped to attention. “Yes, sir! Mission accepted!” The System, pleased, sweetened the deal by offering me three lifelines. If I ever ran into trouble, I could call on it for help three times. I glanced at the two pudgy little things standing before me, barely reaching my knees. I scoffed. Handling them? It would be as easy as playing with a pair of puppies. 02. “You,” I pointed at the older one, Matt. “Go get the watermelon.” In the future, he was destined to be a ruthless, decisive tycoon. Besides his own sister, the only person he would ever care for was his “true” mother, the woman my husband was about to bring home. But right now, he was just a freshly hatched chick, all fluff and indignation. He plopped down on the Persian rug, his expression one of pure humiliation, and watched as I lounged on the sofa with my legs crossed. “Feed me,” I commanded. His eyes widened in disbelief, his little mouth trembling with indignation. But in the end, he resigned himself to his fate, stabbing a piece of watermelon with a fork and lifting it to my lips. “Matt, was it?” I said between bites. “From now on, all your snacks are mine.” “Butler,” I called out, “have all these chips, gelatin cups, and beef jerky sent to my room.” Matt’s chubby chin quivered. As the prized heirs of the Sterling family, these two had more money than they could ever spend. Everything in their lives was top-tier. I’d heard their drinking water was freshly melted snow from the Alps, rich in minerals, and their vegetables were grown by a specialist with a Master’s in agriculture to ensure they were organic and pollution-free. In short, they were well-fed, with a high percentage of prime-grade chub. My plan was to start with all that baby fat. Mission #1: Get them in shape. “You’re breaking your promise!” Matt cried, his eyes welling up with tears. He puffed out his chest, trying to be the protective older brother as he shielded Monica behind him. “You said if we gave you our allowance, you wouldn’t torment us!” At his words, Monica burst into a full-blown wail. Hmm? There was an allowance, too? My eyes lit up. I suppressed my inner glee and added slowly, “The allowance is still due.” I paused for effect. “And the snacks are mine, too.” The color drained from their faces. I could practically see them clenching their tiny fists in helpless fury. I laughed, a triumphant sound filling the room. I knew it. Snacks were the key to every child’s soul. Matt wasn’t giving up. “This is abuse! I’m telling Dad!” (Oh, really?) I thought. You said it, kid. Don’t back down now. Abuse was exactly what I was aiming for. Hahaha… Go on, tell him. The louder, the better! 03. Day three of being a wicked stepmother. The defiant Matt hadn’t given up, calling his father eighteen times a day. His father, of course, never answered. If my calculations were correct, he was currently in France, having a fateful encounter with his one true love. He was far too busy with his whirlwind romance to bother with the son born from a loveless business marriage. Undeterred, Matt called his maternal grandfather. The old man had a softer heart. He sent someone to give me a gentle warning, along with a black card, asking me to go easy on his grandsons for the sake of the money. (Holding the unlimited black card): Well, that puts me in a tight spot, doesn’t it? On one hand, eternal youth. On the other, an infinite line of credit. Oh, fuck it. For the money, I decided to be a little nicer to Matt. I personally prepared him a gourmet “light” meal. Tomatoes, lettuce, and crystalline ice plants. Drizzled with a magnificent salad dressing, it was a feast for the eyes. Matt stared at the plate of what looked like lawn clippings, his face a mask of silent rage. I glanced at the soft, plump little girl beside him and had a moment of magnanimous inspiration. “Starting today, we’ll have a competitive eating contest. Whoever finishes their ‘grass’ first gets a reward: one piece of grilled chicken breast.” At my words, the two of them bowed their heads and began shoveling the greens into their mouths. Heh, heh, heh… Being a stepmom was a blast. 04. But being a wicked stepmother had its own set of headaches. When one of the little tykes failed a class, I was the first person the teacher called. I was in the middle of a delightful manicure when my phone rang. “Hello, is this Monica Sterling’s guardian?” “Your daughter came in last in her piano assessment. I need you to come in.” Piano? Last place? My mind went blank. I ran through the plot of the novel again and realized something was off. In the future, Monica was set to become the nation’s youngest and most celebrated cellist. If not for her delayed start, she could have been an international sensation. Even with a late start, she was a bona fide genius. So what did failing piano have to do with her destiny as a cellist? I rushed to the music academy. As I walked in, I could hear the teacher laying into Monica. “The piano keys, from left to right, the notes get higher. It’s the most basic concept, and you can’t even remember that?” “I don’t know why your family wastes so much money on piano lessons for you. It’s all going to that pig-headed brain of yours!” Monica was sobbing, her little shoulders shaking with misery. A fire ignited inside me. Taking my money and bullying my kid? Who gave her the nerve? The teacher caught sight of me and tilted her head arrogantly. “I can’t teach your child. You should find someone else.” The male lead’s true love was a piano virtuoso. Naturally, he believed all proper young ladies should learn the piano and had spared no expense enrolling Monica with a renowned instructor. The original “wicked stepmother” from the novel, trying to curry favor with him, had forced Monica to practice relentlessly. Any mistake was met with a brutal punishment, which had nearly given the poor girl a complex. I smirked. I knew this trick. It was all about manufacturing anxiety in parents to pressure them into paying more for extra lessons. But I was the wicked stepmother! More money? Not a chance. A refund? Now we’re talking. I sat down on the plush sofa and crossed my legs. “If you can’t teach, then don’t.” I leaned forward. “My husband paid for a block of 300 lessons at $5,000 each. Including today, you’ve taught 53. That leaves 247 lessons.” I pulled out my phone. “That comes to $1,235,000. I’ll take a refund. Venmo or direct deposit?” 05. I helpfully pulled up my payment QR code. The teacher trembled with rage. She pointed a shaking finger at me. “You… you are utterly uncivilized!” I chuckled. So, asking for my money back made me “uncivilized.” The teacher, full of pride, tried to manipulate me further. “I know it’s not easy for you parents. How about this? I’ll extend each lesson by an hour, and we’ll just adjust the fee. Say, a modest $7,500 per session?” Oh, please. Just $7,500. Don’t strain yourself on my account. I waved my hand dismissively, declaring that I was a simple person who hated to inconvenience others or take advantage of their generosity. A direct refund would be just fine. The teacher, grinding her teeth in frustration, finally scanned the code and processed the refund. She spat that with an unreasonable parent like me, no respectable instructor would ever agree to teach my child. “Hold on. Did I say you could leave?” I flicked my finger, and my bodyguard, who had been waiting outside, shut the door. The teacher was livid. “What do you think you’re doing? This is a society of laws! You could go to jail for this!” Her voice was so shrill it could have shattered glass. I casually cleaned out my ear. “The only one going to jail here is you.” I pulled up a video file on my phone—crystal-clear surveillance footage of her verbally abusing Monica. The teacher froze. “You were spying on me?” I rolled my eyes. “Please. This is the Sterling family’s private music room. A single one of these pianos is worth more than your entire life. You think we wouldn’t have cameras?” “I was motivating her,” the teacher said, her tone sharp and defensive. I let out a cold laugh. As a professional wicked stepmother, dealing with societal scum was my specialty. If that’s how she wanted to play it, I wouldn’t hold back. I opened my mouth and let loose a torrent of insults, a verbal storm that started with her mother and worked its way through her entire family tree. She turned beet red, gasping for air. “That’s character assassination! I’ll sue you!” I tossed a flash drive onto the table. “Go ahead and sue,” I said, my voice dripping with contempt. “But before you do, I’ll make sure every parent in this school sees a highlight reel of you ‘motivating’ your students. Let’s see how they feel about your methods then.” The teacher’s face went green. Monica attended an exclusive private academy. The teachers’ base salaries were low; their real income came from private tutoring fees from the wealthy students. If I released those videos, her reputation would be destroyed. Under my unwavering glare, the teacher finally broke down, tearfully apologizing to Monica and telling her what a wonderful, talented child she was. 06. Monica’s eyes were shining like little stars. On the way home, she kept calling me “Good Mommy.” God help me, I groaned internally. I shot her a glare. “Quiet. Call me ‘Bad Mommy’.” “No,” she said, her voice filled with grievance. “Mommy fought the bad lady for me. You’re the best mommy in the world.” I made a fist and threatened her. “Say it again and I’ll sew your little mouth shut.” The little girl let out a squeak and quickly clamped her hands over her mouth. After a moment, she whispered, “Aren’t you mad?” After all, I used to force her to practice piano relentlessly so I could film a perfect performance, send it to my husband overseas, and get a “red packet” of cash from him. Now that source of income was gone. It was definitely strange that I wasn’t punishing her. “Of course I’m mad,” I said fiercely. “As punishment, you’ll eat a double portion of steak and eggs tonight.” A look of pure agony crossed Monica’s face. But just because one thing stopped didn’t mean everything did. The piano lessons were over, but other lessons would take their place. Hmph. One a day. That was the new rule. I gave Monica’s chubby cheek a vicious pinch. “Starting tomorrow, you’re learning the cello. One lesson every day.” Monica’s eyes were wide with confusion. She had no idea what a cello was. Heh, heh, heh… The cello is an incredibly heavy instrument. Just you wait, little girl. Your suffering has only just begun. Mwahahaha.

