Author: Momo Chan

At the Vanderbilt family’s gala, my husband’s childhood sweetheart rushed in, clothes disheveled: “Grandpa Vanderbilt, you must seek justice for me! Lucia’s brother forced himself on me, I can’t live anymore!” “My innocence is ruined, I have no face to marry Young Master Vanderbilt!” Guests around whispered, calling my brother a horny dog, blaming me for failing to teach him. My husband Gavin Sterling looked heartbroken, shielding Sharon: “Lucia, you know how important Sharon is to the Vanderbilts, yet you let your brother do such a bast*rd thing.” “We can’t afford to offend the Vanderbilts. If your brother is a man, he should come out and take responsibility. Even if Old Man Vanderbilt cripples him, I will support him for life.” Seeing Old Man Vanderbilt looking at me with killing intent, I smiled. Because my brother, really isn’t a man. Chapter 1 Old Man Vanderbilt looked at me and spoke in a deep voice: “Girl, I need an explanation.” I was not panicked at all: “Grandpa Vanderbilt, actually my brother…” Before I finished, Gavin pushed me away: “Lucia, it’s useless to argue now. Hand over your brother Luka immediately!” “Let him break his own hands in front of Grandpa Vanderbilt to apologize, otherwise don’t blame me for ignoring our marriage!” Guests attending the gala today were all big shots in Manhattan. Now they looked at me with faces full of contempt. “The Lu family is an academic family, parents are professors, how did they raise such a shameless beast.” “Young Master Vanderbilt has intellectual disabilities, only clings to Sharon the caregiver. Grandpa Vanderbilt just announced Sharon would marry into the family, and this happened.” “I think the Lu family is done. The brother caused such trouble, will the Vanderbilts let him go?” Sharon cried even harder, trembling in Gavin’s arms: “Gavin, my innocence is gone, how can I face Young Master Vanderbilt…” She cried while looking at Old Man Vanderbilt. Old Man Vanderbilt’s face instantly darkened: “Lu girl, your brother did such an ugly thing in my house, you must give me an explanation!” Gavin immediately spoke for me with righteousness: “Grandpa, rest assured, I, Gavin Sterling, will never shield him!” “Although Luka is my brother-in-law, he committed such an unforgivable crime. I’ll have someone break his hands right now, chop off that harmful thing to apologize!” I raised my eyebrows, looking at Sharon: “Sharon, are you sure it was my brother who forced you?” Sharon shook, voice suddenly rising: “Sister Lucia, what do you mean? Would I use my own innocence to frame him?” “He is so strong, I couldn’t escape no matter how I struggled. This was my first time, meant for Young Master Vanderbilt!” Saying this, she ripped open her collar violently. Ambiguous red marks on her neck, and bruises, shocking to see. “I failed the Vanderbilt’s cultivation, but Luka is a beast worse than an animal!” Gavin immediately took off his jacket, wrapping her in his arms: “Lucia, enough! Sharon has been harmed like this by your brother, what are you still suspecting?” “I say it one last time, hand over Luka! Or we are done!” The crowd also started buzzing: “What does she mean? Would Sharon wrong her brother?” “I think she just wants to deny it! Hand over that beast quickly! Scum like this should be cut into a thousand pieces!” I really laughed, under everyone’s gaze. Directly dialed my brother’s phone and put it on speaker. “Since you are so sure, let my brother come over personally, we confront face to face.” “I want to see how he was worse than a beast to you.” But the phone rang for a long time without connecting. I couldn’t help wondering. Something like this happened, everyone is in the hall, where did this kid run off to? Gavin spoke immediately: “Your brother knows what bast*rd thing he did, fleeing from sin?” “Lucia, do you siblings have any shame left!” I looked at Gavin’s face eager to clear relations, my heart cold. Married for three years, he always had Sharon, this childhood sweetheart, in his heart. I wasn’t unaware. But Sharon is the person designated by the Vanderbilts, and my marriage with Gavin was also mutual affection. If he was unwilling, he could have said it earlier. Why push my brother to death? “Gavin Sterling, you are more anxious to convict my brother than a judge.” “He is a living person, where can he run on Vanderbilt turf?” I paused, tone changed, voice cold: “Or, you wish my brother ran away?” Gavin was stunned by my words, then veins popped out: “Lucia! Still stubborn at death’s door! This is the Vanderbilt house, not a place you can act wild!” “Since you can’t contact that beast, don’t blame me for being rude!” He turned to Old Man Vanderbilt, actually kneeling down directly: “Grandpa, it’s my Sterling family’s misfortune to marry such an ungrateful woman, and cause such a scandal.” “To give Sharon justice, and give the Vanderbilts an explanation, I apply to use Vanderbilt bodyguards to search the whole city for Luka!” “Once caught, break his legs directly, throw him into the sea to feed fish!” Hearing this, Sharon’s crying became more shrill: “Gavin, but Luka has a knife, he threatened me with a knife!” Bruises on her wrist revealed, and blood marks cut by a knife. Surroundings immediately accused: “Armed assault too? The Lu family looks decent, secretly raising such an anti-social lunatic.” “President Sterling is unlucky too, having such a brother-in-law, but exterminating relatives for righteousness makes a real man!” Old Man Vanderbilt immediately waved to a group of bodyguards at the door: “Seal the banquet hall, mobilize all hands, find that beast Luka for me!” Dozens of bodyguards took orders immediately. Gavin stood up from the ground, looking at me with pleasure: “Lucia, when I catch your beast brother, I will cripple him personally, let him know the price of touching Sharon!” I looked at Gavin’s hideous face, slowly walked to the sofa and sat down. Picked up a glass of red wine, gently shaking: “Sure, I’ll wait here.” “But Gavin, how about a bet?” Gavin frowned: “What trick do you want to play?” I sipped the wine: “If my brother is innocent, I want you to kneel down in front of everyone, kowtow 100 times, and then leave with nothing!” Gavin laughed out loud immediately: “Where does your brother get innocence? Are the injuries on Sharon fake? Is the humiliation she suffered fake?” Sharon also interjected sobbing: “Sister Lucia, I know you love your brother, but facts are in front of you, you can’t deny.” “Or are you jealous I’m marrying into the Vanderbilts, so deliberately let your brother ruin my innocence?” Hearing Sharon, Gavin’s eyes became colder: “Fine! I bet with you!” “If Luka is innocent, I, Gavin Sterling, leave with nothing, kowtow and apologize!” “But if Luka indeed forced Sharon, I want your brother to break his own limbs and get out of the city!” I put down the wine glass, clapped my hands: “Deal.” “Hope President Sterling’s knees later can be as hard as your mouth.” Just then, a lazy voice came from the door: “Yo, so lively? Heard someone wants to cripple me?” Chapter 2 Everyone’s eyes turned to the door in unison. A handsome guy with silver hair walked in. Seeing the comer, Gavin’s eyes instantly spewed anger: “Luka, you beast, dare to come back! Take him down!” Several bodyguards were about to pounce. “Hold on!” I shouted sternly, standing up: “Person is here, words not clear yet, who dares to move?” Old Man Vanderbilt also raised his hand, signaling bodyguards to pause. My brother casually flipped his hair. Many socialites on the scene stared straight, whispering: “Lucia’s brother is so handsome? Sharon got lucky, if it were me, I’d take initiative…” “Pui! This is a rapist, what use is good looks! Worse than an animal!” My brother ignored Gavin’s murderous gaze, walked to my side: “Sis, I just went to buy your favorite chestnut cake, the line was a bit long.” “Coming back, why does it feel like everyone wants to eat people?” My heart warmed, looking at Sharon: “Sharon, look carefully again, the person who forced you is really my brother?” Sharon immediately pointed at my brother screaming: “It’s him! He dragged me into the lounge, tore my clothes, and said even if he killed me no one dared to do anything to him!” “Grandpa Vanderbilt, you must decide for me! Look at Luka’s arrogant look, no remorse at all!” My brother blinked, looking at me innocently: “Sis, what is she saying? Why don’t I understand.” Just then, a man was pushed in by the butler. It was the Young Master Vanderbilt with intellectual impairment, Charlie. “Sharon, belly, baby…” Speaking vaguely, slurring words. Everyone didn’t understand, wanted to ask. Old Man Vanderbilt also stepped forward anxiously. But seeing Young Master Vanderbilt, Sharon’s face turned resolute immediately: “Luka ruined my innocence! My belly might even carry your bastard seed!” “I have no face to see Young Master Vanderbilt! I won’t live!” Finished, Sharon smashed her head against the pillar nearby. A muffled sound, blood dripping. The whole banquet hall was in chaos. “First ruined innocence, now forcing Sharon to death, these Lu siblings are too cruel!” Old Man Vanderbilt ordered, bodyguards immediately pinned my brother on the ground. Stimulated by Sharon’s blood, Gavin’s eyes were red. He stood up abruptly, carrying a baseball bat and rushing over: “Luka, you harmed Sharon like this, today I want blood for blood!” He raised the baseball bat. Aiming at my brother’s crotch and smashing down! At the critical moment, I pounced over without hesitation. The bat hit my back, I couldn’t control vomiting a mouthful of blood. Gavin’s voice fierce: “Lucia what are you doing! Originally this beast