Author: Momo Chan

My son was hailed as a guitar prodigy. But on the day of the National Youth Virtuoso Competition, despite being the fan favorite with the highest online votes, he didn’t win the grand prize. In a daze, he missed a step leaving the stage and plummeted to the floor below. I scrambled to help him, but my eyes caught a different scene: my wife, Evelyn, holding another boy aloft, a championship trophy in his hands. He was the son of her old flame. The producers and directors were laughing nearby. “It pays to be Evelyn Croft’s son, doesn’t it? A championship trophy, just like that.” “Tell me about it. That kid, Chris, was incredible, but what can you do? No powerful mother, no connections.” My heart shattered. I never imagined Evelyn would rig the competition against her own flesh and blood for the sake of another man’s child. But my son, with blood streaming down his face, climbed to his feet. He grabbed my hand, his small voice firm. “Dad,” he said, “I don’t want this mom anymore.” I squeezed his hand back, my own resolve hardening like steel. “Okay. If you don’t want her, then neither do I.” 1 Evelyn came home late. I had already coaxed our son, Chris, to sleep. She wasn’t surprised to see me sitting in the living room. She walked over, cool as ever, and tossed a divorce agreement onto the coffee table. “You weren’t happy with the last offer. I’ve raised your share to thirty percent of the assets. That should be enough, shouldn’t it, Liam?” she said, her voice laced with condescension. “Don’t be greedy.” This time, I didn’t beg her to stay. I calmly picked up the papers and read through them. Just as I expected, it was the same old story: the company assets remained untouched, and she was offering me a mere thirty percent of the remaining real estate and cash flow. But on what grounds? I was the one who built that company from the ground up. We kept our marriage a secret purely to stroke her ego and satisfy her vanity. I agreed to stay in the background, but not so she could hand everything over to her old flame and his son. I threw the agreement back on the table and looked up, meeting her smug, ‘I knew it’ expression. I just watched her for a moment, then asked the question that had been burning in my heart. “So, rigging the competition to steal Chris’s championship today… that was also to force me into this divorce?” Evelyn flinched, surprised by my calmness. She recovered quickly, her usual arrogance returning like a shield. “I rigged it? What about you? Chris is naturally talented, but you pushed him into masterclasses, paraded him all over social media. If it weren’t for your marketing, do you think a boy his age would have so many fans? Is that fair to Theo? All I did was level the playing field!” She spat the words out, a torrent of self-righteous justification. “Theo worked so hard for this! He deserved it! It’s about time your son learned that talent isn’t something to be proud of!” Her brazen defense was so absurd I almost laughed. Chris had prepared for this competition for three solid years. In those years, just mastering the difficult six-string tremolo technique had cost him countless hours of pain and frustration. He practiced even when he was sick, never daring to slack off for a single day. And his own mother… she only saw the “hard work” of another child. In her eyes, her own son’s prodigious talent had become a flaw. Love and its absence—the difference was blindingly clear. Seeing my silence, Evelyn scoffed and sat down on the sofa, pulling off her silk scarf. “Pour me some water.” I didn’t move. As I looked down, her phone screen lit up. A text from her lover, Charlie: Did he agree? A bitter laugh escaped my lips. Evelyn shot me a warning glare, snatching up her phone and typing furiously. After sending her reply, she grabbed her coat, ready to leave again. I stepped in her way, frowning. “Chris fell off the stage today. He hurt his head. As his mother, you’re not going to stay with him? Where are you going?” “Chris fell? What is wrong with you? You do nothing all day, and you can’t even watch a child properly? What are you good for, Liam?” My attempt to keep her here only earned me a tirade of blame. After she was done, she shot me an impatient look, clearly having no intention of staying. “I have something urgent to do. You take care of Chris.” Her “urgent business” was, of course, spending time with Charlie and his son. As she walked to the door to change her shoes, not even glancing toward Chris’s room, my fists clenched. “Evelyn, do you just enjoy being a stepmother that much?” She turned, her eyes narrowing dangerously. “Watch your mouth, Liam. Theo is a sweet, innocent child. He deserves my love!” So, Chris and I were the ones who didn’t? I watched her slam the door without a second thought, a cold smile spreading across my face. Fine, Evelyn. If that’s how you want it, then you no longer deserve my mercy. That night, I didn’t sleep in the master bedroom. I squeezed into Chris’s small bed with him. He listened to my stories, told me his secrets, and for the first time, he didn’t mention Evelyn’s name once. I knew that, just like me years ago, he had finally given up on her. Truthfully, I had wanted to leave her ever since Charlie returned to the country, when she abandoned me with a raging fever to go pick him up from the airport. But Chris didn’t want us to divorce. He didn’t want to be the child of a broken home; he didn’t want to lose his mother. I stayed only to protect him. But I never imagined Evelyn’s favoritism for Charlie and his son would run so deep that she would be willing to hurt her own child. I gently stroked Chris’s face, a profound sense of guilt washing over me. The next day, a heavy rainstorm swept across the city. The unusual silence at the breakfast table made Evelyn uncomfortable. She cleared her throat and stroked Chris’s head. “Chris, how about Mommy drives you to school today?” I paused, my fingers hovering over the ride-share app on my phone. Chris didn’t light up as Evelyn expected. He just glanced at the pouring rain outside and gave a quiet nod. His indifference made Evelyn frown. She stood up abruptly and dragged me into the kitchen. “Liam, did you say something bad about me to our son?” “No.” I shook her hand off, annoyed. She sneered. “If you didn’t, why is he acting like this? He used to love talking to me.” A low chuckle escaped me. Yes, Chris used to love talking to her. Every morning at breakfast, he would chatter away, sharing everything he’d seen and learned. And how did Evelyn respond? Her patience never lasted more than ten minutes before she would put on a stern face and lecture him. “Chris, no talking while eating. We have rules at the table.” Every time he heard that, Chris would fall silent, his face a mask of disappointment. Evelyn never understood that his endless chatter was the desperate plea of a son craving his mother’s affection. Chris was not an unruly child; his mother was just too busy. She left early and came home late, always caught up in business dinners or overtime at the office. The only time Chris had with her was breakfast. She never realized that in this family, she was the missing piece. My quiet laughter grated on her. She grabbed me, her voice sharp with rebuke. “What are you laughing at? With your passive-aggressive attitude all day, no wonder you’re a bad influence on him.” I turned away and met Chris’s gaze from the dining room. The fire in my chest instantly died down. “Nothing. I’m just happy for you. Chris listened to you. He remembered the rules of the table.” “Is that so?” She didn’t seem pleased by my answer. I ignored her suspicion and went back to the table, asking Chris in a low voice, “Are you sure you want Mom to take you?” He nodded his little head. “Yes. Every time it rains, Daddy gets his clothes and shoes all wet trying to protect me. I feel bad.” I smiled and ruffled his hair, still worried about leaving him in Evelyn’s care. “But the cut on your head…” Before we could decide, Evelyn’s phone rang. After a two-minute call, she strode back over. “Chris, Daddy will take you today after all. Mommy has something to take care of.” Without waiting for a reply, she rushed out the door. I looked at Chris with concern, but he wasn’t sad or disappointed. He just shrugged and gave me a wry look. “Looks like my old man has to do the hard work again!” His humor made me laugh. I pulled him into a hug. “This old man is more than happy to. You’re his favorite person in the world.” After dropping Chris off at school, I got back into the taxi. Just as we were about to pull away, Evelyn’s car pulled up beside us. She got out, opened her umbrella, and carefully walked around to the back door, helping Theo out of the car. Charlie followed, taking the umbrella from her and draping his arm casually around her shoulders. I frowned slightly. When had Theo transferred to this school? Evelyn carried Theo all the way to the school gate before putting him down. He tugged on her sleeve, and she obediently knelt. He leaned in and planted a kiss on her cheek. Evelyn’s smile widened, and she hugged him, kissing him back. What a picture-perfect, happy family of three. Her own son had never once enjoyed such treatment. I gave a sarcastic smile and urged the driver to go. But Evelyn and Charlie’s good mood didn’t last. Before the day was out, the story of the rigged competition exploded online. In less than 24 hours, headlines flooded social media. #YouthVirtuosoCompetitionGrandPrizeFixed? #BigCompetitionBigProductionBigScam? #FanFavoriteGuitarProdigyRobbedByJudgesOnLiveTV #FourPassesTheJudgesPet I clicked on one of the trending topics. The comments were a firestorm of outrage against the show and the judges. ARE YOU BLIND? The kid with the six-string tremolo was clearly on another level. His mastery of the instrument was insane. And the judges gave him a 3? If you don’t need your eyes, donate them to someone who does. This is a complete setup. The other kid, Theo, was fine on the violin, but so by-the-book. The piece he chose wasn’t even difficult. The third-place winner was more impressive. How did he beat Chris for first? He’s only EIGHT. At an age when most kids can’t even get a clean strum, he’s mastering tremolos. I’m coming for you, director. Give him justice. Guys, stop arguing. A master detective online already dug it up. The kid named Theo’s ‘mom’ is the personal assistant to the show’s biggest investor. The championship was just a whisper away. Chris’s online votes were miles ahead of everyone else in the semi-finals. The show claimed to be fair and transparent, so why did they suddenly hide the online voting results for the finale? Before I could scroll further, Evelyn called. “Liam, is this your doing? All this chaos online?” she seethed. “You’ve become so venomous. Just because you know your way around the internet, you’re targeting a child?” “I’m warning you, fix this. Get all of this off the internet right now, or you will face the consequences!” She unleashed her tirade and hung up without giving me a chance to say a word. I stared at my phone and let out a bitter laugh. While Chris’s fans had certainly fanned the flames, neither of us had the power to make this a national incident. Ultimately, this was a mess of Evelyn’s own making. She wanted to rig the championship, but she’d spent the entire season boasting about fairness and transparency, making all the early votes public. When Chris’s numbers got too high for even paid bots to catch up, she simply canceled the public vote for the finale and had the host read out some random numbers. Her scheme was sloppy, full of holes. And today’s internet users are sharp. No one was going to let her get away with it. I had no ability to quell this storm. And even if I did, why should I help the son of her lover? I’m no saint. But I never anticipated how far Evelyn would go to protect Theo. She had the show’s official account release a statement. The production team owes everyone an apology. Out of a desire to protect the children involved, we previously withheld certain information. Considering the current online harassment directed at young Theo, and after much deliberation, we have decided to reveal the truth. In fact, Chris cheated on the day of the competition. The backing track he provided was a full performance, and the guitar in his hands was a lightweight prop, which is how he was able to so easily perform the six-string tremolo with such fluency and rich tone. After this was discovered, Chris’s father, Mr. Liam, begged the production team for mercy. Considering the boy is young and motherless, we did not want to ruin his future, which is why we arranged the results as we did. This was a failure of judgment on our part, and for that, we bow in apology to all our viewers. We will accept the criticism. We only ask that the public be kind to the children. The moment the statement was released, it was met with an even greater torrent of fury and derision. They said, No wonder a kid so young could pull off a six-string tremolo. It was a prop and fake playing. They said, I knew it. Even professional guitarists struggle with that technique. How could an eight-year-old do it? It was too good to be true. They said, So being motherless is an excuse to cheat? This father is clearly just playing the sympathy card. A kid like that deserves to be taught a lesson. … My fingers tightened around my phone, my whole body trembling with rage. Reading those comments, I knew, with absolute certainty, that they were from paid trolls hired by Evelyn, all meant to steer the narrative. Did she have any idea what this would do to Chris? She was trying to destroy his future. My eyes burning, I frantically dialed her number. The moment she picked up, her cold laughter came through the line. “Liam, you’re scared now, aren’t you? Well, I’m telling you, it’s too late. Begging won’t help. You did this to Theo first.” I couldn’t hold it back any longer. I roared into the phone. “Evelyn, Chris is your son! Your own flesh and blood! Are you trying to destroy him?” She scoffed. “Don’t be so dramatic. It’s a hobby. Even if Chris does nothing with his life, it’s not like I can’t afford to feed and clothe him. But Theo is different. He doesn’t have a mother. That’s tragic enough.” “Anyway, I’m busy. I don’t have time for this. I suggest you behave yourself and stop pulling these little stunts.” This time, Evelyn had crossed my final line. I stared at the disconnected call, then walked into the bedroom. From the safe, I took out our marriage certificate, property deeds—every document that proved my relationship with Evelyn. I photographed them all. Evelyn, if I’m going down, I’m taking you with me. I was just about to upload the photos, to write the post exposing our relationship and outing Charlie as a homewrecker, when a call came from Chris’s teacher. “Hello, Chris’s dad? Something’s happened to Chris at school. Can you please come right away?” Her urgent voice made my heart pound in my chest. I scrambled downstairs, calling a car on my phone. In my haste, I missed a step and tumbled down the stairs. Ignoring the pain, I picked myself up and kept running. As I reached the office door, I heard Chris’s language arts teacher. “Principal, we can put off talking to the parents for a moment. The priority is to get the child to a hospital.” What happened? Who’s hurt? I was about to push the door open when Charlie’s sharp voice cut through. “Ma’am, I know you’re worried about the child’s injury. But if you take him without a parent present, and something happens on the way, can you bear that responsibility?” “I’ve already told you, his mother is on her way. I’ll pay whatever compensation they ask for. But if you take him now and his injuries get worse, I’m not going to be the one footing the bill for your mistake.” “You—” The teacher was speechless with anger. I listened, frowning, my gut telling me Theo and Chris had gotten into another fight. But nothing could have prepared me for what I saw when I opened the door. Chris was slumped in his teacher’s arms, his face and lips ashen white. His hands were covered in blood, which dripped steadily onto the floor. He was shivering, as if chilled to the bone. “Chris! How did you get hurt so badly?” I rushed to his side, my hands hovering, afraid to touch him and cause more pain. When Chris saw me, his eyes instantly filled with tears. The dam of his composure finally broke, and he let out a heart-wrenching sob. “Daddy, it hurts so much.” His teacher visibly relaxed and handed him over to me. “Chris’s dad, hurry, take him to the hospital. He’s been like this for almost an hour.” I took my son from her arms, mumbled a “thank you,” and turned to leave. But Charlie blocked my path. “Liam, I’m so sorry. Theo was just trying to play a joke on Chris, he never thought it would go this far. But don’t worry, we’ll compensate Chris for everything. Theo’s mother is on her way. She’s got money. You can ask for whatever you want.” I didn’t have the energy to figure out who the “mother” he was talking about was. All I wanted was to get Chris to a hospital. I shoved him aside without a second thought. “Get out of my way!” Charlie stumbled back, hitting his back against a desk with a pained grunt. Seeing this, Theo snatched a ruler from a teacher’s desk and swung it down hard on Chris’s injured hand. “Bastard! You hit my dad, I’ll kill your son!” Chris screamed, a raw cry of agony. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead.

