Author: Momo Chan

For years, I sold down jackets in a forgotten corner of this country. Twenty bucks a pop. Then one day, an influencer waltzed in, camera rolling, ready to “expose” me. “This material is garbage, folks, the down fill is pathetic, and the style is just plain ugly! This is trash!” Then, smooth as a snake, she launched her own brand of jackets, even getting the locals to try them on. Feeling the difference, and egged on by the influencer, the townspeople turned on me. They called me a con artist, trashed my shop, and swore they’d only buy her jackets from now on. What they didn’t know was that a single one of her jackets cost four hundred dollars. 1 Winter was creeping in again, and my little shop was open for business, racks lined with down jackets. But today was different. Just as I was setting up, a woman walked in, phone held high, live-streaming her every move. She was a splash of polished city glam against the faded backdrop of my humble store, her meticulous makeup and trendy clothes a world away from the dusty streets outside. She pulled me into the frame of her phone. “Hi, ma’am,” she said, her voice sugary sweet for her audience. “My name is Lexi, I’m a content creator with over a million followers. I was hoping I could review one of your jackets today?” I had no idea what that really meant. I figured she just wanted to have a look, so I nodded. “Sure.” That was my first mistake. She plucked a jacket from the rack, her brow furrowing in theatrical disgust. “Okay, guys, you can see right away this is just cheap polyester. No one uses this stuff anymore for quality outerwear. It’s worthless.” After trashing the fabric, Lexi pulled a small, wicked-looking knife from her purse. With a sickening shh-rripp, she sliced the jacket open. The stuffing, a cloud of grayish down, drifted out. Her eyes went wide, her mouth forming a perfect ‘O’ of feigned shock. “Oh my God, you guys! Look at this! There’s barely any fill in here, and it’s the absolute worst quality duck down. This jacket is pure garbage.” Watching her performance, a hot spike of anger shot through me. “Hey! What do you think you’re doing? You can’t just come in here and destroy my merchandise!” She ignored me completely, grabbing several more jackets and slashing them open one by one. “Let’s just see about the others,” she narrated to her phone. “Wow. Unbelievable. They’re all the same. All of them are trash.” The sight of my inventory being gutted on the floor sent rage boiling up in my chest. “Are you out of your mind?” I yelled. “You’ve ruined half my stock! How am I supposed to run a business? You’re paying for all of that!” Lexi just laughed, a triumphant, mocking sound. “Did you hear that, everyone? I’m doing a public service, exposing this scammer, and she wants me to pay her.” Just as I was about to let loose a string of curses, one of my regulars, Caleb, walked in. He was a familiar face, a man who’d bought a jacket from me every other winter. “Hey, Ava!” he called out. “Got one in my size?” I turned to help him, but Lexi stepped between us, blocking him. “Sir, please, don’t buy anything from this woman. Her jackets are a complete rip-off.” Caleb just stood there, scratching his head awkwardly, caught in the middle. That was it. I was done being polite. “If you’re not buying, get the hell out of my store,” I snarled at Lexi. “Stop scaring off my customers. I don’t care if you’re some big-shot influencer.” “You’re selling fake, shoddy goods and you don’t want people to talk about it?” she shot back, her voice dripping with self-righteousness. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to stand up for these good people.” And she did. She plopped herself down on a stool right by the door, pulling out a megaphone and announcing to everyone who passed by that my jackets were trash and that I was a cheat. A crowd started to form, drawn by the commotion. I risked a glance at her phone screen, at the live-stream chat. It was a waterfall of hate, all directed at me. “OMG that jacket is so ugly. My grandpa wouldn’t be caught dead in that. Who even buys stuff like this anymore?” “Go Lexi! Expose her! The quality is so bad I’d rather freeze than wear that thing.” As her viewer count soared and the crowd outside grew, Lexi seized her moment. She pulled a sleek, stylish jacket from a suitcase and held it up for everyone to see. “Now, everyone,” she announced, her voice booming. “This is from my own brand. Let me show you what a real down jacket looks like.” 2 The jacket in Lexi’s hands was a thing of beauty, modern and expertly crafted. “This,” she declared, her voice resonating with passion, “is made with premium goose down, a high fill power, and a high-tech, water-resistant fabric. It practically heats itself the moment you put it on.” She beckoned to Caleb. “Sir, why don’t you come and try it on? Feel the difference for yourself.” A little shyly, Caleb shuffled forward and slipped on the jacket. His eyes widened. He gave a huge thumbs-up. “Wow,” he said, his voice full of awe. “This… this is way better than Ava’s stuff.” A triumphant smile spread across Lexi’s face. “You see? That’s what quality feels like. Anyone else want to try it on?” One by one, people from the crowd stepped forward, each trying on the jacket and agreeing: it was infinitely better than mine. Flushed with victory, Lexi urged them all to buy her brand instead. But then Caleb, ever practical, asked the million-dollar question. “It’s a great jacket, no doubt. But… how much does it cost? It looks expensive.” Lexi chuckled. “Folks, do I look like the kind of person who would rip you off?” she asked her audience, both online and in-person. “Tell you what. This weekend, in my live stream, I’m going to give you all an insane discount. And for everyone watching right now, I’m dropping a fifty-dollar coupon into the stream. A little gift from me to you.” Caleb’s face lit up. “A fifty-dollar coupon? That’s practically a steal!” I rolled my eyes, unable to stay silent any longer. “It’s a classic sales tactic, Caleb. Even with fifty dollars off, I guarantee that jacket is still going to cost a fortune.” Lexi shot me a venomous look. “At least it’s not counterfeit garbage like yours.” That did it. The word “counterfeit” lit a fuse. “Counterfeit?” I spat, grabbing a metal clothing rod from the back room and pointing it at her. “Did I slap a designer label on it? Did I make false claims about what it is? No! Now pay me for the jackets you destroyed and get out of my store!” Lexi didn’t even flinch. She glanced at the eager faces in the crowd and fanned the flames. “Everyone, tell me, does this junk even compare to the real deal?” A resounding “NO!” came from the crowd. “A shop that sells fake goods like this has no right to exist!” Lexi pointed a dramatic finger at my storefront. “Tell you what. If you all help me tear down this sham of a shop, I’ll do a buy-one-get-one-free deal for everyone here on my jackets!” The crowd roared. Panic seized me. I lunged forward and slapped Lexi hard across the face. “Are you insane? I’m just trying to run my business! What is your problem? You want a fight? Is that it?” She didn’t back down. She met my gaze with a defiant smirk. “Bring it on.” So I did. I slapped her again, the force of it leaving a bright red mark on her cheek, and started shoving her toward the door. I saw Caleb hesitate for just a moment, his eyes darting between me and the influencer. Then, his face hardened. “Buy one, get one free!” he yelled to the crowd. “Let’s go, people! Her jackets are way better than Ava’s! We can’t let her keep ripping us off after all these years!” And with that, Caleb, my loyal customer, shoved over my main display rack. It was like a dam breaking. The crowd surged into my little shop, a wave of angry, greedy people. They tore at the shelves, ripped jackets from their hangers, and smashed everything in sight. And through it all, Lexi stood to the side, live-streaming the destruction, a tiny, almost invisible smile playing on her lips. 3 My heart splintered with every crash and shatter. “Stop it!” I screamed into my own megaphone, my voice cracking. “Please, stop! We’re neighbors! Why are you doing this?” “I’m calling the police!” But the lure of a BOGO deal was stronger than any sense of community. They didn’t listen. Left with no choice, I dialed 911. By the time the officers arrived, the shop was a complete wreck. After taking my statement, the lead officer addressed the crowd, his voice heavy with disapproval. “What on earth possessed you all to destroy this woman’s store? A whole mob of you…” Caleb, his face flushed with righteous indignation, stepped forward. “She’s a cheat! She’s been selling us fake, worthless junk for years! We’re lucky we didn’t do worse to her.” Hearing those words from a man I’d always considered a friend, a man whose family I’d helped keep warm for years, felt like a knife in the gut. The officer frowned. “Whether her goods are fake or not doesn’t give you the right to destroy her property. You’re all liable for the damages.” The mention of money instantly doused the crowd’s fiery mob mentality. They grew quiet, a sea of downcast eyes and shuffling feet. That’s when Lexi stepped forward, her voice clear and confident. “How much is it? I’ll pay for everything.” A wave of admiration rippled through the crowd. In their eyes, Lexi was a hero. My jackets were cheap, the shop had no fancy decorations, and the racks were flimsy. The total damage only added up to a few thousand dollars. Lexi paid it without flinching, a small price for the image she was building. After everyone had left, I stood alone in the wreckage and let out a long, shuddering sigh before locking the door for good. Four years ago, I’d seen a story online about an old man in a cold region, too poor to afford a proper coat, stuffing his clothes with straw just to stay warm. The image broke my heart. So I came here, to this struggling town, and opened my jacket shop. My whole reason for being here was to make sure everyone could afford a warm coat for the winter. That’s why I was only open for one season; the rest of the year, I ran my own online fashion boutique to make a living. To keep costs down, the designs were basic and the fabric was inexpensive. But I made damn sure every single jacket was filled with real down. For four years, I sold them for twenty dollars a piece. I wasn’t really making a profit. Most of the time, I was losing money. At first, the townspeople were so grateful. They told me they could finally afford a real winter coat, that their kids wouldn’t be cold anymore. Their smiles were what kept me going. I never imagined that one influencer’s words could turn them against me so completely, that they would look at me with such hatred and call me a fraud. My jackets weren’t stylish, and they weren’t a fancy brand, but they were warm, and they cost twenty dollars. Wasn’t that enough? My heart felt like a block of ice. I closed the shop and decided I was done. That night, I found Lexi’s social media account. She had already edited and uploaded a dramatic video of her “exposing” me and then heroically paying for the damages. The stunt had earned her two million new followers overnight. The few thousand she’d paid for damages was nothing compared to the traffic she’d gained. She played it perfectly. When the weekend came, Caleb and a few others huddled around a single smartphone, ready to jump on Lexi’s big sale, dreaming of the high-quality, affordable jackets they were about to score. Thanks to the drama, her live stream was packed. Virtual gifts and effects flooded the screen. Lexi, looking flawless, spent an eternity hyping up her jacket, spinning tales of its miraculous quality, but she skillfully avoided mentioning the price. Finally, after people in the chat started getting restless, she got to the point. “Alright, everyone, for my top-of-the-line, premium goose-down jacket… we’re not asking for eight hundred, not five hundred… but for you, my family, it’s just $399! Three… two… one… the link is live!” Caleb and the others just stared, their faces frozen. A four-hundred-dollar jacket might as well have been a million. There was no way they could ever afford it.

