Author: Momo Chan

In our last life, my sister was adopted by a billionaire dynasty. I was taken in by a school janitor. She thought she’d won the lottery. Instead, she stepped into a shark tank of corporate infighting, cold parents, and a brother who made it his mission to break her. She ended up with nothing. Meanwhile, I grew up in a house full of warmth. My life played out like a teen drama—the brooding, wealthy heir fell for the “poor but brilliant” girl. Me. Consumed by jealousy and rage, my sister killed me. Now, we’re back. Back to the day of the adoption. This time, she didn’t hesitate. She threw herself into the arms of the woman in the faded jumpsuit. “Mom! Take me home! I want to be your daughter!” she cried. She looked at me with a triumphant smirk. “Sis, this time, I’m the leading lady.” What she doesn’t realize is that being the “heroine” was never about where I started. It was about how I played the game. 1 We were back in the Director’s office at the orphanage. Two couples stood before us: The Westons and the Millers. The Westons looked like they stepped off the cover of Forbes. The husband was in a bespoke suit; the wife was draped in Chanel and diamonds. Their only son, Becket Weston, stood there in his private school blazer, rocking a pair of limited-edition sneakers that cost more than a mid-sized sedan. They were the most powerful family in the city. Real estate, tech, philanthropy—they owned it all. Becket was the “Prince of the City.” Then there were the Millers. They looked exhausted. Their hands were calloused from manual labor. They’d clearly put on their “Sunday best,” but you could still see the faint stains of hard work on their collars. The Director introduced them: Mr. Miller was a high school custodian; Mrs. Miller was a cleaning lady at the same school. In our first life, my sister, Macy, had fought tooth and nail to be picked by the Westons. But now? She lunged for Mrs. Miller as if she were afraid I’d beat her to it. “Take me! I want to be a Miller!” The Director whispered to himself, confused. “Strange. Macy usually only looks at people wearing Rolexes. Why the change of heart?” The Director didn’t know. But I did. 2 In the last life, Macy became Macy Weston. She thought she’d be a pampered princess. She thought Becket would be the protective older brother who eventually realized he loved her. It’s the oldest trope in the book: The Billionaire and the Adopted Daughter. She was dead wrong. Becket didn’t have a protective bone in his body for her. He loathed her from day one. “I hate gold-diggers,” he’d told her. “You’re just a social climber with an orphanage pedigree. Don’t touch my stuff.” At home, he bullied her. At school, he turned the entire student body against her. Their parents didn’t care; they only adopted a girl because a “spiritual advisor” told them a daughter would bring good luck to their next merger. While Becket was tormenting Macy, he became obsessed with me—the janitor’s daughter. He saw me working three jobs, maintaining a 4.0 GPA, and helping my mom scrub floors at night without a single complaint. “There’s something about Chloe Miller,” he’d say. The arrogant prince fell for the “indomitable wallflower.” It was the ultimate Cinderella story. When the Weston parents died, Becket’s legal team made sure Macy was cut out of the will entirely. She left with nothing but a suitcase. A few months later, Becket married me. At the wedding, he declared, “Everything I own is yours, Chloe.” Driven to madness, Macy ran me over with her car a week later. Now, she thinks she’s being smart. She wants the “simple life.” She wants the unconditional love of the Millers and the chance to be the “poor girl” Becket rescues. She smiled at me as we walked to our separate cars. “Sister, it’s my turn to be the star. Enjoy the Westons. Let’s see how you handle the ‘Prince’ when he’s your brother.” 3 Macy’s prediction was half-right. Becket’s bullying started even earlier this time. In the school locker room, my head was shoved into a sink full of water. The sound of boys laughing echoed off the tiles. Just as I was running out of air, a hand grabbed the back of my neck and hauled me up. Becket Weston looked at me with a cruel, handsome smile. “Want my family’s money, Chloe? Fine.” He pointed at the floor. “Lick the water off my shoes. Ten thousand dollars a lick. Deal?” His goons cheered. I looked at him. In my past life, this man had looked at me with such tenderness. Now, he was a monster. But Becket wasn’t even looking at me. His eyes moved past me, toward the hallway. Macy was there, kneeling on the floor, scrubbing the tiles. “Isn’t that the new Miller girl?” one of the goons asked. “Yeah, her mom’s the cleaning lady. She works with her after school.” Becket’s eyes flickered with a strange emotion—shock, then a hint of pity. “Hey!” Becket shouted at Macy. “Stop scrubbing. It’s freezing out. No one’s checking the halls.” Macy stood up, her dark hair falling over her shoulders. She looked pale, stubborn, and perfectly “tragic.” “I can’t,” Macy said, her voice trembling. “If the floors aren’t clean, they’ll dock my mom’s pay. A hundred dollars is nothing to a guy like you, Becket. To us, it’s a week’s worth of groceries.” She went back to scrubbing. It was a masterclass in manipulation. She knew exactly where to stand to get the best lighting. She knew Becket’s “hero complex” was his greatest weakness. Sure enough, Becket walked over, grabbed the rag from her hand, and threw it at one of his friends. “You guys finish the floor,” he barked. He took off his designer jacket and draped it over Macy’s shoulders. “It’s late. How are you getting home?” “Bike.” “In this weather?” Becket frowned. “Wait downstairs. My driver will take you.” As Becket led her away, Macy glanced back at me. She threw me a look of pure, concentrated smugness. Once everyone left, I was alone by the sinks. “Here. Use this.” A quiet, cold voice came from behind me. I turned. It was Avery Lane, our class president. Avery was a shadow. Brilliant, silent, and always in long sleeves, regardless of the heat. In the last life, she had tried to help Macy when Becket bullied her. She’d offered Macy towels and told her to report the abuse. Macy had slapped her hand away. “What do you know? He’s my brother! He’s just misunderstood!” Macy had been too busy dreaming of a romance with her adoptive brother to see a real friend. Avery eventually stopped trying. By graduation, Avery had committed suicide. Only then did we find out how poor she really was—her grandmother was bedridden, and her father was a gambling addict who beat her and planned to “sell” her to pay off his debts. Now, Avery stood there holding a clean towel. I took it. She turned to leave, likely thinking she had nothing to say to a “Weston.” “Avery!” I called out. She stopped. “I’m new here,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck. “I’m lost. Can you show me where the cafeteria is?” 4 In the cafeteria, I ordered everything. Ribs, wings, pasta, salad, and soup. “Oops,” I said, looking at the table. “I over-ordered. It’s a sin to waste food. You haven’t eaten, right? Join me.” Avery sat in silence for a moment before picking up a fork. She ate in tiny, controlled bites. I looked at her thin wrists. Avery was the kind of girl who actually needed a “fairy godmother.” But because she wasn’t “pretty” in a loud way and didn’t scream for help, she was just treated like background noise. This time, I was going to save her. “Man, this calculus is killing me,” I lied. “I don’t get it at all. Avery, you’re the smartest person in class. Can you tutor me?” Avery looked at me like I was insane. “I’ll pay you,” I added quickly. “Think of it as a job.” 5 I gave Avery a “pre-payment” of five thousand dollars. She was stunned. To the Westons, that was a rounding error. To Avery, it was medicine for her grandmother and a down payment on a small apartment away from her father. I went back to the Weston mansion. It was cold and empty. My “parents” were out at galas; Becket was probably at Macy’s house. I knew exactly what was happening there. Becket would be sitting in their cramped, “cozy” kitchen. He’d be eating a home-cooked meal, feeling the “warmth” of a working-class family for the first time. The Miller parents would be smiling their “honest” smiles. Macy thought she was in heaven. She didn’t realize the Millers were the most dangerous people in this story. They were sexist to the core. They wanted a boy, but since they couldn’t get one, they chose a pretty girl they could “sell” to a wealthy suitor later. Their “warmth” was a performance. In my last life, when I told the Millers I didn’t want to marry Becket, my “mother” locked me in a room and my “father” beat me nearly to death with a belt. Macy thinks she’s the lead in a romance. She doesn’t realize she’s in a trap. The Westons are a hell made of gold. The Millers are a hell made of poverty. The only way out is to stop being a “heroine” and start being the architect of your own life. 6 Over the next few weeks, Becket’s bullying intensified. I found thumbtacks in my lunchbox. Dead spiders in my toothpaste. My designer dresses were found in the closet with cigarette burns in them. Becket would smirk at me. “You deserve this, Chloe.” He expected me to cry. I didn’t. I cleaned up the mess and went to study. I had resources now. I didn’t have to work three jobs. I had a driver. I had a tutor (Avery). I had the best prep books money could buy. In the last life, I survived on black coffee and grit. This time, I had a war chest. Meanwhile, Macy was falling apart. She was sleeping in class because she was forced to help Mrs. Miller clean offices until 2 AM. Her grades were tanking. To her, being Becket’s “future wife” was more important than an Ivy League education. She spent her time writing diaries for Becket to “find” and skipping dance rehearsals to go stargazing with him. But when the school talent showcase approached… she was cut from the program. I saw her crying in the hallway—the perfect “heroine” cry, head tilted at 45 degrees, tears glistening but not falling. Becket walked by. Right on cue. “What happened?” he asked, his voice full of protective rage. “The dance team…” Macy sobbed. “Chloe kicked me out. She said… she said because my mom is a janitor and my dad is a guard, I’m not ‘classy’ enough for the stage. She said I can’t afford the costume.” Becket’s face went dark. “How dare she? It’s just a costume. I’ll buy it for you.” “No,” Macy sniffled. “She’s a Weston. Her dad is the Chairman of the Board. Even if the teachers knew she was a bully, they wouldn’t stop her.” She didn’t notice the reporters standing behind her. They were at the school for a feature on “Elite Education.” They pounced like sharks. “Bullying? What bullying?”

