Author: Momo Chan

I Couldn’t Move On After My Mother Passed. Then I Found Her Diary: “Let Mom Help You One Last Time.” After Mom passed away. I was lost in a dark place for a long time. More than once, I wanted to jump off that bridge. But Mom was the wind blowing across the water. Time and time again, pushing me back to safety. …… It was 1 AM when I finally got home. When I opened the door, Dad was exactly as he always was. His thumb and index finger weakly pinching a glass of whiskey, pouring it down his throat. I couldn’t help but think that after Mom passed. I wasn’t the only one who couldn’t move on. Dad was trapped, too. But neither of us knew how to hide our emotions. Just like right now, he wanted to present the image of a cheerful dad welcoming his daughter home for the holidays. But all I saw was. A miserable man with tear stains all over his face, forcing a smile. He pulled the corners of his mouth up toward his ears. Looking at me helplessly, waiting for a hug. I mirrored his expression, forcing a smile of my own. Then I put my backpack down, stepped forward, and hugged him tightly. He said, “Chloe, have you eaten?” “Let me make you some mac and cheese.” Saying that, he let go of me and went into the kitchen. He reached up and pulled open the top cabinet. I watched from afar. Inside was an entire row of instant mac and cheese cups. Next to the microwave, there were several empty wrappers and cheese powder stains. I figured this was how he had been getting by all these days alone. This was our first Christmas after Mom left. It was too lonely, too bleak. Without her, we just couldn’t manage our lives. I couldn’t hold it in anymore. My tears dripped onto the floor like a leaky faucet. Dad seemed a little drunk. Not only did he fail to notice my breakdown. But he also accidentally knocked a stack of bowls and plates onto the floor. The sound of shattering porcelain instantly scared my tears back. I ran over to him. The back of his hand was cut. The blood dripped… It dripped right onto a notebook. I froze for a moment. A diary? 2 My mom’s name was Mary. She only had a middle school education. She knew how to read, but not perfectly. She still made spelling mistakes. The names saved in her phone contacts. Many of them were spelled phonetically or as jokes. For example, Mrs. Sullivan from the farmer’s market. She saved her as: Sue Livin, “Her vegetables are a rip-off.” Mrs. Baker from the grocery store. She saved her as: Bakes Bad, “Was mean to Chloe, never buying her stuff again.” And her best friend, Aunt Brenda. She saved her as: Brenda Bestie, “Chloe loves her, so I love her too.” Every time I saw her contact list, I wanted to laugh. But every time I saw what she named me, I wanted to cry. She wrote: Chloe Miller, “Mary’s sweet girl,” “My absolute favorite.” With three little heart emojis at the end. And now, I was holding a diary in my hands. Filled entirely with her own handwriting. There was a message on the cover. “For Chloe.” “My dearest daughter.” “If you don’t know how to live your life anymore.” “Then let Mom help you one last time.” The diary was thick. I flipped through it quickly. Every page was completely filled. And the handwriting was incredibly neat. There were no spelling mistakes, no scribbled-out words. She probably guessed it—I always hated it when my school notebooks looked messy. Naturally, I’d want a diary to be clean and tidy, too. So she must have secretly practiced for a long time. In an instant, my eyes burned. To control my emotions, I put the diary away. Then I helped my dad into the living room. And bandaged his wound. 3 2 AM. Dad had fallen asleep on the couch. I lay in my bedroom. Too afraid to open the diary. Eventually, I couldn’t take the silence. So I imitated how Mom used to be. I put on yellow rubber gloves and tied an apron around my waist. I deep-cleaned the entire house from top to bottom. Just to distract myself. I remembered, she used to do this every year a few days before Christmas. The sofa—she insisted on pulling it out to sweep up the dust bunnies underneath. The pots and pans—everything had to be scrubbed spotless. The bedsheets—we had to put on fresh, newly bought ones. She said the holidays meant a fresh start, everything had to begin anew. Whether it was something terrible or something wonderful. It was all left in the past year. A new year meant embracing new changes. She also said. Whether it’s heartbreaking or painful. Whether it’s joyful or lucky. We have to accept it all calmly. Everything must look forward. Right. I had to accept the fact that she was gone. By the time I finished cleaning the house. It was already morning. Dad still hadn’t woken up. And I had already put on a thick winter coat and headed to the store. In past years, Mom and I always went to pick out a Christmas wreath together. She would always be so picky, saying one didn’t look full enough. Or another didn’t have the right holiday spirit. It would take her half the day just to choose one. But now, standing in front of the old man selling wreaths in the parking lot. I didn’t know what to pick. They all looked exactly the same to me. A piercing, bright green and red. Especially the wooden sign that read “Home for the Holidays.” It stung my eyes. In the end, just like rushing through a homework assignment. I picked one at random. After buying it, I couldn’t help but think of her again. But this time, there was a bit of resentment. I couldn’t help but complain in my heart. Look, Mom. I haven’t grown up yet. I don’t even know how to pick out a simple wreath. It’s all your fault, leaving too early. You didn’t even have time to teach me. Later, after I walked around the market, I realized. Mom didn’t just fail to teach me how to pick out a wreath. How to buy the sweetest apples in winter. How to pick the freshest vegetables. How to haggle with the vendors. She never taught me any of it. Even the fastest route back home. She had never mentioned it. Otherwise. Why was it that the further I walked, the blurrier the road ahead became? 4 When I got home, Dad was still nursing a hangover. He saw me holding bags of groceries. And sobered up instantly. Without even putting his slippers on properly, he took the bags from my hands. After putting them down, he came back and gently rubbed my freezing, red hands. He said, “It’s all my fault, I drank too much again.” “Are you tired? Are you hungry? Should Dad make you some mac and cheese?” After he spoke, a flash of guilt crossed his eyes. I saw his mouth twitch. Then he explained. “I’m sorry, mac and cheese is the only thing Dad knows how to make.” I nodded. It was true. Dad only knew how to make mac and cheese and how to make money. Mom took care of us too well. So, after she left. Our world. Just collapsed. I shook my head and told Dad I’d already eaten a breakfast sandwich at the market. Then I went into the kitchen. Just like in the early hours of the morning. I picked up the apron. Imagining Mom’s posture. Making the dough. Slicing the apples. Baking an apple pie. I tried to keep myself as busy as possible. To make myself forget about the diary Mom left behind. It was the only piece of her I had left. I wanted to wait for a solemn, perfect moment to open it. Because it said. “For Chloe.” “My dearest daughter.” “If you don’t know how to live your life anymore.” “Then let Mom help you one last time.” I thought, I couldn’t let Mom down. I couldn’t let her know that my life was falling apart. 2 (Author’s Chapter Numbering) But, I was pathetic. That solemn, perfect moment. Just arrived without any warning. After failing to make the pie crust for the umpteenth time. I suddenly missed her like crazy. Why could she blend the flour and butter so perfectly? Yet every time I tried, it turned into a sticky, ruined mess. Why could she do everything so flawlessly. And I couldn’t even make a simple dough. Did I even deserve to be her daughter? Should I have been the one to get cancer? Should I have been the one writing a final diary? The more I thought about it, the more twisted my mind became. Until my eyes landed on the kitchen knife on the counter. My bloodshot eyes widened. I guess it was because I had been quiet for too long. Dad rushed in. He arrived just in time. I hadn’t lost too much blood yet. My consciousness was still clear. I could hear him screaming my name. I could hear the ambulance sirens. And. In a daze. I thought I heard Mom say. “Silly girl.” “How can you be so clumsy? You can’t even make a simple dough?” “Be good, Mom will teach you.” 3 That’s right. Mom. I’m too clumsy. Come back and teach me. 4 The doctor pulled my dad out into the hallway. He said I had severe depression and suicidal tendencies. Then the doctor shot me a cautious look. And pulled Dad into another room entirely. They were discussing my condition. I wondered if my dad was going to break down. His wife died of cancer. And now his daughter was severely depressed. Would it push him over the edge? I imagined him crying and venting to the doctor. But suddenly, I couldn’t feel empathy anymore. I just thought the birds outside the window looked so free. I felt a bit happy, and I smiled. At dusk. I finally couldn’t bear the weight of missing her. I opened the first page of the diary. I was afraid that if I didn’t open it now. I might never get the chance to. 5 The first page of the diary. Was Mom’s secret whisper to me. She wrote: “Chloe.” “When you heard Mom decided to stop treatment, were you really angry?” “Don’t be mad, sweetie.” “Just think of it as doing Mom a favor.” “Mom is in so much pain.” “Please don’t ignore Mom in these final days.” “Mom wants to talk to you a lot.” “Otherwise, I just can’t be at peace.” …… “Chloe.” “After you left the hospital room, Mom thought for a long time.” “It’s all my fault for spoiling you so much.” “I turned you into a little princess who doesn’t know how to do anything.” “If Mom could stay by your side forever, I wouldn’t worry at all.” “But Mom has to leave soon.” “There are things I have to teach you before I can rest.” “But I thought about it… Mom isn’t highly educated.” “The only thing I can teach you is common sense.” “Then I thought about it some more.” “Mom’s wish isn’t a big one.” “I just want you to live a good life.” “So, this diary.” “Besides expressing how much Mom loves you.” “Is also here so that, after Mom is gone.” “You can learn how to live well.” 6 Mom was right. I didn’t know how to do anything. When I was little, learning to ride a bike, other kids got it in a few days. But I was terrified the bike was too tall, and absolutely refused to get on. Mom never forced me. She said: “If you’re scared, then we won’t learn. From now on, Mom is your bicycle.” “Mom will carry you anywhere you want to go.” Later in elementary school, the neighbor’s daughter was learning ballet. When she danced, she looked like a little fairy. Mom’s eyes were full of admiration. She looked at me and asked. “Chloe, do you want to turn into a fairy too?” I cluelessly shook my head and told her I didn’t want to learn, I just wanted to play in the mud. She still didn’t force me to do anything I didn’t want to do. She just squatted down and helped me build a mud castle. She told me: “It’s okay. It doesn’t matter if Chloe can’t dance. Mom just wants Chloe to be happy in her own little world.” In middle school, my homeroom teacher called Mom in. I hid behind Mom while they discussed whether I might have autism. The teacher said: “Mrs. Miller, you should take Chloe to see a doctor. She doesn’t say a single word in class all day, it makes it very hard for us to teach her.” Mom rubbed my head, her eyes full of pride. “She doesn’t speak because she doesn’t want to speak.” “When she wants to talk, she’ll talk.” Later, throughout all of high school. I rarely ever spoke up in class. But I never felt like I was any different from anyone else. Just like Mom said. I didn’t speak because I didn’t want to. Everyone thought I was arrogant, stubborn, aloof, and completely full of myself. Doing whatever I wanted just because I had good grades. I didn’t deny it; I was definitely cocky. Because I knew, no matter what I did. She would always have my back. I always believed. That under her wings, I would go far. Fly higher. But. Suddenly, one day. God took her wings away. I lost my protection. I fell into complete panic. I felt that a life without Mom. Was just that. Not worth living. So, I started trying to find her, over and over again. I once stood on her tiptoes on a thirty-story rooftop. But a gust of wind blew me back. I also plunged into the ocean, breathlessly asking if she could take me with her. And again, a wave crashed and pushed me back onto the shore. Later, the edge of the cliff I went to, the tip of the knife I picked up. There was always a breeze beside me. Stopping me from staring into the eyes of death. I had my answer. That wind was her. And this diary she left behind. Was her broken wings. 7 For some reason, I felt it was a bit absurd. Even a little ridiculous. How should a daughter live after losing the mother she loved most? She was actually trying to teach me with a diary. Didn’t she know? I didn’t want to live at all. I just wanted to see her right now. To be held tightly in her arms.

