Author: Momo Chan

My sister-in-law has terrible eyesight. Before she and my brother were married, she saw us walking together and, assuming I was his mistress, punched me in the face. My eyeball ruptured. I lost sight in one eye. But she just stuck out her tongue and giggled. “Oops, my vision’s blurry. I made a mistake! We’re about to be family, so you won’t hold it against me, right?” My mother and brother agreed. I shouldn’t make a big deal out of it and jeopardize my brother’s happiness. After the wedding, I was in the shower at home when she burst in with a kettle of boiling water and poured it over me. My body was covered in severe burns. She just cried and threw herself into my brother’s arms. “I just love you so much! I can’t stand the thought of any other woman being near you!” He was touched. He forgave her. My family left me in the hospital to fend for myself. I died from a systemic infection. When I opened my eyes again, I was back in the moments before my brother and I were about to leave the house. 1 “Lilian’s birthday is coming up. I need to get her a gift. Sis, come help me pick something out.” My brother, Mark, gave me a shove. The motion jolted me awake. The searing pain of boiling water felt so real it was as if it hadn’t faded. I immediately pushed up my sleeves, but my arms were smooth and unmarred. “What are you doing? Let’s go,” Mark said, his voice louder when I didn’t respond. I ignored him, glancing at my phone. The date confirmed it. I was reborn. “I can’t,” I said quickly, clutching my stomach and grimacing. “My stomach’s been killing me for days. I can’t go out.” “Always something with you,” my mother grumbled, emerging from the kitchen. “Don’t think I don’t know you’re faking it. Get up and go help your brother.” She grabbed my arm and yanked. Caught off guard, I fell to the floor. The fake pain became real. But this wasn’t the time to argue. I had to stay home. I had to protect my eyes. “Mom, why don’t you go with Mark? You have better taste than I do. If Lilian knew you picked out her gift, she’d be thrilled.” My mother rolled her eyes. “I’m busy. No time.” I knew what this was really about. Mark wanted me to come along so I’d be the one to pay. My mother knew it too, which is why she refused to go. I pulled out my phone and transferred him some money. “Here, this is from me. The seasons are changing; buy yourself some new clothes too.” The money improved her mood instantly. Mark, seeing he had his funding, no longer cared who went with him. “Fine. Mom, go change. Let’s get going.” As my mother headed to her bedroom, I followed. “Mom, wear this one,” I said, pulling a brightly colored dress from her closet. “It’s beautiful. Makes you look young and vibrant.” She put it on without a second thought. I watched them leave, breathing a sigh of relief. But a moment later, I slipped out of the house and followed them. They went straight to the mall, heading for the luxury boutiques on the ground floor. Mark clearly already knew what he wanted to buy. I watched from a distance, careful not to get too close. Soon, a familiar figure appeared. Mark’s girlfriend, Lilian, was walking arm-in-arm with her best friend, heading towards the same boutique. Her friend spotted him first. “Lilian, look! Isn’t that your boyfriend?” Lilian squinted. There was Mark, arm-in-arm with another woman, laughing and smiling. Because the woman’s hair was down, she couldn’t see her face clearly. Not that it mattered. It was a woman. That was all the proof she needed. “That bastard! He told me he was picking out a gift for me, but he’s fooling around with this slut! I’ll teach her a lesson!” Lilian rolled up her sleeves and stormed towards them. “MARK!” she screamed at their backs. My mother and Mark spun around at the sound of her voice. The next second, a fist slammed into my mother’s eye socket. “AGH!” my mother shrieked, stumbling back and clutching her face. “You’re disgusting!” Lilian spat. “You’ll stoop this low? An old hag? If you wanted to break up, you should’ve just said so!” Mark was stunned for a second, then rushed to help our mother. Seeing this, Lilian grew even more furious. “I’ll kill you, you old witch! You shameless crone!” “Are you insane?! This is my MOTHER!” Mark yelled. Lilian’s hand froze mid-air. “Wh-what?” My mother, cupping her eye, howled in pain. “My eye! It hurts so much! I can’t see! Son, my eye!” “Oh god, ma’am, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to! I thought you were—” Lilian reached for my mother, but after being punched, my mom was in no mood for apologies. She ignored Lilian completely, grabbing Mark’s arm. “Take me to the hospital! Son, Mom can’t see!” They rushed off to find a cab, not saying a single word to Lilian. But this time, Lilian knew she was in the wrong. And since she didn’t want to break up with him, she scrambled to follow them. I watched the whole chaotic scene, and I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. 2 In my past life, when I went to the mall with Mark to buy a gift for Lilian, we were just walking side-by-side. No physical contact at all. But when Lilian saw us, she charged over and punched me. Even after Mark explained we were siblings, she didn’t believe him. She beat me, kicked me, and refused to let me go to the hospital. By the time I finally got treatment, it was too late. My left eyeball had to be removed. I became a one-eyed woman. When I demanded she be held accountable, she was brazen. “I have bad eyesight! And you two were walking so close. Even if you’re siblings, you should know better.” She’d turned on me. “You only lost one eye. Are you going to ruin your brother’s entire life over it? What a cruel sister you are.” I was so furious I could have spit blood. I pulled out my phone to call the police, but my mother snatched it away and slapped me across the face. “You troublemaker! You only lost one eye, not both! Do you have to see your brother miserable to be happy?!” Losing an eye made me disabled. I lost a promotion at work. My boss, under the guise of “accommodating” me, moved me to a dead-end position where I did nothing but fetch coffee all day. Then, one day, Lilian came home from work and found only Mark there. She heard the sound of a shower running. She immediately assumed he’d brought a mistress home. She stormed into the kitchen, boiled a kettle of water, kicked open the bathroom door, and threw it at the figure inside without even looking. My skin peeled away from my body. She just cackled. “That’s what you get, you slut! Burn! Burn!” When the steam cleared and she saw it was me, she feigned shock. “What—it’s you, sis? Why are you showering in the middle of the day? Are you trying to seduce my husband?!” Pain was everywhere. I didn’t even care that I was naked. I ran out of the bathroom and called for an ambulance. I had third-degree burns all over my body and needed skin grafts. But Mark and my mother took all my savings and told the doctors, “We’re refusing treatment. Just let her die.” As I lay dying from a systemic infection, Lilian stood over my bed, looking down at me with contempt. “In your next life, stay away from other people’s husbands. Or you won’t even know how you died.” I died in agony. And even then, that despicable pair didn’t stop. At my funeral, they slandered my name, claiming I’d tried to seduce my own brother and that my death was divine retribution. My life was pain. My death brought no peace. Thank god for this second chance. This house was full of monsters, and this time, I wouldn’t spare a single one. 3 Mark called me on the way to the hospital, telling me to meet them there. When I arrived, the doctor was examining my mother. Lilian looked me up and down. “And you are?” In this life, I’d deliberately kept my distance from this toxic pair, giving her no reason to attack me. I smiled. “You must be Lilian. I’m Mark’s sister, Sarah. You two make a perfect couple.” My friendly tone disarmed her, and she said nothing more. Back at the mall, she had put her entire strength into that punch, as if trying to kill my mother. My mother’s eyeball had ruptured on impact, blood streaming from the corner of her eye. The doctor sighed. “The eyeball has to be removed. As soon as possible.” My mother gasped at the news, her one good eye rolling back in her head as she started to faint. I quickly stepped forward to support her. “Oh, my poor mother! Who did this to you? How will you live as a one-eyed woman?!” My wailing reminded my mother that she hadn’t yet dealt with the culprit. She lunged at Lilian, grabbing her hair and shaking her back and forth, slapping her repeatedly with her free hand. “You bitch! Give me back my eye! Give it back!” Lilian was a bully who only picked on the weak. A sneak attack was one thing, but in a real fight, she was no match for my mother. She was getting pummeled, screaming for Mark to save her. Mark didn’t know who to help, so he just tried to pull them apart. “Son, you have to break up with this little tramp! We can’t have this kind of woman in our family!” Lilian, her face tear-streaked, clung to Mark’s arm. “Honey, I know I was wrong! I only lost my mind because I love you so much!” She then looked at my mother. “Ma’am, I’ve decided to marry into your family to atone for what I’ve done. I’ll be your daughter-in-law. I’ll take care of you. I’ll be your eyes.” A flicker of satisfaction crossed Mark’s face. He was clearly pleased with this outcome. My mother, however, was not. “A shrew like you? Our family wouldn’t dare! Get out! I don’t want to see you!” she shrieked at Lilian. Then she turned to Mark. “If you stay with this woman, you can forget you have a mother!” Seeing them at a stalemate, I stepped in to mediate, ushering the couple outside the room. “Look,” I sighed, “Mom’s furious right now. She won’t listen to anything. You two wait out here for a bit. I’ll try to talk to her.” Lilian, still smarting from the beating, plopped down on a chair without a word. Mark immediately went to comfort her. Once they were gone, I went back into the room. Lilian had to marry into our family. The suffering I endured in my past life… this whole family needed a taste of it. I sat down beside my mother. “Mom, calm down. Don’t let this ruin your health. We can’t change what’s happened, so let’s think about the future.” Still fuming, she glared at me. “What are you getting at?” A little while later, I called the two of them back in. “I agree to let you marry my son,” my mother said to Lilian.

