Author: Momo Chan

I was painfully average. Gervase, the boy next door, was the kind of genius that comes along once in a generation. My entire life, I had struggled to breathe in the thin air left in the wake of his brilliance. To claw my way into a top-tier university, I waged a nightly war against textbooks, my eyes perpetually bloodshot. And him? He was busy skipping class to romance the most popular girl in school, yet the best universities were still fighting to offer him a spot. I chained myself to the library, a tireless monk in pursuit of a coveted spot in the graduate program, only to miss it by a single, heart-breaking point. Meanwhile, he’d casually flip through his notes the night before an exam and effortlessly snag the top rank in his department. Whenever my parents reached the peak of their disappointment with me, they’d twist my ear and spit the words I came to dread: “For God’s sake, just look at Gervase! How can one person be so brilliant, and another… so useless?” My early life was a long, suffocating eclipse, completely blacked out by Gervase’s shadow. The moment I graduated, I fled my hometown like a bird breaking free from its cage. For three whole years, no matter how hysterical my parents got on the phone, I never once set foot on the path back home. On New Year’s Eve of the fourth year, I was heading back to my small apartment, plastic bags cutting into my wrists, ready to spend another holiday alone. But there, leaning against my door, was the familiar, infuriating silhouette of Gervase. He looked thinner, his frame casting a long shadow in the hallway light. His eyes found mine. “Why aren’t you home?” he asked, his voice soft. A storm of emotions churned inside me, but I said nothing. A flicker of disappointment crossed his face, his gaze darkening for a second. “You should go back,” he continued. “Your parents miss you. And… so do I.” My entire life, I had existed in Gervase’s orbit. He was a star, destined to burn bright wherever he went. He’d breezed through the best high school, skipped a grade, and had elite universities begging for him. Even when he ditched class for a girl, teachers would just chuckle and call him ‘a character.’ And me? I was the good girl. I kept my hair brutally short, sacrificed countless nights to my studies, and fought with every ounce of my being just to scrape by the entrance requirements for a decent university. By the time I started college, Gervase was already a junior. He was already attending high-profile conferences with his professors; I’d even catch glimpses of him on TV, looking confident and impossibly brilliant. Each time, it was a cue for my parents’ tirade. “How can you be so different from Gervase?” “I’ve never lost to his father at anything, but then I had you. You’re my one great shame.” “You make it so I can’t even look his mother in the eye.” Those words were daggers, and they had been piercing my heart for eighteen years. The day I left for college, I packed my bags in silence, hauled my heavy suitcase to the station, and boarded the train without a single look back. After that, news of Gervase always reached me through the filter of my parents’ scolding. I knew which famous mentors were vying for him, how many groundbreaking papers he’d published, and even that he’d aced his finals after a single night of casual reading. When I’d hear these things, I’d be hunched over a textbook in the library, its pages a dense forest of my desperate notes. I’d let out a bitter laugh, silence my phone, and flip it face down, trying to drown myself in the ocean of knowledge, to numb the ache. In my senior year, fate played another one of its cruel jokes. I missed securing my spot in the graduate program by one person. That night, my mother’s sanity finally snapped. She screamed at me over the phone for what felt like an eternity. When I hung up, she sent a torrent of venomous voicemails. “How did I give birth to such a moron! You’re worthless! My life is a tragedy because of you!” Listening to her wails, a final chill settled deep in my bones. After that night, I blocked her number, found a job in a city a thousand miles from home, and for three years, I never went back. Not even for the holidays. Every New Year’s Eve, I’d lock myself in my apartment, put on a classic movie, and sip a Coke, wondering if the countdown special on TV would be any better this year. My only contact with my parents was the monthly bank transfer I sent them. Nothing more. This year was no different. Or so I thought. As I returned to my apartment, my bags filled with soda, I saw him. Gervase. The golden boy of academia, a regular face on television, the word ‘genius’ practically tattooed on his forehead. He stood there in a tailored suit, a sight that did nothing to quell the deep-seated irritation I felt for him. “What do you want?” I asked, my voice cold. His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Why aren’t you home?” he asked again, his voice raspy. I frowned, bewildered. What business was it of his? Seeing my silence, his expression fell. “Your parents really miss you…” “If you don’t have anything else to say, you can leave,” I cut him off, making no effort to hide my annoyance. “You’re not welcome here.” “I’ve missed you, too.” His voice was quiet, but the words hit me like a physical blow. He had to be insane. I let him in, poured him a glass of water, and stared at him, my mind reeling. “Do you have any idea what you just said?” He nodded slowly. “Your dad said that when you came home this year, he was going to try and set us up. But… you didn’t come home. So I came to find you.” I was silent for a long moment. “I’m not going on a date with you,” I finally said. “You should go.” “Why?” He looked genuinely confused. “You’ve hated me since we were kids, but I’ve never done anything to hurt you.” “You don’t need a reason to hate someone,” I said, my face a mask of indifference. “Leave. Don’t make me throw you out.” “Just be reasonable…” “I am being reasonable. And I’m perfectly lucid.” I looked him straight in the eye, my voice dangerously low. “I hate you. I really, truly hate you. I don’t care how famous or successful you are, Gervase. Get out of my apartment. I never want to see you again.” The truth is, I always knew he liked me. You just know these things. In elementary school, he’d help me with my homework, tapping my forehead in exasperation at my slowness and murmuring, “You’re such a dork.” In middle school, when his teachers suggested he skip a grade, he sought me out, his eyes full of hope in the biting wind. “Do you want me to?” he’d asked. Before I could answer, he’d pulled me into a quick, tight hug and then let go, smiling. “Even if I skip, we’ll still be best friends.” Then came high school and the rumors—skipping class, getting into fights, dating the prettiest girl in school. I heard it all, but I didn’t care. Not until he showed up on my walk home one day, his face bruised and swollen, his eyes red-rimmed and miserable. “Stella,” he’d pleaded, his voice thick. “Why didn’t you even ask me what happened? Don’t you care about me? It hurts…” The memory dissolved. Gervase was gone, and from the look on his face, my words had hit their mark. The water in the glass was cold. I washed it, sank onto the sofa, and switched on the projector. Predictably, my phone was already blowing up with messages from my parents. They called me ungrateful. “How dare you reject someone as wonderful as Gervase? Who do you think you are?” “It’s an honor he even wants you! You worthless, shameless girl! Staying out there like a tramp instead of coming home! We raised you for nothing!” “I wish I’d never given birth to you!” A bitter smile touched my lips. Sometimes, I wished I’d never been born, either. The day after New Year’s is my birthday. Growing up, my mother always said, “Kids with bad grades don’t deserve birthdays. Only when you’re as smart as Gervase will you deserve a cake bought with our money.” So, before I turned eighteen, I never had a birthday cake. My first year of college, I used the money I’d earned from tutoring to buy myself a whole eight-inch cake. I devoured it, mouthful after painful mouthful, even when the cream turned my stomach and I had to lean over the trash can, gagging. I forced myself to finish every last crumb, as if I could somehow reclaim all those lost years of joy. That morning, as I went through my routine, these memories surfaced, a familiar mix of tragic and absurd. I looked at my reflection in the mirror. “It’s all in the past,” I told myself. I picked up the cake I’d ordered. The baker had followed the photo I’d sent, shaping it into a cute cartoon character. “You’re a kid at heart,” she’d teased. I just smiled. When I got home, my heart sank. There he was again, the last person on earth I wanted to see. Gervase. “You again?” I sighed. He pursed his lips and pulled a small, elegant box from his pocket, holding it out to me. “A birthday gift.” “How did you know it was my birthday?” “Your parents told me,” he said. “They told me to spend the day with you, that you love celebrating your birthday.” I stared at the box in his hand, a hysterical laugh bubbling up inside me. So they knew. They knew I wanted to celebrate. They knew I wanted a cake. They knew about all the hurt they had caused, and they simply hadn’t cared. “It seems they’d rather have you as their child than me.” My voice was flat. “They’d even lie about me liking my birthday just to get you to come here.” He winced, as if he finally understood. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “Your mother said you two just had a small fight. I thought… I thought you’d want to patch things up.” He paused. “I won’t make that mistake again.” He didn’t retract the box. “This gift is from me. I made this charm myself. I wanted to give it to you. Happy birthday.” I didn’t take it. “I don’t want it. Please leave.” I said it again, my voice firm. “Gervase, I hate you. I really, truly do. Please, don’t ever bother me again.” That birthday passed in a blur of quiet melancholy. I had planned to light six candles, but after the third, a wave of exhaustion washed over me. I looked around the empty apartment. Even with the warm, orange-toned decor I’d chosen, the loneliness was palpable. What was the point? I blew out the three tiny flames, scraped them into the trash, and forked a dollop of frosting into my mouth. The rich, velvety sweetness offered a fleeting moment of comfort. I cut a small slice, cracked open a Coke, and curled up on the sofa to watch a replay of the New Year’s Eve special. The comedy sketches were terrible. I was about to switch to a movie when my phone rang—an unknown number. It was Gervase’s mother. She started with a cloyingly sweet inquiry about my well-being, chattering on until my patience wore thin. “Mrs. Hayes,” I interrupted, “what is it you really want?” She laughed, a sharp, unpleasant sound. “Stella, dear, I wasn’t aware Gervase was going to see you about a… setup. His mentor is actually planning to introduce him to a senator’s granddaughter. Your circumstances… they’re just too different. Our family could never accept a daughter-in-law like you. Even if Gervase approached you himself, I trust you won’t get any foolish ideas. Do you understand?” I was speechless for a moment, then incredulous. “So, instead of managing your own son, you’re calling to warn me not to get my hopes up?” “Gervase is a genius,” she said, her voice dripping with condescension. “And you… well. Honestly, Stella, I’m saying this for your own good.” “Who the hell do you think you are?” I sat up, my voice turning to ice. “Don’t think for a second that calling you ‘Mrs. Hayes’ gives you the right to lecture me. I don’t even listen to my own parents. What makes you think you’re anything special?” I slammed the phone down. But the rage was still there, a hot coil in my stomach. I yanked Gervase out of my block list and dialed his number. The fury that had been simmering since yesterday finally boiled over. “Are you insane?” I shrieked into the phone. “Is your whole family insane? Showing up out of the blue to humiliate me? What, am I some kind of joke to you? Do you people—” I raged on, a torrent of words, until the pressure in my chest finally eased. I took a long swig of Coke. Only then did I hear his voice. “I’m sorry, I—” I stabbed the end-call button before he could finish and blocked his number again. A profound sense of relief washed over me. Sometimes, losing your mind is incredibly satisfying. Three years ago, when I first arrived in this city, I went to the most famous cathedral and knelt before the altar, making a vow. I will never let anyone make me feel small again. I had been wronged too many times. I was done. Now, I would rather die than let myself be bullied. The dark screen of my tablet reflected my emotionless face, a face so much like my mother’s. I sneered at the image. I didn’t even care about my own parents anymore. Who in this world could possibly make me bow my head now? After the holiday break, my boss announced with breathless excitement that he’d hired an industry titan for an internship. A cold dread washed over me. “Hello, everyone.” Of course. It was Gervase. He placed a tray of bubble tea on the central table, his smile warm and perfectly polished. “I look forward to working with you all.” I stared at him, my face a blank slate. He met my gaze with that same infuriatingly gentle smile, and I had no idea what his game was. This relentless pursuit wasn’t the style of a proud genius. I certainly wasn’t charming enough to warrant this level of… obsession. Where was his dignity? His pride? After being rejected so many times, was he just a glutton for punishment? I didn’t take his bubble tea. I turned on my heel and walked away without a second glance. A few minutes later, he appeared at my desk, holding a mango bubble tea. “This is your favorite. I saved it for you.” “I don’t like it.” I didn’t even look up. “I only told you I liked it because I didn’t want you holding anything I actually enjoy.” He paused, but there was no anger in his eyes. “Then what do you like? I’ll go buy it now.” Snap. I slammed my pen down on the desk. I looked up at him, my voice dangerously low. “Gervase, what is wrong with you? Do you have some kind of humiliation fetish? I’ve yelled at you, thrown you out, pushed you away—and you just keep coming back. Do you enjoy being treated like a dog?” He swallowed hard. “If it’s your dog,” he said, his voice barely a whisper, “is that a fetish?” I froze. Beside me, a colleague’s chair clattered to the floor. She stared at me, then at Gervase, her eyes wide with a mixture of shock and terror. “You… you two…” “I’m pursuing her,” Gervase said to her, smiling easily. I was convinced he had lost his mind. He clearly didn’t think so. He stood over me, holding the drink, and asked again, his voice gentle. “What flavor do you like? I’ll go get it. Any brand you want.” His tall frame blocked the sunlight from the window, casting me in shadow. His focus on me was so intense, so tender, it was terrifying. A single thought crystalized in my mind: There is a fine line between genius and madness. The office was dead silent. My colleagues were trying, and failing, to pretend to work, their eyes darting nervously toward him. Fine. I pushed my keyboard away. “Let’s go talk. Downstairs, at the coffee shop.” He glanced at the bubble tea in his hand, hesitating. “But I…” I grabbed the corner of his jacket and pulled. The instant my fingers touched the fabric, he yielded, following me obediently. Like a dog that had found its master. In the coffee shop, I ordered a black coffee and tried to keep my voice even. “What do you really want? Can you just tell me?” “I just want to know what kind of bubble tea you like.” He had thrown the other one away and was now wiping his sweaty palms with a napkin. His expression was almost… mournful. “All these years, I’ve never once done anything that made you happy. I just wanted to buy you a drink you like. To see you smile.” “Why do you want me to be happy?” “Because I’m in love with you,” he said, without a flicker of hesitation. I stared at him, my mind racing. It was too strange. All of it. This deeply-in-love act was completely out of character for the proud, untouchable man I knew. “Did something happen to you?” I asked, probing. “I remember you being… different.” “People change,” he said quietly. “Besides, you never really knew me that well to begin with.” I fell silent. I wanted to tell him to leave, but I knew the words were useless. The silence between us was heavy, suffocating. He broke it first. “Give me one month. Let me try.” His voice was pleading. “If you don’t give me a chance to try, I’ll never be able to let this go. Just let me try to win you over. Please?” I still didn’t speak. He clenched his fists. “I know seeing me disgusts you… so I bought the apartment you’re renting. After one month, no matter what you decide, I’ll sign the deed over to you. As an apology for… disgusting you. Okay?” I blinked, more confused than ever. “What are you trying to get out of this? What could I possibly have that’s worth all of this?” “I told you, I love you. But you’ve always hated me. It’s… become an obsession.” He met my eyes. “Stella, I’m begging you. Give me a chance to resolve this. For my own peace of mind. Can you do that?” The reason still felt wrong, flimsy, but I couldn’t articulate why. A fully paid-for apartment in the heart of the city was worth a fortune. He was either insane or incredibly generous. I studied his face for a long time, then sighed. Whatever. What did his motives have to do with me? “Just one month. Are you sure?” He nodded eagerly. “Fine,” I said. “But after one month, you disappear from my life. Completely.” That evening, Gervase followed me home and let himself into the apartment directly across from mine. So that’s where he’d been staying. As he was about to close his door, I stopped him. “Can I call you something else?” He turned, confused. “A different name,” I explained. “Something other than Gervase. When I was a kid, every time my mom yelled at me, she used you as the gold standard. Hearing your name… it just brings all of that back. It’s… unpleasant.” His face paled. “They always compared you to me when they scolded you?” “What else?” He bit his lip. “Call me whatever you want. Anything that makes you happy.” “Then I’ll call you Number Three.” I saw the flicker of pain in his eyes but pressed on. “My ex before my last was Number One. My last ex was Number Two. You fit right in. You don’t mind, do you?” He bit his lip so hard I thought he might draw blood. I pretended not to notice. “Silence means you agree,” I said, turning and closing my door without another word. Gervase had been brought in on the recommendation of a renowned academic, so to keep him happy, my boss gave me a month of paid leave. I didn’t argue. It was the perfect opportunity to deep clean my apartment. I was on my hands and knees, scrubbing the floor under a baseball cap, when he came over. Seeing me covered in grime, he frowned and pulled me to my feet. “Don’t do this. I’ll hire a cleaner for you.” I decided to press my advantage. “I also want one of those robot vacuums.” “Done.” “I’m hungry. Go get me some soup. From that place on the west side. I want it fresh and piping hot.” “Okay.” “And I want some of those green bean pastries. You’ll have to wait in line.” “I will.” Is there no limit to his compliance? “Will you really do anything I say?” “Yes.” He took my hand and began to gently, meticulously wipe it clean with a wet wipe. “Anything that makes you happy.” The man was certifiably insane. I blinked, a sly smile playing on my lips. “In that case… I’m thinking of taking on a couple of college boys as sugar babies. Will you foot the bill for that, Number Three?” His grip on my hand tightened for a fraction of a second. Then he relaxed, his gaze softening as he looked at the red marks his fingers had left. He brought my hand to his lips and blew on it gently. “If that would truly bring you happiness,” he murmured, “then yes. I would.” I was speechless. The man was a lost cause. I didn’t want takeout, so I sent him to the kitchen to cook. Leaning against the doorframe with my arms crossed, I watched him expertly chop vegetables. “The toilet’s clogged,” I announced suddenly. “Number Three, can you go take care of it?” He grunted an affirmative, pulled off his cooking gloves, and headed for the bathroom. When he returned, hands washed, I watched him with a complicated expression. “If my mother knew I was making you do this, she’d probably skin me alive.” Gervase was a god in her eyes. And I was making her god plunge toilets. It was blasphemy. “They don’t matter,” he said curtly. “Stella, don’t let them make you unhappy.” That was the third time he’d said that. A thought suddenly struck me. “You seem terrified of me being unhappy. Why?” He paused his work, but didn’t turn or answer. When he called me for dinner, I was engrossed in a movie. It was the climax, the hero and heroine tangled in a passionate embrace. Gervase switched it off. “Time to eat.” “I don’t want to.” I pouted. “I’m not eating food made by hands that have just been unclogging a toilet.” It was unfair. It was childish. I expected him to get angry. He didn’t. He just looked at his own hands with a helpless expression. “I’ll go take a shower. And I’ll cook you a fresh meal. Just wait for me.” My eyes narrowed. There it was again. That strange feeling. He was coddling me, indulging my every whim like I was a petulant child. A gentle, cautious, desperate effort to keep me happy. But why? My eyes landed on an apple on the table. I picked up a paring knife. The moment the handle settled into my palm, I heard Gervase’s sharp cry. “What are you doing?!” My hand jerked. The blade sliced across my finger, drawing a bright red line of blood. Gervase lunged, snatching the knife from my hand and flinging it across the room where it clattered against the far wall.