breaks his hands to apologize to Vanderbilts, for your face I would support him for life!” “But now you are as obsessive as him, don’t blame me for being cruel!” Sharon also stood up clutching her head with everyone’s help: “Gavin forget it, it’s me unclean unworthy of Young Master Vanderbilt, I should die…” People around accused one after another: “Still shielding brother till now, Lucia is hopeless!” “President Sterling did his best, I think just beat that beast to death!” My brother broke free, holding me voice trembling: “Sis, are you okay? Don’t scare me!” I wiped the corner of my mouth, straightened up: “Gavin Sterling, you are so anxious to kill and silence, could it be you are the one messing with Sharon?” Gavin panicked immediately: “Lucia, what nonsense are you talking about!” “To exonerate your brother, you dare splash dirty water on me!” Saying this, he slapped my face! My brother blocked in front of me, kicked him. “Brother-in-law, you mean I forced Sharon?” “Even if I’m blind, I wouldn’t fancy such a thing, right?” Sharon’s face was pale, trembling voice shouted: “Grandpa Vanderbilt, he not only ruined my innocence, but also humiliated me in public! How can I live!” Gavin ignored pain, hugged Sharon: “Sharon, don’t do stupid things! Not worth it for such scum!” “Grandpa Vanderbilt, please preside justice! I want him to pay with life on spot!” Charlie beside was scared shaking non-stop. Old Man Vanderbilt’s face also darkened: “Lu girl, facts are facts, you broke my Vanderbilt rules, should know consequences.” “Someone, break Luka’s limbs, throw to feed dogs!” Seeing bodyguards surrounding again. I looked at Sharon: “You keep saying my brother forced you right?” Sharon looked grief-stricken: “Yes! He is a beast, pervert! He tortured me in bed for a full hour!” “Injuries on my body are evidence! Sister Lucia, don’t think about denying!” I nodded, looked at everyone around: “Everyone heard? Sharon admitted personally, my brother forced her.” Everyone looked at each other, confused: “Isn’t this nonsense? What does Lucia mean, scared silly?” I smiled, turned and walked to my brother. He looked at me in horror, shaking head desperately backing up. I ignored, ripped open his clothes. Everyone looked over in confusion, all frozen on spot. As the zipper opened. A black chest binder revealed inside. Luka looked helpless. Chapter 3 Everyone stared at the black chest binder exposed by Luka, momentarily dazed. Sharon screamed sharply: “This vest… isn’t this mine!” “Luka you pervert! Not only forced me, but stole my underwear! How long have you coveted me!” “No wonder I felt someone peeping when changing in the lounge today, turns out it was you!” “You rushed in and attacked me while I was changing!” This stunned the whole venue: “Oh my god, Luka is a pervert with special fetishes?” “Stealing women’s clothes to wear, too disgusting!” Gavin looked at me angrily: “Lucia, what else do you have to say now!” “Do you know Sharon is chosen by the Vanderbilts, she is Young Master Vanderbilt’s fiancée!” “And your brother is a complete pervert! Witnesses and evidence are here, what else do you want to argue!” He roared, raising that baseball bat again: “If I don’t beat this beast to death today, my name isn’t Sterling!” “Enough!” Always silent Old Man Vanderbilt finally spoke. He thumped his cane heavily, the whole banquet hall quieted down. “Lu girl, I originally respected your parents having some dealings with my family, leaving you some dignity.” “But you siblings, repeatedly challenge my family’s bottom line.” “On my turf, ruined the person my family chose, and dare to be so rampant!” “If your Lu family doesn’t pay the price today, where is my face!” He waved his hand, dozens of bodyguards surrounded in unison, all looking unkind. “Someone, cripple this beast’s limbs for me!” “As for Lucia, arrest her too!” Gavin looked at me sneering. Sharon covered her mouth hiding a smile, but still fake sobbing. I sneered in my heart. Look at my good husband of three years, for his childhood sweetheart, wishing to grind us siblings to dust. “Do it!” Old Man Vanderbilt issued the final order. Bodyguards were about to step forward. I blocked in front of my brother. “Wait.” I looked around the venue. In everyone’s gaze watching a show, I spoke slowly: “Don’t rush, everyone.” “The good show, just started.” Finished, without waiting for reaction. I reached out fiercely, grabbing the hand of a rich young lady closest to me. That lady was watching the drama with champagne. Scared by me screaming: “Ah! What are you doing!” I ignored her scream, pulling her hand. Under everyone’s shocked gaze, pressed it on Luka’s chest. The lady’s scream stopped abruptly. Face full of astonishment, then looked at Luka doubtfully. Even squeezed subconsciously. Next second, she screamed to the whole venue: “Luka is a girl!” Chapter 4 The originally noisy banquet hall quieted down instantly. That rich lady seemed to confirm, boldly touched again. Then face flushed red: “Really… really a girl!” Words out, uproar. Gavin’s hideous face froze, hand holding bat stopped in mid-air. Sharon roared with twisted face: “Impossible!” “You are lying! You colluded to cheat!” “He clearly has so much strength, dragged me into the room, how could be a girl!” She ignored image, rushed to Luka wanting to strip his clothes. The moment Sharon’s hand touched Luka’s chest. She froze. Then trembled violently, stumbling back several steps. “No… this is impossible!” “How could this be…” She muttered, eyes drifting, daring not look at people around. Gavin looked at the indifferent Luka. Then sneered: “Lucia, to exonerate your brother, you really spent big capital.” “Such lies come open mouth? But I Gavin Sterling am not a fool!” “I watched Luka grow up, how could he suddenly become a woman?” Gavin threw the bat, strode forward. “I want to see what tricks you siblings are playing!” Saying he grabbed viciously at Luka’s chest. He really doesn’t treat us as human. But Luka glanced at him with disgust, then kicked him. Gavin flew out, knocking over a row of champagne towers. Wine splashed, glass shattered. Gavin clutched his stomach, face twisted in pain. “Brother-in-law, don’t touch me with your dirty hands.” “Disgusting.” Luka stood straight, looked around. “Since everyone is so curious, I might as well say it straight.” “I, Luka, am indeed a woman.” “We are not brother and sister, we are sisters.” At this moment, the venue was silent. I walked to Luka, held her cold hand, looking at the embarrassed Gavin on the ground. “Gavin, didn’t you always want to know why?” “When Luka was little, health was bad, sick every other day.” “The psychic said, treat her as a boy to grow up safely.” “Parents were skeptical, but for Luka, they did it.” “Strange to say, since becoming a boy, Luka’s health really improved.” “This disguise lasted more than twenty years.” I looked at Luka, eyes hot: “Later grew up, I said you can be a girl again.” “But this silly girl said, being a man is good.” “Being a man can protect sister, no one dares to bully our Lu family.” Luka held my hand back, smiling brilliantly at me: “Sis, I said I would protect you.” “Whoever dares to bully you, I kill him.” Socialites around listened stunned. “Omg, this is too touching…” “This is true sisterhood!” “To be honest, she looks so cool in women’s clothes, if not for today, I really couldn’t tell she’s a woman…” Old Man Vanderbilt’s face changed unpredictably: “Lu girl, is what you said true?” I was neither humble nor arrogant: “Grandpa Vanderbilt, true or false, check and see?” “Vanderbilt family should have many female relatives right? Or female doctors.” “Take down to check, truth will be out.” Old Man Vanderbilt pondered, nodded: “Take a few agile maids, call family doctor over.” “Take Lu… Miss Lu Second to inner room for check.” Luka shrugged indifferently: “Sure, check whatever.” Passing Gavin, she stopped specially. Looking down at the man still retching. “Brother-in-law, was that kick comfortable?” “If not checked out I’m a man, your 100 loud kowtows, must be loud.” Luka was taken down. Atmosphere in banquet hall became weird. No one dared to speak loud, but everyone exchanged eyes crazily. Sharon now shrunk beside Gavin, trembling all over. “Brother Gavin what to do, I clearly felt he was male…” Gavin recovered a breath, propped himself up. “Don’t fear, Sharon.” “Even if appearance can deceive, some things can’t be deceived.” “I watched Luka grow up, how could he be a woman, this is their delaying tactic.” “When facts confirmed, I make Lucia get out of our family, then make Luka apologize to you!” Gavin’s voice not small, many around heard. I sat on sofa, sipped wine, chuckled too. “Some people dirty inside, see everything dirty.” “Instead of splashing dirty water here, better think how to bend your noble knees later.” Gavin snorted: “Lucia, don’t be proud too early.” “If checked out your brother is a man, I not only cripple him, but make you kneel before Sharon, lick her shoes!” I shook the glass: “Okay, I wait.” But Sharon panicked a bit. Eyes kept looking at inner room direction. After all if Luka really is a woman, what she did in Vanderbilt house today will make her suffer. Finally. Inner room door opened. Maids entered just now walked out. Followed by family doctor. Finally Luka. Everyone’s eyes focused on that family doctor. That’s Vanderbilt’s royal doctor, highly reputable in city, impossible to be bribed. Old Man Vanderbilt asked deeply: “How is it?” Doctor looked at report in hand, then at Luka. Tone very certain: “Reporting to Grandpa.” “Check confirmed correct.” “Miss Luka, is genuine female.” “Physiological characteristics completely normal.”

