Author: Momo Chan

My boyfriend was just publicly dragged on Twitter by an A-list actress. Attached to the scathing thread was a video—him wrapping an arm around my waist as we entered a hotel, and then emerging in the early hours of the morning. The rising star, Jade, publicly announced their breakup: [Caspian, I never thought you were this kind of person.] The evidence was irrefutable. The trending topics exploded instantly. “HOLY SHIT, Jade is a queen!” “Wait, when were those two even dating?” “Kinda a shame, their looks together were amazing…” “Is no one curious who the girl in the video is?” I put my phone down, the sheer, crushing absurdity of it all making my head spin. Caspian and I had been childhood sweethearts. Eight years. And now, Jade was his official girlfriend? What did that make me? 1 It took less than half a day after Jade’s post—the one outing Caspian as a cheat—for my personal details to be fully exposed. Paparazzi swarmed the entrance to my office. My phone was drowning in an endless tide of harassing texts. The lies and vitriol wove themselves into a dense, suffocating net, threatening to pull me under. I hid in the company restroom, calling Caspian countless times. He didn’t answer. In desperation, I tried to clarify the situation online. “Are you seriously implying our Jade is the side chick? Are you okay?” “Only a mistress would have the audacity to jump out and try to clean up her mess. Shameless.” As a private citizen, my own Twitter account had zero influence. The few comments I did receive were all condemning me for playing the victim. The wave of abuse grew hotter, faster. In a single afternoon, I had become the public’s punching bag—the home-wrecking ex. I took a deep breath, intending to text HR to ask for time off, but a notification from them beat me to it: “Selena, your personal affairs are causing serious disruption to the company. Please take a temporary leave of absence. Handle your private matters, and then you can return to work.” Temporary leave, she said. After years in the corporate world, I knew exactly what HR meant. It wasn’t a vacation. My phone suddenly buzzed. [Don’t do anything. I’m sending someone to pick you up.] It was Caspian. My mind involuntarily replayed every tender detail of his and Jade’s courtship in her post—the small, sweet moments of their newfound love. My heart felt pierced, a dull, aching throb. I stared at the text for a few seconds, but decided to follow his instructions anyway. At the very least, I needed to see him face-to-face and demand an explanation. Under the cover of several of his security team, I slipped into Caspian’s tinted van. He wasn’t inside. His manager, a severe woman named Regina, gave me a cold, clinical look. “You’ll stay at the hotel we’ve arranged for a few days. Wait for word from Caspian.” I didn’t speak, instead watching the passing scenery blur outside the window, my fingers unconsciously tracing the surface of the wristwatch on my left wrist. “Caspian has the matching one to that watch,” Regina suddenly said. “You two have been together for nearly eight years, right?” Her tone was flat. “Every Valentine’s Day, he orders a custom-made pair of matching watches from overseas. He was always very devoted to you.” I froze, feeling distant and hazy. Caspian and I wore the watches for a reason. When we were children, Caspian and I were the least-wanted kids in the neighborhood. His mother had left his father and him for another man. His dad was a heavy drinker who often beat him; once, Caspian ended up in the emergency room. As for me, I had no parents and was raised by my aging, often confused Nana. Every time someone pointed a finger at me and screamed, “The crazy woman’s granddaughter is crazy, too!” Caspian would step up, swinging his fists and hitting them hard. Driven by a desperate need to escape our lives, we were the two best students in the whole area. One day, I was sick with a fever. Nana was boiling me a pot of rice porridge, but she forgot to turn off the gas, and the kitchen caught fire. Luckily, Caspian had come over to study. He found it in time, calmly called for help, and put the fire out. But both of our wrists were badly burned. When we first started dating, Caspian and I were struggling. We were dirt-poor. Yet, for our very first Valentine’s Day, he saved up money from odd jobs for months to buy that first pair of watches. That night, he leaned into my ear, his breath hot and tender on my neck. “Selena,” he whispered. “I promise I’m going to give you a good life.” Later, he was discovered by a scout, and his first role made him an overnight sensation. He did give me a good life. Every Valentine’s Day after that, he gifted me a new pair of matching watches. But this year, there was no watch. In fact, he hadn’t spent Valentine’s Day with me at all. I had cooked a huge meal at home and waited for him all night. Where was he? In Jade’s post, the script had wrapped on Valentine’s Day, and everyone was celebrating with drinks. The two of them had secretly slipped away, strolling through the streets and visiting an amusement park, just like a normal couple. As the Ferris wheel reached its peak, Caspian, still masked, had tentatively kissed her. She removed both their masks and kissed him back, smiling. 2 I stayed in the hotel for two days. I forced myself not to check Twitter, and I didn’t contact anyone. On the third day, Caspian finally appeared. I had a fever and was weakly holding onto the doorframe as I reached for water. I looked up and met Caspian’s deep, dark eyes. He looked thinner, which only made his already sharp features look harder, more angular. Dressed in black, he stood there, an icy, detached presence. I leaned against the doorframe, suddenly drained. It occurred to me that today was our eight-year anniversary. Last year, for our seventh anniversary, Caspian’s show was on hiatus, and we had planned a trip to a quiet coastal town. But at the airport, we were ambushed by the paparazzi. The person who inadvertently rescued us was a random female celebrity, also passing through. “Why is she at the same airport as Caspian?” “Didn’t she publicly declare her crush on him last month? Are they really together?” The reporters swarmed, pushing me out of the inner circle and surrounding her and Caspian. Flashbulbs went off everywhere. The actress, who was clearly savvy about PR, saw the situation and her face immediately flushed. “We’re just celebrating the end of filming together, that’s all!” she gushed. Seeing that Caspian didn’t stop her, she leaned slightly into his chest, feigning embarrassment. Caspian looked down at her, a gentle smile on his lips, his eyes soft enough to melt. The airport erupted in noise and shouts. But then, he turned his head and looked my way, his eyes filled with a flash of quick apology. That night, the top news items were all about Caspian and that actress. And me? I wanted to post my nine vacation photos on social media, but I didn’t even dare tag the location, terrified that someone would dig up my account later and cause him trouble. That evening, Caspian held me tightly, his chin resting on the crown of my head, his voice firm and earnest. “Just wait a little longer, Selena. Next anniversary, I’ll tell everyone you’re my girlfriend.” 3 My thoughts returned to the present. I was about to speak, but Regina suddenly emerged from behind Caspian and patted me down thoroughly, only leaving once she was satisfied I wasn’t carrying anything. “Were you afraid I brought a recording device?” I asked. Caspian, however, acted as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. He smiled. “Selena, I missed you.” I felt a sudden, confusing mix of the urge to laugh and utter bewilderment. After last year’s anniversary, our time together had become increasingly rare. He was busy filming and doing promotional tours. I had to keep telling myself to be understanding. One day, I was curled up on the couch and couldn’t help but post a frustrated thought on my private feed, saying I wished someone was there. The next morning, I opened my eyes and there he was. He’d seen my post and flown in overnight from the set. Opening the door to him, I was ecstatic, kissing him almost frantically. He just laughed, slowly unbuttoning his shirt. “I missed you too. Every part of you.” By the end, I was gasping, gripping his arm like a fish desperate for water. Because he had an early call time, Caspian was gone before dawn the next day. I stood in the empty apartment, forlornly watching his retreating back from the window, and realized he’d left his suitcase. I opened it. It was completely filled with all my favorite snacks. At the very bottom of the snacks was a signed photo of a stage actor I loved. I’d heard a rumor from a fan account on Twitter that Caspian had turned down several appearances and spent three months secretly studying method acting. It was for me. Even later, when the rumors of him and Jade were rampant, I chose to believe him. I genuinely didn’t know how Caspian and I had reached this point. “The post, Jade… aren’t you going to explain yourself?” “Explain what?” “All those news articles said you fell for each other on set. I never doubted you; you called it PR spin, and I trusted you. But now?” “If you fell for Jade, you should have just told me. We would have broken up. Why did you lie to me?” “Did cheating on me with another woman feel exciting? Did it make you feel powerful?” “Why did you put me through this?” Caspian looked at me, silent. “Do you have any idea what the last few days have been like? Do you know what people are saying about me online?” My throat was dry and tight. I almost couldn’t bring myself to speak the next words. “Caspian, some of those so-called ‘leaks’—the things that paint me as the obsessed ex—you were behind them, weren’t you?” Caspian’s face darkened, but his voice remained calm. “Selena, it’s not what you think.” I looked at him, temporarily lost for a response. The Caspian who would fight anyone for saying one harsh word to me was now watching from the sidelines as I faced a torrent of public abuse, perhaps even fueling it. After all, throwing me under the bus gave his team the necessary time for crisis management. Looking at the man in front of me, I suddenly felt bone-weary. I didn’t want to fight anymore. “Caspian, let’s break up.” “I won’t agree.” He gripped my hand tightly and tried to touch my face, but I coldly pulled away. “My feelings for Jade…” He paused, as if searching for the right excuse, and irritably lit a cigarette. It took him a long moment to answer. “After the fire when we were kids, I’ve always been afraid of fire. On set, there was a major explosion scene, and I couldn’t get into character. She kept encouraging me.” “The roles she and I played in that drama had a deep emotional connection. I’ve never gotten so lost in a role before.” “I just… couldn’t snap out of it.” He suddenly stubbed out the cigarette, his expression growing more irritated and gloomy. Watching him, I laughed—a short, bitter sound. “So you’re saying you were just momentarily confused, and you never actually felt anything for her?” Caspian fell silent. I stared at him. “Did you sleep with her?” Caspian’s face paled slightly. “I waited for you all night on Valentine’s Day. You wouldn’t answer my calls. You were with her, weren’t you?” He looked at me wordlessly, his lips moving, but no sound emerged. A sudden tickle in my throat made me cover my mouth and cough violently. A cool hand reached out and felt my forehead. “You have a fever.” Caspian’s brow furrowed. He grabbed his phone. “I’ll call someone to bring medicine.” Seeing the faint look of concern on his face made my stomach churn. I turned away and dry-heaved. “Stop pretending. It’s disgusting.” A fleeting shadow crossed his eyes. He watched me for a few seconds, then suddenly wrapped an arm around my waist and guided me to the sofa. When I tried to struggle, his fingers moved from my waist to my back, pressing a spot that forced me to slump against his chest. “Selena,” his voice dropped from above me, a low, hoarse sound tangled with an inexplicable coldness. “You said no matter what happened, you’d never leave me.” Seeing that he was about to kiss me, I fought with all my might. “If you have any respect for me left, let go.” Caspian’s body went rigid for a moment, and then he finally released me. “I’m sorry.” The air grew quiet. I looked at him. “I will break up with you peacefully, and I won’t use any information you gave me to fuel the online frenzy. But first, you have to tell the truth, clarify all the facts, and clear my name.” After a moment of silence, Caspian’s throat bobbed. “I can’t do that.” “Selena, I’ve already made a statement. The public won’t care about this for long. If you just compromise one more time, and wait for this whole thing to blow over—” “Compromise one more time?” I interrupted him. “What exactly does that mean?” A sudden, terrifying clarity washed over me. My hands trembling, I pulled up Twitter—the app I had been avoiding for days. The top trending topic was Caspian’s public statement. [I apologize for consuming public resources, so I want to start by apologizing to everyone. Selena and I were indeed a couple, but due to certain issues, we had to separate. Later, while filming, Jade and I began a relationship. It was only when I saw Selena again that I understood why she had broken up with me. She suffers from a hereditary mental illness. She came to find me that night because she was experiencing an episode, mistakenly believing we were still together. The darkness that night led to a visual misunderstanding. I deeply regret not telling Jade about this beforehand, and I apologize to her. Selena, upon regaining clarity, is also very apologetic and will be releasing her own statement to clarify the matter.] I stared blankly at the screen. “So, you came here today—” “To ask me to tell the world I’m mentally ill? To say that I, your crazy ex-girlfriend, was harassing you?” 4 Caspian’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Selena, Regina will give you the statement draft shortly. Memorize it. She’ll film a video of you.” “Once this is over, we can go back to how things were—” Slap. The sound was sharp and sickeningly loud. I put every ounce of my desperation into it, snapping Caspian’s head to the side. The overhead light caught the blood welling up from a thin scratch my nail had left on his cheek. The air went silent for several seconds. Caspian lowered his head, then calmly gripped my hand, a chilling tenderness leaking into his eyes. “Does your hand hurt?” I didn’t pull away. I just looked up and asked quietly, “Do you know what day it is?” Caspian paused, slightly stunned. “Last year, on our seventh anniversary, you promised me that on the next anniversary, you would tell everyone I was your girlfriend.” I smiled faintly. “Today is our eighth anniversary. And you’re asking me to tell the world I’m mentally ill.” Caspian’s face went chalk-white. A year. Not a long time, but not short, either. The eight years of love Caspian and I built, piece by painful piece, were destroyed in a single year—and left utterly unrecognizable. He knew. He knew how terrified I was of being labeled mentally ill because of my grandmother’s condition. He knew. Looking at this man, I felt a dizzying sense of alienation. “Caspian, you are so arrogant. You relied on our eight years, you relied on the fact that I loved you so much, assuming I would forgive your betrayal, sacrifice my dignity, admit to being a lunatic for you, and still want to be with you after all of this.” “But why should I?” “I loved the you who protected me from bullies. The you who would fly to me with surprises, no matter how busy filming was. The you whose eyes and heart were only for me.” I looked at him calmly, every word precise and deliberate. “I do not love this man—this bottomless, sickening stranger you’ve become.” Caspian’s grip tightened, dark emotion swirling in his eyes. Slowly, deliberately, I pulled my hand from his grasp. “Not only will I refuse to record any video, but I will find a journalist and tell them the truth.” “I advise you to think carefully,” Regina’s voice cut in from behind me. Regina met my eyes and raised the phone in her hand. The screen was shattered—it was my phone. “My apologies. We needed to ensure your cooperation, so I took some measures. Of course, we’ll replace it, but naturally, there won’t be any messy text messages on the new one.” Regina pulled a new phone from her purse and placed it in my hand. “If you want to expose him, all you can prove is that you didn’t break up last year.” She smiled. “While you’ve been at the hotel for the past two days, we’ve cleared out your apartment. All the evidence of your relationship is gone. That includes all the gifts he’s given you this year, and all your travel receipts from visiting him on set since January.” I looked at Caspian, disbelief washing over me. His face paled, and he shifted uncomfortably, avoiding my gaze. After a long silence, I spoke slowly. “I have backups.” Regina’s expression shifted. “Eight years. I have backups of all our chat histories, our travel receipts. They are not on this phone, of course.” I stared coldly at Caspian. “My demand is unchanged. You post the full truth on Twitter and publicly apologize to me. That way, we can maintain the last shred of dignity between us.” Caspian suddenly laughed, a flicker of sarcasm in his eyes. “Backups?” I took in his expression, a painful, indescribable mix of sorrow and asphyxiation bubbling up in my chest. I grabbed my bag and turned to leave, pausing at the door. “I’m giving you two days to consider.” 5 Leaving the hotel, I clutched my burning forehead and hailed a taxi to the hospital. Lying in the bed, receiving an IV drip, I opened Twitter. I scrolled through the comments under Caspian’s “clarification” post. The first was from Jade: “Seriously?” Caspian replied: “Yes.” The second: “I apologize for speaking harshly before. The fact that you’re still this kind to a mentally ill ex means you’re definitely not a cheat.” The third: “Good thing you broke up. That mental illness is scary.” The fourth: “When is that Selena going to post her clarification?” Caspian replied: “Soon.” I closed my eyes, dropping the phone. The truth was, I didn’t have any backups of the chat histories or travel receipts. For eight years, I had trusted him implicitly, loved him completely. I didn’t dare save full-face photos of him in my phone, and I rarely posted on my feed, limiting myself to maybe a distant back shot or his hand reaching out. I didn’t even tag locations when we traveled. How could I have backups? The irony was that I had collected the chat history from the past year. I treasured those few messages like sacred relics. I hadn’t been oblivious to Caspian’s growing coldness and distraction over the last year, but I kept telling myself he was just too busy. On Valentine’s Day, I had created a private Twitter account, a place where I copied and saved our scarce chat logs and his voice messages. I would pull it up and look at it every time I missed him late at night. It was set to ‘only me’ viewing. Now, by a twist of fate, it had become my weapon. I spent two days alone in the hospital, getting my IV drip. Caspian’s Twitter was silent, and he hadn’t contacted me. In the next bed, an elderly woman was feeding her sick granddaughter. I watched them blankly, a sharp pang hitting me—I missed Nana. After completing the discharge procedure, I called a major fan account I’d connected with while pretending to be a fan visiting Caspian on set. I got the contact information for a well-known journalist, and then hailed a car to the care facility. Three years ago, Nana had a sudden heart attack at home. I was at work, and Caspian, who had just finished filming, rushed her to the hospital. The doctor said Nana was too old and prone to anxiety and delusions; she needed round-the-clock care and shouldn’t stay at home. I was sobbing, my legs too weak to stand. Caspian held my waist steady, gently wiping my tears. “I promise I’ll find the best care facility for Nana.” The Caspian of the past was truly wonderful to Nana and me. I wanted to see her before the inevitable, final break with him. I walked the familiar path to Nana’s room. The caregiver looked up, surprised. “Your boyfriend picked Nana up this morning. Weren’t you taking her to get family photos done?” Bzzzz. My head went numb, an icy chill shooting from my feet to the crown of my head. I turned sharply and bolted from the facility, dialing Caspian’s number with trembling hands as I ran. The call connected quickly. “Where are you?” “Where did you take Nana?” “She’s disoriented, she doesn’t recognize anyone! Caspian, what are you trying to do?” The background noise was loud, muffled flashes of camera lights faintly audible. “I’m at the press conference.” Caspian’s low voice sounded in my ear, as if from a great distance. I felt momentarily dazed. “What press conference?” “I know you don’t have a backup.” A sigh came over the phone. “Selena, you loved me too much. How could you have backups?” A wave of bitterness surged in my chest. I spat out the words through clenched teeth. “So what? What do you want to do to Nana?” “I won’t hurt her.” Caspian’s voice was low, trembling. “Selena, I have no other choice. Since you won’t come forward, I can only have Nana clarify for you.” “I taught Nana a few lines. She’s going to say them in front of the cameras. Her memory is excellent—she’s remembered them all.” Tears streamed down my face. I gritted my teeth. “Caspian, don’t make me hate you.” There was a moment of silence. “Selena, I will protect Nana. Don’t worry.” … By the time I rushed to the hotel, the press conference had been going on for a while. Without a pass, I was stuck outside. On the large screen, the media had packed the room, setting up equipment and adjusting lenses, frantically snapping pictures of Jade and Caspian. I was surprised Jade was even there. I overheard staff talking nearby. Caspian had three goals for this conference: First, to have the “mentally ill” ex-girlfriend make a clarifying statement. Second, to officially announce his relationship with Jade. Third, to announce that he and Jade would co-star in a new romantic comedy. In a daze, I saw a pale, confused face, lined with deep wrinkles, appear on the big screen. “Selena’s condition has worsened, and she regrettably can’t be here. This is Selena’s grandmother.” Caspian held Nana’s hand and brought the microphone to her lips. Nana looked at Caspian helplessly, her eyes clouded. It took her a long moment to speak, her voice trembling. “Selena… is… is sick. Can’t come. She… she and Caspian broke… broke up last year.” After choking out the few sentences, Nana immediately shrank back behind Caspian, as if the microphone were a monstrous threat. “She definitely looks unstable. That Selena must be…” “It’s a pity, a whole family of mental cases.” Hearing the reporters’ whispers, my nails dug into my palms. I wanted to rush in immediately. “Selena?” A low voice sounded near my ear. I turned my head and stared blankly at the well-dressed man in the light gray shirt. “I’m Dominic, the journalist you contacted earlier.” “I can get you inside.” I wiped away my tears with the back of my hand and nodded silently. The moment I entered the room, I froze. Caspian and Jade were kissing. Everyone seemed to be holding their breath. The venue was silent, broken only by the continuous flashing of the cameras. In my sight, Jade’s eyes were lightly closed, her hand slowly moving to wrap around his waist. Caspian seemed to smile, cupping the back of her head, deepening the kiss. A sudden shriek broke the deathly silence. “You can’t kiss her!” I followed the sound, my breath catching in my throat. Nana stood in the corner, her hunched body now rigidly straight, her eyes bloodshot, looking as distraught as a child. “Selena is your girlfriend! You never broke up!” The room burst into chaos. Nana tried to stop them, but rushing forward, she tripped over a chair leg and fell hard to the floor. The sudden turn of events plunged the scene into an absolute frenzy. Someone called the police, someone called an ambulance, and the cameras kept flashing relentlessly. “Nana…” I rushed onto the ambulance. Staring at the unconscious Nana, my head felt like it had been hit with a hammer. All the blood in my body seemed to have turned to ice.