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1 When my wife’s chartered fishing boat sank, it left us buried under a mountain of debt. I sold my ancestral home and spent my days and nights diving in the deep, dangerous waters. It took me five grueling years, but I finally paid it all off. As I walked into the seafood restaurant, the last of the money clutched in my hand, still smelling of the sea, I saw her. My wife. She was feeding sashimi to another man, her one true love. The restaurant owner was bowing at their side, obsequiously offering a dish of caviar. “Ms. Thorne,” he stammered, “your husband just sold his last trawler to cover the final payment. About that money…” She wiped a smudge of oil from her lover’s lips, a lazy smile on her face. “Take it, of course. The usual deal. Seventy-thirty split.” She looked at the man beside her. “My darling wants a private island in the Maldives. This should be enough for a few blades of grass, don’t you think?” My phone buzzed. A news alert popped up on the screen. ‘Thorne Shipping becomes the nation’s largest maritime transport company as of 9:00 a.m. today.’ I tapped on the link. There, under the name of the chairwoman, Guinevere Thorne, was my wife’s ID photo. The pouch of money slipped from my grasp, its sharp edge slicing a bloody line across my palm. Five years ago, Guinevere’s chartered boat sank, and we were left to pay for the damages. Three million dollars. I sold our family home and became a fisherman to make ends meet. I had just sold my last boat, the final remnant of my family’s legacy, to scrape together this last payment. And now I find out that Guinevere is the chairwoman of the largest shipping company in the country. Even the boat owner, my supposed creditor, was just one of her lackeys. He was now raising a glass to her. “Thank you, Ms. Thorne, for your guidance all these years. And for letting me earn a little extra on the side.” He lowered his voice. “Once this is all over, I’ll find a way to run him off the island for good.” Guinevere waved a dismissive hand. “A fool like him who only believes in the Sea Goddess? Just tell him she came to you in a dream. He’d probably kill himself if she asked. That’s how I got him to give up his kidney, pretending to be lost at sea.” A chill shot through me, quickly replaced by a hot surge of rage. Six years ago, her ship was caught in a typhoon. Thirteen people died. She was the only one missing. I spent my life savings trying to get the maritime authorities to help, but no one would listen. In the end, I dragged my broken body to the temple of the Sea Goddess and prayed until my forehead was raw. “I beg you, great Goddess, I will give twenty years of my life for Guinevere’s safe return.” On the third day of my vigil, the statue seemed to glow, and a voice echoed in my mind, telling me it would take one of my kidneys to save her. I didn’t hesitate. That night, I was drugged. When I woke up, the pain from the fresh incision was agonizing. But the next day, Guinevere miraculously returned. I’ve been a vegetarian ever since, a token of my gratitude. And it was all a lie. A cruel scheme to treat her lover, Fabian. I was shaking with fury, the beautiful memories of seven years ago swirling in my head. She had been a tourist, lost on the island when we met. It was love at first sight. I was her guide for weeks. Her confession of love was as grand and dramatic as a summer storm. She never once told me who she really was. Fabian’s voice cut through my thoughts again. “How could a lowly fisherman like him ever be worthy of the great Ms. Thorne? If it weren’t for his family’s nautical charts, our Gwen would never have wasted her time on this pathetic wretch.” “Exactly,” Guinevere laughed. “And it cost me a life, too. That old hag wouldn’t budge, so I swapped her cancer medication with vitamin pills. She probably would have lasted a few more years otherwise.” Their casual laughter pierced my eardrums, and a deathly cold spread through my body. When my mother was diagnosed with lung cancer, there was an imported miracle drug that could have saved her. It cost over a million a bottle. Someone had offered me a fortune for our ancestral nautical charts. I was tempted, but my mother threatened to kill herself if I sold them. 2 On the third day, she took the medicine I had bought by selling one of our boats, and she was gone. In the blur of the funeral, I never even noticed when the charts were stolen. I had blamed the black-market dealer who sold me the medicine. I had blamed my own bad luck. But I never once suspected that the person closest to me was the one who had destroyed my family. I wanted to rush in, to tear them apart with my bare hands. Fabian spotted me. “Gwen,” he called out, “your husband is here with the money.” Guinevere quickly tossed her designer jacket to the owner, revealing the coarse fisherman’s clothes underneath, still bearing the patches I had sewn for her. She lowered her head, her voice a soft murmur. “Darling, you’re just in time. I was about to ask for an advance on my salary to buy you some supplements. You need to take care of yourself.” For the first time, I realized how good a powerful CEO could be at playing poor. The owner tapped his ledger. “Your wife has been taking advances all year. She hasn’t even settled the rental fees! She still owes me at least thirty-nine thousand!” I tossed the pouch of money onto the table. “The boat is paid for. The rest is not my problem.” The owner clicked his tongue and flung a piece of cod at my face. “You think you can just walk away from your wife’s debts? If you can’t pay, you can roll around on the deck like a flounder. A thousand a roll.” Guinevere put her arm around me. The light reflecting off the multi-million-dollar watch on her wrist was blinding. Five days ago, I’d thrown out my back unloading cargo at the docks. She, on the other hand, had been celebrating the gift of this very watch with a passionate night with Fabian. Her voice was a soft whisper. “I’m sorry. It’s all my fault for being so useless and dragging you down. But a thousand dollars… it would take me days at sea to earn that.” A bucket of ice water was dumped over my head. I was humiliated but powerless to resist. As I completed my third roll, Fabian, looking bored, tossed a coil of fishing wire in front of me. “Roll over this, and I’ll give you two thousand.” I couldn’t take it anymore. I tried to stand, but Fabian kicked me back down, the heel of his leather shoe grinding into my fingers. “The fish are more obedient than you.” The owner held me down as I was forced to roll back and forth over the sharp wire mesh. My body was a canvas of bleeding cuts. The taste of salt and blood filled my mouth. I limped back to our shabby hut. Everything of value was already sold. There was nothing left to hold on to. The wind began to howl, and the flimsy hut swayed precariously. My mother’s portrait fell from the wall, the shattered glass cutting my already mangled finger. To pay the debt, I had once snuck into a fish farm during a storm to collect the dead fish, and a wire fence had torn a chunk of flesh from that same finger. The wound had gotten infected, and I’d had to have the tip amputated. And at that very moment, Guinevere and Fabian were entwined on the most luxurious cruise ship, the price of a single night’s ticket more than I could make in two years of back-breaking, twelve-hour days of hauling cargo. Even the protective amulet I had prayed for at the temple, the one I had given her for her safety, had been casually tossed to Fabian as a toy for his cat. “Who believes in that Sea Goddess nonsense these days?” Years of devotion, all for nothing. I didn’t need them to drive me away. I was already leaving. As I finished packing, Guinevere sauntered in, a fresh love bite on her neck. She saw my luggage and her brow furrowed. A gust of wind tore through the hut, sending the thatched roof scattering like a broken kite. She wiped the grit from her face in disgust and placed a tube of cheap herbal ointment in my hand. “I saw you got hurt on the deck. I bought this for you.” Tears blurred my vision. I slapped the tube from her hand. Normally, I would have chided her for wasting money. But I had seen the news. I knew she had booked out an entire hospital just because Fabian had caught a chill from the sea breeze. As she was gazing at the stars with him from the deck of their luxury yacht, did she ever spare a thought for me, sleepless in the pouring rain? 3 Last month, during typhoon season, while I was risking my life to repair the fish farm nets, she was using the salted cod I had prepared to pamper Fabian’s cat. I used to think Fabian was one of the boat owner’s men, that Guinevere was powerless against his arrogance. Now I saw it was her indulgence that had fueled his cruelty all along. “Guinevere,” I asked, my voice raw, “you were the only one who knew where my family’s nautical charts were kept. Did you really not take them?” The sea wind stung my eyes. Her face contorted in a sudden rage. She grabbed a nearby oar and swung it at me. “What right do you have to suspect me?” I instinctively raised my arm to block the blow. A splinter from the oar pierced the old scar on my forearm, a memento from a time I had defended her from a group of thugs. Blood gushed from the wound. She panicked. “Are you crazy? Why would you block it with your hand—” Before she could finish, Fabian ran up, whining that he wanted to learn how to drive the trawler. I used work as an excuse to escape their nauseating flirtation. I worked until sunset. Then Fabian appeared at the port with a group of men. Crate after crate of seafood was dumped into the ocean, swallowed by the waves in an instant. “All losses today will be covered by Caden Thorne,” he announced, his face a mask of malevolence. He ignored the desperate pleas of the other fishermen and proceeded to release a catch of rare, deep-sea oysters back into the water. Guinevere arrived and kicked me hard in the back of the knees, forcing me to the ground. “Apologize to Mr. Lowell right now! With all these losses, we’ll be ruined for years!” But I knew. The value of the entire ship’s cargo was less than what Guinevere spent on a single meal.

