Author: Momo Chan

1 Waking up in the middle of the night, my husband was crying, begging me to let him see the girl one last time. “I’ll just see her one last time and then I’ll come back. Please, can you do that for me?” In seven years of marriage, this was only the second time he’d spoken to me with such a pleading, placating tone. The first time was when I walked in on the girl scrambling out of his office, disheveled. He was afraid I’d make a scene, so he grabbed my hand and begged, “Honey, I promise I’ll break it off with her.” “Don’t divorce me, I’d die without you. Please?” I gave him a second chance. And he kept his word, diligently returning to family life, becoming the perfect husband everyone praised. Until tonight. I turned on the bedside lamp, looked into his eyes, and answered seriously, “Go. Don’t leave yourself with any regrets.” I had no regrets left. I hoped he wouldn’t either. … The sudden, harsh light made Aaron Gould instinctively close his eyes. The tear tracks on his face became starkly clear, glaringly so. I suddenly found the whole scene absurd, almost laughable. This man, who hadn’t even flinched when he took a rebar blow for me during our youth, nearly losing his right arm, was now weeping like this over saying goodbye to a girl in her early twenties. His drunken haze gradually receded as he scrutinized my expression. A few seconds later, he seemed like a tightly coiled spring that suddenly unspooled, collapsing onto the bed. “You can make a scene like before, you can hit me and forbid me to go.” “Why pretend you don’t care, just to make me feel guilty? It’s pretty pathetic, Sophia.” His expression was one of suppressed agony. Ever since Aaron returned to the family, such suffocating atmospheres had become common. Outsiders, unaware, would comment that we were more in love than ever after our seven-year itch. They would joke that Professor Gould now ran home from work like a lovesick teenager, unable to be apart from me for a second. His social media profile picture was me, his phone voluntarily submitted for my inspection. He was the epitome of a devoted husband. But only we knew the turbulent storm brewing beneath that seemingly calm exterior. After that incident, I became sensitive and fragile, and my words grew sharp and critical. If he said a certain necklace looked good, making me appear younger, I would demand to know if he was tired of me, thinking me old and faded because he had someone younger, fresher in his heart. He once took me to a trendy restaurant for a date, and everything was going well. But when I heard him casually say, “Their signature dish is quite good,” I suddenly erupted, demanding why he would bring me to a place he’d been to with another woman. Yet, I had never been like this before. 2 I used to be cheerful and optimistic, the life of the party among family and friends. How had I become like this? Honestly, the time I caught him cheating, I thought about divorce. He was the one who, back then, had spent a whole month begging me, swearing countless times that he would never make the same mistake. Yet later, he was also the one who stared at me with a cold face as I spiraled, asking if I was done making a scene. During my most emotional breakdown, I smashed nearly everything in the house, pointing at him and screaming hysterically: “Do you think I only forgave you that one time?!” “No, every night I lay awake, unable to sleep, remembering, I would forgive you again.” “Why are you the one who made the mistake, yet I’m the one suffering?!” The glass wasn’t broken by me, yet I walked barefoot over it every single day. Tonight was our eighth wedding anniversary. Everything had started so well. Aaron, uncharacteristically, drank a lot. With every sip, he would tell me “I love you.” He must have said it a hundred times, and we both blushed, as if we were back in our honeymoon phase. I even quietly thought to myself, Maybe, I should just forgive him. Let’s pretend none of it ever happened. But only moments ago, I suddenly realized how ridiculous I was. His breakdown wasn’t because he loved me. It was because another woman was leaving. So, suddenly, I felt no more regrets. I pulled out the divorce papers I’d prepared long ago from the bedside table and handed them to him. “Aaron Gould, I’m setting you free.” But he shot up from the bed. “Sophia, are you trying to drive me to my death before you’re satisfied?!” “Summer Vance is leaving for Toronto soon; we’ll never have a chance to see each other again. I’m just going as her professor to see her off. Is that really so wrong?!” His phone rang abruptly. He answered, his voice incredibly gentle. “Mmm, wait for me. I’ll be there in half an hour.” Before leaving, Aaron tossed the divorce papers into the trash. “Everything can wait until I get back.” “But divorce? Don’t even think about it.” The door slammed shut with a bang. In the room, only my own muffled sobs remained. I checked; there were no flights to Toronto tonight. Sure enough, not long after, Summer Vance sent me a photo. Aaron, bare-chested, was resting peacefully and securely in her arms. [Professor Gould says he can only sleep soundly in my presence now.] [Do you think he won’t divorce you because he still loves you? He just doesn’t want to affect the associate dean selection committee next week.] Looking at the divorce papers, meant to split our assets evenly, now discarded in the trash. I suddenly laughed. He was the one who betrayed me. So he should be the one to pay the price. 3 Aaron and I were college sweethearts. After graduation, he stayed on as a professor, and I went to work for a foreign company. But after we got married, he asked if I could resign, citing his busy school projects, and focus on our family. At the time, I was caught in the tumultuous infighting of my company, so I agreed. But now I was divorcing him. Returning to the workplace was inevitable. However, having been out of society for too long, the several-year gap on my resume would make it difficult to find a job with similar pay. So I decided to go abroad to polish my credentials, which would also make up for the shortcomings on my resume. As I used the computer in the study to browse the application requirements for foreign universities, I unexpectedly discovered a private folder. The title read: [To My Dearest]. Those three short words gradually blurred before my eyes. I, as if disbelieving, entered my birthday, his birthday, our wedding anniversary. I stubbornly tried every number with special meaning to us. But it was still wrong. Until I clicked on Summer Vance’s social media, found her birthday, and entered it. The folder unlocked. Even though I already knew the answer, seeing the result with my own eyes made my heart ache so much I could barely breathe. The folder was a hefty 4.3 GB. It was meticulously filled with everything about Summer Vance. A discarded hair clip, picked up by him, placed over his heart, and photographed. Videos of Summer Vance sleeping on the desk while they rushed projects in the studio together. Voice messages Summer Vance sent him, her address to him evolving from the initially distant “Professor Gould” to later “Brother,” then “Husband.” Aaron had carefully recorded his mood next to each entry. He called her his “Little Moon,” and he wrote: [Little Moon, I often feel like a sick dog chained up, only when I occasionally look up at you does my soul find release.] [Today you said you would give yourself to me as a gift, but I refused. Not because I don’t love you, but because I dare not profane you.] He hated that he hadn’t met her sooner, and even more, that he already had a family before he met her. I felt like a thief peeking into someone else’s privacy, watching their bone-deep love affair unfold through the screen. The last entry was from the day I discovered their affair. Aaron had written a suicide note, filled with guilt for Summer Vance. His address to her had changed; he called her, “My wife.” [My wife, if one day I unfortunately pass away, all my property will be yours.] [As for Sophia, I wronged her. A sum to ensure her comfortable old age will suffice.] All the blood in my body had turned completely cold, my hand gripping the mouse trembling uncontrollably. A wave of nausea surged in my stomach, and I hugged the trash can, throwing up with a retch. Just then, Aaron surprisingly returned. The moment he saw the computer screen, he panicked, stammering out an excuse. “No, no, it’s not like that, Sophia. Listen to me.” “I just wanted to vent my emotions. There’s nothing else between us…” Before he could finish, I wiped my mouth and sat up straight. Looking into his eyes, I said each word clearly: “I’m giving you two choices: either she leaves right now.” “Or I’ll expose all your disgusting affairs!” 4 Just as I expected, Aaron chose the first option. Not only was he afraid of damaging his career, but he also couldn’t bear for his “Little Moon” to be tainted in the slightest. So, when Summer Vance came to find me, I wasn’t surprised. In fact, I was afraid she wouldn’t. I chose a quiet coffee shop for our meeting, a place Aaron and I used to frequent. Summer Vance looked exactly as she did in her social media photos: full of youthful collagen and vibrant energy. But she also had a common youthful flaw: she couldn’t keep her composure. “Big Sis, you saw the photos I sent you, right? We’ve already slept together.” “Tsk, tsk, I just casually mentioned leaving, and he got so desperate.” “But thank you too. If you hadn’t pushed him so hard, how else would he have realized how good I am?” She was like a ruffled hen, eager to provoke me into divorcing Aaron. But I just shrugged with a nonchalant smile, my gaze fixed on the bag she was carrying. “A new L-brand model. Aaron certainly doesn’t hesitate to spend money on you.” Summer Vance curved her lips triumphantly. But before she could speak, I continued, “I’ve researched your family; you can’t afford a six-figure bag.” “Little sister, let me give you a quick legal lesson. The money he spends on you is marital property. If we divorce, you’ll have to return half of it.” “But I suppose most of the money has already been spent?” “Or I could go to your parents. Then the entire village will know that you, Summer Vance, are a mistress in college!” Summer Vance’s smile froze. She shot up from her seat, her once delicate features instantly twisting into something almost grotesque. “You wouldn’t dare!” “You can try me and see if I dare!” Although I was sitting, my presence overshadowed hers. Just then, the girl, who had been so aggressive, suddenly glanced behind me. The next second, she quickly grabbed her coffee cup and splashed it all over her own face. When she spoke again, her eyes were red. “Sister, I’m sorry, there’s really nothing between me and Professor Gould.” “I’m leaving the country soon. Please, don’t pressure me anymore, okay?” Urgent footsteps approached from behind. I’d never seen Aaron look so frantic. He immediately pulled Summer Vance into his arms, tenderly wiping the coffee from her face. When he looked at me, his eyes were icy, but because we were in public, he didn’t dare say a word. I watched him with an ironic smile. Just then, several students trailing behind him, clearly his students who had just come from a meeting, notebooks still in hand, began to chatter. “So this is Professor Gould’s infamous shrew of a wife? Tsk, tsk, no wonder Professor Gould doesn’t want to go home!” “It’s the modern age, and she’s still playing the ‘aggrieved wife catching the mistress’ role! Spreading malicious rumors about a girl should be punishable, right?” “Exactly! Summer said she’s being forced to leave the country because of her, and she still comes here to humiliate her!” With each word they spoke, Summer Vance’s eyes reddened a bit more. And Aaron’s face paled a bit more. I raised an eyebrow, then in a move no one expected, walked over to Summer Vance. I raised my hand and slapped her hard across the face, then smiled at the students. “See? If I really wanted to hit her, I wouldn’t do something so ineffective and stupid.” Summer Vance clutched her face and tumbled into Aaron’s arms, fiercely suppressing the hatred in her eyes. Aaron finally lost his temper, shouting, “Enough! Sophia, don’t go too far!” I’m going too far? More was yet to come! But before I could retaliate, one of the boys defending Summer Vance shoved me hard. “What else do you want to do! If you touch her again, I’ll call the police!” I lost my balance for a moment and fell to the ground, my head hitting the table corner hard. For a moment, the world spun. The boy also panicked, quickly telling Aaron he didn’t mean it. But Aaron only gave me a deep look, then said nothing, leading his students away. I clutched my throbbing head and barely managed to stand up from the floor. I didn’t watch Aaron and Summer Vance leaving, supporting each other. Instead, my gaze went to a hidden spot on the ceiling.

