Author: Momo Chan

During my half-sister’s birthday celebrations at Royal Ascot, I was discovered in a compromising position with the lowest of the Duke’s stable hands. Yet instead of panic, I demanded my sister—the Duchess of Westminster—sanction our union. In my first life, I had drunk drugged champagne at this very event, awakening in the arms of my brother-in-law, Sir Richard Astor. My sister Beatrice collapsed in hysterics, “dying” only after summoning me to her bedside to beg me to marry Richard and raise her children. I agreed, swallowing my shame. For years, I endured society’s scorn, managing the Astor estates with my own funds, raising her children as my own—until the day her son graduated Oxford and her daughter married a German prince. That was when Richard returned with Beatrice on his arm. He handed me an annulment. My stepchildren demanded I surrender my title. When shock triggered my “hysteria,” they bound me and threw me into the Thames. As I drowned, I heard Richard soothe Beatrice: “We only needed her labor.” Then—I woke. Back at Ascot, the drug’s heat coiling in my veins once more. 1 The familiar, searing heat in my blood confirmed it: I was reborn. It was the day of Lady Beatrice’s birthday fête, the day my life was stolen. With newfound clarity, I pressed the half-empty bottle of drugged champagne into the hands of a grasping opera singer, a subtle glance towards Sir Richard’s private box all the instruction she needed. Then, feigning panic, I grabbed the nearest stable hand and dragged him into an empty horse stall. In my past life, desperate to preserve my honor after realizing I’d been drugged, I had hidden myself away in a guest suite. I’d awoken to find Sir Richard beside me. Just as my own horror began to dawn, Beatrice had thrown open the doors, a crowd of London’s most notorious gossips at her back. The sight of us—me disheveled, him feigning confusion—sent her into a spectacular, apochryphal fit of hysterics from which she never “recovered.” Society branded me a vulgar opportunist, a savage Scot who had preyed upon her own grieving brother-in-law to climb the social ladder. On her “deathbed,” she had played the magnanimous saint, forgiving me, her only wish that I take her place. For the next decade, I had honored that wish. I served the old Duke and Duchess, raised the children, and never rested. When the Astor finances dwindled, I used my own dowry—the wealth from my mother’s Highland properties—to shore them up. Yet my stepchildren openly mocked me, calling me a bed-climbing harlot. Sir Richard treated me with utter contempt. On the rare occasions I conceived, he forced me to… end it, sneering that a woman of my “low birth” was unworthy of bearing an Astor heir. I exhausted my fortune and my health for them. And my reward? To be replaced by a miraculously resurrected Beatrice, still as beautiful as the day she had “died,” while I was a graying, broken woman. “Beatrice is back,” Richard had said, handing me the annulment papers. “You may go. I grant you permission to remarry.” “You were nothing but a bed-warmer,” my stepson had spat. “Did you really think you were the Duchess?” “If it weren’t for your depravity, our mother would never have been forced to leave us for all these years!” my stepdaughter had shrieked. The shock had sent me into a real fit this time, gasping for air. “Let her die,” my stepson had said, prodding my convulsing body with his boot. “It’s cleaner this way. No one can accuse the family of being cruel if she simply… expires.” “Indeed,” his sister had agreed. “Common blood is so fragile. It’s hardly our fault.” They left me on the banks of the Thames, not yet dead, to be swallowed by the tide. In the ethereal moments after, I heard Beatrice’s jealous whining. Had he ever truly loved me? Richard’s laugh was a cold comfort. “Love her? My dear, she was a tool. A placeholder to raise our children. My heart has only ever been yours. But thank God for her diligence. Her servitude gave you the peace you needed to heal, so that we may be together forever.” Now, in the present, I heard Beatrice’s voice approaching, thick with staged tears. “My own half-sister… I treated her as if she were my own blood. And yet, to marry into this family, she would seduce my husband.” “What am I to do?” she lamented to her audience. I quickly arranged my dress, hiding the stable boy behind me just as Beatrice’s footman kicked open the stall door. The guests gasped at the sight of me, my gown torn, my skin flushed. Beatrice, her eyes blazing with righteous fury, strode forward and ripped me away from my hiding spot. “Eleanor! Have I not been good to you?” “If you desired the Duke, you only had to tell me! I would have arranged for you to be his mistress! Why must you resort to such vulgar, common tactics?” Just as she prepared to clutch her heart and faint, I shoved the man from the shadows. It was, very clearly, not Sir Richard Astor. The crowd froze. In that stunned silence, I fell to my knees before Beatrice. “My lady sister,” I cried, my voice ringing with false desperation. “I have lost my honor to this man. I have no choice but to marry him. I beg you, as head of our family, to sanction this union!” 2 Beatrice froze, her hand, raised to strike me, hovering in mid-air. At that exact moment, one of Sir Richard’s valets came running, his face pale with panic. “Your Grace! You must come to the Duke’s private rooms at once!” “An opera singer… she claims the Duke has… compromised her! She was a virgin, she says, and now she demands satisfaction!” Every head turned. Beatrice’s face went white with rage. She shot me a look of pure venom before sweeping away, her gaggle of gossips trailing behind her. I quickly dressed and followed, eager to watch the fireworks. In the Duke’s rooms, the opera singer was on her knees, her dress artfully torn, weeping hysterically. Sir Richard stood by, attempting to straighten his cravat, his face a thundercloud. Beatrice grabbed the singer by the hair, looking as if she wanted to run her through with a hatpin. But she had an audience. She had to maintain her façade of the graceful, benevolent duchess. She asked the singer what she wanted. Money? Jewels? I stepped forward, fanning the flames. “Money and jewels? Surely her honor is worth more than that. The Duke must make her his mistress.” “My lady sister,” I continued, my voice dripping with concern, “you are so often unwell. Managing this great house is such a burden. Would not a mistress be a great help? Someone to share the load, to ease your mind?” Beatrice would never allow it. A mistress was not a governess. A mistress would compete for Richard’s affections, for his money. A mistress might produce more bastards. But under my pointed suggestions, the crowd began to murmur in agreement. It was, after all, the standard way of handling such… indiscretions. Beatrice, trapped by her own performance, finally succumbed to a genuine fit of rage, coughing and sputtering until she collapsed in a faint. I used the chaos to slip away. Back at our modest London lodgings, I found my mother. “We must pack,” I told her urgently. “Gather every penny we have. At dawn, we buy passage on the first ship sailing north.” Just as we had finished packing, my… stepfather, the man my mother had married after fleeing Scotland, burst into my room. “You wretched creature!” he roared. “Look what you’ve done!” Without another word, he took his cane to me, lashing me until my back was a ruin of bleeding welts. He then dragged me to the Astor townhouse, where Beatrice was weeping in Richard’s arms. “I cannot bear this humiliation,” she cried. “The scandal! My own sister, fornicating with a stable boy! The Duke’s mother will have me cast out! I should just hang myself and be done with it!” I gritted my teeth against the pain. “I was under the impression it was the Duke’s public affair with a singer that was the source of the scandal. I’m surprised my own indiscretion has so thoroughly eclipsed it.” “I have told you,” I said, my voice cold, “the man and I have an understanding. Sanction our marriage, and the rumors will cease.” “Why come here to weep and wail? Save your tears for when the Duke installs his new mistress. You will need them then.” My words earned me two sharp slaps across the face from Beatrice. “The stable boy has fled, you fool!” she hissed. “Do you still dream of marrying him?” “We are a respectable family! I am a Duchess! If you were to marry a common servant, how could we ever show our faces in society again?” “There is only one solution…” She turned to my stepfather, her expression one of utter sincerity. “No other respectable family in London will have her now. But the Duke… the Duke, in his great mercy, has said he does not care. He is willing to take Eleanor as his mistress.” “We will simply say that she was infatuated with the Duke all along. In her… agitated state… she mistook the man in the dark. The Duke, moved by her devotion, has agreed to take her under his protection. It will be seen as a great romance.” “Of course,” she added, turning to my mother, “we will need a significant sum to be settled upon her. A dowry, to help with the… expenses of the Dukedom.” The bitch was after my mother’s savings. I shot a hateful glare at Richard. He simply nodded. “It is my duty to ease my wife’s burdens. There is no need for thanks.” “As long as Eleanor is diligent in her duties to the household and the children once she joins us.” My mother rushed in, having heard the commotion. She fell to her knees before my stepfather. “My lord, you cannot! You promised me Eleanor would never be forced into such a position! It was the only reason I agreed to come to this city!” I pulled my mother to her feet, wiping her tears. “A mistress?” I said softly. “Very well. I accept.” “I will only need a few days to prepare my things.” Seeing me agree, they relented. Late that night, my mother and I slipped out through the back garden. But the trail of blood from my wounds betrayed us. The Astor household guards found us quickly. Just as they were about to seize me, I saw him. The stable boy, standing at the end of the street, staring at the Astor townhouse. His eyes widened as he saw my injuries. I shoved my mother towards him. “They’re taking me back! They mean to force me into the Duke’s bed! If they take me, so be it. But if they catch my mother, they will kill her! I beg you, for the memory of our… encounter… save her!” “Please!” The hesitation in the man’s eyes hardened into resolve. “My name is Alistair MacGregor,” he said, his voice a low Highland burr. “Wait for me. I swear on my clan, I will come back for you.” With that, he grabbed my mother and vanished into the night. I was dragged back to the Astor townhouse and, to prevent another escape, locked in the cold, damp cellar. 3 The “ceremony” was set for three days’ time. Normally, installing a mistress was a private affair. But Beatrice, determined to maximize my humiliation, organized a small, exclusive gathering, inviting London’s most venomous gossips. As they picked at their cakes, Beatrice told her story, dabbing at her eyes with a lace handkerchief. “She is my sister, after all. She has long harbored a secret affection for my husband. And since her… unfortunate mistake… I had to do what was right.” “She is so foolish. If she had only confided in me, did she think I would deny her? She never would have… mistaken her bed, and lost her honor.” The ladies murmured their sympathies for Beatrice and shot me looks of utter contempt. I was the author of my own misfortune. They forced a draught down my throat that stole my voice and led me to the bedchamber. Richard entered and lifted my veil. “This is all your fault,” he said coldly. “Now Beatrice must clean up your sordid mess.” “I have no desire to be here. Let us get this over with.” With that, he pushed me onto the bed. But before he could proceed, a frantic knock came at the door. A maid’s voice, choked with sobs. “My Lord Duke! Her Grace… she was so overcome with grief… she’s coughed up blood! She’s dead!” “Please, my lord, come quickly!” Beatrice. The manipulative sow was faking her death again, leaving me to manage the fallout. I shoved Richard away and scrambled out of the room. In the main hall, Beatrice was already laid out in an open casket, dressed in white. The guests, who had come for a sordid celebration, now found themselves at a funeral. The Dowager Duchess slapped me across the face. “You whore! If you hadn’t been so desperate to get into this house, Beatrice would never have been driven to this! She was a saint! You should be the one in that coffin!” The two children were weeping by the casket, their cries of “Mother!” wringing tears from the assembled crowd. A lady-in-waiting, one of Beatrice’s closest confidantes, sobbed, “Lady Beatrice was the soul of grace. To be driven to her death by a common strumpet…” “Hollis,” she asked, turning to Beatrice’s personal maid. “Did your lady have any final words?” Hollis, a key player in their schemes, fell to her knees before me. “Her Grace asked for nothing,” she wailed. “Only that Miss Eleanor honor her memory by serving the Dowager Duchess and caring for her children. Only then, she said, could she rest in peace.” The room filled with praise for Beatrice’s boundless generosity and curses for my wickedness. But she was alive. I could see the faint flutter of her pulse in her neck. Unable to speak, I bit my own finger and began to write in blood on the marble floor. SHE IS NOT DEAD. They called me a demon, a ghoul, defiling the memory of a saint. In desperation, I lunged for the coffin, determined to drag her out and expose the lie. Richard, seeing me claw at the polished wood, kicked me away with brutal force. “You bitch,” he snarled, his boot connecting with my ribs, snapping them like twigs. “Beatrice thought only of you, and you repay her with these vile slanders. You would disturb her even in death.” He kicked me again and again. My fresh wounds burst open, my simple white dress blooming with crimson. Just as my vision began to fade, my mother’s voice screamed my name. She burst into the room, followed by dozens of men in the royal livery. At their head was Alistair MacGregor. He lifted me from the floor and forced an antidote down my throat. My voice returned. I took a ragged breath. “There is a cholera epidemic in the city,” I gasped. “My sister coughed up blood. She died of the plague.” “According to the Queen’s own law, her body must be cremated immediately, on site, to prevent the spread. I implore the Duke to follow the law and set fire to the pyre at once.”