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My five-year-old daughter is a master of deception. I took her back-to-school shopping, and in the middle of a crowded mall, she screamed at the top of her lungs that I was a kidnapper. I was nearly hauled off to a precinct in handcuffs. When we got home, before I could even open my mouth, she collapsed into her father’s arms, sobbing. “Daddy, Mommy wouldn’t buy me my supplies! She hit me in the street!” I tried to explain the truth to my husband, but he didn’t even let me finish. He backhanded me across the face, his eyes burning with rage. “She’s five! Why would she lie? How can you be so cruel to your own flesh and blood?” Later, when I dropped her off at school, she fell to her knees in front of all the other parents. “Mommy, please let me go to school! I don’t want to take those pictures for those men anymore!” The teacher snatched my phone and found it filled with suggestive, horrifying photos of my daughter. Enraged parents pushed me into traffic. I was crushed instantly, a bloody mess on the asphalt. As I died, I couldn’t understand: Why? Why would the daughter I carried for nine months do this to me? Then, I opened my eyes. I was back at the beginning of that shopping trip. 1. “Everly, honey, Mommy and Daddy are going to take you to get your school supplies today. We’re going to make you the happiest little princess in the world.” My daughter didn’t even look at my husband, Mark. She stepped forward and grabbed my sleeve. “Daddy, I want to go with Mommy. All the other girls have their moms with them. You stay here and work, okay?” Everly had been raised by her grandmother in a small rural town and had only recently moved back to the city with us. Mark, feeling guilty about her childhood away from us, couldn’t say no. “Honey, I’ll Venmo you some extra cash. Buy her whatever she wants. She’s still little, and we owe her for the time we missed.” Hearing those familiar words, my heart felt like it was being squeezed by a giant fist. I could barely breathe. I realized I had been reborn. In my past life, I listened to Mark. I happily took Everly to the mall. At the store, Everly insisted on buying a sharp box cutter. I told her it was too dangerous. She smiled sweetly and agreed, saying kids shouldn’t play with blades. I was so relieved. I thought she was finally warming up to me. But as we walked toward the exit, she suddenly threw herself onto the floor. She wailed, “Don’t take me! Help! She’s a kidnapper! Help me!” The mall was packed. Hearing her screams, a crowd swarmed us. I desperately tried to explain, and just as a few people seemed to believe me, Everly pointed a trembling finger at me. “She really is! She’s trying to take me away!” The police arrived. I was detained and questioned for hours before being released. I couldn’t fathom why my “sweet” girl would tell such a monstrous lie. I was furious. I wanted to discipline her. But the moment we stepped through the front door, she beat me to it. She flew into Mark’s arms. 2. “Daddy, help me! Mommy wouldn’t buy me the Frozen notebooks, and then she hit me! It hurts, it hurts!” Mark pulled up her sleeve. There were dark, purple bruises on her arm. I gasped, reaching out. “Mark, I didn’t—” Mark shoved me back and slapped me across the face. “What kind of mother are you? You hit a child?!” “She’s lying! I didn’t touch her!” I screamed. I tried to tell him about the scene at the mall, but he cut me off, shouting over me. “She’s five years old! Why would she lie? Why can’t you just love your own daughter?” Mark cut off my access to our joint accounts after that. I was heartbroken and confused. I stopped trying to explain. I just kept my eyes open. But it wasn’t an accident. When I dropped her off at school, she knelt at the gate. “Mommy, please! I just want to go to school! I don’t want to take any more naked pictures for those uncles!” I was stunned. Before I could move, her preschool teacher, Ms. Claire, lunged forward. She snatched my bag and pulled out a stack of horrific photos. On the back of each one were names of “buyers.” Ms. Claire held Everly, shielding her from me. “How could you do this to your own child? You’re a monster!” Before I could say a word, the crowd of parents pushed me. I stumbled back into the middle of the road. A truck hit me. Just before the darkness took me, I saw my daughter’s face. She wasn’t crying. She was looking at me with a gaze so cold, so malicious, it didn’t belong on a five-year-old. I died never knowing why she hated me so much. Every night when I tucked her in, she would kiss my cheek and say, “I love you most, Mommy.” Since I’ve been reborn, I’m going to find out the truth. I looked at Mark, who was setting up his laptop to work from home. “Mark, she just got back. Why don’t you come with us?” If he thinks she doesn’t lie, then this time, I’ll make sure he sees it with his own eyes. Mark agreed immediately. At the mall, Everly hopped out of the car. Mark stayed inside to take a call. “I just got a notification. Work emergency. You guys go ahead. Just meet me back here in an hour.” I nodded, took Everly’s hand, and walked into the stationery store. Just like before, Everly made a beeline for the box cutters. “Mommy, I want this one! It has a cute pattern! Can I have it?” 3. I shook my head and knelt down to her level. “That blade is way too sharp, Everly. Let me ask the clerk if they have a safe version that looks just like it, okay?” Everly’s eyes were so pure, so innocent. For a second, my heart softened. With the help of a clerk, I bought a safety version of the cutter—unsharpened and child-friendly. Everly held her new tool and gave me a sweet smile. “Thank you, Mommy! You’re the best!” Maybe, I thought, it was just because I denied her what she wanted in the last life? Now that I’ve satisfied her, we can be close. She acted perfectly normal as we walked through the mall. I started to relax. But the moment we reached a crowded plaza, she wrenched her hand away and shrieked. “Help! She’s a kidnapper! She’s trying to take me!” My heart turned to ice. I had made excuses for her. I thought maybe my mother-in-law in the countryside had scared her with stories of kidnappers to keep her from wandering. But I had given her exactly what she wanted, and she still did it. The crowd gathered. People looked at me with suspicion. “She’s a kidnapper! Help me!” Everly sat on the floor, sobbing hysterically. People started believing her. “A kid that small doesn’t lie. Who are you?” “Don’t let her leave! We called the police!” A few men stepped forward to restrain me. Suddenly, I saw a familiar figure in the crowd. My eyes lit up. I shouted: “Mark! Mark, tell them! Explain it to them!” Everyone’s eyes turned to Mark. Earlier, I had texted him asking him to bring us some boba tea. Now, appearing at the scene, the crowd assumed he was my accomplice. They surrounded him. Everly’s crying faltered. She looked confused, seeing her father being harassed. Mark was more panicked than I was. It took forever for him to convince the crowd we were a family. Regardless, the police arrived and took us all to the precinct for questioning. 4. Mark’s face was thunderous the moment we left the station. As soon as we got home, he turned on Everly. “Are you stupid?! Why would you tell people we were kidnappers?!” Mark was shaking with rage. He swatted her across the rear. Everly let out a piercing scream and started wailing. I watched, feeling a cold sense of satisfaction. In the last life, he blamed me for “provoking” her. Now that it was his reputation on the line, he didn’t care about “she’s only five.” I stepped in and pulled Everly into my arms, acting the part of the protective mother. “Mark! She’s just a child playing a game! Why are you so angry? You’ll hurt her!” Mark’s hands were shaking as he pointed at Everly. “Do you know what her ‘game’ did? One of my biggest clients was at that mall. He saw the whole thing and wants to pull his contract! How am I supposed to explain this to my boss?” “You’re still protecting her! Who knows what she’ll do next!” So, it was about his job. That’s why he was so furious. I cut him off. “It’s just one client. We finally got her back, Mark. Don’t be so mean to her.” “Don’t be so dramatic. She’s just a kid. You shouldn’t take it so seriously.” I held Everly and looked at Mark with disdain. “Are you just blaming her because you’re failing at your job?” Those were his words to me in the last life. I gave them back to him, word for word. How does it feel to be the one wrongly accused, Mark? Mark stormed off. “Fine! Spoil her then!” I stroked Everly’s head. “It’s okay, honey. Mommy will take you to school tomorrow.” Everly looked at me, and for the first time, I saw genuine fear in her eyes. She was terrified of me. Why? I hadn’t done anything. Mark didn’t come home that night. After Everly fell asleep, I started searching the house. In the last life, those photos were in my bag. They had to have been taken beforehand. They had to be here. I searched every room. Finally, under Everly’s bed, I found a small metal box with a combination lock. I tried Everly’s birthday. No. I tried Mark’s birthday. Click. I opened the box, and the world stopped. The mystery of two lifetimes was solved in an instant. I finally understood why my daughter—my own blood—was working so hard to see me dead. 5. The next morning, acting as if nothing was wrong, I drove Everly to school. As we got out of the car, a teacher greeted us warmly. “Is this our new student? Come on, let’s get you registered.” I took Everly’s hand. “Let’s go, sweetie.” Suddenly, Everly ripped her hand away and dropped to her knees, howling. “No! I don’t want to go with Mommy!” “Mommy, please let me go to school! I don’t want to take naked pictures for those uncles anymore!” Her scream was high and sharp. The school gate was crowded with parents dropping off their kids. Everyone froze. Faces twisted in horror as they looked at me. The teacher immediately pulled Everly behind her. “What did you do to this child? Naked pictures? Are you insane?” Here it was. In my past life, this teacher—Ms. Lane—had immediately condemned me. Before I could even breathe, parents were surrounding me. In the last life, they found the photos in my bag. But this time, I wasn’t going to wait. I stepped forward and slapped the teacher across the face. “You’re the one who’s insane! You hear a child say something and immediately accuse a parent? Is this how you run this school?” “If you’re this quick to judge without evidence, how can we trust our children with you? What if our kids are being bullied and you just believe the bully?” My words made the angry parents hesitate. One father frowned. “Wait, she has a point. Ms. Lane, you shouldn’t just throw out accusations like that.” Ms. Lane was stunned. Tears welled in her eyes. “I… I just wanted to make sure the child wasn’t being hurt! I’m looking out for her!” The parents weren’t buying it. “What? You think we’re going to hurt our own kids? Kids at this age say all kinds of things.” Ms. Lane didn’t understand. She expected a mob. Instead, she was the one being judged. She didn’t realize that parents are naturally protective of their own. They know kids have wild imaginations.

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When I arrived at the penthouse club, Dominic Vance was sitting in the head seat. He looked composed, but his eyes were bloodshot. A circle of trust-fund heirs didn’t dare to breathe. When they saw me, they looked like they’d seen a savior, straightening up instantly: “Hey, Chloe.” The girl sitting next to him paled. Her eyes welled up as she whispered to him, “Dominic, I’m back. Are you still going home with her?” I walked over and picked up the bottle of Cabernet from the table. “Dominic. Home or a hospital wing. Pick one.” 01 The lounge fell so silent you could hear the rhythm of uneven breathing. Dominic flicked his eyes up to look at me. In that single movement, I felt his raw impatience. The guys around him, sensing the coming storm, backed away to a safe distance. I held the wine bottle steady, standing like a statue in front of the two of them. After a long beat, Dominic smirked. “Who called your sister-in-law?” The moment he said it, the color drained from the girl’s face. She looked like she was made of glass, ready to shatter. She clutched Dominic’s arm, her voice trembling. “Dominic… are you really going back with her?” I let out a sharp, cold laugh and pulled up a chair. I sat down, leveling my gaze with hers. “Lily Rose, while I still have a shred of patience left, you’d better vanish.” A single tear rolled down her cheek. “If you know who I am, then you must know…” I cut her off. “I know. I know you’re the ‘One Who Got Away.’ I know he still keeps your photo in his private study.” A shy blush crept onto Lily’s face. Her eyes lit up as she leaned her head gently on Dominic’s shoulder. “Dominic, I’m back. Divorce her. All these years later, being your wife is still my only dream.” “I know you’re not happy. You’ve suffered so much lately.” Dominic tried to keep his trademark poker face, but the vein throbbing in his temple betrayed the chaos inside him. He lifted his hand, reaching out to stroke Lily’s back. I sneered, breaking their little moment. “Mr. Vance, it seems you’ve lost interest in going home.” “My apologies, then.” I swung my arm high, and the wine bottle came crashing down—straight toward Lily’s head! 02 CRACK! The explosion of glass was met with screams. Lily stared, paralyzed, as Dominic shielded her in his arms. Blood, mixed with dark red wine, began to pour from his forehead. “Dominic! Oh my god, Dominic…” Lily scrambled to her feet, her hands shaking as she tried to help him sit. She grabbed a handful of napkins, pressing them desperately against the gash on his head. The paper was soaked in seconds. She turned to me, screaming like a banshee. “You’re insane! You tried to kill her! How could he ever marry a freak like you?!” Dominic caught his breath. He took a napkin, wiped the blood and wine from his eyes, and pulled Lily back. “Lily, don’t provoke her.” “Are you hurt?” Lily whimpered and held out her hand. There was a tiny half-inch scratch from a flying glass shard. Dominic stood up instantly, cradling her hand like it was made of gold. He started leading her out. “Why didn’t you say so? Come on, I’m taking you to the ER.” I looked down at my own hand. Blood was dripping from my fingertips, vanishing into the dark carpet. I had been at the office all day. I’d only had time for a few bites of a sandwich between meetings with major clients. I had barely clocked out when I saw the text and rushed here. Dominic, I’m exhausted. I’m hungry. And I’m bleeding, too. What happened to the boy who once fought off kidnappers until he was covered in bruises just to save me? How did he become this stranger? Dizziness hit me in waves. The room began to spin. I grabbed the edge of the table, collapsing into a chair. Someone shouted, “Dom! Chloe’s hurt too! She looks really bad!” Dominic’s voice echoed from down the hall. “She’s ‘The Boss.’ She can handle herself.” I watched his retreating back. Fine. It makes what I’m about to do much easier. 03 I looked up. These “Vanderbilt” types, the city’s most notorious playboys, were standing perfectly still, looking at me with genuine worry. I smiled and waved them off. “I’m hungry. Fix the table.” “On it, Chloe! Right away!” Parker, the son of the club’s owner, was the most eager. He immediately had staff clear the glass and bring out a fresh course. Watching them move reminded me of when we were kids, and they’d follow Dominic and me around like little shadows. When did I stop being “Chloe” and start being “The Wife”? Probably when I was five and got snatched by a rogue nanny. Dominic, only eight at the time, analyzed the tiny clues she left behind and found me before the police did. I still remember waking up on his thin back. He was gritting his teeth, carrying me, staggering out of that terrifying abandoned factory. That image was burned into my soul. Our parents used to joke that for the rest of his life, Chloe would always be Dominic’s “exception.” But then came Lily Rose. Unlike me—who lost her mother in that kidnapping and was raised as a shark-like heiress for the sake of the family business—Lily was soft. She didn’t demand he study financial journals or learn five languages. She just sat by him, smiling. She cooked for him. She spent hours sitting through classes she didn’t understand just to be near him. I couldn’t do that. I was raised to measure the world in profit and loss. Until Lily left. She said she couldn’t fit into his world. She moved abroad, and Dominic didn’t chase her. He wanted the Vance empire, and he wanted my family’s tech conglomerate. He wouldn’t give that up for a girl. So, when he proposed, I said yes. Dominic gave me every luxury money could buy. I enjoyed it, knowing that eventually, the Vance and Sterling empires would both be mine. I ate my dinner in silence, mentally reviewing my plan. After fifteen years of plotting, I wouldn’t allow a single mistake. “Chloe!” Parker suddenly slammed the table. “You’ve never been soft on the women around him! Why did you let her win today?” The table went quiet. I smiled. “Because she’s Lily Rose.” The “One Who Got Away” has a very specific lethality. I checked my phone. The screen was blank. No calls, no texts. I figured by now, Lily’s “life-threatening” scratch must have healed. 