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In the capital’s elite circles, all knew Crown Prince cherished his beloved daughter and wife of seven years, Iris Winter. Yet secretly, he kept another woman and an illegitimate son in his suburban villa, visiting them on every business trip. After rebirth, the first thing I did was swallow abortion pills before him — one, two, three… Until blood streamed down my legs and his eyes reddened, rushing to stop me. In my past life, he married me because I was pregnant with our daughter. I believed longing had finally been answered, but marriage brought only emotional abuse. Our daughter wasn’t even allowed to call him “Dad.” On her birthday, he took her to kindergarten alone — I thought his heart had softened. Instead, he sent her into surgery to donate bone marrow for his son with his first love. She died of infection on the table; he skipped her cremation to celebrate his son’s birthday. I sat with her urn until dark, only to hear, “Decide your divorce terms. I don’t want the daughter.” Ridiculous. I watched him leave, then set myself ablaze. Flames silenced the pain. Reborn, I vowed this tragedy would end at the start. … The hospital’s antiseptic smell was acrid. I lay in the hospital bed, a cramping pain twisting in my lower abdomen, like a blunt knife churning inside. Liam Bowen stood by the bed, his face ashen. “Iris Winter, are you deliberately taking abortion pills and playing the victim, just to hide Cathy Lin?” Abortion pills. A bitter ploy. Hiding Cathy Lin. In his eyes, had I become so manipulative that I would use my own flesh and blood as a bargaining chip? My voice was hoarse. “What does that have to do with me?” Yes, I knew Cathy Lin. She was his first love, the woman hidden in the suburban villa. Liam’s voice was low, laced with a strange certainty. “You know. You know about her existence, you know about the child’s existence, you even know where I go every time I’m on a ‘business trip’.” “Iris Winter, you’ve been reborn too, haven’t you?” In that instant, my heart nearly stopped. The hospital room was eerily quiet. I could hear my own heartbeat, a frantic drum against my ribs. Liam stared at me, his eyes holding a madness I’d never seen before. “In the last life, you burned yourself and our daughter to death. I thought it was all over, but then I opened my eyes and I was back eight years ago.” All the blood in my body turned cold. He had been reborn too. He remembered everything from the previous life. He remembered our daughter’s death, he remembered the fire, he remembered everything. But what he wanted to make amends for wasn’t me, wasn’t our daughter. It was Cathy Lin, it was that so-called son. Liam’s hand gripped my jaw, the force so strong it felt like my bones would shatter. “Where have you hidden her?” I gritted my teeth. “I haven’t.” His voice suddenly rose. “Tell me!” “I told you, it wasn’t me!” He ripped the IV needle from my hand, blood seeping from the puncture. My eyes reddened. “Liam Bowen, you’re insane!” “You’re forcing me, Iris Winter!” He pulled out his phone and dialed a number. “Come in.” The hospital room door was pushed open again. Two men in black suits entered. One held a medical kit. A premonition of ill omen rose in my heart. “Mr. Bowen, the items are here.” The man opened the box, revealing a row of syringes neatly arranged inside. Liam took one, examining it under the light. “Iris Winter, I’ll ask you one last time, where is Cathy Lin?” I clenched my jaw, not uttering a single word. I hadn’t kidnapped Cathy Lin; I didn’t even know why she would be missing. But I knew that in this man’s eyes, I would always be the wrong one. It was true in the previous life, and it was true in this one. “Very good.” Liam grabbed my arm, the needle piercing my skin. It wasn’t injected into a vein, but shallowly into the muscle, then the liquid was slowly pushed in. The pain was like countless ants tearing at my skin. “What is this?” “Something to make you clear-headed.” He expressionlessly pulled out the needle and took another. “Each injection will make you hurt a little more.” “Until you tell me where she is.” The second needle went into my arm. The third into my calf. The fourth… I don’t know how long it lasted before Liam finally stopped. My whole body trembled, cold sweat soaking my hospital gown. “Why don’t you believe me?” I heard my voice, hoarse like a broken bellows. Liam looked at me with an expressionless face. “Because you’ve changed.” He spoke softly, yet his words cut into my heart like a blunt knife. I closed my eyes. Changed. Yes, I had changed. The Iris Winter of the previous life, who gave up everything for him, humbled to the dust, was dead. Dead in that great fire, dead before our daughter’s cold urn, dead in his retreating figure. But why should he demand that I not change? “Liam Bowen, you remember the previous life. Then do you remember how our daughter died?” I opened my eyes and looked directly at him. His pupils suddenly constricted. “You personally sent her into surgery, to donate bone marrow for your son. She was only five years old, she didn’t even dare to call your name.” “When she died from infection on the operating table, you were celebrating Cathy Lin’s son’s birthday.” “So, in this life, I simply took the abortion pills. That way, our daughter won’t be born. She won’t have to see a father who doesn’t love her.” I laughed, but tears streamed down my face. Not from pain, but from irony. In the previous life, he sacrificed our daughter for Cathy Lin’s son; in this life, he tortures me for that son. From beginning to end, his heart only held that woman and that child. What was I? What was our daughter? A tool, a substitute, or a pawn to be discarded at any time? No sooner had the words left my lips than a resounding slap landed hard on my face. My head was snapped to the side, blood instantly seeping from the corner of my mouth. Liam’s voice trembled. “That was your child! How dare you abort her?!” I covered my face, letting out a cold laugh. “How dare I? Liam Bowen, when you let her die on the operating table in the previous life, why didn’t you ask yourself how you dared?” He raised his hand, as if to strike again, but it froze midway. “You!” His eyes were bloodshot, his chest heaving violently. “Iris Winter, you don’t deserve to be a mother.” I lifted my head, tears mingled with blood running down my face. “Liam Bowen, you are the least qualified to say that to me.” Just then, his phone rang. Liam answered, and his face instantly changed. “What?!” He abruptly stood up. I was dragged out of the hospital room by him, my wounds still bleeding, each step a searing pain. At the entrance to the emergency room, several bodyguards in black suits stood. The light in the emergency room went out. Liam rushed over, grabbing the doctor who came out. “Where’s my son?” The doctor removed his mask, his face grim. “I’m sorry, we did our best.” The air froze. I stood a few meters away, watching Liam’s hand slowly relax, his whole body seeming to deflate. His voice was very soft. “What did you say?” “The child had no vital signs when he arrived. We performed CPR for forty minutes…” The doctor was still saying something, but I couldn’t hear it anymore. Because the emergency room door was pushed open, and a woman stumbled out. Cathy Lin. She was wearing a long white dress, her hair disheveled, her face streaked with tears. “Ethan! My Ethan!” She threw herself into Liam’s arms, her whole body shaking. “Liam, my Ethan, how could he…” Liam stood stiffly, not embracing her, just staring in the direction of the emergency room. His voice was cold. “What happened? Ethan was fine, how could something suddenly happen?” Cathy Lin sobbed, struggling for breath. “I don’t know, I was driving him home today, and suddenly a car hit us from behind. When I woke up, he was lying in a pool of blood…” As she spoke, she suddenly looked up, her gaze fixed on me. “It’s you! It must be you!” I froze. Cathy Lin tore herself from Liam’s embrace and stumbled towards me. “Iris Winter, you killed my son!” Her voice was shrill and piercing, and everyone in the hallway turned to look. “You hate Liam, you hate me, so you targeted Ethan!” She raised her hand to strike me. Liam grabbed my arm, yanking me in front of him. “Iris Winter, what do you have to say for yourself?” His eyes were bloodshot, like a deranged beast. I looked at him, and suddenly felt it was all so ridiculous. “Liam Bowen, why do you think I did it?” He spoke each word distinctly. “Because you hate me, you hate Cathy Lin, you hate Ethan.” “So the first thing you did after being reborn was abort our daughter, and the second was to target them.” I took a deep breath. “I didn’t.” Cathy Lin shrieked. “You’re still trying to argue! The police were just here, and they found the hit-and-run vehicle information!” She pointed at me, her voice shrill. “Liam, the police said the license plate number of that car belongs to Iris Winter!” I reeled. My car? But I hadn’t driven at all. I looked at Liam. “It wasn’t me. You can check the surveillance.” Cathy Lin sneered. “Surveillance can be faked! You just want to kill my son and me!” She started crying again. “Liam, you have to avenge Ethan. He was only five years old, still so small…” Liam’s grip tightened further. I felt like the bones in my arm were about to break. I stared at him. “If you don’t believe me, call the police.” He suddenly laughed, a chilling sound. “Call the police? Iris Winter, do you think I’d let you off that easy, just to go to prison?” He released my arm and turned to his bodyguards. “Take her.” “Where?” “To the outskirts.” His voice was soft, yet it sounded like a death sentence. “I’ll make her realize the price of killing my son.” The car drove for a long time. So long that the streetlights outside the window grew fewer and fewer, until finally, only darkness remained. I was thrown into the backseat, my hands and feet bound. The rough rope bit into my flesh, each breath tugging at the wounds on my wrists. Cathy Lin sat in the passenger seat, crying the entire time. Liam drove, not uttering a single word. I didn’t know where he was taking me. But I knew I might truly die tonight. The car jolted over a pothole, my body slamming hard against the car door, a sharp pain shooting through my shoulder. I gritted my teeth, refusing to cry out. The car finally stopped. I was dragged out, my feet landing on dirt. There was nothing around, only the silhouettes of a few bare trees in the distance. The middle of nowhere. A bodyguard roughly yanked my arm. I stumbled, my knee hitting a stone, the searing pain making my vision black out for a moment. Liam stood before me, looking down. “Iris Winter, I’ll ask you one last time.” “Did you kill Ethan?” I lifted my head, looking into his eyes. My lips were purple from pain and cold, my teeth chattering as I spoke. “No.” Liam nodded. “Good. Since you won’t admit it, I’ll make sure you can never speak again.” He turned to his bodyguards. “Dig a hole.” I froze. “Liam Bowen, what are you going to do?” His voice was calm. “Bury you alive. Just like you killed Ethan, I’ll make you taste despair.” The bodyguards began to dig. The sound of shovels piercing the earth was jarringly clear in the silent night. I watched the pit deepen, my heart aching. The wound on my knee was still bleeding, warm liquid running down my calf, soaking my pant leg. “Liam Bowen, you’re really insane.” In my previous life, I thought love could be exchanged for love, and patience for tenderness. In the end, all I got was our daughter’s urn and a self-immolation. In this life, I explicitly chose not to let our daughter be born, yet I still couldn’t change anything. Liam knelt down, pinching my jaw. His fingers were like iron tongs, gripping my mandible so tightly. “You forced me. In the last life, you killed our daughter. In this life, you killed Ethan.” “Iris Winter, how much more do you intend to destroy of mine?” I looked at his bloodshot eyes and suddenly felt so tired. “You never believed me.” Liam’s hand stiffened. “You’re not worth it!” Yes, I wasn’t worth it. Not worth him believing me even once. I stared into his eyes, my voice beginning to tremble. “Without any evidence, based solely on someone else’s words, are you going to sentence me to death?” Liam’s fist clenched and then relaxed. His voice was as cold as the stones in this desolate wilderness. “I don’t need evidence. I don’t need the police. Iris Winter, today, you will be buried with Ethan.” He waved his hand at the bodyguards. The two tall men walked over, gripping my arms from each side. I struggled desperately. “Liam Bowen, you can’t do this!” My bound wrists, under their pulling, had the rope deeply embedded in my flesh. I could feel my skin tearing, warm blood dripping from my fingers. With every step, the wound on my knee ripped further, the pain so intense I could barely stand. I used all my strength to try and break free, my legs frantically kicking the ground, leaving two deep marks in the dirt. “Liam Bowen, are you going to kill me here?” Liam pointed at the deep pit. “I’m going to bury you here.” The bodyguards dragged me towards the pit. In my previous life, I chose fire, burning completely, not even wanting to leave him ashes. In this life, he chose earth, to let me rot in an unknown wilderness, as if I had never existed. I desperately turned to look at him, tears blurring my vision. “Please, just believe me once! Just once! I didn’t do it! I really didn’t!” Liam stood at the edge of the pit, his overcoat billowing in the wind. Only his voice cut through the wind. “I don’t care anymore.” I screamed in despair. “No! Liam Bowen! You can’t do this!” Liam acted as if he hadn’t heard. He turned, his back to the deep pit, and said coldly, “Bury her!”

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1 When Alistair strolled in, flaunting his pregnant young model and demanding I vacate the master bedroom for her to nest, I didn’t throw things or stage a hunger strike like I had before. Instead, I graciously gave up the room, even personally cooking up bird’s nest soup for the girl. From then on, I became the laughingstock of the city’s elite. All those aspiring social climbers saw me as an easy target, believing that a pregnancy was all it took to walk all over me. Alistair’s cronies even joked about me, calling me a pathetic relic, unable to leave the golden cage of the Parisot family. It wasn’t until the girl’s belly swelled, and Alistair, a smug grin plastered on his face, watched me iron baby clothes. “Darling, outside flings are just for fun, nothing more. Don’t worry, as long as you’re good and don’t make a fuss, no matter how many women I have out there, the title of Mrs. Parisot will always be yours.” Everyone thought I was clinging to Alistair’s money, desperate and pathetic. But only I knew the truth. I had signed a prenuptial agreement with the Parisot family: [Regardless of the husband’s transgressions, as long as the wife maintains the marriage for five years, she will receive 10% of Parisot Enterprises’ original shares.] Now, five years had passed. Alistair’s billion-dollar fortune? Half of it now belonged to me, Evangeline Miller. … I continued ironing the baby clothes, unmoved by Alistair’s hollow declarations of loyalty. “I know.” He seemed unsettled by my detached calm, a flicker of irritation crossing his brow. My quiet compliance was unfamiliar to him. After all, just six months ago, when photos of him passionately kissing an actress on a yacht surfaced, I’d smashed an entire collection of antique porcelain, creating a scandal that rocked the city. He paused, then suppressed the vague annoyance, reaching out to touch my head. “Evangeline, you’re finally being sensible. I always knew you were a woman of understanding.” I subtly evaded his hand. “I’ll check if the bird’s nest soup is ready.” Alistair’s hand hung in the air, but he quickly withdrew it, turning his attention to Elara, who was already nestled in his arms, feigning fright at a distant rumble of thunder. In the kitchen, the clay pot bubbled, steam rising. The hot vapor misted my face, making my eyes sting. I stared blankly at the soup, the composure I’d maintained in the living room crumbling in that moment. Alistair once protected me just like that. Back when we were younger, living in a quieter part of the country, he was still the Parisot family’s illegitimate son, hidden from the main branch. His mother had entrusted him to my family to escape their persecution. That winter was bitterly cold. I had a high fever and yearned for some candied chestnuts from the town square. There wasn’t a car in sight, so he braved the heavy snow, running miles to get them. When he returned, his hands were crimson from the cold, but the chestnuts in his arms were still warm. Later, after my parents died in a car crash, he held me as I cried myself into unconsciousness, his eyes red as he vowed, “Evangeline, I will be your home from now on. I will protect you with my life.” Now, I had a home. This lavish mansion nestled in the hills, overlooking the entire bay, was worth a king’s ransom. But the boy who had eyes only for me had been lost to the city’s glittering decadence. When I carried the bird’s nest soup out, Elara was sitting at my vanity, fiddling with my mother’s pearl necklace. “Alistair, this necklace is gorgeous. Does it suit my skin tone?” Alistair gazed at her with indulgence. “If you like it, it’s yours. Evangeline has plenty of jewelry, she won’t miss this one.” My steps faltered, my fingertips turning white. That was my mother’s last keepsake. I walked over, forcing my voice to remain steady. “This necklace is an old family heirloom; some believe it carries a certain energy. I’d worry it might not be good for the baby. If you like jewelry, Elara, Alistair can take you to an auction to pick out something new.” Elara’s face stiffened, and she quickly put the necklace down as if it had burned her. Alistair’s brow furrowed, and with a dismissive gesture, he pushed the necklace further away. In that fleeting moment, I caught the flicker of disgust in his eyes. That necklace had embodied my mother’s gentle love throughout her life, and it had also witnessed Alistair’s most desperate years. When my parents were alive, they never denied Alistair anything. But now, with them gone, even their cherished memento was treated like dirt. My heart ached, sharp and bitter. I counted the moments in my mind: three more days. Just three more days to endure. 