Author: Momo Chan

I’ve been married to Carter Hayes for ten years. I’ve met every single girlfriend he’s had since our wedding day. Whenever he gets bored and wants to move on to someone new, I become his go-to excuse for the breakup: “If you marry me, you’ll end up exactly like her. Eventually, we’ll just be too familiar with each other—so familiar that there’s not a single spark of excitement left.” On our tenth wedding anniversary, I was wiping the tears of the college girl he had just dumped, while he was out taking his brand-new girlfriend to the movies. After using up an entire pack of tissues on her, I felt like I was looking at a ghost of my past self. So, I finally asked Carter for a divorce. He looked unusually confused. “Can’t you wait a little longer? Maybe I’m just about to turn over a new leaf.” I smiled faintly and didn’t answer. Instead, I booked a flight across the ocean. I’m not waiting for you to turn around. I’m moving on first. Chapter 1 Marrying a playboy requires the patience of a saint. Watching the pack of tissues in my hand dwindle to nothing, that thought randomly popped into my head. The girl sitting across from me was Riley, a college senior. She had been sobbing for two hours straight since she walked through the door of the cafe. Her honeymoon phase with Carter had lasted barely a month. There was really no need to cry so hard her mascara ran down her cheeks. I opened my mouth to comfort her, but she suddenly glared at me with bloodshot eyes. “He told me I look a little bit like you. Looking at you now, I guess I do.” I paused. None of Carter’s previous exes had ever said that to me. Riley sniffled and wiped the corners of her eyes. Done with my tissues, she turned to mockery. “I don’t need your comfort. You’re way more pathetic than I am.” Wasn’t that the truth? Everyone in New York’s high society knew Carter Hayes had married the perfect, understanding wife. So understanding that she allowed herself to be cheated on time and time again, and even helped him soothe his discarded lovers. Every girl he dated after our wedding, I politely referred to as his “exes.” I had completely thrown away the dignity of a legal wife. My phone buzzed on the table. It was a text from Carter. [Carter: Are you done yet? The movie is about to start.] I placed the phone face down and met Riley’s increasingly red eyes. “Whatever financial compensation you want, just say the word. I’ll fight for it on your behalf.” I had said these exact words countless times. I was as practiced as an HR rep handing out severance packages. She scoffed and stood up abruptly. “I don’t want anything.” I sighed. “You really should ask for something.” Money, a car, a condo—something solid she could actually hold onto. Her gaze grew even colder. She raised her iced latte and slowly, deliberately, poured it right over my head. “I’m pregnant.” “And I’m keeping the baby.” I stared at her, speechless, forgetting to offer any more advice. I forced a bitter smile, hiding it as best I could. Carter, you promised me one thing, and you couldn’t even keep that promise. Chapter 2 I sat in the passenger seat, dripping wet and shivering. Carter was on the phone. He made no effort to hide it. I could easily tell he had a new girl by his side. My hand unconsciously gripped the seatbelt, my fingertips turning white from the pressure. I didn’t know what the person on the other end said, but his eyes crinkled with a genuine, affectionate smile. “Alright, alright, I’ll come keep you company tonight.” He hung up, started the car, and tilted his head slightly toward me. His hands suddenly tightened on the steering wheel, and his face darkened into a scowl. “Did she throw that on you?” I had already pulled out some napkins from the glovebox and was methodically dabbing at my wet hair. Maybe because I didn’t answer, he leaned over and snatched the napkins from my hand. “Don’t move.” I instinctively shrank back toward the passenger door, but he yanked me into his arms with a cold glare. He wiped my hair somewhat carefully, though his brows were deeply furrowed and he looked furious. “You just sat there and let her pour it on you?” “Eleanor, what happened to that fiery spirit you used to use on me?” Used to… The hollow, sinking feeling that had taken root in my chest since seeing Riley began to spread, inch by inch. I pulled myself out of his embrace with a cold expression and said flatly, “I can hardly lose my temper at a pregnant woman, can I? What do you think?” He looked sheepish for a moment, but his jaw remained tight as he stubbornly continued to wipe my hair. We didn’t speak for the rest of the drive. He drove, and I stared out the window. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see him shooting me probing glances. The ripples of disappointment in my heart spread outward. Disappointment had long ago crossed the mountains of despair and settled into pure numbness. I watched the movie absentmindedly, while Carter spent almost the entire time looking down at his glowing screen, replying to texts. The so-called “ritual” of our anniversary had crumbled into ruins long before the credits rolled. The funny part was, after the movie ended, I still had to sit beside him and watch him perform. It was a lavish anniversary dinner with close friends and family. The Hayes family had sent out the invitations to New York’s elite half a month in advance. Amidst the clinking of champagne glasses and networking, Carter peeled shrimp for me with his own hands while chatting with the guests. A small mountain of peeled shrimp piled up on my plate, but I just stared blankly at his exposed wrist where his sleeve was rolled up. Whose hair tie was he wearing? The nausea churning in my stomach had already killed my appetite. A man who peels shrimp for you doesn’t necessarily love you. A man who remembers your anniversary after ten years of marriage doesn’t necessarily love you. A man who never takes off his wedding ring, even in the shower, doesn’t necessarily love you. I should thank Carter. He was the one who taught me all of this. Chapter 3 Childhood sweethearts, perfect matches, meant to be. But those words were meant for Carter and my older sister, Evelyn. Even when I barely understood what love was, I knew the Davis and Hayes families were planning a marriage alliance. It wasn’t like I hadn’t seen my sister’s blushing cheeks when she went on dates with him. Or how the notoriously arrogant and wild Carter Hayes would become perfectly calm and quiet only in front of her. Otherwise, why would my young, naive self have quietly hidden away the vintage vinyl records I had spent months hunting down for him? In our trio, I was always just my sister’s shadow. When their love was shining as bright as the midday sun, where was there any room for me? The tragedy struck when Evelyn was twenty. My always elegant and poised sister ran away the night before her engagement party, only to die in a commercial plane crash. When her diary was uncovered, the ugly truth came out. The impending bankruptcy and internal crises facing the Davis family were stripped of their glamorous disguise. It turned out her shyness was faked. My sister had been forced to act as a bargaining chip for our parents. Behind the arranged marriage wasn’t a perfect romance, but my parents’ desperate greed. The one time she chose herself, it cost her her life. Carrying the last hopes of the Davis family, I was rushed into an engagement and marriage. To save the Hayes family’s face, and to save the Davis family from financial ruin. Throughout the entire process, I didn’t even have time to figure out if I was feeling more grief for my sister or joy for myself. Even as a replacement, I still ended up marrying the boy I had secretly loved since I was a teenager. But when we exchanged rings, I was the only one whose heart was racing. During the “you may kiss the bride” moment, Carter’s lips barely grazed mine, leaving behind a whisper that would haunt us both for years. “If you didn’t want to do this, why force yourself?” At the time, we agreed it was a transaction—we both got what we needed. But over ten years of marriage, I was the one who overstepped. He did everything for me flawlessly as a husband, yet he still didn’t love me. Chapter 4 The dinner party ended past midnight. I couldn’t tell if it was the wine going to my head or just a simple, pounding headache. I got into the car and fell into a deep, groggy sleep. Faintly, I could hear Carter on speakerphone, flirting with his new girl. Those sweet nothings, twisting and turning with affection. He never got tired of saying them, but I was sick of hearing them. During a pause in the conversation, he seemed to reach over and touch my forehead. Suddenly, the car slammed on the brakes, and he let out a harsh curse. “Fuck. Why didn’t you say you had a fever?” He hung up his call abruptly and clumsily draped his suit jacket over me. I thought I heard him call me by my childhood nickname, Ellie. I must have been delirious from the fever. I managed a bitter smile. He always called me by my full name, Eleanor, terrified that if he used a pet name, I might delude myself into thinking I was the Davis daughter he actually wanted to marry. People are probably more fragile—and more clear-headed—when they’re sick. A deep exhaustion washed over me. Exhaustion toward him, and toward this unrequited love. The car started moving again, the speed making it hard to tell how fast we were going. He seemed to be constantly answering his phone. “Almost there,” “Get a doctor ready,” “It’s going to be okay.” Or maybe it was just a hallucination. Until the car stopped again. I struggled to lift my heavy head and watched him unbuckle his seatbelt and jump out of the car. He sprinted toward a frail silhouette standing near the ER entrance. Riley was tightly engulfed in his arms. Those fragmented phrases I had heard earlier finally pieced together into a complete picture. “Wait for me,” “Don’t do anything rash,” “I’m almost there,” “Be good,” “It’s going to be okay.” Every single word had been for her. From a short distance away, I could hear her pathetic sobbing. And I could hear him gently coaxing her. “How could I let you do something that hurts your body?” “Alright, alright, we won’t break up. We’ll figure out the baby situation together.” The thoughts swirling in my head dragged up a deeply buried, painful memory. Six months into our marriage, I had actually been pregnant. Chapter 5 Back then, I was walking on eggshells in the Hayes household while constantly running around putting out financial fires for my parents. Before I even realized I was pregnant, the baby’s heartbeat had already stopped. I would never forget Carter’s freezing voice outside my hospital room. “It’s for the best. It shouldn’t have existed in the first place.” After that day, we seemed to reach an unspoken understanding. He went back to being a playboy. As long as the Davis family was kept afloat. He could date whoever he wanted, as long as he didn’t marry them, and as long as… no one got pregnant. Now, he was the one who broke the promise first. The Davis family had become an empty shell following the passing of my parents a few years ago. And as for him, I didn’t want to force it anymore. I leaned against the car window, every breath I exhaled burning hot. I watched him calm Riley down before he finally came back to me. He opened the car door, draped my arm over his neck, and carried me all the way into the ER. Looking over his shoulder, I saw Riley sniffle and shoot me a look of pure contempt. As he walked past her, she unwillingly tried to grab his shirt. But she missed. He walked with long, purposeful strides, his handsome face set in a grim expression. He always managed to give me these illusions; no matter how long he wandered, he would always turn back to me. But this time, I shook my head. I was the first to wake up. “Carter, let’s get a divorce.” His footsteps faltered, but his eyes didn’t meet mine. “Hmm?” “A divorce. Okay?” The expression on his face was complicated—shifting from dark to confused, before finally settling into a soft chuckle. “Why not wait a little longer? Maybe in a few years…” He glanced at me, his smile full of mockery. “I’ll actually settle down.” I smiled too, my eyes burning. The fever was probably spiking again. “What do we do, then? There’s no spark left. We might as well just be bros.” In an instant, Carter’s face froze. His jaw clenched so hard the muscles in his cheek bulged. “Still not enough spark for you?” My vision was already blurring with tears, but I forced myself to keep smiling. “We never should have gotten married. It should have been exactly like you said back then.” “‘Eleanor Davis? I’d rather be blood brothers with her!’” Chapter 6 Carter obviously didn’t need to be “bros” with me anymore. The Davis family had thoroughly drained the Hayes family’s resources over the last ten years. We had become nothing but a burden. So when news of our impending divorce leaked, everyone in the Hayes family seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief. I pushed through my raging fever, forced myself to sign the divorce papers, and then fell into a coma-like sleep for two days. When I woke up, the papers on my nightstand already had Carter’s signature at the bottom. I stared at it for a few seconds. Beneath the numbness, I felt a twinge of guilt. The agreement wasn’t exactly noble, let alone generous on my part. Over the years, every time I helped him deal with one of his “exes,” he would wire me a lump sum. I saved every single penny, yet here I was in the property division, ruthlessly paving my own financial way out. As shrewd as he was, he definitely saw through my “insatiable greed.” But he signed it without a moment of hesitation anyway. It left me feeling hollow for a long time. Maybe he had been waiting for me to say the word “divorce” all along. Even if it meant paying me off, it was better than being shackled to me in a miserable marriage for another ten years. My temperature was finally back to normal. I dragged my aching body up to pack my bags. Ten long years of my life, packed away into barely two suitcases. I dragged them downstairs. The maids and the driver watched me awkwardly. “Mrs… Ms. Davis, should we notify Mr. Hayes that you’re leaving?” I shook my head. “No need.” And so, no one said goodbye, and no one stepped forward to help. They froze for a couple of seconds before returning to their chores. I couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness. Even they knew I was nothing more than a passing guest in this house. When the towncar I called pulled out of the Hayes estate, I didn’t look back. The memories that had started in my childhood had finally come to an end. In the heavy silence of the car, the driver asked, “Do you need a tissue, miss?” Only then did I realize my face was wet with tears. I was supposed to feel liberated. But a bird locked in a cage for too long will always feel terrified when the door suddenly swings open. From the estate to JFK airport, I printed my boarding pass and threw away my SIM card. The moment I sat in my seat on the plane, I fell into a deep sleep. These past few days, I felt like I had an endless supply of exhaustion. I had lost my center of gravity. I just wanted to retreat into my dreams and silently lick my wounds. Twelve hours later, I touched down in London. Chapter 7 At that moment, I had no idea that Carter was tearing New York apart trying to find me. London was where Evelyn had always wanted to go. She never made it, but I did. Wandering the gloomy, fog-covered streets, I often caught myself hallucinating that I was Evelyn. No one knew that my grueling dedication to painting didn’t come from a genuine passion. It was just because painting made me more like her. By some twist of fate, Evelyn eventually gave up and never picked up a brush again. Instead, I was the one put on a pedestal, hailed as a genius whose canvas could speak. My ten years of marriage to Carter were also the peak of my artistic career. Now, dozens of those pieces were on display in London’s largest modern art museum. I spent half a month in a complete daze before finally stepping into the gallery on the very last day of the exhibition. As expected, the crowd was sparse. Bundled in my trench coat, I took my time, lingering freely in front of each piece. I passed Combustion and Caged Bird, finally stopping in front of Bloom. Someone stopped beside me. Like me, his gaze fell on the withered girl’s face on the canvas. “‘Bloom.’ Using life itself as fuel, only to be a moth drawn to a futile flame.” He chuckled, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. When he turned to look at me, it felt like he was looking through me at someone else. The look filled me with disgust. For the past ten years, Carter had given me that exact same feeling. I stepped away, but he followed me at a leisurely pace. “You two look very much alike.” My footsteps faltered, my fingers involuntarily curling inward. His eerie voice drifted over. “Evelyn always said you had more natural talent for painting than she did.” “She also said you were more suited to marry into the Hayes family. She said you were born with wings and could never be trapped.” My palms were beginning to sweat. His tone shifted, his smile now dripping with mockery. “But she never imagined you’d be stupid enough to break your own wings and willingly play the puppet.” A sharp pain pierced my chest. Unable to tolerate it any longer, I turned and glared at him. “Ethan Brooks, isn’t it enough that you got her killed…” Before I could finish my sentence, I stared in shock at a furious Carter Hayes standing just a few feet away. He stalked toward us, his entire body radiating a freezing, murderous aura. Without a word, he grabbed my arm and physically ripped me away from Ethan. The fury boiling in his eyes was tinged with bitter sarcasm. “Looking for a spark? It seems the Davis sisters have the exact same terrible taste in men.” With his free hand, he lunged forward, grabbing Ethan by the throat and slamming him violently against the gallery wall. With a deafening crash, Carter ground out every word through his teeth. “Didn’t I tell you I never wanted to see your face again?” Chapter 8 Ethan just leaned casually against the wall, making no effort to break free. “Mr. Hayes, if you had just approved that investment funding you promised, why would I have needed to come find her?” He glanced sideways at me, his eyes full of contempt. “Your family owes me Evelyn’s life. No amount of money will ever be enough.” I listened in a daze as Carter’s grip tightened. Ethan’s face started turning a dark, mottled red. “Wait…” I had seen Ethan before. When the airline confirmed Evelyn’s plane had crashed with no survivors, he showed up at the Davis estate. It was the first time I had ever seen a walking corpse. It looked as if all the life in him had died alongside my sister. He knelt on the floor, slamming his forehead against the marble tiles until blood streamed down his face. “I just want to take some of Evelyn’s things. Her clothes, anything… please.” But my parents, blindingly furious, just beat him mercilessly before having the guards drag him out and throw him onto the street. Carter finally snapped out of his rage and abruptly released his grip. He waved his hand impatiently. “Get out. Go see my assistant for your money.” The bodyguards who had followed Carter into the gallery moved to grab Ethan and drag him away. I rushed forward two steps. “Wait, what did you mean by what you just said…” Carter blocked my path, his hands clamping down on my shoulders like iron vises. “It’s nothing. Come back with me.” I violently wrestled myself out of his grip, lunging forward to grab Ethan’s collar. “You just want money, right? I’ll pay you! Explain exactly what you just meant!” My heart was hammering in my chest. A wave of unprecedented panic made my breathing ragged. Ethan brushed the guards off and casually looked past me at Carter. “Last month, while I was waiting for that investment check of yours to clear, I had an epiphany.” “Ten years is more than enough time to prove that I’m just not cut out to be a businessman. No matter what industry I try, the money just burns.” “So when I heard the news that you two were getting a divorce, I finally let it all go.” “There’s one more free person in this world now. The only tragedy is that it isn’t my Evelyn.” He looked down at me, his eyes burning with intensity. “The night before her engagement, Carter knew exactly what Evelyn was planning.” “The people who helped her sneak out of the Davis estate were hired by Carter. Even the plane ticket…” “Carter bought it for her.” An echo swirled in my ears, dragging me back ten years to a specific memory. Through a cracked door, I had overheard my parents pleading pathetically with Carter. “Should we just move the wedding up? The announcement only said a union between the Hayes and Davis families, it didn’t specify which daughter…” After a few seconds of dead silence, Carter’s voice responded, completely devoid of emotion. “The sooner the better. I refuse to let the Hayes family’s reputation sink to the same pathetic level as yours.” Chapter 9 Ethan laughed recklessly. “You did everything in your power to marry her, and for what? You spent ten years turning her into the biggest joke in New York.” Having my pathetic reality laid bare like that made me want to disappear into the floorboards. But I still couldn’t understand. Why did Carter help my sister run away? “Why? Why did you let her go, only to turn around and torture my family?” Carter pressed his thin lips tightly together, his hands clenching into fists. After a long time, he let out a soft, bitter laugh. “Because she wasn’t the one I loved.” “Your parents completely misunderstood my intentions. They tried to use Evelyn as a bargaining chip.” “I went to your house constantly. Whenever Evelyn and I went anywhere, I made sure you came with us. But you never even looked me in the eye.” I thought my ears were ringing. Was that an undercurrent of resentment in his voice? His clenched fists slowly relaxed, and he stared at me, looking utterly lost. “I gave Evelyn her freedom, and I got to marry you, just like I wanted.” “But I knew from the very beginning that you were forced into it. Evelyn’s death, your family’s endless scheming… all of it stood like a wall between us.” I couldn’t help but smile bitterly. Was that really the only thing standing between us? Ethan walked over, pulled a yellowed envelope from his coat pocket, and handed it to me. “Evelyn left this for you. Ten years ago, if she had landed safely, this letter would have reached you back then.” The envelope was scorched at the edges. Inside were two expired exhibition tickets. Attached was a small note in Evelyn’s elegant handwriting. [Ellie, be brave. Only by doing what I did will you find true happiness.] Carter’s eyes darkened instantly, and he snatched the note from my hand. He stared at me in total, absolute disbelief. The familiar sense of emotional distance washed over me again. I looked up at him slowly. “Evelyn actually knew everything.” “She knew how much I loved you back then.” “Do you remember my very first solo exhibition? The one that got cancelled? The entire gallery was filled with portraits of you.” A bitter smile floated to my lips. “I was afraid it would break my sister’s heart if she saw it, so I painted a few portraits of her and scattered them around as a cover.” “I told her it was a gift for your one-year anniversary.” I had spent three grueling months preparing for it, and anxiously slipped the tickets into my sister’s desk drawer. But when I walked downstairs, the joyous, celebratory atmosphere hit me like a physical blow. The next day was their engagement party. Chapter 10 The language of a paintbrush never lies. Evelyn must have peeked under the white sheet covering my easel countless times. She saw all the hidden, unspoken longing in my strokes as I sketched Carter’s face. Now that everything was out in the open, I could finally look back at the past through a different lens. The time we went on the Ferris wheel… she claimed she was afraid of heights and pushed me into the cabin alone with Carter. When we got off, she smiled brightly and stared at us. “You know, looking at you two side-by-side, you actually look pretty good together.” My face had burned bright red. I was terrified she had seen right through my secret crush. But Carter just looked away. “Eleanor? I’d rather be blood brothers with her.” His tone was teasing. “She’s such a quiet little introvert. Come on, call me ‘Big Bro,’ and I’ll protect you from now on.” I ran away from them with a burning red face, the sound of my racing heart drowning in a surge of deep sorrow. After that day, I always used painting as an excuse to hide in the studio. I avoided all their invitations. I couldn’t lock my heart away when I was young, but thankfully, Carter spent the next ten years cementing it shut for me. Meeting his gaze now, there was no flutter in my chest. The sudden flash of ecstatic realization in his eyes vanished as quickly as it appeared, replaced entirely by confusion and panic. “You mean… back then, you…” It didn’t matter anymore. I pulled my coat tighter around myself and walked toward the exit. Carter chased after me frantically. Outside the museum, he grabbed my shoulders, forcing me to face him. “Why didn’t you tell me?! We had so many years, why didn’t you say anything?!” “Did you really have to wait until…” I finished his sentence for him, my voice perfectly calm. “Until everything was damaged beyond repair, and all the love was completely burned out? Yes.” He was struck speechless for a moment, then slowly exhaled, a long-lost look of relief washing over his face. “It doesn’t have to be like this. We’re still legally married. We can tear up the divorce papers right now.” I gently pushed his hands away and took a step back, creating distance between us. “But my desire to leave you hasn’t changed.” He stared at me, aghast. “Even after finding out the truth? Nothing changed?” “Nothing.” His face instantly darkened like a thundercloud. I spoke slowly. “I always regretted that you never got to see that exhibition where I planned to confess to you.” “I booked this exhibition all the way out here because I assumed you wouldn’t be interested in coming.” “But since you’re here, take a look. Every single painting on these walls is my final goodbye.”