04 Dominic didn’t come home that night. I stayed in the living room, watching the city go from midnight to dawn. My time was coming. When the clock struck 8 AM, I was dressed in a power suit, heavy concealer hiding the dark circles under my eyes. I didn’t expect to see Lily Rose at the office. She was wearing a brand-new professional suit, sitting at the desk outside Dominic’s office. When she saw me, she stood up with a smug smile. “Good morning, Ms. Sterling.” The way her mouth curved into a triumphant arc made my skin crawl. I called the HR manager over immediately and asked what kind of “stray” they were letting into the building. Lily looked like she wanted to melt into the floor. Her face turned red, tears welling up under my interrogation. “Ms. Sterling, please,” she sobbed. “I really need this job. Don’t take this from me. You people have everything… can’t I have this?” Classic “damsel” dialogue. I looked past her shoulder at the office door. Right on cue, it opened. Dominic stood there, cold. “Chloe, you were born with a silver spoon, but that doesn’t give you the right to bully people.” “She’s my assistant, not yours.” With one sentence, he drew the line. He walked over, took Lily’s hand, and announced to the staff: “Starting today, Ms. Rose is my Chief of Staff. Her word is my word.” The “Exception,” indeed. I didn’t argue. I turned and walked into my own office. Near the end of the day, my assistant reminded me of a gala we had to attend. My biggest project of the year depended on this meeting. I did my makeup, put on my gown, and went to find Dominic. Before I could knock, the door opened. Dominic and Lily walked out, laughing. I froze. It was early autumn, and the draft from the window felt like ice on my bare shoulders. Dominic didn’t even stop. “Lily will be accompanying me tonight. Don’t bother coming, Chloe.” “Dominic, I’ve been working on this merger for six months.” His voice grew distant as they walked toward the elevator. “It’s Lily’s project now.” 05 Dominic signed the deal for her. Before the project even started, a commission check for Lily was sitting on my desk for approval. I sent it back unsigned. Even without the cash, Lily became the “it girl” of the firm overnight. Word even reached our partners. I got a call from Mr. Harrison, a long-time family friend. “Chloe, dear, Dominic just bought a villa in the Hamptons. Registered it in the name of a Lily Rose. I hear she’s already moved in.” The teacup in my hand tilted, spilling hot tea over the desk. It had been 29 days since Dominic last slept at home. The plan was falling into place. My life isn’t a romance novel; it’s a balance sheet. Parker and the boys tried to offer to “take care” of her for me, but I told them to stay out of it. Everything was under control. 06 Then came the Vance matriarch’s 80th birthday. I used my connections to get her a rare piece of calligraphy she’d wanted for years. I had it wrapped and signed it from Dominic and Chloe Vance. Regardless of the mess inside, the family facade had to hold. I dialed Dominic for the first time in a month. It rang until I thought it would go to voicemail. “Ms. Sterling,” Lily’s voice came through, dripping with faux sweetness. “Dominic told me he’s taking me to meet the family tonight. You should probably just head there on your own.” I pulled the phone away to check the number. It was Dominic’s. “Put him on.” Lily giggled. “Sorry, we just woke up. Dominic is making me brunch.” I hung up. A text came in from Parker: Plan A is a go. I had my stylist come over. If I was going to a massacre, I was going to look like a queen. At 6 PM, I walked into the Vance estate. The elders were all there, asking where Dominic was. I brushed them off, but when I saw Grandma Vance, my throat tightened. She had watched me grow up. She watched me marry into the family. She was a titan of industry herself; she knew what was happening, but she didn’t ask. That was her gift to me. Suddenly, a stir at the door. I turned. Dominic was walking in, hand-in-hand with Lily. The room went cold. They walked up to Grandma. “Grandma, this is Lily. I brought her to meet you.” Grandma didn’t even glance at her. “Security, escort this woman out.” Lily’s eyes filled with tears. “Dominic, I’m sorry. I tried, but I just don’t belong in your world. Forget me. Go back to Chloe.” She turned and ran out, sobbing. God, she’s good, I thought. Dominic panicked. He chased after her, catching her in the driveway. “Kneel!” Grandma barked. The house went silent. Dominic knelt on the marble floor. Grandma took her cane and struck him across the back. “You disgrace!” Lily came screaming back in, throwing herself over Dominic’s back. “What did we do wrong?! We just want to be together! He’s your grandson! He’s the heir! Nothing is more important than his happiness!” Grandma didn’t hesitate. The cane came down again, hitting Lily this time. Dominic shielded her, shouting, “Grandma, stop! Lily’s pregnant!” 07 All eyes turned to me. Dominic looked relieved. He stood up and walked over. “Chloe, let’s end this. I owe Lily a family.” My father, who had been silent until now, stood up. My father-in-law stepped forward to slap Dominic, but I stopped him. I walked up to Dominic and looked him in the eye. “Say it again.” “I want a divorce.” I nodded. Before anyone could react, I landed a blow across his face that echoed through the hall. “Dominic Vance, listen closely. The moment we divorce, the Sterling-Vance merger is dead. Every asset is decoupled.” My father nodded. “Chloe speaks for the Sterlings.” Dominic’s confidence shattered. “Dad, we can’t decouple! The losses would be catastrophic!” “My daughter’s happiness is worth more than your balance sheet,” my father snapped. I asked Dominic one more time. “Do you want the divorce?” He looked at his father, then at me, then at Lily. He couldn’t speak. Grandma Vance broke the silence. “I’m giving Chloe five percent of my personal shares. Whether she stays or leaves, they are hers. And I will never acknowledge that child.” Lily collapsed onto the floor. Dominic didn’t reach out to help her.

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My mother became a viral sensation because of a “Before and After” pregnancy video. She captioned it: “You see my mess today, but you forget I used to be a girl…” She used that viral fame to guilt-trip me into a life of indentured servitude. At six years old, I was responsible for the laundry, the cooking, and the cleaning. She never flinched, even when my hands were blistered from hot grease. “I was a rising star news anchor,” she’d remind me. “My career was destroyed because of you. Your physical pain is nothing compared to the death of my dreams.” She would break me down, then wrap me in a hug the moment the chores were done. She made me believe I owed her my life. I died on the third day of trying to hand-scrub a heavy area rug, my small heart simply giving out from exhaustion. But I woke up. I’m back. And as I watch her setting up her ring light for another “Before and After” video, I know exactly what I have to do. 1 “Look at the comments! Thousands of moms are crying with me, and the world is mourning who I used to be!” “My life ended the day I went into labor!” “If it wasn’t for you, Chloe, I’d be in a corner office at the network right now!” Hearing those words again made my vision blur. I looked over at Mrs. Gable, our nanny, who was busy in the kitchen. My small fists clenched. The universe had given me a second chance. I had worked myself to death for her, and now I was back at the beginning. In my past life, today was the day Mom posted the video that broke the internet. The caption read: “You see my mess today, but you forget I used to be a girl…” The video started with her current self: disheveled, unwashed, and nearly two hundred pounds. Then, a sharp transition to her “Before” life: a slim, polished, high-achieving local news anchor. The internet ate it up. “The ultimate horror story.” “If this is what happens to your body, I’m never having kids.” “Another day of being grateful for birth control!” The pity of strangers fueled her resentment. She looked at me and saw the thief who stole her beauty. She grabbed my favorite doll and smashed it onto the floor. “If I hadn’t carried you, I wouldn’t be this fat! I wouldn’t be this broken!” I burst into tears, which only made her angrier. “Cry! That’s all you do! Your screaming is why I don’t sleep! It’s why my hair is falling out!” But I remembered. Ever since I could walk, Mrs. Gable was the one who slept in my room. Mom only started “parenting” me this month when she decided we couldn’t afford the help anymore. I tried to run to Mrs. Gable for safety. I loved the smell of her fresh laundry detergent; it was the only thing that made me feel safe. But Mom wasn’t done. “If it wasn’t for you, I’d still be on the air! You ruined my future!” I shrunk into Mrs. Gable’s shadow. When it was time for her to go home, I tugged on her sleeve, begging her to stay. But Mom’s rage was a physical force, and Mrs. Gable, eyes full of pity, eventually had to leave. I hid in the corner, praying Dad would get home from the office early. Then Mom saw a notification on her phone—some new comment about how “brave” she was. She grabbed my arm and dragged me into the laundry room. “Starting today, I’m going back to being the girl who never got her hands dirty. You’re the reason I’m in this mess, so you’re going to fix it. You’re doing the laundry from now on.” “Mom, I don’t know how…” I whispered. Her eyes flashed with hate. “Then learn. Are you stupid? You’ve seen the nanny do it a thousand times.” I started to cry, and she kicked the water bucket over. “Stop being a curse on this house! Wash the clothes, or you don’t eat!” I was six. I tried to hand-wash her silk nightgown and tore the delicate fabric. She went into a frenzy, grabbing Dad’s leather belt and striking me until I was curled on the floor, screaming for mercy. When Dad finally came home, they had a screaming match that shook the walls. “You hate me because I’m fat! Because I don’t have a career!” Mom shrieked. “I should never have had a kid! I have nothing left! I should just die!” I sobbed under my covers, terrified. The next day, they were suddenly “fine” again. But Mrs. Gable—the woman who had raised me since I was a baby—never came back. 2 Every time I asked for Mrs. Gable, Mom would guilt-trip me. “Don’t be so selfish, Chloe. You’ve already ruined my career. Do you want to kill your father with stress, too?” “Your dad works so hard. We can’t afford a nanny. You’re six; it’s time to be a big girl. You’re going to take care of this house now.” Then, she’d kiss my forehead. I was so desperate for her love that I’d just nod. I spent my afternoons after kindergarten scrubbing. She wouldn’t let me use the washing machine. “It ruins the clothes. Hand-washing is better,” she’d say. By winter, my hands were cracked and bleeding from the cold water and harsh soap. Then came the cooking. I was terrified of the stove. One night, the oil popped, and my arm was covered in painful blisters. I wailed in pain, but Mom just scoffed. “Useless. You can’t even do one simple thing right.” “Do you have any idea what I sacrificed for you?” I didn’t know what that meant. I just knew that when I used to fall down, Mrs. Gable would hug me. Mom just watched me bleed. When Dad came home from his business trip, I ran to him. Mom got there first, smiling sweetly. “Look at this little troublemaker! She tried to cook behind my back while I was resting!” I wanted to tell him the truth, but Mom pulled me into a hug. I breathed in her perfume and stayed silent. If working made her hug me, I’d work forever. I pushed myself to the limit for her. To clean the living room rug, I didn’t sleep for three days. I collapsed in the bathroom, my heart stopping before I even hit the tile. Mom found me. She checked my pulse. When she realized I wasn’t breathing, she panicked for a second—then she shoved my head into the water bucket. She waited ten minutes before calling 911. When Dad got home, she was a wreck, slapping herself and screaming. “I should have stayed awake! If I hadn’t been napping, she wouldn’t have been playing in the water!” “Chloe, you’ve broken my heart! Why were you playing with the bucket…” I wanted to scream the truth, but I was a ghost. She turned my death into a viral story about “The Grief of a Mother.” She made a fortune off the tragedy. Eventually, Dad found out the truth. He was devastated and tried to drag her to the police station. To save her career as an influencer, she caused a car accident that killed him, too. I hated her. Dad was the only one who actually tried. He’d hired help, paid for her therapy, bought her postpartum recovery classes. He took the night shifts so she could sleep. And she killed him. I snapped back to the present. It was the day of the viral video. If Mom thinks I’m a burden… then this time, I’m going to be a heavy one. 3 “Chloe! Are you deaf? I’m talking to you!” I blinked, looking up at her with the most innocent, wide-eyed expression I could manage. “Mom… why don’t you just go back to work?” “I mean, Mrs. Gable does everything anyway, right? You don’t really do anything here.” She froze. Then, she stepped forward and slapped me twice. Hard. “You ungrateful brat! Am I in your way? Is that it?” “I deserve a break! Don’t come crying to me when you’re sick or need a field trip chaperone!” I felt a cold smile forming inside. Go ahead, try the ‘working’ excuse. She hadn’t been to a single school event in my last life anyway. Mrs. Gable rushed over and pulled me into a hug. “Chloe, apologize to your mother!” I didn’t cry. I looked at Mom with a spark of defiance she didn’t recognize. “I’m sorry, Mom,” I said, slipping down from Mrs. Gable’s lap and kneeling. “I said the wrong thing. Please punish me.” They both looked stunned. I looked at the clock. Dad would be home soon. I ran to the laundry room and grabbed a dirty shirt. “Since Mom is so tired, I’ll help. I’ll do the laundry from now on!” Mrs. Gable tried to stop me, but I insisted. “I want to be a ‘Big Girl,’ Mrs. Gable. I need to practice.” Mom sneered. “Fine. She’s six. She can wash her own clothes.” I didn’t tell her that I already knew how to do everything. I just waited. When the time was right, I took her favorite $300 silk dress—the only one that still fit her comfortably—and I shredded it against the washboard. I walked out to the dining room, holding the ruined dress, looking terrified. “Mom… I’m sorry. I broke it.” She saw the dress and her eyes turned red. She lunged at me, kicking me into the wall. “You useless brat! Do you know how much this cost?!” I shivered, sobbing for real this time. “I’m sorry, Mommy! I’ll do better!” She grabbed Dad’s belt, just like before. I checked the door. Click. The smart lock turned. Perfect timing. 4 “Vanessa! What the hell are you doing?!” Dad burst through the door just as the belt swung down. Mom froze. “Are you blind? I’m disciplining her!” “She insisted on doing laundry and ruined my $300 silk dress! Do you know how hard it is for me to find clothes that fit right now?!” I crawled to Mom’s feet, trembling. “I’m sorry, Mommy! Please give me another chance! I promise I’ll wash the rest perfectly!” I lifted my head just enough so Dad could see the red handprints on my face. Dad’s voice was low and dangerous. “Vanessa… who hit her face?” I cut in before she could lie. “Dad, please don’t be mad at Mom! I’ll work harder! I’ll do all the chores so Mom can rest!” Mom looked triumphant for a second. But Dad snatched the belt from her hand. “She’s six, Vanessa! You beat her like an animal because of a dress?” “Is the washing machine broken? Or are you just too lazy to use it?” I sobbed harder. “Dad, don’t fight. It’s my fault for being a burden… I’ll do everything, I promise.” Dad didn’t comfort her that night. He took me to the guest room, cleaned my face, and slept there with the door locked. The wedge was driven. Now, I just had to keep pushing. 5 The next morning, Mom tried to play the martyr. “Fine. Since I’m such a monster, I’m going out to find a job.” Dad frowned, about to say something, but I shoved a piece of toast into his mouth. “You can do it, Mom! I’ll stay home with Mrs. Gable and be a good girl!” Mom waited for Dad to beg her to stay. He didn’t. She slammed the door so hard the pictures rattled. Because I made it clear I “needed” Mrs. Gable, Dad didn’t fire her. Mom spent her days “job hunting,” but after seven years out of the industry, no one wanted her. She was bitter and out of touch. She’d come home and take it out on me. “I can’t find anything because I have a seven-year gap on my resume because of you!” “Even the receptionists look at me like I’m a joke!” “Why don’t you just disappear? If it wasn’t for you, I’d still be someone!” I hid in Dad’s arms. “Why is Mom so mean?” Dad’s patience was gone. “She’s not mean because of you, Chloe. She’s mean because she’s lazy. I paid for a nanny, I paid for her trainers, I did the night shifts—she chose to stay on the couch.” “Vanessa,” Dad said, his voice cold. “I want a divorce.” Mom froze. Then she started screaming. “You just want a younger, thinner woman! You’re abandoning me after I gave you a child!” “I’m leaving because you’re a monster to our daughter,” Dad said. “And I’m taking Chloe. You never cared for her anyway.” Mom lunged at me. “Chloe, tell him! You want to stay with Mommy, right? I gave you life!” I looked at Dad. “I want to stay with Daddy. I’m scared of Mom.” Mom’s face twisted. “You ungrateful little bitch! I should have strangled you the day you were born!” The divorce was quick. Dad gave her the house and a settlement just to get us away from her. We moved into a cozy apartment near his office. I thought we were safe. But Mom wasn’t done.

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In my last life, I was the pathetic girl who followed the golden boy around like a stray dog. The day I died in a sterile hospital room from terminal cancer, he was busy having the “Wedding of the Century” with his high school sweetheart. Given a second chance at life, I’m back at the very moment I was supposed to confess to him. Under the watchful eyes of the entire cafeteria, I marched past the golden boy and slammed my love letter onto the desk of the school’s most notorious rebel. The silver-haired delinquent blinked awake from his nap, staring at the envelope covered in hand-drawn hearts. “What’s this?” Me: “For you. Scratch paper.” 1 The classroom fell into a deafening silence. The boy with the messy silver hair slowly looked up, revealing a face that was pure, unfiltered trouble. Sharp eyes, a high bridge to his nose, and a single silver hoop glinting in his right ear. He looked dangerously attractive. I heard several sharp intakes of breath around me. I couldn’t tell if it was from awe or fear. I remembered him: Jaxson Miller. The rumor was that if you picked any three buildings on campus, his family had donated at least one of them. People called him “The Prince of the Hill,” but mostly they just stayed out of his way. A guy nearby joked, “Damn, Jax, looks like the flowers are blooming in your garden today. Who’s the secret admirer?” Jaxson told him to shut up with a lazy, low-timbered voice. Then he turned to me. “What do you want?” I stated it as if it were the most natural thing in the world: “I want to sit next to you. Any problem?” More gasps. This time, definitely shock. Jaxson leaned his head on his hand, a mocking half-smile playing on his lips. “I don’t do seatmates. What makes you think you’re special?” We locked eyes. Neither of us blinked. I gritted my teeth. I had no other choice. In this AP track, there were only two seats left. If I didn’t sit next to Jaxson, I’d be forced to sit next to Caleb Reed. Sitting with Caleb was a death sentence for my soul. I dropped my backpack onto the chair next to Jaxson and sat down, refusing to move. Jaxson’s brow furrowed with irritation. He looked like he was about to toss me out of the room. “I told you—” Before he could finish, I reached under the desk and grabbed his leg to keep him from standing up. Jaxson froze. His entire body went rigid. I leaned in and whispered, low enough that only we could hear: “Please, just let me sit here. If I sit with Caleb, I’ll die. You have no idea—he’s a total creep. When no one’s looking, he crawls around on the floor like a weirdo. I heard he steals girls’ clothes. I’m desperate, please…” Sorry, Caleb. You can’t hear me anyway. And even if you could, you deserve it. 2 I got more animated as I spoke. With every sentence, I gripped harder. With every grip, Jaxson’s expression grew darker. His mocking smile vanished completely. By the end, his face was like a thundercloud. He squeezed out one word through gritted teeth: “Fine.” I was confused. Why the sudden change of heart? He looked like a man who had been cornered by a blackmailer. Wait… his leg felt a bit thin. And oddly soft? “Are you going to stop squeezing my hand yet?!” Jaxson finally snapped, his voice tight. I yanked my hand back. Oh. My. God. That wasn’t his leg. I had just grabbed the “Prince of the Hill” in a very, very wrong place. 3 After classes were over, Caleb Reed cornered me in the stairwell. “What was that with Jaxson Miller today?” I didn’t want to waste a single breath on him. “None of your business.” Caleb flinched, clearly not expecting me to snap at him. He blocked my path with his arm. “Chloe, Jaxson isn’t the kind of guy you play with. Why would you give him a love letter?” Thinking about everything that happened in my past life, my blood started to boil. “Who I play with is my business. What does it have to do with you?” “He’s bad news. Even if he’s ‘bad news,’ he’s better than someone who strings people along—someone who won’t say yes but won’t let go, either.” If Caleb hadn’t given me just enough hope every time I was about to move on in my last life, I wouldn’t have wasted my youth on him. Caleb’s face paled. “Chloe, what is that supposed to mean?” I crossed my arms and sneered. “It means I’m insulting you. Can’t you tell?” Caleb looked like he was about to explode, but I was done. I spotted Jaxson walking not far away and waved frantically. “Jax! Over here!” Under the gaze of the crowd, Caleb had to drop his arm. He leaned in and whispered, “Chloe, I’m disappointed in you.” I smiled at Jaxson while telling Caleb: “Get lost.” 4 As I reached Jaxson’s side, I caught a faint scent of tobacco. “Did you just come from a smoke break?” Jaxson gave a noncommittal “Mhm,” then put his hand on my forehead and pushed me back a few steps. “Secondhand smoke is bad for you,” he rasped. “Back off.” I remembered that in my last life, Jaxson had transferred after only a semester. The rumor was that his health had taken a turn. Acting on a sudden impulse, I said, “Firsthand smoke is bad for you, too. Can you stop?” I looked at him expectantly. His friend, Luke, couldn’t help but laugh. “Damn, Jax. She hasn’t even landed you yet and she’s already acting like the wife?” I realized how over the line that sounded. Jaxson didn’t know about our “past.” “I mean… you could just smoke less…” I started to backtrack. “Okay.” We spoke at the same time. I blinked. “Huh?” Jaxson cleared his throat, looking away. “I’m quitting.” I was stunned. The school’s biggest rebel… was that easy to talk down? 5 Caleb’s “soulmate” was a girl named Sarah Bennett. In my last life, she and I were both in the AP track. I didn’t know Caleb liked her, so I sat next to him, thinking I was lucky. I didn’t realize that seat was meant for Sarah. No wonder Caleb hated me. No wonder he took my love letter and said, “Oh, scratch paper. Thanks.” In this life, Sarah sat right next to Caleb. But strangely, Caleb didn’t seem happy. He kept cornering me instead. I guess distance really does make the heart grow fonder. To avoid Caleb, I glued myself to Jaxson. I followed him everywhere. It got to the point where Jaxson’s friends started teasing me at the door of the guys’ locker room. “Hey, Chloe! Here to walk Jax to the bathroom again?” “Can’t bear to be apart for a second, huh?” Jaxson walked out of the room with a strawberry lollipop stick hanging out of his mouth. Since he promised to quit smoking, he hadn’t touched a cigarette. He just bought lollipops in bulk. He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked at me. “Let’s go, little shadow.” I blushed. “Don’t call me that!” Jaxson leaned down and grinned. “You know what the school is calling you? My ‘Child Bride.’ Because you follow me around like I’m the only person on earth.” I’m just hiding from Caleb! I wanted to scream. Jaxson pulled a lollipop from his pocket, unwrapped it, and held it to my lips. “Open up.” I bit my lip, suspicious, but I opened my mouth. The sweet taste of strawberry filled my senses. “Why the sudden—” Before I could finish, Jaxson had already turned and started walking toward the classroom. I saw Caleb’s shadow ducking around a corner nearby and immediately ran after Jaxson. “Wait for me!” 6 A few days later, Caleb blocked me again at the stairs. He tried to block me with a stack of notebooks. “These are my study guides for the midterms. You won’t pass without these.” I didn’t take them. I just looked at him with pure disdain. In my last life, I begged him for his notes. He told me: “You only got into this track by luck. Why bother struggling to stay?” Now, I avoided him like the plague, and he was shoving notes at me. I laughed. “Caleb, who gave you the right to look down on me? I don’t want them.” Caleb tried to force the notebooks into my arms. I stepped back to avoid him, forgetting I was on the edge of the stairs. I felt the sudden drop. “Ahhh—!” But the pain didn’t come. I fell into a chest that smelled like strawberries. “Ugh. How long are you going to lay there?” I looked up at Jaxson. I had tackled him to the ground. That loud thud was the sound of his back hitting the concrete. “I-I-I’m so sorry!” Jaxson stood up, rubbing his neck. He looked at Caleb. “Beat it.” Caleb left without a word. He didn’t dare challenge Jaxson. Jaxson stood there in silence after Caleb left. I panicked. “Let’s go back to class. He keeps following me, I promise—” “I know,” Jaxson interrupted. He pointed at his leg. “Can you help me to the nurse? I think I twisted something.” I: “…” I ended up practically carrying Jaxson down the stairs. “So,” he said, leaning on me. “Are you really avoiding him because I told you to? Do I mean that much to you?” “One more word and I’m dropping you down the stairs.” 7 Jaxson’s ankle was messed up because of me, so I became his personal assistant. I got his water. I got his lunch. I even got us both excused from PE. He said he needed someone to keep him company in the quiet classroom. Luke looked at the pile of snacks and fruit on Jaxson’s desk and sighed. “Man, I wish I was the one who got hurt.” Jaxson bit into an apple, looking smug. “Is your seatmate as good as mine?” I remembered the rumors. Jaxson’s family was wealthy, but his parents were never around. My heart ached for him. Without thinking, I said, “I’ll come over and take care of you.” Jaxson and Luke both froze. “Fine,” Jaxson cut him off. He looked at me with a lazy grin. “You said it. No taking it back.” 8 Jaxson lived in a penthouse in the city center. I brought a bag of groceries, but when I turned back, Jaxson had already put on an apron. A rugged, handsome face paired with a pink frilly apron. “I thought I was cooking?” I asked. Jaxson was already at the sink. “Just kidding,” he mumbled, popping a lollipop into his mouth. “I can’t let my ‘bride’ do all the work. Today, you taste my cooking.” I watched him expertly dice meat. My jaw dropped. Jaxson chuckled. “What? You think I’m some pampered prince?” He told me how his parents used to cut him off whenever they fought. “One time they didn’t talk to me for six months. I almost couldn’t afford takeout. I had to learn.” He acted like it was a joke, but I could see the loneliness in his eyes. Suddenly, my phone rang. It was my father. “Where are you? Your brother wants dessert from that bakery downtown. Make sure you pick some up… Hello? Are you deaf?” I took a deep breath and hung up. Neither of us said another word about it. 9 “You’re finally home?!” The living room was pitch black. When I flipped the light, my father’s anger filled the small space. “I’m home.” I started walking toward my room. “Get back here!” A glass flew past my ear and shattered against the wall. My mother followed: “Chloe, what’s wrong with you? No one’s made dinner. Are you hanging out with the wrong crowd?” In my last life, I would have apologized. But now, I saw the truth. They weren’t worried about me. They were worried that no one had cooked. When I got my cancer diagnosis in my past life, they just wanted my bank password for my brother. I packed my bag. Everything in this room I had bought with my own money. “Where do you think you’re going?” my mother screamed. “I’m leaving. If a court says I owe you child support one day, I’ll pay the minimum. Until then, don’t talk to me.” 10 The streetlights cast long shadows. I stood there, feeling a sudden wave of emptiness. “It’s not your fault.” I looked up. Jaxson was leaning against a lamppost. “Jax? What are you doing here?” He walked over and pulled me into a hug. He smelled like strawberries and home. “It’s not your fault, Chloe. You’re great. They’re the ones who are wrong.” My eyes welled up. “Jax,” I whispered. “You promised to stop smoking.” He stiffened. “I… I saw your face when you took that call. I followed you to make sure you were okay. I heard the screaming and I got stressed… I won’t do it again.” “So, where are you going to stay?” he asked. “My place?” “Okay,” I said. “But I’m paying rent.”