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The holiday rush was about to begin. Across the city, businesses were shutting down, sending their employees home for a well-deserved break. Not me. I wasn’t giving my crew a single day off. And I sure as hell wasn’t paying them. The workers, a rugged bunch of construction hands, had unfurled a banner and were now picketing below my office building. Their cries were raw, desperate. “Mr. Blackwood! Just pay us what you owe! Our wives and kids are counting on this money to live!” “Please, Mr. Blackwood! We don’t even have to go home for Christmas, just give us our wages! My son’s tuition is due! My family hasn’t had a decent meal in weeks!” I stood there, impeccably dressed in a bespoke designer suit, dangling the keys to my Mercedes from one hand and pinching my nose with the other, my face a mask of annoyance. “Wages? You want your wages? Is the job even finished? I should be charging you for the delays, and you have the nerve to ask me for money?” … My words were like a lit match to gasoline. The protest exploded. An old man, his face a roadmap of wrinkles, dropped to his knees right there on the pavement, his sobs tearing through the cold air. “Mr. Blackwood! We’re not educated men! We took this job because you paid well. My wife… she’s real sick. If I don’t pay the hospital, they’re gonna stop treating her… she’s gonna die!” Others chimed in, their voices a chorus of desperation. “He’s right, sir. We’re all in a tight spot. To a man like you, our pay is nothing, but without it, we’ll be out on the streets!” Sobbing, the old man began to crawl forward on his knees, reaching a grimy hand for the leg of my trousers. I sidestepped him with a look of pure disgust, my brow furrowed. “Did you wash your hands before trying to touch me? This suit is worth fifty grand. You think you can afford to replace it?” The old man froze, his hand hovering in mid-air. He rubbed his palms together nervously and hung his head. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Please, don’t mind an old fool like me. I’m begging you, just pay us our wages. Save my wife!” “If you pay us now, I’ll stay. I won’t go home for Christmas. I’ll keep working for you, I swear. Please, Mr. Blackwood, please!” With that, he began to slam his forehead against the concrete. Thump. Thump. Thump. A raw, red patch was already forming on his skin. I rolled my eyes, my voice dripping with scorn. “What do I care if your wife lives or dies? She’s not my wife. Don’t try to lay your guilt trip on me.” “I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: the project isn’t finished, and you’re not getting a single dime until it is!” The old man’s spine seemed to collapse. He crumpled to the ground, his body wracked with gut-wrenching sobs. The other workers stared, their faces a mixture of sorrow and burning resentment. A few looked so enraged they seemed on the verge of fainting. A crowd of onlookers had gathered, their eyes filled with a hatred so intense it felt like they wanted to tear me apart with their bare hands. “Julian Blackwood! What kind of monster are you? Everyone knows how long a project like this takes! How dare you withhold their money and keep them from their families at Christmas? That’s their blood and sweat you’re holding hostage!” A man in a sharp black suit pushed through the crowd, glaring at me. I recognized him instantly. Leo Vance. A slimy middleman for construction contracts. He was the one who’d recommended this crew of troublemakers in the first place. “Leo, if you’re so concerned, why don’t you front them the cash?” I said with a lazy shrug. “I’ll pay you back when the job’s done. Right now, I’m a little short.” Leo’s fists clenched so tight his knuckles cracked. He looked at me as if I were something he’d scraped off his shoe. “You’re short on cash? Don’t make me laugh! You just posted pictures of your new private jet on Instagram yesterday! Weren’t you about to take your girlfriend on a little trip to the Maldives?” “You could pay their wages ten times over with a fraction of that money!” The crowd roared in agreement. “What a scumbag! I can’t stand parasites like him. Someone put this guy on blast! He should be hung from a lamppost!” Leo helped the old man to his feet. “Sir, don’t you kneel to him. We kneel to God, we honor our ancestors, but we don’t kneel to a heartless leech like this!” “I’m seeing this through today,” Leo declared to the crowd. “I’m not going home until you get what you’re owed!” A wave of cheers went up. “Now there’s a man with a conscience!” “Expose this Julian Blackwood! Let’s see who’ll work with him after this! Ruin him!” The old man bowed gratefully to Leo, but when he looked back at me, his voice was still timid. “Thank you, Mr. Vance, you’re a good man. You got us this job, and now you’re helping us get paid… Mr. Blackwood, we’re honest folk. If you just pay us today, we’ll stay and finish the work. We promise!” The other workers echoed his plea. “Yeah! The job’s halfway done! We’ll see it through to the end!” All eyes were on me. I, however, was busy browsing charters for a luxury yacht in the Maldives and was getting irritated by the interruption. “Look what you’ve done! The yacht I wanted is sold out now! You’ve completely ruined my vacation mood!” “You’re all acting like it’s the end of the world over a little bit of cash. I told you, you’ll get paid when the job is done! If I pay you now, who’s going to cover my losses?” A collective gasp went through the crowd, their chests heaving in disbelief at my audacity. Leo couldn’t take it anymore. He lunged forward, grabbing my tie and pulling his fist back. “Blackwood! I’m asking you one last time. Are you going to pay these men or not?” I let out a short, sharp laugh. “And what if I don’t? Are they going to drop dead? Maybe you should all take a look in the mirror instead of blaming me for your problems!” “And you,” I sneered at Leo. “You want to hit me? That’s assault. I’m calling the cops!” That was the last straw for some of the workers up front. They spat at me, one after another. “You goddamn Scrooge! We worked day and night for you, rain or shine!” “You pushed us to work faster and faster, and what did you give us? Watery soup and bread for lunch, barely a scrap of meat! But we didn’t complain! We took the job, and we were determined to do it right!” “Some of the guys aggravated old injuries working for you, but they bit their tongues and kept at it! And now you won’t even pay us what we’ve earned?” The man’s voice cracked, thick with unshed tears. The onlookers were filming everything, a sea of dozens of smartphones pointed directly at me. “What a soulless bastard! Let’s make this go viral! This guy shouldn’t be allowed to leave this building until he pays up!” “I’ve already called the union and the Department of Labor! They’re on their way! Don’t let this parasite get away!” Faced with the mounting pressure, I remained as calm as ever. “A few of you just spat on my shoes. That’s going to cost you, say, ten grand for cleaning and damages. Pay up, and then we’ll talk.” “And you mentioned old injuries? Are you trying to scam me for worker’s comp? You’re all a bunch of scheming crooks. Good thing I saw this coming. You’re not getting a cent!” “You son of a…” Leo’s fist connected with my face. The world exploded in a flash of light as my glasses shattered, my vision blurring. The crowd cheered. “Yeah! That’s what he deserves! Give the scumbag what’s coming to him!” I clutched my eye, pointing a shaky finger at him. “You hit me! You’re paying for my pain and suffering! You’re not leaving here until you do!” Leo shook his wrist, his expression dark. “Fine. I’ll keep hitting you until you agree to pay their wages. Then we can talk about my compensation for having to deal with you.” He bit out each word. “Julian, just pay them! Forget the Maldives! I don’t want to go! I won’t be able to sleep at night if you don’t pay them!” A slender figure came running down from the building entrance. She was moving so fast in her high heels that she nearly stumbled. It was my girlfriend, Lyla. Also, my company’s CFO. Lyla threw herself in front of me, bowing deeply to the workers, apologizing over and over. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry. Julian has been under a lot of stress lately. He’s just confused. I promise, you will all be paid.” After humbling herself, she turned to me, her face streaked with tears. “Julian, you’ve made so much money. Isn’t it enough? This is their livelihood. Don’t do this!” “We don’t have to go to the Maldives, okay? And you don’t have to pay for the wedding, I don’t need it. Just… consider that money spent, and pay these men what they’re owed!” My eyes roamed over her. She had a fiery body and an innocent face, a combination that was even more heart-wrenching when she cried. She was my type, through and through. And now she was offering to forgo the wedding fund? That would save me a pretty penny. “It’s a thought, but…” I paused. “Your wedding fund won’t even cover their wages. Why don’t you use your dowry to pay them instead?” No one could believe I could be so utterly shameless. Lyla’s face went white. She swayed on her feet. Leo stepped in, pulling her behind him as he spat at me. “Have you no shame? What kind of man withholds wages and then asks his fiancée to bail him out with her own inheritance?” I shrugged. “I told you, the project isn’t done, so no pay. She’s the one who wants to pay them, so she can use her own money. Seems fair to me.” “But just so we’re clear,” I added, “if you pay them now, you still owe me the full dowry later. I’m not marrying a woman who throws her money away.” A bitter, broken laugh escaped Lyla’s lips, as if it took the last of her strength. “Fine. I’ll use my dowry.” “Christmas is almost here. These men have families waiting for this money. What does my inheritance matter compared to that?” There wasn’t a dry eye in the crowd. They were all moved by Lyla’s sacrifice, and their hatred for me deepened. “I think I’m gonna be sick. How did a monster like Julian land such an amazing woman? Did he save her life in a past existence?” “Lyla doesn’t have that much money, does she? If she gives it all away, how is she going to live? God, I wish that bastard would just drop dead!” The workers themselves were shaking their heads, tears in their eyes. “No, no, miss. We can’t take your money. We didn’t work for you.” “It was you who paid out of your own pocket to get us better food when the lunch catering was bad. We could never take your money.” But Lyla was resolute, shaking her head and trying to calm them with a soft voice. For a moment, I was lost in a memory. Starting the company had been hard. In the beginning, it was just me and Lyla. She was with me every step of the way as we grew, handling logistics, procurement, secretarial duties, finances… she did the work of four people. At one point, the stress landed her in the ICU. She had given me the best years of her life. She was just like this back then. Stubborn and determined. She’d said, “Julian, everything will be okay. Our company will grow, and we’ll help a lot of people make a good living.” I held her in my arms back then and swore I would give her the grandest wedding, that we would build our dream together. But things change. People change. I hardened my heart and looked away. Leo’s eyes were red with fury. “Julian, are you even a man? Hiding behind your fiancée’s inheritance? Pathetic!” I chuckled, my tone turning suggestive. “Whether I’m a man or not… my fiancée knows the answer to that quite well. As for her inheritance… we’re family. What’s mine is hers, what’s hers is mine.” My words made Leo laugh, a harsh, grating sound. “You twist everything! It’s disgusting! Lyla, aren’t you the CFO of his company? Since he won’t pay, you transfer the money from the company account. He just said it himself—you’re family, there’s no ‘yours’ or ‘mine’!” A spark of realization lit up the crowd. “That’s right! Take it from his company account! Why should you have to use your own money?” Lyla wiped her tears, her gaze filled with sorrow as she looked at me. “Julian, I don’t want to touch the company’s money… but I can’t stand by and watch you make this terrible mistake!” “These people have families to feed! This is all they have! With or without your approval, I’m going to make sure they get paid!” Her voice was soft, but it rang with unshakeable conviction. The crowd burst into applause. “Now that’s a real boss! How did this company end up with that scumbag Julian instead of her?” I just smiled faintly, making no move to stop her. Lyla, spurred on by the crowd’s encouragement, opened the company’s banking app to initiate the transfers. But as she scanned the first worker’s payment code, her eyes widened in disbelief. “Why is there no money in the account? The company’s been doing so well! And… the account is frozen!”

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The day I went into labor, the pain was unbearable, but I stopped the handmaiden from fetching my mother. “Don’t call her… Get the physician…” In my past life, my husband was at war, and my mother stayed with me during the difficult birth—missing my sister’s nameday. In her rage, my sister ran away, only to be captured, violated, and murdered. My mother retrieved her body with eerie calm, praising my newborn daughter instead. But at my daughter’s first-year feast, she poisoned us all. As I held my dying family, she hissed: “Every woman suffers childbirth. Are you special? If not for you, my Camila would be alive! You all deserve to die!” Now, reborn, I kept my mother away. This time, she’d attend my sister’s celebration. Just as relief flickered, agony tore through me—the midwife was forcing the half-born child back inside. … Wave after wave of agony crashed over me, and I couldn’t stifle my screams. The midwife wrenched my legs apart, her voice a harsh bark. “Push! Push! Haven’t you eaten? Push, I said!” But the baby wouldn’t budge. My handmaiden, Clara, knelt by the bed, gripping my hand, her voice choked with tears. “My lady… just hold on a little longer. I’ll send for your mother right now…” She started to run, but the midwife snatched her back, her forehead cracking against the bedframe. “Today is Lady Camila’s nameday! The mistress is with her. No one is to disturb them!” The midwife turned her scowl on me. “Just one more good push, my lady, and the babe will be born. Every woman goes through this. It’s a small matter. Must you trouble the mistress over nothing? Can’t you be more considerate?” The blinding pain and the midwife’s venomous tone were a brutal confirmation: I had been reborn. It was exactly the same as before. I was dying in childbirth. My husband, Lord Alistair, was far away, quelling rebellions in the borderlands. Fearing I would be lonely in our great house, he had asked my mother to stay with me. In my first life, Clara had wept hysterically, wanting to fetch my mother, only to be blocked by this very midwife, who insisted such a trivial thing as childbirth shouldn’t interrupt my mother’s time with my sister. Back then, I had pulled rank, invoking my title as the Marchioness, and forced Clara to bring my mother. But this time, I didn’t want my mother anywhere near me. Fighting through the pain, I pushed myself up. “Get… Physician Graham,” I gasped to Clara. Physician Graham was the man my husband had explicitly arranged to deliver our child before he left the capital. It was my mother who had insisted on using her own midwife, old Martha, claiming her experience was unmatched. It was a mistake I wouldn’t make twice. A flicker of panic crossed the midwife’s face. Before I could say more, she shoved me back down onto the bed, her hands pressing hard on my shoulders. She kicked Clara away as my loyal handmaiden