Author: Momo Chan

On New Year’s Eve, my husband’s “one who got away” showed up at our house and turned on the gas valves. I didn’t rush downstairs to call him for help. Because in my previous life, Mark saved me and our son, but his first love, Jolene, died because she wasn’t treated in time. On the surface, he said it didn’t matter. He was unnervingly patient, taking care of me with a tenderness I’d never seen before. But on the day I was discharged from the hospital, he drugged my parents and our son with sleeping pills. Then, he turned on the gas, letting the fumes take them all while they slept. Before I drifted into that final, dark sleep, I heard his hysterical laughter. “You and that brat are the reason Jolene is dead. Your parents are just as guilty for bringing a curse like you into this world. Your whole bloodline deserves to end!” “I’ve finally avenged her! I’m going to make sure you feel every ounce of the agony she suffered!” When I opened my eyes again, I was back on New Year’s Eve. … A pungent, acrid smell flooded my nostrils. My vision blurred, and my head spun so violently I could barely keep my footing. A small, choked sob pulled me back to reality. “Mommy, I’m scared.” I looked down to see my son, Toby, gripping my leggings with trembling hands. That’s when I knew. I had really come back. I dragged my leaden limbs toward the door, intending to shut off the gas valve in the kitchen. The bedroom door was locked from the outside. My heart hammered against my ribs. In my last life, the door had been fine. What changed? I pounded on the wood with everything I had. From the other side, Jolene’s voice came through, muffled but dripping with malice. “Save your breath, Claire. No one is coming for you.” “Jolene! Open this door!” I screamed, my throat already raw from the fumes. “This is murder!” Outside, she let out a sharp, jagged laugh. “It’s a tragic accident, honey. You forgot to turn off the stove while cooking. What does that have to do with me?” Same old Jolene. Always the victim, always shifting the blame. And Mark? He always swallowed her lies like they were gospel. I used to wonder why. It wasn’t until I checked the GPS on Toby’s smart-watch in my past life that I realized they had been sleeping together behind my back for months. I had planned to wait until after the holidays to file for divorce. I never expected Jolene to be this psychotic—she couldn’t even wait for the new year. She broke in while we were sleeping and turned our home into a gas chamber. But I was awake now. And I would not let her touch my son. “Jolene, do you really think you’re going to walk away from this?” I yelled. “If I die, they’ll find you. They’ll trace everything!” “Open the damn door!” There was a flicker of hesitation in her silence. But it was gone in a second. “I checked,” she said, her voice dropping to a smug whisper. “The cameras in the hallway are ‘malfunctioning.’ I wore a mask and a hoodie. No one saw me. I’m not making the same mistakes I made last time.” My blood ran cold. Last time? She remembered too. Jolene had also come back. That’s why the door was locked. She was making sure there was no escape. “Just die already,” she spat. Then, I heard her footsteps retreating. A moment later, the heavy thud of the front door shaking echoed through the apartment. Then came a frantic rattling. She was trying to leave, but she couldn’t. Our neighbor’s kid had a sensory habit of mashing the buttons on our smart lock. If you hit too many wrong codes, the deadbolt engaged into a hard-lock mode that could only be opened with a physical backup key. That brat’s annoying habit had just trapped Jolene in this poison-filled apartment with us. And the backup key? It was right here, in my bedroom nightstand. “Jolene, open this door right now. It’s the only way we both survive!” “In your dreams! I am never letting you out to take Mark away from me again!” It was pathetic. Even with her lungs filling with gas, her only thought was her obsession with my husband. The air was getting thicker, shimmering with invisible lethality. Toby’s breathing was becoming shallow, his little face turning a terrifying shade of pale. I couldn’t let history repeat itself. I crawled toward the window on my hands and knees. I didn’t have the strength to heave it open, so I grabbed a heavy glass paperweight from my desk and smashed it against the pane. The crash was loud enough to alert the neighbor who usually watered his balcony plants around this time. Within minutes, I heard the sound of the front door being kicked. I thought it was help. Then I heard Mark’s voice, along with a few of his low-life friends. “Jolene? Oh my god, Jolene! Are you okay?” Mark roared, his voice thick with panic. Jolene let out a weak, performative whimper. “It’s… it’s Claire… she tried to…” “I’m getting you to the ER! Hang on!” “Mark, wait! Your wife is still in the bedroom!” That was Nate, the neighbor’s son. His voice was frantic. “The door is locked and the gas is everywhere! You have to get her out!” I waited for the sound of the lock turning. Instead, I heard my husband’s cold, mocking sneer. “She’s fine. She’s faking it.” “She’s done this a dozen times, Nate. Anything for a little attention. But taking it this far? Putting Jolene in danger? I’m done with her games.” Mark’s “bros” chimed in, their voices echoing in the hallway. “Seriously, Claire is a piece of work. Remember how she trapped Mark into that marriage? She’s finally getting what’s coming to her.” “She’s the queen of playing the victim. If Jolene hadn’t come back from London, Mark would still be under that psycho’s thumb. Let her stew in there for a minute.” My lungs were burning. Toby had gone limp in my arms. I didn’t care about their insults. I just wanted my son to live. I used the last of my strength to crawl to the door and hammered on it once, hard. A final signal. A heavy silence fell over the hallway. Nate spoke up, his voice stern. “Even if she’s ‘faking,’ you can’t just leave her in a gas-filled room, Mark. That’s insane.” Mark groaned, his impatience palpable. “I told you, it’s an act! You’re so worried about her—what, you two got something going on? Is that kid even mine, or is he some neighborly side-project?” “You… you prick! That’s your wife! How can you joke about her life?” The words cut deeper than the lack of oxygen. In my last life, he had at least pretended to care. Now, he had convinced himself I was a monster just to justify his own betrayal. He wouldn’t even give me the chance to breathe, let alone explain. My only hope was Nate. I heard his footsteps rushing toward the door. But then, the sound of a scuffle. Mark’s friends were holding him back. “Take it easy, Nate. You really want to catch a charge for ‘saving’ a woman who’s clearly just trying to ruin her husband’s New Year?” One of them kicked the door back, laughing. “Hey, Claire! Nice try with the gas! But maybe next time, don’t lock yourself in the one room that isn’t getting any airflow! You’re a terrible actress!” They all thought I was the villain. Every single one of them. The gas was starting to win. My brain felt like it was being wrapped in wet cotton. I looked down at Toby. He wasn’t moving. No. Not again. I wouldn’t let him die. Not for these people. I dragged my body up and slammed my fist against the door. Again. And again. A rhythmic, desperate plea. “Does that sound like acting to you?” I heard one of the friends mutter, his voice losing its edge. “She’s been at it a long time. Maybe she’s actually stuck?” “Please,” Mark snapped. “You remember the time she called me crying saying Toby was in the hospital just to get me to bail on a client meeting? It was a head cold. She’s a liar.” “The ambulance is downstairs for Jolene. I’m taking her now. Claire can sit in there and think about what she’s done. I’m done being her puppet.” No. Don’t go. Save Toby. My throat was a desert. I couldn’t make a sound. I just kept hitting the door, praying he had one shred of humanity left for his son. The footsteps approached the door. A glimmer of hope. Then, through the wood, Mark’s voice boomed—not with concern, but with pure, unadulterated rage. “Claire, stop it! Stop the damn banging! It’s New Year’s Eve—can’t you give me one night of peace without a mental breakdown? I don’t believe you anymore! I’m done!” I knew he wasn’t the man I married anymore. But five years… surely five years earned us a look through the door? I reached for the handle, but he delivered a violent kick to the other side. The force sent me sprawling backward. I gasped in shock, and a lungful of concentrated gas rushed into my system. My nerves went numb. My mind was sharp, screaming, but my body was a statue. “Go ahead, Mark,” I heard one of them say. “We’ll stay here and make sure she doesn’t follow you to harass Jolene at the hospital.” The distant wail of the ambulance siren grew louder, then began to fade. No. Please. Toby was five. If he survived the hypoxia, the brain damage could be permanent. He’d be a shell of himself. With a final, agonizing surge of will, I lifted my hand and slapped the door frame. “Save… him…” It was a raspy, broken croak. Nate must have heard me. He started shouting at the others. “Get out of my way! I’m breaking the door down!” “You touch that door and it’s trespassing, kid! You’ll go to jail!” “GET THE HELL OUT OF THE WAY!” A woman’s scream pierced through the chaos. My mother. “What are you doing to my daughter? Why are you blocking her door?!” Tears finally stung my eyes. They were here. I tapped the door one last time and the world went black. Before I lost consciousness, I heard my mother’s heartbroken cry. “Claire! My baby girl!” And my father’s roar of command. “Get the paramedics up here now! Move!” I drifted through a long, feverish dream of the life I’d lived with Mark. We met in college. He was the golden boy, the one everyone wanted. I was the one who actually got him. When he accepted my confession, I thought I’d won the lottery. Five years of marriage, a beautiful son—I thought I was living the dream. Until the day I followed Toby’s watch to a cat cafe. Mark was inside, laughing with Jolene, while our son played outside alone. I had been ready to confront him, to demand a divorce. But then New Year’s Eve happened. In my first life, Mark had played the hero. He saved us, but Jolene died of smoke inhalation because he was “too late” for her. He spent the rest of his life punishing us for her death. In this life, he didn’t even try to save me. He blocked my rescue. He accused me of being a whore. Every sacrifice I made for five years—the career I paused, the nights I stayed up—meant nothing. He traded it all for Jolene’s whispers. My heart throbbed with a sharp, physical pain. I jolted awake. My parents were by my side, their faces etched with exhaustion and relief. “She’s awake,” my mom whispered, clutching my hand. I was alive. The moment I could sit up, I demanded to see Toby. He was still unconscious, but the doctors said we got to him just in time. The damage wasn’t permanent. A miracle. On my way back from the pediatric wing, I ran into Mark’s parents. They tried to push past my parents to see Toby. “Get out!” my father barked. “Your son disowned that boy the second he let him rot in a gas-filled room. You don’t get to play grandparents now!” My mother-in-law looked distraught. “He’s our grandson! Mark was just… he was confused!” My father-in-law tried a different tactic when he saw me. “Claire, stop this. Whatever Mark did, I’ll make it right. You’re stressed, taking care of the house alone… Mark is under a lot of pressure at the firm. You have to be the bigger person.” Just then, Mark appeared, supporting Jolene as they walked out of another room. He must have caught the tail end of the conversation. “She’s the ‘bigger person’? Please. This whole thing was her own damn fault.” His parents turned on Jolene, their faces souring. “Mark, what is this? This woman has brought nothing but trouble to our family!” Mark stood his ground, his chin tilted defiantly. “Jolene and I are just friends. We have nothing to hide. Unlike Claire, who probably had Nate over the second I left for work.” I almost laughed. The audacity. To stand there in a hospital hallway and claim “innocence” while his wife and son were nearly killed by his negligence. Jolene, ever the actress, let out a soft, dainty cough. “I never thought Claire would misunderstand us so much… she invited me over just to… to do that to me…” She started to cry. “It’s all my fault. Claire, I’m so sorry. I just got back to the States and I had no one else to turn to but Mark…” Mark cut her off, pulling her closer. “You did nothing wrong. It was Claire’s jealousy. Her sick, twisted mind did this to you.” It was a revelation. Mark, the cold, stoic businessman, was capable of such fierce protection—it just was never for me. He didn’t even care about his own flesh and blood anymore. The last flickering spark of affection I had for him died right then and there. “Mark,” I said, my voice steady and cold as ice. “I want a divorce.” Mark froze. For a second, he looked stunned. But the mask of rage returned quickly. “Is this another performance? You almost killed our son to get a reaction, and now you’re threatening me with divorce? Fine. You want out? Leave. But Toby stays with me. And you leave with nothing but the clothes on your back.” I stared at him, my eyes burning. “You will never take my son from me.” “I raised him while you were out ‘working’ or playing house with her. You think you can just claim him now? Not a chance.” Jolene’s eyes darted between us. “But Claire, Mark is his father. A boy needs his father, doesn’t he?” She was poking the bear. Mark’s jaw tightened. “The boy stays.” My mother-in-law chimed in, suddenly emboldened. “Claire, you’re clearly unstable. You can’t take our grandson. You’ve been a housewife for five years—how are you going to support him?” Jolene nodded sympathetically. “Exactly. You have no income, Claire. Toby would suffer with you.” I turned my gaze to Jolene. It was a look that would have withered a normal person. “I’ve handled his schooling, his therapy, his nutrition, and every single milestone for five years. Mark doesn’t even know the name of his pediatrician. You think I’m the one who can’t raise him?” “And as for money? Don’t you worry about his lifestyle. You won’t be part of it.” My father-in-law stepped in my way. “You aren’t taking that boy out of this city, Claire. I have friends in the DA’s office. I’ll make sure of it.” The masks were all off now. The “supportive” in-laws who praised me for being a devoted mother were now ready to crush me the moment I demanded my rights. “I know you have connections,” I said, leaning in. “But we live in a world of social media and public records now. Let’s see how your ‘connections’ handle the video of your son leaving his family to die in a gas leak.” They sputtered, losing ground. Mark stepped forward, looking like he was about to explode. “You want to play hardball, Claire? Fine. Don’t blame me when I take everything you’ve ever cared about.” I looked at him—really looked at him—and saw a stranger. “I’m coming for you, Mark. And you, Jolene. Neither of you is getting away with this.” Jolene flinched, hiding behind Mark’s sleeve. She deliberately stepped into my path as I tried to walk away. I reached out to brush her aside, barely touching the fabric of her coat. Jolene suddenly shrieked and threw herself backward, as if I’d shoved her with all my might. Mark caught her instantly. His eyes were red with fury. “You dare lay a hand on her? Right in front of me?!” He raised his hand, his palm flat and swinging toward my face.

