Author: Momo Chan

On the eve of my wedding, I discovered the invitations were printed with my fiancé Matthew’s name and that of his personal assistant. When I confronted the assistant, she burst into tears, claiming she’d accidentally typed her own name instead of mine. Matthew called moments later. “Flora, she made a mistake on a name. Are you really going to make such a big deal out of it?” He berated me for being narrow-minded and pathologically jealous, unable to tolerate even a junior employee. Five minutes later, the assistant, Vivian, posted a new photo to her social media: the same invitation, but this time paired with an intimate selfie of her and Matthew. The caption read: “My boss said even if I tore a hole in the sky, he’d be there to patch it up for me.” Before, if an employee had provoked me like this, I would have forced Matthew to fire her. But this time, I truly didn’t care anymore. 1 I threw every last one of the invitations bearing Vivian’s name into the trash and walked to my usual salon. The stylist hovered, scissors in hand, asking again and again if I was sure I wanted to cut it all off. I’d spent four years growing my hair down to my waist, all because Matthew once said he’d marry me when it reached that length. Well, my hair was finally long enough, and he was, in fact, about to make good on his promise. But I didn’t want the hair anymore. And I didn’t want Matthew anymore, either. Just as I was about to nod, my phone buzzed. A video call from Matthew. “Where are you?” he asked the second I picked up. I didn’t answer. He caught sight of the scissors in the stylist’s hand over my shoulder, and his brow furrowed in displeasure. “You’re cutting your hair?” I nodded. A laugh escaped him, as if he’d just stumbled upon something hilarious. “You look awful with short hair. After all that time growing it out, why would you do something so stupid?” Years ago, when my hair was short, he’d constantly tease me for not being feminine enough. I used to argue with him endlessly, trying to prove that femininity wasn’t defined by the length of one’s hair. But now, I didn’t say a word. I just looked at the stylist behind me and said, “Do it.” When Matthew saw the scissors rise, he knew I was serious. The smile vanished from his face. “Flora, are you really going to cut off all your hair just because Vivian made a typo on the invitations? What is wrong with you?” When I remained silent, he must have realized his tone was too harsh. He softened his voice, reining in his temper. “Flora, you grew your hair for years, all for this one day. The wedding is next month. Don’t cut it, okay?” I didn’t say yes, and I didn’t say no. “I’m coming to get you,” he continued. “I booked a table at that new restaurant, the one you wanted to try.” It was his classic move. He’d yell at me, then smooth things over with a meal at a trendy new place. It had become our unspoken ritual over the years. He appeared outside the salon a short while later. When he saw my hair was still long, a faint smile touched his lips. The moment I got in the car, I was hit by a wave of perfume so strong it made me sneeze. I’m sensitive to scents and never wear any myself. Matthew’s car had always been fragrance-free. This one was different—a heady, predatory scent that clung to the air. “Who was in the passenger seat today?” Matthew’s smile instantly vanished. “Vivian’s car broke down. I just gave her a lift.” I rubbed my nose. “Hm. Her perfume is… nice.” The rest of the drive was silent. When we pulled up to the restaurant, Matthew didn’t move to get out. He turned to me, his brow knitted. “Why didn’t you blow up at her? Aren’t you supposed to hate her?” I raised an eyebrow. My usual script would involve confronting her, making her cry, and then demanding Matthew fire her. But this time, I didn’t want to. There was no need. “Let’s just go eat. I’m tired and I want to get home early.” I got out of the car and walked into the restaurant without him. He followed a moment later. Once we were seated, Matthew’s smile returned. He told me conspiratorially that he had a surprise for me, then got up and walked away. I watched him go, a sudden thought striking me: he was so childish. He had barely left when his phone, left on the table, started ringing. It was Vivian. She called twice, but Matthew didn’t return. On the third ring, I answered it. The second I did, Vivian’s voice, thick with tears, burst through the speaker. “Matthew, you have to come save me! I’m trapped in the basement!” Just then, Matthew returned, carrying a cake adorned with fresh flowers. The joyous expression on his face froze. He rushed over, carelessly dropping the cake in front of me. The perfect floral arrangement collapsed, and a single, cream-covered rose tumbled to the floor. He snatched the phone from my hand, glanced at the screen, and his face contorted with rage. “Flora, who told you you could answer my phone? Don’t forget, we’re not married yet. You’re not my wife!” 2 After the call, Matthew’s expression was grim. “Vivian’s in trouble. I have to go. I’ll be back soon, just wait for me here.” He rushed out. I stared at the mangled cake, a bitter smile twisting my lips. How could he not see through such a clumsy ploy? If you’re trapped in a basement, wouldn’t you call 911? But no, a person in mortal danger just keeps calling her boss. It was almost funny. I waited until the restaurant was about to close, but Matthew never came back. Thankfully, I’d had the foresight to ask the waiter to bring my order out earlier. Otherwise, I would have been waiting on an empty stomach. Just as I was getting up to leave, Matthew hurried back in. He glanced at the half-eaten dishes on the table, his tone laced with disapproval. “Flora, you didn’t wait for me? You ate by yourself?” In ten years together, this was the first time I hadn’t waited for him. It used to be that I wouldn’t even order until he arrived. After we moved in together, I’d cook dinner and wait for him to sit down before I took a single bite. I offered an apology that held no apology at all. “Sorry. I figured you were with Vivian and wouldn’t be coming back, so I went ahead.” Matthew’s face darkened. He slammed the object he was holding onto the table with a loud thud. “I was picking up the new invitation samples!” I glanced down. The cover design was indeed new. Matthew stared at me, his eyes gleaming with a mix of pride and expectation, waiting for me to open it. I knew he must have checked it. This time, the bride’s name would be mine. But I no longer had any interest in looking. “You’re not going to open it?” he asked, incredulous. I shook my head, my expression cool. Just as I finished my meal, I saw a new post from Vivian. It was a photo of the newly designed invitation. The groom’s name, Matthew, was clearly visible, but the bride’s name had been deliberately blurred out. All you could make out was the first letter of his last name, followed by a hazy, repetitive pattern. The caption: “I love the new version. Do you?” I urged Matthew to leave. The restaurant was well past closing time, and we were the only ones left. But he stood there stubbornly, holding the invitation out to me. He was waiting for me to open it, to gush over it, to soothe his ego. I didn’t want to see it. I raised a hand to block it. He must have thought I was reaching for it, because he let go. The invitation fell onto the cake, smearing it with cream. He froze for a second, then his embarrassment morphed into rage. He slammed his fist into the remains of the cake. “Flora, how long are you going to drag this out over something so small? I’ve already given you an out. What more do you want?” “I just want to go home and rest.” My calm tone only seemed to infuriate him further. “We can go home after you look at the invitation! Why won’t you look at it? I picked this design for you out of thousands! You can’t even be bothered to glance at it?” “Flora, have I been too good to you? Is that why you’re acting so spoiled? Everyone says you’re not good enough for me anymore, that I’ve outgrown you. But I ignored all of them and insisted on marrying you. What more could you possibly be unhappy about?” I looked down, a bitter smile on my face. There it was again. Every time we fought, he’d use that line to force me to back down. He and everyone around him believed he was doing me a favor by marrying me, that I should be eternally grateful and cater to his every whim. But this time, I refused to compromise. “If you don’t want to marry me, then don’t.” 3 Without another glance at him, I stood up and walked out. In the past, he would have let me go, then spent the night out with his friends, not coming home until I begged him to. But this time, I’d only taken two steps before a hand grabbed my arm. Not only had Matthew followed me, but he was insisting we go home together. I stared into his handsome eyes. “Who said I was going home?” His brow furrowed instantly, and he dropped my arm. “You said you wanted to rest. It’s late. Where else would you go if not home?” His rapid-fire questions made me laugh out loud. In this city, it was true, I had nowhere else to go. For ten years, my entire world had revolved around him. I sighed and pulled out my phone. “I just booked a mystery trip. The flight leaves tonight.” As I stepped out of the restaurant, the car I’d called was waiting. With nothing but my phone and the clothes on my back, I began a journey, alone. It was the first time in ten years. When I landed and turned my phone back on, dozens of messages flooded in. Only one was from Matthew, a short, terse sentence: “Happy now?” The rest were from Vivian, a string of apologies culminating in a tearful voice message. “Flora, I’m so, so sorry. Matthew said if you don’t forgive me, he’s going to fire me! I can’t lose this job. You know my family’s situation. Flora, are you really going to be so cruel? Are you going to watch me get fired, watch my mom get kicked out of the hospital because we can’t pay, and my little brother drop out of school?” I looked up at the sky, so different from the one in my old city. I turned my phone off, silencing all the noise. In the past, no matter how big our fights were, I was always reachable. Matthew could ignore my calls and texts, but I always answered his within seconds. This was the first time I hadn’t replied to him. I knew he’d be furious, but I turned my phone off anyway. I traveled for a week. Away from Matthew, I discovered how freeing the world could be. I posted pictures from every new place I visited. Matthew liked every single post, but never commented. After a week, my trip ended. As I exited the gate at the airport, I saw him waiting. He was holding a massive bouquet of flowers, a conspicuous sight in the crowd. The ride home was silent. When we arrived, I found the apartment had been completely transformed, decorated in festive reds and golds. A stack of wedding invitations sat on the coffee table. But these weren’t printed; they were hand-drawn. Matthew had some artistic talent and had even won awards for his work in college. He looked at me, beaming, waiting for praise. I pretended not to notice, went to my room, and began packing my personal belongings, looking for the right moment to make things clear. I had just lain down to rest when I heard the keypad on the front door beep, followed by a cheerful voice. “Matthew, I forgot my sleep mask!” Vivian breezed into my bedroom, heading straight for the nightstand. Our eyes met, and she quickly looked away. And there, standing in the bedroom doorway, was Matthew, wrapped in a towel, his hair still dripping wet.

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After my brother-in-law died, we adopted his daughter. My niece, naturally sensitive, always felt we treated her worse than our own son. She spread rumors that we’d only taken her in to get our hands on her father’s inheritance. My husband, blinded by familial love, never held it against her. My son and I bent over backward to accommodate her. But our kindness only fed her audacity. She conspired with outsiders to burn our whole family alive and seize our assets. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day we adopted her. Watching her put on a show, wailing about how she couldn’t bear to leave her home, I turned and walked away. “Good,” I said. “Because I don’t want you, either.” 1 Before I died, I watched my husband get bludgeoned to death. My niece, Chloe, said that since Mark was her uncle, she’d grant him a quick end. My son, Richard, and I weren’t so lucky. Chloe ordered a group of thugs to hold Richard down, systematically crushing his dignity. I knelt on the floor, my pleas useless. I tried to lunge at her, to take her down with me, but my neck and limbs were bound by iron chains. I was helpless. I could only watch as the people I loved were tortured to death. And my sweet, adopted niece stood by, giggling at the show. Her voice was laced with venom as she accused me. “When I was little, you wouldn’t even buy me a new dress. No money? Then you shouldn’t have adopted me.” “You bought your son a house for his wedding. Where did that money come from? You must have stolen my dad’s inheritance.” “People who favor boys over girls all deserve to die!” she shrieked. “You can argue your case in hell!” My mouth was full of blood. I couldn’t form a single word of defense. My last memory was of the fire, an all-consuming inferno that turned everything to ash. The hatred was a living thing inside me. I never should have let my compassion get the better of me. I never should have adopted Chloe. I nurtured a viper that destroyed my family’s happiness. I never expected to open my eyes again, back on the very day we took her in. 2 A small girl was curled into a ball in the corner, sobbing so hard she could barely breathe. A chill crept up from the soles of my feet. Chloe. The events of the past few weeks came rushing back in a disorienting flood. My brother-in-law had died in a car accident not long ago. When his wife heard the news, she grabbed their newborn son, took what little money they had left, and ran. My husband, Mark, his eyes red-rimmed, had tugged at my sleeve. He adored his younger brother and wanted to step up, to hold their shattered family together. He hadn’t slept a wink the night before. After the funeral, Chloe was the only one left. Our in-laws had passed away years ago. Chloe’s maternal relatives hadn’t even shown up for the funeral, making it clear they wanted nothing to do with her. If we didn’t take her, young Chloe would be sent to an orphanage. Mark, remembering the years he and his brother had depended on each other, swore an oath to raise Chloe as his own. In my last life, I had readily agreed. I never imagined I was inviting a wolf into our home. According to our previous discussion, this was my cue to step forward and officially agree to the adoption. The other relatives would then offer their performative praise. “Chloe is crying so hard, it seems she doesn’t want to come live with us. In that case, let’s just forget it.” I watched coolly as the little girl’s eyes widened in disbelief. A cold smile touched my lips. So, you want to play a part? Her father’s household had been a bastion of misogyny. Chloe had been forced to do chores from the moment she could walk, and she hated it. And now she was pretending she couldn’t bear to leave? As if our home were some kind of dungeon. The relatives exchanged uneasy glances. Those who knew the real story were just enjoying the drama. Chloe’s face flushed with shame. My husband, Mark, was too embarrassed to contradict me. He tugged at my collar so hard it choked me. I swatted his hand away impatiently. “We just bought a house in town,” I said, my voice cold. “Taking on another child will be a serious financial strain. How about this? You can all pitch in.” Who would want to pay to raise someone else’s child? They were all working-class people, living paycheck to paycheck. They had no extra money. They were happy to be the good guys, to morally pressure us, but not to actually do anything. My blunt words stripped away their masks of decency. They glared at me with righteous condemnation. My son, Richard, old enough to read the room, blushed beet-red and said nothing. Mark couldn’t take it anymore. “Honey,” he whispered, mortified. “We already agreed on this!” “She’s just a little girl. It’s just one more plate at the table. I’ll work more overtime, I’ll earn more. I promise it won’t affect your and Richard’s quality of life.” His words opened the floodgates. The very people who wouldn’t lift a finger to help now chimed in to persuade me. “A daughter is so sweet! You have a son, so you’ll have one of each. It’s a perfect set! So many people would kill for that kind of blessing!” “If it’s such a blessing, why don’t you take it?” I shot back. The woman who’d spoken also had only a son. It’s easy to talk when you have no skin in the game. Seeing I was resolute, the others backed off, not wanting to get drawn in. Just then, Chloe finally stopped crying. She stood before me, nervously twisting the hem of her shirt. “Auntie,” she mumbled, her lower lip trembling, “I want to come live with you. I won’t cost much. I can do chores. I won’t take any of my cousin’s things…” Her little speech softened the hearts of everyone in the room. Everyone but me. I knew her true face. “I don’t want to adopt you,” I said, my voice hard. “Can you understand plain English?” “I don’t want anyone sharing my son’s affection. I didn’t even have a second child for that reason. Richard is about to start middle school. I don’t have the extra energy.” “Since no one else wants to take her, let’s just send her to the orphanage.” Mark saw the unyielding look in my eyes and buried his head in his hands, squatting in despair. Chloe’s face was pale. She stood there, speechless. After more bickering, no one stepped up. In the end, Chloe was sent to the orphanage. 3 The gossip spread like wildfire. From that day on, I was the cold-blooded monster in the eyes of our friends and family. The woman who couldn’t even tolerate a little girl. If Chloe had been a normal child, I honestly would have done it without hesitation. My last life was proof of that. But being soft on others is being cruel to yourself. I honored the bonds of family, and in return, I lost my entire family. Wasn’t that enough? It was more than enough. And besides, in this life, Chloe hadn’t done anything to me yet. By not holding her future crimes against her, I was already being generous. I couldn’t tell anyone about my premonitions, so I had to endure the rumors in silence. Let them talk. As long as I could protect my family, I was willing to bear it. I thought the matter was settled. Mark could visit her on holidays if he wanted. Then, two months later, I came home from work, happy, carrying a burger and a new toy for my son. In my past life, Chloe’s possessiveness had consumed so much of my attention. My son had become quiet and withdrawn from my neglect. In this life, I was determined to make it up to him. But when I opened the door, I saw Chloe, sprawled on the sofa as if she owned the place. My son was sitting beside her, diligently doing his homework while she poked him in the head. “What are you doing?!” The words shot out of me. Everyone in the room jumped. Chloe immediately shrank back, a picture of pathetic misery. Mark emerged from the kitchen, holding a spatula, a sheepish grin on his face. Not wanting to scare Richard, I calmed myself, gave him his things, and sent him to his room. Then I dragged Mark into the kitchen. “Are you insane? We agreed to send her to the orphanage. What is this?” “Anna, you have no idea how pitiful she is…” Mark said, wiping his face, his voice choked with emotion. From his tale, I pieced together Chloe’s life at the orphanage. The food was bland and scarce. The teachers were mean and always yelling. The older kids made her wash their feet and threatened to make her drink the dirty water if she didn’t do it right… I almost laughed out loud. It sounded wonderful. Mark shot me a strange look and sighed, saying he just couldn’t bear to watch her suffer. “She’s so young! She doesn’t understand anything. To have no parents and be bullied on top of that… as her uncle, I just couldn’t stand by…” “So you got soft and brought her home? We all agreed! And what about our son? Have you even considered his feelings?” I tried to reason with him, to convince him to take her back. I wasn’t made of stone. The orphanage I’d chosen for her was a good one. It was strict, but it had no history of bullying. The director was an acquaintance of my family, a kind woman. And besides, Chloe was no pushover. In my last life, I’d never once seen her get the short end of the stick. You couldn’t just take a child’s word for it. Children don’t just talk. They lie. But this time, Mark had made up his mind. “Honey, please! Just until she’s eighteen, okay?” “Mom, she’s so pitiful. Let her stay! I can buy fewer clothes, eat fewer snacks.” Richard had appeared at the doorway. He was pleading for Chloe. And the culprit herself was hiding behind him, looking like a frightened little mouse. I could ignore Mark. But Richard was my bottom line. I didn’t want to disappoint him. After a long internal struggle, I agreed to let Chloe stay. At least if she was here, I could keep an eye on her. If I let her go, with her vindictive nature, there was no telling what she might do to get revenge. Even so, I warned Mark in advance: the first sign of trouble, and she was out. The three of them jumped for joy. I suppressed my revulsion and laid out the terms to Chloe. “You can stay, but we need to get a few things straight first.” Chloe, her eyes shining with unconcealed delight, nodded blankly. 4 Since we were officially adopting Chloe, there were things to be done. I went to the orphanage myself to handle the paperwork, asked the director about Chloe’s behavior, and got copies of some security footage. The director was diplomatic, but her frustration was clear. Chloe had been determined to leave. She made no effort to get along with the other children and seemed to deliberately provoke them. The moment a teacher tried to reprimand her, she would burst into tears, causing chaos. The orphanage was more than happy to be rid of this hot potato, though they were too polite to say so. As I was leaving, a teacher pulled me aside and warned me discreetly. Chloe was a selfish child, she said. I shouldn’t waste my kindness. Someone had said the same thing to me in my last life. I had dismissed it, thinking, she’s just a child, what harm could she do? Hearing it again now, I froze for a second, then thanked her profusely. I didn’t tell Mark about this warning. He was too careless and wouldn’t believe it unless he saw it with his own eyes. When I returned from the orphanage, we held a grand adoption banquet. Chloe, shedding the worn, dirty clothes she usually wore, was dressed in a princess gown. She held her head high, trying to look as if she belonged in it. I saw it all but said nothing. The banquet began, and Mark, on behalf of our family, gave a welcoming speech. “Chloe, from now on, you are my daughter, just like Richard. Whatever he has, you will have too.” “Think of this as your own home. Your auntie has a sharp tongue but a soft heart, hehe.” His face was flushed, his voice full of drunken cheer. He’d been taking a lot of flak from the relatives for not adopting his brother’s daughter. He’d been bottling it up, and today, he could finally let it all out. The relatives who had previously criticized us now wore satisfied smiles, nodding proudly as if they were the ones making the sacrifice. Just as the atmosphere reached its peak, I spoke, my voice cutting through the warmth. “Chloe’s father passed away suddenly. Her mother ran off with the rest of the money, leaving a mountain of debt. After selling the house to pay it off, there was only twenty thousand left…” “Today, with all of you as witnesses, this money will be given entirely to Chloe. We won’t touch a single cent.” Chloe’s face turned red with excitement. I didn’t give her a card. I gave her cash, stack by stack, so everyone could see it clearly, to prevent any accusations later. This move caught Mark completely off guard. He leaned over and whispered his disapproval. “Why are you talking about money? Chloe is still so young. How is she supposed to feel comfortable in our home now?” “Even with family, finances should be clear,” I retorted, rolling my eyes and pushing his face away. “What needs to be said, needs to be said.”