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To support my family, I sang in dive bars. I wore the necklace I’d bought myself to the set of the reality show I was secretly funding. The moment I walked in, another contestant gasped in recognition. The day of my wedding, my bride never showed up. The guests murmured amongst themselves as I called her again and again, each call going straight to voicemail. A moment later, a post popped up on my feed, from her childhood best friend. “Every time I fly back into town, she’s the first person I see. It feels good to be someone’s priority.” The accompanying photo showed his hand intertwined with my fiancée’s. My sister, standing beside me, let out a grim little laugh. “So, brother… what about the $150,000 tiara and the million-dollar diamond ring? And those three share-transfer agreements…?” Without looking up, I liked the post. “Sell what you can. The rest of it is just bad luck now.” “And shred the share agreements. She’s clearly a very busy woman. Let’s not add to her burdens.” 1 It was three hours past the scheduled start of the ceremony when Jenna finally stormed into the backstage dressing room. She didn’t even catch her breath before she started laying into me. “How many times have I told you? If I don’t answer after the first call, it means I’m busy.” “Stop calling over and over. It’s so annoying.” Her face was a mask of irritation, devoid of any joy. She looked like she was here to punch a clock, not get married. My best man, Mark, shot me a helpless look. “Should we… give you two a minute?” Normally, this would be my cue to grovel. To apologize profusely and do whatever it took to smooth her ruffled feathers. But today, I felt none of my usual panic. Instead, a strange, reckless calm settled over me. I shook my head. “No need. There’s nothing left to say.” At my words, Jenna’s expression soured even further. She snatched her purse, her heels clacking angrily on the floor as she headed for the door. “If that’s your attitude,” she threw over her shoulder, “then maybe we shouldn’t get married at all!” Mark nudged me, a silent question: Aren’t you going to go after her? I shrugged. “Let her go. The guests have all left anyway.” I clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on. Let’s go get a drink.” Mark stared at me, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. “Well, look at you. Not even going to chase her. Finally growing a spine, are we?” It was after eleven when I got home. Jenna was waiting on the sofa, arms crossed, poised for an interrogation. “Aren’t you going to explain yourself?” I almost laughed. She was the one who was late. She was the one who had spent our wedding day picking up another man from the airport. And yet, she felt no remorse, only righteous indignation. I ignored her and headed for the stairs. Her voice rose, shrill with frustration, the hand she pointed at me trembling. “Fine! Be that way, Liam! See if I care! Don’t you dare speak to me ever again!” Her face was flushed with anger, her eyes daring me to defy her. She was so certain that this threat, this ultimatum, would send me running back to her, begging for forgiveness. A wave of profound sadness washed over me. All my patience, all my unconditional acceptance of her behavior, had only served to forge the very weapon she now wielded against me. But this time, I was going to disappoint her. I didn’t even pause. I just walked up to my room. A piercing shriek of pure, unadulterated rage followed me up the stairs. I put on my headphones, cranked up the music, and slept soundly through the night. The next morning, I found a gift box on the coffee table. Jenna was eating breakfast. As usual, she hadn’t made any for me. Her expression was still stormy, but she spoke through a mouthful of toast. “I bought this yesterday afternoon. I was going to give it to you last night if you’d had the decency to apologize.” “I’ll let it slide this one time. Are you happy now?” The classic move. A slap, followed by a cheap sweet. As if a single gift could erase everything. How little did I mean to her? I didn’t answer. I just knotted my tie and prepared to leave. Jenna shot to her feet, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. “Aren’t you even going to look at it? Is this how little you care now?” She strode to the table and ripped open the box. Inside was a men’s necktie. I recognized it. It was the free gift that came with the expensive Swiss watch she’d bought six months ago. A watch that I had never seen, because it was now on Alex Carter’s wrist. The sheer, galling hypocrisy of it made me sick to my stomach. My face must have shown it, because when I pushed her hand away, the calm façade she’d been wearing all morning finally shattered. “Don’t push your luck, Liam!” 2 I didn’t want to fight. I turned to leave. The next thing I knew, the tie was around my neck, pulling me backward. I instinctively struggled, lost my footing, and fell. Jenna screamed and jumped back as the corner of the glass coffee table connected with the back of my head. The world exploded in a nauseating wave of pain and the wet warmth of blood. She stood over me, the tie still clutched in her hand, her face a mask of panic. “You… why didn’t you catch your balance?” “We should go to the hospital.” Her voice was distant, unfocused. As she helped me up, her collar slipped, revealing a cluster of angry red marks on her collarbone. A love bite. She saw me staring and instinctively pulled her collar up. “The mosquitoes have been terrible lately…” I was too tired to argue, too tired to pretend I believed her. I didn’t even grunt in response. Jenna frantically gathered my wallet and insurance card, ready to help me out the door. Then her phone rang. She answered it, her tone instantly shifting to one of anxious concern. “I know, I know. I’m on my way.” She shoved my wallet and card into my hand. “Something urgent came up. You’ll have to call an ambulance yourself.” I stared at her, stunned. Had she forgotten who had just caused this injury? “The hospital is a fifteen-minute drive from here!” Her impatience flared. “But I’m in a real hurry. Besides, won’t an ambulance be faster?” “Then at least call one for me!” Jenna paused, her eyes narrowing. “Liam, how old are you? You don’t know how to dial 911?” And with that, she slammed the door, leaving me alone in a pool of my own blood. I staggered to the bedroom for my phone. The sticky blood made it difficult to use the screen. My hands trembled as I wiped them clean and finally dialed for help. After the call, I stumbled back to the front door, propping it open for the paramedics. The room began to spin. The more blood I lost, the fuzzier my thoughts became. I passed out before they arrived. I awoke to the blinding glare of fluorescent lights in a hospital room. An IV was taped to my hand. A nurse came in. “Good, you’re awake. You called just in time. You need to be careful.” “You might experience some dizziness and headaches for a while. You have a mild concussion, and there might be some blood clotting in the brain that could cause temporary side effects. We’ll need to keep you under observation.” I nodded my thanks. I opened my phone. The first thing I saw was a new post from Alex. It was an hour old. “Thankful for the one who always shows up for me, no matter what.” The picture was of Jenna’s back as she spoke with a doctor. In the comments, Alex had replied to someone: “It was nothing, I was just being a worrier.” A sharp pain lanced through my head, a pain that settled deep in my chest and became a dull, throbbing ache. I remembered a time, long ago, when Jenna had cared for me like that. She had just graduated and started working at my family’s company. I’d seen one of the senior managers tearing into her over a project report. Her eyes were swimming with tears, but she refused to let them fall. Later, I found her crying in a stairwell. The sight of her, so fierce and so vulnerable, had tugged at something inside me. 3 I told her that business wasn’t personal, that all that mattered was getting the job done. She said she understood, but the mistake hadn’t been hers. She was always taking the fall for others. She needed the job. Her mother was sick, and the medical bills were piling up. I felt for her. I taught her how to navigate the treacherous currents of corporate politics. I told the manager to give her more opportunities, to help her build her portfolio. We saw each other often at the office. We grew close. Eventually, we started dating. She was a fighter. She seized every opportunity, her progress astonishing everyone. In a few short years, she rose to become the head of a major subsidiary, a woman who commanded respect and envy in equal measure. I was so proud. I had always known she had it in her. I kept my true identity—the fact that my family owned the entire corporation—a secret. I didn’t want her to feel intimidated, or that she hadn’t earned her success. But as her own power and wealth grew, she began to look down on me. After Alex returned from his job overseas six months ago, it had gotten even worse. I hadn’t wanted to give up. I thought that even the coldest stone, held close for years, would eventually warm. I was wrong. Utterly, hopelessly wrong. You can’t hold on to something that doesn’t want to be held. After my IV was done, I went for a walk in the hospital garden. Before I even reached the doors, I saw her, helping Alex pick up a prescription. His arm was around her shoulder. They looked less like friends and more like a couple, deeply in love. Jenna happened to turn her head and saw me. A flash of guilt crossed her face. “Alex hurt his foot,” she said, her voice a little too loud. “I was just helping him.” I just nodded, my expression neutral. “Are you okay? What did the doctor say?” She knew how to be concerned. She knew my injury was more severe than his. She knew I would be jealous. She knew everything. She just didn’t care. I didn’t answer. I just turned and walked away. Jenna ran after me, grabbing my arm. “I was just so panicked back there, my head was a mess…” “Jenna…” Alex’s voice interrupted her, but she ignored it. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that to you.” Alex limped over to us. “I’ve got the medicine. Can you take me home?” Jenna looked from him to me. “Alex, since you’re fine, why don’t you just grab a cab?” He started to argue, but seeing the look on her face, he fell silent. He shot me a venomous glare and limped away. Jenna took a deep breath. “Liam, can we please talk? Properly?” I took a step back, putting distance between us. “There’s nothing left to talk about.” She looked shocked. “So that’s it? That’s your answer to everything now? If you’re going to refuse to communicate for the rest of our lives, then I’d rather we just get a divorce!” In the past, the mere mention of breaking up would have sent me into a tailspin. If she blocked me, I’d camp outside her door for days, terrified of being abandoned. But today, I felt nothing. No panic. No desperation. I just looked at her for a long moment. Then I said, “Okay.” Jenna stared at me, completely stunned. “No, that’s not… I didn’t mean it. It was just an example. Don’t misunderstand.” My heart was a calm, flat sea. “But I mean it.”

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On the day of my kidney transplant, my husband’s old flame, Zoe, volunteered to be my surgeon. After I refused, again and again, my husband, Phoenix, still let her use me for practice on the operating table. When an artery ruptured mid-surgery, Zoe panicked, completely out of her depth. The hospital demanded Phoenix take over, but he flatly refused. “Don’t put so much pressure on Zoe,” he said, his voice cold. “She’s not going to die. And if she does, I’ll sign a waiver. The hospital won’t be liable.” After the surgery, I suffered from severe complications and organ rejection. The entire hospital was put on high alert for an emergency rescue. But Phoenix was out with Zoe at a celebratory dinner, ignoring all our calls. Lying in the observation ward, my phone buzzed with a text from him. “I’m at home helping Zoe with her dissertation. Don’t come back when you wake up. You’ll distract us.” I had waited so long for a donor kidney, but just before I was wheeled into the OR, everything went wrong. My case was a perfect match for Zoe’s dissertation topic. Using this as an excuse, my husband, Phoenix, refused to perform the surgery himself. He wanted to hand me over to his protégé, Zoe, as a practice run. “Zoe will be the lead surgeon in name only. I’ll be right there to make sure everything goes perfectly. What are you so afraid of?” Phoenix snapped when he saw me hesitate to sign the consent form. He ignored my weakened state, his fingers digging into my jaw. I heard the sickening grate of bone. “I’m afraid of dying!” I choked out. “You know better than anyone how complex my case is. Zoe just graduated. How could she possibly handle this?” Zoe, who had been lingering by the door, heard my words and fled the room in tears. Phoenix pointed a trembling finger at me. “Then you can just lie there and die. Ungrateful bitch, I don’t even know what to say to you.” He chased after her, leaving me alone and helpless in the sterile white room, desperately waiting for him to come back and do his job. “Clara, don’t you worry,” a kind nurse whispered, trying to console me. “If he won’t do it, we can always… call him back. He’s the best there is.” I knew who she meant. The man they were talking about was Phoenix’s sworn rival. He would never operate on Phoenix’s wife. The surgery was scheduled in an hour. Phoenix was still nowhere to be found. My palms slicked with nervous sweat. I had waited so long for this kidney. Was it all going to be for nothing? With thirty minutes to spare, Phoenix finally reappeared, his neck littered with fresh hickeys. He signed the liability waiver with a flourish. This time, he promised, he would be the one in charge. I was too consumed with the fear of dying to care about the marks on his skin. I just nodded, tears streaming down my face. As they pushed my gurney through the double doors of the operating room, I watched them swing shut behind me. And then I saw her. Zoe, dressed in surgical scrubs, standing right in front of me. My eyes widened in horror. But the anesthesiologist was already administering the dose. Just before the world went dark, I saw Phoenix wrap Zoe in a gentle embrace. He leaned in, his lips brushing her ear. “Just do what you need to do. Don’t worry, I’ve got your back.” A chill, colder than any I’d ever known, washed over me. Zoe stepped up to my gurney, a faint, triumphant smile on her lips. “Don’t be scared, Clara. I’ve only scrubbed in three times, but I’ll do my best.” Phoenix watched her, his face a mask of pure admiration. And then, I surrendered to the suffocating darkness. An hour later—or maybe a lifetime—I was jolted awake by Phoenix’s rough voice. A harsh beam of light stabbed at my eyes as he checked my pupils for dilation. From the periphery, I heard the frantic, disjointed voices of a few residents. “Dr. Evans, please, you have to take over! The fellow almost nicked the patient’s artery. If this goes on, something terrible is going to happen!” “Yeah, Dr. Evans, you should be the one operating. This is your wife, after all. If anything happens to her… you’d be devastated.” My husband listened to their desperate pleas, then glanced at the woman behind him, whose hand was trembling so badly she could barely hold the scalpel. His response shattered my world. “I have faith in Zoe,” he said calmly. “Besides, if this woman dies, I, as her husband, will sign a full liability waiver. None of you need to worry. The hospital won’t be on the hook for it.” Why? Why was this the first thing I heard upon waking? I felt the blood freeze in my veins. The faces around me, once familiar, were now the faces of strangers. My consciousness drifted in and out. I could hear Phoenix’s voice, a distant murmur guiding Zoe, but the words were blurred, like a half-remembered nightmare. The next time I woke, I was staring at a stark white ceiling. The room was empty. It wasn’t until the monitor beside my bed began to scream its shrill warnings that people rushed in. “What’s going on? Why are all her vitals crashing after the surgery?” “Her O2 sats are dropping like a stone! What the hell happened? Where’s her attending physician?” The nurses exchanged nervous glances. Finally, one spoke up. “Dr. Evans took Dr. Monroe to celebrate after the surgery. He took a leave of absence, said he’d be back in two days.” “His patient just got out of a major operation! She’s in critical observation! How could he take leave? Who approved this?” the head nurse thundered. A junior nurse stammered, “Dr. Evans approved Dr. Monroe’s leave himself… and as for his own, he said he hadn’t had a vacation in a long time. The administration just… couldn’t say no.” Just then, a resident shouted. “Severe organ rejection! She’s covered in a rash, her airway is swelling… Code Blue! We need to resuscitate, now, or we’re going to lose her!” As they wheeled me away, my mind was terrifyingly clear, as if my body knew it was shutting down. I heard them announce the “Code Blue” over the hospital-wide PA system, a call to arms for every available doctor and nurse to converge on my operating room. I heard their frantic discussions, heard the anesthesiologist lean down and whisper gently, “Don’t you worry, Clara. We’re going to give it everything we’ve got. You just take a nice long nap, and everything will be okay when you wake up.” I nodded. But I’d been a medical student. I knew exactly what a Code Blue meant. “Still no contact with Dr. Evans?” A roar echoed through the haze. It was the hospital’s chief of staff, his voice tight with fury. “In a crisis like this, the two surgeons responsible have just… vanished?” “Get them on the phone now! How can they be out enjoying themselves while their patient is circling the drain?” That’s when a young intern held up his phone, his voice barely a whisper. “It looks like… they went on a trip to the coast. They posted on Instagram, but… they’re not answering the hospital’s calls.” In the final minutes before the anesthesia took me completely, I heard Phoenix’s voice on a speakerphone. He sounded annoyed. “Impossible. I supervised the surgery myself. There’s no way there could be such a severe complication. It’s probably her own body, a violent rejection. It has nothing to do with Zoe’s skill.” “If you can’t save her, don’t waste any more medical resources.” “Just… let her go.” His final words were followed by Zoe’s anxious murmur, but before I could make out what she was saying, the darkness swallowed me whole. The battle between the hospital and the grim reaper lasted for ten grueling hours. In the end, they pulled me back from the brink and I was transferred to the ICU. I spent two weeks teetering on the edge before my condition finally stabilized. As I was moved to a regular ward, my phone, silent for so long, lit up with its first message from Phoenix. “I’m at home helping Zoe with her dissertation. Don’t come back when you wake up. You’ll distract us.” His social media had been wiped clean, but his profile picture was a new one: a shot of him and Zoe on vacation, taken while I was fighting for my life. They were locked in a sweet embrace. You couldn’t see Zoe’s face, but Phoenix… Phoenix looked happier than I’d ever seen him. I pulled up the feed from the security cameras at home. There they were. Zoe, curled up against Phoenix on our couch, reading aloud from the love letters I’d written him years ago. She finished one and let out a derisive laugh. “Clara was so cheesy back then! This is so cringey, how did you even stand it?” she mocked. “And her handwriting is awful.” Phoenix’s reply was a cold, flat blade. “I keep them around for a laugh.” Zoe’s laughter grew louder. She then found the metal box where I kept all the mementos from our long-distance relationship—every train ticket stub from my visits, every handwritten note. She pulled them out, one by one, and began to tear them into pieces. With every rip, she’d look up at Phoenix and smile, a bright, cruel grin. She even handed him a photo to tear himself. He didn’t hesitate. Together, they shredded ten years of my life, one piece at a time, driving a fresh knife into my heart with every tear. The last item was a cheap photo of us, taken with money from our part-time jobs right after college graduation. In it, his gaze was so earnest, as if I were the only person in his world. At least, that’s what I believed back then. It was a grainy, poorly lit photo, but I could never bring myself to throw it away. Zoe ripped it to shreds, then ground my half of the picture under her heel. “I don’t know why Clara would keep such an ugly photo of herself. She looks horrible here!” she declared, then pulled out her phone, switched to the front-facing camera, and snapped a selfie with Phoenix. “See? Even a random shot of me looks better than her prized photo.” Phoenix looked at the screen, a fond, indulgent smile spreading across his face. “That’s because you’re beautiful.” And then they were kissing, a tangle of limbs and shameless passion, right next to our wedding portrait, which they completely ignored. As I watched, a cool, crisp voice cut through the silence of my hospital room. “Still obsessed with your husband? Staring at security footage of him from your hospital bed?” That sharp, sarcastic tone could only belong to one person. I looked up and met his eyes. Leo. He held a stethoscope, and after a brief examination, he announced, “Another two weeks or so, and you should be good to go home.” I stared at him, my mind reeling. He was supposed to be in a fellowship program across the country… What was he doing here? “You… you… you…” I stammered. He rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t aware that kidney transplant complications included a stutter. A new research topic for me, I suppose. After all, I’m the one who flew back to perform your surgery.” “What?!” “What, what? Of course, the ridiculously generous offer the hospital director made didn’t hurt. Don’t get a big head about it.” With that, he packed up his things, gave a haughty tilt of his head, and strode out. Just then, my phone pinged. A large wire transfer had just hit my account. The amount: $5,000. On the monitor, Zoe saw the notification on Phoenix’s phone and squealed, smothering him with kisses. They were so wrapped up in each other, it was as if I were already dead. A moment later, another transfer came through. Another $5,000. Over ten thousand dollars. Had Phoenix forgotten our prenuptial agreement? It clearly stated that all our assets, even after marriage, remained individual property. The card he was using was mine. I’d given it to him so he could take care of himself while he was busy with his research, since my job at the pharmaceutical company paid far more than his. I never said he could use it to woo other women. And this house… what did it have to do with you, Phoenix Evans? What gave you the right to bring another woman to live in it? I turned off the monitor and made a call. “Hello, 911? I’d like to report a crime. Someone is using my credit cards without permission and has broken into my home.” It didn’t take long. Phoenix, who had been too busy for the hospital, too in need of a “rest,” suddenly had all the time in the world. He didn’t even bother to put on his respectable, doctorly facade. He stormed into my room wearing slippers and pajamas. “What the hell is your problem?” His finger jabbed forcefully at my forehead. “I sent you a message! I told you Zoe was staying with us to work on her dissertation. Why did you call the cops?” I slapped his hand away. The look of feigned concern on his face was almost comical. When I was on my deathbed, he had the time to go on a romantic getaway with Zoe, hiking and watching sunsets. He didn’t show an ounce of concern for me, even blocking me from seeing his posts. But the moment Zoe was taken in for questioning, he forgot all sense of decorum and rushed to the hospital to confront me. I let out a bitter laugh. “I’m surprised they didn’t take you with her.” That only enraged him further. “You’ve gone too far, Clara! What did Zoe and I ever do to you? Why are you so hell-bent on sending us to prison? You’re just that vicious, aren’t you?” His face was a mask of contempt, his expression so hateful it burned itself into my memory. “The surgery is over, and the hospital saved you, didn’t they? So what are you being so dramatic about? Zoe has been working on this dissertation for ages, and she just needed your case data. Couldn’t you just help her out? Instead, you call the police. Do you have any idea what a criminal record would do to her career?” Suddenly, it all made sense to him. He was worried about Zoe’s reputation, her future. But what about that time she stole the topic for my dissertation? Why was his first instinct back then to tell me to just let it go? Just a case file? There were dozens of kidney transplant cases at the hospital every day. They chose me for a reason. Because I was Phoenix’s wife. Because I had no parents. Because if I died, Phoenix could decide not to press charges. Bullying an orphan—that was their ultimate weapon.

