Author: Momo Chan

Nine months pregnant, and my husband was demanding a sex doll. I reluctantly agreed. The day it arrived, he banished me to the guest room. He then spent the night tucked away in our marriage bed, presumably riding roughshod over his new synthetic fantasy. I swallowed the acidic burn in my chest and tried to sleep alone. The next morning, my husband burst into the guest room, white as a sheet. “It’s over! The sex doll… it came to life!” I just stared at him. Funny coincidence. I had a sex doll of my own waiting to be resurrected. 1 Tate hadn’t touched me since I got pregnant. To deal with his personal problems, as he called them, he had a genius idea. “Ainsley, what if I got one of those sex dolls? I hear they’re pretty awesome.” I frowned instantly. “Don’t you think using something like that is… creepy?” He bristled. “Creepy? No way, it’s completely normal, actually.” But seeing the thunderous look on my face, he switched tactics, launching into a month-long campaign of relentless emotional manipulation. “Come on, Honey… please just let me buy one. Can you really stand to see me suffering so much every single day?” Tate Wells was a man who wouldn’t stop until he got what he wanted. He spent thirty days browsing models on his phone, softening me up with constant pleas and sighs. I finally cracked, just for the sake of silence. At least I’d have some peace and quiet. Tate immediately clicked “Buy” on the expensive, silicone mannequin he’d been eyeing. A few days later, he came home, beaming, carrying a massive box. I didn’t have the energy for him. I lay on the couch, scrolling through my phone, refusing to even look his way. But he actually dragged me off the cushions. “What is wrong with you?” I demanded, utterly bewildered. He winked conspiratorially, pushing me toward the living room. “I’m opening the package, you need to be out here. I’ll be too self-conscious with you watching… unless, of course, you want to join the fun?” I was too disgusted to speak. He slammed the master bedroom door shut and locked it. The sound of tape ripping and cardboard tearing soon followed. I couldn’t describe the sick feeling swirling in my stomach. I couldn’t stop imagining him tucked away in our marriage bed, conquering his synthetic fantasy. A wave of painful, acidic sadness washed over me. I took a deep breath and walked to the guest room. I was already telling myself what I needed to hear: the moment I finished my maternity leave, I would file for divorce, cutting him out entirely. This marriage had ceased to exist the second he first proposed that grotesque purchase. Half an hour later, Tate emerged. I was morbidly curious about the doll and wanted to see what he’d bought, but he blocked the doorway, refusing to let me in. If I needed anything, he’d fetch it. I glared at him, pure venom in my eyes. He instantly softened his voice. “Come on, please. And… you should sleep in the guest room tonight, okay? You’re the best, Ainsley!” My blood was boiling. I wanted to scream, to tear him apart, but thinking of his relentless, nauseating campaign over the past month, a tidal wave of exhaustion washed over me instead. I just didn’t have the fight in me anymore. I turned and walked away. The next morning, before I was even fully awake, he slammed open the guest room door. “It’s over! It’s all over! The sex doll came to life!” I sat up in bed, my brain sluggish with sleep. What in the hell does that even mean? I spent a few seconds waking up, and then the truth hit me with a cold, hard certainty. My face went utterly expressionless. He was cheating. 2 Tate clearly didn’t realize I’d instantly seen through his pathetic lie. He pulled me into the living room to look. I sized up the young woman standing in the middle of the room, her face completely blank. She was slender, thin, and wearing only a piece of cheap, ill-fitting lingerie. “This is… your sex doll?” I asked, my voice flat. Where did he even find her? He managed to hide his mistress this well? And she was striking, slender, and attractive. How desperate do you have to be to go after Tate? He was decent-looking and charming before we married, but afterward, he’d bloated into a selfish, entitled pig. Since I got pregnant, he’d been a nightmare. Did they start this before the wedding? The thought was deeply unsettling. “Yes!” Tate clapped his hands together, frantic and sweating, pacing in a tight circle. “I finished using it last night, and just kept it next to me while I slept. I woke up this morning, and she was on the bed! The doll was gone! No one else could have gotten in, so it has to be the doll coming to life!” I stood silent for a long moment. “So, the heavy package you brought home yesterday… woke up?” I asked, watching the woman’s expression. She didn’t react, her eyes remaining wide and vacant, as if she didn’t understand what I was saying. “That’s exactly it! Ainsley, what are we going to do?” I nodded thoughtfully. Then I raised my hand and slapped him hard across the cheek. He clutched his face, his eyes wide with shock. “Why did you hit me? You don’t believe me? But I’m telling you the truth!” I almost yelled, Do you think I’m an idiot? That I’d fall for that imbecilic lie? But I swallowed the words. Instead, I leaned in, my voice dripping with weary irritation. “Tate Wells! How dare you even ask me what to do? This is a national incident! A sex doll achieving sentience! You should be reporting this to the Pentagon immediately! Do you have no sense of civic duty?” Tate froze. He glanced quickly at his ‘sex doll,’ then back at me. “But…” I pointed a sharp finger at him. “The government must regret ever investing in your education.” Then I reached for my phone to call 911. The police would run her fingerprints, check her ID, and the whole pathetic truth would unravel instantly. A sex doll came to life, indeed. I bet his entire family was a bunch of inflatable knock-offs. Before I could dial, Tate lunged and snatched the phone from my hand. I gave him a look of utter bewilderment. He lowered his gaze, chewing on his lip, looking profoundly uncomfortable. “The police… maybe we shouldn’t call them?” “Why not?” He remained silent, only giving me a shifty, guilty sidelong glance. I pressed him, asking Why? Why? Why? My voice rising with each repetition. Finally, he cracked, gritting his teeth and spitting out the truth. “Because she’s a gift from Heaven!” “Why didn’t anyone else’s doll come to life? Only mine! That means she’s a sign—a great blessing to make up for all the suffering I’ve endured!” “I’ve had to live in such subservience for so long, trying to please you. And now I finally have the chance to have my cake and eat it too! Can’t you just let me enjoy it? Why are you so jealous? She’s not even fully a person!” 3 Tate’s speech made my stomach heave, the bile rising in my throat. My unborn baby kicked gently, responding to my sudden distress. I rubbed my chest, trying to calm the nausea, and addressed him with heavy gravity. “The most important thing you need to do right now is uninstall every single trashy romance novel app on your phone.” “And what is this ‘subservience’ you’re talking about? Has marrying me truly made you this miserable?” Tate pursed his lips and kept his eyes downcast, constantly stealing glances at me—the picture of an oppressed, long-suffering spouse. He whispered weakly, “What else? I’ve been living like a monk, staying loyal just for you… you have no idea how much simple male pleasure I’ve had to sacrifice…” “Look at you now. You’re not affectionate, you’re moody, you snap at everything, and you’re so big and…” He trailed off, but I knew what he was going to say: fat and ugly. I was furious, followed immediately by another wave of nausea. The fetal movement grew frantic. Everything was telling me not to lose my temper. Nine months pregnant, I had to be smart—smarter than him. Arguing with this vile man was not the priority. The pregnancy hormones made controlling my emotions a Herculean task. I clutched my stomach, took several deep, measured breaths, and finally managed to find some calm. I looked at the ‘sex doll.’ She stood awkwardly in the center of the room, curiously scanning her surroundings. The vacant, bewildered look in her eyes didn’t look faked. Could she actually be a doll that came to life? The absurd thought flashed through my mind. I picked up a throw blanket from the couch and draped it over her shoulders. She wrapped it tightly around herself and gave me a soft, thankful smile. The strange feeling in my stomach intensified. “Does she need to eat?” I asked suddenly. Tate blinked. “…I guess so? I checked her over. She’s definitely a living human.” Checked her over? How, exactly? I frowned, saying nothing, and gently touched the exposed skin of her forearm. The warmth, the pulse, the fine veins—definitely a real person. The woman looked at me, confused, clearly not understanding why I was poking her. “Does she speak? Does she understand English?” Tate shook his head. “Doesn’t seem to.” “Hmm.” I nodded thoughtfully. “So, you’ll have to teach her to speak?” Tate suddenly gave me a slimy, oily smile and walked over, gently stroking my pregnant belly. “Perfect! We’re going to teach the baby to speak soon, so this is great practice. And when the baby is born, we can have her take care of you during your maternity leave. Isn’t that perfect?” Have her take care of me? Absolutely not. Tate held my hands, his tone pleading again. “Please, Ainsley… what if you call the cops and they take her away for live testing? Would you really want that? You have a good heart.” I kept my face cold, saying nothing. I hated the way he begged. It was the same relentless, grating plea he’d used for a month to get the doll in the first place. “Honey, come on! It’s like earning good karma for our baby! Plus, we get a free, live-in nanny. A two-for-one deal!” It was, in fact, an extremely practical arrangement. It only meant one extra mouth to feed, and with our savings and income, we could easily afford it. I bit my lip, mulling it over. A plan began to solidify in my mind. I held out my hand to him. “Let me see your phone.” Tate looked confused but handed it over quickly. I opened his shopping app and checked his purchase history. There it was: the sex doll, marked as “Confirmed Delivery.” Could I request a refund based on the doll coming to life? I wondered wryly. I memorized the company name and returned the phone to him. I then adopted a sharp, commanding tone. “Fine. Let her stay, but we’ll observe her first. If she’s useful, I won’t call the police. If she’s not, I’m sending her away, no matter what.” “And you are solely responsible for teaching her the language and house chores. Don’t expect any help from me.” Tate’s face lit up with undisguised joy. “That’s amazing! I knew my wife was the best!” He hugged me quickly, then took the woman’s hand, led her into the master bedroom, and locked the door behind them. I rolled my eyes at the closed door, completely indifferent to whatever obscenity was about to unfold inside. I walked into the guest room and locked my own door. I opened my phone, looked up the doll company, and browsed their catalog. I quickly saw he’d bought their cheapest model—a half-body model, lacking a head. The full-figure model was twice the price. I let out a cold, cynical laugh and opened the customer service chat. Me: [Do you have male sex dolls?] The representative took a while to respond. They sounded like a veteran of the e-commerce wars, completely unflappable. Customer Service: [No, but we can do a custom order.] Perfect. Who says I couldn’t have a ‘sex doll’ waiting to be resurrected, too? Me: [Please customize one for me. Half-body is fine.] The agent immediately sent a deposit link. I paid it without hesitation, then asked for more details. Me: [Will the doll be wearing clothes when delivered?] Customer Service: [Female dolls wear lingerie. Male dolls will wear shorts, but nothing else.] Me: [Where is the inflation port?] 4 An hour or so later, a satiated Tate left for work, leaving me alone with the ‘sex doll.’ He sent me a few texts. [I named her Doll.] [Have her make you breakfast later.] [I already showed her tutorial videos for cooking. She’s a fast learner.] Me: [Fine.] Have her cook for me? Was I trying to win a Darwin Award? I changed my clothes and left the guest room. Passing the kitchen, I saw Linh—the name I was using for her in my head—wearing my silk nightgown, skillfully washing the pile of dishes in the sink. Remembering Tate’s claim that she was a fast learner, I narrowed my eyes, examining her hands. Were they smooth, like those of someone newly born, or rough, like those of a woman who’d spent years doing manual labor? She turned around and looked at me, a slight panic in her eyes. She stared for a moment, then made a gesture for eating, nodding and smiling sweetly, indicating that breakfast would be ready soon. I found the scene strangely unsettling. I jerked my chin at her and waved my hand, indicating she should just eat by herself. Then, I went into the master bedroom and scanned the space. The huge shipping box was still there, but the contents were gone. It would be hard to dispose of a synthetic body that size without a trace, I thought. But then I remembered: the community trash truck collected all garbage at 5 AM sharp. Tate had woken me up just after five. Was it a coincidence? Or was he deliberately timing his trash run? Just in case the ‘sex doll’ was also a thief, I locked up all the valuables in the master bedroom. Only when I was sure everything was secure did I leave the house to grab breakfast at a coffee shop downstairs. Sipping my oat latte, a sudden, ridiculous thought struck me. I opened a messaging app, found the profile of an old university friend, Brooks Carrington, and sent him a cryptic message. Me: [Want to be my sex doll?] Brooks was a bored, eccentric millionaire—a perfect blend of rich playboy and goofy performance artist. He was constantly looking for the next spectacle. I knew the story of a sex doll coming to life would hook him immediately. My due date was less than a month away. After the birth and my recovery, I’d ditch Tate and keep the baby. But before then, I needed to make my own ‘fun’ and exact my revenge on this pathetic man. I couldn’t suppress the smile on my face as I imagined the look on Tate’s face when he found out my sex doll had also achieved sentience. But when I returned home and found that woman slumped over the toilet, dry-heaving… I stopped smiling. I panicked.