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1 When I gave up my spot as the team’s main carry for her old flame, my girlfriend, Adeline, saw how compliant I was. My reward? She moved our wedding date forward. But there, at the altar, her old flame held a dagger to his own skin, his eyes wild with jealousy. “Addie, I’m begging you, don’t marry him!” My fiancée, normally so cool and composed, completely lost her composure. She turned to me, her voice trembling as she pleaded with me to save Adam’s life. Every guest in the hall was staring, savoring my humiliation. But I didn’t raise my voice, didn’t cause a scene. I simply ceded my place as the groom. Seeing me so accommodating, just like always, her eyes welled up. “I promise, this is the last time I’ll put you through this,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “As soon as the wedding is over, we’ll go get our marriage license.” She’d forgotten. This was the 96th time she had hurt me. And I had no intention of continuing this life with her. I was just waiting for the last three promises to be fulfilled. Once the debt for her saving my grandmother’s life was paid, I would walk away and never look back. “He just stepped down, just like that. Pathetic.” “What else could he do? He was always just Adam’s stand-in. Now things are just going back to the way they should be.” “Look at them. They’re the ones who are truly meant for each other.” I followed their gaze to the stage. Adeline and Adam stood side-by-side, their fingers intertwined. A perfect couple, a match made in heaven. But the ceremony didn’t begin. Instead, staff members began to walk onto the stage, replacing the placards and signs. They even handed out new invitations to every guest. I received one, too. I opened it. The bride’s name was still Adeline. But the groom’s name had been changed to Adam. Adeline saw it all. She knew Adam’s little suicide attempt was just a dramatic play for attention, yet she still shot him a look of fond exasperation. “Adam, you’re being so childish. Don’t you ever do that again. What if you’d actually gotten hurt?” Her world revolved around whether or not he might get hurt. She’d completely forgotten that this wedding, this day, was supposed to be my reward for sacrificing my entire career. She had no idea that marrying her was the one wish I wrote down every single year on my birthday, a wish sealed in a glass bottle, a wish I never dared to show her. Only when every trace of me had been scrubbed from the venue did the ceremony finally begin. But when it came time to exchange the rings, Adam hesitated. After Adeline prompted him several times, he finally spoke, his voice meek and hesitant. “I’ve been sick for so many years… I don’t have many friends left. I was hoping… I was hoping Captain Liam could be my best man. But I was afraid to ask, afraid it would be rude.” Every eye in the room turned to me. I looked at Adeline. My wedding had been stolen from me. I was already the butt of every joke, the subject of every gossiping whisper. Would she really have the heart to make me stand on that stage and watch her marry another man? Seeing the once-bright young man she’d loved now so timid and careful, Adeline’s eyes softened. She looked at me, her gaze filled with a silent plea. “Liam… you already gave up the wedding. Being the best man… you wouldn’t refuse that, would you?” I’d almost forgotten. Adam had faked his own death and disappeared at the peak of their love affair. Adeline had only chosen me, his look-alike, because she could never forget him. And now, her long-lost love had returned. How could I have been so foolish as to imagine she might still hold a shred of affection for me? I swallowed the bitter taste in my mouth. “Does this count as one of the things I do for you?” I asked. Adeline’s brow furrowed in annoyance, as if she were trying to recall something important but couldn’t quite grasp it. She was about to ask, but seeing Adam looking on the verge of tears, she gave up. “Yes,” she said. “It counts.” I nodded. “Fine. I’ll do it.” A long time ago, my grandmother, the only family I had left, was dying. Adeline had descended like an angel, hiring the world’s top doctors, arranging the most expensive private room. Because of her, my grandmother got one more year of life, a year she lived happily before passing away in peace. On the day she died, I asked Adeline how I could ever repay such a debt. Her gaze had lingered on my face. “Just stay by my side. That’s enough.” I knew then she was looking through me, at someone else. “There has to be a time limit, Ms. Croft.” “Call me Adeline,” she’d corrected, pushing down the sorrow in her eyes. “A time limit? Then let’s say… you do ninety-nine things for me, no questions asked. Or, after I’ve hurt you ninety-nine times. Then the debt will be paid.” She’d forgotten all of that. But it didn’t matter anymore. This was number 97. Only two more to go, and she and I would be even. I took a deep breath and started walking toward the stage. As I passed their wedding cake, a towering, multi-layered confection, I saw Adam flash a strange, cruel smile. I was still wondering what it meant when a powerful force shoved me from behind. My body pitched forward, out of control. I crashed into the cake trolley, sending it toppling over. The magnificent cake was flattened beneath me, and my knee slammed hard against the metal frame. A wave of searing pain shot through my leg. The guests gasped in unison. On the stage, Adam let out a theatrical sigh. “Captain, if you didn’t want to be the best man, you could have just said so. There was no need to fake a fall and ruin the cake I spent so much time planning.” The guests behind me had seen the whole thing, but they joined in the mockery anyway. “Captain Liam, stick to what you know. Don’t embarrass yourself with such a clumsy performance.” Adeline had started to move toward me, worried I was hurt, but hearing that, her expression hardened with disappointment. “Your clothes are ruined. Go change.” Adam looped his arm through hers. “It’s fine, Addie. I don’t mind little details like this. Let’s not delay the ceremony.” Adeline seemed about to say more, but seeing that I was already back on my feet and on the stage, she fell silent. I limped toward the center of the altar. Adeline noticed, a flicker of concern in her eyes. “What happened to your leg?” Beside her, Adam shrugged. “Poor form, Captain. If you wanted to fake an injury, you should have gone for your championship-winning hand. That would have gotten more of Addie’s sympathy.” He leaned in closer. “Try that next time.” A flash of anger crossed Adeline’s face. She wanted to reprimand him, but with so many people watching, she just lowered her voice to a hiss. “Cut it out with your petty games. Stop embarrassing yourself. We’ll talk about this when we get home.” I smiled, a bitter, hollow thing. The entire hall was filled with sycophants. When I was at the top of my game, they bowed and scraped before me. Now that Adam was the favored one, they were all terrified of him, desperate to distance themselves from me by kicking me while I was down. With them on his side, and with Adeline’s blatant favoritism, anything I said would be useless. Thankfully, Adam behaved for the rest of the ceremony. As the guests began to disperse, I prepared to leave as well. But Adam’s voice stopped me. “Captain, don’t be in such a hurry to leave. You know what happens on the wedding night. We’ll still be needing our best man.” My fists clenched instinctively. I looked at Adeline. She arched an eyebrow and, for once, actually scolded him. “That’s enough, Adam. Stop talking nonsense and go wait in the car.” After he’d gone, she turned to me. “Don’t listen to him. It’s just a get-together with some old friends tonight.” She glanced at my injured leg. “You’re hurt. I won’t take you with me. Go home and get some rest.” “We have a long life ahead of us,” she added, her voice softening slightly. “I’ll take you next time.” She turned and walked away. She had no idea. As soon as the debt was paid, I was leaving. There was no “next time” for us. There was no “us” anymore. 2 She arranged for a driver to take me home. When I rolled up my pant leg, my knee was already a swollen, dark purple bruise. As I was applying ointment, a delivery arrived—gifts from Adeline. One was a limited-edition collaboration watch. The other was the key to a brand-new Porsche. She had sent a note, specifying that the first was compensation for giving up my wedding, and the second was an apology for forcing me to be the best man. I carried them, my face a blank mask, to the collection room. There, I placed them into the glass display cases marked with the numbers 96 and 97. A maid, holding a tray, looked on with envy. “Ms. Croft’s gifts get more and more extravagant. She must truly love you to the bone.” I just smiled and said nothing. She didn’t know that these were not gifts of love. They were reparations. One for every time Adeline had hurt me. I looked at the wall of glass cases. Only two remained empty. I knew the day of my departure was coming soon. I went to my room to pack a few personal documents. I didn’t want to take a single thing she had given me. All I wanted was the one thing my grandmother had left for me. Even though I was the one marrying into her wealthy family, my grandmother had worried that Adeline would feel slighted. Without telling me, she had taken her own heirloom gold bracelet, her most precious possession, and had it melted down and crafted into a pair of earrings and a pair of wedding rings. The earrings and Adeline’s ring were Grandma’s gifts to her. All I wanted to take with me was my ring. A few days ago, Adeline had borrowed it from me for some reason. She must have forgotten to return it and tossed it into her jewelry box. But I searched through every drawer and compartment. The box was overflowing with glittering gems and precious metals, but my small, simple ring was nowhere to be found. Just as I was about to ask a maid, Adeline returned, with Adam in tow. She had brought me dinner. Not leftovers, but a meal prepared just for me, filled with all my favorite dishes. She was always so meticulous about these small things, gestures that had once fooled me into thinking she might actually love me. I ignored the food. “Where’s my ring?” Adam spoke first, holding up his hand to show me a heavy gold signet ring. “Captain, you mean the wedding ring, right? I saw how Addie never takes her gold ring off, so I got curious and borrowed the other one from her to play with.” He smiled, a disarmingly charming expression. “I’ve already had them both melted down to make this signet ring. I’m so sorry, I acted on my own and didn’t tell you. How much was it? I’ll pay you for it.” A sharp pain lanced through my chest. “Adeline,” I choked out, “that was our wedding ring!” Adeline paused. She picked up her chopsticks, selected a piece of my favorite dish, and held it to my lips. “Try this. It’s just a formality, Liam. If you want a new ring, I’ll buy you any one you want.” She had forgotten. It was the last piece of my grandmother I had left. It was irreplaceable. I turned my head away from the food. “No, thank you,” I said, my voice cold. “I don’t need one.” Adam’s face crumpled, his voice thick with emotion as he slipped the signet ring off his finger. “Captain, it’s all my fault. I had a sudden episode… I just had to have the rings melted down. Please, don’t blame Addie.” He looked ready to weep. “If I’ve damaged your relationship, I… I might as well just die.” But Adeline wasn’t short on money. Adam knew how important that ring was to me. He had done this on purpose. And yet, Adeline was completely blind to his manipulations. She had been about to apologize to me, but the sight of Adam’s emotional breakdown made her slam her chopsticks down on the table. She rushed to his side, her voice soothing. “It’s just a pair of stupid rings. I was worried that making them into a signet ring for you wasn’t good enough. You have nothing to apologize for.” Adam pointed a trembling finger at my retreating back. “But… what about the Captain?” “Don’t worry,” I heard her say as I walked up the stairs. “I’ll make it up to him.” I closed my bedroom door behind me, shutting out their voices. My parents died when I was young. My grandmother raised me. And now, I couldn’t even protect the last memento she had left me. Perhaps this was her way of telling me, from beyond the grave, that this twisted love affair had to end. I pulled a folded piece of paper from a notebook. It was covered in a grid of numbers. At the end of the list, I wrote down the number 98. I didn’t hear her approach. Adeline had entered the room without a sound. Before I could hide it, she snatched the paper from my hand. She stared at it, her brow furrowing deeply, a profound sense of unease rising within her. “What is this? What are you writing?” 3 I quickly snatched the paper back. “It’s nothing. Just doodling.” My unusually defensive reaction surprised her. Then, a memory seemed to surface. “You’re still thinking about that, aren’t you? That time we tried to win that stuffed animal and failed like twenty times.” She was talking about a day we’d spent at a street fair. She’d taken a sudden liking to a doll at a game booth. The challenge was to write the numbers 1 to 100 without a single mistake. I tried over and over, but I could never manage it. We left empty-handed. Since she had misunderstood, I saw no reason to correct her. I just nodded vaguely. The memory of that rare, happy moment brought a smile to her glacial face. “It was just a doll, Liam. It’s not like I can’t afford to buy one. Don’t take it so seriously. Now, come and see the gift I got for you.” She snapped her fingers. A moment later, several men entered, carrying a massive, solid gold trophy. “Liam,” she said, her voice soft, “may you win another championship next season.” She paused. “I’m sorry about the ring. Think of this trophy as my apology.” Everyone in the room stared at the trophy with wide, envious eyes. My reaction was flat. “Put it in the collection room.” Adeline looked taken aback by my lack of enthusiasm. “Isn’t this what you want? All of this?” She gestured around the opulent room. “This trophy is worth enough to buy a mansion. Why aren’t you happy?” I looked up at her, a wave of disappointment washing over me. So that’s what she thought. That I was only with her for her money. No wonder her gifts had become more and more extravagant. If she had paid even the slightest bit of attention, she would have realized that I had never used, worn, or touched a single thing she had given me. Some people might love a life of gilded luxury. All I ever wanted was to be with the person I loved. Adeline waited, but I gave her no satisfactory answer. Finally, she stomped her foot in frustration and stormed out, taking Adam with her. They didn’t come home all night. All through the night, Adam sent me a relentless stream of photos and videos, flaunting their time together, taunting me. I put my phone on silent and slept soundly. The next morning, Adeline sent me a single, cold message with an address, summoning me. She hadn’t come home, and I, for the first time, hadn’t gone looking for her. She must have been furious. I knew this was a trap, but I also knew it was the last time. After this, I would finally be free. I didn’t hesitate. I called a cab and went. The location she’d chosen was desolate and remote, far from the noise of the city. When I arrived, she was nowhere in sight. I was about to call her when Adam appeared, flanked by a group of men in black suits. “Don’t bother looking,” he said with a smirk. “I’m the one who asked you here.” I raised an eyebrow, a bad feeling creeping over me. “What is this?” “It’s not just the main carry position,” he said, his voice dripping with venom. “I want the captain’s title, too.”

