Author: Momo Chan

I was rear-ended. The girl who hit me was a mess of frantic apologies, begging to handle it privately. When I refused, she made a call for help. Half an hour later, my husband, Sebastian, arrived at the scene. The girl was wracked with guilt, but Sebastian, my always-composed husband, was the one offering her gentle words of comfort. That’s when I realized I knew her. From the photograph he kept on his desk. The woman he fought his entire family for, long before he married me. The one that got away. 1 I was thrown against the steering wheel by the sudden impact. The world swam for a second, and then clarity hit. I’d been rear-ended. I leaned my head back, my heart hammering against my ribs. A few deep breaths later, just as my pulse began to settle, a frantic knocking shattered the quiet of the car. It was sharp and insistent, a desperate rhythm that made my temples throb. The discomfort peaked, and I rolled down the window. A young woman was bent over, peering in. She froze for a second, then her words tumbled out in a rush. “I’m so sorry! Are you okay?” She was young, slender, dressed in a light-blue denim dress. Her skin was pale, her eyes enormous and wide with a kind of dewy, innocent confusion. For some reason, I felt a flicker of recognition, a strange sense of familiarity, even though I was sure I’d never seen her before. I hit the hazard lights and unbuckled my seatbelt, my voice heavy with fatigue. “Let’s just follow procedure.” She just stood there, silent. I glanced over at her, my brow furrowing. “Could we… could we possibly handle this privately?” she asked, her voice small and pleading. “I know it’s a lot to ask,” she said, biting her lip. “I just bought this car, and my mom… she’s really sick—” “Ma’am,” I cut her off. “First things first. Can you please put out the warning triangle?” Her eyes widened, shimmering with unshed tears. “It’s rush hour. It’s dangerous not to have it out,” I said, my patience wearing thin. “Don’t you even know the basics?” 2 “I’m so sorry!” She ducked her head, the picture of shame, and apologized again. “I’ll go put it out right now.” A dull ache radiated from my lower back. I waited a moment before getting out of the car. The damage wasn’t catastrophic, but a long, ugly scrape marred most of the rear bumper. The girl’s car was a standard white sedan. A sticker on the back window read, “New Driver. Please Be Patient.” I gave it a passing glance. After setting up the triangle, she hurried back over. She saw me taking pictures with my phone and hesitated, looking like she wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. “Hi, this is all my fault,” she finally managed. “But… could we please not call the police? Can we just settle this between ourselves?” “My back hurts, and this was a serious collision,” I said, looking straight at her. “If we handle this privately, how will you compensate me? More importantly, how will my interests be protected?” “I… I can pay for the car repairs first,” she stammered. “Or I can take you to the hospital right now.” “This is a Panamera. I just picked it up two days ago.” The color drained from her face. She stared at me, speechless. I sighed. “Just call your insurance company.” She looked down, her fingers tracing nervous patterns on her phone screen. “I… I haven’t gotten insurance for it yet,” she whispered. My voice was cold. “And how is that my problem?” She blinked rapidly, her eyes slowly turning red. I didn’t say another word. She was at fault, yet she didn’t have a clue how to handle the most basic steps of a post-accident procedure. It was all on me. After calling the police and my insurance agent, a wave of exhaustion washed over me. I got back into my car to wait. I sent a quick text to Sebastian, just to let him know I’d be late getting back to The Summit tonight. We were both busy, but we’d planned to have dinner together. I didn’t mention the accident; he was swamped with a new project, and I didn’t want to worry him. After locking my phone, I glanced in the rearview mirror. The girl was on her phone now, her posture a mixture of distress and dependence. I guessed she was talking to her boyfriend. 3 The police and the insurance adjuster arrived quickly, followed shortly by my assistant. The girl, after her phone call, had done nothing but wait. Now, surrounded by a small crowd, she looked terribly alone, a strangely pitiful figure. My assistant checked on me first, and after confirming I was alright, went to handle the negotiations. I leaned my head back against the seat, closing my eyes. A moment later, I glanced up, and my body went rigid. In the rearview mirror, I saw Sebastian’s secretary, Peterson, talking to a police officer. What was Peterson doing here? In the next second, the girl’s face lit up. She took a few eager steps forward, then stopped abruptly. Her dress swayed as she bit her lip, a shy tremor of emotion, and mouthed a name. It was strange. In that one frozen moment, I could read her lips perfectly. She said, Mr. Blackwood. A tall man in a black trench coat stepped into the frame of my mirror. He was lean and powerful, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist. I threw the car door open. The girl’s head was bowed in a mix of shame and guilt. “I’m so sorry,” she was saying, her voice thick with emotion. “I only called you because I had no one else to turn to.” “I just bought the car, my mom is so sick, and I never even got around to buying insurance.” Her voice broke on a sob. “The other car… it’s a luxury car. I don’t even know what kind. She’s demanding—” She choked on her words, unable to continue. Sebastian hadn’t seen me. His eyes seemed fixed on the girl in front of him. His expression was as stoic as ever, but there was a softness in it, a gentleness I had never seen before. “It’s okay,” he said, his usually cool voice laced with reassurance. “Peterson will take care of it.” 4 The girl was crying softly now. Sebastian seemed to let out a sigh before offering her a handkerchief. It was a pale green silk square. I’d bought it for him in Paris a month ago. Last week, we were kissing in the car, and he had used that same handkerchief to wipe away my smudged lipstick. He had pulled me onto his lap, and when I’d asked for it back as I was getting out, he leaned away, a faint smile playing on his lips as he tucked it into his breast pocket. I pretended to be annoyed, and he leaned in to kiss the tip of my nose, murmuring, “What, can’t even spare a single handkerchief for me?” I thought he treasured it. A buzzing started in my ears. How ironic, I thought. He was more than willing to spare it now. Just as the girl took the handkerchief, Peterson turned and saw me. “Mrs. Blackwood?!” Sebastian’s head snapped in my direction. Our eyes met. The setting sun cast his sharp features in shadow, and his eyes were wide with undisguised shock. I looked down at my phone. No new messages. He hadn’t replied to my text. But he had come here, in person, to stand on the opposite side of this conflict, negotiating compensation for the person who had crashed into me. It made my attempt to shield him from worry seem utterly ridiculous. A sharp, stabbing pain shot through my head, a dizzying whiteout. In my peripheral vision, I saw the girl smile. It was a triumphant smile. Not hesitant, not pitiful anymore. It was calm, knowing, as if she had expected this all along. And suddenly, I understood why she had looked so familiar. I knew her. From a photo Sebastian kept on his desk in his study. Before he married me, Sebastian had fought his entire family, ready to give up everything. She was the one that got away, the woman he swore he would marry. My husband’s old flame, Lily. 5 A delicate, charged silence fell over the scene. Peterson glanced at me, then at Lily, his face a mask of professional anxiety. He had been with Sebastian for years; he knew all the stories of his reckless youth. After a long moment, Sebastian shrugged off his trench coat and walked towards me. The familiar scent of sandalwood enveloped me as he draped the coat over my shoulders. “Why didn’t you text me?” he asked, his voice even, as he tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “Are you hurt anywhere?” “I did,” I said, meeting his gaze. “You didn’t reply.” Before he could answer, a police officer approached Lily. “Ma’am, you’ll need to upload the liability statement.” Lily’s eyes darted to Sebastian, then quickly away, a flicker of fear in her expression. “Of course,” she said meekly. I knew Sebastian too well. The moment the words left Lily’s lips, I started counting in my head. One… two… On the third second, Sebastian spoke. “Peterson, you handle it.” Peterson wouldn’t look at me as he turned to follow the officer. I let out a small, bitter laugh. Just as I expected. Sebastian took my hand, giving it a gentle squeeze, the same placating gesture he always used when I was upset. “Mr. Blackwood,” Lily broke the awkward silence. “Do you two… know each other?” I laughed again, a hollow sound, and looked at Sebastian, already knowing what was coming. His handsome features tightened, his jaw clenching. He gave a single, sharp nod. “She’s my wife.” The subtle shift in his expression was like a needle to my heart. For the first time, I hated how well I understood him. Because I knew, in that instant, that he wasn’t declaring our unity to Lily. He wasn’t defending me. He was using the title of ‘wife’ as a weapon against her, a bitter, resentful way of proving: I’ve moved on. After all, everyone knew that after a year of fighting for her, it was Lily who had finally given up and broken up with him. 6 This gift for sensing the emotional undercurrents of a room could be a curse. Right now, Lily’s feigned surprise and Sebastian’s thin veneer of calm felt like a suffocating performance. The anger and humiliation drained out of me, replaced by the cold realization that in this three-person drama, I was the one left on the outside. Sebastian and I were the married ones, but it didn’t matter. I felt like a damp cloth, wrung out and discarded. A strange, twisted ache settled in my chest. Lily tucked her hair behind her ear, looking down as if to hide a wave of disappointment. “You two make a beautiful couple,” she murmured. I stared at her, my face a blank mask. After three seconds, I pulled my hand from Sebastian’s and turned away. I was back in my car for less than a minute when the passenger door opened. I grabbed the trench coat from my shoulders and threw it at him. Sebastian caught it, as if he’d been expecting it. He leaned in, his solid frame filling the space, and pulled me into his arms. I struggled, but he held me fast, his strength overwhelming mine. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his hand cupping the back of my head as he pressed a soft kiss to my forehead. “I’m late.” “Get out,” I hissed, turning my face away. “You make me sick.” “I was trying to get back at her when I told her you were my wife.” My struggles ceased. That was Sebastian—always brutally honest about his feelings, so honest it could set your teeth on edge. He cradled my face in his hands, his head dipping low until our noses touched, our breath mingling in the small space. “I lost control,” he said softly. “It was wrong of me to embarrass you like that.” “I shouldn’t have used that tone when I introduced you. She was at fault, and I shouldn’t have stepped in to solve her problem without knowing the facts, effectively putting myself in opposition to you.” His light brown eyes reflected only me. His thumb caressed my cheek. “This is the one and only time. I promise.” He knows, a voice screamed in my head. He knows exactly what he’s doing. I had known Sebastian for too long. He never hid anything from me, including what I saw in his eyes right now. He was admitting it. He still hadn’t completely moved on from Lily. I closed my eyes, a familiar sense of helplessness washing over me like a cold tide. 7 My assistant drove the car to the hospital, where I had a full check-up. The results showed nothing serious. Sebastian spoke with the doctor at length, carefully noting down all the instructions. In these matters, he was always impeccable. He drove on the way back, his other hand firmly laced with mine. The mountain road twisted and turned, offering sweeping views of the glittering harbor and the city skyline below. For some reason, my mind drifted back. It had been ten years since I first met Sebastian at The Summit, when I was just seventeen. A decade, gone in a flash. The Sebastian of ten years ago was impossibly arrogant, a young man for whom life was an effortless conquest. A privileged background was one thing, but he had the rare luxury of both freedom and love. He was a golden boy who did whatever he wanted. I couldn’t say if I was jealous of him. Our families were of similar standing, our ages close, and for years, my name was always mentioned in the same breath as his, a constant comparison. But I was never as lucky as he was. That summer at The Summit, he stood on the second-floor balcony, hair still tousled from sleep, and looked down at me. “So you’re Julia?” Later, I went upstairs, and we played a couple of video games. And after that, to escape our mutually resentful parents, I became a regular visitor at The Summit. Sebastian and I were two sides of the same coin. Lying side-by-side in the attic one day, he suddenly said, “It feels like you’re another version of me.” I flipped the book of poetry I was reading onto his face. “To receive such high praise from the great Sebastian Blackwood, I am truly humbled.” He turned his head just as I shifted onto my side. The book slid off, and the tip of my nose brushed his cheek. My lips parted slightly. We fell silent, the air between us thick with the ambiguous dance of our breathing. That kiss never happened. As he closed his eyes and leaned towards me, I snatched the book from the floor. I can still remember it now. It was a collection of poems by John Keats.