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The New Year’s Eve Dinner That Exposed My Husband’s Double Life It was my second year running my upscale private catering service, Crescent Catering, when a wealthy client dropped a massive retainer for a New Year’s Eve dinner. I walked her through all the standard package menus, but she kept shaking her head. Then, her eyes landed on the list of humble, comfort dishes I’d planned for my own family. “The cream of mushroom soup has to have truffle added. Then, when you drizzle white vinegar on it, it must turn that black-purple color my husband loves.” I was stunned. I couldn’t believe anyone else in the world shared such a niche, peculiar culinary fetish—the exact one my husband, Silas Montgomery, insisted on. I asked her if she had any dietary restrictions. She blushed, fumbled for her phone, and handed it directly to me. “My husband oversees everything I eat now that I’m pregnant. You’ll have to ask him.” The next second, a familiar male voice came through the receiver: “My wife doesn’t eat green onions or ginger. Not a single piece.” 1 My hand froze mid-air, suddenly rigid. The voice was unmistakably Silas’s. My professional training forced me to maintain a facade of calm, but my voice still trembled uncontrollably. “Sir… could I just confirm your name for the order?” The man on the other end didn’t seem to hear me. He just repeatedly emphasized: “All ingredients must be flown in from the source to ensure absolute freshness. It’s imperative that my wife is satisfied.” The line went dead, snapped off with ruthless efficiency. Chelsea Wells pulled the phone back, staring at me with a smirk. The smugness in her voice was undisguised. “That’s him. He’s like that. Hardly spares a single word for other women, but he dotes on me and the baby in my belly.” “His name is Silas! Silas Montgomery!” She bit down hard on the syllables of his name. Each one felt like a needle, plunging into my eardrum. My hand, clutching the menu, shook violently. The tip of my pen scraped a messy, inky streak across the paper. I couldn’t write another word. Noticing my obvious distress, Chelsea’s lips curved into a knowing smile. She calmly folded her arms, studying me with the pity of a victor looking down on the vanquished. “Poor thing, the woman he has at home. Seven or eight years of marriage, and she couldn’t hatch an egg. Now she’s just fit to be swept out, left to serve food to other people.” I closed my eyes. The dam of all those old, suppressed wounds instantly broke. Twenty-five years ago, my father found a half-dead, starving boy—Silas—on the street, gave him a hot meal, and gave him a home. Later, we fell in love and got married. We started a modest food truck in the Culinary District, and our food was the hottest thing on the street until a jealous rival smashed up our pop-up and kidnapped me. By the time Silas scraped together the ransom and arrived, I was barely alive. I survived, but the doctors said my uterus was severely damaged; it would be nearly impossible to conceive. As I lay in the hospital, my life hanging in the balance and the bills piling up, Silas worked three jobs to pay off the debt. He constantly found ways to cheer me up. He swore he’d wait for me to recover, that we would have a beautiful life together, and that having children didn’t matter. I believed him. I stood by him as we went from having nothing to building his empire. But he broke his promise. Two years ago, I would have slapped Chelsea, torn apart her veneer of fake concern and bravado. But now, I was the sole proprietor of Crescent Catering. This business was the one thing I’d fought to keep, and I couldn’t let personal vendettas destroy it. “Ms. Wells, please be assured. Our food quality and chef expertise are beyond reproach.” Chelsea smiled, a meaningful, ambiguous twist of her lips. “It better be. Oh, and my husband is extremely protective of me and the baby. When you come to make the New Year’s Eve dinner, you should probably bring a few cooks who are currently pregnant or have recently had a baby. We don’t want any bad juju.” “Otherwise, if he gets angry, your little catering brand might not make it.” That comment was a bullseye on my deepest pain point. Staring at her thinly veiled provocation, I suddenly understood: this wasn’t an order for a New Year’s Eve dinner. It was a calculated ambush—a Roman feast designed to humiliate me. I met her eyes and spoke with deliberate authority: “All of our employees are medically cleared before deployment. If you still have these concerns, I suggest you find another caterer.” The moment I turned and walked out, I heard a mocking snicker behind me. I leaned against the cold wall of the elevator lobby, taking a long time to steady myself before dialing Silas’s number with a trembling hand. He answered instantly, his voice its usual gentle tone. “Babe, what is it?” I felt a sudden sense of disorientation. I spoke tentatively. “I just took an order. The client’s taste is… remarkably similar to yours.” He paused for half a second, then gave a light chuckle. “Just a coincidence. Oh, listen, about my partner’s orphaned child? I’m close to finalizing the adoption. That kid will finally be ours.” Before the words were out, the elevator door dinged and slowly opened. Silas stood in the doorway, impeccably dressed in a suit. But the normally cool and composed CEO, Silas Montgomery, was looking at me now with pure, unfiltered panic. 2 He recovered quickly, though. He smiled and ran a hand through my hair. “You promised me you’d rest at home. What are you doing here?” He turned to his assistant, Matt, who was standing behind him. “I’ll go check on my partner’s widow alone. You take my wife home, Matt.” I didn’t move. I reached out and took Silas’s arm. “The ‘partner’s widow’ you’re visiting is Chelsea Wells, isn’t she?” His body stiffened instantly. His arm tensed underneath my grip, and he wouldn’t meet my gaze. Just then, his phone rang. Silas visibly relaxed, pulled his arm away without a trace of hesitation, and quickly walked off to answer it, flashing Matt a look that clearly meant: Get her out of here. As the elevator doors closed, Chelsea’s sickeningly sweet voice wafted into my ears. “Honey, why are you still not here? I’m going to be late for my prenatal appointment!” Downstairs, Matt politely held the car door open. “Ma’am, it’s almost time for your medication. We need to get you back.” Medication. Always the medication. Ever since the damage to my uterus, taking medicine had become the dominant feature of my life. Taking it to have a child. Taking it so he wouldn’t worry. Seven years. One medicine bottle after another. Yet, my body grew weaker. I used to never get motion sickness, but now, even riding in a car was an ordeal. But I never got pregnant. And Silas allowed another woman to carry his child. I swallowed the rising nausea and said coolly, “Take me to the hospital.” In the OB-GYN’s office, I managed to find the medical report Silas had deliberately hidden. It stated, clearly: [Secondary Infertility (Permanent)] The word Permanent shattered my last sliver of hope. For years, he had held this report, forcing me to drink useless concoctions while whispering reassurances: “We’ll get pregnant eventually.” I used to foolishly comfort myself, thinking he just wanted our child so badly, that he didn’t want to disappoint me. Now I knew. This was a calculated, carefully orchestrated deception from the start, only meant to stabilize me—his ‘useless’ wife. I handed the doctor all the prescriptions I had taken over the years, asking her to run a thorough analysis. As I turned to leave the examination room, I saw Silas and Chelsea at the end of the hallway. A group of nurses enthusiastically crowded Chelsea. “Mrs. Montgomery, your husband is so devoted! He’s at every prenatal appointment.” Chelsea leaned into Silas, stroking her belly shyly. “He is. He can’t wait for the baby to be just like him.” Silas looked down at her, and the raw tenderness in his eyes was something I had never received in seven years of marriage. There was no orphaned child. All he ever wanted was a woman who could give him a baby—a child that was entirely his. When we had nothing, he called me his world. But once he made his fortune, his world no longer had room for a barren wife. As I brushed past him, Silas’s gaze remained fixed on Chelsea’s stomach. He didn’t spare me a glance. I didn’t cry. I didn’t question him. I just drove home in silence. But the moment I sat down, a message popped up from Chelsea: [You’ve seen it with your own eyes. Be smart. Get out now!] Attached was a DNA test result. The father was, indisputably, Silas Montgomery. Despite my foreknowledge, something in my heart was still savagely pierced. I couldn’t hold back the tears anymore; they streamed down my face. I don’t know how much time passed before Silas called. “Babe, I’m coming home soon. Did you take your medicine?” I raised my hand and slammed the bowl of herbal medicine the housekeeper had brought me to the floor. “Silas Montgomery, are you still going to act? I went to the hospital!” The door burst open. Silas rushed in. He grabbed my hand and anxiously examined it. “Are you hurt?” I violently shook him off and gave a cold laugh. “I heard everything Chelsea told the nurses.” He immediately dropped to his knees in front of me, uncaring that shards of porcelain might stab him. He pleaded: “June, let me explain. She is just an incubator—a tool. My wife will only ever be you! Once the baby is born, I’ll announce that you are the mother. Don’t cause trouble, okay?” “Just… for the next few months, don’t show your face in public. At least pretend you’re resting and carrying the child so everyone believes the baby is yours. Can you do that for me?” I scoffed internally. I didn’t know whether to be touched by his meticulous planning or disgusted by his selfish infidelity. Crescent Catering was finally gaining traction, and the business was fully expanding. It was peak season, and he wanted me to abandon it all for his illegitimate child. I looked at him, my heart tearing in two. “So, you want me to hide, pretend to be happily pregnant, and then watch while another woman’s child is given my name?” “Silas, have you forgotten? The Crescent Room is my family’s legacy. Crescent Catering is the dream I fought tooth and nail for. And you want me to give all that up for your bastard?” He fell silent, letting out only a heavy sigh. He had promised, years ago, that he would help me revive the family legacy and make me the happiest woman alive. But in seven years, he hadn’t just forgotten his vows; he had become the man who would destroy me. Our eyes met for a long, heavy moment. Then, I spoke, deliberately and clearly. “Silas Montgomery, we are getting a divorce.” 3 Silas immediately let go of my hand and tugged at his tie, his eyes clouding with irritation and impatience. “June Caldwell, I just wanted a child. Is that really grounds for divorce? I remember the kindness when you took me in, but your emotions can’t handle this level of irrationality!” I grabbed the nearest throw pillow and hurled it at him. “Kindness? Silas, you repaid my ‘kindness’ with seven years of lies, another woman’s child, and a deliberate attempt to ruin the business I poured my heart into? Your gratitude is a burden I can no longer bear!” The irritation vanished from his face. He took a step toward me, trying to touch me, but I swiftly dodged him. His shoulders slumped slightly, and his tone softened inch by inch. “June, I messed up. I shouldn’t have lied to you. I shouldn’t have put you through this.” “Tomorrow, I’ll go with you to the cemetery. We’ll talk it out in front of your parents. After this, I’ll agree to anything but the divorce. Just don’t do this, please?” Listening to his belated plea, my heart felt like it was being ground repeatedly by a dull knife. Seven years of deep affection, only to end up here. I didn’t answer right away. After a torturous internal debate, I slowly nodded. At the same time, a sudden, cold dread washed over me. Chelsea wouldn’t back down easily. I quietly opened my work chat and sent a message: All field service personnel must log work in real-time and save all evidence for every job. The next day was New Year’s Eve. As the car sped toward the cemetery, Silas’s phone blew up. “Honey, where are you? My stomach hurts so bad!” Without a moment’s thought, Silas swerved the car. He didn’t even realize I was still in the passenger seat until he blew through a red light. “Babe, something’s happened with Chelsea. I have to rush over to check on the baby. I’ll have Matt drive you to the cemetery.” “No need.” I calmly pushed the door open and stepped out. “The baby is more important.” He gave me a look of gratitude. The car screeched away before I could even find my balance. I watched the taillights disappear quickly, my heart feeling like a hollowed-out shell. He once told me that no matter what happened, he would always protect me first. Turns out, those promises had long since expired. I stood in the cold wind for a moment, letting the reality sink in, before calling a ride-share service straight to Westwood Memorial Park. As I got out of the car, Matt rushed up, breathless. “Ma’am, please don’t be angry. Mr. Montgomery truly has no feelings for Chelsea. She’s just a ‘good luck charm’ woman he paid a psychic to find—a total utility player.” “He cares about you most. He specifically sent me here to accompany you.” I didn’t want to engage. His sincerity or utilization didn’t matter. Infidelity is infidelity; labeling it ‘sacred’ doesn’t change anything. Scanning my surroundings, I noticed a few suspicious figures lurking in the nearby woods, furtively watching us. A sense of foreboding rose in my chest. I quickly pushed Matt away. “Go! Separate! You call the police!” I turned and ran into a nearby corner store to hide, dialing Silas’s number with a trembling hand. “Corner store by the South Gate of the cemetery. Silas, hurry! I need help!” The man’s voice on the receiver was full of intense annoyance. “June Caldwell, will you stop being so dramatic? We just agreed last night! Have you forgotten already? What did you put in Chelsea’s New Year’s Eve dinner? Her stomach’s been cramping since the first bite! I have to rush her to the hospital. You need to dial back the jealousy!” When I was kidnapped years ago, he searched for me like a madman, crying, “I can’t live without you. I’ll never let anything happen to you again.” Now, a simple complaint of a stomachache from another woman was enough for him to immediately label me a spiteful perpetrator. The call was disconnected. Just then, a flurry of messages popped up in my work group chat, each one more desperate than the last: [Mr. Montgomery filed a complaint against Crescent Catering, and the Market Regulatory Bureau is coming to shut down the shop!] [Ms. Caldwell, all the pre-booked jobs are canceled. They’re demanding huge compensation. We can’t afford the breach-of-contract penalties!] I was about to reply when everything went black. A thick canvas bag was thrown over my head, and my phone was knocked from my grasp. A foot slammed into my spine. I hit the floor, and someone instantly pinned my hands and feet. “Alright, boys! Let’s get this done and ruin her completely. Let’s see if Mr. Montgomery still wants her after this.” “Don’t forget to take plenty of photos. Let everyone see her shame.” My clothes were ripped. Evil, lecherous laughter echoed around me. I struggled, I screamed, but all my resistance was futile. 4 Just then, the corner store door was banged open. A team of police officers rushed in. The assailants’ laughter died immediately. The bag was ripped off my head. Matt dropped to his knees in front of me, tears streaming down his face. “Ma’am, I’m so sorry! I should have been faster!” I looked at him and shook my head. What was his fault? He got the police here in time, and he protected me when it mattered most. The one at fault was the man who vowed to protect me for life, yet, in my moment of greatest danger, only had eyes for someone else. I struggled to stand, taking the jacket Matt handed me and tightly wrapping it around myself. [You ruined Chelsea’s New Year’s Eve dinner. I’m taking her home for a quick meal. I’ll be back soon. Don’t be mad.] Every word in Silas’s message felt like a thorn, piercing my heart. At the same time, Chelsea posted to social media. The photo showed her and Silas cheek-to-cheek, in the dining room of our marital home. She was sitting in my chair. But I had no time to grieve. My work chat was already ablaze. [Mr. Montgomery is doing the ‘righteous’ thing and throwing his own wife under the bus! The whole internet is trashing us, saying pregnant women should avoid Crescent Catering. They even dug up the fact that Ms. Caldwell can’t have kids and are spreading rumors that all our staff have health issues!] [All the jobs are canceled. We can’t afford the penalties. Is our catering business really over?] Two years of blood, sweat, and tears vanished in a single instant. The Crescent Catering business, the revival of my family’s legacy—the thing I nearly died protecting—was so easily ruined by Silas and Chelsea. I clenched my fists, letting my nails dig into my palms. I felt clearer than ever. Since he delivered such an unforgettable humiliation, I would give Silas and Chelsea a New Year’s gift they would never forget. I opened the work chat and sent out a notification for an emergency New Year’s Eve work session. The anxiety in the group instantly dissipated. My team rushed to reply, guaranteeing their presence. At that moment, Silas was likely sitting with Chelsea, having their New Year’s Eve dinner in the warmth of my home. Both their phones went off simultaneously: [The entire staff of Crescent Catering will publicly apologize to Mr. Montgomery and Ms. Wells for sixteen consecutive days, starting New Year’s Eve and ending on the 15th day of the New Year.] They opened the apology video. Silas’s face drained of color after the very first sentence.

