Author: Momo Chan

When Arthur Vance, the heir to the most powerful family in New York, was at his absolute lowest, I became his girlfriend. For three years, he lived in my tiny apartment, ate my food, and drank my water. The day he finally reclaimed his throne, I used my very last dime of savings to buy him a parting gift. I was preparing to say goodbye. But through the door, I heard him talking to someone: “She’s not my girlfriend. I’ll just keep her around as a kept woman, like a little canary.” I hid the gift behind my back. Forget it, I thought. Leaving without saying goodbye is fine too. Later, he knelt in front of a church altar for three days and three nights, begging God just for a chance to see me one more time. 1 Holding the gift bag, I walked up to my cheap apartment. I had been rehearsing my farewell speech the entire walk home. But through the thin walls, I heard Arthur’s voice. “Evelyn isn’t my girlfriend. From now on, just consider her a kept woman, like a canary I keep by my side.” His tone was casual, but the words pierced straight through me like a sword. I gripped the handle of the gift bag tightly. It felt like my heart was stuffed with cotton, making it impossible to breathe. So, this was what I was in his eyes? 2 The apartment door suddenly swung open. A man in a sharp, tailored suit saw me and froze. I instinctively took a half-step back. Behind him, Arthur was still wearing the cheap T-shirt I had bought for him at Target. Seeing me standing outside the door, his expression instantly stiffened. “Evie, why are you home so early?” I hid the gift bag even further behind my back. I squeezed out a smile. “Got off work a bit early today.” Without waiting for him to say anything else, I used buying boba tea as an excuse, turned around, and practically ran down the stairs. 3 My apartment was in a rundown neighborhood, but the moment you stepped out of the alley, you hit the bustling, neon-lit heart of the city. Looking at the blinding neon lights I used to find so beautiful, my vision completely blurred. Unable to suppress the overwhelming pain, I finally let the tears fall, releasing everything I had been holding back. I heard two girls walking past me, talking excitedly. “The Vance family heir is so freaking hot.” “It’s like a real-life Succession drama.” Right now, the entire city was gossiping about the exiled Vance heir finally reclaiming his billionaire status. And Arthur Vance was that heir. I pulled out my phone. My TikTok feed was completely flooded with news about Arthur. I clicked on a video I had already watched that afternoon. His handsome, aristocratic face looked directly into the camera. He politely declined a more in-depth interview, but said he wanted to thank one specific person. When reporters pressed him for a name, he refused to answer. How hilarious. I had actually been arrogant enough to believe he was talking about me. 4 Three years ago, Arthur lost a brutal war for control of his family’s empire and was banished from New York. I “picked him up” in a small rural town upstate. At the time, he was practically blind from an injury, and his legs were broken. He had been thrown out of a moving car, looking no better than a homeless beggar. After I took him into my tiny house, he tried to end his own life multiple times. I stayed by his side, quietly keeping watch, until he finally gave up the idea. He never talked about his past. But I knew exactly who he was. Arthur Vance. The former golden boy of the New York elite. Because when he was in high school, he casually circled a name on a map for a charity project. That single action changed the lives of all the impoverished kids in my hometown. Including me. The Vance family established a charity foundation in his name. Every kid in our town, boy or girl, had their high school and college tuition fully paid for by the foundation. Unfortunately, the foundation only lasted for a few years. I just happened to be part of the very last batch of college graduates who benefited from it. When I started high school, I actually met Arthur once. He was pale and looked a bit sickly back then. He came as the representative of the foundation to hand out the scholarship checks to us. Making eye contact with him was like looking directly at the sun. He was so dazzling it hurt your eyes. He forcibly suppressed a look of intense impatience to take a group photo with us. 5 The next time I saw him, I had already graduated college and was working as a sales associate at a luxury boutique on Fifth Avenue. He walked into the store wearing an immaculate bespoke suit, his aristocratic face carrying a trace of cynical world-weariness. The store manager and the regional director personally rushed to assist him. The security guards outside immediately set up velvet ropes, preparing to clear the store. I heard a coworker next to me whispering in pure envy: “It’s Mr. Vance.” “If you close one sale with him, you won’t have to worry about your quota for the rest of the month.” I watched from a distance, the corners of my mouth curling up slightly. I hadn’t seen him in years, and he had changed so much. The awkwardness of the high school boy was gone. He had the commanding presence of a grown man. His features were sharper, his aura even more untouchable. My coworker bumped my arm, thinking I was daydreaming about something impossible. “He’s gorgeous, right?” “Stop dreaming. He’s the crown prince of New York.” I snapped back to reality, my smile unfading. Suddenly, Arthur took a phone call. He started cursing violently, a mix of furious English and something else, before storming out of the boutique like a hurricane. Based on the one or two sentences she caught, my coworker instantly started spinning the gossip mill: “The Vance family succession war is getting bloody.” “The media is saying the old man is on his deathbed, and the second branch of the family is highly likely to seize control.” Arthur was the son of the eldest branch. But his father had been in a severe car crash years ago and was in a vegetative state. I silently prayed that he would win this ruthless, blood-soaked battle for the billionaire throne. I never expected that a few months later… When I went back to my hometown upstate, I would “pick up” the man who lost that exact battle. 6 During the months I stayed with him, his broken legs slowly healed. Eventually, he listened to my advice and stopped wallowing in self-pity. He agreed to go to the hospital to treat his eyes. I emptied out my entire life savings and took out loans to pay for his surgery. We eventually moved to Chicago. Sometimes, I would stand with him on a high balcony, looking eastward, toward New York. But he never explained why. Until the anniversary of his mother’s death. That day, he suddenly pulled me into a crushing embrace. He buried his face in my neck, trembling violently, and spat out words laced with pure agony: “They killed my mother. Then they banished me from New York and forbade me from ever stepping foot there again.” I felt something freezing cold against my neck. It was the tears he had been holding back for so long. He told me all the vile, filthy secrets of his family. I cried with him, and I didn’t forget to encourage him. “As long as there’s life, there’s hope.” 7 After that, we stayed in Chicago for three years. We holed up in the tiny apartment I rented. During the day, I went to work at a luxury boutique downtown. Arthur stayed home, busy with his own secretive affairs. Occasionally, at the store, I would serve wealthy clients visiting from New York. I would listen to them gossip about the shifting power dynamics of the Vance family. Until recently, when I heard that the current head of the Vance family had been implicated in a murder scandal. And the eldest son, who had been declared a permanent vegetable, had miraculously woken up. The leadership of the Vance empire was about to change hands. I knew that Arthur was highly likely to reclaim his position as the crown prince. I had been preparing my goodbye speech for a long time. But over the past few days, every time I practiced it in my head, I couldn’t stop myself from choking up. Today, I heard that people from New York had arrived to see him. I took the absolute last bit of money I had managed to scrape together over the past six months. I bought a designer silk pocket square at my boutique. I thought it would be a dignified parting gift. The massive gap between our social classes meant our story ended here. But I never imagined that was what Arthur truly thought of me. Tears of profound grievance kept falling. It took a long time before I finally wiped them away and walked into a boba shop. 8 An hour later, I walked back into the apartment holding two cups of boba tea. Arthur had taken a shower and was wearing the cheap pajamas I had bought for him. He didn’t offer a single word of explanation about the man in the suit. He just stared at me with his deep, dark eyes, as if waiting for me to ask. I don’t know why, but the tiny apartment I usually found so cozy suddenly felt suffocating. The cheap wallpaper was peeling in the corners, revealing the crumbling drywall underneath, making the place look even more impoverished. I subtly looked away and forced a casual tone. “It’s a new flavor from the boba shop. I waited in line for over half an hour.” As I spoke, I unwrapped a straw, poked it in, took a massive sip, and then handed it to him. “Try it.” He didn’t take it. A heavy, dead silence spread between us. I awkwardly pulled my hand back. Of course. He was about to go back to being a billionaire heir. Why would he want to drink this cheap, sugary garbage anymore? Let alone share a cup with someone like me. But I still remembered when we were first together. He used to complain about me eating junk food, but he would still lean over and take a sip from my boba tea. A wave of bitter acidity washed over my chest. I pretended I was sweating, set the boba tea down, and walked toward the bathroom. 9 When I came out after showering, the overhead light suddenly started flickering violently. After a few seconds, it burnt out completely, plunging the room into total darkness. Arthur walked over, wrapped his arms around me, and coaxed me gently. “It’s okay. I’m here.” The pain I had forced down surged right back up to my chest because of that one sentence. It felt like thousands of tiny needles were being driven into my heart. Wave after wave of suffocation. If he hadn’t just told his guy that I wasn’t his girlfriend… If he hadn’t literally said he was going to keep me as a “canary”… With how deeply affectionate he sounded right now, I really would have believed he actually loved me. In the dark, he tried to kiss me. I turned my face away to avoid it. I reached up to push him away, but then I heard him say: “Evie, we’re going to be together forever.” I gave a soft “Oh.” My heart was rapidly sinking into an abyss. Together forever? As your kept woman? 10 I didn’t let Arthur see my emotions. I fumbled in the dark to find the hairdryer. He turned on his phone’s flashlight to illuminate the room and helped me dry my hair. He also said he really loved the pocket square I gave him. Only then did I realize he had already opened the gift I bought. The explanation I had prepared died on my lips. I just gave an “Mhm” and said, “I’m glad you like it.”

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A prominent billionaire family in New York was hiring a high-paid “Sleep Consultant” with one single condition: You can coax the young master to sleep, but you absolutely cannot sleep with the young master. I got the job solely because I lacked ambition and loved money. After officially starting, the young master intentionally made things difficult for me. First, he got me drunk. Then, with his bathrobe half-undone, he tried to force me to violate my professional ethics and took pictures as blackmail. In a fit of rage, I used his bathrobe belt to tie his hands and feet, bullying him right back. “If I’m going down, I’m taking you with me!” If I was going to lose my job, he wasn’t going to get a wink of sleep tonight either. 1 Looking at the massive line of gorgeous women ahead of me, I was dumbfounded. The “easy $10,000-a-month gig” my friend told me about had a waiting room that looked like a Miss America pageant. Everyone was dressed to the nines, in all shapes and sizes. Aside from me, every single person was busy touching up their makeup. The Vance family, one of New York’s absolute top-tier billionaire families, was currently mass-recruiting Sleep Consultants. They were incredibly generous, hiring seven candidates at a time, each given a one-night trial. Even if you didn’t pass the trial, you still got paid for a full week’s work. The only catch: you had to pass the initial interview. I graduated with a degree in psychology, although I hadn’t worked a single job related to psychology since leaving school. But $10,000 could solve a lot of my problems. My younger sister could focus on her SAT prep instead of working three part-time jobs over the summer. My grandmother’s nursing care fees would be covered, meaning we wouldn’t have to rely on my aunt’s charity and endure her constant sneers. Even if I failed the trial period, I’d still walk away with a couple of thousand dollars. But looking at this fierce, competitive “spectacle” in front of me… “Hey girls, are you all here applying for the Sleep Consultant position too?” I asked a few of the beautiful women chatting nearby, just to make sure I wasn’t in the wrong place. They looked me up and down, their eyes filled with disdain upon seeing my completely out-of-place, casual outfit. “Obviously.” “Heh, ‘Sleep Consultant.’ Who knows what that actually means,” one scoffed. “I heard from people in their circle that the young master, Arthur Vance, used to throw wild parties all the time when he studied abroad.” “Yeah, I heard Arthur Vance plays rough. He won’t get sleepy until he tortures someone to the point of passing out…” “No wonder they need one girl per night. Who could handle that?” “If you actually think they’re paying $10,000 just to have someone read bedtime stories, you’re kidding yourself.” I shuddered. So it really isn’t a decent, legitimate job. Sigh. Looks like I made this trip for nothing. I decided I was going to eat every single gourmet pastry provided in the waiting area to make up for the Uber fare I spent getting to this Upper East Side mansion. Just as I was full and preparing to sneak out, someone called my name loudly. “Next, Chloe Davis.” 2 When I pushed the door open, I let out a soft burp. The beautiful assistant leading the way shot me a glare, then bowed slightly to the person inside: “Madam, the candidate you requested is here.” The grand hall was opulent, with massive Impressionist oil paintings hanging on the walls. Sitting in the center of a plush sofa was a highly elegant, graceful woman. Her snow-white skin, maintained with mountains of money, made it impossible to guess her real age. She flipped through my written assessment, looking increasingly satisfied. “Are these your honest thoughts?” she looked up, scrutinizing me. At the time I filled it out, I just wanted to leave, so I answered randomly and had completely forgotten what I wrote. I just nodded. “You’re hired.” Me: ? “People who love money are easy to communicate with. You’re exactly who I’m looking for.” Mrs. Vance made the decision on the spot. I became the only person hired that day. Simply because my love for money was brutally honest, and I was the least ambitious-looking person in the entire building. 3 The head butler told me I was starting tonight. “The young master hasn’t slept a wink in three days.” “Why can’t your young master sleep?” I asked cautiously. The butler suddenly stopped walking. “You don’t need to know that, and please do not ask the young master.” As he showed me the layout of the mansion, he went over the rules, ending with a stern warning. “Miss Davis, please strictly adhere to professional ethics. Know what you are allowed to do, and what you absolutely cannot do.” “You may coax the young master to sleep, but you may not sleep with the young master.” “The young master has already chased away several young women with ulterior motives.” “If you are thrown out, do not expect the Vance family to show any mercy.” “I wish you success.” … Arthur Vance’s bedroom was at the very end of the third floor. Not even moonlight reached it. It was incredibly gloomy. Rumors said that Arthur Vance, the meticulously groomed heir to the Vance empire, had been ruined by his stepmother. Years ago, in a horrific car accident, Arthur’s biological mother and their driver were killed instantly. Arthur, who was in the same car, barely survived and spent over six months bedridden recovering. But in those short six months, his father had already remarried, and the new stepmother had even moved into his deceased mother’s bedroom. The son who survived completely changed. The once gentle, brilliant golden boy became dark, isolated, and highly volatile. He also developed a bizarre condition where he was entirely unable to fall asleep after dark. The previous Sleep Consultants hired for him either had impure intentions or terrible skills. In short, every single one failed. After getting the job offer, I immediately pulled out my phone and crammed on all the Vance family gossip. Who knew how much of it was true and how much was fake? Whatever. I’m here now, might as well make the best of it. I took a deep breath and knocked on the massive wooden door. $10,000, here I come. 4 “Enter.” The voice was freezing and depressed. “Good evening, Mr. Vance.” A massive wall of floor-to-ceiling windows had only a sliver of the curtains open, revealing the unbeatable New York City skyline. The room only had a few dim sleep lights on, flickering faintly. A subtle, dark fragrance floated in the air. The room was huge. The bottomless darkness felt like it could swallow a person whole. A tall, lean young man stood by the window, holding a glass of ice water, looking distant and unapproachable. He had probably just showered; the water from the ends of his hair dampened his collar. A silk bathrobe traced his perfect physique. The dark, ornate patterns made the skin on the back of his neck, his wrists, and his ankles look even paler and colder. Those broad shoulders, that narrow waist, that perfect V-taper… If you don’t show some restraint and dress like this, practically begging for it… No wonder the girls before me got the wrong idea. I coughed lightly twice to make my presence known. “You’re the only one today?” The young man turned around and glanced at me. His face, with striking, sharp features, was exposed in the moonlight. His eye sockets were deep, his eye color incredibly cold. Wait, buddy, do you normally do group sleep-coaxing sessions? “Mr. Vance, would you like to rest now?” It was my first time doing this, and I honestly had no idea how to start. Arthur Vance reached out, yanked the curtains shut, blocking out the last ray of moonlight, and walked toward the massive bed. I looked around. I didn’t see a single chair I could pull up to the bed. Am I supposed to sit on the young master’s bed to coax him? That doesn’t seem appropriate. Stand next to the bed? Like I’m giving a corporate presentation? He’d never fall asleep like that. Thankfully, there was a plush, long-pile rug surrounding the bed. I plopped down onto it. I pulled the book I had prepared out of my bag: Peppa Pig. Arthur leaned against the headboard, his eyes lowered. Seeing what I was doing, veins visibly popped on his forehead. Hold on, don’t get mad, let me explain. “Hehe, my nephew listens to this every day and falls asleep in five minutes.” He let out a cold laugh. “How old is your nephew?” I stammered, “Three…” I started reading Peppa Pig. I read, and I read, and then I zoned out… Shit! It was morning. I wiped the drool off my face. The bed was completely empty, leaving only the imprint of me slumped against the side of it. On my very first day on the job, I fell asleep before my boss did. RIP my career. 