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1 I beat my wife, the woman who once loved me more than life itself, and sent her to the hospital. Then I walked into the police station and turned myself in. I did it because I remember my last life. I remember when her old flame, the one that got away, came back to town after his divorce. It started when he lost his mind in a Tiffany & Co., smashing display cases to pieces. It ended with him behind the wheel of a car, a blur of metal and fury, causing a catastrophic multi-car pile-up on the freeway. But it was the Tiffany’s manager and the victims of the crash who came for me. They pointed their fingers, their voices unwavering, and swore it was me. I fought to prove my innocence, but every security camera feed they produced showed my face. My own wife, Katie, insisted it was true, telling everyone my depression had finally pushed me over the edge. They didn’t wait for a trial. The family of a victim cornered me, and a blade in my gut was the final verdict. When I opened my eyes again, I was back. The day before he, Ethan, was set to destroy everything. … This time, I was the one who left Katie, battered and bruised, at the doors of the emergency room. My cold, impatient demeanor, coupled with the constellation of injuries covering her body, screamed a story far more violent than a simple fall. Two officers walked in. “Who called this in?” I immediately held my hands out to them, wrists together. “I did, Officer. I’m here to turn myself in. The woman I assaulted is in the ER right now.” The officer shot me a bewildered look. After a quick confirmation with a nurse, they cuffed me and led me away. The first thing Katie did after being discharged from the emergency room was try to post my bail. “I really just fell,” she pleaded with the police. “It has nothing to do with my husband.” I squared my jaw. “It wasn’t me? Then how did you ‘fall’ into a pattern of whip marks across your back?” Katie’s eyes blazed with a desperate, furious light. “Steve, you’re insane! I’m trying to save you!” But I was a stone wall. “I did something wrong. I deserve to be punished. It’s that simple.” She was trembling with rage, but no matter how she argued or begged, I stuck to my story: it was a deliberate, vicious assault. Given that I’d turned myself in and was so cooperative, the police decided to hold me for five days. Katie had no choice but to be wheeled back to her hospital room. And there, in the sterile silence of a holding cell, a profound peace washed over me. This time, I thought, none of it can touch me. In my last life, the moment Ethan returned to this city, he didn’t just reappear; he ripped the heart right out of my marriage. Katie was gone, pulled back into his orbit, leaving me to face my nights alone. I remember lying in a seedy clinic, enduring some quack’s electroshock “treatment” for a depression I never had. The pain was excruciating. Then my phone rang. It was Katie. “Ethan’s been drinking,” she’d said, her voice rushed. “I have to go get him. I’ll be back for you in a bit.” She left without even bothering to turn off the machine. She was gone for the entire day. I was left there, strapped down, convulsing, my screams echoing in an empty room. It took two full days at home just to regain enough strength to stand. I was about to confront her, to demand an explanation, when the news broke. Ethan had trashed the Tiffany’s downtown. Then, he’d taken his car onto the freeway, hitting 120 mph, and slammed into a chain of twenty cars. I had tried to be the good guy. I’d urged him to turn himself in, told him we could sell our assets, the car, the house, to compensate the victims. Ethan had just sneered at me. “Steve, you’re the one who caused a hit-and-run. You’re the one who smashed up a jewelry store. Why should I sell my things for your mess?” Then Katie had produced the divorce papers I’d been tricked into signing weeks before. “We’re already divorced, Steve,” she’d said, her voice devoid of any emotion. “You’re on your own. The house, the cars, they were always mine. Don’t even think about touching them.” I was lost. It was Ethan who had committed the crimes, so why was I the one being forced to pay? But then the store manager, the accident victims—they all descended on me, demanding blood. They even had the surveillance footage. And on every screen, clear as day, was my face. 2 “The evidence is right here, Steve. Are you still going to deny it? Pay up!” “A twenty-car pile-up! You couldn’t pay for this with your life!” I stared at the screen, at my own face, a phantom committing crimes I never did. My mind was a tangled mess. How could this be? But this life would be different. I would not walk that path again. Five days later, I was released. I hadn’t even taken my first breath of fresh air when a hand clamped down on my arm, hard. “You’re the bastard who put my wife in the hospital!” a man roared, his face contorted with rage. “I’m going to kill you!” He lunged, grabbing for my collar. I sidestepped, my reflexes sharp. Suddenly, I was surrounded. A crowd had materialized out of nowhere, their faces twisted with malice, their eyes hungry for a scapegoat. “Steve, you goddamn murderer!” “He’s faking it! The depression, all of it! He smashes up stores, drives like a maniac—he’s a menace!” The mention of “120 mph” caught the attention of passersby. Phones came out, screens lit up. Someone was live-streaming. Faced with the snarling mob, I clenched my fists. Even after locking myself away, they still wouldn’t let me go. I took a breath and steadied myself. “You have no idea what you’re talking about,” I projected, my voice loud and clear. “These are baseless accusations.” The guy with the live-stream sneered and held out another phone, a video playing on its screen. “Who’s accusing you? See for yourself.” The video showed me walking into Tiffany’s with my mother. After a brief, tense argument, my face twisted into a mask of rage. I hurled my phone, shattering a glass counter. My mother was there, grabbing at my arm, her voice shrill. “Steve, stop! Stop it! We can’t afford this!” But the me on the screen was unmoved. I shoved her away, sending her sprawling to the floor. My mother, lying on the polished marble, clutched her chest and screamed to the onlookers, “That’s my son, Steve! He has depression! He can’t control himself!” A cold dread washed over me, heavier than any I’d felt before. In my last life, it was Katie who stood outside Tiffany’s, screaming that I was mentally ill. But this time, the very first thing I did was put Katie in the hospital and myself in a jail cell for five days. And the person screaming my name, branding me with the scarlet letter of insanity, was my own mother. How? How could this be happening again? “Nothing to say now, huh?” the man spat. The Tiffany’s story was already a viral sensation. Now, with the “culprit” found, the live-stream exploded, rocketing to the top of the trending charts. I stood there, my expression frozen, my eyes locked on the face in the video—my face. The store manager shoved a crumpled receipt into my chest, his own chest heaving with fury. “You smashed three of my counters! The jewelry inside is all damaged to some degree. The total is five million dollars.” He was almost choking on his words. “Some of those pieces were one-of-a-kind. And now they’re gone. Because of you.” A man whose car was part of the pile-up stepped forward, his face a mask of fury. “My wife is three months pregnant! Your little joyride scared her so badly she’s in the hospital right now, fighting to keep our baby. And you had the nerve to flee the scene. You’re coming with me to the station, right now.” He grabbed my arm, trying to drag me away. “Yeah! People like you should get the death penalty!” someone yelled. The cry was taken up by the crowd, their anger a single, unified roar. I fought to break free, shouting over the noise, “Everyone, just calm down! It wasn’t me who did these things!” The manager scoffed. “Your own mother was shouting your name in my store. How could it not be you?” “The person who did this was Ethan!” I explained desperately. “He’s my wife’s old flame. Go ask her! He’s the one who trashed the jewelry store and drove like a maniac!” Just as I was trying to make them understand, a sharp, stinging pain exploded across my cheek. Katie. She had appeared from nowhere, and her hand had connected with my face in a vicious slap. 3 “You’re still trying to frame Ethan?” she hissed, her voice dripping with venom. “You’ll never change.” She grabbed the back of my head, trying to force me to my knees. “You’ve done enough damage. Now apologize to them!” I wrenched myself free. “It wasn’t me! Why should I apologize for something I didn’t do?” From behind her, Ethan peeked out, his face a perfect picture of wounded innocence. “Steve, how could you become like this?” he murmured, his voice laced with sorrow. “Katie is so good to you, and you put her in the hospital. Even now, she’s just worried about you, trying to get you a lighter sentence by having you apologize.” Ethan’s words were like gasoline on the fire of the crowd’s anger. Their glares intensified, thick with contempt. The live-stream chat filled with a torrent of abuse, and within minutes, someone had doxxed me, posting my home address for the world to see. I stared at Ethan. “I said it wasn’t me. Why are you so defensive?” Katie raised her hand to slap me again, but this time I caught her wrist. “I told you,” I said, my voice low and cold, “Ethan did this. What are you trying to do? Beat a confession out of me?” Seeing the attention shift back to him, Ethan cried out, “Steve, how can you accuse me like this? Yes, I know Katie and I were close once, but that was just a childhood friendship! To avoid any misunderstanding, I even moved to another city! I’ve put up with your paranoia for years, not because I’m afraid of you, but because I didn’t want to make your condition worse. Steve… it’s time to face reality.” His saccharine-sweet, manipulative performance was a masterpiece. The crowd ate it up. 【This guy’s sickness is his own damn fault. Paranoid, sees rivals everywhere.】 【The dude tries to help him and he just attacks him. What a psycho.】 【I bet his kid won’t be a child model lmao.】 The chat was a cesspool of mockery. Katie’s face flushed with anger. She kicked the back of my knee. “Apologize. Now.” Just then, my mother pushed her way through the crowd. She looked at me, her eyes filled not with maternal love, but with profound disappointment. “Steve,” she said, her voice heavy. “Go turn yourself in.” “We went to Tiffany’s together yesterday. The others might not know, but I’m your mother. How could I not know what you did?” Katie held my leg down. The crowd spat insults. Someone threw a rotten egg. It shattered against my skull, cold, stinking yolk slithering down my forehead. The commotion finally drew the attention of the police. “Stop! Everybody back off!” An officer pushed through, creating a barrier between me and the mob. He saw me and froze for a second, then his expression hardened. “Steve? You’re not even home yet and you’re already causing trouble?” Seeing him was like finding a life raft in a storm. I grabbed his arm. “Officer, thank God you’re here. You have to help me.” The man whose wife was in the hospital snorted. “Why would a cop help a piece of trash like you?” Katie sighed dramatically. “Steve, just confess. You might get a lighter sentence.” The officer looked at the chaotic scene, a frown creasing his brow as he finally pieced things together. “You’ve been out for ten minutes. What could you have possibly done now?” Ignoring the shocked faces around me, I began to speak, my voice steady. “They’re all saying I smashed up Tiffany’s yesterday. A luxury store I can’t even afford to walk into. They’re saying I was doing 120 on the freeway. And they all came straight here, demanding justice from me.” The officer’s face went blank. “How is that possible?” As the crowd exchanged confused glances, Katie shrieked, “Steve! What did you do to get the police on your side too? You caused millions in damages, you wrecked all those cars, people were hurt! How dare this officer cover for you!” 4 Her accusation was all it took. The live-streamer’s phone was instantly shoved in the officer’s face. The comments section flooded with theories of bribery and corruption. The officer’s face darkened as he saw the screen. “What the hell are you people talking about? Steve has been in police custody, in a holding cell, for the past five days. How could he possibly be the one who did all this?” A stunned silence fell over the crowd. The live-stream chat froze for a beat before erupting with even more frantic energy. 【Wait, so Steve was in jail for 5 days… but the guy who trashed Tiffany’s and caused the pile-up YESTERDAY… was also Steve?】 【Impossible. Unless Steve can teleport.】 The victims who had come for my blood now looked hesitant. I stood up straight, my voice ringing with sincerity. “Everyone, I don’t know why my face is on that surveillance video, but I can promise you, at the time of these incidents, I was in a cell, trying to be a better person. I never left.” A user in the live-stream chat suggested the video might be a deepfake. The Tiffany’s manager was the first to shoot that down. “No way. That’s from my store’s internal security system.” To get to the bottom of it, the officer called in a forensics team to analyze the footage. The result was baffling: the videos were authentic, unaltered. And the face in them was undeniably mine. The crowd erupted in confused chatter. Katie, her face a mask of feigned concern, her eyes darting nervously, suddenly had a flash of inspiration. “That is Steve. I’ve slept next to him for years, I know his face. He must have snuck out!” she declared. “He has depression! He probably faked being sick in jail so they’d take him to the hospital, and then he escaped from there!” Ethan gasped, playing his part perfectly. “That must be it! Steve used to do that all the time, use his ‘depression’ as an excuse to get to the hospital and then just sneak out!” He turned to the police. “Officer, the evidence is overwhelming! You have to arrest him!” His words were the spark that reignited the mob’s fury. They surged forward, their voices a unified chant: “Arrest him! Arrest him!” The officer’s face was grim. “During his time in custody, Steve was never taken to the hospital.” But just as he said it, another officer approached, his expression troubled. “Actually, sir… Steve did complain of feeling unwell yesterday. We were worried about his condition, so we did take him to the hospital for a check-up.” The words hung in the air like a death sentence. Ethan’s face lit up with triumph. “You see, Officer? I was right! Arrest him! He deserves life in prison for this!” Now, even the cops were looking at me with suspicion. I turned to them, my voice pleading. “Officers, you have to clear my name. I was brought in five days ago. Even when I was at the hospital yesterday, you were with me the whole time.” The second officer looked down, his voice barely a whisper. “For the urology exam… I didn’t go in with you.” Ethan seized on it instantly. “That’s it! He slipped out during the exam! That hospital isn’t far from Tiffany’s!” he shouted. “Confess, Steve, and maybe they’ll show you some mercy!” He put on a show of heartfelt concern, a performance that had the live-stream viewers praising his magnanimity. How could he be so forgiving to the man who had wronged him so? The crowd grew louder, more aggressive. They closed in, shoving, pushing. Hands grabbed at my clothes, my arms. I was a ship tossed in a storm, my face stinging from a fresh scratch. But as I was buffeted back and forth, a slow smile spread across my lips. Not because I had lost my mind. But because I knew Ethan would never let this go easily. And this time, I had come prepared. “STOP! I can prove Steve didn’t do any of this!” The voice cut through the chaos like a razor. My smile widened. The person I was waiting for had finally arrived.

