Author: Momo Chan

The mistress sent me a naked photo of her and my husband. The caption was the grenade. “Your husband says you’re a corpse in the sack.” I didn’t reply. I went straight to the printing house, fast-tracked an order for fifteen hundred copies, and plastered them all over her apartment complex. The next day, she called me, sobbing, begging me to forgive her. I chuckled. “Don’t rush it. That was just the appetizer. The next grand gift is for both of you.” 01 My phone screen flickered to life, the time reading 2:00 a.m. I had just finalized the ultimate proposal for next quarter’s exhibition and was about to close my laptop. A crisp notification sound sliced through the silence of the study. It was a photograph. Grant Kingsley, my husband of five years, tangled up naked with a young woman. The backdrop was our master bedroom—the Italian-imported gray sheets I’d personally selected were now crumpled into a mess. The girl’s face was turned toward the camera, a smirk of pure provocation on her lips as she took the selfie. Grant’s face was buried in the curve of her neck, obscured, but the Patek Philippe watch on his wrist, the one I’d given him for his birthday last year, was unmistakable. Beneath the image, a single line of text followed. “Your husband says you’re a corpse in the sack.” I stared at the words, specifically at “corpse in the sack,” for a long time. A chilling sensation crept from my fingertips, up my arm, and settled firmly in my heart. But the searing pain I should have felt, the gut-wrenching collapse—it never arrived. Instead, there was an alien, almost peaceful stillness, like a boot that had been suspended over my head for years had finally dropped with a dull, heavy thud. So, this is how it ends. My fingers moved with the detached precision of someone finalizing a work document. I screenshotted the photo and the accompanying text. The image was saved into an encrypted folder I’d created weeks ago. The folder’s name: The Final Chapter. I opened my laptop, pulled up another document I’d prepared long ago, and felt no hesitation. The file title was: Sage Tanner. It contained every piece of information about her, more detailed than any internal HR file. Her exact home address down to the unit number, her parents’ contact information and workplace, her alma mater, even the boutique coffee shop she habitually visited every morning. I had collected all this a month prior. The moment Grant started working late with suspicious frequency and the faint, unfamiliar scent of a woman’s perfume began to linger in his car, I knew this day was inevitable. I hadn’t succumbed to useless emotional turmoil—no interrogation, no screaming matches. That would have been a waste of my energy. I simply, and quietly, prepared all the necessary ammunition for the war I knew was coming. I picked up my phone and dialed the number of Mike, the owner of the printing house I’d worked with for years. Mike’s voice was thick with sleep. “Rory? It’s late…” “Mike, I need a rush job,” my voice was unnervingly calm. “Fifteen hundred A4 glossy, full-color prints. I need them in three hours. I’ll triple the price.” “What’s the content, to be so urgent?” “A photo. And a single line of text.” I sent him the screenshot via email. There was a few seconds of silence on the line, followed by a low sigh. “Rory, you…” “Mike. Domestic dispute,” I cut him off, my tone devoid of emotion. “…Got it. I’m firing up the machines now.” I didn’t sleep. I changed clothes and drove to the printing house. The machines roared, and the acrid smell of fresh ink permeated the air. I watched, expressionless, as the obscene images were spit out of the cold machinery, one after another. Grant, the sheets I picked out, the expensive watch I bought—all turned into the stage for his betrayal. Mike offered me a cigarette; I politely declined. He simply patted my shoulder, saying nothing. At 4:00 a.m., I drove away, my trunk heavy with three cumbersome cardboard boxes. I had pre-hired three temps via a local gig app and met them outside Sage Tanner’s apartment complex. “I want these plastered on every single surface in this complex,” I handed them a thick wad of cash and a box of photos. “The bulletin board, the elevator lobby, the gym equipment, and taped to the door of every single unit.” “Uh, ma’am, what is this?” A young man hesitated, looking at the photo. I pulled another stack of bills from my wallet and added it to the pile. “Make sure you’re thorough.” No more questions were asked under the weight of the triple cash incentive. I didn’t leave. I parked my car in the shadows across the street and silently watched them, like ghosts in the dark, distributing my “masterpiece” into every corner. The faint light of dawn broke the darkness. Movement started in the complex. Early-morning walkers and joggers were the first to find the jarring, full-color sheets. They gathered at the bulletin boards, pointing and whispering. Next, uniformed security guards started running around, tearing them down, but for every sheet they removed, another was quickly discovered. Fifteen hundred copies. Enough to ensure the scandal would fully ferment by sunrise. I watched the lights flicker on behind the windows, and the hesitant, peering silhouettes, and a cold smirk touched my lips. My phone finally rang. It was Sage Tanner. The moment I answered, her piercing sobs erupted, the background a cacophony of neighborly shouts and angry discussion. “Ms. Leighton! I’m so sorry! I really am! Please, please, just let this go!” Her voice was shaking uncontrollably. “My parents will kill me if they find out! I’ll lose my job! Please!” I let out a soft, gentle laugh, rolling down the window to let the cool morning air brush against my face. My tone was falsely kind, like I was consoling a frightened child, but the words were pure venom. “Don’t rush it.” “That was just the appetizer.” “The next grand gift is for you, and your darling Grant.” 02 When Grant kicked the front door open, I was slowly and methodically dusting a Song Dynasty porcelain vase on the bookshelf. I’d bought it at an auction two years ago; he’d mocked me then, calling it “a broken jar” not worth the six figures I paid. He never understood art; he only understood the shallow vanity built on money and profit. “Rory! What the hell is wrong with you?!” He stormed toward me, his face a mask of scarlet rage, his eyes bloodshot. He slammed his phone down hard on the mahogany coffee table in front of me. The screen showed the apartment complex’s community chat log: The obscene photo and a flood of vicious commentary had completely taken over the thread. “Do you have any idea how badly this affects my reputation?!” he roared, spittle flying toward my face. I could smell the stale mix of smoke, whiskey, and the other woman’s perfume on him. See? He didn’t mention his betrayal once. Only his reputation. I set down the soft cloth, picked up the vase—now polished to a perfect, soft luster—and held it up to the light for inspection. “Your reputation?” I said, my gaze still on the porcelain, my voice as flat as if I were discussing the weather. “It’s the one you rolled around in bed and earned with her. It has nothing to do with me.” “You!” His chest heaved with fury. He grabbed my wrist, his grip so strong I thought he might shatter the bones. “You fix this now! You will go and tell them it was a mistake! You will apologize to Sage!” He was still commanding me. Five years of marriage had conditioned him to this high-and-mighty posture, to my expected subservience and forbearance. I finally lifted my eyes to meet his. My gaze held none of the past warmth, the adoration, or even the expected anger or resentment. All that remained was a cold, alien assessment that clearly unnerved him. “Grant Kingsley, what gives you the right to order me?” He froze. In five years, this was the first time I had used that tone, that look, with him. The raw fury in his eyes stalled, replaced by bewilderment and disbelief. “You ruined Sage! She’s just a girl fresh out of college! She didn’t know any better!” He was still defending his mistress, still shifting all the blame onto me. He was always like this—selfish to his core. I smiled, a small, quiet sound that nonetheless prompted him to instinctively loosen his grip on my wrist. “Ruined her? No.” I gently rubbed the red marks forming on my wrist. “I’m making her famous. Look. Now her entire complex—no, soon her entire firm—will know she is Grant Kingsley’s one true love. She should be thanking me.” My words were a pointed dagger, precisely hitting his most vulnerable spot. His self-control snapped. He raised his hand, ready to deliver a vicious slap across my face. I didn’t flinch. But as I took one step back, my other hand shot up, the phone’s camera already facing him. The screen displayed his contorted, snarling face and his raised arm in an ugly close-up. “Do it.” I looked at him calmly, my voice low but every syllable crystal clear. “Hit me.” “I promise you, the cover of the next ‘grand gift’ will be a special feature on you, Grant Kingsley, the wife-beater.” His hand froze mid-air. It was only inches from my cheek; I could feel the faint current of air from his palm. The raging inferno in his eyes was instantly extinguished, replaced by profound shock and undisguised fear at the sight of the camera lens. He stared at me as if seeing me for the first time. And he was. He had never truly seen me. In his mind, I was just a mild, uninteresting accessory, a “trophy wife” to sit safely at home, decorate his public image, and manage his domestic life. He never once considered that the “corpse in the sack” might still have teeth. Slowly, inch by painful inch, he lowered the hand suspended in the air. I watched the fear and confusion swim in his eyes, and I knew: from this exact moment, this game had slipped entirely out of his control. I was the chess master, and he, along with his ambitious young mistress, were merely the pawns I had unleashed. 03 Sage Tanner was “counseled out” of her firm, citing “a severe impact on the company’s image.” Fired, to be precise, but phrased politely. In the span of a single morning, she went from a promising intern at a prestigious investment bank to the toxic joke everyone in the financial circle scrambled to avoid. Grant was in total crisis mode. He had to placate the perpetually sobbing Sage while dealing with the internal gossip and reprimands from his own superiors. He probably assumed my revenge had reached its peak, and if he could just weather this storm, everything would settle back into place. He was far too naive. I waited one week. I waited until he’d just started to catch his breath, waited until he thought the storm was finally passing. That’s when I delivered the second “grand gift.” It was a beautifully designed electronic invitation, sent to his private email address. The subject line: Boundary Lines — Aurora Leighton Solo Curatorial Exhibition. In the body of the email, I wrote only one line. “My new exhibition is opening soon. I insist you attend. I’ve also specifically invited Mr. Preston from Venture Peak Capital.” Mr. Preston was the key decision-maker for a multi-billion-dollar project Grant was desperately trying to secure. Landing this project would make him untouchable at the firm. He had to come. He called me, his voice riddled with caution and suspicion. “Rory, what game are you playing now?” “What game could I possibly be playing?” My voice sounded light and utterly innocent. “I’m merely a curator hosting my own exhibition. Shouldn’t my husband be there to witness my small achievement? Besides, Mr. Preston is deeply interested in contemporary art. I’m just giving him what he wants.” He fell silent. The lure of the multi-billion-dollar deal ultimately overpowered his unease. He needed the project, and he needed Mr. Preston’s support, to wash away the taint of his recent scandal. He agreed. Grant arrived on the opening night of the exhibition. He wore a razor-sharp Armani suit and a perfect, impregnable elite smile. He even brought Sage. The girl wore a delicate white dress and light, subtle makeup, timidly clinging to his side. She was desperately trying to play the role of the innocent, wronged-but-still-good girl, attempting to repair her shattered image in front of Grant’s friends and clients. Pathetic. The exhibition venue was elegant, the lighting soft, the music soothing, and the guests numerous. The room was filled with well-known figures from the art, fashion, and finance worlds. Everything appeared completely normal—so normal that Grant’s defenses finally dropped. He held a flute of champagne and expertly navigated to Mr. Preston, and the two began talking and laughing easily. I watched the confident, calculating smile return to his face. He clearly believed that I was, after all, still the sensible Aurora, who would never dare embarrass him in such a public, high-stakes setting. At 8:00 p.m., the exhibition officially began. As the curator, I walked onto the temporary stage. The spotlight hit me. I wore a simple black column dress, and I calmly surveyed the room, my gaze sweeping over Grant and Sage. “Good evening, everyone. Thank you for attending my first solo-curated exhibition—Boundary Lines.” “Every one of us, in life, in our careers, and in our relationships, has boundaries. Some are clear, others are frustratingly blurred. Tonight, we use art to explore that fragile boundary between humanity and commerce, and between loyalty and betrayal.” My voice, carried by the microphone, was clear and resonant. The smile on Grant’s face tightened. Mr. Preston watched me with genuine curiosity. “Now, I will unveil the core piece of this exhibition. Its name is—Betrayal.” I turned and walked toward the center of the hall, where a massive piece was concealed beneath a drape of rich red velvet. All the lights in the room focused there. Under the gaze of every single person present, I reached out and slowly pulled back the curtain. The instant the fabric slipped away, the room fell into a dead, absolute silence. Then, the collective, suppressed gasp. It was an installation piece. A man’s life-sized sculpture, constructed entirely from discarded, shattered cellphone screens, giving it a cold, fractured texture. In his arms, he clutched a woman’s sculpture, crudely pieced together from cheap, colored crystals and clear plastic, which reflected a tacky, greedy light under the spotlights. But that wasn’t the fatal blow. The most damning detail was that the “heart” of the male sculpture had been hollowed out.