5 I thought I was definitely getting fired. I was thrilled. Working one day and getting paid for a whole week? I was ecstatic. But the butler told me the young master was quite satisfied with me and wanted me to keep up the good work tonight. Satisfied? With Peppa Pig?! Taking this money was starting to make my conscience feel a little guilty. On the second night, I changed my approach. I asked the butler for some lotus seeds, longan, and lily bulbs, and made a bowl of soothing sweet soup. Arthur took a reluctant sip and offered his critique: “Too sweet.” I only made one bowl. Thinking he didn’t want to drink it, I grabbed it back and tasted it. “It’s fine! I only put half a piece of rock sugar in it.” He stared at his empty hand, then glared at the bowl in my hand, looking a bit angry. And because he was angry, he refused to sleep. Sigh. On the third night, I warmed up some milk for him, lit some aromatherapy incense, and started telling him gossip about my old boss. Yes, “Sleep Consultant” was just a side gig. During the day, I was a regular corporate drone working a 9-to-5. Arthur didn’t drink his usual ice water. He held the warm milk I gave him, tilted his head, and listened quietly. His eyelashes were very long. When he focused on someone, he looked incredibly affectionate. If the gossip I was spilling wasn’t so utterly unhinged, you’d think he was listening to a symphony. “You said he gets handsy with you guys?” Arthur suddenly interrupted. “Just smacking our butts or patting our shoulders as he walks by.” It was disgusting, but the girls were too angry and scared to speak up. His brow furrowed slightly, a trace of emotion rolling through his eyes. That night, I got really hyped up telling the stories, and he was completely engrossed listening. Sleep? What sleep? On the fourth night, I found a very long, incredibly boring, sleep-inducing movie. I dragged him to the mansion’s home theater to watch it. I preemptively chugged three cups of black coffee (which tasted like herbal medicine) to ensure I wouldn’t doze off before my client did. But when I woke up, the sky had fallen. Not only did I fall asleep. I fell asleep leaning against Arthur. Not only did I lean against him. I also drooled all over his shoulder. “…I’ll wash the shirt! I’m so sorry!” I was so terrified I practically bounced up, apologizing profusely. He slowly stood up, rubbing the shoulder I had been crushing all night. His long, elegant fingers started unbuttoning his shirt. I immediately turned my back— Daytime indecency is highly inappropriate! A soft dress shirt was thrown over my head, blocking my vision, and a large hand patted my head. “Dry clean only.” On the fifth night, I dragged the long-limbed Arthur into doing hot yoga. But my technique was flawed, and I almost bent him in half backwards. If it had been a different kind of “bending,” he probably would have chased me out and beaten me up. On the sixth night, I had him take a medicinal petal bath, then told him to lie face down on the bed. As the essential oils dripped onto his beautifully sculpted back muscles, I clearly felt Arthur shudder. I rubbed my palms together to warm them up and, copying a YouTube video, gave him a sleep-inducing massage. But for some reason, the muscles under my hands grew stiffer the more I massaged them. Wherever I pressed, it turned rock hard. The thin layer of muscle under my hands grew hotter and hotter, breaking out in a fine sweat. His face was buried in the pillow, and the tips of his ears were absurdly red. I whispered, “Mr. Vance, do you have a fever?” Then I was grabbed by the collar and thrown out of the room. Immediately after, the sound of running water came from the bathroom. Tsk, this young master. Not only is he hard to coax to sleep, but he’s a germaphobe too. I washed my hands spotlessly clean before I started the massage! On the seventh night, before the sun even set, Mrs. Vance called me in for questioning. She was a bit surprised I had managed to last six days, but she didn’t call me in to encourage me; she gave me an ultimatum. “Arthur still hasn’t been able to fall asleep after dark these past few days.” “I heard you almost broke his legs?” I forced an apologetic smile. “Not broken, not broken. Tonight will definitely be the night.” “If you don’t succeed tonight, don’t bother coming back next week.” Tonight, it was do or die! 6 So that night, I brought a bottle of dry red wine to see Arthur. He was wearing the same silk bathrobe from the first time we met. The color was slightly different; this one was dark red. The fabric clung to him, highlighting the peaks and valleys of his muscles. The belt was tied loosely, his chest faintly visible through the deep V-neck. Dressing like this, what is he trying to do? I looked away, poured two glasses of wine, and handed one over. “Mr. Vance, thank you for putting up with my nonsense these past few days.” We had tried every sleep remedy in the book, even though they all failed. He took the wine glass but didn’t let go, his palm wrapping over my freezing cold hand. “Do you want me to drink this?” He stared at the dry red wine coating the inside of the glass, looking thoughtful. Getting drunk makes you sleepy. I refuse to believe I can’t drink you under the table. I nodded. He suddenly tightened his grip, yanking my hand toward him. Holding my hand, he downed the entire glass in one gulp. As I was staring in shock, his eyes locked onto my lips, and he suddenly leaned down— My lips were pried open by a soft, hot tongue. My jaw was pinched and tilted upward. The rich, intoxicating aroma of wine exploded between our lips as the sweet liquid was fed into my mouth. I choked in shock and shoved him away. The scarlet liquid spilled all over both of us. I struggled to stand up, but Arthur’s eyes darkened. He pinched my jaw again and fed me the other half of the glass. His lips were glistening, and the emotional tidal wave in his eyes was terrifyingly hot. My brain buzzed. An inexplicable, burning heat ignited in my chest, traveling from the points where he touched me all the way through my limbs. Arthur Vance had a volatile personality, but his body was truly a masterpiece crafted by the gods. From the strands of his hair down to his ankles, he hit every single one of my aesthetic preferences perfectly. By the time I fully processed what was happening, Arthur was already pinned back into the pillows by me. I took back the initiative. I only had one bold idea in my head: Make him cry. Arthur lay on his back, the corners of his eyes flushed red, his expression dark and unreadable, his breathing rapid. His bathrobe was half-undone, the collar wide open, his pale chest stained with a red hue. I grabbed his neck, my hand sliding down that collarbone I had been admiring for days. “Mr. Vance, are you feeling sleepy?” He let out a low, deep laugh, his voice incredibly raspy. “What do you think?” Saying that, he grabbed my knees and pulled me forward, positioning me exactly where he thought I should sit securely. I smiled faintly, leaning down intending to kiss his bobbing Adam’s apple— Click. A faint sound sliced through the quiet night. I paused, finally realizing something was wrong. The next second, the world spun upside down. I was thrown off the bed by Arthur. He rolled me up in the blanket, gathered all the clothes I had shed during our struggle, and threw the whole bundle into the bathroom. “Don’t bother coming back tomorrow.” Through the frosted glass door, Arthur’s voice was cold and hard. “With these photos, that woman will never let you step foot in the Vance estate again.” Photos? A shiver ran down my spine. I suddenly understood Arthur’s inexplicably proactive and ambiguous behavior. What a brilliant honey trap. The warning from Mrs. Vance right before I was hired flashed through my mind: Whoever dares to climb into Arthur’s bed won’t be allowed to take a single penny with them. If these photos were exposed, wouldn’t all my hard work over the past seven days be completely wasted? My brain instantly sobered up. I pressed myself against the door, begging desperately: “Mr. Vance, I was wrong. You can file a complaint against me, but can you please open the door first?” No response from outside. I kept begging, “What I did just now was wrong. I shouldn’t have gotten handsy with my boss.” The silhouette outside the door shifted, seeming to hesitate. “I just want to apologize to you face-to-face.” The door opened. Arthur had his back to me, his voice angry. “Are you dressed?” I took a deep breath and walked step by step until I was right behind him. “Dress for what? Since you’re going to—” Then I violently kicked my leg up! I aimed directly at the leg I had almost broken a few days ago and stomped down with all my might. Caught completely off guard, he dropped to his knees on the floor. Taking advantage of the moment, I yanked the belt off his bathrobe and swiftly tied his hands and feet together. Finally, I bit down hard on that trembling Adam’s apple. “If I’m going down, I’m taking you with me!” If I lost my job… He wasn’t going to get a wink of sleep tonight either. 7 “Get off!” “You got it.” I obediently shifted my weight downward. “Hiss… don’t move!” The young man’s voice was terrifyingly hoarse, sounding like he was grinding his teeth into dust. He told me to get off, I literally went down, and now he doesn’t want that either. Tsk. So hard to please. Arthur’s hands were tied behind his back, his ankles bound together, and the other end of the belt was secured to the bedpost. He was arched over, his dark red bathrobe pulled down to his elbows, his forehead damp with sweat, enduring immense pain. I checked the spot I had kicked earlier; there was no redness or swelling. Why was he acting like he was in so much agony? “Get out…” He tells me to get out and I just leave? Then all my tough talk was for nothing! We haven’t settled the score yet! But honestly, foot pain… can it really hurt this much? Arthur’s eyes were squeezed shut, his breathing heavy. His eyelids were flushed, his lips slightly bleeding. The Adam’s apple I had bitten rolled slightly beneath his thin skin. Broken, muffled groans escaped his lips, like he was desperately trying to suppress something. Watching him made my face burn and my mouth go dry. Could this be an advanced version of a honey trap? I jumped off the bed. Using some life hacks I learned from TikTok, I efficiently dug out every single hidden spy camera and recording device in the room. I pulled out all the memory cards and tossed them next to Arthur’s face. “No evidence for you now.” Just as I was feeling smug, I heard the man chuckling into the bedding. “Are you an idiot? Have you never heard of cloud storage?” Right now, he was clearly the meat on the chopping block and I was the butcher, yet I still felt an overwhelming sense of defeat, like he had me completely figured out. I decided to go all in. I rummaged through the nightstand, found the silk sleep mask Arthur wore during the day, and slipped it over his eyes while he was distracted. The dark green mask hugged his sharp facial contours perfectly. A high bridge of the nose, a strong brow bone. A tight jawline radiating dangerous sex appeal, his Adam’s apple bobbing with every breath. “Chloe Davis!” The sudden darkness made him instantly tense up, his voice trembling. “Oh, so Mr. Vance actually knows my name.” I provocatively scratched him under the chin. After being called “Hey, you, that girl, come here” for days, I was already pissed off. My fingertips trailed down from his burning cheek. “Do you know how to write my name?” The muscles under my hand instantly tensed. I poured the rest of the dry red wine into a glass and dipped my fingertips into the scarlet liquid. Then, on his sweat-sheened abs, I started writing, pressing down hard with every stroke! 8 A few days ago, for the sake of my sleep-coaxing career, I specifically went and learned massage techniques. But after only a few presses, the young master threw me out and ran off to shower, acting like I had contaminated him. “Didn’t you say my hands were dirty?” I muttered as I wrote. “Now I’m going to use my dirty hands to write on your body, stroke by stroke!” I’ve always had a naturally cold constitution; my hands and feet are freezing year-round. Wherever I “wrote,” the skin beneath my “pen” turned bright red. By the end, the writing was illegible. The sweat and wine blended together, making his skin look as red as if he were having a severe allergic reaction. Arthur completely lost his ability to speak. The only sound was his wet, heavy panting. His fists were clenched tightly behind his back, his knuckles completely white. Some deeply repressed emotion was on the verge of losing control. Looking at the young master I had bullied so thoroughly, my brain felt like it was short-circuiting. While I was zoning out, the wine glass tilted, and the remaining liquid poured all over Arthur. The red wine trailed down his chest, over the V-line, and pooled down. Soaking into the dark red bathrobe. The sweet, intoxicating scent of alcohol exploded in the air. My heart raced. Staring at the wine spilled all over him, a terrifying thought flashed through my mind: I want to lean down and clean it up for him… No, no, no! Chloe! Lust is a knife dangling over your head! Arthur looked like he was in absolute agony. After screaming my name, he hadn’t said a single word. If it weren’t for his increasingly rapid breathing, I would have thought he passed out. He curled his body up like a tightly drawn bow, every muscle tense to the extreme. I gently tried to roll him over, but he desperately twisted away, seemingly trying to hide something. I glanced down, noticing the massive, poorly concealed tent pitching in his robe, then looked at the dry red wine in my hand… “Arthur Vance! There was something in the wine?!” I let out a delayed, high-pitched screech. Arthur smirked coldly. “You didn’t know?” How the hell was I supposed to know?! So that’s why he asked, “Do you want me to drink this?” He thought I spiked it! “If I knew, do you think I would have let you kiss… kiss me for that long?!” Thinking back to how he pinched my jaw, kissing me while feeding me the wine… he was trying to drag me down with him! What a sinister motive! Truly an evil capitalist with no good intentions! “I didn’t know there was something in the wine.” Arthur raised an eyebrow. “Makes sense. Seeing as you didn’t even know where to sit.” Hey! You don’t have to insult me too! “Then do you know who spiked it?” Arthur seemed to see through everything, but he just wouldn’t say. I brought the dry red wine. It was a $99 bottle I bought from the supermarket when it wasn’t on sale, which hurt my wallet. But those kinds of drugs are supposedly very expensive. A single pill probably costs more than my entire bottle of wine. The empty wine glass rolled onto the floor… The glasses were provided by the butler. The butler had no reason to harm his own young master. So the target had to be me. But why use a kamikaze tactic just to mess with a lowly temp worker like me? Weren’t they afraid the drug would be too strong and I’d actually sleep with their young master? “I thought you were smart.” Arthur scoffed. “I overestimated your ambition.” Now I was angry. Insulting my intelligence was one thing, but saying I had no ambition?! I am greedy for money and I love good-looking men. How does that mean I have no ambition?! Saying that, I yanked him closer to me, completely ignoring the red marks the belt left on him. “Since the misunderstanding is cleared up and I wasn’t trying to murder you… can we just keep tonight a secret? And my paycheck…” “No. You’re not getting it.” “You!” Fine! Playing nice doesn’t work, huh? Then I’ll play hardball! “If you don’t pay me, I’ll go ask Mrs. Vance. If Mrs. Vance doesn’t pay me, I’ll go to the tabloids and expose your entire family!” I threatened. “Heh. Make sure you contact a few different outlets.” How could his 98.6-degree lips utter such freezing words?! I was just debating my next move to torture him when I suddenly heard a knock on the door. “Arthur, it’s me.” The voice was languid and seductive. “I heard noises coming from your room. Are you okay?” It was Mrs. Vance. Arthur’s stepmother, Susan. 9 A minute ago I was boldly threatening to go to Mrs. Vance, but now that she was actually here, I chickened out. If she saw this room, this bed, her stepson, and the state he was in… I probably wouldn’t just lose my paycheck; I’d end up as the defendant in a lawsuit. Arthur’s face changed drastically. In three quick moves, he broke free from the remaining restraints on his hands and feet and ripped off the sleep mask. Then, he used the bedsheets to wrap me and all my belongings into a massive bundle and stuffed me directly into his massive wardrobe. “Don’t make a sound,” he ordered with a cold face, shutting the wardrobe doors. He also grabbed an incredibly ugly winter coat on his way out. I have been a law-abiding citizen for over twenty years. This was my first time hiding in a closet as a voyeur. It was stressful, thrilling, and terrifying. I held my breath and peeked out through the crack in the doors. I saw Arthur quickly pull his bathrobe shut, tie the belt tightly, throw on the ugly winter coat, and zip it all the way up to his chin. He was completely, hermetically sealed. “Why are you wearing so many layers? Are you not feeling well?” the woman asked in a sweet voice. “No. What do you want?” Arthur only opened the door a crack, standing rigidly behind it, with no intention of letting anyone in. “Arthur, I’m very worried about you.” The voice was melodic and filled with deep concern. First she hires someone to coax him to sleep, then she visits him in the middle of the night. For a stepmother to go to these lengths, it’s truly commendable. I was just getting moved by this display of billionaire family bonding when I was suddenly blinded by a flash of white skin. Susan forced her way into the room. Arthur instantly sprang back, like he had touched something filthy. I quickly clamped a hand over my mouth. The scene unfolding in front of me was absolutely shocking. The Mrs. Vance who was so elegant and poised during the day was now knocking on her stepson’s door in the middle of the night wearing a sheer, lace slip dress. Her cleavage was half-exposed, her curled hair was loose, and her cheeks were flushed. Her immaculately maintained skin glowed softly in the moonlight, and the way she looked at Arthur was so deeply affectionate and ambiguous, she looked like a lovestruck teenager. She reached out, wanting to adjust Arthur’s collar, but he immediately dodged, completely unreceptive to her advances. “I’m fine. You should go back. My dad will be home soon.” “Your dad? Who knows where he’s off messing around. Where’s the girl?” Susan ignored her stepson’s clear signal to leave and walked straight into the bedroom. She glanced at the messy bed. “Wearing a sleep mask at night?” I broke out in a cold sweat. She paced around the room, and just as she was about to walk up to the wardrobe— “You don’t need to look for her. I kicked her out.” Arthur’s tone was hostile as he blocked Susan’s path. “I thought you liked her?” Arthur sneered. “Whether I liked her or not, couldn’t you see it on your security cameras?” I shivered. That little punk played me again. So the cameras were installed by Mrs. Vance, and she knew every single move we made over the past few days. My paycheck… is definitely completely gone now. “I was only worried about your safety, that’s why I…” Mrs. Vance took a step closer, her eyes glued to her stepson, practically pulling strings of affection. “Were you worried she was going to climb into my bed, or were you worried I was going to voluntarily sleep with—” SLAP! The crisp sound of a slap echoed through the room. A clear, red handprint quickly formed on the side of Arthur’s face. But the very next second, Susan acted like she had a split personality, her voice full of heartbreak: “I’m sorry, Arthur, I just got anxious.” She tried to touch her stepson’s face, but he turned his head away to avoid her. “None of those girls are genuine, they’re all just after your money. Only I…” “Then thank you so much for your concern, Mother.” Arthur sneered. “Don’t call me Mother! I am not your mother!” Susan suddenly snapped, backing Arthur up against the edge of the bed. “You used to call me Ms. Susan…” Arthur scoffed. “Oh, so you still remember that you used to be my tutor.” Listening to this conversation, I felt like the oxygen in the wardrobe was running out. My brain couldn’t process the sheer volume of information being thrown at me. I was a little dizzy. No wonder Mrs. Vance was so hyper-sensitive to the candidates’ outfits during the interview and picked me, the most unremarkable one. No wonder she repeatedly emphasized that I could coax him, but absolutely could not sleep with him, and forbade me from having any inappropriate thoughts about Arthur. No wonder Arthur said that if Mrs. Vance found those photos, I would never be allowed back. Mrs. Vance is in love with her own stepson?! If that’s the case, then why did she make Arthur drink the spiked red wine? The butler gave me the spiked glass. It was obvious who gave him the order. Staring at the security cameras, knocking on the door at the perfect moment… She wanted to use me to drug Arthur, and then step in to take my place so she could sleep with him… I violently shuddered. Holy shit! Can someone please Men in Black flash my memory right now?! After accidentally stumbling upon the biggest, dirtiest secret of a billionaire family, am I even going to make it out of here alive?