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My mother despised women. Even me, her own daughter. From the moment I was born, she seemed to wish me dead. I’d get beaten for wearing lipstick, for wearing a dress, and especially for getting too close to my father. Just before my college entrance exams, my misogynistic mother spread a vicious rumor at my school, claiming I was seducing my own father. She pushed me until I jumped from the fifteenth floor. And my mother, she was satisfied with that result. 1 In the hospital, the doctor joyfully took me from the neonatal specialist and announced to my mother: “It’s a girl! Her skin is so fair and bright, she’ll be a real beauty when she grows up!” At those words, my mother’s already pale face twisted. She lunged, grabbing the young female doctor by the hair and slapping her across the face, her voice a raw shriek that echoed down the hallway. “You bitch! Did you switch my son? I ate all those dried geckos! It was supposed to be a boy!” It took an older doctor and a paternity test to finally convince her. The moment she saw the report, she broke, her eyes fixed on me, filled with a venom that could kill. It was my aunt who, with quick thinking, called my father to de-escalate the situation. My mother never forgave my aunt for that phone call. When she was well enough, my father took her home. My aunt, worried, came to visit. From the hallway, she could hear my faint, weak cries. In the bedroom, my father was patiently feeding my mother a bowl of freshly cooked porridge. “David,” my mother pleaded, “swear to me. Swear you’ll only love me for the rest of your life. You can’t love her more just because she’s your daughter. You can’t hold her. You can’t kiss her.” A moment passed before my father quietly agreed. The warm glow of dusk filled the room, painting a scene of domestic harmony that sent a chill down my aunt’s spine. My father, to his credit, kept his word. In all my memories, we never once had any physical contact. But that wasn’t enough for my mother. When I was seven, I walked the three miles home from school only to be met with a stinging slap across the face. The reason? She had found a picture of me on my father’s phone. “Learning such trashy things at your age! Who taught you this?!” she screamed, jabbing the phone at my nose. I didn’t understand what she was talking about. I looked around the room, desperate for my father’s help. All I got was a brutal beating. After that, my picture never appeared on my father’s phone again. I’ll never forget the triumphant, possessive look on my mother’s face. When I was thirteen, for my father’s birthday, I snuck into his study early in the morning and left a gift on his desk—a sweater. It wasn’t expensive, but it had cost me more than half a year’s worth of allowance. That evening, I came home to find the light on in his study and my mother in the living room, a cold sneer on her face. The floor was littered with shredded fabric. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re trying to do, you little slut!” A rain of fists and feet fell upon me. I writhed on the floor in agony. The light in the study stayed on, but the door never opened. My mother often complained to the neighborhood gossips: “Such a misfortune! My own daughter is a little seductress, can’t even leave her own father alone!” Everywhere I went, I was followed by whispers. I grew used to it. Then, a new woman moved in upstairs. Mrs. Gable was kind, with a gentle voice and a warm heart. Whenever my mother kicked me out, she would bring me snacks. For me, she was one of the few rays of light in my life. But heaven didn’t let me keep that light for long. One day, I was waiting outside our apartment for my mother to finish her mahjong game. Mrs. Gable came downstairs and, after greeting me, noticed my chapped lips. She went back up and returned with a brand-new lip balm. I had never worn makeup before and didn’t realize it was a color-changing balm. I happily applied it, and then my mother returned. When she saw the rosy tint on my lips, her hand flew out and struck me across the face. 2 The blow sent me sprawling, my vision filled with stars. A front tooth, loosened by the force of the slap, wobbled in my mouth, the taste of rust spreading across my tongue. Her words were vile, so vile that neighbors poked their heads out to watch the spectacle, but no one intervened. In their eyes, I suppose, I really was the disgusting creature my mother claimed I was—a wretch trying to seduce her own father. Mrs. Gable heard the commotion and came downstairs. I didn’t want her to see me like this, broken and humiliated, or to hear the filthy rumors about me. I tried to shrink into the corner, to make myself invisible, but my mother dragged me out and shoved me in front of her. “Was it you? Did you give her this lip balm, you bitch?” “Are you trying to help her seduce my husband?” “You’re both disgusting!” I stumbled, my head bowed in shame. But Mrs. Gable stepped in front of me, shielding me with her body. I saw the pain and self-blame in her eyes. “I gave it to her,” she said, her voice firm. “She’s just a child. What harm could she possibly mean? How can you, as her mother, say such things about your own daughter?” She tried to reason with my mother, to make her see sense. But my mother was beyond reason. She shot me a cold, calculating look that made my blood run cold. She raised her hand, and Mrs. Gable stood her ground, probably not believing my mother would actually strike her. But I knew better. I had seen my mother attack countless women over the years. The thought of Mrs. Gable’s kind, gentle face being marred because of me made my whole body tremble. Before the slap could land, I lunged forward. It was the first time I had ever fought back. I only managed to cling to her arm, but it earned me an even more ferocious beating. In the chaos, my forehead slammed against a rusty railing. Blood gushed from the wound. The neighbors, startled, slammed their doors shut. My mother didn’t stop. She shoved Mrs. Gable to the ground. My vision blurred. I could hear my father’s footsteps coming up the stairs, home from work. I tried to scream for help, but my voice was a strangled whisper. Then our apartment door slammed shut, without a moment’s hesitation. Through it all, Mrs. Gable pleaded for me, her initial anger giving way to desperate bargaining. “I’ll leave! I’ll move out in a few days, I’ll never show my face here again! Just please, let the child go!” I managed to lift my head and saw that her face was streaked with tears. My mother, whether she had agreed to Mrs. Gable’s terms or was simply tired, finally stopped. She tossed me aside like a piece of trash and went inside. I never saw Mrs. Gable again. Before she left, she gave me a few things. I hid them away, too precious to use. Even with Mrs. Gable gone, my mother’s hatred for me didn’t wane. With every year I grew older, her loathing deepened. Lately, a new, calculating look had entered her eyes when she looked at me. It was as if I wasn’t her daughter, but a rival for her husband’s affection. Her stare made my skin crawl, but I found solace at school. Over the years, no matter how many times I had thought of giving up, the sight of my best friend, Tina, always gave me a reason to keep going. It was as if all the suffering I had endured was just to meet an angel like her. Tina didn’t know about my home life. But whenever she saw the bruises on my face, she would give me a hug. “It’s okay. It doesn’t hurt anymore.” One sentence, one hug—that was the source of all my strength. My homeroom teacher also valued me for my diligence and good grades. I held onto Mrs. Gable’s final words to me—”study hard”—like a lifeline. I believed that if I just studied hard enough, one day I could escape that hell, escape that monster of a mother. Then, when I was eighteen, a senior in high school, my teacher patted my shoulder, a proud smile on his face. “Excellent work. Keep this up, and you’ll have no problem getting into the local state university.” My mock exam scores came back. I was still in the top ten of my grade. My teacher was thrilled. He treated me and a few other top students to a meal at the cafeteria’s second-floor diner. Afterward, I lagged behind the group. I was so happy I could have screamed, but years of repression had stolen my ability to smile. The thought that in just twenty more days I would be free brought tears to my eyes. “Amanda,” my teacher’s voice was gentle. He must have noticed my emotions. “Don’t put too much pressure on yourself. You have a long road ahead of you.” Just then, Tina ran up, waving. “Amanda! Let’s walk home together!” Seeing her, so vibrant and full of life, a tiny seed of hope sprouted in my heart. Maybe, just maybe, if I could get through this, I could be like her. A bright future, an open road. That night, I came home to find my mother sitting in the living room. The familiar scene made my heart leap into my throat. I tried to hurry to my room, but she grabbed me by the hair from behind. 3 I hit the floor hard, the backpack digging into my spine. My mother kicked me a few times, then stalked over to the coffee table, muttering curses under her breath. “If it wasn’t for the junk collector, I never would have known! You little bitch, hoarding this trash!” “Skirts! Lipstick! Stealing money from the family to buy this garbage at your age!” “You’re trying to steal my husband!” She grabbed the items one by one and hurled them at me. The lip balm and snacks from Mrs. Gable, and a small dress. The food was long expired, but I had treasured it. Now it was scattered across the floor. I curled into a ball, trying to protect myself, clutching the dress that smelled of mildew from being hidden away for so long. Just hold on a little longer. It’ll be over soon. The pain was a dull, familiar ache. Hope was so close. I just had to endure. I kept telling myself that. But then came the parent-teacher conference. It was just a few days before the final exams. I didn’t think much of it; they never came to these things. I used to dream of it, but I had long since gotten used to their absence. I just thought of it as a day off. The next day, my mother wasn’t home. She seemed to have left early. For some reason, my heart was pounding. It wasn’t until I saw her downstairs that afternoon, humming as she played mahjong, that I finally relaxed. I had already contacted my old summer job boss. He’d agreed to take me on again, even providing a dorm room. The summer’s wages would be enough to cover my first year of tuition. I was so lost in my happy plans for the future that I didn’t notice the strange looks my classmates were giving me. Looks of glee, of disgust. It was Tina, abruptly pulling her hand away from mine, that brought me back to reality. “What’s wrong, Tina?” I asked, my voice trembling as I saw the strange expression on her face. “My mom said…” Tina stammered, unable to form a complete sentence, but the distance in her eyes was something I had never seen before. A boy nearby finished her sentence for her. “She said you’re a slut who’d even screw her own father!” A roar of laughter filled the classroom. The topic was clearly a hit. The room, which had been emptying out, was suddenly full and buzzing with excitement. “Wow, Amanda, I never knew you were such a freak.” “You put on a good act, don’t you? After exams, want to try it with us? We’re definitely better than your dad!” I saw the cruel delight in their eyes. The words hit me, and the color drained from my face. I grabbed whatever I could and threw it at them. They dodged easily, their taunts relentless. “Whoa, watch out! The whore is throwing a tantrum!” In that moment, all the blood rushed to my head. I wanted to kill them. It was my teacher who stopped me. I followed him to his office in a daze, my body shaking uncontrollably. But this time, he didn’t pat my shoulder. His eyes were filled with a mixture of pity and hesitation. “Amanda,” he began, “your mother told me everything. Maybe you’re still young, you don’t understand what love is…” My mind went blank. I suddenly understood why my mother, who always spent her afternoons playing cards, had been sitting right on my path home, humming a tune. A chilling coldness spread from the pit of my stomach. I turned and walked out of the office without a word. I buried my face in my collar, as if that could shield me from the world. The next few days were a living hell. Tina started deliberately ignoring me, finding other girls to walk home and eat with. The boys who collected homework would intentionally hold theirs back, and when the teacher asked, they would stand up and shout for the whole class to hear: “I don’t want to touch it. She’s dirty!” My teacher, at a loss, had someone else take over my duties. But that person would “accidentally” miss my homework too, and then giggle and repeat the same line. Suddenly, I had no one to turn to. The weight of it all was crushing me, suffocating me. That night, I went home and saw the triumphant smile on my mother’s face. And I knew. This was the result she had wanted all along. 4 The noisy crowd below pulled my attention back. A sea of young, vibrant faces stared up at me. The words of those boys from my class echoed in my ears. “What, you can’t take it anymore?” My notes from three years of high school, the culmination of all my hard work, were gone. When I finally found them, they were soaking in a bucket of filthy water, ruined beyond recognition. I heard a group of boys snickering behind me. In that moment, a profound weariness washed over me. Even breathing felt like a struggle. All I ever wanted was to live. Why was it so hard? “If you can’t take it, just die. A person like you doesn’t deserve to be alive anyway.” The boy’s words were poison. I ignored them and tried to walk away. But one of them grabbed my arm, telling me to “play” with him. In a panic, I scrambled up to the rooftop. My only intention was to escape their harassment. But I had forgotten it was the busiest time of day at school. Students, finished with lunch, were heading back to their classrooms, and they all looked up and saw me. I don’t know what my mother told them that day, but I can imagine the school was flooded with vicious rumors about me. Not a single person looking up at me had sympathy in their eyes. Only a morbid curiosity. “Is that the really smart girl from Class One? I heard she’s promiscuous, sleeps with a lot of guys.” “Her own mother said it. How could it be fake?” “She asked me to get a room with her a few days ago. I turned her down!” “I heard she’s good, though.” “What do you know? She’s dirty!” The rumors were a snowball, growing bigger and bigger, until they had crushed me. A victim’s explanation is always so weak, so powerless. Someone from the crowd below shouted for me to jump, that a twisted, immoral person like me didn’t deserve to live in this world. I stared at that stranger’s face for a long time. Then, amidst a chorus of screams, I jumped. I hit the ground hard. Blood splattered everywhere. The crowd scattered in terror, but their clothes were already stained with my blood. Not a single one of them was innocent.

