Author: Momo Chan

When we were most in love, Ethan promised his friends that if his bride wasn’t me, they should boycott his wedding. Years later, Ethan got married. The bride wasn’t me. True to his word, his friends didn’t show up. After the reception, Ethan confronted them. The one guy who had always seemed to hate me punched Ethan squarely in the face, his eyes bloodshot. “Ethan, the person who betrays true love deserves to die the most.” “So why is Maya the one who’s dead?” 01 The day I died, Ethan officially announced his wedding date with Chloe. Except for Ethan’s three best friends, everyone else rushed to offer their congratulations. The banquet hall was packed with guests. Romantic red roses carpeted the floor, stretching from the entrance all the way to the stage backdrop. It was even more extravagant than my own engagement party with Ethan years ago. Chloe clung to Ethan’s arm, looking slightly wronged. “Ethan, where are your friends?” “Do they not like me? They didn’t even show up on such an important day.” Ethan glanced at his watch and started dialing numbers one by one. None of the calls went through, but a barrage of spam calls flooded in instead. Frowning, Ethan blocked the spam numbers one by one. Chloe’s fake smile began to falter. Ever since she appeared by Ethan’s side, his three best friends had treated her with nothing but cold indifference. She had assumed they would at least make an appearance on a day like this. After all, they had been Ethan’s brothers for over a decade. I floated behind Ethan, my gaze sweeping over Chloe without restraint. How stupid was I to have missed all the red flags she exhibited from the very beginning? Chloe bit her lip, her hand hidden behind her back tightly gripping her phone. The screen was stuck on her chat history with me. [Maya, so what if it’s been ten years?] [My wedding with Ethan is in seven days. Do you have the guts to show up?] I lowered my eyes, my soul passing right through her physical body. I really wanted to reply: I have the guts to come, but do you have the guts to see me? But I was dead. 02 The banquet ended. Surprisingly, Ethan didn’t take Chloe back to his place. Instead, he drove her to her own apartment. In the car, Chloe grabbed Ethan’s collar, offering her lips to his. “Chloe, I’ve been drinking.” “Be a good girl. Don’t you hate the smell of alcohol?” Ethan pushed her away, showing no intention of following her upstairs. Chloe clenched her fists, took a deep breath, and stepped out of the car. Just before closing the door, her eyes suddenly went red. “Ethan, the wedding in seven days… it’s still happening, right?” Men are probably the creatures most susceptible to a show of vulnerability. Ethan eventually followed Chloe up to her apartment. I sat on the roof of the car, watching their ambiguous tug-of-war. The summer night breeze couldn’t warm my freezing soul. Playing the victim. Acting coquettish. These were the exact things Ethan used to despise the most. My gaze fell on their tightly clasped hands as I was forced to follow Ethan into the elevator, all the way to Chloe’s apartment. Upon entering, Ethan casually tossed his suit jacket onto the sofa. Chloe eagerly wrapped her arms around his waist from behind. “Ethan, I’m so scared.” Scared? I looked at Chloe in surprise. Since the day I met her, I had never once heard her admit to being scared of anything. Ethan turned around. His unbuttoned collar revealed a wide expanse of his chest. Chloe stood on her tiptoes and kissed it. “Scared of what?” Ethan stroked her hair, letting her hands roam freely. “Scared Maya will change her mind.” “Scared you’ll suddenly abandon me.” “Scared I’m not good enough, that I don’t deserve you.” Ethan chuckled softly, his voice full of indulgence. “Don’t be silly. Maya won’t change her mind.” 03 Ethan’s absolute certainty sent me into a daze. Back when we were most in love, Ethan was just as certain. He said, “Don’t worry. I, Ethan Sterling, will never betray Maya in this lifetime.” That day, I thought I would be happy forever. Ethan and I went from middle school desk mates to high school classmates, from college sweethearts to business partners. Sixteen years. We got engaged when our tech startup finally found its footing. If everything had gone according to plan, we would have been married this year. But in our sixteenth year of knowing each other, our tenth year of being in love, Ethan changed. When did it start? Probably when he stopped sending me texts checking in on me. Probably when he sat across from me, staring at his phone with an unsuppressible smile. Probably when he started sending Chloe “good morning” and “good night” messages every day. True love, it seems, can vanish in an instant. So when we broke up, he took all the blame onto himself, shielding Chloe perfectly. I granted his wish and didn’t expose the evidence of Chloe’s provocations. Honestly, when Chloe first appeared, I didn’t overthink it. She was the pampered daughter of a business partner, wanting to gain some experience at our company. To secure that partnership, Ethan came to ask for my opinion. He suggested assigning Chloe to the administrative pool, saying it wouldn’t be appropriate for her to handle core business operations. I believed him. I never expected Ethan to make Chloe his personal assistant, keeping her by his side for a whole year. And I never expected Ethan to do everything in his power to convince me to go to Europe to expand our overseas market, keeping me away for a whole year. By the time I returned, Chloe was already known by everyone as the future Mrs. Sterling. And I had become Ethan’s ex-girlfriend. Before I could even confront him, Ethan came to me. He pushed a resignation letter across the table, along with a share transfer agreement. “Maya, we used to say that if either of us ever met someone who made our heart skip a beat, we’d break up amicably.” “You remember, right?” 04 When Ethan and Chloe stumbled into the bedroom, I hid in the living room. Thank God. I could still maintain a small distance from Ethan. I didn’t have to watch those disgusting scenes with my own eyes. Even though Chloe had already sent me videos and photos of them. Ethan’s phone lay on the living room table, buzzing incessantly. I leaned closer. The number on the screen was mine. It felt like a bomb went off in my head. I stood frozen in shock. My fingertips trembled imperceptibly as the moments before my death played out frame by frame in front of my eyes. Terror. Helplessness. I remembered, my death was far from dignified. After agreeing to Ethan’s breakup terms, I left the company. Chloe found me, saying she wanted to talk. What was there to talk about? I looked at her, and she sneered. “Aren’t you curious why I chose Ethan?” “Why?” I played along and asked. Chloe took me to a coffee shop near the office. “I just wanted to see how deep Ethan’s feelings for you really were. Turns out, not that deep.” I didn’t want to engage with her. But the moment I walked out the door, several men grabbed me and shoved me into a rundown van. The van bumped along, from the city to the outskirts, from daylight into the dead of night. Until the mountain wind howled, and jagged branches scratched my exposed calves and arms. “Did Chloe send you?” I forced myself to ask calmly. The four men in front of me were gaunt, their eyes sunken, reeking of a distinct, foul odor. Addicts. They didn’t speak. They just swarmed me, pinning me down in the darkness to vent their urges, from night until dawn. Because I fought back so fiercely, they smashed my head open. Blood poured out, soaking the ground. When I opened my eyes again, I was standing behind Ethan, watching him hold Chloe’s hand and announce their wedding date. Calculating the days, his wedding day would be exactly seven days after my death. 05 At 1:00 AM, Ethan walked out of the bedroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. He picked up his phone from the sofa. When he saw the missed calls, his pupils constricted. I curled up on the sofa, my spectral body trembling as the memories of my death consumed my mind. Chloe’s voice drifted from the bedroom. “Ethan, what’s wrong?” Ethan suppressed his emotions, deleted the call log, and walked back to Chloe, pulling her into his arms. The smooth, practiced way he deleted the log looked exactly like how he acted the year I was abroad and we rarely saw each other. When I first left for Europe, Ethan would video call me all the time. He would complain about how much work there was at the company, acting like a whiny kid, saying how much he wished I was there with him. I would respond while processing documents. “You hate it when I whine, so why are you whining now?” “Why are you acting like a big baby?” I thought I was just teasing him, but I never expected his face to instantly go pale. I only realized later. When two people are together for a long time, their ways of speaking unconsciously become more and more alike. The next morning, Ethan left Chloe’s apartment. Before leaving, he dropped a gentle kiss on her cheek. “Sleep a little longer. You don’t have to go to the office today.” I found it almost funny. In the past, Ethan was obsessed with punctuality. Rain or shine, he would drag me out of bed, terrified of delaying the day’s work. Even on dates, he refused to wait for me for even a single minute. For sixteen years, I got used to the habits he forced upon me. But it turns out, all his rules could be broken. The only exception was reserved for a specific person. 06 I followed Ethan to the company. My assistant, who had been with me for three years, was pacing anxiously outside Ethan’s office, clutching a contract. Seeing Ethan, she spoke hurriedly. “Mr. Sterling, there’s a problem with the contract Ms. Vance negotiated a few days ago.” “The client insists on seeing Ms. Vance in person before they’ll sign.” Ethan glanced at the assistant, seemingly unconcerned, and said matter-of-factly, “Then call Maya. She’ll go.” The assistant looked at Ethan awkwardly as the phone on speaker rang endlessly without an answer. Perhaps because it had gone unanswered too many times, Ethan’s frown deepened, and he slammed the contract he was reviewing onto the desk. “How long have you been calling?” “Since this morning. I haven’t been able to get through.” Ethan’s gaze swept over the small assistant, impatience written all over his face. The assistant shrank back. “Yes, Mr. Sterling.” Standing by the desk, I was a bit surprised why my phone wouldn’t connect. Just last night, my phone had called Ethan’s number. Ethan probably thought I was ignoring him on purpose. I pursed my lips into a self-deprecating smile, boredly scanning the contracts scattered across the desk. Many clauses in the contract had been altered. They were completely different from the terms I had originally negotiated. Chloe’s handiwork. After all, she had taken over my position. Ethan didn’t speak for a long time, his eyes glued to his phone screen. The screen showed his chat with me. Two minutes ago, he had sent me a message: [Call me back immediately.] Ethan’s jaw was clenched tight, anger brewing, ready to explode. Until his best friend, Liam, called him. “Ethan, Maya is…” “Maya isn’t at the office.” “I’m looking for her too.” “If you get in touch with her, tell her to come to the company ASAP.” 07 Ethan cut Liam off. Without waiting for a response, Ethan hurriedly hung up and walked into the conference room. I was pulled along by Ethan’s rapid pace, but a dull, phantom ache spread across my chest. Ethan hung up too fast. I desperately wanted to know what Liam was going to say, but I had no way of knowing. The conference room was dead silent. I had spent nearly half a month negotiating that deal. Right as it was being finalized, Ethan broke up with me. Many people said Ethan used me until I was no longer needed, then threw me away. Now, the gears had ground to a halt. When Liam rushed into the company, Ethan was in the middle of a furious tirade. “Can this company not function without Maya Vance?!” “A whole room of executives, and you can’t match one Maya?!” Liam’s hand froze mid-knock. He hesitated at the door for a good ten seconds before bursting in. The person following closely behind him was Chloe. “Ethan, what’s wrong?” Chloe spoke before Liam could. Ethan turned his head. His gaze passed right through me and landed on Chloe, completely ignoring Liam standing nearby. “Look at this contract. What happened?” “The Horizon Group suddenly backed out. They said they won’t sign unless they see Maya.” A fleeting, hard-to-catch emotion flashed through Chloe’s eyes. She took the contract from Ethan and flipped through it. “Is Maya behind this? After all…” Chloe intentionally left her sentence unfinished, but everyone in the room seemed to adopt a look of sudden realization, as if they all understood her implication perfectly. Only Liam clenched his fists tight. Ethan silently agreed with Chloe’s insinuation. He said “Meeting adjourned,” leaving Chloe alone in the conference room. Once everyone was gone, Liam charged forward and grabbed Ethan by the collar. “Ethan, you are a piece of trash!” “Maya is dead! DEAD! And you won’t even go collect her body?!” “She built this company with her own two hands!” “You kicked her out, let people drag her name through the mud… Ethan, are you even human?!” 08 Liam grabbed Ethan by the collar and hurled him to the ground. He arrived with a heavy heart, and left in a towering rage. I wanted to chase after him, to stop him and ask how he knew I was dead. I also wanted to ask him: he always hated me the most, so why did he come looking for Ethan? Ethan’s head slammed against the corner of the table, making Chloe scream in panic. When Liam stated the fact of my death, Chloe looked genuinely shocked. She seemed to truly not know. Ethan clearly didn’t believe it. I understood why. After all, Ethan knew how much I valued my life. During our junior year of college, my parents died in a car crash. My grandmother, already hospitalized, suffered a fatal heart attack upon hearing the news. Overnight, I lost all my closest family. I became fragile, helpless. It was Ethan who pulled me out of the abyss of grief. He said I still had him. So I needed to take good care of myself. After that, I became exceptionally careful with my life. After quickly bandaging the cut on his head, Ethan buried himself in work. It was as if the news of my death was just a bad joke to him. Even though it came from the mouth of his best friend, he didn’t take it seriously. Ethan took over the Horizon deal himself, personally negotiating with their representatives. I followed him back into the Horizon Group’s office building. Chloe, who usually stuck to Ethan like glue, surprisingly didn’t tag along. This time, Ethan was received by Horizon’s VP, Mr. Davis. His gaze swept thoughtfully behind Ethan. “Ms. Vance didn’t come?” The smile faded from Ethan’s face, his voice turning slightly distant. “Mr. Davis, I am the CEO of Sterling Tech.” The title “CEO of Sterling Tech” hit me like a splash of cold water, waking me up. The time Ethan sent me to Europe to expand the business, he said, “Maya, I really don’t want you to work so hard.” “Sterling Tech will be fine with just me. Once this expansion is done, you should take a good, long break.” His final words, “I’ll take care of you,” were drowned out by the surging crowds at the airport that night.

