Author: Momo Chan

On our wedding anniversary, my husband’s ten-year-long research into a time machine finally succeeded. He intended to take our son back to the past to reunite with his deceased first love. As they were leaving, our son rolled his eyes at me and sneered, “You’re just a housekeeper. Don’t hold up Dad from seeing Aunt Clara!” My husband, his face cold and indifferent, added, “Eleanor Vance, I’ve already sold this house. Please move out as soon as possible.” I smirked. “You two better not regret this.” I followed them to the laboratory. In the final second before the machine activated, I reached out my hand towards the shimmering portal. They had no idea that I had waited ten long years for this exact moment—to save my original husband and daughter. 1 Dr. Michael Darabont’s research had finally paid off. He was going to take our son, Liam Darabont, and travel back in time, ten years into the past. And I, Eleanor Vance, had seen this news on a TV broadcast. Today was our tenth wedding anniversary. I had just finished making dinner, waiting for him to come home. The moment he walked through the door, I greeted him. “Michael, I’ve cooked all your favorite dishes to celebrate our ten-year anniversary.” Michael merely sighed softly. “Eleanor, we’re done. You’ve diligently looked after Liam and me for ten years, but I still can’t forget Clara.” Behind his gold-rimmed glasses, his cold, clear eyes held no emotion, as if he were discussing something utterly mundane. I held the scalding hot plate, yet felt nothing. Gazing at the man in the crisp suit before me, I instinctively searched for the mole at the corner of his eye. “Michael, are you… divorcing me?” “My research is complete. I’m going to find Clara.” he stated. My fingertips, scalded crimson by the plate, belatedly released it. The dish instantly crashed to the floor, delicate cuisine scattering everywhere. My eyes widened in disbelief. “You… you’re going back? Ten years into the past?” Clara Sink was Michael’s first love; she had died ten years ago in an accident, and Michael had never forgotten her. “Yes. I’ll take Liam with me.” A faint smile flickered in his eyes, as if anticipating a reunion with Clara. I stepped forward, frantically grabbing his arm. “What about me, Michael? What do I count as? Today is our ten-year wedding anniversary…” “Eleanor Vance, this is where we end.” Michael ruthlessly pried my fingers off his arm, one by one. I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms, yet I felt no pain. “So you’re just going to abandon me?” I then turned to Liam. “Liam, are you abandoning your mother too?” My son, whom I had nurtured with all my heart, rolled his eyes at me. He walked to Michael’s side and surveyed me with a slightly disdainful look. “You’re old and ugly, always at home like a drab housewife. You’re nothing like Aunt Clara. Don’t hold up Dad and me from going back to find her. I want Aunt Clara to be my mom!” Looking at the two of them, a storm of emotions churned within me. When Liam was sick, I stayed awake for nights, my eyes red-rimmed from exhaustion, tending to him. Back then, he would hold my little finger like a tiny dumpling, calling me “Mommy,” bringing me origami cranes he made in kindergarten art class, and sweetly calling me “Mommy.” But as he grew older, he only complained that I was nagging, like a housekeeper, not as glamorous as other mothers. “Face reality. I won’t be coming back. And this house? I’ve signed a deed of donation, giving it to the foundation I established for Clara. As for you, pack your bags and move out as soon as possible.” Michael added. I found it almost laughable. They were leaving, and they still didn’t forget to donate the house to Clara Sink’s foundation? “Alright,” I took a deep breath. “I hope you don’t regret this.” “Regret? I’d only regret not being with Clara!” Michael stated, every word distinct. With that, he and Liam got into the car and drove away. He didn’t notice that I was driving another car, following closely behind them. Inside the lab, Michael and Liam’s eyes gleamed with excitement and anticipation. On the table, a machine pulsed with blinding light. “Dad, can this really take us back to Aunt Clara?” Liam’s round eyes swiveled, filled with curiosity. “Yes,” Michael curved his lips. Hearing Liam mention Clara Sink, a rare tenderness flickered across his face. It was a look I had never seen before. At his words, Liam’s eyes lit up. “I love Aunt Clara the most! Aunt Clara is so beautiful, like a fairy. Mom, on the other hand, looks like a drab old housewife. I don’t want a drab housewife as my mom.” Michael stroked his head. “Don’t worry. When we go back, Aunt Clara will be your mom.” Look. My decade of care and companionship meant so little to them, they were even willing to risk time travel to go back and find Clara Sink. But none of that mattered anymore. As the father and son disappeared into the shimmering portal, I rushed forward, taking three steps at a time, and reached out to touch the machine just as the light was about to fade. The next second, a powerful force pulled me in. When I regained my senses, I was standing on an empty road, everything both unfamiliar and familiar. I had truly returned to ten years ago. A wild joy surged through me, but then a voice beside me suddenly asked, “What are you doing here?” I looked up, meeting Michael’s dark eyes. “You’re not following us to cause trouble, are you? Eleanor Vance, give it up. Even if you come back, there’s no way we’ll be together.” His brow was deeply furrowed, his face etched with defensiveness. “Bad woman, don’t hurt Dad and Aunt Clara!” The four-year-old Liam stood in front of Michael, his small fists clenched, as if I were his enemy. I pursed my lips, speaking with a feigned bewildered expression, “Excuse me, have you mistaken me for someone else?” Michael paused, his expression still full of distrust. “Mistaken you? You think putting on that act will make me believe you, Eleanor Vance? What are you really up to?!” I ignored Michael, turning to leave. “Don’t you dare move!” Michael grabbed my wrist. “You explain yourself. Were you deliberately following us? Are you trying to ruin things between Clara and me?” He gripped my wrist so hard it hurt. I forcefully pulled away, stumbling a few steps and bumping into someone behind me. A girl behind me gasped, and just as I was about to apologize, a sharp slap landed on my cheek. Michael spat on the ground. “Eleanor Vance, you truly are malicious!” I gritted my teeth and looked up, only to see Michael holding the girl I had bumped into. He looked at her as if she were a treasured possession he had lost and found again. “Clara, are you alright?” he asked in a low, gentle voice. “Are you blind?” Liam yelled, then scurried to Clara’s side, his face filled with worry. Oh, so they could care about people? I remembered when I was doubled over with acute gastroenteritis, barely able to get out of bed, and asked Michael to buy me medicine. He frowned, coldly saying, “Can’t you buy it yourself? I have a project at the institute; I’m very busy.” Then he grabbed his bag and left without looking back, leaving me, pale and almost fainting from pain, in the room. I asked Liam to call a doctor for me, but Liam was playing games on his phone, impatiently glancing at me. “Wait until I finish this round.” It wasn’t until hours later, when the cleaning lady found me passed out from pain and called an ambulance, that I barely survived. But now, Clara Sink was merely accidentally bumped, and my son was mocking me, and Michael even hit me! How truly absurd. Clara, leaning in Michael’s arms, her small face pale, her eyes slightly red-rimmed, looked as if she had suffered a terrible injustice. “Eleanor Vance, apologize to Clara!” Michael turned to me, still sitting on the ground, his face livid with rage. “I’m fine, this young lady didn’t mean it…” Clara bit her lip and began to speak. “Michael, who is she?” Michael paused. “She…” “Aunt Clara, she’s a bad woman who likes my dad!” Liam immediately interjected. Hearing Liam’s words, Clara’s gaze towards me flickered. “Oh, is that so… I’m sorry, am I interrupting something?” she murmured, lowering her eyes. “No, I have nothing to do with her.” Michael hastily explained, disassociating himself from me. A decade of marital affection dismissed with a flimsy “nothing to do with her.” I gave a self-deprecating laugh, struggling to get up from the ground. “Sir, I don’t even know you, yet you pushed me and hit me, and now you’re saying strange things. Are you unwell?” “Stop pretending! You’re here. Who would believe you weren’t following me?” Michael’s brow was deeply furrowed, his gaze filled with disgust. “I told you, I will never like you. Stop bothering me.” “Exactly! Dad only likes Aunt Clara, you give up!” Liam chimed in from the side. Just then, a familiar yet unfamiliar male voice came from across the street. “Simon!” I looked up towards the source of the voice, a man in a white shirt and dress pants was waiting at the traffic light on the opposite side. He held an ice cream cone in his left hand and was holding the hand of a lovely, delicate little girl with his right. The little girl was waving at me. My fingers trembled uncontrollably, and my nose began to sting with tears. The red light turned green. He picked up the girl with one arm, lifted his foot, and was about to walk over. “Simon! Don’t move!” Seeing the scene, I couldn’t care about anything else and shrieked. Simon was startled by my shout. He paused, stopping in his tracks. The next second, a large truck, having run a red light, sped past, narrowly missing him. My heart felt as if it had been squeezed, and a drowning sensation of suffocation left me gasping for air. After triple-checking that there were no more cars, Simon finally ran over to me with the child in his arms. “That really scared me just now,” he said, putting the child down and patting his chest, still shaken. Then he handed me a pink ice cream cone. “Here, Eleanor, your favorite strawberry ice cream.” He curved his lips, his eyes full of warmth. “Simon… Elara…” Looking at these two faces I hadn’t seen in ten years, I was still somewhat dazed. Simon tucked the ice cream into my hand and gently ruffled my hair. “What’s wrong? I just went to buy you an ice cream, why do you look like you’re about to cry?” “Mommy, what’s wrong?” Elara’s tender voice asked, and she held out her tiny hand to me. “Elara wants a hug from Mommy.” My heart pounded rapidly. I took a deep breath, bent down, and picked up Elara, kissing her cheek. “Mommy’s fine. Mommy just missed Elara so much.” “Why is your cheek a little swollen? What happened just now?” Simon noticed my injury with a keen eye. I shook my head. “Nothing. Just got bitten by two mad dogs.” “Who are you calling mad dogs?” Michael glared at Simon and Elara, his face as black as a pot. “Whoever answers is a mad dog.” I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. “Dad… this person… he looks a lot like you…” Liam tugged at Michael’s sleeve, suddenly speaking in a small voice. His words were like adding fuel to the fire. Michael immediately demanded, “Eleanor Vance, who are they?” I blinked, looking at the beautiful mole beneath Michael’s eye, and then at Simon, who had a similar mole in the same spot. Not that similar, perhaps, but their features certainly bore a striking resemblance, almost like a ghostly echo. “Sir, this is my husband and my daughter. I’ve already told you that you’ve mistaken me for someone else,” I said slowly, licking my ice cream. “I don’t know you.” Seeing Michael’s unfriendly tone, Simon immediately stepped in front of me, frowning. “Who are you? Please don’t harass my wife and daughter.” “Wife? Daughter? Ha! Eleanor Vance, why didn’t I ever notice that you had someone else behind my back? You certainly have a knack for it!” Michael felt completely deceived, his pride wounded, but I insisted I didn’t know him, leaving him with a helpless feeling, like punching cotton. “Michael…” Seeing how angry Michael was, Clara couldn’t help but interject, “Don’t be angry, didn’t you say you had nothing to do with her?” “Yes, of course, nothing to do with her.” Michael snorted coldly. “Eleanor Vance, you’ll regret coming to beg me!” “You’re overthinking it.” I said coldly. “Dad, Aunt Clara, let’s go to the amusement park!” Liam, upon seeing his beloved Clara, had no interest in watching Michael and me argue. He couldn’t help but urge them to leave. Michael pursed his lips, his jawline sharp enough to cut me. He clenched his fist in suppressed anger, finally dropping a curt, “Fine, you’re on your own.” Then he took Clara and Liam and walked away. I glanced at the backs of the three of them, then indifferently pulled my gaze away. “Eleanor, let’s go home.” Simon took my hand, his warm fingers intertwining with mine. He didn’t know that I had waited ten years for those words, “Let’s go home.” “Simon…” The ice cream in my hand slipped and fell to the ground. I wrapped my arms around his neck, hugging both him and Elara. Tears finally streamed down my face. “I’ve missed you so much, Simon…” I sobbed uncontrollably, my snot and tears soaking his collar. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” Seeing me crying so hard I was gasping for breath, Simon visibly panicked. He fumbled, pulling out tissues to wipe my tears, while gently patting my back. “Eleanor, did that man just now bully you? What happened while I was buying ice cream? Don’t cry. I’ll go teach him a lesson!” Simon shook his fist, pretending to chase after Michael. I hugged him tightly, muffling, “No, Simon, don’t leave me, not for a minute.”

