Author: Momo Chan

My period cramps were so bad I couldn’t get out of bed, so I asked my boyfriend to run to the store for some tampons. He turned around and posted a photo of me curled up in pain on his Instagram Story, meant for his “Close Friends” list. “Bro, who understands this? GF makes me buy her tampons, I ask her to Venmo me the $10 back, and I’m the bad guy?” The replies to his story were ruthless. “She acting up again? I got your back, bro! Going Dutch is the only way. Don’t let these females walk all over you!” “Why should you pay for her bleeding? She’s just using you for a free ride!” Keeping our relationship “50/50” was his idea—to keep things “pure,” he claimed. For the past year we’d been dating, everything from expensive dinners to a single bottle of water was split down to the exact decimal point on Venmo. Except, it was always on his terms. Clearly, this wasn’t the first time he’d posted something like this. He just forgot to hide it from me this time. Looking at those disgusting comments, a lump formed in my throat. So, we’re strictly going Dutch, huh? Fine. Two can play that game. 1 My fingers trembled as I refreshed his page, trying to convince myself that maybe Brandon was just trolling. But the more I scrolled through the replies, the colder my heart got. Line by line, it was nothing but a mockery of me. “Bro is speaking facts! 50/50 or nothing!” “I’d ask for the money back too. Why should guys be walking ATMs?” “She’s seriously crying over $10? And she made you play delivery boy?” I clicked his profile picture again and again. Three times. Five times. There was no mistake. It was Brandon, the man I’d been with for a year. My jaw clenched so hard my teeth ached. Over a ten-dollar box of tampons, I had become a “gold digger” in the eyes of his frat-bro friends. And Brandon? He was the poor, victimized boyfriend. Refusing to let it go, I logged into my burner account. Since it wasn’t blocked from his main feed, I could see everything. A sickeningly detailed “Dating Ledger” was plastered all over his highlights. Every post felt like a slap in the face. There was a post from the day I got my bonus and treated him to a $300-a-head steakhouse. He posted a picture of the Starbucks coffee he bought me the next day with the caption: “Equality in relationships. The perfect 50/50.” There was my birthday, when he took me to the pier to watch the fireworks. He took gorgeous photos of me, raking in comments about how “romantic” he was. He conveniently left out that the limited-edition sneakers I bought him that morning cost $800. Everything I gave Brandon was carefully chosen and expensive. What he gave me was always “sentimental” garbage—a cheap keychain from a carnival game, or a buy-one-get-one-free phone case from Temu. Just yesterday, he used a coupon to get a $3 pack of paper towels for free, then Venmo requested me for $1.50. I had brushed it off, thinking he was just overly meticulous about finances. Now that I thought about it, whenever the first of the month rolled around to pay rent and utilities for our shared apartment, his banking app conveniently “crashed,” leaving me to quietly cover the whole thing. I’d never held it against him. I genuinely thought he was just a frugal guy saving for our future. Clutching my phone, a chill washed over me. I couldn’t tell if it was the period cramps or the sickening realization of the truth. One comment under his post made my blood run cold. “Brandon is taking the crown for the ‘Zero-Dollar Dating Challenge’ this year! That $5k prize pool is yours, man. You gotta treat the boys to drinks!” Brandon’s reply: “Don’t worry, once her cramps are gone, I’ll make her pay for dinner. I’ll treat her to a $10 Chipotle bowl later. Massive ROI on this one.” My stomach violently turned. I thought his strict 50/50 rule was about building an equal partnership. I didn’t realize I was just a row on his Excel spreadsheet. What I thought was a two-way street was just him treating me like a low-risk, high-yield stock. Money really is a mirror. It shows whether someone is afraid of not giving you enough, or afraid you’re asking for too much. Trembling, I opened our text thread and typed out: Let’s break up. But wait. Just breaking up? That was letting him off way too easy. My thumb hovered over the send button, then I slowly backspaced. Just as I deleted the last letter, the front door clicked open. Brandon strolled in, sipping a Coke, and tossed the box of tampons onto the coffee table. 2 “Babe, you still hurting? Let me make you some hot tea,” he said smoothly. “Oh, by the way, just Venmo me $15. Ten for the tampons, and I bought myself a Coke as a delivery fee. I won’t charge you a service tax though.” He chuckled at his own joke and turned toward the kitchen. Staring at his back, I felt a wave of dizziness. My cramps were always severe, and Brandon used to always jump up to make me tea. He even watched YouTube videos on acupressure to rub my lower back when it got really bad. “Women have it so hard,” he used to say. “Seeing you in pain makes me hurt too.” Back then, I thought I’d hit the jackpot. I thought I’d finally found a good one. I didn’t realize his “gentleness” was a cheap act funded entirely by my bank account. He handed me the mug, snapping me out of my thoughts. Suppressing the urge to throw the hot water in his face, I took it and forced a pale smile. “I feel a lot better. You know what? To thank you, let’s go out for a massive seafood lunch. My treat.” His eyes instantly lit up. He practically hopped over to the sofa, rubbing his hands together with a grin stretching ear to ear. “Seriously? That’s awesome. Hey… do you mind if I invite a couple of the guys? We haven’t hung out in a while. It’ll be fun, and we can all get crab!” I opened my mouth, then shut it, nodding sweetly. “Whatever you want! The more the merrier.” While he turned his back to call his frat brothers, I quickly texted my best friend, Harper. “Emergency. I’m staying at your place tonight. Pick me up after work.” Harper replied instantly: “Staying over? Trouble in paradise? Did Mr. Excel Spreadsheet finally snap?” “I’ll explain later. It’s worse than you think.” I curled up on the sofa, watching Brandon out of the corner of my eye. He was practically vibrating with excitement on the phone, no doubt calculating how much he could milk out of my wallet today. By noon, Brandon’s three “bros” from the comment section were waiting outside. They exchanged smirks the second they saw me. Brandon proudly threw an arm over my shoulder, puffing his chest out. “Alright boys, order whatever you want today! Don’t hold back. Right, babe?” I nodded, playing the role of the sweet, clueless girlfriend perfectly. “Exactly! Eat up! Don’t be shy.” We piled into my Porsche Macan and headed straight for the most expensive waterfront seafood spot in the city. The kind of place where the lobster is flown in daily and you don’t get out for less than $200 a person. As soon as I parked, my phone buzzed. A Venmo request from Brandon. “Hey babe,” he said, tapping his phone. “The IRS mileage rate is 67 cents a mile. We drove about 10 miles, so I just requested $6.70 for the gas. I don’t want to owe you anything!” The guys snickered in the backseat. “Brandon, you’re wild for that,” one of them said. “Hey, we keep it fair,” Brandon grinned. Once inside, the boys flocked to the fresh catches like vultures. King crab, premium oysters, massive lobsters… they pointed at the most expensive items on the ice. They even ordered imported sparkling water. 3 Brandon wasn’t done. He pointed at the top-shelf wine list. “Let’s get two bottles of the Cabernet! It’s a celebration, right?” He turned to me. “Babe, what do you want?” I waved my hand gently. “Oh, nothing for me. I can’t eat seafood, remember? You guys go ahead.” He was already looking back at the menu. “What? It’s too loud in here.” I just smiled and played hostess. Once we sat down, I poured Brandon’s water, handed him napkins, and played the doting girlfriend. “Babe, seafood is too heavy for you when you’re cramping. I ordered you a side of clam chowder, but I had them take the clams out,” he announced proudly. “Damn, Brandon, boyfriend of the year!” one of his friends cheered. Brandon soaked it up, completely losing himself in the praise. He started bragging about his “50/50 philosophy.” “It takes discipline, boys. Like on Chloe’s birthday. I took her to the pier, bought some sparklers, took some aesthetic photos. Boom. Way more meaningful than a Gucci bag, right?” “You gotta find a girl who gets it,” he continued, gesturing at me. “We split everything. Dinners, rent, down to the Uber rides. Strict 50/50.” He gave me a thumbs-up. I smiled back, looking like a woman blinded by love. “Wait, how do you split a pizza?” one guy asked, laughing. “Easy. Count the slices. Or just pay for your own toppings.” I kept smiling, though a storm was raging in my head. The sparklers for my birthday? I bought them. He said “I’m not the one holding them” and made me pay the $15. Our matching anniversary iPhones? I bought them. His gift to me was the plastic case they came in. Plates of steaming, garlic-buttered seafood began flooding the table. The guys dug in like they hadn’t eaten in weeks. I took a few sips of my potato soup, then stood up, grabbing my purse. “Where are you going, Chloe? The lobster just got here!” one of the guys called out with his mouth full. The table went quiet. Eight eyes snapped to me. “Just running to the restroom,” I said softly. Brandon rolled his eyes and waved his crab cracker at me. “Girls take forever in the bathroom. Let her go, let’s eat before it gets cold.” The guys laughed and immediately went back to tearing apart crab legs. Once they were stuffed, leaning back and groaning about food comas, Brandon finally realized I hadn’t come back. “Where the hell is she?” he muttered. He stood up, walked toward the restrooms, and called my name. Nothing. Annoyed, he reached onto the table to grab “my” phone to call me—and froze. 4 “Wait… this is my phone!” Brandon yelled. “I thought this was hers!” The three friends exchanged nervous glances. Brandon’s hands started shaking as he grabbed his phone and dialed my number, trying to sound calm. “Babe? Where are you? You’ve been in the bathroom forever. We’re waiting for you.” I slowly pushed open the private dining room door, stepping inside. I sneered internally, but my face remained perfectly blank. “It was stuffy in here. I went outside for some fresh air. What, did you think I was going to dine and dash?” Brandon’s face cycled from red to white. He awkwardly let go of my arm. “N-no, of course not. Just worried about you. Lots of weirdos outside.” Trying to ease the tension, he pointed at the destroyed table. “Babe, the lobster was incredible. What was your favorite? We should definitely come back.” I looked at the absolute carnage on the table. Empty shells, picked-clean claws, empty wine bottles. Then I pointed to my pristine, spotless plate. “I wouldn’t know. I didn’t eat any of it. I’m allergic to shellfish.” Brandon blinked, processing this. Then he smacked his forehead with a forced, dramatic groan. “Oh my god, I completely forgot! I am so sorry, babe. Tell you what, I am cooking you dinner tonight to make up for it. My treat.” Looking at his exaggerated performance, I just felt exhausted. “It’s fine. I’m tired. Let’s pay the bill and go home.” I flagged down the waiter and asked for the check. Taking the leather folder, I pulled out my card. “Let’s see… I had the potato soup, which was $15. Plus the $5 seating fee. That’s $20.” I tapped my card on the machine, the screen flashing Approved. I slid the leather folder over to Brandon. “I paid for my half. Your turn.” Brandon’s smile instantly vanished. He stared at me like I was speaking a foreign language. He slowly looked down at the receipt. His eyes bugged out. His voice cracked into a high pitch. “One thousand, two hundred dollars?!” He practically jumped out of his chair, grabbing my arm again. “Wait, babe… you’re making me pay this?” Oh, sweetie. You’re breaking down over the appetizers? I have a whole main course planned for you.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “391228”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The day Ethan returned to the States with his fiancée, I was in the hospital waiting to die. Six years. He was still in his crisp white coat, as handsome and refined as ever. I was leaning on crutches, reduced to skin and bones. The moment we ran into each other in the hospital corridor, the hatred surging in his eyes almost swallowed me whole. “Lily, is this what you’ve become after betraying me for money? A ghost?” I tugged at the oversized sleeves of my sweater, hiding the dense cluster of needle marks and dark bruises on my arms. “Yeah. Seeing me like this… you feel avenged now, don’t you?” His eyes darkened, his knuckles turning white as he gripped his clipboard. He let out a cold sneer. “Not even close.” Saying that, he pulled out a bank card and held it out to me. “I’m getting married. A hundred grand. Come be my bridesmaid.” I looked at the card and smiled, shaking my head. “No thanks. I’m going to die soon anyway, what do I need money for?” With that, I turned around and hobbled away on my crutches. 1 I leaned heavily on my crutches, inching my way out of the hospital step by agonizing step. The physical pain all over my body couldn’t compare to the crushing ache in my chest. Six years. I had finally seen Ethan again, but I was dying. And he was getting married. I thought back to when we were eighteen, how he carefully held my hand and confessed his feelings. We promised to get married after graduation, to spend the rest of our lives by each other’s side. Back then, I truly thought we would walk hand-in-hand through this life. Rapid footsteps echoed behind me. Someone grabbed my arm, the grip so fierce it felt like my bones would shatter. “Lily, explain yourself. What do you mean you’re dying?” Ethan’s voice was frantic, trembling with panic as his grip tightened involuntarily. My crutch almost slipped from my hand. I winced in pain, forcing myself to stay upright. He suddenly seemed dazed, murmuring in a trance. “Lily… why are you so thin?” I used to have baby fat on my cheeks. Whenever I said I wanted to diet, he would buy my favorite cupcakes and wait outside my dorm. I’d eat them while complaining that he was the biggest stumbling block on my weight-loss journey. He would always wipe the frosting from the corner of my mouth with a helpless smile. “Why diet? You’re not fat at all. And no matter what you look like, I’ll always love you.” Now, I was thin, and the person who used to ruin my diets didn’t belong to me anymore. Just as I was about to speak, his fiancée, Sarah, caught up to us. She hooked her arm through Ethan’s, her voice gentle as she tried to “persuade” me: “Lily, you were just talking out of anger, right?” “You can’t just say things like that. No matter what, you shouldn’t joke about life and death.” Her words had hidden needles, masking a deeply concealed fear. Fear that I would expose the truth of what happened back then. Fear of losing Ethan. Looking at the sheer defensiveness on her face, I found it almost laughable. I looked at Ethan, my eyes exhausted but filled with lingering longing. “I meant it literally. Ethan, I have a terminal illness. There is no cure. I don’t have much time left.” As soon as the words left my mouth, tears pricked my eyes, but I ruthlessly forced them back. Ethan looked like he’d been struck by lightning. He stared at me dead on, searching my face for any trace of a lie. But all he could see was a sickly, deathly pallor. I was so emaciated I barely looked like myself. A stark contrast to the vibrant, lively girl he remembered from six years ago. Back then, I would scream my lungs out cheering for him by the basketball court. I would drag him out hiking and camping on the weekends. But now, inside this broken body, even standing for an extra minute took every ounce of strength I had. The shock hit him so hard that he instinctively let go of me. Losing my support so suddenly, I stumbled back two steps and nearly fell. Thankfully, I still had my crutches to brace myself, saving me from a far more humiliating fall in front of him. As soon as I steadied myself, I met Ethan’s bloodshot eyes. They were filled with absolute disbelief. And… a trace of agony. My heart contracted with a dense, stinging pain. Sarah’s face darkened completely. Taking a deep breath, she stepped in front of Ethan, blocking his view of me. When she spoke, her tone was that of someone offering a high-and-mighty handout. “Lily, would you mind telling us what kind of terminal illness it is?” “Don’t misunderstand, Ethan and I met quite a few top specialists while we were overseas. Maybe there’s still hope.” But her eyes practically screamed that she couldn’t wait for me to drop dead. “None of your business.” I looked past her, fixing my gaze on Ethan, who stood frozen solid behind her. Tugging at the corners of my mouth, I gave him a smile that looked worse than crying. “Dr. Evans, welcome back to the States. And… congratulations on the wedding.” With that, using every last bit of my strength, I turned around and hobbled painfully toward the exit. Not a single sound came from behind me. But I knew Ethan was standing frozen in place. Just like six years ago, when I heartlessly told him I didn’t love him anymore and told him to get out of my life, He had stood in that exact spot for a very, very long time. Stepping out of the hospital doors, the sunlight was blinding, but all I felt was a biting cold. The agonizing pain in my body was a constant reminder that Ethan and I were long over. It’s just… before I died, I wanted to look at him a few more times. 