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After the Sterling family fell, Uncle Julian was diagnosed with ALS. I resigned from my commission, borrowed from loan sharks, and shouldered the heavy burden of Uncle Julian’s remaining life alone. For five years, Beaten by debt collectors until my ribs cracked, I couldn’t bear to buy painkillers. Fainted from exhaustion on the way to work, I couldn’t bear to rest. Every penny was used to extend Uncle Julian’s life. Until I was working as a waitress in a five-star hotel, I saw Uncle Julian, who should have been sitting in a wheelchair waiting for me to come home, Wearing a crisp military uniform, epaulets shining, chatting and laughing leisurely with old subordinates. “General Sterling, you’ve been faking this ALS for five years. Sarah is almost drained dry trying to cure you. Is this punishment enough?” Uncle Julian scoffed lightly, “About enough. If Sarah hadn’t been so willful, unable to tolerate Lily, causing her depression, I wouldn’t have used faking bankruptcy and terminal illness to grind her temper.” “Lily transferred to the D.C. base to gild her resume, her mood is finally better, and she agreed to forgive Sarah.” “In a while, I’ll have the medical team arrange a ‘miracle recovery’. Sarah can return to the unit. having suffered enough, she should be sensible now.” The subordinate hesitated, “ALS is terminal, how can it recover? Will Sarah believe it?” Uncle Julian smiled confidently, “That silly girl, raised by me since childhood, which word of mine doesn’t she believe?” “Lily is a fallen hero’s orphan, sensitive. Sarah as the older sister should yield more. I’m doing this for her own good. Later… I will compensate her.” I lowered my head, tears falling silently. But Uncle, we have no “later.” Your terminal illness is fake. But mine, is real. Chapter 1 The cold wind outside the window scraped against my body, freezing. I was like a senseless puppet, fixed in place, enduring the slow slicing of my faith collapsing over five years. Every cut brought out dripping flesh and blood. Uncle’s comrade-in-arms Lincoln sighed: “I have to say, you are really cruel. That’s the child you raised yourself, the youngest ace sniper in the base. Resigned just because you said so, only in her early twenties, already worn out like an old woman. A few days ago, to scrape together money for your imported medicine, she was short eight hundred dollars and came to borrow from me.” Uncle’s face darkened immediately: “Did you lend it?” Lincoln shook his head helplessly: “You gave a death order, how would I dare? That girl stood at my dorm door all afternoon, fainted from low blood sugar, I didn’t dare help. Finally woke up, walked away holding the wall herself.” What Lincoln didn’t say was, that day, I put my service pistol to my temple. I said, Uncle Lincoln, there’s one bullet left in the chamber, if you don’t lend it, I’ll pull the trigger. Medicine cut off for seven days, Uncle coughed up blood foam from his lungs. But Lincoln just red-eyed, gritted his teeth and disarmed me, pushing me out like a plague god. Turns out, he didn’t want to lend, he couldn’t. Uncle snorted coldly: “Listen clearly. Before Lily returns from D.C. recuperation, no one is allowed to help Sarah. Whether she kneels, begs, or even dies in front of you, don’t look twice.” “Lily has a heavy heart, depression just improved. This five-year ‘punishment’ for Sarah cannot be one day less. Whoever upsets Lily, don’t blame me for being ruthless.” Dead silence in the private room. Someone reminded awkwardly: “General, aren’t you afraid Sarah will be heartbroken if she knows the truth?” Voice just fell, Uncle sneered: “Heartbroken? I raised her, I gave her life, what is this little grievance? Lily is different, she has no kin, suffered so much, it’s only right I treat her well.” His gaze swept over the room: “Words today, if one sentence drifts to Sarah’s ears out of this door, don’t blame me for not considering old feelings.” I leaned against the cold wall, limbs numb. Turns out, the five years I risked my life for were just a carefully arranged punishment. My future, my honor, just needed Lily to frown slightly, to become a light “only right” in Uncle’s mouth. I wanted to laugh, but a rusty bloody taste surged in my throat. Phone rang in the private room, footsteps approached the door. I had no time to hide, turned in panic, and bumped into the manager delivering wine. The bottle of military special supply white liquor on the tray shattered. Manager’s face changed drastically, slapped my face. Door opened, Uncle walked out quickly, didn’t even look here, opened his arms directly, catching the pouncing Lily. “Why came back yourself? Didn’t we agree Uncle would pick you up?” Lily laughed crisply: “I missed Uncle! Giving you a surprise!” Wearing a mask, I knelt on the cold marble floor, less than a meter away from them. Red eyes stung by the brilliant diamonds on Lily’s watch. Any diamond on that circle was enough for Uncle’s imported medicine for three months. Manager stepped forward apologetically: “General Sterling, really sorry… this wine, broken by this idiot.” Black military boots stopped in front of me. Uncle frowned impatiently: “Enough.” He pointed at me: “Since you broke it, clean this carpet with your hands. If Lily steps on half a shard, you swallow them piece by piece.” I knelt down, palm pressing the carpet moving slowly. Broken glass pierced skin, leaving fine blood marks. Lily hissed lightly, holding Uncle’s arm: “Uncle, my feet are sore.” “Delicate. I’ll carry you out, it’s dirty here.” Black military boots stepped over the back of my hand, left without pausing. I knelt on the spot, looking at the bloody palm, suddenly laughed low. Tears mixed with warm liquid gushing from nose dropped together. Manager jumped: “What’s wrong with you? Bleeding so much?” I stood up stumbling, wiped my face randomly with sleeve. Cuff instantly dyed red. “Maybe… dying soon.” Ignoring his stunned expression, I turned around, letting blood drops drag into a broken red line behind me, moving out step by step. Chapter 2 Pushing open the house door, the sound of porcelain breaking came from the kitchen. Uncle was struggling to prop up his body with arms, trying to climb up from the overturned wheelchair. Seeing me, he paused, lowered his head, eyes quickly red: “Sarah… Uncle just wanted to warm a glass of milk for you… I’m so useless… just a cripple…” He spoke slurrinly, drool spilling from corner of mouth, matched with trembling hands and desperate eyes, looking exactly like an ALS patient tortured by pain for years. I suddenly remembered, before “diagnosis,” Uncle had severe mysophobia. He, who wiped his pistol three times a day, military uniform without a wrinkle, could act this sloppy painful drama for five years for Lily. At this moment, I almost wanted to cut open his chest to see if his heart was made of stone. Seeing me silent, he slumped his shoulders dejectedly: “Sarah… do you despise Uncle being dirty? You go… leave me alone…” I walked over silently, righted the wheelchair, helped him up. Turned to fetch warm water, wiping stains for him. He suddenly grabbed my wrist, gaze landing on my bloody palm: “How did this happen? Who hurt you?” I stared at the fake anxiety in his eyes: “Hurt by someone who looks very much like Uncle.” “At the Grand Hotel.” Uncle tightened his jawline abruptly. I smiled again: “But I know that wasn’t Uncle. Uncle would never lie to me, right?” Uncle dodged my gaze: “Of course. Sarah is the most important person to Uncle, I will never lie to you.” I suppressed the soreness in my eyes, turned to push him out of the kitchen. Served dinner, living room empty. Bedroom door ajar, low voice came from inside: “Lily be good, Uncle prepared a big surprise for you tomorrow, celebrating your birthday personally.” On the phone, Lily’s voice delicate: “But tomorrow… is also sister’s birthday. Uncle not accompanying her, will she be sad?” “Silly girl. You are Uncle’s most important treasure. Sarah stopped celebrating birthdays long ago, used to it.” Lily cheered: “I knew Uncle treats me best!” I stood at the door for a long time. Finally, silently untied the apron, turned and left. When Uncle pushed the wheelchair out, the room was empty. A bowl of noodle soup on the table, and an imported pill wrapped in foil. Usually at this time, I went out for night shift. My bloodless face flashed in his mind, the hideous wound on palm, and that spine so thin it seemed to snap at a touch… An inexplicable panic suddenly seized his heart. He picked up the phone, quickly dialed a number. Next day, military hospital. I took Uncle for re-examination. Attending doctor looked excited: “Ms. Song! A research institute in D.C. has a special drug, miraculous for ALS! I fought for a trial spot for General Sterling!” Compared to his excitement, I just asked calmly: “How high is recovery probability?” “Over eighty percent!” Uncle red-eyed cooperatively: “Sarah… Uncle can get better… can continue to accompany you…” I pulled corner of mouth, revealing a very faint smile: “If only one can live between me and Uncle. No matter when, I hope the one surviving, is you.” Uncle stunned, frowning tight: “What nonsense! We will both live well. When Uncle recovers, returns to unit, you are still the proudest sniper in the base—” But this “pride,” I don’t want anymore. Along with Uncle, don’t want anymore. Doctor asked me out of office with excuse “complex examination process.” I knew, this was just an excuse to send me away. I stood at the corridor corner, watching Uncle quickly change out of patient gown, walking steadily into elevator. Downstairs, that familiar black sedan with military plates waited long ago. I withdrew my gaze silently, turned into another clinic at the end of corridor. “Ms. Song, your brain tumor has compressed major nerves, lost surgery opportunity.” Doctor sighed heavily, “If half a month ago… maybe there was hope. Probably… just these two days. Say goodbye to family properly.” I sat quietly for a long time, then nodded slowly. “After I die, please cremate me directly. Ashes… please send to West Mountain military family compound, give to Major General Julian Sterling.” Leaving only money on me, I walked out of hospital. Phone screen lit up, a new message