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Seven years after my parents’ divorce, I made it into Harvard University. At the freshman convocation, I saw her. Eleanor Croft, there as a primary benefactor for the school. My mother. Her eyes met mine and she froze for a heartbeat. “Noah,” she started, her voice hesitant. “How… how is your father?” A bitter taste filled my throat. I turned to leave. She grabbed my arm, her voice urgent. “Tell your father I’ll call. We should all have dinner together.” My eyes instantly burned with tears. I tore my arm from her grasp. It was laughable. How do you have dinner with a dead man? 01 After the ceremony, my friend sidled up to me, speaking in a low, careful voice. “Noah, was that… was Eleanor Croft your mom?” I stared at the ground, saying nothing. Seeing my silence, he tried to comfort me. “You okay? I can’t believe she’s one of the school’s big donors.” He hesitated. “There’s that welcome dance this afternoon… you might run into her again.” I forced a smile, cutting him off. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve got something this afternoon anyway, already got permission to skip.” He let out a small sigh of relief, but the worry didn’t leave his eyes. “Don’t do that, man. That fake smile thing. It freaks me out when you do that.” I clapped him on the shoulder. “Gotta go.” I hadn’t made it far from the auditorium when a professor jogged over and called my name, asking me to stop by the Dean’s office. “It’s about Eleanor Croft, isn’t it?” I said it as a statement, not a question. Before he could answer, I cut him off, my voice sharp. “Please tell her for me that we have nothing to talk about.” I started to walk away again. “I have to go.” The professor looked stunned for a second, a flicker of understanding in his eyes suggesting he knew some of the story. He quickly stepped in front of me, his tone complex. “Noah, I know it’s not my place to comment on your family matters. But Ms. Croft is your mother, after all. Whatever happened, surely it can’t be so bad. She just wants to see you…” So bad? Mother? A real mother doesn’t get her child’s father killed. She had made me an orphan twice over, taking both my parents from me in one fell swoop. This was the first time I’d seen her in seven years. I didn’t look as heartbroken as I felt, nor did I fly into the rage I once would have. I was calm, as if looking at a stranger. But I hadn’t let it go. I couldn’t. Not for my dad. Eleanor’s betrayal was a debt that could never be repaid. I left campus and went straight to the cemetery. I laid out the irises Dad had always loved, arranging them carefully before the headstone. The man in the photograph was vibrant, full of life and confidence. It was taken back when he and Eleanor were dating. Back then, they were the campus golden couple, a story everyone admired. Winning academic competitions together, spending endless hours in the library, representing the university and bringing home championships… From college sweethearts to husband and wife, from the research lab to the boardroom, they lived a life straight out of a movie. I even wrote a story based on them once. My friends all said it was the sweetest thing they’d ever read. But reality isn’t a story. And the ending was anything but beautiful. I wiped dust from the framed photo, a smile playing on my lips. “Dad, I’m in college now.” “I told you I’d make it. See? I didn’t lie.” “Remember you promised me? That when I got into college, we’d go to a concert together.” “I went by myself. The Eagles. Your favorite.” My voice cracked on the last words. “Dad… I saw her today.” “…I still hate her. And I hate myself even more.” 02 I left the cemetery and just wandered, aimless. It wasn’t until a passerby pointed it out that I realized my phone was ringing. A number I didn’t recognize. Eleanor must have gotten my contact information from the university. “Noah, I just want to see you and your father…” I hung up and blocked the number. I didn’t have a mother. I was better off without her. But she clearly wasn’t going to give up. A text from another number came through moments later. [Noah, it’s your mother. You wouldn’t want me to bother your grandfather, would you?] I stared at the screen, my knuckles turning white as I clenched my fist. Seven years, and her shamelessness had reached a new level. I took a cab to the address she’d sent. She wore a couture suit, her posture regal, her grace effortless. She looked almost exactly as I remembered. But my father was gone forever. She saw me enter, put down the file in her hands, and stood up eagerly. “Noah, you’re here. Please, sit.” I didn’t move. She wasn’t angry, just kept a polite smile on her face. “I saw your academic record at the university. Very impressive. You’re my son, after all.” The praise was like acid in my ears. My achievements had nothing to do with her. In fact, it was because of her neglect and her attempts to hold me back that I had to fight so hard, to claw my way forward. Every sleepless night, every ounce of pain I swallowed, it was all thanks to her. I wanted to be a normal kid, sheltered under the wings of loving parents. What she called impressive was just what I had to do to survive. Just as I was about to speak, someone approached our table. “Eleanor, what a coincidence! And this is?” She smiled, a hint of pride in her voice. “This is my son, Noah.” While they exchanged pleasantries, I slipped away to the restroom. On my way back, I overheard the women talking in low voices. “Eleanor has a son that old?” “That’s her child with Samuel Croft.” “Ah, those two. They were the power couple of their day, built everything from the ground up together.” “Didn’t it end in a nasty cheating scandal?” “Goes to show you, people change. Speaking of which, I haven’t seen Samuel around in ages…” I walked past them and returned to the table. Eleanor glanced at me. “What took you so long? There are adults here, you know. You should have said hello.” I let out a short, harsh laugh. “So, Ms. Croft, what is it you wanted?” Her brow furrowed, her voice hardening. “Noah, what is that tone?” “None of your business!” I shot back. “And another thing, I don’t have a mother. So stop trying to act like one.” She slammed her hand on the table. “I see your father really did a number on you. Is this how you speak to your elders? Get him on the phone. This is between him and me, you have no right to interfere. Call him. Now.” My eyes blazed. “You want to see him?” I spat the words out. “Eleanor Croft, do you even deserve to?” SMACK. The force of the slap snapped my head to the side, my ear ringing. “I am your mother!” I started to laugh. There she was. The real her. A cold, ruthlessly selfish businesswoman. Her nature had never changed. Once she decided on something, she didn’t care who she hurt to get it. I had to admit, that same cold calculation was what got her to where she was today. When my father met her, she had nothing. It was my grandfather, a professor who saw her potential, who sponsored her education. From the university to the corporate world, she revealed a staggering talent for business in just a few short years. She was ambitious, strategic, and driven, completely shedding her Cinderella past. And my father… he was her most trusted partner. They chased clients together, my dad handling the difficult meetings and navigating the social minefield for her. They pulled all-nighters on proposals together, my dad right by her side. He was the one who helped her build the company’s foundation, landing the first crucial clients piece by painful piece. She absorbed all his effort, all his sacrifice, and turned it into fuel for her own ascent. Her career soared, and their love story was perfect. At their wedding, she made a promise to my grandfather. “Professor, I will love and cherish Samuel for the rest of my life.” Too bad promises are the cheapest currency in the world. Those beautiful words probably never breached the walls of her calculating heart. And my father’s “rest of his life”… Because of her, it ended at thirty-three. I stared straight into her eyes, my voice eerily calm. “When you were sleeping with my classmate’s father, did you remember you were my mother then?” [ To discover the full story, unlock the next chapter. ] 03 I was the one who introduced her to the other man. It was raining hard one day, and my mom came to pick me up from school. I saw my classmate and his dad standing by the road, soaked to the bone. On a whim of pity, I asked my mom if we could give them a ride. After that, the father, Mr. Lynn, came by our house to thank us. One thing led to another, and he became a family friend. It wasn’t until I saw him at my mother’s company one day that a knot of unease began to form in my stomach. Eleanor explained it away smoothly. “Mr. Lynn is a single dad, Noah, it’s not easy. The company had an opening that was perfect for him. I talked it over with your father, and he agreed it was a good idea.” I frowned, about to protest. She just smiled and tweaked my nose. “What are you thinking? Isn’t it a good thing to help your classmate’s dad? That drive he has… it reminds me of your father and me, back when we were starting out.” Her words reminded me of the story I was writing about them, so I let it go. The next time I saw Frederick Lynn, he had been transferred from the logistics department to the executive office. He was now Eleanor’s personal assistant. The promotion was too fast, too sudden. It made me sick with anxiety. The office gossip didn’t help. “Only Fred seems to be able to handle the boss’s temper.” “If she wasn’t married, you’d think he was her boyfriend.” “They just work so well together. It’s like they can read each other’s minds.” I couldn’t take it anymore. I stormed into her office and told her what people were saying. She just laughed. “You know how much I love your father. And Fred is your classmate’s dad. What could possibly happen? People will always talk, I can’t shut everyone up.” She stroked my hair. “Noah, don’t mention this to your father. His health isn’t good, it would only upset him.” Then she made a promise. “I’ll transfer him out of my office. After a while, the rumors will die down. Don’t worry, I’ll handle it.” Fred was transferred, but she also told me to stop coming by the office. She said I needed to focus on my studies and stay out of adult business. I thought my father was clueless, that he was being protected from it all. Until I skipped school one day and came home to find them shouting at each other. It felt like the world had dropped out from under me. I could barely breathe. Eleanor was cheating. With Frederick Lynn. My father had caught them. In her office. Together. Her so-called discretion was just a lie to keep me quiet. Banning me from the office wasn’t to protect me, it was to stop me from discovering more. I wanted to hear more, but then Fred rushed into the room. He stood in front of Eleanor, tears streaming down his face. “Sam, it’s all my fault, blame me…” Seeing his pathetic act, I snapped. I lunged forward and slapped him across the face. Eleanor reacted instinctively, shoving me back. My dad moved to shield me, and they both tumbled to the ground. She shot us a look of pure ice. “You need to calm down. We’ll talk later.” Then she turned and walked out, taking Fred with her, without a single glance back. 04 After that fight, my dad’s health took a turn for the worse. Maybe it was guilt, or maybe it was to appease my grandfather, but Eleanor pulled some strings. She brought in Professor Albright, the top cardiologist in the field. They consulted for days, creating a detailed surgical plan for my dad, carefully adjusting his medication and recovery regimen. For a while, his condition stabilized. I would race to the hospital every day after school. Seeing the color return to his cheeks, I let myself believe that everything would be okay. Until the day I saw Frederick Lynn’s car parked outside the hospital. My heart plummeted. I sprinted upstairs. In the hospital room, Fred was putting on a show of fake concern. “Sam, Eleanor sent me to check on you. She was worried you’d be lonely.” He leaned in closer. “There are some things she can’t bring herself to say. But since it’s come to this, why not just get divorced? A loveless marriage is torture for everyone involved.” His words were daggers. I was shaking with rage. How dare he say those things to my father, in his hospital bed? I grabbed the glass vase from a nearby stand and threw it at him. He yelped in surprise, clearly not expecting me, and staggered back. I was about to go for him again when a hand clamped down on my arm, yanking me back with brutal force. Eleanor was gripping my arm, her face a mask of fury. “Noah, have you lost your mind? Where are your manners?” We had a terrible fight. “That’s my father!” I screamed, tears blinding me. “He can’t handle this stress! Fred is doing this on purpose! If anything happens to my dad…” SMACK. A sharp slap cut me off. Eleanor’s eyes were cold as stone. “Can’t you just be reasonable for once? If you keep acting like this, you can forget about me paying for your father’s surgery!” She turned to my dad. “Control your son,” she warned. “You behave, and I’ll take care of you.” After that, she dropped the pretense. She barely showed up at the hospital anymore. But Fred’s provocations didn’t stop. He would “casually” let slip details about his life with Eleanor. A new designer watch she’d bought him. A supplementary credit card she’d given him. He even left a prenatal appointment card for Eleanor on my dad’s bedside table. I found it, of course. I hugged my dad, my voice choked with sobs. “Dad, as soon as the surgery is over, we’ll leave. We’ll go far away from them. I won’t let them hurt you anymore.” He forced a smile and patted my head. “My Noah’s all grown up. You can protect your dad now.” He pointed to a document on the table. “Don’t worry. I’ve already signed them. As soon as the surgery is done, I’ll give them to her.” He meant the divorce papers that had been sitting there for weeks. All I could think was, after the surgery. After he’s better, we can finally be free of her. But that thought never became a reality. My father’s condition suddenly took a critical downturn. The monitors shrieked, and the doctors said he needed emergency surgery. But we couldn’t reach Professor Albright. I couldn’t reach him, the hospital couldn’t reach him. I started frantically dialing Eleanor’s number. After countless calls that went straight to voicemail, she finally picked up. “Dad’s in critical condition, he needs surgery now! Why can’t anyone get ahold of Professor Albright?” Eleanor’s voice was laced with irritation. “Noah, stop making a scene. I know your father’s condition, it’s not time for the surgery yet. Fred’s mother has a heart issue, and she needs Professor Albright to operate. I’ve already arranged for other specialists to take over your father’s case.” “You just stay with him and stop being so dramatic. I’m very busy. If you need anything, call my assistant.” Right before she hung up, I heard Fred’s voice in the background. “Didn’t Sam walk in on us that day and he was fine? Noah’s probably just exaggerating.” A roar filled my ears, and the world went white. Everything after that is a blur. All I remember is the light above the operating room door going out. A doctor emerged, looked at me, and slowly shook his head. … I snapped back to the present, about to say something to Eleanor, when a familiar voice cut through the air. “Noah? I thought you were visiting your dad’s grave today. What are you doing here?” The woman beside me froze, her pupils shrinking to pinpricks.