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I’m a seismic technician. The day a major earthquake was set to strike Layla’s hometown, she was adamant about going on a trip with her college crush. I didn’t drag her back to save her family. Instead, I drove there myself, got on my knees before the mayor, and begged him to evacuate the town. In my last life, I forced Layla to come with me. We saved her parents, but she missed the birthday trip with Sean. While on a cruise, Sean fell overboard. They searched for three days, but his body was never found. On the third anniversary of his death, Layla pushed me into the deep sea. “Sean would still be alive if it weren’t for you! Go and keep him company in hell!” She watched as I drowned. When I opened my eyes again, I was back. Back on the day of the earthquake. This time, Layla got her wish. She went on that birthday trip with Sean. And later, she would spend two days and two nights kneeling before a grave. 1 Even reborn, the phantom sensation of drowning was suffocatingly real. “Ryan, are you listening to me? I’m going on a trip with Sean, and we’re leaving for the airport now!” Layla stood before me, her voice sharp with impatience. Looking at her beautiful face, I found it hard to believe that in three years, she would be the one to kill me. We worked together at the Seismic Monitoring Center. She started asking me out for dinner, one thing led to another, and we got together. But on our wedding day, Layla confessed that she’d never gotten over her college crush. She told me she couldn’t be fully committed to our relationship and hoped I would understand. The ceremony was about to start. I was a fool. I actually believed I could win her heart with sheer devotion. Who would have thought that right after we got married, her crush, Sean, would reappear? They became inseparable. She even brought him into our home, banished me to the guest room, and spent the entire night laughing with him in our master bedroom. I was so deeply in love with this woman that I forced myself to endure it all. Until the day of the earthquake. I dragged her home, we saved her parents, but Sean died at sea. Layla began to hate me, a resentment that festered until the day she pushed me to my death. Now, fate has given me a second chance. I will not make the same mistakes. “Are you deaf? Why aren’t you saying anything?” Layla demanded, seeing my silence. I looked at her, a long, deep look, then pulled a stack of technical drawings from my briefcase and pushed them into her hands. “Your hometown, Stone Creek, is going to be hit by a magnitude 7.0 earthquake at ten o’clock tonight.” In my past life, my prediction wasn’t nearly this precise. But having lived through it, I knew the exact time and intensity. Layla glanced at the papers and then ripped them to shreds. She threw the pieces in my face, a cold sneer on her lips. “Ryan, have you lost your mind? Joking about an earthquake? And predicting it in my hometown? Are you cursing my family?” “You’d really stoop this low just to stop me from going on a trip with Sean? I never knew you were so malicious!” Compared to her murdering me, this felt mild. I felt nothing. I looked at her and said, my voice even, “I’m not joking. Three years ago, the neighboring state had a similar event. The seismic data from the day before is nearly identical to what we’re seeing now…” Before I could finish, she slapped me across the face. Her expression was twisted with a new level of hatred. “Shut up! No one can predict an earthquake on the same day. You’re just a technician. Do you think you’re some kind of expert professor?” “I’m going on this trip with Sean, and nothing you say will change that. If you can’t handle it, we can get a divorce when I get back.” Without another glance, she grabbed her suitcase and stormed out. 2 Last time, she hadn’t believed me either. But I had torn up her plane ticket, smashed things, and physically stopped her from leaving. I drove her to her hometown, and we not only convinced her parents to evacuate but saved the entire town. Not long after, the news came: Sean was lost at sea. Layla had seemed utterly calm, showing no reaction at all. Who knew she was already plotting my death? After she left, I started packing. Half an hour ago, I had filed a formal report on the situation in Stone Creek with my superiors. Now, I just needed to drive there and get Layla’s parents. They were my in-laws; I couldn’t just leave them to die. I hadn’t even pulled out of the parking lot when my phone rang. It was Director Miller, the head of our center. “Ryan, I hear you just submitted a predictive report?” “Yes, Director. Is there a problem?” His tone turned grave. “Is there a problem? Ryan, you’ve been with the center for years. How have you not learned anything?” “How could you fabricate a seismic event just to interfere with Layla’s social life? Do you have any idea how illegal that is?” I understood immediately. Layla was Miller’s protégé. They must have spoken. They both thought I was lying, putting on a show. “Director, I’m serious,” I said urgently. “There is a one hundred percent chance of a magnitude 7.0 earthquake in Stone Creek at ten tonight! You have to—” He cut me off, his tone unyielding. “That’s enough. I’ve already retracted your report. Ryan, your professional conduct is seriously in question. Don’t bother coming in for the next few days. Stay home and think about what you’ve done.” “I can’t believe how unreliable you are. If I had known, I never would have set the two of you up!” His righteous indignation was so powerful that if I hadn’t lived through the event myself, I might have doubted my own data. I hesitated, then hung up and called his superior. To my shock, the man didn’t even let me speak. “You’re Ryan, correct? Director Miller just briefed me on your situation.” “I used to think you were a solid, hardworking young man. What you did today is astounding. I don’t think you’re suited for this line of work anymore. You should look for opportunities elsewhere.” He hung up. I sat there, stunned. I couldn’t believe it. In this new life, I’d already lost my job. But there was no time to dwell on that. It was 6:00 PM. The earthquake was in four hours. I had work to do. I called Layla’s parents. Her father answered. “What? An earthquake? Ryan, are you kidding me? This town hasn’t had a quake in eight hundred years!” “Where’s Layla? Let me talk to Layla.” I took a deep breath. “Layla went on a trip with her college friend. Dad, I’m not kidding. There is going to be an earthquake in Stone Creek at ten tonight. You have to listen to me. Tell the mayor, get everyone to evacuate now!” “Don’t you worry,” he said immediately. “A matter of life and death, I’ll get it done!” Two hours later, I arrived in Stone Creek. There were still two hours until the quake, but the streets were bustling. No one seemed to have a shred of urgency. What was going on? I told my father-in-law to inform the mayor. Why hadn’t an evacuation been ordered? Time was running out. I called him again as I rushed toward the mayor’s house. It turned out my father-in-law was there, drinking with the mayor. “Dad, what are you doing? The earthquake is coming! Why haven’t you evacuated?!” I demanded. The mayor gave me a slow, lazy look, then turned to my father-in-law. “So this is your son-in-law? He looks presentable enough, but his character seems questionable. Lying to people about something like this.” My father-in-law walked over and kicked me hard in the shin. “Ryan! You’re a grown man! How can you make up such lies?” “If I hadn’t called Layla, I might have actually believed your nonsense and made the whole town run around for nothing! Can you imagine the gossip?” 3 So, they didn’t believe me either. I opened my mouth to argue, but my phone rang. It was Layla. I answered, my voice urgent. “Layla, you have to tell your dad, Stone Creek is really going to have an earthquake, you need to—” She cut me off. “Ryan, are you out of your mind? I’m just on a trip with Sean. Why are you being so dramatic?” I heard Sean in the background. “Yeah, man, Layla’s just going to hate you more if you keep this up.” “Just stop,” Layla’s voice was cold. “Or I’ll actually divorce you, and you can get ready to walk away with nothing.” She hung up. I had put the call on speaker so her dad could hear. Every word from her and Sean had been crystal clear. My father-in-law shot me a venomous glare. “Can’t even control your own wife. What kind of man are you?” A bitter taste filled my mouth. I wanted to defend myself, but there was no time. I turned to the mayor. “Mayor, I am a technician from the Seismic Monitoring Center. The seismic profile for Stone Creek is identical to the one from the event in the neighboring state three years ago. I have accurately predicted it will begin tonight at ten o’clock, with a magnitude of 7.0. There will be severe collapses. Please, you have to believe me!” The mayor hesitated, seeming to weigh the truth of my words. But my father-in-law scoffed. “Technician? What technician! My daughter already told me the center is firing him! Mayor, don’t you listen to his nonsense!” The mayor’s face hardened. He pointed to the door. “Son, this is not the place for your jokes. Please leave.” He was kicking me out. But I knew I couldn’t leave. Convincing this man was the only way to save the people of this town. In a moment of pure desperation, I dropped to my knees. “I, Ryan, am not joking. If there is no earthquake at ten tonight, then you can call the police and have me arrested. I’ll go to prison!” “Mayor, there’s not much time left! Please, order the evacuation!” “Have you no shame?!” my father-in-law roared, kicking me squarely in the chest. I crumpled to the ground, the pain so intense I could barely breathe. I locked eyes with the mayor. “The earthquake is coming. A thousand lives are on your head. Can you live with that?!” He stared at me for a long moment, then finally relented. “Fine. I’ll trust you this one time.” My father-in-law was dumbfounded. “What? You actually believe him? He’s just having a spat with my daughter, this is all an act to get back at her…” “If there’s no earthquake, he goes to jail,” the mayor said, striding out the door. I pushed through the pain and followed him. “The quake’s impact radius is five kilometers,” I reminded him. “To be safe, everyone should evacuate at least ten kilometers away…” The mayor listened and began organizing the evacuation. I went back to find my father-in-law. “Dad, I drove here. You and Mom can come with me.” He slapped me across the face. “The hell I will! The moment my daughter gets back, you two are getting a divorce! Then you can be as crazy as you want! Goddammit, you’ve made me lose all my face!” The town evacuated quickly. Within an hour, most people were gone. But Layla’s parents had locked me out of their house. No matter how much I pleaded, they wouldn’t leave. My only option was to call Layla. She was the only one who could convince them now. The phone rang a dozen times before she picked up. “Just trust me this one time, please?” I begged. “Everyone in town has left, but your parents won’t go. You have to talk to them! The earthquake is in twenty minutes, we’re running out of time!” A condescending laugh came from the other end. It was Sean. “Where’s Layla?” I demanded. “She’s in the shower,” he said smugly. “She already told me she doesn’t want to waste her breath on you.” I fought to control my rage. “Put her on the phone. Her parents’ lives are at stake!” Sean just mocked me. “Ryan, is there something wrong with you? Still using the earthquake lie? Do you have any idea what Layla and I are going to do tonight? We’ve got plans you can’t even imagine…”

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The night my mother jumped into the Silverveil, I finally understood her mortal madness. Some loves are worth drowning for. Others deserve to die. Everyone said my mother, Isolde, was blessed by fate. A mere mortal, yet she had won the eternal devotion of my father, Valerius, the Celestial God of War*. (*Note: The highest-ranking general in the Celestial Realm.) But my mother once told me, “A woman must never debase herself. It doesn’t matter who your father is. If the day comes that he betrays me, I will return to my mortal world, and we will never meet again.” Mother taught me mortal women bleed red, not gold like goddesses—but our pride weighs more than celestial jade. Because of her teachings, when I married the Celestial Emperor, Orion, we carved our names together into the Fate-Mirror Stone, vowing to grow old as one. But in the end, my father still betrayed her, moving the celestial, Lyra, into his sacred hall. And the Emperor, my husband, betrayed me too, bringing home a fragile Jade Hare, a shape-shifting spirit who dwells in moonbeams. On the day my father remarried, my mother leaped into the Silverveil River and vanished from the Celestial Realm. And as I watched the Emperor clasp the hand of his new love, I knew it was time for me to leave as well. 1 My mother was once the most beautiful woman in the Celestial Realm, but recently, a shadow had fallen over her. When we met, her face was gaunt, her eyes clouded with an exhaustion she couldn’t hide. “Seraphina,” she said, her voice a whisper, “your father has fallen in love with someone else.” I was stunned. “Mother, you and Father are the celestial couple everyone admires. How could this be? He has always cherished you. Are you sure you’re not mistaken?” A bitter smile touched her lips. “I was a fool. How can a mortal’s fleeting beauty ever compete with the ageless immortality of a goddess?” My mother, a mortal, had married a god. Though his divine essence protected her, slowing the decay of time, she was not of the celestial race. In recent years, fine lines had begun to trace their way across her face. I learned the truth then. After giving birth to me, her body had weakened. My father took a long retreat to the Argent Peaks, where he met Lyra. No one knew that they had fallen in love at first sight, spending a century of bliss together and secretly having a child. Though I was my father’s daughter, half of my blood was mortal. My celestial power was inherently flawed, destined never to reach its full potential. My father was the God of War. How could he tolerate having only one child with an incomplete spiritual root? He treated us well, my mother and me, but his pride was a stubborn, unyielding thing. He craved an heir worthy of his title, one with pure, noble blood. “I thought he was in seclusion, meditating,” my mother said, her voice trembling with the memory of her pain. “All that time, I was alone, enduring the whispers and scorn of the heavens. They mocked me for being mortal, unworthy of being the God of War’s wife.” Her voice broke. “A mortal woman, raising a child, tormented by the Empress herself, who claimed I had seduced a god who had dedicated his life to discipline! I fought for years to win their respect, and just when I had, your father brought home another child, claiming he and Lyra had pledged their lives to each other long ago in the mountains!” “Seraphina, I told you, if he ever betrayed me, I would return to my world. That time has come. I hope you won’t try to stop me.” I squeezed her hand, my voice firm. “Mother, I am your flesh and blood, raised by your teachings. Whatever you decide, I will support you.” A relieved smile touched her lips. “And you?” she asked softly. “How are things between you and the Emperor?” I