tried to help me. “Physician Graham? What for? Every noble lady gives birth this way! What danger could there be? You’re just making a fuss!” the midwife spat. “Can’t even deliver a child, just causing trouble. What if word of this gets back to the Marquess? What if the Baron blames his wife and Lady Camila for this mess?” “Get back here! No one leaves this room today!” Clara crumpled to the floor, clutching her stomach in pain. Suddenly, two burly guards stormed in from outside and pinned her down, stopping her struggles. Only then did I realize the courtyard was filled with grim-faced men-at-arms. They hadn’t been there in my first life. With Clara subdued, the guards formed a human wall at the door. The midwife pried my legs apart again and gave the baby a violent tug. Blood instantly soaked the bedsheets. A tearing sensation, worse than anything I had ever imagined, consumed me. I screamed, but I was too weak to fight back. The midwife washed the blood from her hands with a look of revulsion. “Don’t waste your energy,” she snarled. “The mistress gave specific orders today. No matter what happens to you, she is not to be disturbed during Lady Camila’s celebration.” Her words were like a bucket of ice water poured over my head, chilling me to the bone. So, my mother had been reborn, too. This time, she knew I would be on the brink of death, yet she had chosen to abandon me without a second thought. In my first life, my mother had been with me. The midwife, though she disliked me, hadn’t dared to be so reckless. I had given birth to a healthy daughter, and we were both safe. But Camila, furious that our mother had missed her nameday, ran away and met her horrific end. My mother, consumed by guilt, buried Camila with all the honors befitting a Baron’s daughter. After the birth, she locked herself in Camila’s room for three days, refusing all food and drink. When she emerged, her face was a calm, placid mask. She would hold my daughter and tell everyone what a beauty she was, how much she looked like me. She even embroidered a pair of tiny shoes with protective sigils, saying they would keep my daughter safe and healthy. Then came the first-year ceremony. She poisoned the feast. The entire hall of guests perished. With my last breath, I tried to call for a physician for my daughter, but my mother snatched the child from my arms and smashed her against the stone floor. My husband, Alistair, tried to shield me and was cut down by her frenzied knife strikes. The poison spread through my veins, the agony stealing my voice. All I could do was watch as my husband’s bloody body collapsed on top of me. She grabbed me by the hair, dragging me before Camila’s memorial portrait, and slammed my head against the floor again and again. “If it weren’t for you, how could my Camila have died?” she shrieked. “You already stole her husband! Why couldn’t you just leave her alone? You must have been jealous! You had her killed, didn’t you!” No… I didn’t… It was Camila who had refused the marriage, forcing me to take her place and wed Alistair, the formidable Marquess of the North, a man rumored to be a ruthless killer. The metallic tang of blood filled my throat. I couldn’t speak, only shake my head desperately, tears streaming down my face. From the day I was born, my mother had sent me to be raised on a remote country estate. I was only brought back three years ago, for one purpose: to marry the man my sister feared. My mother always said, “You’re the older sister. You must give way to Camila.” Anything Camila wanted, if I had it, I gave it to her without a fight. Just days before I went into labor, I had even written to my husband, asking him to bring Camila a gown in the latest fashion when he returned. I didn’t know she would be taken by bandits. I was just so scared. I was losing so much blood, the pain was unbearable, and I was terrified I would die. Terrified I would never see the man I loved again. But no matter how hard I shook my head, my mother refused to believe me. “Camila died because of you. Now, all of you will join her in hell!” The pain consumed my consciousness, and with it, the last shred of hope I had for her love. But this was a new life, and I would not die here. The blood kept flowing, my eyelids growing heavy. Suddenly, I saw a familiar figure flash past the window. I gathered all my strength and screamed. “Physician Graham—!” My voice was ragged, but he heard it. He stopped, turning to look. The midwife scrambled across the room and slammed the window shut with a loud bang. She rushed back to me, stuffing a wet cloth into my mouth, her voice a low, vicious hiss. “Shut up! I told you to shut up!” Then she called out to the person outside. “Physician Graham, it’s just the usual noises of childbirth. Pay it no mind.” The physician hesitated for a moment. “Very well,” he said. “But if her ladyship needs anything, do not hesitate to call me.” He started to walk away. Clara, still held by the guards, screamed. “Physician Gra—” Before she could finish, the midwife slapped her across the face, hard. “You shut up too! The both of you, nothing but bad omens, always troubling the mistress!” A hand was clamped over Clara’s mouth, silencing her. Through the window, I watched Physician Graham’s figure recede into the distance. My heart sank with each step he took. Clara was dragged out of the room. I was left alone with Martha the midwife and the assistants she had brought with her. The bleeding worsened, but the pain began to dull, a terrifying numbness spreading through me. There was still no sign of the baby. My consciousness faded in and out. I was drowning in despair, unable to breathe. The midwife was ordering the assistants to change the bloody water, her curses unrelenting. “Such a nuisance! Who gives birth like you? I told you to push, are you deaf?” “Just get this baby out! I have to get back to serve Lady Camila at her celebration!” I couldn’t make a sound. Just as I thought I was going to die, a steady, authoritative voice came from outside. “What is the situation in there? Why are you all blocking the door?” My brother? A surge of hope filled me, but the midwife had gagged me and tied my wrists to the bedposts. Hearing my brother’s voice, the midwife glanced at the blood-soaked floor, her expression changing. “This late, and still no baby?” she muttered. “And all this blood… No, the young lord can’t see this. I’ll be ruined!” “That’s it! Push it back in! I have to push the baby back in!” She chanted under her breath, ordering an assistant to press on my stomach while she tried to force the baby’s head back into my womb. The pain was beyond words. I thrashed, slamming my elbows against the wooden headboard, praying my brother would hear and save me. The next moment, his cold, sharp voice cut through the air. “Are you going to move, or not?” “My sister is in labor! It’s been hours, and there’s been no word! Get out of my way! Whoever is in there, if you can’t handle this, get out and let Physician Graham in!” Since I had returned to my family’s home, my brother, Lord Tristan, was the only one who had ever shown me any kindness. The midwife suddenly stood up, hastily washing her bloody hands. She instructed the assistants holding me down, “Keep her still! Don’t let the young lord see anything! Get that baby back inside. I’ll handle him.” She left the room. The assistants she had tasked with her gruesome work knelt down, trembling, and continued their horrific efforts. Outside, I heard the midwife’s groveling voice. “My lord, it’s not that I won’t let the physician in. But he is a man. Where in the entire capital has a man ever delivered a noble lady’s child? What would become of her ladyship’s reputation?” “Childbirth is a swift affair. I understand you’re worried, my lord, but the baby will be here soon. I will ensure both mother and child are safe. You and the physician should go.” My brother’s voice was like ice. “I’ll give you one hour. If the child is not born in one hour, it will be your head.” A short while later, the door creaked open and then shut again. The midwife returned, a smug look on her face. She glanced down at me with disgust. An assistant looked at her worriedly. “Martha, what do we do? If the young lord finds out, he’ll have us all killed!” “What are you panicking for?” she snapped, kicking the girl. She turned back to me, her eyes glinting with malice, her voice a low whisper. “In that case, only the dead can keep secrets. Women die in childbirth all the time. As long as the baby is born, who cares if the mother lives or dies?” My heart plummeted into an abyss of terror. I couldn’t move my arms, so I kicked my feet against the bedframe with all my might. The midwife immediately pinned my legs down and gave the wavering assistant a sharp look. The girl was still hesitant. “But Martha… she’s the Marchioness…” “And you know she’s the Marchioness!” the midwife spat in her face. “If word of what happened today gets back to the Marquess, all of us will be executed, our families along with us! Even the Baron and his lady will be implicated!” The mention of Alistair’s ruthless reputation seemed to do the trick. The assistant’s face hardened with resolve. They converged on me. Some held my arms, while another pressed a cloth over my nose and mouth. I struggled wildly, trying to make any sound I could. My brother’s voice came from outside again. He was trying to force his way in, but the guards were blocking him. After a moment of confrontation, his voice rang out, cold and clear. “If I am not permitted to be present for my sister’s labor, then go and fetch my mother.” “What are you waiting for? Go and get her!” The midwife panicked. She let go of me and rushed outside, shouting, “No, my lord, you can’t! You can’t get the mistress!” “Today is Lady Camila’s nameday! The mistress said no one was to…” “Insolence!” My brother’s voice was a whip-crack, followed by the sharp sound of a slap. He must have struck the midwife. “Who do you think you are, telling me what to do? I call you Martha out of respect for your years of service to my mother, but you dare to put on airs with me?” Through a crack in the door, I saw the midwife kneeling on the ground, clutching her face, trembling. My brother ordered his attendant to fetch our mother. Physician Graham paced anxiously nearby, casting worried glances toward my room. No… don’t get her… I struggled, reaching out a hand, trying to stop him. I didn’t want my mother. I just wanted the physician. I just wanted to live. But my voice was too weak.

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It was New Year’s Eve. Maxwell Kane came downstairs, dressed impeccably. I was putting up festive decorations on the windows. He walked over to me. “I won’t be home for the New Year. Will you be alright on your own?” Before I could ask why, he delivered the blow. “She’s pregnant. The baby’s mine. I have to be with her.” My hand trembled. What I was holding slipped from my fingers and hit the floor. “Why tell me now, of all times?” His silence was the only answer I needed. Our marriage was over. My voice was a raw, broken thing. “Maxwell, let’s get a divorce.” “Ava, haven’t I been good to you? Why would you want a divorce?” 1 Even the calmest, most rational person would shatter hearing those words. I snatched the heavy crystal ashtray from the coffee table and hurled it at him. “Why!” “Why?!” “Maxwell, you’re with another woman, and you have the audacity to ask me why?” “Don’t you hear how ridiculous you sound?” Maxwell didn’t flinch. Glass sprayed across the floor. A dark bruise instantly blossomed on his forehead. It wasn’t enough. I threw books, magazines, anything I could get my hands on, pelting him with the debris of our life together. Maxwell stood there, still as a statue, not even a flicker of pain in his eyes. Finally, I smashed my favorite vase—the one holding the flowers I’d picked from the garden just this morning. Maxwell had always been a cold man. Before we married, this house was a sterile monument to minimalist design, all cool tones and sharp edges. It had no soul. Every week, I’d buy flowers to breathe some warmth into the space. After we married, I hired a designer, hand-picked every piece of furniture, every small object, to turn this house into a home. Our home. And now, I had destroyed it with my own hands. The wreckage mirrored the ruin inside me. Maxwell just watched me, his eyes strange, as if he were observing a madwoman. When I had nothing left to throw, I sank to the floor, covering my face, and sobbed. He walked over and stood above me. After a long moment, he lifted me from the floor, cleared a space on the sofa, and gently set me down. He knelt before me, a flicker of what looked like pain in his own eyes. He brushed a tear from my cheek with his thumb. “Ava, don’t do this… It hurts me to see you like this.” 2 I saw my reflection in his eyes—a tear-stained, pathetic mess. I froze. How had it come to this? I wiped my cheeks, trying to gather the scattered pieces of my composure. “Do you remember what you promised me?” I whispered. “You said we’d be together forever. Through thick and thin. Grow old together.” But Maxwell, we’ve only been married three years. And you’ve already betrayed me. You’ve betrayed our marriage. “How long have you been with her?” His gaze darted away, unable to meet mine. “Almost a year.” A whole year? They’d known each other that long? I dug my nails into my palm, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. “Why choose now to tell me? Why not just keep lying?” Maxwell sat down beside me in silence, pulling out a lighter and a cigarette. The smoke hazed the sharp lines of his face. “I didn’t want to lie to you.” I didn’t want to lie to you. What a noble, hollow sentiment. If he didn’t love me anymore, he could have just told me. We could have divorced. I’m not the kind of woman who clings. But he chose to cheat. “She’s young,” he said, his voice distant. “In her early twenties. So full of life. She’s not like you, Ava. She accepts the gifts I buy her, the money I give her. She’s clingy, affectionate.” As he spoke, a light I hadn’t seen in years ignited in his eyes, only to dim when he looked back at me. “But you… you’re none of those things, Ava. With you, everything feels… muted.” “I’m your husband. I’m supposed to be the closest person to you.” But Maxwell, this is who I am. Quiet. Reserved. My childhood, my family—it made me this way. I don’t know how to be overly affectionate. I don’t like to be a burden. I keep a careful ledger, even with the people I love most. I was trying to change. I was learning to lean on him. But where was he when I needed him? When I was lying in a hospital bed after the car crash, calling his phone over and over? “Every Monday, you make lasagna. Every Wednesday, it’s roast chicken. I’m tired of it, Ava. I’m so tired of this bland, predictable life.” I didn’t understand. The table was always full of dishes. Only one or two were my favorites; the rest were his. Why was he fixating on those two? “You’re like… plain porridge, Ava,” he said, the words twisting like a knife. “Nourishing, but tasteless. A shame to throw away. But she… she’s like candy. Sweet, addictive. I can’t get enough of her.” A small, fond smile touched his lips. “She’s so bold. She dragged me to an amusement park and insisted we go into the haunted house first. She stood there with her hands on her hips, claiming she wasn’t scared. The second we were inside, she was so terrified she leaped into my arms and wouldn’t let go.” “Her heart was pounding so fast against my chest. Thump, thump, thump. She wrapped her arms around my neck, her face flushed, and she kissed me. I should have pushed her away. But I didn’t…” “Stop it!” The pain was a numb, crushing weight. I couldn’t breathe. “Ava…” “Maxwell, I’m begging you. Please, just stop.” 