Author: Momo Chan

After graduation, I inherited the zoo my grandfather left me. It was bleeding money. I sighed in frustration. “If this keeps up, the animals will be living on air.” That night, a line of red pandas knocked on my door. “Director,” they pleaded, “we don’t want to live on air! We want apples!” The next day, a new sign stood at the park entrance. “We are against animal shows. But we can’t stop the animals from showing off.” 1 The moment I dragged my suitcase into the zoo, I was pulled into the staff group chat. The group was named “Sunflower Zoo Staff Chat,” and it showed about twenty members. I looked up at the dilapidated zoo, where even the main gate was rusted shut, and couldn’t for the life of me figure out where those twenty people could possibly be hiding. The weirdest part, though, was that aside from one normal-looking profile picture, all the other “people” had animal avatars. The Red Panda Family: Welcome, new Director! Chubbs the Leopard: Welcome! What’s for dinner, Director? Flora the Peacock: Welcome! Director, can you help me find a boyfriend? Nana the Gorilla: Welcome, new Director! Do you like poop? … The chat feed flooded with messages, a waterfall of welcomes, though the comments that followed left me utterly baffled. After dropping my bags, I started to inspect the staff dorms. It was less of a dorm and more of a small wooden cabin with three rooms. The rooms were small but cozy and clean. Grandpa had told me there was one permanent staff member living here, a young man. Once I was settled, I knocked on the door across the hall. No answer. Looked like he was out. I picked up the zoo’s recent financial reports instead. The more I read, the more my stomach sank. Finally, I slammed my hand on the table. “It’s nothing but losses! If this keeps up, the animals will be living on air.” I ran a hand through my hair, stressed. I had to think of something. I was so preoccupied that I didn’t notice a flash of green by the window. Echo the Parrot: Scouted her out. New Director is young. She’s a girl. Echo the Parrot: She just said she’s gonna make us live on air. I opened my phone and saw the two new messages. Someone was just here? I didn’t notice a thing. And what was that about “she’s a girl”? So rude. I sighed and typed out a message. Me: Hello everyone, I’m the new director, Summer. Me: And don’t worry, I have no intention of actually making the animals live on air. After sending the messages, I grabbed my pajamas and headed to the bathroom for a shower. I was halfway through when I heard a thump-thump-thump at the door. “I’m in the shower! Just a minute!” I yelled. The noise outside stopped for a second, then was replaced by a flurry of chittering sounds. “She says she’s showering.” “Do people have to shower, too?” “Of course they do, silly. People are very clean.” Hearing the commotion, I quickly rinsed off, dried myself, threw on my clothes, and opened the door. No one was there. I scanned the area. Not a soul in sight. “Director, Director! Down here!” I followed the voice and looked down. One, two… five red pandas were standing in a perfect line. The two larger ones at the front bowed to me in unison. “Greetings, Director!” The three smaller ones copied them, bowing as well. So they were the ones talking. Wait. How can I understand them? “Director, we don’t want to live on air!” the smallest one peeped, poking its head out from behind the others. “We want apples!” My brain short-circuited for a moment, then I remembered the bizarre group chat. Could it be that all the members were… animals? It would explain everything—why a nearly bankrupt zoo had so many “employees,” and all their strange comments. “Director, we can perform! Grandpa Director said performing earns money!” It was true. Animal shows could attract a lot of visitors, but it was also a very controversial practice. I shook my head, about to refuse, but then I saw the hopeful, glittering eyes of the red panda family looking up at me. “Please let us try!” I thought about my bank balance. Oh, what the hell. I’m against animal shows, but I can’t stop the animals if they insist on showing off! I led the red pandas into my room and knelt down. “So, what kind of tricks can you do?” They immediately lined up from biggest to smallest and stacked themselves on top of each other on the floor. The one on the very top even struck a one-legged “golden rooster” pose. Their cuteness was overwhelming. I instinctively whipped out my phone and captured the moment. “How was that? How was that?” “Absolutely adorable!” I found five apples in the storage room, gave one to each of them, and then ruffled the fur on each of their little heads. Such precious creatures! 2 After the red pandas left, I posted the video I’d taken online. “For just $9.99, you can see this adorable red panda family in person!” Then I dug out a dusty old sign from the warehouse and, with a can of white paint, wrote: “We are against animal shows, but we can’t stop the animals from showing off!” I set it up at the park entrance that very night. By the time I was done, the group chat had over 99 new messages. King of Monkey Rock: We can perform, too! Can we get bananas? I replied to them one by one. “What can you all do?” King of Monkey Rock: We can dance! King of Monkey Rock: And Goldie can do this trick where he pretends to eat his own tail! It’s amazing! Goldie? I wondered. A golden python avatar popped up. Goldie: No. King of Monkey Rock: You have to perform if you want to eat! No show, and you’ll be living on air! King of Monkey Rock: (Ignoring Goldie) Nana’s a great shot with her poop. King of Monkey Rock: And Flora’s tail feathers are beautiful when she fans them out, but she only does it for females. King of Monkey Rock: And Chubbs! He can do this adorable belly roll! King of Monkey Rock: And… and the tigress! She can sing! I couldn’t help but smile. “Performing is completely voluntary! I promise none of you will have to live on air!” 3 After chatting with the animals, I checked the video I’d posted. As expected, the reactions were mixed. Some were curious, while others accused me of animal abuse. “So cute! Where is this? I have to go!” “Are people still supporting animal shows? That simple trick probably cost them a dozen beatings behind the scenes.” “Only $9.99 and it’s close by. I’ll take the kids this weekend.” … I watched the view count climb. It was controversial, but at least it was getting some attention. The next day, I woke up early and followed the feeding charts my grandpa had left behind, preparing nutritious meals for all the animals. But when I got to Chubbs the leopard, I hit a snag. He had his own, separate chart: “Chubbs’ Weight-Loss Plan.” Underneath the plan, a line of text was highlighted in red. “WEIGHT IS SEVERELY OVER LIMITS! ADHERE STRICTLY TO THE MEAL PLAN!” But after he finished his meager portion, he rolled onto his back, showed me his belly, and did several pathetic little wiggles. “Director… hungryyyy.” I had to look away. I couldn’t bear it. “I’m sorry, Chubbs, but you need to lose weight.” “What’s ‘lose weight’? I’m hungryyyy~” He was acting so cute and pathetic, I could barely stand it. Was this really the king of the savanna I remembered from documentaries? He was acting like a giant housecat. “Can I pet him?” a girl’s voice asked from behind me as I was about to leave with the empty food bucket. It was only eight in the morning. We already had a visitor? “I saw the gate was open, so I came in,” she said, holding up a ticket. “Don’t worry, I paid.” Pet him? Under normal circumstances, with a normal leopard, absolutely not. But with Chubbs? I knelt down and asked him. “Chubbs, will you let this nice lady pet you?” “Petting gets me food?” “Nope.” “Oh. Okay, head pats only. No belly rubs.” I chuckled and turned to the girl. “You can pet his head, but please, no feeding.” After she promised three times, she reached out and happily stroked Chubbs’s head. I made a mental note to put up a new sign by his enclosure. “DO NOT FEED.” 4 As time went on, more people started coming to the zoo. It was just a trickle, but it was better than the emptiness of before. Since we were short-staffed, I had to stand at the gate and check tickets myself. Suddenly, my phone started buzzing nonstop. I pulled it out. The group chat, of course. Echo the Parrot: Director, Director! Petal and Sprout are fighting! The Red Panda Family: Oh no, they’re at it again! Petal and Sprout? I quickly typed in the chat, “Who?” The Red Panda Family: Our kids! I broke into a run, arriving at the red panda enclosure out of breath. The two little ones were still going at it, surrounded by a crowd of amused onlookers. “That apple is mine! MINE!” “No, it’s MINE!” It turned out they were fighting over a single apple a tourist had thrown them. Their parents, completely used to the drama, were diligently performing their stacking routine with their sister off to the side. Seeing the scene, I felt a mix of anger and heartache. But the first priority was to break them up. I leaped into the enclosure in three long strides, grabbing Petal with my left hand and Sprout with my right, pulling them apart. “It’s your fault! The Director’s here!” “No, it’s your fault! I don’t wanna go to the timeout cage!” Even as I held them, they stretched out their short little paws, trying to swipe at each other. “One more move and there will be no apples tomorrow!” I shouted. That finally got them to settle down, though they still glared daggers at each other. I sighed and carried them off. Fighting was bad behavior. A timeout in the “little black house” was unavoidable. I had just dealt with that when I received a complaint from another tourist. “What kind of zoo is this? It’s small and run-down, fine, but how can you have such ill-mannered animals? Who taught it to throw poop at people?” I managed a bitter smile. Nobody taught her. I sprinted over to the gorilla enclosure. Sure enough, Nana was standing atop a fake rock mountain, hooting and hollering, a dark, lumpy object clutched in her hand. She was scanning the crowd for her next target. Several visitors were already victims, and a foul odor permeated the air. “Director’s here! Director’s here!” a green shadow screeched as it circled overhead. It was Echo, the talking parrot. “Director, Director! Do you like poop?” My vision went dark. I was at my wit’s end. “Nana, stop throwing poop right now! One more throw and it’s the timeout cage for you!” I yelled. “Timeout cage, timeout cage! Nana, you’re in trouble!” Echo gloated, clearly enjoying the chaos. “You’re not getting away with this either!” I shot back. “Oh no, oh no! Echo’s going to the timeout cage, too!” “What a terrible zoo! That gorilla has no manners! I want a refund!” someone in the crowd yelled. A chorus of agreement followed. “This shirt is ruined! You have to pay for it!” A middle-aged man grabbed my arm. “Of course, of course. My apologies. Could you please add me on WeChat?” I said with a strained smile. “Nana, get him!” Echo shrieked. “Ooh-ooh-aah-aah! Okay!” The next second, the man holding my arm was baptized by poop for a second time. It was over. I was on the verge of tears. But I had to admit, Nana’s aim was impeccable. I was standing right next to him and didn’t get a single drop on me.

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A patient with a paralysis no one in the country could cure. A surgery I flew two thousand miles to perform. I never imagined that on the day of his discharge, he would call in the media to publicly accuse me of accepting an illicit under-the-table fee. Though every procedure I followed was by the book, my superiors demoted me to quell the public outrage. As fate would have it, a year later, the same patient fell ill again. The exact same condition. And I was the only one in the country who could save him. 1 “Dr. Hayes, it’s time for your rounds.” At eight in the morning, Leo, the new intern, poked his head into my office, his voice trembling slightly with nerves. “Right,” I nodded, rising from my chair. In the hallway, a small group of seven or eight medical students fell in line behind me, a flock of ducklings ready for their morning lesson. We began our rounds. “How are we feeling today? Any headaches?” “Ma’am, please be mindful of his diet. Keep it light. No greasy or spicy foods.” “The post-op recovery is looking excellent. Just try to keep his spirits up.” I moved from room to room, my eyes scanning each patient, my voice a low, steady murmur of instructions to their families. “Dr. Hayes, my husband, he…” “Doctor, about my father…” “Dr. Hayes…” After leaving each room, a small crowd of anxious relatives would envelop me. Some wanted to know when the surgery would be scheduled, others when they could go home. Those were the normal questions. Then there were the more… imaginative ones. One family wanted to know if a major brain surgery might, by some chance, boost their loved one’s IQ. Through it all, I maintained a patient smile, answering every question with the gravity it deserved in their eyes. An hour and a half later, rounds were finished. I returned to my office to tackle the mountain of patient charts. At ten, a departmental meeting. Ten-thirty, back to the charts. Eleven-forty, a quick lunch in the hospital cafeteria. Noon, a brief rest. At two, I was on call, a ghost flitting between wards as needed. Five-thirty, clock out. This was my life now. A strange cocktail of tranquil routine and sudden bursts of chaos, each day a near-perfect echo of the last. “A legend like Dr. Hayes, reduced to this. Life’s a real kick in the teeth, isn’t it?” “You’re telling me. Makes me question why I even chose this profession.” “I heard what happened to him. It’s a raw deal. Isn’t a guest surgeon’s fee standard practice? How did it become a crime when it was him?” “You’re underestimating the poison in people’s hearts. When they need you, you’re a god. The second they’re healed, they want you to worship them.” “Honestly, the man’s a saint. If it were me, I would’ve told them all to go to hell and walked out long ago.” “Uh… sorry, I’m new here. What exactly happened with Dr. Hayes?” “Okay, so get this. A year ago, he…” My office door was ajar. The interns, with nothing better to do, were gossiping in the hallway. “Do you all have nothing better to do?” I stepped out, my voice low but sharp enough to cut through their chatter. “Are you here to learn, or to trade gossip?” Their conversation choked and died. “You two, go to the wards and log the patients’ meal and output times. You three, head down to the nurses’ station and help them verify the afternoon medication dosages. Double-check everything. It has to be perfect.” The interns stared at me for a frozen moment, then scattered like startled birds, vanishing down the corridor. “Kids these days,” I muttered, shaking my head with a reluctant smile. I remembered my own internship. If we’d been caught loitering in the halls, our attending would have flayed us with words until we couldn’t lift our heads. I was gathering my notes for the department meeting when the phone on my desk shrilled to life. “Dr. Hayes, we need you in the outpatient clinic. Now.” 2 I dropped my notebook and hurried towards the outpatient building. My name is Aidan Hayes. I’m a doctor at St. Jude’s University Hospital, one of the top-tier teaching hospitals in the country. A year ago, I was the Chief of Neurosurgery. But one surgery, one single procedure, got me demoted. Now, I was just an attending physician in the inpatient department. My days consisted of rounds, mentoring interns, and paperwork. I hadn’t been cleared for the operating room in a year. I was born into medicine. My mother worked for the Department of Health, my father was an internist. Growing up in that environment, becoming a doctor felt less like a choice and more like a calling. At eighteen, I was accepted into the nation’s most prestigious medical school, blazing through my M.D. and Ph.D. programs. My mentor was Dr. Arthur Vance, a titan in the world of neurosurgery. Under his guidance, I dedicated my life to the craft. By thirty-five, I was Chief of Neurosurgery, a recipient of a national distinguished physician grant, an expert in my field. My specialty was high-risk intracranial nerve surgery. They called me “The Razor.” No matter how complex the case, if a patient made it to my table, they were already halfway to recovery. I had personally operated on thousands, published dozens of papers in world-renowned journals like the NEJM, The Lancet, and JAMA. I thought my path was set, a smooth, upward trajectory. Then, one case sent my entire world crashing down. A year ago, a hospital clear across the country sent me a formal request. They needed me to lead a highly specialized surgery. The patient was twenty-six years old. Damage to an intracranial nerve had left one side of his body numb. He’d been to a dozen hospitals, but his condition had only worsened, deteriorating from numbness to full-blown hemiplegia—paralysis. If nothing was done, he’d be in a wheelchair within six months. Worst-case scenario, the condition could trigger other complications and threaten his life. The top hospitals all recommended the same thing: surgery. But this wasn’t a routine procedure. It was a targeted resection of a nerve deep within the brainstem, a surgery that few neurosurgeons on the planet were qualified to perform. One of his doctors suggested the family find a specialist to fly in. At the time, there were only three people in the world known to have mastered the technique. One was Dr. Jean-Pierre Philippe of the Mayo Clinic. Another was my mentor, Dr. Arthur Vance. The third was me. Dr. Philippe was a phantom, practically unreachable for a family with their limited resources. And my mentor, Dr. Vance, had been diagnosed with Parkinson’s three years prior. His hands trembled, making surgery impossible. That left one person in the country. Me. The patient’s family moved heaven and earth, coordinating with their hospital to send me the official invitation to perform the surgery as a guest surgeon. 3 Saving lives was the bedrock of my existence. I couldn’t refuse. After confirming the date, I cleared my schedule and flew two thousand miles to the patient’s city. Before the surgery, his mother pulled me aside. “Dr. Hayes, please, you have to save my son,” she wept, her voice cracking. “He’s only twenty-six. He’s not even married. His life has just begun…” Her knees buckled, and she started to sink to the floor. “Ma’am, please,” I said, catching her arm and holding it firmly. “I will do everything in my power to help your son. You have to have faith in him, and in us.” I walked into the operating room with her desperate pleas still ringing in my ears. The initial preparations were complete. The surgery began. The resident surgeon made the incision, drilled the burr holes, and carefully separated the dura mater from the skull. Everything proceeded like clockwork. My role was to step in once the surgical field was open, locate the lesion, and remove it. Peering through the surgical microscope, I quickly identified the problematic tissue in the motor cortex of his brain’s left hemisphere. With a single, precise movement, the neural blade excised the lesion. The entire process, my part in it, took less than a minute. “Hah,” I breathed out, a plume of fog in the cold air, and stepped back. The resident team took over for the cleanup and closure. The surgery lasted two and a half hours, but my contribution was a mere sixty seconds. A single minute that held the man’s entire future. “Doctor, my boy… how is he?” the mother asked, her face a mess of tear-streaked anxiety as I emerged. “The surgery was a complete success,” I said, taking her hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “We’ll do a full workup once the anesthesia wears off, but if everything looks clear, your son will be on the road to a full recovery.” “Thank you, thank you!” She burst into fresh tears, but this time, they were tears of relief. The post-op scans were exactly as I’d hoped—perfect. Within two to three weeks, he would slowly regain his mobility and begin to live a normal life again. I’d performed a thousand surgeries like this. Every time I saw that mask of terror on a family’s face melt away into joy, I felt a deep, quiet satisfaction. This was the job. To heal a patient, to save a life, to rescue a family. 4 I politely declined the hospital’s dinner invitation, gave the family a final list of post-op instructions, and headed for the airport to catch my flight home. Just before I powered off my phone, a notification popped up: a wire transfer of $10,000 had been deposited into my account. This was the guest surgeon’s fee. The host hospital knew about it. The patient’s family knew about it. The administrative board at my own hospital knew about it. It was all transparent, all by the book. I accepted it with a clear conscience. Back at St. Jude’s, work was a relentless tide. Three to four major surgeries a week were the norm. And though I was used to it, a part of me still ached every time I saw a new patient on the table. May the medicine on the shelf gather dust, and may the world know no disease. When would that dream become reality? Nearly a month passed. I had just finished a departmental meeting when Director Evans called me to his office. Director Evans, Chief Administrator Miller, and the Head of Medical Affairs, Mr. Coleman, were all sitting grimly around the conference table. “Director Evans? You wanted to see me?” I asked, nodding a polite greeting to the others. “Aidan. Have a seat,” he said, his tone heavy. A knot of dread tightened in my stomach. The air in the room was thick with unspoken trouble. “Aidan, I need you to watch this,” Miller said after a moment, turning his laptop toward me. It was a news clip, filmed in a hospital room. A young man in a patient’s gown sat on the edge of his bed. “My name is Caleb Thorne,” he began. “I’m twenty-six. Six months ago, nerve damage in my brain left the right side of my body paralyzed.” He spoke slowly, his voice earnest. “For half a year, my mom took me from doctor to doctor. They found the problem, but no one could fix it. My case was… unique. It required a specific kind of intracranial nerve surgery, and none of the hospitals we went to had a surgeon who could do it.” He paused, looking directly into the camera. “Then we heard about Dr. Aidan Hayes, the Chief of Neurosurgery at St. Jude’s. My mom and the hospital worked together to get him to fly here and operate on me.” “The surgery was a success,” he continued, his voice taking on a harder edge. “I’m recovering now. But I’m not happy.” “To pay for my treatment, my mother has wiped out her life savings. She’s deep in debt. We had to sell our family home just to cover the $150,000 hospital bill.” “You in the media, you claim to be a voice for the people, right? Well, today, right here, on camera, I want to file a report. A public accusation.” He was still frail from the surgery, but a raw, furious energy began to radiate from him. He mentioned my name, and a cold recognition washed over me. This was the patient from the cross-country surgery. The one I had saved.

