Author: Momo Chan

Anthony Johnson’s prized songbird bore twins—a secret he guarded fiercely. Until I stole them away. In retaliation, he strung up our son Leo by his ankles from the penthouse balcony, leaving him to roast in the midday sun. When I arrived, Leo’s face was scarlet, lips split and bleeding. His weak whimpers tore at my soul. “Isn’t Leo your son too?” I screamed. “And aren’t Cathy’s children mine?” Anthony snarled, pressing a stun gun to Leo’s ribs. “Tell me where they are, or I’ll make him beg for death.” Leo’s shrieks pierced the air as volts racked his small frame. Broken, I gasped the location: “The villa… outside the city.” Anthony fled—but returned too late. Our son had baked to death in the sun. 1 I clutched Leo’s limp body to my chest and raced to the hospital, a storm of denial and despair raging within me. Outside the emergency room, the doctor delivered the verdict with a heavy sigh. “You were too late. The boy was already running a high fever. Being exposed to that sun for so long… the dehydration caused total organ failure. Not even a miracle could have saved him.” I couldn’t accept it. A gut-wrenching sob tore from my throat, raw and animalistic. Just yesterday, he was a vibrant, laughing whirlwind of a boy. How could he be gone, ripped away from me in a single, cruel day? I had only meant to use those twins as leverage against Anthony. I never, ever imagined it would cost me my Leo. In that moment, a tidal wave of regret, so vast and powerful, consumed me whole. After making the final arrangements for my son, I was a ghost. Grief had hollowed me out, stealing my appetite, my strength, my will to move. I lay in bed, day after day, adrift in a sea of sorrow. It was three days before Anthony came home. He found me in bed and marched to my side, his expression a cold, hard slab of stone. “Because of what you did, my twins were traumatized. They’ve had a fever for three straight days, waking up from nightmares every night! They’re only three, Elara. How could you subject them to such terror?” Three? My Leo was only five. What about the terror he endured? A bitter fury rose in my throat, but my voice was a shredded ruin. I could only glare at him, my silence a testament to my hate. “Fortunately, Cathy is a forgiving woman. She’s willing to let this go. But you can’t be so reckless and jealous next time,” he said, his tone softening slightly as he placed a gift-wrapped box on the nightstand. “Leo’s at school, I assume? Tying him up like that… it was a last resort. I was just trying to scare you, not hurt him. He’s a tough little guy; he can handle it.” He paused. “This is a present for him. Give it to him when he gets home from kindergarten. I have to get back to Cathy and the kids, so I can’t stay.” And with that, he turned and walked out. I stared at the brightly colored box, a sharp, physical pain blooming in my chest, stealing my breath. He didn’t know. He didn’t know that my Leo was never coming home again. With a surge of venomous energy, I pushed myself up. A guttural scream escaped my lips as I swiped the gift off the table, sending it crashing to the floor, a meaningless, hollow offering. 2 A week passed before I could claw my way out of the suffocating fog of grief. I started eating a little, walking around the house like a specter in my own home. I made my way downstairs, only to be met with a sight that stopped my heart. Anthony, who hadn’t been home all week, was walking through the front door with Cathy and her twins in tow. He met my furious gaze without flinching and cut straight to the point. “Well, the secret’s out, so there’s no point in hiding them anymore. To make things easier, I’ve decided to move Cathy and the children in with us. I expect you and Leo to coexist peacefully with them. It’s time I enjoyed the pleasures of having all my children under one roof.” His shamelessness was so profound it was almost comical. My son was dead, his body barely cold, and this man was talking about domestic bliss with his mistress and her illegitimate children. A wave of white-hot anger washed over me, extinguishing the last embers of my love, leaving only the cold ash of disappointment. “Anthony,” I said, my voice raspy. “Let’s get a divorce.” His face darkened instantly. “Elara, what is this now? Another one of your tantrums?” A tantrum? He had the nerve. It was true, when I first found out about his other family, I had lost my mind. I’d screamed, I’d cried, I’d thrown things. I couldn’t stomach the fact that the man who had sworn his undying love for me had betrayed me within two years of our wedding. I had been hysterical, demanding he cut ties with Cathy, demanding he send her and her bastard children away. I had even hidden the twins. And for that, my own son had paid the ultimate price. Never again. I would never cause a scene again. I cleared my ravaged throat and spoke, my heart a dead weight in my chest. “Anthony, you and Cathy have a family now. I’ll step aside. I’ll make it easy for you.” “Elara!” he thundered, a storm cloud gathering in his eyes. “Every man I know with my kind of money has a second family. I’m only providing for two households. Is it really necessary to make such a scene?” He took a step closer, his voice dropping to a low, menacing growl. “And even with Cathy here, nothing changes for you and Leo. You will always be my wife. Leo will always be my firstborn son, the heir to the Johnson fortune. No one can ever touch your position. You should be grateful.” Grateful? A bitter, hysterical laugh escaped my lips, followed by a stream of hot tears. My mind flashed back to the beginning. We’d met in college. He’d pursued me relentlessly for three years, wearing down my defenses with grand gestures and promises whispered like prayers. On the day he proposed, he had sworn on his life that he would love only me, that he would never betray me. Now, here we were. His vows were dust, our love a forgotten memory. He had even orchestrated the death of our child. And he wanted me to be grateful? Cathy, seeing her opening, put on a show of magnanimity. “Anthony, darling, if Elara can’t accept me and the children, perhaps it’s best if we leave. I don’t want to be a source of pain for her…” “Don’t be ridiculous, Cathy,” Anthony said, pulling her into a gentle embrace. “You and the children are staying. I own this house. No one is kicking you out without my permission.” He shot a pointed look in my direction. I turned away, my stomach churning. As I did, my eyes fell on the twins. They were reaching for a set of three custom-made porcelain figures on a display cabinet. A jolt of panic shot through me. “Don’t touch those!” I shrieked. Startled, the twins dropped one of the figures. It hit the marble floor with a sickening crack, shattering into a dozen pieces. “Waaah!” Both children burst into tears. Cathy’s eyes immediately welled up. “Elara,” she choked out, her voice thick with accusation, “if you have a problem with me, I can leave. But why would you scream at the children? What have they ever done to you that you must torment them like this?” Anthony’s face was a mask of fury. He strode over and slapped me, the sound echoing in the cavernous hall. “Elara, can’t you find it in your heart to be a bigger person? They’re just children! They were born premature. You’ve already terrified them once. If your hysterics make them sick, will you be able to live with yourself?” 3 His words were just noise. I couldn’t hear them. My eyes were fixed on the shattered porcelain on the floor. I scrambled over like a madwoman, gathering the sharp fragments, not even feeling the slices as they opened up my fingers, drawing blood. Those three figures were Leo’s favorite things in the world. Anthony and I had made them for him on his third birthday. He’d said they represented us—a family of three, happy forever. Now, my son was gone. The figurine was broken. My family was shattered. The dam of my grief, the pain I had held back for days, finally burst. Cradling the broken pieces to my chest, I began to sob, a deep, hysterical wailing that came from the very core of my soul. Anthony stared at me, baffled. “What is wrong with you today, Elara? Are you possessed?” Cathy stepped forward, her voice dripping with false concern. “Oh, dear. Did something happen to upset you?” “Just leave her,” Anthony said, wrapping an arm around Cathy’s shoulders, his eyes cold and distant. “If she wants to cry, let her cry it out.” He then led his new family upstairs, leaving me alone on the floor. I stared at the bloody shards in my hands, the pain in my heart a monstrous wave pulling me under. After a long, silent moment, I pulled out my phone and dialed a number. “Hello… I need to report a crime.”

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For every wedding anniversary, Caleb brought a woman home. His excuse? For me to “train” her. At our tenth anniversary dinner, he brought home a cocktail waitress from some downtown club, still squeezed into a tacky bunny costume. “She doesn’t have a gown. Give her your wedding dress,” he commanded, his voice casual, as if discussing the weather. “And that jewelry set I gave you last month. As for shoes… I think the ones you’re wearing will do just fine.” He leaned in, his breath hot and laced with expensive scotch. “And listen, she’s young, doesn’t know much. You’ll have to put in the effort to teach her. Especially… the things in bed.” The entire room held its breath, waiting for the inevitable drama, waiting to laugh at my expense. And, as always, I didn’t disappoint. I announced I was divorcing him. Caleb burst out laughing, a sound dripping with contempt. “Pamela, you say that every year. I’m so tired of hearing it. More tired of it than the noises you make in bed.” He smirked, raising his voice for the crowd. “If you actually have the guts to divorce me, I’ll give you a hundred million dollars.” The room erupted in another wave of laughter. The whispers were loud enough for me to hear—I was just playing hard to get, a pathetic woman who didn’t know her place. But they didn’t know. This was the hundredth time I’d said it, and it was the one and only time I meant it. Every eye in the room was on me. Even the little nightclub bunny was giggling behind her hand. “Alright, place your bets! I bet she won’t even make it to the door before she comes crawling back.” “A million says she stays!” “I’ll put thirty grand on that!” This little betting game was an anniversary tradition, as stale and rotten as our marriage. The ones who lost money on me hated me. The ones who won didn’t respect me either. I shook my head, a bitter smile on my lips, cursing myself for being so weak. It had taken me ten years to finally find the courage to leave. “I’ll bet she leaves.” A deep, unfamiliar voice cut through the noise. The crowd murmured, telling him not to throw his money away. I tried to find the source of the voice, but the figure was lost in the shadows. “Caleb,” I said, my voice steady, “I’ll have the divorce papers sent to your office. Make sure you sign them.” I had threatened divorce hundreds of times, but this was the first time I had ever mentioned the papers. Caleb straightened up, the ash from his cigarette falling onto the polished floor. I pretended not to see. I knelt, unfastened the straps of my heels, and placed them neatly at the young woman’s feet. Her name was Lexi. She was barely twenty, and painfully beautiful. “These will pinch a bit at first,” I said softly. “You’ll get used to them.” “The dress and jewelry Caleb mentioned… I’ll have Martha bring them to you.” “Before you, there were nine others. If there’s anything you don’t understand, you can ask them. They all live on the third floor. Your room is the last one on the right.” Ten years of marriage. Caleb had brought home enough women to start his own harem. Tall, short, curvy, thin, innocent, glamorous, cold, bubbly—he had collected them all. The rumor was he fancied himself a modern-day sultan, assembling his collection of concubines. Well, I was done being part of the collection. I brushed a speck of invisible dust from the shoe and stood. Barefoot, I turned and walked towards the grand entrance. I had almost reached it when a powerful hand grabbed my arm and yanked me back. “Pamela, if you’re leaving, you leave with nothing. Is there a single thing on your body that wasn’t bought with my money?” My bare feet felt like they were standing on shards of ice. My breath hitched. “You want me to strip?” Caleb raised an eyebrow, his gaze sweeping over me, cold and clinical. “When your family went bankrupt, didn’t your mother strip you bare and shove you into my bed? How you came is how you’ll leave.” His voice dropped, laced with a cruel taunt. “Unless… you’ve changed your mind? Fine. Get on your knees and put her shoes on for her, and I’ll forgive you.” The crowd behind him howled with laughter. It was true. Shortly after Caleb and I had started dating, my family’s company had collapsed. My father, unable to face the ruin, jumped from his office window and was left in a persistent vegetative state. My mother, terrified the Vances would abandon us, drugged both me and Caleb, orchestrated a scandal, and forced his family to take responsibility. That night was the beginning of my humiliation. It was the end of the sweet, young love Caleb and I once shared. Forced to marry me, he brought another woman home on our wedding night to degrade me. He performed every imaginable act in front of me, even making me tear open the foil packet for him. I was the one who cleaned up the mess afterwards, on my hands and knees. I had lived a life of groveling servitude for ten years. I couldn’t do it anymore. “Fine. I’ll take it off.” Before anyone could react, I had unfastened my shawl. It was the dead of winter, but the hall was warm. The doorway, however, was a gateway to the biting wind. It whipped around my legs, raising goosebumps on my bare arms and shoulders. I reached behind my back and undid the clasp of my gown. The delicate fabric slithered down, exposing the curve of my shoulder and the swell of my breast. “Oh my God!” someone gasped. A few of the more timid women covered their eyes. The men, however, watched with rapt attention. Only Caleb’s eyes darkened to an inky black, his lips pressed into a thin, hard line. The only sign of his agitation was the slight tremor in the hand that held his cigarette. The dress pooled at my feet, leaving me nearly naked before them all. The cigarette in Caleb’s hand burned down to his fingertips. He dropped it, shucked off his suit jacket in one fluid motion, and threw it over me. “Pamela, you’ve got a death wish!” he snarled. He spun on the crowd. “All of you, close your eyes! If I hear one word about what you saw here tonight, you won’t live to see tomorrow’s sunrise! Now get out! All of you, GET OUT!” Caleb rarely lost his temper like this, especially not in public. The guests, all longtime acquaintances, knew better than to linger. They scurried out, and even the nine “concubines” quietly retreated upstairs. Only Lexi remained, frozen in place. “Are you satisfied now, Caleb?” I asked, tilting my head back to look at him, my gaze defiant. Tears burned behind my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. I had cried too many tears for him. I wouldn’t shed another. “Can I go now?” “Don’t you dare pull these pathetic little tricks on me, Pamela,” he hissed, his disbelief still palpable. “It’s disgusting. Don’t you dare bring shame upon the Vance name.” I took a deep breath. “Caleb. This time, I really mean it. I want a divorce.” He looked at me as if I’d just told the world’s most hilarious joke. He grabbed the back of my neck, forcing my head down. “You dare divorce me? Can you afford your father’s hospital bills? Can you pay for your mother’s daily shopping sprees?” His voice was venomous. “Pamela, the first person to get on her knees and beg me not to divorce you will be your own mother.” His hatred for me and my mother was a raw, open wound. He hated her for the drugs, and he hated me for my inaction. “Even if your mother hadn’t drugged us, I would have married you! I would have helped you! But you had to use the one method I despise most!” he spat. “You, Pamela! You’re the one who destroyed what we had!” I had explained it a thousand times, but he would never believe me. Seeing my silence, his frown deepened. He dragged me over to Lexi, forced me to my knees, and pushed my head down. “Put her shoes on. You’ve been doing this for ten years. You should be an expert by now.” For a decade, I had not only cared for Caleb but also waited on his nine mistresses. I had done things—forced and voluntary—that made me despise myself. But now, all I wanted was for it to end. So, once again, I obeyed. I put the shoes on the girl’s feet. Perhaps my compliance bored him. With a grunt of frustration, he hauled me to his bedroom and, in front of me, began to undress Lexi. I had seen this scene countless times. Sometimes, he even made me participate, to “instruct” them. Just as I had done so many times before, I tore open a condom wrapper and held it out. This time, he shoved my hand away. “Not needed tonight.”