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In my past life, my sister and my fiancée joined forces with my best friend to destroy my company. As I collapsed in the pouring rain, bankrupt and broken, they stood by his side, laughing without restraint. “Look at you, Landon,” they sneered. “You’re like a pathetic stray dog.” When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the project bidding conference, three years in the past. Back then, when my company was just a startup, my sister and fiancée had warned me not to leverage our family connections. It wouldn’t be fair to the others, they said. Then, they turned around and handed the project to my best friend on a silver platter, all for the price of a smile. Reborn, I watched them manipulate things behind the scenes, just as they had before, to gift my project to him. And in that moment, the last vestiges of hope in my heart died. When they found out I was leaving the country, they set off a night’s worth of fireworks to celebrate finally being rid of me, the burden. But three years later, at the Aethel Group’s bidding conference, I walked onto the stage as the CEO’s husband. And as I began to speak, I saw their eyes turn red. 1 I never expected the first familiar face I’d see after returning to Sterling City would be my former best friend, Cole Evans. “Cole Evans, CEO of Zenith Corp. At eighteen, he entered Sterling City’s top university with outstanding grades. After graduating, he built his company from scratch, becoming one of the business world’s rising stars in just three short years…” On the first floor of the Sterling Grand Tower, a screen between the two elevator banks looped a highlight reel of his achievements. Three years had changed him. The timid, insecure boy from the countryside was gone, replaced by a man exuding a certain aristocratic air in his custom-tailored suit. Money, it seems, can truly mold a man. Today was the Aethel Group’s project bidding conference. The lobby was already swarming with reporters. I tried to ignore him, to mind my own business, but he approached me. “Landon? Is that really you? I almost didn’t recognize you.” “You suddenly left for overseas three years ago. I thought you were never coming back!” Cole’s voice was loud, loud enough for the reporters gathered in the distance to hear every word. I could feel their inquisitive gazes landing on me. “…Holt family… heir…” “…Ziegler engagement… Ivy…” “…Proposing… win her back… no…” Fragmented whispers, deliberately lowered, drifted into my ears. I glanced at Cole. He feigned ignorance, continuing, “Why didn’t you give a heads-up you were coming back? Could it be that you heard…” He cut himself off, feigning a slip of the tongue. “Landon, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” His panicked apology was a masterclass in misdirection, expertly guiding the onlookers to the wrong conclusion. A bold reporter was already shouting a question. “Mr. Evans, we hear that both Sierra Holt, the chief designer at Holt Jewels, and Ivy Ziegler, the Ziegler family heiress, are planning to propose to you. Is this true?” “Mr. Evans, if Miss Holt and Miss Ziegler both propose, who will you choose?” Cole dodged the question. “Ah… those are just online rumors for now. I hope everyone can be rational. Besides, Sierra and Ivy are both wonderful people. We’re just very good friends.” The elevator arrived. He gave a slight bow. “My apologies, but I have to give a speech at the Aethel Group’s conference. I need to go up and prepare.” He then turned to me with a friendly smile. “Landon, are you heading up?” I hesitated for only a second, and that was all it took. The reporters, getting no answers from Cole, turned their sights on me. “Mr. Holt, we heard you were pursuing Miss Ziegler before you went abroad. Did you come back because you heard she was planning to propose to Mr. Evans?” “We hear Miss Holt is your sister. Mr. Holt, would you be okay with Mr. Evans becoming your brother-in-law?” “If Miss Ziegler really does propose to Mr. Evans, what will you do? Will you try to stop it, or will you offer your blessing?” Their eyes were like those of starving wolves, their quickened breaths filled with greed and urgency. Reporters rarely care about the truth; they only care about the story. I knew if I didn’t respond, the internet would be flooded with speculation about my return within the hour. An image of a certain someone who got jealous easily flashed through my mind. I waved a dismissive hand at Cole. “In that case, I’ll go on ahead.” Just before the elevator doors closed, Cole’s lips curved into a sneer that only I could see. I looked away, turning to face the reporters. I was about to pull out my invitation when a sharp voice cut through the air. “Landon Holt, who let you come here?” “Are you planning to steal Cole’s project again, just like you did three years ago?” The cameras swiveled. My ex-fiancée, Ivy Ziegler, was striding toward me, her long legs accentuated by a tight miniskirt, her face a mask of fury. 2 “Three years ago, and now again.” “Landon, will you ever stop?” I frowned at Ivy’s accusation. “What are you talking about?” The woman who had once promised me a lifetime together now looked at me with pure disgust. “Everyone in Sterling City knows Aethel Group wants to work with Cole on this. Why else would you suddenly come back from overseas if not to steal his project?” Aethel Group wanted to work with Cole? That was news to me. My eyes flickered with surprise, which Ivy mistook for guilt. The disgust in her eyes was now tinged with contempt. “Do you think you can still use the Holt family name to bully Cole whenever you want?” “Aethel Group isn’t some small-time local company. They don’t care about your family background. If you don’t want to humiliate yourself, you should leave. Now.” I pulled out my invitation and waved it in her face. “Sorry, but I was invited to this conference. You have no right to tell me to leave.” “Don’t push your luck…” Ivy was about to threaten me when the reporters’ whispers seemed to spark a realization. Her expression shifted to one of utter disdain. “Landon, I told you, our engagement is over. Can you please stop harassing me? Whatever happens between me and Cole, it has nothing to do with you. We are never getting back together.” “You’re overthinking it. I’m only here for the conference. I’m married now. I’m not interested in who you end up with.” I didn’t lower my voice. The explanation was less for Ivy and more for the reporters. The crowd quieted, but Ivy just scoffed. “Landon, is this really necessary? Do you think lying about being married will make me anxious? Let me tell you, playing hard to get won’t work. I couldn’t care less if you’re married or not.” “I know.” I nodded and stepped into the newly arrived elevator. As long as the press didn’t print lies, I didn’t care what Ivy believed. Just as the doors were closing, she slipped in beside me. The doors shut, sealing us in the small space. “Alright, what will it take for you to leave?” she asked, her face grim. A ghost of a smile played on my lips. “You have that little faith in Cole?” “How could you possibly compare to him?” she sneered. “After Cole signs with Aethel, I’m going to propose to him, right here. I’m afraid he’ll get the wrong idea if you’re around.” I replied with four, emotionless words. “Congratulations.” “Can you just stop this? I know you’re jealous, but you can’t force feelings. This act is not good for either of us.” Her voice was tired, with a hint of condescension, as if she were doing me a favor. “Look, if you leave right now, I’ll personally see to it that Ziegler Corp gives you two projects.” I shook my head coolly. “I don’t need them.” Her tone soured. “I just don’t want Cole to be upset. You should take the offer while you can. Otherwise, you might end up with nothing.” I didn’t respond to anything else she said. By the time the elevator doors opened, her face was flushed with anger. She stormed out, tossing a final command to the woman waiting by the door before stalking off on her high heels. “Control your brother.” I looked at the woman—my own sister, Sierra—and cursed my luck. I had planned to ignore her, but as I stepped out of the elevator, she grabbed my arm. Sierra dragged me to a secluded corner, her eyes cold. “What are you doing here?” “Bidding,” I said flatly. “Nonsense. Go home, now,” she snapped. “Are you planning to steal Cole’s project again, just like three years ago?” 3 Sierra’s words were almost identical to Ivy’s. I looked up at the person who was supposed to be my closest living relative and felt a bitter irony. That project three years ago was a joint venture between the Holt and Ziegler corporations. It wasn’t large, but for a startup, it was a golden opportunity. Thinking I had an inside track, I went to Sierra to ask for it. She shot me down immediately. When Ivy heard, she came and gave me an earful. They said it wasn’t fair to the small, self-made companies. I didn’t understand. Business is about resource integration. I had the ability to complete the project, and I had the connections. Why couldn’t I use them? Later, I found out why. It was for Cole, who was also competing for the same project. One moment, Sierra and Ivy were warning me off; the next, they were dispatching their own professional teams to help Cole perfect his proposal. When I was on the verge of winning by a single vote, they personally joined the review panel and cast their votes for him, handing him the victory. When I confronted them, they were full of self-righteous justifications. “Can’t you have some empathy? You have the Holt and Ziegler corporations to fall back on, but Cole has no choice but to succeed. Since we’re in a position to help, of course we should.” In my past life, I hadn’t accepted it. I exposed them publicly, causing Cole to lose the bid. I continued to oppose him at every turn. To get back at me for him, Sierra and Ivy joined forces to attack my company, driving me to bankruptcy even before Cole. As I was cornered by debt collectors, with nowhere to turn, the two people who should have been my closest allies stood by Cole’s side, mocking my pathetic state. I lost consciousness in the pouring rain. When I woke up, I was back at that bidding conference, three years earlier. Watching Sierra and Ivy join the panel at the last minute to cheat for Cole, just like before, my heart died completely. I liquidated my company. The night they threw a celebration party for Cole, I boarded a plane and left the country alone. In three years, they never contacted me once. Yet the moment I returned, they were on guard, terrified I would harm their precious darling. Even with the memories of two lifetimes, a dull ache spread through my chest. I looked at Sierra with reddened eyes and repeated the same words she’d used on me three years ago, before that first conference. “I’m not participating in this bid as a member of the Holt family. You have no right to make me leave.” I shook her off and turned to go. But two bodyguards suddenly appeared and blocked my path. I turned back to Sierra. Her expression was placid. “If Cole wins this project, his company can go public at least two years ahead of schedule. I can’t let you ruin his chance.” If a company’s representative doesn’t show up, they automatically forfeit the bid. She had supported Cole for three years, yet she still had no faith in his abilities. She still had to resort to cheating to help him. And this was the man who had caused my two closest relatives to betray me, time and time again. I wanted to laugh, but it felt too tragic. I wanted to ask Sierra what she even saw in him, but the thought was tasteless. A lifetime of death stood between us. There was no possibility of reconciliation. “Sierra, do you really think these two can stop me?” Her brow furrowed. “What did you call me?” “Hah.” I gave a short, sharp laugh and turned toward the bodyguards. “Stop him,” Sierra commanded. The two muscular guards lunged at me. As their hands reached for my shoulders, I lunged forward, arching my back as my hands shot out, fingertips aimed for their exposed armpits. They quickly changed their tactic, pressing down, but I drew my hands back to my chest, straightened my back, and used the momentum to lean forward, driving my elbows into their chests. Thump, thump! The guards staggered back. I moved behind them, and before they could regain their footing, I struck each of them in the back, creating distance as they stumbled. Our positions were now reversed. As the two guards steadied themselves and prepared to charge again, I took a step back, positioning myself in full view of a security camera. “Stop!” Sierra quickly called them off, her expression a complex mix of emotions. “When did you become so strong?” I gave her a silent look and walked toward the conference hall. Yes, when? Life abroad was much more dangerous than at home. I was getting robbed several times a month, far more than the average person. If I hadn’t learned to defend myself, I would have been dead long ago.