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My wife, Adora Caldwell, was sick again and terrified of calling in. She was shivering on the bed, truly frightened. I wanted to call her office myself to clear her absence, but she pleaded with me, her hand clamped tight around my arm. She just needed me to comfort her, to promise I wouldn’t go near her work. But I went anyway. For her. The receptionist’s eyes widened in confusion as I spoke. “You have to be joking, sir,” she said. “The person you’re asking about is our CEO.” “And our CEO, Ms. Caldwell, comes in and leaves with her husband every day.” “Her husband doesn’t… look like you.” In the next second, the glass elevator doors parted, and my wife—who should have been confined to a sickbed—stepped out, leaning into the arm of Trenton ‘Trent’ Abbott, her college sweetheart. Our eyes met, and the polished smile on her face froze. I looked at the designer clothes, the gold shimmering on her wrists, and the diamond earrings that must have cost more than my annual salary. I laughed until tears streamed down my face. “Those earrings alone are more than I earn in a year,” I choked out. “And you spent seven years pretending to be a $50,000-a-year junior accountant.” “You told me your startup failed and you were drowning in debt. I sold the only house my parents ever left me to cover your ‘debts.’ I sold code all day and drove for a delivery app all night. I pushed myself so hard I had a bleeding ulcer and still couldn’t afford to take a day off!” “Tell me, Adora. Why did you play me for a fool?” Adora stammered, unable to speak. Trent laughed, patting my shoulder like I was a kid who’d lost a playground fight. “Don’t blame her, man. The night she married you, she swore to me that everything she had—her body, her assets—was still mine.” “So don’t reach for things that don’t belong to you.” Seven years of marriage. I thought we were building a life of quiet solidarity. Instead, I’d been nothing more than a temporary stand-in in someone else’s play. But I was Mark Harrington, her legal husband. Could they really take everything and leave me with nothing but a memory of betrayal? 1 “Shut up, Trent! This is between us! Adora, tell me yourself. Is this true?” I cut off Trent’s smug monologue, my eyes burning. Adora sighed, a sound of weary patience. “Mark, listen to me. I just didn’t want you to become a freeloader, losing your ambition because you knew I was successful. And I didn’t want to hurt your pride. Besides, didn’t you promise you would always take care of me?” “Stop gaslighting me! Seven years! Adora, we’ve been married for seven years! Isn’t that enough time to know who I am? If I was the type to live off my wife’s money, would I have sold the only asset I had—the house my parents left me—to fund your ‘failed’ business?!” My voice cracked. “Or did you think I was stupid enough to be lied to forever?” She released Trent’s hand and reached for mine. “No, Mark. It’s not like that.” I pulled back a step, my footing unsteady on the polished marble floor. My discount store sneakers were worn to the sole, but I hadn’t brought myself to replace them yet. My gaze settled on Trent. He wore Italian leather shoes, a perfectly tailored coat, and a Rolex Submariner flashed on his wrist. Adora had once joked, “When I make it big, I’ll buy you a Rolex so you can flex on Instagram, too.” She bought one, all right. Just not for me. Swallowing the bitter taste, I asked her. “Not what? And what about him?” She glanced at Trent. “Trent is just a partner.” Trent’s mouth immediately dropped. “Rory!” Adora squeezed his hand, a silent signal, before turning back to me. “He was my first love, yes, but you knew that when we got married. I never hid my past from you.” “Now, he’s just a business partner. He’s looking to invest in the company.” I ground my teeth. “Then what did he mean by what he just said?!” Adora shot Trent a cautious look, then offered a flimsy explanation. “Oh, Trent loves to joke around. He was just messing with you…” Trent cut her off before she could finish. “I wasn’t joking. Isn’t that what you told me on a video call the night after your wedding? You said it while Mark was sleeping right beside you…” “Trent!” Adora snapped. He pursed his lips and didn’t say another word. But my heart had already hit rock bottom. It was all true. Adora wouldn’t meet my eyes. Her tone, laced with guilt, shifted into impatience. “Don’t listen to his nonsense, Mark. None of it is true. Just go home, I have a client meeting soon. I’ll explain everything tonight.” I took a deep, shuddering breath. “You don’t have to explain.” “Adora, let’s get divorced.” “We’re done. Eight words. I’ll take a million dollars for every year we wasted. That’s a fair buyout for our marriage, isn’t it? It leaves you free to be with him.” 2 “Mark, calm down. Let’s go home and talk this through.” I cut her off. “You mean that seventy-five-square-foot walk-up with the peeling paint? That home?” I couldn’t stop the laugh that felt like a sob. Her face flushed. Employees arriving for work were starting to slow down and watch. She grabbed my arm. “Don’t make a scene here, Mark. It’s unprofessional.” “Let go.” I gritted out. She held fast. “What is this? You’re just mad that I didn’t buy you a bigger car? You want to live off my success? Do you have to act like a victim in public?” “I let you sleep with me for seven years! I didn’t charge you a dime! You should be grateful!” “I’m telling you now, the more you act like this, the less money you’ll ever see from me!” I stared at her in disbelief, utterly shocked that these words were coming from the woman I’d shared a bed with for nearly a decade. I didn’t know her. Maybe I never had. Trent watched us wrestle, then sneered. “Come on, Rory, this is embarrassing. We’re going to be late.” “Didn’t you promise to get me that new watch before the client meeting?” Adora agreed instantly. “Yes, Trent, absolutely. And I’ll trade in your car for the new model, too. We need to project the right image for these meetings.” Trent shot me a triumphant look. “Hear that? Rory’s money is my money. Eight million for a divorce? Keep dreaming.” “But, hey, you looked after Rory for me all these years. That counts for something. If you call me ‘bro’ right now, I’ll talk to her about getting you a new pair of shoes to replace those discount store sneakers.” The words hit me harder than a slap. I thought of the endless budgeting, the five-year-old coat I refused to replace, the video game skins I couldn’t justify buying, the shame of being called a poor loser while driving delivery late at night for a few dollars an hour. Humiliation washed over me. As Trent leaned closer, his face twisted in a smug, mocking expression, I used every ounce of strength I had left and punched him square across his privileged jaw. Trent stumbled back a few steps. Time seemed to stop. After a few seconds, he registered the pain, his face contorting in pure rage. “You piece of trash! You pathetic cuckold! Rory! He hit me!” Adora’s reaction was immediate. She threw herself in front of Trent, cradling his face in her hands. “Mark, are you insane?!” She then grabbed her heavy designer bag and swung it at me, the metal hardware catching me on the cheek. I didn’t have time to dodge. My face stung, a fiery, blinding pain. Gritting my teeth, I yelled at Adora: “Don’t push me to hit you!” She screamed back: “Push you? Try it! If you had any balls at all, you wouldn’t have to threaten me!” “You’re the one with no ambition! Seven years and you’re still just a code monkey! If you were successful, would you have to drive delivery after work for seven years?!” “You’re a failure! Take your frustration out on the right person: yourself! You have no one to blame but the loser you are!” “I’ve been so embarrassed to even mention your name to people!” Blood was seeping from the scratch on my face, warm and sticky, but quickly turning cold. I felt frozen. I thought of the long nights coding, the toxic boss who dumped all the impossible work on me, the constant overtime—all because he knew I was desperate to pay off my ‘debts’ and couldn’t risk quitting. I never told Adora any of this, fearing she would worry. Now, that same raw pain had become the knife she was plunging into my back. I looked at them, my voice a cold rasp. “Adora, as of today, we are even.” She paused. “What?” “You think eight million is too much? Fine. The money you owe me, the blood you just drew—I will get it all back, dollar by dollar, in a court of law.” That includes our joint assets, the company she started with my money, all the profits, the house, the cars, and the watches she bought Trent. Everything. I would have my half. Trent snapped his head up. “Dream on!” I didn’t answer. I simply turned and walked toward the exit. Every step sent a sharp throbbing pain through my cheek. Every step was marked by blood. But my back was straight. A man can be knocked down, but he can’t be broken. As for whether I was dreaming, I didn’t need to answer him. My lawyer would. 3 It was dark when I left the lawyer’s office. I walked home, my face throbbing, and opened the door to see an open suitcase in the middle of the living room. Adora was packing a dress. Trent was sitting on the sofa. “You’re back?” Adora looked up, her tone as calm as if nothing had happened. “Good. I need to talk to you.” “Trent’s health isn’t good, and that punch you threw earlier caused his heart condition to flare up.” “The doctor said he needs constant care. I’m going to stay with him for a few days.” I picked up a foil packet of condoms lying on the corner of the suitcase. “Is this also a prescription from his doctor? Did ‘Dr. Feelgood’ write this?” She snatched the box from my hand with an irritable jerk. “It must have been caught in the folds of the dress. I didn’t even notice. You’re so paranoid.” “I know you’re upset, and I’m letting it go. Trent needs me right now. I’ll explain when I get back.” Need. When she needed me, I was always there. When I needed her, she was with him. Was that fair? No. But marriage was never about fairness; it was about willingness. I had been willing for seven years. Now my heart was dead, and my willingness had run out. “Fine,” I said, and walked into the bedroom. I opened the closet and started pulling out her things. My hand froze when it touched a photograph. It was our wedding picture. She was radiant, and my eyes were full of light. “Mark, what are you doing?” She followed me in, her voice finally tinged with panic. “You’re leaving, aren’t you?” I didn’t turn around, tossing the framed photo into the trash bin. “I’m helping you pack. Saves you a trip.” “I told you, it’s only for a few days—” “Then don’t ever come back. Take your things, and the man who needs you, and get out.” Adora retrieved the picture from the bin, gently placing it back on the dresser. “Stop being dramatic. I’ll be back the second he’s recovered.” Trent appeared in the doorway. Adora barely glanced at him, saying with practiced ease, “It’s fine. I’ll have the accountant wire you ten million tomorrow.” Before her phone screen went dark, my eye caught the heading of a document on it. Trent’s tenth ‘business proposal.’ Ten million dollars. How many late-night delivery runs, how many lines of code would that take me? I might die of exhaustion before I earned that much. I thought of the news reports of programmers who suffered fatal stress at 32. If I hadn’t discovered this betrayal, if I had continued to work myself sick to pay her ‘debts,’ that might have been my ending. Trent, hearing the reply, looked at me, a sly smile on his face. “What are you peering at my proposal for, Mark? Thinking of starting your own company?” He’d caught the look in my eyes. Adora spared me a dismissive glance. “Don’t be silly. He’s not cut out for this. He can barely tell a bull market from a bear market. He’d probably buy the dip right after the crash. He’ll be an employee his whole life.” I cut her off with cold finality. “Are you finished?” She froze. I pointed to the door. “Then get out. Get out of my apartment!” “Mark, this is our—” “No. It’s mine. I pay the rent, the utilities, I bought the furniture. What exactly have you contributed besides living here for seven years?” She opened her mouth, but the words didn’t come out. Because it was the truth. For seven years, I not only wired her a monthly allowance for her ‘debts,’ but I covered every single household expense. I scrimped to buy her expensive bags and makeup, terrified her friends would look down on her. The reality? She was rich. Filthy rich. She was playing me for a fool while lavishly funding another man—and claiming they were just ‘friends.’ Adora’s voice dropped to a cold threat. “Fine, I’m going. But don’t you dare regret this!” “Go!” The door slammed shut, and the room was abruptly silent. Too quiet. I could hear the refrigerator humming, and the frantic drumming of my own heart. I sank slowly to the floor, tears falling onto the wood—one drop, then two. A man in his thirties, weeping like a lost child. After an eternity, my phone vibrated. I picked it up. A photo from an unknown number. On a luxurious hotel bed, Adora’s sleeping face was nestled against Trent’s chest. A line of text followed: “Thanks for making this possible.” I stared at the image for a long, long time. Then I typed my reply: “Thank you, too. You just helped me take out the trash.” Sent. My private investigator had told me Adora was meticulous; he had never been able to get proof of physical infidelity. Now I had it. 4 The next day, I stood outside the Human Resources glass doors, staring at the ridiculous document in my hand. Embezzlement? $3.2 million? Absurd. I was a Senior Backend Engineer. The largest expenditure I’d ever approved was a team equipment upgrade. How could I possibly move $3.2 million? I addressed the HR director coldly: “I need to see the system logs and the full audit report.” The director adjusted his glasses, a hint of pity in his eyes. “The company has been acquired, Mr. Harrington. You’ll have to ask the new owner.” “And who is the new owner?!” “A Mr. Abbott.” … I flung open the door to the CEO’s office. Sure enough, Trent was sitting behind the desk. Beside him, Adora was reviewing documents, head down. “Well, well. Look who it is. Our star engineer.” Trent’s smile was sickeningly bright. “Mr. Harrington… or should I say, former Mr. Harrington?” Blood surged to my head. But I forced myself to stand still and breathe deeply. “Adora, the audit report is forged. Procurement requires three levels of approval. I only have recommendation rights, not final sign-off. The system logs will prove it.” Adora finally looked up. “The system logs were compromised by a hacker, Mark. The records are gone. Funny thing, the only records lost were the ones connected to those specific purchases.” The coincidence made me laugh without humor. “I built this company’s security architecture. I wrote the firewall rules. You’re telling me it was compromised just like that?” Trent leaned back in the CEO chair, grinning. “That’s why we suspect you, Mark. Insider jobs are the easiest, aren’t they? Changing a few log files, fabricating a few records—a piece of cake for a big-shot engineer like you, right?” I clenched my fists. “You illegally tampered with the database!” Trent stood up. “Evidence speaks, Mark. Right now, every log points to you. You’re looking at a massive civil suit for damages, and maybe even jail time.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Unless… you want to get on your knees and beg me? Maybe then I’d ask Rory to take it easy on you.” My stomach churned with pure disgust. “Adora, do you have nothing to say?!” She looked at me, her voice chillingly devoid of emotion. “You had sticky fingers, Mark. This is actually a chance for us to help you.” I roared in fury. “Help me?! Haven’t you played me for a fool for seven years? Now you’re using this low-life trick to destroy me completely? You hate me that much? You won’t be satisfied until you’ve ruined my life?” Her face paled. Trent lunged, grabbing my arm. “Who the hell do you think you’re yelling at?!” “Let go! This is what you wanted, isn’t it? To see me beg? To watch me crawl over and kiss your shoes like a dog? I’m telling you, you’ll never see that day!” I spun toward Adora. “I won’t pay a dollar. I won’t accept a single charge. If you’ve got the guts, call the police! We’ll settle this in court!” Adora’s lips trembled. She opened her mouth, but Trent cut her off. “Rory, why don’t you step out for a coffee and cool down?” She hesitated for a moment, then turned and left. The instant the door closed, the mask dropped from Trent’s face. “Mark, let’s be honest. You’re not just upset about the money, are you? You’re pissed that Rory chose me. You’re pissed you won’t get a huge divorce payout. You’re pissed about the photo.” My body went rigid. “Ah, I hit a nerve.” “The photo was nice, wasn’t it? Rory’s skin is so soft, so smooth… like silk…” The blood roared in my ears. “What do you want?” My voice was a choked sound. “I want you to know you lost, Mark. You lost everything. Rory’s body is mine, her heart is mine, and now everything she owns is mine. Including this company. Including every dollar she’ll ever earn.” “And you? You’re just the garbage we’re cleaning out.” I threw a punch. It grazed his cheek. Trent touched his face, a flicker of pure malice in his eyes, but he quickly smiled again. “Angry? Mark, I’ll give you one last chance. Walk away with nothing, disappear forever, and I’ll drop the charges. I’ll let you live.” “Three point two million dollars, Mark. How many delivery runs is that going to take?” In that moment, the last shred of my sanity snapped. Just as I lunged, tackling Trent to the floor and raising my fist, the door opened. Adora stood in the doorway. Trent wiped the corner of his mouth—where there was no blood—and cried out, “Rory! He attacked me again! I was only trying to reason with him, and he just went crazy!” I tried to explain. “I didn’t—” “Enough!” Adora cut me off. She spoke a few swift words into her comms device. Two security guards appeared and instantly grabbed my arms. One of them delivered a sharp kick to the back of my knee, forcing me down to the floor. My face was pressed hard against the carpet. Then, I heard Adora’s cold, cruel voice. “Trent, whatever he did to you, you return in kind.” Trent came closer, and then his leather shoe stomped down on my face. He ground the sole against my cheek, then delivered a sharp, vicious kick straight to my nose. My nose burned, and blood immediately gushed out. I stopped feeling the pain. All I felt was a crushing, pathetic sense of irony. Seven years of pouring my heart and soul into this marriage, and this was my reward. Adora’s voice was icy. “Mark, you just can’t learn your lesson. I’m calling the police right now. Let’s see how tough you are when you’re facing a grand larceny charge.” The words were barely out of her mouth when her phone rang. She answered it, confused. As she listened, her expression grew tighter, harder. When she hung up, she stared at me in disbelief. “You… you actually filed for divorce…?”

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Caspian Thorne and I were the most notorious antagonists in our rarefied social circle. He’d indulge in the city’s high-end escorts, and I’d use his social media credentials to post pleas for a sugar mama. I’d frequent the best male strip clubs, and he’d forge a stack of fake HIV reports for me, distributing them across every exclusive gentleman’s club in town. Later, when his favorite new girl, Hailey, had the audacity to confront me, I slapped her so hard she saw stars. To retaliate, he strapped me to a post on a private speedway, allowing his little darling to drive a car straight at me at full speed. But at the last second, he lunged, a desperate, broken man, shielding me with his own body. His ribs cracked, blood filling his mouth, yet he managed a faint, despairing smile. “Don’t cry, Mrs. Thorne.” “The kid is pregnant and high-strung; I had to give her a dramatic way to vent, didn’t I?” “I’m fine. Don’t look so devastated. When I get out of here, I’ll take her on a trip. What designer bag do you want? I’ll bring you back two.” I shook my head, tears streaming. He didn’t know. I wasn’t crying for him. I was three months pregnant, too. And just now, as I was paralyzed on the ground, terrified by his little darling’s attack, I felt the life inside me spill out, turning to a pool of hot, wretched blood. 1 The tears wouldn’t stop. Caspian looked at me with open disgust. “Mrs. Thorne, I know you’re concerned, but crying like that? You look truly hideous.” He lifted his gaze to the young woman just getting out of the car. His eyes were sickeningly soft. “Try to learn from her, Mrs. Thorne. She’s always elegant, always composed. Unlike you, who just looks…cheap.” I followed his gaze. Hailey, barely twenty, was indeed graceful and composed. She’d maintained a haughty, unbothered posture, even when I was hitting her. Three days ago, I was at the hospital visiting my mother, Helen. I ran right into Caspian and his new conquest. She was nothing but a cheap, gold-digging girl, yet she clung to his arm and looked me up and down with utter contempt. “Well, look who it is. Don’t you ever go home, old lady?” “Were you happy with those HIV reports I sent out last week?” “It was my idea, actually. It’s hilarious—I just mentioned it in passing, and Caspian actually went and printed them out and spread the gossip everywhere for you!” “I hear it trended on social media. Rich Wife with AIDS! So scandalous!” “How will you ever show your face in public again, Auntie?” It was a naked provocation. Caspian just watched her, a doting, indulgent look on his face, allowing her to humiliate me without consequence. When I instinctively glanced his way, he gently pinched her chin, his expression full of sickening affection. “Naughty girl. My wife is a terror; aren’t you afraid she’ll throw a fit and hit you?” Hailey gave a smug, triumphant smile. “She wouldn’t dare. Not with you here, darling. Who would protect her?” Caspian had certainly kept her sheltered. Ignorant, reckless, and utterly naive. So, I didn’t disappoint them. Right in front of Caspian, I grabbed a handful of her hair and violently slapped her across the face several times. Over her sharp screams, I smiled with a terrifying calm. “Didn’t your sugar daddy ever tell you that I bite?” “To provoke me like that and expect to walk away untouched? Are you stupid, or do you think I am?” “Get out of my sight before I lose it. I’m warning you: if I see you again, I’ll beat you senseless.” The girl had guts. Even as I pinned her head down, forcing her to her knees, she refused to break. She only protected her stomach and glared up at Caspian when I raised my foot to kick her. “Caspian! Your rabid dog is attacking me! Aren’t you going to control her?” The next second, my wrist was seized. The man who used to fret over a minor scrape on my skin now coldly, expressionlessly, snapped my wrist bone. Caspian’s smile was still gentle, but his eyes were pure ice. “Hailey’s mouth is just so much fun, like she’s laced with poison.” “Mrs. Thorne, I need you to show some restraint. Take your anger out on me. If she gets hurt, I’ll be truly upset.” He didn’t spare a thought for my broken hand. But when she whimpered in pain, he instantly swept her up and rushed her toward the Emergency Room. Watching his frantic back retreat, I still couldn’t understand. The man who was once willing to die for me could change so completely, so easily. I managed a bitter, twisted smile, pulling the sonogram from my purse and tearing it to shreds. It had been a surprise for him. Now, it wasn’t necessary. That evening, I returned to the villa with the prepared divorce papers. But the moment I walked in, his security detail pinned me to the ground. 2 Caspian looked down at me, his eyes full of that weary condescension. “The little one is pregnant and quite difficult to handle. I had to find a way to let her get her aggression out.” “You’ll just have to deal with it, Mrs. Thorne.” Before I could even speak, someone covered my mouth and tied me up. As I was dragged to the racetrack, I felt a chilling sense of despair. For a moment, I actually hoped to just die. It would be better than this endless cycle of pain, where the wounds were torn open again and again. But when Hailey slammed the gas and the car screamed toward me, Caspian’s expression finally shifted. He dove at me, just like he did when he was eighteen, shielding me completely. Even though Hailey, white as a sheet, managed to slam the brakes, the impact still sent Caspian flying, coughing up blood. I sank to the ground, tears falling in uncontrolled, desperate torrents. He sighed, wiping the moisture from my cheek with his thumb. But the words he spoke were like shards of glass. Hailey rushed over, striking a tearful, dramatic blow to his injured chest. “Caspian, what was that? Are you so attached to this old woman?” “What is so special about her that you’d risk your life? Tell me! Are you still in love with her? If you are, I’ll just leave!” Caspian winced in pain but clung to her. He turned his chilling gaze on me, giving the slightest, imperceptible sneer. “Oh, my little princess, I wasn’t trying to save her. I was worried about you.” “You know Mrs. Thorne is a venomous dog. If you’d hit her and she went crazy and sued you, how miserable would that be for you?” “There, now. Think of it as killing a chicken to scare the monkey. If she ever touches you again, we’ll just stop all of Helen’s medical treatments, okay?” They flirted, they made amends, completely oblivious to my humiliation. He hadn’t saved me out of love; he’d saved me to prevent his mistress from getting into legal trouble. Even my mother’s life was merely a bargaining chip he used to placate his lover. My wrist throbbed, and a searing pain pulsed in my abdomen. But none of it could compare to the desolate wasteland in my heart. Blood was now staining the ground between my legs, but I hardly noticed. I struggled to stand and threw the prepared divorce papers with all my strength, hitting Caspian in the face. I stared at him, my eyes blazing with contempt. “Since you’re so devoted, Mr. Thorne, why don’t you sign those papers and make an honest woman out of her?” Caspian didn’t even look. He tore them to shreds and threw the pieces back at me. “Stop this childish game, Mrs. Thorne.” “You know we can’t get divorced. It’s not about me not wanting to. It’s about you—you and your comatose mother can’t survive without my money.” My breath hitched. I froze. This wasn’t the first time this had happened. Everyone said Mrs. Thorne was madly in love with Mr. Thorne. She was willing to endure his abuses, to fight him viciously, but she’d never leave. They laughed at me—the scorned wife, the eternal doormat. But no one knew that when Caspian and I first got together, he was the one who adored me unconditionally. I was eighteen. My deadbeat father, a gambling addict, went on a drunken rampage. He slashed my mother’s head with a knife, then turned the blade on me. Caspian burst in, threw himself over me, and took eight full stab wounds meant for me. When the police arrived, his back was a bloody, mangled mess. Yet, with blood smeared across his face, he smiled at me, a soft, loving smile. “Tessa, don’t cry. It doesn’t hurt.” “You’re safe. I swear, as long as I’m alive, no one will ever hurt you again.” My mother became a vegetable. To give her the best care, he worked himself into a monster—Mr. Thorne. Later, just as he promised, no one dared touch Mrs. Thorne. But he changed. He became reckless and cruel, pushing me into the abyss again and again. 3 Hailey shoved me aside with a challenging smirk, helping Caspian walk toward the exit. As they passed, Caspian smiled carelessly. “Mrs. Thorne, my patience has its limits.” “Even if you don’t care about yourself, think about your mother. Without me, she will die.” “I know you feel wronged, but if you want your mother to live, you need to accept your life. Next time you bring up divorce, you better think it through. Don’t cry when I actually sign it.” I knew he was right. I should keep enduring, so my mother could get the best treatment, at least to keep her breathing. But why? Why should I allow myself to be trapped in this rotting life? I lifted my eyes, meeting his with stubborn defiance, and spoke with resolute clarity. “Caspian. I am not playing games.” “I said, I want a divorce.” He still didn’t know. Three days ago, my old mentor, Noah, called. He told me about a new drug developed overseas. It had a high chance of curing my mother, though it hadn’t hit the market yet. If I was willing, he could get me into the trial. I agreed immediately. After hanging up, I rushed to the hospital to give my mother the good news, but I collapsed on the way. When I woke up, the doctor told me I was three months pregnant. That thin sonogram report weighed a thousand pounds. The little life in my womb was trying to keep me tethered to him. I had seriously considered telling Caspian, just to give my youth an answer, a clean break. But now, I didn’t need to. The baby was gone. There was no reason left to stay. Caspian’s eyes were filled with nothing but irritation. I was once his only weakness. Now, I was a thorn in his side. He started to laugh, but the amusement never reached his eyes. I ignored him, turning to Hailey with a cynical tone. “Well, what a shame. It looks like your Caspian has no intention of making you an honest woman.” “As long as I am Mrs. Thorne, you and the illegitimate spawn in your belly will never amount to anything.” The girl didn’t disappoint. The tears started immediately. Caspian gently stroked her head. “My princess, stop crying. My heart is breaking.” “I’ll sign the papers. I’ll sign them right now, okay?” I looked down, my smile bitter. The very thing I had begged him for, the girl could get with two tears. The signed divorce papers hit my face. Caspian’s smile was cold. “Tessa. I’ll be waiting for the day you regret this and come crawling back to me.” I watched their retreating backs, laughing through my tears. I would never regret it. I would never beg him again. Soon, I would take my mother and leave. For the rest of our lives, we would never have to meet again. The speedway was far from the city. I couldn’t get a cab, so I started walking. Each step was a torment, but my resolve was absolute. When I reached the hospital, my entire lower body was soaked in blood. The baby was gone. As the anesthesia took effect, I didn’t feel the expected grief; only a profound sense of relief. After the procedure, I rushed to my mother’s room. But the moment I opened the door, a sudden, ice-cold horror engulfed me. The two entangled figures I saw, naked in my mother’s hospital bed, tore away the last shreds of my dignity. 4 I screamed, charging forward like a lunatic to pull them apart. My reason shattered. I raised my hand and slapped Caspian with all my remaining strength. “Caspian! How dare you do this in front of my mother!” He licked the blood from his swollen lip and sneered. “Tessa Thorne, by what right do you question me?” “Don’t forget, you’re not Mrs. Thorne anymore. At best, you’re a worn-out toy I tossed aside.” I knew he was retaliating. My whole body was shaking. I roared in uncontrollable rage. “You are a disgusting, pathetic bastard, Caspian!” “Get out, both of you. Get your dog and your mistress and get out of my sight!” Hailey hid behind him, smiling at me, a triumphant, challenging glint in her eyes. “Why so angry, old lady? We were just trying to help your half-dead mother.” “Maybe a little excitement will wake her up!” My vision went red. I raised my hand to hit her, but she caught my hair and violently smashed my head into the doorframe. Blood streamed down my forehead, but I barely felt it, grappling with her, fighting dirty and without restraint. The next second, a piercing scream erupted beside me. I spun around and saw my mother, her eyes wide with fear and heartbreak. She was tottering on her feet behind me, clutching a blood-stained scalpel. Hailey fell to the ground, clutching her stomach. My mother’s fingers were trembling with terror, yet when she saw me, she managed a faint, reassuring smile. “Don’t be afraid, my little girl. Mommy will protect you.” Tears streamed down my face. I wanted to hold her, but a powerful force slammed into me. I watched helplessly as Caspian kicked my mother to the ground. He grabbed her neck, his eyes filled with absolute malice. “Who in the hell gave you the right to touch Hailey?” “If anything happens to her, I swear, I’ll make both of you pay for it!” He threw my blood-soaked mother onto the floor like a rag doll. Then he picked up Hailey and rushed out, never looking back. The surgery light stayed on all night. He knelt outside the door the whole time. When they confirmed the baby was gone, he looked at me with pure hatred. He grabbed my collar and dragged me to the foot of a remote mountain. He pointed to the temple at the summit, a cruel smile on his face. “Your mother killed my child. You will atone for her sin.” “Crawl up. One prayer for every step you take. Pray for my child.” His eyes were savage. I knew this was not a game; he was truly enraged. I didn’t argue. I bit back the pain and knelt down. One step, one bow. By the time I reached the summit, my knees were raw flesh and blood, and my forehead was lacerated. Every inch of my body screamed with agony; my consciousness began to fade. Caspian had me locked in the chapel. I was pinned to the floor. He leaned down, his face utterly devoid of emotion, and handed me a tablet. On the screen, my mother was curled up, shaking uncontrollably in her hospital bed. The next instant, the door was kicked open. A group of disheveled, menacing figures—junkies and unhoused men—poured in. They swarmed her, tearing off her gown. Her broken, desperate screams tore through me, making my entire body tremble with sharp, excruciating pain. I cried hysterically, slamming my head against the floor, begging Caspian. “Please! I beg you, let my mother go!” “Caspian, if you need revenge, take it on me! I’ll give you my life. Just let her go!” A flicker of hesitation crossed Caspian’s eyes when he saw my utter despair. But he didn’t relent. He just pulled me close. His chilling voice whispered in my ear. “Tessa, your mother made a mistake, and she must be punished.” “Don’t worry. I won’t let anything happen to her. As soon as Hailey feels better, I’ll bring you both home. No more fighting, alright?” I grabbed his shirt, the tears turning into a desperate, wretched cry. “Caspian, I won’t fight anymore! Never again! Please, let my mother go!” He gently pried my fingers off his shirt and affectionately stroked my face. “That’s a good girl, Tessa. Just stay here and reflect for a while. When Hailey calms down, I’ll come back for you.” He didn’t look at me again. He turned and walked out of the chapel. The door slammed shut, plunging the room into darkness. I scrambled to the tablet, my trembling hands clutching it. The men finished, zipping up their trousers, their faces sickly satisfied, and then they left the room. My mother lay there, covered in blood and filth, like a dying fish. After a long time, the door to the room opened again. Hailey walked in, leaning on someone for support. She stood over my mother with a victorious expression, then brutally slapped her twice. “Filthy old thing. Just as pathetic as your daughter!” “How was that? Was it fun? All those men after being asleep for so long? You must be thrilled.” She grabbed my mother’s hair, forcing her to look into the camera. “Your daughter is watching this whole depraved show.” “You’ve been asleep for so long, you probably don’t know how miserable your daughter is. A discarded wife who stayed with him, without a shred of dignity, just for you.” “Caspian said that as long as you’re alive, Tessa will never leave him. No matter how much he humiliates her, she’ll just endure it.” “If you don’t die, she’ll only suffer more. If you really love her, then you should just die!” My mother raised her head, her eyes vacant, and smiled. “Fine. I’ll die. Just let my daughter go.” I clutched the tablet, shaking with hopeless despair. “No! Mom, please, don’t!” She couldn’t hear my cries. With desperate resolve, she crawled to the window, pushed it open, and threw herself out. From eighteen stories up, she would be completely shattered. My chest felt like it was being pierced by a thousand arrows. The pain was beyond imagining. I struggled to my feet, throwing myself at the bolted door of the chapel. Again and again, I slammed into it. My shoulder felt like it was breaking, and blood poured from my forehead. I didn’t care. My mother was gone. The light in my world had been extinguished… Caspian tended to Hailey all night. He finally left her room at dawn, his face exhausted, and motioned to his assistant. “Mrs. Thorne is afraid of the dark. An entire night locked up should have taught her a lesson.” “Bring her home. And her mother, too. Tell Tessa I’ll be back to see her in a couple of days.” He looked up, smiling, only to see his assistant fall to his knees, his face ashen. “Mr. Thorne, Mrs. Thorne’s mother… she jumped out the window and died yesterday.” “The people at the temple said that last night, Mrs. Thorne violently broke the door down and then, in front of everyone, jumped off the cliff.”

