Author: Momo Chan

1 It was time to exchange the rings, but the man who was supposed to be my husband refused to say, “I do.” He was silent. All because his old flame, the one that got away, had announced her breakup on social media an hour ago. The post was a picture of a plane ticket, with a landing time of one hour from now. My brother, Ron, strode to the altar and announced to our guests that the wedding was postponed. Just like that, the two of them, in perfect, unspoken agreement, abandoned me at the altar. I became the spectacle, the joke everyone was staring at. I held my head high, calmly managing the fallout, while my eyes were glued to my phone, watching her feed update. A new photo appeared: my brother and my husband, flanking her, offering her the world on a silver platter. A bitter smile touched my lips as I dialed the number for my birth parents. “Dad, Mom,” I said, my voice steady. “I’m ready to come home. I’ll agree to the marriage alliance with the Whitfield family.” “Laraine, are you absolutely sure?” The voices on the other end were laced with disbelief. Five years ago, my birth parents had found me. A DNA test confirmed that I, an orphan who had grown up with nothing, was the long-lost daughter of the Ashworths, one of New York’s most powerful families. But I hadn’t felt like I was lacking love. I had Ron and Elias, the two boys who had grown up with me in the orphanage. So, three years ago, I had flatly refused to return to the Ashworths. And now, the family I had chosen, the man I had chosen, had abandoned me on the most important day of my life. Mrs. Ashworth sighed, then her voice grew firm. “Don’t you worry, darling. Even if it is a marriage alliance, you are still our daughter, and we will protect you.” I looked out the window as the sky darkened, wiping a tear from my eye. “Dad, Mom, I’ll need about a week to handle things here.” “Of course. Take your time to say your goodbyes. And don’t you worry about the wedding. We’ll arrange everything. No matter what, the Ashworths will always have your back.” After I hung up, my eyes burned. Ron and Elias used to say the same thing. “Don’t be afraid, Laraine.” “We’re your family now. We’ll always be on your side.” I remembered Matron Lynn, the head of the orphanage, smiling at them. “You boys have to protect your little sister. A man’s word is his bond.” Elias, his cheeks flushing pink, had puffed out his chest. “I don’t want to be her brother! I’m going to marry Laraine when we grow up!” Their sincerity had won my heart. Ron was the steady, protective older brother. Elias saved every good thing he ever found, every small treasure, and presented it to me like a crown jewel. They were my family. My love. So when my birth parents found me, I never told them. The world of the ultra-rich was a labyrinth of schemes and false affections. The simple, warm happiness I had with them was too precious to leave behind. But that was before Cathy. I was so wrong. Cathy was the daughter of our old housekeeper, Mrs. Jiang. Her father had died when she was young, and Mrs. Jiang herself had passed away from an illness two years ago. We felt sorry for her, all alone in the world, so we invited her to spend the holidays with us. After that, she just… stuck around. She grew closer and closer to my brother and my fiancé. I finally took her aside and gently reminded her that Elias and I were getting married, hoping she would understand the need for some distance. I never expected her to leave a letter and disappear overseas. The letter was a masterpiece of passive aggression, filled with envy for my life and tearful goodbyes to the boys. Elias’s face had darkened the moment he read it. “Can’t you be a little more tolerant, Laraine?” And Ron, who had always doted on me, looked at me with pure disappointment. “Laraine, you are so incredibly selfish.” They were convinced that Cathy, the poor, tragic girl, needed their love more than I did. So they took all the love they had for me and gave it to her. This wedding was my childhood dream. The dress, the rings, even the floral pattern on the invitations—I had designed every detail myself. I closed my eyes, facing the sea of staring faces alone. The composure I’d maintained until now finally crumbled. “What’s going on? I’ve never seen a wedding cancelled halfway through!” “Did the groom just run out on her?” “Why did the bride’s brother leave too?” “Who knows? If her own family won’t even stand by her, she must have done something terrible!” “Look at her face. She just looks dishonest!” A tidal wave of vicious rumors swept over me. The two men who had sworn to protect me had become the daggers twisting in my heart. 2 After dealing with the mess, I returned to the new home Elias and I were supposed to share. I pushed open the door and froze. Someone was inside. “Laraine, long time no see!” Cathy stood there in a sheer nightgown, her body on full display. She emerged from my bedroom—our bedroom—with a look of cloying, provocative apology on her face. “Ron and Elias were worried about me, so they asked me to stay here.” I looked around the home I had so carefully decorated, now invaded by her. Everything we’d picked out together, all the matching sets, had been tossed carelessly into the study. In their place were her personal belongings. “Elias said this room gets the best light, and the air is fresh. I just had surgery overseas, you see. I need to recover.” A cold fury ignited within me. The room she was staying in was our marital bedroom. The door opened again. Ron and Elias walked in, carrying a cake and a bouquet of flowers. They looked at me, their eyes filled with annoyance. “What are you trying to do now? You’ve already driven Cathy away once,” Elias said, his tone sharp. “Cathy is our family now,” Ron stated coldly. “This is her home.” I stared at the small villa. It had been a gift from Ron. He had told me he would always be my family, that as long as he was here, I would always have a home. But then Cathy had moved in. Out of respect for her late mother, I’d agreed to let her stay temporarily, until she found her own place. But she had pushed every boundary, stealing my things and even ending up in bed with a drunk Elias, wrapped in his arms. That was the last straw. I slapped her. Elias had shoved me to the ground. “Cathy lost her family! She just sees us as brothers! You’ve had us your whole life, Laraine. She’s different. She’s suffered! You’re older than her, can’t you just treat her like a little sister?” I remembered staring at my bleeding palm, at the shards of a broken glass embedded in my skin, and feeling like I was looking at a stranger. And now, she was back, occupying my marital home, acting as if she were the lady of the house. “Laraine, you’ve eaten my food and lived under my roof for years. I raised you. You need to be grateful!” Ron warned. “Cathy is my sister now! You have no right to make her leave! If you hadn’t driven her overseas, her condition wouldn’t have gotten worse.” “You can sleep in the study. We’ll talk after Cathy recovers.” Elias glared at me, his face a mask of suspicion. “Cathy needs to be taken care of right now. We haven’t even signed the marriage license. If you keep acting like this, we can just call the whole thing off!” I looked at them, a bitter, ironic smile touching my lips. The old Laraine might have been heartbroken. But now, all I felt was a vast, empty disappointment. I wasn’t welcome here. It was time to go back to the home that was truly mine. Since my decision was made, I didn’t argue. I turned and walked into the study. My things were scattered everywhere, all the items I had carefully chosen and designed, each one a vessel for my hopes for the future. I silently gathered the broken wedding decorations Cathy had ruined and threw them in the trash. Elias nodded, satisfied. “Those things are cheap. We can just buy new ones for the wedding later.” A shadow crossed my face. It wasn’t just the things that were worthless. There would be no later. This was no longer my home. 3 Before I left, there was only one person I needed to say goodbye to. After that, I would have no attachments left. “Here to see Matron Lynn again, dear?” The cemetery groundskeeper recognized me and smiled. I came here every year, on the same day. I placed a bouquet of white chrysanthemums on her grave. “Matron Lynn, I’m leaving.” A gentle breeze rustled the leaves. Her picture on the headstone still held the same kind, warm smile. I left the cemetery and wandered the streets aimlessly. The sweet scent of buttercream drifted from a bakery, and I suddenly remembered the cheap cakes Ron and Elias used to buy for me. The cream was waxy, but the sweetness was real. My phone buzzed incessantly. “Happy Birthday.” It was a message from the Ashworths, followed by a large bank transfer. Even though I had refused to go back to them, they never missed a holiday or a birthday. Two hours ago, Cathy had updated her Instagram story: a picture of three movie tickets. Without realizing it, I had walked to the site of our old orphanage. It had been torn down and replaced with an amusement park, still bright and noisy even at night. “Laraine!” Cathy spotted me and ran over, a strange glint in her eye. “You’re here too! I was feeling a little down today, so Ron and Elias insisted on taking me out.” Her sudden proximity made me uncomfortable. A bizarre, twisted smile flickered across her face. She grabbed my hand and abruptly threw herself backward. An electric scooter sped towards us, hitting us both. From Ron and Elias’s perspective, it must have looked like I pushed her into its path. In the car, their faces grew darker and darker. Cathy’s forehead and leg were bleeding heavily. They paid no attention to me, my face pale with shock, my right hand crushed by the scooter. The pain was so immense it felt like my hand didn’t belong to me anymore. When we got to the hospital, a nurse informed Ron that there was only one doctor on duty. “Get Cathy into surgery first! A girl can’t have scars!” Elias shouted the moment we arrived. Cathy’s injuries looked dramatic, but anyone with a bit of sense could see they were superficial. A nurse looked at my twisted hand. “Sir, we can handle Miss Jiang’s wounds here. But this young lady’s injury is far more serious. If we don’t treat it immediately, her right hand…” “Arrange the surgery for Cathy now!” Ron and Elias were in perfect, cold agreement. My face was as white as a sheet. If I lost this hand, I would never be able to hold a paintbrush again. “Ron… Elias… please, let me have the surgery… my hand hurts so much!” “Laraine, why do you always have to target Cathy?!” “Don’t you forget you’re just an orphan! If I hadn’t taken you in, you would have starved to death on the streets!” “From this day forward, Cathy is my sister! You will not hurt her again!” “If it weren’t for you, Cathy wouldn’t have gotten hurt at all!” “You don’t even have a scratch on you! Stop pretending!” Ron slapped me, sending me stumbling to the floor. All the color drained from my face. It wasn’t until my hand was dangling at a sickeningly unnatural angle that he seemed to realize something was wrong. “Laraine… are you okay?”