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On a hit reality dating show, I was bullied by every single contestant for rejecting the advances of a rich, spoiled brat. They isolated me. They framed me. They turned the entire internet against me. When I confronted the producers, they threatened me with “villain editing” and told me to get out of the industry. When I begged my talent agency for help, they sued me, demanding millions in liquidated damages. “Preston Sterling can have any woman he wants! Who do you think you are to say no to him? Know your place!” I was blacklisted. My reputation was trashed. Walking down the street, strangers doused me in red paint. They screamed at me: “You’re just a cheap tramp raised by trash! Your whole bloodline is garbage!” In response, I started a livestream to face every guest and every hater. Standing against a wall covered in military and civilian medals of honor, I spoke every word through tears: “My grandfather was a Purple Heart recipient! My grandmother sacrificed her life for the Apollo Space Program! My father was a fallen Special Forces hero! My mother was a frontline surgeon! I am a National Heritage Fellow! Tell me, exactly how much ‘status’ do I need to reject a brat? Is the honor of this nation enough for you?” 1 “Chloe is a master of the ‘push-and-pull.’ Don’t let that innocent look fool you; she’s a total player behind the scenes.” “Honestly, you can’t blame Preston for being fooled. Her act is top-tier.” “She played with fire and got burned. She tried to play hard-to-get to build a ‘cold beauty’ brand, but it backfired big time.” “If it weren’t for the show’s raw footage, we’d probably all be under her spell.” “Don’t even mention her name. It makes me sick.” The producers of Destined to Love were hosting a live panel with four contestants. Two men and two women sat there, chatting casually. They didn’t hold back their malice toward me. The stream had over a hundred thousand viewers. In the chat, trolls were working overtime to smear me. But everything they claimed I did, I never touched. From the start, I was the one being bullied. The haters said I wore revealing clothes to seduce the men. The truth? One of the female contestants snuck into my room and shredded my dresses. I didn’t realize it until I was on camera, suffering a massive wardrobe malfunction. The haters said I was a manipulator, stirring up drama. The truth? A female guest tried to frame me, but her plan accidentally backfired on one of the guys. I tried to show the producers the truth on the security tapes. Instead, they all banded together to call me a liar. I was the victim. The innocent one. Yet, I became the villain in the mouths of five other people. The rumors that I tried to sleep my way to the top were even more absurd. When I went to the executive’s office, I was dressed professionally. I just wanted the showrunners to act like humans and stop the bullying. But they didn’t care. They just kept editing the clips to make me look like a “homewrecker.” Left with no choice, I went to my agency. I thought they would protect me. Instead, my manager sneered: “Preston Sterling can have any woman he wants! Who do you think you are to say no? You think you’re special?” “It’s not too late. Go to Preston. Beg. Do whatever it takes to get him to forgive you.” “Maybe if he’s happy, he’ll give you a second chance. You might even get famous off this!” I recorded every word they said. And I posted it online. If no one else would stand up for me, I would do it myself. I didn’t believe a trust-fund kid like Preston could hide the truth forever. I had a clear conscience. I believed I could wash away the filth they threw at me. But the moment the audio went viral, Preston bought off the media. They told the public the recording was “AI-generated” or “staged” by me. “Using fake audio to save yourself? Do you really think Preston Sterling is obsessed with you?” “The Sterling family is worth billions. Why would they bother framing a nobody like you?” “Know your place. Get out of the industry, you parasite.” That night, #CancelChloeMiller hit #1 on trending. My apartment door was blocked with piles of trash. I was spat on in the street. I was harassed by thugs in broad daylight. Even when the police arrested one, ten more were waiting. “Look, kid,” the officer said. “We can’t prove Preston Sterling is behind this. We don’t know if these guys are hired or just random internet trolls.” I was too scared to leave my house. I cut off all social contact. Even when I ordered groceries, someone threw red paint on me the moment I opened the door. There was no food in the bags. Only filth, terrifying dolls, and printed death threats. I curled up in my dark living room, clutching a glass snow globe my parents gave me. I was shaking. I couldn’t stop crying. I didn’t understand. The world my parents fought to protect—how did it become this dark? “Mom… Dad… I’m so scared. Why are they doing this?” “I miss you. I miss you so much.” But they weren’t done with me. Just minutes ago, a group led by Preston Sterling kicked in my front door. 2 They stormed in and trashed the place. They tore my clothes and took photos of me in the wreckage. They told me if I didn’t publicly apologize to Preston, they’d drive me out of the city. Preston pressed his shoe against my face on the floor. I was trembling. His voice was a venomous whisper: “Chloe, I offered to make you a star on this show. You should’ve been grateful. Do you really think you can say no to me?” I fought back, but I was too weak against them. He took a pocketknife and lightly grazed my cheek. “Such a pretty face. It’d be a shame to ruin it. Why are you so stubborn? Wouldn’t it be easier to be a good girl?” He laughed like a demon. “I’ll give you one last chance. Go on the livestream tonight. Apologize. Admit you tried to seduce me and tell the world you love me. Maybe then I’ll let you go.” He dropped the knife and stood up. “Don’t bother calling the cops. You have no proof. No one is coming for you.” My eyes were bloodshot. My vision was blurry with tears. Beside my hand lay the shattered snow globe. My 12th birthday present. The last gift I ever got from them. I had kept it safe for ten years. Now, it was just shards of glass. He grabbed my chin. “The more you resist, the more I want to break you. See you on the stream, Chloe.” He walked out, arrogant as ever. I slowly picked up the glass shards. The glass cut my fingers, and in the blood, I felt like I saw my father. He was covered in dirt and glory, walking toward me through the fire of a distant battlefield. His gaze was steady. His stride was firm. “A soldier’s grit is harder than steel, Chloe. A hero’s child must be firmer than a rock, straighter than a pine, and braver than the flames! Don’t be afraid. I’m right here.” Behind him stood my mother, my grandfather, and my grandmother. “Be brave, Chloe.” I stopped sobbing. My mind filled with images of them on the front lines—in the desert, in the secret labs, in the trauma wards. Preston Sterling seemed terrifying. But compared to the enemies my father faced, or the radiation my grandmother braved? He was nothing but a coward with a checkbook. “Whoa, Preston’s here!” “Hey man, join the stream! We’re almost done. Still heartbroken over Chloe?” “Come on, Preston. The world is full of women. Forget her.” Preston appeared on camera. A shower of “Super Chats” and digital gifts filled the screen. The viewer count jumped from a hundred thousand to a million. Preston looked every bit the charming prince. Not a trace of the monster from an hour ago. He sighed, looking “hurt.” “Actually, Chloe called me. She said she wanted to apologize. I don’t want to believe a girl can be that cruel, so I gave her a link to join us tonight.” The other guests groaned. “Preston, you’re too kind.” “People like her don’t change. Even if she admits it, she’s still trash.” “I bet she’s too scared to show up.” The chat was a toxic mess: [If she shows up, I’m throwing my phone.] [She’s probably hiding in a hole like the rat she is.] [Her parents must be so proud of raising a slut.] [How does she even have the face to be alive?] 3 But I wasn’t the one who lacked “face.” It was the five people on that screen. I wiped my eyes. I pulled a heavy metal box from under my bed. I opened it. One by one, I took out the contents and hung them on the white wall behind me. Then, I turned on my camera and requested to join the stream. “Wait, she actually joined? Should we let her in?” “Let her in. Let everyone see the ‘Green Tea’ performance.” Preston acted concerned. “Guys, be nice. She might be going through a lot…” “We got you, Preston. We’ll let her talk.” I entered the stream. The viewer count hit two million. The screen was a blur of censored slurs and hate. “Chloe, it’s about time. We haven’t heard an apology yet!” one of the girls sneered. “Show some accountability for once, or your career is over!” I adjusted the camera. My face was a mess. Red eyes, tear tracks, and the fresh cut on my cheek. [Look at her! Still acting! What a drama queen!] [Disgusting. She thinks a few tears will make us forget she’s a liar.] I took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for wasting the public’s time on this circus.” The guests laughed. “That’s it? That’s your apology? You think that covers the ‘harm’ you did to us?” “Harm?” I asked. “I never hurt you. You hurt me. Aside from the viewers I’ve annoyed, I owe no one an apology. Especially not you five. And especially not the trolls in this chat. You all owe me an apology.” The stream erupted. “Are you kidding me?!” “She’s doubling down! Kick her out!” “Wait,” Preston said, his eyes turning cold. “Chloe, think carefully. This is your last chance to save yourself. Think of your family name. You don’t want them to be dragged through the mud with you…” I started to laugh. It was a hollow, jagged sound. Preston was so fake. He wanted me to confess my “love” just so he could own me. But he picked the wrong girl. [What is she laughing at?! She’s insane!] [Preston is being a saint and she’s mocking him!] I stopped laughing. My voice was steady. “Preston is right. I should value this opportunity. I should say what needs to be said.” I stood up. I turned the camera toward the white wall behind me. The wall was covered in medals. Gold, silver, bronze. Gleaming under the light. Ribbons of blue, red, and white. Every single one told a story of survival, courage, and blood. 4 [What are those?] [Are those… military medals? Wait, is that a Silver Star?] [Wait, look at the middle one. Is that the Medal of Honor?!] [No way. That’s impossible. She must have bought them on eBay.] “These aren’t mine,” I said. “They belong to my family.” “You said my family should be ashamed of me? I want to know, why should American heroes be ashamed?” “You called me trash raised by trash? I want to know, since when are the defenders of this country considered trash?” The guests were silent. The chat froze for a split second. Preston’s face was as dark as a thundercloud. “Chloe, what is this theater? You think medals make you innocent?” The trolls tried to rally. [Fake! Totally fake! Who has that many medals?] [She’s desperate. She’s using stolen valor!] “You can doubt it,” I said, my voice rising. “But the records are public. My grandfather served three tours. This Silver Star was for saving an entire platoon under fire. This Purple Heart was for the shrapnel he carries in his leg to this day!” I touched a faded ribbon. “My grandmother worked in a top-secret lab for NASA. She spent ten years calculating trajectories in a room full of radiation so we could reach the moon. She died of cancer caused by that work. This is her Presidential Medal of Freedom!” “My father was a Navy SEAL. He spent thirty years on the front lines, protecting borders you’ll never see. He died in a firefight to keep an embassy safe. This is his Navy Cross!” “My mother was a trauma surgeon. she died in a field hospital during a pandemic, saving people who would never know her name!” “And me? I am a National Heritage Fellow. I dedicated my life to preserving the traditional blacksmithing and weaving techniques of our ancestors. I went on that show to promote our history!” “We are a family of public servants. Every single person on this wall is a hero!” My voice was hoarse. I was shouting now. “My grandfather is a war hero! My grandmother was a pioneer! My father is a martyr! My mother was an angel! And I am a protector of our culture!” “The show asked me what ‘face’ I had to reject Preston Sterling? I ask you: Is the honor of my father and my country enough? Is it ‘big’ enough for you?!” “An hour ago, Preston Sterling broke into my home. He trashed my parents’ belongings. He put his boot on my face and told me that because he has money, he can do whatever he wants!” “Is that the world we live in? Where a checkbook is more important than a life of service?!” 5 Preston and the others looked like they had seen a ghost. The chat was a volcano. The trolls were being drowned out by millions of regular people. The “Army of Justice” had arrived. [That is a real Navy Cross. I’m a vet, I know the serial number.] [Look at her face. That’s not acting. That’s raw pain.] [If this is true, Preston Sterling is finished.] [We failed her. We let them bully a hero’s daughter.] [Chloe, we’re coming! Don’t be afraid!] Preston tried to save face. “Don’t believe her! This is a scam! She’s a liar!” “Chloe, you better shut up, or you’ll regret ever being born!” [Look! He’s threatening her on camera!] [I’ve already called the local VA. They’re calling the Sheriff!] [The Pentagon is going to have a field day with this.] The stream hit ten million viewers. The platform’s mods took control of the room, locking the host’s ability to end the stream. The comments were now 100% against the guests. [Preston Sterling, you are scum!] [Boycott Sterling Industries!] [I’m outside the studio right now. Come out and face us, cowards!] Preston lost it. He started screaming at the camera. “You losers! You’re all broke nobodies! I’ll buy your houses and tear them down! You can’t touch me!” One of the other guests tried to pull him away, but he was manic. “Where are my bots?! Why aren’t the bots working?!” He looked at the lens, his eyes wild. “Chloe! You think you won? I’m coming back to your place right now to finish the job!” As he stood up to leave, a hand reached into the frame and slapped him across the face. A hard, ringing crack. “Dad?!” Richard Sterling stood there, trembling with rage. Then he hit him again. And again. 6 “Dad! Stop! They’re watching! Help me!” Richard Sterling didn’t help. He kicked Preston to the ground. “You idiot! I told you to stay out of trouble, but you harassed a Gold Star family?! Do you have any idea what you’ve done?!” Preston was sobbing. “She’s lying, Dad! She has to be!” Richard hit him again. “The FBI is on the phone! Our stocks are crashing! Every veteran group in the country is calling for my head! You think this is a joke?!” He looked at the camera, his face pale. “Get on your knees! Apologize to Ms. Miller! Now!” Richard forced his son and the other guests to kneel in front of the cameras. “Ms. Miller, I am a failure of a father. I beg for your mercy. We will make this right. Please!” Preston was stunned. “Dad, we have the Governor on speed dial! Why are you begging this girl?!” Richard grabbed a chair and smashed it over his son’s head. Preston went limp. Richard clutched his chest, gasping for air, as the paramedics rushed in. The stream finally cut to black. [The son outed the Dad’s corruption in ten seconds. Amazing.] [Gold Star families are untouchable. The Sterlings are over.] [Justice tastes so good.] Within minutes, the internet was a storm of headlines. #SterlingEmpireFalls #ChloeMillerHero #GoldStarJustice The show’s raw footage was leaked by a whistleblower. The world saw the truth. “Chloe, you should be honored I’m looking at you. Name your price.” “I’m not interested, Preston. I’m here for my work.” The video showed him grabbing my clothes, me fighting him off, and the producers laughing as I cried. “The Sterlings pay for this show, Chloe. Go to his room tonight, or we’ll ruin you.” “Five million in damages if you quit. You decide.” The world saw me crying in a dark hallway, with nowhere to go. The world saw the fifteen days of hell I endured. [She was slapped thirty times in one week for ‘missing cues.’] [The girls cut her dresses and put filth in her makeup bag.] [Preston entered the show just to prey on her.] [Chloe is a warrior. I would have broken on day one.]

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It was my fifth birthday with Brooks Sterling, and like every year before, I sat alone, watching a table full of gourmet food turn cold. Brooks had promised, as he always did, that we’d celebrate together. And as always, he broke that promise. This year, the excuse was his childhood friend, Piper, who wanted to do a photoshoot. She invited him and his three best friends to be in it, and once again, he abandoned me without a second thought to rush to her side. At 11:00 PM, Piper posted a photo on her social media, visible only to me. In the picture, four men in nothing but boxer briefs and bow ties were kneeling on one knee, surrounding a woman clad only in a sheer veil. The caption read: “The little cupcake some people can’t have, I have the whole bakery.” I took a screenshot of the post and sent it to the girlfriends of Brooks’s three friends. Since you all look down on me so much, I hope you never have to kneel and beg me for anything in the future. 1 I stared calmly at the photo on my phone, feeling something inside me quietly shatter. In the picture, warm yellow light cascaded down, making the four men—dressed only in black boxer briefs and exquisite Windsor knot bow ties—look like Greek gods. They knelt on one knee, encircling a woman with eyes full of submission and loyalty, looking up at her as if she were a queen on a pedestal. The woman was draped only in a sheer black veil that was almost transparent. Her curvaceous figure was visible beneath the fabric, exuding a raw, unbridled desire. Her expression was haughty, her presence commanding and impossible to ignore. The caption was a deliberate provocation. “The little cupcake some people can’t have, I have the whole bakery.” Looking at the cold food on the table, then back at the image of Brooks and his three best friends looking like domesticated pets, I suddenly wasn’t angry anymore. Knowing it wasn’t worth it, what was there to be angry about? First, I liked Piper’s post. Then I commented below: “A bitch and dogs, a match made in heaven.” After commenting, I took a screenshot of the post and saved it, then sent it individually to the girlfriends of Brooks’s three best friends. Just as I finished taking the screenshot, the post magically disappeared. About ten minutes later, a flood of messages poured into my phone. I turned on my screen. Brooks’s three friends had sent me messages. Liam: “Sienna, are you sick in the head? What does me helping Piper with a photoshoot have to do with you? You actually told my girlfriend? Why is your mouth so cheap? Now she’s blowing up at me, are you happy?” Mason: “Sienna, you crazy bitch! What did I ever do to you? Why did you send that to my girlfriend? If you have nothing better to do, go die. Don’t start drama here!” Ethan: “Stupid bitch! Your reach is pretty long, isn’t it? Did I dig up your ancestral grave in a past life? I hope your whole family gets hit by a car when they walk out the door!” Reading the vile insults from the three of them, I opened the chat box to retort when Brooks’s call came through. I pressed answer, and Brooks’s exasperated voice came through the speaker: “Sienna, what kind of crazy stunt are you pulling in the middle of the night?” “Because you went and tattled, now Liam and the others’ girlfriends are all demanding breakups. Do you know how much trouble you’ve caused? Are you so twisted that you can’t stand to see others happy?” “Now Piper is crying from guilt, and it’s all your fault!” “I don’t care what you’re doing right now. Get your ass over here and explain everything, then apologize to Piper. Otherwise, don’t expect me to let you off easy next time.” “Piper is crying?” “Of course! If you hadn’t made Piper cry, would I be this angry with you? I’ve spoiled you too much. You’re getting more and more unreasonable.” “Is she still wearing that mosquito net that can’t even cover her headlights while she’s crying? Are you guys still wearing those matching black briefs while you comfort her?” Brooks’s voice suddenly became unnatural: “Sienna, stop being so unreasonable. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “Really?” I sent him the screenshot of the post directly: “Brooks, when Piper dressed so sluttily for the photoshoot, did you guys get turned on?” Brooks hung up the phone immediately. 2 I guess he didn’t expect Piper to secretly post a picture to spite me, and Piper probably didn’t expect me to screenshot it and send it to the other three’s girlfriends. Seeing him hang up, I sent him a message: “Why did you hang up on me? Why aren’t you questioning me anymore?” The screen showed he was typing, but I never received the message. With no other choice, I posted the screenshot and the chat logs of Liam and the others cursing me onto my social media timeline. Caption: “Even if no one is with me, happy birthday to me.” It was already midnight, my birthday was over, but my timeline became active because of this photo. Many of my friends liked and commented on my post. “Whoa! Brooks went to be with someone else on your birthday? Sienna, you met a scumbag, didn’t you?” “Don’t be mad, Sienna. If he won’t celebrate your birthday, we will.” “Brooks usually looks so decent. How wild is he playing? Is this four jacks and a queen?” “OMG! She dares to wear that? Dressing like that and posting it on social media, is she trying to solicit customers?” Ten minutes after I posted, Liam’s girlfriend joined the fray. She also posted the screenshot and announced her breakup directly. “Today Liam can wear a pair of briefs to accompany her for a photoshoot, tomorrow he can strip naked and roll in the sheets with her. A worn-out shoe deserves a rotten sock. You lapdog, go lick your rotten abalone.” My already buzzing timeline became even more crowded because of Liam’s girlfriend’s self-disclosure. In just five minutes, the likes on her post exceeded a hundred. Even so, Brooks still didn’t give me any reply. But I am not a silent heroine in a novel who never speaks her mind. So, in the middle of the night, I sent the screenshot directly to Brooks’s parents. Now, Brooks finally stuck his head out of his turtle shell. Early the next morning, I received a call from Brooks’s mother. “Sienna, can you come over?” “Your uncle and I saw that photo. I think there must be some misunderstanding. Come over, and let’s clear things up.” “After all, you two have been together for so many years, and you’re about to get married. Why make things so difficult?” “Auntie, you saw the photo. I don’t think there’s any misunderstanding.” “You’ve seen how I’ve treated Brooks all these years. I don’t think I’ve done anything wrong by him. I love him, but that doesn’t mean he can rely on my feelings for him to hurt me without fear.” After all, she was an elder, and I couldn’t be too disrespectful: “I’ll get ready and come over in a bit.” After hanging up, I put on simple makeup and drove out. When I arrived at the Sterling villa, Brooks’s parents were already waiting at the door. Brooks stood behind them, head bowed like a frosted eggplant. I got out of the car, and just as I closed the door, a black sports car suddenly rushed out from an angle and headed straight for me. “Sienna, look out!” Seeing the sports car about to hit me, Brooks rushed over and pushed me out of the way with a flying leap. “Bang!” I fell to the ground and saw Brooks fly into the air. 3 The sports car fled, and Brooks was rushed to the hospital. He pushed me away in the nick of time, but he was hit in the legs by the black sports car. Both of his legs were fractured, but his life was not in danger. Looking at Brooks lying in the hospital bed with casts on both legs, I was calm. Before yesterday, if I saw him hurt like this, especially because of me, I don’t know how guilty and remorseful I would be. If it were the me from before yesterday, I would probably throw myself on him and cry my heart out, wishing I could take his place. But now, I was glad he pushed me away so I only suffered minor injuries. Brooks, who had just finished surgery, was still very weak, his face pale as a ghost. His eyes fell on me, a faint light in them: “Sienna, I’m glad you’re okay.” I didn’t take his bait: “Brooks, do you know what day yesterday was?” There was impatience in his tone: “Sienna, I’m hurt. I got hurt for you. Can’t you see that?” “I’m hurt this bad. If it weren’t for me, you’d be the one lying here today. How can you be so cold-blooded? At a time like this, you’re