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I woke up in the middle of a “Tragic Wife” novel—the kind where the heroine dies a slow, miserable death just so the hero can finally realize he loved her all along. Right now, I was at the part where the husband brings his pregnant “soulmate” into our home and demands I wait on her hand and foot. He’d just finished warning me not to try any “pathetic little tricks,” reminding me that his heart belonged only to her. Knowing how the plot was supposed to go, I nearly burst out laughing. Why? Because that baby isn’t even his. When I told him, he didn’t believe me. He thought I was just being a jealous, delusional bitch. He was so enraged by my “slander” that he locked me in the cellar, practically intending to starve the truth out of me. To survive, I had no choice but to seduce his best friend—the very doctor overseeing the mistress’s pregnancy. So, when the mistress tried to frame me for spiking her tea with abortifacients and my husband forced me to my knees to beg for forgiveness, his best friend stepped forward as my alibi. “Gavin, leave her alone,” he said, his voice cold and steady. “She couldn’t have done it. She was with me all night. She never even came home.” My husband’s face turned a shade of white I didn’t know was humanly possible. … Before I ended up here, I thought I had it made. I had a solid career, a fat savings account, and zero drama. After waking up in this body, all I could think was: I am screwed. I had been dropped into a “Dead Protagonist” story. The life of Riley Prescott, the woman I now inhabited, had been a relentless sequence of tragedies. Orphaned young, bullied in school, starving and cold—she was the poster child for misery. By some twist of fate, she had saved the male lead, Gavin West, when they were younger. But her bully, Melanie Hart, stole the credit. Riley, being the quintessential martyr, never said a word. She just watched as Gavin fell for her tormentor. When they eventually married—a business arrangement Gavin’s mother forced—Gavin treated it like a prison sentence. Now, he was forcing Riley to serve the woman who had made her childhood a living hell. In the original book, Riley works herself to the bone until she develops terminal cancer and dies. Only then does Gavin see Melanie’s true colors. Cue the “husband’s funeral regret” and the tear-jerking redemption arc. Readers were supposedly moved to tears, claiming Gavin “just didn’t know how to love” and was “blinded by the villainess.” To hell with that. Blinded? He was a sociopath. The second I realized where I was, I didn’t waste time trying to punch Gavin or run away. I went straight to the hospital for a full work-up. When the results came back clean, I let out the longest breath of my life. Thank God. No cancer. Not yet. But then, my phone buzzed. It was Gavin. “Riley, Melanie is at the house. Where the hell are you? Stop acting out.” I blinked, trying to ground myself. “Who? Who did you say is at the house?” “Melanie Hart,” he snapped. “Her pregnancy is high-risk, and I need you there to look after her. Don’t do anything stupid. Be the bigger person for once.” “When the baby is born, I’ll let it call you ‘mother.’ But that’s all I can give you. Melanie is the only woman I’ve ever loved.” So, here it was. The pivotal moment. The next step in the script was me becoming a literal servant until my body gave out. I wasn’t going to follow that script. “Gavin,” I said, my voice dripping with forced pity. “Don’t be a sucker. That kid isn’t yours.” In my head, I figured if he saw Melanie for who she was, we could reach a civil truce. I’d ask for a divorce, take a nice settlement, and be free. Gavin’s voice turned icy. “Is this your new game, Riley? Slander? Just wait until I get my hands on you.” … It didn’t take long. A group of his “security” team cornered me and dragged me back to the estate. He didn’t put me in a bedroom. He put me in the reinforced cellar, a literal gilded cage. Gavin looked down at me, his expression cold. “No food until I say so. Maybe a little hunger will clear your head.” I grabbed the bars, my heart hammering. “Gavin! I’m telling you the truth! Just run a DNA test. Check her phone!” Melanie’s baby belonged to some guy named Travis—a deadbeat she’d been seeing on the side. She only came to Gavin for the bank account and the social standing. Gavin just sneered. “You think I’d believe a word out of your mouth?” Damn it. I was too naive. By the end of the first day, the hunger was unbearable. I wasn’t the type who could skip a meal without getting a migraine, let alone a whole day. I decided to fake a collapse. It didn’t take long for someone to find me. The man who came to check on me was Sebastian Mercer—”Bash” to his friends. He was Gavin’s best friend, a top-tier OB-GYN, and coincidentally, Melanie’s doctor. I realized immediately that I couldn’t fool a doctor with a fake faint. As his hand reached for my wrist to check my pulse, I shifted it away. He tried again; I moved again. Finally, Bash sighed. “Riley. Stop it.” I opened one eye. Before I could speak, my stomach let out a thunderous growl. “I’m starving,” I whispered. Bash started to stand up, his face an unreadable mask of professional detachment. I reached out, grabbed his hand, and pulled it firmly against my chest. “I’m actually in a lot of pain,” I said, looking up at him through my lashes. He tried to pull his hand back, but I held on tight. Bash was one of the few characters in the book who wasn’t a total monster. He had a code. He had a conscience. Eventually, he caved. He brought me a tray of food from the kitchen, and I inhaled it like it was my last meal. When I finished, he stepped back. “You can go back to the room now.” I shook my head. I wasn’t going back into that cellar. But Gavin’s men were everywhere. I couldn’t run. I pressed a hand to my forehead. “I can’t. I’m dizzy. Blood sugar… I think I’m going down again.” Bash frowned, but before he could react, I “fainted” right into his arms. “Riley, get up,” he muttered, his breath hitching. I wrapped my arms around his waist, pressing my face against the solid muscle of his chest. “I’m not going back down there. Help me. Or I’ll tell Gavin you were feeling me up during the exam.” “To a doctor, there is no gender, only patients,” he said, though his voice lacked conviction. I leaned up and pressed a quick, soft kiss to his jaw. “How about now? Still just a patient?” … I was going to ruin Sebastian Mercer. I had to. In the original story, Bash was the one who eventually handled Riley’s funeral arrangements. He was the only one who showed her a shred of dignity in death. That meant he had a crack in his armor—a latent guilt regarding how Gavin treated me. In this world, I needed an ally. Bash’s ears turned a deep shade of crimson. “You’re my best friend’s wife. Have some self-respect.” But he didn’t pull his hand away from my waist. “Best friends shouldn’t keep secrets, right? Melanie’s pregnant. I’ll be out on the street the second that baby breathes. I won’t be ‘the wife’ for long.” Just then, the housekeeper’s voice drifted from the hallway. “Dr. Mercer? Ms. Hart says she wants the mistress to prepare her dinner.” I looked up at him, my eyes welling with practiced tears. “See? This is my life. The legal wife, serving the pregnant mistress. It’s pathetic.” Bash looked toward the door, then back at me. “You can order takeout. I’ll handle the staff.” He handed me his phone. When the food arrived, I didn’t just plate it. I went into the kitchen and added a few “special” ingredients—bitter herbs, extra salt, and some stuff I’d found in the back of the pantry that definitely wasn’t meant for human consumption. I stirred it until it was a homogenous, disgusting mess. I carried it up to Melanie’s room, playing the role of the defeated wife. Melanie was lounging in bed, her eyes gleaming with triumph. “Oh, Riley. You’re so pretty. It’s a shame, really. Even with that face, you couldn’t keep Colton interested. He loves me.” “Thank you,” I said sweetly. “I agree. I am very pretty.” Melanie’s smile faltered. She picked up a crystal vase from the nightstand and hurled it at me. I ducked with a grace I didn’t know I possessed. She threw something else. I dodged again. “You should eat,” I said, grinning. “Before it gets cold. You wouldn’t want the baby to go hungry.” Melanie touched her stomach protectively. “Give it here. And if my son doesn’t like it, I’ll have Gavin skin you alive.” I bit my lip to keep from laughing as I handed her the tray. I watched her take a big, greedy bite. It wasn’t poisonous—I wasn’t a murderer—it was just… filthy. The original Riley was too good for this world. She actually served this woman. Me? I was going to enjoy every second of the payback. When she finished, she held out the plate. As I reached for it, she let go. The porcelain shattered against the hardwood. Then, she scrambled out of bed and threw herself into Gavin’s arms as he walked through the door. “Gavin! I don’t know what I did to upset her! I just wanted to bond over dinner, and she… she smashed the dishes and threatened me!” Gavin wrapped an arm around her, his eyes burning with disgust as he looked at me. “Riley, is your life really so empty that all you can do is play these petty, jealous games?” I almost laughed. This guy was the hero? This was what readers “forgave”? “Gavin, you’re pathetic,” I said, my voice clear and sharp. “Bringing a mistress into our home? I’ve never seen a man with so little dignity.” He deserved the horns he was wearing. Gavin’s face twisted. He wasn’t used to me talking back. Before he could erupt and throw me back in the cellar, I did the only logical thing. I fainted. Again. Practice makes perfect. I even managed to fall in a way that looked elegant. Gavin froze, his instinct to reach for me warring with his loyalty to Melanie. Melanie saw it and immediately moaned, “Gavin, the baby… he kicked. Hard. I feel sick.” His attention snapped back to her. “I’ll get Bash to check on you.” I stayed still until they left. When I opened my eyes, I was staring directly into Sebastian’s gaze. He was standing there in his white lab coat, looking down at me. “I heard you collapsed. Again.” I sighed. Gavin was a lost cause, but Bash… Bash actually looked concerned. I reached out a hand to him. “Help me up. My blood sugar is crashing.” The moment he pulled me up, I tucked myself against him, letting my hands wander over the firm lines of his chest and abdomen. “You smell amazing, Doctor,” I whispered, inhaling the scent of expensive cologne and sterile soap. Bash stiffened, but he didn’t push me away. “Riley, stop. I’m not Gavin.” “I know,” I murmured, leaning in closer. “You’re much better. You’re the one taking care of me.” I squeezed his arm, letting my fingers linger. Suddenly, Gavin’s voice boomed from the doorway. “What the hell is going on in here?” Bash didn’t flinch. “I’m helping her up, Gavin. She’s hypoglycemic. She needs medical attention, not a jail cell.” Gavin bought it instantly. In his mind, Riley was too obsessed with him to ever cheat, and Bash was too “noble” to ever touch another man’s wife. I stayed slumped against Bash, sounding as pathetic as possible. “It’s my fault, Gavin. If only you’d let me eat, I wouldn’t be such a burden. Now I’m too weak to even look after Melanie.” Gavin’s expression soured. He hated being reminded of his own cruelty when it wasn’t framed as “discipline.” “Stand up, Riley,” he barked. He ignored my words, but his eyes kept darting to where Bash’s hand was resting on my waist. It was bothering him. Good. I tried to stand, but I let my knees buckle, “falling” backward. Bash caught me by reflex. One hand on my shoulder, the other sliding right under my thigh to steady me. “Oh… sorry,” I whispered. “I’m just so weak.” Gavin’s pulse was visible in his neck. He was losing his mind. He shoved Bash aside and grabbed my wrist, hauling me out of the room. “Riley! We’re leaving!” As he dragged me away, I looked back at Bash and mouthed three words: Tonight. My room. I knew Bash was hooked. Men like him—the “good” ones—can’t resist the thrill of something forbidden. He hadn’t pushed me away once. That primal reflex when he caught me? That wasn’t a doctor’s move. That was a man’s. Gavin threw me onto the sofa in the living room. “Riley, faking illness won’t get you my sympathy. You are going to take care of Melanie, and you’re going to do it with a smile.” I stared at him, genuinely puzzled. “We have a dozen maids, Gavin. Why me?” “Because you owe me,” he whispered, leaning down. “You’re the one who insisted on this marriage. You’re the reason Melanie and I were separated. You brought this on yourself.” What a load of horse-shit. The original Riley only married him because Gavin had been drugged at a party, wandered into the wrong room, and forced himself on her while she was working as a waitress. Gavin’s mother found out and forced the marriage to avoid a scandal. She threatened to cut off the funding for the orphanage Riley grew up in if she didn’t comply. Gavin knew this, but in his twisted head, he was the victim. Before I could tear into him, Melanie’s voice drifted down the stairs. “Gavin! The baby moved! Come see!” He dropped my arm and ran to her without a second thought. Bash stepped out of the bedroom, and I turned to him, my eyes red and shimmering. “Dr. Mercer… my heart hurts. Can you check it for me?” I was laying it on thick. Bash turned to leave, but I reached out and hooked my pinky around his. He could have broken the hold easily, but he stood there, frozen. “Sweetheart, it hurts,” I whispered. “I need you.” Bash’s face went pale. He looked around to make sure the coast was clear. “Riley, if you don’t love Gavin, divorce him. But don’t play with me.” I interlaced our fingers and kissed the back of his hand. “Take me for an exam. Somewhere private.” … Thanks to Bash, I actually got out of the house. I don’t know what medical jargon he used, but he convinced Gavin that I needed “specialized monitoring.” He took me to his private apartment. I spent the first hour poking around like a curious cat, eventually “discovering” that beneath his serious scrubs, he wore boxers with SpongeBob on them. He kept saying “no,” but his body was saying “yes.” By the time the sun started to go down, his interest in my “anatomy” had become very, very thorough. He explored, and I enjoyed. I’d picked a winner. The next morning, I was woken up by the shrill ringing of my phone. It was Gavin. “Riley! I thought you were finally behaving, but you’re still a monster!” Bash stirred next to me, his face groggy as he pulled my naked body against his chest. I snuggled into him, leaving a mark on his collarbone. Gavin’s voice was screaming through the speaker. “You dared to give Melanie abortifacients? I told you, I’d let you be the mother! Is your heart really that small?” Bash couldn’t help himself. He leaned over and spoke into the phone. “Gavin, she’s been with me all night. She hasn’t been anywhere near your house. She didn’t do it.” The silence on the other end was deafening. Bash hung up.