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The day I got married, my childhood sweetheart, Blaze, crashed the wedding. He and his pack of friends kicked open the chapel doors, declaring he was here to take me away, to run away with me. But not far from the chapel doors, he let go of my hand and a lazy, triumphant smile spread across his face. “Boys, I won the bet. Again. The hundredth time. Pay up.” Then he turned back to me. “It was just a joke, Eliza. You didn’t actually take it seriously, did you? You can go back in and finish getting married.” They all laughed, mocking me for the ten years I’d spent chasing after Blaze, for being willing to do anything for him. But what they didn’t know, what Blaze didn’t know, was that this little wedding crashing scene was just another scheduled event on my wedding day program. 1. By the time Blaze explained it was all just a bet, the hall was already echoing with raucous laughter. The taunts were so sharp they felt like they were piercing my eardrums. “Damn, Blaze, I’ve lost so much money betting on her. Can’t you just get her to use that dumb brain of hers for once?” “This is hilarious. Did you really think Blaze would ever actually marry you?” The humiliation was a familiar, bitter taste in my mouth. My fingers tightened on the fabric of my wedding dress, my nails digging painfully into my palms. Blaze lit a cigarette, a flicker of disgust in his eyes. “Eliza, if you’re thinking about how to cling to me right now, I’d advise you to drop it.” The jeers grew louder, a chorus of mockery. Normally, this would have been the moment I broke down, sobbing, asking him why he would do this to me. But this time was different. The moment he finished speaking, I turned to leave. A strong hand clamped down on my arm. “Where do you think you’re going?” “Back to my wedding.” Blaze froze, stunned. A moment later, a cruel, mocking smile twisted his lips. “You know, Eliza, when it comes to debasing yourself, you really are in a league of your own.” I closed my eyes. His words still sent a tremor through my heart, an involuntary flinch. Yes, that’s what I was in his eyes. No matter what I did, I was always debasing myself. Three days before the wedding, I had sent him an invitation. Somehow, his friend had pocket-dialed me, and I’d overheard their entire conversation. “Interesting. She’s really going all out this time, actually marrying someone.” Someone asked Blaze, “You think she’s for real?” Another voice cut in before he could answer. “No way. Everyone knows she won’t marry anyone but Blaze. She’s just jealous because he has a new girlfriend, probably trying to get his attention.” Blaze’s new girlfriend was named Sienna. He was completely smitten with her, had pursued her for ages. I heard the rustle of paper as she picked up my invitation, then a soft thud as she tossed it to the floor. She giggled. “This is the kind of trash he was dealing with? If I were a man, I wouldn’t be interested either.” After another round of laughter, Blaze’s voice cut through, low and cool. “Wanna make a bet?” “Another bet? Fine. If we win, you have to break up with Sienna.” Blaze’s voice turned to ice. “Don’t you dare use Sienna’s name in a bet.” And right there, over the phone, I heard him set the terms of the wager, so easily, so carelessly. The bet was whether or not I would abandon my own wedding for him. Sienna was too precious to be used as a gambling chip. But me? He’d used me as the centerpiece of his games for a hundred bets. 2. Almost everyone in the room got in on the action. “Damn! That’s a huge bet. No way she’d actually run out on her own wedding. Count me in!” “Yeah, Eliza’s obsessed, but even she’s not that pathetic. I’m betting against it.” My hand holding the phone trembled. I fumbled with the screen, my fingers too clumsy to hit the end-call button. A tear I didn’t know I was shedding dripped from my chin and landed on the speakerphone icon. I panicked and just shut the phone off completely. I stared blankly into the space in front of me and then, I started to laugh. It was absurd. Pathetic. This was my relationship with Blaze. Everyone knew I loved him. But no one knew that we had once been together for a very long time. Before he went abroad to study, he’d asked me to wait for him. Three years, he’d said. Once he made a name for himself, he would come back and marry me. But when I saw him again, he was surrounded by a revolving door of beautiful women. He had made a name for himself, just like he’d promised. I asked him if he remembered what he’d told me. The look in his eyes was that of a stranger. “We all do stupid things when we’re young. Are you trying to use that to blackmail me?” After that, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t close the distance between us. So I gave up. But why? I was already getting married. I had already willingly admitted defeat. Why couldn’t he just let me go? “Eliza, you’re so damn stupid.” “If I were the guy you’re marrying, I’d walk back in there and slap you across the face. Don’t you know how cheap you look right now?” Blaze’s voice was a torrent of insults. But all I felt was a profound sense of exhaustion. I wrenched my arm from his grasp. “Is that so? Well then, watch and see.” As I walked away, Blaze’s voice followed me, laced with irritation. “Fine. But don’t come crying to me when you’ve made a fool of yourself.” I didn’t look back. As I re-entered the chapel, confetti cannons exploded at the entrance, a celebratory bang showering down on me. Inside, everyone was applauding. “I didn’t believe it when the program said there would be a ‘wedding crashing’ segment, but I guess it’s real!” “A little dramatic, isn’t it?” “I think it’s supposed to symbolize something, right? Like true love conquering all obstacles?” 3. My face was a blank mask as I walked back onto the dais to continue the ceremony. Someone closed the heavy chapel doors, leaving Blaze frozen in place outside, his eyes wide with shock. We exchanged rings. We said our vows. During the reception, I finally got my phone back. There were several frantic messages from Blaze. “What was that all about?” “Eliza, did you set me up?!” He wasn’t wrong. I had done it on purpose. I was just so tired. I didn’t want to be the girl at his beck and call anymore. I just wanted him to have some decency, to know when to stop. I ignored the messages and was about to block his number when his call came through. I declined. It rang again. Finally, I sighed and answered. Blaze’s voice was thick with fury. “Eliza, you have three minutes. Get out here and explain yourself.” I answered casually, “Blaze, your bet is over, isn’t it? I thought you were happy with the result.” I could hear him take a deep, shuddering breath, trying to control his temper. Just as I was about to hang up, his tone shifted. “You really went all out just to piss me off once, didn’t you? Was the fake wedding fun?” “Fake wedding?” “Let me make this clear, Eliza. After today, you can forget about ever seeing me again.” Blaze had always been arrogant, but I no longer cared whether he believed me or not. I was just so done with this endless drama. I pressed my fingers to my temples. “That would be for the best,” I said, and hung up. As I turned, a tall shadow fell over me. I looked up and met the strikingly handsome face of Liam. He was leaning against the wall, a little taller than Blaze, his black suit radiating a quiet, powerful presence. “On the phone?” he asked. I paused. There was an undercurrent of annoyance in his voice that I couldn’t quite place. But Liam and I hadn’t known each other for long; our marriage had been a sudden decision. Before I could answer, he leaned in. His breath was warm against my skin, and I instinctively held my own. The thought, isn’t this a little too fast? hadn’t even fully formed in my mind. He reached past me, grabbing a glass from the table. He saw my reddening ears and smiled. “A toast to celebrate?” 4. Liam had chosen fruit juice. We stood there quietly by the stage for a moment before he asked, “You still haven’t told me why you were at City Hall that day.” I’m a lightweight, and even with juice, I could feel a warmth spreading across my face. I squinted, trying to remember. “Just a coincidence, I guess.” But the truth was, it had been my birthday. I hadn’t spoken to Blaze in a while, but he’d suddenly contacted me, saying he had a birthday surprise. Even though I didn’t believe him, even though he’d played cruel tricks on me so many times before, a pathetic part of me still wanted to see. As I approached the City Hall building, I heard a thunderous roar from above. It was a helicopter, scattering flower petals. And Blaze was inside. My heart gave a violent lurch. The petals were specially made, large enough to have words printed on them. My hand trembled as I picked one up and unfolded it. “Be with me—” At the same time, my phone rang. It was Blaze. “Told you it was a surprise.” But I was frozen solid, because as I flattened the petal, I saw the name written after the proposal: Sienna. Blaze’s laughter echoed through the deafening noise of the helicopter. “Eliza, she said yes! Aren’t you going to congratulate me?” In that moment, a chill washed over me, so cold it felt like ice was forming in my veins. I couldn’t hear anything he said after that. I remembered back in college, when Blaze had “confessed” his feelings for me. It was after he’d lost a game of Truth or Dare, and he’d picked me out of a group of girls. It was a joke, something to be laughed off. But at the time, I thought maybe he just needed an excuse, a bit of courage. So I said yes. We were together for four years after that, just like any other ordinary couple. Staring up at the shower of petals meant for another woman, I had a sudden, devastating realization. In all our time together, Blaze had never once said a sincere “I love you” to me. I was so, so tired. No matter how much I followed him, there would never be a future for us. That’s when Liam had walked up to me, emerging from a crowd of people near the entrance to City Hall. His face was breathtakingly handsome, and he was being completely swarmed. He looked at me with pleading eyes. “Please, I was just passing through. Can you help me out? Just pretend to be my girlfriend for a minute.” An afternoon later, we had a marriage certificate. It felt completely surreal. He said his family was pressuring him to get married. And me? I was 28, and I’d wasted enough time chasing Blaze. It was a perfect match. 5. Liam finished his juice and helped me into the car. My head was spinning a little. Halfway home, the car screeched to a halt. I opened my eyes to see a black SUV parked sideways, blocking our path. I recognized it instantly. It was Blaze’s. Through the window, I could see Sienna in the passenger seat. Blaze got out and strode over, rapping on my window. Liam only rolled it down a crack. He was wearing sunglasses, and his gaze collided with Blaze’s in the space between the cars. “Need something with my wife?” Blaze’s eyes swept over him, and a condescending smile played on his lips. “Eliza, the actor you hired is really committed to the role, isn’t he?” “Must have cost a bit to keep a fake wedding going for that long, huh?” I bit back a sarcastic remark. If I’d had our marriage certificate with me, I would have thrown it in his face. But I didn’t even have the patience to prove myself to him anymore. “Get out of the way,” I said, my voice cold. Blaze’s expression flickered, then quickly returned to his usual arrogant mask. “Sienna forgot her jacket. It’s cold out. Give her yours.” Sienna glanced over at me, then turned her head away with a disdainful sniff. I was speechless. “Blaze, are you really that broke?” He used to do this all the time. He loved seeing me jealous and upset for his sake. Then, when I was truly angry, he’d coax me with a few sweet words. I always fell for it, always clung to the sliver of hope that maybe, just maybe, I was different to him. But now, I just calmly reached into the backseat, grabbed my jacket, and tossed it at him. “It’s fine. Consider it a gift.” It was part of a matching set we’d bought in college. It was about time I threw it out anyway. He recognized it. He froze, his expression hardening into anger. “Eliza, that’s enough. Don’t take it too far.” Liam had already hit the gas, expertly maneuvering around the SUV. A few moments later, the car stopped. I realized we weren’t at Liam’s place. We were in front of a high-end designer boutique. Liam got out and opened my door. “Let’s go.” “Huh? Today? I don’t really need any clothes.” He deftly changed the subject. “Is that so? Well, I do.” “And I’m particularly in need of something that matches.” He strode into the store, leaving me frozen on the sidewalk for a moment. How did Liam know that jacket was part of a matching set?