2 Watching Elara sip the bird’s nest soup, I felt a strange sense of detachment. Alistair, in the past, no matter how wild his escapades, had always maintained a certain decorum, never allowing his flings to contaminate my world. But this time, for the child in Elara’s belly, he had completely broken all the rules. He despised being an illegitimate child himself, yet now, with Elara’s manipulative pregnancy, he cherished the very thing he claimed to hate. Perhaps seeing my own lack of progeny, he ventured, his eyes darting nervously, “Evangeline, this child carries the Parisot blood. When it’s born, let him call you Mother and be the legitimate heir of the Parisot family, alright?” He didn’t want his child to walk his same path, so he was willing to sacrifice my dignity. I simply smiled. “Of course.” Watching his bewildered expression at my quick agreement, my heart remained unfazed. After all, in three days, whoever wanted the title of ‘Mrs. Parisot’ could have it. Why would I care about being a surrogate mother to anyone’s child? Elara, upon learning her child would become the Parisot heir, grew even more audacious. She pointed at the cherry blossom tree in the garden, her voice a syrupy drawl. “Alistair, I don’t like cherry blossoms. I want roses!” Alistair, without a second thought, ordered the cherry blossom tree to be cut down and replaced with roses. That cherry blossom tree was one Alistair and I had planted the year my parents died. He had said, “Evangeline, cherry blossoms bloom, bringing peace. With me to protect you, you’ll never be alone again.” As the screech of the chainsaw ripped through the air, the cherry blossom tree crashed to the ground. I stood at the second-story window, gazing at the scattered branches and fallen petals, the last flicker of emotion in my heart dying out. Alistair came upstairs and found me by the window. Perhaps my silhouette seemed too lonely, for he uncharacteristically felt a pang of guilt. He walked up behind me and embraced me. “Evangeline, it’s just a tree. If you really like them, I’ll have someone buy an estate and plant cherry blossoms everywhere for you.” His embrace was still warm, but he reeked of Elara’s cloyingly sweet perfume. I gently pulled away and turned to face him. “Alistair, do you even remember when this tree was planted?” His eyes darted, clearly having forgotten. “Why dwell on the past? I’m so busy these days, I don’t have time for such trivial things.” He seemed impatient, quickly changing the subject. “Oh, there’s a charity gala tonight. You don’t need to come. I’ll take Elara.” I looked at his self-righteous face and found it strangely amusing. “Taking an illegitimate child and her mother, who has no status, to such an event? Aren’t you afraid of embarrassing the Parisot family?” Alistair’s face darkened, his voice growing cold. “Elara is carrying the Parisot family’s eldest son, not an illegitimate child!” The mention of “illegitimate” clearly agitated him. Alistair’s mother, a close friend of my own mother, had been deceived by old Mr. Parisot and became his secret mistress. To escape the persecution of the legitimate Parisot wife, she sent a young Alistair to live far away and eventually died of a broken heart. Alistair loathed the Parisot family for his mother’s tragic end, and he hated the label of “illegitimate.” Yet now, he was doing precisely what his father had done. “So?” I looked at him calmly. “To prevent your child from being illegitimate, you bring the mother of your illegitimate child to flaunt her over me?” I took a step closer. “Alistair, you constantly claimed to hate your father, but look at yourself now. How are you any different from him?” Smack! The sharp sound echoed in the room. Alistair recoiled, his chest heaving, his eyes wide with a mixture of fury and shock. He seemed unable to believe he had struck me. “Shut up! Don’t you dare compare me to that old man!” he roared hysterically. “I’m protecting my child! I’ll never let my child walk my path!” I clutched my stinging cheek, tasting a hint of blood. Alistair didn’t spare me another glance, slamming the door shut as he left. Soon, I heard Elara’s sweet, placating voice from downstairs, followed by Alistair’s gradually calming murmurs. I walked to the mirror, stared at the red mark on my face, and pressed an ice pack to it. The redness faded, but my eyes grew redder still. 3 Photos of Alistair and Elara at the charity gala immediately hit the city’s headlines that night. The media, ever eager for scandal, blared: “Parisot Scion Debuts New Flame and Her Baby Bump; Is Mrs. Parisot on Her Way Out?” In the photos, Alistair was carefully supporting Elara, and around her neck hung a pink diamond necklace. It was the ‘Eternal Heart’ Alistair had bought for me at an auction for our third wedding anniversary. He’d said the diamond symbolized his everlasting love for me. How ironic. The next day, I went for my usual skincare appointment at the salon. As soon as I walked in, I overheard a few socialites gossiping. “Oh, did you see the news? Mr. Parisot is really in for it this time.” “Isn’t he? Even the Eternal Heart is around that little hussy’s neck. That’s a blatant slap in the face to his wife, isn’t it?” “Hmph, if you ask me, Evangeline Miller deserves it. Back when Alistair Parisot was just a despised illegitimate child, she threw herself at him, even emptying her family’s coffers to help him climb the ladder. Now look at her, a man with money goes bad, and she’s a scorned wife. Serves her right.” “I heard she’s still making bird’s nest soup for the mistress? She’s an utter disgrace to all women. If I were her, I’d throw myself off a cliff.” At this, I pushed open the door. The lounge fell silent. Those socialites looked briefly embarrassed, but quickly replaced their expressions with smirks of anticipation. “Well, well, if it isn’t Mrs. Parisot. What brings you out today? Not busy making soup for your esteemed guest at home?” The speaker was Mrs. Davies, whose family owned a construction business. She’d always tried to curry favor with Alistair, holding a grudge against me for not connecting them. I calmly walked to my usual spot, took the tea offered by the aesthetician, and took a small sip. “Making soup is a nice gesture sometimes, but doing it every day makes you a housekeeper. I’m not like you, Mrs. Davies. I heard you even enrolled in a cooking class to win back your husband, who’s been supporting a college student on the side?” Mrs. Davies’s face changed. “What are you talking about!” “Whether it’s true or not, you know best, Mrs. Davies.” I set down my teacup, my gaze sweeping across everyone present. “As for Alistair giving someone a necklace, that’s his prerogative. After all, for the Parisot family, a necklace is a mere trifle. But my possessions, Evangeline Miller’s possessions, even if I throw them to a beggar, are not for others to comment on.” With that, I ignored them, closing my eyes. Though I won the verbal sparring, I knew in my heart that in their eyes, I was still a joke. A pathetic creature who had lost her family’s protection and was about to lose her husband’s affection. After my treatment, I received a call from Alistair. “Evangeline, there’s a gathering tonight with some old friends. You should come.” His tone seemed cheerful, as if he’d forgotten yesterday’s slap. “Is Elara not going?” I asked blandly. “She’s tired from her prenatal check-up today, resting at home. Besides… Mr. Davies and the others, you know them. It wouldn’t be appropriate to bring her.” I scoffed. Men were truly so pragmatic. When he needed to make an impression, he still thought of me, his well-bred, dignified wife. Elara was merely a plaything he used for entertainment.

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1 I saw a question online: What’s it like to have a twin sibling who is a hundred times more accomplished than you? I replied: Accepted my fate, made my peace with it. I even posted an eight-year-old video of my sister and me practicing violin. We’d both had three lessons. My sister played “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star” beautifully, clear and melodic. My rendition of “Chaconne from Partita No. 2, BWV 1004,” however, sounded like a dull saw cutting through wood. But the comments section exploded. “Holy cow, OP, are you seriously not humble-bragging? Playing a piece as difficult as ‘Chaconne from Partita No. 2, BWV 1004’ that precisely after only three lessons?!” “As a ten-year arts student, I swear if I had one percent of OP’s talent, I’d be at Berkeley by now!” I was stunned. Growing up, my mother had always been fair, fully supporting both my sister and me. Yet, no matter what I did, I always seemed to fail. It often made my mother secretly shed tears and sigh in disappointment. After a while, I couldn’t bear to cause her worry or sadness, so I proactively gave up on every opportunity. I just focused on being the ordinary, dutiful child. How could someone like me possibly be a genius? A new comment popped up, hitting me like a lightning bolt. “OP, that violin of yours? It’s barely worth a hundred bucks, looks like a cheap fire poker!” “And your sister’s violin? That’s a five-thousand-dollar instrument.” … I stared fixedly at the screen, my hands trembling as I searched for the prices of the two violins. It was exactly as the netizens had said. A cold sweat immediately broke out on my back. A tidal wave of immense shock and bewilderment crashed over me, leaving me breathless. From outside, I heard my mother’s joyous, excited voice. Dazed, I walked out to see her video-calling my sister. “Didn’t you say you wanted to go skiing for the New Year? Mom bought you a new snowboard.” Seeing me, she pointed her chin towards her feet. “One for each of you girls. This one’s yours.” My feet felt as if they were nailed to the floor, unable to move an inch. Ever since I was little, my mother had always been like this. Whether it was academics or material possessions, my sister and I each had our own. I had always believed she was the fairest, best mother in the world. But today, my world had suddenly crumbled into ruins. Seeing me standing there, pale-faced, my mother looked puzzled. “Why are you just standing there, spacing out?” Before I could speak, my sister laughed. “Mom, don’t you remember when my sister and I went skiing as kids, and she broke her leg and was in a cast for three months?” She giggled. “She probably has PTSD from seeing this. How could she be happy?” My mother seemed to recall the memory, shaking her head with a resigned, bitter smile. “Yes, your sister has always been clumsy since childhood; she can’t compare to you in anything she tries!” I had heard that sentence for over a decade. I had grown accustomed to it, forcing myself to accept my fate and let it go. But now, countless questions were stuck in my throat, as if a hand had brutally choked me! Clutching the snowboard, I fled back to my room, feeling utterly lost. The first thing I did was check the price! The result slapped me hard again. My sister’s snowboard was a professional brand, costing a thousand dollars. Mine was a mere fifty dollars. Not even a fraction of my sister’s. My hands trembling, I posted a plea for help online. “Is this board okay for New Year’s skiing?” The comments quickly piled up. “Oh my God, I urge you to throw that trash away as soon as possible!” “That snowboard is dangerous. I bought a cheap one once, and it split in half while I was skiing. I almost broke my neck!” My nails dug deeply into my palm. In my mind, I kept replaying scenes from that ski lesson when I was ten. My sister, though slow to start, glided steadily. I, however, wobbled constantly, falling again and again. Back then, I held onto a spark of determination. I wanted to prove to my mother. That as her daughter, I was no worse than my sister. But the harder I tried, the more brutally I fell. In the icy snow, I finally couldn’t hold back my tears. Everyone thought I was crying from the pain of my broken leg. Only I knew. I hated myself for being so utterly useless! Why couldn’t I do anything right? Why couldn’t I be like my sister, earning my mother’s praise and becoming her pride? But now, the whole world was telling me. It wasn’t my clumsiness, it wasn’t my fault. All of this was merely a result of my mother’s profound selfishness hidden beneath a facade of fairness. That night, I excused myself from dinner, claiming to feel unwell. I burrowed deep under my covers, tears streaming uncontrollably, again and again, until my skin felt tight and painful. I didn’t know how to face the deep-seated resentment in my heart. Nor how to expose this cruel truth. 2 For several nights, I couldn’t sleep. In my anxious torment, my sister finally came home. Relatives gathered around her, showering her with affection and concern. “University in New York is great, but it’s so far! Your mom can’t stop talking about how much she misses you!” My mother, serving fruit, smiled at this, then sighed. “As long as the children are ambitious and successful, I fully support both of them flying far away.” She paused, then added, “It’s a shame, though. We enrolled both of them in a summer camp in New York when they were in elementary school. Chloe got perfect scores in every subject, but Lillian could only manage barely passing grades!” My fingers, gripping the wall, tightened fiercely. The relatives burst into laughter at her words. “Oh, it’s fine to be a little less academic, dear. It’s nice to have her around, steady and close.” “I still remember back then, Lillian was so stressed about her grades that she got sick in New York, throwing up and running a high fever. You were almost scared to death!” The atmosphere in the living room remained warm and jovial. “Chloe, I heard you won another violin competition?” “Haha, play something for us!” My sister smiled confidently, rising gracefully. “Of course, I’ll play ‘Chaconne from Partita No. 2, BWV 1004’ then.” The melodious violin notes filled the air. Everyone smiled, full of praise. My mother’s gaze remained fixed on my sister, her eyes openly expressing admiration and satisfaction. It was as if she were looking at the most dazzling jewel in the world, the most beautiful flower among the mountains. All of this caused my tightly strung nerves to suddenly snap. Amidst everyone’s startled gasps, I lunged forward. I snatched the violin from my sister’s hands and, like a madwoman, smashed it against the wall. My sister shrieked in terror at the sudden turn of events. My mother’s face instantly twisted, and she rose abruptly. “Lillian Miller, what on earth are you doing?!” A stinging slap caught me off guard across my face. After it landed, the air hung still for a few seconds. Even my mother herself was momentarily stunned. But only for an instant, then she stiffened her neck again. “Who are you glaring at with that dark face? What did anyone say that was wrong?” she snapped. “You are clumsier and dumber than Chloe, that’s a fact!” Her voice rose, dripping with contempt. “To be so jealous of your own sister, I didn’t realize you were so narrow-minded and petty!” Seeing her temper flare, many people discreetly gestured at me. “Yes, Lillian, for all these years, your mother has cultivated both you and your sister with equal care! We’ve all seen it; no one can find a single fault!” “It’s okay to be a little less capable, but if your personality and temper are also so terrible, that’s truly inexcusable!” The chorus of accusations felt like ropes tightening around my heart. I couldn’t bear it any longer. I rushed back to my room and pulled out several items. “Open your eyes and look closely!” I demanded. “Has my mother truly been fair to my sister and me?” I forcefully shoved the hundred-dollar violin into my sister’s hands. “If you’re so talented, play ‘Chaconne from Partita No. 2, BWV 1004’ again with this!” My mother’s face immediately changed. A flash of panic and guilt crossed her eyes. She lunged forward, trying to snatch the violin, clearly wanting to smash it to destroy the evidence. “Lillian Miller, stop being so unreasonable!” At that moment, my disappointment and pain reached their peak. “My mother bought me this trashy violin, but bought my sister a five-thousand-dollar premium one!” I yelled. “She made me, with perfect pitch, sound like I was making horrible noise. And when you made my sister and me go skiing, you bought me all this garbage gear, which resulted in me breaking my leg and nearly being permanently disabled!” After hearing my accusations, everyone was stunned, looking from me to my mother in unison. “Eleanor, is what Lillian saying true?” “This isn’t right, how can you treat your children so differently!” My mother glared fiercely at me. Then she turned, went back to her room, and returned with a stack of receipts. “So, you resent me just because I chose a slightly cheaper violin for you?” she spat. “Then why don’t you mention that when we signed up for that summer camp, your sister’s class was only three hundred dollars, but yours was five thousand!” Aunt Clara immediately snatched the receipts, scrutinizing them carefully. “Eleanor isn’t lying.” She turned to me. “Lillian, this is you being unreasonable! Your mother is famously fair and unbiased. We all know that. You can’t accuse her like this over a small matter and break your mother’s heart!” I nearly screamed in frustration. “But I didn’t even need that expensive summer camp!” The class my mother enrolled my sister in was a foundational one, tailored to her aptitude. That’s why she steadily improved, getting perfect scores every time. I, however, was put into an advanced calculus class. I couldn’t keep up even if I starved myself and didn’t sleep! Not only that, but I was constantly discouraged, feeling as stupid as a pig. After that, whenever my mother wanted to enroll me in any tutoring, that nightmarish experience would make me tremble, and I would refuse to participate again.