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1 Twenty-two years. That’s how long we’d been inseparable, my childhood sweetheart and I. And finally, I was getting what I’d always dreamed of: a proposal from Ethan. Our friends, ecstatic, threw us a party, goading us to interlock arms for a celebratory toast. I shyly raised my glass, moving closer to Ethan. But the man who had only ever been gentle with me suddenly shoved me away. Hard. I crashed to the floor, the shards of my champagne flute slicing into my palm. Ethan just stared down at me, his eyes cold as he spat, “Have you no shame?” Later, on my way home from the hospital, I walked in on a scene that seared itself into my memory. There was Ethan, pinning his old flame, Lila, against the mattress of what was supposed to be our marital bed, his voice a low, desperate murmur. “Come back to me. Just say you’ll come back, and you’ll be the only one I marry.” Watching them, so intimately entwined, a bitter regret washed over me. I had made a terrible mistake. To save myself from another, deeper humiliation, I decided to run. I would disappear on our wedding day. But after I left, the man who had so casually offered my place to another woman lost his mind, tearing the world apart to find me. “Candi, that overseas training program you mentioned… is the spot still open?” I stood under the sickly yellow glow of a streetlight, my voice tight as I fought to keep my emotions in check over the phone with my boss. Candi paused, confused. “It is. Why are you asking? I thought you were getting married.” The breath I’d been holding finally escaped me. “Not anymore. Is the spot still mine if I want it?” “Of course! You’re the best I’ve ever mentored. I’d be thrilled to have you,” she said, her voice filled with a warmth that almost broke me. The moment I hung up, the dam burst. Sobs wracked my body, each one a tremor of pain. The conversation I’d overheard in our—in his—apartment played on a loop in my head, a slow, torturous dissection of my heart. After a long while, my emotions subsided, leaving me aware of the dress I was wearing. It was a size too small, a beautiful gown that now felt like a cage, squeezing the air from my lungs. I found a late-night clothing shop and changed out of it. It had been custom-made for me by Ethan. I’d loved it, despite the fact it never quite fit. As the sales clerk watched with a regretful look, I shoved the gown into a nearby trash can. It was astonishing, the sense of liberation that came from shedding something that didn’t fit, something I had endured for far too long. Just as I stepped out of the shop, my phone buzzed. It was a notification from the security camera I’d installed in the apartment to keep an eye on the renovations. A camera had been disconnected. After a moment’s hesitation, I reconnected it. The feed flickered back to life, and there was Lila, sauntering around the bedroom in the lingerie Ethan had bought for me. The very set I’d been too shy to ever wear. It looked, I had to admit, perfect on her. Her fingers trailed mockingly over the wedding photos of Ethan and me that lined the wall. The camera quality was sharp enough to capture the derisive smirk on her face. “If I hadn’t come back, would you really have married her?” she purred. Ethan didn’t answer. Instead, he began pulling the photos from the wall, tossing them carelessly into a corner of the closet. Lila smiled, settling back onto the bed. Her bare foot traced a line up Ethan’s calf. “You staged this whole grand proposal just to get my attention, didn’t you? If you’re going to keep playing the strong, silent type, I might just leave again.” “Don’t you dare,” Ethan growled, the fire in him finally erupting. He pushed her back into the mattress, his gaze fierce and possessive. Lila just giggled, her arms snaking around his neck to pull him down. “I knew you could never forget me.” Her voice was a triumphant whisper. “Tell me, is Anna genuinely that naive, or is she just playing dumb? The clothes you bought her were all my style, in my size. The wedding ring has my initials engraved on it. Even the design of this apartment is the one I told you I dreamed of. And she never suspected a thing.” Ethan said nothing more. He just kissed her, and they fell into a desperate, tangled embrace. Boom. A firework exploded across the sky. But my own world had gone silent, a deafening roar in my ears. All this time, I thought he was just careless, forgetful about my size. My hand trembled as I pulled the ring from my finger. Using my phone’s light, I searched its smooth surface. And there, on the inner band, were the tiny letters: L.S. In that instant, all the strength drained from my body. I couldn’t even hold onto the ring. It slipped from my grasp, falling through a sewer grate with a series of metallic clinks. Each tiny sound was a hammer blow against my heart. No wonder he’d acted so strangely at the karaoke bar when Lila showed up. No wonder he hadn’t cared that he’d hurt me. I was just a stand-in. A placeholder until the real star of his life decided to return. What a joke. I was the one who had been by his side for twenty-two years. I was the one who had supported him tirelessly for the eight years it took to build his company from nothing. And in the end, I was nothing more than a substitute for the one person in the world I despised. Their kiss ended, and Lila stroked his cheek. “Ethan, my love,” she murmured. “On your wedding day… will you run away with me?” “You mean…” Ethan’s eyes lit up. He gently brushed his finger over her nose, and they shared a conspiratorial smile. I shut off the screen and started to laugh. A ragged, broken sound that made passersby turn and stare. My heart felt like it had been crushed under a great weight, an agony so profound it was paralyzing. The cruelest part wasn’t being Lila’s replacement. It was knowing the man I loved had been plotting to humiliate me all along. Ethan, you are truly ruthless. 2 I sat on a roadside bench for a long time, until Ethan and Lila finally emerged from the building. When he saw me, Ethan’s arm, which had been wrapped around Lila, instantly dropped. “You’re back? Why are you sitting out here? It’s filthy.” His face was a mask of disgust, and he didn’t seem to notice my swollen, red-rimmed eyes. My gaze drifted to Lila, and he instinctively moved to shield her, a protective gesture that was painfully familiar. It was the same way he used to shield me from Lila when we were kids. Now, our roles were reversed. A bitter smile touched my lips. Before I could speak, Ethan launched into a hurried explanation. “Don’t get the wrong idea. Lila had a bit too much to drink, so I just brought her back to rest for a while. She felt bad about it and insisted on leaving as soon as it got dark. I was just worried about her going home alone, so I offered to walk her.” The man who never bothered to explain himself to me was suddenly a fountain of excuses, all for Lila. He felt like a stranger, not the person I’d spent twenty-two years of my life with. I took a deep breath, my voice laced with a sarcasm I couldn’t hide. “If she really had any sense of propriety, she wouldn’t have gone home with another woman’s fiancé. And in case you haven’t noticed, it’s the middle of the night.” Caught in his lie, Ethan’s face flushed with anger. “Anna, Lila is your sister, for God’s sake. What are you trying to imply?” Her sister? My eyelashes fluttered. He dared to call the person who had stolen everything from me my sister. Had he forgotten what Lila did? Because of her mother, I was swapped at birth and spent seven years being abused by strangers. When my real parents finally found me, Lila’s lies and manipulations turned them against me, ensuring I never felt a shred of their love. She and her mother took everything, but that wasn’t enough. They were the reason my hand was permanently damaged, shattering my dream of becoming an artist. I would never forgive Lila. And I would certainly never call her my sister. “She is not my sister,” I retorted, my voice shaking with rage. “She’s the daughter of a kidnapper, a monster.” My defiance was met with a sharp slap across the face. “Anna, that’s enough! Apologize to Lila. Now.” “No.” I stared into his eyes, my nails digging so deep into my bandaged palm that the wound reopened, staining the gauze red. The physical pain was nothing compared to the agony in my chest. The boy who used to get teary-eyed if I so much as scraped my knee had just struck me. For Lila. From behind Ethan, Lila shot me a triumphant smirk before her expression melted into one of fragile vulnerability. She tugged on his sleeve. “It’s okay, Ethan. It’s my fault. I never should have come here. Please, don’t fight because of me.” Ethan’s hand closed over hers, and his gaze on me turned to ice. “Anna, what happened back then was her mother’s doing. It had nothing to do with Lila. It’s been years. Why are you still holding onto it with such petty resentment?” I almost laughed. “That’s rich, coming from you, Ethan. You saw the scars all over my body. You saw this hand,” I held it up, “the hand that can no longer hold a paintbrush. And you call this being petty?” His face tightened, his public defense of her shattered. “Just look at yourself,” he snarled, his voice stripped of all its former warmth. “So bitter and sharp-tongued. It’s no wonder your own parents can’t stand you.” With a final, forceful push, he shoved me aside and walked away, his arm once again protectively around Lila. I stumbled back, my spine hitting a lamppost with a sickening thud. The pain left me doubled over, gasping for air. It was the third time he had laid a hand on me in a single day. When we were ten, Lila had used her own body to frame me, making my parents think I was a violent, hateful child. I had cried for days, and a ten-year-old Ethan had been the one to comfort me. His childish voice still echoed in my memory. ‘You’re wonderful, Anna. If they can’t see that, they’re blind. I see it. I’ll always, always choose you.’ I didn’t know then that his words would take root in my heart, growing there for two decades. And now, he was telling me that no one could ever love me. That “no one” included him. The words that had once been my salvation had transformed into a volley of poisoned arrows, all aimed directly at my heart. 3 I dragged my exhausted body back to the new apartment. A text from Candi came through with my flight information. It was scheduled for ten days from now—the morning of my wedding. My eyes fell on the little decorative robot on the counter, its face a cheerful, smiling screen. The large numbers on it displayed the countdown to our wedding. Now, it was a countdown to my escape. How fitting. It felt like destiny. Ethan came home to find me re-wrapping the bandage on my hand. His eyes flickered with something—maybe guilt?—when he saw the injury. He sighed, sinking to his knees in front of me. He gently unwrapped the gauze and began dabbing the cut with antiseptic. “You know, the reason I’m nice to Lila is for your sake,” he began, his voice low and reasonable. “It’s been so many years, and you still can’t get over the hurdle with your parents. We’re about to get married, and you have no family to attend, hardly any friends. You can’t even scrape together a group of bridesmaids.” I pursed my lips, saying nothing. He knew my story better than anyone. He knew every cut, every bruise, every betrayal. He had seen my parents choose Lila over and over until my heart was shattered. He had supported me when I finally cut them off. I wasn’t without friends; he knew that. They were just married, with families of their own. We were the ones who had waited, because he wanted to establish his career first. I had waited for him, my twenties slipping away without a single word of complaint. And now, he was the one bringing it up, the one who found me lacking. The boy who once held me and whispered, ‘You only need me,’ had been swept away by the river of time. A sharp sting on my hand made me flinch, and I tried to pull away. He held on tight, giving me a look of gentle rebuke before bringing my hand to his lips and blowing softly on the cut. “Such a big girl, and you still can’t handle a little pain. What would you ever do without me?” I watched his performance of feigned tenderness and started to question everything. Were all those years of warmth and care just a role he was playing, a part he’d become lost in? And was I the only one who had truly believed the script? “I was going to ask earlier,” he said, “why did you change? Where’s the evening gown?” “It was ruined. I threw it out.” I had no desire to talk, but he seemed oblivious, chattering more than he had in years. After tossing the used cotton swab, he put away the first-aid kit, lecturing me as he went. “I apologized to Lila on your behalf for tonight. From now on, you need to think before you speak. Stop dragging up the past.” I watched his back as he walked away and let out a soft, hollow laugh. “Ethan, there is no ‘from now on’ for us.” “What?” He turned, a flicker of awareness in his eyes, but I had already looked down, busying myself with my phone. Back in the bedroom, the half-empty wall was a stark reminder of what had happened. The lingerie lay discarded on the bed. I picked it up and tossed it under the frame. Even so, the bed felt contaminated, filthy. The thought of them tangled on these sheets, their desperate, passionate embrace… A wave of nausea rose in my throat, and I retched, right there on the bed. Ethan emerged from the bathroom and saw the mess, his brow furrowing in annoyance. “What’s wrong with you? Normal people find a trash can or a toilet when they feel sick. You just puke on the bed?” Seeing the ghastly pallor of my face, he softened his tone. “Well, looks like we’ll have to sleep somewhere else tonight.” He opened the closet to find a fresh set of sheets, accidentally knocking over the picture frames he’d stashed in the corner. They crashed to the floor, glass shattering everywhere. Guiltily, he bent to pick them up. “A couple of the photos fell down earlier,” he explained, avoiding my eyes. “I was afraid they’d break, so I took them all down. Guess I ended up breaking one anyway. You should secure the nails better when you hang them back up.” I gave a noncommittal hum and took the clean sheets from him, heading for the guest room. Ethan rubbed his nose, sighed, and resignedly began to clean up the mess. 4 I woke in the guest room to the sun high in the sky. Ethan hadn’t come to find me last night, and for the first time in a long time, I had slept soundly. Stretching, I walked into the living room and saw a plate of breakfast on the table with a note beside it. Anna, I’m off to work. Don’t forget to eat. Be good! The same old tenderness, the same old care. Except now, it didn’t fill me with happiness. With my new perspective, the gesture felt tainted, part of a larger deception. I scraped the food and the note into the trash can without a second thought. Just after I finished my own breakfast, the robot assistant chirped a schedule reminder. I’d completely forgotten. Today was the day we were supposed to go to the wedding planner to choose my gown and finalize the decor. Apparently, Ethan had forgotten too. I dismissed the notification and spent the next two hours on my phone, methodically canceling every order for our wedding decor. I packed up everything that had already been delivered and arranged for it to be returned. What couldn’t be returned, I threw away. Piece by piece, I erased myself from this apartment, just as I was erasing my love for Ethan from my heart. Soon, there was no trace I had ever lived in this house that was never truly mine. I was holding a beautiful, expensive photo album, about to burn it, when his call came. “Anna, we were supposed to try on wedding dresses and look at venues today. Why didn’t you remind me?” “I forgot, too,” I said flatly. There was a long silence on his end. He clearly hadn’t expected that answer. Finally, he told me to get ready and that he was waiting downstairs. When I finally ambled down, I saw Lila was in the car with him. She was in the passenger seat, and she smiled at me as if nothing was wrong. I quietly opened the back door and slid in. Both of them flinched. Ethan’s eyes met mine in the rearview mirror several times before he started making excuses. “I thought, since Lila has such great taste, we could ask for her help. It’ll make things go faster. And, uh, she gets carsick, so I let her sit up front.” I nodded and turned to look out the window. In a few days, I would be on a plane to another country, for who knew how long. I might as well enjoy one last look at this city. A flicker of movement in my peripheral vision caught my eye. Ethan was squeezing Lila’s hand. She squeezed back, and they engaged in a silent, playful tug-of-war. I closed my eyes and feigned sleep until we arrived. At the wedding planner’s office, as the designer pulled up the venue mockups, Lila plopped herself right down in the chair next to the computer. Ethan stood beside her, leaning in close. They murmured to each other, pointing at the screen, looking for all the world like a happy couple planning their future. I sat on a sofa across the room, feeling no desire to fight for my place. It was only after they had made all the decisions that Ethan seemed to remember I was there. He saw me on the sofa, looking completely detached, and his mood soured. “Why are you sitting so far away? Come over here and help.” I glanced at the screen. “I’ve seen it,” I said with a serene smile. “What you two picked out… it’s perfect.” Something in my tone must have set Lila off. She bit her lip, her face crumpling into a mask of hurt. “This is all my fault. I shouldn’t have come.” With that, she bolted from the office. Ethan started to chase after her, but he stopped as he passed me. “I went to all this trouble to get Lila to help you, and this is how you act? What is your problem?” he hissed. “Fine. You can pick everything out yourself now.” I couldn’t take the injustice anymore. I shot up and grabbed the back of his shirt, pulling him up short. He stumbled, nearly crashing into the glass door. I met his furious gaze with a calm of my own. “What exactly,” I asked, “is it that I’m doing wrong?” He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He just shook my hand off and stormed out after her. The designer looked at me with pity. “Ma’am,” she asked gently, “would you like to choose a different theme? And for the dress… you don’t need them. You should pick what you like.” I gave her a grateful smile. “No, what they chose is fine. As for the dress… let him decide.” When I got home, I picked up the beautiful photo album again. This time, without a flicker of hesitation, I tossed it into the fireplace.