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We were out for a team-building dinner. My eyes fell on a young couple by the window. The girl was carefully peeling a shrimp for the boy. My colleague sighed with envy. “See? This is why it’s better to just watch other people be in love.” “Hey, Nathan,” she said, pointing at the couple. “Does Isla ever peel shrimp for you like that?” I was about to say that Isla was allergic to shrimp. In the five years we’d been together, shrimp had never once appeared on our dinner table. But then the girl turned her head, smiling, and my world froze. My expression hardened, the blood turning to ice in my veins. And then, I let out a sharp, humorless laugh. There she was. Isla, who was supposedly deathly allergic to shrimp, beaming as she took a half-eaten piece right from the boy’s mouth. … The boy flinched, pushing her away gently. “Hey, people are watching! Have some decency!” Isla’s eyes crinkled, her tone dripping with affection. “What’s there to be afraid of? I’m kissing my own boyfriend.” Her voice, usually a comfort, now sent a shard of pain through my chest. I watched her take the boy’s hand, her face a mask of tenderness. “Why are you so shy?” she murmured. “Completely different from how you are in bed.” My colleague started gossiping beside me. “Wow, kids these days. No shame at all. Talking about bed in public.” My feet felt like they were encased in lead. My chest heaved, the shock of betrayal a physical blow threatening to burst from my ribs. My eyes were locked on them, on Isla and this boy, flirting and laughing. I pulled out my phone, snapped a photo, and then opened my chat with her. A message from thirty minutes ago stared back at me. [Honey, I have to work late tonight.] [Don’t wait up for me for dinner.] [Love you.] But as I finally reached the restaurant entrance, I heard the boy’s voice, laced with complaint. “How much longer do we have to be a secret?” he asked. “My grandpa’s birthday is next month, and my mom keeps asking me to bring you home to meet everyone.” “I can’t exactly,” and each word was a hammer blow to my heart, “tell them I’m the dirty little secret you keep on the side. Make my whole family a laughingstock.” I stopped dead in my tracks. I had assumed the boy was just some innocent kid, an unwitting pawn in all this. I thought that if it came to a confrontation, I would deal with Isla, and then quietly let him know he’d been lied to. No need to drag an innocent person into our mess. Ah. So that’s how it was. That made things much easier. A smirk touched my lips as I heard Isla’s soothing reply. “Don’t worry. What I owe you… I’ll make it all up to you. I promise.” I took a deep breath and gently removed my colleague’s hand from my arm. “Wait here for a second,” I told her. “There’s something I need to take care of.” Before she could react, I was at their table. I grabbed the glass of orange juice and threw it in Isla’s face. She stared at me, utterly stunned, as I smiled. “Well, what a coincidence, Isla.” “Cheating on me at the same restaurant as my company dinner. Should I praise you for your choice of venue, or—” my gaze drifted to the pile of empty shrimp shells, the irony thick enough to choke on, “—for suddenly getting over your deathly shrimp allergy?” “Isla!” I reached for the other glass of juice, but her hand shot out and clamped around my wrist. “Nathan! Let me explain!” [ To see how Nathan gets his revenge, unlock the next chapter. ] I looked down at the hand gripping my arm. The wedding band on her ring finger—a matching set to my own—gleamed under the restaurant lights. A flicker of panic crossed her face, and the rage I’d been suppressing surged anew. Before she could utter another word of explanation, I tore my arm from her grasp and slapped her hard across the face. “How dare you hit her!” The boy scrambled from his seat, shoved me hard, and stood protectively in front of Isla, shouting at me. “Who the hell do you think you are? You have no right to touch my girlfriend!” I just looked at him, a bitter laugh bubbling in my throat. My eyes met Isla’s complex gaze. I calmly took a napkin from the table, wiped my wrist where she had touched me, and smiled at her. “Why don’t you tell him?” I said, my voice dangerously low. “Tell him exactly who I am. And whether or not I have the right to hit you.” Isla’s expression shifted from shock to disbelief, and now, seeing my aggression and the boy’s defiant stance, she made her choice. She shielded him, stepping between us. “Nathan, it takes two to tango.” She pulled the boy behind her. My colleague had rushed to my side. “Nathan, you need help?” I just shook my head, my attention fixed on Isla. “We’ve been together for five years, married for two,” she said, her voice suddenly steady. “Have you ever once considered your own faults in this relationship?” She met my eyes without flinching. “I admit, I relied on you to get a foothold in this city. My success is because of you. But that doesn’t give you and your entire family the right to look down on me forever.” She stepped closer. “I can apologize. I can even go home with you right now.” Her face was a canvas of conflict. “But you will not lay a hand on Dylan. He’s innocent.” Even now, she was defending him. “He’s young, he can’t have his name dragged through the mud. And his grandfather’s health is poor, he can’t handle the stress. Whatever is between us—” her eyes darted from me to my colleague, who was glaring at her, “—we can discuss it at home.” Listening to her well-reasoned speech, every word a shield for the boy she called Dylan, was laughable. Five years together, married for three. When she started her business, I was the one begging for favors, calling in every connection I had. My parents leveraged their own relationships for her. Her entire startup capital came from a loan my parents took out against their own assets. Back then, whenever she talked about it, her eyes would well up with tears as she swore to me. “Nathan, I owe you everything. For the rest of my life, I’ll be good to you, and to your family.” Now, that same history had been twisted into this: “Yes, I relied on you. But that doesn’t mean you can let your family disrespect me.” I stared at the woman I had loved for five years. I thought I could handle this calmly, but her words were a vice around my heart, squeezing until I could barely breathe, barely stand. Then, I heard my colleague’s voice, thick with righteous anger. “Are you f*cking kidding me? So you use my boss to get on your feet, and now that you’ve made it, you’re tired of him and want to trade up for a younger model? And you’re trying to pin this on him?” She scoffed. “Who the hell do you think you are?” My colleague stormed past me and got right in the boy’s face. “And you! You’re a homewrecker, and you’re proud of it?” She pointed at the designer necklace around his neck. “Let me guess, my boss’s money paid for that piece of trash too, right?” She was furious. “Take it off! Give it back to him!” She lunged for the necklace. The boy shrieked in terror. Isla grabbed my colleague’s wrist and threw her aside. The table crashed over, dishes shattering on the floor. “Nathan!” Isla screamed. “Is this how you were raised?” The boy, now nestled in Isla’s arms, sobbed. “Isla and I are in love! She doesn’t love you anymore, Nathan! She doesn’t love you!” I watched my colleague hit the floor, still cursing. “I’ll kill you, you shameless cheater and your little homewrecker!” She scrambled up, ready to fight again, but I suddenly felt tired. It was all so pathetic. I stepped in front of her, shielding her from them. I looked at Isla’s wary face and said one thing. “Apologize to my friend.” She looked at me in disbelief. “Isla,” I thought my heart would break, but seeing someone else’s fury on my behalf had given me a strange clarity. “Apologize. To my friend.” “You’re insane!” she yelled. The moment the words left her mouth, I swung my briefcase, slamming it into her head. I grabbed the boy by his hair and smashed his face into the corner of a nearby table. “Isla,” I snarled. “I’m not letting you get away with this.” Then I turned, took my colleague’s arm, and walked out of the restaurant.

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Everyone in the circles I ran in knew the drill: I was a gold-digger, pure and simple. Marrying Burrell Vance was all about the money. He saw me as a placeholder, a stand-in for someone else. I saw him as a human ATM. Then, his beloved stepsister, the original “white moonlight” he’d been pining for, returned home. I, the one who was supposed to gracefully step aside, suddenly found myself a little… reluctant. I mean, a handsome, generous sugar daddy like Burrell wasn’t exactly easy to come by. Just as I was racking my brain, trying to figure out how to cling on for dear life, I stumbled upon Burrell prying a gem from my mother’s ring – her only memento – just to make Amelia happy. Burrell caught my stunned expression and, with an impatient sigh, pulled out his checkbook. “Name your price,” he said, “I’ll double it.” His cold, indifferent gaze snapped me back to reality. My heart, a fleeting moment ago, had fluttered with something soft and useless. Now, it hardened. Forget sentiment, Maya. Go for the gold, the real, tangible kind. I immediately looked up, a sweet, innocent smile plastered on my face. “Triple?” I asked, “Would triple work?” 1 Burrell froze. Then, as if he’d expected this all along, he scoffed and shook his head. His pen moved decisively across the checkbook, scribbling a longer number, before tearing off the slip with a sharp rip. He held it out to me. “Five million.” “That old ring of yours was barely worth fifty thousand. I’m giving you ten times that. Enough?” The check was covered in a dizzying array of zeroes, more than I’d ever seen outside of a bank statement. My eyes crinkled into crescent moons as I took it. “Enough! More than enough!” Seeing my delighted expression, Amelia, who was still clutching the freshly pried gem, felt a surge of indignation. This whole show had been orchestrated to torment me. She’d deliberately praised the stone in my dressing table ring, confident Burrell would remove it for her. She’d envisioned me walking in, collapsing like a hysterical shrew, giving her the perfect opportunity to play the fragile victim, making Burrell despise me even more, maybe even kick me out. But Amelia hadn’t anticipated I’d be so easily placated. She couldn’t help but raise her voice, accusing me. “Maya Brooks, are you really that materialistic?” “Cook said that ring was your mother’s only keepsake. You’re so heartless towards your own parents, how much sincerity could you possibly have for Burrell? As for this worthless rock… here! Take it back!” “I wouldn’t touch something from someone like you. It’s soiled!” The gem bounced off my foot, rolling a few times on the floor, picking up tiny scratches. Burrell glanced at Amelia’s aggressive outburst, a faint, almost imperceptible frown creasing his brow. Instead of getting angry, I simply bent down and picked it up, blowing off the dust. Then, I spoke calmly. “Miss Burrell, there’s something Cook might not have told you.” “My mother was a human trafficker. The first child she ever sold was me. Later, when she saw I’d made something of myself, she wanted to ‘reclaim’ me. So she eagerly spent a fortune on this ring, saying it was a gift to win me back.” “I refused. And then I reported her to the police. She was sentenced and died years ago.” I slipped the gem into my pocket, flashing Amelia a dazzling smile. “So, exchanging this trinket for five million? Absolute steal! But since you don’t like it, Miss Burrell, I guess I’m just getting a freebie, huh?” “Thank you, Miss Burrell!” Amelia gasped, a lump of frustration stuck in her throat. I, on the other hand, was thrilled to see her squirm. Adopting the air of the lady of the house, I continued to needle her. “Miss Burrell, you’ve just returned from a long journey. The maid has prepared the guest room. You should get some rest.” Then, I turned my gaze to Burrell, a suggestive glint in my eyes, my voice dripping with honey. “Well… darling, I’ll head back to my room then.” “I’ll be waiting for you in the master suite.” As I turned, I could almost hear Amelia grinding her teeth behind me. Sigh. I’m a professional gold-digger. Don’t challenge my livelihood with your little games. Back in the master suite, the mangled ring setting Burrell had damaged lay on the dresser. I casually pulled the gem from my pocket and set it beside it. With a soft sigh, I found a tube of superglue and tried to reattach it. My birth mother had sold me to a couple who couldn’t have children. Forty thousand, but because I was a girl, she haggled down to thirty thousand and sold me cheap. I was six, old enough to remember, old enough to work. Ironically, that couple had a son a few years later. My adoptive parents, in turn, sold me again. Twenty-three thousand six hundred, to an old drunk, who said he’d raise me to be his wife. Less than two years later, the drunk drowned after a binge. Finally, I was no longer being trafficked around like cheap goods. I struggled to grow up. My birth mother sold me for money, my adoptive parents sold me for money. So, don’t call me materialistic. Maybe I never knew what “love” felt like growing up. I’ve lived this long, never having time to fret over love. Money, though, was a constant worry. All that “love” nonsense? Two days of work, and you’ll be over it. Luckily, I loved money, and money loved me. My mind was wandering through these chaotic memories when Burrell’s voice suddenly broke through. “I’m sorry.” “I didn’t know… that was your mother’s keepsake.” I turned, shaking my head, a professional smile on my face. “It’s fine. You compensated me, didn’t you?” “Such a huge sum, I don’t even know how many rings I could buy with it.” Burrell glanced at me holding the glue, clearly not comforted. He simply thought I was putting on a brave face. He lowered his eyes, his expression complex for a moment. Seeing his silence, I paused, then picked up my phone. “Oh, right. There was something I needed to tell you…” Before I could finish, Amelia’s panicked shriek suddenly echoed from the guest room down the hallway. “Ah! Burrell, quickly—” Burrell’s face tightened instantly. Without a moment’s hesitation, he turned and dashed out. My hand, holding out the phone, froze mid-air. The screen glowed with an electronic prenatal check-up form: [Early Pregnancy, 6 weeks +]. I watched Burrell’s hasty retreat, the screen dimming, my smile fading with it. That night, Burrell didn’t return to the master suite. See? Money really is the most reliable thing. 2 Sleep wouldn’t come. I spent the entire night gluing the ring back together with that cheap tube of adhesive. It wasn’t until the morning sun slanted across my dressing table that I finally stopped. It had a rough outline again, but the cracks crisscrossed, like an ugly face streaked with tears. I picked it up, held it to the light. It really was time to throw it away. With a sigh, I dropped it into the wastebasket by the table. I stood up, ready to leave, but then turned back, gave a self-deprecating smile, and reached into the trash to retrieve the valuable gem. Never mind. I can argue with anyone, but not with money. A quick glance at the time told me Burrell was likely at the office. I decided to get ready and head out to cash the check. With Amelia back, I needed to be prepared for being shown the door at any moment. Passing the dining room on the first floor, my footsteps drew Amelia’s attention. She immediately set down her cutlery. “Morning, Maya,” she drawled, a mocking edge in her voice. “You look terrible. Didn’t sleep well without Burrell around?” She stretched out the last words, deliberately adjusting the collar of her silk robe, revealing a few fresh, tell-tale hickeys on her collarbone. Once she saw I’d definitely noticed, she continued, smugly. “I’m sorry. Whenever I used to fly long-haul, and my jet lag was terrible, Burrell always… stayed with me, helped me adjust. You… don’t mind, do you?” “After all, Burrell and I have a bond that goes back to childhood. You can’t compare.” I took a deep breath. A sharp, stinging pain pricked my heart. But it was okay. I’d always been good at enduring pain, ever since I was a child. I tilted my head, calmly reminding Amelia, “Oh.” “But Burrell and I are getting married at the end of the month. We’re officially tying the knot early next month.” That sentence instantly hit a nerve. Amelia shot up from her chair, yelling at me. “What are you so smug about?” “If his mother hadn’t opposed it so vehemently back then, we would have been together already! I wouldn’t have been forced to go abroad! Now that I’m back, do you honestly think you can stay by Burrell’s side?” Watching her frantic outburst, I merely raised an eyebrow, mechanically repeating, “Oh.” “But Burrell and I are getting married at the end of the month. We’re officially tying the knot early next month.” Amelia was trembling with rage, screaming hysterically. “Bitch! Still dreaming about a wedding? I’m telling you, you’ll never marry Burrell! I’ll make sure you’re out of the Vance mansion for good!” Amelia was on the verge of losing it, but I remained perfectly calm. I even meticulously smoothed my cuff, responding airily, “Oh.” “But Burrell and I are getting married at the end of the month. We’re officially tying the knot early next month.” “Enjoy your breakfast. I’m off to look at wedding dresses.” With that, I walked towards the front door without looking back. Behind me, Amelia shrieked and began a classic “table-clearing maneuver,” sweeping all the dishes off the dining table. The sound of shattering porcelain echoed through the house. See? Even enemies can’t stand the silent treatment. After leaving, I immediately cashed the check, watching the reassuring string of numbers appear in my bank account. A genuine, relaxed smile finally spread across my face. Then, I drove to a modest apartment complex on the west side of the city. Here, I owned a small apartment. It was mine, a home I could never be kicked out of. Money, it was truly wonderful. After resting for most of the day, I returned to the mansion, immediately sensing a strange atmosphere. The living room lights were on. Burrell, who should have been at the office, was sitting on the central sofa, cradling a sobbing Amelia, murmuring soft words of comfort. The sound of me opening the door startled them. Burrell’s gaze fell on me, his lips parting as if words were caught in his throat. It wasn’t until Amelia tugged his sleeve, her sobs growing louder, that Burrell finally seemed to make a decision. “Maya, our wedding… it’s off.” 3 I stood rooted to the spot, processing his words for a couple of seconds. There was no dramatic outburst from me, just a familiar ache that intensified in my chest, making my nose sting. A cold, chilling sensation washed over me, like that time when I was twelve, and the old drunk, fueled by liquor, had beaten me half to death before holding my head under the icy well water. It’s okay. Maya, you’ve always been good at enduring pain. I sniffed twice, then nodded. “Alright.” Amelia, seeing my calm reaction, lifted her head from Burrell’s embrace, her tear-reddened eyes sparkling with triumph. I knew exactly what she was flaunting. A few tears, and Burrell canceled our wedding. Her status as his “white moonlight” truly carried weight. I wasn’t stupid enough to try and compete. She was the moon in the sky; I was the mud on the ground. I looked at Burrell, thinking that perhaps, reaching this point was already quite good. To love him any further would be disrespectful. Then, without another word, I turned and headed up the stairs. “Wait!” My footsteps faltered, but I didn’t turn back. “Vance Jewels just received a new shipment of gold. I’ll have my assistant send two gold bars to you later.” Instant elation. My earlier internal monologue felt incredibly melodramatic now. Love? Who needed it? Just give me the money. I immediately spun around, flashing Burrell my most familiar, sweet smile. “Thank you, Burrell!” “I’ll go to my room then. You should get some rest too.” Sure enough, my footsteps hadn’t even faded before Amelia, predictably, started to complain about my “gold bar compensation.” She buried her face back in Burrell’s chest, her mournful sobs resuming. Burrell, clearly exasperated by her reaction, leaned down to soothe her. I vaguely heard muffled syllables – something like “don’t cry,” “not worth it,” “just wait.” Then, without looking up, he said to me, “You don’t need to wait for me tonight.” “Amelia’s not doing well. I need to stay with her.” I simply acknowledged him, my steps unwavering as I disappeared around the corner. No time for sadness. My mind was consumed with those two gold bars. How long would they be? How heavy? How many ounces? How much money could I get for them? After showering, I immediately grabbed my phone, eager to search for the real-time gold price per ounce. But just as I tapped the screen, a series of messages from an unknown number popped up. It was Amelia. [Maya Brooks, have you no shame? Burrell canceled the wedding, and you still have the nerve to linger here instead of leaving?] [Bitch! A complete and utter bitch! You should just take those two gold bars and scram. Everything in the Vance family belongs to me in the future. You pathetic whore, you’re stealing my money!] [I won’t tolerate you anymore. You just wait, I’ll make sure you’re out of the Vance household for good!] I read them expressionlessly, then scrolled up. The first time I didn’t leave, I got five million. The second time I didn’t leave, I got two gold bars. Shameless or not, what’s a little dignity worth, anyway? But then, a sharp shriek and hurried footsteps echoed through the house. The maid screamed in terror. “Oh no, something terrible has happened!” “Miss Burrell… she… she cut her wrists!”