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My mother always said, “Life is a wilderness, and the brave enjoy the world first.” True to her word, she dumped me with a nanny when I was one, spent my elementary school years chasing pop stars across the country, and traveled the globe during my high school years. She said she was herself first, and a mother second. But twenty years later, she was tired. Exhausted from a life on the road, she wanted to settle down and enjoy a peaceful retirement. She demanded I quit my high-paying job far from home and return to serve her as a dutiful daughter. I laughed and told her, “The brave enjoy the world first. I am myself first, and your daughter second.” 1 I don’t think my mother loved me. For as long as I can remember, she and my father were rarely home. I lived in a huge house with only our nanny, Mrs. Garcia. Mrs. Garcia would tell me that my parents missed me very much, but they were just too busy to keep me company. Half-understanding, I would suck my thumb and ask, “What are they busy with?” Mrs. Garcia could never really answer. She just repeated the same lines I’d heard countless times. When Mom comes back, she’ll buy you beautiful clothes. When Mom comes back, she’ll take you to eat all sorts of yummy food. When Mom comes back, you can go to the amusement park as many times as you want. When Mom comes back, she’ll hug you, kiss you, and lift you high in the air. My family wasn’t poor. In fact, in our small town, we were considered wealthy. It wasn’t until I grew up that I realized they weren’t busy making a living like most parents. They were busy chasing celebrities, traveling, seeing the world, and making charitable donations to “realize their life’s value.” Their lives were full and busy; they just didn’t have time to care for me. But as a little girl, I didn’t know any of that. I counted my birthdays, passing them one by one. When I turned eight, Mrs. Garcia had a grandson and had to return to her hometown. My mother came home. That day, I put on my favorite dress, dug out my prettiest pink hair clip, and waited, filled with a mix of excitement and anxiety. But when she saw me, my mother just frowned and snatched the clip out of my hair. “My favorite idol’s official fandom color is blue! You are not allowed to wear pink anymore!” I stared at her blankly. I didn’t know what a fandom color was. I just looked helplessly at my broken hair clip on the floor. Hidden behind my back, my small hand gripped a little pink flower I had picked for her, but I never brought it out. 2 It was the first time I had seen my mother in five years, but she was nothing like the mother I had imagined. She didn’t cook me delicious meals like the moms on TV, nor did she miss her child desperately. She didn’t cook for me. She didn’t buy me new clothes. A new McDonald’s had opened on the corner; all the other kids had been, but I still hadn’t. From start to finish, she didn’t even pat my head. She spent exactly one day making a decision: she was sending me to a boarding school. The day she left, Mrs. Garcia had picked me up from school one last time. My mother’s return had been hasty, and her departure was just as swift. She carried only a small backpack. I dropped to my knees, tears streaming down my face. “Mom, please don’t go. I’ll miss you…” I didn’t want her to leave, even though she hadn’t hugged me, hadn’t taken me to the amusement park, and hadn’t bought me ice cream. My desk mate, Chloe, had told me: “If you don’t want your mom to leave, just beg her! Moms are very soft-hearted. My mom says they can never bear to leave their babies.” Chloe said that’s how it always worked on TV. If a child knelt and cried, the mother would stay. That year, at eight years old, I learned a harsh truth: TV lies. I knelt. I cried. I clung to the hem of her skirt, my nose running, but she left anyway. She pushed me away and quickly got into the car, terrified I would hold her back. Then she rolled down the window halfway and said: “Life is a wilderness, and the brave enjoy the world first. I am myself first, and your mother second.” I was too short to even see her face. All I saw was the black exhaust and the dust kicked up by the car tires. My father, sitting in the passenger seat, didn’t leave a single word for me. Chloe’s mom was a liar too. My mom wasn’t soft-hearted, and she didn’t care about leaving her baby! 3 I became the youngest boarder at my school, and eventually, the one who had been there the longest. Soon, I entered middle school. My parents occasionally came home for a brief visit and occasionally left me some money. In our town’s middle school, many students were “left-behind children” whose parents worked in the cities. The teachers often told us that we had to study hard to make our parents’ hard work worthwhile. I acted like I didn’t care, but secretly, I sat up straighter and studied like my life depended on it. During my early teens, right in the middle of a growth spurt, I quickly developed severe hypoglycemia from chronic malnutrition. The day I fainted in class, the school administrators frantically called my mother. When she answered, her screaming could be heard throughout the entire office. It took her five days to finally show up. She found me at school and slapped me right in front of everyone: “Don’t think I don’t know you’re just doing this for attention! Hypoglycemia? Why don’t I know you have hypoglycemia?!” I lowered my head and begged, “Mom, can you please put some money on my meal card? I really don’t have any money for food. I’m so hungry…” Before I could finish, seeing parents, students, and teachers staring at us, she flew into a humiliated rage. She slapped me across the face again, her shrill voice ringing out: “When have I ever shorted your allowance?! I put two thousand dollars on your card last time! You obviously blew it all!” “Why does a girl need to eat so much anyway? Do you think looking like a fat pig is pretty?” “All you think about is eating, eating, eating! You’re clearly not focusing on your studies!” I opened my mouth, but a sob escaped first. But Mom, the last time you put money on my card was a year ago. And I’m already so skinny, my ribs are showing. I really didn’t waste a cent. I wished I could spend every penny on the biggest portions of food just to fill my stomach. To feel full, I chugged cold tap water because I didn’t even have the courage to spend a few cents to fill my thermos with hot water… 4 It was only later I found out that the day I fainted, the school’s phone call had distracted her, causing her to miss out on buying concert tickets for her favorite idol. She stormed back not out of concern for my health, but to vent her frustration. Regardless, she ended up leaving me five thousand dollars. Holding the money, I felt absolutely no joy. My mother spent tens of thousands chasing celebrities, taking photos, and dining with her idols. Meanwhile, I shivered in thin clothes at school, clutching a meal card with less than three dollars on it, not knowing where my next meal was coming from. Five thousand dollars wasn’t enough for one of my mother’s concert trips, but one dollar was enough for me to buy hot drinking water for ten days. Three dollars bought six steamed buns, enough to keep me from starving for a day. Ten dollars meant I could buy a clean, new notebook instead of erasing pencil marks until the paper tore. Thirty dollars could buy a study guide that everyone else in class already had. Fifty dollars could buy me a school uniform so I wouldn’t stick out like a sore thumb anymore. Money was amazing. It gave my mother wings to fly carelessly across whatever wilderness she desired. Simultaneously, it stripped away my basic needs, my dignity, and my pride. All I wanted was to live without constant anxiety. I stretched that money through my second year of middle school. By my third year, Chloe also started boarding and became my roommate. Her mother often came to school to bring her food and would tell me with a warm smile: “Oh my, I bought this shirt too small for Chloe, but it’s perfect for a skinny thing like you, Maya!” “Chloe is such a picky eater, she refuses to eat these ribs. If you don’t mind, Maya, why don’t you try my cooking?” Chloe’s mom also frequently used the excuse of having me tutor Chloe to invite me over for dinner, then slipped me “tutoring fees.” Chloe’s grades weren’t bad; in fact, we frequently fought for the number one spot in class. I obviously knew it was just an excuse. But I didn’t want to go back to that massive, empty house. It was freezing and entirely devoid of warmth. So, I shamelessly accepted the excuse and went home with Chloe. Her mom was wonderful. Plump, with a kind, genial smile and a gentle voice, very much like Mrs. Garcia. Chloe shared half her small bed with me. At night, she hugged her stuffed sheep, and I hugged her arm. The small lamp on her nightstand cast a warm, yellow glow. It felt incredibly safe and comforting. Her dad was great too. One day, I overheard Chloe’s parents talking. While cooking, her mom said, “She’s so young, right in the middle of growing, and so well-behaved. How can her mother be so cruel…” “For a little girl, she sure can eat a lot in one sitting…” My heart leaped into my throat. I knew I ate large portions, and I always tried to control myself. But I was so terrified of being hungry that whenever I saw that much food, I just couldn’t stop. Then her dad continued: “If she’s eating that much in one sitting, she’s definitely been starving for a long time. Make sure you steam the rice a bit softer and cook some richer, meatier dishes to help her build her strength back up.” I let out a massive breath I didn’t know I was holding, tears instantly springing to my eyes. How I wished this was my home. How I wished these were my parents. No one had ever taught me what love was, but I figured having a full stomach and warm clothes was probably it. I finally believed Chloe’s mom wasn’t a liar. Moms were soft-hearted. It was just my mom who was different. 5 During the summer before high school, my mother gave birth to a little boy. They named him Leo. The moment my brother was born, my mother took him to see the sunrise in Paris and the sunset in London. Every time they reached a new destination, my mother would post on social media. In the photos, my brother laughed joyfully as my parents kissed his chubby cheeks. It was sweet and heartwarming. They lit up every corner of the globe for my brother, declaring him their one and only treasure. And me? The meticulous care, the soft whispers, the attention my mother showered on my brother—I had never received any of it. I pretended not to care as I navigated through the crowds of supportive parents to enter the high school placement exam center. But the traditional longevity lock they bought for him didn’t work. My brother died later that year from a severe, sudden fever. I didn’t know the details; I only knew that my mother went quiet for a while and stopped traveling. But my life didn’t change much. I was still as poor and isolated as ever. After surviving for two months, when I was completely out of money again, I finally worked up the courage to dial her number. My mother shrieked into the phone: “Money, money, money! Is that all you know how to ask for?! Why don’t you just go die?! Why was it your brother who died and not you?!” Beep. She hung up. I held the phone to my ear for a long time. Even though I knew she might not give me anything, the venom in her words still pierced me. What kind of mother uses the most vicious curses on her own child? What kind of mother wishes her own child were dead? Mine did. Yet, despite the fact that I only ever called to ask for money, not a single cent was ever added to my meal card. High school was different from middle school; the expenses were much higher. Fortunately, back then, the application process for financial aid wasn’t as strict. The teachers, aware of my situation, secured a spot for me. Relying on that stipend, I scraped by through my freshman year.

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The year I turned thirty, I decided to resign. This secret, one-sided love affair of mine had finally reached its end. I had spent five years climbing the ranks from a lowly assistant to Alexander Sterling’s executive secretary, and another three years making myself utterly indispensable to him. In the end, it took me exactly five minutes to write my resignation letter, and one second to hit send. 1 When I handed in the hard copy of my resignation, Alexander’s brows furrowed slightly. He looked up, his gaze settling on me in a quiet, deliberate stare. “Give me a reason.” I lowered my head, avoiding his eyes, and forced the most genuine smile I could muster. “Mr. Sterling, I’m thirty this year. It’s time for me to settle down.” I paused for a moment, then added, “My boyfriend recently proposed.” To ensure a smooth exit, I told a harmless lie. Alexander’s index finger began tapping rhythmically against his mahogany desk—a telltale sign that he was extremely irritated. Perhaps I should consider myself lucky. At least he wasn’t completely indifferent to my departure. After a long silence, Alexander slid the resignation letter back across the desk to me. “I can approve an extended PTO for your wedding, but I expect you to seriously reconsider resigning.” For a split second, I wavered. A seductive voice whispered incessantly in the back of my mind: Agree to it. Just say yes. At least you’ll still get to see him every day. But another voice sternly warned me: Emma, he’s getting engaged. Harboring a crush on a soon-to-be married man is crossing a line. My hand hovered in the air for a long time, but ultimately, I didn’t take the paper back. “This job is too demanding. After I get married, I want to focus more on my family.” “I will ensure all my current projects are fully transitioned before I go. I’m sorry, Mr. Sterling.” Having pushed the conversation this far, Alexander stopped arguing. He replied coldly, “Understood. Happy wedding.” Before I even left his office, he had already buried his head back in his paperwork. After all, to him, I was just a subordinate. The most useful one, perhaps, but just an employee nonetheless. 2 Later that day, I sat at my desk, staring blankly at the potted succulent next to my monitor. It was rare for me to zone out like this. My daily routine was usually a whirlwind, juggling the coordination of corporate affairs while simultaneously acting as Alexander’s personal assistant. My phone was on twenty-four-seven. Whenever Alexander needed me, I had to be there instantly. I did the work of three people combined. Of course, Alexander paid me a highly lucrative salary. Over the years, I had achieved complete financial freedom. “Emma? Emma!” Chloe, the junior assistant, called my name a few times before I finally snapped back to reality. “Mr. Sterling said to remind you to head over to the venue early tonight to make sure everything is set up for the welcome party.” Tonight’s gathering was to welcome Carter Brooks, who had just returned from studying abroad in Europe. The guest list consisted exclusively of Alexander’s inner circle. They were the young heirs of the city’s most elite old-money families. Filthy rich, deeply privileged, and with standards higher than the sky. Logically, an outsider like me shouldn’t have been welcome in their circle. But there was no helping it—I was simply too useful. People who can cater to everyone’s specific moods and preferences, orchestrating a flawless party without a single hiccup, are incredibly rare. As soon as I arrived at the venue, I hit the ground running. From the catering to the cocktails to the appetizers, I double-checked every young heir’s dietary restrictions and preferences. “Remove all the lilies from the centerpieces. Harrison is allergic.” “Keep the ambient lighting dim. Leo just had laser eye surgery.” “Make sure the bartender has that specific Kentucky bourbon Carter loves.” As the sun fully set and the sky darkened, the guests began to trickle in. Tristan Vance was the first to arrive. Seeing me, he gave a casual wave. “When is Alex getting here?” I checked my watch and gave a precise answer: “He had a late conference call. Give him about an hour.” Tristan collapsed onto the velvet sofa, looking lethargic, with dark circles under his eyes from sheer exhaustion. I signaled the staff to lower the music slightly and grabbed a throw blanket, handing it to him. “The autumn air is getting crisp, don’t catch a cold. You have some time before the others arrive, get some rest.” He chuckled, taking the blanket, and teased, “Honestly, Emma, you really should consider dumping Alex and coming to work for me. I’ll double whatever he’s paying you.” For men like them, there were always countless people trying to kiss their boots. That made my demeanor stand out. Because I wanted nothing from them, I interacted with them naturally and openly. Ironically, that earned their respect. Playing along, I smiled and replied, “I’ll keep that in mind. If I’m ever out of a job, I’ll be counting on you to take me in, Tristan.” 3 As the night deepened and the streetlights flickered on, the rest of the group finally arrived. Alexander walked in wearing a tailored black trench coat, bringing a wisp of the chilling autumn air with him. I took his coat, thinking to myself that this might be the very last time I’d do this. When the drinks were flowing and everyone was in high spirits, I found the right moment to announce my resignation. I had received a lot of grace from these men over the years. I stood up and raised my glass. “I’m officially stepping down from my position. When I first started, I was clueless and made plenty of mistakes. Thank you all for your patience over the years!” “It’s a big world out there, but I hope our paths cross again someday.” Perhaps it was the melancholy of the autumn season, but a sudden heaviness settled over the dining table. It was Tristan who finally raised his glass toward me from across the table, breaking the awkward silence. “You know, in the beginning, I always thought you had some hidden agenda regarding Alex. It’s only right now that I actually believe you didn’t.” Everyone at the table silently understood what Tristan meant. After all, Alexander’s previous secretaries had all been fired for confessing their feelings to him. Later, Alexander started exclusively hiring male secretaries, only to get confessed to by them as well. Since then, he had earned a reputation as an untouchable heartthrob. Someone clapped Alexander on the shoulder and joked, “Didn’t expect that, did you? Someone is actually immune to your charm.” Alexander casually lit a cigar, laughing as he shot back, “Shut up.” After dinner, a few of them set up a poker table to kill time. Halfway through the game, Tristan casually asked, “Alex, your grandmother arranged that marriage with the Kensington girl for you, right? Have you even met her yet?” My heart skipped a beat. The hand I was using to pour water froze in mid-air. After a moment, Alexander replied indifferently, “No. As long as the old lady is happy. Marrying one woman is the same as marrying another.” For people in their echelon, marriage was always a transaction mixed with corporate interests and endless calculations. In a way, they enjoyed wealth and resources normal people couldn’t even fathom; paying a price for it seemed fair. It seemed Alexander had already accepted the rules of the game. I had met Olivia Kensington once. A true Southern belle, gentle and sweet. She was a good girl. If possible, I truly wanted Alexander to have a happy ending, different from the cold marriages of his peers. 4 The gathering lasted late into the night. Chauffeurs had been waiting outside, and as the party broke up, the heirs were quickly whisked away. Only Alexander’s driver had run into a minor fender-bender on the way, making him late. This led to the exact scenario I dreaded the most: being completely alone with him. We stood side-by-side under a streetlight, our shadows stretching long across the pavement. Whenever this happened, all my buried resentment and dark, selfish thoughts would threaten to bubble to the surface. But Alexander knew nothing. He just stood there quietly, the alcohol making him seem slightly less sharp and intimidating than usual. Soon, his driver finally pulled up. Alexander turned to look at me, asking with gentlemanly courtesy, “Need a ride?” I shook my head, flashing a grateful but adequately distanced smile. “Thank you, Mr. Sterling. But my fiancé is already on his way.” Alexander didn’t press the issue. He gave a slight nod and slid into the backseat of the luxury sedan. The world was finally empty, leaving just me. The heavy, suffocating mask I wore all day could finally be ripped off. I kicked off my stilettos without a care and slumped onto the edge of a concrete planter, feeling a rare wave of absolute lostness. For a moment, I honestly didn’t know where I was supposed to go. Soon after, a light drizzle began to fall. The first autumn rain cut right to the bone, cold and damp. I walked barefoot along the sidewalk. This was a gated, ultra-rich neighborhood, so I had to walk a long way before I could finally find a spot to hail a cab. … The main road Alexander usually took was under construction tonight. The driver didn’t know, so they had to detour back out. Alexander didn’t expect to see Emma again, standing by the road in the freezing rain, a pair of heels dangling casually from one hand. He was mildly surprised. He never imagined that his usually stoic, flawless executive secretary had such an… unkempt side. Every time he saw her at the office, she was always in a crisp, tailored suit, buttoned all the way to the top. He had seen plenty of women strategically unbutton their blouses and ‘accidentally’ lean over his desk. Emma was the exception. That was why he promoted her—first, for her sheer competence, and second, because she knew her boundaries. As they were about to drive past her, his driver asked from the front seat, “Sir, should we offer Ms. Hayes a ride?” Alexander’s eyes remained entirely unreadable. He answered simply, “No.” He had already formed a very poor opinion of her so-called fiancé. Emma was a brilliant woman, but apparently, she had terrible taste in men. Still, matters of the heart were personal. It wasn’t his place to interfere. 5 I wasn’t sure if I saw Alexander’s car pass by. It was just a blur in the rain, maybe my mind was playing tricks on me. Taxis rarely frequented this upscale neighborhood, so my driver had to come from far away. I stood there until my legs were entirely numb before my ride finally showed up. By the time I got home, it was two or three in the morning. The entire house was dead silent. To the outside world, I projected the image of a woman with a happy family, a loving fiancé, and a vibrant social life. People would often look at me with envy and say: You have the perfect life. But the truth was, I had nothing. No family, no lover, no friends. When I was in middle school, my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer. Stage three. She had a mastectomy, but less than six months later, it came back. One completely ordinary morning, my dad walked out the door for work and never came back. He emptied our bank accounts, leaving behind my dying mother and his underage daughter. Upon hearing the news, my mom was unusually calm. She quietly went through chemotherapy, stayed in the hospital, and on her good days, she would cook for me. One evening, I came home from school to find a table full of food. She sat across from me, smiling brightly. For some reason, a wave of sheer terror washed over me. When I leaned in, the food had a strange, bitter chemical smell. I suddenly remembered the brand-new bottle of rat poison she had bought for the bathroom. That was the first time I realized how terrifyingly strong my mother’s grip was. No matter how hard I thrashed, I couldn’t break free. A desperate will to live gave me the adrenaline to wrench myself from her grasp. I ran blindly, somehow ending up on the roof of our apartment building. My mother followed, crying, her arms wide open, babbling incoherently. “Emma, this world is too cruel. Mommy can’t bear to leave you here all alone.” “Come with me. We can be mother and daughter again in the next life.” I cried too. I was so exhausted, and I missed the comforting smell of laundry detergent in my mom’s hugs. Maybe this is it, I thought. Living isn’t that great anyway. The wind on the roof was howling that night, but my mother’s embrace was so warm. She held my hand, leading us step by step toward the ledge. Just as we were about to fall, a pair of thin, strong hands grabbed me. He pulled me back with everything he had, refusing to let go no matter how much I struggled. Swirling in the wind, all I could clearly see was a pair of strikingly bright eyes. I survived. My mother did not. That boy was Alexander Sterling. He not only saved my life, but he gave me a reason to keep living— To repay my debt to him. I felt like I had betrayed my mother. Back then, I was like a drowning person, desperate to grab onto any piece of driftwood. Alexander was that driftwood. When the fire trucks, police cars, and ambulances arrived, amidst the chaotic crowd, I grabbed his hand and looked up at him. “How can I repay you?” I still remember how the sixteen-year-old Alexander looked down at me and said with absolute sincerity: “Just remember to come find me.” My life had been trapped on the night my mother died. Alexander was the only thing I had to look forward to.