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1 To protect me, my sister defied the rules of our novel’s world. Instead of showering her affection on the story’s protagonist, the fake young master, she cared for me, the real one. Every time she was kind to me, the System shocked her with an electric current. She told me she would rather be electrocuted to death than stop loving her real brother. And yet, the night before I was due to give the valedictorian speech at graduation, I was abducted. Dragged to an abandoned construction site, I was defiled by a gang of thugs, my limbs were broken, and my tongue was cut from my mouth. In that abyss of despair, I somehow connected to my sister’s System. 【Host, you sent a live location to the gang, ordering them to torture your brother until he was crippled. Do you not intend to call them off?】 My sister’s voice, cold as jade, echoed in my mind. “I can’t. This part of the plot has to happen. We can’t let Julian go through it, can we?” “Besides, Noah is the protagonist of a ‘doted-on-hero’ story. He’s destined to survive. No matter how much he suffers, he’ll recover completely. This is just making use of his plot armor.” “When it’s all over, I’ll be twice as good to him to make up for it.” My heart died. I stopped fighting death. — “As expected of the top scholar. You’re tougher than most.” “We’ve had more than twenty guys go at him, and he’s still hanging on…” In the dim, filthy cell, the instruments of my torture lay scattered around me, slick with my blood and flesh, piled into a small mountain. A hulking man grabbed my chin, forcing my head up. He saw my lips, bitten raw from the pain, and burst into laughter. “Well, well. After being so thoroughly ‘cared for’ by the boys, our little Master Noah is now tender enough to bruise at a touch.” His thumb smeared across my lips before he ripped the filthy rag from my mouth. “Speaking of which, we’ve tasted everything else, but I haven’t had a go at this mouth yet.” “I wonder if it’s any different from the ones you pay for downtown?” Before I could curse him, another man chimed in with a suggestion. “Half a tongue tastes even better. More… exotic.” I saw their eyes fix on me, and I tried to shrink back in terror. The next second, a hand tangled in my hair, slamming my head against the ground. A flash of cold steel. I screamed, clamping a hand over my mouth as blood gushed between my fingers. The pain was a blinding, stabbing agony that made me want to smash my head against the wall just to make it stop. Through a hazy fog, someone yanked my hair again… And in that moment, on the brink of death, I heard a conversation. A sterile, electronic voice: 【Celeste, your brother Noah is at his breaking point. Any more torment and he will suffer a fatal mental collapse! You must stop this!】 I thought I was hallucinating, that death was playing tricks on my mind. “No.” The voice that answered was unmistakably my sister’s. She was the only person in our family who had ever been kind to me, but now her tone was glacial. “Noah is the protagonist of fate. He can’t die this easily.” “Continue. Tell them not to hold back. Only when his suffering mirrors what Julian endured in the original timeline can we successfully cheat fate… Only then can Julian live a good life.” The System seemed to hesitate. My sister, sensing its doubt, added confidently, “He’s been abused since he was a child. This is nothing he can’t handle… It’s just making use of a resource.” 【When you insisted on binding Noah as the target for this mission, you set this course. Now, we can only see it through.】 The mechanical voice sighed with resignation. My sister laughed. “What’s the rush? He won’t die anyway. Better to get it all over with at once than to drag it out…” Her voice softened, but her words were daggers in my heart. “He’s the only one in this world who can blind the eyes of fate. It’s not what I want. But only by having him endure Julian’s fated death can our family stay whole and live happily ever after.” “After all, Julian is my brother too. I can’t just stand by and watch him be humiliated and killed, can I?” “…He deserves a life of peace and security. This is the only way.” I coughed, a spray of dark blood leaving my lips. The pain was so intense my heart felt like it had been burned to ash. So that’s all I was. A tool for my sister to use, a substitute to suffer in place of someone else. “Tch, what a buzzkill. His face is all covered in blood…” More brutes entered the room. They laid me flat on an iron table, their hands roaming freely. Two needles pierced my chest, sharp and brutal. “Man, if the valedictorian shows up to his speech tomorrow with these, haha! If anyone sees them, they’ll all know what a little slut he is.” “Take more pictures. We could sell them as a collection.” One of the men set up a high-definition camera, pointing it directly at my face. Amidst waves of agonizing pain, I was torn open. Again. And again. It was a nightmare, a torment beyond human endurance. And the architect of it all was the one person who had been my reason for living, my pillar in this cruel world—my own sister, Celeste. “Hey, scholar,” one of the men whispered, his lips against my ear. “Ever wonder how we found you at the school, no matter where you hid?” He bit down. Hard. Through the searing pain, I remembered the endless nightmares of footsteps and shadows that had haunted me. I remembered the conversation I had just overheard. The truth settled in my heart like a stone. And with it, a deeper, more profound despair. “Since you’ve been such a good boy for us, I’ll be merciful and tell you—” “It was that little ‘family tracking beacon’ your parents bonded you with at the welcome-home dinner.” I began to tremble uncontrollably. A cold, desolate sorrow washed over me. I had never imagined that my cries for help to my family would be the very thing that led to my betrayal. They were my blood, my kin, yet they treated me like an enemy. Even the one exception, my sister… 【Warning! Protagonist Noah’s life signs are critically low! The world is at risk of collapse!】 The System’s alarm blared in my mind. A tiny spark of hope flickered within me. Surely, she wouldn’t drag the entire world down with her just to save Julian? My sister’s voice came, firm and cold. “Shut up, System. There’s only one part left, the castration. Then it will all be over.” “How can we stop at such a critical moment?” “If we stop now, Julian will have to endure it, and it will kill him! Our family won’t be whole anymore… All my efforts will have been for nothing. I absolutely will not allow that!” The mechanical voice sounded shocked. 【Enough! What does Julian’s fate have to do with him?】 【How long has he even been back in this family? And you’ve already flayed him alive!】 【If anyone owes a debt here, it is all of you who owe it to him! Why are you torturing the victim?】 My sister’s voice cracked with anguish, her words becoming a hysterical, distorted scream. “You think I don’t know that?!” “But he’s the only one who can survive a certain-death scenario!” “We’ve come this far! Better for him to be broken than for Julian to die! And Noah is the protagonist! He won’t die!” “I am preserving the integrity of my family, don’t you understand?!” She finished her tirade and wiped her face, her voice returning to a chilling calm. “Don’t worry. I won’t let him die.” “After he has taken Julian’s place, I’ll have someone call an ambulance. Even if he needs a catheter for the rest of his life, even if he’s a broken man, I will take care of him.” But would a life like that even be living? My heart was a frozen wasteland. I closed my eyes, shutting out the world, shutting out the pain they were inflicting on my body. It’s no use. No one cares about me. It wouldn’t be a loss if I died. I relinquished my will to live, letting my soul plummet into the abyss.