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Mason’s mistress was pregnant, her belly as round as mine. She draped herself across his lap, fingers tracing her stomach. “They say Mrs. Vance was the best rider before her pregnancy.” Her eyes gleamed cruel. “Make her ride for me. If she performs well…” Leaning in, she whispered: “Tonight, I’m yours.” Mason’s gaze locked onto me. Silence. I clutched my belly, pleading: “Mason, no! I’ll lose the baby!” Laughter erupted. Mason sneered: “You’ve miscarried before. You can get pregnant again. Ride now—if you can’t entertain Kiki, you won’t leave these grounds tonight.” Dragged to the stables, I was thrown onto a spooked horse. Each gallop tore through my womb. Glancing back: Mason and his mistress were already kissing, surrounded by cheers. Wind howled. A bitter smile curled my lips. Mason, this is the end. 1 The sharp sting of antiseptic filled my senses as I drifted back to consciousness. The hospital room was quiet, except for Mason lounging on the sofa, Kiki nestled in his arms. Not a single other member of the Vance family was present. He saw my eyes flutter open and asked lazily, “Woke up, did you?” My face was ashen. My gaze fell to my now-flat stomach. Mason was silent for a beat, then clicked his tongue in annoyance. “Tch. So you actually lost it. What a shame. It was so big, too.” I managed a numb twitch of my lips. Yes. Seven months. Last night, he’d summoned me to the equestrian club. All because of a whim from Kiki. I don’t know how many laps I was forced to ride; I only remember the searing pain in my lungs with every breath. Finally, when Mason and Kiki had had their fun, he buttoned his shirt and tossed two words down to me like a scrap of charity: “That’s enough.” I stumbled off the horse, pale and barely breathing. A hot, sticky wetness bloomed between my legs, and a fresh wave of pain engulfed me. Dazed, I looked toward Mason, who was the center of his adoring crowd. I took two staggering steps before my legs gave out, and I collapsed onto the grass, reaching a hand out to him. “Mason… call an ambulance…” My voice was a choked whisper. Sweat beaded on my forehead. One of his friends noticed my state and sauntered over. “Seriously? It was just a couple of laps. Are you really going to be so dramatic?” “I have to admit, Jules, she’s a pretty convincing actress. I almost believed her.” “Hey, you know, she looks exactly like she did when she swore up and down that she didn’t cause your grandmother’s death! Elara, your acting skills haven’t slipped a bit over the years!” Mason, with Kiki tucked under his arm, walked over and looked down at me, his brow furrowed. He must have forgotten what I looked like the last time I miscarried, because he, too, seemed to believe it was all a performance. Kiki stepped forward, her eyes filled with revulsion as she pointed at the spreading stain on my dress. “Oh my god, did you just pee your pants?!” she shrieked, her voice deliberately loud, drawing everyone’s attention. A crushing wave of shame washed over me, so intense I could barely breathe. Instinctively, I reached for Mason again. “Jules, help me. My stomach… it hurts so much.” He slapped my hand away. “Pathetic,” he sneered. With those two words, he turned and led the laughing crowd away, leaving me there. Not even the club staff spared me a glance. I was alone on the grass, my cries for help fading into the night. I must have passed out. The next thing I knew, I was here. A familiar ache settled behind my eyes. I had lost another child. Kiki snuggled against Mason’s shoulder, her hand stroking her own pregnant belly. “It’s just bad luck, I guess. So fragile. Just a little ride and the baby’s gone. What a jinx. I’ve had so much more… exercise with Mason in bed, enough to work up a sweat every time, and my baby is just fine.” Mason chuckled and pressed a kiss to her lips. “How could she ever compare to you? Even if that little bastard of hers had survived, it would have grown up to be nothing more than a servant for our child.” I had heard words like this more times than I could count. Each time, they were a fresh stab to the heart. I used to fight back, my voice shaking with disbelief. “That’s your child, too! How can you say that?!” And each time, he would just stare at me with those cold, empty eyes, his silence a more potent weapon than any shout, driving me slowly mad. But now, I felt nothing. Just a vast, cold numbness. Perhaps it was the weakness from the blood loss, but the cool breeze drifting through the open window felt like ice on my skin. “Mason,” I said, my voice hoarse and distant. “Could you please close the window? I’m cold. The doctor said I need to be careful not to get a chill during my recovery.” It was the same warning the doctor had given me after every miscarriage. Mason’s face hardened, his words as sharp as a winter wind. “You had a miscarriage, not a baby. What recovery do you need? Are you trying to use this as another excuse to slack off and not go back to the estate to wait on my mother?” He stood up, his patience clearly gone after a mere half-hour. Before leaving, he deliberately walked over and threw open every single window in the room. “Hah. Can’t get a chill?” he mocked. “Let’s just see what happens if you do.” I listened in silence, just as I had for the past five years, bearing the full weight of his hatred. But I was so tired. I didn’t want to carry the burden of his grandmother’s death anymore. I didn’t want to be the Vance family’s punching bag. Not for one more day. Five years ago, it was a fairytale. Cinderella and the Prince. Mason and I were deeply in love, and he brought me home to the Vance Estate. The Vances were a dynasty, their marriages strategic alliances for generations. But Mason refused. He wanted me. No one in his family liked me. Except for his grandmother. The matriarch was over ninety, her body failing her. The formidable woman who once ruled the family empire was now confined to a wheelchair. She was the only one who supported us. She adored me and would often ask Mason to bring me to the estate just to keep her company. She had raised Mason herself and loved telling me stories about his childhood. But sometimes, as she spoke, a deep sadness would descend upon her. Through her fragmented memories, I learned she’d had a love of her own, long ago, before her own arranged marriage. A love she was forced to give up. Eventually, she lost the ability to speak. But even then, she fought against the entire family to give Mason her blessing to marry me. Just before the wedding preparations began, Mason and I took her for a walk in the park. On a downward slope, she scribbled on a notepad that she was thirsty. Mason ran off to buy water, leaving me to watch over her. In that brief moment, her eyes widened as if she’d seen a ghost from her past. She became incredibly agitated. I held onto the wheelchair, looking around, but I saw no one. “Elara!” Mason’s voice called from behind me. I turned. In that single, fleeting second, the wheelchair rolled away, gathering speed as it careened down the slope. My carelessness had caused a tragedy. After the funeral, Mason still married me. Not out of love, but out of hate. “Elara, you will be trapped in this family forever,” he had vowed. “You will spend the rest of your life in this hell, atoning for what you did.” It wasn’t just him. The entire Vance family directed their grief and rage at me. During that time, Mason met Kiki, an escort from a high-end club. A sordid affair bloomed into a passionate, public romance. And me? I was trapped in the mire of the Vance family, drowning in guilt, losing four children in a relentless cycle of tragedy. And now, a fifth. “Mrs. Vance,” the doctor said, his voice gentle but firm. “As your physician, I have to tell you something. Normally, after a miscarriage, we advise waiting two years before trying to conceive again. But you’ve had four in five years. It has caused significant damage to your body, to your uterus. In the future… it will be very difficult for you to conceive again.” His words were diplomatic, but I understood their true meaning. I nodded calmly, saying nothing. “Should I inform Mr. Vance?” This was a private hospital, owned by the Vance family’s corporation. Though my relationship with the family was a disaster, we maintained a facade of civility in public. People knew I was the unloved wife, but they still afforded me the respect of my title. I gave a bitter smile. “No. Don’t tell him.” As if on cue, my phone rang. It was Mason. His voice was lazy, laced with that familiar, casual cruelty. “Are you dead yet? If not, get over to the villa. Kiki and I are out of condoms. I don’t like the other brands. You know the one I prefer, right? Bring them to me. I’ll text you the address.” He hung up before I could reply. A moment later, the address appeared on my screen. In the past, driven by guilt and a desperate need for atonement, I would have swallowed the humiliation and done exactly as he commanded, just to lessen his hatred for me, even by a fraction. But now, my face was a mask of indifference. I calmly opened a delivery app and ordered a courier. My best friend, Chloe, set a container of soup on the bedside table and tucked the blanket around me, her voice thick with unshed tears. “Elara, do you really have to stay with him? This is the fourth time you’ve miscarried! What more does he want? Does he want to torture you until there’s nothing left?!” I reached up and wiped a tear from her cheek, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach my eyes. “Don’t worry,” I said softly. “From now on, he can’t hurt me anymore.” Mason was furious that I didn’t deliver the condoms myself. He cut off my credit cards and had the hospital discharge me. After packing my few belongings, I went back to the Vance Estate. The servants shot me looks of open contempt. “Look, the jinx is back. See? Her belly is flat again. Pathetic.” “Right? How many times is that now? She can never carry a baby to term. I can’t believe she still has the nerve to show her face here. If it were me, I’d hide away and never come out.” “Well, that’s why we’re just servants. We don’t have skin as thick as hers. How else do you think she became a wealthy man’s wife?” I walked past them, my heart a placid lake. Their words no longer had the power to wound me. My timing was terrible. Mason was there with Kiki, visiting his mother. The moment Mrs. Vance saw me, she slammed her teacup down, her voice sharp and piercing. “Elara! Get over here and kneel before the matriarch’s memorial tablet!” I had been heading upstairs, but I stopped. When it came to the grandmother, I would always feel a pang of guilt. I turned and walked to the small, ornate altar. Mrs. Vance was so angry she didn’t even give me a cushion. The cold, hard floor sent jolts of pain through my knees. I hadn’t even begun to heal, and when the ruler she kept for this purpose struck my back, a sharp, pulling pain shot through my lower abdomen. “Hmph. Tell me, how many times is this now?” she shrieked. “If I kept a breeding dog, it would have given me several litters by now! And you? You’re worse than a dog!” “It would be better if you couldn’t get pregnant at all! At least then we’d have some peace and quiet!” “Look at you! You’re a disgrace to the memory of the matriarch! If she were still alive and saw that you couldn’t even hatch a single egg in five years, she would have forced Mason to divorce you herself! But no, you have the audacity to stay here, clinging to the title of Mrs. Vance!” Her words were a torrent of insults, each one a not-so-subtle reminder that I should know my place and get out of their lives. I looked up at the man responsible for it all. My first pregnancy was a month after our wedding. A month of his brutal, angry lovemaking had left me torn and bleeding, forcing me into the hospital. When I found out I was pregnant, I was overjoyed, thinking a child might soften his heart. I was wrong. He had just looked at me and laughed, a sound that chilled me to the bone. “You?” he’d said. “You think you’re worthy of carrying my child?” He forced the bitter abortion pills into my mouth himself. Within half an hour, I was wracked with cramps, and I lost my first child. The second time, he had just started his affair with Kiki. She mentioned she wanted to see me drink, so he ordered ten bottles of the most expensive champagne and forced them down my throat in a private club room. Two bottles in, I started bleeding. The third time, I was late delivering some of their “toys.” As punishment, his mother made me kneel outside the villa for a day and a night. That evening, for a thrill, Mason carried Kiki outside and they made love right in front of me. The exhaustion, the grief, the humiliation… it was too much. I lost my third child. That time, it had been twins. The shock sent me into cardiac arrest. I barely survived. And now, the horse. This baby I had carried the longest. Seven months. I had truly believed this one would make it. But no. And there Mason sat, watching his mother beat me, looking completely indifferent, as if the children I’d lost had nothing to do with him. Beside him, Kiki smirked, her eyes full of triumph and scorn. When Mrs. Vance was finally tired of hitting me, she threw the ruler down and sank onto the sofa with a sigh. “I never should have given in to the matriarch’s pressure and allowed this marriage! Now look what’s happened. I’ve brought a curse, a jinx, into this family!” I gave a weak, bitter smile. I bowed my head and knocked it three times on the floor before the memorial tablet. I had suffered too much in this house. The grandmother’s death, Mason’s betrayal, the loss of five children… “In that case,” I said, my voice surprisingly steady, “let’s do as you wish. Mason and I will get a divorce. That way, the Vance family can finally be rid of me.” Mason froze, his head snapping in my direction. A moment later, a soft, mocking laugh cut through the tense silence. “Hah.” “You think you have the right to mention divorce?” Before I could react, he had me by the neck, slamming me down onto the offering table in front of the tablet. His grip was viselike, as if he meant to kill me. “You haven’t paid for your sins yet, and you think you can just walk away? You kill someone and then just get to leave? Elara, the world doesn’t work like that!” He threw me aside. The force of it sent me stumbling back into a large decorative planter. A sharp pain exploded in the back of my head, and then something warm and wet trickled down my neck. The world went black.