3 The living room fell into a dead silence. Maxwell’s phone rang. He pulled it out, glanced at me, and answered it without a hint of shame. A young, sweet voice chirped from the speaker. “I’m hungry. When are you coming back?” “Hungry?” As Maxwell looked at me, I shot to my feet, my mind racing, frantically searching for something. “Mmm-hmm. Me and the baby are both hungry.” “I’ll be right there to feed you both.” A chill went through my entire body. I pressed my hands to my head, trying to think. What was I looking for? My phone. Yes, my phone. What if there was an important work message I’d missed? What if I’d missed an important call? “Be good now, baby. I’ll be there soon.” “I love you, hubby! Mwah!” I tried desperately to block out the sound, wishing I were deaf. But I wasn’t. Maxwell’s light, cheerful voice washed over me like a toxic wave. Only the sting of blood in my palm, where my nails had broken the skin, brought me back to myself. Maxwell had ended the call at some point and was now standing behind me. “She’s getting impatient. I should go.” “I’ll explain everything to my parents. If you don’t want to go to the family dinner tomorrow, you can stay here.” He paused. “Do you want me to call the housekeeper to stay with you over the holiday?” “No, that’s probably not a good idea. It’s New Year’s Eve. She should be with her family.” He spoke as if he were thinking aloud. So he did know it was New Year’s Eve. A time for family. What did that make me? A stranger? Someone completely irrelevant? I picked up the electric kettle and poured myself a glass of hot water. The warmth spreading down my throat did little to dispel the icy cold that had taken root in my soul. “Maxwell. Let’s get a divorce.” At the entryway, Maxwell paused, his hand on the doorknob. “I promised I would take care of you for the rest of your life, Ava. If you want, you can always be Mrs. Kane. We can go on just like before.” “And her?” “I’ll buy her a house. Settle her somewhere else. I won’t let her bother you.” 4 Maxwell left. I was alone in the wreckage of our living room. Before he walked out the door, he had come back to wipe away my tears. And with the same lips that had kissed me a thousand times, he’d said the words that broke me. “Ava, just be good. She won’t try to take anything from you.” I walked numbly up the stairs and into our bedroom. I stared at our wedding photo. The girl in the picture was smiling, her face a portrait of pure happiness. I turned and went into the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face. The woman in the mirror was a disaster. Red-rimmed eyes, tear-streaked cheeks. I slowly raised my hand. Ava, this isn’t you. The cold water was a shock. I told myself not to be sad. But how could I not be sad after so many years? I collapsed onto the bed, wishing it had all been a nightmare. But when I woke up, the memories were still there, sharp and vivid, a cruel reminder that it was all real. My phone vibrated. It was Maxwell’s mother. I ignored it, staring blankly at my laptop screen. A few moments later, it rang again. I hesitated, then answered. “Ava, darling, it’s New Year’s Eve. You and Maxwell, remember to come home early.” I held the phone, unsure how to respond. “Ava?” “Maxwell… did he not tell you anything?” “What’s wrong? Did you two have a fight? That boy isn’t even answering his phone.” “It’s nothing.” “Well, as long as everything’s alright. Just remember to come home early with Maxwell.” 5 Some things couldn’t be said over the phone. It was better to talk in person. But before I went to the Kane estate, I had to stop at a print shop. The usually bustling streets were eerily quiet for the holiday. I tried several shops, but they were all closed. The bitter wind whipped around me, and I pulled my coat tighter. Just as I was about to give up, I saw a small copy shop with its lights still on. Maybe, I thought, my luck wasn’t so bad after all. The owner asked what I needed to print, if I needed help. I managed a polite smile. “No, thank you.” He paused, probably wondering who on earth would be printing a divorce agreement on New Year’s Eve. He quickly bound the documents and handed them to me. “Happy New Year,” he said. My hand froze as I was about to pay. He was the first person to wish me a Happy New Year today. Not my family. Not even Maxwell. A sudden sting filled my eyes. “Happy New Year to you, too.” Outside the shop, I took a deep breath, tucked the documents into my bag, and called Maxwell. “Are you going to your parents’?” “He’s in the shower right now and can’t take your call,” a woman’s voice answered. “Is there a message I can pass along, Ms. Cole?” It wasn’t Maxwell. It was his little mistress. Her words were dripping with provocation. “Please inform Maxwell that his mother wants him to come home.” 6 When I arrived at the Kane estate, Maxwell’s mother was in the kitchen, preparing for dinner. I walked in with the gifts I’d brought. “Ava, dear, why are you alone? Where is that boy?” Faced with their questions, I was at a loss for words. “Maxwell is busy. He’ll be here later.” “So busy on New Year’s Eve? I told him to come home early.” His father grumbled. “I’m going to call him and see what’s so important.” I didn’t try to stop him. I didn’t care. I went into the kitchen to help. Maxwell’s parents had always been kind to me. It was a holiday. I didn’t want to ruin it for everyone. I decided I would talk about my situation with Maxwell another day. We worked all afternoon, but there was still no sign of Maxwell. As dusk fell, we had just sat down to eat when he finally arrived. But he wasn’t alone. “Mom, Dad, I’m home.” Maxwell held a gift in one hand. With the other, he was holding a young woman’s hand. He probably thought I had already told his parents everything. Just then, fireworks exploded outside the window, their colorful bursts lighting up the night sky. It felt like they were celebrating Maxwell and his new love. When the sound of the fireworks died down, Maxwell’s parents exchanged a look. They could see something was wrong. “What time is it? Do you know you’re supposed to be here?” his mother said, her eyes sweeping over the girl by his side. “And on such an important day, why would you bring a stranger home?” The girl seemed frightened and instinctively leaned closer to Maxwell. Maxwell frowned at me, as if he wished I weren’t there. A few seconds later, he smiled and held up their intertwined hands. “Mom, Dad, she’s not a stranger.” “Her name is Chloe. We’re together.”

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On the day of my son Murphy’s engagement party, I was the one paying for everything, the one who had organized every last detail. Yet when the time came for speeches, Murphy stood before the guests, beaming, with his arm around his future mother-in-law. “Mrs. Ingram is not just my fiancée’s mother,” he announced to the world. “She’s the woman I’ve always wished I could call ‘Mom.’” When it was my turn, Murphy’s tone soured. “And this is my mother,” he said with a dismissive wave. “No real talents to speak of. She’s a community organizer from our small town, an expert in… pig farming.” As I moved to take the stage for my scheduled speech, Murphy blocked my path. “You raise pigs for a living. What do you know about giving a speech? These are respectable people I’ve recently met. I’d rather not be embarrassed.” His contempt was a physical blow. I kept my voice steady, reminding him, “A son shouldn’t be ashamed of his mother. Don’t forget who I am.” Murphy was unfazed. “If I’d had a choice, I wouldn’t have been born from you.” In that moment, I gave up on him completely. I vanished from his world. He would search for me everywhere, only to find that I would never look at him again. Catherine Ingram, his fiancée’s mother, was on stage, delivering a long, self-important speech with no intention of stopping. Murphy did nothing to intervene. He paid no mind to me, his own mother, the one he’d just described as “always covered in pig slop.” Instead, his eyes were fixed on his “elegant and sophisticated” future mother-in-law, practically glowing with admiration. I reined in my temper. “She’s already three minutes over her time,” I reminded him. He didn’t even turn around. “You wouldn’t have anything good to say anyway. Just let it go. Let Mom speak.” Let Mom speak? I tried to ignore the sting of him calling another woman “Mom,” and reasoned with him patiently. “I am your mother. This is your engagement party. It wouldn’t be right if I didn’t say something.” It was as if he hadn’t heard me. His gaze remained locked on Catherine, filled with a worshipful awe. After a long moment, he finally drawled, “You’re a pig farmer. What do you know about giving a speech? Everyone here today is a respectable person I’ve just gotten to know. I’d rather not be embarrassed.” Embarrassed? Having me as a mother embarrassed him? A knot tightened in my chest. I caught the eye of the event coordinator. “Cut the microphone.” He understood immediately. Silence. Blessed silence. The sudden quiet in the hall registered with Murphy even before it did with Catherine. He spun around and roared at me. “Helen Archer! What do you think you’re doing?” He glared at me as if I were his mortal enemy. “What am I doing?” The disappointment was a chasm opening inside me. I took a breath, my voice turning cold. “I paid for this party. I planned every detail. I don’t think it’s unreasonable for me to have a chance to speak. And I think we should stick to the agreed-upon schedule.” “What schedule? What do you know about schedules?” he retorted. “You barely finished high school. Could you even string a proper sentence together up there?” He wasn’t wrong. I hadn’t had much of an education. I wasn’t worldly. But even if I could barely read, I had built a successful pig farming business from nothing. I had raised him, put him through university, and funded his first startup. When Catherine had kept raising the price of the dowry, making things difficult for him, I was the one who made sure he didn’t lose face. And now? He was ashamed that I raised pigs. Ashamed that I wasn’t “respectable.” I was done pretending. I laid the truth bare. “You and Catherine planned this whole thing, didn’t you?” “You never intended for me to go on that stage.” Murphy said nothing. He just met my gaze, his silence a confession, utterly fearless. In that instant, any desire I had to smooth things over for him vanished. I crushed the speech I had written in my hand. “A son shouldn’t be ashamed of his mother,” I said, my voice heavy. “Don’t forget who I am.” Murphy muttered under his breath, but I heard him clearly. “If I’d had a choice, I wouldn’t have been born from you.” The look on his face was serious. This wasn’t a tantrum. He meant it. He truly wanted to be rid of me. And so, as he stared at me in confusion, I decided to grant him his wish. I walked steadily to the center of the stage. And announced in a clear, ringing voice, “Today’s engagement ceremony is canceled.” As I began to gather the dowry money from the display table, it was Catherine who reacted first, not Murphy. “Helen, darling, there are so many people here. This really isn’t appropriate.” She smiled, a brittle, false thing, but her eyes were glued to the stacks of cash in my hands. When we had first discussed the engagement, Catherine had been difficult, insisting on a dowry of fifty thousand dollars, plus a suite of expensive jewelry. She wouldn’t budge. Murphy had just started his company. I had given him every penny I had. Before that, I’d bought him a car and sold property to help him. The family savings were completely gone. But when I tried to negotiate with Catherine, Murphy had agreed without a second thought. “Whatever you say,” he had said to her, not even glancing at me. The next morning, he showed up at my farm with a group of men. I hadn’t slept. I was in a daze. Before I could even understand what was happening, they were loading my pigs onto a truck, one by one. It wasn’t until they had taken half of the prize breeding stock I had invested so much in that I snapped back to reality. “Put them down! Put them all down!” I screamed, rushing forward to wrestle my farm’s future from the hands of strangers. I managed to grab one prize piglet, holding it tight in my arms, only for Murphy to rip it away from me himself. “If you don’t want to sell the pigs, fine. But you have twenty-four hours to come up with the dowry money.” His eyes were hard, his expression impatient. I was furious, but I tried to reason with him. “These breeding pigs are the future of this farm. Your mortgage payments depend on the profits from next year’s sales.” Murphy was silent. “When we agreed on the dowry,” I continued, “you didn’t even consult me. But since you agreed, I won’t argue. The simple fact is, we don’t have that kind of money right now. You know how important these pigs are. Why don’t we just postpone the wedding until next year, after the pigs have gone to market…” “Postpone what!” he interrupted, his patience gone. “A man’s word is his bond!” His tone was final, leaving no room for discussion. “I already promised Catherine!” “Besides, Catherine had a psychic do a reading. Our wedding date cannot be moved!” He treated her words as gospel, completely ignoring our financial reality. My heart turned to ice. I tried one last time. “Are you sure about this? Your mortgage payment depends on these pigs.” His expression didn’t change. “Catherine said that after we’re married, she’ll give us the dowry and her daughter’s inheritance. I can use that to pay the mortgage.” His naivete was almost laughable. “After you’re married,” I said with a bitter smile. “Did you not see the message your uncle sent you? I don’t think your Catherine is as simple as you believe.” Mentioning the information my friend Michael had dug up sent another shiver of fear through me. After Catherine had left our house, I’d had a bad feeling. I asked Michael to look into her. What he found was that Catherine was running a pyramid scheme. Her fancy titles and credentials were all things she’d bought for a small price. For years, she had been moving in different circles, building a respectable facade to run her shady dealings. To put it bluntly, she was a con artist. The moment I got the news, I sent it to Murphy. I thought it would be a wake-up call. Instead, it just made him angry with me. I stayed up all night, planning to talk to him in the morning. I never imagined he would think I was just an uncultured hick, making a fuss over nothing. “What do you know?” he’d sneered. “That’s called being savvy! Could you do what she does?” He worshipped her. And he ignored my desperate warnings, showing up at dawn to sell my pigs. In that moment, an immense weariness washed over me. There was nothing more to say. Fine. I had spent my life raising pigs, tied to this small piece of land. I had done it all for Murphy, to give him a better future, to not hold him back. Now, he was throwing it all away himself. In a way, it was a release for me, too. With that thought, I stepped aside and watched coldly as Murphy emptied my farm. The money from the sale was used to fund his and his fiancée, Chloe’s, wedding. It didn’t even cover half of my initial investment. And my farm was finished. The result? I wasn’t even allowed to give a speech at my son’s engagement party. A sour taste filled my mouth, but I spoke to the event coordinator with grim determination. “The money’s been spent, the guests are here. Let’s not waste it. Instead of an engagement party, let’s have a debt settlement ceremony.” The coordinator was stunned. “Ma’am, are you sure?” “I’m sure.” I was surprisingly calm. I met the shocked gazes of the crowd. “Since you’re all here, please do me the favor of witnessing the settlement of debts between myself and my son, Murphy.”