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For six years, I secretly loved Robert Reid. The night I confessed, someone drugged my drink. I thought I’d spent that passionate night with him. Two months pregnant, Robert agreed to “do the right thing”—until our wedding day, when he flashed a marriage certificate with his childhood sweetheart Isabelle. His twin Ian pulled me aside. “It was me that night,” he admitted, proposing immediately. After four failed pregnancies, doctors said I’d never carry to term. Ian lit candles in every church, begging God for our miracle. Now pregnant again, I overheard them plotting: “Trick her into a hysterectomy,” Robert suggested. “She’ll never bear a healthy heir,” Ian agreed. “The fortune belongs to Isabelle’s child.” Then— “Let’s fetch her firstborn from the orphanage. Isabelle needs entertainment.” “Fine. Just don’t kill him… though his life’s worthless anyway.” I finally understood: We were just toys for Isabelle’s amusement. 1 Ian tossed a photograph of a three-year-old boy onto the table, his eyes flashing with disgust. “This is the one. I couldn’t be bothered to name him. The director at the orphanage calls him Ben. I saw him last year—all skin and bones, completely malnourished.” Ian sneered. “To be honest, though, he has your eyes.” Robert, lounging in his chair, picked up the photo with a look of pure contempt. “He’s just a bastard, the result of a one-night mistake. I’ll never acknowledge him.” He then carefully unlocked his phone, his expression softening as he gazed at the screen saver—a radiant Isabelle in a maternity dress. “My children will only come from Isabelle.” His voice hardened again. “If that scheming bitch Leah hadn’t deliberately drunk Isabelle’s wine that night four years ago, she never would have had the chance to crawl into my bed.” A tremor ran through me, a chill so deep it felt like my heart had turned to ice. That’s not what happened. Four years ago, I had planned to confess my feelings to Robert. I was so nervous at the gala that I had a few too many drinks. My eyes followed him all night, but I never noticed someone swapping my glass. Later, I learned the drugged drink had been meant for Isabelle. But she was too busy flirting with some rich heir, and by a cruel twist of fate, I was the one who drank it. Dizzy and disoriented, I was helped to a room upstairs. A moment later, Robert burst in, his body radiating heat, and pulled me into a rough embrace. He thought I was Isabelle. One passionate, mistaken night. When I woke up the next morning, the warmth was gone. Robert’s face was a mask of cold fury when he saw it was me. He spat out that he would “take responsibility,” but at our wedding, he announced he’d already married Isabelle. It was Ian who stopped me from making a scene. Ian who told me the truth—or what I thought was the truth. That it was him. That the child was his. After we married, I was eight months pregnant when a glass of orange juice sent me into premature labor. I woke up in the hospital to Ian, his eyes red and swollen, telling me our baby had died just moments after birth. The grief was a physical blow; I nearly fainted from the pain. Ian stayed with me all night, holding me, his kisses a tender, heartbreaking comfort on my forehead. “It’s okay, Leah,” he whispered. “It’s okay.” “We’ll have another. And another. We’re still young…” He never left my side, gently guiding me out of the darkness of my grief. In the three years that followed, I had three more miscarriages. The doctors all said the same thing: my body was simply too fragile. Ian even hired a top-tier private physician from overseas to help me, to create special supplements and treatments. I never imagined they were all in on it together. “Leah, are you home?” Ian’s familiar footsteps echoed up the stairs, growing closer. The door swung open. His gaze, as always, was tender as it landed on me. “The driver said you just got back from the clinic?” he asked, his voice soft with concern. “What did the doctor say…” His eyes fell on the table, where the positive pregnancy report I’d forgotten to hide lay in plain sight. Before I could move, he had snatched it up. His brow furrowed as he read the results. I forced myself to breathe, to push down the wave of sorrow and rage. “I’m pregnant,” I said, my voice steady. “Aren’t you happy?” A smile stretched across Ian’s face, a brilliant, practiced performance of joy. “Not happy? Leah, this is wonderful! All our efforts… they finally paid off. We’re finally going to have our baby.” He pulled me into a hug, but his body was stiff, his embrace a cage of lies. I could feel the cold distance between us. “I have to call Dr. Evans right away,” he said, already pulling back. “We need to make sure he takes the best care of you.” He turned and walked quickly toward his study, phone in hand. I heard his voice, muffled but sharp, through the half-closed door. “Dr. Evans, what the hell are you doing? I told you to up the dosage on her ‘supplements.’ I told you to make sure she could never get pregnant again. How did this happen?” A pause. “Fix it. Get something to induce a miscarriage. And just like before, make it look like part of her prenatal care. Be discreet.” I leaned against the wall, a laugh tearing from my throat, sharp and brittle as glass. My tears were silent. This was my husband. The man I had loved and trusted for three years. The man I shared my bed with. Ian returned a few minutes later, his performance flawless. He guided me to the sofa, then knelt before me, placing a gentle hand on my stomach as if to listen. “I need to say hello to our little one,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “Tell them to be good in there, not to give their mommy any trouble.” His tenderness was so convincing it was terrifying. He was a true master of his craft. Later, after spending half the afternoon in his study meticulously drafting a “prenatal plan,” he looked up at me. “Leah, since you’re pregnant, you should take a year off from the university. Just stay home and rest.” I was a professor with only two classes a day; my schedule was hardly strenuous. I knew his suggestion wasn’t about my health. It was about keeping me under his control. Before, I would have melted, thrilled to have such a caring husband. Now, I just shook my head, my face a blank mask. “No, thank you. There’s no guarantee I’ll be able to keep this one, either.” Seeing my resolve, Ian didn’t push. He simply said he’d have