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In my past life, I shamelessly threw myself at the school’s golden boy. The day I died from incurable cancer was the very day he threw the “wedding of the century” for his childhood sweetheart. Reborn, I found myself back on the exact day I had originally confessed my love to him. With everyone watching, I marched straight past him and slammed my love letter onto the desk of the school’s notorious bad boy. The silver-haired delinquent opened his eyes from his nap, staring blankly at the envelope covered in hand-drawn hearts: “?” Me: “Here. Scrap paper.” 1 The classroom fell dead silent. The silver-haired guy slowly lifted his head, revealing a strikingly aggressive, predatory face. Sharp brows, a high-bridged nose. He even had a silver stud in his right earlobe. Dangerously attractive. I heard a few sharp intakes of breath around me. I couldn’t tell if it was from awe or sheer terror. I remembered him. Carter Sterling. Rumor had it that if you picked any three buildings on campus, his family had donated at least one of them. Because of this, he wasn’t just respected as “Carter.” He had another nickname: “The Landlord.” A guy next to him joked, “Damn, Carter, you’re a magnet! Got girls bringing the romance right to your desk?” Carter let out a low chuckle and told him to screw off. His tone was lazy, almost affectionate. After swearing at his buddy, he turned back to me. “What do you want?” I answered like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I want to sit next to you. Is that a problem?” Another round of gasps echoed through the room. This time, I knew for sure: it was pure shock. Carter propped his head on his hand, flashing a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I never let anyone sit next to me. What makes you think you’re special?” We locked eyes. Neither of us backed down. I gritted my teeth. No. I don’t have a choice. There were only two empty seats left in the AP Honors class. If I didn’t sit next to him, I’d be stuck sitting next to Ethan Vance. And that was basically a death sentence. So, I just dropped my backpack and unceremoniously sat down, deciding to play dirty. Seeing this, Carter frowned in deep annoyance, looking like he was half a second away from tossing me out the window. “I just told you…” Before he could finish, I reached under the desk and grabbed his leg, pressing down hard. Carter’s expression instantly froze. I leaned in, dropping my voice so only he could hear. “Please. Just let me sit here. If I don’t, I have to sit next to Ethan Vance. You don’t know this, but he’s a total creep. When the classroom is empty, he crawls around on the floor like a gremlin. He steals girls’ skirts and wears them! I’ve had so many stolen that I had no choice but to…” It didn’t matter if Ethan couldn’t hear me. Honestly, it didn’t matter if he did. He deserved every bit of it. 2 The more I talked, the more animated I got. With every word, my grip tightened. And with every squeeze, Carter’s face grew darker. That lazy smirk from earlier completely vanished. By the end of my rant, his expression was practically thunderous. He squeezed out a single word through gritted teeth: “Fine.” I felt a twinge of confusion. Wasn’t he just acting all arrogant a second ago? Why did he cave so easily? And why did he look like a defeated king forced to surrender his throne under extreme duress? Wait… wasn’t his thigh a little… skinny? And… squishy? “Are you gonna keep fucking squeezing?!” Carter finally snapped, his patience snapping. I yanked my hand back like I’d been burned. Ahhhhhhh! That wasn’t his thigh! Ahhhhhh! I literally just “grabbed the king by his scepter” to force a surrender! Ahhhhh! 3 After the seating arrangements were finalized, Ethan Vance cornered me in the stairwell. “What is going on between you and Carter Sterling?” I had zero desire to entangle myself with him, so I shot back, “None of your damn business.” Ethan clearly didn’t expect me to snap at him. His brows knitted together. He threw his arm out, blocking my path. “Blair Kensington, Carter Sterling isn’t someone you can mess around with. Why did you give him a love letter?” Hearing this, combined with the agonizing memories of my past life, my temper instantly flared. “Who I mess around with is my business. What does it have to do with you?” I snarled. “And even if he’s terrible, he’s a hell of a lot better than someone who strings people along, never accepting them but never letting them go either!” It was the truth. If Ethan hadn’t constantly fed me breadcrumbs of hope every time I was about to give up in my past life—making me foolishly believe that if I just tried a little harder, I’d win him over—I never would have wasted years of my life loving him. Ethan’s face turned incredibly ugly. “Blair, what is that supposed to mean?” I crossed my arms and sneered. “It means I’m insulting you. Are you too stupid to realize that?” His expression darkened further. He was about to retort, but I was done wasting my breath on him. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Carter lounging down the hall. I frantically waved my arm and yelled, “Carter!” With everyone watching, Ethan had no choice but to drop his arm and let me pass. Before I walked away, he leaned in and hissed, “Blair, I’m incredibly disappointed in you.” I smiled sweetly, waving at Carter, and offered Ethan one simple word: “Choke.” 4 When I jogged up to Carter, I caught a faint whiff of tobacco. “Were you just smoking?” Carter gave a dismissive “Yeah,” then slapped his palm against my forehead, shoving me a good distance away. His voice was rough and raspy. “Secondhand smoke is bad for you. Stop sniffing.” I remembered that in my past life, he only stayed at our high school for three months. The rumor was that he transferred because of serious health issues. Almost as if possessed, I blurted out, “Firsthand smoke is bad for you too. Can you stop smoking?” I stared at him with wide, pleading eyes. His buddy, Leo, who was standing behind him, couldn’t hold back a laugh. “Damn, she hasn’t even locked you down yet and she’s already acting like a strict wife?” Hearing Leo say that, I realized how massively over the line my request was. Carter had no idea about our past life. To him, I was just some random girl he met less than 24 hours ago, demanding he quit smoking. It was insanely weird! — “I mean, you could just smoke less…” I started to backtrack. — “Yeah.” We spoke at the exact same time. I blinked. “Huh?” Carter brought his right fist to his mouth and let out a low cough. “I’ll quit.” Now I was the one standing there looking stupid. The legendary, terrifying school bad boy… was this obedient? 5 Ethan’s childhood sweetheart was Chloe Jenkins. In my past life, she transferred into the AP Honors class with me. I didn’t know Ethan was secretly in love with her, so I happily took the seat next to him. I had no idea he had specifically saved that seat for Chloe. No wonder Ethan hated me so much later on. No wonder he took my confession letter with such cruel malice and sneered, “Oh, scrap paper.” Back then, Chloe was too intimidated to sit next to Carter, so she volunteered to sit right by the teacher’s podium. That meant the two star-crossed lovers were separated by half the classroom. Looking back at Ethan’s psychological torment of me in my past life, he probably blamed me entirely for keeping him and Chloe apart. The funny thing was, in this life, Chloe got the seat right next to Ethan, just like she wanted. But now, he didn’t seem to care about her at all. Instead, he was stalking me every single day. Is this that “absence makes the heart grow fonder” bullshit? To avoid Ethan, I had to stick to Carter like glue. I practically followed him into the men’s restroom. Actually, I basically did. Every time Carter stood up, I’d immediately ask, “Going to the bathroom? I’ll come with you!” It got to the point where the second I appeared outside the men’s room, his crew would start catcalling. “Oh look, the boss’s wife is here to escort him to the urinal again!” “Can’t bear to be apart for a single second, huh~” “With a woman like this, what more could a man… Ouch!” Carter walked out, smacking Leo on the back of the head. A lollipop stick jutted out from the corner of his mouth. He narrowed his eyes. “What are you talking about? Did you fail English lit or something?” Ever since he promised me he’d quit smoking, he hadn’t touched a single cigarette. He just bought out the school store’s entire stock of lollipops. Whenever the nicotine craving hit, he’d shove one in his mouth. I’d accidentally caught a glimpse of his stash. They were 100% strawberry flavored. He shoved his hands in his pockets and walked up to me. “Let’s go, little shadow.” My face flushed. “What kind of nickname is that? Stop calling me that!” Carter leaned down, a wicked grin on his face. “Do you even know what the rest of the school is calling us? They say you’re my arranged child-bride, which is why you follow me around all day.” What the hell! I was literally just using him as a human shield against Ethan! While I was silently defending my honor in my head, Carter magically pulled a lollipop from his pocket, unwrapped it, and mouthed, “Say ah.” “Ah—” I looked at him suspiciously, but I still opened my mouth. A sweet, sugary taste instantly exploded across my tongue. Strawberry. “Why are you suddenly…” feeding me candy? Before I could finish the question, Carter had already turned around, strolling lazily back toward the classroom. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of Ethan’s shadow darting past. I immediately scrambled after Carter. “Hey! Wait for me!” 6 A few days later, Ethan cornered me in the stairwell again. I pretended he was invisible and tried to sidestep him to go up the stairs. Ethan blocked my path with a thick stack of notebooks. “Move,” I snapped impatiently. Ethan frowned, his voice condescendingly soft. “These are my highlighted study notes. Midterms are in a few days. You won’t survive without these.” I didn’t reach for them. I just looked up, my eyes filled with pure mockery. Every time the school reorganized the classes, they held a placement midterm. It was designed to see if the new transfers could handle the AP workload, and to ruthlessly weed out anyone who just got lucky on the entrance exam. In my past life, I begged Ethan on my hands and knees to help me highlight the key concepts. He refused. He told me, “You only got into the AP class by sheer luck. You’re going to be kicked back down to standard eventually. Why drag it out?” He genuinely believed I was just a fluke. He refused to believe that back then, I loved him so much I was literally studying myself into an early grave just to stay near him. Eventually, I managed to secure the fifth-to-last spot, narrowly surviving the purge and staying in the AP class. Everyone was shocked. They all assumed Ethan had secretly tutored me. He never once bothered to correct them. And now? I was avoiding him like the plague, and he was willingly organizing his notes and serving them to me on a silver platter. I crossed my arms and laughed. “Whether I survive or not isn’t up to you. You act like you’re doing me a favor, but every word out of your mouth is an insult. Ethan, who gave you the audacity to look down on me?” Ethan’s face stiffened. He sighed heavily. “Stop acting tough. The most important thing right now is pulling your grades up…” I rolled my eyes. “Do you not speak English? I said I don’t need them.” Ethan reached out, fully intending to physically shove the notebooks into my chest. My natural instinct was to lean backward to avoid him. But I forgot I was standing on the edge of a concrete staircase. The terrifying sensation of weightlessness hit me, and I screamed, “Ahhhhhh—” But the agonizing crash never came. I fell backward into a solid chest that smelled strongly of strawberry candy. “Hiss… how long are you planning on laying on me?” I was so dazed staring at Carter’s flawless face that it took his voice to snap me back to reality. I had completely flattened him. That loud thud I heard a second ago was his back slamming against the concrete landing. “I-I-I’m so sorry…” Carter stood up, rolling his neck, and shot Ethan a deadly glare. “Are you gonna fuck off or what?” Ethan’s face turned pitch black. Without a word, he turned and stormed off. He never dared to go toe-to-toe with Carter Sterling. Once Ethan was gone, Carter just stood there in absolute silence. I felt incredibly guilty and quickly offered, “Should we head back to class?” Carter kept his head down. He didn’t move. He didn’t speak. Panicking that he was furious, I frantically started explaining. “He really did corner me! Ever since you told me to stay away from him, I’ve been avoiding him! I swear I…” “I know.” Carter cut me off. He lifted his head. There wasn’t a trace of anger on his face. He pointed down at his leg. “Can you help me get to the nurse’s office? I think I sprained my ankle.” Me: “…” I struggled to support Carter’s weight as he dramatically hopped down the stairs on one foot. “But seriously, you really avoided him just because I told you to? Am I really that important to you?” “…One more word and I’m shoving you down the rest of these stairs.” 