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1 The most explosive scandal of the year at Kingston University wasn’t about grades or cheating—it was an intimate video of Joy’s first time, leaked to the entire campus network. The video was filmed in the presidential suite of a five-star hotel. Joy, completely bare, was pressed against a floor-to-ceiling window by a man who towered over her, a breathless rhythm that echoed against the glass. When it was over, the man leaned in, his lips brushing her ear as he whispered, “Such a good girl.” Two simple words, yet they detonated like a bomb in the campus group chats. 【That voice… is that Shane Sterling?】 【Damn, Joy really plays her cards right. She actually managed to snag a member of the university’s board of directors! No wonder all her bullies suddenly vanished.】 【I always thought Joy was this innocent little thing. Turns out she’s a scheming social climber. What do you expect from the other woman’s daughter?】 The rumors reached Joy while she was in her dorm room, knitting a scarf for Shane. Her roommate blasted the video’s audio, a smirk plastered on her face as she passed her phone around. “Wow, Joy,” she drawled, “you sound like a pro. Guess you get a lot of practice, huh?” A wave of cruel laughter washed over the room. Joy froze, the color draining from her face. The half-finished scarf slipped from her numb fingers as she bolted from the room. She ran, stumbling, toward Shane’s office, desperate to ask him what was happening. But as she neared the door, she heard voices drifting from within, laced with mockery. “Shane, you really don’t pull your punches, man. You made sure to get her face crystal clear in that shot. She doesn’t even have a sliver of plausible deniability.” The words hit Joy like a physical blow. A chilling coldness seeped into her bones. “Well, she brought it on herself,” another voice chimed in. “You don’t mess with the woman Shane truly loves and get away with it. She deserved the payback.” “Still, props to our boy Shane. He had to spread those rumors about Joy’s mom being a homewrecker, then swoop in like a white knight to deal with her bullies, all while playing the part of the devoted lover. That’s some serious method acting.” “Speaking of which, when are you gonna drop the bomb on her, Shane? When that girl finds out the man she’s been obsessed with is actually her future brother-in-law, she’s gonna cry herself into a coma. Hahaha…” On the sofa, Shane Sterling sat in a cloud of smoke, the picture of lazy indifference. He tapped his cigarette on the edge of an ashtray, his expression unreadable. One of his friends noticed his silence. “What, getting soft on her? Don’t forget how she schemed to get your precious Sierra exiled abroad for two whole years. She made Sierra’s life a living hell over there, barely enough to eat. You can’t let her off that easy.” At the mention of Sierra’s name, Shane finally stirred. He stubbed out his cigarette. “I’ll wait for Sierra to come back,” he said, his voice a low, gravelly murmur. “Her return coincides with the anniversary Joy’s been looking forward to. I’ll give her a ‘surprise’ she’ll never forget. It’s time she paid back every last thing she owes Sierra.” Joy’s breath hitched. Through the haze of smoke, her eyes fixed on Shane’s handsome, cold face. A chasm ripped open in her chest, the pain so sharp it made her vision swim. So, he was the one who spread those vicious lies about her mother. He pursued her, protected her, all as part of a twisted game of revenge. The person he truly loved was her half-sister, Sierra. She couldn’t bear to hear another word. She turned and fled. She hadn’t made it more than a few steps before a group of girls blocked her path. “Well, well, if it isn’t the star of the show!” “Just came from the office, did you? Offering yourself up for another round?” Joy’s face was ashen. She tried to push past them, but they shoved her back and forth like a rag doll. Just then, Shane’s icy voice cut through the air from behind her. “You dare touch Joy right under my nose? Got a death wish?” Shane had emerged from his office, his tall, imposing figure striding toward them. The girls scattered like frightened birds. He reached Joy’s side, his fingers gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. He leaned down, his thumb stroking her cheek as their eyes met. “What did I tell you? If anyone gives you trouble, you use my name.” The familiar scent of tobacco filled her nostrils, so sharp it made her eyes burn. The man before her blurred with the countless memories of him protecting her, a dream that had become a nightmare. After her mother’s suicide, her father had rekindled his romance with his first love, leaving Joy in a life lonelier than any orphan’s. Then the rumors started—that her mother was a homewrecker, that Sierra was the true, legitimate daughter. As “the other woman’s daughter,” she became an easy target for bullies. It was Shane who had saved her. As a member of the university’s board, he had effortlessly created a sanctuary for her. Just last night, on his birthday, fueled by wine and desire, they had finally crossed that line. He had shed his usual elegant and noble demeanor, pressing her forcefully against the bare glass of the panoramic window, his gaze devouring her trembling body. In that moment, Joy had felt like a bird long lost at sea, finally finding its nest. She never imagined the nest was a trap, built on a foundation of lies and manipulation. Her mind reeled. By the time she snapped out of her daze, Shane was leading her out of the building and settling her into the passenger seat of his car. 2 As he always did, Shane leaned over to fasten her seatbelt. He noticed her red-rimmed eyes and softened his voice. “The video was an accident. I’ll have it taken care of. You’re not in a good state today. I’ll take you home to rest.” Joy pressed her lips together, his words from the office echoing in her mind. Tears she couldn’t control began to fall. Shane paused, his expression shifting slightly. He gently wiped a tear from her cheek, then seemed to remember something. “Wait here a second. I need to grab something.” The car door clicked shut. It was only then that Joy noticed Shane had left his phone behind. It sat in the console’s recess, and with a sense of dread, she picked it up. She typed in Sierra’s birthday. The phone unlocked. At the top of his messages, pinned, was Sierra’s name. In their most recent chat, Sierra had asked if he could break things off with Joy cleanly before she returned. Shane’s reply: She’s just a toy. We were never really together. Joy’s heart seized. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she scrolled up. For the two years Sierra was abroad, Shane had called her every single day, without fail, around 8 PM. This was the time he always told Joy he had a “board meeting” and couldn’t be disturbed. He also transferred a six-figure sum to Sierra’s account every month, no message attached, just cold, hard cash. Sierra, in return, was a master of affection, sending selfies for his approval. Shane would reply with cute pet emojis Joy had never seen him use, reminding her not to wear too little and to take care not to catch a cold. Staring at the screen, Joy finally understood. She had never known the real Shane. The tenderness he showed her was merely the tip of an iceberg, a pale reflection of the ocean of affection he reserved for Sierra. When Shane returned, he was holding a small box. Emergency contraception. He stroked her hair, his voice a gentle caress. “Last night was… rushed. I wasn’t careful enough. Take this, just in case.” Joy’s hands clenched around the box, her nails digging into the cardboard. She bit her lip so hard she could taste blood. If she hadn’t heard the truth with her own ears, she would still be naively believing he genuinely cared for her. Now, she was wide awake. When the car pulled up to her family’s villa, Shane leaned in for their customary farewell kiss. But Joy flinched away, fumbling to unbuckle her seatbelt. His eyes darkened. He wrapped an arm around her, trapping her against the seat. “Still upset about the video?” “…” “I didn’t record it, Joy. The hotel manager has already been fired.” He tilted her chin up, forcing her to look at him. “I never intended to hurt you, and I never will. Our anniversary is coming up. I’ll make it up to you then, I promise.” A lie disguised as kindness was a blade that cut deeper than the truth. Joy’s nose stung. She pushed him away. “I’m going inside.” She practically sprinted into the villa. But as she burst through the door, she collided with her father. His face was a thundercloud. Before she could speak, his hand swung through the air, and a sharp slap echoed in the foyer. “Joy, I really underestimated you. A relationship is one thing, but to film that kind of disgraceful video… you’ve brought nothing but shame on this family!” “No wonder those kids at your school target you. You’re so filthy yourself, you attract flies!” He finished his tirade by throwing a plane ticket at her feet. “I’ve booked you a flight for seven days from now. Get as far away from here as you can, and don’t ever come back!” Joy picked up the ticket, her fingers trembling. It felt like a verdict, a final sentence declaring her an outcast from the world. Her father was ashamed of her. He wanted her gone. Fine. She didn’t want to stay either. “I’ll go,” she said, her voice eerily calm. “And I’ll listen to you. I’ll never come back.” Her father blinked, as if he’d misheard. He’d tried to convince her to go abroad with Sierra for further studies before, but Joy had refused, admitting she was in a relationship with someone she loved more than anything. He’d expected her to refuse again. He hadn’t expected this quiet, immediate compliance. His anger subsided slightly. “Sierra is coming home this weekend,” he said, his tone still cold. “I’m hosting a welcome-home party for her. You will attend. The video is already out there. If you don’t show your face, you’ll just be confirming all the rumors.” Joy nodded. “I understand.” … Joy took three days off from the university. She spent them packing up every gift Shane had ever given her and listing them for sale online. Three days later, Sierra returned. Her father threw a lavish party at the city’s grandest hotel, inviting every influential figure in the business world. Including Shane. Joy hadn’t expected to see him there. She turned to leave, but he caught her wrist, pulling her into a deserted corridor. He pressed her against the wall, his hands caging her in, his hot breath fanning across her ear. “You haven’t been to class. You haven’t answered my messages. You didn’t even say a word about our anniversary.” “Joy,” he growled, “do you have any idea how worried I’ve been?” 3 His gaze bored into her, raw with frustration over her disappearance. Joy pressed her lips together, summoning the courage to meet his eyes. “Since when does Shane Sterling worry about an insignificant f*ck buddy?” Her sudden defiance, so different from her usual compliance, seemed to catch him off guard. A flicker of something dark crossed his face, a rebellious spark igniting in his eyes. He yanked her closer, his arm tightening around her waist like a steel band. “Fck buddy?” he snarled. “We were together for two years, and it happened once. You call that a fck buddy relationship?” Joy didn’t know what had gotten into him. He was leaning in, his lips about to crush hers, when a voice interrupted them. “Shane, there you are. Sierra’s been looking for you.” Shane’s brow furrowed. He released Joy, turning to his friend. “Got it. I’ll be right there.” Joy seized the opportunity, her voice a mask of surprise. “You know my sister?” “Know her?” Shane’s friend laughed, a look of pure mischief on his face. “Oh, their relationship is a lot more thrilling than you think. Joy, you’d better prepare to have your mind blown.” As the two men walked away, a flicker of scorn crossed Joy’s face. They thought she was still in the dark, planning to stage a grand humiliation for her tonight. They had no idea she had already pulled herself together, ready to sever all ties with Shane for good. Later that evening, in the middle of the bustling banquet, the lights suddenly died. A single spotlight shot to the stage, illuminating Shane, dapper in a tailored suit, with Sierra on his arm, radiant in a white couture gown. Joy’s father beamed, raising a hand to quiet the crowd. “Friends, I’ve invited you all here tonight for two reasons. First, to welcome my daughter Sierra home from her studies abroad. And second, to announce some wonderful news!” “The Sterlings and our family have been friends for generations. Years ago, we arranged a marriage between Sierra and young Shane. Now, seeing them so deeply in love, we are thrilled to announce that their engagement party will be held at the end of the month. We hope you will all join us to witness their happiness!” As her father finished, Shane’s friends all turned in unison to look at Joy, their faces alight with anticipation, waiting for her to break. But Joy simply stood there in the crowd, her expression a placid mask, as if the drama unfolding on stage had nothing to do with her. Shane frowned. In his script, Joy was supposed to have a complete meltdown upon learning the truth. But her composure was unsettling, almost unnatural. A strange unease coiled in his gut. Sierra, ever perceptive, sensed his shift in mood. “Shane, what’s wrong?” she whispered. He pulled his gaze away from Joy. “Nothing. Just lost in thought for a moment.” He knew Joy. He knew how deeply she felt for him. She couldn’t possibly be this unfazed. She had to be putting on a brave face. … Joy escaped to the restroom and splashed cold water on her face. Thinking back on her foolish infatuation with Shane, she felt like the world’s biggest idiot. No wonder he had only touched her once in two years. It wasn’t because he treasured her; it was because he found her repulsive. Her first time, something she had held so sacred, was nothing more than a weapon for him to use, a perfect tool for her public ruin. When she returned to the banquet hall, her father immediately called her over. “Joy, come and say hello to your brother-in-law.” She walked up to Shane, a perfectly polite smile gracing her lips. “Hello, brother-in-law.” At the words “brother-in-law,” Shane’s face tightened. Sierra, however, was oblivious, her smile radiant. “Joy! I just heard Shane is on the board at your university. What a coincidence! If you ever run into any trouble, you can just ask your brother-in-law for help. We’re all family now, after all.” Joy clenched her jaw. “I won’t be any trouble,” she said, each word a carefully carved stone. She didn’t look at Shane, but she could feel his gaze on her, sharp and cold as a winter wind, making her shiver. After a few more strained pleasantries, Joy tried to excuse herself. But Sierra looped an arm through hers, her voice cloyingly sweet. “Joy, it’s been so long. I have so much to tell you.” Without waiting for a reply, she dragged Joy into a private lounge. The moment the door clicked shut, Sierra’s smile vanished, replaced by a cold, venomous sneer. “Joy, I heard you slept with Shane. And that the video is everywhere. Did you really think you could use such a cheap trick to keep him?” “Let me tell you the truth. He doesn’t like you. In fact, he’s disgusted by you.” “The rumors about your mother being a homewrecker? I had him spread them. Him pursuing you? That was my idea, too. I wanted to watch you fall hopelessly in love with him, only to be destroyed by his own hand!” 4 “Why?” Joy whispered, the single word escaping her lips. “Why?” Sierra sneered. “Because you have no self-awareness! Your mother has been dead for years, yet you still cling to everything that belongs to the Joy family. That wealth, that status—it should have all been mine! You’re the daughter of a homewrecker. What right do you have to any of it?” Joy could endure anything, but she would not stand for her mother being insulted. She lunged forward, her voice a low hiss forced through gritted teeth. “My mother was not a homewrecker. When she married my father, she didn’t even know you and your mother existed. You’re the ones who drove her to her death!” Stunned by Joy’s defiance, Sierra raised her hand to strike. But just then, the lounge door was pushed open. Catching a glimpse of Shane in her peripheral vision, Sierra’s mind raced. In a flash of cunning, she snatched a handful of nutty pastries from the table and shoved them into her mouth. The next second, her body went limp. She collapsed to the floor, her voice a muffled, panicked cry. “Joy… why did you make me eat this? You know I’m allergic to nuts…” Shane rushed to Sierra’s side, shoving Joy out of the way. Joy stumbled backward, her back slamming hard against a glass coffee table. With a sickening crash, the cups on the table shattered. Shards of glass dug into her palms, drawing blood. Shane didn’t even spare her a glance. He knelt, scooping Sierra into his arms. “Sierra, are you okay?” Tears welled in Sierra’s eyes as she clutched his arm. “I just wanted to talk to her… I don’t know what I did to offend her, but she just suddenly forced me to eat those pastries…” “Look at me,” she choked out, “am I breaking out in hives?” Shane looked down. Sure enough, angry red welts were blooming across Sierra’s skin at an alarming rate. “What do I do? The party isn’t over, I can’t embarrass you. Makeup… I need makeup to cover it!” Shane grabbed her wrist, his voice firm. “This is no time for that! Come on, I’m taking you to the hospital.” He lifted Sierra into his arms. Before leaving, he shot Joy a look of pure, cold loathing. Joy pushed herself up, fighting through the searing pain. Blood dripped from her hands, staining the hem of her dress crimson. But she felt numb, as if falling into an abyss had robbed her of all sensation. She called a waiter for a first-aid kit and, with trembling hands, clumsily bandaged her wounds. Exhausted and drained, she dragged her heavy feet out of the lounge, intending to leave. But as she stepped into the corridor, shadows lunged from a nearby storage closet, dragging her inside. A rough hand clamped over her jaw, forcing her head back. A stream of concentrated chili water was poured down her throat. Joy’s eyes flew open in terror. Like Sierra, she had a severe allergy—hers was to chili peppers. This much could kill her. “Mmph… stop…” She struggled wildly, but her attackers were relentless, forcing cup after cup of the burning liquid into her. She choked and gagged, her body convulsing violently. Her wounded hands clawed helplessly at the floor, the sound a frantic, desperate scratching. Her tormentors, seeing her agony, only grew more vicious. “Sierra is the woman Shane treasures most. Did you really think you could touch her and get away with it?” “We heard you got bullied a lot at school. You must be used up, passed around by all sorts of guys. A man like Shane, with his high standards, would never want a filthy, used-up whore like you.” “Just drink up. Consider it your apology to Sierra. Otherwise, we’ll make sure you suffer.” Joy’s vision blurred, her consciousness fading. With her last ounce of strength, she almost unconsciously whispered his name. “Shane…” A chorus of harsh laughter rained down on her. “Hahaha! You’re not actually hoping he’ll come save you, are you?” “He’s the one who told us to do this. You hurt Sierra. He’d be thrilled if you were dead!” “Come on, boys, let’s rip her clothes off and send some pictures to Shane. Let him have a little fun, too!” The men swarmed her, and in an instant, her dress was torn to shreds. They snapped photo after photo of her half-naked, dying body, not stopping until she finally lost her battle for consciousness and the world went black.