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The scholarship student I’d sponsored for years crashed my birthday party and shoved a pregnancy test in my face. “Audrey is pregnant with my child,” he announced, his voice ringing with arrogance. “You better know your place and divorce her now!” I stared at the test, completely thrown. “Are you sure… you mean Audrey is pregnant with your child?” Wayne brandished the test strip like a trophy. “Of course, it is! We conceived on our cruise last month!” His words sent a ripple of shock through me and every guest at the party. Because my ex-wife, Audrey… died three years ago. 1. I stared at Wayne, my mind reeling. I had to ask again. “Do you even know who Audrey is?” He clutched the pregnancy test, his expression defiant. “Cut the crap, Connor. Just divorce Audrey and get out of the way. Stop making a fool of yourself.” This was a new Wayne. Dressed in an expensive, tailored suit, with a sharp, styled haircut, he was a world away from the scrawny, timid boy I’d met eight years ago. Despite his aggressive tone, a part of me still held out hope. “Wayne, stop joking around. It’s my birthday. Have some cake.” He shoved the plate I offered aside, slamming his hand on the table. “Screw the cake! Are you divorcing her or not? If you don’t, I have other ways to make you.” He jabbed a finger so close to my eye that my girlfriend, Anna, instinctively pulled me back. “Don’t you touch him!” she snapped. The room was buzzing with whispers, all eyes on us. As the host of the party, I could feel the heat of embarrassment crawling up my neck. “Wayne, if you don’t stop this nonsense, I’m cutting off all funding to you and your family tomorrow.” When I first decided to sponsor him, Wayne was wearing rags he’d pulled from a dumpster, his fingernails black with grime. A cockroach had crawled out of his matted hair. I learned that both his parents were paralyzed, and he was supporting them and his younger brother by scavenging while trying to study. His story moved me deeply. “Wayne,” I had told him that day, “I’ll pay for you to finish university. I’ll also support your family and help improve their living situation.” From that day on, I wired him two thousand dollars every month, without fail. On holidays, I’d send extra money and gifts. And this was how the boy I had poured so much into repaid me. He sneered. “You think I care about your charity?” He stepped closer, patting my cheek with a condescending rhythm. “Get it through your head. I’m the one who got your wife pregnant.” He pointed to his designer shoes, then flashed a diamond-encrusted watch on his wrist. “Audrey told me everything. Once she gives birth to our son, she’s buying me a mansion and moving my whole family in to live a life of luxury. Your pathetic two grand a month? Save that for your own tombstone.” He let out a sharp, cruel laugh, then snatched a bottle of wine and hurled it at my birthday cake. The four-tiered masterpiece, a custom gift from my friends, was instantly destroyed. A wave of outrage swept through the guests. “You’re a scholarship student! How dare you try to steal from the man who saved you? You have no shame!” “He’s worse than a leech. Selling himself for money and then biting the hand that feeds him. People like you make me sick!” But their condemnation only earned them a contemptuous eye-roll from Wayne. “You all think Connor is some kind of saint? You’ve all been fooled,” he declared, his voice ringing with self-righteous fury, as if he were about to reveal a grand conspiracy. “Connor’s just using Audrey’s money to build a reputation! He doesn’t spend a dime of his own, but he takes all the credit!” “He’s just trying to paint himself as a good person to morally blackmail Audrey so she can’t divorce him!” Wayne’s voice grew louder, his indignation mounting. He looked as if he were fighting for Audrey’s honor. “She has to support him, pay for his fake charity, and on top of it all, he won’t even let her have a child!” “He’s the toxic one, the one with no morals! Everything I’m doing is to save Audrey from him!” He portrayed himself as a white knight, a hero. But the crowd wasn’t buying it. “Are you insane? You’re spouting nonsense and knowingly wrecking a marriage…” The accusation clearly struck a nerve. Wayne grabbed a bowl and threw it at the speaker. “I’m not wrecking anything! I’m repaying a debt of gratitude!” he screamed. “When I found out Audrey was my true benefactor, I repaid her with my young, strong body!” The sheer shamelessness of it all left everyone speechless. Before I could respond, Wayne’s eyes landed on Anna, who was still holding my arm. A flash of discovery lit up his face. “Well, well, Connor. Not only are you using Audrey’s money to build your image, you’re using it to keep a mistress on the side.” Anna’s brow furrowed in disgust. “Show some respect. I am Connor’s girlfriend.” Wayne snorted. He pointed a finger at her, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Connor is an old man who can’t even have kids. How could he land a beautiful young girlfriend like you? Don’t lie. You’re just his sugar baby!” He grinned and pulled out his phone, snapping pictures of us. “If you don’t divorce her willingly, I’ll make sure this cheating scandal goes public. You’ll be left with nothing, and you’ll have to pay Audrey damages!” I looked at the wreckage of my birthday party, a profound sense of weariness washing over me. Maybe the stress of his studies had finally broken him. Maybe he was having some kind of psychotic break. I decided not to fight back. Instead, I calmly placed a hand on his shoulder. “Wayne, just calm down and listen to me. You’ve made a mistake. I have always been your sole sponsor. All the money you received came from me.” I glanced at Anna, a helpless, almost amused look passing between us. “And the Audrey you’re talking about… she died in an avalanche three years ago. I saw it with my own…” Wayne didn’t let me finish. He leaped back, shouting, “Are you crazy, Connor? Spreading rumors that your own wife is dead? Do you have a conscience?!” I had been trying to be patient, remembering the boy I had watched grow up. But he was putting on a full-blown circus act at my birthday party, and even if I could tolerate it, Anna couldn’t. She held me tight and glared at Wayne. “Get out. Now. Or I’ll have security throw you out.” Wayne turned his smug grin on her. “So you’re going to flaunt this affair so openly, Connor? You’re finished! I’ll have Audrey’s family kick you to the curb by tomorrow!” At this point, besides thinking Wayne was truly insane, I started to feel a flicker of pity for him. Whoever’s pregnancy test he was holding, he deserved to know the truth. “Since you’re so insistent,” I said, “why don’t you come with me to see Audrey? Then you’ll know I’m not lying.” Wayne followed me, still boasting. “Hmph. Just wait until you see my Audrey. You’ll see how much she loves me!” I gave him a sympathetic look and asked Anna to arrange for a car. Soon, two luxury sedans were waiting for us. Many of the guests, eager to see the drama unfold, got in their own cars and followed our small convoy. When the car stopped, I had the driver let Wayne out. He took off his sunglasses, looked around, and exploded. “You brought me to a cemetery?! What the hell is your problem, Connor?” “Just calm down and follow me.” I guided him a few steps forward and stopped in front of a gravestone. “Take a good look. Whose name is on it?” Wayne glanced at the inscription and then threw his head back and laughed. “I admit, you’re willing to go to great lengths, Connor. Faking a tombstone to get out of a divorce. But it’s useless. No matter how many times you claim Audrey is dead, you can’t deny the fact that she is the mother of my child.” His patience seemed to wear thin. He gave me an ultimatum. “Divorce her now, and I’ll have Audrey leave you with a few thousand dollars. Keep this up, and your life is going to get very miserable.” Even Anna, who was usually so composed, was starting to lose her temper. She took out her phone, turned on the flashlight, and shone it directly on the tombstone. “Wayne, take a good, hard look at the photo on this stone. Is that the Audrey you’ve been sleeping with?” Wayne stared at the photograph. After a few seconds of silence, he pointed an accusing finger at me. “You’re a cruel bastard, Connor,” he seethed. “You actually put your wife’s picture on a tombstone just to sell this lie!” Seeing that he was still in denial, my friends finally stepped in. “Kid, are you having a breakdown? Connor’s wife really did die three years ago.” “There was a huge news story about a fatal avalanche at a ski resort three years back. Look it up.” Watching Wayne’s shocked and furious expression, a suspicion began to form in my mind. “The Audrey you know… does she like to ski?” He nodded, a flicker of doubt in his eyes. “Of course. She’s the one who taught me how.” “Three years ago,” I said, my voice heavy, “she went skiing at a resort overseas. There was a freak blizzard and an avalanche. She was buried under the snow. The rescue team searched for a week but never found her body. They concluded her body was swept off a cliff. No chance of survival.” I pulled out my phone and showed him photos from her funeral. Her parents were in the front row, their faces etched with grief. “Her parents accepted it. They chose this plot, this gravestone. Her legal status is deceased. I think you’ve been scammed, Wayne. The woman you’re with cannot be her.” Wayne’s expression shifted from confusion to shock, then to rage as he felt the weight of everyone’s pitying stares. “You’re lying, Connor! I just texted her on the way here. She said she’s coming to demand a divorce from you personally!” Anna had completely lost her patience. She took my hand. “He’s a psychopath, Connor. Let’s not waste any more time on him. Let’s go back and salvage your birthday.” Wayne started snapping pictures of us again, vowing to expose my “affair.” Just as I turned to leave with Anna, Wayne suddenly jumped up and down, waving frantically towards the cemetery entrance. “Audrey, you’re here! I knew you’d come for me!”

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The spotlight glared at the launch event for the Stellara Apex S8. This was supposed to be the moment my wife, Caroline—the CEO—finally told the world about us. But then he walked on stage, her old flame, Fred, just back from a long stint overseas, his smile dripping with smug satisfaction. “Caroline,” he announced, his voice booming through the auditorium, “I can finally love you out in the open, for everyone to see.” Caroline didn’t explain. She didn’t even glance my way. Instead, she leaned in and gave him a soft, lingering kiss right there on stage, then declared to the world that Fred was the new Lead Developer of the Apex S8 project. The reaction was instantaneous. Applause thundered through the hall, and online forums exploded with messages of congratulations. They were a power couple, a perfect match. Seeing my stony silence, Caroline’s eyes narrowed, flashing a warning. “Ethan, what’s with the long face? You got a problem?” I didn’t argue. I didn’t cause a scene. I just gave her a slight nod and, in front of everyone, tossed my Lead Developer badge into the nearest trash can. “Of course I have a problem,” I said, my voice calm but carrying. “A man of Fred’s talent deserves more than just a title. Why stop at an announcement? You two should get married right here, right now. Let us all share in the joy.” 1 A wave of shock rippled through my colleagues as they watched my badge clatter against the bottom of the bin. They knew. They all knew I’d bled for the Apex S8, run myself into the ground, a collection of stress-induced illnesses my only reward. But then, a flicker of understanding dawned on their faces. One by one, they gave me subtle nods, some even a thumbs-up, their expressions a mix of pity and admiration for my supposed “magnanimity.” Only Caroline, on her throne of a stage, looked ready to kill. I met her furious gaze without a shred of desire to explain myself. Caroline had always hated the idea of office romance. In our six years of marriage, my existence as her husband was the company’s best-kept secret. I’d pleaded with her, time and again, to go public, but she’d always shut me down, claiming a CEO had to set an example. She promised me that on the day the Apex S8 was successfully launched, she would finally acknowledge me. Now, with a casual smile, she had handed my life’s work, my identity, to another man. As the crowd’s whispers turned to Fred, their eyes filled with a new, speculative curiosity, Caroline’s patience finally snapped. “Ethan, what the hell is wrong with you?” she hissed into her mic. I managed a thin, bitter smile. “Who am I to stand in the way of true love?” My devotion had been worthless against the ghost of a past romance. I said no more, simply turned my back on the stage, and walked out. The Apex S8 was a triumph because of my sleepless nights and my network of top-tier industry contacts who’d helped me push the core technology to its limits. I had collapsed from exhaustion more times than I could count, all to build the pedestal she was standing on today. But now, the last embers of my love for her had turned to ash. I was done building a world for someone else to live in. The project was nearly complete, but I knew Fred. He was all style and no substance, a “visionary” with a fancy overseas degree who wouldn’t be able to finish my remaining work in three years, let alone three weeks. Outside, I unlocked the beat-up electric scooter Caroline had so “generously” provided for me. A hollow laugh escaped my lips. For six years, she controlled every penny. I’d asked for a simple car for my commute, just a used sedan, but she’d refused. “We already have a car,” she’d said, her voice sharp with disapproval. “Why waste the money? Do you have to compare yourself to everyone else?” But in six years, she’d never once let me ride in her car, always citing appearances. I’d accepted it, telling myself it was for the good of the company. I finally understood the truth the day Fred returned and she bought him a brand-new Maybach without a second thought. It was never about the company. It was just that she never had any room for me in her heart. My own heart felt like a dead weight in my chest. I was about to head home to pack my things when the gleaming black Maybach cut me off. Fred rolled down the window, a smug grin plastered on his face. “Ethan, you really think Caroline would ever go public with a broke-ass loser like you? You’re dreaming. Thank God she announced it was me today. Imagine the laughing stock the company would be if it were you.” He looked down on me, his words dripping with contempt. It was his favorite game: provoke me, then play the victim to drive a wedge between Caroline and me. Nearly every fight we’d ever had could be traced back to him. This time, I couldn’t be bothered to engage. Just then, Caroline appeared. In a flash, Fred gunned the engine and deliberately scraped the Maybach against a nearby utility pole. “Oh my God, Ethan, are you okay?” he cried, feigning panic. “It’s all my fault, I didn’t see you on your scooter!” He scrambled out of the car, rushing to my side with a look of theatrical concern. “I know you’re upset that I got the credit for your work, but you shouldn’t have swerved in front of me like that! What if you’d been seriously hurt? I’d feel guilty for the rest of my life.” I was done with the drama. I tried to ride away, but Caroline was faster. One swift, brutal kick sent me and the scooter crashing to the pavement. “If you want to die, go do it somewhere else!” she snarled, her face a mask of cold fury. “Don’t you dare try to pin this on Fred!” If she had just looked, just for a second, she would have seen who was truly at fault. But she didn’t want to see. In that moment, the last of my hope withered and died. Fred pretended to help me up. I shoved his hand away, and he immediately crumpled to the ground, wincing in fake pain. It was kindergarten-level acting, but for Caroline, it was an award-winning performance. Without a word, she slapped me hard across the face, then rushed to Fred, cradling him in her arms as if he were made of glass. She bundled him into the Maybach and sped away, running three red lights to get him to a hospital. The scene replayed in my mind: the time I’d been hospitalized with a bleeding stomach after a brutal networking dinner for the company. She’d shown up, handed me a bottle of water and some antacids, and told me to rest up. I let out a dry, bitter laugh, pulled my battered scooter upright, and went home. Later that night, Fred posted on his story. “Getting hurt isn’t so bad when the boss buys you a five-star dinner.” The picture was of Caroline, smiling sweetly as she fed him a bite of food. Expressionless, I typed a single comment: A match made in heaven. A moment later, my phone rang. It was Caroline. I expected her to yell at me for ruining their dinner. Instead, her voice was soft. “Ethan, you know how Fred is. He’s just… young. Give him a few years to mature, and then I’ll tell everyone about us. I promise.” “The Lead Developer title is just for show,” she continued. “Behind the scenes, you’ll still be in charge. The team still answers to you.” “Mhm,” I said, my voice flat. The classic one-two punch of cruelty and kindness. I’d been swallowing that bait for six years. Now, I was sick of it. Sensing my mood, she paused. “I left a gift for you in the drawer,” she said finally. “A little something to make up for today. Can we just… not fight about this?” I opened the drawer. Inside was a beautifully wrapped box. Printed on the gift tag, in elegant script, were the words: For my dearest Fred. So it was his gift. No wonder she sounded so conflicted giving it to me. I didn’t argue. I didn’t say another word. I just quietly ended the call. I didn’t even bother to open it. The box went straight into the trash. Then, I picked up my phone and dialed the number for a recruiter at Tesla, a man who’d been trying to poach me for years. “I’ve made my decision,” I said. “I can start next month.” 2 As one of the top EV companies in the world, Tesla had been sending me offers for years. Each year, the salary and benefits got better. But I had turned them down every time, without a moment’s hesitation, all to stay by Caroline’s side. On the other end of the line, the recruiter, fearing I might change my mind, immediately offered me the position of Director of R&D, complete with a company car and a fully furnished house. A knot tightened in my chest. In a single phone call, a stranger had shown me more value and respect than my own wife had in six years of marriage. I thought back to the beginning. It was Caroline’s offhand comment about wanting to be a CEO that made me give up a guaranteed executive position to start a company with her from scratch. I poured my life into it. Countless all-nighters, endless schmoozing for investors, a body wracked with chronic illnesses—that was the price I paid to put her, who had done nothing, on the CEO’s throne. I willingly became the ghost in the machine, the man behind the curtain. I had given her everything she ever wanted, only to watch her hand it all to someone else. From now on, I was living for myself. That night, I booked a flight and drafted my resignation letter. I also compiled all the final technical specifications, safety protocols, and a detailed pricing strategy for the Apex S8, and sent it all to Caroline’s email. Now, I owed her nothing. As I packed, I unearthed a trove of long-forgotten memories. Matching sweaters, his-and-hers bracelets, a photo album filled with snapshots of a happier time. Everything was covered in a fine layer of dust, a testament to how long they’d been neglected. It all started to change the day Fred came back. The cozy nights in our tiny apartment, the fireworks we watched on New Year’s Eve, the way she’d stay up with me whenever I was sick, the promises we whispered in the dark—all of it slowly faded. It was replaced by her all-nighters at the “office,” her weekend trips with Fred. Even when I was sick in bed, she no longer offered a single word of comfort. Love, I realized, could truly die. I had once asked her why, my heart aching with confusion. Her response was a cold wave of disdain. “We’ve been married for years, Ethan. How can you be so much less mature than Fred?” “Fred is a talent, a visionary. Of course I’m going to give him more resources. It’s for the future of our company. Can’t you be less petty for once?” Staring at the photo album, I felt a profound sense of foolishness. I tossed it into the trash can with the rest of the garbage. My phone buzzed. A message from Caroline. “Working late at the office. I can’t make it for our anniversary tonight. We’ll celebrate next year.” I didn’t reply. I just quietly canceled the flowers and the reservation I’d made for our candlelight dinner. In the past, she would have just ghosted me. This time, she at least bothered to make an excuse. Progress, I supposed. I scrolled mindlessly through my news feed. The top story featured a splashy headline: “Tech CEO and Her Old Flame Spotted on a Romantic Beach Getaway, Complete with Fireworks.” The faces in the photo were painfully familiar. Caroline and Fred. The comments were flooded with heart emojis and blessings. I added my own like to their happiness. Then, I took a long, hot shower, went out for a drink, and stopped by a print shop to get copies of a divorce petition. It was well past midnight when I stumbled back home. The first thing I saw was Caroline, standing in the living room, her face a thundercloud of fury. “So now you have the guts to go out carousing all night, do you?” 3 I yawned, a little surprised. She was actually home. Usually, whenever Fred was involved, she’d stay with him, glued to his side. I ignored her and started for the bedroom. She grabbed my arm, her grip like steel. “It’s our anniversary, and you go out drinking? And here I was, rushing back from work just to be with you.” Her voice was laced with accusation. “Ethan, is this how you fulfill your duties as a husband?” Duties? The woman could lie without blinking, and now she had the audacity to lecture me about responsibility? She spends our anniversary watching fireworks with another man, then comes home to blame me for being irresponsible. I remembered all the nights I’d waited up for her, only to be called “immature” and “clingy,” to be told I should focus my energy on work instead of bothering her. Now that I’d stopped caring, she couldn’t stand it. “Yeah, whatever,” I mumbled, just wanting to sleep. She yanked me back, her eyes cold and hard. “I haven’t showered. You can join me.” A year ago, an invitation like that would have sent my heart soaring. I would have dropped everything, all my anger and resentment, to wash her back and feel her close. Now, it just felt like another one of her games. I noticed the faint, dark mark on her neck—a kiss. A wave of nausea washed over me. I pushed her away, my voice rough with irritation. “I’ve already showered. You go.” Her eyes widened in disbelief. “Is this because I came home late on our anniversary? I told you, I was busy with work! Why are you being so unreasonable?” she demanded. “I didn’t say a word about you going out drinking, and this is the attitude I get?” With that, she stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her. In the past, I would have chased after her. I would have begged, apologized, and taken all the blame. Tonight, I just climbed into bed and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. The next morning, I woke up feeling refreshed and made myself a single-portion breakfast. Just as I was about to eat, I noticed Caroline was still home. That was new. She never came back unless I groveled first. With a sigh, I pushed my plate across the table to her. Her expression softened slightly. Then I saw them. A set of Porsche keys sitting on the counter. My heart gave a painful lurch. It was my dream car, the one I’d told her about a hundred times, the one she always said we couldn’t afford. Noticing my gaze, Caroline had the grace to look uncomfortable. “They’re a birthday present for Fred,” she said quietly. “I’ll get yours next time.” The world plunged into an icy abyss. I laughed, a hollow, self-mocking sound. Of course. Why did I think for a second she might have changed? I nodded, forcing a smile. Then I slid two documents across the table toward her. “Just a couple of papers that need your signature.” She took them, her annoyance returning. “Give you an inch and you take a mile.” She signed the first document—my resignation letter—without even reading it. A sharp pain lanced through my chest, even though I’d expected it. She signed the second one, too. It wasn’t until she’d finished her signature that she looked at the title. Divorce Agreement.

