Author: Momo Chan

Everyone said I was a fool. As a child, I drank a sip of poisoned soup meant for my mother and my mind was addled ever since. My fiancé, deeming me a simpleton, refused to marry me, yet he secretly tumbled in the sheets with my sister, leaving her with a child. Later, when my sister was chosen to be the Crown Prince’s betrothed, she pushed me in front of our father, her voice dripping with scorn. “The Prince is a dead man walking anyway. Just let Lyra marry him.” But I wasn’t a fool. “If sister doesn’t want him, Lyra doesn’t want him either.” My father coaxed and cajoled. “Lyra, my dear, the Royal Palace has delicacies beyond your wildest dreams.” My eyes lit up. “I’ll marry him!” They all sneered, convinced I was truly an idiot. But as I sat in the royal carriage on my way to the palace, my mind clear and my gaze steady, they would all come to regret it. Deeply. 1 “Don’t, Gareth. Not on the boat… the fool is watching.” My sister, Lady Annelise, feigned resistance, shooting me a disdainful glare even as her arms wrapped languidly around Gareth’s neck. Gareth scoffed. “What does that simpleton know?” He cast a cold, contemptuous look my way. “Lyra has been a fool for years. If she had a single thought in her head, she wouldn’t be sitting here watching her own fiancé with her sister.” “She’s just a mindless idiot.” Feeling Annelise’s fingers tracing patterns on his chest, he suddenly pulled her close, pinning her against the hull of the boat. They were soon lost in a tangle of limbs and whispers. I sat in the corner, contentedly eating my biscuits and trailing my fingers in the water. Hearing the commotion from inside the small cabin, I curiously peeked in. It was too dark to see anything. When I emerged, I was holding a piece of her silken lingerie. After they had finished, my sister couldn’t find her undergarment anywhere. She turned and saw me wearing it on my head, running around and giggling. Shame and fury contorted her face. The moment we returned to the manor, she had me locked in the woodshed. “You useless fool! Why didn’t you die with that wretched mother of yours? You’re an eyesore!” “You walked right into this yourself. Don’t blame me for teaching you a lesson…” She had the servants tie me up and beat me. I wailed and cried, but no one paid me any mind. Even my father, passing by, heard my cries and only shook his head with a sigh, quickening his pace. “Sister, don’t hit me! Whatever you want Lyra to do, I’ll do it…” Annelise’s expression shifted. “Stop.” The stout serving women immediately ceased. In the House of Verne, the word of the eldest daughter was more powerful than a royal decree. This was because her mother, the late Countess, had saved the King’s life ten years prior and was still honored in the royal crypt. After my own mother’s death, Annelise had wanted me dead too, but seeing my vacant-minded state, she kept me around as a plaything. Besides, she had her eyes on my fiancé, Gareth. She used the pretense of taking me boating on the lake to carry on her sordid affair with him. Now, she smiled languidly and yanked my hair. “You want to live, do you?” Annelise extended her foot. “Then lick my shoe clean. If I find a single speck of dirt, you can forget about keeping that pathetic life of yours.” I recoiled in disgust, but before I could even kneel, a servant kicked the back of my knees, sending me sprawling before Annelise. They forced my head down. “You little peasant! It’s an honor for you to lick the young lady’s shoe!” My body was a canvas of bruises from their kicks. I fought back the bile rising in my throat, ready to submit. Suddenly, a loud voice called from outside. “A messenger from the palace! My lady, the Lord requires your presence!” Annelise finally released me, but not before giving me one last vicious kick. “Lock her back in the woodshed. No food or water until I say so.” As I watched them leave, the foolish smile on my face slowly faded. Annelise. The real game is just beginning. Everyone said I was a fool. They didn’t know I was pretending. The poisoned soup that addled my mind? That was my past life. The Countess couldn’t tolerate my mother, her husband’s beautiful mistress, so she poisoned her medicine. I drank it by mistake. In my past life, I became a true simpleton, deeply in love with a fiancé who despised me for my foolishness while sleeping with my sister. I was a daughter of the house, yet I lived worse than a servant. Annelise not only tormented me to death but had me violated by a dozen stable hands before I drew my last breath. Thank the heavens, I was reborn. This time, I pretended to drink the soup, hoping to save my mother, but she was killed anyway. Since then, I’ve lived on, playing the fool, waiting for my chance at revenge. If I remembered correctly, it would be less than three days before Annelise herself came to beg me to come out. Just as I was about to faint from hunger, the woodshed door creaked open. “Sister…?” I looked up groggily. A man’s leering chuckle echoed in the shadows. It was the steward. “You wretch. You’re locked in a woodshed. The Lady Annelise is of high birth. You’re just a lowborn bastard. What right do you have to call her sister?” He spoke, but his eyes roamed over me with ill intent. I narrowed my eyes. Annelise had forbidden anyone from calling me “Lady Lyra.” I was to be called “wretch.” She had dismissed my personal maid, leaving me vulnerable to the staff’s abuse. In my past life, even the servants could enter my chambers at will. I was pregnant before I was even married. I remembered this steward’s disgusting face well. He rolled up his sleeves, a cruel grin spreading across his face. “Wretch, at least you’re pretty. Why don’t you have a little fun with me, and I’ll give you something to eat…” I tightened my grip on the dagger hidden in my sleeve, aiming for his throat. Just then, the door was thrown open. “You insolent dog!” Annelise stormed in with her retinue. The steward immediately fell to his knees, terrified. “How dare you disrespect the Lady Lyra! Drag him out and flog him!” Her guards rushed in and dragged the steward out, beating him half to death. He looked at her in disbelief. “My lady, but you ordered it! You said we could do anything to the wretch! Why are you…” Annelise smiled and helped me to my feet, ordering a change of clean clothes for me. “From this day forward, Lyra is reinstated as the second daughter of House Verne.” Everyone was stunned. Annelise, however, simply smiled and led me to our father. “Father, Lyra is of marrying age. Since the Crown Prince has requested a daughter of House Verne as his bride, let us send Lyra.” My father frowned, looking me over. “But Lyra is a simpleton. If she makes a fool of herself at the palace and offends the Prince, what then?” Annelise sneered. “Why worry, Father? That boy, Prince Alaric, is a dead man walking. He may hold the title of Crown Prince, but he won’t live much longer. The entire kingdom will belong to the Third Prince one day! If I am to marry, I will be a queen, not the wife of some short-lived invalid.” “Since he asked for a daughter of House Verne, well, Lyra, simple as she is, is still a daughter of this house, is she not?” My father sighed, his gaze falling on me as I greedily devoured a pastry. For a rare moment, his face held a hint of paternal affection. “Lyra, would you be willing to marry the Crown Prince?” I looked up at him, bewildered, then went back to my pastry, shaking my head firmly. “No. If sister doesn’t want him, Lyra doesn’t want him either.” The two of them exchanged a knowing smile. “But the Royal Palace has mountains of candied fruits and rivers of sweet wine,” my father said, pointing to the cake in my hand. “And every kind of delicious pastry you can imagine. Enough to last a lifetime.” My eyes instantly lit up. “I’ll marry him! Lyra wants to go to the palace!” With my consent, my father and Annelise began preparations for the wedding. The whole household knew: Lyra was no longer the despised bastard, but had been elevated to the status of a true daughter of the house. The day before I was to be married, Annelise took me for one last boat ride. I was cast aside while she rushed into the arms of Gareth, who was waiting nearby. “Gareth! I’ve missed you so much…” He held her, his face etched with worry. “Annelise, I heard the Prince had chosen a daughter of House Verne. I thought you would be the one to go. I haven’t slept for nights.” Annelise giggled. “Why would I marry Alaric? Of course, the fool is taking my place to marry that walking corpse. Everyone knows the Crown Prince is a sickly weakling, out of favor with the King. The King intends to make the Third Prince his heir. Marrying Alaric is a death sentence.” She placed a hand on her belly, her expression coy. “Besides, I’m carrying your child…” Gareth’s face lit up. “Truly? Then your… ‘chance encounter’ with the Third Prince must be moved up. Just… when you are the Third Prince’s wife, don’t forget me…” “And when our child inherits the throne, the whole kingdom will be ours!” I sat in the corner of the boat, munching on lotus seeds, leaving a pile of shells for them. And I heard every word. No wonder Gareth wouldn’t marry me. He was playing a much bigger game. Not only was he having an affair with Annelise, but he planned to pass his child off as royal blood. Once that child took the throne, he could be the power behind it. A bold plan. I wondered if it would cost him his life. The next morning, I was carried from my home in a royal palanquin. The moment I was inside, I began to vomit uncontrollably. Just moments before, in front of our father, Annelise had fed me a poison pill. “Lyra, remember,” she had hissed, “do not say what should not be said. If you betray father and me, this poison will be your end.” I shoved my fingers down my throat, forcing myself to retch until I coughed up the bitter pill. But a burning sensation lingered in my stomach, and I frowned, worried. After what felt like an eternity, the palanquin stopped. A fit of sharp coughs came from outside, and a long, slender, almost frail hand lifted the curtain. My face was covered by a red veil, but I could make out the figure of a sickly man, so weak he was seated in a wheelchair. “Lady Lyra. I am sorry you are burdened with marrying me.” His voice was deep and pleasant. This must be the Crown Prince. As I stepped down, I nearly stumbled, but the Prince’s hand shot out and steadied me. I was instantly alarmed. That grip… it was far too strong for a sickly man. This Prince, I realized, was also pretending. I dutifully followed Prince Alaric through the wedding ceremony. When the noise from outside finally died down, he slowly entered the bridal chamber. He paused in front of me, seeming to hesitate for a moment before lifting my veil and reaching to touch my face. I pulled away, meeting his eyes directly. “Your Highness, I have been poisoned.” He looked surprised, but I told him everything. “My father and sister do not favor you. To pledge their allegiance to the Third Prince, they have poisoned me. If you and I were to… consummate our marriage, your life would be in danger.” Alaric studied me for a long moment, a low chuckle escaping his lips. “You are remarkably honest. But you… why betray your own family to tell me this?” I lowered my head, my voice sincere. “Your Highness is my husband now. I only hope that when the House of Verne falls, you will protect me.” The look in Alaric’s eyes slowly changed. The initial suspicion vanished, replaced by a spark of amusement. “It seems that in refusing to send Annelise, they have sent me a treasure instead.” That night, the Prince slept fully clothed and did not touch me. He was a man of few words, silently observing my every move. The next morning, as I was about to prick my finger, he stopped me. “A lady should not have to do such things.” He took the dagger from my hand, sliced his own finger, and let the blood drip onto the white linen sheet on the bed. Sensing his gaze, I blushed. “Your Highness, please be assured. Once the poison is gone, we will not have to…” Alaric said nothing, simply turned and left. In the days that followed, I showed the Prince my complete loyalty. If I was going to drop the act of being a fool, I needed to secure my position by his side. I didn’t care that he was sickly, or that he spent his days in a wheelchair, half-dead. I served him with all my heart.