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1 I wanted to buy my husband a Tang dynasty Sancai horse for our anniversary—his favorite. But out of nowhere, a mysterious bidder emerged, invoked the “Jade Gavel,” and snatched the porcelain horse right out from under me. As I was leaving, a notification popped up on my phone: a charge to my husband’s supplementary credit card, from this very auction house, for the exact price of the Sancai horse. In a panic, I called the bank and had the card frozen. At the collection counter, a stunningly beautiful woman was forced to flee in a storm of ridicule. Two weeks later, my husband, Ethan, and I were on vacation abroad. The moment we stepped off the plane, I was drugged. I woke up in an iron cage. The host, in broken English, announced to the crowd, “Today, we auction this woman. Highest bidder takes all!” And there, in the audience, sat Ethan, his eyes dark and vicious. “Wren, you love stealing the show, don’t you? You love snatching someone else’s moment. Well, tonight, you can have all the spotlight you want.” A wave of terror washed over me as I stared at the sea of faces below. My scalp prickled with fear. They were all holding copies of my full-body medical scan, appraising me like livestock. “Look at this one. Well-maintained. Every organ is in perfect health. She’d be a prime catch, whether you take her home whole or part her out for a sick relative.” “I have to say, I’m surprised. Ethan Vance, of all people. Willing to put a woman like this on the block. We can’t let an opportunity like this pass us by.” “I heard she’s his wife. He’s got a new piece, you know. Who wants old goods when you have something fresh?” I followed their knowing glances and saw him. Ethan. Sitting in the middle of the crowd. A chill, deeper than any I had ever known, seeped into my bones. My body, bound to the iron bars of the cage, thrashed against the metal, the clanging sound echoing my frantic heartbeat. My nails dug into my palms, drawing blood. Just yesterday, we were planning this trip, wrapped in each other’s arms, whispering sweet nothings. And now, the “friend” he said was bidding on the Sancai horse for him, a woman named Isla, was curled up in his lap, a triumphant smirk playing on her lips. “Ethan, why are you doing this to me?” My voice was a raw, broken thing, lost in a storm of sobs. He leaned back in his chair, a lazy, cruel smile on his face. “My wife is far too elegant, too magnificent, to be kept hidden away for my eyes only. Good things should be shared, don’t you think?” The crowd roared with approval, urging the host to begin. Powerful men from all over the world, a veritable rogue’s gallery, were here. They waved their black bidding paddles in the air, shouting out which parts of me they wanted—my heart, my kidneys. Ethan leaned over and kissed Isla, then rose and walked to the stage. He kicked the cage, the force of the blow splitting my lip. The coppery taste of blood filled my mouth. “Wren, as the organizer of this little event, I’m going to do you a special favor. I’m giving you the right to bid on yourself. You can have your moment in the spotlight. You can feel for yourself the humiliation you put my Isla through.” His handsome face was a mask of pure, mocking malice. The murderous glint in his eyes told me he had no intention of letting me leave this auction house alive. “Go on,” he taunted. “Invoke the Jade Gavel.” The room erupted in laughter. “The Jade Gavel? How? Didn’t Mr. Vance register all your joint assets under his name when he came in? Unless he’s willing to foot the bill, Mrs. Vance doesn’t have a penny to her name.” Ethan feigned surprise. “Oh, dear. I completely forgot. The same account can only be registered to one person. What a shame, darling. And I have to buy Isla a new necklace tonight. My hands are tied.” My eyes widened in disbelief. I couldn’t fathom that these words were coming from the man I had loved for eight years. “You tricked me into coming here, you drugged and kidnapped me, you organized this entire black market auction… just to sell me off?” “Why, Ethan? Because I froze the card when Isla invoked the Jade Gavel?” He stared at me, his eyes cold, savoring my pain. “Of course. Do you have any idea how helpless she felt that day? Humiliated in front of all those people. She endured it. And so can you.” He gave me no chance to reply. He turned and walked off the stage, tossing one last, chilling sentence over his shoulder. “Put her in shackles and seat her in the front row. The best way to break someone is to make them watch their own descent into hell, powerless to stop it.” From the audience, Isla blew me a mocking kiss. “Don’t worry, Wren. I won’t be bidding against you tonight.” 2 The auction hall was a cacophony of cruel cheers. Someone whistled. “Is Mr. Vance really going to let his beautiful wife get fucked to death by strangers? Hahaha…” Ethan simply raised an eyebrow, his expression indifferent. “If my wife doesn’t like it, she can always invoke the Jade Gavel. If she can’t, well, that’s her choice. I’m a very democratic man.” The crowd murmured in agreement. “That’s right. I heard she invoked it herself when she was bidding on that Sancai horse, but Mrs. Vance shut her down. She must have the resources. We’ll get to see her in action tonight.” Amid the noise, the auction bell rang. I was led from the cage like a dog on a chain and shackled to a chair in the front row, directly in front of a massive screen. My medical report and a series of intimate photos scrolled across the screen, and a wave of humiliation, so powerful it threatened to drown me, washed over me. My hands, bound together, trembled. My mind raced. Ethan had registered all our assets under his name. By the rules of this black market, an account couldn’t be used by two people. I didn’t have a hundred dollars to my name, let alone enough to invoke the Jade Gavel. He had planned this perfectly. He knew my financial situation down to the last cent. If even one part of my body was sold, my life would be over. I was a lamb led to the slaughter, bound and helpless. We had been married for eight years. I had been with him when he was a nobody, and I had stood by him as he clawed his way to the top of the corporate world. I had never complained about the hardships. When he finally made it, I had happily stepped back, content to be the supportive wife behind the successful man. And now, to appease his mistress, he was going to send me to hell. The chatter around me was a relentless assault of lewd, disgusting comments. “A woman trained in bed by a man like Vance… she must be incredible. I’m going to buy her whole and find out for myself.” “No way. I’ve had my eye on her feet. I’m going to have them cut off and preserved as a work of art. The thought of it… it’s enough to make me come right now. You can’t have them.” I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood, using every ounce of my willpower to remain upright. Finally, the auctioneer took the stage and announced the start of the bidding. I shot to my feet, the chains rattling. “Wait. I need to wash my face.” Ethan turned to me slowly, his eyes filled with a dark, unreadable mockery. “Wren, don’t even think about escaping. The security here is airtight. Not even a fly can get out. Save your energy.” I ignored the searing pain in my body and stared into his cold, black eyes. “If not even a fly can get out, then what’s the harm in letting me wash my face? Or are you too stingy to even grant me that small mercy?” The room fell silent, all eyes on us. It was a silent, bitter war. A few of the men he knew well grew impatient. “Don’t waste our time, Vance. We’re all waiting. Let’s just get on with it.” “Yeah, what’s the hold-up? I’ve got a hot tub waiting for me and the missus back home.” Finally, under the expectant gaze of the crowd, Ethan’s face hardened, his eyes turning a deep, stormy black. “All of you, shut your mouths.” 3 The host had spoken. The room fell silent. An attendant unlocked my shackles and replaced them with handcuffs. I walked, head held high, to a washbasin outside the main hall. The moment the cold water touched my wounded hands, the tension that had held me together snapped. I collapsed beside the basin, the tears I had held back for so long finally falling. My phone was still in my pocket, but my account had been completely emptied. Balance: $0.00. If I was sold tonight, I couldn’t even imagine the horrors that awaited me. I could be passed from man to man, used and abused, and then, when they were done with me, dismembered and sold for parts, never finding peace even in death. And my mother, who was in a coma in a hospital back in the States after a car accident, would be left to die a slow, hopeless death as her medical bills went unpaid. I had no way out. Finally, I made my decision. Gritting my teeth, I opened the encrypted email on my phone and found the contact I had buried so long ago. The sound of rushing water was the only thing that broke the terrifying silence. The dilapidated building felt like a lair, hiding some great beast ready to pounce and tear me to shreds. I sent the coded message. My hand fell, limp, to my side. Five minutes later, I dragged myself back into the auction hall. As I pushed open the doors, all eyes turned to me. There was shock, mockery, and a cruel, eager anticipation. Ethan was holding a cigarette, the smoke curling around his inscrutable face. He wrapped his arm around Isla and, with a glance in my direction, said, his voice dripping with false sincerity, “Darling, I love you. And anyone who dares to hurt you will pay the price.” I walked back to my seat without a word, leaving a trail of bloody footprints on the floor. “You can start now,” I said, my voice a raw, shredded whisper. A murmur went through the crowd. The auctioneer looked at Ethan for confirmation. He just sneered and nodded. “Since Wren is so eager, let’s officially begin.” The lights in the hall dimmed. The first item for auction appeared on the screen. My hands. Every inch, from my wrists to my fingertips, was displayed in high-definition, my pores visible. On my right hand, my ten-carat wedding ring was a cruel, mocking joke. It was a Shakespearean tragedy, and I was the star, my pathetic fate on display for all to see. I felt like I was already dead. Just then, Ethan, with Isla still in his arms, moved to the seat beside me. He leaned in close, his voice a low whisper in my ear. “I’m your husband, after all. And Isla is a generous woman. If you apologize to her and agree to a divorce where you get nothing, I’ll help you out. This one time.” A cold smile touched my lips. So, he didn’t just want my life. He wanted to swallow our shared assets whole, then play the victim of a cheating wife as he paraded his mistress down the aisle. I said nothing. My silence was my answer. The bidding began. “For the hands of Ms. Wren Davis, we’ll start at five hundred thousand dollars. Bidding increments of one hundred thousand.” The paddles shot up instantly. In seconds, the price had soared to two million. Ethan’s voice was a persistent poison in my ear. “Think about it, darling. Soon it will be too late.” The bidders were now crowding around me, their eyes greedy, fixed on my clenched fists, waiting for the final gavel. And then, I, who had been silent for so long, slowly raised my hand. My eyes were filled with a desperate, all-or-nothing resolve. “I invoke the Jade Gavel,” I said, my voice ringing with a newfound strength.

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1 “Stella, are you sure about this? You want to give up the surgery?” On the other end of the line, my doctor’s voice was laced with disbelief. He probably couldn’t fathom why I would refuse a kidney I had waited over two years to find. “You need to think this through,” he urged. “Your condition is in its final stages. Without a transplant, you don’t have much time left…” “Yes. I know.” I hung up and looked down at the legal document in my hand. Caleb Sterling’s name was printed in sharp, clear ink. My boyfriend of seven years. Now, with a single lawsuit, he was dragging me to court, demanding I repay every cent he had ever spent on me during our relationship. I let out a slow, shaky breath and knocked on the door of the Sterling family mansion. The woman who opened it was Caleb’s new girlfriend, Seraphina, draped in a luxurious designer dress, her makeup flawless. “Well, well. Look what the cat dragged in.” Her voice was a purr of amusement. She turned her head and called out, “Honey, you have to see who’s here.” Seeing Caleb again felt like staring across a lifetime. He leaned against the doorframe, a cigarette dangling from his fingers, his handsome, familiar face now a mask of cool detachment. His cold gaze landed on me. “Did you bring the money?” I pulled a bank card from my purse and held it out. Seraphina snatched it from my hand, toying with it as her eyes, sharp and provocative, met mine. “Thirty thousand dollars… I suppose it’s not even enough for a day at the spa for me, but at least,” she smirked, “we can get a new wardrobe for my little Prince.” She then called over a Schnauzer. Even the dog was decked out in a top-tier designer brand. Caleb wrapped an arm around Seraphina’s waist, his voice a low, doting murmur. “Only thirty thousand for Prince’s clothes? That’s not nearly enough. I’ll transfer you another half a million later. Go pick out something really nice for him.” Prince, of course, was the dog. Watching them, so wrapped up in each other, I dug my nails into my palms. For some reason, the Schnauzer suddenly bared its teeth at me, letting out a low growl. I flinched and took two steps back. Seraphina saw this and bent down to stroke the dog’s head, a saccharine smile on her face as she looked at me. “Oh, I am so sorry,” she cooed. “My little Prince has never seen a poor person before. It must be a shock to his system. Ms. Knight, next time you decide to visit, do try to wear something a little more presentable. Then my puppy won’t feel the need to bite you.” A few of the Sterling family’s maids, standing nearby, covered their mouths to stifle their giggles. I looked down at my own clothes. A faded, washed-out outfit, the pocket of my shirt crudely mended with a patch. Caleb let out a short, contemptuous snort, flicking the ash from his cigarette. “Stella Knight,” he said, his voice dripping with disdain. “You took so much money from my mother. Don’t tell me you’ve already squandered it all.” “Or,” he added, his eyes narrowing, “are you deliberately dressing like this to play the victim card?” 2 I said nothing, my hands twisting the hem of my shirt. “I’ve paid you back,” I finally managed. “From now on, we owe each other nothing.” I just wanted to escape, but Seraphina’s voice stopped me. “Wait.” She walked toward me, pulled a single dollar coin from her purse, and tossed it at my feet. “Thank you for the entertainment today,” she said, an eyebrow arched in contempt. “Here’s a buck for your trouble.” I looked at the coin on the ground, a small, shining monument to my humiliation. Then I looked at Caleb, still leaning in the doorway, smoking, watching me with that same dismissive look in his eyes. “Thank you for the kind offer, Ms. Dubois,” I said, my voice surprisingly steady. “But I think you should keep it.” With that, I turned and fled. I returned to my shoebox apartment, a sub-level room