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Chapter 1 My husband couldn’t forget his first love. He spilled his true feelings in a private VIP room at a club, drunk out of his mind. “I’ve loved her for years. I was too late to confess before, and she got married. Now she’s divorced, but I’m the one who’s married.” I didn’t get angry. I just stayed by his side. My husband despised me. He thought I was a pathetic, clingy woman with no sense of self, an obstacle standing between him and his first love. He was desperate to divorce me. Every time he brought it up, I refused. What he didn’t know was that he was just a target for my mission. I only needed to refuse his request for a divorce three times, and the system would force the mission to end. … When I rushed to the club through the pouring rain, I arrived just in time to hear Arthur say, “I’ve loved her for years. But before I could confess, she got married.” “Now she’s divorced, but I’m married.” One of his friends teased him, “Well, you could always get a divorce too.” Arthur’s drunken voice dripped with contempt and disgust. “That woman is obsessed with me. There’s no way she’d agree to a divorce.” “You guys have no idea. Every time I see her buzzing around me, it just annoys the hell out of me. She has absolutely zero personality or sense of self.” “She can’t even compare to a single finger on Chloe’s hand.” I froze outside the door of the VIP room. Behind me, the sharp click of high heels echoed down the hallway. It was Arthur’s beloved first love, Chloe. “Evelyn, you’re here. Why aren’t you going in?” She spoke up proactively, flashing me a brilliant, arrogant smile. Malice hid in her beautiful eyes. “What are you eavesdropping on out here?” The people inside finally noticed me. Their faces instantly changed, shooting guilty looks toward Arthur. For a split second, Arthur looked sober and panicked, but his expression quickly hardened into something cold. “You heard that?” The room was packed. To save Arthur’s ego, I played dumb. “What? I just got here.” Arthur let out a disgusted, cold laugh and turned his head away, refusing to look at me. I walked into the room to help him up. “It’s late. Let’s go home.” Arthur ruthlessly shoved me away, his impatience boiling over. “Didn’t I tell you I wasn’t coming home tonight? Why the hell did you come looking for me? Do you know how annoying you are?” He was drunk, and he didn’t bother reining in his temper. His expression was colder and more hostile than I had ever seen it. It made him look like a stranger. No, not entirely a stranger. He had been treating me like this for quite some time now. Ever since his first love announced her divorce. “Arthur, don’t talk to Evelyn like that. She only came to pick you up because she cares about you,” Chloe chimed in with fake sweetness. “How about this? Evelyn and I will take you home together. Is that okay?” Looking at Chloe’s face, Arthur’s expression slowly softened. “Okay.” So, I ended up driving while Arthur and Chloe squeezed together in the backseat. I don’t know if Arthur was actually blackout drunk or just doing it on purpose, but he laid his head directly on Chloe’s lap, acting as intimate as a couple deep in the honeymoon phase. The sight made my eyes burn. Chloe offered me a fake apology. “Evelyn, please don’t misunderstand. Arthur is just drunk. Please don’t fight with him over me.” I didn’t say a word. I had absolutely zero desire to waste my energy dealing with a manipulative “pick-me” girl. But Chloe wouldn’t stop. “You really are a boring person. No wonder you and Arthur have been married for five years and still haven’t developed any real feelings for each other.” Chapter 2 Those words struck a nerve. It was true. Once upon a time, I used to fantasize that Arthur and I would have an arranged-marriage-turns-to-true-love kind of romance, that feelings would grow over time. But in the end, Arthur loved his first love more. When the car stopped, Chloe ignored me and practically carried Arthur into the house herself. I didn’t try to stop her. I just sat in the car, looking at the photo I had just taken. The next day, when Arthur sobered up, I showed him the photo. It was a picture of him sleeping deeply on Chloe’s lap, while Chloe gazed down at him with deep affection. Arthur stared at it in a daze, and then a look of joy washed over his face. I bet he was secretly thrilled that Chloe’s eyes looked so full of love for him. So, I intentionally threw a massive fit, demanding an explanation. “What exactly is going on between you and that homewrecker, Chloe?!” Arthur immediately frowned. “Evelyn, stop using such ugly words. Have some class, will you?” I yelled angrily, “Even if I don’t have class, I’m still your wife! I have the right to keep you in line, and I have the right to curse out that homewrecker you’re messing around with!” My words were harsh, and Arthur’s face darkened just as expected. He glared at me coldly. “What? Am I not your wife? Do I not have that right?!” “Then let’s get a divorce,” Arthur said, his expression filled with revulsion. “Evelyn, let’s get a divorce.” I shouted excitedly, “I refuse! Arthur, I will not agree to a divorce!” Arthur gave me a “just as I expected” look, as if he knew all along I wouldn’t agree. Utterly sick of me, he slammed the door and left. Once he was gone, I dropped the angry facade and calmly pulled out a chair to sit down. I finally got him to bring up divorce on his own. Six years ago, the system pulled me into this world and assigned me the mission of making Arthur fall in love with me. For six years, I worked diligently, playing the role of the deeply devoted lover, sacrificing everything to marry him. At one point, I even developed genuine feelings for him. But Arthur still didn’t love me. My mission was a failure. Now, as long as Arthur brought up divorce three times, the system would force the mission to end, and I could return to my original world. Now, there were only two times left. When Arthur came back, I was in the study organizing my illustration drafts. After marrying Arthur, I became both a full-time housewife and a full-time illustrator, gaining a small following online. Right now, I was organizing the manuscript for my very first graphic novel. I had spent over two years preparing it. I originally planned to publish it in this world, but since I was leaving soon, I decided to take the work back to my original world with me. Hearing the sound of Arthur opening the door, I closed my manuscript folder, looked back at him, pretended nothing had happened, and said gently, “You’re back?” Arthur’s expression was stiff and awkward, like he wanted to say something but was holding back. I stood up and walked toward him. Even though I knew he had something to say, I played dumb. “I made your favorite soup. I’ll go get you a bowl.” As soon as I walked out of the study, I immediately understood why Arthur had that expression. Chloe was there, and she had her luggage with her. “Evelyn,” Chloe smiled warmly at me, adding a touch of apology to her tone. “I’ve been getting harassed by some crazy fans lately, and it’s not safe at my place. Could I crash here for a few days until things blow over?” I looked at her expressionlessly and didn’t say a word. Arthur, looking guilty, spoke softly to explain. “It’s true. Some fans found out Chloe’s address. They knock on her door every night and even follow her.” Seeing that I remained silent, Arthur started to get impatient, his brow furrowing. “There really is nothing going on between Chloe and me. We’re just friends who have known each other for years. She’s in trouble right now, I can’t just ignore her.” “Evelyn, there has to be a limit to your unreasonable behavior. Stop testing my patience. We’ve been married for years, can’t you show a little maturity? Stop acting like a spoiled child.” “Fine.” I looked away and said to Arthur, “I agree to let her stay.” Chapter 3 Why wouldn’t I let her stay? Only if she moved in would the conflicts between Arthur and me escalate faster, which meant I could hear him bring up divorce for the second time much sooner. The sooner I could leave this world, the better. Arthur looked at me in total surprise. The look in his eyes was strange, as if he was still dissatisfied. “What, I agreed and you’re still not happy?” Arthur frowned and warned me, “Don’t try any funny business. If I find out you’re bullying Chloe behind my back, I won’t let it slide easily.” I wanted to laugh. He was supposed to be my husband, but right now his loyalty was entirely with an outsider. I really wanted to ask, Arthur, in all the years we’ve been together, have you never felt even a shred of genuine affection for me? Arthur ignored me and quickly went downstairs to help Chloe with her luggage and prepare the guest room. While he was at it, he enthusiastically offered, “Evelyn made some restorative soup in the kitchen. Once we’re done unpacking, I’ll bring you a bowl.” “Evelyn might not be great at much else, but her cooking is top-notch. You haven’t been feeling well, let her cook for you and help you get your strength back these next few days.” I let out a dry, speechless laugh. Arthur, did you really think that just because we got married, I became your servant? That no matter how you treated me, I would never leave you? I really want to know how you’re going to react when I’m gone. I walked downstairs, went into the kitchen, drank a bowl of soup myself, and then poured the rest of it straight down the drain. I spent all day making that soup. I’d rather pour it out than let you two toxic pieces of trash drink it. I went back to the study and continued organizing my comic. It didn’t take long for Arthur to storm into the study, demanding, “Where’s the soup you made?” I kept my eyes downcast and said coldly, “Poured it out.” “What?!” Arthur sounded like a completely different person, his tone explosive. “Evelyn, what is the meaning of this? If you didn’t want Chloe to stay, you could have just said no! Instead, you play nice to my face and then pull this petty, passive-aggressive bullshit behind my back!” I countered coldly, “If I had said no, would you not have gotten angry?” Arthur stared at me, speechless. I stared back at him, waiting to see if he would bring up divorce for the second time. But I was disappointed. He didn’t. Arthur slammed the door and stormed off again. Late that night, after washing up and getting into bed, I could hear Arthur and Chloe drinking and chatting in the living room. The atmosphere sounded incredibly cheerful; even from upstairs, I could hear their laughter. I don’t know how much time had passed, but while I was deep in sleep, I felt someone hug me from behind. It was Arthur. His breath was scorching hot and reeked of alcohol as he affectionately kissed the back of my neck. I felt utterly disgusted and shoved him away forcefully. “What are you doing?” Arthur sobered up a bit, complaining, “You’re my wife, what do you think I’m doing?” Seeing my entire body radiating rejection, his face gradually darkened. “This is your duty as a wife, Evelyn. If you’re going to keep acting like this and refusing to let me touch you, then get the hell out of my house.” Ever since I discovered Arthur was cheating, I had refused to let him touch me. It had been almost three months now. “Your house?” I asked. Arthur looked smug, as if he was absolutely certain I would submit. “You married me with absolutely nothing to your name. I owned this house before we met, so of course it’s my house. Evelyn, did you forget? You were the one who begged me to marry you.” “Now, if you won’t let me touch you, get out!” Chapter 4 I was left speechless, then silent, and finally, I started laughing. Back then, he was my mission target. To complete the mission, I really did beg him to marry me. I couldn’t deny that. I just never expected that this man, who I once genuinely had feelings for, would use that to attack my dignity. “Fine, I’ll leave.” I opened the closet and packed a few essentials. Before walking out the door, I paused slightly, waiting for Arthur to say something harsh, like threatening to divorce me if I dared to step outside. But Arthur completely misunderstood my hesitation. He mocked me mercilessly, “Didn’t you say you were leaving? Go on, get out!” His tone made it clear he was convinced my threat to leave was just a manipulative tantrum, not a genuine intention. I felt like the fire needed just a little more fuel. So, I marched over to the guest room where Chloe was staying and started pounding on the door. I wanted to manufacture a massive fight, something that would push Arthur to finally say the word “divorce.” Arthur quickly rushed downstairs and grabbed my arm. “What are you doing, Evelyn?! Are you crazy?!” I struggled. “Let go of me! Arthur, don’t think I don’t know what’s going on in your head. You like Chloe, right? Well, I’m going to ask her right now if she likes you back.” I thought this would force Arthur to bring up divorce, but to my absolute shock, he raised his hand and slapped me across the face. I instantly went quiet. Arthur froze too. He looked panicked and at a loss for what to do. His lips moved, perhaps realizing what he had done and wanting to apologize. But in the end, he didn’t apologize. He just said, “Go back to your room.” I was utterly disappointed in Arthur. I stared at him, my eyes bloodshot, on the verge of tears. Arthur avoided my gaze. “Evelyn, if you keep acting this crazy, I’m genuinely going to divorce you.” I finally heard the words I had been waiting for. Even though I was thrilled on the inside and wished we could sign the papers immediately, I had to hold back. Acting aggrieved and furious, I let tears stream down my face. “I refuse.” I turned around and walked out of the house. Finally. Finally, just one more time, and I can leave. I walked the streets for a long time before stopping. Looking at the empty roads and the dim yellow streetlights, I felt a sudden sense of aimlessness, like I had nowhere to go. Six years ago, when I arrived in this world, my entire life revolved around Arthur. I had been focused on him for so long that I didn’t even have my own social circle. Thankfully, I hadn’t given up on my career. When I returned to my original world, I could still use my new work to become a successful comic artist. Thinking of that, I suddenly felt a wave of frustration. How could I have forgotten to bring my comic manuscript with me?! It seemed I had to find an excuse to go back and pack it up. I found a hotel to stay in temporarily. For days, Arthur didn’t reach out to me. I didn’t want to waste time pointlessly, so just as I was preparing to swallow my pride, go back, and force Arthur to bring up divorce one last time… something happened. Chloe posted my comic on her social media art account. Even though it had been converted from hand-drawn pages to digital art, the character designs, the storyline, and even the storyboards were completely plagiarized. I was so furious I saw stars. I immediately called Arthur. I called several times, but Arthur didn’t answer. Eventually, his phone was just turned off. I tried to calm down. I logged online, tagged Chloe, and publicly exposed the fact that she had plagiarized my work. Like me, Chloe was a professional illustrator. The difference was that I focused purely on drawing, while she leaned heavily into being an influencer. She had previously capitalized on her divorce to gain massive online traffic, and she was currently riding a wave of popularity. Chloe denied the plagiarism accusations, claiming I was slandering her. She demanded I produce evidence, or she would force me to issue a public apology. My original manuscripts were all back at the house, so naturally, I couldn’t produce them right then. Consequently, her fans swarmed my accounts, burying me in insults and hate messages. The volume of notifications was so massive it caused my phone to freeze. Chapter 5 I called Arthur while in a cab heading back to the house. This time, he finally answered. I could clearly hear the guilt in his voice. Being cautious, I turned on the call recording feature beforehand. “Did you take my manuscript and give it to Chloe?” Arthur didn’t admit it, instead asking, “Where are you?” “Answer my question, Arthur! You know perfectly well that comic is the result of years of my hard work!” Arthur sounded impatient. “I’ll compensate you. What do you want? I’ll buy you a house, how’s that?” I gritted my teeth. “I’m asking you, why did you give my comic to Chloe?! That is my work!” “Didn’t I say I’d compensate you? Once Chloe gets the revenue from the comic, she’ll compensate you too.” Arthur once again shattered my understanding of how low he could sink. “Delete those posts online. If you agree, I promise I will never bring up divorce with you again.” “Ha.” I laughed out loud. Never bring up divorce again? My biggest dream right now was for him to bring up divorce. “Keep dreaming,” I said fiercely. “Arthur, I am getting my work back.” I hung up the phone and immediately posted the recording online. It instantly caused a massive uproar. The hate comments subsided slightly, but there was still a huge amount of skepticism demanding I produce concrete proof. Otherwise, who knew if the recording was real or faked? The cab stopped. I got out and ran toward the house. Arthur and Chloe were both in the living room. Chloe’s face was covered in tears. She leaned pitifully against Arthur’s shoulder, sobbing. When she saw me, she immediately put on a pleading expression. Arthur stared at me coldly, as if I were his worst enemy. I only cared about one thing. “Where is my manuscript?” Arthur didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he marched over, roughly grabbed my wrist, snatched the phone I was using to record a video, and smashed it violently against the floor. He glared at me and said, “Evelyn, you’ve disappointed me so much. You said you loved me, that your whole life was devoted to me. But when I ask you to sacrifice this one little thing, you refuse, and you even post our recording online.” His expression was full of disappointment, entirely focused on blaming me. “Are you trying to destroy me? You never used to be like this. You used to be obedient and compliant. That was the version of you I liked.” “The way you are now, I have absolutely zero interest in you.” “Let’s get a divorce, Evelyn.” Arthur stared into my eyes, a deep sense of expectation and certainty hiding in his gaze. He assumed that I would definitely refuse, that I would submit to him, and that in order to stay by his side, I would agree to all his demands. But he didn’t know that this was the final strike. He had now brought up divorce three times. This time, I didn’t need to refuse. Because the system had already determined that my mission was about to be forcefully terminated. I was free to leave. Chapter 6 I looked at Arthur’s confident expression and suddenly smiled. “Okay,” I told him. “Let’s get a divorce. Right now!” This time, it was Arthur’s turn to freeze. His pupils contracted as he stared at me in disbelief. “Evelyn, I said I want a divorce!” He couldn’t believe it. He thought I must have misheard him, so he ridiculously asked again, “Do you really have the guts to divorce me? Can you really bear to do it?” I looked straight into Arthur’s eyes and told him, word by word, “Even if you ask me ten thousand times, I will only give you one answer: I agree to the divorce.” “Arthur, honestly, I’ve wanted to divorce you for a long time. I refused before just to give you a chance, but you constantly disappointed me.” “Now, if you want a divorce, fine. I don’t care.” I walked around him and headed straight upstairs to the study. When Arthur proposed divorce for the third time, I could have left immediately. But I still hadn’t gotten my comic manuscript back. It was the one thing I needed to take back to my original world. I had to find it. So, I chose to stay for an additional three days. After three days, I would be forcibly extracted. I rushed upstairs and yanked open the drawers, but my comic manuscript wasn’t there. I had no choice but to return to the first floor. Arthur was still standing in the living room, looking stunned. Chloe held his hand, whispering to him, “You’ve always wanted a divorce, maybe it’s for the best. As for the comic, I’ll go apologize.” She wiped away her tears, looking incredibly fragile and pitiful. “Let the internet attack me, Arthur. You shouldn’t sacrifice yourself for me anymore. Now, it’s my turn to sacrifice for you.” Chloe squeezed Arthur’s hand, a flash of triumph in her eyes. I really couldn’t stomach this disgusting performance any longer. I walked over and interrupted them. “Arthur, I’ve agreed to the divorce. Where is my artwork? Give it back.” Arthur slowly looked up, glaring at me with bloodshot eyes. “Evelyn, do you really hate Chloe that much? You’re willing to sacrifice our marriage just to destroy her?” I sneered. “Our marriage was destroyed by you a long time ago. Arthur, I don’t want anything from you right now. I just want my comic manuscript back.” Arthur stared at me. “Then sign the divorce papers first.” “Fine.” He called his lawyer, who quickly drafted the divorce agreement. Arthur printed it out and placed it in front of me. “If you really want a divorce, sign it right now.” I picked up the pen without hesitation. But just as I was about to sign, a bad feeling washed over me. I flipped back through the agreement and realized that Arthur wasn’t just demanding I leave with nothing. He had also inserted a mandatory clause forcing me to forfeit all ownership rights to the comic, transferring the copyright to Chloe completely free of charge. I pointed at the clause. “Delete this.” Arthur looked at me coldly. “You want a divorce? This is the condition.” I mocked him, “Arthur, could it be that you actually can’t bear to divorce me? What, don’t you want to be with your beloved Chloe anymore?” Chloe looked up, staring at Arthur with hidden anticipation. But Arthur didn’t even look at her. Instead, he stared intensely at me. “Evelyn, I said it. You want a divorce, this is the price and the condition. If you don’t sign, don’t ever think about getting a divorce.”