Dr. Evans make a house call the next day. That night, claiming I had to prepare for my classes, I locked myself in the study. While Ian was out, I began a frantic search. The photo of the boy… it had to be here. He’d hidden it in a bookshelf. Finally, tucked inside a thick volume on the bottom shelf, I found it. My eyes instantly blurred with tears. The little boy in the picture had my nose, my mouth. It was like looking at a childhood photo of myself. But his eyes… his eyes were Robert’s. From their conversation, I knew he was in an orphanage, but they hadn’t said which one. The next day, I announced I was hosting a family dinner at our villa. An impromptu celebration, I called it, mainly to get Robert and Isabelle to come. Ian was surprised. “Why the sudden party? I thought Dr. Evans was coming to check on you.” I managed a small smile. “Isabelle is pregnant, too. It’s a double blessing for the family. We should celebrate together.” In reality, I just needed to find out the name of that orphanage. “Alright,” Ian agreed, his voice instantly lighter at the prospect of seeing Isabelle. “Whatever you want.” The next morning, he spent an eternity in front of the mirror, trying on his most expensive custom-tailored suit, fussing with his hair. It reminded me of something I’d discovered shortly after we were married—a secret room in the basement. It was filled with photo albums, stacks of them, and journals detailing a long, obsessive crush on another girl. When I’d stumbled upon it and asked him who she was, he’d become flustered, mumbling that she was just his first love. I respected his past and never brought it up again. I never dreamed that girl was Isabelle. When I stepped out onto the lawn for the party, Robert and Isabelle were already there. She was six months pregnant, reclining in a lawn chair and screaming at a small, three-year-old boy. “You worthless little gutter rat! Are you blind?” she shrieked. “Do you have any idea how much this dress costs? I could sell you for parts and it wouldn’t be enough! I ought to chop off your hand!” I saw the boy’s face, and my breath caught. It was the face from the photograph. It was Ben. He had been bringing her a cup of coffee and had accidentally spilled some on her skirt. Now he was on the ground, rolling and flinching as she lashed out, begging for mercy. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to!” “Please, please forgive me…” My eyes fixed on the marks covering his small body. Angry red welts from a whip, and thin, silver lines that looked like they’d been made with a knife. Some were fresh, others were old scars. Robert, who knew this was his own son, watched with a cold, detached amusement. “Get on your knees and apologize to Aunt Isabelle,” he said, his voice laced with scorn. “If you make her happy, maybe she’ll let you get up. Don’t forget, the only reason you’re out of that hellhole orphanage is because she was feeling generous. If you’re smart, you’ll be a good little dog.” As he spoke, he casually popped a grape into Isabelle’s mouth. They looked like a perfectly loving couple. Ben, who was only three, had an unnerving maturity and resilience in his eyes. He did as he was told, getting to his knees without a word. “I’m sorry!” Isabelle preened, a smug look on her face. She stuck out her foot. “Since you’re such an obedient dog, why don’t you lick my shoe clean?” “Stop it!” My voice was a roar. I rushed forward, blocking Ben just as he was about to lower his head, and pulled him into my arms. “Isabelle, he’s a child! Have you lost your mind?” I was shaking with fury. To think this monster was the woman I once called a friend. Isabelle just laughed when she saw it was me. “Well, well, if it isn’t my dear sister-in-law. He’s just some nameless orphan, a stray we picked up. The way you’re protecting him, anyone would think he was your own son.” Her words were dripping with insinuation. Robert chimed in with a sneer. “And who the hell are you, Leah? Don’t think that just because you married my brother, you can tell us what to do. Ian may have taken our mother’s name, but I am the true heir. Only a child born from me and Isabelle will be a real Reid, the future head of the corporation. Who are you to interfere with what Isabelle wants to do?” He ordered me to let the boy go. In my arms, Ben looked up at me with a flash of gratitude, but then he deliberately stepped back, putting distance between us. “It’s okay, ma’am,” he whispered. “Thank you, but you don’t have to.” His small voice broke my heart. “I’m used to it.” That was it. My composure shattered. With a cry of rage, I swept my arm across the nearby table, sending food and drinks crashing to the ground. “Isabelle, you should try to do one decent thing in your life! If not for yourself, then for the child you’re carrying!” So much for the damn family dinner. I was done playing their games. I grabbed Ben’s hand and turned to leave. But before we could reach the gate, Ian blocked our path, his face a cold mask. “Leah, what do you think you’re doing?” I’d almost forgotten. He was Isabelle’s most loyal knight. In the next second, Isabelle was at his side, her face streaked with tears, clutching his arm. “Ian, I know you and Leah are close, but… we just adopted this boy. It has nothing to do with her. She flew into a rage and knocked over the table… she scared my baby!” She dabbed at her eyes, a perfect portrait of a fragile, wronged victim. It worked. Ian’s heart melted. His cold glare returned to me. “You’re the one who wanted this party, Leah. Isabelle did nothing wrong. She was just trying to discipline the boy. What right do you have to throw a tantrum? Now put him down and give him back to her.” I held Ben tighter, my voice dripping with ice. “I’ve taken a liking to him. I want to adopt him.” All three of them refused, their voices rising, pressuring me to release the child. But a cold calm had settled over me. I smiled, my gaze landing on Isabelle. “Isabelle, dear. There’s something I need to talk to you about. In private.” I led her up to the second-floor terrace. I deliberately started an argument, provoking her until she was red-faced with anger. Just as I’d planned, she shoved me, hard. Everyone below, and the security cameras, saw it happen. I tumbled over the railing. I landed on the soft grass of the lawn. The fall didn’t kill me, but a warm, sticky wetness began to spread beneath me. I was bleeding. Ian’s face went white. He scrambled toward me. “Leah! Are you okay?”