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I was picking up my three-year-old son Noah from preschool when the unthinkable happened. A madman began slashing at people with a knife. To protect Noah, I became a human shield, taking multiple stab wounds before collapsing in my own blood. My husband Logan tackled the attacker and called ahead—the city’s best trauma team was waiting at the hospital. As they wheeled me into surgery, my vision blurring, I begged to know about Noah. Logan’s voice cracked. “He didn’t make it, Stella. He was gone before we arrived.” The world went black. I forgot to mention my high anesthesia tolerance. Drifting back to consciousness, I heard Logan speaking to the surgeon: “The boy could have been saved. Why did you tell us to stand down?” “His birth was a mistake,” Logan replied, voice cold. “My son with Vanessa turns eighteen soon—he gets the company. I won’t let anyone interfere.” My fairytale life was a carefully crafted hell. Now they’ll pay for what they’ve done. … The doctor glanced at my mangled abdomen and sighed. “I’ve examined her. The damage is severe, but miraculously, her uterus is intact. She might still have the chance to be a mother again someday.” “Who gave you permission to save it?” Logan’s voice sliced through the sterile air. “Remove it. Now. Make sure she can never, ever get pregnant again.” The doctor’s eyes widened in shock. “Mr. Hayes, you’re handing over the company to Vanessa’s son in three days. Even if your wife were to get pregnant again, it wouldn’t interfere with anything. She just lost her child. Do you really need to be this cruel?” I felt Logan’s hand gently stroking my cheek, a grotesque counterpoint to the venom in his words. “Letting her give birth to that bastard was the biggest mistake of my life. I couldn’t believe it when he dared to ask me for a birthday gift. He was already plotting to take over the company.” “I swore to Vanessa that no one would ever threaten our son’s inheritance. Even though she married another man, I have to protect them, to eliminate any loose ends.” A sharp knock echoed on the operating room door. A man’s sleazy, cocky voice cut through the silence. “Mr. Hayes, thanks for faking that psych evaluation for me. Got me off scot-free. I took care of the little brat like you asked. Now, about my payment…” “Five million will be wired to your account,” Logan said dismissively. “Take the money and get the hell out of the city. Don’t ever let Stella see your face again.” “Alright, get on with the surgery,” he instructed the doctor. “I have to go with Vanessa to pick up the custom gift for Ethan. Oh, and give her an extra dose of anesthetic. I don’t want Stella to feel any pain.” The sound of his footsteps faded. I clamped my eyes shut so tightly that a tooth cracked, biting back the scream that threatened to tear from my throat. So, it wasn’t a random madman. It was a hitman. An executioner hired by my own husband to secure peace of mind for the woman he truly loved. My little Noah. Only three years old. Murdered on his birthday by his own father, for a crime he never even imagined. My body fought against the anesthesia. I felt everything. The cold, sharp instruments churned inside me, a violation that felt like it was ripping my soul apart. The pain was an all-consuming fire, and I let it burn me into unconsciousness. When I opened my eyes again, Logan was there, his eyes red and filled with a carefully constructed anguish. “Stella, you’re finally awake,” he whispered, his voice thick with concern. “Does it still hurt?” “I’ve been waiting right outside this whole time. You have no idea how scared I was. Losing Noah is the greatest pain of my life… if I lost you too, I wouldn’t want to live.” He took a breath, his face a mask of sorrow. “Stella, the doctors… they said the damage to your abdomen was too severe. It… it destroyed your uterus. You won’t be able to have children again. But don’t worry,” he clutched my hand, “I’ll take care of you for the rest of our lives. We can be happy, just the two of us.” I looked down at my bandaged stomach. The stitches were neat, but beneath them, there was a cavernous emptiness, a constant, chilling reminder that I had been stripped of my right to ever be a mother again. “Noah?” I asked, my voice a hollow echo. Logan’s face crumpled with guilt. “He’s been cremated. The funeral is tomorrow. Stella, I’m so sorry. I failed as a father. I couldn’t protect our boy.” A spike of agony shot through me, but I didn’t call him on his lies. My gaze fell on the nightstand. In a beautiful, velvet-lined box sat a custom-engraved locket. “Logan,” I said, my voice flat. “Today is Noah’s birthday. We never got him a gift. Let’s let him take this locket with him. I hope in his next life, he lives a long and happy life. Okay?” A barely perceptible frown creased his brow before he smoothed it over with his practiced gentleness. “Stella, a friend asked me to pick that up for his kid. We can’t just take someone else’s gift.” “Besides,” he added quickly, “that’s for the living. It would only make Noah sad. And the material is nothing special, not good enough for our son. I’ve already had someone buy the finest funerary offerings. We’ll burn them all for him, so he’ll have everything he needs in the afterlife.” I said nothing, a desolate wasteland spreading through my heart. After so many years as a housewife, Logan had clearly forgotten that I was once one of the most discerning appraisers in the jewelry world. The “nothing special” material of that locket was the rarest type of emerald, intricately carved and worth a fortune. Engraved on it were the words ‘Peace and safety, always,’ a testament to a parent’s infinite love. For two months, I had seen him hunched over his desk in the study, sketching out the design for this very locket. I had foolishly believed it was for our son. I see now. In his heart, it was my son and I who were never good enough. At my insistence, Logan arranged for my discharge and took me home. He waved away the housekeeper, personally helping me bathe and wash my hair, his touch painstakingly careful around my abdominal wound. He even dried my hair himself, the very picture of a doting husband. I used to be moved by his tenderness. Now, looking at the monstrous scar on my stomach and thinking of Noah’s brutal death, all I felt was a cold, numb wasteland. Late that night, while Logan slept soundly beside me, I slipped into his study and logged into his cloud drive on his computer. The password was Vanessa’s birthday. Inside were tens of thousands of photos and videos, a meticulous chronicle of Vanessa’s pregnancy, the birth of their son, and every single milestone of his life up to the present day. Alongside them was a fully prepared share transfer agreement. For fifteen years of our marriage, Logan had spent more than half of his time on “business trips,” claiming he was expanding the market. In reality, he was with them. The bitter irony is that I never once suspected a thing. His messaging app was still open in the corner of the screen. I clicked on it. The pinned chat, named ‘The Happy Family of Three,’ burned my eyes. For the past eighteen years, Logan had showered Vanessa and their son with countless lavish gifts. “Logan, darling, Ethan was just born, he can’t drive a Maserati! You spoil him too much. P.S., I absolutely adore the sapphire necklace. Mwah!” “My love, Ethan turned three today! This island you bought him is breathtaking. You land this afternoon, right? Ethan can’t wait to see his daddy.” This was a level of adoration that Noah and I had never known. I had given up a brilliant career to marry Logan at twenty, content to be the woman behind the man. We weathered every storm together. The stress took a toll on my body, and for years, I couldn’t conceive. He always seemed so nonchalant about it. I thought he was just trying not to pressure me. I was grateful for his understanding. In the fifteenth year of our marriage, I finally got pregnant. Logan wasn’t nearly as overjoyed as I’d imagined; he just offered a perfunctory smile. Now, seeing the photo of him kissing Vanessa’s pregnant belly, his face radiant with pure ecstasy, I finally understood. He already had another family. My little Noah, in his eyes, was nothing more than an inconvenient case of appendicitis, something to be cut out and disposed of as quickly as possible. No wonder. No wonder on every single one of Noah’s birthdays, Logan always had an “urgent business trip” abroad. Noah’s birthday was only three days apart from their son’s. He had to go early to prepare, to ensure his real treasures weren’t slighted in any way. My heart a dead, cold thing in my chest, I closed the window and called my best friend overseas. “I’ll take the job,” I said, my voice steady. “I’ll be your head jewelry appraiser. See you in three days.” I also asked her for a few other favors. After the call, I went to Noah’s room. Everything was just as he’d left it. His pillow still held the faint, milky scent of a child. But my baby was never coming back. Under his pillow, I found a small wish jar. Inside was a note, written for him by his teacher, detailing his birthday wish. “Teacher says big boys have to be brave, so this year I finally got the courage to ask Daddy for a birthday present. But before I could even finish my sentence, Daddy got angry and walked away.” “All I wanted… was for Daddy to spend one hour with me on my birthday. Even thirty minutes would have made me really, really happy.” Tears streamed down my face. Logan… this was the grand ambition you were so terrified of? After printing out the divorce papers, I curled up with Noah’s blanket, inhaling his fading scent, and cried until the sun came up. The next morning, Logan, a man obsessed with cleanliness, personally cleaned the weeping fluid from my wound, changed the dressing, and carefully wrapped it in fresh gauze. The housekeeper watched with an envious expression. My heart remained a stone. Seeing my swollen, red-rimmed eyes, his face filled with pain. “Stella, I know you miss Noah. I miss him more than you can imagine. But you have to take care of yourself. I’ve already lost my beloved son; I can’t lose you too. Why don’t you stay home and rest today? I’ll handle the funeral.” Handle it? You, the monster who murdered your own child? I swallowed the bitter irony. “No,” I said quietly. “I have to be there. To say a final goodbye.” When we arrived at the funeral, I saw them from a distance. Vanessa and a teenage boy were flanking my mother-in-law, laughing and talking intimately, making her beam with delight. At such a solemn occasion, everyone else was dressed in black. But Vanessa was in a vibrant, high-fashion red dress. The boy was in a matching, flashy red suit. My mother-in-law, however, seemed completely blind to it. She clung to them both, her eyes shining with affection. She even had one of the staff hold an umbrella over them to shield them from the sun, as if they were her true daughter-in-law and grandson. When she saw me, Vanessa’s lips curved into a smirk. “Oh, don’t worry about me, Mother,” she said, her voice dripping with false concern. “Stella’s here now. The sun is so strong, you should give the umbrella to her. After all, she’s not like me. Her son is dead, and she’s been injured. She needs all the care she can get.” My mother-in-law’s gaze fell on me, her expression a mixture of disgust and annoyance. “It was just a little traitor. What’s the big deal? Who are you putting on this crying show for? Stop your pathetic act. You’re a disgrace to the Hayes family name.” “Even Vanessa and Ethan have more sense than you,” she continued, her voice sharp. “They came straight from the airport because they were worried about me, and they brought me this beautiful jade bracelet. Infinitely better than a cold-hearted thing like you.” She had never liked me, always believing I was beneath Logan. And for the dozen years I couldn’t conceive, she called me a barren hen. When Noah was finally born, she resented how he doted on me, thinking he was a “traitor” with his loyalties misplaced. Logan used to defend me, at least a little. But now, his eyes were glued to Vanessa, his expression one of utter fascination, as if she were a priceless treasure. Vanessa shot me a subtle, triumphant smile before turning back to his mother. “Mother, you’re getting older, you mustn’t get upset. If you’ll have him, Ethan will be your grandson from now on.” My mother-in-law was overjoyed, praising her for being so thoughtful. Vanessa then led the boy over to me, a bright, fake smile on her face. “It’s been a while, Stella. I’m so sorry, we just flew in from overseas and didn’t have time to change. You’re so forgiving, I’m sure you won’t be angry, will you?” “Oh, and this is my son, Ethan Hayes.” Ethan, who looked unsettlingly like a younger Logan, shot me a disdainful look. “Wow, lady,” he sneered, “you’re hideous.” Then, he casually held out his hand to Logan. “Dad, didn’t you say you had presents for Mom and me when we got back? My eighteenth birthday is the day after tomorrow. Last year you only got me 99 gifts. This year, I want 100.” Logan completely ignored the insult directed at me. He just ruffled the boy’s hair with a look of helpless indulgence. “I know, I know.” Then, he took out the emerald locket and fastened it around Ethan’s neck, his expression full of paternal love. As if that weren’t enough, Logan snapped his fingers. A fleet of more than a dozen brightly colored sports cars pulled up outside the funeral home. “There. I know you like bright colors, son. They’re all yours.” Vanessa pouted, wrapping her arm around Logan’s. “What about me, darling? You can’t just spoil our son.” Logan tweaked her nose playfully. “Of course I didn’t forget you.” At his signal, two people stepped out of each car, their arms laden with over thirty sets of jewelry. The styles and materials varied, but they all had one thing in common: they were astronomically expensive. One of them had once been worn by a royal consort from a bygone dynasty. Vanessa squealed with delight and kissed his cheek, looking as giddy as a teenager. “Wow! Isn’t this all from that royal auction in Europe the other day? The cheapest set was over a hundred million! You bought it all for me? Oh, Logan, you’re the best to us. But you spent so much… won’t Stella be upset?” They had turned my son’s funeral into a sickening exhibition of luxury cars and jewels. And me, in my plain, outdated black suit, with no makeup and eyes swollen like walnuts, I looked like a pathetic, washed-up joke next to the radiant, exquisitely dressed Vanessa. It was a bitter pill to swallow, knowing that everything Logan had ever given Noah in his entire life didn’t even add up to the cost of one of Ethan’s new cars. Hilarious. It was all so horribly, brutally hilarious. Logan finally seemed to remember I was there. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Stella, don’t overthink it. Vanessa and Ethan are just used to different customs from living abroad. This is just a formality for them.” “And you heard my mother, she’s accepted Ethan as her grandson. It’s only natural he calls me ‘Dad.’ It’s his birthday soon, I just wanted to show him I care. The locket was also…” He never finished. Vanessa suddenly stumbled, falling gracefully into his arms. “Logan, I’m so dizzy,” she murmured weakly. “I think I’m getting heatstroke.” Logan immediately let go of me and scooped her up. “What? How? I had the villa built for you specifically to avoid the heat. You should have just stayed there and rested. Why did you have to come to this miserable place? Come on, I’ll take you somewhere to lie down.” And with that, before Noah’s ashes were even interred, he carried Vanessa away. I stood there, enduring the mocking stares of the few remaining guests, and picked up my son’s urn myself. It’s okay, my love. Daddy doesn’t love you, but Mommy does. But before I could place the urn in the burial niche, Ethan shoved me hard from behind. I stumbled, and the urn crashed to the ground, shattering into pieces. Noah’s ashes scattered across the cold stone.