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My family runs a butcher shop. Turns out, I was switched at birth with the daughter of the Blackwells, the wealthiest family in the state. The day they came to take the real heiress—me—home, I figured the fake one, the girl who’d lived my life, wouldn’t show her face at my old house. But she did. And she brought her copy of A Guide to Scientific Swine Management with her. I, on the other hand, just shoved my hands in my pockets and slid into the car. The broody CEO brother sent to fetch me shot me a sideways glance. “Where’s your luggage?” I answered slowly, “Too lazy to pack. Isn’t bringing myself enough?” My new brother, Ryan, was speechless. 1 I settled into the plush leather seat, buckled myself in, and found a comfortable position to sink into. Then I went still. The look Ryan Blackwell gave me was… complicated. Like he was trying to decipher a piece of abstract art. Oh, right. Ryan is my long-lost biological brother. Profession: walking cliché of a CEO. And I’m the real heiress they misplaced. My attitude, more suited for a picnic than a life-altering family reunion, seemed to throw him. He was silent for a long moment before speaking again. “You’re not going to say goodbye?” “No—” “Mia! My one and only sister! You can’t just leave like this!” My reply was cut short by a theatrical wail. A human missile launched itself at the car, plastering its face against my window and clawing at my hands. “I can’t live without you! What am I going to do when you’re gone?” he sobbed, shaking my arm with such force I felt like a strand of seaweed in a storm. My soul was about to vibrate right out of my mouth. “Yeah, well, I’m a goner now,” I said, closing my eyes peacefully. “If you need anything, hold a séance.” My brother, Leo, paused his hysterics for a beat, then cried even louder. “Mia, I finished the diagnostic test for the game! When are you gonna send me an invite code—” He was abruptly hoisted to his feet by an unseen force, and the waterworks stopped instantly. It was Jessie, the girl I’d been switched with. She clutched a thick binder to her chest and pushed a pair of glasses up her nose. A cold glint seemed to flash behind the lenses. “Leo Miller, correct?” she asked, her tone clinical. “According to our parents, you’ve been in charge of the feeding regimen for the eight pigs in the backyard?” Her serious, interrogative manner made Leo snap to attention, adopting the solemn posture of a schoolboy facing the principal. “Y-yes? Is there a problem?” Jessie flipped open her binder with a crisp thwack and produced a fountain pen from her pocket. She began scribbling furiously as she fired off questions. “What are the daily feeding times? How are the piglets’ appetites? What is the duration of their post-meal exercise? Have you observed any abnormalities in their fecal matter?” With each question, Leo’s mouth fell open a little wider until he looked completely stupefied. Ryan, however, seemed to have expected this. He merely lifted an eyelid, observing the scene from the sidelines without a word. I shot Jessie a look of genuine surprise. From heiress of a fortune to the daughter of a butcher, she showed no sign of whiplash. In fact, she was adapting faster than I was. Jessie met my gaze and gave me a polite, professional nod. I smirked and pointed at the dumbstruck Leo. “He’s useful,” I told her. “Whatever grand plans you have, just point him at it.” Jessie’s eyes lit up. She thought for a moment, then stated a simple, powerful fact. “The Blackwells… have money.” Ryan, the Blackwell heir, shifted uncomfortably. Leo, the butcher’s son, looked terrified. 2 It was nearly ten by the time we reached the Blackwell mansion, well past my usual bedtime. My eyelids were in a losing battle with gravity; I was about to fall asleep on my feet. But as I stepped through the door, a saccharine, syrupy voice jolted me awake. “Ryan, you’re finally back! Auntie Liu, please bring out the chicken and wild rice soup you prepared! My brother must be exhausted after such a long day on the road. He probably didn’t even eat properly.” A girl in a floaty white dress fluttered over, fussing around Ryan with a perfectly furrowed brow of concern. After a torrent of words, her gaze finally landed on me. She covered her mouth with a delicate hand. “Oh! Oh, I’m so sorry, I completely forgot about you.” She glanced at me timidly, then back at Ryan. “Ryan, is this… Mia? Does this mean that… that Jessie really isn’t coming back?” Ryan’s face was a stony mask. “Where she goes is her business. From now on, Mia is your sister.” He turned to me. “This is Lily. She’s a child my mother sponsors. Adopted, more or less.” Lily looked at me, her expression a careful performance of anxiety. “Mia… sister… I didn’t know you were coming today, so I didn’t prepare anything for you. You… you won’t hold it against me, will you?” I covered my mouth to stifle a yawn. My body was here, but my soul had already checked out. Are we done yet? I just want to find a bed and pass out. Ryan pinched the bridge of his nose, a flicker of exhaustion crossing his handsome face. “She’s tired from the trip. Take her to her room to rest.” Lily bit her lip. “…But her room isn’t ready yet.” Ryan’s hand dropped, his brow creasing. “What do you mean? I told you to have it prepared before I left.” His sharp gaze fell on the housekeeper, Auntie Liu. Lily rushed to explain, wringing her hands. “It’s not Auntie Liu’s fault, it’s mine! I thought, since my sister was coming home, I should give her my room. But… but I have so many things, I couldn’t get it cleared out in time.” As she spoke, she looked as if she were on the verge of tears. Ryan’s frown deepened. “There are plenty of empty rooms upstairs. Just prepare one of those.” “But my room has the best light! A sister coming home deserves the very best. It’s all my fault, I should have moved out sooner. I never should have taken such a nice room in the first place… Maybe she can sleep in my room tonight? I can sleep anywhere, really. Sister…” Lily dabbed at her eyes, turning to me with a look of brave self-sacrifice, but her words died in her throat. Ryan followed her gaze. His own composed expression finally cracked. Leaning against the wall, eyes closed, I was already fast asleep. 3 I slept until noon the next day, waking up in a completely unfamiliar room. I wasn’t fazed in the slightest. Once, when I was a kid, I went with my dad on a late-night butchering job. On the way back at dawn, I was so tired I saw a pile of hay on the side of the road, flopped down, and was instantly out. Dad was walking ahead and turned around to find his daughter had vanished into thin air. Scared the hell out of him. Mom nagged him about it for a month, and young Leo was given a new, solemn duty: keep an eye on Mia, and don’t let her fall asleep in random places. When I came downstairs, Ryan and Lily were already at the dining table. Ryan looked up at me, a flicker of what seemed like relief on his face. He’d probably never seen someone sleep so much like a corpse—utterly unresponsive. If I wasn’t still warm to the touch, he might have called an ambulance. Once I sat down, he asked a few perfunctory questions about how I slept and told me to make a list of anything I needed so his assistant could buy it. Across the table, Lily bit her lip, looking like she was bursting to say something. Naturally, I said nothing. Getting an extra word out of me was a feat of herculean effort. Leo could attest to the number of times he’d practically begged me on his knees just to acknowledge his existence. When the food arrived, I focused on the dish directly in front of me, slowly picking at it. Ryan glanced at me. Then glanced again. Finally, he couldn’t hold it in any longer. “There’s so much food. Why are you only eating that one dish?” He softened his tone slightly. “This is your home. Don’t be formal. Take whatever you want.” It was the opening Lily had been waiting for. She immediately began piling food onto my plate. “Sister, you’ve probably never had any of this before. You should try everything. I know your family… runs a butcher shop…” She let out a little “ah!” and covered her mouth, her eyes wide. “Oh, sister, I didn’t mean it like that! I’m not looking down on butchers, really. It’s just, living in a place like that, you must have suffered a lot. But now that you’re back with the Blackwells, everything is different. Just tell me what you want to eat, and I’ll have Auntie Liu make it for you.” She stared at me, waiting for a reaction. I just gave a flat “Oh,” and added, “Thanks.” She waited, but I offered nothing more. The smile on her face stiffened. After a moment, I turned to Ryan. “It’s too far. Lifting my arm is tiring.” Ryan blinked, taking a second to realize I was answering his earlier question. A look of mingled frustration and amusement crossed his face. “It’s just lifting your arm…” My phone buzzed with a string of notifications. Seeing me ignore it, Ryan prompted, “Aren’t you going to check that?” “It’s nothing,” I said without looking up, continuing to eat. Lily’s eyes darted. Suddenly, she reached out, picked up my phone, and put on an expression of thoughtful concern. “What if it’s something urgent? Just because you’re a Blackwell now doesn’t mean you should cut off everyone from your old life.” With that, she unlocked the screen. A series of desperate cries immediately filled the room. “MIA, SAVE ME! I’M BEGGING YOU! THIS WOMAN IS A DEMON! SHE STAYS UP ALL NIGHT WRITING BUSINESS PLANS FOR PIGS! THE POSTNATAL CARE GUIDELINES FOR SOWS ALONE ARE A HUNDRED. ITEMS. LONG!” “SHE’S TALKING ABOUT EXPANDING OUR BUTCHER STALL, AIMING TO INCORPORATE IN SIX MONTHS AND GO PUBLIC IN THREE YEARS!” “SHE DRAGGED ME OUT OF BED AT 6 A.M. TO CONDUCT HEALTH ASSESSMENTS ON EVERY SINGLE PIG, AND THEN SHE MADE THEM DO AEROBICS!” “I DON’T WANT THE REST OF MY LIFE TO BE TIED TO PIGS! I DON’T WANT TO BE THE HEIR TO A PORK EMPIRE, EVEN IF IT’S PUBLICLY TRADED!” 4 The string of anguished howls echoed through the dining room, painting a vivid picture of Leo’s mental breakdown. An awkward silence fell over the room. Ryan sat up a little straighter. “I’m finished. Enjoy your meal.” He stood up and strode out of the house, heading for work with a sudden, inexplicable surge of energy. As for Lily, who was usually the center of all drama, she was suddenly as quiet as a mouse. A thoughtful expression crossed my face. Jessie. The girl who was supposed to be me, the former Blackwell heiress, and now Leo’s actual sister. She was that intimidating, huh? Under Leo’s continuous barrage of text-message agony, I learned just how much of an overachiever Jessie was. She wasn’t just writing business plans late into the night; she was already renovating the facilities, implementing scientific breeding and butchering protocols. She had even humbled herself to work at Dad’s butcher stall for three days, observing and then implementing a complete overhaul. And you know what? Her changes had elevated the humble stall to a whole new level. Business was booming. The only victim was Leo, who had become the sole soldier in Jessie’s one-woman army. But that wasn’t even the most terrifying part. The butcher shop was just Jessie’s side hustle. Her main job was Team Lead in the project development department at Blackwell Corp. She had applied for the job right after she turned eighteen, starting as a junior employee and earning every promotion on her own merit. No one at the company even knew she was the boss’s daughter. Terrifying. Utterly terrifying. Suddenly, Ryan’s newfound sense of urgency this morning made perfect sense. With a super-hustler like that for a sister, constantly threatening his CEO throne, how could he ever relax? But now he had me, his new slacker sister. He probably didn’t have to worry anymore. While my CEO brother was out providing for the family, I was sprawled on the sofa, playing on my phone. Lily finished her piano practice. I was on the sofa. Lily finished her dance lesson. I was on the sofa. Lily was learning to bake with Auntie Liu. I flipped over to my other side. “Sister, you…” Lily approached me with a plate of freshly baked cookies, her words trailing off. My fingers were tapping away on the screen. I hadn’t even registered the human-shaped organism standing beside me. A flash of annoyance crossed Lily’s pretty face, and her voice rose sharply. “Sister, the Blackwells may be wealthy, but that doesn’t mean we should waste our lives. We should strive to better ourselves.” She paused, biting her lip before continuing. “Perhaps the environment you grew up in was… lacking. You haven’t been exposed to truly exceptional people, so your perspective is limited. You’ve grown accustomed to that… aimless, day-to-day existence of the lower class, but—” Her tone sharpened, her fists clenching as she stared at me, her face a mask of righteous anger. “That’s no excuse for you to be so degenerate!” I looked up, bewildered. “What is she talking about?” Lily frowned, about to speak again, when a familiar voice cut through from my phone. “She’s always been like that. Can’t make a point, no logical flow, her semantics are a mess.” On the other end of the line, Jessie paused, then added with emphasis, “Lily, did you just skip every English class you ever had? Is that what your teachers taught you? Or is there something wrong with the way you learn? How can a grown person be so utterly incapable of articulating a coherent thought?” “Chlo… Jessie?” Lily’s face went pale. She tensed, instinctively standing up straight. Jessie’s words seemed to hit her hard. She turned and walked away, looking utterly dejected. Over the phone, Jessie thanked me. “Your system is brilliant. Leo was right, you’re incredibly good at this.” I gave a noncommittal grunt. Before hanging up, Jessie remembered something. “By the way, Mom and Dad… the Blackwells… will be back in a few days. They’re very different from our parents at the butcher shop. You should probably brace yourself.” Different how? Were they not human? I pondered it for two seconds before dismissing it from my mind. 5 My life at the Blackwells’ was no different from my life at the Millers’. It was just a new place to lie down. And damn, the sofa in the Blackwells’ living room was comfortable. For the past few days, aside from going upstairs to sleep, I’d barely left it. I’d considered just sleeping on the sofa, but Ryan, down for a glass of water, caught me in the act and banished me back to my bedroom. He even escorted me to the door to make sure I didn’t sneak back. “These years with the Millers…” He looked like he wanted to say something, but ended up just pinching the bridge of his nose. “Never mind. Get some sleep.” In these few days, Ryan had gotten a full education on the difference between a human and a human sloth. I could hold the same position for hours without moving. The day I arrived, he’d given me a credit card with a $200,000 monthly allowance. Hilarious. I hadn’t even set foot outside the front door, let alone spent any money. It was only because Ryan was home from work today that he realized just how… precariously I was living. The kind of existence where one could accidentally perish from sheer inertia. He couldn’t stand it anymore and took it upon himself to manually flip me over—no, I mean, to correct my unhealthy lifestyle. One minute he was pulling me up to stretch my limbs, the next he was telling me to look away from the screen and focus on something in the distance. He was driving me nuts. For the first time, I voluntarily asked him why he was home. Ryan paused, about to answer, when the sound of a car pulling up outside made him go silent. Lily, who had been practicing piano upstairs, came bounding down the stairs and threw herself into a woman’s arms like a homing pigeon. “Mom! Dad! You’re back! I missed you so, so much!” The woman hugged her, cooing “my baby,” while the man beside them joined the embrace. The three of them were a picture of familial bliss, their conversation a cascade of warm, effusive endearments. Mrs. Blackwell launched into an excited monologue about their trip, showing off a mountain of gifts, while Lily played her part perfectly, gasping with a “Wow!” at every item and providing a geyser of enthusiastic reactions. The chatter continued all through dinner, with Mr. Blackwell smiling indulgently at them. It was a perfectly harmonious scene. Which made Ryan and me stick out like sore thumbs. Ryan was especially quiet today. He glanced at me, a look of what might have been sympathy in his eyes. Me: “?” Ryan’s gaze shifted to Lily, who was joyfully displaying her gifts. His voice was firm. “Alright, that’s enough. We’re eating. You can open your presents in your room later.” Then he turned to Mrs. Blackwell, his tone softening slightly. “Mom, this is your first time meeting Mia. Shouldn’t you have a gift for her, too?” Mrs. Blackwell let out a long, theatrical “Ohhh” of annoyance, as if she’d just remembered my existence. She slapped her forehead, looking for something to give me, but all the gifts she’d brought back had already been claimed and opened by Lily. Without much thought, she simply snatched a gift from Lily’s hands. “Mia, this is for you. Mommy forgot to buy you something, but I’ll make it up to you next time.” Mr. Blackwell added, “Just take what your mother is giving you. We didn’t forget you on purpose, you just… slipped our minds.” If Jessie were here, I thought, she’d definitely say Mr. Blackwell’s grasp of language was also subpar. Or maybe he just majored in saying absolutely nothing of substance. I didn’t take it. “I don’t want presents someone else has already opened.” My words dropped the temperature at the table by twenty degrees. Mrs. Blackwell looked lost and hurt. “Mia, are you angry with Mommy? I didn’t mean to, I’ll make it up to you, okay?” Mr. Blackwell slammed his chopsticks on the table, his face darkening. “Where are your manners? Is that any way to speak to your mother?” Ryan rubbed his temples, the irritation practically radiating off him. Into the suffocating silence, Lily spoke up timidly. “I don’t want the gifts anymore. You can give them all to sister.” This immediately triggered Mrs. Blackwell’s protective instincts. She pulled Lily’s hand into hers. “Oh, my darling, you’re always the thoughtful one. You just tell Mommy what you like, and Mommy will buy it all for you.” “Okay, thank you, Mommy.” The two of them resumed their affectionate chatter, and just like that, the storm seemed to pass. 6 After dinner, the family settled in the living area to chat. Mostly, it was Mr. and Mrs. Blackwell chatting with Lily. Ryan had his laptop out, dealing with work. I, naturally, reclaimed my designated spot on the sofa with my phone. Mrs. Blackwell shot disgruntled looks at both Ryan and me, clearly feeling we weren’t as filial as Lily. She and Mr. Blackwell had been traveling for days, and upon their return, we couldn’t even be bothered to ask about their trip or sit and chat with them. Me: “…?” Mr. Blackwell nodded along, in full agreement with his wife. He even mentioned that Jessie used to be the same way—cold, a workaholic just like her brother, completely inconsiderate of her parents. That, he explained, was why they adopted Lily in the first place. Now their biological daughter was back, and she wasn’t fawning over them either, more attached to her phone than to her own parents. Thank goodness they’d adopted one good one, or they’d never know the joy of a child’s affection. Listening to this, I was at a complete loss for words. I glanced at Ryan. His expression was placid. This was clearly a well-worn lecture he’d learned to tune out. Somehow, the conversation shifted to my schooling. They asked me where I went. Lily, my age and a senior, attended the prestigious Northwood Preparatory Academy. The mere mention of the school brought a proud, irrepressible smile to her face, and Mrs. Blackwell looked equally pleased. My fingers didn’t stop moving on the screen. I answered casually. “Oh, I’m a homebody.” Mrs. Blackwell was still muttering, “Homebody? Is that a magnet school?” when Lily let out a small “pfft” of laughter. When everyone looked at her, she covered her mouth. “I’m sorry, sister, I didn’t mean to laugh. It’s just the way you said ‘homebody’ instead of ‘homeschooled’…” She looked like she was about to laugh again. Mrs. Blackwell’s voice turned sharp. “You’re not in school?” “Nope,” I replied without looking up. I couldn’t be bothered with school. I’d always taught myself. The one day my parents tried to send me to kindergarten, I managed to make the teacher and the entire class cry. After that, the idea of traditional schooling was permanently off the table. They worried endlessly about it. It was Leo who eventually said, “There’s a wall between gods and mortals. Forcing a deity to mingle with commoners just makes everyone uncomfortable.” He got a beating for that. So, I’d never spent a day in a classroom. Though for the past two years, the old principal of Northwood Prep had been trying to persuade me to enroll, especially with the SATs coming up. He wanted me to take them as an official student of the school. Right now, however, Mrs. Blackwell’s face was a thundercloud. She was already in a hushed, urgent conference with her husband about getting me into Lily’s school. The Blackwells couldn’t have a dropout for a daughter. It would be a laughingstock. Where would she hide her face?