2 Ethan tracked down my rented apartment. As a doctor, pulling strings to look at my medical records wasn’t difficult for him. Looking around my cramped studio, cluttered with endless pill bottles, his face was livid. “Lily! What the hell is going on?! Where are your parents? Why are they letting you live in a dump like this?” His voice was filled with explosive rage, laced with an almost imperceptible trace of pity. I lay paralyzed on my small bed, completely drained of energy, and said nothing. He marched over to the bedside, his bloodshot eyes locking onto me. “Answer me! Where are they?” I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath. My throat burned raw. “Dead.” Ethan froze in place, as if all the strength had been instantly siphoned from his body. “When?” I tried my best to keep my voice flat and normal. “The third year after you left. My dad passed away in an accident. Mom couldn’t handle the grief and followed him.” I lied. My dad died from this exact same disease. When he found out Ethan was going to medical school in Europe, he began refusing treatment. Holding my hand, he would repeat over and over: “It can’t be cured. Stop wasting the money.” “Ethan is out there all alone, it’s not easy for him… you need to wire some money to him.” I couldn’t change his mind, nor could I change my mother’s, who wept silently but stood by his decision. Later, under the guise of an alumni scholarship, I anonymously wired the majority of our family’s savings to Ethan. But I couldn’t say any of this. If I did, Ethan would piece the truth together and plunge into a bottomless abyss of guilt. Hearing my words, the color drained completely from Ethan’s face. He swayed, stumbling a step backward. I knew he was in immense pain right now. When Ethan was ten, his parents died in a car crash. My parents took him in and raised him exactly like their own son. We were supposed to be a perfectly happy family. The year he went abroad, he thought my parents were perfectly healthy and would be around for decades. But during the six years of his intentional distancing, everything had turned to ash. His hand trembled as he forcefully shoved a credit card into my palm, his voice incredibly hoarse. “Use this for your treatments. Lily, don’t make me feel like you’re using your death to manipulate my pity!” Looking at the card, my chest tightened so hard I felt like I was suffocating. Someone destined for the grave didn’t need him wasting so much money. I forced myself to push the card back, my tone calm. “Keep it, Dr. Evans. You know better than anyone. My disease has no cure.” I don’t know which word triggered him, but he violently swatted my hand away. The card clattered to the floor. “I don’t know anything! Get the damn treatment! Stop acting so high and mighty! Lily, let me tell you, even if you die, I will still hate you!” Silence fell over the room the second the words left his mouth. Hate me. He had every right to. But hearing him say it out loud tore me apart from the inside out. Just then, the door creaked open, and Sarah walked in. She saw the credit card on the floor and sensed the suffocating tension between me and Ethan. “Ethan, why are you arguing with Lily again?” “She’s a patient, her emotions are bound to be unstable. You have to be patient with her.” She gently looped her arm through Ethan’s, her voice soft and soothing. Ethan kept his jaw clenched, staring straight ahead in silence. Sarah didn’t seem angry. She knelt down, picked up the card, and placed it delicately on my nightstand. While Ethan wasn’t looking, she leaned in close to my ear. In a voice only the two of us could hear, she mocked: “See that? Even if he pities you, he still despises you.” “Lily, since you’re destined to die, don’t you dare let him know the truth and ruin his life with guilt before you go!” It felt like a pair of hands were ripping my heart in two. The pain made me dizzy. Ethan seemed to notice something was off, looking irritated as he pulled Sarah away. He looked at me, his eyes an unreadable mess of conflict and stubborn obsession, his tone commanding: “Pack your things. You’re going to the hospital!” “I’ve already contacted the specialists. You are getting treated!” It was as if he didn’t even know whether he wanted to save me, or just prove that I wasn’t as miserable as I looked. Or maybe, he just couldn’t accept that the woman he had hated for six years was about to die. Looking at his jaw, tight with anger and a bizarre, unnamable confusion, I suddenly remembered what Sarah had said to me six years ago, back when she was just his senior mentor in med school. “Lily, Ethan is a medical prodigy. He has a brilliant, limitless future ahead of him.” “Do you really have the heart to let your family’s genetic curse drag him down? To ruin his chance to study abroad?” “Your dad is already showing symptoms. You’re next! Do you have any idea how much the medical bills will cost?” “Are you going to make him spend the rest of his life as a walking zombie, working himself to death just to pay for you and your father?” My dad had just been diagnosed then. Sarah happened to be interning at that hospital, so she found out. And so, I chose to push him away with my own two hands. Now, he was back, carrying his hatred for me alongside his fiancée. And I really was going to die. 3 Ethan ruthlessly bypassed my protests, transferring me into a private VIP suite at his hospital. He pulled in a team of elite specialists for daily consultations. He came by every day, his brow furrowed as he poured over my lab results and debated treatment protocols with the experts. The boy I knew was gone; in his place was a man who commanded authority and exuded an oppressive presence. Sarah was always by his side, playing the role of the devoted fiancée to perfection. When Ethan was around, she’d ask if I was cold or hungry. But the second his back was turned, her eyes would shoot daggers at me. Occasionally, when we were left alone, she would lean in and hiss. “Why aren’t you dead yet?” “You being alive is such a goddamn inconvenience, Lily!” I would just close my eyes and pretend I was deaf. Sometimes, though, I noticed something strange. Ethan was polite to Sarah, but incredibly distant. They didn’t act like an engaged couple. There was no intimacy, barely even any casual conversation. Once, I saw Ethan subconsciously flinch and pull his arm away when she tried to hold his hand. My heart did a tiny flutter, but I violently crushed the hope before it could bloom. I was dying. What right did I have to hope for anything? One afternoon, Ethan stood by my bed in total silence for a long time. He stared at me, his gaze incredibly complex. I couldn’t read him at all. He looked like he desperately wanted to say something, but couldn’t get the words out. Finally, he let out a frustrated sigh, rubbed his temples, and asked Sarah to step outside. I could hear the muffled sounds of them arguing in the hallway. A few minutes later, the door was shoved open and slammed shut. Sarah walked in alone. Her gentle, caring mask had completely melted off, leaving nothing but twisted, ugly jealousy. She stormed over to my bed and grabbed the collar of my hospital gown. Her eyes were red, her breathing ragged. “Lily! You psychotic bitch! Why won’t you just let go?!” “Look at you! You look like a corpse, and you’re still trying to seduce him?” “He spends all day obsessing over your charts, running around for you, and now he just laid his cards on the table with me!” “I’m telling you right now, I am not letting you get away with this! Even if you die, I will make sure you die miserable!” She shook me so hard my vision went completely black. My chest felt like it was caving in; I had zero strength to fight back. I didn’t even have the mental capacity to process what she meant by Ethan “laying his cards on the table.” Having vented her rage, she let go of me, turned on her heel, and stormed out with a hateful glare. I collapsed heavily against the mattress, gasping for air as the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. I thought that was the end of it. But I severely underestimated Sarah’s malice. The next morning, Ethan walked into my room. His face was a thundercloud. He was gripping a stack of printed papers so tightly his knuckles were white. Without saying a word, he hurled the papers violently onto my chest. I was stunned. Confused, I weakly picked them up. They were printed screenshots of text messages between me and someone named “Noah.” The texts showed Noah sending me massive cash transfers, and me playfully begging him for designer bags and jewelry. The tone was sickeningly sweet and intimate. There was even a message from me saying, “I’m waiting for you to come back.” Noah. That was my distant cousin. The “rich sugar daddy” I had recruited six years ago to help me fake my infidelity. Ethan had spent the last six years believing I dumped him to be Noah’s trophy girlfriend. These screenshots were blatant, meticulously crafted forgeries. Ethan stared at me with bloodshot eyes, his chest heaving. His eyes were a raging inferno of fury and betrayal. “Do you have anything to say for yourself, Lily?! You’re still messing around with him?!” “You’re lying here in a hospital bed, watching me run myself ragged trying to save your life, while you’re texting him?!” “Do you think I’m a complete fucking idiot?!” I opened my mouth to explain, to tell him it was a setup, but the overwhelming panic and physical weakness locked my vocal cords. I couldn’t make a sound. “I don’t want your excuses! Stop playing me!” He cut off my silent protests, grabbing my chart and the incredibly expensive treatment plan from the nightstand. Right in front of my eyes, he ripped them into tiny, jagged shreds. The confetti of torn paper rained down over my bed, scattering across my face and blanket. Each piece felt like a razor blade slicing through my skin. His voice cracked, filled with apocalyptic, destructive madness. “Then rot away with your disease!” “If you need anything from now on, call your sugar daddy to pay for it!” “I must have lost my damn mind to come back here and care about you!” With a brutal finality, he turned and walked out. He didn’t look back once. Sarah appeared right on cue, linking her arm through his, her voice a soft purr. “Don’t be mad, Ethan. A woman like her isn’t worth it.” “Let’s just go home.” Ethan ripped his arm out of her grasp and walked down the hall alone. Sarah looked humiliated for a split second. Before she followed him, she turned and shot a look into my room. It was a look of pure, concentrated venom. A look of victorious, mocking triumph. The heavy door clicked shut, severing my view of Ethan’s retreating back forever. I lay there staring at the torn pieces of paper covering my bed. I looked at the dark bruises and needle marks tracking up both my arms. Six years of unbearable suffering couldn’t compare to a fraction of the agony of hearing him tell me to “rot.” I suddenly felt incredibly tired. Reaching over to the IV port in my hand, I didn’t hesitate for a second. I pulled the needle out. I lay back down quietly and closed my eyes. Let it be. Ethan, I’ll give you exactly what you want. Me and my disease will rot away right here. 4 I don’t know how long I floated in the dark. Until a piercing, high-pitched alarm began drilling into my ears, accompanied by chaotic shouting and the frantic pounding of running feet. Then, I felt my body being violently shaken. I wanted to open my eyes, but my eyelids were made of lead. “Lily! Lily, wake up!” It was Ethan. His voice was destroyed—hoarse, terrified, and laced with an unbelievable, desperate anger. “Do you really want to die this badly?!” “Is it because of Noah?! He found out you were terminally ill and dumped you, so now you’re just throwing your life away?!” Noah again. That name was like a rusted padlock. It locked away Ethan’s rationality, and it locked away my final, fading shred of a will to live. I wanted to shake my head. I wanted to tell him I had never, ever loved anyone else. But using every last drop of strength in my soul, I only managed to flutter my eyes open a fraction of an inch. In my blurred vision, I saw his face. It was completely distorted by grief. A single tear slipped from the corner of my eye. It carried all my unsaid love and the endless, crushing injustice I had swallowed. Drawing the very last breath of air left in my lungs, I pushed the words out, syllable by agonizing syllable: “Ethan… I… never…” Never betrayed you. Never loved anyone else. Never stopped loving you. I didn’t have the strength to say the rest. The metallic taste of blood flooded my throat. Every heartbeat felt like hot coals in my chest. I couldn’t hold on anymore. The heart monitor let out a continuous, ear-splitting scream. The red numbers on the screen flatlined. “Patient is in V-fib! Prepare to defibrillate!” “Dr. Evans, your emotional state… get him out of here!” I felt someone forcefully dragging Ethan away from my bed, pulling him out of the room. That’s good, I thought. At least he won’t have to watch me die in such an ugly way. A team of doctors swarmed over me. The violent jolt of the defibrillator… the rush of epinephrine… But my senses were peeling away, layer by layer. My strength and body heat bled out into the sheets. The darkness rushed in from all sides, swallowing me whole. But for the first time, I felt incredibly light. It was nice. I could finally rest. … I don’t know how much time passed, but the room went terrifyingly quiet. The urgency, the shouting, the alarms—it all vanished. Replaced by a heavy, suffocating silence. The attending physician pulled down his surgical mask, looking at Ethan with a heavy shake of his head. “Dr. Evans, we… we did everything we could. Time of death has been called.” Death. The word hit Ethan with the force of a wrecking ball. He swayed dangerously. The door was shoved open. Ethan stood in the doorway like a statue drained of its soul. His face was ash-gray, his eyes totally hollow. He moved step by excruciating step toward the bed. Every inch seemed to take a superhuman effort. Looking down at the emaciated, silent shell on the bed, his entire body began to violently tremble. He reached out. His fingertips, devoid of any warmth, gently brushed against Lily’s equally ice-cold cheek. Suddenly, his eyes snagged on something resting near her pillow. A worn journal. It must have slipped out from under her pillow during the violent resuscitation efforts. It was the diary that held six years of her longing, her agony, her despair, and her untold sacrifices. With shaking hands, Ethan picked it up. He stared at the cover, his chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow hyperventilation.