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On my eighteenth birthday, I confessed my love to Eleanor, my aunt by title but not by blood. She responded by shipping me off to a university abroad. Years later, when the brain cancer I developed became a torment of unbearable headaches, I had no choice but to call her for help. But her beloved Julian slandered me, claiming I’d fallen into a life of hard drugs overseas, that my pain was nothing more than withdrawal. Eleanor had me brought back immediately and locked away in the family’s desolate, cliffside estate to “detox,” with guards ordered to watch my every move. Without treatment, the pain in my head escalated into an agony beyond endurance. In the dead of one night, unable to bear it any longer, I slipped out of a window and threw myself from the cliff’s edge. A year after my death, Eleanor Brown finally remembered me. 1 Eleanor came to the estate to bring me home herself, only to find the vast, sprawling villa utterly empty. With a furious kick, she sent a decorative screen in the grand hall crashing to the floor. “Leo, I don’t have time to play your childish games of hide-and-seek! Get out here now!” The screen fell, stirring up clouds of thick dust. The only answer was the hollow echo of her own voice. Eleanor covered her nose, backing away toward the door. After a moment, she began to shout again, her voice laced with venom. “You’re a grown man, how can you have so little self-respect! Just think of the state you were in when you came back last year. Even I, your aunt, found you filthy. It was utterly disgusting!” “If Julian hadn’t begged me, I would have washed my hands of you for good. I would have let you rot!” My soul stood just a few feet in front of her. I couldn’t help but let out a bitter, silent laugh. “Let me be perfectly clear, Leo,” she continued, her voice sharp as glass. “If you don’t clean up your act after I let you out this time, I won’t hesitate to lock you up for another ten years. I’ll make sure you learn your lesson for good!” She vented her fury, but I still didn’t appear. Annoyed, she waved a hand, ordering her staff to search the rooms and drag me out. A few of them went upstairs, but moments later they came screaming back down, their faces pale with terror as if they’d seen a ghost. Her assistant leaned in close, whispering in a trembling voice, “Ms. Brown… that phone call from a few days ago… I think it was real. I think… Leo is dead.” Eleanor’s brow furrowed. “Don’t be ridiculous. He’d never have the guts to kill himself. He just loves hurting himself to get my attention. He’s been pulling that trick since he was a child!” She strode past them and went up the stairs herself. Only then did she notice the long, dark streaks staining the hallway walls. They were dried blood. Her elegant eyebrows pinched together as she threw open the doors to the guest rooms, one by one. “Leo, what kind of sick game are you playing now! Have I been too soft on you all these years? Do you really think I won’t do something you’ll regret?!” My soul drifted up the stairs behind her. I watched her stop in front of a locked room. A large, dark pool of dried blood had seeped out from under the door. When she first had me locked away here to “detox,” she was afraid I’d escape, so they only gave me a few sets of pajamas. In the beginning, I could wander the empty villa. When the headaches came, I would pace the long hallways. When the pain became unbearable, I would slam my head against the walls, desperately trying to find a moment’s relief. But my guards grew tired of my agonized cries. They saw that Eleanor never once visited, never even called to check on me. It was as if she had forgotten I existed. So they locked me in that one room on the second floor. To make sure I couldn’t escape, they fitted the door with a heavy, solid lock from the outside. From then on, my entire world was confined to that small space. Every time a wave of pain hit, I would writhe on the small bed. When it became too much, I would kneel by the door and bash my head against the wood until blood streamed down my face. But I never dared to scream out loud. That would only earn me a beating. When the agony was at its peak, I would grip the bedsheets, tearing them into strips and stuffing them in my mouth to bite down on, to stifle the sounds. I begged one of the guards, pleaded with him to call Eleanor. He just sneered and kicked me to the floor, telling me Ms. Brown was busy with her engagement plans for Mr. Julian. She had no time for a degenerate lowlife like me. I refused to believe she could be so heartless. I kept begging him to call. Finally, annoyed beyond measure, he dialed the number—a number I knew by heart—right in front of me. The moment the call connected, I spoke in a trembling voice, telling Eleanor I had brain cancer, that the pain was killing me, and I begged her to save me. I told her the doctor’s official diagnosis was in my suitcase. All she had to do was open it. But she cut me off. “Leo, Julian was right about you. You’re a pathological liar. You’ll never change.” “Even now, you’re not thinking about getting better. You’re still trying to trick me with stories about being sick just so I’ll let you out! Honestly, if you actually died, I might even respect you for having some backbone.” She hung up. I was beaten again and locked back in the room. Now, Eleanor’s gaze fell upon that very lock. She had someone open it and stood in the doorway, her face a cold mask. “Leo, how long are you going to keep this up? You’ve been targeting Julian ever since we started dating. You’ve said so many horrible things about him to me, but he never once held it against you.” “If Julian hadn’t found out you were on drugs, you would have overdosed and died in some foreign gutter by now!” “Leo, you know my patience has its limits. Get your ass out here and come home with me!” She waited only a few seconds before her anger boiled over. She shoved the door open with a furious cry. 2 “Leo, you really are incorrigible! I never should have listened to Julian and come to get you!” The door swung open, and Eleanor froze. I stood behind her, following her gaze into the room. It was just as I had left it. The small window I’d escaped from was still open, creaking back and forth with the gentle breeze. Weather-beaten and dry, it groaned with every movement. Eleanor always hated noise, but now, her face showed no irritation. Only shock. From her perspective, it was a shocking sight. A black, dried puddle of blood stained the floor at her feet. The walls and the door were smeared with it. The bedsheets had been torn to shreds, and even the pillow hadn’t been spared. The curtains had been taken down long ago; the guards were afraid I’d use them to hang myself and implicate them. I died in the early morning of the day after I finally spoke to Eleanor. After a full night of torment, the morning breeze had felt almost sweet. It reminded me of when I was seven years old, when my parents died and Eleanor brought me to the Brown estate. From that day on, she was the only person I depended on in the entire world. I had been willing to risk breaking every bone in my body to climb out of that one small, unbarred window. The guards heard the noise. As they watched with panicked eyes, I didn’t hesitate. I leaped from the cliff’s edge. They were terrified. They called Eleanor, their voices shaking, to report what had happened. But that day was her engagement ceremony to Julian. They had barely gotten the words out before she hung up. She was busy greeting guests, and had no patience for their hysterics. Perhaps she heard them. But even if she did, she probably thought it was just another one of my desperate stunts to get her attention. Her only reply was, “From now on, don’t report anything about him to me ever again.” Eleanor walked to the window and looked down into the yawning abyss. She let out a cold snort. “Leo is such a coward. He’d never jump from this high up. Julian was right, he’s far too manipulative. He needs to have that side of him beaten out.” “Who were the guards here? Bring them to me. I have questions.” A moment later, her assistant returned. “Ms. Brown, those men quit right after… after Leo’s suicide. Should we… send a team down the cliff to search for his body?” She laughed, a chilling, humorless sound. “Search for what? If he’d really jumped, the body would have been found by now. The police would have contacted us.” “He’s such a compulsive liar. He thinks he can fool everyone, but I know him too well. He can’t fool me.” Eleanor ordered her assistant to leave a team behind to continue the search. “Search everywhere, top to bottom, inside and out. I want him brought to me today, no matter what.” “He and Julian both have a rare blood type. He’s given blood to Julian before. Julian is injured now, and I need Leo here, just in case.” I stood right behind her, my entire soul trembling with a cold rage. She had left me here to rot for a year without a single thought, and now she was here only because her precious Julian might need me. For my blood. I thought I meant something to her. She wasn’t always like this. From the age of seven to seventeen, she had cherished me, held me in the palm of her hand. And I, in turn, had fallen hopelessly in love with this woman, three years my senior, my aunt in name only. Then Julian appeared, and everything changed. Julian was the liar, but Eleanor only ever believed him. On my eighteenth birthday, I took my chance and confessed my feelings. Eleanor scolded me, told me she was my aunt, that my feelings were wrong, unnatural. The next day, she sent me abroad. I knew, without a doubt, that Julian had been whispering in her ear again. He even fabricated the story about me being on drugs, a convenient excuse for Eleanor to have me brought back and locked away, just to get me out of the picture. And now that he was hurt, he needed his backup blood bank. But if I really were a drug addict, how could he possibly use my blood? It was such a simple, obvious contradiction. But Eleanor, blinded by her affection for him, couldn’t see it. The assistant looked at Eleanor, his expression troubled. “Ms. Brown, the guards said they saw him jump with their own eyes. It’s unlikely he could have survived.” “I know you don’t want to believe it, but they sounded sincere. It didn’t seem like they were lying. If we just call the police and have them organize a search, we’ll know the truth.” Eleanor scoffed. “He has you all wrapped around his little finger. He’s just hiding somewhere, trying to get out of giving blood to Julian. He’s probably laughing at us right now.” “Cancel all his credit cards. Once he runs out of money, he’ll come crawling back.” With that, she stormed out, rushing back to be with the injured Julian. My soul, unable to resist, followed her. 3 When Eleanor walked into the hospital room, her expression softened the moment she saw Julian in the bed. “How are you feeling today? Any better?” “I’m fine,” Julian said with a weak smile. “See? I’m perfectly fine. There’s no need for me to be cooped up in here.” Eleanor picked an apple from the fruit basket and began to peel it. “You were hit by that car because you pushed me out of the way. Of course I’m going to stay until you’re fully recovered.” “Julian, you’re the most important person in the world to me. You can’t be so reckless with your life ever again.” I remembered when she used to say those same gentle words to me. But since Julian’s arrival, I had long ceased to be her priority. He was the one who told her that since she wasn’t my blood relative, it was inappropriate for her to be so involved in my life now that I was an adult. From then on, Julian became the intermediary for everything concerning me. He concealed the fact that I had a brain tumor, insisting instead that I was a degenerate addict. He had me locked away on the cliffside estate under the guise of helping me, yet never once came to see me. And now that he was hurt and needed my rare blood type, now that he needed his walking blood bank, he finally remembered I existed. But they didn’t know. They didn’t know that I was already a pile of bones, lying alone and forgotten on a desolate ledge halfway down the mountain. “Eleanor, Leo wouldn’t come back? He still resents me, doesn’t he?” Julian said, pushing back the covers as if to get out of bed. “I’ll go to him. I’ll apologize to him myself.” Eleanor rushed to stop him. “Julian, you were only trying to help him. He’s the one who’s ungrateful. It’s not your fault.” “I’ve already canceled his cards and sent people to find him. Don’t worry, I will find him and make him give you blood.” She carefully fed Julian the apple she had just peeled. “Julian,” she asked thoughtfully, “did Leo ever mention anything to you about having bad headaches while he was overseas?” A flicker of panic crossed Julian’s face. He stammered, “N-no. Leo grew up rough, he’s always been strong as an ox! Eleanor, why are you suddenly asking this?” Eleanor seemed lost in thought. “It’s nothing. It’s just… when I went to the villa today, the room was covered in blood. But you’re right. He’s always been so healthy. He rarely even catches a cold. It’s impossible he could be sick enough to die.” Julian visibly relaxed. My soul raged beside them. I wanted to scream, to tell her that this man was lying to her again. But I could do nothing. Even if she could hear me, she wouldn’t believe me. She would always choose to believe Julian. In her eyes, I was just a twisted, jealous boy. Julian tested the waters. “Eleanor, if Leo doesn’t want to come home, maybe we should just let him go. As long as he’s happy, right?” Eleanor’s face instantly darkened. “Absolutely not! I have to ensure you’re safe. His blood type is the same as yours. You lost so much blood, and the doctor said you might need a second transfusion if complications arise. The hospital’s blood bank is already depleted.” “I raised him for so many years. It’s time he paid me back! Giving a little blood won’t kill him. Hell, even if it cost him his life, he should give it willingly!” For a moment, my entire being trembled. How could she say something so monstrous? She once promised she would always be my family, that I would never have to experience abandonment a second time. Had she forgotten all of it? Julian lowered his head, a triumphant smile hidden from her view. He had gotten the answer he wanted. He always pretended to be the bigger person, masterfully manipulating Eleanor, poisoning her against me. And even now, he continued to hide the truth, ensuring she would despise me completely. “Eleanor, don’t say that about Leo,” he said, his voice full of false sympathy. “He would be so hurt if he heard you.” Even now, he had to play the saint. Eleanor just scoffed. She was about to say more when her phone rang. I saw the caller ID: Detective Marcus. Our cousin, a police detective. She answered, and her face went rigid. She stood up, her expression turning grim. From the other end of the line, I heard his voice: “Eleanor… Leo is dead.”