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Nicholas Blackwood hated me for a decade after his beloved died. She was his moon; I was merely her shadow. I offered him my world, only to be met with icy scorn: “If you truly want to please me, Lindsay, the best thing you could do is die.” Yet when the great hall burned, he died saving me. In his final moments, he pushed me away. “If only my life had never been touched by yours…” At his funeral, his mother wept: “If only I’d let him marry Clara Bellewood.” His father accused me: “He saved you three times. Why did you only bring him ruin?” Even I regretted our marriage. So I leapt from the Stargazer’s Spire—and woke up ten years earlier. This time, I’d cut all ties with Nicholas Blackwood. I’d give them the ending they deserved. 1 “Lindsay Vance, you have a talent for getting what you want, don’t you? To think you’d manipulate my parents into threatening me, forcing my hand into this marriage. Do you really believe this is how you’ll find happiness?” The voice, low and cold, belonged to a boy. I blinked, my vision clearing to see Nicholas, a much younger Nicholas, standing before me. He was eighteen again, dressed in the sharp crimson of a young lord, his features still holding a wild, untamed arrogance that time would later temper. I was back. I was truly back. I fought down the wave of grief and relief that threatened to overwhelm me, my gaze drinking him in like a woman dying of thirst. “You don’t want to marry me,” I stated, my voice steadier than I felt. “The one you truly want is Clara Bellewood, isn’t it?” Nicholas scoffed. “So what if it is? Are you going to step aside?” “Yes,” I said, with a sincerity that startled him. My parents had died in service to the Crown, securing a generation of peace for the kingdom. As a reward, the King had granted me a single boon: a Royal Decree of Marriage. It was a blank slate, a promise from the throne that I could marry any nobleman I chose. By the same token, I could use it to secure a marriage for anyone else. He stared at me for a moment, then let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh. “You’ve already used the King’s decree to back me into a corner. My parents are unmovable. Our wedding is a foregone conclusion. How exactly do you plan to ‘step aside’ now?” He leaned back against the cool stone of the palace wall, his arms crossed. “Look, Lindsay, I don’t have time for your games. Just take your decree and go. I’ll wait for you here.” The disgust in his eyes was a physical blow, a thousand tiny needles piercing my heart. In this life and the last, I had loved him for so long. He had risked everything to save me, twice, and I had mistaken his honor for affection. I’d joyfully requested the decree, believing he felt the same, only to realize my love was his prison. My ten years of devotion had been his ten years of torment. In my past life, I had performed countless acts of charity, bartered with my own life force, all for the slimmest chance of his rebirth. Before the end, a mystic had given me a warning. “Within the first twelve hours of his new life, you must resolve his three greatest regrets. Once it is done, you must leave him forever.” “Then,” the old man had promised, “your paths will diverge. He will not die at thirty because of you. You will both find your own peace.” “But know this, child. Every rebirth has its price.” As long as Nicholas could live, I was willing to pay any price. I went before the King and used my boon, my one royal favor, to request a marriage decree for Nicholas Blackwood and Clara Bellewood. I knew his three regrets by heart; they were etched into the pages of his private journal. Regret marrying Lindsay Vance. Regret not defying my parents’ will. Regret not being able to save Clara Bellewood. Now, the first of his regrets was fulfilled. I walked out of the palace, the royal scroll in my hand, and presented it to Nicholas. He looked at me with the contempt of a man who believes he’s been thoroughly outmaneuvered, reaching to unroll the parchment. I placed my hand over his, offering a gentle smile. “Wait until tomorrow. There might be a surprise.” He shot me a look. “Pointless. Whether I read it today or tomorrow, it still says I’m marrying you, doesn’t it? What’s gotten into you? Are you that ecstatic about finally trapping me?” I was ecstatic. But not for the reason he thought. Because I can finally see you alive again. I smiled. “I think you’re the best man in the world. Anyone who marries you will be incredibly happy.” “Let’s go,” he grunted, turning away so quickly I might have thought he was blushing if I didn’t know better. The carriage rattled through the city. As we passed the festive lights of the flower market, I pulled back the curtain, overhearing the chatter of women on the street. “Tonight’s the celestial alignment! They say if you watch the meteor shower from the Stargazer’s Spire with the one you love, you’ll be bound together for all eternity!” A memory pierced me. In my last life, I’d heard the same words and eagerly begged Nicholas to take me. He had looked at me with that chilling, distant gaze. “Isn’t one lifetime of my misery enough for you, Lindsay? You want to chain me for three?” he’d mocked. “It’s a foolish superstition for children and romantics. If you want to be duped, go alone. Don’t drag me into it.” The memory was so vivid, the coldness in his eyes still made me shiver. I quietly let the curtain fall. But this time, something was different. “You want to go?” Nicholas’s voice was flat, devoid of emotion. I looked up, startled. “I can take you to the Spire tonight,” he continued, not meeting my eyes. “I won’t have time to accompany you to your parents’ memorial after the wedding. Consider this… an apology.” I stared at him, a flicker of hope and sorrow warring within me. This was the Nicholas I knew—venom on his tongue, but a heart softer than anyone realized. He didn’t love me, yet he had thrown himself into danger for me three times without hesitation. The first, when we were ambushed by highwaymen, he’d taken a blade to his right arm to protect me. The arm that could once send an arrow through a target a hundred paces away could never again draw a bow. The second, when I was struck by the Crimson Fever, he’d scaled the treacherous Frostfang Peak to find the rare Frost-Lotus that saved my life, nearly breaking his leg in the process. The third, during the fire at the royal palace, he had died to pull me from the flames. Nicholas Blackwood was a good man in every way. He just didn’t love me. I knew that after today, our fates would be untangled forever. Even if we stood atop the Stargazer’s Spire and watched the meteor shower of a century, we would never be bound for eternity. Still, I pushed down the burning moisture in my eyes and gave him a smile that felt as bright and cheap as a carnival prize. “I’d love that. Let’s go see the stars fall together.” 2 Our carriage was stopped halfway there. A frantic-looking maid, one of Clara Bellewood’s, claimed her mistress was suffering from a terrible headache and was calling for Nicholas. Nicholas’s brow furrowed. He swung himself out of the carriage without a second thought. “Clara isn’t well. I need to check on her. You go back to the manor. I’ll meet you at the Spire later tonight.” “Alright,” I nodded. He seemed surprised by my easy agreement. “You used to hate it when I went to see her. A sudden change of heart?” I opened my mouth to speak, but he cut me off with another cold laugh. “Right. We’re about to be married. I suppose she’s no longer a threat to you.” He strode away, missing the flicker of sorrow and resignation in my eyes. The truth was, I’d never tried to stop him from caring for Clara. I had only ever intervened once, when I discovered Clara was entangled with a married court official. I had warned him, pleaded with him to stay away. But he never knew the whole story. After she died, he was lost in a decade of grief. If I had to choose, I would rather see him happy with Clara—even a flawed Clara—than watch him suffer and die for my sake. My first stop was the city registrar to secure my travel papers. Then, I returned to the Blackwood manor. The Duchess had prepared a feast herself, the table laden with all my favorite childhood dishes. As was my habit, I slipped the white fur cloak from my shoulders and draped it over hers. “It’s getting colder, Your Grace. You must take care of yourself.” She beamed, her eyes crinkling with affection. “My sweet girl, always so thoughtful. Now, let me see the royal decree! I have waited so long for the day I can finally call you my daughter.” The Duke, noticing I had returned alone, began to bristle. “That boy didn’t escort you back? The decree has been issued, and he still doesn’t know how to cherish you! Just wait until he gets home, I’ll give him a piece of my mind!” Their genuine warmth was a bittersweet ache in my chest. After my parents fell, they had taken me in, an orphan girl with nothing, and given me everything. I had always been the dutiful daughter. But this time, I had to betray their hopes. I looked at them, my voice heavy with purpose. “Your Grace, my Lord… I will not be marrying Nicholas.” I continued before they could protest. “I’m leaving for the Riverlands tomorrow. I won’t be here to look after you, so you must promise to look after each other.” The Duchess froze, her smile vanishing. “Your parents died for this kingdom. You grew up in this house. This is your home, Lindsay! Where would you go?” Her voice grew urgent. “Is it because of that Bellewood girl? Did Nicholas hurt you? Is that why you’re calling off the wedding?” “Don’t be rash,” she pleaded, taking my hands. “He has feelings for you, I know it. He wouldn’t have risked his life for you twice if he didn’t. Every year on your birthday, he spends months searching for the most perfect, unique gifts. I’ve seen how you care for him, learning to cook his favorite meals, massaging his injured arm every day. You two would be so happy together!” she insisted. “Besides, that girl is trouble. We can’t let her win. Please, don’t leave out of anger.” In my past life, they had said the same things. In the end, I lost my husband, and they lost their son. We all drowned in a lifetime of regret. I gently wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “Your Grace, you can’t force a heart to love. Nicholas’s heart belongs to someone else. It was wrong of me to ever try and claim it.” My voice dropped to a near whisper. “I had a dream last night. In the dream, he married me, but he couldn’t bear to look at me. He threw himself into his work, traveling to the most dangerous frontiers, running himself into the ground until his body was a wreck of old wounds. The food I made, he wouldn’t eat. When he was sick, he wouldn’t let me near. He told me… he told me the pain I brought him was greater than any happiness. And then… he died at thirty, saving my life.” The memory was so real, my own heart seized with a pain so sharp it stole my breath. The Duchess paled. “But… but that’s just a dream, my dear. Nicholas wouldn’t…” I sniffed, forcing a watery smile. “Dreams can be warnings, Your Grace. I want him to live a long life. We don’t have to be husband and wife. I just need him to be alive.” I took a deep breath. “He carries the weight of a dukedom on his shoulders, with so little choice in his own life. The least I can do is give him the freedom to choose who he loves.” I knelt before them and bowed my head to the floor three times, the gesture heavy with finality. “My travel papers are in order. I beg you, let me go. For the love and kindness you have shown me, I will be eternally grateful. I will spend my life repaying that debt.” The Duke’s stern expression softened. He helped me to my feet. The Duchess, weeping silently, pressed a thick stack of bank notes into my hand. “If this is what you’ve truly decided, then we will not stand in your way. But you remember this, Lindsay. No matter what happens, this house will always be your home.” Tears I could no longer hold back streamed down my face. I threw my arms around her. “Thank you, Your Grace.” By cutting my ties with Nicholas, the tragedy of our past life would be erased. He would live to be an old man. The Duke and Duchess wouldn’t lose their son and grow to hate me. This time, everyone would have their happy ending. The second of his regrets, I thought, should now be resolved. But I had to fulfill all three within twelve hours. There was still one left. Would it be so simple? That evening, I went to the Stargazer’s Spire. The air was filled with the soft murmurs of couples, all there to wish for a shared destiny under the falling stars. “Lindsay Vance.” A familiar voice cut through the night. I turned, a foolish spark of joy igniting in my chest, only to see Nicholas’s face, twisted into a mask of pure fury. He grabbed my wrist, his grip like iron, his eyes shot with red-hot anger. “I knew you were manipulative, but this is a new low. Just because I didn’t escort you home, you ran to my parents and filled their heads with poison, causing them to publicly humiliate Clara. She tried to take her own life, Lindsay. Are you satisfied now?”

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1 At my best friend’s birthday party, I got wasted and crashed next to a gorgeous stranger. Platonically. My so-called best friend, instead of looking out for me, snapped a perfectly angled photo and posted it to his Instagram story. The caption: “That’s my boy Leo, ‘scoring’ wherever he goes! ” The next morning, I was trending for all the wrong reasons. During a media scrum, my two childhood friends, Bella and Zoe, who had always sworn they’d trust me unconditionally, didn’t just fail to defend me—they threw me under the bus. “Leo’s always been a player, ever since we were kids. He loves the attention from women. What can we do?” “I guess we’re just not as exciting as the girls he finds on the outside. But thank God we have Finn now!” I let out a cold laugh. After deciding to quit the industry, I cornered the beautiful stranger from the party outside her hotel. “Hey. About last night. Aren’t you going to take responsibility?” Her eyes, a stunning shade of amethyst, widened slightly. “How, exactly?” “Marry me.” … When Bella and Zoe returned to our shared condo, I was staring blankly at the freshly printed marriage certificate in my hand. I was so out of it, I didn’t even notice them walk up. “A marriage certificate? Whose?” Bella snatched it from my grasp, flipped it open, and let out a derisive snort. “Leo, seriously? Your career is in the toilet, so you get a fake marriage license to shut people up? Pathetic.” Zoe’s smile was more restrained, but her words were just as sharp. “A fake like this won’t fool anyone, Leo. When you’re exposed, it’ll only be more humiliating for you.” I frowned, taking the certificate back. A bitter laugh almost escaped me. These were the girls who had professed their undying devotion to me, who swore to trust me no matter what. As I stood to go to my room, my eyes met those of the person standing behind them. Finn. I was surprised to see him. “What are you doing here?” Finn stepped forward, his face a mask of guilt, and before he even spoke, he slapped himself hard across the cheek. “Leo, I’m so sorry. I swear I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. You know I’m new to the industry. I had no idea a stupid Instagram story would blow up like this.” He played the innocent victim to perfection. A damn shame he wasn’t an actor. I crossed my arms, watching him with a detached curiosity. “Then why don’t you clear things up?” He blinked, feigning confusion. “Clear what up?” “The truth, Finn. That nothing happened.” I couldn’t stand his act anymore, and my voice rose. He immediately flinched and ducked behind Bella, as if I were about to hit him. “I… I can’t lie.” “That’s enough.” Bella and Zoe instantly jumped to his defense. One grabbed my arm, pulling me back, while the other stood between me and Finn. “Leo, you’re the one who can’t keep it in your pants, and now you want Finn to lie for you?” Bella sneered. “You think everyone is like you, able to lie through their teeth without a shred of conscience?” “Honestly, you brought this all on yourself,” Zoe added, her voice laced with disappointment. “Finn is just too kind and naive. He felt so bad he insisted on coming to apologize in person, and this is how you treat him? By bullying him?” “Bullying him? Me, with no self-control?” I was so angry I could only laugh. Growing up, thanks to Bella and Zoe’s possessiveness, there hadn’t been a single other girl in my life. Even Finn, my one and only guy friend, had to get their stamp of approval before I was “allowed” to hang out with him. I’d actually been happy to finally have a brother. Now, it seemed my joy had been tragically misplaced. “I’m not arguing with you. You’re being completely irrational, as always,” Bella scoffed, taking Finn’s arm and leading him downstairs. Zoe sighed. “Leo, you need to get your act together.” She followed them down the stairs. Staring at the empty stairwell, it suddenly hit me. If I was going to sell this place, I’d have to fix it first. Years ago, I’d entered a TV talent show on a whim. I ended up getting a bit of a following and was signed by a label. After my first real paycheck, I bought this condo. Bella and Zoe, not wanting to be separated from me, used the excuse of “protecting” me to get money from their parents and buy the unit directly below mine. Then, against all building regulations, they had a spiral staircase installed, connecting our two homes. It meant they could come and go from my place as they pleased. I’ll admit, that convenience had its perks. There was a time I fell into a lake during a variety show shoot and came down with a raging fever that night. They’d come up with takeout, found me delirious, and rushed me to the hospital. But I didn’t need that kind of “care” anymore. 2 The next morning, I was jolted from a deep sleep by a frantic call from my assistant, Benny. “Leo, what the hell happened last night?” I was still half-asleep, mumbling, “Happened? With who?” “Dude, just check your socials. You’re trending again.” Trending? The fog in my brain vanished. I immediately pulled up my phone’s browser. My name was everywhere. #FinnApologizesInPerson,GetsVerballyAbusedByLeo #LeoCutsTiesWithChildhoodFriendsAndBestieAfterScandal #BellaAndZoeSpeakOutOnLeosBetrayal The comments were a cesspool of vitriol. 【What a scumbag. Can’t control his own dick and now he’s attacking people. I always thought Leo seemed like a decent guy, but he’s disgusting behind the scenes.】 【Unfollowed him yesterday. Honestly heartbroken. Can’t believe the artist I supported is this kind of trash.】 【A man with no self-respect is worthless. If I were his friend, I’d cut him off too. Who needs a friend like that?】 This was… interesting. Bella and Zoe had brought Finn over last night, and he’d left through their apartment. So how did this become about me attacking him, instead of a potential three-way scandal? It was obvious. Someone was buying bots and boosting these hashtags, using me as a stepping stone. I clicked on Finn’s social media profile. Sure enough, for a brand-new artist, his follower count had skyrocketed past 300,000 in less than two days and was still climbing. The comments were filled with people praising his “purity” and “kindness,” vowing to protect him. When I switched back to the call, Benny’s voice was hesitant. “Leo… Rex said they’re putting your new album on hold. He wants you to come into the office.” “Do you need me to get the driver to pick you up?” I stretched, sitting up in bed. “No need. I was planning on seeing Rex anyway.” If I remembered correctly, my contract was up in a month. Given the current PR nightmare, the label would never re-sign me. Perfect. I was tired of it all anyway. This was my chance to just walk away. As soon as I arrived at the agency, Benny rushed to meet me, his expression a mixture of pity and anxiety. I waved a hand, letting him know he didn’t need to say anything. When I entered my manager Rex’s office, Bella, Zoe, and Finn were already there. Rex, his face grim, tossed a contract onto the desk in front of me. “The variety shows you were booked for have all dropped you. No one wants to touch you right now. This opportunity… Bella fought to get it for you. Take a look. If it seems okay, sign it.” In the middle of this firestorm, some producer was brave enough to sign me? And Bella got me the gig? Since when did she have that kind of pull? Puzzled, I opened the contract. After a few glances, I flipped to the attached script. And I laughed. This wasn’t Bella fighting for me. This was a custom-made production designed for the four of us. The script had me deliberately antagonizing Finn on camera, turning our real-life drama into a primetime spectacle to maximize the buzz. They were going to squeeze every last drop of value out of me, letting Finn build his career on my ashes. My laughter clearly unnerved Bella. “What’s so funny?” she snapped. My smile vanished. “What are you so nervous about?” I retorted instinctively. “You…” Bella clenched her fists, about to step toward me, but Finn held her back. “Leo, if you don’t want to be on the same show as me, I’ll just pull out. You really need this chance right now. Don’t let your pride get in the way.” Before I could even respond, Bella and Zoe said in unison, “No.” “Finn, you’re a rookie,” Zoe said. “Every moment of screen time is precious for you.” Rex’s face was grim as he stared at me. “Leo, this is the company’s decision!” I nodded slowly, then asked the question that had been burning in my mind. “Last night’s trending topics… that was the company’s doing too, wasn’t it?” Rex’s lips thinned into a hard line. He didn’t answer. That was answer enough. A bitter wave of sorrow washed over me. I picked up the pen from Rex’s desk and signed my name on the contract with a flourish. Everyone in the room visibly relaxed. I stared Rex straight in the eye, handing him the contract. “For ten years of guidance and support,” I said, each word precise and cold, “our debt is paid. We’re even.” Without a second glance at their stunned faces, I grabbed the script and walked out. 3 “What artist gets hit with a scandal and then immediately signs on for a show? That’s just asking for more trouble. What is Rex thinking?” Benny muttered, frowning as we waited for the elevator. I just smiled, a sad, knowing smile. “Benny, I’ve been in this business for ten years.” Ten years. I hadn’t won any major awards, I wasn’t a superstar, and my voice was even starting to lose its edge. Every agency needs fresh blood. And Finn just ‘happened’ to create this massive stir at the perfect time. The company might have considered damage control at first. But once Bella and Zoe, my supposed “devoted sisters,” hammered the final nail in my coffin, any attempt to clear my name would have been met with skepticism from the fans. It was far more profitable to use my downfall to launch Finn. This is the entertainment industry. It’s a cruel place, devoid of loyalty. Benny fell silent, chewing on the pearls in his bubble tea. His eyes started to turn red. “But it’s not your fault, Leo. I’ve seen how careful you’ve been with your reputation these past ten years. It’s Bella and Zoe who are the ungrateful ones. Without you, they never would have even had a career, let alone become this beloved ‘devoted duo.’” A wave of gratitude washed over me. I pulled him into a quick hug. The two girls I grew up with were less loyal than the assistant I’d known for a decade. “Benny, I’m planning on leaving the business. So… use this time to figure out your next move, okay?” As I let him go, the trio walked up behind us. “Leaving the business?” Bella’s voice was sharp with suspicion. “Leo, who are you bad-mouthing now?” Her voice was drowned out by the ding of the arriving elevator. I pretended not to hear her, waved goodbye to Benny, and stepped inside. I saw a flash of annoyance on Bella’s face, but she was too proud to follow me after I’d given her the cold shoulder. It wasn’t until I was in my car that I saw a message from my not-yet-well-acquainted wife, Aurora. 【Sorry, I was busy and just saw the news. Do you need me to make a statement?】 I quickly typed back, 【No, it’s fine. Thanks!】 After a moment’s thought, I sent another. 【Could you book my flight to Aethelgard for a month from now? I have to film a show first.】 The reply was almost instantaneous. 【Of course.】 I cringed, feeling the awkwardness even through the screen. The truth was, when I’d cornered her at the hotel, it was a moment of pure impulse. I’d spouted all that nonsense without thinking. I never, ever expected her to actually agree—and then, as if afraid I’d back out, she dragged me straight to the courthouse to get the license. I figured she must think I was loaded with money. But then, as soon as we had the certificate, she handed me a black card linked to her private account. Holy hell. The balance in that account was more than I’d make from ten platinum albums. And that wasn’t all. She then mentioned her properties in the capital, Aethelgard, and said she’d take me to have the deeds transferred to my name. That’s when it hit me. I hadn’t just married some girl. I’d married a goddamn CEO. When she later mentioned wanting to have the wedding in Aethelgard, I naturally had no objections. My parents happened to live there too. That night, I was eating instant ramen and scrolling through my tablet, looking for a construction company. Zoe came up from downstairs, snatched the ramen cup out of my hands, and tossed it in the trash. “This is what you’re eating? Come downstairs. Finn made spicy hot pot. He sent me up to get you.” I looked at her, my heart filled with a profound sense of disappointment. I’ve had a sensitive stomach since I was a kid. They both knew that. For eighteen years, they never let me eat anything spicy or raw, let alone something as oily and fiery as hot pot. But now, because of Finn, they could so easily forget something they once cared about so deeply. “I don’t eat hot pot. Give me back my ramen.” Zoe’s lips tightened. For a long moment, she didn’t move. Finally, she crouched down, meeting my eyes at eye level, just like she used to when she was trying to coax me. “Leo, I know you’re still angry. But Finn is different from you. He’s a rookie. If we don’t speak up for him, your fans will tear him apart, and he’ll never get his big break.” “But you’re different. Even if you can’t make it in this industry anymore, you still have me and Bella. We’ll take care of you.” I couldn’t help but laugh. “Hard pass. I don’t eat leftovers.” My dismissive attitude infuriated her. “Leo…” she snapped, her face hardening. I was done listening to her nonsense. “Can you please leave? I’m busy.” Zoe’s face grew darker and darker until she finally stormed out in a rage. She never once glanced at what I was doing on my computer.