7 Because Carter sprained his ankle saving me, the responsibility of taking care of him naturally fell to me. I fetched his water. I bought his lunch. I forged his gym class excuse notes. And under his absolute tyranny, I was forced to forge my own excuse notes. Just so I could stay in the empty classroom and keep him entertained. Between classes, Leo stared at the mountain of snacks and fruit piled on Carter’s desk and let out a wistful sigh. “Must be nice. If I knew the perks, I would’ve broken my own ankle.” Carter loudly crunched on an apple, shooting Leo a smug, arrogant look. “Does your desk buddy treat you this well?” Leo’s male desk buddy, who had been completely minding his own business, slowly looked up: “?” “But seriously, boss,” Leo continued, “what are you gonna do when you go home? You don’t have anyone there to take care of you…” The second half of his sentence died in his throat as Carter shot him a lethally dangerous glare. That instantly triggered a memory from my past life. The rumor was that even though Carter’s family had obscene wealth, his parents completely neglected him. They constantly forced him to transfer schools for their own business convenience, threw massive amounts of cash at him, and ignored his existence. Even though kids at school secretly joked, “If I had that much money, I wouldn’t care if my parents ignored me,” I figured that for Carter himself, it had to hurt. Thinking of that, I blurted out without thinking: “I’ll go to your house and take care of you.” The moment the words left my mouth, both Carter and Leo froze. Leo scratched his head, speaking first. “That’s real sweet of you, sister-in-law, but the boss literally never lets anyone into his penthouse…” “She can come.” Carter cut him off. I turned to look at him. A slow, wicked grin spread across his face. He drawled, “A promise is a promise. No backing out now.” 8 Carter lived in the penthouse suite of a luxury high-rise in the financial district. I had always thought that building was strictly for multi-million dollar tech startups. I had no idea there were private residences up there. I walked in carrying the groceries I’d just bought. Carter pointed lazily toward the massive kitchen. “Put ’em over there.” I looked around frantically, trying to locate an apron. When I turned back, Carter was already wearing one. A terrifyingly handsome, aggressive bad boy wearing a frilly, pastel pink apron… It was actually kind of adorable. I asked in shock, “Wait, aren’t I supposed to be cooking?” Carter had already turned on the faucet and was aggressively washing a head of cabbage. He was leaning against the marble counter, his cast propped up, his brow furrowed in deep concentration like he was battling a mortal enemy. Specifically, the cabbage. While waiting for the pan to heat up, he unwrapped a strawberry lollipop, shoved it in his mouth, and mumbled around the stick, “I was just messing with you. You really think I’d make you cook? Today, you get to experience the master’s culinary genius.” I watched him flawlessly ignite the stove, perfectly julienne the pork, and expertly chop the vegetables. My shock grew exponentially by the second. Maybe my face gave it away, because Carter let out a low chuckle. “What, you thought I was just some spoiled rich kid who’s never touched a spatula?” I gave him a very honest, vigorous nod. He threw the pork into the sizzling oil, creating a massive hiss of steam. “You know my family is loaded, right?” Carter said over the noise. “Everyone at school calls me ‘The Landlord.’” “My parents are generous with cash, sure. But whenever we get into a massive fight, they instantly freeze all my accounts. They even warn all our relatives and family friends not to lend me a dime.” “One time, the fight got so bad they cut me off for six straight months. I literally couldn’t even afford UberEats. My neighbor took pity on me and gave me some raw vegetables. I ended up burning them to a crisp and couldn’t even eat them. But since that day, I forced myself to learn how to cook.” He turned back and gave me a wry smile. “So during that time, every time I walked past those buildings they donated to the school, I wanted to burn them down. Or sell them so I could buy a damn sandwich.” His expression was casual. There was no visible pain or fury. But I just knew, deep down, he wasn’t happy. Even his final joke was just a defense mechanism to keep the atmosphere from getting too depressing. I opened my mouth, completely unsure of how to comfort him. At the end of the day, every family had their own poison, right? “Actually…” Just as I started to speak, my phone rang. Seeing the caller ID, my brow instantly furrowed in disgust. After hesitating for three rings, I answered it. “Do you know what time it is?! Why aren’t you home yet?! Your brother wants dessert from Pan’s Bakery, make sure you buy some on your way back… Hello?! Are you deaf?!” I took a deep breath and hung up without a word. Carter saw my expression and asked, “Who was that?” “My dad.” “Oh.” The kitchen fell into a heavy silence. Neither of us pressed the issue. 9 “Oh, so you finally decided to show up?!” I opened the front door. The living room was pitch black. The moment I flicked the light switch, I saw three figures sitting dead center on the worn-out sofa. The man’s unfiltered rage suffocated the cramped apartment, mixing with the stench of cheap cigarettes. I looked at them with dead, empty eyes, having zero intention of entertaining their drama. “Yeah. I’m back.” I turned and headed straight for my bedroom. “Stop right there!” My apathy only acted like gasoline on the fire. A heavy glass cup flew past my ear, inches from my head. It slammed into the wall with a deafening CRASH, shattering into a thousand pieces. The glittering shards scattered across the cheap linoleum, perfectly reflecting my current emotional state: Numb. Exhausted. My mother’s voice whined from behind me. “Blair, what is wrong with you lately? Coming home so late every night, no one to cook dinner… Have you been hanging out with some shady crowd?” “Your father is just worried about you. Come here and apologize to him.” I slowly turned around, scanning the “happy family” of three. If this were my past life, I probably would have let my mother’s fake, gentle tone guilt-trip me. I would have walked over and apologized without a second thought. But having lived through this nightmare once already, my radar for their bullshit was flawless. Oh, so the real crime here is that I didn’t cook their dinner, huh? It was hilariously tragic. Just like in my past life, when I received my terminal cancer diagnosis. Terrified and desperate, I called them from the hospital. And their very first reaction was: “Well, we don’t know how much time you have left. Why don’t you give us the PIN to your bank accounts now, so we can give it to your brother?” Later, when I legally donated every cent of my life savings to charity, they rushed the hospital like rabid dogs. They literally tried to drag my dying body out of the hospital bed to force me to change my will. “You ungrateful bitch! You’d rather give our money to strangers than your own family?!” “Your brother is getting married! We need that money! How could you do this to us?!” It seemed like absolutely no one cared that the clock was rapidly ticking down on my life. Maybe that was the exact moment I realized they had never loved me. Starved for affection in my own home, I desperately tried to extract love from Ethan Vance. But because I had never experienced real love, I loved him in the most pathetic, humiliating way possible. In my past life, I was trapped in that toxic cycle, which ultimately led to my tragic end. In this life… I clenched my fists. “Are you deaf?! Where is the dessert from Pan’s I told you to buy?! Let me guess, you were out whoring around with some random guy and forgot! Ah!” I grabbed a ceramic mug off the entryway table and hurled it straight at his head. An eye for an eye. Perfectly fair. “Keep your filthy mouth shut.” Seeing that I actually dared to attack their precious golden boy, my parents absolutely lost their minds. “Blair Kensington, you have lost your damn mind! Let’s see if I don’t beat the life out of you today!” My dad rolled up his sleeves, lunging forward to grab me. Even though the mug had missed his face, my brother, Kyle, was still spooked. He jumped up and down, screaming, “I heard about you! You don’t even study! You’re just chasing some guy named Ethan at school! Was I wrong?! You’re out here whoring around, and now you have the nerve to hit me over some guy?!” “Good god, I can’t believe I raised such a shameless, disgusting daughter! Watch what I…” The living room descended into absolute chaos. Right before my dad’s hand clamped down on me, I twisted sideways, slipped into my bedroom, and slammed the door shut. THUD. The sound of his skull bouncing off the solid wood door. “Owww! Fuck! Blair, open this door! If you have the guts, don’t ever come out! You ungrateful bitch!” I locked the deadbolt, completely ignoring the violent pounding on the door. Ten minutes passed. The pounding escalated into the terrifying sound of a metal hammer smashing against the doorknob. If they kept this up, they’d breach the door in under five minutes. “You have a choice! You come out right now, or we smash this door to splinters! I’m counting to three! Three… Two…” I walked over and yanked the door open. “Looks like you still have some brains, you…” My dad probably thought I opened the door out of sheer terror. In this house, the sound I feared more than anything was his countdown. Because the second he hit “one,” a brutal beating was guaranteed. So when the door opened and he saw my dead, unblinking eyes, he was so shocked he actually choked on his words. I dragged my rolling suitcase behind me, walking past them like they were invisible. My mom panicked. “Blair, where do you think you’re going?!” Kyle scoffed from the side. “Oh, playing the runaway teenager card? Do you really think anyone in this house gives a shit about you?” In the past, a malicious, targeted insult like that would have gutted me. Now? I couldn’t care less. I turned around and looked at them. “This suitcase, and every piece of clothing inside it, was bought with money I earned from my part-time jobs. Over the years, I’ve paid for my own tuition and my own food, and I handed every spare cent I made over to you.” “I don’t owe you a single thing. If a judge ever rules that I’m legally obligated to pay for your elder care in the future, I will pay the court-mandated minimum. But until that day comes, I hope we never cross paths again. You disgust me.” With that, I dragged my tiny suitcase out the front door. It was sickeningly ironic. After living in this house for nearly two decades, I realized as I was leaving that I had bought literally every piece of clothing I owned. And my entire wardrobe fit into one small carry-on. My speech seemed to lobotomize all three of them. It wasn’t until I was halfway down the hall that I heard their delayed reactions echoing behind me. “Blair, what are you saying?! Are you really leaving?! Are you really that heartless, abandoning your own mother and father?!” “Why are you trying to stop her?! I told you, daughters are just ungrateful leeches! So much for being our ‘little angel’, I spit on her!” “Just let her leave, Mom! Let’s see how long she lasts on the streets. She’ll come crawling back here covered in dirt soon enough.” My grip tightened around the handle of my suitcase, and I smiled. How long will I last? Just sit back and watch. 10 The pathways in the apartment complex were dark. The sickly yellow streetlights stretched my shadow out long and thin. Staring at my own silhouette, a sudden, heavy wave of exhaustion washed over me. Admitting your parents don’t love you is an agonizingly difficult thing to do. Even when you logically know it isn’t your fault, you still can’t help but ask: “Is it because I wasn’t good enough? Is that why they love Kyle more?” “No.” !! My head snapped up. A boy in a gray hoodie was leaning casually against a rusted lamppost. The swirl of cigarette smoke blurred his features, but his eyes were piercingly bright. I stuttered, “W-what are you doing here?” When I left your penthouse after dinner, weren’t you getting ready for bed? Carter walked over and suddenly pulled me into a fierce, crushing embrace. His shoulders were broad, his chest radiating heat. I buried my face in his hoodie, listening to him speak with absolute, unyielding sincerity. “It is not your fault, Blair. You are incredible. They are the ones who are wrong.” So… he had heard the pathetic question I had unconsciously mumbled out loud. My voice was muffled against his chest. “Really?” Carter rested his chin on the top of my head and gave a firm nod. “Really. I never lie.” My nose started to sting. I desperately wanted to tell him: Carter, do you have any idea that this is the first time in my existence someone has so firmly chosen me? My lover in my past life, my own family… they all firmly chose to abandon me. I also wanted to say: Carter, your cheesy lines are so cliché. But thank you. It’s exactly what I needed. But the million thoughts swirling in my head finally bottlenecked, and what actually came out of my mouth was: “Carter Sterling… didn’t you promise me you’d quit smoking?” The warm embrace suddenly went rigid. The boy who had just looked capable of carrying the weight of the entire world instantly reverted back to a guilty, panicked high schooler. He mumbled defensively, “When I saw your face when you answered that phone call today, I knew something bad was gonna happen. I secretly followed you. When I heard the screaming coming from your apartment, I got so anxious I just…” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I won’t do it again.” I looked up into his nervous, shifting eyes, and suddenly, I smiled. Honestly, he didn’t owe me any promises. My casual request had no real authority over him. But Carter still treated that single promise like it was sacred law. So this is what it feels like to be valued. To have someone willingly hand you their vulnerabilities on a silver platter, even when you have absolutely nothing to offer in return. Being stared at so intensely, a faint blush crept onto Carter’s cheeks. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, aggressively changing the subject. “So, what’s your plan now? You wanna crash at my place for a bit?” “Sure,” I answered without a second of hesitation. Honestly, the moment I walked out that door, I was already calculating my next move. Right now, my identity was “high school student.” I had zero income and no time to work a part-time job. Food and daily expenses were manageable. Eating at the school cafeteria cost next to nothing. Housing was the real nightmare. In this city, rent for a decent apartment was thousands of dollars a month. With my current status, it was a mathematical impossibility. Having Carter offer me a temporary sanctuary was a literal lifesaver. “But—” I added quickly, “I’m not freeloading. Once I get some cash together in a few weeks, I’ll pay you rent. Deal?” Carter had looked thrilled when I agreed so quickly. But the moment I mentioned paying rent, his brows snapped together in annoyance. However, the frown only lasted a second. He gave a sharp nod, validating my decision. I smiled gratefully, thanking him silently for protecting my pride. “So… where exactly are you planning on getting this cash?” Carter asked, raising an eyebrow. I gave him a highly mysterious smirk. “I have my ways.”