sighed, sinking to my knees. “I have failed you, Mother. I have failed the marriage you so carefully chose for me. The Emperor has brought home a Jade Hare. He dotes on her. I have already decided to leave him.” A flicker of pain crossed her eyes. The Emperor, Orion, had been her handpicked choice for me. As the daughter of the God of War, I had been a prized bride, sought after by the finest men from all the realms. The Dragon Prince of the Eastern Sea, the Empress’s own nephew, gods from every corner of the heavens—they had all vied for my hand. But my mother had only one condition: whoever married me must have no other woman for all of eternity. She had been a princess in the mortal realm, she said, and had seen too many men discard their wives for concubines, their hearts fickle and cruel. “A woman’s life is bound to a man’s. When he changes his heart, it is a tragedy for both women.” I was her beloved daughter. She wanted nothing more than a life of peace and happiness for me. The Dragon Prince was handsome but notoriously promiscuous. The Empress’s nephew had returned from his mortal trial with a secret lover already hidden in his palace. The high gods of the Celestial Realm were free spirits, unwilling to be tied down by marriage. Only Orion, the Celestial Emperor, was different. He had slumbered for a century on the Adamant Spire, and in the first moment of his awakening, he had asked my mother for my hand. “Seraphina,” he’d said, his voice filled with a thousand years of longing, “for a millennium, you are all I have dreamed of.” He claimed to have fallen in love with me after a single, fleeting glance a hundred years ago. He treated me with unparalleled tenderness. He was a being of pure, cold light, and in his presence, I too fell in love. On our wedding day, a river of crimson silk stretched across the heavens. He promised to love me for all eternity. We carved our names together on the Fate-Mirror Stone. But that was only the first century. Now, he had found a new love. 2 Orion returned from a three-day trip to the Adamant Spire with a Jade Hare. She was a pitiful creature, her body covered in wounds. “I found her at the foot of the mountain,” Orion explained. “She was being attacked by a spirit beast. She wouldn’t have survived. I saved her out of pity, and now the grateful thing insists on following me.” As he spoke, the hare transformed into a beautiful young woman. I saw no harm in it and suggested she could stay in our palace, Seraphina Hall, as an attendant. Orion’s smile froze. He looked at me in disbelief. “Seraphina, you have always been the kindest of heart. The Jade Hare has such a humble background, and you would make her a servant? If she becomes an attendant, with her weak spiritual power, she will surely be bullied.” The Jade Hare leaned weakly against him, her eyes instantly welling with tears. “I have been bullied my whole life. The Emperor promised me a safe place, but is it to be your servant?” I was confused. “There are tens of thousands of attendants in the Celestial Realm. Do you consider them all servants? Besides, you saved her. She can’t just stay in Seraphina Hall with no title or purpose.” Tears streamed down the Jade Hare’s face as she knelt at my feet. “Lady Seraphina, I know my status is low, but I understand that a single drop of kindness must be repaid with a flood of devotion. The Emperor saved my life. I am willing to serve him, asking for no title, only the chance to repay his grace!” I finally understood. I smiled thinly. “Orion, what is it you want?” He turned away, his tone unnatural. “Seraphina, she has nowhere else to go. Just let her stay…” “When did I say she couldn’t stay? I said if she wants to remain, she can be an attendant in Seraphina Hall. Or,” my voice turned to ice, “are you planning to take her as your consort?” He missed the frost in my eyes completely, his face lighting up with joy. “You would really be willing? I knew you were the most reasonable one. If your mother can accept Lyra, surely you and the Jade Hare can live in harmony.” “Seraphina, you know my heart belongs only to you. This is just a title, to give her a place in the Celestial Realm so she can live safely. You wouldn’t mind, would you?” You think he loves you? A God of War needs heirs with divine blood, not half-breed weaklings! The Jade Hare looked up, overjoyed. “Lady Seraphina, they say you are the daughter of the God of War, who protects all the realms. His daughter is truly as broad-minded as he is!” I said nothing. They had already made their decision and painted me as the magnanimous, benevolent wife. Orion wrapped an arm around the Jade Hare’s waist, lifting her tenderly. “Your leg is still injured. You shouldn’t be kneeling for so long.” She gazed at him through her tears, a radiant smile breaking through. “For you, my Lord, I would die a thousand deaths.” I watched this play of profound love, my heart growing cold and barren. So, this was how a life debt was repaid. With one’s body. Before I could even process it, Orion spoke again. “The night air is cold. I’ll take her to her room now. You should rest early too, Seraphina.” He carried her into the palace, striding past me without a single glance. I stood frozen, waiting, hoping he would remember. Tonight was the full moon. The night my mixed blood, celestial and mortal, warred within me, causing excruciating pain. Every full moon, it was Orion who transferred his spiritual energy to me, who stayed by my side. But tonight, he was worried about a wounded leg, about the cold night air. He had forgotten my pain. I looked up at the palace name, “Seraphina Hall,” and laughed a hollow laugh. “Once, the bright moon shone upon the iridescent cloud returning home,” I whispered. He had named this palace for me, his “iridescent cloud.” Now, another lived within its walls. The moon was still there, but the heart had changed. If that was the case, why should I stay? 3 Orion and my father held their wedding ceremonies on the same day. The procession of bridal litters stretched from my father’s hall all the way to mine. The night before, my father visited my mother’s chambers for the first time in a long while. He had shed his elaborate robes and wore a simple white tunic, just as he had on the day they first met. My mother was painting her lips in the mirror. “My lord,” she said coolly, “shouldn’t you be with your new love? Why have you come to me?” My father was silent for a long time. Then he took a jade pendant from his robes. In the lamplight, it glowed with a soft, ethereal light. My mother froze. “Do you remember?” he asked. “On our wedding day, you gave this to me as a token.” “I want to use it now to ask you to give Lyra a place. She was with me in the Argent Peaks for so long, she bore my son. I cannot let her live her life without a proper title.” He was speaking of their promise in the mortal realm. During his mortal trial, my father had saved my mother from enemy soldiers. In gratitude, she had given him the jade pendant. “If ever you have need of me, show me this, and I will do everything in my power to help you.” My mother laughed, but a tear traced its way to the corner of her mouth. “Valerius, I thought this was a token of our love.” My father frowned, quickly wiping the tear away. “Isolde, I love you very much, but you cannot expect me to be faithful to you alone. Even mortal men have multiple wives. I am the God of War! Can I not have a soulmate, a child who can inherit my title?” He took her hand, his voice softening. “Don’t worry. Lyra is a gentle soul, she doesn’t like to compete. She and the child will live in the side palace. She will get along with you.” My mother said nothing, her eyes just shimmering with unshed tears. My father’s patience wore thin. “Isolde, it has been thousands of years! When will you stop being so willful?” I watched it all unfold in my water mirror, a deep sorrow settling in my heart. My mother was right. When a man loves a woman, he will say the most beautiful things in the world to prove his devotion. Once he stops loving her, the world will offer a million justifications for his betrayal. When he had loved her, she was pure and admirable. Now, she was willful and unreasonable. I turned away. Orion was sleeping peacefully beside me, his features as serene as ever. He stirred, murmuring my name in his sleep. “Seraphina… don’t go.” He had been good to me, in his way. He and the Jade Hare had never crossed a definitive line; he never stayed the night with her. But I knew him better than anyone, and I saw the affection he himself hadn’t yet recognized. The way his brow furrowed when she cried, the slight upturn of his lips when she was near, the way his hand would reach out, as if in longing, when her dress brushed past him. I didn’t understand. How could years of shared love be worth less than a chance encounter? Less than the scenery of a mountain, less than a new infatuation, less than three days at the foot of a mountain? He and my father—one had betrayed with his body, the other with his heart. My mother and I were done waiting. I smiled and pushed his hand away. My silhouette in the mirror merged with my mother’s. We spoke the same words. “In a place without love, why linger?”

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1 I deleted my million-follower account. Followers were baffled—was I hacked? Osprey, a rival influencer, DM’d me: “Why quit? Are you insane?” I ignored the noise and disappeared into the world’s quiet beauty. In my past life, our content was identical. The internet branded me a knockoff. Hate flooded my DMs, spilled into real life. I posted timestamps proving my originality—they called me a liar The bullying crushed me. One day, alone in my apartment, I ended it all. Yet I woke up—rebirth on the day of my first “coincidental” video clash with Osprey. My finger hovered over “Publish,” one click from ruining my life. I recoiled like touching flame. Saved to drafts. Checked Osprey’s page—her latest post, a radical departure from her usual bland style, already had tens of thousands of likes in 30 minutes. Comments raged: “Holy crap—dark fantasy final boss vibes!” “Small creator doing million-follower work? Unreal.” “MY WIFE. WHO STOLE MY FUTURE WIFE?!” … The dark background, the audacious styling, even the camera angles, the background music, and the caption—every single detail was a perfect mirror of the video sitting in my drafts. If I didn’t know for a fact that the concept was sparked by a British drama I’d been bingeing, that I had pulled all-nighters scripting it, I would have doubted my own originality. But the reality was cold and hard: Osprey had beaten me to it. And she had gone viral because of it. Last time, that single video had unleashed a firestorm of hate on me. I’d posted it, my heart full of hope, expecting praise and validation. Instead, the comments accused me of plagiarism, with users helpfully linking to the “original.” I clicked the link. And there it was. Osprey’s video, posted just before mine. The similarity was a staggering 99.9%. But I knew I hadn’t copied anyone. Fury burned through me. To prove my innocence, I released my creation timestamps and BTS footage. It was useless. Osprey produced her own “proof,” with timestamps that were even earlier than mine. The attacks intensified. “Guess she had this ‘proof’ ready from the start, just to slander Osprey.” “Support original creators! Down with copycats!” “Ava needs to get out of the beauty space. The internet isn’t for you, honey.” “LMAO, she asked for it and she got it.” Osprey’s management team and agency issued formal statements, swearing their work was the product of team collaboration and that they had never plagiarized anyone. I was just an independent creator. Everything, from start to finish, was done by me, and me alone. I had no one to vouch for me. And then, my boyfriend, Liam, posted a video unilaterally announcing our breakup. He claimed my previous content was all just a patchwork of ideas stitched together from other creators. He called me a serial plagiarist. His words were the final nail in the coffin. I was plunged into a bottomless abyss. My comment sections were overrun by self-righteous crusaders. The abuse in my DMs was unspeakable. The constant pressure snuffed out my creative spark. No brands would work with me. My finances dwindled. After my self-harm spiraled, I finally saw a therapist and was diagnosed with severe depression. On a bright, sunny afternoon, in a cramped little apartment, I chose to end my life. And then I woke up, back where it all began. Nothing has happened yet. This time, I will find out the truth. 2 Clinging to a sliver of hope, I switched to my burner account and started digging through Osprey’s other social media profiles. It was a long shot; she wasn’t the type to share her day-to-day life. I was about to give up when I saw it. A familiar figure in the background of a group photo. I zoomed in on the live photo. The motion captured the person’s left hand. On it was a ring I knew all too well. It was Liam’s hand. The ring had been my first-anniversary gift to him. I had personally selected the design and had it custom-made. There was no other like it in the world. So, at some point, Liam had gotten involved with Osprey behind my back. No wonder he’d been so quick to abandon me, so eager to throw his support behind her. I didn’t have time to mourn the scumbag. My mind was racing. I often vented to Liam about my work, sharing my half-formed ideas and flashes of inspiration with him. Had he leaked my concepts to her? It was highly likely. But he’d been on a “business trip” for a while now, and there was no way he’d let me look at his phone. I had no concrete proof. Still, it was a lead. A place to start. I took out my phone, sent Liam the photo with a brief explanation, and told him we were done. Then I blocked him. Next, I changed the passcode on my front door. With that settled, I forced myself to focus on a new video concept. There could be no mistakes this time. To be completely safe, I decided to pivot again. My last video was my first attempt at breaking out of my comfort zone, ditching my usual sweet, girl-next-door style for something bold and glamorous. Since that aesthetic had resonated so powerfully, I was confident my next creation would be even more popular. After a long bout of brainstorming, I finally finished the script. Looking at the concept on my computer, I let out a satisfied laugh. Let’s see her steal this one. To prevent any possible leaks, I shot the entire video inside my apartment, then edited it myself. Staring at the finished product, I felt a surge of pride. I was born for this. To be absolutely certain, I did one more thing. I went to Osprey’s viral video and left a comment from my burner. “Can’t wait for your next video, queen! Drop it soon!” She replied not long after. “This last concept took a lot out of me, so I probably won’t be posting for a little while. ” I replied with a crying cat emoji and breathed a sigh of relief. It seemed she had no plans to post anytime soon. It confirmed my theory: she must have gotten the last idea from Liam and rushed to produce it. But could two people’s ideas really be that identical? For now, I had to chalk it up to a bizarre coincidence, a freak alignment of creative vision. I uploaded my new video to the platform’s backend, polished the caption, and prepared to publish. Suddenly, a notification popped up on my phone from my burner account. I tapped on it. My blood ran cold.