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1 I was abducted as a child. When I finally escaped and found my way back, I discovered I was the true heiress of the wealthy Hayes family. But my biological parents didn’t love me. They loved the girl who had taken my place. During an emergency surgery, my parents were clad in full protective gear, and my brother, Wesley, shielded the fake heiress, Stella, like a human wall. No one told me the patient had HIV. No one told me I needed to wear a biohazard suit. And so, with a fresh cut on my hand, I was exposed. After cheating death, the fragile thread of family affection, already worn thin, finally snapped. I was done hoping. The moment the surgery ended, I calmly dialed a number. “I need to file a report. A colleague intentionally withheld a patient’s medical history, leading to my occupational exposure.” “Winnie, why aren’t you in a hazmat suit?!” My colleague Jenna’s shocked voice echoed from the doorway, her eyes wide with a terror I didn’t understand. I froze, confused. “What’s wrong?” I asked. I hadn’t heard anything about the patient having an infectious disease. Jenna recoiled as if I were the plague itself, backing away until she was plastered against the far wall. “This patient has HIV and syphilis! You can’t have contact! Didn’t Dr. Hayes tell you?” “Oh my god, are you insane? You went into surgery with zero protection?” “You’re too young to want a death sentence! Didn’t they teach you anything in nursing school?” …HIV? My gaze drifted to my parents, cocooned in their pristine protective gear, and then to my brother, Wesley, who stood guard in front of Stella. For a moment, my mind went blank. HIV. A virus that medicine has yet to conquer. Once you have it, you have it for life. My heart stuttered, missing a beat, then another. I turned stiffly to face the brother who had so carefully protected the other girl. He was the hospital’s top anesthesiologist. Reviewing a patient’s history was his job. The accusation died on my lips. I tried to force a joke. “Wes, Jenna’s kidding, right? I didn’t hear anything about an infectious—” “The patient is HIV-positive,” he cut in, his voice flat. “This was an emergency. I didn’t have time to tell you.” Didn’t have time to tell me? The smile froze on my face. My own brother dismissed my life with those four careless words. “Winnie, you’ve always been strong. It’ll be fine,” he continued. “Stella is delicate, that’s why I didn’t let her assist. Weren’t you always complaining that we play favorites? Now you get to take the lead. You should be happy.” I couldn’t hear the rest of what he said. A roar filled my ears. My face drained of color, my hands trembling uncontrollably as a hot mist of tears blurred my vision. In the ringing silence, I screamed. “Why didn’t you tell me?!” This was a communicable, life-altering disease! Even if I weren’t their daughter, their sister—even if I were just a stranger, a colleague—they had a duty to inform me of the patient’s history. My heart turned to a block of ice. Then I heard my mother’s impatient sigh. “Winnie, can you not be such a buzzkill?” “Your father and I knew you’d make a scene. That’s why we agreed not to tell you. You’re always so dramatic, such a downer.” “Besides,” she added, “you’re just a nurse. What does it matter if you know or not? Stella knows the patient’s history, and she’s standing right here, isn’t she?” A bitter, broken laugh escaped my lips. “She’s as far away as possible and wrapped in more plastic than a Christmas toy! How is that the same?!” My voice cracked. “Mom, Dad, Wesley… she’s the apple of your eye, but am I not your daughter? Your sister? Why would you hide something like this from me?” Silence. The surgery continued, their movements precise and undisturbed. My father didn’t even deign to look at me. Only after he’d stitched the final suture did he snap, “Winnie, you are being incredibly childish!” “What happens in this family, stays in this family! Have your mother and I taught you nothing? You don’t air our dirty laundry in public!” 2 His tone was pure reprimand. But who could remain calm, learning they might have just contracted HIV? Especially when I had an open wound on my hand. I stared at them, a horrifying realization dawning. From the moment I entered the operating room, they had been bundled up, double-masked, wearing goggles and two layers of rubber gloves. The entire time, Wesley had kept Stella protectively behind him, never letting her get close. I had thought she was just squeamish. And with my parents barking orders at me, I was so busy, sweating through my scrubs, that I hadn’t paid any mind to their strange attire. It wasn’t just a precaution. It was a transfer of risk. They were so terrified of Stella being endangered that they’d given the “opportunity” to me. My hand trembled more violently. My mind spiraled, imagining a future of agonizing treatments… My mother’s voice cut through my panic, sharp and scolding. “The surgery’s over. Did anything happen to you? No. I swear, you are such a drama queen!” But the virus has an incubation period! I felt the blood in my veins turn to ice water. My body finally caught up with my mind. I bolted from the OR, scrubbed my skin raw, and choked down the post-exposure prophylaxis. I washed my hands again and again until my muscles gave out and I collapsed against the wall. Tears I could no longer control streamed down my face. Wesley is terrible at eating on schedule. Just last night, worried he’d be hungry during his shift, I’d cooked his favorite braised pork. And, as fate would have it, I’d sliced my index finger while cutting the meat. When I brought him the container, I’d mentioned it casually. “Cut myself. It stings a little.” Wesley had gotten the first-aid kit, bandaged my finger himself, and told me to be careful. He was the top graduate of his class. He knew better than anyone that HIV transmission is far more likely with an open wound. Especially when the patient was coughing up blood. Did my brother actually want me to die? … As I waited for the initial test results, my heart hammered against my ribs. Meanwhile, my parents, finished with their work, didn’t spare a thought for where I was. As they passed me in the hall, they didn’t even glance in my direction. They flanked Stella, each holding one of her hands, their faces soft with affection. “My sweet girl,” my father murmured, “you worked so hard today. What do you want for dinner?” “That new sushi place?” my mother cooed. “Of course. Our treat. Let’s go.” My mouth opened, but no words came out. I just watched them walk away, a wave of dissociation washing over me. Ever since they’d found me, they had never once called me by a term of endearment. It was always a clipped, simple: “Winnie, come here.” “Winnie, dinner’s ready.” “Winnie, your sister needs help with her homework.” After I started at the hospital, their tone became exclusively one of command. “What are you standing there for?” “Didn’t you hear me? We’re having a family dinner. Keep up.” That thought snapped me back to the present. I looked up at Wesley. He was frowning, wearing that same unapproachable mask that kept the world at bay. Maybe it was the tear tracks on my face, but his tone softened, a rare occurrence. “Not telling you about the patient’s history was an oversight on my part. I’m sorry.” “But Dad’s promotion to Vice-Chair is on the line. Once that goes through, it’ll benefit you here at the hospital. So can you just drop it? We’re busy.” He paused, then added as an afterthought, “And Stella’s already clocked out. You need to write up her reports for her. I’ll text you the location of the restaurant later.” “And after the scene you just made, Mom and Dad are furious. You should apologize to them tonight.” It was still an order. Distant, detached. As if he were speaking to a subordinate. 3 Benefit me? The words were so absurd, I laughed. And once I started laughing, I couldn’t stop the tears from falling. Oh, Wesley. How could any of this possibly benefit me? From the day I started at this hospital, I’d been given the grunt work, the heaviest loads. Stella, on the other hand, was treated like a porcelain doll. My parents, terrified she might overexert herself, told every senior staff member that she was young and couldn’t handle hardship. Once, I overheard my mother telling a supervisor, “Don’t give Stella too much work.” “But you can give the menial tasks to Winnie. She didn’t grow up with us. She’s tough.” She glossed over the truth so neatly. She ignored the fact that I was “tough” because I’d been abducted and sold. She only saw that I could endure, while her precious Stella could not. Stella’s grades were so poor that no hospital wanted her. It was my parents who pulled strings to get her a position here. During my entire internship, I’d been doing the work of two people, writing two sets of reports. Most days, I didn’t even have time to eat, collapsing into bed the moment I got home. This was a benefit? A sour knot formed in my throat. I fought back a sob, my voice rising to a sharp point. “Wesley, doesn’t my life matter to you? It’s HIV! If I get it, I have it for life! I’m only twenty years old! If I’m infected, the consequences are unimaginable…” He cut me off before I could finish, his frown deepening. He sneered, his tone turning nasty. “Are you going to milk this for all it’s worth?” “Winnie, you’re fine now, aren’t you? You’re a nurse, for God’s sake. Can you stop being so fragile? I thought after we found you, you’d become independent, resilient…” He shook his head in disappointment, as if passing a final sentence on me. “But I see now you’re a lost cause.” The words were a cruel irony. My heart, once swollen with emotion, felt like a deflated balloon—limp and defeated. I suddenly remembered the day they brought me home. I was clutching Wesley’s hand, my other hand twisting the hem of my faded, threadbare dress, my heart pounding. Be calm, I told myself. Make them like you. Don’t let them send you away. And then— Stella appeared at the top of the grand, sweeping staircase, a vision in an expensive princess gown. She descended step by step, stopping in front of me to look me up and down. Then, with a practiced innocence, she asked, “Wesley, who is she? Is she the new maid?” Wesley’s jaw tightened. His grip on my hand grew firm, but he never denied it. He only said, “From now on, she’s your sister.” … At first, I was resentful. Because of my parents’ negligence, I was lost for five years, eventually sold to a rural family as a child bride. There, I had to cook, clean, and care for an invalid “grandmother” who was bedridden and incontinent. I had to fend off the advances of the family’s lecherous old bachelor son. I refused to give up. I studied relentlessly. It was only when the family let their guard down that I made my escape, walking for three days and three nights to the nearest town to call the police. I thought, after all that, I was finally coming home. But there was no place for me here. Stella was already the family’s untouchable treasure. After I was lost, my parents had channeled all their guilt and affection onto the girl who bore a passing resemblance to me. Most of the time, their bias was unconscious. But it was always there. Once, I reached for a piece of beef at dinner, and my father snapped, “Your sister likes that. Can’t you wait until she’s had her fill? Why are you so greedy? It’s not like you’ve never had it before.” But I hadn’t. Not in a very, very long time. I silently put down my chopsticks. I pushed the serving dish closer to Stella, swallowing my anger, swallowing my words. I was terrified that if I stepped out of line, they would abandon me, and I’d be sent back to that rural hell. I tried to be accommodating. I gave up so much. Three years ago, I even gave up the boy I had a secret crush on. Wasn’t it enough? Why wouldn’t my family just accept me? … A long time passed. Long enough for my colleagues to clock out and leave for the day. Wesley glanced at his phone, his patience wearing thin. “Just get over it. Jenna told me you already took the PEP. You’ll be fine.” A notification popped up on his screen. He glanced at it, then shot me a cold smirk. “Stella’s worried you’re going to have a breakdown. She asked me to comfort you.” “You don’t have the life of a princess, but you certainly have the attitude.” I snapped out of my daze, licking my dry lips. My throat felt tight, but I managed to say, “Okay. Thank her for me.” The truth was, I was hurt. So deeply hurt. Who could be treated this way by their own family and just laugh it off? But I knew, even if the pain killed me, no one here would care. My parents would just call me dramatic. My sister would just wipe her crocodile tears and say, “Oh, sister, if only I had been the one who was taken…” Wesley seemed taken aback by my compliance. He faltered for a second before snapping, “Look at you. What a mess.” Without waiting for a reply, he rushed off, presumably to the sushi dinner. After he left, I stood frozen for a long time. My family’s words echoed in my ears, each one a fresh wave of heartache. “When will you ever be as considerate as your sister?” “Why do you always walk around with that dead look on your face? What do we owe you?” “If you make Stella cry again, you can get out of this house!” Those merciless words were a razor-sharp knife, severing the last, tender strand of connection I had to this family. Abducted at eleven; found at sixteen. I had spent five years walking on eggshells, making myself small. Finally, at twenty, I understood. My own flesh and blood truly did not care if I lived or died. A laugh bubbled up from my chest. I felt something inside me, a place I had reserved only for family, begin to crack and shatter. A knife appeared, methodically slicing away the thing called “kinship.” The wound healed, scarred over, reformed into something new. I placed a hand over my beating heart. And I was surprised to find… I really didn’t care anymore. I didn’t care about my parents’ love. I didn’t care about my brother’s approval. And I certainly didn’t care about my sister’s constant provocations. My hands felt clumsy as I pulled out my phone and dialed the number for the State Medical Board. The words I had buried for so long finally came pouring out. “I need to report my colleagues for concealing a patient’s HIV status, resulting in my occupational exposure.”