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Exactly one week before our wedding, my fiancé, Arthur Vance, told me he was going on a trip with his ex-wife and their daughter. The trip would last five days and four nights. They would get back just in time for him to marry me. By the time I found out, his happy family of three was already a thousand miles away. That night, I called him frantically, dialling his number over and over like a madwoman. I finally managed to get him to come back early. With red, tear-filled eyes, I confronted him: “She is your ex-wife. You are about to get married. How could you justify spending the night out of town with her?” He rubbed his temples, the look in his eyes cold and entirely apathetic. “Evelyn, I already abandoned them to come back here.” “What more do you want from me?” 1 People always say that in a first marriage, you guard against mistresses. But in a second marriage, you guard against the ex-wife. I always thought something like that would never happen to me. But reality delivered a brutal, crushing blow. According to our original schedule. In exactly one week, Arthur and I were getting married. He had been incredibly busy with work lately, so the burden of finalizing all the wedding details fell entirely on me. I had been running around like a headless chicken for days. I naively assumed that, just like me, he was working overtime desperately trying to clear his schedule so we could get married. But this morning, he suddenly called me. “Evie, my daughter is throwing a tantrum and wants to go on a trip. I need to go spend some time with her.” The hand I was using to address wedding invitations trembled violently. A thick drop of black ink slid unsteadily from the tip of my fountain pen. It fell. And landed with a soft splat. Blooming across the dark red envelope. In the bottom left corner, our two names written side-by-side: [Arthur Vance & Evelyn Miller] The ink bled across them. Instantly blurring them beyond recognition. The smile on my lips faded. I put the pen down and lowered my eyes. “Didn’t you say you were swamped at the company? You don’t even have time to help plan our wedding, but you have time to take your kid on a trip?” The line went silent for a moment before he finally offered an excuse. “Chloe found out I was getting married and cried all night.” “If I don’t agree to this, I’m afraid she’ll never call me ‘Dad’ again.” His voice was filled with helplessness, but also an overwhelming, undeniable indulgence. Chloe was the only daughter he had with his ex-wife. Naturally, she was his absolute treasure. My grip on the phone tightened instinctively. I opened and closed my mouth several times, but I couldn’t force a single word of objection out. What could I possibly say? Tell him not to see his kid? Say that I needed him more right now? “What’s wrong? Are you mad?” Sensing my mood had soured, he let out a low chuckle. He even sounded amused as he teased me: “You’re not actually jealous of a little kid, are you?” I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and suppressed the suffocating frustration rising in my chest. I silently comforted myself: [At least he told me before he left.] [Besides, that’s his daughter. She’s his flesh and blood, a bond he can never sever. How can I possibly compete with her?] I compromised. But I still couldn’t stop my nose from stinging. My voice carried a grievance I couldn’t quite hide. “I’m not mad.” “Just… try to come home early tonight.” The phone was quiet for a second. Finally, he offered a vague, non-committal hum. “Mhm.” 2 Back in the day, Arthur’s divorce from his ex-wife, Sarah Holt, was notoriously ugly. At the time, the Vance family business was on the brink of bankruptcy. His father committed suicide by jumping off a bridge, and his mother fell severely ill from the shock. Outside, they were drowning in massive debt. Inside, his mother’s medical bills were astronomical. The pressure was already suffocating him. And it was at that exact moment that his high school sweetheart and wife, Sarah, filed for divorce. She demanded full custody of their daughter. And she demanded that the Vance family liquidate two-thirds of their remaining assets as child support. Having the majority of his family’s wealth siphoned away was undoubtedly a fatal blow. But having the love of his life abandon him in his darkest hour? For Arthur, that was a soul-crushing betrayal. I heard that Arthur barely survived that period of his life. I thought that since things ended so horribly between them… That he would never, ever have any entanglements with her again in this lifetime. But today, the vague hesitation in his voice gave me a sudden, inexplicable sense of dread. For the entire afternoon. I was trapped in a state of restless, suffocating anxiety. I sat cross-legged on the rug. I looked up and scanned the room. Everywhere I looked was celebratory wedding red. On the floor, beside me, in the distance… Red wedding decorations were scattered everywhere. It was supposed to be the most joyous color imaginable, but it couldn’t spark a single ounce of happiness or excitement in me anymore. I hugged my knees and rested my head on them. I let time slip away, second by second. And I let the freezing chill in my heart spread slowly through my entire body. I glanced at my phone screen over and over again. Unlocked it. Locked it. Unlocked it again. Locked it again. Over and over. But since that phone call this morning… Arthur hadn’t sent me a single message. I grew exhausted from waiting and eventually dozed off. Until my 10:00 PM alarm went off. I jolted awake from my hazy sleep. I looked up and instinctively scanned the room. My heart plummeted. [No one.] [Arthur isn’t back yet.] I pulled down my phone’s notification bar. [Nothing.] [Absolutely nothing.] The emotions I had been suppressing all day instantly exploded. I tapped his familiar contact name and dialled Arthur’s number. 3 The first time, no one answered. The second time, after ringing three times, it finally connected. I didn’t speak. The other end of the line was silent too. After just a few seconds of silent standoff. I realized the person who answered the phone wasn’t Arthur. “Sarah?” The person on the other end let out a soft laugh. “It’s me.” The heart that had been suspended in my throat all afternoon finally crashed heavily to the floor, sinking to the very bottom. I bit down hard on my lower lip. The pain forced me to stay calm for a moment. Even though the truth was glaringly obvious. I still stubbornly, desperately asked: “Why are you there? Didn’t Arthur say he was just taking his daughter out for the day?” She burst out laughing. The sheer, unadulterated triumph in her laugh was completely undisguised. “I’m her mother. How could I possibly leave my child?” “Besides, we’re going to be out of town for so many days this time. He’s a grown man who can barely take care of himself; how is he supposed to take care of a kid?” My brain short-circuited. For a second, I literally couldn’t process what she meant. The questions tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop them: “What do you mean?” “What do you mean ‘so many days’?” “Wasn’t he just taking her out for the day?” “He told me he was coming home tonight.” She feigned surprise, but her tone was dripping with blatant showing off. “Oh, you didn’t know?” “My little Chloe wanted to see the ocean, so Arthur drove us down to Miami.” “We’re staying here for five days and four nights.” I stood frozen in place. The joints in my fingers slowly turned white as my grip on the phone tightened. Miami was over a thousand miles away from where we lived. Arthur absolutely did not tell me that “spending time with his kid” meant travelling that far. Or that it meant spending multiple nights out of town with his ex-wife. I was shaking with rage. My voice trembled uncontrollably. “Put Arthur on the phone.” Sarah let out a soft, mocking laugh. “I can’t. He’s in the shower.” “I’m actually just about to bring him his underwear.” “He still has that exact same habit. Every time he showers, he forgets to grab his clothes.” 4 Faintly, through the phone, I heard Arthur’s voice: “Sarah, I forgot my clothes.” His tone was perfectly natural and casual. Like a completely normal husband calling out to his wife. At the same time, it indirectly proved that everything Sarah just said… was entirely true. [They’re divorced, yet he has absolutely zero boundaries with her!] Arthur’s blatant lying filled me with a burning, suffocating rage. Sarah’s mocking laughter still echoed in my ears. I collapsed onto the sofa. Trembling uncontrollably. I gritted my teeth, biting down viciously on my lower lip. It wasn’t until I tasted the faint, metallic tang of blood that I instinctively let go. The call had already been disconnected. Leaving me completely humiliated, frozen in place, forced to digest these agonizing emotions all by myself. But… why? What gave them the right to humiliate me like this? I refuse to allow them to trample all over me while I sit here fully aware of what they’re doing. I licked the broken corner of my lip. I picked up my phone again. And called Arthur back. No answer. I kept calling. Until the 19th try, the call finally connected. This time, Arthur was the one who answered. “Evie, my phone was on silent earlier. What’s wrong? Why are you calling so frantically?” His tone carried a rare, minuscule trace of apology and guilt. By now, I was completely calm. My voice was entirely flat, devoid of any emotion: “Where are you?” He cleared his throat unnaturally, his defensive posture noticeably shrinking. “I… I’m in Miami. Chloe said she wanted to see the ocean, so I brought her.” “Is Sarah there too?” “…” “Yeah.” After a long pause, he finally admitted it. I closed my eyes, suppressing the chaotic emotions churning behind them. “If you rush back tonight, I will pretend none of this ever happened, and our wedding will proceed as planned.” “Evelyn! How the hell am I supposed to explain that to my kid if I leave right now?!” His voice instantly spiked several octaves. His tone was filled with sheer anger and explosive frustration. I immediately hung up the phone. Then I locked the screen and turned the phone off. I didn’t want to hear any explanations right now, and I refused to compromise. I only wanted the exact result I demanded. 5 Arthur arrived home at 4:00 AM. I was curled up on the sofa. I hadn’t slept a wink all night. I had replayed a million different scenarios in my head of what would happen when he got back. How we would confront each other, how we might even have a screaming match. But none of that happened. When he walked through the door, he just shot me an icy, detached glance. Then he started unpacking his luggage, completely ignoring me. I had become invisible to him. The rage I had been building up all afternoon felt like it was punching a wall of cotton. This was exactly what everyone around him said about him: He has such a great temper. It was true. From the day Arthur and I met to the day we started dating. Five whole years. We had never had a single fight. It wasn’t that we didn’t have conflicts. We just couldn’t fight. Every time we had an issue, he would just use those calm, emotionless eyes to quietly watch me lose my temper. And then he would drop a single sentence: “You need to calm down.” Clearly, this time, he was planning to use the exact same cold-treatment tactic. The suffocating, dead silence in the room made it hard for me to breathe. After a long silence. I still chose to speak first: “Are you not going to explain what happened today?” The air pressure in the room dropped even lower. He stopped what he was doing. And looked up at me. His brow was furrowed with deep impatience: “My kid wanted to see the ocean, what was I supposed to do?” I practically roared back at him simultaneously: “Then when you called me, why didn’t you say you were going so far away? And for five days and four nights?!” “Furthermore, going on an overnight trip out of state with your ex-wife… do you think that’s appropriate behavior for a man who is about to get married?!” He froze in place. A flash of embarrassment crossed his eyes. He knew he was in the wrong. His tone involuntarily softened a bit: “It was super rushed at the time, I didn’t have time to tell you.” “Besides, if I had told you, would you have agreed to it?” “Look, Chloe was already crying her eyes out because she thought me getting married meant I was abandoning her.” “If I rejected her one tiny request on top of that, do I even deserve to be called a father?” Every word he said was perfectly articulated, armed with flawless logic. But I was shaking with sheer, absolute rage. Gritting my teeth, I forced out the suffocating resentment I had been holding in all day: “If you want to play the role of ‘Father of the Year’, did it have to be right now?!” “You have the time to take your ex-wife and your kid on a vacation, but you don’t have the time to help plan our wedding?” “Did you ever even care about us getting married in the first place?” He stood there, looking at me with absolute, freezing calm. The way he looked at me was filled with exhaustion and barely concealed tolerance. “Evelyn. I already abandoned them to come back here.” “What more do you want from me?”

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My husband planned to throw me to the lions in Africa so he could swallow my $20 million fortune whole. But he never expected that the lions wouldn’t eat me—they actually let me pet their heads! What broke him even more was that the cannibal tribe complained my makeup made me taste “toxic” and refused to eat me, setting their sights on his “premium marbling” instead! In this meticulously planned “black widow” scheme, who is the real prey? 1 That day, my husband, Liam, and I were vacationing up in the rural Midwest when we got separated. He was holding my purse, which had my phone in it. I’m clumsy, easily scared, terrible with directions, have bad eyesight, and tend to speak without thinking. Someone like me without a phone might as well be completely helpless. Liam was practically crying with panic, terrified that I had been kidnapped by human traffickers and would spend the rest of my life trapped in some remote mountain holler. He looked for me for hours and almost called the cops. Right then, he got a call from an unknown number. A gruff voice asked, “Hey buddy, is your wife named Chloe Vance?” Liam was overjoyed and quickly said yes. The next sentence sent chills down his spine. “She’s with me right now. You better hurry.” Liam panicked and begged, “I’ll give you whatever you want! Please, don’t put her in a car without plates, don’t take the backroads without cameras, and whatever you do, don’t traffic her deep into the mountains where there’s no cell service!” The guy on the other end let out a hearty laugh. “Then you better hurry up, or it’ll be too late.” What made him even more miserable was hearing me scream through the phone: “Liam! Where the hell are you?! Hurry up and come get me!” Following the address provided, Liam sprinted over, only to see me surrounded by a group of burly men. He cried, “Baby, are you okay?!” I told him I was fine and that we needed to thank these nice guys. I explained that I was terrified, so I quietly asked the guy next to me, “Excuse me, sir, could I borrow your phone to make a call?” But I couldn’t remember Liam’s number. Fortunately, before we left, he made me memorize it just in case I got lost. His number was easy: 555-0199-01XX. I just couldn’t remember the last two digits. The guys were incredibly helpful, dialing numbers one by one. Seeing this, the other guys joined in to help too. Thank God we tried so many combinations, and we finally got the right one. Liam wanted to treat the guys to dinner, but they said they had to hit the road and didn’t have time. We watched them drive away into the wind. Afterward, I asked Liam if I was smart. He smiled indulgently and said, “Baby, you are so smart. Do you want to go to Africa next month to see the big lions???” 2 Liam’s last plan hit a slight snag. He thought he could leave me in the rural Midwest to get trafficked, pulling off the classic “marry the rich heiress and inherit everything when she ‘disappears’” routine. He didn’t expect me to proactively ask for help, ruining his scheme completely. However, it proved one thing: the rumors about human traffickers in that area were completely false! This time, he arranged a trip to Africa. He wasn’t going to fail again. The plane slowly descended over Africa. Through the window, the endless, sprawling continent came into view. Vast savannas, winding rivers, and faintly visible herds of wild animals. Liam’s heart raced with excitement. He was grinning so hard he could barely suppress it. Once the plane landed, Liam gently shook me awake. I had been sleeping soundly on his shoulder, my breathing steady, my long eyelashes casting a soft shadow on my face. I was beautiful, but the $20 million in my bank account was what truly captivated him. “Baby, we’re here,” he woke me up gently. I rubbed my eyes, groggy. “We’re here? Africa?” He nodded with a smile, his eyes seeming to say: Yes, we’re here. Your final destination. Stepping off the plane, I looked around like a curious child. He followed closely behind, pushing the luggage cart, his eyes scanning the arrivals area intently. To ensure this mission was a success, Liam’s boss had specifically assigned him a partner, posing as a taxi driver. Finally, he spotted him in the crowd—Samuel, an elite hitman of mixed descent. Samuel subtly made a throat-slitting gesture. It was their secret signal. “Baby, our ride is here. Let’s go,” Liam said gently. I gave a small “Oh” and obediently got into the car. As soon as I got in, my chatterbox mode activated, and I started talking to Samuel. When I found out he was a local, I got even more excited and started babbling a bunch of incomprehensible sounds. Both Liam and Samuel froze, asking what language I was speaking. I smiled proudly. “I’m speaking Swahili! I just learned it on the plane! How is it? Is my accent good?” Liam looked completely bewildered and immediately glanced at Samuel. Samuel, living up to his reputation as an elite hitman, reacted instantly. In broken, heavily accented English, he replied, “You… speak very well. But here, we speak English.” I instantly deflated. I was hoping to show off to a local, but it turned out we needed to speak English. My English wasn’t great to begin with. This was a total failure. But Liam was so sweet. He immediately comforted me. “It’s okay, baby! I speak English, and I’m fluent! With me here, don’t worry, you definitely won’t get lost this time!” To make me feel secure, he had me recite my phone number again. “555-0199-01… oh gosh, look at my stupid brain, I forgot the last two digits again.” I opened my mouth in dismay. He looked absolutely ecstatic, continuing to comfort me. “It’s fine, baby! Last time you forgot three digits, this time you only forgot two! You’re already doing so much better!” I smiled shyly. “Am I really that good?” He kissed my forehead, speaking with infinite tenderness: “Yes, you really are amazing!” But honestly, even if I could remember my number, what good would it do? My phone didn’t have an international roaming plan. I couldn’t make a call anyway! What made him even happier was that his boss had booked us a luxury desert tent resort. Upon check-in, the hotel staff repeatedly warned us absolutely not to go outside at night, as there were prides of lions roaming the area. “Oh? Lions at night?” He smiled smugly. He was definitely thinking: This is going to be easier than I thought! Liam turned to me. “Baby, do you want to see the big lions outside the tent tonight?” I nodded enthusiastically. “Of course! I even want to feed them myself!” Finally, he couldn’t hold back a loud laugh. “Feeding the lions is a great idea! You definitely have to do it yourself! You have to get right up close and personal!” 