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I had failed the mission, spectacularly. So, I went rogue. I threw the rulebook out the window. I imprisoned him. I took him. And then, I staged a glorious, definitive, dramatic death. I barely had a moment to catch my breath in the afterlife when the System shrieked in my mind. [Male Lead has hit critical corruption level! Urgent need for a second intervention!] The next second, I was back. I walked through the fog of disorientation, and then it happened: a gleaming, blood-slick blade pressed flat against the skin of my neck. The man’s voice was a ghost in my ear. “Another fool who thinks she can try.” “That face—you think you can wear it?” My mind went blank. 01 I was mid-bite of a chip when the System’s scream broke through the quiet of my new life. [Host, there’s been an… issue with your mission.] [The Male Lead has hit critical corruption level. The world is collapsing. We need you to go back for a secondary fix.] I had no idea what it meant. Critical corruption? In my memory, Caspian Bellwether was an emotional glacier—stoic, untouchable, the kind of man who floated above the base desires of the mortal world. He was a god carved from marble. How could someone like him corrupt? The world could burn, and he would still be standing, perfectly still, perfectly unperturbed. But before I could dwell on the absurdity, my vision swam, and I was abruptly shunted back into the alternate reality. Specifically, I was back at the secluded estate where I had once kept Caspian prisoner. I caught sight of the pomegranate tree I’d impulsively planted years ago. A sudden, jarring thought hit me: That tree was half-dead when I left. When did it get so tall? The System answered the unspoken question instantly. [Host, the timeline in this world moves differently than yours.] [Seven years have passed since you left.] Seven years. Caspian couldn’t possibly still be here, could he? I stumbled forward in a daze. In that instant, my right foot hadn’t even landed when a chilling sensation grazed my neck. A strand of my hair—snipped clean—drifted down before my eyes. A cold steel blade was pressed tight against my throat. And worst of all, warm blood from the sword’s edge was sliding down my skin. I froze, terrified. My fingers trembled. I couldn’t remember how to breathe. The spectral voice drifted from behind me. “Another fool who thinks she can try.” “That face—you think you can wear it?” I turned slowly. Caspian’s devastatingly handsome, ice-cold face was inches from mine. His eyes were bloodshot, feral, the eyes of a creature driven mad. My words came out in broken fragments. “Caspian, it’s m—” The razor-sharp blade suddenly pulled away from my neck. I was about to take a step forward, but my gaze snagged on a figure just beyond him, sprawled motionless in a pool of blood. The woman’s eyes were wide and vacant. She was a disturbing replica of me—strikingly, horribly similar. My knees gave out. I collapsed onto the ground. What had happened to him? How could Caspian have become this monster? Caspian seemed to be in total shock. Naked bewilderment washed over his perfect features. His eyes flickered with a desperate, frantic uncertainty. Suddenly, the sword clattered to the floor. He stepped forward, instinctively blocking my view of the body. I gasped, finally letting out the breath I’d been holding. “Damn you, Caspian Bellwether! You actually tried to murder me!” He didn’t register my fury. He simply stared, blood-veins webbing his eyes, his brow furrowed in a tight, frightening knot. I struggled to stand, wanting desperately to flee, but he grabbed my wrist, yanking me into his embrace. His eyes were fixed on me, the way a predator watches its prey. His grip was too tight, making me wince. “Aubrey.” I paused. After a long silence, I heard the thick, ragged sound of his voice. “Is it really you?” “Please, don’t lie to me again.” Again? 02 Caspian should despise me. Logically, he wouldn’t feel a flicker of emotion even if I were to die right in front of him. Yet, I looked down at my ankle. The heavy shackle around my leg was padded on the inside, as if he were worried it might bruise me. That was utterly unlike the Caspian I knew. He should hate me. Seven years ago, I was bound to the System and sent here. The promise was ten million dollars if I successfully completed the “capture the male lead” mission. For five years, I failed. No matter what I tried, the mission progress bar didn’t budge. Caspian remained an unscalable peak, emotionally sterile. His gaze never lingered on me. Eventually, I simply broke. I drugged him. I kept him captive. Day after day, I forced intimacy on him. But even with skin-to-skin contact, he never offered me a single, genuine glance. The contempt that radiated from him was a sharpened blade, cutting through my last shred of pride. Heartbroken, I decided to abandon the mission. On the last day, I leaned down to kiss him as I had countless times before. He kept his eyes closed, unmoving. The kiss deepened, a desperate, silent farewell. Then, I unlocked the restraint. “Caspian, you’re free.” His eyes opened, a flash of suspicious confusion in their depths. “What game are you playing now?” I managed a faint, bittersweet smile. “No games. I just finally saw the light.” The sheer irritation in his eyes wounded me instantly. I had forced him, yes, but after a year of being together—intimate and constant—even a stray dog would have developed some attachment. But not him. I gave a bitter twist of my mouth. I watched him push open the door and walk out without a single pause. He didn’t look back. As the System signaled my imminent departure, I lit the match. Everything after the blaze was a blank slate. But now… I tugged the shackle on my ankle, the metal links clanging dully. I fell into a confused contemplation. Had my year of obsession finally, irrevocably, broken the unbreakable man? 03 The door creaked open. Caspian walked in, carrying a covered tray. He was still lean and classically handsome, but the years had etched a harder, more dangerous charm into his features. His body was long, a sharp silhouette of broad shoulders and a narrow waist. Paired with that stoic, impossibly perfect face, he could make any magazine cover model look like a rookie. He took a bowl of hot soup from the tray. The steam rose gently. He scooped a spoonful, blew on it, and lifted it to my lips. “Eat up, Aubrey. I wouldn’t want you to run out of steam later.” My fists clenched, then slowly relaxed. I was, currently, in his cage. I had to yield. His demeanor was unnervingly gentle, as if we truly were a devoted couple of many years—if I could only ignore the crushing weight of the metal on my ankle. The meal was heavy with unspoken tension. I sighed, setting the bowl down. “Caspian, is this what you want? To repay the humiliation I inflicted, piece by piece?” He said nothing, only smiled—a deep, slow, and utterly chilling smile. I shuddered. Was he going to…? The thought was terrifying. Suddenly, I watched him lean forward slowly. His beautiful face was inches from mine. A shallow, yet utterly evil curve lifted the corner of his mouth. He raised his hands and cupped my head. His lips, hot and damp, crashed onto mine. It wasn’t a tentative exploration. It was a torrential, overwhelming flood of taking, of demanding penetration. He drowned me in it, sweeping me away until I was desperate for air. Finally, he pulled back. I gasped, frantically dragging oxygen into my lungs. His eyes were bloodshot again. He roughly shoved me back onto the bed. “If I didn’t believe you were her, I’d already have gutted you.” His voice was cold, sharp, like ice water. I finally broke free of my stupor and struggled, screaming. “Caspian, how can you do this to me?” Tears streamed down my face. I stared at him, my eyes red and furious. He let out a short, dismissive laugh. “Why wouldn’t I?” His long, cool fingers traced my eyebrows and the curve of my cheek. His intent was clear. “Didn’t you do this to me that year?” “You set the rules, Aubrey. Why do you suddenly object to playing by them?” 04 Caspian kept me pinned and broken all night. After that, he spent every night in my room. He held me tight again that night. The candlelight flickered around us. I traced the perfect contours of his face with my eyes, trying to solve the puzzle of his constant frown. Had Caspian actually fallen for me? “No…” A soft whisper escaped his lips. “What is it?” I leaned in. My gaze instantly collided with his cold, clear eyes. He was suddenly wide awake. Our breath mingled, close enough for a kiss. I awkwardly pulled back. He didn’t speak, just stared at me, unblinking. It was so intense I felt the hairs on my arms prickle. I shivered, about to make a lame joke, but his next words silenced me completely. Caspian’s fingertips lightly stroked my cheek. His eyes held volumes of mockery and chilling indifference. “Of all the pretenders, you are the closest replica.” “And you get to stay.”

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My sister told my stalker I was into BDSM and captive love scenarios. So he locked me in the moldy basement of his rental unit. I slept in a dog cage, allowed a sip of water and a few bites of stale bread only at his discretion. By the time I escaped, I’d missed my college exams and the starvation had given me stomach cancer. My sister, Phoebe, looped her arm through my honors student boyfriend’s, Cameron, and winked at me, a playful, cruel gesture. “Did you enjoy the thrill, big sister? That sweet, sweet taste of being a captive little wife?” “You submissive types love that, don’t you? Not like Cameron and me, we have to stick to the power-couple path.” In the end, she tipped off the psycho to my hiding spot. I was drained of blood and transformed into a horrifyingly exquisite doll. When I opened my eyes again, I was back—the day my sister stole my boyfriend. I looked at the perfectly charming, sun-kissed young man who was my stalker. A slow smile curled on my lips. “Tell me, Silas. Are you willing to be my good dog?” … 1 He was visibly blindsided by the question. The ever-present, easy smile that was his camouflage flickered, replaced by a momentary panic and deep confusion. But I wasn’t looking at the panic. I was looking past it. In the frantic swirl of his gaze, I caught a flash of something that shouldn’t have been there: a flicker of raw, pathological excitement. A sickness. I watched the slight bob of his throat beneath his pristine white collar, the light of madness reflecting in his dark eyes. It was the same light that had guided my nightmares for so long. In my past life, it had taken only a single malicious lie from my sister to unleash him. He had taken me—the girl who was kindly tutoring him—and locked me in that dank basement, choking me, abusing me with a systematic cruelty I still couldn’t process. To keep me awake, to satisfy his twisted obsession, he would force me to calculate the answer to a math problem every three seconds. In that dark, airless memory, I learned that seven was the maximum number of ribs you could have broken by a shovel and still be conscious, and that exposing exactly six to eight teeth made for the most socially acceptable smile. All thanks to my dear, sweet sister. Now, reborn, I finally understood the rules of the game. Against a psychopath like Silas Thorne, you had to be the bigger monster. When I saw the excitement in his eyes threaten to break free, I knew it was time to pull back the leash. I shrugged, hoisting my book bag nonchalantly. “Just kidding. Forget I said anything.” I started to walk toward the library entrance, but he moved with terrifying speed. His hand shot out and clamped around my wrist, pulling me back. When I turned, the fleeting panic was gone. In its place was a singular, ink-black focus. His eyes were locked on mine. The next second, he met my gaze, then quickly unclasped the belt he wore, wrapping the leather tightly around his own throat. As the shadow of a smile touched my lips, he sank to his knees. Like a child eager for praise, he whispered a single, charged word: “Mistress.” Just as I reached out to ruffle his perfectly styled hair, a familiar voice—the last one I wanted to hear—rang out behind me. “Kendall… what… what are you doing?!” It was Cameron, my boyfriend of three years. He was staring, his eyes wide with disbelief, holding my sister’s hand and juggling a ridiculous, artisanal green smoothie he’d deliberately driven across town to buy for her. 2 Cameron instinctively looked down at the man kneeling at my feet. His face registered an entirely new level of shock, a type of panic I’d never seen from the controlled, academic golden boy. Before he could demand an explanation, Phoebe gasped in mock horror. “Oh! Sister? I never knew…” “You’ve been playing so dirty behind Cameron’s back?” Then, pretending to recover, she smoothed things over for me, turning to Cameron with fake concern. “No… wait.” “Cameron, we must be misunderstanding Kendall.” “She must have some kind of profound stress. Maybe she’s just dealing with the pressure of the Presidential Scholarship by…” “By letting off a little steam like this?” Looking at the thinly veiled, triumphant mockery in her eyes, I felt my heart begin to incinerate. I remembered the past, when she’d handed Silas the carving knife and asked me, a cruel smirk on her face, “What now, little wife? Ready to be stuffed and mounted?” The suppressed rage made my body tremble, but I locked it down. I placed my hand on Silas’s head, stroking his hair gently. “Don’t listen to them, good dog.” “What I feel for you is far more than ‘letting off steam.’” Silas froze. He glanced at me, then wasted no time in establishing his claim. Ignoring the crowds of students around us, he pulled me into his arms and kissed me. Hard. For a moment, a metallic, coppery taste filled my mouth as he devoured every gasp of air I had left. When he finally pulled back, he looked straight at Cameron, a satisfied, predatory expression on his face. “What’s wrong, Mistress?” “Someone’s staring at me like they want to murder me.” “Surely my Mistress won’t abandon me for him?” Seeing the raw, incandescent fury in Cameron’s expression, I smiled and replied, “Of course not.” This blatant, public provocation shattered Cameron’s usual polished composure. He threw his head back and yelled at me, shame and anger overwhelming him. “Kendall! You know this is a critical tutoring period for Phoebe!” “Did you seriously bring this… this trash here just to humiliate us?” “Do you think this is funny?!” Cameron’s outburst caused Phoebe to frown at me in disappointment. “Sister, I know you’re upset that Cameron is focusing on my applications.” “But you shouldn’t use your relationships to act out! What makes you any different from those trashy, shameless sluts?” Cameron immediately cut off her ‘well-meaning’ monologue, glaring at me. “Enough.” “Some people are only fit to live in the gutter. We don’t need to be dragged down by a tramp like her.” Then, he took Phoebe’s hand and stormed away. But just before they turned the corner, I caught the shadow of a triumphant smirk on Phoebe’s face. She looked like she knew exactly what my future held. Too bad. In this life, I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. 3 That same day. In the study lounge booth right next to the one where Cameron was helping Phoebe with her prep, Silas and I kissed with a blistering heat. The gasps and soft sounds of our activity were so loud they practically drilled into Cameron’s booth. The sound of his rage climaxed when he smashed his expensive fountain pen on the table. Just as things were about to spiral out of control, I bit Silas’s lip. He winced, his brow furrowed, and he looked at me with displeasure. “What is it, Mistress?” “Are you still worried about the brother next door?” “Or did the sound of his tantrum disrupt your pleasure?” He smoothed out his expression, showing two tiny, almost boyish canines, and I was momentarily stunned. Because of the trauma of my past life, I had never really looked at Silas. I had never noticed how truly beautiful his features were. His long, slightly curled lashes softened the pathological edge in his eyes. He looked like a finely carved sculpture. Compared to Cameron’s clean-cut, predictable handsomeness, Silas was a revelation. But I snapped out of the trance quickly. I knew exactly what kind of terrifying creature lurked beneath that perfect exterior. When I didn’t answer, his strong, articulate hand slammed me back against the wall. The muted thump made the study table in the next booth vibrate. Just then, Cameron’s patience finally ran out. He threw his textbook down and angrily hammered on the dividing wooden wall. Silas, however, met Cameron’s rage with an infuriating calmness. “Do you need something, Mr. Honor Student?” he asked, a flirtatious lightness in his voice. “Perhaps you need my Mistress to enlighten you on a difficult question?” He stepped slightly aside, making a mocking ‘after you’ gesture. That playful smirk succeeded in humiliating Cameron. “This is a study lounge!” Cameron hissed, his teeth clenched in fury. “It’s not a place for you two to hook up!” He slammed the door and stormed back into his booth with Phoebe. The next second, I heard heavy breathing and soft, breathy sounds of “no” and “don’t” coming from the other side of the wall. I gathered my things and started to stand up. That’s when a solid, powerful hand clamped around my throat. The suffocating pressure instantly intensified. Silas’s calm mask dissolved, replaced by the stark, terrifying madness I remembered so well. “Mistress,” he whispered, his eyes blazing with a deranged intensity. “You can’t just tease someone and then walk away. Even if I am your dog, a mad dog will bite.” Staring into his almost pathologically focused eyes, I felt no fear. I just asked him, flatly, “Did that feel good?” Silas blinked, clearly taken aback. I pressed on, my voice steady and normal. “The taste of defying your Mistress.” “Did it feel good, Silas?” That single question successfully introduced a tremor of panic into his gaze. As my calm, assessing look held him, he slowly released his grip. Then, he knelt down, cupping my feet in his large hands. After a long silence, his eyes, suddenly vulnerable and flickering, lifted to mine. “Mistress.” “I’m the best boy. Please don’t abandon me.” I finally allowed a genuine, though cold, smile to surface. I gently ruffled his soft, messy hair. I replied softly, “Good dog. I won’t abandon you.” “Ever.” A brilliant, utterly sincere smile bloomed on Silas’s face. Just as we started to leave, Cameron and Phoebe, looking disheveled, emerged from their booth. Meeting my cold gaze, Cameron gave a short, cruel laugh, revealing a hickey on his neck. A flushed Phoebe rolled her eyes at me. She leaned into Cameron, complaining coquettishly about how forceful he’d been. “Now my legs feel like jelly.” She gave me a smug, sidelong look, then wrapped her arms around Cameron’s neck as he lifted her up to carry her. “You’re the expert here, sister,” she taunted. “You guys made the entire table wobble, yet you look completely fine.” Then, she focused her intent on Silas. “I really envy you, Silas.” “To get someone already well-trained right from the start.” “Not like Cameron and me. We have to take things slowly, even with the most basic positions.” I was physically sickened. Then, she paused, tapping her chin with a faux-innocent look. “Oh, right.” “Cameron just promised to give me your early acceptance scholarship slot.” “You’re not mad, are you, sister? After all, a flirtatious little wife like you will just end up focused on domesticity anyway.” “Not like Cameron and me. We have to stick to the hard path of the power couple.” Phoebe’s silvery laughter faded as the memory of my past life flooded back: I had given up my hard-won competition scholarship spot for Cameron when he’d begged me. He had then turned around and passed it to Phoebe as a grand gesture, and the two of them became the celebrated golden couple heading off to the Ivy League, while I was left for dead. Reborn, there was no way I would let Cameron steal what was mine. I’d just left the principal’s office. Moments later, the pair of them blocked the doorway of my classroom, staring at me with disbelief. “Kendall!” Cameron sputtered. “You have gone too far!” 4 Seeing that I had made absolutely no effort to hide the fact that I had reclaimed my scholarship, Cameron was shaking with anger. “You know Phoebe’s grades aren’t guaranteed for an Ivy League spot! Why would you deliberately hog her scholarship?” “What is your problem?!” He actually made me laugh. Taking back what was mine was, in his mind, “hogging.” I suppressed the nausea he caused me and shrugged indifferently at the pair of them. “I simply retrieved what belongs to me.” “Is there an issue with that?” I then smiled, meeting Cameron’s enraged eyes. “You’ve been trying so hard to tutor Phoebe. Isn’t that because you want her to prove herself with her own hard work and talent?” “A shortcut like this doesn’t suit her ‘Girlboss’ image. Why, I thought I was doing you a favor by helping her earn it the hard way. Why are you upset?” I turned to leave, but as I passed him, Cameron grabbed my wrist with a crushing grip. The commotion drew the attention of other students, but he intentionally raised his voice to embarrass me. “Kendall!” “You—” Even with an audience, I didn’t mince words. “That’s right. I did it on purpose. What are you going to do about it?” My dismissive attitude immediately sent Phoebe into a fit of tears. Red-eyed, she pouted at Cameron. “Cameron, it’s fine.” “If my sister is so determined to ruin things for us, I’ll let it go. I won’t let you beg her for my sake.” The display instantly earned her the sympathy of the surrounding male students. “Kendall, that’s going too far!” “So you’re smart—who cares? What kind of future will a little wife like you have, even at an Ivy?” “Unlike Phoebe, who’s on the fast track to being a powerful woman! How dare you hold onto that spot?” “You don’t deserve it!” Encouraged by the crowd, Cameron glared at me, his voice rough with resentment. “You want to make a scene? Fine!” “Today, I’m going to let everyone see what kind of person you really are!” He stormed toward the rushing principal, full of self-righteous fury. In front of all the students, he declared, “I want to file a formal complaint!” “Kendall has engaged in immoral conduct! She was hooking up with another student in the study lounge!” Phoebe followed him, her chin held high as she launched into her own self-serving ‘Girlboss’ manifesto. The principal, however, interrupted them with a scowl. “What are you two doing?! Do you realize the trouble you’re in?” “The school is considering canceling your exams and moving to expel you both!” Cameron and Phoebe froze, horrified. “What?! How is that possible?!” Before they could fully process the shock, the class chat group exploded with activity. Reading the stream of messages, Cameron’s face turned chalk-white. He looked at me and screamed, utterly undone: “Kendall!” “What the hell have you done?!” Seeing the grainy video of him and Phoebe in the study lounge circulating wildly, I merely shrugged and smiled. “Nothing much.” “Just doing my part to ensure our student body has a quiet, dignified environment for their studies.” The loud, unmistakable sounds of their heavy breathing echoing from the phones of students in the hallway caused Phoebe to completely lose it. She dropped to the ground, screaming hysterically. “It wasn’t me!” “That person wasn’t me!” She grabbed one student’s phone and smashed it, trembling. “Don’t look!” “None of you are allowed to look!” Despite their frantic denials, the principal dragged them both off to his office. I thought the two of them would face a social media firestorm. But I underestimated the power of the Cameron family’s money. Within half an hour of their parents arriving, all traces of the video had been purged from the school networks and the internet. Even their impending expulsion was quickly rescinded. That night, on the walk home, Cameron confronted me, a clear threat in his voice. “Kendall!” “Don’t think this is over. You dared to bring shame to Phoebe? You should expect to pay a very heavy price.” Phoebe looked at me with pure malice. “Sister, you disappoint me. People with character flaws like yours belong in the lowest pit of hell.” Meeting Phoebe’s wicked glare, I knew it was time to give them a preview of hell. After they left, I finally made the call. The next morning, Silas, who was waiting to pick me up, was holding a beautifully wrapped gift box. Inside was the brooch he had recently given me. The moment he dropped the box in shock, the meticulously prepared “gift” I had nestled within the red raffia ribbon rolled out.