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1 To save my boyfriend, the man with the failing heart, I worked myself to the point of collapse. I juggled multiple jobs, scrimping and saving every penny for his treatment. I was so broke I couldn’t even afford medicine when I got sick myself. So when I heard about the “Gold Dust Challenge”—a publicity stunt where you could literally scramble for gold flakes on the ground—I signed up without a second thought. I was on my hands and knees, scrambling through dirt and gravel like a feral dog, desperate to find enough “gold dust” to exchange for cash. For his life. I was led inside to a back office to cash in my findings. And through the thin wall, I heard his voice. A reporter was interviewing him. “Mr. Schwimmer, you spent over three million dollars on this event, all to bring a smile to Miss Isabelle Vance’s face. Your devotion is truly something to be admired.” A familiar, chillingly casual voice replied. “It’s nothing. If it makes Isabelle happy, then letting these desperate people grovel for it is the most value they’ll ever provide.” I clutched the three thousand dollars I had just earned, the irony a bitter pill in my throat. … My boyfriend, Patrick Schwimmer, was a poor kid with a congenital heart defect who couldn’t rub two pennies together. That’s what he’d told me. So my first reaction was denial. It couldn’t be him. The man who couldn’t afford a thirty-dollar co-pay couldn’t possibly be the one who just dropped three million on a party. Besides, my Patrick was in the hospital right now, his heart too weak to leave his bed. It had to be a coincidence. Someone who sounded like him, who also happened to be named Schwimmer. But the next sound shattered that fragile hope. A woman’s delicate laughter, a sound I recognized with a sickening jolt. “Oh, Patrick,” Isabelle Vance cooed, “they look just like little puppies, don’t they? It’s hysterical! Especially that one who looks a bit like your girlfriend, Leah. Look at how hard she’s trying. She must be desperate for the money.” I heard a sharp intake of breath. On the other side of the wall, Patrick’s eyes were glued to the monitor displaying the live feed of the event. He quickly typed something on his phone. A second later, my own phone buzzed. [Baby, where are you? Don’t push yourself too hard. Rest if you’re tired.] A bitter laugh escaped my lips. My hand trembled so badly I could barely hold the phone. [Don’t worry, I’m resting now. I found a great gig today, made a full three thousand!] He sent back a kissing emoji. [That’s my girl. Another few days of hospital bills covered.] How utterly laughable. A grotesque smile stretched my lips, but tears streamed down my face like pearls from a broken string. Convinced the pathetic creature on the screen wasn’t me, Patrick relaxed. He chuckled. “On all fours like that,” he said to Isabelle. “They really do look like dogs begging their master for a bone.” The room erupted in laughter. “Look at the way she’s sticking her butt in the air! It’s like she’s wagging her tail!” “People like that would do anything for money. I bet if you told her to lick your shoes, she’d do it without a second thought.” “Mr. Schwimmer’s shoes are custom-made, worth millions! Letting trash like her lick them would be an honor!” On my side of the wall, I stared down at my own worn-out sneakers, my big toe poking through a hole. In that moment, my dignity shattered into a million pieces. 2 I took the money and turned to leave, but I ran straight into Patrick. He saw me, and for a fleeting second, panic flashed in his eyes. Then his gaze fell to my tattered work uniform, and his expression soured with a subtle, unmistakable disgust. He rounded on the security guard. “How did a participant get in here? What are you people paid for?” The event coordinator quickly stepped in. “Mr. Schwimmer, my apologies. This participant needed cash immediately for a medical bill, so we brought her backstage. We’re leaving now.” I stared at Patrick, dumbfounded. He stood there, impossibly handsome and regal in his bespoke suit, looking nothing like a sick man. The fabric was so fine, woven with threads of gold that I could spend a lifetime scrambling for and never afford. My throat was raw. I couldn’t tell if my voice was trembling or if I just couldn’t speak at all. “Patrick,” I finally managed to whisper. “Are you going to pretend you don’t know me?” Before Patrick could answer, the people behind him, the same ones who had just been mocking me, looked horrified. “Is this the famous girlfriend? But… her clothes…” He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t have to. Everyone was thinking it. My face was sallow, my skin rough, my clothes practically rags. I was the woman who had just been crawling on the ground for money. I looked like I was one step away from starving. How could I possibly be Patrick Schwimmer’s girlfriend? Patrick’s face was a mask of fury, the veins on his arm bulging. He looked at me with cold, hard eyes, as if my very presence was a source of profound embarrassment. Isabelle, standing beside him, let out an exaggerated yawn. “Oh, not this again. Another desperate woman trying to get Patrick’s attention. I’ve heard this line so many times it’s boring.” It was the out Patrick needed. He stepped around me without a flicker of recognition. “A rather pathetic attempt at getting my attention,” he said coolly. The bitterness in my mouth was suffocating. My mind flashed back to college. Freshman year, the student council had hazed me, forcing me to run five miles. I refused, and they dumped a bucket of toilet water on my head. They made me stand in the blazing sun for two hours until I finally collapsed. The last thing I saw before I passed out was Patrick scooping me up and rushing me to the infirmary. He told me my defiance, the look in my eyes, shone like a star. From that day on, he was my protector. He stood up for me, even when it meant being punished and humiliated himself. He never cared if my clothes were dirty or if I was a mess. His love felt so real, so true. It was why I had chosen to stay with him, even after he told me about his “heart condition.” The man from my memories and the man standing before me now were two different people. I don’t know where the courage came from, but I lunged forward and grabbed his sleeve. The expensive fabric wrinkled, leaving white marks from the dust on my fingers. His eyes flashed with irritation. “I doubt you could afford to replace this if you sold everything you own.” I cut him off. “Since you’re not sick, and you’re not poor… can I have my money back?” Because I’m the one who’s sick now. With a single look from Patrick, the people behind him tactfully withdrew. “I faked being poor and sick to test you,” he said, his voice low and cold. “To see if you were like all the other women, just after my money.” “It seems you’re all the same.” I didn’t argue. I just looked at him and repeated my question. “Can I have my money back?” He yanked his arm away with such force that I stumbled and fell to the floor. “You dirtied my clothes, and you have the audacity to ask me for money?” 3 He saw my tear-filled eyes, and his tone softened slightly. “Don’t go to work for the next few days. Get some rest. I’ve scheduled some appointments with a few stylists. We’ll give you a makeover.” He paused, looking down at me. “Until then, let’s just pretend we don’t know each other, okay?” It was as if I hadn’t heard him. I enunciated each word with chilling clarity. “Give. Me. My. Money.” His patience snapped. His eyes darkened, and he ground out the words through clenched teeth. “If you just behave, I’ll give you any amount of money you want.” He said it as if he were making a great concession. “Even if you only got close to me for my money, fine. I accept it.” I closed my eyes, letting the tears fall freely. “Patrick, let’s break up.” He laughed, a smug, knowing sound. “Afraid I’ll think you’re a gold digger, so you’re preemptively breaking up with me? Is that the game?” “You knew my identity all along, didn’t you? You deliberately joined this event. Even crawling on the ground… you did that for us to see, didn’t you?” I stared at him in disbelief. I had never known him to be so delusional. “Patrick, how did I never realize how disgusting you are?” I spat. “If you hadn’t faked being sick, would I have had to work myself to the bone? My life would be better without you.” He sneered. “Still pretending?” “Without me, do you think you would have graduated? Without me, do you think you would have landed a job at a Fortune 500 company right out of college? You’re nothing without me!” I turned my back on him, no longer wanting to waste another breath. His voice, dripping with certainty, followed me. “You won’t last a week. You’ll come crawling back to me.” The next few days were a living hell. One by one, my part-time jobs suddenly “no longer needed me.” Then, my corporate job fired me, offering a generous severance package just to get me out the door. The moment the money hit my account, long-lost relatives I’d never met materialized, claiming my parents owed them money. After everything, all I had left was the three thousand dollars from the Gold Dust Challenge. I clutched my chest, each breath a struggle. Three years of sleeping only five hours a night had taken its toll. My body was shutting down. After buying my medication, I didn’t even have enough left for rent. Every company I applied to rejected me the second they heard my name. Just as I was about to lose all hope, I got an offer for a one-day gig. When I arrived, I realized my employer was Isabelle. She poured a glass of water on the floor and ordered me to clean it up on my hands and knees. One of her friends poked me with a stick, tsking theatrically. “You stink,” Isabelle said with a laugh. Then she kicked me into the swimming pool and watched me struggle to stay afloat, plastering hundred-dollar bills to my soaked, semi-sheer shirt. When I remained silent, she seemed to lose interest. “Don’t you have any dignity?” I gathered the wet bills, tucking them carefully into my pocket. “Dignity is a luxury for the rich. You’ve never been poor. You wouldn’t understand.” She smiled. “What about this? Does this mean anything to you?” I looked at the necklace in her hand, and my world stopped. It was the only thing my mother had ever given me. I had given it to Patrick on his birthday. The last thread of my sanity snapped. I lunged at her, but a strong hand caught me mid-air. Patrick held me back easily, looking at me like I was a misbehaving pet. “Isabelle has a weak heart,” he said calmly. “Just let it go. How much is the necklace worth? I’ll buy it from her for you.”