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1 On our anniversary, my wife—who never cooked—made a feast. With each bite, Lydia took notes, asking detailed questions. She left to take a call. I recognized Mark’s ringtone. Flipping through her notebook, I found: “Green beans undercooked—Mark won’t like them.” “Mushrooms too salty—use less for Mark.” “Lamb too gamey—try beef for Mark.” Lydia returned, furious. “Daniel, you’ve got no manners!” A sudden headache hit. My vision blurred. “Lydia, the beans… I think they’re raw—” She scribbled: “Cook longer for Mark.” Then she left. “You’re strong. Take medicine if sick.” Collapsing, I called her. “What’s the big deal?” she snapped. “Call me when you’re dead!” I never will. With my last strength, I dialed the ambulance. It turns out, sometimes an ambulance is more reliable than she is. The doctor said I had been poisoned by both the green beans and the mushrooms. I was lucky they brought me in when they did. A few more minutes, and I wouldn’t be lying safely in this hospital bed. As I lay there, an IV drip in my arm, my phone buzzed. I picked it up. It was Lydia. “Daniel, do you think stir-fried beef is better with onions or without?” Her question caught me off guard. I managed a weak, bitter smile. “Lydia, I’m in the hospital.” Her voice was impatient. “Okay, fine. Get them to prescribe you something.” Then, she immediately returned to her original question. “Just tell me, with onions or without?” Before I could answer, I heard a man’s voice in the background. “Lydia, darling, as long as you’re the one making it, I’ll love it either way.” The line went dead. I stared at the blank screen. Two messages popped up. “A last-minute project came up at the office. I have to work late. I’ll be back tomorrow.” “Since you’re at the hospital, just get some extra medicine. If you need money, I’ll transfer you some.” The words on the screen felt like a fist clenching around my heart. A last-minute project? Just get some extra medicine? Could a person be this utterly indifferent? This time, I simply put the phone down. I didn’t reply. I lay in the hospital bed, staring at the ceiling. The patient in the next bed was a little girl. Seeing me alone, she toddled over, propped her chin on my bed, and looked at me with wide, curious eyes. “Mister, why are you all by yourself?” “When my daddy was in the hospital, my mommy was always with him. Where’s your wife, mister?” I looked at the innocent little face. “My wife?” I said softly. “I don’t have a wife.” The little girl shot up, planting her hands on her hips, her face puffed up in indignation. “You’re lying! I saw! You have a picture of you and a pretty lady in your phone case! It’s your wedding picture!” “Grown-ups aren’t supposed to lie! Your nose will get super long!” “Mister, your wife is so pretty! Can I see the picture? Please?” Her words made me pause. In all our years together, the only photo Lydia and I had was the one tucked into my phone case. She always said she hated having her picture taken, so that single shot from our civil ceremony was all we had. 2 The little girl’s mother, sensing the awkwardness, quickly pulled her daughter back, offering me an apologetic smile. “Kids, you know how they are. Please don’t mind her.” I waved a hand, saying nothing. I picked up my phone and started scrolling aimlessly. The first thing I saw was a post from Mark, uploaded just a minute ago. It was a screenshot of Lydia’s social media feed, with the caption: “Loving you is the best choice I’ve ever made.” Seeing the post, I froze. My fingers trembling, I clicked on Lydia’s profile. As always, her posts were set to be visible for only three days. There was nothing there. An idea struck me. On a whim, I logged into my secondary, anonymous account and searched for her profile again. And there it was. I saw everything. Her latest post was from ten minutes ago. Two pictures. One was a selfie of her and Mark, their faces pressed together. The other was a photo of a table laden with food. It was the exact same meal she had made for me today. The caption read: “Happy Birthday. For you, I’d do anything.” And pinned to the top of her profile was a photo of her and Mark against a plain red background—a formal portrait, like one taken for official documents. It was dated three years ago. I pulled our own wedding photo from my phone case and compared them. The contrast was stark. In her photo with Mark, Lydia was smiling, her face soft and gentle. In ours, her expression was one of sheer annoyance. We had even argued that day. My hand shook as I scrolled through her feed, post after post. She updated it almost daily, sometimes several times a day. I clicked on one photo. Lydia and Mark, kissing under a sky full of fireworks. I remembered that night. It was New Year’s Eve. I had waited for her for hours in the town square, holding a bouquet of flowers, only to get a text saying she had to work late and that I should go to bed. We were in the same square that night. On one side, me, freezing in the cold, clutching flowers. On the other, them, wrapped in a passionate embrace. I clicked on another photo. Lydia and Mark, kissing at the very top of a Ferris wheel. I remembered that day, too. I had a high fever and had called her, begging her to bring me some medicine. It took her forever to answer. In the end, she brought me a box of antacids. Now I understood. She hadn’t bought them for me. She had just grabbed a box for me while buying them for Mark. My eyes blurring, I clicked on another. The two of them, taking Mark’s dog to the vet. I will never forget that day. My grandmother was on her deathbed. With her last breaths, she held my hand and said she wanted to see my wife one last time. I called Lydia again and again. When she finally answered, her voice was sharp with impatience. “I have a work emergency. I’m out of town on business. What do you want me to do? I can’t possibly make it back.” It turned out, when she took that call, she was at the pet hospital right across the street from the human one. As I scrolled through the endless feed, my heart grew colder and colder. All my trust, all my understanding, had been met with nothing but lies. A message from Mark popped up on my phone. “Hey Daniel, sorry, Lydia and I were just having dinner. Just remembered you went to the hospital. Lydia asked me to send you some money for medicine.” “She said if I didn’t, you’d probably throw a tantrum. Here, you should take this.” I stared at the ten-dollar transfer from Mark, a bitter smile twisting my lips. I hit ‘decline.’ “No thanks. You should keep it. Buy yourself a nice birthday present.” “After all, that’s about what you’re worth.” Less than a minute after I sent the message, my phone rang. It was Lydia. The second I answered, she started screaming. “Daniel, what is wrong with you?” 3 “It was Mark’s idea to send you money for medicine! If you’re not going to be grateful, fine, but what’s with the sarcastic attitude?” “I’m putting him on the phone right now, and you are going to apologize. It’s his birthday. Don’t you dare ruin it for him!” Listening to her accusations, I managed a weak laugh. “Lydia, why should I apologize?” “You think you’re in the right, Daniel?” “What has gotten into you? You know Mark grew up poor! How could you use money to mock him like that?” “Daniel, you are going to apologize to Mark. Right now!” When I remained silent, her voice grew hysterical. “Fine! You won’t apologize, is that it?” “Then you can forget about ever using a penny of my money again! You think you’re too good for the money Mark sent you?” “When you’ve decided to apologize to Mark, then I’ll consider forgiving you! You can just sit there and think about what you’ve done!” Before I could say another word, she hung up. Less than ten minutes later, I received notifications that all of my bank cards had been frozen by Lydia. I lay in the hospital bed, staring out the window, a bitter taste in my mouth. The little girl from the next bed looked at me, blinking her big eyes. “Mister, did you have a fight with the pretty lady?” she asked sympathetically. “Mister, what did you do wrong? Why is she so mean?” I smiled faintly. “Sometimes, a person can do nothing wrong, and in someone else’s eyes, they are still wrong.” The little girl looked at me, completely baffled. “I don’t get it.” “All I know is, my mommy says being happy and free is the most important thing!” Her words hit me like a physical blow. I stared at her, stunned. Yes. Being happy and free is the most important thing. I turned my head to look out the window again, my eyes filled with a profound loneliness. I must have been exhausted, because I drifted off to sleep. I was woken by a nurse telling me I needed to pay for my continued stay. I handed her my bank card, then remembered they had all been frozen. I forced a smile. “It’s alright. I’ll be checking out today.” “Hey, mister, you’re leaving already?” The little girl from the next bed bounced in, holding a small robot that looked strangely familiar. “Little one, where did you get that robot?” “This? Oh, a nice lady’s husband is in the hospital. She gave one to all of us kids so we would be quiet and not bother him.” “Do you like it, mister? If you really like it, you can have it!” “Hey, that’s weird. That nice lady looks a lot like the lady in your phone case…” With every word she spoke, my heart grew colder. When she said the last sentence, I felt my legs give way. I stumbled backward, collapsing onto the bed, my face pale. I knew that robot all too well. After Lydia and I got together, we had dedicated ourselves to developing a highly sensitive, specialized medical robot. It had been our shared dream for years. The project was born out of a terrible fear: I might carry a rare, genetic disease that ran in my family. Lydia, her eyes red with tears, had told me, “I have the company, you have the technical skill. Together, we’ll build a robot that can detect genetic diseases with perfect accuracy. You’re going to live a long, long life.” For years, I had poured everything I had into it. A year ago, I finally succeeded. The thing about this highly sensitive robot was that once it was activated, it could never be reset to its initial state. I had been waiting for the perfect opportunity to test the prototypes. There were only a handful of them. And now, Lydia had given them all away. Snapping back to reality, I grabbed my phone with a shaking hand and called her. It rang for a long time before she answered, her voice impatient. “What? You’ve thought it over? Are you calling to apologize?”