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Seven years ago, Carter and I broke up because we were from two completely different worlds. Seven years later, I’m a corporate executive pulling in a million dollars a year. And Carter? After a devastating bankruptcy, he’s reduced to delivering takeout. Looking at the incredibly handsome man standing in front of me, I casually slid a bank card across the table. “Ten thousand a month. I’m keeping you.” Looking thoroughly humiliated, Carter pocketed the card. The day after he moved into my penthouse, I accidentally overheard him on the phone: “I’m too busy. Don’t bother me with a tiny fifty-million-dollar project.” 1 I never expected my reunion with Carter Hayes to be this dramatic. “Your delivery, ma’am.” Carter was holding the paper bag with one hand, the impatient look on his face slowly fading. He narrowed his eyes, looking me up and down a few times before asking in disbelief, “Chloe?” I stared up at him, completely stunned. Seven years later, and he was still drop-dead gorgeous. Somehow, he made that bright neon delivery jacket look like a piece of high-end runway couture on his broad shoulders and long legs. Earlier this year, I heard some college alumni gossiping that Carter’s family had gone bankrupt. I hadn’t paid much attention to it at the time. A starving camel is still bigger than a horse, as they say. No matter how bad things got for the Hayes family, they’d still be miles ahead of normal people like us. It wasn’t my place to pity him. But I never imagined he’d be reduced to delivering food. He graduated from an Ivy League school. He had the face of a supermodel. He could get any job in the world—so why this? Carter, how have you been all these years? Are you married? Do you have kids? A thousand questions swirled in my head, but what actually came out of my mouth was: “You’re late.” Carter froze, then let out a soft laugh, his eyes curving into familiar crescents. “Chloe Adams. It’s been years, and you’re still as ruthless as ever.” I just looked at him in silence. I got it. I understood completely. The golden boy had fallen from grace, only to be caught at his absolute lowest by his ex-girlfriend. Aside from using humor to deflect the crushing awkwardness, what else could he do? 2 “You have an order running late. Please deliver immediately.” The automated voice from the phone clipped to his chest shattered my thoughts. Frowning, he pulled out his phone and ruthlessly powered it off. I was shocked by his reckless indifference. “I heard you get penalized for late deliveries. You’re going to lose a lot of money doing that. How are you going to feed your wife and kids?” Carter casually shoved the phone into his pocket. “I only have to feed myself. Nobody else is starving.” Oh. So he was still single. My eyes slowly drifted down from his face, eventually landing on his stomach. After all these years, were those abs still as perfectly sculpted as before? Last month, I went to a holistic wellness clinic because my hormones were a wreck. The doctor told me I needed a boyfriend. He said my stress levels were through the roof from being single too long. He told me that if I couldn’t find a man, I should at least spend time looking at handsome guys to boost my serotonin. Well, look what the universe dragged in. “Chloe, you’re drooling.” I panicked and scrubbed at the corner of my mouth with my sleeve, only to realize he was messing with me. Watching my flustered, embarrassed reaction, his chest rumbled with laughter until tears literally formed in his eyes. “Chloe, you’re adorable.” Adorable? Adorable my foot! Humiliation flared into anger, and suddenly, all the bitter memories of our toxic breakup came rushing back. 3 Carter and I were college sweethearts. He kept a low profile on campus. He never flashed his wealth. It wasn’t until right before graduation that I realized his family was astronomically rich. He had invited me to his family’s estate for dinner. I had spent months of my internship salary to buy what I thought were thoughtful, premium gifts. His mother took one look, tossed them to the housekeeper, and sneered that not even their staff would eat such low-grade trash. She told the maid to donate it to some poor relatives in the country. Then, Carter’s sister pulled out a photograph and informed me that their family was arranging a marriage for him. In two months, the gorgeous heiress in the photo would be his fiancée. “Don’t worry, my brother is very generous,” his sister had smirked. “He’ll give you a nice little severance package before he dumps you.” I was young back then. I had nothing to my name except my fragile pride and self-esteem. By the time Carter chased me out the door, I was already gone. I blocked his number and deleted him from my life. After the breakup, I went through the darkest period of my life. My best friend couldn’t stand seeing me cry every day, so she went to confront Carter. But he was ice-cold. He told her he had misjudged me. That killed whatever hope I had left. I poured every ounce of my soul into my career. Men will betray you, but work won’t. The time and energy you put into your career always pays off. Case in point: my life right now. Remembering how his family humiliated me made my blood boil. Anger fueled my audacity. I turned around, marched into my apartment, and grabbed a pristine black card from my designer bag. I held it out to him, my chin raised in absolute arrogance. “Carter, running deliveries all day probably barely pays the rent, right?” “Why don’t you work for me? I’ll pay you ten thousand dollars a month. What do you say?” 4 Carter didn’t say a word. He just stared at my manicured fingers holding the card. Just as my arm was starting to ache, he lowered his head and gave a response so soft I almost missed it. “Okay.” Seeing him look so defeated, so fragile—like a broken piece of glass—made my own heart crack a little. Ten thousand! That was ten thousand dollars a month! I only wanted to insult him! Why did he agree?! Wasn’t he supposed to slap the card away, quote some alpha-male movie line about earning his way back to the top, and storm off?! God knows what I sacrificed to hit a million-dollar salary. And that was before taxes. After the IRS, 401k, and insurance took their cut, I was taking home maybe fifty thousand a month. Giving him ten grand was a massive hit! My fingers were trembling slightly. Carter tried to slide the card from my grip, failing three times because I was holding on so tight. “Chloe, do you actually not have the money?” He looked amused, the corners of his perfectly sculpted lips curling into a mocking smirk. I really wanted to admit I was just trying to flex. But my ego absolutely refused. I let go of the card and tossed my hair over my shoulder. “Do a good job. If you serve me well, I’ll double your salary.” Carter walked away with my card, wearing the most complicated expression I had ever seen. He didn’t just take my card. He took my peace of mind. I made a vow. No matter how well he performed, I was going to find a flaw. In exactly one month, I would fire him for “poor service.” That way, I only lose ten grand. Yeah, that’s manageable. Not too bad. 5 “Where is he?!” “Where are you hiding him?!” My best friend, Zoe, burst into my apartment wearing fuzzy pajama pants, her hair a bird’s nest, and a sheet mask still plastered to her face. I put my phone down and rolled my eyes. “You got here fast.” I had literally texted her about Carter five minutes ago. She lived across town. It was a twenty-minute drive with zero traffic. “Stop stalling, where’s the eye candy?!” “He left. He’s moving in tomorrow night.” Zoe hopped over to me like an overcaffeinated bunny and wiggled her eyebrows. “So, how are you going to humiliate him? Handcuffs? Whips? Blindfolds?” “Maybe a French maid outfit for men?” A male maid outfit? What did that even look like? Just a tiny apron over an eight-pack of abs? Picturing Carter’s normally cold, untouchable face while wearing nothing but a frilly apron made my entire body flush. A sudden, familiar cramp hit my lower stomach. I shoved Zoe’s masked face away and sprinted for the bathroom. A long moment later, I groaned from behind the door. “Zoe… I got my period.” “I don’t think I have any tampons left, can you run to the drugstore?” Zoe poked her head into the doorway, her eyes wide with awe. “Oh my god.” “If I recall correctly, your stress was so bad you haven’t had a period in two months, right?” “The doctors couldn’t fix your hormones, but one look at Carter Hayes and the dam breaks?! Wild!” I grabbed a roll of toilet paper and lobbed it at her head. “Get out!” 6 The doorbell woke me up at the crack of dawn. I stood at the door in my oversized t-shirt, staring dumbfounded at a row of massive luxury suitcases. Carter raised an eyebrow and flashed me a dazzling smile. “Good morning, sugar mama.” I grabbed his wrist, staring in horror at the incredibly expensive Patek Philippe on his arm. “It’s six in the morning, dude!” “This watch is a fake, a really good replica—” We spoke at the exact same time. Carter pulled his wrist back, smoothly took off the watch, and stuffed it into his pocket. “Didn’t you say my salary would double if I performed well? I’m just showing initiative.” Despicable! Using my own words against me! Carter pushed his luggage inside and casually strolled straight into my master bedroom. When I realized he was about to start hanging his clothes in my closet, I lunged forward. “What do you think you’re doing?” He blinked at me, the picture of innocence. “Didn’t you say I was supposed to serve you?” “If we don’t sleep in the same bed, how am I supposed to serve you?” He leaned down and whispered those last few words right in my ear, his voice dropping an octave into a gravelly purr. “Y-You—” My face burned. I couldn’t believe how low he had sunk. To make a quick buck, he was actually trying to seduce me! Life must have been incredibly hard on him these past few years. The untouchable prince finally learned the value of a dollar. “Your room is down the hall. I prefer sleeping alone.” Carter grabbed his suitcases and walked away, his broad back looking distinctly disappointed. Disappointed? I’m definitely overthinking this. 7 Carter was very self-aware. He unpacked his things and immediately went to the kitchen to make breakfast. Leaning against the doorframe, watching his broad shoulders move around the kitchen, four words popped into my head: Peace and quiet. For years, I had been married to my job, working insane overtime hours. Whenever I came home, the apartment always felt cold and sterile. Sometimes, when I was dead on my feet, I’d fantasize about coming home to someone having a hot meal waiting for me. I didn’t expect to achieve that dream so quickly. Even if the price tag was a bit steep. Thinking about that $10,000 monthly retainer made my heart bleed. I made up my mind: No matter how good the food was, I was going to tell him it tasted like garbage! “Stop staring at me and go wash your face.” Carter stepped out of the kitchen and nudged me toward the bathroom. “Wait, I think I smell something burning.” He grabbed my chin, gently turning my head forward, his expression deadpan. “That’s just your imagination.” It was definitely my imagination. When I came out dressed for work, I stared in shock at the absolute feast spread across my dining table. Perfectly poached eggs benedict, thick-cut bacon, fluffy buttermilk pancakes, avocado toast with microgreens, fresh fruit parfaits, and steaming artisan coffee. A five-star hotel buffet couldn’t compete with this. “Y-You made all this?” He nodded, pulling out a chair for me like a gentleman. “Taste it.” I took a bite of the eggs benedict. The hollandaise was incredibly rich, the egg yolk perfectly runny, and the English muffin toasted to a crisp perfection. One word: Divine! “It’s alright. A bit basic, but it’s edible.” 8 The light in Carter’s eyes died. He lowered his gaze, looking genuinely hurt, his voice soft. “Really? I guess I need to work harder.” I aggressively shoved a pancake into my mouth so I wouldn’t accidentally blurt out a compliment to comfort him. Ten thousand dollars! Hold the line, Chloe! Usually, my appetite was nonexistent during this time of the month. But the food was so good I ate until I was stuffed, patting my stomach happily as I grabbed my purse for work. Before I left, I made sure to order him to deep-clean the apartment. This is what happens when you grow up poor. You starve yourself before a buffet to get your money’s worth. If I was paying for a kept man, he was going to be my chef, maid, driver, bodyguard, and eye candy combined. Every penny had to be maximized! Carter nodded obediently, walking me to the door like he didn’t want me to leave. “Come home early, Chloe. I’ll be waiting for you.” He sounded like a devoted 1950s housewife. I practically skipped to the elevator, feeling energized for the workday. Just as the doors opened, I patted my pocket and realized I left my phone on the counter. I hurried back, pushed the front door open, and heard Carter on a phone call. “I’m too busy. Don’t bother me with a tiny fifty-million-dollar project.” He opened the door wider as he spoke, catching me mid-snoop, my ear practically pressed against the air. We locked eyes. The silence was deafening. To break the awkwardness, I decided to go on the offensive. “Ooooh, a tiny fifty-million-dollar project! Big shot!” Carter slowly lowered his phone, looking at me with an expression that screamed ‘I don’t even know where to begin.’ I snatched my phone off the entryway table and waved at him. “Off to work! Bye, Mr. Fifty Million!” I guess when rich people go broke, they cope by playing pretend. Zoe and I used to play the same game when we were broke college kids. Thinking about Carter’s flustered face put me in an amazing mood.