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The day I found out about my husband’s affair, my family hauled my numb body back home, all of them urging me to pretend that nothing had happened. “You’re a stay-at-home wife, what would you live on without him? You’ll forget about this soon enough.” A chill went through me, and the tears wouldn’t stop. I was a wreck. That was why, while my husband was away on a business trip, my parents had my cousin try to stand in for him. “Just try it a few times. If you get used to the proximity, you’ll accept it. Life will go on as before. Just try to be practical.” My cousin went through the motions of my husband’s routines. Their figures overlapped; everything seemed unchanged—still gentle, still attentive. But I couldn’t bear it. Every caring gesture he made brought back the image of her: them kissing on the street without a care, that same mouth having kissed me just that morning. I screamed with revulsion, shattering a vase, but the agonizing question still tore out of me: “Why did you cheat? Was I not enough? Is she really that much better than me?” I wasn’t being asked to forgive him just once. I was being asked to forgive him every single time the memory surfaced. Those images sliced me into pieces, like knives. I collapsed to the floor, helpless. Twelve years of a relationship. He was supposed to be the husband who loved me most. I’d quit my job to become a full-time wife so we could prepare for a baby. We were supposed to be having children. But he had cheated. How could I possibly pretend nothing happened? I was sobbing hysterically. When I looked up again, I pleaded with my parents. “Please, let me go. I can support myself. I promise.” … My parents exchanged a long, tense look, then sighed in defeat. “Fine, but you need to think this through. Divorce isn’t easy, and we don’t want to hurt you.” “Marriage doesn’t always need love to last.” They left, and the house fell into a terrifying silence. Before leaving, Mom told me to give both myself and him some time, to just try to make it work. Divorce, she insisted, wouldn’t be good for me. I mumbled a reply, then curled up in the corner, the cold seeping into me from all sides. I thought and thought, for hours. The sweet moments we shared flashed before my eyes like a slide show. How could a person so deeply loved change like that? How long had it been? Had they gotten a room? Gone further? What positions had they used? I even had the perverse thought: What if someone who looked exactly like him did it, that it wasn’t him? But no, we knew each other too well. That person was definitely him. A whirlwind of thoughts tormented me, driving me nearly insane. I tugged at my hair, pulling myself further into the corner. Maybe if I didn’t love him, I could pretend it hadn’t happened. But we had loved each other, deeply. I couldn’t accept his infidelity and then have to either pretend everything was fine, or have him say, I’m sorry, and me say, It’s okay, and somehow expect everything to go back to normal. Tears streamed down my face again at the thought. I didn’t sleep. I sat in that corner all night. The sound of the front door opening. Ronny Maxwell walked in. Seeing me on the floor, he rushed over, picked me up, and headed toward the bedroom. The unfamiliar scent of perfume was a loud declaration, making my nose sting with a mix of sadness and revulsion. There was a smear of uncleaned lipstick on the inside of his shirt collar. In that moment, everything was clear. The pain spread throughout my body. I had imagined so many reactions: I would lash out, I would force him to tell me why he cheated, I would make him swear on his knees never to do it again, I would drag that woman to my face, I would torment them like a lunatic, ending everything in mutual destruction… But the words caught in my throat, all of them. It seemed to make no difference. They all led to the same result. He was frantically checking to see if I was hurt or sick, when I finally spoke. “Ronny, let’s get a divorce.” Ronny’s face froze. “Wifey, what are you talking about? We’re not getting a divorce.” He quickly wiped my tears away. “Don’t say things like that. Have I been too busy lately, traveling too much, not paying enough attention to you? I’m sorry. I’m just trying to work hard now so I can spend more time with you and the kids later.” He raised my hand to his lips and kissed it, acting as if his love for me was absolute. I pulled my hand back, cold and uninterested in even speaking. I was too tired… I fell into a heavy sleep. When I woke up, Ronny had already prepared dinner. He presented a delicate necklace—a matching couple’s piece I had mentioned wanting ages ago. He happily put it around my neck, but received no joyful reaction. He looked a little deflated. “You don’t like it?” I shook my head, my voice exhausted. “I like it.” If he had given it to me last month, I would have jumped up for a huge hug and a big kiss. But now, an overwhelming fatigue consumed me. Ronny returned to the kitchen to busy himself. The doorbell rang. I opened the door. The delivery person checked the house number. “Hello, package for Mr. Maxwell. Could you sign for it?” I took it. Driven by curiosity, I opened the box. Inside was an identical necklace. Ronny came out of the kitchen and saw me staring blankly at the necklace. He nearly dropped the bowl he was holding. He quickly took the necklace from my hand. “Look at me, I’m so forgetful. I accidentally bought two of the same one. I’ll return this one tomorrow.” When he lied, he instinctively touched his ear. That habit hadn’t changed. After twelve years together, I knew all his tells. He had no idea how transparent his lies were. I didn’t expose him. It was too meaningless. After dinner, I fell back asleep, my body inexplicably drowsy. Ronny went out late that night. As if to confirm a suspicion, I called out softly. “Ronny.” He paused, came back, and kissed my forehead. “Something came up at the office. I’ve been busy lately. I’ll be back soon.” He left quickly, not giving me time to react. I stood by the window, watching him walk in the complete opposite direction of his office. A suffocating ache tightened my chest. I tried desperately to make excuses for him. No, it’s just work… Ronny came home early the next morning, and his first stop was the shower. The heavy scent of sex on his clothes was sickening, and a massive wave of nausea hit me. I ran to the bathroom and vomited until I felt empty, the bitter taste of bile filling my mouth. I broke down and cried. Ronny and that girl… they had done everything. So dirty! I curled up in the bathroom corner. Even with all that noise, Ronny didn’t notice. He finished his shower and left the house again. I felt another surge of acid bile. Following a friend’s advice, I used a pregnancy test. Staring at the two clear lines, I was completely stunned. The baby I had longed for had chosen this moment to arrive. I touched my lower abdomen, thinking for a long time. My friend urged me. “Think about it carefully. It’s hard for you to get pregnant. You drank so much herbal medicine just to conceive. Maybe you should keep the baby and ditch the father.” I was lost. I never imagined giving my child an incomplete family. But if I terminated the pregnancy, would my body ever be able to conceive again? I remained in a daze. While chopping vegetables, I accidentally sliced my finger. Blood welled up, but I kept repeating the motion, as if I felt nothing. Until Ronny came back and quickly took the knife away. He seemed to finally take a good look at me. “Seraphina, your condition has been terrible lately. Was that trip not fun?” I answered coldly. “It was pretty awful.” To cheer me up, he took me out for a special candlelight dinner. I bumped into someone around a corner. We looked up, and in that instant, I felt the blood drain from my body. Ronny’s hand, which was holding my arm, tensed slightly. The young woman spoke first, breaking the silence. “Boss, I’m so sorry. Look at me, always walking without watching where I’m going.” She introduced herself with a natural poise. “Hello, Mrs. Maxwell. I’m Ronny’s secretary. I’ve heard so much about how much of a devoted husband the boss is. See how much in love you two are.” I dug my nails into my palm to keep myself from exploding. That necklace—the one Ronny claimed he would return—was now hanging around her neck. Ronny gave a cold, distant nod, even asking the young woman to return to the office to work overtime, making it seem like they were nothing more than employer and employee. At the dinner table, Ronny ordered a feast. The waiter brought out a plate of boiled crab. Ronny even pushed the crab closer to my side of the table. “Your favorite.” He had forgotten. I was severely allergic to crab. It was something that should have never appeared in front of me. Now, however… It seemed someone else liked it, and he was remembering her preferences. Feeling sick, I got up and headed to the restroom. I considered just leaving, turning the opposite way from the main dining area, but I heard voices coming from the corner. Ronny was coldly ordering Laney Vance to leave. “I told you, don’t cause a scene in front of Seraphina. Are you looking to get fired?” But his coldness shattered the next second. The young woman stood up and kissed him. “I know, I just miss you.” Ronny’s ears turned red, his emotional defenses completely broken. He wrapped his arms around Laney and deepened the kiss. Soon, I heard muffled gasps. My heart shattered into a million pieces. I stood rooted to the spot. Ronny pulled back slightly. “I have to go back to dinner. Don’t cause trouble. I’m yours tonight.” They finally emerged from the corner and made direct eye contact with me. The panic on Ronny’s face was unmistakable. “Seraphina, it’s not what you think. Let me explain…” His face was flushed. I gave a bitter smile, and oddly, I felt a heavy weight lift from my chest. I felt a sense of release. “Ronny Maxwell, let’s get a divorce.” It was too obvious. His infidelity was everywhere. He was so careless. I couldn’t pretend nothing had happened. Ronny was about to speak again, but Laney clutched her head, looking pained. Ronny immediately rushed to her side, picking her up and hurrying away. “Seraphina, wait for me to come back and explain.” Ronny didn’t come home the next day. He didn’t even call. I booked an appointment for an abortion and contacted a law firm. He probably hadn’t even realized it. Laney Vance was already his priority. As I packed my things, I found our old wedding video and couldn’t resist watching it again. The footage was blurry, and my eyes stung with tears. He had loved me so much then. But the scene changed in my memory, and that other figure appeared again, the unspoken understanding in their intertwined gazes. My hand started shaking uncontrollably. Seven years of marriage. He had been cheating for a long time. I was only just finding out now. Why? If he was cheating and didn’t love me, why did he marry me in the first place? The past seven years of ‘love’ felt like a stinging slap across my face. I was such a fool. Just as I was lost in thought, my phone pinged with a video message. I opened it. It was a montage of Ronny taking care of Laney in the hospital: rubbing her feet, massaging her back, feeding her soup with a spoon… Everything was done with practiced ease, every action something he had once done for me. Only the recipient of the service had changed. Their familiar intimacy was indistinguishable from that of a married couple. I was surprisingly calm. Seven years. A full seven years. They had done everything. It made sense. They might even have a child together already. I composed myself, saved the evidence, and headed for the law firm. Just then, a car sped toward me, driving the wrong way. I couldn’t dodge it in time and was slammed to the ground. As I fell, the world spun. The driver sped away. My abdomen hit the pavement hard. Blood flowed profusely. Excruciating pain shot through my entire body. But all I could think about was the baby. I regretted everything. The child I had suffered so much to conceive, the one I’d taken all those years of herbal medicine for. If I lost this gift from God, would I ever be able to be a mother? I no longer loved Ronny Maxwell, but I loved this tiny life. I wanted to keep the baby. I wanted to be a single mother. I desperately reached for my phone, which had been flung away. I intended to call for an ambulance, but due to the blood loss, my hand was shaking, and I accidentally dialed Ronny’s number, which was set to speed dial. The phone rang. It connected. It sounded like a bar VIP room, the loud noise drowning out my feeble calls for help. My consciousness began to fade. Until the other side went quiet. Ronny, sounding drunk, was encouraged by everyone around him to reveal his darkest secret. “The boldest thing I’ve ever done? Because Laney was afraid I’d have a kid, I put birth control pills in my wife’s food for three years. All her attempts to conceive failed. I even hired someone to fake her medical reports. She was in the dark, thinking she had fertility issues, taking herbal medicine for three years, and she even quit her management job because of it.” Laney kissed Ronny. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for me, Ronny. I have great news too—I’m pregnant.” A burst of cheers erupted, everyone celebrating their sordid affair. I listened, stunned. My baby, as if sensing my despair, made its final attempt to leave my body. I was completely numb. I forgot to even ask for help. Until the call disconnected, and a passerby finally noticed my terrible condition. When I woke up again, I was in a hospital bed, my mind blank. The doctor followed protocol and tried to contact Ronny, but couldn’t reach him. He was probably drunk, passed out in Laney’s bed, ready for another post-drinking session of passion. The doctor’s face was full of regret. “We couldn’t save the baby, but thankfully, there was no damage to your uterus. Having another child later shouldn’t be a problem.” I thanked the doctor, then looked at the few-months-old fetus. Was he also completely disappointed in his father? The final tear escaped. I signed the divorce papers, copied the phone recording, and mailed them to Laney Vance’s address. Then I arranged for a real estate agent to sell our marital home. With everything taken care of, I boarded a plane, leaving the city behind forever. Ronny Maxwell woke up with Laney in his arms. They lingered together all morning. He felt a nagging uneasiness in his chest but dismissed it as the aftermath of too much drinking. Then, the delivery guy knocked on the door at the worst possible time. “Hello, Mr. Maxwell. I have a package here that needs signing.”

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I was setting the bowl of iron-rich protein milk—the kind that smelled faintly metallic and never seemed to warm you up—on the kitchen counter for my sister when the blood gushed from my nose. I grabbed a paper towel and pinched my nostrils shut, bracing myself against the island. But it was too late. The crimson spill had already hit the white tile. And as it did, a strange, electric current of text flashed across my vision. It was The comments. “Perfect. Two more bleeds and the side character finally kicks the bucket.” “Thank God. Once she’s gone, the main girl won’t have to keep giving blood and choking down that nasty recovery sludge.” My hand, holding the blood-soaked tissue, froze. The side character? Was that me? Was I going to die? “Poor little Ella. She’ll be sad when her sister dies, but it’s a necessary sadness.” They were right. Ella cried if I just scraped my knee. “The sadness is temporary. Without her anchor sister dragging her down, she can go to the best schools, meet the hero who heals her, and live happily ever after.” Ella would be happy? She would have a good life? Then it was fine. If I was going to die, then it was all for the best. 1. Ella, who was hunched over her textbooks on the worn sofa, rushed over the moment she saw the blood. “Aria! What happened?” She was frantic, practiced. She deftly tilted my head, applied pressure, and guided me to sit at the small dining table. The Comments were mocking the scene. “My heart breaks for the sweet little thing. Born to be the sister’s blood bag, and still so devoted.” “Why won’t the side character just die already? Stop dragging the whole family down.” “Seriously. Ella’s a senior. It’s crunch time for college applications, and she won’t even board at school for evening study because of her.” Ella, a blood bag? No. She was the one we’d all waited for, the miracle baby born into a life of expectation and love. But they had a point: I was the weight that was sinking her future. I pulled my hand away from Ella, who was reaching for my clotting medication, and smiled a reassuring, tired smile. “I’m fine, El. Just rubbed my nose too hard.” My voice was soft, but steady. “I’m doing so much better, sweetheart. You don’t need to hover over me all the time.” I squeezed her hand. “You only have a few months until your exams. Please, go back to the campus dorms and focus.” Ella’s face hardened, her expression suddenly mature and stubborn. “Absolutely not. I went back for three days last month, and you nearly bled out. You ended up in the ER.” She wrapped her arms around me, holding me tightly. “You are the most important thing to me, Aria. Nothing comes before you. Nothing.” I didn’t argue. What was the point? Once I was gone, Mom and Dad would have no choice but to send her back. Later that night, Ella went to pick up Mom from her late shift. I slipped out to take the trash to the bins, but as I passed the fire exit stairwell, I heard their hushed, broken voices. “It’s all my fault. I was too sick to terminate the pregnancy back then. Why did I let our little Ella be born into all this hardship?” Mom’s voice, usually a fortress of strength, was choked with tears. “Your father and I would gladly take care of Aria for the rest of our lives, but we can’t let her ruin yours.” “We have to bank blood for your sister every month. How much is that draining you?” Her voice dropped to a desperate whisper. “Do you want to spend the rest of your life tied to a burden? This is going to destroy your future.” I stood still, paralyzed, my chest contracting painfully. They were right. All of it was my fault. To stabilize my rare, crippling clotting disorder, my father, Rob, worked the hardest, longest construction jobs miles away, rarely coming home. Mom took every double shift she could get. And Ella—my brilliant, focused little sister—refused to apply to any college that wasn’t within commuting distance. My sister’s response was a fierce, audible roar. “Mom! How can you say that?” Ella’s voice was as clear and ringing as a bell. “I only have one sister. She is not a burden. She is my most important person.” Her tone softened but remained resolute. “Wherever Aria goes, I go.” My hand rested lightly on the cold stairwell handle. I will not ruin her. I closed my eyes and whispered a silent promise into the stale night air. I’m dying soon. And then, Ella, your life will finally be yours. 