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Liam and I were orphans, bound by fate. The year he loved me most, he signed a contract, becoming the personal bodyguard to a socialite heiress from a prominent family. Through gunfire and firestorms, Liam would do anything, just to earn enough money for my schooling. We had once promised that on my eighteenth birthday, we would go to Switzerland together to see the snow. But that day, he went to Switzerland, and he saw the snow, but not with me. In the photo, he was embracing the heiress, Aurora Hayes, kissing her passionately in the snow. My heart chilled inch by agonizing inch. Yet, I couldn’t give up, still asking, “Liam, will you leave all this with me and start over?” He shook his head decisively. “Aurora is far too innocent compared to you. Her nature… how could she manage without me watching over her?” He added, “Just give it a few more years.” I said no more, quietly watching the messages pop up on my phone. A highly alluring photo of a chiseled torso. [Sister, when are you coming over? Your puppy misses you so much.] Liam didn’t know. I wouldn’t wait for him anymore. Because someone else was far more deserving of my love. … Seeing my prolonged silence, Liam assumed I was simply dejected by his rejection. A flicker of hesitation crossed his face, and he was about to speak. From the room behind him, a chiding voice suddenly rang out. “Liam! Are you done yet? If you don’t come in now, you can forget about sleeping in bed tonight; you’ll be on the floor!” I abruptly looked up at Liam. “You two are sleeping together now?” “Aurora was kidnapped once. She’s afraid of the dark, so I need to stay with her to keep her calm.” His tone was matter-of-fact, as if this were the most ordinary, trivial thing. “Wendy, I’m sorry. Just wait a few more years for me. Aurora truly can’t do without me right now.” With that, he turned and entered the room, as if fearing the girl inside would wait a second longer. I remained rooted to the spot, a bitter laugh escaping me. So, Liam had already crossed the line and changed his heart during his daily interactions with Aurora Hayes. I looked down again; my phone screen was now filled with the torso photo Chase Miller had just sent, accompanied by a barrage of messages. [I’ve waited so long for you.] [Sister, do you really not miss me at all? But your puppy misses you so much.] I felt a little flustered by his relentless messages, but ultimately, I couldn’t resist. The moment I pushed open my apartment door, a fluffy head immediately nuzzled into my embrace. “I’ve been waiting forever.” Chase was wearing a black hoodie, his curly golden hair falling over his forehead as he crouched, looking up at me. “If you came any later, I’d turn into a pillar of stone, gazing for my wife.” He truly had the mannerisms of a puppy. I casually ruffled his golden hair. “I was busy just now, couldn’t leave.” Chase pouted in dissatisfaction. “Busy with what? You must have gone to see that Thorne guy again. Are you still thinking about him? I’m telling you, everyone in the City knows he’s a disloyal bodyguard, even daring to get involved with his employer’s daughter. Don’t let him fool you; he’s just a dirty, rotten…” “Chase Miller,” I cut him off. “I know what I’m doing, and it’s none of your business.” Chase’s eyes instantly widened, looking at me with a watery gaze. He looked hurt and pitiful. I really couldn’t bear it, and wanted to gently persuade him not to meddle in these things, that I could handle them myself. But before I could utter a word, Chase’s eyes already welled up. He suddenly raised his voice, a thick sob in his tone. “You’re yelling at me? You’re yelling at me because of that Liam Thorne!” The moment he finished speaking, he suddenly stepped forward, forcefully pinning me against the wall. Before I could react, warm lips pressed against my neck. First, soft kisses, which quickly turned into possessive nips and bites. Chase buried his face in my neck, his voice muffled. “You’re not allowed to like anyone else, Wendy Reed. You can only be mine.” His sudden, uncontrolled action made me furious. I pushed him away with all my might. “Chase Miller, you’re not thinking clearly right now. You need to calm down.” With that, I didn’t look at him again, opened the door, and quickly left. Chase was right about one thing: I couldn’t let go of Liam that quickly. Fifteen years of feelings—how could I just forget them? But Liam seemed to forget very quickly. I realized I had left some documents at the Hayes residence, and when I arrived, I was met with a scene of pure debauchery. “Oh, Liam… gently…” Ambiguous gasps and moans drifted from the living room. Aurora Hayes was sprawled half-naked on the leather sofa, her silk nightgown disheveled, pushed down to her waist. Liam was kneeling at her feet, two buttons of his shirt undone, his collarbone covered in lipstick marks. Aurora held a lady’s cigarette, deliberately grinding her foot against his shoulder. “Liam, keep going.” My steps faltered at the entrance, my gaze fixed on the man kneeling on the floor. In my memory, Liam was not easily swayed. Even when bullied by older kids in the orphanage, he wouldn’t lower his head or beg for mercy. If he didn’t want to do something, no one could force him. But now, that iron-willed boy was kneeling obediently, letting Aurora Hayes toy with him. Liam’s Adam’s apple bobbed. His voice was hoarse with desire. “Aurora, let’s go to the bedroom. There are cameras in the living room.” “Cameras?” Aurora chuckled softly. “Liam, have you forgotten? Is there any spot in this villa that doesn’t bear the traces of our lovemaking? The desk in the study, the hallway on the second floor, even the gazebo in the garden… My dad had the cameras removed ages ago. Who would dare to say anything?” Liam lowered his eyes, silently acknowledging her words, and continued his actions beneath her. Aurora still seemed to want more, raising a hand to cup his chin. “Liam, tell me, who’s better, me or Wendy Reed?” Liam’s voice was husky, tinged with a dazed passion. “Of course, you are, Aurora. You’re the best.” “What makes me better?” Aurora persisted, her fingertip tracing his cheek. “You’re gentle, cheerful, unlike her…” Liam paused. “Unlike her, who’s so much trouble, always distracting me.” Aurora smiled, satisfied. “Since you know, then just ditch that baggage already. A girl from an orphanage like her isn’t good enough for you.” Liam said nothing, just nodded slightly. Just then, Aurora suddenly looked up, her gaze sweeping towards my direction. The moment our eyes met, I saw the triumph and provocation in hers. She didn’t expose my presence, and I had no desire for a hysterical confrontation. I didn’t linger, gently closing the door, shutting out the sordid scene. I pulled my coat tighter as I walked through the streets of the City, and a cold drop suddenly landed on my nose. Looking up, I froze. Snow was falling in this city, which was perennially warm and humid. My fingertip caught a snowflake, watching it instantly melt into water. In a daze, my memory was pulled back to the orphanage years ago. Liam and I were both outcasts there. Because we were naturally quiet, we were often cornered and bullied by the older kids. He was half a head taller than me, and he would always shield me behind him. During those dark, sunless days, we were each other’s only light. Later, Liam was the one who pulled me out of that cage. We were penniless, wandering the streets of the City. When hungry, we picked up discarded bread; when cold, we huddled under a bridge for warmth. Back then, he stroked my head and said, “Wendy, one day I’ll make sure you have a good life.” I believed him. Until that day, we stumbled upon Aurora Hayes, the heiress of the powerful Hayes family, cornered in a dark alley by her family’s enemies. Liam, without a moment’s hesitation, grabbed a wooden stick from the ground and charged in. In the chaos, his arm was deeply cut, revealing bone, yet he stubbornly protected the young woman, who remained completely unharmed. Later, he came to me with a contract of servitude, his eyes holding a depth I couldn’t understand. He said the Hayes family would fund my education until I turned eighteen. But the condition was that he had to become Aurora Hayes’s personal bodyguard, never leaving her side. We agreed that on my eighteenth birthday, we would go to Switzerland together to see the snow. But he became increasingly busy. On my birthday, Liam told me on the phone that he had urgent business, then quickly hung up. I consoled myself, telling myself he was merely constrained by circumstances. But the photo I received on my phone told the whole story. In the snow in Switzerland, Liam, wearing a black coat, bent his head slightly to kiss the person in his arms. Aurora Hayes leaned against him, her eyes curving into a joyous smile. The snow fell heavier, landing on my face, icy and biting. I stumbled into a warm chest, carrying a faint scent of cedar. Chase Miller held a black umbrella, leaning down to brush the snowflakes from my hair. He frowned slightly, complaining with a touch of resentment. “You just left me without a word and ran off. And now you’re standing here alone in the snow. If you catch a cold, what will you do?” He rambled on, taking a hand warmer and tucking it into my palm, then unwound his scarf and wrapped it around my neck. I gazed at his constantly moving lips, and the frozen stiffness in my chest surprisingly began to thaw with a hint of warmth. Actually, Chase and I met entirely because of Liam. That year, Liam had already become Aurora Hayes’s personal bodyguard, and I constantly saw new bruises and scars on him. There was even one time I saw him shielding Aurora from drinks, being cursed at by a Hayes family relative, yet he could only lower his head and remain silent. I watched Liam trapped in the Hayes family’s gilded cage, doing dangerous, life-risking work, and my heart ached as if pricked by needles. Unable to bear his suffering, I scoured job listings and, relying on my mathematical talent, knocked on the doors of the Miller Group. The person who interviewed me was Chase Miller. He was the young heir of the Miller family, but without a trace of the typical arrogance. Looking at the proposal I handed him, his eyes lit up, and he slapped the table, saying, “Your mind, it’s a waste not to be in actuarial science.” Just like that, I became the Miller Group’s youngest actuary. Relying on those dense numbers and formulas, I saved a substantial amount of money. I had planned to tell Liam this surprise on my eighteenth birthday, when we would be watching the snow in Switzerland together. I would tell him that he no longer had to risk his life for the Hayes family, no longer had to be covered in scars—I could support both of us now. But what I got instead was him, with someone else, watching a snowfall I had dreamed of for years. “What are you staring at?” Chase’s voice pulled me back to reality. He reached out and squeezed my cheek. “Your face is all frozen white. Come on, I’ll take you for some hot noodle soup.” The umbrella tilted, shielding me from the swirling snow. The noodle soup was steaming, and Chase added a spoonful of chili oil to my bowl. “Oh, right, about studying abroad… have you thought about it? If you agree, you can’t back out.” My hand, holding the chopsticks, paused. It was then I remembered that study abroad application was still at the Hayes residence. After witnessing that scene just now, I hadn’t even thought to retrieve it. After a moment of hesitation, I pulled out my phone and dialed Liam’s number. “I left some documents at the Hayes residence. When is a good time for me to come and get them?” The moment I finished speaking, Chase suddenly leaned in close. His voice was low, but just loud enough for the person on the other end to hear: “Sister, eat more, otherwise you won’t have any energy tonight.” With that, he picked up a spare rib and placed it in my bowl. The breathing on the other end of the phone clearly hitched. After a few seconds of silence, Liam’s voice cooled. “Send me the address. I’ll bring them over.” I was taken aback, then quickly refused. “No need. The snow is falling so heavily outside, I…” He cut me off, repeating, “Send me the address.” I sighed helplessly and sent him my location. When Liam arrived, I was chastising Chase for his earlier behavior. “Wendy.” Liam stood outside the glass door, the hem of his black coat lifted by the wind. His gaze fell directly on my shoulder, pressed against Chase’s, and his face darkened. Chase, following my gaze, turned around, a smirk playing on his lips, an ambiguous smile. Liam didn’t look at Chase. He pushed the door open and walked straight to me, grabbing my wrist. “Come outside with me.” I stumbled, following his pace. He didn’t release my hand until we reached the street corner outside the restaurant. He handed me the sealed documents. I took them. He stared at me, complex emotions swirling in his eyes. “Is Chase Miller pursuing you?” The air instantly thickened. I fell silent. Liam’s frown deepened. “Stay away from him. A rich playboy like Chase Miller never lacks women throwing themselves at him. He’s just playing with you; how could he be serious?” His voice was urgent. “Wendy, just wait a little longer for me. I can’t get out of the Hayes family’s grasp that quickly.” “How long is ‘a little longer’?” My long-suppressed emotions finally erupted. “Is it one year? Two years? Or a lifetime? Liam, are you truly unable to leave, or are you just unwilling to leave?” I looked into his eyes, asking each word distinctly. “Just give me a straight answer. If you don’t love me anymore, then let’s part amicably and stop wasting each other’s time.” Liam’s face instantly turned grim. He clenched his fists. “I haven’t stopped loving you, don’t overthink it! I just need time.” Just then, Liam’s phone in his pocket suddenly rang. The screen displayed the name “Aurora.” His expression subtly changed. He glanced at me. “I need to take this call. I’ll talk to you later.” Without waiting for my response, he quickly walked to the side and answered. “Hello, Aurora… stomach ache acting up? I’ll be right there, don’t move.” He didn’t even look at me again, turning and rushing away. I stood rooted, looking at the documents in my hand, a cold smirk on my lips. If only Liam had paid a little more attention to me, he would have realized these were study abroad application forms.