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My childhood friend and I got into a car accident. When I woke up, the love of my life, my best friend since we were kids, had amnesia. I was physically unharmed, but my body was now home to a second soul: my grandmother, who had passed away years ago. “That little rascal!” Her voice boomed in my head. “Using that amnesia excuse to trick my sweet girl again. If I were still walking this earth, I’d break his legs!” My eyes widened in shock. My grandmother’s voice continued its tirade in my mind. “In my past life, that little heartbreaker Primo Sinclair caused my darling so much pain. She spent years with him, suffering, until she had a heart attack that nearly killed her. And where was he? Celebrating a birthday with Victoria Cole! Makes my blood boil!” “Sweetheart, this time, when your grandfather asks you to choose a husband, you absolutely cannot choose Primo. You have to choose Christoph Hurley. That boy is reliable!” As if on cue, my grandfather walked into the hospital room with several other family elders. They laid out photos of the heirs to the four great families, telling me to pick a husband. Without a moment’s hesitation, I chose my sworn enemy, Christoph Hurley. I was always my grandma’s girl. If she said Primo didn’t love me, then I didn’t want him anymore. 1 My grandfather looked at me, his expression hesitant. “Serena, you and that little troublemaker have always been at each other’s throats. Are you sure you want him as your husband? Think carefully. Once the engagement is set, there’s no going back.” My grandfather was a titan in the world of archaeology. He had decreed that whichever heir of the four great families married me would secure a partnership with our family business. Primo’s mother was also stunned and quickly tried to persuade me. “Serena, sweetheart, I know Primo has amnesia and has forgotten you, but you’ve always loved him so much. Why aren’t you willing to wait for him? Maybe once you’re married, his memory will return.” Grandma let out a sharp scoff in my mind. “What nonsense! In the last life, that Victoria girl broke my darling’s jewelry. My sweet girl barely said a word, and Primo threw her out of the house. My poor Serena, in nothing but her pajamas, stood in the pouring rain for hours. She almost froze to death.” “It was Christoph who came and held an umbrella over her, took her to a hotel to rest. His mouth is sharp, yes, but his heart is in the right place.” Hearing this, a sharp pain lanced through my heart. I didn’t understand why my grandmother kept talking about a “past life,” about things that seemed to have never happened. But her words felt so real, as if I had lived them myself. They left me feeling suffocated, my chest filled with a thousand pounds of wet cotton. Besides, Victoria really was Primo’s first love. They had a deep history. I was just the one who came after. “Grandpa, I’ve made my choice. I want Christoph Hurley.” My grandfather gathered the photos and ruffled my hair. “Alright, my dear. Grandpa respects your choice. In two days, I will publicly announce your engagement to Christoph Hurley.” Grandma let out a long sigh of relief. “That’s right. This time, my little darling won’t be tangled up in the miseries of the past. She’ll finally be happy.” While my grandfather discussed matters with the elders, I changed my clothes and decided to take a walk outside the hospital. To my surprise, three tall, handsome men were standing right outside my door. They were all my childhood friends, all potential candidates for my hand. Primo was there. Only Christoph was absent. Caleb grinned and sauntered over, his curiosity piqued. “Serena, I hear your grandfather is picking a fiancé for you from the four of us. Who did you choose?” Owen chimed in playfully. “Do you even have to ask? It’s obviously Primo. Everyone in our circle knows Serena is head over heels for him. Treats him like a precious treasure.” Primo shot me a cool, detached glance. “I don’t remember anything from the past three years. I only remember that Victoria is my girlfriend.” He paused. “But I know we were together during those three years I’ve lost. Even though I don’t love you now, I can’t defy my father’s wishes. Since the engagement is set, I will marry you.” Grandma sneered. “In his dreams! In the last life, Primo used this same amnesia act to openly flirt with Victoria while draining my sweet girl dry, stealing our family’s fortune, and driving my darling to depression and a fatal illness. That rotten scoundrel can go to hell!” I looked at Primo’s indifferent expression. Without my grandmother’s warning, I probably would have fallen for his lies. I really did love him. And I used to believe he loved me too. Like three years ago, when he lit up the entire city with fireworks just for me. His eyes were so full of devotion, his words so sweet. “Serena, I want to marry you. I want to make you the happiest woman in the world.” I had wept with joy and started a relationship with him. For three years, we were the picture of a happy, loving couple. I never imagined that he had never forgotten Victoria. He just didn’t want to offend my family, so he put on a show of loving me. Now, tired of the act, he was faking amnesia to openly declare his love for Victoria, all while condescending to marry me to secure the partnership with my family. Life doesn’t work that way. I wanted to retort, but seeing his smug, self-assured expression, I swallowed my words. Let him be smug for a couple more days. I was curious to see his reaction when he heard the truth from my grandfather’s own lips. Seeing my silence, Caleb nudged my shoulder. “So, Serena, did you choose Primo?” I replied calmly, “You’ll all know in two days.” With that, I turned to leave. Behind me, Owen clicked his tongue. “Primo, it’s definitely you. You don’t remember, but let me tell you. When you were seriously ill, Serena searched the entire world for medicine for you. She heard the temple on North Mountain was miraculous, so she knelt and climbed nine thousand, nine hundred steps just to pray for your recovery. She’s completely smitten with you.” “Is that so?” Primo chuckled, his voice lazy. “I had no idea she loved me that much.” A sharp pain twisted in my chest. My vision blurred with tears, but I held them back. My love for Primo was an open secret in our social circle. Everyone laughed at me for being a doormat, but I didn’t care. I lost my parents when I was young, and my grandparents were always away on archaeological digs. I was an easy target for bullies. Only Primo protected me. I had loved him since we were children. When he confessed his feelings, I cried with joy and swore to be the best girlfriend he could ever have. But all his kindness had an ulterior motive. He didn’t deserve my sincere love. “Serena, wait.” Someone called my name. I turned to see Primo. He strolled over, one hand in his pocket. “I know you chose me. I’ll marry you, but my heart belongs to Victoria. I hope you can respect that and not interfere.” I stared at him. “You have amnesia. Why are you so certain I would choose you?” Primo frowned. “Everyone says you love me. Who else would you choose?” I gave a bitter smile. So he knew. He knew how much I loved him. And he chose to trample on my feelings anyway. “Don’t worry. I won’t bother you anymore. I’ll grant you your wish.” I thought to myself, he’ll probably be thrilled when he finds out I chose Christoph. Hearing my quick agreement, Primo froze for a second. As I continued toward the exit, he subconsciously reached for me. Suddenly, a scooter swerved recklessly toward me. The wheel slammed into my leg, and I crumpled to the ground, my hands scraping against the rough pavement. Pain shot through me. Victoria’s face went pale. She scrambled off her scooter, crying as she tried to help me up. “Serena, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to hit you! Please don’t be mad at me.” Before I could say a word, my grandmother’s furious voice erupted in my head. “This girl is pure trouble! Just like last time, always playing the victim or turning the tables to bully my sweet girl. She’s got Primo wrapped around her little finger. Those two are a matched set of bad news!” Seeing Victoria’s tear-streaked face, Primo’s heart melted. “It’s alright, Victoria. It’s a small thing. No one will blame you while I’m here.” He helped her up, then shot me a warning look. “She just bumped into you. You’re not going to make a big deal out of it, are you?” My arm was scraped raw. I gritted my teeth against the pain and pushed myself to my feet. Victoria looked at me