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1 Seven years long-distance. I quit my job, hid it from my boyfriend, and traveled far to Seaview City—for a surprise proposal and wedding. At the desk, a sharp-eyed receptionist eyed me oddly when I asked for Eric. “He’s in a meeting. Wait.” I frowned—Eric hadn’t mentioned a promotion. Last week he’d moaned about work stress, saying promotion was distant. Turning, I overheard: “Is that his side piece?” “Brave, showing up here.” “Mrs. Hillman will go mad if she finds out.” I moved to explain—Eric wasn’t married; I was his real girlfriend. But the door opened, revealing a woman in Chanel. Receptionists fell silent, greeting, “Madam.” She was on the phone, sweet: “Darling, I’m downstairs. Come get me—prenatal appointment!” A deep, familiar voice replied, adoring: “Alright, my queen. Meeting’s almost over. Wait in the lounge.” That voice—Eric’s. For seven years. Like my heartbeat. … Thud. My handbag slipped from my grasp, hitting the polished marble floor. As I bent to retrieve it, a crumpled prenatal report fluttered from my bag to my feet. Twelve weeks pregnant. The father’s name, printed starkly on the form, was Eric Hillman. Around that time, Eric had always claimed to be swamped, only picking up my calls once a week. Once, when he finally agreed to a video call, I’d spotted a hickey on his neck. “Mosquito bite,” he’d explained quickly. “Elara, all these years apart, have you ever seen me with anyone else?” I’d believed him, even apologized, blaming my own overthinking. Now, he was someone else’s husband. And soon, a father. The woman, noticing the report, picked it up and handed it to me with a polite smile. Seeing me frozen, she asked, “Are you here to see Eric too?” I nodded. “Then let’s go up together. My husband’s meetings always run long.” That word. Husband. It pierced my heart without warning, leaving a raw, bleeding wound. In the guest lounge, she introduced herself as Clara Vance, the treasured daughter of the Vance family of Seaview City. “My husband’s just stubborn, always saying he’s too busy, but he comes to every prenatal check-up.” She stroked her belly, her tone complaining but her eyes sparkling with affection. “He’s been working late a lot lately, says he needs to earn enough for the baby’s formula. As if the whole company isn’t his anyway, making up excuses to humor me.” My knuckles whitened as I clutched my bag, fighting to rein in the burning rage inside. Eric had told me he was just an ordinary employee, sidelined and struggling for promotion. Seven years of long distance, and he’d used the distance as an excuse, constantly postponing our marriage. So, after finishing my last project at work, I’d immediately quit, rushing to Seaview City to marry him. Footsteps approached from the corridor. Several men in crisp suits passed the guest lounge, nodding respectfully to Clara. “Mrs. Hillman, waiting for Mr. Hillman again?” When Eric walked into the lounge, his colleagues immediately started teasing him. “Mr. Hillman, your wife’s here to check up on you!” Clara flung herself into his arms. “Darling, I’ve been waiting so long my back hurts.” Eric naturally put his arm around her waist. Then he looked up, saw me, and his smile faltered, freezing on his face. It was only a second before he regained his composure, his voice chillingly distant. “What are you doing here?” Clara turned to me, a curious tilt to her head. “Darling, who is this?” His colleagues exchanged glances, quickly jumping in to explain for Eric, their voices full of knowing smiles. “What else could she be? Just a friend of Mr. Hillman’s, of course.” “Don’t worry, Mrs. Hillman, everyone knows how devoted Mr. Hillman is to you.” Eric took a step forward, subtly positioning himself between Clara and me. His explanation was polite, yet utterly detached. “She’s a… university acquaintance.” He then turned to his assistant. “Please escort this young lady out. We wouldn’t want to disrupt anyone’s work.” I stared at him, incredulous. His gaze, however, was entirely fixed on Clara. As the assistant approached to usher me away, Eric was already taking Clara’s hand, playfully flicking her nose. “Come on, my little queen, let’s get you to your appointment.” Clara stood on tiptoe to kiss him, her voice a purr. “You’re the best, darling.” As they passed me, Clara glanced back. “Darling, isn’t it a bit rude to leave your acquaintance standing there?” Eric didn’t even turn around. “Just a casual acquaintance, hardly important. You are.” Tears welled, then spilled down my cheeks, uncontrollably. Passing employees watched my humiliation with mocking fascination. Ten years of shared life, seven years of long distance, traveling over a thousand miles… all for a dismissive “casual acquaintance.” On my phone, a message from Eric, sent just three days ago, still lay unread: Elara, just a little more time. Once my job is stable, I’ll marry you. For those words, I’d quit my job, traveled across the country. I never imagined it was all a lie. 2 My phone vibrated, a new message from Eric flashing on the screen. Go back with the assistant. I’ll explain later. I stared at the terse message, my heart twisting. Finally, I couldn’t hold back, typing: Why did you lie to me? Eric’s reply was cold: Just go back. Behave. Don’t make a scene at the office entrance. It hit me then. Every time I’d suggested visiting Seaview City, he’d found an excuse to put me off. He was afraid of me showing up, afraid of being exposed, afraid of his embarrassment. I looked up to see a huddle of employees, their phones out, filming me. “The mistress dares to show up? How shameless!” “So young, so many other things to do, but she chose to be a home-wrecker.” I quickly raised my hand to cover my face, my voice choked with sobs. “I’m not a mistress! Eric lied to me…” All I got in return was a chorus of laughter. The assistant grabbed my suitcase and almost shoved me into a waiting car. Thirty minutes later, it pulled up to a sprawling villa. Eric, who’d told me he was cramped in a tiny rented apartment, lived here. I’d even worried he wasn’t doing well in Seaview City, sending him half my salary every month. The assistant pushed me inside, and I heard the click of the lock as the door shut behind me. “You can wait for Mr. Hillman here.” A faint scent of perfume hung in the air. I’d smelled it on Eric a few months ago, when he’d visited Fairview. I turned, and my blood ran cold. On the living room wall hung a colossal wedding photo. Eric, in a black suit, embraced Clara, who was radiant in a white gown. The date in the bottom right corner screamed at me. The day they took their wedding photos was also my birthday. The first birthday Eric hadn’t spent with me. He’d said work was too demanding, he couldn’t get away. Frantically, I rushed into the bedroom. The walls were covered with photos of Eric and Clara. In the closet, a slinky lace nightgown hung next to Eric’s shirts. The dresser overflowed with luxury brand cosmetics. The last sliver of hope shattered completely when I saw the almost-empty box of condoms on the nightstand. So, Eric’s “busy” meant building a family with another woman. I sank to the cold floor, burying my face in my hands, crying uncontrollably. I hadn’t come from much. My parents were farmers, and I’d fought tooth and nail to get into a big city university. Any moment I wasn’t in class, I was working part-time off-campus, which was how I met Eric. I was a scholarship student from the countryside, he was a rebellious heir who’d fled his family’s expectations. We had no family support, only ourselves. Months later, we were a couple, and our classmates had jokingly called us the “struggling sweethearts.” We truly were broke back then. But for every birthday, Eric would somehow scrape enough money together to buy me a gift I loved. He’d eat only two meals a day just to save up for a branded lipstick. He always said, “Other girls have these things, and you shouldn’t go without.” No matter how tough things got, he always made sure I was cared for. After graduation, I stayed in Fairview, while Eric moved to Seaview City. I rented a discounted apartment in Fairview, just eight hundred a month. Eric came back every weekend. We’d lose ourselves in each other in the darkness, the old bed creaking under our weight. He’d kissed away the tears from my eyes, his voice hoarse, promising, “Elara, once my job is stable, I’ll marry you.” To save enough for our wedding, I worked relentlessly, often staying late until two in the morning. Eventually, my body gave out, and I collapsed at work. When Eric found out I was sick, he immediately took time off and rushed to the Fairview hospital. He’d cursed me for being foolish, then gripped my hand, his eyes red-rimmed. Eric had tried to take more leave to stay and care for me, only to be torn apart by his superiors. It was the first time I’d seen him so humbled, a bitter smile on his face. I’d begged him to go back to work, not to worry about me. But he’d looked at me, utterly serious. “Elara Ewing, nothing is more important to me than you.” In that moment, I believed beyond a shadow of a doubt that Eric loved me. And it was that unwavering belief in his love that carried me through seven long years. 3 When Eric returned home, he found me with swollen, tear-stained eyes. He pulled me into a tight embrace, his gaze filled with sorrow. “Elara, I’m so sorry.” “My father passed away unexpectedly, and I had no choice but to return to Seaview City to inherit the family business. Your background… it’s too humble. My family elders would never allow me to marry you.” I couldn’t bear to hear another word. I sobbed, pushing him away. “So you married someone else? Eric, what was seven years of long-distance for?” Eric stood above me, his eyes regaining their cold composure. “Elara Ewing, I’m the head of the Hillman family. I have responsibilities. Clara and I are from similar backgrounds; our marriage is a beneficial alliance for both families.” “Clara said, as long as you’re discreet, she’s willing to look the other way, to let you stay with me.” I looked up at him, tears streaming down my face. Eric leaned down, gently wiping away the tears. “Elara, you’ve been with me all these years. I won’t mistreat you. If you want to stay in Seaview City, I’ll arrange for you to work at the company as my assistant.” But instead, I slapped him. His eyes widened in shock as I grabbed my suitcase and rushed out the villa door. As I sped away in a taxi, Eric sent a voice message. “Elara Ewing, don’t be foolish. Hillman Corp isn’t a place just anyone can walk into. I’m giving you three days to think this over.” Then, he transferred ten thousand dollars to my account. Before, to maintain his carefully constructed image, he’d never sent more than a hundred. Now, ten thousand. I didn’t reply, sending the money back. After finding a temporary place and settling in, I reopened my phone. The internet was on fire. Someone had posted a video of me at the company entrance. My frantic, cornered expression in the video was brutally humiliating. The trending topic declared Eric was cheating, and his mistress had brazenly shown up. I, his legitimate girlfriend, was now being reviled as a homewrecker. In a fit of desperate defiance, I uploaded our entire relationship history, including screenshots of our messages. The timeline clearly showed that Eric and I had been together long before his marriage to Clara. The tide of public opinion immediately turned, and the entire internet condemned him as a scumbag. Eric called several times, but I ignored them all. A few minutes later, Clara posted a photo of her marriage certificate on social media, claiming her and Eric’s marriage was harmonious, and accusing me of faking everything for clout. Hillman Corp’s PR team swiftly intervened, declaring my chat logs were “fabricated” and threatening me with a defamation lawsuit. Influencers and gossip sites went wild, spreading rumors, branding me as a mistress who’d provoked the wife. The comments section of my post was completely overwhelmed. “Mistress’s attack failed, even got a legal warning, hilarious!” “The real wife wins, of course. A few words and this arrogant mistress is crushed!” “Being a mistress, destroying someone else’s family, and trying to get clout? Disgusting!” My DMs were flooded with insults, some even wishing me dead. Half an hour later, my posts vanished, and my account was banned. It was then I understood for the first time how utterly powerless I was in the face of absolute wealth and influence. My phone rang again and again. I wouldn’t answer, but they wouldn’t stop calling. Finally, reluctantly, I picked up. It wasn’t Eric. It was Clara. “Miss Ewing.” Her laugh was laced with disdain. “Let’s talk.”