3 However, when he went to find me that night for a late-night snack, he discovered I was completely gone! There was only a single slipper and a few drops of blood on the floor. He was dumbfounded. He hadn’t even prepared to make his move yet! Did I just voluntarily go feed the lions myself??? Liam frantically knocked on Samuel’s door, anxiously asking where I went. Samuel looked equally confused, scratching his head, saying he didn’t know and assumed I had been with Liam the whole time. Liam froze, a suspicion creeping into his mind: Did Samuel go behind my back and make a move early? But Samuel vehemently denied it. As an elite hitman, he valued professional ethics above all else. He would never act without Liam. Liam believed him. If Samuel didn’t even have basic professional courtesy, how could he be ranked as an elite hitman? Liam rushed out of the room, yelling my name into the night: “Chloe! Chloe! Where are you?!” However, the only response was the low, terrifying rumble of a lion pride in the distance. Startled, he immediately jumped back inside the hotel, ran to the front desk, and yelled in his fluent English: “Help! My wife is missing! Help me find her!” The hotel staff panicked immediately. A group of them grabbed stun batons and ran out to start searching. Normally, the outdoor lights at the desert tent resort were kept off at night, but now they were all flipped on, illuminating the campsite as brightly as day. The group began searching the perimeter, but there was absolutely no sign of me. He was in complete hysterics now, screaming: “Chloe! Where are you?! Come out! Chloe!” His shouting woke up the other guests, who began stepping out of their tents. He asked everyone he saw: “Have you seen my wife? She’s 5’5″, has a great figure, very beautiful, but not very smart. Have you seen her?” The guests shook their heads, saying they hadn’t seen me. He continued shouting, his voice echoing across the vast, empty savanna, sounding incredibly tragic. Soon, the local police arrived and joined the search. Hours passed, and still, they found absolutely nothing. By this point, Liam was sobbing uncontrollably, while subtly giving Samuel a look out of the corner of his eye. Samuel discreetly gave him a thumbs-up, praising his incredible acting skills. The group was preparing to call off the search for the night, saying they would resume at daybreak. Before leaving, they comforted him: “Don’t worry, she’s definitely going to be fine.” Liam cried and replied: “Thank you. I’m sure she’s… passed on… fine!” Just as the police were getting into their cars to leave, he pulled out his phone, preparing to report the “success” to his boss. Suddenly, a familiar laugh echoed from the distance. He looked up and was completely dumbfounded—I had appeared! I was covered in sand, my hair was a mess, but I ran over giggling, holding a thick tree branch in my hand, looking like I had just returned from an adventure. “Chloe?!” he yelled in disbelief, looking like he had seen a ghost. I ran up to him, dusted the sand off my clothes, and said cheerfully: “Honey, why are you crying? I just went out to feed the big lions!” “Feed the lions?!” His eyes widened, his voice cracking. “You… how did you feed them?! The lions didn’t bite you?!” I proudly waved the tree branch in my hand. “I used this like a giant cat teaser wand! They were so well-behaved, they even let me pet their heads!” He was completely stunned. His brain was a chaotic mess. This is wrong. This is completely wrong! How could I possibly return completely unscathed from a pride of lions? Right then, Samuel walked over and whispered to him: “Bronze-tier Liam, something isn’t right here. How could the lions possibly let her pet them?” Liam nodded, suspicion taking root in his mind: Did she know about my plan all along? Or… is she not the ‘idiot’ I thought she was? 4 The next day, according to the plan, Samuel drove an open-top safari Jeep to take us out to see the lion prides on the savanna. Liam gave Samuel a questioning look: [This time, it has to be foolproof, right?] Samuel returned the look: [Don’t worry, Bronze-tier Liam. My plan is meticulous.] Liam seemed relieved, putting his arm around me as we admired the beautiful savanna scenery. I leaned against his shoulder, saying excitedly: “Honey, it’s so beautiful here! Look over there, there are so many pretty sheep!” He smiled and nodded. In his head, he was definitely sneering: Yeah, it’s beautiful. Soon, your corpse will be even more beautiful, blending perfectly with nature! The Jeep drove deeper and deeper into the pristine savanna. I asked, sounding a bit worried: “Is it going to be dangerous? I heard there are a lot of wild beasts out here.” He patted my shoulder, comforting me: “Don’t worry. With me here, even if an elephant charges us, we’ll be perfectly fine!” I smiled sweetly. “It’s so good to have you here.” Just then, a herd of antelopes sprinted past in the distance, followed closely by a herd of frantically galloping zebras. Then, several lions appeared in our line of sight, actively hunting. Trailing behind them was a pack of hyenas—often jokingly called the “proctologists of the savanna” for their brutal hunting methods. This was raw, primal nature you only ever see on the Discovery Channel! I started screaming in pure excitement, grabbing Liam and yelling: “Wow! This is so thrilling! Look at that lion, it’s running so fast!” Liam started screaming too, but not because of the lions. He was screaming because several hyenas had surrounded the Jeep, looking up at us. One of them was even trying to jump onto the vehicle. “Samuel! Drive! DRIVE!” he roared like a madman. Samuel frantically tried to start the car, but the engine simply wouldn’t turn over. Sweating profusely, he yelled at me: “Stop screaming! Look down at the car!” I looked down and cheerfully waved my hand. “Hi, little doggies! How are you?” Liam almost passed out, shooting me a vicious glare. More and more hyenas were gathering around. They were baring their teeth, their eyes vicious. They were clearly starving. Just as the first hyena was about to jump onto the Jeep, Samuel finally managed to start the engine and floored it, peeling out of there. Liam slumped back into his seat, patting his chest. “That was close. One second later, and those ‘proctologists’ would have given me an involuntary surgery.” I, on the other hand, wasn’t panicked at all. I was even waving goodbye to the hyenas. “Bye-bye, little doggies! Bye-bye! We’ll come see you again tomorrow!” Once the Jeep was well out of the lion pride’s hunting territory, everyone finally breathed a sigh of relief. Samuel was also covered in cold sweat. With an unusually serious expression, he turned to me. “Earlier, you absolutely should not have been screaming while the lions were hunting. It easily attracts other predators.” I rubbed my hands together, looking incredibly pathetic. “I’m sorry… I was just cheering for the zebras to escape, and rooting for the lions to get their meal.” Liam and Samuel exchanged a look. The exact same thought crossed both their minds: What kind of psychotic logic is this woman operating on? Samuel leaned close to Liam’s ear and whispered something. It sounded like he was saying: “When that first hyena was about to jump up, you really should have pushed her out, and then we could have driven off. We’re deep in the savanna, nobody would ever know.” Liam’s face clearly showed shock. He was definitely thinking: He’s right! Why didn’t I think of that?! He looked at Samuel with admiration. Truly worthy of the title Elite Hitman! They communicated with their eyes, deciding to find an opportunity to strike tomorrow. While they were discussing how to execute me tomorrow, I leaned over and asked them cheerfully: “Honey, what are you guys talking about? Are you talking bad about me?” Liam quickly shook his head, forcing a calm expression. “No, no. We were just discussing where to go tomorrow.” I blinked innocently. “Can we go see a primitive indigenous tribe? I heard they’re really cute too!” He and Samuel exchanged a look, wild joy erupting in their hearts: There’s a cannibal tribe deep in this savanna! My heart was erupting with even wilder joy: Yeah, there’s a cannibal tribe deep in this savanna, but who ends up eating who is still up for debate. 5 In the morning, Liam thoughtfully ordered room service for breakfast. I put on a full face of gorgeous makeup and wore a slip dress that exposed most of my back. Then, I ate the entire breakfast until I was completely stuffed. He smiled and nodded, his eyes never leaving me, as if he were admiring a piece of art that was about to be destroyed. “Baby, you look so beautiful today. Come on, eat some more. As much as you want. You’re going to be hungry all day today.” I knew exactly what he meant. He wanted me to expose as much skin as possible so the cannibals would be interested in me. He wanted me to eat a lot so the cannibals would have a full meal. Hahaha, he was so incredibly thoughtful and considerate towards the cannibals! How sweet! In the car, Samuel drove, Liam sat in the passenger seat, and I sat in the back, happily taking in the scenery. Liam kept looking back at me. His eyes held a complex mix of emotions, primarily a twisted sense of joy, as if saying: Goodbye, my dearest wife. The car drove deep into the savanna, wandering aimlessly, before finally parking on a grassy hill. Samuel looked at the map, muttering, “This is right. It should be right here.” Liam leaned over, grumbling, “What’s going on? Weren’t they right here last time?” I stood up, grabbed my binoculars, and looked around. The area was wide open, and there wasn’t a single soul in sight. They were getting frustrated and anxious. I decided to give them a helping hand! I pulled a megaphone out of my bag and shouted: “Cannibal tribe, where are you?! I brought you some food! Come out!” Liam and Samuel stared at me in absolute shock. Their faces practically screamed: This bitch really knows how to get things done! Soon, a few tribesmen decorated in body paint appeared in the distance. They stopped a short way away, looking left and right cautiously. “That’s the cannibal tribe!” Samuel whispered, a trace of excitement in his voice. Liam nodded, the corners of his mouth turning up. He could practically see the finish line. We got out of the car. The tribesmen surrounded us, eyeing us with wary suspicion. I cheerfully waved my hand. “Hi! How are you guys?!” Then, they swarmed us. They completely surrounded us and, with extreme “enthusiasm,” escorted us into their village. Liam and Samuel were instantly dumbfounded. Wait, we agreed you were only supposed to eat her! Why are you taking all of us?! I looked excitedly at the thatched huts in the village, pulling out my phone and snapping selfies non-stop. “Wow! Honey, look! A barbecue grill!” “Wow! Honey, look! The cannibals know how to use knives!” “Wow! Honey, look! What are they sprinkling on that? Is that cumin and chili powder?!” Liam looked at me smugly, nodding repeatedly. He was definitely thinking: I’m going to let you experience a live-action roasting very soon. His eyes were sparkling, as if the $20 million was waving right at him. Finally, after a long wait, the tribal chief came out to see us. His eyes constantly scanned between the three of us. When his gaze landed on me, a look of pleasant surprise washed over his face, and his throat bobbed as he swallowed audibly. I felt a bit strange. I quickly turned to Samuel and asked, “What does that mean?” Samuel looked grim. He whispered, “Cannibal tribes prefer to eat young women. Tender skin, soft meat. You’re on your own this time.” I paused, finally realizing: Today, I’m wearing a backless dress. To the cannibals, I’m basically a beautifully packaged premium cut of meat! I instantly panicked and looked at Liam. “Honey, save me!” Liam looked helpless, but he couldn’t completely hide the excitement in his voice. “Baby, I’m so sorry. It’s just the three of us, and they have an entire village. We can’t fight them. Let’s be husband and wife again in our next life! Wuu wuu wuu.” My heart instantly turned to ash. I was doomed. I knew I shouldn’t have come here. Just as I closed my eyes, waiting for death… suddenly, the tribal chief waved his massive hand. I felt my entire body lighten. A sudden, unprecedented sense of relief washed over me. “Huh?” I opened my eyes and realized the cannibals had actually let me go. Instead, they were tying up Liam and Samuel!

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The year I was an undercover cop, to prove my loyalty, I took a bullet for the mafia boss. Somewhere along the way, I lost my memory for three years. The day I woke up and regained my senses, I barely reached my hand out before the man expertly dropped to his knees and pressed his face into my palm. He pouted pitifully: “Can you hit me a little softer today? I have a board meeting to run later.” 1 I was absolutely dumbfounded. “B-b-b…” I couldn’t even get the word “boss” out of my mouth. Arthur Vance lowered his eyes, gently rubbing my hand. “There are a lot of outsiders here. Save it for when we get home, okay?” Wait. Is this still the ruthless, cold-blooded mafia boss who killed without blinking an eye? My last memory of him was him pointing a gun right at my forehead, his eyes filled with pure disgust as he snarled: “Stay the hell away from me!” Back then, let alone touch him, just looking at him wrong would earn you a death glare. But now? Not only is he initiating contact, he looks like a well-trained, obedient puppy. The craziest part is that everyone else in the room is looking at us like this is a completely normal, everyday occurrence. I was so terrified I tried to yank my hand back. The man gripped it tighter, a dangerous glint flashing in his eyes. “Honey, why aren’t you hitting me?” “You still have your eye on that pretty boy, don’t you?” “I’ll have him shipped off to work in a diamond mine in Africa so he gets tanned.” Unreasonable and petty. But Arthur Vance was a man of his word. I gritted my teeth, raised my other hand, and slapped him across the face. Smack! The sound echoed crisply. The man didn’t dodge an inch. That beautiful face instantly turned red on one side. My hand was shaking. I was terrified that the next second, he was going to pull the gun from his waistband and blow my brains out. Instead, the man touched his cheek, his lips quivering slightly. “That hurts.” What am I supposed to do about it?! You literally asked me to hit you! Do you want me to blow on it for you too?! Just as the thought crossed my mind… Arthur dropped to both knees, pressed his face into my palm, and nuzzled it. “Honey, blow on it.” Oh my god! Just end me now! 2 Three years ago, I was sent undercover. But I got off to a terrible start. I couldn’t even get close to Arthur Vance’s inner circle. He walked around with a massive entourage of bodyguards everywhere he went. I had no choice but to go undercover as a worker in a high-end nightclub he owned. I finally managed to stake out a night when he actually showed up. Desperate for a quick promotion, I insisted on putting on a show by opening a beer bottle with my bare hands. The bottle cap flew off and hit Arthur right on the nose. The beer sprayed everywhere, completely drenching his bespoke tailored suit. That night, I truly learned what a genuinely terrifying death glare looked like. As punishment, I was assigned to guard the bathroom doors. I guarded those doors for an entire month. Finally, I caught Arthur coming to the club again. He was here to discuss business this time. My superiors told me he was likely dealing in illegal trades lately. They ordered me to keep a very close eye on him. I begged the club madam for a chance to get in the room. The madam looked at me with an incredibly complicated expression. “Even though you’re gorgeous and have a great body… but—” She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. “The boss isn’t into guys!” Oh, right. I always had a short pixie cut. When I applied for the job, I heard all the pretty girls had to have long hair. So, with no other option, I just lied and said I was a guy. I stomped my foot in frustration. “What if he actually is into guys?!” “Look at him! He comes here and never touches any of the girls. He’s always alone!” The madam looked like she had a sudden epiphany, completely convinced by my logic. She found me a sheer, see-through outfit. I waved my hands frantically. No way. I have a large chest. I’d be exposed instantly. I heard these wealthy, high-status men usually have very specific, weird kinks. So I asked for a school uniform. I didn’t wear a drop of makeup, just put on some strawberry-flavored chapstick. When I pushed the door open and walked in, the men inside simultaneously set down their drinks. A kind-looking older man warned me, “Kid, I think you have the wrong room.” I looked at Arthur, whose face was completely blank, and timidly called out: “Mister.” The man frowned. “You’ve got the wrong person.” I ran over, pretending to trip over an empty bottle on the floor. Executed a flawless sliding kneel. My face almost crashed directly into Arthur’s crotch. So awkward. The man reached out a finger and poked my forehead, pushing me back. “Where exactly are your eyes looking?” I looked up, massaging his leg. “Mister, please, take me in.” The tears came right on cue. “My dad is a gambling addict, he lost all our money. My mom is deathly ill, and my younger sister is just a kid. We’re about to starve.” Arthur toyed with his silver lighter, his face completely unmoved. “I’ve heard this exact story no less than ten times.” So what? This time, no matter what he said, I wasn’t leaving. I was going to take back everything I had lost! One of his subordinates walked in. “Boss, Mr. Shaw is here.” Warning bells went off in my head. My superiors told me to pay special attention to this guy. Arthur’s face grew slightly stern. He stood up and stepped around me. “Get out.” No. “Then promise you’ll take me in.” The man’s eyes, dark and deep, stared at me. “Are you an adult?” I nodded. He looked away, scoffing. “That’s unfortunate. I don’t like adults.” ??? I knew it. He really is a massive pervert. Before I could say anything else, that Mr. Shaw walked in. His eyes darted between me and Arthur with a playful smirk. “I didn’t realize Boss Vance was into this kind of thing. You should have said something! I have plenty of these at my place.” Arthur pulled out his gun, pressed the cold barrel directly against my forehead, his eyes freezing. “Stay the hell away from me.” I hung around outside the door, acting completely shady. Constantly observing the situation inside. Suddenly, an argument erupted. I followed Arthur’s subordinates and barged in. I saw that Mr. Shaw holding his bleeding forehead, pointing a gun right at Arthur: “Go to hell!” Right as he was about to pull the trigger— In that fraction of a second, I didn’t think at all. I just purely didn’t want Arthur to die that easily. I sprinted over incredibly fast. In the exact moment I tackled the man to the ground, the gunshot rang out. In my final moment of consciousness… I heard Arthur’s furiously angry voice: “Are you a fucking idiot?!” If I hadn’t pushed him out of the way, that bullet would have gone straight through his skull. Miraculously, I survived. But… I lost my memory. After losing my memory, my personality completely changed. According to the summaries of bystanders: A total pervert. I’d hug Arthur and demand kisses over the slightest disagreement. I’d barge into the bathroom while he was showering and try to measure his “dimensions” with my hands. Even more absurdly, I demanded to sleep on his abs every single night. A total social butterfly. When we were out, the identity I claimed was “Arthur Vance’s Ancestor.” I loved hugging Arthur and calling him “Hubby” regardless of the setting or who was watching. Relying entirely on how much he spoiled me, I constantly stirred up trouble wherever we went. Also, extremely violent. I slapped Arthur at the drop of a hat. When I went overboard, I even used restraints. The basement of the Vance mansion was entirely filled with tools I had prepared specifically for Arthur. 3 I slammed my hand on the table and stood up. “Absolute bullshit!” Ben’s entire body violently shuddered. “M-m-m-ma’am, it’s absolutely true. You really did act like that.” He was the personal bodyguard Arthur had assigned to me. He was a great guy, no real flaws, except he stuttered a lot. Honestly, I already knew all the things I had done during the years I had amnesia. But I just couldn’t accept it. I kept trying to hypnotize myself into believing it was all a fever dream. I quietly asked Ben: “When I hit Arthur… did he not fight back at all?” Ben picked at his fingers. He was recalling how, every single time the Madam hit the Boss, not only did the Boss not get angry, but he looked like a submissive little housewife, rubbing her hand and asking if she wanted to go another round. “F-f-f…” “F-f-f…” Fought back? That can’t be right. If he fought back, how do I still have all ten of my fingers? “F-for the record, it was useless. You just hit him even harder.” Ben finished the second half of his sentence, looking at me with pure terror. “The Boss said, only a man with a wife gets the privilege of being hit. Since we don’t have wives, we don’t have anyone to hit us, which means we’re pathetic.” I went completely silent. Now that my memory was back, I was stressed about the progress of my mission. I contacted my superior. My superior replied with a string of question marks. “Aren’t you dead?” Me: “Are you cursing me? Watch it, or I’ll file an HR complaint!” Superior: “Ooh, is my little baby throwing a tantrum? You want me to take away your little milk bottle?” Me: “…Did I offend you somehow? Why are you talking so much trash?” My superior continued being sarcastic: “I wouldn’t dare. You’re Arthur Vance’s precious little baby now. When I couldn’t reach you anywhere, I thought you had been kidnapped. I finally found you on the street and tried to bring you in, and what happened?” What happened was I treated my superior like a human trafficker. I remembered. I remembered everything. He got more and more agitated as he spoke: “You called me an ugly old fossil! Said I was basic and hideous! Said I couldn’t even compare to a single finger on your precious baby Arthur!” “I was so furious I couldn’t eat for three days and three nights!” “How am I ugly?! I’m the goddamn flower of the department!” I was wrong. I apologize. Eventually, we got down to business. My superior told me everything had been investigated. That Mr. Shaw had been arrested. As for Arthur, because he was instrumental in helping the police catch Shaw, he was awarded an “Outstanding Citizen” commendation. They investigated him top to bottom, inside and out, and found absolutely nothing illegal. It’s just that during the time I had amnesia, Arthur kept me under incredibly tight surveillance, and the department didn’t dare alert him. The biggest issue was that I literally couldn’t be separated from Arthur, throwing massive tantrums if he left. It gave the department a huge headache, so they just decided to leave me with him. As for right now, I needed to figure out a solid, believable excuse to leave him on my own. Right before hanging up, my superior gloated: “It looks to me like he genuinely loves you. He lets you hit him and curse at him. If you just pack up and leave… who knows, hehehe…” What the hell are you ‘hehehe-ing’ about, you old fossil?! 