pitifully. “Serena, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t looking. I’ll slap myself to make it up to you.” She raised her hand as if to strike her own face. Primo grabbed her wrist, then rounded on me. “Serena, it was an accident! Can you stop being such a bully all the time?” Grandma was even angrier. “That thick-skulled idiot! My sweet girl hasn’t said a single word, and that girl is crying her eyes out on her own. How dare he say my baby is bullying her! I’m so mad! Sweetheart, stand up for yourself! Slap the nonsense out of them!” Heeding her words, I raised my hand and slapped Victoria hard across the face. Then, I turned to Primo. “See? That is what you call bullying.” Victoria was stunned. Primo was frozen, his eyes turning cold. “Serena, you’ve gone too far…” I swung my arm again and slapped him just as hard. “That is what you call going too far.” For years, I had only ever obeyed him, never fought back. The blow left him completely bewildered. He stared at me, his teeth clenched. “Fine. Just fine. But you’ll regret laying a hand on me.” He turned to Victoria. “Victoria, let’s go. I’ll get you checked out.” Grandma scoffed. “Instead of caring for his injured fiancée, he’s fussing over some other girl. You’d only regret being with a blockhead like him! Oh, my poor baby, you’re hurt. It must hurt so much.” I looked down at my wound. Crimson blood was already seeping through. The bitterness and hurt I had suppressed came bubbling to the surface. When we were younger, whenever I got hurt, Primo would be frantic, wishing he could bear the pain for me. Maybe his love was a lie, but the friendship back then had felt real. Now, he ignored my injuries, even scolded me, terrified I would cause trouble for his true love. What my grandmother said felt more and more real. Even if I married him, I would just be repeating the same tragic story. 2 I wiped away my tears and went to find a nurse to bandage my hand. I noticed a group of nurses staring in one direction, so I followed their gaze. Just a wall away, I saw Victoria and Primo locked in an embrace, their eyes full of a soft, intimate light. I heard her gentle voice. “Primo, if Serena finds out you faked amnesia just so you could be with me openly, she’ll throw a fit, won’t she?” Primo stroked her hair. “So what if she knows? Everyone knows Serena loves me. Even with amnesia, she’ll be begging me to marry her.” Grandma snorted. “In his wildest dreams! My sweet girl didn’t choose you this time. She won’t be begging you for anything. Hmph, let’s see how smug you are in two days when the truth about the engagement comes out.” I smiled, though my face was as pale as paper, and there was no mirth in it. I didn’t want to hear anymore. I turned to leave with my bandaged hand. Suddenly, for reasons I couldn’t see, the crowd started screaming. “They have knives! Everyone, run!” The words ignited a panic. I was swept along with the crowd, but one of the assailants—a disgruntled patient’s family member causing a scene—grabbed me and raised a knife. I knew some self-defense, but my strength was limited. Seeing Primo notice the commotion, I swallowed my pride and screamed, “Primo, help me!” He instinctively started toward me, but Victoria clung to his arm, refusing to let go. “Primo, I’m scared! Please don’t go!” Primo hesitated. In that split second of hesitation, a new gash was added to my already injured arm. I sucked in a sharp breath of pain. Grandma was frantic. “Oh dear, this hospital dispute was a nasty one back then. Why did my sweet girl have to run into it today? And that deadbeat Primo! Faking amnesia doesn’t mean he’s actually forgotten everything. My baby would have walked through fire for him, and he won’t even save her! It’s too much!” I was losing strength from the pain. I clenched my teeth and yelled, “Primo, I’m begging you, help me! I’m going to die!” The words had barely left my mouth when Victoria let out a piercing scream. One of the assailants had lunged toward them. In an instant, Primo shielded her with his body and pulled her away, running. My mind went blank. I watched him run, protecting his true love, and a wave of despair washed over me. Even if the love was gone, I had loved him for so many years. I had been so good to him. In a life-or-death situation, couldn’t he spare me even a shred of pity? Couldn’t he help me, just once? Suddenly, the pressure on me was gone. Christoph Hurley kicked the man off me, pulled me into his arms, and shielded me as he pushed through the chaotic scene. “Go!” The chaos was quickly contained by security guards who subdued the assailants. I was still in shock, my body trembling uncontrollably. Christoph handed me a cup of hot water, his expression complex as he looked at me. I didn’t notice his mood, nor did I ask how he happened to be there. I just used my last bit of strength to thank him. News of the incident reached my grandfather, who was furious. He demanded an explanation from both the Sinclair and Cole families. The Coles quickly grounded Victoria and sent apology gifts. The Sinclairs were livid and forced Primo to come to my house to apologize.

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1 Alison Shaw’s startup collapsed, drowning me in debt. My archaeologist’s hands grew calloused hauling rebar for five years. When I finally saved enough, I trudged to the loan shark—only to find Alison lounging in a private dining room, curled against Jerry Prince with aristocratic ease. The loan shark and my foreman groveled before her: “Miss Shaw, we docked his pay, but he still saved $75K.” Alison’s fingers traced Jerry’s jaw. “No matter. Just add $1.5M to his debt. He’ll slave forever.” “Saw $75K shoes I liked,” Jerry murmured. “Of course, darling,” she purred. Then I realized—Shaw Holdings, the city’s largest firm, was hers. The CEO I’d once encouraged her to surpass… was Alison herself. I stood frozen outside the door, a pathetic figure hiding in the shadows, a bitter sting in my eyes. Inside, Jerry’s voice was laced with arrogance. “It’s my fault, really. I insisted on studying abroad after college. Alison was lonely, so she found Adrian to pass the time. He’s been clinging to her ever since.” Alison and I had fallen in love in college, a whirlwind of sweet, tender moments. She was so good to me, couldn’t bear to see me suffer the slightest injustice. After graduation, I was headhunted by a world-class archaeology team, while she dove into the world of startups. Less than three months later, she declared bankruptcy, saddled with colossal debt. To pay it off for her, I didn’t hesitate. I resigned from my dream job, where the starting pay was too low to make a dent. I threw myself into the brutal, thankless labor of a construction site. When the debt collectors showed up at our door, it was me who fell to my knees, begging them, head to the floor, for just a few more days. I never felt the hardship, because I believed our love could conquer anything. I never imagined the love itself was a lie. Hollowed out by despair, I made a call. It was to the woman who had led my old archaeology team. “Eva? It’s Adrian… That overseas project… is there still a spot for me?” There was a stunned silence on the other end, then an explosion of joy. “Of course! God, Adrian, I told you a hundred times not to quit! It’s a crime to let hands like yours go to waste on anything but archaeology!” She paused, her tone growing serious. “But this is a high-level security project. Once you’re out, it’s five years minimum. You need to be sure.” I looked down at my hands, a roadmap of scars and calluses. “I’m sure, Eva.” A chorus of cheers erupted in the background. My old team. My friends. “Hahaha, I knew he’d come around!” “Adrian Croft, you get your ass back here right now! We’ve been waiting for you!” Eva laughed, shushing them before speaking with formal gravity. “Adrian Croft, Project Dawnbreaker officially recalls you to active duty. We deploy in five days. Get your affairs in order.” After hanging up, I pushed open the door to the private room. Alison immediately shot up and rushed to my side. “Darling, you’re finally here! Mr. Wang was getting impatient.” The loan shark, taking his cue, puffed out his chest, his face a mask of contempt. “Look at this. These days, the debtor is the king, making the lender wait.” He sneered. “Where’s the money? Hurry up. All this skulking around gives me a headache.” Jerry swirled his wine, shooting me a sideways glance. “Probably didn’t scrape it all together. Hey, look what he’s wearing. Maybe he knows you have a taste for pretty boys, Wang. Came to sleep off the debt.” Alison had told me today was our anniversary. She’d