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The owner of the corner store at the entrance of my neighborhood has treated me like a sucker for years. For $28.60 worth of snacks, she’d ask for $29.00, calling it “rounding up.” She rounded up for ten years. Even when I clearly had coins on me, she’d pretend not to hear and only accept whole bills. I didn’t say a word, silently acting as her “ATM” for four years. Until today, when our conglomerate’s Data Analysis Department was hiring a new Director, and a woman with a glowing resume walked in. When I saw the familiar phone number in her emergency contact section, I smiled. I shut off the projector displaying her proud big-data model and said only one sentence to her: “You’re disqualified.” 1 It was the evening rush hour, and the line at the corner store stretched all the way back to the snack aisles. I stood at the very end of the line, holding a bottle of water and a plain bagel. In front of me, a woman in a designer fur coat—Mrs. Higgins—slapped a massive pile of imported snacks onto the counter. “That’ll be $108.50.” Brenda, the store owner, smiled so wide her powder-caked face wrinkled like a dried prune. “Oh, Mrs. Higgins, you’re always so busy, thanks for dropping by! Let’s just knock off that fifty cents. Give me $108!” Mrs. Higgins tapped her phone to pay, looking smug. “You always know how to do business, Brenda.” Brenda beamed as she sent her “VIP” out the door. But the second she turned to look at me, her smile vanished entirely. “Next.” I stepped up and placed my water and bagel on the counter. The barcode scanner beeped twice. The digital register clearly displayed: $4.20. I pulled up my Apple Pay. Brenda didn’t even blink. Her thick fingers aggressively mashed the keys on her ancient register. “Five bucks.” I pointed at the screen. “It says $4.20 right there.” Brenda rolled her eyes dramatically. “Anything under five bucks gets rounded up to five. That’s the store policy. It’s called rounding up, don’t you get it?” Rounding up $4.20 to $5.00? Did she learn math from a gym teacher, or from that Ivy League daughter she was always bragging about? Before I could even argue, Brenda spit her toothpick onto the floor and started her sarcastic tirade. “Broke? If you don’t have money, don’t come into a store. Go drink out of a public water fountain, that’s free.” “There’s a whole line of people behind you! Do you have any basic decency?” She had a booming voice, and instantly, every single person in the store turned to look. The neighbors in line, unaware of the truth, started whispering. “She’s dressed so nicely, why is she being so cheap?” “Seriously, it’s less than a dollar. Is it worth holding up the line?” “Hurry up, I need to get home and cook dinner.” This was Brenda’s go-to tactic for peer pressure. She had used it for years, and it never failed. As long as you cared about your public image, you’d cough up the money just to escape the embarrassment. I clenched my fists so hard my nails dug into my palms. Did I care about eighty cents? No. I cared about the principle. But I couldn’t blow my cover. Not yet. I was currently in the final stages of investigating a massive supply-chain tax fraud and price-gouging ring that Brenda was a key node in. On my encrypted laptop, a folder detailing her fake inventory channels was just missing one final piece of hard evidence. If I caused a scene now and tipped her off, my six months of undercover tracking would go up in smoke. I had to endure it. I lowered my head, hiding the storm brewing in my eyes. Beep. Payment successful: $5.00. Brenda’s phone chimed with the deposit notification. She let out a smug snort, deliberately raising her voice for the people behind me. “See? Some people just need to be yelled at. If you don’t publicly shame them, they won’t pay. Pathetic.” She ripped the receipt from the machine, crumpled it into a ball without looking, and tossed it at me. It bounced off my chest and hit the floor. “Take your trash. And don’t go around saying I scammed you.” At that moment, the urge to rip her apart was almost unbearable. I bent down, picked up the crumpled ball of paper, and gripped it tightly. Without a word, I turned and walked out. Outside, my assistant Zoe was waiting in my car. Seeing me approach, she immediately rolled down the window, catching sight of my pale, furious face. “Stella, did that old witch mess with you again?!” Zoe had a fiery temper. She unbuckled her seatbelt, ready to storm out. “I’m going to rip her a new one! Who does she think she is? You’re a Data Director making seven figures, why are you taking this garbage from her?” I grabbed her wrist, stopping her. “Don’t.” “But Stella—” “It’s not time yet.” I stared through the glass doors at the greedy silhouette inside the store. “Let her be arrogant for a few more days.” Those whom the gods wish to destroy, they first make mad. The more brazen Brenda got now, the harder she was going to hit the concrete when I finally pulled the rug out from under her. 2 When I got home, I pulled out my invisible hearing aid. The sound of the pouring rain outside instantly vanished into total silence. My mind drifted back ten years. It was another night of torrential rain. I had just graduated from college. My mother had passed away early, and my father, who had worked himself to the bone to raise me, was diagnosed with end-stage renal failure. He desperately needed money for dialysis. I hunted for a job like a madwoman and finally landed an interview at a major tech corporation. If I passed the interview, they offered a three-month salary advance as a signing bonus. It was my father’s only hope for survival. But the night before the interview, I spiked a 104-degree fever. My body burned like a furnace, and my consciousness was slipping. I emptied every single pocket I owned, scraping together exactly $28.50. It was every last cent our family had. I stumbled blindly down to the corner store beneath our apartment—Brenda’s store. She had just opened the business back then. “Ma’am, I need a box of fever reducers.” I dumped the handful of coins and crumpled bills onto the counter, my hands shaking violently. Brenda counted the money, her eyebrows knitting together in disgust. “This medicine is $29.00. You only have $28.50. It’s not enough.” I looked at the price tag. It clearly read $28.50. But the dizzying haze of the fever made me second-guess myself. I thought I had just read it wrong. “Ma’am, I’m just fifty cents short… I have a massive interview tomorrow. Please, please just sell me the medicine.” “I promise I’ll pay you back. I’ll pay you back ten times over!” Brenda shoved the money back at me, her eyes dead and cold. “I don’t care if you’re a penny short. This is a business, not a charity.” “Broke? If you’re poor, you don’t get the luxury of getting sick. Stop acting like you deserve medicine.” Outside, the rain poured harder, thunder shaking the windows. I thought of my dad, lying in a hospital bed, waiting for the money that would keep him breathing. If I couldn’t make it to that interview tomorrow, I wouldn’t get the advance. And my dad would die. Thud. I dropped to my knees on the dirty floor. Throwing away every ounce of my dignity, I begged her. “Ma’am, I’m begging you. My dad needs this money to live. I absolutely cannot collapse tonight…” The linoleum was hard. My forehead bled from pressing it into the ground. But Brenda didn’t even flinch. Just then, a wet, shivering stray dog wandered through the open door. It stared hungrily at the rack of beef jerky. Brenda chuckled. She pulled down a $2.00 stick of beef jerky, ripped off the plastic, and tossed it to the dog. “Aww, you poor little thing. You must be starving! Eat up, eat up.” The dog swallowed it in two bites. I knelt on the floor, staring at that piece of jerky, my tears mixing with the blood on my forehead. I was worth less than a stray dog. She was willing to throw away $2.00 on an animal, but she wouldn’t forgive fifty cents to save a human life. After feeding the dog, Brenda turned and saw me still kneeling there. “Get out! Get the hell out! Don’t bring your bad luck into my store! You’re ruining the vibe!” She grabbed a wet, filthy mop from by the door and swung it hard against my back. Once. Twice. Dirty mop water splashed all over my face. “Get lost, you broke freak!” I was already incredibly weak from the fever. Her shoving and beating sent me tumbling out the door. I collapsed into the freezing puddles on the sidewalk. The fever completely severed my consciousness. The rain was relentless that night. I lay unconscious in the gutter until a passerby finally called an ambulance the next afternoon. The prolonged, incredibly high fever caused irreversible nerve damage. I suffered permanent hearing loss in my left ear. When I finally woke up in the hospital, a nurse handed me the phone. Because we couldn’t pay the medical bills, my father had voluntarily requested to stop his life support. On that rainy night, he passed away. I missed my interview. I lost my father. I lost my hearing. All because of fifty imaginary cents. In the dark of my bedroom, I picked up the framed photo of my father on my nightstand. He was smiling so warmly in the picture. I didn’t cry. My tears had entirely dried up on that rainy night ten years ago. Those fifty cents bought my father’s life, and they bought the very last shred of mercy in my soul. 3 Over the past decade, I worked ten times harder than anyone else to claw my way up to the position I hold today. When I moved back to this neighborhood, I didn’t have to squeeze into a damp basement apartment anymore. I owned my own beautiful home. But Brenda didn’t recognize the soaked, pathetic college kid from ten years ago. In her eyes, I was just a rich, clueless yuppie who didn’t care about her change. And so, she escalated. It started with skimming a few pennies, then a few dimes. Sometimes she’d intentionally shortchange me, betting I wouldn’t count the cash on the spot. Whenever she overcharged me, she’d act like she was doing me a massive favor, and then pivot to bragging. “Oh, Stella, look at you, you’re so busy! The time you save not worrying about this change is worth way more money!” “You know, my daughter Madison is getting her Master’s in Statistics at an Ivy League school!” “She’s going to be managing millions for massive tech companies. I always tell her, if you want to make the big bucks, you can’t be petty about the small change.” She had no idea. The “massive tech company” she bragged about was the conglomerate I worked for. And her pride and joy—her daughter—was studying Statistics, a field that tolerates zero deception. A few days ago, I saw Madison at our company’s preliminary interview rounds. After her interview, she was standing in the stairwell, on the phone with Brenda. “Mom, don’t worry about it.” “That Data Director job is basically mine.” “I looked up the current interviewer’s background. Her degree is garbage compared to mine. I’ll take her job eventually.” Brenda’s signature, booming laugh echoed through the phone speaker. “That’s right! Look whose daughter you are!” “Maddie, once you’re the Director making a million a year, you gotta move your mom into a luxury penthouse!” They spoke about the job like it was already their personal piggy bank. But I knew Brenda too well. Could someone raised in that kind of household really be trusted with honest, raw data? I sat at my computer and pulled up the algorithm model Madison submitted for her technical test. At first glance, it was flawless. Until I dug into the absolute bottom layer of her source code. Hidden beneath the surface was an incredibly stealthy line of code. It was a dynamic pricing script targeting elderly users. If the system identified a user as over the age of 60, and their purchasing history showed they weren’t sensitive to price changes, the algorithm would automatically inflate their checkout total by 0.1% to 0.5%. For a single user, it was just a few cents. Totally unnoticeable. But applied to a user base of tens of millions, it was a staggering amount of dirty money. Staring at that line of code, I felt physically sick. It was the exact digital equivalent of Brenda’s “rounding up” scam at the register! The mother and daughter were identical. One scammed her neighbors in a bodega, and the other planned to scam millions online. Oh, Brenda. You taught your daughter to take shortcuts, thinking it made her clever. You didn’t realize that in the world of data, a shortcut is just a cliff. 4 The day of the final interview arrived. I was the lead panelist. Madison walked in. Her steps were confident; her chin held high. “Good morning, everyone. I’m Madison.” She pulled up her deck and began presenting her data model. I had to admit, she was an incredibly smooth talker. She broke down complex algorithms into easily digestible soundbites, wrapping her core philosophy of “profit maximization” in glorious, corporate buzzwords. “Through my algorithm, we can accurately pinpoint a user’s psychological price threshold, subtly increasing the basket size without triggering consumer friction…” She spoke eloquently, her eyes burning with raw ambition. The other executives in the room were nodding in approval. Especially Robert, our VP of Tech. He looked like he was ready to adopt her. The HR Director had already pulled out the salary negotiation sheet, ready to extend an offer. When the presentation ended, the Q&A began. The HR Director smiled warmly. “Madison, if we were to bring you on board, what are your salary expectations?” Madison casually brushed her hair back and swung for the fences: “Two million a year base salary, plus stock options.” A gasp rippled through the room. That was double the industry standard. Madison had clearly anticipated the reaction. She smiled confidently. “Do you think that’s expensive? My algorithm will extract invisible pennies from every single user.” “By the end of the fiscal year, my salary won’t even be a rounding error compared to the revenue I bring in.” The pure, unabashed greed on her face was a carbon copy of Brenda’s expression when she forced me to pay five dollars. Robert frowned slightly at the number, but nodded. “It’s steep, but if it really generates that kind of ROI, it’s worth it.” Just as everyone in the room assumed the deal was done. I, who had been completely silent the entire time, finally spoke. “Just like how your mother forces a $28.40 grocery bill up to $29.00 at her bodega?” I didn’t speak loudly, but in the dead-silent conference room, it struck like a thunderbolt. Madison’s confident smile instantly froze. She snapped her head around to look at me. “Wh… what did you say?” Her pupils shrank to pinpricks. She recognized my face. I was the girl her mother had beaten out of the store like a stray dog ten years ago. The other executives looked back and forth between us, completely lost. Robert looked confused. “Stella, do you two know each other?” I ignored Robert. And I didn’t give Madison a single second to formulate an excuse. I stood up, planted my hands on the mahogany table, and stared down into her terrified eyes. At this moment, I wasn’t the helpless girl kneeling in the rain for fifty cents. I was the judge holding her entire future in my hands. I stared at her coldly and delivered the sentence I had rehearsed in my head a thousand times: “The petty scams your mother runs at her register guaranteed that you have zero reverence for the sanctity of data.” “Faking even a single decimal point is enough to destroy this entire company.” I picked up her glowing, flawless resume from the table and casually dropped it into the trash can. “You’re disqualified.” 5 The second the words left my mouth, the room erupted. Robert was the first to jump up, slamming his hand on the table. “Stella! Are you out of your mind?! This is a blatant abuse of power!” “I reviewed Madison’s model myself, it’s absolutely brilliant!” “She is a rare talent! You can’t just veto her over some personal grudge!” The HR Director frowned. “Stella, this goes against all our hiring protocols…” Madison’s reaction speed was terrifying. The panic in her eyes instantly morphed into devastating sorrow. Tears welled up on command, spilling perfectly down her cheeks. “Stella, I know you and my mother have some… misunderstandings…” She choked back a sob, her shoulders trembling slightly, playing the innocent victim to absolute perfection. “But why are you taking my mother’s past out on me?” “I am a professional. I prepped for three months for this interview…” “You can question my character, but please, do not insult my professional integrity!” God, she was a good actor. If this was ten years ago, I would have been so furious I wouldn’t have been able to speak. But now? It was just pathetic. “Professional?” I let out a cold laugh and tapped a single key on my laptop. Click. The massive screen behind me switched instantly. The PowerPoint vanished, replaced by a split screen. On the left side of the screen was a compilation of hidden-camera footage. It showed Brenda in her bodega, working the register with different customers. “Rounding up,” “No change,” “Don’t be cheap.” Every single transaction was accompanied by her sneering, greedy face. On the right side of the screen was the foundational architecture of Madison’s code. The hidden price-gouging script was blown up and highlighted in glowing red. “Target: Users Age 60+. Action: Randomize Price Inflation +0.1% to +0.5%.” Robert, who had just been screaming in her defense, froze. His eyes bulged, his mouth hanging open wide enough to catch a fly. He was a tech veteran. It took him less than two seconds to realize exactly what that code did. “This… this is…” Robert’s voice was shaking. I pointed at the screen. “Is this what you call professional? Writing code to literally steal from the elderly?” “If this script went live, the company would face hundreds of millions in federal fines and a complete PR bankruptcy!” “Madison, is this your definition of ‘profit maximization’?” Madison’s face lost every drop of color. She looked like a ghost. She collapsed back into her chair, her arrogance and her fake tears completely evaporating. She opened her mouth to argue, but staring at the irrefutable evidence, there was nothing left to say. Robert finally snapped out of his shock. His pale face flushed crimson, then purple. He had just staked his reputation on her. If he had actually hired her, the inevitable federal fallout would have destroyed his career, too. “You absolute sociopath!” Robert roared, throwing his pen furiously at the floor. “You’re a disgrace to this industry!” I reached up, unclipped my hearing aid, and set it softly on the table. “Ten years ago, over a fake fifty-cent shortage, your mother beat me out of her store. She killed my father, and she permanently ruined my hearing.” “Ten years later, you tried to use the exact same scam to destroy my company.” I locked eyes with Madison, enunciating every single word. “Keep dreaming.” Madison stared at me, her eyes hollow with absolute terror. Her elite, Ivy-League mask had shattered into a million pieces, exposing the rotten, petty thief underneath. “No… it wasn’t like that… I was doing it for the company’s margins…” She was babbling nonsense. I waved my hand. The security guards, whom I had placed on standby in the hallway, opened the door. “Drag her out.” Two guards hauled the limp, crying Madison out of her chair, dragging her backward out of the room like a sack of garbage. It was a perfect mirror image. Ten years ago, Brenda had thrown me out exactly like that. “Stella! You’ll burn in hell for this! My mother will destroy you!” Madison’s hysterical screams echoed down the corridor, slowly fading away. The conference room was dead silent. Every executive was staring at me. Their eyes were filled with respect, and a heavy dose of fear. I swept my gaze across the room. Not a single person dared to hold eye contact. I picked up my hearing aid and put it back in. In this room, I was the absolute king. But my revenge had only just begun.