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1 “Fiftieth test run, and we’re still number one! The data is solid!” Mitch slapped me on the back so hard I stumbled forward. I wasn’t a paralyzed husk in a hospital bed. I was reborn. “You earned this, man!” Mitch grinned, thinking my daze was from the thrill of the car’s performance. He urged me to get ready for the race tomorrow. “Wait!” I shouted, stopping him in his tracks. “Don’t submit the car’s specs yet. I need to check something!” As I sprinted towards the garage, I pulled up the preliminary data Kane had already posted online. It was completely different from mine, which was why, last time, I suspected nothing. But as I stood before my own car, the webpage on my phone suddenly refreshed. “Blaze! What the hell is going on? Kane just updated his specs—they’re identical to ours!” Mitch’s face was ashen as he ran in after me, already dialing to complain to the race organizers. My own expression was grim, but I held up a hand to stop him. “The submission deadline is midnight. We have time.” In my past life, Kane had “accidentally” leaked the two identical spec sheets online, siccing his fan army on me. It all hinged on this single moment. My frantic posts of my build videos were drowned out by their sneering comments. “Wow, technology is amazing. You can even deepfake videos now.” “Everyone knows the real competition is in the custom builds. Why don’t you just steal Kane himself and have him drive for you?” “Kane was putting his entire legacy on the line for this race, and you rich bullies just had to cheat. Is there no justice in the world?!” My team was harassed, pelted with rotten eggs in the street, afraid to even go home. My only recourse was to prove my skill on the track. But the moment I hit the ignition, my car exploded right on the starting line. Kane was the only one untouched by the blast. He coasted to victory, basking in the glory. The investigators, professional engineers, they tore my car apart and found nothing. No faulty parts, no explosives. Nothing that could have caused the detonation. So Kane’s fans spun a new narrative: I had done something terrible, and this was divine retribution. I deserved to die. Even as a comatose patient, I was subjected to a decade of quiet torment and neglect. I couldn’t even call for help. I could only pray for someone to grant me the mercy of a quick end. My parents, broken by the public hatred, eventually took their own lives. And then my fiancée, Bella, walked into my hospital room on the arm of Kane, disguised as a grieving fan, and unplugged my life support. The official story was that the comatose patient, wracked with guilt, had finally given up. I died with my eyes wide open, a silent scream of injustice trapped within me. But now… now heaven had given me a second chance. And I would make damn sure the ones who were truly guilty paid the price. 2 “A race of this caliber happens maybe once in a generation! This is your shot, Blaze, you can’t just give up because of this!” “Forget about Kane. Just double-check the car. We’re racing, no matter what!” Mitch snatched the phone from my hand and locked me in the garage with the car. I clenched my jaw and began a meticulous inspection, stripping the car down, piece by piece. Even if someone had leaked my design, the performance data would be wildly different if even a single component was off by a fraction of a millimeter. How could Kane possibly have found parts identical to mine when my own were still installed? And even if he did, under the exact same conditions, why did my car explode? I wracked my brain, replaying that day in my mind. Kane was a master of self-promotion, always surrounded by a swarm of fans. He never had a chance to get near my car. But the person on his arm at that time… It was my fiancée, Bella. An invisible hand squeezed my heart. Eight years together. I was so sure we were going to exchange rings. Instead, she had stood by the man who framed me and cut short my life. I couldn’t dwell on it now. I shook my head, clearing the chaotic thoughts. I began disassembling the car, removing every custom part. I had poured three years of my life into this machine. I loved these cold, metal components. It wasn’t easy to let them go. But then the image of my parents flashed in my mind—leaping from my hospital window, with me powerless to even claim their bodies. My hands moved faster. Once the parts were removed, I pulled a dusty collection of components from a storage locker. This was my original design—a masterpiece in its own right. But my obsession with perfection had led me to dream up a new, nearly flawless version, the one I had just dismantled. Even with my stolen specs, Kane couldn’t match my skill on the track. He’d need a rocket ship to beat me. Within minutes, the car was reassembled with the older parts. I’d made a few tweaks, and the overall performance had jumped significantly. It was a panther, coiled and ready to strike. Elated, I sent the new specs to Mitch. The situation had developed too quickly, and I was the only one in the garage. Not even a master thief could copy me this time. I had just started to relax when Mitch appeared again, his face bone-white. A terrible premonition washed over me. “Kane…” Mitch’s voice was strained. “He just posted online about his ‘original concept.’ The specs… they’re identical to the version you just built.” “Impossible!” I snatched his phone. On the screen, Kane was speaking with a wistful look on his face. “Honestly, when I first reached this stage, I thought it was perfect. But then… someone stole a key component. I had no choice but to create the newer, more flawless version you see today.” I refreshed the official race page. Kane’s vehicle specs had been updated to match my new build. His fans lauded him as a resilient genius. My face grew paler with every comment I read. How could this be? A significant portion of the parts in this build were vintage, off-the-market components I had found in a rural junkyard. I had spent months grinding and lubricating them, and only a few had become usable. I’d picked the best one. A part that, by sheer chance, had its edges perfectly rounded by a rainwater leak while in storage, allowing for a seamless fit with the machinery. The odds of replicating that were astronomical. And the part Kane had… its specs were identical to my single best one. A statistical impossibility. I opened the hood and carefully removed that very component. It felt warm in my palm. Could this be it? The source of the explosion? The memories of the endless nights spent perfecting it, and the lonely curses in the hospital room, swirled in my head. I walked silently to the furnace, the component clutched in my hand. As the workshop crew watched in dismay, I tossed it into the flames. Hearing the sound of it melting, I turned without hesitation and went back to my garage. This time, I would only choose the path that gave me the advantage. 3 Mitch watched me do it all, his eyes brimming with tears. After all, I had just personally destroyed the only two working designs I had left. “Blaze… what do we do now?” I took his phone and glanced at the screen. As expected, fans were already swarming my comments section, parroting Kane’s bravado. “Not so tough now, are you? Kane released all his specs. You’re hiding yours because you know you can’t compete. Just drop out!” “This guy’s style was always a cheap knock-off of Kane’s. He probably copied his way to the top and is panicking now that the specs have to be public!” … In minutes, they had tried and convicted me online. Then, my own phone buzzed. A message from Bella, who hadnt spoken to me in days. My brow furrowed. “Stop messing with those machine parts. Come out and have some fun with me tonight.” I hadn’t told her what I was doing. And she knew I needed absolute focus before a race; she never bothered me during this time. But now, she was spamming me with a chain of messages, using every excuse to lure me out of the garage. A voice message came through, her tone laced with a sob. “Blaze, give up. If you keep going like this, you’re going to die!” I simply closed my phone and said to Mitch with a faint smile, “It’s fine. There’s still time. I’ll make another one.” I took a deep breath and set my phone to Do Not Disturb. I sat back down at my workbench. I started from scratch, designing and building based on the standard parts I had on hand. This was, by far, the simplest build I had ever done. It took only two hours. As I compiled the data to send to Mitch for review, I lit a cigarette and collected my thoughts. On the surface, this was an intermediate, entry-level build—the kind a rich kid would buy to get into the sport. But I had altered one crucial aspect. This was a sleeper build. It looked basic, but once it hit a professional track, its performance would surge to its absolute maximum in an instant. It was a dangerous, high-risk technique—a masterpiece of desperate genius I had conceptualized during my ten years of torment in that hospital bed. Kane had never lived my hell. He would never see the secret hidden within the design. The next second, my phone buzzed with a notification. A “special feature” from Kane’s team. “We’ve heard some of our fans want to get into racing! As a special treat before the championship, Kane has designed this exclusive starter model. For anyone interested, now’s your chance!~” My hands started to tremble. I couldn’t even bring myself to open the message from Mitch confirming my fears. It was impossible. It couldn’t be this coincidental. I had just finished it. Kane, who had been out and about all afternoon, had somehow instantly produced an identical design, right down to its functions and its strengths and weaknesses. Clenching my fists, I tapped open the detailed specs. The same. The same. Everything was exactly the same. A sliver of hope remained. As long as Kane hadn’t discovered the final, crucial secret of the build, he would use my previous, more powerful design in the race. If he did, I could clear my name. With that thought, I immediately opened the official race website. The data flashed before my eyes for a second, and then—the site went down for maintenance. CRACK! Mitch slammed his fist into the wall. “Damn it, Kane!” he roared. “It has to be him, pulling some strings again!” “Once the data is uploaded, it can’t be changed! How is the committee letting him get away with this over and over again?! I’m gonna go find someone and take him down!” I looked up from the sea of scattered parts on the floor, my face a dark mask. “No. The organizers… I have to see them myself.”