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My fiancé adopted a little girl, claiming she was the orphaned daughter of his older brother, and begged me to treat her as my own after we were married. I was about to nod in agreement when a line of text materialized in the air before me. [Genius baby online! A big thank you to the supporting female lead for her wholehearted devotion to raising Yoyo. Even though Yoyo is the daughter of the male lead and his one true love (his sister-in-law), we’re still grateful to the SFL for being such a great adoptive mom.] [The SFL is actually a great person. She saves the male lead from bankruptcy and leaves her entire family fortune to Yoyo before she dies.] [Yep, that’s why after the SFL dies, Yoyo brings her real mom home for a happy family reunion!] [As soon as the male lead’s brother kicks the bucket in three days, and the SFL marries the male lead, the plot can officially begin!] Me: “…” Hold on, big brother, don’t you die on me. I’m coming to save you! 1 Before I could even process what I’d just read, George walked over, a little girl in his arms. “Anna, I want to adopt Yoyo.” “She’s my brother’s only daughter. You know the doctors have already told him he doesn’t have long. Yoyo can’t be without a father. Can we raise her as our own after we’re married?” I had thought the floating words were a fluke, but George’s actions mirrored them exactly. George was the male lead, which meant I was the so-called supporting female lead? Yoyo was the daughter of George and his sister-in-law. And I was destined to die? My mind went blank. Seeing my silence, George pushed the child into my arms. “Get to know her. I don’t want people saying her stepmother is abusing her.” [Haha, don’t worry, the SFL is super good to the female lead’s daughter. She pours all of the Kim family resources into raising her. That’s why I don’t hate the SFL! She does a really great job.] [Seriously, the SFL is the living embodiment of ‘love me, love my dog.’] A shiver went down my spine. This was all feeling chillingly real. George looked down at me, his patience wearing thin. “What’s with the silence? Either you accept Yoyo, or we call off the wedding. There’s no room for negotiation.” I forced down the fear rising in my throat and asked tentatively, “What about your sister-in-law? Can she bear to be separated from Yoyo?” It was an innocent enough question, but George’s reaction was explosive. “You want a woman to raise a child all by herself? How can you even say something like that? From now on, you’ll be raising Yoyo.” “And another thing,” he added, his voice cold, “I don’t plan on having any more children after we’re married. Yoyo is enough.” I stared at him, dumbfounded, at a loss for words. [Wow, the male lead is so deeply in love with his one true love, the female lead. He only wants one child his entire life.] [I kind of feel bad for the SFL. She’s such a simp. Because of their childhood engagement, she’s dedicated her entire life to the male lead.] [Yeah, and with the male lead’s brother about to die, the Parker family is facing a crisis. If the SFL hadn’t proposed marriage, their company would have gone under.] [The brother’s cause of death is actually pretty lame. The doctor misdiagnosed him. They missed that a blood vessel in his heart was blocked. All they had to do was clear it, no heart transplant needed.] [And the transplant surgery had complications, leading to his early death. The whole Parker family empire was just handed over to the male lead.] I frowned, a thousand questions racing through my mind. So, the tragic, early death of Liam Parker, a man known for his brilliance, was just as much a contrived plot point as my own? A strange urge to laugh bubbled up inside me. Well, if that’s the case… Hold on, big brother. Don’t you die yet. I’m on my way. 2 I pushed Yoyo back into George’s arms. “This is a huge decision. I need to think about it. I have to go.” Liam Parker was on his deathbed. Time was of the essence. I turned to leave, but as I opened the door, I collided with Maya. She had already regained her balance, but when she saw George in the living room, she let out a dramatic “Oh!” and stumbled backward into the wall. George heard the commotion and immediately put the child down, rushing over. “Maya!” I had just steadied myself when George grabbed my arm, his grip like iron. “If you have a problem with me, take it out on me! Don’t you dare touch Maya! She injured her back during childbirth, she can’t take any kind of impact!” George’s eyes were cold, his jaw clenched so tight I thought he might shatter his teeth. He looked like he wanted to tear me apart. I winced, trying to pull away. “George, let go!” He scoffed, letting go of me only to stride over to Maya. As he did, he gave my arm a sharp, warning tug backward. I was in high heels. I lost my balance and stumbled, landing hard on the floor. My wrist took the brunt of the fall, and a sharp pain shot up my arm. When I looked up, George was carefully helping Maya to her feet. “Are you okay? Is your back alright?” Maya frowned, putting on a brave face. “Anna probably didn’t mean it, George, don’t…” For once, George cut her off. “You’re too kind, always defending her. This isn’t the first time Anna has used her family’s status to do whatever she wants.” He wrapped an arm around Maya’s waist. With Liam on death’s door, it seemed they had thrown all caution to the wind. “Anna, apologize!” he commanded. I pushed myself up, using the wall for support, my teeth gritted. “I didn’t push her. Neither of you has the right to demand an apology from me.” “If you had a brain in your head, you’d check the security cameras. I’ll be waiting for your apology.” With that, I turned and walked away. I didn’t have time for their drama. To save Liam Parker, every second counted. 3 “Take me to the hospital where Liam Parker is staying.” My driver, Mr. Davies, glanced at my swollen wrist and sighed, looking like he wanted to say something but was holding back. “Miss, were you bothering young Mr. Parker again? You’re injured. We should get that looked at.” He then handed me a contract. “This is the partnership agreement between the Parker Group and our subsidiary. It needs your signature.” I let out a bitter laugh and held up my red, swollen wrist for him to see. “Mr. Davies, George injured me, and you want me to sign a contract with him? Have you ever seen such a spineless business partner?” Mr. Davies said nothing, just gave me a look in the rearview mirror. [LMAO, the driver is totally rolling his eyes. His internal monologue must be: ‘My dear young miss, you have the nerve to say that?!’] [Anna has been George’s biggest simp since they were kids. The driver is used to it.] I was furious. I threw the contract back onto the passenger seat. [Oh? Is the SFL upset?] [She’ll get over it. Remember that time the male lead ditched her in the middle of nowhere to go pick up the female lead? The SFL cried for two hours, then wiped her tears and went to bring him dinner.] Reading that, I froze. A flood of humiliating memories washed over me. Because of our childhood engagement, I had shamelessly chased after George my whole life. In elementary school, I was his loyal servant. In middle school, his most reliable wingman. By high school and college, I had become a laughingstock, the girl who would do anything for him. And now, with the Parker family in crisis, I had stepped up, offering a huge portion of my own shares to bail them out. Our wedding had been fast-tracked, but George and Maya’s affair had only become more blatant. Every time I confronted him, he would look at me with disgust, as if I had committed some terrible crime. “She’s my sister-in-law. Don’t be so filthy-minded.” I could only tell myself, over and over, that she was his sister-in-law, that it was his duty to take care of her. My entire life felt like a cycle of heartbreak and self-delusion. But this time… I looked at the floating text, then at my injured wrist. Suddenly, everything became clear. I loved George, but I loved my own life more. “Cancel all of our company’s partnerships with the Parker Group. Phase them out, starting now.” Mr. Davies slammed on the brakes, pulling over to the side of the road. He turned around, his eyes wide with shock. “Miss, if you do that, young Mr. Parker will be furious. What if you regret it later?” “I won’t regret it. Cancel them now. Any contracts that aren’t signed, scrap them. Any that are, we will not renew them upon completion.” When Mr. Davies turned back around, he actually wiped a tear from his eye. According to the text, Liam Parker and I were two of a kind. I used my money and influence to summon the top cardiac specialists from all over the country. The reason the Parker Group was on the verge of collapse was that everyone knew Liam, the brilliant elder son, was dying, and George, the younger son, was a worthless playboy. If Liam didn’t die, George would never have his chance. 4 Soon, doctors from all over were arriving by private jet. In the hospital room, Liam Parker was a shadow of his former self, gaunt and frail, kept alive only by the rhythmic hiss of a ventilator. [Aah, the big brother is so handsome. Can’t he not die?] [No can do. He’s too brilliant. If he doesn’t die, the male lead can’t have his character development.] [Sob, it’s just one tiny blocked blood vessel. It’s just really hard to find. But what is the SFL doing here? And with all these doctors?] [See? I told you she’d get over it! She must regret how she acted earlier and is trying to win points with the male lead by saving his brother.] [Nooo, don’t do it! Doesn’t the SFL see that the male lead is terrified of his brother? Big brother dying is a good thing for him! Don’t be stupid, SFL!] [It’s fine. They won’t be able to find the real cause of his illness anyway.] A faint smile touched my lips. I called over Liam’s attending physician. “These are some of the most renowned cardiac specialists in the country. They’re here to examine Mr. Parker.” The attending physician hesitated. “But… Mr. Parker’s wife said… she wants him to pass with dignity, without any more medical intervention.” I shot him a sharp look. If it weren’t for the floating text, I would have suspected that Liam was the victim of a plot by that despicable pair. “Dr. Chen, I believe my family, the Kim family, recently acquired this hospital, did we not? That makes me the majority shareholder.” That was all it took. The hospital administration immediately scrambled to assist the specialists with another round of examinations. They were thorough, but the diagnosis remained the same: he needed a heart transplant. [SFL, don’t waste your energy. This is how the book is written.] [Even if the Grim Reaper himself showed up, he wouldn’t be able to find the real cause of Liam Parker’s illness.] “Ms. Kim, it would be best to start preparing for the inevitable,” one of the specialists said, rising to leave. I stopped him. “Is it possible that he doesn’t need a transplant? That it’s just a single blocked blood vessel in his heart, one that’s been overlooked?” The specialists stared at me, stunned. Finally, an elderly professor with a shock of white hair put on his glasses and ordered a new series of advanced CT scans and ultrasounds. When he emerged from the imaging room, his face was flushed with excitement. “Ms. Kim, you were right! Mr. Parker can be saved! Prep the OR, now!” I let out a long breath, my entire body relaxing. At the same time, the floating text went wild. [Wait, why has the plot deviated? This isn’t how it’s written in the book!] [If big brother doesn’t die, then even if the SFL dies from overwork and a stress-induced heart attack, the female lead can’t come back to the family! What is going on? How did the SFL save him?] I gritted my teeth, a vein throbbing in my temple. So they really were just going to use me as cannon fodder. Die from overwork and a stress-induced heart attack? In their dreams! 5 Liam Parker’s surgery took four hours, but it was a success. I had just checked my social media and learned that George had taken Maya and their daughter on a little getaway. His caption was particularly nauseating: An older brother is like a father. With my brother gone, I will shoulder the responsibility of taking care of this family. He had also sent me two messages. I’m taking the kid out for a while. You should do some self-reflection. If you don’t want to accept Yoyo, there are plenty of women who would love to be her stepmother. I felt a strange sense of calm, almost nostalgia. To think that a love I had harbored for so many years could be extinguished in just a few moments. I replied with a single word. Okay. It took him four hours to send me a voice message. Even through the phone, I could imagine his sneering face. “Here we go again. Anna, you’d better have some backbone this time.” Oh, I will. To make sure there were no complications, I stayed at the hospital with Liam for two days and a night. When I saw his eyes flutter open, my exhaustion vanished. I grabbed his hand excitedly. “You’re awake!” [Oh no, the plot has really gone off the rails.] [What’s so bad about that? It’s more fun to read when you don’t know what’s going to happen.] The confusion in Liam’s eyes slowly faded. After the doctors had examined him, they were overjoyed. “Mr. Parker, your recovery is nothing short of a miracle! It’s all thanks to Ms. Kim!” Liam’s gaze shifted to me, his eyes filled with a flicker of uncertainty. For as long as they had been on their little trip, I had been by Liam’s side. A week later, some color finally returned to his face. I had always been a little afraid of Liam. He was three years older than me, and even when we were kids, he never smiled. But now, as I scrolled through George and Maya’s cutesy posts, and thought about the metaphorical horns he and I now shared, I felt a sense of camaraderie. I helped him sit up and brought the medicine to his lips. “Here, time for your pills.” He didn’t take them, just looked at me. “Not chasing after George anymore? A rare sight to see you here with me.” “George’s busy,” I said casually. “Doesn’t need me around. Open up.”

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The third time Professor Vance ignored my question, a line of text materialized in front of my eyes. One comment, glowing crimson, stood out from the rest. It was in that moment that I understood. I was the designated “evil rival” of this world, a character who didn’t even have the right to ask the male lead a question. Once I learned the truth, I promptly transferred to a different class with a different teacher. Later, when I won the grand championship in the National Mech-Crafting Competition and became the newest Gold-Tier Artisan, Kaelen Vance appeared on stage with a bouquet of flowers, his eyes filled with a soft light. “Aria,” he said, “if you ever have any professional questions, feel free to discuss them with me anytime.” I offered him a distant smile. “My master is more than capable of answering any questions I might have, but thank you for the offer. You should probably use that time to comfort your dear Chloe. She looks like she’s about to cry.” It seems that without the evil rival to drive the plot, the main characters’ halos just don’t shine as brightly, do they? 1 “Professor, I have a question. Why does this component assembly keep coming loose after I put it together?” It was the Q&A portion of Mech-Crafting, Section 7. I was the first to raise my hand, eager to ask Professor Kaelen Vance my question. He gave me a cursory glance before his eyes slid away, landing on Chloe, the girl in the row ahead of me who was currently dozing off. The moment his gaze touched her, his expression softened. He tapped her desk, his stern voice laced with an undercurrent of indulgence. “Chloe, do you have any questions?” I blinked, raising my hand a little higher. “Professor, I have a ques—” My words were cut short by a soft groan from Chloe. She stretched languidly, followed by a wide yawn, before asking in a daze, “What question? This component is so simple. Don’t you know how to do it, Professor?” A wave of laughter rippled through the classroom. Kaelen sighed, a hint of exasperation in his tone. “Go back to sleep.” “If there are no other questions,” he announced, “that’s all for today. Go to the materials lab and pick up one set of Kit #5 and one of Kit #6. Assemble them at home. I’ll be checking them tomorrow.” I shot to my feet. “Professor, I have a question—” It was as if he hadn’t heard me. He glanced at Chloe, who was already slumped back over her desk, blowing little spit bubbles in her sleep, and then turned and walked out of the classroom. I sank back into my seat, a mixture of humiliation, frustration, and wounded pride churning in my stomach. Why did he always ignore me? Why did he pretend not to hear me every single time I tried to ask him something? If he treated everyone this way, I wouldn’t be so upset. But it was so blatantly obvious that he favored Chloe. If she had a question, he would answer it with infinite patience. If she didn’t, he would still proactively ask if she understood the material. We were all his students. Why the differential treatment? It made me burn with jealousy, and I couldn’t help but resent her for it. Just as my glare was about to bore a hole through her back, several lines of text floated into view before my eyes. 2 I stared at the text, stunned. Male lead? Are they talking about Kaelen? My name is Aria. Since when was I a “goddamn snake”? And what budding romance? They’d only known each other for a week. Another comment, this one a conspicuous red, scrolled past, perfectly articulating my own thoughts. Exactly! That’s exactly right! If you’re going to be a teacher, you should treat all your students equally. Why should