4 Just as I was nursing a massive headache over this, Arthur’s assistant called me. “Madam, you didn’t check in today?” Me: “Check in on what?” He sighed. “No wonder.” Then he pleaded with me: “Madam, please come quick and coax the Boss. He’s about to blow up the entire company.” Leave it to me! I’m on my way! I didn’t know the way, so I had Ben drive. He looked like he was about to burst into tears. “W-w-w-waaah.” I thought he was just overwhelmed with emotion. I patted his shoulder. “From now on, you’re my right-hand man. Do a good job!” “No, Ma’am, what I wanted to say is… I’ve f-f-failed my driving test f-f-five times.” Useless! I made him act as a human GPS instead. Half an hour later, I deeply, profoundly regretted this decision. We came to an intersection. I asked Ben which way to go. He rolled down the window and practically stuck his entire head out. “S-s-st…” “S-s-st…” Straight, right? Got it. I even sped up a little. Ben’s face turned completely red: “S-steer right!” …I should just throw him out of the car. We drove a little further and came to a fork in the road. Ben excitedly pointed at an overpass: “U-u-u…” “U-u-u…” I turned the steering wheel and went up onto the overpass. His face was filled with absolute regret. He slapped his knees with both hands, almost jumping out of his seat: “U-usually it’s a dead end up there! Last time I came this way, I was stuck in traffic all day!” Motherfucker. Thanks to Ben, by the time we arrived at Arthur’s company building, it was already night. Arthur’s assistant was a true professional. According to the security guard, he had been waiting on the curb for me since the afternoon. “Sorry about that. Traffic was terrible.” He gave a mysterious, polite smile. “It’s no problem at all. A little waiting is nothing.” Then he walked ahead of me to lead the way. He walked with a severe limp. “Assistant Zhou, what happened to your leg?” Ben jumped in to answer: “It must be p-p-p-paralyzed!” Assistant Zhou gave him a stern look: “Do not swear in front of the Madam.” (In Chinese, “paralyzed” and “motherfucker” sound very similar when stuttered). 5 It wasn’t until I arrived that I belatedly realized something. What exactly was I supposed to do here? Assistant Zhou smiled: “Madam, please do not hold back. Feel free to unleash everything.” There’s definitely a hidden meaning in that! Once I got to the executive suite, I finally understood. Arthur was being harassed by a woman. “So what if she took a bullet for you back then?” “I know you’re infinitely tolerant of her out of gratitude. But Arthur, you’ve done more than enough! Hasn’t every single thing she’s done over the past few years made you a laughingstock? Do you know what people outside are saying about you?” The man was sitting improperly, leaning diagonally in his executive chair, resting his chin on his hand, his eyes glued to the cell phone on his desk. His tone was completely dismissive: “What are they saying?” The woman scoffed: “They say you’re completely whipped. That you have no spine. That you get beaten by a woman every single day and have absolutely zero dignity.” Eavesdropping outside the door, I guiltily wiped the sweat from my forehead. Arthur’s mind clearly wasn’t in the conversation. “Oh.” “It’s all just jealousy.” The woman was absolutely shocked. Then, her eyes turned red with grievance as she asked him, “If you value her that much, then what about me? What am I in your eyes?” I remembered who she was now. She was the daughter of one of Arthur’s most loyal subordinates—Sarah Zhao. Rumor had it that the subordinate saved Arthur’s life back in the day, but died in the process. Arthur honored that life debt by raising Sarah like she was his own biological younger sister. Ah, that explains it. In the past, I had definitely witnessed the fate of other women who tried to harass him. In the end, every single one of them was so terrified that they would cross the street to avoid him. Arthur didn’t even look up. “You’re overthinking it.” “You aren’t even in my eyes.” Sarah refused to accept defeat. Crying, she said: “If I was there back then, I would have taken the bullet for you too! What’s so great about her?!” I tossed a button into the room. “Ah! A cockroach!” Sarah shrieked loudly and hid behind Arthur. Once she realized she had been pranked, she was furious and indignant. “That doesn’t count!” “Chloe, you cheated!” “Honey.” Arthur’s eyes lit up, and he walked over. “You finally came to pick me up from work.” Honestly, looking at him, I was still pretty terrified. I instinctively took a step back. The man froze, looking confused. His eyes filled with hurt. Sarah still refused to give up, clinging to him. “Chloe, you don’t even love Arthur! You just use him as a punching bag to vent your anger! You don’t even give him the most basic dignity! Let’s be honest, you’re either after his face or his money. You’re a terrible woman!” Damn it. I couldn’t argue with that. I felt like she had a point. Arthur’s face turned terrifyingly cold: “Get out.” Okay, fine. I should probably slip away while I can. This is perfect—I won’t even have to agonize over an excuse to break up with him. I had just turned around when the man grabbed my wrist. He said, “I was telling her to get out.” Sarah was dumbfounded. Ben and Assistant Zhou were highly observant. They stepped forward, one on the left, one on the right, and physically dragged her away. “Ever heard of first come, first served? No cutting in line!” The door closed. It was incredibly soundproof; I couldn’t hear a single thing from outside. I felt a bit lost on what to do. I was just trying to figure out how to break this slightly unfriendly atmosphere. “Honey.” Hm? Arthur leaned in and loosely wrapped his arms around me, afraid to squeeze too tight: “I haven’t seen you in so long. I missed you so much.” Didn’t we just see each other this morning? The entire left side of his face was still swollen. I didn’t dare move. The man nuzzled against my ear: “Why… why didn’t you hit me today?” I stayed silent, entirely focused on forcing my shaking hands to stay still. It was so weird. I had developed muscle memory from hitting him. The moment Arthur’s face got close, my hands literally started itching. I offered a few awkward, forced laughs: “After hearing what Sarah said just now, I reflected on myself. I really shouldn’t trample on your dignity like that. So I decided I need to fix this bad habit of hitting you.” Arthur immediately let go of me. He took a deep breath and pulled out his gun. I asked him, trembling, what he was doing. The man stepped past me, heading for the door, grinding out a single sentence through his teeth: “Going to kill Sarah Zhao!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “391287”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

After the fake heiress died, her diary—left at a local shelter—was leaked online. It chronicled her silent suffering, her resilience, and her “selfless” love for the family. In an instant, the internet was in tears, and my family was drowning in regret. I, the one who had hidden the fact that she had terminal cancer, became the ultimate villain. My brother screamed at me: “I would have stayed broke for the rest of my life just to keep Maya alive!” My parents were livid: “Who gave you the right to choose for us? We didn’t want the money; we wanted our daughter!” I was blacklisted, cyberbullied, and kicked out of the house. I eventually died on the streets, cold and alone. When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the day Maya received her terminal diagnosis. 1 “Promise me, Chloe. Don’t tell anyone I’m sick, okay?” Maya was clutching my hand, her eyes swimming in tears. Her voice trembled with a humility that bordered on begging. Even with the bitterness of my past life, seeing her look this fragile made me hesitate for a heartbeat. “Dad lost everything in that venture capital deal. The house is gone, Mom is confined to her bed with depression, and Caleb is working three jobs just to keep Dad out of legal trouble. If they find out I have cancer, it will destroy them. I can’t be another burden… I just can’t.” What a tragic script: the bankrupt father, the fragile mother, the protective brother, and her—the dying saint. In my last life, I fell for it. Shortly after she told me this, she “ran away.” To make sure the family wouldn’t look for her, she rebranded herself as a shallow gold-digger. She posted photos partying at clubs with questionable men, told Caleb she was done with being poor, and was seen on the arms of wealthy older men at high-end galas. She broke their hearts to “save” them. And she made sure every single detail of her “noble sacrifice” was recorded in that diary. Three years after she died, Caleb became the new titan of the tech industry. My parents got new investments and rebuilt their lives. And I, who had worked double shifts in silence to support them through the dark times, finally took my place as the “real” daughter of the Vance family. But the good life lasted only a few days. A famous “missing persons” influencer found her diary and read it live to millions. Overnight, Maya became a martyr. My parents and Caleb, unable to handle their own guilt, turned their grief into a weapon and aimed it at me. “Why did you hide it? I don’t care if she’s gone; you will never replace her! I only have one sister, and it’s Maya!” Caleb had shouted during a press conference where he publicly disowned me. I had tried to argue: “Maya begged me! She didn’t want to be a burden! I wanted you guys to have a future! We only had enough money left for one of us to start over, and I respected her choice!” Caleb threw me aside, roaring, “Did you respect my choice? You knew how much she meant to me! Don’t pretend you did it for me—you did it for the money! That money could have bought her more time! Who gives a damn about a career?” I turned to my parents, but the locks were already changed. My suitcases were tossed onto the sidewalk like trash. “If it wasn’t for Maya, we never would have brought you home from the foster system,” my mother hissed. “You’re a curse. If it weren’t for you, she’d still be here. Get out before we do something we won’t regret.” The hatred in their eyes was seared into my soul. That was the moment I realized: no matter how hard I worked, I would never belong. Success makes people forget the grit of the past; they prefer to believe their glory is due to talent, not the luck of someone else’s sacrifice. But this time, I won’t let them live with “what ifs.” 2 “What’s going on in here?” Caleb pushed the door open and walked toward us. Maya tightened her grip on my arm, whispering one last time, “Please, Chloe…” I didn’t let her finish. I shook her hand off. Maya froze, confused. “Chloe, why…” Because I know you’re a diary writer, and I’m tired of being the villain. I turned to Caleb and blurted out, “Maya is sick. It’s stage four cancer.” Caleb stopped dead, the exhaustion on his face replaced by sheer terror. Maya started shaking her head frantically. “No, no, I’m fine. Chloe is just stressed, she’s joking…” I stayed cold and clinical. “She has the biopsy results in her pocket. Look for yourself. We need to tell Mom and Dad immediately. She needs treatment now.” Maya instinctively clutched her pocket. Caleb lunged forward and snatched the crumpled medical report from her hand. As his eyes scanned the words “Malignant” and “Metastasized,” he actually swayed on his feet. Maya burst into tears. “Please, don’t tell them! Mom can’t handle this, and Dad is already at his breaking point with the bankruptcy… Caleb, please,姐姐 (Sister), please…” She sobbed until she couldn’t breathe, and then, a spray of blood erupted from her nose, staining the floor. Caleb’s face went ghost-white. “We’re going to the hospital,” I said. Maya kept protesting, saying it was a waste of money, but Caleb scooped her up in a protective, commanding hold. “Maya, enough. We’re going.” First, they ran a full diagnostic panel. The results were undeniable. “It’s aggressive,” the oncologist explained. “It’s spread to multiple organs. We can try a combination of surgery, radiation, and chemo, but she’s young—it’s hard to say how she’ll respond. And frankly, the costs will be astronomical.” Caleb didn’t hesitate. “We’ll do whatever it takes.” The doctor nodded and handed over the admission forms. “You’ll need to pay the initial deposit at the billing office. She’ll need 24-hour care.” Caleb took the stack of papers and led Maya to the inpatient wing. “The initial deposit is $5,000. Will that be card or insurance?” the clerk asked. Caleb’s jaw tightened. Our insurance had lapsed after the company went under. “Give me a minute. I need to make a phone call.” I sat with Maya on a plastic bench, watching Caleb pace outside. I saw him looking desperate, then forced to smile, then kicking a trash can in rage. It took him until the office was nearly closed to scrape together that $5,000. I knew exactly what he did. He had to swallow his pride and beg the “trust fund kids” he used to look down on for a loan. In my last life, he would have starved for a week before asking them for a dime. This time, his “noble pride” was the first thing to go. “Don’t worry,” Caleb told Maya, his voice thick with emotion. “Money isn’t an issue. As long as you’re okay, I’ll handle everything.” Maya looked at him with worshipful eyes. I looked at the hospital walls, smelling the bleach. To the rich, this is a place of healing. To the poor, it’s a meat grinder for your soul and your bank account. 3 The $5,000 was just the cover charge to get into the game. From here on out, every breath Maya took inside those walls would cost a fortune. The bed, the IV, the saline, the oxygen—it would all add up to a mountain of debt a ruined family could never climb. When we arrived at the hospital, we took an Uber because it was an “emergency.” When we left, we walked to the bus stop. On the cramped, smelly bus, Maya cried again, begging Caleb to let her die. But Caleb, fueled by the “hero” narrative, just poured more “never give up” rhetoric into her head. “We’re family, Maya! We don’t quit on each other! You just fight the cancer; I’ll fight the world!” “Caleb… I don’t deserve a brother like you…” They hugged. It was like a scene from a low-budget soap opera, if you could ignore the smell of the city bus and the tired commuters staring at them. When we got back to the cramped apartment we were renting, my parents were sitting on a small cot. On the table was a stack of cash—$300,000. My dad had sold his vintage Rolex collection; my mother had sold every designer bag and pair of heels she owned. It was exactly $300,000. In my last life, this was the seed money. Caleb used this $300,000 to invest in his college roommate’s startup, “RiceTech.” That company eventually went public, making my brother a billionaire and saving the Vance legacy. Dad looked at Caleb with weary eyes. “Caleb, we got the money. Take it to your friend, Sam. Invest it in RiceTech. We’re betting everything on this. We need this win to get back on our feet.” Caleb looked at the money, then at the hospital forms in his hand. He walked over and handed the medical reports to Dad. “What is this?” Dad asked. As they read the words “Stage IV,” the room went silent. Mom started to wail. Dad’s lips thinned into a hard line. Maya’s tears fell onto the floor. “Dad, Mom… we can make money later,” Caleb said, his voice cracking. “But Maya is running out of time.” Dad looked at the $300,000—their last hope of ever being “important” again. Then he looked at Maya. “We treat it,” Dad said, his voice dead. “We have to.” 4 With that one sentence, the “Vance Family Renaissance” was dead. The “Maya Recovery Project” began. Dad got a job at a construction site. Mom started waitressing at a diner. Caleb went to work at RiceTech, but not as a partner—as a lowly entry-level salesman on commission. And me? In my last life, I dropped out to work three jobs to keep the lights on while they grieved. This time, I took a formal leave of absence from college to be Maya’s 24-hour hospital companion. “Chloe, since I got sick, everyone has cried. Even the nurses. But you haven’t. Why?” Maya asked me one day from her hospital bed. I was busy organizing her meds. I didn’t look up. “Crying doesn’t pay the bills, Maya. Why waste the energy?” She gave a sad little smile. “I know you’ve hated me since you came home. I just don’t understand why you told them. If I had just disappeared, you all would be rich by now. You’d be the only daughter. You’d be happy.” I used to think that too. But I’ve learned that the “unloved” child is never happy, regardless of the money. But what about the “beloved” child? Let’s see how that goes. “Don’t overthink it,” I said, tucking her in. “Just focus on the ‘heroic battle’ everyone expects of you.” I stayed on the tiny cot in her room every night. Not out of love, but because I had to make sure she didn’t try to pull her “disappearing act.” Every time she tried to crawl out of bed to run away, I “caught” her and called the nurses to “save” her. The first surgery cost $100,000. Then came the targeted radiation. Then the experimental chemo. The “pure love” of the family was at its peak during the first month. They visited every day with flowers and prayers. But the bills kept coming. By the second month, Maya’s organs started to fail. She needed a kidney. Mom and I weren’t matches. Dad and Caleb were. Dad was too old for the stress of the surgery, so Caleb, the “noble brother,” went under the knife. Maya woke up to Caleb’s missing kidney. She cried with gratitude. The family was “united.” Only I heard the surgeon’s hushed warning in the hallway: “Kidney failure is just the beginning. Next will be the liver, then the heart. You’re pouring money into a sinking ship. You’re mutilating a healthy young man to give a terminal patient a few more months of agony. I strongly suggest hospice.” 5 Once Caleb recovered, he went back to work. But things at RiceTech were moving fast. The company was hitting its stride, but Caleb couldn’t keep up. He couldn’t go to the late-night networking drinks because of his health. He couldn’t travel for the big deals. He was grumpy and exhausted. Eventually, his friend Sam had to hire someone else to lead the sales team. Caleb was sidelined. His dreams of being a “tech mogul” were dying in a cubicle. “It’s not fair!” he roared one night in our cramped kitchen. “My vision was right! I should be the one on the cover of Forbes! Instead, I’m selling software for peanuts just to pay for another round of chemo!” The resentment was starting to rot the “noble” facade. Mom, who used to have weekly manicures, now had cracked, bleeding hands from scrubbing floors. She had to dig out clogged drains with her bare hands. She started bringing home leftover scraps from the diner for our dinner. Dad, the former executive, was being belittled by a foreman half his age. Every cent he made went into the black hole of Maya’s medical bills. By the fifth month of treatment, their memories improved. They finally started “remembering” what the doctor said about the chances of success. “Maya, the doctors… they say it’s not looking good,” Mom whispered during a visit. “Maybe we’re just making you suffer for nothing.” “We did our best, honey,” Dad added. “We really did. We gave everything.” Maya couldn’t even speak. She had lost her hair, her skin was yellow, and she was skeletal. She just watched them with tears leaking from her eyes. During those months, she had been “washed” five times—full blood transfusions. Every major organ had been poked and prodded. She was in a living hell. She had begged to stop. She had begged them to let her go. But back then, they were “too noble” to listen. They had forced her to stay alive. Now, she was a vegetable with a price tag. Caleb held her hand, crying—but they weren’t tears of love anymore. They were tears of mourning for his lost life. “I’m sorry, Maya. I can’t do this anymore. Next time your heart stops, I’m signing the DNR. Go to heaven, okay? Be happy there. I love you.” Maya nodded weakly. She was ready to die. But the universe has a sick sense of humor. Maya didn’t die. She started to get better. Against all odds, the experimental treatment worked. She stabilized. She could eat. She could sit up. She could talk. The doctor was amazed. “It’s a miracle. She can go home. She’ll need years of expensive rehab, and she’ll never be 100% independent, but she’s alive.” Maya cried with joy. She thought she had been given a second chance. But when I looked at my parents and Caleb… I didn’t see joy. I saw the look of people who had just been told their life sentence was being extended. 6 “How is she still alive?” I heard my mother whisper it in the middle of the night. We were all squeezed into a one-bedroom apartment. Parents on the bed, Caleb on the sofa, Maya and I on a mattress on the floor. Dad sighed heavily. “I don’t know. We prayed for her to live, and now she is. But how do we pay for the $10,000-a-month rehab? We’re already a million in debt.” “She’s a burden,” Mom hissed. “A million dollars to keep a cripple alive. If we had just invested that money three years ago, we’d be in a mansion in the Hamptons right now.” “Don’t say that,” Dad muttered. “But… yeah. Life is over for us. We’re just ATMs for a ghost.” They didn’t realize Maya was awake. I saw her shoulders shaking. I saw the silent tears soaking the pillow. The “Saint” was finally seeing the “noble” family for what they were. I patted her shoulder and mouthed: “It’ll get better.” She nodded, trying to believe me. The next morning, Mom didn’t make her usual sad oatmeal. She went to the bakery and got expensive donuts and coffee. “Everything looks so good,” I remarked, reaching for a donut to give to Maya. But Mom pulled the tray toward Dad and Caleb. “Let them eat first. They have to go work twelve hours. Maya can have the leftovers.” Maya saw the coldness in Mom’s eyes. She shook her head and said she wasn’t hungry. “You have to eat to get better,” Mom said, her voice sharp. “If you don’t get better, you can’t work. We need another income. We can’t support two freeloaders forever. Chloe needs to go back to work too.” Caleb frowned. “Mom, Maya can barely walk. And who’s going to take care of her if Chloe works?” “We’ll rotate,” Mom said firmly. “I’ll do Mondays, Dad will do Tuesdays, you do weekends. We have to make this work. We need the money.” Maya whispered, “Was it a mistake to save me?” No one answered. Dad just bit into his donut and said, “We’ve made a lot of mistakes. We can’t afford any more.”

