Author: Momo Chan

New Year’s Eve was supposed to be the coronation of my new life. I’d just landed an associate offer at a Magic Circle law firm—the kind of place that doesn’t just pay a salary; they buy your soul and give you a golden pedestal in return. To celebrate, I’d splurged on a limited-edition Osetra caviar and white truffle tasting menu from a Michelin-starred pop-up. When I went to the lobby’s delivery rack, the bag was gone. In my previous life, I lost my head. I hunted down the girl who took it—a “struggling” scholarship student—and tore into her in the middle of the quad. That one moment of justified rage was my undoing. The university branded me a “privileged male bully,” my offer was rescinded, and I was expelled. Meanwhile, the girl played the victim so well she became the internet’s favorite “Fragile Wildflower.” I died in obscurity while she flourished on the back of my ruined reputation. But this time? This time, I watched the security footage with a calm, cold clarity. I saw her face—smug, entitled, tucked behind a mask of faux-innocence. I didn’t scream. I didn’t hunt her down. I dialed 911. By the time my advisor, Mrs. Gable, arrived at the campus security office, she looked more annoyed with me than the thief. “Cade, really? It’s a food delivery,” she sighed, checking her watch. “It’s New Year’s Eve. Why are we involving the police over a fifty-dollar bag of takeout? You’re a man; show some chivalry. This is an embarrassment to the law school. Have her write an apology letter and let’s move on.” I didn’t say a word. I reached into my coat, pulled out the digital receipt, and slid my phone across the desk. “Take a look at the itemized list, Mrs. Gable. That wasn’t a burger. It was a bespoke ‘Imperial Selection’ set with rare vintages. Total value: twenty-five thousand dollars. In this state, that’s Grand Larceny. We’re looking at a mandatory minimum of three to five years.” I turned to look at the girl, Layla, who was sitting in the corner. Her face went from “poor me” to ghostly white in a heartbeat. I smiled. “An apology letter? Save your writing skills for your parole board.” … Layla’s legs gave out. She collapsed onto the linoleum floor, the mask of the misunderstood waif shattering into shards of pure terror. “Twenty-five thousand? That’s… that’s impossible! Nobody spends that much on a delivery!” she shrieked, her voice like a cat with its tail caught in a door. “You’re framing me! Cade, you’re trying to ruin me! Are you even a man?” “Whether it’s a frame-up or a felony is for the District Attorney to decide,” I said, adjusting my cufflinks. I didn’t even grant her a second glance. Mrs. Gable finally found her voice. She lunged for my phone, trying to snatch it. “Cade! Are you insane? Cancel the call! If this gets out, the law school’s reputation is finished. A student arrested for grand theft? Do you want the Dean to have a heart attack?” I stepped back, letting her hand swipe through empty air. My eyes were ice. “Mrs. Gable, are you familiar with ‘Accessory After the Fact’?” She froze. “You’re an advisor at a top-tier law school. You know exactly what happens when you knowingly shield a criminal from the consequences of a felony.” The office door swung open before she could respond. My fiancée, Madison, walked in. One look at Layla on the floor and me standing over them, and her brow furrowed in that practiced, “disappointed socialite” way of hers. “Cade, what is this? I could hear the shouting from the parking lot.” Layla saw Madison and crawled toward her like a drowning woman reaching for a buoy. She grabbed Madison’s designer slacks with trembling hands. “Madison! Please! He’s trying to send me to prison! I just… I took the wrong bag by mistake! He says it’s twenty-five thousand dollars! He’s trying to kill my future!” Madison looked down at the sobbing girl, then at me. Her voice was layered with that performative moral superiority she loved so much. “Twenty-five thousand for dinner, Cade? Since when did you become so pathologically wasteful?” I almost laughed. This was my “loving” fiancée. Her first instinct wasn’t to question the thief; it was to indict the victim for his lifestyle. “It’s my money, Madison. I didn’t realize I needed to submit an expense report for my own celebrations.” “Don’t be glib,” she snapped. “This is about justice.” “Justice? You haven’t even asked what happened, yet you’ve already decided who’s at fault. Is that your version of justice?” Madison blinked, stunned. I usually spent our relationship bending over backward to stay in her good graces. I never raised my voice. She helped Layla up and sighed with the weight of the world on her shoulders. “Cade, have some grace. You know Layla’s background. She’s a sophomore on a full-ride scholarship. Twenty-five thousand is an astronomical sum to her; to you, it’s the price of a watch. You’re a Whitaker. You’re going to be my husband. Can’t you find it in yourself to be the bigger person? Why are you bullying a girl over a meal?” “To destroy a young woman’s entire future over money… don’t you think that’s a bit monstrous? Where is your masculinity?” In my last life, she said the exact same thing. While the internet was calling me a “misogynistic pig,” she was the one whispering in my ear to apologize, to step down, to “be a man” and take the hit. And I did. And my reward was a life in the gutter while she moved on to the next “gentleman.” “Madison,” I said, savoring every syllable of her name. “First: theft is theft. The law doesn’t have a gender, and it doesn’t have a sliding scale for ‘intent’ when the value hits five figures. Second: if I walked into your family’s estate and walked out with your heirloom diamonds, then called it ‘just a few rocks,’ would you be ‘the bigger person’?” I stepped into her personal space, looking down into her eyes. “And third—the most important part. My money doesn’t grow on trees. Why should I subsidize her ‘poverty’ with my hard work? Just because I’m a man and she’s a girl?” I pointed at the receipt on the desk. “If you’re so overcome with saintly compassion, Madison, you pay for it. Twenty-five thousand. Wire or check?” Madison’s face turned a blotchy, humiliated red. The campus security guards and the few students lingering in the hall were staring at her now. She was the “woke” heiress, always ready to spend other people’s moral capital, but never her own. “Cade, you’re being ridiculous! This isn’t about the money. It’s about your attitude! It’s about being a gentleman!” she shrieked, her voice rising to cover her lack of an argument. “If you aren’t writing a check, shut up.” I turned away from her as the police officers finally entered the room. “Officers, I’m the complainant. Here is the receipt, the order log, and I’ve already backed up the hallway surveillance footage on this thumb drive.” The lead officer looked at the amount on the screen and his posture sharpened. “This is a serious amount of property. Miss, you’re going to need to come with us.” As the handcuffs clicked into place, Layla finally snapped. “I won’t go! I’m not a thief! Madison, help me! Mrs. Gable!” She gripped the edge of the desk, her screams echoing through the hall. “Cade, you’re evil! You hate poor people! You’re just a bully who preys on women! I hope you rot!” Mrs. Gable paced nervously, but with the police there, she didn’t dare interfere further. She just glared at me. “Cade, you’ve made a massive mistake. This isn’t over.” As they led Layla away, she looked back at me. Her eyes weren’t crying anymore; they were filled with a venomous, serpentine hatred that promised a reckoning. Madison stood there, looking at me as if I were a stranger. “You won, Cade. But you lost the only thing that mattered: your character. You aren’t the man I thought you were.” She turned and swept out of the room. I stood in the silence of the office, feeling absolutely nothing but peace. Character? Chivalry? In my last life, I gave those things to the world, and they fed them to the dogs. This time, I had a new North Star: An eye for an eye. The firestorm started faster than I expected. By the next morning, a post was trending on the university’s “Confessions” page and Twitter. It didn’t mention theft. It spoke of a “terrified scholarship student” being “humiliated and threatened with prison” over a “food mistake.” It painted me as a corporate monster using my wealth to crush a girl’s spirit. The video had been edited. It only showed the moment I coldly said “twenty-five thousand” and Madison’s “brave” stand against my “cruelty.” The captions were pure bait: [A single dinner costs more than a poor student’s entire tuition. Is this the face of the Whitaker Group?] [Another privileged ‘Trust Fund Bro’ throwing a tantrum. Hide your daughters, ladies.] My phone started vibrating. Hundreds of messages from burner accounts. Death threats. Slurs. Someone even leaked my dorm number. By noon, my door had been spray-painted with “DIE TRASH” and a bloody tampon was hung on the handle. I sat in my room, watching the comments roll in. It was a mirror of my past life, but with one difference: I wasn’t drinking myself into a stupor this time. My phone rang. It was the Matriarch. My mother, CEO of the Whitaker Group. “Cade, explain this. Our stock dropped two points this morning because of your little stunt.” “It’s a legal matter, Mother.” “I don’t care if she stole the Crown Jewels,” her voice was a whip. “You will issue a statement immediately. You will say the delivery was a gift for a student event and there was a ‘misunderstanding.’ Then you will go to the precinct and drop the charges. If you don’t, I will freeze every account in your name and strip you of your inheritance. Do you understand me?” In the face of the Whitaker brand, my dignity was less than dust. In my first life, I worshipped her approval. I folded. I apologized. And she threw me away anyway once I was no longer “useful.” “Did you hear me, Cade? Are you mute?” I gripped the phone, a slow smile spreading across my face. “I hear you, Mother. I’ll hold a live-streamed press conference tomorrow morning at ten to ‘clear the air.’” “Good. Madison’s family has been briefed. She’ll be there by your side to show a united front. Don’t mess this up.” I hung up and looked out at the city lights. A statement? Oh, I was going to give them a statement. But it wasn’t going to be an apology. The campus auditorium was packed the next morning. My mother’s PR team had already seeded the “apology” narrative online. Madison was there in an elegant white suit, looking like a modern saint. She caught me backstage. “I’m glad you’ve come to your senses, Cade,” she said, her voice dripping with condescension. “Layla has suffered enough. Just be a man, apologize gracefully, and we can move past this. Our engagement stands, provided you play your part.” She reached out to straighten my tie. I caught her wrist and shoved it away. “Don’t touch me. You’re getting your ‘Saint’ suit dirty.” Her face hardened. “Cade, what is wrong with you? I’m trying to save you!” “You’re trying to save your social standing,” I retorted. I walked out onto the stage. The flashes were blinding. The livestream viewer count hit a million within seconds. The chat was a waterfall of hate: [KILLER CADE!] [ABUSIVE RICH BOY!] I sat at the mic, calm as a dead sea. The PR director was frantically signaling me to read the teleprompter. I acted out of impulse… I misunderstood Miss Layla’s intentions… the delivery was a gift… I picked up the printed script. The room went silent. “Everyone wants the truth,” I said into the camera. “And I think it’s time we get it all out in the open.” I took the script and ripped it in half. Then I ripped it again, letting the pieces flutter to the floor like snow. I pulled a thumb drive from my pocket and plugged it into the podium’s laptop. “An apology? Not in this lifetime.” “Instead, let’s watch a short film.” The PR director turned ghost-white and lunged for the power cord, but I’d hired my own security—three massive guys who blocked the stage like a wall. “Sit down,” I barked. The authority in my voice stopped the room cold. The screen flickered to life. The chat, which had been a torrent of abuse, suddenly stuttered into silence. The screen didn’t show Layla crying over a bowl of ramen. It showed a high-resolution spreadsheet of bank statements and social media screenshots. “This is Layla,” I said, using a laser pointer. “Last month, she claimed she couldn’t afford feminine hygiene products. That same week, she sold a limited-edition designer bag on a luxury resale site for four thousand dollars.” I clicked to the next slide. “And here she is at an underground ‘Elite Club’ in the city. That’s an eight-hundred-dollar bottle of Cristal in her hand. She’s not a starving student. She’s a lifestyle influencer who ‘sources’ her luxury from ‘stupid rich boys’ like me.” The video changed. It was a clear, high-definition clip from a hidden camera in the dining hall kitchen. Layla was there, unpacking a stolen delivery bag, taking photos for her Instagram. “This sushi looks expensive,” her voice rang out clearly through the speakers. “I’ll post it and say I bought it. The simps will eat it up.” She dumped a tray of expensive sashimi into the trash after taking the photo. “God, raw fish is gross. But as long as I look like a ‘rich girl’ on TikTok, who cares? These men are so easy to play. If they catch me, I’ll just cry. They always fall for the tears.”

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Seven years. That’s how long we’d been doing the long-distance dance between Seattle and San Francisco. I finally decided to end the miles. I quit my job, packed my life into a few suitcases, and caught a flight south without telling her. I wanted to surprise her. I wanted to give her a ring. I wanted to finally start the life we’d been dreaming of since our sophomore year of college. But when I stood in the glass-and-steel lobby of her office building, the receptionist’s gaze was… complicated. “You’re here to see Madeline?” she asked, her eyes tracing the worn straps of my backpack. “Ms. Vance—sorry, Ms. Starling—is in a board meeting. You’ll have to wait.” I frowned. Madeline had never mentioned a promotion, let alone a title change. Last week, over FaceTime, she’d been complaining about the glass ceiling and how her boss was making her life a living hell. I turned toward the seating area, but the hushed whispers of the receptionists followed me like a cold draft. “Is that him? The one she keeps on the side?” “God, he’s bold, showing up at the office like this.” “Does she really think she can keep a side piece in Seattle while she’s married to a guy like Harrison? If he finds out, he’ll burn this whole city down.” My heart did a slow, sickening roll in my chest. I wanted to turn around and tell them they had it wrong. Madeline wasn’t married. I was her boyfriend of ten years. We were the real deal. But before I could speak, the revolving doors hissed open. A man stepped in, wearing a suit that cost more than my car. The receptionists snapped their mouths shut, their spines straightening. “Mr. Starling,” they said in unison, their voices dripping with practiced respect. The man was on his phone, his voice a deep, commanding rumble. “Sweetheart, I’m downstairs. You’re not getting out of the prenatal appointment today. I don’t care how long the meeting goes.” There was a pause, and then a voice crackled through his speaker—sweet, melodic, and unmistakable. “I know, honey. I’m almost done. Go up to the VIP lounge and wait for me.” I’d listened to that voice every night for a decade. It was the voice that told me she loved me, the voice that promised me forever. It was Madeline. … 1 My backpack hit the marble floor with a dull thud. As I bent down to retrieve it, a slip of paper fluttered out from the side pocket of a folder the man—Harrison—was carrying. I reflexively grabbed it. It was a lab report. Twelve weeks pregnant. Patient Name: Madeline Starling. Twelve weeks. Three months ago, Madeline told me she was too exhausted to fly up for our anniversary. She’d said she was buried in paperwork, barely sleeping. When we finally did a video call, I saw a faint, dark mark on the curve of her neck. “A bug bite,” she’d laughed, pulling her hair forward. “Silas, babe, after all these years, do you really think there’s anyone else? You’re my only one.” I’d believed her. I’d actually apologized for being paranoid. And now, I was standing in the shadow of her husband. Harrison took the lab report from my hand, offering a polite, distracted smile. “Thanks, man.” He paused, looking at me properly for the first time. “You here for Madeline, too?” I managed a stiff nod. “Come on up, then. My wife tends to lose track of time when she’s running meetings. Might as well wait in the comfort of the lounge.” The word wife felt like a jagged piece of glass twisting in my heart. In the lounge, Harrison introduced himself. Harrison Starling. The CEO of Starling Holdings. One of the most powerful names in the Bay Area. “Maddy is stubborn,” he said, looking down at the sonogram tucked into the report with a look of pure, unadulterated devotion. “She says she wants to earn enough for the ‘baby fund’—as if she doesn’t own half this company. She just loves the grind.” I gripped the strap of my bag until my knuckles turned white. Madeline had told me she was a junior analyst. She told me she was being bullied by her superiors. She told me the distance was the only thing keeping us from getting a marriage license. Footsteps echoed in the hallway. A group of executives walked past, nodding to Harrison. “Waiting for the boss lady again, Mr. Starling?” Then, she walked in. The room seemed to shrink. One of her colleagues nudged her, teasing, “Madeline, your husband is here to check up on you again!” Harrison stepped forward, sliding his arm around her waist with the ease of long-standing possession. “You’re late, Mrs. Starling.” “Just a few minutes, honey. I’m all yours now.” She leaned up and kissed his jaw. Then, her eyes shifted. She saw me. For a fraction of a second, her mask crumbled. Her face went deathly pale. But before I could even draw a breath, she regained her composure. Her expression turned into something cool, professional, and entirely detached. “Silas?” she said, her voice flat. “What are you doing here?” Harrison looked between us. “Sweetheart, who’s this?” The colleagues exchanged knowing looks. “Oh, you know Madeline,” one laughed. “She’s always helping out old school friends. This must be one of them.” Madeline stepped forward, physically placing herself between me and Harrison. “He’s an old classmate from college. A long time ago.” She turned to her assistant, her voice turning sharp. “Sarah, please show this gentleman out. We have a private appointment.” I stared at her, waiting for the punchline. Waiting for her to tell them it was all a joke. But her eyes were already back on Harrison. “Let’s go, honey,” she whispered, taking his hand. “We have to see the doctor.” Harrison leaned down to kiss her forehead. “You’re so obedient today.” As they walked past me, he glanced back over his shoulder. “Maddy, it’s a bit rude to leave your friend standing there, isn’t it?” Madeline didn’t turn around. “He’s just an old acquaintance, Harrison. Nowhere near as important as you.” The tears started then, hot and humiliating. The employees watched me with a mix of pity and mockery as I stood there, broken in the middle of her empire. Ten years of history. Seven years of distance. A thousand miles traveled. All reduced to “an old acquaintance.” I pulled out my phone. Three days ago, she’d texted me: Silas, just give me a little more time. Once my career stabilizes, we’ll get married. I promise. I’d quit my life for that promise. I had no idea I was just a character in a story she’d already finished writing. 