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My wife was six months pregnant and insisted on going on a business trip out of town. I begged her not to go, for the sake of our child. My wife reassured me, saying the more she earned now, the easier my life would be. As I helped her pack her lingerie bag, a spare phone I’d never seen before fell out. The screen flickered, displaying a private message. “You’re such a pervert, can’t you even stop when you’re pregnant?” I stared at the contact name for five seconds. Then I remembered: that name was “Master.” And I was “Good Guy.” … The bathroom door opened. I frantically shoved the spare phone back into the bottom of her suitcase, covering it tightly with clothes. Steam billowed out. Summer, wrapped in a towel, her face flushed pink from the heat, had very fair skin. She’d gained some weight since her pregnancy, her cheeks a rosy hue. By all appearances, she was a glowing expectant mother, immersed in happiness. She walked over, reaching out to touch my forehead. “What’s wrong? You look awful.” I instinctively recoiled a step, avoiding her hand. Summer’s hand froze in mid-air, a flicker of confusion in her eyes. “Didn’t sleep well,” I managed, forcing a smile uglier than a grimace. “Had a nightmare last night, worried you wouldn’t be able to handle the stress.” Summer sighed in relief, withdrawing her hand, and playfully rolled her eyes at me. “I told you I’d be fine. That client is really understanding. You’re more nervous than I am.” She sat on the bed and began to towel dry her hair. Looking at her swollen belly, that thorn in my heart twisted again. Five years of love, she was my wife, carrying my child. I still clung to hope, wanting to give her one last chance. If she could turn back now, for the sake of the baby, perhaps I could pretend I hadn’t seen that phone. “Wife, do you really have to go?” I knelt before her, looking up, my voice already tinged with pleading. “I’m not afraid of hard work. I can deliver food, drive ride-shares. Just stay home and focus on your pregnancy, and I’ll endure any hardship.” I looked into her eyes. “Please, don’t go. Can you?” Summer’s hand stilled on her hair. She lowered her gaze and sighed. “Darling, I’ve already signed the contract with the client. If I breach it now, I’ll have to pay triple the penalty.” She tugged at the towel wrapped around her, shifting her posture to reveal part of her calf. I stared there. Just above her knee, there was a coin-sized bruise. For the past two months, she’d always locked the bathroom door, not even letting me in when I brought fresh clothes. And on the rare occasions her arms and legs were visible, there were always inexplicable bruises. Last week, it was her inner left thigh. The week before, her arm. Each time I asked, my heart aching, she had a perfect explanation. “The bathroom was slippery, I accidentally bumped into something.” “I hit the corner of the office desk. You know pregnant women are clumsy.” I believed her, my heart breaking for her. I covered the entire bathroom floor with non-slip mats. I bought dozens of feet of corner protectors, covering all the sharp edges of our furniture. I wished I could turn myself into a ball of cotton and wrap her inside. Now it seemed, I was indeed a ball of cotton. A rotting piece of cotton, casually kneaded and used to wipe someone’s backside. What kind of bump would perfectly land on the inner thigh? What kind of fall would result in bruises that looked like they were forcefully squeezed by fingers? I stared at her calf, my stomach churning. Summer seemed to notice my gaze and pulled the towel down to cover her leg. She walked over, naturally draped her arms around my neck, carrying the pleasant scent of her shower gel. She buried her face in my neck, rubbing it gently. “Darling, help me blow dry my hair, please. I’m leaving first thing in the morning, and I want you to spend more time with me.” Yesterday, I would have considered it a sweet burden. Now, I felt only revulsion, every hair on my body standing on end. I rigidly picked up the hairdryer, my fingers running through her hair. The hot air roared, masking my ragged breathing. In her eyes, what was I? A sugar daddy providing a paycheck and a stable life? “How many days will you be gone this time?” I turned off the hairdryer, my voice so cold it even scared myself. “Three days. I’ll be back Sunday.” Summer turned around, wrapping her arms around my waist, her face pressed against my lower abdomen. “I’ll miss you, and I’ll miss the baby too.” I also thought of that child. Six months old. Was it my child? Once that thought arose, it could no longer be suppressed. “That client, male or female?” I tried to make my tone sound casual, turning to fold clothes. “A man, an old man in his fifties, quite verbose,” Summer complained, standing up to get a storage bag. My heart leapt into my throat. She opened the bag, checked it, but didn’t rummage to the bottom. “These few sets are maternity-specific, very comfortable to wear,” she muttered to herself, sealing the bag and placing it in the suitcase. I turned to pour water, no longer looking into her eyes, afraid I wouldn’t be able to resist slapping her. “Darling, did you pack that bottle of stretch mark oil for me? I’ll need it there too.” She smiled, walked over, and hugged me from behind, her hand caressing her belly. “The baby just kicked, do you want to feel it?” Her chest pressed against my back. But I felt not a trace of warmth, only the sensation of a venomous snake coiled behind me. She lied, without a flicker of hesitation, words tumbling out easily. This level of psychological composure wasn’t developed overnight. I gripped the water glass, my knuckles white. “Yes, I’ll miss you,” I said, taking a sip of water. What I swallowed, though, was a mouthful of bitterness. “Get some sleep. You have an early flight tomorrow.” I broke free from her embrace, got into bed, and lay down with my back to her. That night, I listened to the breathing beside me, my eyes wide open until dawn. In these five years, what else had she been hiding from me? What had she truly been doing on her “business trips”? At six in the morning, Summer got up. She put on a light layer of makeup, saying she needed to look well-rested for clients. She wore a loose trench coat that concealed her baby bump, giving her a somewhat youthful appearance. I stood on the balcony, watching her drag her suitcase out the door. “Darling, I’m off. I’ll text you when I arrive. You make sure to eat properly at home.” She changed her shoes in the entryway, turning back to blow me a kiss. I leaned against the doorframe, expressionless, and nodded. “Be careful on the road.” The moment the door closed, I grabbed my car keys and rushed out. I had already taken the day off from work; even if the sky fell, I wasn’t going in. To avoid being discovered, I didn’t take my usual SUV. I borrowed my neighbor Old Man Greg’s beat-up van, claiming I needed to help relatives move some goods. Summer didn’t take the subway. Instead, she hailed a taxi outside the complex. I trailed far behind, maintaining a two-car length distance. The taxi got onto the elevated highway, but its direction wasn’t towards the airport. My hands clenched the steering wheel, knuckles white from the strain. I recognized this road; it led to the city’s most exclusive wealthy district. Half an hour later, the taxi stopped outside “The Summit,” a private club. I knew this place; it operated on a membership basis, with annual fees starting in the tens of thousands. Rumor had it, it offered every kind of service and boasted excellent privacy. Summer got out of the taxi but didn’t go straight in. She stood at the entrance, looking left and right, then pulled out her phone to send a message. I parked my van under the shade of a tree across the street, rolling down my window a crack. Even from a distance, I could clearly see the expectant, excited expression on her face. Less than two minutes later, the club doors opened. A tall man in a black suit emerged. The moment Summer saw him, she ran over, completely disregarding her six-month pregnancy. She skillfully linked her arm with his. His hand immediately wrapped around Summer’s waist. Summer giggled, playfully punching his chest, pressing herself even closer. I sat in the car, feeling all the blood rush to my head. I grabbed my phone from the passenger seat and frantically pressed the shutter button, taking pictures of them. Who was that man? I could barely make out his face. We first met five years ago on a stormy night, outside a convenience store. She had been evicted by her landlord for unpaid rent, huddled in a corner, soaking wet. I brought her back to my ten-square-meter rental apartment under my umbrella. That night, I cooked a bowl of noodles. She held the bowl, drinking every last drop of soup. She looked up, her eyes red-rimmed, filled with dependence. “Alex, will you let me be your wife from now on? We’ll stay together forever.” When I got my paycheck, I bought her roasted sweet potatoes from a street vendor. She broke one in half and fed it to me, her lips smudged with black ash, her eyes curved like crescent moons as she smiled. That was Summer when she was with me—innocent, poor, but with a light in her eyes. She sat on the back of my electric scooter, her face pressed against my back, her arms wrapped around my waist. “Alex! I want to be with you forever!” Married for three years, together for five, I had pampered her like a princess. I handed over my entire paycheck, did all the housework, and never missed a holiday gift. We traveled to every corner of the country. After she got pregnant, she had some swelling, so I massaged her for half an hour every night. When she craved spicy and sour noodles from the east side of town in the middle of the night, I drove out to buy them without a word. I held her in the palm of my hand, yet she trampled me underfoot. I didn’t understand, truly didn’t understand. Was I not good to her? Why had Summer become like this? Just as they were about to enter, I typed, “Wife, are you at the airport yet? Have you checked in?” Less than a minute after I sent the message, she replied. It was a photo of her in an airplane seat. Outside the window were blue skies and white clouds. She held a glass of orange juice, her face bare of makeup. If I weren’t right outside the club, I would have absolutely believed it. The photo was clearly Photoshopped or an old one from her gallery. Then came a voice message. I opened it, and her sickly sweet voice made my scalp crawl. “Just sat down. Baby just kicked me. Darling, make sure you eat well.” She whispered, “Signal’s bad, I’m turning off my phone. I’ll contact you when I land.” I listened to that voice message, again and again. While she was wrapped around another man, she was still soothing the fool at home. Did she feel a sense of accomplishment, playing two men in the palm of her hand? I scoffed, a cold, bitter sound. But tears, disobedient, streamed down my face. I wiped my face and picked up the tracking software on that spare phone again. Last night, while she was asleep, I had installed a hidden GPS tracker on it. I hadn’t dared to look at the chat logs, afraid I would lose control and choke her on the spot. Even if she was just flirting online, for the sake of the child, I could play blind. The red dot flickered. It showed her location as this very building directly in front of me. Moving quickly, the red dot finally stopped on the 8th floor. Security at “The Summit” was very tight, with two burly men standing at the entrance. Without a membership card, there was no way in. I staked out the entrance for half an hour. Finally, a small delivery truck carrying groceries pulled up and stopped at the back door. Several uniformed workers were moving crates of seafood and liquor towards the back entrance. The foreman was talking to the guard, pointing at a manifest in his hand. While the guard was checking the delivery note, I quickly grabbed a worker’s uniform hanging on a nearby chair. I swiftly put it on, picked up what looked like the lightest box of vegetables, and, keeping my head down, followed the team. “Hey, new guy, hustle up!” the foreman in front yelled back, not noticing I was an impostor. I blended into the back kitchen access, and when no one was looking, I put down the box and slipped into the fire escape. Avoiding surveillance cameras, I climbed the fire escape floor by floor. The GPS on my phone showed Summer on the 8th floor. By the time I reached the 8th floor, I was drenched in cold sweat. I pressed myself against the wall, listening to the sounds coming from each room. Until I reached the door of room 888. That red dot was right there, perfectly coinciding with my location.