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The Q1 sales blitz deadline was hitting me like a speeding train: fifty car loans closed by New Year’s Eve, or I was out of a job. It was December 30th, and even pushing myself to the absolute breaking point, I was still ten contracts short. That’s when the news alert popped up on my phone. WESTON GROUP’S HOLIDAY BONUS: ONE HUNDRED HIGH-PERFORMING EMPLOYEES RECEIVE A NEW CAR! In a final, humiliating act of desperation, I dialed my father’s number. We hadn’t spoken in five years. “I saw the news about the Weston Group cars,” I managed, my voice thin and tight. “Could they process the financing through me? I… I just need this last push to hit my numbers for the month.” The silence on the line stretched out, five years thick. Finally, that familiar, clipped sigh. “Fine, Anna.” But before I could even breathe out, my twin sister’s voice, sharp and icy, cut through the receiver. “Don’t you dare, Dad! She walked out on this family! She said she wouldn’t rely on us!” The line went dead. The silence that followed was suffocating, the vast, echoing sound of a door slamming shut. A nurse walked into my small hospital room, dropping the final, urgent statement for my chemotherapy payment onto the table. “Look, beds are a premium,” she said, her voice completely devoid of sympathy. “If you can’t cover the balance, you need to be discharged. You’re not the only one fighting cancer, and others are waiting.” … 1. The diagnosis had devoured every cent of my savings. I was fighting cancer and my career at the same time. Now, the money was gone, the sickness wasn’t, and my job was about to vanish. I maxed out the last dollar on my credit card to settle the bill, signed the discharge papers, and stepped back out onto the street. The cold was a physical shock. Shivering, I didn’t know where to go. All I could do was replay the pathetic highlight reel of my useless life. My father, Conrad Weston, subscribed to a brutal form of meritocracy. From the moment my sister and I were born, we were competitors. Victoria opened her eyes first. She got the formula; I was relegated to rice cereal. She crawled at six months, and Dad hired ten rotating specialists for her. I was left in a nursery, fed on a strict schedule, but mostly alone. When we started school, she had the best tutors and scored one hundred percent on every test. If I brought home a ninety-nine, I missed dinner. “You want it, you earn it,” he would drone, his expression cold. “If you fail, it’s not the system; it’s you. You slacked off. Remember this, Anna: The strong take all. It’s the only law that matters, in this house and in the world.” At six years old, I etched his words into my heart. I cannot slack off. I must earn that missing point. I must earn my parents’ love. I pulled all-nighters, threw myself at my schoolwork, and finally, for an entire semester, I matched Victoria: A perfect one hundred on everything. But it wasn’t enough. She not only aced her exams, but she also clinched the National Junior Track Title for the state. That winter break, Mom and Dad took her on a lavish European tour, leaving me alone to house-sit. I survived on cold water and day-old bread, convinced it was the penance I deserved for not trying hard enough. I set a goal. Ten years. I would get into a better college than she did. Just once, I would win a reward from them. I became a machine. A straight-A, sleepless automaton. Then, on the day the acceptance letters came out, I collapsed. I slept through the day in a feverish haze. When I woke up that evening, the house was silent. Empty. The sickness gave me a strange clarity. I found our applications and slowly, tremulously, typed the access codes into the computer. My hand was shaking so badly I almost missed the key. I opened my eyes. I had scored one point higher. I had won. I knelt there, sobbing uncontrollably. Ten years of grinding effort, finally justified. I had to tell them. I ran out the front door, shouting. The neighbor’s nanny was locking up. She stared at me, confused. “You didn’t go? Your parents are hosting Victoria’s acceptance party at the Peninsula Ballroom. Everyone in the district is there.” By the time I reached the ballroom, Victoria was basking in the spotlight, a gilded princess in a designer dress. “Thank you all for coming to celebrate my success,” she purred into the mic. “And thank you, Mom and Dad, for throwing this wonderful party.” Her celebration? I won. It was my moment. 2. I burst through the crowd, crying, and screamed at my father. “You lied to me! You said the strong take all! Why is she here when I beat her?!” Conrad looked at me with profound disappointment, sighing heavily. Victoria lowered her champagne glass, a look of utter contempt on her perfect face. “I had my Stanford acceptance months ago, Anna,” she said dismissively. “The finals were just busy work. Did you really think you could win against me? And honestly, is this place for people like you? So gauche.” The thing I had sacrificed ten years of my life for, she treated as a trivial annoyance. My world didn’t just collapse; it vaporized. My mother, Bethany, came over, trying to physically pull me away. But I was stubborn. I had dreamed of a moment like this my entire life. I wanted to stay. Then I saw the massive tiered cake. Driven by a raw, hungry impulse I didn’t recognize, I rushed the table, grabbed a fistful of frosting and cake, and shoved it into my mouth. I was crying and choking at the same time. The onlookers stared, utterly horrified, as if watching a wild animal. Conrad strode over and slapped me across the face. The shock cleared my tears instantly. “Crying is useless! If you’re incompetent, you go back and work harder!” he hissed. “Don’t put on a pathetic show for pity. Do you think this madness will make us coddle you?” That was the spark. Victoria’s face was pure, unadulterated venom. She swept the remaining cake to the floor. “I have tolerated you for too long, Anna. What is your purpose?” she shrieked. “You consume resources and produce nothing but mediocrity. This is not a sustainable model. A dog has loyalty, a business asset has value—what is yourcontribution? Honestly, we’d all be happier if you weren’t even here.” Her words pressed me into the polished floor, suffocating me. I shrieked back, tears streaming. “I may be useless, but I’m still your daughter!” The noise died. The silence returned, crushing. In the dead stillness, my father spoke the four words that ended my life with them. “A worthless waste.” The words detonated in my skull. I was numb. “I tried! I worked so hard! How am I worthless?! If I had your tutors, Victoria’s resources, I could have been better!” Victoria charged forward and shoved me. I fell backward onto the cake-smeared floor. “I earned my resources! You don’t deserve anything I have!” Conrad watched with cold eyes. Mom was consoling Victoria. No one looked at my pathetic form on the floor. I scrambled up, wiping the sticky frosting from my skirt, utterly humiliated. “Fine! I don’t belong here!” I screamed, running for the exit. “I will never bother you again! I will never ask you for anything, ever!” … 3. The icy wind of that long-ago night now seemed to be blowing straight through me again. I will never ask you for anything, ever. What a pathetic, empty promise. Now, I was sick, dying, unable to afford treatment, and I had broken that vow in a desperate plea for ten lousy car loans. But reality offered no space for sentiment. A notification popped up from my bank supervisor. TO ALL: The Year-End Push is not a goal—it is the floor! Everyone must carry their weight. No retreat! We’ll see who’s standing and who’s kneeling in the next ten hours! A fitting epitaph. Worthless or not, I wanted to live. I hadn’t actually lived yet. In a last-ditch effort, I called my Uncle Franklin—Dad’s older brother, a reliable, quiet presence. “Ten cars?” Uncle Frank said, his voice surprisingly warm. “No problem, Anna. The kids need their holiday cars anyway. I’ll even set one aside for you. It’s been too many years since you’ve come home for the holidays.” My nose stung. I choked back a sob. “Thank you, Uncle Frank. But I don’t need the car.” I didn’t even have a moment to dry my tears before a new number flashed on my screen. It was Victoria. My elite sister. “Anna, don’t cheat. If you have such dignity, then use it,” she sneered. “Uncle Frank is Dad’s brother. You’re a low-level loan officer. How could you possibly have accessed him? You’re a worthless waste; you can’t even keep your word.” She paused, a triumphant inhale. “Luckily, he called Dad, and I answered. I assured him you’re doing just fine and need no charity. He agreed not to use you for his volume. Did you really think money grows on trees just because you’re used to being a liability?” The phone clicked off. The last pinprick of light had been extinguished. I wandered the streets of Chicago. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve, the city was bright with lights, tinsel, and forced good cheer. Everyone looked happy, unburdened. Why couldn’t I be one of them? I grabbed a startled man walking by. “Are you looking to buy a new car? Car loan?” He yanked his arm away, staring at me like a madwoman. “Get lost, psycho!” Eventually, I found myself outside the wrought-iron gates of the Weston estate. Should I beg? Should I swallow my pride, apologize, and promise to work harder if they just paid for my treatment? I typed the old security code into the keypad. Nothing. They had changed it. Screw them. I used the last reserves of my strength to hoist myself over the tall brick wall. Let them all suffer. Inside, the courtyard was a riot of cheerful red and green lights and scarlet ribbons. So festive. I remembered every Christmas Eve, locked in that small nursery, reflecting on all the ways I had failed to be better than Victoria. I had never once had Christmas dinner with them. Before I died, I was going to have a proper meal. 4. I crept to the kitchen. It was stocked like a five-star pantry. I ripped open a container of high-end strawberries and stuffed them in my mouth, then cherries, then plums. Then I spotted it: a massive platter of Conrad’s famous Holiday Roulade, which he only made for special occasions. The highest accolade in the Weston house. I had never once tasted it. I gorged myself until I was sick and gagging. I ate every single bite. Then, I crept to the window of the living room. Inside, it was a perfectly framed picture of a happy family—a holiday commercial. I picked up a heavy paving stone, ready to hurl it through the glass and give them a surprise. Then I heard Mom’s voice. “Do you think Anna might be in some kind of trouble?” My father looked older, his face slightly softer in the holiday light. “If you’re worried about her, Bethany, just call her yourself.” A tiny, flickering candle of hope flared inside me. I waited for my own phone to ring, imagining what she might say. But Victoria instantly clamped her hand over Mom’s arm. “Trouble? No. She’s just looking for a shortcut. A handout. If you help her now, it’s completely unfair to me.” Mom immediately dropped her hand, and Dad wrapped her in a hug. “Alright, alright, I won’t call her,” he soothed. Conrad sighed, completely dismissive. “If she were in real trouble, she’d be here. But she’s weak; she’s always been too weak. I spoiled her a little when she was younger because she was frail, and that’s how she became so incompetent. She’s probably just drifting, chasing shortcuts and avoiding work. If she ever comes back, I’ll have to properly educate her.” Listening to them, a profound, soul-deep weariness settled over me. The paving stone felt impossibly heavy. I tried to lift it, but my arms wouldn’t obey. The window glass reflected my own face—gaunt, pale, and completely defeated. I was too tired to fight. I was the scrap, the off-cut. I didn’t want to struggle anymore. Bye-bye, world. I dropped the stone and curled up in the corner of the wall to wait for death. A scrawny stray cat, meowing piteously, wandered toward me. I gathered it into my arms, hugging it close for warmth. It immediately went quiet. Dad hated these “filthy animals.” At least now, my dying wouldn’t interrupt their perfect family evening. See? I was useful for something after all. My body, already a ragged piece of cloth from the cancer and chemo, was quickly failing under the bitter cold. Death came faster than I expected. Slipping out of my ruined shell, I felt light. Free. I floated, holding the little cat, and drifted into the house. Dad was already talking about next year’s business plan: strive, strive, strive. Dead is good. I never have to strive again. I spent the night floating over the guest bed, resting. It was truly comfortable. Just before dawn, I heard the maid’s shriek. “There’s someone sitting by the wall! She’s frozen! I think… I think it’s the second Miss!” All three of them rushed into the courtyard, stopping a few feet away from my body. The night’s drizzle and the sudden drop in temperature had left a delicate layer of frost on my hair. Conrad frowned. “Help her inside.” 5. Victoria immediately stopped the maid. “It’s a pathetic stunt, Dad! She’s not a child! If she was cold, she’d walk in!” Victoria spat, her voice ringing with certainty. “She’s waiting for your pity so she can ask for the car loans again. She’s all about manipulation and shortcuts.” Mom looked at my body, a flicker of worry in her eyes. “Victoria, it’s freezing out here.” Victoria stamped her foot and pulled her arm from Mom’s grasp. “Are you serious? You think the Chicago weather will actually kill her? Look! She’s fine! She even has the audacity to play with a filthy cat!” Conrad finally noticed the stray cat clutched to my chest and grimaced in disgust. They turned to walk back inside. Then the kitchen staff ran over, holding the phone I had dropped last night. “The holiday food is ruined! Someone got into the kitchen and made a huge mess!” Conrad grabbed the phone, his face contorted in rage. “Worthless waste, even now!” Mom chimed in, “We never starved her! Why does she act like a ghoul? And what’s on her mouth? Is that strawberry jam?” That was the blood I threw up before I died, Mom. They all stared at my face, a slow, dawning realization spreading through them. Suddenly, my phone buzzed violently. It was my supervisor’s voice, booming through the speaker. “Anna Weston! Did you not see the team message?! Six a.m. sharp for the Year-End Sales Report! Where are you?! You’ve been bottom of the ladder for a year, and now you’re late?!” The accusation broke my father. He let out a yell and threw the phone with all his might. It struck my head and clattered into my lap. “I am ruined because of you! You have humiliated me for the last time!” The phone vibrated endlessly. Conrad pointed at the maid. “Get that disgusting animal out of her hands! Get the phone! They’re both filthy!” The maid, terrified of the cat, gingerly poked it with a long broom handle. Her face instantly went pale. “It’s… hard. It’s a dead cat.” A sudden, murderous rage consumed my father. He rushed forward and violently kicked my body. “I said, stop playing with dead things!” My frozen body, rigid as a column of ice, toppled over with a sickening thud.

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Caspian faked amnesia just to break up with me. “Who are you?” he asked. I paused for a breath, then smiled. “I’m your brother’s fiancée.” Caspian froze. Later that night, Pierce, his older brother—the one who had been urging us to split—sent me a frantic series of texts: [YOU EVIL BITCH! When did you and I get together?] [Caspian is standing outside my apartment with a goddamn machete!] 1 When I arrived at the hospital, Caspian “Cas” Miller was lying in bed, a perfectly respectable, if slightly dramatic, gauze bandage wrapped around his head. He looked up at me with a confused, lost expression and asked: “Who are you?” I let the question hang for a moment, then laughed softly. I reached up and subtly pulled the collar of my silk blouse lower, exposing a faint, reddish mark on my neck. “I’m your brother’s fiancée.” The door was closed. Pierce, Cas’s elder brother, was standing just outside, waiting for me to deliver the final, clean breakup speech. I’d been with Pierce when the news of Cas’s minor car accident and subsequent hospitalization came in. Pierce had leaned back in his leather chair, a cynical smile playing on his lips, and flashed a certified check for five million dollars at me. “Sasha,” he’d said, his voice smooth and cold. “The future with Caspian is unpredictable. Yours, however, can clear a path to the top right now.” Cas and I had been together for two years, and in all that time, he’d been stubbornly silent about the Miller family’s staggering wealth. It wasn’t until I picked up a shift at a high-end resort that I ran into him. He was out with friends, checking out of a presidential suite that cost more than my annual rent. I stood silently at the reception desk, watching him. I wasn’t bitter. I wasn’t even tired. Cas looked up, and we locked eyes. He flushed bright red, mortified. “I… I didn’t tell you before because I was afraid you’d feel too much pressure being with me.” I stared at him, pointing a disbelieving finger at myself. Me? Did I look like someone with that much pride? Kid, if you’d mentioned the generational wealth sooner, you wouldn’t have had to chase me for over a year. Our relationship had been a private affair. But after that run-in with his friends, the news inevitably reached the ears of the Miller patriarch—his older brother, Pierce Miller. I met Pierce shortly after. The brothers shared seven-tenths of a face, but Pierce’s expression, when he looked down at me, carried a stifling, heavy aura that made me instinctively tremble. Pierce wanted me to break up with Cas. The previous night, he’d sent me a recording. In the video, he and Cas sat across from each other. Next to the visibly raw and youthful Cas, Pierce looked impossibly polished and mature. Pierce’s voice, slow and deliberate, sounded like a hammer tapping on a delicate glass heart. “You met Sasha in college, right? You chased her for ages. She was always volatile, a real piece of work. But the moment she found out who you were, she suddenly became sweetness and light.” His implication was crystal clear: I was a gold-digger, a phony, someone who groveled for cash. “She’s not like that!” Cas shot back immediately. His voice was unsteady, lacking any conviction. He was only desperate to defend me, but his words were hollow; he didn’t even believe them himself. Compared to an old fox like Pierce, Cas was a lightweight. Pierce simply smiled, seeing his trap set. “Is that so? Then let’s run a small test. You fake a car accident, pretend you have amnesia. You treat her like a stranger, cold and indifferent. Then we’ll see what her true reaction is.” The video ended there. This scene in the hospital confirmed everything. Cas had chosen to play along. 2 The expression on Cas’s face cycled through disbelief, horror, and confusion, like a computer trying to process an overload error. “Want an apple? Your fiancée will peel one for you.” Five million dollars was certainly tempting. But being used as a pawn in their sibling drama? That was a bridge too far. Hearing the word “fiancée” drove Cas’s face green with rage. He opened his mouth, ready to demand answers, but stopped himself at the last second. He still had to maintain the amnesia act. Breaking character now would be shooting himself in the foot. He tried to look composed, yet his eyes betrayed him, welling up with tears. His voice was thick with suppressed emotion. “My… my brother is single, I think.” I waved a dismissive hand. “You’ve lost your memory, sweetheart. It’s normal not to recall your brother’s relationship status.” Cas pressed his fingers hard against his temples, anxiously saying, “I think I’m starting to remember something.” I pulled his official, printed medical chart from the bedside table and forced him to look at the paperwork. “The doctor said there’s no risk of memory recovery, Cas. Just focus on healing.” Cas gripped the paper, the veins on the back of his hand bulging. I placed the perfectly peeled apple on his tray. As I prepared to leave, I ruffled his hair affectionately. “If a memory can be forgotten, it probably wasn’t all that important to begin with. Time to move on.” “I’m going out now—with your brother. We have dinner reservations. No, wait, scratch that. We’re going to a romantic, intimate restaurant. You rest up. We’ll drop by when we’re done.” I gave him a cheerful wave and walked out. The moment the door clicked shut, the hospital room erupted in a sound like a boiling kettle coming to a tragic shriek. Pierce, standing outside, was oblivious to the conversation. He turned to me, his eyes softening slightly, a look of quiet satisfaction for my perceived compliance. On the way to the hospital, Pierce had been relentless in guiding me. “The fact that Caspian agreed to this charade proves he already doesn’t trust you. A crack in a relationship doesn’t mend; it only widens. Trying to win him back is pointless.” “Better to take the five million now and disappear gracefully than to have a messy, hysterical breakup later.” Pierce always knew exactly where to twist the knife. I handed him my debit card. “I don’t want to mess with a physical check. Have your people wire the money to this card.” Pierce nodded, handing the check and my card to his assistant to process. By the time I stepped out of the room, the assistant was done. A deposit alert had popped up on my phone a few minutes prior. As Pierce handed my card back to me, he was completely unaware of the furious face pressed against the small glass panel on the door behind him. Cas, staring through the glass, fixed his gaze on the card in Pierce’s hand. From his angle, he couldn’t see the design. Given my earlier words, he immediately assumed it was a hotel room key card. Cas’s face was dark, his forehead throbbing with visible veins. I took the card from Pierce, allowing my fingers to linger seductively over his hand. “Thank you,” I purred. I slipped the card into my bag and turned to leave. Pierce looked down at the spot where I had touched him, his fingers unconsciously flexing once. The moment I rounded the corner, Cas exploded out of the room. The supposedly gravely injured man attacked Pierce like a rabid dog, tackling him and beating him on the floor. “Pierce Miller, you sick bastard! You stole my fiancée!” Pierce: “Wait, what?” 3 The hospital corridor descended into chaos. Pierce was knocked out cold with a single, furious punch. Cas sat nearby, sobbing uncontrollably. I watched the dramatic scene unfold from a sheltered alcove for a long time before reluctantly walking away. I spent the rest of the day on a five-million-dollar shopping spree, returning home only after dark. As I stepped out of the elevator, I saw Pierce standing at my door like a vengeful ghost. He was covered in bruises and resentment. Gone was the cool, self-possessed corporate shark. “Sasha Holloway! You need to go back and explain things to Cas right now!” I opened the door to my apartment and innocently asked, “Explain what?” Pierce’s brows furrowed. His expression was pure disgust. “You know damn well! Stop playing dumb with me! Caspian thinks I stole you! He thinks I made him fake amnesia so you could ditch him and walk into my life! He’s armed and blocking my driveway like a maniac!” I hummed a tune and ignored his tirade. I dumped my afternoon purchases onto the bed, covering the duvet with piles of expensive, barely-there clothes. I held up a sheer, white lace negligee against myself for inspection. “Would this look good on me?” I asked Pierce. His face turned an even deeper shade of green. He turned away, refusing to look at me, his teeth practically grinding. “Only a blind idiot like Caspian would find you attractive. I’d rather be celibate for the rest of my life than be with a toxic, malicious woman like you.” The moment the words left his mouth, a knock sounded at the door. “Sasha, are you home?” It was Cas. Pierce’s composure shattered. He stared at the door, panicked, and made to rush toward me. “Don’t open it!” he hissed. Cas already thought we were having an affair. If he found Pierce in my apartment late at night, especially after all the hospital drama, no explanation would save him. I rolled my eyes. “He called out my name, which means he knows I’m in here. If I don’t open the door, it’ll look even worse.” I grabbed his wrist and pulled him toward the bedroom closet. “Why don’t you hide in here for a while?” Pierce looked utterly defeated. But after a moment of desperate thought, he realized he had no choice. He took a deep, resigning breath and reluctantly squeezed himself into the walk-in closet. I turned and opened the door for Cas. Cas, tall and large, stood slumped outside. His head was down, and the corners of his eyes were still slightly red. I reached out and lightly stroked his cheek. “What’s this? Were you crying?” The tears Cas had been fighting finally broke through. Hot, wet tears soaked into my hand. His sense of injury and injustice was like a floodgate opening. He was the one who agreed to fake the amnesia. He was the one who pretended not to know me this morning. Now, no matter how much injustice he felt, he had to swallow it. “My brother… he won’t let me back in the house. He kicked me out. I have nowhere to go.” Pierce, crammed in the closet after being hunted all afternoon, likely had a stroke. Cas grabbed my hand and buried his face in my palm, rubbing against me like a lost puppy. “Fiancée, can you let me crash here for the night? The sofa is fine. I promise I won’t be any trouble.” I nodded sympathetically. “Of course, sweetheart.” Pierce: “?!” Cas stepped inside, swapping his shoes, and immediately his eyes fell on the array of expensive, revealing lingerie scattered on the bed. His expression twisted into something momentarily feral. I followed his gaze, then offered a shy, suggestive smile. “Your brother bought them. Said he wanted to ‘celebrate’ tonight…” I stopped my sentence abruptly, as if realizing I’d said too much. I lowered my voice to a suggestive whisper. “Your brother is always buying these useless, racy things. He never listens.” Inside the closet, Pierce was silently staring at the ceiling, likely attempting to hang himself with a coat hanger. I quickly scooped up the pile of clothes, opened the closet door, and tossed them inside. The sheer white negligee landed squarely on Pierce’s face. Pierce was already mentally dead the moment I opened the door. He pressed his palms together, a picture of helpless, silent begging. Cas stood right by the closet door, separated from Pierce by a thin sheet of wood, and spoke to me. “Will my brother be coming back tonight?” I shook my head. “I have no idea. Why don’t you call him and ask?” Pierce’s eyes widened in terror. Cas took out his phone and dialed Pierce’s number. The next second, Pierce’s ringtone—a custom, jarring corporate chime—blared inside the closet. Cas’s eyes narrowed dangerously, fixed on the wardrobe. “Fiancée, I think my brother’s phone is ringing.”