given me a suit—a ridiculously provocative, open-weave suit—and told me to wear it for our celebration. Wang’s eyes roamed over my body like slimy slugs. Alison feigned indignation. “If you have the money, then pay up. What’s with this pathetic act? Don’t tell me you actually had that in mind.” I had been instinctively moving closer to her for protection, but her words froze me in place. I didn’t want to pay. But she had taken out the loan in my name. I handed the bank book to Wang, desperate for this to be over. He grabbed my hand as he took it, his grip tight. “Don’t be in such a hurry to leave. This is only seventy-five thousand. Your girlfriend still owes me one and a half million.” He produced a fresh IOU. The ink was still wet. Alison pulled my hand from his grasp, flashing Wang a look of pure ice before her expression melted into one of apology for me. “I’m so sorry, darling. I’m just so useless.” She looked up at me, her eyes pleading. “Could you just… go back to the site for a few more years? I promise, this is the last time.” The foreman chimed in right on cue. “Our site is a humble place. Mr. Croft here tendered his resignation the moment he got his wages. We can’t take back someone so ungrateful.” He gestured to Jerry. “But, our site’s real boss is right here. Why don’t you get on your knees and beg Mr. Prince?” Jerry, lounging in his chair, watched with amusement. “Oh no, I couldn’t possibly. Mr. Croft is a university graduate. I’m not worthy of his respect.” He smirked. “But the foreman was your superior. How about you service him, make him happy, and then I’ll consider it?” I watched their performance, a cold wave of desolation washing over me. I wasn’t a fool. I remembered how real her love felt at the beginning. 2 Right after we graduated, she was ready to drop everything and follow me into the desolate deserts of the northwest for my work. But then came the cave-in. She threw herself over me, taking the brunt of the impact before being knocked unconscious. I clawed through the rubble with my bare hands until they were raw and bleeding, crawling out on my last breath to scream for help. When I woke up, something in her had changed. A glacial shift. We were penniless back then. Her surgery was expensive. I swallowed my pride and went to my teammates, borrowing from everyone I could. I scraped together just enough to cover her costs. My own broken leg, I just gritted my teeth and bore the pain. To this day, it aches deep in the bone whenever the rain comes. That fifteen hundred dollars for her surgery. It’s laughable. To the real Alison, it was less than the cost of a bottle of wine. But she watched, cold and silent, as that pittance of a debt nearly broke my back. That was also when Jerry appeared, introduced as her “childhood friend.” He swept into our small desert town like a prince, all flash and money, turning every head. He repeatedly came to my dig site to cause trouble, belittling my work and my skills. Once, he complained he was cold. To keep him warm, Alison threw my archaeology journals into the fire. Those were my field notes—months of sleepless nights, the very key to my application for a global fellowship. The same notes she once treasured, helping me organize them every night. With one careless word from Jerry, they were reduced to ash. Alison didn’t even blink. “He comes from a noble family. He’s bound to be a bit arrogant. Just bear with it.” I thought she was still angry, blaming me for the accident. I spent that time trying to win her back, trying to please her in every way, even offering myself to her. In our shabby rented room, she rediscovered a certain hunger. For a month, she didn’t let me leave that room. We plumbed the depths of desperation and desire. Her mood softened. She suggested we return to the capital so she could start her business. I resigned immediately and followed her back. I never expected it would lead to this. Alison buried her face in my chest, her voice a low murmur. “Darling, Jerry is a kind person. Just beg him properly. I’m sure he’ll let you go back to work. You’ve been on a construction site for five years. No one else will hire you.” She was pushing me into hell, all while pretending it was for my own good. I couldn’t take it anymore. I shoved her away and stormed out. Back at our “home,” I started packing. For five years, to save money, we had lived in a cramped tin-walled shack on the construction site. One room, shared with six other guys. The only space that was ours was a single, small bed, curtained off for a sliver of privacy. Alison was often out late, working “odd jobs,” she said. She rarely slept here. I thought she was being considerate, knowing how cramped it was for two. Now I realized it was pure disdain. She only came back when she wanted sex. She was never quiet. The entire shack could hear everything. And when she was finished, she would leave, leaving me alone to face the leering, knowing glances of the other men. The men on the site were lonely. They weren’t picky. And I was fair-skinned. I endured more than my share of humiliation. The memory brought a fresh wave of shameful tears. Alison burst in and saw me packing. Her face contorted with rage. “You’re actually quitting? What, you’re too proud for this work now? What’s next, are you going to leave me, too?” I turned, my gaze locking onto hers. “It’s not that I don’t want you anymore. It’s that I can’t afford you, Miss Shaw.” She saw the tears streaming down my face and froze, a flicker of fear in her eyes. “You… you know?” That fleeting expression. It was so familiar. It was the look of the university student I fell in love with, the one who looked at me with such aching tenderness. I met her in our sophomore year. She pursued me relentlessly. Back then, she was the vibrant, popular girl on campus. I was an orphan who had to fight for everything. We were worlds apart. I didn’t have the courage to start a relationship with no clear future. But she never gave up. She was just… there. A quiet presence while I studied, took exams, worked part-time jobs. Then, in our junior year, she told me her family had gone bankrupt. She asked if she could stay with me. I opened my life to her without reservation. I found her part-time work, taught her how to handle difficult customers and unreasonable bosses. Naturally, we fell in love. Just before we graduated, she worked for three months at a bar, enduring countless indignities, to buy me a necklace. It was a simple chain with a plain silver band, plated in gold, hanging from it. She knew my ambitions were vast. She said she didn’t want to trap me in marriage. She said that whenever I felt ready for a home, I should just put on that ring, and she would come running to marry me. I laughed at her then. “What makes you so sure I’ll ask?” She hugged me tightly. “I, Alison Shaw, will marry no one but Adrian Croft in this life.” She paused. “But… if you ever decide you don’t want me, you can use this ring to ask for one favor instead.” “Any favor?” She nodded solemnly. “Even if you asked for my life, I would give it to you.” The memory of that happiness shattered, revealing the twisted face of the woman before me now. She grabbed my throat, the ring on the necklace digging painfully into my skin. She pushed me onto the bed, her hands tearing at my clothes. 3 Humiliation burned through me. I struggled, but she easily overpowered me, her voice dripping with scorn. “What’s this? Playing coy now? Where was this modesty during that month you couldn’t get enough?” She sneered. “You’re broke, and I’m rich. How about it? One night for a million and a half? A good deal, no?” Some lingering memory of our past kept me from truly fighting back. But she was relentless, her hands roaming, her voice a cruel chant. “You owe me this, Adrian. You owe me!” I stared blankly at the shaking bedframe, my mind numb. What could I possibly owe her? Jerry’s voice drifted in from outside. “Sera, can you please come with me? This place stinks… and the way these men are looking at me is disgusting.” Alison stopped abruptly, scrambling to fix her clothes. She couldn’t bear for her precious Jerry to endure those filthy, lecherous stares. She had no idea I lived with them every single second of every day. She opened the door, and Jerry immediately pulled her to his side. Alison shot a warning glare at the other men in the room. But the door was open, and I was still half-undressed on the bed, completely exposed to their hungry eyes. I scrambled to cover myself. As they were leaving, Jerry shot a subtle, meaningful glance at one of the men. His eyes met mine for a second, full of venom.