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At our high school reunion, the guy I secretly crushed on for three years, Liam, actually showed up. From the beginning to the end of the night, we didn’t exchange a single word. That was, until the party broke up, and I was the only one left to drag his drunk self back to his hotel room. Inside, I stared at him passed out on the bed, waging a violent internal war against my most earthly desires, and eventually managed to keep my hands to myself. I never expected him to show up at my front door the very next morning, looking deeply wronged as he asked: “How did you hold back?” I stared at him, completely bewildered. “Weren’t you blackout drunk?” He took a step closer. “I was drunk.” “I was faking it.” “But you… you stared at me for so long, and then you just left me there and went home.” 1 This class reunion was organized by our class president right before the holidays. Everyone was RSVPing in the group chat when our old sports captain suddenly tagged Liam. [Is Liam coming?] [Whoa! If Liam comes, Chloe will definitely be there, right?!] [Omg yes! My favorite high school ship is finally reuniting!] Scrolling through the messages, a bitter, sour feeling settled in my chest. Chloe was our school’s ‘It Girl’—radiant, beautiful, and from a wealthy family. Standing next to Liam, they really did look like a perfect match. As for me? The most interaction I ever got with Liam was when the teacher read out the test scores, and he’d throw a teasing comment my way: “Our class rep really is built different.” My crush was a secret I intended to take to my grave. I didn’t even have the courage to hold a normal conversation with him. I was terrified that a single look would give me away. After a long pause, Liam finally replied to the chat with a simple [1]. I privately messaged the class president to RSVP as well. The night of the reunion, I was sitting in a corner, chatting with some old friends about college life. Suddenly, Liam pushed the private room door open, with Chloe following closely behind him. The whole class erupted into cheers. “Liam and Chloe look so good together!” “I knew the only one who could tame Liam was Chloe!” Chloe smiled shyly, rolling her eyes playfully at the cheering crowd. “Alright guys, keep it down.” But Liam’s face suddenly turned ice cold. “Don’t talk nonsense.” He pushed through the crowd and walked straight over, sitting down right next to me. The room instantly went dead silent. Every single pair of eyes snapped toward us. I stiffened my neck, turned my head, and met Liam’s pitch-black eyes. “Long time no see, Class Rep.” I instantly chickened out. I just nodded at him, considering that a greeting. He was tall with incredibly long legs, and to avoid accidentally touching him, I shimmied closer to the wall. Liam shot me a sideways glance but didn’t say anything. My friend Jenna, sitting on my other side, frantically texted me. [Holy crap, why did Liam sit next to you? Since when are you guys this close?!] [I have no idea! Is it because I’m wearing a black jacket today and he literally didn’t see me sitting here?] […He’s not legally blind. But you better watch out, the look Chloe is giving you right now could literally kill you.] I sneaked a peek at Chloe. Her expression was completely thunderous. I texted Jenna back, saying I’d rather shrink into my seat and play dead than become cannon fodder in their drama. The class president quickly pulled Chloe to a seat, trying to smooth things over. Everyone started chatting again, reminiscing about high school, and the atmosphere slowly relaxed. Suddenly, Chloe walked over with her wine glass, leaned down, and smiled at me. “Sarah, do you mind swapping seats with me?” I looked up, meeting her perfectly composed, flawless smile. I was just stressing over how to escape this awkward situation! I immediately agreed: “Oh, sure, yeah, let’s swap.” I grabbed my glass of juice, ready to stand up. Suddenly, a heavy weight landed on my shoulder, pinning me down. I froze, slowly turning my head to look at the pale, long-fingered hand resting on my shoulder. Then I looked at Chloe. Oh boy, the look in her eyes was even worse now! But Liam remained completely unfazed. He lifted his heavy eyelids, shot Chloe a cold look, and said flatly: “She’s sitting here. Find somewhere else.” Cold sweat instantly broke out on my back. My first instinct was to shove Liam’s hand off me. But then I realized that if we started physically struggling, it would look even more suspicious. I decided to just play the polite bystander and let out an awkward laugh to defuse the tension: “It’s fine, I’ll swap with you. I don’t really want to sit against the wall anyway.” Liam turned his head and raised an eyebrow at me. “In high school, didn’t you always say your favorite spot was right against the wall?” The fake smile on my face instantly shattered. I had no idea what kind of game he was playing. The room went dead quiet again. Completely ignored and humiliated by him, Chloe’s eyes turned red. She choked out: “Liam, do you really have to embarrass me in front of all these people?” The air pressure around Liam dropped to freezing. He said in a low, dangerous voice: “You brought the embarrassment on yourself. She was sitting here perfectly fine. Why should she move for you?” Unable to take the humiliation, Chloe slammed her glass down on the table, turned around, and ran out of the room. But Liam didn’t move an inch. Finally, the class president sighed, stood up, and chased after her. The crowd’s gaze shifted from Liam directly onto me. I felt like I was sitting on a bed of nails. Dear God. I have literally nothing to do with this! 2 After Chloe left, Liam started drinking. Hard. To anyone watching, it looked exactly like a couple having a nasty fight. I didn’t dare speak to him, terrified of causing an even bigger misunderstanding. I just shrank back into my corner, clutching my orange juice like a lifeline. Silently counting how many glasses he was throwing back. In our three years of high school, Liam and I rarely ever sat this close to each other. He had taken off his jacket and draped it over the back of his chair. The sleeves of his white dress shirt were rolled up, revealing the lean, defined muscles of his forearms. I fought with everything I had to keep my eyes off him. But the faint, intoxicating scent of rosewater radiating from him kept drifting to my nose. It had been almost a year since I last saw him. His features had sharpened, losing the soft edges of a high school boy. He existed in that perfect space between a boy and a man, looking even more breathtaking than before. I couldn’t help it. I sneaked a tiny, quick glance at him—and crashed straight into his gaze. I immediately snapped my eyes away and violently started eating my salad. After a few seconds of silence, I heard him let out a soft, low chuckle. “Hiding again.” My heart was beating so fast I thought it was going to burst out of my chest. Thankfully, some of the guys started talking to him, breaking the suffocating tension. I absentmindedly poked at the greens in my bowl. I was starting to regret coming to see him. I knew he didn’t belong to me, yet I couldn’t stop myself from secretly pining for him, over and over again. Just as my thoughts were spiraling, a massive chicken drumstick suddenly appeared in my bowl. I looked at Liam in absolute shock. He didn’t even look at me. He just said coolly: “I used the serving chopsticks. They’re clean.” I took a deep breath, forced myself to stay calm, and managed a stiff, “Thank you.” But inside, I was screaming— Is this about the chopsticks?! Since when are we close enough to serve each other food?! Luckily, no one knew about my secret crush on him, so everyone just assumed I was awkwardly caught in the crossfire. Even Jenna texted me: [Looks like our favorite ship has officially sunk. Sarah, I feel so bad for you, but I can’t save you. Just eat your food and stay quiet.] I replied with a single smiley face emoji. Expressing my absolute speechlessness. Liam seemed determined to drink himself into a coma tonight. He barely spoke another word, and his eyes didn’t drift my way again. Everyone read the room. Seeing that the night had run its course, they all started making excuses to leave. I wanted to leave too. But Liam was leaning lazily back in his chair, his eyes closed, his incredibly long legs stretched out, completely blocking my only exit. I called his name softly. “Liam? Could you move a little?” No response. I tugged lightly on the edge of his shirt. “Liam?” Still nothing. Looks like he was genuinely blackout drunk. I signaled Jenna for help. “Jenna, wait for me, let’s leave together.” But just as she started walking toward me, Liam’s eyes snapped open, and he shot her a freezing, lethal glare. Jenna froze in her tracks, laughing awkwardly: “Uh, Sarah, why don’t you do the honors and get him home?” I didn’t even get a chance to object. Liam let out a low “Mm,” turned to look at me, and said with perfect, slurred politeness: “Sorry to trouble you, Class Rep.” Me: “…No trouble at all.” 3 I booked a room at the nearest hotel and asked him if he could still walk. He gripped the edge of the table to stand up, but immediately stumbled. I frantically reached out and caught him. The sudden, close physical contact sent my heart into overdrive. I wanted to let go, but I was terrified he would crack his head open on the floor. “How about I ask a waiter to help you to the hotel?” Liam instantly stood up straight, his brows furrowing deeply. “No. I don’t like other people touching me.” He grabbed his jacket off the chair and looked back at me. “Let’s go. Didn’t you say you were walking me back?” With that, he started walking toward the door on his own. I stared at his back, completely bewildered. Is he actually drunk or not? I sighed heavily and jogged after him. “Liam, wait a second, let me call an Uber.” “Is it far?” “Not really, but—” “Then let’s walk. I’m dizzy. I don’t want to sit in a car.” I looked at his pale face and tightly knit brows. He definitely didn’t look well. Maybe getting some fresh air would help clear his head. For the entire walk, I quietly trailed behind him. The only sound was my Google Maps navigation telling us which traffic light to turn at. Suddenly, Liam stopped dead in his tracks. I wasn’t paying attention and almost slammed right into his back. Thank god for my quick reflexes; the tip of my nose barely brushed against his wool coat. “What’s wrong? Are you going to throw up? Should I run into a pharmacy and get you some hangover meds?” Whenever my dad drank too much, my mom always made him an herbal hangover drink, and it always settled his stomach. There happened to be a 24-hour pharmacy right across the street. I pointed at it. “You stay right here. Don’t wander off, I’ll be right back—” Liam suddenly grabbed my wrist, yanked me backward, and pulled me solidly into his arms. My entire body froze. I forgot how to breathe. The hug I had only ever dared to imagine in my wildest dreams was actually happening. But I was completely sober. And I knew this was wrong. I tried to push him away, but he only held me tighter. If anyone from school saw us like this, I would never be able to explain it! My voice was trembling when I called his name. “Liam—” He buried his face in the crook of my neck, his voice incredibly hoarse and low: “Please don’t go, okay?” “I didn’t do anything to make you mad. Stop hiding from me.” 4 Liam was definitely blackout drunk. He was mistaking me for Chloe, and spouting a bunch of easily misunderstood nonsense. I didn’t want to get into a wrestling match with him in the middle of the street. So, I had to treat him like a toddler. “I’m not going anywhere, I’m taking you to bed. Be good, let go of me first, okay?” He let out an obedient “Mm,” released the hug, and immediately grabbed my hand instead. And then he looked at me with those huge, wet, puppy-dog eyes. Thank god my psychological fortitude was strong and my moral compass was high. For the next two blocks, my palms were sweating from how tightly he was gripping my hand. I stepped on his shadow, muttering under my breath: “If you’re this clingy, why the hell were you fighting with her in the first place? You brought this on yourself!” When we finally made it to the hotel room and the door clicked shut behind us, his legs gave out completely. He dragged me down onto the bed with him. His hot breath fanned against my ear, the intoxicating scent of alcohol and rosewater completely overwhelming my senses. All I had to do was turn my head an inch, and my lips would touch his. Who could possibly resist this kind of temptation?! Me, that’s who! Even though I really wanted to. I couldn’t. He was just drunk, not dead. Taking advantage of him while he was blackout drunk was highly immoral. I violently suppressed the massive wave of dirty thoughts in my brain and shoved him off me. Liam lay flat on his back. The alcohol was probably making him thirsty, because he restlessly shifted and ran his tongue over his dry lips. Dear God. If I looked at him for one more second, I was going to get a nosebleed. I frantically unscrewed a bottle of water and brought it to his lips. He swallowed instinctively, his Adam’s apple bobbing. The pale skin of his neck was flushed red from the alcohol, the color spreading all the way to the tips of his ears. …This was getting out of hand. Truly. I squeezed my eyes shut, and my hand jerked. The cool water spilled past his lips, soaking a dark patch into the hotel sheets. I mentally slapped myself in the face. I muttered a curse at myself. “You absolute animal!” I kept my eyes locked on the ceiling. I aggressively yanked the duvet over him, tucking him in like a burrito, and finally managed to calm down. Staring at Liam’s sleeping face, his brows still furrowed in discomfort, I gave myself a mental thumbs-up. Great job, Sarah. You didn’t sexually assault him while he was vulnerable. This was the boy I had loved for three years. He belonged in my dreams. He shouldn’t actually be a part of my real life. The doorbell rang. The hangover medicine I ordered had arrived. I placed the meds, a box of tissues, and a fresh bottle of water on the nightstand. I gave him a little wave and whispered my goodbyes. “Goodbye, Liam! Don’t drink this much ever again. Boys need to be careful when they’re out alone at night.” 5 It was incredibly late by the time I got home, but I wasn’t tired at all. Jenna was still awake, eager to gossip. [Sarah, did you hear? The class president said when he finally caught up to Chloe, she was crying so hard it was pathetic.] [She said she had a little argument with Liam, and it made him furious.] That made sense to me. For three years of high school, they were practically joined at the hip. Their families were both incredibly wealthy and well-connected, so even the teachers turned a blind eye to them. Thinking about that mistaken hug tonight… I felt even more ashamed. My crush was something I couldn’t control, but the only thing I could control was my own actions. I wouldn’t cause trouble for him. And I wouldn’t humiliate myself. I scrolled through my phone, feeling completely miserable, until I finally tossed it aside and forced myself to sleep. Early the next morning, my doorbell rang. At this hour, my parents had already left for work. Logically, no one should be visiting. But the doorbell kept ringing persistently, like whoever it was had an emergency. I threw on my fluffy robe and went to open the door. When I saw the person standing outside, my jaw dropped. “Liam?! What are you doing here? The hotel room I booked for you doesn’t check out until 2 PM!” “That’s not important.” I was completely baffled. I couldn’t think of a single reason why he would be at my front door. He took a step closer and said in a low voice: “I came to pay you back for the hotel room.” I let out a huge sigh of relief. “Oh, you could have just Venmo’d me! You didn’t have to come all the way here—” “But you never gave me your number.” “…I’ll give it to you right now!” After we exchanged contacts, he didn’t immediately send the money. Instead, he stood in the doorway, rubbing his arms, his voice sounding incredibly pathetic. “Class Rep, I’m so cold. Aren’t you going to invite me inside?” I snapped out of my daze and realized he wasn’t wearing the heavy wool coat from last night. He was only wearing a thin black hoodie and jeans. He looked amazing, but he was definitely freezing. I looked down at myself. I was wearing a massive, fluffy, bear-eared pajama onesie. Warm, yes. But incredibly childish! I couldn’t bear to watch him freeze, so I stepped aside to let him in. “Come on in and sit down.” The second the door closed, I instantly regretted it. A boy and a girl, alone in a house. He was completely sober, and I was completely sober. He was a living, breathing human standing in my living room, and he was staring right at me. I didn’t know what to do with my hands or feet. I ran around like a headless chicken, turning up the thermostat, pulling out chips, sunflower seeds, and a bowl of fresh cherries. “Have a snack first, I’ll go grab you a glass of milk.” He suddenly grabbed my hand. “Stop running around. I’m not hungry.” His freezing fingertips sent a shiver through me. He immediately let go. “Just sit with me for a minute.” I sat down rigidly, my hands placed perfectly on my knees like an obedient school child. It was way too quiet. I was starting to panic. After a long pause, Liam broke the silence. “Why did you leave me there last night?” “…I didn’t leave you! You were blackout drunk. I took you to the hotel, made sure you were asleep, and then went home.” Liam’s clear, dark eyes stared directly into mine. “I was drunk. But I faked passing out.” He drank at least six or seven bottles of beer last night. He was drunk as a skunk, and he even thought I was Chloe! And now he was sitting in my living room trying to claim he faked it?! I reasonably deduced he was just trying to save face. I gave a dry laugh, offering him an out. “Oh, totally, totally! I could tell you handle your liquor really well! You weren’t messy at all!” Liam stared at me, looking deeply frustrated, like he was looking at an absolute idiot. “If I didn’t pretend to pass out, with how terrified you are of me, when would you have ever dared to come near me?” “I was literally lying there totally helpless last night. You could have done whatever you wanted to me.” “And what did you do? You tucked me in and ran away.” I froze completely. Wait, did he figure something out?! I thought I hid my crush perfectly! Liam stood up, taking a step toward me, and slowly opened his arms. “You absolute coward. Can I get a hug?” “I’m dying of a broken heart over here.” 6 Liam reached out and pulled me into a gentle hug. My nose was filled with the faint, elegant scent of roses. It was so intoxicating I felt myself melting into it. The living room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. I couldn’t tell if the deafening, hammering heartbeat I was hearing was his, or mine. Was he actually sober right now? If he was, why was he hugging me? I absolutely refused to be his temporary rebound after a bad breakup. And I refused to take advantage of him while he was heartbroken and vulnerable. I forced my rational brain to reboot and pushed him away. “Liam, you have a girlfriend. You cannot hug me.” “I only took you to the hotel last night because we’re classmates. Please do not misunderstand.” Liam’s entire body stiffened. He looked at me in total, absolute shock. “Since when do I have a girlfriend?” I was just as confused as he was. “You and Chloe! Weren’t you guys dating all through high school?” Liam let out a breath of pure exasperation, almost laughing. “Are you kidding me? For three years of high school, the only things I cared about were studying and playing basketball. Where the hell did you get the idea that I was dating her?” “But that’s what everyone always said—” “Sarah. You believe them over me?” Hearing him say my actual name sent a jolt of panic through my chest. I avoided his intense, burning gaze and mumbled: “I didn’t say I didn’t believe you. It’s just that everyone said it, and you never bothered to deny it…” “I made it perfectly clear to her a long time ago. I don’t like her. The only connection we have is that our parents are friends and we live in the same neighborhood.” “Whatever she does has absolutely nothing to do with me.” “But you, on the other hand. You absolute idiot. I’ve been in love with you for three years, and you didn’t notice a single thing?!” I couldn’t believe my ears. I never thought I would hear a confession from him. Suddenly, a flood of memories hit me. Every time I had casually glanced over my shoulder in class, I had always locked eyes with Liam. But I always thought it was just a coincidence. I never dared to imagine it meant anything more. It wasn’t until Liam gently brushed his fingers against my hand that I realized I was trembling so hard I was vibrating. “Why aren’t you saying anything?” “I… I need to think about it.” The fact that he was confessing to me felt entirely surreal. I needed to calm down, re-evaluate every interaction we had ever had, and then give him an answer. Hearing that, Liam let out a soft, relieved laugh. “Okay. There’s no rush. I’ll get going then.” “So soon?” Crap. Said that out loud. I looked up, and sure enough, Liam was fighting back a massive, triumphant grin. I wanted to crawl under the sofa cushions and die. Liam reached out and affectionately ruffled my hair. “Once you finally give me a title, I’ll never leave your house.” “It’s my birthday next week. Can you come to my party?” “Yes, I’ll definitely be there.” After Liam left, I got a Venmo notification from him. The amount was astronomically higher than the cost of the hotel room. I sent him a question mark. [You sent way too much.] He replied: [Thanks for taking care of me last night.] [Can you use the extra to buy me a present?] Even if he hadn’t asked, I was going to buy him one anyway. I knew exactly when his birthday was. For the past three years, the birthday gifts I had bought for him were all locked in the bottom drawer of my desk. I just never had the courage to give them to him. He said he never dated Chloe. And he said he liked me. Compared to my terrified, hiding-in-the-shadows approach, his absolute, unapologetic honesty gave me a surge of courage. I decided that on his birthday, I was going to officially confess my feelings. 7 On the day of Liam’s birthday, he was waiting outside my apartment building bright and early. He was even holding a bouquet of flowers. But he never told me he was coming to pick me up! Seeing him step out of his car and walk toward me, I quickly jogged over, a huge smile breaking across my face. “What are you doing here?” “It’s a long drive. I wanted to pick you up.” He glanced down at my dress, and his brows immediately furrowed. “It’s too cold. Get in the car.” The joy I had just felt instantly dissolved into panic. Usually, I dressed like a complete tomboy. Today, I specifically bought a brand new outfit and even put on a little makeup. The skirt ended right above my knees, and even with fleece-lined tights, the winter wind was cutting straight to my bones. Liam always looked so effortlessly cool and athletic. I just didn’t want to look like a complete slob standing next to him. “Do you not like it?” “What are you talking about?” “The dress looks amazing on you. But I don’t want you to freeze to death. Get in.” A warm, fluttery feeling bloomed in my chest. I whispered, “I’m not cold.” Liam leaned over the center console and gently buckled my seatbelt for me. Then he placed the bouquet of flowers onto my lap. I looked at him in total confusion. “Today is your birthday, why are you giving me flowers?” “I was worried you forgot to buy me a present, so I brought these. When we get to the party, just tell everyone you bought them for me.” I immediately felt embarrassed. “I can’t do that! Besides, I did buy you a present!” I pulled a small velvet box out of my purse and handed it to him. Liam opened it right then and there. His eyes lit up. “A bracelet? It’s beautiful. I love it.” He immediately slipped it onto his wrist. He turned to me, shook his wrist to show it off, a brilliant, genuine smile spreading across his face. “Thank you. Getting two presents today makes me really happy.” “You’re welcome. As long as you like it.” Seeing you happy makes me happy.