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1 Seven years into my mission to win Andrew Hayes’s heart, I carried his child. He’d once vowed to love me for a lifetime. But three years into our marriage, he held our son, his face a mask of pure hatred. “Sweetheart,” he cooed, “how about we get you a new mommy?” A cruel smile spread across my son’s face. “Yes! I hate that woman.” My mission failed. A System I was bound to stripped me of all my feelings, and I vanished. But Andrew found me again, our son in tow, his face etched with desperation. “I was wrong. Please, Caroline, can you come back?” But I couldn’t. I was already married, building a life that had nothing to do with them. — “I hate you! I don’t want you to be my mom!” With a violent shove, a dish of sizzling food crashed, splattering scalding oil on me. My son, Leo, screamed at me, his eyes burning with his father’s hatred. A sharp pain shot up from my wrist. From the living room, Andrew’s voice cut through the air, cold and impatient. “Are you that useless? Can’t even hold a damn plate? It’s pathetic. Even your own son can’t stand you.” He didn’t even look up, a contemptuous smirk on his lips. He never asked if I was hurt. He never helped. He didn’t love me. I had always known that. Today was the final day. If I failed my mission, the System would take away my ability to feel. I trembled as I pushed myself up, only for Leo to shove me back down. “Stupid woman!” Hearing this, Andrew sauntered over, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Come on, son. We’re not eating this garbage. How about we go find Aunt Selena?” He scooped Leo into his arms, his gaze a flash of chilling indifference toward me. “Yes! Daddy, I love Aunt Selena!” Leo clapped. “Can Selena be my mommy?” A genuine smile broke through Andrew’s cold exterior. “We’ll see, kiddo.” He shot me a look of pure provocation. I forced my lips into a smile that felt more like a grimace. As I watched them walk away, my heart felt as if it were being stitched with a thousand searing needles. The housekeeper, Mrs. Davis, rushed to help me. I just shook my head. The front door clicked shut. In that silence, the System’s voice echoed in my mind. “Host mission failed. All emotional and sensory faculties will now be revoked.” It was a real goodbye. Time to let go. I set a silent alarm on my phone, a secret countdown to my departure. Seven days… I started cleaning the greasy floor, my mind flashing back to when he’d fired the staff. “Only pathetic housewives ask so many questions,” he’d sneered. “You want to be a housewife? Fine. Do the work of one.” He never cared. But it didn’t matter anymore. Soon, I would be gone. I walked to the bay window, watching the rain. My fingers found our family portrait—Leo frowning, Andrew looking down, only me smiling like a fool. A family that hated being a family. Useless. I tore it to pieces and tossed it in the trash. Just then, a black Maybach pulled up. Andrew stepped out, his face handsome and sharp. From his good mood, I knew who would be next. A moment later, a woman with glamorous curls and a stunning black dress emerged. 2 It was Selena. The new mother my son longed for. The woman Andrew had always loved. She held Leo’s hand, his eyes shining with a light I’d never seen. He adored her. Just like his father, he’d stare at her picture for hours. With me, it was always the same refrain: “Just go away! No wonder Dad doesn’t love you.” I looked away. A quiet thought—how happy they look—drifted through my mind, carrying no sting. I knew with liberating clarity: I didn’t love Andrew anymore. And I no longer loved my son. Selena swept in, her eyes meeting mine with the cool confidence of a victor. This was the first time he’d brought a lover into our home. She probably saw it as a final triumph. But she wasn’t my rival anymore. I moved like a hostess, washing fruit and placing it on the coffee table. “Please, help yourself.” Selena’s eyes narrowed. In the past, this would’ve been my cue to run and cry. My composure was suspicious. Andrew grabbed my arm, his voice a low growl. “You’re washing fruit for her? Caroline, are you insane?” So this was love. He thought the fruit I touched was tainted. I looked into his cold eyes and saw a universe with no star for me. “If you don’t like it,” I said evenly, “I can take it away.” His jaw clenched. “Don’t you dare regret this.” His voice dripped with malice. “You like washing fruit so much? Fine. Wash every single piece of fruit in this house. You’re not sleeping until it’s done.” I nodded. “Okay.” I washed the fruit over and over. “Selena can’t eat things too cold,” he’d snap. “Or too hot.” I just nodded. Somehow, I still angered him. He hurled a bowl against the wall, stormed over, and grabbed me by the neck. “Caroline, are you done with this act? Don’t think this little show is getting my attention.” But I wasn’t acting. I no longer loved him. “The fruit… I washed it very carefully,” I blinked up at him. “Don’t you regret this,” he hissed. He let me go and pulled Selena into a devouring kiss, a performance meant to break me. I placed a hand over my chest. The familiar ache was gone. Even when Leo cheered, “Yay! Aunt Selena is going to be my new mommy!” I felt nothing. I had truly let go. A small smile touched my lips. I felt like I was watching the end of a movie. “Congratulations,” I said calmly. Congratulations to them. And to me. 3 Selena stayed the night. Andrew told me if I got on my knees and begged, he’d make her leave. I didn’t. I just shook my head and walked to my room. “Caroline, you said it was fine,” he called after me. “Don’t you dare regret this.” I won’t, I thought. I don’t know how much time passed before the sounds started from the room next door—soft moans, gasps, the rhythm of intimacy. I put in my earbuds. Two more days until I’m free. I was up before dawn, pulling out my things. After all these years, a single suitcase was only half full. Leo ran in. “Why are you packing? Don’t think you can threaten Dad by leaving. He’ll never love you!” Andrew appeared behind him, his face a mask of disdain. “Even a child can see through your little tricks, Caroline. Why keep up the act?” For years, his favorite line was, “Stop pretending.” He hated that I had, in his mind, trapped him into marriage. But it wasn’t me who wanted this. The truth didn’t matter now. This time, I wasn’t pretending. He led Selena out, laughing. As she passed, Selena whispered, “You should know when it’s time to leave.” Her face was alight with triumph. I nodded. It was time to go. Back in my room, I took our wedding photo from the wall and smashed the glass. He’d always hated it. It wasn’t until I saw the photo of him, Selena, and Leo on his nightstand that I understood. He didn’t hate the photo. He just hated me. One by one, I burned everything that reminded me of him—the photo, the journal filled with the love I once felt. Mrs. Davis rushed in, alarmed. “Ma’am, what are you doing? You’ll regret this!” I smiled and shook my head. “They were old. Time for something new.” I would never regret this. 4 By nightfall, only one thing remained to be packed: the divorce papers. Andrew’s mother called. “Caroline, our family has wronged you. If you want to leave, we won’t stop you. If it wasn’t for you back then… Andrew wouldn’t be alive today.” I managed a hollow laugh. “Mrs. Hayes, let’s just let the past be the past.” If not for that incident, I never would have stayed so long. “Consider the kidney a debt repaid.” She had a large sum of money transferred to my account. I stared at the numbers. My youth had been bought and paid for. Andrew didn’t come home for days. I didn’t call. My phone buzzed. It was a photo from Selena in a hotel room, Andrew likely in the shower nearby. I replied to her: Don’t worry. I’ll be leaving soon. You can have your happy ending. Minutes later, Andrew called, his voice edged with panic. “Are you crazy? Why do you always have to play the saint?” I ended the call. The front door burst open. Andrew stood there, pale and panting. He lunged. “You’re alive, so why didn’t you answer your damn phone?” He grabbed my chin. “I… I didn’t want to bother you…” I stammered. “Bother me?” he spat. “Right, the silent treatment. God, Caroline, you’re such a good actress.” He slammed me against the kitchen door, then threw me onto the sofa. The impact nearly knocked the wind out of me. He pinned me down, his mouth crashing onto mine in a punishing assault. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” he hissed, his voice raw. “Fine. I’ll give it to you.” Fear coiled in my stomach. I whimpered his name. He just laughed coldly. His phone rang—a jarring intrusion. He swiped it away without looking. “Still playing the innocent virgin, are you?” I endured the pain and humiliation. I was a puppet in his angry hands, my tears swallowed by the silent night. An overwhelming shame washed over me. So this is what he thought of me. Of course. He had always looked down on me. 5 When I woke up, the sun was high. He was stepping out of the bathroom, a towel on his hips, his upper body bare. The sunlight caught the lines of his sculpted muscles. For a second, I was transported back to the early days of our love. A sharp pain brought me back to reality. “Still not done with the act?” he sneered, tossing a bottle of painkillers onto the bed. “I’m leaving. Don’t call me.” I knew Selena had been calling last night. Twenty missed calls. I struggled to stand and stumbled. For a moment, I thought I saw him reach out to steady me. But his hand never touched me. Instead, he casually plucked his belt from the sofa. “Is that all you’ve got?” My clothes were scattered everywhere. His were neatly folded on a chair. I didn’t speak, just slowly picked up my clothes and clumsily pulled them on. He paused at the door. “What are you doing with that suitcase?” There was a flicker of something in his eyes—alarm?—but it vanished. He couldn’t care if I left. “Nothing,” I said. “Just old junk I’m throwing out.” He seemed to relax. “If you’d been this obedient from the start, I might have been nicer to you.” The door slammed shut. Don’t worry, Andrew, I thought. I’ll be quiet soon. So quiet I’ll disappear from your life, just like you’ve always wanted. The day of my departure crept closer. I had to visit the Hayes estate one last time to hand over Leo’s school documents. I took a taxi to the South Hills Manor estates.

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I was the scholarship kid. My roommate, Mary, was the campus princess. But the moment we moved in, she insisted we become best friends. She swept me into her world of luxury, treating me to fine dining and lavish parties. She even introduced me to her childhood friend, the impossibly handsome and wealthy Wesley Thorne. But the moment Wesley and I actually got together, the princess wasn’t pleased anymore. She “accidentally” knocked over my instant ramen, claimed the splash of hot broth had scalded her, and demanded I pay for her “injuries.” After I’d emptied my bank account for her, she spread a rumor that I was a thief, that I’d stolen her new Louis Vuitton wallet. The university put me on academic probation. My classmates ostracized me. Even Wesley broke up with me. “You’re an ugly duckling who got a taste of the good life and thought she could become a swan,” he’d sneered. I had no way to defend myself. Hounded by the gossip and cyberbullying, I dropped out. My spirit shattered, I fell into a river and drowned. But when I opened my eyes again, I was back in a crowded, pulsing bar, at the very moment Mary was introducing me to Wesley Thorne. 1 “Wesley, this is my absolute best friend from college, Lynn. What do you think? She’s a looker, isn’t she?” The deafening music and Mary’s teasing voice snapped me back to the present. This was it. The first time I’d ever met him. He hadn’t thought much of me then, and he didn’t now. He didn’t even bother to glance my way, just took another sip of his drink. Mary slung an arm around my shoulders, a sly grin on her face. “So, Lynn, what’s your verdict on our Wesley here?” she purred. “His family is in real estate development. We’re talking the wealthiest family in the entire state.” I lowered my head, feigning a shy, bashful smile. “He’s… impressive. I’m just going to use the restroom.” Mary was desperately in love with Wesley, yet she insisted on pushing him toward me. And Wesley, the bastard, played along, getting with me even though he couldn’t stand me. I was nothing more than a pawn in their twisted game. I stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, splashing my face with cold water. Then, I reached up and took off the thick, black-rimmed glasses that hid my face. Not this time. This time, I refused to be their plaything. And who says the ugly duckling can’t become a swan? I grabbed my bag and left the bar without a word to anyone. Just as I’d expected, I found Wesley outside. He was sitting alone on a hidden bench, his head bowed as he stared at something in the dim light. In my past life, I’d been obsessed with learning everything about him, piecing together his history from the scraps Mary would feed me. Today was his birthday. It was also the anniversary of his mother’s death. Last time, the whole group had pressured me into toasting him. He’d just laughed in my face, mocking me for not knowing the difference between brandy and whiskey, before leaving me standing there alone. I reached into my bag and pulled out a small carton of strawberry milk. It was supposed to be my breakfast for tomorrow, but now, it would have to serve as a prop. “Here,” I said softly. “Drinking so much on an empty stomach is a bad idea.” Wesley shot me a cold glare. “I don’t need your pity.” I wasn’t offended. I simply set the carton down beside him. “Your mother would worry if you hurt yourself.” Then, I turned and walked away, ignoring the piercing, questioning gaze I could feel on my back. Rich kids like him and Mary would never truly see me. But in this life, I wouldn’t just make him see me. I’d make him put me in his heart. And then, I’d make him and Mary turn on each other, becoming bitter enemies. As expected, when Mary found out I’d left, she complained that I’d disappeared without a word. I fell back into my old role, flattering her and soothing her ego. I became her shadow, her servant. When she skipped class, I answered the roll call for her. When she was too lazy to get food, I delivered it right to her dorm room. When she complained the campus washing machines were filthy, I washed her designer clothes by hand, piece by piece. My other roommate muttered behind my back, calling me a pathetic lapdog. “What’s the point of all that sucking up?” she’d scoff. “It’s not like she’s going to give you a dime.” I pretended not to hear, perfecting my role as Mary’s loyal follower. My days were filled with her chores and her endless bragging. The cafeteria food was “pig slop,” she’d declare, saying her father should just buy the campus and open a proper food processing plant. Occasionally, Wesley would stop by to see her, bringing flowers, gifts, and snacks. He’d even bring a little something for me, an afterthought. Riding on Mary’s coattails, I started bringing him food, too, whenever I did a run for her. “Isn’t Wesley the best?” Mary would say, preening. “So many girls are after him. Do you like him?” I shook my head frantically, my voice full of rehearsed shyness. “How could someone like me ever hope to be with him? Besides, it’s obvious you’re the only one he really cares about.” My words hit their mark, and she beamed with satisfaction. Mary knew Wesley was crazy about her, of course, but she wasn’t ready to be tied down just yet. Soon, the annual university track and field meet would happen. She was a banner bearer for the opening ceremony parade. In my past life, she tripped on her dress, sprained her ankle, and a handsome athlete had swept her up and carried her to the infirmary. That was the day Wesley, consumed by jealousy, confessed his “feelings” to me. This time, however, on the day of the meet, I sprained my ankle first. Biting back a searing cry of pain, I limped my way across the field to deliver her makeup bag. Mary showed not a flicker of concern, only annoyance. “What took you so long? It’s just a sprain, walk it off! What if I’m late for the procession because of you?” I bowed my head and apologized, the perfect little pushover. Just then, the same well-built athlete from my memories appeared. “Hey, are you okay? Let me help you to the infirmary.” I blushed, waving him off, but nearly stumbled and fell. Without another word, he scooped me up into his arms and started carrying me off the field. Suddenly, an icy stare locked onto us. I looked up and saw Wesley. Mary, spotting him, called out in a delighted voice, “Wesley! Don’t I look beautiful today?” He didn’t answer her. His eyes were fixed on me. “Put her down,” he commanded the athlete. “I’ll take her.” Mary’s smile vanished. “Wesley, what are you doing? The procession is about to start!” “It’s okay, really!” I interjected quickly. “This student can take me. Don’t let me hold Mary up.” In the infirmary, the school nurse said the sprain was pretty bad and I needed to stay off my feet for a while. I thanked the athlete, finally learning his name was Thomas. Thomas started to leave but hesitated at the door and turned back. “Hey, uh… can I get your number? You know, in case