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1 The second time I met my college crush, he was a broken man. His startup had gone bankrupt, his son was in a wheelchair, and his “ride-or-die” high school sweetheart had abandoned him. At a public park, Arthur gently approached my food truck. “Can I just buy half a breakfast sandwich?” I nodded and handed him a few for free. Years later, we had built a tech empire from the ground up, standing at the absolute pinnacle of Silicon Valley. On the day Arthur’s company filed for its IPO and his son got accepted into Stanford, his ex-wife came back. Chloe looked just as young and beautiful as her old photos, wearing a pristine white dress, looking completely innocent. Compared to the luxury cars I had arranged for the celebration, she pulled out a stack of handmade “Good Mom Coupons” as a graduation gift for his son. “Leo, these were your absolute favorite when you were little. With these, you can make Mommy spend time with you whenever you want.” Then, she pulled out a heart-shaped river stone and pressed it into my husband’s hand. “Arthur, this represents my heart. It will never change for you.” Only after doing all of this did she finally turn to look at me. Her eyes were brimming with pure contempt. “Thank you for looking after my husband and son during the years I was lost with amnesia.” “But now that the genuine article is back, you, the temporary substitute, can leave.” I raised an eyebrow and looked at Arthur. When Chloe left him, Arthur was deeply depressed for three entire years. He had attempted suicide seven times. He had sworn to me that he would rather die than forgive his ex-wife. I was incredibly curious to see what he would choose now. … Arthur held the stone, staring coldly at Chloe. His eyes were unreadable. But only I knew that the exact second Chloe appeared, Arthur’s grip on my hand tightened so hard it actually hurt. I smiled calmly and gently patted his hand. “Chloe, your ‘amnesia’ just happened to start the exact month Leo broke his legs and Arthur declared bankruptcy? What an incredible medical coincidence.” I said this not only to humiliate Chloe, but to remind Arthur. Arthur set the stone aside. “Chloe, please leave. You are not welcome here.” The moment he said that, Chloe’s eyes immediately turned red. “Arthur, how could you treat me like this? I just had amnesia, it’s not like I stopped loving you and Leo!” “How could you betray me while my memory was gone and get with this woman?” “She’s obviously just using you for your company’s wealth. Can’t you see that?” Before anyone could react… Smack. Arthur delivered a merciless, ringing slap across her face. “Evelyn is my wife. I will not allow anyone to slander her.” Chloe clutched her cheek, massive tears rolling down her face. “Arthur, you hit me? For her? You’re driving me to my death! I don’t want to live anymore!” She turned and made a dramatic dash for the rooftop terrace. The guests scrambled to stop her. Arthur just said coldly, “Let her jump. Don’t stop her.” But at that moment, Leo lost his temper. “Dad! That’s my mom! Do you actually want her to die?!” Saying that, he knocked over the massive 23-tier cake and the champagne tower I had spent weeks preparing for him, and sprinted toward the rooftop without looking back. The celebration hall was instantly reduced to a chaotic mess. Arthur didn’t seem to care. He insisted on driving me home first. But after years of marriage, it only took one glance for me to see that his mind was already completely gone. Sure enough, the second I got into the car, he said, “Evelyn, I just remembered there’s an emergency at the office. I need to go handle it.” He walked away without looking back. Ten minutes later, my informants at the company sent me a live feed. In the deserted emergency stairwell, Chloe had her arms wrapped tightly around Arthur’s neck, kissing him deeply. Arthur didn’t respond, but he didn’t push her away either. He just let her kiss him. His hands were balled into tight fists at his sides, as if he was restraining himself with everything he had. After a long, breathless kiss, Chloe finally spoke. “Admit it, Arthur. You still love me, don’t you? Why are you fighting it?” She reached down, took his clenched fists, and pried his fingers open. “Look. Your nails are digging so hard you’re bleeding.” “Enough.” Arthur snatched his hands back. “Chloe, when you betrayed me back then, you should have known you would never get a second chance in this lifetime.” Chloe stared dead into Arthur’s eyes. “Fine. Then I’ll go jump right now to apologize with my life.” The second she turned around, Arthur grabbed her wrist in a death grip. “Didn’t you say you didn’t care about me anymore? Why are you stopping me?” Before she could finish, Arthur crashed his lips onto hers in a deep, wildly aggressive kiss. The wet, sickening sound of their intertwined breathing echoed crystal clear through my AirPods. A long time later, Arthur finally pulled back, gripping the back of Chloe’s neck. “Chloe, hate lasts longer than love. I’m going to make you live the rest of your life suffocating in guilt over what you did to me.” It felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over my head. My entire body went numb. The tightly wound string in my heart—the one I had been holding onto since Chloe reappeared—finally snapped. I didn’t listen to the rest. That night, the moment I got home, I called my lawyers and began a total audit of my and Arthur’s shared assets. At the same time, I signed my name on the divorce papers Arthur had pre-signed years ago for emergencies. It was an exit strategy I built for myself, hoping I would never have to use it. I just never expected the day to come this fast. 2 Eight years ago, Arthur was the undisputed, uncrowned king of the Bay Area tech scene. And I was just a nobody who had barely scraped my way into the industry. On the keynote stage, he stood tall and arrogant, bursting with ambition, like an untouchable pine tree. I sat in the very back row of the auditorium, clutching my company brochure, too intimidated to even clap too loudly. I never expected that the next time I saw Arthur, six months later, it would be at a noisy, greasy food truck park. I was working a second job running a food truck to save up seed money for my own startup. Arthur was pushing Leo in a wheelchair, out for a walk. By then, he had lost all his former glory. He was so broke he actually had to ask if he could just buy half a sandwich. From industry gossip, I learned what happened. Arthur had been defrauded by a business partner he had trusted for years. His tech empire, built over a decade, collapsed into dust in less than a month. As if that wasn’t enough, Leo was in a horrible accident and shattered both his legs, and Arthur’s mother suffered a massive stroke from the stress. Within three days of the bankruptcy, Chloe’s family publicly severed all ties with Arthur. That very same night, Chloe vanished without a trace. Arthur completely shattered. He developed severe clinical depression. After that night at the food truck, for some reason, the lonely silhouettes of the father and son haunted my mind. Every night, I kept an eye out for them. I started giving them free meals. Over time, we grew close. I pulled him into the AI sector—a field I was heavily researching but hadn’t blown up yet. Our equally sharp business instincts made us a perfect match. Naturally, we soon became a couple. While Chloe was in Beverly Hills, re-married as a trophy wife, getting luxury manicures… I was wiping Arthur’s mother, emptying her bedpans, and washing her soiled clothes. In the dead of winter, my hands cracked and bled from constantly being submerged in freezing water. While Chloe was taking floral arrangement classes and sipping matcha lattes… I was watching YouTube tutorials on physical therapy massage techniques, hauling a teenage Leo onto my shoulders to force him through his painful rehab exercises step by step. While Chloe was traveling the world posting Instagram photos… I was sleeping two hours a night developing the core code for Arthur’s new company. I didn’t even dare to sleep deeply, terrified that if I closed my eyes, Arthur might try to kill himself again in the middle of the night. Eventually, the billionaire Chloe married went to prison for fraud. She had lived in absolute luxury for a decade. And now, she suddenly remembered her “true love,” wanting to come back and effortlessly steal the fruits of my agonizing labor. She wanted me gone. Who the hell did she think she was? Just as I hung up with my lawyer, the front door clicked open. Arthur walked in, on a phone call. His PR team was on speakerphone, asking if he wanted to file a defamation lawsuit against Chloe for the stunt she pulled at the party today. I stared at him. Sure enough, his eyes darted away. He hesitated for a long moment, then shook his head. “Forget it. Let’s just let today’s incident slide.” When his eyes finally met mine, he jumped slightly and immediately hung up the phone. He offered a stiff, robotic explanation: “I just… I don’t want to have any more ties to Chloe. A lawsuit would drag it out.” “And if I say no?” “What?” I had never spoken to Arthur with such an icy, detached tone. He looked momentarily disoriented. “If I say I refuse to drop it? What will you do?” “Do you have any idea how critical today’s celebration was for our IPO pricing this week?” “You think an absurd, humiliating circus like this can just be brushed under the rug?” Arthur subconsciously frowned, looking at me with exhausted exasperation. “Evelyn, it was just a minor hiccup. Why are you escalating this? I’ve already had the PR team suppress the stock rumors.” The gentle, patronizing tone of his voice made my chest tighten to the point of pain. “Alright, stop being angry. Come on, I’ll take you out to dinner.” Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed my arm and dragged me out the door. 3 But he drove us to a restaurant I absolutely hated. The second we sat down, Leo walked in. And he brought Chloe with him. “Dad, Mom didn’t have anywhere to eat, so I brought her along.” I stood up immediately to leave. Arthur grabbed my wrist. “Evelyn, it’s just one meal. Don’t be so petty.” Chloe shot me a triumphant smirk and sat down right at the table. She immediately started arranging the silverware for Arthur and Leo, acting exactly like the lady of the house. I laughed. Suddenly, I didn’t want to leave either. I sat back down and pulled up the digital menu on my phone. Why should I let myself go hungry? While ordering, Arthur and Leo coincidentally selected several of Chloe’s favorite dishes at the exact same time. The two of them exchanged an awkward, knowing smile, then one of them deleted the duplicates. I didn’t care. I just ordered my own favorite expensive steaks and seafood. When I finished, Chloe suddenly decided to play the frugal housewife. “Wow, this is a lot of food. The four of us probably can’t finish all this, right?” Arthur glanced at the digital cart. Without even asking me, he deleted every single item I had ordered. Speechless, I snatched the tablet back and re-added all my food. Arthur seemed to suddenly realize how bad he looked. He scratched the back of his neck and kept his mouth shut. While waiting for the food, Chloe casually turned to Leo. “Hey, where’s that emergency contact form for school you wanted me to sign?” I watched as Leo pulled out the school form. Under “Father,” it said Arthur. Under “Mother,” it said Chloe. A memory from years ago flashed through my mind. Back then, Leo’s legs had just healed, but he still walked with a severe limp. The kids in his class constantly mocked him, and the local gang members near the high school regularly bullied him for cash. He never told anyone. I only found out when I saw the bruises covering his ribs. That exact day, I grabbed a baseball bat from the garage and drove straight to the alley where the gang hung out. At first, they laughed at me. Until I took over fifty hits from a steel pipe, legs shaking, and still managed to stand back up and swing at them. They got scared. After that day, nobody ever messed with Leo again. Once my own broken ribs healed, I spent hours every single day stretching Leo’s muscles, painfully correcting his posture until his limp vanished entirely. From that day forward, Leo quietly changed his school emergency contact to my name. But the second Chloe came back, without doing a single damn thing, everything reverted right back to the original default. I didn’t want to think about it anymore. When the food arrived, I ate in silence. Chloe took a bite of a spicy dish and coughed. Both father and son immediately panicked, reaching for her water. Chloe smiled gently and dropped her half-eaten food directly into Arthur’s bowl. “Don’t want to waste it.” Arthur didn’t say a word. He just picked it up with his fork and ate it. When dinner ended, Chloe suddenly announced she needed to speak with me alone. She told Arthur and Leo to go to the car first. I had zero interest in entertaining her. I turned and walked toward the street, but she followed me like a shadow. I didn’t realize she was actually insane. When we reached a Y-shaped intersection near the parking garage, she violently shoved me forward. We ended up standing in the middle of the road, splitting the two lanes. She was on the right, I was on the left. Arthur and Leo’s cars came speeding around the blind corner side-by-side. When they saw Chloe and me standing in the middle of the road, their eyes went wide with horror. It was too late to brake. To the left, me. To the right, Chloe. In a fraction of a second, the tires shrieked violently against the asphalt. Both cars simultaneously swerved directly toward me. CRASH! Shutterstock It wasn’t a graze. It was a solid, sickeningly heavy impact that vibrated through every internal organ in my body. Agonizing pain instantly consumed my entire nervous system. My body didn’t feel like my own. I flew through the air, completely weightless, before slamming brutally against the pavement. Laying on the freezing asphalt, I could hear the sound of my own bones shattering. Warm liquid gushed from my forehead and mouth. The taste of rust filled my throat. My vision was a blur of crimson, my ears ringing with a deafening siren. But through the blood, I could clearly see Chloe mouthing the words at me: “You lose.” And I could clearly hear Arthur and Leo’s panicked voices, asking if Chloe was okay. … I woke up in the hospital to the sound of screaming. “Chloe, do you have any idea how dangerous it is to stand in the middle of the road?! Is that a joke to you?! Stop this! How many times do I have to tell you? I don’t love you anymore! Get out of my house! I have my own life now!” “No! If I can’t have you, no one can! I only left because I had amnesia, it wasn’t my fault! Arthur, you belong to me. You will always belong to me!” “Admit it, Arthur! You and Leo still have me in your hearts! You both still love me!” The argument lasted for a full thirty minutes. Neither of them backed down an inch. Leo stood between them, trying to mediate. The three of them looked exactly like a dysfunctional, but deeply connected, family. I had been awake the entire time, but none of them even noticed. My throat was so dry it felt like sandpaper. I forced my shattered body to reach for the water cup on the nightstand. My hand slipped. The glass shattered on the floor. Only then did the screaming abruptly stop. Arthur rushed over to my bed, grabbing my hand tightly, looking incredibly heartbroken. “Evelyn! You’re finally awake! Do you have any idea how worried I was?!” “Get out. Every single one of you, GET OUT!” My explosive scream finally brought silence to the room. For the next few days, as if trying to prove his loyalty to me, Arthur intentionally forced Chloe to act as my caretaker in the hospital as “punishment.” But Chloe tortured me. She dropped dead roaches into my hospital food. She unplugged my oxygen monitor when I fell asleep. She secretly swapped out my pain meds. Because of her, I was rushed into emergency resuscitation three different times. Arthur would yell at her, but in the end, he always just let it slide with a warning. I finally saw this man’s true, ugly face in high definition. I banned all visitors, hired my own private nurses, and finally managed to get discharged. 4 The very first thing I did after leaving the hospital was go to the company headquarters to finalize the asset division. But the second I stepped out of the elevator, I froze. The entire office interior had been changed. My carefully designed, sleek minimalist black-and-grey decor had been replaced with aggressively loud Barbie pink. The weekly executive meeting, which I always led, was currently being chaired by Chloe. “I don’t care who you thought the ‘lady of the house’ was before. From this second forward, I am the queen of this company. I am the CEO’s legal wife. Certain thieves who stole other people’s lives will be kicked out of this building very soon. I suggest you all open your eyes and pick the right side.” As soon as she finished speaking, several of the most powerful investors in the Silicon Valley ecosystem, who were sitting at the VIP table, began clapping. These were titans of the industry. They wouldn’t have showed up unless Arthur personally begged them to. So, Arthur called in all his favors and brought the biggest sharks in the valley here, just to give Chloe a power trip. I suddenly remembered our early startup days. I had fallen violently ill with an undiagnosed autoimmune flare-up. The pain was so unbearable I begged Arthur to use his leftover connections to get me an appointment with a top specialist. He refused, claiming it was “too humiliating” to beg his old contacts for a favor. I suffered in blinding agony for two solid months until my body fought it off alone. The canyon between being loved and unloved is truly bottomless. I was about to push the glass doors open and reclaim my boardroom, but a hand clamped down on my wrist. It was Leo. Funny. Leo never came to the office. But he was here today, clearly acting as Chloe’s bodyguard. Leo coldly pulled out an equity transfer notice, signed by Arthur. “This is Dad’s order. He’s making my mom a founding shareholder, with the exact same voting power as you.” “Since you’re barren and have no kids anyway, this entire company is going to be mine eventually. My mom taking over is inevitable. There’s no point in you throwing a tantrum now.” Hearing the word “barren,” I let out a dry laugh. When Arthur and I first got married, Leo was incredibly emotionally unstable and absolutely refused to accept a younger sibling. Because of that, I chose to go on birth control for years. Later, when Leo grew up and didn’t care as much, I started agonizing, high-risk IVF treatments at an older age. I finally got pregnant, but due to a vicious internal corporate war Arthur dragged me into, the stress caused a miscarriage. I got pregnant again three years later. But to secure the flagship enterprise contract that saved our company, I worked myself to the bone. The baby died in the womb. On the day of the induced labor, I cried until my vocal cords bled. Arthur held me tightly in the hospital bed, sobbing, swearing to God he would never let me suffer even a fraction of pain ever again. Out of crushing guilt toward the babies I lost, I decided I would never try to have kids again. And now, all my sacrifices, all my compromises, earned me exactly one sentence from Leo: “Since you’re barren anyway.” I shoved him away, walked straight to my private office, and started packing my things. Once the asset split was complete, the company would be divided. I had absolutely no intention of staying in this polluted wasteland for a second longer. Seeing me packing boxes, Arthur walked in. “Evelyn, what are you doing?” “Throwing out some useless garbage,” I said coldly. Hearing my tone, Arthur spoke cautiously. “Are you mad that I brought Chloe to the office?” “Don’t misunderstand. Leo said a psychic told him Chloe’s astrological chart brings good luck to the IPO this year. That’s the only reason I let her in.” “Just treat her like a mascot! Once the year is over, I’ll kick her out. Don’t overthink it.” “And the shares? A mascot needs a 20% equity stake?” Arthur choked on his words. It took him a long time to awkwardly reply, “The billionaire she married went bankrupt. She’s a woman with no job history and no degree, it’s hard for her to survive in this economy. The shares are just…” “Stop.” I was so done listening to his garbage. I pulled the office door open, ready to tell Arthur to get the hell out. But suddenly, Chloe came stumbling out from the end of the hallway. Her clothes were torn, her hair was a mess, and there were bleeding scratches on her face. “Arthur! Help! Help me…” She gritted her teeth, using all her strength to grab Arthur’s sleeve. When she saw me, her entire body went rigid. She immediately lowered her head, let go of him, and stumbled backward in terror. “E-Evelyn… I’m sorry! I was wrong, I won’t do it again! I’ll leave California right now, I promise I’ll never…” A perfect, cinematic tear rolled down her cheek. She clenched her fists and closed her eyes. “I’ll never appear in front of Arthur ever again.” Then, she turned and limped toward the elevators, looking like the most tragic, bullied victim on earth. I was completely stunned. Her acting was so hyper-realistic, for a second I genuinely questioned if I had hired a hitman to beat her up and warn her away from my husband. I let out a sarcastic sneer and turned to observe Arthur’s reaction. His face was completely blank. I couldn’t read his mind at all. “Do you actually think I did that to her?” I asked, testing him. He pulled me into a hug. “I know you. You would never do something like that.” I nodded. At least he still had one microscopic shred of a conscience left. However, the very next morning, I received an emergency call from my lawyer. “Ms. Davis, your husband utilized his CEO veto power to unilaterally expel you from the Board of Directors. All of your vested equity has been illegally transferred to a holding company under Chloe’s name.” “And… Mr. Evans just issued a company-wide gag order. No one is allowed to tell you the time and location of the IPO bell-ringing ceremony in New York. Because he is taking Ms. Chloe with him to ring the bell.” I was completely paralyzed. The stock price had finally stabilized. The company was about to ring the bell at the New York Stock Exchange. And at the absolute finish line, he kicked me off the board, stole the fruits of my decade of blood and sweat, and handed it all to her? And he was taking her to ring the bell? My entire decade of pure, devoted love had officially become the biggest joke of the century. On the day of the IPO, Chloe was dressed in a million-dollar haute couture gown, blinding the paparazzi with her diamonds. Watching Chloe link arms with Arthur and walk up to the NYSE balcony, the entire financial world assumed the tech empire officially had a new queen. The exchange president respectfully invited Chloe to the center of the podium. Arthur held Chloe’s hand, raising the gavel high in the air. Just a millisecond before the gavel struck the bell, a voice from the floor below echoed through the hall. “Hold on.”

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Walking past the stairwell, I overheard two interns whispering about their salaries. “Take a guess, what did I get? $85,000!” “Not bad! I just cleared $75,000.” I froze in my tracks. I have been at this company for exactly seven years. My first year, my starting salary was $35,000. My second year, it bumped to $36,000. The boss called it an “exceptional exception.” My third year, I started leading teams independently. My salary went to $39,000. Years four, five, and six… my salary didn’t budge a single cent. During that time, I personally closed eight major enterprise contracts for the company. This year, my seventh year, the boss said the macroeconomic environment was tough, and my salary was cut to $36,000. Those two new hires, the ones I personally trained, were making more than double what I was making after seven years of bleeding for this place. I let out a bitter laugh and walked straight to the HR Director’s office to hand in my resignation. The HR Director, Brenda, looked shocked. “Why?” “The pay is low, and I’m not happy.” Brenda sighed, her tone heavy with manufactured grief. “Chloe, I know you’ve worked hard these past few years. But the company has its struggles too. The market is brutal right now. Just surviving is an achievement. You’re a veteran here; you, of all people, should be more understanding.”

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I endured a year of relentless bullying from the school’s worst delinquent, Tristan. Whenever my head was being violently shoved into a filthy bathroom sink, his face would always twist into an expression of sick, unhinged pleasure. I never understood why he targeted me. Until the day I fought back, accidentally snapping the chain of his most prized pocket watch. Inside was a faded photograph—of my mother, posing with him. That was the day I realized he was my older half-brother. The son my mother had abandoned years ago after he broke her heart. He bullied me because he hated me. That night, when I went home, I stopped hiding my bruises. When my mother frantically asked what happened, I let all my grievance pour out: “Mom… someone at school is hurting me. Will you come stand up for me?” 1 Riiing— The second the final bell rang, my entire body involuntarily flinched. The moment the teacher stepped out of the classroom, I grabbed my backpack and bolted. But I was still caught at the bottom of the stairwell. A group of guys in varsity jackets saw me and their eyes lit up. “Tristan was right! The little bitch really did try to run!” I was shaking all over. My instinct was to spin around and flee, but the second I turned, someone grabbed my collar with terrifying force. I smelled the faint scent of nicotine… It was Tristan. The mastermind behind the year of absolute hell I had endured at this school. I’m dead, I thought, despair flooding my chest. Within seconds, I was dragged up the stairs by my arms to the top floor of the building. There were no classrooms up here, just an abandoned boys’ restroom that was slated for renovation. This was their “lawless zone.” The place where they tortured me. I never understood why, out of hundreds of kids in this school, Tristan zeroed in on me. Our school was a combined middle and high school campus. I was just a seventh grader. He was a junior in high school. I couldn’t figure out how someone as completely average as me could make him hate me so much. From my very first day of school, he had been in my line of sight. He would stand outside my classroom windows, staring at me with this dark, venomous look. Like a viper locking onto its prey. Whenever he bullied me, his face would twist into this terrifying, manic glee. SLAM— I was shoved violently into the bathroom. My body slammed against the rusted stall door, my arms instantly going numb from the impact. “Didn’t he tell you to come up here on your own after the bell?” One of the guys slapped the back of my head. “Why the hell were you running?” When I didn’t answer, he slapped me hard across the cheek. These guys were Tristan’s lackeys. His personal enforcers. I clenched my fists, forcing my voice out through my tight throat. “Today is my mom’s birthday. I just wanted to go home and celebrate with her.” I was so terrified I didn’t notice that Tristan, who had been leaning against the tiled wall with a blank expression, instantly went completely dark the second I said those words. He marched over and violently shoved the guy standing in front of me out of the way. Tristan was tall and incredibly strong. He grabbed me by the collar of my hoodie, forcing me onto my tiptoes so I was looking him dead in the eye. “Who the hell do you think you are…” Tristan ground out between clenched teeth. His eyes were twitching, his breathing ragged, like he was using every ounce of his willpower to restrain himself from snapping my neck. Before I could even process why he was suddenly so furious, he dragged me over to the row of sinks. The water in the clogged basin was brown, foul, and stagnant. Without a second of hesitation, Tristan shoved my head directly into the filthy water. Suffocation hit me instantly. I thrashed wildly, my lungs burning. I genuinely felt like Tristan was actually trying to murder me. Why?! My hands clawed blindly at the air, trying to grab onto anything to pull myself up. In my panicked struggling, my fingers caught onto Tristan’s shirt. And then, they hooked onto a thick metal chain around his neck. “Let go, you little freak!” Someone stepped forward to pry my hands off, but as I was yanked back, the chain snapped. A heavy, metallic clatter echoed against the floor tiles. It was like Tristan woke up from a trance. He instantly let go of me. I collapsed onto the wet floor, completely exhausted, gasping desperately for air. When my vision cleared, I saw something bizarre. Tristan was on his hands and knees on the filthy floor, frantically searching for something. He looked panicked, his hands visibly shaking. “Where is it?! Where is it?!” “Find it! Find it right fucking now!” he roared. The lackeys, who had been standing around stunned, snapped out of it and immediately dropped to the floor to help him look. Watching them act so crazy, my fingers twitched against the wet tiles… and brushed against something solid. I turned my head. It was an ornate, vintage pocket watch that had popped open from the fall. Inside the watch was an old, slightly faded photograph. It was a little blurry. But my pupils dilated in shock, because I instantly recognized the person in the picture. My mother… Before I could get a closer look, a hand snatched the watch away. Tristan scooped it off the floor. He cupped it in his hands like it was made of fragile glass, using the sleeve of his expensive designer jacket to frantically wipe the dirty water off it. Treating it like an absolute treasure. “It’s broken. The hinge is broken,” he muttered, sounding completely manic. He immediately turned and power-walked out of the bathroom. “Tris!” one of the guys called out, confused. “What about the girl?” “Whatever!” Tristan didn’t even look back, his mind entirely consumed by the watch. “I have to go get this fixed. Don’t call me unless someone’s dying!” 2 Thanks to that pocket watch, I actually got to go home early for once. Walking home, the autumn wind was freezing. My hoodie was half-soaked with dirty water, making the chill bite straight through to my bones. But I barely felt it, because my mind was an absolute hurricane. Every time I blinked, I saw the photo inside that watch. That gentle, beautiful woman was my mother. A younger version of my mother. But who was the little boy she was holding? Was it Tristan? How did they know each other? I had always known my mom had been married once before, and that she had a child from that marriage. I was the child she had with my dad after she remarried. My parents never kept that a secret from me. But my brain physically could not connect the dots between the terrifying Tristan and my mother’s first child… But if… if Tristan really was my older half-brother, then every single unanswered question I had finally made sense. Why did he target me? Why did he bully me? Because my mother abandoned him. So he hated me. Why did he always threaten me after beating me up, telling me never to tell my family? He always said his family was rich and powerful, and that he could get my mom’s flower shop shut down with a single phone call… But it wasn’t a threat. It was fear. He was terrified I would tell my mom. He was terrified my mom would find out what he was doing to me! The more I thought about it, the faster my heart hammered against my ribs. I started sprinting, the cold wind clearing my head. I had to ask my mom. I had to know the truth! A walk that usually took twenty minutes took me ten. I practically kicked the front door open. My mom looked up from the dining table, surprised. “You’re home early today?” Every day, to hide the bullying and keep my mom from worrying, I lied and told her I stayed after school in the library to study. And to hide the evidence, I always aggressively pulled my long sleeves down to cover the bruises on my arms before I walked through the door. My mom wiped her hands on her apron and smiled at me. “Go wash your hands, dinner is almost ready.” Her eyes paused on my hair. “Why are your clothes and hair wet?” “I… some lady was watering her plants on a balcony and accidentally spilled the watering can on me.” “Go take a hot shower right now so you don’t catch a cold.” I nodded, dropped my backpack, and grabbed some clean clothes from my room. By the time I came out of the shower, my mom had set the table. My dad was out of state on a business trip, so it was just the two of us this week. I sat at the table, looking at my mom’s gentle face, hesitating. “Mom, I have a question to ask you.” My mom put a piece of roasted chicken onto my plate. “Eat it while it’s hot. What’s the question?” I chewed on my lip, but finally forced the words out. “Mom, do I have an older brother? What’s his name?” My mom’s hand froze holding her fork. The smile on her face stiffened. “Why are you asking about this all of a sudden?” “Just… curious.” My mom went completely silent. She barely ate two bites for the rest of dinner. I immediately regretted it. I shouldn’t have asked. I had ruined her mood. But after dinner, my mom called me into her bedroom. She handed me an old photograph. “His name is Tristan. He was my first child.” I took the photo, my hands visibly shaking. This photo… it was the exact same photo that was inside Tristan’s pocket watch. 3 [Evelyn’s Perspective] Evelyn hadn’t thought about that child in a very long time. She had spent years forcing herself to live as if she had never given birth to him. If her daughter hadn’t brought it up today, she probably wouldn’t have thought about him, or her disastrous first marriage, for another decade. When her first husband started coming home at 3:00 AM, she should have cut her losses and left. But she compromised, over and over again, allowing that man to constantly test her bottom line. He started coming home smelling like cheap perfume. He started using “business trips” as an excuse to blatantly take his mistress on tropical vacations. Evelyn was heartbroken and exhausted. But she thought that even if her husband betrayed her, the son she had nearly died giving birth to would always stand by her side. She was wrong. Even though she poured every ounce of her patience and gentleness into Tristan, giving him all the love she possessed, he ultimately broke her heart. She remembered hearing tiny Tristan holding that other woman’s hand, calling her “Mommy.” He said his real mom was messy and annoying, and always told him what to do. He said he wanted the pretty, gentle lady to be his new mom. At that exact moment, Evelyn realized that Tristan was exactly like his father. An ungrateful, selfish traitor. She completely gave up on that family. During the divorce proceedings, Evelyn relinquished custody of Tristan to fight for maximum financial leverage to start her own life. She still clearly remembered the reaction of the father and son on the day she packed her boxes and left the mansion. The father looked incredibly relieved. The son looked absolutely ecstatic. “Yay! I get a new mommy! Yay!” Those joyful cheers were like rusty nails driven directly into Evelyn’s heart. They were the knives that violently severed the very last thread of maternal love she had left for that boy. 4 After hearing my mom’s story, I gently placed the photo back on her nightstand. “Mom.” I tugged gently on her sleeve. When she looked down at me, I reached for the hem of my long-sleeved shirt and slowly rolled it up. Revealing my arms, covered in overlapping patches of purple, blue, and yellow bruises. “What happened to you?!” My mom grabbed my arm, her voice cracking in pure panic. “Did someone hit you?!” I choked back the massive wave of grievance I had swallowed for a year and slowly nodded. “Mom… someone at school is hurting me. Will you come to school tomorrow and stand up for me?” … The next morning, when I walked into my homeroom, my desk-mate silently scooted her chair as far away from me as possible. My desk was knocked over on the floor. My textbooks were scattered everywhere, covered in dirty, muddy footprints. I quietly picked up my desk and glanced around the room. Every single student intentionally avoided my eyes. They were isolating me. Or rather, they were terrified of being associated with me. Because they didn’t want Tristan to retaliate against them. After first period, a girl who used to be somewhat friendly with me finally couldn’t hold it in anymore. She followed me into the bathroom. “Chloe, what the hell did you do to piss Tristan off?” “I heard you broke his favorite vintage watch, is that true?” “Is he just using that as an excuse to torture you?” She took my silence as a ‘yes’. “That is so messed up!” We were middle schoolers, at the age where our sense of justice was at its peak. She frowned deeply. “Why don’t you go to the teachers?” I looked at her, stunned. Go to the teachers? Did she think I hadn’t tried? If I went to them, they would either brush it off as “kids playing rough” and send me back to class to avoid the paperwork. Or, the second they heard the bully’s name was Tristan, they would pass the buck like a hot potato. Tristan’s family had literally funded the construction of the new STEM building on campus. Anything involving Tristan was radioactive. Nobody wanted to deal with it. Or more accurately, nobody dared to deal with it. That afternoon, when the final bell rang, I was cornered by Tristan and his guys again. His face was incredibly dark. He looked like he was in a foul mood. I noticed his neck was bare. He wasn’t wearing the chain. Did the watch shop tell him it couldn’t be fixed? Was he here to punish me for it today? The girl from the bathroom with the strong sense of justice was still just a kid. Facing a group of massive high school upperclassmen, she was terrified. She stood at the corner of the hallway, watching me get dragged up the stairs. She hesitated for a long time, but never took a single step forward. She squatted against the lockers, grabbing her hair in frustration. Suddenly, a pair of designer heels appeared in her line of sight. She looked up to see a beautiful, gentle-looking woman. “Hi there. Are you in Room 104? Have you seen Chloe? I’m her mother, I’m here to pick her up.”

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I was so dumb. Dumb enough that when my husband brought another woman home, I thought he found me a new playmate. After all, Ethan was the first person who chased away my bullies and was willing to marry me. That is, until he brought his mistress home again and laughed while telling her, “She’s a dimwit. She won’t make a scene, and she won’t cry.” This time, I didn’t laugh with him. Chapter 1 I stared down at the floor, twisting my fingers, watching the ash from his cigarette drift down. “Get out,” I said softly, as light as the ash itself. “What did you say?” Ethan cocked his head, looking into my eyes, smiling as he asked. Every time he thought I said something funny, he’d look at me like that. I counted the planks on the wooden floor. One, two, three… When I got to the sixth, I said, “This is my room. You two get out.” The woman hugged him from behind. “Babe, what are you still doing? I can’t wait.” I remembered her name was Linda. She was Ethan’s secretary. Her voice always sounded strange, like she was deliberately tightening her throat. Ethan stubbed out his cigarette on the doorframe and kissed her neck. “Hold on, can’t you see someone’s causing trouble?” He turned back and patted my head. This time he patted it hard, making my head wobble. “Be a good girl and go sleep in the guest room tonight. Tomorrow, I’ll take you to buy a new dress.” I looked up, my gaze landing on a scar on his collarbone. It was from a fight he got into for me. He used a beer bottle to smash the head of a guy who tried to pull my pants down. A shard of glass had cut him too. Blood dripped onto my hand, warm. I stared at that blood for a long time. Until he scolded me, “Little dummy, don’t you know how to be scared?” Now, that red scar rose and fell gently with his breathing. Next to it was a smear of lipstick, a different shade of red. I said his name, emphasizing each syllable, “E-than.” “I’m not going to the guest room.” He frowned. “Don’t make a scene. Listen to me.” I spoke slowly, “My room. My bed. You two get out.” Linda covered her mouth and giggled. Ethan’s face darkened. He stopped petting my head and instead grabbed my arm, pulling me out of the room. “What the hell is wrong with you? Why are you annoying me right now?” He was strong, and I had no choice but to be dragged along. One of my slippers fell off, and my bare foot slapped against the cold floor, slap, slap, slap. The hallway lights were dim, shining on our wedding photo on the wall. In the photo, he was looking down and kissing my forehead, while I stared at the camera with wide eyes and a blank expression. The photographer had said, “Bride, give us a smile.” I tried hard to pull the corners of my mouth up. But Ethan said, “Nah, don’t smile. It’s better like this. Pure.” Now I knew what he probably meant was, “purely stupid.” Stupid enough that no one would respect me. Chapter 2 Ethan dragged me to the door of the guest room and tried to shove me inside. I braced myself against the doorframe. My fingers dug into the wood, my knuckles turning white. This action required a lot of coordination. My brain had to command my fingers to bend, my arms to use strength, and my feet to stand firm. For me, it was like commanding a disobedient army. It was tiring and slow. But I did it. Ethan looked at me in surprise. He probably didn’t expect me to resist. All these years, I had never resisted him. I ate what he told me to eat. I wore what he told me to wear. I smiled when he told me to smile. “June, that’s enough. Stop being stupid,” he called me by my full name, impatience in his voice. I looked up and met his eyes. “I am not stupid. I am just slow to react. But I remember.” “March 17th, 11:00 PM. You said you were discussing business. Lipstick stain on your shirt, brownish-red.” “June 9th, 3:00 PM. You said you were on a business trip. Hotel photo. The shadows and the angle of the sun didn’t match.” “August…” “Shut the hell up! What kind of weird habit is this!?” Ethan yanked me into the room and threw me onto the bed. He glared at me fiercely and left, slamming the door shut. The lock clicked. He had locked it from the outside. The light in the guest room was broken. It was dark, with no color. He probably didn’t remember the light was broken, or maybe he didn’t remember I was afraid of the dark. I was scared. Curled up at the head of the bed, I said to the closed door, “Ethan. Divorce.” “Let’s get a divorce.” Chapter 3 The next morning, the housekeeper let me out. When I went downstairs, Ethan was sitting at the dining table reading a newspaper. Linda was next to him, eating porridge. She was sitting in my seat, using my small flowered bowl. “Good morning, sister.” She held the spoon in her mouth and blinked at me. “My bowl.” I stared at the small flowered bowl. Her eyes widened, and her mouth dropped open. She looked ridiculous. “Sorry, sister. I’m pregnant with Ethan’s baby. Ethan said everything in the house belongs to me and the baby. I thought he had told you too.” Ethan looked at her adoringly and didn’t say anything. She rubbed her belly. “Sister’s strange illness is hereditary, so she can’t have children. I’m suffering in sister’s place. I’m just using your bowl and chopsticks. Sister isn’t that stingy, right?” I looked down and counted my toes. Five on the left foot, five on the right foot. Ten in total. “The chopsticks are Ethan’s. The bowl is mine. Mom gave it to me.” When I was little, my mom used this bowl to feed me. After she died, I used this bowl to eat by myself. Ethan frowned. “June, cut the crap. We’re all family. Why are you being so petty?” Linda gently patted Ethan twice, stood up, held the bowl, and walked up to me. “This bowl is quite unique. Can you give it to me, sister? Let my baby share some of your blessings.” I shook my head. “No blessings. Mom is gone.” Ethan’s face darkened. “June, what the hell are you talking about? Why are you saying such unlucky things?” Linda squeezed out a sweet smile. “It’s okay, Ethan. Sister is intellectually disabled. She doesn’t know what she’s saying. I don’t mind.” “Give it back.” I reached out to grab the bowl. The small flowered bowl slipped from her hands, fell to the floor, and shattered. She screamed and fell to the ground, pushing me in the process. I fell too, and it hurt a little. Then she sat on the floor and started crying. “What’s going on?” Ethan’s face changed, and he stood up. He stepped over me and hugged Linda. Linda buried her face in his shoulder and cried, pears bathed in rain. “Ethan… she, she suddenly attacked me… her mind isn’t right to begin with, I… I’m scared…” “I was afraid she would hurt the baby… I just wanted to protect our child…” Ethan patted her head with heartache and didn’t even glance at me. “Don’t be scared, baby isn’t scared. It’s okay now. I’m here.” He used to say similar things to me when it thundered. He picked up Linda and ordered the housekeeper, “Call an ambulance, quick!” Then he pointed his finger at me. “June, if anything happens to the child, I will never forgive you!” The housekeeper walked over carefully. “Ma’am, you first…” “I am not ‘Ma’am’ anymore.” Ethan was stunned for a moment, but he continued to hold Linda and left without looking back. I climbed up, endured the pain, and began to pick up the broken pieces. One piece, two pieces, three pieces… Chapter 4 I lay on the hospital bed, looking out the window and listening to the noise outside the ward. “Yes, Mrs. Chen suffers from Kabuki syndrome and skeletal dysplasia. This time it’s only a minor fracture. If there are no other problems, she can go home after it’s set. She needs to be very careful in the future and cannot…” “Who asked about her? How’s Linda? Is the pregnancy affected?” “Ms. Linda currently shows no problems…” “Then check again! If there’s even the slightest problem with the mother or child, I’ll hold you responsible!” After a while, it became quiet outside. A young doctor walked into the ward. He wore a light blue shirt under his white coat and thin-rimmed glasses. “Mrs. Chen, I am your attending physician. My name is Gu, Dr. Gu.” “June.” I spoke slowly. “I am June. Not Mrs. Chen.” Dr. Gu raised an eyebrow, smiled, and nodded. “Alright, Ms. June. May I examine you?” “Okay.” He took out a small flashlight and carefully observed my eyes. “Any dizziness?” “A little.” He took out several cards with patterns on them. “Can you tell me what’s drawn on these?” “I don’t know.” Dr. Gu was startled. “You can… try to interpret them in your own way.” I took the cards and placed them where the light was even. I told him the color code corresponding to each color block. His expression gradually became solemn. “Besides color, what else are you sensitive to?” I thought for a while. “Time. Memory. I remember every second. Remember the traces of dust.” “Then from the moment I opened the door and came in until now…” “Three minutes and seven seconds… eight seconds… nine seconds…” He stood up, hurried out, and then came back with some things. I did some strange tests. He asked me to distinguish subtle frequencies and memorize complicated pattern sequences. I did them one by one. “Ms. June.” Dr. Gu’s expression was serious. “Your perception ability… I have never seen a similar case. I sincerely invite you to join our research institute. We need your gift. You can consider it.” I didn’t really understand. Since childhood, others said I was stupid, said my brain had problems. But I still agreed. “Okay. Is there a salary?” Dr. Gu didn’t expect me to agree so quickly, and he nodded quickly. “Of course, I promise it will be very generous. I’ll report it right away. The relevant department will definitely attach great importance to it and treat you as a treasure. I look forward to your recovery as soon as possible and becoming my colleague.” “Okay.” He shook hands with me in a friendly manner and stood up to leave. At the door, he suddenly turned his head again and smiled. “Your eyes are really beautiful, like they were painted.” Chapter 5 After returning, I lay in the guest room again. I didn’t like the guest room. But they said the master bedroom faced the sun, which was good for pregnant women. So I couldn’t sleep in the master bedroom, couldn’t sleep in my own bed. In the evening, Ethan came to bring me food. He carefully blew on the porridge and fed it to my mouth. “June, I know you’re upset. When the child is born, I’ll make him call you Mom, okay? Don’t you want to be a mother?” “But for now, just stay in your room and don’t go out. After Linda gives birth, I’ll take you out to buy a new dress. I’ll buy you all the dresses in the entire mall, okay?” I picked at the bedsheet, counting the patterns on it. One, two, three… “Small flowered bowl.” Ethan’s hand holding the spoon stopped. “Huh?” “Small flowered bowl broke.” “It’s okay, I’ll order an identical one for you.” I shook my head. “Not the same. Already broken.” “Ethan. We divorce.” The spoon fell into the bowl with a crisp clatter. “June, are you done yet? Divorce? How will you live without me? Who will care for you, feed you, dress you? Who remembers you’re scared of the dark and thunder?” He reached out and grabbed my chin, forcing me to look up. “What are you fussing about? What right do you have to fuss? Can you give me children? Give birth to a fool like you? Huh?” I shook off his hand and lowered my head. “I am not a fool. Ethan. We divorce.” Ethan stood up with a sneer. “June, I don’t know where you learned this, but I advise you to quit while you’re ahead and not push your luck.” “You’re a fool who doesn’t even dodge or cry when hit. How long could you live without me?” “Reflect on it properly.” Ethan slammed the door and left. I didn’t know why he was angry. I couldn’t give him children. If we divorced, he should be happy, right? He said I was a fool, wouldn’t dodge, wouldn’t cry. I thought he was more like a fool, not knowing what he wanted at all. But I knew what I wanted.