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1 Three years after I buried the man who died saving my life in an earthquake, I watched him get married again. There he was, under the brilliant spotlights, his hand outstretched to welcome his bride. But Tristan froze, his face draining of all color as his eyes locked on mine. The same friends and family who had held me through my darkest nights of grief were now rushing to push me out, their voices a frantic whisper. “Anna, please. It’s a happy day. Don’t make a scene.” I sidestepped their grasping hands, my own voice so calm it felt alien. “So, all of this… all these years… my attempts to jump off buildings, the scars on my wrists… was all of that just some pathetic joke to you?” The music was the only thing that dared to move in the cavernous hall. Every single person avoided my gaze. Rosalind, the bride, stumbled forward and dropped to her knees before me, her eyes shimmering with tears. “Anna, I’m so sorry. But I truly love Tristan. I can’t live without him. Please, I’m begging you, let us be happy.” They formed a circle around me, a human cage meant to contain the hysteria they expected. But I just smiled, a quiet, hollow thing. It turns out the man who swore he’d love me for a lifetime really did die in that earthquake. 2 I helped Rosalind to her feet. “Rosalind, tell me. When did you know Tristan was alive? And when did you two get together?” A flicker of triumph, quick and sharp as a cat stealing cream, flashed in her eyes before it was drowned by a fresh wave of tears. She wept beautifully, her hand clamping around my wrist, nails digging into my skin. “Anna, I’m sorry… It’s all my fault, every last bit of it! But I… I just love him so much, I couldn’t control myself… That’s why I asked everyone to keep it a secret from you. We were all just so afraid you couldn’t handle the truth…” “Afraid I couldn’t handle it…” I murmured the words back to myself. Then, in one fluid motion, I snatched an empty wine bottle from a nearby table and smashed it against the corner. The sound was a sharp crack, and glass sprayed across the floor, catching the light like cruel, glittering stars. I gripped the jagged neck of the bottle, its menacing points aimed directly at Rosalind’s perfectly made-up face. “Ah!” she shrieked, a short, sharp sound of terror, her face turning a ghastly white. “Anna! What are you doing?” “Put that down! Don’t do something stupid!” The same friends who had just been telling me not to “make a scene” were now in a panic, trying to inch closer. “Don’t move!” I snarled, my wrist as steady as stone. The sharp edge of the glass moved an inch closer to Rosalind, almost brushing the tip of her trembling nose. “Anyone takes another step, and I can’t guarantee where this thing ends up.” They froze, paralyzed as if by a spell, their faces masks of horror. Rosalind was shaking uncontrollably, babbling. “I’ll talk, I’ll talk! It was… three days after the earthquake. We got together then.” Three days after the earthquake. So, while I was making my first attempt to die, drowning in a sea of grief and guilt, Tristan was whispering sweet nothings to another woman. It all made sense now. The hazy memory I had from the hospital, of seeing Tristan standing in the corner of my room, his face a mask of anguish and worry. When I woke up, everyone told me it was a hallucination, a side effect of the sleeping pills and blood loss. They cried as they held me, saying how heartbroken Tristan would be if he knew I was trying to hurt myself. I believed them. After that, I sank even deeper, using alcohol and pills to numb the agony, living in a private hell built from my love and guilt for him. It wasn’t a hallucination. He was probably there, not because his heart was breaking for me, but to make sure I wouldn’t die before he could run into the arms of his new lover. “Anna! Are you insane? Let Rosalind go!” A furious shout ripped me from my thoughts. A powerful force yanked me back. Pain shot through my wrist, and the broken bottle slipped from my grasp, shattering again on the floor. In the struggle, my ankle twisted with a sickening, sharp pain. My lower back slammed hard against the edge of the cake table, and a cold sweat broke out across my skin. Tristan, like a guardian angel, swept a trembling Rosalind into his arms, murmuring reassurances. “Shh, it’s okay, Rosie. You’re safe now. I’m here.” His voice held the same tender, protective tone that had once been mine alone. When he finally turned to me, his face was a complex mess of exhaustion, blame, and a deep, weary sorrow. He stared at me for a long time, the silence in the room so thick it felt solid, before his voice emerged, raw and raspy. “Anna, these past few years… I’ve failed you. I know I owe you everything, that nothing I do can ever make up for it.” He paused, searching for the right words, and then he delivered the line that turned my blood to ice. “I truly did love you. But I love Rosalind now.” I looked at the two of them, wrapped in each other’s arms, and I started to laugh. A wild, broken sound that soon dissolved into tears streaming down my face. Tristan was the boy I grew up with, my childhood sweetheart. But Rosalind… she had been my childhood friend, too. 3 In middle school, our school organized a charity drive to sponsor kids from struggling rural communities. That’s how I first saw Rosalind, in a photograph. A girl with enormous eyes, dressed in worn-out clothes, but her smile was pure sunshine. I saved almost every penny of my allowance to support her. When Tristan found out, he quietly started giving me half of his. Rosalind was deeply grateful. She’d send me packages of wild herbs and nuts she’d gathered from the mountains, her letters filled with wide-eyed dreams of city life and endless thanks. Eventually, she earned a scholarship to the university in our city. Tristan and I picked her up on her first day. I’ll never forget the way her eyes lit up, like twin flames, the moment she saw Tristan standing there, tall and handsome in a crisp white shirt. From that day on, she was a constant presence, always finding an excuse to be around us. I wasn’t stupid; I could see the way she looked at him. A teenage crush is impossible to hide. The sight of it felt like a ball of cotton stuck in my throat, suffocating me. I started to avoid situations where it would be the three of us, giving them space, giving myself a chance to breathe. Until one evening, Tristan cornered me in the alleyway behind my house. The setting sun stretched his shadow long and dark on the pavement. His eyes were red-rimmed with frustration as he stammered out his explanation. “Anna! Why are you avoiding me? There’s nothing going on with me and Rosalind, I swear! You’re the only one I’ve ever liked, since we were kids! I don’t like her! I promise!” It was the first time he’d cried in front of me since he was thirteen. He looked like an abandoned golden retriever. The tightness in my chest dissolved instantly, replaced by a wave of sweet relief. That night, Rosalind showed up at my door with a case of beer. She got completely wasted, sobbing in my arms all night. The next morning, her eyes were puffy and red, but she smiled and wished Tristan and me a lifetime of happiness. I didn’t understand the complicated storm of emotions in her eyes back then. I do now. It was a potent cocktail of resentment and unyielding envy. 4 Waves of pain from my back and ankle pulled me back to the present. I set down the bottle I was holding and looked for a chair. But every face I once knew now looked back at me with wariness and distance. They formed a protective wall around Tristan and Rosalind, treating me like a contagion. “Just let it go, Anna. It’s supposed to be a happy day.” “Yeah, what’s past is past. Making a scene won’t help anyone.” “Tristan still cares about you. Once Rosalind has the baby, they’ll get a divorce, and you two can be together again.” Their words swirled around me, a sickening blend of placating lies and the ghosts of their seemingly sincere comfort over the past three years. I lowered my gaze, refusing to look at them any longer, and silently pulled out the nearest chair to sit. I took out my phone. First, I messaged my best friend, asking her to send over the wedding dress I’d treasured for so long via a courier service. Then, I booked an Uber. With that done, I poured myself a glass of red wine from the table. “I didn’t mean to crash your wedding, and I didn’t bring a gift. But I’ve arranged for one to be delivered shortly.” I raised my glass. “Congratulations. May you have a long and happy marriage.” But before the glass could touch my lips, a large hand clamped down on my wrist. It was Tristan. He took the glass from me, his brow furrowed in that familiar, scolding way he always had when he was worried about me. It was a mix of exasperated affection I had known since childhood. “You know you can’t handle your alcohol. Don’t drink, or you’ll have a splitting headache tomorrow.” How ridiculous. He didn’t seem to care about the heart-splitting agony I’d endured believing he was dead, but he was concerned about a potential hangover. I suppressed the bile rising in my throat and met his gaze, my voice flat. “I can drink just fine now, Tristan.” Disbelief was written all over his face. He looked like he was about to argue when one of my aunts standing nearby spoke up awkwardly. “Tristan, for the past three years… Anna hasn’t been able to sleep without alcohol. I imagine her tolerance is quite high by now.” Tristan’s body went rigid. He stared at me, his eyes filled with a raw, disbelieving pain. He searched my face for any sign of a lie but found only a numb, placid emptiness. I was done with him. I glanced at my phone; the car was almost here. Gritting my teeth against the shooting pain in my ankle, I tried to stand. The moment I put weight on my foot, a lance of agony shot up my leg, and I stumbled. The next thing I knew, Tristan had swept me off my feet, holding me bridal style, and forced me back into the chair. “Don’t move!” he commanded, kneeling before me without a second thought. He gently took my swollen ankle in his hand. When he saw the angry purple bruising, his brow tightened into a knot. “How did this happen? It looks bad.” Seeing that familiar concern in his eyes, and then glancing past him to the barely concealed hatred in Rosalind’s, a wave of nausea washed over me. I yanked my foot back, repulsed by his touch. Just as I was about to speak, my phone rang. It was the courier. I told him to come inside. After hanging up, I saw a message from my best friend, Sarah, sent over ten minutes ago. [You haven’t let anyone even touch that dress for three years. Why are you having me send it to you now?] I quickly typed a reply. [I’ll explain tomorrow. Let’s meet.] My screen was immediately flooded with her question marks. As I was figuring out a short reply, the courier, conspicuous in his bright uniform, pushed through the crowd. “Delivery for an Anna?” I pointed a finger at Rosalind, who was still being sheltered by Tristan. Rosalind looked at Tristan, who gave her a slight nod. Hesitantly, she took the large garment bag. When she unzipped it, a shrill, strangled scream tore from her throat. She threw the box and its contents away from her as if it were on fire. “Ah! What is this?!” The bag fell open on the floor, revealing the wedding dress within. It was white, yes, but a long, ragged tear marred the skirt, and the fabric was stained with huge, shocking patches of dried, brownish blood. Our blood, from the earthquake.

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A business trip, one too many drinks, and I ended up in bed with my boss. I woke up in the middle of the night, sobered by sheer panic, and made a run for it. The moment I got home in the pre-dawn gloom, I scrambled to check my bank account. An hour later, my heart sinking with every passing second, I had no choice but to call my boss. “Mr. Kingsley? I was just calling to see if you were satisfied with the VVIP service I arranged for you last night.” Silence. Then, his signature deep voice, raspy with sleep and a faint London accent, crackled through the phone. “I was drunk, Abby, not erased. Now get your ass back here and pick me up.” Me: Picking you up is not an option. But I can arrange for you to be… disposed of. 1 The company had just transferred a new boss from our London office. Marcus Kingsley. Young, rich, and so handsome it was almost unfair. He made all the other so-called “elites” in the office, who had seemed perfectly presentable before, look like absolute trolls. In the two months he’d been with us, Marcus had proven himself to be low-key in person but extravagant in his methods. He’d silently bulldozed through a year’s worth of backlogged problems, solving them all without breaking a sweat. At the quarterly review, our department didn’t just become number one; we also walked away with the largest team bonus. The old-timers who used to mutter about “overseas transfers being all style, no substance” suddenly shut their mouths. They were now the first to offer a friendly word or try to claim some distant connection. And once everyone knew Marcus was single, the women in the office went on the offensive. Take Jessica, for instance, widely considered the office bombshell. Her skirts got shorter, and whenever she went to Marcus’s office, she practically tried to sign documents from his lap. But Marcus deflected every advance with infuriating, effortless grace. After six months, the female troops had all retreated, defeated and demoralized. One day, they were all gathered in the breakroom, comparing notes and discovering that none of them had succeeded. There was a certain camaraderie in their shared failure. After a round of jokes, someone’s gaze landed on me. “If I remember correctly, Abby’s the only one who hasn’t thrown herself at Mr. Kingsley. What’s the matter? Not your type?” Marcus Kingsley had a face that could start a war. He was lean in a suit, but you just knew he was hiding a body that was pure muscle. Who wouldn’t be tempted? Besides, with everyone else so obviously trying, saying I wasn’t interested would just make me sound arrogant. That’s a major workplace sin. So, I quickly defended myself. “No way! I threw myself at him long before you all did. He just wasn’t catching.” “When?” The entire room was suddenly buzzing with gossip. I pretended to think hard. “The day he started. My heel got stuck in the elevator gap, and I stumbled right into his arms. Total coincidence.” It was a true story. He had steadied me by the waist, a small smile playing on his lips as he’d murmured, “Careful.” “Pfft, that was an accident,” they all laughed. I laughed along with them, deciding to come clean. “Look, a handsome face is nice, but I’m a woman who loves her money. I’m on a mission to save two million dollars so I can quit the rat race and retire to my quiet hometown. Men are nowhere near as important as cash.” As soon as the words left my mouth, the glass door to the breakroom slid open. Marcus Kingsley stood there, phone in hand. I had no idea how long he’d been listening. “Abby,” he said, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Pack your bags. We’re going on a business trip. Here’s your chance to make some money.” Me: … Everyone else scattered like startled birds. 2 It was my first business trip with Marcus in the six months he’d been here. The driver, Ben, was already waiting downstairs. He saw me get out of my cab and even helped with my luggage. As we were chatting, Marcus came down, a laptop bag in one hand, deep in a phone call. He handed the bag to me, his eyes gesturing for me to get in the car first. I settled into my seat, and he continued his call for another couple of minutes. Through the window, I unabashedly sized him up. He really was gorgeous. A perfect six-foot-two frame, a meticulously styled haircut, a strong nose, and sharp, intelligent eyes. When he wasn’t smiling, he had an untouchable air, but when he did, he was like a dangerously charming fox. No wonder women were falling all over him. I’d heard rumors that models and actresses were pursuing him. Who would be the lucky one to finally snag him? Marcus hung up and pulled open the car door. Our eyes met. He gave me a quick, assessing glance, then another. I immediately straightened up, staring straight ahead, trying to suppress the frantic beating of my heart and project an aura of pure professionalism. Then I heard him speak. “Move over.” Three seconds later, I practically launched myself to the other side of the car as if the seat were on fire. “Oh! Right, of course.” Marcus got in and closed the door. As the car pulled away, I turned to stare out my window, my mind racing. Damn it, that was so embarrassing! 