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I am a coffin-born child. A local seer read my fate and declared I was born under a shadowed moon, unlikely to survive my eighth winter. If I was to have any hope of a long life, I needed a patron—a guardian to shelter me from the darkness that clung to my soul. On the day I turned one month old, my father was to follow the seer’s instructions to the letter. He was to hold me, his eyes squeezed shut, and walk from our doorstep, scattering a trail of ash and salt with every step. After one hundred paces, he was to open his eyes. The first thing he saw, whatever it was, would become my guardian. That day, as my father stepped out into the world with me in his arms, the heavens seemed to curdle. A freak storm had swollen the river, and the torrent had torn a chunk out of the old hillside cemetery, dislodging the ancient graves. He walked his hundred paces. When he opened his eyes, he was staring at a casket. A massive, blood-red casket, bobbing silently in the floodwater before him. 1 My name is Luna. I was born on the fifteenth of July, a night of the full moon, hence the name. The old-timers in our town, Blackwood Creek, sometimes call me “Half-Moon,” a grim little joke I wouldn’t understand until much later. My mother’s labor was a nightmare. It ended with her death. It should have been my death, too. The town midwife, a woman who’d seen more than her share of sorrow, warned my father that the spirit of a woman who dies in childbirth is a restless, vengeful thing. A mother and child lost together? That was a curse of the highest order. She insisted my mother be laid in her coffin immediately and moved to the old parish morgue on the outskirts of town. But in the dead of night, I clawed my way out of my mother’s womb. Old Man Silas, the part-time caretaker of the morgue, was nursing a bottle of cheap whiskey when he heard an infant’s cry coming from inside the coffin. The sound sobered him up faster than a slap to the face. He was sure it was a ghost. My father was the fourth son in his family, so everyone just called him “Four.” Silas, his hands trembling, called out into the gloom. “Martha, lass… whatever I did to you, it’s not on me! Don’t you be havin’ a go at an old man!” he stammered. “You… you leave me be! I’ll burn some extra candles for you, how about that?” He lit candles and incense, but the baby’s cries only grew stronger, more insistent. A thought struck Silas. Could it be… Martha ain’t dead? He scrambled to pry open the coffin lid. There I was, nestled between my mother’s legs, slick with blood and still attached to the afterbirth. “A corpse… giving birth?” Silas was so stunned he forgot to even pick me up. He just grabbed his lantern and sprinted through the dark towards our house. “Thomas! Thomas, open up!” he hollered, banging on the door. “It’s your wife! Your Martha… she’s had the baby!” My father, my grandparents, and half the neighbors were in our small house, making grim preparations for a funeral. When they heard Silas screaming that my dead mother had given birth, a fresh wave of fear washed over them. “Silas, what nonsense are you spouting?” one of the neighbors called out. “We carried Martha to the morgue ourselves not five hours ago!” “Yeah, you’ve had too much to drink, old man. The dead don’t have babies.” “Wait a minute,” another voice whispered. “They say on a full moon in July, the veil is thin. What if that ain’t really Silas at the door? What if it’s a spirit?” The suggestion hung in the air, chilling everyone to the bone. My father’s voice shook. “Uncle Silas… it’s not that we don’t believe you, but… can you prove it’s really you? How do we know you’re not… something else?” Silas, a respected elder in our small community, was furious. “You listen here, you little punk!” he roared. “When you were four years old, you fell into the septic tank! If I hadn’t been passing by to pull you out, you’d still be in there eating shit! You think I’d lie about something this big? Your wife had the baby!” My father’s face relaxed slightly. “It’s really him,” he breathed, and unbolted the door. But his anxiety returned in a rush. “Uncle, are you saying Martha… she’s not dead?” Silas’s expression softened with pity. “The mother’s gone, son. But there’s a little one in that coffin, and she’s crying her lungs out. I thought I was seeing things, but I swear on my life, there’s a baby in there.” “Come on,” he urged. “No more talk. Let’s go.” The sheer impossibility of it all—a baby born from a corpse—overwhelmed their fear with a morbid curiosity. A procession of a dozen people, armed with lanterns and torches made from split bamboo, made their way to the morgue. By the time they arrived, my cries had weakened to faint whimpers. Acting on pure instinct, I had crawled up my mother’s body and was suckling at her breast. When the townsfolk opened the coffin, that was the sight that greeted them. Me, nursing from my dead mother, whose eyes were wide open, as if she couldn’t rest until she knew I was safe. My grandmother gasped and quickly lifted me out. “She really did it… I thought the baby was gone with her.” She gently reached down and closed my mother’s eyes. “Rest now, Martha,” she whispered. “I swear I’ll raise this child right. You can go in peace.” My father fell to his knees beside the coffin, his forehead hitting the wooden floor. “Martha… you gave your life for her. I’ll raise our daughter, I swear it. I’ll never take another wife. You can rest now.” And with that, my mother’s eyes finally stayed closed. Father Michael, the local man of the cloth who’d been brought in to perform the last rites, pushed through the crowd. “Quickly, is it a boy or a girl?” My grandmother, having just cut the umbilical cord and wrapped me in her shawl, looked up. “A girl, Father. Why?” Father Michael’s brow furrowed. “Born on the fifteenth of July, at the third stroke of midnight. Her birth signs are all shadowed, and being a girl only deepens the connection to that darkness.” He ticked off points on his fingers. “She was born in a coffin, from a body that had passed. She’s been touched by death. It will be a miracle if she survives.” He paused, his eyes grave. “Her eighth year… there will be a great trial, a calamity that will seek to claim her.” “What?” My father, who had loved my mother since they were teenagers, was already broken by her death. The thought of losing me too was more than he could bear. He scrambled forward, grabbing at the priest’s robes. “Father! You have to save my daughter! She’s all I have left of Martha! If anything happens to her, how can I ever face my wife in the afterlife?” Father Michael stroked his beard. “Get up, son. There is a way. But you must do exactly as I say…” 2 After a week of prayers and rituals, my father laid my mother to rest. Then, on the day I turned one month old, he began the ritual Father Michael had prescribed. He held me close, his eyes squeezed shut, and started walking from our front door, leaving a trail of ash and salt behind him. The seer had been clear: one hundred steps. No more, no less. When he opened his eyes, the first thing he saw would be my patron, my guardian, whose spiritual strength I could borrow to survive. He had barely taken a few steps when the sky darkened, and a fierce wind whipped through the valley. It snatched the ashes from his hand, sending them swirling like a swarm of gray butterflies. The river beside the path was raging, and in the distance, he could hear shouts. Something about a landslide, a mudslide, the old cemetery on the hill collapsing. Temptation gnawed at him. He wanted to open his eyes, to see what was happening, but Father Michael’s warning echoed in his mind. Not until the hundredth step. He gritted his teeth and pushed on. He walked, wondering what he would see. A tree? A stone? Please, not a toad… Just as he took the hundredth step, I let out a happy gurgle in his arms. My father opened his eyes. And there it was. A massive, blood-red casket, carried by the churning river, had drifted to a stop right in front of him. It was uncanny. The coffin had been moving with the current, but as it drew level with my father, it simply… stopped. He stood there, clutching me, a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead. His first instinct was to turn and run. But then he remembered the seer’s words: The first thing you see. For my sake, for the promise he’d made to my mother, he took a deep breath. He bowed his head, holding me out towards the crimson coffin. “To whoever rests within,” he began, his voice shaking. “I don’t know your name… but our meeting here must be fate. My daughter… she has had a hard start. Her mother is gone. The seer said she needs a patron, a guardian to borrow strength from, just to live. I’m asking you… please, be my daughter’s guardian.” It was a coffin washed down from the old hills, who knew how old it was, what ancestor it held. But he was desperate. He would take the chance. He never expected a response. But as the words left his lips, the piece of red paper with my birth details, tucked into my swaddling, fluttered up and landed softly on the coffin lid. Slowly, the lid began to slide open. A figure sat up inside. It was a woman, dressed in a magnificent, blood-red gown, a coronet of black jet and pearl on her head. Her face was as pale as porcelain, but her lips were the color of fresh blood. Her eyes, dark and intelligent, were unnervingly alive, and a strange, knowing smile played on her lips. Those eyes held a power that rooted my father to the spot, his legs turning to jelly. Then, she spoke, her voice a low, melodic hum that seemed to echo from another time. “If it is fate, then so be it. This child shall be my goddaughter.” She looked at me. “Born on the half-moon of July? We shall call her Half-Moon. Easy to remember.” My father stared, his mind reeling. “You… what are you? A person or a ghost?” The woman’s smile widened. She rose from the coffin, not climbing, but floating, landing weightlessly on the muddy bank before him. She looked down at him, her presence overwhelming. A long, crimson fingernail, sharp as a talon, gently traced the line of my jaw. “Neither person,” she purred, “nor ghost.” Her eyes glinted. “I am… a corpse.” “Aaaah!” A terrified scream tore from my father’s throat, but his body was frozen, as if encased in concrete. His hands trembled so violently he could barely hold me. The woman reached out and took me from his arms, cradling me against her chest. I, a one-month-old infant, felt no fear. In fact, I was drawn to her, to the cold, ancient scent that clung to her. I snuggled into her embrace and gurgled happily, nuzzling against her as if searching for milk. My reaction seemed to amuse her. “Clever girl. Your godmother has no milk for you, but I cannot let my daughter go hungry.” She reached up to her coronet and plucked a pearl from it—a magnificent orb that glowed with its own cold, internal light. She placed it in my father’s trembling hand. “Go,” she commanded. “Take this to the city. Find my daughter the finest wet nurse money can buy.” She gently patted my cheek. “Be good, little Half-Moon. You’ll have your milk soon.” 3 The woman—my new godmother—commanded my father to take the luminous pearl to the city and exchange it for money. With me held hostage in her cold embrace, he had no choice but to obey. But a new fear gripped him. “But… I’m just a poor farmer,” he stammered, his face pale. “How can I explain possessing something so valuable? If someone asks where I got it, what do I say?” “Leave the town,” the woman said, her voice leaving no room for argument. “Take a carriage to the provincial capital. Find the street called ‘The Gilded Span’ and look for a shop named ‘White’s Emporium of Antiquities.’ The proprietor is a man named White. You will ask him for five thousand silver dollars.” The sum struck my father like a physical blow. In those days, a good year of farming might earn a man a few dozen dollars. Five thousand was an unimaginable fortune. “I… I can’t!” he panicked. “I wouldn’t dare!” The woman laughed, a sound like cracking ice. “You are not afraid of me, yet you fear the living?” She flicked her wrist, and a flicker of red light, like a spark, shot from her finger and sank into my father’s hand. “Fear not. No one will harm you. Just go.” My father, now more afraid of refusing than of obeying, set off for the city with the pearl. The old saying, “an innocent man with a treasure is a magnet for thieves,” echoed in his twenty-year-old mind. He clutched the priceless pearl, his heart pounding with every step. He caught a neighbor’s ox-cart to the county seat, then boarded a train for a three-day journey to the capital. It was his first time in a big city. The towering buildings and bustling streets were a world away from Blackwood Creek, but the thought of me in the clutches of that undead creature spurred him on. He asked for directions and made a beeline for White’s Emporium. The shop was an imposing, multi-story building with a grand, carved sign. It dealt in antiques, art, and artifacts of immense value. The owner, Mr. White, was rumored to be the wealthiest man in the southern province, a descendant of a high-ranking official from the old imperial court—a master of forgotten arts. When my father stated his business at the door, the shopkeeper looked him up and down, sizing up his rough-spun clothes and worn boots. He spat out a few lines of coded trade-speak. When my father couldn’t answer, the man’s face soured with contempt. “Listen, kid, do you have any idea what kind of establishment this is?” he sneered. “We don’t just let any riff-raff in. We don’t deal in stolen or undocumented goods. Be on your way.” He had my father shoved out the door and, as an afterthought, tossed two copper coins on the ground. “You look hungry. Buy yourself some bread and go home.” My father had left home with barely enough money for the journey, and had been eating scraps to save his return fare. He was shocked that even the act of throwing him out came with a two-penny charity. He picked up the coins, tears welling in his eyes. “Sir, I’m not lying,” he pleaded. “I have something truly special for your master. My daughter… she’s with… her. She’s just a month old, and her mother is gone. If I fail, my little girl will die!” He thrust his sleeve forward, pulling it back just enough to reveal a sliver of the pearl’s cold, otherworldly glow. The shopkeeper’s eyes went wide. “That’s…” “Please, sir,” my father begged, “just tell him I’m here. I, Thomas Croft, will spend the next life as your beast of burden to repay the kindness!” Moved by his desperation and the undeniable authenticity in his eyes, the shopkeeper relented and went to fetch his master. Mr. White of the Emporium looked to be a man in his forties, impeccably dressed in a tailored Western suit and tie, holding a polished cane like an English gentleman. When he saw the pearl in my father’s hand, his professional calm shattered. He seized my father’s wrist, his eyes burning with intensity. “Where did you get this?” he demanded. His fierce gaze terrified my father. “She… she told me not to say,” he stammered. “She only said to ask you, Mr. White… if you would buy it.” Mr. White’s brow furrowed. He studied my father for a long moment, then his grip loosened. “I will,” he said, his tone softening. “How much does she want?” My father, abashed, could barely speak the words. He held up five fingers. “Five… five thousand silver dollars.” Mr. White took the pearl, examining it with a jeweler’s loupe. Without looking up, he gestured to the shopkeeper. “Arthur, go to the vault. Get him five thousand.” My father couldn’t believe his ears. Five thousand dollars, just like that? Seeing his stunned expression, Mr. White clapped him on the shoulder with a friendly smile. “An excellent piece, young man.” “If you ever come across anything else of this quality,” he added, “be sure to bring it to White’s Emporium first. If I’m not here, Arthur will take care of you. Whatever you have, I’ll buy it.” 4 Mr. White not only bought the pearl but also treated my father to a lavish meal. After a few glasses of wine, he started talking more freely, treating my father like an old friend. “Thomas, my boy, I won’t lie to you,” he said, leaning in. “This pearl… it’s from an ancient tomb. Hundreds of years old, at least.” “A gem of this size and quality,” he continued, “is something reserved for royalty, for kings and emperors. This piece… it came from an imperial mausoleum, didn’t it?” As he spoke, his eyes were fixed on my father, searching for any flicker of confirmation. But my father just waved his hand dismissively. “An emperor’s tomb? Nothing like that! We’re from a poor, forgotten corner of the country…” He trailed off, remembering the woman’s warning: Sell the pearl and return immediately. He quickly stood up. “Thank you for your hospitality, Mr. White, but my daughter is waiting for me. I must be going.” Mr. White didn’t press him. He offered to arrange a ride, but my father refused. The shopkeeper, Arthur, gave him a bundle of dried rations for the journey home. My father sewed the five thousand dollars in bank notes into the lining of his old coat and left without a moment’s delay. He didn’t know that the moment he stepped out of White’s Emporium, he was marked. A gang of thieves had been watching the shop. Four of them, led by a sharp-eyed woman. They weren’t common pickpockets; they specialized in robbing people coming out of high-end antique shops and pawn brokers. My father, with his shabby clothes and nervous demeanor, screamed “big score.” The first one, a wiry man named Finn, bumped into my father “accidentally.” As he did, he slit open the cloth bundle my father was carrying. A pile of hard, coarse oatcakes spilled onto the dusty street. My father cried out in dismay, tears in his eyes. “My cakes! My oatcakes!” Finn feigned embarrassment. “Oh, terribly sorry, friend. Just an accident. They’re all dirty now, you should probably just leave them.” My father, good-hearted and unsuspecting, shook his head. “No, no, sir. These were a gift. They’re made with good flour. We don’t even get to eat this well at Christmas back in my village. I’ll just dust them off.” Finn was bewildered. He’s in the capital city, and he’s not buying himself a decent meal? He’s crying over oatcakes? My father pulled a few copper coins from his pocket. “To be honest, sir, I came to the city on an errand for an elder. I didn’t bring much money. This is just enough for my train ticket back. The shopkeeper gave me these two coins out of pity. When I get to the county seat, I won’t even have money for the cart ride home. I’ll have to walk half a day through the mountains.” Finn was now seriously questioning his life choices. Had the boss been wrong? Was this kid actually broke? He reported back to his leader, a woman named Sadie. She remained unconvinced. She sent Finn to watch the city while she and her other two men, Gus and Jed, bought tickets for the same train as my father. Jed was rail-thin and had a nervous stutter, but he was a fearsome brawler, a master of a strange, jerky fighting style. “B-b-boss,” he stammered, “th-th-that kid… h-he won’t even s-s-spend money on a c-c-cup of water. Y-you s-sure he’s got the goods?” Sadie, idly flipping a small, wicked-looking blade between her fingers, was certain. “He’s got it. I can smell the money on him. And who is Mr. White? He doesn’t waste his time on just anyone. That kid was in there for two hours. He made a big deal.” Gus, the third man, wasn’t a fighter but an expert with knockout drugs. “Even if you’re trying to be discreet,” he mused, “you wouldn’t be that cheap, would you? He’s been gnawing on those oatcakes for three days. I’m getting a sore throat just watching him.” Sadie shot him a look. “Then why don’t you go offer him a drink?” Gus understood. He got a tin cup of water from the train attendant, stirred in a dose of sleeping powder, and approached my father. “Friend, you look familiar,” he said, perfectly mimicking the accent of our region. “You from Redding County too?” The train’s final stop was Redding, and after three days of tailing him, they had the local dialect down pat. My father’s eyes lit up. “Mister, you’re from Redding too?” Gus smiled. “Well, my grandmother is. From Hawk’s Hollow, over by the dam. And you?” My father, overjoyed to meet someone from “back home,” immediately told him everything. “I’m from Blackwood Creek, by the old bridge! That’s only a few miles from there!” “Well, what do you know,” Gus chuckled. “Small world. You must be thirsty, eating those dry cakes. Here, have some water. I just got it.” 5 My father was hesitant. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly…” “Don’t be a stranger,” Gus insisted. “For all we know, your family and my grandma’s could be cousins.” My father took the cup and drank, then, not wanting to take without giving, he offered Gus two of his oatcakes. “Here, you have some! They’re delicious! A friend in the city gave them to me. We never get to eat food this good back home.” He wasn’t lying. In those lean years, with crushing rents and taxes, most families in our village survived on boiled yams and wild greens. A bit of grain in a watery soup was a luxury. He had been saving those oatcakes. Gus, not wanting to break character, took one and bit down. The dry, gritty texture was like swallowing sandpaper. He started choking, his face turning red. If my father hadn’t quickly handed him back the cup of water, he might have passed out. “Ahem… cough… My friend,” Gus wheezed, “you can actually eat this stuff?” My father just smiled a sad, simple smile. “Mister, you’ve never known a hard day, have you?” Gus froze, suddenly paranoid. Had this simple farm boy seen through his act? He mumbled an excuse and beat a hasty retreat. He reported back to Sadie. “Boss, that kid’s not as simple as he looks. I almost blew my cover. He seems naive, but I think he’s got a sharp mind.” Now, only Sadie and Jed hadn’t shown their faces to my father. Jed frowned. “Boss, did we really get it wrong?” But Sadie was stubborn. “We’ve followed this kid all this way. I’m not leaving empty-handed. Jed, we’ll do it the old way.” Jed nodded. They got off the train at the next stop and took a shortcut to head my father off on the mountain path back to our village. Sadie, though a gang leader, was only in her early twenties. She braided her hair, smudged some dirt on her face, and could easily pass for a teenager. Jed, with his naturally cruel-looking face, played his part perfectly. He grabbed Sadie’s arm, twisting it until she cried out in real pain. “You little tramp! Thought you could run, did you?” he snarled as my father approached on the path. “Your father owes me five hundred dollars in gambling debts! He sold you to me to clear the slate! I was gonna make you my seventh wife!” “You want to run?” he spat. “Pay the debt first!” Sadie fell to her knees, sobbing. “Mr. Owens, please, let me go! I’ll work like a slave to pay you back! I’m too young, I don’t want to be your wife!” Jed slapped her hard across the face. “Five hundred silver dollars! You think you can ever earn that much? I’m telling you right now, you either pay the money, come be my wife, or I’ll sell you to the nearest brothel! You choose!” My father saw this and his blood boiled. This was pure bullying. He stepped between them, shielding Sadie. “You have a debt with her father, you take it up with him! What kind of man bullies a young girl?” “Even if she owes you money, you have no right to hit her! Can’t you talk things out civilly?” Jed, with his beady, rat-like eyes, saw his prey had taken the bait. He grabbed my father by the collar. “And who’s this bum? Her boyfriend? You want to be the hero, huh? Then you pay her debt!” My father froze. He didn’t have any money. “H-how much?” Jed held up a hand, five fingers splayed. “Five hundred silver dollars. Not a penny less!” Behind him, Sadie clutched at my father’s sleeve. “Mister, please, save me! I don’t want to marry him!” My father felt a wave of dizziness wash over him. Five hundred? Do I look like I have five hundred dollars? He had five thousand sewn into his coat, but that was my ransom money, my life. He couldn’t touch a single dollar of it. All he had to his name were a few oatcakes and the two copper coins the shopkeeper had thrown at him. My father’s bewildered response stunned Sadie and Jed. Could he really be a broke, simple-minded fool who didn’t even have five hundred dollars? They exchanged a look. Jed decided to force the issue. He kicked my father to the ground, straddled him, and slapped him twice. “No money? Then what are you playing the big shot for? Let’s see what you’ve really got on you!” He started tearing at my father’s coat. The coat was old, the cotton fabric thin and brittle. It ripped easily. Panicked that the money sewn inside would be revealed, my father threw up his hands to protect his chest. As he did, a brilliant red light flashed from his wrist. Jed was flung backward as if hit by a cannonball, flying through the air and crashing into a tree thick as a man’s waist. The trunk splintered. Jed crumpled to the ground, coughing up blood. He stared at my father in disbelief and terror. “You… you…” 6 My father was as shocked as anyone by his own power. He remembered the red spark the woman had shot into his wrist before he left. Had she known? Had she foreseen this? Sadie, seeing her man taken down, was furious, but it only confirmed her suspicion: my father was no simpleton. He had been playing dumb all along, hiding his true strength. She grabbed my father’s arm. “Come on, let’s go!” He was dazed. “What? What about him?” “He’s a wicked man, he got what he deserved,” Sadie said urgently. “Besides, what if he tries to blame you for this? Do you have the money to pay for his injuries?” My father felt a pang of guilt about leaving a man injured, but Sadie painted a picture of Jed as a monster who preyed on the weak.