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I was born with congenital insensitivity to pain—no pain receptors. My sister, Sally, was a butterfly baby. Her skin was paper-thin, prone to tearing with the slightest bump. To protect her, my older brother, Link, used me to set the rules. Every. Single. Time. I tried to fight it, of course. But Link would always wear me down with the same pleading, world-weary tone. “Maya, Sally is adopted. We can’t just outright punish her, even for the sake of appearances.” He would sigh, running a hand through his hair. “Besides, she has EB. She’s fragile, nothing like you! You can’t feel it anyway. Just treat it like a bad scene in a movie. It’ll be over before you know it.” When Sally ran off in a crowded mall, Link broke my leg in front of her. When Sally played with an X-Acto knife, Link cut off five of my fingers, then had a surgeon reattach them one by one. Later, Sally started dating a boy named Jax, a rebellious type, and ran away from home with him. When Link dragged her back, he carved gashes into my body and threw me into the private marine enclosure he had built for his sharks. Three gray shapes circled me. I begged Link for help, but he was only focused on lecturing Sally. “You do the crime, you do the time,” he said, his voice flat. “Run away again, and I’ll throw her in again.” Sally’s legs gave out from under her. She collapsed to her knees, bruising the delicate skin. Link instantly scooped her up, his face etched with agonizing concern. He turned to leave, holding her tight. I cried out, pleading with him to pull me out first, but he never looked back. He forgot. Insensitivity to pain isn’t the same as immortality. You can still bleed out. … “Link, please! Save me!” Blood, thick and hot, poured continuously from the wound on my shoulder. The metallic, pungent smell of it excited the three sharks, making them circle faster. I thrashed against the water, terrified, trying to swim toward the steel ladder bolted to the side. I gripped a rung, but Link’s knife—he always carried a heavy utility knife—flashed again, severing my grip with a cut across my knuckles. I forced myself not to let go, clenching my fist around the smooth metal. But the intensifying scent of my blood sent one of the sharks into a frenzy. It snapped its jaws onto my calf and pulled, dragging me back into the churning water. “Maya!” Sally’s scream was raw, shredded. She instinctively reached a hand out toward me, desperate to pull me back. Link caught her waist, pulling her back. “Don’t move. You can’t swim.” “Link.” Sally dropped to the wet concrete, ignoring the scrapes blooming on her knees. “I’m sorry, I was wrong. I won’t ever run away again. Please, let Maya out.” She was sobbing hysterically, her forehead striking the floor with sickening, repetitive thuds. “Sally, stop it! Are you insane?” Link yanked her up. “You know your condition! You can’t knock your head like that, you’ll injure yourself.” He scanned her body frantically, and sure enough, found a small, dark bruise forming just above her knee. His eyes immediately reddened with sharp, overwhelming panic. He lifted her fully into his arms. “If you don’t behave, I’ll let out Big White, too.” Big White was his most aggressive shark, the one he’d personally purchased from a research facility when it was scheduled for euthanasia after a human incident. Sally went instantly silent, shivering in his arms. Link seemed satisfied with her reaction. He walked toward the exit, his strides long and purposeful. “Link, help me. Please. I can’t hold on.” As he neared the door, I spent my last bit of strength on one final, desperate cry. He paused. A fleeting shadow of genuine tension crossed his face. But as he looked down, his eyes caught the tiny, fingernail-sized cut on Sally’s forehead. His focus snapped. He turned his head slightly, speaking back to me without meeting my eyes. “Every time I punish you, you intentionally give up right before the end. Can you, for once, act like the older sister you’re supposed to be? Set an example. You don’t want her ending up with a body full of scars, do you?” Then he was gone. He never looked back. My heart sank with his retreating footsteps. A realization clawed its way into my mind. Link doesn’t want me anymore. No. It couldn’t be true. Link told me it was always an act. Just a show. He would come back for me. He had to. All I had to do was be a little more pathetic. Sally had to be a little more scared. Then he’d be pleased. Then he’d look at me. I shouted for help a few more times, and then my body was violently wrenched backward. I looked down. One of the sharks had torn my entire left forearm from my body. Blood flushed the water, turning the enclosure into a dizzying swirl of scarlet. The horrifying sight shocked my heart into near-failure. Survival instinct screamed at me. I had to get out. I swam desperately toward the ladder. By some miracle, I actually made it past the three sharks and caught the handle. I scrambled onto the concrete, delirious with relief. I took two stumbling steps before a shark launched itself clean out of the water behind me. It clamped down on my other calf and, with a violent tug, dragged me back into the dark depths. I fought and struggled, but I was no match for its power. Salty water flooded my nasal cavity, then my throat, slowly filling my lungs. My breathing faltered. My strength evaporated. The edges of my vision faded to black. When I next woke up, I realized I could breathe underwater. I was about to wonder if I had suddenly developed some kind of superpower when I noticed the ragged remnants of my own body nearby. The three sharks were feasting on me like a gourmet meal. First, the gnawing on the arms, then the belly tearing open, and finally, one swallowed my head whole. It was then I understood. I was dead. I watched the sharks feed for a while, found it boring, and went home. Link’s personal physician, Dr. Miles Corbin, had already finished checking Sally. He told Link her knee scrapes were minor, but she still needed to be careful. Link’s visibly tight chest finally loosened. I floated in front of him and tried to say his name. He didn’t respond. He turned to look at Sally, who was sitting silently on the sofa. I remembered then. The living can’t see the dead. Sally was no longer crying, but her eyes were glazed and empty. Dr. Corbin was a long-time acquaintance of Link’s. He had heard about the nature of the punishment as soon as he arrived. He sighed, shaking his head. “Wasn’t that a bit extreme, Link?” Link scoffed. “She won’t listen otherwise. Running off with that punk, Jax? You know how dangerous the world is for her, Miles.” “But throwing Maya in the tank? What if the sharks had lost control and actually hurt her?” “You don’t have to worry about her,” Link said dismissively. “You forget, those three are usually docile. They never attack people. Plus, I had a guard watching the monitors. If there was any real danger, he was supposed to pull her out immediately.” I froze. Did your security guard really watch the monitors, Link? Why didn’t anyone come when I was being eaten? Link’s only real hobby was his sharks. He’d built the enclosure—larger than some public aquariums—just for them. They had dedicated keepers, a professional animal doctor for checkups, and their feeder fish were flown in from overseas. Because they were raised in captivity, the three sharks were usually placid and had never shown aggression toward people. Link had assured me of this before the “punishment.” But he forgot one crucial detail. The day Sally ran away, Link started planning this punishment. He had specifically instructed the keepers not to feed the sharks for an entire week, all to ensure they looked aggressive for the show. But animals are just animals. Starved for that long, they no longer cared if the food they were given was human or otherwise. Dr. Corbin frowned. “Even so, she’s a young woman, and she was bleeding heavily. You know how blood affects sharks. What if one of them took a bite?” “They wouldn’t take a fatal bite,” Link snapped, growing impatient. “You’re forgetting Maya has insensitivity to pain. She wouldn’t feel it, even if they tore her leg off. All that screaming? It was just part of the act.” Dr. Corbin was silent, his expression a mix of concern and pity. He finally sighed and told Link he shouldn’t be so cruel; after all, I was his own sister. Link lowered his head, considering. “You’re right. I’m going to—” Before he could finish, Sally stood up, seemingly recovered. “I’m going to bring my sister back,” she announced. Link’s face darkened. “Stay put!” Sally flinched. “Why?” “You were gone for seven days,” Link stated. “The punishment must last seven hours. That’s the rule.” He was lying. There was no such family rule. He only said it because he saw that Sally was no longer sufficiently scared, so he had to increase the severity of the lesson. All he wanted was to terrify her into realizing the gravity of her mistake. Link was eight years older than me. In my mind, he was both father and mother. When I was eight, our parents died in a car accident. Our relatives, eager to snatch the estate, used various means to drive Link and me out of the house. The same day we were abandoned, we found Sally, also abandoned. To provide for us, sixteen-year-old Link dropped out of school. He fought in underground boxing matches, delivered takeout, and hauled concrete. Because all his time was spent earning money, Sally and I were left to care for each other. But Sally’s Epidermolysis Bullosa was extremely rare. The slightest touch would break her skin. Broken skin meant a trip to the hospital, and hospital visits cost money. Link was constantly stressed. He ran out of patience and repeatedly warned Sally not to be reckless. Warnings worked once or twice, but eventually, she stopped listening. One day, Link yelled at Sally, and she ignored him. I laughed beside him, and he hit me instead. Sally was terrified that time. She cried hysterically and apologized. From that day on, Link learned the method of “killing the chicken to scare the monkey.” I was the chicken. Sally was the monkey. At first, Link would apologize after hitting me. He’d tenderly apply antiseptic, hold me, and cry. “Maya, money is so hard to earn. I just don’t have enough to keep taking Sally to the hospital,” he’d plead. “If you take the beating, she’ll behave. Just bear with it, alright? I’ll try not to hit you so hard next time.” Knowing the impossible burden he carried, I lied. I told him I had congenital insensitivity to pain. That no matter what he did, I wouldn’t feel a thing. I only did it to ease his guilt. But later, even my lie stopped scaring Sally for long. Even when Link knocked me unconscious, she only stayed terrified for a short while. So, he escalated. Sally ran off? Break my leg. She played with a sharp object? Cut off my fingers. In his mind, I couldn’t feel it. All he had to do was get the bones or fingers reattached. Until today, when I was eaten alive. He wanted Sally to watch with her own eyes. He wanted her to be so afraid that she would never hurt herself again. I knew that in the beginning, Link’s cruelty was motivated by fear of financial ruin. But later, even when he had money, he had invested so much more time and emotional energy into Sally than me. He had developed a deep, complicated attachment. Perhaps he never even noticed. In his heart, Sally had become more important than me. Sally kept looking at her watch. The moment Link’s arbitrary seven hours were up, she pulled him toward the marine enclosure. “Link, it’s seven hours. You have to let Maya out now.” He allowed himself to be dragged along, feigning annoyance. “What’s the rush? Your sister isn’t going anywhere.” But when the enclosure door opened and the heavy, metallic smell of blood spilled out, Link and Sally both froze at the sight of the tank. After a long pause, Sally’s voice trembled. “Link, where’s Maya? Why is she gone?” She scurried around the edge of the pool, desperately searching for any sign of me. Link, however, recovered quickly. He walked onto the platform, scanned the ground, and called Sally’s name. “Sally, come here.” She rushed to his side. “Look.” Link pointed to two bloody footprints on the platform. “See? These must be Maya’s. She got out and left already.” “Really?” Sally watched the footprints, still shaking. “Then where is she now?” Link hesitated. “She must have gone to the hospital. She always handles her own injuries.” It was true. Unlike Sally, because I claimed not to feel pain, I always quietly limped or stumbled to the ER alone, no matter how severe the injury. Sally pleaded with Link to take her to the hospital to find me. “Please, Link. If I don’t see Maya tonight, I won’t be able to sleep.” Link, softened by her tears, glanced back at the water, a flicker of genuine worry in his eyes. “Fine.” He patted her head affectionately and pulled out his phone to call the kitchen. “We’re going to the hospital to see Maya! Even though she got lazy and gave up on the punishment early again, she must be hungry after running off like that. Let’s go check on her.” I floated above them, numb. I don’t think I can feel hunger anymore, Link. But before they could leave, the housekeeper rushed in. “Sir, there’s a young man with blonde hair at the gate. He insists on seeing Miss Sally.” Link’s face went immediately dark. He strode toward the door, and I followed, curious. Standing at the gate was Jax, the rebellious ex-boyfriend who had helped Sally run away. The moment he saw Link, he started yelling. “Give Sally back! You can’t keep her locked up!” Link’s eyes narrowed. “How did you find this place?” “This address isn’t hard to get,” Jax retorted, holding his chin up. “You sick bastard. Why are you trying to break us up? Sally and I are in love.” Link slowly turned his head to Sally, who was standing behind him. His voice was frighteningly calm. “Sally, are you two ‘in love’?” Anyone who knew Link understood: the calmer his voice, the more terrifying his rage. Sally immediately backed down, shaking her head frantically. “No, no, we’re not.” Then she shouted at Jax. “Jax, just go! I don’t want to be with you anymore.” Jax’s eyes widened in disbelief. “No! Sally, is he making you say that? Come with me…” His hand hadn’t even touched Sally before Link seized his arm and brutally snapped it. Link kicked Jax away like garbage, then addressed the guards. “Get him off the property.” Jax was dragged away, screaming in pain. Sally was shaking violently. She followed Link back to the living room, still fixated on me. “Link, I swear I won’t see him again. Let’s go find Maya.” “Don’t you dare bring her up.” Link’s face was a mask of disgust. “I was just feeling guilty and was going to bring her dinner, and she immediately gave this psycho our address! No wonder she got out so fast. She probably planned it the moment I threw her in.” “It’s shameful. When will she finally grow up and stop using these childish tricks to compete for attention?” Sally’s face went white. “No, that’s not it. I…” She wanted to admit she was the one who told Jax, but she swallowed the words. She knew admitting it or not, the person Link punished would always be me. Jax’s appearance rekindled Link’s fury. But since I wasn’t there, he wouldn’t lash out at Sally. Instead, he ordered his people to go to every hospital in the city to find and bring me back. He sent Sally to her room and headed to his private gym to hit the punching bag and vent his physical energy. Halfway through his workout, the housekeeper came back. Link looked up. “Did you find Maya?” The housekeeper reported that there was still no word on me. She had come to tell Link that the keepers said the sharks seemed sick. The three of them were lethargic and weren’t eating. Link adored his sharks. Hearing this, he rushed to the enclosure and immediately called the animal doctors to come check them out. Sally, who couldn’t sleep, heard the commotion and followed. Half an hour later, the three sharks were tranquilized and immobile. Several animal doctors, equipped with portable sonar probes, climbed into the water. When they scanned the first shark’s abdomen, every one of them gasped in horror. They scrambled back onto the platform and ran toward Link, stumbling and panicked. “M-Mr. Sterling…” they stammered, out of breath. “What did you feed them? One of the sharks has—” “—a human head inside!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “391283”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel