Author: Momo Chan

“Liam said I had a rare condition called Transient Global Amnesia, or TGA. Every Monday, I’d wake up as the 25-year-old Audrey Vance, my memory forever stuck in the past. On a flash drive, there were videos of Liam taking me on trips, getting me treatment, even our engagement. They looked full of happiness, yet not a single moment had left a trace in my mind. ‘Audrey’s still here, can’t you be a little more discreet?’ ‘What’s there to be afraid of? Tomorrow’s Monday; she’ll wake up and won’t remember a thing,’ Liam’s reply sent a chill through me, sinking my heart into an ice-cold abyss. ‘Doesn’t that make it even more exciting?’ Liam held my best friend, Sylvia, as they indulged in a brazen display of affection in front of me, utterly unconcerned. For two years, countless such scenes had unfolded. I ran desperately, tears blurring my vision, until I passed a tattoo parlor. Like clutching a last straw, I tremblingly had three words etched onto my arm. ‘Leave him.’ … ‘You’re awake?’ The pungent smell of disinfectant filled my nostrils, and my head felt like it had been struck by a sledgehammer, the pain nearly making me faint. I looked helplessly at Liam, who stood by my side. ‘I know your mind is a mess right now. Just calm down and watch this USB drive.’ My memory was stuck on the day of the car accident. On the freeway, the car ahead slammed on its brakes. Liam instinctively swerved, not to save himself, but to protect me in the passenger seat. He crashed directly into the guardrail, barely surviving, while I had only a few scrapes, my head being the sole injury. The first thing Liam did when he woke up was propose to me, still in his hospital gown. I couldn’t bear to watch any longer, burying my face in his chest. When I looked up, I caught a fleeting glimpse of pain in his eyes, barely discernible. In that instant, a massive wave of unease, like a thorny vine, tightly gripped my heart. Why this peculiar illness? Was an unchanging lover truly what he wanted? Would he… grow tired of me? ‘Why did we switch rooms?’ A nurse led in a familiar face, my best friend, Sylvia. She had even filmed our proposal video. I thought Sylvia was rushing to see me first. But the moment she entered, she bypassed me, naturally draping an arm over Liam’s shoulder. Her bright red nails stood out starkly against Liam’s dark suit jacket. ‘Liam, there’s an urgent company matter you need to handle.’ ‘I can take care of Audrey.’ Liam subtly detached Sylvia’s hand, his expression apologetic. ‘Audrey, Sylvia will take you home later.’ When did their relationship get so close? She was always at odds with Liam. Every time Liam and I argued, she was the one who encouraged me to break up, saying Liam wasn’t good enough for me. Now, why was she working at his company? I frowned. Liam quickly kissed my forehead, instructing Sylvia to make sure I watched the entire video. ‘Got it. You go,’ Sylvia replied with a smile. These two, one my future husband, the other my longtime friend, yet I felt like a complete outsider. Inside the hospital room, only the sound of the video remained. I dared not miss a single detail, desperately trying to engrave every happy moment into my mind, to reclaim the connection with Liam. For a moment, I forgot I was still on an IV. Blood flowed backward, staining the IV line crimson. ‘Sylvia.’ ‘Could you ask the nurse to change my IV?’ I called her several times before she finally looked up, letting out an impatient ‘Tsk!’ ‘So much trouble!’ Until Sylvia glanced at her phone and said she had to leave, I still couldn’t understand why her attitude towards me had changed so drastically. I took a taxi alone to the ‘home’ Liam had mentioned. The room was utterly unfamiliar, decorated like a show house. It was hard to imagine I had lived here for two years. I took a deep breath and pulled back the curtains. The moment I lifted my arm, the freshly scabbed tattoo on my forearm caught my eye. It boldly read: ‘Leave him.’ The skin around it was still slightly red, clearly indicating it was a recent tattoo. When did I develop such a hobby? I dialed Liam’s number, puzzled, but there was no answer. I called his office, and the call was picked up quickly, but the person on the other end just cursed impatiently before hanging up immediately. ‘Are you ever going to stop? Every Monday, you come running to ask questions. I have a job too, can’t you just settle down?!’ ‘I…’ Unjustly subjected to a scolding, and still no answer from Liam’s personal phone, I couldn’t help but feel a pang of disappointment. The reflection in the mirror showed a face with dull skin and prominent eye bags, a stranger to the woman I remembered. It shouldn’t be like this… I dug out a long-forgotten makeup box from under the bed and started to primp. By nightfall, Liam still hadn’t returned. Tears streamed down my carefully applied makeup, and looking at my dejected reflection, I swept the cosmetics off the table, suddenly feeling ridiculous. What was I doing? Couldn’t I live without Liam? Bottles and jars scattered across the floor, revealing the bottom of the makeup box. And there, starkly revealed, were the words: ‘Leave him.’ My mind exploded. This was the second time today I’d seen that phrase. I pulled up my sleeve to compare the handwriting; it was identical, unmistakably my own. What did it mean? And who was ‘him’? A sound from the living room. I instinctively rushed out. It was Liam, indeed, but there was also an unexpected person: Sylvia. Unlike the daytime, she was wearing a form-fitting evening gown, looking radiant. ‘Oh, is someone crying?’ She glanced at me, tossing her expensive handbag onto the sofa, and headed straight for the master bedroom. ‘So tired, I’m going to take a shower.’ The amount of information was overwhelming. For a moment, I didn’t know how to react, instinctively turning to Liam for help. He hadn’t changed much from two years ago; in fact, he’d gained a certain mature charm. Yet, looking at his composed face, I found him terribly unfamiliar, unable to feel any closeness. He sighed, reaching out to me. The moment his hand almost touched my arm, for some reason, I instinctively recoiled, leaving his hand suspended in mid-air. ‘Sylvia moved in to take care of you.’ ‘Don’t overthink it.’ I might have lost my memory, but I hadn’t lost my mind. Did I really need her to move in just to care for me? Lying in bed, I couldn’t make sense of it. Sylvia knocked, her attitude completely changed from before, placing a glass of water beside me. ‘Audrey, it’s time for your medicine.’ She looked at me expectantly, as if she wouldn’t leave until I drank it. Liam sat on the sofa, glancing from Sylvia to me, finally nodding. ‘The doctor prescribed it. Take it.’ That night, I slept profoundly. When I woke again, the space beside me was cold; Liam had already left. Sylvia was at the doorway, checking her makeup in the mirror. More striking than her red lipstick were the love marks on her neck, barely concealed by her low neckline. If I remembered correctly, her neck had been pristine white last night. How could it be… in just one night? I narrowed my eyes, raising a hand to gesture. ‘Your neck…’ ‘Oh, I almost forgot.’ She found a scarf and tied it on. ‘Liam’s hurrying me. I need to be quick.’ She offered a saccharine smile. ‘Don’t misunderstand. We’re going to see a client.’ Sylvia smiled at me, but even in the midday sun, I felt a chill run down my spine. That afternoon, Sylvia messaged me, saying she and Liam would be home for dinner. But it was well past midnight when they finally arrived, the door opening to the distinct smell of alcohol. Liam looked at the untouched dishes on the table, his brow slightly furrowed. ‘You didn’t eat?’ ‘Oh, my memory!’ Sylvia batted her eyelashes, simpering at Liam. ‘I forgot to tell Audrey we wouldn’t be back for dinner.’ ‘It’s fine. She’s just foolish.’ Not long after, Sylvia brought me water again, reminding me to take my medicine. Liam, as usual, tacitly approved of Sylvia’s actions. ‘Do I have to take it?’ I asked Liam. He sat in the shadows, his expression unreadable. After a moment, he nodded. I might be foolish, but I wouldn’t be fooled a second time. I knew something was off about how profoundly I’d slept last night. In front of both of them, I put the pill in my mouth. As soon as Sylvia left, satisfied, I quickly spat the tablet out from under my tongue. This time, I clearly noticed it. Sylvia’s fingertips subtly grazed the love marks on her neck, then she provocatively glanced at Liam. I closed my eyes, my heart hammering against my ribs. A moment later, I heard Liam get up, his footsteps growing closer, then gradually receding, out of the room. I dragged my heavy feet after him, feeling like the whole world was a colossal lie. Yesterday, I still had a fairytale-like, devoted lover. Today, I’d been struck by a crushing blow, everything reduced to ashes. Liam pressed Sylvia harshly against the sofa, taking what he wanted without restraint, like a couple in a movie, unable to control their passionate embrace. I finally understood where Sylvia’s marks had come from. The moment Liam caught sight of me in his peripheral vision, the fervent flame in his eyes instantly extinguished. He reached out, casually smoothing Sylvia’s collar. My blood surged with anger. I lunged forward, slapping Liam across the face, trembling with rage. ‘Why?’ ‘What did I do to you to deserve such degradation?’ The tattoo on my arm, the message at the bottom of the makeup box, the marks on Sylvia’s neck… everything clicked into place. No filial son remains by a sickbed for long. How much less so for a man with no blood ties! ‘I told you to go to the bedroom, but you insisted on the living room.’ Sylvia lovingly stroked Liam’s cheek. ‘Now look what happened. It’s only Tuesday, and you’ve already lost control.’ I couldn’t believe my ears. It felt absurd, and I found it hard to believe how many times I had gone through such a scene in these two years. Liam strode towards me, his gaze unreadable. ‘Please, let me go…’ My body reacted first. I recoiled as if shocked by electricity, dodging Liam, but I couldn’t make it to the door. He yanked me back, pulling me into a tight embrace from behind. ‘Don’t go.’ I was practically shaking like a leaf. He gently stroked my back, his expression tender. In a daze, the Liam I once knew seemed to return. ‘I’ve been in so much pain all these years…’ He tightened his arms, as if afraid he would completely lose me the next second. ‘In these two years, I’ve taken you to Disney World 20 times, seen the Northern Lights 5 times…’ He chuckled self-deprecatingly. ‘Though you don’t remember any of it.’ ‘What you just saw wasn’t what it seemed. Please, give me one more chance, okay?’ Liam’s voice cracked, a rare moment of vulnerability, and my heart gave a violent, sympathetic pang. The deeper his apparent affection, the more repulsive it became. Sylvia appropriately interrupted. ‘Let me talk to Audrey.’ She called my name in her specially modulated tone, giving Liam a knowing look. He returned to his room, tacitly leaving us alone. Sylvia sighed, sitting beside me. She remained silent for a long time, then hesitantly pulled out a medical report with her name on it. After she left, my emotions remained unsettled for a long time. How could Sylvia have stomach cancer?

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I was chosen as a Thorne family daughter-in-law from childhood. At twenty, I married Asher Thorne, a man with autism. For five years, Asher consistently disliked me. He recoiled from my touch, let alone shared a bed with me. Then, he met a girl. In front of her, he reined in all his quirks, awkwardly striving to be agreeable. He would write songs for her, and give her gifts. Even his study, a sanctuary I was forbidden to enter, was flung open to her without reservation. I knew Asher had found someone he liked. And I knew I no longer wanted to care for him. So, I sought out Grandfather Thorne. I told him I wanted a divorce. 1 Before I met Asher, my life had been far from easy. My mother, an aesthetics devotee, was captivated by my father’s striking looks. She fell head over heels, diving into a whirlwind romance and sharing a bed with him before doing any proper background check. And then, there was me. It was only after I was born that my mother discovered my father was from a prominent, wealthy family. The kind who could wave a hand and ensure she’d never worry about money again. But the bad news was, my father was a live-in son-in-law, a man who married into wealth, taking his wife’s name. In other words, he was a social climber, relying on his wife to enter high society. And my mother? She was his mistress. When his legitimate wife came to catch him in the act, she found my mother. Usually, my father acted quite grand around my mother, but in front of his wife, he was as subservient as a beaten dog. My father immediately cut all ties with my mother, disowning me in the process. My mother raised me alone, and our lives were difficult. She drove a pedicab, set up small street stalls, and was once chased by city inspectors for miles, losing a shoe along the way. Eventually, she grew tired of that life. She told me she would find me a better path. I don’t know what methods my mother used, but she somehow obtained a paternity test proving my father was indeed my biological parent. Then, she stormed to my father’s mansion, creating a scene and demanding he take responsibility for me. Concerned about a scandal, the wealthy family agreed. From that day, my mother and I were separated. The day I was sent to Sinclair Manor, my mother’s smile was tear-streaked. “Aurora,” she said, “you’ll never go hungry again.” But my mother was too naive. My father saw me as a stain on his reputation, and Mrs. Sinclair detested me. Those below them were quick to shift loyalties, naturally treating me with disdain. As for my half-sisters, they devised new ways to torment me every single day. My mother would never know any of this. That encounter at the gates of Sinclair Manor was the last time I ever saw her. She had terminal cancer and couldn’t afford the medical bills. After sending me to my father, she took her own life by jumping into the river. I grew up in Sinclair Manor as an adopted daughter, living cautiously. When I was fifteen, I met a boy at the Sinclair estate. He had cut his arm on rose thorns, and the wound was still bleeding. Yet, he seemed completely oblivious, listening to music in the garden with headphones on. I thought for a moment, then brought him antiseptic to clean the wound and a bandage to cover it. Later, I learned his name was Asher Thorne. His grandfather had brought him to visit the Sinclairs. For reasons unknown to me, Grandfather Thorne took a liking to me and wanted me as his grandson’s wife. Being an old, established family, my father naturally agreed without hesitation. My sisters, upon hearing the news, scoffed and ridiculed me. “Do you really think you’ve landed a good catch? If it were a truly good match, why would it be your turn?” “That Asher Thorne, he’s had autism and bipolar disorder since childhood. He’s not normal.” But because of the engagement to Asher, Mrs. Sinclair finally treated me with some semblance of kindness. My life at Sinclair Manor became much more bearable; at least they stopped bullying me. I often thought back to that first meeting, the slender boy quietly listening to music in the garden. He didn’t know he had unknowingly helped me so much. I was genuinely grateful to him. I began to learn about his condition, studying how to interact with him in the future. Then, at twenty, arranged by both families, I married Asher Thorne. 2 I didn’t realize how much Asher resisted marrying me. After I moved in, he never gave me a kind glance. He wouldn’t allow me to touch him, let alone share a bed with me. On our wedding night, he threw a terrible tantrum in the bridal suite. “Go away.” “Don’t be in my room.” “Get out. Get out now.” I hung my head in shame, a wave of humiliation washing over me. That day, Grandfather Thorne sought me out. He explained that Asher had always been solitary and disliked interacting with people. The caretaker who looked after Asher had recently passed away, and Asher’s condition had been particularly bad lately. He asked me to be patient and give Asher some time. I nodded in agreement. From then on, I took on the responsibility of caring for Asher. I juggled my time between school and Thorne Manor. I had to remind Asher to take his medication on time, take him for regular hospital check-ups, and meticulously plan his meals and choose his clothes. Thankfully, Asher wasn’t a block of wood. He gradually began to respond to me. For instance, he stopped saying “Get out” to me. For instance, when he saw me asleep on the sofa, he would awkwardly cover me with a blanket. And for instance, when I had terrible period cramps, he would brew me a cup of warm ginger tea. But he never shared a bed with me. The Thorne family had a single male heir in each generation, and Asher was the only one of his generation. Grandfather Thorne was eager for great-grandchildren and pressured me many times. But if Asher wasn’t willing, there was nothing I could do. Finally, in our fifth year of marriage, Grandfather Thorne completely lost his patience. Without my knowledge, he drugged Asher. Then he put Asher in my bed, locked the door, and trapped us inside. That night is still vivid in my memory. The pain. It was excruciating. Driven by the drug, his eyes were glazed over, his body acting purely on instinct. But he had no experience, and his movements were rough. I felt a tearing pain, and tears streamed down my face. As dawn approached, I couldn’t bear it anymore and passed out. The next afternoon, I was awakened by the sound of things being smashed. 3 Asher was in a terrible rage. He smashed my phone, shattered the flat-screen TV on the wall, and tables and chairs crashed to the floor. When he saw me awake, he walked over to me, holding a mirror. The mirror reflected my image. I hadn’t even had time to put on clothes, my body covered in red marks and bruises. He pointed at my reflection in the mirror, his eyes filled with undisguised contempt. “You’re so dirty, so disgusting.” “I hate you.” “I never want to see you again.” That day, my body felt terrible; I stumbled when I walked. But when Asher had one of his episodes, he’d disappear. I had no choice but to go look for him. I didn’t bother eating, searching from noon until after midnight. I searched almost every place he usually went, until my calves trembled uncontrollably. But I still couldn’t find him. As I stood exhausted and desperate at the front door, gasping for breath, Asher finally returned at one in the morning. A girl stood beside him. She had a dimple when she smiled, and it was incredibly sweet. The girl looked up at him. “It’s my first time meeting someone with such similar interests as you.” Her voice was soft and admiring. “Meeting you was the greatest gain from this concert.” It was then I realized Asher had gone to a concert alone. His phone had died, and he couldn’t remember his way home, so the girl had brought him back. Asher walked very slowly; the way home was short, but he took a long time. They talked about music, about composers and performers I didn’t know. Asher had loved music since he was a child. He had studied under famous masters and opened his own studio after graduating, composing many renowned pieces. I stood silently by the front door, listening. They talked for thirty minutes, but Asher never noticed I was there. It was the butler who couldn’t bear it any longer and spoke up. “Master Asher, it’s very late. You should go to bed.” He paused, then added, “Mrs. Thorne has been waiting for you.” The girl looked over, pausing slightly, then asked Asher, “Is this your wife?” Asher’s face flushed with discomfort. After a moment of silence, he nodded. Then he immediately added: “Under duress.” “Don’t like her.” “Hate her.” In that moment, I stood rooted to the spot. A surge of shame inexplicably rose, making me feel utterly mortified. The girl’s name was Ivy. Ivy tugged on his sleeve, her eyes curving into a sweet smile. “It is getting late. We’ll see each other next time.” From that day on, my relationship with Asher plummeted back to freezing point. He refused to speak a single word to me. On his birthday, I gave him a new pair of over-ear headphones. I had heard the sound quality was excellent, and they had sold out many times, so I had specifically pre-ordered them six months in advance. But Asher simply took a lighter and, in front of me, burned the headphones into shattered pieces. “Don’t like you.” “Don’t like what you give me either.” “Trash. Don’t want it.” That birthday, he went out and spent it with Ivy. Ever since that first meeting, he and Ivy had kept in touch. Recently, Ivy had even interned at his studio. When he came home that evening, he was wearing a silver ring. It was a birthday gift from Ivy. I looked at the scattered remains of the headphones on the floor, an immense weariness rising from the depths of my heart. The next day, Grandfather Thorne suddenly called, asking me to come to his study. He wanted me to retrieve a document and give it to his secretary. But I remembered Asher had always forbidden me from entering his study. I hesitated. Grandfather Thorne urged me, saying the document was urgent and his secretary was already waiting at the door. After a moment’s thought, I went to retrieve the document. Before leaving, I restored everything in the study to its original state. But Asher still found out I had entered his study. His phone was linked to the study’s surveillance camera. He rushed back from his studio, his brow furrowed with irritation and gloom. “You can’t go in, you can’t!” His emotions, like an invisible storm, raged through the room. Because I had entered his study to retrieve a document, he even had the entire room thoroughly cleaned from top to bottom. I stared at him blankly, voicing the confusion in my heart. “Why can’t I go in?” During this time, Asher often invited Ivy to visit our home. They would discuss music in the study, spending the entire day there. Why could Ivy enter, but not me? “Also, I’m not dirty. Why did you have people clean the study?” His face grew even colder. “She’s different from you.” “She understands music. She’s a kindred spirit.” “You don’t. Going in just makes it dirty.” After all these years, I was accustomed to his terse expressions, and I instantly understood his meaning. When his emotions flared, I usually tried to calm him. But that day, knowing he was furious, I couldn’t bring myself to soothe him as usual. I closed my eyes. “Asher, speaking like that is truly hurtful.” At that moment, my blood sugar dropped, and I stumbled, taking a step back. But I was standing right in front of the study door. The door wasn’t closed, and that step backward inadvertently took me inside the study. Asher misinterpreted it as me challenging him. His eyes turned chilling, veins bulging on his forehead. He pointed at me and said many terrible things, which ultimately distilled into three sentences: “Get away from me!” “This is my home, not yours! Get out!” “Don’t ever appear in my house again!” These words weren’t new to me. When I first entered Sinclair Manor, my half-sisters had said the same thing. Back then, I’d quietly cried into my pillow, feeling utterly worthless. I thought, one day, I must have a home of my own, a home no one can ever kick me out of. After marrying Asher, I mistakenly believed this villa with him was my home. Although it couldn’t shield me from every storm, it was my refuge. But today, he screamed at me, telling me the house was in his name, his family paid for it, and this wasn’t my home. He told me to get out. Emotions surged, a sense of helplessness threatening to swallow me whole. I hung my head, calculating the days. It had been ten years since I met Asher at fifteen. At fifteen, thanks to our engagement, I had five years of comfortable living. At twenty, I married Asher and meticulously cared for him for five years. Five years for five years; I had repaid the Thorne family’s kindness. I was weary of this life. I wanted a divorce. 4 Once the thought of divorce took root, it grew like a seed bursting through soil, rapidly spiraling out of control. A week later, I met with Grandfather Thorne. I told him I wanted a divorce. Grandfather Thorne sat on the sofa in the old manor, tapping the table with his index finger. “Why?” he asked. I told him Asher had someone he liked. In front of her, he would rein in his temper, awkwardly trying to be agreeable. He would write songs for her, give her gifts, stubbornly trying to please her. With Ivy around, Asher’s mood would significantly improve. Whether objectively or subjectively, she was a better fit for Asher than I was. Grandfather Thorne listened, saying nothing. After a long silence, he cleared his throat and asked me seriously, “Aurora, do you know why I chose you as my grandson’s wife?” “Because I brought Asher a bandage?” I asked him. He shook his head. “No. I investigated you. I knew you were kind-hearted, and I knew your awkward status, how you were disliked at Sinclair Manor.” His gaze was steady. “You needed this engagement. With the engagement, your life would be much easier, out of respect for the Thorne family.” He paused, his voice softening slightly. “And precisely because of that, you would see Asher as a lifeline, grateful to him, tolerant of him, even indulgent.” He sighed. “When I learned you chose psychology as your major in college, I knew I hadn’t been wrong; you truly were that way.” He sighed again. “A child from Asher’s background, if he hadn’t fallen ill, would naturally be highly sought after. But he, unfortunately, developed this condition. I only have this one grandson, so naturally, I had to plan for him, to find him an absolutely loyal wife who would care for him for life.” He looked at me directly. “The Ivy you speak of, I don’t know what kind of girl she is. I don’t feel comfortable entrusting Asher to her.” He continued, laying bare his reasoning. “Aurora, you grew up in Sinclair Manor; you know what wealthy men are like. It’s not unusual for them to have one woman outside, let alone ten. Compared to them, Asher is inherently simple, not given to that kind of recklessness. He’s already quite good.” His gaze sharpened. “Besides, as long as I’m alive, no woman can challenge your position as his wife. What more could you be dissatisfied with?” I understood his meaning, but I no longer wanted to live a life with a fixed horizon, confined to caring for an autistic man. “Asher drove me away,” I told Grandfather Thorne earnestly. “Now, my presence only irritates him. Lately, his episodes have become more frequent too.” Hearing this, Grandfather Thorne’s expression gradually grew serious, and he began to reconsider my relationship with Asher. After a long while, he finally relented. “Aurora, let me think about the divorce. You should go home for now.” He added, “And Asher is your husband, after all. His opinion must also be sought in this matter.” I nodded, standing to leave. Asher would surely agree. He would probably be eager to sign the divorce papers. A gentle spring rain was falling today, and the wind outside was strong. As I left the old manor, I saw Asher. He stood by the partially open door, wearing a white shirt and holding an umbrella. A large puddle had formed at the tip of the umbrella. I wondered how long he had been standing there, and how much he had heard. The moment he saw me, his lips tightened, and his face turned pale. “You said you want to divorce me?”

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I had been in a secret relationship with my best friend Chloe’s CEO uncle, David, for seven long years. One day, Chloe invited me to dinner, excitedly telling me: “My uncle is bringing his girlfriend tonight—the one he’s been hiding for seven years. We’re all going out for dinner.” “You should bring your CEO too! You’ve been together for seven years, and I’ve never even met him. This time, let me finally see the real deal.” I felt a sudden rush of awkwardness. I quickly feigned a stomachache and excused myself to the restroom, pulling out my phone to call David. To my surprise, he simply hung up, then sent a text saying he was in a meeting. Stepping out of the restroom, I saw him: David, his arm linked with a young college student, chatting amiably with Chloe. The moment his eyes met mine, David froze. His smile turned stiff as he asked, a hint of confusion in his voice, “Audrey, what are you doing here?” 1 “I invited her! Just because you can bring your girlfriend, does that mean I can’t invite my best friend?” Chloe’s retort instantly made David’s face fall. Seeing me, Chloe pulled me into a seat beside her, directly opposite David, who was still subtly linked with his young companion. Once all four of us were settled, David began to repeatedly signal me with his eyes, urging me to check my phone. I opened my phone with a touch of impatience, finding a single message from him: Play along. Staring at his commanding tone, a wave of indignation made my breath catch, but I forced a calm smile and played my part in his little charade. Throughout the dinner, the other three chatted merrily. David, without missing a beat, casually ate the food his young girlfriend, Daisy, offered him, and shared cutlery with her, ignoring me completely. I suppressed the fury simmering within, distractedly picking at my food. I even added Daisy on social media. The moment dinner concluded, I immediately stood up and turned to Chloe. “Chloe, my stomach is really bothering me today. I think I’ll head home to rest. Can we go shopping tomorrow instead?” Chloe agreed, and I hurried out, hailing a taxi home. All the way back, I clutched my phone tightly, desperately hoping David would call with a plausible explanation. But by the time I reached home and even finished showering, my phone remained silent. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. I grabbed my phone and dialed David. It rang for a long time before he finally answered. “Are you going to offer me a reasonable explanation?” I demanded, my voice tight with anger. But there was only silence on the other end. Just as I was about to explode, David finally spoke, his voice hushed. “It was wrong of me to deceive you, but there’s a reason for all of this. I hope you can understand.” Hmph. The way he instinctively lowered his voice… he was probably still with his young girlfriend. My heart plummeted. “Fine. I’ll give you a chance to explain. But I also expect an explanation that satisfies me.” I desperately hoped he would tell me it was all an act, or that he was coerced. But again, there was a prolonged silence, lasting for nearly ten minutes. A feeling of helplessness washed over me. He was always like this. Whenever we faced a conflict, he would simply fall silent, trying to gloss things over. But the more he did that, the angrier I became, and the deeper the rift between us grew. After what felt like an eternity, David finally spoke. “I still have work to finish here. I’m hanging up now.” With that, he didn’t give me a chance to argue, simply disconnecting the call. Listening to the dial tone, I felt like my throat was constricted, unable to breathe. Seven years. Seven entire years of dating. My meticulous care, my absolute devotion to his every whim, all for nothing but a hidden affair, never to be openly acknowledged. For seven years, he never took me to any event that required a couple’s presence, let alone out to gatherings with friends or family dinners. Even for our dates, he would choose a place where no one knew us. Perhaps it was because of Chloe, or perhaps he had other reasons. Lost in thought, my phone suddenly vibrated. I checked it. It was Daisy, David’s young girlfriend, messaging me. She sent me a location for a bridal boutique. I felt a flicker of confusion. Daisy’s message came again. “Audrey, David said for you to pick up the custom wedding dress from the shop tomorrow.” Daisy’s words made a glimmer of hope re-ignite within me. Without a second thought, I pulled on my coat and rushed out. Soon, I arrived at the bridal boutique. The sales associate greeted me and quickly brought out a beautifully customized wedding dress. “You must be Daisy, right? Mr. Thorne just instructed us to give this wedding dress to you when you arrived.” The sales associate’s voice was full of admiration. “Miss, Mr. Thorne truly loves you. This wedding dress is made with pearl-embroidered tulle, and even the veil is embroidered with ten roses, each with a seven-carat pearl sewn into its center.” Staring at the wedding dress, a symbol of “angels,” I froze again. I meticulously examined every stitch, tracing the pearls on the veil, each one a symbol of pure love. At that moment, a sharp, needle-like pain pierced my heart. 2 I stood in silence for a long time. In the past, facing something like this, I might have erupted in anger, despair, or a hysterical outburst. But now, utterly disappointed, I felt only a profound weariness, completely devoid of any temper. I calmly asked the sales associate to pack the wedding dress and thanked her. Leaving the bridal boutique, I didn’t go home. Instead, I hailed a taxi directly to David’s company. David was a workaholic; he spent almost every day working late, sometimes even keeping his entire team in the office until the wee hours. It was almost 10 PM now, but the company floor was still bustling with employees working overtime. As I approached, I overheard a few female colleagues gossiping at their desks. “I bet Mr. Thorne is definitely with that new intern, Daisy.” “Well, duh! I left late last night and saw Daisy going into his office.” “That Daisy sure has some moves. How long has it been, and she’s already hooked Mr. Thorne?” I stood there, listening for a long time, completely oblivious to the elevator opening behind me. David stepped out. He looked surprised to see me among the chatting employees. Realizing they were gossiping about him, a surge of anger flashed in his eyes. “Don’t you all have anything better to do? Get back to work! This company isn’t your personal gossip lounge!” The female employees were startled. They quickly returned to their desks, burying their heads in their work. Then, David turned to me. “Follow me.” With that, he led me into his office. “Audrey, don’t listen to their rumors. Daisy just came to bring me a late-night snack; there’s nothing between us.” David explained, but I had no interest in his excuses. “I believe you. You don’t need to explain.” David visibly relaxed, about to ask why I was at the company, when he suddenly noticed the bridal boutique’s shopping bag in my hand. “You know everything.” I ignored him, instead extending the wedding dress bag towards him. Seeing the custom-made wedding dress inside, he looked up abruptly, like a child caught in the act. “How did you get this?” He stammered, “No, let me explain.” I offered a mocking smile. “No, don’t bother. Your silence would only waste my time.” I forced a bright tone. “Daisy messaged me, asking me to pick it up for you. So I went. This wedding dress is beautiful. Which lucky woman are you planning to give it to?” David was silent for a long time, then slowly took the wedding dress bag. He nodded gently, his eyes filled with a possessive affection, and he smiled meaningfully. “Yes, she’s not just the woman I adore; she’s someone incredibly important to me.” Even though I had mentally prepared myself, hearing those words still sent a sharp, painful jolt through my heart. I didn’t want to stay there any longer; I was afraid I’d lose control and slap David’s face. So, my voice trembling slightly, I spoke. “It’s getting late. I’m leaving.” But David seemed not to hear me. He was too engrossed in the wedding dress in his hands, completely ignoring me. Hearing my intention to leave, he merely waved his hand, a dismissive gesture. The distance from the company to my home wasn’t far, yet it felt like I was walking through an entire lifetime. From the moment I stepped out of David’s office, I kept hoping he would suddenly rush up behind me, pull me into an embrace, and whisper in my ear, “Audrey, I did all this to secretly prepare a grand wedding for you. Let’s get married.” For that hope, I deliberately chose to walk, just to give him enough time to catch up. But by the time I reached my apartment building, David was nowhere in sight. I took a deep breath, telling myself with firm resolve: It’s over, Audrey. 3 Back home, my parents had already retired for the night. I went to my room, intending to get some rest and then put a definitive end to things with David tomorrow. But just as I was about to lie down, David sent me a picture. I clicked it open. It was a concert ticket for the famous singer, Leo. Six months ago, I had mentioned to David that I wanted to go to a Leo concert with him. I even hinted that he could give me the tickets as a birthday gift. It wasn’t that I couldn’t afford them myself; I just wanted to use this to confirm if he truly loved me, otherwise, I constantly felt insecure. But at the time, David was too preoccupied with his work. He impatiently told me, “You’re always chasing celebrities! Can’t you focus on important things instead of being obsessed with pop stars all day?” His words had truly stung, but back then, I didn’t want to give up on our relationship. So, after that, I never brought up the concert again. I never expected him to send me a screenshot of concert tickets now. I sent a question mark back. He replied almost instantly. “Which seating area do you think would be better for the concert?” Perhaps it was because he touched on a familiar topic, or perhaps I was still harboring some faint hope, but I replied quickly. I meticulously explained the differences between various prices and seating arrangements. David listened intently. It wasn’t until 3 AM that he reluctantly told me he was going home to rest and would talk more tomorrow. My heart surged with joy. I instinctively believed he was using the concert tickets as an apology gift, which was why he was so serious about understanding everything from me. However, I must have been too tired, my mind not quite sharp. I somehow stumbled upon Daisy’s social media. It was better not to have clicked it at all. The moment I did, my heart was instantly doused with cold water. “Someone who truly loves you will diligently learn all your preferences.” This was Daisy’s latest post. The accompanying picture showed the two Leo concert tickets David had just purchased. I smiled, and at the same time, tears streamed from my eyes. It turned out I was the biggest fool of all. It was already so obvious, yet I had foolishly kept hoping he would apologize and regret. After a long while, I wiped away my tears and left a comment on Daisy’s post: “Wishing you both a lifetime of happiness and many children soon.” Just as I was about to put my phone down after commenting, David called me directly. “Audrey, are you out of your mind?! It’s just a concert ticket! Why are you being so passive-aggressive?!” He raged. “If you wanted one, you could have just told me, and I would have sent you one. Was it really necessary to be so sarcastic?” This was the first time David had ever lost his temper with me, and the first time he had ever cursed at me. But the angrier he became, the calmer I felt. “Don’t misunderstand. I genuinely wish you both well.” On the other end of the line, David seemed to choke again, his voice instantly catching. After a long silence, he finally spoke. “Come to the company tomorrow. I’ll explain everything clearly!” 4 The night passed peacefully. The next morning, I arrived early at David’s company building. Just as I was about to go inside, I saw David and Daisy exit the building, get into a car, and drive away. I was about to call out to them, but the words caught in my throat. I watched his car disappear around the corner. Just as I turned to leave, my phone buzzed with a message. It was from David. “Go to my office and get the gift box, then take it to my place. I have something important to do today. I’ll explain later.” Then, he sent me a location—a villa complex. This was the birthday gift David had given me when we first started dating. He had told me then that when we got married, he wanted it to be our new home. Since it was his birthday gift to me and the place of our first date, it certainly held special meaning for me. At the time, the naive me was completely swept off my feet. I even decided then and there that I would never marry anyone but David in this life. But now, thinking back, that house didn’t seem to hold much significance for me, certainly not enough to stake my entire life on it. I entered the company and retrieved the gift box from David’s desk in his office. Just as I was about to leave, I heard employees whispering amongst themselves. “Hey, did you guys know it’s Daisy’s birthday today? I just saw her leave with Mr. Thorne in his car!” “Yeah, I also heard Mr. Thorne prepared a birthday gift for her, apparently a villa worth millions!” “Holy cow! A villa right off the bat! Daisy’s really got something going for her!” “Oh, and last week at the party, Mr. Thorne and Daisy were so lovey-dovey! I even have a video here! Look, Mr. Thorne even kissed Daisy!” I froze, then quickly chuckled self-deprecatingly. Audrey, what are you even hoping for? You already know it’s irreversible. Why do you keep letting yourself hope again and again? I shook my head with a bitter smile, then left with the box. I took a taxi to the villa. After ringing the doorbell, Chloe opened the door shortly after. Seeing me, Chloe pulled me inside without a word. David was on the spacious balcony, having tea and chatting with his friends. Seeing me being led in by Chloe, they all looked at me with disdain, not bothering to acknowledge me. It was as if I were nothing more than a clingy, attention-seeking mistress, unworthy of their notice. Seeing me, David spoke coldly. “Give me the box.” I stared at his cold expression, momentarily lost in thought. Seeing I wasn’t reacting, David simply reached out and snatched the box from my hand. Chloe saw this and frowned. “Uncle, be nicer! Audrey is my best friend, after all!” David merely pursed his lips, uttering a simple “Hm,” and offered no further explanation. The box opened, revealing the property deed for the villa. Seeing the deed, he finally relaxed, closing the box and calmly addressing me. “Audrey, thank you.” I didn’t say a word, just lowered my head and waved my hand, feigning nonchalance. Seeing my reluctance to speak, David immediately frowned. “What? Still angry?” “You promised me an explanation yesterday.” I stated my demand, devoid of any emotion. But David reacted as if I had stepped on a landmine, angrily saying, “Audrey, it’s Daisy’s birthday today! Do you have to make me miserable?” Seeing David’s anger, I didn’t immediately try to appease him as I usually would. Instead, I gave a calm smile. “No, I’m not. I just came to break up with you.”

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Hollywood heartthrob Jack Holloway rocked by secret marriage and love child scandal. I dialed my daughter: “You had a baby? Without telling me?” Kelly, on the other end, was sobbing, barely able to breathe: “Mom! I want a divorce!” 1 By the time I arrived at Kelly’s house, the place was already a disaster zone. The nanny had silently locked herself in her room, clearly unwilling to be caught in the crossfire. No one was cleaning up the mess. Jack Holloway sat on the sofa, his face utterly devoid of emotion, watching my daughter hurl objects. Kelly, her voice raw, was practically tearing the place apart. “Nine years, Jack! From your days as a struggling bit player, I was there, unwavering, supporting your every move, bankrolling your struggling years, ensuring you could chase that impossible dream.” “My mother absolutely forbade our relationship. I battled her for three agonizing years until she finally relented. I pushed boundaries she never thought I would, going to extreme lengths to make her see that you were the one. Only then, finally defeated, did she agree to open her coffers and propel your career.” “All these years – TV shows, movies, singles… What did you ever want to try that our family didn’t help you with? How do you think you became an Oscar-winning actor, Jack? Do you honestly have no idea?” “Nine years of my life, my sacrifice, and this is how you repay me?!” After her furious outburst, Kelly could no longer stand. She leaned against the wall, collapsing into gut-wrenching sobs. Jack ran a hand over his face. “Kelly, please, let me explain. It was just that one time, I was drunk, and it was a mistake with her! But she wouldn’t terminate the pregnancy, what was I supposed to do?” I stepped through the shattered entrance in my high heels, tossed my designer bag onto the nearest table, and fixed him with an icy glare. “Alright, spill it. What happened?” Kelly rushed into my arms, tears streaming. I patted her back, ushering her to her room. “Go rest, darling. I’ll handle Jack.” Jack looked utterly repentant in my presence. “Eleanor, I’m so sorry…” Turns out, over a year ago, the very night Jack received his Oscar, his entire team celebrated through the night. Kelly was abroad at the time, deep into her PhD studies, and hadn’t been back to see him for ages. The alcohol, coupled with a long period of loneliness, led him to a regrettable one-night stand with his agent, Ava Miller. Later, terrified of exposure, he gave Ava a substantial sum of money and told her to leave the agency. But to his shock, she turned out to be pregnant. She then secretly gave birth to the child, and a few months later, reappeared with the baby, claiming they were helpless, a single mother and child with nowhere to turn. Out of concern for the infant, Jack kept their existence under wraps for months, quietly supporting them. Finally, a few days ago, the child developed a severe fever from a viral rash that wouldn’t break. Last night, the fever escalated into a febrile seizure, requiring an emergency trip to the hospital. Jack, worried sick, snuck in to check on the baby. And that, of course, was when the paparazzi snapped their photos, blowing the whole story wide open. The particular gossip kingpin who broke the story hadn’t even bothered to negotiate. Jack had publicly scorned him on camera once, and his fans had mobbed the guy online. I listened calmly to the entire sordid account, then nodded. “Fine. I’ll have my assistant draft the divorce papers immediately. You and Kelly are done.” To my surprise, Jack immediately dropped to his knees. “No, Eleanor! Please, I don’t want to divorce Kelly! I truly love her!” 2 An A-list actor, an untouchable idol admired by millions… And this is what he’s reduced to. I’d always known the entertainment industry was a cesspool. That’s why, from the moment Kelly met Jack, I scrutinized him for five years before I even allowed them to get a marriage license. Yet, I remained wary, insisting they keep their marriage private. My biggest fear was a day like this, where my daughter would become a public spectacle. My daughter was born into privilege, coddled and adored for thirty years, sailing through life without a single major setback. But precisely because of this, that hothouse flower had blossomed into a hopelessly romantic fool. One could say Jack Holloway was the only real ‘disruption’ in her perfectly curated life. And now? The ‘secret marriage’ is exposed, but the ‘wife’ they’re all clamoring about isn’t my Kelly. Kelly, listening from her room, couldn’t contain herself. She burst out, eyes still red-rimmed, “Mom…” “I told you long ago, you two aren’t suited.” I forced myself to maintain a patient tone with my daughter. “You always scoffed at my business connections, claiming the trust-fund babies I introduced were shallow and insufferable. See now? The entertainment industry is nothing but a playground for capital. How high do you truly believe their moral compass extends?” Kelly bit her lip, glaring at me, her eyes filled with resentment. Jack scrambled to defend himself. “No, Eleanor, this was truly just an accident. My feelings for Kelly have never wavered.” “It’s just… the baby is innocent, after all. That’s why I’ve been so conflicted…” I waved my hand, cutting him off. “Spare me the details. I’m a woman who only cares about results.” Just then, the doorbell chimed. This was an upscale gated community; not just anyone could get in. I turned to Jack, my gaze sharp. He frowned, attempting to ignore the persistent chime. But my foolish daughter, bless her heart, couldn’t contain herself. She stomped to the door and flung it open. Standing outside was a woman with an innocent face, cradling a baby who looked about six months old. My eyes swept over her, and she immediately dropped to her knees on the doorstep. These people, it seemed, had knees made of rubber; they could kneel without a second thought. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Hayes! This was all my doing! I seduced Mr. Holloway that night, and I decided to have the baby on my own, and later, it was me who used the child to threaten him! None of this is Mr. Holloway’s fault!” She cried as she spoke, a picture of tearful vulnerability, enough to melt anyone’s heart. No wonder Jack couldn’t control himself. But… I smiled. “Child, don’t rush. Give me a few days, and I promise, I’ll ensure the baby’s father returns to your side.” Jack immediately looked distressed, trying to speak but stopping himself. To my astonishment, Ava gently placed the baby on the doormat, crying as she declared, “Every mistake is mine, all mine! The baby is innocent! Please, I beg you, raise him yourselves! I swear I’ll never bother you again!” With that, Ava turned and ran, her desperate figure vanishing down the driveway in a blink. 3 A six-month-old baby, barely able to sit up, and she truly dared to just leave him with strangers. I raised an eyebrow, turning back to my own daughter. Kelly, in her thirty years, had never experienced anything like this. She was stunned, watching the baby flail on the doormat, wailing pitifully. I knew her impeccable upbringing wouldn’t permit her to simply abandon a crying infant on the doorstep. Jack, of course, knew this too. He quickly stepped inside, called out the nanny, and instructed her to bring the baby in before he cried himself sick. My headstrong daughter, incredibly, just stood there watching. “Still standing there, Kelly?” I gave her a pointed look. “Mom, I… this…” She stomped her foot in exasperation. Jack seemed about to break the awkward silence, but I cut him off. “Since someone has already brought their love child into your home, aren’t you going to pack your things and come with me?” At that, my foolish daughter finally snapped out of it. She fumed, “I don’t even know if these things in the house have been touched by that… person! I’m a clean freak, I can’t stand it! I don’t need to pack anything. Mom, let’s go!” I nodded. Not bad. At least she had some backbone left. Though once we were home, she reverted to tearful despair. By the next morning, however, her tears had transformed into a raging inferno. Early that day, as I was having breakfast downstairs, a disheveled but frantic Kelly rushed down from upstairs. “Mom! Look at this!” Kelly slapped her tablet onto the table. I glanced at it. It was a new exposé from Mark Jenkins, the gossip kingpin. The report claimed to have unmasked Oscar-winning Jack Holloway’s secret wife: Kelly Hayes, the young heiress of Hayes Group, a brilliant, well-educated socialite who had studied abroad. If I hadn’t taken her from that house yesterday, she would surely be surrounded by a barrage of cameras and reporters right now. At that point, even if the child wasn’t hers, it would be. She’d be damned if she could ever clear her name. People always preferred to believe the initial reports, to cling to their first impressions. If everyone already believed the child belonged to Kelly and Jack, any clarification from Kelly would only make it worse. By then, a love child could easily be whitewashed into a legitimate heir. I sipped my coffee, a faint smile playing on my lips. “Jack’s former agent, Ava. Her tactics are quite something.” I met Kelly’s bewildered gaze. “They’re not just trying to walk all over you, Kelly. They’re trying to force you to swallow their mess.” 4 That same day, the Hayes Group’s official account released a statement. Three simple words: “No children.” Less than half an hour later, comments soared past a hundred thousand. “Fewer words, bigger scandal!” “Please, don’t fall for it. You believe what the paparazzi say? Our ‘Jack’ probably doesn’t even know who this ‘heiress’ is. Maybe she’s just trying to hype up her family company.” “Are you in junior high? Do you know what Hayes Group is? One of the nation’s leading corporations! Your ‘Jack’ isn’t even fit to carry Ms. Hayes’s shoes.” I paid no mind to these trivial squabbles. Right now, Jack stood before me, his agent’s boss practically groveling. “Mrs. Hayes, you see how this has blown up. It’s really unnecessary! After all, Jack and Kelly have been together for so many years…” “Get to the point,” I interjected, glancing at my watch, a flicker of impatience in my eyes. My North American regional general manager was due for a negotiation soon, and having them loitering in my office was unseemly. Jack knew my temperament well. If I got truly annoyed, I wouldn’t hesitate to have them physically escorted out. So, he stepped forward, his expression solemn. “Eleanor, I know I messed up. I’ve already spoken with Ava. I’ll send her and the baby abroad, and they’ll never be allowed to return. We can say the child is a relative’s, and Mark Jenkins’ report was a fabrication…” “You can tell that to your fans, they’ll believe anything. But what about the Hayes family’s reputation?” This boy truly thought our social circles were filled with brainless schoolchildren. Ultimately, I had them ushered out. When I got home, Kelly told me Jack had also contacted her today, promising a litany of concessions. I asked her, “What do you want to do?” “Mom,” Kelly covered her eyes, her voice muffled with despair. “I just don’t know what to do…” Nine years of a relationship, her first love at that – it wasn’t easy to let go, especially for someone so hopelessly romantic. Ultimately, I gave Jack two options. First, retire from acting, move into the Hayes estate, and accept that all future decisions would be made by the Hayes family. Second, divorce, and walk away with nothing. Kelly initially thought I was being too harsh, but I immediately replayed the surveillance video of Ava placing the baby on our doorstep three times. After that, Kelly tacitly accepted my decision. However, the very next day, Jack directly posted his marriage certificate with Kelly online, accompanied by a lengthy, ambiguous, and emotional caption. He effectively cut off all of Kelly’s escape routes. By doing so, he, the principal party, had publicly “confirmed” that the child was indeed his and Kelly’s, attempting to create a false image of a happy family of three. What a preemptive strike. He had guts. I never thought he possessed such cunning or audacity. Kelly hadn’t expected Jack to do something like that either. She stopped moping at home and rushed to my office, her face a mask of disbelief. “How could he do this?!”

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The little granddaughter of the family down Cherry Blossom Lane vanished. The culprits were quickly apprehended. But the masterminds, wielding immense power, not only walked free but also threatened the elderly couple. In desperation, Mr. Martin knocked on the door of The Acacia Bloom. The next day, the police came looking for me. Dominic Blackwood, one of the primary culprits, was reduced to a severed head, casually discarded at the precinct house entrance. 01 When the police knocked on the door of The Acacia Bloom, I was changing the water for the blossoms in my shop. These fresh blooms were delicate; a moment’s neglect could see them completely wilted. Plucking a few withered leaves from a stem, I motioned for the officers to come in. The lead officer, I recognized him. Lucas Hayes, I believe. He was the detective in charge of that notorious case that had dominated the headlines recently. I had to admit, Lucas Hayes was a surprisingly courteous officer. He stood quietly to the side, allowing me to finish my work without a word. “Welcome to The Acacia Bloom, officers. Perhaps a bouquet of golden acacia?” I offered an apologetic smile for the delay in greeting them, holding up the radiant, golden blossoms in my hand. The cheerful, vibrant acacia was in full bloom, yet it inexplicably made Lucas frown. Composing himself, Lucas’s scrutinizing gaze settled on me. “No need to be nervous, ma’am. We’re just conducting a routine inquiry. Do you happen to recall anything about the Martin family down the lane?” A vibrant, lovable little girl surfaced in my mind – so innocent, so full of life. The shop had a large mirror. In its reflection, I watched my lips slowly curve into a smile, then just as gradually, draw into a grim line. I heard my own voice, edged with an unmistakable sharpness. “Didn’t you close the case? Why are you still asking questions?” 02 Months ago, the little granddaughter of the Martin family down Cherry Blossom Lane disappeared. Her name was Lily. Despite their meager circumstances, Lily was incredibly mature for her age, yet she possessed a rare, vibrant spark of childhood joy. Residents of Acacia Lane loved to tease Lily, adults chuckling as they pressed all sorts of candies and treats into the little girl’s hands. Each time, Lily would blush crimson with gratitude, then skip away, bouncing on her toes in a corner she believed no one could see. In this impoverished, grime-ridden lane, where despair and anxiety hung heavy in the air, the little girl was a rare sanctuary, a pure spot in everyone’s hearts. So, when news of Lily’s disappearance spread, everyone searched tirelessly, driven by concern, combing nearly every nook and cranny of the neighborhood. Everything seemed to proceed smoothly. Her teacher confirmed Lily had left school with friends, and even called them in for us. The girls, close friends of Lily’s, cooperated, pinpointing the exact spot where they had last seen her. A small diner nearby had a security camera aimed directly at that area. The footage dutifully revealed: at that very spot, a black car had picked up Lily. The license plate was crystal clear. With the police’s cooperation, every clue unraveled like silk from a cocoon. When enraged neighbors and police officers stormed the grand suburban estate, the scene inside horrified everyone. Drunken trust-fund brats lay sprawled everywhere in the living room, some still muttering incoherently. Their faces were contorted, yet they were dressed impeccably, as if their suppressed bestial natures had just been unleashed. It was sickening. And Lily. She lay on a massive square dining table, her body covered in gruesome purple bruises, vile, unidentifiable fluids oozing from her skin onto the polished surface. Lily was dead. And before her death, she had endured unspeakable torment. Every single person present had tears in their eyes. The police, bound by rules, refrained from administering vigilante justice, but their method of dragging the men from the floor to the patrol cars was anything but gentle. The subsequent events unfolded as everyone hoped. Media reports ignited public outrage. Countless voices condemned these monsters, demanding their deaths. The case was transferred to the Metropolitan Superior Court, where prosecutors initiated proceedings. The chain of evidence was remarkably complete: witnesses, physical evidence, even residual fluids in Lily’s body yielded DNA from at least three individuals. The first-instance verdict: death sentences for all. People mourned, and people cheered. They grieved for the lost life of the little girl, yet rejoiced that justice, though slow, was seemingly inescapable. Lily had been abandoned by her parents as a child, living with her elderly grandparents. After the tragedy, a slick lawyer in a sharp suit approached the Martin couple at the end of the lane, offering them a colossal sum in exchange for a statement of forgiveness. It was indeed a fortune, enough to ensure the elderly couple lived out their days in comfort. But Mr. Martin resolutely refused. Mrs. Martin chased the man from their home with a broom. Someone from the east house ‘accidentally’ spilled a bucket of water. Someone from the west house ‘mistakenly’ dropped an egg. The impeccably dressed lawyer, by the time he left the lane, was a disheveled mess, his expensive suit splattered with grime. Yet, he still snarled threats of retribution. No one paid it any mind. Until, in a single horrifying instant, everything reversed. 03 “You said the security footage… what happened to it?” Mr. Martin, well into his seventies, his hair and beard grizzled, trembled uncontrollably with rage. The diner owner, a middle-aged man, nervously rubbed his greasy hands on his apron, unable to meet the old man’s gaze. Mrs. Martin, trembling, reached out to strike him, but was gently restrained by the apologetic officer. “The cameras… they just happened to be malfunctioning those few days. All the footage… it’s gone…” the diner owner peeked out from behind the officer, stammering. Lucas’s face was etched with disgust. He and his fellow officers equally disdained such people, yet professional duty compelled them to stand as a shield. Without the footage, a crucial link in the evidence chain was missing. And a chilling voice seemed to whisper to them that this was only the beginning. The elderly couple’s faces were ashen. They clutched Lucas’s hands, gripping him with desperate, slightly trembling force, as if seeking an anchor in their storm. “Officer, those animals… they’ll get what’s coming to them, right?” Lucas didn’t know how to respond. He nodded silently, unsure if he was trying to reassure them or himself. But even if Lucas remained silent, someone else would speak for him. The diner owner bit his lip, hesitating before he spoke: “You have no idea what terrifying giants those people are behind the scenes. Let it go. Lily is gone, but you’re still alive. Think of yourselves.” Everyone present could see the owner wasn’t a bad man; he was merely trying to give the couple well-intentioned advice. Yet, they couldn’t help but glare at him. Clearly, the elderly couple had no intention of heeding his advice. They insisted on appealing, determined to fight for justice for Lily even if it cost them their last breath. Things began to spiral downwards. Evidence vanished. Witnesses recanted their statements. The once-clear chain of evidence was systematically blurred, then erased. Security cameras coincidentally malfunctioned or disappeared. The black car that took Lily became a pile of wreckage in the suburbs. The children who walked home with Lily were silenced by their parents, terrified to utter a single word. Her teacher also changed her story, claiming Lily left school alone and was, in fact, a manipulative, deceitful child who craved male attention. Overnight, public opinion turned. The online community, once champions for the Martins, were swayed by this fabricated ‘truth,’ led astray by a colossal army of paid trolls and self-appointed arbiters of truth, spewing venomous insults at the victim. ” ‘Well, well, well. Looks like some ‘little darlings’ just bring trouble, doesn’t it?’ ” ” ‘Told you not to jump to conclusions. Now look, the tables have turned! You all look like fools now, don’t you?’ ” ” ‘Honestly, good riddance. Disgusting.’ ” Many in the lane received stern warnings. Cherry Blossom Lane housed the poor; losing a job was a catastrophe worse than death itself. So, everyone shunned the elderly couple, avoiding them like street beggars or carriers of a virulent disease, their eyes filled with a mix of pity and revulsion. What truly broke the elderly couple was the court’s final ruling. The Metropolitan Superior Court closed the case that day. The appeal ruling: two were given life sentences, three received ten-year prison terms, and the remaining few were acquitted. Among the acquitted were those whose DNA was found in Lily’s body. They, the true masterminds, had brazenly escaped the grasp of the law. Even those who seemingly received sentences could, through ‘good behavior’ and other manipulations, easily return to their glittering, opulent lives once the public outrage subsided. A colossal, unseen hand toyed with the elderly couple, manipulating them at will. When the lawyer had first tried intimidation and bribery, Mr. Martin hadn’t wavered. When the diner owner offered his well-meaning advice, Mr. Martin hadn’t wavered. But now, his friends, one by one, were threatened and harmed, then reluctantly, sympathetically, distanced themselves from him. Mrs. Martin received repeated death threats. A car nearly ran her down, almost crippling her on her way home from the market. She was still in the hospital, unconscious. Their windows were maliciously shattered, red paint was splashed across their doorway, and countless anonymous calls bombarded their phone with harassment and abuse. The police were actively trying to help, but arresting the small-time instigators was futile. It did nothing to shake the powerful families behind the scenes. Mr. Martin was afraid, but he was not resigned. The old man, who had lived a simple, honest life, couldn’t comprehend why evil people weren’t facing their just consequences. “Heaven is blind,” he’d murmured. Yet Dominic Blackwood, the mastermind, merely gazed at him with arrogant disdain, like a colossal beast observing an insignificant ant. ” ‘Just a common little girl. She died. So what? And they still dare to come after me?’ ” ” ‘Not just them. I’ll systematically crush and drive away everyone you hold dear, until you’re on your knees, begging for mercy.’ ” 04 It was so close. Truly, Mr. Martin was almost ready to give up. But then, someone told him: “Go to The Acacia Bloom at the end of the lane. Ask for a bouquet of golden acacia. Someone there will help you.” And so, the grizzled old man stepped into a flower shop for the first time in his life. Not to buy a rose for a loved one. But to demand justice for a victim. I smiled, extending the radiant, golden blossoms. It was like handing over a torch in the longest night, its flame flickering, yet resolute. The next day, a news report sent shockwaves across the city. Dominic Blackwood was dead. The all-powerful Blackwood heir, the Blackwood monster who brutalized men and women alike, the mastermind of the case – he was dead. His head had been severed, wrapped in a black plastic bag, and carelessly tossed at the precinct house entrance. A passing sanitation worker, thinking it was trash, bent to pick it up. The strange shape and chilling weight startled them, sending them sprawling to the ground. The bag fell from their grasp, and the head tumbled out. Dominic Blackwood’s twisted, lifeless eyes stared directly at the precinct house doors. That mouth, which had spouted outrageous lies at press conferences, twisting truth into falsehood, and spewed vile curses and threats at the elderly Martins, was now slightly agape, as if attempting to beg for mercy. As for his body, the police still hadn’t found it. Such a gruesome death instantly screamed ‘vendetta’ to everyone. And his most obvious adversary, everyone knew, was old Mr. Martin down the lane. And I, was the only person Mr. Martin had contacted the day before Dominic Blackwood’s death. That’s why the police came looking for me. But I was just a small flower shop owner. All I did was ask Mr. Martin if he wanted a bouquet of golden acacia when he came to my shop. What could I possibly know? I put on an expression of feigned confusion, giving Lucas a half-smile. “So, Detective Hayes, you suspect me of murder?” Lucas and his partner froze, seemingly taken aback by my bluntness. “No, not at all. We’re simply following procedure, conducting a routine inquiry,” Lucas replied gently. There was no evidence pointing to me, so their demeanor was, relatively speaking, quite friendly. I nodded, openly answering all their questions. The shop had surveillance cameras. They could confirm I was at The Acacia Bloom at the time of Dominic Blackwood’s death. This brief interlude soon ended. Lucas and his team left the flower shop. Before leaving, Lucas seemed to sense something, abruptly turning back. His eyes met my bright smile. After a moment’s hesitation, Lucas spoke. “If you recall anything potentially relevant, please, don’t hesitate to inform us.” I nodded, my smile deepening. “Of course.” 05 Dominic Blackwood’s death sent the Blackwood family into a furious rage. Mrs. Blackwood, dripping with jewels, screamed obscenities in the precinct house, her impeccably maintained face contorted into a monstrous mask of fury. ” ‘Those little nobodies died. So what? Are they comparable to my son? If you don’t find the killer, you can all kiss your jobs goodbye!’ ” No one dared to contradict her. For a colossal power like the Blackwood family, forcing a low-level employee out of a job was effortlessly simple, even within the judicial system. Before such individuals, what was called ‘law,’ what was called ‘rules,’ seemed to be mere empty words, things to be casually bypassed and trampled upon. I saw the young officer in the corner clench his fist. Meanwhile, I gently patted Mr. Martin’s trembling hand, offering quiet reassurance. Unsure if it was excitement over Dominic’s death or anger at the Blackwood family’s recent words, Mr. Martin’s face held a complex expression. After a long moment, he finally sighed. However, compared to the Blackwood family and Mr. Martin, two other individuals reacted even more vehemently to the news. Brendan White and Marcus Shaw – the two remaining masterminds. Ever since Dominic Blackwood’s head was discovered, these two had been on the verge of emotional collapse, even developing mild psychological issues. The two young men cried and begged their families to further pressure the police, leaving Lucas and his team in utter exasperation. Just a few days later, Lucas arrived at The Acacia Bloom, dark circles shadowing his eyes. The handsome man now looked disheveled and worn. Lucas claimed he was just browsing, all while subtly surveying the flower shop. I knew Lucas had never abandoned his suspicions about me. He was like a bloodhound on a scent, feigning nonchalance as he probed his quarry. After a long while, Lucas seemed to deflate. He chatted idly with me, subtly steering the conversation towards the case and the Martins, complaining about the pressure the powerful families were exerting on him. ” ‘We were making breakthroughs in the case, but they kept pressuring us, forcing us to work around the clock. That’s why I look like this.’ ” As Lucas spoke, his eyes subtly darted to me, scrutinizing my face for the slightest flicker of emotion. I saw through Lucas’s game, but chose not to expose him. Instead, I smiled and poured him a cup of floral tea. Petals swirled in the tea, creating gentle ripples with the slightest tremor. “This tea isn’t poisoned, is it?” Lucas suddenly asked, then, without waiting for my reply, took a large, smiling gulp. I shook my head, feigning the timid air of a small shop owner afraid of trouble. “Me? Poison a police officer? What a thought!” Lucas gave me a knowing smile. ” ‘So, you wouldn’t dare touch an officer, but you’d go after those spoiled rich kids, huh?’ ” It sounded like a jest, yet felt like a test. “Detective Hayes, do you know why this place is called Acacia Lane?” I didn’t answer Lucas’s question. Instead, I looked into his slightly fatigued eyes and spoke. Finding no crack in my composure, Lucas’s face registered disappointment, and he lost interest in my question. Just then, his phone rang. Lucas answered, cast me an apologetic glance, and hurried out. I stood at the flower shop door, watching him leave. An unidentifiable emotion welled up inside me. Like admiring a struggling prey, yet also pitying a wailing child.

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1 Scarlett Bennett’s greatest regret was falling in love with her uncle who also is her guardian, Damien Graves. At ten, the tall, comforting man had held her close, promising to protect her after her parents’ death. At fifteen, when bullies tormented her, Damien forced them to grovel for forgiveness. At eighteen, she donated part of her liver to save his life—then stole a kiss. He awoke with stunned alarm, pushing her away with chilling distance. The final betrayal came when Damien’s beloved Serena needed a kidney. “I’ll grant any wish,” he vowed, if Scarlett would donate hers. She refused. Serena died. At the memorial, Damien exposed Scarlett’s teenage love diaries, branding her with shame. On her birthday, he drugged her, staged a vile scene with rough men, and spat: “Don’t imagine I’d touch you. You’re repulsive.” As ice water revived her, she saw Damien approach, knife in hand. “This is what you owe Serena.” Then—she woke up, back to the day he first asked for her kidney. … “Please, I’m begging you. This kidney might mean nothing to you, but Serena will die without it.” “If you agree to donate your kidney, I will do everything in my power to fulfill any request you have.” Damien’s pleading voice echoed in Scarlett’s ears, jolting her back to reality. She had been reborn. In her previous life, Scarlett had refused Damien on this very day, leading to a truly horrific fate. But back then, Scarlett had already sacrificed part of her liver for Damien. How could she possibly risk losing a kidney as well? Yet, reborn, Scarlett now understood everything. Refusal would still mean death. This kidney, then, would be her repayment for Damien’s eleven years of raising her. Once it was given, they would be completely even. At the thought, Scarlett clenched her fists, her voice resolute. “I’ll do it.” Damien’s unfinished words caught in his throat, while the doctor beside him exclaimed in alarm. “Miss Bennett, have you thought this through? Under normal circumstances, we strongly advise against a second organ donation for someone who has already donated before. This not only significantly increases the difficulty of the surgery but also carries a considerable risk of death.” Scarlett, however, nodded firmly. How could she not know these risks? But to finally escape Damien, she was willing to die if necessary. Only after witnessing Scarlett sign the consent form did the heavy weight lift from Damien’s heart. He had feared Scarlett was playing games, yet she had signed the agreement without a moment’s hesitation. The realization softened his expression as he looked at her. “Since you’ve agreed to the kidney donation, I’ll keep my word. Name your price, whatever you ask.” “My only request is to sever all ties with the Graves family. From this day forward, I will no longer be a Graves.” Damien frowned, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. “Are you serious?” He’d expected Scarlett to try to blackmail him into marriage, but her request was to cut ties with him completely. Scarlett met his gaze, her voice cool. “Yes.” Damien stared at her suspiciously for a few seconds, then his face hardened. “Scarlett Bennett, I advise you to drop your little games. Don’t think that by breaking ties with my family, you and I could ever be together.” “You and I are impossible, always. There’s only one person in my heart, and that’s Serena. Not you.” Scarlett’s eyelashes trembled slightly. “I know.” The humiliation of her past life was still vivid. How could Scarlett not know how deeply he loved Serena? So, in this life, Scarlett would no longer love Damien. She just wanted to be as far away from him as possible, the farther the better. Damien’s gaze lingered on Scarlett’s face for a moment longer. He didn’t know why, but Scarlett felt… different. He just couldn’t pinpoint how. Damien was about to speak, but Serena’s voice drifted from the hospital room. He rushed in almost instinctively, and Scarlett, her expression dimming slightly, followed him in. Serena coughed, her eyes welling up. “Damien, please don’t pressure Miss Bennett anymore. I know she doesn’t like me, and I understand if she’s unwilling to donate her kidney.” Serena seemed about to continue, but Damien gripped her hand tightly, his voice joyful. “Serena, Scarlett has agreed to donate her kidney! You’ll be alright!” Serena’s words caught in her throat. She stared at Scarlett in shock, then her eyes turned scarlet. “Damien, did Miss Bennett’s condition… was it for you to marry her?” Before Damien could answer, Serena raised her hand and slapped Scarlett across the face. A red mark instantly bloomed on Scarlett’s cheek. Serena clutched her chest, her voice trembling with emotion. “Scarlett Bennett, have you no shame? Damien is your guardian! How could you do something so despicable?” “Damien, if you marry Scarlett Bennett, I swear I’d rather die right now!” Serena’s emotions were spiraling. Damien, completely ignoring the bruised Scarlett, pulled Serena into his arms. “Serena, you’re the only one I love. I’ll only marry you in this life. As for anyone else, don’t even think about it.” Scarlett covered her stinging cheek, a self-mocking smile twisting her lips. She wisely chose not to watch further. As she walked away, she overheard their conversation. “She already donated her liver for you. Is it safe for her to donate a kidney for me as well?” Scarlett’s steps faltered, a flicker of hope for Damien’s response sparking in her heart, only to be utterly extinguished the next second. “Serena, you know I don’t care about anyone else’s life or death but yours. All that matters is for you to get well. That’s enough.” After stepping out of the room, Scarlett took a few moments to compose herself, then dialed her academic advisor’s number. “Hello, Professor. About the Frontier Aid Initiative you mentioned last time, I’d like to join.” 2 Her advisor’s voice immediately filled with delight. “That’s wonderful, Scarlett! I’m so proud of you. The country needs dedicated young people like you!” “But this program is very demanding, and it’s in a remote location.” “Your guardian, Damien, is so protective of you. Will he agree to you joining?” Scarlett gripped her phone, her voice firm. “He doesn’t need to agree. I can make my own decisions.” After hanging up, Scarlett instantly felt all her strength drain away, a desperate need to lean against the wall. But as she took a step back, she bumped right into Damien’s solid chest. Scarlett flinched in surprise, and Damien’s brow furrowed. “Who were you on the phone with? What ‘joining’?” Scarlett calmly replied, “Oh, my professor asked if I wanted to join a school club.” Damien said nothing more, his voice now a flat announcement. “The surgery is scheduled for a week from now. During this time, I’ll be bringing Serena home to stay.” He paused, then, remembering something else, his tone turned icy. “Also, I don’t want to see any strange letters in my study. I don’t want Serena to have any unnecessary misunderstandings.” Scarlett turned her head, her nails digging into her palm, then acquiesced bitterly. “Understood.” Ever since her stolen kiss was discovered, Scarlett had written Damien a long, detailed love letter every week, solely to express her affection. But every single one of those letters had, without exception, ended up in the trash. Yet, Scarlett had stubbornly continued to write. She never imagined that her heartfelt confessions, brimming with love in her eyes, were seen by Damien as peculiar and utterly distasteful. Seeing Scarlett agree, Damien said no more. He simply gave instructions to his driver, then turned and walked back into Serena’s hospital room. An hour later, Scarlett saw Damien’s car pull up to the hospital entrance. Damien was helping Serena into the back seat. Seeing this, Scarlett immediately went downstairs to the curb. She was about to open the car door, but it drove off, leaving only a puff of exhaust fumes. Scarlett froze in place. The next second, she received a text from Damien. “Serena has a phobia of unfamiliar scents. She doesn’t like strangers’ smells. Get a cab back yourself.” Scarlett’s eyes dimmed. She lowered her phone and hailed a passing taxi. Inside the cab, Scarlett stared silently out the window. The driver, noticing her distress, kindly asked, “Miss, your face looks quite bruised. Should I stop at a pharmacy?” Scarlett shook her head, her eyes growing even sadder. Her so-called family hadn’t offered a single word of concern. The only person who cared was a complete stranger. How ironic, how ridiculous. After a long drive, the car pulled up to the villa. Scarlett got out and pushed open the door. Inside, she didn’t see Damien, only Serena, toying with a necklace. Scarlett looked closer, realizing the necklace in Serena’s hand was the jade pendant she kept in her safe. It was the only memento her parents had left her, something Scarlett cherished so deeply she rarely even dared to touch it. And now it was in Serena’s hand. Scarlett’s face turned icy. She extended her hand towards Serena. “Give me back the pendant.” “Miss Dawson, entering my room without my permission? Is that the upbringing of a well-bred lady?” As Scarlett spoke, Serena’s face twisted in displeasure, but Damien’s voice came from upstairs first. “I told Serena to go in.” “Serena will be the lady of this house eventually. It’s her right to enter and exit any room she pleases. Besides, as long as Serena is happy, you shouldn’t object, even if she wants to stay in your room.” Damien stood before Scarlett, scrutinizing her with a cold, detached expression. Scarlett’s face went pale. Serena, seeing Damien descend, became even more brazen. “It’s just a broken old pendant, isn’t it? If you want it back, here.” Serena extended her hand, offering the pendant to Scarlett. As Scarlett reached out to take it, the pendant slipped and shattered on the floor, breaking into two pieces. “No!” In that instant, the jade shattered. And Scarlett’s heart shattered with it. It was the only relic her parents had left her, her sole tangible memory of them. Scarlett knelt on the floor, tears blurring her vision, ignoring her dignity as she pushed past Serena. She tried to piece the pendant back together, but she couldn’t change the fact that it was broken. Serena stood by, bewildered. She hadn’t expected Scarlett to react so strongly. Damien’s brow furrowed slightly. In all their years living together, this was the first time he had seen Scarlett lose control. But seeing Serena visibly startled, he frowned, attempting to soothe her. “It’s alright. Serena didn’t do it on purpose. How much is the pendant? I’ll compensate you.” 3 Scarlett didn’t react. She simply, reverently, gathered the shattered pieces of the jade pendant and tucked them into her bag. After a long moment, she forced a desolate smile for Damien. “No need, Uncle Damien.” As Scarlett spoke, she hurried away, leaving Damien rooted to the spot. Uncle Damien? Ever since Scarlett had confessed her feelings, she had never once called him that. No matter how many times Damien insisted, Scarlett refused to change. But now, she had called him ‘Uncle Damien’ on her own accord. Damien stood frozen, lost in thought, until Serena shook his arm, pulling him back to the present. “Damien, what’s wrong?” Damien immediately reverted to his concerned tone. “I’m fine. Don’t mind what just happened. Scarlett isn’t a bad person, really. She’s just been spoiled by me all these years, a little headstrong.” Serena paused, surprised that Damien would defend Scarlett. She pretended to be understanding, nodding, but a flash of jealousy and malice flickered in her eyes the next instant. Seeking reassurance, Serena wrapped her arms around Damien’s waist, cooing. “Damien, after my surgery, can we get married? I can’t wait to live with you.” Damien’s eyes softened. He gently ran his thumb over Serena’s nose, his voice filled with affection. “Yes, darling. Anything you wish.” Serena’s voice trembled with excitement. “Really? Then I’m going to be the most beautiful bride in the world!” … For the next several days, Scarlett went to school to complete the paperwork for the Frontier Aid Initiative. She worked tirelessly, burning the candle at both ends, leaving early and returning late. Despite living under the same roof, she never once saw Damien. One evening, Scarlett carried a large box filled with the love letters she had once written, heading towards the fireplace, intending to destroy them all. Just as she was burning the last one, Damien’s sharp voice cut through the air behind her. “What are you doing?” Scarlett said nothing, but Damien’s eyes landed on the unburnt part of a letter. His face turned ashen. He strode forward and tightly gripped Scarlett’s wrist, his voice low, tinged with a warning. “Scarlett Bennett, what kind of stunt are you pulling now? Trying to get my attention this way?” “Is this amusing to you?” Scarlett lowered her head, pulling free of his grasp. “You’re overthinking it.” Damien, however, became even more convinced of his theory. He announced coldly, “In ten days, it’s my wedding to Serena. You’re welcome to attend.” Scarlett’s face went paper-white, her smile strained. “Congratulations.” In ten days, she would already be with the Frontier Aid Initiative, likely unable to attend his wedding. But Scarlett said nothing more, turning to leave. Just as she reached the door, Damien called out to her. “Serena says a wedding is a once-in-a-lifetime event, and she doesn’t trust anyone else to plan it.” Scarlett didn’t understand Damien’s meaning. She asked, “So?” “So, I’d like to ask you to plan this wedding for us. I raised you from a child, so you must know exactly what I want.” 4 Scarlett lowered her gaze, a faint smile playing on her lips, masking the self-mockery and cold sarcasm in her eyes. “Uncle Damien, I truly don’t love you anymore. There’s no need to humiliate me this way.” With that, Scarlett strode out of the villa, leaving Damien frozen in place. Scarlett hailed a cab to school. She still had some documents to fill out. As she left the office after finishing, she suddenly felt countless gazes fixed on her, accompanied by whispers and snickers. “Oh my god, seriously? Rich people are so twisted.” “Figures, the more prim and proper they look, the dirtier they are behind closed doors.” “I’ve already got a novel title in mind: The Tycoon’s Caged Canary.” As Scarlett stood bewildered, her dormmate rushed up and grabbed her arm. “Scarlett, check social media!” Scarlett quickly pulled out her phone, only to see a headline glaring back at her: “Graves Heir’s Forbidden Love Exposed!” She clicked on it in disbelief, finding a pixelated, salacious video. The woman in the footage was undeniably her, captured in compromising positions, appearing to brazenly proposition Damien. Her eyes turned bloodshot, her fists clenched tight. “This video is doctored! I never did anything like that!” “I believe you, Scarlett. This trending topic was clearly bought. You have to find the culprit who spread these lies! Don’t let them get away with it!” At her friend’s words, Scarlett immediately hailed a cab back to the villa, hoping to discuss it with Damien. As she ascended the stairs, she saw Damien blocking the way. Before she could speak, he fixed her with a cold, contemptuous gaze. “Is this what you meant by ‘not loving me anymore’?” “You, a young woman, willing to ruin your own reputation just to sabotage my wedding to Serena? Have you no shame?” Scarlett bit her lip fiercely, desperate to say something, but no words would come out. She hadn’t expected Damien to think such things of her. All her strength to argue evaporated in an instant. Damien, however, misinterpreted her silence as guilt. A sneer twisted his lips, his expression growing colder. “Scarlett Bennett, if you think I’ll be forced to marry you because of public opinion, you’re gravely mistaken.” “I, Damien Graves, will marry no one but Serena Dawson, in this life or any other!” No sooner had Damien spoken than Serena, who had overheard everything from behind him, stepped forward. She approached Scarlett, her voice dripping with disdain. “Miss Bennett, a young lady should have self-respect. Not debase herself in such a manner.” Scarlett started to explain, but Serena secretly put force behind a push. Behind Scarlett was a treacherous flight of fifty steps. The next instant, Serena feigned a sprained ankle and tumbled forward down the stairs. In that split-second decision, Damien almost instinctively reached out and caught Serena’s hand. Only when the sound of Scarlett tumbling down the stairs echoed did Damien finally notice her. Scarlett curled into a ball, writhing in pain, biting her knee. Large, silent tears streamed down her face, as if their flow could dull the agonizing pain. Damien’s eyes narrowed. He took the steps two at a time, rushing down. “Scarlett Bennett, are you alright?! Are you hurt?” 5 When Scarlett woke up, the first thing she saw was Damien’s drawn, tired face. Seeing her awaken, Damien’s voice was, for once, a little softer. “I didn’t save you because Serena… she’s ill.” Scarlett’s voice was flat. “I understand.” Damien let out a barely perceptible sigh, then cautioned, “You’re donating a kidney in a few days. You absolutely must rest and recover.” Scarlett heard him and let out a bitter laugh. She knew it. Of course Damien was only here because he was afraid her injuries would delay Serena’s kidney transplant. After speaking, he fell silent for a moment, then spoke again. “Also, no matter what, I won’t forget my promise. Even after I’m married, I will protect you for the rest of your life.” Scarlett’s eyes lifted slightly. Then, in her heart, she silently replied, “Unfortunately, I no longer need it.” For the next day, Damien didn’t return. Scarlett waited alone for her IV drip to finish, then handled her discharge papers by herself. Just as she finished the paperwork, she saw a gurney rushing towards the emergency room. Scarlett instantly spotted Damien’s frantic figure beside it. Lying on the gurney, to her shock, was Serena. Scarlett’s mind suddenly snapped. In her previous life, Serena’s death was due to Scarlett’s refusal to donate a kidney. Now that she had agreed, why was Serena still on a gurney? She didn’t wait for an explanation, simply ran towards the emergency room. At the doorway, Damien sat on a long bench, his head bowed in despair, his drumming fingers betraying his anxiety. Scarlett asked Damien what had happened. Only then did she learn that Serena had a blood clotting disorder. She had felt dizzy while bathing and hit her head on the bathtub, leading to a serious hemorrhage. After a long moment, the doctor emerged from the emergency room. “The patient has lost a lot of blood. Is there a family member who can donate?” Damien shot up. “I will!” “The patient has Rh-negative blood type. What is your blood type?” Damien’s face went stark white. His voice trembled, weak. “I’m B positive.” Rh-negative blood, a rare blood type. In the room, only Scarlett possessed it. Scarlett stood up almost without hesitation. “I’m Rh-negative! I’ll donate!” Everything she had experienced in her past life was still vivid. She was finally on the verge of escaping that fate. She absolutely could not let history repeat itself. Scarlett was led by the nurse and had a full liter of blood drawn. Afterwards, Scarlett’s vision went black, and she collapsed in the donation room. When she woke up again, her bedside was empty, save for the nurse who came in to change her bandages, casting her a sympathetic glance. “Miss Bennett, you’re awake!” “Your guardian, he’s quite cold-hearted, isn’t he? Making you have surgery without anesthesia, all for his girlfriend.” Scarlett offered only a pale, bitter smile. After the nurse left, she checked her phone. Two hours left. Enough time to hail a cab, pick up her luggage, and get to the airport. Scarlett breathed a sigh of relief. She was about to get out of bed, but a searing, splitting pain surged through her. It was an agony that pierced her bones, struck her very soul, as if countless sharp blades were indiscriminately slicing inside her body. Every heartbeat was accompanied by a heart-wrenching cry. But at the thought of leaving Damien, Scarlett gritted her teeth, braced herself against the bed frame, and got out of bed. She painstakingly changed her clothes, picked up the severance agreement she had carried with her for so long, and limped, step by agonizing step, towards Serena’s hospital room. Inside the room, Damien was intently watching the sleeping Serena, completely oblivious to Scarlett’s entry. It wasn’t until Scarlett presented the severance agreement that he finally reacted. His face darkened as he read its contents. He asked in a low voice, “What is this? Are you truly going to cut ties with me? I told you, there’s no possibility between us. Why are you still pursuing this?” Sweat beaded on Scarlett’s forehead from the pain. She bit her lip, stubbornly stating, “This is what you promised me.” Damien looked at Scarlett’s pale face, suddenly feeling a surge of irritation. After a moment, he took the paper and pen from Scarlett, and signed his name prominently on the agreement. Scarlett, finally receiving the signed agreement, felt a wave of relief. She turned and limped away. Damien, however, frowned and asked, “You just had surgery. You’re still so weak. Why aren’t you in a hospital gown, resting? Where are you going, dressed in your own clothes?” Scarlett’s throat was dry. Her slender back seemed ready to collapse at any moment. “The hospital is stifling. I’m going for a walk.” Damien watched her retreating figure, a rare hint of concern in his voice. “It’s windy outside. Come back soon.” Scarlett murmured, “Mmm,” but in her heart, she whispered, “Damien, I’m not coming back.” She picked up her luggage and, dragging her bruised and aching body, boarded the plane bound for West River City. Sunlight spilled over her slender back. Scarlett turned then, taking one last deep look at the city. “Goodbye, the place she lived for twelve years. Goodbye, Damien.”

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I was ten months pregnant when labor began in the dead of night. My husband, Ryan, woken by the commotion, his face a mask of ice, reluctantly took me to the hospital in a taxi. The driver was clearly a novice; the car barely crawled. My contractions surged, growing more excruciating with each passing minute. I could only plead with Ryan: “Ryan, you’re a race car driver! Please, you drive. Faster, I can’t bear this pain.” His refusal was absolute, cutting through the air like a knife: “Every woman experiences pain in childbirth. I’m a professional race car driver, not some chauffeur. I won’t drive for anyone!” Before he could finish, my water broke. I crumpled into the back seat, tears streaming down my face as I pleaded again: “Ryan, my water just broke! Please, can’t you drive? Do it for the baby, if not for me.” He shot me a look of pure disgust and barked, “Pull over.” For a desperate moment, I thought he was finally going to take the wheel. Instead, he simply opened the passenger-side door. “It’s too cramped in the back. I’ll ride shotgun.” I closed my eyes, a wave of despair washing over me. If anything happened to my baby, Ryan Brooke, then we were over. Done. 1 When we finally reached the hospital, I was a writhing mess of pain, every stitch of clothing soaked through with sweat. Only when I was lifted onto the gurney did a sliver of safety settle within me. My baby, Mommy will protect you! “No good! Fetal heart rate is too weak! Get her to the delivery room immediately, prepare for C-section!” the examining doctor yelled in a frantic rush. I was whisked away, a flurry of hands pushing me into the operating theater. Strapped to a myriad of monitoring machines, I was already fading in and out of consciousness from the agony. “Patient has high blood pressure, critical condition! Get a family member to sign!” The attending physician called my name, “Eleanor Vance, is your family here?” I struggled to pry my eyes open, dimly registering the long corridor outside. My voice was a raw whisper, laced with tears, “My husband… he’s here.” A nurse rushed back in, “We can’t find the patient’s family!” “Call them! Get a signature, now!” the doctor ordered. What was going on? Hadn’t Ryan just come in with me? How could he just vanish? Gritting my teeth against the searing pain, I fumbled for my phone in my pocket. “Use mine, quickly!” The doctor snatched it, only to be met by the robotic voice: “Hello, the number you have dialed is currently busy…” The automated message looped, over and over. The doctor beside me decisively hung up. “Eleanor Vance, can you sign yourself?” I nodded weakly, pain incapacitating me. Clutching the pen, I fumbled through the signature, then gripped the doctor’s hand. “Please, you must save my baby!” “We’ll do our best,” the attending physician murmured, patting my hand before the surgery began. There was no time for proper anesthesia, the IV drip offering only the faintest relief. I felt my abdomen being sliced open, raw and visceral. To avoid distracting the doctors, I bit down hard on my lip, stifling every scream. As long as my baby lived, I could endure anything. Finally, the baby was out, but no cry met my ears. My consciousness began to fray. “No! She’s hemorrhaging!” I felt my lifeblood drain away, the bone-shattering pain fading into a strange, comfortable numbness. I was so, so tired, and a chill began to set in. “My baby… where is my baby…?” I murmured, my voice barely a whisper. The doctor’s voice broke through: “The baby is being resuscitated. No matter what happens to the child, you cannot give up on yourself. We are doing everything to save you.” I knew, deep down, I was losing my child. A strange peace settled over me, and I felt my grip on consciousness loosen. Dying like this… it seemed fine. “Patient’s heart rate dropping, losing will to live!” a medical staff member shouted. Through the haze, the attending physician made another call. This time, it connected. The doctor let out a sigh of relief. My hearing, strangely, was incredibly sharp in that moment. “Is this Eleanor Vance’s family? Her condition is extremely critical right now.” Before the doctor could finish, Ryan Brooke’s voice cut in, sharp and impatient: “I already brought her to the hospital. Saving her is your job as doctors. What can I possibly do? Besides, I’m saving someone too!” Then, a tearful female voice wafted from the phone: “Ryan, darling, I’m in so much pain…” Ryan abruptly hung up, leaving only the droning dial tone. I knew he didn’t care for me, but facing his utter heartlessness still sent a dull, throbbing ache through me, so profound it threatened to pull me back into unconsciousness. Then, a familiar voice pierced through the haze: “My sweet girl, hold on! Your mother is waiting for you to come home, to be a family again. Your father and I don’t blame you anymore. Marry him if you want, just please, be well. If anything happens to you, your mother won’t want to live either…” My mother’s choked sobs broke through, and tears streamed down my face. Yes, I had my parents. It had been years since I’d seen them, and they were waiting for me to come home. “Patient’s heart rate is improving! Alert the blood bank, get blood supplies here!” “Full resuscitation! Notify all departments, Level One mobilization!” I felt a swarm of medical personnel surround me. “Don’t you dare give up on yourself for anyone! Your father and I will always love you. We’re waiting for you to come home…” My mother’s voice flooded me with strength, and I felt energy surge back into my body. My mother’s voice was cut short by the ringing of a phone. The attending physician glanced at it, then offered a small comfort, “Your husband is calling you.” 2 “Eleanor Vance, quickly, what’s Martha’s number? Chloe’s sick, I need Martha to come take care of her for a while. I’m sure you’ll be fine managing the baby on your own, the doctor said you didn’t even get anesthesia for your C-section. I have faith in you.” A metallic, coppery taste flooded my mouth. I lurched forward, spitting a spray of blood onto the doctor’s white coat. The attending physician immediately snatched my phone away. “Are you even human? Your wife is still fighting for her life! Do you care about her at all?!” “I know my wife’s constitution perfectly well. She can drink a whole table of men under for my sponsorships. She’s tougher than any man. A little pain, a bit of blood—that’s nothing to her!” “No life is a small matter, and sacrifice deserves respect! A husband like you doesn’t deserve your wife fighting for her life to bear your child!” The doctor’s last words were practically hissed through gritted teeth. “I’m saving someone too! My assistant is ill. Is my wife’s life more valuable than someone else’s?!” “Besides, my wife willingly had this child for me. She hasn’t said a word, so who are you, a complete stranger, to criticize me? Be careful, I’ll file a complaint against you in a moment!” The doctor wasted no more words. She hung up the phone, came to my side, and gently took my hand. “Child, don’t give up on yourself. All of us, the entire medical staff, will fight for you with everything we have.” “He’s not worth it! Not for a man like him!” No, he wasn’t worth it. I still had my mother, waiting for me to come home. I squeezed the doctor’s hand back, a faint whisper escaping my lips: “Doctor… save me…” After battling Death for ten grueling hours, countless units of blood pumped into my veins, the doctors pulling me back from the brink of the abyss multiple times, they finally dragged me back from death’s door and transferred me to the ICU. I don’t know how much more time passed, but I gradually drifted back to a hazy awareness, though my eyes still refused to open. Two nurses were checking my monitors nearby. “Did you see the news? Ryan Brooke, the number one race car driver, last night he drove his girlfriend to the hospital, hazard lights flashing, blowing through ten red lights!” “I saw it! The whole city is talking about it, it’s all over social media. I heard the surgical head nurse say the girl only had a few scrapes. But it panicked Ryan like crazy, apparently.” They glanced at me. One sighed, “Some men are just different. Her husband, well…” They shook their heads in unison and left the room. They had no idea that Ryan Brooke was my husband. My eyes burned, and tears silently tracked down my temples as I slipped back into unconsciousness. I wondered about my baby. Oh, how I longed to hold him… 3 The first thing I did when I fully regained consciousness was to grab the doctor’s hand beside me. “Doctor, my baby? Where is my baby?” The doctor’s face lit up with relief at my awakening, then immediately fell. “I’m so sorry. We did everything we could. The baby was in the birth canal for too long, oxygen deprivation…” My brow furrowed in agony, as if my very heart had been ripped from my chest. She paused, then added, “Child, life is still long. There will be other chances.” I suddenly recognized that voice. Peering at her familiar, masked face, I realized she was the attending physician who had saved my life. “Thank you, Doctor. Thank you for saving me.” “It was my duty. Just try to keep your spirits up. You’ll be transferred to a regular room today.” I closed my eyes, memories flashing. I had defied my parents for Ryan, staying in the country to marry him. He loved racing, so I became his agent, supporting him every step of the way until he became the nation’s top race car driver. In the beginning, I endured countless snubs just to secure him a spot in a race. I drank endless rounds of alcohol for sponsorships, often ending up hospitalized with stomach bleeding. Everyone in the racing world knew I was a top agent, and they also knew I only represented one driver: Ryan Brooke, his exclusive agent. After he found success, we kept our marriage private for the sake of his public image. To boost his fame and appeal, he became the ultimate racing knight in the eyes of countless young women. Now, I was leaving. And everything I had given him, I would reclaim. The first thing I did in the regular hospital room was to contact a lawyer and draft divorce papers. The lawyer sat by my bedside, asking, “Are you sure you want to go through with this divorce?” Silently, I tapped open my phone. Sure enough, the news story the nurses had mentioned dominated my feed. “#RyanBrooke: Top Race Car Driver Risks All For Love!” “#BlewThroughTenRedLightsToRushGirlfriendToHospital!” “#RyanBrooke’s All-Night Vigil: Caring For Girlfriend For 24 Hours!” My baby died while he was rushing his girlfriend to the hospital. My life hung by a thread while he was tending to his girlfriend. He wouldn’t drive me, suffering in childbirth, yet he blew through ten red lights for his girlfriend. Chloe Green had just posted an update: “My knight is always there, ready to face anything for me. So touched, I’ll love you forever!” The accompanying picture showed my husband gently feeding her porridge. Then you two can be chained together for eternity. I’ll make sure of it! I looked up, meeting the lawyer’s gaze with unwavering resolve. “Absolutely. Please have the papers ready today.” After booking a flight out of the country for the next day, I dialed a number. “Hello, Martha? I’m being discharged tomorrow. Could you come pick me up from the hospital?” Martha’s voice on the other end was hesitant, fumbling. “Ma’am, Mr. Brooke… he asked me to come take care of… Miss Green.” The phone was snatched away, Ryan’s voice laced with mocking amusement. “You’re getting discharged so quickly? Didn’t the doctors say your condition was critical? I knew they were exaggerating. You’re not that easy to kill, are you?” “Why do you need someone to pick you up? Just take a taxi home. What woman doesn’t give birth? So dramatic.” I was about to speak when Chloe’s saccharine voice cooed from his end: “Ryan, darling, my foot hurts…” “Can’t talk, I need to take care of my patient now.” The call was abruptly cut off. He hadn’t even asked about the baby. He truly didn’t deserve to be a father. And yet, my heart was strangely devoid of any ripple of emotion. Chloe Green was the assistant I’d hired for him, worried that my pregnancy would prevent me from fully managing his races. I had no idea when they’d started their affair. But I knew, if it wasn’t her, it would have been someone else. It takes two to tango. When a heart changes, an affair is only a matter of time. I almost sacrificed my precious life for a man like him. He absolutely didn’t deserve it! He’d taken so much from me. I would reclaim every single thing.

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The sudden power outage plunged the Pediatric ICU into darkness. Working the night shift, I felt no urgency, no impulse to cry for help. In my previous life, the moment the lights died, I’d immediately activated every backup power source, then painstakingly checked each child, ensuring their safety. Exhausted after my solo marathon, I’d finally collapsed onto a chair and drifted into a heavy sleep. I don’t know when, but my colleagues had suddenly swarmed in from outside, roughly yanking me awake. “Dr. Davies, how could you, a medical professional, lay a hand on these children?” “You’re a monster! You froze them to death! May you be struck by lightning!” It was then I realized: every single child was dead, without exception. The police took me away, stating I was the only adult in the room and that my fingerprints were found on the thermostat. My son, Eason, produced a video to aid their investigation. “She often complained about the patients, wishing they’d die sooner.” The furious parents cornered me in a back alley, torturing me for ten grueling hours until I finally succumbed. Even as I died, I couldn’t grasp it. The environment was temperature-controlled; how could the children have frozen to death? And why would my own son, my flesh and blood, play a fake video to frame me? A jolt, like an electric shock, ripped through me. I was awake, back on the very day of the power outage. 1 The blast of cold air from the air conditioner hit me, and I was instantly, sharply aware. “Mom, the power’s out! What do we do? I don’t know how to fix this!” Eason’s anxious voice pierced my ears. Calmly, I switched on my phone’s flashlight. He had just graduated from medical school and was interning at my hospital. Last time the power went out, he’d gone to report it to the hospital administration, leaving me to connect the backup power. But he never returned until it was too late. “Mom!” He saw me rooted to the spot and stomped his foot in frustration. “Why are you still sitting there? If these kids all die, we’re both finished!” He seemed to understand the gravity of the situation this time. So why, in my previous life, had he vanished completely? A few of the younger infants, sensitive to the temperature shift, began to cry loudly. The children on ventilators started to pale, their lips turning a faint purple. My heart ached, but I knew they wouldn’t be in immediate danger. On the surface, I remained indifferent. Eason, however, grew more agitated. He yelled at me, “You’re the Head of Pediatrics! How can you be so cold-blooded?” In the past, I would have rushed to check on the children and snapped back at him. But after experiencing my previous life, my entire outlook had shifted. As I calmed, I noticed that beneath his panicked facade, a flicker of cunning, almost triumph, danced in his eyes. Could this whole thing really be linked to him? I shrugged, responding without haste. “What am I supposed to do? There are over a hundred children here. Am I supposed to wheel each incubator out by myself?” My retort left Eason speechless, his face souring. His tone grew sharper, laced with impatience. “You’re the Head of Pediatrics! If you don’t save them, who will? We can’t just watch them die here!” I sighed dramatically, gesturing towards the crying children, raising an eyebrow at him. “It would take ages to wheel out this many children. Perhaps before I could save even a few, the rest would already be gone.” I paused, letting the implication hang in the air. “So, tell me, who should I save first? And who last? Rather than choose, maybe it’s better if they all die, and then I’ll just let the parents beat me to death.” Before he could react, I pulled him down beside me, offering a serene smile. “To die here with my son… it wouldn’t be a bad way to go, for a mother.” Eason sprang to his feet, violently shaking off my hand. “You’re insane! You want to drag me down with you? You don’t deserve to be my mother!” With that, he bolted, his legs pumping as if the hounds of hell were nipping at his heels. I watched him throw open the door and flee, a chill spreading through my entire body. Twenty years I’d showered him with love, and he abandoned me, leaving me to die, telling me I didn’t deserve to be his mother. More and more children began to cry, their wails swelling into a monstrous wave that threatened to drown the ICU. Yet, I simply stared at the closed door, a faint, detached smile playing on my lips. 2 The power outage lasted an incredibly long time, so long I almost thought the hospital had forgotten about us. Around six or seven in the morning, the parents, eager for visiting hours, began to gather outside. Through the viewing window, they saw the pitch-black interior and started shouting, their panic rising. “What’s going on? Every time we come, it’s brightly lit. Why is it so dark today? Is the power out?” “Don’t scare me! What about the children if the power’s out? I went through IVF for this child; if anything happens to him, I’ll die of a broken heart!” “Maybe we should just break the door down! We can push the children out, incubators and all. There’s power outside; maybe they’ll survive if we get them out!” The parents were beside themselves with worry. At the suggestion, they all agreed. Just as they were about to ram the door, I opened it from the inside. “Dr. Davies, you’re here! Thank goodness! With you inside, we have nothing to fear.” “That’s right, I told you all not to be impulsive. Dr. Davies is so responsible; I trust her with my child.” “Dr. Davies, can we go in and see our children now? It’s been a week, I wonder how he’s doing…” Several parents’ eyes welled up. Almost every child admitted here was battling for their life. The weekly visiting day was their only beacon of hope. I was about to speak when someone pushed through the crowd, pointing a finger at me, accusingly. “Even though you’re my mother, I won’t cover for you today! How could such a heartless doctor just watch these children freeze to death during a power outage?” His voice cracked with feigned outrage. “You even said you wanted to wait until they all died and then take me with you! You not only failed me, but you’ve disgraced your white coat!” Eason glared at me like I was his mortal enemy, determined to see me destroyed. He was my son; his direct accusation instantly ignited the parents’ fury. Some mothers, unable to bear the crushing blow, simply crumpled to the floor, their wails tearing through the air. The fathers clenched their fists, barely restraining themselves, their eyes burning with a desire to tear me apart then and there. Some, quicker than others, had already bypassed me and were pounding on the ICU door, desperate to rush in and save their children. But it was a steel, hermetic door. No one there could open it but me. Just then, I saw a figure, discreetly slipping into the crowd. It was my husband, Richard. Ah, he finally showed up. In my previous life, if I hadn’t drunk the red date and goji berry tea he prepared, I wouldn’t have slept so deeply, nor would the children have died so mysteriously. All the things I couldn’t understand before were suddenly starting to make sense. Since they wouldn’t let me off the hook, I might as well escalate things. I crossed my arms, my tone utterly nonchalant. “There are over a hundred children in the ICU. Tell me, who should I have saved first? And who last?” I paused, a slight smirk playing on my lips. “I’m not some mythological hero with three heads and six arms, capable of wheeling all your children out at once.” My gaze swept over their anxious faces. “Since I can’t move them all, the ones left behind would surely die. Who among you would willingly leave their child behind?” This was, in essence, what I wanted to say in my last life. Back then, I had poured every ounce of my energy into connecting all the backup power sources. Each battery weighed dozens of pounds, and by the time I was done, I was utterly exhausted, collapsing onto a rest chair. But seeing the children breathing evenly, sleeping soundly, I had felt a profound sense of satisfaction, believing it had all been worth it. Yet, when I woke up, everyone was screaming that I had frozen the children to death. Even these parents, who had always trusted me implicitly, refused to listen to my explanations. They dragged me into a dark alleyway, beating and verbally abusing me for ten agonizing hours, watching me gasp my last breath. As a doctor, I never expected their gratitude. But if they wouldn’t believe me, then I would simply give up, let it all burn. 3 As expected, my words left the parents in turmoil. Their faces flushed crimson, they advanced on me step by step, their collective rage mirroring the intensity with which they’d beaten me to death in my past life. Richard sensed the moment was ripe. He strode forward two paces, then, smack, landed a stinging slap across my face. “Sarah Davies! You’re the Head of Pediatrics, a highly decorated physician! How could you do something like this?” He leaned closer, his voice dripping with feigned disgust. “Our son nobly exposed the truth, and you still try to squirm your way out of it? Aren’t you afraid the children will haunt your dreams, transformed into vengeful spirits?” His voice rose, carrying to the agitated crowd. “No parent wants their child harmed, but if you had at least saved a few, it would show you tried! But look at you now, so utterly cold and indifferent! Has your conscience been eaten by dogs?” Their father-son gaze was eerily identical. I clutched my stinging cheek, remaining silent, calmly waiting to see what other tricks they had up their sleeves. Richard finished his speech and subtly nodded at Eason, signaling him to play the video on his phone. The screen flickered to life, showing me, a spitting image of a deranged banshee, ranting, spewing venom, and cursing. “So many sick children every day! My back is killing me, I’m exhausted!” “These premature and critically ill children don’t deserve to live! They’re just wasting medical resources! They should be humanely euthanized!” “They just cry and cry, it’s so annoying! I’ll kill them all eventually!” In my previous life, after Eason had released this video on social media, the parents had been consumed by a murderous rage. They’d used sticks, iron rods, and stones, torturing me for ten agonizing hours, watching me draw my last breath! The memory made me tremble uncontrollably. I lifted my gaze to the father and son. Richard’s barely suppressed glee was evident in his eyes, though his face still maintained a facade of righteous indignation. “Sarah Davies, in our twenty-five years of marriage, I never realized you were such a cold-hearted person!” He scoffed, looking around at the parents. “No other part of the hospital lost power, only your Pediatric ICU went dark for hours. If it wasn’t you, who else could it be?” Eason chimed in, his voice dripping with venom. “I’m ashamed to have you as a mother! Over a hundred lives! You deserve to be torn to shreds!” Their inflammatory words whipped the parents into a frenzy. Their eyes burned red, like famished wolves ready to devour me. “Bitch! And here I thought you were my child’s savior! Are you even human? How could you do this to such tiny children?” “You’re a devil in scrubs! I was forty when I had this child; you’ve ruined our entire family!” “They said you were more responsible than any doctor in the capital city! We traveled hundreds of miles to bring him here, and you killed my child! I’ll fight you to the death!” The parents who had been pounding on the door also turned, lunging at me with savage intent. Just then, a sharp command cut through the chaos. “Everyone, stop!”

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1 After a natural birth, the doctor was concerned about the baby having hemolytic disease. They paid special attention to his blood type. My mother-in-law, Eleanor, exploded. “Your father-in-law, your husband, and you are all O-negative! How could you give birth to an A-positive child?” Her voice rose to a shriek. “You hussy! Have you been seeing someone else?” My husband, Mark, beat me, punching and kicking, demanding to know who the other man was. But I had never done anything wrong; I refused to confess to something I was innocent of. My baby and I burned alive in a raging inferno. Mark collected a hefty insurance payout, remarried, and lived a life of luxury with his parents. Meanwhile, the relentless gossip from our neighbors caused my own father to suffer a heart attack and be hospitalized. My mother, tending to Dad, uncovered the truth: Mark was actually A-positive! And with my father-in-law, Thomas, being O-negative, it was Eleanor who had been unfaithful! My parents, consumed by rage, took the paternity report to confront Mark’s family. But they were pushed from the 22nd floor, both dying instantly! Standing in line at the Gates of Oblivion, seething with anger, I somehow reincarnated! It was the day of Leo’s birth. I felt as if every bone in my body was shattered from the agony. I was like a drowned rat, pulled from a muddy lake. The day and night of torture finally ended, and I was wheeled out of the delivery room into a recovery ward. Mark’s face was grim, his voice simmering with irritation. “Couldn’t you have just pulled the curtain when they gave you that Pitocin shot? Male nurses and doctors kept coming and going! You were exposed to everyone, completely disregarding my trauma!” As my mind cleared, I looked around. I was certain. I had been reborn. Eleanor, always sharp-tongued and critical, chimed in. “Exactly! Who gives birth as dramatically as you? Back in our day, we had our babies at home and were back doing chores the next day. You’re nothing but trouble! You hired a postpartum nurse for six thousand bucks, and you don’t even earn money! You bought so much formula, too! You don’t know the value of a dollar until you run a household! And you spread your legs and let all those men look! You’ve disgraced the Johnson name!” I forced myself to prop up my weak body. “Mark, give me my phone back. I need to call my parents. I’m going home for my postpartum recovery.” “Hmph, finally, you’re being sensible. It’s settled then. If I give you your phone, you have to get money from your parents to go home for your recovery. Otherwise, our family won’t be able to hold our heads up.” Mark gloated, a smug look on his face. “Seeing as you delivered a son, I’ll tolerate you a bit longer. Just make sure your parents send you back with some of their homemade treats for nourishment!” Whether in my past life or this one, he remained utterly shameless. The day I gave birth, his true colors emerged. All his pretense of being a devoted husband vanished. The family in the next bed couldn’t stand it. “To be fair, your family just has a twisted mindset!” the woman’s husband spoke up. “Your wife just went through hell to give birth, and you all were playing cards outside the delivery room door! I’ve never seen a family treat their daughter-in-law so disrespectfully.” He shook his head. “It’s like you have a throne to inherit! When a human life is at stake, what does gender matter? Whoever ensures the mother and baby are safe, they’re the good doctors and nurses!” The woman in the bed opposite me, a fierce glint in her eye, also chimed in, outraged. “Exactly! You, as a mother-in-law, instead of going home to cook something nice for your daughter-in-law, you’re sitting there discussing…” She trailed off, not finishing her sentence, but I felt an unsettling wave of nausea wash over me. Eleanor, embarrassed, scoffed, “Who hasn’t given birth? She’s just being dramatic!” I scanned the room. “Where’s the postpartum nurse I hired?” Mark stammered, avoiding my gaze, pretending not to know. His shifty-eyed look infuriated me. In my previous life, Eleanor had goaded him into firing the nurse. She’d then feigned kindness, offering to take care of me herself. But she’d secretly given the organic eggs my mother had specially prepared for me to my sister-in-law for her pregnancy. And my Goldie, my Golden Retriever, my beloved companion of seven years? She’d had him slaughtered, cooked into soup, and presented to me. She’d claimed the dog had germs and would prevent her precious grandson from growing big. They’d feasted on my Goldie. And that wasn’t even the end of it. Once she learned I’d given birth to an A-positive child, she’d immediately blown up, instigating Mark to divorce me. My entire postpartum recovery had been a nightmare. The house was freezing, and they wouldn’t even let me turn on the heating. My newborn cried uncontrollably, shivering under the blankets. To torture me further, they even cut the power during the day. I had no hot water for formula. They deliberately made it so difficult that my breast milk dried up. I tried to call my parents for help, but they kept me under strict control, even snatching my phone away. This time, I had to get my phone and send out a cry for help before the doctor came for rounds! “Hurry up! I need to post a picture of the baby on social media!” Mark wasn’t yet thinking of confiscating my phone. He mumbled, “My mom’s right. Giving birth is just something women do. Back then, they had nothing, but they could still recover eating just corn cakes.” 2 “The baby will need a lot of money in the future, so the postpartum nurse won’t be coming. My mom will take care of you instead!” I nodded, my voice firm. “Just give me the phone already!” Mark thought this was my surrender. But the moment I had my phone, I fired off a barrage of messages. To my parents. To my best friend, Pathy. And to the postpartum care agency, asking for my nurse to return. Mark’s and his mother’s incessant nagging simply faded into the background. With all the messages sent, a strange sense of unreality settled over me. I dragged my utterly exhausted body to look at my baby. The pregnant woman in the bed opposite looked at me with profound sympathy. She offered a small smile, but there was also a hint of unspeakable disdain on her plain face. I gave a bitter laugh. Facing a family of wolves, if I were to lash out now, if I made too much of a scene, I would lose even this tiny chance to get help. Later that evening, before the end of their shift, the attending physician, a cultured man named Dr. Peterson, came specifically to check on me. He held the baby’s test report and asked about my blood type. “Mrs. Johnson, we’re about to examine the baby. We’ve noted that you are O-negative and the baby is A-positive, which carries a risk of hemolytic jaundice.” Mark’s eyes widened, and he shrieked, “What’s the baby’s blood type?!” He lunged forward, grabbing Dr. Peterson’s lab coat. “You effing tell me that again?!” he snarled. “What is that child’s blood type?!” Everyone in the room instantly recoiled. Dr. Peterson, composed and unfazed, used a subtle, almost effortless counter-move, like a smooth Tai Chi motion, to loosen Mark’s clumsy grip. “The report shows the baby is A-positive. This situation carries a higher risk of hemolytic jaundice. Please, as family members, monitor the baby’s condition and contact the on-duty doctor or nurse if you have any concerns.” Eleanor interjected, “How is that possible? How can the baby’s blood type be different from his mother’s? And my son and his wife are both O-negative! How could they have an A-positive child? Are you saying you swapped our grandson, giving us a sick child to fool us?” Her shrill voice startled the baby in my arms, making him whimper. Everyone in the room exchanged awkward glances, and even the family in the next bed looked at us with a mixture of pity and discomfort. It was as if I were a poor, unlucky bug, overturned in a grimy gutter. Dr. Peterson maintained his professional composure, patiently explaining, “It’s a normal physiological phenomenon for a pregnant woman and a child to have different blood types. Every step in our hospital is strictly managed. Weren’t you right there when the baby was delivered? All examinations after birth were conducted in the presence of family members. There’s no possibility of such a major medical error.” “Enough, Mom!” Mark suppressed his fury, his clenched fists white at the knuckles. “Don’t make a scene so everyone knows! Aren’t you embarrassed enough?” I held my son, who had peacefully fallen asleep, feeling a profound sense of security. The little guy was a soft, warm bundle; he looked a bit… homely, but I felt an overwhelming surge of love. My gaze, drawn by Mark’s clenched fist, hardened. A tough battle lay ahead. “Dr. Peterson,” I said softly, my voice calm. “My mother-in-law and husband seem to have a lot of concerns about me and the baby. Since everyone is here, perhaps we should just re-test everyone’s blood types?” Dr. Peterson nodded. “That’s certainly an option.” Eleanor’s face instantly darkened. “What nonsense are you talking about? My son has been O-negative his whole life! How could it be anything else? It’s you, you hussy, who’s been seeing someone else!” She looked at me with venom. “I won’t pursue who your lover is in public, but don’t think you’ll get off easy!” She then turned to Mark. “Son, hurry and process her discharge papers! We’ll take her home and teach her a good lesson!” Mark remained silent, gritting his teeth, raising his hand as if to slap me. But the family from the next bed intervened. “Your wife has a point,” the husband said. “If you have doubts, just get it tested here at the hospital and clear it up. The mother and baby both need more rest right now. If you want to argue, take it outside! Don’t disturb my wife’s rest!” Tears welled up in my eyes. Only after giving birth did I truly understand if I had married a man or a devil. The family in the opposite bed was a picture of harmonious support, with both the husband’s and wife’s families taking turns caring for her. Her bedside table was piled high with various tonics and snacks, all to ensure she ate well during her hospital stay. I, on the other hand, sat alone with nothing. My parents had wanted to visit, but Mark, behind my back, had canceled their train tickets. Before I entered the delivery room, he was still playing video games. I’d asked him to buy me a packet of medical-grade maternity pads, which were about eighty dollars, but he complained they were too expensive. He turned around and bought me a ten-dollar pack of cheap toilet paper instead, saving the money to buy himself some gaming skins! I was furious before going into labor, and it was the woman in the next bed who shared two packs of pads with me. I swallowed the bitterness that filled me, insisting, “You suspect I’ve done something to betray you? Then please, show me proof! My prenatal report clearly states I am O-negative. You’ve always thought you were O-negative, but have you ever been tested? Just one test, and we’ll have the report.” 3 The woman in the bed opposite me couldn’t stand it any longer. “I advise you to get tested, seriously. Don’t just jump to conclusions about your wife! Childbirth isn’t easy for women. Who would risk their reputation at a time like this? Your mother, on the other hand, she looks a bit… off. While your wife was giving birth in there, she was out here researching how to prepare some truly abhorrent ‘remedy’… Even if you wanted to consume something vile, it shouldn’t be so disgusting, should it? I’ve seen enough of your family’s antics for one day.” A wave of sickening disgust washed over me, numbing half my body. I looked at Eleanor with eyes that had turned utterly ruthless. No wonder the family in the next bed looked at me with such pity! But I was in a wolf’s den now. Even if I wanted to run away with my child, there were too many obstacles. Sooner or later, I’d make them pay. At the other woman’s words, Thomas, who had been silent, finally spoke up. “Go get tested. Don’t let outsiders laugh at us!” “How can he? Mark has been O-negative since he was a child! How could it be different?” Eleanor shrieked, her face dark. “You can’t just accuse me based on a few words from strangers!” I retorted coldly, “Are you speaking from a guilty conscience, crying wolf? I didn’t say you had been seeing someone. I’m simply stating that now the entire family needs to get their blood types tested together!” My voice grew firm. “If you’re still not satisfied, then we’ll get a DNA test! Your husband, Mark, and my son—all three of them.” “You’ve already spent so much money giving birth, and now you want to spend more on tests? What are you trying to stir up?” Mark demanded, clearly displeased. “Just check out! There’s enough trouble here at the hospital!” I understood then. He didn’t care whether the child was his or not. He was just using it as an excuse to torment me, to wear me down until my child and I were dead. Only then could he legitimately claim the insurance money. But I wanted more than just clarification. “I’ll pay for the DNA test. You won’t have to spend a cent.” Seeing my firm stance, Mark said nothing more. Eleanor’s eyes were red, and she whined, “Just tell us honestly, who is the lover? Is it that scholarly male colleague of yours? Why is the child A-positive?” I said coldly, “You’re crying wolf. I’m not afraid of getting tested or of your gossip. But you’re shouting so loudly, you must have a guilty conscience!” Thomas, who had been listening intently, his expression serious, delivered the final word. “Tomorrow, the whole family will go for blood tests!” Eleanor couldn’t bear it. She threw down her dinner, stomped her foot, and stormed off. “Fine, if you want to waste money on tests, I’ll go home and kill your dog to make soup for your recovery! That fat dog will yield a lot of meat. Otherwise, buying groceries for your confinement would cost even more money!” Eleanor looked triumphant. “If you don’t get tested, I’ll keep your fat dog alive.” I ignored her, lowering my head to comfort my baby. I hoped my best friend, Pathy, would come through for me and save Goldie in time. Mark pulled out his phone, looking busy, his attention elsewhere. “Just wait here. We’ll see what the test results say.” In my last life, I meekly went home with them the next day, leading to various health problems from my weakened state. But this time, I wanted to see how Eleanor would try to explain herself after the test results came out. The next day, Eleanor didn’t show up for the agreed-upon tests. I knew she had a guilty conscience. My best friend, Pathy, texted me: “Don’t worry, sis, Goldie is with me. I promise I’ll feed him until he’s a giant! When I got to your place, your mother-in-law was literally holding a cleaver, ready to kill him! Luckily, my boyfriend, a big burly guy, stopped her, otherwise, Goldie would’ve been gone for good.” I thanked Pathy. In the photo she sent, Goldie cowered at her feet, looking pitiful and soft after his narrow escape, bringing tears to my eyes. My parents rushed to the hospital that very night, having rented a car. They cornered my father-in-law, rambling on. “Richard, we know our daughter. Sarah would never do anything to betray her family!” My mother’s voice grew firm. “Your wife has been causing trouble since the young couple got married, and our family has tolerated it. But this DNA test must be done!” Thomas, being someone who cared deeply about appearances, eventually complied. Under my parents’ persistent urging, Mark and Thomas both submitted to the blood type tests. Eleanor still hadn’t shown her face. I deliberately sent her a voice message: “Mom, I’m innocent. This morning, Mark and Dad both took the blood type test. The results will be out in two hours. You want to come by and see?” She didn’t reply for a long time. I was curious. What would their faces look like when the results came back, confirming Eleanor was the one who had been unfaithful?