you need help with anything.” I stared at his bright red ears, a little confused. Not long after, Mary was carried in, just as I knew she would be. Wesley brought her himself, his face a thundercloud. She looked like a fallen princess in her long, gauzy dress, with him as her grim-faced knight. Thomas returned with an ice pack, freezing in his tracks when he saw the two of them. Mary was wailing in pain. The nurse said she needed to ice it immediately. Without a second thought, Mary pointed at Thomas. “Give that to me. Now.” Playing my part, I said in a small, weak voice, “Give it to Mary first. I can get another one later.” Thomas looked annoyed, but he handed it over. “Okay, then I’ll take you back to your dorm first. I can buy you another one.” “Lynn, don’t you have hands of your own?” Wesley’s voice was sharp, dripping with disdain. “Why do you always need someone to run around after you?” But then, to everyone’s shock, he snatched the ice pack from Mary’s hand and knelt, pressing it gently against my swollen ankle. Mary’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Wesley! I was using that! What are you doing?” He ignored her, his gaze lifting to meet mine. “Lynn, you like me, don’t you? Let’s be together.” I masked the cold fury in my eyes with a look of pure astonishment. Wesley wouldn’t fall for me this easily. This was just a game to make Mary jealous. I didn’t agree right away. I stammered, my voice trembling with fake nervousness, “I… I never said I liked you.” Then I fled, scrambling back to the dorm. Mary’s attitude towards me had flipped 180 degrees. She greeted me with a voice full of acid. “Well, well. I had no idea you were so good at seducing men. Hooking up with Wesley Thorne… you’ve really hit the jackpot, haven’t you?” I kept my head down. “It’s not like that.” “Oh, stop pretending!” she spat. “Don’t tell me you don’t have a crush on him. I’ve seen girls like you a million times. Always trying to climb the social ladder, without a thought as to whether you even belong there. Even if he likes you, his family would never, ever approve of you!” This isn’t nearly enough, I thought to myself. I want more than just his affection. Wesley actually began to pursue me. He’d wait for me in the mornings to walk me to class, have lunch with me, and ask me out for evening strolls. With my sprained ankle as an excuse, I stopped being Mary’s errand girl. The dorm grew quiet, with no one talking to either of us. Eventually, she couldn’t stand it and moved into an off-campus apartment. Slowly, in everyone else’s eyes, it seemed I had genuinely fallen for Wesley. I’d blush when I saw him. I’d give him small, handmade gifts. I’d even share a portion of the food I bought with the money from my part-time job. I sent him ‘good morning’ and ‘good night’ texts, sharing little details of my day, whether he replied or not. I ditched the clunky glasses, let my hair grow out, and though my clothes were simple, I had to admit, the girl in the mirror was becoming quite pretty. And gradually, I felt the way Wesley looked at me begin to change. He’d lean in close just to see me blush. He’d steal a kiss under a shared umbrella on a rainy day. We started to feel like a real couple. Until the night Mary got drunk. She burst into my dorm room and swiped the cup of ramen I was eating off my desk. I jumped back just in time, but the hot broth splashed across her own wrist. Even though she shook it off instantly, a painful red mark bloomed on her skin. She glared at me, her teeth clenched. “Lynn, I thought you were my friend, and you go and seduce Wesley behind my back? You’re such a pathetic bitch!” I maintained my innocent facade. “Seduce? Were you two officially together?” Mary fell silent for a beat, then pointed a trembling finger at me. “You just wait,” she hissed. “Do you really think Wesley Thorne would ever fall for someone like you? He’s just playing with you.” So am I, I thought. And I’ve already gotten what I wanted. A breakup is no big deal. Just as before, Wesley came to put me in my place for Mary’s sake. He dragged me into a private room at an exclusive club, filled with his circle of wealthy friends. “Just be reasonable, Lynn,” Wesley said, his voice low. “Mary’s never been hurt a day in her life. This happened because of you.” Mary stood with her arms crossed, a smug smirk on her face. “Make her apologize? Oh, I wouldn’t dare. She’s your precious girlfriend now, isn’t she, Wesley?” He sighed, a hint of exasperation in his voice. “Are you still jealous about this? You’re the one who introduced her to me.” Mary pointed to a line of full shot glasses on the table. “Fine. If you’re really sorry, drink this entire row of tequila, and I’ll forgive you.” Wesley didn’t object. He picked up a glass himself and held it out to me. “A whole row is too much. Just this one.” I took the glass from his hand. But then, with a flick of my wrist, I poured the contents onto the floor. “I’m not drinking a single drop.” In my past life, my frantic explanations were met only with laughter. They didn’t care about the truth; they just wanted a show. I was the ugly duckling, the toad lusting after a swan. I was, in short, not one of them. I’d been forced to drink the entire row and ended up vomiting right there. Mary had pinched her nose in disgust while Wesley had someone throw me out. This time, after emptying the glass, I slammed it back down on the table. The sharp clatter silenced the room. I stated my case, once and only once. “You got burned because you deliberately knocked over my food. You deserved it.” Mary shrieked, jumping to her feet. “Who deserved it? What happened to the timid little mouse? Finally dropping the act, huh? I knew you were a manipulative bitch all along!” she screamed. “I’m telling you, if you don’t drink this row and apologize right now, I’ll have you kicked out of this university by tomorrow!” Wesley frowned, shooting me a disapproving look. “Lynn, did you forget what I said? It’s just an apology. Why make this so difficult?” A small, sarcastic smile touched my lips. “I did nothing wrong. I am not apologizing.” He hadn’t expected this defiance. He grabbed my wrist, his eyes boring into mine. “What if I make you apologize?” I gritted my teeth and wrenched my arm free. “Then we’re breaking up.” Wesley’s face darkened instantly. Mary jumped in, a triumphant sneer on her face. “Lynn, do you really think you’re all that? Wesley was just toying with you! If anyone’s doing the dumping, it’s him!” But Wesley took a step toward me, his voice low and dangerous. “Break up with me? You don’t have that right.” “Whether I do or not isn’t for you to decide.” I turned my back on him and walked out, without a single glance behind me.

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As I walked out of prison, the officer clapped me on the shoulder. “Go on, kid. Go out there and live a good life.” Outside the gates, my parents were waiting with a bouquet of flowers and a box of my favorite pastries. I ran into their arms. My mother wiped away a tear, her eyes filled with pain. “Oh, my girl. You’ve suffered so much.” One week later, at my birthday party, I took an axe and chopped off my father’s head. Then I hacked off my mother’s limbs. Finally, I pressed a towel over the face of my little brother, the one I had doted on for nine years, and held him in my arms until he suffocated. When it was all done, I washed the blood from my hands. Then I called the officer who had released me. “Sorry to trouble you, but you’ll have to come and get me again.” 1 I put down the phone and sat quietly on the sofa, taking a deep breath of the metallic air. There was so much blood. It was still seeping from my parents’ bodies. My little brother, on the other hand, had gone peacefully. His face was still, expressionless. I dragged my father’s head over and set it in front of me. The agony on his face was plain to see. I looked at it, and a laugh escaped my lips. Compared to my father, my mother’s face was a mask of pure terror when she died. Thinking of it, I glanced down at my pants. They were stained with the marks of her struggle. As I was reveling in the brutal aftermath of my own creation, the door burst open. The young officers who entered gasped in horror. But the older one, Detective Miles, just stared at me, his face a storm of fury. “You… why would you do this?” The floor was a sea of blood; they had nowhere to step. The commotion brought our neighbors poking their heads out of their doors. I smiled at Detective Miles. “Sir, you’re finally here.” I held out my hands. “I’ve killed them. You can take me in now.” The moment the words left my mouth, two officers slammed me to the ground. My face pressed against the sticky, bloody floor. The smell was so thick it made me want to gag. Then, the cold, familiar touch of handcuffs on my wrists. Detective Miles’s eyes were filled with a deep, sorrowful disbelief. “Why?” he asked, his voice raw. “Why would you do this? They were your parents!” His voice cracked, and tears welled in his eyes. He looked at me with overwhelming disappointment. “I was wrong about you. I was so wrong.” “Someone like you… you don’t deserve any sympathy.” “Take her away!” I was hauled out the door as a team of forensics experts swarmed the apartment. “Abby, you killed them?” my next-door neighbor asked, her eyes wide with terror, as if I were some kind of wild animal. I smiled at her. “All three of them. Mom, Dad, and my little brother.” Her face went white. The other onlookers in the hallway heard me, and whispers erupted. “She’s a psycho! She killed her whole family!” “That girl is sick in the head.” “Yeah, I heard her mom say she was in prison. She just got out a few days ago.” “God, what a tragedy for that family.” Detective Miles, following behind me, waved his hand in frustration. “Everyone, back in your homes. You’ll be questioned later. What are you looking at? This isn’t a marketplace; it’s a crime scene!” I was back in a familiar place. In the interrogation room, Detective Miles no longer looked at me with any kindness. The last time I was here was six months ago. I remembered him clearly. He had put a hand on my shoulder and said, “You’re a brave kid. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you don’t stay in there for long.” He had kept his word. I was out in just six months. He probably never imagined that the person he worked so hard to free would be brought back in by his own hand. “Abigail Wu,” he began, his voice hard. “Tell me. Why did you kill them?” He slammed his hand on the table, and for a second, I thought it would splinter. “They were your parents! Your own flesh and blood!” “And your brother… he was so young! How could you do it?” His voice choked up at the end. I just shook my head, showing no remorse. “Because they all deserved to die.” “My brother… he should never have been born.” My words enraged every officer in the room. Detective Miles swore under his breath. “What the hell are you talking about?” he roared. “Your parents were so good to you! How could you be so cruel?” “Do you even have a shred of humanity?” He leaned across the table, his face just inches from mine, his spittle hitting my cheek as he yelled. Another officer tried to intervene. “Miles, maybe you should take a break. Let someone else handle this.” He shoved the officer’s hand away, his eyes locked on mine. “No. I’m interrogating her myself.” He sat back down, and I could hear the tremor in his voice. “Tell me what happened today.” I smiled and began to speak slowly. “Today was my birthday. My parents were so happy. They cooked so much food. And my brother… he gave me a gift he made himself. I was so touched.” 2 In the week after my release, my family had been incredibly kind. My mom showered me with food and gifts. My dad promised to buy me a house as a “welcome home” present. Even my usually bratty little brother was sweet, hugging me and saying, “I missed you so much, sis.” They deferred to me on everything, even asking me how I wanted to celebrate my birthday. “Abby, do you want to go out with friends or celebrate at home with us?” I was so happy to feel valued again. “Of course, I want to be at home with you guys.” My dad declared a company-wide holiday. “I’m staying home to celebrate my daughter’s birthday!” Mom was in the kitchen, my brother was studying in his room. We were a happy family. “Mom, let me cook the fish today,” I offered. She beamed, her eyes crinkling. “My Abby is all grown up now!” I took the apron from her and started cooking. I used to love cooking before… before I went away. After my return, everyone had unspokenly avoided the topic, afraid of reopening old wounds. My mom took out her phone, documenting the moment. “Look at our Abby, such a good cook.” I playfully covered my face. “Mom, are you posting this on Facebook again?” She pulled my hand away, her voice full of pride. “Of course! I have to show off my amazing daughter.” In her eyes, no matter how badly I did in school, I was always her greatest source of pride. “You’re not worried people will laugh?” I teased. Before she could reply, my dad came home. “Who’s talking about my daughter?” he boomed, patting his belly. “My girl is brilliant! I’d like to see anyone dare say otherwise.” My brother ran out, shouting, “My sister is the best sister in the world!” At the dinner table, my dad pulled out a deed to a house. “Abby, I’m getting old. This house… it’s for your security.” He handed it to me. My mom then produced an exquisite jade bracelet and slipped it onto my wrist. I hugged them both, tears of gratitude streaming down my face. Not to be outdone, my brother presented his handmade gift. “Sis! Me too! I don’t have money, but I made this myself!” He shot a glare at my dad. “It’s all their fault for not giving me an allowance! Otherwise, I could have bought you something nice!” My dad put on a stern face. “Tough love for boys, spoils for girls! You study hard! One day, you’ll have to take care of your sister.” During dinner, I pointed to the Szechuan fish. “I made that.” The three of them eagerly dug in. “My daughter’s cooking is the best!” “I’m such a lucky man. My daughter is so wonderful.” After dinner, just as my mom was about to get me a napkin, she collapsed. My dad panicked, but a moment later, he too fell unconscious. My little brother was already slumped over the table, unresponsive. I called their names. When there was no answer, I went straight to the balcony and got the axe. 3 The sharp pain woke my father. He begged me to stop, but I felt no mercy. I brought the axe down again and again. My mother was jolted awake by her own agony. She tried to scream, but I muffled her mouth. At one point, our neighbor heard the noise and knocked on the door. I made up a quick excuse and sent them away. When it came to my brother, I didn’t hesitate. But I did feel a flicker of pity. I didn’t use the axe. I chose a gentler way for him to leave this world. When I was done, I was drenched in sweat. I ripped up the deed my father had given me and flushed it down the toilet. The jade bracelet from my mother had shattered when I was moving her body and hit it against a table. The handmade letter from my brother? I stuffed it in his mouth. Even the flowers my parents had brought me on my release day were spattered with blood. For a moment, all I could see was red. When I finished my story, I was shaking with laughter. Detective Miles was speechless. His lips trembled. “Why?” he finally managed. “Why would you do it? Abigail, why?” My smile vanished. I scoffed. “Because they all deserved to die.” Growing up, I was spoiled rotten, a princess in a candy-coated castle. I had more dresses than any other girl had pants. I had three closets in our house, and two walk-in closets in our villa we barely used. Still, my mother always thought I needed more clothes. They always told me, “Grades don’t matter. Your happiness is what’s important.” Because of that, I could be last in my class and never get scolded. My dad would even encourage me to play longer with my friends. “We have money. You can do whatever you want.” I tried countless hobbies and quit them all. I couldn’t handle hardship, and my parents couldn’t bear to see me suffer. My childhood was a blur of fun and games. Until my brother was born. Then, my mother changed. She wouldn’t let me near him, saying I would hurt him. I didn’t understand. “He’s my brother, my family. Why would I hurt him?” I would cry. She never explained. My dad would pull me aside and tell me, “Your mom is sick. Postpartum depression. She’ll get better.” He said she was just being overprotective. I believed him. To help her “get better,” I doted on my brother, spending all my allowance and savings on toys for him. And it worked. Seeing how much I loved him, my mother’s “illness” seemed to fade. But they were different with him. They were strict. If his grades were bad, he was punished. If he was too rowdy, he was punished. He would often complain that they were playing favorites. My dad would hit him again and say, “You want to be compared to your sister? She’s our sweet girl. You’re just a leather jacket, nothing but trouble.” My mom and I would often have to step in when it got too rough. Detective Miles listened to all this, then fell silent. “So, just because of that, you killed them?” I shook my head. “Of course not.” He seemed to understand something. “You hate them for sending you to prison?”