3 On the road, Marcus took two more calls before turning his attention to me. “You’re from Aspen Creek, aren’t you, Miss Clark?” “Yes, I am.” He smiled, his long fingers tapping a rhythm on his thigh. They looked strong. “Aspen Creek is beautiful. A real gem.” “You’ve been?” “My family used to spend summers there sometimes, to escape the heat.” I instantly pictured the ridiculously expensive summer villas in the new district of my hometown. A wave of resentment toward the wealthy washed over me. Strangely, that feeling steadied my nerves. “It is,” I said, my voice gaining confidence. “It’s a famous summer destination. They’ve built a lot of new tourist spots in recent years. It’s a great place to relax…” Once I started talking about my hometown, I couldn’t stop. It was, after all, the reason I was so obsessed with saving enough money to quit. “I’ll have to visit again sometime,” Marcus said, smoothly ending my monologue and transitioning to work. The task for this trip wasn’t complicated, but the client was notoriously difficult. Everyone who had tried to deal with him before had failed, which was why Marcus had to handle it personally. My own skills were in meticulous attention to detail, not in blazing new trails, which I guessed was why he’d brought me along. When we met the client, he was just as difficult as advertised. A slippery old snake. You’d talk about work, he’d talk about gourmet food, the stock market, investment opportunities. You’d bring up contract terms, he’d lecture you on the art of relationships, quoting ancient philosophers. It was enough to make even someone with my patience want to start throwing things. Marcus, however, remained calm, intercepting a glass of wine meant for me. “Mr. Peterson, why don’t we continue this tomorrow? I hear there’s another club with fantastic grilled fish.” “Excellent! It’s a date, then.” After we sent the drunken Mr. Peterson on his way, I stood fuming in the parking lot. “Mr. Kingsley, do you think he’s ever going to sign?” For a fleeting moment, a harsh, predatory light glinted in Marcus’s eyes, vanishing so quickly I thought I’d imagined it. “Oh, he’ll sign,” he said with a soft, dangerous laugh. “Or I’ll kill him.” 4 A shiver went down my spine. I felt like I had just glimpsed a very dark, very real side of him. So much for the refined gentleman. Marcus told me to get in the car. We’d both had a bit too much to drink, and the drive back was long. Before I knew it, I had drifted off. When I woke up, the first thing I saw was Marcus with his arms half-wrapped around me, his eyes closed, his head nodding with sleep. The slightest movement from me caused his hand to tighten on my shoulder, as if to keep me from sliding off the seat. I froze, not daring to move an inch. We finally pulled up to the hotel. Before Marcus could even open his eyes, I scrambled out of his grasp like a whirlwind, tossing a single sentence behind me as I bolted. “I think I’m gonna be sick! Going back to my room!” I didn’t dare look back to see his expression. Back in my room, soaking in the bathtub, my head started to clear. I splashed my hot face with water, trying to calm myself down. It’s just a hug, what’s the big deal? It’s common courtesy. He’s a gentleman. He wasn’t going to let his female colleague fall onto the floor of the car, right? He couldn’t possibly be interested in me. I was just overthinking it. With that thought, I relaxed. But just as I finished my bath, there was a knock at the door. “Who is it?” I called out. After a short pause, Marcus’s low voice came from the other side. “It’s me. Open the door…” … “Mr. Kingsley? Is something wrong? I was just about to go to sleep.” I could almost hear him gritting his teeth. “Just open the door.” I had no choice. I cinched my robe tight and went to the door, cracking it open just a sliver. I peered out at him through the gap. “What can I do for you, Mr. Kingsley?” He was still wearing the same clothes from dinner, though he’d ditched the jacket. The sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up, revealing toned forearms that radiated raw power. He looked annoyed. He took a step back, planting his hands on his hips. “Come out here.” I shook my head. “To prevent myself from doing anything inappropriate to you, I think it’s best I stay in here.” Marcus looked up at the ceiling as if praying for patience, then tried to reason with the drunkard. “I’d like to see what kind of ‘inappropriate things’ you have in mind. Get out here.” I was resolute. “For the sake of my two-million-dollar retirement fund, I cannot risk offending my boss.” That was the last straw. With a huff of exasperation, he threw a small white box onto the floor in front of the door and stalked off. As he left, he shot one last threat over his shoulder. “You’d better remember that two million dollars for the rest of your life!” !!! 5 After he left, I picked up the white box. Hangover pills. He was actually kind of thoughtful. The next morning, looking at the opened box of pills on my nightstand, I cringed at the memory of my drunken antics. I wanted the floor to swallow me whole. I went downstairs and knocked on Marcus’s door to ask about the day’s plan. He opened it just a crack before turning and walking back into the room. His voice, cool and echoing slightly, floated out to me. “Miss Clark, if you can’t control yourself, you can deliver your reports from the hallway from now on.” I sighed in frustration. He was never going to let this go. I pushed the door open a little wider, slipped inside, and closed it behind me. “Mr. Kingsley, I brought you some breakfast…” I trailed off, my eyes widening at the scene before me. The six-foot-two man was standing by the fridge, drinking water, with nothing but a towel wrapped low around his hips. As he tilted his head back, a single drop of water traced a path down his long neck, over his sharp Adam’s apple, across a chiseled pec, and down his hard abs, finally disappearing beneath the edge of the towel. And the man was completely oblivious to how ridiculously tempting he looked. He finished drinking and turned to look at me, a smirk on his face. He let out a soft “Hah,” as if mocking me for being all talk and no action. “So, figured out how you’re going to have your wicked way with me yet?” he teased. My face flushed a deep crimson. I quickly looked away. “Mr. Kingsley, I was really drunk last night. Please, just make fun of me and get it over with.” He chuckled again, then turned and went into the bedroom to change without another word. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. I really couldn’t handle him like this. We didn’t go out that morning. Marcus had me and another assistant review all our preliminary work from the beginning, looking for any oversights. If the problem wasn’t on our end, then our client had ulterior motives. Marcus supervised personally, double-checking every clause, especially the penalty fees and financial figures. He had changed into a pair of light grey casual pants and a matching knit sweater. The v-neck dipped just low enough to offer a tantalizing glimpse of his impressive physique. Yet his demeanor was once again cool and refined, as if the man who had been teasing me in a towel was a different person entirely. When Marcus worked, he was meticulous. He could spot a misplaced comma from a mile away. His level of professionalism was undeniable. The problem was, he was also young, and handsome, and… sexy, and… “Daydreaming?” Lost in thought, I snapped back to reality. I’d been staring at his face for three solid minutes. I quickly recomposed myself, chanting my mantra: This is the time for making money, not for lusting after men. “You have a great eye for detail, Mr. Kingsley,” I said, offering a clumsy compliment. He leaned back in his chair, stretching. “Draft a new contract with these revisions and send it to Mr. Peterson. If he still won’t sign, we’ll put it on hold.” On hold? I thought he was in a hurry. I couldn’t keep up with his thought process. We sent the revised contract. It was met with radio silence. As expected, Mr. Peterson was still not satisfied. Just as he’d said, Marcus put the deal on hold. No more dinner invitations for Mr. Peterson. The next day, Marcus announced he was taking me to a private cocktail party. I was confused, but at the party, I saw him: Mr. Peterson’s boss. After a bit of schmoozing from Marcus, the big boss was practically beaming at us, expressing his enthusiasm for our company. My eyes lit up. Was Marcus planning to cut out the middleman entirely? Ha! When that bald old snake Peterson found out, he was going to lose his mind. I gave Marcus a mental thumbs-up. The man was a genius. Our efforts paid off. Not only did we land a massive deal, but we also bypassed the middleman, opening up a whole new, more direct business channel. On the night we celebrated our success, Marcus took a lot of drinks for me. As a result, both of us ended up completely hammered. On the way back, Marcus was walking straight, seemingly steady. But the moment we got in the car, he started trying to wrestle the keys from our driver, Ben. “Ben, you’ve worked hard. Go on, take the night off. I’ll drive.” Ben looked like he was about to have a heart attack. “Mr. Kingsley, you’ve been drinking! You can’t drive!” Marcus turned to me. “Did I drink?” I answered with perfect seriousness. “Nope. You drank amnesia water. Ah, give me a cup of amnesia water…” Ben looked like his head was about to explode. When we got back to the hotel, I heard Marcus waving Ben off in the lobby. “Thanks for everything. Go home.” “Are you sure you don’t need me to help you up, sir?” Ben asked, his voice laced with worry. Marcus shook his head. “I’m fine. I know the way.” And then, he steadily followed me into my room and collapsed onto my bed. I was drunk too, but at least I wasn’t causing a scene. I stared at him, exasperated. “This is my room.” He looked at me with grave seriousness. “I paid for it.” I was speechless. I was starting to suspect he was faking it. Annoyed, I tried to pull him up. “Get up. This is my bed.” He looked at me lazily, not budging. “Could be mine.” I snapped. “If you don’t get up, I’ll do something inappropriate to you.” Even drunk, his tone was laced with that same mocking challenge. “Hah,” he scoffed, then added in a slow, infuriating drawl, “Go ahead. I dare you.” Me: Deep breaths, Abby. Deep breaths. Hadn’t anyone ever told him not to use reverse psychology on a drunk person? Looking at this infuriatingly handsome mix of innocent college boy and refined gentleman, I lost all control and pounced. Whatever. He asked for it. The moment I lunged, he caught me, and in one smooth motion, flipped us over, pinning me beneath him. My last conscious thought before passing out was a big question mark. Didn’t that move seem a little too smooth, a little too… premeditated? Like a fisherman who had finally hooked his catch?

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“1 I was born sun-allergic—even a short exposure burned my skin. Overwhelmed, my father left. My mother divorced him at once, threw herself into work to pay for my treatments and became a powerful businesswoman, traveling the world with me to find a cure. At five, a psychic said a second child could be my spiritual shield. The next day, she brought home an orphan girl named Pearl. “Your job is to protect your sister,” Mom told her. Pearl smiled sweetly: “I’ll keep Mary safe for life.” Charming and Mom’s favorite, she was put in full charge of me. But Pearl hated me—she shone flashlights at me in the dark and lied to Mom about my misdeeds, acting perfect when Mom was home. I cried to tell the truth, only to be scolded: “Your sister is lovely, Mary. Be grateful.” Mom’s eyes grew colder, so I stopped speaking up, even hiding my blistered, bleeding wounds. On my eighth birthday, Pearl tricked me into staying in the sun all day. I knew I was dying. That night, two strange men came to my bed. “Before I die,” I whispered, “could I feel Mom’s love one last time?” The man in white sighed: “Swap souls with your sister for a day.” The man in black objected: “That’s against the rules.” Amid their argument, something went wrong—Mom’s soul entered my body instead of Pearl’s. … The white-suited man’s face, once pale, flushed a deep red. His impossibly long tongue shot out and wrapped around his partner’s neck. “Look what you’ve done! Now there are two souls in one body!” The man in black casually unwound the tongue with one hand and placed the other on my head. He smiled. “Technically, it’s one and a half.” “Half of her soul remains in her own body, and the other half will stay with you for a day. Are you willing, little one?” Feeling my mother inside me… it was the warmest I had ever felt. I smiled at them and nodded vigorously. Before they vanished, they spoke in unison. “We will return for you tomorrow.” 2 After they left, I tiptoed into my mother’s bedroom. The men had said she wouldn’t wake for another day. I tucked the blankets around her, making sure she wouldn’t get cold. She looked so peaceful. Content, I returned to my own bed, waiting for my mother’s half-soul to wake up and talk to me. But it wasn’t Mom I was met with. It was Pearl. She entered my room carrying a brand-new lamp. I dreaded those lamps. This one had a symbol on it: UVC MAX. I didn’t know what the letters meant, but I knew that light made my skin burn with a pain that was beyond words. This was the 99th lamp Pearl had brought home. She was always finding new ways to make me cry, to make me suffer. Instinctively, I pulled on my sun-protective hoodie and mask. Pearl ripped the hoodie off me, her voice sharp with anger. “What are you hiding for, Mary? You made a mistake. Don’t you know how to atone for your sins?” I stared at the lamp in her hand, trembling. I dropped to my knees, begging. “Pearl, I didn’t do anything today! I came straight home and went to my room. I didn’t even eat dinner.” She didn’t believe me. She ground her foot onto my hand, pressing down, her weight a crushing force. “You little liar! Fraud! Mom barely has time to come home, and you used it to tattle on me again, didn’t you?!” I tore my hand free from under her shoe, the sudden movement sending me sprawling backward onto the floor. I was terrified of her. I could only curl into a ball, protecting my head. “I didn’t, Pearl,” I whimpered. Her teeth were clenched. “You didn’t? Then why didn’t Mom hug me when she got home today?” I shook my head frantically. “She must have been tired from work. Pearl, I’m really not lying.” Her eyes were bloodshot in the moonlight, her mouth opening and closing like the witch from a fairy tale. “You spent the whole day in the sun. Why aren’t you dead yet?!” Without another word, she flicked the switch on the lamp. She aimed the harsh beam directly at my exposed face and arms. Agonizing pain spread like fire across my skin. The sores, already raw, began to bleed again. “Aah! Pearl, it hurts! Please, I’m begging you, please stop!” Perhaps it was the searing pain that did it, but at that moment, my mother’s soul woke up inside me. She was stunned, a silent observer to the horror. Pearl’s face was a twisted, ferocious mask in the pale light. It took Mom a moment to process it. Pearl, what are you doing?! Where did you get a lamp like that? You know your sister can’t be exposed to this light! But the girl before us didn’t flinch. She moved the lamp even closer. Mom panicked, using my small hands to push it away. Put it down! It’s me, Mom, do you hear me? Pearl looked at me as if I were insane. “Mary, you’ve really lost your mind!” Mom began to fight her, using my own small body. But even though we were the same age, my frail, weakened frame was no match for Pearl’s healthy one. After a brief struggle, Pearl shoved me hard to the ground. She loomed over me, her voice a low growl. “You’ve really gone too far this time, Mary!” The next second, she cranked the lamp to its highest setting. The intense light hit my arm, and the weeping, open sores were instantly scorched black. Blood and pus seeped through the fabric of my sleeve, spreading into a dark, crimson stain. “Aah! It hurts… It hurts so much!” I heard the screams, thin and desperate. That wasn’t my voice. It was my mother’s. For years, the burning, blistering pain had been a constant companion. I was numb to it. But my mother was not. This was the first time she had ever felt it. The agony made her groan inside my body, her every breath a shudder. A tight, sharp pain bloomed in my own chest, choking me, leaving me unable to speak. It was my fault. I was the one making my mother hurt like this. I glared at Pearl, my hand fumbling for something on the nightstand. With all the strength I had left, I threw it at the lamp. It shattered, sending shards of glass flying. One of them sliced Pearl’s cheek. She clutched her face, glanced nervously toward Mom’s room, and then turned back to me, her eyes filled with hatred. “Just you wait, Mary. I’ll deal with you tomorrow!” I looked down at what I had thrown. It was my favorite photograph. My heart ached as I picked it up. It was from before Pearl came, a picture of Mom holding me at Disneyland. We were both smiling so brightly then. I gently wiped a smudge off my