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At my mother’s funeral, my husband and my best friend vanished at the same time. I reached out to touch the mahogany casket, wanting one last look at my mother’s face before they closed it for good. The moment my fingertips brushed the polished wood, a sharp, needle-like jolt of static electricity shot through my arm, straight to my brain. Suddenly, I wasn’t just standing in a silent funeral parlor. I was hearing the frantic, muffled screams of my husband’s conscience. [Madeline! Why the hell is she back already?] [She can’t open this. If she opens this casket, Tess and I are dead. We’ll never show our faces in this town again!] My heart skipped a beat. A wave of nausea, cold and sharp, washed over me. It was absurd. It was grotesque. My husband was having an affair with my best friend. And they had chosen my mother’s casket as their cheap motel room? Fine. Since you picked this spot for your little tryst… Stay in there. Stay locked in and go down with her. 01 Fury erupted in my chest, hot and blinding. I lunged forward, my palms flat against the heavy lid, ready to shove it aside and drag those two animals out into the light. But the lid was dead weight. It didn’t budge an inch. I turned to the funeral director standing nearby. “Sir, I need a hand. I want to open the casket one last time. Just a moment more.” Before the man could move, a figure blurred in front of me, springing up like a coiled wire to block my path. It was Parker, Harrison’s personal assistant—a man who had been his shadow for eight years. Parker practically draped himself over the casket, his face a mask of frantic, sweating desperation. “Madeline! Maddie, please! What are you doing?” he stammered, his voice climbing an octave. “The service is timed perfectly. You already said your goodbyes. Opening it now… it’s bad luck, isn’t it? You’ll disturb your mother’s peace. Let her rest, Maddie. Please.” He shot a panicked look at the funeral staff, waving them off. [Good man, Parker! God, you’re a genius. This is why I pay you the big bucks. Just hold her off! Keep her away!] Hearing Harrison’s thoughts shift from sheer terror to smug relief made my blood run cold. The fire in my veins died out, replaced by a crystalline, predatory focus. So, he had a loyal dog guarding the door. Fine. I turned away from the casket and walked toward the grand, double oak doors of the chapel. Outside, dozens of relatives and business associates were mingling, their voices a low hum of performative grief. I raised my voice just enough to command the room. “Everyone. May I have your attention?” The room fell silent. Eyes turned to me—some pitying, some curious. “While going through my mother’s things this morning, I found a note she left behind. She always loved a full house. She said her biggest fear was being alone at the end. She wanted everyone who cared for her to come up, one by one, and say a final word to her. She wanted to feel the warmth of her friends before the lid is sealed.” A murmur of sympathy rippled through the crowd. People began to nod, touched by the sentiment. They started moving toward the chapel doors. Inside the casket, Harrison’s thoughts turned into a jagged, high-pitched scream. [You bitch… Madeline, you’re insane! Not now! Not with everyone here!] [Does she know? Does she know I’m in here? She wants the whole world to see me crawl out of her mother’s coffin buck-naked?!] I ignored the psychic noise. I stepped aside, playing the role of the grieving daughter perfectly, my face a portrait of somber grace. As the crowd filtered in, filling the once-quiet chapel, my mother-in-law, Lydia, rushed to my side. Her eyes were rimmed with red. “Maddie, dear,” she whispered, clutching my hand. “Where is Harrison? The final service is starting. He should be at your side.” I lowered my gaze, letting a hitch catch in my throat. “Oh, Lydia… he saw how much I was struggling. He went to the car to get my medication and some water. He told me he’d be right back. He’s just… taking a moment to compose himself.” Lydia nodded, her gaze drifting toward the dark casket. Her grief deepened. “We were friends for forty years, your mother and I. I should go first. I need to tell her one last thing.” She began to walk toward the casket. Just as her hand reached for the edge of the lid… [MOM!!! Stop! Don’t do it! I’m running out of air! Get away from here! DON’T OPEN IT!] 02 “Wait, Lydia. Go to the car and find my cufflinks first.” Arthur Miller’s voice—deep, authoritative, and cold—echoed through the chapel. My father-in-law stepped out from the crowd, his presence demanding order. Lydia’s hand dropped. She sighed and turned away, heading toward the exit. Arthur’s brow was furrowed, his eyes scanning the empty seat where the primary mourner should have been. Finally, his gaze landed on me. “Where is my son? Where is Harrison?” The guests began to whisper. It was a breach of etiquette that even a funeral couldn’t mask. “Where’s the son-in-law?” “A Miller missing his own mother-in-law’s service? It’s disgraceful.” I stepped forward, my expression a fragile blend of sorrow and concern. “Arthur… uncles, aunts, friends,” I said softly, my voice carrying to the back of the room. “Harrison has been a rock these last few days. He hasn’t slept a wink, and I think the grief finally caught up to him. He collapsed in the lounge just a few minutes ago.” I looked at them with wide, pleading eyes. “The paramedics are with him now. He’s stable, but he won’t be able to join us for the final seal.” [Dad! Dad, don’t listen to her! She’s lying! She’s trying to kill me!] Inside the casket, Harrison was like a trapped animal, his thoughts a frantic, muffled roar of desperation. Arthur’s face darkened. “Nonsense! He is the son-in-law. He is the future CEO of Miller-Sinclair. He stays until the end, no matter what. Letting his wife stand up there alone? Think of the optics. Think of the family name!” Several of the elder board members nodded in agreement, the air in the room turning brittle. I leaned in, whispering into Arthur’s ear, my voice a sharp blade: “Arthur… do you really want to go looking for your son right now? I think you know exactly where he is. And more importantly… who he’s with.” [Dad! Stop her! She’s going to open it! Don’t let her!] Harrison’s mental voice had dissolved into a terrified shriek. Arthur went pale. He looked at me, then at the casket, then back at me. I didn’t give him a second to think. I turned back to the guests, my spine straight, my voice ringing with a conviction that brooked no argument. “Everyone, my mother visited me in a dream last night.” The mention of a “dream” made the older, more traditional guests go still. “She told me that her life was a series of battles—highs, lows, and more than a few enemies made in the boardroom. She feared that she was carrying the weight of those old grudges with her. She was afraid that if we didn’t seal her away properly, the ‘shadows’ of her past would haunt our families. She feared for the Miller legacy and the Sinclair future.” I took a deep breath, looking directly at the most superstitious investors in the room. “Her final wish was for us to complete the Sealing Ceremony immediately. She wanted the ceremonial locks fastened now, to keep her peace and our prosperity intact. She wanted to leave this world clean, so she could protect us from the other side.” As the crowd hummed with the weight of “legacy” and “fortune,” I pressed on. “As many of you know, our foundation has always prioritized the future of the next generation. In honor of that responsibility, and on behalf of my husband who—as I mentioned—is currently under medical care, I will perform the Final Sealing myself.” My voice rose, echoing off the marble walls. “To ensure my mother’s peace and our family’s security, I ask for your understanding. We must lock this chapter for good.” [She’s insane! She’s using the company’s reputation to bury me! Dad! Mom! Help me!] The voice from within the casket was fading, becoming a pathetic, breathless whimper. The chapel was silent. Not a single person dared to object. Not when I had framed it as a matter of “family fortune.” I turned to the funeral director, my face like stone. “Seal the casket.” “And please… bring the guests forward for the final procession.” 03 “Seal it,” I repeated. Inside, Harrison’s thoughts were a distorted mess of agony: [Don’t! If you seal this, I’m finished! Dad, do something!] The funeral staff stepped forward, their gloved hands reaching for the lid. “Wait! Wait! Maddie!” Parker, the assistant, threw himself in front of the casket again, his arms spread wide like a human shield. He was hyperventilating, tears streaming down his face. “Everyone! Listen to me! Margaret… she didn’t look right when she passed. Maddie was adamant about a high-spec restoration, and the chemicals… the makeup… it’s incredibly delicate!” He was babbling now, his voice cracking. “Opening it, or even disturbing it too much… the air, the light… it will ruin the image. Let’s just let her go in peace. She knows we’re here! She can feel us!” [Yes! Yes, Parker! Keep it going! Delay them!] Harrison’s mental voice erupted in a burst of frantic joy. [If I get out of this, I’ll give you a VP slot! Stocks! Anything! Just get me out!] VP? Stocks? I looked at Parker’s sweating, desperate face. I had given them chances. Multiple chances. Every time, they chose the shadows. They chose the lie. They chose to hide like rats in a tomb. If you won’t choose dignity, then stay where you are. My mother always did call Tess her “second daughter.” I suppose it’s only fitting she takes her favorite people with her to the afterlife. Finally, I nodded slowly, as if Parker had convinced me. “You’re right, Parker. You’re absolutely right.” “We won’t open it. We’ll perform the Sealing as it stands. Everyone, please… say your final words through the wood. She can hear you.” [Phew…] A long, psychic sigh of relief echoed from the casket. Parker nearly collapsed, a look of pure, sickly triumph flickering across his face. The guests, though confused, accepted the “preservation” excuse. They began to file past, whispering their goodbyes to the polished mahogany. As the line ended, the officiant stepped up to the microphone. “The family would like to thank you. We will now proceed with the Ceremonial Locks.” But just as the words left his mouth, a young staff member carrying the tray of heavy brass locks stumbled. He went down hard, the tray flying from his hands. The locks and the ceremonial silk ribbons scattered across the floor, sliding under pews and rolling toward the altar. “Oh no!” Parker cried out, lunging forward—not to help the boy, but to “accidentally” kick a bundle of the ribbons even further away. He looked up at me, his voice shrill. “The locks are dropped! The ribbons are soiled! This is a terrible omen! It’s a sign!” He dropped to his knees, crawling toward me. “Maddie! Your mother is speaking to us! she doesn’t want to be sealed yet! She’s waiting for something! Please, we have to wait! At least until Harrison or Tess gets here!” He looked up, his face a mask of fake piety. “Tess was so distraught at the wake, she fainted! Her devotion to your mother was legendary. Surely, Margaret wants to see her one last time!” I looked down at him. The “loyalty” in his eyes was nothing more than a thin veil for his own cowardice. “Parker.” My voice was soft, but it cut through the room like a cold wind. “Harrison really did pick the right man for the job, didn’t he?” He flinched, his whole body trembling. “Since this service began, you have done nothing but disrupt the peace of my mother’s passing.” I turned to the two security guards at the back of the room. “Take him out.” “Take him to the private lounge next door. Lock the door. No visitors, no phones, no messages. He stays there until the burial is over.” Parker’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head. “Maddie! No! I’m doing this for you! For the family!” The guards didn’t hesitate. They hauled him up, one of them clamping a hand over his mouth as he began to scream. They dragged him out of the chapel, his muffled protests fading into the hallway. Silence returned to the room—thick, heavy, and suffocating. I slowly leaned over and picked up the largest brass lock from the floor. The metal was ice-cold against my skin. I gripped it tight and walked over to Arthur Miller. I held the lock out to him. “Arthur.” “As the patriarch of the Miller family, and as my mother’s oldest partner… I ask you to place the first lock.” “Seal her in. For her peace… and for ours.” Scritch. A sound like a fingernail dragging against wood echoed from deep within the casket. 04 That tiny, scratching sound vibrated through Arthur’s nervous system. He stared at the brass lock in my hand, then his eyes darted to the casket like he’d been burned. His lips trembled, his throat worked, but no words came out. The veins in his forehead looked like they were about to burst. “Arthur!” Mr. Sterling, a long-time family friend, broke the silence. His voice was hard. “What is your son’s deal? He ditches his mother-in-law’s funeral, and now you won’t even step up for the ceremony? Is this how the Millers do business now?” “It’s disrespectful,” another board member added, standing up. “If this gets out, what does it say about the family’s character? Where is the dignity?” One of the major shareholders sneered. “Arthur, if your son can’t handle a funeral, the board is going to have to seriously re-evaluate his position as successor.” Every word was a scalpel, cutting Arthur deep. I could see the gears turning—he was weighing his son’s life against the Miller empire, the stock price, and his own pride. [Dad! Don’t lock it! I’m in here! I’m alive! Listen to me!] Inside, Harrison’s mental voice had descended into pure madness. Between my hints, Parker’s freak-out, and that scratching sound… I knew Arthur finally understood. I saw the moment his eyes changed. The panic faded, replaced by a cold, murderous resolve. He took a breath, and his voice came out through clenched teeth. “…It seems I haven’t raised my son well. Harrison’s ‘collapse’ is no excuse for this absence.” He turned to the casket and bowed deeply, his back stiff with a tragic kind of finality. “Margaret, I apologize for that boy’s failures. I will make this right.” He snatched the lock from my hand, held it high above his head, and roared: “For the peace of our families—I will seal this myself!” [DAD! NO!!! I’M YOUR SON!!] The silent scream was cut short. Clack. The first heavy bolt slid into place. [It’s okay… Margaret’s antique letter opener is in here… the one with the horn handle… it’s sharp…] [I can dig a hole… a vent… I can breathe… I can make it…] [Parker will get Mom… Mom will find a way.] The letter opener? Yes. I had put it there myself—a “keepsake” for my mother. I watched silently as Arthur’s muscles bunched. He took the ceremonial sealing tape. Rip. He ran the tape along the seam of the lid, pressing it down with a violence that looked like he was punishing himself. Finally, he picked up the Master Lock—the heavy, industrial-grade seal that signaled the end. His hand shook, just for a fraction of a second. He slammed it home. The chapel held its breath. The shadows on the wall looked like ghosts. [No… Dad… Mom… I’m scared of the dark…] Harrison’s final thought was a pathetic, whimpering sob. “IT IS FINISHED!” the officiant’s voice boomed, shattering the silence. The pallbearers stepped forward, their black suits sharp. They used heavy silk straps to reinforce the casket, wrapping it tight. Eight men took their positions. “Proceed to the cemetery.” The funeral march began. The casket was lifted, steady and heavy. I walked behind it in my black silk dress, my hand resting lightly on the side of the wood. A long line of black limousines followed us out of the chapel, heading toward the hills. Outside the window, the city blurred by. To anyone watching, I was the picture of the grieving, dutiful daughter. But only I knew the truth. My palm was pressed firmly against the side of the casket. Right over the tiny, hair-thin crack Harrison had managed to gouge into the wood from the inside with that letter opener. A faint, nearly imperceptible wisp of air was leaking out. It blew against my palm. It was ice cold.