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I beat my husband and mother-in-law after his affair —Because they hit me first. 1 In the two months before I found out, my husband, Dylan, who had never cared a lick about his appearance, started wearing cologne. A woman’s intuition is a powerful thing; it screamed at me that he was having an affair. A week ago, he stumbled home, completely wasted. I managed to haul his dead weight onto our bed and went to the kitchen to make him some warm broth. As I was stirring, his phone lit up on the nightstand. A single message glowed on the screen: I’m pregnant, Dylan. You’re going to be a daddy! Are you excited? My hands shook as I unlocked his phone. The screen illuminated a world of filth—explicit messages and crude banter that painted a sickening picture. I couldn’t reconcile the man in those texts with the Dylan I knew, the devoted husband and loving father who had promised me forever. Tears streamed down my face, hot and silent, splashing onto the screen and blurring the vile words. I clamped a hand over my mouth, desperate not to make a sound, not to wake the monster sleeping in my bed. The image I held of him—the man everyone saw as utterly devoted to me—shattered into a million pieces. It all made sense now. The way his adoration had curdled into constant criticism, the flicker of revulsion I’d catch in his eyes. The man who once worshipped me now looked at me with disgust. He hadn’t just fallen out of love; he’d found someone new to adore. Wiping my face with a fierce swipe of my hand, I took a deep, shuddering breath and forced a cold calm to settle over me. I used my own phone to meticulously photograph every conversation, every detail about the other woman, including her name and address. Then, I placed his phone back exactly where I’d found it, erasing any trace of my discovery. I would pretend nothing had happened. The next morning, Dylan spritzed on his new signature scent, getting ready for work. I stood at the door, holding our son, Leo. “Are you coming home for dinner tonight?” I asked, my voice steady. He grunted, his focus entirely on tying his shoes. He didn’t answer. “It’s Leo’s birthday,” I pressed. “Please, come home for dinner.” He finally straightened up, offered a clipped, “Mmm,” and walked out the door without a single glance back. Watching his retreating figure, a shard of ice pierced my heart. That evening, the table was laden with a feast. Dylan sat with Leo on his lap, clapping and singing “Happy Birthday” with a broad smile. I raised my wine glass, silently toasting his performance as the perfect father. He shot me an irritated look. “Let’s eat,” he snapped. Then, the venom came. “All you’re good for is cooking. You were average-looking before, but since the baby, you’ve really let yourself go. You don’t earn a dime. Tell me, what use are you anymore?” His words hit me like a physical blow. I was stunned into silence, my mind reeling. Was this the same man who had cherished me? All our memories, our shared moments—was it all just an act? In that instant, something inside me broke. I slammed my wine glass down on the table, the sharp crack echoing in the room. I pointed a trembling finger at him. “Regretting it now? Were you blind when you married me?” “Lily, you need to remember your place,” he sneered, his voice low and dangerous. “Don’t you dare raise your voice or point your finger at me. You’re not some pampered princess anymore. Without me, you’d be on the street. This is my house, and I make the rules. You do what I say, or you get the hell out!” “Your house?” I laughed, a bitter, broken sound. “Are you forgetting something, Dylan? This is my house! My parents bought it for me. Who the hell do you think you are, telling me to get out?” “Yours? Don’t be naive! When your family’s business went belly-up, who lent you the money? I did. And since you couldn’t pay it back, the house is the collateral! The only reason I haven’t thrown you out already is because you gave me a son!” “You’re shameless! Your money? That was my dowry, a gift from my parents! After we got married, you begged and pleaded, even went on a hunger strike, to get me to hand it over for you to ‘manage.’ And now it’s your money? You want me to pay you back? Go to hell!” The man before me was a stranger, a cruel, conniving snake. He was nothing like the man I’d fallen in love with. He was pure poison. He opened his mouth to argue, but the sound of Leo’s terrified wails cut him off. I snatched our son from his arms and rushed to the nursery, rocking him until his sobs quieted into soft, even breaths. As I watched my son sleep, a cold, hard thought took root in my mind. I was going to divorce Dylan. But first, I was going to make him suffer. I would return the pain and humiliation he’d caused me a thousand times over. I was going to destroy him. My plan began that night. Dylan had a habit of eating an apple before bed. I offered to cut one for him, but I also brought him a bowl of porridge. It wasn’t just any porridge; it was a special recipe, with my own little secret ingredient. I feigned an apology for my outburst, playing the submissive wife. He fell for it, swallowing every last bite and licking his lips. “That was amazing,” he said, a satisfied smirk on his face. “Make me a bowl of that every morning.” 2 I did as he asked. Every morning, I made him his “special” porridge, my smile as sweet and deceitful as the poison I was serving. My days fell into a new rhythm. After Dylan left for work, I’d take Leo to my mother’s house. I told her everything. She listened without a word, then went to her pantry and returned with a small bag of herbs. “If he wants another woman, then you shouldn’t stand in his way,” she said, pressing the bag into my hand. “A man is just a man. Let her have him. But when you go home, don’t fight. Make him a soup with these. Tell him it’s a restorative tonic, to help him… keep up his strength.” She squeezed my hand, her eyes telling me everything I needed to know. The emphasis on those last words was unmistakable. I took the herbs, my heart filled with a dark purpose. After leaving Leo with my mom, I took a cab to a Muay Thai gym on the other side of town. Dylan wasn’t the only one who needed to “keep up his strength.” I just had a different method in mind. My life became a circuit: home, my mother’s, the gym. And three times a week, without fail, I’d brew Dylan his special “restorative” soup. One evening, I passed by his study and heard him on the phone with his mother. He was telling her his mistress was four months pregnant and that he wanted his mom to come to the city to take care of her. He also told her to bring the deed to the house, so he could keep it safe. I heard his mother’s voice crackle with excitement at the mention of the deed, and she eagerly agreed. I timed my entrance perfectly, “casually” walking past the study just as he was about to emerge. He saw me and called out. “What? Do you need something?” I asked coolly. “My mom is coming to stay for a while. You should probably go stay with your parents.” I stared at him, my face a blank mask of confusion. He must have thought I was stupid, because he repeated himself. Before he could finish, I cut him off, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “And why would I do that? Let her come. What is she, the Queen of England? Afraid to be seen in public? This is a huge house with plenty of rooms. Is she an octopus? Does she need a separate room for each limb?” “Hey! Watch your mouth! I just know you two won’t get along. What happens if you get into a fight while I’m at work?” “I’m not a psychopath,” I shot back. “As long as she doesn’t start anything, I won’t finish it.” He saw the new steel in my spine and knew he couldn’t push me. He dropped it, letting me have my way. Two days later, his mother arrived, dragging a mountain of luggage behind her. She tried to assert her dominance the moment she stepped through the door, sticking out a dusty shoe and gesturing for me to kneel and remove it. I simply pointed to the guest slippers by the mat. “The slippers are right there, Carol. You can change yourself.” “I’m too old to bend over,” she grumbled. “Really? You seemed to manage just fine carrying all those bags.” I let the barb hang in the air before twisting the knife. “Honestly, I don’t know what Dylan was thinking, asking you to come help with the baby when you can’t even bend down to take off your own shoes. I’ll have to have a word with him. So unfilial.” “Nonsense!” she snapped, rushing to her son’s defense. “Dylan is the most filial, most successful boy from our town! My Dylan takes care of his mother. He promised to buy me a big house in the city, and look, he did!” Hearing her mention the house sent a fresh wave of rage through me. “Carol, let’s be very clear. My parents bought this house for me. We added Dylan’s name as a courtesy. Legally, since he didn’t contribute a single penny, he has no claim to it.” “What do you mean, no claim? What does a woman know about these things! What’s yours is my Dylan’s! A husband and wife shouldn’t keep score. Besides, what does a woman need with a big house anyway? Back home, a woman’s opinion doesn’t count for much. The man is the head of the household.” “You’re right, Carol,” I said, my voice syrupy sweet. “You know, I should go talk to Old Man Miller from your town. Tell him he should marry you right away. A woman like you shouldn’t be all alone, with no man to keep you in line.” Old Man Miller was the town bachelor. After Dylan’s father passed, he and Carol had a little thing going on, with him bringing her “groceries” at all hours of the night. It ended when Dylan found out and chased him for ten miles with a kitchen knife. I’d picked up that juicy little piece of gossip on my last visit. Carol’s face flushed. The memory clearly struck a nerve. She shot me a venomous glare, her face a mask of red-hot embarrassment. 3 One day, returning from the gym, I heard noises from the master bedroom. The unmistakable sounds of pleasure. I crept to the door, my movements silent, and slowly turned the handle, opening it just a crack. Through the gap, I saw them—two pale bodies tangled together on my bed. It was Dylan and a woman with long, curly hair, both naked, engaged in the most intimate of acts. A wave of nausea and fury washed over me. My first instinct was to burst in and slap the smug look off both their faces, but my mother’s voice echoed in my mind: Get proof. Hard evidence he can’t deny. Swallowing my disgust, I pulled out my phone and started recording, capturing every sordid detail for my growing collection of evidence. Suddenly, the woman’s cloying voice broke the rhythm. “What’s wrong with you, baby? You’re not lasting at all. You used to go for at least half an hour. Now you can’t even make it to twenty minutes! Tell me the truth, are you cheating on me with your wife?” “Of course not, my love,” Dylan panted. “How could I? You’re pregnant! We have to be careful, for the baby’s sake!” “Hmph. You wouldn’t dare,” she purred. “Speaking of which, have you found that witch’s deed to the house? You promised me a bigger place once we were together. Don’t tell me our baby will be born and we’ll be sleeping on the streets.” “Don’t you worry your pretty little head,” he cooed. “Tomorrow, I’ll get my mom to pressure her. I’ll get that deed. I can handle one washed-up housewife.” Their conversation confirmed my worst fears. He had only ever been after my family’s money. Now that my family had faced financial ruin, he was making a play for the one valuable asset I had left. The house, a gift from my parents when we got engaged, had cost over a million dollars. In today’s market, it was worth at least two. I quietly closed the door and went straight to the attic. He would never think to look there. Before the wedding, my mother had warned me to be smart, that Dylan was not the simple, good-hearted man he appeared to be. I’d been a fool then, blinded by love, believing marriage meant total transparency. I’d learned my lesson. After discovering his affair, I’d moved the deed to the most secure, forgotten corner of the house. I took the deed straight to my mother’s and had her lock it away in her safe. A few days later, I was hanging laundry on the balcony when Carol approached me, her face plastered with a sycophantic grin. “Lily, dear…” I gave her a sidelong glance. “What? Don’t call me dear. We’re not that close.” “Oh, don’t say that! We’re family!” “Do you want something?” She fidgeted with a freshly hung bedsheet. “Well, I was just wondering… after all this time you and Dylan have been married… who handles the money?” “Why do you ask?” “Oh, no reason. I was just chatting with some of the ladies in the neighborhood, and they were saying that here in the city, the wives usually control the finances. Is that true? Do you manage Dylan’s money?” “No, I’m not so lucky,” I said flatly. “I couldn’t manage your son if I tried.” A triumphant smirk spread across her face. She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “You know, I’ve been wanting to say this for a while. You do have a bit of self-awareness. Your luck really is terrible. Your family went bankrupt just a few years after you got married. Your parents should have had a son, not a daughter who’s nothing but a drain on resources! Look at my Dylan! So successful, a general manager already, living in a house this big!” “His luck is good, you’re right,” I retorted, my voice like ice. “But he wouldn’t be living in this big house if it weren’t for the good fortune of this ‘drain on resources.’ Without me, that boy from the countryside would be working his whole life and still not afford a place like this.” “You—!” She was about to fire back, but she caught herself, remembering her mission. Her face shifted back to a mask of false sweetness. “Yes, yes, you’re right, Lily. My Dylan owes everything to you. If it weren’t for you, he might not even be married today.” “Carol, just get to the point. You don’t need to beat around the bush.” “Alright, I’ll be direct. The deed to the house… you have it, right?” “I do. Why?” “It’s no big deal. It’s just… you’re so busy with the baby, and a deed is such a valuable thing. It would be safer if I kept it for you.” “What? Did I hear you correctly? Why on earth would I give it to you? You didn’t pay for the house. And frankly, it’s safer anywhere than in your hands.” “Hey! You watch your tone with me! Are you choosing the hard way? You married into our family, so you will listen to your mother-in-law and you will listen to your husband! Your husband is your sky! You do not defy the sky, or you will be struck by lightning!” “Oh, so I married into your family to face a trial by fire, is that it? Struck by lightning? If your son is so powerful, let’s see him try and strike me down!” Her face turned the color of liver. She grabbed a nearby clothes hanger and raised it to strike me. “You insolent girl! If you make me unhappy today, I’ll have Dylan divorce you tomorrow!” “Go ahead! Do it! The second we’re divorced, he won’t get a penny from this house! And you go ahead and hit me. I’ll get a medical report and call the police so fast your head will spin. You’ll be rotting in a jail cell!” The threat of the police stopped her cold. The last thing she wanted was a trip to the station over a house deed. She forced a sickly smile, revealing a row of yellowed teeth. “I was just trying to scare you, dear. I wouldn’t really hit you! You city girls are so delicate. One little scare and you want to send your poor mother-in-law to prison. What would the people back home say about the kind of wife our Dylan married?” “Good. As long as you understand. This is a society of laws, not your village where you can just hit people whenever you feel like it. Assault has consequences.” I glared at her, snatched the hanger from her hand, and walked away.

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I was married to Julian Astor for ten years. In that time, I met every single one of his girlfriends. Whenever he grew tired of one and wanted to move on, I was his perfect excuse. He’d say to each of them: “If you marry me, you’ll end up just like her. Eventually, we’ll become so familiar that every spark of novelty will die.” On our tenth wedding anniversary, I was drying the tears of the college girl he’d just dumped, while he was at the movies with his new flame. As I used up the last tissue, I saw a reflection of my younger self in her tear-streaked face. And so, I asked Julian for a divorce. For once, he seemed genuinely perplexed. “You’re not going to wait a little longer? What if I’m about to turn over a new leaf?” I offered a faint smile and no answer. I just booked a flight to the other side of the world. I couldn’t wait for you to change. So I took the first step myself. 1 Marrying a philanderer requires a certain kind of spiritual discipline. The thought floated into my mind as the tissue packet in my hand grew thinner. The girl across from me, a college senior named Zara, had been crying for two solid hours since she walked in. Her whirlwind romance with Julian had lasted all of a month. It hardly seemed worth the mascara-stained devastation. I opened my mouth to offer some comforting words, but she looked up, her eyes red-rimmed and sharp. “He said I was a bit like you. Looking at you now, I see it.” I froze. None of his other girlfriends had ever said that. Zara sniffed, dabbing at the corner of her eye. Her voice was laced with a bitter sarcasm. “I don’t need your pity. You’re far more pathetic than I am.” She wasn’t wrong. All of New York knew Julian Astor had a saint for a wife. A wife so virtuous she was cheated on time and again, yet still cleaned up his messes by placating his ex-girlfriends. I called every girl he saw after our wedding his “ex.” I had long since abandoned any pretense of pride. My phone buzzed. It was a text from Julian. [Julian: Is it done yet? The movie’s about to start.] I placed the phone face down on the table and met Zara’s freshly reddened eyes. “Whatever you want as compensation, just name it. I’ll make sure you get it.” I’d delivered this line countless times, as smoothly as a seasoned HR manager laying someone off. She scoffed and shot to her feet. “I don’t want anything.” I sighed. “You should take something. Money, a car, a condo. Something tangible you can hold onto.” Her gaze turned colder. She picked up her now-icy coffee and, with a slow, deliberate motion, poured it over my head. “I’m pregnant,” she said, her voice flat. “And I’m keeping it.” I just stared at her, stunned into silence, the words of persuasion dying on my lips. A bitter smile flickered across my face, so faint it was barely there. Julian, I thought. You haven’t kept a single one of your promises to me. 2 I slid into the passenger seat, dripping wet. Julian was on the phone, his voice low and intimate. I didn’t need to guess; he was talking to someone new. My hand tightened on the seatbelt, my nails digging into the fabric until my fingertips ached. I couldn’t hear what the person on the other end said, but it made him smile, the fine lines at the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Alright, alright. I’ll come see you tonight.” He hung up, started the car, and then turned to me. The casual glance hardened in an instant as he took in my state. His hands gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white. “Did she do that?” he demanded. I was already dabbing at my hair with a tissue. Seeing my silence, he leaned over and took the tissue from my hand. “Don’t move.” I instinctively recoiled, but he pulled me into his arms with a sharp command. He was surprisingly gentle as he dried my hair, but his brow was furrowed, his expression dark. “You just sat there and let her pour coffee on you? Clara, what happened to the fire you used to have? The one you always aimed at me?” Used to have… The feeling of freefall that had gripped me since meeting Zara intensified, spreading through my chest. I pulled away from his embrace, my face a cold mask. “I could hardly lose my temper with a pregnant woman, could I? What do you think?” He looked sheepish but stubbornly continued to blot my hair. The rest of the drive was silent. He drove, and I stared out the window, though I could feel his questioning glances on me from the corner of my eye. The ripples of disappointment, which had long ago crested into a tidal wave of despair, had finally subsided, leaving only a vast, numb emptiness. The movie was a blur. Julian spent most of it hunched over his phone, texting. The so-called ritual of our anniversary celebration had crumbled into dust long before the credits rolled. The real joke was that I still had to sit beside him at the dinner party afterward and watch him perform. The invitations for the Astor family gathering had gone out weeks ago, summoning all our closest friends and family. Amid the clinking glasses and polite chatter, Julian played the doting husband, personally peeling shrimp for me. A small mountain of them piled up on my plate, but I couldn’t eat. My eyes were fixed on the wrist he’d exposed by rolling up his sleeves. A tiny, colorful hair tie was wrapped around it. A wave of nausea washed over me, killing what little appetite I had. A man who peels shrimp for you doesn’t necessarily love you. A man who remembers your anniversary for ten years doesn’t necessarily love you. A man who never takes off his wedding ring, not even in the shower, doesn’t necessarily love you. I had Julian to thank for teaching me all of this. 3 Childhood sweethearts. A perfect match. Destined for each other. All of these descriptions were meant for Julian and my older sister, Amelia. Even as a young girl, with only a vague understanding of love, I knew the Astors and the Greys were meant to be united. I’d seen the blush on my sister’s cheeks when she came home from dates with him. I’d seen the notoriously wild Julian Astor become quiet and gentle in her presence. Why else would I have secretly tucked away the rare vinyl records I had spent months collecting for him? In their trio, I was always just Amelia’s shadow. When their love was at its zenith, there was no room for me. The world turned upside down the year my sister turned twenty. The ever-composed, graceful Amelia skipped her own engagement party and boarded a flight that would never land. Her diary was discovered, and with it, the truth. The carefully constructed façade of the Grey family shattered, exposing the ugly reality of our impending ruin. Her shyness had been an act, a role she was forced to play as our parents’ bargaining chip. The marriage was never about a perfect love story; it was about my parents’ desperate, greedy schemes. The one time she chose to live for herself, it cost her her life. I was pushed into an engagement, then a marriage, bearing the last hope of the entire Grey family. I was the patch for the Astors’ wounded pride and the savior of the Greys’ failing business. The whole process was a whirlwind, and I never had a moment to figure out whether I felt more sorrow or joy. Even as a substitute, I was marrying the boy I had secretly loved since I was a teenager. But when we exchanged rings, I was the only one whose heart was pounding. At the altar, when he was supposed to kiss the bride, his lips brushed mine like a whisper of wind, leaving me with a single, haunting sentence that would echo between us for years. “If you didn’t want this, why did you agree to it?” We made a deal then: a marriage of convenience. Each of us would get what we needed. But in ten years of marriage, I was the one who overstepped. He gave me everything, performed his role to perfection, but he never gave me his love. 4 The dinner ended after midnight. I couldn’t tell if it was the wine or a simple headache, but my head was throbbing. I drifted in and out of a drowsy sleep in the car. Vaguely, I heard Julian on speakerphone, flirting with the new girl. The same sweet nothings, the same tired lines. I was sick of hearing them, even if he wasn’t. During a pause, I felt his hand on my forehead. The car screeched to a halt. He cursed under his breath. “Damn it, Clara, you’re burning up. Why didn’t you say anything?” He hung up abruptly and fumbled to cover me with his jacket. I thought I heard him whisper my nickname, “Clara-belle.” It must have been the fever. A bitter smile touched my lips. He always used my full name, as if shortening it would give me the false hope that I was the Grey sister he had wanted to marry all along. Sickness makes you vulnerable, but it also makes you clear-eyed. A profound weariness washed over me—a weariness of him, of this unrequited love. The car started moving again, accelerating into a disorienting blur of speed and weightlessness. He seemed to be on the phone constantly, his words fragmented. Almost there… doctor… it’ll be okay… Or maybe it was all just a fever dream. The car stopped again. I forced my eyes open and watched him unbuckle his seatbelt and leap out of the car. He ran toward a slender figure standing at the hospital entrance. He wrapped Zara in a tight embrace. And then, the fragmented words from the car ride pieced themselves together into a coherent whole. “Wait for me… don’t do anything rash… we’re almost there… it’s going to be okay, I promise.” Every word had been for her. From across the short distance, I could hear her choked sobs. I could hear his gentle reassurances. “How could I ever let you do something that would hurt your body?” “It’s okay, it’s okay… we’re not breaking up. We’ll figure out the baby thing together, from now on.” The pain twisted inside me, pulling a memory from the deepest part of my heart. Six months into our marriage, we had a child.