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I have never tasted my wife’s cooking. Not once. We’ve been married for five years. Every morning, she wakes up an hour early to bustle around the kitchen. The sounds are methodical, rhythmic—the crack of an egg, the hum of the toaster, the precise chopping of fruit. The aromas drift into the bedroom, filling the air with the scent of caramelized onions, fresh coffee, and searing meat. I asked her once, early on, “Could you make a plate for me, too?” She didn’t even turn around. “Don’t you have a cafeteria at work?” I never asked again. Until one day, I found a bento box in her car. It was empty. Stuck to the lid was a neon-yellow Post-it note. The handwriting was jagged, masculine, sprawling: “The chicken today was insane. Craving those roasted short ribs tomorrow ~” That wasn’t my handwriting. 1. I stared at that sticky note for a long time. “Craving those braised short ribs tomorrow.” The tone was playful, demanding. Like a spoiled child who knows exactly how to get what they want. I flipped the note over. On the back, in the same scrawl: “Meredith is the best!” Meredith. My wife. I placed the container back exactly where I found it and closed the car door. That night, I didn’t say a word. Meredith came home a little later than usual, carrying a grocery bag heavy with premium cuts of meat. Short ribs. “I’m making braised short ribs tomorrow,” she announced, kicking off her heels. “Who for?” I asked, keeping my voice level. “A colleague,” she said, not meeting my eyes as she headed for the kitchen. “There’s a boy at the office, poor health. Immune system issues or something. I’m just helping out.” “Just helping out?” “Mmhmm.” She pulled the cooking wine and pepper salt from the pantry, moving with a practiced efficiency I didn’t recognize. She began to marinate the ribs. Her movements were fluid, almost artistic. I stood in the doorway, watching her back. Five years. In five years, I had never seen her treat a piece of meat with such tenderness. “What do you want?” she asked suddenly, breaking the silence. “What?” “For dinner,” she said. “Should I order something?” I paused. The absurdity of it hit me, and I let out a dry, short laugh. “Whatever. You decide.” “That Thai place again? The basil chicken?” “Sure.” She tapped her phone screen, ordering the takeout. On the stove, the ribs were marinating, filling the kitchen with a rich, savory promise. On her phone, the delivery tracker read: Estimated arrival: 30 minutes. This was our marriage. She cooked; she ate. She ordered out; I ate. I don’t know how long I had been blind to this, but from that moment on, I started paying attention. The next morning, she was up at 5:30 AM. I feigned sleep, listening to the symphony of her affection in the kitchen. The rhythmic chopping, the sizzle of the pan, the soft beep of the microwave. At 6:15, she slipped out the door, quiet as a ghost. I waited five minutes, then got up. The kitchen counters were wiped spotless. The ribs were gone from the fridge. In the trash can: eggshells, onion skins, and an empty bottle of premium sauce. I opened the cabinet where we kept the spare Tupperware—a wedding gift from her mother that I thought we’d never touched. One was missing. I put it together. That bento box left the house every morning at 6:15 and returned before 8:00 PM. It carried meals cooked with my wife’s own hands. It went to a “sickly” male colleague. I called my best friend, Davis. “I need a background check,” I said. “Guy at Meredith’s firm. Male. Supposedly has health issues.” Davis was silent on the other end for a few seconds. “You found out?” “Found out what?” “…Nothing,” he said quickly. “I’ll handle it.” By evening, my phone pinged with a file. Silas Vane. 28 years old. Meredith’s college classmate. They had dated in university. The “one who got away.” The tortured artist type. Three years ago, Silas was hired at Meredith’s company. Same department. The photo attached showed a man who looked like he was made of glass—pale skin, messy hair, thin frame. He looked like a strong wind would shatter him. I zoomed in on the photo. Then I found his social media. His bio read: “Lucky enough to have a personal chef.” Posted two days ago. I scrolled through his feed. It was a culinary diary. Chicken drumsticks, roasted ribs, ham salad, cream corn soup, wild mushroom risotto. Every single meal was presented in the bento box I had seen in the car. I scrolled back. One year. Two years. Three years. Three years. My wife had been cooking for him for three years. And I had been eating takeout for three years. I lowered the phone. My hand was trembling. Not from anger. From the cold. It felt like someone had poured a bucket of ice water down my spine, the chill settling deep in my bones. That night, Meredith came home early. “You’re back early,” I said. “Yeah, just wanted to spend some time with you.” She walked over, reaching out to hug me. I sidestepped her. “I need a shower,” I said. Standing under the spray, the hot water did nothing to thaw the ice inside me. I started to replay the last five years. Did she ever cook for me? Yes. The first year. Maybe a handful of times. Then it stopped. I had asked her why. She said, “You’re not picky. You’re easy to feed.” I believed her. I thought she was just lazy about cooking. I thought she didn’t enjoy it. I thought— I thought I knew her. I knew nothing. 2. The next day, I took the afternoon off. I went to Meredith’s office building. I didn’t go to her floor. I went straight to Administration. The receptionist, a young girl named Sarah, knew me. I’d dropped off forgotten keys and umbrellas enough times. “Guru? What are you doing here?” “I need a favor, Sarah,” I said. “Silas Vane. He works in Meredith’s department.” “Silas?” She blinked. “The guy in Meredith’s team?” “Yeah.” “Is… is everything okay?” “Just need to check something.” She looked around, then lowered her voice. “Guru, I really shouldn’t, but… honestly, take a look.” She turned her monitor toward me. Silas Vane’s employment file. Start date: Three years and four months ago. Referred by: Meredith Hayes. I let out a sharp breath. “Referred by.” “Guru…” “What else?” She bit her lip and opened another folder. “Attendance logs.” I scanned them. He punched in and out like clockwork. But one data point stood out. Lunch Breaks (M/W/F): Off-campus. “What does this mean?” “We have a subsidized cafeteria,” Sarah explained. “If you eat there, it logs on your badge. He doesn’t eat here Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.” “Where does he eat?” “I don’t know. But…” She pulled up a screenshot. It was from an internal company chat group. A female colleague had posted: “Meredith brought another bento for Silas today. It smells amazing.” The replies underneath: “So jealous.” “Meredith is literally a saint.” “Silas must have saved the galaxy in a past life.” Date: 18 months ago. I stared at the words until they blurred. “Guru?” “I’m fine,” I said, my voice sounding distant to my own ears. “Thanks, Sarah.” “Don’t do anything rash, okay?” “I’m not rash.” “But—” “I just need to understand.” I walked out of the building and stood on the curb. Three years and four months. Meredith and I had been married five years. That meant Silas came into the picture when we were barely two years into our marriage. Back then, I thought we were in the honeymoon phase. I thought we were solid. I pulled out my phone and texted Davis: “You knew the whole time, didn’t you?” He replied instantly: “Do you want to see him?” “Yes.” “Friday noon. The small park behind the office complex. He eats the lunch there every Friday.” I stared at the screen. I typed out a response: “No. I need to see her give it to him.” Davis sent a thumbs-up emoji. Then: “Guru, I’ll come with you.” “No need.” “You shouldn’t be al—” “I can handle it.” I hung up and looked at the sky. It was a brilliant, blinding blue. A memory surfaced. Last month. I had a fever of 102. Shivering, teeth chattering, unable to leave the bed. I called Meredith. I told her I was sick. She said: “Just take some Tylenol and sleep it off. I have to work late. I’ll be home when I can.” She did come home late. Eleven o’clock. The next morning, she was up at 5:30 AM as usual to make the bento. I asked her, “What were you working on so late?” She said, “Just catching up on project timelines.” Now I knew. The overtime was real. The timelines were real. But it wasn’t work. It was the timeline for simmering bone broth for Silas. I checked my phone records. That night, at 11:00 PM, she had made a call to Silas Vane. Duration: 27 minutes. And the call to me? The one where she told me to “sleep it off”? 15 seconds. 3. Friday noon. I went to the park behind the office tower. I found a bench in the shadows of an oak tree and waited. At 12:10, Meredith appeared. She was carrying an insulated lunch bag, walking with purpose. I watched her pass right in front of me. She didn’t even see me. Her eyes were fixed on a destination about fifty yards away. There was a bench there. A man was sitting on it. Messy hair, white button-down shirt, looking like a gust of wind would knock him over. Silas. Meredith walked up and sat next to him. She unzipped the bag and pulled out the bento box. “I made the roasted ribbs you like,” she said. I was close enough to hear them. The air was still. “You make the best ribbs,” Silas said, taking the fork with a smile that looked practiced. “And here’s the cream corn soup. Be careful, it’s hot.” She unscrewed a thermos cap and handed it to him. “Meredith,” Silas said suddenly. “Does your husband know?” My heart skipped a beat. Meredith hesitated, then shook her head. “He doesn’t know.” “How long do you plan to hide this?” “It’s not hiding…” Meredith sighed. “We’ve been married five years. The feeling… it’s just gone.” Silas looked down, picking at a piece of rib. “Then why don’t you divorce him?” “It’s not the right time.” “When is the right time?” Meredith was silent for a moment. “When your health is better. When the project is done…” “When, when, when.” Silas put down his fork. “Meredith, I’ve been waiting for you for three years.”

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Blair broke up with me again. This time, I thought I’d do what I did the first time she dumped me when we were eighteen: head down to the riverwalk to cool off. But the wind coming off the water was biting, a sharp, physical reminder that I wasn’t a teenager anymore. Forget it, I thought. Just go home. On the walk back, I passed that greasy spoon diner on the corner. I expected my stomach to be in knots, the way it was when I was twenty and heartbreak felt like a terminal illness. Instead, the smell of grilling onions hit me, and I realized the cook was on his A-game. I was starving. Finally back in my apartment, I sat down, ready to do what I’d done at twenty-two, twenty-three, and twenty-four: draft The Essay. The long, groveling text message begging Blair to take me back. But then I opened my phone and saw a notification from my boss. I was being deployed on a business trip. I spent the next month buried in work in a neighboring city, practically revitalizing my career. Blair, finally losing patience with my silence, called me. “Why haven’t you come to apologize yet?” That was when it hit me. I’d forgotten something. I’d forgotten to care. Getting dumped when you’re a little older is a strange thing. It’s less of a tragedy and more of an administrative hassle. I tested the waters, keeping my voice light. “My bad, my bad. Honestly, I’ve been so swamped I forgot to write The Essay.” I paused, letting the silence stretch just enough to be dangerous. “How about… we just leave it broken this time?” 1 We were at drinks with friends when the rumor started floating around that Blair was planning to propose to me. Blair laughed, that cool, dismissive sound that used to make me nervous. She looked completely unbothered. “Why would I need to propose? Griffith isn’t going to marry anyone but me. besides, I need Carter to be the best man. He’s been booking that slot since we were kids.” The sentence was so off-balance I couldn’t tell what mattered more to her: marrying me, or securing a spot for Carter, her childhood soulmate, in the bridal party. I took a sip of water, trying to keep my voice steady. “I have my own friends for groomsmen. My college roommates. We made a pact years ago—we all stand up for each other. No exceptions.” Blair didn’t even look at me. She just swirled her drink. “So add another groomsman.” “I can’t. There are four of them. An odd number doesn’t work for the procession. It’s messy.” She snapped, a flash of irritation breaking her composure. “Then just find some random guy to even it out. Carter has never been a best man before. Can’t you just satisfy him this one time?” The table went quiet. Our friends were used to these inexplicable arguments. They never interfered because they knew the script: I would apologize specifically and profusely, Blair would freeze me out for two days to prove a point, and then she’d graciously allow us to make up. Nobody wants to be a spectator to a relationship where one person is the clown. But this time, something inside me had calcified. “No. It’s not necessary. It’s my wedding, and I want to make the call.” Blair walked over to me, looming slightly. “And if I insist?” I didn’t answer, but the look on my face must have been answer enough. Humiliated and furious, she slammed her hand on the table. “Fine! Let’s break up then! Griffith, don’t you dare contact me.” She stormed out, the door rattling in its frame. The remaining friends looked at their drinks, the floor, anywhere but me. I smoothed things over, murmuring some excuses. The tension broke, and the teasing started. “Griffith’s got this under control. He’s confident,” one guy laughed. “Blair is just… you know. Go buy her a bag, smooth it over. It’s fine.” “Griffith, you can’t spoil women like that,” another said, shaking his head. “The more you indulge them, the worse they get. You’re too soft on her.” “Hey, that wedding date you guys were looking at? My uncle says it’s bad luck. I’ll have him calculate a new one for you. He’s amazing—no one he’s picked a date for has ever gotten divorced.” I smiled, polite and hollow, and didn’t say a word. 2 I walked home alone, stopping every now and then just to breathe. My head was a supercut of the last ten years. High school sweethearts. The brutal years of long-distance during college. The friction of moving in together. We had failed at every stage, and every single time, I had fought tooth and nail to glue us back together. I asked myself, Why? Does loving someone mean you have to strip yourself of all dignity? Shouldn’t love be about mutual compromise? About holding each other up? But whenever I resolved to leave, a treacherous little voice would whisper in my ear: “If you give up now, doesn’t that make the last decade a waste? Doesn’t that make you a joke?” So I gritted my teeth. I endured. I hoped that if I just loved her enough, I could move her. I hoped for a happy ending. My wandering took me past the river again. I used to call it the “River of Tears” because it was close to our campus. Since our very first breakup, this water had witnessed more of my crying jags than my mother had. But tonight, the wind was just cold. Before I could spiral into melancholy, the physical chill snapped me out of it. I pulled my jacket tighter. Forget it. I’ll go be sad in the warmth of my living room. I turned the corner and saw the burger joint again. Funny. I came here a lot. Once, after a fight with Blair, I angrily ordered five double cheeseburgers, intending to eat my feelings, but my throat was so tight from holding back tears I couldn’t swallow a bite. The cook really had improved. The smell of grease and charred beef was hypnotic. I ordered cautiously this time, afraid of repeating history, but after two burgers, I realized I could easily handle a third. Mouth busy, stomach full. The emptiness in my chest didn’t feel quite so vast. It was only when I stood in front of my apartment door that I hesitated. We had lived together for so long; that small space was a museum of our shared life. But when I opened the door, I didn’t feel nostalgia. I saw the trash bag, full to bursting, that she hadn’t taken out. The empty soda bottles on the coffee table. The shoes kicked off in the middle of the hallway. The anger flared hotter than the sadness. The fire in my chest seemed to dry up my tears. I cleaned everything in a frenzy. I sat down to mute her on social media—so I wouldn’t have to see her updates—when a notification popped up. My boss, tagging me in the group chat with feedback on a proposal. By the time I closed the document, the sky outside was turning the color of a bruised peach. Morning. I was surprised to find that the first day of heartbreak had passed so easily. So, in the quiet of that brand-new morning, I did something I had never done before. I blocked Blair on everything. 3 Blair didn’t come back. I knew the drill. She was waiting for me to kneel. I assumed I would, eventually. It was a habit, like biting my nails. Bowing down for love didn’t feel shameful anymore; it just felt like Tuesday. But every time I picked up my phone, life intervened. A proposal needed rewriting. A client called. One day turned into two, then eight, then nine. I hadn’t contacted her. I had accidentally achieved the impossible, and to my shock, I wasn’t in agony. During the morning meeting that day, my director announced a critical project. A client needed a representative on-site, a permanent placement until the project closed. A year and a half, minimum. I raised my hand before the sentence was even finished. He looked at me over his glasses. “Single candidates preferred.” “I’m single,” I said immediately. The conference room erupted in laughter. My “epic saga” with Blair was office folklore. They assumed this was just another dramatic chapter. But the director asked around, and no one else volunteered. Leaving headquarters for eighteen months was a risk. You could come back to find your desk gone and your influence evaporated. For a career trajectory, it wasn’t the optimal move. But for me? It was an escape hatch. And more than that, the client was in San Francisco—a city I had always dreamed of living in. Blair had refused to ever leave our current city. She was comfortable here; her family was here, her world was here. She wouldn’t even let me travel to San Francisco for vacation. Friends joked she was afraid that if I went, I’d realize how big the world was and never come back. I just smiled when they said that. In the end, the director gave it to me. “Don’t bail on me,” he warned me privately before I left. “I don’t care how the soap opera with your girlfriend plays out. You finish this eighteen months.” I smiled. “Mission accepted.” 