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I was auditing our credit card statements when I found it: a recurring monthly withdrawal of $3,450. The memo simply read “Mortgage Payment.” The thing is, we’d paid off our house three years ago. I stared at the screen for a long time, the blue light stinging my eyes. The withdrawal was coming from Madeline’s salary account, but the recipient was a loan contract number I didn’t recognize. I didn’t ask her about it. Instead, I copied the contract number into a locked note on my phone. 1. Madeline came home late that night. It was 11:30 PM when she pushed through the door, a gust of November chill clinging to her coat. “Work was a nightmare,” she muttered, barely looking at me before heading straight for the bathroom. I sat on the sofa, my gaze fixed on her coat draped over the armchair. The left pocket was bulging. I didn’t move. I waited until I heard the shower start, the steady hiss of water masking my footsteps. Inside the pocket was a crumpled property management bill. The Lantern, Building 18, Unit 603. Quarterly HOA Fees: $1,260. I flipped the paper over. Under the owner’s name, it read: Madeline Vance. I stood there in the living room for three minutes, just staring at that name. The Lantern. I knew the place—a luxury high-rise downtown that had finished construction last year. Units there started at seven figures. I snapped a photo of the bill and tucked it back into her pocket exactly as I’d found it. The next morning, after she left for “an early meeting,” I opened my laptop. I’m a forensic accountant by trade; digging through digital footprints is what I do. I logged into the county property records using her social security number. There it was. The Lantern, Unit 603. 1,200 square feet. Purchased March 2022. Three years ago. The down payment had been $150,000. The mortgage was $1.1 million. The monthly payment? $3,450. I felt a phantom chill settle in my marrow. $150,000. In March 2022, Madeline had been two months pregnant. That was the same month our joint savings account had dipped by exactly $155,000. She told me she’d invested it in a friend’s tech startup. I had believed her. I had kissed her forehead and told her I trusted her instincts. I scrolled down to the title registration, and my heart skipped a beat. Owner of Record: Nathan Brooks. My name. I stared at those ten letters. Not Madeline. Not “The Brooks Family Trust.” Just me. Then the memory hit me like a physical blow. Back in 2022, the city had passed a luxury tax and zoning restriction—residents who already owned two properties faced massive surcharges on a third. Madeline already had our primary residence and the cottage she’d inherited from her parents. She couldn’t buy a third. So, she had used me. She’d used my identity, forged my signature on the digital loan documents, and bought a secret life in my name. She probably thought that since she was the one making the payments, the title didn’t matter. I looked at the screen and started to laugh. It was a dry, hollow sound that echoed through our empty house. I screenshotted everything and moved it into an encrypted folder. I didn’t know who she’d bought that condo for yet. But I knew that while she was carrying our child, she was stealing our future to build a nest for someone else—using my own name as the foundation. I’d keep that receipt. I just needed to see who was currently living in Unit 603. 2. I didn’t go there right away. I waited a week. In that week, I did my homework. I pulled Madeline’s personal bank statements. We’d been married for ten years; I knew every password she had. The trail was fascinating. Aside from the $3,450 mortgage, there was a steady, monthly transfer of $1,500 to an account held by someone named Silas Thorne. When I saw the name, the air left my lungs. Silas Thorne. Three years ago, he was the intern in my department. I was the one who interviewed him. I was the one who mentored him through his first big project. I was the one who wrote the glowing recommendation that got him hired full-time. On the day he got his permanent offer, he’d bought me a coffee and called me his “hero.” “Nathan,” he’d said, “meeting you is the luckiest thing that’s ever happened to me.” I’d clapped him on the shoulder and told him he’d earned it. I closed my eyes, doing the math. $1,500 a month for three years. That’s $54,000. Add the $150,000 down payment and the $124,200 in mortgage payments… I grabbed a calculator. Total: $328,200. Nearly a third of a million dollars of our marital assets, poured into the pocket of the kid I had hand-reared at work. On Saturday morning, Madeline said she had to go into the office to “catch up on some filings.” I waited thirty minutes, then drove to The Lantern. It was a sleek, glass-and-steel needle of a building. I sat in my car for twenty minutes. Then I saw it. A black Audi pulled into the underground garage. Madeline’s car. Five minutes later, a young man walked out of the lobby to meet her by the elevator bank. He had that messy-cool hair, an expensive linen shirt, and a smile that looked like sunshine. Silas. He looped his arm through Madeline’s, and they walked into the building together. It was intimate. Practiced. It wasn’t the first time, or even the tenth. It was the rhythm of a couple that had been living together for years. I sat in my car, watching their silhouettes disappear behind the frosted glass doors. I didn’t cry. My grip on the steering wheel was so tight my knuckles turned a ghostly white. I drove home, stopping at a 24-hour printing shop. I printed out a fresh copy of the property deed. Owner: Nathan Brooks. I folded the paper neatly and tucked it into my laptop bag. When Madeline came home at 7:00 PM, she looked exhausted. “I’m wiped,” she said, dropping her keys. “I’m sure,” I said, setting a bowl of homemade soup in front of her. “Drink this. You need your strength.” She smiled, oblivious, and took a sip. I watched her face—the face that had been pressed against another man’s all afternoon. “This is delicious,” she said. “Good,” I replied. I could wait. I wasn’t in a hurry. 3. For the next month, I played the part of the doting husband. I went to work, I cooked dinner, I played with our daughter. I was the perfect picture of domestic stability. But at night, while Madeline slept, I went to work. I spent two nights scrolling through her cloud backups. Her phone was set to auto-sync, and the password was our anniversary. She’d clearly forgotten she’d ever set it up. The message history was a map of betrayal. It started in January 2022. The first suggestive text was dated March 8, 2022. International Women’s Day. That evening, Madeline was at the clinic for an ultrasound. She’d texted Silas: Are you alone? I’m coming over. I remembered that day. The ultrasound results had shown the baby’s position was a bit precarious. The doctor told her to rest. I’d called her, and she’d told me she was at a “late dinner with a client.” “Don’t worry, honey,” I’d told her. “Just get home safe.” She hadn’t come home until 11:00 PM, claiming her client had too many martinis and she had to call him an Uber. Now I knew exactly who she’d been taking care of. I kept scrolling. March 17, 2022—the day I signed Silas’s permanent contract recommendation. That night’s chat: Silas: I’m officially in! Nathan signed the papers today! Madeline: We need to celebrate properly. Silas: Where? Madeline: Your place. I’ll bring the champagne. Silas sent a suggestive emoji. There were no messages after that. They didn’t need messages for what happened next. I put the phone down, my hands shaking. While I was helping this kid build his career, he was in bed with my wife “celebrating.” I went further. May 2022. Madeline’s text: The mortgage is approved. We get the keys next month. How do you want to decorate? Silas: Seriously?! I want that Scandinavian look. Light wood, warm tones, cozy everywhere. Madeline: Whatever you want, baby. Silas: Our home. Madeline: Our home. “Our home.” Madeline was five months pregnant then. I was spending my weekends painting the nursery, making sure every corner was safe for our baby. And she was on her phone, building a “home” with a twenty-four-year-old. I saved every screenshot. From 2022 to 2024. 487 images. Each one was a razor blade. But I didn’t use them yet. I had a much better plan. 4. Four details in the chat logs caught my eye. First: August 2022. Madeline was eight months pregnant. Madeline: I’m coming over for a couple of hours. The doctor says I shouldn’t overexert myself, so I have to be back early. Silas: Okay, hurry up then. I checked my calendar. In August 2022, she had visited him at least three times a week. Even when she was struggling to walk, she made sure she saw him. Second: January 2023. One month after our daughter was born. The baby was colicky. I remember those nights vividly—waking up four times a night to fix bottles, rocking her until my back screamed, then going to work on three hours of sleep. Madeline had moved to the guest room, saying she “didn’t want to disturb my sleep since I had to work.” In the logs, at 3:00 AM while I was warming a bottle in the kitchen, she was on a video call with Silas. Duration: 47 minutes. She hung up right as I finished burping the baby. Third: June 2023. Silas: Are you sure about the money for the down payment? Madeline: It’s from our savings, don’t worry about it. Silas: But… isn’t that his money too? Madeline: I earned that money. I’ll spend it how I want. Silas: But what if he finds out? Madeline: He won’t. And once I file for divorce, everything in that condo will be ours. She had been planning to leave me for three years. While she was pregnant. While she was “recovering.” While I was doing the 3:00 AM feedings. She was already mentally moved into Unit 603. Fourth: September 2024. Just two months ago. Silas: The contractor says the HOA is flagging the renovation. They’re saying it’s not to code and we have to tear it out. Madeline: What? Silas: They said the owner hasn’t signed off on the permits. Madeline: I’ll handle the HOA. I’ll just forge the signature again. Silas: I already spent $15,000 on those floors, Madeline. I’m not losing that money. Madeline: I’ll give you more. Just find a better contractor. Silas: No, I want to use my own savings for this part. I want to feel like I’m contributing to our home. Madeline: You’re so sweet. I read that last part twice. He wanted to use his savings to renovate “their home.” The home that, legally, belonged to me. I smiled. By all means, Silas. Renovate away. 5. I called my oldest friend, Bennett. He’s a high-stakes divorce attorney who eats people like Madeline for breakfast. I laid it all out for him. The bank statements, the deed, the 487 screenshots. He spent half an hour reviewing the file before looking up at me. “Nathan,” he said, “this is a bloodbath.” “Is it enough?” “It’s more than enough,” Bennett said. “The down payment was marital property. The mortgage was paid with marital property. But the deed? The deed is solely in your name. Legally, that condo is 100% yours.” “I know.” “If she tries to fight for it, she has to prove she used her separate funds, which she can’t because it’s all coming from your joint existence. You hold all the cards.” “Good.” “So, when do we file?” “Not yet,” I said. “I want him to finish the renovations first.” Bennett blinked. “Excuse me?” “He told her he wants to use his own life savings to fix up ‘their home.’ I think I should let him. It’s only polite.” Bennett leaned back in his chair, a slow, predatory grin spreading across his face. “Nathan Brooks. You are a much colder man than I thought.” “I’m not cold, Bennett,” I said. “I’m just an accountant. I’m making sure the books are balanced.” That afternoon, I visited the property management office at The Lantern. I met with the manager, a guy named Miller. I showed him the original deed and my ID. “I’m the owner of 603,” I said. Miller checked his system. “Mr. Brooks. Nice to finally meet you. We’ve had some… issues with your unit.” “I know. The renovation?” “Yes, a young man has been spearheading it. He claimed to be family.” “He isn’t,” I said. “He’s a tenant. And apparently, he’s been doing work without my authorization.” Miller looked nervous. “Oh, God. We’ve already issued several stop-work orders.” “Here’s what we’re going to do,” I said, sliding my business card across the desk. “From now on, any issue regarding 603 goes through me. Not her. Not him. If a single nail gets driven into a wall, I want to know. But for now… let them keep working. Just keep a very close eye on the ‘safety violations’.” “I understand, Mr. Brooks.” I walked out into the sunlight. Building 18 loomed above me. Through the sixth-floor windows, I could see the faint flicker of a construction light. Work hard, Silas, I thought. Make it beautiful. 6. Silas’s first renovation attempt, according to the chat logs, cost him about $20,000. He went for the “Scandi-chic” look—expensive oak floors, custom grey cabinetry, and imported Italian tile. He was obsessed. He spent a week picking out light fixtures. I watched the progress through the photos he sent Madeline. Every picture was captioned with a string of heart emojis. Madeline: It looks stunning, baby. Silas: It’s our sanctuary! On the day the floors were finished, he posted a photo of himself standing in the middle of the empty living room, arms wide, grinning like he’d won the lottery. Caption: Finally, home. That caption felt like a needle in my heart. Then, I made a phone call. “Mr. Miller? It’s Nathan Brooks. I was looking over the HOA bylaws. Does Unit 603 have a valid permit for those new floors? Because I never signed one.” Three days later, Silas messaged Madeline in a panic. Silas: The HOA showed up! They’re saying the renovation is unauthorized! They’re demanding an owner’s signature or they’re going to fine us $500 a day!

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I stumbled upon a post online. [I’ve been chatting with my crush online for three months, only to find out I’ve actually been talking to his girlfriend the whole time.] I complained about it to my best friend, but her eyes nervously darted away. That very night, I caught her making out with Ezra. She told him: “Don’t tell her we’re dating. I don’t want to break her heart.” A group of wealthy heirs laughed and made a bet that I would willingly become his side piece. I pretended not to know anything. Dropping my usual conservative style, I publicly announced that I would confess to my crush in exactly one month. The game of hearts had officially begun. 1. “Babe, when are you going to confess to Ezra?” Chloe asked, resting her chin on her hand. Her bright red nails looked like snake tongues. I looked at the sexy black lingerie in her other hand, raised an eyebrow, and replied, “In a month. We’ll talk about it after you get back from your trip abroad.” Chloe grinned at me, hooking a finger under the lingerie strap. “You complimented this set last time, so I bought it. I’m going to try it on today. You better not run off with a man behind my back! I have to be there when you confess!” I nodded in agreement, my smile as gentle and mild as ever. Chloe didn’t suspect a thing. In her eyes, I was never a threat. After all, I always listened to her. Back then, she had said, “Babe, you’re so pretty. You don’t even need makeup. You have that natural, ‘girl-next-door’ beauty. Ezra is definitely into your type!” So, I followed her advice. I straightened my gorgeous, wavy hair, wore thick, nerdy glasses, and dressed in baggy clothes that hid my figure. Like an ugly duckling, I played the perfect foil to her for three whole months. During those three months, I played the role of the clueless, plain friend perfectly, making her look like a blooming, exquisite rose by comparison. Chloe looked at my drab outfit, her eyes lingering on the faint, artificially darkened spots on my face. Her smile deepened as she pinched my earlobe. “There’s a party tomorrow night, and Ezra will be there. There’ll be a lot of people, and I know you’re timid. If anything happens, just tell me.” I obediently replied, “Okay.” With a crisp click of the door, the scent of rose perfume and the click-clack of her heels faded away. Chloe was a fantastic actress. If I hadn’t accidentally caught her straddling Ezra’s lap, begging for a kiss, I probably would have genuinely believed she had my best interests at heart. I opened the video saved on my phone. The deafening club music assaulted my eardrums. Ezra hooked a finger under her slip dress strap. The look in his eyes was pure lust—a stark contrast to the aloof, untouchable persona he maintained at school. The burgundy dress hitched up, revealing a large expanse of pale skin. The crowd went wild, cheering and screaming. “Kiss! Kiss!” “If the little blockhead saw this, she’d be heartbroken.” Laughter erupted from the crowd. “Why even bring her up? She’s so boring. She’s impossible to invite out, always acting so high and mighty. She’s nothing compared to Chloe.” The “little blockhead” they were talking about was me. I opened my phone and scrolled through my recent chat history with Ezra. Five minutes ago, he had taken a moment to send a cute cat sticker that said “Goodnight.” I scrolled through our three months of messages, comparing their use of stickers and speech patterns, confirming one thing. All these flirtatious messages were sent by Chloe. Because Chloe liked breaking long sentences into multiple texts and always used stickers. When Ezra texted people, he preferred sending complete sentences with proper punctuation. Every single one of them knew the truth. They were all just hiding it from me. 2. I expressionlessly closed the video, sat at my desk, and started making a meticulous plan. I had spent the last few weeks intentionally making myself look ugly, using my “shy personality” as an excuse to avoid officially meeting them in person. I spent three months—treating it with the same intensity as the SATs—digging up every shred of information on these vicious rich kids, and I even took extra acting classes. The remaining month would be more than enough to deal with them. I held up a picture from the club and