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In front of the orphanage, Lauren Murphy, the charity case I’d sponsored for years, stared at me with pure disgust. “If you don’t let Aaron get in the car, I’m not going to your house either.” If this had been before, my love-addled brain would have caved instantly. I would have meekly given in. But this wasn’t before. I had been reborn. Looking at the two people who had orchestrated my brutal death, a tidal wave of fury crested within me, transforming into a cold, sharp smile. “Then stay. You can rot here with your precious Aaron.” My voice was laced with ice. “After all, trash belongs in the trash heap.” … Everyone froze. They were used to the old me, the loyal lapdog who followed Lauren Murphy around, practically begging her to live at my house. The old me who, just to make her happy, had come here with her to invite Aaron to become the adopted young master of the Sterling family. The same two people who, when I fell ill, conspired to murder me and seize my inheritance. I remembered my last days, sick and helpless, as Lauren Murphy, heavily pregnant, stood over my hospital bed with Aaron at her side. “Did you really think this baby was yours?” she’d sneered. “If I hadn’t been pregnant with Aaron’s child, do you think you would have ever had the chance to be my husband?” Aaron had wrapped his arm around her, his face a mask of mockery. “How could my Murphy possibly carry the child of a moron like you? It would probably be born an idiot.” Now, seeing them standing before me, alive and well, I wanted nothing more than to tear them limb from limb. Go to my house? Go to hell. Aaron’s arrogant expression flickered with panic for a second before he regained his composure, looking down his nose at me. “Julian Sterling, so what if your family is rich? It’s all inheritance your father left you. You think you’re so great, flaunting the money he died for? If it weren’t for Murphy, I wouldn’t waste a second of my time on a brainless fop like you.” In my past life, he had said the same thing. I’d thrown away my pride and begged him for half an hour before he’d “reluctantly” agreed to come home with us. He’d acted as if he were the true heir to a great fortune. I let out a derisive snort and dropped the suitcase I’d been holding for him. It burst open, spilling a few designer clothes onto the pavement. In my past life, I’d carried his luggage like a servant while he and Lauren Murphy had swaggered into my car as if they were the masters of the house. After getting them settled, I had been about to get in the car, drenched in sweat, when Lauren Murphy had slammed the door shut. “I hate the smell of sweat,” she’d said. “You can ride in another car.” She was never kind to me, but she always justified it by saying, “I’m only so blunt with you because I see you as one of my closest friends.” Funny how she never used that “bluntness” on her dear “brother” Aaron. I kicked at the scattered clothes on the ground. “Is the orphanage that well-funded these days? Or are these just some high-quality fakes bought by someone desperate to look rich? You pretend to despise money, yet you’re obsessed with brand names. You really want to have your cake and eat it too, don’t you, Aaron?” His face flushed red, and he opened his mouth to argue, but I cut him off with a dismissive glare. “My father’s death was an accident, but the money he left me is more than I could spend in several lifetimes. Other people can only watch and be jealous.” Seeing the envy twisting his features, a weight lifted from my chest. “What can I say? I was born lucky. Unlike some people, born to be thrown away by their parents.” I remembered him in my past life, sitting by my bed, sipping the nourishing broth meant for me. “Julian, you’re dying anyway,” he’d said with a click of his tongue. “No amount of this stuff will help you. I’ll enjoy it for you. No need to thank me.” The urge to kill him right then and there was overwhelming. The sight of him made me sick. I turned to get in the car, but Lauren Murphy grabbed my sleeve, her face dark. “Julian Sterling, how could you say that to Aaron? Apologize to him right now! Or I’ll never forgive you!” I shoved her away as if she were something filthy. She thought she still had me under her thumb. “Can’t you just put away your spoiled rich-boy attitude for once?” she snapped, her voice rising with impatience. “We had a deal to bring Aaron home. Are you backing out now just because he opened the car door for me? If you’re going to be this selfish and petty, then I have nothing more to say. I’m not leaving Aaron here by himself. You figure it out.” In my past life, whenever I displeased them, she would threaten to leave, and I would always cave. She thought it was her irresistible charm, but my concessions were born of a love that had made me blind and foolish. Lauren Murphy had spent a lifetime chipping away at my love until nothing was left. Now, she was nothing more than a pile of sickening filth to me. I rolled my eyes, mimicking her tone of disgust. “You’re the one who needs to figure it out. Go back to the Sterling mansion and enjoy your life of luxury, or stay here and suffer with your precious Aaron. The choice is yours. But I’m sure a person as loyal and righteous as you would never abandon her dear brother, right?” She was cornered, speechless. Just then, the orphanage director, Mr. Hoffman, chimed in. “Julian, this is your fault.” Mr. Hoffman was not only the honorary director of the orphanage but also the chancellor of our university, with a seven-figure salary—all funded by my family’s Sterling Group. Yet here he was, lecturing me. “The paperwork is all done, and now you’re backing out. Have you thought about the trouble you’re causing? You’re in your twenties, yet you’re still so immature! Is this what we teach you at the university? Now, stop this childish tantrum and take Lauren Murphy and Aaron home. No more nonsense!” After my father’s death when I was just a teenager, Mr. Hoffman had subtly inserted himself into my life as a father figure. Over time, he’d started to believe he actually was my elder and could scold me as he pleased. Looking at his self-righteous face now, I could only laugh. “Mr. Hoffman, as they say, don’t bite the hand that feeds you. Is Lauren Murphy paying your multi-million-dollar salary? Is Aaron? No. The Sterling family is.” In my past life, under their influence, I’d developed a people-pleasing personality, always backing down, always giving in. They’d walked all over me. Now, I was going to make it clear that they couldn’t just take what they wanted anymore. “Mr. Hoffman, if you can’t remember your place, if doing your job is too much trouble, you can resign. Or I can fire you.” I slammed the car door, leaving them staring in stunned silence, and told the driver to go. As the trees blurred past the window, the fury in my heart began to subside. I thought of my father, of the empire he had built, and I slapped myself, hard, several times. In my past life, I was a lost cause, a love-sick fool. I had failed them. This time, I would not repeat my mistakes. But when I got home, I found Lauren Murphy, Aaron, and my mother, Cassandra, sitting on the sofa, looking for all the world like a happy family. Before I could say a word, my mother stood up, walked over, and slapped me across the face. “Bullying your peers, disrespecting your elders! Julian! You are a disgrace to your father’s name! Do you think you can just do whatever you want out there with no consequences? As long as I’m alive, you will not use your power to bully people! First, apologize to Murphy and Aaron! Then, go to Chancellor Hoffman’s house and bow to him!” My cheek burned, swelling instantly. Lauren Murphy shot me a look of contempt, while Aaron’s eyes glinted with provocation. I pushed my tongue against the inside of my throbbing cheek and looked at my mother, my voice cold. “Use my power? I am the rightful heir of the Sterling family. I am the power. But you… you hit your own son for the sake of outsiders, without even asking what happened. What kind of mother are you? I’m not apologizing to anyone. Now, get this trash out of my house!” My father had established the orphanage to build good karma for me, and as a child, my parents often took me there to volunteer. I used to chase after Lauren Murphy, while my mother took an instant liking to Aaron. She’d even wanted to adopt him back then, but my father had refused. “I have one good son, Julian,” he’d said, hugging me. “That’s enough.” My mother was a kept woman, a canary in a gilded cage. She didn’t dare defy her benefactor, so she’d just bring Aaron extra gifts every time we visited. The designer clothes in his suitcase were from her. In my past life, when I’d asked her to adopt Aaron to please Lauren Murphy, she had smiled at me with genuine happiness for the first time. But now, I would not allow these vipers to defile my home. I told them to get out, but Aaron just smirked, stood up, and took my mother’s arm. “Mom, he’s just a spoiled brat. Don’t mind him. Let me give you a shoulder rub. Getting angry is bad for your health.” Lauren Murphy looked at me as if she were delivering a royal decree. “Auntie has already adopted Aaron. From now on, you and Aaron are brothers. You’re both young masters of the Sterling family, so stop trying to one-up him all the time. Oh, and Aaron will be starting at our university soon. You know how snobbish everyone is there, so Auntie and I have decided to tell everyone that Aaron is the younger Sterling son, who was raised abroad and just returned.” She then took Aaron’s arm, smiling sweetly. “Come on, let me show you your room. Auntie had them give you Julian’s old room. It’s the biggest and sunniest in the house.” Their shamelessness was astounding. I raised an eyebrow and stopped them. “Stay right there.” My voice was dangerously low. “Who gave you the audacity to be so presumptuous in my house?” I put extra emphasis on the words “my house.” Aaron’s brow furrowed. He strode over to me. “Julian, you’re being incredibly childish! Mom has already agreed. When an elder has spoken, you have no say in the matter!” Lauren Murphy chimed in with a huff. “Julian, I know you’re just jealous because Aaron is so much better than you. You’re afraid that Auntie and I will like him more, so you’re trying to stop this. But being so domineering will only backfire.” She stared at my face, a smug look on hers. “It will only make… us… despise you even more.” She waited, expecting to see me crumble, like a dog being disciplined. In my past life, their constant emotional abuse had turned me from a cheerful boy into a sensitive, insecure wreck. I’d even convinced myself that my life was only meaningful if they liked me. But my life was not theirs to dictate. I crossed my arms and gave them a mocking smile. “Oh, really? Well then, go ahead. Despise me all you want. Just get out of my house first. Then you can despise me to your heart’s content. Like I give a damn.” Lauren Murphy blinked, stunned. Aaron’s eyes were like daggers. “Julian, you’re just trying a new trick to get Murphy’s attention, aren’t you? But I suggest you quit while you’re ahead before you make a fool of yourself. You don’t want to end up crying and begging for her to look at you again, like a pathetic dog. It’s so embarrassing. Oh, right, you’ve never had any shame when it comes to chasing Murphy. I heard everyone at school calls you the ‘Simp Master,’ right? What a disgrace to the Sterling name.” Buoyed by his own twisted logic, Lauren Murphy lifted her chin again, confident that she had seen through my “hard to get” charade. “Some people are born into money, but they still reek of cheapness. Not like our Aaron. He’s so charming and well-liked wherever he goes.” I had no interest in arguing with dogs. My gaze fell on Cassandra, who had remained silent. “Are you just going to stand there and listen to these outsiders slander your own son?” Cassandra’s face was pale. She gritted her teeth. “Outsiders? I told you, I’m adopting Aaron. You deserve to be scolded for being so arrogant!” Seeing me raise an eyebrow, she quickly added, “But if you can get along with Aaron from now on, there’s still a place for you in this family. Julian, your father is gone. You have no other relatives in this world. I’m adopting Aaron to keep you company. Don’t be so ungrateful…” In my past life, Cassandra had trapped me in a vortex of emotional neglect, making me cling to her like a drowning man to a life raft. But when Lauren Murphy and Aaron had intentionally run me over with a car, and I had screamed for her help, she had simply turned up the volume on the TV, annoyed that my cries were disturbing her show. She’d even given a false testimony, claiming I was a jealous lunatic who had thrown myself under the car. She’d used the Sterling Group’s legal team to help the two murderers walk free. Now, she was trying the same trick again. But I wasn’t falling for her lies anymore. “Well, Mom, since you have a new son, why don’t you and your new son get out of my house together? And you don’t need to go to the company anymore either. After all, everything the Sterling Group owns was left to me, and me alone.” Not just the house, but all the assets of the Sterling Group, all the shares—my father had left them all to me. All Cassandra got was a room full of designer bags and clothes. In my past life, she had managed my assets until I came of age. I had been so lost in the emotional prison they had created for me that I’d never even thought about my inheritance. But I understood now. I had the money. That was enough. Before coming home, I had already been to the family trust and taken control of my assets. From now on, Cassandra would need my approval to spend a single penny of the Sterling family’s money. I clapped my hands twice, and two teams of security guards entered the room. “Throw this trash out.” Lauren Murphy and Aaron were still shouting, not understanding what was happening. As Lauren Murphy was being dragged away, she screamed at me, “Julian! You’ve gone too far this time! I’ll never forgive you, not even if you get on your knees and beg!” I clicked my tongue, and someone immediately gagged her. Aaron roared, “Stop! Do you know who I am? I’m the young master of the Sterling family! I’m your boss! Who dares to touch me! Don’t you want your jo— ah!” The guards were more efficient with him. A single punch to the face, and he spat out blood and two teeth. Cassandra was white with rage. “Julian! How dare you do this to your own mother! You will be struck by lightning! Aren’t you afraid of being cursed by everyone? Aren’t you afraid of divine retribution?!” She raised a hand to point at me, but a guard grabbed her finger and bent it back. A sharp scream echoed through the room. After they were thrown out, I had all their belongings burned in a bonfire on the lawn. Seeing her luxury goods go up in flames, Cassandra tried to rush into the fire, weeping. Aaron, still in the dark, held her back. “Let him burn it! Mom, I’ll buy you new things!” Lauren Murphy, furious, jumped up and down outside the gate. “Julian! If you want my forgiveness, you’ll have to piece this pile of ash back together!” I ordered the guards, “Take these barking dogs and dump them in the middle of nowhere.” That night, I fell asleep in front of my father’s memorial tablet. I woke up the next morning and lit three sticks of incense, bowing my head reverently. I had a feeling my father had given me this chance at a new life.