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On graduation night, the college underclassman who had been chasing me for six months got me dead drunk and tricked me into bed. But when I woke up, he smiled and told me: “You didn’t just sleep with me last night.” Immediately after, photos of me in bed with a group of strange, middle-aged men went viral all over the internet. The caption read: “Shared sugar baby, employed right upon graduation.” I went to confront him, only to be met with his icy, venomous words: “Isn’t your mother’s favorite hobby being a homewrecker? As her daughter, it’s only natural you surpass her.” The night my mom saw the trending hashtag, she was so furious and devastated that she suffered a massive stroke. When she woke up, her cognitive abilities were permanently stuck at the age of eight. To keep my mom alive, I became the reigning queen of pole dancing at a local nightclub. Eight years later, twisting my waist under the blinding neon lights, I looked up—and saw those familiar eyes sitting in the VIP booth. …… I was sweating profusely on stage. As my inner thighs gripped the rapidly spinning metal pole, the friction burned like fire. It had been eight years, but my skin still hadn’t adapted to the brutal friction. But I didn’t dare stop. Every cheer from the crowd below could turn into cash, and that cash would turn into my mom’s specialty medication tomorrow. Spin. Invert. Split. Right as I executed a high-difficulty backward drop, my gaze slammed violently into a pair of eyes in the crowd. My movements faltered, and I plummeted straight down from the ten-foot pole. “Bang!” I hit the hard floor solidly, a piercing agony shooting up from my ankle. Boos erupted from the crowd, mixed with vulgar, mocking laughter. “What the hell was that?!” “If you can’t dance, get off the damn stage!” Rick, the floor manager, rushed up in a panic. He bowed and apologized to the crowd while violently yanking me to my feet, hissing through gritted teeth: “Chloe! Do you have a fucking death wish?!” “Do you know how many people are watching tonight? If you ruin this club’s reputation, can you afford to pay for it?!” I clutched my rapidly swelling ankle, trembling from the pain. I looked up toward the VIP booth again, but the familiar eyes I had just seen were gone. Had I imagined it? “What are you standing around for? Get the hell backstage!” Rick’s scolding snapped me back to reality. I gritted my teeth and limped off the stage. Back in the messy dressing room, I had barely sat down when a waiter pushed the door open and threw a cold sentence at me: “Rick said you caused a major accident tonight. Your entire pay for the shift is docked.” “What?” I jerked my head up, my heart plummeting. “All of it? But my mom has physical therapy the day after tomorrow!” Getty Images Khám phá I grabbed the waiter’s arm, my voice laced with begging. “Can you please help me beg Rick? I promise I’ll be careful next time, it will never happen again!” The waiter shook off my hand with a look of disgust. “Begging won’t help. He’s pissed.” “Besides, you’re the one who messed up on stage. Who else is there to blame?” He turned and left, slamming the door so hard the walls shook. I collapsed back into my chair, the throbbing in my ankle mixing with the sheer panic in my chest. Therapy bills, medication costs, rent… a mountain of bills swirled in my head, suffocating me. If I didn’t get paid tonight, my mom’s therapy would have to be delayed. Just as I was drowning in despair, the dressing room door opened. Rick walked in, his face slightly softer than before. “Chloe, come with me. The guests in the Diamond Room specifically requested you for a private show. Double pay.” My heart skipped a beat. I knew exactly what a private show entailed. A closed door, expensive alcohol, and hands that didn’t care about boundaries. I had always avoided them like the plague. But thinking of my mom’s therapy bills, thinking of the debt collectors, I hesitated. “What? You don’t want to?” Rick raised an eyebrow. “That’s fine. But don’t expect your base salary this month either.” “I’ll go.” I gritted my teeth. I had already fallen this far. What right did I have to be picky? Rick smiled in satisfaction. “That’s more like it. You’re already in this line of work, why pretend to be some pure saint?” “Hurry up and change. Don’t keep the guests waiting.” I dug a conservative black slip dress out of my locker, wrapped a thin cardigan over it, and followed Rick down the hall to the Diamond Room. Pushing the door open, Rick immediately slapped on a sycophantic smile: “Marcus, I brought her. This is our top girl, Chloe.” I followed Rick’s gaze, trying to force a polite smile, but my eyes instantly froze. Sitting in the center of the plush leather sofa was the exact face I had seen from the stage. Liam Vance. I hadn’t imagined it. Eight years had passed, and he was no longer the green, lovesick college underclassman who used to follow me around. Dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit, his features were sharp and composed, exuding the untouchable aura of an A-list Hollywood actor. And I had become a cheap nightclub pole dancer. The humiliation lasted only a second before I shoved my emotions down. The current me didn’t have the luxury of pride. Following Rick’s instructions, I stepped onto the small stage in the center of the room and began moving to the music. I kept a flattering smile plastered on my face, even as sweat dripped into my eyes, stinging them painfully. When the song ended, sparse applause echoed in the room. Liam, who hadn’t spoken a word the entire time, finally opened his mouth. His voice dripped with bone-chilling mockery: “Chloe. Eight years later, and you’ve really come up in the world.” The room went dead silent. The men beside him immediately noticed the tension and asked with amused curiosity: “Liam, do you know her?” Liam picked up his glass of red wine, his gaze sweeping over me with contempt. “Not really. We just went to the same college. I had the privilege of hearing all about her ‘glorious exploits’ back then.” He placed a heavy, loaded emphasis on the words glorious exploits. The men around him immediately exchanged knowing, dirty laughs. “Well, since she’s an old alum of our famous leading man, shouldn’t she give us a real show?” A man with a thick gold chain jeered: “Do a striptease for us! Liven things up!” My body went rigid, all the color draining from my face. “I’m sorry… I… I don’t do that kind of dance.” “Don’t do it?” The gold-chain man scoffed. “You work at a club, stop acting like a prude! Dance well, and we’ll reward you.” He pulled a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills from his wallet and slammed it onto the glass table. The others followed suit. Soon, a small mountain of cash piled up on the table. Under the dim, hypnotic lights, that money radiated a filthy, irresistible allure. In my mind, I saw the hospital’s overdue notices, my mom’s innocent, childlike eyes, and the impatient voices of the nurses. As the seconds ticked by, the anticipation in the room soured into impatience. “Are you gonna strip or not? If not, get the hell out!” someone shouted. Liam just sat there, leisurely sipping his wine. He was the high-and-mighty spectator, and I was the meat on the chopping block, waiting to be sold to the highest bidder. My fingernails dug so deeply into my palms that the pain was the only thing keeping me conscious. I gave a slow, barely perceptible nod. The music started again, a heavier, more suggestive beat. I reached up and pulled out my hair tie, letting my long hair cascade down my back. Then, with trembling fingers, I reached for the zipper on the side of my dress. The sound of the metal teeth sliding down was quiet but deafening to my ears. The dress slipped off my shoulders, revealing the thin black lace bra underneath. The AC was blasting, raising a field of goosebumps across my bare skin. I moved mechanically, instinctively trying to cover myself with my arms, which only earned louder, more excited catcalls. Just as my trembling hands reached around to unhook my bra— “That’s enough,” Liam said, his brow furrowed in deep disgust. Every sound and movement in the room stopped instantly. I stood frozen on the stage, the half-removed dress hanging off the crook of my arm. He stood up, looking down at me as if I were a cockroach. “A dog really can’t change its nature. You’re exactly like your mother. As long as there’s money, you’ll spread your legs for anyone.” With that, he turned and walked out. The heavy door slammed shut behind him. With Liam gone, the rest of the men lost their interest. They grabbed their coats, preparing to leave. I hastily pulled my dress back up, wrapping my cardigan tightly around myself, standing awkwardly with my head bowed. Before leaving, Producer Marcus Thorne suddenly approached me. He shoved a business card down the front of my dress, his breath reeking of expensive liquor. “Miss Chloe, right? You’ve got a spectacular body, and you know how to move it.” He leaned in, his eyes wandering sleazily over my chest. “I’m casting a new project. We need actors willing to be… bold. Create some truly ‘artistic’ adult films.” “If you’re interested, give me a call. The pay is highly negotiable.” The door clicked shut. The room was finally empty. I looked up and numbly wiped a tear from my cheek. I walked over to the table and picked up the scattered hundred-dollar bills, gently smoothing out their creases, stacking them neatly. I counted them twice. It was exactly $5,500. I did the math in my head. My mom’s specialty meds for next month—the best imported brand—cost $1,200 a vial. I could buy four vials right now. That left $700. Winter was coming, and last year she kept complaining her feet were cold. I could buy her a thick pair of UGG boots and a warm down jacket. The radiator in our apartment was always breaking. When I looked at it that way… tonight was actually completely worth it. It was just being looked at, touched a few times, and enduring insults I’d already heard a thousand times over. I survived it. Compared to the cold, merciless numbers on a hospital bill, what was a little lost dignity? I pushed myself up on my numb knees, carefully stashing the thick wad of cash into my bag. As I turned to leave, my peripheral vision caught the business card lying on the edge of the carpet. I stopped at the doorway, my hand resting on the freezing doorknob. The doctor had told me there was a specialized neuro-hospital in New York that could completely cure my mom’s cognitive damage. But the surgery cost was astronomical: $100,000. To me, it was an impossible sum. What kind of “film” could Marcus Thorne possibly want me for? Obviously, it was going to be cheap, degrading, explicit trash. But if shooting one film meant I could walk away with $100,000, what did I have left to lose? My body had already been ruined and dirtied eight years ago, hadn’t it? What difference did it make if it got a little dirtier? As long as I got that $100,000. I took a deep breath, turned around, walked back, and picked up the business card. A week later, I arrived at the address Marcus had given me. It was a secluded mansion up in the hills. There were barely any crew members—maybe three people total. Marcus greeted me with a sleazy smile, saying we needed to do a “costume test” first. His assistant handed me an outfit made of translucent mesh that barely qualified as lingerie. It covered almost nothing. Marcus directed the shoot himself, barking orders for me to strike degrading, provocative poses. “Arch your back… stick it out.” “Look up, drop the strap off your shoulder.” The blinding studio lights hit my skin, and my first instinct was to cross my arms over my chest. “Put your hands down. Act natural.” “Yeah, turn around, dip your waist lower… part your legs a little more.” “The eyes, give me bedroom eyes! Look at the lens and imagine you’re desperate for it…” I was a puppet with its strings cut, mindlessly contorting into whatever suggestive positions he demanded. I swallowed my nausea and just kept repeating the number in my head: One hundred thousand… One hundred thousand… Once I got this money, my mom could have her surgery. After the shoot, Marcus personally walked me to the door. The moment I stepped out of the mansion, I bumped right into Liam, who was walking out holding a woman’s hand. When he saw me, he froze dead in his tracks. Marcus quickly stepped forward with an obsequious grin. “Liam! What a coincidence, what brings you to the hills?” Liam ignored him. His eyes were locked onto me, staring with an intensity that felt like he was trying to flay me alive. The woman beside him broke the silence, her voice soft and polite. “Hello, Marcus.” “And who might this be?” Marcus asked. Liam finally broke his stare, his tone softening as he introduced her: “This is Audrey. My fiancée.”

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The new intern at our law firm was haughty and full of herself. When I assigned her to photocopy case files, she went straight to the managing partner to complain. “I have my JD and passed the bar. Why am I doing scut work every day?” Fine. I washed my hands of her. I let her take the lead on a $200,000 promissory note dispute. She took the file to organize the exhibits. And promptly fed the original, signed $200,000 promissory note right into the paper shredder. The trial was just days away. I couldn’t wait to see how she was going to explain this to the client. 1 A new junior associate had just joined our team. She looked delicate, quiet, and well-educated. Her name was Chloe Miller. I checked her resume. She was a local, having graduated from a mid-tier state university. Since we were the only two female attorneys on the litigation team, the managing partner, Richard Davis, specifically asked me to mentor her. I agreed without hesitation. At the end of the day, I knew how hard it was for women to grind their way up in the legal field. I genuinely wanted to teach her the ropes, starting from the absolute basics to help her get familiar with actual legal practice. 2 The legal profession is entirely different from what you see on TV. In law school, you learn theory. But when you step into the real world, you realize the textbooks are miles away from actual practice. When I started, I built my foundation by organizing case files. We had just taken on a construction contract dispute. I handed the files to Chloe and told her to make two copies of everything, stressing that she couldn’t afford any mistakes. I specifically instructed: “Make sure every page is legible. When you bind them, keep them in exact chronological order. Do not mix them up.” “Got it, Sarah. Don’t worry,” she promised. But an entire morning passed, and she hadn’t delivered the copies. I figured she was just slow and didn’t want to rush her. By the time 5:00 PM rolled around, the materials were still nowhere to be seen. I walked over to her cubicle. “Chloe, where are the construction files I asked you to copy this morning?” She was leaning over, chatting excitedly with another intern. Hearing my voice, she jolted. “Oh shoot, Sarah, I totally forgot!” I followed her to the copy room, only to find the files hadn’t been copied at all. They were just dumped on a side table. “What’s going on? Who moved my stuff?” Chloe yelled angrily. I shushed her. “Oh, Sarah, are those your team’s files?” Attorney Roberts called out as he walked by. “The copier jammed this morning and no one came to fix it for hours. People needed the machine, so we just set your stack aside.” I nodded to him. “Thanks, Mark. Sorry for the hassle.” Once he left, I turned to Chloe. “If you had just checked on the machine once, cleared the paper jam, this wouldn’t have been delayed all day, and you wouldn’t have blocked other people from working.” I tried to keep my tone even, wanting to save the young girl some face. To my surprise, Chloe got defensive. She stiffened her neck and argued, “I was discussing a complex breach-of-contract case with a colleague. I figured I should prioritize the important stuff. That case has a lot of tricky legal nuances, we debated it for hours.” I almost laughed out loud. A rookie who just passed the bar with zero practical experience, who couldn’t even manage a copy machine, was supposedly cracking a “complex” case? What profound insights could she possibly offer? It wasn’t that I looked down on her. It was just that she was out of school now. If you can’t even handle your basic job duties, what future do you have? 3 In that moment, most of my desire to mentor her evaporated. She looked quiet, but her ego was sky-high. She had no grounding. But considering it was her first week, I chalked it up to her still having a “student mentality” and didn’t push it. I just waved my hand. “Reprint the materials, bind them neatly as requested, and have them on my desk first thing tomorrow morning.” “But… it’s almost time to clock out,” Chloe pouted. I gave her a flat look. “For litigators, overtime is a daily routine. I assumed you were prepared for that.” The next day. I handed her a different batch of case files. I quickly noticed how incredibly careless she was. Out of a few hundred pages, the order was constantly scrambled, and some pages were printed upside down. After I corrected her a few times, she visibly lost her patience. “Sarah, I have a JD. I passed the bar exam. Having me do this grunt work of copying and binding every single day is a massive waste of my time, don’t you think?” Who in this firm hasn’t passed the bar? I thought. And does she think her degree makes her special? Half the lawyers in our firm went to T14 law schools. She went to a state college. I kept my patience and explained: “Every lawyer starts with this work. The case file is the foundation of the lawsuit. Organizing it is how you familiarize yourself with the facts.” She clearly didn’t listen. Muttering under her breath, she grabbed the binders and walked away. That afternoon, walking past the copy room, I saw her sitting in a chair scrolling through TikTok. I decided to give the copying tasks to another intern. If she didn’t want to organize files, fine. Let’s do paperwork. I assigned Chloe to draft an Evidence Exhibit List. Honestly, copying is the easiest thing in a law firm. If you can’t do that, you might as well be a janitor. But when she handed in the Exhibit List, I got a massive headache. It was a disaster. The “Purpose of Evidence” and “Contents of Evidence” sections were completely conflated. Not only were the Bates numbers wrong, but the document was riddled with typos. In one instance, the dates and amounts on a bank statement exhibit didn’t even match her description. “Chloe, being a lawyer requires absolute precision. Sometimes, a single typo or a wrong dollar amount can ruin a judge’s trust in our evidence,” I said, suppressing my annoyance. Instead of taking notes, she glanced at it and pushed back. “Sarah, it’s just an index. Close enough is fine. You’re being way too nitpicky. These little things don’t affect the case.” I finally understood. This girl wasn’t just arrogant and incompetent; she was unteachable. I didn’t argue. I just slid the document back to her. “Redo it. Use the firm template. And I don’t want to see a single mistake.” I thought she would learn her lesson. Instead, the second I got to work the next morning, the managing partner, Richard Davis, called me into his office. 4 “Sarah, our new associate complained to me. She said you’re intentionally making things difficult for her, assigning her tedious chores, and hyper-fixating on minor errors to stress her out.” I froze. “Richard, I’m not making things difficult. This is how everyone starts…” Richard took a sip of his coffee and smirked. “I know you’re a perfectionist. But Chloe is just a young girl fresh out of school. You aren’t feeling… threatened by having a younger woman around, are you?” Richard was generous with his compensation, and for a guy pushing forty, he was decent-looking. But he had the classic toxic traits of a middle-aged boss. He constantly diminished the role of women in the workplace and loved having his ego stroked by young, pretty associates. I furrowed my brow. We were discussing workflow, and he was spewing this garbage? Did he really think I was in some petty catfight over looks with an intern? Seeing his attitude, I knew I needed to keep my distance from Chloe. “Richard, my caseload is overflowing right now. I honestly don’t have the bandwidth to mentor a junior associate.” Richard nodded. “Fine. Get back to work.” Soon after, Richard handed a seemingly straightforward personal loan case directly to Chloe. When we met the client, Richard brought Chloe and me along. The client, Mrs. Higgins, was a woman in her late forties with a sharp perm and even sharper eyes. You could tell immediately she wasn’t an easy person to deal with. After a brief greeting, she cut to the chase. “Your retainer is too high. I asked around, and another firm quoted me 30% less. My case isn’t complicated, can you lower the fee? Besides, I know a bit of law myself, I can handle some of the legwork. You won’t have to hold my hand.” Richard looked troubled. “Mrs. Higgins, our firm has strict standardized billing rates.” Mrs. Higgins pressed, “Mr. Davis, you’re the lead attorney on my case, right? I only trust experienced partners like you.” Chloe’s face instantly dropped. She was desperate to prove herself, only to be completely ignored by the client. “Ma’am, I am the lead attorney on this case. Mr. Davis has assigned it to me, and I am fully capable of handling all matters.” Mrs. Higgins paused, looking Chloe up and down. Her disdain was completely unfiltered. She scoffed. “Little girl, how old are you? How many years have you been litigating? I’m paying top dollar here; my money isn’t funding your practice runs.” That was like throwing gasoline on a fire. Chloe opened her mouth to snap back, but Richard quickly intervened. Playing the peacemaker, Richard smiled. “Mrs. Higgins, don’t worry. Attorney Miller is young, but her professional skills are sharp. She passed the bar on her first try and she’s very dedicated. Plus, I will be co-counseling and supervising her the entire time. It’s essentially getting two attorneys for the price of one. It’s highly cost-effective. We can offer a slight courtesy discount on the retainer, but that’s as low as we can go to guarantee quality service.” Mrs. Higgins mulled it over. After making Richard promise multiple times that he would be heavily involved, she reluctantly agreed. But she didn’t forget to issue a warning: “I’m telling you right now, if there is a single mistake in my case, there will be hell to pay.” She didn’t look at Chloe once for the rest of the meeting. Chloe sat there, her face shifting through every color of the rainbow. 5 After walking the client out, Chloe slammed the case file onto her desk. “She is so incredibly condescending! Just because she’s older, she thinks I’m incompetent? When I was on my college debate team, I mapped out logic for cases ten times more complex than this. What’s so hard about a simple loan dispute?” I offered a word of caution: “Clients like her need to be handled carefully. Just do the work properly and use the results to prove her wrong. By the way, make sure you organize the exhibits properly. Especially the original documents. Put the originals in a separate folder and lock them in the firm’s fireproof filing cabinet.” That afternoon, I was buried in my own cases and didn’t check on her progress. Walking past her desk later, I saw Chloe typing furiously on her computer. The case files were scattered across her desk in absolute chaos. The original, handwritten $200,000 promissory note was mixed into a pile of random photocopies, not separated or secured at all. I was about to say, “Chloe, you—” She cut me off with an attitude: “Sarah, I’m really busy right now. Can you not interrupt me?” Fine, I thought. Not my circus, not my monkeys. Three days later, the trial was fast approaching. Chloe suddenly burst into my office, her face paper-white. Her voice was trembling. “S-Sarah… I have a hypothetical question. What happens if an original piece of evidence goes missing?” A bad feeling instantly washed over me. “What original evidence? How did it go missing?” Chloe flinched, her eyes darting everywhere but at me. She panicked and dodged the question. “I-I’m just asking hypothetically! I didn’t say it was actually missing.” Watching her guilty, frantic deflection, I already knew exactly what had happened. “Chloe, documentary evidence is the absolute foundation of a judge’s ruling—” I started, but she cut me off again. “But isn’t that why they hire lawyers?! We’re supposed to use our eloquence to persuade the judge and destroy opposing counsel!” Chloe argued defensively. “I’ve seen Better Call Saul! Lawyers give amazing speeches in court, and when I did debate, I always—” I almost burst out laughing. Aside from the fact that Hollywood dramatizes the law for TV… did she seriously not understand the basic rules of civil procedure? “TV shows are for entertainment,” I said coldly. “This isn’t Hollywood. Real American civil litigation isn’t won by a dramatic monologue to a jury. It’s won on procedure and the Best Evidence Rule. In a bench trial over a promissory note, if you lose the original document, it’s inadmissible hearsay. The judge will toss the exhibit, we will lose the case instantly, the client will sue us for damages, and you’ll be hit with a malpractice claim.” Chloe’s brow furrowed tightly. She mumbled a vague “Got it,” and quickly scurried out of my office. Not long after, Richard posted a docket update in our team’s Slack channel. “@Chloe, the hearing date for Mrs. Higgins’s loan case got rescheduled by the court. You have plenty of time to prep the exhibits now, no rush.” “Understood, Mr. Davis!” With the trial delayed by two weeks, Chloe suddenly looked completely calm and collected again. I even started to wonder if I had misjudged the situation. Maybe I was overthinking it? Maybe she really had just locked the original note away? But my gut told me something was very wrong.