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I was cashing out, selling my shares in the startup I’d built from the ground up. I was getting married. But the two women who’d sworn they’d never marry anyone but me—my co-founders—had no idea. They were too busy throwing a party for the new male secretary… a celebration for a deal I had closed. A deal that had cost me a night of drinking myself into a bleeding ulcer. While I was passed out, he’d just dumped me in the hotel room, grabbed the signed contract, and raced back to the office to claim all the glory. And Kate and Laura, my brilliant partners, had swallowed his story hook, line, and sinker. The next day, a compromising photo of me went viral in the company’s group chat. The whispers started instantly: all my brilliant successes were just the result of me being some rich older woman’s boy toy. I called them from my hospital bed, trying to explain. Their response? “Don’t be so thin-skinned, Kevin. You’re a grown man. And stop making up stories about a bleeding ulcer.” “You’ve got an iron stomach. You could drink drain cleaner and be fine.” “We’re celebrating Jim’s big win. Come if you want, don’t if you don’t.” … The day I was discharged, I went back to the office just long enough to sell my shares to their biggest competitor. Then I called home. “I’ll do it. I’ll marry Sophie. You can start planning the wedding.” Just as I hung up, Kate and Laura pushed open my office door, their brows furrowed. “A wedding?” Kate asked, her voice tight. “What wedding?” It was only ten days away. No point in hiding it now. “Mine,” I said, my tone flat. “I’ll send you an invitation.” They stared at me, disbelief clouding their faces. As if on cue, my phone began buzzing incessantly—a dozen design drafts for wedding rings from my mother. They leaned in, their eyes widening as they saw the images. Kate’s disbelief soured into annoyance. “What are you doing ordering wedding rings, Kevin? Are you planning to wear one on each hand?” Laura interrogated me like I was on trial. “You’re a workaholic. You don’t even have a girlfriend. Who the hell are you marrying?” The irony was thick enough to choke on. The same two women who had once promised to spend their lives with me now stood there, looking at each other in baffled confusion. Just then, Jim waltzed in with a stack of documents, having overheard our conversation. His face was a mask of shock. “Mr. Beaumont,” he said, his voice dripping with faux concern, “you’re not planning on becoming Mrs. Davis’s boy toy, are you? I heard her kids are already in college. This… this doesn’t seem right.” Thanks to him, the entire office now believed I was sleeping with our biggest client. My gaze turned to ice. “Entering my office without knocking is just bad manners. Stealing my credit and then spreading sleazy rumors about me… is that just ignorance of the law?” My sharp tone made Jim’s eyes well up with tears. He stammered an apology, wringing his hands. “Mr. Beaumont, I didn’t… I never thought the others would misunderstand like this. But you and Mrs. Davis, in that hotel room…” He trailed off, his face flushing a deep crimson, unable to finish. But the implication hung in the air, and it was enough. Kate and Laura’s faces darkened, their eyes now regarding me with undisguised contempt. “That’s enough!” Kate snapped, her fury directed at me. “If you don’t want people to know, don’t do it in the first place. Don’t take out your humiliation on Jim just because you got caught.” “He’s just looking out for you,” Laura added, her voice laced with disgust. “Mrs. Davis is old enough to be your mother. Are you really so determined to debase yourself by becoming her side piece?” I couldn’t help but let out a bitter laugh. Without another word, I threw all three of them out of my office. The bonds of our childhood, the five years we’d spent building this company together… all of it meant nothing. They wouldn’t believe me, but they’d trust the word of a man who’d been here for less than two months. I refused to waste my anger on them. I went back to scrolling through the ring designs my mother had sent. Not two minutes later, a notification popped up in the company group chat. It was from Kate. I was to switch offices with Jim. The reason? As her secretary, his office needed to be closer to hers to “improve workflow efficiency.” The chat, filled with hundreds of employees, exploded with sycophantic congratulations for Jim. A few loyal members of my team questioned the decision, pointing out the absurdity of a fresh-faced graduate, only two months into the job, being handed the general manager’s office. I was about to message them privately, telling them to stand down, when Jim posted a voice message, his tone pitiful. “Kate, it’s all my fault. I was so focused on the contract that night that I failed to take care of Kevin. I don’t deserve his office. I can’t even face him. I… I’d like to submit my resignation.” His performance was so nauseating it made me want to gag. The glass door to my office was kicked open. Laura stood there, glaring at me. “Look what you’ve done! Pack your things and clear out for Jim. Now. I don’t want to see you bullying a kid who’s just starting out in his career.” Kate followed close behind, urging me to hurry up while simultaneously typing reassurances to Jim in the group chat. Suddenly, someone in the main office shouted that Jim was on the roof. The color drained from both their faces. Without a second glance at me, they sprinted towards the rooftop. As their frantic figures disappeared, I calmly picked up my phone and dialed the number of someone who’d long been interested in my shares. Victoria, Kate and Laura’s arch-nemesis, had somehow heard I was selling and made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. I checked the email I’d sent Kate and Laura. Yesterday had marked the 30th day since I’d sent them the notice of sale. Their lack of response meant they had forfeited their first right of refusal. Victoria had given me three days to consider. I replied instantly, telling her we could sign the papers today. By the time they had coaxed Jim down from the roof and returned, they found my office untouched. Their patience had worn thin. “It’s an office swap, Kevin, not a cross-country move. What’s taking you so long?” At Laura’s words, Jim bit his lip, his eyes, red and swollen, fixed on me. “Mr. Beaumont, I’m so sorry. I… I don’t really need this office…” “It’s fine,” I said breezily. “If you like it, it’s all yours. You can have the General Manager title, too, while you’re at it.” My words made fresh tears spring to Jim’s eyes. Gone was the ruthless ambition he’d shown when he stole my deal. “What’s with the sarcasm, Kevin?” Kate challenged. “It’s just an office. Is it really worth being this petty?” Having already sold my shares, I couldn’t care less about the damn office. The dismissive look on my face must have infuriated Laura. She strode forward and unceremoniously dumped my few belongings onto the empty desk outside. Kate shot me a cold look before personally starting to arrange Jim’s new office. HR was parading in with potted plants, then fresh flowers and collector’s figurines. You’d think they were decorating a honeymoon suite. Finally, the workday ended. Kate rapped her knuckles on my temporary desk. “Don’t leave. We’re all going out for a team dinner to celebrate Jim’s new office.” I was taken aback. A celebration for an office change? Still, I didn’t refuse. I’d treat it as one last meal with my colleagues. It was only at the restaurant that I discovered the truth. The few employees who had spoken up for me in the group chat had all been fired, dismissed under flimsy pretexts by Kate. I messaged them one by one. They told me Kate and Laura had threatened them, warning them not to contact me or they’d be blacklisted from the industry. To appease Jim, they had turned on their oldest, most loyal employees. This ‘kill the chicken to scare the monkey’ tactic had worked; no one else dared to cross them for my sake. One brown-noser even took the chance to mock me. “Kevin, you missed Jim’s last celebration. You’d better give him a proper toast tonight. If it weren’t for him closing that deal, who knows what else you would’ve had to… sacrifice.” The insinuation was clear, bringing back the disgusting comments I’d overheard in the restroom earlier that day. “The nerve of Kevin, showing his face like nothing happened.” “A guy who sleeps his way to the top doesn’t need a sense of shame.” Ignoring the stares, I poured myself a glass of soda and took a small sip. Kate’s face instantly hardened. She snatched the glass from my hand and dumped it out. With practiced coordination, Laura filled it to the brim with hard liquor. “You bullied Jim so badly today he almost jumped off a roof,” Laura said, her voice sharp. “A drink to apologize isn’t too much to ask, is it?” “Besides,” Kate added, “you owe him one from the last party you skipped.” Without a second thought, I flung the contents of the glass into Laura’s face. “Who the hell is he to deserve a toast from me?” The table fell silent, everyone stunned by my action. Kate, ever the