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My grandfather, Arthur, had always looked down on my grandmother, Eleanor, despising her for her lack of education and subjecting her to a constant barrage of criticism. When she asked me to buy her a box of hair dye online, he flew into a rage. In front of the whole town, he bellowed: “You’ve got one foot in the grave, what’s the point of all this? You think dyeing your hair will make you immortal?” “An old woman trying to look young—it’s pathetic! You’re just a waste of money!” But this same old man, who thought every penny spent on my grandmother was a waste, soon went online and ostentatiously bought 999 roses. The recipient was another old woman. … 1 My grandfather came home while I was in the yard, dyeing my grandmother’s hair. She was only in her early sixties, but her hair was already completely white. If not for her sturdy constitution, you’d think she was pushing eighty. She rarely bothered with her appearance, but her old friend’s birthday was next week, and they had all planned to take a commemorative photo together. “Nina, they won’t laugh at me after this, will they?” The older generation dreaded gossip, and now her confidence was wavering. I kept my hands moving, quickly and efficiently applying the dye to her hair. “What’s there to laugh at? Everyone in the city dyes their hair. If they laugh, it just shows how ignorant they are! Don’t worry, Grandma, it’ll look great! You’ll look at least twenty years younger, I promise!” Women of all ages want to feel beautiful. Though she was a little embarrassed, I could see the anticipation sparkling in her eyes. “You silly girl, you and your wild ideas…” But before she could finish, a sharp voice cut her off. “What is this?” My grandfather, back from his calligraphy class in the city, stood at the courtyard gate, his brow deeply furrowed. “Is this how you waste your money on useless things?” Everyone in our small town knew my grandparents didn’t get along. The sound of their arguing drew a crowd. It was hard to say whether more people came to mediate or to watch the show. Surrounded by onlookers, my grandmother fidgeted, her face flushed red as she tried to explain. But my grandfather had no patience to listen. He pounded his cane on the ground. “Is there any point? No amount of dye will change the fact that you’re halfway to the grave! Instead of wasting money on this foolishness, you should be buying fertilizer for the fields!” In stark contrast to my grandmother’s weathered appearance, my grandfather, who did no physical labor, was robust and full of vigor. He was nearly seventy but looked fifty. When he cursed, his voice was strong and resonant. I couldn’t stand it anymore. I stepped in front of my grandmother, who was stammering and trying to shrink away. “Grandma does all the work and earns the money. What’s wrong with her dyeing her hair? There’s a limit to how much you can freeload off her. Why don’t you use the money from your calligraphy classes to buy fertilizer?” To my surprise, my grandfather didn’t get angry. He laughed. “What do you know? If it weren’t for her, do you think a college graduate like me would be trapped in this godforsaken town? She works because her conscience is guilty! Because she knows she owes me and wants to make it up to me!” I wanted to say more, but my grandmother tugged on my sleeve, her eyes pleading. “Don’t… don’t say any more…” But seeing her reaction, my grandfather seemed determined to twist the knife. He pointed at the crowd, his voice growing louder with every word. “Look at them! A college graduate married to an illiterate farm girl! Don’t you think every single one of them is laughing at me in secret? You’re concerned about your pride now? Where was your pride when you used your dirty tricks to force me to marry you?” Faced with his accusations, my grandmother’s lips trembled. Words rose to her lips, only to be swallowed back down. Her cloudy eyes filled with tears, which she fought back with gritted teeth. I knew there was a story behind their marriage, but this clearly wasn’t the time to dig it up. My grandmother didn’t want to fight, so I could only help her inside. But my grandfather’s voice followed us, relentless. “An old woman acting so indecently, wasting money. Eleanor, aren’t you ashamed of embarrassing me even more?” I closed the door. When I turned around, my grandmother looked like a child who had done something wrong. She clutched my sleeve, her eyes brimming with tears. “Nina, can we return the unopened box? I don’t want to dye it anymore.” 2 I shook my head. “It’s your money. No one can tell you how to spend it. Your friends are waiting for you to look beautiful for your picture. Grandma, don’t let other people’s opinions change you. You’ve never done anything wrong.” I don’t know which words struck a chord with her, but after a moment of silence, she slowly nodded. After removing the plastic wrap and washing her hair, I held up a mirror. A smile finally touched my grandmother’s swollen, red eyes. I breathed a sigh of relief. I was about to say something else to cheer her up when her expression darkened. “Nina, do you really think I’ve done nothing wrong?” I was taken aback, then nodded vigorously. It suddenly occurred to me that, aside from me, perhaps no one had ever affirmed her in all these years. My grandfather, the self-proclaimed intellectual, never lifted a finger around the house. He looked down on the town, and he looked down on her even more. Not insulting her was the best she could hope for; approval was out of the question. Besides me, on my school holidays, she had no one to talk to. She was lonely, her confidence constantly shaken. I rushed to comfort her, a stream of reassuring words tumbling out. She listened quietly, wiping the corners of her eyes. “You’re a modern college student. You know more than your grandfather. Hearing you say that makes me feel better.” Her words reminded me of what my grandfather had said earlier. I hesitated, wondering if I should ask. But she seemed to read my mind and sighed, her gaze drifting off into the distance, as if she were looking back many years. “Your grandfather is right. If not for an accident, he wouldn’t have married me.” More than forty years ago, the town had produced two college students: my grandfather, Arthur, and my grandmother’s best friend, Vivian. The three of them had grown up together. My grandmother had a secret crush on my grandfather, but she knew she wasn’t good enough for him. When she saw that he and Vivian had feelings for each other, she quietly stepped aside. Everyone said they were a perfect match. They were about to get engaged when Vivian, whom she hadn’t heard from in a long time, suddenly asked to meet. “You like Arthur, don’t you? Let me help you.” My grandmother, unsuspecting, drank a cup of tea and lost consciousness. When she woke up, she was in bed with my grandfather, both of them barely clothed, both of them passed out. Villagers burst in and found them. In those days, in a town like ours, reputation was everything. The engagement was called off. My grandfather, scorned by the community, was forced to marry my grandmother. From that day on, he hated her. He believed she had schemed to ruin his life. As she told me this, my grandmother’s face was calm, but her eyes held a sorrow that words couldn’t describe. There were still holes in the story. If I could just figure them out, maybe I could resolve their conflict. I asked, “What happened to Vivian?” “She—” The door was kicked open with a loud bang. My grandfather stood there, his face dark, his teeth gritted. “Are you trying to be some tragic heroine, dredging up this old dirt over and over? Aren’t you ashamed? Stop poisoning the child’s mind with your nonsense!” My grandmother flinched, instinctively shrinking back. She might not have known what a “tragic heroine” was, but she knew it wasn’t a compliment. She swallowed her words and forced an awkward smile at me. And in that moment, I finally understood. The conflict between them wasn’t unresolved because my grandmother didn’t want to fix it. It was because my grandfather never gave her a chance to explain. 3 We didn’t speak of it again. After the New Year, it was time for me to go back to school. My grandmother, perhaps sensing my worry, squeezed my hand, then let it go. “Don’t worry. I’ve made it this far. What could possibly happen? Just study hard. That’s the best way you can repay me.” I didn’t dare look back as I left, afraid to see the reluctance in her eyes. I never imagined that this ordinary farewell would almost be the last time I saw her. After the holidays, another snowstorm hit the state. On a whim, I opened the security camera app for our home, wanting to see what my grandmother was doing. All I saw was my grandfather, alone in the yard, practicing his Tai Chi. I was about to switch camera angles when I noticed a pile of spilled feed near the pigsty. My grandmother was lying motionless in the snow nearby. I didn’t know how long she had been there. Only her dog was pacing anxiously around her. I was horrified. I thought perhaps my grandfather hadn’t seen her, so I was about to turn on the two-way audio to alert him. But then, in the next second, he coldly stepped over her and went inside, without so much as a glance in her direction. By the time I rushed from my school to the hospital, my grandmother was out of danger but still unconscious. My grandfather saw me, his expression cold. He grabbed his coat from the back of a chair and started to leave. “If the medical staff hadn’t required it, I wouldn’t be wasting my time here. I’m leaving. I have a calligraphy class tomorrow. An old woman like her, falling down like that. This hospital stay is just going to be another waste of money. Useless.” Before he left, he shot an impatient glare at my grandmother on the bed. I watched him walk out of the room. I had no desire to stop him. Growing up, it always felt like there were three people in our house, but at the same time, it felt like there were only two: me and my grandmother. My father had died young, and my mother had remarried. It was my grandmother who had raised me. My grandfather was like a ghost, a lodger in his own home. As long as I could remember, they had slept in separate rooms. No one was allowed in his room. I had snuck in once as a child and had seen it was filled with old photographs, all of a strange woman. I never told my grandmother, but now, I suspect she knew all along. I was well aware of my grandfather’s cold-heartedness. I wasn’t disappointed, just heartbroken for my grandmother’s years of suffering. I went to tuck her in, but I saw her eyes were open. I didn’t know how much of my grandfather’s tirade she had heard. Her expression was neutral, and I was relieved. I didn’t want to upset her by asking. Holding her hand, I finally felt the fear catch up to me. Her fall hadn’t been that serious, but if the ambulance hadn’t been called in time, she could have frozen to death in the yard. But looking at her tired eyes, I swallowed the words I wanted to say. To my surprise, she was the one who broke the silence, her voice unexpectedly calm. “When I fell, I didn’t pass out right away. I called for him to help me. He ignored me. I thought that after all this time, it would be in the past. But after a lifetime together, he still hates me. Hates me enough to watch me freeze to death. Why? Aren’t people supposed to have hearts?” She stared blankly at the ceiling, her face full of confusion, as if she were speaking to herself, questioning fate. I couldn’t imagine what she must have felt when he ignored her pleas for help. And I had no answer to her question now. All I could do was squeeze her hand, fighting back my own tears. 4 My grandfather never visited her once before she was discharged. After I finished the discharge paperwork, she finally looked away from the hospital room door. She didn’t say anything, but I could see the disappointment on her face. I tried to distract her, telling her the car would be there soon and suggesting she look at her phone. A few moments later, she leaned over, pointing at the screen. “Nina, what does this say?” I looked. It was a video posted on my grandfather’s account. A massive bouquet of flowers was being carried out of a car by two people and presented to an elegantly dressed woman. Time had been kind to her, adding a certain charm to her features. It was Vivian. She beamed, throwing her arms around my grandfather, who stood beside her. And this old man, who I had only ever known to be stern and unsmiling, was looking at her with a tenderness I had never seen before. My hands trembled as I tapped on the caption. A long, dense block of text, a forty-year ode to unrequited love. In that moment, I was incredibly grateful that my grandmother couldn’t read. Because at the end of the caption, a single, dismissive line—no other love could ever compare—erased forty years of her devotion and suffering. But even without the caption, the video said it all. Even I could guess who the woman was. I couldn’t believe that my grandmother, as her old friend, wouldn’t recognize her. I forced a smile. “It’s nothing, Grandma. Don’t ask.” Perhaps my smile was too strained. She nodded quietly, then reached up and cupped my face with her rough palm. “I won’t ask, I won’t ask. It’s okay, Nina, my sweet girl. Don’t cry.” But I could feel her own hand trembling. She wasn’t a strong woman. When faced with trouble, she would have a good cry before figuring out what to do. But since the hair dye incident, it seemed her tears had run dry. On the way home, I tried to make conversation several times, but her absentmindedness always cut me short. I was worried she might do something foolish. But I soon realized my fears were unfounded. As we reached the town entrance, she suddenly grabbed my hand, her voice hesitant but tinged with a new determination. “Nina, you’re educated. I want to ask you something.” “What is it?” “Can people our age get a divorce? Do old people in the city get divorced?” I was stunned, then overjoyed. I had always been afraid she wouldn’t want to go through the trouble at her age, afraid of the gossip, so I had never suggested it. I never imagined she would come up with the idea herself. Fearing she might change her mind, I nodded enthusiastically. “Yes! Lots of old people in the city get divorced! Grandma, are you thinking…” When she spoke again, her voice was much firmer. “This has haunted me my whole life. I’m tired of it. She was the one who pushed Arthur on me against my will. Now that she’s back, I’m giving him back to her!” On the walk home, her steps grew more and more resolute. When we reached the gate, we saw my grandfather heading out, carrying a beautifully wrapped box. “I need to talk to you.” He ignored her, as usual, not even sparing her a glance. As he was about to walk away, my grandmother’s voice rang out, louder and more determined than before. “Arthur, I want a divorce!” My grandfather finally stopped. He turned and gave her a sarcastic sneer. “You’re the one who shamelessly used dirty tricks to marry me. What kind of game are you playing now?” “I saw the video you posted.” My grandmother was unfazed by his insults. She repeated, her voice firm, “I want a divorce!”