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At my high school reunion, Bennett Hayes, the guy I’d crushed on for three years, actually showed up. I didn’t say a single word to him all night. By the time the party wound down and everyone had drifted away, I was the only one left to haul his drunken self back to his hotel. In the room, watching him sprawled on the bed, I fought a internal battle for a long time. Eventually, I managed to keep my baser instincts in check. I didn’t expect him to show up at my front door the next morning, looking hurt, asking: “How did you hold back?” I was completely lost. “Weren’t you wasted?” He took a step forward. “I was drunk. “I was faking it. “You, on the other hand—you watched me for so long, and you still just left.” 1 Our class president started organizing this reunion months ago. Everyone was signing up. Then, the former sports captain tagged Bennett Hayes in the group chat. 【@Bennett are you coming?】 【Whoa! If Bennett’s coming, then Clara Sterling will be there too, right?】 【The dream team! My high school OTP is finally going to be in the same room again!】 Scrolling through the messages, a bitter pang hit my chest. Clara was the “It Girl”—stunning, wealthy, and effortless. Standing next to Bennett, they looked like they belonged on a movie poster. Meanwhile, back then, the most I ever got was a smirk from Bennett when the teacher announced the test results. “Our Academic Rep really is something else,” he’d say. My crush was a secret I kept buried deep. I didn’t even have the courage to speak to him. I was terrified a single look would give me away. Finally, Bennett replied with a simple 【1】. I immediately messaged the president to confirm my spot. On the night of the party, I sat in a corner, chatting with some girls about college. Then Bennett walked in. Clara was right behind him. The room erupted into cheers. “Bennett and Clara look so good together!” “Only Clara could actually pin down a guy like Bennett!” Clara gave a shy smile and rolled her eyes at everyone. “Alright guys, pipe down.” Bennett’s face suddenly went cold. “Stop talking trash,” he snapped. He pushed through the crowd and sat directly next to me. The room went dead silent. Every eye was on us. I stiffened and turned my head, meeting Bennett’s dark, unreadable eyes. “Long time no see, Academic Rep.” I folded instantly. I just nodded at him, barely a greeting. He was all legs and broad shoulders. To avoid touching him, I scooted as far toward the wall as I could. Bennett glanced at me out of the corner of his eye but said nothing. My friend Jenna texted me under the table. 【Holy crap, why is Bennett sitting next to you? Since when are you guys tight?】 【I have no idea. Maybe because I’m wearing black and he didn’t see there was a human being here?】 【…Nobody is that blind. Look at Clara. If looks could kill, you’d be a crime scene.】 I glanced at Clara. She looked miserable. I told Jenna I’d rather be a ghost than a target. The class president pulled Clara into a seat. People started reminiscing about high school, and the tension eased. Suddenly, Clara walked over with a glass of wine. She leaned down and smiled at me perfectly. “Suzy, mind if we swap seats?” I looked up. Finally, an exit! “Oh, sure! I’ll swap with you.” I grabbed my orange juice and started to stand up. A heavy weight hit my shoulder. Bennett had pinned me down. I froze, slowly turning to look at his long, pale fingers on my shoulder. Then I looked at Clara. Her eyes were flaming. Bennett didn’t even look at her. He just flicked his gaze up and said coldly: “She’s sitting right here. Find another spot.” I broke into a cold sweat. I wanted to shake his hand off. But then I realized that making a scene would just make it look more intimate. I tried to play it cool. “It’s fine, I’ll swap. I don’t really want to be against the wall anyway.” Bennett tilted his head, raising an eyebrow. “In high school, didn’t you always fight for the wall seat?” The smile on my face vanished. I had no idea what game he was playing. The room was silent. Clara, completely ignored, had tears brimming in her eyes. “Bennett, do you really have to humiliate me in front of everyone?” Bennett’s aura was heavy. “Humiliation is self-inflicted,” he said flatly. “She’s sitting here comfortably. Why should she move for you?” Clara couldn’t take it anymore. She set her glass down and ran out. Bennett didn’t move an inch. Eventually, the class president went after her. Every eye in the room moved from Bennett to me. I felt like I was sitting on a bed of needles. Oh my god. I have nothing to do with this! 2 After Clara left, Bennett started drinking heavily. To anyone watching, it looked like a lovers’ quarrel. I didn’t dare speak to him for fear of making things worse. I huddled in the corner with my juice, mentally counting how many glasses he knocked back. In three years of high school, we’d never been this close. He’d taken his jacket off and draped it over the chair. His white shirt sleeves were rolled up, revealing the sharp lines of his forearms. I tried to control myself, tried not to look. But the faint scent of his rose-wood cologne kept drifting toward me. It had been a year since graduation. His features were more defined now. The boyishness had faded, replaced by something more rugged and masculine. He was even more handsome than before. I couldn’t resist a peek, but I walked right into his gaze. I immediately looked down at my food. A few seconds later, he let out a low chuckle. “Hiding again.” My heart nearly leaped out of my chest. Thankfully, someone else started talking to him, breaking the tension. I poked at my salad, feeling distracted. I kind of regretted coming. Knowing he wasn’t mine but wanting him anyway was a special kind of torture. Suddenly, a chicken wing landed on my plate. I looked at Bennett in shock. He looked away, saying casually: “Serving tongs. They’re clean.” I took a deep breath and muttered a “thank you.” But inside, I was screaming—This isn’t about the tongs! We are not ‘fixing each other’s plates’ close! Luckily, everyone else assumed I was just caught in the crossfire. Even Jenna messaged me: 【Looks like the ship has sunk. Suzy, you are a total casualty today. I can’t save you. Just eat.】 I sent back a “face-palm” emoji. Bennett seemed determined to get trashed. He barely spoke to anyone, and he didn’t look at me again. As the night ended, people started filtering out. I wanted to leave too. But Bennett was leaning back with his eyes closed, his long legs blocking my way out of the booth. “Bennett?” I whispered. “Can you move?” No response. I tugged on his sleeve. “Bennett?” Still nothing. He was out. I looked at Jenna for help. “Jenna, wait for me!” But as she started to walk over, Bennett’s eyes snapped open. A sharp, cold glare fixed on her. Jenna stopped dead and gave a weak smile. “Suzy… maybe you should be the one to get him home?” I didn’t even get a chance to protest. “Mhm,” Bennett grunted. He looked back at me and said politely: “I’d appreciate the help, Suzy.” I: “…Fine.” 3 I opened a room at the hotel next door and asked if he could walk. He braced himself against the table and stood up, stumbling slightly. I caught him instinctively. The sudden contact sent my pulse racing. I wanted to let go, but I was afraid he’d fall. “Maybe I should call a porter to help you?” Bennett straightened up immediately, frowning. “No. I don’t like being touched by strangers.” He grabbed his jacket, looking back at me. “Let’s go. You said you’d get me back.” He started walking out ahead of me. I watched his back, confused. Is he wasted or not? I sighed and followed. “Bennett, wait. Let me call an Uber.” “Is it far?” “Not really—” “Then let’s walk. My head is spinning. I don’t want to be in a car.” He looked pale, his brow furrowed. He really did look unwell. Maybe the fresh air would do him some good. I followed silently behind him. The only sound was the GPS on my phone telling us when to turn. Bennett stopped abruptly. I wasn’t paying attention and nearly walked into his back. My nose brushed against the wool of his coat. “What’s wrong? You going to be sick? I can go to the pharmacy and get you some ginger ale or something?” My dad always drank that when he overdid it. There was a 24-hour pharmacy right on the corner. “Wait here,” I told him. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back—” Bennett suddenly grabbed my wrist and yanked me back, pulling me into a full-on hug. My whole body went rigid. I forgot how to breathe. The hug I’d dreamed about for three years was actually happening. But I was clear-headed. This is wrong. I tried to push him away, but he held on tighter. If anyone saw us, how would I even explain this? “Bennett—” my voice was shaking. He buried his face in my shoulder, his voice low and raspy. “Don’t go. Please. “I didn’t mean to make you mad. Don’t hide from me anymore.” 4 Bennett was definitely gone. He was clearly mistaking me for Clara, saying all these confusing things. I didn’t want to wrestle with him in the middle of the street. I had to play along. “I’m not going. I’m taking you to rest. Just be a good boy and let go, okay?” He gave a soft “mhm,” let go of the hug, but immediately grabbed my hand. He looked at me with those big, puppy-dog eyes. Thank god for my strong moral compass and high emotional intelligence. By the time we walked the two blocks to the hotel, my palm was sweaty from how hard he was gripping it. I stepped into his shadow and muttered, “If you’re this clingy, why did you fight with her in the first place?” Once we got to the room and the door closed, he couldn’t stand anymore. He pulled me down onto the bed with him. His breath was hot against my ear. If I turned my head just an inch, I could kiss him. Who could resist that? Me. Only me. As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t. He was drunk, not dead. Taking advantage of him would be disgusting. I pushed my “dark thoughts” down and rolled him off me. Bennett was flat on his back. His throat moved as he swallowed, his pale neck flushed red from the alcohol. My god. If I kept looking, I was going to have a nosebleed. I fumbled with a water bottle and held it to his lips. He drank greedily, his Adam’s apple bobbing. The water spilled slightly, wetting his shirt. I slapped my own cheek. “Get it together, you animal!” I whispered. I pulled the covers over him and finally calmed down. Looking at his sleeping face, I gave myself a mental high-five. Good job, Suzy. You didn’t ruin the guy you’ve loved for three years while he was unconscious. He should stay a dream. Not a messy reality. The doorbell rang. The hangover patches I’d ordered had arrived. I left the medicine, some water, and some tissues on the nightstand. I gave him a little wave and whispered goodbye. “Bye, Bennett. Don’t drink like that again. A guy alone in a hotel needs to be more careful.”