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For three years, I was Damian Hawthorne’s pretty bird in a gilded cage. The day I discovered I was pregnant, I overheard him talking to his twin brother. “Damian,” his brother said, “I’ve been pretending to be you, playing with your little bird for so long… she’s not gonna flip out and leave when she finds out, is she?” Damian’s voice was laced with indifference. “Why would she? She’d never give this up.” “Besides,” he added, “it’s not the first time we’ve swapped.” “Just don’t get her pregnant. I find that… dirty.” At that moment, live comments scrolled across my vision, a strange quirk I’d had for years. 【LMAO, the side character is pregnant and she’s actually happy about it. Little does she know, the great Damian Hawthorne has never even touched her. It was his twin brother who knocked her up.】 【Damian only has eyes for the main female lead. Even if the baby was his, he’d kick them both to the curb without a second thought.】 I didn’t cry. I didn’t throw a tantrum. I just kept playing the part of the devoted lover for the man who wasn’t Damian. But in secret, I booked an appointment at a clinic and a one-way ticket out of the country. The day he caught me there, he grabbed his brother by the throat, his eyes blazing with a madness I’d never seen. “Who the hell gave you permission to touch her?” 1 The day I found out I was pregnant, I drove through a torrential downpour to the exclusive lounge Damian always frequented. By the time I arrived, my hair was damp, clinging to my cheeks as I reached for the heavy oak door. Just as my fingers brushed against the cold brass handle, I heard his voice from within, as cool and remote as a winter sky. “Had your fun yet? When are you going to switch back?” It was his twin brother, Julian, who answered. “Not yet. I’m not done playing.” A hint of irritation crept into Damian’s tone. “You haven’t touched her, have you? You know the rules.” There was a barely perceptible pause from Julian, then a slow, sly smile spread across his lips, audible in his voice. “What are you so afraid of? Of course not.” He took a sip of what sounded like whiskey. “But even if I had, you wouldn’t really care, would you?” Damian hesitated, a flicker of something unnatural in his voice. “Of course not. It’s just… dirty.” The private room erupted in a chorus of jeers. “Damn, Julian, you’re even going for your brother’s leftovers?” “Can you blame him? With a face like Zoe’s, who wouldn’t want a piece of that?” “And that body… curves in all the right places. That ass is like a ripe peach, ready to be picked.” “Only a saint like Damian would keep her around and not touch her.” A woman sitting next to Damian let out a delicate laugh. “The way you all talk, it’s like Zoe is a public restroom, open for anyone.” A wave of cruel laughter filled the room. I recognized her voice. Isabelle Thorne, the untouchable princess of New York’s elite, Damian’s childhood friend, the woman he’d cherished his entire life. Someone else asked, “Whose brilliant idea was this, anyway? This is a high-stakes game.” Isabelle’s voice was smug. “They’re so clueless. It was mine, obviously. Zoe probably doesn’t even dream that Damian has an identical twin. You should be thanking me. Without my little plan, you’d never get to have this much fun.” Damian let out a fond chuckle. “Alright, alright, you’re the cleverest one here.” “I heard there’s a wedding in seven days,” one of the guys chimed in. “Damian and Zoe. Is that for real?” Damian laughed it off. “Of course not. The girl wants a title, so I’m just playing along.” Isabelle suddenly sat up, a wicked glint in her voice. “Oh, I have a perfect idea. On their ‘wedding day,’ right at the altar, you two tell her the truth. That for the past year, you’ve been taking turns with her. I want to see the look on her face. Pushing her into the abyss right when she thinks she’s found happiness—isn’t that just delicious?” Damian’s laugh was weary but indulgent. “You’re still such a kid.” Isabelle pouted. “And you’ve been indulging this ‘kid’ since we were little, giving me whatever I want. And you two better be careful. Don’t go and get her knocked up by accident. A girl from the slums like her… she’d be impossible to get rid of if she got pregnant.” Damian’s voice tightened. “Don’t even joke about that. We’ve never touched her.” “But what if?” Isabelle pressed, her tone playful. “What if it happened by accident?” Damian’s laugh was careless, dismissive. “Then we’d just tell her to get lost. Right, Julian?” Julian, who seemed to have been lost in thought, answered a second too late. “Yeah. Right.” The comments flared in my vision: 【LMAO, Julian says he hasn’t touched her, but he’s been sleeping with her behind his brother’s back this whole time.】 【And the dumb side character is pregnant and happy, not knowing it’s the brother’s baby and the man she thinks she loves has never laid a hand on her.】 【Damian is all about the main girl. Even if the baby was his, he’d make them both disappear.】 【I’m shipping this so hard! Damian stays pure for our girl Isabelle, and Julian is just using the side character for practice. This is the kind of story I live for!】 I looked down at the pregnancy test in my hand, its two stark lines a silent, screaming confirmation. Running through the rain, my original plan had been to rush to Damian and share the news. I was pregnant. But now, it seemed, there was no point. 2 That same afternoon, I scheduled an appointment at a clinic and booked a flight for seven days later. The same day as the “wedding.” The timing was perfect. I could collect one last generous allowance from my patron. Since they wanted to humiliate me at the wedding by revealing their grand deception, why shouldn’t I ruin their little play first by simply not showing up? Turn their script into a complete farce. Besides, I’d been a full-time kept woman for years. I’d squirreled away a nice little nest egg. The savings rate had been particularly good lately, almost doubling. I’d wondered why “Damian” kept forgetting he’d already sent my allowance, wiring it over and over. Now the mystery was solved. Damian would send it once, and then his brother, Julian, would send it again. I mentally patted my secret treasure trove. I’d first gotten entangled with Damian in college. Isabelle Thorne was my roommate. She had a cruel hobby: orchestrating elaborate pranks to ruin people’s lives. In high school, she’d had one of her rich friends pursue a normal, hardworking girl, showering her with roses, luxury bags, and gifts. The girl, who’d never seen such extravagance, fell head over heels. Right before the final exams, Isabelle had the friend brutally dump her. The girl was so devastated that she bombed her exams and, shortly after, jumped from a building. She survived, but as a vegetable. Isabelle, meanwhile, went off to Princeton and became my roommate. Her new target became me: the tragic campus beauty working three jobs to support a gambling-addict father, a deceased mother, and a sick grandmother. This time, I was the game. And Damian Hawthorne was the leading man she’d handpicked for me. The prodigy of Princeton’s math department, a man whose candid photos could break the internet, and the heir to the Hawthorne Corporation. A man with a limitless future. She tasked him with conquering me, making me his girlfriend. According to Isabelle’s script, Damian would spoil me rotten with money until I was completely dependent on his lifestyle. Then, he’d dump me, sending me into a spiral of despair from which I’d never recover. And Damian played his part perfectly. He showered me with gifts, expressed deep sympathy for my tragic background, forbade me from working my menial jobs, and surprised me with new romantic gestures every day. But I was a squirrel by nature. Every dollar Damian gave me, I saved. Every piece of jewelry, I never wore. I’d sell them online for a premium. I’d known poverty too intimately to feel worthy of such things. Money, tucked away and growing, was the only security I understood. And I wasn’t stupid. I could feel it—Damian was acting. Every time he held my hand, I caught the fleeting flicker of derision in his eyes. I didn’t know why he pursued me when he clearly disliked me, but he was generous, and I wasn’t going to miss the opportunity. I had to hoard as much as I could. We acted like any other couple—we dated, we hugged, we kissed. That winter, I even knitted him a scarf as a gift. The day my grandmother’s condition worsened, I broke my own rule and asked Damian for an expensive birthday present for the first time. I remember how he froze for a second, then smiled. I’ll never forget the triumphant, predatory gleam in his eyes. Like a snake finally flicking its tongue. They thought their plan had worked, that I was finally corrupted. The very next day, Damian broke up with me. Isabelle waited, expecting a show. She wanted to see me break down, unable to cope with a life of poverty again. She wanted to see me cry, beg, and cling to Damian, a pathetic, ugly mess. But she was disappointed. I just went back to my old life—working my jobs, going to class. My routine was just… quieter. I even managed to cut back from three jobs to two. Sometimes, I’d upgrade my instant ramen with a hot dog and an egg, and a small yogurt drink for dessert. I even gained a few pounds. I never begged him to take me back. In fact, the moment we broke up, I deleted his number. Her game had failed to produce the desired result, and she threw a fit, declaring it utterly boring. From then on, she made my life in the dorm a living hell, putting tacks in my shoes or pouring cold water on my bed in the dead of winter. Later, my father’s gambling debts spiraled out of control, and he ended up owing a fortune to the Hawthornes. To settle the debt, he offered me. That’s how I, by a cruel twist of fate, became Damian’s gilded bird. Lately, I’d actually started to think we could build a real life together. Damian had always been cold, distant. He’d never even touched me intimately. But at the beginning of this year, something shifted. He started to kiss me. One night, he came home drunk. I helped him to the sofa and went to make him some tea. Suddenly, his arm snaked around my waist, pulling me into his lap. He gently pressed his lips to mine. I was so unused to it, I almost forgot to breathe. He chuckled softly. “So that’s what you taste like. Sweet. Next time, remember to breathe.” That night, he took me. After that, he became more adventurous, more demanding. He hated using protection. He got a thrill out of making love to me when the housekeeper and maids were in the house, forcing me to bite my lip to stifle my cries. The more I resisted, the more excited he seemed to get. He had a strange quirk. When we were in the throes of passion, he’d make me say his name, over and over. “What’s my name?” “Damian. You’re Damian.” “Wrong. Say it again.” “What’s wrong with you, Damian—mmph…” He would press down, a storm of something fierce and untamed in his eyes. The more I said the name, the harder he’d become. Even though he was strange and intense, like a wild dog that needed calming, he could also be incredibly sweet. He’d cuddle, kiss me tenderly, and knowing my stomach was sensitive, he’d cook me warm, soothing porridge. On my birthday, he lit up the entire city skyline with fireworks. As they exploded in a shower of color, he stroked my hair. “My love,” he’d whispered, “let’s make a real life together.” When I had nightmares, he’d wake me, hold me tight, and murmur, “Shh, my sweet girl, I’m here. You’re safe.” Slowly, I began to think I was falling for him. A few months ago, he had me pinned to the bed again, refusing a condom. “What if I get pregnant?” I’d asked. He kissed me. “Then we’ll have it. I’ll raise it with you.” The proposal was his idea. One night, after we’d made love, he lay over me, his voice soft. “My love, stop being my mistress. Be my wife.” Looking back now, it’s so painfully clear. The man who first took me to bed, the man who proposed… it was never Damian. It was Julian. And the proposal? Just the start of a new, crueler game. I had truly considered having this child. But now, it seemed, there was no point. 3 Five days until my departure. I had become an expert at telling the Hawthorne brothers apart. Damian was the cold, brooding workaholic who rarely smiled. Julian was the affectionate, playful one with a small mole on his V-line, visible whenever we were undressed. I had no idea if Damian had one there, too. He’d never given me the chance to find out. That morning, I came downstairs to find Damian sitting in the living room, gold-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, reading the newspaper. “Zoe, wear something nice today. We have guests coming.” The morning paper, the glasses, the icy tone. This was the real Damian. The comments in my head went wild. 【Hehe, today’s the day she officially meets Julian!】 【She’s been slept with by Julian countless times, he knows every sensitive spot on her body, and now she has to pretend she doesn’t know him. It must be torture.】 【That’s how people from the gutter are. They’ll endure anything for money. Our girl Isabelle is so much better, a true leading lady who never depends on anyone.】 【This meeting is all a setup for the public humiliation at the wedding. I can’t wait!】 【Isabelle is such a cunning little minx. I love her!】 I went upstairs and changed. At noon, Julian arrived with Isabelle. Seeing him, a perfect copy of Damian, I feigned a gasp, my expression a carefully crafted mask of shock. Damian made the introductions. “Zoe, this is my twin brother, Julian. He just got back from a business trip abroad.” Julian extended his hand, his smile warm and harmless. “A pleasure to meet you.” I took his hand. “You too.” I let out a small, amused laugh. “I can’t believe it. You two are absolutely identical.” Julian’s expression didn’t falter. “There’s a lot you don’t know,” he said, his voice smooth as silk. Sometimes, I had to admire his acting. After sleeping together countless times, he could still look at me like a complete stranger. Isabelle laughed. “Oh, I don’t need an introduction. Zoe and I were college roommates, remember?” She looped her arm through mine. “I heard you’re getting married soon! Damian and I already talked it over. I’m going to be your maid of honor.” Just then, the chef announced that lunch was served. At the dining table, Isabelle sat strategically between the two brothers. Propping her chin on her hand, she asked me with a saccharine smile, “Zoe, have you noticed any changes in Damian lately?” I knew exactly what she was doing. She wanted to see me squirm. Fine. I’d give her what she wanted. I put down my fork and nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, he has changed a lot this past year.” For a moment, the world seemed to stop. All three of them froze, their expressions stiffening. Then I let out a soft laugh, a delicate blush coloring my cheeks. “He’s become… so much kinder to me. I find myself falling for him more every day.” Damian shot a dark look at Julian. During the meal, Julian casually peeled a shrimp and placed it in my bowl. “Garlic shrimp for my darling,” he said affectionately. “No shells. Your favorite.” The air went still. We all froze. He realized his slip-up instantly but recovered with practiced ease. “That’s what my brother calls you. Slipped out.” I nodded. “How thoughtful of you.” Damian shot Julian a look that could kill. I ignored them, popping the shrimp into my mouth and chewing. And then I frowned. Something was wrong. It tasted… off. Fishy. My stomach lurched. I clamped a hand over my mouth and ran to the bathroom. When I came back out, Isabelle was watching me with a knowing, malicious glint in her eyes. “Morning sickness, perhaps?” Two pairs of identical eyes, Damian’s and Julian’s, snapped to me. “No,” I said quickly. “Just an upset stomach. Besides, throwing up is good for the figure.” Damian put down his fork, his smile thin and humorless. “If you get any thinner, you’ll be sharp enough to cut.”

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At eighteen, I stumbled upon Vaughn Vance helping a scholarship student with her torn blouse. His expression was grave, his movements clumsy and hesitant. At twenty-six, I married Vaughn Vance in a match arranged by our families. But everyone in New York’s elite society knew he kept a portrait of that same girl locked away in his study. Three years into our marriage, I asked for a divorce. He was silent for a long time before signing the papers. “If you ever need anything,” he said, “don’t hesitate to ask.” Later, I attended a gala on the arm of my law firm partner. A friend from college teased us, “Who would’ve thought the two of you, always at each other’s throats in debate championships, would end up holding hands?” Late that night, Vaughn’s name lit up my screen for the first time in months. “That riverside penthouse you insisted on,” his voice was a low growl. “Was it because you could see his law firm from the window?” 1 A bitter wind rattled the windows, but inside, the air was still and warm. Across from me on the sofa sat a man in a tailored suit, his tall, lean frame exuding an aura of cool command. His face was just as chiseled as it had been at eighteen, his features sharp and deep-set. The only thing marring his perfect facade was a fresh cut on his temple, a stark, angry line against his skin. An hour ago, I’d gotten a call from the police precinct. Vaughn had been in a fight. When I arrived, a woman was cupping his face, dabbing at the wound with painstaking care. I recognized her. Mia Foster. A classmate of ours from high school. The moment she saw me, she flinched back like a startled fawn. Vaughn immediately moved to shield her, his voice tight with displeasure as he spoke to me. “She’s… delicate. Don’t frighten her, Eleanor.” I said nothing, simply turned and followed an officer to handle the paperwork. By the time I returned, Mia was gone. The drive home was suffocatingly silent, at least on my end. Vaughn was on the phone the entire time. He was still on it now, his voice a low and gentle murmur, a caress meant only for the woman on the other end of the line. I had never seen this version of Vaughn before. A tenderness in his gaze, a focused devotion… he was giving every ounce of his patience to Mia. And in that moment, the thought of divorce, once a distant whisper, became a deafening roar. 2 If Vaughn and I were childhood friends, bound by destiny, then Mia was his North Star—the one he could only ever wish upon. We all met in high school. Unlike the silver-spoon world Vaughn and I inhabited, Mia was a scholarship student. She was beautiful, brilliant, and possessed an infectious optimism. The day she transferred into our class, she captured Vaughn’s attention, and he never looked away. I once thought his fascination was a fleeting novelty. That belief shattered the day Mia was framed for stealing class funds. A group of girls cornered her in the girls’ restroom. By the time I got there, the bullies had vanished, leaving Mia alone in the echoing, tiled space, her blouse torn open at the front, her shoulders bare and trembling. I was shrugging off my blazer to cover her when I saw him. Vaughn emerged from one of the stalls, holding her ruined shirt. Mia’s back was to him, her voice thick with tears. “You should go. If anyone sees you here, we’ll never be able to explain it.” “Then we won’t explain,” Vaughn said, his voice steady. “Just… put this on.” They stood in a tense standoff for a moment before Mia relented. But her fingers were trembling too violently to manage the remaining buttons. Without a word, Vaughn stepped forward. “Let me.” His face was a mask of solemn concentration, his large hands surprisingly clumsy as he fumbled with the small pearl button. As he finished, I saw the tips of his ears burn a tell-tale crimson. Then his head snapped up, his eyes locking with mine. A flicker of panic crossed his features before he regained his composure and strode towards me. “You’re here. Good. Help her.” He started to leave, then paused and turned back, his voice low and urgent. “And Eleanor? Keep this to yourself.” I promised I would. By that afternoon, a photo of Vaughn, his hand on Mia’s chest as he helped her with her shirt, had gone viral throughout the school. Vaughn was convinced I had betrayed him. That day, for the first time ever, he unleashed his fury on me. “Don’t think just because our parents have you on a pedestal that I won’t touch you, Eleanor,” he snarled. “You’re their choice for a daughter-in-law, not mine! No one decides who I marry.” I pressed my lips into a thin line. “Believe me or not, I had nothing to do with this.” He laughed, a cold, sharp sound. “You were the only other person there. Who else could it have been?” “It wasn’t me!” I lifted my chin, my voice stubborn. “Besides, why would I spread a rumor like that?” “Because you’re jealous that she and I are together.” My mind went blank. “W-what? When did that happen?” He looked at me, his eyes filled with a cruel pity. “I saw her… broken. It’s my job to protect her now.” “But… we were…” He cut me off, his patience gone. “Eleanor, don’t tell me you actually thought all those years I looked out for you meant I was in love with you?” An icy dread flooded my veins, rooting me to the spot. That night, the Vance family found out about Vaughn and Mia. His father dragged a defiant Vaughn to my house to apologize. Vaughn stood there, his jaw set stubbornly, and spat the most rebellious words I’d ever heard him say: “If you love Eleanor so much, why don’t you marry her yourself?” His defiance earned him a hail of fury from both our fathers. The Vaughn of back then didn’t understand the game. He hadn’t realized that I had been groomed since childhood to be a Vance. As the sole heir, he had no say in who he would marry. And so, in the end, he married me. After the photo scandal, Mia transferred schools. After graduation, Vaughn was sent to study abroad. He stayed for eight years. When he returned to take over the family company, he was a different man. The boyish arrogance was gone, replaced by a quiet, formidable presence. He came to me and proposed. “We’re both still single,” he’d said, his tone matter-of-fact. “We might as well get it over with.” I knew a dynastic marriage was my fate. Marrying someone I’d known my whole life seemed like a small mercy. It was only later that I learned the first thing he did upon returning was find Mia. But she, with all her pride, had turned him down. Marrying me was just his way of getting back at her. 3 “I have to go out. You should get some sleep.” Vaughn’s words pulled me from my reverie. He stood and walked towards the door, his voice softening as he spoke into his phone. “Don’t be scared, I’m on my way. They won’t touch you… Yeah, lock the door. I’ll be there soon.” I stood up too. “You’re leaving? It’s so late.” He barely paused. “Something came up. I’ll be back late.” As he reached the door, I called his name again. He turned, a flicker of annoyance in his eyes. “What is it now?” “Vaughn,” I said, my voice unnervingly calm. “Let’s get a divorce.” Instantly, his eyes blazed with anger. He fought to keep his voice level. “What are you trying to pull now?” “Mia was scared tonight,” he said, as if explaining to a child. “She has no one here. She had to call me.” I stared at him, my gaze unwavering. “And ‘helping’ means showing up at the lounge she works at every night to play her knight in shining armor? The great Vaughn Vance, getting into a brawl at a police precinct over a waitress. Is that your idea of ‘helping’?” His lips thinned into a blade. His dark eyes held a dangerous warning. “I will get to the bottom of what happened tonight,” he said, his voice like ice. He paused, adding, “And it had better have nothing to do with you.” The words hit me like a physical blow. A cold shock coursed through me. In the three years of our marriage, Vaughn had never been truly angry with me. For a while, I’d allowed myself to believe he’d moved on from Mia, that he was ready to build a life with me. How foolish I’d been. It was all a fantasy. I remembered the portrait. For a while, a painting of Mia hung in his study. He’d painted it himself and made no effort to hide it from anyone, including his family. His grandfather had thrown a monumental fit, which ended with our wedding portrait being hung in its place. The painting of Mia was locked away in a cabinet. Now I understood. He hadn’t surrendered. He was just fighting a silent, private war against all of us. Outside, the wind howled. A draft slipped in from the open balcony door in the dining room, and I shivered. Just then, a shrill, piercing scream erupted from Vaughn’s phone. In an instant, the cold fury in his eyes shattered, replaced by raw, primal fear. He was already moving, a blur of panicked motion towards the door. “Mia, don’t be afraid! I’ll be there in ten minutes. Don’t you dare open the door for anyone—” His voice was cut off as he slammed the door behind him. The click of the latch was a final, deafening sound, sealing all his tenderness away from me. That night, Vaughn didn’t come back. I sat alone on the sofa until the sun came up. As the city awoke, two messages appeared on my phone. The first was a photo: Vaughn and Mia, walking side-by-side into a hotel. The second was a single sentence: Divorce him. Choose me? I scrolled up to see three older, unread messages from the same number: Eleanor, I’m back. I’m here if you need me. Always. Do you really love him that much? Could you try loving me instead? I blinked, my eyes stinging, and typed back a single word: Okay.