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1 Every year, in the isolated hollow of Blackwood Creek, a girl of age is chosen to be the Patron’s Bride. The chosen one must enter the sacred cavern to lie with the Patron, a mysterious entity the town has worshipped for generations. If she emerges alive, she becomes a revered Matriarch, and any child conceived from the union is said to be blessed with a life of fortune. If she dies… well, the town simply waits for the next year’s Bride. The “blessing” of her sacrifice is then said to pass to her family. But no one ever wanted to be chosen. Families fled the valley, pulling their daughters out of school, anything to escape the selection. Except for me. I volunteered. Because I had a hunger. A desperate, gnawing curiosity to know what a god felt like. The day before the spring equinox, I was sprawled on my bed, scrolling through my phone, when a crowd of people flooded into our yard. Elder Hawthorne, the town’s de facto leader, was at the forefront. “Elara,” he boomed, a grin stretching across his weathered face. “We’ve come to give you the good news!” I shot up from my bed. “Elder Hawthorne, does this mean… I’ve been chosen? Can I be the Patron’s Bride?” He chuckled, his eyes crinkling. “Your sister Clara was the Bride just last year, so your name wasn’t meant to be in the running. But since you insisted so fiercely, we had no choice but to open the Sanctum and ask the founders.” “We cast the stones three times,” he continued, his voice dropping to a solemn tone, “and three times, the founders gave their consent. It is settled.” “Yes!” I practically leaped into the air with joy. “Calm yourself, child,” the Elder said, handing me a list. “Here is what you will need to prepare. We will escort you from your home at eight o’clock tomorrow morning. I’ve asked a few of the more experienced women to help you get ready. You can ask them anything you don’t understand.” “Oh, thank you, thank you! I’m… well, I’m not very experienced. What exactly will I need to do… in the cavern?” I asked, trying to sound shy. Martha, my neighbor and one of the town’s older women, frowned. “We’ll instruct you on that tonight. For now, we must prepare your ceremonial gown.” I dashed into my room and returned a moment later, clutching a full ensemble—a deep crimson gown, hand-embroidered with ancient symbols, and an ornate headpiece. “I’ve always dreamed of marrying the Patron,” I announced breathlessly. “I’ve had this ready for a long time.” Our town had fallen on hard times. More and more people were leaving for the cities to find work, leaving Blackwood Creek to rot. I was the last unmarried woman of a certain age left. That’s why, even at twenty-eight, I was still considered a candidate. As someone who had supposedly dreamed of this day my entire life, I had prepared for it meticulously. As soon as the Elder and the other men left, I eagerly turned to the women. “So, how do I please the Patron?” Martha followed me into my bedroom. Her eyes immediately fell on the collection of objects scattered across my bed. Her face went pale. “Elara,” she whispered, her voice tight. “Tell me true. Are you… untouched?” “Of course, I am.” “Then what are these?” she asked, gesturing at the mess. With a flourish, I gathered the items and began to explain. “This is my secret weapon. For years, none of the Brides have conceived the Patron’s child, have they? It’s because the women themselves aren’t prepared. So, I consulted a wise woman, a seer, and she told me I needed to use these. With their help,” I declared, “I can have as many of his children as he desires.” Martha took one of the objects from me, her expression a mixture of disbelief and intrigue. “This… this thing is that powerful?” “It is. If you like them, I can give you one each. I have plenty.” I opened a drawer and pulled out several brand-new, still-in-the-box items, handing one to each of the wide-eyed women. Each was worth a small fortune, and just like that, they were bought. They not only taught me the secret words to whisper to the Patron, but they also impressed upon me one critical rule: no matter what happens in the cavern, I must not, under any circumstances, open my eyes. Filled with a rush of excitement, I decided to share my most precious secret. “Martha,” I began, leaning in conspiratorially, “the seer who advised me… she said I have a blessed womb. She said I’m like fertile soil—if someone tills the land, a forest is sure to grow.” I lowered my voice to a whisper. “That’s why I’ve kept myself pure for so long. No man is worthy of this body, except for the Patron.” Clatter. The device in Martha’s hand slipped from her grasp and hit the floor. When she saw me looking, she forced a smile back onto her face. “That’s wonderful, dear. The future of our town rests on your shoulders.” 2 To be certain, after I had fasted and bathed as instructed, they laid me down on the bed to perform the final check. Two of Martha’s fingers probed, struggling to find any purchase. Finally, she sighed with relief. “You are pure, Elara. The Patron will be pleased,” she said, her voice softening. “Now listen closely. What I’m about to tell you is the key to winning his favor. You cannot make a single mistake.” They drilled me until midnight, going over every last detail until I was dizzy with instructions. The next morning at eight, I was brought to the Sanctum. It stood in the heart of the village, a grim, windowless building that only men were permitted to enter. Women were forbidden from even kneeling at its door. The only exception was the Patron’s Bride. As I stepped over the threshold, a wave of vertigo washed over me. It felt like I’d seen this all before in a dream, a scene I couldn’t quite grasp, the details slipping through my fingers like sand. “Don’t just stand there daydreaming,” Martha hissed. “Kneel and pray to the founders for their blessing.” “Yes, of course.” Half an hour of tedious rituals later, I was finally led to the courtyard behind the Sanctum. They intended to change me into the ceremonial gown right there, out in the open sun. I clutched the front of my simple dress, hesitant. “Here? But… the men from the neighboring houses can see. My body is for the Patron alone. They are not worthy.” Martha’s eyes flashed with impatience. “Those men are the ones who inspect you for the Patron. Only if you pass their examination will you be worthy of ascending the mountain.” I fell silent and let my hands drop. No matter how many X-rated films you’ve watched, nothing prepares you for the hot blush that creeps up your neck when the last piece of your clothing falls away in front of strangers. Another half hour passed. Dressed in the magnificent crimson gown and ornate headdress, I emerged from the back of the Sanctum. As I looked up, I saw several of the town’s elder men staring, their eyes bloodshot, their throats working as they swallowed. Elder Hawthorne nodded, satisfied. “Let’s begin.” At his signal, music began to swell from unseen players. Unlike the joyous tunes of a normal wedding, the music for the Patron was a somber, ancient dirge. Its melody was both grand and unsettling, its notes seeming to bore into your very soul. My head grew fuzzy, and I forgot everything, my feet moving automatically, following the procession out of the Sanctum. Halfway down the path, my left foot caught on my right. I pitched forward, crying out as I fell to my knees. My palms scraped violently across the rough stone path, leaving a smear of blood in my wake. “To see blood on such an auspicious day! This is a terrible omen!” Elder Hawthorne’s face darkened with anger. I quickly pulled a small charm from a hidden pocket in my gown. “Elder, don’t worry! The seer gave me this lucky charm. It ensures my success in all things,” I said, my voice bright and confident. “Besides, she foretold that my day would begin with sorrow but end in joy. This bleeding only proves that everything from this moment on will go perfectly!” My words seemed to placate him and the other elders, and the procession continued. But for some reason, the cuts on my hands wouldn’t stop bleeding, leaving a faint, crimson trail behind us. The stinging pain made it impossible to focus on the hypnotic music. As we reached the trailhead leading up the mountain, a black cloth was tied over my eyes. The Patron desires purity in his Bride’s gaze, the Elder had explained. I was not to look upon the wild spirits of the mountain, lest he find me tainted. With my vision gone, my other senses sharpened to a razor’s edge. I could feel the uneven ground beneath my feet, the path turning from worn stone to dirt and roots. The music behind me seemed to intensify, crawling under my skin, inescapable. The air changed, too, losing the smoky scent of the village and taking on a cold, clean fragrance. I instinctively clenched my fists, and the pain in my palms flared. I don’t know how long we walked, but I could feel the sun beating down directly overhead when they finally allowed me to remove the blindfold. Before me was a winding, narrow path. It ended at a yawning cavern, a mouth leading into endless shadow. Beside it stood a colossal tree, its branches reaching for the sky. The intoxicating scent of night-blooming jasmine hung heavy in the air, so thick you could almost taste it. The villagers claimed this tree had fed on the essence of countless Brides, which was how it grew so tall, so fragrant. Ten yards from the cavern’s entrance, the procession came to a sudden halt. Elder Hawthorne’s small, cloudy eyes fixed on me. “Are you certain you want to go in?” 3 My cheeks flushed, a blush of what I hoped looked like shy anticipation. I gazed at the dark maw of the cavern. “I am.” “The Patron is said to be tall and handsome, a match beyond compare,” I said, my voice thick with feigned desire. “I’m not getting any younger, and I’ve never known the touch of a man.” My crude words made the men around me frown. Even Elder Hawthorne seemed displeased. But I had passed all their tests that morning. And I was, by my own declaration, the fertile vessel they so desperately wanted. No matter how much he disliked me, he had to let me go. “The village has no other unmarried girls, Elara. This difficult duty falls to you,” he said, his tone grim. “When you are in there, think of your parents. You’re the only child they have left.” My face grew even redder. “Don’t you worry, Elder. I promise I’ll come out with the Patron’s child. My parents will have a grandchild to dote on, and our village will prosper!” No one but me was allowed to set foot in the Patron’s domain. They could only escort me this far. Under their watchful eyes, I walked quickly down the narrow path and stepped into the cavern. The scent of jasmine and the warmth of the sun vanished behind me, replaced by the damp, cloying smell of rot and decay. My heart began to hammer against my ribs. And then I saw him. At the end of the passage, a powerfully built man sat on a throne carved from stone. My heart nearly leaped out of my chest. “Are you… the Patron?” The man didn’t move. He made no sound. As I drew closer, I could see his head was tilted back slightly, his chest rising and falling in the shallowest of breaths. Following Martha’s instructions, I knelt and bowed my head to the ground. “Your Bride is here to present her gift,” I murmured. “I am Elara of the House of Croft. I am twenty-eight years of age. After tonight, I am your woman.” Martha had said the Patron would not unwrap his gift himself. I had to offer myself to him. As a woman of my age, though I had no real experience, I’d done my research. I knew the steps. With every step I took, another piece of my ceremonial gown fell away. By the time I stood before him, I wore nothing but my most delicate underthings. The air in the cave was frigid, and a shiver wracked my body. Martha’s words echoed in my mind: The Patron will not move, but his body is warm. You must press yourself against him, use his heat to warm yourself. Otherwise, you won’t survive two days in the cold. I reached out and unfastened his clothes. His skin was warm to the touch. A soft moan escaped my lips, and my legs went weak. I practically melted into his arms. “Patron…” I whispered, my lips brushing against his ear. “You’re so warm. Won’t you hold me?” “I never knew you’d be so handsome,” I purred. “If I’d known how good it was to be the Patron’s Bride, I never would have let my sister come here last year. She was useless, you know. Only lasted three days before she died. Don’t you worry,” I whispered, my voice turning husky, “I’m much stronger than she was. I’m sure I can take whatever you dish out.” I thought his body felt… pliant. Not stiff and unmoving like Martha had described. Was it because the day was so warm? According to the rules, it was time to proceed to the next step. I pulled his expensive clothes from his body, tossing them carelessly to the floor. Soon, he was as bare as I was. In the dim light filtering from the cave entrance, I could make out the hard planes of his stomach. I couldn’t resist pressing my cheek against his eight-pack. “Did my sister touch you here, Patron?” My fingers trailed slowly, deliberately, downwards. “What about here? Did the other Brides touch you here? Did they tell you how… impressive you are?” Was it my imagination, or did I feel a faint tremor run through his body? No, Martha said the Patron never moved. It was up to the Bride to do all the work if she wanted to conceive his child. I took a deep breath, positioned myself over his hips, and lowered myself down. His body bucked upwards in a sharp, involuntary thrust. I was still reeling from the shock of his movement when, in the next instant, the cavern was suddenly filled with people…

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My father and mother guarded the Northern Marches for ten years. They returned with an adopted daughter, a girl as beautiful and seemingy innocent as a lily. The moment we met, my family suddenly began to hear her innermost thoughts. Outwardly, she was warm and affectionate toward me, but in her heart, she seethed. “So this is the sister who was raised in the capital’s luxury. She’s never known the bitterness of the frontier. Dressed in such finery… she truly knows nothing of hardship.” The eyes of my father, mother, and brother turned on me, filled with blame. But what she didn’t know was that in this life, there was one more person who could hear her thoughts: me. … The sun beat down relentlessly as I stood alone under a parasol, waiting at the gate. A carriage slowly turned the corner, its simple canvas top a stark contrast to the grand, opulent manors lining the street. Before it had even stopped, a young woman leaped down. She was my age, her dark hair tied back with a simple red ribbon. She had the lively, almond-shaped eyes of a fawn, and every movement was filled with a playful, charming energy. “You must be my sister from the capital. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. My name is Seraphina.” Her words were sweet, but I already knew the venom in her heart. Sure enough, as my parents and my brother, Gareth, hurried out of the carriage after her, I heard that secret voice again. “My sister has lived in the capital her whole life, never tasting the bitterness of the Marches. Look at her, so extravagantly dressed. She knows nothing of true suffering. A single one of her hairpins could probably cover a soldier’s wages for a year, couldn’t it?” My parents and brother froze, their expressions hardening. They shot me accusing glances. It was just like in my past life. I had been filled with joy, eagerly awaiting my family’s return, only to be met with their instant, baseless resentment. No matter what I did—or even if I did nothing at all—Seraphina’s “inner voice” would guide them to turn their hearts against me. I had done nothing, yet I became a spoiled, disrespectful degenerate in their eyes. I died of a broken heart. Seraphina, however, had used my life as a stepping stone, becoming a celebrated paragon of humility and strength. But now, I no longer felt the sting of their coldness as I had in my past life. I simply nodded at my parents and my brother. “Father. Mother. Gareth.” Then I turned and walked back into the manor, not caring whether they followed. Behind me, Seraphina’s inner voice chimed in again. “Why won’t my sister speak to me? Is she trying to put me in my place? These ladies from the capital are always so wrapped up in their petty games. They have none of the simple honesty of the frontier people.” My mother, hearing this, bristled with indignation. “My lord, this daughter of ours has no manners at all!” My father, Lord Marshal Valerius, said nothing, his face a grim mask. Gareth couldn’t hold back. “I have no sister so rude and arrogant. In my heart, my only sister is Seraphina!” Seraphina was clearly delighted but put on a show of magnanimity. “Perhaps my sister feels that I’ve stolen our parents’ affection. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have presumed to call myself their daughter.” Hearing her usually cheerful adopted daughter speak so humbly, and seeing the tears welling in her almond eyes, a fire of rage ignited in my mother’s heart. She scoffed, her voice dripping with disdain. “You are my daughter, Seraphina, and no one can take that place! Don’t you waste your tears on someone so inconsequential.” My father and Gareth rushed to comfort her as well. How absurd. My own parents, on the very first day of their return, calling their own flesh and blood “inconsequential” for the sake of an adopted child. My chest felt hollow. It should have ached. It should have been breaking with grief, with an unbearable agony. But it felt nothing. In my last life, the heart that had yearned for my parents and missed my brother had already died. It died when Gareth gave Seraphina the holy scriptures I had painstakingly copied, just so she could tear them apart for fun. It died when my mother, cradling a drenched Seraphina who had “fallen” into the lake, accused me of having a viper’s heart. It died when my father had me flogged, forcing me to give up my position as companion to the princess so that Seraphina could have it. I walked briskly to the main hall and turned, cutting through their tender family moment without a shred of emotion. “It is time for the evening meal.” The chatter behind me ceased. Perhaps they had suddenly remembered that the “inconsequential person” was still there. My mother’s embarrassment quickly turned to fury. “What is this attitude?” she snapped. “Is this how you treat your parents?” “Disrespectful to your parents, cruel to your sister… How did I ever give birth to a daughter like you?” I feigned confusion, tilting my head as I looked at her twisted, angry face. “I merely announced that it was time to eat. How is that disrespectful?” It was like punching a pillow. She was left speechless. Finally, my father intervened. “Enough! Both of you, be silent!” he commanded. “To the dining hall. Now.” In the hall, we took our seats around a large, mahogany table. But on its vast surface were only a few bowls of thin gruel and some meager vegetables. Seeing the simple fare, Gareth slammed his chopsticks down. “What is the meaning of this? Are you intentionally trying to starve us?” Seraphina tried to smooth things over. “Gruel and vegetables are fine. Our sister worked hard to prepare them.” But in her heart, she murmured, “My sister has seen every delicacy the capital has to offer, yet she prepares only this for us. Can she truly hate me this much? I should find a chance to tell our parents to send me away. I can’t be the cause of a rift in this family!” My father finally spoke, his voice a command. “Kneel!” I remained standing, unmoved. In my past life, because of Seraphina’s inner voice, the lavish feast I had prepared was seen as proof of my decadence. It was Seraphina herself who had clutched her heart and declared that the soldiers on the frontier were suffering, and that a simple meal of gruel would have been more than enough. And now, I had prepared the simple meal they wanted. Why were they still angry? When I didn’t move, Gareth lunged forward and grabbed my arms, forcing me down with brutal strength. He had trained in combat since he was a boy and had been hardened by years in the army. I, a girl raised in the gentle confines of the capital, was no match for his power. In an instant, bruises bloomed on my wrists as he forced me to my knees. My father pointed at me, calling me a disgrace. Gareth’s voice was laced with accusation. “You feast on delicacies every day in the capital, and this is what you prepare for our parents’ return? You are an unworthy daughter!” “And how, brother, would you know that I feast on delicacies every day?” I asked, my voice weak. My frail body couldn’t withstand his assault, and a mouthful of blood suddenly spilled from my lips. Seeing me cough up blood, Gareth released me in shock. I wiped the blood from my chin, my voice cold. “When our grandmother was alive, she forbade me from eating meat. At every meal, I was allowed only half a bowl of gruel. For you and our parents, I specifically ordered the kitchen to bring a full bowl. How does that make me an unworthy daughter?” My grandmother had despised my mother. After my mother abandoned me at the age of three to follow my father to the frontier with Gareth, her cruelty toward me only intensified. Half a bowl of gruel was a regular occurrence. If she was in a foul mood, I would be forced to kneel for hours on an empty stomach. It was a laughable shame—the daughter of the renowned Lord Marshal, starving in his own home. But it was the truth. My parents’ expressions flickered. They knew of their mother’s nature. My mother, remembering the years of torment she had endured under her mother-in-law, finally felt a genuine pang of sympathy for me. Tears streamed down her face as she helped me up. “My poor child, you’ve suffered.” “Your brother didn’t mean it. We are all family. Don’t take it to heart.” I said nothing, staring at the dark bruises on my arms. My father shoved Gareth forward. He stumbled, hung his head, and mumbled an apology. “I was wrong. I shouldn’t have pushed you.” Seraphina rushed over, dabbing at the bloodstains on my gown with her handkerchief. “Oh, sister, it pains my heart to see you like this!” But in her mind, she was saying, “Yes, my sister has suffered, but it wasn’t Gareth’s fault. Why must she be so aggressive about it?” At her words, the atmosphere shifted once more. Gareth’s guilt vanished without a trace. The pity in my parents’ eyes faded, replaced by annoyance at my “impertinence.” I had no desire to deal with them. I turned and walked away. As I left, my father called after me, “Tomorrow, you will go to the palace. The Queen will be selecting a companion for the Princess. Remember to help your sister.” In the Royal Gardens, the Queen sat on the main dais, with Princess Aurelia nestled by her side. Princess Aurelia was the youngest child of the King and Queen, doted upon and known for her spirited, whimsical nature. In my past life, she had chosen me to be her companion. Not because of any great talent, but simply because she thought I was beautiful. It was as simple as that. But Seraphina, in her inner voice, had convinced my parents that I had used tricks to ensure she wasn’t chosen. I was punished, forced to kneel before the ancestral tablets in our dark family chapel to “reflect on my sins.” My father took the family scourge to me, the horsewhip lashing my back again and again. He demanded that I “repent” and give up my position. No matter how I explained, he only believed the “inner voice.” But a companion chosen by the royal family was not a position one could simply relinquish. In the end, he had to trade his military merits to secure Seraphina a place in the palace. Now, I watched Seraphina perform on the dais. She wielded a light, flexible sword, her red tunic rustling as she moved, drawing gasps of admiration from the other noble ladies. But Princess Aurelia looked bored. Everyone assumed her spirited nature would draw her to a unique woman like Seraphina. But the princess had a secret preference for delicate, willow-like beauties. After Seraphina stepped down, I took the stage, dressed in a gown of flowing silk with gossamer sleeves, my eyebrows painted like willow leaves, my eyes full of gentle grace. At first glance, I looked like a celestial maiden descended to earth. I hadn’t even begun my performance when Princess Aurelia started tugging on the Queen’s arm, whining like a spoiled child. “Mother, I want her!” Just like last time, Seraphina’s eyes immediately reddened with tears. And just like last time, when Gareth came to collect us, she made a show of congratulating me. “Congratulations, sister, on winning the princess’s favor and becoming her companion.” But in her heart, she sobbed, “The princess seemed so interested during my performance. Why did she choose my sister the moment she appeared?” Those ambiguous words had been the evidence that condemned me in my past life. This time, I couldn’t be bothered to feign a sisterly bond. “The princess likes me, so she chose me,” I said languidly. “There is nothing to congratulate.” Gareth frowned. “Seraphina lost her chance, and you’re here gloating. You’re disgusting.” I didn’t even look at him. I simply lifted the curtain of the carriage and stepped inside. My cool voice drifted out. “Are you driving this carriage or not? If not, I’ll find someone else. I have no time to waste on your squabbling.” Back at home, the same scene from my past life played out. My mother held Seraphina, comforting her, while my father ordered me to the chapel to “reflect.” I rolled my eyes disdainfully. “Tomorrow, the princess will summon me to the palace as her companion. Are you certain you want me to be on my knees all night, Father?” I had specifically asked the princess for this favor, anticipating this very move. My father’s face turned crimson with rage, pointing at me and sputtering, unable to form a coherent sentence. I turned my back on him, leaving him with only my cold silhouette. The next morning, no one came to see me off. The coachman was in a difficult position. “My lady,” he explained in a hushed tone, “it’s not that I want to make things hard for you, but the Lord Marshal has forbidden me from taking you to the palace. My hands are tied!” I didn’t blame him. I turned left out the gate and hired a carriage from the livery stable down the street. Fools. Did the border sands scour the sense from their heads? They’ve forgotten you can hire a carriage right outside your own door. At the palace, I was not surprised to see Seraphina. My father had rushed to the palace the night before to ensure her wish was granted. Princess Aurelia hadn’t arrived yet. Seraphina was deep in conversation with a girl whose makeup was exquisitely applied. It was Duchess Isolde. In my past life, she had been envious of Seraphina’s “freedom” on the frontier and had taken her as a confidante. When Seraphina hinted that I was suppressing her, Isolde had taken it upon herself to be her champion. She was the one who had ruined my reputation and had me driven from the palace in shame. In this life, she and Seraphina had become friends once again.

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1 I had just stepped out of the operating room when the rumors hit like a tidal wave. Whispers of me being the “Herpes Whore,” the “Syphilis Surgeon,” echoed through the hospital corridors. A viral screen report, with my name—Dr. Stella Kane—emblazoned across the top, had been leaked online. The result: positive. Overnight, I went from a respected surgeon to a moral degenerate, a pariah. When I looked to my husband, Julian, for protection, all I found was a chorus of mockery from his friends. “Your wife is famous now, Julian. Every restaurant and mall she’s ever been to is doing a deep clean. They’d rather she just drop dead somewhere far away.” “Even the eighty-year-old beggar on the corner wouldn’t touch her now. You couldn’t pay him to. Everyone knows she’s filthy!” Julian himself had anonymously posted more than a dozen threads fanning the flames. “Chloe finally got her chance in the OR, but no, Stella had to fight for the spotlight. Well, I’ll give her all the spotlight she can handle!” Looking at the man whose eyes simmered with resentment for me, I turned and scheduled an abortion. 【The “Syphilis Surgeon” ate at the Crane’s Landing restaurant. We have completed a full sterilization. Everyone can dine here with confidence. Praying that diseased bitch never comes back!】 【Spreading her virus everywhere, what’s the difference between her and a plague rat? Just stay home and rot, don’t come out and infect the rest of us!】 One comment, in particular, stood out, a deliberate warning: 【She’s a doctor, you know. Be careful if you go to City General. You don’t want to catch what she has.】 I didn’t have to guess. That was Julian. His goal was simple: to drive me out of the hospital, to avenge his precious Chloe’s wounded pride. The internet was a deluge of insults and condemnations. My mind went numb. I couldn’t even cry. I closed my eyes in despair and called a colleague in OB/GYN to book the procedure. “Stella, I thought this baby was something your husband wanted more than anything. What does he think about this?” Our seemingly perfect little family of three… I was only just discovering the rot festering beneath the surface. My fingers trembled as I gently touched my swollen belly, a wave of nausea rolling through me. My colleague knew about the online rumors. She assumed I was buckling under the pressure and didn’t press further, simply scheduling the appointment. I had just signed the consent form when the husband of a patient charged at me with a knife, his face contorted with rage. “You call yourself a doctor? God knows how many men you’ve been with to get riddled with diseases. If you’ve infected my wife, you’ll pay for it!” My pregnant body was clumsy. I couldn’t dodge in time. A searing pain erupted in my shoulder as the blade sliced through my coat, and blood began to well from the gash. I pressed my hand to the wound, trying to stay calm. “Those are just rumors. I’m not sick. Someone is framing me.” But he wouldn’t listen. He yelled for others to come and see, turning me into a public spectacle, a sinner on trial. “Just because you say they’re rumors? No one admits to having a filthy disease, and you’re no different. The proof is all over the internet! What’s the point in denying it?” Then, a splash of red. The acrid smell of paint filled my nostrils as a bucket of it was thrown over me, soaking my clothes and stinging the open wound on my shoulder like salt. “Get the hell out of this hospital, or we’ll complain to the board! If that doesn’t work, we’ll call the police and report you for intentionally spreading a virus!” I wiped the sticky paint from my face, too terrified to look up, feeling utterly defeated. Just then, Julian rushed over, pulling me into his arms. “You’re pregnant. You should be at home resting. What if these barbarians had hurt you? What would I do?” Chloe followed close behind him. The fresh, red love bites on both their necks told the whole story. “Stella, are you alright?” Chloe asked, her voice dripping with false concern. “Julian felt so bad for you, working so hard while you’re pregnant, that he helped me get the position of department head in OB/GYN. You’re not mad, are you?” Because of this scandal, the hospital director had already suspended me. I hadn’t expected such a grand surprise upon my return. Since they loved taking what was mine so much, I would disappear forever and let this tragic couple have their twisted fairy tale. The two of them stood there, clean and pristine, making me look even more like a fallen, painted clown. I turned to leave, but Julian grabbed my paint-soaked arm, then recoiled in disgust. “Chloe has a difficult case. She wants you to take a look.” Seeing Chloe’s saccharine smile, a shiver ran down my spine. “I need to go home and shower.” A flicker of impatience crossed Julian’s brow, his face darkening. “You’re her senior. There’s no need to make excuses to shirk your responsibilities. Get going.” He had given his ultimatum. There was no room for discussion. He grabbed my arm and dragged me toward a room at the end of the hall. Before I could react, he shoved me inside and locked the door. 2 My heart leaped into my throat, clenching into a tight, painful knot. I spun around to see a burly, disheveled man walking toward me, a leering grin on his face. “Stay back! This is a hospital!” The man spat on the floor, his eyes filled with contempt. “You’re that ‘Syphilis Surgeon’ from the internet, aren’t you? You look like a whore. Must have cheated a lot to get so diseased.” “But I like them diseased. It’s not like a man can get cervical cancer. Don’t be difficult. I’m probably the only man in the world willing to play with you now!” He lunged, grabbing at my clothes. I pressed myself against the door, curling into a ball. I could faintly hear voices from the other side. It was Chloe, her voice a petulant whine. “It hurts me to even think of you with her. She’s always the star at the hospital. Can’t you get rid of her for good? She’s taking all my surgical opportunities, boo-hoo…” Julian’s voice was smug, confident. “Don’t worry, my little sweet pea. This plan will ensure she’s gone from the hospital for good. Who does she think she is? She can’t compare to you in any way. She’s only fit to stay at home, have babies, and cook, like some old maid.” Even through the thick wood of the door, I could feel his disdain. Riiip— The paint-caked fabric of my uniform tore. A pair of grimy hands reached for me. I fought with all my might, but it was useless. Just as I was about to give up, the door was thrown open. I turned, ready to scream for help like a drowning woman grabbing for a lifeline, only to see that the doorway was crowded with people. The man instantly changed his tune, pointing at me and shouting, “It was her! She seduced me! She has diseases and she’s still trying to lure men into her bed! I’m a victim here!” In an instant, I was once again the target of everyone’s fury. The man’s wife stormed forward and slapped me, her spittle flying as she screamed, “So it’s you! You promiscuous bitch, trying to seduce my husband! If you’ve given him your filthy diseases, I’ll make you regret the day you were born!” “If this hospital doesn’t give me an explanation today, I’m calling the cops!” A hospital administrator pushed through the crowd, his face a thundercloud. “A full suspension, effective immediately! We will investigate this thoroughly!” After the administrator left, a few of Julian’s friends eyed me with malicious amusement. “Stella, couldn’t Julian satisfy you? You must be really desperate, not picky at all…” “Don’t mind me for being blunt, but if you’re sick, you should stay home and get better. Spreading it on purpose is a crime, you know. You could go to jail for that.” Julian finally arrived, pulling me out of the throng. “What’s going on, honey?” he asked, looking from me to the crowd with an expression of pure confusion, as if he truly had no idea what had happened. His friend recounted the incident with relish, adding his own embellishments, ensuring everyone in the vicinity heard. “Honey, don’t be afraid,” Julian said, his voice full of concern. “Of course, I believe you. You would never do something like this.” But as he spoke, he was using a burner phone to record the entire scene, ready to upload it to the internet and brand me a “promiscuous cheater.” I never knew he was such a good actor. A chorus of condemnation rose around me. Julian, feigning a difficult position, said, “Tonight is Chloe’s promotion dinner. A few of our friends will be there. Why don’t you take this opportunity to apologize to everyone on a livestream? We’ll all support you.” I had done nothing wrong. Why should I apologize? I knew that if I went, it would only make things worse. “You all have fun. I’m not going.” Julian’s immediate instinct was to defend Chloe. He grabbed my wrist. “Chloe is just trying to help. Don’t be ungrateful. I only helped her get the department head position because it was a natural progression. Are you jumping to conclusions again?” I had said one sentence, and he launched into a tirade on Chloe’s behalf, terrified she would bear even a hint of blame. But me? The torrent of filth online was crushing me, but he felt no pity. In fact, he kept raising the stakes, showing no mercy. In the end, Julian dragged me to Chloe’s celebration. The moment I entered, everyone scattered as if I were the plague, desperate to avoid any association with my “virus,” my “misfortune.” Seeing this, Chloe feigned kindness, her voice syrupy sweet. “What is everyone doing? Stella came all this way to celebrate my promotion to department head. You’re all being so cruel.” She started to walk toward me, to take my hand. But Julian intercepted her, pulling her a safe ten feet away from me, his posture defensive. His devotion to her was truly something else. A waiter then brought in a small, rickety table and placed it in a corner, setting down a plate of leftovers as if feeding a dog. 3 “I’m so sorry, Stella,” Chloe said, her voice laced with false sympathy. “This is for everyone’s health and safety. We’ll go live later and help you clear things up. We’re still good friends and colleagues, right?” One of Julian’s friends chimed in. “Hah! Didn’t you see the director’s face today? Black as thunder. Besides, who would dare let her treat them? What if she makes things worse? Hahaha!” The room erupted in jeering laughter. I clenched my jaw, my voice cold. “I’ve shown my face. Can I go now?” Julian, who had been silent until now, suddenly spoke. “They’re just joking around. Right now, we’re the only ones willing to eat with you. You should be grateful.” He then forced me down onto a low stool, in front of the plate of spoiled food, like an animal they kept for their amusement. A moment later, a waiter rushed in and began spraying me with disinfectant, the clear liquid mixing with the red paint to create a foul-smelling soup that streamed down my face. Then, his friend set up a phone on a tripod, aimed it at my face, and shrieked with excitement. “The stream has only been on for a second and there are already three hundred thousand people in here! Stella, you’re going to be a huge star!” Julian cleared his throat, a pointed reminder. The friend quickly corrected himself. “I mean… more people will get to hear Stella’s sincere apology.” The livestream feed, projected onto a large screen, was a blur of scrolling comments. 【That whore is eating out? Doesn’t she know how dirty she is? Just looking at her makes me sick.】 【Look what she’s eating, spoiled leftovers! It’s worse than what my dog gets. She deserves it. Maybe now she’ll learn not to go around seducing other people’s husbands!】 【Any man in this stream who’s been with her better get checked. You could have a virus and not even know it. She’s a menace!】 【She’s ruined lives and she still won’t apologize!】 … Julian shoved the camera in my face, his voice a soft, gentle threat. “Let’s just apologize to everyone, honey. For the sake of our future child, don’t you think?” I dug my nails into my palms so hard I drew blood, but I couldn’t feel it. Under his relentless pressure, I numbly opened my mouth. “Julian, do you really think I’m sick?” His face instantly darkened with impatience. “What I think doesn’t matter. What matters is what other people think. An apology isn’t going to kill you. Stop wasting time!” If I apologized, it would be an admission of guilt. The rumors would be cemented as fact. The abuse would only intensify. They were trying to push me over the edge. Seeing the smug, triumphant look on Chloe’s face, a bitter laugh escaped my lips. I turned to the camera. “If you really want me to apologize, then I’ll grant your wish.” I slowly stood up and bowed to the camera. “I. Am. Sorry.” As expected, the number of viewers surged, and the comments grew even more vicious. 【The Syphilis Surgeon finally admits it! So stubborn for so long!】 Julian pretended not to see the comments, patting my head with satisfaction. “That’s right. Everyone will forgive you. You’re setting a good example for our child.” Chloe then pushed me back onto the stool and stuffed a piece of moldy bread into my mouth. The others in the room raised their glasses in celebration, as if a mission had been accomplished. The clinking of glasses and their raucous laughter nearly blew the roof off. I sat there, my heart a dead, gray ash. The endless stream of filth on the screen no longer stirred any emotion in me. “Julian, darling, you have to take me to the hospital. A patient is in labor, and I have to be there.” The room emptied in a flurry, leaving me alone with the livestream. A second later, a violent cramp seized my abdomen, a heavy, dragging sensation pulling everything downward. As a doctor, I knew what was happening. There must have been an abortifacient in the bread. Just as the thought crossed my mind, a warm, sticky stream of blood began to flow from between my legs. Dragging my pain-wracked body, I took the phone with its screen full of vitriol, got in my car, and drove toward the river. As the car began to sink into the water, I gave the camera one last, tragic smile. “My death is on every single one of you.” I tossed the phone into the river, slipped out through the window I had left open, and escaped from that hellish life forever. Julian was sitting in the hospital corridor, composing a message to placate me. But before he could hit send, his friend ran up to him, shaking his phone frantically. “Julian! Quick… look! Stella… she just killed herself on the livestream!” At the word “suicide,” Julian’s eyes widened, and he let out a hysterical roar. “What are you talking about? Say that again!”