still thinking about your stupid birthday. You’re too selfish.” Brooks’s mother on the side also looked at me reproachfully: “Yes, Sienna. Brooks got hurt for you. He’s your savior and your fiancé. How can you talk to him like that?” “You still know I’m your future daughter-in-law? I thought you had already set your sights on someone else.” I looked at Brooks in the hospital bed: “Answer my question. What day was yesterday?” Brooks was like a deflated ball: “Yesterday was your birthday, okay?” “Sienna, I just didn’t spend your birthday with you. Is it necessary to hold onto this and not let go?” “I promise you, I will definitely spend your birthday with you next year. Is that okay?” I found it a bit funny: “Then let me ask you, what were you doing on my birthday last year, the year before last, and the year before that?” “I…” Seeing him speechless, I began to help him recall: “Last year, Piper said she wanted someone to watch the sunset with her. You accompanied her to climb the mountain for a day, leaving me alone in the couple’s restaurant until it closed.” “The year before last, you said you would spend my birthday with me. I had the yacht all set up, but you temporarily ran off to help Piper move house and drove away my car, leaving me alone at the pier.” “The year before that, Piper returned to the country. You guys booked the five-star hotel under my name and celebrated for a week. Not only did you forget my birthday completely, but you still haven’t settled the hotel bill. I paid the deficit of over a million for you.” “This year, I won’t talk about others. You dressed yourself like a trafficked slave to accompany her for a photoshoot. Even streetwalkers dress more decently than she does. If I took pictures like that with a man, what would you think?” Anger rose in Brooks’s eyes: “Sienna, can you stop being so unpleasant?” “Piper took the photos to record the best version of herself. It’s an artistic creation, in pursuit of sexiness and charm. She dressed like that to understand her body more deeply and break through traditional concepts. Don’t talk nonsense if you don’t understand.” He rolled his eyes at me disdainfully: “I dedicated myself to art. You think it’s corrupting public morals not only because you have no artistic cells, but also because your thoughts are dirty, so you can’t accept others’ excellence.” “Hmm, you’re right. My boyfriend didn’t spend my birthday with me, so I should magnanimously forgive him and support him in pursuing art without complaint. Is that what you mean?” “Exactly. If you missed your birthday this year, there’s still next year. But what Piper loses is the youth that will never return once it’s gone. She just wants to record her most beautiful moment. As her friend, what’s wrong with me helping her achieve her dream?” I nodded in agreement: “Yes, you are absolutely right.” “Since you like pursuing art so much, I won’t stop you. Let’s break up.” 4 Hearing me mention breaking up, Brooks finally got anxious: “Break up? You want to break up over such a trivial matter?” “Sienna, are you crazy? Piper was alone. What’s wrong with me helping her as a friend? Can you stop making a scene here? I’m already like this. How long are you going to keep this up?” “I’m not making a scene. You only remember that Piper was alone, but my parents weren’t around either.” “Before they went abroad, they asked you to take care of me. How did you promise them then? Have you achieved it now?” Brooks simply refused to look at me in a huff: “Anyway, this is all your fault!” “Okay, since you insist that I’m wrong, I won’t say anything more.” “Take good care of yourself. I will pay for your medical expenses.” After speaking, I got up to leave. Brooks’s father on the side couldn’t take it anymore. He got up and slapped Brooks hard on the face. “Slap!” Brooks looked shocked: “Dad, why did you hit me?” Brooks’s mother pushed his father away and shielded Brooks: “Are you crazy? Why hit the child for no reason?” “I hit him!” “He’s about to get married, yet he’s still entangled with other women. Shouldn’t he be hit?” “If he hadn’t gone to see that woman, would he have been hit like this? It’s his own fault! He deserves it!” Brooks’s father turned to look at me apologetically: “Sienna, don’t be angry. Uncle will teach this brat a lesson for you. Uncle promises you that this kind of thing will never happen again.” “No need for a lesson.” I reached out to stop him from continuing: “I can forgive him, but I have a condition.” Brooks’s eyes lit up: “What condition? Tell me, I’ll do it!” “Call the police.” I looked straight into his eyes: “Call the police. Whoever hit you, sue him for attempted murder and pursue it to the end.” “Impossible!” If his legs weren’t broken now, he would have almost jumped off the hospital bed when he heard this. “Liam didn’t intend to hit me. I was just accidentally injured by him. He is my brother. If I sue him, we won’t even be brothers in the future.” “No! Absolutely not!” “Whatever.” I was too lazy to talk nonsense with him anymore and got up to leave. Before leaving the door, I stood at the door of the ward: “From today on, don’t expect your good brothers to get any benefits from the Davis family.” “Brooks, since you think the brother who wants to kill your fiancée is more important, then I’ll handle it myself.” Just as I walked out of the hospital, I saw Piper rushing to the hospital entrance. Seeing me, her eyes were contemptuous: “I heard Brooks is injured. I came to visit. You won’t mind, will you?” “No, I’ve already broken up with him. Let alone visiting, even if you roll in the sheets with him, I won’t mind.” After speaking, I tried to walk past her, but she stretched out her arm to stop me. “Sienna, don’t think you’re so great just because you have some stinky money. What can you do with money? Brooks still follows me around and can’t bear to let me go.” “You don’t think he really loves you, do you? He’s just reached the age to get married. He’s with you for his family’s company. To him, you’re just an inflatable doll for venting his lust. He told me this himself.” “Do you think he’s happy with you? When he’s with me, he never mentions a word about you. Whether he’s drunk or dreaming, he calls my name.” Her eyes were full of viciousness: “Not just Brooks, even Liam and the others are just a matter of me hooking my finger. I can order them around however I want.” I keenly detected the hidden meaning in this sentence: “So, Liam driving to hit me was also your idea?” “Hmph! I didn’t say that.” An arrogant expression appeared on her face: “You blockheads born into wealthy families don’t know what men really need, so you can’t hold onto your men’s hearts.” “I just can’t stand the high and mighty faces of you young ladies. I just want to take away your men and make you unhappy.” “As long as you’re sad, I feel comfortable.” I nodded, then looked behind her: “Did you all hear that?” Piper turned around and saw three women standing behind her with ferocious faces, led by Liam’s ex-girlfriend. “Are you the one named Piper? You’re pretty arrogant! Did playing shared boyfriend break your brain?” Piper looked at me incredulously: “Did you call them here?” I smiled maliciously: “I was waiting for them. Who were you waiting for?” 5 Piper was cornered by the three women: “What do you want to do?” “I warn you, if you dare touch me, your boyfriends won’t let you off!” “Let me tell you, don’t bully me. I’ve been injured, my brain doesn’t work well.” “Who are you scaring? As if anyone’s brain works well. If my brain worked well, would I find someone like Liam?” With that, Liam’s ex-girlfriend grabbed Piper by the hair and smashed her head against the wall, making Piper cry for her parents. The other two didn’t stay idle either. One started tearing her clothes, and the other grabbed her newly done manicure and scratched Piper’s face wildly. The madness was like Iori Yagami awakening the Orochi blood. “I’ll teach you to seduce other people’s boyfriends. I’ll teach you to pretend in front of me. Today I’ll ruin your face and see how you can still be a bitch and flirt with men!” “Don’t you love showing off? This time I’ll let you show off enough. Taking photos is boring. Let everyone see your shameless look!” In the corner in front of the hospital entrance, the three of them beat Piper wildly, making her scream repeatedly. She couldn’t take the beating anymore. Risking a few more hits, she pushed two of them away fiercely, then kicked one in the stomach. She finally broke free from the three’s encirclement and rushed out, trying to escape. She panicked and chose the wrong path. When passing by me, she was tripped by the foot I extended and rolled directly down the steps in front of the door. Seeing that she dared to resist, the three rushed over, regardless of whether it was her head or buttocks. Before she could get up, they pressed her to the ground, sat on her, and punched and kicked her. Piper uttered helpless cries, curled up like a big maggot with her head in her hands, crying and begging for mercy while being beaten awkwardly. “Stop fighting, I was wrong!” “I won’t dare seduce other people’s boyfriends next time, please stop fighting!” Her dress was torn into rags, her whole person was like an old mop head. Even the underwear inside the skirt was torn, revealing half of her white buttocks, which was stepped on solidly by a thin heel, making her howl in pain not like a human voice. More and more onlookers gathered, but no one helped her call the police. There were even occasional bursts of applause and cheers in the crowd watching the excitement. People are never stingy with their applause and cheers for shameless mistresses. Having seen enough, I was about to leave when I looked back and found Liam, Mason, and Ethan rushing over. The three rushed over to pull away the four women who were tearing each other apart. As a result, Liam’s girlfriend was even more angry when she saw her ex-boyfriend. She scratched Liam’s face fiercely, leaving five bright red fingernail marks on his face instantly. Braveling the storm of their girlfriends and ex-girlfriends, the three men managed to snatch Piper, who was covered in cuts and bruises, and protected the disheveled Piper behind them like flower protectors. Ethan was obviously the most unsettled one. Seeing that the three women were unrelenting, he raised his hand and punched his girlfriend on the bridge of the nose, causing her nose to bleed directly. He was stunned after hitting her. The Carter family’s business had been sluggish for the past two years, relying entirely on the market share allocated by my family and his girlfriend’s family to keep the business going. This girlfriend was not only a girlfriend to him, but also a benefactor protecting the Carter family. Ethan knew he had caused a catastrophe and was so scared that he knelt down immediately with a “thump”: “Baby, are you okay?” “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t pay attention just now. I’ll take you to bandage it right away.” He was almost paralyzed with fright. Just as he was about to reach out to help his girlfriend, his arm was grabbed. He turned his head and saw Piper pulling his arm, crying like rain on a pear blossom: “Brother Ethan, it hurts so much.” This “brother” was so sweet that even I, a woman, felt numbness over half my body when I heard it, let alone this idiot Ethan. Ethan was elated by this “brother”. He didn’t care about his girlfriend with the bleeding nose. He actually stood up to protect Piper and enter the hospital. Ethan’s girlfriend couldn’t take it anymore and blocked the hospital entrance, covering her bleeding nose: “Ethan, if you dare to choose her today, your whole family will get out to the train station to beg for food tomorrow!” Ethan got anxious: “Have you made enough trouble? Look at how you beat Piper. You are simply a shrew!” “I’m a shrew? You shot erotic photos with this bitch behind my back, and now you have the nerve to scold me? None of you Carters are good things!” A few people started a scolding war at the hospital entrance. Liam and the other two protected Piper behind them and directly scolded me, who was not involved in the fight on the side. “Stop arguing! Shut up!” Just as the scene was about to turn into a full-on brawl, a shout stopped the two groups’ saber-rattling. A few police officers appeared at the hospital entrance. The leading officer scanned the people present with a serious gaze: “This is a hospital, not a place for you to fight. If there is something you can’t solve, you can go to the police station. Making a noise here and affecting the normal work order of the hospital, you have violated the law!” He looked at everyone present: “Who is Liam?” Liam on the side hurriedly raised his hand: “I am, me!” He walked to the police officer and pointed at me: “Officer, it’s this woman making trouble here. Arrest her quickly!” As soon as the words fell, the police officer took out handcuffs and pressed them directly on his wrist. “Liam, you are suspected of intentional homicide and hit-and-run. Now we are summoning you according to the law. Please come with us.”

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Preston said he would propose on our fourth anniversary. But this is our eighth year together. He claims to love me, yet he’s relentlessly pursuing a younger intern from his office. To please her, he even outbid everyone at a charity auction just to snatch away my mother’s only heirloom. “Misty has never seen anything nice; she’s obsessed with this. Just let her have it this once. I’ll make it up to you later.” “Fine.” This time, I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. Instead, I dialed a number I hadn’t called in years. “Elias, what you said last time… does it still stand?” He was silent for a second, then repeated it clearly: “Dump Preston. Marry me.” “Okay. I’ll do it.” 1 Elias was clearly stunned. We sat in silence for two full minutes. “Are you serious?” he finally asked, his voice low. “Yes.” He let out a deep, dark chuckle. “I’ll be waiting.” “Who were you talking to?” Preston suddenly wrapped his arms around me from behind, startling me. I quickly locked my phone and shook my head. “Still upset? Look, you know Misty doesn’t have the privileges you grew up with. You can afford to be generous.” “Right.” Preston’s phone wouldn’t stop vibrating. He looked down to reply, a soft, genuine smile playing on his lips. It was a message from Misty. The photo was impossible to miss. My mother’s necklace was draped around her neck, resting right against her deep cleavage. The photo was a suggestive close-up, showing the lace of her lingerie. “Preston.” He was sitting on the edge of the bed, mesmerized by the screen. He even let out a small, enamored laugh, completely ignoring me. “Preston!” I raised my voice, and he snapped his head up. “What? What is it?” “When are you actually going to propose?” Preston tucked his phone away, scratching the back of his neck nervously. “Aren’t we… still young? There’s no rush.” “Youth is for having fun. Since you were so ‘generous’ today, the guys threw a party to celebrate my ‘gracious’ wife. Want to come?” His eyes told me everything. He was desperately hoping I’d say no. “I—” He cut me off, hugging me tightly. “Actually, I’ll tell them you’re tired. You hate the smell of smoke and booze anyway. Just wait for me at home, okay?” I looked down, a bitter laugh escaping my throat. Preston took it as a happy “yes.” Having achieved his goal, he didn’t waste another word. He grabbed his phone and headed for the door. As he left, I saw him zooming in on that photo of Misty. I took my robe and caught my reflection in the mirror. Average body. Average face. Misty and I were clearly from two different worlds, two different stages of life. At midnight, one of Preston’s friends, Jax, posted an update. It was a video. The music was deafening, the VIP lounge dripping with excess. Young socialites were cheering on the dance floor. Then, the music paused for a second. I heard a familiar voice. “Jax, I think I’m going to propose to Misty.” It was Preston. I set my phone down, stared at the ceiling, and took a deep breath. Our relationship survived the seven-year itch, but it couldn’t survive one cold winter. 2 I was about to sleep when I got a text from Jax. A simple line: Hey, can you bring some stomach meds over? Preston’s dying here. Preston doesn’t have stomach issues. Neither does Jax. Based on what I’d heard in the video, it wasn’t hard to guess what was really happening. I didn’t know if Jax sent that because Preston asked him to, or if it was a trap. When I arrived at the club, I leaned against my car for a long time. My legs were numb by the time I finally found the courage to walk inside. I definitely picked the wrong moment to enter. Preston was down on one knee. “Misty, I truly love you.” “Misty, will you marry me?” “Misty, I want you to be mine forever.” The love in his eyes was overflowing. Misty stood across from him, hands over her mouth in shock. She was beautiful—the exact kind of “innocent but sexy” girl that was Preston’s ultimate weakness. “Preston… yes! Yes, I will!” Before I knew it, tears were streaming down my face. The ring wasn’t the centerpiece. It was my mother’s heirloom necklace they were using as a “promise gift.” Preston, you really are a piece of work. The two of them kissed under the spotlight. A perfect couple. A beautiful scene. Except, out of the dozen people in the room—some drinking, some smoking, some on their phones—not a single person clapped. Preston noticed. His expression soured. “What’s wrong with you guys? Cheer!” His friends all looked down, suddenly very busy with their drinks. Preston scanned the room, his eyes turning cold. “You’re proposing to her? What about Claire?” Jax asked, breaking the silence. Preston licked his lips and patted Jax on the shoulder with a smirk. “Jax, do you even know what it feels like to have your heart skip a beat?” “Claire has been with you for eight years, man.” “Shh…” Preston hushed him. “Don’t ruin the mood. For the last eight years, I was blind. I thought that was love. But after meeting Misty, I finally know what real passion is. I’d give her the world! But Claire?” He looked around, trying to justify himself to the group. “Claire is high-born, wealthy. She doesn’t need ‘saving.’ But Misty? Misty only has me. Do you get it?” “Every time I go home and see Claire’s face, I just feel… bored.” “Sure, Claire is ‘good.’ But she’s not the one I want to marry.” Silence. No one backed him up. “Preston… maybe we should just… forget the cheers… it’s okay,” Misty whispered. Crash! Preston smashed a glass on the floor. “I said, cheer!” Normally, when Preston lost his temper, everyone backed off. But this time, no one moved. I felt a strange sense of irony. Eight years ago, none of them liked us together. They hated me, the “spoiled rich girl,” and told Preston to dump me. Eight years later, they all saw me as family. Everyone except Preston. Clap. Clap. Clap. I clapped three times, slowly. All eyes snapped to me. Preston’s pupils shrank; panic flickered across his face. “You… what are you doing here?” Then, his face hardened. “Who told her to come?” I walked up to him. Misty immediately stepped in front of Preston, arms spread as if to “protect” him. She looked terrified, yet “brave.” Every man’s hero fantasy. “Claire, I’m so sorry, it’s all my fault… please don’t blame him…” I reached out and snatched the necklace from around her neck. “Preston, didn’t anyone ever tell you? Proposing with a dead woman’s jewelry never ends well.” 3 “Don’t scare Misty. We’ll talk about this at home,” Preston said, reaching for his jacket, desperate to escape. “Preston, do I even have a home anymore?” His hand froze. He turned back, grabbing my arm to pull me out. Misty tried to follow, but Jax blocked her. The hallway lights were dim. I couldn’t even see Preston’s face clearly anymore. “Misty is young. Her only birthday wish was for a proposal. I had too much to drink, Claire. I wasn’t thinking.” When I didn’t reply, he pulled me into a hug. This was his routine—whenever I was mad, he’d use sweet words and physical affection to make it go away. And every time, I had forgiven him. He breathed against my ear. “Babe, don’t be mad.” He didn’t realize that this time, there was no coming back. “Fine. Come home with me right now.” “Okay! Let’s go home!” He started pulling me toward the exit. Misty was standing right by the door. I knew she could hear us. Three, two… Thud! The door flew open. Misty “collapsed” in the hallway. Preston was by her side in a heartbeat. “Misty!” “Preston, I’m okay… is Claire still mad?” Misty grabbed a large bottle of 116-proof bourbon from a passing tray. “I’ll make it up to her.” She tilted her head back and began chugging the harsh liquor. She was willing to pay a high price to win back Preston’s attention. “Misty, stop!” Preston wrenched the bottle away, looking devastated. “Does she forgive me now?” Misty whimpered. Preston whirled around and screamed at me. “Say something!” The man who was just whispering “babe” in my ear was gone. The mask had slipped. “I never blamed you,” I said calmly. Misty coughed, reaching a hand out toward me. “If you’re not mad, can I have the necklace back? It was a gift from Preston.” I clutched my bag. “This is my mother’s heirloom.” “But it’s a gift from him…” Misty’s lip trembled. “I guess you still hate me.” She grabbed the bottle again. Preston went ballistic. “Claire, give it to her!” He lunged for my bag. “This belonged to my mother! Can’t you see she’s doing this on purpose?” Preston wouldn’t listen. He fought me for the bag like a rabid dog. “Can’t you stop being so cynical? Misty isn’t like you!” “She’s just a girl, Claire! Stop bullying her!” He was too strong. I lost the tug-of-war. He ripped the bag away, and as Misty reached for it too, the necklace snagged. The string snapped. Silver beads scattered everywhere, bouncing off the floor like rain. I stared at the two beads left in my hand. Misty looked up at me, a tiny, triumphant smirk on her lips that only I could see. “Claire, have you had enough?!” Preston roared. He blamed me for everything. He saw through the world, but he couldn’t see through her. Maybe he realized he’d gone too far. He looked at the beads on the floor and reached out to touch my hair. “I… I’m sorry. I drank too much.” “Tomorrow. I’ll buy you a new one tomorrow, okay?” Misty started retching from the alcohol. Preston scooped her up and ran for the exit. “Tomorrow at noon! I’ll take you shopping! I promise!” He ran so fast the wind brushed past my face. I leaned against the wall and laughed. What was the difference between me and those silver beads? A seemingly “whole” life, scattered into the dust in a single night. I didn’t want the necklace anymore. And I didn’t want Preston. I couldn’t promise to forget him instantly, but I could promise he’d never find me again. “Hello? Is this the airline? I need the next available flight to Charleston.” 4 The flight was in three days. I went back and packed. I took everything that was mine. Everything I couldn’t take, I burned. Our photo albums were in the nightstand, but there was one on Preston’s desk. He hadn’t been home in a while, so the desk was dusty, but the album was pristine. He must have been looking at it often. I picked it up to throw it in the fire, but photos fell out. They weren’t of us. They were of him and Misty. I remembered when Misty first visited. She said our wedding-style photos were “so pretty.” I guess they went and took their own set. I closed the album and put it back. The clock struck 5:00 PM. Preston had missed our “noon” date. Ping. A voice note from Elias Vane. “I sent the marriage contract to your place via courier. Just sign it.” I replied with an emoji. I turned around, and Preston was standing there. “Who are you talking to? You look so happy.” I shook my head and tried to walk past him. “Move.” He held out a hand. In it was a perfectly restored necklace. My mother’s necklace. “You… you found them?” He scratched his head. “Spent hours looking. Nearly went blind.” “So you didn’t show up at noon because you were looking for the beads?” “Duh.” He hugged me gently. “I’m exhausted. My back is killing me from crouching all day.” “There are two beads missing, though. You won’t be mad I’m late, will you?” I held the necklace, my vision blurring. Tears hit my palms. “Preston… thank you…” “What are you saying? You’re my fiancée.” I ran into the bedroom to get the beads I had saved. But when I compared them… the color was wrong. The necklace he gave me had a fake “antique” patina, but it wasn’t the same as the beads in my bag. I collapsed on the floor, sobbing silently. Preston, how long were you planning to lie to me? What am I to you? A voice came from the door. “Package for Claire Miller. Signature required.” Preston walked in, already tearing open the envelope. “What’s this? Some legal document?” My phone lit up. Elias: Did you get the contract? I looked up, my eyes locking with Preston’s.

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Right before I died, my parents sat down and did the math with me. They told me that in this life, they had never mistreated me. Whatever other kids had, I had too. “But, we just don’t have that kind of money anymore,” my mother said. “Your mom and I are just normal people. The doctor said your leukemia is incurable. Even if we go bankrupt trying to save you…” my dad trailed off. “Not to mention we still have to put your brother through college and help him with a down payment for a house. If he doesn’t have a house, who would want to marry him?” “Lily, let’s stop the treatments. Okay?” My mother’s voice trembled as she said it. She framed it as a question, but she had already made the decision. My father stood beside her, offering his own twisted comfort: “You want Ethan to have a good life too, right?” After they decided to give up on my treatment, they had the doctors pull my IVs and take me off life support. My father stood to the side, crying. My mother had tears in her eyes, but she stood rigidly, saying nothing. They had my Uncle David lift me up and place me in a wheelchair. She wouldn’t even touch me. As they rolled me to the hospital entrance, she looked at my uncle and said, “I’m leaving her in your hands.” Uncle David nodded, remaining silent. I looked back at her through blurry, tear-filled eyes. “Mom, aren’t we going home?” I didn’t realize it then, but the moment they decided to give up on me, I no longer had a home. They didn’t take me home. On the drive with my uncle, he told me, “Your brother is about to take his final exams and apply for colleges. Being at home would distract him.” “You wouldn’t want your parents and your brother to have to watch you looking like death every single day, right?” Tears streamed down my face, but I nodded. “Then where am I going?” Where was I supposed to go? Uncle David didn’t answer. He just drove in silence for a very long time. Three hours later, he brought me to a tiny, rundown cabin. It was out in the countryside, surrounded by nothing but empty fields. The cabin stood there, completely isolated from the rest of the world. He locked me inside and came by once a day to drop off food. Laying there, staring at the walls of that tiny, ten-by-ten room, it suddenly hit me: I had already been locked inside my tomb. What was Ethan doing? Was he doing his homework? Did Mom make him her special chicken noodle soup? If I were home, Ethan would always sneak two chicken wings into my bowl, and then eat the drumsticks himself. But honestly, just having the wings was enough to make me happy. Thinking about that, I closed my eyes. I could almost see Ethan smiling at me. I could see him pulling me onto the couch to watch cartoons. I could hear him say, “Don’t be scared. Your big brother is right here.” And then, I never woke up again. When I regained consciousness, I was no longer in that terrifying, suffocating little cabin. I was home. Afternoon sunlight spilled across the living room. My mother was talking to Uncle David. My uncle’s expression was heavy, his eyes rimmed with red. “She passed in the night. I only found out this morning. She went peacefully, no pain. I don’t know if she was having a good dream, but she still had a smile on her face…” As he spoke, tears began to slide down my uncle’s cheeks, hitting the floor. My mother didn’t say a word. She sat quietly, her face devoid of any visible emotion. She simply stared blankly at the small box of my belongings that my uncle had brought back. “And the arrangements?” my uncle asked. “Cremate her,” she said coldly. “Leave the ashes there.” Uncle David nodded. Right then, Ethan walked through the front door. He was spinning a basketball on his finger. Before he even fully stepped inside, he called out, “Mom, is Uncle David here? I saw his truck outside.” A momentary flash of panic crossed my mother and uncle’s faces. Ethan walked in, looking around the living room before heading straight toward my bedroom. When he didn’t find me, he looked at my uncle, confused. “Uncle Dave, didn’t Lily come back with you? Mom said she went to the countryside to hang out with you for a few days. Where is she?” My mother discreetly pinched my uncle’s arm. Uncle David quickly lied, “Oh, Lily is with… your Grandma. She said she wants to stay there until after summer break.” It turned out, Ethan had no idea how sick I really was. He only knew I had been running a lot of fevers, and that Mom had taken me to the doctor. Ethan frowned. “Summer break is still two months away. She’s not coming back? She’s just going to play out there?” My mom walked over and took his backpack and basketball. “Oh, you know your sister isn’t cut out for studying anyway. Let her play. Don’t worry about her.” Ethan looked annoyed. “Who said that? Lily is really smart. Ever since I started supervising her homework, she jumped up ten spots in her class rankings. I need to keep keeping an eye on her.” He turned to my uncle. “Uncle Dave, bring Lily back tomorrow.” My uncle remained completely silent. Before his eyes could turn red again, he turned and walked out the door. My mom walked him out. In the hallway, she whispered, “Don’t tell Mom. She loves Lily the most. She won’t be able to handle it.” Uncle David didn’t say anything. He just looked at her. “Sarah, do you even have a heart? Does this really not hurt you at all?” My mother’s face remained an impenetrable mask. After a long pause, she simply said, “The living still have to live.” Ethan was preparing for his final exams. His workload was massive. But instead of rushing to do his practice tests, he walked over to my desk. He looked at the messy piles of notebooks I had left behind and shook his head with a fond sigh. He started organizing them. Suddenly, he picked up my history workbook. He opened it and saw that I had drawn a pair of roller skates on Abraham Lincoln so he looked like he was zooming away. Ethan laughed out loud. He picked up a pencil and scribbled in the margin: You need to focus on your studies, you little brat. He neatly stacked all my workbooks. Then, he opened my planner and wrote out a detailed study schedule for me. He carefully calculated how many vocabulary words I could memorize each day, mapped out my reading assignments, and wrote it all down. At the bottom, he added a little note in parentheses: (If you can’t finish it all, don’t force yourself. As long as you’re a little better than yesterday, that’s enough.) After finishing my study plan, he stretched his arms over his head. Then, as if remembering something else, he picked up the pencil again. At the very bottom of the schedule, he wrote one last sentence. Lily, you study hard for your own sake. I just want the best for you. He smiled gently as he wrote it, probably imagining how motivated I would be when I finally saw the note. My mother was cooking in the kitchen. When I was little, I loved hanging out in the kitchen with her. Whenever she cooked, I’d act as her little assistant, passing her ingredients and utensils. I always looked so serious doing it. I liked to pretend the kitchen was an operating room. Mom was the lead surgeon, and I was the trusty scrub nurse handing her the scalpels. Sometimes, I’d even take a paper towel and dab the sweat off her forehead, just like the nurses did on TV. It always made her laugh. She’d look at me with such affection and say, “Alright, Nurse Lily, hand the doctor an egg.” Day after day, she had grown completely used to the fact that the kitchen belonged to the two of us. Cooking wasn’t a lonely, tedious chore when I was there. People always say that when someone dies, it doesn’t really hit you right away. When exactly do you realize that a person is truly gone forever? Usually, it happens like this— “Grab me two tomatoes.” My mother scrambled the eggs, and without thinking, tossed them into the hot pan to fry. Once they were done, she scooped them onto a plate, turned around, picked up her knife, and reached her hand out behind her, waiting for me to hand her the tomatoes. Suddenly, her hand froze in mid-air. She looked up. The kitchen was completely empty. She was entirely alone. The whole house felt suffocatingly quiet. She stood frozen in the silence. Suddenly, tears welled up in her eyes, brimming over her lashes. She clenched her fists, violently choking back her sobs, desperately trying to suppress the wave of emotion. She tried her hardest to pretend nothing was wrong, letting the tears fall uncontrollably down her cheeks while maintaining a cold, wide-eyed stare. She opened the fridge, grabbed the tomatoes herself, and looked down at the cutting board to slice them. And then, she suddenly remembered. She had never, not once, asked while cooking: “Lily, what do you want to eat today?” She only ever asked Ethan. Ethan would always just say, “Whatever.” And I would lean against her arm and say sweetly, “Whatever Mom makes is my favorite!” Uncle David went back to the countryside to handle my affairs. He took me to the crematorium, and then carried my ashes back to that tiny cabin, all alone. It was nighttime when he arrived. Everything was pitch black. He walked into the cabin. There were no lights. A memory flashed in his mind—the image of me lying there in the dark, clinging to my last breaths, waiting to die. I always lay facing the wall, my back to the door. He set my urn down and went to fold up the blankets I had used. Then, illuminated by the moonlight streaming through the single window, he saw the wall I had stared at every day. There, etched into the drywall, was my timeline. I had used a small pebble to scratch tally marks into the wall. Above the marks, I had written a messy, crooked sentence. When I finish the last tally, Mom will come take me home. The final tally mark was missing its very last stroke. I had died that night. Uncle David froze. His brow furrowed in deep agony. He grabbed the blankets, turned around, and left. When he got back to his house, Grandma Jenkins was sitting in the yard under the porch light. She had her reading glasses on, squinting furiously at her old, brick-like flip phone. She looked incredibly angry. I knew exactly why she was angry. I used to call her every other day just to chat. Once, I waited two days to call, and she got so mad. She claimed I hadn’t called her in half a month. I laughed and said, “It hasn’t been half a month! It’s only been two days!” She scoffed proudly. “You think two days is acceptable?! Why haven’t you talked to your grandma in two days? If you don’t want to call, then just don’t call ever again! Just pretend I’m dead!” Her dramatic, prideful act always made me laugh uncontrollably, and I’d spend the next ten minutes gently coaxing her. I promised I would call her every single alternate day. Right now, she was gripping that flip phone, her face tight with stubborn anger, refusing to go to bed. The neighbor lady saw my uncle walk up and said, “Oh, thank God you’re back. Your mother has been wandering around with that phone for days, asking everyone if it’s broken or if she forgot to pay the bill. Please check it for her.” Uncle David knew exactly why Grandma was acting like this. He walked over, gently took the phone from her hands, and tried to help her inside. Grandma resisted. “Give me my phone back.” “Why do you need the phone?” Uncle David said, trying to mask his emotions. “Go to sleep.” “What if Lily calls me? What if I miss it? Give it back.” Uncle David stood in silence, refusing to hand it over. After a long pause, he finally offered a comforting lie. “Lily and Ethan have their final exams coming up. They’re studying day and night. She just doesn’t have time.” Grandma nodded in immediate understanding. “I know, I know. They have their finals. But Lily wouldn’t forget me. Lily isn’t heartless like the rest of you. She doesn’t get busy and just forget I exist. She’s closest to me.” Stubbornly, she snatched the phone back from my uncle’s hand. She sat on the edge of her bed, gripping it tightly, staring at the blank screen. Uncle David’s eyes grew red again. His lips parted, but the words wouldn’t come out. It looked like he wanted to just rip the band-aid off and tell her that Lily was never going to call again. But he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t break her heart. He rubbed his eyes and said, “I saw Lily today.” Grandma’s eyes lit up. She leaned forward eagerly. “Really? You went to their house today?” Uncle David nodded. “Yeah. Lily said her grades used to be bad and she knew it worried you. So she promised she’s going to score a perfect 100 on her finals to show you.” Grandma smiled, nodding her head in pure joy. “Good, good, good. If she’s working that hard, I wouldn’t even mind if she didn’t call me for a whole month.” But then she immediately backtracked. “No, a month is still too long.” Then, remembering something, she beamed happily. “Tomorrow is Sunday. She’ll definitely FaceTime me tomorrow.” Satisfied, she lay down, pulled the covers up, and tucked her precious flip phone safely under her pillow. She closed her eyes, already plotting how she was going to playfully scold me tomorrow for not calling her for five whole days. Thinking about it, she drifted off to sleep with a smile on her face. My dad worked very late. By the time he got back to our neighborhood, it was already midnight. The streets were empty. A small pack of stray dogs was roaming around, digging through the trash. One of the dogs stopped and stared at the tall, exhausted silhouette walking through the darkness. The dog stood there, watching him for a long time. My dad recognized him. His name was Shadow. I was the one who named him. When Shadow was a puppy, he almost died. He was the runt of the litter. When it was time to eat, the other puppies aggressively pushed him out of the way to get to their mother’s milk. He was kicked to the side, and even the mother dog rejected him. They say animals instinctively reject weak offspring. They think weak pups can’t survive, so they choose to give their limited resources to the stronger ones. That day, I was walking back from picking up a package with my dad when I found Shadow in the bushes. His mother was right there, but she completely ignored him. I couldn’t bear it. I tugged on my dad’s sleeve. “Dad, can we take him home?” My dad glanced at the puppy and frowned. “No. Your brother needs to study. We can’t have a noisy dog in the house.” I listened to him. I didn’t bring him inside our apartment. Instead, I went down to the basement of our building and used cardboard boxes to build Shadow a little shelter. I lined it with an old blanket I didn’t use anymore, bought him goat’s milk, and set up a small heat lamp to keep him warm. I hid him in a quiet corner and fed him every single day. I researched everything about taking care of puppies and found out he needed his shots. I carried him to a nearby clinic that offered free vaccines for strays. The vet told me Shadow had congenital defects and had been abandoned by his mother. He said Shadow probably wouldn’t live long enough to even need his vaccines. Holding Shadow, I cried my eyes out. But Shadow seemed to sense my sadness. He licked my face, his innocent eyes full of concern and confusion. He didn’t understand why I was crying, but I knew what he was doing. He was trying to comfort me. I shook my head, looked him dead in the eyes, and told him with absolute certainty: “Shadow, listen to me. You can do this. You have to stay alive for me.” Against all odds, Shadow actually lived long enough to get his shots. The vet smiled warmly when I brought him back in. He patted my head, and then patted Shadow’s. With kind, glowing eyes, he said, “Love always creates miracles.” As time went on, Shadow grew up. He became the undisputed king of the neighborhood strays. He was a fierce fighter and bowed down to no one—but the moment he saw me, his tail would wag so hard his whole body shook. Right now, Shadow stood in the distance, watching my father. He slowly approached, sniffing my dad’s shoes and ankles, desperately trying to find my scent. But my dad was exhausted and impatient. He kicked Shadow away. But Shadow refused to give up. He ran off into the dark, and a few minutes later, he came running back. In his mouth, he was carrying a pink, dirt-stained blanket. He chased after my dad. Disgusted by the dirty stray, my dad was about to kick him again when his eyes suddenly caught sight of the faded Hello Kitty print on the blanket. He froze. It was the blanket he had bought for me. When I was in kindergarten, I treated that blanket like a treasure. I couldn’t fall asleep unless I was holding it. It was precious to me because I had begged him for months before he finally agreed to buy it. My dad stared at it, completely shell-shocked. He started chasing Shadow. “Why do you have that blanket?! Give it here!” Shadow grabbed the blanket and bolted. My dad chased him through the dark. He ran and ran, until he tripped and fell hard onto the pavement. And then, he finally broke down crying. He clenched his fists, pounding them against the asphalt, weeping silently into the night. A ragged, agonizing sound tore from his throat, but he couldn’t bring himself to scream my name. Shadow took the blanket back to his little cardboard shelter. He curled up in his dark corner, wrapping the pink blanket tightly around himself. He didn’t sleep. He just stared out into the pitch-black night, his dark eyes filled with thoughts I couldn’t comprehend. Maybe he was wondering where I went. Maybe he was wondering if I was ever coming back. Wondering when we would see each other again. When he could run in circles around me, wagging his tail, so happy he wouldn’t even know what sound to make to tell me— “It’s been so long.” My father picked himself up off the pavement, brushed the dirt off his pants, and forced his emotions back down. He walked into the apartment. As soon as he took his shoes off, his eyes landed on the little snack cabinet I had built for him out of cardboard boxes. It was fully stocked with all the snacks I had carefully prepared for him. He always worked so late. He would come home starving, and over the years, he had developed stomach ulcers from the hunger. Because he was always too tired to cook a real meal at midnight, I started preparing a stash of snacks for him. Stuck to the boxes were sticky notes I had written, letting him know which flavors were in which bins. He reached out, his fingers tracing the little hearts and cartoon faces I had drawn on the notes. He grabbed a bag of chips, sat heavily on the couch, and numbly opened it, stuffing a handful into his mouth. A moment later, my mother walked out of the bedroom. He didn’t turn around. His voice was raw. “Honey, what if we just…” Before he could finish his sentence and say we should continue my treatments, my mother cut him off. “She’s dead.”