4 The first weeks in San Francisco were a blur of adrenaline and caffeine. I worked two weeks straight, living out of the corporate hotel because I didn’t have time to apartment hunt. By the third weekend, I finally came up for air. The city was everything the blogs and magazines promised, but being there—feeling the steep hills in my calves, smelling the salt and eucalyptus—was different. I realized I had made the right choice. When my mother called, I was actually surprised. We hadn’t spoken since a blowout argument a year ago. My parents had started the “marriage pressure campaign” when I was twenty-five. By twenty-eight, with no ring on my finger, they had snooped through my phone, found Blair’s number, and called her directly to harass her. I can only imagine the toxic things they said. Blair refused to speak to me for a solid month after that. My mother has a beautiful voice, melodic and soft, which makes the cruel, invasive things she says land with even more dissonance. “You’re not really going to wait until you’re thirty to get married, are you?” she started, skipping the pleasantries. “We dug through the family tree for eight generations and couldn’t find anyone as useless as you.” “Well, I’m breaking new ground then.” “I don’t have time for your sarcasm. Your sister saw on your social media that you broke up with that Blair girl. True or false? Usually, you two are back together by now, but it’s been quiet. Is it done?” “Say what you want to say, Mom. I’m working.” “That temper. Just like your father. No wonder you two can’t be in the same room.” “I’m hanging up.” “Wait, wait!” Her voice pitched up. “Look, if you’re free this weekend, your aunt found someone for you. A nice girl. She works in your city.” “She probably doesn’t,” I said. “I forgot to tell you. I moved.” 5 “You moved?” Her volume spiked. “Why do you always do this? You have these big ideas and you just do whatever you want!” I didn’t have the energy to argue. “Who is she? A client of Auntie’s? Or her boss? There’s always an angle with her.” My mother, usually so strident, suddenly mumbled. “They say it’s your cousin’s boss’s daughter. But her conditions are excellent. Would your aunt hurt you?” I genuinely wondered how she could ask that without choking. “Are you sure about that?” I asked. “Why do you have to be so cynical? Just because she introduced you to someone last year and took a little advantage… she apologized to you crying! She didn’t know about that person’s situation.” I didn’t bother arguing. If she didn’t know the situation, why did she set us up? My aunt had introduced me to a literal con artist. When I rejected the woman, my aunt gave her my home address. If Blair hadn’t come home early that night, finding me cornered in the dark stairwell by a woman demanding money… I don’t know what would have happened. I later found out the woman was the niece of a major client my aunt was trying to woo. She sent my photo without asking, the niece liked it, and my aunt served me up on a platter. When I tried to go to the police, my aunt explicitly told me she wouldn’t testify because she couldn’t afford to offend the client. And now, here we were again. “Tell Auntie to stop using me as currency. Or I’ll come home for Thanksgiving and act so crazy everyone will think it runs in the family.” “You ungrateful child!” 6 The silence after hanging up was exquisite. I finished a proposal, dropped it in the work group chat, and basked in the shower of “thumbs up” emojis from the team. Feeling bold, I posted on my personal feed: [Another day, crushing it.] Usually, I kept a low profile, but the response was immediate. [Griffith is a career man now! I tried to get you out for a week, didn’t know you were grinding.] [Working? Don’t you know your fortress is under siege?] [Why haven’t you deleted the breakup post? You haven’t made up yet? Is the apology gift not big enough this time? You never listen to us.] I replied one by one. [Traveling for work. Drinks when I’m back.] [My fortress is empty. No one lives there anymore.] [Not making up.] As soon as I hit send, my phone rang. It was the boyfriend of one of Blair’s best friends. We used to hang out all the time. “Where are you living the high life, Griffith?” “Working. Just busy.” He paused, lowering his voice. “Are you out of town? I walked by your place the other day, knocked, no answer.” “Yeah, out of town. What’s up?” “Nothing, nothing. Just haven’t seen you. Wanted to grab dinner.” “I’ll hit you up when I’m back.” “Cool, cool.” He hesitated again. “Hey… did you hear about Blair and Carter?” “Not really,” I said honestly. “Like I said, busy.” He didn’t take the hint. “Blair and Carter have been super loud about it. Going to parties together. I heard Blair bought him a massive gold watch for his birthday.” “Everyone’s guessing they’re finally together. Blair hasn’t confirmed it. We figure she’s just waiting for you to come beg for forgiveness.” I laughed. A genuine, short laugh. “What exactly am I apologizing for?” He stammered. “Huh? I mean… you always apologize. I just assumed…” “I apologized when I cared,” I said. “What if I don’t care anymore?” I heard a loud door slam on the other end of the line. And then, Blair’s friend’s voice yelling, “Blair!”

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A few days before the wedding, the planner scheduled a rehearsal for me and my fiancé. The moment he picked me up in his arms, his sister suddenly burst into tears. “Ethan! That is so disgusting! Why are you groping her in front of everyone?! Does she not have legs? Can’t she walk by herself?” My fiancé immediately put me down to comfort her. Then, he demanded I walk to the wedding car myself. Tradition says the bride’s feet shouldn’t touch the ground until she reaches the altar. My parents tried to argue, but my fiancé of three years threatened to postpone the wedding. “Bella doesn’t like it. If you insist on these archaic traditions, then we’re postponing the wedding!” 1 Both families stared at Bella in shock. The groom carrying the bride—isn’t that standard? “Is she crippled?! Does she not have legs? Can’t she walk?!” Bella screamed, her face twisted in rage. Whispers ripple through the crowd. “On the wedding day, it’s tradition for the bride not to touch the ground,” my mom explained with a strained smile. “Bella, when you get married, it’ll be the same for you!” “I don’t care! I won’t let my brother carry her! If she wants to get married, she can walk! Or I’ll never talk to Ethan again!” Bella stomped her foot. I looked at Ethan in disbelief. His worried gaze, however, was fixed entirely on Bella. Suddenly, his arms loosened, and he dropped me. I stumbled, my expensive Jimmy Choos slamming onto the wet pavement without warning. Mud instantly splattered the hem of my white dress. Just like my mood. “Oh no!” My mom rushed forward to lift my skirt. “Why did you drop her? Thank god it’s just the rehearsal. You can’t do this on the big day!” While everyone gathered around to ask if I twisted my ankle, Ethan was busy hugging Bella, whispering soothingly, “It’s okay, baby. I won’t carry her. She can walk, okay?” “Hmph,” Bella pouted. “Promise you’ll never carry her again!” Never carry me again? Should we just become bros instead? “Okay, okay, I promise. Whatever you say.” My fiancé agreed to her insane demand without hesitation. Bella looked over Ethan’s shoulder, smirking at me with triumph. Ethan once told me he had a “cute” little sister. I didn’t know this was his definition of cute. “Forget it. It’s just a rehearsal. Bella is young, don’t hold it against her,” my future in-laws said, trying to smooth things over. I exchanged a look with my parents, swallowed my anger, and continued the rehearsal. Next, when the officiant said, “You may kiss the bride,” Ethan glanced at Bella’s glaring face. “Let’s skip this part,” he said. Watching him cater to her every whim, the last shred of hope in my heart shattered. The rehearsal ended. We were ushered to the bridal suite. But Bella had beaten us there. She was currently barefoot, rolling around on my new marital bed. My future mother-in-law rushed to pull her off. “What are you doing?” Bella was dragged off, but she immediately bounced back onto the bed, leaving dirty footprints on the pristine red sheets. “What’s wrong? Can’t I lie on my brother’s bed?! I’m just testing the mattress for them!” The room went silent. Even a child knows the marital bed is for the newlyweds. Bella is twenty-two. I turned to Ethan, expecting an explanation. Instead, he smiled dotingly. “Bella is right. My home is your home. Everything I have is yours! Your sister-in-law will spoil you just like I do. She won’t be mad. Right, Harper?” 2 That last sentence was directed at me. It was laughable. I had promised to be a good sister-in-law, but I didn’t sign up for a sister-in-law with zero boundaries. I didn’t answer. I walked over and pulled back the duvet. The bed, which should have been decorated with rose petals, was littered with peanut shells. Worse, right down the middle of the king-sized bed, there was a row of potted cacti dividing it in half. The guests started whispering. “Cacti on the bed? Is this some new trend?” “How are they supposed to sleep? It’s literally a barrier between them. The groom’s family is insane.” “Ethan, care to explain?” I asked. “This…” Ethan looked awkward. “Don’t blame my brother!” Bella stood on the bed, looking down at me. “He promised he wouldn’t touch you! To stop you from throwing yourself at him in the middle of the night, I prepared this. If you aren’t afraid of needles, go ahead and cross the line!” Rage boiled in my chest. I laughed, but it was cold. “Ethan, is this what you want?” “No… Harper, listen, I’ll move the cacti…” I ignored him and walked to the guest room. As expected, the room we planned for a future nursery was filled with Bella’s stuff. Pink curtains, pink sheets, and a framed photo of her and Ethan hugging on the nightstand. “Harper, it’s just a small thing. Do you have to be so dramatic?” Ethan followed me, nagging. “And this?” I pointed at the room. “What does this mean?” By now, the guests had followed us. “You got a problem?” Bella’s voice was dripping with attitude. “I told my brother ages ago: wherever he goes, I go. His house must have a room for me. So I moved in. Right, brother?” Ethan looked guilty. He had never mentioned this to me. But he defended her instantly. “Yes, Harper. I promised Bella. The room was empty anyway, so why can’t she stay? Harper, you’re the older sister now, don’t be so petty!” He gained confidence as he spoke, ending with a tone of accusation. Unforgettable. Truly. I nodded coldly and turned to the wedding videographer. “Please make sure you record all of this.” The cameraman nodded, panning the room. “Mommy, what’s this?” A child’s voice broke the tension. Everyone looked. A six-year-old boy walked out of the ensuite bathroom holding a red thong. The adults blushed. My aunt whispered, “Harper, is that yours?” My face went pale. We hadn’t moved in yet. It definitely wasn’t mine. Could it be…? I looked at Ethan. “Hey!” Bella shrieked, snatching it back. “Why are you touching my stuff?” She realized everyone was staring and pouted. “What are you looking at? Haven’t you seen underwear before? I just changed. I was going to ask my brother to wash it for me.” She looked at me, a sweet, triumphant smile on her lips. “Whenever my brother is home, he washes my underwear. He won’t change just because he got a wife, right, Brother?” 3 “Yeah, nothing will change,” Ethan promised naturally. “Leave it there. I’ll wash it later.” I stood there, frozen. A twenty-five-year-old man hand-washing his twenty-two-year-old sister’s thongs… and it’s a regular thing? Bella looked at me like she had won the lottery. “I’ve seen everything now. A sister-in-law changing her thong in the groom’s suite and asking him to wash it on his wedding day? Shameless!” someone muttered. “Yeah, since when does the sister live with the newlyweds?” my relatives chimed in, unable to hold back. “This is too much! She won’t let him carry the bride, won’t let them kiss, puts cacti in the bed, and moves in? Do you have no shame?” Someone shouted, “She doesn’t want them to consummate the marriage because she wants to do it herself!” Hearing the insults, Bella threw herself into Ethan’s arms and wailed. “Brother! You said you’d be good to me even after you got married! Are you just going to let them bully me?” Ethan hugged her tight, glaring at me. “Harper Vance! Are your relatives always this trashy?” I laughed and pointed at the balcony. “My relatives are being polite. Anyone else would have thrown you two off the roof by now!” “Harper!” Ethan’s voice was a warning. “We’ve been together for three years. We made it this far. Are you really going to treat my sister like this?” Three years. We worked hard, supported each other, built a life. For the sake of those three years, I decided to try one last time. “Ethan,” I said calmly. “I’m a normal girl. I want a normal wedding. I want my privacy. So, please ask your sister to move out.” “If you can accept that, I’m willing to try. If you can’t…” I bit my lip, eyes stinging. I couldn’t say the words. “Enough,” Ethan interrupted. “Bella is my sister. If she doesn’t like me carrying you, or kissing you, we won’t do it. Why do you have to fixate on these little things? How does her living here hurt you?” “If you love me, accept my family! If you can’t, then the wedding is off! Postponed until you figure it out and apologize to Bella!” I nodded, watching them cling to each other. Tears finally fell. I thought today was the start of our life. Turns out, it’s the end. “She isn’t in my way. I’m in yours. I’m out.” I turned and walked away. “Harper is right! Why get married? Just live with your sister!” My family followed me out. Ethan shouted behind us, “What did you say?! Don’t you dare talk about her like that!” Ethan’s mom tried to stop me, but my cousins pushed her aside and escorted me out. My parents were furious, wanting to go back and fight, but I shook my head. Let’s leave the last shred of dignity for the past three years. I went home and immediately sent a cancellation notice to all my guests. Unfortunately, a clean break was just wishful thinking. Ethan and I worked at the same company, different departments. Monday morning, I ran into him in the lobby. Bella was hanging off his arm, saying goodbye like they were lovers in a war movie. She rolled her eyes at me. I ignored her and walked to the elevator. Ethan chased after me. “Harper, have you realized your mistake? I love you, but I only have one sister. I have to prioritize her feelings. The wedding is in two days. If you apologize now, it’s not too late!” “She’s studying for the civil service exam and needs an iPad. Buy her the new iPad Pro. I’ll put in a good word for you.” 4 I laughed at his audacity. “Ethan, don’t you think your sister’s feelings for you are… weird?” I asked. “Weird how?!” Ethan frowned. “Dirty minds see dirt! We grew up together. An only child like you wouldn’t understand our bond!” I shook my head and walked away. Thirty minutes later, the police called. “Is this Harper Vance? You are suspected of a hit-and-run. Please come to [Street Name] immediately.” I was stunned. It turned out my car—my only car, a brand new BMW my parents bought me as a dowry—had hit someone. It was supposed to be parked at the bridal home. Obviously, the gruesome twosome was involved. Rage, hot and blinding, filled me. I rushed to the scene. My beautiful white BMW, worth $80,000, was totaled in the middle of the road. In front of it, a black sedan was flipped over. A man and a woman were lying on the ground, covered in blood, waiting for the ambulance. The crowd saw me and swarmed. “Think you can do whatever you want because you’re rich?!” “Hit and run! You’re going to jail!” “Were you driving?” the officer asked sternly. “It was her! I saw a woman!” a witness yelled. “But wasn’t she wearing white with blonde hair?” someone asked. “Wigs exist! She probably changed clothes!” I realized instantly. Blonde hair. White dress. That was Bella’s outfit this morning. Ethan had given her my car. Just as I was about to speak, Ethan rushed over and grabbed me. He looked at the cop. “It was her! I’m so sorry. My girlfriend caused this mess. I’ll make sure she takes responsibility!” “Wow, good boyfriend,” the crowd murmured. “Better than she deserves.” I was fuming. “No…” Ethan pulled me aside before I could finish. “Harper, just admit it was you, okay?! Bella doesn’t have a license!” “If they find out it was her, her life is over! She can’t take the civil service exam with a record! Do you want to ruin her?!” “Just take the blame! It’s just a fine and a few days in jail. Trust me, if you do this, Bella will forgive you for the wedding rehearsal! I promise we’ll get married as soon as you’re out!” He raised his voice for the crowd. “Harper, just confess! Apologize to the victims! If you show remorse, maybe they’ll go easy on you!” The crowd nodded approvingly. People started filming. Being framed in front of a hundred people made my anger peak. But strangely, the extreme rage made me calm. I pressed ‘Record’ on my phone in my pocket.