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It was our third year crammed together in a shoebox apartment in the city when the storm hit and flooded the place. I buried my face in Jasper’s shoulder, the misery a cold weight in my chest. He murmured that his heart ached for me, then turned around and, without blinking, donated twenty million dollars to the city’s disaster relief fund. I heard the story later, secondhand. A pack of his blue-blood friends were joking about it at a private club. “All those heiresses are throwing themselves at you, Croft. Why bother with some broke girl from the outer boroughs?” Jasper just smiled, those beautiful, treacherous eyes of his crinkling at the corners. “My girl works three jobs a day just to save up for a ring for me. Could any of them do that?” Then, another voice cut in. “But what if she actually proposes? Aren’t you and Delia Duncan supposed to be getting engaged?” “It’s just a game,” Jasper said with a dismissive laugh. “You don’t actually think I’d marry her, do you?” After a pause, his voice took on a chilling certainty. “Besides, Wren will never find out.” He didn’t know I was standing right outside the door. 1 I’d fought my way through a monsoon to find him. My lab coat was plastered to my skin, a cold, second skin of ice, but it was nothing compared to the glacial chill of his words. They were icicles plunging straight into my heart, a pain so sharp it made my whole body recoil. Inside the private room, the conversation flowed on. “You’re right. She’d probably lose her mind if she knew.” “Can you imagine? The pretty boy she’s been ‘keeping’ for three years casually drops twenty million on a donation. You couldn’t write this stuff, hahaha.” “So what’s the plan, Jasper? Just turn her down flat when she proposes?” Jasper lazily motioned for the waiter to open another bottle of wine. “Turn her down? Why would I do that?” he murmured, a wicked glint in his eye. “I’m not done playing yet.” He stroked his chin, a thoughtful, predatory look on his face. Then, a roguish smile spread across his lips, making the tiny beauty mark by his eye seem to burn even brighter. “What do you guys think? Maybe I should break up with her first, just to scare her a little. You know, tell her my ‘three-thousand-a-month’ salary can’t possibly hold her back.” “You’re playing with fire, man. What if she actually leaves?” “You don’t know Wren,” another voice chimed in, filled with smug confidence. “He’s tried breaking up with her how many times? And every single time, she’s the one who comes back crying, begging him to take her back.” Jasper clearly savored that, raising his glass in a silent toast to the speaker, who puffed up with pride. Then, someone else clicked their tongue. “Damn, that’s pathetic. Like some stray no one wants, just begging for scraps…” I couldn’t listen anymore. My legs felt like they were filled with lead as I dragged myself away, my soul adrift. My hand brushed against the small, velvet box in my pocket, and I snatched it away as if it were on fire. Behind me, the boisterous room fell strangely silent. Jasper, who had been lounging in his chair, now sat up. One hand draped over the backrest, the other swirling the wine in his glass, he shot a sideways glare at the man who had just spoken. The air turned frigid. Everyone in that room was part of New York’s elite, but there were levels to that world. The Croft family was old money, with influence stretching from Wall Street to Washington. Jasper, groomed since birth to be the heir, was not someone you crossed. “Jasper, man, I’m sorry,” the guy, Leo, stammered, his face pale. He started slapping his own cheek, hard. “I was drunk, I shouldn’t have said that about your girl!” The others quickly jumped in to smooth things over. “You idiot, don’t you know his girlfriend is a researcher at Columbia? She’s a damn genius. Who are you to talk?” Only when Leo’s face began to swell did Jasper speak, his voice a low, dangerous purr. “That’s enough.” He paused, his eyes narrowing. “Vance, isn’t it? Your family is in pharmaceuticals?” Leo Vance nodded frantically. Jasper leaned forward, propping his chin on his hand. He lifted his glass slightly. “Columbia’s latest research project…” “I get it! I get it, Jasper!” Leo interrupted, tripping over his words in his haste. “Thank you for the opportunity! I’ll make sure she gets all the support she needs!” 2 I stumbled home in a daze, their words echoing in my head. “The girl’s a total fool. She kind of deserves to be played.” “Remember three years ago? Jasper lost a dare and had to go to that karaoke bar and pretend to be an escort for an hour.” “The first few women who came in knew it was a joke. But not her. She actually believed him.” I was a fool. An absolute fool. I didn’t recognize that the artfully distressed sweater he wore was the latest from Balenciaga. I didn’t know the simple silver watch on his wrist was a Richard Mille, worth a small fortune. I just heard his sob story—a gambling-addicted father, a sick mother—and in his tragedy, I saw a reflection of my own past. I looked at his face, as devastatingly beautiful as a Japanese drama star, and my heart melted with a tenderness I hadn’t known I possessed. I had no idea that behind those soulful eyes, he was thinking, Tsk, what an idiot. How could anyone fall for such a ridiculous lie? I spent ages convincing him to leave that life, helping him find “respectable” work. I was just a research assistant myself, barely making a few thousand a month, yet I scraped together two grand to buy him a decent suit so he could make a good impression. All the while, I wore the same trench coat for three years straight. And him? He would just flash that devastating smile, his eyes curving into crescents. “You’re so good to me, my beautiful angel,” he’d purr. “I’ll have to find a way to repay you properly.” Then he’d pull me into his arms, and we’d be lost in each other. He was a twenty-year-old discovering passion for the first time… or so I thought. Once he started, he was insatiable. The walls of our old apartment were paper-thin, and the more I bit my lip to stay quiet, the more determined he became to draw out every sound from me, forcing soft pleas and breathless cries from my lips until he was finally satisfied. He was beautiful. He loved to cuddle. He loved to cook for me. I truly believed we would be tangled up like this forever. I even took on two extra freelance jobs, working myself to the bone, just to save up enough money to buy him a ring. I was going to be the one to propose. 3 On the way home, I passed the subway station Jasper usually took. It was chaos. Firefighters, paramedics, dazed survivors wrapped in emergency blankets… a sea of flashing lights and desperate faces. I stopped, my heart pounding in my throat. My phone buzzed with a new message. Jasper: Angel, my phone fell in the water, just got it fixed. Jasper: I bought you a little cupcake. Almost home~ The message was followed by a sticker of a cartoon puppy holding up a heart. The caption read: Puppy loves you most! For a moment, the world tilted. It took a long time for my fingers to move, to type out a reply. Me: I’m at the subway station. The north entrance on Huang Lane. A few minutes later, he appeared around the corner. He was a striking figure—tall and slender, with skin so pale it seemed to glow, lips a natural cherry-red. Even in a simple white t-shirt, a gray hoodie, and dark jeans, he had the undeniable aura of a star. Heads turned as he walked past. “I told you to stay home and rest,” he scolded gently, shrugging off his hoodie and draping it over my shoulders. “You know you get sick so easily. Why would you run out in the rain?” His familiar scent, a clean, crisp fragrance like pine needles, enveloped me. It was so achingly familiar that it stung my nose and made my eyes burn. “I thought you were dead,” I said, my voice a broken thing. I pointed a trembling finger toward the dark mouth of the subway entrance. I thought I would be screaming, hysterical, but my throat felt like a rusted pipe—only a raw, hoarse, exhausted sound came out. “You texted that you were just getting on the train, and then… nothing. The news said the tunnel was flooded. I was so scared. I ran for miles in the storm to get here. They wouldn’t let me go down. I told them, no, my boyfriend is in there. If he’s going to die, we’ll die together.” I lifted my head, my bloodshot eyes locking onto his. “Jasper,” I whispered, the name a shard of glass on my tongue. “When I was so worried about you that I was ready to throw my own life away, where were you?” His long, dark lashes swept down, hiding those ever-smiling eyes, concealing the storm I knew must be raging within them. Maybe this game had finally grown heavier than he’d anticipated. Or maybe, just maybe, he was laughing silently at the sheer, pathetic devotion of the woman in front of him. He just turned his face away, a light, dismissive smile playing on his lips. “On my way to buy you a cupcake, of course.” No, you weren’t. You were at a club with your rich friends, drinking and laughing. You were taking my heart and grinding it into the dirt under your heel. Before I could press him further, he turned his back to me and crouched down. “Get on. Let’s go home before you really get sick.” And just like that, he was carrying me on his back, wading through the murky, waist-deep water that had consumed our street. My voice was a detached, airy whisper by his ear. “What home? Jasper, our home is gone.” Our first-floor apartment in the old building was a disaster. The nineties-era complex had drainage systems that were a joke. When we pushed open the door, we were greeted by a scene of utter devastation. A meter of filthy water filled the room. Floating in the brown murk were the matching mugs Jasper had bought, our slippers, and the pieces of the photo wall he’d so carefully curated… In those photos, we were laughing, smearing birthday cake on each other’s faces; we were holding sparklers on New Year’s Eve, our hands forming a heart against the night sky… all those perfect, romantic moments, now warped and blurred by the floodwater. “Damn it. They’re all ruined,” Jasper muttered, his brow furrowed as he fished the soggy pictures from the water. I opened my mouth, a question burning on my tongue. Was it all just a game? And if so, why did you look so genuinely heartbroken over these shattered memories? But all I said was, “It’s fine. They’re not that important.” “Not important?” He stared at me, a wounded look in his eyes. “If this isn’t important, then what is?” Are they important because they’re trophies from the three years you spent conning a woman out of her heart? I clenched my fists, my lips pressed into a thin line, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask. 4 The apartment was unlivable. Every hotel nearby was either fully booked or charging astronomical prices. One clerk quoted us four thousand dollars for a single night. Defeated, we ended up huddled with the crowds in a hotel lobby, leaning against a corner, trying to figure out our next move. I overheard two young women chatting nearby. “God, I wish some billionaire would just randomly fall in love with me and drop a million bucks in my account.” “Forget that, did you see the news? I’m so jealous of Delia Duncan. She’s a huge star, basically New York royalty, and now her fiancé just casually donates twenty million dollars to charity. In both their names! Talk about relationship goals.” Behind me, I felt Jasper’s muscles tense. He leaned in close, his voice a low, wheedling murmur against my ear. “Angel, let’s just pay the four thousand. Please? Let’s just get a room.” His body, warm against my back, was trembling slightly. It was late autumn, and he’d given me his hoodie, leaving him in just a t-shirt. Before, I would have melted. I would have spent a third of my monthly salary without a second thought, just to keep him comfortable. But now, I pinched his thigh, hard. My voice was flat. “You brought this on yourself. You deserve it.” I paused, then added in a light, mocking tone, “If you were like that guy on the news, donating twenty million like it was pocket change, do you think I’d be living this miserable life?” As soon as the words were out, a violent coughing fit seized me. Jasper’s hand was instantly on my back, rubbing gentle circles. When I finally caught my breath, he lowered his head, his lips brushing my ear. He pitched his voice into that familiar, playfully pathetic tone. “I get it. My angel thinks I’m poor now. It’s my fault. I’m not good enough to give you a big house… making you suffer out here in the cold, sick and with nowhere to go. It’s all my fault…” I thought I was all out of tears. But hearing him spin that web of sweet, false sincerity, lamenting how he couldn’t give me a better life—the same life he’d watched me sacrifice for him day after day for three years—I felt that familiar, bitter sting behind my eyes. He was doing it again. Watching me get worn down by life, watching me suffer for him, and then smoothing it all over with a few pretty, empty words. He probably got a sick thrill out of it. “Yes,” I said, cutting him off. “It is all your fault.” He stopped, his face a mask of shock. Right. Usually, this was my cue to soothe him, to whisper, “Don’t you dare blame yourself. It hurts me when you do that, you know?” But now, I turned to face him, my gaze level and cold. “Who else would it be? You make three grand a month, Jasper. You can’t even afford a bathroom in this city. You think I want you holding me back for the rest of my life? Did you really, honestly think I wanted to live in that dump with you forever?” He just stared, completely stunned. For a long moment, he was silent, then a stiff, unnatural smile stretched his lips. “I… I can work overtime—” “I’m just kidding,” I said, pushing him away, unable to listen to another lie. In my peripheral vision, I saw the tension drain from his shoulders, saw them slump in relief.

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In the year we were at our absolute poorest, my mom was welcomed back into a billionaire family. I’ve always been obsessed with novels, especially the “switched at birth” kind. I used to lose myself in fantasies about the stories I read. If only I were the real heiress, swapped at birth, I’d think. Then I’d have so much money. I wanted to buy my mom a huge mansion and hire five or six male models to wait on her hand and foot. I never dreamed it would actually happen. Except, the long-lost heiress wasn’t me. It was my mom. And I? I was just your average, run-of-the-mill, third-generation trust fund kid. 1 My life just got a major upgrade, all thanks to Mom! Before I could even process this insane new reality, we were being whisked away to the Vance family estate. The villa was enormous, complete with sprawling gardens and a fountain that looked like it belonged in front of a palace. Holy crap, I thought, my mind reeling. Even after devouring thousands of “switched at birth” stories, I could never have imagined this level of opulence. It turns out poverty really does limit your imagination. I stuck close to my mom, my eyes darting around, taking it all in. As the real heiress, lost for thirty-four years, she was a wreck. The sudden revelation of her true identity had sent her on an emotional rollercoaster, and she was understandably nervous. I squeezed her hand, a silent promise that I was right here with her. “Janie, what do you think?” Mom whispered, tugging at her worn cotton coat. “Is this okay?” The coat was old, and if you got close enough, you could smell the faint, musty scent of being stored in a wooden chest for too long. But it was the best, and only, decent piece of clothing she owned. She only ever wore it for New Year’s. Still, standing in front of this three-story mansion, we looked completely out of place. “You look beautiful, Mom,” I said, and I meant it. In my eyes, she was the most beautiful person in the world. 2 I kept a bright smile plastered on my face, but inside, I was already composing a funeral dirge. Life in a wealthy family was never easy. The novels had taught me that much, with their brutal, predictable plots. The real heiress returns home only to face a family that favors the fake one, and a conniving, manipulative imposter who makes her life hell. But not on my watch. I wouldn’t let my mom suffer that fate. As we stepped inside, a group of people came to greet us. I was about to yell, “Where’s my sword?” when I got a good look at them. There was Mr. and Mrs. Vance, both in their fifties. A beautiful, stylishly dressed young woman. And her ten-year-old daughter… I was stumped. Surely that little brat, younger than me, couldn’t be the cuckoo in the nest? While I was lost in thought, Mrs. Vance and my mom were already crying and hugging. After a round of tearful, heartfelt introductions, I quickly got the lay of the land. The real heiress had returned too late. The story was already over. The fake heiress had taken the money, gotten married, and had a kid. Everything was settled. What the hell? I looked around, brandishing my imaginary sword, completely at a loss. My mom was sobbing her heart out in Mrs. Vance’s arms, crying “Momma” over and over again. I lowered my weapon. None of it mattered anymore. My mom had lived such a hard life. Her adoptive parents favored their son, forcing her to drop out of school to work and support the family. Even then, they beat her. When she was old enough, they tricked her into marrying a man just to get the bride price to pay for their son’s wedding. She had no power to fight her fate. Lying on her tiny bed in a makeshift room next to the toilet, she could only try to convince herself: Maybe life will be better after I get married. But life is cruel. The universe never did my mom any favors. She just went from one hell to another. After the wedding, my father quickly showed his true colors. He was an alcoholic and a gambling addict. Whenever he lost money and had too much to drink, he’d come home and take it out on my mom, his fists flying. For my sake, to give me a “complete” family, she endured it all, wiping away her tears in secret. Until the day his fists started flying at me. That was the day she finally found the strength to grab me and run, leaving that house and him behind forever. She didn’t want me to become the second version of her. After leaving my dad, things were even harder. A single woman with no education and no real skills, she struggled to raise me on her own. She worked three jobs a day, from dawn till dusk, doing the dirtiest, most grueling work imaginable. Eventually, she saved up enough to open a small food stall selling steamed buns near my school. But our lives didn’t get much better. Despite the poverty, she never let me feel deprived. She did everything in her power to give me a happy childhood. “Janie,” she’d always say, “as long as Mom’s here, you don’t have to worry about a thing.” But now, things were different. She had found her mother, her family. She finally had a place where she could cry without shame, a shield against the world’s cruelty. More than anyone, I knew how deeply she craved the warmth of a real family. 3 To celebrate our reunion, the Vances had prepared a lavish feast. There were so many dishes I’d never even seen before. Mr. and Mrs. Vance sat my mom down, and I squeezed in beside her. Mrs. Vance kept piling food onto my mom’s plate, asking her about her life with deep concern. Just as they were about to start crying again, Mr. Vance changed the subject. “You must be Janie,” he said, his voice warm. “From now on, this is your home too. We’re your grandparents. Don’t you think it’s time you started calling us that? Are you shy, Janie? Why don’t you say hello to your grandpa and grandma?” Suddenly being the center of attention, my mind went blank. I had come here ready to play the role of my mom’s vicious sidekick, and I hadn’t switched back to “sweet granddaughter” mode yet. The others chimed in, teasing me gently, and for a moment, the atmosphere at the table was warm and cheerful. Clatter! Across the table, the ten-year-old girl threw her chopsticks down. She was the fake heiress’s daughter, Chloe Grant. “They’re my grandparents, not yours!” she wailed. “You’re just a country bumpkin! A hillbilly! You don’t belong in our house!” The table fell silent. My mom instinctively pulled me behind her, her own face flushing with shame. I glanced over at the fake heiress, a woman named Dahlia Vance, who was sitting right there, saying nothing. Her silence was a tacit approval of her daughter’s outburst. Mrs. Vance frowned. “Chloe, you can’t talk to your cousin like that. Janie is our family now. She’ll be living here with us.” At that, the little girl cried even harder. “She’s not my family! Now that she’s here, Grandma and Grandpa won’t love me and Mommy anymore! You never used to scold me, Grandma! She’s a bad person! Her mom is a bad person too!” She turned to her mother, her voice thick with tears. “Mommy, are Grandpa and Grandma going to abandon us? But I don’t want to leave them! They love me the most!” Dahlia pulled the girl into a tight hug, then shot a cold, hard glare in our direction. “Mom, don’t forget what you promised me before she came back! You said nothing in this house would change because of her. It’s only her first day, and you’re already letting Chloe be bullied! I bet in a few days, you and Dad will be thinking about redividing the family assets!” A spoiled little brat and an arrogant mother. The fake heiress wasn’t even trying to hide her true colors. With the family fortune already in her hands and the powerful Grant family backing her, she had no need to play the victim to win affection. Mr. Vance slammed his hand on the table. “Dahlia, what nonsense are you spouting!” But Mrs. Vance’s heart softened. She opened her mouth to scold Dahlia several times but couldn’t bring herself to do it. Instead, she turned to my mom. “Evelyn,” she said, using my mom’s real name, “don’t take Dahlia’s words to heart. It’s my fault. But I promise, I will make up for all the years you’ve lost.” The subtext was clear: compensation, yes. Redividing the inheritance? Don’t even think about it. She coaxed softly, “I’ll have Mrs. Gable get a guest room ready. You and Janie can stay here tonight.” And just like that, I understood. The warmth from before was a mirage. In this house, everything belonged to the fake heiress, Dahlia. Even her parents’ hearts were tilted in her favor. Ugh. It’s 2025, and these clichés are still alive and well. 4 So we moved into the Vance estate. The “temporary guest room” was still bigger than our entire tiny apartment. I lay on the soft, plush mattress, fuming until three in the morning. In the moonlight streaming through the window, my mom’s sleeping face was peaceful and beautiful, which only made the Vances seem more sinister in comparison. Furious, I decided to do what I always do to calm down: read. I opened my massive digital library of “switched at birth” novels. I devoured them, one after another, with a vengeance. After Rebirth, I Destroyed the Fake Heiress’s Family. The Real Heiress’s Revenge: Reading Minds and Exposing the Fake. After Becoming the Real Heiress, My Whole Family Burned. And on and on, for what felt like a hundred books. Finally, I mentally screamed into the void: The real heiress has returned, but the story is already over! The manipulative bitch is married with a kid and has all the money! What do I do? HELP! URGENT! The books had no answers. This problem was too advanced. I was out of my depth. Suddenly, my throat was parched. I crept out of the room to get some water. And there she was. Chloe, dressed in a white nightgown, looking like a ghost. She was holding a glass of water, as if she’d been waiting for me. “Cousin,” she began, her voice dripping with false sweetness, “why did you have to come back? Why are you trying to steal my grandparents from me?” Her face twisted into an ugly mask. “They’re my grandparents! It would have been better if you and your mother had just died out there! Why did you have to come back? Go die! Both of you, just go die!” Before I could even react, she splashed the water in her own face, threw herself backwards onto the floor, and the glass shattered into a million pieces. Her small, pale hand landed right on the shards, and a deep gash opened up. Bright red blood dripped onto the white fragments, staining them crimson. In an instant, the entire villa lit up, and the sound of footsteps echoed down the hall. My heart pounded in my chest, a frantic drum against my ribs. The world went silent, until Chloe, lying on the floor, started screaming at me. “Janie, Mommy and I didn’t mean to take your things! Please don’t hit me! I’ll give you whatever you want! You can have everything, just please don’t make us leave! Mommy loves Grandpa and Grandma so much, and I do too…” She lay there in Dahlia’s arms, her face pale, her bleeding hand still clutching Mrs. Vance’s sleeve. No one would ever believe a ten-year-old could lie like that. Wow. Just… wow. This family’s talent for manipulation wasn’t just genetic; it was getting stronger with each generation. This kid was a prodigy. “Janie…” I turned. My mom was standing there, her face ashen, her body swaying as if she were about to collapse. 5 Chloe was carried off to have her wound treated. The family sat in the living room, a heavy silence hanging in the air. Dahlia was the first to speak, her voice shaking with rage. “I never thought a child could be so vicious at such a young age!” “Mom, Chloe is only ten! Her hands are for playing the piano! I’ve protected her so carefully her whole life, never letting her get so much as a scratch! It’s their first day back, and Chloe is already hurt! You have to give me an explanation!” Mrs. Vance remained silent. Mr. Vance spoke, his voice cold. “It’s a good thing her hand isn’t seriously injured. If it were, we’d have a hard time explaining this to the Grants. If our families have a falling out over this, we can’t just let it slide!” Dahlia snorted. “Like mother, like daughter.” I was about to explode, but my mom beat me to it. “Janie didn’t do it. I know my child. Janie is the kindest girl in the world. She would never do something like this.” I stared at her, my vision blurring. “Mom…” She squeezed my hand, her voice firm and unwavering. “My Janie would never do something like this.” Mrs. Vance frowned. “Evelyn, I understand you’re a mother.” “But coddling her like this is only hurting her. Chloe is seriously injured. The doctor said she was lucky, she could have been scarred for life.” “You just got here, so you don’t know, but that child loves the piano. What if she could never play again? You’d be destroying her entire life. The evidence is right in front of you. Why are you still defending your child?” “Evelyn, listen to me. Have Janie apologize to Chloe and Dahlia. We can still be a family after this.” My mom pulled her hand away. “Mom! You said it yourself, I’m Janie’s mother! I carried her for ten months. I love her, I trust her, and I will protect her!” The unshed tears in my mom’s eyes seemed to sting Mrs. Vance. She looked away, her gaze flickering with guilt. My mom stood up straight, her shoulders back, and faced them all. “There’s been a misunderstanding. I want an investigation. Check the security cameras. That will clear Janie’s name.” I buried my face in her side, sobbing. I was so much luckier than my mom. I had her. I couldn’t understand how any mother could not love her child. Mrs. Vance was my mom’s mother, too. But I didn’t think she loved my mom at all. Mr. Vance scoffed. “Check the cameras? Isn’t this embarrassing enough? Have Janie apologize to Chloe! We’ve watched Chloe grow up. We know her. She wouldn’t lie.” “The child is already hurt! Can’t you even offer a simple apology?” The disappointment in his eyes was a physical blow to my mom, and her whole body started to tremble. The warmth she’d felt upon returning to her family had been fleeting. Reality had just slapped her hard across the face, giving her a glimpse of hope only to snatch it away. Footsteps sounded from the doorway. My mom’s older brother, Ethan Vance, had just rushed back from the office. He didn’t even bother with greetings. “You just got here and you’re already causing this much trouble!” he snapped. “Mom, Dad, if something serious happens to Chloe’s hand, can the two of them even take responsibility for it? How are we supposed to explain this to the Grants?” “I heard everything from outside. Apologize! Or I’ll have no choice but to call the police!” Ethan was completely cold towards this long-lost sister of his. My mom tensed up, her body rigid. I stared at them, dumbfounded. They were all completely insane. I couldn’t beat them. So I decided to join them. “No need to bother! I’ve already called the police!” The entire Vance family stared at me in shock. I slammed a small recording pen onto the coffee table and hit play. Chloe’s triumphant, taunting words filled the room, replaying the scene for everyone to hear. Having read so many “switched at birth” novels, did they really think I wouldn’t know the importance of a recording pen and hidden cameras? I didn’t have money to buy one, so I’d begged and pleaded with a classmate to let me borrow one. I never thought I’d actually need it. “The police will be here soon. I suggest you figure out what your little manipulator is going to say to them.” My original plan was to let the police handle the little liar. But now, they’d pushed me too far. I looked around at the Vances. Their eyes darted around the room, none of them daring to meet my gaze. My mom leaned in and whispered, “What’s a ‘manipulator’?” Just then, the family doctor came over. “Miss Chloe is awake now.” Dahlia turned to Mrs. Vance, her eyes red-rimmed. “Mom…” Mrs. Vance’s heart ached for her. She completely ignored the recording. “This was all just a misunderstanding. Since Chloe is awake, let’s just drop it. It was just kids being kids.” Even my mom, the one at the center of it all, could see that the Vances’ favoritism was as deep as the Pacific Ocean. Trying to find justice here was a fool’s errand. “When Chloe was the one who was ‘wronged,’ Janie had to apologize. Now that Janie is the one who was wronged, we’re supposed to just ‘let it go’?” My mom’s weakness was me. She had defended me even without proof. Now that we had it, there was no way she would let me swallow this injustice. Mrs. Vance’s voice softened. “Evelyn, a harmonious family is a prosperous one…”

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The summer after senior year, I was hit with a triple whammy of bad news: 1. My family went bankrupt. 2. Adrian Anderson, the boy I’d been chasing for three years, was officially with his childhood friend. 3. I failed to get into university. My dad sold our villa in the city center, and we moved back to my grandparents’ old house in the countryside. I cut off contact with everyone and enrolled in a prep school for a post-grad year, determined to try again. 1 A year later, I got my acceptance letter from Northwood University. A few days into the semester, I was in the dining hall when I ran into an old high school classmate. “Juliet Wilson?” she asked, surprised. I turned at the sound of my name and saw a familiar face walking toward me. “It really is you!” Chloe Miller said, smiling as she balanced her tray. “Are you here by yourself?” I nodded. She quickly said something to the two friends she was in line with, then found a seat with me. “I’m so glad I spotted you,” she said, still looking shocked. “I saw your profile and thought it might be you, but I wasn’t sure!” Chloe had always been a social butterfly in high school, super outgoing and friendly. Back then, though, my entire world revolved around Adrian, so we never really talked much. “So, what happened to you?” she asked. “You just disappeared after graduation. We couldn’t even reach you for the end-of-year party.” I managed a small smile. “My family went bankrupt, so we moved back to my hometown. And my phone got stolen around the same time.” “Oh my God,” Chloe said, her eyes wide with sympathy. “That’s awful.” She immediately pulled out her phone to add me on social media. After we finished eating, I had to head to the library, and Chloe walked with me. She kept looking at me, opening her mouth to say something before closing it again. “What is it?” I finally asked, curious about what could make the ever-talkative Chloe hesitate. “Spit it out.” She gave an embarrassed laugh and scratched her head. “Okay, don’t think I’m being nosy, but… did you talk to Adrian at all during that year?” Hearing his name used to send my heart into a frenzy. Now, it felt like hearing about someone from another lifetime. “No.” “Aw, that’s such a shame. I shipped you two so hard,” she said, her expression dead serious. “And it wasn’t just me! The whole class did.” I couldn’t help but laugh. “You were shipping the wrong couple, my friend. He never liked me.” You should have been shipping him and Iris Song from the class next door, I added silently. They were the real story. “No way! Do you have any idea how popular and untouchable Adrian was back then? He was gorgeous, but no one dared to actually pursue him.” Her eyes lit up as she spoke, her hands waving excitedly. “But you did! You’d just call out his name, so sweet and cheerful, ask him to eat with you, wait for him after class… ugh! Watching you two was my only joy during senior year.” “He was so cold to everyone else, just these one-word answers. But with you, there was always this sense of helpless indulgence.” “And anytime a teacher called on you and you didn’t know the answer, Adrian was always there to clean up the mess. It was the cutest thing ever.” I kept smiling. You know that feeling when someone calls you out so completely it’s almost painful? What she called “helpless indulgence” was just him being annoyed. I was like gum on his shoe, a shadow he couldn’t shake. Chloe, a true captain of her ship, was still going on about it as we reached the library entrance. “Okay, Juliet, I’ll let you go. We’ll chat online!” “Bye!” I waved back, a genuine smile on my face this time. “Talk to you later!” That evening, I got back to my dorm to find my roommate, Hannah, doing a face mask. She pointed to a box of macarons on my desk. “Hey, Juliet, someone who said she was a high school friend of yours dropped these off for you.” I walked over, ready to message Chloe, but a text from her popped up first: Don’t you dare say no! These were supposed to be your graduation gift. I’m just giving them to you a year late. I thought for a moment, then sent back a “thank you” sticker. She replied almost instantly: Hey, can I add you back to our high school group chat? My fingers hovered over the screen. An image of a boy with cool, distant eyes flashed in my mind. It had been so long. He had a girlfriend now. There was nothing to be afraid of. Okay! A few seconds later, a notification popped up: You have been added to the “Class of ’22” chat. Immediately, the chat flooded with messages. [? A new member?] [Who’s this?] [Wait… is that Juliet Wilson?] Just then, my other roommate burst through the door, throwing her soaking wet bag on the floor. “Ugh, this stupid weather! It just started pouring out of nowhere!” she complained. “Juliet, I’m gonna hop in the shower!” “Go for it,” I called back. “Don’t catch a cold!” “You got it!” More people were popping up in the chat. I quickly typed: It’s me, Juliet. [Oh my God! What happened to you? We couldn’t reach you at all, we were so worried!] [Yeah, what she said!] I replied: Sorry guys, my phone was stolen, and it took me a while to get a new one. [No worries! As long as you’re okay!] [Juliet, I heard your family went bankrupt. Is that true?] I stared at the question for a moment, then blinked slowly. Yeah. The chat went silent for a beat. Then, someone jumped in: [That’s all in the past now.] [So, how are your college classes? If you guys aren’t too busy, we should all get together sometime.] [Let me send you a screenshot of my schedule. It’s inhuman. Worse than high school.] [Haha, can’t relate. I have class two days a week and the other three off.] I tapped on the group members list. Adrian’s profile picture was still a Hello Kitty. A strange thought crossed my mind. Didn’t Iris make him change it? I don’t know what possessed me, but I clicked on his profile. His feed was completely empty. He probably has it set to private, I thought. “Juliet…” Hannah came over, wrapped in a blanket. I quickly flipped my phone face down on the desk. Luckily, her attention was on the macarons. “Can I try one of those?” she asked, smiling sheepishly. “I’ve heard this brand is amazing.” “Of course, help yourself,” I said, opening the box for her. “By the way,” she said, munching happily, “are you free next Wednesday? There’s a volunteer event I was thinking we could sign up for.” “Yeah, I’m free. Sounds good.” “Awesome! Well, I’m heading to bed. Thanks for the macaron, gorgeous!” When I picked up my phone again, a notification was on the screen. Adrian Anderson has accepted your friend request. It was Adrian. My eyes went wide. A message followed immediately after. [Need something?] Oh, crap. He probably thought I was trying to bother him again. I debated whether to tell him I’d clicked by accident, but that seemed even more awkward. [Just adding people from the group chat.] After sending the message, I grabbed my clothes and headed for the shower. Whatever. He had a girlfriend now. It wasn’t like I still had feelings for him. On my desk, the screen of my phone stayed lit. At the top, the words Adrian is typing… appeared and disappeared for a long time before a single message finally came through. [Okay.] 2 Wednesday arrived in a flash. Hannah and I picked up our volunteer vests and headed towards the basketball court. “Ahhh, I’m so glad we signed up fast enough!” Hannah said, practically bouncing with excitement. “This is the holy grail of volunteer gigs. We get volunteer hours and we get to look at hot guys.” “And the game is against Kingston Tech, the engineering school next door!” I squinted at her. “Giving up on your beloved club president so soon?” “What? No! I’m just… spreading the love.” “…” The massive gymnasium was already starting to fill up. Hannah and I put on our bright red volunteer vests, and she started scanning the crowd. “Looking for your president?” I teased, bumping her shoulder. She shook her head, her eyes fixed on the entrance. “Nope. I’m scouting for talent.” Then, she grabbed my arm and physically turned my head towards a group of guys who were walking in, all wearing matching black and white jerseys. My gaze landed on the one who stood out, a head taller than the rest, and my heart hammered against my ribs. At the same time, Hannah’s excited voice squealed in my ear. “Do you see the one in the middle? With the raspberry-red hair? Isn’t he gorgeous?” “I’m telling you, he’s definitely the king of their campus. Unbelievably hot…” After all this time, I never thought I’d see Adrian again like this. And I never would have imagined him with such a bold hair color. I didn’t dare stare at him openly like Hannah was; I could only steal quick, furtive glances. He had changed, yet he was still the same. The dyed hair, the new ear piercing—but his eyes, his expression, were as cold as ever. But then my gaze drifted down to the girl walking beside him, and I quickly looked away, my heart sinking. It was Iris Song. She was wearing a simple white dress, quietly following at his side. “Hey, hey!” Hannah nudged me. “Is that his girlfriend?” “I heard some of the Kingston Tech kids talking about a girl who’s always with him. That must be her.” Hannah pouted. “She’s really pretty, though.” Then, she quickly added, “But you’re prettier, Juliet.” At that moment, I deeply regretted agreeing to volunteer. Not only were we standing directly across from them, but these bright red volunteer vests were impossible to miss. Seeing that I wasn’t responding, Hannah got even more animated. “She’s got that ethereal, water-lily kind of beauty, but you… you’re bright and fiery, the kind of beautiful you can’t ignore. The first time I saw you, and your figure… I was like, wow.” The crowd was getting bigger, and the two of us were just standing there like bright red targets. Hannah, completely oblivious, was getting more and more worked up. “Hannah, if you keep this up, someone’s going to report us,” I said, gently pushing her hands away as she tried to demonstrate my “figure.” Suddenly, she shot me a look, wiggling her eyebrows. At first, I didn’t get it. Then, Sean Sheng came jogging over to us. He was smiling, a little shyly. “Juliet, you’re volunteering here?” Hannah had vanished. I was left alone, feeling incredibly awkward. I nodded, a silent confirmation. Sean had been pursuing me since the first week of school. Even though I had told him clearly that I wasn’t interested, he persisted. Seeing him now, I saw a reflection of my younger self. I finally understood what a nuisance I must have been to Adrian. “So, uh, after the game, wait for me, okay? We can get dinner together.” Before I could refuse, he smiled and jogged back to his team. I stared at his retreating back, speechless. Hannah reappeared at my side, her voice low and thoughtful. “You know, I think Sean is actually a pretty great guy. Very persistent…” She caught my murderous glare and quickly zipped her lips. I sighed and looked down, trying to figure out how I was going to survive the next few hours. Hannah leaned in again. “Hey, do you know that hot guy from Kingston Tech? Why has he been staring at you this whole time?” My heart skipped a beat. I jerked my head up. Adrian was sitting on the bench, leaning back slightly, his face impassive. But his eyes, those sharp, almond-shaped eyes, were brewing a storm. “Don’t tell me he’s into you too!” Hannah whispered, covering her mouth in shock. I was genuinely terrified of what she might say next. I quickly clamped my hand over her mouth. “Don’t be ridiculous. He has a girlfriend.” “Mmmph mmm,” she mumbled through my fingers, her eyes wide. “She’s not as pretty as you.” 3 A sharp whistle blew, and the game began. Adrian’s red hair was a beacon on the court. That, combined with his incredible skill—the way he dribbled, the way he moved past defenders—drew endless screams from the girls in the stands. I glanced across the court and saw Iris, holding a water bottle. Her eyes were fixed on him, shining with an adoration that was impossible to miss. Watching her, I was suddenly transported back to a similar game in high school. As soon as school let out, I had dragged my deskmate to the gym, clutching a water bottle for Adrian, to snag the best seats. We were so proud of our foresight as the stands filled up around us. Back then, just like now, Adrian was the center of everyone’s attention. I held the water bottle, waiting for him to look my way so I could wave. My deskmate, unable to stand my lovesick puppy look, finally said, “I’ll save your spot. Go say hi to him.” I beamed, putting the water bottle down. But before I could even take a step, I saw Iris, a bright smile on her face, walk right up to Adrian with a water bottle of her own. The players had their own designated seating area. I stood frozen in place as Iris sat down next to him, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Another sharp whistle pulled me back to the present. I looked towards the court and saw a crowd of players huddled together. Iris was already running towards them. I don’t know when Adrian was helped off the court, or when he ended up standing right in front of me. Iris was beside him. When she saw me, her expression froze, her mouth falling open in surprise. Adrian was breathing heavily, his face flushed and beaded with sweat. His lips were pressed into a thin line, and his dark eyes were locked on mine. One of the players said, “Excuse me, can you show us to the nurse’s office?” I nodded. As I turned to lead the way, I could have sworn I saw a flicker of hurt in Adrian’s eyes before he dropped his gaze, his shoulders slumping. The nurse’s office wasn’t far. We were there in two minutes. I stood outside with Iris. She gave me a small, polite smile. “Have we met before?” “I don’t think so,” I lied without batting an eye. I glanced into the office, then she said, “Thanks for your help. I’ve got it from here. You can go.” “Okay,” I replied, a little too quickly. A flash of surprise crossed her face.

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The phone call came while Leo was fast asleep beside me. It was my parents, telling me it was time to go over to his house and meet his blind date. I thought they were joking. I leaned over and whispered, “Leo, they said they found a blind date for you.” He let out a lazy “mmhmm” and pulled me closer. “Be a doll, Thea, and pick out an outfit for me later. And do my hair.” When I didn’t move, he cracked open an eye and let out a cynical laugh. “What’s with you? We’re just bed buddies. You didn’t actually think I was going to marry you, did you?” 1 For a moment, I couldn’t process it. My hands fumbled as I pushed him away, scrambling to pull on the clothes scattered on the floor. I didn’t dare look at him. “Thea, look at me,” Leo said, propping his chin on his arm, a playful glint in his eye. “You didn’t really think we were a couple, did you?” The words “bed buddies” echoed in my head. My hands trembled so badly I couldn’t fasten the clasp on my bra. Leo threw back the covers, revealing a lean, sculpted torso, and knelt on the edge of the bed. He reached out and expertly fastened it for me. I kept my head down. “Who’s the date?” I asked, forcing a bitter laugh. “Please don’t tell me your parents just grabbed some random person from a singles mixer.” I looked in the mirror at the constellation of love bites scattered across my skin. My legs still ached. Leo, now wearing only a pair of gray sweatpants, came up behind me and buried his face in the crook of my neck. “It’s Amelia,” he murmured, his beautiful, almond-shaped eyes crinkling at the corners. “Amelia Thorne, from the art department back in college. Remember her?” He repeated her name, a note of excitement in his voice. “To be honest, I’m actually pretty nervous about seeing her.” My hand, holding a tube of lipstick, froze. Of course, I remembered. Leo had had a massive crush on her, but before he could make a move, she’d moved abroad. I thought that was all in the past. He studied my face, his lips pursed. “Hey, don’t get any funny ideas, Thea. We grew up together. You’re practically one of the guys. I mean, you’re gorgeous, sure, but… you’re my buddy.” “You’re my perfect partner in crime—my food buddy, my road trip buddy, my bed buddy…” His words hit me like a physical blow. My whole body went cold. I looked at his smiling face and managed a weak smile of my own. He continued, oblivious. “Besides, I know everything about you. What you’re going to wear, what underwear you’ll pair with it… it’s all so predictable. There’s no mystery.” “Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and see you sleeping next to me, and I get this jolt of fear—what if we actually ended up married, like our parents always joke? My whole life would be laid out in front of me, over before it even started.” He shivered, as if the very thought was terrifying. I dug my nails into my palms, fighting back tears. “I have to go,” I said, grabbing my coat and fleeing like a deserter. 2 I thought we were dating. We did everything couples do. We ate together, went on dates, hung out with friends. We’d even kiss during games of “Truth or Dare” and say “I love you” without a second thought. Leo would pick me up from work on rainy days. He’d secretly hold my hand under the table during family dinners. I had no idea that what I thought was a six-month relationship was just a game of house to him. “Thea?” My mom tapped on the car window, her face etched with concern. I snapped back to reality. I glanced in the rearview mirror and saw my tear-streaked face. I quickly wiped my cheeks and got out of the car. “Mom!” I threw my arms around her, hiding my face in her shoulder. “I missed you,” I said, forcing a cheerful tone. She was holding a bag of groceries. She took my arm, a wave of relief washing over her. “Honey, why were you just sitting in the car? You scared me. Didn’t you see that news story about someone suffocating in their car…” I nodded along. Suddenly, her tone shifted. “By the way, Thea… Leo’s date is coming over soon. His parents are taking this one very seriously. I hear Leo planned the whole thing himself. He said he was worried she might feel awkward, and that having another girl there would help. Your aunt and I have been friends for so many years, so today…” She trailed off, looking at me with a pained expression. I understood. “It’s okay, Mom. I get it. Break the ice, say nice things. I know the drill.” She gave me a look filled with pity. Of course, she knew. A picture of me and Leo sat on my nightstand. I treasured every gift he’d ever given me, and my journals were filled with a love for him that I couldn’t hide. How could she not know? We walked home in silence. As we reached the door, I said suddenly, “Dad’s retiring next month. Let’s move to Florida.” I looked at my mom’s stunned face and put on my best cheerful, daughterly voice. “You guys have always talked about retiring there. And I don’t have any big dreams. I’d be happy just being a dance teacher, staying close to you.” 3 Sitting in Leo’s house with my parents felt different this time. We were usually so boisterous, so comfortable. The last time we were here, we had used “playing video games” as an excuse to sneak off to his room and kiss. This time… “Oh, Catherine, you have no idea the lengths this boy went to for Amelia,” Leo’s mom, Aunt Rose, was saying to my mom. “I told him, ‘Just ask her out!’ But no, he had to insist on ‘dating with the intention of marriage.’ He had his father pull all sorts of strings just to arrange this ‘blind date’ today.” The house was meticulously decorated, filled with roses. There were platters of fruit and sweets on the table. Even their little dog was wearing a bright red sweater. And Leo was in front of the mirror, checking his reflection over and over, making sure he was perfect. The irony was almost suffocating. Just last night, we were tangled up in his sheets, and he was kissing the small birthmark on my hip with such passion. And the boxers he was wearing right now? I bought them for him. “It’s such a shame, though…” Aunt Rose said, taking my mom’s hand. “We always said we’d be in-laws one day. We even had a childhood engagement pact for the kids.” She glanced at me. “I just adore Thea. She’s not only beautiful, but she has such a wonderful personality, so full of life…” I kept my eyes down, not daring to speak. I was afraid that if I did, the tears would start to fall. “Mom!” Leo frowned, clearly annoyed. “You said it yourself, that was your generation’s thing. You and Aunt Catherine are best friends, so why don’t you marry her? What does it have to do with me? What century are we living in?” He had no regard for his parents’ feelings. He turned to me, his tone sharp, as if I had put his mother up to this. “Thea, where’s the bracelet my mom gave you?” When I didn’t answer, he strode over, grabbed my wrist, and pushed up my sleeve. “The one from the engagement pact. I don’t want Amelia to see it and get the wrong idea…” The room fell silent. Leo’s father and my dad stopped drinking their tea. My mom, who had been arranging flowers, froze. The atmosphere turned painfully awkward. My mom looked at me, and the vase and scissors in her hands clattered onto the table. She started to stand up, but Aunt Rose pulled her back down. Aunt Rose, however, shot up from her seat, stood protectively in front of me, and gave Leo a hard shove. “Leo! What do you think you’re doing? First of all, nothing has even happened between you and this Amelia yet! And second of all, that bracelet… you were the one who got on your knees and begged Thea to wear it when you were seventeen!” It was as if Leo’s soul had finally returned to his body. He remembered. He remembered the year someone had confessed their feelings to me. In a panic, he had gotten drunk, stolen the antique jade bracelet from his mother, and shown up at my house in the middle of the night, crying and pleading, even getting on his knees, begging me to wear his family’s heirloom. He loosened his tie, took a deep breath, and then looked at me with a forced smile. “I’m just a little on edge. I… it’s not right to take back a gift. You can keep it.” “It’s fine. I’ll give it back to you. I’ll go get it now,” I said, my voice calm as I stood up. “I’ll be right back. I won’t be long.” Before anyone could react, I grabbed my bag and walked out. 4 When I returned with the bracelet and was about to knock, I was startled by a chorus of cheers from inside. “Welcome…” Leo’s smile froze when he saw me. “What are you doing here?” He seemed surprised that I had come back, and even more surprised that I was actually returning the bracelet. When I handed it to him, his face was a mask of disbelief. He finally took it and tucked it away, then leaned in and whispered in my ear. “Thea, for the sake of our… partnership, don’t cause any trouble today. Amelia is a sensitive girl. Don’t say anything to upset her.” I didn’t want to deal with him. Amelia is a girl, but I’m not? I looked at the boy I had loved for my entire youth, and a bone-deep chill threatened to swallow me whole. Ten minutes later, Amelia arrived, escorted by the matchmaker. The older generation chatted amiably. That was why my parents had to be there—to subtly lay out our family’s background and future prospects for the matchmaker’s benefit. Throughout it all, Leo sat beside Amelia, his every move radiating care and attention. A nearly thirty-year-old man acting like a nervous teenager. I had nothing to do with any of it, which was fine by me. I was just looking for a chance to slip away. But then, Amelia turned her gentle gaze on me. “You must be Thea. I’ve heard so much about you. The goddess of the art department, wasn’t it?” Startled, I waved my hands dismissively. “Oh, no, that was just my friends fooling around in college.” I thought the attention would shift, but Amelia persisted. “Not at all. I remember you performed a classical dance at the spring formal, and the next day, the dorm lobby was flooded with flowers for you.” Before I could reply, she tugged playfully on Leo’s arm. “You two grew up together. How did you not end up together? I remember you were inseparable. Everyone thought you would get married.” All eyes turned to me. I don’t know how to describe it, but this seemingly harmless woman exuded a strange hostility towards me. “Her?” Leo said, looking at Amelia as he handed her a perfectly peeled apple. “To you, she might be a ‘goddess’ or whatever. To me, she’s just a tomboy. My best buddy.” He chuckled as if remembering something. “You have no idea. When she cried as a kid, snot and tears would just stream down her face. If I didn’t wipe it for her, it would have gone right into her mouth.” “And when she was fifteen, she fainted during gym class and started talking nonsense, flailing her arms around…” “I have to go,” I said, standing up, barely containing my anger. I forced a smile at the adults. “You all enjoy the rest of your evening.” Amelia looked at Leo with a concerned expression. “Did I say something wrong to upset her?” Leo shot me a furious glare, as if I were the one ruining the mood. Before he could speak, I cut him off. “I have a date with my boyfriend tonight. If I don’t leave now, I’ll be late.”

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I’m five years older than Liam. So, when he turned twenty-eight, I was already thirty-three. He was the one who once swore to me that age would never be a barrier between us. But later, he told his best friend, “I don’t know why, but once Clara hit thirty, she just started to seem… a little unclean to me.” After that, he found a lover—a girl who looked a little like me. He gave me his heart, and he gave her his body. He thought he had crafted the perfect, compartmentalized life. Until I handed him the divorce papers. I smiled as I told him, “You know, there’s one huge advantage to loving and marrying an older woman, darling. We know how to play the game, and we know how to take a loss.” 1 Sometimes, a woman’s intuition is just that sharp. While Liam was in the shower, his phone buzzed. A local number, no caller ID. I answered it. I said “Hello?” twice, then asked, “Who is this?” The line was silent. Then, they hung up. In those few seconds of dead air, an unspoken understanding passed between us. The person on the other end knew exactly who I was. And I knew, with a sinking certainty, that something was deeply wrong. I unlocked Liam’s phone. I used the number to find the person on his social media. It was a girl. Her avatar was a soft, cutesy anime character, her screen name was “Peaches.” There was no contact name saved for her, and he had her notifications silenced. Their chat history was pristine. Only a single unread message remained: 【I miss you.】 Just those three words, and my heart seized in my chest. My mind went cold with the single, stark realization: Liam was cheating on me. The phone felt weightless in my suddenly nerveless grip. I clicked on the girl’s profile. Her cover photo was likely a selfie—hair in a messy bun, lips in a playful pout. It screamed youth, and I had to admit, she was pretty. I didn’t linger on it. Instead, I took out my own phone and snapped a picture of her profile. Her feed was full of posts. I scrolled quickly, my thumb a blur, until one post made me freeze. She’d written: 【I only want 199 from him, not a penny more!】 Beneath the text was a screenshot of her conversation with Liam. She had him saved under the contact name: My Princess’s Provider. She’d asked him: 【Where’s the 199 you promised me?】 Liam had sent her twenty thousand dollars. She hadn’t accepted it. She’d sent it right back. 【I only want 199!】 Liam replied with a string of ellipses but complied, sending her the exact amount. She followed up with: 【Do you know what 199 means? It’s a pun. It means I want to be with you for a long, long time! Forever and ever!】 My face remained a mask of calm as I took another picture. I backed out of her profile and went straight to his transaction history, filtering for all their transfers. One after another, they scrolled down the screen, a river of payments with no end in sight. The most consistent were the large deposits: fifty thousand dollars at the beginning of each of the last three months. Beyond that, the smaller amounts were countless—a thousand here, two hundred there. Sprinkled among them were numbers thick with meaning: 199, 520 for I love you, 1314 for forever. I photographed every single transaction, my movements methodical and precise. Throughout the entire process, I was eerily calm. I even remembered to mark their chat as unread before I closed the app. 2 “What’s up? Lost in thought?” Liam emerged from the bathroom, rubbing a towel through his wet hair, his voice laced with casual curiosity. I snapped back to reality. I looked up at him. He was wearing nothing but a towel slung low on his hips. Broad shoulders, a narrow waist, a chiseled eight-pack. Liam had always kept himself in impeccable shape. I remembered a friend once envying me. “Just look at him,” she’d said. “As long as he’s not a murderer, what’s there not to forgive? Especially when he’s so devoted to you!” I had believed it, too. I had believed Liam was devoted to me. But now, it seemed that was just a story I’d been telling myself. “Oh, someone called for you just now,” I said, my voice even. “Didn’t say a word and then hung up. You might want to check it.” “Probably a spam call. Don’t worry about it.” He took the phone from me, his expression unruffled. He tossed the damp towel into the laundry hamper and picked up his pack of cigarettes from the table. “I’m gonna have a smoke on the balcony.” He always smoked on the balcony because he knew I hated the smell. Only now did I realize it wasn’t just about the smoke. A few minutes later, Liam came back inside, pulling on a fresh shirt. “Honey, I have to run out,” he said, all business. “Something urgent came up. Don’t wait up for me tonight.” “What’s wrong?” “The system at the Harrison Group is acting up. I don’t know what their deal is. It was working perfectly during the tests, but now they’re saying it’s all glitches and crashes. I’ve gotta head over there. If it’s late, I’ll just crash at a hotel nearby.” “Is Ethan going with you?” “Yep!” It sounded so convincing. Facts, details, even a witness. I simply nodded. “Drive safe.” 3 Liam left in a hurry. I stood there for a long time, my gaze fixed on the wedding photo hanging on our wall. I just couldn’t understand. Why? Why would Liam cheat? And that girl… Who was she? Her face, the money Liam sent her, those posts on her feed… The images flashed through my mind, a chaotic slideshow of betrayal. Suddenly, a memory sparked. I grabbed my phone, my hands trembling. That girl. I’d seen her before. 4 It was about six months ago. Liam had been taken to the local precinct after a street fight. I went to bail him out. He wasn’t badly hurt, just a scrape on his cheekbone, but his mood was black. His eyes were feral, his whole body radiating a dangerous energy I hadn’t seen since he was a teenager. He had beaten the other guy to a pulp; it was clear he’d intended to do serious damage. The man was screaming about pressing charges, demanding an apology and compensation. Liam just sneered. If I hadn’t been holding him back, he would have gone for him again. After everything was sorted, I was leading him out of the station when a young woman in a work uniform rushed up to us. She gushed at Liam, her words tumbling out in a grateful torrent. “Sir, if it weren’t for you today, I don’t know what would have happened. Thank you, really, thank you so much!” I blinked, looking from her to Liam. He was the picture of impatience. “You should find a new line of work,” he said, his voice rough. A shadow crossed the girl’s face. “I wouldn’t be doing this if I had any other choice…” Liam’s expression soured even more, and he cut her off harshly. “Not my problem. Do whatever you want.” My friend Chloe had come with me that day. As Liam shook the girl off and strode away, Chloe grabbed my arm. “Don’t you think she looks a bit like you?” she’d whispered. “Like, a younger version of you?” I’d laughed it off, thinking she was imagining things. But I couldn’t help turning back to look at the girl one last time. Now, the memory of her face merged perfectly with the photo on my phone. It was her. 5 Liam didn’t come home that night. He returned the next evening, carrying a takeout container. “It’s from that spicy noodle spot you love,” he said, a placating smile on his face. “The line was insane. You go ahead and eat, I’m gonna hop in the shower.” “Okay.” As soon as the bathroom door clicked shut, I grabbed my spare key, took the bag of food, and went straight down to the underground garage. The car had been washed; it was spotless. The passenger seat was adjusted to my preferred position. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. But I wasn’t looking for the obvious. I was there for the dashcam. I went through all the footage from yesterday until today. Liam had driven to the university campus on the south side of town. He’d called the girl. Just two words, sharp and commanding: “Come down.” She’d bounced into the passenger seat, a picture of youthful energy. Then came the sounds. Kissing. Heavy breathing. “Did you touch that old hag?” the girl’s voice, sharp and possessive. “Shut up,” Liam’s voice, low and strained. “Did you or didn’t you?” His reply was a husky growl, thick with desire. “What do you think?” She giggled, triumphant. “You’re all mine.” “Just don’t beg me to stop later.” The car sped up, the velocity a clear indicator of the driver’s urgency. He pulled into the parking lot of an apartment complex near the campus and parked. The footage went dark. The next clip started at ten the following morning. Only Liam was in the car. The video played on in silence. I sat frozen in the driver’s seat, my entire body rigid, muscles coiled so tight they ached. I raised a hand to turn it off, but just then, the car’s Bluetooth rang. It was Ethan, Liam’s best friend. “Dude, where are you? You’re not here yet.” “On my way.” “Tsk, this is late, even for you. Not your style. Don’t tell me you were with your little Peaches again.” Liam grunted an affirmative. “Mm.” Ethan sounded exasperated. “Seriously? You’re seeing her way too often. Are you actually falling for her?” Liam let out a short, hollow laugh. “What’s real? What’s fake?” “Don’t play dumb with me. I thought this was just a fling. How did it turn into a long-term thing? Weren’t you head-over-heels in love with Clara? What happened?” The question seemed to stump Liam. A long pause hung in the air. Finally, he spoke, his voice flat. “Clara’s thirty-three.” “And?” “I don’t know why, but once she hit thirty… she just started to seem… unclean to me.” 6 How long had it been since Liam had touched me? I lit a cigarette, the unfamiliar gesture feeling both foreign and deeply necessary, and tried to trace it back. It started about six months ago. Work had become all-consuming. I was pushing for a promotion, pulling late nights, running on fumes and caffeine. Most days, I’d stumble home with just enough energy to fall into bed. Liam would wrap his arms around me, try to kiss me. I’d push him away. “Don’t, I’m exhausted. Next time, okay?” The first time, he was understanding, even sympathetic. The second time, he was clearly annoyed but held his tongue. The third time, he exploded, slamming the door on his way out. I found him at a bar later that night. I knew I’d been unfair, so I wrapped my arms around his neck and met his fierce, punishing kiss with one of my own. It wasn’t good. It was rough, and it hurt. He must have sensed it too, because he finished quickly. That night, he slept with his back to me, the first time he’d ever done that. I felt helpless, unsure how to fix it, how to soothe his bruised ego. But before I could, he seemed to fix himself. He apologized, saying it was his fault, that he’d been too aggressive. “Don’t overthink it,” he’d said. “Don’t let it get to you. We’ll go on a trip as soon as you’re not so busy.” I thought the issue was resolved. He was still good to me. He still treated me well. Even if he no longer held me when we slept, even if we hadn’t made love in half a year. He was good to me. But now he was saying he found me… unclean. That single word. From the moment I heard it, it had sunk its icy claws into me. Every time I thought of it, a chill spread through my entire body. The hand holding the cigarette trembled violently. Ash fell onto my skin, a hot, sharp sting. But it was nothing compared to the wound that word had carved into me. 7 Liam called, his voice a familiar balm over the phone. He asked where I was, why I hadn’t come back upstairs yet. I told him I was just taking out the trash and would be up in a minute. He grunted an “Okay.” “I’m heading to bed, then.” When I finally went back up, Liam was fast asleep, turned on his side, hugging the edge of the bed and leaving a vast, empty space for me. I didn’t get in. I just sat on the edge of the mattress. I stared at his back all night. I met him the year he turned eighteen, a new student in a new city. He was a rebellious kid who’d defied his parents to enroll here, running away from home with nothing but a backpack. His older brother, Mark, had been worried about him and asked me to pick him up from the station. “He has no money, and the dorms aren’t open yet. Can he crash with you for a bit? The kid’s stubborn as a mule. If he says or does anything to tick you off, just give him a good smack.” I thought Mark was out of his mind. A teenage boy? Living with me? Not a chance. I was already planning to rent a separate apartment for him. But when I saw him, he looked so small, so lost. He was crouched under a large tree at the station, hugging his backpack like an abandoned puppy. He came home with me, quiet and obedient. Before I could even bring up the topic of him finding his own place, he was already tugging on my sleeve, his eyes wide and pleading. “Please, I’ll be good, I promise. I’ll cook for you, I’ll clean the house. Just please don’t make me leave.” I couldn’t help but laugh, thinking he was full of it. But he wasn’t. He really did cook for me every day. He even rode his little electric scooter to my office to pick me up after work. His presence filled my quiet, sterile apartment with life. My daily commute suddenly felt less like a chore. We lived under the same roof for a month. In the end, it was me who bought him his school supplies and took him to campus. I thought it was just a fleeting chapter in my life. But later, he confessed he had chosen this university just for me. He told me he’d seen me once when he was sixteen, and from that moment on, I had become the sole focus of all his hopes and dreams. This man, when he was still just a boy, had laid his whole, earnest heart at my feet. And I had fallen completely. But now, he was taking it all back. And I had to drag myself out of the wreckage, fast.