popped up: [Come to family compound to see.] Sender was Lily. I hailed a taxi to West Mountain family compound. Five years, the single-family villa in military compound I thought changed owner long ago, now brilliantly lit, decorated like a fairy tale castle. Guests filled the door, clothes fragrant shadows. Lily wore a small diamond crown, white haute couture gauze dress, holding Uncle’s arm tightly. Surrounded by crowd, they stood before a six-layer cake. She put palms together, voice sweet: “My wish is to become Uncle’s only little princess, forever and ever.” Uncle smiled, taking out a deep blue velvet square box from military uniform pocket. The moment box opened. My whole body’s blood, seemed to freeze instantly. That was a pair of emerald bracelets. Said to be handed down in Sterling family for generations, only for Sterling daughter-in-law. On my eighteenth birthday, Uncle put it in my palm: “Sarah, whether you willing to accept Uncle or not, you are always the most precious little princess in my heart.” I once valued it more than life. In hardest times, guarded it desperately. Now, that pair of gentle emerald bracelets, resized thinner, engraved with new name inside, Lily. Amidst applause of blessing, Uncle solemnly put them on Lily’s slender wrists. “My little princess, congratulations, wish came true.” Chapter 3 I don’t know how I left that dazzling light. Phone vibrated continuously in pocket. [Actually at Grand Hotel, I recognized you, Sister.] [Saw clearly? Bracelet is mine, Uncle is mine too.] [You look like… an unwanted wild dog, so pitiful.] [Living so failed, better die right? Heehee.] [By the way, I asked Uncle to prepare a ‘birthday gift’ for you, please… enjoy well.] I wandered on cold streets like a wandering ghost all day. When night fell, returned to the rented old tenement building. Then, I understood what Lily meant by “gift.” Door wide open. Room like swept by storm. Uncle was pressed on ground with hands tied back, brand new military uniform covered in dust. He struggled, neck veins bulging. “Little girl, long time no see.” Leader man chewing toothpick, “This month’s money, should be paid right?” My face pale: “All debts, I clearly paid off.” “Paid off?” Man sneered, stepping on Uncle’s back, “I say not paid off, then not paid off. What, don’t want to give? Then see your precious Uncle, how many sticks can he take?” “Sarah… don’t mind me! Go! Quick go! Let them beat me to death… anyway I’m a useless person…” Exact same words. These five years, I heard countless times. I closed eyes tiredly. They “forced debt” countless times, but never really hurt Uncle a bit. And I, to protect this person who deceived me deeply, broke ribs, lamed leg, almost hollowed out everything of myself. Throat tasted rusty sweet. I asked hoarsely: “You… what exactly do you want?” Man looked me up and down, eyes contemptuous: “You crawl under our crotches one by one, bark three times like a dog for each. Today’s money, treat as us watching a show.” “No! Sarah! Cannot crawl!” Uncle roared, eyes red, struggling to get up, but pressed dead. I pulled corner of mouth numbly. Last weak flame in heart, poof, extinguished. “Okay.” I heard my own voice, terribly calm, “Since this is what you wish, consider it even.” Words clearly said to those men, but Uncle looked up sharply, a trace of unexpected panic掠過 eyes. But immediately, he remembered his promise to Lily. This is the last “lesson.” As long as Sarah survives, he takes her home, compensate double from now on. He still has a long life to make up. So, he moved gaze away, even, borrowing struggling action, secretly used micro camera hidden in cuff, took picture of me kneeling before men. Sent out. Crowd dispersed. I lay on ground long time before having strength to stand up. Uncle crawled over red-eyed, wanted to sell misery a few words, but after seeing my dead ash eyes, all muted in throat. Next day, doctor came to pick Uncle to D.C. for “special drug” treatment. Before getting in car, he held my hand tight, looking back three times a step: “Sarah, wait for Uncle back. Uncle definitely let you pick up sniper rifle again, be the most dazzling soldier in base. Never let anyone… bully you again.” I smiled, didn’t answer. Just quietly watched vehicle disappear at street end. Then, I bent violently, covering mouth, large amount of blood spilling from fingers. Doctor said, tumor rupture, is death date. Strange. Moment falling, I actually had no fear. Flashbacks in mind, all mottled but warm old times. It was Uncle taking me home from cold martyr cemetery, clumsily tying braids for me; It was my first live fire shooting missing target, he scolded with stern face, turned to stuff milk candy in my pocket secretly; It was when I high fever coma, he stayed by bed all night sleepless, holding my hand, saying over and over “Sarah don’t fear, Uncle here”. He said: “Our Sarah, deserves best of everything in world.” Warm liquid slid over cheek. I trembled fingers covered in blood, clicked phone screen. Used last strength, typed word by word: [Uncle, I’m not waiting for you.] [This life, compensating Sterling family’s raising grace, and Lily’s ‘grievance’. Bury me… beside my parents.] Message sent. I closed eyes weakly. At this time, phone on ground, vibrated crazily. Chapter 4 Just boarded private jet, Lily waiting in cabin pounced like happy bird. “Uncle! Finally can accompany me travel!” She pulled out a thick travel journal, every page pasted photos and ticket stubs, densely stamped with memorial stamps from all over world. That was Lily’s route of “recuperation” past five years. Every place, Uncle arranged top security team, most comfortable itinerary, most luxurious accommodation for her. He gave her reserved doting. But to deceive me, acted five years of dying patient by my side. Squeezed in cramped simple rental with me, eating cheapest food. Watching me take off military uniform personally, for his sky-high “medicine,” running in countless late nights, boiling myself into a skeleton. Now, just because Lily said “want to travel with Uncle,” he wove lies again, leaving me alone in that cold suffocating old house. These five years, He told too many lies, deception seemed instinct. But at this moment, before cabin door closed, that figure he glimpsed last unexpectedly crashed into heart. Heart suddenly pricked. Sharp pain. “Uncle? Why ignoring me?” Lily pouted, eyes red instantly, “If reluctant to leave sister, you can go back now… anyway I’m latecomer, sister hates me, you… you dislike me too, all should be…” Such words, Julian heard countless times. Every time, would make him feel pity, compensate double. But this time, brows locked tight, unprecedentedly didn’t comfort gently immediately. Lily is late subordinate’s daughter, grew up in military compound with us. Father died on duty, mother died of illness soon, Uncle saw her lonely, processed adoption. Raising two girls same time, burden on Uncle heavier. To not distract Uncle, I forced myself to limit, training, studying, only want to be his pride, not burden. But Lily at that time, fearing losing this hard-won “reliance,” actually secretly photographed draft of confidential document involving exercise adjustment in Uncle’s study, sent to competitor eyeing his position. That day, I caught in act outside study, blood rushed up, raised hand to hit. Slap not fallen, wrist grabbed tight by hurried back Uncle. He only saw my face twisted by anger, and Lily shrinking shoulders, crying like pear blossom in rain: “Sister… I know Uncle loves me you uncomfortable… but this document really not moved by me… if you insist wronging me, I… I willing accept any investigation, even military court…” That unfallen slap, finally turned into a crisp slap on my face by Uncle. Coldness and disappointment in his eyes, like ice pick quenched in poison. “Song Sarah, look at yourself, any look of soldier family left? You make me too cold hearted.” That was first time he hit me. Also from that time, scale tilted completely. Lily cried, it’s me narrow minded, can’t tolerate people. Lily emotional left home, it’s me crowding forcing. Lily “depression” attack, it’s me verbal stimulation. Later Sterling family “fell,” Lily sent abroad “recuperation” first time. At that time me, still naively thought, ten years interdependent feelings indestructible. I even secretly rejoiced, as long as no Lily across middle, me and Uncle can always return to past. But reality is head-on cold water, splashing people bone chilling. Lily wasn’t sent away, but properly settled by Uncle, to enjoy freedom and luxury I couldn’t imagine. When I was human sandbag in boxing club for few hundred medicine money, beaten vomiting blood refusing to fall; She complained private coach not professional enough in Alps ski resort. Julian silenced for long time. Only engine low roar in cabin. Many scenes deliberately ignored by him, now uncontrollably surged up— Remembering my eyes shining looking back at him after hundred hits in shooting range; Remembering I saved allowance, secretly buying canned food for stray retired army dogs at compound gate; Remembering me from small to big, except that time to Lily, never showed malice to anyone… And every time my “evil” to Lily, seemed only from Lily’s unilateral accusation. He tugged military uniform collar irritably, Lily’s thin sobbing in ear, only made him feel inexplicable restless now. “No one dislikes you.” He finally spoke, voice a bit dry, “Aren’t I accompanying you out? Later… don’t say such words.” Finally girl loved in heart tip for years, he eased face, preparing to get up, “I get you juice.” Just then, military encrypted phone on side seat, screen lit up suddenly. Phone just picked up, Lily reached snatching over. She pouted, shaking his arm: “Uncle, I’m hungry, you get me some fruit first okay?” Julian thought military affairs temporarily transferred, medical matters arranged properly, should be no urgent matter, nodded, turned to front cabin dining area. When he came back with fruit plate, phone screen already dark. Lily smiled sweetly, handing back phone: “It’s Uncle’s staff sending itinerary confirmation, I helped you reply ‘Received’.” Julian didn’t suspect, gaze cast to boundless cloud sea outside window. Bottom of heart somewhere, inexplicably empty, like missing a piece.