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I was a prim and strict secretary to CEO Aaron Kingston. In three years of work, I had never made a single mistake. Until this day, I ran into Aaron at a bar. I was drunk, and I rushed over, treating him like a dog and lecturing him all night. Afraid of losing my job, the next day I claimed he had encountered my twin sister. Aaron stared at me thoughtfully, and after a long pause, said, “Your salary goes up by two thousand every month. Send me your sister’s contact info.” 1 As exhilarating as last night was, that’s how utterly humiliated I felt now. Aaron Kingston sat in his office, his thin lips bearing a hint of blood, his long neck still showing distinct scratch marks—all my handiwork from last night. Guiltily averting my gaze, I thought I’d misheard him. I instinctively asked, “Pardon me, what did you just say?” My distraction caused Aaron’s brow to furrow slightly in displeasure. But he repeated, “Send me your sister’s contact info.” “May I ask what this is about?” “Personal business.” After a moment of silence, I said, “I’m sorry, Mr. Kingston, I may not be able to help you. Actually… my sister and I aren’t very close.” Aaron raised an eyebrow slightly, and I braced myself, continuing, “You may not know, but my sister and I parted ways after our parents’ divorce, and I haven’t been in touch with her for a long time.” “Not in touch for a long time, yet she called me ‘Kingston’s dog’?” Aaron scoffed. “Yesterday, your sister was quite rude to me. I’ve never met her before, so unless you mentioned me to her, how would she know who I am?” At that, my hairs stood on end. How could I have forgotten that part! Last night, I really had lost control. Drunk, I’d run into Aaron, marched up to him, and slapped him across the face. “Bold Kingston’s dog, why do you not kneel before your queen?!” It had completely stunned him. I don’t remember anything after that. When my memory started to return, Aaron was stripped down to just his tie, his hands tied behind his back in an X-shape, kneeling before me, calling me “Queen.” The thought made me mortified all over again. I cleared my throat. “Well, there’s still a tiny bit of contact, we’ve exchanged a few jokes, I didn’t think she’d take it seriously…” “My sister is just impulsive and reckless. If she offended you in any way, please don’t take it to heart.” “It’s already taken to heart,” Aaron said expressionlessly. “I won’t make things difficult for you. Find an opportunity to ask her. I believe she’d be happy to add me as a friend.” With that, he waved his hand. “You may leave.” Walking out of the office, my rigidly held posture finally crumbled. 2 I was known for being a prim and proper secretary. Meticulous in my work. Reserved with people. For three diligent years, I’d never made a single mistake. But in truth, being a secretary wasn’t my career plan. I intended to use it as a stepping stone to earn Aaron Kingston’s recommendation. Last week, I learned that a branch company was being formed, and there was a managerial position open. Aaron, as the head of the project, had absolute recommendation power. A few days ago, I had submitted my application, and the results hadn’t been announced yet. As soon as I reached my desk, a few colleagues gathered around. “Cara, has the transfer list been decided?” “No.” “It should be you, right? Mr. Kingston trusts you so much; it feels like there’s no one else.” “I think so too. Apart from the boss, Cara is the busiest person in the whole company. She probably hasn’t had a full weekend in three years, has she?” I smiled and shook my head. “Not necessarily. The boss has his own plans.” But despite saying that, I still held some hope. To my surprise, the next day, Aaron called me into his office. “The recommended candidate for the new company’s general manager position has been submitted to the OA for the board of directors’ approval and announcement.” I glanced at the list. Elaine Foster. She joined the company at the same time as me. The only difference was that I was assigned to the CEO’s office, while she remained in the business department. I held the list without moving. Aaron looked at me strangely. “Anything else?” “May I ask why I was passed over?” He was surprised I would ask. “No reason. You’re not suitable.” I pressed further. “Where am I not suitable?” Aaron’s eyes showed displeasure. “The new company needs someone who understands business, is bold, and innovative. You’re conservative and meticulous, too focused on minor details. You’re fine for administration, but not suitable for market development.” “But I…” “Alright, let’s not discuss this further. The list has been finalized on my end. Your job is to execute.” With that, his face darkened, and he lowered his head to review documents, ignoring me. This was his way of refusing further discussion. Aaron Kingston was known for being particular, with many strict rules. He liked his water at 45 degrees Celsius, only drank black coffee, wore only black jackets, and even had a preferred angle for his computer monitor. For three years, I meticulously observed his every habit, fearful of crossing his boundaries. Now, all I got was “too focused on minor details.” My heart completely sank. Taking a breath, I decided to speak again. “Mr. Kingston, there’s one more thing I need to report.” “Speak.” “You asked me to speak to my sister earlier. I’ve asked for her opinion.” Aaron’s expression softened slightly, and he looked up at me again. “What did she say?” “She said yes.” Aaron’s lips curved upwards. He hummed. “Alright, just send me her contact.” Then, thinking of something, he corrected himself: “No, you send her my contact. I’ll add her myself.” 3 After the list was released, I received many condolences that afternoon. “Mr. Kingston must have been reluctant to let you go. After all, you’re his confidante.” “It’s a competency trap. Mr. Kingston probably thought he wouldn’t find a suitable secretary without you.” “And for a new company, I think Mr. Kingston wanted a man. Women really don’t have an advantage in the workplace.” On the surface, I pretended indifference, saying I didn’t care much. But internally, my molars were grinding. Damn you, Aaron Kingston. This time, I’m going to make you regret this! Before leaving work, I registered a burner account. My profile picture was a side profile taken during my university days. Wearing a black slip dress, with wavy red hair cascading over my shoulders, I looked completely different from my current self, with my thick glasses and meticulously combed hair. After confirming there were no other issues, I pushed the contact card to Aaron Kingston. Soon, he added me. I accepted his request and was the first to reply: [Heard you were looking for me?] He replied almost instantly. [Yeah, shouldn’t someone be responsible after hitting a person? My knees still hurt.] [Then your kneeling posture must not have been up to standard.] [You’re right, it’s all my fault.] Before I could reply, he sent another message. I opened it. It was a picture. A selfie of a man kneeling behind an office desk. His face wasn’t visible, but the suit trousers indicated it was him. [Are you satisfied now, Your Highness?] Hiss—Playing such a dangerous game! I suddenly gasped, instinctively turning my phone away. But inexplicably, there was also a hint of secret excitement. I subconsciously glanced at Aaron Kingston’s office. The door was tightly closed. I couldn’t see what the person inside was doing. I tapped my phone, changing his contact name to [Aaron’s Dog]. When it was time to leave, a colleague leaned over. “Cara, it’s the department team-building tonight. Whose car are you riding in?” I paused, realizing it was the department’s annual dinner. The venue was a bar. But I was allergic to bars lately, so I immediately declined. “I have to work late, so I won’t be going.” As expected, a look of sympathy immediately appeared on their face. “The boss’s work pace is really insane. Only you in the whole company can keep up.” I forced a bitter laugh, not elaborating. It wasn’t until everyone from the department had left that I finally relaxed. My arms were sore from slapping him last night, and I wanted to take this chance to go home early and catch up on sleep. As I was shutting down my computer, footsteps sounded behind me. “You didn’t go to dinner tonight?” Although I didn’t particularly want to see Aaron Kingston right now, due to the promotion list, I managed not to show it, forcing myself to perk up. “No, I still have some work to do.” “Are you done now?” Unsure of what he was up to, I conservatively said, “Almost.” “Then I’ll wait for you. We can leave together shortly.” I paused. “Leave? Go where?” “Team building.” I was a bit surprised. “You’re going too?” Aaron Kingston raised an eyebrow. “What, I’m not allowed?” I immediately put on my professional fake smile. “Of course, you can go.” The ride was silent. Aaron Kingston sat beside me, crossing his legs. I remembered the photo he sent me, kneeling on a stool. I couldn’t resist glancing at him. He caught me looking. “Something wrong?” “It seems you have a scratch here. Do you need a band-aid?” In my nervousness, I blurted out a random excuse, pointing to his Adam’s apple. Then I immediately regretted it even more! That spot on his Adam’s apple was where I had bitten him! Aaron Kingston frowned slightly, opened his phone, and checked his front camera. His voice immediately cooled. “No.” I didn’t dare say anything. Unexpectedly, the next second, my phone started vibrating wildly. Aaron’s Dog: [You bit my neck.] Aaron’s Dog: [And your sister saw it too. How am I supposed to explain this?] I glanced at my phone screen, afraid Aaron Kingston would notice anything. I didn’t dare reply. Aaron Kingston tapped his fingers on his knee. Then he started texting again. Aaron’s Dog: [Hello? Why aren’t you answering?] Aaron’s Dog: [I’m not blaming you, just asking~] Aaron’s Dog: [Are you seeing someone else behind my back?] His typing speed was a bit too fast. I didn’t even have time to put my phone on silent. In the quiet space, my phone vibrated like crazy, doing a full dance. Aaron Kingston grew impatient, casting a glance at me. “Isn’t your phone a bit too loud?” he sneered. “Who is it, talking so much nonsense?” I quickly turned on “Do Not Disturb” and gave a couple of awkward laughs. “Sorry, my dog at home accidentally hit the keyboard.” 4 I was already annoyed, and then when I arrived at the bar, I discovered Elaine Foster was there too. My footsteps faltered. My stomach churned with renewed discomfort. Before, Aaron Kingston never attended department team-building events. Could it be that he knew Elaine was coming and came specifically for her? My established persona was always that of a professional, calm, prim secretary. I greeted everyone as I entered and then retreated to a corner. Everyone was used to my personality and didn’t pay much attention. Elaine saw Aaron Kingston and immediately stood up enthusiastically, surrounding him. She smiled and asked, “Mr. Kingston, I’m crashing your office team building. You don’t mind, do you?” Aaron Kingston lifted his eyelids. “Whether I mind or not, you’re already here, aren’t you?” That single sentence left Elaine completely speechless. Aaron Kingston was notorious for his sharp tongue. Elaine clearly hadn’t experienced it much. The woman’s expression stiffened. She said, “Mr. Kingston, I’d like to toast you. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to gain experience at the new company.” Aaron Kingston subconsciously glanced at me. He cleared his throat. “No need for such thanks. It’s just picking the best from a bad bunch; we couldn’t find anyone else suitable.” Elaine froze again. I, who had been secretly enjoying the moment, suddenly realized something was off. Did that remark just insult me too?! I frowned, pulled out my phone, switched to my burner account, and opened the [Aaron’s Dog] chat. [Slap yourself. Right now, this instant!!!] Beside me, Aaron Kingston’s phone screen lit up. I could visibly see his expression turn strange, and he replied with a question mark. [Why?] Me: [Do I need a reason to give an order?] Me: [What, you can’t even do such a small thing?] Aaron Kingston pursed his lips: [It’s a company dinner tonight, surrounded by subordinates.] [Be good, I’ll let you do whatever you want when we get back tonight, okay?] Me: [No.] Me: [I can find someone else tonight.] The next second, Aaron Kingston raised his hand and slapped himself across the face. The private room fell into an awkward silence for a few seconds. Elaine was the first to react. “Mr. Kingston?” “Mosquito.” A mosquito in a bar’s private room in the dead of winter. I believed it. Elaine believed it too. After slapping himself, he looked down and sent me a message. Aaron’s Dog: [I just hit myself.] Me: [Oh.] Aaron’s Dog: [Satisfied?] I denied it. [I wasn’t even there. How would I know if it was real?] Aaron’s Dog: [Are you inviting me over?] Aaron’s Dog: [The left side hasn’t been slapped yet. Want to try tonight?] Me: ? Help me. This man is truly not normal! By the time the party ended, the red mark on Aaron Kingston’s face hadn’t faded. Truly worthy of being the CEO. He could be so hard on himself!

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