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My mother kept a “Mistress Diary,” filled with photos of countless beautiful women. “When I was dating the billionaire, the competition was fierce,” she’d say, her eyes twinkling with a smile. “At one point, three women showed up at my doorstep to confront me simultaneously.” She’d laugh, her eyes crinkling. “Later, when I married your father, this diary was never updated.” That sweet smile vanished the day my father’s young secretary, heavily pregnant, arrived to provoke her. My mother added the secretary’s photo to her diary and sighed. “She’s so foolish,” she murmured. “How could your father, such a clever man, fall for such a simpleton?” My mother’s eyes welled up, and she couldn’t suppress a sudden cough, spitting out a mouthful of dark blood. She hid her cancer diagnosis report and then instructed Dr. Evelyn to falsify a clean bill of health. Dr. Evelyn cried, her voice choked with anger. “Eleanor Maxwell, do you really think this will make that scoundrel weep, make him see the error of his ways?” Dr. Evelyn cried. “Punishing others with your own death, aren’t you being pathetic?” But my mother just smiled, her gaze gently falling upon me. “The clean bill of health is for his secretary, Mandy Smith. What good is his regret to me?” She smiled softly. “I want to secure a future for my Ariel.” 1 When Mom and I left the hospital, Dad had already gone. He’d only left her a message: [My time is precious. You’re five minutes late, I’ve left.] Mom clutched her phone, looking dazed. I remembered the past too. I had hemophilia; since I could remember, I’d been in and out of hospitals frequently. Dad would always put down his work, waiting patiently. Mom would playfully tease him, “Aren’t you annoyed?” Dad would take me from her arms, kissing her cheek. “No, not at all. Every second I wait for you both, I’m happy.” I was nestled between them, feeling warm and happy too. Mom’s trembling fingers swiped away the message. She texted: [Did you send the falsified health certificate to Mandy Smith?] After receiving an affirmative reply, she led me back home. Mom used to walk lightly, and I often couldn’t keep up. But now, I had to support her to move. At home, she immediately rushed into the bathroom, throwing up a mouthful of blood. Afterwards, she looked up, staring blankly at the two overlapping handprints on the mirror. The blood was dark red, and I, terrified, quickly called Dad. On the other end of the line, I heard a woman’s laughter, but I was used to it and pretended not to hear. I cried, telling him that Mom had late-stage stomach cancer. Dad came home quickly. Seeing the stark red in the toilet, he immediately scooped Mom into his arms. “Don’t be afraid. We’ll find the best doctors for a second opinion right away. With me here, nothing will happen to you.” He had always said that the other women were just dalliances; Mom would always be his true love. He was a man of his word. But just then, the sharp click of high heels sounded, and Mandy Smith, in her white dress, appeared again. She held her head high, slamming a piece of paper onto Dad’s chest. “Darling, you’re such a fool, you don’t even know your plain wife is deceiving you!” she sneered. “Late-stage stomach cancer? It’s all a ploy to get attention!” She waved the paper. “This is from my friend at the hospital. She’s perfectly healthy!” I saw it clearly: that paper was indeed the falsified health report Mom had asked Dr. Evelyn to create. I opened my mouth to explain, but Mom held me back tightly. I could only watch as Dad’s face darkened. “Faking illness for attention, and even making Ariel lie for you.” He glared at Mom. “Eleanor Maxwell, you’ve really outdone yourself!” Dad, ignoring my protests, stormed out. Mom watched him leave with the woman, a faint smile on her pale face. I cried, my body wracked with sobs. “Mom, why did you pretend to be healthy?” Mom sighed softly. “Because Mandy Smith is too foolish. Too foolish to even think of accusing me of faking illness. So, I had to help her create the evidence.” She paused, her voice soft. “This is accumulating moral capital. The more I accumulate, the more he feels he owes Ariel…” She smiled faintly. “Besides, once your father discovers her report is fake, he won’t believe any report she presents in the future.” I didn’t understand. I only knew that Mom was dying, so I cried even harder. Mom wiped my tears, and as she did, she started crying too. “Simon Chen, you’re so smart, how could you fall in love with a simpleton like Mandy Smith?” Mom had once been a billionaire’s mistress, and Dad was a struggling man, humbly seeking investments. A glance across a banquet hall, and roses unexpectedly bloomed on decaying ground. Mom charmed the billionaire, securing a huge investment and numerous orders for Dad. Later, the billionaire went to jail, and Dad had become a titan in the business world. Amidst everyone’s mockery, he found Mom, who had been passed around several times. Without a word, they immediately married. After their marriage, Mom was pampered by Dad, becoming the most vibrant woman. Dad bought her a French chateau, gave her shares in his company. Even after she became pregnant with me, he spent a fortune to buy her the naming rights to a small asteroid. They could have been happy forever. Until my birth. 2 I suffered from hemophilia, so Dad hired a secretary with the same rare blood type. Her name was Mandy Smith, a bit clumsy, but quite likable. He said she was my “mobile blood bank.” But gradually, when the blood bank came to give me transfusions, Dad would frown with concern. Once, when I was critically ill, Mandy claimed to be afraid of needles, and Dad actually pulled out my IV line. I almost died that day; thankfully, the hospital contacted a blood bank in another province. When I woke up, I saw Dad holding Mandy’s hand, telling Mom: “I’m sorry, Eleanor, I’ve fallen in love with Mandy. As long as you accept it, you’ll still be my wife, and Ariel will still be my only daughter.” Mom calmly accepted the reality. She said, “My Ariel is still sick. If I divorce, I truly can’t afford to raise her.” Just like that, Mom became the most magnanimous wife in the entire city. So magnanimous that when photos of Dad with various young women from clubs surfaced, she personally handled the fallout. Each time, Dad would apologize to her and then transfer a sum of money to my account. Mom accepted it on my behalf, acting as if nothing had happened. Until a few days ago, Mandy Smith appeared, heavily pregnant. She said she was carrying Dad’s child, a boy. “He was ecstatic then, and I knew that fetus would eventually threaten Ariel’s position, so it had to be eliminated.” Mom’s eyes were hard. “And I’m dying soon anyway… I’ve been a parasitic vine all my life. In the end, I’ll use this life to pave the way for my daughter. I’m content.” As Mom spoke, she took out a brand new diary. A woman who barely finished elementary school, accustomed to a life of luxury, wouldn’t have the habit of keeping a diary. So she had to fake it. Her fingers were swollen; she could barely grip the pen. But she meticulously wrote down every detail of her years with Dad, word for word. After finishing, she sent the diary to be aged, then locked it in a safe. She made me memorize the safe’s code. “After I die, on the day your father misses me most, you’ll guide him to this diary.” Faking the diary took several days. Mom clutched her stomach, sweat pouring down her face from the pain. She gave me a black card and asked me to buy her some painkillers. It was so strange; it was only September, but heavy snow was falling. I didn’t have time to think much, falling again and again until I reached the pharmacy. Buying the medicine, swiping the card. “Beep, beep. This card has been frozen.” I froze. This was Dad’s secondary card, always with an unlimited credit limit. It couldn’t be frozen. I immediately called Dad. But the one who answered was Mandy Smith, her voice lazy. “That’s your father’s punishment for your mother, you know.” She purred. “He also told me to tell your mother to be a good wife and stop playing those manipulative games.” I screamed, “Impossible! It must be you who incited Dad!” Mandy Smith chuckled softly, then lowered her voice. “Yes, I incited him. So what?” She teased. “After all, I just mentioned that the baby in my belly wanted to see snow, and your father spent tens of thousands of dollars on artificial snow!” I looked at the bruises on my body, sobbing. So, this heavy snow, which had made me fall so many times, was a gift from Dad to his mistress. By the time I bought the medicine with my piggy bank savings, Mom had already fainted from the pain. I gave her the medicine. Mom’s eyes reddened as she looked at my injuries. I heard her call Dr. Evelyn. “He loves her more than I imagined.” Her voice was filled with a chilling resolve. “I must accumulate more moral capital for Ariel, and die an even more impactful death.” I don’t know how much time passed, but I woke up in Mom’s bed. Mom was gasping, packing things away. She threw our wedding photo into the fireplace. All her clothes and jewelry were sold off. As she was about to destroy the scarf she had knitted for Dad with her own hands, I rushed over to stop her. But she gently kissed my small face. “Mommy knows Ariel doesn’t want to let go. But Mommy must ensure that you are Mommy’s only relic.” I opened my mouth, unable to speak. Dad’s assistant called Mom. “Mrs. Chen, Mr. Simon just took Ms. Smith for her prenatal check-up and was photographed by reporters.” The assistant’s voice was neutral. “He asks that you quickly record an apology and clarification video to avoid affecting the company’s stock price.” 3 Mom responded faintly, then expertly set up the camera. I screamed in frustration. “Why should Mom bear Dad’s mistakes?!” I cried. “I don’t want Mom to be that humiliated person anymore!” I pushed the camera down, but Mom calmly set it back up. “Be a good girl, Ariel. The company will be yours eventually.” She smiled, a sad, knowing curve to her lips. “Mommy is protecting the company’s stock price now, which is also protecting your interests.” I still didn’t understand, but Mom’s eyes were so sad. In the camera lens, she was poised and dignified. “It’s all a misunderstanding. Ms. Smith is an employee of our company, with no one to care for her, so Simon kindly offered to take her to the hospital.” The video was released, and the internet was filled with mockery. Everyone said that my mother, the wife, was acting like a dog. But Dad was very pleased. He finally came home. Upon entering, he first hugged me, spinning me around, and placed a jade bracelet on my wrist. Then he kissed Mom, giving her a vibrant green safety charm. “This is my most magnanimous Eleanor,” he said. “Don’t worry, I’ve unfrozen the card.” He looked into her eyes. “I wasn’t angry because you faked an illness or played tricks; I was angry that you cursed yourself. We’re going to grow old together, so please don’t say such unlucky things, alright?” Dad was so gentle. He must still love Mom and me, right? I watched him, mesmerized, and suddenly, the pain in my leg didn’t hurt anymore. After Dad left, I happily went to Mom’s side, wanting to touch the safety charm. But Mom scoffed, taking it off. She gently touched my head and showed me a news article. [Gemstone Legend! Mr. Simon Splashes Ten Million to Reveal Full-Green Jade, Cutting a Hundred-Million-Dollar Jade Bracelet on the Spot!] I looked at the full-green jade bracelet on Mandy Smith’s wrist in the accompanying photo. I suddenly realized. My child’s bracelet, nested with Mom’s safety charm, exactly formed the heart of a bangle. Oh. So Mom’s and my gifts were mere scraps from cutting Mandy Smith’s bracelet. I was furious, wanting to confront Dad. But Mom calmly contacted Dr. Evelyn, confirming the date for her euthanasia medication. She chose the date of her and Dad’s wedding anniversary. “That way, whenever he gets married, he’ll remember my death. Only by remembering me for a long time will it benefit my Ariel more…” I didn’t dare to cry in front of Mom. I could only hide in my room and count the days. I was going to lose Mom. Although Mom held me and told me she would become a star in the sky, I was already seven years old, and I knew those were lies. I couldn’t expose Mom; I didn’t want to make her sadder before she died. The next few days, Mom was very busy. She contacted an Uncle Ben, whispering with him for a long time. Then she carefully selected an evening gown, because Dad was taking her to a charity gala. Only her, not that awful mistress. For this, she even helped Dad appease Mandy Smith. But then she turned around and taught me how to provoke the now-calmed Mandy Smith: “Hehe, so what if he made it snow for you? You’re still my father’s plaything. At proper events like charity galas, the only one who can walk hand-in-hand with my father is my mother!” Mandy Smith was so easily hooked. She was so infuriated that she immediately took action. On the day of the charity gala, our family of three had just sat down. Mandy Smith, disguised as a staff member, appeared. She didn’t say anything, just stood there, staring at Dad with red-rimmed eyes. I clearly saw Dad’s throat bob. “Darling,” Mom pleaded, “this is a major event, give me some face…” But under everyone’s gaze, Dad still patted Mom’s hand. “There are so many people here, and Mandy is pregnant. I’m afraid she might get jostled.” He went to sit with his mistress. The whole room was filled with murmurs of disapproval. Mom seemingly lowered her head in embarrassment, but secretly, she shot a glance at Uncle Ben, who was not far away.