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I followed my family’s arrangements and married a serious, stoic man. On our wedding night, I suggested we sleep in separate rooms. Julian Thorne unbuttoned his dress shirt right in front of me, his eyes dark and unreadable. “But,” he said, his voice dropping an octave, “I have needs.” 1 My marriage to Julian Thorne was a merger, plain and simple. Profit over passion. No feelings involved. He was my brother’s friend, groomed from childhood to take over his family’s empire—serious, reserved, noble, and polite, yet entirely distant. When I heard he had agreed to this marriage at the dinner table, I froze. But then I thought about it. I had to marry someone for the alliance eventually. Since the candidate was Julian, I decided not to be picky. The wedding had just ended. He was slightly intoxicated. He got into the car, closed his eyes, and didn’t say a word. I was exhausted from the day, but the realization of what might happen tonight suddenly jolted me awake. The fifteen-minute ride to the penthouse felt excruciatingly long; my breathing grew shallow and tense. He’s drunk, so he probably can’t do anything, right? I called his name softly. No reaction. He must be heavily intoxicated. The stone in my chest finally dropped. The car stopped. The man spoke, his voice raspy. “We’re here.” “You’re awake?” He nodded, grabbing my designer purse—which held all the red envelopes and cash gifts—and opened the door. “I can carry it.” He refused directly, his tone flat. “No need. It’s heavy.” In the elevator, it was just the two of us, standing one in front of the other. Silence. The atmosphere was thick with awkwardness. Watching the numbers tick upward, I broke the silence. “Are you drunk? Should I make you some hangover tea?” “No need. I’m not drunk. I still have business to attend to tonight.” Understanding the implication in his words, my cheeks flushed. I frantically tried to mentally prepare myself. The elevator stopped. We entered the penthouse, changed into slippers, and I pushed open the bedroom door. I paused. Champagne roses were scattered across the floor, and subtle, elegant red décor marked the occasion. Julian appeared behind me, his voice cool. “It’s been a long day. Rest early.” “Do you want to shower first?” “I have some things to finish. You go ahead.” Julian went to his study to work. So that was the “business” he meant. I breathed a sigh of relief. I found a relatively conservative set of silk pajamas in the closet. After showering, I tied my hair into a messy bun. My skin was flushed from the steam. I spent an hour and a half applying skincare, stalling. When I finally emerged, Julian was done. He was looking down, unfastening his watch and placing his tie on the table. “…Maybe we should sleep in separate rooms.” Julian frowned. He was silent for a moment before slowly asking, “Why?” “We… aren’t exactly close.” “We have a marriage certificate. It’s legal. You need to adapt to being Mrs. Thorne.” He paused, his fingers moving to his shirt buttons. “Also, I have needs.” My ears instantly burned. I looked at him in shock. I didn’t expect him to be so blunt. His eyes darkened, but he softened his tone. “But if you aren’t willing, I respect your choice. We can let nature take its course.” It had to happen sooner or later. I bit my lip. “Fine. No separate rooms.” The sound of running water came from the bathroom. A subtle, strange feeling crept into my heart, and my pulse quickened. I patted my chest. Calm down, Chloe. Calm down. It’s just basic biology. Ten minutes later, the water stopped. Julian walked out in gray loungewear, his hair damp. The mattress dipped as he sat down. I could smell the faint scent of cedar and sandalwood soap. I tried to keep my voice steady. “Do you want to dry your hair?” “No. I run hot; it dries fast.” “Julian—” “Hm?” I looked up into those dark eyes. Maybe it was an illusion, but there was an intense predatory glint in them. “I’m turning off the light.” The room plunged into darkness, save for a small nightlight casting a warm glow in the corner. I scooted back, putting distance between us. Before I could react, Julian had pulled me into his arms. His skin was cool from the shower but radiated an intense, invasive presence. Even through the thin fabric, I could feel the heat radiating off him. I froze, afraid to move, my mind a chaotic mess. We locked eyes. We both knew what was coming. His voice was low and raspy. “Sleep.” Unexpectedly, after lying there for a while, the man beside me made no further moves. Soon, I heard the sound of even breathing. He fell asleep? His arm was heavy and firm around my waist, our bodies pressed together without a gap. It was an impossible position to fall asleep in. Julian was usually cold and distant. Seeing him this “clingy” tonight was rare. Maybe he really was drunk. 2 Julian was busy. Three days after the wedding, he flew to France for business. He sent a simple text: [Landed in Paris.] I typed out: [When are you coming back?] but felt it was too intrusive, so I deleted it. He was gone for a week. No video calls, no messages. I almost forgot I was married. One night, I finished my shower and reached for my clothes, only to grab air. I’d forgotten my pajamas and only brought my underwear. I was alone in the penthouse anyway. I walked out of the bathroom and spent eight minutes in front of the massive walk-in closet, finally picking a set of lingerie I’d never dared to wear before. Julian wasn’t home. I could wear whatever I wanted. A thrill of excitement ran through me. I stood in front of the full-length mirror. At first, I was shy, but soon I felt confident, eager to try on another set. Just as I opened the closet door again, the bedroom door clicked open. Caught off guard, I dove under the duvet, leaving only my head exposed. I met Julian’s gaze in a panic. I frowned, complaining, “Why didn’t you knock?” My face felt like it was going to explode. He must have seen everything. I wanted the floor to swallow me whole. Julian’s expression was stoic, but his Adam’s apple bobbed. His voice betrayed no emotion. “Apologies. I’ll note that for next time.” “Well, get out. I need to change.” The door closed. I scrambled into my old, safe pajamas, splashing cold water on my burning face. Suddenly, a dull ache hit my lower abdomen. My period had arrived. I tossed and turned when I slept, and I was prone to leaks. There were no period panties in the house, and I was too lazy to go out this late. I debated sleeping in the guest room to save myself the embarrassment of staining the marital bed. Julian walked back in. His hair was damp, and he had changed into loungewear. He had clearly just showered. His eyes were dark and deep. “Something wrong?” I pressed my lips together. “I’m going to sleep in the guest room tonight.” “Why?” “The AC in here doesn’t seem to be cooling enough. I’m hot.” “Then I’ll sleep in the guest room too.” “Julian, why are you following me?” His voice was cool. “I’m hot too.” I looked up at him. “Two people sleeping together makes it hotter.” Julian held my gaze, his expression dead serious. “Then we’ll lower the thermostat.” “…” “Fine. Forget it. We’ll sleep here.” I slept fitfully, worried about leaks. When I woke up, the sheets were pristine. Thank god. I washed up and went downstairs. Julian was sitting at the dining table, breakfast already laid out. He looked up. “Morning.” “It’s nine o’clock. Aren’t you going to work?” “Grandmother wants us to visit the estate today.” “Okay, I’ll change.” “Drink this soup first. It’ll get cold. The housekeeper made it.” I looked at the bowl. Red dates, goji berries, longan… “Why did she make this?” “It replenishes blood and Qi. It’s good for you.” “Does your stomach hurt?” “I’m okay. I don’t get bad cramps.” I blinked, then stared straight at him. “Julian, you’re so concerned. Do you have a secret crush on me?” I never understood why Julian agreed to this marriage. He had a perfect match in his childhood friend, Serena. Everyone thought they were endgame. His dark eyes locked onto mine. He denied it instantly. “No.” Then he added, “It’s always been an open crush.” “Oh.” I must be overthinking things. “I brought back some clothes from Paris. They’re on the third floor. Go try them on.” My eyes lit up. My melancholy vanished. Commercial marriage, no feelings, mutual respect, separate lives… this wasn’t so bad after all. 3 We arrived at the Thorne Estate just in time for lunch. At the table, the conversation turned to the Chen family, who had just had a grandson. “When do you two plan on having one?” I choked on my soup. I put down my spoon, embarrassed, and secretly pinched Julian’s thigh under the table. “Chloe is still young. It’s not the right time. Besides, we just got married.” “That’s true. But you both need to take care of your health. You’re almost thirty, Julian. Don’t work yourself into the ground.” “Mom, don’t worry about it. I know what I’m doing.” “We have some ginseng. I’ll have the kitchen stew it for you later. You’re staying the night; your room is ready.” The Thornes had a German Shepherd. After dinner, I took it for a walk. “I can walk him alone. You don’t need to come.” I still felt awkward being alone with Julian sometimes. “If he sees a squirrel, you won’t be able to hold him.” “Oreo looks pretty well-behaved.” “Let’s go.” Julian walked with his hands in his pockets. With his long legs, his pace was leisurely. I walked faster, trying to put some distance between us. Oreo had too much energy. After thirty minutes, I was dying. “You hold him. I need a break.” Julian laughed. “Tired already? You were walking too fast.” I panted, showing him my phone. “Look, I’ve done ten thousand steps. I’m done.” “Sit here for a bit.” There were no benches, just a large decorative rock. “Wait.” He took off his suit jacket and placed it on the rock. “Sit on this.” The top button of his white shirt was undone, hinting at the definition of his shoulders—lean, powerful, intimidating. My heart rate picked up. Julian’s physique was unexpectedly attractive. “Stay here. I’ll buy water.” “Okay.” “Chloe?” Hearing my name, I looked up and froze. It was Liam Carter, my high school crush and neighbor. I planned to confess to him after graduation, but I heard he was going abroad. The romance died before it began, and I spent that summer depressed. “Liam? When did you get back?” “Just recently.” “Do you live around here?” “No, visiting a friend.” “Here.” Julian returned, handing me a bottle of room-temperature water. “Is this your boyfriend?” Liam asked. Julian’s expression didn’t ripple. He extended a hand politely. “Hello. I’m Chloe’s husband, Julian Thorne.” Liam paused, surprised. “You’re married?” “Recently. We haven’t had time to announce it properly yet.” We exchanged a few pleasantries and left. On the way back, Julian was strange. He was quieter than usual. Back in the room, I couldn’t hold it in. “Julian, are you upset about something?” He looked at me for a moment before speaking slowly. “He’s the guy you had a crush on in high school.” I was blank. “Who?” “Liam Carter.” My eyes widened. “How did you know?” Only my brother and I knew. My parents thought I was depressed about my SAT scores. He loosened his tie silently, his voice low. “I guessed.” “You’re a psychic then. But I got over him years ago. We haven’t spoken.” “Why?” “…International calls are expensive.” The corner of his mouth twitched, and he laughed. I felt sticky from the walk, so I showered. When I came out, I found Julian in the study. I didn’t disturb him and went downstairs to watch TV. Grandmother had been busy in the kitchen and brought out a large bowl of soup. “Chloe, you and Julian drink this ginseng and black chicken soup. It simmered all afternoon.” “Thanks, Grandma.” “I’m going to bed. Make sure Julian drinks it. He has dark circles; he needs the boost.” I licked my lips. The walk had made me hungry. I served myself a bowl. The hot soup slid down my throat, leaving a sweet aftertaste. I took the rest to Julian. He was showering. Julian showered fast; he was out in minutes. I scrolled through my phone, not looking at him. “Drink the soup. Grandma made it.” “Did you have some?” I nodded. “I just had a bowl.” “Want more?” I licked my lips. “A little. But that’s for you.” “I’m not hungry.” “I don’t like the meat in it.” “Drink the broth. Leave the meat for me.” I hesitated for one second before grabbing the spoon, smiling. “Thanks!” After the soup and brushing my teeth, I lay in bed, feeling uncomfortable everywhere. “Can you… move over? You’re radiating heat.” Even with the AC on, I felt like I was burning up. I tossed and turned. Julian sat up and turned on the lamp. “Are you okay?” I frowned, whining, “It’s so hot.” I wanted to rip my skin off. “You aren’t hot?” “Maybe too much chicken soup.” “Can you get me some ice water?” My pajamas were stifling. I found a silk slip in the closet and changed. It was much cooler. Julian pushed the door open, froze for a second, then brought the water over. His voice was hoarse. “Drink. Dilute the heat.” “Why is it warm?” “You’re on your period. No ice.” “I’m going to take a shower. Call me if you feel worse.” I blinked. “Didn’t you just shower?” He pressed his lips together, feigning casualness. “I’m a little hot too.” The water helped. Julian’s shower took forever. The water ran for ages. Worried, I walked to the door. “Julian?” Silence, then the sound of heavy breathing. I called again. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” “Why are you taking so long?” His voice was guttural. “Almost done.” Minutes later, the door opened. Julian had changed into fresh pajamas, buttoned all the way to the top. I frowned. “Aren’t you hot? Why is it buttoned so tight?” Maybe the ginseng soup fried my brain, but I stood up, walked over to him, and started undoing his buttons one by one. With the shirt half-open, I could see the definition of his muscles, his abs taut. I held my breath. My fingertips trembled as they grazed his skin. I bit my lip. “Can I touch?” Julian didn’t speak. He looked down at me from his height. Fresh from the shower, his gaze was darker than ever. Panic set in. Just as I tried to pull my hand back, Julian grabbed it. His palm was scorching. His Adam’s apple rolled. His voice was deep, husky. “Yes.” My palm pressed against his muscles—hard and hot. I traced upward, inch by inch. “Enough.” Julian’s gaze burned. His throat was tight. “I’m sleeping on the sofa.”

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After being diagnosed with terminal cancer, I was spending my days in a hospital ward. One day, the weather was beautiful. Rare for me, I put on some makeup. I took a selfie. “Do I look pretty today?” Many strangers liked the post. Then, Lucas Thorne’s sister, Mia, popped up in the comments. “Ugly as hell. Do you think my brother will change his mind? You don’t deserve him.” After a while, I replied. “I don’t need him to change his mind.” 1 My oncologist sighed heavily. “Where is your family?” I shook my head. “I don’t have any family.” “None? How is that possible?” “They’re very busy. They don’t have time for me. Doctor, I’m going back to my room.” Leaving the doctor sighing behind me, I returned to the ward. The lady in the next bed, Martha, looked at me with concern. “How was it, honey? Any good news?” I shook my head. “It’s getting worse.” But I didn’t feel too sad about it. Martha and the family visiting the patient by the window froze. I saw pity in their eyes. It was almost lunchtime. Suddenly, I didn’t want the hospital cafeteria food. The man Martha was caring for, Bill, also hated the cafeteria. I took two hundred dollars out of my wallet. “Martha, when you go home to cook later, can you buy some extra ribs? I really want to eat braised ribs.” She paused for a second. “Sure. I’ll make a big pot today. Don’t go to the cafeteria, honey. I’ll cook, and we can all eat together.” Martha went home to cook. 2 At noon. Our ward was filled with the savory aroma of braised pork ribs and radishes. The ribs were stewed until they were fall-off-the-bone tender. As I ate, tears fell into my bowl. I lifted the bowl higher to hide my face. “Slow down, there’s plenty more. I brought the whole crockpot.” I waited until my eyes were dry before putting down the bowl. In the end, I didn’t have a second serving. In my memories, whenever I refused to eat as a child, my mom would make rib soup for me. The radishes she picked were always so sweet. Since she passed away, I hadn’t tasted that flavor again. But today, Martha’s cooking brought that long-lost taste back to me. Martha refused to take the two hundred dollars. So, I ordered a lot of fruit on Uber Eats and left it in the ward for everyone to share. Our room was known as the “Death Ward.” All three of us had terminal bone cancer. Martha, who was massaging Bill’s legs, suddenly sighed. “Honey, you should ask to switch rooms.” I was confused. “That bed of yours… it’s bad luck. The last one…” I understood. The last person in that bed didn’t make it out of the hospital. Rumor had it she was a successful career woman in her early thirties. I shook my head. “I don’t believe in that stuff.” Actually, there were VIP suites available, and the doctor had recommended them. But I went to look. Everything was nice, but the single room was too lonely. I felt that a shared room like this was better. I could listen to people chat during the day. It felt more alive. After guarding an empty mansion alone for three years, I was truly sick of solitude. I craved the noise of life. 3 When Lucas called, I was sleeping. “You’re not home?” I opened my eyes, my voice thick with sleep. “Mm.” “I brought Chloe over. Don’t give her any trouble.” I didn’t argue. “Okay.” “You’re agreeing that easily this time?” “Anything else? If not, I’m hanging up.” “Hanging up?” “Hmph. Sarah, if you play games with me again—acting one way to my face and another behind my back—I won’t let you off this time.” I didn’t want to listen anymore. I hung up. I stared at the silent TV screen. Chloe was Lucas’s mistress. She was “prepared” for him at a business dinner. It wasn’t the first time something like that happened, but before that night, Lucas had never touched anyone. But Chloe, with her classical elegance, succeeded. They say she performed a traditional dance at the banquet and captured everyone’s heart. She also captured Lucas’s bed. I didn’t understand. Why? Lucas hadn’t even been drinking that night. How did they end up together? Growing up, people always said I was slow to react. Before that, I never doubted Lucas’s feelings for me. We were childhood sweethearts. We grew up together. When we were very young, he said he would marry me. When I found out he had been keeping Chloe for a while, I trembled. I couldn’t believe it. It felt like my world had collapsed. I cried, I fought. But the more I fought, the more impatient he became. Later, he gave all his tenderness to Chloe. I felt old. But I was only twenty-six. Lucas forbade me from seeing Chloe. He forbade anyone around him from mentioning her. But eventually, I saw her. And after that meeting, Chloe had a miscarriage. It was said to be a boy. Lucas slapped me first. Then his mother, Mrs. Thorne, slapped me ten times. Even though I said I didn’t do it. No one believed me. If this were ancient times, I would have been banished to the Cold Palace. After that, the Thorne family never invited me to dinner again. I stayed alone in the empty mansion. Lucas didn’t come back. In those lonely days, I occasionally dreamed. I dreamed of my late parents. I dreamed of when Lucas and I were young, our first meeting on a sunny afternoon. He said, “Sarah Vance, your name is really pretty.” I woke up, my face wet with tears. I slowly opened the curtains and continued to waste away my days. At first, I couldn’t take it. I wanted a divorce. I wanted to go abroad and start a new life. But facing the immense wealth of the Thorne family, my family didn’t dare support my divorce. They ignored my divorce papers. They just waited me out. A mansion, a living allowance—they trapped me with minimal cost. 4 Suddenly, there was a commotion in the hallway. I peeked out. “What happened?” Martha rushed in, shaking her head. “Don’t look.” Then, the sound of crying arose. A bed covered with a white sheet was wheeled away, surrounded by people. I froze. I became even more silent. Here, it seemed someone left every few days. Sometimes, two in one day. Yesterday, the whole floor was peacefully happy. Many people came to ask for Martha’s rib soup. There was laughter in the hallway. Martha sighed as she tidied up. “It’s almost the Mid-Autumn Festival. That family just wanted to make it to the holiday. Fate is too cruel.” Thinking of this, Martha looked at Bill on the bed, turned away, and wiped her eyes. When she turned back, she was smiling again. “For the festival, what kind of mooncakes do you all want? I’ll go home and bake them.” The lady caring for the patient in the other bed, who was older, said, “You’re tired enough. Don’t bother.” “It’s no bother. I’m happy to do it. Whoever eats my mooncakes has to live a long life.” The ward fell silent again. Everyone lowered their heads. It was Bill who held Martha’s hand. “Silly old woman.” 5 The Mid-Autumn Festival arrived. Martha stuffed two mooncakes into my hand. They were the traditional kind. I tore open the wrapper. In the ward, we were all eating. But everyone was taking small bites. First, no appetite. Second, no strength. Just going through the motions for the holiday. Finally, I couldn’t help but let a tear fall. “Mom, don’t give me mooncakes. I don’t like them.” “Mooncakes symbolize family reunion. Even if you don’t like them, you have to eat one.” In my memory, my mom gently pinched the bridge of my nose. I was so small then. I took big bites of the mooncake. With my mouth full, I slowly chewed and swallowed. But then I choked up. On the TV, the news was showing the Thorne family banquet. A huge round table, a feast fit for an emperor. I bit my lip. In the center of the screen were Mr. and Mrs. Thorne. Next to them was Lucas. The woman in the qipao next to him didn’t show her face, only her fair wrist. The shot on the left cut off there. But on the right, all the uncles and cousins were shown. I turned my head, mouth full, and looked out the window. In past years, the Thornes always had grand celebrations and valued family rules. But I didn’t expect them to allow media coverage this time. That woman next to him was Chloe. She loved qipaos.

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On our 100-day anniversary, my boyfriend excitedly introduced me to his roommates. “This is my wingman! I only managed to woo you because of his advice!” I looked up, unexpectedly locking eyes with my ex-boyfriend from three years ago. His pupils dilated in shock. The smile on his face froze instantly. Through gritted teeth, he forced out a single word. “F*ck?!” 1 Caleb Vance paused. “What’s wrong?” Ethan Hunt and I stared at each other for a second before simultaneously looking away. Ethan forced a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Nothing. Just… your girlfriend looks a lot like my ex.” Caleb’s other roommates laughed, trying to smooth things over. “Don’t mind him, sister-in-law. Ethan got dumped pretty hard by that ex. He hasn’t dated anyone in years. Total PTSD.” I kept my voice even. “It’s fine.” Caleb waved his hand. “Bring out the bottles I saved last time.” The bartender nodded respectfully and soon brought out a few bottles of Louis XIII and Hennessy. “Today is our 100-day anniversary. Everything is on me tonight. Drink up, guys!” Caleb wrapped his arm around me, beaming. The others started cheering. “Caleb is the man!” “Adopt me, bro!” “To Caleb and the sister-in-law! Grow old together!” … Only Ethan sat there with a dark expression, tossing an American Express Black Card onto the table. “No need.” Caleb picked up the card and stuffed it back into Ethan’s pocket. “Ethan, take it back. I owe you for helping me get Mia. How could I let you pay?” Ethan’s face went beyond ugly, but the club lighting was dim, so no one noticed. One of the roommates’ girlfriends grabbed an empty wine bottle. “Just drinking is boring. Let’s play Truth or Dare! Whoever the bottle points to has to choose!” My heart tightened. Luckily, the first few rounds missed me. Just as I breathed a sigh of relief, the bottle stopped, pointing directly at Caleb. He chuckled, leaning back on the sofa, sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearms. “Truth.” A roommate shouted, “Caleb, are you still a virgin?!” Caleb laughed, “Of course I am, idiot!” A hint of pride appeared on his handsome face. “Mia and I are each other’s first love. Chastity is a man’s best dowry. My first time is definitely saved for Mia.” Under the lights, his glass-bead eyes looked watery and sincere. Despite his playboy looks, he was surprisingly innocent. My heart softened, and I let him pull me into his arms for a kiss. Beside us, the sullen Ethan suddenly smirked. The next second, the bottle spun and stopped, pointing straight at me. The last dare was getting a number from a stranger, so I instinctively chose truth. Ethan stared straight at me. “So, Mia, is he your first love?” 2 “No.” After a moment of silence, I answered calmly. Caleb shot up straight. “I’m not?!” “Then who was it? How long did you date? Why did you break up?!” He seemed to realize he was overreacting. He tried to look magnanimous but failed miserably, his expression twisting. “I mean, I don’t mind, obviously. Just curious.” I paused. “Because there was always a third person between us. He had a girl he couldn’t let go of. I got tired, so I dumped him.” Caleb’s expression relaxed a bit. “What a psycho. Dating someone while hung up on another girl? He deserved to be dumped.” He quickly seized the chance to pledge loyalty. “Babe, I would never make that mistake. Since we got together, I haven’t even spoken to another woman!” He was huge, 6’3″, but acted like a puppy when he wanted affection. I couldn’t help but ruffle his hair. “Okay, good boy.” He lowered his head obediently, but his gaze was fixed on me, heavy with pressure and curiosity that didn’t match his cute act. “So, babe, do you like him more, or me more?” Here it comes! The question every person with an ex gets asked! “That’s a separate question,” I deflected. Caleb didn’t get mad. He narrowed his eyes at me for a moment, then smirked. “Fine. Next time then.” The bottle spun round and round. Just as I was getting sleepy and wanted to leave, it pointed at Ethan. “Truth,” he said, lowering his eyes. A drunk roommate excitedly asked, “Ethan, bro, why exactly did your first love dump you?” Under the lights, Ethan’s eyes were hidden in the shadows of his brow bone, unreadable. Just as everyone thought he was mad and tried to change the subject, Ethan suddenly spoke. “Because I was stupid. I hurt her a lot. “She got tired.” 3 The first time I met Ethan was in my junior year of high school. My dad’s job transferred us, so I was the new kid. My assigned desk mate was Ethan. Because the only empty seat was next to him. For the first two months, we barely spoke five words. I thought he was a rich, lazy delinquent. Rumor had it his family was loaded, and he never studied. He called me a nerd. Every time I collected homework, he impatiently told me to get lost. Until one night, walking home, I saw a fight in an alley. A group of guys from another school, armed with pipes and bats, were ganging up on a student from our school. The boy fought hard and well, holding his own even outnumbered. But he was overwhelmed. Someone hit him from behind with a bat, and he stumbled with a groan. A girl in our school uniform was crying beside him, eyes red. “Stop it! Please stop!” I don’t know where I got the courage, but I rushed over and shouted: “Stop! I called the cops! They’ll be here any minute!” One guy looked up. “Sh*t, who’s this busybody? Get lost or we’ll beat you too!” I tried to stay calm. “The police station is five minutes away. You still have time to run.” Hearing that, the group cursed and scattered. I approached cautiously. “Are you okay?” The boy leaning against the wall looked up. It was Ethan. Messy black hair, sharp features, a cut on his forehead bleeding. He looked wild and dangerous. I frowned, confirming my opinion of him as a troublemaker. Still, I pulled out a band-aid. “You’re bleeding.” He glanced at the pink Hello Kitty band-aid in my hand, scoffed, and turned away. The girl he was protecting thanked me profusely. She took the band-aid and tried to put it on him, looking heartbroken. But he slapped her hand away impatiently. “I’m fine.” He grabbed his bag and walked off. “Ethan…” The girl stepped back, her face pale. I noticed she had a limp. I felt bad. Such a pretty girl, but her leg was injured. I didn’t think much of it. But the next day, when I collected homework, Ethan didn’t tell me to get lost. He lazily took my homework and started copying it. “Wait.” After finishing, he tossed the notebook back to me, raising an eyebrow. “Turn it in, Little Miss Class Rep.” I had seen him fight, so I didn’t dare argue. I cursed him internally and turned to leave. But he called out to me. His voice was slightly raspy, with a hint of awkwardness. “Hey. About yesterday… thanks.” 4 After that, things between Ethan and me thawed. He started talking to me, joking around. Sometimes he’d walk on my left, then yank my ponytail from the right. Every time I collected homework, he’d call me: “Little Miss Class Rep.” We got closer. He dragged me to watch his basketball games and walked me home every day. Teenage feelings are like sparks from nowhere that suddenly catch fire. I found myself looking forward to seeing him every day. Until a power outage during evening study hall. I was terrified of the dark. I froze, unconsciously leaning toward Ethan. In the pitch black, someone grabbed my hand. He whispered in my ear: “Don’t be scared. I’m here.” Ethan’s hand was rough with calluses from basketball, his palm hot. I heard my heart pounding violently and slowly squeezed his hand back. A chuckle sounded in my ear. And two heartbeats, intertwined, indistinguishable. … Ethan and I naturally started dating. He liked me a lot, even studying hard to get into the same college as me. Ethan was smart. His grades improved fast. As we spent more time together, I learned he was a black belt in Judo, played drums, passed level 10 piano, surfed, and skied. He read a lot too. I realized he wasn’t the uneducated delinquent I thought he was. I also learned why he fought. The girl that day was Lily, the daughter of his family’s housekeeper. Years ago, Ethan’s dad expanded his business too aggressively and offended people. Someone hired a hitman to run Ethan over. Lily pushed him out of the way and got hit instead. She survived, but her leg was shattered. She would walk with a limp forever. That day in the alley, the guy had mocked Lily for being a cripple. That’s why Ethan fought. When Ethan talked about it, his eyes lowered, expressionless. “She used to be an amazing dancer. Her dream was to be a prima ballerina, to perform around the world. “Because of me, her dream is dead. I owe her my life.” I sympathized with Lily. I even planned to help Ethan take care of her. I didn’t know then that Lily would be the reason we fell apart completely. 5 Snapping back to reality, I looked at Ethan. Three years apart, he had changed. Still handsome, but the wild arrogance was gone, replaced by maturity. In his black turtleneck, he looked steady, even calm. Everyone was drunk; no one caught his drift. Only Caleb frowned, his gaze darting between us. Before he could speak, I pulled him up. “Let’s go. I’m sleepy. Calling it a night.” … It started snowing in Boston. Huge flakes fell, illuminated yellow by the streetlights. The snow that didn’t melt immediately formed a thin layer on the ground. Caleb took off his grey LV scarf and wrapped it around my neck. Sandalwood mixed with his body heat. He looked down, asking casually: “I heard Ethan’s ex is at our school too. He skipped a grade and transferred here just for her. “You and Ethan are from the same hometown. Do you know her?” I knew Caleb figured it out. He acts carefree, but he’s incredibly sensitive about who I talk to. “It’s me,” I admitted helplessly. Caleb smiled, but his eyes were cold. “So if I asked him how to woo his ex, I’d be digging my own grave?” I knew he was upset. I pursed my lips, silent. Caleb’s voice fell coolly on top of my head, colder than the snow. “Babe, so who do you like more? Him or me?” I knew how petty Caleb could be. If I didn’t soothe him now, he’d hold a grudge for ages. I hugged him tight. “Of course I like you more! We broke up years ago. If I hadn’t seen him today, I would have forgotten he existed.” Caleb looked down at me, silent. I knew what he wanted. I tiptoed to kiss him. He didn’t bend down. He just looked at me with a half-smile. Caleb is 6’3″. I’m a head shorter. If he doesn’t bend, I can’t reach. I was flustered and angry. “Caleb!” He wouldn’t budge. “Beg me.” “Forget it!” I turned to leave, but he yanked me back! The snow blurred under the neon lights. The sandalwood scent became aggressive as he leaned in. I was forced to look up. Even through his wool coat, I could feel the muscle definition of his back. His kiss was demanding, brooking no refusal. He backed me up step by step until tears of suffocation pricked my eyes. Finally, he let me go. I leaned against him, gasping. Through my hazy vision, I saw him looking behind me, smirking provocatively. I froze. I turned around. Ethan stood under the streetlight in a black wool coat. Snow piled on his shoulders. He had been watching for god knows how long.

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That year, the earthquake hit, burying my sister and me under tons of concrete. The rescue captain shouted, “The structure is unstable! If we pull one out, the rest might collapse. We can only guarantee one safe extraction right now.” Without a second of hesitation, Mom and Dad screamed, “Save Bella! Save our oldest!” Bella, my sister, screamed from the darkness, “Save me first! Get me out!” During the rescue, the firefighters repeatedly emphasized, “Do not move. Stay perfectly still.” But Bella didn’t listen. In her panic, she thrashed around, pushing against the debris surrounding her to clear her own path. Her movements triggered a secondary collapse. I was crushed to death by a falling beam while she was pulled to safety. When I opened my eyes again, I was back in my bed. It was the day of the earthquake. Chapter 1 I jolted awake, gasping for air. The date on my phone glared back at me. It was today. The earthquake would strike at 2:00 AM. It was currently midnight. I didn’t waste a second thinking. I shoved my feet into sneakers and bolted out the door. In my past life, too many people died in our apartment complex. Since I had been given a second chance, I couldn’t just let them die. I started from the first floor, pounding on doors like a maniac. “Fire! Gas leak! Everyone out!” I screamed, using whatever excuse would get them moving fast. I waited until I saw lights flicker on before moving to the next unit. By the time I had woken up the residents of all seven floors, I had five minutes left. I sprinted back into our unit. Two minutes. In my previous life, I wasted my escape window trying to wake Bella. She was a heavy sleeper, and that delay cost me my life. This time, I’d leave that “honor” to Mom, who loved Bella more than life itself. I burst into my parents’ room. “Mom! Dad! Wake up! The ground is shaking!” They groggily sat up. Forty seconds left. “I tried to wake Bella, but she won’t budge! What do we do?” I yelled, feigning panic. Dad frowned, confused. “What earthquake? What are you talking about in the middle of the…” Before he could finish, the floor lurched violently beneath us. “Bella is still asleep!” I screamed over the rumbling. Terror washed over Mom’s face. She scrambled toward Bella’s room, shrieking, “Bella! Bella, baby, get up! Run! It’s an earthquake!” Dad grabbed my arm. “Run! Now!” The quake was violent and immediate. It gave no quarter. Just as Dad and I stumbled out of the building entrance, the world roared. Boom. The building collapsed behind us. Mom and Bella were trapped inside. Screams and sirens filled the air. My ears rang, vision blurring as the dust settled. The memories of my death flooded back. Last time, I had shaken Bella until my arms ached, but she wouldn’t wake up. Mom and Dad had escaped, leaving us behind. When the rescuers found us hours later, Mom’s voice had pierced through the rubble. “Bella! Hang in there, baby! Mommy is here! You have to survive!” She never called my name. Not once. When the rescue team explained the unstable structure—that saving one might crush the other—I knew my fate before they even spoke. “Save the one on the right! Save Bella! The one in the white pajamas!” Mom had screamed. And Bella, hearing this, had cried out, “Mommy, save me! My leg hurts! Me first!” I lay there in the cold dark, watching the light shine on Bella. “Don’t move,” the firefighter had warned her. “If you move, the debris will shift onto your sister.” She didn’t care. She kicked and pushed, desperate to get out. As she was pulled free, the weight of the building came down on me. “Mom, help me! It hurts!” I had screamed. The rescuers wanted to dig for me, but I heard Mom’s voice from above, cold and final. “Don’t bother. Even if you get her out, she’ll be crippled. I don’t have the energy to raise a vegetable.” I watched the sliver of light vanish as the rubble sealed my tomb. I waited in the dark for death. Now, I stood in the dust of a new timeline. This time, you get to feel what it’s like to be chosen last. Chapter 2 “Ava! Are you okay?” Dad’s voice snapped me back to reality. I pulled him backward. “Dad, watch out for aftershocks! We need open ground. Rescue is coming. Mom and Bella will be fine.” Dad was in shock, staring blankly at the ruin of our home. Anyone experiencing this for the first time would be broken. But I had already died here. Every breath I took now was profit. The first responders arrived quickly. Dad rushed over, begging them to dig. The building was a mess of concrete and rebar. They couldn’t locate them. But I knew where they were. I intentionally led a team in the opposite direction first, “saving” an elderly neighbor who was calling for help. By the time I “found” Mom and Bella, six hours had passed. “Dad! I hear Mom!” I shouted. The rescue captain assessed the situation. He looked at Dad with a grim expression. “It’s unstable. The structure is like a house of cards. If we extract one, the shift will likely collapse the pocket holding the other.” The words were identical. Through a gap in the concrete, I saw Bella’s pale face and Mom’s terrified eyes. Dad hesitated. Both were his family. Unlike Mom in my past life, he struggled with the choice. Then Bella started screaming. “Daddy, save me! I don’t want to die! Daddy, I can work, I can marry rich, I can take care of you when you’re old! Mom is just a housewife! You can get another wife! I have more value than her!” I watched Mom’s face contort in shock. I lowered my head to hide my smirk. Surprise, Mom. The daughter you worship sees you as a disposable servant. Dad made his choice. “Save my daughter.” Mom went feral. “David! If you let me die, I will haunt you forever! And you, Bella! You ungrateful brat! I can’t believe you’re so selfish!” Bella, trapped and in pain, screamed back, “I’m just being realistic! I have a future! Dad is making the smart choice!” Mom’s eyes were full of venomous hatred. But I couldn’t let Mom die just yet. That would be too easy. I leaned into the gap and sobbed, “Mom! Mom, don’t be scared! I’ll find a way! Hang on, Mom! I won’t give up on you!” Compared to Bella, I sounded like an angel. I just wanted to make sure she survived long enough to hate Bella properly. The rescue took hours. When Bella was finally pulled out, her legs were purple and crushed. “Those legs are gone,” a medic muttered. Surprisingly, the secondary collapse didn’t happen this time. Maybe because I wasn’t the one trapped, or maybe Bella was too injured to thrash around. Mom was pulled out alive. They were rushed to the hospital. Dad went with Bella. I went with Mom. I couldn’t wait for Mom to wake up. Chapter 3 I sat by Mom’s hospital bed, staring at her sleeping face. It was the first time I’d really looked at her. Mom never wanted me. Grandma told me that Mom paid a hefty fine to try for a second child, hoping for a boy. When I popped out—another girl—she was furious. I was dumped at my grandma’s farm immediately. I survived on scraps and the kindness of neighbors. When I was eight, Dad brought me back to the city for school. Bella was two years older, the princess of the house. I was the Cinderella. Cleaning, cooking, laundry. My grades suffered because I had no time to study, while Bella was tutored and pampered. I never had a birthday party. I wasn’t even allowed to eat Bella’s birthday cake because Mom said I would “steal her luck.” Now, Bella was a double amputee with a face scarred by rebar. Would they still love her? Mom’s eyes fluttered open. She looked at me, confused, then relieved. “Mom? You’re awake? Are you okay?” I asked, feigning deep concern. She grabbed my wrist. “Where is your sister?” I put on my best tragic face. “Bella… it’s bad. They had to amputate both legs. Her face is ruined. She hasn’t woken up yet.” Mom went silent. She lay back, staring at the ceiling. She wasn’t crying. She was calculating. When Mom was discharged, Bella finally woke up. Dad wasn’t there; he was out trying to find us a place to live. Bella lay in bed, groggy. She didn’t know about her legs yet. When she saw Mom, she flinched. “Mom… you’re alive. That’s… good. We’re both alive. Don’t blame me for what I said, I was just scared.” Mom looked at her coldly. I walked up and hugged Mom’s arm. “Mom, you just woke up, sit down. Thank god you survived. If you hadn’t…” I trailed off. Mom looked at Bella with disgust. Bella glared at me. “Ava, stop trying to drive a wedge between us. Mom will never love you.” That sentence seemed to snap something in Mom. She turned, grabbed my hand, and teared up. “I haven’t wasted my time on you, Ava. I was wrong before. I treated you poorly. Don’t worry, I’ll make it up to you. Double.” I smiled and squeezed her hand, shooting a triumphant look at Bella. But internally, I was skeptical. Would she really change? Or was I just the new investment vehicle? Chapter 4 Dad returned with three takeout boxes. Me, Mom, and Dad. None for Bella. “Where’s mine?” Bella demanded. “You just had surgery,” Dad said, stuffing his face. “Doctor said liquids only. I’ll get you some porridge later.” “Surgery? What surgery?” Silence fell over the room. She didn’t know. “Answer me! What surgery?!” Her voice rose to a shriek. Mom, losing patience, walked over and ripped the blanket off. The bedsheet was flat where her calves should have been. Bella opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Tears streamed down her face. Mom wasn’t done. She took out her phone, snapped a picture of Bella’s scarred face, and shoved the screen in front of her. Bella screamed. It was a primal, horrific sound. “Shut up!” A nurse yelled from the hallway. “This is a hospital!” Bella shook her head violently. “No! Impossible! I was saved! How is this possible?!” I quietly ate my chicken leg, watching the show. Mom sneered. “You thought you’d be saved and live happily ever after? You told your father to get a new wife? Look at you now. If he gets a new wife, do you think he’ll want a burden like you?” “I can’t believe I pampered you for eighteen years just for you to wish me dead. I was blind.” Dad chimed in, eager to please Mom. “Honey, I never wanted to leave you. Bella begged me. I was heartbroken.” Mom glared at him. “I only heard Ava telling me not to give up. I only heard Ava promising to save me. Don’t take me for a fool, David.” They argued. I finished my meal. We moved into temporary government housing. Bella needed constant care. Mom refused to touch her. Dad said it was inappropriate for him. So, naturally, they looked at me. Bella seemed to enjoy bossing me around again. I wasn’t having it. One afternoon, Bella yelled that she needed the bathroom. I was outside washing dishes and pretended not to hear. Dad and Mom were out. I finished the dishes, hung the laundry, and hummed a tune. When Mom came back, she saw me working hard. “Good girl, let me help.” Thump. A loud crash from inside. We ran in. Bella had tried to crawl to the commode and fallen. She was covered in her own filth. Mom gagged and walked out. Dad came home right then. He pulled me aside. “Ava, I found a school in New York City that will take you. Pack your things.” I packed immediately. That left Mom and Bella alone in the stench. Bella screamed in shame as Mom dragged her into a plastic tub to hose her down. Mom was cursing the whole time, but she did it. A mother never truly abandons her favorite, I guess. But me? Why was I so easy to discard? Chapter 5 We moved to New York City. Dad rented a small two-bedroom apartment in Queens. Mom and Dad took the master. I got the small room. Bella slept on a cot in the living room. Bella threw tantrums daily. At first, they reasoned with her. Then, they started hitting her. I watched Bella become quiet and fearful. It felt familiar. That was my childhood. Why did she look so pained? It was just normal life for me. The new school was great. Teachers were kind, knowing I was a survivor. Without chores weighing me down, I studied voraciously. My grades skyrocketed. Every time I brought home an ‘A’, Mom praised me. So this is what being the Golden Child feels like. Bella grew silent, staring at us with dead eyes. Dad bought Bella cheap prosthetics. She cried that they hurt. “It hurts to walk,” Dad said coldly. “Deal with it or crawl.” Surprisingly, the harshness worked. Bella learned to walk again, albeit with a heavy limp. The day Bella walked across the living room, my parents’ attitude shifted. They looked at her with that old, familiar warmth. “She was always the smart one,” Dad whispered to Mom. “If she can walk, she can go to school.” I felt a chill. They were already planning to reinstate the Queen. I ignored them and focused on my books. I needed a scholarship. I needed out. Dad pulled strings and got Bella into my high school. She was a senior, I was a sophomore. But because she missed so much time, they put her in my grade. “Take care of your sister,” Mom told me. “She has special needs. Carry her bag. Get her water.” I smiled and agreed. Mom patted my head. I looked at Bella’s cot in the living room. Did she really think she could take her crown back? 6 Bella played the victim card perfectly on her first day. The tragic survivor. The brave girl. By lunch, she had a circle of friends. She told them how terrible her life was at home. How I was the spoiled favorite who ignored her suffering. People started glaring at me. Trash appeared in my desk. My textbooks were vandalized. My homework was stolen. The teacher called me in. “Ava, you’ve missed three assignments. What’s going on?” I lowered my head, saying nothing. I walked back to class. Bella was standing at the door, smirking. I walked past her to the podium. The class went silent. I picked up a piece of chalk and wrote five names on the board. “The teacher just asked why my homework is missing. Guess if I told her?” “The cameras in here work. If I report this, they’ll check the tapes.” “You think you’re justice warriors? Bullying me because of her sob stories?” “If you want to be heroes, go catch real criminals. This isn’t justice. It’s assault.” The bell rang. I erased the names slowly, making eye contact with each bully. I went to my desk. My neighbor whispered, “There’s glue on your chair.” I looked. Superglue. Bella hadn’t come back to her seat yet. I swapped our chairs. The teacher walked in with Bella. “Tests are back,” the teacher announced. “Ava Zhang. 100%. Highest in the grade.” I walked up and took my paper. “Bella Zhang.” Bella stood up, acting weak and fragile. The paper was passed back. Everyone gasped. 12%. The former small-town genius had scored a 12 in a New York City math exam. The bell rang. Everyone packed up. Except Bella. She tried to stand, but her pants were fused to the chair. I packed my bag. “Ava!” she hissed. “Help me up! Fix this!” I walked out the door. I waited in the hall to watch the show. She struggled, realized what happened, and burst into humiliated tears. The teacher had to call Mom. 7 “I entrusted my daughter to this school!” Mom screamed at the principal. “She’s disabled! She’s being bullied! Where were the teachers?!” “If my younger daughter hadn’t noticed, she would have sat there all night!” Bella tried to speak. I grabbed her arm. “Sis, let’s go to the bathroom and change.” She shoved me away. “Get off me! You did this!” The teacher had had enough. “Mrs. Zhang, let’s be real. Bella requires constant care. Ava was a straight-A student before Bella arrived. Now she’s missing assignments because she’s playing nursemaid.” “If this continues, you ruin both of them.” Mom glared at me. “Ava was always stupid. Bella is the smart one. She just needs time.” The teacher slammed the test scores on the table. “Look at the data. Ava is top 10. Bella is bottom 5.” “We suggest transferring Bella to a special education program where her needs can be met.” Mom hesitated. Bella screamed, tearing up the test paper. “No! I’m not retarded! I can do it! Give me time!” That night, I heard them arguing. Dad wanted to send her away. Mom was wavering. Bella was in the bathroom, disinfecting the bloody stumps of her legs. Mom saw her and started crying. “My poor baby. Why did this happen to you?” I sat in my room, solving calculus problems. I had to climb. Higher. Away from this sinkhole. They kept Bella in school. Mom gave her one semester to catch up. “I’ll beat her in a month,” Bella promised. She didn’t. At the end of the semester, I was ranked 5th in the grade. Bella was ranked 92nd. Mom and Dad made the call. Bella was sent to a boarding school for students with disabilities. She screamed and fought, but they dragged her away. I stood there watching as she was led through the gates. She looked back, saw me, and went feral, trying to attack me. But the orderlies held her back.

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I was Julian Thorne’s canary for three years. But lately, he’s been acting weird. At a high school reunion, people started teasing us: “I heard you guys live in the same gated community. Are you secretly dating?” I quickly explained, pulling out a photo of a random guy from Instagram as proof. “No way! I already have a boyfriend!” Across the table, Julian gritted his teeth, nearly crushing his wine glass. My phone buzzed with his texts. [Am I not your boyfriend?!] [Am I that embarrassing?] [What did you take me for these past three years?!] [A free gigolo?!] Me: “?” 1 “Snow! Over here—” As soon as I entered the private dining room, my best friend Chloe pulled me aside. She linked her arm with mine, muttering, “Why are you so late?” I pressed my palms together in apology. “It’s raining, traffic was terrible.” Looking around, our old high school classmates were all there. I secretly rubbed my sore waist and sat down next to Chloe. It had been seven years since graduation. I didn’t want to come to this reunion, but Chloe begged me. People greeted me warmly. “Snow White, I didn’t even recognize you!” “You’ve changed so much, you’re gorgeous now.” I smiled and made small talk, but they soon moved on to other topics. In high school, I was invisible. I wasn’t close to them then, so there wasn’t much to say now. The class president, holding the menu, asked, “Is everyone here? Should I tell the waiter to serve?” “We’re missing Julian.” “And Bella hasn’t arrived yet. She just flew in from Tokyo.” “What a coincidence!” someone teased. “I saw Julian posted from Tokyo just a few days ago.” Everyone winked and laughed, the implication clear. Even after all these years, the rumors about those two hadn’t faded. I sipped my tea, saying nothing. Just then, the door opened. A man walked in, raindrops clinging to his dark hair, making his eyes look even blacker. The room was warm, so he casually undid the top button of his dress shirt. My gaze traveled up his long, veiny hands to his pale wrists. For some reason, my waist started aching again. “What are you guys talking about?” Julian asked, glancing up. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with a sharp jawline. His eyes still held that arrogant laziness from our school days. “Prince Julian, what took you so long? We were waiting for you to start,” Max joked. “We were guessing if you went to pick up Bella.” “Bella?” Julian frowned, annoyed. “I was outside—” He paused, catching my eye. He cleared his throat awkwardly and looked away. “…smoking.” He was the last to arrive. Only two seats were left: one in the girls’ section, one in the boys’. Max pulled out the chair next to him. But Julian walked right past him and sat down next to me. Max: “Why are you sitting with the girls?” Julian didn’t look at him, sipping his tea. “The ventilation is better here.” In high school, his temper was legendary. No one dared to question him. I kept my head down, but under the tablecloth, a hand hooked my finger and slowly caressed it. His fingertips were cool, the touch teasing and careless. I continued chatting with Chloe while my left hand ruthlessly shook him off under the table. I hate the smell of smoke. Julian froze. A moment later, I heard him grind his teeth and let out a cold snort. Chloe didn’t notice our silent war. She whispered, “Snow, how about that guy your aunt set you up with? Any updates?” I choked. I felt the hand under the table pinch my palm hard in punishment. On the surface, Julian looked bored. I quickly said, “I have a boyfriend now.” Satisfied, Julian took another sip of tea. Outside, loud voices announced, “Bella is here—” 2 Everyone looked up. A woman walked in. Years had shed her high school awkwardness; she was poised and elegant. Bella was the school beauty back then. The line of boys bringing her boba tea could wrap around the hallway. Even the girls had to admit she was stunning. Bella smiled at me when our eyes met. But when she saw Julian next to me, she paused, feigning resignation. “Looks like I’m late to the party.” Classmates urged Julian to move. “Julian, why are you crowding the girls?” “Come over here and drink!” Julian didn’t move. I nudged him gently. He stood up with an impatient tsk and moved to the empty seat in the boys’ section. As he passed Bella, she called out to him. “Julian, I haven’t paid you back for that watch you bought for me in Tokyo.” She held out her phone, smiling. “Add me back on WeChat/Venmo.” “Add back.” Those words carried weight. The room watched with interest. Everyone remembered how Julian gave up going abroad for college because Bella stayed in the country. They never officially dated, but everyone knew Julian liked her. Later, something happened, and they drifted apart. “No need,” Julian said indifferently. “Too much trouble.” Bella smiled brighter. “Fine, then consider it a birthday gift from you.” The crowd cheered. “Whoa! Birthday gift!” They shoved drinks into their hands, insisting they toast to bury the hatchet. Reunions are breeding grounds for rekindled flames. Chloe whispered, “This feels like a ‘get back together’ scene.” I smiled and said nothing. I could tell Julian was annoyed. He hadn’t even taken the glass. But the others were too drunk on nostalgia to notice. Only I sensed the storm brewing. With his temper, he might flip the table and leave. I sighed internally and spoke up with a smile. “Let’s eat first. The food is getting cold. Don’t waste the class president’s order.” Everyone finally sat down. Bella sat next to me. Seeing me pick up food, she suddenly spoke. “Snow, you bought that watch too?” I followed her gaze to my wrist. I didn’t usually wear jewelry, but Julian loved buying me random accessories and insisted I wear them. Today was no exception. Bella’s comment made me realize my watch was the same model she had mentioned to Julian. “No,” I smiled softly. “It was a gift.” Bella looked enlightened. “Are you married, Snow?” Honestly, Bella and I weren’t close in high school. I wasn’t close to anyone except Chloe. I was the introvert, the wallflower. I didn’t know why Bella was so interested in chatting with me today. “Not married,” I replied politely. “Dating?” she pressed. As she asked, I felt a gaze burning into me. I didn’t need to look up to know it was Julian. I opened my phone gallery. “Yes, I’m dating.” I showed her a photo. “This is my boyfriend.” The man in the photo had a bright, sunny smile. It was a random picture I found on Instagram to fend off nosy relatives. Clang— A glass smashed on the floor. Julian kept a straight face, smiling coldly. “Sorry. Slipped.” 