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1 I deleted my account. The one with a million followers. My followers were baffled, speculating that I’d been hacked. But Mary, my direct competitor in the beauty niche, cornered me. “Why did you just give up?” she demanded. “Are you insane?” I ignored the noise. I packed a bag and set off to see the world, alone. In my last life, my content and Mary’s were identical. The internet called me a clone, a cheap copycat destined to fade away. The hate flooded my DMs, and then it spilled into the real world. I tried to fight back. I posted screenshots of my creative briefs, my behind-the-scenes footage, time-stamped to prove I was the original creator. They called it all fake. The relentless cyberbullying pushed me into a deep depression, and one sunny afternoon, I slit my wrists and bled out on the floor of my cramped apartment. When I opened my eyes again, I was back. Back to the very first day Mary stole my video. My finger was hovering over the “Publish” button. One more centimeter, one more second, and I would make the mistake that would cost me my life. A violent shiver wracked my body, and I snatched my hand back as if from a fire. My chest heaved, and I gasped for air, like a drowning woman breaking the surface. The familiar room, the half-finished video on my screen… I was back. Reborn on the day I was supposed to launch my new style. After the initial shock subsided, I saved the video to my drafts and immediately searched for Mary’s social media. Her latest video popped up. It was a complete departure from her usual style. Her previous content was bland, the editing clumsy, barely scraping a few hundred likes. This new video, posted only thirty minutes ago, had already racked up tens of thousands. The comments were on fire. “Holy crap, that look would be a final boss in a survival horror story.” “A 10k account doing the work of a million-follower influencer. GO OFF, QUEEN.” “Is that even a human face? That’s illegal levels of gorgeous.” “WIFEY. OMG, someone stole my literal soulmate.” … The moody lighting, the bold makeup, the camera angles, the background music, even the caption—every single element was a perfect, horrifying mirror of the video sitting in my drafts. If I didn’t know for a fact that the idea came from a British drama I’d been binge-watching, that the script was the result of my own sleepless nights, I would have thought I was the copycat. But the reality was, Mary had beaten me to it. And she had gone viral overnight. Last time, this exact video was the start of my long, slow execution by a thousand digital cuts. I had published it, my heart swelling with pride, expecting praise and recognition. Instead, the comment section was a warzone. Accusations of plagiarism, with everyone tagging the “original” creator. I clicked the link they provided. And there it was. Mary’s video, posted just before mine. The similarity was 99.9%. But I knew I hadn’t copied anyone. Fury burned through me. To prove my innocence, I released my scripts and behind-the-scenes footage. It was useless. Mary produced her own “creative process” documentation, timestamped even earlier than mine. The internet mob turned on me with a vengeance. “Pretty sure she had this ‘proof’ ready from the start, just to slander Mary.” “SUPPORT CREATORS! BOYCOTT COPYCATS!” “Ava needs to get out of the beauty community. This isn’t the career for you, honey. Stop trying to force it.” “LMAO, talk about getting owned.” Then her management team and agency issued official statements, declaring their unwavering commitment to originality and outlining their collaborative creative process. I was just a solo creator. Everything, from concept to final cut, was done by me, and me alone. I had no one to vouch for me. And then, my own boyfriend, Joey, delivered the final, crushing blow. He posted a video publicly breaking up with me, claiming my past work was just a “Frankenstein’s monster” of ideas stitched together from other influencers. He called me a serial plagiarist. His betrayal was Thor’s hammer, shattering what little was left of my credibility. I was plunged into a deeper abyss. My comment sections became a cesspool of righteous indignation; my DMs were a gallery of horrors. The constant pressure choked my creativity. No brands would work with me. My savings dwindled. After a series of escalating self-harm incidents, I finally saw a psychiatrist and was diagnosed with severe depression. And on a bright, beautiful afternoon, I chose to end my own life. But I opened my eyes again. Back where it all began. Nothing has happened yet. This time, I have to figure out what the hell is going on. 2 Clinging to a sliver of hope, I switched to a burner account and dug through Mary’s other social media profiles. Unfortunately, she wasn’t the type to share her daily work life. Just as I was about to give up, I saw it. A familiar figure in the background of a group photo. I zoomed in on the live photo, my heart pounding. The image shifted, revealing the person’s left hand. On his finger was a ring I knew better than my own reflection. It was Joey’s hand. That ring was my first-anniversary gift to him. I’d had it custom-designed. There wasn’t another one like it in the world. So, at some point, Joey had been cheating on me with Mary. No wonder he had abandoned me so ruthlessly, throwing his support behind her the moment the scandal broke. There was no time to mourn the scumbag. My mind was already racing. I often vented to Joey about my work, sharing my half-formed ideas and flashes of inspiration. Could he have leaked my concepts to Mary? It was more than possible. But he was supposedly on a “business trip” and hadn’t been home in a while. And even if he were here, he’d never let me touch his phone. I had no hard evidence. But it was a start. I sent Joey the photo, told him we were done, and then blocked his number without a second thought. I immediately changed the passcodes on all the locks to my apartment, making sure he couldn’t get in while I was gone. With that loose end tied up, I turned my attention back to my work. I had to create something new. This time, there would be no mistakes. To be safe, I decided to pivot my style again. The stolen video was my first attempt at breaking out of my comfort zone, ditching the sweet, innocent, skinny-girl aesthetic for something more bold and confident. Since that concept had resonated so strongly, I was sure my next one would be even bigger. After hours of brainstorming, I finally finished the script. I looked at the concept on my screen and smiled, a real, satisfied smile. There was no way she could steal this one. To prevent any leaks, I shot the entire video inside my apartment, avoiding any public locations. As I watched the final cut, I felt a surge of pride. I was a natural-born content creator. To be extra cautious, I went to Mary’s latest video and left a comment from my burner account: “Can’t wait for your next video, queen! Please post soon!” She replied a short time later: “This last video took so much out of me, I think I’ll be taking a little break to recharge. Sorry!” I replied with a crying-cat emoji and breathed a sigh of relief. It seemed she had no plans to post anytime soon. My theory was likely correct. She had probably heard my idea from Joey and rushed to produce it. But could two people have the exact same idea, down to the last detail? For now, I had to chalk it up to a bizarre coincidence. Some people just have similar tastes. I uploaded my finished video to the platform’s backend, typed out the caption, and prepared to hit publish. Suddenly, a notification popped up from my burner account. I tapped on it. And my blood ran cold.

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The day I got my driver’s license, my dad bought me an Aetherion Lux 8. The day I went to the dealership to pick it up, my boyfriend asked me to sign the title over to his sister. “Bella’s getting married soon,” Liam said, “and she needs a car for the wedding procession. Wouldn’t it be a great gift? A perfect wedding present?” I just smiled. “$150,000 for a wedding present? Yeah, right. A present for his sister, my ass.” 1 After I passed my driving test, my dad decided to gift me an Aetherion Lux 8. It was a limited-edition domestic model, a high-end electric vehicle worth over one hundred and fifty thousand dollars. “Hannah, the money’s in your account,” he’d texted. “Don’t forget to pick up the car this weekend.” Seeing the seven-figure deposit in my bank account, I was so ecstatic I literally spun around in a circle. Liam, my boyfriend, saw how happy I was and asked what was up. I couldn’t help but share the news of my sudden windfall and the incredible car. His eyes widened, his jaw dropping. “$150,000?” he stammered. “Hannah, your dad is… that’s incredibly extravagant!” I tilted my chin up playfully. “A father’s love is just that simple and pure!” I pulled out my phone to start picking out a color online. The man beside me fell silent for a long moment before placing his hands on my shoulders. His voice was serious. “Hannah, listen. Bella is getting married at the end of the month. Why don’t… why don’t we put the car in her name?” He continued, his grip tightening slightly. “You know my family’s situation. She doesn’t have much of a dowry to speak of. This car… it could be her ‘something borrowed, something new.’ A show of strength from her future sister-in-law. It would give her so much standing with her new family. What do you say?” My brain short-circuited. A hundred and fifty grand. Not a hundred and fifty bucks. Was he even hearing himself? And how could he ask so casually? I was his girlfriend, not his personal charity fund. I immediately, if gently, shut him down. “My dad gave this to me. It’s a very personal, very valuable gift. It’s not appropriate for you to ask that, Liam.” His face froze, but the mask of calm slipped back into place almost instantly. He wrapped an arm around my shoulders, forcing a smile. “I’m sorry. I just assumed you felt the same way I do, that you already see Bella as your own sister.” His voice took on a wheedling, manipulative tone. “I was just thinking ahead. We’re going to get married someday, right? This is just a way for you to build some goodwill, to make it easier for you to blend into my family. I meant it as a good thing, nothing else.” My expression had already soured. But Liam either didn’t see it or chose to ignore it, plowing ahead with his monologue. “Your dad is so rich, and you’re an only child. You can’t spend all that money yourself. It’ll be ours to share eventually, so what’s the big deal about giving a little to Bella now? She’s not like you, Hannah. She didn’t grow up with a silver spoon. My mom literally found her in a box next to a dumpster. She’s had a hard life.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “As her future sister-in-law, you wouldn’t want her to be humiliated at her own wedding, would you? Right?” …If I hadn’t seen pictures of his sister on his phone, I might have actually bought it. Pictures of a girl with a flawless, surgically-perfected “influencer” face that screamed “expensive.” I shot to my feet. “The audacity! Are you already counting my father’s money? What does my dad’s money have to do with you? Or your sister? Can you people have some boundaries?” Liam’s face flushed a deep, angry red. His carefully maintained image of a humble, good-natured guy shattered. He pointed a trembling finger at my nose, sputtering, “Hannah, you’re so selfish! And after Bella has been so excited, calling you her sister-in-law already.” “You’re just… ugh, forget it.” He took a deep, steadying breath. “Think about it. This is a golden opportunity to make a good impression on my family, and you’re just throwing it away. You’re nothing but a spoiled rich girl, completely out of touch, reeking of money and selfishness!” With that, he stormed out, slamming the door behind him. I stood there, completely stunned. He asks me for a $150,000 gift and then has the nerve to get angry at me? Is he actually insane? The excitement of getting a new car vanished completely. I threw myself onto my bed and buried my face in my pillow, a sharp, angry pain blooming in my chest. When we first started dating, Liam wasn’t like this. He was gentle, kind, and rarely said anything so outrageous. He was the one who pursued me. He never let his humble background become a source of insecurity; he was hardworking, optimistic, and won every scholarship the university offered. He worked part-time jobs to support himself and even paid for his sister to take makeup classes. I knew he came from nothing, that his family was poor, but I was drawn to his resilience, his refusal to bow to fate. When he was wooing me, he was always busy with work, yet he still found time to check in on me, to run errands, to buy me food. When I was down, he’d drop everything to cheer me up, a bottomless well of emotional support. And, of course, the main reason: he was drop-dead gorgeous, more handsome than any movie star. I’m a sucker for a pretty face. So, in a moment of weakness, I’d let my heart rule my head and became his girlfriend. But right now, I felt less like a girlfriend and more like a fool. In the middle of the night, just as I was drifting off, my phone buzzed incessantly. A string of messages from Liam. I opened them to find a groveling apology. “Hannah, I was out of line today. I didn’t consider your feelings.” “You can casually buy a $150,000 car, while my sister barely makes $500 a month. The disparity just hit me all at once, and I lost my balance. I’m sorry.” “What time are you going to the dealership tomorrow? Let me come with you. I can help make sure they don’t rip you off. It’ll be my way of making it up to you.” Reading his messages, I paused. The wealth gap between us was vast, and it wasn’t his fault. If I hadn’t been so angry, I probably would have been more sensitive to his pride. Since he was offering an olive branch, I decided to take it. By unspoken agreement, we dropped the subject. 2 The next day, at the dealership, I laid my eyes on the sleek, futuristic Aetherion Lux 8. I fell in love instantly and told the saleswoman I wanted it in a stunning, almost-blinding neon green. As the delighted salesperson led me to the VIP lounge to sign the papers, Liam, who had been quiet the whole time, suddenly grabbed my arm. “Neon green is hideous,” he said flatly. “Get the cherry blossom pink. Pink is more feminine, more stylish.” I frowned. Did he forget that I loathe pink? It’s so girly, it doesn’t suit my personality at all. The neon green was vibrant and alive. Seeing my hesitation, the saleswoman just smiled and continued to lead me toward the lounge. Liam’s face hardened. He kept pace with us, muttering under his breath, “Hannah, it’s just… Bella likes pink, too. Even if the car isn’t in her name, you can still let her drive it, right? She’s already signed up for driving lessons. She could practice in your car. It’s a win-win.” I stopped in my tracks and turned to face him, my expression cold. “Why should I accommodate your sister? Your sister is getting married, your sister likes pink, your sister, your sister, your sister. Am I buying this car, or is she?” He finally seemed to realize he’d pushed too far. He glanced nervously at the salesperson and lowered his voice. “Hannah, I know you’re buying the car. Why do you have to be so aggressive about it? If I had the money to buy Bella a car, I wouldn’t be here begging you.” His voice cracked with emotion. “I’m just a poor student right now. I want to give my sister a meaningful wedding gift, something to give her some clout with her in-laws. Is that so wrong? As my girlfriend, shouldn’t you be considerate of my feelings? Is your love all about taking and never giving?” I was incandescent with rage. “What are you trying to say, Liam?” I asked through gritted teeth. He scoffed. “Nothing.” “Look, if you still consider me your boyfriend, you’ll bring the car to the wedding for Bella. Green, pink, whatever. I’m sure she’ll be thrilled either way.” …Bella this, Bella that. Maybe he should just date his sister and leave me out of it. Fuming, I stormed into the VIP lounge. The saleswoman, sensing the tension, brought me a tray of sweets and urged me not to let a little disagreement spoil the mood. If we weren’t in public, I would have torn into him right then and there. But lending the car out for the wedding wasn’t a huge deal. I told myself to let it go and grudgingly agreed. The change in Liam was instantaneous. The dark cloud over his face vanished. He quickly stepped outside the glass door, which was slightly ajar, and I heard him on the phone, his voice bursting with excitement. “Bella, I’ve got your wedding car sorted! The new Aetherion Lux 8, the $150,000 one! Yeah! Don’t you worry, your big brother will make sure you’re the happiest bride in the world. Anything anyone else has, you’ll have it too!” Picking up the car should have been a joyous occasion. But Liam had sucked all the fun out of it. Since we started dating, his never-before-seen sister had been a constant presence between us, stealing the majority of his attention. After the purchase, Liam left for his part-time job, and I drove back to my dorm alone. On the way, an unknown number called me. I ignored it, but they were persistent. Finally, I answered. It was Liam’s sister, Bella. “Hannah? My brother said you bought a car for me, for my wedding. That’s great. But I’m still short on some outfits and jewelry for the big day. I sent you a list. It’s not much, just under fifteen grand. You can just pay for it, okay? You’re so rich, you wouldn’t want to be stingy and embarrass my brother, would you?” I slammed on the brakes, my blood pressure skyrocketing. I took a deep, steadying breath, then forced a sweet smile into my voice. “Is there a royal throne in your family’s future that I’m not aware of?” She paused, then her voice rose in pitch. “What’s that supposed to mean?” What did it mean? “It means that when God was raining down wisdom, he must have given you an umbrella!” 