Chloe get special treatment? The floating lines of text provided the answer. Apparently, we were living in a novel, and I was the story’s designated “evil rival.” I was in love with Kaelen, and because I couldn’t stand his affection for Chloe, I constantly targeted her. According to the comments, I was about to steal Chloe’s materials to prevent her from finishing the assignment. But in a twist of fate, she would use the incomplete kit to create an even more powerful component, not only breaking the existing performance record for that part but also catching the eye of a legendary Master Artisan who would take her on as his final apprentice. Meanwhile, the component I was supposed to have stayed up all night perfecting wouldn’t even be deemed worthy of testing before being tossed into the recycling bin. By now, we had all collected our materials. Students who weren’t eating at the school cafeteria were free to go home. Chloe casually tossed her kit onto her desk, patted her stomach, and smacked her lips a few times before nudging her deskmate. “Nyx, wanna grab lunch at the cafeteria?” Her deskmate, Nyx, was a cool, aloof girl who preferred to be alone. I had tried to be friendly with her a few times before, but she’d been completely unresponsive. Yet, after knowing Chloe for less than a week, she was like a different person. Her icy gaze melted instantly. Though her expression remained neutral, her tone was soft. “Yeah.” The comments started scrolling again. I was, in fact, having a bit of a meltdown. I came from a wealthy family, raised as the apple of my parents’ eye. I had everything I could ever want. Because of my status, I was always surrounded by “friends.” I couldn’t say how many of them were genuine, but they all fell over themselves to please me. I had never been the one to initiate friendship. Except with Kaelen and Nyx. And, of course, they were the only two who treated me with disdain, while both giving Chloe their special attention. How could I not be furious? Watching them walk out, I grit my teeth and shot a look at Chloe’s materials on her desk. Just as they reached the door, Nyx paused. “You’re just going to leave your kit on the desk like that? Is that safe?” Chloe stuck out her tongue. “What could happen? Come on, let’s go, I’m starving.” The comments were a flurry of warnings. Steal it? My pride would never allow me to stoop so low. So I just gave the kit one last glance, then turned and left the classroom. I’d like to see how someone who slept through the entire class could possibly do a hundred times better than me. 3 “You see this part here? It’s a sliding component. You have to push this in first, then lock the piece below it into place. That should do it.” Professor Finch, the instructor for Section 1 of Mech-Crafting, patiently answered my question. It clicked instantly. I reassembled the part according to his instructions, and it worked perfectly. “Thank you, Professor Finch!” I beamed. He waved a hand dismissively. “A lot of people miss that little detail and fail the assembly. The fact that you noticed it on your first try is already very impressive.” I lifted my chin proudly. I was, after all, the top-ranked student in the Mech-Crafting department. That wasn’t just an empty title. Although, according to the comments, I wouldn’t be number one for long. My grades were apparently about to plummet… because after Chloe became a Master’s apprentice, I was supposed to become so consumed with jealousy that I’d spend all my time trying to sabotage her instead of improving my own skills. As if, I thought. I wasn’t stupid enough to waste my time trying to frame her. Getting obsessed with a man with questionable professional ethics and targeting a talented female peer over him? Was I insane? Speaking of which, how did she create a component with better performance? Could it be that the assembly didn’t actually require all these parts? With that question in mind, I started disassembling the component I had just put together. Professor Finch looked puzzled. “That was a solid assembly. It would have definitely tested above 90% performance. Why are you taking it apart?” Mechs were graded on a scale of 1 to 10, with 1 being the lowest. Each grade was further divided into low, mid, and high tiers. The same went for their components. A component needed to test at over 80% performance to be usable. Below 85% was low-grade, 85% to 90% was mid-grade, and above 90% was high-grade. The Kit #6 we received today was for a Tier-2 component. The current market record for its performance was 96.8%. But the version Chloe was supposed to create would reach a staggering 98.91%. I don’t deny that geniuses exist. But I was considered a genius too. If she could do it, so could I. I pressed my lips together. “I want to see if I can make it even better.” A look of admiration crossed Professor Finch’s face. “I like your spirit. That’s excellent.” Then, his tone grew a little wistful. “Why did you have to transfer to Section 7? With your grades, Section 1 is a much better fit for you.” I was originally a student in Section 1. The only reason I transferred was because of Kaelen Vance. Three years ago, my parents and I were on vacation when our ship was hijacked by interstellar pirates. It was Kaelen, a mech pilot at the time, who led the team that rescued us. He was everything I’d ever imagined a hero to be. I idolized him. As I got older, that idolization blossomed into a crush. When school started a week ago, I learned that he had taken a teaching position in Section 7. I immediately applied for a transfer, just to be closer to him. It had only been a week, and the rose-tinted glasses didn’t just crack; they shattered. “You’re right, Professor Finch,” I said. “Section 1 is a better fit. Can I… can I apply to transfer back?” 4 Professor Finch’s eyes lit up. He immediately pulled open a drawer and started rummaging for an application form. “Of course, you can! Anytime! You just keep working on your component. I’ll fill out the paperwork for you!” Watching him furiously scribbling away, I couldn’t help but smile. Whatever those comments said, I had no intention of playing a supporting role in someone else’s story. I didn’t care how their plot unfolded. My goal had always been the same: to become a Gold-Tier Artisan. … I didn’t sleep at all that night. I assembled and disassembled the two kits over and over, my hands blistering, until I finally discovered a new method. As dawn broke, I headed to the academy with dark circles under my eyes, carrying my newly assembled components to find Professor Finch for testing. When he saw the pile of unused parts I had left over, his jaw nearly hit the floor. He immediately took me to the testing lab and placed my component in the analysis chamber. Three seconds later, a set of numbers lit up the display… 5 “Who took Chloe’s materials? If you come forward now, I’ll overlook it. But if I have to find out who it was…” I was five minutes late for class. As I reached the door, I heard Kaelen’s cold, stern voice. “Then I can assure you, this academy will not tolerate a student with such poor moral character.” What was going on? Chloe’s materials were missing after all? I scanned the room. Chloe looked completely unbothered. Nyx was her usual stoic self. The other students just looked confused. The comments were scrolling by in a frenzy. I rolled my eyes. I didn’t steal anything. Why would I delete the footage? “Professor,” I called out from the doorway. Kaelen narrowed his eyes at me, not inviting me in. “Chloe’s materials are missing. Did you know about this?” I nodded. “I do now. You just said so.” He let out a knowing “Oh.” His tone was infuriating. “And what are your thoughts on the matter?” His expression, his tone… it was a clear accusation. “They’re missing, so you find them. What other thoughts could I have? If you don’t know how to do that, Professor, I can help you pull the security footage.” My defiant attitude seemed to take him by surprise. He frowned. “Whoever was bold enough to steal them wouldn’t be stupid enough to leave the security footage behind.” “Speaking of which,” he added, his eyes fixed on me, “why are you so late today? What were you doing?” He might as well have just announced to the whole class that I was late because I was busy tampering with the evidence. Sure enough, his words made every student in the room turn to look at me with suspicion. The scrolling comments were just as annoying. I ignored him, walked straight into the classroom, and went to my seat. “What I do is my own business. I don’t need to report to you.” “And another thing,” I added, “even if the footage was deleted, I can recover it. Just because you can’t do something, Professor Vance, doesn’t mean I can’t. Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to get ‘your Chloe’ the justice she deserves.” Then, right in front of everyone, I made a call. “Dad, a student in my class had something stolen. Could you have someone pull the security footage for me?” After I hung up, Chloe turned to look at me, a dismissive expression on her face. “Aria, you don’t have to go to all that trouble. The materials are gone, so be it. I’ll just get another set and redo the assignment. I just hope the professor can give me a little more time.” So this time, she had lost all her materials. She clasped her hands together, batted her eyelashes playfully at Kaelen, and pouted. “Please?” Kaelen chuckled. “You. You just don’t care about anything, do you? But this is more serious than just a missing kit.” I cut him off. “The components we build are all sent for official collection. We can’t be even one set short.” The materials we used were supplied directly by a mech factory, and our finished components were sent straight to that same factory for use. “At its simplest, this is about missing materials. But on a larger scale, this affects the academy’s partnership and trust with the factory. This matter must be thoroughly investigated!” There was another reason I wanted a full investigation. My father was on the academy’s board of directors, and the factory we partnered with was owned by my mother. What was stolen was, essentially, my family’s property. Of course I was going to find it. I was going to slap the truth in the faces of every single person who had doubted me. With a direct order from a board member, it took less than half an hour for the Dean of Students to arrive at Section 7 with security and the surveillance footage. Halfway through the video, I couldn’t help but laugh. “Chloe, is this what you call ‘missing’?” The security footage was crystal clear. After lunch, she had returned to the classroom, picked up her kit, and left with it. She still had it when she walked out of the academy gates. The Dean, being the resourceful man he was, had even managed to obtain footage from outside the campus. It showed Chloe boarding a maglev train and traveling to a mech parts factory where she worked part-time. At the factory entrance, she ran into a gray-haired man who was wiping tears from his eyes. He was a worker there who had lost a component kit he’d taken home to assemble. Mech materials were expensive, and he was terrified of having to pay for it and losing his job. When Chloe learned he had lost a Kit #6, her kind heart took over, and she gave him her own. With the truth revealed, Chloe hung her head in embarrassment. After a moment, she looked up, a strained smile on her face. “If I miss one assignment, the worst that happens is I get a bad grade. But that man is the sole provider for his entire family. If he lost his job, how would they survive?” “I admit I shouldn’t have given away the materials,” she said, tears starting to well in her eyes, “but when I saw how desperate he was, I just couldn’t bear it…” I snorted. “I have no problem with you doing a good deed. But you shouldn’t do it with things that don’t belong to you, and you certainly shouldn’t lie about it being stolen. If we didn’t have this video, your lie would have branded every single person in this class as a potential thief.” “You couldn’t bear to see that man get fired, but you could bear to see us carry the weight of a crime we didn’t commit?” Chloe sobbed her apologies. “It was my fault. I have no excuse. I’ll pay for the materials myself, as compensation to the academy.” I scoffed. “You should pay for it. It was…” Kaelen cut me off, his voice cold. “Chloe was just being kind. Is it a crime to do a good deed now? That’s enough, Aria. Stop wasting everyone’s time.” His words made me laugh out loud. “The ones wasting everyone’s time are you and Chloe, aren’t they? One of you lies about being robbed, and the other suspends class to play detective for her. And now you’re trying to pin the blame on me? Professor Vance, try not to be such a hypocrite.” My retort left him with a thunderous expression and her with a pale, stricken face. Whatever lingering admiration I had for him was now completely gone. I had planned to stay for the rest of the class, but now I couldn’t stand to be in the room for another second. I gathered my things and headed for the door. “Class is in session! Where do you think you’re going?” Kaelen demanded. 6 I turned to face him, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “I can’t afford to take your class, Professor. You should focus on teaching ‘your Chloe.’” His face darkened. “Do you think this class is a place you can just come and go as you please? Do you think your family owns this academy?” I rolled my eyes. “As a matter of fact, yes. They do.” He froze, about to say something else, but I had already turned and walked out. Whatever saccharine, exclusive love story they wanted to play out, I wanted no part of it. I had better things to do than waste my time on petty jealousy. Like assembling more components. Back in Section 1, I noticed that once I was away from the main characters, the floating comments disappeared. My life returned to its normal trajectory. And, because I hadn’t stolen Chloe’s materials, the plot had changed. She hadn’t been able to create that record-breaking component with a performance of 98.92%. But I had. My Kit #5 component tested at 99.36%, and my Kit #6 at 98.98%—both higher than her original record. I had thought that when these results were announced, the Gold-Tier Artisan, Master Valerius, might take me on as his apprentice, just as he was supposed to have done with Chloe. I was wrong. He never appeared, just as the original plot dictated. Without any interaction with the main characters, the comments remained gone. The days flew by in a blur of assembling and disassembling parts, and soon, it was time for the first-year final exams. The exam was designed by Master Valerius himself, and according to inside sources, he planned to choose one first-year student to be his final apprentice. I wanted to be that apprentice. So I practiced relentlessly, barely eating or sleeping, hoping he would notice me. What I didn’t know then was that some roles exist solely for the main character. No matter how hard a supporting character tries, it’s useless. The exam was scheduled for the afternoon. I couldn’t be bothered to go home for lunch, so I went to the cafeteria with a classmate. The moment I walked in, I saw Chloe. She was sitting with Nyx, her hair in a high ponytail, her face flushed with a healthy glow. The floating comments told me that she and Kaelen, through a series of entanglements, were now living together. They were in the honeymoon phase of their relationship, though they had to pretend to be just a normal teacher and student at the academy. I looked at the pink, bubbly blessings and envious comments on the feed and felt nothing. She saw me too and quickly looked away, offering Nyx a wry smile. “The difference between the rich and the poor really is huge. What they spend on one meal on the second floor is my entire month’s salary. There are less than thirty steps between the first and second floors, but the difference in status is a world apart.” “I’m glad I have you with me,” she added. “Otherwise, as the only poor person in this academy, I’d be all alone.” Nyx comforted her. “Don’t sell yourself short. You’re much more capable than them. They all rely on their parents and families. You’re the only one who earns everything with your own two hands. In that respect, you’re stronger than any of them.” My classmate heard this and was about to explode. “Who do you think you’re—” I quickly grabbed her arm. “She’s not wrong. We’re not adults yet. Isn’t it normal to rely on our parents?” My classmate blinked, her mouth twitching. “Well… I guess so.” I pulled her toward the stairs. “So what’s there to be angry about? Let’s go eat. We have an exam this afternoon.” The old me would have blown up at those words. But the comments had told me what was supposed to happen. We were supposed to get into an argument, and because my group was larger, we would bully them mercilessly, even forcing them to eat food mixed with garbage. Kaelen would then swoop in and rescue them. Afterward, Chloe would tearfully challenge me in the middle of the cafeteria, declaring that if she beat me in the exam, I would have to publicly apologize. If she lost, she would drop out of the academy. Her courage, her defiance in the face of power, would make Kaelen fall for her even harder. It would also attract the attention of the story’s secondary male lead—my older brother, Adrian. And all of this would be witnessed by Master Valerius and the other masters from the second-floor dining area. Before the exam even began, my friends and I would already be disqualified in their eyes. Chloe, on the other hand, would earn their admiration. So I stopped my friend. I wasn’t about to engage in a self-destructive battle. What I didn’t expect was that even though I did nothing, Chloe still challenged me.