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Waking up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom, I started scrolling through a social media thread. The title was: 【Day One of a Gen-Xer chasing a Gen-Z beauty—Hiding in her toilet to secretly enjoy her scent.】 A chill ran down my spine. Thinking it was just some creepy old man’s disgusting fantasy, I recoiled in disgust and swiped away. After washing my hands, I realized I’d misplaced my phone. I called out to my voice assistant to find it: “Hey, Siri.” The next second, my body went numb. Two Siri voices answered simultaneously from within the bathroom. “I’m here.” “I’m here.” One came from the crack behind the sink. The other came from inside the toilet. 1 I froze, my heart beating so hard I thought it would burst. The one behind the sink was mine. But whose phone was in the toilet? My mind flashed back to the post I just saw. A wave of cold air crawled up my vertebrae. Was there actually someone hiding in my bathroom? I mustered the courage to inspect the toilet. It was solid porcelain—no cracks, no hidden compartments. The tank was larger, but there was no way a grown man could fit inside. I let out a shaky breath, mocking myself for being paranoid after reading that sick post. My nerves were just shot. But just as I turned to head back to my bedroom— Rustle… rustle… In the silence, the faint sound of fabric rubbing against fabric drifted from the toilet area. My muscles tensed. I slowly turned my head. The toilet sat there, perfectly normal. Nothing out of place. To settle my mind once and for all, I shouted again: “Hey, Siri!” “I’m here.” This time, only the phone on the sink responded. Complete silence from the toilet. I sighed. I’d been working too many double shifts at the hospital. Auditory hallucinations. Back in my room, I closed my eyes but sleep wouldn’t come. Possessed by a dark curiosity, I opened the app again and clicked on that thread. The skin on my arms pebbled instantly. The user had updated two minutes ago. 【The beauty just came to the bathroom. I was right under her. I could smell her… she smells so sweet!】 【That pink silk pajama set is too cute. I can already imagine holding her while we sleep.】 I looked down at my brand-new pink pajamas. My stomach churned, and my heart began to hammer against my ribs. 2 This couldn’t be a coincidence. It was too specific. My fingers trembling, I scrolled up to find the description of the “target.” Born in 2000. Big eyes, pale skin. 5’7″. A nurse at the City General Hospital. That was me. Every single word. But the user claimed he lived on the same floor of the same building—that they saw each other every day. There are only four apartments on my floor. Across the hall, the two units are dark and caked in dust, clearly empty. My only neighbor is Mrs. King, a single mom with a small child. There are no adult men on this floor, let alone a “Gen-Xer.” Still, a deep, primal fear took hold. I typed a comment with shaking hands: “Aren’t you afraid her family will come after you for doing something so disgusting?” I waited. No reply. I scrolled through the other comments. Half were calling him a freak; the other half were asking how he fit in a toilet. But a few twisted users were egging him on: 【Bro, you’re already in her house. Why hesitate? Fortune favors the bold. Do it!】 【Exactly. You’re holding your breath in a toilet just for a scent? Just push the door open and claim her. She’ll be yours by morning. It’s a rush!】 The original poster replied almost instantly: 【You’re right. I’m taking her tonight!】 A split second later. Thud. A soft sound came from the direction of the bathroom. Then… tap, tap, tap, tap… Light, rhythmic footsteps were moving from the bathroom toward my bedroom. Someone was actually in my house. I stopped breathing. I lunged for the bedroom door and slammed the lock shut. Tap, tap, tap… The footsteps stopped right outside my door. Every floorboard creak felt like a gunshot. I pressed myself against the wall, sweat pouring down my face. The doorknob turned slowly. Creak. I covered my mouth with both hands, terrified of making a sound. The knob rattled again, more insistently this time. I thanked God I had locked it. But before I could feel relief, a low, faint chuckle drifted through the wood. My phone screen lit up. A notification from the app. He had replied to my comment. 【I’m not afraid of her family. She’s an orphan. She has no one.】 3 Terror swallowed me whole. It was me. I was raised in an orphanage. I had no family. The comment confirmation was the final nail. The predator was standing inches away. BAM! BAM! BAM! The door shook under a violent kick. Then another. He must have grabbed a tool because the wood began to splinter. CRACK. “Ms. Madison, I’ve loved you for so long. Just open the door!” The voice was deep, raspy, and dripping with excitement. It was a voice I had never heard in my life. The door was just cheap wood. He was going to break through. I ran to the balcony. Fifteen floors up. The height made my head spin, but the door behind me was already showing a hole. I climbed over the railing, my hands death-gripped on the cold metal. CRASH! The bedroom door gave way. In the final second, I swung myself out, grabbing onto the external fire pipe and shimmying toward the hallway window. My apartment is right next to the stairwell. I scrambled through the open hallway window. I saw the elevator was down on the 1st floor. I couldn’t wait. I turned to the stairs. I had only made it down one flight when— STOMP. STOMP. STOMP. Heavy, frantic footsteps echoed from above. He was coming for me. I ducked into a janitor’s closet on the 14th floor. I huddled in the corner behind mops and buckets, sending a 911 text with trembling thumbs. The footsteps thundered past the door. They didn’t stop. They kept going down. I let out a sob of relief. My body slumped. Then, my phone began to blare. The ringtone was deafening in the cramped space. An unknown number. It had to be him. He was using the ringtone to find me. The footsteps downstairs stopped instantly. 4 I silenced the phone, but it was too late. The footsteps were racing back up. He was only one floor away. I couldn’t outrun him now. My brain went into overdrive. I needed a weapon. I needed a distraction. My eyes landed on an old toolbox in the corner. Inside were wrenches, screwdrivers, and several unsealed bottles of industrial cleaning solvent. I grabbed a bottle and a rag. An improvised Molotov. I soaked the rag in the solvent, the acrid smell filling my lungs. As the footsteps reached the door, I sparked my lighter. The rag caught. I hurled the bottle at the door just as it swung open. SHATTER! The bottle clipped his shoulder before exploding on the floor. “Damn it!” the man screamed. Smoke and blue flames erupted in the doorway. I didn’t wait. I dove out the small closet window, clinging to the gas line pipe outside. My hands were numb against the freezing metal. Inside, the fire was small but the smoke was thick. I heard him coughing, cursing. I looked down. 13th floor. The balconies below were all glass-enclosed. No way in. I was trapped on a pipe. “Ms. Madison! Catch this!” I looked up. My neighbor, Mrs. King, was leaning over her railing, throwing down a makeshift rope made of bedsheets. I didn’t hesitate. I grabbed the rope, tested its strength, and hauled myself up. Scrape. Scrape. The man had reached the balcony below me. I felt something strike the heel of my shoe. I pulled my legs up, heart hammering, and finally rolled over Mrs. King’s railing. She pulled me inside and slammed the sliding door shut. “Don’t worry,” she panted. “I’m a single mom. I had this place reinforced with high-impact security glass and deadbolts. He’s not getting in.” I nodded, gasping for air. Sure enough, we heard a muffled thud against the door, followed by a stream of low-frequency curses. After a few futile attempts, the noise stopped. Soon, sirens wailed below. The police had arrived. Following my directions, they swarmed the building and caught a man in the lobby. He was tall, dressed as a delivery driver, covered in soot, with singed pant legs. Even as they cuffed him, he stared at me with a terrifying intensity. A delivery guy? Why did it still feel wrong?

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In the world of modern dark fantasy novels, I was the “Starter Girlfriend”—the one with zero screen time and a predictable fate. My boyfriend, Silas, was the Chosen One. Three years ago, when the Red Mist first descended and the world fractured, he awakened. He fought through the Rifts, became a savior, and naturally, gathered a “harem” of brilliant, powerful women. I was just the childhood sweetheart—boring, patient, and perpetually waiting at home. Until that thunderstorm night, when I broke the rules and opened the door for a soaking-wet, beautiful boy. From that moment on, the script didn’t just change. It shattered. 1 The rain slammed against the glass like a frantic drum. Through the peephole, a beautiful boy stood there, his clothes in tatters. His voice was cold, thin, and carried a hint of fear: “Hello? Is anyone there?” I glanced at him, then at my phone. My wallpaper was a jarring blood-red with distorted black text: [MIDNIGHT.] [DO NOT OPEN THE DOOR TO STRANGERS.] The time was [11:54 PM]. I watched him for a moment. He was strikingly handsome—sharp features, red lips, and a pale complexion that looked almost fragile. He had a broken beauty that made people want to pity him. “Hello,” I whispered, opening the door after a beat of hesitation. “Can I help you?” “Hi… Sister.” He looked down, his ears flushing red. “Could I have something to eat?” When I didn’t answer, his lashes trembled. He looked at me with clear, pleading eyes and tugged on my sleeve. “I’m really hungry.” “Come in.” I checked my phone: [11:58 PM]. I stepped aside, and he brushed past me. A wave of biting cold radiated from him. I locked the door just before the clock struck twelve. He stood there barefoot on the floor, his damp hair veiling his eyes. “Are you lost?” I asked, finding him a pair of men’s slippers. He didn’t move at first. He stared at the shoes on my feet, then stepped into them with an eerie, uncoordinated grace. “Yes. Thank you, Sister.” Outside, the horizon turned a sickly red. A crimson mist was surging through the city like a flood. 2 The kitchen light was bright and clinical. I sat Caleb down at the table and watched him. “What’s your name?” “Caleb.” “Caleb?” I paused. “Is it a bad name?” He looked down, his fingers curling. “No, it’s beautiful. Why don’t you take a hot shower?” I led him to the bathroom. When I grabbed his wrist, I felt him shaking. “Are you sick?” I pressed my palm to his forehead. Caleb’s lashes fluttered. He stared at my neck, his tongue flicking out to lick his red lips. So sweet… I want to eat her. He parted his lips, revealing teeth that were white and sharp—far stronger than any beast. “Your head isn’t hot,” I said, pulling back. Caleb instantly reverted to his harmless, shy state. “Sister, I’m hungry.” He was thin but tall. Since the “Anomalies” started three years ago, the world had been a mess. Looking at his rags, I wondered if he had been abandoned. I patted his head. “How long has it been since you ate?” “A long time.” But today, he thought, I’ll have a feast. I started a bath for him and brought a silk robe. “My boyfriend doesn’t live here,” I explained. “You’ll have to make do with this.” “Boyfriend?” Caleb repeated the word, his voice dropping into a register I didn’t recognize. “Yes.” I turned to leave. He caught my wrist. “Don’t lock me in.” “It’s just a shower,” I said gently. He wouldn’t let go. “Can you teach me? I don’t know how to wash.” Outside, the Red Mist hit the building. Eerie whispers began to echo in the hallway. I looked at the boy and nodded. I showed him the soap and the bubbles. “See? It’s easy.” Caleb stood dangerously close. I noticed a small mole below his lip—identical to the one my boyfriend had. “Can you take your clothes off?” I asked. He looked at his shirt. “Do I… tear it?” “No, you unbutton it.” I reached out and undid the top button, revealing a sharp collarbone. Caleb nodded. He tried to mimic me, but his movements were clumsy. Pop. A button flew off. “I’m sorry…” He flushed. “It’s okay.” With my help, he managed the rest. Beneath the rags was a body of lean, corded muscle. But there was a jagged scar over his heart and another on his palm. “Does it hurt?” I touched the scar on his chest. Caleb’s eyes turned a hazy red. He craved the touch. The monster told its first lie: “Yes. It hurts.” I kissed his palm. “There. A kiss to make it better.” “It hurts here too,” he said, pressing my hand to his heart. I smiled but pulled away. “I’ll cook. You shower. What do you want to eat?” “Meat,” Caleb said, his eyes dark. “Fresh meat.” 3 The wind was howling now. The Red Mist smeared the windows. Occasionally, a massive talon would scrape against the glass. I started some steak and peppers and a pot of pumpkin soup. Suddenly, my phone buzzed. It was a call from my boyfriend—the hero of this story: Silas. Caleb stepped out of the bathroom, water dripping from his hair. “Sister?” I picked up the phone. Silas’s voice was deep and cold. “Still awake?” “Yeah. Had a nightmare.” “I’ll be back tomorrow,” Silas said. “Do you want anything?” “No.” Silas sounded annoyed. “You’re quiet tonight. Nothing to say to me?” In the mist outside, a giant crimson eye pressed against the glass, peering in. It locked onto Caleb and contracted in pure terror before vanishing. A loud crash came from the kitchen. Caleb was staring at a broken plate. He had grabbed a piece of raw steak and was about to shove it into his mouth. “It’s not clean when it’s raw,” I said, snatching it away. “Who was that?” Silas’s voice sharpened through the phone. I could hear the flirtatious laughter of women and the shrieks of monsters in his background. “Nobody,” I said, wiping a tear from Caleb’s eye. “Just a lost kid. He’s a bit of a crybaby, but he’s cute.” “A kid?” Silas growled. “That sounded like a man.” “You always have women around you, Silas.” “That’s different—” “How?” I interrupted. The sound of a building collapsing echoed on his end. Silas hung up. Caleb was staring at my phone. “Can I play with it?” I handed it to him. In the living room, Caleb’s grip on the phone tightened. Why did she talk to him for so long? She should only look at me. Shadows bled from his feet. Thousands of eyes opened on the walls, all fixed on the kitchen with primal hunger. I’ll have to kill him, Caleb thought. 4 “How is it? Good?” I asked Caleb. “Sister…” His forehead was damp with sweat. He was panting from the spice of the chili, tears in his eyes. “So spicy.” “Beef and peppers. Of course it’s spicy.” I turned to get milk. Caleb was suddenly right behind me, teeth bared. I pinched his cheek and rubbed his swollen lips. “Drink some milk.” He blinked, stunned by the touch, and took the milk. When I brought out a massive plate of celery and beef, his eyes lit up. “Meat raw is bad, cooked is better?” I asked. “Yes,” he nodded. “Eat your vegetables.” He tried to refuse, but I was firm. “Or I won’t cook for you again.” He pouted but ate. “Every day?” Caleb whispered, thinking about the word. “Yes. Every day.” I dried his hair. Caleb looked at the leftovers. The feast would be later. The monster was patient. 