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“Honey, I failed the interview again. Can you cover the mortgage for a few months?” Jason threw his briefcase aside and collapsed颓废ly on the sofa. He has been unemployed for half a year, failing countless interviews. “My salary only covers living expenses, where can I get money for the mortgage?” “Take out your parents’ pension for emergency.” He said it righteously, as if stating a matter of course. To maintain the family’s life, I work during the day and take night shifts, my hands covered in chilblains from the cold. Until a congratulatory text from a securities company popped up on his phone. “Congratulations Mr. Jason, your account profit has exceeded $5 million.” Turns out, he wasn’t unemployed. He achieved financial freedom. His account, $5 million. My pocket, $1,500. Chapter 1 Jason slammed the door and left. I looked at the empty room, my stomach burning. Haven’t eaten all day. The phone vibrated, an overdue mortgage notice from the bank. Mind went blank. Where can I get these $3,000? A voice message popped up on WeChat, it was Jason. I clicked, his voice came from the receiver. “Honey, hold on a bit longer. I have a few promising interviews. Just survive this month, once I get an offer, our good days will come. You must see the big picture, don’t drop the ball now.” I smiled bitterly. For this family, I work as a cashier at a supermarket during the day, and sell hot dogs at the night market at night. Hands covered in chilblains, red and swollen, even starting to ooze. And he, unemployed for half a year, sleeps until he wakes up naturally every day, then plays games, or dresses up like a human to go for interviews like today. I checked all bank cards, adding up to no more than $1,500. This is all I have. I can’t ask my parents for money. They are old, in poor health, that pension is their life-saving money. To scrape together money, I went to the Pawn Shop at the entrance of the community. The owner narrowed his eyes at the item I handed over. That was the dowry my mom gave me, a small gold ring. “Dead pawn, three thousand.” The owner blew a smoke ring, tone waveless. “Can’t, can’t it be a bit more?” My voice was trembling. “Take it or leave it.” I finally signed, taking that $3,000. Just walked out of the pawn shop, mother-in-law called. “Elena! Did you make Jason angry again? Don’t you know he is unemployed at home? Instead of comforting him, you give him attitude, is this how you be a wife?” I held the phone, unable to say a word. “I tell you, if you make my son uncomfortable and don’t serve him well, I’m not done with you!” The phone hung up. Ears buzzing. Heart felt terrible, but no time to think, holding the $3,000 exchanged for the ring, finally paid the mortgage. At night, Jason came back. He collapsed on the sofa with a tired face, “Sigh, failed again, companies nowadays demand too high.” He saw the money on the table, a flash of greed in his eyes, but immediately switched to a distressed expression. “Where did the money come from?” “Borrowed from a friend.” I dared not say I sold the ring. Afraid he would know this opening, and couldn’t stop later. “Mm.” He collected the money as a matter of course, counted it, then stuffed it into his pocket. Then took out a bubble gum from his pocket to me, his eyes shining. “Hard work, wifey, your favorite strawberry lollipop, very sweet, taste it.” “Thank you.” I took it somewhat helplessly, he rarely brings me things. For a moment felt a bit moved, exhaled heavily. Life is hard, but as long as two hearts are together, I can endure. Returning home from the stall, it was already 1 AM. I saw Jason sneaking on the balcony making a call, voice pressed extremely low, couldn’t hear clearly. Seeing me back, he hung up immediately, sighed and walked over. “Honey, you have to think of a way for next month’s mortgage.” “Economy is bad now, jobs are too hard to find.” I subconsciously clenched my hand, chilblains hurting. “I… I really have no way.” Jason walked in and hugged me: “Wifey think of something, I know you are the best.” I nodded stiffly. At night, I lay beside him, looking at his sleeping face. This face, used to be my entire reliance. I told myself, as long as he can pull himself together, the family will be fine. I tucked him in, moved by myself. Thinking I survived another month. I thought, hard days will end. Little did I know, this was just the beginning of a nightmare. Chapter 2 Next morning, Jason went to shower, leaving his phone by the bed. I was about to get up, his phone screen suddenly lit up. A text message popped up. From a securities company. “Congratulations Mr. Jason, your account profit has exceeded $5 million, please pay attention to market dynamics.” My brain buzzed, instantly blank. Trembling hands, I picked up his phone. I tried entering his birthday. Error. I tried entering our wedding anniversary. Error. Ghost-driven, I entered his first love’s birthday. Screen unlocked. Heart instantly, cold as ice. I clicked that text, confirmed not a scam. Then, I found that securities APP. Opened it, a string of piercing numbers stabbed into my eyes. Total Assets: $5,201,345.88. Just today’s profit was over thirty thousand. More than I earn setting up a stall for a year. I felt the world spinning, almost unable to stand. I clicked his WeChat. Pinned group chat, named “Single Aristocrats”. I clicked in, saw shocking chat records. Just last night, he sent a two-hundred-dollar red envelope in the group. Someone asked him: “Brother Jason, where did you make a fortune recently?” Jason replied: “What fortune, being a lord at home, served by free nanny, so cool.” A bunch of envious emojis below. Another person said: “Brother Jason awesome, when are you kicking that yellow-faced woman?” Jason sent a proud emoji: “Soon, wait till I squeeze the last bit of oil from her family, then let her roll.” “Heard sister-in-law is setting up a stall to support you recently? So touching.” “Touching my ass, that’s my wife-taming technique. If I didn’t say I was unemployed, would she obediently sell the jewelry her mom gave her to pay my mortgage? Stupid woman, must be treated like this.” My blood, completely cold. I lowered my head, looking at my hands that didn’t look like hands. Where chilblains burst, black blood scabs formed. I clicked Jason’s phone album again. Inside were selfies of him consuming at five-star hotels last week, background gorgeous crystal chandeliers. And his newly bought watch worth tens of thousands. I suddenly remembered, for the past half year, he even asked me for money for a pack of ten-dollar cigarettes. I opened the family billing APP, started checking crazily. During his so-called unemployment, every month there was a transfer record of three thousand dollars. Remark was pocket money. But the recipient, was a WeChat ID completely strange to me. I continued scrolling down. I saw the withdrawal record of the only fixed deposit certificate at home. Fifty thousand. That was what we saved for three years, agreed to keep for future children. Also secretly taken by him. I took out a calculator, calculating one by one. Married for three years, my salary, bonus, stall income, all money subsidizing family, added up to nearly two hundred thousand. And he, behind my back, saved five million two hundred thousand. Water sound in bathroom stopped. I locked the screen quickly, put the phone back, heart pounding. Tears fell uncontrollably, I covered my mouth hard, not letting myself cry out. Jason walked out wrapped in a towel. He didn’t even look at me, walked straight to the bed, complaining: “What the hell, water heater broken again? No hot water at all.” I lowered my head, hiding red swollen eyes with hair. Inside heart, already dead ashes. Burning, only monstrous hatred. Chapter 3 I suppressed the monstrous nausea, brought him a bowl of hot porridge from the kitchen. This was boiled by me waking up at 5 AM using the last bit of rice. Jason smiled satisfied, he stirred with a spoon, steam reddened his eyes. “Wifey, hard work for you.” He took a sip, sighed satisfied, then tears flowed from corner of eyes into mouth. “Blame me for being useless, unable to give you a good life… let you suffer.” I watched him acting quietly. Suddenly, he mentioned that matter again. “By the way, about your parents’ pension, when will you ask?” He lit a cigarette. “I recently knew a friend doing private equity, very high return. You ask your parents to take money out, invest in, double in a year, then we can benefit too.” He not only wants to squeeze me dry, but also lay hands on my parents. Looking at his greedy face, I sneered inside. “Jason,” I opened mouth tentatively, “If we have money later, what would you do?” He blurted out subconsciously: “Have money? Of course change…” He stopped abruptly, looked at me alertly, changed words: “Change to a big house.” One word, already exposed all his thoughts. Change wife. “Okay, I promise you.” I lowered head, pretending obedience, “But my parents, thinking relatively conservative, give me a few days, I persuade slowly.” “Knew wifey is the best.” Jason smiled satisfied, thinking I was completely controlled by him. I used excuse to go to work, first thing was returning to that pawn shop. “Boss, the gold ring pawned day before yesterday, I want to redeem.” Boss lifted eyelids, lazily said: “Late, sent to melt yesterday.” Instantly a sourness surged, I stood on the street, watching people come and go, tears finally burst. For this man, for this family, I gave my everything. In exchange, despised and squeezed by him. Jason, I swear, what you owe me, I want you to pay back thousand, hundred times! I returned to parents’ home. Looking at parents’ gray hair, and their eyes cautiously asking if I have enough money, I was ashamed to show face. I didn’t mention money, just sat with them for a long time. During period, Jason’s life-demanding WeChat messages came one after another. “How is it? Asked?” “Talk nicely to parents, when I find job, I will definitely return