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I was seven months pregnant when I went to book a suite at a luxury postpartum recovery center. As the staff member entered my information to finalize the contract, she gave me a strange look. “Ms. Vance, our system shows your husband registered with us six months ago.” “But the spouse on file… it’s not you.” I was completely baffled. I pulled out my wedding photo with Alex, holding it up as proof. The staffer rolled her eyes and turned her monitor toward me. “Mr. Thorne has been married for five years. They’re already on their second child. Here’s their marriage certificate and the photos from their last stay with us.” In the photo, my husband, Alex, was holding a baby, beaming at a woman I had never seen before. They were close, their body language intimate and affectionate, looking for all the world like a couple deeply in love. And the man on the marriage certificate was, without a doubt, my husband. If they were husband and wife, then who was I? 1 “Mr. Thorne’s wife is one of our premium members. The audacity of some people, trying to latch onto a wealthy family like this!” “Get out! We don’t serve shameless, pregnant homewreckers here.” The receptionist’s face was a mask of haughty disdain. She looked me up and down, and before I could even begin to explain, she had security escort me out. By the time the shock wore off, the heavy glass doors of the recovery center had swung shut behind me. My mind was reeling. I kept replaying the image of that marriage certificate, those photos. It was Alex’s face, his name, his information. But the woman in the picture was a complete stranger. Why would Alex hide the fact that he was already married? The more I thought about it, the angrier I became. I immediately called him, desperate for an explanation. But the call went straight to voicemail. I sent a barrage of texts, but they all went unanswered. Then I remembered. He was on a business trip overseas. He was probably busy with work. His company was expanding its international operations, preparing for an IPO. This trip was for a crucial deal; if he landed it, the company would reach a whole new level. Unable to reach him, I had no choice but to bottle up my emotions and wait for his explanation. But if what I saw was true, I would make him pay. Just then, a video call came through. It was Alex. “Honey, I’m so sorry. I was tied up in a meeting and just saw your messages.” His familiar face filled the screen. He was in his office, dressed in a sharp suit. Several half-empty teacups, still steaming, sat on the table beside him. He looked exhausted, and a pang of sympathy shot through me. I was about to ask if he was okay, but the memory of the past hour snapped me back to reality. I stared at him, my voice tight with fury. “Alex, are you hiding something from me? Is there someone else?” The smile on his face vanished, replaced by a look of sheer panic. He looked like he was about to fall to his knees right there on camera. “Honey, no! I swear! I only love you!” “There’s no one else! There never has been!” Frantic to prove his innocence, he spun his camera around, showing me every corner of his office, pointing out the complete lack of any feminine items. “Who’s been telling you these things?!” “Is it some media rumor? I swear, when I get back, I’ll sue them into oblivion!” “Honey, you have to believe me. I’ll only ever love you.” Seeing his pale, panicked face, his frantic gestures, I started to relax. Alex and I had met in college. He’d had a crush on me for two years before finally working up the courage to ask me out. He showed up with a massive bouquet of roses, stumbling over his words, a complete nervous wreck. He had this cool, aristocratic air about him, but he was incredibly shy. The contrast was intriguing. After six months of him courting me, I found myself falling for him, and we started our life together. To give me a better life, he started his own company after graduation. In just two years, he had built it from the ground up, never once complaining about the hardship. When he finally found success, he presented me with all his company shares as a dowry. I remember his proposal vividly. He stood under the moonlight, his voice filled with a sacred reverence as he made his vow: “You are the only one for me, for the rest of my life. Everything I have is yours. If I ever betray you, I want you to take everything and leave me with nothing, to never recover.” He laid his entire world at my feet as proof of his devotion. In that moment, I knew he was the man I could entrust my entire life to. After we were married, he was endlessly attentive. He handled everything, big and small. All our friends knew him as the doting husband who was always home by seven. How could a man who loved me this much have another family? The thought began to soothe my doubts. “Fine,” I said. “I’ll believe you this time. But if I find out you’ve been playing me, you’re dead.” He swore his loyalty again and again, and I finally ended the call, satisfied. The weight in my chest lifted. I was about to start looking for another recovery center when my assistant called. The person in charge of our new product launch had been in an accident on the way to the office. The company was in chaos. My assistant couldn’t reach Alex, so she had called me as a last resort. This launch was a critical turning point for the company. It couldn’t fail. After a moment’s hesitation, I decided to go to the office myself and handle the crisis. 2 Two hours later, I arrived at the company headquarters. The media was already set up, but with no one to lead the press conference, the atmosphere was tense. My assistant looked at me as if I were a savior. I told him to go to the hospital first, to make sure our colleague was okay before coming back. After he left, I took a deep breath, composed myself, and walked into the conference hall. As I entered, several of the senior executives saw me and began whispering to each other. I assumed they just didn’t recognize me and smiled, offering a greeting. To my surprise, they shied away from me as if I were carrying a disease. I brushed it off, introduced myself, and was about to announce the start of the press conference when a voice cut through the room. A woman stood up. She held up a marriage certificate, waving it at the cameras. “Miss, you claim to be the CEO’s wife. Then who am I?” I froze. It was the woman from the recovery center, the one from the photo with Alex. What was she doing at a Thorne Industries press conference? I didn’t know her, but as I looked closer, I realized her clothes, her jewelry—it was all in my style. And the limited-edition handbag she was carrying… Alex had stood in line for hours to buy that for me. A hot rage surged through me. “Security! What is the meaning of this?” The conference hall instantly filled with gawkers, and the livestream chat exploded with insults aimed at me. 【Everyone knows @WanderlustWendy! Her husband adores her! I can’t believe some homewrecker is trying to move in on her man.】 【So when Wendy posted an hour ago that she was going to confront a mistress, she was serious? And her husband is the CEO of Thorne Industries?!】 Wendy smirked, a look of pure contempt on her face. She held the marriage certificate up to the camera. “My husband and I have been married for five years. We’re inseparable. I had no idea he had someone on the side.” Her fans descended on me like a pack of rabid dogs. 【She probably got pregnant by some random guy and is trying to trap a rich man! The nerve!】 【If you’re Mr. Thorne’s wife, show us your marriage certificate!】 【Has she looked in a mirror? Does she really think Mr. Thorne would fall for someone like her? I’m going to be sick!】 It was ridiculous. My marriage to Alex was legally recognized. The child in my belly was his. “Please stop spreading these lies,” I said, my voice shaking. “Alex and I are the legally married couple. We built this company together.” I opened my phone, searching for a photo of our marriage certificate, but I couldn’t find one. I remembered then, in a fit of youthful passion, we had torn it up right after the ceremony. We were in the process of getting a replacement for the baby’s birth registration. Wendy let out a soft, mocking laugh. “I knew she couldn’t produce one. Because I am Alex Thorne’s wife.” The online sentiment was unanimous. 【Yeah, we’ve watched Wendy’s channel grow from the beginning. Mr. Thorne has always been so good to her. Why would he want some cheap trash like this?】 I was confused. Alex was always so busy with work. Any free time he had, he spent with me. How could he possibly be having an affair with this Wendy, let alone co-running a “couples” social media account with her? Seeing her smug expression, I snapped. “Your marriage certificate is a fake. Forging official documents is a crime.” Wendy, seeing that I was still refusing to back down, threw a stack of photos at my face. They were pictures of her and Alex, from childhood to adulthood, growing up together, the very picture of childhood sweethearts. The doors to the conference hall opened, and a little boy walked in. His features were a miniature version of Alex’s, right down to his confident demeanor. “Mommy, who’s making trouble at Daddy’s company?” He walked through the room as if he owned the place, completely unfazed by the crowd. The internet exploded. 【That kid looks exactly like Mr. Thorne! It’s undeniable! Can this mistress just stop trying to ruin their family?】 Wendy tilted her chin up, looking at me as if I were garbage. “Stop dreaming. I am Alex Thorne’s wife. You need to accept reality. Not everyone gets to marry into wealth and live a fairytale.” How could this be? How could that child look so much like Alex? My mind was screaming, but then I thought of how attentive Alex always was, how much he loved me… I was so confused. I frantically called Alex a dozen times, but every call went unanswered. “You coward! You’re letting someone bully your wife? Do you have a death wish? You’d better clear this up right now, or you’ll regret it.” My blood was boiling, but I forced myself to stay calm. Alex had looked exhausted a few hours ago. He was probably sleeping. He always silenced his phone when he rested. It was possible he just wasn’t getting my calls. So, I called Leo. He was Alex’s best friend; they had been inseparable since they were kids. He answered immediately. I put him on speaker, my voice hoarse. “Leo, tell me the truth. Is Alex seeing someone else?” Leo sounded like he had just woken up. He was instantly alert. “Stella! Who told you Alex was cheating?! Who’s spreading these lies?!” “I swear on my life, Stella, Alex is not cheating on you. You are his only wife.” Hearing his words, I finally breathed a sigh of relief. I played the call for everyone to hear. Leo was a famous actor. He would never help me lie. For a moment, the online opinion was split. 【That’s Leo Vance! Why would he lie? Maybe this woman really is Mr. Thorne’s wife.】 【No way. Wendy’s kid looks exactly like Mr. Thorne. They have to be father and son.】 I raised an eyebrow. “There are many people in this world who look alike. And people can be deceitful. Who’s to say this child hasn’t had plastic surgery? You can’t judge by looks alone.” Seeing that I was still stubbornly refusing to give up, Wendy’s lips curled into a sneer. She took out her phone and made a video call. Alex answered instantly. She projected the call onto the large screen. A moment later, Alex’s face appeared before me. The face that was by my side every day. A face I knew better than my own. He wouldn’t answer my calls, but he answered hers instantly. A wave of dizziness washed over me. He had better clear this up, and fast, or I would make his return very unpleasant. But his next words left me frozen in place. His voice was incredibly gentle. “Honey, what are you doing?” The little boy ran over to the screen, calling out sweetly, “Daddy!” Alex’s lips curved into a smile. “Have you been a good boy for Mommy?” The boy nodded, then his little face scrunched up. “Yes, but someone is making Mommy sad. A woman came today and said Mommy was a mistress, and she embarrassed her in front of everyone.” A flash of surprise crossed Alex’s face, quickly replaced by anger. “Who is this nobody, causing trouble at Thorne Industries? My only wife is Wendy.” “Wendy, hit her back. Your husband will support you.” As he spoke, Wendy rushed toward me. She raised her hand and slapped me hard across the face. “I have tolerated you again and again, but you just get worse. I’ve proven who I am. You should accept it now.” I stood there, stunned, my face pale. “How is this possible? That’s not Alex. Alex would never do this to me.” “Give me the phone! I need to ask him what’s going on!” I reached for the phone, wanting to confront him myself. But Wendy wouldn’t let me. Seeing me approach, a flicker of panic crossed her face. She quickly stepped back and yelled, “What are you doing?! This is my husband! So when you can’t win an argument, you resort to violence?” “Security! Is there any security here?! Get this bitch out of here!” The scene descended into chaos. Security guards moved toward me. I clutched my stomach, looking at them. “I’m pregnant. If you touch me and something happens, can you take responsibility for that?” Seeing my condition, the guards hesitated, looking at me with uncertainty. “Miss, this is a press conference. You should probably leave.” I was furious. “Are you blind? Can’t you see who’s causing the trouble here?” I didn’t know what Wendy’s game was. The face on the screen was Alex’s, but with today’s technology, it could easily be a deepfake. Unless I saw him in person, I wouldn’t believe it. As I was thinking, I remembered someone who could prove my identity. “Yes! His mother! She can prove who I am.” I frantically pulled out my phone, about to call my mother-in-law. But when I saw Wendy’s smug expression, I put it away. “You say you’re Alex’s wife. Then you must have his mother’s number. Alex isn’t in the country right now. You could have faked all this other evidence. It proves nothing. If you’re so confident, call his mother. Let’s see if she recognizes you as her daughter-in-law.” My mother-in-law was a world-renowned painter, often seen at international events. Wendy wouldn’t dare to fake someone so famous. Besides, my mother-in-law adored me. The day I married into the family, she gave me their ancestral jade bracelet. Whenever Alex and I argued, she always took my side, scolding him for his faults. She treated me like her own daughter. When I got pregnant, she sent me a huge sum of money for nutritional supplements. Wendy’s lips curled into a sneer. “You just won’t give up until you hit a wall, will you? I bet you don’t have her number.” With that, she dialed a number and put it on speaker, her voice full of grievance. “Mom, someone is causing trouble at the company. She’s claiming to be Alex’s wife and calling me a mistress. You have to come and set things right.” A very familiar voice came from the other end of the line. “Who dares to bully my darling daughter-in-law? I’m on my way to sort them out.” The livestream chat erupted. 【Okay, it’s settled. Wendy is the real wife. No mother-in-law would be that affectionate to a fake.】 【That Stella woman is such a bitch, just trying to marry into money.】 【She’s been slapped in the face with the truth so many times and she’s still insisting. The nerve of this woman.】 I stared at Wendy in disbelief. She just smiled and waggled her phone at me. “My mother-in-law recognizes me as Alex’s wife. Why won’t you believe it?” My fists clenched, my chest heaving, my shoulders trembling uncontrollably. “Mom, it’s me, Stella! I’m your daughter-in-law! How can you take the side of this… this stranger?” Before I could finish, Wendy snatched the phone back and slapped me again. “Who do you think you’re talking to? Who gave you permission to claim my mother as your own?” Her voice was full of manufactured grievance as she cooed into the phone, “Mom, you have to come to the office and prove who I am. Otherwise, some bitch will keep trying to claw her way into our family.” The person on the other end had to be an imposter. I took out my own phone and sent a text to my mother-in-law, briefly explaining what was happening and asking her to come and verify my identity. She replied immediately, saying she was on her way. Knowing her fiery temper, I was sure that when she arrived, Wendy would be thrown out on her ear. I just had to wait for her to get here, and the truth would be revealed. Not long after, her car pulled up to the main entrance. She got out, leaning on her signature cane, walking a little slowly. Seeing that it was really her, the knot in my stomach loosened. I rushed forward to help her. “Mom, you’re finally here! You have to explain to them that I’m your daughter-in-law!” “Some woman showed up out of nowhere with a child, claiming to be the lady of the house. They’ve all been bullying me! You can’t let them get away with this!”