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The plane was going down. My fiancé, the pilot, gave the only life vest to the woman he called his “first love.” I didn’t argue. Didn’t even make a scene. I readily agreed. Because in my past life, when faced with the same choice, my fiancé – the pilot – had given the life vest to me, his pregnant fiancée. The plane had spiraled rapidly, and his first love, without a life vest, was horrifically killed by the impact upon landing. Later, pregnant, I naturally married my fiancé. But on our wedding night, he imprisoned me in the basement, beating me with a baseball bat until I miscarried. “If you hadn’t used your pregnancy to blackmail me into giving you the life vest, Penelope wouldn’t have died so horribly.” He forced my head to pound against Penelope’s gravestone, nine hundred and ninety-nine times. He made me endure repeated pregnancies and miscarriages, a grotesque repayment for my supposed sin. I was tormented until I broke, taking my own life. When I opened my eyes again, I awakened with all the memories of my past life. This time, I would grant his wish… … The entire cabin plunged into chaos, rocking violently. Less than ten minutes until impact. I shielded my swollen belly, pressing myself against the seatback, my face ghostly pale. Just as pale as mine was the co-pilot, who was distributing the emergency equipment. There was only one life vest left. But in the last row, both Penelope Dillon and I still needed one. And Penelope, of course, was my fiancé Ethan Dillon’s first love. The cockpit door burst open, and Ethan strode out. The moment she saw him, Penelope’s eyes welled up. “Ethan, I’m so scared…” Penelope was beautiful, with soft, almond-shaped eyes now brimming with tears. Ethan didn’t spare me a glance. He swept Penelope into his arms, comforting her. “Hush, don’t be scared, I’ll protect you.” He cooed softly to the woman cherished in his heart, completely forgetting that barely a step away sat his seven-month pregnant fiancée. Only when the co-pilot prompted him did Ethan remember me. His eyes met mine, and his brows furrowed, his voice sharp with annoyance. “I told you pregnant women on planes are bad luck. But no, you had to get jealous and follow me. Now you’ve endangered everyone on this plane, are you satisfied?!” He was a renowned handsome pilot on the entire airline, and most passengers in the cabin trusted him implicitly. Hearing his words, the already terrified passengers went ballistic, hurling curses and vile accusations at me and my unborn child. A five-year-old even threw a metal airplane model at me, its sharp wing slicing my forehead. Blood instantly gushed out. As everyone on the plane directed their fury at me, a flicker of triumph and provocation danced in Penelope’s eyes. She choked out, addressing Ethan, “But Ethan, there’s only one life vest left. What do we do?” Tears streamed down her face as she spoke. “Maybe… maybe you should give the vest to Anya, Ethan. She’s carrying your child… As for me, if I can just be with you in my last moments, I’ll have no regrets…” Ethan’s eyes instantly turned red. He hugged Penelope tightly, kissing her hair repeatedly, his voice deep with reassurance. “Never, Penelope. Meeting you was the luckiest thing that ever happened to me. I won’t let anything happen to you.” With that, he reached out, snatched the only life vest from the co-pilot’s hand, and swiftly secured it onto Penelope. Once she was wearing it, a smattering of applause broke out among the passengers. Everyone seemed touched by their profound love. Only the co-pilot spoke up for me. “Captain, what about your fiancée?! There are less than two minutes until impact, and she’s pregnant, she won’t make it!” Ethan, however, stared at me coldly, a knowing glint in his eyes. “You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you? Using my child to blackmail me into giving you the only life vest, just to kill Penelope! Do you know she’s the most talented dancer in the world, with boundless potential?!” “You can’t ruin her because you couldn’t achieve your own dancing dreams! You manipulative wretch, I won’t let you succeed!” His hysterical shout was piercing, even above the plane’s increasingly loud, sharp descent. But I remained perfectly calm, not raising my voice or making a scene. After the agonizing experiences of my past life, I had long seen the true face of the man I had loved for over a decade. He had never loved me. If that was the case, I would no longer hold any expectations for him. This time, I would grant his wish. I would leave his life forever. In the final, desperate moments, the co-pilot tried to remove his own life vest for me, but I stopped him. I looked up, my gaze steady, at the stunned Ethan. In the final second before the plane exploded, I mouthed to him: “I don’t want you, and I don’t want your child.” I deliberately released my hands from my guarded belly. In the instant of freefall, I lost consciousness. Until my body plunged into the icy cold ocean. My bones were fractured by the final blast of the plane’s explosion. My once swollen abdomen was unnaturally concave, and my ears were deafened. The world became silent. Warm blood gushed from my head, stinging my rapidly cooling face. The deep blue sea was already stained red with blood. I floated semi-conscious, alone in the water, a vast halo of light shimmering before my eyes. Within that halo, vast debris of the plane floated, and above them, rescue helicopters descended. A rope ladder unfurled from a helicopter. Ethan, his face anxious, was climbing the ladder, cradling an unharmed Penelope, but he was angrily intercepted by the co-pilot, whose forehead was bleeding. I squinted, trying to read their lips. The co-pilot mouthed: “You animal! Your wife and child are still in the ocean, and you only care about saving your old flame?!” He was truly incensed on my behalf, even though our acquaintance wasn’t particularly deep. Fortunately, he had survived this time. Not far away, Ethan appeared even more enraged than the co-pilot. “Penelope twisted her ankle! Do you know how devastating that is for a genius dancer like her?! As for why I’m not saving my wife and child, that’s my business, what does it have to do with you?” He then swept a contemptuous glance at the co-pilot, his tone sneering. “Or are you my wife’s lover? Why else would you care so much about her?!” Even though I had already witnessed Ethan’s coldness, his callous words still cut me deeply. The co-pilot’s face turned white with fury. But he still insisted on sending me for treatment first, only to be warned by Ethan: “Sam Brooks, you’re just an intern co-pilot. As one of your chief examiners, I have the right to grade your future career. If you keep meddling, I think you might need to find another job.” Seeing that Sam was unmoved, Ethan said in a deep voice, “You might not care, but what about your girlfriend in the control tower?” Sam’s face instantly went pale; he hesitated. Ethan watched his subordinate, now visibly intimidated, with satisfaction. Almost out of a twisted sense of mercy, he looked at Sam with disdain, then glanced at me with a cold sneer on his lips. “Don’t be fooled by her act. She’s best at twisting facts, playing the victim, and lying. She lied about Penelope having thugs harass her, which made me miss Penelope’s most important competition trying to ‘save’ her.” “Afterward, I found out it was all her own scheme, just to make Penelope miss the competition and fail to get into college. She’s a wicked woman! I was tricked into getting her pregnant, then she used the child to force me into an engagement. Now she’s trying the same trick again to kill Penelope?!” “I’ve long seen through her manipulative ways. If she wants to play the victim and freeze in the ocean, then let her freeze!” With that, he turned his back, cradling a faint but blushing Penelope in his arms, and ascended into the helicopter. The helicopter’s propellers churned the sea into giant waves. My strength gave out; I could no longer hold on. As the final wave crashed over me, my consciousness was completely swallowed by darkness. My relationship with Ethan hadn’t always been this hostile. Before senior year of high school, I was his most cherished treasure. His phone and computer lock screens were set to my birthday. Our relationship soured when Beth Vance, the daughter of my family’s housekeeper, transferred to our class. Half a month after she arrived, I fell down the stairs one morning and broke my shin. At the time, I was preparing for a very important dance competition. Beth took my spot. That’s when I learned she also studied ballet, and she was exceptionally good. Ethan thought so too, just like I did. During the two weeks I was recovering at home, Beth became Ethan’s deskmate. Ethan made the first move. Beth had been cornered and “bullied” in the restroom by my best friends, and Ethan, passing by, rescued her. From that day on, Ethan became Beth’s knight. And I became the most irrelevant, most disgusting, villainous side character in their ambiguous romance. But in my past life, I was unwilling to let Ethan be stolen away, and I engaged in many childish acts of jealousy. When Beth set me up, I didn’t find evidence immediately, which made Ethan dislike me even more. Eventually, he even blocked me for Beth’s sake, and told both our parents he would never marry me. His only true love was Beth. Heartbroken, I fell into severe depression and went abroad for four years of university, staying away from him. But to my surprise, when I returned home, I found Beth had also gone abroad. Ethan, too, was heartbroken and despondent. I returned to his side, encouraging him to pursue his dreams. He chose to become a pilot, because Beth loved dancing, and this way, he could personally fly Beth to her competitions. I had originally planned to give up on him. But on the night Beth and Ethan argued and broke up, Ethan got drunk and forced himself on me. Afterward, he produced a drug test report from the liquor bottle, accusing me of being a shameless, conniving woman. In truth, I didn’t know who had drugged him. Helplessly, after that night, I became pregnant. Ethan was then pressured by his parents into getting engaged to me. During this time, Beth returned home. Ethan started not coming home, spending entire nights at her place. His behavior drove my past self to mad jealousy. To catch him cheating, I even booked a flight on the same plane as Beth. Then, at the critical moment, I pulled out the agreement his father and I had signed, stating that if I died, he wouldn’t inherit a penny of his fortune. Only then did Ethan agree to give me the life vest. I just never imagined that Ethan had never loved me or the child in my womb. Fortunately, I had a second chance. It was time to cut my losses. When I reopened my eyes, I saw a stark white ceiling. I was in the intensive care unit, hooked up to a ventilator, my breathing shallow. Seeing me awake, the nurse was overjoyed. “Ten ribs fractured, severe damage to both eardrums, skull fracture, punctured lung… You’re incredibly lucky to be alive!” She spoke quickly, my consciousness just pulling away from the memories of my past life. Even my soul ached. Half a month later, when I was discharged, Ethan still hadn’t shown up once. Uncle Dillon called him countless times during that period, but Ethan dismissed them all as lies concocted by me to deceive his parents. “Anya, you’re full of schemes and always trying to manipulate me, but now you’re dragging my parents into this act too? I’m truly ashamed of you!” He claimed he had more important things to do, which was to accompany his first love, as the heir of Dillon Enterprises, to various business events, building momentum for Beth’s upcoming debut.