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For ten years, I harbored a secret crush on Layla, my childhood sweetheart. Then, a devastating car accident left her unable to walk again. Her fiancé, Brandon, and all the men who’d once vied for her attention vanished overnight. Even the wealthy Harrison family disowned her as an heir. Only I stayed, putting my own education on hold, dedicating two years to caring for her, and tirelessly searching for top specialists. But the moment she stood on her own two feet again, she shattered my world. At the engagement party I had secretly arranged for her, she publicly announced her decision to fulfill her previous engagement to Brandon Thorne. When I confronted her, Layla clutched my hand, her voice laced with deep affection. “Karl, I can’t let it go. I’m marrying him to get revenge for him abandoning me back then. You have to believe me, I only love you.” Yet, during a game of Truth or Dare, Brandon, holding the King card, pointed at me. “Karl Reed, pick any girl here, and kiss her for one minute.” My eyes, pleading for help, sought Layla’s. But she just turned her head away. “Don’t look at me, Karl. I’m exclusively Brandon’s.” 1 I stood there, frozen in awkwardness. A few girls nearby exchanged knowing glances, one of them even brazenly calling out, “Karl Reed, I can totally help you out! You’re handsome, so I wouldn’t be losing anything.” Brandon, his arm draped around Layla’s shoulders, smirked. “Karl, don’t tell me you’re a sore loser. If you can’t handle it, just take the penalty shot.” Layla leaned into Brandon, her gaze sweeping over me with a dismissive indifference. It was just a fleeting glance, but no one in this world understood Layla better than I did. I knew that look. I picked up the shot glass of hard liquor from the table and downed it in one gulp. “Karl Reed, are you insane? You forgot you have a severe alcohol allergy?!” Everyone in this social circle knew about my condition. A fiery pain erupted from my throat, searing its way down to my stomach. “Layla, can you drive me home so I can take my medication?” Since she wouldn’t kiss me in front of Brandon, and she obviously didn’t want me interacting with other girls, surely she’d be willing to leave with me. She was the only one on the floor who couldn’t drink, given she was still on her herbal remedies. It made perfect sense for her to drive. “Layla, I’m not done having fun yet.” Brandon whined, playfully squeezing her hand. Someone in the room, I don’t know who started it, suddenly shouted, “Real couples are way more fun to watch! How about a one-minute French kiss from Mr. Thorne and our own Ms. Harrison?” The entire room erupted in cheers, their attention no longer on me. My face was already flushed with an unnatural redness, and my throat began to itch. Their bodies entwined, the crowd started a countdown. “Fifty-eight, fifty-nine… fifty-eight, fifty-seven, fifty-six…” Layla kissed him with a raw, abandoned passion. From my angle, I could see her eyes closed, her lashes fluttering. Her earlobes were faintly pink—a tell-tale sign of her deep arousal. They might have kissed until the end of time, but I couldn’t hold on any longer. I pushed open the villa door. As I was about to step out, I looked back and saw Layla pulling away from Brandon’s lips. Under the dazzling lights, a thin, glistening thread of saliva connected their mouths, an intensely intimate and sickening sight. Perhaps it was the allergic reaction, but my chest felt tight, and I struggled to breathe. Outside, the cool breeze hit me, and my skin began to itch uncontrollably. I resisted the urge to scratch and pulled out my phone to call a ride-share. But Hillside Heights Estate was too remote; no drivers were picking up requests. After waiting for ten minutes, a driver finally accepted, only to cancel the order less than a minute later. At that moment, the humiliation that had been building up completely overwhelmed me. Why did they give me hope, only to snatch it away? The ride-share driver was like that, and so was Layla. My eyes burned, and I crouched down, clutching my shoulders. I must have looked utterly pathetic, weeping and scratching my whole body, like a frantic, desperate monkey. Suddenly, headlights glared, blinding me. By the time my vision cleared, a car had pulled up beside me. The driver’s side door opened, and a woman emerged, dressed in casual athletic wear. As she stood over me, I finally recognized her features. “Karl Reed, what on earth happened to you? You look like death warmed over!” My voice was hoarse, raspy. “Aunt Isabel, my throat is swelling. If you don’t get me home for my medicine, I’m going to die.” 2 Isabel Harrison drove like a maniac, speeding down the road. I gripped the grab handle above the car door, my knuckles white. “Aunt Isabel, I won’t die just yet.” Isabel was Layla’s aunt, her father’s younger sister. “Don’t worry,” she said, her voice laced with what sounded like contempt and anger, “I’m not that useless girl, Layla.” I didn’t know why, but Isabel’s tone was filled with both disdain and a sharp edge of fury. “You’re in this state from an allergy, and what was she doing? Why didn’t she take you to the hospital?” A bitter ache spread through my chest. “She’s not obligated to always take care of me.” “And you were obligated to be her caretaker when her legs were broken?” I lowered my head, remaining silent. Layla and I had grown up together. But in high school, my father’s investments failed. My mother divorced him and married his business rival. My father, unable to bear the shock, entrusted me to his closest friend—Layla’s father—before jumping to his death. So, before high school, I was Layla’s childhood best friend; after, I was an orphan living in her family’s home. After Layla’s car accident, her bones healed, but she simply couldn’t stand up. Mr. Harrison took her to specialists both domestically and abroad, but every diagnosis pointed to irreparable nerve damage. There was no hope of her ever walking again. Mr. Harrison visibly aged ten years overnight. Layla, once a brilliant, favored daughter, transformed into a volatile, bitter invalid. She lashed out indiscriminately at everyone who approached her, including her own father. In despair, Mr. Harrison effectively disowned Layla as an heir and called back his sister, Isabel, who had been traveling the world, entrusting the Harrison Corporation to her. Layla, realizing she’d been abandoned, became even more furious. Only I, ignoring her vicious curses and physical attacks, continued to approach her, to hold her. “Even if the whole world abandons you, I will stay by your side.” I gave up the diploma and degree from a top national university that I was on the verge of earning. I took her to live in a perpetually spring-like coastal town in the South. I cared for her for two years. After she fully recovered, she took my hand and stood before Mr. Harrison and Aunt Isabel. “My recovery, my second chance at life, it’s all because of Karl Reed. I want to be with him forever.” Mr. Harrison’s eyes were brimming with tears of relief, while Isabel simply said, calmly, “Remember what you said.” Layla re-entered the Harrison Corporation, once again becoming the center of attention, the “golden girl.” Those who had once shunned her, now rushed to put her back on a pedestal. Even Brandon Thorne, her former fiancé who had been inseparable from her, only to break off their engagement after her injury forced her out of the company, came crawling back. Brandon had only to ask her, “Layla, didn’t you say you’d always love only me?” And Layla let go of my hand, carefully, deliberately, taking Brandon’s hand right in front of me. “I never intended to go back on my word.” Brandon squeezed her hand back, their fingers intertwining, and his eyes, full of triumph, provocatively watched me from a distance. Back at home, when no one else was around, Layla would throw herself into my arms again. “Karl, I can’t let it go. I’m only doing this to get revenge on him. I only love you.” Her hazel eyes, shaped like a peach blossom, held a deep, intoxicating affection that threatened to drown me. I had loved her for ten years. I was used to being by her side, used to respecting her decisions, even when I felt wronged. Isabel didn’t drive me home. Instead, she took me directly to the hospital. Doctors immediately hooked me up to an IV, pumping me full of anti-allergy medication. “Such a severe alcohol allergy, and you dared to drink hard liquor? Are you trying to die? If you’d come any later, you would have suffocated. Do you think our morgue is too empty?” the doctor snapped. Isabel stood by, watching my face, swollen like a balloon, being verbally flayed by the doctor. I wanted nothing more than to shrink into the bed. On Isabel’s face, two words were clearly written: “Serves you right.” “And you, as next of kin, why aren’t you keeping your… partner in line? Why are you just standing there? Go get the medication!” Indeed, night shift doctors, especially in the ER, seemed to have more pent-up frustration than a banshee. Watching the usually aloof Isabel look so sheepish, the tightness in my chest seemed to dissipate quite a bit. 3 The next morning, I woke up to Layla’s face, etched with guilt, by my bedside. “Karl, you’re awake? I was so worried yesterday when I went looking for you and you were gone. You came to the hospital? Why didn’t you call me? Do you know how anxious I was?” She leaned closer, gently stroking my swollen face. “Thank goodness you’re okay. Don’t throw a tantrum like that again, alright? Be a good boy.” Looking at the faint hickey on her neck, and listening to her chiding tone, I felt like I was speaking to a stranger. Where did I go wrong? Was my mistake not enduring the allergic reaction and suffocation, just to watch them make out? “What am I to you?” My voice was hoarse. She didn’t seem to hear me clearly. “What?” Her eyes darted nervously. “Are you saying you’re thirsty?” She turned her back to me to fetch a water glass, her tall, graceful figure moving freely. Her legs were completely healed, yet I found myself missing the days when she was confined to a wheelchair. Before Layla could hand me the water, the ward door swung open. “Karl Reed, you really got hospitalized for an allergy? Let me see what a severe alcohol allergy looks like.” Brandon entered, practically bouncing with excitement. He took one look at my face and burst into unrestrained laughter. “Our famous heartthrob, this is too hilarious! Your face is so swollen, your eyes are just slits!” He pulled out his phone and started snapping photos of me. “I’ll post these on social media. They’ll get so many likes.” I was in this state because of him, and now he was here to humiliate me further. In an instant, a surge of pure rage shot to my head. I snatched the water glass from Layla’s hand and hurled it at Brandon. The lid wasn’t tightly sealed. When the glass hit Brandon, water splashed onto his skin. He shrieked, jumping back. “Ow! That hurts!” Layla, in a flash, pulled Brandon into the bathroom and turned on the faucet. “Karl Reed tried to use boiling water to disfigure me! He’s so vicious!” Brandon’s accusatory voice carried from the bathroom. “Layla, I was just joking with him! Why would he do this to me? Is he jealous of our love?” Layla’s voice was hushed, but the sound of running water couldn’t entirely muffle her words. “He’s just an orphan our family took in. What right does he have to love me?” Ten minutes later, Layla stormed out, dragging Brandon behind her. Her face was dark, her voice icy. “Apologize.” But all I could hear was her earlier comment. What right do I have to love her? Suddenly, I felt ridiculous. Ever since I lost my family, I had supposedly lost the right to love her. So what was all that unwavering companionship for all these years? Ha. I knew. It was just the rent I owed for living in her house. My education, my ten years of devotion, two years of tirelessly caring for her… that rent was truly expensive. “Did you hear me?” she demanded, raising her hand and swiping it, hitting my IV line. A sharp pain shot through the back of my hand as the needle was tugged. “Apologize! Are you deaf?” She gripped my hand, pressing hard on the spot where the IV had come loose. It hurt so much I sucked in a sharp breath. “What are you faking? Is it more painful than being scalded by hot water?” Brandon complained, rubbing his arm. Layla’s grip tightened, and I felt the needle in my vein might pierce through. Sweat beaded on my forehead from the pain, but the ache in my heart was far worse. I bit back a cry, looking up at Layla. “Did I help you get back on your feet just so you could bully me?” I asked, enunciating each word. Her face twisted into a grotesque mask. She released my hand. “I knew it. I knew you only took care of me to make me indebted to you, to stand on some moral high ground and make me look up to you.” She stared at me, her gaze devoid of the old dependence, filled only with contempt. “Just like this moment.” In that instant, I laughed and cried at the same time. Layla, am I, Karl Reed, truly so contemptible? Looking at her distorted face, it wasn’t me who was contemptible, but my love—it was too pathetic. Then, I won’t love you anymore, okay?

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