this money.” “Later when I earn big money, buy big house for parents!” Looking at those hypocritical promises, I replied three words. “Parents agreed.” Almost instantly, Jason sent a smiley face emoji, and a kiss. Face changing speed, disgusting. Back home at night, Jason unprecedentedly poured me a glass of water. “Wifey hard work.” He leaned in diligently, eyes full of calculation. “When can money arrive?” “My parents said, such a big sum, must see your investment ability to be assured.” I looked into his eyes, calmly said, “They want to see your mobile banking statement.” Jason’s face changed instantly. “Why look at my statement? What do you mean? Elena, we are husband and wife, you actually don’t trust me?” He started counter-attacking, kidnapping me with ridiculous words like marital trust. I didn’t argue with him anymore. I turned silently back to room. Watching his exasperated look, a ruthless plan already formed in my heart. Chapter 4 I took a day off. Excuse was feeling unwell, actually, I went to find someone. My high school classmate, Zoe, now a famous divorce lawyer in the city. In the cafe, I told everything. Zoe listened, slamming table in anger. “Scumbag! You still keep this kind of man for New Year?” She calmed down quickly, analyzing professionally: “Elena, the biggest problem you face now is evidence! His stock account belongs to hidden assets. Without solid evidence, he might transfer or cash out all money before filing for divorce, then you get nothing.” “I took photos last time.” “Photos not enough.” Zoe shook head, “Photos can be photoshopped, limited legal effect. You best record a complete operation video, including logging in, showing account holder name, viewing fund flow and holding details. Only this forms a complete evidence chain.” This is a high difficulty task. Back home, I found Jason in good mood, humming while playing games. Probably his stocks rose again. At dinner, I specially went to downstairs store buying a bottle of high alcohol liquor. “I got a bonus today, drink a bit with me?” I smiled to him. Jason looked at me suspiciously, but seeing brand name wine, didn’t ask more. He loves alcohol, especially likes taking small advantages. After a few cups of strong wine, he soon fell asleep on the sofa, snoring like thunder. His phone, pressed under his leg. I pulled out phone, using my spare phone, turned on recording function. Unlock. Open securities APP. Record holding details. Record fund flow. Record bound bank card number. Every step, my hand trembling. Just as I prepared to exit, I clicked his album again. Besides those consumption records, I surprisingly found a photo of property deed. Address in a high-end villa area famous for scenery in another city. Full payment. I continued scrolling down. In album, wedding photos of him and a young woman. Him in photo, smiling triumphantly. Photo date, last month. Turns out, he even found the way out. I uploaded all photos, videos to cloud, and shared to Zoe’s WeChat immediately. Done all this, I prepared to put phone back quietly. Just then, phone screen lit up suddenly. A video call request popped up. Caller name, two words. Wifey. How ironic. Just hesitating whether to hang up immediately. A hand, suddenly grabbed my wrist like lightning. I looked up in horror. Jason woke up unknown when. He opened eyes abruptly, eyes sinister scary. He stared dead at phone in my hand, then at me. Then, he asked in a voice cold to extreme: “Late at night, what doing with my phone?”

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I found an earring in the passenger seat gap of my professor husband’s car. It was the style his favorite female student often wore. He glanced at it and explained: “It snowed today, so I gave two students a ride on the way. Probably dropped it accidentally.” I thoughtfully put it away and said to him: “It’s okay, no need to explain.” I knew the students Ethan mentioned. The only one who liked sitting in the passenger seat was his female student, Chloe. Because of her, I had countless hysterical arguments with Ethan like a madwoman, and threatened divorce many times. After my miscarriage, he was the first to concede, promising me he wouldn’t interact with her privately alone. Seeing my indifferent face, Ethan was stunned, unable to hold back his question: “Do you not care at all?” Once, my care for him was exchanged for countless arguments, endless tears, and the loss of my child. Now, I really don’t care anymore. Chapter 1 I didn’t answer Ethan. When we got home, he stopped me, his face filled with deep fatigue. Looking at me with complex eyes, “Why?” I smiled and asked softly: “Isn’t this what you wanted?” Ethan was silent for a moment, then explained again: “Chloe is my student. Today I didn’t just drive her, but another student too, that’s all. Why do you…” He didn’t finish the rest of his sentence. I silently added for him in my heart. Why do I always speculate on their relationship like this? He realized his slip of tongue and sighed helplessly: “I didn’t interact with her alone. She sat in the passenger seat because she gets carsick.” “Besides that, she is my student, I am her teacher, there is no relationship.” I didn’t speak. Ethan’s expression changed slightly, carrying imperceptible exhaustion and helplessness. “Emily, then what do you want me to do?” I looked at Ethan calmly. “I don’t want you to do anything.” “You don’t need to explain so much to me either.” Thinking of the earring in the car, I said again: “How about you send it back to her now? Otherwise, it’s unsafe for her to come over in the middle of the night.” Ethan’s face changed. Chloe had come to our door late at night twice looking for Ethan. The first time her lab report was accidentally left in Ethan’s car. She came to Ethan with red eyes in the middle of the night. Finally, Ethan drove her back. Half a month later, I found a lipstick under the passenger seat of Ethan’s car. Ethan explained lightly: “Probably Chloe dropped it accidentally.” He put it away naturally. I frowned, suppressing the strange feeling in my heart. Still asked nothing. Unexpectedly, Chloe came again in the middle of the night. Naturally reaching out to him, “Professor Clarke, give me back my lipstick.” Ethan took it out of his pocket and handed it to her, tone indifferent: “Be careful next time.” Chloe stuck out her tongue playfully at him, “Got it, Professor Clarke~” She skillfully acted coquettishly towards Ethan, making demands. I froze on the spot. That was the first time I quarreled with Ethan. At the end of the argument, he closed his eyes and rubbed his brows, “Emily, not everyone’s mind is full of these messy things like you.” “Chloe is different from you, she is excellent.” My tears were still hanging on my eyelashes. Staring blankly at Ethan. Ethan said no more, turned and left. Recovering from thoughts. Ethan stared at me tightly, seeming to want to see a trace of change on my face. Unfortunately, none. My expression didn’t change at all. When I turned to go upstairs, Ethan’s hoarse and expectant voice sounded behind me. “Emily, today is our fifth wedding anniversary.” “Do you remember?” If Ethan hadn’t mentioned it, I would have forgotten. Since Ethan started mentoring students, he only had one word for our anniversary. Busy. Last year’s anniversary, I called him nervously and excitedly. The one answering wasn’t Ethan. It was Chloe. “Mrs. Clarke, Professor Clarke is drunk. Do you want to call back when he is sober?” Hearing Chloe’s voice, I felt like a bucket of cold water was poured from head to toe. Ethan disliked others touching his phone, even I was no exception. The first year of marriage, I accidentally took his phone by mistake. Although he said nothing. But his expression wasn’t good. Since then, I never touched his phone again. However, Chloe could answer his calls without permission. Because of this, I had another big fight with Ethan. He slammed the door and left. Those meals and gifts I carefully prepared were left overnight just like that. I turned around, “Forgot.” Ethan’s expression froze, face full of disbelief. “Forgot?” I didn’t answer him again. Went upstairs, back to the room. Chapter 2 In the middle of the night, I was woken up by noises downstairs. Opened the door groggily, wanting to go down to see what was happening. Just walked to the stairs, heard Chloe’s voice. “I want to know what I did wrong? Professor, did Mrs. Clarke misunderstand something about us?” “You keep ignoring me, not replying to my messages.” “If so, I can go explain to Mrs. Clarke.” Speaking to the end, Chloe’s voice was already tinged with crying. Chloe is the only female student among the students Ethan has mentored for two years. Perhaps for this reason, others intentionally or unintentionally took extra care of her. Even Ethan mentioned her name much more often. After a long time, Ethan’s helpless voice sounded. “It has nothing to do with you, don’t blame yourself.” “Really?” Chloe asked suspiciously with a crying tone: “But, you ignore me.” “Mm.” Chloe finally smiled. I walked down slowly. Just happened to bump into Chloe throwing herself into Ethan’s arms, hugging Ethan’s neck tightly. I glanced, didn’t speak. Bypassed them to get water. Ethan’s face changed. Pushed Chloe away abruptly. Chloe wiped her face somewhat flustered, explaining to me carefully: “Mrs. Clarke, it’s not what you saw. I was just too excited, so…” I turned my head, smiled: “It’s okay, no need to explain.” “I want to rest, please keep it down.” Chloe’s face froze, subconsciously looking at Ethan. After sending Chloe away, Ethan came up to find me. “Emily.” He said somewhat tiredly: “There are problems between us, let’s talk properly.” I smiled: “What do you want to talk about?” “Talk about Chloe?” Ethan was silent. I sighed, looking at him with exceptionally calm eyes, calm as if looking at a stranger. “Ethan, I don’t think there’s anything to talk about. Chloe is your student, and your only female student. It’s normal for you to be good to her. I won’t be angry about