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My best friend and James Sterling had been sworn enemies for twenty years, constantly bickering whenever they met. He was a special forces captain; she was the accompanying medic. The only thing they agreed on was to obey my every word. Everyone would laugh, calling them my ‘left and right-hand protectors.’ Until five months into my pregnancy, when I was tidying up James’s old belongings in our military housing, I found a heavy iron box. Opening it, I discovered all the letters he’d written before dangerous missions – his last wills. I picked up the topmost one, the ink still fresh, my fingertips trembling with tenderness. But the moment I unfolded the letter, I felt a chilling dread. The opening address wasn’t me. To my dearest Kate, My breath caught. My gaze frantically dropped, fixing on the last paragraph: If I fall, all my assets go to you. As for Norma, please take care of her. If she asks… tell her I never loved her. Don’t let her hate you; I’ll carry all the guilt alone. My hands shaking, I frantically opened every single letter. Seven hundred and thirty-two of them. Every single one began with “Kate” and ended with “Kate.” And Kate was none other than my best friend. 1 I knelt amidst the scattered letters. My fingertips trembled so much I couldn’t hold a thin piece of paper. Tears streamed uncontrollably, blurring the words on the pages. Kate, eat an extra bowl of the rice balls with fermented rice wine from that place on the west side of town for me tonight, the one you love. Kate, I’m sorry to make you sad again. Kate, after I’m gone, please scatter my ashes beneath that old locust tree, so I can always watch over you. The old locust tree. Our old locust tree. When I was eight, the devastating news of my parents’ sacrifice arrived. I curled up in the corner of the mourning hall, crying until no sound came out. James and Kate, one on each side, stubbornly held my hands, leading me away from the somber room. We ran to the old locust tree in the backyard, which had stood for countless years. Kate’s face was still tear-streaked, but she raised three fingers, pointing at the tree trunk, her voice choked yet incredibly clear: “Grandpa Locust, I swear to you, from now on, I will protect Norma for her mom and dad, for my entire life! No one is allowed to hurt her!” James immediately mimicked her, raising his fingers, his small face stern and determined. His voice was even louder than hers: “And me! I’ll protect Norma for my entire life too! Even longer than you!” Later, they did. My world, because of their presence, was safe and bright. The child in my womb seemed to sense my intense emotional turmoil, kicking restlessly. I instinctively clutched my belly, but my fingertips brushed against the letters scattered on the floor. My vision blurred again. I futilely tried to stuff the letters back into the box. But my hands wouldn’t obey, just fumbling wildly. Every letter felt like a scorching coal, burning, making my insides seize up. I don’t know how long passed, but I finally collapsed against the wall, drenched in cold sweat. From outside the door, I heard approaching footsteps and familiar bickering. Kate’s voice was crisp, tinged with her usual disdain for James: “James Sterling, slow down! So clumsy, you’ve spilled the fermented rice wine soup! Buying two portions isn’t enough, you had to clear out their whole pot, showing off how much you can eat, huh?” James’s voice was deep, equally tinged with his usual impatience: “What do you know? Norma’s pregnant now, her appetite is unpredictable. What’s wrong with buying more? What if she wanted to eat it?” The door opened. Kate peeked in first, saw me on the floor, and rushed over, helping me up. “Why are you sitting on the floor? Pregnant women shouldn’t get cold, hurry and get up!” James quickly put down the rice balls he was holding and ran over, checking my forehead with one hand and supporting me with the other. “What’s wrong? Are you feeling unwell?” I let them both help me up. Kate was the first to notice my swollen, red eyes, asking anxiously, “Why are your eyes so red? Did James bully you?! Tell me, I’ll punch him for you!” James looked at her exasperatedly, “Kate, don’t talk nonsense. I adore my wife; how could I possibly bully her!” He then turned back to me, gently cupping my face, his eyes full of concern. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” “Who hurt you?” “Or is your stomach upset? I’ll take you to the hospital right away.” 2 The concern in their eyes was utterly genuine. Kate even had tears welling in hers. But as James’s hand brushed my cheek, asking me softly, I clearly saw a fleeting look of disappointment and suppressed longing in Kate’s eyes. Before, I had never noticed. Now, it was so obvious. The cold words from the letters crashed into my mind again. Kate, tomorrow I’m going to propose to Norma. I know this is selfish, and incredibly unfair to you. But Norma… she needs me more. She’s too lonely. And you, Kate, you will always be the one I love most, my best comrade, the one I can always trust my back to. If there’s a next life, I promise I’ll marry you. At the end of the letter, there was a dark, irregular stain. Like a dried water mark. It must have been a tear. I once believed that marrying James was the greatest fortune of my life. I once believed that his kindness to me was truly because he loved me. Never did I imagine that all of it was merely his compassionate charity. How benevolent, and how cruel. A strong, metallic taste rose in my throat, which I desperately suppressed. I suddenly bent over, dry heaving violently. Nothing came up, only cold, acidic bile burning my esophagus. The child in my belly seemed startled, moving more fiercely. A tearing, dull pain erupted from my lower abdomen, quickly sweeping through my entire body. “Norma!” “Sweetheart!” Chaos, jostling. James’s arms around me were stiff as iron. Kate’s tearful voice was distant, then close. A warm dampness spread beneath me. The cold corridor of the military hospital, the harsh white lights flashing across my vision. I don’t know how long passed before the doctor removed his gloves. “I’m sorry, the fetal heartbeat has stopped. Sudden, severe intrauterine distress, leading to violent contractions… we couldn’t save the baby.” The baby. Gone. Five simple words, yet they drained every last bit of strength and warmth from my body. I heard Kate’s and James’s fractured voices by my ears. “Sweetheart, it’s alright… we’ll have a second, a third child later.” “Yes, Norma, don’t be scared. Once you recover, there will be more.” They sounded so distressed, so sincere. I just lay there, eyes open, my mind replaying not the words on the letters, but much older images. 3 In my senior year of high school, when I vaguely realized my feelings for James had surpassed mere friendship, I confided everything to Kate without reservation. Kate was stunned for a moment, then she looked at me with disdain: “Norma, how could you like him?” “He’s completely unworthy of you.” After that, Kate disliked James even more, almost falling into a cold war with him. On the day James and I officially became a couple, Kate and James had a huge fight. She cried until her eyes were red, but wouldn’t say a word about why. Later, James went to military academy, and Kate went to medical school. Both eventually joined the armed forces, and Kate became the accompanying medic for his team. Because my body couldn’t adapt to the military environment, Kate held my hand and said, “Norma, don’t worry, I’ll keep a close eye on James for you.” Later, James proposed to me, and Kate cried uncontrollably at our wedding. She clutched James’s collar, her voice choked yet fierce: “James Sterling, if you ever dare to treat Norma badly, I’ll be the first to come after you.” James, uncharacteristically, didn’t talk back. He just looked at her trembling lips, his eyes red, and softly replied, “Alright.” From then on, James’s attitude towards her subtly shifted. When Kate criticized him, most of the time he just listened. Sometimes he would even indulge her, saying, “You’re absolutely right.” The day I found out I was pregnant, Kate cried again. That night, she drank a lot, crying and drinking. She said, “Norma, I’m so happy for you, you’re going to be a mother…” “I probably won’t ever get married. Your child will be my child.” “Norma… I really envy you…” She was incoherent, but I just assumed she was drunk. Later, James walked her home. He was gone for a long time. When he returned, his eyes were a bit red, and his lip was cut. He said it was too dark downstairs, and he accidentally ran into a wall. Kate was never one to cry easily. Yet, whenever it involved James and me, her tears seemed to flow effortlessly. Once, I asked her, “Kate, all these years, have you truly never liked anyone?” She suddenly looked up, quickly glanced at James, and smiled, saying, “Of course. I’ve recently taken a liking to a younger guy. I’ll introduce him to you later.” As Kate said this, the glass in James’s hand fell and shattered. And that younger guy, I never saw him. So, everything had been there for me to see. I just never did, or rather, I never wanted to. Now, they knelt before my bed, crying their hearts out. I looked at their two tear-streaked faces, contorted with pain. Suddenly, even breathing felt cold. Finally, I simply closed my eyes and said softly, “I’m tired.” 4 Late at night, James and Kate left the hospital room. I opened my eyes, got out of bed, and followed them. At the end of the corridor, James drew Kate into his arms, comforting her softly. “It’s alright, don’t be too sad.” His hand gently patted Kate’s back, a familiar and tender gesture. Kate’s face was buried in his shoulder, her shoulders subtly shaking. “But… the baby…” Her voice was broken. “Norma… she loved this baby so much…” “If I hadn’t insisted on you accompanying me to watch the sunrise in Westview today, or going to the movies, or buying those rice balls…” “It’s not your fault, this was an accident. No one wanted this.” James interrupted her, his jaw brushing against the top of her head. This intimate gesture made my stomach churn again. Early this morning, James had said he had a small mission, and Kate needed to accompany him. His tone was normal; he even tucked me into bed thoughtfully, telling me to get more rest. I’d seen the red veins in his eyes and just assumed he was tired, even feeling concerned for his safety. How could I have suspected? They were my husband and my most trusted friend. One protected the country, the other saved lives. All my trust, at this moment, seemed so laughable. Kate looked up, her tear stains glistening in the dim light. “James, I suddenly feel so guilty towards Norma. She’s your wife.” James looked at her, the emotions in his eyes so thick they almost spilled over. It was pain, tenderness, struggle. It was a gaze of complete devotion, a mix of all complex emotions, directed solely at one person. That look had never rested on me with such intensity. “Kate, don’t overthink it,” his voice was hoarse. “I’m the one who wronged you.” “As for Norma… I’ll take good care of her.” A deeper pain and self-reproach flickered in Kate’s eyes. She opened her mouth, then once again buried her face deeply in his embrace. And I stood in the shadows. Watching my husband and my best friend. In the dead of night, just after I lost my child, they were licking each other’s wounds. The most painful thing, it turned out, wasn’t their deception. It was this unspoken, deeply ingrained connection and sorrow between them. That shared, secret world that completely shut me out. I didn’t disturb them. I just slowly, step by step, retreated back to my room. The next day, Kate’s eyes were still swollen, but she had already put on a disdainful expression, criticizing James’s porridge for being too hot and the side dishes too salty. James, frowning, occasionally retorted. But neither of them mentioned the baby. If it were before, seeing them like this, I would have felt reassured, felt happy. But now, I leaned against the headboard, watching quietly. Every deliberately averted glance. Every unnatural pause. Every raised voice to mask their guilt in an argument. Each was like a fine needle, pricking my heart. I started to become silent. All day, I either stared blankly out the window or closed my eyes, pretending to sleep. Talking required effort. Dealing with things required energy. And all my effort and energy had vanished with that little life I never met.

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1 Fifth year of long-distance with Adrian Chase. My phone always kept the weather updated for two cities. The forecast showed a massive blizzard hitting Sterling City tomorrow. The last time we parted at the station, he’d cried, promising me, “Elara, when the first snow falls in Sterling City this year, let’s get married, okay?” So, I immediately bought a red-eye flight ticket, flying to Sterling City overnight. Clutching my ID documents, I was bubbling with excitement and anticipation, eager to seal our marriage. Amidst the swirling snow, I spotted Adrian Chase, impeccably dressed in a suit, through the display window of a bridal boutique. Before I could even feel a surge of joy, a playful figure flung herself into his arms. Adrian wrapped an arm around the woman’s waist, gently kissing her lips. “You look so beautiful in that wedding dress, Chanel, truly my fiancée.” “I love you far more than I ever loved Elara Thorne.” My heart seized up. My ID documents slipped from my trembling fingers, clattering to the ground. My boyfriend of ten years had cheated on me with my best friend. … Feathery snowflakes drifted down, catching on my eyelashes. Having lived in the south for so many years, I had never seen such a heavy snowfall. But I had no mind to admire it, my eyes glued to Adrian and Chanel through the glass window. One was the love of my youth. The other, my best friend, with whom I shared everything. The sight of them passionately kissing was a shock too intense to bear. Chanel, gasping, her face flushed, reluctantly pulled away from Adrian’s lips. She daintily lifted the hem of the wedding dress, twirling in front of the mirror. Adrian’s eyes were brimming with so much love it threatened to spill over. “Miss Hall, your fiancé personally designed this wedding dress for you, it’s truly exquisite, the most beautiful one we’ve ever had in our shop.” “Love certainly suits you. Your five-year romance is finally blossoming into marriage.” Chanel turned to Adrian, her eyes sparkling. “Adrian, I absolutely adore the first snow gift you gave me!” “They say those who witness the first snow together grow old together. So, please take care of me for the rest of our lives!” I heard every word, yet couldn’t comprehend any of it. When did my boyfriend become my best friend’s fiancé? What was this about a five-year romance, as the assistant had said? My mind was a chaotic mess, the neon lights in my vision blurring. The next second, Adrian curved his lips into a smile, then suddenly knelt on one knee before Chanel. My gaze followed his movement, finally settling on the engagement ring nestled in the red velvet box. “Oh!” Chanel gasped, her hands lightly covering her mouth, tears welling in her eyes. Adrian reverently held up the ring. “Chanel, I love you, so very much. Will you marry me?” “I want to grow old with you, never to be separated, on this day of the first snow.” The shop assistants cheered, capturing the touching proposal on their phones. As I watched Adrian carefully slide the ring onto Chanel’s ring finger, my heart felt as though it was being shredded by a thousand needles, a bloody mess. Hot tears streamed down my face, rolling into my mouth. Inside, they seemed to be living out a romantic, blissful fairy tale. My thousand-mile journey for a surprise had turned into a terrifying shock. It turned out Adrian’s first-snow promise could also be for another woman. It turned out Chanel, who always seemed so kind to me, could shamelessly monopolize my boyfriend behind my back. My fingers dug hard into the wall. How I yearned to rush in and confront them, to strip them of all their dignity. But my legs felt like lead, unable to move forward. Adrian embraced Chanel, asking the assistant lazily, “Do you have other wedding dress styles here?” “Yes, we can show you pictures and expedite the making.” “No need to see them. Just pick two and send them to me.” Two minutes later, I received a message from Adrian. He sent me three pictures of wedding dresses. Baby, feeling utterly drained from overtime, but looking at these wedding dress pictures and imagining you in them, I feel completely recharged. Take a look, pick whichever one you like, and I’ll take you to buy it later. 2 My tears, no longer held back, streamed down, hitting the snowdrifts and melting small holes. The contrast between love and indifference was so stark. Adrian had personally designed Chanel’s wedding dress, bringing her to the shop to try it on the day of the first snow. He had lied, claiming he was working late, but in reality, he was proposing to Chanel behind my back. Even the wedding dress pictures he sent me were just a casual selection from the assistant, meant to placate me. If he had bothered to look closely, he would have known that the designs had patterns and small details I disliked. But he chose to be perfunctory. If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, the moment I received his message, I truly would have been moved to tears. Inside the shop, Adrian knelt down, holding Chanel’s foot with one hand, gently rubbing her chafed heel with the other. She sighed, “Adrian, when are you going to break up with Elara?” “Do you think if she finds out about us, she and I won’t be friends anymore?” Adrian paused. “Soon. Next time I see her, I’ll tell her we’re breaking up.” “Mainly, my parents really like her. I’ll just use her as a shield for a while. After all, her family did us a favor back then.” I couldn’t bear to listen any longer, stumbling through the snow and running away in a daze. Like a ghost, I wandered aimlessly down the street. My gaze was drawn to a small coffee shop. Its name was “Chanel & Adrian’s Love.” My heart felt as though it had been struck by something heavy. I pushed open the door. The assistant recommended a signature item. “This is a coffee flavor created by our owner and her fiancé; everyone loves it.” “Their five-year story is as romantic as a novel. We even have a display wall in our shop!” I followed the assistant’s gesture. The white wall was covered with intimate photos of Adrian and Chanel. Standing before the photo wall, reading the small captions, the color slowly drained from my face. March 5th. I collapsed at my desk due to menstrual cramps. Colleagues took me to the hospital, and Adrian ordered white porridge for me via delivery. On that same day, he, who claimed to be away on a business trip, took Chanel to a wild concert. April 17th, our anniversary. I bought a train ticket, preparing to come see him. He said, “Baby, this project is too important; I can’t get away. For our future little family, let’s skip this anniversary, okay?” So I canceled my ticket. In reality, that day he took Chanel to take beautiful couple photos. April 29th. I found out I was pregnant. Helpless, I was both thrilled and anxious. I desperately wanted to see him. “Adrian, we’re having a baby. Can you come here?” His face was grim. “Elara, we can have babies later. Now isn’t the right time.” “Let’s work hard, earn more money, and then welcome a baby, okay?” Seeing his tired face, I nodded. On the day of the procedure, I lay trembling in the hospital. His phone was unreachable. Later, he told me he was in an emergency meeting. Now, looking at the photos, I knew. Chanel’s hand had a slight red scratch from a stray cat. In the photo, Adrian was diligently applying medicine to her wound. He said, “I won’t let Chanel get hurt again.” Chanel’s barely noticeable injury caused him immense distress, yet he left me, having miscarried, alone on the operating table. I felt like I had never known this Adrian Chase. The Adrian in Sterling City, who, over the phone, told me, a thousand miles away, that his future plans always included me. The Adrian who, in every moment I needed him most, lied to me, shamelessly staying by Chanel’s side. Seeing my tear-filled eyes, the assistant mistakenly thought I was moved by her bosses’ love story. “Our boss came all the way from Aurora City to Sterling City to open this shop, just so she could see her beloved every day.” “They just opened in January, and Mr. Chase has been coming to help every day, afraid our Director Hall would get tired. He even supervised her three meals a day, so gentle and thoughtful!” 3 The coffee in my hand clattered to the floor. The sound of shattered hope and despair echoed in my mind. In January, for an entire month, I felt like I was walking through an abyss. At that time, I had just resigned from my previous job and started at a new company. As a result, my interpersonal relationships were a mess. My boss constantly undermined me, and endless overtime drained all my energy. Colleagues relentlessly sabotaged me, almost driving me insane; I lost ten pounds in three days. I could only call Adrian late at night, sobbing hysterically. In those moments, I yearned for him to be by my side, to give me a hug, a concrete word of comfort and support. But he told me he’d been pulled into a huge project, and it would be at least two months before he could break away to see me. In the video, his eyes were red with concern; usually so strong, his voice caught when he called my name. “Elara, if only we were together, I wouldn’t have to watch you cry through a screen, unable to do anything but feel my heart tear.” “Quit your job, come to Sterling City, I’ll take care of you. With you here, I won’t fear anything.” Tears streamed down my face. I pressed my phone to my chest, as if that would bring him closer. When I looked at him, I nodded and shook my head. “No, I can’t be a clinging vine, dependent on you.” “Adrian, trust me, I can handle everything and establish myself in the new company!” He smiled, reassured, sending me kisses and hugs through the screen. “I, Adrian Chase, unconditionally believe our great warrior Elara will surely impress everyone!” Distance was an issue, but we deeply loved each other. He called me punctually every day to make me laugh, sending me money to buy small gifts. I couldn’t believe that during that hellish month, he was also busy renovating a coffee shop with Chanel. Striving for a future where they could see each other every day. Adrian, his love could actually be split into two. Under the stunned gaze of the assistant, I walked out of the coffee shop. The next second, my mother called. Her voice on the other end was filled with excitement. “Darling, have you seen Adrian? Have you two gotten married yet?” She knew I was planning to marry Adrian. In a moment of distraction, my foot slipped, and I landed squarely on the nearby steps. Sharp pain shot through my body, leaving me a messy heap. An overwhelming sense of grievance washed over me. I couldn’t hold back anymore and broke down, sobbing uncontrollably. “Mom, Adrian and I can’t get married. He stopped loving me a long time ago.” “He cheated on me. Five years. He lied to me for five whole years. Does he really have no heart?” My mother, hearing my breakdown, was anxious but helpless. She said, “Darling, people change. Seventeen-year-old Adrian loved you genuinely and purely, but twenty-seven-year-old Adrian isn’t the same man who once favored only you in the whole world.” Tears silently fell into the snow. In my first year of high school, I transferred to Adrian’s class. In the new semester, I struggled to keep up, my grades steadily dropping. I secretly cried over my report card. Adrian, my deskmate, wiped away my tears with a tissue. “Don’t cry. I’ll tutor you; I promise your grades will soar!” A semester later, I had made incredible progress. From being at the bottom, I, like him, consistently ranked among the top three in the class. My reliance on him truly shifted when he witnessed my alcoholic father beating me. In that alley, he recklessly pulled my abusive father away, grabbing my wrist and running. The teenager’s embrace was warm, his heart beating faster and faster in his chest. “Elara Thorne, I will protect you. Trust me.” I clutched his school uniform tightly. “Promise me, Adrian, don’t lie to me.”