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The third time Professor Pierce ignored my question, a live feed materialized in front of me, text scrolling through the air. 「Go, hero, go! A true gentleman, ignores everyone but Sera. 10/10.」 「Get lost, you snake. Stop getting in the way of Julian and Sera’s epic romance!」 One comment, glowing a furious red, stood out. 「Seriously? He’s a professor. It’s his job to answer questions. If he only wants to teach the heroine, he should just offer private tutoring.」 And that’s when it hit me. I was the villainess of this story, denied even the right to ask the male lead a simple question. The moment I understood, I dropped his class and found a new mentor. Later, after I won the Grand Championship in the Mech Artificer competition and became the nation’s newest Grandmaster, Julian Pierce appeared on stage, his arms full of flowers, his eyes soft. “Luna,” he said, “if you ever have any technical questions, you know you can always come to me.” I offered him a smile as distant as a dying star. “I have my own master to answer my questions, but thank you. Perhaps you should use this time to comfort your dear Sera. She looks like she’s about to cry.” It seems that without the villainess to drive the plot, the hero and heroine’s halos don’t shine quite so brightly. 1 “Professor, I have a question. Why does this set of components keep slipping after assembly?” It was the Q&A session in Mech Engineering, Section 7. I was the first to raise my hand, eager to ask Professor Julian Pierce for help. His eyes flickered over me for a fraction of a second before moving on, settling on Seraphina, the girl in the front row who was dozing off. The moment his gaze landed on her, his expression softened. He tapped her desk, his voice a stern but gentle caress. “Miss Seraphina, do you have any questions?” I blinked, stunned, and raised my hand a little higher. “Professor, I have a—” A soft groan from Seraphina cut me off. She stretched luxuriously, yawned, and then looked up at him with a bewildered expression. “A question? About what? This assembly is so simple. Don’t you know how to do it, Professor?” The class erupted in laughter. Professor Pierce sighed, a look of helpless fondness on his face. “Go back to sleep.” He addressed the class again. “If there are no other questions, that’s all for today. Go to the materials lab, pick up one set of Part Five and one set of Part Six. Assemble them at home. I’ll check them tomorrow.” I shot to my feet, my voice rising. “Professor, I have a question!” It was as if he couldn’t hear me. He cast one last look at Seraphina, who was already slumped back over her desk, and then turned and walked out of the classroom. I sank back into my seat, a hot wave of humiliation and anger washing over me. Why did he always ignore me? Every single time I tried to ask him something, he acted as if I didn’t exist. If he treated everyone this way, it might not have stung so much. But his favoritism toward Seraphina was blatant. If Sera had a question, he would answer with infinite patience. If she didn’t, he would personally ask if she understood the lesson. We were all his students. Why the hell was he treating us so differently? It made me burn with jealousy, and I couldn’t help but resent her for it. As my glare threatened to bore a hole through her back, the feed appeared again, words drifting in the air before me. 「Yes, King! Protect your queen! He only has eyes for Sera.」 2 I stared at the floating text. King? Were they talking about Professor Pierce? 「Ugh, that snake Luna needs to just disappear. Stop getting in the way of Julian and Sera’s relationship!」 I’m Luna. Since when was I a snake? And a relationship? They’d only known each other for a week. Another comment, this one in bold red, scrolled past, echoing my own thoughts. 「This is messed up. A professor’s duty is to teach his students. If he’s only going to focus on the heroine, he should just be her private tutor.」 Exactly! That’s exactly right! If you’re a teacher, you treat everyone the same. Why should Seraphina get special treatment? The lines of text kept coming, and with them, the answer. We were living in a novel. And I was the designated villainess. In this story, I was in love with Julian Pierce. I couldn’t stand seeing him be so kind to Seraphina, so I constantly targeted her. According to the feed, my next move was to steal her materials to make her fail the assignment. But the plot would twist. She would use the incomplete set of materials to build an even more powerful component, shattering the existing performance records for that part. Her genius would catch the eye of a legendary Grandmaster, who would take her on as his personal apprentice. Meanwhile, the component I slaved over all night wouldn’t even be deemed worthy of testing before being tossed into the recycling bin. Right on cue, we were all collecting our materials. If you weren’t eating in the campus dining hall, you could go home. Seraphina casually tossed her materials onto her desk, patted her stomach, and smacked her lips. She nudged her deskmate. “Kira, dining hall?” Her deskmate was Kira, an ice queen who preferred to be alone. I had tried to be friendly with her several times, but she’d given me the cold shoulder. Now, after less than a week of knowing Seraphina, she was like a different person. Her frosty eyes seemed to melt. Though her expression remained neutral, her voice was soft. “Yeah.” The feed went wild. 「See? No one can resist our sunshine girl, Sera!」 「Anyone else: ‘Get lost.’ Sera asks: ‘Yeah.’ The ice queen and the sunshine girl. I ship it.」 「LOL, Luna the snake is about to have a meltdown!」 I’ll admit, it stung. My family was wealthy, and I’d been doted on my entire life. I was used to having a circle of “friends” constantly trying to win my favor. I’d never been the one to initiate friendship. Except for with Julian Pierce. And with Kira. And both of them treated me with utter disdain while putting Seraphina on a pedestal. How could I not be furious? As I watched them walk away, I clenched my jaw and glanced at Seraphina’s materials. Just as they reached the door, Kira paused. “You’re just leaving your stuff on the desk? Will it be okay?” Seraphina stuck out her tongue. “What could happen? Let’s go, let’s go, I’m starving!” The feed flashed a warning. 「Sera, baby, be careful! The snake is about to steal your parts!」 「Go, brave Sera! No fear! Even if Luna steals her stuff, Sera will do it a hundred times better!」 Steal? My pride would never let me stoop so low. I gave the materials one last look, then turned and walked out. I’d like to see how the girl who slept through the entire lecture was going to do a hundred times better than me. 3 “Look, there’s a sliding mechanism here. You have to push this piece in, then lock the component underneath into place. That should do it.” Professor Alan Shaw, the instructor for Section 1, patiently explained the solution to my problem. The light bulb went on in my head. I followed his instructions, and the assembly clicked together perfectly. “Thank you, Professor Shaw!” I beamed. He waved it off. “It’s a common mistake. Most students overlook that detail and fail the assembly. The fact that you noticed it on your first try is impressive.” I lifted my chin proudly. I was, after all, the top-ranked student in the Mech Engineering department. It wasn’t just for show. But according to the feed, I wouldn’t be number one for long. My grades were about to plummet because I’d become so consumed with envy and hatred for Seraphina that I’d forget to improve myself. As if, I thought. I’m not stupid enough to waste my time trying to sabotage her. Why would I target another talented woman over a man with questionable professional ethics? Was I insane? Speaking of which, how did she create that higher-performance component? Was it possible that this assembly didn’t actually require all these materials? With that question burning in my mind, I started disassembling the part I had just completed. Professor Shaw looked puzzled. “That was a solid build. It would have tested above 90% efficiency. Why are you taking it apart?” Mechs are graded from Level 1 to 10, with each level having low, mid, and high-tier classifications. Components are the same. A part needs at least 80% performance data to be usable. Below 85% is low-grade, 85-90% is mid-grade, and above 90% is high-grade. The Part Six we received today was for a Level 2 mech. The current market record for it was 96.8%. But in the novel, Seraphina’s version reached an astonishing 98.91%. I don’t deny that geniuses exist. But I’m one of them. If she could do it, so could I. I pressed my lips together. “I want to see if I can do better.” A smile of appreciation spread across Professor Shaw’s face. “I like your spirit. That’s a great attitude to have.” His tone then became a little wistful. “Why did you transfer to Section 7, anyway? With your grades, Section 1 is a much better fit.” I was originally in Section 1. I only transferred because of Julian Pierce. Three years ago, my family was taken hostage by star pirates during a vacation. Julian, a mech pilot at the time, led the rescue team that saved us. He fulfilled every fantasy I ever had about a hero. I worshipped him. As I got older, that worship blossomed into a crush. When I found out he was teaching at my academy—in Section 7—I immediately requested a transfer to be closer to him. It had only taken one week to shatter that perfect image. “Professor Shaw, you’re right,” I said. “Section 1 is a better fit. Can I apply to transfer back?” 4 Professor Shaw’s eyes lit up. He immediately pulled open a drawer and started rummaging for a form. “Of course! Anytime! You keep working on your component, I’ll fill out the transfer application for you!” Watching him scribble away eagerly, I couldn’t help but smile. Whatever the feed said, I had no intention of being a supporting character in someone else’s story. I didn’t care how their plot developed. My goal was, and always had been, singular: to become a Grandmaster Artificer. … I didn’t sleep that night. I assembled and disassembled the two parts over and over, until my hands were raw and blistered. But finally, I discovered a new method. As dawn broke, I headed to the academy with dark circles under my eyes, carrying my finished components to find Professor Shaw for data testing. When he saw the pile of leftover materials I hadn’t used, his jaw nearly hit the floor. He rushed me to the testing lab and placed my component in the diagnostic machine. Three seconds later, a set of numbers lit up the display. 5 “Who took Miss Seraphina’s materials? If you come forward now, I’ll overlook it. But if I find out who it was…” I was five minutes late for class. As I reached the door, I heard Professor Pierce’s cold, hard voice. “Then I will ensure that a student with such poor character is expelled from this academy.” What was going on? Did Seraphina’s materials go missing after all? I glanced around. Seraphina looked unconcerned, Kira looked indifferent, and the rest of the class just looked confused. The feed was scrolling frantically. 「Check the security cams, hurry! Before Luna deletes the footage!」 I rolled my eyes. I didn’t steal anything, why would I delete the footage? “Permission to enter,” I called out. Professor Pierce narrowed his eyes at me, not letting me in. “Miss Seraphina’s materials are missing. Are you aware of this?” I nodded. “I am now. You just said so.” He let out a long, meaningful “Ohhh.” Then he asked, “And what are your thoughts on the matter?” His tone and expression infuriated me. “She lost them, so she should find them. What other thoughts could I have? If you don’t know how, Professor, I’d be happy to help you pull the security footage.” My attitude seemed to surprise him. His brow furrowed. “Whoever dared to steal them wouldn’t be stupid enough to leave the footage behind.” “Speaking of which,” he said, his eyes locking onto mine, “why are you so late today? What were you doing?” He might as well have just announced to the entire class that my tardiness was due to me tampering with the security system. As expected, his words made every student in the room look at me with suspicion. The scrolling feed was just as annoying. 「Pierce is in protective husband mode!」 「Yes, King! You deserve a wife like her!」 I ignored him, walked straight into the classroom, and went to my seat. “What I do is my business, not yours,” I said coolly. “And as for the footage, even if it’s deleted, I can restore it. Just because you can’t, Professor, doesn’t mean I can’t. Don’t worry, I’ll get your precious Sera the justice she deserves.” Then, right in front of everyone, I made a call. “Dad, a student in my class lost something. Could you have someone pull the security footage for me?” After I hung up, Seraphina turned to look at me, her expression dismissive. “Luna, there’s no need to go to all that trouble. The materials are gone, so be it. I’ll just get another set and start over. I hope the professor can give me a little more time.” So this time, she had lost all her materials. She clasped her hands together, blinked playfully at Professor Pierce, and pouted. “Please?” He chuckled, completely charmed. “You. You just don’t care about anything, do you? But this is about more than just some missing parts.” I cut him off. “The components we build are collected by the factory. Not a single one can be missing.” The materials we used were supplied directly by a major mech corporation. The parts we made were sent directly back to them for use. “At its simplest, this is a case of missing materials. At its worst, it affects the trust and partnership between this academy and the corporation! This must be investigated thoroughly!” I had another reason for pushing this. My father was on the academy’s board of directors, and my mother owned the corporation. What was stolen was, essentially, my family’s property. Of course I wanted it found. I wanted to shove the truth in the faces of every single person who doubted me. With a directive from a board member, it took less than thirty minutes for the Dean of Students to arrive at Section 7 with security and the surveillance footage. Halfway through the video, I couldn’t help but laugh. “Seraphina, is this what you call ‘missing’?” 6 The security footage was crystal clear. After lunch, she had returned to the classroom, picked up her bag with the materials inside, and left. She still had them when she reached the academy gates. The Dean, a man of impressive resources, had even managed to obtain the public surveillance footage from outside the school. Seraphina boarded a hover-train and traveled to a mech parts factory where she worked part-time. At the factory gate, she met a gray-haired man who was wiping tears from his eyes. He was a worker there who had lost a set of materials he’d taken home to assemble. The parts were expensive, and he was terrified of having to pay for them and losing his job. When Seraphina learned the missing set was Part Six, her charitable spirit took over, and she gave him hers. With the truth revealed, Seraphina ducked her head in embarrassment. After a moment, she looked up, forcing a pained smile. “If I miss one assignment, the worst that can happen is a failing grade. But that man has a family to support. If he lost his job, how would they survive?” “I admit I shouldn’t have given away the materials,” she said, tears streaming down her face, “but when I saw him like that, I just couldn’t bear it…” I snorted. “I have no problem with you doing a good deed. But you shouldn’t use things that don’t belong to you to do it. And you shouldn’t have lied and said they were stolen. Without this video, every single student in this class would have been branded a potential thief because of your lie.” “You couldn’t bear to see that man get fired, but you could bear to see us carry the weight of a crime we didn’t commit?” Seraphina sobbed and apologized. “It’s my fault. I have no excuse. I’ll pay for the materials myself, as compensation to the school.” I scoffed. “You should pay for them. They were—” “Sera was just being kind!” Pierce cut me off, his voice sharp. “Is it a crime to do a good deed now? That’s enough, Luna. Stop wasting everyone’s time.” His hypocrisy made me laugh. “The ones wasting everyone’s time are you and Seraphina, aren’t they? One of you lies about being robbed, and the other stops class to play detective for her. Now you’re trying to pin the blame on me? Professor, try not to be such a staggering hypocrite.” My words left him with a face as dark as a thundercloud and her with a face as white as a sheet. Whatever lingering admiration I had for him completely evaporated in that moment. I had planned to stay for the rest of the class, but now I couldn’t stand to be in that room for another second. I gathered my things and walked toward the door. “Class is in session! Where do you think you’re going?” Pierce demanded.

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