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My novel about a secret high school crush went totally viral, and the film rights were snapped up almost immediately. Then, Cole Sterling—an Oscar-winning actor who had stepped away from Hollywood for years—suddenly dropped a bombshell on Twitter, announcing he was taking the male lead. The internet exploded. Netizens quickly dug up the fact that Cole had a “one that got away” back in high school. And the rising “It girl” cast as the female lead? She just so happened to graduate from Westbridge High, too. Overnight, the shippers lost their minds. The whole internet was waiting for this “second-chance romance” novel to bleed into reality. At the press conference, a reporter deliberately asked: “Mr. Sterling, if you had to choose a word to describe our leading lady, what would it be? An angel? A muse?” Cole suddenly raised his eyes, looked directly at me standing in the wings, and said coldly: “A liar.” “Excuse me?” The reporter froze. Cole calmly looked away. “I said, she’s a liar.” 1 The table read. “In the original book, the two leads clearly love each other. Why did they have a tragic ending?” someone whispered at the table. Cole’s fingertips traced heavily over the script page. He spoke coldly. “I’m quite curious about that myself.” I looked up in shock, then quickly lowered my head. Cole didn’t push the question. His gaze returned to the script. I shifted further into the corner, clutching my phone, trying to make myself invisible. Twitter was melting down. Under the trending hashtags #ColeSterlingReturns and #SecondChanceCast, a blurry high school yearbook photo was being reposted thousands of times. In the photo, a seventeen-year-old Cole was ignoring the camera, his intense gaze fixed on a specific spot off-screen. And in that blurry, out-of-focus corner of the frame was the slender back of a teenage girl. “This is definitely not a coincidence! Cole and Sierra Fontaine both went to Westbridge High!” “I remember Sierra had short hair in high school! That girl has to be her.” “Fiction becoming reality! I’m screaming, I ship them so hard.” The assistant director sitting next to me nudged my elbow, winking like a gossip. “Are you shipping them too?” “No, I just happened to see it on my timeline…” “Wait, I just remembered you went to Westbridge High too! Tell me, did the A-lister really have a crush on a girl back then?” I quietly locked my phone screen and looked up. “Cole and I… we weren’t close.” Right at that moment, the director called cut. Cole lifted his heavy eyelids. Across the crowded room, his eyes locked onto mine. The director hesitated. “Cole, your energy is a bit off here. This is their big reunion scene. The way you look at the female lead should be a mix of love and burning resentment… Harper, wouldn’t you agree?” I hurriedly looked away and cleared my throat. “Yes.” “Harper, as the screenwriter, I feel the emotional beat here is wrong,” Cole smirked, but his eyes were pure ice. “Why don’t you teach me?” Everyone’s eyes slammed into me. The director chimed in: “Sierra’s flight was delayed, she’s not here yet. Harper, why don’t you stand in and run the lines with him?” “I don’t think that’s appropriate. I don’t know how to act.” I waved my hands, forcing an awkward smile. Cole spoke flatly, “I have an interview tonight. I’m on a tight schedule.” Eager to please him, the director shoved my shoulder, urging me up with his eyes. I was forced to stand. Cole instantly closed the distance between us. The script clearly said the male lead grabs the female lead’s wrist. Instead, his hand clamped around the back of my neck. He pulled me in, whispering harshly against my ear: “When you dumped me, you didn’t have this pathetic look on your face, did you?” “If I recall correctly, you were smiling.” My breath hitched. The script slipped from my hands, hitting the floor with a smack. Maybe the AC was turned too low, but I felt my entire body trembling. “Why did you leave back then?” He pulled back slightly, his dialogue completely deviating from the script. “Answer me!” Cole pinned me against the wall, his hands slamming on either side of my head. His knuckles were white from the force. His chest was heaving as if a fire was burning through his ribs. My heart stuttered. My eyelashes fluttered wildly. “I’m sorry…” Cole’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He forcibly swallowed the emotions that were threatening to tear his chest apart. “I’m only going to ask you one thing.” “Did you ever actually love me?” he gritted out, his eyes rimmed red. The room held its breath. The director yelled from the monitors: “Yes! That’s the energy! Hold onto that, Cole!” I opened my mouth, my throat bone-dry. “I…” The red light on the camera suddenly flipped on. The heavy doors swung open, and Sierra Fontaine walked in with her entourage. The courage I had just mustered to speak was instantly shattered. “I am so sorry I’m late!” Sierra chimed. “I bought artisanal lattes for everyone to make up for it!” The director pulled off his headphones. “Alright, we’ll stop there for now. That take was absolutely perfect!” The crew cheered and swarmed the new arrivals. I was still frozen against the wall, my chest hollow. Cole suddenly chuckled. His thumb casually brushed against the small red birthmark on the side of my neck. Back in high school, he always joked that even in our next life, he would be able to find me by this exact mark. Now, his warm breath fanned across that very spot. “Screenwriter Harper.” “Acting like that feels much more real, doesn’t it?” I snapped back to reality and sluggishly took a half-step back. “You? You look so familiar.” Sierra’s gaze stopped the moment it swept over me. “Have we met before?” I stared back at her. “A long time ago. Yes.” “Oh, I’m so sorry, I must have forgotten.” Sierra shrugged, not caring in the slightest. “Want a latte? It’s hot.” She casually grabbed a cup and handed it to me. I instinctively flinched, pulling my neck back. My face went chalk-white. “Are you feeling okay?” she asked. “I’m fine. Just been standing too long.” “Make sure you get some rest! If you need any meds, just ask my assistant. My trailer is fully stocked.” She turned her back to me, pulled a separate insulated bag from her assistant, and walked toward Cole with a bright smile. “Your coffee. The usual. Cold brew, no ice.” Just a few words, but it practically screamed intimacy. “Thanks.” As Cole stepped back to take it, I caught sight of the diamond ring on Sierra’s ring finger. It was the exact same design as the one the paparazzi had caught Cole buying at a luxury jeweler just days ago. The assistant director leaned over to me, letting out a suppressed squeal and shaking my shoulders. “That coffee shop is all the way downtown! The line takes two hours minimum. O-M-G. Her flight was delayed and she still went out of her way to get him his specific drink!” “Harper! I knew my ship was real.” “Tell me the truth, are they the inspiration for your novel? At the press con, he already admitted he’s the male lead. Stop keeping us in suspense!” I lowered my eyes and said softly, “If I told you the female lead was actually based on me, would you believe it?” The AD let out a loud “Ha!” “Harper, I didn’t know you were one of his delusional fangirls!” “No wonder you don’t ship them.” I watched their matching silhouettes under the studio spotlights, suddenly grateful I hadn’t blurted out the truth in the heat of the moment. The gap between us was too vast. Even the truth sounded like a pathetic joke. “Well, at least you got to meet your crush. Oh, right, what did Cole mean at the press conference when he called you a liar? Was that just a PR stunt to build hype?” I took a deep breath, trying to hide the tremor in my voice. “He… wasn’t lying.” Ten years ago, I really was the one who lied to him first. 2 Sierra had to reshoot a drowning scene. “A stunt double?” The director frowned. “This is the climax where the female lead gets bullied. We need your face…” Sierra’s manager immediately changed her tune. “Director, Sierra is getting her period soon. Putting her in freezing water for the next two days will be agonizing for her.” “But we didn’t prep a water stunt double. Finding one now will put us behind schedule.” Sierra tugged on her assistant’s hand and turned to the director. “Director, my manager is just worried about me, please forgive her tone.” “How about this? I’ll suck it up and do the close-ups in the water.” Sierra looked me up and down. “For the wide shots of the actual drowning, let the screenwriter stand in for me. She’s the only one here with a similar build.” Her manager chimed in coldly. “Director, Cole only signed onto this project for Sierra. If she gets sick, can you take responsibility?” Classic good cop, bad cop. The director looked torn. “I still need to ask Harper if she’s comfortable with it.” Sierra smiled sweetly at me. “Please, Harper? Pretty please?” “I heard you helped run lines with Cole the other day. Why won’t you help me? Aww, are you trying to isolate me?” “I’m sorry, I’m not a trained professional. Going on camera isn’t appropriate.” “It’s fine, it’s just a wide shot. I’ll teach you!” Sierra stood up from her director’s chair. She approached me with a beaming smile—and suddenly shoved me hard in the chest. Caught completely off guard, I lost my balance and plunged backward into the pool. The deep autumn water felt like a million icy needles. The moment I went under, the memory overlapped with that day I was seventeen, being violently shoved into the deep end of the high school pool. Blind panic swallowed me whole. I thrashed wildly, but my limbs felt bound by invisible ropes, heavy and useless. Water rushed in from everywhere, filling my nose, ears, and throat. Sierra’s delighted laughter grew muffled and distorted. The director realized something was wrong and signaled the lifeguard, but Sierra stopped him. “Wow, she’s such a good actress!” “It looks so real!” The world blurred. The light cutting through the surface of the water shattered like broken glass across my vision. Right as I was on the brink of suffocating… Sierra grabbed a fistful of my hair and hauled my head above the surface. She leaned in close to my ear and smiled. “Don’t think I don’t know what you cheap sluts are plotting.” “Stay away from Cole.” “Or next time, I’ll actually kill you.” My lungs burned like they were on fire. I coughed violently, unable to string a single word together. “Harper, are you okay?” Sierra shoved my head back under the water, giggling. “Director, don’t yell cut! You’ll ruin her performance. Let’s get one more take for safety!” I sucked in a desperate breath, grabbed her wrists with both hands, and yanked her down into the pool with me. “Help—” Sierra tried to scream, but only spat out a string of bubbles. “Quick, the life preserver!” “Sierra can’t swim!” “Somebody help! Sierra’s drowning!” The crew on the deck erupted into chaos. I locked my arms around Sierra and refused to let go. Over the frantic footsteps, I heard a crew member’s shocked voice: “Why is Mr. Sterling back from his press tour early?” “Wait, Cole, you can’t jump in!” Sierra kicked me hard. “Cole, I’m over here—!” The heel of her designer boot dug into my stomach. A piercing pain shot through me. I sank deeper, my consciousness slipping away into the dark. 3 The sharp smell of antiseptic invaded my nose. When I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was the champagne-gold curtains of Cole’s private trailer. “You’re awake?” He immediately reached out to check my forehead. “Your fever hasn’t broken. I’ll have the set medic come back.” “Don’t bother.” I tried to sit up, only to realize his other hand was pinning down my right wrist—the one with the IV drip. Right over the faded, circular burn scar left by Sierra putting out a cigarette on my skin years ago. “The doctor said you have old injuries all over your body. Not just this one.” He suddenly spoke. “What exactly happened back then?” My breathing stopped. My memory rewound to that suffocating, humid afternoon. Curled up inside a metal locker in the girls’ changing room, counting the slivers of light coming through the vents, listening to Sierra and her squad discuss how they were going to “teach me a lesson” in the deep end of the pool. Cole’s crucial Juilliard audition was in two days. Because of that, I chose to hide my soaked, ruined uniform at the very bottom of my backpack and say nothing. “You’re overthinking it.” I heard my own voice trembling. The air in the trailer instantly froze. Cole aggressively grabbed my chin, his grip so tight it felt like he might shatter the bone. A dark storm raged in his eyes. The calm, refined facade he wore for the public completely shattered. “Harper Ellis, what the hell do you take me for?” I looked at the shiny new ring impression on his ring finger and suddenly let out a laugh. I laughed so hard the salty taste of tears slid into the corner of my mouth. “In what capacity are you interrogating me right now, Mr. Sterling? My ex-boyfriend? Someone else’s fiancé? Or an A-list actor handing out charity?” His pupils contracted sharply. “What the hell are you talking about?” The moment he let go of my chin, the trailer door burst open. “Cole!” Sierra rushed in, wrapped in a plush blanket, pathetic, beautiful tears hanging from her lashes. “I thought I was never going to see you again…” The diamond ring on her finger caught the light, stinging my retinas. “Why did the screenwriter drag me into the water?” She exposed the purpling bruises on her pale arms. “Did I do something wrong? Did I make her mad?” “Security footage,” I interrupted her sobbing. “The set has 24-hour surveillance.” Sierra’s crying abruptly stopped. She stared at me for a few seconds, then grabbed a fruit knife from the counter, held it to her wrist, and looked at Cole with tear-soaked eyes. “The camera in that area has been broken for days. Harper knew that, which is why she dared to attack me.” “Cole, if you’re going to believe her lies, I’ll kill myself right now to prove my innocence!” “Enough.” Cole snatched the knife from her, his voice low and dangerous. He turned his back to her and looked at me. “Starting tomorrow, you’re off the crew.” A ringing sound exploded in my ears. I gripped the bedsheets, my nails digging into my palms. “On what grounds?” “This is my project.” “On the grounds that I am the lead investor.” He turned his back to me, his voice freezing cold. “Your full compensation will be wired to your account. Not a penny less.” Sierra raised an eyebrow at me and mouthed silently: You lose. My heart seized. I stumbled out of the bed. The medical ID bracelet on my wrist caught the edge of a photo frame on the nightstand, sending it crashing to the floor. Amidst the sound of shattering glass, I saw the 17-year-old Cole in the yearbook photo, staring at a specific spot. And the blurry girl in the corner wasn’t Sierra at all. It was me. My back, intentionally cropped out of the frame. He really did hate me. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have purposely signed onto my project just to kick me off and humiliate me. I rubbed my eyes and said softly, “I understand.” “Wait.” Sierra suddenly blocked my path. She leaned in close, her breath carrying a sickly, serpentine sweetness. “Harper.” “I remember now. You’re that pathetic little loser who used to hide and cry in the locker rooms.” The blood in my veins turned to ice. After all this time, I was still terrified of her proximity. The sick joke was that she had just remembered. The depth of memory is always inversely proportional. The abuser brushes it off like dust, while the victim has it carved into their bones. She stroked her diamond ring like a trophy. “The way you’re getting kicked off this set right now looks exactly like how you used to run away clutching your backpack.” She smiled radiantly. “Only this time, you can’t just transfer schools.” “Sierra.” I heard my own voice, completely numb. “Do you know how long it takes for a person to bleed out from a severed carotid artery?” She froze. “Three minutes.” I picked up a large, jagged shard of glass from the broken frame on the floor. “Want to find out?” Sierra stumbled backward in terror. Cole stared at me intensely. “Harper, calm down.” The glass dug into my palm. The sharp pain kept me lucid. Warm blood slid down my wrist, dripping onto the floor. I took a half-step back, letting the blood fall. “Don’t panic.” I looked up at Cole, forcing a twisted smile. I had already made up my mind to accept reality, so why did my heart still hurt so damn much? “I’m just scaring her.” I stepped around them and walked toward the door. At the threshold, I turned back to look at Sierra. “But next time, who knows.” 4 As I walked down the stairwell, I heard muffled, suppressed sobbing. I hesitated for a moment, then walked over. A small, petite girl was crying while applying ointment to dark bruises on her arms. Her eyes and nose were completely red. I recognized her. It was Mia, Sierra’s young assistant. My eyelashes fluttered. I softened my voice. “Do you need help?” She jumped, instinctively hiding her arms behind her back. I sighed and held my hand out to her. “Rubbing it like that will just make it hurt more.” “Let me.” She hesitated for a long time before speaking timidly. “Thank you, Ms. Ellis.” I took the cotton swab. “I used a really good scar-removal cream a while ago. I’ll text you the link later.” “Um…” she stammered. “Did you… accidentally hurt yourself before too?” “Are you sure you did this to yourself by accident?” I asked. “Yes, I was just clumsy.” I smiled and didn’t call her out on the lie. “Well, I wasn’t clumsy. I was bullied.” “What?” She looked shocked, her eyes filling with empathy. “Do you know the fastest way to heal?” I asked. I tilted my head, gently took her hand, and softly blew cool air over her bruised skin. The tips of her ears turned pink. “What is it?” I winked at her. “Hit them back.” Her tightly knit brows relaxed, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “Thank you, Harper.” I patted the top of her head. “By the way, my writing studio is currently short-staffed.” “I remember you graduated with a degree in literature, right? Do you want to come work for me starting tomorrow?” “But Ms. Fontaine…” “I can have a word with the director.” Her eyes instantly lit up. “I’d love to!” “See you tomorrow, then.” “See you tomorrow, Harper.”