no bigger than a parking space. The bed was just a few feet from the toilet. It was dank and windowless, a concrete tomb. Yet, it gave me a strange sense of security. I never thought I would see Caleb again. I certainly never imagined it would be like this. I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling, which was covered in a dense mosaic of photographs. Hot tears traced paths from the corners of my eyes. One hundred and two photos. Every single picture we had taken in our seven years together. He wasn’t that boy in a school uniform anymore, the one who shouted to the world, “I will only ever love Stella Knight!” Now, he was the heir to an unimaginable fortune, the future CEO of the Sterling Corporation, and Seraphina Dubois’s fiancé. We were worlds apart. I took a deep breath, pulled down every single photo, and stuffed them into a dusty old box. But when I opened the box, the first thing I saw was a painting. A girl in a pristine white wedding dress, her smile radiant. Caleb had painted it himself. He had told me the girl in the painting was me, and that one day, he would be the one to put that dress on me. A wave of bitter sadness washed over me. I traced the faded lines of the painting. I wonder, I thought, if, in a way, this counts as having married him? I let out a dry, self-mocking laugh and closed the box. Then I called my boss. “Mr. Wallace, I’ll take the Apex Group project.” Last week, Mr. Wallace had suddenly assigned the Apex project to me. Everyone in the office knew that landing the Apex account wasn’t about experience or skill. There were unspoken rules, and everyone knew what they were. But right now, all I wanted was to live. “I’m glad you’ve come to your senses,” Mr. Wallace said on the phone, his voice slick. “Look at you, a pretty face, you’re a smart girl. Sometimes, you just have to be… flexible.” He sent me an address. A private room at a high-end club. “Be there tonight. And wear something nice.” “Okay,” I whispered, and hung up. When I pushed open the door to the private lounge, the first person I saw was Caleb, sitting with a few of his old friends. The project manager from Apex Group, a man named Harrison, grinned at me. “You must be the little lady from my nine o’clock,” he said, his small, puffy eyes raking over my body with a look so vulgar it made my skin crawl. He patted his thigh. “Come on, sit right here. We’ll have a good, long talk about this project.” Beside him, Caleb’s eyes were arctic. He stubbed out his cigarette, his voice a low, mocking drawl. “I didn’t realize you were scraping the bottom of the barrel these days, Harrison.” 3 Hearing this, Harrison turned to Caleb, bewildered, and rubbed his bald head. “She doesn’t look half-bad to me.” Caleb sneered, his eyes lingering on my simple, thin dress. “True. It’s amazing what some women will do for money, isn’t it? No standards, no self-respect.” My fingers clenched into fists as the others in the room started pointing and whispering. I forced myself to remain calm, pulling the project proposal from my bag and holding it out to Harrison. “Mr. Harrison, this is the partnership agreement. If you’d like to take a look…” Before I could finish, Harrison grabbed me, pulling me into his lap. His rough hand started moving up my thigh. A wave of nausea washed over me. But Caleb’s friends were egging him on. “What are you waiting for, Harrison? Kiss her!” I clutched the hem of my dress, my eyes darting to Caleb. For a split second, a pathetic, desperate part of me still hoped he would help me. But he just stood up, his face a blank mask. He picked up a glass of whiskey from the table and poured it directly over my head. I gasped, shivering as the cold liquid soaked through my clothes. He loomed over me, his voice a low, cruel whisper. “This is no fun.” He pushed a fruit platter in front of me. It was filled with mangoes. My heart seized. I stared at him in disbelief. Caleb reached into his suit jacket, pulled out a credit card, and tossed it on the floor. “There’s fifty thousand dollars on that card,” he said. “Eat all of these mangoes, and the money is yours.” I stared at the card on the grimy floor, a bitter smile twisting my lips. We were together for seven years. He couldn’t possibly not know that I’m deathly allergic to mangoes. He raised an eyebrow, his eyes fixed on me. Tears welled in my eyes. After a long, silent moment, I spoke. “If I eat all of these… the money… I don’t have to pay it back, right?” In that moment, my will to live was absolute. I was only twenty-six. I didn’t want to die. Caleb’s brow furrowed, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. I reached for a slice of mango and shoved it into my mouth. I ate ravenously, gulping down piece after piece. Even as my body started to heave and an angry red rash began to bloom across my skin, I didn’t stop. Caleb’s friends, all sons of Westport’s elite, knew the history between us. Two years ago, when the Sterling Corporation went bankrupt, Caleb was hounded by creditors to the point of suicide. That was when I had left him, seemingly without a second thought. He had searched for me like a madman, sinking into a deep depression. Now that the Sterlings were back on top, of course they wouldn’t let me off easy. They whistled and catcalled, filming me with their phones. “Pathetic,” Caleb muttered. He suddenly grabbed my arm, his fingers exposing a faint, old tattoo on my wrist—a single letter, “C.” He froze for a second, a self-mocking sneer twisting his lips before he flung my arm away in disgust. He rolled up his own sleeve, his voice dripping with contempt. “Stella Knight, you really have no bottom line when it comes to money, do you?” “Fine. Eat all of these mangoes in the next three minutes, and I’ll forget about the debt.” The room was filled with jeers and lewd taunts. I felt like a clown in a circus, surrounded by mocking faces. I fought against the swelling in my throat and the fire on my skin, forcing a wretched smile at Caleb. “Okay. I’ll eat faster. I’ll finish them all.” As I reached for another piece, Caleb finally snapped. He let out a roar of pure rage and flipped the entire table over.

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My boyfriend, Liam, shaved my head for his childhood friend. Dolores was losing her hair to chemotherapy, so he demanded I give her mine. “Dolores’s allergic to the synthetic ones on the market,” he’d said, his voice flat. “You’ve been growing your hair for a decade. It’s perfect for a wig.” I refused. So his friends pinned me down, holding my arms and legs while he took an electric razor and scraped it against my scalp until my long, glossy black hair was nothing but a butchered mess. Dolores, sitting in her wheelchair, pointed at me and burst out laughing. “Liam, look at her! She looks so ridiculous, like a plucked frog.” A smile touched Liam’s lips as he nodded in agreement. “See? Was all this fuss really necessary?” But he knew. He knew that a choppy, uneven haircut had once been the reason I was bullied for six long years. Back then, he had been the one to stand in front of me, arms spread wide, my protector. Now, he was the one holding the blade. His friends chimed in, one after another. “Come on, don’t hold it against a sick person.” Liam turned, his voice sharp with impatience. “Don’t bother. Just let her go. She’s acting like it’s the end of the world over a few strands of hair. It’s not like it won’t grow back.” So I turned and walked away. And I never looked back. Later, I heard that to win me back, Liam Foster knelt his way up a nine-thousand-step cathedral staircase, ruining his knees in the process. 1 The pressure on my limbs vanished. I was free. “Liam, look at her! She’s hilarious, like a little toad,” Dolores shrieked from her wheelchair, pointing a slender finger at my now-bare head. His friends roared with laughter, slapping each other on the back. Liam glanced at me, his expression casual. “Dolores’s allergic to store-bought wigs. Your hair was long enough, so it was the perfect solution.” His words were a distant hum. I couldn’t hear them over the sound of my own heart shattering. I reached up, my fingers finding only a few stray wisps of hair, and a fresh wave of agony washed over me. Just two hours earlier, Liam had called to tell me I had to come to Dolores’s birthday party. I didn’t get along with Dolores, not really. But it was a request from Liam, and Dolores was, after all, a cancer patient. So I went, gift in hand. I never imagined the “party” was a trap. A setup for them to hold me down and forcibly shave my head. Looking at Liam’s cold, indifferent face, I remembered the rare moment of affection he’d shown me just a couple of days ago. He’d brought me a set of expensive, high-end hair care products. “The air’s been dry lately,” he’d said. “Make sure you take good care of your hair.” I was so surprised, so flattered by the gesture, that I’d used them that very night. Only now did the sickening truth dawn on me. He wasn’t asking me to care for my hair for my sake. He was preparing it so Dolores’s new wig would be as comfortable as possible. Suddenly, Liam started walking toward me. For a fleeting, foolish moment, I thought he felt a pang of guilt, that he was coming to apologize. Instead, he pinched the last remaining lock of hair from my shoulder with a look of distaste and snipped it off without a second thought. He turned to his friends. “Can’t you guys do a clean job? Why leave this bit behind? I treat you all to dinner, and you can’t even do one simple thing right.” The group erupted in jeers and laughter. “Our bad, our bad! Hey, look, you think Ava’s gonna cry?” “Dolores’s the one who’s sick, swallowing all that medicine every day, and you don’t see her whining.” The barbs flew, one after another, but Liam’s expression never changed. His friends had never liked me. I was an outsider, a charity case who didn’t fit into their wealthy, pedigreed world. I was never invited to their gatherings, and when I once asked Liam if he could take me with him, he just brushed me off. “We run in different circles, Ava. Don’t try to force it.” Seeing my blank stare, Liam’s gaze finally settled on me. He raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. “Ava, you’re not actually mad, are you? Lighten up. Think of it as doing a good deed.” My eyes filled with a grief so profound it ached. “I just have one question. Was this your idea, or was it Dolores’s?” Dolores wheeled herself between us, two perfect tears tracing paths down her pale cheeks. “It was my idea. If you have a problem, take it up with me. Don’t make things difficult for Liam.” Instantly, Liam’s face hardened as he glared at me. “Dolores’s a patient. Can you stop upsetting her? She’s like a sister to me, we grew up together. What’s the big deal with you, her future sister-in-law, donating a wig?” His casual dismissal was a physical blow. My eyes stung. How could someone change so completely? Years ago, when my parents forced me to cut my hair short to sell it for my brother’s new toys, I was relentlessly bullied for my ragged appearance. It was Liam who had stood in front of me, grinning defiantly. “From now on,” he’d declared, “I’ve got your back. And your hair.” The memory drained the last of my strength. My voice was quiet, hollow. “Liam, as of today, we’re done.” I looked him in the eye. “You can wire me the money for the hair. I’m under no obligation to donate it to her.” 2 Liam froze, then reached out and pressed the back of his hand to my forehead, a scornful laugh escaping his lips. “Ava, are you trying to break up with me?” he scoffed. “You don’t have a fever. What’s with the crazy talk?” He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low, menacing whisper. “You’ve been with me for eight years. You really think you’ll find anyone else to marry you after this? Who would want you, Ava? Can you stop being so damn dramatic?” The tears I’d been holding back threatened to spill over. So he did remember. Eight years. Our friends used to say that after dating for so long, a lover becomes family. But Liam hadn’t become my family. And lately, he felt less and less like my lover. I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood and met his gaze head-on. “There are plenty of men in the world. It’s not like you’re my only option.” Liam’s face darkened. His friends, sensing the shift, started to speak up. “Alright, that’s enough. Liam’s already trying to be nice here, Ava. Don’t push it.” “It’s just a wig! Get Liam to buy you a new one. Hell, buy seven, one for every day of the week, haha!” After his friends had their fun, Dolores chimed in, her voice trembling with manufactured fragility. “This is all my fault. Ava, I’ll pay you for the wig, okay? Please, just don’t make things hard for Liam.” She blinked, her eyes welling up again, a picture of pathetic innocence that clearly tugged at Liam’s heartstrings. He shot me a venomous look, as if I were his mortal enemy. “Ava, if you have a problem, take it up with me!” he snarled. “Dolores is sick. She’s very, very sick. Why do you have to pick on a patient? You’ve changed. You were never like this before!” I opened my mouth to speak, but before I could, Dolores clutched her stomach and let out a pained cry. “Liam, it hurts… Help me…” In a flash, Liam shoved me aside. I stumbled backward, caught off guard, and my leg hit a chair, sending me crashing to the floor. “Hiss—” A sharp pain shot through me. Liam saw me fall, but there wasn’t a flicker of concern in his eyes. Instead, he roared at me, his voice cracking with rage. “Get the hell out of the way! You whine and cry about a stupid haircut, but then you go and upset Dolores when you know how fragile she is! If anything happens to her, I swear to God, I will never forgive you!” With that, he scooped Dolores into his arms and stormed out, his pack of cronies trailing behind him. The last one to leave, the one holding my severed hair, casually tossed the long, dark bundle into a nearby trash can. I stared for a moment, stunned. Then I scrambled over, my hands shaking as I carefully gathered my hair from the garbage. The tears finally came, hot and unstoppable. In that moment, a decision crystallized in my heart. I was leaving Liam Foster. … I went to a barbershop and had them shave my head properly, evening it out. Then I booked a cheap room at a motel. When I returned to the apartment to pack my things, Liam was there, looking exhausted. His eyes landed on the suitcase in my hand, and his face instantly soured. He strode forward and kicked my suitcase, sending it skidding across the floor. “How long are you going to keep this act up?” he demanded. “The doctor said Dolores’s condition has worsened. It’s all your fault for agitating her! I haven’t even dealt with you yet, and you’re the one playing the victim?” I laughed, a bitter, humorless sound. “So Dolores’s cancer is my fault now? Liam, do you even hear the stupid things you’re saying?” He seemed taken aback, probably because he’d never heard me use that tone with him before. He just stood there, momentarily speechless. I ignored him, picked up my suitcase, and continued packing. I didn’t have much. After living here for eight years, everything I owned barely filled two 26-inch suitcases. I glanced at Liam, who was watching me in silence. “Whenever you get around to sending the money for the hair,” I said casually, “I’ll pay my share of the rent.” 