3 Dinner ended. People were calling Ubers and designated drivers. Those with cars offered rides. Chloe waved at me. “Snow, I got a ride! Since we live close, let’s go together!” “I’m not going back to my mom’s place tonight,” I explained quickly. “Oh right,” Chloe paused. “You said you moved. Where do you live now?” “Um… pretty far out.” I couldn’t exactly say I lived in Julian’s villa in the suburbs. Just then, Max walked over, smiling. “Snow White, where do you live? I can drop you off if it’s on the way.” Max was Julian’s best friend. But even he and Chloe didn’t know about my relationship with Julian. I mumbled a vague area. “Oh, that’s on Julian’s way,” Max said. “Yeah, what a coincidence.” Julian walked over, glancing at me. “Let’s go. I’ll drop you.” He turned to Bella lazily. “Sorry, not going your way. Catch a ride with Max.” Bella pressed her lips together, glancing at me again. We walked to the parking lot. I stayed a meter away from Julian. At his car, I habitually went for the passenger side, then froze and reached for the back door handle. Julian stopped me. He pressed his hand over mine, smiling without warmth. “Sitting in the back? Treating me like a chauffeur?” Well, aren’t you driving me home? I lowered my eyes, too tired to argue. But my silence looked like I was being bullied. “Julian, don’t be so mean to Snow,” Chloe chided. She knew Julian and I had zero interaction in high school and knew his temper. Julian pursed his lips, silent. Max took the opportunity to hand me his phone. “Snow, let’s exchange contacts. We’re old classmates, might need to network later.” Julian looked down at me. I could feel his gaze darken. But I couldn’t refuse an old classmate, so I added Max. Max added fuel to the fire. “Don’t be scared. If he dumps you on the side of the road, call us.” I smiled gently. “We’re just classmates. Julian wouldn’t be that heartless.” Once everyone else drove off, I got into the car. Julian grabbed my wrist and pulled me into his arms. The alcohol buzz vanished instantly. I pushed him away, whispering, “Julian! Let go!” We were in a parking lot. Anyone could see. Julian held the back of my head, preventing me from struggling. In the cramped space, he leaned close to my ear. His warm breath tickled my skin. His voice was dangerously casual. “Snow White, say that again.” “What is our relationship?” 4 How do I explain my relationship with Julian? We met at a business mixer after college. He helped me out of a tight spot for old times’ sake. He was a major client for my company. He knew I needed money—lots of it. He liked my obedience. I was his canary in a gilded cage. This went on for three years. We weren’t lovers. We were a transaction. So in public, he maintained my dignity, and I stayed silent to protect his reputation. That night, Julian went crazy. I was disheveled, voiceless, reduced to soft whimpers. But he wouldn’t let me go. He kept asking in a hoarse voice. “Snow, am I that embarrassing?” “Why didn’t you reject them when they asked for your number right in front of me?” “What do you take me for?” … I woke up at noon the next day. My body ached. The house was empty. Julian had fallen asleep at dawn and left for the office after only a few hours. I didn’t understand his anger last night. I chalked it up to weird possessiveness. On the surface, Julian was a playboy heir. But his father had handed him the reins of the group. Recently, there was internal strife, and Julian was stressed balancing the board members. He often came home exhausted. I never asked questions. I just poured tea and massaged his shoulders. As long as he deposited the money every month, I didn’t care. My phone vibrated. I ignored it. The caller persisted. I frowned and picked up. “What?” “Why didn’t you answer?” My mom complained. “Too busy to talk to your own mother?” “Did you find a job for your brother?” I was silent. “Sorry, I don’t have that kind of pull.” “It’s just a few words for you. That Chairman Thorne is your classmate’s dad, right?” “You went to school with his son. Can’t you ask for a favor?” The “brother” she mentioned was her son with my stepdad. Spoiled and arrogant. He tried business and failed. Now he wanted a cushy job at the Thorne Group. “I saw you come home in his son’s car the other day. Are you dating?” My mom suddenly sounded alert. “If you’re together, we’re practically in-laws!” “Mom!” I cut her off. “It’s not like that. Stop imagining things.” She went silent. After a long pause, she said slowly: “Your brother said you changed. I didn’t believe him.” “But for Grandma’s birthday, you carried a bag worth thousands.” “Your brother saw you enter a villa complex. An old man picked you up.” “Snow, don’t forget your roots. We are your family. You can’t abandon us just because you have money.” My voice turned cold. “Caleb stalked me?” She ignored my question. “Anyway, I’ll say this.” “We know where your money comes from.” Her tone turned threatening. “Your brother knows where you live now.” “If you don’t want to be exposed and shamed, don’t forget to send money home.” “We are your family. We won’t hurt you. You understand, right?”

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After my parents died, I was taken in by my father’s best friend, the Vance family. On my sixteenth birthday, Caleb Vance kissed me while drunk and demanded I only like him. At eighteen, he coaxed me into tasting forbidden fruit, promising we’d be entangled for a lifetime. At twenty-four, I wanted to get married. But he said he wouldn’t marry me. After a month of cold war, our friends organized a party to help us reconcile. That day, Caleb brought a young girl with him. The girl’s shy smile looked exactly like mine at eighteen. My friends stood up for me: “Caleb, what the hell is Elara to you?” Caleb sneered. “Why are you all overreacting?” “I only see Elara as a sister. Just because she lived in my house all these years doesn’t mean I have to marry her, right?” 1 After saying that, he lowered his head and kissed his little girlfriend’s hair. He looked around the room. “Don’t spread rumors about my relationship with Elara Vance. My girlfriend might misunderstand.” “She’s young. Hard to comfort.” Sitting across from him, Liam, who grew up with us, gritted his teeth. “Caleb Vance, are you serious right now?” Everyone knew about my relationship with Caleb. Liam was speaking up for me. Caleb glanced at him lazily, lit a cigarette, and his face turned cold. “Liam, since when are you and Elara so close? Is it your turn to stand up for her?” His gaze swept over me indifferently, then he pinched his girlfriend’s cheek. “Babe, wait for me outside. It’s too noisy here. I’ll take you somewhere else later.” The girl was obedient. She glanced at him timidly and left quietly. Once she was gone, Caleb lifted his eyelids to stare at me. “Elara, we were consenting adults. Is it fun for you to keep putting our friends up to pressure me into marriage?” Before I could answer, he blew a smoke ring and smiled indifferently. “I never said you were my girlfriend, did I?” I looked numbly at the face I had loved for eight years, suddenly feeling like he was a stranger. Liam stood up to punch him. “Caleb, are you even human saying sh*t like that?” I held Liam back tightly. He gritted his teeth. “If you want to break up, do it with some dignity. Why humiliate her like this?” Caleb’s gaze was icy. “Liam, you’re defending her so much. Do you like her?” “Fine, I don’t want her anymore. Go ahead and chase her.” “I’ve slept with her for years anyway. Even if she’s not bored, I am.” As soon as the words left his mouth, Noah, sitting in the corner, smashed his wine glass. Everyone turned to look at him. 2 Noah was the “high mountain flower” of our circle—aloof and untouchable. When I first arrived at the Vance house at twelve, I was most afraid of him. He always acted older than his age, always stern, always sparse with words. Regarding Caleb and me, whether we were being affectionate or fighting, he never showed any extra emotion. His sudden outburst surprised me. He looked coldly at Caleb. “You’ve crossed the line.” “What? You’re going to lecture me too?” Caleb sneered. “I didn’t expect everyone to be more anxious about my family affairs than I am.” “Elara Vance, should I praise you for being so capable?” When I was sixteen, he said the same thing to me. But back then, it was because he found a love letter in my backpack. That day was my birthday. He looked at me with a half-smile. “Top of the class, huh? What he wrote is so cheesy.” That’s what he said. But after everyone left, he barged into my room, pinned me against the door, and kissed me. After a brief taste, he nuzzled my neck intimately. “Elara, you’re not allowed to like anyone else. You can only like me.” Back then, he was like a pitiful puppy, his tone full of grievance. I lowered my eyes, avoiding his gaze now. I just felt it was too disjointed. My heart stung a little. But I knew it was time to end things with him. “Caleb, since everyone is here today, let’s make everything clear once and for all.” He stubbed out his cigarette. “Speak.” Even though my eyes were stinging painfully, I looked up stubbornly. “Just as you said, we have no relationship.” “From now on, we go our separate ways.” Caleb’s fingers gripping the wine glass turned white, veins bulging. “Elara, you want to draw a line with me?” I dug my nails into my palm. “You have a girlfriend. Shouldn’t you keep your distance from other women?” 3 I remembered when I was seventeen, I went to bring him his jersey. But I stumbled upon the school beauty cornering him in the locker room. “Caleb, I’ve chased you from middle school to high school. I like you so much, just be with me.” I quickly retreated to the corner. I heard Caleb’s cold voice. “You like me. What does that have to do with me?” “Move.” She wouldn’t give up, grabbing his hand, tears about to fall. “Don’t be so mean to me. Don’t ignore me. I’ll be sad.” Caleb showed no mercy. He pulled his hand away and looked down at her. “I have someone I like.” “Keeping a distance from other girls, isn’t that what I should do?” She froze. Her tears fell, making her look pitiful. “Leave. If the person I like sees you, she’ll get jealous, and I won’t be able to coax her back.” She wiped her tears and ran off. I watched her retreating figure, thinking Caleb was cruel. But he had walked up behind me and hugged me without me noticing. “Seen enough?” “Aren’t you going to praise me?” “You’re cruel,” I said. He laughed roguishly. “Elara, it’s because I only love you.” “So, you can only love me too. Got it?” His kiss fell. The minty scent of his youth wrapped around me cleanly. It let me understand what it felt like to be someone’s unreserved preference. It turned out to be like this. 4 Caleb might have remembered it too. He pressed his lips together in silence. I stood up, walked over to him, and took off the ring. That was when I was twenty-two. He begged his mother for it, saying it was a family heirloom. He insisted on putting it on my finger. Now that our relationship was over, I naturally didn’t need it anymore. “Caleb, here’s your ring back.” His brows furrowed tightly. He looked up at me, his lips trembling slightly. “I don’t take back things I’ve given out.” “It’s not appropriate.” I placed the ring in front of him. He stood up abruptly, didn’t take it, didn’t look at me. “My girlfriend is still outside.” It looked like he was fleeing in panic. The room fell into a dead silence. Liam comforted me. “Elara, you guys have been together for years.” “Caleb is just spiting you.” Spiting me? A month ago, right here. In the same spot. I had prepared a wedding dress, wanting to propose to Caleb in front of everyone. He lost a game and chose Truth. I asked him, “Have you thought about getting married?” In the dim light, Caleb’s expression was obscure. Then he answered, “I won’t get married. I have a phobia of marriage.” In that instant, I froze. And because I brought it up publicly, he was very unhappy. That day, he left early. My planned proposal died before it began. Looking back now. He didn’t fear marriage. He just didn’t want to marry me. I suddenly thought of a saying. Relationships that start unclearly will end unclearly. Caleb and I, perhaps this was as far as we could go. 5 On the way back, Noah drove. He wasn’t much of a talker, and I wasn’t in the mood to chat. Silence filled the air again, only instrumental music quietly spreading in the confined space. “Elara, if you…” Before he could finish, Liam called. “Elara, Caleb got into a fight!” When we arrived, the conflict was over. Outside the crowd, I watched Caleb from a distance. Maybe it was the adrenaline from the fight, or maybe he was drunk. His face was flushed as he sat in the middle of the sofa, tightly holding his little girlfriend. The girl buried her head shyly, and he lifted her chin to kiss her. There was a roar of teasing from the crowd. Someone who knew me asked him, “Bro, aren’t you marrying Elara?” “Why are you keeping a little lover?” Caleb’s face darkened immediately. “When did I say I was going to marry her?” The person paused, seeming to want to speak up for me. “But the one in your arms looks so much like Elara…” Caleb slammed his glass down. “Don’t mention that name in front of me again. Or get out.” “Starting today, this is your sister-in-law. Say hello to your sister-in-law.” The people present looked at each other, unable to call such a young girl “sister-in-law.” I didn’t want to watch anymore. I turned and left. At the door, I met Liam who had just arrived. “What’s going on with him? Is he hurt? Does he need a hospital?” He looked inside. Just in time to see Caleb pull the girl onto his lap and nuzzle her neck. Just like how he used to love being intimate with me when he loved me so much. Liam backed out. He cursed. 6 I didn’t let them drive me home. I walked alone to the riverbank, involuntarily thinking of the past. At eighteen, after graduation, Caleb coaxed me into intimacy. He said we would be entangled for a lifetime. He was so wild and untamed outside. But because of one worried word from me, he quit all dangerous sports. He stayed by my side obediently. He went to the same university as me, becoming my twenty-four-hour devoted boyfriend. Everyone envied me, saying his love for me was something to show off. At twenty-one, the Vance parents discovered our relationship. Mr. Vance beat him with a cane, calling him a bastard. He held his head high, didn’t shed a tear, and told them he was serious about me, that he would make me happy. Even though his back was bloody and I was crying my eyes out, he smiled and comforted me, saying it didn’t hurt a bit. Later, he went to Mrs. Vance for the ring and put it on me. “You are now part of the Vance family.” Liam once asked him if feelings change, would he have a change of heart. He kicked Liam and said unless he died, he couldn’t stop loving me in this lifetime. Until last year, we survived the seven-year itch. He still hugged me and said his love for me was undying. He was such a fast-burner, wishing the whole world knew when he treated someone well. Loving fiercely and crazily. But I was such a slow-burner, slow to fall in love but loving for a long time. So much so that he has already extricated himself, and I am still reminiscing about the past. Reminiscing about the year he put the ring on me, and I took him to my parents’ grave. He held my hand and made a promise: “Uncle, Auntie, don’t worry. I will treat Elara well for the rest of my life.” It turned out his “lifetime” was only eight years. It turned out the love I believed in was just a friends-with-benefits relationship without a title. I wiped away the cold tears on my face. My phone dinged with a notification. An email came in; my application for Doctors Without Borders had been approved. Departure in one week.

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