stoic one, simply refilled the glass and pushed it towards me again, her expression stubborn. “Kevin, this is for team unity. You’re drinking it, whether you like it or not.” Jim, ever the actor, feigned concern. “Kate, Laura, it’s okay. I know Mr. Beaumont looks down on me. If he doesn’t want to drink, let’s not force him. We shouldn’t ruin the mood…” But Laura, still dripping with liquor, was having none of it. Her fury boiling over, she slapped me hard across the face. Before I could react, she grabbed the glass and force-fed the fiery liquid down my throat. “You sleep your way into deals,” she spat, “what right do you have to look down on him?” The same two women who once feared me drinking a single drop of alcohol were now pouring it down my throat for Jim’s sake, their words dripping with venom. The searing liquor burned a path from my throat to my stomach. A cold sweat broke out on my forehead. But they didn’t notice. They were too busy pouring Jim his favorite fruit juice. He drained the glass in one go and shot me a triumphant smile. “Thank you for your sacrifice, Kevin. I’ll work even harder from now on.” The others assumed he was talking about the office. But I saw something more in his eyes: the unshakeable confidence of a man who knew he had already won Kate and Laura over. “Well then,” I said, my voice strained, “here’s to you marrying the bosses and reaching the pinnacle of your life.” I clutched my stomach, a searing pain shooting through me, and tried to head for the restroom. Kate blocked my path. “A couple of sips and now you’re putting on a show? Stop talking nonsense and sit down.” The burning in my gut was nothing compared to the agony in my heart. My eyes, red with pain and fury, met hers. “I just got out of the hospital for a bleeding ulcer,” I rasped, “and you force-feed me liquor?” Her hand, which had been blocking me, froze mid-air. “Could you at least come up with a believable excuse? You’ve been drinking for years, and we’ve never seen you with a bleeding ulcer.” Laura, the one who’d poured the drink, chimed in with her own skepticism. “I barely got a mouthful in you. A guy who can drink anyone under the table, and you’re acting like this? Seriously?” It’s easy to be dismissive when it’s not your own body in agony. There was a time when Laura, seeing me drink with clients to close a deal, would ask with tears in her eyes, “Kevin, there are so many other clients. Is one deal really worth it?” Back then, she and Kate would cry just seeing me drunk. They’d brew me hangover remedies, take turns staying up all night by my side, just to hand me a glass of warm water when I was thirsty. The next day, they’d march into the office with dark circles under their eyes, determined to work twice as hard to justify my sacrifice. We had survived the hardest days of our startup. The two women who had sworn themselves to me were now championing another man at my expense. “I just need to use the restroom,” I said through gritted teeth. “Is that really so much to ask?” My stomach convulsed, and I bent over, leaning against the wall just to stay upright. A female colleague was the first to notice something was seriously wrong and moved to help me. Kate pushed her away, forbidding her from touching me. “So this is your trick, Kevin? You play the frail victim after a few drinks to win over your female clients?” The colleague who had tried to help me blushed, mortified. “Kate, I think you’re mistaken. Look at him, his face is pale white!” Laura scoffed. “He’s just putting on an act because he’s embarrassed.” I couldn’t blame her for not believing me. For years, no matter how sick I felt from drinking, I had always toughed it out. It was the path I’d chosen. I loved the grind of building something, the validation of success. In their eyes, I was made of iron. Jim, having enjoyed the show long enough, now approached with a cup of hot water, playing the part of the concerned friend. “Kevin, it doesn’t matter how you landed the deal. You’re a hero to this company. We’re all grateful for your contribution.” His words were gasoline on a fire. Kate, who had been supporting me, suddenly snatched her hand away as if I were something filthy. “If you don’t want to be here, then just go home,” she said, before turning and walking to the restroom to scrub her hands clean. Under the contemptuous gazes of everyone in the room, I clutched my stomach and turned to leave. But Jim wouldn’t let me. He grabbed my arm, and in the struggle, the scalding water from his cup sloshed out, splashing onto both of us. I recoiled instinctively, pushing him away. Most of the hot water drenched my hand. Laura shot up from her seat, yelling for a waiter to bring an ice pack for Jim. She was completely oblivious to the fact that my hand had taken the worst of it. Jim had a small red patch, the size of a quarter. My entire hand was a blazing red. Kate emerged from the restroom just in time to see Jim on the verge of tears. Her anger finally erupted. “Kevin, have you no shame? Jim is trying to help you, and you attack him?” At that moment, a wave of grief washed over me. I fought back the stinging in my nose and let out a bitter, hollow laugh. Seeing me laugh, Kate grabbed me and dragged me in front of Jim. “I don’t know what you find so funny. Apologize to him. Now.” Laura, busy applying the ice pack to Jim’s hand, chimed in, “He has to apologize! If that burn scars, it’s over!” My hand trembling, I held up my own scalded skin for her to see. She didn’t even look, just slapped it away. The searing pain intensified, a sharp, stabbing agony now mixed with the burn. Kate watched me like a hawk. “What, you won’t apologize? Are you going to hit him again?” I shouldn’t have even tried. A colleague sitting nearby finally saw the state of my hand and spoke up hesitantly. “Kate… Kevin is burned too…” Kate’s brow furrowed. A flicker of something—was it concern?—crossed her eyes as she instinctively reached for my hand. But then Jim let out a sharp hiss of pain, and her face hardened again. She flung my hand away. “Serves you right! If you hadn’t been such a drama queen, you wouldn’t have gotten hurt. You’re a liability.” “Apologize and get out.” An apology was impossible. But I was done humiliating myself. Seeing my refusal, Jim put on a brave face. “Kate, I’m fine… You should take Kevin to the hospital. A burn like this really hurts… Ah!” His sudden cry sent Kate and Laura into a panic. They fussed over him, checking his hand, the chaos escalating until someone was actually calling for an ambulance. I turned my back on the circus and walked out without a second thought. Sometime during the dinner, it had started to rain. As I stood at the curb, wondering whether to make a dash for a taxi, Laura came out. I thought for a moment that her conscience had gotten the better of her. Instead, she just tossed a jacket at me. “Here are your things. Stop being so careless and expecting me and Kate to clean up after you.” I looked down at the light-colored suit jacket, now stained with red wine. I threw it directly into a nearby trash can. Laura was furious. “Kevin, what the hell is that supposed to mean?” It was a custom suit she and Kate had bought for me together. There was a time they would fight over whose gift I would wear for the day. Eventually, they started splitting the cost of everything, just to keep things “fair.” “It’s dirty,” I said, my voice empty. “It’s time to throw it out.” Just like them. Their hearts were tainted. It was time to throw them away. For a split second, a look of profound loss flickered across Laura’s face, as if she’d just felt something important slip through her fingers. But her attention was quickly drawn back to Jim. I hailed a cab in the pouring rain, went home, took my medication, and iced my hand until the throbbing pain finally subsided. The next morning, I woke up to my phone blowing up with texts from strangers—a flood of lewd messages asking for my “rates.” Then another message came through, this one with a link. My private information, my photo, had been posted on a porn site.

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My childhood sweetheart and my brother both fell for the new scholarship girl, Jane Reed. One of them, my fiancé, turned his back on our betrothal, sneering, “A princess like Elara Vance? I’m not man enough to handle that.” The other, my brother, forgot our mother’s dying wish. “Jane’s had it so tough,” he’d pleaded. “Is it really so wrong if I just give her half the love I give you?” On my birthday, my fiancé chose to be with Jane. On the anniversary of my mother’s death, my brother was at a party, celebrating with Jane and her mother. And while they were off in Port Moore, accompanying Jane as she accepted a prestigious design award, I set a match to the house that held all our memories. I faked my death and vanished from Crestwood. But when the news of my demise reached Port Moore, the two men who had grown so tired of me went mad, rushing back to Crestwood that very night. They knelt before the smoldering ruins of the house, their cries echoing in the ashes.

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