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In my third year as Isabelle’s paid companion, her family decided it was time for her to win over the man she was arranged to marry. Isabelle, bored and annoyed, just tossed me her phone with a burner account logged in. “You chat with him,” she’d ordered, a sharp warning in her voice. “If you mess this up, you’re done.” So, I gritted my teeth and dove in. Every day, I wracked my brain for sweet nothings and clever compliments. I spent three months weaving a web of digital romance with Nathaniel Northwood, the heir to the Northwood fortune. And it worked. He became more and more attentive, more engaged. Until one day, he messaged my personal number. He’d gotten it from Isabelle to coordinate something. He asked me to grab a gift he’d left and bring it up to her. Without thinking, I typed back: [Got it, thanks babe!] The other end went silent. 1 I sent the message and immediately got out of bed to wash up. It wasn’t until the cold water shocked my senses that I remembered Nathaniel’s text. I grabbed my phone, intending to double-check where he’d left the gift. But when the screen lit up, my blood ran cold. There, in our chat history, was my reply. After it, Nathaniel hadn’t responded with his usual warm patience. Just a single, cold question mark: [?] His original message read: [I left a gift for Isabelle at the front desk of her dorm. Make sure she gets it.] A knot of dread tightened in my stomach. I backed out of the chat, my thumb trembling, and clicked back in. I did this several times, praying the screen would change. Finally, I had to accept the horrifying truth. I was logged into my own account. Not the burner Isabelle had given me. And my “thanks babe” was well past the time limit for unsending a message. My mind raced, scrambling for a way to fix this. I sifted through a dozen bad excuses until I landed on the most plausible one: [So sorry, wrong person. That was meant for a friend.] [I’ll get the gift to Isabelle right away.] I sent it and waited, my heart hammering against my ribs. After a few agonizing moments, he replied. He didn’t press the issue, thank God. His response was clipped and detached. [Right. Thanks.] I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. Then, I switched over to the burner account Isabelle had given me. A new message from Nathaniel popped up instantly, his tone a world away from the coldness he’d just shown me: [Babe, I’m coming home.] [When I get back, let’s talk about our engagement, okay?] The breath I’d just released hitched in my throat. 2 I started working for Isabelle my freshman year of college. I needed the money for my grandmother’s medical bills, and she needed someone to manage her life. I became her shadow. Then, three months ago, her family’s company hit a wall. A cash flow crisis. Suddenly, the engagement to Nathaniel Northwood, the heir to a massive fortune, went from a vague future plan to an urgent necessity. Isabelle had to charm him, and fast. The problem was, Nathaniel was still overseas. Their only connection was through their phones. She tried for three days, sending polite, lukewarm messages. He remained distant, almost indifferent. Isabelle had never been ignored in her life. It drove her crazy. Luckily, the account she was using wasn’t her main one. In a fit of pique, she shoved the phone at me. “You do it,” she’d said. “If you blow it, you’re fired.” So, with my job on the line, I took over. My world began to revolve around him. I’d wake up and immediately start composing romantic messages. I scoured his social media, learning his passions, his pet peeves, his favorite bands, anything to find common ground. Slowly, it started to work. His replies grew longer. He started initiating conversations. He became warmer, more personal. Three months flew by like that. And now, he was coming home to discuss their wedding. I knew my mission was finally coming to an end. 3 I immediately started compiling a document. A complete dossier on Nathaniel Northwood. Every preference I’d learned, every inside joke we’d shared over the last three months, every little detail—it all went in. Then I went downstairs, picked up the gift he’d left, and headed to Isabelle’s lavish off-campus apartment. When I walked in, she was lounging on a velvet sofa, surrounded by a mountain of shopping bags and gift boxes. I handed her the package and explained what it was. Isabelle tore it open. Inside was a small, exquisitely crafted plush bunny. A limited edition. She examined it for a moment, her nose wrinkled in distaste. “That’s it? A stupid stuffed animal?” I kept my eyes lowered. “I think… I mentioned once that I thought rabbits were cute. He must have remembered.” Isabelle rolled her eyes and tossed the bunny at me. “Whatever. You can have it.” Her voice sharpened. “Next time, make sure you mention how much I love diamonds and designer bags. Got it?” My fingers tightened around the rejected gift. “Yes,” I said quietly. I had to remind her. “He said he’s coming back. You two will be meeting in person soon.” I tried to hand the reins back. “Maybe… you should take over the texting from now on.” But Isabelle just shook her head, waving her own phone at me. The screen was a dizzying list of chats. “Look at this. I’ve got my hands full with all these guys. You just keep handling Nathaniel.” I fell silent, then nodded again, defeated. I sent her the file I’d prepared. “Here are his likes and dislikes. You should probably read this before you meet him.” “Yeah, yeah, whatever,” she said, already bored. “Stop nagging.” I said no more. A few days later, Nathaniel was back. Isabelle dressed to the nines for his welcome-home party, and I trailed behind her, carrying her purse. As we reached the door to the private room, her phone buzzed. It was one of her other admirers. She waved me forward. “You go in first. I need to take this.” I nodded and pushed the heavy door open. Before my eyes could even adjust to the dim light, the purse was lifted from my hand. A second later, a pair of strong, long-fingered hands laced through mine. A warm, woody scent enveloped me. A voice, lazy and laced with a smile, washed over me. “Look at you, being so good today. You even brought the bag I sent you.” It was the same voice I’d imagined a thousand times through a speaker, now real and resonating right beside my ear. My face flushed with heat as I looked up. At that exact moment, Nathaniel’s eyes focused on my face. He froze. His hand dropped mine as if it were on fire. He muttered a quiet curse under his breath. “Sorry,” he said, his voice flat. “Wrong person.” 4 Just then, Isabelle breezed in from her call. “What are you two doing just standing here?” Nathaniel’s composure snapped back into place instantly. He smoothly took Isabelle’s hand, his smile returning. “Waiting for you.” The awkward moment was forgotten, or at least ignored. Isabelle was a natural, mingling and laughing with everyone in the room within minutes. I found a quiet corner seat next to her and tried to make myself invisible, which suited me just fine. After a while, Isabelle peeled a shrimp, a playful look on her face, and held it up to Nathaniel’s lips. The room fell silent for a beat. Isabelle looked around, confused. My heart leaped into my throat. She hadn’t read my notes. I knew she hadn’t. Nathaniel was allergic to shellfish. I’d even bolded and highlighted it in the document. His brow furrowed slightly as he looked down at the shrimp she offered. Disaster was seconds away. I leaned in and whispered urgently, “He’s allergic to seafood.” Isabelle’s recovery was seamless. She popped the shrimp into her own mouth, winked playfully at Nathaniel, and said, “I know you can’t have any, silly. I just wanted to let you smell it.” A low chuckle escaped Nathaniel’s lips. The crisis was averted. I finally breathed again. After dinner, the party shifted to a game of Truth or Dare. Midway through, Isabelle announced she needed to touch up her makeup and asked Nathaniel to pass her purse. My own bag was sitting right next to hers. As he reached for it, he accidentally knocked mine over. Its contents spilled across the floor. And there, under the warm lights of the restaurant, lay the limited-edition plush bunny. Panic seized me. I dropped to my knees, desperate to snatch it up before anyone noticed. But it was too late. Nathaniel’s voice, cool and laced with something I couldn’t decipher, cut through the air. “That bunny. Why do you have it?” 5 A thousand excuses flashed through my mind. I was holding it for Isabelle. I happened to have the exact same one. But every lie sounded flimsy and pathetic. The truth was, I loved rabbits. When Isabelle had tossed the toy at me with such disdain, I’d held onto it, eventually tucking it away safely in the deepest pocket of my bag. I’d been in such a rush today, I’d forgotten it was even there. My brain went blank. Before I could stammer out a single word, Isabelle, panicked and cornered, pointed a finger at me. “Zoe!” she cried, her voice ringing with false accusation. “How could you steal from me?” Tears welled in her eyes, perfectly timed. “I’ve been so good to you! You knew how much I loved that gift, why would you take it?” Every eye in the room swiveled to me. Whispers erupted like wildfire. “Isn’t that her little assistant? So ungrateful.” “Wow, she’s got some nerve. Stealing a gift from Nathan to his girlfriend.” “Who knows what else she’s stolen? Better check my wallet.” I opened my mouth to deny it, to tell them the truth. But Isabelle leaned in close, her voice a venomous whisper in my ear. “You say one word and you’re finished.” She sweetened the deal. “Play along, and I’ll give you five thousand dollars after this.” The words died on my tongue. Five thousand dollars. That was months of my grandmother’s medication. Her surgery was just around the corner, and I couldn’t afford to lose this job. Not now. My nails dug into my palms. Under the weight of a dozen judgmental stares, I heard my own voice, raw and shaky. “…I’m sorry. I stole it.” 6 Isabelle wiped a tear from her eye, playing the part of the magnanimous victim. “It’s okay. As long as you learn from your mistakes.” She turned to Nathaniel, forcing a smile and tugging on his sleeve. “Come on, don’t be angry. Zoe didn’t mean it. Her family… they have it really tough.” Nathaniel said nothing, but I could feel his gaze on me, sharp and full of contempt. The whispers in the room shifted. “Isabelle is too nice. I wouldn’t forgive that.” “Whatever, it’s Nathan’s welcome home party. Let’s not ruin the mood.” Isabelle offered the room a sweet, innocent smile. Five minutes later, the game of Truth or Dare resumed. And of course, my luck held. The next dare landed on me. The one holding the power, the “king,” was Nathaniel. He had been silent until now, but as he looked at me, a slow, cruel smile spread across his lips. “A dare, huh?” he said, his voice dangerously smooth. “Okay… Feed a piece of food to a guy of your choice.” He paused, letting the words hang in the air before adding the final twist. “Without using your hands.” The room went dead quiet. The malice was so thick you could cut it with a knife. It was a direct, personal attack, and everyone knew it. But no one dared to challenge him. I stood there, frozen in humiliation. I didn’t know anyone here well enough to ask them to participate in my punishment. Finally, one of Isabelle’s hangers-on, a guy named Rick, stood up. A leering, predatory grin spread across his face. “Hey. I’ll do it with you.” His eyes crawled over me like snakes, slick and unsettling. I swallowed down a wave of nausea, determined to just get it over with. Rick produced a long, thin biscuit stick, gesturing for me to bite down on one end. Then, his greasy face began to move closer, and closer. My hands, hanging limp at my sides, started to tremble. I couldn’t do it. I was about to shove him away, consequences be damned. “Okay, that’s enough,” Isabelle finally called out, her voice feigning boredom. “It doesn’t have to be that literal.” Nathaniel raised an eyebrow but nodded, ending the spectacle. The game continued as if nothing had happened. After the party, I drove Isabelle home in silence. When we arrived, she tapped on her phone, and a notification for a five-thousand-dollar transfer popped up on my screen. She got out of the car and walked into her mansion without a backward glance. As if that sum meant nothing to her at all. I clutched my phone, a small, hopeful thought flickering in the darkness. Tomorrow, I can buy some good ribs. I can make Grandma a nice meal. As I was thinking this, a notification appeared on the burner phone. It was from Nathaniel. The same Nathaniel who had just watched me be humiliated. Now, clueless, he was back in character. [Babe, I took care of it for you. Don’t be sad anymore, okay?] [That bunny got dirty. I’ll get you a new one.] 7 The next day, I was back at my part-time job at a local bakery. Grandma’s surgery was still tens of thousands of dollars away. The money from Isabelle wasn’t nearly enough. I was on my lunch break when the bell over the door chimed. It was Rick, the guy from the party. He picked out a few pastries and brought them to the counter. I boxed them up. “That’ll be twenty-seven dollars.” He took the box, but instead of letting go, his fingers slid over mine, his touch lingering and unwelcome. “A pretty face like yours shouldn’t be working in a place like this. Why don’t you just come with me?” My stomach lurched. “There are cameras in here,” I said, my voice ice. “Let go, or I’m calling the police.” His grip only tightened. He leaned in, unafraid. “Don’t be like that. I just want to be friends.” He lowered his voice. “Whatever Isabelle’s paying you, I’ll double it. How about it?” I looked up at him and forced a smile. In the split second he was distracted, I snatched a pen from the counter and jabbed it hard into the back of his hand. He yelped in pain, his hand flying back. I used the opening to bolt for the back room. He recovered quickly, shouting curses as he chased after me. He was just about to grab the collar of my shirt when a loud, pained cry echoed through the shop. I spun around, startled. Rick was sprawled on the floor. Standing over him, looking down with an air of cold authority, was Nathaniel. After he’d sent Rick scrambling out the door, a heavy silence fell between us. Nathaniel didn’t look at me. “Don’t get the wrong idea,” he said, his tone casual. “Isabelle happens to like you as her little assistant.” He finally glanced over. “If you ran off with Rick, she’d be upset.” I took a step back, putting distance between us. “I understand,” I said, my voice formal. “Thank you for your help.” Just then, my coworker arrived for her shift. I gathered my things, desperate to escape. But Nathaniel followed me out the door. He checked his watch. “I was just on my way to see Isabelle anyway. I can give you a ride.” 8 The truth is, this wasn’t the first time I’d met Nathaniel. Years ago, back in high school, my parents got divorced. Neither of them wanted me. They just… left me. On the street. I was alone, with no money, huddled on a curb. I wasn’t sad, not really. I was just trying to figure out how I was going to get the ten dollars I needed for school books the next day. I walked down the main street, going from restaurant to restaurant, asking if they needed any help. They all took one look at how young I was and shook their heads, saying they didn’t hire kids. The last shop owner was impatient. “I told you, no kids! Go on, get out of here. You’re bad for business.” I stood there, lost, when a voice came from behind me. “How much do you need?” He couldn’t have been much older than me, but he carried himself with an air of wealth and confidence. I sniffled. “Ten dollars.” He seemed to be in a hurry. He pulled out his wallet and handed me a twenty. “Wait here,” I said quickly. I ran into the convenience store next door and got change, then ran back to give him the other ten. He took it without a word, ready to leave. It was clear he was just doing a random act of charity. In a moment of panic, I grabbed his sleeve. “What’s your name? I’ll pay you back.” He paused, then finally spoke two words. “Nathaniel Northwood.” I didn’t know how to spell it, didn’t know who he was. But I never forgot the name. I tucked it away, a secret treasure in the back of my mind. Then, three months ago, Isabelle sent me his picture. I stared at it for a long, long time. After all these years, I finally knew who he was. And now, here we were, standing outside the bakery in an awkward silence. He clearly had no memory of me. While we waited for his driver, he pulled out his phone and started texting. A moment later, my pocket buzzed. It was the burner phone. A message from him. [What are you doing, babe? Why aren’t you answering me?] My hands fumbled as I quickly silenced the notification. Nathaniel, completely oblivious, didn’t look up. He waited another moment, and when he still got no reply, he pursed his lips and just decided to call. In the next second, my purse started to ring.