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When I was seventeen, I had a secret crush. My family was dirt poor. To buy him a birthday present, I saved up for an entire year. On the day my mom had her medical emergency, I left school early. That was when I overheard him laughing with his friends. “This piece of junk? You get better prizes in a cereal box.” His friend laughed loudly. “If you don’t want it, Cole, toss it to me. I could pawn it for a few bucks to pay for my gaming subscriptions.” “If you want it, take it.” Cole tossed it to him in disgust, and right then, his eyes met mine. Years later, at our high school reunion, I heard that Cole Davis had been looking for me for eight years. 1 When my eyes met Cole’s, his expression froze. The guy holding the watch scratched his head awkwardly. “Uh… do you want this back?” I looked at the watch in his hand. It was battered and scuffed, clearly tossed around without a second thought. It wasn’t a luxury watch. It cost almost two hundred dollars, but it took me nearly a year to save up for it. I saved it dollar by dollar, skipping my school lunches. My gaze dropped to Cole’s wrist. He was wearing a watch today. I didn’t recognize the brand, but I could tell it was worth infinitely more than the one I had given him. I silently took the watch from his friend’s hand, looked at Cole, and said slowly, “I’m sorry. I’ll take care of it myself.” Cole lowered his eyes. His lips pressed into a tight line, but he didn’t say a word. I rubbed the watch in my hands, feeling utterly humiliated, and turned to walk away. When I passed the first trash can outside the venue, I hardened my heart and threw the watch straight into the garbage. I turned my head and gave him one last look. He had lazily lifted his eyelids. A smirk played on his lips, and his eyes were full of mockery. I froze, then lowered my gaze. It was so humiliating. My secret crush. I didn’t know it then, but that single look from Cole would become my nightmare for years. 2 When I got home, my dad was sitting on the porch, a cheap cigarette hanging from his lips, his face etched with sorrow. My mom wasn’t there. He handed me a medical report. It said my mom had breast cancer. My dad took a deep drag of his cigarette. “The treatments will cost over a hundred thousand dollars. Your mom and I talked it over… we’re not going to do it.” “Your mom said she wanted some of my homemade barbecue ribs. Go to the store and buy some. I’m going to pick her up from the clinic.” I didn’t believe it. I flipped the report back and forth, my voice trembling. “Is it an official diagnosis? They make mistakes all the time! I’ll take her to a better hospital tomorrow. It has to be a misdiagnosis…” I stared at my dad stubbornly. My dad’s eyes were bloodshot. He just looked at me, silent. In that instant, my tears fell. I couldn’t stop them. Finally, I cried, “I’ll drop out of school. Let’s use my college fund for her treatment.” My dad kept his head down. I knew his heartbreak was no less than mine. My dad had a disabled right leg. Back in the day, my mom was the only one willing to be with him. She never looked down on him; she always encouraged him. Even though we were poor, my parents were deeply in love. In middle school, all my classmates started talking about their role models and beliefs. I asked my dad, “Dad, what do you believe in?” My dad didn’t really get the concept, so I tried to explain it to him. He scratched his head sheepishly and said, “I just believe in your mom.” Later on… I found my own belief, too. I wanted to grow up, make money, and take my parents to see the world. But now, my dad’s belief was collapsing. And so was mine. I grabbed my dad’s hand and rambled, “I’m not going back to school. I’ll work full-time. We’ll go to Boston to get Mom the best doctors.” My dad kept smoking. He didn’t say a word. But my mind was made up. I told my dad to go bring my mom home. Then I would pack our bags for Boston. I turned around and headed back toward the school. 3 Halfway there, it started to pour. Pedestrians rushed by, hurrying to escape the storm. Only then did I dare to cry. The rain and my tears mixed together. By the time I reached the school, the grounds were deserted. I reached my hands into the filthy trash can. The pungent, rotting smell kept hitting my nose. I dug through it over and over, but the watch I had thrown away wasn’t there. I bit my lip, wanting to slap myself for throwing it away in the first place. I could have pawned it for at least fifty bucks! I searched for hours. I dug through every single piece of trash in that bin, but the watch was gone. I walked home, completely empty inside. The streets were entirely abandoned by now. The rain was so heavy it physically hurt as it lashed against my skin. When I got back to our small house, my dad still wasn’t back. The home that used to be so warm now only felt freezing cold. I waited and waited… Finally, a neighbor rushed in, breathless and panicking. “Lily! Your mom and dad… they jumped off the bridge!” That year, I was a high school senior. I lost both my parents and became an orphan. 4 Eight years have passed, but I still can’t forget what happened that day. I sat up in bed and checked my phone. It was only 4:00 AM. I looked into the empty room and whispered, “Dad… Mom…” Just like always, there was no response. I lowered my head. For eight years… They haven’t visited me in my dreams once. In my dreams, there is only Cole Davis. With that smirk on his lips and mockery in his eyes, laughing and asking: “Have you no shame, Lily?” Every time I shouted back that I did, I would wake up. I couldn’t fall back asleep, so I just got up and started packing. After numbly arranging my parents’ funeral back then, I left that town. I moved to a new city, working part-time jobs while taking night classes. Juggling work and school was incredibly bitter. But I didn’t dare stop. The moment I stopped moving, I would start crying. I went to a doctor. They diagnosed me with clinical depression. They said I needed someone to pull me out of the shadows of that day. But there was no one like that in my life… After being away for eight years, I recently started feeling a strong urge to go back. I wanted to see the river my parents jumped into. I wanted to jump in myself, just to ask them why they were so cruel to leave me behind. I was so tired… Since I was going back anyway, I figured I shouldn’t avoid my old classmates anymore. So, when Liam, our old class president, asked in the group chat who was going to the reunion, I was the first to say yes. I hadn’t sent a single message in that group for eight years. I had deleted all their contacts, too. Including Cole’s. 5 I bought a ticket for the earliest Amtrak train. I felt incredibly relaxed. For the first time in eight years, I felt light. I watched the beautiful scenery outside the window and smiled as I chatted with the young couple sitting across the aisle. The girl said, “You have no idea how hard it was to get him to date me! All the girls liked him, but I held on for two years. Now I’m finally taking him to meet my parents!” “You look so happy, are you heading home too? I swear, the air just smells sweeter when you’re on your way to see your family.” I fell silent for a moment, then forced a smile. “Yeah. I’m going home, too.” “Going home… to see my parents.” I muttered the last part so softly that only I could hear it. But the thought brought me comfort. Soon… I would see them again. I hummed a song for the rest of the ride. When I got off the train, I headed straight to the restaurant Liam had booked. 6 Most people had already arrived by the time I walked in. The moment I stepped through the door, the room fell dead silent. I walked over and took the seat closest to the exit. I dropped the smile from my face. Liam pushed his glasses up his nose, breaking the silence. “Lily? You actually made it.” I nodded. Chloe Taylor, a girl who always hated my guts, let out a sarcastic click of her tongue. “Well, if it isn’t our elusive little Valedictorian. Seeing your face just makes me lose my appetite. Somebody ought to text Cole and tell him to skip tonight…” No one knew the real reason I dropped out of school back then. But everyone knew I had a crush on Cole, and they all knew about the gift I gave him. The girl sitting next to Chloe tugged her sleeve, trying to quiet her. Liam frowned. “Just drop it, Chloe. Cole has been looking for Lily for eight years. If we tell him she’s here, he’ll be thrilled.” Chloe snorted a laugh. “Cole is just a nice guy. Since when is it a crime to not like someone back?” “He’s probably been looking for her for eight years just to apologize.” “Is it a crime to reject someone? Everyone knows Lily transferred because she embarrassed herself over him. You’re making it sound like Cole was in love with her.” “Doesn’t Cole already have a girl anyway? I heard she’s a gorgeous heiress. Aside from a pretty face, what did Lily ever have to offer? A crippled dad? A house made of rotting wood?” “Give me a break…” As Chloe’s words grew more vicious, the rest of the table frowned in discomfort. I stood up. My expression was perfectly calm. “I’m not eating. You don’t have to worry about losing your appetite. I just came to see everyone’s faces one last time. Now that I have, I’ll be going.” With that, I pulled the door open and walked out. Liam chased after me. He grabbed my wrist, looking deadly serious. “Lily, Cole really has been looking for you for eight years. Won’t you wait for him?” Cole’s face flashed in my mind. He was so handsome. His eyes were stunning. But when he looked at me, those eyes held absolutely no affection. Only a mocking smirk. I shook my head and smiled. “I’m on a tight schedule. If you see him, tell him I’m sorry. Tell him… I’m really sorry.” Liam froze in his tracks.

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After I became paralyzed from the waist down, I thought about ending it all. Many times. Until my friends showed up. “Harper, come out and shoot some hoops.” I stared at them blankly, looking down at my wheelchair. I pointed out that playing basketball was going to be a bit difficult for me right now. They had a stroke of genius: “Then you can fetch the ball for us.” When we went shopping, they bought new clothes and boba tea. Whenever their hands got full, they just dumped everything onto my lap. I rolled behind them, my numb legs buried under a mountain of girls’ accessories and shopping bags. Every now and then, they would turn around and spoon-feed me a bite of ice cream. They would run laps around my wheelchair, laughing and shoving each other. In that moment. I found a reason to stay alive. 1 The summer I turned sixteen. I became paralyzed. But, they would say: “Harper, you’ve got this.” “Harper, let’s go out.” “Harper, you’d look so good in a dress. Hold on, we’re putting one on you.” “Harper, let me sit in your wheelchair for a sec, my feet are killing me.” “Harper, want to run a marathon with us? We’ll give you a three-minute head start.” “Harper, we’re best friends for life.” …… Early morning. I had been sitting out on the balcony all night again. My mom pushed the door open. First, she sighed. Then she started making my bed. As she straightened the sheets, she couldn’t help but sob softly. Irritated, I snapped at her: “If you’re going to cry, go cry outside.” The second the words left my mouth, I regretted them. But before I could apologize, a half-eaten apple was thrown into the living room from the hallway. Followed by a furious roar. “That is your mother.” “Watch how you speak to her!” “We didn’t cause your condition, so what gives you the right to take it out on us?” As my dad’s words echoed, the apple rolled across the floor and hit my foot. I couldn’t bend down to pick it up. I just watched it roll underneath my wheelchair. A million thoughts raced through my head. I hated myself for not even being able to do something so simple. My mom looked at me with wet eyes, then walked over. She practiced the motion: squatting, then dropping to her knees. She reached her arm under my wheelchair, feeling around blindly. Her face flushed red from the exertion. Finally, she retrieved the apple. She looked up at me with a goofy, exhausting smile. Her thin lips were pale and chapped. She looked unkempt. “Harper, Mom made some chicken noodle soup. Do you want to try a little?” I stayed stubbornly silent, looking away in disgust at her messy appearance. Before I got sick, she never looked like this. She used to wear beautiful dresses and pearl jewelry. She dressed more stylishly than I did; people used to mistake us for sisters. How did my illness end up ruining her life, too? I thought about the bony spine protruding from her back when she bent over to grab the apple. Her little tummy and double chin were completely gone. In just two years, she had withered into an emaciated, unkempt woman with half a head of gray hair. It wasn’t fair. I didn’t want to be the villain of this family. But I had no choice. I was the villain. Because of my recklessness, this family had been reduced to this. And yet, I refused to act my age. I always used violent, icy emotions to mask my deep-seated shame. I threw tantrums, blaming my mom, blaming my dad, blaming the car crash. But deep down, the person I hated most was myself. Perhaps sensing my quiet despair, my mom gently patted my head. I just kept my head down, and in a very, very small voice. I said, “I’m sorry.” 2 During dinner, the house phone suddenly rang. My mom put down her fork and ran to answer it. “Hello? Hi!” “You’re looking for Harper? Sure.” “Harper is home, come on over.” She walked back to the table, chewing on a piece of leftover toast from yesterday. “Harper, that was Chloe and Zoe. They said they’re downstairs and they want to take you out shopping.” My mom’s tone was incredibly cautious, as if terrified I would throw another tantrum. And of course, I did. I screamed at her: “Shopping? You want me, a paraplegic, to go shopping with them?” “You want me to sit there and watch them walk around in their pretty dresses with their perfectly working legs?” “Did you even consider how I would feel?” “Are you even my mother?” My mom’s face went sheet white. She looked at me in a panic and quickly crouched down to soothe me. “No, sweetheart, Mom didn’t mean it like that.” “They were your best friends. I just thought you’d want to see them.” “It’s okay, if you don’t want to see them, you don’t have to. Mom will go call them and tell them to go home.” I turned my face away, ignoring her. Suddenly, a heavy fist slammed onto the dining table. “Harper Davis!” “Are you ever going to stop?” “This entire family has quit jobs and fallen ill just to take care of you.” “We haven’t had a single good day.” “What? Are you the only person in the whole world who doesn’t have legs?” “Why is it that everyone else can find a way to move on, but you insist on wallowing in misery?” “It’s been two years. How long are you going to keep doing this?” “If you act like this, how can your mother ever rest easy… how can she…” He seemed to realize something, cutting his sentence short and falling silent. I continued to pretend I couldn’t hear him, biting down hard on the tip of my tongue to swallow the surge of anger. My mom was terrified. She rushed over and pried my jaw open with her bare hands. “Okay, okay, we won’t force you anymore.” “Be a good girl, Harper. If you don’t want to go out, we won’t go out.” “Whenever you feel ready, then we’ll take you…” Before she could finish, there was a knock on our front door. Followed by a chorus of long-lost, giggling voices. “Harper! Open the door, I really have to pee!” “Harper, we heard you were depressed, so the girls are here to cheer you up.” “Harper, we brought your favorite boba, but there’s only half left because haha, I drank the other half.” Hearing their voices, a completely indescribable feeling washed over me. It was complicated. But there was also a strange, undeniable spark of joy. 3 Chloe and Zoe were my absolute best friends from elementary through middle school. But after my parents and I moved out of state, we lost touch. They didn’t even know about the accident during my sophomore year of high school. According to my mom, they both ended up going to college in this city. They ran into my mom by chance and finally learned what had happened to me. So they immediately came to see me. I figured, let them look. This is what I am now anyway. This is what the rest of my life is going to be. I took a deep breath and spun my chair around. I braced myself for their pitiful, sympathetic, teary-eyed gazes. But surprisingly, none of that happened. Chloe said: “Harper, how is your skin so clear? You’re so pale.” Zoe said: “Oh my god, you’re so skinny! You’d look amazing in a dress.” I froze for a second. I looked at them. And then, for some inexplicable reason, I smiled. And I mocked myself. “Lock yourself in a house for two years and you’ll get pale and skinny, too.” But I felt a little happy. I don’t know why. They didn’t seem to look at me like a disabled person. It was just like the old days. They still wanted to compare everything with me. Comparing whose nose looked better. Comparing whose butt was perkier. Comparing who could catch the attention of the senior boys. At least they weren’t here to pity me. And I didn’t have to pretend everything was fine. I didn’t have to put on a brave face just to comfort them. 4 After eating, driven by pure curiosity. They fought over who got to push me downstairs. To the point where they almost flipped me out of the wheelchair. It wasn’t until I literally crashed into the elevator doors and got my head trapped between them. That they finally panicked. They hurriedly wrestled me back into the seat. They weren’t very strong, so they ended up grabbing my arms, chasing the rolling wheelchair all the way down the hallway. After a few minutes of chaos. The three of us just burst out laughing for no reason. It was, admittedly, a ridiculous scene. Once they safely secured me in the wheelchair, they stopped fighting over who got to push. Instead, they stood on either side of me, pulled out their compact mirrors, and seriously started fixing their hair and makeup. They didn’t forget to roll my pant legs back down for me, either. I was just about to ask what the occasion was. When I looked up and saw the older boy from next door. He walked toward us with a big smile, deep dimples on his cheeks. He was over six feet tall, spinning a basketball on his finger. He asked politely. “Harper, are you girls heading out?” I nodded. He smiled politely again. “I’m heading to the courts to shoot some hoops. If you guys are bored, you can come watch.” “We’re going shopping, maybe another time…” But before I could finish, I was aggressively interrupted. “No another time! Today is perfect!” “Which court are you playing at? We’ll bring you water!” …… And just like that. My lap was piled high with Gatorade. They pushed me along, treating me like a glorified grocery cart. Handing out water to everyone, flipping their hair, striking poses. Whenever they spotted a cute guy, they decided I was in the way. And shoved me to the sidelines. Telling me to go chill in the shade. When it was all over. I accidentally saw the keychains dangling from their backpacks. “Harper is my best friend.” 5 I am their best friend. My only friends are Chloe and Zoe. I don’t want to be friends with anyone else. 6 That night, they brought me home. They each demolished two massive slices of pizza and collapsed onto the sofa. “Harper, what’s your Wi-Fi password?” “Harper, get down, let me sit in your wheelchair for a bit.” “Harper, grab me an apple. Oh, and some chips, too.” “Harper, you’re blocking the TV. Move over.” …… I randomly grabbed an apple and threw it at them. Pretending to be annoyed, I said: “I’m going to bed. I’m exhausted.” As soon as I said that, my mom suddenly froze. A thick mist gathered in her eyes. She said. “Harper wants to go to sleep? Mom will carry you to bed.” Then, she emotionally pushed me toward my bedroom. I knew exactly why she was reacting this way. After all, before Chloe and Zoe showed up. It had been a very long time since I naturally wanted to go to sleep. I survived solely on sleeping pills. I nodded, letting her drag my senseless body. She wasn’t a strong woman, but she was always able to lift me up all by herself. I only found out later that my mom had secretly spent months practicing lifting heavy sandbags just to be able to carry me. But today was a little strange. She seemed to be struggling to lift me. Her forehead was beaded with sweat, and her breathing was heavier than usual. I asked: “Mom, what’s wrong?” She shook her head and said: “Nothing, Mom’s hands just slipped.” “Don’t worry, Harper, Mom can definitely pick you up.” Eventually, she managed to carry me to bed. But I also saw the profound heartbreak in the eyes of the man standing behind her. Honestly, a lot of times. I couldn’t tell if my dad loved me or not. But I knew he deeply loved my mom. Isn’t it natural for a husband to love his wife? If he loved me a little less. That was fine. I didn’t need that much love.