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1 Five years after they trapped my soul in these walls, some streamer shows up, looking to “cleanse” me with a bit of theatrical flair. Then he found my diary, and his bravado shattered into tears. Back then, their voices were a chorus of condemnation. “We gave her everything, and she was just an ungrateful viper.” “She made it all up! Every word is a lie!” “Lila Crawford is the worst kind of bitch. I hope she rots.” Even my own brother, my Tim, didn’t hold back. “She’s no sister of mine. It’s better that she’s dead.” Everyone wanted me dead. So now that I am, why are you all crying? … “What’s up, everyone! It’s your favorite ghost hunter, Ryker Blackwood, coming at you live!” “Tonight, you voted for it, and I’m delivering. We’re at the number one spot on your list: the infamous ‘Wall Murder’ house, the scene of a five-year-old cold case.” In the dead of night, Ryker’s high-powered flashlight beam cut through the darkness, dancing across a dilapidated front door. The air was thick with the smell of rot and damp earth, the yard a forgotten tangle of weeds. A lonely sliver of moon hung overhead, making the desolation feel absolute. Instantly, the live chat flooded with my name, intertwined with venom. Lila the Psycho. Lila the Liar. The comments poured in, a torrent of fury. “Ugh, why are we at her house? Total creep.” “Seriously, bad vibes, man.” “Didn’t Lila Crawford have guys rotating through here like a brothel? She had family money and set up her own little den of sin in this dump.” “Nah, I don’t buy it. What rich girl would live in a shithole like this?” “Ryker, you’ve changed. You’ll do anything for clicks now, won’t you?” “Let’s bounce, guys. This psycho doesn’t deserve the airtime.” The stream of hate was relentless. Ryker’s brow furrowed. The sheer vitriol from his audience was a headache, but the viewer count was skyrocketing. The show had to go on. “Easy, everyone. You know me,” he said, his voice a smooth, confident balm. “I’m a paranormal investigator. I’m here to show you what’s really going on, not to whitewash the reputation of a girl who’d screw over her own brother.” He brandished a sleek, dark blade for the camera, a glint in his eye. “And don’t you worry. If this malevolent spirit decides to show her face, I’ll personally send her screaming back to hell.” A wave of approval surged through the chat. Cheers and digital thumbs-ups praised Ryker for his tough stance. He took a deep breath, the stench of decay filling his lungs, and approached the door. A gentle push was all it took. The door groaned and collapsed inward with a deafening crash, revealing the scene within. Ryker froze, his bravado vanishing. “Damn it!” Across town, Tim Crawford slammed his fist on a mahogany desk, the crystal wine glass in his other hand shattering. Red wine and blood dripped onto the polished surface. “Lila!” he hissed, the name a curse. “Why won’t that bitch just stay dead and buried?” “Five years, and she still finds a way to haunt us.” He lit a cigarette with a trembling hand, watching the smoke curl towards the ceiling. He stabbed at his phone, dialing a number. “This can’t get to Talia. I don’t want Lila’s name causing her any more pain.” Just as he spoke, Talia herself appeared in the doorway, a vision of fragile beauty. She stopped, her eyes wide with a practiced sorrow. “Tim, darling,” she said, her voice a soft, mournful whisper. “Let the dead rest. I’ve… I’ve made my peace with it.” She drifted closer, her touch a light caress on his arm. “What Lila did to me was unforgivable… but she paid the price. We have to look forward. I don’t want to dwell on the past anymore.” At that moment, my father emerged from his study, his face a mask of cold fury. “Good riddance to that girl!” he snarled. He ordered Tim to cast the livestream onto the massive television screen on the wall. Still seething, he poured himself a glass of red wine and downed it in one go. “A disgrace to the family name. Five years dead and still causing trouble. Let’s see what kind of circus she’s orchestrated this time.” On the screen, Ryker’s voice, now laced with shock, crackled through the speakers. “What in the world is this?” 2 The interior walls were a canvas of horror, choked with moss and skeletal ivy. Peeking through the grime and decay were faint, dark stains that looked sickeningly like dried blood. After a moment of stunned silence, the live chat erupted. Ryker, moving as if in a trance, stepped forward, zooming the camera in for a close-up. The chat window became a blur of frantic text. “What the hell? Is Lila Crawford for real? This is disgusting!” “She was always an attention whore. Probably faked this whole scene before she offed herself.” “I heard she used to kill chickens for weird rituals. She probably just splashed animal blood everywhere.” “Remember when she went on live crying with a bogus depression diagnosis? Then she was dead a week later.” “Maybe some hero got tired of her ‘I wanna die’ drama and just did her a favor. LOL.” “LMAO! Good riddance!” Funny, isn’t it? My death became a party for strangers. They dance on my grave without even knowing my name, fueled by whispers and lies. They believe their judgment is righteous, but their self-proclaimed justice is built upon my bones. Ryker frowned, his showman’s mask gone. He scanned the room, his eyes sharp, before pulling out a strange-looking device—a spirit compass. Whoosh! A sudden gust of wind slammed through the house, wrenching a loose window from its frame. The filthy curtains billowed like specters, carrying a tattered, dust-covered book with them. It landed on the floor with a soft thud. A diary. Ryker picked it up and opened it to the first page. His voice, trained for broadcasting, was clear and resonant as he began to read. “July 12, 2016. The man who says he’s my brother, Tim, came for me today. He said he was sorry, that it was all his fault I was taken from our family as a baby. I’m so happy. I have a brother. A real brother.” He read on about how our parents’ welcome was lukewarm, but Tim assured me they just had a hard time showing their love. I clung to him. For the first time in eighteen years of foster homes and loneliness, I had someone who cared. He’d call me his “shadow,” but he always let me tag along. When kids at my new school called me a backwoods hick, he’d get into fights for me. When Mom and Dad punished me for it by sending me to bed without dinner, Tim would sneak me a sandwich. “You didn’t have to take the blame, he’d said, ruffling my hair. They wouldn’t have really done anything to me. From now on, you’ve got me. You don’t have to face everything alone anymore.” His smile was my sun. I nodded, my heart swelling. Having a brother is the best thing in the world. I wasn’t alone anymore. He was the best person on earth. As Ryker’s voice filled the dead air, even I felt a pang of sorrow for the girl I used to be. The girl who was Tim Crawford’s treasured little sister, not the monster they all spat on. I remembered believing my life had finally turned a corner, that I’d never have to fight for scraps of affection again. In his mansion, Tim fell silent. The words from the diary seemed to transport him back to that first day, to those early months filled with a fragile, hopeful bond. For a fleeting moment, a wave of sickness washed over him. How had the sister he’d sworn to protect become… this? But then, Talia’s face, a mask of perfect anguish, broke through his reverie. She tightened her grip on his arm, her eyes welling with fresh tears. “Oh, Tim,” she choked out. “It’s all my fault. If it weren’t for me, Lila… she wouldn’t have… she wouldn’t be dead.” “Your bond was so special. I ruined everything…” “I’m the one who killed your sister, Tim. It’s all my fault.” 3 Talia’s sobs sliced through Tim’s nostalgia, and his expression turned to ice. The warmth of memory evaporated, replaced by a familiar, cold resentment. He pulled her into his arms, his embrace protective. “Talia, don’t say that. This was never your fault.” His voice was a low growl. “If it weren’t for Lila, you wouldn’t have been hurt. You wouldn’t have lost… our baby.” “It was all her greed, her jealousy.” As he spoke, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. The pain grounded him. He pressed a kiss to Talia’s forehead. “She destroyed our child. She doesn’t deserve the title of sister.” My parents, who had never shown me an ounce of genuine affection, were now fussing over Talia, cooing at her. “Talia, darling,” my mother said, her voice dripping with sympathy. “I told them it was a mistake to bring that creature back. She was toxic from the start. To think she’s the reason you still haven’t been able to carry a child to term… it’s just monstrous.” “Don’t you dwell on it, sweetheart,” my father added. “You and Tim should start planning the wedding.” He glanced at the television with pure venom. “You were always the daughter we raised. Our true daughter. As for that little beast…” he trailed off with a sneer. “Let her antics attract some real spiritualist, some charlatan who thinks he can perform an exorcism. She’s so desperate for attention she’s practically begging to have her soul obliterated. Fine. Let her have her wish.” Their perfect family unit, cozy and complete. I was always the intruder, the flaw in their masterpiece. On the screen, Ryker turned to the second page of the diary. In the corner of the dilapidated room, a faint, shimmering figure began to form. My figure. It hovered near the shattered vanity mirror, its lips moving, whispering a single, desperate plea that no one could hear: “Save me!” “September 15, 2016. It was Thanksgiving. I came home and found Talia curled up in Tim’s arms, whispering and laughing. It was the first time I’d ever seen Mom and Dad look at someone with such open, doting affection. Tim saw me and called me over. He explained that Talia was the girl they’d adopted and raised, thinking she was me. He said she’d been away on a trip to give me space to settle in. They told me not to be petty about it. Tim promised he would treat both of his sisters equally. I just nodded, numb, as Talia took my hand in hers. A second later, she screamed. A thin line of blood was welling up on her palm. The world exploded. A slap stung my cheek. They were all screaming at me, calling me vicious, a bully. But I didn’t do anything. I swear I didn’t do anything.” “December 25, 2016. Talia wanted a big Christmas. She got a mountain of presents. I’d been working a part-time job, and I used my own money to buy gifts for Mom, Dad, Tim… and even for her. I never got the chance to give them. I found them in the trash can later that night. I heard Tim comforting Talia. ‘It’s okay, sweetheart. A maid probably just brought in some junk from outside. This cheap trash isn’t worthy of my beautiful, precious sister.’ When I tried to pull them out of the garbage, Talia gasped dramatically. ‘Oh my God, Lila! Didn’t Mom and Dad give you any money? Why are you digging through the trash?’ Tim came over and told me to stop making a scene.” “January 27, 2017. New Year’s Eve. Tim asked me what my dreams were. I told him I wanted to go to a good university. He promised he’d have a special gift for me on the day I got my acceptance letter. I got the letter. That night, I celebrated with a glass of champagne they gave me. Then everything went black. I woke up, and there were so many people… I was terrified. They told me I’d wanted it. They said if I told Tim, they would send the pictures to everyone. I was so scared. I went home in a daze, and they beat me. They screamed at me for being a tramp, for disgracing the family name. And Tim… the one who had sworn to protect me… he just looked at me with such disgust. I wanted to scream the truth, but I was too afraid…” 4 “February 14, 2017. I saw Talia kissing a photograph of Tim. She told me she loved my brother. She told me to stop clinging to him.” Ryker paused, the silence in the house heavy and profound. The diary painted a portrait not of a monster, but of a desperate, lonely girl starved for affection, systematically isolated and abused. The brother who was her only anchor had become just another one of her tormentors. He couldn’t reconcile this broken girl with the venomous reputation that had preceded her. The live chat, however, saw it differently. “OMG, she was in love with her brother! That’s why she drugged him!” “So f*cking twisted. He was nice to her and she tried to rape him.” “No wonder she went after Talia. She was jealous that her brother was with his actual love.” “What a psycho bitch!” “Being lonely is no excuse for being a disgusting creep.” The screen filled with insults, a digital mob baying for blood. Suddenly, the spirit compass in Ryker’s hand, which had been spinning erratically, shattered with a loud crack. The chat went silent. The sudden, violent event shocked them out of their frenzy. Ryker’s face was pale. The others might not understand, but he knew what a shattered compass signified: a spirit in immense, unbearable pain. “Alright, everyone, calm down,” he said, his voice a little shaky. “Let’s see what else is in here.” He turned the page and continued reading. The tone of the diary shifted. Amidst the fear and threats, a fragile hope began to bloom. She wrote about trying to build a new life for herself, about deciding to open her heart again. She even wrote about meeting a kind boy. Ryker found himself smiling. It felt like a small victory. She was finding her own love, no longer begging for the scraps her family threw her way. The pages that followed were filled with the sweet, simple joys of a first love, a stable and happy relationship. But the sweetness was short-lived. The diary’s tone soured once more. “June 18, 2018. I saw my boyfriend kissing Talia. When I confronted her, she just laughed at me. She called me pathetic. ‘Your brother, your parents, your boyfriend… it doesn’t matter,’ she sneered. ‘All I have to do is crook my little finger, and they’ll always, always choose me.’ A few days later, he broke up with me. He said I was just damaged goods.” Across town, Tim shifted uncomfortably, a flicker of doubt in his eyes. He glanced at Talia, wondering for the first time if there was any truth to the words in the diary. He’d always believed he was fair, that he only sided with Talia because Lila was the one causing trouble. But now… the narrative felt tangled, chaotic. Was it possible Lila had been writing the truth? No. Talia loved him. She would never do something so cruel. It had to be another one of Lila’s lies. “July 20, 2018. Tim and Talia announced their engagement. She was so kind to me at the party, pulling me aside to offer a strange, veiled apology. Later, when I went to the bathroom, the five men from that night were waiting for me. They told me I had to pay them one million dollars, or they’d release everything.” “August 3, 2018. I was held captive for ten days. In that time, they posted the high-resolution photos all over the internet. My brother called me, screaming that I was a whore who had brought shame on their name. My parents told me to get out of their house and never come back. I walked the streets feeling like the whole world was laughing at me. I went to the police, but they said the men claimed it was consensual. There was no evidence. No one believed me.” “September 20, 2018. The doctor says I have severe depression. The university expelled me. And then, the ultimate nightmare: Talia told me she orchestrated everything.

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Three days before my wedding, a car swerved and turned my spine into a shattered ruin. My fiancée, Victoria, made a great show of ensuring the driver was sent to prison. I lay in a hospital bed, a ghost trapped in a broken body, refusing to wake up to the nightmare of my new reality. In that hazy twilight of consciousness, I heard Victoria speaking with my doctor. “Ms. Hayes, if we operate now, we can still save him. A few more days, and Mr. Crawford will be paralyzed for life! You just want Avery as your groom—is it really worth condemning a man to this?” the doctor pleaded, his voice low and urgent. Victoria’s reply was ice. “Paralyzed is paralyzed. I’ll take care of him for the rest of his life. If he recovers, he’ll destroy the wedding.” Her voice dropped even lower, a conspiratorial whisper. “I promised Avery I would welcome our child into the Hayes family with all the dignity he deserves. Only when Ethan is completely broken will he love my child as his own. A cripple is manageable. At least he won’t be able to hurt my son.” In a corner no one was watching, a single tear traced a path from the corner of my eye, disappearing into the pillow. So, this was the truth. The wedding I had anticipated for so long was nothing but an elaborate lie. The love I believed was my salvation was actually my death warrant. Fine. If this is what she wanted, I would play my part. 1 “No more questions. Stick to the plan,” Victoria commanded, her tone leaving no room for argument. “The vasectomy needs to be clean. I don’t want him finding out.” “Once he’s awake, I’ll take him to the children’s home to pick up our son. When he knows he can never have children of his own, he will cherish Rosie with all his heart.” The doctor wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead, his face etched with pity. “Ms. Hayes, please, reconsider. The man is already a paraplegic. This surgery… it’s not just his body you’re mutilating, it’s his spirit. How will he ever hold his head up in front of your family? For God’s sake, he’s a man…” “Besides,” the doctor added, his voice dropping, “your son with Mr. Quinn is three years old now. The boy is the spitting image of you. If Ethan ever finds out, everything will be ruined!” Victoria ignored his plea. She reached over, her movements practiced and steady, and gently wiped my chapped lips with a damp cloth. Her voice was filled with a strange, sorrowful affection. “He won’t find out. Once he’s a cripple, he’ll be confined to the Hayes estate for the rest of his life. He’ll never take a step outside those walls.” Her voice hardened again. “I promised Avery I would give him a magnificent wedding. I promised I would watch our child grow up. Even if he’s married to someone else now, I will never let him face any hardship alone.” The doctor let out a long, defeated sigh, his gaze falling on my pale, still face. “Ethan is a good man. You two grew up together… and yet you’re still chasing that… never mind. It’s your choice. Do as you wish.” “Prepare for surgery,” she ordered. “And remember: be discreet. I don’t want any scars. Do it before Ethan wakes up. I don’t want him to feel too much pain.” The doctor hurried out of the room. Victoria pulled out her phone and sent a voice message to her assistant. “The driver didn’t talk, did he? Pay his family the two million, as we agreed. Help them move out of the state. Make sure Ethan never finds them.” Tears streamed uncontrollably from my eyes, soaking the pillow beneath my head. All the while, Victoria continued to gently sponge my body with warm water, yet a profound, bone-deep chill spread through me. So, the wedding I had dreamed of for five years was just a stepping stone for Avery. The car crash was no accident. It was just her, clearing an obstacle for her true love. The happiness I thought was mine was a mirage, a beautiful, fragile bubble. The truth of our relationship was built on a foundation of lies and brutal betrayal. I fought to open my eyes, to scream, to rage. But a sharp prick in my arm was followed by a spreading numbness. Anesthesia. Just before they wheeled me into the operating room, Victoria leaned down and pressed a tender kiss to my lips. “Shh, my love. It will be over soon,” she whispered. “I’ll be waiting for you, Ethan.” The cold, metallic instruments twisted inside me, and my shattered heart turned to ice. When I next opened my eyes, I was back in the private room. Below my waist, there was nothing. No feeling, no sensation. Just a dead weight that used to be my body. Victoria was at my bedside, her face a perfect mask of worry. The moment I stirred, she took my hand, pressing it to her cheek. “Ethan? You’re awake! Are you in pain? Does anything hurt?” she asked, her voice filled with concern. “Tell me, and I’ll have them change your medication.” The same adoring expression she had always worn, but now, her eyes were cold, empty voids. It was astonishing, the lengths one person would go to for another. I shook my head weakly, my hand reaching up to touch her face. “You haven’t slept, have you? I’m okay. You should rest.” She didn’t question it. Seemingly relieved, she relaxed her guard and soon drifted off to sleep in the chair beside me. I reached for her phone on the nightstand. It unlocked with a familiar swipe. The wallpaper was one of our pre-wedding photos, a picture of two people madly in love. Her messaging app was still open. The pinned contact was simply named “Avery.” I tapped on it. The chat log was filled with cute cat emojis and dozens of photos of Avery holding a small child. “Rosie was calling for Mommy again today. She’s so little but already knows her mom is beautiful. She’s going to be a heartbreaker.” “Rosie had a great appetite today. She ate the whole cake you sent, all by herself.” “Rosie wants to go to the amusement park with her mom. She won’t listen to me. Can you find some time to come over?” Victoria hadn’t replied in text. But beneath each photo was a log of a two-hour video call. I remembered her telling me once that she didn’t like children. I finally understood. It wasn’t that she didn’t like children. She just didn’t want a child with me. She had a private photo album dedicated to Avery. The password was the child’s birthday. Five thousand photos chronicled three years of a little boy’s life. For every major holiday, every milestone, Victoria was there, by their side. The second chat was with the wedding planning company. From the very beginning, a month ago, the groom’s name on all the documents was Avery Quinn. The tuxedo was tailored to his measurements. The invitations were penned in their joint handwriting. From the start, she never intended for me to be at my own wedding. A bitter, self-mocking smile twisted my lips. I didn’t need to see any more. I used her phone to contact my best friend, Mark, and told him to find me a hospital abroad, one that