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I woke up as a lioness, pregnant with cubs I didn’t remember conceiving. To raise them, to keep them alive, I had to lie. I hid my status as a mother and joined a new pride. The pride was in the middle of the great migration, and I spent my nights with a cub in my mouth, stumbling through the dark to keep up, my body screaming with exhaustion. I clung to the tail end of the pride like it was a lifeline, terrified of falling behind. The Lion King, who had been watching me with an unreadable expression, finally spoke. “You travel with such desperation,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “What is it you’re so afraid of losing?” 1 I prayed the cubs in my belly wouldn’t come too soon. At least not during the dry season. But fate, it seemed, had other plans for this lioness. I gave birth on the sun-scorched sand. Three fluffy little cubs tumbled and crawled around me. As far as the eye could see, the great plains were a sea of withered yellow. This land hadn’t seen a drop of rain in five months. “Mom, my brother scratched me!” “Nuh-uh, I just nudged her! The rock was hot, I was just moving my feet.” The siblings bickered constantly. I rested my head on my paws, my body a cushion on the hot ground. “Mama, look, there’s another mama over there.” What was he talking about? I followed his gaze and saw a mother musk ox leading her calf past us. “Oh my god, that thing is huge! Kids, run!” A jolt of pure human instinct shot through me. I scrambled up, snatched the smallest cub in my mouth, and bolted. I sprinted headlong, huffing and puffing, my cubs struggling to keep pace behind me. But the farther I ran, the more something felt wrong. I slowly eased my pace. I mentally slapped myself. I was a lion now. I should have been the one hunting the musk ox! By the time I turned around, filled with regret, the mother and her calf were long gone. 2 I was so hungry I could feel the world starting to spin. My cubs, weak from the lack of milk, wobbled and stumbled with every step. The endless, sun-baked savanna stretched out before us, a terrifying, empty expanse. A wave of panic washed over me. If we stayed hungry, it would only take a day and a night for this land to claim us. I had no choice but to mimic the lions I’d seen on nature documentaries. Gritting my teeth against the gnawing hunger, I trekked for miles until I finally managed to catch two small pikas. It was barely enough to fill a gap in my teeth, but at least it meant I could produce milk again. I raced back, desperate to feed my cubs, only to see three furry little heads poking over a sand dune. “Mama, look! So many lions.” My second-born stared with envy. “If we were with them, we’d never be hungry.” “Don’t say that!” the oldest swatted him with a small paw. “We won’t starve with Mama either.” Gurgle… His own little stomach betrayed him with a loud rumble. I climbed the dune and looked out. In the distance, a massive pride of lions was moving slowly across the vast plain. Behind them, the land stretched to the horizon, where an orange sun was sinking low in the sky. I knew, with a certainty that chilled me to the bone, that my cubs had no future with me alone. I slammed a paw into the dirt. I was staking everything on this. I had to. 3 The grasslands at night were even more vast and desolate. After finding a safe spot and lulling my cubs to sleep, I returned to the dune where I’d seen the pride. I followed their scent, running without pause. Just as the sun began to push its way over the horizon, I finally caught up to them. My approach immediately put the entire pride on high alert. “You’re not one of us. I’ve never seen you before.” “Leave now, or we won’t be so polite!” The lionesses bared their teeth, their bodies arching into combat stances. “Wait, don’t misunderstand!” I explained hurriedly. “I’m not here to challenge you. I’m here to join you.” One of the lionesses relaxed her posture slightly. “Can you hunt?” “Yes,” I said. A little bit is still ‘yes’, I muttered to myself, though my only victories so far were pikas. “Have you had cubs?” “Huh?” Was I being interviewed? Had the corporate rat race followed me even into the animal kingdom, complete with questions about my family status? Then, a flash of insight, cold and sharp. In a pride, the king would never tolerate cubs that weren’t his own. He would kill them without a second thought. The realization made me stammer. “N-no. None.” “What’s all the noise?” A deep, powerful voice cut through the tension. I turned to see a male lion approaching at a slow, deliberate pace. This must be the king. He was larger than any lion I’d ever seen. His gaze was piercing, his mane long and magnificent, and the muscles under his coat moved with a formidable, powerful grace. I instinctively took two steps back, a wave of regret washing over me. I shouldn’t have come. This lion could kill me with a single swipe of his paw. And I had cubs to raise. My courage evaporated. My knees felt weak. “I’m so sorry, sir. I’ll get out of your way right now.” I flattened my ears and turned to flee, but before I’d taken two steps, he was in front of me, blocking my path. His words were simple. “If you have nowhere else to go, you may walk with us.” I froze, and when his words finally registered, I was so overcome with relief I nearly fell to my knees. “I don’t mind! I don’t mind at all! I would be honored!” 4 The pride continued its migration. The sun of this dry season was harsher than any in recent memory. The scattered, skeletal remains of trees were a grim testament to the land’s fading life. I followed the pride absently, my mind consumed with worry. How were my children? Were they hungry? “Kael, there’s a herd of buffalo over there.” The long drought forced all animals to migrate, and this herd was no exception. Buffalo were enormous and not an ideal target, but the pride had been starving for days. It was a risk they had to take. “Yes. We hunt,” Kael said without hesitation, giving the command. The lionesses surged forward, charging the herd. The buffalo scattered in a panic. But they were formidable prey. The lionesses engaged in one long, draining battle after another, but came away with nothing. The pride’s division of labor was clear: the females hunted and raised the young, while the king patrolled the territory and fought off intruders. Kael watched the scene, his eyes narrowed. Then, with a sudden burst of movement, he charged. Dust exploded into the air. Before I could even see what had happened, a full-grown buffalo was down, Kael’s jaws locked on its throat, the great beast gasping its last breaths. There was a strict hierarchy when it came to eating. The king ate his fill first, and only then could the lionesses approach the kill. But Kael was no tyrant with his food. He gave a silent nod, permitting the others to eat alongside him. I hung back, ashamed. I hadn’t dared to join the hunt. Kael glanced at me. My tail went rigid with fear. He gestured with his head. “Come. There is room here.” My eyes lit up. I approached with the most fawning posture I could manage. “Thank you, my king! All hail the king!” I settled down next to Kael and devoured a large piece of meat, my stomach, which had been painfully empty for half a month, finally feeling full. After the meal, the pride rested. Seizing my chance while no one was watching, I sprinted back the way we came. I hoped my cubs weren’t scared. I returned to the dune and called out for them. “One! Two! Three!” I quickly heard the voice of my second-born. “Huh? It’s Mama!” My oldest was the first to appear, his face ecstatic. “Wow, it really is Mama!” My second cub ran over, circling my legs and rubbing his head against me. “Quick, call your sister. It’s time to drink,” I said, feeling the familiar pressure in my chest. Finally, my cubs could have a full meal. At the mention of their sister, both boys burst into tears. “Mama, we’re sorry! We lost her!” My world shattered. Forgetting all about nursing, I grabbed my boys and began a frantic search. “Three! Three, come to Mama!” “Little sister, where are you?” “SISTERRR—” We screamed until our throats were raw. The sun began to set, and there was still no sign of her. My heart felt like it was being torn apart. I fought back tears, about to give up. Suddenly, a faint voice drifted on the wind. “Mama…” Three! It was her! I followed the sound and found her trapped in a crevice between two large rocks. “Don’t be scared, Mama’s here,” I soothed her, pushing against the rock with all my might. My two boys joined in, using all their strength, their little paws scraped raw. Ignoring the pain, I finally dislodged the massive stone with my head. “Waaah! Mama!” My little girl threw herself into my arms, sobbing. I held my child, who I’d thought was lost forever, and my body shook with the cold sweat of relief. 5 I couldn’t bear the thought of something like that happening again. I would have gone insane. So I made a bold decision. I was going to hide my children within the pride. My second-born was thrilled, his tail held high. “Mama, can we really stay with you?” “It’s getting dark. I’m a little scared, Mama.” My youngest, having just survived her ordeal, was much more timid now. I knelt down. “Three, climb onto Mama’s back.” And so, with my daughter on my back and my two sons trotting behind me, we walked across the silent, vast plains under the high, bright moon. We caught up with the pride before dawn. The lionesses were sleeping, but Kael was gone, likely on patrol. “Mama! It’s that super big…” my second-born cried out in excitement. My oldest son’s fur stood on end. He quickly clamped a paw over his brother’s mouth. “Be quiet! Mama said we’re here to sneak food, we have to be discreet.” I raised a paw to my lips. “Shhh—quietly now. Don’t get caught.” The three little ones mimicked me in perfect unison. “Ssshh—we’re being sneaky.” I knew that to survive the dry season, we had to stick with this pride. If the cubs were discovered, it would be a death sentence for all of us. I warned them over and over. “You must stay hidden. I’ll be watching you. Don’t be scared, and don’t make a sound…” “You’re back?” Kael’s voice came from right behind me. The cubs scattered like frightened birds, diving under my belly. I immediately dropped to the ground to cover them, my heart pounding so hard I thought it would burst. “Ah, yes. I’m back,” I said, trying to sound calm. He didn’t seem to notice the little ones. “Where did you go? I was just looking for you.” So he wasn’t patrolling. He was looking for me? My mind raced. “I was thirsty. Went to find some water.” The cubs, cramped under my belly, began to squirm. My heart nearly flew out of my chest. I pressed down on them firmly and faked a cough. They finally settled down. Kael showed no signs of leaving. “This year’s dry season is too long. Water is hard to find. We just have to hold out until the rains come.” I was barely listening, just nodding and mumbling “Oh,” while silently praying for him to leave. “You know,” he continued, “I haven’t mated with any of these lionesses.” Oh, brother, I thought in agony. Why are you telling me this? Why won’t you just leave? “I only defeated the previous king half a month ago.” I don’t need to hear your life story, please, just go… “We leave at dawn. Get some rest.” He finally turned and walked away. I watched him go, only daring to let my cubs out when he was a safe distance away. My youngest gasped for air, her ordeal having left her breathless. My oldest watched Kael’s retreating figure with admiration. “Is that the Lion King? He’s so cool!” I was in no mood to discuss Kael’s accomplishments. I quickly ushered them away from the pride and hid them behind a large rock. 6 The pride trekked across the endless plains, the parched earth littered with the skeletons of animals. For me, the laws of the animal kingdom were a foreign language. In this land, devoid of civilization, I knew I would be quickly weeded out by nature. But I had to survive. At least until my children were grown. “Kael, signs of a wildebeest herd passing through here,” said a lioness named Kyra. She had been one ofthe former king’s mates. Kael made a quick assessment. “We’re picking up the pace. We might be close to the oasis.” The pride broke into a trot, but my heart sank. My children were still crawling through the tall grass far behind us. They would never be able to keep up. “Look, a river ahead!” one of the lionesses exclaimed in delight. They hadn’t had a proper drink in days and rushed to the water’s edge. While they were preoccupied, I seized the opportunity and ran back. My little ones were already exhausted. “Brother, I’m so tired, I can’t run anymore,” my daughter whimpered, though she kept her little paws moving, trying to keep up. “We can’t rest,” my oldest urged. “Don’t stop, or we’ll never see Mama again.” “We’re hiding so well, Mama must be so happy with us.” “Huh? It’s Mama!” My oldest son’s eyes lit up as he saw me running towards them. Without a word, I scooped up my daughter, let my sons clamber onto my back, and hurried to catch up with the pride. But I immediately faced a new problem. The river had bought me time, but now it blocked our path. I hid behind a dead tree, peering out at the pride. They had finished drinking and were now crossing the river. My cubs were too small to make it across. “Mama, what do we do? You’re going to leave us, aren’t you…” my second-born asked, his gaze uncertain. My other two cubs drooped their ears and hung their heads in sorrow. “Nonsense! I would abandon anything before I abandoned you.” I understood his fear. In the animal kingdom, abandoning the weak in a crisis was a common, brutal choice. The pride was already on the other side. If I didn’t follow now, I might never catch up. “We’ll wait for them to get further ahead, then Mama will take you across.” No matter what happened, I would never abandon my children. I watched the pride move across the vast landscape until they disappeared over the horizon. Then, I let my three little ones drink their fill from the river and play for a while before I carried them across. The plains on the other side were just as vast and empty. Once again, we were alone in this immense land.

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