mother’s face in the photo. After a long silence, she finally spoke inside my head. Mary, how am I in your body? And… has Pearl always been like this? I bit my lip, saying nothing. I was afraid that if I said the wrong thing, she would get angry with me again, just like before. When I didn’t answer, she asked again. Why didn’t you tell me? Then, she answered her own question. It’s my fault. You did tell me. It was me… it was me who didn’t believe you. Yes. I had told her three years ago. The first time was right after Pearl arrived. She “”fell”” down the stairs and blamed me. “Mary doesn’t like me,” she’d sobbed. “She thinks I’m stealing her mommy.” Back then, Mom had held Pearl in her arms and given me a look I had never seen before. The second time was shortly after we started elementary school. She hid my protective face mask during lunch. It was the summer solstice, and the sun was brutal. I was sick all over by the time I got home. “Pearl hid my mask,” I told Mom. But Mom found the mask in my bedroom. “Mary, you forgot it yourself. Why would you blame your sister?” She punished me by sending me to bed without dinner. When Pearl brought a tray of food to my room, my mouth watered. But just as I reached for it, she knocked it to the floor. Then she ran to Mom, crying, “Mary said she’d rather starve than see my face! Maybe I should just go back to the orphanage.” Mom stopped her, then turned to me, her voice furious. “Mary, if you bully your sister one more time, I’m sending you to the orphanage!” Pearl leaned against my mother’s shoulder, her body shaking with fake sobs, a triumphant smirk hidden on her face. That was when I understood. No matter what I said, my mother would never believe me again. I didn’t want to go to the orphanage. I wanted to stay with my mom forever. So there was a third time, and a fourth, and countless more after that. No matter how Pearl hurt me, no matter how much pain I was in, I never told my mother again. And now, I only had one day left to live. “It’s not your fault, Mommy,” I told her. “It’s my fault for being sick.” “Don’t be scared, Mommy. After tomorrow, you’ll be okay again. Just stay with me for one day, okay?” Her voice in my head was choked with tears. Mary, for these past three years, I was wrong… I’m so sorry. It was my fault. I promise, from now on, I will be with you for the rest of our lives. I desperately wanted to hug her, to tell her it was okay. But I couldn’t. And we didn’t have a lifetime. Still, to feel her this close to me… it filled me with a peace and happiness I couldn’t describe. That night felt like when I was very little. My mother and I talked for a long, long time. So long that I started to believe tomorrow would never come. 3 I woke early the next morning. Out of habit, I went to the kitchen trash can, picked out yesterday’s leftovers, and began stuffing them into my mouth. Mom’s voice was shocked. Mary, why are you eating out of the garbage? My mouth was full. “I didn’t eat at all yesterday,” I mumbled. “I’m so hungry I could faint.” “It’s okay, Mommy.” I peeled a hard-boiled egg I’d found. “See? This one is still clean.” This was my last day with her. I needed my strength. Where is your breakfast? she asked. Doesn’t anyone make you breakfast? I lowered my head, not answering. From the dining table, I could hear laughter. It was our housekeeper, Mrs. Gable, scrolling through videos on her phone. Mom’s anger flared. Where is Mary’s breakfast? Mrs. Gable stared at me, a puzzled look on her face as if she’d never seen me before. “Pearl is the young lady of this house. Who do you think you are, shouting orders?” Mom was incredulous. Even the help treated me this way. She was about to lash out again, but I grabbed my backpack and fled the house. I knew that if I talked back to Mrs. Gable, she would punish me too. Once, when Mom was away, I had simply said, “Ma’am, I’m hungry.” She and Pearl locked me in my room for three days without food. When they finally let me out, they told me to eat with Sunny. Sunny was our guard dog. I was so hungry back then that even the dog food tasted good. So, for me, leftovers from the trash were a feast. Outside, Pearl was already in the car. As I put one foot inside, the door slammed shut. BANG. My fingers were caught in the jamb. The pain was so sharp it brought tears to my eyes. “Do you really think you deserve to ride in a car, Mary?” Pearl sneered. She turned to our driver. “Let’s go!” The car sped away, leaving me in a cloud of dust. I stood there, clutching my throbbing fingers. “Mommy,” I whispered. “I have to walk to school today. I’m going to be late. Are… are you mad at me?” Her voice was tight. So this is why you were always late? I nodded slightly. Halfway there, it started to rain. Luckily, I had an umbrella. But when I opened it, it was riddled with holes, big and small. This was the umbrella Mom had bought me at Disneyland when I was five. I loved it. But now it was ruined. Inside, scrawled in big red letters, were five words: MARY IS A PIG! I knew it was Pearl’s doing. Mom’s voice was a low growl. When I get back in my own body tomorrow, I’m going to make that girl pay! “It’s okay, Mommy,” I said, trying to soothe her. “Let’s just go to school.” I folded the broken umbrella and put it in my bag, walking on through the downpour. The rain got heavier, soaking my clothes through. The cold water seeped onto my skin, and a thousand tiny needles of pain pricked at me. Mom must have been hurting even more. Suddenly, I felt so stupid. I couldn’t even protect an umbrella. I was making my mother suffer with me. I was so sorry. The rain fell harder. My eyes felt wet, but I hadn’t cried in a very, very long time. It was my mother. She was crying. She didn’t speak for the rest of the walk. But I could feel her sadness, heavy and silent inside me. “

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My mom’s advice was simple: “Date the hot ones, marry the reliable ones.” So, at 24, I started dating Declan Ford. Declan was a notorious player. His motto: “Of all of them, you’re the one I love.” And me? I was a master of the game myself. My motto: “The only thing keeping me up at night is the thought of you.” Everyone who knew us thought we were a perfect, chaotic match. But a month ago, my mom was diagnosed with early-stage lung cancer. At the hospital, surrounded by so much loss and loneliness, I was suddenly struck by the desire to build a real home. I decided it was time to break up with Declan. 1 Declan rarely answered his phone, but finding him was never hard. He had a private booth at a downtown lounge, and out of 365 days a year, you could find him there on 360 of them. He was tall and devastatingly handsome; I could spot him in any crowd. Tonight, he’d just lost a drinking game and was sharing a drink, arm-in-arm, with some girl at the next table. When the girl saw me, she put on a sweet, innocent voice. “Oh, hi. We’re just playing a game. You don’t mind, do you?” “Of course not,” I purred, matching her tone. “You’re adorable. Why don’t you just move in with us?” My enthusiastic invitation earned me a dirty look. I turned to Declan, my voice trembling with faux hurt. “Declan, I think she hates me. Maybe I should just go.” I sighed dramatically. “But it’s raining, and I don’t have an umbrella. Maybe… maybe this young man could give me a ride?” I pointed to a college kid sitting nearby—sharp features, clear skin, and a tank top that showed off a pair of very solid biceps. Declan’s gaze shifted to the kid, scanning him from head to toe. The poor guy paled and started waving his hands frantically. “Whoa, no way. Don’t mess with me. Everyone knows Declan loves you more than anything.” Hearing that seemed to soothe Declan’s mood. He downed his drink, pushed the girl away, and wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me close. “I’m heading out, guys,” he announced to his friends. “My girl’s getting jealous. Gotta take her home and calm her down. Drinks are on me tonight.” “Long live Declan and Isla!” someone shouted. Amid the cheers, Declan led me out. In the car, he kept glancing over at me. “Are you really mad? You know it’s all just for fun. Of all of them, Isla, you’re the one I love.” He said that line at least once a month. I was getting tired of it. If I weren’t so obsessed with his looks, we would have been over long ago. He turned those eyes on me—the kind of eyes that could look at a dog with soulful devotion—and leaned in close, his voice a low murmur in my ear. “Baby, what perfume are you wearing today? It smells incredible. Baby, I want…” “I want to break up,” I said, cutting through his spell. He blinked, a slow smile still playing on his lips as he raised an eyebrow. “Alright, baby. What role are you playing this time?” We had a habit of role-playing. When I didn’t answer, he continued, his tone playful. “CEO and his naughty secretary?” “Passenger and the flight attendant?” “Patient and the nurse?” “…” “Declan, I’m serious.” My face was deadpan. His smile finally faded. He toyed with his lighter in one hand, the other draped casually over the back of the seat. He was the very picture of a rich, careless playboy. “Fine, Isla,” he said. “Give me one good reason.” “You have too many women.” “Has anyone showed up at your door? Did you catch me in the act? Isla, I need hard evidence.” Thinking back over the last three years, I realized I didn’t have any. “I want to get married.” It was a well-known fact that players feared the chains of marriage. I expected this to be my trump card. Instead, he looked completely unfazed. “Pick a date. I’ll meet you at the courthouse.” To him, marriage was just a piece of paper. The whole ‘in sickness and in health’ thing was a joke. I had to press on. “My mom wants me to find someone reliable.” He tossed the lighter aside, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “Then I’ll just have to ask your mother what part of me isn’t reliable.” My mom was just out of the hospital. I didn’t want him bothering her. “No, no, don’t! I was just kidding.” He pulled me back into his arms, planting a satisfied kiss on my lips. “I knew it. I knew my baby was just playing with me.” 2 Later that night, his phone buzzed on the nightstand. I glanced at the screen. Serena. His old flame. The one that got away. His friends had told me that I only got my chance with him because Serena had moved abroad. “Declan, your phone.” He came out of the bathroom with a towel knotted around his waist, droplets of water still clinging to his skin, tracing a path from his neck down his chest… It wasn’t just his face. His body was incredible. It was the reason I’d been stuck on him for three years. I swallowed hard, burrowed under the covers, and pricked up my ears to listen. “Hello?” “Tonight?” “Okay. I’ll come get you.” He hung up and leaned over to kiss my cheek. “Baby, something came up. Be good and stay here, okay?” A man getting a call from his old flame at one in the morning and then leaving? There was no way I wasn’t going to catch him in the act. The moment his car left the garage, I was right behind him. I waited for a full hour outside the apartment before knocking on the door. A girl in a white slip dress answered, a single braid falling over her shoulder. She looked pure and innocent. In contrast, I felt like a villain, shoving my phone in her face, camera rolling. “Isla, are you that desperate to catch me cheating?” Declan emerged from the bathroom, still wearing the same clothes he’d left in, not a single crease out of place. I frowned. This wasn’t right. Declan’s usual “sessions” lasted at least two hours. Seeing my phone, his expression darkened. “Isla, delete the video.” He reached for my phone. I clutched it to my chest and shook my head. “You’re the one who said you needed hard evidence.” “And this is your evidence?” “It’s the middle of the night. You can’t possibly be using her bathroom.” At my accusation, Serena burst into tears. Seriously? I was the official girlfriend. If anyone should be crying, it was me. Serena clutched Declan’s sleeve, her voice a small whisper. “Declan, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to cause you trouble.” I almost laughed. Honey, I was playing this game when you were still in diapers. I grabbed Declan’s other sleeve, my own voice dripping with hurt. “Declan, you can hit me, you can yell at me, but I just need to know. Between her and me, who do you love the most?” He pulled his arm free from Serena’s grasp and wrapped it around me, his hand tight on my waist as he whispered in my ear. “Baby, stop it. Delete the video. Be good.” For a second, I thought I had won. But no, he just wanted the video gone. I forced a few tears from my eyes. “So you choose her. Is that it, Declan?” I could see his patience wearing thin. “Just go home. I’m busy.” I pressed my advantage. “I’m sorry. I’m too clingy. Don’t worry, it won’t happen again.” His grip on my wrist tightened. Serena stepped in. “Declan, maybe you should go. I’ll be fine on my own.” At her words, he turned to me, his voice low and sharp with warning. “Isla, we can play games, but you’ve gone too far tonight.” So much for being a master. A single word from his old flame, and I was nothing. I shook his hand off and deleted the video right in front of him. Then I walked out without a word. That night, I moved back to my own apartment. But there was a heavy feeling in my chest. Maybe after hearing him say “I love you” a hundred times, the magic had started to feel real. But now it was clear. He loved Serena. At least, he loved her more than he loved me. 3 My mom was thrilled that I’d broken up with Declan. After her surgery, all she wanted was to see me settled down. She dragged me to a matchmaking service the very next day. “Miss Pierce, we have the $1,888 package, the $3,888 package, and…” “Give my daughter the most expensive one,” my mom declared. “Mom, you still have chemotherapy. We need that money.” “At my age, life and death are out of my hands. Your happiness is what’s important. We’ll take the best package you have.” The matchmaker’s face lit up. After taking our payment, she handed me a stack of files. “Miss Pierce, these are our most premium clients.” The photos were… uninspired. All I could see in my mind was Declan’s infuriatingly handsome face. “Miss Pierce, your phone is ringing,” the matchmaker said. The screen lit up with his name: Declan. “Hello?” “Isla, what the hell! I thought you deleted it!” Hearing the fury in his voice was surprisingly satisfying. I had deleted the video. But then, out of spite, I’d recovered it from my recently deleted folder and sold it to a tabloid for two thousand dollars. Now it was the headline on every gossip site. #Ford Heir’s Late-Night Rendezvous# #Scott Family’s Illegitimate Daughter Makes Her Move# So Serena was illegitimate. No wonder Declan had been so desperate to get rid of the video. I put on my sweetest voice. “Declan, I just saw the news. I don’t understand, I’m sure I deleted it. How could it have been leaked?” I sighed. “I’m so clumsy. I can’t even do a simple thing right. I’m sorry to cause you more trouble.” He actually laughed, completely forgetting we had broken up the night before. “Where are you? I’ll come get you.” I reminded him, “Declan, we’re not together anymore. Besides, I’m really busy right now.” “Isla, I never agreed to a breakup.” Typical player. Pining for his old flame while trying to keep me on the hook. When I didn’t say anything, he asked, “Busy with what?” “A blind date.” I hung up and pointed randomly at a file in front of me. 4 I chose the location for the date: Declan’s favorite lounge. No reason. I just wanted to annoy him. The man sitting across from me was handsome, easily on par with Declan. He even had a similar vibe. “Hi, handsome. I’m Isla.” He smiled and shook my hand. “A pleasure. I’m Grayson.” Grayson? The name sounded familiar. He stood up gallantly and pulled out my chair. His manners were impeccable. As soon as I sat down, I got straight to the point. “Isla Pierce, 29. Single mother, own my own house and car, decent savings. I’ve had three prior relationships.” “So Declan wasn’t your first?” How did he know about Declan? And how did he know I’d told Declan he was my first? Before I could figure it out, Declan appeared out of nowhere, grabbing Grayson by the collar, the veins on his hand bulging. I tried to stop him, but he was already shouting. “I already explained about Serena! I’m handling the video!” Damn it. And here I thought he was being impulsive for my sake. It was still about his precious old flame. I had officially lost interest. I went back to sipping my coffee, watching the drama unfold. It took me a moment to realize what had happened. I had gone to the wrong booth. My reservation was for 608. This was 806. And Grayson was Declan’s older brother. That’s why the name was familiar. What a disaster. I grabbed my bag to sneak away, but Declan caught me. “Declan, what are you doing? I have to go!” He ignored my struggles and practically shoved me into his car.

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My biological parents, the Vaughns, came to take me home. Neighbors warned them it was a terrible idea, calling me a walking jinx who brought trouble to anyone near. They ignored it and took me to replace their fake daughter, who had bullied the daughter of the richest tycoon and needed a scapegoat. On day one, the fake heiress tried to frame me for pushing her. She tripped and got a concussion. On day two, my biological brother forced me to livestream and take the blame. He got tangled in wires and nearly choked. On day three, the tycoon sent men to attack me, thinking I was the bully. A sudden hailstorm from a clear sky beat them badly before they reached me. Unable to get to me, the tycoon took revenge on my parents. Their failing company pushed them to beg my adoptive parents to take me back. “Please, we’ll give you anything, just take this cursed creature off our hands.” … When the Vaughns first arrived, my neighbors and my adoptive parents tried to warn them, over and over. “Our Hannah… she’s got a bit of a dark cloud over her head. Things tend to go wrong around her.” “You really need to think this through before you take her.” The wealthy couple waved it all away, their annoyance growing. “Can you stop with the superstitious nonsense? We’re her biological parents. We’re taking her home, not leading her to slaughter.” I let out a cold, quiet laugh. They clearly didn’t recognize me. I had seen them when they first pulled into our small town. I was on my way home and saw them hiding by their car, talking on the phone. “Serena, darling, you know the only reason we’re bringing this biological daughter home is to take the fall for you.” “The girl you cyberbullied is the daughter of Mr. Croft. This is the only way to protect you.” “Don’t you worry. As soon as his anger has cooled, we’ll kick her right back out.” “By then, she’ll probably be too broken to even know what happened.” The girl on the other end finally seemed to calm down. “Fine. But when she’s there, you can’t be nice to her. I’m your only daughter.” The couple promised fervently before hanging up. Hearing all that, I actually felt a pang of pity for the poor girl they were about to drag into their mess. What kind of cosmic bad luck did you have to have to be born to parents like that? Turns out, the joke was on me. “Alright,” I said, stepping forward. “Let’s go. I probably won’t be staying long anyway.” The moment our car was clear of the town, their faces changed. My biological mother looked me up and down like I was something she’d scraped off her shoe. “Your name is Hannah, is that right?” “We are a respected family in Crestfall City. If you’re going to live with us, you will follow our rules.” “You will be treated as an adopted daughter. Serena is, and always will be, our true daughter. You will defer to her in everything. If you make Serena unhappy, you will face the consequences.” I met her gaze calmly. “My adoptive parents might not have explained it clearly enough.” “I have a strange sort of… condition. People who are unkind to me, who wrong me, tend to have very bad luck.” My biological father scoffed. “Save the spooky stories and superstitious garbage for your simple-minded adoptive parents. Try that nonsense on us, and you’ll regret it.” The words had barely left his mouth when the car began to swerve violently. It fishtailed across the highway, spinning in a nauseating drift. The couple screamed, clutching their seatbelts for dear life. The driver wrestled with the wheel, but it was useless. The car flipped. As if summoned from the sky, a huge chunk of rock smashed through the roof on their side of the car, tearing a massive piece of flesh from both of their arms and legs. The scent of blood filled the cabin. Their screams turned to shrieks of agony. I shook my head, which was spinning a little, and looked over at them. “I told you bad things would happen. Why didn’t you believe me?” I clicked my tongue, shaking my head. “That looks painful. A real pound of flesh.” They stared at me, their faces a mask of terror, fear, and impotent rage. “This was an accident! Just an accident! Don’t you dare look so smug!” I just shrugged. The rescue team arrived quickly. As they were being loaded onto stretchers, the canvas tore. Twice. Then, as they were being lifted into the ambulance, the automatic door slammed shut without warning, nearly crushing their feet. By the time they were finally secured, their injuries were significantly worse. As the ambulance prepared to pull away, they were still screaming at the rescue team driver. “Make sure you take her to our house! I refuse to believe she’s this much of a jinx!” I rode back to Crestfall City with one of the rescue workers. Since neither of us was seriously hurt, they just had me wait for observation for half an hour before the driver was cleared to take me to the Vaughn estate. He handed me over to the butler, Stewart, and even let him listen to the voicemail from my biological father. Even from a distance, I could hear the man’s bellowing rage. “Stewart, I want you to teach this ungrateful brat a lesson! Because of her, your mistress and I are stuck in the hospital! Teach her some damn respect!” The butler’s eyes glinted with malice. He dragged me into the grand foyer and threw me to the floor. “You’re the reason the master and mistress are hurt. It’s time you learned about our house rules.” I got to my feet, rubbing my bruised arm. “I’m just giving you a friendly warning,” I said. “Hurting me brings bad luck.” “Is that so? Then I can’t wait to see what kind of bad luck I’ll have.” He came at me with a whip made of braided wire. You just can’t reason with a fool. Somehow, as he swung, the wire whip got tangled in the power cord of a large decorative lamp. The cord was live. In an instant, the circuit shorted. I could have sworn I saw a blue arc of electricity dance across the butler’s body. “Aaaaaahhh!” The servants heard the screams and rushed in, some yanking plugs from the wall, others trying to help the twitching man. Stewart’s hand was still pointing at me, his eyes overflowing with a venomous hatred. The next second, a phone flew out of the hands of a maid who was dialing for an ambulance, soaring through the air and landing squarely on his nose. There was a sickening crunch as the bone shattered. “Aaargh!” Another scream. The driver was still standing at the door, his jaw hanging open. “Is this for real?” I gave him a small smile. “The butler seems to be out of commission. Who are you supposed to hand me over to now? Maybe I’ll just find my own way around.” The driver nodded vigorously. “Miss Vaughn, I think finding your own way around is an excellent idea.” Just then, Serena emerged from her room at the top of the stairs. Our eyes met. Hers were filled with pure disgust. “So you’re the one. Mom and Dad’s real daughter.” She smirked. “Perfect timing. I’m on my way to a party.” I beamed. “Oh, that’s just wonderful.” Serena’s expression tightened, her breathing growing heavier. She was clearly infuriated by my cheerfulness. I thought she’d be taking me to some fancy restaurant or club. I was wrong. She led me to a seedy, rundown bar. The moment we entered a private room, I was hit with a wall of smoke and the sight of a dozen greasy-looking thugs. Serena shoved me inside, a cruel smile plastered on her face. “Boys, this is the ‘real daughter’ my parents dug up. If she’s confirmed as the true heiress, I won’t have any more money to treat you all to the good life. What are we going to do about that?” The leader, a guy with bleached-blond hair, smashed a beer bottle on the floor. “Trying to steal our little sister’s spot, is she? Don’t worry, we’ve got ways of dealing with girls like her. A few naked photos will have her begging like a dog.” Serena crossed her arms, settling in to watch the show. Blondie gestured to his crew. “She’s not bad looking, boys. Looks like we’re in for a treat today.” He yanked a girl with a numb, vacant expression up from the floor and gave me a sinister grin. “She’s a little preview of what’s in store for you. Honey, why don’t you have a chat with our new friend?” The girl nodded, her empty eyes fixed on me. “Be a good girl like me and do what they say. It’ll hurt less. Otherwise, the boys can turn you into a dirty rag.” She pointed to a door at the far end of the room. “If they take you in there, there won’t be much of you left.” I looked at the half-open door and could almost smell a foul odor wafting from it. I sighed and turned to Blondie. “I’m sincerely advising you all not to touch me.” “I have this… weird thing about me. Back in high school, some punks tried to mug me. Before I could even hand over my money, they were struck by lightning.” “In college, a classmate who hated me tried to set me up to be assaulted. The place she sent me to got hit by a vice raid, and she was arrested for pimping.” I looked at the thugs, my voice patient. “I’m a bit of a jinx. But here’s the thing: anyone who tries to harm me ends up ten times unluckier than I am.” Blondie heard me and burst out laughing. “Oh, I’ve just got to see this. Let’s see how unlucky I can get.” He grabbed me by the hair and started dragging me toward the back room. The vacant-eyed girl squeezed her eyes shut in fear. Serena watched, her arms crossed, waiting for the entertainment to begin. The next second, the glass door of the private room exploded inward. Shards of glass flew everywhere, embedding themselves in Blondie’s skin. “Aaaaaahhh!” His screams filled the room. The thugs around him weren’t spared either. One of them caught a piece of glass right in the eye. As for me, I had a tiny scratch on my hand. Serena’s eyes went wide. “How is that possible?” The main door was kicked open, and a squad of police officers stormed in. “We received a tip about illegal activities happening in this room! Nobody move! Hands on your head and get on the ground!” In the end, Serena and I were cleared of any involvement and picked up by my biological brother, Alexander. The moment Serena saw him, she burst into tears. “Alex! I was just taking my sister out, and I don’t know what happened, we ended up in that horrible place! I swear I didn’t do anything bad to her!” Alexander, who had doted on this girl his entire life, was immediately convinced. He wrapped his arms around her. “Of course it wasn’t you.” He then looked at me. “Find her a room to stay in.” Serena nodded eagerly, the malice in her eyes never wavering. She led me up to the third floor, vaguely pointing to a room she said would be mine. Before I could even see where she was pointing, I felt a hard shove from behind. I stumbled forward, crashing into the railing. But Serena, the one who pushed me, had twisted her ankle in the process and fell backward. “Aaaah—” She tumbled all the way down the grand staircase, landing in a heap at the bottom. Alexander heard the noise and came running, only to find Serena unconscious on the floor. His hair practically stood on end with rage. “You! How dare you do this to Serena! Call the police! Someone like you belongs in a cell!” I held up my hands, feigning helplessness. “Look, big brother, you’re not going to believe this, but I really didn’t do it. She tried to hurt me, and that’s why she fell.” “You think I’m going to believe that?” he roared. “You’re just jealous that Serena had the life that should have been yours!” I couldn’t be bothered to explain myself to a stranger. The police arrived quickly. By a stroke of cosmic irony, it was the same officer from the bar raid. The first thing he did was ask to see the security footage. Serena was clever enough to have a maid disable the cameras before she made her move. But, unfortunately for her, the butler’s electrocution earlier that day had caused a short circuit. And by pure chance, the one camera on the third-floor landing had rebooted itself and was fully operational. “Looks like her plan backfired,” the officer said dryly. “Mr. Vaughn, this is clearly a domestic dispute. Are you sure you want to press charges?” Alexander’s glare could have set me on fire, but he was powerless. He forced a smile for the officer. “It seems it was all a misunderstanding. Sorry to have wasted your time.” From the look on his face, I knew he now hated me with a passion. Serena was taken to the hospital. The diagnosis was a concussion. There, Alexander ran into his parents and learned the real reason I’d been brought home. Remembering the string of disasters that had followed me, he decided to change tactics. “Brute force isn’t working,” he strategized with them. “We need to be smarter. We can’t let Mr. Croft get to Serena. Why don’t we have Hannah do a live stream and publicly confess to the cyberbullying? That way, no matter what happens, Croft will target her, not Serena.” His parents agreed it was a brilliant plan.

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I brought up divorce the moment Julian came home. He froze, then turned with a weary smile. “Is this still about the cilantro in your pasta that day?” I zipped up my suitcase, nodding noncommittally. “Sure. Let’s say it’s about that.” He hung up his coat and ruffled my hair, a familiar gesture. “Come on, princess. Stop making a fuss. I was just busy and forgot. It was an accident.” He reached for me, expecting our usual hug. “How can I make it up to you? Flowers? That new handbag you wanted? Or what about the latest necklace from that designer?” In seven years of marriage, he’d always been generous. He was sure I couldn’t bear to leave him. But I stepped back, looking calmly at his handsome face. “Let’s just end it here. The divorce papers are on the table. Don’t forget to sign them.” A man who couldn’t even remember my cilantro allergy was a man I no longer wanted. 1 “Just because I added cilantro to your pasta the day I left for my business trip?” Julian’s face held a familiar mix of exasperated indulgence. He stepped forward and ruffled my hair. “Princess, I honestly just forgot. It was a mistake. I promise it won’t happen again, okay?” His voice was gentle, his expression doting, just like it had always been. It was that very tenderness that had made me fall for him, that had carried us through seven years of marriage, from junior employees to him being the CEO, from a rented apartment to this sprawling villa. I had once believed we could go on like this forever. But what if his tenderness wasn’t reserved for me alone? I gripped the handle of my suitcase and moved past him. “This is it. I’m leaving. The divorce papers are on the counter. Make sure you sign them.” “Zoe!” Julian grabbed my wrist. “Stop fooling around. I was wrong. Let me make it up to you, okay? A hundred red roses? Or that new sapphire necklace from Tiffany’s?” He sounded sincere, but his voice was laced with an easy confidence. He moved closer, his warmth pressing against me as he tried to pull me into an embrace. “We’ve been married for years, and you’re still throwing tantrums like a child?” I ripped my arm away with a force that made him stumble. He stared at me, shocked. I met his gaze, my voice steady. “I have never liked red roses. I like white lisianthus.” A flicker of something—guilt?—crossed his eyes. He stiffened. “Zoe, I’m sorry, I…” Before he could finish, the sound of the fingerprint scanner at the door beeped. The door swung open, and in walked Amelia. His secretary. Her pretty face registered surprise, but a glint of triumph flashed in her eyes as she saw my suitcase. “Zoe,” she chirped, her voice light, “are you going on a trip? Go on, then. I’ll take good care of Mr. Hayes. Don’t you worry.” I let out a low, bitter laugh and turned to Julian. “Well, look at that. The woman who loves red roses is here. And I’m sure she loves cilantro, too.” I wrenched my hand from his grasp and started for the door. Amelia blocked my path, her face half-hidden in the shadows of the entryway. Her voice was pitiful, a stark contrast to the smugness on her face. “Zoe, Mr. Hayes told me he accidentally put cilantro in your pasta before he left for Paris. Is that why you’re mad at him?” Her long lashes fluttered, her beautiful eyes feigning an innocent curiosity that was pure mockery. “He probably just got confused because we eat together so often, and I absolutely love cilantro. It’s such a small thing. If it’s causing problems between you two, I’ll apologize, okay? Please don’t run away from home to make a point. He works so hard, and your tantrums are just another burden for him. You…” Her words were cut short by the sharp crack of a slap. Julian rushed forward, pulling me away. “Zoe! What are you doing? This is between us! Why are you taking it out on her?” I laughed coldly and, in a swift motion, slapped him too. The sound silenced him completely. I had put all my strength into those slaps. Bright red handprints bloomed on both of their faces. I met Julian’s stunned gaze. “Julian, this house is our shared marital property. Who gave you the right to give an outsider fingerprint access to come and go as she pleases?” He was taken aback. “Amelia often has to drop off documents for me. It was just for convenience…” “Amelia? Is that what you call your secretary? How intimate.” My laugh was incredulous. “You’ve been in the business world for years. Don’t tell me you couldn’t hear the provocation in her tone. I can tolerate the flirting at the office, but to bring it into my home? Julian, have you forgotten that I, Zoe Sterling, don’t tolerate bullshit?” I turned to Amelia, who was clutching her cheek. “You’ve been his secretary for what, six months? Can’t you distinguish between professional and private matters? Or are you just a stray dog looking for a master when you let yourself into other people’s homes?” “Those social media posts you’ve been making… they’re set to ‘visible to me only,’ aren’t they? When you don’t know how to write a project proposal, you don’t ask the senior staff for help; you bother the CEO, who is busy running a company. You know he’s a married man, yet you bring him your ‘special homemade lunch’ every single day. When you screw up at work, instead of learning from your mistakes, you have him stay up all night with you to fix them. Is this what a ‘secretary’ does? Does your salary include posting ‘The CEO is so amazing!’ on your private social media?” I shook my head, a scornful smile on my face. “What exactly were you showing off just now? That my husband forgot my deadly allergy because of you? Or that your tireless seduction is finally paying off?” “Zoe! What are you talking about?” Julian’s voice was a low growl of disbelief. “How can you twist our relationship like that? She’s new. It’s my job to mentor her. I helped you the same way when we first met!” Amelia’s eyes were red, her perfectly curled lashes trembling as she let out a soft, choked sob that seemed to echo in the silent room. Suddenly, I was tired of it all. What was the point of arguing with someone who was pretending to be clueless? I locked eyes with Julian. “Is this how you ‘help’ every new employee? Help them so much that you forget your wife of seven years has a severe cilantro allergy and has never, ever liked red roses?” Julian froze. I laughed, a sharp, mocking sound, pushed past Amelia, and walked out of the house, my suitcase rolling behind me. 2 I went to the other apartment I owned, and as soon as I had settled in, my best friend, Chloe, called. “Zoe, are you really sure about this?” Chloe’s voice was anxious. “Did you talk to Julian?” “I did,” I confirmed. “I just moved out. I’m getting settled.” Chloe paused. “Did he agree to the divorce?” I looked at a framed photo of Julian and me on the table. “No,” I said softly. “He probably thinks I’m still just throwing a fit.” “Well, as long as you’ve made up your mind, I support you. But don’t go soft on him when it comes to dividing the assets.” “Don’t worry,” I said. “I’m not a fool.” After hanging up, I gently touched my flat stomach. In the photo, Julian and I were younger, holding each other close, a perfect, happy couple. The next moment, I threw the photo in the trash. I was so emotionally drained that I fell asleep almost immediately. I woke up the next afternoon to a flood of unread messages, mostly apologies from Julian. I ignored them and scrolled through my social media feed. Amelia had posted again. A diamond necklace sparkled at her throat as she flashed a peace sign at the camera. Behind her, a tall, handsome figure was slightly blurred, but I could clearly see the suit he was wearing. It was the one I had given Julian for his birthday this year. The caption read: “The CEO is so sweet! Not only did he not blame me, he even bought me a diamond necklace to make me feel better! Omg, a man like him is one in a million. I have to work harder to be worthy!” It was so ridiculous I had to laugh. I liked the post and commented, “Is this one ‘visible to me only’ too?” Then I tossed my phone aside and went to wash up. While I was washing my face, Julian called. My hands were wet, and I accidentally answered. His voice sounded tired. “Zoe, what was that supposed to mean? That post was public. What will people at the company think of Amelia now that you’ve commented like that? I know I was wrong to forget your preferences, and I’ve apologized. I’ll do anything to make it up to you. Can you just stop this?” I was speechless. I didn’t even know where to begin. “Julian, if you really want to make it up to me, sign the divorce papers. Other than that, I have nothing more to say to you.” I hung up. I went to my parents’ house. Divorce wasn’t a small thing, especially in their eyes. I needed to explain. As I walked in, the aroma of a home-cooked meal filled the air. My nose tingled, and I nearly burst into tears. “Mom? What smells so good? I haven’t had your pot roast in forever. You…” The smile froze on my face. Julian was sitting at the dining table. My expression darkened. He sat there, smiling, his usual gentle self, as if he didn’t notice the storm clouds on my face. He stood to greet me. “Zoe, come on in. Mom made your favorite pot roast and chicken noodle soup.” I slapped his hand away as he reached for mine. “Who let you in?” My dad scolded me. “What’s with the attitude? Julian is the only one who can put up with your temper!” He came over and pushed me toward the table. “Every couple has their disagreements. It’s no big deal. Julian is so good to you, and you’re just being difficult.” My head was spinning. It was always like this. Julian was charming and kind, always gentle with me. My parents adored him. He knew they would take his side and talk me down. That’s why he was here, effortlessly painting me as the unreasonable one. The seemingly harmless, gentle man was, in fact, toxic. “Last dish is ready!” my mom announced, placing a steaming bowl on the table. “You silly girl. Every marriage has its bumps. Julian has already apologized. Stop pouting. We’ve spoiled you rotten!” I looked at my aging parents, their hair graying at the temples, their faces a mixture of concern and gentle reproach. They loved me very much; I knew that. Forget it. My plan was already in motion. It would all be over soon. There was no need to hide it anymore. I tapped the table gently. “Mom, Dad. I’m divorcing Julian.”

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1. My mother poured all her hopes into my brother. “My son will be extraordinary,” she said. “Every second of your life is precious.” She controlled every moment of his day—even making him recite English vocabulary in the bathroom. She used physical punishment, verbal abuse, and guilt as her main teaching tools. Under the pressure, my brother fell into depression and tried to kill himself by cutting his wrists. I begged Mom to stop. Instead, she wrapped his bleeding wrist with duct tape. “This way, the blade can’t cut through,” she said calmly. “If you’re going to cut, use this hand. You need your right hand for writing.” After a dozen canes were broken across his back and there was no unmarked skin left, he was accepted into Oxford. The day he got his acceptance letter, he jumped from the roof. I thought his death would break Mom’s obsession. Instead, she turned to me. “My sweet girl,” she said, a strange light in her eyes, “Mommy will make you even more successful than your brother.” But before she could start, on the seventh day after his death, my grandfather—who had been in a coma for twenty years—woke up. And the first thing he did was continue the project he had started long ago: to forge his daughter into a success. … My brother was dead. The day he found out his exam scores, the day my mother was already on the phone inviting all our relatives to come and see her perfect creation, he jumped from the roof. There was no dramatic scene with people trying to talk him down. He just jumped. Cleanly, decisively. As if he had completely given up on the world. Looking at his unrecognizable body, I felt a strange sense of relief mixed with my grief. “Isn’t that the Miller boy? I heard he did really well on his exams. Why would he do something like this?” “Kids these days have no resilience. His mother worked so hard to raise him, and this is how he repays her.” “I know, right? That poor woman. She raised him all by herself, made him so successful, and he just throws it all away. What an ungrateful brat.” No one cared why my brother jumped. They only saw a single mother to be pitied. They were wrong. I wanted to speak up for my brother, to tell them how suffocating and painful his life had been in that house. But the words wouldn’t come. I didn’t have the strength. He was already gone. Nothing I said would change that. I stole a glance at my mother. Her expression was a complex mask I couldn’t decipher. Would his death make her reflect on her actions? Not a chance. Because I heard her mutter, “What a waste. All those years of training, and now I have to start all over again.” Then, her eyes found mine. A chill spread through my entire body. I couldn’t move. My mother dragged me home without a second glance at my brother’s body. Someone from the crowd called her name. I couldn’t help but ask, “Mom, aren’t we going to do something about brother?” She didn’t even turn around. “Chloe, you’re not as naturally gifted as your brother. You don’t have time to waste on irrelevant things.” Her coldness made me snap. “That’s my brother! Your son! Is studying the only thing you care about? We’re human beings, not trophies for you to show off! Can’t you at least take care of his funeral?” Her response was a sharp, stinging slap across my face. “In the time it took you to say that, you could have memorized twenty vocabulary words.” My mother hadn’t changed at all. She couldn’t stand the thought of her children being average. She would do anything to get them into a top university, to ensure they had a good career. She didn’t care what they had to endure in the process. All that mattered was the result. It used to be my brother. Now, it was my turn. 2 My mother really did ignore my brother. Neighbors and police officers knocked on our door repeatedly, but she refused to deal with his body. When they became too persistent, she would just scream at them. “He’s a useless piece of trash! Why should I waste my precious time on him? Can’t you just find a ditch and bury him somewhere?” The police, at a loss, had to contact other relatives to handle the arrangements. All my mother did was push me to study. She held my last midterm exam paper, her brow furrowed. “How could you get such a simple question wrong? Your brother never made such a stupid mistake! It seems your foundation is very weak. From now on, you will sleep only six hours a night. You have to work harder than everyone else to get into Oxford or Cambridge!” Those were the only two universities that existed in her world. On the first day after my brother’s death, I already felt like I couldn’t breathe. My mother created a strict schedule for me. Three minutes to get out of bed. If I failed, I had to memorize vocabulary in the living room in my pajamas. Five minutes to eat. As much as I could shovel down. If I was still hungry, I had to study on an empty stomach. Two minutes for the bathroom. The second the time was up, my mother would burst in and drag me out, regardless of what I was doing. I failed on the very first day. It was winter, and the five a.m. alarm was brutal. I groggily turned it off and fell back asleep. Three minutes later, I was dragged from my warm bed, and a freezing, wet towel was slapped onto my face. I was instantly awake. I was only in my thin pajamas and wanted to change, but my mother stopped me. “Time is life. The time for changing has passed. Take your book and go to the living room.” The living room was filled with an intimidating number of electronic screens, all displaying countdown timers. When a timer hit zero, a piercing alarm would sound. My mother had deliberately opened a window to keep me alert. I stood there, shivering so hard my teeth chattered. My mother glanced at me coldly. “The cold won’t kill you. You need to be physically fit for the PE exam anyway. This is how your brother built up his endurance.” As soon as my food was served, a timer started. Five minutes. I had five minutes to eat. I stuffed food into my mouth, chewing frantically, not even stopping when I bit my tongue. I knew no one would feel sorry for me. The only person who would have was gone. As I ate, tears of frustration and despair streamed down my face. Was a good grade really that important? Under my mother’s supervision, I memorized a hundred English words, completed four reading comprehensions, and wrote half an essay. When it was almost time for school, for the first time in my life, I thought school was the most wonderful place on earth. But my mother couldn’t stand to see me happy. She wouldn’t let me change my clothes for school. “I told you, you wasted the time for changing. Now you have to face the consequences.” I fought back. I pushed past her, trying to get to my room. “You dare try to change?” I turned back, my eyes wide with terror. My mother had opened the window and had one leg over the sill. “If you don’t listen to me, I’ll jump from here!” The crazed look on her face paralyzed me. I had rarely seen her like this. Unlike with my brother, I had been mostly left to my own devices, sent to a boarding school for middle school. Whenever my mother had one of her episodes, my brother would send me to my room and handle her himself. I swallowed hard, my voice trembling. “Mom! What are you doing? Please, just get down from there!” She glared at me and shifted more of her weight outside, teetering precariously. “Are you going to listen to me or not?!” I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to become like my brother. But I couldn’t risk it. I couldn’t be sure she wouldn’t actually jump. I had already lost my brother. I couldn’t lose my last remaining family member. I fell to my knees, banging my head on the floor. “I’m begging you, please get down! I won’t change my clothes!” A triumphant smile spread across my mother’s face. I knew, in that moment, that I was done for.