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Whenever I asked Mark to go downstairs, I’d add as an afterthought, “Don’t forget to take the trash out.” He always nodded. And he always forgot. Then I noticed something. Whenever he went downstairs, the trash bag outside our neighbor Daisy’s door would be gone the next morning. One time, I didn’t remind him at all. Sure enough, our trash bag was still sitting by our door, while the space in front of her apartment was spotless. I stood there for a few seconds, the faint, sour smell of last night’s garbage hanging in the air. Without a word, I picked up our trash and took it down myself. From that day on, I stopped reminding him of anything. I no longer asked what time he’d be home. I no longer entrusted him with any “while you’re at it” tasks. Until one night, he suddenly asked me, “Have you been a little cold to me lately?” I glanced at the empty trash bin by the door, thought for a moment, and shook my head. “Not at all.” It was only later that I realized some people don’t forget what they’re supposed to do. They’ve already chosen who is worth remembering. And it was time I learned to remove him from my list of necessities. … It was 2 a.m. when Mark came home. I was still awake, sitting on the living room floor, sorting through years of household receipts. I didn’t look up when the door opened. A faint scent of perfume, mingled with smoke and alcohol, drifted in. “Hey, Ellie. Still up?” Mark’s voice was laced with a guilty, eager-to-please tone. He was holding an elegant insulated container, and he crouched down in front of me. “I passed by Ocean’s Crest on the way home and stood in line to get you their seafood chowder. It’s still hot.” He kicked off his shoes, his expression expectant, as if waiting for praise. I was sitting on the sofa, reading a book. I glanced up, my eyes landing on the container. The seafood chowder from Ocean’s Crest was famous for being packed with fresh ingredients—rich, succulent pieces of lobster and crab. But because it was so rich, the potent, sweet-and-briny smell seeped out even through the sealed lid. My stomach churned. I felt my brow furrow almost imperceptibly. “Thanks. Just leave it there,” I said flatly. My indifference seemed to annoy him. He placed the chowder on the coffee table and reached out to put a hand on my shoulder, but I leaned forward, pretending to turn a page, and his hand met empty air. It hovered there for an awkward moment before he retracted it, clearing his throat and starting to unbutton his shirt. “Oh, by the way, I need this shirt for a meeting tomorrow. It’s a bit wrinkled. Can you iron it for me? Remember to hand-wash it first. The fabric is delicate, it can’t go in the machine.” His tone was so matter-of-fact, as if I were his highly paid housekeeper. I glanced at the shirt. It was a gift from me for our wedding anniversary—a custom-tailored Italian silk blend. It was, indeed, delicate. In the past, I had always hand-washed each of his fine shirts in cold water, using a steamer to gently smooth out every crease, terrified of scorching a single thread. I looked at him and found the situation almost funny. “Mark,” I said, gesturing to the chowder. “Did you forget I’m severely allergic to shellfish?” He froze, his hands stilled on his tie. A look of shock flashed across his face, quickly followed by embarrassment and guilt. “Oh. Right… are you? I thought you used to like fish…” “That was freshwater fish,” I said, putting down the receipts. “The last time I accidentally ate shellfish, I was in the emergency room for two days. You were the one who filled out the hospital admission forms.” That was only last year. At the time, he’d been playing on his phone, complaining about how hard the hospital chairs were and how careless I’d been to get sick and make him take time off work to be there. It was clear now just how little he’d been paying attention. Mark’s face flushed red, his eyes darting away. “Well… I must have gotten it mixed up. I was just trying to do something nice for you, get you something nourishing. My mistake. I’ll get you something else next time.” He reached for the chowder, but I was already on my feet. I picked up the expensive container, walked it to the kitchen, and dropped the entire thing, box and all, directly into the trash can. It landed with a dull thud. Mark’s expression soured instantly. “Eleanor, what the hell? That was a hundred-dollar chowder! I haven’t eaten either!” “I don’t keep allergens in my house. It’s bad luck.” I turned on the faucet and began washing my hands, my voice as calm as if I were commenting on the weather. He was speechless. He took a deep breath, visibly trying to control his anger. He pointed a finger at the shirt. “Fine. The chowder was my fault. But at least get my shirt ready. I’m starving. I’m going to make some noodles.” He turned and strode into the kitchen, expertly opening cabinets to find a package of ramen. I dried my hands, picked up the silk shirt, and walked into the laundry room. Instead of filling a basin with cool water, I opened the washing machine, balled up the shirt, and tossed it inside. I poured in regular detergent, selected the “Heavy Duty” cycle, and pressed start. As the drum began to roar and tumble, I knew that delicate, expensive shirt was ruined. Mark came out with his bowl of noodles just in time to hear the spin cycle kick in. He paused, then rushed into the laundry room. His eyes practically bulged out of his head when he saw the machine churning at high speed. “Eleanor! Are you insane? That’s a three-hundred-dollar shirt! I told you it had to be hand-washed!” He fumbled with the buttons, stopping the cycle. He pulled out the shirt—now a wrinkled, misshapen rag—and his face twisted in a pained grimace. I leaned against the doorframe, watching his tantrum with a profound sense of calm. “I used to hand-wash it because I loved you, because I thought you were worth the effort.” I met his furious gaze, a wry smile touching my lips. “Now? The machine works just fine. It’s going to get wrinkled when you wear it anyway. Why waste the time?” Mark stared at me in disbelief, as if he were seeing me for the first time. “You were never like this. Eleanor, what is wrong with you lately? Is this all because I took out Daisy’s trash a few times? You’re going to act like this over that?” Oh. So he knew. He knew exactly what was bothering me, yet he chose to play dumb, to twist it around and accuse me of being hysterical. I looked at the soggy scrap of fabric in his hands and said softly, “Mark, you can always buy a new shirt. But some things, once they’re broken, can never be fixed.” After the seafood chowder incident, Mark gave me the silent treatment for two days. His social media, however, was anything but silent. He’d blocked me, but had forgotten about my alt account. Yesterday, there was a picture of him in the hallway, fixing a shoe cabinet. The caption read: A good neighbor is better than a distant relative. Always happy to help. In the corner of the photo, a pair of feet in pink bunny slippers was just visible. Daisy. I scrolled down to her feed. The same scene, but from a different angle. A shot of Mark’s back as he knelt on the floor, screwdriver in hand. There was a cute cartoon band-aid on his hand. The caption: Some hands are meant to rule the world, but he hurt his helping little ol’ me. So touched! They were practically flirting in public. I casually liked the post. Then I put my phone away and peeled the last shrimp on the table, placing it in my own bowl. Mark sat across from me, a scowl on his face. “Eleanor, when did you become so selfish? You always peel my shrimp for me.” I sipped my chamomile tea, watching him calmly without a word. He stopped, dropping a half-peeled shrimp onto his plate. “Why aren’t you saying anything? You’re not even going to peel them? You used to have a whole bowl ready for me by now.” Used to. Yes. Mark used to say he was clumsy and always pricked his fingers on the shells. He was a designer, he’d say, his hands were his most valuable asset. So every time we had shrimp, I was the one in gloves, my fingers stinging from the spicy oil, peeling each one for him. Watching him eat happily used to feel like a form of joy. Even when my fingers would later become red, swollen, and peel from the spice, he would just casually say, “You don’t have to do that next time,” and then, next time, he would wait expectantly for me to serve him again. “Mark,” I said, setting down my cup. My eyes fell on his long, elegant hands. “Your hands truly are precious.” He took it as a compliment and grunted in agreement. “Of course. These hands have to draw.” “Yes, hands for drawing,” I said with a cold smile. “But they seemed fine the other night in the hallway, when you were fixing our neighbor Daisy’s shoe cabinet. I didn’t hear you complaining about your precious hands then.” “That… Her cabinet was broken, and she’s a single woman. She couldn’t move it herself. I just happened to see her struggling. I couldn’t just walk away, could I? I just gave her a hand.” “‘A hand’? It looked like you brought your entire toolbox.” I scoffed. “Mark, you’re the man who used to wait for me to climb a ladder to change a lightbulb because you claimed you had vertigo. What happened? Did your vertigo magically disappear for the pretty neighbor? Or are your hands only precious when it comes to doing things for other people, and at home, they just wait to be served?” His face flushed a deep red. “Why do you have to be so sarcastic? What’s wrong with neighbors helping each other? Look at you now. What happened to the sweet, gentle woman I married?” “Sweet and gentle?” I put down my chopsticks and wiped my mouth with a napkin. “Mark, my gentleness is for my husband, not for a pampered child. And since your hands are so skilled, don’t expect me to call a handyman anymore when something breaks. We’ll save some money. You, the helpful neighbor, can fix it yourself.” With that, I stood up and started clearing the table. Mark sat there, watching my brisk movements. It probably dawned on him for the first time that the Eleanor who used to smile and agree to everything he said was gone. Good. It’s about time we all faced reality.

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In my last life, a runaway car left me broken on the pavement. My husband, standing right beside me, didn’t call for an ambulance. Instead, he cursed me for not watching where I was going, snarling that I deserved to die. After his tirade, he turned to comfort the driver who had hit me. “Don’t be scared,” he coached her. “When the cops get here, you stick to the story that she was trying to scam you for money, that you panicked and hit the gas instead of the brake.” “Don’t worry,” he assured her. “I’m here. Nothing will happen to you.” Even as I lay there, my life fading away, Vincent never once thought to call for help. As I took my final breath, he leaned in close, his voice a venomous whisper in my ear. “I’ll remember you. After all, you’re giving me quite a gift. I’ve already got plans for that million-dollar insurance payout.” When I opened my eyes again, I was back. A few days before the crash. 1 Rick smiled, tucking the signed insurance policy into his briefcase. Just as he was about to leave, I stopped him. “Is there something else, Faye?” he asked. I looked down at myself, whole and unharmed, a wave of dark relief washing over me. “Let me see Vincent’s policy again.” In my previous life, Vincent had told me he was just helping out a friend, Rick, by buying an accident policy. I didn’t think twice and signed on the dotted line for my own. A few days after the policies went into effect, I was the victim of a brutal hit-and-run. Vincent hadn’t called for an ambulance. He had rushed to the driver’s side, comforting her. “Don’t be scared,” he’d told her. “Just insist she was trying to scam you. That you got flustered and mixed up the pedals.” It was a stranger, a passerby, who finally found me bleeding out on the asphalt and called for help. But the nightmare wasn’t over. As the ambulance sped across the Blackwater Bridge, another car, seemingly out of nowhere, slammed into its side. The impact threw the rear doors open, and I was flung from the back of the vehicle, plunging into the dark river below. My body was never recovered. “Faye, Vincent’s coverage is higher than yours, and you’re the beneficiary. Is there something you’re concerned about?” Rick’s voice pulled me back to the present. “I want to change the coverage amount,” I stated. Rick looked hesitant. Vincent quickly stepped in. “Rick didn’t bring any extra forms. If you alter these, they’ll be void.” “Yeah, Faye. Is there a problem with the amount?” Rick asked, feigning concern. Last time, I had no idea this policy was my death warrant. Since I’ve been given a second chance, I figured I might as well raise the stakes. Naturally, I’d raise Vincent’s coverage, too. Hearing me suggest a higher amount, the tension in Vincent’s shoulders visibly eased. “Well, Rick, you heard her. Do what she says.” Rick turned to me. “How much of an increase are we talking about? The higher the coverage, the higher the premium.” I casually flipped through the pages before closing the document. “What good is five million these days?” I said with a dismissive air. “If you die outright, fine. But what if you’re left half-dead? That kind of money won’t even cover the medical bills.” A slow, pleased smile spread across Vincent’s face. “Honey, what are you talking about? We’re buying this for peace of mind. Nobody actually hopes to cash in on it.” I looked at my two-faced husband. “Are you worried about the money, or are you just trying to keep Rick from getting a bigger commission?” The commission was secondary. Rick and Vincent were old friends, and Rick had just started at the insurance company. This sale was all he needed to secure his position. It was supposed to be a win-win. I just never imagined it was a conspiracy to murder me. My words seemed to stun both of them into silence. “Fine, fine,” Vincent finally said to Rick. “Listen to her. Go and draw up a new policy with a higher payout.” “Is ten million enough?” Rick asked. I nodded, then gathered both of the already-signed policies and held onto them. As soon as the premiums were paid, they would be active. Rick looked at me, a flicker of confusion in his eyes when he saw I wasn’t handing the documents back. Before he could say anything, Vincent ushered him along. “The printer is in the study. What are you waiting for?” While Rick was in the study amending the policy, I printed out two organ donor registration forms. Vincent stared at me, his face a mask of pure shock and confusion. I knew he would never sign it, but I held one out to him anyway. “Why on earth would we donate our organs?” he asked, his voice tight. “We’re already buying life insurance. What’s the big deal about donating our organs?” He hesitated, clearly trying to figure out my angle. He didn’t want to sign, but he was afraid of making me suspicious. I didn’t wait for him, signing my name with a flourish. Seeing him still wavering, I feigned anger. “If you’re not willing, then there’s no point in the insurance either. It’s a waste of money.” With that, I turned and stormed back to our bedroom. Vincent was utterly baffled. Of course, he couldn’t possibly understand my plan. I didn’t have the energy to wait for him to get into a car crash and then arrange for his ambulance to be rammed off the Blackwater Bridge. If he signed that form, all I’d have to do is make one phone call after his “accident,” and he’d get a taste of what it felt like to not even have a body to bury. But I couldn’t say any of that out loud. I’d barely stepped into the bedroom before Vincent followed me in. “Honey, let’s just forget about the organ donation, okay? We’re only buying this insurance to help Rick out.” He paused, then added, “If you really want to donate, I won’t stop you. But I’m not doing it.” He wasn’t even bothering to pretend anymore. The only thing he hadn’t said outright was that he was plotting against me. In my last life, his act was flawless. He never let the mask slip. To the outside world, he was the perfect husband, the perfect son-in-law. No one knew he was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. “Of course I’m donating,” I said firmly. “And you’re signing, too.” “Why should I?” Vincent’s voice was loud, a clear sign of his guilt. The commotion drew Rick out of the study. “What’s going on, you two?” he asked, trying to look neutral. I answered him calmly. “We won’t be buying the insurance for now.” A flash of fury crossed Vincent’s face. “Faye, are you doing this on purpose?” “You won’t even sign an organ donor form,” I said coolly. “How do I know what you’re really up to?” Before Rick could try to mediate, I grabbed my bag, turned, and walked out of the house. … “Vince, you don’t think she knows something, do you?” “What could she know? Just get the damn policies ready. While she’s out, I’ll sign for her and pay the premium.” “Look, man, just sign the donation form. It’s not worth spooking her over something so small.” Seeing Vincent was still being stubborn, Rick tried to reason with him. “She’s the one who’s going to die anyway. It doesn’t really matter if you sign or not.” “Exactly! So why should I sign? It’s bad luck!” “Don’t let a stupid little thing like this screw up the whole plan. It’s not worth it.” After a moment of deliberation, Vincent finally picked up the pen and scrawled his name on the organ donor registration form. “Is the car ready?” “Just waiting for your payment.” Every move they made was exactly as I’d predicted. The only reason I’d fallen for it in my past life was because I trusted Vincent too much. He had played me for a fool, leaving me to die without a body or a grave. A faint smile touched my lips as I saved the evidence. I had no intention of exposing their plot. The last thing I wanted was to tip them off. In fact, after leaving the building, I deliberately took a route that avoided that all-too-familiar massage parlor. I found a quiet spot and transferred the full premium amount to the account listed on the insurance policy. Then, I discreetly went to Rick’s insurance company and had the official stamp applied to the contracts. Only after everything was in place did I slowly make my way home. When I walked in, I saw the organ donor forms and the insurance policies laid out on the table. Without a second thought, I picked up a pen and signed my name on my policy with a confident flourish. Seeing me sign, Vincent’s mood seemed to lift considerably. He said he was going to deliver the contracts to Rick and headed out. I stood by the window for a long time, but I never saw him leave. No matter how well a fox hides, its tail will eventually show. But this time, watching his deception, I felt nothing. In my last life, I was a fool. It wasn’t until the moment of impact that I realized Vincent had been cheating on me. Now, even knowing he was running off to celebrate with his lover, my heart was perfectly still. Why would I care, now that I’ve been reborn? Time flew, and soon it was the day of the crash. I had just laid down when my phone buzzed with a notification. It was the exact same message I’d received in my last life. This time, my heart was calm as I opened the photo. I waited patiently for it to load, then glanced at the image of Vincent with his arms wrapped around masseuse number 38, their bodies pressed intimately together. Last time, I had been consumed by a blind rage, throwing on clothes and rushing out to confront him. The street was dark and empty. But as I crossed, a black sedan with its headlights off came hurtling toward me. Before I could even react, the impact sent me flying dozens of feet through the air. I landed hard in the middle of the road, the car screeching to a halt just inches from crushing my skull. My legs were mangled, twisted at unnatural angles by the bumper. After the crash, Vincent emerged from the shadows. He didn’t check on me. His first move was to comfort the driver. “Wendy, are you okay? You’re not hurt, are you?” He glanced at my gasping form and spat, “You should have hit the gas harder.” Then back to her, all soothing concern. “Don’t be afraid. I’m here, I won’t let anything happen to you. When the cops come, just say she was trying to scam you, that you panicked and hit the gas instead of the brake.” “You haven’t been drinking, so the worst they’ll do is question you a few times.” The horror of my last moments was still vivid in my mind. This time, Vincent waited downstairs for a long time, but I didn’t move. Perhaps his patience wore out. He called me. “Faye, we were just having a few drinks, and Rick’s kid was playing with my phone. He was messing with some AI app and sent you a weird, fake picture.” I stayed silent. “You’re not mad, are you?” he pressed. “What are you talking about?” I asked, my voice thick with sleep. “Oh, did I wake you? I just meant that picture was a misunderstanding. Don’t worry about it.” “Oh.” “Hey, you want to come down for a bite? We’re at the diner just downstairs.” “No, I’m going back to sleep,” I said, deliberately. Vincent’s voice immediately turned urgent. “Come on, and bring me a jacket while you’re at it. It got cold all of a sudden, I’m freezing out here.”