3 “You think I need your pathetic rent money?” Liam grabbed my arm, his grip like iron, his face a thundercloud. “Ava, have you had enough of this drama? Do you seriously think you can support yourself alone?” He shook his head in disgust. “I swear, I don’t know what goes on in that head of yours! I buy you skincare, you don’t use it. I buy you jewelry, you don’t wear it. I ask you to dress better, and you come up with a million excuses!” Every time we fought, it was the same old story. He’d bring up the skincare, forgetting it made my skin break out in hives. He’d complain about the jewelry, ignoring the time his friends mocked me, claiming it was a cheap knockoff. He’d criticize my ‘drab’ clothes, completely disregarding that my government job had a conservative dress code. When I didn’t respond, his words grew even more reckless. “What, nothing to say? Or are you planning to run back to your dead-end hometown and get married off?!” That last sentence struck me like a physical blow. I stared at him, my eyes wide with disbelief. After my high school graduation, my family had tried to lock me up and marry me off for cash. It was Liam who had saved me, who had pulled me from that hell. He had promised that as long as he was around, no one would ever hurt me again. He seemed to have forgotten that promise. He had become just as cruel and ugly as the people he’d once saved me from. My family background was a mess. I was frugal by nature. But what was so wrong with that? Tears welled in my eyes, and my heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vise. I didn’t say a word. I finally, completely understood. Liam Foster was a lost cause. He would die before ever admitting he was wrong. I grabbed my suitcase, determined to leave. Liam exploded. He seized the suitcase and hurled it to the ground with all his might. The latches burst, and the case split open, spilling my neatly folded clothes onto the floor. “Liam, we’re broken up! Who gave you the right to touch my things?” He yanked me back by the arm. His strength was immense, and my head slammed into the sharp corner of a table. A sudden, hot stream of liquid flooded my vision. I blinked frantically, but all I could see was a blur. Liam panicked, rushing towards me. “Ava, don’t be scared, I’m taking you to the hospital right now.” Just then, his phone rang. Dolores’s weak, faint voice crackled through the speaker. “Liam… I’m outside your building… I’m coughing up blood. What do I do? It hurts so much.” The color drained from Liam’s face. He let go of my arm. “Ava, just wait for me. Dolores’s having an attack. I have to get her to the hospital first!” Blood was pouring into my eyes. All I could see was a hazy silhouette in front of me. I grabbed onto his leg, trying to stop him. “Liam, I can’t see. Please, just call an ambulance for me…” Without a second thought, he kicked me away. “I told you to fucking wait! Are you deaf?!” he screamed. “Can’t you wait for one damn minute? Are you in such a hurry to die?!” The force of the kick knocked the wind out of me, and I couldn’t get up. Liam was already gone. The front door slammed shut with a final, resounding bang.

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My wife, the Colonel, believed our son needed to be a man. So, against my every objection, she had him deployed to a peacekeeping mission in the Middle East. “I was on the front lines when I was just a teenager,” she’d scoffed. “Look at him. Does he even look like a man to you?” Our son came back with the Medal of Honor. The price was his life. I went to find her, carrying the box with his ashes. But when I arrived, I saw her latest post online: a photo of her first love, Christopher, and his daughter, Cece. The caption read: [A living Medal of Honor recipient. A credit to our guidance.] In the photo, Cece was wearing the medal that belonged to my son. I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I just filed a report against my wife with the military court. 1 Our son’s remains fit into a small, flag-draped box. When Major General Thorne handed it to me, her expression was one of pure compassion. “I’m so sorry, Noah,” she said, her voice heavy. “By the time we got there, all that was left were… fragments.” The only other thing they recovered was his blood-soaked uniform. The fabric was shredded, a canvas of bullet holes and knife slashes. I opened the box just a crack before slamming it shut. The acrid smell of old blood assaulted my senses. I clutched the box and the uniform to my chest, fell to my knees, and wept. His last call echoed in my mind, a phantom playing on a loop. “Dad, it hurts… they cut a hole in my stomach… If I don’t talk, they’re going to cut my throat next. Dad… I’m scared. Their knife is rusty. It’ll take a few tries before I die… But I can’t talk. If I talk, my brothers will die… Dad, it’s okay if no one else remembers me, but you’ll remember me, right? Please? They’re coming! Dad! DAD! AHHH!” His final, agonizing scream was seared into my memory. The torture lasted ten minutes, but he never uttered a single word of intel. The only thing he kept repeating was, “Dad, save me!” I had scrambled for help, frantically calling my wife, Colonel Evelyn Vance. She never answered. Long after our son was dead, a text from her finally came through. [Christopher’s dealing with something. I don’t have time for your childish jealousy.] Major General Thorne helped me to my feet, her eyes full of apology. “I’m sorry I was late.” I shook my head. “No. This wasn’t your mission. I know you did everything you could.” I turned to leave, holding the box and the uniform, but a hand fell on my shoulder. Diana Thorne, my childhood friend, looked at me, her expression a mixture of emotions I couldn’t decipher. “Let me give you a ride back.” I shook my head again. “It’s okay, I can manage. Thank you for bringing Aaron home to me. I’m already so grateful.” I gave her a deep, formal bow and walked away. Her hand hung in the air for a moment before she let it fall. 2 On the way home, my phone buzzed with news alerts. [Major Cecelia Croft, embedded for months, single-handedly takes down terrorist stronghold!] [Peacekeeping Hero Promoted! A True Heroine for the Ages!] [She is the Nation’s Pride.] The military section of every news site was flooded with Cecelia “Cece” Croft’s “heroic deeds.” The comment sections were a frenzy. [OMG QUEEN SO BADASS!] [I heard those terrorists love to torture people, like turning them into paste. For Major Croft to survive that long alone is incredible!] [I heard she’s the daughter of the pop star Christopher Croft! And that Colonel Vance personally mentored her!] [Could Christopher be the Colonel’s secret husband??] [Definitely. Did you see the Colonel’s comment on his latest post? You don’t talk like that unless you’re family.] [Sobbing, what a power family!] The more I read, the tighter my fists clenched. The real hero was lying silently in a small box, his body too shattered to be pieced back together. And Cece Croft—who had spent her entire deployment in the Green Zone—was being hailed as the deep-cover operative? Stealing someone’s commendation wasn’t something Cece could pull off alone. Evelyn had to be behind it. My phone buzzed again. A call from Evelyn. “Delete it,” she snapped, without preamble. “Don’t make me say it twice.” I frowned. “What?” “Don’t play dumb, Noah! Look at what you’ve been reposting! If I weren’t suppressing it on my end, the media would have already run with the baseless rumors you’re spreading! What do you expect them to do then?” “Baseless?!” My hand trembled. “That was Aaron’s commendation! Cece spent her entire tour bullying him because he was a lower rank! The only thing she did on this mission was show up at the end for a photo op! Aaron did all the work! How dare she waltz in and take everything from him!” “Enough!” Evelyn’s voice was sharp. “I know you’re prone to jealousy, but military honors are a serious matter! Cece spent months in a foreign country. Do you have any idea how hard that is for a young woman? Christopher has been worried sick about her every single day. After all their hardship, you think you can just erase their sacrifice with a few words?” I laughed, and a tear rolled down my cheek. “Cece was here for a few months and you made her a Major with zero experience! Aaron was here for years, and you held him back so he couldn’t even make Sergeant! Who had it easy? Christopher is living a glamorous life back home while I’m stuck here in a war zone! Who had it hard?” “That’s enough!” Evelyn’s voice was laced with fury. “Not only are you slandering Cece, but now you’re running your mouth like this? Was this Aaron’s idea? Tell him to report to my office immediately!” My knuckles turned white where they gripped the box. “He’s not coming. He was killed in action.” Silence on the other end of the line. Then, a low, cold laugh. “Noah, to think you’d stoop this low. Now you’re even making up lies about our son’s death just to compete with Christopher? I don’t have the patience for your petty games. If I don’t see that brat by five o’clock, he can spend the rest of his life as a private.” She hung up. I clutched the bloody uniform, my tears soaking into the tattered fabric. 3 Back at the cold, empty villa, I began to pack our son’s things. When he first arrived, Evelyn hadn’t allowed him to bring much, claiming a soldier’s true test was to make something from nothing. So, he had only smuggled in a single photograph of the three of us. I tore Evelyn’s half from the photo, wrapped Aaron’s ashes and bloody uniform in the flag, and called for a bus to the airport. Evelyn would never offer me a convenience like a driver. Even when I first came here, she forbade me from using her private car, forcing me to stumble my way from the bus stop to this house. The dog she kept was tied up by the gate. I kept my distance. As expected, it began to bark furiously the moment I approached. I’d lived here for years, but it still only recognized Evelyn and Christopher. Some dogs can never be tamed. I took the long way around, only to see a black government sedan parked out front. I froze as I heard a familiar voice. “Evelyn, I’m not a child. You don’t have to guide me out of the car.” Then, Evelyn’s voice, softer than I’d ever heard it. “You’ve never been here before. It’s unfamiliar territory. I was worried.” Christopher Croft’s polished leather shoes stepped onto the pavement. Though he’d said it wasn’t necessary, his hand casually found its way to the small of Evelyn’s back, resting on her waist. Evelyn’s face flushed, but she didn’t pull away. The guard dog immediately started wagging its tail. Christopher was about to pet it when he saw me. He jumped back with a theatrical gasp. “Ah! You scared me to death!” Evelyn turned, her brow furrowed in annoyance. “What are you doing, looking like that?” I’d cried for days. My chin was covered in rough stubble, my eyes were undoubtedly red and swollen with exhaustion. Evelyn didn’t ask what had happened to me. She just demanded, “Didn’t I tell you to have Aaron report to me by five? It’s already dark. Where did he run off to? Everyone has already been by to congratulate Cece, but he’s the only one hiding. His Uncle Christopher is here and he doesn’t even come to greet him. Who does he think he is? Don’t think I’ll favor him unconditionally just because he’s my son!” I finally snapped. “What have you ever favored him with?!” I had always been calm, even-tempered. Even when she sent our son here, I had never been this hysterical. Evelyn was stunned into silence. My eyes blazing, I grabbed her by the collar. “You always talk about favoring him, but when have you ever done it? He was bullied by Cece in the army, and you looked the other way! Cece got a scratch on her hand from roughhousing with her subordinates, and you had her flown back to the States for treatment! Our son was suppressed by her, and you did nothing! She had less experience than him, but you promoted her to Major straight away! Even I am stuck here, living in filth, while you support Christopher’s glamorous life back home! So tell me, Evelyn! What have you ever favored him with? Who is your real family?!” Faced with my tirade for the first time, Evelyn seemed to buckle, grabbing my hands. “What are you talking about? Christopher and I are just friends! Can you stop being so jealous?” “Who’s jealous of you?!” I slapped her across the face. Her head snapped to the side. She turned back slowly, her eyes wide with disbelief. I gritted my teeth. “Don’t act like I can’t live without you. Evelyn, I regret it. I should have divorced you years ago. Then our son wouldn’t have…” At the word “divorce,” Evelyn’s pupils contracted. “You…” But she was cut off by Christopher. “Noah, don’t you think you’re going too far?” 4 Christopher stepped in front of Evelyn, shielding her. “Evelyn and I have a good relationship, but we’ve always been open about it. You, on the other hand…” He looked me up and down, a sneer of contempt on his face. “Meeting with the Major General in secret… that seems a lot more suspicious, doesn’t it?” “What?” Evelyn’s eyes narrowed. Christopher pulled out his phone and showed her a photo. The moment Evelyn saw it, her breathing grew ragged, her fists clenching. It was the photo of Diana placing a hand on my shoulder. The angle was deceptively intimate. With my back to the camera, it looked like we were whispering to each other. Christopher let out a cold laugh. “If I remember correctly, Major General Thorne came to this war zone for you, didn’t she, Noah? You claim to be just friends, but you’ve been meeting with her quite often. And secretly accepting her gifts, too.” “Shut up!” I couldn’t stand it anymore. “I went to Diana because of our son—” “Does that give you an excuse to have secret meetings behind Evelyn’s back?” Christopher cut me off, grabbing my arm. “Ah, what’s this passport for? General Thorne is heading back to the States in a couple of days. You’re not planning to fly back with her to get married, are you? No wonder you want a divorce from Evelyn.” “Shut your mouth!” I roared, raising my hand to strike him. But before I could, a sharper, more vicious slap landed on my own face. 5 Evelyn stood in front of Christopher, her chest heaving. “No wonder you were acting so strangely today. You had your escape route planned all along, didn’t you?” She snatched the passport from my hand and kicked my suitcase. It burst open, sending the box and the blood-soaked uniform spilling onto the ground. Christopher wrinkled his nose in disgust. “What is this? Noah, since when did you take up collecting trash?” “You have no right to say that!” I lunged at him, but Evelyn kicked me squarely in the chest, sending me slamming against the wall. Her voice was ice. “You’re becoming more and more unhinged. Collecting perverted things like this. What, is it a gift from Diana? You’ll take anything she gives you, won’t you?” She grabbed the small box wrapped in the flag. “What kind of trash gets to be wrapped in the flag of our country?” she sneered. She ripped the flag off and tossed the box to one of her aides. “Take it. Feed it to the dog.” “Yes, Colonel!” “NO!!” I scrambled forward like a madman, but Evelyn blocked me. “You spend all your days accusing me of things, while you’re the one cheating on me?” “NO! Those are our son’s ashes! Make him stop! The dog listens to you! Make it stop!!”