2. I pushed the door open, trying to mask the tremor in my hands. The two of them jumped, their faces registering a fleeting moment of guilt and panic. I forced a cheerful grin. “Mom, El, what are you two doing out here?” Seeing that I hadn’t overheard anything, they relaxed slightly. Ella came forward and grabbed my hand. I watched Mom quickly wipe the corners of her eyes behind Ella’s back. “We were just talking about Dad,” Ella chirped, her eyes shining. “He’s coming home soon! Aren’t you excited, Sis?” I looked at the genuine excitement in her eyes. It was pathetic how little time my father got to spend with his favorite daughter because he was constantly chasing money for my care. “Let’s celebrate,” I suggested lightly. “We should bake him something. A surprise.” Mom and Ella walked with me to the trash cans. The Comments immediately sprang to life, a fresh wave of vitriol. “Wouldn’t it be nice? If she wasn’t a leech, Ella and her parents could have a normal, happy life.” “It’s a pity. Why isn’t the side character dead yet?” “I curse her to an early grave.” “Curse her to an early grave +1.” “+10,000.” I curse Aria Sullivan to an early grave +1. I silently added myself to the list. I walked a few paces behind them, watching Mom and Ella under the flickering streetlight. From a distance, they looked like any ordinary, happy mother and daughter. But look closely, and the truth was heartbreaking. Ella was pale and too thin. Mom, barely in her early forties, was already hunched and silver-haired. I remembered the pictures from the factory Christmas parties—Mom, the undisputed “Factory Rose,” the one Dad was always playfully jealous of. Now, she was a frail, hollowed-out woman, worn down by worry and financial strain. I was the reason. I was the wreckage. In our shared bedroom, I lay on the bottom bunk, watching the halo of light spill from the top one, listening to the soft scratch-scratch of Ella’s pen. She was brilliant, disciplined, and infinitely better than me in every way. The local State University, where I was enrolled, was beneath her. She deserved so much more. “Ella,” I whispered into the dark. “I’m sorry. You could have gone to Stanford.” The sound of her writing stopped. I heard a sharp, suppressed sob above me, followed by the soft sound of a book closing. A minute later, the light went out, and the mattress creaked. Ella was climbing down. Like we used to when we were kids, we curled up together in the same small bed, whispering our deepest secrets. “Aria, you’re the most important thing,” she said, her voice muffled against my shoulder. “Once I start college, I can go to the library with you, we can get part-time jobs together, we can shop, we can build a future that belongs just to us. Any other future, no matter how good, is worthless if you’re not in it.” Her voice cracked. “Besides, medical science is advancing so fast. In a few years, they’ll probably have a cure for you.” We gripped each other’s hands, our tears soaking the same pillow. But I knew I wouldn’t make it. The only comfort was that time heals all wounds. Once I was gone, once Mom and Dad and Ella were finally free of this terrible weight, they would forget this difficult time. They would move on. The next Saturday afternoon was Ella’s birthday. I took the cash from my part-time job and paid for a proper photoshoot for her. When the photographer suggested we take one together, I quickly agreed. Deep down, I was selfish. I wanted to leave them something, a memory, so they wouldn’t forget me entirely. I was in the changing room when my legs suddenly gave out. I stumbled, barely catching myself on the vanity. The floor was instantly splashed with vivid, startling blood. I frantically wiped it up with a towel and swallowed two clotting pills. “Second time! Second time!” The Comments were celebrating. “Universal rejoicing. The third time has to be soon.” “It does. If the side character dies before Ella’s next blood donation, it won’t affect her exams.” “Die! Die! Die!” One more time? At this rate, I had maybe a week. I wouldn’t need Ella’s blood donation. That really was good news. But then, a raw, cold spike of fear pierced through me. The fear of oblivion. Tears, hot and traitorous, spilled down my cheeks. My hands started to shake uncontrollably. Don’t be afraid. Don’t be afraid. I huddled on the floor, trying to soothe the panic. Knock, knock, knock. “Aria? Are you ready?” I scrambled up, desperate to clean the last traces of blood, but Ella pushed the door open just as I stood. 3. “Aria, what is it?” She saw my tear-streaked face, my hand clamped over my bleeding nose, and the other hand desperately trying to hide the crimson-stained towel. She rushed forward and gently helped me to my feet. “What’s going on? Is the bleeding constant? We’re going to the hospital! I have to give you blood right now, or you’ll die!” Massive blood loss meant no oxygen to the brain—you either end up severely disabled or dead. I knew the drill. But I held her back, pulling the blood-soaked tissue away from my nose. “It’s okay, El. It stopped. Let’s just finish the pictures, then we’ll go.” Ella’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. I smiled weakly. “No, really. It still happens easily, but it clots much faster now. Maybe… maybe I’m actually getting better?” It was a lie. I was just so anemic that there wasn’t much blood left to bleed. Her eyes instantly flooded with delighted surprise. “Really? Oh, thank God! That’s amazing!” After the shoot, we were walking down a quiet side street on our way home, Ella excitedly going through the photo proofs, when two stumbling, drunken men appeared from the shadow of a nearby corner bar. “Well, well. Look at the two little ladies.” “Come on, girls. Come have a drink with the boys.” They moved toward us. I quickly shoved Ella behind me and turned to run toward the main road. The men yelled curses behind us. “Why are you running? We were being nice calling you over.” “Fucking ungrateful little bitches.” I kept pulling Ella, but one of the men hurled a beer bottle. It hit Ella’s shin with a sickening thud. “Ah!” Ella screamed, collapsing to the ground. As the two men closed the distance, I snatched up the broken neck of the bottle. My hand was shaking as I held the razor-sharp glass out toward them. “Stay back!” I screamed. The men sauntered closer, savoring the fear on our faces, like predators toying with their prey. Ella used her good leg to frantically shove me away. “Aria, run! Go! Don’t worry about me!” I couldn’t leave her. The men were close enough that I could smell the stale beer and sweat radiating off them. I saw a hand clamp down on Ella’s arm. Without a second thought, I plunged the jagged glass neck into the attacker’s throat. He screamed and stumbled, shoving me to the ground in his desperate flailing. My wrist landed hard on a patch of broken ceramic, slicing open the skin above my artery. Bright, shocking blood immediately began to stream out. The screams brought out neighbors and passersby. Someone called the police. Someone else called 911. I woke up in a hospital bed to the sound of Ella’s desperate sobs beside me. I tried to smile, though my lips felt numb. “Don’t cry, El. I finally got to protect you, didn’t I?” Then, the world went dark. Had I died? The next second, The comments scrolled again. “Too bad. She didn’t die.” “The evil that men do lives after them. The side character has nine lives.” I slowly focused on the fluorescent light of the hospital room. A nurse was changing the dressing on my arm. She sighed sympathetically when she saw I was awake. “You have a severe clotting disorder. You were this close to not making it.” She shook her head. “It’s a good thing your sister fought to give you a transfusion. Honestly, it was a life-for-a-life scenario.” My heart lurched. I grabbed the nurse’s hand. “Where is my sister? How is she doing?” “Calm down,” the nurse said gently. “She’s next door, still sleeping, but your mother just arrived.” I immediately tried to struggle out of bed, managing to walk the few unsteady steps to the room next door. Through the glass, I saw Mom sitting by Ella’s bedside, gently stroking her hair, her eyes glistening with tears. As if sensing my presence, Mom looked up. I pushed the door open and started toward the bed. “Mom…!” The sound of my name was cut short by the sharp, stinging slap of my mother’s hand across my face. I gripped the edge of Ella’s bed to keep from falling, looking up at the furious, exhausted expression on her face. 4. Mom’s hand was still shaking. She looked at me, her voice a raw, desperate rasp. “Why couldn’t you just stay put?” She was hysterical, her breath catching in her throat. “You knew you were sick! Why did you have to go out? Were you trying to make your sister risk her life for you?” Tears streamed down her face. “She has done so much for you. Why can’t you have a little pity on her?” She sank onto the chair, covering her eyes. “Why did I give birth to a parasite?” she whispered, the words like shattered glass. “Why can’t you just die? Why are you still alive?” I stood frozen, staring first at my sister’s pale, lifeless face, and then at my mother, who looked a thousand years old. She’s right. Why am I still alive? I drew a deep, shuddering breath and sank to my knees at my mother’s feet. I bowed my head until my forehead met the cool tile floor. I heard my mother’s choked sobs stop abruptly. “Mom,” I said, my voice barely audible, thick with genuine emotion. “I’m so sorry. I know how hard you, Dad, and Ella have struggled these past years because of me.” I looked straight at her, engraving her tired, loving face in my memory, as if I’d never see it again. “It was my luck to have you. But I have only brought you misfortune. I am truly sorry for being born.” I pushed myself up and walked out. The moment the door clicked shut behind me, blood gushed from my nose again. I pressed my thin sleeve to my face, but it was immediately soaked through. The comments was back, jubilant. “The final one! The final one! Thirty minutes, tops! The side character is done!” Thirty minutes? That was enough time to do one last thing. I found the doctor who had managed my case for years. I signed the organ donation agreement and the consent form for my body to be used for medical research. The doctor looked at me with profound pity. “Are you absolutely sure, Aria?” I nodded. “Please, wire the payment to my mother’s account. Ella is still out, so please don’t tell Mom yet. She won’t be able to handle it.” A few minutes later, I was floating above the operating theater, watching my own lifeless body being placed on a gurney. I watched the team prepare the recipient who was waiting for my heart. The successful donation would bring in a hundred thousand dollars—enough to clear our family debt and finally send Ella to the prestigious university she deserved. I followed my body, now covered by a sheet, toward the operating room, but a new movement caught my attention. Mom. “Excuse me, which room is my daughter, Aria Sullivan, in?” The nurse checked her records, confused. “Aria Sullivan? Her records have been cleared. She must have been discharged.” I saw the sudden guilt and panic on Mom’s face. “Discharged? How could she be? It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have yelled at her. She must be angry.” Mom, I’m not angry. Just then, Mom passed the gurney. The white sheet had somehow lifted at the edge, revealing my ashen face. Mom’s footsteps faltered. I tried to float forward and block the view, forgetting I was just a transparent soul. 5. “Ella… I mean, Ella Sullivan’s relative? Ella’s awake.” The nurse watching Ella called Mom away. Mom, startled, glanced at my gurney one last time, then rushed off in the other direction, heading with relief toward Ella’s room. I followed them, feeling a massive wave of relief that Mom hadn’t seen my body. The shock of my death, following her outburst and the fear for Ella, would have been too much for her. My body was wheeled into the operating room. The organ harvest was about to begin. Anxious about Ella, I drifted into her room, where Mom was sitting by the bedside, listening to her recount the events of the previous night. I took a seat across from them. Ella’s face was still a deathly white from blood loss, and she was shaking, reliving the terror. “Aria took me out for birthday pictures, and we ate at my favorite bistro,” Ella explained, grasping Mom’s hand. “But on the way home, two drunk thugs cornered us.” Mom’s face was a mask of shock. She hadn’t known the full story, only rushing to the hospital straight from her shift. “And… and then?” Ella squeezed her hand for reassurance. “They hurt my leg first, then they rushed up to drag me away. But Aria protected me.” I sat by her side, gently running my incorporeal hand through her hair. I was the one who was dying. Of course, I protected you. “I told her to run, that I was already hurt, that we couldn’t both die there.” Ella started to sob. “But she wouldn’t. She pulled me behind her and fought them.” “She stabbed one of them, but then she got pushed, and her wrist hit the broken glass. The blood… it just poured out. If those people hadn’t called the police, we both would have died.” Ella looked frantically at Mom. “Mom, where is Aria? Is she okay? What happened to her?” Mom’s eyes filled with shame. “Aria woke up before you. She came to see you, but I… I made a mistake.” She buried her face in her hands. “I was so angry and scared, I yelled at her. I didn’t even let her explain. She must have been so weak, and she checked herself out and walked home. What if she collapsed on the street?” “Go home, Mom,” Ella urged. “I’m awake now. You need to go find Aria and bring her back. And maybe bring me some lunch.” Mom nodded, preparing to leave, when the hospital room door burst open. Two police officers strode in, their expressions grim. The leading officer spoke in a cold, professional tone. “Who is Ella Sullivan?”

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It was at the Actor’s Guild Awards ceremony. During the required group photo, some viral TikTok star took my center spot. The organizer shifted uncomfortably. “He’s Ms. Lowell’s—Bianca Lowell—boyfriend. She called and asked us to take care of him.”
“Would you… mind moving?” I nodded and moved. After the ceremony, my agent, Rhonda, leaned in to whisper a reassurance. “You did the right thing. The Lowell family is too powerful. We can’t afford to cross them.”
“I’m sorry, sweetie. You didn’t deserve that.” I paused.
I shook my head. During my years with Bianca, she’d done more than a few unreasonable things to elevate me.
Now the tables had turned. What goes around comes around.
It was only fair. 1
The day I walked away from Bianca Lowell, I knew this day would come. Everything she had once given me, she would eventually give to someone else. I’d flown too high on her private jet, moved too fast on her borrowed power. When we broke up, every resource that had bent my way snapped back to its original alignment. I vanished into a three-year silence, practically a ghost in the industry. It’s only been in the last few years, clawing my way through a string of supporting roles, that I’ve managed to rebuild a name for myself: Jude Ellison. Kellan Brooks, the kid who stole my spot, was the same story. A total unknown, a social media personality who hadn’t shot a single legitimate film. Yet, here he was, at a gala of industry titans, occupying the space I’d spent a decade fighting for. Coincidentally, at the pre-ceremony dinner, Kellan was seated right next to me. As he was trying to capture the perfect selfie, his teacup—a delicate, steaming porcelain thing—tipped sharply backward. The scalding liquid flew toward me. If I hadn’t quickly blocked it, it wouldn’t have just been my arm and neck blistering, but a vintage, eight-figure custom-tailored suit. It was a small disaster. The host was horrified and immediately rushed me to the nearest emergency clinic. Kellan followed, his face a mask of performative guilt. The burn was bad. They needed to drain the blisters and dress the wound. I hate needles. I hate pain. In a situation like this, I used to grab the arm of whoever was nearby, shaking. That person would look at my pathetic display, chuckle, and call me a coward. The joke now was that the person standing next to me was her new pet. Kellan was already on the phone, his voice shaking. “Ms. Lowell… I’m so sorry I caused trouble.”
“I didn’t mean to spill the tea, I promise. I’ll apologize, but the online chatter is starting to get bad…” He went on for an embarrassingly long time, utterly pathetic and desperate. The woman on the other end answered in a voice as flat and distant as a faraway coast. “This is hardly a crisis, Kellan. Don’t bother me with it.” Kellan lowered his voice, whining.
“But his profile isn’t small, and the burns are serious. If his fans blow this up, it could look terrible for us…” Her impatient voice cut him off.
“Who is it, Kellan?”
“Jude… Jude Ellison.” A beat of absolute silence hung in the air. Bianca’s tone was barely a whisper.
“I see.” 2
Kellan hung up and visibly sagged with relief. He managed an awkward, apologetic smile. “About the C-spot… I really didn’t know.” He rushed to explain, clearly trying not to make an enemy. “I just mentioned to Ms. Lowell that I wanted to attend and maybe get some press… I had no idea she’d assign me your seat. I am so sorry.” He didn’t know Bianca’s style. For someone of her stature, the moment she decides to “handle” something, the staff automatically delivers the absolute best. It was over. I gave him a polite, practiced smile.
“It’s fine. Just a small misunderstanding.” I used to be the beneficiary of those misunderstandings. Now I was on the other side of the wheel. I had no right to feel wounded. Rhonda came to the hospital later that evening after the event had wrapped. She brought bad news: the Best Actor award had gone to a complete surprise—a newcomer whose work and acting chops were clearly inferior to mine. A blatant back-room deal. Rhonda looked at me with genuine hurt. “If you were still with Bianca, who in Hollywood would dare steal your award?” I said nothing. Some things are just not built to last. I was the one who ended it. By then, she was coming home later and later. Her attitude toward me was ice. Rumors were everywhere about the Lowell Group CEO marrying a foreign conglomerate’s heir. I wanted to save myself some dignity before I was publicly thrown out. Yet, even while I was with Bianca, I swallowed plenty of indignities. She was the physical manifestation of resources and power. Whoever owned her, owned a fast pass to fame. I once worked on a set where the lead actor was her old flame. I was the supporting character. The scene where the lead “angrily slaps” the scheming supporting character took twenty-something takes. I walked out of the studio with a face like a swollen pumpkin. Similar incidents piled up, but I endured them. In her eyes, I was no different from any of the other men who flocked to her for the access and the fame. I told Rhonda the story, trying to make it sound like a funny anecdote. She stared at me, dumbfounded. “How can you think that? You were with her when she had nothing. You were her rock.” I just smiled. What did that even matter? 3
We both thought that after the boardroom coup, Bianca Lowell had lost. Her father had died suddenly, and the vultures—the Lowell uncles and cousins—swooped in, seizing the assets and forcing the young heiress out of the company. Everyone scattered. In that entire, dark period, only I remained by Bianca’s side. I began to take on any acting job I could find. The stress was immense. I was plagued by nightmares, often waking up screaming, reaching for Bianca. She would open her sleepy eyes and gently pull me into her arms, her voice soft as she asked what was wrong. I remember sobbing, “I dreamt you killed yourself.”
“Please, don’t ever give up. No matter what happens, I will be here for you.” That was the first time I saw Bianca genuinely freeze. She narrowed her eyes, cupped my face, and stared at me in silence. I also saved her life once. When that out-of-control sedan barreled toward us, I instinctively shoved her out of the way. Lying in the ambulance, I clutched her hand, terrified and crying. “Bianca, am I going to die?” When I woke up, a simple, faded red thread was tied around my wrist. It was a charm Bianca’s mother had brought back from a pilgrimage, a token meant for protection. Bianca had always worn it close to her skin. Now, inexplicably, it was on mine. She seemed to change after that. This woman who existed on an untouchable pedestal was suddenly making me bland, unsatisfying hospital meals by hand. When I lost my appetite, she would bring the bowl to my bedside and spoon-feed me. While I was recovering, the Lowell Group saw its second, more brutal, round of purging. Everyone said Bianca had completely re-established her dominance. I was ecstatic for her. Until one day, I went to a high-end club to drop off a watch she’d requested. Outside the private room, several socialites surrounded a handsome man, sitting opposite Bianca. “Congratulations, Bianca. You finally cleaned out those old fossils.”
“We were terrified when you had that crash, actually thinking those old cronies were trying to take you out. Never thought the whole thing was a self-directed masterpiece.”
“That poor guy who shoved you out of the way, what was his name? A life debt like that, maybe you should marry him?” Bianca’s voice was cool, dismissive.
“Him? He was just… the useful idiot.”
“Men like that are the best actors. They mix in just enough genuine emotion to make you fall in love, and in the end, they expect you to hand over your entire kingdom.” The socialites fell silent.
“So… what are you planning to do with him?” She didn’t answer. She sat in the dim light, looking down. Then, a few of the men, highly attuned to the atmosphere, moved closer, whispering against her shoulder. I didn’t want to see any more. I turned and walked away. 4
Rhonda is one of the few people who knew about my relationship with Bianca. She was Bianca’s executive assistant when we first met, witnessing our entire saga unfold. Years later, when Bianca and I split and I hit a professional low, Rhonda quit her lucrative, high-profile job with Bianca to become my agent. When I asked her why she’d do it, she laughed.