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As I rose from the A-lister’s bed, he held out a pair of torn silk stockings, his voice a low purr. “Put them on. So exquisite.” The moment my fingers brushed against the ruined silk, a series of messages flared in front of my eyes, sharp and clear as text on a screen. 【Heiress, throw them away! That bastard thinks torn stockings are trashy. He’d never let his angel wear them, so he’s conning you into it.】 【Tomorrow, at your mother’s funeral, he’s going to publicly announce he’s with her.】 【He’s a dog who only wants your money, Willow! For God’s sake, kick him to the curb!】 … Aidan Thorne knelt at my feet, a look of confusion on his perfect face. “What is it? Did I not rip them beautifully enough for you?” A slow smile spread across my lips. In one fluid motion, I wrapped the stocking tight around his neck. “Looking for a death wish?” 1 The face that had graced a thousand movie screens, the face that could withstand the unforgiving lens of a camera, instantly flushed a deep, desperate crimson. I held on, watching the life drain from his eyes until he was on the verge of blacking out. Only then did I release him. He stared at me, gasping, disbelief warring with fear in his eyes. I patted his cheek, my touch deceptively gentle. “You love only me?” Gulping down air, he looked up at me with an expression of pure, desperate devotion—the kind of look a man gives his savior. “Of course.” For a heartbeat, I was lost in a memory. I was ten, and my mother had taken me to an orphanage to sponsor children in need. I’d chosen ten of them, all little boys with faces as perfect as porcelain dolls. Aidan had been one of them. Two years ago, a leaked audition tape of him playing a young, ruthless king went viral. I was captivated. I sought him out, spent a fortune to make him mine, and mine alone. He always played the part of the obedient pet so well. I never imagined… Just as I was about to demand who his “angel” was, the phone rang. It was Benson, our butler. “Miss Sterling! The Mistress… she’s fading.” I dropped Aidan without a second thought, threw on my clothes, and floored it all the way home. I made it. Just in time to see my mother for the last time. My biological father, however, was nowhere to be seen. As the night deepened, I turned to Benson, my voice ice. “Is Alan Pierce dead in a ditch somewhere?” Benson bowed his head respectfully. “He is with a Miss Locke, ma’am. His usual haunt.” I gritted my teeth. “He can die, then.” “Miss Sterling,” Benson cautioned gently, “remember your mother’s final instructions.” I took a deep, shuddering breath. “…Fine.” 2 After the funeral, I knelt before my mother’s casket in my mourning clothes, preparing for one last, private farewell. The doors burst open. Alan Pierce strode in, dragging a young woman with him. He looked down his nose at me. “Willow, this is your sister, Mariela. She’s a year older than you. From now on, she is the eldest daughter of this family. Do you understand?” My face was a mask of indifference. “A kept man should really learn to—” “Shut your mouth!” Alan yelped, cutting me off, his face panicked. He was terrified of his pathetic status being revealed in front of Mariela. A cold, sharp smile touched my lips. “Then take your bastard daughter and get out. Don’t disturb my mother’s peace.” “You insolent girl!” His words were sharp, but his actions were weak. He scurried out of the memorial hall with Mariela in tow. I returned to my vigil. Half an hour later, Benson appeared at my side, his voice a low murmur. “Miss Sterling, he’s hosting a party to introduce Miss Mariela to society. He couldn’t secure any prominent guests, of course, but he did manage to invite a few tabloid journalists with no scruples.” “Let him,” I said, my voice flat. Alan seemed to believe my mother was the great tree that sheltered me. With her gone, he thought he could finally control me, devour everything the Sterlings owned. He was so, so wrong. My mother wasn’t my shield. She was the rosary that restrained the devil in me. 3 Alan’s grand announcement that Mariela was his daughter did little more than create some fleeting gossip. No one in our circle acknowledged her. Thanks to Benson’s unyielding authority in the house, Mariela was relegated to the staff quarters. Frustrated, she took to bothering me at the memorial hall every single day. On the forty-ninth day, I decided I’d had enough of her buzzing. I let her in. She put on a mask of practiced sympathy. “Willow, I know you’re grieving, but it’s been forty-nine days. Your mother is gone. You need to move on. Come out, I want to talk to you.” Her foolishness was so transparent it was almost painful to watch. This was the illegitimate child Alan cherished so deeply? I walked past her, out of the hall. Mariela scrambled to follow. By the edge of the pool, I stopped and turned, standing on the top step of the patio, looking down at her. “Speak.” Mariela nervously clutched the hem of her dress, then stepped up onto the stair to meet my gaze. “Willow, Daddy only ever loved my mother. Now that he’s brought me into this house, it’s to replace you as the Sterling heiress. You’ve had the title for twenty-three years. You should be satisfied. Now, be a good girl and tell the butler and the staff to acknowledge me. Don’t make a scene, understand?” I laughed. Did she truly not know that Alan Pierce was nothing more than a man who’d married into money? That he’d taken my mother’s name? And with that pathetic level of awareness, she thought she could usurp my position? The reality of her incompetence was so profound, it was just… boring. I couldn’t be bothered to entertain her any longer. I shoved her. Splash! Mariela flailed in the water, a storm of shrieks and clumsy struggles. “Willow, how dare you! Daddy will make you pay for this! Pull me up… ugh! Pull me up right now, and I… I might just forgive you!” I walked away without a backward glance. While waiting at a red light, I made a quick international call, then continued on my way to find Aidan. He hadn’t contacted me in forty-nine days. It was time for him to die. 4 At seven o’clock that evening, I made my entrance at a lavish, bustling wrap party. It didn’t take me long to spot her. Mariela, dressed to the nines. She wore a Chanel 2025 Spring/Summer haute couture gown, Christian Louboutin custom heels, and a full set of the latest Tiffany & Co. jewels. Not a trace of the drenched rat I’d left in the pool earlier. And there was Aidan. Kneeling on one knee before her, he was gently massaging her ankle, which was faintly red. Mariela looked down at him, her cheeks flushed with a shy, pleased blush. So, Aidan’s precious angel was my dear, cheap half-sister. Two crew members nearby were whispering. “I always thought Aidan Thorne was so cold, so uninterested in women. I never knew he could be this tender with his girlfriend.” “Are you kidding? That’s the Sterling heiress. You see that couture? That’s probably more than our yearly salary, and she’ll likely wear it once and toss it.” … As I started towards them, one of the crew members stepped in my way. “This is a private wrap party for the film Femme Fatale. You’re not cast or crew. How did you get in?” My eyes locked on Aidan. “I’m here for him.” The other crew member immediately recoiled in disgust. “Oh, God, are you one of his stalkers? A stan? Get lost, you’re not welcome here.” “Aidan Thorne.” My voice cut through the noise of the party, clear and resonant. The entire room fell silent. Aidan looked up, his hand dropping from Mariela’s foot as if it were on fire. He stared at me, his face a canvas of pure shock. Mariela quickly slipped her shoe back on, looped her arm through his, and practically dragged him to stand before me. Aidan, so accustomed to groveling at my feet, couldn’t even meet my eyes. But Mariela, emboldened, flashed a pair of matching rings at me, a blatant declaration of war. “Little sister, I forgot to tell you. Aidan and I have been together for years. He was mine long before he was yours. I’m taking him to meet Daddy in a few days. We’re getting married.” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. During the years I’d poured my resources into making him a star, I had asked him to marry me. He’d told me to wait. Wait until he was an international superstar, and he would propose to me on a global live broadcast. And I, like a fool, had actually believed him. Mariela leaned in close, her voice a triumphant, vicious whisper. “Does that hurt? Oh, Willow, this is just the beginning. I’m going to make everyone remember that I am the true Sterling heiress. And you? You won’t even be worthy of shining my shoes.” RIIIP! I grabbed the front of her gown and tore it open. She shrieked, clutching the fabric to her chest. “Willow, what are you doing! Why would you tear my dress? This is the latest collection, it’s priceless!” I smiled faintly. “I’m just tearing up the dress the brand sent me. What’s the problem?” Terrified I would expose her for stealing my clothes and jewelry in front of everyone, she squeezed out a few tears, playing the victim. “Willow… first you push me in the pool, and now you humiliate me like this… We’re sisters, not enemies…” Her tear-streaked face was a picture of pitiful innocence. It did nothing for me, but it broke Aidan’s heart. He shrugged off his blazer and wrapped it around Mariela’s shoulders, his brow furrowed as he turned on me. “Willow, must you do this? Are you trying to kill her?” My eyebrow arched in amusement. “I’m simply reclaiming what belongs to me from a common thief. How is that trying to kill her? Or did you find some cheap tramp to entertain you because I was too busy mourning my mother to grant you my favors?” Aidan’s face hardened. “Mariela is not a thief, she is not a tramp, and she is certainly not a toy. She is the woman I have loved for ten years, and my girlfriend of three.” “And what was I?” I asked, my voice dangerously soft. Mariela tightened her grip on his hand. He squeezed back, finding his courage, and finally met my gaze. “You were a mistake. Willow, we’re over.”

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His childhood sweetheart was trapped in an elevator shaft for half an hour. In a blind rage, my husband shoved me into a suitcase and zipped it shut. “You will suffer double what she suffered,” he snarled. Curled in the suffocating darkness, I gasped for air, my tears and apologies met only with his cold reprimand. “Take your punishment. A good lesson will teach you to behave.” He locked the suitcase, with me inside it, in the wardrobe. I screamed. I struggled. Blood seeped from the seams of the case, staining the floorboards. Five days later, in a moment of fleeting pity, he decided to end my punishment. “A small lesson to teach a greater one,” he mused. “I’ll let you off this time.” But he didn’t know. He couldn’t have known. My body had already rotted into an unrecognizable sludge. … 1 “That jealous shrew… has she learned her lesson yet? Why hasn’t she been causing trouble the last few days?” “See? A little punishment is all it takes to make her understand her place.” His assistant’s face suddenly went pale. “Mr. Briggs… about your wife… I… I don’t think she’s been let out yet.” A tremor went through Gabriel’s hand, but he quickly suppressed it. “A few more days of reflection won’t hurt her.” His assistant hesitated, then spoke again, his voice trembling. “Sir, a… a terrible smell is coming from the room where you locked Mrs. Briggs. Perhaps… you should go and see?” Gabriel’s voice turned to ice. “A smell? Of course there’s a smell. A woman like her, so desperate to cling to life, she’d do anything to survive. She’s probably eating her own waste. What do you expect?” The assistant tried to speak again, but Gabriel cut him off, his face a mask of disgust. “Enough. I’ll let her out tomorrow. A few days should be enough to teach her some manners. When she comes out, she will apologize properly to Evelyn, and we can put this all behind us.” Just as he finished speaking, Evelyn appeared in the doorway, barefoot and ethereal. Gabriel’s expression melted into one of profound tenderness. “Evie, are you still having nightmares? Don’t worry, I’ve punished Claire severely. I’ll make her pay a thousand times over for what you went through.” He swept her into his arms, his fingers gently tracing the line of her hair. “Gabriel, you’re the best to me,” Evelyn murmured into his chest, her voice a sweet, childish purr. “I’m sure Claire knows she was wrong now. I only wanted an apology, I never wanted her to be punished. She won’t blame me, will she?” Watching their cloying display of affection, I couldn’t help but laugh. A silent, hollow laugh that disturbed nothing. I was already dead. In the last, suffocating moments of my life, my soul had drifted free from that cramped, terrifying suitcase. From this third-person perspective, I could see the dark, crusted stains of blood that had soaked through the fabric. The wardrobe that held my tomb was secured with a heavy padlock, as if to ensure its prisoner would never, ever escape. Even as a spirit, the sight of that scene, the memory of the airless dark, made me want to shut my eyes. Meanwhile, Gabriel was whispering sweet reassurances to Evelyn. “Another nightmare? Don’t be afraid. I’ll always be here to protect you.” He gently stroked her cheek. “You’ve been through so much, my poor Evie.” His voice hardened. “Do you know what she’s like? She’s so desperate to live, she’d even… she’d consume her own filth. A person who values her own life so much, yet she dared to harm you. I’ll make her pay.” I hovered there, stunned into a state beyond tears. Gabriel was right. I did desperately want to live. The suitcase was too small. To make me fit, he had bent my arm back until the bone snapped. I had endured the searing pain, tried to find a way to escape, and when I realized it was hopeless, I focused on conserving my energy, on trying to last as long as possible. But he had forgotten. He had forgotten that when he forced me into that box, I was pregnant. The prolonged, contorted position put unbearable pressure on my belly. A sharp, stabbing pain made me lose control. I thrashed, but it was useless. In the final moments of my life, a primal, desperate will to survive took over. I screamed, I clawed at the zipper with my toenails, fighting for one last sliver of hope. His only response was a cold, merciless judgment from the other side of the door. “You’re this terrified? Imagine how helpless Evie must have felt. You stay in there and feel the pain. It’s the only way you’ll learn.” I had confessed. I had admitted to crimes I didn’t commit, begging him to let me out. Then, a warm gush of blood spread from between my legs, and my strength finally gave out. Through a haze of fading consciousness, I heard his final verdict. “She’s too loud. Still doesn’t know the rules. Lock it up. Let her reflect in silence.” I tried to plead, my voice a strangled rasp, but I could do nothing but listen as the heavy padlock clicked into place, extinguishing the last sliver of light, and my life along with it. 2 “Go and let Claire out. Tell her to clean herself up before she comes to apologize. I don’t want her stinking up the place and offending Evie’s eyes.” Gabriel’s tone was dismissive. The assistant nodded uncomfortably. Evelyn’s eyes sparkled as she clung to Gabriel’s arm. “Gabriel, when Claire comes out, you have to be nice to her. Don’t be angry anymore. You two are married, after all. You shouldn’t fight so ugly.” A flicker of annoyance crossed Gabriel’s face, but his hand gently kneaded her fingers. “She wouldn’t dare be angry. Because of her carelessness, you were trapped in that elevator for half an hour. I can’t even imagine how scared and helpless you must have been. Evie, you’re just too good, too kind. That’s why she takes advantage of you.” His voice was thick with repressed rage, as if he were afraid of frightening her. But to my ears, his words were a symphony of mockery. A week ago, while Gabriel was in a board meeting, Evelyn had come to our apartment to provoke me. “So what if you’re pregnant? He’ll never love the baby. It will be just as pathetic and unloved as you are.” I didn’t bother to argue. I just told her to get out. But on her way down, the elevator malfunctioned. She got stuck between floors. Trapped, she sent a long, dramatic farewell text to Gabriel, saying she probably wouldn’t make it out alive. “I know Claire doesn’t like me. I just hope that after I’m gone, she can take good care of you in my place.” “Gabriel, my love, perhaps we’ll meet in the next life.” The moment Gabriel saw the message, he abandoned his meeting and raced home like a madman, mobilizing every emergency service in the city. He finally found her, unconscious, in the elevator shaft. I had stood nearby, watching him cradle her in his arms, his anguished cries echoing in the hallway. “Evie, don’t leave me…” At the time, I thought they were ridiculous. Trapped for half an hour, and they were acting like it was a life-and-death tragedy. It was only when Gabriel grabbed me by the hair and brutally folded me into the suitcase that I understood. The love was for them. The tragedy was for me. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” he had roared, his face contorted with rage. “Evie has claustrophobia! You almost killed her! Even if she survives, she’ll be scarred for life!” “Claire, I’m going to teach you that you can’t just do whatever you want because you’re my wife. If you don’t admit you were wrong, you are never getting out of there.” And now, he was still waiting, his face a cold mask, for me to come crawling back to him, begging for forgiveness. Too bad for him. That was never going to happen. “Sir… Sir! Mrs. Briggs… she… she’s not breathing! There’s no sign of life!” Gabriel froze for a second. I watched him closely, thinking, hoping for at least a flicker of remorse. He just laughed, a casual, dismissive sound. “She’s acting. The wicked live long. You think she’d die that easily?” He tapped his fingers on the desk, his voice detached. “If she’s dead, call the crematorium. Have them come and get her. If she loves pretending to be dead so much, let’s show her the consequences.” He turned to his assistant, his voice sharp. “Go and tell her she has half an hour to get cleaned up and come here. If she doesn’t, the punishment continues until she learns to stop her games.” The assistant was trembling, but before he could speak, Gabriel snapped, “Still standing there? Do you want to be punished too?” He wrapped his arm around Evelyn, his voice softening. “Evie, when she comes, you can’t be soft on her. You have to be strong. I’m going to make her kneel and apologize to you. That’s her punishment. You can’t feel sorry for her, do you understand?” Evelyn looked at him, her eyes wide with feigned compassion. “Oh, Gabriel…” I couldn’t even summon the energy to hate them anymore. But for some reason, my soul felt tethered, unable to leave. I was forced to watch as Gabriel mocked me, laughed at me. 3 This was the man I had loved for ten years. Three years of high school, four years of university, and three years of dating and marriage. What I never knew was that from the very beginning, he saw me as nothing more than a stain on his life. I had followed him like a shadow for seven years, believing my devotion could melt his icy exterior. The day he accepted my confession of love, I was so happy I couldn’t sleep. What I didn’t know was that he only agreed to marry me because his company’s funding had dried up, and he needed an infusion of my family’s capital. In our two years of marriage, I had poured everything I had into supporting his career. I took care of him, catered to his every need, tried to win him over. And slowly, he seemed to change. He started waiting up for me, making me breakfast, gently massaging my stomach when I had cramps. I almost, almost believed I had finally won his love. The day I found out I was pregnant, I was ecstatic, practically dancing around him. But his reaction was ice cold. “Claire. You’re saying you’re pregnant?” I didn’t hear the suspicion in his voice. I just nodded eagerly. “Hah,” he scoffed. “But I have a low sperm count. It’s nearly impossible for me to father a child. You know where that baby came from, don’t you?” I desperately tried to prove my innocence. I relayed the doctor’s words to him. “After nine weeks, we can do a test. I would never, ever betray you.” What I didn’t know was that on the very day I discovered my pregnancy, Evelyn had returned to the country. He had told her about my pregnancy, treating it like a joke. The iceberg I had spent a decade trying to melt had refrozen in an instant. Can a soul feel heartache? All I knew was that I couldn’t breathe. The suffocating despair of the suitcase washed over me again. Gabriel, still holding Evelyn, grew more and more agitated. “Why is she taking so long? After all this time to reflect, she still hasn’t learned her lesson? Is she trying to spite me?” He muttered under his breath, “Your bones better be as hard as your head, Claire.” I watched him, a cold spectator. His hand, which had been calmly playing with a string of prayer beads, was now fumbling, his movements agitated. A flicker of unease crossed his face. “Evie, I’m going to see what she’s up to. Don’t worry, I’ll make her come and apologize to you.” He stood up and strode toward the room where I was confined. As he neared the door, he wrinkled his nose in disgust. “What is that smell?” The assistant stood behind him, his shirt soaked with cold sweat. “Mr. Briggs… you should see for yourself.” I didn’t know what to feel. My spirit tensed. It would take courage to face the gruesome reality of my own death. Gabriel pushed the door open. The suitcase had been dragged out of the wardrobe and thrown onto the floor. The zipper was partially open, then hastily covered again. He stared at it, annoyed. “Claire, I let you out, and you’re still hiding? You plan on living in there forever?” Was it that I didn’t want to come out? I had fought until my last breath, just for one more glimpse of the sun. But there were no more chances. “Still throwing a tantrum? I give you an inch, and you take a mile, is that it?” He walked over to the suitcase. The stench was so overpowering it made his eyes water, but he didn’t stop. He lifted his foot and kicked it. “You stink! Go and clean yourself up! Who are you trying to disgust?” He kicked it hard. The suitcase toppled over, the lid flying open. And there I was, in all my horrifying glory. The body inside was twisted into an unnatural shape, my arm bent back at a ninety-degree angle. The look of terror was frozen on my face, my eyes and mouth stretched wide, my eyeballs bulging. My lower body was caked in a dark, dried crust of blood. Gabriel stumbled back, his voice shaking. 4 “Who put this… this dead thing in here to scare me? Where’s Claire? Find her! Does she think she can just plant a mannequin here and escape? I’m not an idiot! Find her, now!” I laughed until spiritual tears streamed down my face. What was this act of feigned ignorance? I was lying right there, my body rotting. Where else was he going to find me? “Mr. Briggs, your wife… she’s dead! The body is decomposing!” the assistant stammered. Gabriel glared at him. “You’re lying! You’re helping her trick me? Do you think I’m a fool? That I’ll see a smelly mannequin and believe she’s dead? I’ll tear this city apart, but I will find her!” He stormed out, ordering the room to be locked again, and sent his men to search for me. Evelyn saw his grim face and hurried to his side, wrapping her arms around his neck. “What’s wrong, Gabriel? Did Claire make you angry again? Don’t worry, Evie’s here for you.” He picked her up and sat on the sofa, his voice still trembling. “She’s gone too far this time. Faking her own death to run away! But no matter where she goes, I’ll find her. She still owes you an apology, and I’ll make her say it to your face.” So, even after seeing my corpse, he refused to believe it. Was it just because he needed me alive to apologize to Evelyn? I felt a wave of pathetic, self-deprecating humor. He pulled up the security footage from the room. The video clearly showed me being locked in, my struggles, my screams, and then… the gradual silence. But Gabriel still wouldn’t believe it. “The footage is the same at the end. It would be easy to edit. Claire, you really are a master of deception.” He slammed his fist into the computer monitor. Evelyn yelped, startled by his sudden violence, and clung to him, her eyes wide. Gabriel immediately softened, his voice turning gentle again. “It’s okay, Evie, don’t be scared. I’m just angry that she’s so irresponsible. Trying to just run away! Don’t you worry. I’ll have her back here before your birthday. And then, I’ll make her kneel before everyone and beg for your forgiveness!” A triumphant gleam appeared in Evelyn’s eyes. She leaned in and placed a soft kiss on his forehead. It was a fleeting touch, but it made Gabriel blush. Even I felt a little embarrassed for them. Sorry, didn’t mean to intrude on your little moment. I had always known about Evelyn. I knew about her from the moment I first fell for Gabriel. His social media profile picture was a childhood photo of the two of them. In it, a tiny Evelyn beamed at the camera, and he looked at her with an adoration that was impossible to hide. Some people’s love is just like that: blatant and unapologetic. Just like mine.

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Reborn, I decided to write my brother’s name on the marriage application. This time, I would give Cathy what she always wanted. This time, I would be the one to dress my brother in the groom’s suit, to place the engagement ring on his finger. I would personally orchestrate every one of their “fateful” encounters. When she took him to the capital, I wouldn’t say a word. I would pack my bags and head south, to a university by the sea. I was doing this because in my last life, even when I was past fifty, she and our son were still on their knees, begging me for a divorce. Begging me to finally let her and my brother be together. Reborn, all I wanted was to spread my wings and fly, far away from the tangled mess of love. 1. “Just fill in the name and give it to me.” Cathy tapped her manicured nails impatiently on the table. I stared down at the marriage application, my fingertips tracing the rough edge of the paper. My mind drifted. In my last life, I had treated this document like a sacred decree, reverently writing my own name before dragging a reluctant Cathy out to buy wedding candies. I’d been met with a torrent of abuse for my trouble, all because she was in a hurry to get home and make soup for my “sickly” younger brother, Michael. “I know, I know,” I mumbled, feigning compliance. I glanced up, taking in her antsy expression, the way her eyes kept flicking to her watch. She was wearing a crisp, white shirtdress, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, revealing slender forearms. I remembered how Michael had always loved her in this outfit, saying it made her look clean and fresh. “If you’re busy, you can go ahead,” I said, forcing a casual tone to mask the bitterness rising in my throat. “I can turn this in myself when I’m done.” Relief washed over her face, and her voice softened. “Look, since we’re getting married, I will be responsible for you,” she said, as if granting a great favor. “But you need to stop being so jealous of Michael. It’s not good for his reputation if people find out.” I said nothing. In my past life, I had explained myself a thousand times, but in her eyes, I was always the petty, jealous older brother, incapable of tolerating my kind, gentle sibling. She didn’t wait for a response, just turned and hurried away. I took a deep breath, trying to calm the frantic beating of my heart. The memories of my past life flooded back, a relentless tide. On our wedding night, she used the excuse of taking care of a sick Michael to stay out all night. When she was assigned a post in the capital with the military, she took only Michael with her, saying he’d never seen the city before. Even on the day our own son turned one month old, Cathy was too busy consoling a newly divorced Michael to show up. Right up until the end, on my deathbed, our son was still pleading with me. “Dad, just divorce Mom. You’ve never been as good as Uncle Michael. Mom has suffered by your side for so many years. Just let her go.” I looked over at my wife, standing cold and silent by my hospital bed. Her silence was all the confirmation I needed. I bit down hard on my lip, not letting go until I tasted the coppery tang of blood. No. Not this life. I would not make the same mistakes. I picked up the pen, and in the space for the applicant’s name, I slowly, deliberately, wrote two words: Michael Shaw. Cathy, since you love him so much, your wish is my command. I handed the completed application to the clerk, took the marriage certificate, and walked out of the city hall. I wasn’t sad. Instead, I felt an exhilarating, unfamiliar sense of freedom. 2. In my last life, Michael and I were adopted by Cathy’s family after our parents died in the line of duty. Michael, with his sweet talk and clever ways, had charmed Cathy’s parents until they treated him better than their own son. Cathy’s mother had long harbored the desire for Michael to marry her daughter. But Michael, with a simple, “I don’t want to compete with my brother,” had magnanimously stepped aside, paving the way for Cathy to marry me. In reality, he was just keeping her on the hook. At the time, Cathy was just an ordinary soldier; he was waiting for a better prospect to come along. I went to the local high school, got all the information I needed about university applications, tuition, and living expenses. Only then did I head back. When I stepped into the apartment provided for Cathy’s military family, I heard Michael’s soft voice. “Cathy, he’s going to be angry, isn’t he? You running back to be with me instead of him.” “It doesn’t matter when I spend time with him,” Cathy’s voice was firm. “You’re not well. I can’t leave you here alone.” Michael laughed, a happy, boyish sound. Then his tone turned wistful. “Will you still be nice to me after you and my brother get married?” “Of course,” Cathy said without hesitation. “Who else would I be nice to? If your brother ever mistreats you, I’ll divorce him in a heartbeat.” I clenched my fists so tightly my knuckles turned white, fighting back a wave of heartache. Even in this new life, hearing my wife speak of me with such casual disregard still hurt. I composed myself and walked into the room as if I had heard nothing. 