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Five-year-old Chloe stood on the coffee table in front of the whole family and proudly declared that she had been reincarnated. She pointed at me and said, “Two minutes from now, Mommy is going to hand me over to human traffickers, and they’re going to gouge my eyes out.” Everyone thought she was just talking nonsense. But two minutes later, my daughter vanished into thin air. When we finally found her, her eyes were nothing but a bloody, ruined mess. I held my little girl in my arms, rushing her to the hospital in an ambulance, but she whispered, “In a second, Mommy is going to fake a car crash to kill me for good, because she thinks I’m not her real daughter.” Sure enough, the very next second, a massive semi-truck plowed into our ambulance, flipping it over. After that, the entire family believed that my daughter truly was reincarnated and could predict the future. I desperately crawled out of the wreckage. I just wanted to save my daughter, but my husband grabbed me by the hair, furiously beat me to a pulp, and threw me to the side of the road, leaving me to bleed out. Chloe was saved. From her hospital bed, she told them, “Mommy was the other woman. she deliberately got pregnant with me just to steal Daddy away from Vivian. She never loved me.” My husband’s family was heartbroken for her. My husband immediately filed for divorce and kicked me out of the house. I was left homeless on the streets. Eventually, my wounds got heavily infected, and I died in a filthy alleyway by a dumpster. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the exact day my daughter claimed she had lived a past life. “I’ve been reincarnated. I can predict the future!” My five-year-old daughter’s childish voice rang in my ears. I opened my eyes and found her standing on the living room table, her hands proudly planted on her hips. The whole family was sitting around. They treated it as the innocent, imaginative babble of a toddler. No one took her seriously. But a severe chill ran down my spine. In my previous life, it was this exact sentence that led to my gruesome death on the side of the road. I instinctively touched my body where my wounds used to be. The phantom pain was still fresh in my memory. My mother-in-law, Brenda, played along. “Yes, yes, of course! Our little Chloe is a psychic. You’re going to do great things when you grow up.” But Brenda’s dismissive tone upset Chloe. She yelled at the top of her lungs. “I really am reincarnated! In my last life, Mommy was the one who killed me! She handed me over to human traffickers!” “They scooped my eyes out and made me blind!” Chloe glared at me angrily, as if every word were the absolute truth. Her outbursts finally annoyed my father-in-law, Arthur. “Hey, what kind of nonsense are you spouting? Have you been watching too many scary cartoons?” Hearing her grandpa scold her, Chloe looked incredibly wronged and threw herself into Brenda’s arms. “Grandma, I’m not lying! Mommy is a bad person! I don’t want to die!” Brenda glared at Arthur. “She’s just a kid with an active imagination, why are you being so mean to her?” Seeing Brenda coddle her like that, I couldn’t help but let out a cold, internal sneer. Active imagination. If I hadn’t literally died because of this kid’s mouth in my last life, I might have actually believed it. After scolding her husband, Brenda turned to look at me. “Evelyn, don’t just stand there staring. I think we’re out of milk in the fridge. Go down to the corner store and grab a gallon.” I nodded. My mind was already racing, trying to figure out how to deal with Chloe. I grabbed my purse and headed for the door. Right at that moment, Chloe looked at me in absolute terror. “Ah! Mommy is going outside to call the kidnappers! Don’t let Mommy take me away!” Chloe’s sudden, extreme reaction worried Brenda, who hugged her tighter. “Oh my goodness, what is wrong with this child today? Why does she keep saying these crazy things?” I stopped at the front door. I looked at my daughter curled up in her grandmother’s arms, then glanced at the clock on the wall. It was exactly one minute away from the time Chloe predicted I would hand her over to the traffickers. In my past life, because I was worried that Chloe was having some kind of panic attack, I didn’t go to the store. I asked Brenda to go instead. While Brenda was gone, Chloe told me her stomach hurt and she needed to use the bathroom. I took her to the downstairs half-bath. And then… she just vanished. To this day, the memory of her disappearing from a windowless room felt completely bizarre. It wasn’t until the kidnappers called demanding a ransom that we knew she had actually been abducted. The police even sent a forensics team to inspect the bathroom, but they couldn’t figure out how a five-year-old was transported miles away in under an hour. I hesitated for half a second. I closed the front door, pulled out my cell phone, and called my husband, Marcus. “Hey, when you get off work, remember to pick up a gallon of milk. Chloe is throwing a massive tantrum at home, I think she might be coming down with something.” Marcus’s impatient voice blared through the speaker. “Are you kidding me? I’m in the middle of a client meeting! What do you even do at home all day? Go buy it yourself!” He hung up on me. I didn’t get angry. I simply turned around and walked back into the living room. “Brenda, I think Chloe really is terrified of something. Let’s just stay in the living room with her for now.” “I’ll book an in-home child psychologist to come take a look at her later.” Brenda immediately frowned. “Isn’t that a bit of an overreaction? Kids are just mischievous sometimes.” “Mental health is just as important as physical health, Brenda. I’m her mother, it’s my job to worry.” I put on a highly convincing mask of maternal concern, walked over, and gently touched Chloe’s cheek. Then, I stood up and pushed open the door to the downstairs bathroom. “By the way, Brenda, I noticed some roaches scurrying around the baseboards in here. I just bought some industrial-strength bug bomb spray. I’m going to fumigate the bathroom right now. Nobody use this bathroom for the next three hours, okay? It’s highly toxic.” My little maneuver clearly threw a wrench in Chloe’s plans. Her expression instantly panicked. Let’s see how your ‘prophecy’ comes true now, I thought. The two-minute mark quickly passed. Chloe’s prediction of being handed to traffickers fell apart. The rest of the family still didn’t think much of it. But right on cue, Chloe suddenly yelled out. “No! I have to poop! I’m going to poop my pants!” Brenda immediately panicked. “Oh no, what do we do? Evelyn, can we use the bathroom yet?” I had noticed Chloe’s eyes darting around nervously for the past few minutes. She was clearly scheming. Looking at her, I calmly pulled out a plastic training potty I had grabbed from the garage. “Use this. The bathroom is strictly off-limits right now.” “I want to use the real toilet! I don’t want to use the plastic pot! If you don’t let me, I’ll poop in my pants!” My five-year-old daughter was actually trying to threaten me. I just sneered. “Then do it. The bathroom is toxic right now. If you ruin your clothes, I’ll just buy you new ones.” My response completely blindsided her. She started screaming, “Mommy is a bad guy! Grandma, call 911 and arrest Mommy, or else she’s going to kill me!” “Fine. Grandma can call the police right now. When the cops get here, I’ll just tell them you pooped your pants.” Seeing that I was completely unmoved, Chloe puffed out her cheeks, held her breath, and turned her face beet red in defiance. “Oh my god, Chloe, what are you doing?! Open your mouth!” Brenda was terrified the kid was going to suffocate herself and frantically pried Chloe’s mouth open. Watching her throw this massive tantrum, I felt absolutely no anxiety. I had always thought I raised her well. Whatever she asked for, as long as it was reasonable, I gave it to her. I tried with every fiber of my being to raise an honest, loving child. I couldn’t comprehend why she turned out this way. Seeing that I wasn’t backing down, Chloe actually forced herself to soil her pants right there in the living room. A foul stench filled the air. Brenda pinched her nose and scolded, “You little brat! You actually did it!” Brenda immediately got up to fetch a basin of warm water and some wipes from the upstairs closet to clean her up. I didn’t stop her. I calmly stood up and walked into the master bedroom to grab a fresh pair of pants for Chloe. However, when I stepped out of the bedroom with the clean clothes, I froze. Brenda was standing in the living room holding a basin of water, looking at me in absolute bewilderment. Chloe was gone. The living room was completely empty. Arthur had fallen asleep on the sofa at some point, and Chloe’s soiled pants were just lying on the floor. Brenda started to panic. We searched the entire house, inside and out, but Chloe was nowhere to be found. There was no sound of a door opening. No footsteps. A five-year-old child had vanished into thin air, again. “How is this possible?” I was even more frantic than Brenda. I knew exactly what was coming next. Is fate really impossible to change? I gritted my teeth, tearing the room apart looking for clues, but found absolutely nothing. Panic set in. I instinctively made the exact same choice I did in my past life: I dialed 911. While waiting for the police, I didn’t sit still. I ran through the entire neighborhood, scouring every street, but there was no sign of her. Refusing to give up, I begged the HOA security to let me check the neighborhood surveillance cameras, but there wasn’t a single frame of Chloe leaving the house. When the police arrived, everything played out almost exactly like my past life. They found no valuable leads, told us to be patient, and left to file the report. It wasn’t until I received the video on my phone—the horrifying video of my daughter’s eyes being mutilated—that despair truly set in. What was meant to happen, happened. The kidnappers called the house, demanding a one-million-dollar ransom. When Brenda saw the state Chloe was in, she cried until she had no tears left. Marcus rushed home from work. The second he saw the torture video, he backhanded me across the face so hard I tasted blood, screaming in pure rage. “I leave you at home to take care of our kid, and this is how you do it?!” “If anything happens to Chloe, I’ll make you pay with your life!” If the police hadn’t been in the room, I honestly think Marcus would have killed me right then and there. Later, when the police asked about any strange behavior before the disappearance, Arthur suddenly slapped his thigh as if he just remembered something. “Wait! I remember Chloe saying that her mother was going to hand her over to human traffickers, and that they were going to gouge her eyes out!” The prophecy came true. Brenda suddenly gasped, acting like she just had a revelation. “Yes! I was actually recording a video for my Facebook page right when she said it!” Brenda pulled out her phone and played a video she took earlier that day. In the background, Chloe was standing on the table, screaming the exact words that had dragged me into hell. I was dumbfounded. From start to finish, I never even noticed Brenda recording anything. Before I could fully process it, Marcus lunged at me like a madman, grabbing me by the collar. “That’s your own flesh and blood! How could you be so sick? Are you a monster?!” Before the cops could pull him off, he delivered a brutal kick directly to my chest. I collapsed onto the floor. The searing physical pain suddenly snapped my brain into sharp focus. Wait. Something isn’t right here. My mind raced at lightning speed. Looking at Marcus’s twisted, furious face, I suddenly had an epiphany. “You’re going to believe the random babble of a five-year-old?” I wheezed. “Your parents were both in the house with me! Why don’t you accuse them of doing it?” Seeing my piercing glare, Brenda looked slightly guilty. “She’s right, Marcus. Evelyn was in the living room with us the whole time. It couldn’t have been her.” “Then how do you explain this?!” Marcus looked like he wanted to kick me again. Finally, the lead detective intervened. “Enough! Finding the child is the priority. Stop fighting over a toddler’s words.” The officer’s warning forced Marcus to back down, but he continued to glare daggers at me. The police asked me to call the kidnappers back so they could trace the location. But a passing comment from Brenda made everything click in my head. “I don’t know where she learned to say those things… could she really be reincarnated?” I froze. If Chloe was really a rebirther who had lived a past life, and she had been confronting me this whole time… wouldn’t she have realized that I was acting differently too? Wouldn’t she realize I was also reincarnated? Someone was coaching my daughter to lie. “We don’t need to trace the call. I know exactly where they want to make the drop.” The detectives looked at me in confusion. To prevent Marcus from doing anything crazy, I pulled the lead detective into a separate room and gave him an exact address. The detective was skeptical at first. But ten minutes later, a text came through from the kidnappers. The address was identical to the one I had just given him. Though shocked, the police agreed to follow my lead to save the hostage. I told the detective to only deploy a small tactical team to the drop-off location for the arrest. Meanwhile, I begged him to heavily patrol the route between the drop-off site and the nearest trauma hospital, and to intercept any suspicious vehicles. “I can’t do that,” the detective frowned. “That’s tactically unsound. I have to prioritize the hostage at the primary location.” “But what if the people at the drop-off are just pawns? What if the real killers are waiting on the road to ambush the ambulance and finish the job?!” I was borderline hysterical. “I refuse to watch my family die!” The detective noticed how desperate I was. Eventually, he agreed to a compromise, stating they would have units on standby along the route, but would adjust dynamically if things went sideways. I had a very good reason for doing this. In my past life, after the police raided the drop-off site, they interrogated the “kidnappers”—only to find out they were just broke college kids looking for acting gigs. Someone had hired them online to “play a prank” for a hidden camera show. They had no idea it was a real kidnapping. I arrived at the drop-off with the duffel bag of cash. Just like in my previous life, the raid went perfectly. The college kids were arrested without a fight, and Chloe was rescued. Because her injuries were severe, she was immediately loaded into an ambulance. I rode in the back with her. She looked miserable, crying in pain. The wounds where her eyes used to be were already showing signs of severe infection. She was only five years old. She was my flesh and blood. Seeing her like this shattered my heart. This time, I didn’t wait for her to speak first. I leaned in and asked the burning question in my mind. “Chloe… tell Mommy the truth. Did Daddy tell you to do all this?” I never expected her reaction. The second the words left my mouth, she started screaming in sheer terror. “Ahhh! Mommy, don’t kill me! I’m sorry! I won’t ever say those things again!” But at the exact same moment she was screaming, she secretly pressed something hard into the palm of my hand. A smartwatch. CRASH! A deafening roar ripped through the air as a fully-loaded semi-truck slammed directly into the side of our ambulance without warning. Our vehicle flipped violently. In the end, what was meant to happen, happened anyway. I crawled out of the shattered side window of the ambulance, incredibly dizzy and fighting the urge to vomit. I saw Marcus, Brenda, and Arthur rushing out of trailing police cruisers, frantically running toward the wreckage. But when the paramedics pulled Chloe from the crushed metal… she was gone. She wasn’t breathing. Half of the ambulance had been flattened. One of the EMTs had also died on impact. Police officers dragged the truck driver out of his cab and pinned him to the asphalt. “My baby! My little girl!” Still dazed, Marcus’s agonizing wails pierced my ears. I turned my head and saw him clutching Chloe’s lifeless body, sobbing in absolute despair. That raw, visceral grief… it wasn’t fake. He was genuinely broken. “It was you! You killed my granddaughter! I heard her on the radio! She begged you not to kill her!” “Give me back my granddaughter! Give her back…” Brenda ran over, slapped me hard across the face, and then collapsed to the ground, sobbing uncontrollably. The sting of the slap grounded me. I looked over at the truck driver pinned to the ground. I had never seen his face before in my life. No. This is wrong. Why is my daughter dead? In the last timeline, she survived the crash. What changed? What did I miss? Before I could piece it together, Marcus suddenly pulled a pocket knife from his jacket and lunged at me. I couldn’t react in time. He stabbed me multiple times in the abdomen. His eyes were bloodshot. He looked like he wanted to eat me alive. “Why?! Why did you orchestrate her kidnapping?! Hasn’t she suffered enough beatings from you?!” “She’s just a little girl! Even if she found out your dirty secrets, why did you have to silence her?! You animal! You don’t deserve to be a mother! You don’t deserve…” Marcus kept screaming things that made absolutely no sense to me. I wanted to open my mouth to ask him what the hell he was talking about, but my body suddenly felt weightless. I collapsed. The police tackled