cross-referenced it with my database. Ezra had three close friends in his inner circle. They were all at the club last night. The guy who called me a “blockhead” was Elias, Ezra’s younger brother. He was a hotheaded kid with no ex-girlfriends, making him the easiest to manipulate and use. But that was just his facade. Chloe had used him as a stepping stone to get to Ezra. She thought she had succeeded, but she was really just playing the clown. That night, Elias offered fake compliments to Chloe while constantly putting me down, calling me a blockhead at every turn. Chloe laughed wildly, completely missing the disdain in Elias’s eyes. No one respects someone who stabs their own friend in the back. Chloe had lost from the very beginning. The guy making out with an influencer in the corner was Asher. He was Ezra’s childhood friend, an extreme sports junkie with an endless rotation of bedmates but no actual girlfriends. He was the dirtiest of the bunch, always stirring up trouble. He was the one who had added me and invited me to the club last night. I sent him a voice message: “Sorry, I was already asleep by 11 last night. I didn’t see your message.” Then, I ignored his reply and tossed my phone aside. A guy like Asher didn’t need a complex strategy; he just needed to be ignored. If he was interested, he would come crawling on his own. He was a playboy who had been with countless women. Looking for genuine feelings in his eyes was like looking for gold in a pile of shit. 3. [Ezra: Summer, I’ll pick you up tomorrow.] My phone lit up with a new message. This message was sent by the real Ezra. It had only been half an hour since Chloe left my dorm. It seemed Chloe didn’t get what she wanted from Ezra tonight. After all, Ezra was meeting me tomorrow. He naturally wouldn’t sleep with another woman and risk ruining the “untouchable saint” image he had so carefully crafted for me. In the middle of the night, Chloe sent me a picture of herself in the black lingerie. I replied with a deadpan “Beautiful.” During the time I had been talking to Ezra, I constantly praised him for being an unapproachable “snow lotus on a high peak.” To maintain this image in front of me, he had to give up a lot of his social life and even change his style to match my preferences. When people are doing something terrible, they often exhibit extraordinary patience. Ezra had deliberately learned about my hobbies. After discovering I liked hand-woven bracelets, he bought one and claimed he made it himself. Unfortunately for him, the person who sold it to him was a close friend of mine. I called him out on the spot and deleted him without a second thought. Unwilling to lose the bet, Ezra actually went and learned the traditional weaving technique, making one with his own two hands. Because of that incident, I earned the nickname “blockhead” among his friends. But I didn’t regret it. To them, money meant nothing; time was their most valuable asset. And that hand-woven bracelet was the anchor I threw him. After that, Ezra never half-assed anything I asked him to do. At least, until the bet was settled, he would force himself to patiently complete every task. From woven bracelets to fondant cakes, he learned everything from scratch. If I didn’t know the truth, I might have actually been moved. After all, who wouldn’t be touched by someone so wealthy putting so much time and effort into pursuing them? Plus, he faked his appearance and temper perfectly. I was currently wearing that very bracelet. It was sky blue, perfectly matching my outfit. I still hadn’t replied to his message. I simply picked a plain white maxi dress from my closet. My initial persona was the pure, innocent “white lotus.” For moral degenerates like them, this persona made it easiest for them to let their guard down. I took a picture of the dress and sent it to Ezra. After adjusting my voice a few times, I sent a sickeningly sweet voice memo: [What do you think of this dress?] [Ezra: Not bad.] Two quick, dismissive words. I knew those words were typed by someone with a face full of impatience. I didn’t feel surprised or sad. I just kept playing the role of a girl utterly consumed by the whirlwind of love. [Then I’ll wear this to see you tomorrow.] [Ezra: Okay.] Ezra’s voice sounded casual. Like everything else about him, he didn’t seem to care about anything. He deliberately lowered his voice, expertly creating an atmosphere of indulgence. He was a top-tier player. Chloe and I were just pawns in his romantic game. Asher had made a bet with him, betting 30 million dollars on how long it would take him to conquer the two new “sister beauties” at our school. He had already conquered Chloe. I was the only one left. Ezra felt this conquest game was too easy, so he upped the difficulty. He declared he would make one of us willingly become a side piece. And the woman he chose for that role was me. To properly focus on conquering me, he had already bought Chloe a plane ticket and sent her out of the country. He planned to use the next month to completely break me down. 4. I put on the seemingly ordinary dress and admired myself in the mirror. The exquisite tailoring perfectly accentuated my curves. I took off the nerdy glasses, revealing a pair of alluring, captivating eyes. I used waterproof eyeliner to draw a small beauty mark at the corner of my eye, adding a touch of seductive charm. Men are visual creatures. For our first official meeting, I naturally had to leave a deep, thrilling impression. Before heading out, I meticulously adjusted my dress, making sure every inch was perfectly smooth, without a single stray wrinkle. Wrinkles ruin the quality of an outfit, making you look sloppy and ruining the vibe. My ears weren’t pierced, and I wore absolutely no jewelry. I looked completely plain, but every detail was calculated. My face in the mirror was flawless. I checked my angles repeatedly until I was certain there wasn’t a single imperfection. I looked out the window. Ezra was already standing outside my dorm building, looking like a painting—cool tones, slightly vintage and faded. A hibiscus bush was blooming next to him. Some people are truly born at the top of the pyramid. No wonder he was so confident he could conquer an “ugly duckling” like me in just one month. A hint of sarcasm flashed in my eyes. Men should always pay a price for their arrogance. Chloe, terrified I would steal her man, rarely mentioned my family background to them. She only told them my family was drowning in debt. Because of this, everyone believed I was a poor, innocent girl. This was exactly what I wanted. It was the perfect cover for a wolf in sheep’s clothing. 5. I brushed my hair, which I had spent thousands of dollars treating until it looked like liquid silk, and offered a pure, innocent smile. “Ezra.” I appeared with a bright smile. In the brief moment he was stunned, I grabbed his hand intimately. Ezra instinctively squeezed back, his eyelashes fluttering. “Summer?” It wasn’t until he saw the familiar blue bracelet on my wrist that he called my name. I quickly caught the flash of awe in his eyes. Ezra was a master at setting the mood. He quickly recovered, a smile playing on his thin lips as he looked down at me. “Summer, you look beautiful today.” His gaze lingered for a second on the short sliver of skin exposed at my waist, and he let out a soft laugh. “I’m not lying.” I played along, blushing and tugging at his shirt. “Ezra, are you taking me to meet your friends today? What if they… don’t like me?” “They will. Summer is so cute.” Ezra’s looks were very deceiving. He looked at me with such intimacy and affection, as if he were gazing at the love of his life. If he really cared about me, why would he bring someone who supposedly hated parties to a club filled with rich playboys? This was just another one of his tactics. The club was members-only, offering everything from a shooting range and race track to horseback riding and golf. Obviously, none of this was something someone with my “status” should be exposed to. Ezra was using PUA (Pickup Artist) tactics and control on me. First, he would make me feel the massive gap in our social classes, then he would swoop in like a hero to save the day, showcasing his power and making me fall for him. 6. Ezra placed a black card in my palm, not allowing me to refuse. “Summer, I have something to handle first. If you need anything, just give this card to the manager.” I nodded. In this playboy club, luxury logos were everywhere. Dressed so plainly, I looked completely out of place. But precisely because I stood out so much, they spotted me immediately. “Well, well, look who finally decided to show up.” Asher was the first to speak, his tone incredibly frivolous. He walked over and looked me up and down. Scrutinizing, flirtatious, mocking. And finally, a hint of genuine interest. The gazes of the men and women around me kept landing on me. I was used to it; these kinds of looks were nothing new. “Looks like a seductress.” Elias spoke next, his voice dripping with malice, loud enough for the whole room to hear. His tone was nasty, but his eyes never left my face. When his gaze met the tears welling up in my eyes, he quickly looked away. “I hate women who cry all the time.” He muttered, crossing his arms in an extremely defensive posture. But I was absolutely certain Elias did not hate my face. No one knew that my main target today was actually him—Elias. They bet I would willingly become a side piece. Let’s wait and see who loses their dignity in the end. 7. I adjusted my position. From an angle Elias could see, I stood awkwardly and nervously, looking incredibly helpless. My acting classes weren’t for nothing. The instructor taught me exactly how to cry to evoke the most pity—let the tear hang like a dewdrop on a rose petal, crystal clear. Wait until everyone is watching, waiting for it to fall, and then let it drop like a pearl. I had practiced this in front of a mirror hundreds of times while watching videos. When Elias started walking toward me, I knew my acting had worked. But life isn’t a script; there are always unexpected twists. Elias stopped in his tracks. Asher intercepted, grabbing my chin. Seeing my slightly teary eyes, a terrifying urge to destroy flashed in his gaze. A sharp pain shot through my chin, and I let out a soft whimper. Asher had a slight sadistic streak. My sound seemed to trigger something in him, and a bizarre excitement filled his eyes. “Nice voice.” His thumb rubbed against my chin, and I felt nothing but pure disgust. I was certain that in this moment, Asher wanted to make me cry. Filthy dog! I cursed him in my head. The pressure on my chin increased. I silently counted down in my head, waiting until I saw Ezra approach with a cold expression out of the corner of my eye. Without hesitation, I punched Asher square in the nose. Like a baby bird returning to its nest, I threw myself into Ezra’s arms, sobbing and calling his name: “Ezra.” Asher didn’t expect my reaction. He covered his nose with a grunt of pain, a burning heat flaring in his eyes. That intense, predatory stare followed me like a spotlight. I caught Elias hesitating halfway toward me out of the corner of my eye. I lowered my eyes, adjusting my expression, then gripped Ezra’s sleeve tightly, playing the role of a terrified, trembling victim perfectly. Ezra looked down to comfort me. In the exact moment he lowered his head, I looked up. My lips accidentally brushed against his chin, a fleeting, accidental kiss. Ezra froze. I acted as if I didn’t notice, consumed entirely by my fear. My hair, like black silk, slipped through his fingers. This performance was for Ezra’s eyes only. Ezra crouched down, wiping my tears away one by one, then asked Asher coldly, “What did you just do to Summer?” Physical contact with other men was not part of Ezra’s plan. When he saw the red mark on my chin, Ezra’s eyes darkened. His gaze lingered for a long time, a flash of irritation appearing in his eyes, and he spoke faster than usual. This attitude wasn’t love; it was just a man’s possessiveness acting up. To seize and possess—that is the natural, inherent flaw of these so-called high-society elites. “Just playing a little joke.” Asher was completely relaxed, playing with a strand of my hair he had just pulled out. To him, this overstepping meant nothing; after all, they were close enough to “date” the same girl. I touched my head, complaining like a child by tugging on Ezra’s hand. Ezra’s expression toward Asher grew even colder. He comfortingly patted my head. Elias, standing off to the side, suddenly spoke up: “Bro, give her to me in a month. She looks familiar.” Ezra stopped moving. 8. Elias said that sentence in French. I looked at Elias and blinked. Asher sneered, looking at Elias sarcastically. “What a garbage excuse. If you want her, just say you want her. ‘Looks familiar’… tsk.” After mocking Elias, Asher turned to Ezra. “It’s rare to find someone like this. Why don’t we cancel the bet? You step out, and your brother and I will play with her. Besides, aren’t you getting pretty serious with Chloe lately?” Elias’s sharp eyebrows furrowed, a hint of coldness in his eyes. He cursed directly in French, “Play with my ass. Last time, it was your stupid idea that got Ezra deleted by the blockhead when he used my burner account.” Asher’s face darkened. “How is that my fault? Who knew she was so difficult? Deleting someone over a bracelet. Don’t you hate girls who look like her? Why are you getting involved?” Elias tugged at his collar, not saying another word. He just stared at me intently, his eyes dark and probing. Asher let out a short laugh, mocking Elias without mercy: “Elias, you better be careful. What if you get scammed by the same type again? Once bitten, twice shy. Why don’t you give this little kitten to me so I can train her?” Seeing them fighting over me, Ezra’s face turned dark. His arm around my waist tightened abruptly, and he swore: “What the hell is wrong with you two?” No one knew that pure, innocent “white lotus” girls were actually Elias’s exact type. Everyone just heard the rumor that in high school, Elias had an online relationship with a girl in a white dress, only to get scammed out of millions before even meeting her. Since then, the rumor was that Elias despised innocent-looking girls. No girl ever dared to wear a white dress around him. Even Chloe specifically avoided that style. But how can someone escape what they’re biologically attracted to? Coincidentally, Elias had been my main target from the very beginning. Ezra wanted me to be his side piece. Coincidentally, I had the exact same thought. After all, the more, the merrier. I met Elias’s gaze and offered a shy, bashful smile. Elias’s eyes grew even darker. As for the fact that the account Ezra used to chat with me was actually Elias’s burner account, I knew that perfectly well. To be precise, I knew they were lying even before Chloe did. Because, unluckily for them, the girl from the rumor who scammed Elias out of millions—was me. 9. In middle school, Elias and I were in the same class. He sat right behind me. Every class, he would either shove his desk into my back or pull my hair. Relying on his family’s wealth, no one dared to cross him, and he did whatever he wanted all day. I complained to the teachers, but they just tried to smooth things over. I had a bad temper back then. I got into a fight with him, and he pushed me down the stairs. My leg was injured, leaving lasting damage. From then on, I could never study the dance I loved so much. His arrogant family wanted to settle it with money. Faced with the massive compensation, my family quickly agreed. No one cares about the personal grudges of children. Adults make choices based on their own interests. I was furious and fought with my mother. “If my dad were here, he wouldn’t do this to me! I don’t want the money! I just want Elias to apologize! You’ve always demanded I be number one in everything! Why are you making me transfer schools now?!” I slammed the door and left home, refusing to answer my mother’s calls. The last thing I received was a text: “Mom might not be able to stay with you much longer. There’s 800,000 on the card, it’s what Mom saved up over the years. Go find your father.” I only realized later that she agreed to take the money because she didn’t have much time left, and she wanted to save one last sum for me. But after my mother died, the Sterling family never sent the money they promised. I went to find the father I had never met. Relying on my innate acting skills, I quickly won his pity and the meager fatherly love he had to offer. I hid my true personality, carefully trying to please everyone, observing every single person. When I realized my stepmother didn’t actually like me as much as she pretended to, I proactively asked my father to send me abroad, wanting to escape the tension. By pure coincidence, in my first year abroad, I ran into Elias and recognized him. I always felt he was the root of all my misfortune. So, the moment I recognized him as an adult, I spent over a year setting a trap for him. What a twisted fate. Both these brothers wanted to ruin me. What was even more ridiculous was that my former bully actually fell head over heels for me. During the years I unilaterally cut off contact, Elias constantly switched accounts, sending emails to my inbox. To this day, I have over a thousand unread emails from him. He would send emails and unsend them, constantly testing to see if someone was reading them. Young love is always so passionate and direct. But who would cherish the love of a terrible person? If I hadn’t prepared a safety net for myself, my life would have been ruined because of him.

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On the day of the Spring Festival Gala, my childhood best friend’s microphone suddenly malfunctioned, causing a massive broadcasting disaster that earned her nationwide condemnation. Mysteriously, I also lost my voice on the same day and was subsequently sued by the production company for a staggering breach of contract fee. Unable to pay the debt, I was sentenced to prison. Before turning myself in, I sent my husband and son abroad.