3. Cathy emerged from Michael’s room, a faint blush on her cheeks. “I… I was just checking on Michael. He wasn’t feeling well.” I gave a noncommittal grunt and turned to go to my own room. In my last life, I had fought with her endlessly over their overly familiar behavior. This life, I refused to waste the energy. “Jasper,” she called out, stopping me. “Maybe we should buy some wedding candies to share with the neighbors in the complex?” I shot her a surprised look. This must be her way of compensating for my lack of a jealous outburst. “No need,” I said flatly. “There’s no point in such formalities.” She blinked, clearly taken aback. She couldn’t imagine me refusing such a proposal. “Is it because you’re mad at Cathy for taking care of me, brother?” Michael appeared from his room, his face a perfect picture of innocence and hurt. And he was wearing the Lenin-style suit I had specifically bought to wear for our wedding photos. I had scrimped and saved for six months to afford it in my past life. I’d never even worn it once. He followed my gaze and stammered an explanation. “I saw this suit on your bed today, brother. I thought it looked nice, so I tried it on. I… I forgot to take it off.” He hung his head, wringing his hands like a chastised child. Cathy started to intervene. “Jasper, don’t…” I cut her off, my voice calm. “It suits you. You can have it. I’ve never worn it anyway.” I could smell the faint, sour scent of sweat and something else—something metallic, like blood—on the fabric. The thought of it now made my stomach turn. Leaving them staring in stunned silence, I went to my room and locked the door. 4. I pulled out a folder. Inside was my acceptance letter to Havenport University, in the south. I had always loved the south. And it was for my favorite subject, economics. In my last life, I gave up my education for Cathy, willingly staying home to take care of her and her family. This time, thank God, it wasn’t too late. This time, I was going to live for myself. I checked the calendar. Ten days. Ten days until I could leave this place for good. Time was short, and I had to make every second count. A knock on the door. I opened it, annoyed. Cathy stood there, holding a bowl of noodles, her voice soft. “You must be hungry. I made you some noodles.” For a second, I was disoriented. In my past life, she was either ice-cold or spitting venom at me. This gentle, caring Cathy was a ghost I hadn’t seen in a very long time. “No, thanks. I ate out.” “You did? But you never spend money on things like that.” Her words stung. It was true. I used to be frugal to a fault, spending every penny I earned from odd jobs on her, buying her things. Now, with university looming, every cent had to be carefully accounted for. I met her eyes, my voice even. “A few days ago, I gave you fifty dollars to buy things for the wedding. You didn’t seem to buy anything. I’d like it back.” She froze, then stammered, “That money… I used it to buy Michael a pair of leather shoes.” I couldn’t help but sneer inwardly. Of course. It was always the same. “If there’s nothing else, I’m going to bed.” “I’ll give you the money tomorrow,” she snapped, her tone turning hostile. “We’re husband and wife. Do you really have to be so petty?” A cold laugh escaped me. “So, I’m not even allowed to be petty when you use my hard-earned money to buy things for another man?” She knew she was in the wrong, but she still muttered, “Unbelievable,” under her breath. I was done arguing. I slammed the door in her face. 5. Over the next few days, I started selling off my possessions. The mementos from my past life, once filled with cherished memories, now seemed like cheap, worthless junk. I bundled them all up and sold them to a scrap collector for a pittance. As I was packing my suitcase that afternoon, Cathy appeared, fifty dollars clutched in her hand. “Here’s your money,” she said, her voice stiff. I took it and nodded. “Thanks.” She watched me, her expression complicated, her eyes falling on my half-packed suitcase. “I’m planning on having Michael come with me to the capital first. You don’t need to pack.” I didn’t stop what I was doing. I just nodded again. She seemed unnerved by my placid attitude. “What’s wrong with you lately? You’re like a different person.” I turned to her, my patience wearing thin. I didn’t want any last-minute complications. Cathy didn’t love me, but if she found out the marriage license had Michael’s name on it, she might just drag me back to the city hall to fix it, all for his sake. I wanted nothing more to do with either of them. “It’s nothing. Just clearing things out,” I lied. “After you leave for the capital, I thought I’d move back to the countryside.” She visibly relaxed. “I’m not trying to leave you behind,” she explained. “It’s just… Michael’s never seen the capital, and he really wants to go. Once I get settled, I’ll send for you in a few months.” I nodded absently. In my last life, she never sent for me. Not for eight long years. Not until Michael married a high-ranking officer’s daughter and broke her heart. Only then did she summon me to the capital. She looked at me, uneasy. Usually, when we were alone, I would be the one chattering away. Now, my silence seemed to make her anxious. “You’ve always wanted to take wedding photos, haven’t you? Let’s go to the studio tomorrow.” No way. I had plans to buy supplies for university tomorrow. I was about to make an excuse when Michael walked in, draping his arm familiarly around Cathy’s shoulders. “Cathy, what photo studio? I want to take pictures too!” Cathy smiled, ruffling his hair. “Okay, we’ll all go together tomorrow.” “You two go,” I said. “I have something to do.” Cathy frowned. “What could be more important than our wedding photos? We’ll go first, then I’ll help you with whatever you need to buy.” Her tone was firm, leaving no room for argument. Michael chimed in. “Yeah, brother. You’re not trying to avoid going because of me, are you?” I didn’t want to argue. I just nodded. 6. Early the next morning, I could hear Cathy in Michael’s room, coaxing him to get out of bed in a low, sweet voice. The bright red number on the calendar screamed at me. Four days left. Four days until I was free. By the time they finally emerged, my patience was worn thin. Cathy bustled around, fetching hot water, personally washing Michael’s face for him. I must have been blind in my past life to ever believe that if I just married her, she would one day treat me with such tenderness. As I was lost in thought, Cathy approached me awkwardly, a small ring pinched between her fingers. “Mrs. Zhou said it’s fashionable to exchange rings now. I bought one for you.” I didn’t take it. There was no ring in my last life. Michael saw it and immediately pouted. “That’s so nice! I want one too!” I magnanimously gestured. “Then you can have it.” Cathy’s face darkened. “Don’t be ridiculous, this is our wedding ring!” Michael snatched the ring, slipped it onto his own finger, and waggled it at Cathy. “Cathy, doesn’t it look good on me?” Cathy’s expression melted into one of pure adoration. She smiled and nodded. Then, she turned to me, her voice a guilty whisper. “I’ll… I’ll buy you another one next time.” I just nodded, unfazed. I had heard her promises before. None of them ever came true.

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The day before my audition for the National Arts Academy, I was dragged into the woods by a group of thugs. For a day and a night, they tormented me. When I was finally found, my legs were broken, my face a mask of blood. My father, who had missed my desperate calls for help because he was “in a meeting,” wept with guilt. My brother, Lex, was on the phone with his medical school mentor, begging them to arrange an emergency surgery. In the hazy space between consciousness and oblivion, I heard my brother’s hushed voice. “Dad, hiring those guys to… ‘teach Stella a lesson’ at school… don’t you think we went too far? Even if you wanted to clear the way for Marie, to stop Stella from auditioning, there had to be another way.” My father was holding me in the back seat of the car, gently brushing stray hairs from my forehead. “Stella has been targeting Marie at school constantly. This was the only way to make her back off, to stop getting in Marie’s way.” He sighed. “Besides, I’ll let her inherit the company. That should be compensation enough.” My teeth began to chatter uncontrollably. A deep, glacial cold seeped into my bones. The happy family I thought I had, the doting father and loving brother… it was all a lie. … “The patient is in critical condition. The surgical team is ready. Should we proceed immediately?” a nurse asked. My father’s answer was chillingly calm. “Wait until tomorrow.” The doctor was taken aback. “Sir, both of her legs have been shattered. If we don’t operate now, the bones won’t set properly. She’ll have a severe limp for the rest of her life.” My brother chimed in, his voice tight with concern. “Dad, she’s so young. We can’t let her become a cripple.” “That’s the point!” my father hissed, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper. “I want her to limp. We’ve come this far; I have to ensure nothing stands in Marie’s way at the audition. Only by completely destroying Stella’s dream of dancing can Marie pursue her own without fear.” “That’s enough. Just have the doctors give her some painkillers for now.” Lying on the gurney, I bit down so hard on my lip that I tasted blood, but a sob still escaped my throat. My father, the man who had treated me like the most precious jewel in the world, now terrified me to my very core. I finally understood. I understood why, after my mother died, he had suddenly showered me with such overwhelming affection. It wasn’t to assuage his guilt over her death. It was to dull my ambition, to make me soft and dependent, all to pave the way for his illegitimate daughter. And my brother, the person I adored most in the world, cared more for Marie than for his own sister. The two men I trusted with my life were destroying me for another woman. The more I thought, the more the grief choked me, and I let out a racking cough. My father burst into the room, his face a mask of concern. He tenderly wiped the tears from my eyes. “Did you have a nightmare, sweetheart? Don’t be scared, Daddy’s here.” He patted my back, murmuring stories to soothe me, just like when I was a child. He was always so good at playing the part of the loving father. My brother spun around and ran out. “Get the doctor! Use the most expensive anesthetic! I don’t want my sister to feel another second of pain!” The concern on their faces looked so real. And yet, it was all part of the lie I was living in, a world of pain and deceit they had built around me. My heart seized, and for a moment, I thought I would pass out. The doctor returned, expertly cutting away my ruined clothes to administer the medication. That’s when my father offered his explanation. “Stella, your injuries are too severe. I’m afraid a rushed surgery might go wrong. Why don’t we wait for the top specialists to arrive tomorrow before we set the bones, okay?” He squeezed my hand. “Don’t you worry. Daddy promises, he’ll get you back on that stage.” A single tear traced a path down my temple. I couldn’t stop myself from asking, my voice a broken whisper, “Dad… can I really… can I ever go back to the stage?” He flinched, his eyes darting away for a split second. Then he sighed, meeting my gaze again. “Stella, when have I ever lied to you?” The pain in my legs had faded to a dull, terrifying numbness. What choice did I have? I lowered my eyes. “Okay, Dad. I’ll listen to you.” A smile touched his lips. “That’s my good girl…” But his words died in his throat. As the doctor cut away the last of my trousers, revealing the mangled flesh beneath, my father let out a strangled gasp. “My God… what happened?!” Those thugs, they had made a game of it, competing to see who could make me scream the loudest. Below my knees, my legs were a ruin of shattered bone and pulp. My brother couldn’t bear to look. He turned his face away, his shoulders shaking. The doctor shook his head in disgust. “What kind of animal could do something so vicious? Young lady, you’ll have to be brave, this is going to hurt…” I slowly shook my head. “It’s okay…” Because I couldn’t feel a thing anymore. While the doctor worked, I heard my father and brother talking again just outside the door. Lex’s voice was low. “She’s already like this… Do we still have to leak the video of her… of the assault?” My father was silent for a long moment. “Yes,” he said, his voice flat. “Do it. No prestigious arts academy will accept a student with a ruined reputation.” Tears burst from my eyes. “Did I hurt you?” the doctor asked, alarmed. I shook my head, unable to tell if the pain was in my body or in my soul. The two most important men in my life hadn’t just broken my body. They were determined to shatter my spirit, too. In that moment, I wanted to scream at them, Are we family, or are we enemies? A few minutes later, my phone began to buzz incessantly. When I managed to look, I saw it. The video of my assault, posted across all the school’s online forums and gossip sites. Beneath it, a flood of comments, slandering and defaming me. 【That’s Stella Wenner. I know her. She’s always been a slut, acting all high and mighty. She totally had this coming!】 【Can confirm, her personal life is a mess. And she’s a huge bully at school, a real bitch.】 【I wonder what her CEO dad will think when he sees what a piece of trash his daughter really is?】 Each comment was a dagger twisting in my heart. I began to tremble uncontrollably. My brother rushed to my side, his hand covering my eyes. “Stella, don’t look.” My father snatched the phone away, roaring at my brother. “Lex, what the hell happened?! I thought you were handling this!” Lex looked stricken with guilt. “I tried to block it, Dad, but someone must have secretly filmed it. Don’t worry, Stella. I’ll get every copy taken down right now!” Their performance was seamless, a perfectly coordinated act. Every detail was designed to fool me. And it made me sick to my stomach. My father knelt before me, his eyes sincere. “Stella, no matter what happens, you will always be my precious daughter, the apple of my eye.” My brother nodded vigorously. “That’s right, Stella. I’ll always love you.” The video was taken down quickly. But not before countless copies had been made, spreading like wildfire. My reputation was destroyed. Even if my body healed, my life as I knew it was over. And my dream of dancing on a stage was dead. After a full examination, the doctor returned, his face grave. “The patient has multiple fractures in her legs, two broken ribs, and severe burns on her arms.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “But the worst part… her face has been slashed more than a dozen times with a razor blade. It’s… moderate disfigurement.” My father froze, his face turning to stone. “Moderate… disfigurement?” My brother’s eyes turned red. “How… how could this happen?” I remembered it all. The glint of the blades as they slashed down. Me, on my knees in the dirt, begging them to stop. My screams echoing in a forest that wouldn’t answer. That day and night would be a nightmare I’d never wake from. “Doctor,” my father’s voice was strained, “whatever it costs, you must fix my daughter’s face!” “We’ll do our best,” the doctor promised. My father, the proudest man I knew, shed tears in front of me for the first time. “Don’t be scared, Stella. Daddy will make you a princess again, adored by all.” But I didn’t believe him anymore. After they left to “handle things,” I pushed myself into a wheelchair and wheeled myself out into the empty hallway. I dialed the overseas number. “I’ve made up my mind,” I said into the phone. “I want to claim my mother’s inheritance.”