could perform a restorative surgery. I also had him begin the process of erasing my identity in this country. Mark didn’t ask too many questions. He just assumed I had finally seen Victoria for the monster she was, his messages filled with relief and support for me. I put the phone down and let sleep claim me. I was awakened by the sound of Victoria’s heartbroken sobs. She was clutching a hospital report, her shoulders shaking. “Ethan… the doctors… they found something during the tests,” she choked out. “It’s a congenital condition. You… you can’t have children.” “But don’t worry,” she rushed to add, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “I don’t care. I’ll never leave you. No matter what, you will always be my husband.” “When you’re out of the hospital, we can adopt a child, okay? Having a child around will help you heal. You’ll get better, I promise.” I was the one who had supposedly lost the ability to have children, but she looked more devastated than I did. Her performance was flawless. I was too tired to call her on it. After a long silence, I looked at the falsified report in her hand and gave a slow, deliberate nod. Tears of gratitude streamed down her face as she pulled me into a tight embrace. “I will take care of you, Ethan. Don’t be afraid. No matter what anyone says, I will always be on your side. After we’re married, I’ll transfer all my assets to your name. As a guarantee.” Our chests were pressed together, but our hearts beat to entirely different rhythms. After a moment, she pulled back, her expression hesitant. “It’s just… the wedding is all set. With your body still recovering, perhaps we should…” “Find someone to stand in for me,” I finished for her. “We can’t lose face for the Hayes family.” I knew what she wanted. Better to offer it myself than to be maneuvered into it. At least this way, I could retain a shred of dignity. Victoria was stunned by my easy compliance, but with her goal achieved, she didn’t press the matter. Her phone buzzed with a notification. She glanced at it, and her brow furrowed. “Ethan, what’s this about canceling your official documents?” I quickly swiped the notification away. “It’s nothing,” I said smoothly. “Just an old ID that expired. It’s all done online.” She accepted the explanation without another thought, pulling me into an even tighter hug, her voice thick with pity. “You’re not well. Anything you need, just tell me. I’ll handle it for you.” “Victoria,” I said, my voice quiet but firm. “I want to go home.” A flash of panic crossed her face. “No. You’re not recovered. I can’t allow it.” I gently caressed her cheek, a faint smile playing on my lips. “Didn’t you say you wanted to take me to adopt a child? We have nurses at home. Nothing will happen. I just… I want to see the children’s home. Please?” In five years together, it was the first time I had ever shown her such vulnerability. She couldn’t resist. She softened and agreed. On the way, she pulled out a selection of cakes she had waiting in the car, laying them out for me. She said she’d bought them especially for me. But the label, clearly marked ‘Safe for Toddlers,’ was another small, sharp sting. I closed the bag and tossed it into the back seat, feigning fatigue and closing my eyes. This five-year charade was about to end. We had just entered the children’s home, me in my wheelchair, when a little girl ran up and hugged Victoria’s leg, chanting “Mommy, Mommy!” over and over. Victoria’s face paled. Fearing my suspicion, she explained hurriedly, “Don’t misunderstand. I’m a patron of this home. I’ve visited a few times, and this little girl is an orphan. She calls me that.” I nodded, smiling as I reached out to pat the child’s head. “She looks a lot like you. If you hadn’t told me, I would have thought she was yours.” “What’s her name?” “Rosie. She’s the one I was planning to adopt.” Before she could say more, Rosie started crying, wailing for her “Daddy.” Victoria’s face went white. She shot a nervous glance at me. “It’s fine,” I said, my voice calm. “Go comfort her. She’s a beautiful child. I like her too.” My words were a balm to her panic. She relaxed, scooped the child into her arms, and disappeared into an office. I made an excuse about needing the restroom and wheeled myself away. But as I neared the hallway, I could hear the staff gossiping. “Why is Ms. Hayes making her own kid pretend to be an orphan? That outfit is designer, worth more than my life. Who’d believe she’s an orphan?” “You don’t get it. This is her plan to get the kid into the family legitimately. Just play along and don’t slip up in front of Mr. Crawford.” “Figures. Her heart always belonged to Mr. Quinn. They used to volunteer here together back in college. I knew it then. A man and a woman, alone in that office… wonder what they’re up to right now…” Their suggestive laughter was a physical weight on my chest, making it hard to breathe. I moved my wheelchair to the office door. I could hear familiar voices from within. “Is she good to you?” It was Avery. “She’s fine,” another voice replied, a woman’s. “She’s in another country most of the time, so she can’t take care of everything. Which is good. She won’t find out about Rosie. She’s even talking about having a baby with me.” Victoria’s voice, laced with a bitter amusement. “Once Rosie is officially a Hayes, you won’t have to worry. Just message me if you need anything. Oh, and here. I bought you this watch. A wedding gift.” Avery accepted it with a flirtatious wink. “Another gift? We’ve only been married a year, how many wedding presents is that? My closet is overflowing. Ethan would be upset if he knew.” He said it, but his hands moved quickly to secure the gift. Rosie giggled, throwing her arms around him, calling him “Daddy.” Just then, the director of the home, eager to process the paperwork, rushed toward me and threw open the office door. A flash of pure panic crossed Victoria’s eyes. “Ethan! What are you doing here?” “Don’t get the wrong idea,” she stammered. “Avery is a volunteer here. He just happened to be visiting today, to talk about me adopting Rosie…” Avery stood up, holding Rosie, and gave me a casual wave. “Ethan. Long time no see.” I sat in my wheelchair, forced a smile, and choked back the wave of nausea. “It’s fine. I was just looking around. Since you’re busy, I won’t bother you. I’ll wait in the car.” I turned and left. Victoria, thinking I was angry, chased after me, offering a flurry of explanations. “Don’t misunderstand. He volunteers here all the time. All the kids call him ‘daddy.’ I’ll explain it to Rosie once the adoption is final.” Seeing her so flustered on my account was almost funny. She had orchestrated a car crash to paralyze me, all to bring this child into her home. Now that her wish was granted, who was this pathetic, guilt-ridden act for? “Don’t worry,” I said. “I’m not that unreasonable. You finish the paperwork. I’ll be good and wait in the car.” She breathed a sigh of relief and watched me go. Every staff member I passed looked at me with an expression of pity and contempt. I ignored them, took out my phone, and finalized the cancellation of my identity. To celebrate bringing Rosie home, the Hayes family held a dinner party. I used my recovery as an excuse to stay upstairs. But the mocking laughter of Victoria’s parents drifted up from below. I wheeled myself to the landing. I could see the three of them—a perfect family—at the dining table. Victoria was lovingly placing Rosie’s favorite foods on her special plate. Avery was teasing her, saying she would spoil the child rotten. Victoria just smiled, stroking the little tiara in Rosie’s hair. “She’s my daughter. She could burn the world down, and it would still be her greatest achievement.” The dam of suppressed grief inside me finally broke. I went back to my room and began tearing apart every gift Victoria had given me over the past five years, throwing the pieces into the trash. As the bin toppled over, Avery suddenly appeared in the doorway. He kicked my wheelchair, sending me sprawling to the floor. Pain shot through me, and I broke out in a cold sweat. He just grinned down at me. “Hurts, doesn’t it, Ethan? Being a broken man.” “All these years, and you’re still as useless as ever.” “Watching your own wedding happen with my name in your place. Watching your wife bring home my son. And you have to just swallow it all. I almost feel sorry for you.” I struggled to pull myself up.

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A month before our wedding, Lord Damian secretly rode to his childhood sweetheart. Fearing scandal, he hired a sorcerer to create his perfect double. “What if Lady Seraphina finds out?” his squire worried. “She won’t,” Damian sneered. “Even if she does, she’d never break the betrothal. The court knows she clings to me like a burr—tiresome, but harmless. Clara deserves better. Seraphina should be grateful to be my mistress.” Behind the tapestry, I trembled. I, who knew every star in his eyes, would surely spot an imposter. Yet this was his cruel plan. On our wedding day, Damian returned with Clara just as I approached Thorne Cathedral in silver and pearls. He dragged me onto cobblestones, my veil torn, jeweled circlet scraping bloody trails down my face. Then I saw it—his automaton rushing toward me. 1 “Seraphina! How dare you proceed with this wedding behind my back?” The voice was familiar, laced with a fury I knew well. Damian was back. A ripple of confusion and excitement went through the crowd of onlookers. “Who is that man? To speak to a daughter of House Ashton in such a way, does he court death?” “He looks familiar… just like Lord Damian, the groom! Can it be him?” “Impossible. On his wedding day, Lord Damian should be waiting at the altar. This man isn’t even wearing his wedding doublet. He must be here to cause trouble!” Hearing the whispers, Damian’s face darkened. A guard from House Thorne moved to intervene but hesitated upon seeing his lord’s face. “My lord, what are you doing here? Weren’t you supposed to be—” “Did my messenger not reach you?” Damian cut him off, his glare fixed on me. “I sent word that this wedding was to be canceled at all costs! Why is the entire city celebrating our union today?” My hands clenched into fists, my knuckles turning white. I never imagined he would shame me so publicly. Today was meant to be our wedding day, a betrothal I had fought tooth and nail to secure. It began two years ago. My grandmother lay gravely ill, and in my grief, I rode to the old abbey in the hills to pray. The mountain road was treacherous. A wheel of my carriage struck a rut, and I was thrown violently from my seat. I closed my eyes, bracing for the impact. Instead, I fell into a warm, strong embrace. I opened my eyes cautiously. As I did, the string of the man’s simple riding mask snapped, revealing a face of breathtaking beauty. Flustered, he murmured, “Be careful, my lady,” and was gone before I could find my voice. It was love at first sight. Later, at a court banquet, I saw him again. He was Lord Damian, the heir to the Dukedom of Thorne. He didn’t seem to recognize me. From that day on, I cast aside the decorum of a highborn lady and pursued him with a singular focus. I shamelessly orchestrated “chance” encounters, desperate to make him see me. I spent nights embroidering a handkerchief with his sigil and had it delivered to him. Then, I overheard the whispers. He had a childhood love, Clara, the daughter of a Knight-Banneret. My courage failed me. I retreated, ceasing my pursuit. But he sought me out. He cornered me in the palace gardens, showing me the embroidered handkerchief tucked into his belt. It was the one I had made. He smiled, a slow, intoxicating smile. “Seraphina of House Ashton, what is the meaning of this favor?” Mortified, I reached for it, but he deftly blocked my hand. “You have another you are sworn to! Give it back! Forgive my intrusions these past months!” For the first time, his smile reached his eyes. “She is but a friend. And you… do you truly not understand my heart?” That night, emboldened, I begged my father to petition the King for a royal decree, uniting our houses through marriage. I believed our love was mutual. I never imagined that on the day the decree was announced, Clara would quietly leave the capital. And Damian, panicked, finally realizing where his heart truly lay, rode after her, leaving a perfect imitation in his place to fool a kingdom, and a bride. I was the biggest fool of all. 2 “So, Lord Damian knew nothing of this wedding? Is House Ashton forcing his hand?” “And the lady beside him… that must be his true love. Has he been bewitched by this Seraphina?” Hearing the crowd’s speculation, Clara swayed, a picture of tragic beauty. “Damian, my love… perhaps I should not have returned. I will leave at once…” “Forgive me, this is your wedding day. I have been thoughtless…” She turned to go, then collapsed as if her strength had given out. “Clara!” Damian caught her, scooping her into his arms. He turned to me, his voice dripping with disappointment. “Seraphina, Clara is innocent in this. How could you allow these rumors to spread? A lady’s honor is paramount. Do you mean to destroy her?” Watching him clutch her so tightly, my eyes began to sting. Did he ever once consider what would become of my honor if I had begged my father to rescind a royal decree? I remained silent, but my handmaiden, Elspeth, could not. “My lord, you go too far!” she cried. “When did you ever send word to cancel this union? Why, just three days ago, you were at Ashton Manor, telling my lady to prepare herself with a joyful heart!” The crowd murmured in agreement. “It’s true! For the past month, the young lord has been visiting every jeweler in the city, buying every piece that would suit Lady Seraphina!” “And the pastry shop on the West Street she loves so much! Lord Damian has been there before dawn every morning, just so she could have them fresh from the oven!” “He took her boating on the river just last week! The love in his eyes was plain for all to see!” “My lord, this is your wedding day! Put aside this quarrel, change into your finery, and wed your bride!” The chorus of voices made Damian’s face flush with anger. But in his arms, Clara, with a sly, secret smile, let out a small gasp. “Oh! But… for the past month, Damian has been with me, taking the air in the southern provinces. How could he possibly have been in the capital?” Her voice was not loud, but it silenced the entire square. The whispers began anew. “I saw the young lord riding back into the city from the country this morning. Why would he be traveling so close to his own wedding?” “But the man in the capital was Lord Damian. We all saw him.” “Wait… are you an imposter?” Amid the rising suspicion, Damian sneered and produced the heavy signet ring of his house. “Open your eyes and see what this is!” Elspeth gasped in disbelief. “Impossible! There must be some mistake! My lord, you were with my lady every day for the past month!” My nails, I realized, had dug so deeply into my palms they had drawn blood. My marriage to House Thorne was decreed by the King himself. Would Damian truly admit to using a double, an automaton, in his place? It would not only be a mortal insult to my family, but a slap in the face to the King. 3 “Damian, my love, you must tell them the truth. Tell them where you have been.” Clara tugged shyly at his sleeve. “Clara and I have indeed spent the last month in the south. We only returned today.” His words sealed my fate. “Lady Seraphina,” Clara said, her voice filled with false pity. “I know you adore my Damian, but you cannot hire a stand-in while he is away! To have this… imposter… play the part of your loving fiancé for all to see… why would you do this to yourself? Damian doesn’t love you. You must let him go.” The crowd erupted. It was all too scandalous to believe. Damian said nothing, merely tightening his grip on Clara’s hand in tacit agreement. I stared at him, my heart a cold, dead weight. He had caused this entire mess, yet he was content to let all the blame fall on me. Was there truly not an ounce of affection for me in his heart? “How dare you spread such lies! Do you seek to ruin my lady’s name?” Elspeth’s eyes were red with fury. “Insolence!” Damian roared. “You are but a servant! Seize her!” Guards surged forward and restrained Elspeth. “Let her go!” I commanded. “Clara, you may slander me, but House Ashton is not so easily trifled with!” Clara flinched, which only made Damian’s expression soften toward her and harden toward me. “Seraphina,” he said, his voice now like ice, “you claim you did not find a substitute. Where is your proof?” He smiled, a smirk of absolute victory. A knot of dread tightened in my stomach. Could it be that the man… “I knew it,” someone in the crowd jeered. “She was always trailing after him like a stray dog. Lord Damian was never more than civil to her. It was strange how he suddenly seemed so besotted.” “Look at them! Lord Damian and Lady Clara, they are the perfect match. A true love story!” “And that substitute… so intimate with her… could she have been cuckolding the lord before they were even wed? No wonder he refuses to marry her!” The tide of public opinion turned, drowning me in a sea of accusation. But I could no longer hear them. The hour was growing late. The King had decreed this marriage. I had to see it through. “You know full well what you have done,” I said, my teeth clenched. “But I will marry into House Thorne today.” “What I know is that the lady of House Ashton has no shame! You used my absence to parade a fraud before the court, ignored my command to cancel this farce, and now you have the gall to force your way into my family! If it weren’t for you, would Clara have ever fled to the south in sorrow? Come. We will go to my parents at once, and you will tell them you will not be wedding a Thorne today. The matter will be discussed at a later date.” He reached for my arm, but I recoiled. Through the shimmering veil, I saw that the embroidered handkerchief I had spent a dozen nights crafting was gone from his belt. In its place was a simple, woven lover’s knot. And on Clara’s wrist was a matching one. 4 “I will marry into House Thorne today. But I am not marrying you!” The square fell silent. Even Damian seemed to hold his breath. Clara’s sweet, cloying voice broke the stillness. “Lady Seraphina, you must be jesting. Lord Damian is the only son of the Duke. If not him, who would you marry?” The words seemed to jolt Damian back to his senses. “Do you intend to marry my father?” he roared, his face contorted with rage. “You shameless harlot! I know your father indulges you, but I never knew you were so utterly without morals! To say such a treasonous thing merely to spite me! When you see my parents, you will kneel and beg their forgiveness. Otherwise, you will never be a lady of my house!” His words were like shards of ice in my heart. The flicker of affection I thought I had seen in him was nothing more than a phantom, a reflection in a pond. And still, fool that I was, I had clung to that illusion. I ignored him, turning to enter the cathedral. The bells would soon toll the final hour. But a sudden vertigo washed over me. I was yanked backward, my body thrown to the ground, my head cracking against the stone steps. Blood blurred my vision. Damian’s eyes hardened, as if coming to a final, irrevocable decision. “Disobedient to her husband, disrespectful to his family. You are not fit to be my Duchess.” “You may enter my house today, but you will do so as my mistress!” With a savage cry, he reached for my wedding gown. “I will inform the King! A woman like you is unworthy of being a Thorne. The one who deserves to be the lady of this house is Clara! She is generous, but I will not see her slighted. Take off that gown! Today, I will wed Clara. After our wedding night, I will send a simple carriage to bring you to the manor through the servants’ gate!” I struggled, but the blow to my head had stolen my strength. I could only shield myself feebly as he ripped at the delicate fabric. My veil lay in the dust. I saw them clearly now. The man I adored, tearing the wedding gown from my body for another woman. And that other woman, a triumphant smirk on her face, mouthing silent words at me: “He. Is. Mine.” Elspeth screamed, “Let my lady go!” but she was gagged and forced to the ground. The beautiful jewels in my hair were now a heavy burden, coming loose as I fought, the sharp pins grazing my skin, a pain that was nothing compared to the agony in my soul. “Damian, stop this!” I warned, my voice hoarse. “House Ashton will not forgive this insult.” But he was without mercy. “For raising a daughter like you, I should be the one demanding answers from House Ashton! A shameless creature like you does not deserve this gown! Do not delay my wedding to Clara!” My strength gave out. I could only watch as he tore the silver-threaded silk from my body and draped it tenderly over Clara’s shoulders, whispering to her. “Clara, my love. Marry me today like this. In time, I will give you the grandest wedding this city has ever seen. What say you?” Clara blushed, burying her face in his shoulder. They looked like a pair of lovers from a ballad. I closed my eyes, a single tear tracing a path through the blood and grime on my cheek. My mother had commissioned the city’s finest seamstress to create this gown. I had spent countless nights tracing the embroidery, dreaming of the day I would wear it. I never dreamed this would be its end. “Seraphina! Are you going to lie at my door all day? Men! Drag her to the back gate! Do not bring bad fortune upon my wedding day!” Two household guards moved to drag me away. I feebly tried to push them off. “I thought highborn ladies were paragons of virtue! Turns out she’s as desperate as any common trollop! Can’t win the lord’s heart, so she hires an imposter!” “Hah! Seems these noble ladies are no different from the whores in the brothels!” The unvarnished cruelty of the crowd threatened to swallow me whole. They began to throw rotten fruit and vegetables, their fury unsated. I couldn’t dodge in time, only managing to shield my face with my arms. Was this it? Was I to die here, shamed and alone? “Insolence! What do you think you are doing?” A voice, sharp and anxious, cut through the din. I forced my eyes open. In the distance, a figure in crimson wedding finery was sprinting toward me.