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I was once the childhood companion of Aurelius, Crown Prince of the Celestial Realm. For three millennia, I loved him in secret. To win his hand, I knelt before the Celestial Emperor countless times, finally begging a decree for our betrothal. Yet, he treated me with an icy disdain. Because my sister claimed I meant her harm, Aurelius forced me to leap from the Sky-Piercer Spire, condemning me to ten mortal lifetimes as a lesson. A thousand years later, I dragged my scarred, broken celestial body back to the heavens. The lofty Aurelius looked down upon me. “Rhea, have you learned your lesson?” Humbly, I knelt. “I have, Your Highness. I swear on my very soul, I will never again harbor improper thoughts for you.” He nodded, satisfied. But when he saw the marks and scars that covered my body, when he learned that for the last millennium, I had been a courtesan in the Abyss of Lost Souls, his eyes turned blood-red, and he went mad with rage. 1 It was my one-thousand-and-fiftieth year working in the Abyss of Lost Souls. Aurelius finally sent someone for me. “By my calculations, Lady Rhea’s ten mortal lifetimes should be concluded. Go and bring her back. She can attend the wedding feast for myself and her sister, Lady Lyra.” Aurelius’s lieutenant had searched the Three Realms for an eternity before finally tracking me to this infernal brothel. When he arrived to collect me, two hulking demons were just leaving my bedchamber. The lieutenant’s brow furrowed, his eyes filled with undisguised disgust. “Lady Rhea, what a clever scheme. Hiding in the filthiest corner of the Abyss to evade the Prince’s sentence.” “You are a Celestial, a princess of the Phoenix Conclave. How could you fall so low?” he spat. “Look at yourself. The sight of you makes me want to vomit.” Once, if a mere lieutenant had dared speak to me so, his head would have parted from his shoulders. But I was no longer the Rhea I once was. I lowered my head. “You are right, Lieutenant. I have debased myself. I am unworthy of being a Celestial. Please, take me back to the heavens.” I pulled on my robes, but my legs were weak, my body drained of all strength. Impatient, the lieutenant bound me with a Celestial Chain and simply dragged me skyward. The chain was lined with countless tiny barbs. The moment he pulled, a piercing scream tore from my throat. He barked, “What are you screaming for? You have your celestial energy to protect you. As if this chain could truly harm you! If you hadn’t been feigning weakness and wasting time, I wouldn’t have had to use this at all.” When we reached Aurelius’s Citadel of Eternal Light, he yanked the chain back. The barbs tore my flesh anew. Blood soaked through my thin robes. I clutched the fabric to myself and knelt on the cold, unforgiving marble. Soon, Aurelius appeared. He sat upon the high throne of his Citadel, his gaze a mixture of coldness and contempt. Everyone in the heavens knew the story: Lady Rhea, the young princess of the Phoenix Conclave, had been infatuated with Crown Prince Aurelius for three thousand years. Trading on their shared childhood, she had openly declared she would marry no other. A millennium ago, to secure a betrothal, I had prostrated myself before the Celestial Emperor countless times, finally earning a royal decree. But Aurelius had rejected it, never showing me an ounce of affection. I had once believed he was simply incapable of love. Then I saw him tenderly tracing my sister Lyra’s brow, adjusting her cloak. And I knew. The ice-cold Prince could love. He just didn’t love me. A thousand years had only amplified his commanding presence. I kept my head bowed, not daring to meet his eyes. Seeing me, Aurelius’s lips tightened in a familiar, downward curve. “Rhea, have you learned your lesson?” he asked. As the words left his mouth, the crushing weight of his royal authority washed over me. My already fragile body couldn’t withstand the impact, and I collapsed. Aurelius snorted. “Look at this pathetic display. How pitiful.” “Rhea, I am warning you. If you ever dare to think of harming your sister again, I will make you pay a thousand times over.” Before he could finish, I scrambled back to my knees, bowing my head to the floor. “I was wrong! I was wrong, Your Highness! I will never dare again!” And I wouldn’t. Once, I had believed our shared past made me special in his eyes. But all it took was a single tear from my sister Lyra for him to believe her lies, to condemn me for a crime I never committed. The Prince’s sentence of ten mortal lifetimes was nearly impossible to evade, unless one fled to the Abyss. When I refused to go, he drew his sword and forced me to the edge of the Sky-Piercer Spire. “Your heart is black with poison,” he’d snarled. “You tried to poison Lyra. A few lifetimes of mortal suffering is a light punishment. What right do you have to refuse?” As I fell, ten thousand bolts of celestial lightning shattered my powers, nearly cleaving my phoenix form in two. Remembering this, I pressed my forehead lower, prostrating myself in supplication. What courage did I have left to resist? How many lives did I have to spare? The celestial handmaidens in the hall began to whisper. “Look at her. A princess of the Conclave, brought to such a miserable end.” “It’s her own fault for being so greedy, for daring to think she could marry the Prince.” “His Highness and Lady Lyra are a perfect match, destined by the heavens. What does she have to do with it?” Celestials have keen senses. Aurelius heard them, but said nothing. I remained bowed, not daring to lift my head. My body trembled as I swore an oath, word by painful word. “Your Highness, it was my foolishness, my delusion. I am awake now. I will never again presume to covet you.” “I, Rhea, swear to the heavens, I will never again harbor improper thoughts for the Crown Prince!” “And I sincerely wish you and my sister a blessed union, an eternity of love.” I peeked up, offering a placating smile, praying he would finally let me go. Aurelius sneered. “If it weren’t for Lyra’s kindness, for her begging on your behalf, do you think you would have ever been allowed back?” “You two are sisters, born of the same mother. Lyra is as benevolent as a saint, while your heart is as black as a demon’s.” “You’ve returned after your punishment, but a few mortal lifetimes was a pittance. You still need to suffer a little more, to truly learn your lesson.” At the word “suffer,” I began to shake uncontrollably. The matron of the Abyss brothel used to say the same thing when I was disobedient. Fear paralyzed me. I crumpled to the floor, my face as white as paper. “No, no, I beg you! Please don’t punish me again!” “I can leave the Celestial Realm forever! I’ll become a mortal! Just please, no more punishment!” But Aurelius saw only another pathetic performance. “Is this a place for you to speak?” he commanded coldly. “Guards! The Lady Rhea has shown disrespect to the Crown. Three hundred lashes!” These were not ordinary lashes. A single strike from his enchanted whip could shatter my phoenix bones. The lieutenant carrying out the sentence, clearly acting on another’s orders, aimed every blow at my old wounds, carefully avoiding any fatal injury, leaving me in a state of living death. When it was over, I was alone in the great hall. My body was a bloody ruin, one leg broken. I began to crawl, inch by painful inch, toward my own palace. Behind me, a stark, crimson trail stained the pristine marble of the Citadel of Eternal Light. 2 The Citadel of Eternal Light and my Palace of Moonlight were directly across from each other. As a child, I used to flit between them in the blink of an eye. Now, I crawled from dawn until dusk and still had not reached home. The journey was so long, so agonizing, it brought back a millennium of torment. At the end of the first century, Aurelius had sent a phantom projection of himself to me. He had asked, his voice cold and remote, “Rhea, have you learned your lesson?” At the time, I was fighting for my life every day, battling various demons to protect my virtue, my body covered in wounds. Outrage and grief churned within me. “I did nothing wrong!” I had shouted. And it was true. I had never intended to harm Lyra. It was all a charade she had orchestrated. Aurelius had sneered. “It seems your life is still too comfortable.” “I suppose you are of phoenix blood. Even with your powers stripped by the Spire, you still have your phoenix bones to protect you. You must be living as you please among the mortals, knowing nothing of hardship.” He had pointed a finger, and a bolt of lightning shattered my phoenix bones. I screamed in agony as the last of my defenses crumbled. After his projection vanished, the demons lurking in the shadows emerged. They took advantage of my grievous injuries, my utter helplessness, and defiled me. They laughed, their voices grating. “A Celestial, as expected. The taste is truly… exquisite.” “A delicacy delivered by the Crown Prince himself. How could we not partake?” I cried until I had no tears left, but I was powerless to stop them. At the end of the third century, Aurelius’s phantom appeared again. He saw me adorned in fine silks and jeweled hairpins and was incandescent with rage. “I sentenced you to self-reflection, and instead you’ve made a fine life for yourself!” He didn’t know that I had been captured by the brothel matron, dressed in finery, and forced to entertain clients every day. Another bolt of lightning struck. With my bones already broken, I had no defense. This time, one of my celestial tail feathers—the core of my being—shattered. I was the last Rainbow Phoenix in existence. With each lost feather, I moved closer to oblivion. When all seven were gone, I would simply cease to be. At the end of the fifth century, the moment Aurelius appeared, I fell to my knees and confessed. I lied, admitting to everything, begging him to stop punishing me, to let me return. But he only laughed coldly. “A little late for regrets, isn’t it? It is Lyra’s misfortune to have a sister like you.” He shattered another of my feathers, for my “own good.” My heart died then. The light in my eyes went out. After that, I learned. When his phantom appeared again, I pretended not to see him. Aurelius, thinking something was amiss, never came back. And so he never knew. I had not been living out ten mortal lifetimes. I had spent a thousand years in the Abyss of Lost Souls. 3 The Palace of Moonlight had been empty for a millennium, draped in dust and decay. But still, a flicker of excitement rose in me. A thousand years, and I was finally home. But just as I reached the threshold, the world went black, and I passed out. When I awoke, I was in a clean, pristine chamber. My wounds had been treated and bandaged. Hearing someone approach, a wave of terrifying memories washed over me, and I shrank back into the bed. “Don’t! Stay away!” My sister Lyra entered, carrying a bowl of medicinal broth. Her gaze was soft and full of pity. “Little sister, don’t be afraid. It’s me.” Seeing her, my fear intensified. She offered me the bowl. “I found you collapsed outside your palace. I couldn’t bear to leave you there, so I brought you here.” “You seem to be covered in wounds,” she murmured. “Were your mortal lives so unpleasant? How strange. The Prince placed a powerful ward of protection on you. How could you have sustained so many injuries?” I stared at her, trying to parse the truth from the lies. After Aurelius forced me from the Spire, I should have been reborn a mortal. But as my power faded, a shadowy figure had abducted me and thrown me into the Abyss. Though the figure had concealed its aura, I had seen a flash of blue feathers. And my sister, Lyra, her true form was that of a Blue Phoenix. Who else in the universe could hate me so much? She held a spoonful of the scalding broth to my lips. “Drink, little sister,” she cooed, but her eyes were cold, pressuring me. I didn’t want it. I shook my head, shrinking away. Suddenly, Lyra cried out. Her hand “slipped,” and the bowl shattered on the floor. She shook her head, sighing with theatrical sadness. “Rhea, I know you resent me, but you can’t trifle with your own health. If you don’t take your medicine, how will your wounds heal?” The words were barely out of her mouth when Aurelius strode into the room. He saw the red, scalded skin on Lyra’s hand and his face filled with concern. He immediately lifted her fingers to his lips. Lyra blushed. “Your Highness, Rhea is watching.” Aurelius paid me no mind. Only when Lyra’s hand was healed did he look up, his eyes blazing with anger at me. “You claimed you had learned your lesson in my Citadel. I see now you haven’t learned a thing.” “Lyra tries to help you, and you throw hot broth on her. If you want to die, then get out! I will gladly grant your wish. But do not trample on Lyra’s kindness here!” Lyra quickly interjected, “Your Highness, don’t be angry. My sister is truly, grievously injured…” Aurelius scoffed. “My lieutenant told me everything. He gave her three light taps with the whip, and she was screaming for her life. Three hundred lashes became three. It was a tickle. What injuries could she possibly have?!” My eyes went wide. The lieutenant had lied? He hadn’t spared a single lash. Whose orders was he following, to slander me like this? Lyra tried to speak again, but Aurelius marched over and seized my wrist to check my celestial pulse. I flinched, terrified he would discover the truth of my condition. But a second later, he threw my hand down in disgust and wiped his own fingers with a silk handkerchief. “Your celestial energy is abundant, your phoenix bones are strong. You are perfectly fine!” My mouth fell open in disbelief. My very essence was damaged, my powers were gone, shattered a millennium ago at the Spire. How could he say this? Lyra feigned a look of dawning comprehension. “Oh, is that so? Then it seems I was the fool, deceived by Rhea once again.” “Sister,” she said, turning to me, “why do you always torment me so?” She gave me a small, tight smile, and in it, I saw an ocean of enmity. It was her. It had to be. She had woven some new illusion, some fresh treachery. 4 My father, the Phoenix King, heard I had returned and came to Lyra’s palace to see me. At the sight of his familiar face, tears streamed down my cheeks. When I was a child, I was his favorite. If I’d asked for a star from the sky, he would have had the Star-Lord pluck one for me. But after Lyra’s endless, subtle manipulations, a chasm had grown between us. Like Aurelius, he believed I had tried to poison my own sister. And so, at our reunion, his eyes held only stern coldness. He was no longer the doting father of my childhood. There would be no indulgence for me. He asked the same question as Aurelius. “Rhea, have you learned your lesson?” I nodded frantically. “I have. I will never dare again.” My father’s brow furrowed. “What is this… illusion upon you?” Beside him, Lyra’s face paled. With a wave of his hand, the spell was broken. The skin of my arms and neck, now exposed, was a tapestry of old and new scars. “Someone has placed an illusion on you to hide your wounds?” he demanded. “Who? Who did this?!” He looked around the room, his gaze falling on my trembling sister. Aurelius, too, sensed something was wrong. “An illusion? Was the pulse I read a lie?” He strode toward me, intending to check my celestial veins again. “It was me!” I cried out, my voice tight with panic. “I cast the spell on myself!” My father stared at me, confused. Lyra breathed a sigh of relief. Aurelius’s hand froze in mid-air. He stared at my face, a cold sneer forming on his lips. “It seems Lady Rhea’s celestial foundation is quite profound indeed. After ten mortal lifetimes, you still have the power to cast illusions on yourself.” Lyra added smoothly, “Aurelius, don’t be angry with her. A young girl, sent to the mortal realm… it’s only natural she’d feel wronged and want to conjure some fake injuries to get your attention.” “When I discovered it and spoke to her, she saw the error of her ways and used another illusion to hide them. It was all just a misunderstanding. Rhea is still young. Don’t hold it against her.” Her explanation only deepened the disgust in Aurelius’s eyes. Even my father, who had shown a flicker of concern, now frowned deeply. “I had hoped your time in the mortal realm would temper you, build your character. But you are the same as you were a thousand years ago—scheming and manipulative!” “Rhea, I am so disappointed in you!” My father’s anger was a thunderstorm. I dragged my weak body from the bed and fell to my knees, bowing my head to the ground again and again. “I was wrong! Please, Father, calm your anger!” I bowed until my forehead bled, staining the marble, but no one cared. They saw it as just another small lesson for me. My father swept from the room, Aurelius following him. After seeing them off, Lyra returned and kicked me to the ground. “Well done, Rhea. It seems your millennium in the Abyss has taught you a thing or two. You even know how to cover for me now.” She giggled, covering her mouth. The implication of her words hit me, and I shot my head up, glaring at her. “It was you! You’re the one who sent me to the Abyss!” Lyra sat gracefully, a perfect celestial being compared to the wretched creature I was on the floor. In the face of my accusation, she just smiled. “Yes. And what of it? Just like today, you knew I cast the illusion, but you only dared to tell Father and Aurelius that you did it yourself.” “You did the right thing, you know. If you had exposed me, I have a thousand ways to defend myself. It would only have deepened their disgust for you. In their eyes, I am the moon in the sky, and you are the mud on their boots. You see the difference, don’t you?” Her words were daggers, each one piercing my heart. It was true. In their eyes, I was nothing but filth. There was another reason I had lied. I was terrified that if Aurelius discovered the true extent of my injuries, he would demand to know how I got them. And then, he would uncover the unspeakable memories of the last millennium. I had been ruined, tainted beyond repair. I couldn’t bear to have my shame exposed before him and my father. It would be worse than death. So I had to hide it all—the scars, and the thousand years in the Abyss. Lyra grabbed my throat, forcing me to meet her eyes. The horrific memories flooded back, and I began to tremble uncontrollably, terror spilling from my eyes. “What are you afraid of, little sister? Let me tell you the truth. Aurelius’s lieutenant is my man, too. I knew where you were all along. I just told him to take his time finding you. So he made a little detour through the Three Realms before coming to get you.” “Another fifty years in the Abyss for you. You don’t blame me, do you, sister?” “And the three hundred lashes that he told Aurelius was only three? That was my idea, too. Even if the truth came out, Aurelius wouldn’t blame him. He’d just assume you were up to your old manipulative tricks.” “So, you see, you have to swallow all this bitterness. Just like when that matron forced you to take clients, broke your teeth, and you had to swallow them down and keep working through the night.” Every word she spoke was a fresh agony. Tears streamed down my face. I was choking, trembling, unable to form a single word, only a silent, desperate scream. She knew. She knew everything. She was the architect of my ruin. And I was drowning in a grief I could share with no one.