Marcus to the ground. The crash site was absolute chaos. I had so many unanswered questions, but there was no one left to answer them. “Ms. Evelyn, I regret to inform you that your daughter has passed away. Furthermore, the police are currently investigating you as the primary suspect in her murder.” “Your husband, Marcus, asked me to deliver this to you.” A lawyer stood beside my hospital bed and handed me a stack of divorce papers. “Mr. Marcus has already signed it. He instructed me to tell you that he wants a clean break. He is leaving all joint assets and the house to you.” “However, he will be pressing civil and criminal charges against you for the murder of your biological daughter. We will notify you of the court dates.” With that, the lawyer turned on his heel and walked out. I stared at the divorce papers in my hands, gripping them until my knuckles turned white. “Why me?” I muttered to myself. Even though things played out slightly differently than my past life, the end result was the same. I didn’t understand what I had done wrong, or where the glitch in the timeline was. I had suspected Marcus, but looking at his raw grief and his willingness to walk away from all our money… he didn’t seem to have any motive to orchestrate this. Then why did my daughter turn into a monster who constantly claimed I was going to kill her? What kind of environment forces a five-year-old to do that? I thought about it for hours until I suddenly remembered the crazy things Marcus screamed while he was stabbing me. He definitely knows something I don’t. But in his current state, there was no way he would sit down and have a rational conversation with me. Suddenly, it hit me. The moment I was discharged from the hospital, I went straight to the police precinct. Because I was a person of interest, they were keeping close tabs on me anyway. I asked the detectives for permission to see my daughter’s body in the morgue. They allowed it, but with a strict time limit. When the coroner pulled back the sheet, I stared at the dark, mottled bruises covering her tiny body. I was completely paralyzed. The medical examiner told me those kinds of marks only appear in cases of extreme, prolonged physical abuse. “And those bruises are layered. New injuries over old ones. If you claim you didn’t do this to your daughter, then someone else in that house absolutely did.” The detectives also informed me that the truck driver who hit us had no clear motive for murder. The initial ruling was that he lost control of his brakes. Combined with the things my daughter yelled in the ambulance right before the crash, all the evidence pointed directly back to me. “By the way,” one of the detectives noted, “during the autopsy, we noticed a tan line on her wrist consistent with a kid’s smartwatch. Your husband mentioned she always wore one, but we didn’t recover it from the scene. Do you know where it is?” The detective’s words struck me like a bolt of lightning. I played dumb, shook my head, and quickly left the precinct. Once I was safely locked in my car, I pulled out the smartwatch Chloe had secretly shoved into my hand in the ambulance. I powered it on, and a digital notepad app popped up on the tiny screen. As I read the little lines of text, tears began streaming down my face. I finally understood why my daughter had turned out that way. Because the cause of Chloe’s death was still under investigation, Marcus’s family refused to bury her yet. I had no choice but to go back to our house. The moment I unlocked the front door, I heard laughter and cheerful voices echoing from the living room. “Oh, Vivian, honey, don’t you worry. Marcus is finalizing the divorce with that monster. You’re the only woman I acknowledge as my daughter-in-law.” “Brenda, please, you shouldn’t say that. I know Marcus is grieving right now. We should wait.” “Yes, yes, we should wait. Oh, it’s such a tragedy about little Chloe. My poor, sweet granddaughter.” The sound of the front door closing caused the entire living room to go dead silent. All eyes snapped toward me. A heavily made-up, glamorous woman was sitting cozily between Brenda and Marcus. The second Brenda made eye contact with me, she started screaming. “You murderous bitch! What are you doing back here?! Get out! Get the hell out of my house!” She marched up to me and started violently shoving my shoulders, trying to push me back out the door. Arthur stood up, his face dark with rage. “You murderer. Stop disgusting us with your presence. If you don’t leave right now, I’ll beat you to a pulp.” Watching my normally “loving” in-laws drop their masks so quickly filled me with a cold, dark amusement. Before I could speak, Vivian casually strolled up to me, looking me up and down with utter contempt. “So, you’re Chloe’s biological mother? To do that to your own flesh and blood… you’re worse than an animal.”

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My life had entered its final countdown, and I finally decided to let go of everything. I abandoned the noisy, exhausting city and moved back to my small hometown. My neighbor told me that the local sheriff’s deputies handled just about everything around here. Folks went to them for any kind of trouble—including welfare checks and handling arrangements when someone passed away alone. I was terrified of falling asleep one day and never waking up, with no one to take care of my body. But I never expected that when I walked into the local station, I would run into my ex-boyfriend from six years ago. When enemies meet, their eyes blaze red. He didn’t give me a single shred of warmth. He just scowled and told me to get lost. I had no way out, so I braced myself and asked, “I can’t get lost just yet. Can you wait a little longer?” With him around, my death wouldn’t be so quiet. After all, he was the one who said it. He once promised that the day karma finally killed me, he would buy fireworks to celebrate. 1 On my very first day back in my hometown, I spent hours cleaning up the old house. Then, I lay down on the bed to wait for death. Suddenly, my neighbor knocked on the door. She had brought over a plate of homemade apple pie to welcome me. She enthusiastically told me, “Sweetheart, you’re living all alone. If you ever run into any trouble, just go to the sheriff’s station down the street.” “A young woman by herself needs to be careful. I have Deputy Miller’s number. Why don’t you add him? If anything happens, you can just text him.” “Plus, he’s about your age. Who knows, maybe it’ll be a match made in heaven,” Mrs. Higgins teased, covering her mouth with a laugh. A match made in heaven didn’t matter to me. I only had about a month left to live anyway. I wasn’t about to drag anyone down with me. Right now, my only hope was finding someone who could handle my funeral arrangements. Thinking it over, I realized her suggestion made sense. Having a deputy as a contact would definitely be reliable when the time came. Mrs. Higgins quickly texted me Deputy Miller’s contact info. His profile picture was a silhouette of a girl standing against the sunlight. So much for a match made in heaven, I thought. He clearly already had a girl he loved. I sent a friend request. A moment later, he replied with a single question mark. Were all cops this cold nowadays? Looking closer, I realized I had forgotten to include an introduction message. I quickly typed: “Hi, I’m Harper. I just moved back to town.” That should be enough for him to accept, right? But this time, he didn’t reply at all. It wasn’t until late that night, when I had almost forgotten about it, that my phone buzzed. He sent: “What the hell is your problem?” 2 I froze. Why was he cursing at me? I went next door to ask Mrs. Higgins, double-checking the number just to make sure I hadn’t added the wrong person. “Mrs. Higgins, does this deputy have a really bad temper?” “No way! Deputy Miller looks tough, but he has a heart of gold. Whenever anyone in town has an issue, he’s the first to help.” That was weird. I hadn’t even done anything to him. Why was he mad at me? Patiently, I typed out a long paragraph explaining why I had added him. But he never replied. Mrs. Higgins offered a solution: “Don’t worry about it. I’m free tomorrow, I’ll take you down to the station so you can introduce yourself in person. It’ll make things easier later.” The sky grew dark. My failing body couldn’t handle staying up late anymore. I thanked her sincerely, went back home, washed up, and got into bed. But lying there, I couldn’t sleep. My brain felt heavy and chaotic. I was sleeping in my old childhood bedroom. I hadn’t cleared out the other rooms yet—especially Grams’s room. I tossed and turned. Suddenly, my nose felt warm. I reached up to wipe it. My fingers came away slick with thick, sticky blood. That woke me up instantly. Relying on the moonlight filtering through the window, I clutched my bleeding nose and struggled to sit up. I blindly stumbled into the bathroom. When I flicked on the light, I saw that my pajamas were already stained dark red. I went through the familiar routine of stopping the nosebleed, but a wave of dizzying vertigo hit me hard. I gripped the edge of the sink, staring at my reflection in the mirror. Tangled hair clung to my sweaty face, and my skin was as pale as a ghost’s. When the dizziness finally faded, I started scrubbing the blood out of my clothes. It was a good thing I chose to come back to my hometown. If my friends from the oncology ward saw me like this, they’d be heartbroken. They always said it was incredibly unfair for someone as young as me to get this disease. They naturally pitied me and tried to take care of me. I loved spending time with them. But I couldn’t endure the pain of laughing with them one day, only to see their beds empty and their names crossed off the whiteboard the next. So, I chose to leave. My head was pounding. Knowing I wouldn’t be able to sleep, I walked out onto the balcony. Unexpectedly, I saw Mrs. Higgins limping up the sidewalk. A tall man was helping her walk. I instinctively opened my mouth to call out to her, but the man supporting her suddenly lifted his head. There was a bright streetlight right next to them. The glare was blinding. I didn’t know if my vision was failing me, but I couldn’t clearly make out his face. 3 I rubbed my eyes hard. He was still standing there. But his gaze… it was filled with absolute disgust and cold indifference. I swayed on my feet. I guess my illness is affecting my brain now, I thought. I’m actually hallucinating Liam. The way he was looking at me was exactly the same as the day we broke up six years ago. Filled with hatred and bitter resentment. That day was supposed to be the happiest day of his life. He had just received his acceptance letter to West Point. He came running to me, ecstatic, wanting to share the joy. But I shattered his excitement with three cruel words: “Let’s break up.” He froze, staring at me in disbelief. “What did you just say?” “I said, let’s break up. I’m bored of this. I don’t want to be with you anymore.” He ground his teeth together, his voice trembling. “Harper, are you serious right now?” Things got incredibly ugly that day. We said a lot of things designed to cut each other to the bone. And he looked at me exactly the way he was looking at me now—like he wanted to strangle me. Suddenly, reality snapped back into place. The man standing on the sidewalk down below wasn’t a hallucination. It really was him. Cold sweat prickled down my spine. For some reason, a wave of intense guilt washed over me. Thankfully, he didn’t stand there for long before turning and walking away. I let out a massive sigh of relief, my legs trembling beneath me. Over the past six years, I had imagined what our reunion would look like a thousand times. But I never imagined it would be like this. 4 The next morning, an energetic Mrs. Higgins dragged me down to the sheriff’s station at the end of the street. She introduced me to the deputies working the front desks one by one. When her eyes landed on a tall man wearing a pressed tan and green uniform, I froze. “Harper, this is Deputy Miller! I told you about him. He patrols our neighborhood. If you ever need anything, you just let him know.” Liam’s face was stone-cold. There wasn’t a single ripple of emotion in his eyes. He acted as if this was the very first time we had ever met. I held out my hand to greet him. “Hi, Deputy Miller.” His expression remained indifferent, as if to say: Why are you acting? He stood perfectly still, making no move to take my hand. Embarrassed, I pulled my hand back. Thankfully, Mrs. Higgins was there to smooth things over. She brought up the text messages from last night. Liam reluctantly pulled out his phone, his voice dropping to absolute zero. “When you text me, you’d better have a damn good reason.” I knew what he meant. He was telling me not to annoy him like I used to. I nodded and said with total sincerity, “Don’t worry. I’ll only bother you when I’m about to die.” Otherwise, there would be no one to collect my body. Liam’s fingers tightened around his phone, his eyes turning vicious. “See that you do.” 5 His gaze felt like a literal sword piercing my chest. I never expected that even after six years, he would still hate me this much. But that was fine. With him here, I could finally rest easy. After all, he had made a promise once. He said that the day karma finally came for me and I died, he would light fireworks to celebrate. At least that meant my send-off wouldn’t be totally silent. 6 Liam and I grew up together. My parents were always out of state, working odd jobs to send money back. It was just me and my bedridden Grams in our rundown little house. Liam’s dad was the town sheriff. He was a warm, incredibly kind man. Knowing my family was struggling, he was always quietly looking out for us. When we were kids, I wasn’t very smart and always did poorly in school. Liam, on the other hand, was always top of the class. His dad suggested that Liam tutor me, so I started spending every afternoon at their house. Liam was only ten at the time, the same age as me, but he was already a head taller. Unlike his friendly dad, Liam was quiet and reserved. He looked intimidating, like someone you shouldn’t mess with. I used to follow him around timidly like a little shadow. He rarely talked to me, but whenever his parents bought him snacks or treats, he would always silently push half of them toward me. Later, in middle school, the other kids found out my parents practically abandoned me. So they bullied me. They called me an orphan and a stray dog. Sometimes they would corner me in the alleyway after school and demand money. When I refused, they would beat me up. One day, they hit me particularly hard. I was covered in bruises, limping my way home. Liam was walking back from basketball practice and saw me. He grabbed the back of my collar, stopping me in my tracks, and asked through gritted teeth, “Who did this?” I was too scared to answer. The bullies had promised that if I snitched, they would go after my sick Grams next. Seeing my silence, he let out a dark, angry laugh. “Fine. You don’t want to tell me? Let’s go show your grandmother what you look like and see how you explain it to her!” I panicked. Stuttering and crying, I finally gave him their names. The very next day, he brought his dad—the Sheriff—directly to the bullies’ houses, one by one. No kid isn’t terrified of a cop showing up at their front door. After his dad handled the situation, he looked at me sternly. “Harper, this is malicious bullying. If you tolerate it once, they’ll just get bolder. If this ever happens again, you come straight to me.” From that day on, Liam waited for me at the school gates every single afternoon. He walked me home. Whenever anything went wrong at my house, he was the first one there. He never tried to hide how much he cared about me. 7 In high school, Liam announced he wanted to apply to West Point. He wanted to be a good man who protected his country, just like his dad protected our town. Desperate not to be separated from him, I studied until I made myself sick, aiming for a teaching college right across the river from his academy. But he was scared, too. He was scared I would leave him behind. He used to tell me, “If you don’t get into that school, it’s fine. Go wherever you want. I can always just come find you.” At the end of senior year, the day his acceptance letter arrived in the mail, he ran to my house to celebrate. Instead, I said, “Let’s break up, Liam.” “I only agreed to date you so people would stop bullying me. Now that I’m leaving this town, there’s no reason for us to be together anymore.” Under the moonlight, the bright, boyish smile on his face completely shattered. The shadows from the trees made his face look deathly pale. The hand gripping his acceptance letter was shaking uncontrollably. It took him a long time to finally speak. “Harper… are you serious?” My hands, hidden deep in my pockets, clenched into tight fists until my nails dug into my palms. Then, I forced them to relax. As if I had made the easiest decision in the world, I said coldly, “Yes. You deserve someone better, Liam.” His eyes filled with a desperate, furious refusal. He clenched his fists tight. “Harper,” he spat viciously. “You had better never, ever come back to this town.” “If I ever find out that karma finally got you and you died, I swear to God I’ll light fireworks to celebrate.” He didn’t know that on that exact same day, I had lost my Grams forever. And I had lost my so-called parents forever, too. Back then, I never imagined his curse would actually come true. If he knew that karma had actually caught up to me, he’d probably be thrilled.