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My contract husband’s spiritual entity is a snow leopard. Whenever it gets close, it trembles and lets out a low growl. It also headbutts me. I thought it didn’t like me, so I gently suggested to Marcus that he keep it contained. But then I saw the live comments flickering in my vision: 「This leopard is trying to meow but sounds like it’s hacking up a year-old furball.」 「Sentinel: Honey, I love you! Honey: Why is this leopard headbutting me?」 「The wife has no spiritual entity, so she doesn’t know that Marcus is this shameless snow leopard.」 At the same time, I heard Marcus’s voice in my head: 「Just slap it. That’ll do the trick.」 A slap? I thought. Isn’t that more of a reward for you? 1 Marcus has gray-blue eyes. Exactly like the snow leopard currently rubbing against my calf. The only difference was the deep, purring rumble vibrating in the creature’s throat. Its round, shimmering blue eyes never left my face. I still couldn’t quite connect this massive cat with the man standing across the room. After I heard his mental suggestion, the comment feed exploded: 「When your wife slaps you, the first thing you notice is her scent.」 「What a way to reward himself. Marcus is a true connoisseur.」 「Aren’t Sentinels supposed to be impulsive hotheads? What’s this guy playing at?」 「Does anyone else see how cute Mochi is when he looks up like that?! I think Audrey is about to melt.」 「Wait, you’re telling me Marcus, the Chief Sentinel’s, spiritual entity is named Mochi?」 2 Marcus and I got married a month ago. The moment we signed the papers, he was called away on an urgent mission. After a rushed apology, he was gone, only returning today. My supervisor gave me the day off, considering a Guide’s primary duty is to provide spiritual soothing for their Sentinel. But the second I walked in the door, I was blocked by the snow leopard, leaving me no chance to get reacquainted with my new husband. Seeing me frozen in place, Marcus took a step closer. “Don’t be afraid. He’s just a little excited. He won’t hurt you.” I could smell the faint, clean scent of steam from his recent shower. I’d never been this close to a Sentinel before. I was a little nervous. I reached out and absently stroked the snow leopard’s ear. “What’s his name?” The next second, Marcus swayed on his feet. My hand met empty air. The snow leopard had vanished. I was about to say that I wasn’t scared of him anymore, that he didn’t need to put him away, when I saw Marcus’s jaw tighten. He spoke, his voice serious. “He needs to rest.” “Oh,” I said softly. I remembered then that he’d been on a mission for weeks. I discreetly started to back out of the bedroom. “Then I won’t disturb—” As I passed him, I noticed the tips of his ears were bright red. The comments mercilessly exposed him: 「Sentinels have heightened senses. Just a light touch on the ear from his wife and the whole leopard is about to roll over in ecstasy.」 「Little Marcus is on the verge of popping up to say hello to the wife.」 「Marcus, are you even a Sentinel? You compressed a three-month mission into one, worked nonstop to get back, and this is what you’re giving us?」 I paused. “Do you… need me to perform a soothing?” I asked, hesitating. “The people at the Citadel taught me the basics.” The words were barely out of my mouth before I regretted them. He was the Chief Sentinel. I was a deficient Guide with no spiritual entity and only a sliver of psychic energy. What good could I possibly do? I was so out of my league. Just as I was about to turn and flee in shame, a thick, furry tail curled around my calf. The snow leopard pushed me, and I tumbled onto the bed. Marcus immediately lay down on the other side. “My mindscape is dangerous. Just being near me is enough.” I didn’t understand what he meant at first. Not until a big, furry paw gently covered my eyes. We were just… sleeping. Wrapped in blankets. A stranger of a husband on one side, a giant, rumbling cat on the other. I thought it would be an impossible night. But when I opened my eyes again, it was morning. The room was empty. I assumed he’d been called away on another mission. Not thinking much of it, I got up and headed for the bathroom. Halfway there, I heard the sound of running water. Marcus hadn’t left? The next second, the comments flooded my vision: 「Never thought the wife would be such a wild sleeper. Like an octopus. Marcus held back all night, he’s about to explode.」 「It’s been over two hours. Is this the stamina of the Chief Sentinel?」 「A moment of silence for the wife’s future.」 I was still groggy and didn’t process it right away. Not until I heard a ragged gasp, barely audible over the shower, and then a broken whisper. He was saying my name. My face flushed hot. I turned to go to the downstairs bathroom, but the comments kept scrolling furiously: 「Marcus’s pocket is bulging. What did he stuff in there?」 「What could possibly be in the wife’s bathroom?」 「I think I know.」 「Me too. No wonder it’s been two hours.」 「Stop being so cryptic, AAAAAH!」 The moment I stepped into the bathroom, the words vanished. I dawdled inside for a long time, until I got a message from Marcus saying he’d left. Only then did I creep out. He was gone. I went back into the bathroom and looked around. My entire face felt like it was on fire. A few days ago, a friend had sent me a silk slip dress as a gift. I’d complained that the design was way too daring, but the fabric felt incredible. Since Marcus was away, I figured no one would see me if I wore it to bed. The only problem was that it wrinkled easily, so I had a habit of hanging it up in the bathroom after taking it off. But now, it was gone. 3 With Marcus’s whereabouts unknown, I had nothing to do at home, so I cancelled my leave and went back to the office. As it happened, a new Guide intern had just started and had no one to mentor him, so I sat next to him to help out. Suddenly, I felt a weight on my lap. It was a chubby orange tabby. The intern’s face went crimson. “I’m so sorry! I just awakened, I can’t control him very well yet!” I couldn’t resist stroking the cat’s head. “It’s okay. He’s adorable.” We were both Guides, after all. It was the perfect excuse to get my hands on a cat. The tabby was soft and pliant, a world away from the dense, heavy presence of the snow leopard. I lost myself in the simple joy of petting him. Even after the intern left for a meeting, I stayed at my desk, playing with the cat’s paws. I never expected Marcus to show up at my office. He lifted the chubby cat out of my arms by the scruff of its neck. “Can spiritual entities get pregnant?” His words were a mortal wound to the cat’s pride. It let out an indignant meow and vanished on the spot. The moment I got in the car, I was tackled by the snow leopard. It licked my face with wild abandon, the rough tongue tickling me until tears streamed from my eyes. I could only plead with Marcus for help with my eyes. He reached over and peeled Mochi off me, pulling me up. But a second later, we were both knocked over. Thankfully, the car was on auto-pilot. Sandwiched between the snow leopard and Marcus, I struggled for breath. The comments flew across my vision: 「The leopard smelled a strange cat on his wife and is now marking his territory.」 「Can someone please explain to me how the Chief Sentinel can be knocked over by his own spiritual entity?」 「Fun fact: on the battlefield, this leopard can shatter an enemy’s skull with a single swipe.」 「Let’s not talk about that.」 … As Marcus helped me up, I couldn’t stop my mind from racing as I stared at his face. Six months ago, agents from the Citadel had found me in a small border town. According to federal law, all Guides discovered in the wild must be brought under the Citadel’s control. I grew up in an orphanage, with no family, and certainly no spiritual entity. I never knew I was a Guide. I only knew that entering the Citadel meant one thing: waiting for the system to match you with a Sentinel. But on the way to the Citadel, our convoy was attacked. Marcus and his soldiers drove off the Wanderers. He told me our families were old friends. It was only then that I learned my parents had been high-level researchers for the state. They were killed in a targeted attack on scientists when I was six. I was lost in the chaos. At the Citadel, I attended classes with the others. Marcus visited occasionally. I heard from others that he was heavily criticized for not having a Guide. Many worried he would lose control without spiritual soothing. Meanwhile, I was facing my own mandatory matching. When I proposed a partnership, Marcus had a strange look on his face. He said he could help me apply for a deferment. “…Marriage is a serious matter, especially for a Guide.” I shook my head. “It’s going to be a forced match sooner or later anyway.” Besides, I really didn’t want to stay in the Citadel, learning flower arranging all day.

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The call came in the dead of night. My patron, asking me to deliver a box of ultra-thins. Staring at my rain-soaked clothes, the man’s voice was a low rasp. “Fuck,” he said. “Who told you to be so damn good?” I held the bag out to Pierce Knight, who was leaning against the doorframe. “The 0.01s you asked for.” When he took it, he deliberately brushed his calloused thumb over my knuckles, a predatory smile in his eyes. “She’s not here yet. Why don’t we break them in?” I froze for a second before he let out a low chuckle. “I’m kidding.” “I’ve set up a blind date for you next Wednesday. You’ve been with me for years, and I don’t want you to get the short end of the stick.” “You’ll go, won’t you?” 1 His tone was a question, but his eyes held a lazy, non-negotiable weight. This wasn’t about him not wanting me to get the short end of the stick. This was about his old flame coming back to the country. He wanted me gone, neatly disposed of, before she found out we ever existed. My fingers, already curled against my palm, tightened into a fist. I forced myself to look up, my voice carefully steady. “Just send me the address.” He caught the shift, the formal chill in my tone. His brow twitched, just for a second. Rainwater dripped from the ends of my hair onto my collarbone, and I shivered from the cold. “It’s late,” I stammered. “I should get going.” “Wait.” Pierce disappeared into the living room and returned with a Burberry shawl. He wrapped it snugly around me, leaving only my eyes, still damp with rain, visible. Flustered, I looked up to thank him and was caught in the sudden intensity of his gaze. His fingers were still resting on the collar of the shawl. His throat bobbed. “Don’t go tonight,” he said suddenly. I blinked, my response automatic. “But… isn’t someone else coming?” He cut me off before I could finish, his knuckles pressing against the top of my head, a raw, impatient edge to his voice. “You actually fucking believed that?” “In your mind, am I just some degenerate who sleeps around?” “In all these years, who’s been by my side but you?” Later, tangled in the sheets, as I was lost in a haze of pleasure, he leaned in and whispered in my ear. “This is the last time for us.” “Claire is coming back.” “I don’t want her to suspect anything, so be a good girl and go on that date.” The truth, finally. I sank my teeth into his shoulder, a silent scream of fury. 2 Pierce’s stamina was nothing short of superhuman. The saying that a man is over the hill after twenty-five was a complete lie when it came to him. The morning mist peeking through the curtains had turned a pale white before he finally ended his campaign and headed for the shower. As the water started running, I gathered my clothes from the floor and slipped into the guest bedroom. It was our unspoken rule. Pierce was a light sleeper and hated having anyone in his bed. So for five years, no matter how exhausted he left me, I would always use my last ounce of strength to drag myself to the guest room. The next day, I woke up well after nine. As I rushed downstairs after getting ready, I ran right into Pierce, fresh from his workout. He was wearing a white tank top that clung to the powerful, sleek lines of his shoulders and back. “I had Mrs. Gable save you some breakfast.” I waved my hands frantically. “I’m going to be late for work. I have to catch the subway.” Pierce raised an eyebrow. “I can just drive you, can’t I?” I was at the door, pulling on my shoes, the word tumbling out before I could stop it. “No.” “The results of my promotion are coming out today. If my colleagues see me getting out of the boss’s car, I’ll never be able to explain it.” Pierce’s hand, which had been twisting the cap off a water bottle, stilled. The air went silent for a beat. Then, he let out a short, dismissive laugh. “Suit yourself.” Just as I was leaving, he called my name and handed me a business card. “Your blind date for next week.” A buzzing filled my ears, yanking me back to reality. One night of passion, and I had almost forgotten. The whole reason I had agreed to bring him the damn condoms was to finally end our five-year-long, sordid affair. Afraid he’d think I was going to cling to him, I took the card. The sharp plastic corner dug into the soft flesh of my palm. My nose stung. “I’ll go,” I mumbled, my voice low. 3 For years, I had spent every weekend at Pierce’s house. At first, I used to lug huge bags filled with changes of clothes and countless bottles of skincare products. He found it a hassle and eventually had a vanity built for me, just to store my things. This time, as I left, I packed it all up. Everything. Including the pink slippers I always wore, and the silk nightgown in the closet. As I did this, Pierce just leaned against the doorframe and watched me, his expression unreadable, a murky swirl of emotions in his eyes. Not until I had cleared everything out and said my goodbyes did he speak. “From now on, we’re just colleagues.” He saw through my anxiety and let out a short, derisive laugh. “Relax. I’m not going to sabotage your career.” 4 I ran all the way to the office, barely making it to my desk before ten. My colleague, Becca, treated me to a rare coffee. “Stella, congratulations in advance! When you’re the department director, don’t forget your old comrades.” I smiled shyly. “The results aren’t out yet.” She scoffed. “Don’t be so modest. Of all the candidates, you’ve been here the longest and have the most successful projects under your belt.” “Besides, everyone’s seen how you’ve bled for this company over the years.” “You becoming director is what everyone wants.” I dropped the pretense and smiled at the rest of the team. “If I get it, I’m treating everyone to the most expensive sushi in the city!” Cheers erupted in the office. With three minutes to go, I refreshed my email countless times. I was so nervous I ran to the bathroom three times. Finally, I clicked open the new email. A line of bold, black text leaped out. 「We regret to inform you that your application for promotion has been unsuccessful…」 My mind went completely blank. My team members crowded around, and as they saw the result on my screen, the cheerful office fell deathly silent. The silence was broken by the Head of HR, who walked in with a smile, a woman trailing behind her. “Everyone, I’d like to introduce you to Claire. She has a master’s from abroad and has been personally appointed by Mr. Knight as the new Director of the Creative Department.” I looked up, and my breath caught in my throat. The woman was dressed in a sharp, tailored white suit, her long hair loosely tied back, revealing a slender, pale neck. She was the spitting image of the girl in the photo I had once seen tucked away in Pierce’s wallet. 5 It felt like coming down with a severe flu. My head was stuffed, my mind a complete blank. I was moving on autopilot, a heavy force pushing me forward. The walk to Pierce’s office wasn’t long, but I had to keep wiping away tears with the back of my hand. People were staring, but I was past caring about the embarrassment. I knocked. Pierce’s usual cool voice came from within. “Come in.” I stood there, my eyes red. The moment I spoke, the tears started falling again. “Why?” He didn’t even look up, his finger still tracing a line on a document. “Why what?” My voice rose, thick with an uncontrollable sense of betrayal. “There are so many other positions in the company. Why did you have to give Claire the one I was supposed to be promoted to?” Only then did Pierce look up from his papers, his tone as flat as if he were discussing the weather. “She wanted to be in the Creative Department.” “Just because she wanted to, you can just throw away five years of my hard work?” He knew. He knew that to get this promotion, I had taken the overseas assignment in Africa that no one else wanted. He knew I had caught malaria there and almost didn’t make it back. Pierce stood up and walked over to me, looking down at me from his towering height, his eyes cold and empty of any warmth. “Stella, this is reality.” “Because I’m in this position, I get to decide everything.” My voice trembled. “All I wanted was a fair chance. Is that so hard?” He let out a low laugh, as if I’d said something hilarious. “Fair?” “You want to talk to me about fairness?” “Stella, get one thing straight,” he said, leaning in, his breath a cold whisper against my face. “If you hadn’t slept with me…” “With your degree from a second-rate state school, you wouldn’t have even made it past the initial resume screening at this company.” “Why don’t you go ask all those Ivy League graduates who interviewed with you back then if they think that was fair?” “You didn’t seem to mind the perks of power then, so don’t come crying to me about fairness now.” His words were like a series of sharp slaps across my face, leaving my cheeks burning, my every breath a painful sting. And in that moment, I understood. Even though I had worked my ass off for five years, trying to prove myself, never once thinking of using my relationship with him to get ahead… I couldn’t change the fact that I had only gotten my foot in the door because of him. I had no right to talk about fairness. So, I decided to quit.