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The first time I met my biological parents, I had just crawled out of the mine shaft, covered in coal dust. Disgust flickered in their eyes—my father didn’t bother hiding it. “Get her another car,” he snapped. “I won’t have her dirtying ours.” My mother forced a smile. “Poor child. Once you’re clean, Mommy will make it up to you.” Then they fled to their car. Only their adopted son, Aiden Ashford, stayed behind. “Ride with me,” he said. I showered at the mine first, washing off the grime before slipping into his Maybach. At the Ashford estate, my parents were absent. Instead, Naomi—the “fake” heiress—greeted me with a saccharine smile. “Sister!” she chirped, grabbing my hand—then shoved a fruit knife into it, forcing my grip toward her own chest. 1 My first introduction to the Ashford family, and Naomi was trying to make me shank her with a piece of cutlery. Was this some kind of bizarre welcoming ritual? I’m lazy by nature, but I’m also strong. She didn’t stand a chance. She tugged, strained, but my arm didn’t budge. She blinked, her wide, innocent eyes betraying a flash of confusion before she tried to pull again. I just pointed a finger at the small camera pinned to my shirt. “Life-logging,” I said, conserving my words. The color drained from Naomi’s face. She dropped my hand as if it were on fire. Just then, Aiden walked in from parking the car. He saw the knife in my hand, Naomi’s terrified expression, and a complicated look crossed his face. I couldn’t be bothered to explain, so I just placed the knife back in Naomi’s hand. “Aiden, you’re back!” she chirped, her tone instantly shifting to one of cloying affection. “I had Mrs. Gable make you some of her chicken soup. I’ll go get it for you right now.” “Not hungry,” Aiden replied, shaking his head. His gaze shifted to me. “Claire? Are you hungry?” “Too much effort,” I said. I slumped onto the nearest sofa, letting my body go limp. I pulled a bag of chips from my backpack and began to shovel them into my mouth with a listless, apathetic air. This was me in my natural state: if I can lie down, I won’t sit; if I can sit, I won’t stand. “Tired?” Aiden asked, a note of genuine concern in his voice. “I’m fine.” I kept eating, pulling out my tablet with my other hand. My left hand danced across the screen, tapping out lines of code, while my right hand scrolled through videos on my phone, my snack-shoveling an intermittent, automatic motion. Aiden and Naomi stared at me as if I were some kind of alien creature. Naomi eventually drifted closer, her voice dripping with faux sympathy. “Sister, you’ve had it so rough all these years, you probably never learned the proper etiquette for a family like ours. If people saw you acting like this, it would be terribly embarrassing for the Ashfords. But don’t you worry, I can teach you all about social graces.” “Too much effort.” I yawned and offered a piece of well-intentioned advice. “The mine’s a busy place. Are you sure you don’t want to go back and help out?” In my mind, a person should see their biological parents. It was the only reason I’d even agreed to come back to this place. I figured she’d feel the same. But Naomi’s smile twitched, and her eyes instantly welled with tears. “Sister, if you don’t want me in this house, I can just leave…” “Suit yourself.” I could see it then. For all her talk about not pulling any drama, she was itching for a fight. But what was there to fight over? Money? I couldn’t care less about money. I really wanted to tell her that, but I knew she wouldn’t believe me. No normal person would. So, I saved myself the breath. Aiden came and sat down beside me. “Mom and Dad said they have to go abroad for a few days,” he explained softly. “They’ll make it up to you properly when they get back. They hope you won’t overthink things.” “Okay,” I nodded, my spirit feeling like it could drift out of my skull at any moment. Aiden looked a bit helpless. He turned to Naomi. “Is her room ready?” “It’s still being prepared. I want it to be perfect for my sister, so there’s a lot to do,” Naomi said, a hint of distress in her voice. “Aiden… maybe she could just stay in a guest room for tonight?” 2 Aiden’s brow furrowed, as if he could see right through Naomi’s little scheme. “Claire just got here. Why would she stay in a guest room? She’s family, not a guest.” “I get it, Aiden. In this family, I’m the only one who’s an outsider…” Naomi’s voice broke, and she started to cry. I saw Aiden roll his eyes. I wanted to do the same, but it felt like too much work. “I’ll sleep anywhere,” I said, breaking the tension. “As long as it has a window for ventilation.” Aiden let out a breath of relief, seemingly glad that the ‘real heiress’ wasn’t going to be difficult. “Then pick any room you like, except for Mom and Dad’s. I’ll personally see to your permanent room tomorrow.” Naomi looked crestfallen. “But Aiden, I can arrange the room for my sister…” Aiden completely ignored her, speaking only to me. “I have a meeting at the office this afternoon. If you need anything, we can talk when I get back tonight.” “Okay,” I mumbled, melting back into the sofa cushions. He shook his head, a hint of amusement and resignation in his eyes at my profound laziness. Then he was gone, clearly a man with important responsibilities. The moment he left, Naomi’s demeanor changed. “Sister,” she said, her smile returning, “let me show you to a wonderful room. I’m sure you’ll love it.” “Fine.” I reluctantly pushed myself to my feet. Honestly, if they’d let me just strip down and pass out on the living room floor, I would have stayed right there. Moving was such a chore. I knew this girl was up to something, but I was too tired to care. Sure enough, she led me to a room on the second floor. It was immaculate. A faint, sterile scent of lavender hung in the air, and every object was arranged with obsessive precision. It was clearly the room of someone with a serious case of OCD. And from my limited observations, the prime candidate for that in this house was Aiden. My suspicion was confirmed when I saw a framed photo of him on the desk. I shot a weary glance at Naomi. Seriously? Did this girl really think I was that stupid? But she feigned ignorance, smiling brightly. “If you like it here, Sister, you can get some rest.” “Fine.” I nodded. I knew she was setting a trap, but the thought of searching for another room was physically painful. All I wanted was a shower and to lie down until I fused with the mattress. Naomi couldn’t hide a triumphant little smirk as she scurried out, as if afraid I’d change my mind. I took my shower and collapsed onto the bed. Sometime after dark, I was jolted awake by the sound of a soft cough. Aiden was standing by the bed, dressed in a sharp, tailored black suit. His face was a cold mask, an unspoken demand for an explanation hanging in the air. Naomi was right beside him, her voice a soft, poisonous whisper. “Aiden, I tried to stop her. I told her you were a neat freak and couldn’t stand anyone in your space, but Sister just wouldn’t listen. She insisted on this room.” 3 “Is it comfortable?” After a long, tense moment, that’s what Aiden asked. Not the explosion of anger I’d expected, especially with Naomi fanning the flames so expertly. I rubbed my eyes and gave him a serious nod. “Very. The aromatherapy is great for sleep.” A hint of surprise flickered in his eyes, as if he hadn’t expected me to know about aromatherapy. “Then you can stay here.” Naomi looked stunned. “Aiden! In the past, you’d get angry if I even stepped into your room. Why does she get to sleep here?” “Are you hungry?” Aiden ignored her completely, a small smile playing on his lips as he looked at me. I nodded, adding, “Don’t want to get out of bed.” “Alright. I’ll bring it up for you.” He nodded and turned to leave. Naomi’s eyes widened, her voice a furious whisper. “Why? Why is he so good to you when you’ve just arrived? He’s a complete germaphobe, but he’s letting you sleep in his bed? He’s even going to let you eat in his bed? Why?” I didn’t bother answering, just pulled out my phone and started scrolling through videos. Naomi stood there, looking like a fool, but she didn’t leave. It seemed she was morbidly curious to see how I would manage to eat in Aiden’s pristine bed. A few minutes later, Aiden returned pushing a serving cart. It had a small, extendable tray table that could be positioned over the bed. All I had to do was sit up. I did so, listlessly, rinsed my mouth with some water, and then dug into the food without a word. Aiden went to his desk and started working on his laptop, not paying me any mind at all. Naomi sidled over to the cart and picked up a glass of juice. I knew what she was planning. She was going to “accidentally” spill it on the bed and then tattle to the compulsively clean Aiden about my clumsiness. I had no idea how he’d react, but I was sure it would involve me having to move rooms. I’m lazy. I didn’t want to move. So, I picked up my phone and aimed the camera at her. The motion of her hand, just about to tip the glass, froze. A strained, sickly smile spread across her face as she held the juice out to me. “Sister, have some juice.” “Don’t want any.” I glanced over at Aiden and found him already looking our way. Our eyes met for a moment. He had beautiful eyes, deep and perceptive, as if they could see right through everything. “Naomi,” Aiden’s voice cut through the silence. “Don’t you have your college entrance exams coming up? Shouldn’t you be studying?” Naomi’s smile faltered. She knew she was being dismissed. She had no choice but to leave. After I finished eating, a housekeeper came in to clear everything away. I went back to my routine: left hand coding, right hand scrolling. I have no idea how much time passed, but eventually, I was sleepy again. I was about to go take another shower before bed when Aiden finished his work. He walked over and placed a small bottle on the nightstand. “Nootropic supplements,” he said. “For brain function.” “Thanks, Aiden,” I said, looking at him with suspicion. How did he know I needed something like that? But he had already left the room. I was too lazy to ask. I took a shower, swallowed the pills, and was asleep in minutes. The next few days passed in a similar blur. I barely left the room. Naomi kept trying to stir up trouble, but she never got the chance. Aiden was there every day, working quietly at his desk, but we hardly spoke. Until one morning, as I was still dead to the world, the blankets were suddenly ripped off me. I shot awake to see my biological parents standing over me. It was my father who had torn away my covers. “What do you think you’re doing, sleeping in here?” he roared. 4 “Sister, even though Aiden is adopted, you have to think about appearances!” Naomi immediately fanned the flames. “If people find out that the true Ashford heiress came back and immediately started sleeping in her brother’s room, what would they say? It’s a disgrace! We can’t let you tarnish the Ashford family name like this!” My mother collapsed into a dramatic fit of tears. “Oh, what a tragedy! How could my own daughter be so shameless? I don’t want to live!” My father turned his fury on me. “You’re a student! Why is your mind filled with such improper thoughts? Get out of that bed right now!” I calmly pulled the blanket back over myself and tapped a few commands into my phone. The room’s lights dimmed and a projector whirred to life, casting an image onto the wall. It was a feed from the room’s security camera, showing everything from the moment Naomi first brought me in until this very second. I’m too lazy to argue, but I’m not about to be wrongly accused. My parents shot a look at Naomi, their expressions souring. But my father quickly recovered. “Your sister brought you to this room to give you a nice environment, but you should know to keep your distance!” My mother sighed. “She was raised in the countryside, after all. No sense of propriety, no consideration for others.” It was crystal clear. They didn’t care about right or wrong; they just plain didn’t like me. But if they disliked me so much, why did they go to all the trouble of finding me and bringing me back? I sighed, too tired to press the issue. Thankfully, Aiden arrived and diffused the situation. As my parents were leaving the room, I heard my father mutter something vile. “You need to be more discreet. You’re a bargaining chip for this family’s future. A tarnished reputation makes you worthless.” I caught a glimpse of Aiden’s face as he heard it. It was a blank, dead mask. Later, I was summoned downstairs for dinner. My parents sat with Naomi between them, looking for all the world like a perfect family of three. Naomi was a master at pleasing them, showering them with compliments and laughter. They would look at her with pride, then glance at me with disappointment, the comparison hanging unspoken in the air. Suddenly, Naomi turned to me. “Sister, did you go to school in the countryside?” “Graduated,” I said dismissively. My father frowned. “You’re the same age as Naomi, and she’s only a high school senior. What did you graduate from? What did you even study?” “Computer science and welding.” Smack! My father slammed his hand on the table. “An Ashford does not learn something as low-class as welding!” My mother quickly chimed in. “Naomi is a senior at Northwood Preparatory Academy, she has a real shot at the Ivy League. You should go there for a semester. Even if you can’t get into a good university, your father and I can always endow a new library to get you a degree from a decent school.” “But I’ve already graduated.” I wanted to tell them I was a graduate of MIT’s early entrance program, that I had a job—a job so secret I couldn’t even talk about it—and that I was just here on a family visit. But it was classified, and honestly, I was just too lazy to explain. My father slammed the table again. “How dare you talk back! I’ve decided. You’re enrolling at Northwood tomorrow!” Great. They were sending me back to the forge. If I remembered correctly, I had visited Northwood a few years back as a consultant. I couldn’t wait to see the principal’s face when he found out I was his newest student. Just then, we had visitors. A family of three arrived, the middle-aged couple exuding an air of wealth. With them was a woman around Aiden’s age, beautiful in a sharp-boned way, but her eyes were sunken and her skin had a pale, unhealthy cast. She looked like she’d been hollowed out by a life of excess. I noticed Aiden’s expression harden the moment he saw her. His intended? The introductions were made. The older couple seemed quite taken with Naomi. The younger woman, however, couldn’t take her eyes off Aiden, occasionally licking her lips in a way that made my skin crawl. My father, noticing I hadn’t stood up, scowled. “This is Claire. She’ll be taking the Ashford name soon. She’s my daughter who was… misplaced. We just found her. She doesn’t have many manners.” He then ordered me to greet them. I offered a perfunctory “Mr. Beaumont, Mrs. Beaumont.” Naomi added sweetly, “Sister, this is our future sister-in-law.” I looked at the predatory woman, then at Aiden’s pale, trapped face. He glanced at me, and for a fleeting second, I saw a desperate plea for help in his eyes. That was all it took. I walked over to Aiden, leaned in, cupped his face in my hands, and kissed him. Right there, right then. The world froze. Everyone stared, mouths agape, as if they’d been turned to stone. I pulled back, stood up straight, and rested my hand on Aiden’s shoulder. “Allow me to introduce you,” I announced to the silent room. “Aiden. My boyfriend.”

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Cole’s one true love and I were trapped in a burning building. He chose to save me—his pregnant wife—first. But by the time he went back for her, Lila was gone, consumed by the flames. And so, he blamed me. He said my weakness delayed the rescue. He wouldn’t even let our daughter call him “Dad.” Six years later, when time travel was invented, he ignored the pleas of his family and prepared to go back. “Zoe,” he’d said, his voice cold as ice, “if you hadn’t used the baby to threaten me, I never would have saved you first.” Even our daughter had turned against me. “If you hadn’t killed Aunt Lila, Dad wouldn’t hate me!” So, facing their accusations and my own broken heart, I made a choice. I would follow him back. This time, I would save myself. And I would owe Cole Sterling nothing. 1 The dizzying sensation from the time machine faded, immediately replaced by a wave of heat so intense it felt like it could melt steel. I blinked my eyes open and saw him standing before me: Cole Sterling, his jaw clenched tight. He glanced at me, just for a second, before turning without hesitation and running toward Lila, who had crumpled to the floor nearby. Flames licked at my clothes, threatening to swallow me whole. I scrambled, desperate to escape. I was just about to break free, to taste the clean air, when Cole rushed past me, carrying Lila in his arms. In her panic, she thrashed, her hand flying out and shoving me backward, back into the inferno. I hit the ground hard. A heavy cabinet, weakened by the fire, toppled over, crushing my body beneath it. A searing pain exploded through me. Gritting my teeth against the agony and the blistering heat, I managed to shove the cabinet off and crawl, inch by painful inch, out of the fire. When I finally reached the safety of the open air, I collapsed, coughing violently. Cole, who had long since escaped with Lila, walked over and looked down at me, his eyes devoid of warmth. “So, Zoe, you could have gotten out on your own?” he said, his voice dripping with contempt. “You waited in there just to force my hand, to make sure I wouldn’t have time to save Lila.” The chill in his eyes was colder than any winter wind, extinguishing the fire’s oppressive heat. He didn’t know yet. He didn’t know I had come back, too. “You’re already planning how you’ll twist this to Mom and Dad, aren’t you?” he sneered. “Say whatever you want. But if you drag Lila into this, don’t expect me to honor our marriage vows.” Hearing that, I instinctively placed a hand over my stomach. My voice was calm when I spoke. “Cole, let’s get a divorce.” His expression froze. He stared at me for a long moment before his face hardened with impatience. “I’m in no mood for your games.” “I’m not playing. I’m serious. I want a divorce.” In the last lifetime, Cole Sterling had two great regrets: not saving Lila from the fire first, and listening to his parents and marrying me. I had no intention of reliving that miserable life. This time, I would help him erase both regrets. His eyes narrowed, his tone becoming even more frigid. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to. You’re just using this ‘divorce’ to blow up the fact that I saved Lila, to make my parents hate her even more.” He sighed, a mask of weary tolerance sliding into place. “Marriage isn’t a game, Zoe. Stop being so childish. Come on, I’ll take you to the hospital to get checked out.” He reached a hand down to help me up, a clear warning in his eyes that told me to drop the act. A sharp, cramping pain shot through my lower abdomen. I started to lift my arm, but Lila was faster. She grabbed Cole’s hand first. “Cole,” she whimpered, clutching a small carrier. “Peanut… I think he inhaled too much smoke. He doesn’t look good. Can you please take me to the pet hospital?” Tears streamed down her face. Cole didn’t hesitate. “Of course.” Only after he agreed did he seem to remember me. Lila followed his gaze, her expression turning pleading. “Zoe, you don’t seem badly hurt… could you just wait here for a little bit? Peanut means the world to me.” Peanut was the parrot Cole had given her years ago. “I’ll call an ambulance for you,” Cole said to me. “I’ll come to the hospital to be with you after I get Peanut sorted out.” I met his gaze and nodded faintly. “Okay. Go ahead.” A flicker of surprise crossed his face, but seeing Lila’s frantic state, he didn’t press. He just scooped her up and drove away. After they were gone, I forced myself to lift the hem of my oversized coat. My dress beneath was soaked in a horrifying, bright red stain. When the ambulance finally arrived and I was rushed into the operating room, the doctor’s face was grim. “Ms. Sullivan,” he said after the examination, his voice gentle but firm. “You were brought in too late. I’m so sorry, but we couldn’t save your baby.” 2 Last time, because Cole had saved me first, the baby had been fine. But after our daughter was born, he was a father in name only. He paid the bills, but offered nothing else. I remember our daughter once asking me, tears in her eyes, why all the other kids got presents from their dads, while hers had never bought her a single toy. I never understood his coldness, not until the day I overheard him talking to her. “Don’t call me ‘Dad’,” he’d said softly. “I won’t acknowledge you as my daughter. I’ll compensate you in other ways.” He saw the confused tears welling in her eyes and carefully pulled out a single, iridescent feather he’d treasured for years. “The day you were born,” he whispered, more to himself than to her, “everyone was so busy rushing your mother to the hospital that no one noticed Peanut was gone. Lila must have hated me… I not only failed to save her, I couldn’t even protect her parrot.” His voice broke. “If I had another chance, I would protect them both. Even if it meant losing my own child.” The memory brought a familiar heat to my eyes. From the moment I came back, I knew I couldn’t keep this child. I accepted the doctor’s news with a strange sense of peace. My friend had just dropped off the divorce papers when Cole walked into the hospital room. He was carrying a bag of toys. “I saw these on the way here and thought they were cute,” he said, a rare, lighthearted smile touching the corners of his eyes. “A little gift for the baby.” He started arranging them on the table next to me. “Did you find Peanut?” I asked. His movements paused. Then he nodded. “We found him. So, I hope you won’t tell my parents what happened today. I don’t want them to misunderstand Lila. If you can help me keep this quiet, I’ll agree to anything you want.” Ah. So that was it. The toys, the smile—it was all for Lila. My eyes drifted to the toys on the table. On the tag of a small plastic ladder, I saw the words: “For Parrots.” My heart felt like it had been plugged with concrete. Even these little tokens meant to appease me were just afterthoughts, purchased while he was out shopping for Lila’s pet. “Anything?” I asked, forcing the tears back, forcing a light, playful tone into my voice. He nodded. I took out the divorce agreement I’d prepared, covering the text so only the signature line was visible. “Then sign this promise for me.” He frowned in confusion. “What kind of promise?” “A promise that you’ll never change your heart, of course.” I used to do childish things like this all the time, so he didn’t seem to suspect anything. He simply took the pen and signed his name. Once the signed paper was safely in my bag, a wave of relief washed over me. In the last life, Cole Sterling was my savior. This time, I would be his freedom. We’d known each other since we were kids. My family wasn’t poor, but after my parents divorced and I was sent to live with my remarried father, I became the unwanted baggage in a new family. When our class ordered uniforms, I was the only one wearing a cheap knockoff my stepmother had bought. As the other kids laughed, Cole had deliberately ripped his own uniform, stood by my side, and salvaged my shattered dignity. “Is buying a knockoff by accident that funny?” he’d challenged them. “Not everyone cares about this stuff. Our clothes are the same.” Later, when my stepmother got pregnant, my father decided to get rid of me for good. He locked me in the house when a fire accidentally broke out. As I was on the verge of death, it was Cole who charged into the flames, risking his own life to pull me out. After my father was jailed and my stepmother disappeared with the money, it was Cole who paid for my education, saving me from dropping out. 3 He had appeared at my lowest moments, again and again, a constant rescuer. I had mistaken his compassion for something more, something special, meant only for me. It was time to wake up. “Mom and Dad want us to come over for dinner tonight,” Cole said. “If you’re feeling okay, we can head over now.” We had just arrived at his parents’ house when his phone rang. It was Lila. “Lila was terrified by what happened today,” he explained after hanging up. “She’s afraid to cook, so I’m going to go make something for her.” After I finished eating with Cole’s parents and was getting ready to leave, his mother’s face suddenly darkened as she stared at her phone. “Cole went to see Lila again!” she exclaimed. Seeing my lack of surprise, she shoved the phone in my face. “Zoe, didn’t you say Cole had a work emergency? You knew he was going to see her, didn’t you? You know that woman is… ugh! What kind of spell is he under?” Lila had posted a photo to her Instagram story: a shot of Cole, looking focused and handsome as he cooked dinner for her. “That Lila,” Mrs. Sterling fumed, “she’s already married, but she has no shame, constantly clinging to Cole. And he’s so naive, he’s never suspected a thing.” That’s right. The reason Cole’s parents were so vehemently against his relationship with Lila was because she was already married. She’d hidden it well, and they had only found out by chance. Her marriage was unhappy, so they were afraid to tell Cole, fearing he would impulsively confront Lila’s husband and cause a scene. I had learned this from them, and it was the main reason I’d never considered divorcing Cole. I thought I was protecting him. I never imagined that ‘protection’ would earn me eight years of his hatred. This time, I wouldn’t get involved. His relationship with Lila was his own choice to make. “Zoe, I’m so sorry you have to go through this,” Mrs. Sterling sighed. “I really thought that after you two got married, he’d let go of Lila. After all, he used to be so… so good to you…” I smiled gently at her. “Cole only ever helped me out of pity, out of the kindness of his heart. I was the one who misunderstood. If forcing us together only brings us pain, it’s better to end it now.” “End it?” Mr. and Mrs. Sterling looked at me, stunned. “Cole and I have already signed the divorce agreement. I’ll be leaving in a few days. I hope you can keep this from him for now. I don’t want him to make another choice he’ll regret for the rest of his life because of this.” Thinking of the cold, indifferent look he’d given me in the time machine, my heart ached. After more than a decade together, that was the first time he had ever looked like a complete stranger. After explaining everything to his parents, I went home alone. I was just drifting off to sleep when my bedroom door was kicked open with a loud bang. I jolted awake, met by a pair of eyes blazing with fury. “Zoe Sullivan! You promised you wouldn’t go crying to my parents! Are you not happy until you’ve completely destroyed Lila?”