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A new intern had been using my photos to date the CEO online for three months. Suddenly, a stream of comments popped up before my eyes: [Oh no, what now? The CEO is coming back next week to meet the protagonist in person, but the protagonist has been dating him using the antagonist’s photos!] [Sigh, it’s all because the antagonist’s big, alluring eyes were too captivating. Otherwise, our protagonist wouldn’t have been so self-conscious about her single eyelids, forcing her to use the antagonist’s photos for online dating.] [Don’t worry, our protagonist darling is super smart! She’s getting double eyelid surgery tomorrow, and with some clever makeup, she’ll be ninety percent similar to the antagonist. The CEO will never find out!] [Once the protagonist gets her double eyelids, she’ll definitely be prettier than the antagonist. After all, she’s a 22-year-old girl, naturally fresher than a 28-year-old old hag.] Wait, this 28-year-old big-eyed antagonist… why does she sound so much like me? Just as I was trying to make sense of it, Lynn, my intern, knocked and walked in. “Boss, I’d like to request a week off for double eyelid surgery!” I looked up, glancing at her with a faint smile. “Leave denied. You’ll be on a two-week business trip.” 1 Lynn froze, her eyes wide with disbelief. “Is… is that big project in Atlanta being assigned to me? But I’m just an intern, I don’t have any experience.” I nodded, my voice firm. “Don’t worry. My old friend is the contact person over there. She’ll guide you every step of the way. Haven’t you always wanted to be involved in this project? After much consideration, I decided young people deserve a chance. This trip will be tough, though. There’s a lot of work to manage daily, and you might even have to pull all-nighters for meetings. You’ll need to dedicate all your time and energy to it. If you seize this opportunity and do well, you can secure your full-time position, and perhaps even get a promotion and a raise.” Any other intern would have jumped for joy. But for Lynn, a promotion and a raise were nothing compared to meeting the CEO. Seizing a career opportunity was less important than snagging the CEO, a veritable cash cow. Becoming the CEO’s wife was a far more comfortable life than working like a dog. She certainly knew how to calculate her priorities. So, without a second thought, Lynn immediately refused. “But my double eyelid surgery is scheduled for tomorrow afternoon. That surgeon is incredibly popular and hard to book—a lot of influencers get their work done by him. I booked this a month in advance, I can’t change the time. I really appreciate you giving me this chance, Boss, but my abilities are limited. I’m afraid I can’t complete this task. Maybe you should find someone else.” I had anticipated her excuse. So I slapped the desk, feigning anger. “Lynn, have you lost your mind? Giving up a business trip for double eyelid surgery? Do you know how rare an opportunity like this is for an intern? The chance is yours, your flight is booked, and the contact in Atlanta is waiting for you at the hotel. Think carefully. If you forgo this opportunity for plastic surgery, I’ll have no choice but to inform HR during your performance review. I doubt anyone would want to hire someone who doesn’t understand priorities.” At my threatening tone, the comments section exploded: [Oh my god, typical evil antagonist, daring to threaten our protagonist like that!] [She’s just a measly director, who does she think she is?] [Yeah, what’s the antagonist flaunting? She’ll regret this later!] [Once our protagonist darling becomes the CEO’s wife, she’ll be the first one to get fired!] [Firing her is too boring! Make her clean toilets and fetch coffee, that’s real revenge!] 2 The comments kept scrolling, most of them calling me evil for trying to stop the protagonist and the CEO from meeting. It was then that I realized I was in a CEO romance novel. In the book, Lynn was the protagonist. She had fallen in love with the CEO’s photo when she first joined the company, then scoured the internet to learn his preferences. Discovering he liked big-eyed beauties, she set her sights on me, the woman with the largest eyes in the company, and secretly used my photos to entice him. The original plan was that after she had double eyelid surgery, styled to match my eyes by a popular surgeon, she would smoothly meet the CEO, embark on a sweet romance, and become his wife. However, as the “evil antagonist,” once I learned she was using my photos to date the CEO, I would try every trick in the book to “seduce” him. Eventually, the protagonist, fearing I’d succeed, would use her status as the CEO’s wife to fire me. She’d then expose my flirtatious messages with the boss online. This would lead to my being blacklisted across the entire industry, leaving me destitute, and ultimately, I’d be hit by a car by a “righteous netizen” and die. Oh, lovely. Since I was the evil antagonist with such a grim fate, I had no choice but to rewrite my destiny. The thought of Lynn becoming the CEO’s wife and unleashing her vengeance, leading to my tragic death, sent a shiver down my spine. When HR first handed me Lynn’s resume, I immediately passed on her due to her low academic qualifications. But she wouldn’t give up, repeatedly waiting for me downstairs, pleading for an interview. Seeing the brave and persistent young woman, I softened and let her join my department. Now, it seemed, it was all fate, merely playing out the book’s plot. But the story was just beginning, and I still had a chance to change everything. With that thought, I fixed my gaze on Lynn and said coldly, “The plane departs in three hours. I hope you make the right choice.” Then I sent her the flight details. Upon receiving the booking confirmation, Lynn’s face instantly fell. She frowned, challenging me, “Ms. Davies, I really can’t go. Why are you making things so difficult for me? I told you I have something important tomorrow and need to take a day off. Why do you insist on sending me on a business trip? You can’t just force me to do things I don’t want to do just because you’re my boss, can you? Whether you approve the leave or not, I’m not coming in starting tomorrow. I have to get this double eyelid surgery.” With that, she grabbed her bag, ready to storm out. 3 Seeing Lynn’s defiance, the comments section immediately erupted: [Our protagonist is awesome, that’s exactly what she should do!] [Who does that old hag of an antagonist think she is? Why should Lynn listen to her?] [What’s a lousy project lead compared to becoming the CEO’s wife?] [The antagonist is so shameless, doing everything she can to keep the leads apart!] [Our protagonist darling’s double eyelid surgery has to happen tomorrow, or the CEO will find out when he arrives!] [Our protagonist is about to get the same double eyelids as the antagonist; the CEO loves those sparkling big eyes!] The timing of these comments couldn’t have been better. I was just looking for an excuse to get a handle on her. Since the CEO loved those big eyes so much, what if the entire company knew Lynn was getting double eyelid surgery? How would she continue her charade then? With that thought, I quickly posted a message in the team chat: [Lynn Spencer is having double eyelid plastic surgery tomorrow. Anyone interested in going to Atlanta for the big project instead?] The moment she saw the message, Lynn rushed back, pleading with me, “Boss, I beg you, please retract that message! Such private matters don’t need to be shared with the whole team.” I smirked, my voice calm. “Since you don’t want to go on the business trip, of course I have to ask around to see if anyone else can fill in. Isn’t that normal?” Lynn yelled, her voice laced with desperation, “I’ll go! I’ll go on the business trip! Please, just retract the message!” Once the message was gone, Lynn finally breathed a sigh of relief. She lightly wiped the sweat from her brow, then accused me, “Ms. Davies, why do you have to push me like this? All I want is to get double eyelids. What’s wrong with a young woman wanting to be beautiful?” I spread my hands, feigning helplessness. “How am I pushing you? If you don’t want to go on the trip, I ask others. That’s perfectly normal, isn’t it?” Seeing her speechless, I shifted the conversation, deliberately asking, “On the other hand, why are you so worried about people knowing you’re getting double eyelids? Could you be hiding some secret?” Before Lynn could reply, the comments section had already exploded: [That old hag of an antagonist is so shameless, truly manipulative!] [She intentionally posted it in the company-wide chat, just to let everyone know the protagonist is getting double eyelids, didn’t she?] [The most despicable thing is that the antagonist even deliberately used the word “plastic surgery” to mislead everyone!] [Although the CEO doesn’t really check group messages, his assistant does! What if it gets back to him?] [Good thing it was retracted, otherwise if the CEO saw it, it would be over! The CEO hates women who get plastic surgery!] [Ugh, our poor protagonist, trapped by the antagonist like this!] Hahaha, I knew it! Mr. Sterling, being a CEO, was never short of beautiful women. Why would he like someone who’d had plastic surgery? Even double eyelid surgery was a no-go, as it could affect future generations’ looks. Lynn was flustered by my sudden question. She stammered, trying to explain, “N-no… no, it’s not… I just feel it’s personal… no need for everyone to know. I only told you because I needed to take leave, and the doctor said I need a week of rest after surgery, no phone use. I wanted to make sure you wouldn’t assign me work during my time off.” Oh, I see. That explained why she came to my office to ask for leave in person. I didn’t bother listening to her excuses anymore. I pointed to the clock on the wall and reminded her, “Alright, hurry up and go. You can get your double eyelids done later.” Lynn knew there was no room for negotiation. She glared at me, annoyed, and then stormed out. 4 After confirming Lynn was on the plane, I immediately messaged my best friend in Atlanta. I told her to keep a close eye on Lynn, making sure every move she made was under surveillance. Recalling the comments that said the CEO would return next week, yet there was no internal company announcement, I wondered: was Mr. Sterling coming back specifically for Lynn? To gather more information, I ordered a coffee and went to Jessica’s office, our Head of HR. “Jessica, the annual gala is next Friday. Any special guests attending?” Jessica took a sip of her coffee and whispered, “Just between us, Mr. Sterling will be at the gala this year. The grand prize is a month of study at our headquarters in France for one lucky employee drawn live. You’ve been with the company for five years, but you’ve never met him, have you? He suddenly decided to attend this year, and the grand prize was his last-minute addition.” Hearing that, I instantly understood. The “lucky employee” was surely Lynn. Using a work trip as an excuse to take his girlfriend to France—classic CEO move. Back in my office, I dug out some of my best photos and did a full-network search on social media. Hours later, I finally found Lynn’s private account on a certain platform. The account had only been registered for a short time, just three months. She had completely copied and pasted my entire social media feed—my selfies, daily life photos, even my posts about feeding stray cats and my insights on industry trends. Good heavens, this wasn’t just using my photos for online dating; she was practically replicating my entire life! Lynn was nothing short of a con artist! After scrolling through all the content, I didn’t find any interactions between her and Mr. Sterling. So I clicked on her followers list and found only one person. This account didn’t show a face, but every single post reeked of pretentiousness. It was either a picture of a Rolls-Royce emblem or a Rolex watch, all flaunting extreme wealth. And Lynn, like a sycophant, commented on every single post with more than fifty words.

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1 It was the company’s team-building day, and I brought my daughter along. My colleagues found her adorable, constantly showering her with snacks. Only our young boss, Ethan, eyed her with a knowing look. “Autumn, your daughter looks so much like a friend of mine. So much so, I’d almost suspect she’s his illegitimate child.” Ethan snapped a picture of Ella, then asked for my permission. “You don’t mind if I send this to my friend, do you? Just to spook him a little.” I shook my head, simply dismissing it as a coincidence. My colleagues, now intrigued, gathered around me, gossiping non-stop. “Autumn, what does the baby’s father do?” “We… separated a long time ago.” “Ella is so beautiful, besides your gorgeous genes, her dad must be responsible too. Was your ex-husband really handsome?” “Yes, quite handsome.” Even though he wasn’t even an ex-husband. “Why did you two break up? Did he cheat?” “No.” “Domestic violence?” “No, he was very gentle.” “Then why?” My colleagues were genuinely regretful. I offered a bitter smile, saying nothing more. My thoughts drifted over a thousand miles away, to the city of Portside. I was sold to Mr. Tanner, Liam Tanner, by my adoptive father to pay off a debt. He initially didn’t want me, but fearing my adoptive father might beat me to death, he took pity. Not only did he let me live rent-free in one of his properties, but he also funded my high school and university education. Yet, during that time, he never saw me again. It wasn’t until graduation that my adoptive father, burdened by gambling debts, schemed with me once more. He demanded I go to Liam for money. Little did he know, I couldn’t even find Liam. The only person I normally contacted was his assistant, Ryan Lee. And I certainly didn’t want to find him. My adoptive father beat me until I was hospitalized, making me miss my graduation ceremony. I didn’t tell Ryan, but Liam found out anyway. In the crowded hospital room, reeking of antiseptic, I saw Liam for the second time. He was still as composed as a mountain, refined as jade when he cast his gaze down, yet radiating an undeniable presence. My left cheek was bruised and swollen from my adoptive father’s beating, and every movement of my mouth was painful. I hid my left cheek, not daring to meet Liam’s eyes. “Did you learn self-defense for nothing?” His tone was laced with helplessness. “No, I didn’t learn for nothing,” I countered. I had deliberately not fought back. That way, I’d have evidence to sue the man and sever our father-daughter relationship. “Why didn’t you contact Ryan?” I lowered my head, my voice barely a whisper. “No reason.” Liam sighed. He turned and instructed Ryan to move me to a spacious private room and hire a caregiver. As he was about to leave, I tugged at his sleeve. He looked at me, his eyes devoid of emotion. “Mr. Tanner, I’ll pay you back.” “Have you decided what you’ll do?” “Yes, I’ve already interviewed for the Executive Assistant position with Mr. Vance at Horizon Corp. I start next week.” With the injury report, I smoothly severed ties with my adoptive father, finally gaining my freedom. An Executive Assistant’s salary was good, but to repay Liam as soon as possible, I remained frugal. After moving out of Liam’s property, I chose to share an apartment. My boss, Marcus Vance, was not an easy person to work for. Besides assisting him professionally, I also had to manage his private life. One day it was preparing an anniversary surprise for a university student, the next it was ordering flowers and gifts for a model… such tasks were commonplace. At an auction, Ryan and I both bid for a pair of earrings, the posthumous work of the famous jewelry designer Anna. After a few rounds, I could see his determination, so I gave up. As I was leaving, Ryan called out to me. He placed the brocade box containing the yellow diamond earrings in my hand. I stood frozen. “Boss’s orders.” After successfully acquiring the earrings, he reported the news to Liam. He also casually mentioned, “Autumn Valley was also at the auction, presumably for these earrings.” There was a few seconds of silence on the other end of the line, then a direct command: “Give them to her.” I tried to return the brocade box to Ryan, but he wouldn’t take it. “Mr. Vance sent you, didn’t he? If you don’t bring the item back, how will you report to him?” The earrings were what Marcus’s new girlfriend had her eye on. At worst, he’d yell at me when I got back. I was used to it. Ryan simply said, “Boss said they’re yours. You can do whatever you want with them.” Later, I learned that Liam had acquired those earrings for a project he was pursuing. The daughter of the project’s head particularly loved Anna’s jewelry designs. Getting those earrings would save him a lot of trouble. I still got an earful from Marcus because I couldn’t bear to give him the earrings. Many nights, looking at those earrings, Liam’s calm, restrained face would involuntarily appear before my eyes. But then, the earrings were stolen and sold by my roommate. I was so furious I beat her up, and it ended up at the police station. The officer told me to call someone to post bail. I looked at my contact list. After much deliberation, I called Ryan, repeatedly begging him not to tell Liam. However, as I walked out of the police station with him, the window of the black car waiting outside lowered, and Liam’s face appeared before me. I felt a little disoriented. It had been over a year since I last saw him. “Are you hurt?” Liam didn’t ask why I hit her. I shook my head. “You really liked those earrings?” Liked them enough to almost kill the person who stole them. I bit my lip guiltily. “They were very valuable.” “But I heard that person offered you all the money from selling them, yet you still didn’t let her off the hook.” My head drooped completely. “I’m sorry, Mr. Tanner. I caused you trouble.” He paused, then chuckled softly. “What kind of trouble is this?” Liam pulled out a neatly folded handkerchief and handed it to me to wipe the bloodstains from my hands. “Don’t dirty your hands for material possessions.” The handkerchief carried Liam’s unique, faint scent, and I couldn’t bring myself to soil it. Liam knew where I lived, but it was his first time visiting. The hallway walls were peeling, dark, and narrow, and the room inside was so small it was hard to turn around. A place that felt cramped for one person housed three. Liam subtly frowned. “You’ve been living in a place like this since you moved out of Cloud Creek? Are you that short on money?” He didn’t wait for my answer, instead, he instructed Ryan to go upstairs to pack my bags and move me back to Cloud Creek. Liam refused my offer of rent, so I suggested cooking him dinner. He raised an eyebrow: “Ryan said you’re a great cook?” I hadn’t expected Ryan to tell him even that. I loved to eat, and I loved experimenting with food. Once in college, when Ryan came to my apartment, I made him dinner. I walked into the kitchen, and Liam followed. He took off his suit jacket, rolled up his shirt sleeves, and naturally picked up vegetables to wash. I was a little surprised. “I can manage by myself.” “I’ll help you out, we’ll be faster.” He moved continuously, his back tall and slender. He looked so much like the male lead from the comic I read last night. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, inviting all sorts of fantasies. After that day, Liam often brought groceries and joined me for dinner. Slowly, from initial awkwardness, I eventually became comfortable enough to unreservedly direct him to do tasks. Marcus Vance had a new celebrity girlfriend. On her birthday, she was filming on set and wanted him to visit. He didn’t have time, so he sent me with flowers and jewelry to soothe her mood. However, she was a fiery one. She took out all her anger towards Marcus on me. She splashed unfinished coffee without hesitation. Everyone on set watched in shock. Fearing they might be implicated, no one dared to step forward. I stood still, calmly allowing her to vent. I hoped that once she finished venting, she wouldn’t bother Marcus anymore. Otherwise, I’d be busy again. I still had dinner planned with Liam that evening. Just as I was zoning out a little, a cup of coffee, without warning, was also splashed onto the celebrity. It was still steaming slightly. I turned my head in astonishment, meeting Liam’s sharp jawline. He stood with one hand in his pocket, casually tossing the empty coffee cup onto a nearby table. This was the first time I had ever seen Liam angry. Even Ryan, who followed behind him, was wide-eyed in shock. I quickly pulled out tissues to wipe the celebrity. But Liam gripped my wrist, pulling me away. “I can’t leave.” If I just walked away like that, Marcus would never let me hear the end of it. Liam released me, his eyelashes slightly lowered. Our eyes met, and I clearly saw indignation in his gaze. “And now you don’t know how to fight back? Autumn, I’m genuinely curious what goes on in your head.” “I… she’s my boss’s new girlfriend. I can’t upset her.” These were just part of my job; I didn’t feel wronged. Besides, in such situations, Marcus usually offered a significant compensation afterward. No job came without its frustrations, and self-respect was often worthless in the face of money. Liam sighed helplessly. “Don’t worry, I’ll talk to Marcus so he doesn’t take it out on you.” Liam’s regular penthouse apartment was near the filming location. I showered at his place and changed into the clean clothes Ryan had prepared for me. When I came out, I saw Liam leaning back on the sofa, eyes closed, asleep. The fitted suit vest tightened at his waist, subtly outlining the firm lines of his abdominal muscles. His legs were relaxed, slightly parted, radiating a strong, masculine aura. It drew me towards him involuntarily. I stared at his face for a long time, then tiptoed over and gently removed his gold-rimmed glasses. Just as I was about to retreat, Liam slowly opened his eyes. At arm’s length, I couldn’t help but swallow, staring at his lips. “Mr. Tanner, I was just…” Before I could finish my sentence, his sudden kiss swept away all my words. His kiss, unlike his usual gentle demeanor, was forceful and relentless, an unending assault. After a long while, I collapsed weakly onto his chest, my legs having, at some point, wrapped around his. We were so close, we could feel the rhythm of each other’s beating hearts. As reason slowly returned, I felt a little embarrassed and tried to get up. But Liam held the back of my neck, pulling me even tighter into his embrace. “Autumn, will you be my girlfriend?” I looked up, surprised, and a smile slowly bloomed under his gentle gaze. I nodded furiously. At that young age, I believed that as long as we loved each other, we could be together forever. But I forgot that two people from different worlds, even if they occasionally intersected, would eventually drift apart. In our fourth year together, I became pregnant. Liam was overjoyed when he found out. Ryan chuckled, saying, “Looks like Boss’s proposal plan needs to be moved up.” While I was immersed in happiness, a video was sent to my phone. The video was secretly filmed through a door crack. Liam was sitting on the sofa with his back to the door, bare-chested, his lean back covered in crisscrossing blood marks. It was horrifying. The family doctor was carefully applying medicine to him. Each time the cotton swab touched a wound, his body trembled slightly. But from beginning to end, he didn’t utter a sound. [My brother loves you very much, but you might not understand our family. Our marriages are never our own to decide.] [Can you really bear to see him suffer so much for you?] [Autumn, for all he’s done for you, please let him go.] I never knew that, in places I couldn’t see, Liam had to pay such a painful price to get his family to accept me. His pride shouldn’t be repeatedly humbled because of me. When I handed him the abortion papers, his eyes instantly welled up. But he didn’t ask anything, merely pulled me gently into his embrace. He even thought up the reasons for me. “If you don’t want children, then we won’t have them. It must have hurt a lot, didn’t it? Autumn, I’m sorry. I won’t let such an accident happen again.” I coldly pushed him away. “Liam Tanner, not only do I not want a child, I don’t want you either. We… we’re breaking up.” In a perpetually rainy February, I left the city that had given me painful memories, yet also moments of happiness. I came to my adoptive mother’s hometown, Coastwood. Years ago, my adoptive father couldn’t have children, so they adopted me. Later, due to work, they moved me to Portside. After that, my adoptive mother passed away, and my adoptive father became addicted to gambling, his personality changing dramatically. The years before I met Liam were a nightmare. That’s why I loved him, and even more, I was grateful to him. Precisely because of this, I wanted him to remain the brightest sun, not drag him down from his pedestal. After my colleagues’ attention shifted from me, the conversation slowly moved to our newly appointed junior boss, Leo Vance. They said he had previously been expanding the market in Portside, then spent over half a year at a branch office before returning to headquarters. I paused, nervously confirming with a colleague. “What did you say? The junior boss came back from Portside?” “Yeah, you didn’t know?” My head buzzed. I found Leo again. “Mr. Vance, the friend you just mentioned… his last name isn’t Tanner, is it?” Leo looked surprised. “How did you know?” “The photo from earlier, can you unsend it?” Leo had sent the photo to Liam, then put his phone away. Hearing my question, he pulled his phone back out. It was already past the unsend window. Below the photo Leo sent, there were a few lines of text. [This company employee’s daughter, doesn’t she look exactly like you?] [I was stunned!] [If I didn’t know how pure you are, I’d swear she was your illegitimate child!] Just then, the person on the other end, who hadn’t replied until now, sent a new message. [Send me the address.]

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Six months into my new apartment, and out of all the milk I’d ordered for half a year, I’d only managed to drink five. The rest had all vanished down the gullet of the elderly woman next door. I installed a camera; she showed up in a mask. I woke up early to grab it; she was even earlier. Finally, I resorted to my last trick: cash on delivery. I thought my troubles were over. Seven days later, the building manager stood at my door, his face grim. He handed me a piece of paper. Four words on it turned me to stone. 1 I’d moved into this apartment complex six months ago. To catch a few extra minutes of sleep each morning, I’d subscribed to a fresh milk delivery service. The milkman would drop a bottle into the milk box by my door before six AM daily. My usual wake-up time was seven-thirty. After I’d washed up, I’d open the milk box. Empty. At first, I assumed the milkman had forgotten. I called to inquire. He insisted, quite adamantly, that he’d delivered it. He’d been delivering to this complex for three years, he said, never once made a mistake. Perhaps a neighbor’s mischievous child had taken it, I thought. The next day, the milk box was empty again. The third day, still nothing. I was getting annoyed. Three consecutive days – this wasn’t normal. I told the milkman, “Please send me a message tomorrow after you’ve delivered the milk.” He agreed. The fourth morning, my phone’s vibration woke me before six AM. It was the milkman’s message: “Milk delivered.” I immediately shot out of bed and rushed to the door. I opened it. The milk box was empty. The motion-sensor light outside was still glowing faintly. A lingering chill in the air suggested someone had been there just moments ago. This meant someone had taken the milk in the mere seconds between me receiving the message and opening my door. Who would be so utterly bored? And every single day? I decided to install a camera. I ordered it online, and it arrived the next day. I mounted it in a discreet corner above my door, positioning it to clearly capture my doorway and the area directly opposite. I connected it to my phone app and set up motion detection alerts. After all that, I felt a good deal more at ease. I wanted to see just who this mysterious individual was, so obsessed with a single bottle of my milk. The fifth morning, my phone buzzed precisely at 5:50 AM. It was a motion detection push notification. I immediately opened the app. A familiar figure appeared on the live feed. It was old Mrs. Davison, my next-door neighbor. She was retired and usually very friendly. When I first moved in, she’d even brought me a plate of dumplings. Seeing me, a young woman, always alone, she’d frequently fuss over me. “Skylar, you work too hard; you need to take care of yourself.” “Skylar, are you seeing anyone?” I couldn’t believe it was her. On the screen, she was wearing pajamas, her hair disheveled. A large blue face mask covered almost half of her face. She walked up to my door, skillfully opened my milk box, glanced left and right, then took out the milk bottle. She quickly turned and went back into her own apartment. The entire process took less than ten seconds. I stared at my phone screen, utterly stunned. It really was her. I rewound the video. She seemed to know where the camera was, deliberately avoiding its direct gaze. The mask was also for concealment. She knew this was stealing. A surge of anger, unidentifiable, rose within me. I thought of her as a kind, elder neighbor. She was treating me like an idiot. A bottle of milk wasn’t worth much, but I couldn’t swallow this insult. I saved the video. I had the evidence. But confronting her directly? I hesitated. She was a neighbor, after all. If we fell out, it would be incredibly awkward seeing each other every day. Plus, she was old. What if I said something too harsh and she had a heart attack? I decided to give her another chance. I planned to beat her to it. 2 The next day, I set my alarm for five-thirty. It was still dark when I woke. I didn’t turn on the lights. I crept to the door and peered through the peephole. The hallway was pitch black, save for the faint green glow of the emergency exit light in the distance. I waited patiently. At five forty-five, I heard the familiar footsteps of the milkman and the gentle clinking of glass bottles. The sound echoed clearly in the hallway. The milkman stopped at my door, opened the milk box, placed the bottle inside, and closed it. Then, he moved on to the next apartment. I waited until his footsteps faded, silently counting to ten. Then, I yanked the door open. The doorway was empty. The milk box was empty too. I froze. How was that possible? I’d been watching through the peephole the entire time. I hadn’t seen anyone approach. I immediately checked my phone. The camera app hadn’t registered any motion detection alerts. I double-checked the app settings – everything was fine. I pulled up the recording for that time slot. The screen was completely black. Nothing. I understood then. She knew the camera’s blind spots. She must have come from the other side of the stairs, crouching low, staying out of the camera’s view. Then, she’d silently taken the milk. I even suspected she might have been waiting, hidden around the stairwell, ready to act the moment the milkman left. That’s how she managed to do it all before I even opened my door. A chill ran down my spine. This wasn’t just petty theft. This was a pathological obsession. She was going to great lengths for this bottle of milk. Calculating timings, routes, perhaps even mapping out my daily routine. How could I, a young woman constantly working overtime, possibly outwit a retired woman who dedicated all her cunning to this? That afternoon, leaving work, I ran into her in the elevator. “Skylar, back from work?” she greeted me with a warm smile, her face radiating kindness. She held a basket of groceries. “Oh, Mrs. Davison, off to buy groceries?” I forced a smile. “Yes, going to make something nice for your Uncle Tom tonight.” She looked at me, her eyes full of grandmotherly concern. I looked at her smiling face. I couldn’t reconcile it with the masked, stealthy figure from the early hours of the morning. This kind of person… she was terrifying. I decided to give up on trying to outsmart her. Confronting her directly still felt wrong. What if she made a scene, crying and collapsing? I’d never be able to explain myself. Call the police? For a bottle of milk, the officers would just mediate. I thought and thought. I wasn’t trying to prove she stole my milk. I just wanted to drink the milk I paid for. If her target was the milk in the box, then I’d just make sure there was no milk in the box. I pulled out my phone and found the milk company’s customer service number. I had one more option. My last option. 3 The call connected. I told the customer service representative that I wanted to change my milk delivery method. “Hello, madam, how may I help you?” “I don’t want the milkman to put the milk in the milk box anymore,” I said. “Is there an issue with the milk box?” “No, I don’t want to pre-pay anymore. I want to switch to cash on delivery.” The representative sounded a little surprised. “Madam, most of our customers pre-pay monthly or annually; it’s more cost-effective.” “I know, that’s fine. I don’t mind the hassle.” My tone was firm. “I want the milkman to knock on my door every morning and I’ll pay him directly when I pick up the milk.” The representative was silent for a few seconds. “Madam, in that case, you’ll need to have exact change ready every day. Also, our milkmen are very busy with morning deliveries and might not be able to knock at a fixed time.” “No problem, I accept that,” I said. “A general timeframe is fine, between six and six-thirty, I’ll be home waiting.” To finally drink my milk, I was willing to wake up early. “Alright, madam, I’ve made a note for you. Starting tomorrow, we’ll provide you with cash-on-delivery service, with single payments each time.” “Thank you.” I hung up, a weight lifted from my shoulders. I admitted it, I lost. I couldn’t outwit a cunning habitual thief. I could only use this clumsy, yet most effective, method to protect my milk. Cash on delivery. She couldn’t snatch it from the milkman, could she? She couldn’t pay for it for me, could she? Thinking this, I even looked forward to tomorrow morning. I imagined Mrs. Davison, sneaking to my milk box as usual, opening it. Empty. What expression would she have? Disappointment? Anger? Would she think the milkman had forgotten to deliver? Then, day after day, she’d open that empty milk box, eventually realizing her free milk was gone. This feeling was more satisfying than confronting her directly. That night, I slept exceptionally well. The next morning, I woke precisely at six, without an alarm. I walked to the living room, brewed a cup of tea, and sat on the sofa to wait. At six-fifteen, a soft knock came from outside the door. Three rhythmic taps. I walked over and peeked through the peephole. It was the milkman. I opened the door. “Your milk.” He handed me a chilled bottle of fresh milk. “Thank you, how much?” I took out the change I’d prepared. “Seven dollars.” I paid him and took the milk. “Thanks for the trouble every day from now on.” “No trouble at all, it’s my job.” The milkman smiled genuinely and turned to leave. I closed the door, leaning against it, gazing at the milk bottle in my hand. It was cold, still damp from the outside. I twisted open the cap and took a large gulp. A rich, milky aroma instantly filled my mouth. This was the taste. How long had it been since I’d had it? Half a year, over 180 days. I’d only had it five times. This was the sixth. It was earned through my own “cleverness” and “compromise.” Holding the milk, I walked to the window. The sky was already brightening. Early risers were exercising downstairs. Everything seemed so peaceful. I opened my phone and checked the camera. Less than a minute after I closed my door, Mrs. Davison’s figure appeared, just as expected. She was still dressed the same, wearing her mask. She tiptoed to my milk box, skillfully opened it. Then, she froze. Her hand fumbled inside the milk box for a long time. Empty. She closed the milk box, then opened it again. Still empty. She straightened up, standing there, bewildered, seemingly trying to figure out what had gone wrong. She even walked to the stairwell, looked around, then came back. Finally, she left, unwilling to give up. I watched the surveillance footage, a smile playing on my lips. It was a particularly good day. 4 Over the next few days, the milkman would knock on my door promptly around six each morning. I’d exchange cash for milk, then start my day sipping my hard-won drink. Every morning, I’d habitually check the monitor. Mrs. Davison would always appear a few minutes after the milkman left. She’d persistently open my milk box each day, then leave, disappointed. I almost felt sorry for her. But then, remembering her past actions, that fleeting pity evaporated. Not exposing her was already the greatest kindness I could offer. I was simply reclaiming what was rightfully mine. We still encountered each other in the elevator. Her smile was noticeably absent. Seeing me, she’d only manage a curt nod, her eyes holding a mix of resentment and scrutiny. I guessed she was wondering what trick I’d used. I pretended to know nothing, greeting her as usual. “Good morning, Mrs. Davison.” She’d simply respond with an indifferent “Hmm.” The elevator would fall silent. I thought this arrangement was perfect. We kept to ourselves. My world was quiet again. This peaceful existence lasted for a week. I thought the matter was over. I believed our milk war had ended with my “indirect victory.” I was too naive. I underestimated the depths of a “shameless person.” On the afternoon of the seventh day, I was at home, working overtime on a proposal, when the doorbell rang. I thought it was a food delivery, so I got up to open the door. Standing there was the building manager, Mr. Smith, a man in his forties. We rarely interacted. Behind him stood two men in security uniforms. “Mr. Smith? Is everything alright?” I was a little surprised. Mr. Smith’s expression was serious, even grim. He didn’t speak, just looked me up and down. His gaze felt like I was a suspect in a crime, which made me very uncomfortable. “Skylar, isn’t it?” he finally spoke, his tone formal. “That’s me.” “There’s something we need to verify with you.” He took a folder from the security guard behind him, pulled out an A4 sheet of paper, and handed it to me. “Take a look at this first.” His expression was like a judge delivering a verdict. My heart sank. I had a bad feeling. I took the paper. It was printed, with several lines of bold text. The title read: “Application for Compensation for Emotional Distress from Neighbor Skylar Roberts.” Skylar Roberts. That was me. I looked further down. Applicant: Mrs. Alice Davison. My next-door neighbor. I froze. Compensation for emotional distress? On what grounds could she demand compensation from me? I continued to read the stated reasons. When I reached the last part, written by hand, pressing hard into the paper, four words made my blood run cold. My entire body felt like it had been struck by lightning, and I turned to stone.