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At my father’s birthday party, as he was making a wish over his cake, my mother leaned in and whispered something in his ear. My father, a man who cherished his life above all else, jumped from the balcony a moment later. After his death, countless people asked my mother what she had said. Someone even offered a million dollars for her secret. But she remained silent. Until my wedding day. My mother showed up at the ceremony. And whispered that same secret into my fiancé’s ear… 1 My mother became famous after my father died. My dad was known for his fierce love of life. His sudden suicide could only be explained by the words my mother had whispered to him. Everyone wanted to know what they were. Rich women in unhappy marriages offered her a million dollars, hoping to buy the words that could kill. But my mother never spoke. Not even when the police interrogated her. She just lowered her head and remained silent. In the end, she was sentenced to three years in prison for inciting suicide. After handling my father’s funeral, I visited her in prison. “Mom,” I pleaded, “what did you say to Dad? Why did he kill himself?” Through the thick glass partition, her expression was serene. “He didn’t want to live anymore. What does that have to do with me?” Her calm indifference was a knife to my heart. “Dad would rush to the hospital for a paper cut, terrified of an infection,” I said, my voice choked with bitterness. “His birthday wish was always to live to be a hundred, to see me get married and hold his grandchildren. Tell me, why would a man like that suddenly kill himself?” I was heartbroken, but more than that, I was confused. My father was a kind man, and he and my mother had always seemed happy together. Why would she say something to drive him to suicide? What could she possibly have said? In response to my questions, she only gave me a long, deep look. “Stop asking,” she said, her voice flat. “Knowing too much won’t do you any good.” 2 With that, she ended the visit. I went home. The house that was once filled with laughter now held only a black-and-white portrait of my father. A sharp pain pierced my heart, and my confusion deepened. I went into my parents’ room, searching for any clue, any hint of an answer. In the closet, their clothes were neatly folded. My mother had once said that my father looked handsome in white, so he only ever bought white clothes. My mother loved gold, so my father had filled a drawer with gold jewelry for her. My mother’s health was frail, so my father’s nightstand was stocked with all the medications she might need. The more I looked, the less I understood. Every corner of this room screamed of love and happiness. My father had been so good to us. Why would my mother destroy it all? I wanted answers, but after our last conversation, she refused to see me again. Her cold, resolute silence left me heartbroken. I moved out of that house of sorrow and into an apartment with my long-time boyfriend, Alex. In those lonely, helpless days, Alex was my rock. He was gentle and considerate, accepting and caring, wrapping me in his unconditional love. Three years later, we set a date for our wedding. The night before the ceremony, Alex asked me tentatively, “Emma, your mom is out of prison now. This is such an important day for us. Aren’t you going to invite her? Are you still angry with her?” I paused. “I just can’t understand it,” I said honestly. “My dad was such a good person. Why would she want him dead?” Alex didn’t hesitate. “What if it was all a misunderstanding? How could a single sentence really make someone kill themselves? Maybe your dad’s death hit her so hard that she couldn’t bear to talk about it.” He squeezed my hand, his voice gentle. “No matter what, she’s still your mother. A wedding is a huge milestone. You should let her know. She’s the only family you have left in this world. Imagine how hurt she’d be if she found out her only daughter got married without inviting her.” Alex was always like that—kind, thoughtful, always putting others first. In the years of my confusion and despair, he had been my sun, warming me, teaching me how to walk out of the darkness and into the light. His words filled me with a bittersweet warmth. After a moment’s thought, I sent my mother an invitation. 3 The next day was the wedding. To show how much he valued me, Alex had planned a grand, lavish ceremony. The venue was packed with guests, buzzing with excitement. My mother came. I hadn’t seen her in years, and she had gotten thinner. The wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and the streaks of grey in her hair made her look weary, ancient. Her face was expressionless, her gaze shifting only between me and Alex. It had been so long. I felt like there was a depth to her eyes that I couldn’t penetrate. At the officiant’s invitation, my mother walked onto the stage. Alex, beaming with excitement and happiness, made a promise to her. “Ma’am, thank you so much for coming to our wedding. Please don’t worry. I will take good care of Emma. I’ll spend the rest of my life loving her and making sure she never has to suffer.” As the mood lightened, the officiant held the microphone to my mother. “As the mother of the bride, is there anything you’d like to say to your daughter?” My mother, who should have been offering me her blessings, simply said, “No.” Her voice was calm. “I only have one thing to say to my son-in-law.” With that, she stepped forward, leaned close to Alex’s ear, and whispered. The smile on Alex’s face vanished, replaced by a look of pure, unadulterated terror. His eyes darted to me. Then, as if possessed, he bolted towards the hotel balcony. “Alex, stop!” I screamed. He didn’t hear me. He was running as if from a monster, and with a desperate, decisive leap, he threw himself over the railing. THUD! The sound of a heavy impact was followed by a symphony of screams from below. It all happened so fast. By the time anyone reacted, Alex was already lying in a twisted heap in a pool of blood. Silent. Still. 4 Alex was dead. He died at our wedding. Killed by my mother’s words. The guests rushed downstairs, staring in shock and horror at the scene. Alex’s mother collapsed to the ground, cradling his body and weeping hysterically. I felt my heart shatter, my body go limp. The man who had just promised to love me for the rest of his life was now a bloody corpse. I couldn’t accept it. Just then, my mother descended the stairs, her movements slow and deliberate. She calmly tucked a stray hair behind her ear, as if the chaos around her was of no concern. Seeing her, Alex’s father pointed a trembling finger, his voice shaking with rage. “What did you say to my son? Why did he kill himself the moment he heard your words?” Alex’s other relatives and friends joined in, their voices thick with grief and fury. “You venomous witch! Today was supposed to be the happiest day of Alex’s life! Why did you have to come here and ruin it?” “We heard you killed your own husband with a single sentence. We knew you were no good! But Alex insisted we had misunderstood you. He even told us not to judge you, not to talk about what happened to your husband. He was always thinking of you, and this is how you repay him? Are you even human?!” “People like you should rot in prison for the rest of your lives!” Through it all, my mother remained calm, indifferent. “He chose to kill himself. What does that have to do with me?” Her voice was light, as if she were a mere bystander. Alex’s mother, heartbroken, suddenly lunged forward and grabbed my mother by the collar. “You murderer!” she screamed through her tears. “Give me back my son! My son was a kind man his whole life! He never did a single bad thing! He loved your daughter with all his heart, gave her everything! Before the wedding, he begged us to be good to her. He said he wanted to live a happy life with her, have children, grow old together! He was so optimistic, so full of hope for the future! How could he possibly kill himself? Tell me! What did you say to him? Why did you kill him?!” Alex’s mother, always so gentle and loving, had completely broken down. I didn’t stop her. I looked at my mother with utter disappointment, my voice aching with pain. “Why? Wasn’t killing Dad enough? Why did you have to kill Alex too?” My father had been so good to me. Our family had been so happy. But my mother’s words destroyed it all. Then Alex came into my life, his love healing me, making me feel the warmth of a family again. Now, just as we were about to build a new life together, my mother had torn it all down again, killing the man I loved, destroying everything I had ever hoped for. Alex’s death ignited a fire of hatred for my mother that consumed me. She looked at me, a flicker of something—uncertainty?—in her eyes. “You think that of me too?” “I just want to know,” I sobbed. “What did you say to them?” I remembered it clearly now. The day my father died, he had looked at me with that same expression of terror, just like Alex, before he jumped. I had to know. What words could make two kind, optimistic men make such an extreme choice? The guests and onlookers erupted, screaming at my mother. “First your husband, now your son-in-law! You murderer! You don’t deserve to live!” “If you don’t give us an explanation today, we won’t let you leave here alive!” “Tell us! What did you say to them?” Facing the crowd’s accusations, my mother coolly shook off Alex’s mother’s hand. She straightened her collar and surveyed the crowd. “I can say it,” she said, her voice cold. “But do you dare to listen?” The noisy scene fell silent. Everyone was frozen, their faces etched with fear. These were words that killed. Anyone who heard them chose suicide without hesitation. They were curious, but they were also terrified. As everyone stood silent, I stepped forward. “I dare.” Because of a single sentence, the father who adored me and the man who loved me were both dead. I had to know why. Even if it meant my own death, I wasn’t afraid. My mother looked at me, her gaze deep. “Are you sure you won’t regret it?” I nodded. “I’m sure.” Her expression softened slightly. Finally, she leaned in close to my ear and whispered the words. 5 After my mother spoke, all eyes were on me. Just moments before, they had all witnessed Alex jump to his death, his face a mask of terror, right after my mother had whispered in his ear. They were waiting to see my reaction. Waiting to see if I, too, would kill myself. But under their curious and tense gazes, I did nothing strange. I just frowned at my mother. “You’re lying,” I said, my voice firm. “You couldn’t have said that to them.” Faced with my disbelief, my mother’s expression remained placid. “I’ve told you. Whether you believe it or not is up to you.” “If that’s all you said, why would Dad and Alex kill themselves?” I retorted without hesitation. They were both such optimistic, kind men. How could a simple sentence like that drive them to suicide? At that moment, I was certain she was lying to me. But her face was a mask of sincerity. “As I said, they chose to kill themselves. It has nothing to do with me.” My passionate accusations and her calm explanations left the crowd bewildered. They stared at us, their eyes full of suspicion and doubt. Before I could speak again, police cars arrived, sirens wailing. Several officers got out and walked straight to my mother. “We received a call that you are suspected of deliberately inciting someone to commit suicide. This is the second death you’ve been involved in. Please come with us for questioning.” Facing the police again, my mother said nothing. She silently allowed them to handcuff her and lead her to the car. Through the car window, she looked at me, her gaze deep and meaningful, as if there were a thousand things she wanted to say. I had the strangest feeling that there was something she was desperate to tell me, but for some reason, she couldn’t. As I watched, the police car drove away, taking my mother with it. Even after she was gone, the crowd continued to stare at me. When it became clear that I was fine, Alex’s mother approached me, her voice hesitant. “Emma, what did your mother say to you?” 6 In the years after my father’s death and my mother’s imprisonment, Alex had cared for me devotedly, and his mother had treated me like her own daughter. I respected her, and I felt a deep sense of guilt towards her. Looking into her sad, curious eyes, I felt helpless. “My mom just said, ‘Happy wedding day.’ Nothing else.” Alex’s mother frowned, her face a picture of disbelief. “How is that possible? Just now, after she spoke to Alex, his face was full of terror. If that’s all she said, why would he react like that? Why would he kill himself in front of everyone?” Others chimed in. “Yes, we all saw his reaction. Those words wouldn’t have caused such a reaction.” “Besides, who whispers well wishes in someone’s ear? She’s obviously lying.” “That’s right, Emma. Alex was always so good to you. You can’t protect your mother just because she’s a murderer.” “Yes, just tell us what she really said. Don’t cover for her.” Even Alex’s father spoke, his voice grave. “Emma, my son was devoted to you. He never let you suffer. If you have even a shred of genuine feeling for him, you won’t let him die like this, without any answers.” Faced with their accusations, I tried to explain again. “My dad and Alex both died the same way, because of my mother’s words. So, more than anyone, I want to know what she said. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have stood up in front of everyone and asked her to tell me. I don’t think it was those words either, but she really only said, ‘Happy wedding day.’ I was just confronting her about it, you all heard me!” Because of a single sentence, I had lost the two most important people in my life. I wanted to know why more than anyone. Seeing my firm words and serious expression, the crowd, though still skeptical, said no more. They turned their attention to handling Alex’s funeral arrangements. A celebration had turned into a funeral. My heart had plummeted from heaven to hell. After attending Alex’s funeral, my body exhausted and my heart in pieces, I returned to my childhood home. As I arrived, I found a crowd of people waiting at my door.