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I was on my ninety-ninth specialist when the final verdict came down: I was barren. Lifelong. Hearing this, my husband, Joshua, didn’t hesitate. He stormed out, leaving me in the sterile quiet of the doctor’s office. I chased him to his high-rise office, the one with the panoramic city view, but stopped short of the door. From inside, I could hear the rhythmic sounds of… intimate conversation. “Mila,” Joshua’s voice was a low murmur, “have my baby. Be my wife.” My hand, raised to knock, fell limp at my side. Back at our house, I started taking down the wedding photos. Tucked behind one of the frames, I found it: Joshua’s old journal, untouched for years. My heart, a tight knot of rage and sorrow, found an outlet. I snatched a pen and scrawled eight furious words across the page: Joshua Sterling, we are over! And then, something impossible happened. New words appeared on the page, materializing out of nowhere. “Who are you? Why are you writing in my journal?” My anger momentarily eclipsed my fear. I wrote back: I’m Vivienne. And I’m writing this because you don’t love her. 1 The words flickered into existence on the page, one by one. “You’re Vivienne?” “Impossible. Who are you, really?” “How can you be in my journal?” Three rapid-fire questions. My bravado evaporated. I shrieked and threw the journal across the room as if it were on fire. It took me a full two minutes to compose myself before I crept over and picked it back up. Staring at the ghostly script, I shakily wrote my own question. “This is your journal? Who are you?” “I’m Joshua Sterling.” The five words appeared, neat and self-assured. My hand trembled. The Joshua on the other end of this journal… was he eighteen years old? Before I could process it, more words appeared, hurried and anxious. “You haven’t answered my question. Who are you?” I quickly scribbled my reply. “I’m Vivienne. I’m thirty-one.” “The man you will become is going to betray me. So, the boy you are now… stay away from me.” The journal went silent. Ten seconds later, new words appeared, carved into the paper as if by a knife. “IMPOSSIBLE!” Through the journal, I could almost see him—the eighteen-year-old Joshua, his face a mask of defiant anger, making a vow his future self would shatter. Back then, his love was so pure, so absolute. He could never have imagined the cruel, heartless man he would become. I was about to write back when the front door swung open. A gust of wind swept through the house, flipping the pages of the journal. I snapped it shut just as the thirty-one-year-old Joshua stormed in, immediately starting to tear the place apart. It used to be that whenever he came home, he’d wrap his arms around me from behind, nuzzling my hair like a cat. I’d squirm and push him away, laughing, and he’d just pull me closer, whispering sweet nothings that made me blush. Now, his eyes didn’t even linger on me for half a second. After ten minutes of fruitless searching, he finally turned to me, his face a mask of irritation. “Have you seen the family heirloom?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Mila’s having a boy. The heirloom always goes to the firstborn son.” A sharp pain lanced through my chest. On our wedding day, in front of all our guests, he had placed that heirloom—a jade pendant—in my hands for safekeeping. His younger brother had been furious. “Joshua, that’s meant to be passed down through generations! Everyone knows Vivienne can’t have children. What right does she have to hold onto our family’s legacy?” It had been thirteen years since the accident that had damaged my body, leaving me unable to conceive. No one ever dared to mention it in front of Joshua. But on our wedding day, his own brother had thrown it in my face. The atmosphere had turned instantly suffocating. All eyes were on me. Joshua had squeezed my hand, then slapped his brother across the face. “Even if Viv can’t have children,” he’d declared to the stunned room, “she is the only one worthy of keeping it.” In that moment, I knew I had married the right man. For five years, I had cherished that pendant. And now, he was about to break that sacred vow himself. I opened the drawer in front of me and took out the jade, intricately carved with characters for “peace” and “safety.” Joshua snatched it from my hand, a broad, happy smile spreading across his face. “Finally. If Mila wears this, she and the baby will be safe and sound.” Only then did he bother to look at me, the coldness in his eyes undisguised. “The heirloom is meant to be passed down. Mila is carrying my child now. It belongs to her.” He turned to leave. “I have to go see Mila. I’ll come back and celebrate our anniversary with you when I’m done.” At the door, he paused, tossing a final, pitying glance over his shoulder. “Don’t worry. Even after Mila has the baby, your position as Mrs. Sterling is secure.” A slap and then a sweet. It was his signature move these last few years. I watched him leave, a bitter smile on my face. He called me his wife, yet he was having a child with another woman. I opened the journal again. A new line of text had appeared. “Because I was waiting for your reply, I missed my chance. I couldn’t get the spot behind her.” I grabbed my high school yearbook. My jaw dropped. In the graduation photo, Joshua’s position had actually changed. My breath hitched. My fingers trembled. The Joshua on the other side of this journal… could he actually change the future? Before I could recover, another line appeared. “If you’re really Vivienne, then tell me, where am I standing in the graduation picture?” I quickly replied, “You’re standing behind Mila.” The journal went silent again. After a minute of waiting, I picked up the pen and pressed down hard, carving the words into the page. “Joshua Sterling, please, get out of my life.” “Why? If you’re really Viv, don’t you know that I love you?” He had pressed so hard on the last question mark that he’d torn the paper. “Love? Because of your ‘love,’ the day after that photo was taken, Mila sent a group of thugs after me. They stabbed me in the stomach, damaged my uterus, and left me barren!!” “And the thirty-year-old you? He got her pregnant.” With every word I wrote, the memories came flooding back, sharper and more painful than ever. I had tried so hard to forget, but for years, that nightmare had woken me in a cold sweat, night after night. Thirteen years ago, Mila had begged Joshua to stand behind her for the photo. He’d refused. He stood firmly behind me, whispering that one day, we’d be standing together for our wedding photos, too. His sweet, clumsy confession had made my ears burn. The next day, a furious Mila had cornered me in an alley with a dozen thugs. When Joshua found me, I was lying in a pool of my own blood. He’d started screaming, a raw, terrified sound. He’d scooped me up, his eyes wild, and ran like a madman to the hospital, begging the doctors to save me. But it was too late. My womb was irreparably damaged. I would never have children. Joshua had held me and wept, swearing a solemn oath to love and protect me for the rest of our lives, to never let me be hurt again. I never, ever imagined that he would one day cheat on me with the very person who had caused me that pain. That he would have a child with her. “Joshua, promise me. If you love me, you’ll leave me alone.” “As far away as possible. Please?” “I’m begging you.” No reply came. I curled up on the floor, clutching the journal, and drifted into a restless sleep. In my dream, I saw a seventeen-year-old Joshua, running frantically through a dark alley, his face etched with panic. I woke with a start, chilled to the bone. It was the middle of the night. The thirty-year-old Joshua still hadn’t come home. Not a call, not even a text. But Mila’s social media was a different story. A new post every ten minutes. Thirty of them in total. The first was a picture of Joshua placing the heirloom around her neck. The second, him gently blowing on a spoonful of soup before feeding it to her. The third, his head resting on her swollen belly, a look of pure bliss on his face as he listened for the baby’s kicks. … Each post was flooded with likes and congratulatory comments. “Congrats, Joshua! Fatherhood looks good on you!” “Told you he wouldn’t stay with that barren hen, Vivienne.” “Vivienne was never good enough for him. Mila and Joshua are the perfect couple, a match made in heaven.” Joshua had liked every single post. Maybe, deep down, he agreed with them. I closed the app, my head feeling heavy and my body weak. I drifted back to sleep on the sofa. In my dream, Joshua finally reached the end of the alley. He saw me, pinned to the ground by a group of thugs. He saw Mila, a knife in her hand, plunging it toward my stomach. “VIV!” The next second, Joshua’s eyes went bloodshot. He charged, a primal scream tearing from his throat. He went for the leader, smashing a loose brick against his head again and again. The other thugs swarmed him, stabbing him dozens of times. But Joshua didn’t stop. He held onto the blood-soaked brick, using his last ounce of strength to crack the leader’s skull open. Then he turned to the others, his face a grotesque mask of fury. “COME ON, IF YOU’RE NOT AFRAID TO DIE!” he roared. His sheer, terrifying ferocity sent them scattering. They fled, disappearing into the darkness of the alley. Only then did Joshua’s strength finally give out. He collapsed in front of me. Our eyes met. His were filled with a fierce pride. A small, triumphant smile played on his lips. “Viv,” he gasped, “I told you I’d protect you. I did it.” “Joshua! I don’t need your protection!” “Leave me alone!” I screamed his name and jolted awake, tears streaming down my face. I sat on the sofa, gasping for air, my body trembling from a fear and cold that felt bone-deep. I looked down at the journal in my lap, my mind a confused jumble. Was it a dream? Or a memory? I lifted my shirt. My body went rigid. I frantically ran my hand over my stomach. The scar, the one that had been my constant companion for thirteen years, was gone. A fresh wave of tears blurred my vision. I opened the journal again. There was a new line of text, the handwriting shaky and weak. “Viv, I saved you.” Once my emotions subsided, I wrote back, my own hand steady and cold. “It’s what you should have done.” If it weren’t for his love. If it weren’t for the love he was destined to betray. Mila never would have come after me. I never would have lost the most important part of being a woman. And the thirty-year-old him never would have had a child with my tormentor, wounding me all over again. The letters appeared again, shaky and labored. “Viv, is there anything else I can do for you?” After the seventeen-year-old Joshua had written the final question mark, I replied. “I’ve already told you. Get out of my life.” “Disappear from my sight completely. Don’t use the love you feel now as a weapon to hurt me in the future.” When everyone else had mocked me for my infertility, it was Joshua who had held my hand, who had stood in front of me and shielded me from the world. His love had made me fearless. But when he let go of my hand and joined the ranks of my tormentors, I had shattered. The pain he inflicted was a hundred, a thousand times worse than the physical wound. The heart he had so carefully mended, he had then crushed with his own two hands. A scratching sound came from the journal, each letter gouged into the page, almost tearing through. “That’s impossible!” “Viv, did you know? After class every day, you always stand by the third pillar outside the classroom to listen to music. I deliberately take a five-minute detour just to see you. Just one glance, and I feel so happy.” “Once, during gym class, I heard you had a fever. I was so worried I ran out of school to buy you medicine, just so you wouldn’t have to suffer for a second longer…” “And…” I cut him off. “I know. I know all of this.” “There was the time I got my period, and you, blushing, bought pads for me.” “And the time the school bully was picking on me. You heard about it and went after him the same day. Neither of you were seen for a week. He ended up with a broken leg and transferred schools. You ended up in the hospital with a head injury.” The journal paused for ten seconds before replying. “You know? How do you know all that?” “If you know all that, then why would you say I’d betray you?” There was a line he didn’t write, but I knew he was thinking it. I love you so much. How could I ever betray you? I could picture his seventeen-year-old face, full of confusion and disbelief. “I know because the future you told me. He told me everything, one story at a time. And he told me he regretted it all.” Joshua had told me he should have listened to everyone, that marrying a barren woman was the biggest mistake of his life, a source of five years of shame. He’d said he should have let the bully have his way with me, that saving me so early had only made me ungrateful and arrogant. He paraded his “heroic deeds” around like trophies, using them to justify his every whim in our marriage, right up to having a child with his mistress. A tear fell onto the journal, blurring the ink. I panicked, afraid I’d ruin it, and tried to wipe it away. But I was too rough. The page tore in two. In my horror, the world around me dissolved. I was no longer in my living room. I was in a hospital room. And in front of me was a seventeen-year-old boy, a thick bandage wrapped around his abdomen. His face was pale, his brow furrowed in pain. It was Joshua. One hand was pressed against the blood-soaked gauze, the other was painstakingly writing in the journal, his lips moving as he formed the words. “Viv, don’t worry. I’ll protect you. I’ll never hurt you…” He was so earnest, so determined, as if this were the most important mission of his life. He had just finished writing when he seemed to sense something. His hand stilled. He looked up, and his eyes met mine. “Viv?” In that instant, I saw them again—the eyes I thought I’d lost forever, as clear and bright as a spring morning. His dry lips parted, but before he could speak, a shrill ringing pierced the air. And just like that, I was back in my messy house, the house the thirty-year-old Joshua had ransacked. The phone was still ringing, a sharp, insistent sound. It was him. The thirty-year-old Joshua. His voice was cold, commanding. “Get down to the coffee shop below my office. Now. Mila and I need to talk to you.” At the same time, new lines appeared in the journal. “Please, believe me. I would never do that.” “I love you. So much that you can have my life if you want it.” The naive promises of a young boy, convinced his love was a rose that would never wilt. I clenched the pen in my hand, my eyes downcast. Fine. If you won’t believe me, I’ll let your future self tell you in person.

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