2 My phone buzzed in my pocket. A text from Madeline. Go back with the assistant. I’ll explain everything later. I stared at the screen, my heart hammering against my ribs. I couldn’t stop myself. I typed back: Why did you lie to me? Her reply was instantaneous and cold: Just go. Be smart, Silas. Don’t make a scene in front of the building and embarrass yourself. I looked up. People were whispering, pointing their phones at me. “Look at him. Does he really think he can just show up and claim her?” “Pathetic. Some guys will do anything for a payout from a woman like her.” I pulled my jacket hood over my head, my voice thick with a sob. “I’m not a payout. She lied to me… we were together for ten years…” Their response was a wave of cynical laughter. The assistant guided me toward a waiting town car. She wasn’t gentle. She practically shoved me into the backseat and threw my luggage into the trunk. Thirty minutes later, the car pulled up to a sprawling estate in Pacific Heights. Madeline had told me she lived in a cramped, one-bedroom apartment with three roommates to save money. I’d been sending her half my paycheck every month for three years, terrified she wasn’t eating well. The assistant pushed me into the house and I heard the heavy thud of the door locking behind me. “Wait here for Ms. Starling.” The air in the house smelled like expensive sandalwood and masculine cologne. I turned around and froze. Dominating the living room wall was a massive, framed wedding portrait. Harrison in a tuxedo, holding a radiant Madeline in a custom Vera Wang. The date in the corner of the plaque felt like a physical blow to the stomach. They had married on my birthday. That was the first birthday she’d ever missed. She’d told me she was stuck in an airport due to a blizzard, crying over the phone about how much she missed me. I lost it. I ran through the house, throwing open doors. Photos of them were everywhere. In the bedroom, her silk slips hung next to his tailored shirts. On the vanity, thousands of dollars worth of skincare products sat where I thought she was using drugstore brands. The final thread of hope snapped when I saw the box of condoms on the nightstand, nearly empty. “Busy.” She was always “busy.” She was busy building a life with a king while keeping a peasant on a leash in Seattle. I collapsed onto the cold hardwood floor, buried my face in my hands, and screamed. I grew up with nothing. My parents were farmers in a small town who put every cent they had into my education. I worked three jobs in college just to keep up. That’s how I met Madeline. I was the scholarship kid from the middle of nowhere. She was the “rebellious” daughter of a fallen dynasty—or so she told me. We were the “starving artist” couple of the year. We were so poor back then. But every birthday, Madeline would scrimp and save to buy me something special. She’d skip meals for a week just to get me a pair of limited-edition sneakers because “every guy should feel like a king sometimes.” She’d promised me that no matter how hard life got, she’d never let me down. After graduation, I stayed in Seattle. She moved to San Francisco. I lived in a $900-a-month studio that smelled like damp wood. She’d visit every other weekend. We’d tangle ourselves in the sheets of my cheap bed, the springs creaking under the weight of our promises. She’d kiss my eyes and whisper, “Silas, just wait for me. Once I’m stable, we’re getting married.” I worked myself to the bone for that dream. I pulled eighteen-hour shifts, ending up in the ER once from sheer exhaustion and dehydration. When Madeline found out, she flew to Seattle immediately. She yelled at me for being stupid, then held my hand and cried until her eyes were swollen. She stayed for a week, taking the heat from her “boss” over the phone, groveling just to stay by my side. I watched her swallow her pride for me, her eyes filled with a desperate, fierce love. In that moment, I would have died for her. I believed in us. That belief carried me through seven years of silence and distance. 3 When Madeline finally walked through the door, I was a ghost of myself. She rushed to me, trying to pull me into her arms, her eyes shimmering with what looked like genuine guilt. “Silas, I’m so sorry.” “Sorry?” I pushed her away, the strength of my anger surprising both of us. “You’re sorry you got caught? Or sorry you’ve been living a double life for seven years?” She stood up, smoothing her skirt, her face returning to that polished, marble-calm. “Silas, look at where I am. When my father died, the estate was in shambles. I had to come back. I had to take over. My family would never have let me marry a guy from a farm in Washington.” “So you married a billionaire instead? What was I, Madeline? A hobby? A souvenir from your ‘poor’ years?” She looked down at me, her gaze steady. “I am a Starling now. I have responsibilities. My marriage to Harrison is a merger—it’s good for both families. Harrison knows about you. He said as long as you stay quiet and stay in your place, he’ll look the other way. You can stay here. I’ll take care of you.” I stared at her, a bitter laugh bubbling up in my throat. She reached out, wiping a tear from my cheek. “Silas, we’ve been together for a decade. I’m not going to throw that away. I’ll make you my executive assistant. You’ll have a salary, a life here. We don’t have to be long-distance anymore.” I didn’t say a word. I stood up, grabbed my suitcase, and slapped her across the face. The sound echoed through the high-ceilinged room. Before she could recover from the shock, I was out the door. As the Uber pulled away, my phone chimed. A voice memo from Madeline. Silas, don’t be a child. You won’t find a better offer than this. I’m giving you three days to think about it before I stop being nice. Then, a notification: Madeline Starling has sent you $15,000. She used to send me $50 for “coffee” to maintain the lie. Now, she was throwing thousands at me to buy my silence. I didn’t reply. I sent the money back. I checked into a cheap motel and opened my phone. The internet had already exploded. Someone had filmed the encounter at the office. The video was everywhere. The headlines were brutal: Socialite Madeline Starling’s Secret ‘Boyfriend’ Causes Scene at Corporate HQ. I was the villain. I was the “homewrecker,” the “gold-digger,” the “delusional ex.” I tried to fight back. I posted our old photos, our chat logs, the timestamps of our ten-year history. I wanted the world to see that I was the one who was betrayed. The tide started to turn. People began calling her out. But then, Harrison Starling fought back. He posted their marriage license on Instagram with a caption about “unshakable love” and “obsessive fans who can’t let go.” The Starling PR team released a statement claiming my “evidence” was digitally altered and threatened a multi-million dollar defamation suit. The trolls descended. Look at this loser trying to clout-chase off a pregnant woman. Get a job, you pathetic leach. Within an hour, my post was deleted. My account was banned. I realized then that truth has no currency when you’re fighting a dynasty. My phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number, but I answered anyway. It wasn’t Madeline. “Mr. Thorne,” the voice said—smooth, mocking, and dangerous. It was Harrison. “Let’s have a chat.” 4 We met at a secluded coffee shop the next morning. Harrison looked at me without a shred of surprise. “Silas. I knew about you the day I proposed to Madeline. In our world, a wife having a little something on the side isn’t a scandal—it’s a Tuesday. Madeline was actually quite disciplined; she only had you.” “I wasn’t ‘something on the side,’” I spat. “What you were is irrelevant,” Harrison said, sliding a new medical report across the table. Twelve weeks had become thirteen. “Madeline is carrying the Starling heir. I won’t have your little temper tantrums staining my child’s name. I had to clean up your mess on social media.” He pushed a non-disclosure agreement and a blank check toward me. “Sign this. Film a video admitting you fabricated the whole thing for clout. Leave the city in forty-eight hours. Fill in whatever number makes you feel like a man again.” I pushed the check back and stood up to leave. “Silas,” Harrison called out, his voice chillingly calm. “You won’t survive in this city. If you change your mind, you know where to find me.” He was right. By noon, I’d been rejected by four different firms. The HR managers looked at my resume, then at their screens, and shook their heads. “Character issues,” one said. “We can’t have our brand associated with… well, your situation.” Someone took a photo of me leaving an interview and tagged Madeline. Seconds later, she called. “How much more of a fool are you going to make of yourself, Silas? I offered you a job, and you’d rather go out and be a laughingstock? Stop this. Now.” “Is that all I am to you, Madeline? A joke?” The wind in the city was biting, cutting through my thin jacket. Madeline was silent for a long beat. “Silas, I—” I hung up. Minutes later, my phone vibrated again. This time, it was my mother. Her voice was a ragged, sobbing mess. “Silas! What have you done? People are saying you’ve been someone’s kept man for seven years! Your father… he saw it on the news. He had a heart attack, Silas. The surgery is fifty thousand dollars… we don’t have it…” A snowball hit the side of my head, thrown by a couple of teenagers across the street. “Hey, look! It’s the gold-digger!” they yelled, laughing as they ran off. I fell to my knees in the slush, my tears hot against the cold screen of my phone. I took a breath and dialed the number I had vowed to forget. Harrison answered on the first ring, his voice dripping with amusement. “Decided to be a realist?” “I’ll do it,” I whispered. 5 The apology was broadcast live on a local digital network. I sat under the harsh studio lights, reading from a script like a lobotomized doll. “My name is Silas Thorne. I am here to clarify the recent rumors. The photos and messages I shared were fabrications intended to gain followers… Madeline Starling and I were nothing more than casual acquaintances from years ago…” The live comments were a bloodbath. I watched the words Loser, Snake, and Scum scroll by until my eyes blurred. When the cameras cut, Harrison walked over. He took several stacks of cash out of an envelope and tossed them onto the floor. “Oops,” he said, a cruel smirk playing on his lips. “My hand slipped. Pick it up, Silas.” The red-banded bills fluttered like falling leaves. “Harrison, don’t do this,” I whispered. I moved to stand up, but his security guards shoved me back down. A boot hit the back of my knee, forcing me to the floor. Someone grabbed the back of my head and slammed my face into the carpet. In front of the entire crew, I was forced to bow at Harrison’s feet. Laughter erupted around me. Phone cameras flashed. Harrison gripped my hair, pulling my face up to his. “Take the money and vanish, Silas. Don’t ever think you can play in my league again.” He turned away and dialed his phone. “Hey, babe. All handled. Tell me I’m your hero.” I could hear Madeline’s voice over the line, playful and warm. “You’re the best, honey. Hurry home.” I stayed on the floor, picking up the bills one by one. This was my father’s life. This was the price of my dignity. When the room finally emptied, a pair of red Louboutins appeared in my field of vision. “Are you that desperate, Silas? You’d really crawl on the floor for cash?” Madeline grabbed my arm, hauling me toward the exit. She shoved a credit card into my hand. “If you need money, ask me. Don’t humiliate yourself like this.” She drove me back to my motel herself. Her tone had softened, now that I had been sufficiently broken. “I bought you a penthouse overlooking the Bay. You’re moving in tomorrow.” “No more long distance, Silas. Once the baby is born and things settle down, I’ll make sure you’re taken care of.” I didn’t answer. I just sat there, counting the cash in my lap. When she pulled over, she leaned in and kissed my cheek. “I know these last few years have been hard. I promise, I’ll give you everything you ever wanted.” “Harrison’s a bit of a prick,” she added with a shrug. “Just ignore him.” Two hours later, I was at San Francisco International. A news alert popped up on my phone: The Starling Power Couple Attends Charity Gala; A Model of Modern Romance. And I was still the “kept man” the world loved to hate. Just as I reached the gate, Madeline texted me the address of the penthouse. I typed back four words: We’re done, Madeline. Goodbye. I blocked her number before she could reply. No more questions. No more screaming matches. As the plane lifted off, I looked out at the glittering lights of the city below. Somewhere down there, Madeline was playing her part. But I was finally stepping out of the script.

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Every time I asked Vanessa to head downstairs, I’d add a casual reminder: “Don’t forget to take the trash out.” She’d always nod, and she’d always forget. Later, I noticed something. Whenever she went down, the trash outside our neighbor Sebastian’s door would miraculously vanish by the next morning. Once, I purposefully didn’t say a word. Predictably, our trash sat right where it was, while the hallway across from us was spotless. I stood at the door for a few seconds, breathing in the faint, sour stench of overnight fermentation. I didn’t say a word. I simply picked up the bag and walked it down myself. From day on, I stopped reminding her of anything. I stopped asking what time she’d be home. I stopped asking her for “quick favors.” Until one night, she suddenly looked at me and asked, “Are you being a little cold to me lately?” I looked at the empty trash can in the foyer, thought about it for a second, and shook my head. “Not at all.” I had simply realized that some people don’t “forget” what they’re supposed to do; they’ve just already decided who is worth remembering. And I had decided it was time to move her from my “must-have” list to the “disposable” one. … Vanessa didn’t get home until two in the morning. I wasn’t asleep. I was sitting on the living room rug, organizing the past few years of our household expenses and bank statements. When I heard the door, I didn’t look up. A faint scent of perfume, mingled with the sharp tang of gin and cigarette smoke, drifted over. “Honey, you’re still up?” Her voice held that guilty, over-compensated sweetness. She knelt in front of me, clutching a polished thermal bag. “I passed by The Gilded Oyster on the way back. I waited in line forever to get you their signature seafood bisque. It’s still hot.” She kicked off her heels, looking at me with the expression of a golden retriever begging for a pat on the head. I looked up from my papers, my gaze landing on the container. The Gilded Oyster was famous—rich, heavy, loaded with crab and lobster. But because it was so rich, the briny, cloying scent of shellfish seeped through the lid. My stomach churned. A tiny, involuntary frown creased my brow. “Thanks. Just put it over there,” I said flatly. Vanessa seemed annoyed by my lack of enthusiasm. She set the soup on the coffee table and reached out to rest her hand on my shoulder, but I leaned forward to turn a page, subtly slipping out of her reach. Her hand hung in the air for a second before she pulled it back awkwardly. She started unbuttoning her cuffs, pulling off her silk blouse. “By the way, I need this shirt for a meeting tomorrow. It’s a bit wrinkled. Can you steam it for me? Remember to hand-wash it first—this fabric is temperamental, it can’t go in the machine.” The tone was so matter-of-fact, as if I were a high-end concierge she’d put on retainer. I glanced at the shirt. It was a gift I’d bought her for our anniversary—custom Italian silk blend. Delicate. Expensive. In the past, I would have hand-washed it in cool water and meticulously steamed out every microscopic crease, terrified of snagging a single thread. I looked at her, and a sudden, sharp laugh bubbled up in my chest. “Vanessa,” I said, pointing at the soup. “Did you seriously forget that I have a life-threatening shellfish allergy?” Her hand froze on her tie. A flash of confusion crossed her face, followed quickly by embarrassment and guilt. “Oh. Right… wait, really? I thought you loved fish…” “Freshwater fish,” I said, setting the bills down. “The last time I accidentally ate shellfish, I spent two days in the ER on an IV drip. You were the one who signed the admission papers.” That was only last year. I remembered her sitting by the hospital bed, scrolling through her phone and complaining about how hard the chairs were, grumbling that I was “careless” for making her take a day off work to watch me. Clearly, it hadn’t made much of an impression. Vanessa’s face flushed. Her eyes darted around the room. “I… I must have mixed it up. I was just trying to do something nice for you, bring you a treat. I’ll get you something else next time.” She reached for the container, but I was already standing. I picked up the expensive bag of soup, walked into the kitchen, and dropped the whole thing—bag and all—directly into the trash. Thump. Vanessa’s expression shifted instantly. “Grant, what the hell? That was an eighty-dollar soup! I haven’t even eaten yet!” “It’s an allergen. I don’t want it in my house. It feels like bad luck,” I said, turning on the faucet to wash my hands. My voice was as calm as if I were commenting on the weather. She stood there, stifled by my indifference. She took a deep breath, clearly suppressing her temper, and pointed at the silk shirt. “Fine. I messed up the soup. Just fix the shirt for me. I’m starving, I’m going to go make some pasta.” She turned toward the kitchen, familiar and comfortable in our space. I dried my hands, picked up the silk shirt, and walked into the laundry room. I didn’t reach for the basin of lukewarm water. Instead, I yanked open the heavy door of the washing machine, balled the silk into a tight knot, and tossed it in. I poured in the generic detergent, selected the “Heavy Duty” cycle, and hit start. As the drum began to roar and tumble, I knew that delicate Italian silk was as good as dead. When Vanessa emerged from the kitchen with a bowl of noodles, she heard the high-speed spin cycle. She froze, then sprinted to the laundry room. She stared at the spinning glass door, her eyes nearly bulging out of her head. “Grant! Are you insane? That’s a five-hundred-dollar shirt! I told you it had to be hand-washed!” She frantically hit the stop button and yanked out the wet, mangled, shrunken wad of fabric. The collar was twisted, the silk dull and ruined. Her face contorted with physical pain for the garment. I leaned against the doorframe, watching her meltdown with a terrifying sense of peace. “I used to hand-wash them because I loved you,” I said, meeting her furious gaze with a slight, mocking tilt of my head. “I thought you were worth the effort.” I paused, letting the silence stretch. “Now? The machine works fine. It’s going to get wrinkled eventually anyway. Why waste the time?” Vanessa looked at me like she was seeing a stranger. “You were never like this. Grant, what is wrong with you lately? Is this still about the trash? Are you seriously throwing a tantrum because I helped Sebastian with his bins a few times?” Oh. So she knew exactly what she was doing. She knew what was bothering me, but she chose to play dumb, even turning it around to frame me as the one “throwing a tantrum.” I looked at the wet rag in her hands and spoke softly. “Vanessa, you can buy a new shirt. But when some things break, there is no fixing them.” After the soup incident, Vanessa didn’t say a word to me for two days. Her social media, however, was thriving. She had blocked my main account, but she forgot about my burner. Yesterday, she posted a photo of herself in the hallway, leaning over a shoe rack. The caption read: Good neighbors are better than distant relatives. Kindness is its own reward. 🕊️ In the corner of the frame, I could see a pair of blue-grey slippers. Sebastian’s slippers. I scrolled down to Sebastian’s profile. Same angle. He’d posted a shot of Vanessa’s back as she knelt on the floor with a screwdriver. There was a cute, animated heart-shaped band-aid on her knuckle. His caption: Some people use their hands to rule the world, but she uses hers to fix my cabinets. My hero. It was a choreographed duet. A public flirtation disguised as “neighborly help.” I gave the post a “Like.” Then I turned off my phone and finished peeling the last shrimp on the table, putting it in my own bowl. Vanessa sat across from me, her face darkening. “Grant, when did you become so selfish? You used to peel the shrimp for me.” I sipped my barley tea, saying nothing, just watching her with a blank expression. She dropped her fork, leaving a half-peeled shrimp on her plate, and scowled. “Why aren’t you answering me? You aren’t even going to help? You used to give me the whole bowl.” Used to. Yeah. Vanessa used to say she was clumsy, that the shells pricked her fingers. She said she was an architect—her hands were her livelihood; she couldn’t risk a scratch. So every time we had seafood, I was the one wearing the gloves, enduring the sting of the spices on my skin, peeling them one by one. Seeing her eat happily felt like a reward back then. Even when my fingers grew red and raw from the salt and heat, she’d just say, “Maybe don’t peel so many next time,” before waiting for me to serve her again. “Vanessa,” I said, setting down my tea and looking at her long, manicured fingers. “Your hands really are precious, aren’t they?” She thought I was complimenting her and gave a smug little shrug. “Of course. These hands draw the skylines of this city.” “Right. Drawing hands,” I sneered. “Funnily enough, I didn’t hear you complaining about your ‘precious hands’ two nights ago when you were fixing Sebastian’s shoe rack in the hall.” “That… Sebastian’s cabinet broke. I happened to be walking by. I couldn’t just stand there and watch him struggle. It was just a quick favor.” “A quick favor? You brought your entire professional toolkit out there.” I let out a short, dry laugh. “Vanessa, you used to wait for me to get home to change a lightbulb because you ‘didn’t know how.’ But for the guy across the hall, you’re a master carpenter? Or is it that your hands are only ‘precious’ when it comes to me, but they’re perfectly fine for manual labor when it’s for him?” Vanessa’s face turned a deep, blotchy red. “Stop being so passive-aggressive! It’s just being a good neighbor! Look at you—you’re not even acting like a gentleman anymore.” “A gentleman?” I put down my chopsticks and wiped my mouth with a napkin. “Vanessa, I’m a gentleman to my wife. I’m not a servant to a tenant. And since you’re so handy, don’t worry about calling a repairman next time something breaks in this house. Save the money. You’re such an ‘active neighbor,’ you can just handle it yourself.” I stood up and cleared the table. Vanessa sat there, watching my back. I think it was the first time she realized that the Grant who used to smile and nod at everything she said was gone. Good. It was about time someone faced reality. Vanessa wasn’t going to reflect on her behavior, of course. In her head, I was just “going through a phase.” She figured if she ignored me, I’d eventually crawl back and apologize. She kept up the act. Every morning before she left, she’d make a point to go to the passenger side of her car and adjust the lumbar pillow. I didn’t understand why. Until one day, I reached into the gap of the passenger seat and pulled out a fountain pen that didn’t belong to me. Black and gold. Heavy. It smelled like a men’s cologne—something spicy and expensive. Completely different from the pens I used. That night, when Vanessa walked in, I laid the pen on the coffee table. “Whose is this?” Vanessa glanced at it. Her eyes flickered with a split-second of panic before she smoothed her expression. “Oh. Probably Sebastian’s. I saw him on his way to work this morning and he was running late—couldn’t get an Uber. I just gave him a lift.” “A lift?” I arched an eyebrow. Sebastian’s office was in the East District. Vanessa’s was in the West. That “lift” was essentially a tour of the entire city. “Yeah, it was on the way,” she said, her voice sharp with impatience. “Stop being so paranoid. The kid is trying to make it on his own; it’s just a carpool.” “Is that so?” I didn’t push it. I just opened my phone and scrolled to Sebastian’s Instagram. Posted ten minutes ago. A photo from the passenger seat of Vanessa’s car. It showed her hand on the steering wheel and the perfectly adjusted lumbar pillow. The caption: Best private chauffeur ever. Not only is she a pro behind the wheel, she even sets up the back support for me. Total VIP treatment. Never taking the subway again! Vanessa had already “liked” it. That passenger seat used to be mine. Vanessa used to say it was the “Husband Seat”—that everyone else had to sit in the back. Apparently, “everyone else” didn’t include Sebastian. I liked the photo too, then shoved the screen in front of her face. “Private chauffeur? Vanessa, is this what you meant by ‘on the way’? You’re carpooling to and from work now? Did you guys get hired at the same company overnight?” Vanessa’s face went pale. She lunged for the phone. “He’s just joking! That’s how Gen Z talks! Can you stop making a federal case out of everything?” I stepped back, dodging her hand. I laughed, but there was no heat in it—just ice. “Fine. If we’re joking, I’ve got a funny one for you.” I pulled up my contacts and hit dial on speakerphone. “Hey, Marcus? It’s Grant. Yeah, that downtown condo. I want to list it. Today. High floor, great views. Yeah, let’s move fast. Price is negotiable for a quick sale.” This apartment was mine. I’d bought it in full before we ever got married. Even though Vanessa lived here and acted like the queen of the castle, only my name was on the deed. Vanessa officially lost it. “Grant, are you crazy?! This is our home! Where are we supposed to live?” I hung up and looked at her. Her desperation was the first thing that had made me feel good in weeks. “It’s my house. I can sell it whenever I want. As for where you’re going to live…” I looked her up and down, a mocking smile tugging at my lips. “Since you love being a private chauffeur so much, why don’t you ask your ‘passenger’ if he’s got a spare room?” “You are being completely unreasonable!” She slammed the door on her way out. Going to Sebastian’s, no doubt. I didn’t care. The air in this place had been dirty for a long time. The silent treatment began. She thought she could freeze me out, wait for me to break. But she miscalculated. I didn’t break; I thrived. Without her weighing me down like an anchor, I felt like I could finally breathe. Until my birthday. Customarily, I invited a few of my closest friends over for a small dinner. We were having a great time until the doorbell rang. Vanessa went to answer it. Standing in the hallway was Sebastian, wearing a silk robe. He was holding a plate of haphazardly sliced fruit. “Vanessa? I heard things getting lively over here. I was feeling so lonely by myself… mind if I crash for a bit?” His voice was soft, performatively vulnerable. He looked straight at Vanessa, completely ignoring the room full of guests. The robe wasn’t indecent, but in a room full of people, it was wildly suggestive and inappropriate. Vanessa clearly hadn’t expected him, but she looked at his “vulnerable” expression, bit her lip, and stepped aside to let him in. “Of course. The more the merrier.” My friends’ faces turned into a gallery of disbelief. Vanessa tried to play it off. “Everyone, this is our neighbor, Sebastian. He wanted to wish Grant a happy birthday.” Hearing her call me “Grant” in that fake-sweet tone made my skin crawl. Sebastian didn’t care about the cold stares. He squeezed onto the sofa right next to Vanessa, sliding the fruit plate toward her. “I cut this specifically for you, Vanessa. Is it sweet?” Vanessa glanced at me nervously. When I didn’t say anything, she took a piece of apple. “Yeah. It’s good.” “Hehe, I knew you’d like it.” He smiled, leaning his body into hers. “Gosh, the AC is so high in here. I’m actually kind of chilly. Vanessa, could I borrow a blanket?” Without a second thought, Vanessa got up, went into our bedroom, and brought out my favorite cashmere throw to wrap around him. I heard one of my buddies mutter under his breath, “Unbelievable. Look at these two.” The hand I was using to cut the cake faltered for a second, then steadied. “Here, let’s eat,” I said, handing the first slice to my friend, completely ignoring the “star-crossed lovers” on the sofa. Suddenly, Sebastian’s phone buzzed. He answered, and his face went white. He started trembling. “What? Really? That’s terrifying! … Vanessa, I think my power just went out. It’s pitch black, and I’m hearing these weird scratching noises… I’m scared.” He hung up and looked at her with misty eyes, his hand gripping her sleeve. “Can you come check it out with me? I really don’t want to go back in there alone.” Vanessa stood up instantly, her face full of concern. “Don’t worry, I’m coming. It’s probably just a blown fuse. It’s an easy fix.” She turned to me, her tone completely dismissive. “Grant, Sebastian has an electrical emergency. I’m going to go help him. Keep eating, don’t wait for me.” I looked at her. I was still holding the cake knife. The blade was smeared with red strawberry filling. It looked like blood. “Vanessa,” I said calmly. “It’s my birthday.” “I know, I know! But I can’t just leave him in the dark! Neighbors help each other! I’ll be right back. Be a good boy.” She didn’t even wait for a response. She grabbed Sebastian’s hand and pulled him out the door. Sebastian looked back at me over his shoulder as they left. The look in his eyes wasn’t fear. It was triumph. Bam. The door closed. The silence in the room was deafening. My best friend slammed his fork onto the table. “Grant! How are you taking this? He’s a total snake, and she’s blind!” I put the knife down and wiped the cream off my hand. “What am I supposed to do? If a dog wants to eat trash, you can’t stop it.” I walked to the door, turned the deadbolt, and slid the security chain into place. “Let’s finish the cake. We shouldn’t let irrelevant people ruin a good night.” Vanessa didn’t come back that night. My phone was flooded with her texts: Grant, the wiring is complicated. Still working on it. Sebastian is having a panic attack, he’s crying. I have to stay to calm him down. I probably won’t make it back tonight. Get some sleep. I didn’t reply to a single one. I tossed my phone aside and drank with my friends until the sun came up. The next morning, I was woken by the buzzing of the neighborhood association group chat. I opened it to find a wall of praise for Vanessa. Sebastian had posted a photo. It was Vanessa, exhausted, asleep on his sofa, covered by my cashmere throw. The caption: So lucky to have a neighbor I can count on. The power outage was terrifying, but Vanessa fixed the circuits and stayed up all night talking me through my anxiety. Total angel! A bunch of clueless neighbors were chiming in: Vanessa is such a sweetheart! We need more people like her in the building. Grant is so lucky to have such a caring wife! I looked at the “thumbs up” emojis and felt a wave of cold, sharp irony. Caring? She abandoned her husband on his birthday to spend the night with a man in his bathrobe. That was it. I was done. I pulled up a file on my laptop—the divorce papers I’d drafted weeks ago. I converted it to a PDF and dropped it directly into the group chat of three hundred neighbors. I tagged both Sebastian and Vanessa. @Sebastian @Vanessa: Since you two are so deeply in love that “fixing a fuse” requires an overnight stay, I’ve decided to make it official. I’m big on recycling, and it’s time to take the trash out. You two deserve each other. May you stay together forever so you don’t ruin anyone else’s life.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “391512”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I tried to win the male lead’s heart ten times, and every single time, I failed because of his best friend, Ethan Vance. On my eleventh attempt, the male lead and I were finally married. All I needed to do was get pregnant and have a child, and I would succeed. But then Ethan showed up again. He told my husband that I was a manipulative schemer who had orchestrated everything. My husband immediately moved out and hired a lawyer to draft divorce papers. That very night, I hired someone to kidnap the root of all my misery: Ethan Vance. He knelt before me, his hands bound tightly behind his back. Even though he was bruised and battered, his gaze remained as arrogant and condescending as ever. I let out a cold laugh, used the tip of my shoe to tilt his chin up, and then stomped my foot down hard onto his face. I’ve been terrified of you ten times. This time, it’s your turn to be terrified of me. 01 Even while kneeling, Ethan’s back was ramrod straight. His clothes were torn into ribbons from the whipping, and blood seeped from the corner of his mouth. The moment the tip of my shoe lifted his chin, his chest heaved violently, and beads of sweat formed on his forehead. “What’s with that look?” I sneered, stepping on his shoulder and shoving him backward. The old wooden floorboards groaned loudly as he crashed heavily onto his back, completely defenseless. The next second, I stood up and planted my foot firmly on his lower abdomen. “Who gave you permission to look at me?” He stared straight back at me, his face devoid of expression, but the mockery in his eyes was unmistakable. I slid my foot down a couple of inches, stopping abruptly, and looked at him with a playful smirk. “Stop!” The face that had been completely stoic for an eternity finally cracked. His voice was strained, carrying a barely detectable trace of suppressed agony. “Stop?” I dragged the word out, feigning innocence, and pressed my foot down hard. “But you didn’t say the magic word.” Ethan’s face turned serious, his voice trembled slightly, and his breathing grew heavy. “Let me go. I won’t press charges.” “Let you go?” I removed my foot, watching him curl up slightly. “Do you really think you can walk out of here like this?” “How about I give you a bath before sending you on your way?” His eyes were bloodshot. His bound hands struggled fiercely behind his back, but before he could move his legs, I sat down heavily on his thighs. “You have to take your clothes off for a bath.” I tapped his belt buckle with my finger. “So, should we take the pants off first,” I moved my hand up to brush against his shirt buttons, “or the shirt?” The pauses between his gasps lengthened. His eyes grew hazy, as if his brain had short-circuited. I let my guard down. Suddenly, he jerked his legs up violently. I lost my balance and tumbled hard to the floor. Seizing the opportunity, Ethan shimmied toward the door, trying to use the wall to stand up. But I was faster. I grabbed a bucket of saltwater I had prepared and splashed the entire thing over his battered body. He didn’t even let out a whimper. Tough guy. But so what? Watching Ethan writhe on the floor like a drowned rat, I grabbed him by the hair and delivered a sharp karate chop to the back of his neck. He quickly lost consciousness. Wrestling a guy his size was exhausting; tying him to the bed cost me half my energy. Once I double-checked that all the doors and windows were securely locked, I finally felt safe enough to drive away. Now, it was time to go win back my male lead. 02 Ethan and I were naturally parallel lines with zero intersection. But ten times. Ten times I had tried to conquer the male lead’s heart, and every single time I was on the verge of success, Ethan ruined it, sending my progress plummeting. The first time, Ethan invited the male lead to dinner. The male lead met his “destined” female lead there and dumped me. The second time, I was driving the male lead to Ethan’s place. We got into a car crash on the way back, and I died on the spot. The third time, before I even officially started dating the male lead, I accidentally offended Ethan. He had me shipped off to a foreign country to do hard labor. And in the subsequent attempts, all my strategies failed because of him, no matter how hard I tried to avoid him. Ethan was the type of person I feared the most: wealthy background, ridiculously good looks, incredibly competent, and worst of all—he had no weaknesses and couldn’t be threatened. Whenever the male lead was around him, he turned into a loyal lapdog. If Ethan said walk in a straight line, he would never dare to turn around. During my fifth attempt, the male lead brought me to meet Ethan. Ethan looked at me like I was a piece of trash, warning the male lead not to bring just any random stray dog around him. I knew he looked down on me, so I always took detours to avoid him and never willingly crossed his path. I never imagined that this time, after Liam and I were already married, Ethan would actually demand that Liam divorce me. And Liam, stupid as a pig, actually believed the so-called “evidence” Ethan provided, accused me of having ulterior motives, and sent a lawyer to negotiate our divorce. I admit, winning him over was my mission, but my love for him wasn’t fake. Every single time I restarted this loop, my eyes were only on him. I racked my brain to plan the perfect “accidental” first meeting, worked tirelessly to fit his exact ideal type, never wore the same date outfit twice, and even did all his group projects for him in college. After finally enduring all the hardships, he wants a divorce? Impossible. My informant texted me that Liam was currently at home packing his bags. I didn’t waste a second and sped home. “Liam, what exactly do I have to do to make you believe my feelings are real?” Opening the door and seeing Liam dragging his suitcase toward the exit, I threw caution to the wind and wrapped my arms tightly around his waist. “Chloe, don’t be unreasonable.” He didn’t stroke my hair like he used to. His voice carried a distinct note of warning. “You’re sentencing me to death over a few pieces of paper from Ethan?” I buried my face in his chest. “I love you. Even if I schemed and calculated, it was only because I wanted to be with you.” “Chloe, when feelings are mixed with calculation, they turn sour.” He mercilessly pried my fingers apart. “And I don’t like it when you talk about Ethan that way.” Then, he strode out the door. When he loved me, he was so afraid I’d be lonely that he kept a video call on even while we slept. When he didn’t love me, he left me all alone in a massive, empty house. It was all Ethan’s fault! If it weren’t for Ethan, I would have succeeded a long time ago. Checking the time, it had been three hours. Ethan should be waking up right about now. 03 Thankfully, I arrived just in time. Ethan had almost freed one of his feet. I sneered and delivered a sharp slap across his face. “You broke my bed.” Ethan really did have delicate skin; half his face swelled up immediately. I grabbed his foot, tied it securely again, and then viciously slapped the other side of his face. “There. Now it’s symmetrical.” He remained silent, his mouth shut tight like a clam. “Speak.” I squatted by the edge of the bed. “Doesn’t it hurt?” I poked at the bleeding corner of his mouth. He still didn’t make a sound. “That’s fine.” I didn’t care. I leaned in closer, letting my dark hair brush against his ear, cheek, and neck. “Ethan, you are going to beg me.” He squeezed his eyes shut, refusing to look at me. I shrugged, pulled up a chair to sit beside him, started playing on my phone, and placed a water-drop hourglass on the nightstand. I watched a movie for two hours. My back was getting stiff, so I stood up to stretch. Glancing over, I saw the man on the bed resting with his eyes closed. I smiled. Let’s see how long you can hold out. Another movie, another two hours. The man on the bed was starting to lose his composure. I hadn’t played the movie audio out loud, so the rhythmic dripping of the water hourglass was exceptionally clear. Ethan’s brow furrowed slightly, and his breathing became erratic. I glanced at him again, the corners of my lips curling up. Half an hour later, the expected voice finally sounded. “Chloe, untie me.” “What was that?” I stood by the bed. “I didn’t hear you.” “Untie me.” His body was contorting involuntarily, though he couldn’t see it himself. “Untie you to do what?” I asked again. “You know what.” The veins on his forehead popped, and the sound of him struggling against his bonds grew louder and more desperate. “I have no idea.” I continued playing dumb. “Chloe!” His voice grew stern. “Untie me, and we’ll pretend this never happened.” “Beg me.” I felt a thrill of excitement coursing through me. “Chloe!” His calm facade shattered completely. He looked like an irrational beast. I watched his frantic state with cold detachment. He looked exactly like he did during my third loop, when he looked down at me like I was an ant. “Please.” He finally surrendered. “What did you say?” I asked. “I’m begging you.” He closed his eyes in defeat. I knew not to push him too far. I smiled brightly. “Alright, since you asked so nicely.” I turned to leave the room. “Chloe!” He panicked. “Why aren’t you untying me?” “Untying what?” I looked completely innocent. “You promised me.” “Yeah, I promised you.” I said nonchalantly. “What did I promise you?” He froze, not knowing how to respond. I laughed. “Like I promised… “I won’t look. “Help yourself.” 04 I had only intended to scare Ethan. I never expected his psychological defenses to crumble so easily. He lay on the bed like a corpse, his breathing barely perceptible. Just now, when I changed his clothes, he hadn’t struggled at all. “Ethan?” I called his name. His eyes were vacant. He didn’t seem to hear me. “Should I untie you?” I asked again. He continued to stare blankly at the ceiling, his eyes totally devoid of life. Oh my god, did I break his brain? I untied one of his hands. No reaction. So I untied the other. His feet were still tied, so I wasn’t afraid of him attacking me. But he still lay there, completely motionless. I started to panic. My first instinct was to run. As long as there’s life, there’s hope. The worst-case scenario was that I’d just have to restart the loop. I still had chances. I didn’t even have time to lock the doors or windows. I sped away, rushed home, packed my bags, bought a ticket for the earliest flight out of the city, and went into hiding in a remote border town. For a whole month, nothing happened—except for Liam constantly calling me to come back and finalize the divorce. I contacted my informant and asked if there was any major news in the city. My informant replied with a question mark. Before I could prompt further, the informant sent another message, saying the only big news was that the Vance family was increasing their overseas investments, and the head of the family was personally overseeing it abroad. Wasn’t the head of the Vance family Ethan? It seemed he hadn’t gone crazy. I breathed a sigh of relief, but then my heart leaped into my throat—he was definitely going to come after me for revenge. The system urged me to speed up my progress. The progress bar had been stagnant for a month. It also delivered a piece of devastating news: if I failed this loop, my ultimate reward—returning to the real world and resurrecting my grandmother—would be permanently revoked. I asked my informant if they could find out how long Ethan would be abroad. The reply was a year at minimum, maybe three to five years. Without Ethan interfering, I could finish my mission in six months tops. Then I could negotiate with the system. By the time Ethan returned, I might already be back in the real world. High risk, high reward. I immediately booked a flight back to the city to continue my mission. I never expected to be grabbed by a group of men the moment I stepped off the plane. And the man who was supposedly “abroad” was now sitting right in front of me. Except this time, I was the one kneeling. 