3 I returned to my dorm, fuming. My roommate, Sophie, noticed my mood and handed me a can of soda. “What’s up? Fight with the boyfriend?” At the word “boyfriend,” my eyes welled up. “Sophie, I think I made a huge mistake. Being with Liam is making me miserable.” Sophie patted my back comfortingly. Then her eyes fell on the car key on my desk. “The Aetherion Lux 8! You got the new car?!” she shrieked. “You can afford a $150,000 car and you’re moping? Let’s go! You’re buying me dinner!” She dragged me out for a fiery hot pot that seared my taste buds. With good food and good company, my mood finally started to lift. I told her everything that had happened with Liam and the car. Sophie was my best friend—sharp-tongued and with a fierce sense of justice. She plopped a perfectly cooked duck foot into my bowl and started her pep talk. “Choosing not to be a gold digger doesn’t mean you have to be a charity case for the poor. Love and money are two separate things, Hannah. You don’t have to mix them. You did nothing wrong.” She scoffed. “You’re just dating, and he already expects you to financially support his family? What happens later? You become their personal ATM just because you’re an only child and they’re poor?” Sophie laughed, a mix of anger and disbelief. “It’s absurd! He lost a little bit of pride, but you almost lost $150,000! Do you know how much overtime we’d have to work after graduation to earn that back?” “You’re right!” The cloud of emo hanging over me finally dissipated. After Liam’s tirades, I had started to feel guilty, wondering if I, as the financially secure one, should have been more tolerant. But Sophie’s words gave me back my confidence. Being poor didn’t give him the right to be an entitled jerk. Sophie and I toasted, and a plan began to form in my mind. Our different backgrounds and ways of thinking were a fundamental conflict. It hadn’t been obvious before because he’d never asked about my family’s finances. Now that his scales were unbalanced, and I was feeling suffocated, it was time for damage control. As for the snarky remark I’d made to Bella about the dowry, Liam called me, furious, demanding an explanation. When I confirmed what I’d said, he spat out a venomous, “You’ve got some nerve, Hannah,” and then ghosted me for a month. Fine by me. I figured it was a mutual, unspoken breakup, saving us the awkward conversation. But a few days before Bella’s wedding, Liam suddenly appeared at my dorm with his mother, Mrs. Evans. She grasped my hands warmly. “Liam told me you prepared so many gifts for Bella, and even arranged for a car for her wedding. You really shouldn’t have spent so much,” she said, her face beaming. “Just having you there is enough. Bella is so lucky to have such a thoughtful sister-in-law. What do you like to eat? I’ll cook for you personally.” Mrs. Evans worked menial jobs in the city. She was a simple, hardworking woman, and I’d always had a good impression of her. But her words left me completely baffled. Liam pulled me aside. “You haven’t forgotten about lending the car for the wedding, have you?” he whispered. “If you make Bella happy tomorrow, we can forget all about our fights. I won’t be mad at you anymore, and we can go back to being a couple. I’ve been busy helping with the wedding this past month… I wasn’t deliberately ignoring you.” A muscle in my cheek twitched. So he wasn’t ghosting me to break up, he was giving me the silent treatment as a punishment? The absolute confidence of this man. Fine. If he wanted me at the wedding so badly, I’d go. I was morbidly curious to see what kind of performance he and his precious sister were planning to put on. 4 8:00 AM. The moment I stepped into Liam’s family home, the bride, decked out in a vibrant red dress, rushed to “greet” me. “Hannah, you came empty-handed? On my wedding day? You’ve got some nerve,” Bella announced loudly, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. “Bella, who’s this?” one of the bridesmaids asked. “She looks so fashionable. A friend of yours?” My Aetherion Lux 8 was parked right outside the door. From the moment I’d arrived, I’d been the subject of stares and whispers. Meeting Bella’s hostile gaze, I offered a faint smile and pulled out an envelope. A bridesmaid snatched it, and the one who opened it let out a shriek. “Wow! A voucher for a masterclass with that celebrity makeup artist! It costs thousands! I’ve always wanted to go!” “Bella, your friend is so good to you! I’m so jealous!” These were clearly Bella’s classmates from makeup school. They passed the voucher around, gushing over it, but Bella didn’t give it a single glance. She tilted her nose in the air and scoffed. “I thought you’d at least give me ten or twenty thousand in cash. For someone with your money, that’s a pretty cheap gift. I really don’t know what my brother sees in you.” I just smiled, refusing to let her get to me.

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At our ring exchange, the ballroom screen flickered to life—showing me bound and violated, not our smiling faces. Julian dropped my hand like poison, sliding the ring onto my best friend’s finger instead. As I stumbled from the red carpet, Dante—her brother, the syndicate boss—caught me. A gunshot silenced the hall. Then, ten chests of gold arrived as his bride price, and he proposed on the spot. Three years later, IVF succeeded. But overhearing Dante’s conversation shattered me: “Leaking Anya’s video let Peaches marry into the Sterling family. Her womb was just a vessel for Peaches’ heir.” I dialed his rival, voice steel-cold: “A billion-dollar deal. Interested?” 1 The vile banter inside the room continued. “You’re a clever one, Boss. Swapping her prenatal vitamins with abortion pills so she couldn’t conceive naturally… forcing her into IVF. She’d probably die of rage if she knew you’d already switched the embryo with one from Peaches and Julian.” “Whether she lives or dies is none of my concern,” Dante’s voice was casual. “After the birth, I’ll just make up some excuse, say the baby didn’t make it. She’ll just blame herself for not being able to carry it to term. It’s her honor to pave the way for Peaches’ happiness.” He tossed the lighter onto the table and stood up, his voice a low warning to everyone in the room. “Not a single word of what was said today leaves this room. I need her to deliver this baby without any complications.” I heard his man, a brute named Marco, slap his chest and laugh. “Don’t worry, Boss. That woman is dumb as a rock. We call her ‘Mrs. Dante’ and she actually thinks she’s the queen of this castle. She brings us food and drinks every day, completely clueless that I was the one who hand-picked the guys for that video.” Someone else roared with laughter. “Marco, you’re too much! Why didn’t you pick me back then? I would’ve loved a taste…” A fruit knife flew through the air, embedding itself in the floorboards right between the man’s legs. He went pale with terror. “Have I not made myself clear?” Dante’s voice was a low growl. “Anya is my wife now. Anyone who dares to bring that up again, I will personally end him.” A younger subordinate mumbled, “Boss, it seems like you’re not entirely indifferent to her. She’s head over heels in love with you. Aren’t you afraid she’ll leave you when she finds out the truth?” Dante scoffed. “So what? I’ll just knock her up again. Support her for the rest of her life. She’s a tainted, love-sick fool. A few sweet words and she’ll be licking my hand like a dog.” The room erupted in laughter again. I stood frozen in the hallway, feeling as if I’d been struck by lightning. I clamped my hand over my mouth, choking back sobs that threatened to escape. Footsteps approached the door. I spun around and fled downstairs, pouring myself a glass of the strongest whiskey and downing it in one go. The burn was searing, a fire racing to my head, and the tears I’d been holding back finally broke free. I clutched my chest, the poison of their words echoing in my mind. A week before my original wedding, I was kidnapped and endured a living hell for a day and a night. My then-fiancé, Julian, had held my hand, swearing he still loved me and wanted to marry me. But at the altar, he’d watched that video play and abandoned me, leaving me to be branded a whore by the world. It was Dante who had stormed in, shooting the screen to pieces, pulling me into his arms, and fiercely shielding me from the jeers and insults. He’d presented me with ten chests of gold, telling me he had loved me for years and would die without regret if he could not have me as his wife. His unwavering gaze had conquered me. And now, he was telling me it was all for Peaches. No wonder Peaches had looked at me with that strange, knowing smile on my wedding day to Dante. I was kidnapped because she had called me, claiming her car broke down and asking me to pick her up. She knew all along. It was all a setup. She was mocking my stupidity, reveling in the fact that she had a man who would do anything for her. And the three years of care and affection from Dante? A charade. A performance to squeeze every last bit of usefulness out of me. I had mistaken my executioner for my savior. How utterly laughable. My nails dug into my palms. I bit down, hard, the pain and hatred churning in my chest, the tears unstoppable. A familiar scent enveloped me. Dante was kissing the corner of my eye, his brow furrowed in what looked like concern. He roared at the room, “Which one of you sons of bitches made my wife cry? I’ll fucking kill him.” The hall fell silent, everyone holding their breath. He pulled a gun from his waistband and pressed it into my hand, wrapping his arms around me and guiding my hand to aim at the crowd. “Baby, you see anyone you don’t like, you just pull the trigger. I’ve got your back.” The men he aimed at trembled like leaves, but none dared to move. In this country, Dante was the king of one of the two largest syndicates. No one crossed him. I stopped when the barrel was pointed at Marco. Marco’s eyes widened, his face white with fear. The words ‘I was the one who hand-picked the guys for that video’ screamed in my ears like a curse. My chest heaved. My eyes were red with fury. I was about to squeeze the trigger when Dante pushed the gun down. 2 “Sweetheart, the doctor said the IVF was a success. Let’s not see any blood. We don’t want to scare the baby.” His voice was a gentle coax, his eyes filled with a concern so convincing I almost applauded his performance. Sensing my mood, Dante noticed the empty glass in front of me. He took my hand. “Honey, how long have you been here? Why didn’t you come upstairs to find me?” His words were laced with a careful, probing caution. I looked down. “You men were talking business upstairs. It was all smoke and noise. I didn’t feel like it.” He let out a breath of relief and stroked my head, ordering a maid to bring me a sobering tea. The moment she handed it over, he raised his gun and shot her in the head. I didn’t even have time to react. Thick, warm blood splattered across my face. The maid’s hand was still outstretched, her eyes wide in disbelief as she collapsed. My lips trembled. My stomach seized violently. Dante acted as if nothing had happened. He holstered his gun, carefully wiped my face with his sleeve, and then held the cup of tea to my lips, feeding me sip by sip. I swallowed mechanically, my entire body shaking. In my peripheral vision, I saw Marco’s men drag the maid’s body away, leaving a long, winding trail of blood on the polished floor. “Couldn’t even watch my wife to make sure she didn’t drink,” Dante muttered, his voice cold. “That’s a threat to my son. She didn’t deserve to live.” I stared at his ruthless face, my stomach churning. He touched my cheek, his voice softening again. “It’s all my fault, baby. I’ve made you suffer so much. Now that we finally have our baby, you can’t touch alcohol again, understand?” He added, “No matter what, this child has to be born healthy. You know that, right?” I took several deep breaths before managing a dry, brittle, “Okay.” My heart was frozen solid. In three years of marriage, I had been pregnant six times. Each time, I miscarried for no apparent reason, eventually leading to recurrent pregnancy loss. Six months ago, the doctors told me I could never conceive again. Dante had held me, heartbroken, telling me he didn’t care about children, that all he wanted was my happiness and health. The guilt of not being able to give him a child had eaten away at me. After extensive research, I chose the arduous path of IVF. My stomach became a pincushion, and I swallowed handfuls of hormone pills. All that suffering, only to be a surrogate for Peaches. Because she was afraid of pain, I was to be stripped of my right to be a mother, reduced to a breeding machine. “What’s wrong? You look so pale. Are you not feeling well? I’ll get the doctor right now.” “I’m fine. Just some morning sickness.” Dante’s eyes reddened with feigned sympathy. He stroked my face. “My poor wife, you’re going through so much. I wish I could bear this for you. We rushed our wedding… I’ve ordered you a custom-made wedding gown, your favorite designer. Let’s go try it on tomorrow before your belly gets too big.” I stared at him, at his deeply affectionate eyes, playing me for a fool, time and time again. If he knew I had no intention of carrying this child to term, my fate would be the same as that maid’s. I forced a smile. “I’m going to go rest. You guys carry on.” The moment I was back in our room, I ran to the bathroom and retched until my stomach was a knot of pure agony. Tears streamed down my face, the physical pain a fraction of the agony in my heart. After a long while, I pulled myself together. That’s when I saw it—Dante’s phone, left forgotten on the coffee table. On impulse, I picked it up. I only had to try once. Peaches’ birthday. It unlocked. The screen lit up with a photo of Peaches, leaning against his shoulder, her smile radiant. I scrolled through his photo gallery. Over five thousand photos, and Peaches was in every single one. He had them organized into four folders, chronicling different periods of her life. Each folder was labeled with a single word. Together, they spelled out: My Only Love. In their chat history, I saw that Dante had once risked his life to steal a royal crown for her. I suddenly remembered that night. He’d come back with two bullet wounds, barely clinging to life. It was I who had traded my mother’s only heirloom, a priceless antique amulet, to the royal family to get him back. And why? Because Peaches had casually mentioned she wanted to feel like a queen for her 25th birthday party. A tear fell onto the screen. My heart felt like it was being shredded. It wasn’t the pain of years of deception. It was that for this monster who had destroyed me, I had given away the only thing my mother had left me. Through blurry eyes, my gaze fell on the crescent-moon-shaped birthmark on Peaches’ right shoulder. My own eyes widened in shock. I have the exact same birthmark, in the exact same spot. I remembered when I first met Peaches, she didn’t have it. It was only after I told her about the time I’d saved a man covered in blood while working as a doctor without borders in a war-torn country that she started to distance herself from me. Soon after, she became Dante’s “adopted sister,” and he began telling everyone that Peaches had saved his life. But Peaches was a coward, terrified of hardship. She had never set foot in that country; in fact, she openly despised it. My cold fingers curled into fists. A wild, horrifying suspicion began to form in my mind. So that’s how it was. I collapsed to the floor, caught between hysterical sobs and bitter laughter. 3 A long time later, I wiped my tears, composed myself, and found the number I was looking for. “I have a business proposition for you,” I said. “Worth a billion dollars. Interested?” “What kind of business?” “In three days, I need you to kidnap me.” I gently stroked my stomach. “It’s a ransom Dante will be more than willing to pay.” Just as I hung up, Dante walked in. He was drunk, stumbling slightly, but his senses were still sharp enough to grab my hand. “What am I willing to pay for?” Without batting an eye, I replied, “I saw a necklace I liked. They said I need to put down a deposit.” He laughed, his head slumping onto my shoulder. “Fine, I’ll pay. I’ll pay for everything, Peaches. Whatever you want, big brother will get it for you. I’m yours too.” My face remained a mask. I helped him to bed, covered him up, and lay beside him, wide awake, for the rest of the night. The next day, on our way to the bridal salon, Dante took a call. His expression turned frantic. “Honey, a shipment got held up. I have to go deal with it.” He squeezed my hand, his voice full of apology. “I’m so sorry. I promise, I’ll take you to try on the dress tomorrow. I also ordered us a set of matching rings, ‘One Life, One Love.’ We can try them on together tomorrow, okay?” I pulled my hand away. “I understand. Go on. I’ll be a good girl and wait for you at home.” He squeezed my hand again, and the moment I stepped out of the car, he sped off. Less than ten minutes later, Marco’s car pulled up. As soon as I got in, a photo popped up on my phone. It was Peaches, wearing a stunning diamond ring and the very custom-made gown I had picked out, kneeling on a man’s lap. The man’s hand was on her thigh, visible through the sheer fabric. His lips were kissing the crescent birthmark on her right shoulder, his eyes smoldering with lust. A voice message followed. “I can only get it up at night if I close my eyes and pretend she’s you, Peaches. My sweet Peaches. Big brother misses you so much. Take care of your big brother, won’t you?” The husky voice was followed by a ragged, suppressed gasp. In the silent car, Marco’s sneer broke the quiet. I was startled, only then realizing the scenery outside wasn’t the way home. “Marco, I’m Dante’s wife! What do you think you’re doing?” The car screeched to a halt. I immediately tried to open the door on the other side, but he was faster. He lunged across the seat, grabbed my ankle, and dragged me out of the car. Pain exploded behind my eyes. I gritted my teeth and glared at him. “I’m carrying Dante’s child. If anything happens to me, you won’t live to see another day.” “You idiot,” a shrill laugh came from behind me. I realized we were in a deserted alley not far from the bridal shop. Peaches was standing there, her heel grinding into my face, her eyes filled with triumphant glee. “Did you really think my brother would let a filthy woman like you carry his child?” Marco came over, wrapped his arm around her waist, and squeezed. To my utter shock, they kissed passionately. After a long moment, Marco slowly spoke, “You overheard us at the club the other day, didn’t you? Too bad for you, the embryo in your belly isn’t Peaches’ either. I just grabbed a random one from some homeless beggar in the slums and had it swapped.” I snapped my head up, my pupils trembling. Peaches laughed until she was breathless. “Oh, look at you now. Filthy inside and out. A bastard’s baby and a whore for a mother. Anya, what’s the difference between you and a prostitute? At least they get paid. You’re actually paying to carry a bastard.” She cackled. “Is one enough? Or should we stuff a whole litter in you? Like a pig, hahaha.” My mind roared. A thick, metallic taste filled my throat. I screamed, grabbing a rock from the ground, wanting nothing more than to smash their faces in. Marco kicked me in the stomach. I fell forward, vomiting a mouthful of blood, my face pale with agony. But just then, Peaches suddenly stumbled backward in mock terror, theatrically falling to the ground. She didn’t even have a scratch on her, but Dante, who came running at that exact moment, stepped right over my hand to rush to her side. He pulled her into his arms, his eyes filled with raw panic. “Peaches, what happened? Are you hurt?”

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1 Eight months pregnant, and my notoriously biased parents finally invited me home for dinner. Then the fire broke out. In an instant, they shoved me aside, grabbing my sister, Chelsea—the one with leukemia—and fled, leaving me to the flames. Just as I thought I was going to die, my husband, Adrian, charged back into the inferno without a second thought and pulled me from the wreckage. He didn’t seem to care about his own burns, his eyes filled with nothing but aching tenderness for me. “You’re pregnant,” he’d murmured, his voice choked with soot and fear. “If anything happened to the baby… what would I do?” I thought I had finally found someone who truly loved me. Until I saw his chat history with my sister. “Chelsea, just wait a little longer. As soon as she has the baby and we get the cord blood, I can save you.” Without hesitation, I pulled out my phone and dialed the clinic. “Hello, I’d like to schedule an abortion.” … I had just picked up the appointment slip when I ran into Adrian, propping up my sister Chelsea as they headed for her own check-up. He froze when he saw me. “Honey, what are you doing at the hospital? I thought your prenatal appointment wasn’t until next week.” His gaze darted anxiously to my stomach. I used to think it was a sign of his love. Now I understood. He saw me as nothing more than an incubator for Chelsea’s cure. “Just feeling a little off, so I came to get it checked out,” I said, my voice unnervingly calm. Adrian’s face tightened with worry. “Off how? What did the doctor say? How’s the baby? Did you get the results?” He rushed to my side, steadying me, his hand hovering protectively over my belly, his eyes a performance of pure concern. Chelsea, however, shot me a venomous glare. “You can’t even handle a simple pregnancy. What good are you? If anything, and I mean anything, happens to that baby, I’ll make you pay.” I handed Adrian the ultrasound printout I’d just received. “The results are fine. The baby’s perfectly healthy.” He let out a visible sigh of relief. “That’s good. Then you should go home and rest. Chelsea still has a few tests to get through, so I’ll stay with her and be back later.” His other hand never once left Chelsea’s arm. I used to dismiss his excessive attention to her as him simply trying to get along with my family for my sake. It never occurred to me that this was their plan all along. As they walked away, a cold resolve settled over me. I followed them. I watched them disappear into the office of the Head of Hematology—who also happened to be my father. “Chelsea’s condition can’t wait any longer,” my father’s voice was grim. “We need to do something, fast.” Adrian squeezed Chelsea’s hand tightly. “Just a little longer. Two months, max. Once Amelia gives birth and we get the cord blood, we can save her.” “She might not even last another month,” my father countered, his tone severe. “We have to operate as soon as possible.” “Then let’s do the C-section now. The baby is viable at eight months.” A figure stepped out from a corner of the office. My blood ran cold. It was my mother, an OB-GYN at this very hospital. It felt like a dozen knives plunged into my chest, stealing my breath. They were all in on it. All of them. And I had been naive enough to believe that my pregnancy had finally earned me a sliver of my parents’ love. “But Amelia’s only eight months along,” Adrian’s voice pulled me back from the brink. “If we induce her now, will it harm the baby?” My mother’s face soured, her brow furrowed. “Chelsea’s health is the only thing that matters right now. Nothing else is important.” I stared at the woman who had carried me for nine months, and my heart felt like it was being ripped apart. Chelsea leaned into Adrian’s arms, her voice a saccharine whisper. “Adrian, darling, you seem so worried about her baby. Don’t tell me you’re actually starting to fall for her.” He pulled her tighter, his denial swift and sharp. “Of course not. I only married her to get you the cord blood you need to live. Once the baby is out, she’s worthless to me.” I watched the scene unfold, tears streaming silently down my face, my hand clenched around the abortion pill the doctor had given me earlier. I tilted my head back and, without a single shred of doubt, swallowed it. 2 After taking the pill, I went home. I signed the divorce papers I’d had drawn up months ago and locked them in the safe. Just as I started to pack, the front door burst open. A chill of pure fear shot down my spine. Adrian stormed in and grabbed my arm. “Amelia, the doctor just called me. He took another look at your report. The baby’s not doing well. We have to go to the hospital. Now.” I tried to pull away, but his grip was like a vise, my wrist already turning red. “I’m not going. The doctor told me himself that the baby was fine. And why would the hospital call you and not me?” Adrian’s eyes were bloodshot, a frantic urgency in them. “It was a last-minute call! Your mother contacted me directly. Even if you don’t trust me, you trust your own mother, don’t you?” Right on cue, my parents walked in. My mother’s face was a cold mask. “This is your own fault for not being careful enough. You’ve upset the baby’s stability. You’re coming with us to the hospital.” My father chimed in, “Your mother is an OB-GYN, for God’s sake. You don’t trust her professional opinion?” My free hand shot out, grabbing the bedroom doorknob in a death grip. “I’m not going. It’s late. We can go tomorrow. I feel fine. There’s nothing wrong.” My mother’s eyes narrowed into slits. She strode forward and started prying my fingers from the knob, one by one. “You’ll go when I say you’ll go. Why are you so difficult? I’m your mother. Would I ever do anything to harm you?” From the moment I was born, they had shipped me off to live with my grandparents in the countryside. They only reluctantly brought me back after my grandparents passed away and the village council called them. I had always wanted to ask them: we were both their daughters, why did they love Chelsea and not me? I held on with every ounce of strength I had, and my mother couldn’t break my grip. SLAP. The sound echoed in the room. Her hand struck my face with brutal force. “You are going to the hospital with me, right now. If you delay Chelsea’s treatment, I will make you regret it.” My cheek burned, instantly swelling. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “Finally. The masks are off.” My mother was unfazed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. All I know is that your body is no longer fit to continue this pregnancy. It just so happens that Chelsea needs the cord blood to live.” Seeing that I still wouldn’t let go, my father joined the assault. “Amelia, you’ve always been the sensible one. Your sister needs you. Can’t you do this one thing for your mother and me?” He was trying to play the family card. I spat on the floor at his feet. “Don’t you dare. Stop with the fake sentiment. Chelsea’s life is a life, but mine isn’t? A forced C-section at eight months… I could die.” When he saw that I wouldn’t be swayed, he slapped me too, on the other cheek. “You ungrateful wretch! That’s your sister! What’s wrong with sacrificing one baby to save her? It’s not like you can’t have another one.” Adrian dropped the act completely. His hands closed around my neck. “Amelia, Chelsea collapsed this afternoon. She’s waiting for your cord blood to save her life. You’re going to that hospital whether you like it or not.” “Adrian, the baby in my belly is your child!” I gasped. He sneered. “It’s his honor to be able to save Chelsea. It’s his purpose. Otherwise, a woman like you would never have been worthy of carrying my child in the first place.” I stared into his cold, merciless eyes and felt myself plummeting into a bottomless abyss. 3 “Dad, Mom, let’s stop wasting time with her. Chelsea can’t wait. Let’s just tie her up and drag her to the hospital!” With that, Adrian grabbed a rope. With my parents’ help, they bound my hands behind my back. “Get moving! If you screw up Chelsea’s treatment, I’ll deal with you,” my mother hissed, shoving me forward. I hooked my foot around the doorframe, refusing to budge. Adrian kicked my leg, hard. “Amelia, if Chelsea doesn’t make it, I swear I’ll make you pay with your life.” He used all his strength. I crumpled to the floor with a thud, my knees screaming in protest. A sharp, twisting pain shot through my abdomen. “Be careful with the baby!” my mother snapped at Adrian. “You can hit her face, but don’t you dare harm the baby in her stomach.” Adrian nodded quickly. He and my father hauled me up like a sack of potatoes and started dragging me toward the elevator. Just as the elevator doors opened, a tall, well-built man stepped out. I recognized him. It was Officer Miller from next door. He’d helped me once when my purse was stolen. He was a lifeline. A flicker of hope ignited in my chest. “Help—” Before I could get the word out, my mother clamped her hand over my mouth. “Feeling nauseous again? Don’t worry, sweetheart, Mommy’s taking you to the hospital.” Officer Miller looked at us, his brow furrowed in confusion. “Is everything alright?” “My wife’s not feeling well,” Adrian said smoothly. “Looks like she might be going into labor. We’re rushing her to the hospital.” My hands were still tied behind me, Adrian’s grip like steel, preventing any movement. I could only plead with my eyes, locking them on Officer Miller. “I’m an OB-GYN,” my mother added, pulling out her hospital ID to sell the lie. “My daughter is about to give birth. We can’t waste a second.” “Then you should hurry,” Officer Miller said, stepping aside to let us pass. Adrian let out a small, relieved breath. As they dragged me into the elevator, I watched Officer Miller turn and walk away. The hope in my heart turned to ash. “You little bitch,” my mother hissed as soon as the doors closed, pinching my arm viciously. “You almost tattled to that cop. Do you have any idea that you were about to condemn your own sister to death? How can you be so evil?” The sharp, piercing pain brought fresh tears to my eyes. Just then, my father’s phone rang. “Dr. Evans, your daughter Chelsea has a sudden high fever that won’t break. You need to get back here immediately.” After hanging up, my father’s face grew grim as he stared at my stomach. “Chelsea can’t wait. The second we get to the hospital, we’re prepping for the C-section.” The elevator doors opened, and Adrian and my father practically threw me out. “Stop right there.” A sudden rush of footsteps. I turned my head. It was Officer Miller, his expression serious, standing right behind us. 4 The extinguished embers of hope inside me flared back to life. “You dropped your ID.” Officer Miller jogged over and handed my ID card to my mother. “Oh, thank you, Officer.” My mother gushed with gratitude. I struggled against my bonds, trying to break free. “Officer—” Just as he was about to leave again, I tried to call out, but Adrian clamped his hand over my mouth before I could finish. “Honey, just hold on a little longer. We’re almost at the hospital.” He dragged me toward the car. The moment I was thrown into the back seat, my mother’s fingers dug into my arm again, hard. “If you dare cause any more trouble, I swear I’ll make you wish you were never born.” Adrian sped through three red lights to get to the hospital. I was dragged straight into an operating room. Staring at the cold, sterile room, I was terrified. I tried to run, but my mother was ready with a syringe. She jabbed a sedative into my arm. “We’re just taking the baby out. I don’t know why you’re making such a fuss. We’re family. And you’re saving your own sister!” The sedative began to work, my body feeling strangely light. But to avoid harming the baby, she’d used a small dose. I was still conscious. “Tie her to the operating table. I’ll perform the surgery myself.” Adrian and my father hoisted me onto the table. “This is illegal! Do you know what you’re doing is a crime?” I screamed, my voice filled with desperation. My mother just scoffed. “You’re my daughter. What’s wrong with me operating on you? I’m the one who gave you life.” My father shot me a contemptuous look. “You ungrateful brat. We raised you all these years, and all we’re asking is for you to save your sister. And you’re talking to us about the law?” Adrian tightened the ropes binding me to the table. I could feel them cutting into the flesh of my wrists. “Adrian, sign this quickly. I need to start,” my mother said, handing him a consent form. He didn’t even glance at it before scrawling his name. I looked at the people I was supposed to call my family, and my heart plunged into an icy abyss. “Adrian, maybe you should wait outside. It might get a little bloody,” my mother said, picking up a scalpel. He shook his head. “No. I have to see Chelsea’s medicine being taken out with my own eyes. Only then can I be at ease.” His words were like needles, piercing my heart over and over. In his eyes, I and the baby inside me were nothing more than a dose of medicine. This was a private, illegal surgery. There was no anesthesiologist. My mother pressed the cold blade against my stomach and began to cut. A live C-section. Pain, white-hot and absolute, exploded through me. It felt like my bones were being shattered. I could feel every layer of my flesh being sliced open. The room echoed with my blood-curdling screams, but no one wiped the sweat from my brow, no one even flinched. They didn’t even look at me. “You will all pay for this,” I gritted out through clenched teeth. Adrian was about to curse at me when my mother suddenly shouted. “It’s out! The baby’s out!” But her joy was short-lived. A moment later, her voice was laced with terror. “The baby… why isn’t the baby breathing?”