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My son had a severe allergy to tobacco smoke. But when my wife took our six-year-old to her childhood friend’s birthday party, she let the man deliberately blow smoke in our son’s face. Panicked, our son ran downstairs, but it was too late. The allergic reaction closed his airway, and he suffocated. By the time the hospital’s call reached me and I rushed to his side, he was already fading, his face and mouth covered in a crimson rash. Even as he was dying, he gripped my hand tightly and whispered, “Daddy, don’t blame Mommy. It’s my fault. If only I wasn’t allergic.” I nearly shattered. I called my wife dozens of times, my hands shaking. When she finally answered, it was with a roar of fury. “That son of yours is just as useless as you are! Preston was just joking with him, and he threw a tantrum and ran off. Just wait until I get my hands on him!” Rage trembled through my entire body, but my voice was ice. “You don’t have to come home. There’s no home left. Let’s get a divorce.” 01 I handled my son’s final affairs alone, watching him turn to ash. I carried his urn home, my hands shaking, my heart a raw, gaping wound. Even now, I can’t believe any of this is real. For two days, I didn’t eat or drink. I tried to force myself to sleep, desperate to wake up and find it was all just a nightmare. But it was a dream I couldn’t escape. And in those two days, my son’s mother never came home. She never even called. It was time to end it. I drew up the divorce papers myself, waiting only for Serena to return. Half a day later, she finally walked in, her face a thundercloud, reeking of stale tobacco. She launched into a tirade the moment she saw me. “That son of yours is as useless as you! Preston was just messing with him, and he had to throw a fit and run home. Was he in that much of a hurry? Running off like his life depended on it!” “He even pushed Preston! Preston scraped his arm because of him.” Her words were like knives twisting in my gut. Yes, Preston suffered such a terrible scrape, while my son only lost his life. If my son is truly reborn, I pray he is never born to a woman like this again. She doesn’t deserve to be a mother. Serena plopped down on the sofa next to me, the stench of smoke clinging to her like a shroud. I immediately clutched the urn and moved away. My son had been extremely allergic to tobacco since he was a baby. To protect him, I made sure our home was a sanctuary, completely free of the scent. I myself had grown to despise it. But my action only drew Serena’s scorn. “Oh, please. Stop the act. Your son is just like you, always putting on a show. You’re the one who coddled him into having all these ridiculous problems.” “And how dare he push Preston? I’m going to teach him a lesson he won’t forget!” She started to get up, heading for our son’s room. But as she rose, I held out the divorce papers I’d prepared. “You don’t need to use your lover to lord it over my son. Just sign it. Then you and your precious Preston can run off into the sunset together.” My words ignited her fury. She snatched the papers from my hand and ripped them to shreds. “Are you insane, Wyatt? Your son misbehaved, and I’m going to discipline him! What’s wrong with that? Is this how you raise him? No wonder he dared to lay a hand on Preston!” “And don’t you dare threaten me with divorce. You’re not worthy.” She shot me a look of pure contempt. “I’m telling you, if anything happens to Preston, I will make you both pay!” Her words stole the air from my lungs. Could a mother really say something like that? A bitter, broken laugh escaped me. “Oh, if something happens to Preston, you’ll make us pay? What if something happens to our son? Have you forgotten he has a severe tobacco allergy? Do you have any idea that even a whiff of smoke makes him cough for ages, makes his skin break out in hives? Do you know why he pushed Preston away? Do you even know what our son…” The words caught in my throat, choked by a sob. But Serena’s face remained a mask of disdain. “Please. What could possibly happen to your son? That ridiculous tobacco allergy is just something you made up to drive a wedge between us.” “Do you know he actively avoids me now? And it’s all your fault!” With that, she stormed off toward our son’s room to find him. This time, I didn’t stop her. I said nothing. I just sat on the sofa, a hollow smile on my face. Our son avoided her? Did she really not know why? She was gone twenty-eight days a month. And when she did come home, she was always steeped in the smell of cigarettes. It wasn’t that he hadn’t tried to be close to her. But every time he did, the allergic reaction would torment him for days. Why had she never seen him have a reaction? Because when he was suffering, she was never home. She was in bed with her Preston. Soon, Serena returned, having found the room empty. She sneered at me. “Well played, Wyatt. You’ve even learned how to hide him from me now.” She threw a credit card on the table. “Here’s a hundred thousand. Give him to me, now. I have to teach him a lesson today. He needs to learn to respect Preston.” “You love money more than anything, don’t you? Isn’t that why you married me in the first place? So take the money and hand him over!” I looked at her, at the madness in her eyes, and let out another dry, humorless laugh. “You’re pathetic. Keep your money for you and Preston. It’s filthy.” With that, I clutched my son’s urn and walked out, without a moment’s hesitation. 02 My father and Serena’s father were old classmates. I met Serena at one of their gatherings and fell for her instantly. But I knew my place. I was from a working-class family, while hers was in another world entirely. I never dared to dream. Until one day, when our fathers were on a trip together, her father fell into the water. My father dove in without a second thought and saved him, but he never made it back to shore himself. Serena’s father knew of my feelings for her. Out of gratitude for my father’s sacrifice, he insisted that Serena marry me. But in Serena’s eyes, my father’s death, my love for her—it was all a conspiracy. “You two did everything you could to get tangled up with my family. It was always about the money, wasn’t it?” “Fine. I’ll give you money. I’ll even stay married to you. But I’m warning you: don’t you dare try to control me.” From the very beginning, our marriage was a sham. She was rarely home. But I refused to give up. I believed that with time, with my devotion, I could make her see my heart, change her opinion of me. The birth of our son, Noah, only strengthened my resolve. I was sure she would come around. But I was wrong. So terribly wrong. And if I hadn’t been so naive, my son would still be alive. I took Noah’s ashes back to my father’s old house. I’d chosen a burial plot and was preparing to take him there. The moment I stepped outside, Serena was there, blocking my path with several men. Her face was cold as she waved them inside to search the house. They found nothing. “What are you doing?” I demanded, my voice low and dangerous. “Where did you hide that little thief? Tell him to get his ass out here. I’m going to break his legs today!” My brow furrowed. “What are you talking about? Serena, Noah is your son too. Do you enjoy slandering him like this?” A fresh wave of anger crashed over me. I had thought, for a fleeting moment, that she’d found out about Noah and had come to say her final goodbyes. But no. She was here to falsely accuse my dead son. Suddenly, Serena lunged at me, her movements wild, and slapped me hard across the face. “You’re still defending him? Do you have any idea what he did? Yesterday, your son stole Preston’s asthma inhaler! Preston almost died! He’s in the hospital right now!” “He’s so young and already so spiteful. A little thief! I’m so embarrassed in front of Preston!” “He will pay for this today!” Her words left me reeling in disbelief. “What did you say?” I laughed, a cold, furious sound. “Serena, have you lost your mind? Did that man put some kind of spell on you?” You’ve already killed Noah. Why do you still have to slander him like this? But Serena just slapped me again, the sting of it white-hot on my cheek. “You dare say another word against Preston and see what happens!” she spat, her eyes burning with contempt. “You raised him to be like this, and you have the nerve to blame someone else?” Now I was the one slandering Preston? The rage was a fire, threatening to consume me. I wanted to kill this insane woman standing before me, but I forced myself to remain calm. Her life didn’t matter. What mattered was clearing my son’s name. I took a deep breath, my voice trembling. “Fine. You say my son stole Preston’s medicine. I have one question for you. Do you have any proof?” “You’re still trying to defend him?” she roared. “Fine! I’ll show you just how wrong you are!” She pulled out her phone and played a video. It looked like Preston’s apartment. A figure, similar in build and appearance to Noah, tiptoed into a room. After looking around, he took something from a cabinet. The video was blurry. You couldn’t make out a face, and you certainly couldn’t see what was taken. But Serena’s face was alight with triumph. “See?” she said scornfully. “That’s your son. He stole Preston’s asthma medication. Now what do you have to say?” “This happened yesterday. Your son is a thief. A spiteful little thief! I’m ashamed to have a son like him. You two are both the same, despicable and shameless…”

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I was just a stand-in, playing the part of my wealthy best friend on an arranged date. But Rhys Donovan, the heir to a corporate empire, fell for me instead. From that day on, if any other man so much as glanced at me, he’d have their legs broken and their bodies thrown into the river. When I confessed I wasn’t who he thought I was, he carved three lines into the back of his hand, each one deep enough to show bone. “I don’t care who you are,” he’d whispered, his voice shaking. “Just don’t ever leave me. The thought of you marrying someone else, having a child with another man… it makes me want to kill them all.” He showered me with affection for three years. The night I was rushing home, bursting to tell him I was pregnant, I found him tangled in our marital bed with my best friend, both of them naked. A madness I couldn’t control seized me. I tried to throw them out. But Rhys, his eyes red with fury, slapped me across the face. “Ava, why do you have to be so unreasonable?” “I broke off my engagement with the Langford family for you! Isabelle is being tormented at home because of it. All she wants is a child to secure her position. Can’t you find it in your heart to understand?” My best friend knelt on the floor, clutching her stomach, her voice a desperate plea. “Ava, I’m already pregnant. The baby is innocent!” I stared at them, my heart a frozen stone in my chest. “We’re done.” Rhys’s sanity snapped. “Who gave you permission to say that?” In the middle of a hurricane, he locked me on the balcony, forcing me to listen to the storm rage outside and the sounds of their lovemaking inside, all night long. That was the night I lost our baby to a raging fever. Rhys Donovan, this time, I’m really letting you go. … I was on that balcony all night. Just as the cold was about to swallow me whole, Rhys finally opened the glass door, a sliver of mercy in a sea of cruelty. He draped a warm coat over my shivering body and tucked my frozen feet against his stomach to warm them. He sighed, a sound of weary frustration. “Ava, don’t blame me for being harsh. You’re just so stubborn. You fly off the handle over the smallest thing, threatening to leave me. This was the only way to make you listen.” He tilted my chin up. “See? Who else would love you, would cherish you, like this?” Cherish me? The word was a bitter joke. He knew the hurricane last night was no ordinary storm, yet he had locked me out in it deliberately. I had pounded on the glass until my fists were raw, screaming that I was pregnant, that the cold could make me miscarry. But Rhys had only lifted his head from Isabelle’s body for a moment, his gaze sweeping over me with a tired annoyance. “Ava, don’t tell such lies to get my attention. I love you, but I’m not a fool. You had your appendix out a few months ago. I haven’t touched you since because I was afraid of hurting you. Where would a baby come from?” Blood had trickled down my thighs, staining my dress crimson. I had screamed until my throat was raw, telling him I was miscarrying, begging him to take me to a doctor. Rhys had only gotten out of bed, opened the door just enough to frame his face, and pressed a tender kiss to my forehead. “Shh, darling,” he’d soothed. “You must love me so much that you’ve imagined you’re carrying my child. Just wait. As soon as Isabelle gives birth, I promise I’ll give you a baby of your own. The three of us will be a happy family.” Then, he’d turned, retrieved a sanitary pad from the nightstand, and pressed it into my hand. “We’ve been together for three years. I have every one of your periods logged in my calendar. I know this isn’t a miscarriage. It’s just your time of the month, you silly girl.” After that, no matter how much I screamed, he ignored me. My agonized cries only seemed to fuel their passion. The more I suffered, the harder Rhys moved, and the louder Isabelle moaned, as if to make sure I heard every single second. The memory made me squeeze my eyes shut. I pushed Rhys’s hands away and shakily stood up, walking out of the room. The pain in my abdomen was so intense my legs threatened to buckle. The hem of my dress was soaked in blood. I locked myself in the bathroom and stood under the shower for an hour, trying to wash away the humiliation of the night. It was laughable to think that just yesterday, before coming home, I was naively planning my future with Rhys, filled with such hope. The man I thought was devoted to me, who had eyes only for me, had been sleeping with my best friend for months. I plugged in my dead phone. Once it had enough power, I opened my contacts and found the number for my gynecologist. “Hello, Doctor,” I said, my voice flat. “I need to schedule an abortion. As soon as possible.” With an appointment set for the afternoon, I changed into clean clothes and went downstairs. Rhys and Isabelle were already at the dining table, eating. The man who was usually so meticulous, almost obsessive about a clean table, was letting Isabelle make a complete mess of the food. She pouted. “I’m pregnant, I have no appetite. None of this tastes good. I’m craving that mango passionfruit trifle Ava makes. She’s so good at it!” As I reached for a chair, Rhys’s hand stopped me. “Ava, go make a trifle for Isabelle.” I stared at him in disbelief. “I haven’t eaten anything.” “Be good, Ava. Isabelle is pregnant. She comes first right now.” “She’s already made a mess of the food on the table, so you can’t eat that anyway. I’ve already asked the housekeeper to make something new. You can make the trifle while you wait.” I had no memory of ever making a mango passionfruit trifle. But Isabelle, my best friend, knew perfectly well that I was severely allergic to mangoes. I knew arguing was pointless. I turned and went to the kitchen in silence. When I returned with the bowl, my hands were swollen and covered in an angry, red rash. Rhys’s eyes narrowed. He grabbed my hands. “What happened to you? Are you hurt? Why are they so swollen?” He started to pull me towards the first-aid kit. But at that moment, there was a sharp crash from the table. Isabelle was bent over, gagging, tears welling in her eyes. “Ava, what did you put in this? Why do I feel so sick after eating it?” Rhys froze. He immediately dropped my hands and rushed to her side. “Ava, why would you do that?” “I know you hate me and Isabelle, but the baby is innocent! How could you be so cruel as to harm a child?” His eyes were daggers. I opened my mouth to defend myself. But he cut me off with a cold glare, shouldering past me as he rushed Isabelle out of the house. I stood by the table for a long time, my blood sugar so low I nearly fainted. Finally, I pulled out a chair, preparing to eat the leftover scraps. But the housekeeper came out and, right in front of me, scraped all the food into the trash. “Mr. Donovan called,” she said, not meeting my eye. “He said Miss Langford is not doing well. As a punishment, you are no longer allowed to eat in this house.” “The kitchen will be locked from now on. You are not to go near it. If you do, you will be thrown out.” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. When he had signed this house over to me, he had declared to everyone that I was the lady of the house. That everything, including him, was mine to command. Now, he threatened to throw me out as if I were nothing more than an ant. I went to my desk and pulled a document from a drawer. We never had a wedding, but Rhys had insisted we get legally married. He’d said that since I’d tricked him by pretending to be Isabelle, he couldn’t trust me not to leave. He had to tie me to him. And for three years of blissful devotion, the thought of leaving had never once crossed my mind. But now, with Isabelle in the picture, everything had changed. I opened the folder, and with a few swift strokes, signed my name on the divorce papers. Then I sealed it in an envelope and took it with me to the hospital. I met with the doctor I’d scheduled. After the examination, he came back with the results, a gentle look on his face. “The baby is still alive. It has a very strong heartbeat. Do you want to try and save it?” I stared at him, stunned into silence for a moment before I finally managed to whisper, “No.” He sighed, not giving up. “But Mr. Donovan has been so looking forward to having a child with you. He knows it’s difficult for you to conceive, and he never wanted to pressure you by talking about it. If he knew, he’d be overjoyed!” While I hesitated, the doctor stepped out of the room. I heard him on the phone with Rhys, telling him I was in the maternity ward. Less than a minute later, Rhys burst in, breathless. He looked me up and down, a wave of relief washing over his face when he saw I was unharmed. “Ava, you’re being a little difficult. You knew I was with Isabelle. Why would you have the doctor call me over here?” I was about to tell him I hadn’t, but Rhys grabbed my arm and pulled me down the hall to another room. Two people were standing guard outside. The moment they saw me, they approached. Isabelle’s father, his face contorted with rage, slapped me hard. “You ungrateful little witch!” he snarled, jabbing a finger in my face. “My daughter treated you like a sister, and you tried to poison her!” “You took her place on that date, stole her position as Mrs. Donovan, and she suffered in silence. Now that you’ve lost his favor, you try to blame her? No wonder Rhys presents her to the world as his wife and keeps you hidden away!” I looked at Rhys in shock. So that’s why he never took me to any events. That’s why whenever I called Isabelle to pass the time, she was always coincidentally busy. How many other secrets were they keeping from me? My cheek stung. I couldn’t swallow the insult. I raised my hand to strike back. “It was Isabelle who didn’t want the arranged marriage! She was threatening to jump off a roof! That’s the only reason I went in her place!” But Rhys caught my wrist, his brow furrowed. “Ava, Isabelle just collapsed. The doctors worked for hours to stabilize her. Just let her parents vent.” “They’re right. If you hadn’t pretended to be her on our date, I never would have wronged the Langford family.” I stared at him, my world tilting on its axis. Before I could react, Isabelle’s mother shoved me. My back slammed against a cold, hard bench, the impact knocking the wind out of me. She kicked at me with her sharp heels. “You’re a little tramp! Seducing Rhys, scheming against my daughter! You’ll pay for every tear she’s shed!” I curled into a ball, trying to shield myself, my eyes pleading with Rhys for help. He stood frozen, his fists clenched, his eyes filled with a mixture of pity and pain. But his feet were rooted to the spot. “Ava, just endure it for a little while. I’ll make it up to you after today.”