these things, you don’t need to explain to me specially.” I said: “Nothing to explain, I understand all.” Ethan’s face turned white instantly. These were the words he said to me during our umpteenth argument about Chloe. Now I return them intact. He wanted to say something more, phone rang. It was Chloe calling. Ethan looked at me, hesitated. Finally picked it up, and turned on speaker. Chloe on the other end cried: “Professor Clarke, I got into a car accident, can you come over? I’m so scared.” Ethan frowned. “Did you call 911? Don’t worry, I’ll find someone to go over.” Hung up the phone. Ethan lowered his head dialing someone. Explained the matter in a few words then hung up. He looked at me, speechless for a moment. I spoke first: “If known earlier, how good if you sent her back just now.” Ethan was silent for a long time, then said: “It wasn’t convenient for me to send her.” I twitched my lips. The conversation with Ethan didn’t continue after all. He went back to the room. I was completely sleepless. Half an hour later, a very light door closing sound came from outside. Not long after, car sound rang. Ethan still went to find Chloe. I lay in bed, suddenly laughed. Chapter 3 Ethan and I met in the same competition in college. It was also me who pursued him actively. After three years of campus romance with Ethan, we got married after graduation. Two years after marriage, my relationship with Ethan was quite good. In the first year of his PhD, he won a breakthrough prize in physics. With his solid strength, he stayed at the university to mentor students after graduation. Becoming the youngest professor in the department. Ethan started to become very busy. Busy with experiments every day, frequent business trips, I understood all. Even on my birthday, he didn’t come back. No matter how lost I was, I still smiled and said it’s okay, work is important. I felt sorry for his hard work mentoring students. Afraid he wouldn’t eat well, I delivered meals to him whenever I had time. After a continuous year, he suddenly said: “No need to bring meals in the future, I can eat at the cafeteria, you running back and forth is too hard.” Later I found out, Ethan accepted a female student. When asked, he said: “Recommended by another professor, inappropriate not to accept.” I expressed understanding, didn’t ask more. Until I found Chloe often circling around Ethan. She was innocent and romantic, interesting in speech, especially good at acting coquettishly. Ethan, who hated noisy people so much, allowed a Chloe to turn around him, texting him to share life. When he returned Chloe’s lipstick, we had a big fight. Ethan felt I was making a fuss over nothing, “Emily, she is my student, don’t be too sensitive.” So, we had more and more conflicts. Quarrels became more frequent. All because of—Chloe. Even got to the point of divorce, but didn’t divorce in the end. Ethan didn’t agree. During that time, I was almost like a lunatic, checking Ethan’s phone neurotically, questioning his schedule. As long as he didn’t reply to messages, I started to think wildly. He took students to participate in competitions. I was questioning him crazily via messages. Until Chloe sent a voice message using his phone: “Mrs. Clarke, Professor is busy now, he will call you back when he finishes.” “I know you have strong controlling desire, but you have to pick time to make a scene with him~” “Can you not disturb him for now?” I couldn’t help it, sent many nasty words to Chloe. After Ethan came back, another big quarrel. He looked at me with disappointment: “Emily, how did you become like this?” “Do you know what impact your words will have on Chloe? If Chloe spreads those chat records, how will the school see me? And how will they see you?” “Have you thought about it?” Ethan didn’t mention a word about Chloe crossing the line. Only determined I was making trouble without reason. Until I fainted from being too emotional. Waking up in the hospital, informed by the doctor of pregnancy. Thinking of this, I touched my belly. Pity, I will never have children again. Ethan didn’t come back until the next morning. He didn’t explain anything to me. I didn’t ask either. Chloe was observed in the hospital for three days. After discharge, she sent many thank-you text messages to Ethan. After all, during the three days she was hospitalized, Ethan visited her whenever he had time. I didn’t ask a single word. Did what I should do. Didn’t even spare a look at Ethan. The other party hesitated to speak several times, but didn’t know what to say. After dinner at night, Ethan stopped me. Said to me somewhat hesitantly: “She was hospitalized these few days, as a teacher, it’s inappropriate for me not to visit her.” I froze for a moment. Thought Ethan would say something. Didn’t expect it was this matter. I raised a smile, “I understand, don’t worry I won’t trouble her.” “Anything else?” Ethan seemed unable to bear it anymore, questioning me with trembling tone: “Emily, enough.” “How long are you going to treat me like this?” He said: “You are different from before.” My smile faded. Ethan looked at me. “Are you blaming me? The child is gone, I am also very sad.” I looked at Ethan coldly. “Shouldn’t I blame you?” Ethan went silent instantly. I accidentally fell from upstairs. Ethan, who was almost home, turned back to send Chloe home because she said there was no car. Before I finished the rest of my words, the phone was hung up. When I was finally sent to the hospital, the child was gone. Doctor said if came a bit earlier, maybe could have saved it. Then came another bad news, my body was too weak. After this child was forced to miscarry, it would be difficult for me to conceive again. When Ethan knew, he knelt by my hospital bed blaming himself for two days. Begging for my forgiveness. After I was discharged, he started to change. Except for necessary communication, he no longer contacted Chloe privately. Would actively let me check his phone, report his whereabouts to me. But I don’t need it anymore. Too tired. And, I already bought a ticket to Chicago. I didn’t look at Ethan anymore, turned and went upstairs. Chapter 4 The day I left, Ethan’s team achieved another breakthrough and accepted an interview out of town. Also live-streamed. When the camera pointed at Ethan, he only said one sentence: “Thanks to my wife Emily.” The live broadcast room boiled, praising him as a loving husband. Chloe’s smile was a bit forced, but still finished the interview. I turned off the phone, went to the airport. Before boarding, Ethan called. Perhaps, this is the last call. Just picked up, heard Chloe’s cheerful voice on the other end. “Professor Clarke, you are amazing!” “Let’s celebrate well tonight?” I hung up the phone. Boarded the plane. Ethan subconsciously covered the phone, afraid of being heard by Emily. Hesitated, nodded. Chloe hugged his arm cheerfully, “Then Professor, it’s settled.” Ethan looked at the phone, only to find the call had long been hung up. The day he returned to Chicago. Chloe ran to his office in panic holding an urgent mail. “Pro… Professor, Mrs. Clarke sent this over.” “What is it?” Although puzzled, Ethan still took it. After opening and seeing clearly what was inside. His face changed instantly. Ethan slowly pulled out the two sheets of paper. When seeing clearly what it was, the office quieted instantly. Chloe stammered: “…Mrs. Clarke, what… what does she mean?” “Does she want to divorce you?” Ethan turned a deaf ear. Staring dead at the divorce agreement in hand, where Emily’s name was signed and fingerprint pressed. He never thought Emily would divorce him. Suddenly, his fingers felt something else in the file bag. His heart trembled. Understood what it was in his heart, but dared not believe. Ethan couldn’t control his shaking hands, pouring out the contents. A silver ring. Plain band, nothing on it. That was their… wedding ring. When just married, they didn’t have much money. Emily’s parents didn’t agree to her marrying Ethan. They felt Ethan came from a single-parent family, had nothing but good grades. Marrying would be suffering. Emily didn’t listen, eloped with the marriage license to register with Ethan. When picking wedding rings, others looked at gold jewelry. Only Emily picked this. He was unwilling, Emily pretended to be angry. “Just buy me expensive ones when you make money later?” Ethan’s eyes reddened instantly. He promised Emily to treat her well for a lifetime. But now, Emily wants to divorce him. “Professor Clarke?” Chloe called him twice again. Ethan came back from his thoughts. He didn’t sign. Put the things back. Chloe glanced at the agreement, complaining: “Mrs. Clarke is too insensible, knowing you just came back tired, still throwing a small temper.” “Professor, don’t worry.” “This isn’t the first time Mrs. Clarke mentioned divorce to you, didn’t she end up not divorcing?” Ethan frowned. Warned her in a deep voice, “Chloe, don’t say this kind of words a second time.” Chloe stuck out her tongue, a bit playful. “Okay.” But Chloe’s words also comforted him. When Emily made the biggest scene with him, they went directly to City Hall. But finally didn’t divorce. He determined, this was Emily throwing a tantrum again. When returning home, Ethan found Emily’s things missing by half. After coming back from Chicago, he was too busy to touch the ground. Didn’t go home. Looking at the empty house, he called Emily. Checked Emily’s messages repeatedly. Since the miscarriage, Emily changed a lot. No longer arguing or making noise with him, no longer asking about his whereabouts, nor actively texting him. Their chat page stopped at Ethan telling Emily about the business trip, the other party replied okay, after that it was his active sharing of life in Chicago, Emily didn’t reply. Thinking of this, Ethan edited a message to send to Emily. [Emily, when are you coming back?] But waited for a long time, Emily didn’t reply. Until before Ethan slept, phone vibrated. It was Emily’s reply. [If need to process procedures, I will go back.]