“I’m betting on a grand reunion. If you two get back together, I’ll be your boss’s boss.” Rhonda is the smartest person I know. She only ever lost one bet. It’s been three years since the breakup. Bianca has had more boyfriends than I can count. I, on the other hand, have a wife in name only: Camille Stone. She’s a cardiothoracic surgeon, gentle, and utterly level-headed. We have a contract marriage. At the time, I was under surveillance by Bianca’s scheming family members, and I had a child—a daughter born prematurely whom everyone believed had died of complications, but whom I had quietly hidden away. I desperately needed a new identity to create a shield. Rhonda connected us. Camille needed an officially married status to quiet her family’s demands for a husband; I needed a wife to deflect the press and the Lowell family’s curiosity. For three years, we have lived together more like courteous roommates. To Bianca Lowell, I was a stranger. 5
The next day, I was on a video call with Camille. She had just finished a grueling surgery, and the fatigue was visible in her eyes. Noticing the bandage on my jaw, she frowned. “I’ve bought a flight. I’m coming over to take care of you.” I smiled and shook my head, about to tell her not to bother. That’s when Kellan Brooks walked in, clutching a massive bouquet and followed by a throng of production assistants and cameramen. My heart sank. I quickly ended the call. Kellan spent a long time offering scripted, earnest condolences. I played along with the required formalities. There was no point in arguing now. The organizers had released a statement claiming the seating chart was a mistake. Public opinion was already swinging Kellan’s way, giving him a massive follower boost. The strength of capital. I smiled politely, shaking my head internally. The mood had been artificially harmonious until the door to the hospital room was pushed open. A man in a sharp suit bent low, ushering in a tall, slender figure. I froze. Bianca Lowell. How could she be here? Yesterday, the financial news was reporting she was in Warsaw finalizing a massive deal. Kellan was just as surprised. “Ms. Lowell, you…” Bianca, her expression utterly detached, took his arm. “I wasn’t comfortable leaving you alone. I came to check on you.” I managed a strained smile and spoke first. “Ms. Lowell.” She glanced over the hospital bed, her cool gaze sweeping over my face without lingering. “How is your injury?” I was slightly stunned. “It’s fine. I’ll heal up in a few days.” Kellan, finally recovering from his delight, formally introduced me. “Ms. Lowell, this is Jude Ellison. He’s played in a lot of really famous things.” After a few seconds of heavy silence, Bianca curved her lips into a slight, practiced smile. “I’ve heard the name.” She produced a check and held it out, her voice level. “Mr. Ellison, I apologize on behalf of my boyfriend.” “He is spoiled, I admit, and rather careless. Please don’t hold it against him.” Kellan was looking up at her with a sickeningly worshipful, small-bird-like gaze. I shook my head, declining the offer. “Mr. Brooks has already covered my lost wages and medical expenses.” Bianca stood directly in front of me, her still presence like a mountain. She lowered her eyes, letting her gaze rest on my face. “Mr. Ellison, the reality show Kellan is about to film? You’re in it too.”
“I’d appreciate it if you could look out for him.” The money wasn’t an apology; it was a payment for Kellan’s smooth sailing. I accepted the check with a brief, humorless smile. It was surprising that Bianca was still this involved in her latest boyfriend’s career. Though, I should have known. Before I ever walked onto a set, Bianca would read every one of my scripts herself. If the romance was too involved, the intimacy too explicit, or the plot too weak, the script was out. The most telling incident was when she read a script I was genuinely excited about. After finishing the final act, she raised an eyebrow. “Why would the female lead beg the male lead to take her back?” I patiently explained. “Because she finally realizes she loves him. She has all the money in the world, but she’s miserable without him, so she makes a desperate plea…” My voice faded under the intensity of Bianca’s increasing, cold derision. “Don’t ever mistake rich people for fools.” She tossed the script casually into the trash, a slight, chilling laugh escaping her lips.
“Someone like me? I would never debase myself for a man.” “Daddy!” The hospital room door was abruptly shoved open. A tiny, bounding pink blur launched herself toward my bed. It was my daughter. Our nanny followed her in, offering a helpless, apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, sir. The little one insisted on seeing you. I couldn’t stop her.” I was filled with surprised joy and sat up quickly, pulling her into my arms. My daughter, Daisy, was wearing a pink princess dress, her cheeks plump and round. Her eyes, her entire face, were an undeniable, perfect mirror of Bianca Lowell. Kellan was utterly shocked. “Jude, you have a kid?” I looked up, smiling, and unexpectedly locked eyes with Bianca.

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I was the true daughter, found after eighteen years, and the System was telling me to cause a scene. My birth mother, Penelope, clutched the fake daughter, Brooke: “Even though you’re my blood, Brooke has been with us for eighteen years. We can’t just lose her.” The System shrieked: [Quick! Flip the table! Call them out for blatant favoritism!] I nodded. “That’s perfectly normal. Eighteen years of emotional investment versus eighteen years of biological probability. I’d choose the emotional investment, too. Blood is just science; attachment is a sunk cost.” My mother froze. My ex-fiancé, Preston, threw a check in my face: “Take the money and disappear. I don’t love hillbillies.” The System screamed: [Quick! Shred the check! Tell him he’ll regret crossing the poor youth!] I calmly picked up the check. “That’s also perfectly normal. You can’t force love, and getting a severance package for a canceled engagement is just smart business. Frankly, he’s an industry benchmark for conscience.” My ex-fiancé was dumbfounded. The System crashed: [Host, please, I’m begging you—just one small meltdown! The plot is stuck!] Me: “I’m fine. The drama is just… excessive.” 1. The air conditioning in the Shaw Estate living room was running full blast, but I could still smell the thick, cloying scent of forced sweetness and toxic drama. My biological mother, Penelope Shaw, was tightly hugging the girl who’d occupied my life for eighteen years, Brooke Shaw. Brooke was weeping hysterically, her shoulders hitching with dramatic sobs that made her look seconds from collapse. Penelope patted her back and looked at me with an expression of agonizing complexity. “Kendall, while you are our biological daughter, Brooke has been with us for eighteen years. That bond isn’t something we can just break.” She paused, her eyes pleading. “We can’t lose her. I hope you can understand your mother’s difficult position.” Richard Shaw, my father, stood nearby, sighing deeply with his hands clasped behind his back, an unspoken endorsement of his wife’s stance. The System in my mind detonated. [Host! You’re going to tolerate this? Hurry! Rush up and curse these fools! Overturn the coffee table! Tell them blood is thicker than water! You are the ONLY true daughter!] The incessant noise gave me a headache. I lifted a hand to my temple, and under the three Shaws’ tense scrutiny, I nodded. “I understand. Completely.” Brooke’s sobs cut off immediately. Her mascara-stained lashes fluttered; clearly, she hadn’t prepared for this response. Penelope looked stunned. “You… you don’t blame me?” I located a single-seater armchair and sat down, my posture relaxed, as if I were discussing a non-critical project with a client. “It’s perfectly normal. Eighteen years of emotional capital versus eighteen years of biological probability. I’d choose the emotional capital, too. Blood is just a statistical accident in biology; emotion is actual, quantifiable sunk cost.” I gestured to Brooke’s couture dress, then to my own Target clearance top. “You’ve invested eighteen years of money, time, and energy into her. You’ve raised a premium-tier account. To suddenly delete that and start over with a fresh account—no one would want to. It’s basic economic principle. I get it.” A heavy silence descended upon the room. Penelope’s expression was an awkward blend of guilt and confusion. She wanted to explain, but my cold, hard logic had blocked every possible emotional exit. The System was screaming in my head: [Host, what in God’s name are you talking about? You need to fight for affection! You need to make a scene!] I ignored it and turned to Brooke, my tone genuinely reassuring: “Please, continue crying. Don’t mind me. I’m just the new intern, still familiarizing myself with the company’s… I mean, the family’s environment.” 2. Brooke was clearly a professional-grade player. After a brief pause, she immediately adjusted her tactic. She broke free from Penelope’s embrace and walked toward me, her eyes red, timidly extending a hand. “Sister, I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault. I stole your life. If you’re unhappy, I can move out…” In the original plot, I would have slapped her or launched a vicious verbal attack, only to be chastised by my parents. The System roared again: [Opportunity! Call her a toxic drama queen! Tell her to get lost!] I looked at Brooke’s carefully manicured hand. I didn’t take it. Instead, I pulled a packet of antiseptic wipes from my bag and offered it to her. “Don’t say that. The deed to this house is in Mr. and Mrs. Shaw’s names. Legally, we are both merely occupants here.” I paused, continuing with the tone of an academic discussing a thesis. “Furthermore, where would you go? You have no independent assets or income stream. Renting an apartment will expose you to predatory brokers, and hotels are too expensive. As a rational actor, staying here maximizes your self-interest. If I were in your position, I’d also stay put.” Brooke’s hand froze mid-air. The entire script of “I’ll sacrifice everything for love” she’d prepared had been choked by my stark reality check. Her dramatic martyrdom had been ruthlessly reduced to rational, self-serving realism. My father, Richard, finally spoke up, frowning: “Kendall, what kind of talk is that? Brooke is your sister. What’s all this ‘staying put’ business? This is her home, too.” I immediately nodded, compliant as a top employee taking direction from the CEO. “Understood, Mr. Shaw. I’ve noted that Ms. Brooke Shaw has permanent residency. Now, where is my workstation… I mean, my room?” Richard winced at my detached use of “Mr. Shaw.” His face tightened. “The estate manager will take you to a guest room.” 3. The estate manager, a man in his fifties, eyed me with thinly veiled contempt. Clearly, the power structure in this house was non-negotiable. He led me to a small room at the end of the second-floor hallway. “Miss Kendall, space is tight. Miss Brooke requires two rooms for her belongings, so we’ll have to make do with this one for now.” The room was north-facing, with a tiny window, just a bed, and a wardrobe—not even a proper desk. I had passed Brooke’s room on the way; I’d glimpsed a walk-in closet, a large private balcony, and a full set of designer furniture. The System sizzled with fury: [This is an outrage! This is the maid’s quarters! Host, go smash up Brooke’s room! Demand your birthright!] I looked around the small space, nodding with genuine satisfaction. “Perfect. Poor lighting means better sleep, and the small space saves on electricity. It’s also far from the main staircase, so it’s quiet.” All the subtle insults the manager had prepared fell flat, like a bad joke. He stared at me in disbelief. “Miss Kendall, you… you’re not angry?” I put down my travel bag and pulled out my laptop. “Why would I be angry? I’m an air traffic controller, an entry-level addition to the company… to the family. No track record, no seniority. I’m lucky to have a private office at all. Did you expect me to immediately take the CEO’s suite?” I looked at him sincerely. “By the way, what’s the Wi-Fi password? And is the connection reliable? I have some deep-work deadlines tonight.” The manager opened his mouth, but only a string of numbers came out before he shuffled away, defeated. I closed the door. The System was still relentlessly nagging: [Are you insane? They are humiliating you!] I opened my laptop, connected to the Wi-Fi, and checked the stock market. “System, you’re too emotional. Will humiliation cost me money? No. But if I smash something because I’m angry, I’ll have to pay for it. I currently have two hundred dollars to my name. I can’t afford that.” 4. At dinner, the atmosphere at the dining table was so fraught it was difficult to digest. Penelope, determined to demonstrate her motherly love, constantly piled food onto Brooke’s plate, even peeling shrimp for her. “Brooke, you’ve lost weight. Eat this.” Brooke shot a triumphant look at me, then simpered, “Thank you, Mom. You’re the best.” Richard occasionally topped up Brooke’s soup. The three of them were a picture of domestic bliss, and I was the anonymous stranger who’d been seated with them. System: [Flip the table! Quick! Pour the soup over Brooke’s head!] I kept my head down, eating my meal quickly but politely. Years of working long hours had trained me to finish a meal in five minutes, as lunch breaks were precious. Penelope eventually seemed to have a pang of conscience and put a piece of spare rib onto my plate. “Kendall, you eat too. Don’t just eat the rice.” The rib was covered in bell peppers, which Brooke detested. I looked at the piece of meat but didn’t touch it. Brooke immediately piped up: “Does Sister look down on Mom’s food? Sister, I guess you didn’t get quality spare ribs back in the countryside, did you?” I put down my chopsticks and wiped my mouth with a napkin. “It’s not disdain. I’m full.” I stood up and offered a slight bow to Richard and Penelope. “Thank you for the meal. The food was very satisfactory. If there are no further instructions, I will return to my room to handle my work.” Richard looked startled. “Work? You just got back. Don’t you want to spend time with us?” I glanced at the clock on the wall. “It’s 7:30 PM, which is private time. Also, you seemed to be enjoying your conversation, and my interjection would disrupt the atmosphere. As a new hire… as a newcomer, I need to be considerate.” I turned and walked away, leaving three stunned faces behind me. I faintly heard Penelope complain: “That child is like a robot. No warmth at all.” A faint smile touched my lips. Warmth? That’s something you can only expect from people you care about. In their eyes, I was merely a blood relative who had trespassed. Discussing warmth was a luxury; discussing rules was far easier. 5. Early the next morning, an uninvited guest arrived at the Shaw Estate. Preston Rhodes, Brooke’s fiancé, and the man who was originally supposed to be mine. He certainly looked the part—tall, handsome, in a tailored suit, his hair perfectly coiffed—but his judgment was clearly faulty. The moment he walked in, he spotted me, just preparing to leave for the day (actually heading to the library to use their free A/C and save on my electric bill). Without a word, Preston pulled a check from his inner pocket and lightly tossed it at me. It fluttered to the floor. “Five million. Take the money and get lost. I’m not marrying some hick.” Preston looked down on me with an attitude of arrogant superiority. Brooke was standing on the staircase, covering her mouth to hide a triumphant smirk. The System’s voice cracked with excitement: [Tear the check! Quick! Throw it in his face! Tell him not to underestimate a poor man! Thirty years west of the river, thirty years east of the river!] I bent down and picked up the check. I meticulously checked the amount, the signature, and the bank’s seal. It was genuine. Then, I pulled out a small, pocket-sized notebook and a pen from my bag. “Mr. Rhodes, one moment.” I quickly scribbled a few lines, tore the page off, and handed it to Preston. He instinctively took it, glanced at it, and froze. “What is this?” “A receipt,” I smiled, professionally and perfectly. “Since you’ve paid the severance fee, we must follow due process to avoid future financial disputes. It clearly states that I, Kendall Shaw, have received five million dollars from Mr. Preston Rhodes, voluntarily relinquishing the engagement. All accounts settled. No refunds or exchanges.” Preston stared at me as if I were an alien. “You… you just took it?” “Why wouldn’t I?” I carefully folded the check and tucked it into a book. “This is perfectly normal. Why force a relationship that doesn’t work? And this failed relationship came with a five-million-dollar severance package. He’s an industry benchmark for conscience. Mr. Rhodes, you truly are a generous client.” I even added a helpful suggestion: “Would you like me to send a thank-you note to your company? Or perhaps clarify on social media that I was simply not good enough for you?” Preston’s face instantly flushed crimson. All the cruel, insulting words he’d prepared were rendered meaningless by my receipt. 6. With the five million dollars in hand, I instantly felt more secure. But I didn’t waste it as the System had hoped. Instead, I immediately bought into a few stocks I’d been watching. That evening, the atmosphere at the Shaw house was even heavier than before. Richard and Penelope were sitting on the couch, and Brooke was wiping away tears. When they saw me return, Richard slammed his hand on the table. “Kendall Shaw! Do you have no shame? How could you take Preston’s money?” Brooke choked out a sob: “Sister, did you only come back for the money? If you’re short on cash, I can give you my allowance, but why would you insult Preston’s feelings for me?” System: [Curse back! Call them hypocrites!] I changed into my slippers and walked into the center of the living room, pulling a custom-printed banner from my bag. I had ordered it that afternoon. Gold lettering on a red background, bearing eight bold characters: [In Gratitude for Filial Service, May You Be Happy Ever After] I solemnly handed the banner to Brooke. “Sister, I took this money with a clear conscience. Think of it this way: this engagement was originally mine. It’s now yours. The five million is the transfer fee for the fiancé. These days, taking over a storefront requires a transfer fee. How much more for a premium asset like Mr. Rhodes?” Brooke stared at the banner, unable to accept or refuse it. Her face was pale green. Richard was shaking with fury. “You… you treat marriage like a business transaction?” “Marriage is essentially an economic contract,” I stated matter-of-factly. “Since Mr. Rhodes was willing to pay for his true love, if I, the one who facilitated this true love, didn’t accept the money, wouldn’t it make his genuine affection look cheap?” I looked at Brooke, offering an encouraging smile: “Sister, your love is valued at five million dollars. You should be pleased.” Brooke let out a wail and ran upstairs. Penelope pointed a finger at me. “You… you are going to be the death of me!” I blinked innocently. “Mom, I’m just defending my sister’s valuation.” 7. Perhaps to compensate for Brooke’s wounded pride, Penelope decided to take us shopping that weekend. The stated goal was to buy me clothes; in reality, Penelope dragged Brooke straight into the high-end boutiques. “Brooke, this dress would look great on you. Go try it on.” “Brooke, this new handbag is stunning. It suits you.” I trailed behind them, little more than a bag carrier. System: [Grab her card! Max out all their credit cards! Show them who the biological daughter is!] I calmly watched Penelope swipe her card, feeling completely detached. In fact, when Brooke was trying on a bright yellow dress, I stepped forward. “That color is too bright; it washes you out. I suggest you switch to the muted cobalt blue one. It will complement your skin tone and enhance your figure.” Brooke looked at me suspiciously. “Why are you being nice?” “It’s for the Shaw family image,” I said seriously. “You are the public face of the Shaws. If you look bad, it reflects poorly on the family brand. As a member of the Shaw family, I have an obligation to protect the family’s image.” Brooke, half-believing, switched to the cobalt blue dress. The effect was surprisingly good. Even the sales associate complimented my eye: “This young lady has excellent taste.” Penelope, seeing how beautiful Brooke looked, felt a sudden wave of guilt after trying to ice me out. She picked up a clearance-rack t-shirt and handed it to me. “Kendall, you try this on.” It was an outdated, slightly pilled shirt from the discount section. System: [Throw it on the floor! Stomp on it!] I took the shirt and checked the tag. “No need to try it on. The high cotton content means it’s sweat-absorbent and breathable, perfect for work around the house. Thank you, Mom. I love it.” Not only did I not get angry, but I thanked her sincerely. Penelope’s hand froze mid-air, her expression a spectacle of complex emotions. Guilt is like a spring: the more you push back against it, the more the other person feels justified; the more compliant you are, the more they feel like a monster. In that moment, Penelope clearly felt like a monster. 8. Back at home, Brooke was clearly still bitter that I had stolen the spotlight (though I certainly didn’t feel like I had). She deliberately pulled Penelope’s favorite pearl necklace apart in the living room. The pearls scattered everywhere. Then she shrieked: “Sister! How could you push me!” I was at least two yards away from her, drinking water. Richard and Penelope rushed in, saw the mess, and saw Brooke weeping. Brooke pointed at me: “Sister said she was jealous of Mom buying me things, so she pushed me and broke the necklace…” This low-effort setup was an insult to my intelligence. Richard glared at me. “Kendall! You disappoint me greatly!” System: [Explain! Quickly! Tell them you have an alibi!] I put down my glass and sighed. Then I pulled out my phone and dialed 911. “Hello, Police Department? I need to report a felony. We have a dispute involving the deliberate destruction of property and assault, with a high estimated value of damages. Please dispatch an officer.” The whole family went silent.

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