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When my parents hung up for the ninety-ninth time, I walked into the Registry Office, clutching my cancer diagnosis report. “Hello, I’d like to proactively cancel my registration.” Ten minutes later, my parents rushed in with my adopted sister. My father, a police officer, stormed in and slapped me. “Wasting police resources just to bicker with your sister? What good did all that schooling do you?!” My mother, a forensic pathologist, snatched the diagnosis report from my hand. She glanced at it, then sneered, “Faking medical records to get attention, pretending to be sick. You’ve been a liar since you were a child!” My adopted sister cried, tugging at my parents’ hands. “I’m sorry, Aria, I’ll never celebrate my birthday again. Please, stop lying to Mom and Dad!” I wiped away the unstoppable nosebleed and once again faced the Registry staff member. “I no longer have a family. To avoid delaying the cremation in three days, please help me process the cancellation.” … It was the third month after my late-stage stomach cancer diagnosis, and the doctor strongly urged me to be hospitalized. But I had no money, so I had to ask Mom and Dad for help. When Mom and Dad hung up on me for the ninety-ninth time, I walked into the Registry Office, clutching my cancer diagnosis report. “Hello, I’d like to proactively cancel my registration.” The staff member looked at me with a sympathetic expression and asked, “Young lady, don’t you have any family?” No sooner had she spoken. Mom and Dad rushed over with my adopted sister. Dad, without a word, slapped me, then pointed at my nose, seething with anger. “Wasting police resources just to bicker with your sister! What good did all that schooling do you?!” I was stunned by the blow. It took me a while to remember that today was Bella’s birthday party. Dad had specifically taken two days off to be with her. And I, his biological daughter with late-stage cancer, had merely called to ask for a little money for medical expenses. And was accused of wasting police resources. Tears quickly welled up in my eyes. I covered my swollen, aching cheek and tried to explain, “Dad, I didn’t…” “Still trying to argue?!” Mom snatched the report from my hand, scanned it, and sneered, “To gain attention, you stoop to forging medical records! You’ve ruined your sister’s important birthday party! You’ve been a liar since childhood, and you expect us to believe you now?” Saying this, she too tried to hit me, but Bella held her back with all her might. Bella’s eyes sparkled with tears, and she pleaded with me, appearing fragile and innocent. “I’m sorry, Aria, I shouldn’t have had a birthday. Please, stop deceiving Mom and Dad! Mom and Dad have worried themselves sick over you. If you could just repent, I promise I’ll never celebrate my birthday again!” Mom tenderly held Bella in her arms, wiping away her tears little by little. The scene of their deep mother-daughter affection stung my eyes. My mind was a blank, and a gush of hot, coppery blood streamed from my nostrils. I raised my hand to wipe the blood, then turned back to the service counter and addressed the staff member. “I no longer have a family. To avoid delaying the cremation in three days, please help me process the cancellation.” Dad laughed in exasperation, his tone mocking. “To ruin your sister’s birthday party, you even drag government officials into your act? This is absurd! Just wait for the consequences of your deplorable behavior! Don’t even claim to be my daughter then!” With that, they left with Bella, never looking back. After completing all the procedures, I returned home alone. Three days left to live: I, with late-stage cancer, processed my own identity cancellation. While my parents were celebrating a birthday with their adopted daughter. On the verge of death, I didn’t want to linger at home. I merely wanted to sort through my belongings one last time. But I found there was little to organize. My room was the smallest storage space in the house. It held only a few old clothes and a meager collection of stationery that belonged to me. Even Bella’s walk-in closet was three or four times larger. Only her unwanted items ever made their way into this storage room. After packing my things, I received a call from the Cemetery Company. “Ms. Aria Sterling, are you still interested in the burial plot you viewed previously? If you place a deposit now, we can reserve it for you; otherwise, it will be offered to other clients.” It was a plot I had looked at not long ago. The cemetery was adorned with lush pines and manicured roses. The gravestone and urn were in a clean, minimalist style. It was my favorite. At the time, I thought, since life had been so hard, perhaps death could be more comfortable. But now, that wish couldn’t be fulfilled. I hesitated for a moment, then replied, “No, thank you.” Because I had no money. How could someone who couldn’t afford medical treatment buy an expensive burial plot? As soon as I hung up, my older brother, Ethan, returned. He threw his briefcase down hastily, looking bewildered. “A burial plot? What burial plot?” I thought he knew something. But the next second, he spoke with an accusatory tone. “Aria Sterling, what new trick are you up to? I heard you caused a scene at the Civic Center just to ruin Bella’s birthday party! Not just Mom and Dad, even I’m embarrassed! Bella was so worried about you she cried out of guilt, and her birthday party was ruined. This is her only eighteenth birthday! If she hadn’t lost her parents when she was little, she wouldn’t have to live as a dependent. Why can’t you just accept her?” I looked at Ethan’s aggressive face, and the words I wanted to say caught in my throat. Wasn’t I the one being excluded? Bella’s eighteenth birthday was important, but what about mine? Ever since she appeared, I had never had a proper birthday. Every time my birthday approached, Bella would either catch a cold or have an allergic reaction. Then Mom and Dad would promptly abandon me, and the whole family would accompany her to the hospital. For ten consecutive years, if Bella so much as sneezed, Mom and Dad would nervously reach for a thermometer. As for my eighteenth birthday, they simply forgot. I didn’t even receive a single “Happy Birthday.” Yet they remembered to organize a banquet for Bella, custom-make her a dress, and prepare birthday gifts. With tears in my eyes, I looked at Ethan, telling him choked up, “Ethan, my eighteenth birthday, my only eighteenth birthday, you not only forgot it, but you didn’t even give me pocket money to buy a slice of birthday cake…” Ethan remembered something, and his eyes seemed to soften. But when he spoke, his tone was still irritable. “Why are you so petty? If you didn’t make mistakes and refuse to repent, why would Mom and Dad be angry for so long?” Just then, Dad, Mom, and Bella returned. From a distance, their echoing shouts of reprimand drifted from outside the door. “You still have the nerve to mention your eighteenth birthday? Based on what you’ve done to Bella, you don’t deserve to celebrate a birthday!” Dad’s face was ashen, his eyes burning with a rage that seemed ready to consume me. “You completely ruined Bella’s birthday, and yet she cried herself almost into shock begging us to forgive you! Don’t you feel any guilt at all? Apologize to your sister at once!” Bella snapped out of her sadness, forced a smile, and stepped forward. “No need to apologize, I’d like to eat the soy milk cake Aria makes. Aria, would you make me a cake?” Mom’s eyes flashed with a hint of relief, and she quickly urged me, “Isn’t that your specialty, sweetie? Aria, Bella’s giving you an easy out, you’re practically getting off lightly, hurry up and go!” I looked at Bella’s increasingly smug expression, didn’t move, and instead retorted, “Aren’t you allergic to soy beans? Insisting on eating my cake, are you trying to blame me again for your allergy?” Bella’s face instantly went pale. In the blink of an eye, she grabbed my hand, pleading innocently, “I’m sorry, Aria, I forgot! It’s all my fault for falling down the stairs when I was little, which damaged my brain and made me forget about my allergy! Aria, please don’t be angry, okay? I can eat another flavor!” Her hypocritical and affected demeanor made me find her utterly ridiculous. The first time I made a soy milk cake, I didn’t know she was allergic to soy beans. At the time, to prove my sincerity to my sister. Just because she said she liked it, I burned my hands countless times to bake the perfect cake base. As a result, Bella had an allergic reaction and fainted. When she woke up, she immediately cried and threw herself into Dad and Mom’s arms. “Uncle Sterling and Aunt Sterling, the cake was Aria’s kind gesture, she said it wouldn’t matter if I just had one bite. Please, don’t blame Aria, it’s all my fault for being greedy!” I stood helplessly by the hospital bed, facing Mom and Dad’s hateful glares. “I didn’t know Bella was allergic to soy beans, and she never told me…” But what I received in return was not trust. It was a flying kick from Dad. He kicked me in the stomach, sending me several feet away. The pain was so intense I couldn’t even get up. “Everyone in the family knows, how could you not know? Don’t make such a pathetic excuse! I think you just can’t stand your sister!” So, I was locked in my room for three whole days. Those three days were a nightmare of my life. No food, no water, couldn’t even go to the bathroom. By the time I was let out, I was utterly exhausted. Thinking of this, I coldly refused her, “My skills aren’t good enough, I can’t make what you want. If you want something, go buy it yourself.” Bella persistently clung to my arm, her voice tinged with a hint of fear. “Alright, alright, I don’t want cake, please don’t be angry, Aria!” As she spoke, a malicious glint flashed in her eyes. Her grip on my arm tightened with increasing force. Until, wincing in pain, I pulled my hand away, and she, completely off guard, stumbled and fell to the floor. Everyone’s face instantly changed. Mom, quick as a flash, helped Bella up, anxiously checking her for injuries. Bella seemed to have bumped her elbow, and she whimpered in Mom’s arms, “Mom, it hurts…” Ethan rolled up her sleeve, gently rubbed her joint a few times, then turned and sharply rebuked, “Aria Sterling! You’ve gone too far!” Dad, even more furious, stepped forward and slapped me directly. “Aria Sterling, you really are ungrateful! If you hadn’t pushed Bella down the stairs when you were little, would she have suffered brain damage?! If I had known you were so malicious, I never should have had you! No dinner tonight, go back to your room and reflect properly!” The slap was delivered with almost full force. I felt like one of my molars had fallen out. Mom saw the blood at the corner of my mouth, and a flicker of pity crossed her eyes. But the next second, merely because Bella’s crying intensified a little, she averted her gaze and went back to comforting Bella. I wiped the blood from my mouth and turned to go back to my room. Not to reflect, but to retrieve my packed luggage. They glanced at me in surprise, then followed with sneers. “What, you’ve grown wild, learned to run away from home? Parents disciplining you is for your own good, Aria. Why don’t you understand our sincere intentions? If you refuse to comply, then walk out that door today and don’t ever come back!” With repeated disappointments, my heart had become as still as water. Hearing such threats countless times, I was no longer afraid of not being able to return home. Because this home had never truly accepted me. Seeing me walk out without looking back. Dad, furious, grabbed a cup and threw it. The shattering glass grazed my head, leaving a small cut. But I did not yield. I merely paused, turning to face everyone. “Since you regret having me, then today I sever all ties with the Sterling family. Whoever goes back on their word is a dog.” As soon as I stepped out of the villa’s courtyard, Ethan chased after me, pulling a few bills from his pocket. He offered them to me, his tone admonishing. “Here’s a hundred dollars, take it and cool off somewhere for a few days. Once Mom and Dad calm down, come back and apologize, and this whole thing will blow over.” A hundred dollars. For Bella, that was just the cost of a single meal. So, they had long been accustomed to believing that my, Aria’s, few days of living expenses were only worth Bella’s one meal. Just then, Bella also ran out. She snatched the money from Ethan’s hand, smiling as she fawned over me. “Aria, we’re all family, Dad and Mom are just saying things in anger. Does Ethan really want to drive Aria away? If you ask me, don’t give her any money. When she gets hungry, she’ll come back sooner, won’t she?” Ethan seemed to find logic in this, and quietly withdrew his hand. My symptoms flared up again. Dragging my weary body, I don’t know how long I walked before finally leaving the affluent district where the Sterling family resided. Using the little money I’d saved from part-time jobs, I booked a room at a motel. That night, I curled up on the small bed, holding myself. As time slowly ticked away, I drifted into a dream. In the days before Bella, I, too, was my parents’ cherished darling. At that time, they were both too busy with work to spare any attention. When I was very young, they sent me to the countryside. Mom kissed my cheek, lingeringly, and said, “Darling, when Mom finishes work, she’ll come to pick you up soon.” I waited four years. When Mom and Dad finally came for me, there was another girl with them. She was the child of Dad’s close friend; her parents had passed away for certain reasons. Mom and Dad adopted her. I genuinely treated her as my own little sister. But on her birthday, she was pricked by a needle hidden in her party dress. She cried and buried herself in Mom and Dad’s arms, saying, “Uncle Sterling and Aunt Sterling, please don’t blame Aria. Aria didn’t mean it. Just give me a little more time, and I’ll definitely make her accept me!” Her words instantly sealed my fate. I questioned why she would frame me. A sinister smile appeared on her innocent face, then she grabbed my hand, placed it on her chest, and deliberately fell down the stairs. At that moment, Mom and Dad had just returned home. From then on, I became an undeniable troublemaker. The money I earned from part-time jobs was falsely accused by Bella of being stolen from her, and my parents cut off my allowance because of it. I was bullied by Bella’s clique, but she would merely feign innocence and turn the tables, making me out to be the bully. The consequence was being locked in a dark room. Because I often went hungry, I developed a severe stomach condition. When I bravely told Mom and Dad, my stomach medicine was replaced with vitamins. Simply because I had spent a few years in the countryside, all sorts of unfavorable accusations could be easily pinned on me. Even the right to celebrate my birthday was taken away. Waking up in the middle of the night with stomach pain, I suddenly longed for my Grandma in the countryside. The noodle soup Grandma made for me was incomparable to any food in the Sterling household. Not long after Grandma passed away, the countryside area was redeveloped. Unfortunately, my body was now very weak, and I didn’t have enough money for travel. Even visiting her grave had become an unattainable wish. Two days left to live: I ordered the cheapest noodle takeout I could find. While waiting for the delivery, I received a message from Ethan. [Mom and Dad still care about you, they told me to buy medicine for the cut on your head.] [Bella has already gone to see you with the medicine, she’s been trying to be friendly, please don’t hurt her anymore, okay?] Half an hour later. Bella and my takeout arrived almost simultaneously. Just as I was about to take my first bite of noodles, she raised her hand and knocked my bowl over. Noodles and broth splattered across the floor, a complete mess. “Aria Sterling, you didn’t actually think I came to bring you medicine, did you? My apologies, the medicine has already been thrown away.” She shed her usual demure facade, laughing spitefully. “Haven’t you seen the news? The staff member who processed your documents has been reported and suspended. Mom and Dad found out too, and they’re furious.” At this, I finally lost my patience. “Why are you doing this?” “Because I hate you, that’s why. Blame yourself, you jinx. You’re the one who dragged that person down. Got stomach cancer, big deal? You want to announce it to the world, but do you see Mom and Dad believing you? You’re dying anyway, why don’t you just die somewhere far away? Why do you have to be an eyesore here at the Sterling residence?!” Watching her enraged face, I remained unperturbed. Instead, I spoke calmly. “Bella, I genuinely believe I have never done anything to harm you. Why are you doing this to me?” Bella’s laugh was incredibly sarcastic. It took a long time for her to stop. “There’s no helping it. An adopted child simply can’t compare to a biological one. Parents, no matter how hard they try, can’t balance their love perfectly. So, I had to find a way to secure my place in the Sterling family, didn’t I?” “The needle in the dress when you were little, did you put it there yourself?” “That’s right.” Bella admitted without hesitation. “I put the needle in myself, and I threw myself down the stairs. A bit of specially formulated medicine, and I could fake an allergy. I’d go to any length to frame you. So, everything that’s happening now, I deserve it. What, are you very angry? Dissatisfied? Can you even kill me?” I was indeed very angry. The physical pain, mixed with fury, made me tremble. “Bella, you’re despicable!” No sooner had I spoken, she slapped me. It sent me sprawling to the ground. “Aria Sterling, save what little energy you have left, and just cling on for two more days. Once you’re dead, no one will threaten my position anymore.” She kicked me twice more before finally leaving, satisfied. Completely oblivious to the camera I had set up in the corner. I slowly picked myself up from the floor, laboriously brushing off my clothes, soaked with noodle broth. I opened my phone and saw the news about the staff member’s suspension. The online comments were unanimously against me, condemning my vicious behavior for sibling rivalry. I didn’t really care. But the staff member was innocent. So I created a group chat, inviting only Dad, Mom, and Ethan. And sent the video I had just recorded to the group. At the same time, I emailed it to all my relatives, friends, and classmates.