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A month ago, King Antonio brought a woman back from outside the palace walls and named her Duchess. The entire court was in an uproar. It was because Antonio had once declared, before all the ladies of the court, that his heart was mine alone. That he would never elevate another to the rank of Duchess. Now, he had broken that sacred vow with his own hands, and the entire court was eagerly awaiting my humiliation. They whispered that he had grown tired of me, that his love had withered on the vine. I traced the petals of a fading rose on the windowsill, a silent, bitter smile touching my lips. They were right. Antonio no longer loved me. Just yesterday, the affection points I had so carefully accumulated—only one point shy of success—had plummeted to zero overnight. All because when the new Duchess, Seraphina, came to pay her respects, I didn’t bid her rise quickly enough. Antonio had walked in on us. His voice was cold. “She is no threat to your position, Nadine. Can you not show the grace of a Queen and stop making things difficult for her?” The old me would have burst into tears, desperately trying to defend myself. But now, I simply nodded, my voice a placid stream. “The Duchess enjoys Your Majesty’s favor. Of course, I would not trouble her.” I immediately decreed that from this day forward, Duchess Seraphina was exempt from paying her respects at the Queen’s Wing. But Antonio’s face darkened further. “Nadine, don’t you see this will only make the court hate her?” I froze, my gaze falling upon the way his brow furrowed, his entire posture protective of her. My mind drifted. So he knew. He knew that to be singled out was to be hated, yet he had placed me on that glittering, lonely pedestal to bask in a warmth that was never truly mine. It didn’t matter now. I bowed my head in gentle submission. “You are right, Your Majesty. It is too great a distinction. Then perhaps the Duchess need not kneel when she comes to call.” The System had told me that if I was docile, obedient, and compliant with Antonio’s wishes, he would be pleased. And if he was pleased, the affection points might rise again. Instead, he flew into a rage, shattering several porcelain vases in the Queen’s Wing. He rounded on me, his voice a raw wound. “Nadine, aren’t you even jealous?” I looked at him, my expression one of pure, placid confusion. “Your Majesty, isn’t this what you’ve always wanted me to be?” Before the System had implanted its protocol, I had asked. “Do I have to go into dormancy? What if Antonio notices something is wrong?” The System’s voice was mechanical, devoid of emotion. “We will act in your stead, becoming the version of you that Antonio most desires. We will maintain this body’s normal functions.” “The version of me he most desires?” “Host, we have analyzed Antonio’s every word of anger towards you and designed a protocol based on that data. It will replace you, and you will become the perfect Queen in his eyes.” I let the fading rose fall from the windowsill, watching it disappear into the courtyard below. Yes. That was it. The things Antonio always raged about were always the same. I was too jealous, too childish, too clingy, too inconsiderate. I was not the ideal Queen he envisioned. Now, the affection points were at zero. The System was preparing to transport me to the next world. He was finally getting his wish. I wiped the last tear from my eye and spoke to the void in my mind. “Begin.” A wave of vertigo washed over me. As the world dissolved into darkness, I heard the System’s final report. [HOST CONSCIOUSNESS… DORMANCY SUCCESSFUL.] [PROTOCOL IMPLANTATION… SUCCESSFUL.] The dead of winter held the castle in its icy grip, blanketing everything in a pristine layer of white. At luncheon, my handmaiden, Bianca, burst into my chambers, her boots tracking snow across the marble floors and startling the doves in the courtyard. “Your Majesty, it’s terrible news! The Royal Physician just left the Sunstone Pavilion. The Duchess… she’s with child!” I set down my paintbrush, discarding the unfinished scroll. My voice was calm, a stark contrast to her panic. “Is that not wonderful news? What is the meaning of this hysteria?” Bianca stared, thinking I must have misheard, and repeated her words, her voice trembling. I unfurled a fresh sheet of parchment, picking up my brush once more. “This is excellent news. The matter of an heir has weighed heavily on me. The Duchess’s pregnancy is a great service to the kingdom. She must be rewarded handsomely. Let this be a reminder to the other ladies of the court to be more diligent in their service to the King.” I continued, my hand steady. “Go to the vaults. Select some of the finest treasures for the Duchess. And take her this painting I have just finished, titled ‘A Mother’s Blessing’.” Bianca gritted her teeth, her hand shaking as she retrieved the key to the treasury box. “Your Majesty, have you forgotten? She stole our choice cuts from the kitchens! She claimed the finest silk meant for you from the looms! She had one of our maids beaten outside the infirmary for collecting your herbal tonics! And the King turned a blind eye to it all, never once punishing her. If she was this brazen before, what will she be like with a royal heir in her belly? She will walk all over you! And you want to send her gifts?” How had I reacted to those incidents before? I had raged. I had pleaded for justice, demanded an explanation. And Antonio had told me I lacked the grace of a true queen. That they were trivial things, not worth disturbing him over. He had ordered me to copy holy scriptures, confined me to my rooms to reflect on my pettiness. I had seethed with injustice then. Now, I only felt that I had indeed been wrong. I sat up straight, a serene smile on my face as I looked at her. “Bianca, I am the Queen. My duty is to be a mother to this nation.” My voice was gentle, but firm. “While the Duchess may have been excessive in the past, I was also at fault. The King was right. As Queen, it is unseemly for me to be possessive, to harbor jealousy, to view the King as my property.” “I have changed. From now on, I will be a model of virtue. I will manage the court with diligence and support my King.” Shortly after Bianca delivered the gifts, an invitation arrived from the Duchess. “Your Majesty,” Bianca said, her voice tight, “the King is so overjoyed about the pregnancy that he is holding a celebratory banquet for the Duchess at the Sunstone Pavilion. Are… are we to attend?” I folded the invitation, my eyes glancing at the new gown the royal weavers had just delivered. “I am the Queen. Of course, I will attend. And I will do so with the utmost grace and decorum.” Bianca understood. She helped me into my most regal gown and dressed my hair in an elaborate style, crowned with the Queen’s coronet. The Sunstone Pavilion was aglow, vibrant with lanterns and alive with music. It was a scene of pure celebration. Bianca’s hand tightened on my arm as she escorted me into the main hall. There, on the dais, in the seat that should have been mine—the one beside the King—sat Duchess Seraphina. Tonight, Antonio was dressed in deep violet, the stark lines of his brow and the sharp angle of his jaw casting him in a severe, handsome light. It only served to make the pregnant Duchess beside him appear all the more delicate and alluring. Bianca’s grip on my arm was a vice, her whisper a furious hiss. “The audacity! She’s using that babe in her belly to usurp your rightful place!” The eyes of every lady in the hall were on me, their faces painted with morbid curiosity. On the dais, Antonio’s gaze flickered towards me, a subtle, challenging glint in his eyes, as if he were waiting for me to make a scene. The Duchess’s smile was pure provocation; she looked as if she was already planning my punishment for disrupting her celebration. I offered a serene smile and a perfect curtsy to the King. “Forgive my tardiness, Your Majesty. I shall drink a cup in penance.” Antonio froze, the wine goblet halfway to his lips. Beside him, Seraphina’s triumphant smirk faltered. She clutched her handkerchief, glancing at Antonio before letting out a tinkling, false laugh. “Oh, my dear Queen, you’ve arrived! Look at this foolish head of mine, pregnancy has made me so forgetful. I seem to have taken your seat. I should be punished, truly.” She cooed, leaning against Antonio’s arm, her eyes flashing with triumph. Antonio looked at me, his expression cold, before wrapping an arm around the Duchess’s waist. “You are the center of tonight’s celebration. It is only right that you sit here.” From across the hall, I could feel the waves of pity washing over me from the other courtiers. For the King to so blatantly disregard decorum for his new favorite… The old me would have turned this hall into a battlefield, a storm of tears and accusations that would have left no one unscathed and stripped Antonio of his dignity. But now… I was to be a model Queen. “You jest, dear Duchess,” I said, my voice carrying clearly through the hall. “I am not so petty.” I continued, my gaze sweeping over the room before landing back on them. “The King is right. You are the star of this evening. Carrying the royal heir is a monumental achievement. Not only should you occupy the seat of honor, but you must also accept these humble gifts from me.” At my signal, servants began to enter in a procession, each carrying a priceless treasure. A root of Kingsfoil, a thousand years old. A string of glowing Lumina Pearls. A vial of powdered Griffin’s Horn. … Each item was from my personal, most cherished collection. Gasps rippled through the banquet hall. There was shock, confusion, and raw envy in their eyes. Even the Duchess was stunned, her hand flying to her mouth. “Your Majesty… all of this… for me?” Antonio’s brow furrowed, his voice a low growl. “Nadine, this is not the time or place for games.” I smiled gently and found an empty seat further down the table. “The Duchess jests. My gifts are quite real. I have been remiss in showing you favor in the past, sister. Now that you have brought such joy to the court, it is only right you be rewarded.” My words left the entire assembly baffled. Tonight, there was no rivalry, no hidden daggers. Only a Queen’s heartfelt blessing for the Duchess. I was the mother of the nation, the Queen that Antonio wanted. Poised, dignified, a paragon of royal virtue. This time, surely, he would be pleased. But he only stared at me, his face an unreadable mask of black anger, before ordering the Duchess to accept the gifts. He gave me one last, deep, inscrutable look before turning away.

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My mother was a Spirit Binder. For decades, she performed the Soul-Binding Ritual—a sacred duty of our bloodline to guide the restless dead to the afterlife. The more souls she bound, the more her power grew. But on my twenty-first birthday, she passed the duty to me. “Lilith,” she said, her voice thin as autumn leaves, “you must complete fifty bindings to fully awaken your gift. It is our family’s legacy, and now, it is your burden to bear.” I never got the chance to begin… until the night a wealthy widow, her face a mask of desperation, burst into our quiet chapel, clutching a heavy sack of gold. “Bind my sons’ souls,” she begged, her voice cracking. “I’ll pay any price.” Her name was Lady Beatrice, and she looked at me with the frantic eyes of a cornered animal. My mother had warned me about clients like her—the ones whose grief was so sharp it could be used as a weapon. “My sons… they were twins,” she sobbed, spilling gold sovereigns onto the cold stone floor. “They died together in a boating accident. Their souls must cross over together, or they will be lost.” Two at once? A dual binding was exceedingly rare and drained an immense amount of a Binder’s energy. Even my mother had only ever attempted it once. For a novice like me, it was not just difficult; it was dangerous. Lady Beatrice saw my hesitation and pressed forward. “If you will perform the Ritual for both my sons at once, I will give you one hundred gold sovereigns!” At that price, any further hesitation would be an insult. This sum was a small fortune. It could pay for the finest physicians for my ailing mother, and what was left would be enough for us to return to our ancestral home in Avalor, not in shame, but in triumph. I nodded decisively. “Very well. But you must return home at once. Keep the bodies warm with heated stones and blankets. They must not grow cold and rigid, or it will hinder the Ritual.” She nodded eagerly and hurried away. I turned and went to find my mother in the back garden. “Mother,” I said, my voice firm. “That childhood betrothal you arranged for me… please, cancel it.” My mother had been a Binder herself, the most renowned in our lineage, having guided forty-nine souls. She only began after my father’s death, but some years ago, a mysterious illness had forced her to pass the chapel to me. She understood immediately. After a long silence, she spoke. “Lilith, the day I gave you this chapel, that betrothal was already void. Your path is not meant to be tied to an ordinary man. Since you have chosen this life, it is time I told you the most important secret of our craft.” My heart hammered against my ribs. My mother was beautiful, and I had inherited her looks. When she performed the Rituals, she would never leave me alone, always taking me with her. I had waited outside the door for all forty-nine of her bindings. It was a somber, sacred affair, yet each time she emerged, her face would be flushed, her skin glistening as if from some great exertion. But what I remembered most was the gold. As a child, I constantly pestered her, “What is the Ritual really like?” She never told me. As I grew older, I began to understand the solemnity of it, but the true secret remained veiled. Now, she leaned in close, her whisper brushing against my ear as she explained everything. I felt my face flush with heat, but as her words sank in, a chill prickled my scalp. “What do you mean, ‘unused Life Essence’?” I asked. She only shook her head. “Remember my warnings. As for the rest… you will understand after you bind these two brothers. I have never attempted a dual binding, Lilith. You must be careful.” Her words haunted me all day. But when night fell, I packed my ritual bag and set out for the manor at the foot of the hills, ready to face my first Soul-Binding. The wind howled through the trees, lending the estate a sinister air, but I, who had grown up surrounded by the quiet hum of death, was not afraid. I took a small wax effigy from my bag and tossed it onto the path. It instantly burst into smokeless, silent flame, and the oppressive wind died with it. By the time the ashes settled, I had changed into my ritual robes: a gown of scarlet silk, a paper-thin coronet of silver leaves in my hair, and the red embroidered slippers my mother had worn for her own bindings. A sheer red veil, folded by my mother’s own hands, obscured my face. It was not a true marriage, but the spirits demanded respect. A few steps later, I saw Lady Beatrice waiting. Grief had hollowed her out; she looked like a wraith herself, her red-rimmed eyes wide in the gloom. She rushed to greet me, her hand trembling as it took mine. “So beautiful, Miss Lilith. My sons… they will be pleased. To have such a lovely Binder guide them in their final moments… it is a blessing.” “I am here to do my duty,” I replied, my smile hidden by the veil. For that much gold, and for my first binding, I would not fail. She had prepared a rooster to stand in for the brothers in the initial rites, a common folk tradition, but I stopped her. “That won’t be necessary. I brought my own.” I asked for the brothers’ full names and birthdates, writing each on a slip of parchment. From my bag, I produced a pair of red silk effigies, no larger than my hand. I affixed the parchments to their heads. Instantly, the dolls seemed to gain a life of their own, moving under my guidance as I led them through the ceremonial vows to the elements and the spirits. Lady Beatrice and her household watched, their mouths agape. Finally, it was time for the final stage—the Energy Exchange. She led me to a heavy oak door. I knew that inside lay the bodies of the two cousins. My mother once told me that the best subjects for the Ritual were those who died suddenly. Their bodies were often pristine, and if they were handsome in life, it made the grim work more bearable. She had seen horrors: crushed skulls, bloated tongues from hangings, bodies disemboweled. I wondered what I would find. I pushed the door open. Inside, two figures lay on a large bed, dressed in funeral silks. Before leaving, Lady Beatrice clutched my arm, tears welling in her eyes. “Lilith, you have sworn the vows. You are a daughter to me now, so I will be honest. The one with the mole by his lip, Silas, he is my true son. The other, Elias, is my nephew, but I raised him as my own. I love them both equally. If you can ensure their souls pass smoothly… I will add another fifty gold sovereigns to your payment.” My eyes widened. I nodded eagerly. “Of course. They are my charges now. I will devote all my energy to them. In fact, for a bonus of that size, I will perform a Ritual so powerful it will shake the very foundations of this house.” The sheer avarice in my voice seemed to startle her. She took a step back, her expression shifting. After a moment, she bit her lip, a flicker of something hard and desperate in her eyes. “Fine. Five hundred sovereigns in total. But you must see it through. I will check in the morning. If you have not completed the exchange… there will be consequences.” “Naturally,” I said with a dazzling smile. “My family has been doing this for generations. I would never cheat the spirits.” “Good. Then leave your bag with me. You Binders carry all sorts of charms. I wouldn’t want anything interfering with my sons.” Without a word, I handed her the satchel. “As you wish, my lady.” She beamed, satisfied, and left, closing the door behind her. Finally alone, I approached the bed. The two bodies lay side by side. I was, I admit, a little disappointed. They looked perfectly normal, no signs of a struggle, no discoloration of the lips to suggest poison. It was an unnervingly peaceful scene. Just then, a sharp rap came at the door. “Miss Lilith!” Lady Beatrice’s voice was sharp, urgent. “The hour is late! Please, begin the consummation of the Ritual! Do not miss the auspicious moment!” “It has already begun!” I called back, my voice laced with a feigned breathlessness. “Rest assured, your sons will have a… perfect crossing.” The silence outside told me she was satisfied. I began to remove my heavy outer robes, my eyes finally taking in the faces of the two men. The one on the left was plain, with the mole she’d mentioned. That was Silas, her son. But the one on the right… he made me pause. He was breathtaking. A strong nose, deep-set eyes, and lips that seemed sculpted for sin. My heart gave a little flutter. This must be the nephew, Elias. His body was surrounded by heated stones. On a whim, I pushed one aside and slid my hand beneath the silk of his tunic. The muscles of his stomach were firm, solid… the texture was shockingly good. My fingers traveled lower… I snatched my hand back as if burned, my face flushing hot. A wicked thought took hold. I would start with Elias. “My handsome charge,” I whispered, leaning close. “We begin with you. I am Lilith. We have sworn the vows, and now… we must complete the exchange.” I was not gentle as I stripped away his funeral silks. The body that was revealed was a work of art. As my gaze drifted down, I drew a sharp breath, my eyes widening. Because I had instructed her to keep the bodies warm, Elias’s body was… reacting. The physical proof was stark and undeniable. I swallowed hard and climbed onto the bed, straddling him. A thrill shot through me. No one knew how long I had waited for this day, to finally understand my mother’s secrets, to feel the power of the “unused Life Essence.” I positioned myself, ready. But nothing happened. I waited. The only sound was my own breathing. I grew anxious. Had I missed a step in the preparations? Just as I began to despair, I felt it. A subtle shift in the texture of his skin beneath me. And then, a sensation… something warm and electric sliding into my very core. A soft gasp escaped my lips. At the same moment, the window creaked open. I thought it was Lady Beatrice, spying, but when I looked up, my heart began to pound in my chest. The true Ritual had begun.