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1 The year my career hit its peak was the year my long-lost brother returned to the country. To champion him, my own fiancée, Clarissa, didn’t hesitate to sever every lifeline to my career, diverting every project and every opportunity his way. The day I was framed and subsequently canceled by the entire world, Clarissa stood by, allowing him to publicly announce their rekindled romance. That first year of being blacklisted by Clarissa was the darkest of my life. I was 24, standing on the summit of a mountain I had climbed myself, only to be kicked into the abyss by my own brother, Nathaniel. The world was convinced I was the one who had drugged him, causing his voice to fail him in the middle of the New Year’s Eve live broadcast. I can still see the panic on Clarissa’s face, the first crack I’d ever seen in her icy composure. “You’d better pray to God he’s okay, Jayce!” And just like that, the glory I had spent three years bleeding for was snatched away by her own hands. My stage name, “Zayn,” was trademarked by her company. Without her permission, I couldn’t use it commercially. My songs, the ones I had poured my soul into, were seized by the label. Without her signature, I no longer had the right to sing them. Even our five-year love story was now reframed for the world to see: I was nothing but a placeholder. While I was being torn to shreds by an endless storm of online hate, Nathaniel posted from his hospital bed, the picture of innocence. “Sorry to have worried everyone,” he wrote, looking frail and makeup-free. “The doctor says my voice will be fine after half a month of rest. Also, a little update for you all: we’re back together!” In the photo, the famously private CEO, a woman who had never before appeared in a candid photo, was there by his side, her head bowed as she carefully peeled an apple for him. That woman was my fiancée, Clarissa. My parents rushed to the hospital the moment they heard the news. Over the phone, they refused to listen to a single word of my defense. My mother, blinded by rage, screamed at me, “Jayce, how could I have raised such a monster! If you have a shred of decency left, you’ll get over to that hospital and apologize to your brother!” A paparazzo recorded the call and leaked it online. Now, the world had its “irrefutable proof.” The villain who sabotaged Nathaniel’s New Year’s performance was me, his own brother, Zayn, supposedly terrified of being overshadowed on stage. The homewrecker who broke up Nathaniel and the Clarity Entertainment CEO six years ago was also me, his brother, the five-year stand-in. “Having a brother like that, Nathaniel really drew the short straw.” “I used to like Zayn, but I had no idea he was such a piece of shit.” “He’s a snake who drugged his own brother and stole his girl. Why hasn’t he been kicked out of the industry yet? Everyone, report him!” I was defenseless. The desperate attempts of one man to prove his innocence were a flickering candle against the hurricane of manufactured outrage. Every brand deal I had secured was terminated. Every endorsement I had signed now demanded I pay crippling penalties. Three years of earnings were wiped out in an instant, leaving me buried under a mountain of debt. Perhaps she saw how truly pathetic my situation was, or perhaps she just wanted to cut ties cleanly and completely. In the end, it was Clarissa who stepped in and settled my remaining debts. When Nathaniel found out, he wasn’t angry. On the contrary, he was the picture of magnanimity. He handed Clarissa a bank card loaded with a hundred thousand dollars. “It’s not much, but it’s a gesture,” he’d said, his words dripping with false sincerity. “Clarissa, please tell Jayce for me that I don’t hold a grudge. In fact, I’m grateful to him for bringing you back to me. That’s more important than anything.” He even added, “And tell him to come home soon, after Mom and Dad have cooled off.” The victor, standing alone on his pedestal, basking in the glow of our parents’ favoritism and his lover’s devotion. And me? After years of swallowing my pain, I was still just a stray dog kicked to the curb. A text message lit up my phone. It was from Nathaniel. He’s always been good at this—showing off his perfect life with a subtle, cutting grace. [It’s a shame you can’t be here to share in my joy. Clarissa is throwing me a victory party. Care to come?] His perfect life: the heir to a family fortune, the cherished love of a powerful CEO, the triumphant hero of his own story. Even strangers on the street couldn’t help but sigh, “Nathaniel is living the dream, isn’t he?” 2 And I was a rat, scuttling through the filth of the gutter. Every drop of sweat, every ounce of effort I had ever put in, was now worthless. When I didn’t reply, Nathaniel made a show of it at his party, his face a mask of feigned concern. “Jayce hasn’t texted me back. Do you think he’s still mad at me?” Clarissa’s expression was unreadable. “If he doesn’t want to come, forget him.” Nathaniel and I are fraternal twins. From the day we were born, he was better than me at everything. I used to wonder if my genes were defective. Compared to my ordinary existence, his life was like playing with cheat codes enabled. Our parents groomed him to be the heir. I was the invisible one, a role that, for a time, I was happy to play. The one area where I, the good-for-nothing son, had a flicker of talent was music. It was Clarissa who approached me first, back in my sophomore year of high school. I’d just won the campus singing competition, and as the student council president, she was the one to present my award. Under the spotlights, for the first time, I felt like I had finally stepped out of Nathaniel’s long shadow. I even found a sliver of confidence. As the heiress to Clarity Entertainment, she took a keen interest in me. We started spending more time together. I knew how Nathaniel looked at her, the undisguised adoration in his eyes. So, when he suddenly developed an interest in music—a passion he’d always sneered at—I wasn’t surprised in the slightest. Soon enough, they became the couple everyone on campus envied. After graduation, Clarissa sent me an official invitation to join Clarity Entertainment. That same year, Nathaniel abruptly rejected the gilded path my parents had paved for him and vanished. He spent the next six years abroad, alone. His disappearance threw our family into chaos. Even Clarissa, who was always so composed, was a mess, completely lost. When Nathaniel finally returned six years later, he had a Master’s degree from Berklee College of Music. A single, well-timed tear was all it took. Our relieved parents couldn’t bring themselves to say a single word of reproach. My fiancée, Clarissa, began to waver, her guilt over his absence twisting into something else. That one tear effortlessly stole everything I had. Now, Nathaniel was basking in the admiration of millions on every news headline, while I was holed up in a company-owned apartment, teaching myself to write songs. [They twist your words with malicious intent / They dismiss your struggle with a careless hand.] My official account, with its ten million followers, had long been banned. I started over, using my real name, Jayce, to upload my original work. Within half a day, every track was taken down, buried under a flood of malicious reports. The second year of Clarissa’s blacklist. I had no songs to sing, no shows to book. The company gave me zero resources. My manager and assistant were reassigned. The clauses in my contract were a cage, preventing me from even taking on small commercial gigs. My stage performances were reported and removed, my appearances in variety shows were blurred out. As a “disgraced artist,” all my accounts were silenced. Even my burner account on TikTok was swarmed by haters until it was locked. Meanwhile, Nathaniel, with Clarissa clearing his path, won “Best New Artist” at the Vanguard Music Awards. The third year of Clarissa’s blacklist. Nathaniel competed on Soundwave, the country’s top music reality show, and was crowned “King of Singers.” And my five-year contract with Clarity Entertainment finally expired. I had no intention of renewing. My former manager, Anna, heard the news and rushed over to talk me out of it. “Clarissa’s on a business trip in Paris. Why don’t you wait for her to get back before you decide anything?” Of course, I knew she was in Paris. In the family group chat I had muted, Nathaniel, who was “on vacation,” was posting daily photos of his romantic trip with her. Seeing my resolve, Anna’s voice grew anxious. “Jayce, I heard from the higher-ups… before Clarissa left, she told them to start prepping for your comeback next year. You’ve toughed it out for three years. Don’t throw it all away now when we’re so close, right?” 3 Clarity Entertainment was a titan in the industry, a behemoth of power, connections, and resources. It was the dream destination for countless musicians. But after three years of being crushed under its heel, how could I possibly stay? I continued to pack up my lyric sheets and compositions. Anna pleaded, “Jayce, you need to think this through. Once you leave Clarity, your stage name, your songs… they’re all gone. Are you really willing to give all that up?” My hands froze. It was a question I had asked myself a thousand times during a thousand sleepless nights. I didn’t even dare to hum the melodies of the songs I had sung millions of times during the day. If my fingers so much as brushed against the piano keys and the intro began to play, I would break down completely. The moment they became leverage to be used against me, they were no longer mine. I walked out the door and didn’t look back. Anna ran after me, her voice laced with desperation. “Jayce, if Clarissa doesn’t give the green light, who in this industry will dare to sign you?” I didn’t turn around. There was nothing left there for me to look back on. That night, my phone vibrated. A message from Clarissa: [Have you made up your mind?] I didn’t reply. I became a blur of motion, a frantic spinning top whipping itself into exhaustion, running from one meeting to the next. I knew it would be hard. Even though three years had passed, no company in the country would risk signing an artist with my kind of baggage. Even without the active pressure from Clarity Entertainment, the hashtag #ZaynGetOutOfTheIndustry was still a permanent fixture on Twitter. “Zayn, you’re still singing?” “I’m sorry, Mr. Evans, but this market is all about fan engagement. We’re just not willing to take the risk.” “Jayce, we recognize your talent, but you have to understand, so many of our partners have ties to Clarity…” As I walked out of the last agency, the heavens opened up. A torrential downpour blurred the world in front of me. I opened my umbrella, a lone black boat adrift in a storm, swept along with the tide of commuters at a busy intersection. I knew starting over would be difficult. I just didn’t realize it would be impossible. To scrounge up a gig, I drank glass after glass with a wealthy producer, enduring her cloying hands on my shoulder, her brazen lips on my cheek. I drank until I was heaving over a toilet, the bitter taste of bile burning my throat. “Don’t be an idiot. They’re just messing with you. Who would actually dare to use you now?” The producer’s assistant, her own makeup perfectly intact, glanced at my pathetic, slumped form in the mirror. I hung my head, my hair a tangled mess, the world a blurry wreck. I don’t know what’s been wrong with me these past few years. The tears are always there, right behind my eyes, ready to fall the second I look down. I squeezed my eyes shut, but the hot, stinging tears pooled and overflowed, tracing desperate paths down to the hopeless ground. The assistant, who I’d only just met, hesitated for a long moment before sighing, pinching her nose, and helping me to my feet. “You should go,” she muttered. “If you stay any longer, it won’t just be about drinking.” The next day, my name was a trending topic on Twitter. SHOCKING! Former Pop Star Zayn Sings for His Supper at Private Party to Fund Comeback! The video showed me standing before a crowd of drunk socialites, singing an a cappella version of my breakout hit, “Radiant Days,” at the producer’s request. Everyone else’s face was blurred. Except for mine. I knew what these women were about, their cruel little games. I could even see the sickening desire in some of their eyes. But I still stood up and sang. What if this was a chance? I just hadn’t expected that my leaving early would piss someone off enough to send the video to a gossip blog. “So Zayn has officially become a rich cougar’s plaything?” “Gotta say, though, his three-octave high notes are still unmatched.” “Hate to admit it, but the person above is right.” “Why is this jinx still trying to crawl back? Can’t he just stay buried with his dead career instead of coming out and disgusting everyone?” 4 “Once a homewrecker, always a homewrecker. He’ll do anything for fame.” When the tide of public opinion decides to drown someone, they see your very existence as a mistake. My father’s call was the first in three years. He didn’t waste any time. “Jayce, are you determined to drag the Evans family name through the mud until you’re satisfied?” I hung up. I couldn’t listen to any more of it. I drew the heavy curtains in my rented apartment, blocking out every ray of sunlight that dared to mock me, and buried myself completely under the covers. Five hours after the scandal broke, I got a call from Clarissa. “Jayce, you really know how to piss me off.” Her voice was devoid of any warmth, a blade of ice in the darkness. I heard a rumor that the ever-composed CEO of Clarity Entertainment had been in a foul mood during a financial report meeting today, her face an unprecedented mask of fury. In my room, the only source of light was the name on my screen: [Clarissa]. It was so bright it stung my eyes. “I’m asking you one last time. Are you coming back or not?” Her voice was the same as I remembered—cold, steady, and demanding nothing less than total submission. “Clarissa,” I asked, my voice raspy, “do you still think I was the one who drugged him?” My hand gripping the phone was white-knuckled. “Does it matter?” she countered. I bit my lip until I tasted blood. A profound sense of powerlessness washed over me. She was right. It didn’t matter. To her, nothing I did, nothing I was, mattered more than a single one of his tears. So my efforts, my explanations… none of it mattered. I ended the call, feeling as if I’d been plunged into an icy abyss. Only now did I realize the truth.