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My brother is gay, and I’m a lesbian. I have my eye on his arranged marriage partner. My future sister-in-law has fair skin, a beautiful face, and long legs. But her hands are what really get me—long, slender fingers with pronounced knuckles. In the middle of the night, I stole my brother’s phone and texted her to meet me at a hotel. The next morning, right outside the hotel entrance. My brother was leaning shyly against my fiancé’s chest, while my sister-in-law had her arm wrapped securely around my waist. The four of us stared at each other in absolute, stunned silence. 1 My dad’s business went under, leaving him buried in debt. He tried to start a new project but couldn’t find a single investor. Just when we hit a dead end, the Sterling family—the number one old-money family in New York—extended an olive branch. The eldest daughter of the Sterling family said she wanted my brother to marry into her family, and that I should come along as part of the “package deal.” In exchange, she would invest twenty million dollars in my dad’s project. The eldest daughter’s brother said he wanted to marry me, and that my brother should come along as my “dowry.” In exchange, he would also invest twenty million dollars. My dad sat on the sofa and slapped his thigh. “Yes, yes, yes! Both of you will marry into the Sterling family!” My mom wiped her tears, loudly scolding my dad for selling his children. “The Sterling family is famously complicated! Sending them there is like throwing sheep into a wolf’s den!” My parents argued fiercely. My brother and I just looked at each other, keeping our heads down, neither of us daring to speak. My brother couldn’t marry the Sterling family’s eldest daughter, and I couldn’t marry her brother. They just didn’t know it yet. My brother and I… he’s gay, and I’m a lesbian. The Vance family had both a son and a daughter, but unfortunately, no heirs to carry on the traditional bloodline. 2 It wasn’t until the Sterling family’s eldest daughter, Serena, and her brother, Arthur, showed up at our door with their hands full of expensive gifts that my mom finally shut up. My brother and I exchanged a glance, reading the exact same thought in each other’s eyes. Right off the bat, Serena shoved a bank card into my mom’s hand. It held a neat two million dollars. She turned to look at my brother, flashing a perfect set of white teeth, and then smiled at me—a smile that could literally steal a soul: “Mrs. Vance, this is a little welcome gift for Liam.” Not to be outdone, Arthur shoved a card into my dad’s hand: “Mr. Vance, this is a welcome gift for Chloe.” Immediately after, Serena dumped a pile of gift boxes into my arms. She looked apologetically at my brother and my parents: “I’m so sorry, I really didn’t know what boys like, so I just bought some things that girls like for little Chloe. Liam, you don’t mind, do you?” Serena was very tall and wearing stiletto heels. When she leaned in close to me, I had a perfect view of her beautiful, pale collarbones. Her chest rose and fell slightly with her breathing, and the fresh scent of jasmine radiating from her was incredibly intoxicating. I stared so hard my eyes practically crossed. My heart was pounding frantically against my ribs. Unable to hold back, I blurted out: “Sister-in-law, you smell so good.” The moment the words left my mouth, my brother jolted in terror. He jumped up and clamped his hand over my mouth. He glared at me viciously, terrified our parents would realize something was wrong. My parents were cringing so hard their toes could have curled through the floorboards. But Serena suddenly burst into laughter. She leaned her face right in front of mine. Her voice was as melodic as a clear spring, yet even though it was a perfectly normal sentence, I heard it through a dizzy haze. It was like I was being tempted by a demon from the depths of hell, and I couldn’t stop my legs from tensing up. “If little Chloe likes it, next time you come to my house, I’ll give you some.” I lowered my head shyly, not daring to look her in the eye. Serena’s long hair brushed gently against my cheek, feeling like thousands of tiny ants biting at my heart—an agonizing, unbearable itch. Right before they left, Serena’s fingers lightly trailed across the back of my hand. Those beautiful, captivating peach-blossom eyes stared straight at me: “Don’t forget to come to my house, little Chloe.” 3 After the Sterling siblings left, the four of us sat in a neat row on the sofa. Nobody said a word. My mom twisted her fingers, looking hesitantly at me and my brother. She opened her mouth, then closed it, unable to force out a single syllable. My brother secretly elbowed me, his eyes sending frantic signals. Normally, our family shared one brain cell, but right now, everyone was playing 4D chess in their heads. After a light cough, my dad couldn’t hold it in anymore and spoke first. “So, um, the Sterling family officially proposed today. You’ve met them now. What do you think?” My mom, after hesitating for half the day, finally spoke up: “Chloe, Liam… after meeting them today, Mom thinks the Sterling family is solid. With them around, you two will definitely have a good life after you marry in.” My brother couldn’t hold back: “Mom, you were just blinded by that massive red envelope.” My mom’s face instantly flushed with extreme embarrassment. I quickly tried to smooth things over: “That’s not true, my brother is just talking nonsense.” I elbowed him hard, signaling him to behave. But my brother just got up angrily and stomped upstairs, leaving the three of us staring at each other. I tried to salvage the situation: “Maybe Liam just doesn’t want to marry into their family.” My dad slammed his hand on the coffee table in frustration: “Marrying into the number one old-money family in New York? How is that beneath him?!” Seeing the situation escalating, I quickly stepped in to calm him down. “Dad, don’t be mad. Liam just needs a minute to process it. I’ll go talk to him.” Knowing my brother’s lack of filter, if a real fight broke out, I was terrified he’d blurt out that I was a lesbian and he was gay. If that happened, we were truly finished. After calming my dad down, I quickly scrambled upstairs. When I opened his bedroom door, my brother was furiously punching a stuffed animal I had given him. Seeing me, he shot me an annoyed glare, then turned his back to me and ignored me. I poked his back. He spun around in a circle but still refused to look at me. “Are you really mad?” He frustratingly grabbed the little bear’s ears and said fiercely to it: “You knew I already had a boyfriend, but you still teamed up with Mom and Dad to break us up! You’re evil!” Mom always said my brother was born the wrong gender and should have been a girl. She wasn’t entirely wrong. In a certain sense, my brother really was a girl. I let out a fake, helpless sigh, keeping my peripheral vision glued to him. “Sigh, what are we going to do then? You’ll just have to go tell Mom and Dad that I’m a lesbian and you’re gay…” Before I could finish, my brother bounced off the rug and clamped his hand over my mouth. He looked around nervously like a thief, ran over, and deadbolted the door. Only then did he frown, point at me, and demand: “Are you crazy?! Saying that in this house? Do you have a death wish?!” I shrugged carelessly: “Do you have a better plan?” Remembering the way my brother looked at Arthur earlier, a wicked idea sprouted in my mind. I leaned close to his ear and whispered my demonic plan. He was so shocked by my scandalous idea that his eyes went wide with disbelief. “Y-y-y-y-y-you… how could you suggest that?!” “Besides, I already have a boyfriend!” I rolled my eyes. I hit him with the brutal truth: “Oh, you mean that guy you’ve been dating online for three months? The one whose name, voice, and face you don’t even know? You don’t even know if he’s a human or a ghost!” My brother’s face turned bright red. “Don’t talk about him like that! We are truly in love!” I rolled my eyes again, let out a mocking “Tsk,” and then added fuel to the fire. “Plus, the way you were looking at Arthur today… I refuse to believe you don’t like him.” My brother’s face turned even redder, this time from embarrassment. He mumbled a weak defense, his voice as quiet as a mosquito, completely lacking any conviction. “Don’t talk nonsense.” I knew the time was ripe, so I whispered my demonic plan again. This time, he didn’t argue. He just bit his lip and looked at me. When my dad found out my brother agreed, he was overjoyed and praised me relentlessly. It made me feel guilty. If my dad knew our actual intentions, I was terrified he’d jump out of bed in the middle of the night to beat us. 4 Once everything was finalized, both the Vance and Sterling families were thrilled. My brother and I smoothly added Serena and Arthur on WeChat. But after more than half a month, my chat history with Arthur hadn’t progressed past the initial, formal greeting from the day we added each other. On the other hand, Serena—my future sister-in-law—was incredibly enthusiastic toward me. Every single day, rain or shine, she reliably sent me “Good morning,” “Good afternoon,” and “Goodnight.” One day, Serena sent me a photo. It was a picture of a fair, beautiful hand. The fingers were long and slender, the knuckles distinct, and the nails were filed into neat, rounded shapes. Looking at the photo of Serena’s hand, I thought about her face and the faint scent she always carried, and I swallowed hard. If that hand were… Realizing my thoughts were drifting into very inappropriate territory, I quickly shook my head, trying to dump the dirty trash out of my brain. My focus returned, and I finally noticed that Serena had also sent a message. [Little Chloe, what do you think of this wedding ring?] Following Serena’s text, I noticed she was actually wearing a ring in the photo. It was a silver band with an intricate, interwoven design, set with a beautiful diamond shaped like a rose. It was understated yet luxurious. Thinking about our conversations over the past few days, I felt a wave of profound defeat. Even though my fiancé, Arthur, hadn’t spoken a single word to me, the woman of my dreams spent every day talking to me… about my brother. Damn it, is my sister-in-law actually straight? The thought that she would be marrying my brother in a few months made me so miserable I couldn’t even speak. I threw a little inner tantrum and deliberately replied: [It’s ugly.] I didn’t expect Serena to reply instantly. [What’s wrong? Do you not like it?] I froze, suddenly realizing that this was her and my brother’s wedding ring. I shouldn’t be so petty. Just as I was trying to figure out how to backtrack, Serena sent another message. [Since little Chloe doesn’t like it, next time you can come with me to pick one out.] My brain short-circuited. I couldn’t figure out what was going on. When I looked up, I saw my brother looking equally depressed. We looked like two neglected concubines in a royal palace, staring at each other with mutual disgust, sighing deeply. I asked him: “How are things going on your end?” My brother shook his head and sighed: “Don’t even ask. When I chat with him, eight out of ten sentences are about you.” Then he asked me: “What about you?” I let out a long sigh, my face full of bitterness: “Same.” We hugged each other, buried our heads in each other’s shoulders, and cried. 5 As the wedding date drew closer, the anxiety on my brother’s and my faces grew visibly. My dad even joked: “You’re just getting married, look how nervous you two are.” My brother and I exchanged a look, reading the shared agony of our mutual suffering in each other’s eyes. After tossing and turning until midnight, I suddenly sat bolt upright in bed. No, I had to talk to Serena and clear the air! So, using the cover of darkness, I snuck into my brother’s room and stole his phone. I opened WeChat, and staring at the completely empty chat history between him and Serena, I froze in place. What is wrong with the Sterling family?! Why do they have this bizarre habit of not talking to the person they actually like, and instead running to someone else to talk about how much they like them?! After agonizing over it, I opened the chat box anyway. I squeezed my eyes shut and furiously typed a message. I didn’t expect Serena to be awake in the middle of the night too. Serena: [?] I looked closely at the message I sent and instantly felt like the sky was falling. [Sister-in-law, this is my brother. Are you free tonight? Room 8088 at the Imperial Grand Hotel. Be there or be square.] I frantically tried to unsend it, only to realize the two-minute window had already passed. I had no choice but to awkwardly try to fix it. [Um, about that… my cat was acting up and typed that.] The chat box showed “typing…” for what felt like forever. I waited for almost ten minutes, and nothing happened. Finally, she replied. [Mm.] Since things had already reached this point, I decided to just fully embrace the chaos. I sent one more message. [So, are we meeting up or what?] I closed my eyes, waiting for destiny to judge me. To my surprise, Serena replied instantly this time. Hearing the WeChat notification ping, I didn’t dare open my eyes for a long time. After a lengthy internal battle, I finally peeked. Seeing the word [Okay] on the screen, my heart became a tangled mess of emotions—sour and sweet all at once. I didn’t know if she agreed because she thought I was my brother, or because of something else entirely. 6 After debating with myself in bed for a long time, I finally got dressed and snuck out into the night. When I saw Serena at the hotel entrance, I didn’t know how to describe my feelings. She had clearly dressed up carefully. Under the lights, every single strand of her hair seemed to glow. From a distance, she looked as pure and beautiful as an angel. The thought that she dressed up this meticulously for my brother filled me with an unbearable ache. I hung my head, dragging my feet like a snail until I was standing in front of her. Keeping my head down, my voice thick with congestion, I said: “I’m sorry, sister-in-law. I lied to you. I’m not my brother.” Compared to Serena’s flawless styling, I looked like a stray kid who had wandered out in her pajamas. Suddenly, a hand rested on the top of my head. Serena bent down, bringing her face incredibly close to mine. We were so close our lips were almost touching. Her warm breath gently brushed my cheek, landing like a feather on my heart. Meeting my red, teary eyes, Serena’s eyes curved into a smile. Those full, glossy red lips parted, and she spoke the most beautiful words in the world. “Little Chloe, I know it’s you. It was always you.” I froze. The tears welling in my eyes refused to fall. Serena pulled me into a hug. Because my head was lowered, my face was buried perfectly against her soft, sweet-smelling chest. Unable to control myself, I took several deep, greedy breaths. So good. So soft. Serena’s voice, carrying a hint of a smile, sounded in my ear. Her arms wrapped around my waist, her soft lips pressed against my ear. Her voice was incredibly seductive, making my heart tremble: “Little Chloe, do you want to get a room with your sister-in-law?” My brain turned into absolute mush. I had no idea how to even form a thought. By the time I regained my senses, I was already tumbling around on the hotel bed with Serena. As Serena bit my collarbone, I stared blankly at the ceiling. Dissatisfied with my spacing out, she reached down and pinched the soft flesh of my waist: “Baby, focus.” A strong wave of moral guilt suddenly surged within me. I half-heartedly tried to push her away, my words sounding hypocritically pure: “Sister-in-law, this isn’t right. If my brother finds out…” Serena pinned down my wandering hands, her other hand lightly gripping my neck. “My dress is already off, and now you want to talk about this?”