5 Caleb helped wash the dishes. He learned fast. At 2:30 AM, I went to my room. Caleb pushed the door open. “I want to sleep with you.” His eyes were pure. A monster doesn’t know shame. “No. It’s not appropriate.” “Why?” He hugged my waist, rubbing his head against me. “Sister, I’m scared.” I sighed and made him a bed on the floor. He still pouted. “I want to hold you.” “Not yet.” I kissed his forehead. “Be good.” As I slept, something cold wrapped around my waist. Someone bit my shoulder. I murmured “It hurts,” and the grip tightened. So fragile. So delicious. 6 I woke up at 9 AM. The mist was gone. Cleaners were removing monster remains from the street. I told Caleb to stay home while I went to buy groceries. “I want to go too,” he said, wearing my silk robe. He looked like a girl from behind, but he was clearly a boy. I found Silas’s old high school uniform in the closet. “Wear this.” Caleb emerged in the blue-and-white uniform. He looked clean, sharp, and incredibly innocent. “Is it weird?” he asked, his ears red. “No. It fits perfectly.” 7 I gave Caleb a mask and a hat before we left. He held my hand tightly as we walked. I bought him clothes and then headed for the grocery store to stock up on meat. At the entrance, Silas was there. Beside him was Gwen, an heiress and one of his harem members. They were laughing. “Why are you leaving?” Silas caught my wrist, his voice deep and confused. “Just buying food. Sorry for interrupting your date.” “It’s just a coincidence,” Silas explained. Gwen stepped forward too. “Don’t misunderstand, Lyra.” “I don’t,” I smiled. “I know you’re ‘just’ friends for now.” I pushed my cart away. Silas followed. “Are you sure you can eat all this meat?” “A kid is staying with me,” I said. “Lyra!” He pulled me into his arms to kiss me. I dodged. Suddenly, the Red Mist rushed into the mall. Screams erupted. Silas’s phone rang—it was Gwen, sobbing. In the original book, Silas saves Gwen here, and their romance blooms. I wasn’t even supposed to be here. “Wait for me,” Silas said, looking at me. “I won’t,” I replied, stepping out of his reach. “I didn’t ask you to choose me.” Silas hesitated, then gave me his black star charm. “Stay here.” He ran into the mist. I took the charm and threw it on the floor. A worm-like monster lunged at me. I pulled a knife from my bag and hacked it in half. 8 Monsters were everywhere. The blood was thick and foul. I slashed through another creature. Blood splattered my face. Behind the corpse, a shadow appeared. It was Caleb. “Sister!” He hugged me, ignoring the blood. “I almost lost you. I’m glad you’re okay.” The smell here is disgusting, he thought. But my food is still sweet. He remembered the other monster he just killed in the mist—the one that tried to touch his food. “I smell bad,” I said. “No. You smell good.” I dropped my knife and hugged him back. 9 Dinner was a feast: ribs, pork hock, beef brisket. Caleb ate until his face was messy. I wiped it with a silk scarf. “Don’t eat so fast.” His eyes were dark. My hands were soft. He wanted to bite them. Something slimy brushed my ankle. I looked down—nothing. Caleb looked excited. Later, I gave him a tablet to watch TV. He watched a romance show where the leads kissed. “Can I be your boyfriend?” he asked, holding a teddy bear. “Why?” “I want to kiss you.” “Only boyfriends do that.” “Did your boyfriend kiss you?” Caleb asked, a lethal glint in his eyes. “Not for a long time.” “Then break up with him. Let me do it.” “No,” I whispered. “I haven’t officially ended it yet.” “Does it have to be official?” His eyes welled with tears. “I really want to, Sister.” I kissed his cheek to stop the crying. 10 My parents died when I was in high school. My grandparents followed soon after. I was alone. I once sat under a peach tree with a knife, ready to end it. Silas stopped me. “Are you crazy?” he asked. He took the knife. His hand bled, staining the soil. “If you die, take me with you.” He became my boyfriend that day. He was gentle, protective, and clingy. But then he started entering the “Rifts.” He became a hero. He had enemies, teammates, and women. I couldn’t follow him into that world.

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I’ve been married to Harrison Thorne for ten years. In that decade, I’ve met every single one of his “distractions.” Whenever he got bored and wanted to move on, I was his favorite excuse for breaking up with a girl: “If you marry me, you’ll end up just like her. Eventually, we’ll become so familiar that there isn’t a single spark of mystery left.” On our tenth anniversary, I was handing tissues to the college senior he just dumped, while he was at the movies with his newest fling. By the time the tissue pack was empty, I realized I was looking at a ghost of my younger self. So, I asked Harrison for a divorce. He looked unusually baffled. “Aren’t you going to wait a bit longer? Who knows, I might actually settle down eventually.” I gave him a faint smile, offered no answer, and booked a one-way ticket across the Atlantic. Since I can’t wait for you to look back, I’m moving on without you. 1 Marrying a playboy requires a specific kind of spiritual endurance. As the stack of tissues in my hand grew thinner, those words played on a loop in my head. The girl sitting across from me was named Mia. She was a senior in college. She had been crying for two hours straight. Including the “honeymoon phase” of her fling with Harrison, they had barely been together for a month. Honestly, it wasn’t worth ruining her mascara over. I opened my mouth to offer some comfort, but she suddenly looked at me with bloodshot eyes. “He said I reminded him of you. Looking at you now… I see it.” I froze. None of Harrison’s previous girls had ever said that to me. Mia sniffed, wiping the corner of her eye. Her tone shifted from grief to sharp irony. “I don’t need your pity. You’re much more pathetic than I am.” And wasn’t she right? Everyone in the city knew Harrison Thorne had married a “saint.” A saint who had been cheated on more times than anyone could count, yet still spent her afternoons consoling his exes. I called every girl he dated after our wedding an “ex.” It was easier than calling them what they were. I had long since traded my pride for peace. My phone buzzed on the table. A text from Harrison. [Harrison: You done yet? The movie’s about to start.] I placed the phone face down and looked back at Mia’s reddened eyes. “Tell me what kind of settlement you want. I’ll make sure he gives it to you.” I had said these words so many times I sounded like an HR manager handling a layoff. She let out a harsh breath and stood up abruptly. “I don’t want anything from him.” I sighed. “Take something. Cash, a car, a condo. You need something solid to hold onto.” Her gaze turned icy. She reached for her cup and slowly poured her cold coffee over my head. “I’m pregnant,” she whispered. “And I’m keeping it.” I stared at her, paralyzed. The words of comfort died in my throat. A bitter smile twitched at the corner of my lips. Harrison, you promised me many things. In the end, you didn’t keep a single one. 2 I sat in the passenger seat, dripping wet. Harrison was on the phone. He didn’t even try to hide it; I could tell it was the new girl. My hand tightened around the seatbelt, my fingernails digging into my palms until they throbbed. The person on the other end said something that made him chuckle, the fine lines crinkling at the corners of his eyes. “Alright, alright. I’ll come see you tonight.” He hung up, started the engine, and glanced toward me. His hand tightened on the steering wheel, his expression darkening instantly. “She did that?” I was already using a napkin to dry my hair, one slow stroke at a time. When I didn’t answer, he reached over and snatched the napkin from me. “Stay still.” I instinctively tried to pull away, but he grabbed me and pulled me toward him with a cold command. He dried my hair with surprising care, though his brow was furrowed and his face was grim. “You just sat there and let her pour coffee on you?” “Lydia, where’s the fire you used to have? Where’s the girl who used to snap back at me?” Used to… Since meeting Mia, a sense of weightlessness had been expanding in my chest. I pulled away from his arms, my face expressionless. “I can’t exactly lose my temper at a pregnant woman, can I?” He looked sheepish for a fraction of a second but remained stubborn, continuing to dry my hair. We didn’t speak for the rest of the drive. He drove; I stared out the window. I could see him in my peripheral vision, glancing at me every few minutes as if searching for something. But the ripples in my heart had long since stilled. Disappointment had traveled a thousand miles past despair. All that was left was numbness. I couldn’t focus on the movie. Harrison spent most of the time looking down at his phone, replying to messages. The “tradition” of our anniversary date collapsed into ruins before the credits even rolled. The irony was that afterward, I still had to sit by his side and watch him perform. The party was for close friends and family; the Thorne family invitations had been sent out weeks ago. Amidst the clinking of crystal and forced laughter, Harrison peeled shrimp for me. He piled them high on my plate, but I sat staring at his wrist as he rolled up his sleeves. Whose hair tie was wrapped around his wrist? A wave of nausea rolled over me, killing any appetite I had left. A man who peels shrimp for you doesn’t necessarily love you. A man who never forgets an anniversary after ten years doesn’t necessarily love you. A man who never takes off his wedding ring, even in the shower, doesn’t necessarily love you. I should thank Harrison. He taught me all of that. 3 Childhood sweethearts. Neighbors. A “perfect match” on paper. But those descriptions were meant for Harrison and my sister, Clara. Even before I understood what love was, I knew our families intended for them to marry. I had seen Clara’s cheeks flush pink whenever they went on dates. I had seen the notoriously arrogant Harrison Thorne turn quiet and gentle whenever he was with her. Why else would I have quietly hidden away the vintage records I spent months collecting for him when I was a teenager? In that trio, I was only Clara’s shadow. When their love was at its peak, there was no room for me to stand. Everything changed when Clara turned twenty. My poised, elegant sister ran away on the eve of her engagement party, only to die in a tragic plane crash. When her journals were found, the “perfect” facade of the Sterling family shattered. The shyness had been an act. Clara had been used as a bargaining chip by our parents to save their failing business empire. The only time she ever chose herself, it cost her her life. I carried the weight of my family’s survival on my shoulders. I was rushed into an engagement, then a wedding. To save the Thorne family’s reputation. To save the Sterling family from bankruptcy. In that whirlwind, I didn’t have time to process if I was more heartbroken or more relieved. Even as a substitute, I was marrying the man I had loved since I was a girl. But when we exchanged rings, I was the only one whose heart raced. During the “kiss the bride” moment, Harrison’s lips barely brushed mine. He whispered a sentence that would haunt us for a decade. “If you didn’t want this, why go through with it?” Back then, we agreed: we would each take what we needed from this arrangement. But ten years of marriage was too long. He did everything for me with perfection, yet he still didn’t love me. 4 The dinner ended after midnight. I couldn’t tell if I was buzzed or if my head just hurt. I climbed into the car and drifted into a heavy, feverish sleep. I vaguely heard Harrison on speakerphone, flirting with his new girl. The sweet talk was winding and elaborate. He never got tired of saying it; I was just tired of hearing it. During a lull, I felt a hand press against my forehead. The car braked hard. He let out a muffled curse. “Damn it, you’re burning up. Why didn’t you say anything?” The call was cut short. He seemed frantic as he draped his jacket over me. I thought I heard him whisper my nickname, CeeCee. I was probably just hallucinating from the fever. I let out a bitter laugh. He always called me by my full name, Lydia. As if omitting a single syllable would let me fantasize that I was the sister he actually wanted to marry. A person is more vulnerable when they are sick—but also more honest. A deep weariness took hold. Weariness of him, and of a love that never gave anything back. The car started moving again. The speed and the swaying made it hard to tell how fast we were going. He seemed to be on the phone constantly. Almost there, Doctor… she’ll be fine. Or maybe it was just a dream. Until the car stopped again. I forced my eyes open and saw him unbuckle his seatbelt and leap out of the car. He ran toward a slender figure standing at the hospital entrance. He pulled Mia into a tight embrace. The fragments of words I’d heard earlier finally made sense. “Wait for me. Don’t do anything reckless. I’m here. Everything will be okay.” Every word was for her. Even from a distance, I could hear her sobbing. I heard his voice, low and comforting. “I would never let you do anything to hurt yourself.” “It’s okay. We won’t break up. We’ll figure out what to do about the baby.” The memory I had buried deep in my heart was ripped open by the pain. Six months after our wedding, I had been pregnant too. 5 Back then, I was walking on eggshells at the Thorne estate while trying to manage the Sterling family’s affairs. Before I even realized what was happening, the pregnancy had ended. I’ll never forget the sound of Harrison’s voice outside the hospital room. Cold. Detached. “Maybe it’s for the best. It wasn’t supposed to happen anyway.” After that day, we reached a silent understanding. He could continue being a playboy. As long as the Sterling family stayed afloat. He could date whoever he wanted, as long as… as long as he didn’t “cause a scene” or a permanent complication. Now, he was the one who broke the deal. The Sterling family was an empty shell now, both my parents having passed away. And him? I didn’t want to force him anymore. I leaned my head against the car window, my breath hot against the glass. I watched him finish comforting Mia and walk back to me. He opened the door, draped my arm around his neck, and carried me toward the ER. Over his shoulder, I saw Mia sniffle and stare at me with pure contempt. As he passed her, she tried to grab his sleeve. She missed. He kept walking, his strides long and confident. His face, which no sculptor could ever improve upon, was set in a grim line. He always gave me the illusion that no matter how far he strayed, he would eventually come back. This time, I shook my head and woke up. “Harrison, I want a divorce.” His steps faltered, but he didn’t look at me. “What?” “A divorce. Please.” His expression shifted through a complex range—from anger to confusion, finally settling on a mocking laugh. “Why not wait a little longer? Maybe in a few years…” He glanced at me, his smile teasing. “I’ll finally be ready to settle down.” I laughed too, though my eyes felt hot. The fever was definitely getting worse. “What can I say? I’m bored of you. Maybe we should just be friends.” In an instant, Harrison’s face froze. His jaw tightened so hard the muscles jumped. “Not enough mystery for you anymore?” My vision was blurred by tears, but I kept smiling. “We should never have gotten married. We should have stayed exactly what you said we were back then.” “Lydia Sterling? I’d rather be her brother than her husband!”