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During the third month of my cold war with the award-winning actress Evelyn Shaw, we were invited onto a variety show. The segment required us to call the person we loved most, live on air. Spitefully, she dialed her male assistant, Leo. The internet went wild with speculation. I, on the other hand, dialed an unknown number, a line that connected to my mother in another world. The internet responded with a tidal wave of ridicule. Evelyn scoffed, her voice dripping with disdain. “You’re an orphan with no one to lean on. What mother? Are you so desperate to save face that you’d hire someone to impersonate her? How pathetic can you get?” I didn’t answer. As Evelyn’s mocking expression twisted into a cruel smile, I rushed to the window and leaped. The System had told me. All I had to do was die in this world. And I could finally go home to my mother. 1 “You’re an orphan with no one to lean on. What mother? Are you so desperate to save face that you’d hire someone to impersonate her? How pathetic can you get?” [Host, as soon as your physical body in this world perishes, you can return home.] The two voices echoed in my mind simultaneously. I stared blankly ahead, lost for a moment. Evelyn, however, thought my gaze was fixed on her and let out another derisive snort. “What’s wrong? Can’t even find one person you love? What a pathetic existence.” Her words triggered a wave of laughter from the studio audience. But I couldn’t laugh. She was right. Since arriving in this world and accepting the mission to win her affection, my entire universe had revolved around her. To complete the mission as quickly as possible and return home to cure my mother, I hadn’t bothered making any friends. In this strange, alien world, she was all I had. The tabloids had even dubbed me “the world’s most stubborn limpet,” a shadow that couldn’t be shaken off. In the years when our love was at its peak, she loved making promises. “Adrian,” she’d whisper, “in this world, I am your family. I will be with you for a lifetime. We’ll never be apart.” I believed her. Until the first time I walked in on her kissing Leo. She’d explained it away with impatience, her eyes, however, were fixed on Leo, dancing with amusement. “It was just a dare from a game. Can you stop being so paranoid? There’s nothing going on between us. Don’t be so disgusting.” We had a massive fight. Then, three months ago, I walked in on them again, emerging from a bathroom together, clad only in bathrobes. I couldn’t lie to myself anymore. This time, she didn’t even bother with an explanation. Instead, she deliberately wrapped her arm around Leo. “Fight, fight, fight, that’s all you ever do! Why can’t you be more like Leo? Oh, right, I forgot. You have no parents, no one ever taught you any grace. I suppose it’s only natural you have no manners.” In that moment, I finally realized. This precarious relationship of ours was over. And this mission… I couldn’t do it anymore. Fortunately, the System didn’t force me to complete it. It readily agreed to cancel the mission, even offering me a supplemental reward as a gesture of goodwill, promising to uphold its original pledge to cure my mother. With that, my last hesitation vanished. Snapping back to the present, I lowered my gaze and bit my lip. The System’s voice echoed in my mind once more. [Host, after the call, your mother asked me to tell you that she misses you very much.] A sour sting pricked my nose, and my eyes quickly reddened. Yes. I did have someone I loved. I had my mother. And I missed her so, so much. “I want… to go home,” I murmured, my voice catching in my throat. Evelyn flinched, a flicker of pity in her eyes, but her words were still sharp. “Adrian, your acting skills are really getting better and better…” I pretended not to hear her. I stood up and walked toward the window. Amidst the panicked shouts of the crew and the crash of falling camera equipment, I didn’t hesitate. I leaped. Evelyn, I don’t want you anymore. These five years of love, I don’t want them either. I just want to go home. 2 I awoke to the sharp, sterile scent of antiseptic. Before I could even rejoice, a familiar voice dragged my thoughts back to reality. “Adrian, you’re going to jump off a building and threaten me just because I called Leo? All I did was say a few words to you! Weren’t you the one who started the fight?” “If you really wanted to die, you should have picked a higher floor! A three-story fall won’t kill you. What’s with all the drama?” Evelyn’s eyes were shot with red, her face a mask of fury. But beneath the anger, I saw a glint of genuine concern. I stared at her, stunned into silence. Before I could speak, the door opened and Leo rushed in, interrupting us. “Adrian, I’m so sorry. Evelyn was just trying to make you jealous, that’s the only reason she called me. I’ll disappear. I won’t bother you two again.” With that, he glanced at Evelyn, his eyes full of a reluctant, pained struggle, and turned to leave. He’d only taken a few steps before Evelyn grabbed his arm, pulling him back. Her expression was grim. “It’s not your fault. Why are you leaving? I’ll have Adrian clear your name.” She turned back to me, her gaze turning to ice. “Adrian, because your little stunt was broadcast live, Leo is now being crucified online. You have to make a statement and explain things. He’s innocent. He shouldn’t be dragged into your mess.” “Because of you, he’s being called a homewrecker everywhere he goes. You need to apologize to him. You were in the wrong this time, and I can’t just let it slide.” I almost wanted to laugh. Because I was with Evelyn, I had been cyberbullied more times than I could count. No matter how many times I moved, her fans always found me. It was only later that I discovered Leo had infiltrated one of her fan groups and leaked my address, my phone number, my private information. When Evelyn found out, all she did was frown. “Leo wouldn’t do something like that. As my assistant, he knows how the industry works. Someone must have been impersonating him.” Later, when I was cast in a role opposite her, I was viciously attacked online for “riding her coattails.” I couldn’t take it anymore. I gathered evidence and went to the police. When the investigation led back to Leo, Evelyn had simply looked at me with disappointment, taken Leo by the arm, and led him away. “Infamy is still a form of fame, Adrian. This is the fastest way for you to get noticed, to stand on equal footing with me. I’ll help clean up your image later. Leo was just trying to help.” That was the first time the thought of escape had truly entered my mind. But because I loved her, I chose to stay. Reality was now showing me just how laughable that choice had been. Was Leo innocent? No. But none of it mattered anymore. My thoughts cleared. I tossed my phone to Evelyn, my face a calm, empty slate. “Fine. I’m sorry. Post whatever clarification you want.” “When this is over,” I added, my voice flat, “I’m going home.” 3 The System seemed to sense my resolve. [Soon, Host. Very soon.] Evelyn stared at me for a moment, then expertly unlocked my phone and quickly typed out a statement. When she handed it back, her gaze was complicated. “Adrian, after all these years, your lock screen is still that photo.” I didn’t speak, just glanced at the screen. It was a picture of the two of us holding a birthday cake, our smiles brilliant, our eyes full of love. I felt a pang of nostalgia. Back then, she wasn’t a famous actress. She was a nobody, running from audition to audition, working as a stand-in. When my birthday finally came around, she had scraped together all her money to buy me an exquisitely beautiful, expensive cake. “Adrian,” she had said, “thank you for staying with me. I’ll buy you the most beautiful, most expensive cake every year from now on. We have to stay together forever.” Later, when she became famous, she kept her promise. But somewhere along the way, the cakes and gifts had turned cold and sharp. The sweetness was gone, replaced by a lingering, endless bitterness. I spent a week in the hospital bed, and as I recovered, I found myself scouting for a more suitable place to die. The day I was discharged, Evelyn came to pick me up. The hospital entrance was swarmed with her fans. The moment they saw me, the curses began. “Just die, Adrian! Why didn’t you die when you jumped!” “You manipulative, attention-seeking leech! You’re disgusting!” The words went in one ear and out the other. After all these years, I was used to it. Even at industry parties, when I took drinks for her and was groped by lecherous producers, I could maintain my composure, down the alcohol with a practiced smile, and say, “My conscience is clear. I’m not afraid of rumors.” Evelyn took it as truth. She thought I was thick-skinned, good-natured, with a high tolerance for pain. She praised my broad-mindedness more than once. But the truth was, I was simply numb from the pain, so hurt that my face had forgotten how to show it. After finally shaking off the fans, Evelyn’s car pulled up in front of me. The passenger window rolled down, revealing Leo’s triumphant face. “Adrian, get in, quick! Your hate mob is going to be back any second. Don’t let us get caught in the crossfire, haha.” He was teasing, but Evelyn didn’t seem to mind. She smiled at him, an unconscious softness in her eyes. The passenger seat, once exclusively mine, had long since become his. My heart still ached. But it didn’t matter. I took two steps back, hailed a taxi, and went back to the small apartment I was renting alone. 4 I sold most of my possessions and donated the money to a charity for children in remote mountain regions. I had the shards of porcelain ready. Just as I was about to drag one across my wrist, the doorbell rang. Outside stood a grim-faced Evelyn, with Leo right behind her, holding a cake box. “Adrian, are you determined to fight with me? I really don’t understand what you’re upset about this time!” she exclaimed, then sighed, her gaze heavy as she looked at me. It was a look of weary resignation. “Fine. It’s your birthday today. I won’t hold it against you. I brought you a cake. I came specifically to celebrate with you.” She gestured at Leo. “You should thank him for the cake. If he didn’t know the owner of the bakery, we wouldn’t have been able to get one made on such short notice.” In years past, I would have already pulled her into my arms. But not today. I didn’t want to. Leo handed me the cake and wished me a happy birthday. My eyes, however, were fixed on the familiar necklace around his neck. As if sensing my gaze, Leo touched it self-consciously. “Evelyn gave it to me. I saw it and said I liked it, so she just gave it to me.” Evelyn nodded, walking past me into the apartment as if she owned the place. “It’s just a necklace. It was old anyway. It was just sitting around gathering dust. If Leo likes it, he can have it. I never really liked it that much to begin with.” My body went rigid. I stared, frozen. That necklace… I had given it to her when we first got together. It had cost over two thousand, which wasn’t much, but it was all the money I had in the world. It was a matching couple’s set. “I’ll treasure it for the rest of my life!” she had declared. “It’s a testament to our love, it has special meaning! If I ever lose it, you can punish me by never letting me see you again, okay?” Every year on her birthday, she had loved wearing it with me. Last year, she stopped. I hadn’t asked why. I just never imagined I would see it on Leo. Evelyn. This time, your words are finally coming true.