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At my absolute lowest point, Liam Vance married me. Everyone said he only married me to spite my younger sister. But when he died in a car accident, he left his entire estate to me. And a voice recorder. Pressing play, his low, raspy voice filled the room— He said: “Chloe, could you… maybe like me back just a little bit?” After all those years, I finally saw the massive, overwhelming love he had hidden beneath the ice. When I opened my eyes again, I was reborn. My adoptive mother was gripping my hand, saying: “Chloe, will you go to prison in your sister’s place?” 01 Before I turned sixteen, I was the pampered, carefree eldest daughter of the Sterling family. Doted on by my parents and favored by my older brother, my life was perfect. Until Mia showed up with a DNA test, revealing that a nurse had swapped us at birth. She was the real heiress; I was just the imposter who stole her life. I wanted to leave. But my biological parents had passed away long ago, and Mrs. Sterling couldn’t bear to see me become an orphan. So, they officially adopted me. My adoptive parents treated me well, my brother didn’t give me the cold shoulder, and Mia never made things difficult for me. I was grateful. But later, Mia got into an argument backstage with an actress on a movie set. During the scuffle, the actress fell down the stairs and ended up in a vegetative state. There were no security cameras. But someone had to take the fall. And I happened to be there, witnessing the whole thing. My adoptive mother came to me in tears, begging me to take the blame for Mia. Mia knelt in front of me, sobbing, slapping her own face, and begging for my forgiveness. The whole family cried as if their hearts were breaking. So, I nodded. I took the blame, went to prison, and suffered through absolute hell. At first, the Sterling family still came to visit me, crying out of guilt or apology. But slowly, the visits stopped completely. Once, during a prison activity, the warden asked about our plans after release. I thought about it for a long time before carefully writing down: [After I get out, I want to see my mom and dad.] A fellow inmate saw it and laughed at how simple my wish was. “Of course your mom and dad will come pick you up. Why wouldn’t you see them?” I smiled and didn’t argue. But when I was finally released, no one came. Only Mr. Sterling’s assistant showed up. He drove me to the airport and handed me a large sum of money. He didn’t say a single word. But I understood everything. Mom and Dad didn’t want me anymore. The Sterling family had abandoned me. 02 I didn’t take the money. Not out of pride. I just didn’t want to owe the Sterling family anything anymore. They raised me for twenty years; I went to prison for their daughter for five. We were even. I rented a small apartment and ran myself ragged until I finally found a job that didn’t care about my criminal record. But just half a month later, I was fired. After I persistently questioned him, the manager finally stammered out: “You offended someone you shouldn’t have.” I froze, unable to say another word. Someone I shouldn’t have offended. Aside from the Sterling family. Who else could it be? That day, clutching my bag, I walked out onto the street. A fine, misty rain was falling, the cool droplets blowing onto my face and body. As I passed the central plaza, the giant screen was broadcasting a live event featuring Mia. I stopped and looked up. Standing on the award stage, she was breathtakingly beautiful, radiating confidence. The camera panned, and I saw Mr. and Mrs. Sterling looking at her with tears of joy. Looking at her like she was an invaluable treasure, their eyes full of nothing but love. For some reason, I suddenly remembered my adoptive mother visiting me in prison for the first time. Seeing how dangerously thin I had gotten, she cried and promised: “Chloe, after you get out, Mom will take care of you for the rest of your life. Mom loves you.” But the last time I saw her, two years ago, the only emotion left on her face was a faint trace of guilt. She said: “Chloe, Mia is getting engaged to Liam Vance. She really loves him. After you get out, could you leave the city? So the Vance family doesn’t find out about the past.” Liam Vance. The crown prince of the Vance family. We had TVs in prison, so I would occasionally hear about the epic, deep romance between Mia and Liam. Everyone said Liam Vance was a notorious playboy, but he gave it all up for Mia. He even stepped into the entertainment industry he so deeply despised, just to pave the way for her, funneling resources to her, and even personally presenting her awards. Sometimes, I envied Mia. I envied that she had parents who loved her, a boyfriend who adored her, and in her short twenty-something years, she had already achieved both career success and true love. Unlike me. No parents, no career, no lover. And… no one who loved me. 03 As for marrying Liam, that was a complete accident. After getting fired, I moved back to my hometown and worked as a waitress in a restaurant. It was pretty busy. I have no idea how he found out where I was. When he tracked me down, I was serving beers to a customer. The man had too much to drink and started getting handsy. I frowned and slapped him. Enraged, he kicked me hard, knocking me to the ground. Beer and food spilled all over me. It burned. Still not satisfied, the man cursed and raised his hand to hit me again, but the next second, he went dead silent. I opened my eyes and looked straight into a pair of eyes as bright as stars. Liam Vance smirked, though it looked lazy and lacking any real warmth: “Chloe Sterling, you really are here.” I got up, brushed the food scraps off myself, nodded, and tried to walk past him. But I hadn’t taken two steps. When I heard his voice from behind me: “Seeing as you’re in such a pathetic state, want to marry me?” I whipped my head around in shock: “Have you finally lost your mind?” “I’m serious.” Liam looked me over, his eyes dark and unreadable. He sounded completely serious. “To be honest, your sister dumped me, and I’m pissed. And the Sterling family pushed you to this point. I guess we can consider ourselves an alliance of victims.” The yellow streetlight flickered twice before finally burning out. I couldn’t see his face clearly. I could only hear him let out a scoff, the tip of his cigarette glowing a faint red in the dark: “You have absolutely nothing left anyway. Marrying me, you don’t lose anything. What are you afraid of?” I thought about it. I didn’t say anything. He just waited for me quietly. It wasn’t until a cold wind blew past, making me shiver instinctively, that Liam took off his custom-tailored trench coat and draped it over my shoulders. Instantly, my nose was filled with the faint scent of his tobacco. I said: “Okay.” 04 When the news of our marriage broke, everyone was shocked. They all said Liam only married me to spite Mia. At our wedding, when Liam said “I do,” I noticed Mia in the audience, her eyes red from crying, before she lost her composure and fled the venue. I glanced at the man beside me, but he just smiled and didn’t even look her way. As if he had never loved her, as if he truly didn’t care. After we got married, Liam treated me very well. He arranged for me to be his secretary, keeping us tied together every single minute of the day. When I asked him why, he just gave a flirtatious smile: “I can’t feel at ease leaving a beautiful woman alone at home. What if a thief steals you away? I’d be losing out on my own purity.” I laughed at his nonsense. And didn’t bother arguing with him. All those years in prison, I suffered too much. My body couldn’t handle any strain. A normal person’s cold or cough would turn into a major illness for me. Liam hired top specialists from everywhere to treat me, and I finally got a little better. By my hospital bed, he held my hand, looking incredibly serious and devout: “Chloe Sterling, I bought you. Your life belongs to me. You are not allowed to die before I do!” Such childish words. But seeing the faint bitterness in his eyes, I finally nodded. I didn’t understand why he was sad. But I had long since learned not to ask, not to pry. “Okay.” “Till death do us part.” But, in the end, the one who broke the promise. Wasn’t me. It was Liam Vance. 05 “Mrs. Vance, Mr. Vance passed away at 3:00 AM yesterday due to a severe car accident, despite our best efforts to save him. “My deepest condolences.” Pushing open the door to the morgue, Liam’s parents were already weeping uncontrollably. Looking at Liam’s deathly pale face, I could only think to myself: God favored him, giving him a family background, looks, and abilities that others could only dream of, but why was God so stingy to only give him thirty-four years? What a shame. What a shame. I handled Liam’s funeral entirely on my own. Even after five years of marriage, many people still didn’t believe in our relationship. Mia, whose love had turned to hate, was constantly waiting for me to become a joke. But no one expected that Liam would leave all his property and shares entirely to me. His parents had no objections. They just left, their backs hunched, their former vitality completely gone. A week later, Liam’s lawyer, Mr. Chen, brought me the asset transfer documents. Before leaving, he handed me a voice recorder: “This was recovered from Mr. Vance’s belongings. I believe you should have it, Madam.” 06 “Chloe Sterling.” From the voice recorder, the man’s voice was cool and clear, laced with a bit of static, making it sound even huskier: “I never married you to spite Mia. I married you because I liked you.” I froze, but my heart remained strangely calm. As if I had expected it. Liam let out a soft laugh: “Maybe you’ve forgotten, but we met a long time ago. “Back then, you were the untouchable ‘ice queen’ of the school. You were incredibly smart, the teachers’ favorite. My mentor was always talking about you. Every time he finished chatting with your teacher, he would angrily tell me—” “Liam Vance, I hate you right now. Stay away from me.” He imitated his mentor’s tone, sounding unexpectedly cute. I instinctively let out a laugh. But the next second, I slowly pulled it back. Liam continued: “I hated you so much back then, but I couldn’t stop looking at you. I guess I’m a bit of a glutton for punishment, hehe. “But later, you went to prison. For so-called intentional assault. “I didn’t believe it. I had to find out the truth, but unfortunately, the Sterling family cleaned up all the evidence perfectly. So, I set my sights on Mia.” So that was it. The legendary, deeply moving romance between Liam and Mia was just an excuse for him to uncover the truth behind my imprisonment. But Liam never expected Mia’s lips to be sealed so tight. But eventually, he still found clues. I suddenly remembered that before we got married, Liam had excitedly asked me one day: “Chloe, do you want revenge?” “No.” I shook my head: “We’re even.” After all these years. I finally understood that on that day, he had probably uncovered the truth. He investigated the truth for me. And for me, he buried it again. It turned out, it was all because of me. The emotions in my eyes trembled violently. My entire body couldn’t stop shaking, and tears fell drop by drop.

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The day I found out I wasn’t the biological daughter of the family, I was ecstatic. I righteously told my adoptive father that I felt terrible occupying his real daughter’s place and offered to pack my bags and move out immediately. My adoptive father remained noncommittal and called me into his study. He pulled out a legal document. “Mia, the Harrison family has decided to officially adopt you. Your biological parents have already signed the papers.” My biological parents, without even seeing me once, had sold me. I fell silent, resisting. “I’m an adult. I don’t need to be adopted.” My adoptive father gave a cold smile. “That’s not up to you.” 1 Because my negotiations had failed a few days prior, I wasn’t in a good mood the day the real heiress returned. My adoptive father named her Chloe Harrison. Chloe was dark-skinned, painfully thin, and her eyes darted around nervously. When the butler introduced her to the family, she burst into tears. “Mom, Dad, I’m home.” My adoptive father smiled through his tears. “It’s good to have you back.” My aunt fussed over her, saying she had suffered for over twenty years. Chloe looked at my adoptive mother, whose reaction was noticeably cold. My adoptive mother and I were probably the only two people in the house who didn’t welcome her. Yet, her malice was directed solely at me. She praised my looks, my clothes, how well-fed and well-rested I looked—unlike her. I leaned against my adoptive mother, watching her perform. She wanted everyone’s sympathy, but unfortunately for her, she didn’t see the expressions on my father and aunt’s faces souring. Her tactics were too clumsy. Taking a cue from my father, the butler interrupted her, offering to show her to her prepared room. Chloe refused to go, rambling on before finally revealing her true objective. She wanted the largest bedroom in the house, aside from the master suite. She asked me pitifully, “Sister, is that okay? I’ve never had my own room growing up…” She assumed I was the pampered princess who definitely had the biggest and best room. I almost laughed out loud. She was asking the wrong person. Because the best room in the house belonged to my aunt. 2 Seeing that I ignored her, Chloe tried to press the issue, but my aunt had heard enough. She grabbed Chloe firmly. “Chloe, Mia’s room isn’t that big. The room Auntie prepared for you is definitely bigger than hers.” Chloe was too easy to read. My aunt’s words immediately placated her, and she obediently followed my aunt upstairs. After she left, my adoptive mother glared at my father. “Why did you bring her back? You should have just paid her off.” My father smiled reassuringly. “She’s your daughter. I believe she won’t be any less capable than Mia. She just needs some grooming.” My adoptive mother’s expression darkened. “I only have one daughter. If you want Chloe, then let Mia go.” My father naturally refused, and they parted on bad terms. Chloe grew up in a poor rural village; her worldview, education, and posture were all lacking. To bridge the gap, my father hired private tutors for her. They taught her humanities, etiquette, and beauty. After six months of polishing, the Harrison family finally accepted her. My father threw a welcome banquet for her, publicly announcing her as the long-lost second daughter of the Harrison family. He made no mention of me. Chloe was resentful. In her newly acquired social circles, she spread the rumor that I wasn’t a biological Harrison. I didn’t care. Honestly, the social circles above us didn’t care, and the circles below us wouldn’t dare mess with me even if they knew. If they knew, they knew. What I didn’t expect was that my fiancé cared very much. 3 After the welcome banquet, my aunt began taking Chloe to various exclusive gatherings she couldn’t access on her own. Because it involved mingling with different men, I called it matchmaking. Initially, my aunt was dissatisfied with Chloe’s performance, calling her dull and stupid, unable to even hold a man’s attention. Chloe felt wronged for a while but eventually pulled herself together and continued to navigate the social scene. Eventually, she managed to hook a decent rich kid. She proudly brought him home to show off to me. He was 6’2″, handsome, wealthy—definitely easy on the eyes. My father hosted him for a casual dinner and then politely saw him out. As soon as he left, my aunt dragged Chloe into the study and scolded her: “Idiot! He’s only good enough for practice! And you actually offered yourself to him?!” Chloe broke down. Why was everything she did wrong? She yelled at my aunt, “Why do I have to do these things?! Why doesn’t Mia?!” Look at her. Even now, she couldn’t see the big picture; she only cared about competing with me. My aunt told her, “Mia already has a fiancé. She doesn’t need to go.” Yes, the “matchmaking events” Chloe attended? I had been to them too. But Chloe clearly only understood the first half of the sentence. It was probably from that moment on that Chloe set her sights on Julian Vance. 4 The Harrison family and the Vance family belonged to the same social circle, sharing half the corporate influence in Chengdu. The other half belonged to the Sterling family. The Sterling family’s main operations were in Beijing; the Chengdu branch was just a subsidiary. The drive from Chengdu to Beijing was only two hours, but the difference in status was astronomical. The Harrison family wanted to break into high society; the Vance family wanted to push the Sterling subsidiary out of Chengdu. Though their goals differed, they naturally decided to collaborate. After years of negotiations, they finally reached an agreement a year ago. My engagement to Julian Vance was the bridge. When Chloe had her welcome banquet, Julian was still abroad. Their first meeting was at my birthday party. He had been stationed overseas for a year and returned exactly on my birthday. He made a grand entrance, bringing a multi-million dollar piece of jewelry he’d won at an overseas auction to celebrate my birthday. A display of how much he valued me. I feigned delight, accepting the gift and letting him put it on me. As the beautiful jewelry sparkled on my neck, I turned and saw the gleam in Chloe’s eyes. She coyly approached to greet him, calling him “Brother-in-law.” Julian barely glanced at her, exchanging a few polite but distant pleasantries. At that time, Julian probably didn’t think much of her. My birthday banquet was supposed to end perfectly amidst praises of us being the golden couple. But halfway through, Arthur Sterling, the future heir of the Sterling family, sent a gift. It pushed the banquet to a whole new climax. 5 My history with Arthur wasn’t a secret; anyone who mattered in Chengdu knew about it. I used to be a famous socialite. My aunt started bringing me to various events when I was just a teenager. At first, she was quite protective, shielding me from things inappropriate for my age. But when the stakes were high enough, the bottom line could always be lowered. She made me attend Arthur’s coming-of-age ceremony. I wasn’t supposed to qualify for the guest list, but my aunt used all her connections to force me in. Young Arthur, like an emperor selecting a concubine among many girls, chose me. Before entering the banquet hall, I thought it was just a formality. My aunt told me a crucial family project had run into issues, threatening the company’s entire cash flow. One wrong move, and our family would face bankruptcy. Getting into Arthur’s ceremony and letting the social circle see me at a high-society event would naturally bring people begging to help us. I believed her. I went in carrying the mission of saving my family. When Arthur chose me for private company, I was surprised, but mostly excited. What a great opportunity. I introduced myself and my family’s company to him. I talked endlessly, extremely excited, until he pushed me down. He possessed me with a cold face. It hurt so much. But he was the young master of a top-tier wealthy family; I didn’t dare resist. I only dared to cry out in pain to hide my tears. That was the moment I realized. Coming-of-age ceremony, coming-of-age ceremony… I was the gift. After that night, my adoptive father acquired a piece of land from the Sterling family. Later, Chengdu’s most luxurious residential complex was built on that land. As compensation, my adoptive father let me pick an apartment in that complex. So, when Chloe cried to us that her adoptive parents were going to marry her off to a forty-something middle-aged man just to get a dowry for her brother… I didn’t care. It wasn’t just poor people; rich people sold their daughters too. The only difference was the price tag. Sadly, some daughters labor until death for the families that sold them, just like my aunt. The fact that she still commanded the best room in her maiden home even after marrying was something she earned herself. 6 It was very late that night when the Sterling family driver finally took me home. When my adoptive mother saw my disheveled state, she realized what had happened. She had a massive fight with my adoptive father. It was during their argument that I learned there was no failing project. There was no impending bankruptcy. There was only their greedy ambition to climb the social ladder. I was devastated, but my adoptive mother was even more so. She had lived in this house for nearly twenty years, and only today did she truly see the Harrison family’s true colors. She felt too ashamed to face me and used her company shares to force my adoptive father to send me abroad. She wanted to protect me. Eventually, my adoptive father compromised, and I was sent away a month later. But what he didn’t tell my adoptive mother was that he sent me straight to Arthur. Arthur was too valuable an asset; he couldn’t bear to let go. Fortunately, Arthur’s reach wasn’t that long. Coupled with the fact that Arthur hadn’t shown much interest in me since that night. Abroad, although I attended the same university as Arthur, I rarely ran into him unless I actively sought him out. My aunt constantly called to ask about my progress with Arthur. At first, I humored her. Eventually, I stopped answering her calls. I was no longer the little girl who obeyed her every command. I lived peacefully abroad for four years, studying fashion design, which I loved. That period was one of the few relaxed times in my life. After graduation, I originally planned to find a job as a tailor locally. But after learning my adoptive mother had attempted suicide due to severe depression, I dropped everything and returned home. 7 As long as I returned to the country, I was meat on the chopping block. My adoptive father and aunt always found ways to make me live according to their plans. After my adoptive mother’s condition stabilized, my aunt started taking me to those “matchmaking events.” The insults she hurled at Chloe, she had also hurled at me. But my skin was thicker than Chloe’s; she could curse all she wanted, I just coasted along. For a time, the wealthy circles in Chengdu whispered that I was nothing but a beautiful, empty shell. The “matchmaking events” were endless. I realized my aunt wouldn’t stop until she managed to sell me off. If I chose an ordinary rich kid, I might still be manipulated by my aunt and adoptive father. During a gathering at a bar, I saw Arthur, who had just returned to the country. I decided to go all in and approached him directly. That was the only time I took the initiative since the night of his coming-of-age ceremony. We slept together that very night. From that day on, I became Arthur’s official girlfriend. Seeing me hook up with Arthur, my adoptive father and aunt were overjoyed. They reaped numerous benefits and treated me with extreme caution, never daring to order me around again. My adoptive mother also received better care. Unfortunately, I only held that title for three years. Three years later, Arthur was set to get engaged to Elara Qiao, the daughter of another wealthy family in Beijing. The Harrison family couldn’t compare to the Sterling family, and certainly couldn’t afford to offend the Qiao family. I initiated the breakup with Arthur. He didn’t say much; he just gave me a few buildings as compensation. Then, he picked an auspicious day and got engaged to Elara.