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1 In the dead of night, my husband’s assistant sent him a sultry selfie, masking it as a work update. “Mr. Wheeler, I can’t sleep. Are you up? I hope the old lady next to you isn’t snoring too loud.” I took Marcus’s phone, screenshotted the photo and the chat, and blasted it to the entire company’s group server. The next morning, my husband woke up to the 999+ notifications lighting up his phone. He simply gave my ponytail a gentle tug. “Juliet, she’s just a kid. She doesn’t know any better. You, on the other hand, are a grown woman. You shouldn’t let your temper get the best of you.” He deleted his assistant’s contact information right in front of me, as if that erased the whole affair. Then came our wedding anniversary. He booked the entire top-floor restaurant and invited every employee from his company. He presented me with a breathtaking bouquet, its fragrance filling the air. “Happy anniversary, my love.” “I just need to step out and meet someone,” he said, his smile never wavering. “I’ll be right back. I have one more big surprise for you. Just wait here.” The moment he was gone, a stranger in a sharp business suit walked directly to my table and pulled a document from his briefcase. “Mrs. Wheeler, you’ve been served. This is a court order.” … “A court order?” I took the document. The text was stark against the white paper. Lily, his assistant, was suing me for defamation and demanding a public apology in front of the entire company. Just then, Lily herself appeared, her arms crossed smugly. “Juliet,” she sneered, “you tried to ruin my reputation in that group chat, made me the office laughingstock. Tonight, you’re going to apologize for it. Publicly.” The burly men standing behind her took a menacing step forward, their eyes locking onto me like predators. The room erupted. “So it was the boss’s wife who sent that picture! I thought he’d just fat-fingered it.” “This is better than a movie. The wife versus the mistress, and it looks like the mistress is winning.” “I knew Lily wouldn’t just let it go. She was just waiting for the right moment.” “Look at Mrs. Wheeler. She’s frozen in fear. She’s probably going to have to get on her knees and beg.” I slowly lowered the document, my gaze calmly sweeping over Lily’s triumphant face. And then, Marcus returned. He snatched the “court order” from my hands. “Lily, what is the meaning of this?” he demanded, his voice feigning surprise. Lily’s expression instantly crumpled into one of heartbreaking vulnerability. She threw herself into Marcus’s arms. “Marcus, I didn’t want to do this, but your wife left me no choice! She’s destroyed my name at the company! How am I supposed to face anyone?” Dressed in an innocent white dress, tears streamed down her face. “Juliet, I’m so sorry, but we had no other option.” “I know you don’t like me,” she sobbed, “but you can’t just ruin my reputation—and Marcus’s—out of jealousy.” She took a small step back, and Marcus wrapped a protective arm around her, gently patting her back. But the look in his eyes wasn’t one of concern; it was pure, unadulterated adoration. He turned to me, his voice dripping with condescension. “Juliet, look at this mess you’ve made.” “Lily is young. She made a silly joke. Did you have to take it so seriously? Now you’ve dragged the company’s name through the mud.” “Just apologize to Lily and we can put this all behind us.” Every eye in the room was on me, waiting for my humiliation, waiting for me to grovel. With the entire party watching, I started to laugh. 2 “Sue me?” I rose from my chair, my eyes fixed on Marcus. “On what grounds, Marcus? Tell me.” He said nothing, just stared at me with cold detachment, as if I were a lunatic having a tantrum. But Lily, ever the actress, snatched a dinner fork from the table and pressed the tines against her own throat, her voice breaking with manufactured hysteria. “Juliet, I have severe depression! I just wanted you to admit you were wrong… You’ve been stalking me, sending threatening texts, spreading vicious rumors about me and Marcus… I can’t take it anymore! If you don’t apologize to me right now, I’ll…” She made a show of pressing the fork harder into her skin. “Lily, stop!” Marcus lunged forward, wrestling the fork from her hand. He spun around and roared at me. “Have you lost your mind, Juliet?” “I told you she was just a kid! Why do you have to make everything into a war? You just had to escalate things, didn’t you? Are you happy now?” “I’m giving you one last chance. Do what Lily asked.” “Or we’re going straight from here to a lawyer’s office, and I will make damn sure you walk away with nothing. Let’s see how a pampered housewife of five years survives on the street!” Every word was a perfectly aimed dagger, designed to hit where it hurt most. He was so certain of his power over me, so sure that I was too dependent on him, that I would swallow any humiliation to preserve the illusion of our perfect marriage. But he had no idea. He had no idea that the only reason he’d gone from a broke startup founder to the CEO of a publicly-traded company in three short years was because of my family’s resources. The whispers in the crowd grew louder. “It’s over. Mr. Wheeler is really choosing the new girl.” “What a fool. If you can’t win, you should just endure it. Now she’s going to be thrown out with nothing.” “Look, I think she’s about to cry.” I slowly lifted my head, looking at the two utterly clueless people before me, their faces glowing with the smug satisfaction of having won. Marcus’s eyes were still burning with his threat. “What are you waiting for? Cat got your tongue? Say it!” I looked at him, and finally, I spoke. “Alright.” The smile on my face deepened. I stood up, my gaze sweeping across every single person in the room before I spoke again, my voice clear and steady. “I apologize.” Satisfaction bloomed on both Lily’s and Marcus’s faces. I paused for effect, then continued, enunciating every single word. “I’m sorry that I discovered your affair, which has been going on for three years.” “I’m sorry that I found out you, Marcus, have been using the money I brought into this marriage to buy your little mistress here apartments, cars, and luxury goods.” “But most of all, I am so, so sorry for speaking up and interrupting your precious, true love.” 3 “Juliet, what the hell are you talking about!” Marcus strode toward me, his hand raised. A sharp crack echoed through the suddenly silent hall as his palm connected with my cheek. My ears rang, and the metallic tang of blood filled my mouth. For a split second, I was no longer in the restaurant. I was a girl again, stepping into the fighting pits for the first time. A Pierce must always know how to handle themselves, my father’s voice echoed in my memory. I’d been trained by the best since I was a child, mastering blades, firearms, every form of combat. I didn’t flinch. I wanted to remember the sting of this slap. “Are you insane?” Marcus screamed, his finger jabbing at my face. “Spouting this nonsense in front of everyone! You may have no shame, but I do!” I touched my burning cheek, my eyes fixed on the man I had loved for so long. I had grown tired of the violence and shadows of my family’s world, which is why I’d hidden my identity to build a normal, quiet life with him. When he wanted to start his own business three years ago, I pulled every string I had to support him from behind the scenes. The physical pain was nothing. But the ache in my chest was a suffocating tide. Seeing her chance, Lily rushed to Marcus’s side, clinging to his arm. “Marcus, please don’t be angry. Don’t fight with Juliet because of me.” She pleaded softly, fresh tears rolling down her cheeks. Then, she turned to the audience. “Everyone, I know this is hard to believe, but the person who has been cheating… is Juliet!” As if on cue, the massive screen behind the main table flickered to life. A slideshow of photos began to play. There I was, having dinner with another man. Then at an art gallery. There was even one, shot from a sly angle outside a hotel, where I was intimately helping him adjust his tie… The lighting was dim, the framing deceptive, each picture carefully crafted to scream infidelity. “Here’s all the proof you need!” Lily’s voice trembled with fake indignation. “She was the one who betrayed our marriage, and then she tried to blame me and Marcus!” “And it’s not just cheating! She’s been abusing him! Look!” The screen switched to photos of Marcus with “injuries.” Red marks on his wrist. Scratches on his neck. Lily cried, “Marcus kept quiet to protect the family, to save her from embarrassment! He endured it all in silence! But she only got worse! I couldn’t stand by and watch it happen any longer!” In an instant, the crowd’s sympathy for me curdled into contempt and disgust. “I can’t believe it. She looks so poised and gentle, but she’s actually that kind of person.” “Poor Mr. Wheeler. She’s a viper, cheating on him and then trying to frame him.” “She has that expensive look, but her actions are just trashy.” “Wait… that man in the photos. He looks familiar… I just can’t place him.” The room buzzed with judgment. I stood alone, an island in a sea of scorn, painted as the most vile, shameless woman alive. Lily sidled up to me, her voice a venomous whisper only I could hear. “The bouquet smelled lovely, didn’t it, Juliet?” “I did give you a chance.” Just as a surge of fury rose within me, a wave of dizziness washed over me. My legs gave out, and I collapsed into my chair. 4 “You vicious woman! A simple apology won’t be enough!” Before I could even process what was happening, a gaudily dressed middle-aged woman burst from the crowd, shoving guests aside as she stormed toward me. She pointed a finger in my face, spittle flying from her lips. “You shameless harlot! You can’t keep your own husband satisfied, so you slander my daughter!” It was Lily’s mother, Brenda. “Mom, don’t!” Lily cried, pulling at her arm while shooting me a tearful look. “Juliet didn’t mean it…” “You be quiet! It’s because you’re too kind that this witch takes advantage of you!” Brenda shoved her daughter away, her eyes raking over me with pure malice. Suddenly, her gaze fell upon the long, white-clothed table in front of me. It was laden with fine china, crystal glasses, and a magnificent five-tiered cake inscribed with “Juliet & Marcus, Happy 5th Anniversary.” With a guttural scream, Brenda seized a corner of the tablecloth and yanked with all her might. CRASH! Everything on the table—the cake, the champagne tower, the silverware—went flying. Expensive crystal shattered, and a sticky mess of wine and frosting covered the floor. The plaque celebrating our five years of marriage lay in pieces. The entire hall was a scene of chaos. Everyone was stunned into silence. Brenda, however, was just getting started. She grabbed me, her voice a shrill command. “Get on your knees!” “Kneel in this mess and beg my daughter for forgiveness!” “Mom, please, stop! She’ll get hurt…” Lily protested, but as she spoke, she subtly kicked a razor-sharp shard of broken glass directly in front of my knees. The shard’s edge glinted coldly under the ballroom lights. Finally, a few guests started to murmur. “My God, this is too much.” “Kneel on broken glass? They’re trying to cripple her!” “Well, she’s the one who blew up the company group chat over nothing. You could say she brought this on herself.” “Mr. Wheeler, isn’t this… going a bit too far?” “Seriously, if she kneels on that, her legs will be shredded.” Marcus had watched the entire spectacle with cold indifference. Only when Brenda looked ready to physically force me onto the glass did he leisurely stroll over and wave a dismissive hand. “That’s enough, Brenda.” Everyone assumed he was about to defuse the situation. “Kneeling won’t be necessary,” he said, his tone one of magnanimous mercy. Then, he scanned the room, a smirk playing on his lips. “However, we can’t let this evening’s entertainment go unpunished. A little lesson is in order.” “Let’s play a little game,” he announced. “We’ll hold an auction. Bidding starts at one dollar. The highest bidder… gets the privilege of disciplining my unruly wife on my behalf.” He paused, his eyes locking with mine, and added, each word a drop of poison: “Hit her wherever you like.” The entire room stared at Marcus as if he were a madman. That shock quickly morphed into a low, excited murmur. “Two dollars!” A greasy man with a beer belly was the first to raise his hand, his eyes gleaming with a predatory light. “Fifty!” another man shouted, his gaze crawling greedily over my body. “Eight hundred!” … I was the main attraction at a grotesque carnival, a piece of merchandise to be sold to the highest bidder. My husband of five years was personally grinding my dignity into the dirt for public amusement. The greasy man who started it all won the bid for a thousand dollars. He rubbed his hands together, waddling toward me with a lecherous grin. “Mrs. Wheeler, no hard feelings. I’ve always wondered what it would feel like to slap a high-class woman like you…” His sweaty, fleshy hand rose high, preparing to strike. My body was weak, my heart a dead, cold stone.

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