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I was the untouchable golden girl of a billionaire family. Four years after my death, I was resurrected. By then, my lookalike stand-in had successfully taken my place. Wearing a face identical to mine, she smirked and provoked me: “Everything of yours is mine now. You came back too late.” But what she didn’t know was the fatal power of the original: the moment I appear, everyone will abandon their principles and run back to me. 1 “I’m home, Mom.” I pushed open the grand doors to the Sterling estate without a hint of hesitation, smiling brightly at my mother sitting on the sofa. It felt as casual and ordinary as coming home from school. A loud crash echoed through the foyer as her teacup shattered on the marble floor. “Serena!” she wailed, her voice tearing with absolute, agonizing disbelief. “My Serena is home!” I am Serena Sterling, the eldest daughter of the Sterling family. I originally died of heart failure. On the brink of death, I was bound to a Multiverse Survival System. That was when I learned my reality was just a cliché romance simulation, and I was the classic “doomed golden girl”—the early-dying first love. The actual female lead was a girl who looked 90% like me. Her face allowed her to cross social classes, drawing the attention of the elite and becoming the darling of my family. My parents practically adopted her. My childhood sweetheart became her lover. My little brother obeyed her every word. She was destined to get everyone’s love, but only on the condition that I stayed dead. So, when the System asked if I wanted to complete missions to earn my resurrection, I agreed instantly. Why should my tragedy be the stepping stone for her happy ending? So, I came back. “Mom, it’s me. I’m back.” Her embrace was as warm as ever, but so tight I could barely breathe. She held me like she was terrified I would vanish into thin air if she let go. I sighed and patted her frail back to comfort her. The System had altered their memories, changing my death from heart failure to “missing in a shipwreck” four years ago. She thought she had just spent four agonizing years searching for me. But our tearful reunion was cut short by a commotion at the front door. 2 “Mom, look what we brought you!” A sickeningly sweet, unfamiliar female voice rang out. A young girl skipped inside holding a box of pastries from a high-end bakery. Close behind her was a voice I knew all too well, dripping with indulgence. “Slow down, don’t run.” It was Carter, the boy I grew up with. My childhood sweetheart. “Mom, do we have guests? Why are you crying?” This was my younger brother, Spencer. I was facing away from him, so he couldn’t see my face as he walked in. My mother hugged me tighter. Her eyes were red, lips trembling, but she couldn’t stop crying long enough to speak. “Mom, please don’t cry. What’s wrong? Who is this?” Spencer asked. “Ouch, Carter, why are you squeezing my hand so hard?” the sweet voice complained, adding a hint of a pout. Carter didn’t react to her. I could feel his burning gaze fixed on my back. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he struggled to call out a name he hadn’t spoken in years. “Why are you all acting so weird? The security guard at the gate even said I had already come home a few minutes ago. So weird,” the girl mumbled. She looked at my crying mother, my silent brother, and Carter, who looked like he had seen a ghost. Finally, her gaze landed on me. A terrible premonition rose in her chest. As if to confirm her worst fears, I pulled away from my mother’s embrace, turned around, and looked right at them. “Spencer. Carter. Long time no see.” 3 “Serena…” Carter’s voice trembled imperceptibly. Spencer, however, was much more explosive. “Serena Sterling! You actually dared to come back?! Where the hell have you been all these years? Do you know I thought you were dead?! How could you… how could you…” The eighteen-year-old boy tried to sound tough, gritting his teeth, but his eyes were terrifyingly red, and the tears fell one after another. I patted his shoulder, feeling a pang of guilt. “Spencer, you’ve grown up.” He was only fourteen when I “disappeared.” He was practically a man now. Unable to hold it in any longer, he buried his face into my shoulder and sobbed quietly. “I missed you so much, Serena.” It was a bittersweet reunion. As the pastry box hit the floor, everyone finally noticed the girl standing frozen by the door. I looked at her. That face, so highly identical to mine, was completely drained of color. She looked utterly pathetic. Later, we all sat down for dinner. The table was filled with all my favorite dishes. My mother kept putting food on my plate, and Spencer automatically peeled my shrimp for me. But when Carter unconsciously picked up a piece of sweet and sour rib—my favorite—and placed it into Chloe’s bowl, everyone froze. “Thank you,” Chloe said quietly, gripping her hands tight. It was the first time she had spoken since finding out who I was. “Yeah,” Carter replied faintly. I ignored the undercurrents of tension and calmly ate my meal. “Your room hasn’t changed at all. I cleaned it myself every single day. Go get some rest. I’ll have the family doctor check on you later, and your father will be flying back tomorrow,” my mother rambled, filled with worry. I nodded to everything. They didn’t say much about Chloe, but I wasn’t panicked. This was the confidence of being truly loved. But I didn’t expect the mountain to come to me. Late that night, there was a knock on my bedroom door. 4 I opened the door to find Chloe’s familiar face. She was holding a glass of warm milk. I raised an eyebrow, thinking she was here to awkwardly make peace. Instead, her face twisted into a mocking sneer. “If you were dead, you should have stayed dead. Why come back? Do you think you can compete with me?” “I’ve spent four years conquering them. Aside from this bedroom, everything you used to own is mine now. You’re too late, understand?” Conquering? That was a very specific word. Like something from a System. Before I could react, she suddenly splashed the glass of milk all over her own face. Then, she screamed and threw herself onto the hardwood floor. The glass shattered into pieces. She started sobbing, looking like a fragile, broken doll. “Serena, I’m so sorry! I just wanted to bring you some milk. I didn’t mean any harm!” How long had it been since I witnessed such a low-tier framing attempt? For a second, I almost found it funny. I looked down coldly at the pitiful girl crying on the floor. Her thin pajamas and hair were soaked with milk. She looked at me with pure terror, the perfect image of a bullied victim. Honestly, I had no real desire to fight Chloe. Regardless of her motives, she was the one who kept my family company during their darkest times. I didn’t hold deep malice toward her. I just wanted her to back off gracefully. But her hostility was crystal clear. A scream in the middle of the night in a house where no one was truly sleeping yet drew immediate attention. Doors slammed open down the hall. 5 “What happened?! Is Serena okay?” My mother stumbled out of her room, pale and panicked, haphazardly throwing a robe over her shoulders. She had even put her slippers on the wrong feet. She didn’t let out a breath of relief until she saw me standing there unharmed. Only after confirming I was safe did Chloe’s pitiful whimpering reach her ears. “What’s going on? Why are you on the floor?” my mother asked, frowning at the shattered glass next to Chloe. Before Chloe could answer, my mother continued, “Why are you so careless? What if someone steps on the glass? Get up quickly.” “It was Serena… she…” Chloe pouted, tears welling in her eyes, ready to put on a show. But she was interrupted again. “What happened to your hand?!” Spencer marched straight past Chloe and grabbed my hand. There was a tiny, bleeding scratch on the back of my hand, probably from a stray shard of glass. It didn’t even hurt, but Spencer looked at it like it was a fatal wound. “Do you not know how to take care of yourself? Didn’t you feel that?!” he scolded, instinctively blowing on the tiny cut like he did when we were kids. “I’ll get the first-aid kit,” he said, turning to run down the hall. My mother rushed over, her face full of heartache. “Hurry, Spencer! It’s bleeding. Oh, Serena, does it hurt? It’s Mom’s fault for not noticing.” She held my hand, looking incredibly guilty. Once again, Chloe was completely ignored. Her face twisted with resentment. Ever since she used her face to climb into the upper echelon of society, she hadn’t tasted defeat. The love of parents, the affection of a lover, the care of a younger brother—she had it all in the palm of her hand. She thought she was the luckiest girl in the world. Why did the dead have to come back to life?! 6 “Mom, it’s fine. It doesn’t hurt,” I said, catching the raw jealousy in Chloe’s eyes. I knew she wouldn’t let this go. When you possess something for too long, you start to believe it rightfully belongs to you. “Mom, it hurts… I’m bleeding too.” Taking advantage of my mother’s turned back, Chloe had grabbed a shard of glass and squeezed it, cutting her own palm deeply. She held up her bloody hand, tears streaming down her face, looking like a desperate child begging for her mother’s attention. “I got the first-aid kit,” Spencer announced as he rushed back. He paused when he saw Chloe’s blood-soaked hand. “Spencer, it hurts,” Chloe whimpered. She knew exactly what worked on him. In the past, whenever she looked at him with that weak, dependent gaze, he would complain but gently take care of her, yielding to her every wish. Seeing him hesitate, she called his name again, softer this time. “Spencer…” Spencer pursed his lips. My mother took the first-aid kit from his hands and pulled me into my room to treat my scratch. “Spencer, help her up,” I finally spoke. I knew my mother and brother were ignoring her partly to show they prioritized me, and partly because they were afraid her presence made me uncomfortable. I wasn’t an idiot. I knew what she represented during the years I was gone. My voice surprised even my mother, who paused and looked back. Spencer always listened to me. He carefully stepped around the glass and helped Chloe up. “Spencer, do you and Mom hate me now?” Chloe leaned into his grip, her eyes red. All her calculated victimhood was instantly shattered by a single sentence from me. Spencer didn’t answer. “I just wanted to bring Serena some milk. I really didn’t mean any harm. I don’t know why she pushed me. Mom won’t look at me, Serena hates me… Spencer, are you guys going to kick me out?” “If I apologize to Serena, will she forgive me? I don’t want to leave…” “Chloe,” Spencer cut her off calmly. Chloe froze, looking up at him. Spencer met her gaze with an eerily calm look, almost like he was looking at a stranger. “Serena is my sister,” he said. 7 That single sentence was enough for Chloe to understand. Serena is my sister. Not her. Calling me “sister” in that sickeningly sweet tone was a mistake. Because Serena was his sister, he trusted me unconditionally. He didn’t believe a single word coming out of Chloe’s mouth. Tears rolled down Chloe’s cheeks. She bit her lip and asked stubbornly, “What about me, Spencer? What about the last three years we spent together? You used to call me your sister too…” her voice choked with sobs. “I didn’t. I never called you my sister,” Spencer denied it flatly. He never called Chloe his sister, except on the very first day they met, when he thought I had come back. Chloe choked on her tears, remembering the truth. Spencer had mostly been quiet around her. She thought he was just not much of a talker. She didn’t realize that from the very beginning, he knew the difference between the original and the replica. He had been too stingy to even give her that title. But she refused to believe it. Three years of living together, three years of accumulated “Affection Points” verified by her System. There was no way he felt nothing for her. “Aren’t we family?” she muttered. This time, Spencer didn’t reply. He gave her a long, deep look, then turned and walked into my bedroom. Chloe’s expression shifted wildly before she fell silent. She followed him into the room. It was the first time she had stepped inside this “forbidden zone” since becoming the adopted daughter of the Sterling family. It was decorated completely differently from her room, yet everything was exquisitely elegant. She had always thought that one day, she would move into this room as its rightful owner. She never expected the true owner to be the one to open its doors. 8 The scratch on my hand had already been bandaged. I hadn’t missed the drama by the door. “You should get Miss Chloe’s hand cleaned up. Spencer, go help her. The first-aid kit is right there,” I offered, my tone gentle and kind, perfectly matching the sister Spencer remembered. “Okay,” Spencer agreed without hesitation. He obediently got to work. Chloe felt utterly humiliated. She thought I was showing off my authority over him. She shot me venomous glares while Spencer worked on her hand. I acted completely oblivious, chatting away with my mother. “The doctor said your body went through a lot. You need a lot of rest. If you feel uncomfortable anywhere, you have to tell me immediately, understand?” “Yes, yes, I’ll listen to you, Mom. Don’t worry so much. I’m not a little kid anymore.” “No matter how old you get, you’ll always be my baby.” My mother was a loving woman, but she rarely expressed her affection so bluntly. My nose prickled. I thought of all the times I died in those foreign worlds, endlessly completing missions just for the chance to come back. I died over and over again. I thought I had grown completely hardened, but my mother’s simple words turned my heart to mush. “Hiss…” A sharp intake of breath broke the moment. Spencer paused his hands. Chloe had been ruthless with herself. The cut on her palm was deep, and picking the glass shards out required precision. “Bear with it,” Spencer said, his eyes lowered. He was very patient when executing a task given by his real sister. Chloe let out a nasal “Mhm.” She didn’t make another sound. Whenever the pain flared, her free hand violently gripped her crumpled pajama dress. Soon, Spencer finished bandaging her hand.

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