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To force my hand, to make me call off our engagement, my fiancé drove my father’s company into the ground, burying it under millions in debt. The shock triggered a heart attack, and my father was rushed into the ICU. As I was on my knees, begging my fiancé for the money to cover the surgery, my childhood friend, Jack Blackwood, suddenly returned from abroad. He arranged for the best doctors for my father and stayed by my side, holding vigil with me day and night. But a week later, my father suffered another, more severe heart attack. To give him peace in his final moments, Jack knelt by the hospital bed and swore he would marry me, that he would take care of me for the rest of his life. After the funeral, my heart a hollowed-out cavern, I broke off the engagement. Instead, I married Jack. Five years later, however, I overheard a conversation between him and my ex-fiancé. “You played a masterstroke, I’ll give you that. You got that clingy leech Renee to let go of me, and she even thanked you for it. Tell me, if she ever found out you were the one who really killed her father, you think she’d want to gut you?” … My hand froze on the private room’s door handle. Inside, my ex-fiancé’s mocking voice continued, dripping with amusement. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that? Renee grew up with you, looked up to you like an older brother. I bet she’d never in a million years guess that the man who bankrupted her father’s company was you.” “If it wasn’t for Ava, I never would’ve taken the fall for you all these years. I may have hated the girl, but I wouldn’t go so far as to stress a man into his grave.” A glass slammed onto the table, and Jack’s voice, thick with drink and fury, cut through the air. “What I owe Renee, I’ll spend a lifetime repaying. I only helped you back then because I wanted Ava to be happy. If you ever betray her, if you make her shed a single tear, I will end you.” The other man just clicked his tongue in mock admiration. “So devoted. A real tragic hero. Too bad she met me first. You just focus on protecting your precious Renee. After all, you killed her father. Better watch your back for when his ghost comes calling in the middle of the night.” CRASH! A glass shattered against the door, fragments exploding everywhere. Footsteps rushed towards the door. I took a sharp breath and fled, my feet carrying me down to the bar on the ground floor. I grabbed a drink and downed it in one go. The burn of the alcohol, something I never touched, brought tears streaming from my eyes. His words echoed in my mind, a torturous loop. It wasn’t my fiancé who had ruined my father. It was Jack—the same man who had paid for his surgery. And that second heart attack, the one that took my father a week later… it must have been because of something Jack said. No wonder Dad had stared so intently at Jack as he took his last breath. I had been so naive, thinking it was a look of gratitude, of entrusting me to him. The man who had shared my bed for five years, the husband who’d held me in the palm of his hand like I was something precious… was the monster who had indirectly killed my father. And our marriage, this five-year performance of love, was nothing but a long, drawn-out act of penance for his guilt. The absurdity of it all was a bitter pill to swallow. Grief and rage churned inside me like a storm. Just as my gaze fell on another glass, a pair of arms wrapped around me from behind. Jack buried his face in the crook of my neck, his voice, soft with alcohol, a tender whisper. “Renee, where did you go? I missed you… Let’s go home. I love you, Renee… I love you so, so much…” For years, this was his ritual. Every time he drank, he would murmur these words of love. His friends always said it was the truth coming out, that he was utterly devoted to me. Now, it was all a grotesque joke. I calmly pushed him away and helped him into the car. Jack’s head came to rest on my lap, his brow smoothed in sleep, his breathing even. “Ava… Ava… Why wasn’t it me? Why…” This time, I heard it clearly. The name that haunted his dreams. Ava. Ava Sterling. The woman who had stolen my fiancé. Jack’s one true love, the one that got away. He had never forgotten her. He had married me, played the part of a doting husband, all while his heart belonged to another. I had underestimated the depths of his love for her. With a thud, his phone slipped from his pocket. I bent to pick it up, the screen lighting up with a new message. “Jack, thank you for covering for me with the drinks tonight. I can’t accept the necklace, it’s far too much.” A second later, I saw Ava’s new Instagram story: “Love is priceless.” The picture was of a breathtakingly brilliant necklace, the very one reported in the news as being sold to a mysterious billionaire for a hundred million dollars—a one-of-a-kind piece. She posted it for me. I knew it. Just this week, Jack had been so busy he’d skipped meals, landing himself in the emergency room with stomach pains. The moment he was discharged, he flew to England. At the time, I was both furious and worried, thinking he was killing himself for his work. Now I knew the truth. He went to an auction. He went, even while doubled over in pain, to buy the most precious necklace in the world and lay it at the feet of his goddess. Some impulse I couldn’t control made me type in the screen lock password. The last digit went in. The phone unlocked. It was Ava’s birthday. Jack had never let me touch his phone, always saying they needed to respect each other’s personal space. As the screen came to life, Ava’s radiant smile filled my vision. No wonder his expression always softened whenever he unlocked his phone. I opened his photo gallery. It was a sea of neatly organized albums. [Ava, Age 10] [Ava, Age 11]… [Ava, Age 25] Each album was a chronicle of her smiles through the years. Among the thousands of photos, not a single one was of me. Not even of himself. Only Ava. Just like his heart. From the beginning, it had only ever been Ava. What dark secrets did Jack’s diary hold? And how would Renee cope with the full, devastating truth of his betrayal? Continue reading to find out. I opened the notes app. It was his diary. [Date, Sunny. Ava scratched her leg on a branch today. It’s my fault. I never should have planted those rose bushes in the yard.] [Date, Sunny. Ava got married today. As long as she’s happy, anything I do is worth it. My only purpose in life is to see her smile.] [Date, Rainy. I got married. When I saw Ava in the crowd, all I could wish for was that she was the one standing beside me.] The car pulled into our driveway. I looked up at the barren yard, and a chill seeped into my bones. There used to be two magnificent peach trees in that yard. Jack had transplanted them from my family’s old estate, a gift from my father who had planted them for me on my tenth birthday. Whenever I looked at them, I felt like my father was still with me, that he had never left. Then one day, the trees, once heavy with fruit, simply withered. Their roots had mysteriously rotted away. Jack had held me for three days and nights as I cried, comforting me. Now I knew. It was him. He had also destroyed the last living memory my father had left me. A message from his assistant popped up on the screen. [Mr. Blackwood, per your instructions, the final draft of your will is complete. All assets are to be left to Ms. Ava Sterling.] [It just needs your signature to be executed.] Through a blur of tears, I saw him. The man at the funeral, holding me, his voice thick with emotion as he made his promise. “Renee, I will give you a home. Everything I have will be yours.” After putting Jack to bed, I didn’t bother with my usual routine of taking off his shoes and caring for him. I turned and went straight to the guest room. I closed my eyes, but all I could see were flashes of his “love” for me over the past five years. The next morning, sunlight streamed in, and I opened my eyes to find Jack gazing at me, his expression tender. He leaned in and placed a soft kiss on my forehead. “Renee, were you upset with me last night? I’m sorry, I had too much to drink at the event. I promise it won’t happen again.” His gentle demeanor was just as it had always been. I just hummed in response, pushed him away, and went into the bathroom to wash the lingering warmth of his kiss from my skin. The breakfast table was laden with food. In the past, this would have filled me with joy. But after reading his diary, I couldn’t feel anything but disgust. Every single dish was one of Ava’s favorites. The sound of a key in the front door lock turned, and Ava walked in, dressed in a pristine white dress. She moved through our home as if she owned it, taking a seat at the table. She offered me a faint smile. “Sorry to intrude, Renee. Jack and I have a photoshoot this morning, so he invited me over for breakfast.” I said nothing, my eyes fixed on the key fob in her hand—an exact replica of my own. Jack, ever perceptive, noticed my mood and leaned in to whisper an explanation. “Ava’s our best friend, Renee. It’s normal for her to have a key to our place…” He didn’t finish. His voice shifted, and he shot up from his seat, snatching the glass of soy milk from Ava’s hand. “Ava, you can’t have soy milk! How can you still forget after all these years?” Ava pursed her lips into a coy smile. “That’s right. I’m so lucky to have you around to remember for me.” They stared at each other, lost in a look that spoke of years of shared history, like two lovers caught in a private moment. I had no interest in watching their display. As I was about to leave, Ava’s voice stopped me. “Renee, I remember you studied photography. Could you shoot for me today? I don’t really trust the new photographer.” I hadn’t touched a camera since my father died. The moment I held one, all I could see was him, the man who taught me everything about photography, his face pale and defeated in his final moments. I couldn’t bring myself to press the shutter button again. Jack knew this. He had locked all my cameras away, telling me not to force it, that he would be there for me until I was ready. But now, before I could even answer, he was pushing me towards the back seat of the car. “Renee, you know Ava gets carsick. You’ll have to sit in the back.” But he had forgotten that my motion sickness was far worse. Having barely touched my breakfast, my stomach churned violently the entire ride. When we arrived, Jack carefully fussed over Ava’s dress, bending down to help her into the studio. I leaned against the car, gasping for fresh air. “Renee, the shoot is about to start,” Jack said, his voice firm as he grabbed my arm and pulled me inside. “Stop being difficult and do a good job. This is important for Ava and for Blackwood Enterprises.” I stumbled, nearly falling to the floor. Holding a camera after five years felt both foreign and terrifying. My hands trembled. I fought back the wave of grief and forced myself to press the shutter, again and again. During a break, when it was just Ava and me in the studio, she flicked through the photos on the camera, a smirk playing on her lips. “You’re just as useless as your father was, Renee. Can’t do anything right.” Her words twisted in my gut. “Like father, like daughter, I suppose.” My nails dug into my palms, my body trembling with a rage I could barely contain. SLAP! A sharp, stinging pain exploded across my cheek. Ava shook her hand, looking down at me with utter contempt. “You’re so shameless, Renee. After being dumped, you immediately latched onto Jack. What makes you think you’re worthy of him? Let me make one thing clear: whether it was your ex or Jack, they were always mine.” “You don’t deserve him.” My head was still turned from the force of the blow. Before I could process what happened, Ava grabbed my hand, swung it at her own face, and then collapsed gracefully to the floor. Clutching her cheek, her eyes filled with tears, she was the very picture of a damsel in distress—a complete transformation from the venomous woman of a moment ago. “Renee, I wasn’t criticizing your work… I just wanted to ask if you could try a different angle… If you didn’t want to, you could have just said so…” The studio door opened. The water glass in Jack’s hand fell to the floor. He rushed past me, kneeling to anxiously check on Ava. “Jack, I’m fine, really. Please don’t blame Renee. It wasn’t her fault, I just lost my balance.” “Ava, you’re too kind,” Jack said, carefully helping her to her feet, his touch as gentle as if she were made of porcelain. “You don’t have to cover for her. I saw what happened with my own eyes!” He pulled her into his arms, his face a mask of fury as he turned to me. It was the first time in our five years of marriage that he had ever looked at me with such anger. “Renee, apologize to Ava! I’ve been too easy on you these past five years! I’ve spoiled you into a venomous shrew!” “You know how important her face is to her career!” He glared at me, his rage so blinding that he didn’t seem to see the red, swollen handprint on my own cheek. I lifted my chin, my gaze meeting his, my voice eerily calm. “The one who should be apologizing is Ava, not me. She brought up my father. And speaking of my father, Jack… is there nothing you feel you need to apologize for?” A flicker of shock crossed his eyes, gone in an instant. “If it weren’t for me back then, Dad would have been gone even sooner. Renee, I promised him I would take care of you for the rest of my life, but that promise was conditional on you not hurting Ava.” A bitter, self-mocking laugh escaped my lips. I should have known better than to expect anything from him. The world suddenly went dark, and I felt myself falling backward into unconsciousness.

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