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When they performed the caesarean section, my husband was buying a gift for his ‘first love.’ When he hung up my desperate call, he said, “What new game are you playing? Get lost! Don’t even look for me if you die!” Seven days later, he was embroiled in the horrific case of a dismembered pregnant woman. To identify the victim and find the killer, he worked tirelessly, barely sleeping. But eventually, the clues began to point, step by step, to me. His most hated wife. 1 After the killer dismembered me, they audaciously dumped my remains into the police station’s sewer system. Officers, clad in thick hazmat suits, spent a full day and night sifting through the foul-smelling sewage before recovering all the pieces. It took several forensic pathologists three days and nights to painstakingly piece my body back together, just barely forming a recognizable human shape. But… my left ear was missing. The police suspected this was a deliberate act of revenge by a criminal. My husband, Detective Captain Asher Rodriguez, was the youngest captain on the homicide squad, with countless complex cases solved under his belt. When his team first saw my remains, several officers were overcome with nausea, retching uncontrollably. Asher’s brows were deeply furrowed, his face ashen, battling the intense disgust. The forensic team handed them the reports and began detailing my condition. “Based on the autopsy results, the victim is female, between 22 and 25 years old. Cause of death was exsanguination.” “The victim had restraint marks on her wrists and ankles, multiple contusions across her body, and her head was repeatedly struck with a blunt object, resulting in a shattered and severely deformed skull.” “Additionally, the victim was pregnant and endured inhumane torture before her death.” Officer Rodriguez slammed his hand on the table with a loud smack. “They’re worse than animals!” The other officers echoed his outrage. “Such a brutal method of killing, it’s most likely a revenge killing!” “What kind of hatred could drive someone to be so vicious to a pregnant woman!” “The killer is too arrogant! Dumping the body in the sewer beneath the police station is a clear provocation to law enforcement!” “…” My husband, Asher, stared intently at the report. “It’s them.” The officers’ faces instantly grew grim. They—a massive international crime syndicate, a huge shadow looming over the minds of every officer. Countless colleagues had fallen each year because of them. But thanks to a decade of relentless effort by law enforcement, this transnational crime group had been entirely dismantled three months prior. Therefore, this case was highly likely the work of a few remaining members, committed for revenge and as a deliberate challenge to the police. 2 Just then, an officer walked in, carrying a shoebox-sized container. “Captain Rodriguez, it’s another one from… your wife.” Hearing my name, my husband’s face contorted with annoyance. “From now on, anything she sends, don’t give it to me. Just throw it out.” Officer Rodriguez sighed, patting his shoulder. “Still can’t let it go after all this time? Your father’s death… it wasn’t Emma’s fault… she was a victim too…” As he spoke, he took the box, opened it for Asher, revealing a transparent jar inside. Upon seeing its contents, everyone gasped in horror. Asher’s hand loosened, and the jar clattered to the floor. It was… a miniature doll. Even after hitting the ground, its pose remained unchanged; it even bounced slightly. The forensic pathologist carefully placed the doll into an evidence bag. With just a glance, he concluded, “It’s fake.” “Another one of her tricks to get my attention. She’s completely insane!” My husband’s single sentence condemned me. But this wasn’t something I had sent. Perhaps the officers also felt that sending such a doll was too much, as they all fell silent. Officer Rodriguez sighed, “Emma doesn’t seem like the type to play such a joke. Could there be some misunderstanding? You haven’t been home in a while; why don’t you go check on her?” “Hmph! What’s there to misunderstand? Sending something like this is just her way of threatening me, trying to make me lose the baby!” My husband sneered. “That kind of woman, full of lies, will even invent a child to get off the hook!” “Even if she really was pregnant, there’s no way I’d let her keep it. A woman like her doesn’t deserve it!” “The sight of her disgusts me! I’d rather focus on the victim, find more clues, identify her, and solve this case quickly.” I floated in the air, transparent tears streaming down my face. So… in his heart, I wasn’t worthy of bearing his child. Who was, then? His ‘first love’ ex-girlfriend? Perhaps thinking of when I had told him I was pregnant, Asher disgustedly tossed the doll into a nearby trash can. Then he pulled out his phone, unblocked me, and spoke in a chillingly cold voice. “Threatening me with a child will only make me think you’re lower than dirt!” “Give up. Even if you die, I wouldn’t spare you a glance!” But… I am dead… And I wasn’t lying… That dismembered body, it’s me… 3 My husband and the detectives gathered around a whiteboard covered with photos of my body, alongside their analyses and theories. Key points were circled. “The victim’s DNA hasn’t matched anyone, indicating she has no criminal record.” “There are no missing pregnant women in recent reports who match the victim’s age and height.” An officer remarked, bewildered, “How could a pregnant woman go missing for so long without any family looking for her? Does she not have family?” Asher twirled his pen, circling the word “child” on the whiteboard. “If we can’t identify the victim, finding the missing child for a DNA comparison might lead us to the father, which could then identify the victim.” I crouched by the trash can, desperately trying to pick up that fake doll, but my translucent hand passed right through it, unable to touch it. The clue you’re looking for right now is inside this fake doll… But you’ve thrown it in the trash… Then, he wrote “Dismemberment Scene” and circled it prominently. There was very little blood in the sewer, clearly just a dumping ground. Killers typically dismember bodies in places they are familiar with or consider safe and private. Most even return to the crime scene. If the dismemberment site could be found, the case would have a major breakthrough. Next, he circled “left ear” and added a question mark beside it. “We searched the entire sewer system, but couldn’t find the victim’s left ear or any remaining body parts.” “This means the killer didn’t dump those parts here.” “But why dispose of them separately? This particular part likely has a distinguishing mark that could identify the victim.” Asher paused in his analysis, his brows slightly furrowed, staring at the words “left ear.” I unconsciously touched my own left ear. On my left earlobe, there was a burn scar. It was from the first time I cooked for Asher; scalding oil had splattered onto my ear, forming a blister and leaving a scar. Asher was very apologetic and applied ointment for me every day. So, he knew perfectly well about the mark on my left ear. “The killer tortured the victim for several days before cruelly murdering her. There must be a grudge with the victim, or her family.” “Revenge…” An officer suddenly looked at Asher. “Captain Rodriguez, could the killer be a criminal we arrested, holding a grudge against us, and that’s why they tortured the victim and dumped her in our sewer, to provoke us…” “No, that doesn’t quite fit. None of our officers’ family members are pregnant… and how could someone go missing without it being reported?” Asher’s eyebrow twitched, as if something had occurred to him. But then he shook his head, as if dismissing his own thought. Asher, in that moment, did you remember? I once told you I was pregnant. But you only thought I was jealous of your ‘first love,’ lying about pregnancy just to manipulate you… Alas, you missed that clue again… If you asked which police officer those criminals hated most, Asher Rodriguez would definitely be number one. If he hadn’t been so cold to me, if he’d just gone home, he would surely have found the clues I left for him. He paused, then immediately plunged back into work, dividing the officers into several teams, each with assigned tasks. One team would conduct interviews, checking for any missing pregnant women. Another team would search for the primary crime scene and any remaining body parts. A third team would visit hospitals, as a pregnant woman like the victim would most likely have prenatal records. In addition, an expert was specifically brought in to reconstruct my skull. The expert could, based on principles of human anatomy and the characteristics of my facial bones, age, and soft tissue data from my body, sculpt my skin and hair onto a plastic model. Once my skull was reconstructed, it could be matched with ID records through the public security system, directly confirming my identity. However, this skull reconstruction would take some time. Asher rubbed his temples, his face etched with fatigue. Buzz, buzz, buzz. He pulled out his phone. Seeing the caller ID, a gentle smile appeared on his face. “Elara, I’m so scared…” “Where are you now? Okay, don’t move. Lock your windows. If you’re scared, turn on all the lights and wait for me to get back!” He hung up, checked the time. It was almost 10 PM. “Everyone, head home and get some rest. We’ll discuss anything else tomorrow.” My heart instantly shattered. Asher was a workaholic; he often disappeared for days on a case, and I never dared to disturb him. But now, a single call from her was enough to make him drop everything and rush back to her… In your heart, I could never compare to her… 4 I floated along, following Asher to a house. It was a residence he owned before we married. It’s ironic, I only learned after I died that the house he said he had rented out was actually occupied by her. Elara Rodriguez, Asher’s ‘first love’ ex-girlfriend. She was the hostage he rescued from criminals three months ago. And in those three months he spent away from home, he must have been living with her here, right? My heart started to ache again at the thought. Elara suffered from post-traumatic stress. He was afraid the criminals would seek revenge and find this hostage rescued by the police. He was even more afraid his beloved Elara would be harmed. So, he, usually so calm and collected, sped home, pushed open the door, his voice trembling. “Elara?” Elara was curled up in the corner of the sofa. Hearing Asher’s voice, she darted into his arms like a startled rabbit, clinging to him tightly. Asher’s body stiffened slightly, then he wrapped his arms around her, gently stroking her soft hair, comforting her in a low, tender voice. “It’s alright, don’t be scared, I’m here…” Elara cried, tears streaming down her face, “Where were you? I was so scared without you…” Asher gently explained, “The dismemberment case, the autopsy results came out today. It’s been a bit hectic.” Elara’s eyes flickered, and she pulled away from his embrace. “Oh? Did you find any clues?” “Yes, the victim was a pregnant woman. It seems to be a revenge killing. Her identity hasn’t been confirmed yet; there are no leads.” “A pregnant woman… how truly pathetic…” She spoke with feigned sorrow, but her eyes glinted with hidden triumph. Her hypocritical demeanor made me want to vomit! She was clearly trying to glean details about the case! Asher, who had always been tight-lipped about cases when dealing with me, was completely unguarded with Elara. Was this the difference between love and not loving? Because he loved her, she was the ‘first love’ he once yearned for but couldn’t have, so in front of her, all his principles vanished. He seemed eager to share with Elara. “The killer brutally dismembered the victim, so we suspect it’s a remaining member from three months ago, deliberately provoking the police.” Elara gasped, seemingly terrified. “That’s… too horrifying… Did you find out who it was?” “Not yet,” Asher said, looking very worried. “It’s highly likely to be remnants of the crime syndicate. I’m afraid the killer knows you’re still alive and might target you.” “Don’t go out recently. If anything unusual happens, call me anytime.” Elara nodded obediently. She softly changed the subject. “Asher, you come here to be with me every day. Won’t she… be unhappy? After all, she’s your wife. Didn’t she say she was pregnant…” At the mention of me, Asher’s face instantly chilled. His expression softened again when he looked at Elara, as if afraid of frightening her. “Why bring her up? If it weren’t for her, my father wouldn’t have…” He frowned. “You should rest now, it’s getting late.” Elara said, “But I’m scared…” “Don’t be. I’ll stay with you until you fall asleep, then I’ll leave.” I floated in mid-air, watching my husband guard Elara’s bedside, gently coaxing her to sleep, with a tenderness I had never seen directed at me. They looked so perfect together. I had always been an outsider… But Asher, the person you’re now cherishing is a demon…

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