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1 The first thing I did after being diagnosed with late-stage brain cancer was to sleep with my husband’s brother. Liam burst through the door, his foot crushing a discarded ultra-thin condom. I’d never seen such a deranged look on his face. He’d beaten a man to a bloody pulp, then gripped my throat, his voice trembling. “Why would you do this? Have you lost your mind?” I gasped for air, nearly suffocating, but a laugh still escaped my lips. Why? Because I was dying. Before I faced the end, I wanted to taste that forbidden pleasure, the one that drove him so mad. … The ambulance’s red lights vanished completely outside the window. A suffocating silence hung in the room, the mingled stench of blood and lust nauseating. Liam still stood in the living room’s center, his chest heaving, blood dripping from his clenched fists onto the floor. His eyes, bloodshot and furious, were fixed on me. Yet, beneath the rage, something else within them shattered. “Why?” His voice was raspy, broken. “Why would you do this to me?” I didn’t flinch, just pulled the torn silk robe tighter around myself. “Why?” My voice was barely a whisper. “Shouldn’t that be my line, Mr. Weston?” “Because you enjoyed sleeping with my once-best friend so much.” I took a step closer, the metallic scent of his blood mingling with the lingering notes of the expensive cologne Scarlett adored. “So much that you crawled into her bed again and again, like a desperate dog.” “So, I wanted to try it, too. See just how ‘good’ my husband’s brother was.” I watched his face drain of all color, each word a poisoned dart. “You’ve slept with her how many times? Well, I’ve slept with just as many men. Tonight was just bad luck, you walking in on me.” Liam’s face went utterly white. “The past… I was a bastard. Can we just move past it?” He looked at me, his eyes bloodshot, pleading. “I know you’re saying all this to provoke me. I promise I’ll never see her again. We can go back to how things were when we first got married, please?” “Go back to how things were?” I numbly glanced down at my trembling fingertips. The doctor’s words were still etched in my mind. “You’ve missed the optimal treatment window.” Meaning: no cure. So there was no “after” for me, only a countdown. Liam knew nothing of this. Just as he’d never know that Scarlett shared every intimate detail of their affair with me, day after day. And of course, his promises were hollow. No sooner had the words left his lips than his phone chimed with Scarlett’s custom ringtone—a soft, suggestive melody. Liam stiffened. “Go on, answer it,” I said, leaning against the wall and lighting a cigarette. “Put it on speaker. Let me hear what earth-shattering crisis my ‘best friend’ is facing this time.” Liam hesitated, then answered. Even without speakerphone, Scarlett’s fragile, tearful voice was distinct. “Liam, Chase is banging on my door again… I’m so scared.” The veneer of composure and guilt Liam wore instantly crumbled, replaced by frantic worry. “Don’t be scared! Lock the door, I’m on my way!” he yelled into the phone, turning to grab his jacket without even a glance at me. “Liam.” I called his name. He turned back, his eyes alight with undisguised urgency and impatience. “Eliza, you know Chase is a lunatic. I have to go!” I couldn’t help but laugh, and as I did, a sharp pain spread through my chest. But you just said you wouldn’t see her again. You said the same thing when you abandoned me on our anniversary. When I was writhing in cramps from my period, you held her, startled, and called me to say: “Scarlett needs me right now. It’s just your period, Eliza, can’t you just tough it out?” Time and again, I believed, only to be drenched in disappointment. I was beyond sick of it. “Call the cops,” I said. “Are 911 services broken? Does it require your personal intervention, Mr. Weston?” “Eliza!” Liam’s face was a mixture of disbelief and profound disappointment. “That’s Scarlett! Your best friend! Are you really going to let me abandon her? How did you get so cold-hearted?” “Yes, I’m cold-hearted.” My expression remained detached, but my clasped hands trembled slightly. “I’m also wicked, shameless, and I just slept with your brother. If you leave me alone here, aren’t you afraid I’ll find another Julian?” Liam’s face was a mottled canvas of white and green, his breathing ragged. Scarlett’s tearful pleas on the phone continued, an urgent death knell. He stared at me for a few agonizing seconds, the conflict in his eyes finally hardening into resolve. “I love you, but I genuinely don’t have time for this drama right now.” The sigh escaped him, and he snatched his jacket, heading for the door. It slammed shut. My phone screen lit up. A message from Scarlett. “I’m truly sorry.” “But compared to you, I really do love him more.” “And he really does love me more.” If someone had told eighteen-year-old Eliza, that one day Scarlett would sleep with Liam, she would have furiously denied it. It was too absurd, how could it be? Scarlett and I were both orphans, growing up together in the same foster care facility, leaning on each other. She worked three jobs to put me through college. I put her name on my property deed, to give her a sense of security. And Liam? He’d secretly loved me for over a decade. Handwritten love letters, rooftop confessions—everyone knew it in high school. They were the two people who loved me most. I still remembered our wedding day, Scarlett crying and cursing in front of all the guests: “You dog! If you dare make Eliza shed even a single tear, I swear I’ll never forgive you!” My heart had swelled with so much gratitude for their love back then. The truth, when it was finally laid bare, was far more brutal. In my second month of pregnancy, Scarlett was beaten by her abusive husband and hospitalized. Two broken ribs, her face swollen like a balloon. I stayed by her bedside for three days, begging Liam to find her the best doctors and lawyers. After she was discharged, Scarlett had nowhere to go. I begged Liam again to let her stay in our guest room temporarily. “Just for a little while, until she finds her own place, okay?” I pleaded, tugging on Liam’s hand. He frowned, looking reluctant. “Scarlett and I don’t really get along. I don’t want to turn our home into a circus.” But ultimately, he couldn’t resist my persistent nagging and nodded. It was me who pulled strings to get Scarlett’s son into a good preschool. It was me, again, who asked Liam to find her a low-stress job at his company. I ran around, doing everything I could to make her life easier. While I, with my growing belly, was helping her fight her abusive ex-husband, Scarlett and Liam were busy in a passionate affair. The day the appeal came through, sentencing her ex-husband to five months in jail, I burst through the door, excited to share the good news. And that’s when I saw Scarlett, naked, perched on the coffee table, moaning as if at death’s door. Liam was kissing her neck, their lower bodies pressed tightly together. For a full minute, lost in their love-haze, they didn’t notice me, standing there, my face chalk-white. The fool, I had invited a wolf into my home. I had believed in a sisterly bond, strong as steel, believed true love could never spoil. Even God must have found me laughable. And so, I was punished. Punished to be betrayed by my only friend and my beloved husband. Punished to have only a few dozen hours left of my life. Liam slammed the door and didn’t come back. The next day, he sent a text. “Urgent company matter, out of town for a few days. Rest well at home.” Urgent matter? Was it an urgent roll in the hay with Scarlett, or an urgent parent-teacher conference for her son? Well, it was for the best. With only a few days left, I wouldn’t have to see that repulsive face. I pushed myself up, my legs weak and trembling, and began to tie up loose ends. A coffin, it turned out, was surprisingly heavy. Or maybe it was just that I had no strength left. The funeral home director probably hadn’t encountered a client so young and composed, and seemed hesitant. I simply looked down and said, “It’s for myself.” Next, I found a lawyer to draft my will. Finally, the letter. My pen hovered for a long time. Images flickered through my mind: Scarlett’s innocent smile as a child, Liam’s fervent declarations of love in our youth. They all coalesced into two entwined bodies. I smiled bitterly, writing only one sentence: “Please scatter my ashes in the ocean.” By the time I finished, night had fallen. My head throbbed violently, like a drill boring into my brain. The doctor had warned me: the final stage would bring pain, blindness, loss of consciousness. I almost wished it would come quickly. But one lingering desire tugged at me, a last thread of defiance. I wanted to ride the Ferris wheel one more time. I’d only ridden it twice in my life. The first time was when I was ten. Scarlett and I collected scrap metal in the hills behind the orphanage for three months, saved up enough money, and hand-in-hand, climbed into that old, rickety Ferris wheel at the rundown amusement park. At the very top, we swore to the city laid out beneath us like a box of matches: “Scarlett and Eliza will be best friends forever, never to be separated!” The second time was my twentieth birthday. Liam rented out the entire Ferris wheel. As we reached the highest point, he pulled out a ring, his voice trembling with nerves: “Eliza, marry me. I’ll love you, protect you, and be good to you for the rest of our lives.” How ironic. But I still wanted to go. Because it was the only joy left in my absurd life. The amusement park was crowded on the weekend. I stood in the long queue, my head splitting, my vision beginning to blur. I squeezed my hand tightly, waiting for the wave of dizziness to pass. Then, I saw them. Liam, Scarlett, and her son, Leo. Scarlett brushed a strand of hair from Liam’s forehead, a picture of domestic bliss. They looked like any ordinary family of three on a weekend outing, taking their child to the park. I stood there, my blood instantly frozen. I thought my heart was dead, that nothing could hurt me anymore. But seeing that tender scene, I broke. Her child was growing up happily. My child was a bloody mess on a hospital floor. That night, sticky blood had spread beneath me, and the doctor had regretfully announced: “I’m sorry, your uterus ruptured. We couldn’t save the baby.” It was after I discovered their affair that I went mad, throwing all of Scarlett’s things out. Liam, rushing to protect her, accidentally pushed me in the chaos. Just that one push. My baby was gone. Later, I asked Scarlett why she did this to me. She just looked at me, smiling gently as she always had. “Eliza, don’t blame Liam. He’s just soft-hearted, he felt sorry for Leo and me.” “But honestly, Liam is so much better in bed than Chase, and much more… forceful. He never did that to you, did he? He always said you were like a dead fish, so boring.” “He said he’d put Leo’s name on the deed for the school-district apartment. It’ll be our home. You can’t have children anyway, so there’s no point in you holding onto it.” “Oh, and remember when you had those terrible cramps and went to the hospital? Liam was going to go, but I told him I was scared, and he said you wouldn’t die from a little pain…” Breathing became difficult. An invisible hand squeezed my heart, the pain so intense I doubled over. The line moved slowly forward. They were getting closer, close enough to hear Leo’s joyful laughter. Finally, it was their turn. Liam carefully placed Leo into a gondola, then helped Scarlett in. The door closed, and they began to ascend. I dragged my heavy steps, entering the gondola right behind theirs. As we reached the highest point, I saw it in the gondola ahead. Liam leaned down and kissed Scarlett. A soft, tender kiss. Leo, sitting between them, clapped his little hands, giggling happily. In that moment, all sound vanished. My pale, distorted face was reflected in the glass. The pain in my brain reached its peak. I clutched my head, screaming, but it brought no relief. Let this be it. At the highest point of the Ferris wheel, where my love began and my friendship was buried. My life, too, reached its end. Fireworks exploded, their joyous cracks drowning out the wail of an ambulance. Liam, holding Scarlett’s and Leo’s hands, walked towards the exit, a strange restlessness in his heart. Scarlett looked at him, concerned. “Is Eliza faking sick again to get you to come back? Maybe you should go be with her.” “No, we promised Leo we’d celebrate his birthday.” Liam suppressed the unsettling feeling, driving to buy Leo his favorite Ultraman cake. When the candles were blown out, Scarlett gently asked, “What did our little darling wish for?” “I wish that bad woman would hurry up and die.” No sooner had the words left his lips than Liam sharply smacked the boy’s backside, sternly saying, “Don’t say such things!” Leo burst into tears, and Scarlett protectively pulled the child into her arms. “What was that for? Kids say the darndest things,” she said. “Besides, wasn’t it Eliza who was unreasonable, throwing out all our things and scaring Leo?” The memory of that day was too painful; the feeling of indirectly causing his own child’s death was not easy to bear. Liam irritably went out to the balcony to smoke. Scarlett walked over and leaned into his embrace, playfully. “You promised Leo that school-district apartment. You can’t let Eliza’s little tantrums mess up Leo’s big future.” The man was silent for a moment, then conceded. “I know.” That night, Liam, as usual, held Scarlett as he fell asleep, but an unreasoning dread clung to him. He sent many messages. But his wife didn’t reply to a single one. Had she gone to find another man to provoke him again? At four in the morning, Liam’s head throbbed, unbearable. He decided to go home. He thought, maybe I should buy some flowers to appease her. Eliza loved lilies, he wondered if he could even find them at this hour. Liam was distractedly pondering this when his phone suddenly rang urgently. “Who is it?” Scarlett frowned, opening her eyes. Liam pressed the answer button. In the darkness, the voice on the other end was grave and clear. “Hello, is this Mr. Weston? Your wife, Eliza Weston, passed away half an hour ago after surgery failed to save her. Please come to the hospital as soon as possible to identify the body.”