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My brother Alex worships me. When we were ten, kidnappers took me instead of him. They scarred my face and broke my legs before letting me go. Alex rebuilt our father’s crumbling empire into a weapon. To him, I became sacred—insult me, and you died. A man called me a freak. Alex fed him to starving rats. Another mocked my limp. He crushed him under a steamroller. To Port Sterling, Alex was the Boogeyman. To me, he was just my brother—the man who sent me abroad for surgeries, therapy, and an education far from our bloody legacy. Before I returned home, he sent an engagement announcement: “Soon you’ll have a sister to spoil you too.” But when I arrived at the villa he bought me, his fiancée Veronica stormed in, convinced I was his mistress. Alex found me broken on the floor as she sobbed: “Am I nothing compared to this whore?” His eyes burned. “How many lives do you have to compare to hers?” … CRASH! The floor-to-ceiling window of the villa imploded, spraying glass across the marble floor. A pack of wolves in human skin barged in, their faces twisted with aggression. At their head was a woman whose face I recognized instantly from the photo Alex had sent me just days ago. My future sister-in-law, Veronica. Before I could even form a greeting, her face contorted with fury. She hefted a crowbar and swung it, the metal crashing against my face. A sickening crunch echoed in my skull, followed by a gush of warmth over my lips. I touched my face. Blood. The unexpected blow sent the world spinning. “There you are, you little bitch,” she spat, her voice dripping with venom. “Finally crawled out of your hole. I was starting to think you’d hide overseas forever!” While I was still reeling, she swung again, the crowbar slamming into my head and ribs. Pain exploded through me. I stumbled back, trying to shield my head, and tripped, collapsing onto the floor. “You don’t understand, I’m—” My words were cut short as Veronica jammed the end of the crowbar into my mouth, ramming it forward twice with vicious force. A sharp, metallic agony tore through my cheeks, and the coppery tang of blood flooded my throat. I choked, spitting out a mouthful of red. “I understand perfectly!” she shrieked, her eyes wild. “Don’t think I don’t know you wheedled Alex into buying you this place! You knew we were getting engaged, and you came crawling back to wreck it. Or, at the very least, stick around as his prized little slut, right?” “Today, you’re going to learn what happens when you cross me!” She kicked me, sending me sprawling. The back of my head struck the sharp corner of the coffee table, and a fresh wave of pain erupted as the skin split open. Panic and rage warred within me. I swallowed the blood pooling in my mouth and forced out the words. “You’re wrong! I’m Alex Sterling’s sister! His actual sister! He sent me a message a few days ago, telling me to come back for the engagement party…” Veronica froze for a second. One of the brutes behind her leaned in and muttered, “Boss, I have heard that Mr. Sterling has a sister who’s been abroad for years. We’ve never seen her, but the rumor is they’re twins.” Veronica’s eyes swept over my face with contempt. “Twins? This little whore looks nothing like Alex.” Just then, another figure entered the villa. It was Rose, one of my brother’s most trusted lieutenants. A veteran of the Sterling Crew. She would recognize me! “Rose! It’s me, Chloe!” I cried out, my voice thick and mangled. Rose paused, her gaze finding me on the floor. “Who’s this? How does she know my name?” she asked, confused. But Veronica didn’t give her time to think. She swung the crowbar again, a brutal, silencing blow across my mouth. The pain was so intense I couldn’t make another sound. “She’s the little bitch I told you about,” Veronica said smoothly. “Must have overheard one of the boys talking to you.” Rose shook her head slowly. “No… she said her name was Chloe. That’s the name of the boss’s sister. No one outside the inner circle would know that.” She strode toward me and gripped my chin, her eyes scrutinizing my features. “This face… it’s not her.” My heart sank. She hadn’t seen me since the surgeries. “Wait,” Rose said, her eyes widening slightly. “The young miss was sent away for reconstructive surgery. Has your face… been worked on?” I nodded frantically, a desperate hope surging through me. Yes, it’s me! I’m Chloe Sterling! Veronica scoffed from the side. “She’s a gold digger who lives by her looks. Of course she’s had work done. It’s practically a job requirement.” Rose held up a hand to silence her. “A face can be faked. An identity can’t. Search her.” Two of the goons grabbed me. I thrashed wildly, but Veronica slapped me hard across the face. “Hold still.” They bound my wrists, and the rough hands of the goons pawed at me, a profound violation. All my life, Alex had ensured no one laid a finger on me. If he knew about this, their hands would already be feeding the dogs. Rose watched, a flicker of caution in her eyes. “What if you’re wrong? If she really is his sister, we’re all dead.” Veronica just smiled, lighting a cigarette she offered to Rose. “Relax. I’m about to marry Alex. Even if I roughed up his sister in a fit of jealous passion, he’d see it as proof of how much I care. He’ll forgive me.” Rose took a drag from the cigarette and nodded. “True.” Soon, they found my wallet. Veronica snatched it and burst out laughing. “See? I told you the little bitch was lying.” Rose leaned in, reading my ID aloud. “Tina Chen.” She then flipped open my university diploma. “Enrolled as Tina.” “It’s a fake,” Rose declared, her voice turning to ice. “The boss’s sister is named Chloe Sterling. And he sent her to South Korea for her recovery, not England.” A cold dread washed over me. After the kidnapping, to protect me, Alex had moved me off the family records and given me our mother’s surname. He never wanted me to be a target again. He hadn’t told a soul. He had even faked my destination. Oh, Alex, I thought in despair. Your protection is going to get me killed. Rose’s expression hardened. “This bitch dared to impersonate the boss’s sister. Teach her a lesson.” They threw me to the ground and began to kick and punch me. In the chaos, my phone skittered out of my pocket, its screen lighting up. The lock screen was a photo of Alex and me, smiling together. Rose’s face went pale. “Wait!” She picked up the phone, her hand trembling. “Is this yours?” I nodded desperately. Veronica sneered, “It’s just a picture, Rose. She probably photoshopped it.” I grunted, trying to gesture for Rose to unlock the phone. She understood, holding it up to my face. It unlocked with facial recognition, and she swiped into my messages, finding my chat history with Alex. “She really has him saved as ‘Brother’!” Rose exclaimed. Veronica grabbed the phone. “Every gold-digging tramp calls her sugar daddy ‘daddy’ or ‘brother’! Don’t fall for it!” She scrolled up, and her face darkened with rage. “What the hell? Not only did he buy you a villa, he calls you ‘sweetheart’ and says he never wants to be apart from you again?” She looked at me, her eyes burning with a new level of hatred. “He’s really setting you up as his permanent little plaything!” I wanted to explain—that he was my only family, that he just wanted me home—but the pain in my mouth was a gag, silencing me. No one had ever dared to touch me, and now his own fiancée had beaten me half to death while his own people stood by, unable to even recognize me. Alex, it hurts so much. The thought brought a fresh wave of silent tears. Rose watched me, a frown creasing her brow. “You know, her temperament is a lot like the young miss. Can’t stand the slightest grievance, cries at the drop of a hat.” She hesitated. “Maybe we should double-check. The boss is fiercely protective of his sister. If she’s the real deal, he’ll have our heads.” Veronica nodded, considering it. “Fine. I’ll call him.” Her face twisted into a menacing mask. “If she’s really Alex’s sister, I’ll take full responsibility. But if she’s not…” Her voice dropped to a terrifying whisper. “I’ll make this little bitch regret the day she was born.” She had one of the men gag me properly, then dialed Alex’s number. “Hey, honey,” she cooed into the phone. “You mentioned your sister was coming back for our engagement party. Do you know exactly when she’s getting in? I want to get her a welcome gift, so I was just wondering.” Alex’s voice, warm and familiar, came through the speaker. “That’s thoughtful of you. She said she’ll be here tomorrow night.” My blood ran cold. It’s over. I had changed my flight to today to surprise him. Veronica’s eyes locked on mine, gleaming with vicious triumph. If she hung up now, I was dead. I bit down. Hard. The man holding the gag over my mouth yelped in pain and his hand flew back. “Alex, help me!” I screamed, pouring every last ounce of my strength into the cry. Veronica’s face turned white with rage. She lunged forward, kicking me down and grinding her high heel into my mouth. On the phone, Alex sounded hesitant. “Did I just hear someone yell for help?” Veronica forced a laugh. “It’s just the TV. Anyway, if your sister’s almost here, I’d better go shopping. I’ll talk to you later.” She hung up. The last of my hope died with the click. The pressure of her heel intensified, grinding into the wounds in my mouth. “You lying, scheming whore,” she hissed. “You almost had me.” Tears of pain and despair streamed down my face, which only seemed to fuel her rage. Her eyes, full of a venomous jealousy, raked over me. “It’s this face, isn’t it?” she whispered. “This is how you bewitched him. He was ready to marry me, and he still bought you a mansion.” One of the goons behind her spoke up cautiously. “It’s not that surprising. A guy like the boss… they all have a girl on the side. Since he seems to like her, maybe we should just let her go? You’re the one he’s marrying. You’re the real First Lady. Maybe just turn a blind eye?” Rose chimed in. “He’s right. You’re the one with the ring. She’ll never be more than a fling.” For a moment, Veronica seemed to consider it, a flicker of logic piercing her rage. My heart filled with a bitter, searing injustice. I was his sister, beaten and broken for being mistaken for a mistress. Alex had terrible taste in women. The first thing I would do when I saw him was demand he call off this sham of an engagement. My resentful glare must have been obvious because Veronica’s wavering resolve hardened into fury. “You dare to look at me like that? You little bitch!” she snarled. “Even if I don’t kill you today, I’m going to ruin you!” She pulled her foot back, and from her jacket, she produced a knife. Its blade glinted as she brought it toward my face. “No!” I shrieked, the sound muffled and wet. But my terror only spurred her on. “When you’re an ugly monster,” she seethed, her voice a low, terrifying growl, “Alex will finally see that I’m the only one he should love!” White-hot agony lanced across my skin as she began to draw the blade across my cheek, again and again. The pain was blinding, nearly sending me into unconsciousness. This face… Alex had spent a fortune and three years of painstaking work with the world’s best surgeons to give it back to me. And she was destroying it. He would never, ever forgive her for this. “You’re… dead…” I managed to choke out through gritted teeth. My defiance shattered her last shred of sanity. “You fucking dare to threaten me?” she screamed, and brought the knife down to my mouth. “Let’s see you talk now!” A searing, numbing pain ripped across my lips. I couldn’t form another word. She raised the knife again, but froze as footsteps echoed from outside. “Boss? What are you doing here?” It was Alex. Alex was here! I tried to push myself up, but a fresh wave of agony shot through my leg as Veronica slammed the crowbar into the back of my knee, and I collapsed. Rose’s face went white. “Hide her! If the boss sees this, he’ll lose it. Quick!” Veronica and two of the goons dragged me into the adjacent kitchen, sliding the frosted glass door shut just as Alex stepped into the main room. “Rose, I thought I told you to get this place ready. Where are the furnishings?” Alex’s voice was crisp, businesslike. “We just got here, boss. Everything’s still in the truck. I’ll have the boys bring it in now.” Rose herded the remaining goons out of the villa, leaving Alex alone to inspect his work. “Hmm, the renovations turned out well,” he mused to himself. “She’s going to love it.” He turned. “Is this the kitchen?” He was walking toward the door. Through the frosted glass, I could see his silhouette, a dark, powerful shape. Tears streamed from my eyes. Alex, please, get in here. Save me. The door slid open. His eyes fell first on Veronica, hiding in the corner, then on me, a bloody, bound heap on the floor. His face changed instantly. “Veronica? What are you doing here?” Then, his gaze fixed on me, his brow furrowed in disgust and confusion. “Who is she? Why is she covered in blood?” Alex, it’s me! Look at me! I was bound, unable to move, but I began to squirm on the floor, trying to drag myself toward him. Veronica kicked me in the face. “Stay down, you bitch!” The blow sent stars dancing in my vision, but I forced out a desperate, broken sound. “A… lex…” Enraged, she kicked my mouth again. “How dare you call him that in front of me!” But he had heard me. Alex’s entire body went rigid. He crouched down, his eyes scanning my mangled face, trying to see past the blood and swelling. Before he could recognize me, Veronica spoke, her voice suddenly trembling and fragile. “Darling, you don’t have to say it. I know who she is. She’s the canary you’ve been keeping overseas, isn’t she?” She gestured around the room. “And this villa… it’s for her. I shouldn’t have been upset. A man as successful as you… it’s only natural you’d have a secret little nest.” Her eyes welled with tears, her voice cracking with practiced sorrow. “I just wanted to see her. To understand what makes her so special, what makes you love her so much. I thought… I thought maybe I could learn from her. Be more like her. Then maybe you would love me a little more, too…” Her choked sobs seemed to move him. He stood and pulled her into his arms. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said softly. “I told you, you’re the only one for me. Why else would I be marrying you?” He sighed. “This house is for my sister. Chloe. She’s coming home tomorrow, remember? I wanted it to be a surprise, so I didn’t tell anyone. You misunderstood.” He held Veronica at arm’s length. “But you still haven’t told me who this is. I don’t keep canaries, Veronica.” A look of dawning horror crossed Veronica’s face as the pieces clicked into place. She was white as a sheet. “She… she’s just some bitch who crossed me. Rose and I were… teaching her a lesson.” Alex frowned. “She crossed you? Then she deserves a lesson. But why would you bring her into my sister’s house? That’s bad luck. This place is tainted with blood before she’s even spent a night in it. It’s a bad omen.” His stern tone made Veronica tremble. “I know. I’m sorry. I’ll have my men drag her out and… clean up. And I’ll personally apologize to Chloe tomorrow. She won’t hold it against me, right, darling?” Alex’s expression softened into a fond smile. “Chloe has a good heart. She won’t blame you.” Two of the goons moved to lift me. My mind screamed in panic. Veronica’s idea of “cleaning up” was to silence me permanently. She couldn’t be sure if I was Chloe or not, but she couldn’t afford to take the chance. I thrashed violently, trying to break free, and earned another slap for my efforts. “Take this bitch out and finish it!” Veronica snapped. Just then, Rose re-entered the kitchen, holding something. Seeing the tense atmosphere, she immediately tried to curry favor with Alex. “Boss, don’t be angry. We didn’t want to get blood on the floor, but this little bitch wouldn’t back down. She kept insisting she was your sister…”

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