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My boyfriend, Damian Thorne, was the heir to one of the most powerful families in the country, worth hundreds of billions. To test me, he never bought me a single gift in the seven years we were together. He never spent a dime on me. Even when we bought condoms at the convenience store, we split the cost. Later, when my mother fell gravely ill, I borrowed from every friend and relative I had. I was just two thousand dollars short of her surgery fee. But no matter how much I begged Damian, he refused to lend it to me. I handled my mother’s funeral alone. When I went home to pack my things, I stumbled upon a list of gifts he had bought for his neighbor’s sister. A mansion in a gated community, luxury handbags, jewelry worth millions… And a chat log with his friends. “Damian, is it true that Sophia knelt and begged you for two thousand dollars?” “Chloe was right,” Damian’s voice, cool and dismissive, echoed from the recording. “Kneeling for two grand? What is she if not a gold digger? We’ve only been together seven years, and she’s already this desperate to get money out of me.” So, his seven-year test was nothing more than a game prompted by his neighbor’s sister. It didn’t matter anymore. The moment my mother died, I had already decided to leave him. 1 I had just put the gift list back when the front door opened. Damian stumbled in, reeking of alcohol, and plopped down beside me. “You disappeared for a few days. I thought you had some backbone, that you wouldn’t come back,” he slurred. “But you just can’t stay away from me, can you? You came crawling back.” He was just short of saying I had come back to swindle more money out of him. Maybe, in his mind, that’s all I had ever been—a gold digger, after his fortune. I didn’t even bother to look at him. I just shifted away, avoiding the arm he tried to sling around my shoulders. He froze, looking from his hand to me, assuming I was still sulking over the two thousand dollars. “I’ve had a bit to drink. I’m thirsty. Go make me some soup to sober me up.” He always did that, slipping into his rich-boy persona without thinking. But when he was first pursuing me seven years ago, he’d put on a clumsy act, pretending to be poor, and had me completely fooled. “Sophia,” he’d said, his face earnest, “I don’t have anything. I can’t give you a stable future. But we can work hard together, build a good life for ourselves.” Looking at his sincere face back then, I had nodded. I needed money, yes, but I could support myself. I chose Damian because I was moved by his words—we can work hard together, build a good life for ourselves. But the longer we were together, the more I realized he was different. He would unconsciously show his disdain for anything cheap. He would order me around to do things he could easily do himself. It wasn’t until I saw him step out of a luxury car at my part-time job, surrounded by an entourage as he entered a high-end club, that I was certain our relationship was built on a foundation of lies. And that he was terrified I was after his money. Damian’s voice cut through my thoughts. “If you want money in the future, just ask me directly. Using your mother’s health as an excuse… aren’t you afraid of being struck by lightning?” His words were so absurd I almost laughed. I lifted my eyes and looked at him coldly. “If I ask you directly, will you give it to me?” He faltered, a flicker of hesitation in his eyes. But then, as if confirming his own suspicions, his expression turned to one of scorn. “Chloe was right. You’re only with me for my money.” He pulled out his phone and sent me a transfer for $1.88. The transaction note had two words: Gold Digger. In seven years together, I had never spent a single cent of his money. On holidays and anniversaries, I would buy him gifts. He accepted them without a second thought, but because he never got me anything, he would sarcastically ask if I thought it was a man’s God-given duty to buy presents for his girlfriend. This was the man who called me a gold digger. This was the billionaire heir. I thought of the gift list for Chloe. I thought of my mother, ravaged by illness, dying in pain because I couldn’t afford her treatment. I couldn’t stand to be in his presence for another second. As I stood up to leave, the door opened again. Chloe waltzed in, shrugging off her coat to reveal a sexy outfit underneath. The moment she saw me, she feigned a startled gasp and quickly put her coat back on. “Sophia? What are you doing here?” I turned to Damian. “If I remember correctly, this is the apartment we rent together. Not only did you give someone else the passcode, but you’re also letting them just walk in whenever they please?” At my words, Chloe put on a look of utter grievance and ran to Damian’s side, clutching his arm. “Damian, how can you call me ‘someone else’? I just forgot my keys and wanted to crash here for the night. Besides, if it weren’t for you agreeing to split the rent, Sophia would have to pay for this all by herself. If anything, she’s the one getting the better deal.” I wondered how many times she had said things like that behind my back. Damian, far from seeing anything wrong, seemed to think Chloe had a point. “Chloe’s right. I have my own place. Splitting the rent here is a bad deal for me. What’s the difference between this and paying for sex?” He pulled out his phone and held up his payment QR code to my face. “You don’t want people calling you a gold digger, do you? Then pay me back for my half of the rent for the past seven years.” 2 This small, 400-square-foot apartment was where Damian and I had started. After graduating, I stayed in the city to earn more money. All I could afford back then was a tiny, cramped room far from the city center. It was Damian who said it was too far, too inconvenient for him to visit. It was Damian who said the place wasn’t fit for human habitation, that the thought of being intimate with me there killed the mood. He was the one who suggested we rent a bigger place together. So, I took on the burden of the high rent, finding another part-time job to fill the time I saved on commuting. And now, not only did he want me to pay back his half of the rent for the past seven years, but he also felt like he’d been cheated, that he’d essentially paid to sleep with me. “Damian,” I asked, my voice trembling, “what have I been to you all these years?” The tears welling in my eyes were for myself. For the seven years of my youth wasted on a man like this. The hand holding the phone in front of me wavered for a second as a tear fell. He pursed his lips and pulled his hand back. “I was just joking. It’s not a big…” He didn’t finish. Chloe clicked her tongue, her face a mask of disdain. “And she says she’s not after your money. If it weren’t for you, Damian, could she afford a place like this? Damian, you should just end the lease next month. You can’t keep letting outsiders take advantage of you. Or, you could have Sophia sign an IOU. That would be fair.” If it weren’t illegal, I would have slapped both of them. But if I did, they would find a way to sue me for every penny I had. It was the favorite sick game of the rich and bored. Seven years. I had played along long enough. I was done. “I’m not signing an IOU. If you want the money, you can sue me. We’ll see if the court agrees with you. And I’m not staying in this apartment anymore. Since Miss Chloe wants to stay the night, she should remember to pay Damian her share of the rent. Otherwise, she’ll be a gold digger too.” I tried to leave, but Damian grabbed my arm. The playful expression was gone, replaced by an angry scowl. “Sophia, are you serious? Chloe and I were just kidding. I suggest you think carefully. If you leave here, you’ll never live in a place this nice again.” I was so wrong. So unbelievably wrong. I shouldn’t have let him talk me out of breaking up with him when I first found out who he really was. I shouldn’t have believed his talk of an equal relationship, one not ruled by money, every time he accused me of being a gold digger. I had only held onto the memory of him warming my cold feet with his stomach on the coldest winter nights, of his warm hands gently massaging my cramps away. We had been in love. We had been happy. But our love could never be tainted by money, not even a little. “Damian, let’s break up.” Only when those words left my mouth did the smirk finally leave his face, replaced by a flicker of panic. “Break up? Sophia, you’re breaking up with me? I don’t agree. What right do you have to dump me? There’s a limit to your tantrums.” He always put himself on a pedestal, as if being with me was a gift he was bestowing upon me. I just looked at him calmly. “I’m not throwing a tantrum. Since you’re so convinced I’m a gold digger, after your money, you should find someone from your own circle. Have a truly ‘equal’ relationship.” I didn’t want to say another word to him. I turned and went back to the bedroom to continue packing. About thirty seconds later, I heard him roar. “Sophia, don’t you regret this.” I ignored his threats, and I didn’t care that he slammed the door on his way out with Chloe. I had endured a love where I was treated like a thief for seven years. I didn’t blame Damian for not being able to save my mother. He had no obligation to lend me the money. But when I was at my most desperate, when I was on my knees with a signed IOU, begging him to save my mother, he had looked right through me, still thinking I was a gold digger. In that moment, my love for him, our seven years together, died. 3 In the middle of the night, I walked the empty streets with all my belongings. There was no place for me in this vast city, and no reason for me to stay. My mother was gone. My love was gone. Every second I stayed was just another second of pain. With nowhere else to go, I spent the night in a nearby hospital lobby. The first thing I did the next morning was quit my job. My supervisor was shocked when she received my resignation letter. “You’re quitting? Did Mr. Thorne approve this?” She added, “By the way, if you leave now, you won’t get much of a bonus this month. We’ll just deposit the rest of your salary into one card.” I frowned, the information overload making my head spin. What did she mean, one card? And what bonus? Most importantly, who was Mr. Thorne? Seeing my confusion, my supervisor looked just as baffled. “Aren’t you and Mr. Thorne dating? He specifically told finance to split your salary. Your base pay goes to you, and your bonuses and raises go to a separate card. He said you were saving money. I have to say, it’s rare to see someone so frugal, especially when you’re dating someone like Mr. Thorne.” So, all these years, I had only been receiving my starting salary. My repeated requests for a raise… it wasn’t because I wasn’t working hard enough. It was because Damian had been diverting my earnings into another account. When I went to finance for my pay stubs, I saw the bonus column. Two thousand dollars. The exact amount I had been short a few days ago. The day I had lost, trying to scrape together that final two thousand, was the day my mother died, waiting for a surgery she never got. The most laughable part? The total sum of the bonuses Damian had withheld from me over the past seven years was more than enough to cover my mother’s medical bills. I was such a fool. So focused on working hard, terrified of being fired and losing my only source of income. So completely and utterly fooled by Damian Thorne. To prove to him I wasn’t a gold digger, not only had I never spent his money, but I had let him steal my own hard-earned wages. And I had stayed in this relationship, full of lies and insults, for seven years. Just as I was about to confront Damian with the pay stubs, he sauntered in as if he owned the place. “Sophia, we have a little argument and you run away from home and quit your job? Your temper is getting worse and worse.” Chloe trailed behind him, a look of smug satisfaction on her face. She walked over, her voice dripping with false sympathy. “Sophia, you’re so ungrateful. You’re living off Damian’s money, in a house he pays for. Without him, could you even survive in this city?” Shameless people really can tell the most blatant lies without batting an eye. I was so angry I almost laughed. Before I could retort, Damian cut me off. “Chloe’s right. If it weren’t for me these past seven years, you would have starved to death. Let’s just say you were having a moment today. I’ll grant you a day off. I won’t even dock your pay for it.” 4 The more I saw of Damian’s true colors, the more I wondered how I could have been so blind for seven long years. People around us started to whisper and point. When Damian did nothing to stop them, their voices grew louder. “Mr. Thorne