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The year my son was diagnosed with a critical illness and faced astronomical medical bills. My husband, Arthur, was paralyzed in a horrific car crash and lost his job. I divorced him. I abandoned them both, taking only our healthy six-year-old daughter with me. Five years later, my genius son graduated from college and was exceptionally admitted to MIT as a researcher. Arthur, now a self-made billionaire, accompanied him to an academic seminar. In the grand conference hall, a professor smiled and asked: “With such an incredible achievement today, who do you wish could see you the most?” My seventeen-year-old son, his expression cold and mature far beyond his years, replied: “My disgusting so-called biological mother, and her ungrateful parasite of a daughter.” Arthur let out a soft, mocking laugh. His eyes mirrored the same poorly concealed hatred. Until later that night, when they received a piggy bank that belonged to my daughter. The first note inside was written in a child’s messy, uneven handwriting: “Mommy says when the piggy bank is full, Anna can leave the hospital.” The very last note was written in the elegant handwriting Arthur knew best: “Goodbye. I’m going to keep my Anna company now.” 1 The night they received the piggy bank. Arthur and his son, Leo, had just walked out of the conference hall. On his left ring finger, the wedding band he shared with me had been removed, replaced by a new, brilliant diamond ring. The young woman holding his arm was likely his new wife. A self-made billionaire and a seventeen-year-old prodigy—they were the center of attention wherever they went. It took a long time for the media cameras and the crowd of eager networkers trailing behind them to finally disperse. Arthur stepped away from the crowd, standing under a streetlight, and lowered his head to light a cigarette. From the shadows not far away, a young girl in her early twenties hesitated for a long time before finally running over. She carefully held out a piggy bank to him. “Are you… Mr. Arthur Sterling?” Through the smoke, Arthur looked at the girl, then down at the piggy bank in her hands. His expression instantly turned freezing cold. Taped to the piggy bank was a sticky note with my handwriting: “Countdown to Anna’s Discharge.” Separated by the river of five long years, the paper had already started to yellow. After a brief, stunned pause, Arthur let out a scoff. “Whatever trick Chloe is playing this time, just say it straight.” Leo, the usually gentle and polite teenager, also showed a look of pure disgust. “She disappeared for five years. I thought she was actually going to hide in her hole forever.” The young girl’s eyes turned red, her voice trembling. “They… they both passed away years ago.” “I’ve been searching so hard these past few years to find the ‘Arthur’ and ‘Leo’ they wrote about. It wasn’t until today, seeing you on the news, that I finally found you.” Arthur laughed out loud. Perhaps the cigarette smoke caught in his throat, making his eyes water as he laughed. “Oh, so they tragically passed away five years ago? “What an unspeakable, heartbreaking tragedy. “Tell me, exactly how large of a check do Leo and I need to write to express our profound grief?” The girl looked at them in sheer disbelief. In the letters written by me and my daughter, Anna, this father and son were always described as the gentlest, most caring people in the world. She then looked at the woman standing beside Arthur. This was what they had become. Her eyes blazed with grief and anger. She snatched the piggy bank back, hugging it tightly to her chest. “If you don’t want it, then forget it! “I will bury it with their ashes.” Arthur’s eyes were filled with sarcasm. He reached out and snatched the piggy bank back from her. His voice was mocking: “Since the play has already been rehearsed so perfectly, wouldn’t it be a shame if the audience didn’t watch it?” As he spoke, he pulled out the first folded letter from inside the piggy bank. Unfolding it, he read the childish handwriting with an expressionless face. 2 “December 18th. “Going to a new hospital in a new city. “Mommy says when the piggy bank is full, Anna can leave the hospital. “This is my first time writing a diary. Good thing the smartest big brother in the whole wide world taught me how to spell and write. “Good thing Anna is the one who is sick, not the smartest big brother in the whole wide world!” It was a few short sentences, full of spelling errors and backward letters. Printed below the text was a photograph. It was six-year-old Anna sitting on an Amtrak train, both fists raised in the air, striking a superhero pose. Her small face was beginning to show signs of pallor, but her eyes were curved into happy crescents from her bright smile. On the back of the paper was the note I had written while hiding in the hospital stairwell. … Anna went to the hospital because of a severe nosebleed. Leo held her, tears streaming down his face. He loved his little sister more than anything; he was so anxious he literally threw up. So, he had his blood drawn for testing alongside Anna. When the results came back, Anna was fine. But Leo… Leo was diagnosed with leukemia. His only hope was a bone marrow transplant. Even if we could find a matching donor, the surgery and post-op care would cost at least half a million dollars. We didn’t have anywhere near that kind of money. Leo told us he didn’t want the treatment. Anna cried, hugging his arm tightly. Arthur suffered a total mental breakdown. He hid it from me and went out to beg everyone he knew for loans, getting the door slammed in his face time and time again. Driving home in a torrential downpour, exhausted and delirious, he got into a horrific car accident. After an all-night emergency surgery, he was left with severe trauma to his organs and spine. He was paralyzed in a hospital bed, unable to even stand. Just as I was crying so hard I couldn’t breathe, the doctor suddenly pulled me aside and told me that Leo’s test results had been mixed up with someone else’s. It felt like a miracle dropped from heaven, a brush with death. But the very next second, I was dragged straight down into hell. “The blood sample that tested positive for leukemia… belongs to your daughter, Anna.” I stood frozen in the doctor’s office. Driven by an uneasy instinct, I turned around. I saw Anna standing outside the door. Her eyes were red, her tiny hands gripping the hem of her shirt in terrified panic. That night, Anna went missing. She left me a note that read: “Mommy, Anna is leaving. Mommy, Daddy, and Brother have to be happy every day.” I went insane looking for her. It wasn’t until late at night that I found her in the security office of the train station. She was trying to act like a grown-up, wanting to take a train far, far away by herself. I crouched down and hugged her tightly, the pain in my heart eating away at my bones. She guiltily wiped my tears and said: “Brother got sick and said he didn’t want treatment. He said it was better to save the money for me to go to school. “So, I want to save the money for Brother to go to school too. “Brother is a genius. He can go to college next year. All the kids at school are so jealous of me.” Leo was the best big brother in the world. During the times when Arthur and I were the busiest with work and had no time to watch them, he meticulously took care of his little sister. He raised the most obedient, sensible Anna. I held Anna, my body trembling uncontrollably, my heart filled with absolute despair. Anna, trying to act like an adult, gently patted my back. The chill of the early winter streets seeped into my bones. I looked out at the long, fog-covered road, unable to see any hope. Anna’s childish voice whispered in my ear: “Anna knows that even if we take out all the money we have, it’s not enough to cure me. “So Mommy, let Brother keep studying, and let Daddy use the money to heal his injuries, okay?” I remained silent for a long time before looking at her: “Then Mommy will go with you, okay? “We’ll leave the money for Daddy and Brother. “We’ll play a game of hide-and-seek with them. When… when Anna is all cured, we’ll come back.” Anna thought about it for a long time. Finally, she nodded heavily: “Okay!” … The first letter ended there. Standing nearby, Leo seemed unable to listen to any more. He let out a cold laugh: “So you’re trying to say Anna got leukemia?” Arthur scoffed lightly: “She used to be a screenwriter, after all. She really knows how to write a convincing script.” As he spoke, his face a mask of cold impatience, he flipped to the next page. 3 “December 20th. Admitted Anna to the hospital.” Before leaving for the specialized hospital out of state, I forced Arthur to sign the divorce papers. He lay in the hospital bed, his entire body wrapped in bandages, his voice thick with despair: “Chloe, I told you I’d figure out a way. “You can’t… you can’t be this cruel.” I didn’t waver. I divorced him. I packed a bag and took Anna away. Leo chased after us, blocking our path. His eyes were bloodshot, his voice shaking: “I told you, I won’t get the treatment! I won’t do it! Don’t worry, I won’t drag you down!” He reached out, trying to grab my hand. But I dodged him. As we stepped into the elevator, Leo’s trembling voice called out from behind: “Anna, what about you? “Mom and Dad were always busy. I’ve spent more time taking care of you than Mom ever did. “Just because I’m sick, you’re going to follow her and abandon me and Dad?” Anna’s face was already covered in tears. But she simply gripped my hand even tighter with her tiny fingers. A silent answer. Behind us, Leo finally let out a broken, raspy laugh: “Fine. Hahaha. Fine…” On the train heading south, Anna curled up in my arms. She cried and cried and cried. I wanted to cry too. But I couldn’t. I had to comfort my daughter. I sold my diamond ring. I sold the vintage watch my mother left me before she died. I was an unfilial daughter. Even when she was alive, I wasn’t able to do much for her. I sold every necklace, every piece of jewelry I had on me. I sold it all. Adding it all up, it was barely fifty thousand dollars. But it was enough to cover the short-term hospitalization fees. I pray… I pray the heavens show mercy, so my Anna can survive. I pray that one day, our family can be reunited. … The writing on the second letter ended. Arthur read it with cold eyes, his emotions completely flat. He sneered, “Writing all this garbage just to justify pawning off our things for cash?” But the cigarette in his left hand had burned all the way down to his fingertips, and he didn’t even seem to notice. He wasn’t as calm as he appeared on the surface. His mouth spewed disgust. But he still flipped to the next letter. 4 “January 1st. “Mommy says the bone marrow match results are in. “I don’t really understand, but Mommy says it means my sickness is going to be cured. “She can give me her bone marrow. And when it’s done, we can go home. Back to Daddy and Brother. “Mommy was so happy she cried. She hugged me and said, ‘Don’t be scared, Anna. Just half a month and you’ll be all better. It won’t hurt at all.’ “I’m a little scared. “But I want to know more… when Mommy gives me her bone marrow, will it hurt her? “I miss Daddy and Brother a little bit. “If Daddy and Brother were here, they could protect Mommy while I’m asleep getting my new bone marrow.” Beneath the crooked, wobbly handwriting—a result of her rapidly failing strength—I had attached another photo of her. She was still smiling, flashing a peace sign at the camera. But the slightly blurry photo couldn’t hide the dark bruises and swelling on the back of her small hand from the IV lines. Because of the chemo, her beautiful long hair had all been shaved off. Her left hand was self-consciously tugging at the new beanie I had bought her. I purposely got the hospital gown one size smaller, but it still hung loosely off her frame. In just half a month, she was basically skin and bones. Arthur held the letter, his eyes locked on the photo. He didn’t move for a long time. The sarcastic, mocking words seemed to lodge in his throat. Leo, trying to maintain his uncaring facade, glanced sideways at the photo. His expression froze for a split second. It took him a while to snap out of it and force a cold laugh. But whether it was the cold wind blowing or something else, a faint, almost imperceptible tremble entered his voice. “Nice Photoshop skills. With that hat on, you really can’t see her hair. “She has to wear a hat. Anna loves her hair more than anything. She’d never actually let anyone cut it off.” The girl standing in front of them had tears streaming down her face. “It’s not Photoshop. It’s real. Anna’s hair fell out because of the chemo. “At the time… at the time… they really thought she was going to survive.” Her voice broke into a sob. Arthur seemed to have reached the end of his tolerance. His brow furrowed in impatient anger: “Enough! “You’ve orchestrated this massive drama, and now Leo and I have seen it. “Chloe’s acting is phenomenal, and she trained her daughter to be a perfect little actress too. “Is that enough? Are you satisfied?!” Furious, the girl reached out to snatch the piggy bank back. “Give it back! You two are nothing like the people Chloe and Anna wrote about!” Arthur, completely out of patience, backhanded the piggy bank, intending to knock it into the nearby trash can. Leo reached out and caught it. The boy’s eyes were full of resentment, his face growing colder by the second. “It seems that if we don’t finish reading this meticulously crafted script, they won’t leave us alone. “I’m actually starting to get curious. What kind of pathetic, ridiculous tragedy can such a cold-blooded person invent next?” Arthur’s face was completely black. He dropped his cigarette butt and crushed it under his shoe. Unwilling to stay a second longer, he threw one last sentence at the girl: “If Chloe wants money, tell her to come get it herself. Don’t expect to trade fairy tales for cash. I’m not a publisher buying scripts.” He glanced at Leo, who was still standing there. “If you want to read it so badly, read it yourself.” He led the young woman into his car and drove off without a moment’s hesitation. Souls cannot feel the wind. But floating in mid-air, watching his retreating back fade into the night, my eyes still burned. For five years, his broad back was always the thing that made me and my daughter feel the safest. Now, even though he had someone new by his side, his silhouette seemed to grow thinner and more desolate. I looked away from the agonizing sight. I watched Leo flip to the next letter. 5 “January 6th. Anna can’t hold the pen anymore, so I have to write it for her.” Below it was another photo of Anna. She was still smiling at the camera, but her face was completely drained of blood. … This morning, the little patient in the next bed over passed away. She was a year younger than Anna. Also a blood disorder. Last night before bed, Anna gave her a strawberry gummy bear. The little girl was so polite. She even said “thank you.” The medical staff came in and covered her face with a white sheet. They rolled her little bed, the one with the pink blankets, out of the room. Her family was crying hysterically, screaming in agony. The sound pierced my brain like sharp needles. Anna stared at the empty spot where the little girl’s bed used to be. She asked me: “Mommy, did that little girl go to sleep?” It took every ounce of strength I had to answer her: “Yes, sweetie. She went to sleep.” Anna asked again: “She’s never going to wake up again, is she?” I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I turned my head away in a panic, avoiding her eyes as tears cascaded down my face. Another girl in our ward, seeing this, immediately called Anna over to watch cartoons on her phone. I breathed a sigh of relief. When I looked over, the girl gave me a comforting look. She was seventeen. Her name was Mia. She had congenital hemophilia. She was constantly hospitalized, and she never had any family staying with her. When I wasn’t busy with Anna, I would help take care of her. She was grateful, so whenever she could, she helped me watch Anna. In this ward, we were all people bonded by mutual tragedy. That night, Anna’s nose started bleeding again, and she lost consciousness. Right before she passed out, she was struggling to comfort me: “Anna just wants to sleep a little bit longer, Mommy. “When you wipe the blood away, it’s gone. It doesn’t hurt at all.” I called the doctor in a panic. After an emergency intervention, the doctor warned me with a heavy voice: “The child’s condition can’t wait much longer. “You need to gather the funds as quickly as possible and prepare for the bone marrow transplant.” I lied to Anna. I told her that since we were using my bone marrow, it wouldn’t cost much money. So she was full of hope, waiting for the transplant, waiting to be discharged so she could see her Daddy and Brother. But even though I was the donor, the transplant surgery and post-op care would still cost at least three hundred thousand dollars. I sold every single script I had ever written. I added the money left over from selling my jewelry. Altogether, it was barely enough to hit a hundred thousand. I opened my phone and scrolled to a number I had found earlier. My blood type is special and incredibly rare. Maybe… maybe I could sell some plasma, or sign a long-term donation contract, to get the remaining two hundred thousand. But I wasn’t sure if doing something so unsafe would end up costing me my own life. I didn’t care about dying anymore. But I was terrified that even if I died, it still wouldn’t be enough to save Anna. The lights in the ward were off. The night was suffocatingly dark. Where was the light?

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