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On our wedding eve, Princess Hayley was caught with another man in the hunting lodge. The King, fearing my family would withdraw support, was furious. She remained calm. “Henry won’t leave me,” she said smugly. “He’s too infatuated.” The King seethed. “This isn’t a game! You’ll end things with Julian—now!” Behind the tapestry, my heart stalled. So, she’d only agreed to marry me to be with him. Hayley scoffed and left. I stepped out. The King sighed. “I tried to reason with her, but—” I shook my head. “A gentleman doesn’t steal love. If the alliance matters, consider your sister, Vanessa.” 1 My proposal left the King utterly stunned. “Henry, you can’t be serious. Vanessa… she’s a widow. You wouldn’t mind that?” “The Duchess and I are of a similar age,” I replied smoothly. “She should not be condemned to a life of hollow mourning for a husband she never even met, who passed so young. It is no life for a woman in her prime.” After a tense negotiation, the King finally consented to the match between me and his sister, Vanessa. When it came down to it, if Hayley’s scandal became public, it would be an unbearable stain on the royal family’s honor. “Your Majesty, these are the tributes from the Khergit envoys.” Handing the ledger to the King, I took my leave and made my way to Princess Hayley’s residence. It was almost laughable. For years, I had bent to her every whim, done everything in my power to earn a single glance of affection. I had come to the palace today hoping to impress my future father-in-law, only to stumble upon this… revelation. The moment I stepped into her opulent villa, a flicker of panic crossed Hayley’s face, swiftly replaced by a blaze of fury. “Henry Valerius! Who gave you permission to enter my home as you please?!” she snapped. “I’m warning you, one more disrespectful move and I’ll tell my father the wedding is off! Don’t think a royal decree means I’m chained to you!” In the past, my jealousy over Julian had made me obsessive. I’d followed her, constantly seeking reassurance, my mind a frantic mess of suspicion and anxiety. I had debased myself, all for the chance to marry her. Her current reaction, I supposed, was to be expected. “Good,” I said, my voice flat. “Because as it happens, you’re not the one I want to marry anymore.” Hayley let out a cold, mocking laugh. “Oh, stop posturing. You think I don’t know you? You groveled at my feet for months, wrote me endless letters, followed me around like a pathetic lapdog I couldn’t shake off!” I knew then that arguing was pointless. She was utterly convinced, deep in her bones, that I would never, ever give up on our marriage. As I turned to leave, my eyes caught a tell-tale mark on her throat, a flush of crimson just below her ear. The King’s words from the study echoed in my mind. There was only one explanation. It was from Julian. A woman of her station was meant to guard her reputation fiercely; a princess, even more so. Yet for Julian, Hayley was willing to cast aside all decorum, all honor. It was clear she loved him to the point of madness. Even knowing I would never marry her, a bitter resentment churned in my gut. An acidic burn rose in my throat, choking back the accusations I longed to hurl. I turned back, my gaze locking onto hers, searching, pleading for a flicker of shame, of guilt. She must have misinterpreted my stare. She snatched a porcelain teacup from the table and threw it at me. It shattered at my feet. “Staring at a lady’s neck? Is that the famed Valerius etiquette you’re so proud of?!” she shrieked. “Don’t think I don’t know what filthy thoughts are running through your head! Let me tell you something—even if we do get married, if you ever dare to force yourself on me, I’ll have my father ruin your entire house!” My expression turned to ice. A humorless smile touched my lips. “Rest assured, Princess. I have absolutely no interest in you.” “Don’t you lie to me! The only reason you’re so desperate to marry me is for what’s between my legs, isn’t it?” For some reason, her words were a physical blow. A sharp, brutal pang shot through my chest, the bitterness flooding from my mouth straight to my heart. So, that’s all I was to her. Defeated, with nothing left to say, I turned and walked away. 2 For several days, there was nothing but silence from Hayley. Then, tonight, she appeared at my door, a drunken Julian leaning heavily on her. “Julian’s father is being investigated by the Crown’s inquisitors. He needs to lay low at your estate for a few days.” Before I could even think of refusing, she had already guided him into a guest chamber. And then, the Princess of the realm became a common servant. She bustled about, tending to him with a frantic energy. She brewed a sobering tonic, sponged his face and chest, and even helped him out of his shirt and into a fresh linen one. I remembered last year. To prove myself worthy of a princess, I’d spent my nights at banquets with corrupt officials, gathering evidence against them, and had worked myself into a feverish illness. She never once visited, never once asked after me. In fact, she’d mocked me for it. “Look at you, a sickly wreck. And you think you’re worthy of me? What a joke.” As I passed the guest room, I saw her. Julian had pulled her into his arms, holding her tight. Her lips were swollen and red, and on her neck was another fresh, damning mark. She looked up, her eyes meeting mine. She scrambled to her feet, flustered. “Henry, it’s not what you think. Don’t get the wrong idea.” Her reaction told me she was, at least, aware of the shame of her premarital affair. It just didn’t stop her. I gave a cold, detached curl of my lip. “Your Highness, I understand perfectly. I shall take my leave.” I returned to my own chambers without waiting for her reply, but to my surprise, she followed me in. “I know you’re upset. You don’t have to bottle it up. Just say what’s on your mind,” she said, her tone almost reasonable. “But I need you to know that nothing happened between Julian and me. We are innocent.” She said it with such conviction, her words ringing with self-righteousness. I found it utterly laughable. “Innocent?” I finally shot back. “Princess, you and Julian were discovered in the Royal Gardens, your clothes in disarray, by a member of the King’s own council. Is that your definition of innocent?” She froze, her face paling. It took her a long moment to recover. “A bug… a bug fell into my dress. I asked Julian to help me get it out,” she stammered. “We didn’t do anything.” Lies. One after another. In the past, I would have argued, fought her on every point, but it never led anywhere. My silence seemed to convince her she’d won. She summoned a servant, who brought in a long, velvet-lined box. She presented it to me. “Alright, then. I know how much you enjoy your swordsmanship. Consider this an early wedding gift.” I stared at the dueling saber inside the box. I was stunned. She had forgotten. Or perhaps she never knew. Since the day I’d saved her from a fall as a child, my health had been fragile. I had a lingering weakness that made any sort of rigorous martial training impossible. As for a love of swordsmanship… that was Julian’s passion, not mine. He was the brute, the brawler. But of course, she wouldn’t remember my preferences. Her world revolved around Julian. Seeing my hesitation, her patience wore thin. “I promise,” she said, her voice sharp, “if you stop making a fuss, I will marry you. You will be my husband, at least in name.” Her words piqued a morbid curiosity in me. “In name only? What does that mean?” “It means I will not share your bed. And if you try to force me, then I won’t marry you at all.” So, you won’t share my bed, but you’ll share Julian’s. The thought was cold and clear. She was so certain that I would agree to anything, any humiliation, just to have her. “It’s late, Princess. You should leave.” I ignored her protests and moved to close the door. She seemed ready to argue further, but a sudden clap of thunder rattled the windows. A panicked shout came from the guest room. Julian. Her face immediately flooded with worry. “I have to check on Julian. I’ll come back and talk to you after he’s asleep.” She turned and hurried away. Half an hour passed. It wasn’t Hayley who came to my door. It was Julian. He showed no signs of being drunk. Instead, he radiated a smug, post-coital languor. He gave me a lazy, triumphant smirk. “The Princess has fallen asleep in the guest chamber,” he said, his voice a low drawl. “Regarding tonight’s… events. I trust a man of your stature knows how to be discreet, yes?” I looked at him, and to my own surprise, I felt a profound, unnerving calm. It was as if she had finally, truly been excised from my heart. Meeting his gaze, I offered a polite, placid smile. “Of course. You can count on my discretion.” 3 When I returned from my duties at the ministry the next day, I found Hayley in my main hall. She looked momentarily awkward upon seeing me. “I was so tired last night, I ended up just sleeping here.” I just smiled and said nothing. She picked up a bowl of porridge from the table and, with a sudden and startling attentiveness, held a spoonful to my lips. “Here, try this. I woke up at dawn to make it.” What a marvel. The princess, whose hands had never touched a pot or pan in her life, waking at dawn to cook. I took the spoon and tasted it. “It’s quite good.” The words were barely out of my mouth before she snatched the bowl back. A delighted, childlike grin spread across her face. “Wonderful! If a man with a palate as refined as yours approves, then Julian will surely love it!” she chirped, already turning and heading towards his room. Watching her go, so full of giddy excitement, I felt a sudden, hollowing emptiness. It made sense, I suppose. In all our years together, she had never once cooked for me. It was always me catering to her, learning her tastes, preparing her meals, hoping for a crumb of her affection. “Julian, my love, time to wake up and have your breakfast!” Hayley’s sweet, cloying voice pulled me from my thoughts. I turned away, heading for my study. I had no desire to witness their saccharine display. By the time I finished my work, Hayley was gone, but Julian remained. He greeted me with that same infuriatingly cheerful grin. “Henry, my friend! Hayley went out to fetch some medicine for me. Come, join me for a meal.” I was hungry, so I didn’t refuse. The moment I sat down, he placed a piece of meat in my bowl. “You know, Henry,” he began, his tone dripping with false sympathy, “I almost admire you. To wear the horns so proudly and still insist on marrying her.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Tell me, are you truly that blind, or are you just… pathetic?” This was his favorite tactic: enrage me, make me lose my composure in front of Hayley. But I no longer cared about Hayley. And I certainly had no intention of wasting another moment on a man like him. 4 I rose from the table and went to my study to pack. After my wedding to Vanessa, I was to be dispatched to the Sunstone Coast to serve as the regional governor. It was time to get my affairs in order. But when I opened the cabinet in my study, I found it empty. My mother’s bracelet—the mother-of-pearl heirloom she had given me on her deathbed—was gone. It had been passed down through generations of her family. “When you marry,” she had whispered, her voice thin as paper, “give this to your wife. And bring her to visit my grave, so I can rest in peace.” It was more than just an heirloom. It was the last tangible piece of her I had left. “Looking for this, Henry?” I whipped my head around at the sound of Julian’s voice. There it was, dangling mockingly from his fingers. The mother-of-pearl bracelet. “Give it back,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “That was my mother’s.” He let out a contemptuous snort. “Oh, the late Lady Valerius’s personal effects? How touching.” And then, he simply opened his hand. The bracelet hit the stone floor and shattered into a dozen milky-white fragments. In that instant, a volcanic rage erupted inside me, incinerating all reason. I lunged forward and my fist connected with his jaw, sending him sprawling to the ground. As if on cue, Hayley chose that exact moment to walk through the door. She gasped, rushing to Julian’s side, fussing over him, checking him for injuries. Once she was satisfied he was unharmed, she rounded on me, her eyes spitting fire. “Henry! What is wrong with you?! Apologize to Julian this instant!” She didn’t know. She didn’t care to know. She just saw her beloved on the floor and me standing over him. It was always like this. For Julian, she had infinite trust, boundless compassion. For me, the man who had poured out his soul for her, there was only prejudice. “Do you think staying silent will solve anything? Apologize!” she demanded again. Her fury was a physical force, and my own resentment rose to meet it. “He deliberately smashed my mother’s bracelet. Don’t you think he deserved it?” “I gave that thing to Julian,” she retorted icily. “If he smashed it, he smashed it. What’s the problem?”