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1 On the day I covered my best friend’s night shift at the hotel. When a drifter reeking of alcohol came to book a room, my best friend repeatedly warned me to give him the room in the furthest corner. I figured the drifter might get belligerently drunk, so I followed her instructions and handed him that key. But the next day, I was cyberbullied and trending online. Netizens were screaming for me to pay with my life. Only then did I learn that a girl was already staying in that room. The drifter, given the wrong room number, raped her that night. Unable to bear the humiliation, the girl jumped off the building and killed herself. I tried to defend myself, but my best friend jumped out to testify against me: “I am the receptionist at this hotel. I testify that she was jealous of the girl’s beauty, so she purposely gave the wrong room number to let the drifter rape her!” Blocked and hunted by furious netizens, I was eventually hacked to death by the girl’s emotionally broken family members. After I died, my best friend married my husband, and they became a loving couple. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day my best friend asked me to cover her night shift. “Front desk, get me a room. I’m staying here tonight!” The familiar voice of the drifter rang in my ears. I jolted awake, looking at the familiar layout of the hotel lobby. I checked the time displayed on my phone. In that moment, I was certain I had been reborn. Reborn to the exact day my best friend, Megan, asked me to cover her night shift. In my previous life, I agreed to Megan’s request and followed her strict instructions, giving the drifter the room tucked away in the deepest corner of the hotel. It turned out that a young girl had already checked into that room. Because I gave the room to the drifter, he used the wrong room number to slip in and rape the girl. In the end, unable to bear the trauma and humiliation, the girl leaped from the highest balcony of the hotel, ending her young life. The incident blew up incredibly fast. That very day, I was doxxed and became the number one trending topic online. I tried to defend myself, saying I was just doing a favor and following instructions. But Megan, the best friend who caused me to issue the wrong room number, stepped out to accuse me: “I am the receptionist at this hotel, and Harper is my coworker. I am stepping forward to testify that she purposely gave the wrong room number because she was jealous of the victim’s looks!” “To ruin a girl in the prime of her life for your own selfish, jealous desires—aren’t you ashamed? I am disgusted to have worked with you!” Megan’s words completely ignited the internet’s fury. Walking down the street, I was mobbed by pedestrians. Ultimately, I was cornered by the girl’s family and hacked to death in the street. And my husband? He firmly stated that I deserved to die and even provided a public statement asking the DA for leniency toward the girl’s family, refusing to press charges. Furthermore, right after I died, before my body was even cold, he proposed to Megan. The two of them went on to live a happy, blissful life. Opening my eyes again, I was back to the day Megan asked me to take her night shift. Recalling everything from my past life, I knew I couldn’t repeat the same mistakes. So, I firmly rejected the drifter’s request for a room: “I’m sorry, sir, but we are completely booked for the night.” 2 Hearing my refusal, the drifter at the counter snapped back with a disgruntled tone: “You screwing with me, bitch? I booked on your hotel app, and it clearly shows you have empty rooms. Why the hell aren’t you letting me stay?” Saying this, he pointed angrily at the successful booking screen on his phone app. “I’m telling you, I’m staying at this hotel tonight. I don’t care what anyone says, I’m staying!” The memory of being hacked to death in my past life flooded my brain. I clenched my jaw and said: “I apologize, sir. The app is experiencing a glitch. We are genuinely fully booked!” But the drifter wouldn’t listen to my explanation. Relentless, he dialed the customer service number listed on the app: “If you won’t give me a room, I’ll call customer service and report your ass!” The call connected, and Megan’s voice came through the other end: “Hello, how can I help you?” The drifter replied: “I booked a room on your hotel app, but your front desk insists there are no rooms and won’t let me check in. I don’t care, you need to fix this for me right now!” “I’m so sorry, sir. I will handle this. Please hand the phone to the front desk staff, and let me speak with her!” Following Megan’s instructions, the drifter handed the phone to me. As soon as I said hello, Megan’s scolding voice came through: “Harper, what is wrong with you? You can’t just intentionally discriminate against a customer and refuse them a room based on their appearance! I’m looking at the system and there are empty rooms. Give him room 301!” At this point, I had no choice but to agree: “Fine, I understand. I’ll get him checked in right now!” Seeing me agree, the drifter hung up the phone. But I didn’t listen to Megan and give him room 301. Instead, I gave him room 312, which was very far away from 301. During the process, I pulled up the camera on my phone, making sure that my entire operation was recorded on video. After the drifter took the room card and left, I safely saved the recorded video. The heavy boulder in my chest finally dropped. Breathing a sigh of relief, I thought to myself: This time, the little girl’s safety and my own life are finally secured. During my shift, my husband Tyler sent me several texts, repeatedly reminding me to work hard on my shift. After getting my replies, he seemed completely reassured, telling me he’d take me out for a big dinner when I got home tomorrow. Looking at his texts, I couldn’t help but sneer inwardly. Based on everything I learned after my death in my previous life, Megan couldn’t come to work today because she was busy sleeping with Tyler. He was texting me to ensure I couldn’t come home and catch them in the act, and to make sure his and Megan’s plan went off without a hitch. Married for three years, I thought we were a loving couple. Instead, he had meticulously schemed with my closest best friend to push me into an early grave. It wasn’t until I died that I finally saw clearly just how badly the two people I trusted most wanted me dead. The next day, when it was time for the shift change, I packed my things and prepared to go home. Unexpectedly, the moment I stepped out of the hotel doors, a woman dressed in black rushed straight at me. She shoved me hard to the ground and, before I could react, slapped me fiercely across the face. Her expression was filled with grief and rage: “You vicious bitch! You killed my daughter!” “If you hadn’t given out the wrong room number and let that vagrant into her room, how could she have jumped off the building from the trauma?!” “Go to hell! Pay for my daughter’s life!” The sheer force of her slap knocked me back against the glass doors. My ears were ringing, my vision spun. Fighting to stay conscious, I saw that behind the woman were two burly men carrying the girl’s dead body. Terrified, I scrambled to my feet and backed away. This woman was the girl’s mother—the exact same woman who had hacked me to death in my previous life. The girl still committed suicide? But I clearly gave the drifter a completely different room number this time. Why was the outcome exactly the same as my last life? What the hell was going on?! I felt like my brain was going to explode! 3 Before I even had time to say anything, I saw my husband Tyler and my best friend Megan enter my line of sight and march right up to me. Tyler glared at me, his face pale with furious self-righteousness as he yelled: “Harper, how could you cause a young girl’s death just because you mixed up a room number?” “How can you be so careless at your job?!” Just like in my previous life, Tyler couldn’t wait to point the finger at me, desperate to brand me with this crime. I smoothed out the wrinkles in my clothes, staring coldly at him. “I don’t even know what happened yet, and you’re already in a rush to convict me. If people didn’t know better, they’d think I was your sworn enemy, not your wife!” My words were direct and sarcastic. A flash of unease crossed Tyler’s face, but not wanting to lose face, he doubled down aggressively: “It’s all over the internet! I woke up this morning to see you trending online for giving out the wrong room number and driving a girl to suicide!” Following right behind him, Megan chimed in: “Harper, they’ve brought the body right to the door. Are you still going to deny it? The damage is done. You’re better off showing a good attitude, trying to make amends, and apologizing. Stop being so stubborn!” I studied the two of them with a frosty gaze. The physical distance between Megan and Tyler was incredibly intimate; they were subconsciously leaning toward each other. Did they think I was a dead woman walking, so they didn’t even bother hiding it anymore? Megan looked at me with a faint gleam of triumph in her eyes, looking at me like a defeated opponent. It was then I remembered—it was the exact same in my past life. In the subsequent media interviews, Megan firmly told everyone that I deliberately gave out the wrong room number because I was jealous of the girl’s beauty. Her words had nailed the coffin shut on my guilt, leaving me no chance to ever clear my name. These two were so disgusting it made my stomach turn. I snapped right back at them: “The truth isn’t even established yet, and you two are in such a rush to play internet judges with the online mob? Believing whatever the wind blows in, mindlessly joining the circus? Are you that desperate to step over my dead body and take my place?” My words made Megan panic. She hadn’t expected me to confront her so bluntly. Seeing Megan’s eyes turn red from my retort, Tyler looked at me with even more anger: “If you didn’t do anything wrong, why would the victim’s mother track you down? Megan is just looking out for you, and you’re biting her head off! Since when did you become so unreasonable?!” I looked at them expressionlessly and countered: “I won’t confess to something I didn’t do. Stop opening your mouths and trying to condemn me from some moral high ground!” Hearing my firm denial of mixing up the room numbers, the victim’s mother grew even more infuriated: “You bitch, you still won’t admit your mistake? Fine, then I’ll beat a confession out of you!” “My daughter just advanced to the finals of the International Piano Competition! She had a bright future ahead of her, and she lost her life because of your ‘mistake’!” “I worked my fingers to the bone raising her, and just as things were looking up, you destroyed my only hope! I’m going to kill you!” She lunged at me, trying to choke me. I quickly pulled out my phone and shouted: “Because the drifter checking in was dead drunk, I was afraid something might happen. So when I assigned the room and checked him in, I recorded a video as proof that I did NOT give him the wrong room number!” “I can prove my innocence, but I am also calling the police. I suspect the people exposing me online are directly connected to the truth of this incident. Furthermore, since Megan insisted I cover her shift yesterday, I have reason to suspect Megan is associated with the vagrant and deliberately colluded to frame me!” Hearing my words, Megan’s face went ghost-white: “I didn’t! Harper, don’t you dare slander me!” I gave her an icy glare: “We’ll find out the truth the moment the police bring the vagrant here for questioning!” 4 After making the call, the police arrived quickly. Along with them was the drifter, wearing handcuffs. I sized up the drifter, then turned to the officer beside him: “Officer, I’d like to ask this man a few questions.” The officer nodded, signaling I could proceed. I looked at the drifter and asked: “I clearly gave you room 312 yesterday, which is very far from the girl’s room, 301. Why did you have the key to 301 and use it to enter her room and assault her?” This was the one thing I couldn’t understand, the anomaly that persisted even after I changed my actions in this life. As I asked the question, Megan’s expression beside me grew extremely anxious. It seemed this matter definitely had something to do with her. Faced with my question, the drifter narrowed his eyes, sized me up, and said nonchalantly: “I don’t know nothing about no 312. I went into the room number you gave me. I had too much to drink yesterday. When I walked in and saw that woman, I thought it was my wife. What’s wrong with sleeping with my own wife?” Megan let out a visible sigh of relief after hearing the drifter’s words. She immediately turned to me and said: “Harper, what else is there to argue? The man himself said he went into the room number you gave him. If you really gave him 312, how could he have taken the keycard and opened the door to 301?!” “Just confess already. Stop wasting everyone’s time. If you confess early, maybe you can get a lighter sentence! Look at how pitiful the girl’s mother is—doesn’t your conscience hurt?” The girl’s mother became highly emotional upon hearing this. She rushed forward, wanting to hit me: “You bitch! The facts are right in front of you, and you still want to argue?! I’ll beat you to death to pay for my daughter’s life!” “You ruined decades of my hard work. My daughter died full of hatred before she even got to see the beauty of the world. You have to go down there and apologize to her!” She lunged forward to attack me. The police reached out to hold her back, and I retreated a few steps, holding my phone high and shouting loudly: “The video on my phone proves I didn’t give the wrong room number! I assigned the drifter room 312, and I handed him the keycard for 312!” Megan fanned the flames: “Videos can be faked! The man already confessed he went into the room you assigned and opened it with the keycard you handed him! You’re still putting up a dying struggle. Do you want the victim to have no peace?!” Sure enough, her words fueled the mother’s rage. She became even more furious, fighting desperately to break free from the police’s grip to get to me. My survival instinct kicked in, and I dodged toward a safer spot. During the chaotic scuffle, the white sheet covering the girl’s body slipped down a few inches. My eyes were drawn to it, and I immediately spotted several sharp anomalies. While dodging the mother’s attacks, I pointed loudly at the girl’s corpse: “Didn’t you all say she committed suicide by jumping? Then what is that?!” Everyone’s gaze followed my finger. Upon seeing the sight, their jaws dropped in shock. 5 On the girl’s corpse, there were deep strangulation marks around her neck, and the bruises of fingernails gripping her hands. “The ligature and strangulation marks on her neck have turned a dark, bruised purple. The marks on her hands also prove she struggled violently while she was alive. If she had such a strong will to survive, why would she jump off a building?” I made my judgment based on the physical marks. This was my crucial chance to clear my name, and I had to seize it. So I continued: “I request the police call a medical examiner to conduct an autopsy! We need to find the girl’s true cause of death and catch the real killer so the deceased can truly rest in peace!” The police agreed to my request and immediately contacted a forensics team to wait at the precinct. Consequently, our entire group was taken down to the police station. After we finished a series of statements, the medical examiner brought the autopsy results into the interrogation room: “We examined the victim’s body. There are multiple injuries on her hands and torso, indicating she suffered extremely brutal abuse before death. She was forcefully strangled by the perpetrator during a final struggle. Therefore, the fatal wound is the strangulation mark on her neck.” “Furthermore, the head trauma and multiple bone fractures on the victim’s body were all inflicted post-mortem! The skin tissue found under the victim’s fingernails belongs to the vagrant suspect!” The medical examiner’s findings proved my theory was correct. The drifter was the real murderer! Originally, raping the girl would have only landed him a rape charge, but with these autopsy results, he was now facing first-degree murder! The results shocked everyone present. The girl’s mother was devastated with grief. She had thought her daughter committed suicide by jumping, never expecting that the truth was she had been strangled to death after suffering inhumane torture. The mother broke down. She rushed over and viciously slapped the drifter several times: “You monster! My daughter was only eighteen! How could you do something so cruel to her?!” “If this hotel receptionist hadn’t fought to prove her innocence, my daughter would have died with a horrific injustice!” The mother then looked at Megan. As if realizing something, a fierce look entered her eyes. She marched over and slapped Megan across the face: “And you, you bitch! You kept stirring the pot, trying to pin the blame on the receptionist, using my daughter as a tool to spread rumors! Are you in cahoots with this vagrant?!” At this point, Megan couldn’t care less about framing me: “I just wanted the killer brought to justice to give the girl peace! I don’t even know this homeless man!” Her tone was frantic and panicked as she desperately denied any connection to the drifter. Right then, my phone chimed. A friend I had asked to run a background check had sent over the information. Earlier that morning, I had noticed Megan left her WhatsApp web session logged in on the front desk computer. It contained a chat log between her and someone named “Missy Kensington.” One specific line stood out: “Don’t worry, I will definitely eliminate your competitor and show you my sincerity!” This caught my attention. The timestamp of that message was right after the dead girl checked into the hotel. So, I spoke directly to the investigating officer: “I have a piece of evidence investigated by a friend. A few days ago, Megan was in contact with the daughter of local billionaire Mr. Kensington. Missy Kensington happens to be an International Piano Competition contestant, competing for the exact same finalist spot as the deceased girl!” “Megan wanted to curry favor with the Kensington family. Her ‘sincerity’ in pledging loyalty to the wealthy heiress was, I suspect, arranging for the drifter to assault the girl!” I handed my phone to the police, showing the video my friend had pulled from a nearby alley’s security camera. It clearly showed Megan talking and exchanging items with the drifter.

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Our texts read like a chatbot conversation: [Gotta make an arrest today. Won’t be home. Lock the doors.] [Suspect got away. Still pursuing. Won’t be home. Lock the doors.] [Making an arrest. Lock the doors.] 1 Finally, unable to bear the loneliness any longer, I hit up my best friend to go out and have some fun. I took the initiative to text him: [Are you making arrests today too?] Server’s #1 Assassin: [Yes] Awesome. If he’s catching bad guys, he can’t catch me cheating. The next second, while I was happily watching a male dancer grind his hips, the door burst open: “Vice squad! Hands where I can see them!” My vision went black. Turns out, the person he was arresting today was me… 1 Day 32 of being newlyweds. My best friend sent me ten thirst-trap videos. I stared at the rows of abs on my phone, swallowing hard. “How do these bodies compare to your Officer Cole?” I stared at the ceiling in a standoff: “I’ve never seen him without his clothes on…” She was shocked: “No way? If you don’t jump his bones soon, his gun’s gonna rust.” I wanted to! After all, I was pretty thirsty for him too. Cole Anderson and I met through a blind date setup. The first time I saw him, I shamefully fell hard. A broad-shouldered, narrow-waisted, long-legged physique wrapped in a police uniform, plus a face that screamed “alpha male.” He was handsome, wild, and basically walking testosterone. “Miss Miller, I hope you don’t mind that police work is demanding?” “Not at all, not at all!” I swallowed hard and shook my head frantically back then. So what if he’s busy? I love a man with ambition. It was only later I realized that when he got busy, I’d turn into a stone statue waiting for her husband’s return. On our first day as newlyweds, before our lips could even touch, he got a call and shot out of bed: “Emergency. Gotta go make an arrest.” I waited up for him all night, going crazy. The next day, my period arrived before he did. Cole was either making an arrest or on his way to make one every day. Usually, by the time I went to sleep, he’d get back. By the time I woke up, he was gone. I get grumpy when I wake up, so to avoid disturbing me, he’d sleep in the guest room when he got home. One month into our marriage, we were like long-distance internet friends who barely knew each other. But the speed at which he replied to messages was like waiting for reincarnation. Our chats were like talking to a bot. (Monday) Barely Alive: [Coming home today?] Server’s #1 Assassin: [Gotta make an arrest tonight. Won’t be home. Lock the doors.] Barely Alive: [Amazon Locker: Pickup code 5210] Server’s #1 Assassin: [I’ll grab it on my way back.] (Tuesday) Barely Alive: [Did you catch the guy?] Server’s #1 Assassin: [He ran. Still pursuing. Won’t be home. Lock the doors.] Barely Alive: [Amazon Locker: Pickup code 5456] Server’s #1 Assassin: [1] (Got it) (Wednesday) Barely Alive: [Coming back?] Server’s #1 Assassin: [Making an arrest. Lock the doors.] Barely Alive: [Amazon Locker: Pickup code 5678] Server’s #1 Assassin: [1] Server’s #1 Assassin transferred $10,000 to you. Memo: Paycheck (Thursday) Barely Alive: [?] Server’s #1 Assassin: [1] Barely Alive: [Amazon Locker: Pickup code 6785] Server’s #1 Assassin: [1] I really… Even Batman couldn’t make this many arrests. I felt like I had married a heartless package-retrieval machine. 2 I pressed the two pimples popping up on my chin, feeling hot and bothered all over. My best friend forwarded me an article: [How Terrifying is a Woman Who Hasn’t Had Sex in a Long Time?] Reminding me: [If you don’t break your fast soon, this fresh flower is gonna turn into dried weeds.] Attached was a video showcasing a talent: opening a bottle cap with abs. “I called over those streamers you like the most.” “Get over here now! My treat!” With the words “my treat,” what little wifely virtue I had instantly vanished. “Fuck it!” I ripped off my pajamas and threw them on the bed. Time for the miniskirt and crop top: “Mama’s gonna be an outlaw tonight!” Just in case, I sent Cole a message: [Are you making arrests today too?] This time, he replied pretty fast: [Yes] Awesome. If he’s catching bad guys, he won’t have time to catch me cheating. [Okay, I’m going to sleep then~] Today was my best friend’s birthday party. She was gorgeous and well-connected, and she had invited a bunch of male models and influencers. As soon as I walked in, my eyes were met with a sea of half-dressed pretty boys. “Hi, you’re so pretty.” “Do you have a boyfriend?” “I can dance for you.” “Wanna touch my abs?” When the Nth boy with abs came over to hit on me, I finally understood the joy of being a hedonistic king. “Wanna feel?” A silver-haired bad boy lifted the hem of his shirt, his eight-pack glistening under the lights. “Just worked on my V-lines…” I swallowed hard and shrank back, but my fingers moved forward uncontrollably. Damn it, us strong independent women need to enjoy days like this after a tiring day. The abs peeking through the unbuttoned shirt made me dizzy: “Why are your hands shaking a bit?” No kidding. The hands my husband uses to arrest people are currently gripping a gun. And here I am, touching another man’s waist. Just as my heart was blooming with joy from being sweet-talked… The VIP room door was kicked open with a bang. “Vice squad! Hands on your heads, get down!” 3 That voice was so familiar it made my scalp tingle. I looked up and saw Cole standing in the doorway, his police uniform buttoned to the top, his belt cinching his lean waist. When his gaze swept over my little crop top and miniskirt, his Adam’s apple bobbed hard. Our eyes met, and my hand subconsciously shrank behind my back: “Honey, listen… let me explain…” “They ordered them all, I didn’t order any…” “I didn’t even dare touch them, I didn’t even dare look…” The rookie cop beside him couldn’t help but laugh out loud: “Captain Anderson, here’s the surveillance footage…” The rookie handed over a tablet. I watched helplessly at the stupid look on my face on the screen, frantically swallowing as I stared at those abs. I felt so hopeless I wanted to reincarnate on the spot. What was even more suffocating was… Cole actually pressed pause. He zoomed in on my paw that was about to touch the male model’s abs. “Miss Miller.” He tapped his knuckles on the screen, his wedding ring making a crisp clinking sound. “Care to explain this action?” My legs went weak, and I almost slid to my knees: “Honey, listen to me! This is art appreciation…” Cole gritted his teeth: “Take her away.” His long legs, wrapped in police trousers, strode with murderous intent. I remembered during our blind date, staring at his police uniform, my mind filled with dirty thoughts about handcuffs and forced love. Now karma had come; he really did use handcuffs to force me. Congratulations to me on getting a pair of silver bracelets. Boohoo. 4 Inside the interrogation room. Cole stared at my little crop top. With a dark face, he took off his police jacket and wrapped it around me. I shrank into the chair, silently pretending to be a quail. “Name?” “Your wife…” The pen slammed onto the table with a “thud.” Cole loosened his collar and raised his voice: “Take this seriously.” I stared at his bobbing Adam’s apple and whispered: “Maya Miller.” He kept a straight face: “Motive?” “Left alone in an empty room for thirty-two days.” I started counting on my fingers to complain. “Fell in love with a man who never comes home…” The rookie cop taking notes in the corner let out a snort of laughter. Cole shot him a glare like a throwing knife. “Detail everything. What exactly did you do during the entire process?” “I didn’t do anything, just drank a glass of juice…” He tapped the table, warning me: “Providing false statements carries legal consequences.” “Well, maybe there was some dancing…” “How were they dancing? What happened?” “Just, maybe, I accidentally brushed against his abs…” “How many times did you brush against them?” “What does this have to do with the case?” I couldn’t help but ask. His face tightened, his tone serious: “Every single detail must be accounted for.” I braced myself and spoke: “Twice? Three times?” Cole’s face instantly turned a shade of green, his voice terrifyingly dark: “How many times exactly?” I looked down guiltily: “I was wrong, honey…” A few cops were peeking through the window at the door, eating up the drama: “Ahem, Captain Anderson, per regulations, we need to clarify the contact area with the suspect—were the abs specifically the upper, middle, or lower abs?” Cole’s gaze shot poison darts: “Are you guys really that free?” “Well, you taught us this!” A few of them started making a ruckus while slipping away. “Last week during the vice raid, you even said evidence collection must be specific to…” “That was for prostitution!” “But sister-in-law just said she touched the V-lines.” The rookie taking notes tried hard to suppress his laughter, pulling out his phone. “Captain Anderson, look, the criminal investigation group chat is discussing how you broke the record for response time tonight. Everyone is asking if you used a 100-meter sprint dash…” Cole grabbed the guy by the back of the neck and tossed him out the door. The rookie peeked his head through the crack in the door: “Um, if sister-in-law needs some art appreciation of abs, our squad…” “Don’t want to get off work?” The rookie chuckled apologetically: “Yes, yes, yes! You two continue with the law enforcement.” “Oh right, Captain Anderson, remember to sign the family member section so you can take sister-in-law home.” Cole signed his name with a dark expression. Then he raised his hand and tightened the police jacket draped over my shoulders. 5 On the way back, he drove in silence. I was both well-behaved and cowardly: “Cole, are you… angry?” He was expressionless: “No.” Saying one thing and meaning another. I stole a quick glance. The man’s jawline was tight, his narrow, deep-set eyes lowered, his thin lips slightly pursed. His long fingers gripped the steering wheel, the cuffs of his blue uniform shirt rolled up to his elbows, revealing forearms with prominent veins. Simply amazing, even when he’s angry he’s so handsome. I was just thinking about how to coax him. My phone suddenly vibrated. I answered, and my best friend’s loud voice blasted from the receiver: “Maya Miller, your husband arrested all eight models I called over! You got to feel them up, but I’m still burning up over here!” “But I gotta say, his squad is full of long legs. Seeing them in those police uniforms got me all hot and bothered. Officer Cole’s waist is definitely better than any male model’s!” What kind of wild talk is this… I panicked and hurriedly hung up. But I accidentally hit the speakerphone button: “I heard Officer Cole went home with you. Doesn’t that mean you guys are gonna go at it hard tonight?” “Having gone without for so many days, his pants must be on fire, right?” Cole turned his head to look at me, his expression unreadable. My hand trembled, and my phone accidentally dropped under the seat. “You said he never comes home every day, could it be his hardware isn’t up to par?” “I sent you a macho man evaluation chart! You have to send me a battle report…” “I’ll buy you a victory battle outfit too, you definitely have to handcuff him to the bedpost…” Cole reached down, picked up the phone, and calmly spoke: “Miss Smith, regarding the $20,000 VIP membership you bought at the Nightfall Club, do you need us to come to your door for some legal education?” Violent coughing came from the other end of the line: “Heh, um… Captain Anderson, we were just doing some art appreciation…” The call disconnected. The car was dead silent. Passing a convenience store, he stopped the car with a cold face. He came back shortly after getting out. He had two small boxes in his hands. “What did you buy…” I asked curiously. He didn’t speak, just shoved them into my hands with a cold face. I looked down. The box clearly displayed “0.01”. Oh my, and it’s extra large.

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My Husband Never Comes Home, But He Gives Me a $100,000 Monthly Allowance No kids to raise, no in-laws to serve. My life couldn’t be any more perfect! I had just made plans with my best friend to hit the club and hang out with some hot male models. I was about to walk out the door when my housekeeper rushed over. “Bad news, Madam! Mr. Vance is bringing his mistress home!” I beamed with joy. “Clean up the guest room and make sure she gets five-star service.” The housekeeper was utterly shocked. “But Madam, she’s a homewrecker!” I immediately corrected her, sternly fixing her negative attitude: “What do you mean, homewrecker? That is the new Madam of the house.” Housekeeper: ? Arthur Vance: ? 1 In this day and age, a husband like Arthur Vance—who only gives you money and never comes home—is a rare treasure. As long as that $100,000 monthly allowance hits my bank account on time, I don’t have to miss him at all. Why would I? Are the energetic, twenty-something male models at the club not handsome enough? Or is their stamina lacking? They are absolutely exhilarating, okay! “Martha, I’m heading out. Make sure you take good care of his new lady.” Martha froze. “Madam, where are you going?” To clear the runway for them, obviously! I couldn’t just stay home and be a third wheel. I grabbed my new Chanel bag and turned to leave, waving dismissively over my shoulder. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to play the good hostess. I was just worried about being an eyesore to his VIP guest. It was definitely not because my best friend had already booked ten hot guys, and I was in a rush to ditch Arthur’s incoming mistress. I sneaked a peek at the bewildered housekeeper and quickened my pace, practically skipping toward the luxury van waiting at the door. Here I come, my sweet boys! The moment I pushed open the private room doors and saw the gorgeous guys waiting, my mood skyrocketed. My best friend, Serena, nudged a particularly handsome guy toward me, looking a bit confused. “Lia, didn’t you say your husband was coming home today? You still dared to come out?” I absentmindedly traced the abs of the guy sitting next to me. “Duh, why wouldn’t I? He brought his little mistress home. It would be totally clueless of me to stick around and ruin their vibe.” Oh wow, these abs feel amazing. Besides, my husband was nowhere near as fun as these boys. As the party bus rolled out, the sweet, clear voice of the guy next to me echoed in my ear. “You have such a refreshing outlook on life. Your wine has breathed perfectly—care for a glass?” I happily scratched him under the chin like a puppy, took the red wine from his hand, and downed it in one gulp. “You boys are so sweet. Not like older men, who are just stubborn and cold all over.” A few more glasses went down the hatch. I drank a bit too fast, and the cool breeze blowing in through the car window hit me hard. It left me dizzy and tipsy, resting my head on the guy’s lap. Everything felt as blissful as floating on a cloud. I was completely immersed in the moment when my phone rang, violently dragging me back to reality. I pouted. What a buzzkill. But I answered it anyway. A familiar, deep male voice came through the speaker. “Lia Vance, where are you right now?” Because of the alcohol, my brain was foggy, and I hadn’t checked the caller ID. I answered with arrogant confidence, completely failing to recognize the voice. “Who’s asking? I’m busy having a great time.” Dead silence on the other end. I was just about to curse out the psycho and hang up when three words were squeezed through gritted teeth on the other end. “Your. Husband.” Crap. It’s Arthur! The word “husband” was like a bucket of ice water splashing over me. I sobered up instantly. I let out an awkward laugh. “Oh, honey! Why are you still awake so late?” I glanced at the time and clicked my tongue. Was the mistress bad in bed, or was Arthur just lacking stamina? It was only 11 PM, and they were already done? “Where did you go?” I was just about to make up a random excuse when I heard a female voice in the background on his end. It was soft, delicate, and practically dripping with neediness. “Mr. Vance, can we start now?” “Alright, I’ll be right there.” Arthur’s microphone sounded like it was being covered. The voices were muffled, like there was some grand secret he didn’t want me to hear. But I had zero interest in hearing it. I might be open-minded, but I wasn’t open-minded enough to listen to my husband groan and moan with another woman. “Oh, you haven’t even started yet! Don’t worry, honey, I’m staying at a hotel tonight. I won’t interrupt you guys!” Before he could reply, I hung up. Serena turned to look at me. “What’s wrong? Your husband calling to check up on you?” I put my phone down, gave the male model’s lean waist a squeeze, and replied casually. “No, he just called to tell me not to come home and interrupt them. Ignore him, let’s keep partying.” The next day, I deliberately waited until late afternoon to go home. I was terrified of getting back too early and ruining their morning-after cuddles. The moment I walked through the door, the house felt freezing. I was about to call for Martha when I looked up. My husband, Arthur, was sitting on the sofa. His face was dark, and his eyes were cold enough to freeze a person solid. “You finally decided to come back?” 2 I suddenly had a very bad feeling about this. Crap. The mistress must not have pleased him, and now he’s taking it out on the original wife! Even though I was rolling my eyes internally, I had to keep up appearances. Flashing a standard eight-tooth smile, I walked over and sat down obediently beside him. “What’s wrong, honey?” Arthur’s hand rested on his leg, his fingers tapping a slow, rhythmic beat as he looked at me lazily. “What, you were hoping I wouldn’t be here?” I immediately leaned into him, giggling as I hugged his arm and acted cute. “Of course not! I wish you could come home and keep me company more often. It gets so lonely being in this big house all by myself.” You can come home, but please don’t come home without a warning! I cursed him out in my head while maintaining a bright, cheerful smile on my face. “You must have worked so hard last night, honey. I’ll have Martha make you a special restorative soup tonight to build your strength back up.” I played the ultimate kiss-ass, massaging his shoulders and squeezing his arms, taking the opportunity to check for lipstick marks or hickeys under his collar. If there weren’t any, fine. If there were, I’d just pretend I was blind. He paid me way too much allowance to complain. A person should always be content with what they have. I had to maintain my mindset as “America’s Best Wife.” “Go get ready. You’re coming with me to the family estate for dinner tonight.” I slapped my forehead. I had partied so hard last night that I completely forgot—today was the day we were supposed to visit Grandma Vance at the family estate. Grandma treated me incredibly well. Back when Arthur was choosing a wife from a sea of candidates, she was the one who took one look at me and chose me. If it weren’t for her, I’d still be an ordinary girl working a 9-to-5, miles away from this luxurious, worry-free life. Even though Arthur and I didn’t have any real romantic feelings, I always treated Grandma Vance like my own flesh and blood. When I came out of the dressing room, I saw Arthur leaning against the doorframe. His long, slender fingers were idly playing with a small, white velvet box. He glanced up at me. “Give me your hand.” I had no idea what he was doing, but I obeyed. I definitely couldn’t afford to anger my primary investor. Suddenly, I felt something cold slide onto my wrist. I looked down. A breathtakingly intricate, diamond-studded bracelet had just been fastened onto my arm. One look and I knew this cost a fortune. “A corporate partner gifted it. Don’t overthink it,” he said. Before I could even process it, he turned and walked out of the walk-in closet. I chased after him, throwing out compliments like they were free. “Oh my gosh, honey, you’re the best! I love you so much!” Arthur didn’t even look at me. “Act normal.” I rubbed the bracelet, pondering his true motive. Was this man feeling guilty about keeping a mistress on the side, so he bought me jewelry as compensation? If that was the case, he should go find a few more! I wouldn’t mind an entire closet filled with priceless jewelry. Thinking of this, my smile grew even wider. Arthur turned his head impatiently. Seeing that I still hadn’t gotten into the car, he rushed me. “Are you coming or not?” I quickly hopped in and sat next to him. The ride was silent, but at least the oppressive, icy aura from this morning had vanished. The estate wasn’t far from our house. As soon as the car parked, I reached for the door handle. Before I could open it, Arthur grabbed my wrist. “Tone it down tonight. Grandma is getting older; her heart can’t take your nonsense.” He had a valid reason for the warning. Last time, I brought Grandma a steamy mafia romance novel. The butler ended up catching her hiding under her blankets at 2 AM, trying to read it. She was farsighted, so she had her phone flashlight in one hand and the book held as far away as possible in the other, squinting her eyes and struggling to read the smut. “Honey, why would you think so poorly of me? I’m always on my best behavior.” I gave him a shy, exaggerated flutter of my eyelashes. Arthur turned his head away, acting like looking at me was physically painful. “Let’s hope so.” I rolled my eyes. Yeah, sure, only your little mistress is allowed to act cute. I turned and sprinted toward the mansion. “Grandma! I’m here!” “Oh, Lia, you finally made it! It’s been so long since you came to chat with this old lady.” I hugged Grandma’s arm and whined affectionately. “I’m here now, aren’t I?” Grandma couldn’t wait. She dragged me toward the sofa. “Hurry, finish the story! What happened after the billionaire fell in love with the mute girl?” Arthur trailed behind us, looking exhausted, glaring at me periodically. “Grandma, those books rot your brain. You should read less of them.” Grandma was instantly unhappy. She turned and gave Arthur a deadpan stare. “What, you expect me to go study for the SATs at my age?” I hid behind Grandma, feeling entirely justified. These were my bedtime stories! I read them every night. How dare he insult my literature? Arthur looked like he was suffering from chronic constipation as he watched me stick my tongue out at him from behind Grandma’s back. Knowing when to quit, I pulled out the new book I had prepared from my bag. “Grandma, I brought you a new one today. It’s called The Billionaire’s Fierce Love.” 3 The very next second, Arthur physically hoisted me out of the room. “Lia Vance, if you show Grandma one more of those trashy books, I’m going to show you what a billionaire’s ‘fierce love’ actually feels like!” He enunciated the word fierce with a heavy, threatening grit. Grandma’s worried voice drifted out from the living room. “Lia? Arthur isn’t bullying you, is he?” Arthur looked back, then turned to me with gritted teeth. “If you say the wrong thing, your allowance gets cut in half.” I instantly surrendered. Who could argue with that? He had a direct grip on my financial lifeline! I cleared my throat and called back into the room with a bright smile. “Of course not, Grandma! My husband treats me the absolute best!” Arthur set me down, shot me one last warning glare, and turned back toward the dining room. During dinner, Grandma kept glancing back and forth between Arthur and me. “Grandma, if you keep staring at me like that, I’m going to be too embarrassed to eat. What is it?” Grandma set down her silverware, sighed deeply, and finally spoke. “I was just thinking about Mrs. Sterling’s granddaughter next door.” “She is just the cutest little thing. She always calls me ‘Grandma Vance’ with that sweet little voice, and she’s so soft to hold…” Arthur and I instantly realized what was happening. The old lady wanted great-grandkids. I tugged at Arthur’s sleeve, silently asking him what to do. He set down his fork and grabbed my hand. “Lia is still young. Having kids this early isn’t good for her health. Give it a few years, and Lia said she’ll give you twins to keep you company.” I stared at him in horror, mouthing the words: When did I ever say I was having twins?! Arthur glared at me sideways. His grip on my hand tightened, squeezing until it hurt. “That’s what you get for not coming home last night.” I fought to control my pain-contorted face and yanked my hand back. I thought we were past that! I gave him and his mistress the house to themselves, and he was punishing me for it? This man was incredibly petty. Grandma beamed, her smile stretching from ear to ear. “Good, good, good! Grandma will make sure to live a few extra years just to wait for Lia’s twins!” On the drive back, I gave Arthur the silent treatment. As soon as we reached our driveway, I went to open the door, only to find the child locks engaged. I spun around and glared at Arthur. “Unlock the door!” Arthur stared back calmly, his dark, bottomless eyes revealing absolutely nothing. “What are you so angry about?” I was fuming, and the truth slipped right out. “You told Grandma I was going to have twins! We might not even survive to see next year without getting a divorce, and you’re promising her kids? If you want twins so badly, go ask your mistress to have them for you!” “Lia!” Arthur suppressed his rage, pinning me back against the leather seat. The air pressure in the car instantly dropped to freezing. I cowardly shrank back, too afraid to make a sound. “Unless I say the word ‘divorce,’ don’t even dream of running away for the rest of your life.” Click. The doors unlocked. Arthur stepped out and slammed the door behind him. I bit my lip hard, forcing back the tears stinging my eyes. That bastard actually dared to yell at me! I got out and stormed into the house. I slammed my bedroom door shut, not even sparing him a glance. Lying in bed that night, I remembered his threat about cutting my allowance. I tossed and turned, unable to sleep, until I suddenly sat up in bed like a zombie. “He’s a psycho!” 4 Suddenly, a notification chimed on my phone. “Chase Bank: $100,000 deposited.” Okay, fine. I was the psycho. Seeing that beautiful string of zeros in my balance, I lay back down in complete peace. Arthur sent a text: I was too harsh today. I’m leaving on a business trip tomorrow. One week. My bad mood was instantly cured. Shopping in the morning, booking models at the club at night. Life was bliss. But as it turns out, karma comes for the arrogant. Because I partied way too hard that week, I caught a nasty fever. “Lia, come out to play! They just brought in a fresh batch of gorgeous guys.” I croaked into the phone, sounding exactly like a dying duck. “I’m out. I’m currently boiling alive.” “Want me to send a hot guy over to take care of you?” You could tell Serena truly understood me. But she didn’t understand my husband. “Don’t. I’m just sick, I don’t have a death wish yet.” I might be wild, but I didn’t have the guts to bring a random man into Arthur’s house. I didn’t even know when Serena hung up. I drifted in and out of a hazy, feverish sleep for hours. Until I felt a hand touch my forehead. “Why are you burning up?” I assumed it was the hot guy Serena insisted on sending over, so I didn’t even open my eyes. I was afraid that if he was too handsome, I wouldn’t have the heart to kick him out. “Handsome, I know you’re hot, but today really isn’t your lucky payday. If you don’t leave right now, I won’t be the only one dying in this house.” “Wait till I’m better, and I’ll come find you. Be a good boy.” I murmured, weakly trying to push his hand away. “Lia Vance. Are you keeping men behind my back?” That chilling, icy voice was way too familiar. It scared me so much I shot straight up in bed. “Husband?!” My face was flushed as red as a tomato from the fever. He sighed, asking coldly, “Did you take your medicine?” I nodded obediently. I was so terrified my fever practically broke on the spot. “Rest for now. When you’re better, you have a lot of explaining to do.” Great. My death sentence was just reduced to probation. When I opened my eyes the next morning, I saw Arthur walking out of my en-suite bathroom. Water dripped down his broad chest, tracing the lines of his perfect eight-pack abs. I had to admit, Arthur’s physique put the club models to shame. Paired with that ridiculously handsome face, he was a walking fantasy. “Wipe your nosebleed.” I frantically wiped my nose, only to find nothing there. It took me a full second to realize he was messing with me. “Honey, why are you in here?” I twisted my fingers together, asking guiltily. Don’t panic. Play dumb. Maybe he forgot about last night. He walked straight over, planted his hands on either side of my pillow, and caged me against the bed. He was so close I could smell the clean scent of his body wash. His hair wasn’t fully dry. A cold drop of water fell onto my collarbone, sending a shiver through me. He gently wiped the drop away with his thumb. This damn man. Why is he making my mind go to the gutter first thing in the morning? “What, didn’t you scream yesterday about wanting to go out and find handsome guys once you recovered? I just wanted to see what kind of men my sweet wife prefers.” I chewed on his words. Was it just me, or did he sound jealous? 5 Was it my imagination? I threw my arms around his neck and put on the performance of a lifetime. Though, this time, it was laced with a little bit of genuine honesty. “Those guys outside aren’t half as handsome as my husband! When I have a gorgeous, fit, rich husband waiting at home, only an idiot would go out looking for someone else.” “Right?” I let out an awkward chuckle. I was ruthless—I even insulted myself to survive. “That better be the case.” With that, he stood up and turned his back to me to put on his shirt. Behind his back, I silently flipped him the bird. Men are such hypocrites. They expect their wives to be perfectly faithful at home while they wave their colorful flags with mistresses on the outside. “Get up and get ready. You’re coming with me to a gala tonight.” “Huh? Can I skip it?” Arthur rarely attended galas, but whenever he did, he dragged me along. His endless stream of persistent female admirers was exhausting to deal with. I highly suspected he only brought me along as revenge for spending all his money on designer bags. “Sure. No allowance next month.” My tragic expression vanished instantly. I smiled brighter than a sunflower and hopped out of bed. “Honey, do you think I should wear the pink dress or the white one today?” Bowing for the sake of cash is never shameful. “The pink one.” “You got it, boss!” As soon as we stepped into the gala hall, I could feel someone staring daggers at me. Whenever I get that feeling, trouble is guaranteed to follow. Just as I was trying to figure out how to avoid said trouble, someone approached Arthur. “Mr. Vance, it’s been a while.” He was already talking business the moment we walked in. Arthur was just too much of a workaholic. I hated these events. I gave Arthur a look and slipped away. As I left, he warned me, “Don’t wander too far. We’re leaving soon.” I didn’t have much of an appetite from my fever, but walking around actually made me a little hungry. Just as I picked up a slice of cake, trouble found me. “You’re already that chubby, and you’re still eating?” It was Fiona Sterling, one of Arthur’s eternal, desperate fangirls. “I seriously don’t know what Arthur sees in you. You are completely unworthy of him.” I absolutely despise people who lack brain cells but have an abundance of audacity. I rolled my eyes dramatically. “Yeah, you’re right, I’m unworthy. Not like you. You’re so worthy you could probably pair up with a stray dog.” “Lia Vance!” I looked at her innocently. “Why is the dog barking?” “Do you have zero class?!” “My class is variable. It depends entirely on who I’m talking to.” “You…!” Fiona was a sheltered socialite. There was no way she could win a verbal sparring match against a natural talent like me. In a fit of rage, she grabbed a glass of red wine, fully intending to throw it in my face. Thankfully, my reflexes were sharp. I ducked just in time. The entire glass of wine splashed onto the person standing directly behind me. The girl screamed in horror. “Ah! What the hell?!” The scream drew a lot of attention. I covered my mouth and looked at Fiona with wide, innocent eyes. “Fiona, if you wanted to throw wine at me, you should have just done it! Why did you involve an innocent bystander?” “I… I didn’t mean to! I was aiming for—” The girl who got splashed was wearing a stunning, form-fitting white gown. The red wine stain was glaringly obvious. “This dress was an anniversary gift from my husband! Now it’s ruined! You better give me a damn good explanation for this.” Hearing the commotion, Arthur walked over. “Arthur, this woman insulted me! You have to defend me!” Fiona pinched her voice to sound whiny and pathetic, reaching out to grab Arthur’s arm. I beat her to it. I latched onto his arm and intertwined our fingers. “Honey~!”

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Years after graduation, my high school lab partner became a massive pop star. In a recent interview, he publicly confessed: “Back in high school, there was someone I had a massive crush on.” When that interview aired, I was sitting at my high school reunion, staring at my phone. My former classmates immediately started mocking me. “Don’t tell me you think he’s talking about you?” “She was so nerdy back then. How could it be her? My vote is for the Prom Queen!” Stella Montgomery, our former high school ‘it girl,’ sat across from me. She blushed and giggled, “Please keep it a secret, guys. I’ll get you all his autograph next time.” Everyone thought it was her. That was until this summer, when I accidentally ended up moving into his apartment. After a heated argument, he grabbed my wrist, his eyes dark and unreadable. “Chloe Hastings. You are not allowed to hate me.” 1 “Chloe, why the sudden move to New York City?” At the reunion, Stella suddenly brought me up. “Rent in the city is insane, and your family didn’t exactly have a lot of money…” Over the years, Stella had become a minor influencer and actress. Tonight, she was the center of attention. Compared to me, a lowly intern, she was living the dream. I was just about to say I already found a place to stay, when a cool, magnetic voice echoed from a phone nearby. “Back in high school, there was someone I had a massive crush on…” The girl next to me eagerly grabbed my phone. It was a live stream of Liam Thorne, the nation’s top chart-topping singer. He was looking directly into the camera, a faint, gentle smile playing on his lips. The affection in his eyes practically melted through the screen. The girl next to me started shouting. “I know why Chloe moved to New York!” She spun my phone around to show the rest of the table, laughing. “Remember how there was a rumor that Liam had a crush on you? Don’t tell me you actually took it seriously! The second he confesses to having a high school crush, you pack your bags for the city.” I waved my hands awkwardly. “I didn’t think that at all…” Any secret butterflies I had as a teenager had faded with time. I knew the difference between a normal person and a global superstar. Sarah, one of the few people I actually talked to in high school, tugged my sleeve. “Just drop it. Stella is right here, it’s making things weird.” I froze, looking blankly at Stella. My brain short-circuited. Was Liam… dating Stella? Stella’s face instantly flushed red. “Stop making things up… we aren’t even official yet.” The table erupted in teasing cheers. Amidst the noise, Stella looked at me. “It’s okay, Chloe. If you want to see him, I can take you to meet him.” “You can ask him yourself if he even remembers you.” 2 The reunion dragged on until late. After everyone finally left, I let out a long sigh. I had to meet my new landlord tonight, and I didn’t want to be late. On the cab ride over, the high school group chat started blowing up. “Chloe was such a wallflower. Who even started that rumor about Liam liking her?” “Exactly. Stella was gorgeous. My money is on Stella.” Suddenly, Stella sent a $100 Apple Cash payment to the group chat. “Next time I’ll get you guys those autographs… 😘” The chat went wild. I looked at the Apple Cash notification, hesitating. I had been a ghost in this chat for so long, I doubted they even remembered I was in it. If I quietly claim a few bucks, it shouldn’t be a big deal, right? I tapped the bubble. My finger hovered over ‘Claim.’ My eyes sparkled at the free coffee money. At that exact second, a user with a pitch-black profile picture sent a message. “Since when do Stella and I have anything going on?” A classmate immediately replied with a sneer: “Who are you? Why are you acting like you know?” The user replied with two words: “Liam Thorne.” Stella quickly jumped in. “I have Liam’s actual number. Who is this fake?” The chat started mocking the user. “Probably one of Chloe’s simps.” “Chloe actually has simps? LMAO.” Right at that moment, my finger slipped and hit the button. System notification: Chloe H. has claimed your Apple Cash. The noisy group chat instantly fell dead silent. I backed out of the payment screen and saw the messages. I wanted the earth to swallow me whole. After a few minutes of agonizing silence, I carefully typed: “Sorry, I don’t really know who this person is…” Stella didn’t reply. I sent another message: “@Stella, I accidentally claimed the largest share of the cash. I’m so sorry, I can Venmo it back…” This time, absolutely no one said a word. The chat was like a graveyard. 3 After a bumpy ride, the cab pulled up to a hyper-exclusive neighborhood in Tribeca. Looking at the understated, luxurious high-rise in front of me, I double-checked with the driver. He promised he was at the right address. I immediately called my mom. “Mom, the place I’m at right now… it looks like a billionaire’s row.” “Is it the Astor Residences?” “Yes…” “Then you’re in the right place. Just remember to be polite and don’t cause trouble for the owner.” Rent in New York was notoriously brutal. My mom had found this place through an old friend. She said the landlord was a nice guy and was giving us a massive discount. But… moving straight into a luxury penthouse? After the doorman rigorously verified my identity, he let me up. Ten minutes later, dragging my suitcase, I nervously knocked on the door of unit 302. With a soft click. The door opened. A sliver of warm light spilled into the hallway. The moment I looked up and saw that face, my heart stopped beating. How could it be… Liam? Years later, his sharp, handsome features had only grown more striking, almost intimidatingly perfect. Seeing him in person was a thousand times more shocking than seeing him on TV. Blood pounded in my ears. I gripped the handle of my suitcase, panicking as I turned around. “I’m so sorry, I—I have the wrong door…” I prepared to flee. A cool, indifferent voice cut through the dim lighting of the corridor. Crisp and magnetic. “You don’t have the wrong door.” “Chloe Hastings. Get inside.” 4 I never expected to reunite with Liam like this. Back in high school, Liam and I were lab partners. But only for a very short time. Because shortly after we were assigned to sit together, a group of girls cornered me by the lockers. “We saw you give Liam a carton of milk today. If you reach out to him again, we’ll beat you to a pulp. Got it?” “Keep your voice down, you’ll scare the little good girl.” “Don’t even look at him, or I’ll claw your eyes out.” Terrified and harassed daily, I finally dragged my desk to the back of the classroom one afternoon and switched seats on my own. “Chloe.” Liam’s voice yanked me back to reality. He was holding a pair of guest slippers in mid-air, looking like he had been waiting for a while. “Do I have to put them on your feet myself?” My face flushed the color of a boiled lobster. “No, thank you…” He looked like he had just stepped out of the shower. His dark hair was still damp. He wore a loose white hoodie, standing lazily by the door. Under the harsh hallway lights, his skin seemed to give off a flawless, soft glow. I kept my eyes glued to the floor and muttered, “Um… I don’t think this is a good idea. Once I find a new apartment, I’ll move out…” Liam paused, looking at me coldly. “Why? Do you hate me that much?” “Having male and female roommates is just a bit…” “When you signed the lease, you said you didn’t mind a co-ed arrangement.” It was true. In an expensive city like New York, having roommates of the opposite sex was incredibly common. But… He was a mega-star. Why did he need a roommate? I took a deep breath. “I’m not part of your celebrity world. Being around you… I might not be used to it.” The clock in the corner ticked loudly, pointing to 11:00 PM. The living room was dead silent. Liam looked away. “Fine. Break the lease. But I’m keeping the deposit.” I hummed in agreement and bent down to change my shoes. Suddenly, my phone slipped out of my pocket. Smack. It hit the floor. My AirPods disconnected. The audio of Liam’s live stream, which I had still been watching, blasted at max volume through the quiet living room. And my ‘Top 1% Super Fan’ badge, glaring brightly on the screen, was on full display for him to see. My recent comment had been pinned to the top of the chat. It was a thirsty cat emoji. With the caption: “God, if he ever chased me, I would simply pass away…” And the replies below it read: “Don’t worry girl, I’ll hold him back for you.” My face practically caught fire. I didn’t dare move a muscle. Liam just stood there, looking down, calmly watching my comment get hundreds of likes in real-time. Just as I was about to die of asphyxiation from the embarrassment. Liam drawled lazily: “Ah. The Top 1% Super Fan who isn’t ‘part of my world.’” “…” 5 For days after that, I avoided Liam like the plague. I didn’t dare bring up breaking the lease again. In a state of constant anxiety, I started my new job. I was an intern reporter for the entertainment desk of a digital magazine. New York was experiencing a brutal heatwave. The sounds of the city traffic were giving me a migraine. One day, my editor, Mr. Davis, suddenly dragged me out on a field assignment, saying the original intern called in sick. The shoot was in a sweltering park in Brooklyn. We baked in the sun for over an hour before the interviewee finally arrived. “Chloe? Is that really you?” Seeing Stella, I froze. She was our subject for the day. Mr. Davis wiped the sweat from his forehead, ignoring our connection, and fired off a few questions. Stella barely gave him the time of day. And I had to stand there with her, roasting in the sun. For the entire afternoon. When the interview finally ended, Stella took a sip of her iced oat milk latte and smiled. “Chloe, why didn’t you tell us you had a boyfriend?” “We’re old friends, why hide it?” “What?” I was completely lost. “The guy who defended you in the group chat the other night.” Stella smirked. “He even pretended to be Liam just to stick up for you…” A few of the crew members nearby chuckled. “People still pretend to be celebrities online? I thought we left that in middle school.” “Miss Chloe, if you want Liam’s autograph, just ask Stella. He’s literally on set today, there’s no need to date an internet troll.” I quickly explained, “I don’t have a boyfriend.” But the conversation had already moved on. Stella was chatting happily with everyone else, pretending she hadn’t heard me. Mr. Davis pulled me aside. “Go take a break. You might be old classmates, but you’re not in the same league anymore. What’s the point of talking to her?” By early evening, the weather finally cooled down. I sat under a tree and clicked on the profile of the person who had defended me in the chat. To my shock, I realized this person was already in my contacts. The saved name was—Landlord. It suddenly hit me. Right before I moved to New York, my mom had texted me his contact card, telling me he was the landlord and to message him when I arrived. But since the time and place were already set, I never bothered to reach out. I tried to tap his profile picture, but my finger slipped. A tiny line of text popped up at the bottom of the screen: You nudged “Landlord”. “…” The other side instantly switched to “Typing…” Landlord: “Need something?” I tentatively typed two words: “Liam? Thorne?” He seemed busy. It took a moment for him to reply: “If you have something to say, say it.” “!” With that icy attitude, it had to be Liam! I abruptly looked up, trying to scan the area. And right on cue, I spotted Liam leaning against a luxury SUV a few yards away. He was wearing a ridiculously expensive tailored suit, his stage makeup flawless, his dark eyes like ink. He looked absurdly gorgeous. Was he shooting here today too? Our eyes met, and he raised an eyebrow slightly. My heart immediately skipped a beat. Then he looked down and tapped his phone. My phone buzzed. Landlord: “Top 1% Super Fan, reel in your eyes. You’re staring.” “…” The summer heat and my own embarrassment made me feel suffocated. I drank some water, but it didn’t help. I decided to go to the public restroom to splash some water on my face and calm down. But as I approached the door, I heard whispers inside. “…is she the gold-digger Stella was talking about?” “Yeah. Her family is broke. She tried to seduce Liam in high school, and now she has some loser simp defending her online. Totally delusional.” “Why would anyone simp for her?” “Some girls just know how to open their legs and get what they want.” I stood by the door, listening silently, waiting until they walked out and saw me. Their faces dropped. “You… why didn’t you go in?” I smiled. “I was busy listening to you talk trash about me.” I held up my phone. “Thank you for letting me know Stella talks about me behind my back. I’ll go ask her about it right now.” The two girls panicked, waving their hands frantically. “No, no, no, we were just making things up!” “We’re sorry, we’re so sorry…” I looked skeptical. “So Stella didn’t say it?” “No…” They shifted uncomfortably. “We’re sorry, it was just dumb gossip.” “Fine. Post a public apology on your Instagram stories. Make sure you detail exactly what lies you spread. Otherwise…” I paused, pulling out my digital voice recorder. “You do know what I do for a living, right?” Half an hour later, they showed me their phones. I didn’t let them leave until I was satisfied with their miserable expressions. The apologies were live on their stories. Not hidden from anyone. So when I walked back to set, Stella’s face looked like thunder. As night fell, the drama seemed to pass. Because the shoot ran late, Mr. Davis booked us rooms in a nearby five-star hotel. Suddenly, my phone buzzed. Landlord: “You’re staying there tonight?” “Yeah.” “Want to grab dinner?” I had just stepped out of the elevator. Intermittent laughter drifted from the elevator banks next to me. “…back in high school, Stella had me and a few girls jump her. She learned her place real quick after that.” “You don’t even know. Chloe and her mom are exactly the same. We sent people to harass her mom’s street cart, and they didn’t even dare squeak.” It felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over my head. I stood frozen in place. Until the elevator doors closed. And the voices disappeared. It took a long time for me to process what I had heard. My mom had run a small food cart near the high school for years. I never knew they had hired people to harass her. What was even more terrifying was that the people who bullied me back then were working right beside me now. By the time I took the elevator back to the lobby to confront them, they were gone.