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My adoptive brother framed me for breaking his jade pendant. As punishment, my sister sent me to be a lab test subject—despite the 95% risk. “Your sacrifice will help River join the lab,” they said. Unknown to them, River had secretly signed to have me converted into a robot permanently. I called our parents. “Stop being difficult,” they chided, while buying River a Patek Philippe in the background. So I told the lab: “Begin the simulation. The android is ready.” Three months later, I returned—perfectly obedient, emotionless. Everyone was satisfied… Until River’s consent form surfaced. That day, both my sisters lost their minds. 1 The day I was released from the lab was also my birthday. Of course, everyone forgot. They had promised me that if I participated in the experiment, they would give me a birthday present, that they would finally accept me. But when the day came, they were too busy showering River with flowers and gifts, holding car doors open for him. I was left in the corner, forgotten, like a true machine. They had doted on River for eighteen years. Everyone in the city knew him as the young master of the powerful Shaw family. And me? I was just the long-lost son, found after eighteen years, an outsider who never truly belonged. I shouldn’t have hoped for a love that was never meant for me. But when I saw my second sister, Celine, I mechanically reached out my hand. The chip in my brain reminded me of her promise. “Celine,” I said, my voice flat. “It’s my birthday. You promised me.” She was startled for a moment, then let out a short, sharp laugh. “I was just saying that. You actually took it seriously? You never learn, do you?” My eldest sister, Nora, frowned and pulled out a diamond-encrusted watch. “Celine, if he wants it, just give it to him. The Shaw family isn’t short on cash.” But River whined from the side, “Nora, you said you’d only celebrate one brother’s birthday.” At that, Celine snatched the watch and dangled it in front of my face. “You want this?” she taunted, a smirk playing on her lips as her eyes fell to my wrist. “Have you looked in a mirror? With hands that ugly, even the finest watch would just make people laugh at you.” A grotesque black tattoo snaked around my wrist like a crawling insect. Celine had told me it was a protective charm she’d gotten specially for me, that I had to have it tattooed on to ensure my safety. I was so happy, so desperate for her affection, that I endured the searing pain of the needle as it etched the design into my skin. Later, at a family banquet, she grabbed my hand and showed it off to everyone, laughing hysterically. “This illiterate doesn’t even recognize Spanish. Look, everyone.” “He tattooed ‘River’s Dog’ on himself. What an idiot.” Only then did I understand. It wasn’t a blessing. It was a brand. I tried to get it removed, but she threatened me. If I dared to touch it, she would disown me. So I swallowed my pride and endured, right up until she sent me to the lab, right up until River secretly had me converted into a robot. Now, my face was a mask. I picked up a sharp piece of gravel from the roadside and began to scrape at the tattoo on my wrist. A robot doesn’t need a sister. This brand served no purpose. The stone tore at my flesh, drawing blood. Celine’s expression changed. “What are you doing?” she hissed, grabbing my hand. “Did you forget what I said? If you get rid of this, I’m done with you.” I curved my lips into a perfectly calibrated smile. “You said it was ugly, Celine. So I’m removing it.” She was stunned. She threw the watch on the ground. “Fine, take it, you psycho.” I ignored her, continuing to scrape away at the ink until my wrist was a bloody mess, all traces of the black letters gone. Nora stood by, watching coldly. Only when I was finished did she toss a tissue at me. “Celine will never accept you,” she said, her voice devoid of emotion. “It’s good that you finally see that.” “River is our real family. Even though Mom and Dad brought you back, in our hearts, we only have one brother, and that’s River.” “Letting you stay with the Shaw family is already a great tolerance on our part. Don’t expect anything more. Do you understand?” I stood up, grinding the tissue and the diamond watch under my heel. “I understand.” She smiled, satisfied. “As long as you remain as obedient as you are now, I won’t make things difficult for you.” She had no idea that the obedient brother she was so pleased with was an emotionless robot. No matter how they humiliated me now, I would feel nothing. 2 I was a world-class scientist. To find my family, I had concealed my identity and returned to my home country. But after my biological parents found me, I discovered they already had an adopted son, River, whom they had cherished for years. My two sisters looked down on my humble background and my non-existent academic record. “You didn’t even finish elementary school?” “How could we have a brother this stupid?” “If word gets out, we’ll be the laughingstock of the city’s elite.” I was about to explain that I had been scouted for a special program abroad at a young age and had been involved in classified research ever since, which was why my records were blank. But before I could speak, River ran down the stairs with a suitcase, his eyes downcast, feigning heartbreak. “Celine,” he said sadly, “you have your real brother now. I guess this imposter should leave.” She snorted. “Who dares call you an imposter? I, Celine Shaw, have only one brother, and that’s River.” She tossed my file aside. “This waste of space who didn’t even finish grade school could never be my brother.” I wisely kept my mouth shut. No one in this house wanted me. But I had been alone for over a decade. I craved the warmth of a family. At first, when my parents brought me back, they were kind. My mother held me and cried until her eyes were swollen. My father swore he would make up for the twenty years I was lost. It was only my sisters, afraid of hurting River’s feelings, who were cold to me. I’d spent my life calculating numbers, solving complex problems in a laboratory. I was used to succeeding. I thought family was just another equation to be solved. I wracked my brain trying to please them. When Celine told me to get the tattoo, I didn’t hesitate, despite my fear of pain. I burned my fingers blistering them while making hangover soup for my father and sister when they came home late from business dinners. But I didn’t know that nothing I did could ever compete with a few simple words from River, who had been in this family for twenty years. Fueled by his manipulations, their attitude toward me soured. Then came the day River smashed the family heirloom—a jade pendant his mother had given him—on the floor and burst into tears. “Brother,” he cried, “if you wanted it, I would have given it to you. I would give you anything. Why did you have to destroy it?” Just like that, my sisters sent me to the AI lab. When I came out, I was a robot, incapable of feeling. River had a chip implanted in my brain, forcing me to obey his commands. Just like now. He was lounging lazily on the sofa. “Brother,” he said, his voice dripping with condescension, “go fetch me a basin of water to wash my feet.” Celine was touching up her makeup nearby. She smiled, her red lips curving. “You heard him. Go on. If you don’t listen to River, don’t blame me for kicking you out of this house.” River gave a mysterious smile. “Don’t worry, Celine. My brother’s all better now. He’ll be a good boy. Won’t you? Watch.” I silently fetched a basin of water and placed it before him. Celine looked surprised, then her expression softened into a smug grin. “Shameless. You’d do anything to stay in the Shaw family, wouldn’t you?” River smiled and dipped his feet into the water. The next second, he kicked the basin over. “It’s scalding! Are you trying to burn me alive?” The basin of hot water drenched me. River pouted. “Turned into a robot…” he muttered, then glanced at Celine and quickly cut himself off. Celine put down her lipstick, her brow furrowed. “River, what did you just say? What robot?” He laughed it off. “Oh, Celine, I just meant he’s dumber than a robot.” He thought for a moment. “You think if we actually turned him into a robot, he’d be any smarter than he is now?” Celine’s expression turned serious. “River, he’s still Mom and Dad’s biological son. You can prank him all you want, but you have to let him live.” “And don’t you ever talk about turning him into a robot again. If Nora heard you, she’d lecture you for days.” River’s face darkened, but he forced a smile. “Of course not. I was just joking. With you and Nora spoiling me, I’m more than satisfied. Why would I need to mess with him?” Celine smiled and patted his head. “My sweet brother is the best. No need to waste your time on an idiot.” She tossed a hand towel from the sofa toward me. “Wipe yourself off.” But River hooked his foot around the towel and kicked it away. “Sister, that’s your towel. I won’t let you give it to him.” He smirked. “Besides, the floor is still wet.” “Brother,” he said, his voice sickly sweet, “since you’re already soaked, why don’t you just roll around on the floor and dry it up?” Celine stood up and checked her watch. “Do as River says. I have to go out.” She gently straightened River’s collar. “I know you’re upset, but remember, for Mom and Dad’s sake, do not turn him into a robot. This is not something you can be impulsive about. I’m only saying this for your own good.” River looked up, blinking innocently. “Okay, I’ll listen to you, sister.” I lay silently on the floor. The water seeped through my synthetic skin, trickling through the tiny pores of my circuit boards and into my central processing unit. Celine didn’t know. The little brother she trusted so completely had already turned me into a robot. And a robot, when severely water-damaged, will break down. 3 Perhaps Celine’s warning only served to ignite River’s cruelty. His abuse at home escalated. “Brother, you were lost for so many years. You don’t know how to do anything. How did you even survive?” he taunted. “Did you eat out of garbage cans like a homeless person?” I scanned my robotic database and replied calmly, “I know how to cook for myself.” My placid demeanor seemed to enrage him. His face twisted, and he slapped me hard across the face. “You worthless dog!” “I am your master. You should say that you like eating from garbage cans. Understand?” He forgot. I was a robot now. I only gave a cold, mechanical reply. “I’m sorry, I do not understand your command.” This made him even angrier. He kicked me hard. “Robots are so stupid. Artificial intelligence? More like artificial idiot. The guys at the lab promised me a human-based model would be more responsive, but you’re still so dumb.” He smirked. “Robot brother, go get your little brother a glass of water. Make sure it’s over 195 degrees Fahrenheit.” He pressed my hand down on the table. “Now say it. ‘I like to eat garbage.’” I looked him in the eye. “You like to eat garbage.” His face contorted with rage. He poured the scalding water from the glass all over my hand. The synthetic skin immediately turned red and blistered. “Say it! Say you like to eat garbage!” he shrieked. “Say it, or I’ll burn you to death.” He seemed to have forgotten I was a robot. I curved my lips into a slight smile. “You like to eat garbage.” He screamed and smashed the glass against my head. Then he grabbed a nearby glass kettle full of boiling water and poured it over my head. “Stupid, worthless dog! You defy me even as a robot!” Just then, the door opened, and Nora walked in. She took in the chaotic scene, her brow furrowing. “River, what are you doing? Why are you so angry?” River froze, then his expression immediately shifted to one of pitiful innocence, tears welling in his eyes. “Nora, he insulted me. I… I just lost control. You know I can’t control my temper. I didn’t mean it.” Nora looked at me, lying on the floor, my body covered in burns, and her expression soured. “You’ve made such a mess of him. Now we’ll have to take him to the hospital. It’s so much trouble.” But I pushed myself up from the floor with my raw, bloody hands. “It’s alright, Nora,” I said. “There’s no need to go to the hospital.” She was annoyed. “What are you trying to prove, Caleb? You think you can just walk around looking like a monster? You’ll become the laughingstock of the family.” I was confused. I was a robot. I shouldn’t go to a hospital. Before I could process her words, the steam had seeped deep into my central processor. BEEP. I collapsed. A red light started flashing on my forehead. “System failure. Please initiate repairs immediately.” I saw Nora’s face change, her composure cracking. “Caleb!” She shook my arm, shouting my name. “Caleb, what are you doing? What system failure?” Her voice rose to a hysterical shriek. “Someone call an ambulance!”

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