05 His subordinates all left, leaving just me and Ethan in the massive room. He toyed with a lighter in his hand. The flame flickered to life, died, and sparked again, perfectly mirroring the erratic spikes of my heart rate. Then it hit me—he was just a fictional character in a novel. What did I have to be afraid of? My fear vanished instantly. I raised my head, looking down my nose at him, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on my lips. “What are you smiling at?” He stopped spinning the lighter. His eyes held a mix of confusion and a hint of madness. “Who gave you permission to sit?” I demanded. In an instant, his chest rose and fell rapidly, and the sound of him swallowing was loud in the quiet room. “Kneel,” I commanded. The very next second, Ethan dropped to his knees like a robot. His face was flushed crimson, and he was shaking like a leaf in the wind. Even if I hadn’t eaten pork, I’d seen pigs run. I felt like I was doing something terribly forbidden. “Untie me,” I continued. His eyes grew icy, holding a mixture of pain and deep reluctance. “Be a good boy,” I said, my voice dropping to a husky whisper. With just a few words, the power dynamic between me and Ethan had completely shifted again. 06 I was overjoyed. Liam was Ethan’s loyal lapdog. If Ethan was now completely obedient to me, completing the mission would be a piece of cake. Running my fingers through Ethan’s fine, dark hair, I didn’t hesitate to slap him twice across the face. “Who told you to tie me up?” He suddenly acted like a wronged golden retriever, grabbing my hand and trying to blow on it to soothe the sting. I immediately yanked it away. “Don’t touch me.” He knelt there, lost and unsure of what to do. His lips parted and closed several times before he finally spoke: “I didn’t tell them to tie you.” “Ethan.” I leaned in closer. He became visibly happier, a faint blush creeping across his cheeks. “I don’t like it when you talk back.” His face paled, and he lowered his head in silence. “I don’t like it when you give me the silent treatment, either,” I added. At those words, Ethan’s head snapped up. Tears were actually welling in his eyes. “Please don’t dislike me.” “Then you have to be good.” I gently touched his swollen cheek. “Does it hurt, Ethan?” He took the opportunity to grab my hand, then quickly released it under my warning glare. “It doesn’t hurt.” I knew the art of the carrot and the stick perfectly. “But my heart aches for you.” “Don’t ache for me.” He struggled, unsure of what to call me. I cupped his cheek. “Call me Chloe.” He shyly looked down, then quickly looked back up. Like a child who had just sneaked a taste of honey, his eyes couldn’t hide his delight. “Chloe.” “Good boy.” I took his hand. “What reward do you want?” “Can Chloe kiss me?” He squeezed his eyes shut nervously, his eyelashes fluttering. I pressed a quick kiss to his forehead, not missing the flash of disappointment in his eyes. “Chloe, don’t leave.” I stood up, preparing to go. My main quest for today was finding Liam; I had already wasted too much time here. Ethan looked frantic, but I didn’t let him get up. He had to stay kneeling. “Count to one hundred and eighty before you stand up.” Looking into his desperate eyes, I smiled and said, “I like it when Ethan listens to me.” 07 The system informed me that Liam would meet the female lead, who was working as a part-time waitress, at a cocktail party tonight and enact a classic “hero saves the beauty” scene. I had to intervene and save the female lead before he did, severing the red thread of fate between them. Sure enough, when I arrived, the female lead was already surrounded by a group of rich playboys. Luckily, no one else had noticed yet. I thoroughly chewed out the little brats, then comforted the female lead and told her that her dorm RA was doing a surprise room check, urging her to hurry back to campus. The female lead had always been a stellar student. She completely believed me but was worried no one would cover her shift. Right on cue, the replacement waitress I had hired in advance showed up, and the female lead successfully left the party. Having disposed of that ticking time bomb, I scanned the room for Liam, ready to pounce. At exactly 8:00 PM, Liam made his entrance. He wasn’t as powerful as Ethan, but he was still a young, successful CEO that everyone wanted to network with. People swarmed him to hand out business cards. I found an opening and appeared in front of him. I hadn’t seen him in a month. A wave of grievance washed over me, and my nose stung. After spending ten loops with him, our emotional connection couldn’t be summed up in a few simple words. When things were good between us, I genuinely intended to have a child with him before I left this world. The people around us tactfully dispersed, leaving Liam and me standing face-to-face. “You didn’t even come looking for me?” I pouted, acting petulant like I always did, waiting for him to coax me. “I called you,” his voice was distant. “Since you’re back, let’s finalize the paperwork. The mandatory cooling-off period is over.” “Liam, you weren’t like this before.” I raised my hand, the wedding ring on my ring finger sparkling under the lights. “Did you forget what you said?” Liam had custom-made the ring himself, setting a circle of tiny, crushed diamonds into the band. I had told him that setting all those tiny stones was too hard on his eyes, and that a single diamond or a plain band would be fine. But Liam had said that setting every single diamond felt like kissing my eyes. “Don’t forget to return the ring,” he said, his eyes completely dead, as if he were discussing the weather. “Liam, look me in the eyes.” I grabbed the lapels of his suit. “I refuse to believe you have absolutely no feelings left for me.” “You know me.” He gently but firmly removed my hands. “I’ve always despised being lied to.” “What are you two doing?” Ethan’s voice suddenly rang in my ear. Looking at the architect of my misery, I started trembling with rage. Liam used the distraction to push me away. I tried to chase after him, but Ethan grabbed my arm. “Chloe, didn’t you two get divorced?” I slapped Ethan across the face. The entire ballroom fell dead silent. “No, we didn’t,” I enunciated clearly. He wasn’t angry. He just pulled me into his arms. I struggled violently but couldn’t break free, and he half-carried, half-dragged me out of the venue.

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When the plane went down, everyone was crying and sending final messages to the people they loved most. I opened my arch-nemesis’s chat and furiously typed out my final words: “Are those two holes in your head just for decoration? Are you fucking blind? Could you really not tell that I like you? “Last time I pretended to be drunk so you’d make a move, you didn’t do shit. Serves you right, it’s too late to regret it now. “I’m hitting reset on my life, asshole—” 1 My body was in a freefall. Hypoxia was blurring my consciousness, and every ounce of strength was draining from my body. After a violent bout of turbulence, my phone slipped from my hand. I instinctively reached out to grab it, but my fingers closed around something soft and warm instead. Strange… is there anything on a plane that feels like this? In the dead silence of the cabin, a voice suddenly echoed. “Hey, how long are you going to hold on?” How was someone still talking? Everyone else had already passed out. “Deaf? Oh… you just don’t want to let go?” There it was again. Closer this time. Clearer. And painfully familiar. My sluggish brain finally processed it. Ah, it was his voice. Just seconds ago, I was furiously typing out my aggressive confession to him, but now, all my bravado was gone. At the very end, I had to admit my nonchalance was entirely faked. Deep down, I was so full of regrets that I was actually having auditory hallucinations. But this voice… why did it sound so distant? It carried a hint of that nostalgic, youthful arrogance. I strained my fading consciousness to think, when suddenly, my arm was yanked. Like a drowning man being pulled from the water, I gasped for air and snapped my eyes open, finally seeing the person in front of me. A raised brow, a recklessly arrogant smile, and a face that was aggressively handsome. Ethan Bennett. In a flash, all my lost senses flooded back into my body. The deafening chirp of summer cicadas filled the air, the hardwood floor gave off a rich scent under the baking sun, and a bead of sweat slowly rolled down my forehead. And I was tightly gripping Ethan’s hand. Was this… an illusion? “Carter Hayes, don’t tell me you’re about to confess your love to me too.” It wasn’t an illusion. I blankly pulled my hand back and opened my palm. Beneath the skin, there was a healthy pink hue, my pulse beating strong and steady. I clenched my fist, opened it, clenched it, opened it. I could control my body. “Did you actually go dumb? Tch, I told you studying too much would turn you into a total nerd.” I looked up and saw the blue trim of Ethan’s high school uniform. It was the summer of 2016. This year, I was a high school junior, and Ethan was a senior. 2 We had never gotten along. I hated how he always acted like a cynical, careless slacker. He hated how I was too rigid, boring, and lifeless. But as fate would have it, his younger brother, Liam Bennett, was my best friend. I always came over to their house after school to do homework. Just like today. “Fucking disgusting.” Ethan leaned lazily against the window, letting out a scoff. I followed his gaze. Down in the small garden below, someone was confessing their feelings to Liam. It was another boy. Out of the three Bennett brothers, Liam, the youngest, had that pretty-boy charm and naturally attracted a lot of suitors. “Fucking queer, doing that shit in someone else’s house. Disgusting, right?” Ethan turned his head, looking straight at me, a mocking smirk playing on his lips. I didn’t know if it was just my imagination, but while his expression was teasing, his eyes were dead serious. He was earnestly waiting for my answer. If I were the seventeen-year-old Carter, even though I couldn’t stand Ethan, I would have agreed with him on this just to avoid a fight. But the soul currently inhabiting this body was twenty-five years old. Over the next eight years, we went through a lot together. My feelings for him morphed from annoyance to love—so much love that, right before I died, he was the only person on my mind. I didn’t want to lie to myself. So I shook my head. “I don’t see the problem.” Ethan froze, his expression inexplicably darkening. “Tch, nerds are so boring.” He turned his back to me, clearly pissed off. I stood rooted to the spot, watching him walk away, feeling a bit lost. I couldn’t tell if this was time travel or reincarnation. But either way, it meant the twenty-five-year-old me was definitely dead. When Ethan heard the news of my death, how would he feel? Would he feel guilty? After all, the only reason I was on that doomed flight was to make it to his engagement party. 3 Eighteen-year-old Ethan hadn’t stepped into the halls of marriage yet. Right now, he was just furious that I couldn’t return his serve. “You’re the top student in our grade but you can’t hit a ball like this?! I practically fed it right to your racket! Are those two eyes of yours just for show?” He yelled so loud my eardrums ached. For some reason, the lingering sensation of impending death still clung to me. I felt like I was still on that plane, my brain suffering from intermittent bouts of vertigo. I lowered my tennis racket. “I’m done playing.” Liam jogged over to smooth things over. “Don’t mind my brother. You know he’s had a trash mouth for years, it’s not targeted at you.” I knew that. Ethan was an equal-opportunity asshole who verbally attacked everyone. But he was especially harsh with me. As I sat on the bench zoning out, a water bottle was suddenly tossed onto my lap. I didn’t catch it, and it rolled onto the ground. “Tch.” Ethan bent over, picked it up, and handed it back. “Drink some. You’re so pale I thought you were gonna drop dead.” When I didn’t move, he muttered a string of curses, took the bottle back, unscrewed the cap, and shoved it forcefully into my hands. “What, your majesty, you waiting for me to feed it to you?” With him taking it that far, I had no choice but to obediently lift the bottle and take a sip. Grapefruit flavor. Sweet. His expression softened, giving off a ‘that’s more like it’ vibe. Then he moved my racket aside and sat down next to me, lazily watching the other two guys rallying on the court. “Did you go to bed past midnight again? Doing those stupid practice tests?” My house and the Bennetts’ house were right next door to each other. Our bedroom windows were only separated by a narrow garden path—close enough that if he was changing his shirt by the window, I could see it the moment I looked up. “Would it kill you to do one less test and sleep earlier? Is your valedictorian spot hanging by a thread on that one single worksheet?” He really had a terrible way of talking. I wasn’t exactly a submissive person, and I had never been polite to Ethan either. Do you want to see me fail that badly? Normally, that’s how I would have fired back. But when I opened my mouth, the words caught in my throat. What came out instead was: “Are you worrying about me?” The moment the words left my lips, Ethan’s pupils shrank, and he shot up to his feet. “Bullshit!” He threw that single word at me and hurried back onto the court. Like a man whose soul had left his body, he completely completely missed every single one of Liam’s serves. I slowly screwed the cap back onto the water bottle, my heart racing uncontrollably. By bringing me back to the past, did God want me to fix my regrets? Or rather, did He want me to see the things I had previously ignored? Take that conversation just now. When I was younger, I only felt targeted and mocked. I never would have considered that Ethan was just being a prickly tsundere, refusing to admit he cared. I pressed a hand to my chest, taking a deep breath to suppress the overwhelming surge of joy. Ethan ran back over, his voice tight. “Fuck, are you feeling sick?” “No.” I shook my head. The sunlight was blindingly bright. If I could live my life over again, Ethan and I… 4 I went to sleep harboring infinite hopes for my second life. Yet, when I woke up, I saw the familiar ceiling of my college dorm room. I thought I was seeing things. I closed my eyes and opened them again. Still in the dorm. I lay there, unmoving. A dreadful realization crept up my spine like cold, damp moss. My ears rang, and my blood ran ice cold. This wasn’t reincarnation, and it wasn’t time travel. It was my life flashing before my eyes right before I died. Fate hadn’t given me a second chance. No miracle had descended. I was still hurtling toward my inevitable death. I couldn’t change a single thing. Liam knocked on my bed frame. “Come straight to my house after class today.” I stiffly turned on my phone. The calendar reminder read: Liam’s Birthday. I would remember this day for the rest of my life. Halfway through Liam’s party, a massive blackout hit the entire neighborhood, and the power company was taking forever to fix it. I navigated the pitch-black streets to walk back to my own house. Ethan followed right behind to walk me home. “You heard them too, right?” It was the exact same dialogue from my memory. “They were sneaking a kiss.” I opened my front door, crouching in the dark entryway, fumbling to take off my shoes. “It’s normal. They’re dating.” Liam had started dating his roommate freshman year, and their relationship was very stable. I was long used to their occasional PDA. Ethan made no move to leave. He leaned against the doorframe. I couldn’t read his expression in the dark. “Carter, if I remember correctly, you still haven’t had your first kiss, right?” This was playing out exactly like my memory. Next, I was supposed to snap back defensively, “So what? Mind your own business.” Then he would magnanimously say, “How pitiful. Why don’t you beg me? I might be willing to do you a favor and help you out.” His version of “help” was pinning me against the wall and kissing me until the power came back on and the lights flooded the room. Afterward, he had explained that it was too dark that night, his senses were heightened, and hearing the wet sounds of Liam and his boyfriend had riled him up. It was just an impulse, and he hoped I wouldn’t overthink it. My heart, which had been beating wildly, plummeted into a silent abyss at those words. To hide my crushing disappointment, I had forced a casual laugh and agreed: Yeah, totally. Two guys kissing is no big deal, basically the same as kissing a slab of pork. Snapping back to the present, Ethan noticed my silence and chuckled. “What, too embarrassed to admit it?” “No,” I denied. “It’s already gone.” Ethan froze, utterly shocked. “With who? Are you seeing someone?” Before I could answer, he started muttering to himself. “Impossible. Liam said you’ve been single this whole time. Oh—are you talking about kindergarten? That little girl with the pigtails? “Carter, that doesn’t count as a fucking first kiss. A kiss is supposed to be with someone you actually like—” He abruptly cut himself off. Ethan was right about one thing: the darkness really did amplify your senses. For instance, right now, I clearly felt his breathing hitch and stumble for a split second. “Hmm?” Curious about what he was going to say next, I feigned realization. “Oh, is that how it works? Then I guess I do still have it. Is there a problem?” Ethan went silent. After a long time, he stuttered out, “Then… do you… need me to…” “Need you to what?” He paused again, taking a deep breath. “Hearing those two going at it… didn’t you feel an urge to… to kiss someone too?” I stared intently into the dark where he stood, and heard myself say, “No.” Actually, I wanted it desperately. But I also knew that no matter what choice I made in this illusion, it wouldn’t change the ultimate outcome. So what if it was meaningless? I just wanted to confirm that all these years, my unrequited love hadn’t been entirely one-sided. Ethan had lost his excuse. We fell into a stalemate. I finally relented. “Okay, maybe I want to a little. But you just said it yourself, it only counts if it’s with someone you like.” Am I someone you like? “You can just pretend I’m the person you like,” Ethan said, stepping closer to me, his scalding breath washing over my face. “Like that underclassman in your club. You’re into her, right? Heard you asked her out to dinner a few times but still haven’t sealed the deal?” Underclassman? It had been so many years since college, I had almost forgotten she even existed. Thinking back, we had teamed up for an academic competition, but there was never anything else between us. “Did I guess right?” Ethan reached out and gripped my chin. For some reason, his grip was unexpectedly tight. “No…” A soft click sounded from above, and the next second, the room flooded with light. I reflexively squeezed my eyes shut. “The power is back.” Ethan stared at me fixedly, his gaze dark and unreadable. He raised his hand and covered my eyes. “No, it’s not.” Warm, soft lips pressed against mine, slowly and deeply grinding against them. I wanted to ask him if the old, emotionally stunted me had missed too many signs. When did you start liking me? Why couldn’t either of us just be a little braver? It was all too late now. I couldn’t bear to push him away. I’ll ask him when this is over. When this kiss ends, I’m going to finally confirm his feelings properly. That way, even if we couldn’t be together in life, I wouldn’t die with regrets. But when I opened my eyes, I was no longer in my entryway. A coworker was supporting my weight as we walked toward a hotel room door, and Ethan’s voice rang out from behind us. “Why did he drink so much?”

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A distant great-aunt passed away, leaving me a massive inheritance. But there was a catch: to inherit the money, I had to raise her autistic grandson. 1 “How much?” I asked the lawyer. He pushed his glasses up his nose and stated a figure I absolutely could not refuse. “And that’s not including the real estate,” he added. My eyes lit up. I dusted off my knees, which were dirty from moving boxes all day. “Deal. Where do I sign?” “Ms. Davis, do you accept the attached conditions?” “It’s just raising a person, right? With that kind of money, I could raise a whole football team.” Mr. Wu, the lawyer, looked displeased. “He is not a typical person. You might need to thoroughly educate yourself on individuals with his specific condition.” I thought about it for a second. “Alright, let’s meet him first, then we’ll talk.” The next day at noon, I was a few minutes late arriving at the agreed-upon location. My team lead at the corporate grind-house had a habit of terrorizing employees. I couldn’t even count how many interns he had made cry. If I didn’t need the money to pay off my debts, I would have bailed ages ago. 2 When I arrived, I spotted Mr. Wu from a distance. He pointed toward a flower shop nearby, looking a bit exasperated. “He’s over there. Let’s head over, and I’ll explain on the way.” I walked with him into an absurdly large flower shop. Calling it a flower shop felt like an understatement; it was more like a mini botanical garden. “Oliver loves plants. He even majored in botany abroad. You must remember this: his one and only interest is plants.” I was surprised. “You mean he can study at a university level?” Mr. Wu gave me a deadpan look. “He has autism. He’s not stupid.” I nodded sheepishly. Mr. Wu reminded me, “If you can’t get him to accept you as family, you forfeit your right to the inheritance.” “So what’s the metric for ‘accepting’ me?” “That he is willing to live with you.” Mr. Wu continued listing things to watch out for, but my attention was suddenly hijacked by a figure standing ahead. 3 The young man was tall, lean, and pale. His eyes were starkly black and white, incredibly clear. He was staring unblinking at a potted plant in front of him. Sunlight filtered through the transparent skylight, casting a dusting of golden light over him. He reached out a long, slender finger and tapped a leaf. “Are you sick?” his voice was barely a whisper. “Is that him?” I asked Mr. Wu. He adjusted his glasses and gave a solemn nod. “Oliver, your aunt is here.” I quickly waved my hands. “I’m barely a few years older than him. Just call me by my name.” But clearly, Oliver was more familiar with Mr. Wu. Without even looking up, he repeated, “Auntie.” I tentatively walked up to him. “Do you like this tree?” It was like he didn’t even hear me. He just gently stroked the leaves, as if he were healing the plant. When we left the shop, I bought that potted plant and gave it to Oliver. When he took it, he softly whispered, “Thank you.” According to the contract, I took Oliver home to live with me. If we made it smoothly through the next three months, I would receive the entire inheritance. 4 The apartment I rented wasn’t huge, but it was perfectly fine for two people. Plus, it was close to my office, so I hadn’t considered moving. Oliver was visibly tense in the new environment. The only things he said to me were, “Where is Grandma?” or “Where is Mr. Wu?” I didn’t sugarcoat it. “Grandma passed away, and Mr. Wu is very busy. You’re going to live with me from now on, okay?” He didn’t say anything, so I assumed he agreed. But when I got home from work, he was gone. Panicking, I didn’t even take off my shoes and was about to rush out to find him, when I suddenly heard a noise from the balcony. I walked over and saw him huddled in the corner of the balcony, hiding himself behind a plant stand. He sat on the floor quietly, like a silent, dormant plant. I parted the dense leaves of a spider plant. He instinctively looked up, his eyes crystal clear. I breathed a sigh of relief. “Time to eat.” 5 He didn’t get up. He just asked me, “Where is Grandma?” “She passed away, remember?” It took a long moment before he blinked. “Grandma passed away.” “Come on out, let’s eat first.” He shrank further into the corner, pressing his hands tightly over his ears. “I don’t like it here. I want to go home.” Feeling helpless, I tried to coax him. “I’ll take you home after we eat.” He hesitated, dawdling for a long time before finally coming out. Mr. Wu had mentioned that Oliver had been living abroad for treatment since he was ten. It would take time for him to adjust to life back in the States. At the dinner table, he managed to eat half a bowl of rice. I breathed another sigh of relief. It was a very strange feeling. He felt like a rare, exotic plant that had just been transplanted into my home, and I was a novice gardener, trying to meticulously control every environmental factor to ensure he survived. After all, he was my literal money tree. 6 “Good job.” I patted his head praisingly. He didn’t pull away; he even reached up and patted his own head. His hair was fluffy and soft, kind of like the texture of a yew tree. The yew tree was the potted plant I had bought for him. After dinner, he gathered the bowls and took them into the kitchen, then turned around to look at me. “What is it?” “There’s no dishwasher here. But the housekeeper usually puts the bowls in the dishwasher.” I rolled up my sleeves. “It’s fine, go play.” He stood in the kitchen doorway, staring at me for a long time before walking away, looking exactly like a rich kid who had never seen how the peasants lived. By the time I finished cleaning the kitchen, he was talking to himself, facing the potted plant. As I mopped the floor, I moved closer. Listening carefully, I realized he was reciting the specific characteristics of that type of plant. The technical jargon completely went over my head. When he finished, I tried to strike up a conversation. “Are you talking to it?” “I’m talking to you.” “Got it. I’m listening.” He seemed a bit happy about that and crouched down to talk to the spider plant. I could tell he was incredibly familiar with the habits of these plants. When I finished mopping, he finally stood up and said, “Auntie, I want to go home now.” 7 “You don’t want to live with me?” “I live with Grandma.” “Grandma passed away. She asked me to take care of you. You’re going to live with me from now on, okay?” He immediately grew agitated. “No. I don’t want Auntie.” I rubbed my temples. Great, issues on day one. “I want to go home,” he repeated stubbornly. A sudden idea hit me. I pointed to the half-dead plants sitting on my windowsill. “If you leave, what will happen to them? There’s no one to help me take care of them. They’ll die.” He froze, his expression turning conflicted. I crouched down in front of him, clasping my hands together in a pleading gesture. “Could you please help me take care of them? I’m begging you.” “When they bloom, I’m going home.” Judging by his words, he had agreed to stay. 8 I catered to his interests, gradually turning the apartment into a botanical garden. Plants became our medium of communication. After a month of living together, he had at least grown used to my presence. Oliver possessed a genuine talent for gardening. My jasmine plant, which had never flowered before, suddenly sprouted numerous buds. He even knew exactly what time the flowers would open. He would sit on the balcony in the middle of the night waiting, and the moment a flower bloomed, he’d shake me awake. Rubbing my sleepy eyes, I’d let him drag me out to look at the flowers. When Oliver was happy, his eyes would sparkle like starlight, making them look even more vivid and alive. “Does Nora like flowers?” he asked me. Ever since I told him my name, he switched between calling me Auntie and Nora. “I like them,” I said, stifling a yawn. “I have lots and lots of flowers at home. Mr. Wu said someone is taking care of them, but I want to go home.” He was talking about his home abroad. Oliver had a 3,000-square-foot greenhouse there. “When I get some time off, I’ll go back with you.” He didn’t reject the idea this time. He smiled and said okay. 9 One day, I came home from work, and the elderly neighbor next door was giving me a very weird look. She shook her head and sighed as she walked past me. My head was full of question marks. Before I could process it, my front door was pushed open. My ex-boyfriend, Mark, stood there, looking at me with a mocking sneer. “Wow, Nora. We haven’t even been broken up for two months, and you’ve already moved some random guy in?” I pushed past him. Oliver was carrying dishes to the table. “Auntie, time to eat.” I whipped around and slapped Mark across the face. “You made him cook?!” Mark clutched his cheek and roared, “I cooked the damn food! He insisted on carrying it!” 10 A bizarre silence descended over the dinner table. After a long time, I finally spoke. “Give me back the key.” “You’re pretty ruthless,” Mark said, crossing his arms and looking Oliver up and down. “He’s a relative on Richard’s side. Does he even count as your nephew?” “If he found me, he counts,” I replied. Mark knew I came from a blended family. Richard was my stepdad. He died of a heart attack after his business failed, leaving behind a mountain of debt. Mark’s lips twitched in a sneer. “It’s one thing to pay off Richard’s debts, but to take on a massive burden like this? Have you lost your mind?” “You don’t understand.” He wasn’t a burden; he was my money tree. Mark let out a harsh scoff. “I’m preparing to study abroad. I’m leaving in a few days.” I remained expressionless. “Congratulations.” “I said I’m leaving the country, and you have no reaction? You’re not going to ask me to stay?” Before I could even open my mouth, Oliver suddenly chimed in. “Don’t want him to stay.”

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When I was seven, my dad brought home a little girl and told me to treat her like my own flesh-and-blood sister. Later, I found out she was the daughter of his deceased first love. From that day on, my dad’s eyes rarely landed on me. My new sister, Chloe, had poor health, so my dad spent most of his time at the hospital with her. He was there so much that he couldn’t even make it back in time to see my mom before she died. He apologized to me: “If you’re angry, take it out on me. Don’t blame your sister; she’s fragile.” Normally, I would have thrown a massive fit and turned the house upside down. But this time, I just looked calmly at the two of them. “As long as Chloe is okay.” 1 My mom’s funeral was over. My dad cried so hard he was a mess; it took several people to pull him up from the ground. Long after we got home, he sat staring blankly at a small box. It was the first gift he had ever given my mom, and she couldn’t bear to throw the box away. Seeing me walk in, he hastily stood up and stumbled toward me, almost falling. “Did your mom leave any last words for me?” I glanced at Chloe, who was standing timidly behind him, and shook my head. “Mom was in a lot of pain when she passed. She couldn’t say anything.” Noticing my gaze, my dad subtly shifted his footing, moving to shield Chloe. Even so, he was still anxious. He added, “Daddy is so sorry. This is all my fault. If you’re angry, take it out on me, but don’t blame your sister. She’s not well.” He still had faint scratch marks on his arm from where I had hit him. I had a well-known reputation in the neighborhood for being a rebellious, unfilial daughter who would lash out at her own father at the drop of a hat. My dad, on the other hand, was universally known as a good man—gentle, considerate, someone who never even raised his voice. The looks everyone gave me seemed to say: Go ahead, throw a tantrum. Just like always, grab whatever is handy and throw it at them. But this time, I just felt exhausted. I finally understood why my mom, right before she left, told me not to throw tantrums anymore. She said it was too tiring. She had been tired for over a decade and didn’t want me to end up like her. She wanted me to get out, to leave this place, to leave this family. “As long as Chloe is okay,” I said softly. My dad’s eyes widened in disbelief. I hugged my mom’s portrait, turned around, walked into my room, and shut the door. Over the past few years, to pay for Chloe’s medical treatments, our family’s savings had been drained. We sold the house. We sold the car. Right now, we were living in a rental apartment paid for by my uncle. Chloe’s illness was almost cured, but my mom had died because we couldn’t afford timely treatment for her. That afternoon, I went out and dyed my glaring red hair back to black. I pinned back my heavy bangs. I wandered the streets for a while, not knowing where to go, and eventually ended up back at the cemetery. I wanted my mom to see me. She always liked it best when I looked neat and well-behaved. When I got back, my dad was cooking, and Chloe was helping him. I didn’t know what they were talking about, but both of their faces were glowing with smiles. Chloe had even posted on social media: [I have the best dad in the whole world.] The picture attached was of a beautiful new dress. I casually liked the post. It was deleted shortly after. Chloe looked at me, her small face turning pale. My dad rushed over to explain, “She… she hasn’t been able to wear dresses because she was sick. She just wanted to commemorate it. Don’t be angry.” “It’s a nice dress.” They exchanged a confused look, not understanding my reaction. I sat down at the dining table. “What’s for dinner?” Chloe quickly brought the dishes over, looking surprised. “You dyed your hair back, Serena?” My dad finally noticed. “What made you decide to dye it black?” I shrugged. “The school doesn’t allow students to have red hair.” Before, I always did the exact opposite of what Chloe did. If she wore white, I wore black. She was sweet and obedient, so I was rebellious and loud. I wanted to be completely different from the “good kid.” I thought that maybe, just maybe, if I acted out, my dad would finally look at me, scold me, or yell at me. After all, before Chloe arrived, he poured all his energy into raising me and gave me everything he could. But he never did. He never scolded me for it. In truth, he probably never even noticed my changes. His eyes only ever followed Chloe. So, I started bullying her. I dumped ash into her cup; I purposely spilled soup on her pristine white clothes. And it worked. My dad finally got angry and hit me for the first time. My mom got into a massive fight with him over it. Chloe was so scared she had a relapse, and my dad took her away from home for over six months. In the end, my uncle had to intervene as a peacemaker, dragging my mom along to apologize before my dad finally returned. That night, I got up to get a glass of water and found my dad still awake. He was sitting on the sofa, sewing a tear in Chloe’s school uniform. “Serena? Up for water?” “Yeah.” He held the uniform, looking a bit awkward. “Daddy will mend yours as soon as I finish Chloe’s.” “I already mended mine.” His eyes widened, and he stared at me, unmoving. In the past, I would have thrown my clothes right at his head and demanded he fix them. If they weren’t torn, I would intentionally rip them. Whatever Chloe had, I demanded to have too. I thought that by throwing a fit, I was claiming what was mine. Now, I couldn’t care less. After finishing my water, I went back to my room to study. I promised my mom I would get into a good college. 2 I had fallen so far behind in my classes over the past few years that the teachers had basically given up on me. Fortunately, when I called my homeroom teacher earlier to ask for the homework assignments, she took pity on me out of respect for my late mother. She kindly told me what they were and suggested I buy some foundational workbooks to start from the absolute basics. The next day at school, my classmates and teachers were shocked by my new appearance. My homeroom teacher nodded approvingly. “See how energetic you look now? You used to look like a little delinquent. What was so great about that?” I stood up and bowed deeply to the teachers. “I apologize for the trouble I caused everyone before. I was immature. I will study hard from now on.” If my mom hadn’t gone to the school countless times to plead with the teachers and administrators, I probably would have been expelled a long time ago. I did all those things to get my dad’s attention, but the only person who suffered the consequences was my mom. He never showed up to school once. Many students assumed I was from a single-parent household. A teacher even did a home visit specifically to try and help me. When she discovered that I was the sister of the model student, Chloe, she could only sigh helplessly. “How can two girls raised in the same house be so different?” My dad quickly pulled Chloe forward to pour water for the teacher, acting incredibly subservient and fawning. “Our Chloe has weak health. We really rely on the teachers to take good care of her at school.” My mom and I just stood to the side in silence. Before she died, my mom left me a little bit of money. It was the college fund she had managed to scrape together for me over the years. I signed up for online courses and studied like my life depended on it for a month. Finally, my test scores were no longer completely embarrassing. Chloe’s birthday arrived. It was her 18th, and my dad insisted on throwing a proper celebration. However, since we couldn’t afford a restaurant, he cooked the meal himself and told Chloe to invite her friends over. My mom’s portrait was still hanging in the house. It hadn’t even been seven days since her funeral. The kitchen was filled with ingredients my dad had bought. They were all Chloe’s favorites. “Chloe can’t eat spicy food,” he said when he saw me chopping Thai chilies. I ignored him and kept chopping. He suddenly marched over, grabbed my wrist, and snatched the knife away. “I told you, Chloe can’t eat spicy food! She just recovered. What are you trying to do?!” He yelled for a bit, but apparently, that wasn’t enough. He switched to a preachy, earnest tone. “Today is your sister’s 18th birthday. Can we please just not fight? Can we let her have a happy birthday? Just consider it a favor to your dad.” What about my 18th birthday? I spent my 18th birthday in the hospital with my mom. He didn’t even say “Happy Birthday.” He only remembered the next day when he saw the empty cake box in the hospital room, and quickly bought a cheap trinket from a stall outside the hospital to make up for it. “Serena!” Chloe gasped. “Your hand!” Only then did I feel the burning sting in my palm. Blood was running down my fingertips and dripping onto the floor. The knife had sliced a long, thin gash across my palm. It wasn’t deep, but it bled profusely. My dad jumped in shock and hastily threw the knife onto the cutting board. “Serena, Daddy didn’t mean to.” His voice trembled as he carefully searched my face. “Daddy will take you to the hospital to get it bandaged right now.” I pushed his hand away. “Today is Chloe’s birthday.” He froze. “I can go by myself. It’s not that serious.” With that, I grabbed my phone and ID and walked out of the apartment. I didn’t see my dad standing by the door, watching my back for a long time, murmuring, “Has Serena… changed?” 3 I didn’t go to the hospital. I just found a pharmacy and bandaged it myself. Then I went to the bookstore, bought a stack of practice exams, and started working. Out of ten questions, I got seven wrong. In a fit of frustration, I slammed my injured hand on the table. The sharp pain almost made me jump up and scream. “Even if you mutilate yourself, you still won’t know the answers. That’s an IQ problem.” I turned my head and saw Liam sitting behind me. He smirked, his smile infuriatingly arrogant. “Well, this is rare. Never thought I’d see you in a place like this.” He was the school’s top student. I used to think he wasn’t that big of a deal. But a few days ago, the teacher proudly announced that he had scored a perfect 100 on the math exam again. While I scored a 30. Thinking about that, I couldn’t stop the look of pure admiration from flooding my eyes. “Hehehe, we’re going to be seeing a lot of each other here from now on.” He shrank back. “Whoever you are, get out of Serena’s body.” I wasn’t angry at all. I shamelessly slid over to his side. “Explain this to me, please?” He glanced at it casually. “It’s B.” “Why?” “Because it has to be B.” Me: “…” For an entire afternoon, I forgot about my injured hand and annoyed the resident genius in the library to the point of a near heart attack. It wasn’t until the sky started getting dark that I packed my things to head home. Liam’s face was dark. As we stepped out of the library, he muttered bitterly, “I hope to God I never meet anyone as dense as you for the rest of my life.” “Hehehe.” He took another few steps back in horror. “What? Don’t even think about it.” My eyes instantly welled with tears. “You know my mom just passed away. Her biggest dying wish was…” “Okay, okay, fine!” He threw his hands up in surrender. “If you’re not afraid of being insulted and berated, then I have nothing to be afraid of either.” “Thank you, thank you!” I grabbed his hand excitedly. “If my mom knows about this in heaven, she’ll definitely come thank you personally.” “Just tell her thanks for me. The personal visit really isn’t necessary.” My bus arrived. I ran over and sincerely thanked him one more time. That afternoon, I endured more insults than I had in my entire life. Liam was brilliant, handsome, and from a good family, but he had almost zero girls chasing him because his mouth was absolutely toxic. However, amidst the barrage of insults, I managed to complete an entire practice exam for the first time in my life. I never knew solving math problems could feel so rewarding. By the time I got home, Chloe’s birthday party was already over. As soon as I walked in, my dad hurried over, put a finger to his lips in a “shh” gesture, and pointed to Chloe’s room. That’s when I heard muffled crying coming from inside. “She invited a friend, but they didn’t show up. She’s really upset right now, so don’t provoke her.” I pushed past him and went into my own room. A little while later, my dad knocked and came in. “How’s the hand? What did the doctor say?” He pulled a delicate gift box from behind his back. “Daddy bought this specially for you.” It was definitely a hair clip. I had already received countless identical ones. Every time he lost his temper at me because of Chloe, he would buy something to placate me. It was never anything expensive, nothing compared to Chloe’s gifts, but he always wrapped it himself beautifully, making it seem like he deeply cherished and valued this daughter of his. But I had always been so pathetic. Every time I received one, my resentment toward him would vanish. I would sit happily in the corner, telling myself that he definitely loved me, and that he only treated Chloe so well because she was sick. “Thanks.” I took the gift, tossed it casually onto my desk, and went back to my practice exams. He stood beside me, watching for a long time, before finally sighing and leaving. When I came out of the shower, Chloe was standing by my desk, wearing her new dress. She didn’t notice me come in. She was engrossed in examining my test paper, her hands trembling slightly. “Who told you to come in here?” She turned around, a beat too slow, her eyes red. That’s when I saw that she was holding the test paper I had snatched from Liam. “Wh-where did you get this?” A teenage girl’s crush is always so obvious. Actually, I had noticed her infatuation with Liam long before she did. “Do you think I stole it?” I slowly walked up to her and took the paper back. There was no name on it, yet she recognized it instantly. She really liked him, huh? “Serena,” she quickly changed the subject, realizing she had lost her composure. “I brought you some cake. I saved a piece just for you.” She held the cake out carefully, looking at me. “Thanks, but Liam and I grabbed dinner while we were out. I’m stuffed.” Her smile almost shattered, but she tried desperately to maintain it. “O-oh, really? Then… I’ll just put it in the fridge for now.” Watching her practically flee the room, I felt a fleeting sense of vindication, but the thrill of revenge disappeared almost as quickly as it came. For the past few years, Chloe had tried every possible way to suck up to me and my mom. No matter how much I bullied her, she would just wipe her tears away in secret and go right back to following me around, sweetly calling me “big sister.” But no matter how hard she tried, it couldn’t cover up the fact that because of her, our family had fallen apart. The next day, as soon as I got to class, Liam brazenly walked over and snatched my backpack. “Let me check if you slacked off last night.” Then, as he reviewed my incorrect answers, he proceeded to call me a pig. I glanced up and saw Chloe watching Liam, looking quite pitiful. Just like that, she felt wronged? Maybe I should act even more intimate with Liam. That would definitely cause her more pain. But somehow, I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. In the end, I just quietly sat down at my desk. “How did you get this question wrong? Do you actually have no brain, or are you just doing this to piss me off?” I rested my head on the desk and answered honestly, “I actually have no brain.” Liam froze, coughed twice, and surprisingly, started explaining the problem to me. With Liam’s help, my grades improved relatively quickly. By the time the first mock exams were over, I was no longer dead last in the class. The teacher even gave me a certificate of commendation and asked me to bring my dad in so she could present it to me in front of him. I hadn’t received an academic award since I started my rebellious phase. “My dad doesn’t have time.” The teacher looked disappointed. But when I got home, I found my dad had cooked a massive feast, saying he wanted to celebrate my progress. Seeing Chloe standing next to him, I instantly knew what was going on. “Serena, Dad made all of this especially for you.” I glanced at the table full of bland, mild dishes. Made for me? “Let’s eat.” I ate the tasteless food and went to my room. I heard Chloe mutter softly, “Why does Serena seem unhappy?” My dad replied, “Your sister has always had a bad temper. She’s moody. Just ignore her.” Just as I was about to fall asleep, my dad knocked and came in. He praised my progress again and promised to make me nutritious meals every day. “If you have something to say, just say it.” He didn’t get angry that I interrupted his empty promises. He thought for a dozen seconds before saying, “I remember your mom left behind two gold bracelets, right?” 4 My heart instantly leaped into my throat. I stared at him warily. “Chloe’s surgery was successful, but she still needs to take medication for a while. So Dad was thinking…” “Don’t even think about it.” To pay for Chloe’s medical bills, we had sold everything of value in the house. Those two gold bracelets, left by my grandmother, were the only things my mom managed to keep—and only because she fought with him so fiercely she almost jumped off a building. They were the only memento I had left of my mother, aside from a pile of old hand-me-down clothes and shoes. “Don’t worry, once Chloe is better, Dad will definitely return them to you.” I stood up, trying my hardest to control my fury. “How will you return them? Those were left to me by my mother! Could you possibly buy the exact same ones back?” “No, no, no,” he waved his hands frantically. “Dad will buy you an even better pair.” “Get out.” I pointed to the door. “Do you have any conscience at all?! For the past few years, for the sake of Chloe, what kind of life did my mom and I live?! Now she’s dead, and you’re still eyeing her things? Are you even human?!” His face instantly turned cold, but a few seconds later, he was back to playing the good guy. “It’s true that Dad wronged you both these past few years. But Chloe is the sister you grew up with. Are you really going to stand by and watch her die?” “What does it matter to me if she lives or dies?!” I screamed at him, my voice cracking. “It’d be better if she did die!” SMACK!!! I lost my balance and crashed to the floor. The left side of my face went numb instantly, and my ears rang. It took a long time for the dizziness to fade, followed by a burning, searing pain in my cheek. “Is that how a daughter should act?! I only came to discuss this with you because I have such a good temper.” He pushed past me, ready to search the room. But even after tearing my room apart, he couldn’t find the two bracelets. “Where are they?” “I sold them.” “Where’s the money?” I gave him a cold smile. “I spent it all.” “You…” He raised his hand to hit me again, but Chloe suddenly rushed in and grabbed him. “Dad, I still have medicine left. Don’t hit Serena.” I didn’t know how much sincerity was in her plea, and I didn’t care. Richard Sterling pointed a trembling finger at me. “Get out of my house.” I slowly stood up, shoved my few items of clothing into my backpack, and grabbed my ID. “Did you actually think I wanted to stay in this house?” If my mom’s memory wasn’t tied to this place, I wouldn’t have wanted to look at them for another second. I slung my backpack over my shoulder and strode toward the door. Richard yelled after me, “If you walk out that door today, don’t ever think about coming back!” “Don’t worry,” I said without breaking my stride. “I won’t be coming back.” 5 I went to my uncle’s house and begged him to help me rent a place. I told him I could pay for it, but I was afraid of getting scammed since I didn’t know how renting worked. My money was my lifeblood right now. I couldn’t afford to lose a single cent. My uncle was furious. “That old bastard. Your mom just died, and he treats you like this.” He wanted me to live with him, but his house was just too far from my high school. He had to ask a friend and eventually rented a small, ground-floor room in an alleyway, very close to the school. My uncle took one look at the conditions and tried to pull me away. “How can you live here? You even have to go outside to use the bathroom.” I practically had to beg him to let me stay. He finally compromised but insisted on paying the rent himself. “Don’t worry about the money. Just promise me that when you become successful, you’ll come back and visit your uncle more often.” From now on, my uncle was my only family. He was also holding onto the few mementos my mom left behind; otherwise, Richard would have ransacked them long ago to buy medicine for Chloe. My eyes welled with tears. I bowed deeply to him. “I promise I will study hard.” I settled into my new place. To my surprise, the first uninvited guest to my little shack was Chloe. She carried a massive bag filled with daily necessities—exactly the things I needed. She set the things on the floor. “Serena, see if there’s anything else you need. I’ll bring it over tomorrow.” I looked her in the eye, wanting nothing more than to laugh. “You finally managed to kick me and my mom out. Are you proud of yourself?” She froze, then lowered her head. “I’m sorry.” I hated it when she acted like this. She was the vile intruder, yet she acted like we were the ones bullying her. “Serena, whether you believe it or not, I never wanted to take anything away from you. I just… I just wanted to…” She didn’t finish her sentence. “I’m sorry.” She suddenly bowed a full ninety degrees to me. “I am truly sorry.” With that, she scurried away like a gust of wind. True to her word, she brought another large bag of things the next day. This time, she just left it at the door and hurried off without coming in. Since she was giving it away, I wasn’t going to refuse. I was incredibly short on money. Saving even a penny was a win. After a period of grueling effort, my grades finally managed to reach the lower-middle of the pack. The teacher said that if I performed exceptionally well on the actual college entrance exams, I might be able to scrape into a low-tier university. I knew that was a very polite way of putting it. But my funds definitely wouldn’t cover repeating a year of high school. After school one afternoon, Richard suddenly appeared at the school gates. It wasn’t unusual. In the past, he often came to pick up Chloe and would check on me in passing. “Serena.” As I walked past him, he suddenly called out to me. “Where have you been living these past few days?” He jogged over to me. “How are you eating? You haven’t been home for days. Dad is worried.” “What do you want this time?” I looked myself up and down. “Want me to sell my blood or sell myself to pay for your precious daughter’s medical bills?” Richard shook his head vigorously. “How… how could you think of Dad like that?” “Isn’t that what you’ve been doing for the past few years?” He seemed to recall something, and his face drained of color. “Your boundless love and selflessness were fueled by my mother’s flesh and blood. Now that she’s dead, you’re targeting me?” More and more students were gathering around, but I had absolutely no intention of saving his face. “If you’re so devoted, if you loved Chloe’s mom so much, why did you marry my mom? Why did you even have me?” My questions forced him to take a few steps back. His body trembled as if under an unbearable weight. “I get it now.” I relished his pathetic state, laughing sarcastically. “Because you needed someone to carry on your family name, and you needed someone to serve your parents.” Richard shook his head frantically. “No, Serena, when I married your mom, I truly had feelings for her. Dad loves you. You have to believe me. It’s just… I owe Chloe too much. You’ll understand in the future.” “Heh, I don’t want to understand. Whatever your reasons, they don’t change the damage you caused to my mother and me.” I tried to walk away, but Richard chased after me. “Hop on.” Liam appeared out of nowhere, patting the back seat of his bicycle. “What are you waiting for?” I glanced at Richard behind me and quickly jumped on. Unusually, Liam was silent the whole way. He didn’t insult me, nor did he interrupt as I secretly shed a few tears. “You live here?” “Yeah.” He took a look around. “Not bad. Fits the ‘starving student’ aesthetic.” There it was. He could never go too long without being obnoxious. As he was leaving, he pulled a thick stack of practice exams from his bag and tossed them into my arms. “Study hard. Don’t waste such a perfect environment.” With that, he rode off. A sudden warmth bloomed in my chest, and my nose stung. Aside from my own father, everyone else was doing their best to help me. I don’t know what suddenly got into Richard, but he started coming to my school every day. He brought me restorative soups and home-cooked meals. Sometimes, he would even track down my teachers to ask about my progress. But every time they finished talking, the teachers would look at me with eyes full of deep pity. My literature grades had always been good, and my literature teacher had always put in a good word for me with the other staff. During evening study hall, she called me into her office. Richard was there too. But when the teacher asked me several questions in a row, he looked incredibly embarrassed. “She is your daughter! How can you, as a father, not know the answer to a single question?” She angrily popped open the lunchbox he brought. “Even I know Serena is allergic to celery!” Richard hastily closed the lunchbox. When he looked at me, his expression was pained. “Have a good talk with your dad. He said you blocked his number.” In the past, my literature teacher always played the peacemaker, advising me not to hold grudges against my only living parent. This time, she just shook her head and walked out of the office. “Can you stop interrupting my studies?” I cut straight to the chase. “Your attempts to make amends are worthless to me, and they’re just causing me trouble. If you think the damage of all these years can be erased with a few meals and some fake concern, then I really have nothing to say.” He stared intently into my eyes and mumbled, “You look more and more like your mother.” “Don’t bring up my mom.” For a while, I couldn’t figure out why he had suddenly changed his tune. Today, I finally understood. “I heard my uncle kicked you out. So you’re trying to drag me back, hoping he’ll start paying for you guys again, right?” The day after I left, my uncle went to their landlord and refused to renew the lease, forcing Richard and Chloe to move out immediately. The two of them were now squeezed into a tiny, cheap room in a remote part of the city, far away from the school. Because of this, Chloe had been late to class frequently over the past few days. Just looking at his haggard face and his stained suit jacket was enough to tell me how miserable they had been. “Is that really what you think of me?” His eyes turned red, and his voice choked up. “I didn’t realize how much you hated me. That day I went into your room… you didn’t take a single thing I bought for you. That’s when I finally realized what I did wrong all these years. Serena, you are the only blood relative I have left in this world.” As he spoke, he covered his face and began to weep. It was the first time I had ever seen him cry. In the past, all he had to do was offer a seemingly sincere “I’m sorry,” and I would eagerly script an entire fantasy of a loving father-daughter relationship in my head. But when disappointment piles up high enough, you stop believing in anything. “Just leave. Your daughter’s name is Chloe. From now on, I have absolutely nothing to do with you. If you truly feel sorry for me, then leave me alone. Never let me see your face again.” I turned and walked away, leaving Richard’s sobs behind me. My literature teacher was standing by the door. She just patted my shoulder. “Go study.” After that day, Richard never came looking for me again. But every week, a sum of money would appear in my bank account. Chloe became isolated.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “391507”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My sister and I were adopted from the orphanage. My sister chose the Sterlings, a family with unmatched wealth and power. But the heir of the Sterling family had a twisted personality and tortured her every day. Meanwhile, I chose the ordinary Mercer family. Although their wealth couldn’t compare to the Sterlings, they treated me incredibly well. The young master of the Mercer family later became a business magnate and married me, giving me a life of absolute bliss. Driven mad by jealousy, my sister secretly strangled me to death. When I opened my eyes again, my sister didn’t hesitate to steal the life I had lived. She chose the Mercer family. “It’s your turn to be tortured this time, little sister.” I almost laughed out loud. Did she really think the young master of the Mercer family was a good person? 1. I was reborn, back to the day my sister Chloe and I were being adopted. “Sir, I’m obedient and I can do chores. Please adopt me.” Beside me, Chloe grabbed the hand of Vincent, the young master of the Mercer family. So, she had been reborn too. “Little girl, didn’t you just say you liked our family?” a wealthy woman spoke up. She was Mrs. Sterling, mother to Arthur Sterling, the heir to a New York real estate empire. Arthur himself wasn’t present. “I suddenly don’t like your family anymore. Is that a problem?” Chloe said, shrinking behind Vincent. Mrs. Sterling looked a bit annoyed. “Someone as fickle as you isn’t fit to enter the Sterling family anyway!” Then, she looked at me gently. “Sweetheart, come with me. We have a big brother at home for you, too.” I nodded and reached out my hand. Chloe’s eyes were full of triumph. She seemed very satisfied with my reaction. But what she didn’t know was that compared to the eccentric billionaire heir, I was far more terrified of the venomous snake that was Vincent Mercer. In my past life, I desperately tried to escape him. This time, she actually did me a huge favor. As I walked to the door with Mrs. Sterling, she went to pull the car around. Chloe suddenly walked up to me, her eyes brimming with contempt. “It’s your turn to be tortured this time, little sister.” I ignored her. Because to me, she was acting like an absolute clown right now! She thought this was a new beginning. But she had no idea she was jumping from one fire pit into an even deadlier inferno. 2. After being taken to the Sterling estate in the Hamptons, Mrs. Sterling gave me my own suite and hired private tutors for piano, dance, and etiquette. She told me, “Sweetheart, to be honest, I adopted a daughter because I wanted to raise the perfect daughter-in-law.” “You need to work hard now. Arthur is coming back from studying abroad in a month. As long as he takes a liking to you, your life will be perfect. After all, the entire Sterling empire will be his.” In our past life, Arthur didn’t like Chloe, which made her life miserable. I didn’t dare to hope that the aloof, aristocratic heir would fall for me. I had to rely on other methods to secure my future. A month later, the Sterlings hosted a grand banquet. It was to celebrate Arthur’s return to New York. Many elite families were invited, including the Mercers, who had business ties with the Sterlings. Chloe spotted me immediately and walked toward me in a white princess dress. “Little sister, today is going to be the most humiliating moment of your life.” In our past life, this banquet was where she first met Arthur. The moment Arthur saw her, he frowned. Then he told her to get lost in front of everyone. When she shamelessly clung to him, claiming to be his future wife, Arthur literally kicked her away. 3. Since I was also reborn, I already knew how this would play out and had prepared a backup plan. Chloe thought I would share her past-life fate. But I was about to disappoint her. Before Arthur could enter the banquet hall, I cornered him in a private lounge. It was our first time meeting. He was a full head taller than me, his handsome face utterly indifferent. Tsk, he really is unapproachable. I handed him a business proposal. “I know you have a new project and aren’t sure how to operate it. This is my plan. I guarantee it will turn a massive profit.” Growing up in the foster system, I only had a high school diploma, but I had a brilliant mind for business. In my past life, Vincent only became a business magnate because I was the mastermind behind his success. “How do you know about my new project?” Arthur took the folder, his long fingers flipping through a few pages. In my past life, this project belonged to Vincent. Back then, when I first moved into his house, he treated me well. So I used my own proposal to win this contract for him. But without me in this life, I discovered the project had landed in Arthur’s lap. “I did my research,” I smiled. “Mr. Sterling, I can draft project proposals for you from now on.” “But on one condition: we play nice in front of your family, but privately, we mind our own business.” Arthur was a businessman; he valued profit above all. If I could bring him value, he would surely be tempted. Just as I thought he would agree, he raised an eyebrow at me. “I get it. You want to trade your cooperation for a peaceful life here. Right?” “But didn’t my mother tell you she didn’t adopt a daughter, she adopted a bride?” “I know. So what’s your point?” I looked at him in confusion. He smirked and closed the folder. “Your proposal is excellent. But once you marry me, your proposals will belong to me anyway.” With that, he walked out. I stood there, still processing his words. What did he mean? Did he actually like me? No! He definitely just wanted to trap me into writing business plans for him forever. That had to be it. 4. When we entered the main hall, Mrs. Sterling pulled me along, introducing me to the elders. “This is my future daughter-in-law. She has a wonderful personality and is absolutely gorgeous.” Everyone showered me with praise. Nearby, Chloe stood next to Vincent, glaring at me with dark, brooding eyes. She walked over with a champagne glass and looked at Mrs. Sterling. “Mrs. Sterling, I heard Arthur just returned from abroad. Have he and my sister met yet?” “Does he actually approve of this ‘future wife’?” During the adoption, Chloe had already left a terrible impression on Mrs. Sterling. Hearing her speak now, Mrs. Sterling’s eyes flashed with displeasure. “Mind your own business!” “Our family matters are none of your concern. Who do you think you are?” Vincent’s face went pale. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Sterling. My sister doesn’t know her place.” As he said that, no one noticed the brief flash of malice in his eyes. But I had seen that look countless times in my past life. Every time, it signaled the start of a nightmare. Terrified, I took a step back and accidentally bumped into a warm chest. I turned around and saw Arthur. “Careful.” His eyes were filled with amusement, and his voice was as gentle as water. Chloe looked like she was about to explode. She was definitely wondering why Arthur was treating me so well. “Mr. Sterling, do you really like my sister?” “Do you know she’s an orphan? And that she was almost sexually assaulted?!” Chloe’s words plunged the entire hall into dead silence. Back at the foster home, an older man had snuck into my room and ripped my clothes. He tried to assault me, but I fought him off by smashing a vase over his head. Afterward, Chloe spread rumors that I had been violated. Later, she whispered to me, “Sister, guess who paid that man to do it?” That was when I realized she had set me up. Thinking of this, my fists clenched tightly. I was about to speak, but Arthur beat me to it. “Is that so?” He looked at Chloe. Chloe looked incredibly smug. “Yes! Lily was used by an old man—” Before she could finish, Arthur delivered a vicious kick, sending her flying backward. Instantly, all eyes in the room snapped toward them. Vincent looked humiliated. “Mr. Sterling, please calm down. It’s my fault for not disciplining my sister properly.” “If I ever hear her slandering my fiancée again, I’ll make sure she can’t survive in New York.” “Actually, no. Your entire Mercer family will be banished from this city.” “You really need to teach this sister of yours a lesson.” Arthur’s voice was frighteningly cold. Vincent quickly bowed. “You are absolutely right, Mr. Sterling. I’ll teach her a lesson right now.” Smack! Smack! Smack! Vincent marched over and slapped Chloe across the face, left and right. “Ah! Stop hitting me! It hurts…” Chloe’s screams echoed through the grand hall. Mrs. Sterling also spoke up. “I have officially acknowledged her as my daughter-in-law. From now on, remember her name is Lily Sterling. If I hear anyone bullying her, I will pay them back tenfold!” “Feel better?” Arthur whispered, pulling me close. “That was incredibly satisfying!” I felt like I could finally breathe freely. 5. Thanks to the scene Chloe caused, Arthur and I grew much closer. Plus, everyone now knew I was the future Mrs. Sterling and treated me with utmost respect. As for Chloe, she was dragged away by a furious Vincent. In our past life, Vincent hadn’t revealed his true nature this early. But because of today’s humiliation, his mask slipped prematurely. I knew Chloe’s nightmare was about to begin. I wondered if she could handle it. Over the following weeks, Chloe didn’t bother me once. I used the time to look for ways to make money, planning to eventually leave the city. Because having been reborn, I learned one crucial truth. Relying on yourself is the only way to survive! But while I was job hunting, Arthur reached out to me. He texted: Come work at my company. I’ll pay you $10,000 a month, plus a year-end bonus. This was perfect. I needed a high-paying job. I gladly accepted. However, on my way there, someone suddenly clamped a hand over my mouth. When I woke up, I was in a filthy public restroom. The floor was covered in slippery grime and reeked of sewage. Standing in front of me was the same man who had tried to assault me at the foster home. He bared his yellow teeth in a vulgar grin: “Once I’m done with you, you won’t be fit to be the Sterling family’s wife.” “Oh, by the way, I forgot to tell you. I already notified the Sterlings to come here.” I smiled: “Looks like that vase to the head didn’t hurt enough last time.” “What do you mean?” I pushed myself off the floor and pulled a gleaming, razor-sharp knife from my pocket. “Did you really think I’d fall for the same trick twice?” With that, I ruthlessly slashed my own arm. Blood poured out instantly. I even smeared it all over my clothes and body. Just then, the door was pushed open. “Mr. Sterling, please don’t be mad at my sister. She was just lonely and looking for a man—” Chloe froze mid-sentence when she saw me covered in blood. 6. “Arthur, he stabbed me! Am I going to die…?” Tears instantly spilled from my eyes as I looked pitifully at Arthur. His face drastically changed. He rushed over and scooped me into his arms. Mrs. Sterling, standing nearby, burst into tears of panic. “Lily, don’t be scared! We’re taking you to the hospital!” Chloe stood frozen in place. As Arthur carried me past her, he delivered a lethal threat: “You arranged this, didn’t you? Just wait.” “No… Mr. Sterling, it wasn’t me.” Chloe instantly dropped to her knees, begging for mercy. But Arthur had already carried me away. After my wound was bandaged at the hospital, Arthur gripped my hand tightly. “Don’t ever take a risk like that again.” “Whatever revenge you want, I can do it for you.” My heart skipped a beat. He knew I did it on purpose. “How did you know?” “I know you too well.” “You clearly had the ability to fight back, but you didn’t. That means you injured yourself intentionally.” I had taken self-defense classes in my past life and had the ability to fight back. But we had only met a handful of times. How did he know me so well? “Don’t worry. No matter who hurt you, I’ll make them pay.” I nodded, staying silent. Last time, when Vincent dragged Chloe away, I knew she wouldn’t be able to resist seeking revenge. So, I had someone tail her. I discovered she was in contact with that man, plotting against me. So, I decided to beat her at her own game. The Sterlings were an elite family. They would never stand by and do nothing if their future daughter-in-law was harmed. That was why I injured myself. I wanted to use the Sterlings’ power to crush Chloe and the Mercers. After all, I clearly remembered every single thing they did to me in my past life. 7. Vincent brought Chloe to apologize to me. They carried stacks of expensive gifts and knelt at the entrance of the Sterling estate. Chloe wore a face mask, her eyes filled with defiance. Vincent slapped her hard across the face. “Stop glaring! All you do is glare. Believe me, I’ll gouge your eyes out!” “If I knew you were like this, my family would have never adopted you!” Chloe trembled in fear. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I won’t glare anymore.” Watching this from the second-floor balcony, I burst out laughing. Chloe surely hadn’t expected that stealing my life would still result in her being tortured. Because she didn’t know that Vincent was a venomous snake. And the Mercer parents only adopted a daughter to give their twisted son a new toy to play with. I remembered it all too well. I remembered exactly how brutally I was tortured in my past life. Chloe was wearing long sleeves, pants, and a mask. She was definitely hiding bruises. I went downstairs and opened the door. “Sister, what brings you here?” “Lily, your sister and I came to apologize. Please be the bigger person and forgive him. Ask Mr. Sterling to continue his partnership with us. My family’s company is on the verge of bankruptcy.” Vincent looked at me with a pathetic expression. Seeing his face made me sick to my stomach! How could I ever accept their apology? “I don’t accept.” “Lily, don’t push your luck—” Chloe swallowed the rest of her words when she saw Arthur walk out. “Mr. Sterling, I really didn’t hire that man the other day.” “That man already confessed at the police station. Are you sure you want to keep lying?” Arthur raised an eyebrow at her. She hurriedly apologized: “I… I’m sorry, Mr. Sterling. I had a moment of foolishness.” Then she looked at me, crying: “Sister, we grew up together. Please, be the bigger person and let me go.” I reached out and ripped her mask off. Her face was covered in bruises and cuts. I smiled softly: “Sister, seeing you so miserable puts my mind at ease.” Hearing this, the fury in her eyes flared up instantly. But with Arthur standing right there, she didn’t dare lash out. I told her I wouldn’t be soft-hearted. She hurt me, and I couldn’t just let it go. 8. A week later, the Mercer family’s company declared bankruptcy. In my past life, their company flourished because of me. But in this life, Chloe’s “brilliant” moves drove them straight into the ground. I heard that Vincent had fully unleashed his true nature. He beat Chloe daily and locked her inside the house. Meanwhile, I worked peacefully every day, making a lot of money working for Arthur. I assumed Arthur treated me well simply because he appreciated my business talents. He couldn’t possibly have real feelings for me. So, my plan was still to save enough money and leave. But Arthur seemed to be completely serious about me. One day, while I was handing him some documents, he suddenly pulled me into his arms. “The wedding is set for next month. Do you want to go try on wedding dresses?” I was stunned. “You’re serious?” “Of course.” He took my hand, gently tracing my fingers. “I made up my mind the first time I saw you.” “Lily, I promise to treat you well.” Why was this Arthur so different from the one in my past life? Still, needing his protection to ensure my peaceful life at the Sterling estate, I agreed.

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At my husband’s funeral, everyone tried to comfort me, telling me not to be sad. But I wasn’t sad. After the funeral, I worked five straight days of overtime. Reeking of the office, my mother-in-law forced me to go home and rest. She told me I had to look forward. Of course I had to look forward. I even had blind dates to go on. 1 It was my first time attending a funeral, and the main character was Liam Hayes. It felt incredibly weird. I chose the photo myself. A normally serious man, pushing his nose up to make a silly, ugly face. It was one of the very few photos where he was goofing off. I thought my mother-in-law would blame me, and that relatives and friends would say I was disrespecting the deceased, but no one seemed upset. They approached me carefully, their eyes darting away, afraid to make eye contact. So annoying. I turned my head, smiled at my husband lying in the casket, and said, “Hey, nobody told me funerals were like this?” So novel. “My condolences, Sarah,” my sister-in-law said, patting my shoulder. “My brother wouldn’t want you to be this heartbroken.” I found it funny. I earnestly searched my mind for any trace of emotion and shook my head. “I’m not heartbroken.” She sighed. “Don’t be like this. It… it makes me hurt for you.” My mother-in-law also pressed my shoulders, urging me to go rest on the side. “Mom, I’m not tired,” I said, spinning around in front of her. “Look, I’m full of energy. I could wrestle a bear.” I almost felt like this was just a normal banquet, it was just a pity I had to stand and couldn’t go down and eat. I saw the coral grouper earlier. That’s my favorite fish. I’ll definitely pack a few in plastic bags later. Oh, and the mixed salad. I heard the chef here is amazing at cold dishes, so I specifically ordered it. Grumble… My stomach growled. I rubbed my stomach and giggled foolishly. Under everyone’s sympathetic gaze, I stood for 28 hours straight, not feeling sleepy at all. Unfortunately, by the time dawn broke and the crematorium staff arrived, I still hadn’t had time to eat from that banquet table. No other reason than there were too many trivial things to deal with. I complained to the casket, “This is too much trouble. Good thing you’ll only bother me with this once. Hmph.” I chose the most expensive urn for Liam, and even put his favorite cologne inside. It was a custom-made cologne he bought casually on the street—a light, woody scent. Liam used it for many years. He said the scent was like him, gently seeping into the fabric. I didn’t understand what he meant. I just felt that even if he wore the most disgusting smell, I would still love it. What can I say? The filter of true love is strong; it even affects your sense of smell. The lid closed, and the fragrance faded. I calmly handled the final arrangements and hurried home to change clothes. I smelled terrible, so I took a long, hot bath. My boss called. “Sarah, your husband just passed. Don’t rush back to work. I’m giving you a few days off.” But corporate slaves don’t deserve rest. When I showed up at the office for overtime, my coworker, Linda, shivered. “Sarah, are you okay? Didn’t your husband…” I was very impatient. I’d been explaining to people non-stop these past few days that my husband died. How could this coworker forget again?! I stared intently at my computer, typing out a proposal. “Mr. Peterson is coming over in two days. If I don’t keep an eye on this, everyone’s year-end bonus is going to vanish.” She let out a weird yelp and ran out holding her coffee. My boss pressed down on my shoulder. “Don’t rush. The work is never-ending. You had a family tragedy; you need to take a couple of days off…” “Sigh, I’m fine. I’ve got plenty of energy.” I ran my fingers through my hair, continuously editing the proposal. He sighed, and the office returned to silence. 2 The office was dead silent. The sound of my typing grew louder and louder. It felt like there was a fire in my chest, and I didn’t know how to let it out. I wanted to slack off and look at my phone for a bit. I swiped to a funny video and wanted to share it, but suddenly remembered I had no one to share it with. I pondered for a moment, then took Liam’s phone out of my pocket and texted myself: “Wifey, wifey, why aren’t you home yet?” I replied: “Be good, the project bonus is twenty grand! Once I get the bonus, I’ll take you on a trip to Hawaii.” Much better. I put down the phone and kept typing. At 2:30 AM, I sent a text to Mr. Peterson. [Mr. Peterson, when are you available to come over and discuss the contract?] I waited ten minutes. The phone was as quiet as a mouse. I couldn’t help but call him. Mr. Peterson replied, his voice heavy with sleep, “I’ve had some family matters recently. Let’s talk in a couple of days, okay? It’s so late, Sarah, aren’t you tired?” Family matters? Could his family matters be bigger than Sarah’s family matters? I poked at my phone, furious. My husband died, and even I wasn’t as busy as him. But I couldn’t complain to a client. Since he didn’t have time, I continued to refine the proposal, typing out every minor detail I could think of, and even preparing five or six backup plans. I hadn’t slept for almost a week, but my energy was still high. The city night was silent. I stood by the floor-to-ceiling window holding my coffee, looking down at the entire city. In the dark office, the faint glow from the computer screen illuminated my face. I looked at my reflection in the glass. I just passed my thirtieth birthday, and I didn’t look much older. After pulling so many all-nighters, my face hadn’t sagged, and my dark circles weren’t that bad. I marveled at myself—I truly had the innate physique of a corporate workhorse. My phone alarm went off, reminding me it was time to take my folic acid. Liam and I had been doing well in our careers recently, so we started preparing for pregnancy, getting everything ready to welcome a new life. Expressionless, I tossed the folic acid into the trash can. My chest twitched with pain, but I still wasn’t sad. Birth, aging, sickness, and death are just parts of the human experience. The office lights flicked on. My mother-in-law and my boss walked in from outside. “Sarah, I’ve asked your boss for a month of leave. You are going home to rest right now, and the company won’t let you back in.” My mother-in-law cracked her knuckles. “Don’t make me call some people to drag you back.” “Don’t worry, Sarah,” my boss assured me. “This project with Mr. Peterson is your hard work. When the contract is signed, the commission goes to you. The team has already reached a consensus.” I was too familiar with their expressions—pure sympathy. I wanted to explain that I really wasn’t sad, but after opening my mouth a few times, I finally nodded in agreement. I grabbed my car keys, ready to drive home, but my mother-in-law snatched them away. “How long has it been since you slept? Letting you drive—do you want to kill me?” My mother-in-law had kids early; she was only 55 now. Her hair wasn’t entirely white, and her well-maintained face had very few wrinkles. She was a doctor. Every day her hair was meticulously combed, and she rarely smiled. When I first met her, I was quite anxious. It was Liam who comforted me. “My mom is a great person, she just has a sharp tongue but a soft heart. Once you figure out her temper, you’ll be fine.” Then he immediately told his mom to be nicer to me, saying I wasn’t one of the interns in her department. She sat behind the steering wheel, her back straight, her glasses reflecting the streetlights. “Go home and get a good sleep. What needs to pass, will pass.” Her eyes were slightly red. The moment she looked down, she seemed utterly exhausted. The wrinkles at the corners of her eyes had deepened at some point, revealing her age. “It’s all over. He passed without pain, that’s a good thing too.” I took a deep breath, staring at the safety charm hanging from the rearview mirror. 3 I slept for less than five hours. When I woke up, my heart felt like it was being squeezed by something heavy—sour, tight, and a little painful. It scared me enough to go to the hospital for a check-up. Sinus arrhythmia. Nothing major. The doctor told me to stop staying up late. I originally wanted to go to the company, but remembering I had a month-long vacation, I suddenly felt lost. For the past few years, Liam and I rarely rested. We often complained about not having enough alone time, our lives filled to the brim with work. The week before the accident, we worked like crazy to take our annual leave early and go somewhere for a couple of days. Liam still had a half-finished itinerary on his phone. Thinking of this, I pulled out my laptop and finished the itinerary. Even after finishing it, I still felt hyperactive. The events of the past few days looped in my mind like a carousel. I touched my chest, feeling like I must be sick. Otherwise, why didn’t I know how to be sad? I looked in the mirror, trying to squeeze out a tear, but only managed an ugly, forced smile. My mom called to comfort me, subtly hinting that I shouldn’t remain a widow forever. I laughed and retorted, “What era is this? Does a woman still have to stay chaste after her husband dies?” I tossed my instant noodles onto the coffee table, turned around, and bought a premium membership on a dating site. The steam from the beef noodle soup clouded my eyes. Suddenly, the usually mild noodles tasted incredibly spicy today. I chugged the noodle broth and coughed violently from the spice. 4 Liam and I fell in love naturally; I had never been on a blind date before. The first time felt quite novel. On TV, blind dates always happened in cafes, so I arranged to meet the guy at a cafe near my house. The man who showed up was middle-aged. Not bald, not ugly, and dressed appropriately. Compared to my pajamas and slippers, his suit and tie were excessively formal. I frowned, looking him up and down. He just rubbed me the wrong way. “My situation is all in the profile. I’m 35, divorced, no kids, an executive at a multinational company, making $300k a year…” So this is what a blind date is like. I rested my chin on my hand, looking amused. “Mr. Miller, you look decent enough. Are you interested in getting double eyelid surgery? I prefer men with monolids or hidden double eyelids. I don’t have many demands; once we’re together, just get the surgery done.” He froze. He looked me up and down. “Are you sick in the head?” I felt very offended. We just met, how could he just open his mouth and insult me? He also felt offended. He stood up and left without even paying for his coffee. Cheapskate. 5 Liam’s eyes were beautiful. When he looked down at people, it always gave the illusion of deep affection. I always thought he had monolids until we got together and I realized they were hidden double eyelids. When we were intimate, my favorite thing to do was touch his eyelids. I knew exactly where the scar on the corner of his eye was. This guy wasn’t cooperative; he wasn’t my type. Liam and I used to come to this cafe all the time. On our rare days off, we would sit at this window seat. He would look at his laptop, I would read a book. Occasionally, our eyes would meet, we’d share a knowing smile, and then go back to doing our own thing. This place was like our secret base, full of memories. “Hey, I brought a stranger here,” I muttered to myself, touching the glass. When paying, I complained to the barista, “The coffee today has no flavor. Make it stronger next time.” Lately, I couldn’t taste anything. This black coffee tasted just like water. If Liam were still here, he’d probably make a huge fuss and take me to the hospital, afraid I had caught some weird disease. I couldn’t help but smile. Once, I got a paper cut. He was so terrified he took me to the hospital to get it bandaged. The doctor complained, “There’s not even any blood. If you had waited a bit longer, it would have healed itself.” I teased him about it for days. He was still self-righteous about it: “What if you got tetanus? Wouldn’t that be worse?” Walking home, I went to the ground floor to buy cologne like usual, only to find the perfume shop had become a nail salon. The layout of the perfume shop was still there, and the air still carried a faint fragrance, but the owner was nowhere to be found. I asked the nail technicians for the previous owner’s contact info, but they didn’t know. The familiar scent was fading, and a sense of panic gripped my heart.

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Arthur Sterling wanted to divorce me for his delicate, white-lotus first love. Even our child had taken a special liking to her. When I heard him carefully call that woman “Mom,” my heart went completely cold, and I signed the divorce papers. Years later, I returned to the country for a gathering. A strange young boy timidly called me “Mom.” My daughter asked curiously, “Is he Evelyn’s big brother?” I shook my head. “Mom only has one child in this life, and that’s Evelyn.” 1 Everyone was thrilled to see the little blonde girl by my side. Madison nudged me with her elbow. “Where’d you kidnap her from? She’s so cute.” Someone chimed in, “Yeah, seriously. Chloe, I didn’t expect you to become a human trafficker after a few years abroad.” I unceremoniously flicked them both on the forehead. “What kind of nonsense is that? This is my daughter.” I squatted down. “Don’t we look alike?” Evelyn played along, obediently pressing her little cheek against mine. The private room instantly went dead silent. I knew this news was a bit too shocking for them. My marriage to Arthur had only ended a few years ago. And my intense, high-profile pursuit of him back in the day was something everyone here had witnessed; many had even helped me strategize. I had kept my life abroad very private, so they all assumed I was still single. Or at least, not married with a kid. Madison looked like she wanted to swear, but seeing Evelyn, she swallowed the words. She turned around and made a phone call. “Yeah, tell the guys they don’t need to come over. Tonight’s not the right vibe.” I held back a laugh, looking at my old friends. “What? Are married women not welcome here?” My friends recovered from their shock and bombarded me with questions: “Who’d you marry? Is he handsome?” “Chloe, how could you snag a hot foreign guy and not tell us?!” “What’s your name, little one? Want Auntie to play with you?” “Hannah, stop talking in that gross baby voice.” “Screw off, leave me alone.” … I rubbed my temples helplessly. A decade later, and they were still just as noisy. Thankfully, Evelyn wasn’t shy. She happily played with my old friends. Madison pulled me aside for a drink. “Are you really over Arthur?” I smiled, showing her the ring on my finger. “What do you think?” She smacked her forehead. “Right, stupid question.” “Arthur was so dead-set on marrying that fragile little flower back then. Now he’s regretting it.” I raised an eyebrow. “He regrets it?” I hadn’t kept tabs on them since I went abroad, but Arthur regretting it was genuinely surprising. He loved Lily Evans to death back then. He was willing to fight the whole world to marry her. Madison nodded. “The white lotus is pretty, sure, but being Mrs. Sterling is too much for her to handle.” The title of ‘Mrs. Sterling’ didn’t just mean being Arthur’s wife; it carried significant responsibilities. “The Sterling family has a massive empire. It’s not easy to manage,” I said. “You have no idea. When the white lotus first married Arthur, she couldn’t do anything right. She messed everything up. Arthur was patient at first, but patience doesn’t equal time. Eventually, he just got sick of it. Men, right? Typical.” Madison’s tone dripped with sarcasm. She never liked Arthur to begin with. Ever since she took over her family’s business, she had cut off many of their partnerships with the Sterlings. In her eyes, a man who couldn’t keep his personal life straight couldn’t possibly run a corporation well. Madison waved her hand. “Whatever, let’s not talk about that dog.” Just as she finished speaking, the door to the private room suddenly opened. A strange boy, looking to be around ten or eleven, walked in. Madison looked toward the door impatiently. “Who’s that?” “Whose kid is lost?” The boy scanned the crowd frantically before his eyes locked onto me. Those beautiful eyes gave me a strange sense of familiarity. Someone in the crowd murmured, “Isn’t that Arthur’s oldest son?” Madison reacted faster than I did. “Oh, it’s Chloe’s kid! Arthur… Arthur what again?” A friend reminded her, “Arthur James Sterling.” Evelyn, who was playing happily, seemed to sense something. She looked left and right, her big eyes darting around. The boy walked toward me and called out timidly, “Mom.” 2 That single word, “Mom,” pulled me back several years. When Arthur brought up divorce, he didn’t give a reason. Madison did some digging for me and uncovered his first love, Lily Evans. I took the evidence and confronted Arthur. During the argument, a truth accidentally slipped out of him: “Yes, I love Lily! Even if I have a child with you, that child must carry the mark of her existence!” Only then did it all make sense. No wonder when we were naming our son, Arthur insisted on changing “Julian” to “James.” He said he hoped our son would be “Just,” noble, and righteous. But it wasn’t about justice. It was an anagram. “James” was for J-A-M-E-S. Just Always Miss Evans Secretly. Unlike what Madison and the others thought, from that day forward, my feelings for Arthur died completely. I loved Arthur, yes, but not enough to lose myself. I loved him, but I loved my dignity more. However, our marriage involved too many people. Just separating the assets took a massive amount of time. Arthur cheated first; I had to make sure I got the larger share. Back then, my biggest concern was my son, James. But from the very beginning, he didn’t want to leave with me. Maybe it was pity from above that made me suddenly stubborn, wanting to persuade James, wanting to fight for full custody. If it hadn’t been for that stubbornness, I never would have discovered that my dear son had already accepted Lily as his mother. If I hadn’t discovered that, I wouldn’t have left so cleanly, and I wouldn’t have started my new life so easily. After I confronted Arthur, he immediately moved Lily into our house under the guise of being James’s private tutor. Surprisingly, James adored ‘Ms. Lily’ and defended her at every turn. I heard him praise Ms. Lily more than once, saying she was gentle and pretty, understanding, considerate, and kind. But James was just a little kid back then. I thought Arthur had hidden the affair well, so I didn’t overthink it. Until I heard it with my own ears. He carefully asked Lily, “Ms. Lily, can I call you Mom?” After getting a yes, he happily called her “Mom” several times. He added, “Ms. Lily needs to become my new mom quickly. I hate my mom right now. I hope she and Dad get divorced soon.” Lily asked him why. “Because Mom won’t let me eat candy.” Lily sounded surprised. “Just because of that?” “Yes.” James’s decisive answer completely shattered me. I thought about a lot of things. I thought about my parenting style. I thought about my past. In the end, I signed the divorce papers without any lingering attachments and left the country. 3 Seeing that I wasn’t responding, James called out again, “Mom.” His eyes were red, and he looked incredibly pitiful. Evelyn suddenly threw herself into my arms. She stared at him with wide, curious eyes and asked, “Is he Evelyn’s big brother?” James froze, then quickly shifted his gaze back to me, his face filled with unconcealed hope. I smiled gently at Evelyn and shook my head. “Mom only has one child in this life, and that’s Evelyn.” “This brother is… the son of a friend of Mom’s. But of course, you can call him ‘brother’.” Half-understanding, Evelyn reached out a hand to James. “Hi brother, I’m Evelyn.” But James just stood there, frozen, ignoring her. Evelyn awkwardly pulled her hand back and rubbed her little nose. “Mom, why does he look like he just got struck by lightning?” I chuckled and rubbed her head. “Go play with your aunts and uncles.” “Okay!” The little girl ran off, cheering happily. James looked at me pitifully. “Mom, do you not want James anymore?” His tone was exactly the same as when he was a toddler, seemingly trying to awaken my maternal instincts. I smiled faintly. “You have your own mom.” James grew a bit agitated. “She’s not my mom.” “Why not?” He looked down and didn’t answer. I didn’t bother pressing him. My tone was gentle but distant: “James, you were the one who didn’t want me first.” James looked up, his eyes incredibly complex. It was the first time I had ever seen that look in his eyes. It wasn’t a look a boy his age should have. James lowered his gaze. “I’m sorry, Mom.” He found a corner to sit in by himself and didn’t bother me again. Madison sneered. “And here I thought the kid loved his fragile little stepmom.” “What do you mean?” I asked. “When the white lotus first got married, a lot of people looked down on her. Your son defended her everywhere, treating her like royalty. Didn’t you always say he was a good kid? So good he actually got into fights defending the white lotus.” “Raising a son is worse than raising a dog.” I smiled and took a sip of my drink. Madison didn’t say anything else, just drank with me. After so many years, seeing the son I barely recognized, it would be a lie to say I felt absolutely nothing. But our mother-son bond was thin, and this was James’s own choice. Besides, too many years had passed. The emotion faded as quickly as it came. When the party ended, James was still sitting there, refusing to leave. I tried to call his dad, but realized I had deleted the number. I tried to call his mom, but realized I never had her number to begin with. Madison boldly patted her chest. “Let me handle it.” She picked up her phone and scrolled through her contacts for a long time. “…He blocked me.” Evelyn was getting sleepy. She yawned. “Mom, let’s just leave him here, he won’t die. I want to go home and sleep.” Madison laughed. “Your kid is fierce.” I picked Evelyn up. “Takes after her dad.” Thankfully, a friend who had forgotten something came back and made the call for us. “James is currently at…” “No time? What should we do?” “Okay, I’ll have Chloe call him a cab.” “Yeah, she flew back today.” “Oh? Suddenly you have time?” 4 By the time Arthur arrived, Evelyn had fallen fast asleep. She was nestled in my arms, her little cheeks flushed. “Chloe. It’s been a long time.” Arthur didn’t look much different from before. He was always handsome, and even time seemed to have treated him kindly. His dark eyes were deep, unreadable. I replied softly, “Long time no see.” Madison gestured toward James with her chin. “Mr. Sterling, hurry up and take your son home. He’s been refusing to leave.” James sat in silence, making no move to get up. I don’t know if I imagined it, but he seemed to exchange a look with Arthur. I turned to Madison. “Let’s go. It won’t be good if Evelyn wakes up.” Just as I stood up to leave, Arthur suddenly called out, “Chloe, have you been well lately?” I frowned. “Keep your voice down.” Evelyn stirred in my arms, a bit restless. Arthur lowered his voice, making forced conversation. “Whose child is this? She’s beautiful.” His words praised Evelyn, but his eyes were fixed on me. “Mine.” I had only been holding her for a little while, but my arms were already getting sore. Kids really do grow fast. Arthur’s smile froze. “What?” He stared blankly at Evelyn for a long time, then smiled again. “She’s adopted, right?” I fought the urge to roll my eyes. “Biological.” Evelyn looked so much like me, a perfect copy of my excellent genes. She obviously looked like my biological daughter. Adopted? You’re the one who’s adopted! Madison sensed my annoyance. She stepped between Arthur and me, separating us. “It’s late. Mr. Sterling should take his kid home to sleep.” With that, we left. Madison looked back. “That old dog Arthur is still staring at you.” “Yeah. I’m staying at your place tonight.” “Stay as long as you want. What’s mine is yours.” “I want the master bedroom.” “? Don’t push your luck!” “The master bedroom is bigger. I have a kid to raise. Do you have a kid to raise?” “Hmph. You win.”

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