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My father is a fool for love. He only ever loved his childhood sweetheart, never my mother or me. Growing up, I was the ghost in our own home. Bullied by classmates, abused by the staff—my father saw none of it. Or chose not to. Then came my eighteenth birthday. It was also the anniversary of my mother’s death, and for the first time in years, he came home to have dinner with me. After the meal, he slid a document across the table. A severance agreement. “I’ve provided for you for eighteen years,” he said, his voice flat. “My obligation is fulfilled.” I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I just signed my name and walked away to start a new life. Months later, on a different birthday—mine—he found me, holding a strawberry cake. He pleaded, his voice a whisper, “Sophie, please… come home with Dad.” I just shook my head. “No.” … My memories of my father are a hazy blur, distant and cold. When I was four or five, I’d tug on his coat, begging him to pick me up. He never did. Then my mother died. I was hysterical, my world collapsing, but he just had the nanny cover my mouth to stifle the noise. As I got older, he washed his hands of me completely, leaving me to the care of housekeepers and nannies. I missed him, so I’d sneak out to his office, once trailing him all the way to a charming little house in the suburbs. A mother and daughter lived there. My nanny told me, with a cruel little smile, that they were my father’s true family. And I was nothing. He was a phantom at every school play, every parent-teacher conference. To the outside world, I was no different from an orphan. So, when he showed up today to visit my mother’s grave with me, I was stunned. The story I’d always been told was that my mother was just a girl from a small town, working a dead-end job in a hotel. She was uncultured and plain, and I was an accident that trapped her into becoming Mrs. Reed. The marriage, starved of affection, crushed her. She fell into a deep depression after I was born and faded away a few years later. My father only ever showed a flicker of emotion for her on two days: their wedding day and the day she died. Otherwise, she was a stranger to him. His heart, his entire being, belonged to his true love, Sylvia. I’d met Sylvia many times. She was the epitome of grace and intellect, beautiful and poised. In her youth, she was the daughter of a prominent politician, but her world crumbled when he was disgraced in a corruption scandal. My father couldn’t marry her, so he kept her sheltered in his heart, a treasure to be protected at all costs. Sylvia was the moon—a celestial, untouchable beauty. My mother and I? We were weeds, left to the wind and rain. Whether we thrived or withered was of no concern to him. That’s why he knew my mother was sick, just as he later knew the staff tormented me. But he never lifted a finger. I was the product of an accident, a child who never should have carried his blood. My very existence was a constant reminder of his betrayal of Sylvia. The night he presented the severance agreement, we had just finished dinner. Pizza and pasta. It was the favorite of Sylvia’s daughter, Grace. My father, in his distant way, probably assumed all teenage girls loved pizza. I actually hated it. But to make him happy, I ate two-thirds of it, wiping the grease from my mouth and telling him it was delicious. When the papers landed in front of me, I felt like a sewer rat caught stealing scraps, instantly thrown back into my place. “Sophie, you’re eighteen now. You’re an adult,” he said. “I’ve done my duty by you.” He wasn’t wrong. He was rich. Impossibly rich. He hired people to look after me, to drive me to and from school, to prepare my meals and give me an allowance. This was his version of fatherhood for a daughter he didn’t love. For Grace, he filled an entire room with dolls. He was by her side for every holiday, no matter how busy he was. Before she was even fourteen, they had traveled the world together, photos of their trips tucked neatly in his wallet and displayed in his car. That was his version of true love. “I know you must resent me, but you can understand, can’t you?” He sighed, and for the first time, I noticed a few silver strands at his temples. His voice was laced with a strange, self-inflicted sorrow. “I can honestly say I never let you want for anything—food, clothes, a roof over your head.” He paused, his gaze distant. “But Sylvia… she’s stood by me for half her life with no title, no security. I can’t let her live in the shadows any longer. I have to take responsibility. Give her a home. Make it official.” The pen was smooth, the paper crisp. In less than a minute, I had signed both copies. When I handed them to him, his face was a wooden mask. I couldn’t tell if he was relieved or just numb. “You should check to make sure everything is in order,” I said. He glanced down at the signatures, then back at me, his expression unreadable. “You’re not going to make any demands?” “In your presence,” I said, my voice steady, “I’ve never had the right to make demands.” The Reed inheritance, the house, the money—I couldn’t touch any of it. The slightest hint of greed from me would have upset his other daughter, Grace. Even without a drop of his blood in her veins, she received a universe of love and affection that I could only dream of. Knowing my place was the only dignity I had left. “Right,” he said, a visible wave of relief washing over him. “Your grandfather left you a considerable trust. That should be more than enough to keep you comfortable for the rest of your life.” I didn’t argue. “I’ll be staying in the school dorms from now on,” I said calmly. “I don’t have much here. I won’t be coming back.” I fished the house key from my pocket and placed it on the table. “I’ll ask the housekeeper to delete my fingerprint from the door lock.” Perhaps my composure unnerved him, because his resolve seemed to soften just a fraction. “You can continue living here if you want. It’s not like I’ll be back.” I stood and slung my backpack over my shoulder, rejecting his final, pitying offer. “I have to get back to school, Mr. Reed.” The name slipped out easily. When I was a child, he’d forbidden me from calling him ‘Dad’ in public, always introducing me as the child of a friend. This agreement didn’t change a thing. “I’ll drive you,” he offered, a flicker of guilt in his eyes. “It’s a long way from here.” “No, thank you,” I said with a polite, practiced smile. “The subway is convenient. I’m used to it.” In truth, the subway ride was two hours, a miserable commute. But Grace had long since moved into a condo in a top school district near campus, with Sylvia living there to look after her. I’d seen them more than once near the school, a perfect little family. I once followed them to their building, slipping past the strict security guard behind another resident. I sat on a bench across the street for a long time that day, watching the silhouettes move behind the lit window. I painted a picture in my mind where I was one of them, eating dinner together, then watching TV and sharing fruit. In that fantasy, my dad remembered what I liked to eat, called me ‘Soph’ affectionately, and reminded me to wear a coat if it rained. He’d care if my grades were slipping and hire a tutor for me. Then the light went out. The curtains were drawn. And just like that, I was alone again in the world. I had spent my childhood trying to earn his love with a self-destructive desperation. I’d clung to him, begging him not to leave. As I grew older, I’d mimic scenes from movies, getting myself sick or hurt, acting out like a delinquent just to get his attention. I’d tried charming my grandfather, even the nannies, hoping they’d put in a good word for me. But nothing I did ever changed a thing. Only now, in the act of disowning me, did he seem to feel a sliver of guilt. But only a sliver. The next day, I saw his car parked outside the school gates. He was there for Grace. He looked dapper and energized, wearing a handsome tie, not at all like a man in his forties. His face was lit with a smile of pure relief, a smile I’d never seen before. It froze for a split second when he saw me. I started to turn away. My presence was clearly a blight on his newfound happiness. I buried my head and walked against the flow of students, trying to ignore the happy reunions all around me. But Grace wouldn’t let me escape. She ran over and grabbed my arm. “Doesn’t your family ever come to pick you up?” I knew she wanted to see me hurt. I gave her what she wanted, nodding calmly. “I don’t have a family anymore. Not a single person.” My mother was dead. My father had abandoned me. She feigned a gasp of surprise, then, loud enough for everyone to hear, she called out to my biological father. “Dad! Let’s have Sophie eat with us tonight. She’s all alone, the poor thing.” “Poor thing?” my father shot back, his eyes sweeping over me with cold indifference. “She has plenty of money. She won’t miss one meal. Let’s go, Grace. Your mother is waiting.” His reaction didn’t surprise me. It wasn’t the first time. My grandfather once told me that, besides the nurses, my father was the first person to hold me when I was born. The first word I ever spoke was “Dada.” They say blood is thicker than water, but for him, romance was a flood that washed away all kinship. Maybe he had loved me when I was an infant, a helpless creature dependent on him. But as I grew, as I learned to fend for myself, his sense of love and responsibility evaporated. That severance agreement was the inevitable result. “It’s okay, Dad,” Grace pressed, still clinging to his arm. “Sophie is your daughter, too.” “She is not.” He took Grace’s hand, his gaze fixed forward, refusing to even look at me. He completely erased me. “From now on, Grace is my only daughter. Come on, we’ll be late.” As he led her away, Grace glanced back over her shoulder, sticking her tongue out and winking at me. The look was pure provocation, a silent taunt: See? You can be his real daughter, but he’ll still choose me over you. Grace knew exactly how to twist the knife. We’d been in the same class from middle school through high school. She couldn’t stand me, largely because we shared the same father. She was doted on, loved, and raised in a world of sunshine and positivity. She was cheerful and outgoing to everyone but me. With me, she was a viper. For six years, any classmate who dared to befriend me would inevitably become her new best friend. Grace forbade anyone in our class from speaking to me, from acknowledging my existence. I was a ghost. Years later, I learned the word for it: social ostracization. It leaves no physical scars, but the damage to the soul is fatal. But now, I was beyond caring about such petty cruelties. I just had to get through the next three months, and then I would be free of this place, free of this man who was my father in name only. I turned my back and walked away, a lone figure moving against the tide. Behind me, I heard Grace’s sweet, cloying voice. “Dad, what are you looking at?” “Nothing. Let’s go.” After moving out of the mansion, I settled into the dorm. It was small, but clean. The single bed was narrow, but it was truly mine. It was nothing like the house I grew up in—so vast and tall that I felt like a speck of dust inside it. The tiles were cold, the air was silent. I’d often wake up from nightmares into a pitch-black emptiness, so profound that I’d wish for a ghost to keep me company, just to have someone to talk to. But even ghosts have companions. I only had my reflection in the mirror. The dorm lights went out at ten-thirty sharp. As I lay in the dark, my phone buzzed on the pillow. It was an old model, not like Grace’s, which was replaced with every new release. Mine was slow, the memory always full, so it took a moment to open the new message. It was from an unknown number. “Sophie, why didn’t you come back to the house?” The tone was unmistakable. It was my father. It was almost funny. In all my life, I had never had his contact information. I’d once snuck a look at my grandfather’s phone, memorized the number, and, with a trembling heart, called it from a public payphone. I was eight. It was raining outside. Inside the booth, a woman’s voice answered. It was Sylvia. “Hello?” she’d asked. In the background, I could hear my father’s laughter. “Come on, get up here. Time to give my little princess a piggyback ride.” I hung up. The next time I called was after a particularly brutal incident with the nanny. I was crying, desperate, but all my father said was, “Sophie, where did you get my number?” Soon after, he changed it. In my most helpless moments, I would still dial the old, disconnected number and pour my heart out to the silence. But now, he was the one texting me. And I felt nothing. “Yes,” I replied. He seemed displeased. “We may have severed ties, but that’s no reason for you to run away from home.” Run away? Where was I supposed to go? He didn’t want me, yet he wouldn’t let me leave. Did he expect me to stay trapped in that cold, loveless cage for the rest of my life? Where could I possibly go that wouldn’t be an eyesore to him? “Sophie, stop being so dramatic. This won’t do you any good. If you think this will earn my sympathy, you’re being childish.” How novel. My father was actually lecturing me. Where was this paternal concern when the nanny stripped me naked and whipped me with a clothes hanger, while I clawed at the door until my fingertips bled, begging for a piece of bread? Where was it when her boyfriend she brought home almost assaulted me, and afterward, she slapped me across the face, calling me a little whore just like my mother? In those moments of pure agony and despair, I would have given anything for him to show up. Even if it was just to call me a coward. As long as he was there. But he never was. My pleas never reached him. He brought me into this world but refused to raise me, yet he expected me to be as proud and well-adjusted as Grace. My father was a greedy man. “Your sympathy is worthless to me,” I typed, my fingers steady. “And my life is no longer your concern.” After hitting send, I dragged his number into my block list without a second thought. There was no point in staying connected to someone who had already cut me out of his life. After her victory in front of my father, Grace was ecstatic. Her campaign against me, once subtle, became overt and relentless, especially at school. My desk was in the back corner, an island of solitude. No one dared to be my deskmate. From my seat, I had a clear view of Grace’s back, always surrounded by a buzzing swarm of admirers. She held up her wrist, showing off a new bracelet. “Isn’t it beautiful? My dad flew abroad just to buy it for me.” “I know that brand! It’s insanely expensive.” “I’m so jealous. I wish my dad was that generous.” “Grace, your dad is the best.” Since signing the severance agreement, I’d lost all interest in my father’s life. What new clothes or jewelry he bought for Grace meant nothing to me anymore. But Grace still wouldn’t leave me alone. I don’t know how her brand-new bracelet ended up in my backpack, but when she stood there, tears streaming down her face, accusing me of being a thief, I almost laughed. She was still so childish. The same tired tricks, year after year. Grace’s tears were all it took for the head teacher to pronounce me guilty. “Sophie, stealing is a serious offense. I have no choice but to call your parents.” I didn’t have parents. My only living parent was standing right next to Grace, listening to the teacher’s account with a grim expression. He was here to defend his daughter. “So, let me get this straight,” he said, his voice dangerously calm. “Sophie not only stole Grace’s bracelet, but she also broke it? Is that correct?” It was phrased as a question, but just like the teacher, he had already reached his verdict. I didn’t answer him. Instead, I turned to face Grace. “Grace, your father is asking you a question. Is that correct?” “I’m asking you!” he thundered, his voice suddenly booming through the quiet office. His composure had finally cracked. Was it because this involved Grace? This man, who had remained a stone-faced statue through my mother’s death and my grandfather’s funeral, was actually showing emotion. So, he wasn’t a robot after all. “Why are you asking me?” I said, turning my gaze back to him. “If Grace claims I stole her bracelet, she should provide proof. When did it go missing? It was on her wrist all day, how could I have possibly taken it?” I stared directly into his eyes, eyes that were so unnervingly similar to my own. When I was little, my mother would trace the shape of my eyes when she missed him, her tears falling onto my cheeks. I had inherited her gentle nature, but life had taught me to be hard. “There are security cameras in the classroom,” I continued, my voice gaining strength. “I haven’t been anywhere near her all day. How could I have stolen it? Did I develop telekinesis?” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. The lie was so flimsy, so transparent, yet both the teacher and my father had chosen to believe it. At this, the teacher’s expression faltered, but my father’s reason was once again clouded by a single, theatrical sob from Grace.

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