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I have a superpower. If I kill someone, I inherit their memories from the past three years. Right before the SATs, I killed my genius boyfriend and successfully got into a top-tier university. 1 When did I first realize I could do this? I was nine years old when my parents got divorced. Custody went to my mom. I loved my mom, but honestly, I loved my dad more. I’d often sneak out to visit him, just to hang out and play. But one day, when I went looking for him, I caught him kissing another woman. My parents had always been discreet around me; it was the first time I had ever seen a man and a woman kissing like that. The woman’s lips were bright red, so red it looked like she could eat someone alive. I felt a massive surge of anger. Even at nine, I understood that my dad had done something wrong, and that’s why they got divorced. My dad was the bad guy. Fuming, I ran to his car and dumped a handful of marbles inside. I wanted them to poke his butt when he sat down. I wanted the woman with the red lips to slip and fall. Instead, a marble got wedged under the brake pedal. The brakes failed. The woman fell into a coma, and my dad died on impact. When the police checked the security footage, they saw me putting the marbles in the car. But a nine-year-old child doesn’t understand consequences, nor do they bear criminal responsibility. Plus, having just lost my father, I was wailing, completely inconsolable. No one blamed me. Everyone just thought I was a poor, tragic little girl. But as I cried, my mind suddenly flooded with a rush of memories that weren’t mine. I saw the woman’s face in those memories. My dad had been doing bad things for a long time. I saw the fights between my parents. I saw him secretly taking money from my mom’s purse. I saw the lingering touches between him and that woman, saw them tangled together in disgusting ways. I threw up. My mom and the police thought I was just crying so hard that my body couldn’t handle the grief. Only I knew the truth: I was sick to my stomach from absolute disgust. At such a young age, I was forced to witness two beasts writhing together. 2 Surprisingly, my grief faded quickly. What lingered was the nausea. And simultaneously, the realization of what made me different. As a little girl, I was too scared to tell anyone. As I grew older, I didn’t want to. It wasn’t until I slowly matured that I grasped the true weight of this ability. In middle school, my neighbor Madison and I were in the same class. We were best friends. We walked to and from school together, so inseparable we even went to the bathroom in pairs. The teachers jokingly called us conjoined twins. Madison wasn’t exactly nice, but she was beautiful. Much prettier than me. Sometimes I’d overhear kids whispering that we looked like a princess and her little minion. I didn’t care much, but Madison always seemed secretly pleased by it. I figured that was one of the reasons we were so close. People never want to be outshone by those closest to them. Madison liked the feeling of being above me. In a twisted way, it proved she really considered me her inner circle. I treated Madison incredibly well, so well that she became slightly dependent on me. Her grades were always better than mine—except in French. So, I was the one who always did her French homework, making sure the handwriting was neat and identical to hers. For regular pop quizzes, since I was the teacher’s assistant for French, I’d help grade papers in the faculty room. Whenever I did, I’d secretly fill in a few blanks or bump up a few points on Madison’s test. Until the teacher caught on. Mrs. Gable, our French teacher, didn’t punish me for altering the grades. Instead, she took it out on Madison. Mrs. Gable had never liked Madison, who was pretty and cared too much about her appearance. Combined with her genuinely poor French scores, the teacher despised her. “Instead of focusing on your studies all day, you resort to these sneaky, underhanded tricks!” “Girls like you will never amount to anything in life.” Madison’s eyes instantly turned red. With a loud bang, she shoved her desk away and ran out of the classroom. Mrs. Gable scoffed dismissively at first. But when Madison didn’t return after a while, she started to worry. She taught for a few more minutes before nervously asking me to go check on her. I knew exactly where Madison was. She was in the storage closet next to the third-floor breakroom. Whenever she was upset, she’d curl up in there. I gently opened the closet door, squeezed inside, and huddled next to her. Madison didn’t look at me, and I didn’t look at her. I knew her. She didn’t want me to see her looking so pathetic right now. After sitting in silence for a while, Madison finally spoke. “I hate Mrs. Gable.” “I hate Mrs. Gable too,” I said, matching her resentment. Hearing my childish solidarity, she let out a small, bitter laugh. “Let’s go back.” “Okay.” My relationship with Madison only grew stronger. But sometimes, you just have to admit that when it comes to academics, natural talent matters. I tried hard, but I simply didn’t have the aptitude for studying. Madison and I spent every day together, studying for practically the same amount of time. But her grades kept climbing steadily across all subjects, and even her French was catching up to mine. Sometimes she’d offer to tutor me, but I just couldn’t grasp the concepts. My mom often compared me to Madison. I didn’t want to disappoint her. My mom was all I had left. Seeing my grades stagnate, I started to panic. A dark, hazy thought crept into my mind. What if I killed Madison? If I killed Madison, I would gain all of her memories from the past three years of middle school. There are certain thoughts you shouldn’t entertain. Because once they enter your mind, you can never shake them. I hatched a plan. Just last year, the school had installed a new HVAC system. The AC was freezing cold. A lot of the seniors joked that the school only upgraded the AC right as they were leaving. Madison was petite, so she always sat in the first or second row. I sat in the fifth or sixth row. As summer approached, the school cranked up the AC. I’d often complain about how hot it was and walk up to Madison’s desk during passing periods. While chatting with her, I’d casually reach over to the thermostat on the wall near her and crank the AC down to 60 degrees on high fan. When the bell rang, I’d walk back to my seat. Sometimes Madison remembered to turn it back up; sometimes she didn’t. Because of this, she often spent entire class periods shivering under a blast of cold air. A few days prior, Madison and I had gone to the pharmacy together. I told her my mom wanted me to stock up on cold medicine and antibiotics, asking if she needed any. “Why would you buy cold medicine in the middle of summer?” “My mom says I sit in the AC all day at home and at school, and then I sweat outside. The extreme temperature changes make it easy to catch a cold. She told me to keep some meds handy.” Madison hesitated, decided it made sense, and bought the exact same medication I did. Seeing Madison blowing her nose and complaining about a headache, I knew my chance had arrived. After school, Madison and I walked home together as usual. “Let’s go sit on the grass by the riverbank for a bit,” I suggested. We often relaxed and chatted there after school, so it wasn’t a weird request. I pulled Madison along, specifically choosing a spot visible to a nearby convenience store’s security camera. I asked Madison to open her backpack. When she did, I saw two bottles of liquor inside. They looked pretty strong. She pulled them out. “Ta-da! A surprise for you!” “We’re about to be high schoolers. Don’t you want to try it?” I turned slightly, letting my hair fall forward to cover my mouth. I knew Madison. Deep in her bones, she was a rebellious girl. Her parents had always kept her on a tight leash. She just never had the opportunity to act out, but she had always craved it. Madison held the bottles, then handed one to me. I turned away, acting like I suddenly regretted it, looking scared. I waved my hands. “Maybe we shouldn’t? Madison, what if your parents get mad?” Hearing that only fueled Madison’s defiance. “It’s fine! Just try it!” I put on a hesitant expression until Madison aggressively shoved one of the bottles into my hands. We talked a lot. We talked about recent tests, the future, the annoying French teacher, and the setting sun. She apologized to me. She said sometimes she couldn’t help treating me like a sidekick. She said I was her best friend, and I always would be. I agreed. Seeing that the timing was right, I patted Madison’s shoulder and said it was time to go home. I hadn’t drank much. Every time I brought the bottle to my lips, I only took tiny sips. Madison, on the other hand, looked quite drunk. She stumbled as she stood up. I had already checked: Madison’s mom was working overtime, and her dad was on the night shift. She was going to be home alone. I looked at her. “Bye, Madison.” “See you tomorrow.” “Oh, right.” I smiled at her. “You’ve got a bit of a cold. Don’t forget to take your medicine when you get home.” Madison smiled back and nodded. In the glow of the sunset, her eyes looked like they held gentle flames. I went home calmly, ate dinner with my mom, did my homework as usual, and went to sleep peacefully. The next morning, my head throbbed with a splitting pain. I realized there were new memories in my brain. I knew I had succeeded. 3 Madison was dead. When her mom came home that night, she found Madison collapsed in the living room. By the time the ambulance arrived, it was too late. The police investigated and concluded that the cause of death was acute poisoning caused by mixing hard alcohol with cephalosporin antibiotics. In an era before smartphones and widespread internet access, middle schoolers like us didn’t know much about life-saving common sense. Except for me—a girl possessing the three-year memories of an adult man. That’s right. The cold medicine Madison and I bought that day contained cephalosporins. It went too smoothly. So smoothly it exceeded my expectations. I had considered so many variables. Madison might not have listened to me and skipped the medicine. Madison might have taken medicine, but not the one with cephalosporins. Madison might have felt sick and managed to call 911 in time. Her mom might have come home early and stopped her. And so on. The fact that it went off without a hitch… didn’t that prove that even God was on my side? As Madison’s best friend and the last person to see her alive, I was called into the police station for questioning. Since I was a minor, my mom had to be present. Looking at the detective, I put on a terrified expression. My mom comforted me. “It’s okay, honey. The detective just wants to ask you a few questions.” “That’s right, sweetie, don’t be scared. Just a few questions,” the detective added gently. They truly believed that a little girl like me was incapable of doing anything sinister. “According to the victim’s mother, she didn’t normally drink. Yet you two were drinking outside that day.” “Why was that?” I looked fearful, glancing at my mom. She patted my back encouragingly, signaling me to just tell the truth. “Madison said she wanted to drink that day. She said she wanted a thrill, and then she suddenly pulled two bottles of liquor out of her bag.” “I didn’t want to drink, and I tried to stop her, but who knew…” As I spoke, I let tears stream down my face, dropping heavily onto the table. The detective nodded. The convenience store security footage confirmed my story: Madison forcefully shoved the bottle into my hands. He asked a few more routine questions before letting me go. The case was ultimately ruled a tragic accident—a teenager’s momentary rebellion combined with a fatal lack of common sense, costing her her life. Madison’s death was even used as a cautionary tale at school. I sorted through the thoughts in my head, feeling like I had discovered a new world. Madison’s brain was filled with so much knowledge. My grades skyrocketed, which made my mom incredibly happy. I was happy, too. On the high school placement exams, I performed brilliantly and got accepted into the city’s most elite magnet school. My mom sold our old place and bought an apartment in the prestigious school district. My new bedroom was huge, with a massive window. I even got my own study room. During the summer, my mom enrolled me in high school prep courses. So when high school started, I wouldn’t instantly fall behind. But I knew this wasn’t a permanent solution. I still didn’t have a natural talent for learning. I still wasn’t smart. Even with Madison’s solid foundation, I would eventually fall behind again. I had relied too heavily on luck last time. This time, I needed a flawless plan for my high school career. 4 I set my sights on Caleb. He was the top student in our grade, and he happened to be in my homeroom. Caleb lived up to his reputation—he was brilliant and shining. With his clean-cut, handsome looks and his aura of academic perfection, he was never short of girls crushing on him. And I was so remarkably average. It seemed like our paths would never cross. Through careful observation and some online digging, I discovered Caleb’s most frequently used chat app. It was a niche, anonymous platform with no push notifications. I scoured every single post he had ever made, analyzing him. He was a sunny, energetic guy from a well-off family. He had hypoglycemia and always carried sweets with him. He seemed to love classic literature and mystery novels. I changed my avatar on that app to a beautiful jasmine flower. Jasmine was Caleb’s favorite flower. I didn’t add him directly to avoid startling him. Instead, I cultivated my profile. I started posting regular updates, carefully molding myself into someone who shared his exact interests. After a while, my account had a few organic followers and no longer looked like a bot. “What do you think Richard was thinking when they killed Bunny?” A completely out-of-context sentence. It was a plot point from Donna Tartt’s The Secret History. Caleb hadn’t mentioned reading this book in any of his posts. But I had seen him reading it in the classroom. I sent the message and received no response. I waited patiently. A day later, Caleb finally replied. “A mix of a desire to protect their group and absolute terror, I guess.” “Hi. How did you know I was reading this?” “Terror? Do you think Richard was afraid of Bunny?” I completely ignored his second question. “I think what Richard was really afraid of were his own past memories.” Realizing I had no intention of revealing my identity, Caleb didn’t push it. We kept chatting, bonding over our shared interests. At first, it was just a message or two a day. Once I got a response, I’d quickly pull back. Over time, Caleb realized I was a fellow bookworm whose tastes aligned perfectly with his. Our chats grew longer, moving from books to movies. Until one day, Caleb asked me. “You’re really fascinating. How old are you? What city are you in?” I didn’t reply. For days, I ignored every message he sent. He sent multiple apologies, thinking he had overstepped. About a week later, I finally responded. “If you want to know who I am, come to the rooftop of the main academic building tonight.” I was such a painfully average girl. Without resorting to some unconventional methods, I could never have gotten close to Caleb. He was shocked when he saw me. I asked him what was so surprising. He scratched his head awkwardly. “You’re so well-read, and you have such unique perspectives.” “I always assumed you were older than me.” I gave him a cryptic smile. In a way, I was older than him. Caleb wanted to talk to me openly at school, but I refused. I told him he was always surrounded by people, and I hated being the center of attention. So, we agreed to meet on that rooftop every Friday evening. Weeks turned into months, seasons changed. My bond with Caleb deepened, even though absolutely no one knew we were friends. On a winter evening during our junior year, Caleb confessed his feelings to me. I flashed him that smile—the one from Madison’s memories, the one boys couldn’t resist. His eyes sparkled. He cupped my face and leaned in to kiss me. I didn’t pull away. Caleb and I started a secret relationship. Keeping it hidden served two purposes. First, I didn’t want anyone associating me with Caleb, which would make my move easier when the time came. Second, the secrecy itself added a thrilling, almost illicit spark to the romance, didn’t it? Just like in middle school, my grades slowly began to slip. Even though Caleb tutored me every weekend, it didn’t seem to help much. I didn’t know if I was just naturally dull. Or if my brain had become entirely dependent on stealing the intellect of others. By senior year, I was at the bottom of the class. The teachers even called my mom in to discuss my plummeting grades. No rush. It wasn’t time yet. Every year, around May or June, the city held a massive fireworks festival down by the suburbs. High schoolers absolutely loved fireworks. That would be my perfect opportunity. Our school had both day students and boarders. My closest friend at school, Olivia, lived in the dorms. I frequently hung out in Olivia’s room and was on good terms with her roommates. The dorms had strict rules against high-wattage appliances. “Why?” I asked Olivia curiously one day. “It trips the breakers. A girl secretly used a curling iron once, and the power went out for almost an hour.” Olivia rolled her eyes, annoyed at the school’s inadequate electrical grid. I nodded thoughtfully. An hour. That was plenty of time. When is a high school classroom at its most chaotic? When the power goes out. And when there are fireworks going off outside. So, what if the power went out while the fireworks were going off? Everyone would rush to the windows, staring at the sky in awe. High school life was so dull; everyone knew that any distraction was a godsend. Caleb and I continued our secret romance and our weekend study dates. I would secretly watch him from below while he tutored me. I watched him pretend not to notice, even though the tips of his ears would turn bright red. His jawline was sharp, his Adam’s apple prominent. When I stared too hard, he’d nervously swallow. I would fight back a laugh, trying to keep quiet. “Winter break is coming up,” Caleb whispered to me on the subway ride home. “Yeah.” “We won’t get to see each other for a long time.” He looked so disappointed. I reached out and ruffled his hair. “Not necessarily.” My grandpa passed away last year, and my grandma followed shortly after. This New Year, it was just going to be me and my mom. “We can meet up before New Year’s Eve.” His eyes lit up, staring at me unblinking. “Let’s go to the lantern festival! They have it every year, right?” I smiled. “It’s a date.” “Yeah, it’s a date.” After finals, everyone started packing up to go home. I told my friends to go on ahead while I slipped into the Drama Club’s storage room. This was the burial ground I had chosen for Caleb. The room’s window perfectly faced the central plaza. The cramped space was filled with props, costumes, and a creepy mannequin with blonde hair. When I first opened the door, the mannequin nearly gave me a heart attack. I quietly turned the mannequin around so its face wouldn’t scare me again. After assessing the layout, I left the room. On the night of the lantern festival, I wore a brand-new red puffer coat. My mom said the color made my skin look porcelain. Looking in the mirror, she was right. I waited at the street corner for a bit before Caleb finally arrived, panting heavily. “Sorry, my mom held me up. I’m late.” He looked down at me and grabbed my hand. His hands were large, and probably because he had just been running, they were incredibly warm. I froze for a second before squeezing his hand back. The festival was crowded. He protected me from the throng, making sure not a single hair on my head got messed up. The warm, yellow glow of the lanterns illuminated his face, making his smile look impossibly bright. I gently rubbed the writer’s callus on his finger, and I felt him pause mid-step. “Do you want these?” Caleb pointed at a pair of bunny lanterns at a nearby stall. “They’re cute, but I don’t really need them,” I said honestly, shaking my head. But Caleb dragged me over anyway. “Take me home! Look how cute I am~” Caleb held up the bunny, pitching his voice high to mimic it. I couldn’t help but laugh, and he actually bought the pair. We each held one as we navigated the festival. Just like every other couple there. “You look really beautiful today.” Caleb didn’t look at me, but his cheeks were flushed. “Really? My mom says the red makes me look pale.” “It’s not the coat. It’s you.” “I love you.” We had walked to a quieter area. Caleb stopped and looked at me seriously. He seemed to be waiting for my answer. “Yeah, I love you too.” I flashed him what I thought was Madison’s most charming smile. On the walk home from the festival, I “accidentally” fell into a drainage ditch. I told everyone I fractured my leg. When the new semester started, I hobbled into the classroom in a cast. My friends swarmed me with concern. I just repeated that I was clumsy and fell into a ditch. I was constantly walking the halls on crutches, moving at a snail’s pace. Sometimes to get water, sometimes to go to the bathroom. Over time, everyone on our floor came to know me as the girl with the broken leg who walked incredibly slowly. Sometimes, my friends would offer to help me, but I always smiled and said, “It’s fine, I need to practice walking.” That was exactly the impression I wanted to burn into their minds. The fireworks festival was approaching. And my plan was about to be executed. I snuck into the girls’ dorm, turned a hair dryer to max heat, and plugged it loosely into a power strip. I balanced a brick precariously above it, held back by a vibrating alarm clock set to a timer. 5 4 3 2 1 The exact second the fireworks show began, the power grid connecting the dorms and the academic building blew. With blinding speed, I snapped on a pair of disposable gloves. I grabbed the paring knife I had bought from the school store—the exact same brand almost every student owned. I sprinted to the Drama Club’s storage room on the second floor. The door was unlocked. Caleb was standing there, his back to me, staring out the window at the fireworks. I plunged the knife straight into the back of his head, then turned and bolted. The fireworks were deafening. The powerless hallways were pitch black. I ran faster than I ever had, my heart pounding so hard I thought it would burst out of my chest. I viciously tore off the disposable gloves, stuffing them into my pocket. I snatched up the crutches I had dumped by the back door of my classroom and limped inside silently. I pushed my way into the crowd of students watching the fireworks and deliberately tripped, drawing the attention of several classmates. “It was so stuffy in here, I wanted to go for a walk, but I tripped before I even made it out the door.” A few nearby students chuckled sympathetically, and two girls helped me up. Olivia was standing near the front. She saw me and pulled me to the window. “Look! Isn’t it gorgeous?!” It really was. The fireworks bloomed in the night sky, cluster after cluster, blinding and magnificent. “Yeah, it’s beautiful.” A few minutes later, our homeroom teacher rushed in. We were all herded back to our seats and told to quiet down. The classroom was full. The only person missing was Caleb. “Where is Caleb? Where did he go?” My heart started to hammer against my ribs. It’s fine. The power is out, the cameras didn’t catch anything. And my leg is ‘broken.’ There’s no way I could have sprinted there, committed a murder, and sprinted back. Dozens of people think I was in the classroom the whole time. I have a rock-solid alibi. The knife I used is the most common knife on campus. I was fast, it was dark, no one saw me… Just as I was mentally reviewing my flawless alibi… “I’m right here, Mr. Harris.” I watched Caleb walk through the classroom door.

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