hid his identity because he didn’t want Sophia to feel insecure. He asked us all to keep it a secret. That just shows how much he cares about her.” “She’s living off his money, in a house he pays for, and she still throws tantrums at him.” “She wants to marry into wealth, but she doesn’t have what it takes. Without Mr. Thorne, she’s nothing.” The more people gossiped, the more smug Damian looked. Chloe kept fanning the flames, piling on baseless accusations. “Sophia, didn’t you even lie about your mother dying just to get two thousand dollars from Damian? You’re a gold digger who wants to play the victim. You can’t have it both ways.” Her words were like cold water on hot oil. The office erupted. Everyone looked at me with contempt, their insults flying. I looked at Damian. He still had that nonchalant expression, as if Chloe was just voicing his own unspoken grievances. I curled my lips into a hollow smile. Just as I was about to speak, Damian grabbed my arm, playing the magnanimous peacemaker. “Alright, alright, what’s past is past. It’s not like I’m short on cash. If you want money in the future, just ask me directly. No need to make up excuses.” His words only fueled the office’s indignation. Everyone seemed to think I was ungrateful. “Exactly! Mr. Thorne is so rich. If you want money, just ask.” “Cursing your own mother for money… that’s just inhuman.” “I can’t believe Sophia is that kind of person. I used to see how frugal she was and even brought her food sometimes.” “Someone like her… Mr. Thorne should just dump her and make sure she can’t survive in this city.” I saw the colleagues I had once been close to joining in, trampling on me. I thought about everything Damian had done. Suddenly, it all felt so meaningless. Even if I threw the pay stubs in his face right now, he and Chloe would just twist it into something else, and everyone would continue to humiliate me. I quietly put the pay stubs back in my pocket. I looked up at Damian and smiled. “We’ve been together for seven years. Why don’t you calculate exactly how much of your money I’ve spent? And if you can’t name a single cent that was spent on me, then perhaps you should pay back the hundreds of thousands you owe me. Otherwise, you, and this company, can expect to be sued.” A relationship supposedly free of money, yet constantly steeped in it. The billionaire heir, so generous in the eyes of others, had been living off the money I was saving for my mother’s life. Damian’s mind raced, and a flash of panic crossed his eyes. Of course, he couldn’t think of anything he had spent on me. This was a man who insisted we go Dutch on condoms. I had always thought it was just rich people being stingy, but now I realized it was because I wasn’t worth a single penny to him. He probably wanted to argue, but I didn’t want to hear it. As I turned to leave, Chloe suddenly pushed me. I lost my balance and fell to the floor. “Sophia, stop trying to change the subject. How could Damian possibly owe you money? If you dare to spread rumors, we’ll call the police and have you arrested. If you go to jail, who will take care of your mother, lying in a hospital bed waiting for you to earn money for her? You should apologize to Damian right now!” Chloe thought she could threaten me. But I had nothing left to lose. Just then, my supervisor, who had been passing by, saw Damian and squeezed through the crowd. She was holding an application form. “Mr. Thorne, Sophia’s mother passed away a few days ago. You still haven’t approved the employee bereavement fund payment. Also, I’ve withdrawn Sophia’s application for a two-thousand-dollar salary advance, as you instructed. It’s such a shame. I heard her mother was just two thousand dollars short of her surgery fee.”

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To give her childhood friend my spot at Cambridge, my wife destroyed my records. She deliberately falsified my visa application, getting me permanently blacklisted, then had the tendons in my hand severed and shipped me off to The Sterling Institute for Men. My mother-in-law, who had always doted on me, was full of praise for the decision. “It serves him right, the ungrateful leech. We fed him, clothed him, and what does he do? Tries to get a PhD abroad to find his birth parents. He wants to play the dutiful son for them? Who’s going to take care of me in my old age?” My wife, Lydia, just scoffed. “He’s just vain. The moment he found out I turned down the Cambridge offer for him, he had the nerve to give me the silent treatment and ask for a divorce. If he’d actually gone, he’d have been completely out of my control.” She added, “Being my husband means a life without worry, but he still wanted to steal Leo’s future. The Sterling Institute will teach him to be grateful for what he has.” One semester later, my wife went to the airport to pick up her childhood friend, home from his studies abroad. For the first time in months, she asked her assistant about me. “It’s been long enough. Has he learned his lesson? Tell him he can come home for the winter break.” What she didn’t know was that I had died on the very first day she sent me to that “institute.” 1 When I opened my eyes again, I was at the welcome-home party for Leo, my wife’s childhood friend. Looking for something to talk about, they started debating who among their old friends had ended up the most pathetic. Someone snickered. “Is there even a question? It’s gotta be Sean, right? Three years ago, he was so cocky about getting into Cambridge for his PhD. Total bust. Then he spent two years trying and failing again from home. Now he’s at that Sterling Institute place!” “Meanwhile, our boy Leo, the real genius, quietly comes back with a Cambridge doctorate. Companies are lining up to offer him seven-figure salaries. God, I’m so jealous!” The private room erupted in a chorus of laughter and mockery. These were the same people who once swore it was a travesty, that if it weren’t for Leo’s dirty tricks, the one studying abroad should have been me. My wife, Lydia, kept a placid expression, but her eyes kept darting toward the door. Her fingers drummed an impatient rhythm on the table as she asked her assistant, “Sean’s on winter break too, isn’t he? Hasn’t he been begging to come home?” The assistant lied through his teeth. “The Institute says Mr. Evans refuses to leave. He’s staying on campus voluntarily. And… he won’t stop cursing you and Mr. Vance.” The crease between Lydia’s brows deepened. “A whole semester, and he’s still not learned a thing.” “Tell him this,” she commanded. “If he calls me and apologizes, and swears he’ll never think about going abroad again, I can forgive and forget. He can come home for the holidays.” A bitter laugh escaped my spectral lips. She still had no idea. I was already dead. Before my PhD application this year, I had accidentally discovered that Lydia had sabotaged my last two attempts. I’d given her the silent treatment. But I never imagined she would stoop so low as to tamper with my visa documents, a final, catastrophic blow that got me banned for life. With my dream of finding my birth parents in England shattered, my heart died. I asked for a divorce. Her response was to have me thrown into the Sterling Institute, where I met my end. Only after death did I learn the full extent of her scheme. She was terrified that if I went abroad, the truth from three years ago would come out—the truth that Leo had stolen my academic record and my place at Cambridge. Back in the present, Leo lowered his head, revealing a faint scar on his forehead. He took Lydia’s hands in his, his voice laced with manufactured concern. “He must be furious you sent him to that place. Don’t be afraid, Lydia. I’ll protect you. I don’t care if he hits me.” Years ago, Leo and I had applied to the same university under different advisors. In the end, my chosen professor announced he was taking Leo instead. When I confronted Leo to ask what happened, he burst into tears and slammed his head against a pillar, threatening to die to prove his innocence. Everyone decided I was a sore loser who’d resorted to violence. They looked at me with disgust. Lydia’s eyes softened with pity for Leo. “He wouldn’t dare,” she sneered. “I’ll let him rot in that institute for the rest of his life.” The others chimed in with words of comfort. “Come on, Leo. If Lydia hadn’t been so worried Sean would hurt you back then, she never would have impulsively proposed to him. Don’t you worry. You’re the only one in her heart. She’ll always protect you.” A tremor went through my entire being. Back then, Lydia was the only one who said she believed me, who begged me not to be rash, who promised to stay by my side while I tried again. It was all a lie. She was just afraid I’d cause trouble for Leo. Remembering the incident, someone advised, “Lydia, Sean’s personality is just awful. He’s not good enough for you. Leo is a much better fit. You two were childhood sweethearts, and now he’s so successful. Don’t let this drag on.” Lydia gave a noncommittal answer. “Leo still has another semester. We’ll see.” She pulled out her phone. No missed calls. Her face darkened as she grilled her assistant. “Are you sure you passed on my message? Why hasn’t he called me yet?” As if on cue, her phone buzzed. She didn’t even look at the screen, just brought it to her ear, a triumphant smirk on her lips. “Sean, you finally—” But the voice on the other end spoke in crisp English. “Miss Hayes, is this correct? We have a medical fund payment to transfer to your account. Are you available to receive it?” Lydia was confused. “I’m sorry, who is this?” The voice on the other end explained gently. “Three years ago, you were suffering from end-stage kidney failure. Your husband, Mr. Sean Evans, bombarded our top specialist with 999 emails, begging him to perform your surgery. The specialist had already announced his retirement, but Mr. Evans flew here himself. He offered his entire life savings and knelt in the rain for a day and a night, pleading for your life.” “We had never witnessed such profound devotion. The specialist made an exception for you. He never accepted the payment, instead converting it into a medical fund in Mr. Evans’s name. The fund has now reached its maturity date, and we intended to return it to Mr. Evans, but we’ve been unable to contact him.” At the time, Lydia had collapsed suddenly. Her condition was critical. Even if a donor kidney was found, no surgeon in the country dared to operate. I, desperate, had bruised my forehead to the point of bleeding, begging that foreign specialist to save her. When Lydia finally came out of surgery, I wept with joy. I never could have imagined that just a few months later, I would face the greatest betrayal of my life. Everyone in the room was an elite professional; they all understood the English conversation. A long silence fell, finally broken by someone’s soft exclamation. “We all thought he’d just abandoned you to go traveling back then. I had no idea… He was so devoted. Without that doctor, you might not have made it off that operating table.” Lydia’s fingers clenched the phone so tightly her knuckles turned white. It took her a long moment to find her voice. When she did, it was ice. “I don’t need it. Donate it.” She hung up, a cold smile playing on her lips. “Sean’s just a martyr. Leo would never emotionally blackmail me like that.” “When I was dying from kidney failure, all he did was find a doctor. But Leo… Leo decided to risk his own life to save me!” “Leo’s health has been ruined ever since, but Sean? Selfish to the core. Threw a fit and demanded a divorce over something so trivial!” A bitter taste filled my mouth. I was the one who donated the kidney. I have a congenital bleeding disorder. To save her, I still went under the knife, knowing it could kill me. When I woke up, I found Lydia fussing over Leo, endlessly thanking him. No matter how I tried to explain, she thought I was just trying to steal his glory. Not long after, just because my initial PhD exam scores were higher than Leo’s, he threatened to throw himself off a bridge. “Sean, why am I always second best to you? You’re like a shadow hanging over my life! And now I have to watch you go off to Cambridge in this broken body? I’d rather be dead!” That single, pathetic plea was enough for Lydia to decide to help him steal my place. That was the beginning of it all. The atmosphere grew heavy. People raised their glasses, trying to lighten the mood. Someone pulled out their phone to scroll through short videos, forgetting to turn down the volume. A robotic voice blared out: “Breaking news! The ‘Sterling Institute for Men’ model is under fire for alleged abuse and criminal activity!” Clatter. Lydia’s fork fell to the floor.

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