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I hit the “golden daughter,” so my brothers committed me to a psychiatric hospital. When I was finally released, I had become unnaturally obedient. If my brothers told me to go east, I wouldn’t dare head west. But why did the fake daughter suddenly become even more “well-behaved” than me? Dr. Miller said that a professional patient never strikes back unless the other person hits first. Those are the rules of the ward. Oh? Please. Getting someone to swing first is the easiest game in the world. I have a thousand ways to make them do it. 1 The day my brother, Silas, came to pick me up from the asylum, I was wearing a Peter Pan collar blouse and denim overalls. My hands were neatly folded in front of me, my eyes downcast. The old, arrogant fire was gone. Silas looked me up and down, finally satisfied. “Do you understand what you did wrong?” I nodded obediently and recited the lines Dr. Miller taught me. “I’m sorry, Silas. I was jealous of Brianna. That’s why I hired those guys to scare her. I was wrong. I’ll never do it again.” The perfect amount of grievance, the perfect hint of remorse. Tears brimmed in my eyes but didn’t fall—a pose I had practiced by watching Brianna for a long time. It worked. Silas believed me. He reached out his noble hand and gave my head a condescending pat. “Good. If you hadn’t crossed the line so badly, Arthur wouldn’t have locked you away. From now on, try to get along with Brianna.” I mimicked Brianna’s habit of nuzzling into his palm. Silas actually smiled. No one noticed the Director of the asylum, Dr. Lowery, shuddering violently behind us. I flicked a glance at him, and cold sweat instantly beaded on his forehead. “Mr. Sterling, if there’s nothing else, I’ll leave you to your family reunion.” Silas nodded. “You did well. The Sterling Group’s donation will be in your account by morning.” “Th-thank you!” Lowery stammered and bolted. “The Director is quite fast on his feet, isn’t he?” I murmured. Thump. Lowery tripped over nothing. Then, under Silas’s confused gaze, he scrambled up and ran like a ghost was chasing him. “Silas, can I go home now?” Seeing my submissive state, he nodded. But he didn’t forget a final warning: “If you bully Brianna again, even if Arthur doesn’t send you back, I will!” “Okay,” I whispered. 2 When we reached the familiar estate, I stood at the threshold. I didn’t enter. Brianna used to say this was her house. Her parents, her brothers. I was just the intruder. How could I enter someone else’s home uninvited? It wasn’t until Silas said, “Get inside,” that I forced a flattered smile. “Is it really okay?” Silas’s eyes softened with a hint of pity. But the memory of my past behavior quickly hardened his heart again. Soon, Arthur and Brianna returned. “Arthur, I brought Yasmine back,” Silas said. “Has it been six months already?” Arthur asked. Already? I had lived through a year’s worth of hell every day in that place, but to them, time flew. Arthur studied me with a cold, judgmental gaze. I immediately gave him a small, respectful half-bow. Brianna saw me and gasped, shrinking behind Arthur’s broad shoulders. Arthur patted her arm. “Don’t be afraid. I’m here. If she touches you, I promise she’ll never set foot outside that asylum again as long as she lives.” He looked at me like I was a cockroach. I pressed a hand to my chest. So, an asylum patient’s heart can still feel pain. “I’ll be very good. I’ll listen,” I said, my voice small and pathetic. Arthur shot me a look of pure disgust and led Brianna away to wash up for dinner. 3 Dinner was, predictably, all of Brianna’s favorites. Suppressing her “fear,” Brianna picked up a piece of spicy popcorn chicken and put it in my bowl. “Here, Yasmine. Eat.” Pepper, chili, and… mango dipping sauce. This chicken was a curated list of everything I hated. Arthur leaned in. “Brianna, I raised you. You aren’t inferior to anyone. You don’t have to grovel to her.” Brianna lowered her head, a tear hitting her plate. I didn’t get it. They gave her the best of everything, tailored every meal to her taste, yet they thought she was the victim? Dr. Miller said: The best actor gets the candy. I sat there, staring at the chicken, swallowing hard. Then I asked the question that made the room turn cold. “Am… am I allowed to eat?” Arthur: … Silas: … Brianna: Internally screaming. When no one objected, I picked up my fork. I was starving. I hadn’t had real food in forever. I wanted to swallow the whole table. My unrefined, desperate eating style made them scowl. “Yasmine, didn’t they feed you in there?” Silas asked. I shook my head. “They did. But the slop buckets never had meat in them…” Slam! Arthur threw his fork down. “Yasmine Sterling, who are you trying to disgust? The Sterling family funds that facility. Lowery wouldn’t dare treat you like that. There’s a limit to lying.” Wouldn’t he? Arthur, have you ever seen a bed of nails? Have you ever felt the current of an electric chair? Have you ever watched a girl fight a dog for a scrap of gristle? Arthur hadn’t. But Brianna, hidden behind her napkin, was smiling. I stood there trembling, staring at Arthur in terror. Silas frowned. “Arthur, it’s her first night back. Can’t we just have a quiet meal?” Arthur suppressed his rage, his loathing for me deepening. Silas handed me a fork. “Eat if you’re hungry.” “Thank you, Silas,” I said with a sweet, wide smile. Silas’s pupils contracted. Did his sister know how to smile like that? Why had he never seen it before? For a split second, Silas felt a strange tug at his heart. Even Arthur’s eyes flickered, though his coldness remained. 4 I was about to go to bed when Brianna walked in. “I brought you some milk, Sister.” She didn’t knock. “Thank you,” I said, taking the glass. Those two words had never passed my lips before. Every time she “offered” something, it was a trap. Brianna smirked. “You’ve become quite the little pet, haven’t you?” The next second, her hand “slipped.” The milk splashed all over my clothes. “Oh no! Yasmine, why didn’t you catch it?” She looked at me provocatively. I didn’t move. She picked up the only gift my brothers had ever given me—a small music box from the year I returned—and tossed it into the trash. I still didn’t move. She scanned the room and saw the photo on my desk. It was the only picture I had of our parents and me. This time, I moved. I caught her wrist. Brianna laughed triumphantly. With her free hand, she snatched the frame and smashed it against the floor. My eyes burned with rage. “Oh, are you mad? Hit me then! I dare you!” Blatant provocation. But as an asylum patient, the first thing I learned was to follow instructions. I swung my arm and delivered a resounding slap to her face. Brianna was stunned for a few seconds before she began her performance. “Arthur! Silas! Help me!” They burst in instantly, shielding Brianna and glaring at me. “Yasmine, what the hell is wrong with you?” I folded my hands neatly. “She told me to hit her.” Brianna sobbed, clutching her red cheek. “I just brought her milk… I saw her throwing your gifts in the trash… she tried to rip up the family photo… I tried to stop her and she just attacked me! Look!” The gift was in the trash. The photo was on the floor. The frame was shattered. The evidence was “undeniable.” “Yasmine, do you still hate us that much? It wasn’t our fault the hospital switched you at birth!” Silas shouted, his disappointment palpable. Hate? I suppose. I spent ten years on the streets. My foster parents trained me to beg. I stole, I fought, I slept in alleys. I lived like a bug in the dirt. Meanwhile, the Sterlings pampered my replacement. How could I not hate them? I hated them for not finding me sooner. I hated them for replacing me. I hated that they always believed her lies. “I should have let you rot on the streets,” Arthur spat. I looked at him, my expression returning to that eerie “well-behaved” mask. “Brianna threw the gift away. Brianna smashed the photo.” “You—!” Arthur looked like he was about to explode. I pulled out my discharge papers. “I swear on my clinical diagnosis as a psychiatric patient, I am telling the truth.” Psychiatric patient. The brothers froze. Silas snatched the papers, his hands trembling. “This… this is real.” I nodded. “Dr. Miller said that for us ‘mentally ill’ people to survive in the world, we have to be obedient. We have to be quiet.” Arthur glanced at the papers and sneered. He didn’t believe me. “Obedient? Good. Move out of this room. Brianna is staying here now.” This room was the “Princess Suite” my parents had custom-built for me. My mother designed the layout; my father picked the furniture. It was supposed to be my sanctuary. Brianna had tried to take it a dozen times. “Okay,” I said. I immediately started packing my few belongings. Arthur, Silas, and even Brianna were stunned. This room was my last line of defense. Usually, I’d fight to the death for it. Brianna’s eyes sparkled. She finally had it. She tugged Arthur’s sleeve. “Arthur, is it okay? Can I really stay here?” Arthur’s face was grim. “If she can live here, so can you.” He turned to me and pointed toward the basement—the unfinished storage room. “You sleep there.” I nodded obediently and lugged my blankets downstairs. Arthur’s hand was still half-raised, frozen in the air. He watched me settle into the cramped, dark space. His chest seemed to be heaving with a strange, repressed fury. I didn’t get it. This is what you wanted, right? Why are you angry? As I lay down to sleep, he barked: “Wait!” I stayed still. The maid walked in and poured a bucket of ice water over my mattress. “Now you can sleep,” Arthur said, his face a mask of indifference. He was waiting for me to snap. He wanted my “true nature” to come out. Too bad. I lay down in the soaking wet bedding and, within minutes, I was snoring softly. Arthur: !!! 5 I woke up in a comfortable guest room. Silas was by my bed, muttering, “How long has she been asleep? Ten hours…” When I opened my eyes, he looked worried. “Yasmine, are you really…” He couldn’t finish, but I knew what he meant. “I’m a psychiatric patient,” I said calmly. “But I’m not ashamed.” Arthur didn’t trust me. He spent the next two weeks testing me. He told me to go left; I went left. He told me to eat fish; I ate fish. He even put a large, hairy spider on my hand. I shook with terror, but I didn’t dare brush it off until he told me to. Arthur’s face grew darker every day. Finally, he looked at Brianna and asked, “Was it really you?” Brianna had never faced this kind of doubt. That same day, she found the head maid. “Doesn’t your son want that new house?” she whispered. “Do this, and the money is yours.” The maid’s eyes gleamed. She’d made a fortune off me over the years. That night, she crept into my room and pinched me awake with her sharp nails. “Don’t you dare scream!” I was obedient. I didn’t scream. I just stared at her with wide, innocent eyes. My submission gave her courage. She grinned wickedly. “Get up. Take your clothes off.” I stood up, but I wouldn’t undress. Dr. Miller said a girl must have a baseline of dignity, no matter the environment. The maid grew angry and pulled out a long sewing needle. “Remember this? Strip, or I’ll bury this in your skin!” I tilted my head. Bad memories surfaced. Once, I had a high fever. My brothers had taken Brianna on a ski trip and left me with the maid. I couldn’t get out of bed. For three days, she didn’t give me a drop of water or a bite of food. I was dying. Every time I drifted off, she’d stab me with a needle to keep me awake. When the brothers returned, I told them. Arthur slapped me across the face. I found out later that while I was in that hell, the maid had called them every day, crying about how I was abusing her. She’d even scratched her own arms for “proof.” “Scared? Good. Now do as I say!” the maid hissed, her face contorted. Dr. Miller said that people like her—servile to the powerful but cruel to the weak—need no mercy. The next second, I grabbed her by the hair and slammed her head against the wall. I took the needle from her hand and drove it deep into her thigh. A pig-like squeal echoed through the mansion. “Shh,” I whispered. “Disturbing the peace gets you sent to the water tank.” She didn’t seem to understand. I dragged her by the hair toward the door. The brothers rushed downstairs, pale. “Yasmine! What are you doing?” Silas yelled. “She’s too loud,” I said. “I can’t sleep. Where is my chainsaw? I need to cut out her tongue.” The blood drained from Silas’s face. He lunged forward to stop me. “There is no chainsaw!” “Yasmine, let me throw her out for you, okay? If she’s outside, she won’t be loud!” I tilted my head. “Really?” Silas managed to pry her hair out of my grip. He threw her out the front door. It was much quieter. I went back to my room and fell asleep instantly. The rest of them stood in the hallway, staring at each other. The house was as silent as a tomb.

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