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Max Croft’s secretary was pregnant. At our ninth-anniversary dinner party, he brought her home. His tone was casual, almost breezy, as he gave me my instructions. “The young lady is a bit particular about her food. From now on, her meals—three a day—must never be the same. And she’s a timid thing, needs someone with her to sleep. Pack up your things and move into the guest room.” I didn’t say a word. I simply picked up the suitcase I had already packed and walked calmly toward the front door. The butler tried to stop me, but Max let out a cold, mocking laugh. “Let her have her little tantrum. She’ll come crawling back in three days, you’ll see.” Laughter erupted around the room. Right there, in front of me, they placed a ten-million-dollar bet. A bet that I wouldn’t last the night before I came back like a pathetic lapdog, weeping and begging Max to let me in. But they didn’t know. The Maybach, arranged by him, was already waiting for me outside. This time, I was really leaving. 1 As I was about to step out the main door of the villa, Max’s voice stopped me. “Claire, leave your jade bracelet. Chloe has been having nightmares lately.” The bracelet was the last thing my parents left me. He met my reddened eyes with an icy indifference. “Name your price.” How much was a nine-year marriage, one spent trampled in the mud, worth? I couldn’t be bothered to calculate. I only knew the last time I refused to give my ski goggles to Chloe on the slopes, I’d been stripped naked and left stranded on the mountainside. I took off the bracelet and slipped it onto Chloe’s wrist. “I wish the child in your belly a safe and peaceful life,” I said to her. At this blessing, Max, for the first time, offered me a sliver of an olive branch. “Claire, if you’re obedient enough, my child can be your child.” The words had barely left his mouth when the bracelet on Chloe’s wrist suddenly slipped off and shattered on the floor. Seeing a shard graze Chloe’s leg, Max swept her up in his arms, princess-style, and roared for the butler to call the family doctor. The sight of his frantic panic made the guests look at me with amused, pitying smiles. It wasn’t just them who found the scene amusing. I found it laughable myself. Last night, when I had a heart attack, Max was on his way out to watch a meteor shower with Chloe. Even as I foamed at the mouth and collapsed, he had stepped over my body without a flicker of emotion. The last thing I heard before losing consciousness was his instruction to the butler. “Have the entire living room disinfected. Chloe is coming home tomorrow, and I won’t have her smelling any foul odors.” My grip tightened on the handle of my suitcase. I turned to leave, but he grabbed my wrist, his face a mask of cold fury. “Apologize.” “What—?” Before I could finish, he had dragged me to my knees at Chloe’s feet. My knees scraped against the broken jade, staining the white marble with blood. The sight of the bloodstain made his eyes flicker with disgust as he released my hand. “You deliberately dropped Chloe’s bracelet and injured her. Don’t you think you owe her an apology?” Since marrying Max, the words “I’m sorry” had become my mantra. The soup is too bland, I’m sorry. I worried you were drunk and texted you, I’m sorry for disturbing you. I accidentally saw Chloe’s text asking you to a hotel, I’m so, so sorry for invading your privacy… I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood, then straightened up with grim resignation. I bowed a full ninety degrees to Chloe, apologizing three times, before turning my deadened eyes to Max. “Is that enough?” I asked softly. His chest heaved as he stared at the blood on my lips. “Claire, your grandfather isn’t here to protect you now. Who are you putting on this pathetic, disgusting act for?” Before I could reply, the family doctor rushed in. Pushing me aside like a piece of furniture, Max led the doctor to Chloe. While his world revolved entirely around her, I walked swiftly out the door. The moment I stepped out of the villa, I heard it. Beep-beep! Two sharp honks. Seeing the silver car outside the iron gates, I quickened my pace. But before the gates could open, two bodyguards appeared, forcibly dragging me back into the house. In the study, Max had me tied up. He ordered a needle, as thick as a child’s arm, to be plunged into my vein. Through the half-open door, I heard the doctor’s worried voice. “Mr. Croft, Mrs. Croft and Miss Chloe both have the rare RH-negative blood type, but Mrs. Croft has a history of heart disease. Forcing a blood transfusion could trigger acute shock. I really think we should go to a hospital to treat Miss Chloe’s anemia…” “Don’t try to persuade me,” Max’s voice was like ice. “Your only job is to get Chloe healthy. I’ll handle the rest.” Hearing his approaching footsteps, I slowly closed my eyes. “Does it hurt?” His voice, for once, held a hint of comfort. “Just bear with it. It’ll be over soon.” I turned my head away, unwilling to waste another word on him. After they had drawn 800cc of my blood, my lips had turned a deathly shade of purple. Just then, Chloe, lying in the master bedroom, let out a soft cough. At the sound, Max immediately stopped the doctor from removing the needle and demanded he draw double the amount. The doctor, sweating profusely, told Max that if they continued, I would very likely die. After a two-second pause, Max said only this: “Chloe is pregnant. The pregnant woman comes first.” “But—” I cut the doctor off. “Do it. Just let me leave when you’re finished.” Staring at my bloodless face, Max’s eyes flashed with cold anger. He opened his mouth, about to demand if I was done with my games, if I was really going to run away over such a trivial matter. But a delicate, honeyed voice called out, “Max, darling~” And just like that, he was gone. Two days later, I woke up in a hospital, having been admitted for shock. The first thing I saw was Max, sitting by my bed, reviewing documents. Our eyes met and held for a long, silent moment. He emotionlessly brought a bowl of congee over, gesturing as if to feed me. I shook my head. “I can do it myself.” He watched quietly as I finished half the bowl. “Are you feeling unwell anywhere?” he asked. I answered with a question of my own. “Could you please pass me my phone?” Perhaps my tone was too distant. Max froze for several seconds before contacting the butler to have my phone brought over. He noticed the numerous missed calls on the screen. “Who’s been calling?” he asked, his tone sharp. He’d never been one for so many questions. A flicker of annoyance crossed my face. “Someone you don’t know,” I said simply. He unbuttoned the top button of his shirt, looking down at me with cold eyes. “Claire, how long are you going to keep up this spoiled princess act? You think you can push your luck with me?” In the past, when he was angry, I would have immediately started examining my own faults while trying to soothe him. But now, I just pointed to his vibrating phone. “Chloe’s looking for you,” I said, my face a blank slate. A smile touched his lips. As was his habit, he turned away from me and stepped into the hospital corridor to take the call. The moment he left, my phone rang. I answered. Before I could speak, the anxious voice on the other end burst out. “You said you were coming to find me. Claire, did you change your mind?” “No, I didn’t. I just ran into some… trouble.” “Trouble? What happened to you? No, this won’t do. I have to come back myself—” I cut off his frantic stream of words, my gaze dropping. “Just give me a few more days.” Max returned to the room just as I ended the call. He noticed the faint smile playing on my lips, a smile he hadn’t seen in a long, long time. An unfamiliar tightness clenched in his chest. But he had just promised Chloe he would be right back to sing a lullaby to her and the baby. So, he didn’t have time to ask who I was talking to. It was probably that cousin who visited me often. After all, since marrying him, my social circle had dwindled to just female relatives. Picking up his files, Max spoke without turning back. “Claire, something’s come up at the office. I’ll be back tomorrow.” Tomorrow, the day after, and the day after that, he didn’t appear. But thanks to our mutual friends, a steady stream of videos of him and Chloe found their way to me. He took her to banquets, to dinner parties. He was like a young man in the throes of first love, eagerly introducing her to everyone he knew. The day I was discharged, Max posted a nine-photo collage on his social media. At sunset, he stood in a romantic hot air balloon, cradling Chloe’s blushing face and kissing her deeply. I posted a comment: [Wishing you two a beautiful baby and a lifetime of happiness.] Ten minutes later, my phone rang. It was Max. I didn’t answer. Half an hour later, after completing my discharge paperwork alone, I saw Max and Chloe at the entrance of the obstetrics and gynecology department. I overheard a young nurse at the front desk cooing at Chloe. “Mrs. Croft, your husband dotes on you so much. He accompanies you to every single appointment. During the ultrasound, he was so worried the gel would be too cold for you that he insisted on warming it in his hands first before letting us use it.” The other pregnant women around them looked on with undisguised envy. I subconsciously touched my abdomen. I remembered a time when there was a child there. The day I had the car accident, the day I miscarried from blood loss, I had tearfully video-called Max. What I saw instead was a naked Chloe. “Mrs. Croft,” she had purred, “Mr. Croft lost a game to me, so he’s currently tied to the bed receiving his punishment. Was there something you needed him for?” I didn’t say a word. I just hung up. Less than a minute later, Max himself called back. He had his arm around a teary-eyed, wronged-looking Chloe as he berated me for being petty and stupid. He had also said: “A useless idiot like you who can’t even hold onto her own child… I really wonder what you’re good for. Claire, you might as well have just been hit by a truck and died.” Shaking myself from the memory, I was about to take a detour when Max walked over, his face cold. “What are you doing just standing there like an idiot?” I lowered my eyes, instinctively explaining, “I wasn’t following you. It was just a coincidence. I’m sorry to have disturbed you.” “Wait.” As Max frowned and called out, a flash of jealousy crossed Chloe’s eyes. She tightened her grip on his arm and smiled at me. “Mrs. Croft, I’m so grateful to you for the blood transfusion. If it weren’t for you, I’d still be feeling dizzy. Max, darling, please, can’t you let Mrs. Croft come home with us? Please?” Max adoringly tapped her nose. “You’re the kindest pregnant woman in the world, my love. Whatever you say, goes.” Since I was planning to go back for my luggage anyway, I didn’t refuse Chloe’s “kindness.” Inside the spacious black car, just as Chloe had intended, I quickly spotted a pair of not-quite-dry lace panties wedged in the seat cushions. “Oh my! How did… how did this end up in the car? Max, darling, didn’t you tell me you got rid of it?” Chloe bit her lip and buried herself in his chest, playfully swatting at him. Max chuckled, apologizing profusely, all while subtly observing my reaction. When he saw that I wasn’t angry at all, the strange tightness he’d felt in the hospital room returned with a vengeance. “Claire, you’ve been staring at your phone since you got in the car.” His tone was sharp, laced with something like jealousy. “Are you chatting with your cousin, or someone else… someone I don’t know?” Having finished booking my flight, I turned off the screen. “Just browsing the news.” My answer only seemed to deepen the displeasure on his face. He snatched the phone from my hand. “What’s the password?” he demanded. “My birthday.” Nine years of marriage. Such a simple six-digit number. He tried again and again until the phone locked itself, but he never managed to open it. The rest of the drive was silent. As soon as the car stopped, Max, his face etched with concern, helped a morning-sick Chloe into the master bedroom. Then he ordered the cook to prepare all of Chloe’s favorite foods. As he came downstairs, he saw my lonely figure heading towards the guest room. After a moment’s thought, he said to the cook, “Make a couple of the Mrs.’s usual dishes as well. And set the table for three.” In the guest room, I opened my suitcase to find that all my clothes had been cut to shreds. Fortunately, the passports and documents tucked away in the inner layer were unharmed. Just as I gathered my documents, ready to leave, Chloe blocked the doorway. She held a black bottle, her eyes raking over me with contempt. “Claire, I didn’t realize you had such a high tolerance for humiliation. I’ve moved into your house, made you the laughingstock of our entire social circle, and you’re still clinging to the Croft family like a leech.” “But I guess it makes sense. That old hag of a grandmother of yours finally kicked the bucket last month. Without her backing you, you have no choice but to cling to Max like he’s your last lifeline, right?” At this, she seemed to recall something amusing. “Claire, do you know why Max refused to fly you in the helicopter to see your grandmother on her deathbed? Because he had promised to take me to see the sunset at the beach that day. See this photo on my lock screen? It was taken right then.” Smack. I slapped the phone from her hand and, losing all restraint, lunged for her throat. The bottle slipped from her grasp, and the acrid smell of gasoline filled the air. In the struggle, Chloe frantically managed to ignite the spilled fuel. Thick smoke billowed, and flames roared to life. Having just been discharged from the hospital, I was quickly overcome, my body going limp as I collapsed to the floor. That’s when I heard Max’s voice. “Claire!” It was followed by the frantic shouts of the staff. “Sir, it’s too dangerous! You can’t go in! Wait for security to bring the fire extinguishers!” “Get out of my way! Claire is still in there!” He ignored the danger and rushed into the burning room. He just hadn’t expected Chloe to be in there as well. “Max, darling, save—” Chloe didn’t need to finish. Without a moment’s hesitation, Max swept her into his arms, didn’t spare me a single glance, and turned to leave. Half an hour later, after calming Chloe down, Max searched the entire villa. He couldn’t find me anywhere. In the sterile light of the late-night airport, I mailed a package and, coughing, boarded a flight to London. Just before takeoff, I received a text from him: [I don’t have time to play hide-and-seek. Chloe has a check-up at 10 am tomorrow. You be there too, for a lung examination.] I didn’t reply. I removed the SIM card and turned off the phone. Max Croft, from this day forward, we will never meet again.

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