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When my fiancé passed away in the earthquake, he entrusted his brother, Aaron Hayes, with my care. That care lasted five whole years. One night, fueled by alcohol, we lost control and conceived a child. Thinking of the diamond ring he kept hidden in his drawer, I rushed home, eager to surprise him. But as I stepped inside, I interrupted a passionate scene between him and the woman he’d always loved. My face went white, and I scrambled to flee. He called out, his voice hoarse, “Eliza, could you grab me a pack of condoms?” I clutched my pregnancy test results, my smile more grotesque than a cry. I bought the items and returned, only for Aaron to Venmo me a hundred dollars for my troubles. Scarlett glanced at the box, her eyes filled with open hostility toward me. “Aaron, your sister-in-law might look innocent, but she has sharp tastes!” Aaron’s sharp gaze cut over to me. “Eliza, you’re still a child, you shouldn’t be looking at inappropriate things. Go stay at a hotel for a few days and come back later!” I aborted our child, obediently left, and never returned. 1 The doctor looked at me, perplexed, as I reappeared. “Is something bothering you?” It wasn’t surprising she asked. When I’d first learned I was pregnant, my face had been flushed with excitement. Now, it was utterly pale. “Please schedule the earliest possible abortion for me.” Having witnessed countless human dramas, the doctor didn’t try to dissuade me. But when it came to signing the consent forms, she insisted I find a family member to sign. I pulled out my phone and instinctively pressed the speed dial. The phone beeped once before Aaron hung up, faster than my own reflexes. I gave a bitter smile and told the doctor, “I don’t have any family; I’ll have to sign myself.” After the procedure, I saw that Aaron had taken a moment to send me a screenshot of a hotel booking. He was so thoughtful, he’d booked me a room for a week. “Unless it’s life or death, don’t bother me these next few days. You understand.” When I saw that diamond ring on her hand, what was there left for me not to understand? How laughable, my self-deception, believing the ring was for me. Even more laughable, that I thought he would remember that night of utter abandon. I glanced at the bloody, indistinct embryo, my heart dead inside as I left. The luxury suite had everything, comparable to the cozy bedroom Aaron had decorated for me. But as I curled up under the covers, I felt nothing but a chilling cold. My hands trembled as I dialed a number. “Professor Miller, you mentioned assembling a team to go to Africa for medical aid. Count me in.” Professor Miller, ever perceptive, was delighted that I wanted to join but also asked tentatively, “Eliza, didn’t you say before that your brother-in-law was worried about you going to Africa? Did you two have an argument?” “Don’t be stubborn and run off with me. He’ll go frantic digging up the earth to find you later!” Professor Miller’s concern was natural. After Aaron and I had that chaotic night, I’d slipped away early, mortified, while he was still asleep. Afterward, he acted as if nothing had happened, treating me with the same big-brother demeanor. Angry that he wouldn’t acknowledge what we’d done, I had silently gone traveling to clear my head. As a result, Aaron had turned the whole town upside down looking for me. Everyone knew he cherished his sister-in-law more than his own eyes. Seeing the news, I automatically interpreted it to mean I was very important to him. Turns out, I was overthinking. Now, he could spend a passionate night with the woman of his heart and put me up in a hotel for a week. Once they were married, there would certainly be no place for me in that home. I also didn’t want to watch him and another woman in sweet affection day after day. “Professor, he’s agreed to it.” “Alright, then I’ll submit your name to the list. I’ll send you the materials shortly so you can prepare.” Looking at the documents, I booked my flight for seven days later. Perfect, I’d stay in the hotel for seven days, then leave. As for what to bring, I tried to recall, but it seemed there was nothing I absolutely needed. Since the earthquake, homeless, everything I owned had been bought by Aaron. He covered all my expenses, so the inheritance my parents left me remained untouched. I owed him. I kept a small amount for myself and transferred the money I owed him back to the card he’d given me. After doing all this, my mind clear, I fell into a deep sleep. In my slumber, I felt the building sway again. The phone rang repeatedly, but I didn’t hear it at all. Then, an urgent knocking at the door. “Eliza? Open the door!” 2 Aaron’s anxious voice left me disoriented, unsure of where I was. Groggy, I opened the door. He saw I was unharmed, let out a sigh of relief, then erupted in anger. “What’s wrong with you? Not answering calls, not replying to messages—is it fun to scare me like this?” I picked up my phone and saw a string of missed calls from Aaron. While I’d been sleeping, another earthquake had hit. “I’m sorry, I was sleeping too deeply to hear.” “Liar! You’re terrified of earthquakes. Every time there’s even a slight tremor, you can’t sleep!” It was true. Whenever that happened, he would stay up all night with me, constantly telling me he would protect me. Even if the building collapsed, he’d be there, ready to die with me. I glanced at the misbuttoned buttons on his shirt, a strange warmth spreading in my heart. He did care about my safety after all. But the hickey on his neck told me not to flatter myself. He was only protecting me, a poor orphan like himself, because of his brother’s dying wish. “Maybe I was just too tired.” Aaron clearly didn’t believe me. He stared at my face for a few seconds, then coldly scolded me. “Why did you paint your face so white in the middle of the night? Just to trick me into coming over?” I looked up, seeing the displeasure in his eyes. Before, when the earth shook, he would tell my pale face not to be afraid. Now, deathly pale from a miscarriage, he claimed I’d painted my face to trick him. I tugged at the corners of my lips, my heart feeling like a plum steeped in ice water. “It was my fault for ruining your plans, Big Brother. You should go back to your fiancée.” It had been a long time since I’d called him “Big Brother.” The title, slipping from my tongue, made Aaron’s thin lips press into a taut line. His eyes, dark as a deep pool, held an emotion I couldn’t decipher. “Come back with me. If there are aftershocks, I’d rather you be with me. Scarlett and I would both feel better.” “Lest you cause more trouble.” “I won’t cause trouble. You go!” I stood stubbornly, refusing to move. Aaron’s brow furrowed, his patience worn thin. “Just because you wouldn’t answer your phone, I left Scarlett alone at home. Can’t you be a little more considerate?” But I had already aborted the baby and resolved to leave without a word. Wasn’t that considerate enough? Before I could speak, Aaron’s phone rang opportunely. A sweet, delicate female voice sobbed, “Aaron, when are you coming back? I’m a little scared…” “Don’t be scared, Scarlett, I’ll be right back!” Aaron soothed her gently, while giving me a pointed look. I was already content that he’d thought of me first when the earthquake hit. A non-relative, he had looked after me for years. If I still didn’t get the hint, I’d be ungrateful. Aaron couldn’t hang up the phone right away, and I still refused to leave. So he forcefully hoisted me onto his shoulder and headed for the elevator. I struggled violently, telling him to put me down, and accidentally knocked his phone to the ground. Annoyed, he reached out and slapped my bottom. The sharp smack echoed in the hallway, making both of us stiffen. The heat of his palm, through the thin fabric, burned uncomfortably against my skin. Thinking of that wild night, my icy body instantly flushed hot. A young girl passing by stifled a giggle and ran off, but at the corner, I heard her voice message to a friend, gossiping: “Just saw the cutest couple! I bet they won’t leave their hotel room for three days!” Aaron was already frozen, startled by his own impulsive action. Hearing this, he immediately dropped me, as if I were scorching hot. The usually composed man blushed right down to his neck. “Look at the trouble you’ve caused! How embarrassing! I shouldn’t have bothered with you!” With that, he picked up his phone and left alone. I used all my strength to stand steady, holding on until the elevator doors were almost closed before I could no longer bear it. He was the one who forcibly carried me away, and he was the one who crossed the line by hitting my bottom. If that was embarrassing, then what was getting me pregnant? My emotions surged, and the blood flow below wouldn’t stop. Everything went black, and I fell straight backward. The young girl, hearing the commotion, quickly shouted towards the elevator, “Hey, your girlfriend fainted!” 3 I struggled to open my eyes, seeing only the numbers on the elevator screen rapidly descending. It finally stopped on the first floor and remained motionless for a long time. The young girl, having only half-finished her gossip, rushed over and helped me up. Seeing the pools of blood spreading beneath me, she was indignant. “What happened? Did your boyfriend just abandon you and run off?” I gave a bitter smile. “You misunderstand, he’s not my boyfriend.” She, however, automatically assumed we’d had a fight and broken up. I leaned on her for support, trying to get back to my room, but after only a few steps, I completely passed out. When I opened my eyes again, all I saw was sterile white. The familiar scent of disinfectant reminded me I was in a hospital. “You’re awake?” The nurse, after confirming I was alright, began to chatter. “What’s going on with your emergency contact? I called several times, but they just hung up on me.” “The young girl who brought you to the hospital paid your medical bills.” I took out my phone and checked the call history. My heart understood; Aaron was truly angry. But I no longer had the energy to explain or seek reconciliation. I was even grateful he hadn’t answered, otherwise, my miscarriage wouldn’t have remained a secret. I rested in the hospital for a few days, then returned to the hotel to retrieve my luggage. But I was told Aaron had already checked me out. The attendant handed me my luggage apologetically, though her eyes held a hint of amusement. As I left, the whispers behind me reached my ears, word for word. “She’s fallen out of favor, hasn’t she?” “Mr. Hayes is already engaged. There’s no place for his sister-in-law anymore.” “I thought that after being by Mr. Hayes’s side for so many years, she’d have the advantage, but who knew she’d still lose to his first love!” In the hotel lobby, a preview of Aaron and Scarlett’s engagement party tomorrow was playing. I seemed not to hear, hailed a taxi, and headed for the airport. The scenery outside the window blurred backward, and I closed my eyes, exhausted. The car drove for a long time without reaching its destination, and when I opened my eyes, I realized something was wrong. Panic set in. I glanced at the rearview mirror; the masked driver’s accidental gaze was like a venomous snake. Forcing myself to stay calm, I pulled out my phone to call for help. The masked man noticed my intention, sneered, and slammed on the brakes. “Too late now.” He got out and pressed a wet cloth over my mouth and nose. My consciousness immediately blurred. He snatched my phone, his voice mocking. “Trying to call for help?” “How about we make a bet? If he answers your call, I’ll let you go. If he doesn’t… hehe…” The man used my fingerprint to unlock the phone and dialed the top contact. Sure enough, Aaron didn’t answer. Then he directly hung up. On the last attempt, he finally picked up. I tried to call for help, but the sound that came out was barely a whisper. On the other end, he was furious. “Eliza Lee, get your identity straight! My brother is dead. You’re nothing more than a stranger to me! Don’t try to cling to me anymore!” His roar was deafening, mixed with the masked man’s mockery, stinging my eardrums and my heart. At an abandoned factory, the masked man dragged me from the car and threw me onto the ground. A pair of high heels entered my vision. Before I could make out the woman’s face, she unceremoniously kicked me twice. Weak, I saw stars. “Eliza Lee, you are truly shameless!” “Aaron treated you like a dear sister, yet you shamelessly slandered him!” The familiar voice made me realize who was assaulting me. That day, when I walked in on Scarlett and Aaron’s passionate encounter, her first glance at me was filled with hostility. Seeing I remained silent, Scarlett took out her phone and questioned me. “Did you arrange for this photo to be released?” “If Aaron hadn’t handled it quickly after I discovered it, you would have succeeded!” I looked at the photo, finally understanding why Aaron had said those words.

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