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When the protagonist appears, I am already pregnant with Kobby’s child. Unable to fight against fate, he once defied everything and broke off his engagement with the protagonist for me, but he also hated me to the core because of her, annoyed by even a glance at me. Finally, I grew tired, letting go of the entangled emotions, even giving up on the child. Until a twilight six years later. A tender-faced child knocked on my door. He said with a serious, grown-up expression: “My dad doesn’t want me anymore, can I stay with you?” 1 I froze for a moment, saying nothing. The child, Jessica, pursed his lips in displeasure, tilting his beautiful little face up and stating, very earnestly: “My teacher said that parents have the responsibility and obligation to raise their children…” The half-open door cut off his unfinished sentence. I stepped aside slightly, calmly saying: “Come in.” The dim yellow light within the room illuminated his slightly widened eyes. His eyes flickered inexplicably, and he huffed, chin raised, then obediently entered. I closed the door and turned to see Jessica curiously glancing around. Noticing me watching him, he immediately pulled his gaze back, nervously clutching his backpack straps, his small face taut as he said: “My name is Jessica.” It sounded like an introduction, and also like a reminder to me that he was the child Kobby and I had. I knew. From the first moment I saw him, I confirmed his identity. Because his appearance was almost an exact replica of Kobby’s. Seemingly disappointed by my calm reaction, he turned his head away, looking unhappy, no longer at me. I placed his small, yellow backpack by the entrance, then led him to wash his hands. “Let’s eat first.” Jessica obediently hummed in agreement. When I brought the food out, he had already climbed onto a chair by himself. I asked him why he suddenly came to find me. Jessica buried his head, poking at the small green vegetables in his bowl, his lowered head round and dark, his voice muffled: “I argued with him. He threw things and told me to get out, said never to come back.” So, he had run away from home in a fit of pique. Kobby would probably come to pick him up soon. That made sense. After all, six years ago, the Wilson family had a very ugly fight with me over Jessica’s custody. It was even less likely they wouldn’t want him now. My chopsticks paused, and I couldn’t quite say what I felt in my heart at that moment. I didn’t know Jessica was coming tonight, so I only had a simple two dishes and a soup. He was very picky, didn’t eat spring onions or carrots, and ended up with no vegetables to eat. Jessica stared at the mashed vegetable leaves with a look of deep resentment, then secretly glanced at me, swallowing guiltily. When we first met, he had a hint of childish arrogance and spoiledness, but now, he was picky and disliked vegetables, which suggested he was always indulged and pampered at the Wilson family home. He must not have been wronged. I felt a little relieved. After washing the dishes, I waited for Kobby to send someone to pick him up. I waited until half past nine. Six-year-old children get sleepy very early. He pulled pajamas from his backpack, looked around, and pouted, saying: “There’s only one room.” “Am I sharing a bed with you tonight?” I glanced at the clock on the wall, wondering why the Wilson family still hadn’t sent anyone. I had no choice but to compromise. “Yes, you’ll sleep with me tonight.” I expected Jessica to throw a tantrum. After all, a simple one-bedroom apartment would naturally not be as comfortable as the Wilson family’s mansion. But Jessica merely pursed his lips, his gaze flickering. After washing his face, he huffed and puffed into his pajamas, then climbed onto the bed, kicking his legs. It was just like dinner when he appeared disgusted but still quietly ate the vegetables I put on his plate. He burrowed and burrowed under the covers, making a little mound, then pulled out a fairy tale book from somewhere, secretly peeking at me with his eyes, and couldn’t help but urge: “Aren’t you going to read me a bedtime story?” He looked quite happy. 2 After reading Jessica to sleep, I pulled out Kobby’s number. I hesitated for a long time, but still didn’t dial. Kobby and I had been apart for six years. At first, we both thought we could defy fate. Back then, my family suddenly went bankrupt, and the Wilson family called off the engagement, secretly arranging an engagement between Kobby and Elara without his knowledge. For my sake, he recklessly broke off his engagement with Elara. He even gave up his heir status, enduring a family punishment from old Mr. Wilson and unable to get out of bed for half a month. Seeing my tears, he still endured the pain, softly comforting me with a lazy smile. I thought things would get better. The bankruptcy would get better, Kobby would get better, the future would get better. But it didn’t. Kobby and I got married in secret. Perhaps because of Kobby’s unwavering devotion to me, even after I got pregnant, I never thought of not having the child. Until the eve of childbirth. I called him repeatedly, enduring the pain, but Kobby never answered. A neighbor took me to the hospital, and when I woke up, I saw a cold and indifferent Kobby. I don’t know why a person could change so drastically overnight. So much so that his gaze towards me was filled with unfamiliar disdain. Elara visited me once. From her, I learned the truth about this world. Due to a system error in timing, when the late protagonist appeared, the male lead had already developed feelings for someone else. As a consequence of the correction, the male lead’s misplaced affection began to invert. The more he loved me before, the more he hated me now. Elara looked at me with a pitiful and sympathetic gaze. Before she left, she whispered, “Have you ever thought about what will happen to your child in the future?” I was suddenly stunned, a little lost. I didn’t know who to hate anymore. Should I hate Kobby? But he himself couldn’t sort out his feelings. Should I hate fate? But what good would hating do? I couldn’t change anything. At that time, my parents were in a car accident on their way to visit me at the hospital. They were unconscious and might be in a vegetative state for the rest of their lives. I was on the verge of a breakdown, Elara’s words replaying in my mind. I just felt that this damned world was so, so exhausting. I pushed open the window, and as I looked down, the child by the hospital bed suddenly began to wail loudly. Dazed, I wondered, if I died, what would become of him? Would this world tolerate his existence? Would Elara abuse him? Or would he, like me, be rejected by Kobby, then silently endure many grieWilsons, and finally die unnoticed, fulfilling everyone’s expectations? I started to tremble all over, returned to the bedside, my hands shaking as I reached for his neck. I wanted to take him with me. But then he stopped crying, his red, tear-filled eyes fixed on me, as if he wanted to stay with his mother no matter where she went. Until the nurse and bodyguard, sensing something was wrong, rushed in and roughly pushed me away. I looked down at my trembling hands, then suddenly realized what absurd thing I had almost done under Elara’s influence. News quickly reached the Wilson family. Old Mr. Wilson demanded to see me and began to fight for the child’s custody. I asked for nothing, left the Kobby who despised me, relinquished custody, and straightforwardly signed the divorce papers. I only asked for two million. Young and carefree, the former Miss Sterling, who once carelessly spent millions, now finds herself at a dead end for a few thousand dollars in hospital bills. Kobby never appeared from beginning to end. He loathed me so much that he didn’t even want to look at me. So, I accepted my fate. I abandoned the entangled emotions, even giving up on the child. I let him go, and I let myself go. It wasn’t until a soft little bundle burrowed into my arms that I snapped back to reality. Jessica whimpered in his sleep, curling up softly in my embrace, as if he had finally found a comfortable position, sleeping soundly. He clutched my clothes tightly, anxiously, as if afraid that I would disappear the moment he opened his eyes. I gazed at that innocent, tender face, and couldn’t help but let out a soft sigh. If he knew his mother wanted to strangle him at birth, would he still come looking for me? He would probably run from me faster than he could hide. 3 By morning, Kobby still hadn’t appeared. I didn’t know what he was trying to do. The Wilson family had fought so bitterly for custody, yet now they seemed to just abandon him. I woke Jessica up early and hailed a taxi to take him to school. His kindergarten was in a different city than mine, but luckily it was only an hour’s drive away. Before getting out of the car, he made me promise repeatedly that I would pick him up after school, and he clung to me, whining, refusing to let go. Until he saw a car parked in front of the kindergarten gate. His eyes lit up, and he urgently pulled me out of the car. As we approached, he deliberately slowed his steps, casually blocking the chubby boy who had just gotten out of the car. As if deliberately showing off, Jessica swung my hand, which he was holding, in front of the boy. Then, very loudly, in a voice everyone could hear, he asked me: “Mommy, you’ll pick me up after school, right?” This was the first time Jessica had called me “Mommy.” Perhaps because I had been absent for six whole years, even when he knocked on my door, he had never called me “Mommy” on his own. The chubby boy stared at me intently, saying with disbelief: “If you have a mommy, why didn’t she ever take you to school before?” Jessica snorted, his gaze full of disdain: “My mommy is busy with work. She took special leave today just to take me to school.” The word “special” was emphasized heavily. He held my hand and walked to the kindergarten gate in front of everyone, as if showing off, wanting everyone to see. Before we parted, he awkwardly asked again: “…You’ll come pick me up, won’t you?” Seeing my silence, he glared at me, then said, panicked and very softly: “You promised me in the car! Adults can’t lie!” I helplessly crouched down, smoothed out his turned-up collar, and ruffled his hair. His hair was dark and soft, and felt lovely to the touch. “Okay, I’ll come pick you up.” He couldn’t help but turn up the corners of his lips, then desperately straightened them, feigning maturity and raising his chin proudly, saying: “Hmm, I’ll remember to wait for you.” Only when his figure completely disappeared from my sight did I retract my gaze. I found his teacher and asked about Jessica’s situation in kindergarten. The teacher stammered, then finally sighed, frowning as she complained: “I know the Wilson family is powerful, and what I say might not be useful.” “But, Jessica’s mom, no matter how busy you are, you can’t neglect your child, can you?” “Since he enrolled, no one has ever come for a parent-teacher conference!” “Now all the children in the kindergarten are spreading rumors that he doesn’t have a mom. This isn’t good for the child’s psychological development at all.” No one had ever come for a parent-teacher conference? Even if Kobby was busy and disliked this child, was he even too lazy to send an assistant to handle it? I frowned, feeling for the first time that I might have made the wrong decision. …Perhaps I shouldn’t have given up custody back then. But at that time, I was penniless, my parents were in a coma in the hospital, and I couldn’t even support myself. How could I talk about raising a vulnerable child? I pulled out Kobby’s number, hesitated for a moment, then dialed. I decided to have a serious talk with him. If Kobby really didn’t want to raise him anymore, I would take him in. Although I couldn’t provide him with the same good conditions as the Wilson family, I had enough to raise a child. The phone had just been dialed when the ringing sounded behind me. As if realizing something, my fingertips trembled, and I turned around. Only to see Kobby stepping out of a black Bentley. Six years had passed; he seemed to have changed, and yet not changed at all. His eyelids were half-lowered, gazing at the illuminated screen, his wrist bones clearly defined, his stern face hidden in shadow. He calmly raised an eyebrow, then suddenly looked up. “You’ve been hiding from me for so many years.” “Talk?” Unlike my disheveled state over the years, Kobby remained composed and steady. His eyes were as they always were, looking at me with an inexplicably deep gaze. Even the light and shadow cast by the tree branches at this moment favored him. I heard he had taken over the entire Wilson family business from old Mr. Wilson. I heard the brand he founded was popular worldwide. I heard he had been secretly married years ago, always keeping a low profile. The memories of countless years, which I had deliberately ignored, surged back with devastating force, a subtle pain aching in my chest. Only when I saw him at that moment did I truly realize. I thought I had moved on. Apparently not. When he was young, he used to weave grass rings for me, and once kicked the person who bullied me into the pool. No one could have imagined that we would reach such an embarrassing point today. He hadn’t changed, actually; he just no longer loved me, that was all. It’s truly been a long, long time, Kobby. 4 In silence, we found a coffee shop nearby. Before the coffee arrived, I asked bluntly, as if to hide something: “Do you still want the child?” For the past six years, I had tormented myself fantasizing about a reunion with Kobby. So much so that I could now pretend to be calm. Kobby glanced up at me, without hesitation: “Of course I do.” I pursed my lips, staring at the street sign outside the floor-to-ceiling window, then quietly hummed and stood up. “Then remember to pick him up after school. If you don’t have time for parent-teacher conferences, you can notify me. I won’t disturb you and–” Still couldn’t bring myself to say Elara’s name. I couldn’t help but pinch my palm, the sharp pain making me clear-headed, forcing myself to say: “…won’t disturb your lives.” I glanced at the time, ready to leave. As I brushed past him, I heard Kobby ask unexpectedly: “So, you only want to talk about Jessica with me now?” I paused, not quite understanding. Our business had been settled six years ago; he had found new love, I took two million and left cleanly, it was that simple. Besides Jessica, what else was there for us to discuss? Kobby sighed softly, his dark eyes fixed on me, then spoke again: “Alright then, I don’t want Jessica.” He said it so righteously, as if he wasn’t the one who had changed his mind on the spot. I frowned, and couldn’t help but ask him: “What do you mean?” Kobby tilted his chin slightly, pointing to the opposite seat, motioning for me to sit back down. “Literally.” “You want to raise the child? Fine. He’s yours.” “Considering the child’s well-being, every Friday evening I will come to your current residence for necessary shared time with Jessica, and drive back to the company on Monday morning.” Watching him stubbornly argue with a straight face, I found it absurd. I couldn’t help but remind him: “We’re already divorced.” “Are we?” Kobby scoffed, his meaning unclear. “I didn’t sign.” It dawned on me belatedly what those words meant. When old Mr. Wilson made me sign the divorce papers, I only thought Kobby detested me so much that he didn’t even want to see me one last time, which was why he never appeared from beginning to end. He said he hadn’t signed. But then why did he only come looking for me six years later? I wouldn’t be so conceited as to think he still had any feelings for me. Perhaps the original agreement was lost, or there was some flaw in it that required a supplementary agreement to be signed—anything was possible. I pursed my lips, cooperating, and said: “Then let’s sign a new one.” Kobby didn’t even lift his eyes. “No.” I spoke to him gently: “Wouldn’t it be better if we settled everything after signing?” “No.” “Do you have any concerns? I don’t want any shares or money. Consider me leaving with nothing.” “No.” The three “nos” made me angry and dazed. Perhaps Kobby himself didn’t remember that he was like this in his youth. That day was his birthday party. Someone cornered me, looking at me provocatively and saying inappropriate things. Kobby kicked the person into the swimming pool. The commotion was huge. All the prominent figures in the capital were there, and the faces of several elders looked quite displeased. When asked for the reason, Kobby never offered an explanation. To avoid gossip and protect my reputation, Kobby didn’t even mention me from start to finish. He refused to admit fault and endured a beating from old Mr. Wilson. Perhaps no one would have imagined that the eighteenth birthday of this now prominent figure in the business world was spent in solitary confinement. The door was completely locked, even medicine couldn’t be brought in. I curled up outside the door, whispering softly, full of guilt: “I’m sorry.” Through the door, he paused for a moment, making some rustling sounds. He seemed to have sat down by the door too. His voice was a bit muffled; he softly hummed, then said: “Don’t listen.” I buried my forehead in my knees, murmuring, “Actually, you didn’t have to kick him. It would have been fine if you just let him finish talking. He wouldn’t dare do anything to me.” “No waiting.” I didn’t speak again. Perhaps he misunderstood something because my voice was too muffled. After a moment, he spoke again: “Don’t cry.” He tapped on the door, then tutted softly: “I did it voluntarily, it has nothing to do with you. Don’t cry.” I snapped back to reality, desperately hiding the bitterness in my eyes, yet it felt as if I heard his “Don’t cry” from many years ago again. Kobby sat in the light, smiling calmly, tiny dust motes dancing in the fragmented rays. His old contours had subtly sharpened with time. He looked up, raising an eyebrow at me. As if answering what I had said earlier. “Sophia, we can’t settle this.”

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My fiancé and my own brother hated me for ten years. They were convinced I’d bullied their precious little innocent. And at my engagement party, they exposed my supposed crimes to the world. “She’s a disgrace, a bully who tormented her classmates!” In the live-streamed video, the innocent girl smiled through tears: “I’ve forgiven her. Looking back, I’ve long since moved past it.” She became an overnight sensation. I, on the other hand, was vilified, attacked with acid by extreme fans, and in despair, I dragged her down with me. When I opened my eyes again, I was back in my senior year of high school. The innocent girl was pouring water over her head, smiling as she asked, “Have you thought about how you’re going to apologize to me?” I snapped. Grabbing her by the hair, I dragged her into the restroom and shoved her head into the toilet. “Let me show you what real bullying looks like.” “Such a filthy mouth. Remember to wash it clean before you go tattling.” 1 My last memory of my previous life. The agonizing, near-fatal pain of concentrated acid splashing into my eyes. Enduring immense agony, I found Daisy, shielded behind my brother, through my blurring vision. Then I grabbed a cake knife, charged, and plunged it into her chest. “Let’s go to hell together!” … My eyes snapped open again. The unusually clear sight before me left me stunned for a couple of seconds. Until I saw Daisy, much younger, not far away. She was wearing a faded school uniform, twisting open a faucet, and pouring water over her own head. As the water streamed down, she smiled and asked, “Who do you think they’ll believe, me or you?” It hit me then. This was the day. The beginning of my being branded a bully in my past life. Seeing me standing there, frozen, Daisy’s smile widened. “Have you thought about how you’re going to apologize to me, Miss Fancy Pants? —Ah!” Old grudges and fresh fury surged. I lunged, seized her by the hair, and dragged her into the restroom. Amidst her sudden, shrill shriek, I shoved her entire face into the toilet. “You think a little cold water is enough to pin this on me? Come on, I’ll personally teach you what real bullying means.” Daisy thrashed wildly, her arms flailing like windmills, but she couldn’t escape my grip. Her face buried in the murky water, she could only gurgle out muffled sounds. “Eleanor, let me go… gurgle… retch—” I threw my head back and laughed. “Such a filthy mouth! Remember to wash it clean before you go tattling later!” Whether this was a do-over or a post-mortem hallucation. It didn’t matter. I was completely, utterly insane. 2 In my past life, I died on the most triumphant day of my life. That day, I’d won my third Best Actress award, dressed in a haute couture gown, standing on a grand, live-streamed engagement stage with my childhood sweetheart, Evan. Then he announced to everyone, “I will never marry a despicable bully who tormented classmates in high school.” As I stared in disbelief. Daisy emerged from the audience. Her eyes glistening with tears, she looked up and smiled. “Eleanor, do you remember me? Daisy, the girl you bullied for ten years.” “You probably never imagined I’d stand here, equal to you, one day.” “But it’s alright, I don’t blame you anymore.” “Looking back, I’ve long since moved past it.” The live broadcast instantly made her a sensation. Before I could even react, a swarm of reporters, arranged by my brother and Evan, rushed in and surrounded me. “Miss Moreau, is it true you still maintain your habit of bullying newcomers on set?” “Someone photographed you visiting a gynecologist recently. Was it due to a dirty disease from your promiscuous private life?” An extremist fan burst through the crowd and hurled acid onto my face. “Bitch, just die!” The liquid splashed, bringing an overwhelming, searing pain to my face. My vision never cleared again. From heaven to hell, in an instant. 3 Snapping back to reality, I released my grip. Daisy lay on the ground, gasping for breath. Her innocent, pure face was streaked with grime. I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. “Cry, throw a fit, then go tell the whole world I bullied you with that face—go on!” My voice rose sharply at the end. Remembering the searing pain of my face being dissolved by acid in my past life, I stomped on her face twice more with all my might. Only then did I turn and leave. Downstairs, my classmate, Sarah, was waiting for me. “Gym class started ages ago, what were you doing upstairs?” I said nonchalantly, “Oh, just bullied the new kid a bit.” She turned, shocked. “What?!” I replied, “As Mark Twain said, when the whole world thinks you’re a bully, you might as well be one.” “Mark Twain… said that…?” “It’s not important.” As we walked towards the sports field, we ran straight into Evan. He wasn’t in my class. But everyone in school knew he was Eleanor Moreau’ childhood boyfriend. Evan’s gaze skimmed my face, then subtly, almost imperceptibly, landed behind me. “Ellie, why are you so late? By the way, I heard there’s a new transfer student in your class?” In my past life, every time Daisy slandered me. He would always tell me to apologize to her, to just move past it. He seemed to be on my side. But in reality, a few words from him solidified my guilt as a bully. At that thought, I unexpectedly raised my hand and slapped him. “?!” Sarah, beside me, was stunned again. Evan’s expression remained unchanged, though his eyes momentarily hardened. Then he acted as if nothing had happened. He leaned down intimately, rubbing his cheek against mine. “What’s wrong, Ellie? Are you in a bad mood?” 4 In my past life, I didn’t know until much later. When Evan was a child, his mother abandoned him at an amusement park, and he spent some time in an orphanage. There, he met a cheerful, bright little girl. She slept in the same bed as him and gave him a piece of candy. She was the only light in his life. That light was Daisy. And on her very first day transferring to our school, Evan recognized her. He had always believed Daisy’s claims that I bullied her, hating me to the core. Yet, constrained by his status as an illegitimate child, he had to endure and curry favor with me. Because he needed to secure his position in the family through marriage to me. At this thought, I said, “Let’s break up.” His pupils suddenly constricted. “…Why? Give me a reason, Ellie.” I pulled out a tissue, wiping my cheek where he’d touched it, stroke by stroke. “I don’t want to date a mistress’s son. It feels dirty. Is that reason enough?” 5 After I left, Sarah cautiously asked if I was possessed. Her question didn’t surprise me in the least. Because in high school, I had loved Evan so openly and intensely. Every day after school, I’d wait to walk home with him, baking cookies until my hands were scratched and cut, then smiling sweetly as I brought them to him. My favoritism was so obvious, the whole world knew. But now, it was different. The Eleanor Moreau who had just started her senior year was dead. The person standing here now was Eleanor Moreau, reborn from the ashes! 6 Daisy didn’t reappear all day. I knew her face was her most prized asset. She wouldn’t make a move unless she could fully leverage it. I waited patiently. Soon, it was Saturday, my eighteenth birthday. My parents had said they’d host a grand dinner to celebrate my coming of age. But then something urgent came up at their company, and they had to arrive late. Under the glittering crystal chandeliers. I, dressed in a bespoke cocktail dress, descended the spiral staircase into the living room. From afar, I saw my brother, Victor Moreau. He was impeccably dressed in a suit, his face impassive, calling out to me. “Eleanor, come here.” I walked over. Pretending not to see Evan’s shadowed gaze behind him, nor Daisy, who looked on the verge of tears. I smiled sweetly. “What is it, brother? Did you prepare a gift for me?” Victor looked at me with cold eyes for a moment, then spoke. “Bullying classmates, insulting friends, Eleanor. Is this what the Moreau family taught you?” His voice hadn’t softened in the slightest. Suddenly, all the guests’ eyes in the room turned our way. “What are you talking about, brother? I don’t understand.” I looked at Daisy, tilting my head. “Who did I insult, and when did I bully a classmate? I don’t even know her.” “It’s too late to deny it now. You made a mistake, and you’ll pay the price.” “Since Mom and Dad aren’t here today, I’ll discipline you on their behalf.” With that, Victor took a ruler from a nearby display cabinet. Looking at me, he stated each word sternly. “Kneel.” 7 In the vast ballroom, countless eyes watched, eager for a show. “What? Bullying a classmate? The Moreau daughter does things like that?” “Oh, raised in luxury, it’s normal for her to resent others being better.” “Good thing her brother is fair and not protective.” Under Daisy’s smug and defiant gaze, I straightened my back. Smiling, I unleashed a torrent of sarcasm. “What rubbish are you spewing, brother? Anyone who knows you would think you’re Victor Moreau; anyone who doesn’t would think some ghost from the old days possessed you.” “I only kneel for my ancestors.” I cocked my head, scrutinizing him from head to toe, then smirked nastily. “How about this: you go jump off a building right now, and I’ll immediately kneel and bow three times to send you off.” Victor’s face instantly darkened. Behind him, Daisy feigned concern. “Eleanor, I know you don’t like me, but it’s one thing to pick on me, how can you speak to your own brother like that?” Her eyes widened, tears welling up, deliberately putting on a childish, innocent expression. Evan, seeing this, showed a flicker of obscure darkness in his eyes. Then he spoke softly. “Ellie, if you’ve made a mistake, just admit it and apologize. There’s no need to—” I also widened my eyes, feigning distress. “Excuse me, I don’t understand dog barks. Could you please repeat that in human language?” “Enough!” Victor snapped. “Eleanor Moreau, as a young woman, do you have no sense of decency? Who taught you to speak like that, full of vulgarity and without manners?” He was still the same, refusing to believe anything I said. Instead, he would, with strong prejudice, nail me to the pillar of shame again and again. I tugged at the corner of my mouth, mimicking his cold sneer. “Mom and Dad are busy, no time to manage me. Who do you think taught me?” “Of course, it was you, my dearest brother.” 8 In my past life, I was always a mixture of fear and affection for Victor. He was several years older than me, and in my heart, he was always an authoritative brother. When we were little, Mom and Dad were busy with the company, so he was the one who disciplined me. If I made even a small mistake, I’d get my palm smacked with a ruler, or be forbidden to eat. When I brought home a curly-haired stray dog I’d found, he wouldn’t let the housekeeper open the door for me. “It’s filthy. We don’t welcome things like that in this house.” So I sat on the steps outside our house, clutching the puppy, all night long. I was still young then. I always thought that was just his personality, that he couldn’t learn the gentle affection other brothers showed their sisters. It wasn’t until Daisy appeared. That I realized. My brother did know how to be gentle. It just wasn’t for me. I’d seen him in his car, handing Daisy hot milk, ruffling her hair and saying, “Remember to eat three meals a day. If you need more money, I’m here.” I’d also seen Daisy pick up a scrawny stray cat in the rain, while he held an umbrella over her, softly asking, “Do you want to keep it?” When Daisy was drunk and mumbled nonsense, tugging at his shirt, he listened patiently, his eyes full of tenderness. In my past life, I was trapped in a web of deceitful love. Confused why my brother didn’t love me, why my fiancé wasn’t on my side. Only after living through it again did I finally understand. I was a completely independent individual. I didn’t need love to survive. 9 The birthday dinner ultimately didn’t end well. Because as I confronted Victor without backing down, Mom and Dad finally returned. They politely thanked and sent off the numerous guests. Daisy tried to pull her usual victim act with Mom, but Mom cut her off with a smile. “Excuse me, young lady, we handle our family matters ourselves. Please leave.” Daisy choked, giving Victor a tearful glance before turning to leave. Once only Victor and I remained, Dad finally spoke, his voice authoritative. “Alright, now tell me exactly what happened.” Before Victor could speak, I quickly interjected. “A new transfer student arrived at school recently. On her very first day, she went crazy, poured water over her own head, and insisted I was the one who did it, saying I bullied her.” “Later, I found out this person was Daisy, the underprivileged student you’ve been sponsoring, brother.” Victor, who was sitting on the sofa, suddenly looked up at me, his eyes full of shock. Surprised, aren’t you, brother? That your secret affair was discovered by me so early. I pressed my reddened eyes, my voice choked with sobs. “Actually, I don’t blame her. It’s just a birthday, I can just skip it.” “I’m just sad, why don’t you believe me, brother…” It wasn’t as if Daisy was the only one who could play the innocent victim in this world. Amidst my tearful voice, Dad made a final decision. “Alright, no matter who bullied whom, don’t make a fuss anymore.” “If it escalates and gets out, it won’t be good for any of you.” “This matter, ends here.” 10 Back at school, I began overtly bullying Daisy. Pouring ink into her drawer, loudly mocking her when she recited English with an accent. Tearing her physics test into pieces and sprinkling them over her head. “Go on, go tattle again.” I smiled. “Isn’t that what you’re best at?” A piece of shredded paper floated gently from her hair. She looked at me, a flicker of deep-seated malice in her eyes. In the end, she still trembled and cried, apologizing to me. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Eleanor. If I’ve done anything to upset you, I apologize now. I’ll change, alright?” “Your existence upsets me.” I raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “How will you change? Are you going to die right now?” She was speechless, unable to utter a single word. Finally, she could only continue to cry. I realized for the first time how exhilarating it was to be the villain. Of course, she told the teachers. The teacher called me to the office. I tearfully recounted what happened at the birthday dinner, finally pulling out a doctor’s note. “Because of her rumors that day, my brother humiliated me in front of so many people. I cry every time I think about it, even waking up from nightmares.” “I’m still seeing a psychologist and taking medication. The doctor says I have severe depression.” In the end, the teacher had to console me. Everyone could see I disliked Daisy. Sarah was puzzled. “Why are you targeting her so much? Has she done anything bad?” I looked up and smiled at her. “Can’t I just be a bad woman, using my family’s wealth to look down on a new student from a poor background?” “Oh, come on.” She rolled her eyes at me. “If you were like that, why wouldn’t you bully me? My family is much poorer than hers.” “On the very first day we became friends, you bought all my school supplies for three years of high school. Asking me to believe you bully classmates is like asking me to believe I’m Queen Elizabeth.” “I understand that much.” Yes. That much, everyone understood. But my brother and the person I loved, they just didn’t. I curved my lips, but there was no smile in my eyes.

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I knew my husband, Ryan Prescott, faked his death and took on his twin brother’s identity, but I never exposed him. Instead, I went to the military commander, informed him of my husband’s supposed demise, and requested his military discharge. In my previous life, my brother-in-law died unexpectedly, and my husband resolutely abandoned his position as a Battalion Commander to impersonate his twin, all to prevent his sister-in-law from becoming a widow. I recognized him as Ryan, and confronted him about why he was impersonating his younger brother. Ryan, however, denied it adamantly, coldly pushing me away. “Eleanor, I know you’re devastated that my brother is gone, but you can’t mistake me for him just because he’s dead!” He shielded his delicate sister-in-law, pushed me into an icy river, and warned me against delusional thoughts. My five-year-old daughter cried, asking why her daddy didn’t want her, and was locked in a cowshed to reflect, starving for three days and nights. My mother-in-law cursed me as a jinx who brought death to her husband, throwing my daughter and me out of the house penniless. Ryan even spread rumors that I had gone mad, coveting my brother-in-law immediately after my husband’s death. I was scorned and despised by everyone, clinging to my daughter, numbly dying in the bitter cold of winter. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day my husband began impersonating his brother. …

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For eight years after being found by the Fox family, my brother finally decided to host a formal reunion party for me, who had been living separately. But three days before the party, I learned he had changed the invitations to his adopted sister’s birthday celebration. His friend teased, “Just because Clara was jealous, you changed Serenity’s long-awaited reunion party, after eight years, into Clara’s birthday?” “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Serenity is your biological sister, living away for eight years without even stepping foot into the Fox family mansion. Aren’t you afraid she’ll find out and disown you as her brother?” My brother smiled with immense confidence, “How could she? Serenity nearly died from a knife wound from kidnappers, all for me. She’d even throw her life away for me. Would she ever abandon me, her only family?” “I left the invitation in the most obvious place. She cares so much about this reunion. She’ll definitely see it, and then she’ll obediently pick out a birthday gift for Clara and attend.” I lowered my gaze, shedding no tears, making no fuss, and finally left quietly. On the day of the party, my brother, after waiting long for my appearance, frantically called. “Serenity, your room at the mansion has been decorated just how you like it. Why aren’t you home yet?” I looked at my adopted brother outside the station, waving energetically at me. “I’m already home.” 1 The reunion party was promised by my brother six months ago. At that time, he was kidnapped by a business rival, who, cornered, demanded his life, not money. In a moment of urgency, I pushed him aside, taking a fatal knife thrust for him. It missed my heart by barely an inch. Blood streamed, dripping all the way. Between life and death, my brother’s heart-wrenching sobs echoed in my ears. “Serenity, don’t leave me, brother only has you.” “As soon as you’re out of surgery, I’ll bring you back to the mansion, as the Fox family’s only cherished daughter, with all due honor.” I think I smiled. After eight years, my brother finally acknowledged me. But now, his indifferent, casual voice, shattered that fresh promise, simply because of Clara’s plea, “I want to be your only sister, brother.” I stood by the door, numb, my fingers slightly cold. My brother’s friend, Ethan, frowned, trying to persuade him, “Everyone in the city knows the only Fox daughter is Clara. You just changed the invitation, and you’re not even telling Serenity. When she shows up, only to find the main character replaced, how do you expect her to handle it?” “Besides, Serenity is your biological sister, whom you finally found. She’s waited so many years for this reunion, and you personally promised her. Aren’t you afraid of hurting her feelings?” A flicker of struggle crossed Julian’s face, then he sighed. “Serenity is sensible and strong. I just casually found a fortune teller as an excuse, saying she ‘clashes with relatives’ and couldn’t return to the mansion to acknowledge her family. She obediently lived away for eight years. Clara is different; she was adopted by the Fox family as a child and never experienced hardship. If Serenity truly moved into the mansion, Clara would feel her affection and attention were divided, surely feeling insecure. She wouldn’t be able to handle it.” Ethan wanted to say that affection and attention originally belonged to me. Before he could speak, Julian impatiently waved his hand. “At worst, I’ll just keep saying that. She accepted eight years of ‘clashing with relatives,’ so another year won’t hurt.” “Anyway, she trusts me so much. She listens to whatever I say. She’ll definitely agree obediently. It’s just living outside. As long as I know she’s my sister, does a reunion party really matter that much?” Someone nearby chimed in, laughing, “Exactly. Clara is gentle, generous, and well-mannered. She’s truly like a real young lady from a prestigious family. Who would want a country bumpkin sister like Serenity? She’s so unrefined, it’s embarrassing to even mention her.” “If I were Julian, I wouldn’t want everyone in the city to know I had such an unsophisticated biological sister. Wouldn’t that just give people reason to criticize me?” Julian’s face darkened with displeasure. “Everyone shut up! Who are you to gossip about Serenity? Remember this: even if she never steps foot into the Fox family mansion in this life, she is still my Fox family’s eldest daughter, my biological sister, Julian Fox. If anyone dares to slander her one more word, don’t blame me for turning against you.” Everyone fell silent, sulking. Just then, Julian’s phone rang in his pocket. Seeing the caller ID flash ‘My Little Princess,’ his gloomy expression instantly softened. He answered the call. Clara’s voice was cheerful and surprised. “Brother, are you really giving me Master Daniel’s last crown? Wasn’t that custom-made for Serenity?” “Yes, it’s yours. It’ll arrive tomorrow. My little princess isn’t worried about her brother’s affection being stolen now, is she?” Clara feigned concern. “Will Serenity be upset if she finds out?” “Silly girl, you are my only precious sister. Your happiness comes first; nothing else matters.” Clara happily cooed, “Thank you, brother! I knew you loved me best! At my birthday party, I want you to personally put the crown on my head.” “Okay, whatever you want.” The call ended, and the crowd immediately began to tease, “Julian Fox, the ultimate doting brother, no one dares to claim second place.” “That’s Master Daniel’s last crown! I heard it’s worth a hundred million. Who’s the real sister here? That’s an insane amount of money to spend!” Julian’s lips curved into a doting smile. “Clara has always been pampered by me since she was little. I can’t bear for her to suffer any hardship, so of course, the best must go to her. Serenity is different; she’s used to simplicity. She’s not suited for such expensive jewelry. I’ve already had a silver set prepared for her; five hundred dollars is already very valuable to her.” 2 Wind poured in through the window, carrying a briny, acrid smell that stung my eyes. So my brother never intended to bring me home. Eight years of “clashing with relatives” was merely an excuse to keep me out. All to prevent me from stealing the affection of his only beloved sister. How foolish I was, never doubting him, always fearing my misfortune would bring disaster upon him. He could have just told me he didn’t want me as a sister. I would have left. But why use eight years of lies, trapping me in his superficial concern? Making me believe, with all my heart, that he loved me. Footsteps approached from inside. I swallowed hard, suppressing the burning moisture in my eyes. Before I could leave, my brother had already opened the door. The moment he saw me, a flicker of panic crossed his eyes. “Serenity, how long have you been here?” My fingers clenched into my palm, the force pushing out whitened knuckles. I looked at him calmly, reminding him, “Just arrived. It’s the fifteenth.” The fifteenth! It was the only day each month my brother promised to have dinner with me. For eight years, living apart, my brother always told me, even if I couldn’t return to the Fox family for now, I would always be the Fox family’s eldest daughter, his only precious sister. On the fifteenth of every month, when the moon was full, people reunited. For eight years, he had never missed that day. My brother smiled suddenly, gently ruffling my head. “Hmm, let’s go. Brother will take you to dinner.” Just as I took a bite of food, the doorbell rang. Clara, uninvited, appeared. “Brother, I specifically came to have dinner with Serenity.” Just as I was about to refuse, she squeezed through the door. “Wow, so much delicious food, all seafood! Brother is so good to Serenity. I never get this treatment, eating food brother made himself.” She picked up her chopsticks, about to serve herself, but I raised my hand to block her. “I didn’t invite you. Please leave.” She froze, her lips trembling slightly, her face full of grievance. “Brother, I didn’t mean any harm. I just wanted to have dinner with you both.” I looked at her, my voice very faint. “You eat with brother twenty-nine days a month. I only have this one day.” Julian frowned, his step forward abruptly halting. Clara’s tears suddenly fell. “I… I understand.” “You’re biological siblings. I, an outsider, am the extra one. I’ll go now.” She finished, choking back sobs, then turned and ran out. She accidentally knocked over a potted plant by the door and fell. My brother’s hand, resting on the shoe cabinet, tightened sharply. He angrily rushed forward to help her up. “Clara, there’s a limit to being dramatic. Today was supposed to be my dinner with Serenity. Who asked you to come?” “Don’t think that just because Serenity can’t come home yet, you’ve really become the Fox family’s eldest daughter.” “If you hurt yourself, go to the hospital on your own. I’m not taking you.” Clara bit her lip, tears brimming in her eyes for a long time, finally bursting into sobs and running away. My brother stared fixedly at her retreating figure, then harshly shut the door and sat down. “Serenity, don’t mind her. I spoiled her with bad habits. Today, no matter what, brother will stay with you.” I looked at the chopsticks he held reversed in his hand, calmly lowering my gaze. Within ten minutes, he checked his phone over twenty times. Later, he took a call, then told me apologetically, “Serenity, brother’s company has an urgent matter. Brother will pick you up tomorrow for your dress fitting.” Before I could respond, he had already rushed out. I put down my chopsticks, scratching the constantly erupting red bumps on my arm. Opening the drawer, my allergy medicine was finished. I had no choice but to put on my coat and go to the hospital. At the hospital stairwell, as I came out with my medicine, I saw a sobbing, aggrieved Clara and my brother gently comforting her. 3 I stood on the steps, seeing through the bustling crowd. Watching my heavily germ-phobic brother kneel on one knee, gently massaging Clara’s foot. Clara was draped in his expensive suit jacket, eating small bites of seafood from the meal box in her hand. My brother glanced at her, then, without a trace of discomfort, used his sleeve to wipe a smudge of oil from the corner of her mouth. Clara pouted, huffing, “Didn’t brother say I wasn’t the Fox family’s eldest daughter? Then what are you doing here looking for me! Go be with your biological sister!” My brother was caught off guard, pushed to the ground. Yet, there was no anger on his face, only a trace of helpless, doting indulgence. “My little princess, who do you think I say these things for?” “Not letting you stay for dinner was because that seafood was just some ready-made food I had someone buy casually. This one in your hand is what brother personally selected and cooked.” “I know you love seafood most, so brother picked the best and freshest ones. Much better than what Serenity ate.” The stinging pain from my seafood allergy seemed to amplify, making me unsteady on my feet. Clara broke into a satisfied smile through her tears. “Silly girl, Serenity is different from you.” “She got lost as a child, passed through several hands, unloved and uncared for, suffered so much. If I just give her a little sweetness, she’ll be eternally grateful.” “A few cheap ready-made dishes are enough to make her happy. If she’s happy, she won’t challenge your position. Why don’t you understand brother’s good intentions?” “Don’t go to her place on the fifteenth anymore. Her place is small and inconvenient. If you suffer any grievance, brother will be the one hurting.” Clara sniffed, discontentedly. “I just don’t want to see her monopolize brother, not for a single day. Brother is mine alone! What is she? She got lost! Why did she even come back? Couldn’t she just have died out there?!” My brother dotingly tweaked her nose. “Alright, alright, from now on, brother will make excuses, and won’t go on the fifteenth either. I’ll only spend every day with my little princess, okay?” “Hmph, that’s more like it.” A surge of sharp pain rushed through my heart. I leaned against the wall, feeling somewhat drained. So, that’s what my brother had always thought. Because I had suffered much, I should be more content. A little kindness was enough to make me willingly remain outside. To be the unacknowledged Fox daughter for a lifetime. He put himself through such trouble for his beloved sister. Even having to dedicate one day each month to appease me, so I wouldn’t covet his sister’s position. Yet, before I was five, He had said I was his only beloved little princess in this world. He said he wished his sister a life of happiness, free from worries. Hence, my name, Serenity. I thought he remembered, surely he remembered. But it turned out, only I remembered. Tears fell without warning, scalding my cheeks. The old wound in my heart suddenly throbbed intensely. I remembered the doctor saying emotional fluctuations could cause a relapse. I desperately tilted my head back, the suppressed tears flowing into my throat, bitter and astringent. No longer looking at the laughing pair, I silently turned, merged into the crowd, and left alone. Perhaps, I should have left much earlier. After all, there was someone who truly loved me, waiting far away. Julian seemed to sense something, looking up hastily, but found nothing. He clutched his slightly uncomfortable chest, pulling out his phone to send a message to his assistant. The assistant quickly replied, “Mr. Fox, I personally handed the invitation to Miss Serenity. She looked at it, put it in her bag, and showed no extreme reaction.” Julian finally breathed a sigh of relief. He knew I cared for him so much that whatever decision he made, I would silently accept it.

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1 I scrolled past a post: “How to have an affair and get away with it?” There was an anonymous, highly upvoted answer. “Move into an apartment downstairs from her, buy identical furniture, use the same scented candles, even the same brand of shower gel.” “That way, even if you smell of it, your wife will just think it’s the smell of home.” Someone below asked: “That’s brilliant? Have you actually done it?” The user replied: “In progress. Just showered at the downstairs place and came back up. My wife’s hugging me now, telling me how good I smell.” I leaned down and sniffed my sleeping husband. He carried the familiar scent of white tea. And he’d just left, claiming he was taking out the trash, but was gone for an hour and a half. A strange impulse led me to unlock his phone. Everything seemed normal. Except for a purchase record for shower gel. The delivery address was “Building 8, Apartment 801, this community.” My home was in Building 8, Apartment 601. I stared intently at the online order page. “Elizabeth Arden White Tea Shower Gel, 500ml, two-pack.” “Delivery address: Building 8, Apartment 801, Recipient: Mr. Lewis.” And I was sleeping in Building 8, Apartment 601. “Honey, you smell wonderful, like home.” That was the first thing he said to me when he came back from “taking out the trash” downstairs tonight, holding me tight. Even though he was gone for an hour and a half. Even though his hair looked freshly blow-dried and fluffy when he returned. I’d brushed away my suspicions because of that familiar scent. Until I, on a whim, unlocked his phone. I refused to believe it. Liam Lewis, the model husband in everyone’s eyes, would betray me. I didn’t wake him. Years of professional experience allowed me to quickly regain my composure, even though my fingers were still uncontrollably trembling. I opened his browsing history. The first item was a forum Q&A post. “How to have an affair and get away with it?” That anonymous, highly upvoted answer was posted by his account. “Move into an apartment downstairs from her, buy identical furniture, use the same scented candles, even the same brand of shower gel.” “That way, even if you smell of it, your wife will just think it’s the smell of home.” The timestamp on the follow-up question was ten minutes ago. “That’s brilliant? Have you actually done it?” He replied: “In progress. Just showered at the downstairs place and came back up. My wife’s hugging me now, telling me how good I smell. What do you call that? Hiding in plain sight. A woman’s intuition is a joke in the face of absolute detail.” I suppressed the nausea, took screenshots of these pages one by one, and uploaded them to my cloud drive. Then, I quietly left the bedroom. In the living room, moonlight spilled onto the sofa. It was the one we’d chosen when we got married, after I’d scoured every furniture store in town. He’d said, “Whatever you like, darling, it’s fine by me.” According to the post. Now, directly above me, two floors up in Apartment 801. There was an identical sofa. Perhaps just an hour ago, he and another woman were intimately entangled on that very same sofa. I had to go up and see. I had to see it with my own eyes. I stood before the closed security door of 801. The door bore a sticker identical to ours: a red background with gold letters wishing good fortune. I held my breath, pressing my ear against the door. Faintly, piano music drifted out. It was “Wedding Dream.” It was also my favorite piece to play when I had free time at home on weekends. Liam used to say he loved hearing me play that song most of all. Now, the woman inside was not only using my shower gel, sleeping with my husband, but she was even mimicking my life. 2 The next morning. Sunlight streamed into the bedroom. Liam woke up as usual and gave me a good morning kiss. “Morning, sweetheart.” “Morning.” I forced a smile, placing his fried eggs in front of him. “Sleep well last night?” Liam took a sip of milk, his expression perfectly calm. “Very well, I always sleep so soundly next to you. Oh, by the way, some apartment upstairs was playing the piano late last night, it was a bit noisy. You heard it too, right?” “Really?” I feigned nonchalance. “I’m a heavy sleeper, didn’t hear a thing. But the soundproofing here isn’t great. I’ll complain to the building management sometime.” “Don’t!” Liam reacted quickly. “I mean, we’re neighbors, no need to make things awkward. Maybe it’s someone new who doesn’t know the rules yet, it’ll probably be fine in a few days.” “Someone new?” I looked up at him. “How do you know they’re new?” Liam’s eyes flickered. “Oh, I ran into the building manager last night when I was taking out the trash, and he mentioned someone just moved into the 8th floor.” “The 8th floor… That is pretty close.” Liam seemed unwilling to linger on the topic and quickly changed the subject. “By the way, darling, can I pick you up from work today? We haven’t been to that Japanese restaurant in ages.” “No need, I have to work late today.” I declined. “You go ahead and eat.” A flicker of delight crossed his eyes, though he said, “You work too hard, sweetheart. Remember to eat on time.” Of course he was happy. My overtime meant he had more time to go to 801, to be with his “baby.” After seeing Liam off, I didn’t go to work. I went straight to the apartment complex’s management office. “Hello, I’d like to ask who the owner of Building 8, Apartment 801 is? I’m from 601, and my bathroom is leaking. I suspect the waterproofing upstairs isn’t done properly, but no one answers when I knock.” The front desk assistant checked her computer. “801? The owner is registered as a Ms. Chloe Sterling.” Chloe Sterling. At the sound of the name, my mind quickly searched Liam’s circle of acquaintances. No one by that name. “Did she just move in?” I asked again. “No, the apartment was renovated about half a year ago, but it’s been empty until recently. Someone just started moving in and out, it seems.” The front desk assistant looked at me strangely. “And that apartment… when it was renovated, the permit was issued at the same time as yours. It seems to be the same interior design company.” I froze. The same interior design company. Half a year ago. So, as early as six months ago, or even earlier, Liam had been planning all of this. Leaving the management office, I sat on a bench in the community garden and opened that forum post. Sure enough, Liam had updated it. “My wife’s working overtime today, divine intervention! Almost got caught last night because of the piano, luckily I reacted quickly. Today I’m planning to buy the woman upstairs an identical robot vacuum, otherwise I’ll have to clean myself, it’s too much work. Oh, someone asked if I get the two homes mixed up. Actually, as long as you fix the position of everything, muscle memory takes care of it.” Someone commented below: “The poster is truly a time management guru, but don’t you think this is a bit twisted?” He replied: “Twisted? This is about pursuing perfection. I’ve provided my wife with a privileged life and given my mistress perfect companionship. I haven’t wronged anyone.” At that moment, a woman walked past me. The woman was quite delicate-looking, probably in her early twenties. She seemed to be on the phone, her voice sweetly melodious. “Honey, I know, I’ll open the robot vacuum when it arrives… You come up early tonight, okay? Remember not to go to the wrong door, hehe.” As she passed me, a familiar scent of shower gel wafted from her. I stared intently at her retreating back. Chloe Sterling. This was the woman living in 801, wearing my clothes, using my perfume, sleeping with my husband. A strong desire for revenge surged in my mind. Liam, since you enjoy playing this substitution game. Then I will play along. 3 Over the next few days, I behaved exceptionally docilely. I went to work as usual, came home, and cooked dinner. I expressed understanding for Liam’s late returns, and even gently told him to take care of himself when he claimed he had company meetings and couldn’t come home for dinner. Liam clearly relished this situation. He boasted on the forum: “My wife has been especially understanding lately. It seems my strategy is working. As long as I don’t show any flaws, she’ll always be that happy little fool. Tonight, I plan to try out the new projector in 801. It’s the same model as the one downstairs, so I won’t even need to adjust to a different remote.” Friday evening. I purposely bought a bouquet of fresh flowers and came home early. As I entered, Liam was on the balcony talking on the phone. Seeing me, he hung up in a hurry and came to greet me. “Honey, why are you home so early today?” “It’s the fifth anniversary of us meeting, darling, did you forget?” I smiled, handing him the flowers. Liam paused, clearly having forgotten. All his brain cells were tied up juggling two women; he had no time for such dates. But he reacted quickly, immediately slapping his forehead. “Oh, my mind! Of course I remember! I was just about to surprise you!” “Really? What surprise?” “Um… actually, I ordered a cake, it’ll be delivered soon.” He bluffed. I sneered inwardly. That cake, I bet it was for Chloe Sterling upstairs, wasn’t it? “That’s wonderful,” I linked my arm through his. “By the way, darling, I wanted to discuss something with you.” “What is it?” “My mom hasn’t been feeling well lately and wants to come to the city for a check-up. I was thinking our apartment, although it’s two bedrooms, the second bedroom is too small, and Mom wouldn’t be comfortable. I saw Apartment 801 upstairs seems to be empty. How about we ask if we can rent it for a few days?” Liam’s face instantly stiffened. “That… that’s not necessary, is it?” he stammered. “Your mom can just stay with us, we’ll make do. Besides, it’s such a hassle to rent someone’s apartment, and… and 801 is occupied.” “Occupied? Didn’t you say last time they just moved in and you weren’t familiar with them?” “Ah… yes, it’s precisely because we’re not familiar that it’s awkward to ask.” Cold sweat beaded on Liam’s forehead. “Honey, why are you suddenly so interested in the upstairs apartment?” “I’m just thinking about Mom.” I released his arm and turned to the kitchen for plates and utensils. “Fine, then Mom can stay in the second bedroom. But…” “But I think our apartment’s decor is a bit outdated. You know, I wonder if 801 is decorated better. I really want to go up and see.” “Clang!” Liam’s phone slipped from his hand and fell to the floor. “Honey, you… what are you talking about?” He bent to pick up his phone, his hand trembling violently. “Nothing, just an observation.” I smiled. “Let’s eat.” Liam picked at his food, barely tasting it. He frequently checked his phone, his eyes darting around. I knew he was messaging Chloe, telling her to be quiet tonight, to make absolutely no noise. But what he didn’t know was. I had already contacted my family. My dad, a retired military man, with a fiery temper. My brother, a fitness trainer, who could knock out an ox with one punch. And my best friend, a famous relationship blogger in the city, specializing in catching cheaters live, with five million followers. I told Liam I’d be going to a neighboring city for a two-day business trip tomorrow, attending a closed training session. The joy in Liam’s eyes almost overflowed, but he still feigned concern, holding me: “Honey, I’ll miss you. Be careful while you’re away.” Don’t worry, I’ll certainly give you a weekend you won’t forget. 4 Saturday afternoon. I sent Liam a text: “Honey, I’ve arrived at the hotel. The signal here isn’t great, so I might be out of touch. Don’t worry about me.” Liam replied instantly: “Okay, darling. You work hard, get some rest.” Putting down my phone, I wasn’t at a hotel in a neighboring city. I was sitting in a private room at a coffee shop across from our apartment complex. A laptop sat before me, the screen displaying the real-time interface of that forum. Liam’s post had updated: “Finally free! My wife’s away for two days, tonight I’m going to totally relax in 801. That apartment is my utopia, no need to pretend, no need to act. Tonight, I’m taking the red wine from downstairs up to share with my baby.” I looked at the screen, a cold smile curling my lips. No need to pretend? No need to act? Tonight, I’ll let you act to your heart’s content. Eight o’clock in the evening. Dusk had fallen. Lights began to flicker on across the apartment complex. Through binoculars, I clearly saw the curtains in Apartment 801 drawn. The position of that window was exactly the same as our living room. “Is everyone here?” I turned to my best friend beside me. My friend adjusted the camera in her hand and gave an OK gesture. “Don’t worry, the live stream is preheating. The title is ‘Live Reveal: The Perfect Cheater Who Duplicated His Home,’ and online viewers have already surpassed one hundred thousand.” I looked to the other side. My dad and brother stood with grim faces, carrying sledgehammers and wrenches bought from a hardware store. And the building manager I’d specifically invited, along with a few nosy elderly neighbors who loved to gossip. “Let’s go.” I stood up, adjusting my collar. “Time to deliver a surprise to Mr. Lewis.” The group marched into the apartment complex, heading straight for Building 8. The elevator numbers flickered. My heartbeat, however, remained unusually steady. “Ding —” Eighth floor. A crowd poured out of the elevator, blocking the entrance to 801. The building manager, nervously wiping sweat from his brow, knocked hard on the door, following the script I’d given him. “Open up! Open up! Downstairs is reporting a serious leak, we need to inspect immediately!” No movement from inside. “Hurry up! If you don’t open the door, we’ll have to force our way in! It concerns public safety!” The building manager raised his voice. After about thirty seconds, Liam’s impatient voice came from inside. “Who is it! What’s all the noise this late at night! There’s no leak!” “Sir, the downstairs apartment is flooded! If you don’t cooperate, we’ll have to call the police!” At the mention of “police,” the door finally opened. Liam only opened the door a crack, his face full of anger as he poked his head out. “Are you people crazy? I told you there’s no…” Before he could finish. My brother kicked the door hard. “Bang!” The security door slammed against the wall. Liam stumbled backward from the force, almost falling. The door swung wide open. Everyone’s gaze instantly focused on the interior. Despite being mentally prepared, seeing the scene with my own eyes was still absurd. It really was. Exactly the same. This place was a copy-paste of 601 downstairs. He stared in horror at the invading crowd. First, he saw my best friend holding the camera, then my grim-faced parents, and finally, his gaze settled on me, standing right in the center of the crowd. In that instant, his expression was as if he’d seen a ghost. “H-honey? How are you…” His voice was trembling, and his legs were shaking too. “Darling, what’s wrong? What’s all the commotion?” The bedroom door opened. Chloe Sterling walked out, her eyes heavy with sleep. Seeing the room full of people, she let out a shriek, wanting to retreat back into the room, but it was too late. The live stream instantly exploded. Bullet comments scrolled frantically: “Holy cow! Is this guy a psycho?!” “Even horror movies aren’t made like this!” “This is the poster? Incredible!” Liam’s face was ashen, drained of all color. He looked at Chloe, then at the room full of familiar furniture, and finally at me. “Honey, listen to me… this… this is a misunderstanding…”

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I was reborn, waiting in line in the Underworld, to pick a new mother. The Fate Official, his face expressionless, presented me with three options. Card A: Gentle and Loving Mother; Card B: Wealthy but Single Mother; Card C: Random Blind Box. He asked, “What did your last mother do to you, that you’d rather risk your soul dissolving than be tied to her again?” When my father was home, she would always make me wear a metal muzzle. She’d say, “Your voice is too seductive, it will steal men’s souls.” The first lipstick my father ever bought me, she broke it in front of me, then brutally smeared it all over my face, accusing me of mimicking her to entice men. When my father praised my good grades at the dinner table, she would immediately report me to the school for cheating, forcing me to read a public apology in front of the entire student body. The Fate Official listened in silence. I looked at the words “Gentle and Loving” on Card A and bowed deeply to him. “Sir, please, I just want to be the daughter of an ordinary person.” But to my dismay, when I opened my eyes again, I saw my mother. Are you serious?! … 1 They said I was getting a new reincarnation, but instead, I was back in my ten-year-old self. The crystal chandelier in the living room cast fragmented light. My father, Mr. Harrison, pushed a delicate velvet box towards me. “Stella, happy birthday.” I opened it. Inside was a music box shaped like a ballerina, with a warm, white jade base. My father smiled and said, “My daughter is so beautiful; she’ll surely shine on stage like this someday.” Phoebe Frost, my mother, walked over, wrapped her arm around my father’s, and smiled, her beauty graceful and moving. “Of course our Stella is the best. Darling, you have such good taste, this gift suits our daughter perfectly.” Her fingernail brushed lightly against my shoulder, and my whole body tensed. That night, I placed the music box by my bedside and wound it up. Clear music flowed out, the ballerina spun under the lamp, her skirt twirling. I watched it until I fell asleep. In the middle of the night, I was startled awake. Phoebe Frost stood by my bed, holding the music box. In front of me, with a chilling smile, she slowly twisted the winding key until it snapped. The crisp music abruptly ceased. Then, as if breaking a dry twig, she easily snapped off the ballerina’s head. She tossed the fragments at my feet, looking down at me, her voice cold and piercing: “Do you deserve something like this?” “Don’t think just because your father gives you a few nice things you can become some princess. Dream on! You low-born trash, you only deserve garbage!” At the dinner table the next day, my father asked about the music box. Before I could speak, Phoebe casually said, “It broke. Kids are clumsy.” My father frowned. “How could you be so careless?” Phoebe glanced at me, the warning in her eyes chilling me to the bone. I could only lower my head, swallowing all my words. My father didn’t press further, just told me to be more careful next time. But as he looked at Phoebe, a hint of doubt flickered in his eyes. A few days later, my father returned from a business trip and brought me a delicate silver bracelet. As soon as I put it on, Phoebe walked over. She glanced at it, a sneer curling her lips. In front of me, she unclasped the bracelet, threw it on the ground, and stomped on it with her high heel until the silver chain broke and deformed. She dug her nails hard into my arm, warning, “Don’t tell your father.” Then she said contemptuously, “Cheap junk, just like you. You only bring me shame. You’re worthless!” Phoebe’s ways of being “good” to me were always unique. She never hit me, never yelled at me. She simply, with the gentlest demeanor, pushed me little by little into an abyss. The school was holding an arts performance, and the teacher chose me to be the lead reciter. I brought the notice home, and my father was overjoyed, saying that night he would buy me a new dress. Phoebe smiled and said, “Our Stella is so impressive, Mother is proud of you.” The day before the performance, she brought in a cup of hot milk. First, she scoffed at me, “A toad trying to eat swan meat. Someone as low-class as you doesn’t deserve to be the lead reciter.” Then she pinched my arm hard, leaving an almost imperceptible bruise. She handed me the milk, saying in a grim tone, “Drink this, and you won’t have to make a fool of yourself.” I looked at the cup of milk, smelling the familiar, slightly bitter almond scent. In my previous life, I drank this milk and developed a high fever the next day, missing the performance. I smiled and took the milk. “Thank you, Mother.” The moment she turned away, I poured all the milk into the potted plant by my bed. The next day, the leaves of that expensive orchid turned yellow. On the morning of the performance, I discovered my speech was missing. I frantically searched my entire room, sweating profusely. Phoebe walked in, pretending to help me search. She stroked my head, sighing, “Stella, are you too tired? You can’t even remember where you put things.” “How about you just don’t go? Mother feels bad for you.” I stood in the center of the stage, wearing the beautiful new dress my father bought me. Phoebe and my father sat in the front row. The lights came up, and I clearly saw the gentle smile on her face instantly freeze. She clearly hadn’t expected me to be able to stand here safe and sound, without even needing the speech manuscript. I didn’t look at any notes, delivering the recitation in the loudest, clearest voice. The audience erupted in applause. My father excitedly stood up, proudly introducing me to those around him, “That’s my daughter!” Phoebe also stood and clapped, but the smile on her face didn’t reach her eyes. On the way home, she kept praising me. “Our Stella was amazing today, like a little star.” The moment we entered the house, the smile on her face vanished. She walked into my room and closed the door. She stared at me sinisterly, her voice slithering into my ears like a venomous snake: “You’re very smug, aren’t you? Don’t forget, everything you have belongs to the Harrison family, including your life.” 2 I needed an opportunity to escape. An opportunity my father couldn’t refuse, and Phoebe couldn’t openly obstruct. I began to “obsess” over painting. I spent all my allowance on art supplies, shutting myself in my room every day after school. My academic grades plummeted. The teacher called my parents. When my father came home, he lost his temper with me for the first time. He threw a stack of failing test papers in front of me. “Stella Harrison, what on earth are you doing?” Phoebe quickly stepped in to mediate. She hugged me and said to my father, “Don’t scare the child. Stella might just be under too much pressure lately.” She turned to me, gently asking, “Stella, tell Mother, why aren’t you studying well?” I lowered my head and pulled a drawing from my art portfolio. It was a charcoal portrait of my father that I had worked on for an entire week. In the drawing, he wore a suit, looking spirited and bright-eyed. It was him at his most handsome, as I remembered him in his youth. My father was stunned. He picked up the drawing, his fingers gently tracing the image. His anger visibly dissipated. “This… you drew this?” I nodded. Phoebe’s face changed. I continued to pull out more drawings from my portfolio. I had drawn him working, playing chess, and telling stories. Every single one was him. My father looked through them one by one, his eyes slowly reddening. “Darling, look how much Stella loves you,” Phoebe’s voice was strained. I seized the opportunity and whispered, “Father, I want to learn to paint.” Phoebe immediately objected, “What’s the use of learning to paint? Can you eat it? The most important thing for you right now is to improve your studies!” But my father carefully collected the stack of drawings and put them in a drawer in his study. He came out and said to Phoebe, “Let her go.” “This child has talent.” “Hire the best teachers, go to the best art studio.” Phoebe’s lips moved, but she ultimately failed to voice her objections. After my father left, the facade on Phoebe’s face instantly shattered. She grabbed my arm, her nails almost digging into my flesh, hissing in a low voice, “You think just because you have some talent for painting, you can fly? You’re useless! What else can you do besides paint? You don’t deserve your father’s love!” The art studio my father found for me was called “River Bend.” It was the most famous art center in the city. In my previous life, I was only recommended here by my school psychologist when I was on the verge of a breakdown. Here, I met Professor Hayes. She was the Card A I had drawn. She was the only light in both my lives. In this life, I arrived five years early. Pushing open the studio door, the warm scent of paint washed over me. Sunlight streamed through the huge floor-to-ceiling windows, falling on easels and plaster casts. Children sat quietly in front of their easels, only the soft rustle of brushes on paper to be heard. A woman in a linen dress was bending over, teaching a child how to mix colors, hand-over-hand. Her profile was gentle, her voice soft. “See, add a little more blue, and it’s like the evening sky.” It was her. Professor Hayes. I stood at the doorway, my heart pounding. How could I get back to her side? She seemed to notice my gaze, looked up, and met my eyes. Her gaze was clear and warm, with an inquiring kindness. I gripped the drawing board in my hand and walked towards her. “Professor, hello, I’m a new student, my name is Stella Harrison.” She gave me a gentle smile. “Welcome, Stella. What a beautiful name.” She pointed to an empty easel. “Your spot is over there. Go ahead and put your things down.” That afternoon, I painted a sunflower. Vast fields of golden sunflowers, reaching for the sun, growing wild. Professor Hayes walked behind me and watched for a long time. She didn’t comment on my technique, but just asked softly, “You seem to really like the sun?” I nodded vigorously. She ran her hand through my hair, a natural and intimate gesture. “It’s beautifully painted, full of vitality.” When my father came to pick me up, Professor Hayes chatted with him for a few minutes. She praised me, saying I was “spirited, talented, a child born to walk this path.” My father was overjoyed, smiling all the way home. Phoebe Frost’s face, however, grew darker and darker. That night, she walked into my room and picked up my sunflower painting. “Not bad.” She placed the painting on the table, her fingertip aggressively slashing across the golden paint. A glaring scratch appeared right in the center of the sun. She then picked up a paintbrush, savagely poking at my painting, muttering, “So ugly, no talent at all.” She looked at me, a sinister smile playing on her lips. “You think you’re good at painting? It’s just Mr. Harrison’s charity. You are nothing, and you’ll never escape my grasp!” 3 My time at the “River Bend” art studio was the most peaceful period of my ten years. Professor Hayes never stinted on her praise. She would hang my paintings in the most prominent spots, and recommend my works to gallery owners who came to visit. With her encouragement, I grew more confident, and my painting skills improved by leaps and bounds. Phoebe’s need for control, however, grew with my “unruliness.” She began to appear frequently at the studio. Sometimes bringing afternoon tea, sometimes picking me up after school. Each time she came, she would intimately link arms with Professor Hayes, addressing her as “Professor Hayes” over and over again. “Our Stella really owes it all to you.” “This child has been shy since she was little, doesn’t like to talk. Only you have the patience.” She handed Professor Hayes a beautifully wrapped box. “Just a small token of my appreciation, please don’t refuse.” Professor Hayes couldn’t decline, so she accepted it. After Phoebe left, Professor Hayes opened the box. Inside was a scarf, gaudily colored and old-fashioned. Most importantly, the price tag hadn’t been removed. A glaring number highlighted its cheapness. Professor Hayes looked at the scarf, her expression becoming complex. I walked over and whispered, “Professor, my mother, she…” But Professor Hayes shook her head at me. She put away the scarf and gave me a gentle smile. “Your mother loves you very much.” I knew she saw through it. But she couldn’t say anything. Phoebe was too cunning. She disguised herself as an ordinary mother who loved her daughter dearly but was not good at expressing it. Any questioning of her would be interpreted as a provocation against a mother. Phoebe’s tactics didn’t stop there. She started trying to isolate me. She would bring exquisite pastries to the studio, distributing them to all the children, except me. She would smile and explain, “Stella is a bit prone to heat lately, she should eat less sweets.” The children, eating their desserts, looked at me with a mix of pity and a hint of distance. She would also, in front of Professor Hayes and other parents, “accidentally” bring up some of my “embarrassing moments.” “This child is particularly timid; she can’t sleep alone at night.” “And she’s a picky eater, won’t touch a single green vegetable. She worries me sick.” With these trivial, seemingly harmless details, she wove a web. Inside that web, I was a troublesome child, disobedient, needing constant “care.” And she was the great mother, worrying herself sick over me. Professor Hayes noticed my low spirits. That day, she kept me back alone. She didn’t ask me anything, but simply pulled out a photo album. Inside were her paintings from childhood to adulthood. The first one was a wobbly stick figure. “This is what I drew when I was five. My mother said it was the handsomest prince she’d ever seen.” The last one was a mature oil painting that had won an international award. She closed the album and looked at me. “Stella, art doesn’t lie.” “Your paintings tell me you are a child with a volcano inside.” “Don’t let anyone extinguish your flame.” I looked into her clear eyes, and the ice that had frozen in my heart for so long cracked open. That evening, I didn’t go straight home. I used the studio phone to call my father. I said I missed him, and wanted to wait for him at the studio after work so we could go home together. On the other end of the line, my father was pleasantly surprised. Half an hour later, he appeared at the studio door. Phoebe had come along, her face grim. “Stella, why are you so thoughtless, bothering your father’s work so late?” But my father scooped me up. “My daughter wanting me is never a bother, no matter the time.” He looked at Phoebe, his brow slightly furrowed. “Don’t always criticize the child.” This was the first time my father had openly contradicted Phoebe because of me. Phoebe’s body stiffened. I rested my head on my father’s shoulder, looking at her ashen face, my heart completely calm. This was just the beginning. 4 The city was holding a Youth Art Competition. The first-place prize was a full scholarship to an art summer camp in France. For two months. This was a perfect opportunity for me to escape Phoebe’s control. I poured all my time and energy into preparing my competition piece. I would paint the best painting. A painting that would allow everyone to see my light, and also her shadow. I chose the theme “Caged Bird.” On the canvas, a magnificently plumed golden bird was trapped in an exquisitely beautiful cage. Outside the cage, spring bloomed brightly, with flowers everywhere. Inside the cage, there was only a small dish of clear water and a few grains of rice. The bird’s eyes stared out the window, filled with a longing for freedom. When Professor Hayes saw my rough sketch, she was silent for a long time. She only said one thing: “Stella, paint what you want, paint boldly.” I could feel Phoebe growing more anxious. She would come to the studio every day, ostensibly to visit, but truly to supervise. She would stand behind me, watching me construct that elaborate cage stroke by stroke. Her voice was faint and eerie. “Stella, the cage is so beautifully drawn.” “The bird stays inside, safe from wind and rain, so secure.” I ignored her, continuing to paint. I didn’t touch the afternoon tea she brought. I didn’t listen to a single word of her “jokes.” In my world, there was only the canvas, and that bird longing to fly. The night before the submission deadline, I finally completed the painting. I carefully rolled it up and placed it in an art tube. I knew Phoebe would act. I waited for her. Phoebe came, as expected. She carried a cup of warm milk, her smile as gentle as ever. “Stella, when you’re done painting, get some rest. You have the competition tomorrow.” I took the milk and meekly said, “Thank you, Mother.” She watched with satisfaction as I drank the “milk,” then tucked me into bed and turned off the light. I lay in bed, listening to her footsteps fade away. Then, I immediately got out of bed, rushed to the bathroom, and spat out all the plain water I had just drunk. I had already poured out that cup of milk. I returned to my room, pulled an identical art tube from under my bed. Inside was a rough draft I had hastily copied in two days. I placed this art tube in the most obvious spot. The real “Caged Bird” was hidden in the deepest part of my closet. Having done all this, I lay back in bed and closed my eyes. At three in the morning, my bedroom door quietly opened. A dark figure tiptoed in and took the art tube from the table. In the darkness, I opened my eyes, perfectly clear. The next day, Phoebe drove me to the competition venue. She encouraged me all the way. “Stella, don’t be nervous, just do your best. Winning or not isn’t important; Mother will always be proud of you.” Her performance was, as always, flawless. At the venue, staff began to receive submissions. I handed over the art tube. Phoebe stood beside me, her face a mix of anticipation and nervousness. The staff member opened the art tube and pulled out the rolled canvas. The moment the painting unfurled, everyone gasped. The canvas was haphazardly smeared with black oil paint. The golden bird was completely covered by heavy black, revealing only one desperate eye. The entire painting was utterly destroyed. Phoebe immediately rushed forward, her reaction even faster than mine. She embraced me, her voice trembling with “shock.” “Oh my goodness! Who did this? How could this happen?” Her eyes were red-rimmed as she looked at me, full of feigned distress. “My Stella, you spent so long painting… what will we do now…” Her acting was worthy of an Oscar. The surrounding parents and contestants gathered, pointing and whispering about the ruined painting. I stood rooted to the spot, unmoving. I looked at Phoebe, at her face etched with “grief” and “anger.” She thought she had won again.

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