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The day I gave birth, I watched from my hospital bed as my best friend secretly swapped our daughters. I pretended not to know. I brought her daughter home and raised her with all the love in my heart. Eighteen years later, the daughter I raised was accepted into a top university. My own daughter, however, had been relentlessly abused by my best friend, leaving her disabled. At the university acceptance party, my best friend arrived with my disabled daughter and a paternity test. “There was a mix-up at the hospital all those years ago,” she announced. “It’s time to switch them back.” I smiled, a secret hidden in my eyes. “Of course.” 1 “Aria, my mom brought a bunch of fresh eggs from the countryside. I brought some for you and Chloe.” My best friend, Hannah, knocked on my door, just as she always did. Ever since I’d started raising her daughter, she’d found endless excuses to visit. Sometimes it was to “discuss parenting tips.” Sometimes it was so “the girls can play together and keep each other company.” She’d even shown up in the middle of the night, claiming she’d had a nightmare that something had happened to Chloe and she had to check. It got to the point where my husband, Mark, would complain that she clocked in at our house more often than she did at her own job. To make her visits even more convenient, Hannah had rented an apartment in our complex. “Best friends should live close,” she’d said, “so we can always be there for each other.” But I knew the real reason. She wanted to keep a constant watch on her daughter, Chloe. I never called her out on it. I just opened the door as usual. She stood there in a chic, elegant dress, holding a basket of eggs. Behind her, cowering, was a small, sallow-skinned girl with a bruised face and a haunted look in her eyes. That was my daughter. Hannah had named her Ash. As soon as she stepped inside, Hannah set down the eggs and made a beeline for Chloe. “Chloe, sweetheart, your birthday is tomorrow! What do you want for a present? Auntie Hannah will buy you anything!” Hannah and I had been friends for years, our bond supposedly unbreakable. The moment Chloe was born, she had insisted on being her godmother. Now, she stroked Chloe’s hair, her affection pouring out of her. Chloe smiled sweetly. “Anything from you would be perfect, Auntie Hannah!” Hannah’s smile widened. “See? Chloe is so smart and sweet. Not like that stupid, useless child of mine.” She shot a venomous glare at my daughter, still hovering by the door. Then she marched over, grabbed her by the ear, and dragged her inside. “Get in here! Are you a watchdog, standing there like an idiot?” “I don’t know who you take after, you worthless little thing. Just looking at you makes me sick!” Then, right in front of me, Hannah slapped my daughter so hard she stumbled and fell to the floor. 2 My daughter’s head hit the corner of the coffee table. A gash opened on her forehead, and blood started to stream down her face. Chloe gasped, startled. But my daughter didn’t cry. She didn’t make a sound. She just scrambled to her feet, wiped the blood from her forehead as if it were a daily routine, and, wincing in pain, whispered to Hannah, “I’m sorry, Mommy. I was wrong.” Apologizing after being hit was a ritual she had repeated countless times. It had happened in my house more times than I could count. Mark rushed to get the first-aid kit. As he dabbed at the cut, he shot Hannah an angry look. “Hannah, how can you be so cruel to your own child?” “Because she was born worthless,” Hannah said, shrugging. “She’s a pathetic sight. Not even half as lovely as Chloe. I’m doing her a favor by not killing her.” Without another glance at my daughter, she turned back to Chloe, her face wreathed in smiles. “Chloe, my love, I ordered you your favorite princess cake. I’ll bring it over tomorrow for your birthday!” “Thank you, Auntie Hannah,” Chloe replied politely, accustomed to this blatant favoritism. Then, my daughter gathered her courage and spoke in a small, timid voice. “Mommy, tomorrow is my birthday too. Can… can I have a new pair of shoes?” I looked down and saw that my daughter was wearing a pair of dirty, worn-out sandals, the soles completely worn through. They were the sandals Chloe had thrown away last year. Hannah had picked them out of the trash, declaring that Ash deserved nothing more than Chloe’s cast-offs. She had worn them for a full year. Even now, in the dead of winter, with her feet covered in chilblains, she was still wearing those flimsy sandals. “A little brat like you deserves to wear trash! A birthday? You think you’re worthy of a birthday?” With that, Hannah launched into another vicious assault. The sound of her curses and my daughter’s cries filled the room. I watched, my face a cold, blank mask. Mark tried to intervene. Even Chloe pleaded with her to stop. Perhaps not wanting to frighten Chloe further, Hannah finally stopped, dragging my daughter out of the house. The next day was Chloe’s birthday. Hannah arrived bright and early, laden with gifts and a cake. There was no one behind her. Mark looked confused. “Where’s Ash? It’s her birthday too. Why isn’t she here?” Hannah waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, her? I broke her leg yesterday when we got home.” “She’s still unconscious.” 3 Hannah’s tone was light, casual, a triumphant little smile playing on her lips. As if breaking my daughter’s leg was something to be proud of. Ignoring Mark’s horrified stare, she pushed her way inside and presented the gifts and cake to Chloe. “Chloe, my darling, it’s your special day. Auntie Hannah won’t let anything unpleasant spoil it!” As Chloe took a gift, her sleeve rode up, revealing a small cut on the back of her hand. Hannah’s face instantly hardened. She turned on me, her voice sharp. “Aria, what is this? How did Chloe get hurt?” “Children get bumps and bruises all the time,” I said, my voice flat. “Your daughter is covered in them.” Hannah’s face flushed with anger. “How dare you compare that little wretch to Chloe? Chloe is…” She caught herself, realizing she’d gone too far. Taking a deep breath, she forced a calmer tone. “What I mean is, Chloe has been pampered since birth. She’s far more precious than that… other one. You need to be more careful with her.” Mark snorted. “You’ve got some nerve. If you hadn’t been beating your daughter in our living room yesterday, getting blood everywhere, Chloe wouldn’t have tried to clean it up and hurt herself.” Hannah looked at Chloe for confirmation. “Is that true, Chloe?” Chloe nodded. “I wanted to help Mommy and Daddy.” Hannah’s voice softened with pity. “Sometimes you’re too good, sweetheart. Let your parents do the hard work.” “Your only job in this house is to be happy, you understand?” Then, she busied herself with the birthday preparations, cooking and decorating with a whirlwind of energy. After the meal, she turned to Chloe, her eyes shining. “Tell Auntie Hannah, what is your birthday wish? I’ll make it come true.” Chloe didn’t hesitate. “I want to get into Oxford!” Hannah beamed, stroking Chloe’s head. “Well, I can’t help you with that. But you’re so smart, I know you’ll get in. And when you do, Auntie Hannah will have a surprise for you that you’ll never forget.” Looking into Hannah’s eyes, filled with such love, a faint, secret smile touched my lips. A surprise she’ll never forget? My dear, dear friend. I have one for you, too. 4 Every year, on Chloe’s birthday, Hannah was more enthusiastic than either Mark or I. As for my own daughter, after her leg was broken, I never saw her again. Whenever Mark asked, Hannah would just say with a sneer, “Don’t mention that unlucky brat. It just makes me angry.” Because of Hannah’s deliberate avoidance, it wasn’t until Chloe was accepted into Oxford that I saw my daughter again. At the celebration party I threw for Chloe, Hannah walked in, my daughter limping beside her. She pulled out a paternity test and, in front of all our friends and family, handed it to me. “Aria, Ash has been having some health problems lately. I took her to the doctor and found out… she’s not my daughter.” “There was a mix-up at the hospital. Ash is your daughter. Chloe is mine.” “We’ve been separated for so long. It’s time for me to be reunited with my real daughter. We need to switch them back.” As she spoke, she squeezed out a few tears, her gaze fixed on Chloe with a mixture of love and guilt. She played the part of the long-suffering victim perfectly. A shocked murmur went through the room. “They worked so hard to raise such a successful, intelligent daughter, and now they just have to give her away?” “Everyone knows how much Aria has done for Chloe. The only reason she got into Oxford is because of Aria’s tutoring. You can’t just erase eighteen years of love and effort!” “Who could possibly bear to do that?” On one hand, a smart, well-behaved, successful university student. On the other, a disheveled, emaciated, disabled girl. Anyone would choose the former. But amidst the whispers, I smiled, a strange, knowing smile. “Of course.” “If there was a mistake, then it should be corrected.” My words stunned the room into silence. Hannah’s eyes widened in disbelief, shocked that I had agreed so readily. Even Mark stared at me as if I’d lost my mind. “Aria, are you crazy?” “You’re just going to take her word for it, based on a piece of paper that could be fake, and give Chloe to her?” My mother-in-law chimed in, her voice frantic. “Aria, this is a huge decision. You can’t just agree without looking into it properly!” I looked at them, my voice calm and clear. “Chloe is her daughter.” “I saw them switch the babies myself.” A collective gasp went through the room. Mark was practically jumping out of his skin. “That’s impossible! You were so weak after giving birth, you almost died! You always said that baby was more precious than your own life. How could you just stand by and watch her be abused?” “You have to be lying!” I met his gaze. “When she was born, I saw a butterfly-shaped birthmark on her waist. If you don’t believe me, go and see for yourself if Ash is our daughter.” My mother-in-law was the first to move, lifting the girl’s shirt. When Mark saw the butterfly birthmark on his daughter’s waist, his face crumpled. He strode over to me and slapped me hard across the face. “Aria, are you even human?” “If you knew the truth all this time, why didn’t you say anything? Why did you let our daughter suffer at the hands of that woman for all these years?” He was shaking with rage, his eyes burning with a murderous fury. The other relatives joined in, their voices a chorus of condemnation. “Is she out of her mind? That’s her own flesh and blood! How could she watch her own daughter be treated like that and do nothing?” “She’s a cold-hearted monster! She knew, and she just watched as the girl’s leg was broken, as she lived a life of misery!” “Mark, divorce her! A woman like that doesn’t deserve you, doesn’t deserve to be a part of this family!” The accusations rained down on me. Everyone looked at me with contempt and disgust. Even my daughter, the timid, broken Ash, looked at me with tears in her eyes and screamed, “I hate you!” Then she turned, ran to the window, and jumped. A sickening thud echoed from below, and the room fell silent in horror. Tears streamed down my face. It was finally over.

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1 My roommate, Delilah, kept a vividly patterned pet snake in our dorm. Out of kindness, I bought a terrarium and explained to her that many girls in the dorm were terrified of snakes. If it got out, it would scare people. Instead, she lashed out, “Ophelia! Can you not be so disgusting? This is a living creature, and you want to lock it in such a tiny box?” “It’s just a pet snake; it won’t bite anyone. Even if it did, it’s just a small scratch, not poisonous. I don’t know what you’re so scared of.” In the middle of the night, her so-called pet snake slithered into the adjacent room and bit the girlfriend of a wealthy young man. By the time we arrived, the girl had already passed out. Luckily, I managed to suck the venom from her arm, saving her life. The incident sparked endless online condemnation. Delilah and two other roommates colluded, claiming I was the snake’s owner. The young man, consumed by rage, simply waved his hand, and my family was ruined. When I woke up again, I was back to the moment Delilah brought the snake into the dorm. I pulled out the glass terrarium I was holding, which I’d repurposed into an aquarium teeming with Water bead figures. “Don’t worry, this is just for my Water beads.” … I pulled a package from under my desk and began to open it. Delilah, sitting nearby, immediately peered over. “Ophelia, what did you buy? It’s so huge!” That familiar tone, those exact words, brought a cynical smirk to my lips. Still as irritating as ever, I thought. Tearing open the box, I replied, “I saw someone online with Hello Kitty-shaped Water beads the other day and just loved them, so I bought a small glass cabinet to keep some.” Hearing this, Delilah visibly relaxed, patting her chest with a sigh of relief. “Oh, that. I thought you bought it specifically to lock up ‘Noodle’.” Noodle, as in her pet snake, which was, in fact, highly venomous. “Don’t worry,” I assured her, “this is just for my Water beads.” She seemed relieved but still looked unconvinced. She walked over, watching my movements closely. “Do Water beads need heating?” Then, picking up the nearby shipping box in a huff, she demanded, “You’re not lying to me, are you? You still want to lock up my Noodle?” Lily, who was close with Delilah, poked her head around, looking suspicious. “Ophelia, you wouldn’t actually try to lock Noodle up, would you?” “Even though it’s a snake, it’s been in the dorm for half a month. You’ve seen it; it doesn’t bite. Why are you still so fixated on this?” Lily’s challenge bolstered Delilah’s confidence. She glared at me, demanding an explanation. “Noodle isn’t a caged animal by nature; it has a right to freedom! Don’t you think what you’re doing is disgusting, Ophelia?” A right to freedom? Then why don’t you release it into the wild? So ridiculous. Though I scoffed inwardly, my face remained impassive. I swiftly picked up another package at my feet and opened it. Right in front of them, I poured water inside, then dumped a whole bag of Water beads in. The already small glass cabinet was instantly packed. “See? It really is just for my Water beads. There’s no room for Noodle, right?” “Besides, it’s such a gentle, adorable creature. I’d sooner lock myself in than lock it up, wouldn’t I?” Only then did the two back down. Delilah watched my every move as she returned to her spot. It was tonight, in my previous life, that the snake had slithered into the adjacent room and bitten someone. I carefully placed the glass cabinet, snapped a photo, and updated my status on various social media platforms, asking when my Hello Kitty Water beads would grow bigger. Content, I climbed into bed. When we started freshman year, Delilah cultivated an image of an animal lover. Initially, she and Lily, who also loved animals, would discuss them in the dorm. I wasn’t very interested and never joined in, which led them to label me as cold-hearted. By sophomore year, our dorm was a constant chaos of stray cats Delilah brought back out of “kindness,” dirty puppies leaping onto beds, leaving muddy paw prints. There were even chirping sparrows, rescued and flying wildly around the dorm, leaving droppings everywhere. She claimed she loved animals more than anything; they were so much easier than dealing with people. Lily echoed her, saying she wished to be a carefree kitten in her next life, mentioning her own incredibly cute Ragdoll cat at home. They hit it off instantly. In the second semester of sophomore year, Delilah mentioned her pet snake, and the two immediately agreed it was quiet, wouldn’t attract the resident advisor, and wouldn’t leave messes, making it easy to keep in the dorm. I initially thought she was just bringing it to show us, figuring such a rare and valuable small snake wouldn’t be easy to keep in a dorm, and she’d take it away in a couple of days. But the next day, Delilah brought frozen mice for the snake and even laid a pad by her bed to sleep with it. Noodle seemed to become a permanent resident, always appearing in unexpected places around the dorm, startling us. Delilah and Lily, however, didn’t care. They constantly played with the little snake, even mocking our other roommate, Scarlett, who was so scared she barely came back to the dorm. I spoke with Delilah once, suggesting she get a terrarium to keep Noodle contained, preventing harm and making Scarlett less afraid. She immediately flipped out, yelling at me, calling me disgusting, heartless, someone who disliked animals, and a cold person. She spent days in the dorm, cradling Noodle, making snide remarks about me being unable to tolerate them. Anyone who dared to say anything negative about Noodle would be met with a barrage, as if she wanted to dig up their ancestors to prove they were cold-blooded. It wasn’t until the snake started appearing everywhere near my bed, even on it, that I really started to worry. I wanted to discuss buying a terrarium with her, at least to keep it somewhat managed. Instead, I was met with Delilah’s verbal abuse and ostracization. And because of that very terrarium, they later accused me of being the snake’s owner. This led to me suffering cyberbullying and being tormented half to death by that rich young man. Not only was my good deed repaid with malice, but I was maliciously slandered, ultimately leading to a tragic end where my family was destroyed. This time, I wasn’t getting involved in their mess. 2 It was that very night, in my past life, that Lily, feeling hot, left the balcony door open. Delilah’s snake slithered out and bit Anastasia, a beautiful girl in the adjacent room, who was on the phone with her wealthy boyfriend. Anastasia’s piercing scream echoed through the hall, and Delilah immediately realized her snake was gone. The neighbors knocked on our door, asking if the snake had come from our room. Anastasia lay unconscious on the floor, her phone still buzzing with her worried boyfriend’s calls. Her roommates were frozen in shock. Delilah was utterly terrified, muttering, “This can’t be… Noodle is just a pet snake…” Lily frowned deeply at the scene, while Scarlett shrieked and ran back into our room. Anastasia’s arm was visibly bleeding black. I rushed forward and used my mouth to suck the venom from Anastasia’s arm. The thick black blood made Delilah’s eyes widen in horror. Students from the neighboring rooms gathered, filming snippets on their phones. These videos were uploaded online, and rumors spread like wildfire. Delilah was too scared to respond. That night, our dorm was as silent as a tomb. The snake was immediately killed by Anastasia’s wealthy boyfriend when he arrived. The next day after classes, the four of us were taken by the young man. To my shock, all three of them stood united, and under their combined accusation, I was mistakenly identified as the snake’s owner. My explanations were weak and useless. The young man, furious, yelled at me: “I’m not stupid! You were the only one who dared to suck the venom from Anastasia; if not you, then who else?” “Still trying to argue! They all say it was you; are they all against you?” “You hurt Anastasia; I’ll make you pay!” The young man locked me up, unleashing various snakes on me daily. When I was finally released, barely clinging to life, I discovered that Delilah and the others had jointly reported me for keeping a snake in the dorm and harming someone. I received a disciplinary warning, and all my chances for academic honors were gone. Online opinion, manipulated by Delilah’s deliberate explanations and smears, turned entirely against me. I became the snake’s owner, subjected to personal attacks and insults. They even specifically posted photos of the terrarium I had bought, leaving me speechless, unable to explain, and with no one believing me. My father lost his job at the young man’s behest, my mother fell gravely ill with no money for medicine, and soon after, both passed away. The pain and hatred from my previous life felt like a gaping, bleeding wound in my heart. This time, I was prepared with recording and audio devices. We’d see how they tried to pin this on me now. That evening, I was interacting with friends online when I suddenly heard a scream. It was Anastasia’s voice. Delilah, who was playing a game, jumped in fright and immediately cursed, “What’s her problem, screaming so late at night? Does she really think she’s a princess just because she snagged some rich guy?” Then she shrieked, “Ah! Where’s my Noodle? Lily, is Noodle with you?” Lily and Scarlett both said no. Delilah immediately called out to me, “Ophelia, did you take my Noodle?” “No,” I replied. Just then, there was a frantic knocking at our dorm door. Delilah opened it to a neighbor, whose face was pale. “Is that snake from your room? Get over here, now!” Delilah hadn’t expected things to turn out this way. Anastasia lay motionless on the ground, her brow furrowed, lips blackened. And biting her arm, refusing to let go, was Delilah’s Noodle. “Call an ambulance, quickly!” I urged. Delilah’s face instantly went white; her feet seemed rooted to the spot. Lily snapped out of it and pulled Delilah. “Delilah, grab the snake! It’s your snake!” Delilah glared at Lily, shaking her head in terror and backing away. “How could it bite someone? I don’t know what to do!” The wound was black, clearly indicating potent venom. I stepped forward, grabbed the snake, and then sucked the venom from Anastasia’s arm. Delilah claimed to be a kind-hearted girl who loved animals, insisting her Noodle was just a pet snake that couldn’t possibly bite, and even if it did, it wouldn’t be venomous. But Anastasia’s condition hardly looked like a non-venomous bite. Soon, a commotion erupted outside the dorm. It was the young man. He stormed into the room, first glancing at me, then swept Anastasia into his arms and left. More and more students gathered, filming videos and posting them on various social media platforms. The dorm snake bite incident went viral overnight. Students at our university were shocked, and the school administration was furious, vowing to severely punish the snake’s owner. Online, netizens were equally outraged: “Keeping a snake in the dorm? Oh my god, how disgusting! Glad I never had roommates like that.” “Keeping a snake secretly is bad enough, but not keeping it contained, and it turns out to be venomous? Now what? Going to have to pay millions?” “Just seeing a snake makes me scared. How could they bring it into the dorm? Aren’t their roommates scared?” A blizzard of insults and attacks flew online. Seeing the endless negative comments searching for the snake’s owner, Delilah finally grew afraid.

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