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I flew back to the States for my adopted daughter’s wedding, the suit already picked out and waiting. But a former high school classmate recognized me and pointed, his voice loud with ridicule. “Well, if it isn’t our class copycat. In high school, you wore whatever Adrian Prescott wore. Can’t break the habit, can you? Look at you, wearing a suit just like his. Do you even know what kind of event this is?” Adrian offered a phony apology, but his eyes were laced with venom. “Sorry, Victor. I put up with you mimicking my style back then, but today is my wedding day. I’m really not in the mood to indulge your little copycat routine anymore.” He egged on his cronies, who then proceeded to try and strip me naked in front of everyone. I tried to fight back, but he slapped me so hard I hit the floor. Staring at his face, alight with vicious excitement, I squeezed my eyes shut and let out a cold, silent laugh. I’d tolerated it when he copied me, then twisted the truth to accuse me of being the mimic. But this time? This time, I was his future father-in-law. And if I let him marry into my family after this, then I’ve already lost. 1 The moment my plane landed, I rushed to the hotel to change into the suit the household staff had prepared for me—the suit for the father of the bride. Today was my adopted daughter’s wedding. I say “adopted daughter,” but in reality, I’m only three years older than her. My seniority in the family is high. When Alexa’s parents passed away, she was brought into our family. The Vaughn family rules are strict, and after tracing the lines of the family tree, it turned out I was the only one exactly one generation above her. And so, at a young age, I became a father, with her placed under my legal guardianship. Because we were so close in age, we got along well. I took my paternal duties seriously, as laid out by the family charter, and managed to temper her wild, fearless, and somewhat spoiled nature into something more composed. Who would have thought that the tomboyish ‘princess’ of the city would now be getting married? I looked down at the exquisitely embroidered tuxedo and grimaced. At least the cut was modern. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have been caught dead in it. The staff took my clothes to be laundered, and I was left alone to fix my hair. I glanced up and saw him—Adrian Prescott, my old high school classmate, basking in the glow of a fawning entourage. Their chirpy laughter was laced with flattery. Adrian soaked it all in, his smile growing wider with every compliment. But when his gaze landed on my suit, his expression instantly darkened. I felt a prickle of unease. My tuxedo was eerily similar to his, clearly the same custom design. “Well, well, who do we have here? It’s the wannabe. Still addicted to copying Adrian, huh?” “He’s too nice to call you out on it, but we’re not going to let it slide!” Many of them were old classmates. Their eyes darted to my suit, their faces twisting in contempt. One of Adrian’s closest friends pinched his nose, looking at me as if I were something foul. “Adrian’s suit was custom-made by a top designer, a gift from the princess herself. You think your cheap knockoff can compare?” “Today is Adrian’s wedding to the city’s darling, Alexa Vaughn. Were you even invited? Or did you just slither in here, dressed like that, trying to seduce someone?” My god. My own daughter was marrying Adrian Prescott. A wave of disgust washed over me. Back in high school, he was the one who copied my style, then used his popularity to flip the script and accuse me of being the mimic. I couldn’t be bothered to argue back then, more focused on my portfolio for studying abroad than on pointless drama. But the rumors festered, and I spent all of high school isolated and bullied. As much as I disliked him, he was the man Alexa loved. I had to show some decorum. I decided to just wait for their taunts to die down and then slip away. I’d get through the wedding and go home. But Adrian blocked my path, stepping hard on the toe of my shoe. A sharp pain shot up my leg. He feigned surprise and moved his foot, his face a mask of innocence. “Look, Victor, today is my big day. Just take off the suit, okay? Don’t try to upstage me by wearing the same thing.” “After today, you can copy me all you want. I won’t mind a little thing like that.” 2 I stared at him, incredulous. This was a father-of-the-bride tuxedo. It was understated and formal, just a bit more modern than the usual fare. It was nothing like Adrian’s flashy groom’s tuxedo. Besides, his face was a work of art, sculpted by a celebrity makeup artist. He was clearly the center of attention. How could I possibly upstage him? I frowned, not wanting to waste my breath. “This is the father-of-the-bride’s suit. It would be inappropriate to take it off.” I tried to walk away, but in the next second, Adrian grabbed my arm. His eyes were red-rimmed as he began to tear at my clothes. “You all heard him! He admitted it’s a formal suit! He’s doing this on purpose!” he cried out. “Normally, I’d let it go, but this is my wedding day! How can I be expected to tolerate this humiliation?” As he ripped at my collar, he deliberately dug his sharp nails into my neck. Blood welled instantly, and I cried out in pain. Seeing the blood, his eyes grew even redder. He pushed me back into the crowd, shaking his head in feigned panic. “I didn’t mean to! It’s your fault for wearing this suit!” “My fiancée had this made for me! It’s deeply meaningful, and I won’t let anyone defile it!” He looked so heartbroken that his pack of sycophants swelled with righteous anger. His groomsmen immediately grabbed my arms, pinning me as they continued to rip at my collar, their eyes glinting with malice. “Adrian, don’t dirty your hands on this trash. This animal probably only owns two nice things. Touching him will just bring you bad luck.” “Let’s strip this bastard and see what kind of cheap crap he’s really wearing. How dare he copy you?” “Someone strong, come help! The little bitch is trying to fight back!” Before I could react, an arm snaked around my neck, choking me until the world started to go black. My limbs went weak, and no matter how I struggled, I couldn’t fight off the countless hands clawing at me. Tears of pure physical pain streamed from my eyes. “I’m… I’m Alexa’s father, agh—” Before I could finish, a fresh gash appeared on my mouth. The mob’s insults drowned out my words as they tore the suit from my body, leaving me curled on the cold floor, covered in wounds. They presented the tattered remains of my suit to Adrian like a trophy. He didn’t even glance at it. His eyes were locked on me. One of the guys holding me down saw I was still trying to speak and slapped me hard across the face. My cheek swelled instantly, a fiery pain shooting through my skull. Before I could recover, another slap landed on the other side. “There,” a voice sneered in my ear. “Made you symmetrical. You should thank me.” The room spun. Through the haze, I heard Adrian’s fake sobs. “Thank you, everyone. I’m so sorry you had to deal with this filth on such a happy day. It’s my fault for being too lenient with him in the past.” “He’s an old classmate, after all. With all those scars, what woman would ever want him? Not like me. I’m about to marry into the Vaughn family. I’ll be set for life.” He then picked up a nearby bottle of Macallan and, raising it high, poured it all over me. “Might as well use this. A little alcohol to disinfect Victor’s wounds.” He saw me gasp in agony and his eyes curved into a sickeningly sweet smile. “Don’t worry,” he said, feigning thoughtfulness. “I know this is too expensive for you to ever drink, but it’s my wedding. I can do whatever I want with it.” The autumn air was cool. Stripped to my underwear, I shivered violently, hugging myself like a fish left to die on the sand. The crowd, seeing this, seemed to take it as encouragement. They started grabbing bottles from the tables. “Great idea, Adrian! Let me try! I wonder how well this ‘82 Lafite disinfects.” Red wine streamed down my face, mixing with the blood from my cuts, a disgusting cocktail that dripped from my chin. “Hey, don’t you dare lick any of that. It’s mixed with your blood. How gross.” Their eyes were filled with malice and disgust. They laughed and joked, studying my pained expressions and describing them in detail for Adrian’s amusement. I couldn’t speak. Opening my mouth only earned me another slap. The alcohol on my open wounds felt like being rolled over hot steel. The pain was so intense it was becoming numb. I tried to stand, to escape this hell, but I just kept collapsing pathetically to the floor, triggering roars of laughter. “Trying to run? Not so fast. We gave you a chance earlier. You blew it.” He loomed over me, grinding the sole of his leather shoe into my fingers, listening with satisfaction to my weak whimpers of pain. Suddenly, someone hissed, “Isabelle’s here!”

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1 A little over a year ago, my boyfriend of seven years suddenly announced his engagement to my best friend, Nina. While everyone waited for me to go on a warpath and tear the other woman apart, Gary Rockefeller, one of Manhattan’s most powerful CEOs, swept into my life with a whirlwind romance. Before long, I had willingly given up my career, my ambitions, everything, to marry him and become the enviable Mrs. Rockefeller. I was six months pregnant when I heard it all. I overheard his phone call with his father. “You went to all that trouble to get Nina’s biggest rival—both in love and her career—out of the picture by getting her pregnant and forcing her into retirement. Elara’s almost due now. You’ve done more than enough for Nina over the years. Surely, you’re going to let her keep the child.” Gary’s voice was cold, decisive. “I will not have a child with any woman other than Nina.” My world turned to ash. All the passion, all the love—it was a performance. I was nothing but a pawn in their twisted, lingering affair. Fine. I’ll give you what you want… … I lay on the cold operating table, the medication inducing contractions that tore through me, an agony that felt like death itself. The doctor was performing the D&C, cleaning my womb. My stomach felt like it was filled with poison, and my entire body trembled uncontrollably. “The fetus has been removed.” After the procedure, my breasts began to leak milk, an involuntary, cruel reminder. The sight of the tiny, discarded form broke me completely. Six months. You could already see the faint, perfect outline of a baby. So lovely, so innocent. My belly was empty, a hollow ache, but my body couldn’t forget the life it had carried. This was the child Gary had begged for, his voice a husky whisper against my ear night after night for half a year. He would always say, “Elara… I love you so much… Please, give me a child…” After I got pregnant, Gary was consumed by work. I was left alone, filled with a fragile joy, attending every prenatal appointment, drinking bitter tonics daily to protect a pregnancy my family history deemed high-risk. I wanted this baby more than anything in the world. There’s a genetic condition in my family that makes childbirth perilous. The day the test results came back showing the baby was perfectly healthy, I was ecstatic. I thought Gary would be just as thrilled. I rarely went up to the attic, his private office. But that day, the door was ajar. I crept toward it, planning to surprise him. Instead, I heard his father’s voice on the phone. “You went to all that trouble to get Nina’s biggest rival… by getting her pregnant and forcing her into retirement. Elara’s almost due now. You’ve done more than enough for Nina… Surely, you’re going to let her keep the child.” The words struck me like a bolt of lightning. Before I could even process the pain, I heard Gary’s chillingly calm reply. “I’ll slip something into her prenatal tonic. She’ll miscarry.” “I cannot, and will not, have a child with any woman other than Nina.” That single sentence shattered the entire illusion. In an instant, his vows of undying love became a cruel joke, the designer dress on my back a symbol of my own foolishness. All of it—the whirlwind romance, the grand gestures—it was all just a scheme to keep me from competing with Nina for her ex-boyfriend, to push me out of the race for the top spot in the design world. I collapsed to the floor, my hand clamped over my mouth to stifle the sobs that threatened to tear out of my throat. I remembered what I’d seen in his study once. An entire wall, covered in photos of my “best friend,” Nina. The world thought Gary Rockefeller doted on me, treated me like a precious gem, would move mountains for me. But on that wall he stared at day after day, there wasn’t a single picture of me. The irony was so bitter it felt like a joke. Tears streamed down my face. Gary, are you trying to kill me with this pain? When I returned from the clinic, Gary was waiting for me at the door. He saw me and, without missing a beat, leaned in to place a tender kiss on my cheek. “You’re back late. Where have you been wandering?” Where he couldn’t see, I wiped the spot his lips had touched. The moment I stepped inside, the strong scent of a brewed herbal tonic filled the air. It smelled different from my usual one. Gary was always so busy; I was the one who diligently prepared and drank the bitter medicine every day to ensure our child’s survival. Today was the first time he’d come home early to make it for me. His words to his father echoed in my mind: I’ll slip something into her prenatal tonic. He brought the bowl to me, his eyes soft with feigned affection. But the faint scent of a woman’s perfume on his collar—Nina’s perfume—and the glint of the same style of bracelet she always wore on his wrist were like daggers to my eyes. I tilted my head back and drank the sweetened poison down in one gulp. The sweetness lingered on my tongue, but the bitterness that slid down my throat made my entire body shake. A strange sense of humiliation washed over me, even though I had already taken matters into my own hands. I was a clown, a puppet dancing on his strings, pathetic and broken. Gary’s gaze dropped to my stomach, his voice laced with that same false tenderness. “When our son is born, he’ll inherit everything, how about that?” A sour knot formed in my chest. Would you ever let him be born? A desperate, foolish part of me still hoped for a flicker of remorse, a sliver of mercy. But as the last drop of the tonic settled in my stomach, so did the last of my hope. It died, leaving only a cold, gray emptiness. 2 Today was the day of Nina’s return. As the new lead designer for Rockefeller Industries, the company was throwing her a lavish welcome-back gala. Gary had been getting ready for hours, preening in his suit, checking his reflection in the mirror a dozen times. I pretended not to notice his giddy excitement. Before he left, he kissed my cheek. “Just a few contracts to sign at the office this morning.” As Mrs. Rockefeller, my attendance was expected. I went to my closet, but as I searched for something to wear, a sickening realization dawned on me. I didn’t own a single piece of clothing that was truly mine. Last night, out of morbid curiosity, I’d scrolled through Nina’s social media. I discovered my entire wardrobe consisted of duplicates of her outfits. Gary had been buying them for her and simply picking up a second one for me on the side. I opened my jewelry box. My favorite piece, a stunning pigeon’s blood ruby necklace, was gone. It was the necklace Gary had bought for me at auction for a hundred million dollars when he was courting me. But even that, I now realized, was just another move on his chessboard, another piece of his strategy to pave the way for Nina. When Nina made her entrance, reporters swarmed her, mistaking her for the lady of the house. “That pigeon’s blood ruby is exquisite! Mr. Rockefeller must adore you; a hundred-million-dollar necklace is no small gesture.” I stared at the ruby glowing at her throat, a blood-red splash against her skin. So that’s where he had rushed off to this morning. To play the devoted admirer for her. Nina, radiant in a red gown, spotted me and waved. “Mrs. Rockefeller.” She glided over, her voice a venomous whisper in my ear. “Enjoying your life as a housewife?” “Do you know why I’ve become such a sensation abroad these past few years?” The moment she stole my fiancé, Mark, any friendship between us had shattered. Now, with an air of smug superiority, she pulled a design portfolio from her clutch and handed it to me as if bestowing a great charity. I flipped it open, and the world tilted on its axis. Ninety percent of the designs in it were mine. Some were slightly altered, others were copied verbatim. I was still reeling, wondering how she could be so brazen, when she twisted the knife. With a playful smirk, she showed me her phone, scrolling through her chat history with Gary. Gary: These are from the design files she keeps on my laptop. She’s retired now anyway, so it’s not like she’ll be using them. Don’t worry about plagiarism; I’ve already deleted the original files from her computer. My laptop. Gary knew the password. I remembered the day I discovered those files were gone. I’d cried for three days straight. Gary had shown no pity then, and now I knew why. My hands shook as I messaged him. Why are my designs in Nina’s portfolio? His reply came as a sixty-second voice memo, his tone impatient and dismissive. Those drafts were just sitting there, useless. What’s the harm in letting her use them to build her reputation and bring more profit to the company? Elara, why are you still so obsessed with your career? We’ve been married for ages. Can’t you just be content staying at home, taking care of the family? Isn’t this a good life? The Rockefeller family doesn’t need the pocket change you’d earn. You love Nina so much, why didn’t you just lock her away and protect her yourself? What did I have left? Nina watched my face crumble, a mocking smile playing on her lips. Even though I already knew the marriage was a sham to force my retirement, seeing the proof—that the man I loved had casually handed years of my heart and soul to another woman—was unbearable. My heart felt like it was being pierced by a thousand needles, a hopeless, searing pain.

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