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The Department of Vital Records was the last place I expected to run into the ghost of my husband’s past. We were there to register our daughter’s birth. I was holding our newborn, three weeks old and swaddled tight, when the clerk at the window looked up. It was Piper, Adam’s childhood best friend—the one he always referred to with a sigh of responsibility and a faint, unattainable devotion. She stared at the infant in my arms for a beat too long, a subtle, cold assessment replacing the initial surprise. Then, a slow, manufactured smile spread across her face. “Well, isn’t this a coincidence,” she murmured, her voice laced with honey that always felt slightly sour to me. “By extension, I suppose that makes me her… aunt. What’s the little one’s name, Jenna?” “Sophie Grace,” I recited softly, the name we’d chosen meaning exactly what I wanted for her: a life of wisdom and favor. Piper glanced from me to Adam Miller, then back to me, tilting her head. “Lovely. I’ll make sure to expedite this for you both.” I watched as she typed the required information. The printer whirred, spitting out the final confirmation form. My eyes, as always, went straight to the most crucial line: the “Name” field. The breath caught in my throat. The world tilted. —ILLEGITIMATE— “What is this?” I demanded, the polite decorum of the office shattering around me. “It’s supposed to be Sophie Grace! This is more than a mistake, it’s… it’s outrageous!” Seeing my face, Piper let out a small, mocking puff of laughter, the sound muffled by the glass partition. “Oops? Did I make a typo?” she said, feigning innocence. “No, I don’t think so.” She leaned forward, her smile tightening into something cold and vicious. “A child conceived to force a marriage? In the eyes of some, the term is Illegitimate. I thought… it was rather fitting, actually.” “Jenna, dear, don’t you agree?” 1 Time paused. The frantic buzz of the fluorescent lights, the muffled crowd noise, the insistent BEEP of the waiting-list monitor—all of it receded into a distant, underwater hum. My ears were ringing, and the only sound that mattered was the heavy, sickening thump-thump of my own heart against my ribs. My daughter, startled by the sudden tension, began to whimper, a tiny, distressed sound. That cry was a key. It unlocked the blind fury that had jammed my throat. I fixed my gaze on Piper’s still-smiling face and spoke, each word a piece of shattered glass. “Whether this was intentional or a deliberate, malicious act, I want it corrected. Now.” Piper’s smile finally faded. She picked up a desk-side tumbler, sipped her water, and sighed with theatrical patience. “Oh, Jenna, don’t be like that. The system automatically submitted it. To make an alteration now would be a nightmare—a formal process, an incident report, managerial sign-off, the whole nine yards. It’s not something I can just undo.” She gave a helpless shrug, all officiousness and feigned empathy. “I’m sorry, but those are the rules. My hands are tied. Maybe… you two should just come back in a few days?” “How long is a few days?” My fingernails were digging painful crescents into my palm. “Who knows?” she chirped, a flash of pure malice in her eyes. “Days, weeks, maybe months. Anything entered into the system causes a ripple effect, you know. Big government bureaucracy.” “Piper!” Adam finally exploded, his voice loud enough to turn heads. “Stop the nonsense! This is a legal document! Fix this immediately!” Adam’s shout seemed to genuinely shock her. Her eyes widened, and her chin began to tremble, her face turning red with a speed I knew all too well. “Adam, you’re yelling at me?” she sniffled, tears welling up instantly. “How am I causing a scene? I’m just following procedure! The record is submitted. I don’t have the authority to override the system, I can’t just push a button to fix it, Jenna! You know I can’t!” She was sobbing now, the performance in full swing. “I… I really didn’t mean to be insensitive. I was just so happy you got to marry Adam and have his baby… I was just joking! We used to joke all the time! Why are you suddenly so quick to judge me… so cold?” She buried her face in her arms on the desk, her shoulders shaking. Adam looked at her tears, and the anger in his face instantly deflated, like a punctured balloon. He shot me a look—a familiar, weary look that clearly communicated: See? You’ve made her cry again. He turned back to Piper, his voice involuntarily softening. “Hey, Pip, don’t cry… I’m not mad at you. It’s just… this isn’t the kind of thing you can joke about. Our daughter’s name is important.” “How important?” Piper lifted her tear-stained face, her voice choked with sobs. “More important than your little sister? More important than a friendship that’s lasted over a decade? Adam, you only see Jenna and the baby now. Everything I do is wrong. I try to make a joke and it turns into a federal case…” “That’s not what I meant…” Adam rubbed his temples, a gesture of weary, male helplessness. “Then what did you mean?” Piper pressed, tears streaming faster. “I was just jealous of Jenna. I spoke out of turn! I’m sorry, okay? Jenna…” She turned her wet, pleading eyes toward me. “Please don’t be mad. I really didn’t do it on purpose. It was just an automatic reflex…” I watched Adam. He was visibly torn, but his concern—his heart—was clearly on the other side of that glass barrier. The whole scene felt grotesque, a piece of dinner-theater drama acted out in a government office. Yet, I was also chillingly clear-headed. My daughter continued her small, distressed sobs in my arms, a tiny, rhythmic hammer against my heart. I slowly inhaled, took the paperwork with the malignant “ILLEGITIMATE” on it, and gently placed it back on the counter. Then, I stood up, cradling Sophie Grace close. “Adam.” Both he and Piper looked at me. “Since you are incapable of handling this situation,” I said, my voice low and steady. “I will handle it my way.” I turned and walked out of the Vital Records office, my daughter and the awful piece of paper left behind. Behind me, I faintly heard Piper’s tearful voice. “Adam, did you see how she looked at me? She hates me! I didn’t mean it, I swear…” And Adam’s muffled, soothing, exasperated reply: “It’s fine, Pip, stop crying. She’s just… sensitive. I’ll go talk to her and get this sorted out.” The late summer sun was mercilessly bright, hitting me with a sudden blast of heat. I lowered my head and kissed my daughter’s damp little cheek, burying her warm, crying face in the hollow of my neck. “Don’t cry, baby,” I whispered, to her and to myself. “Mama is here.” “Your name is going to be Sophie Grace.” “No one is taking that from you.” “No one.” 2 I didn’t go home. Our house was full of Piper’s subtle, insidious presence. There was the spare, monogrammed bath towel in the guest bath, the forgotten designer sweater in the closet, the artisanal coffee pods she preferred in the kitchen cabinet—all reminders of the “poor girl who needs us to look out for her.” Adam always rationalized it: “She’s on her own in the city, Jenna. It’s the least we can do.” So I looked the other way. For years. On our wedding day, Piper had worn the bridesmaid dress I bought her, and her eyes had been red-rimmed. She’d clung to Adam’s sleeve, her voice a small tremor: “Adam, you’re getting married. Will you still look after me like you always have?” I had felt the current, the subtle undercurrent that was more than just friendship, but I dismissed it, excusing it as the clinginess of a girl Adam treated like a little sister. Later, when she landed her government job, Adam celebrated like she was his own sibling, hosting a dinner party. And then she’d used the excuse of “wanting to get familiar with the city” to crash in our guest room for half a year. I had always prided myself on being the generous, accommodating wife. Now, I realized my goodwill had been utterly wasted. With a heavy foot on the accelerator, I drove to my old studio apartment downtown. I bought it right after a promotion—a quiet space that was entirely mine. Adam had laughed at the time. “The house is huge, what do you need a tiny place for?” He didn’t understand. Some sense of security can only be self-provided. I gently placed Sophie Grace into the bassinet in the master bedroom. She had cried herself out and now lay peacefully, sucking on my finger, tear tracks still faintly visible on her long lashes. I sat on the edge of the bed and watched her sleep. The sharp, searing pain in my heart was slowly being replaced by something cold, hard, and utterly focused. My phone vibrated in my pocket. Adam. I let it go to voicemail. After the call dropped, a barrage of text messages followed. Jenna, where did you go? Don’t run off with the baby. Piper knows she messed up. She’s distraught, she’s been crying for hours. She’s just thoughtless, not malicious. Did you even think about how you made me look, storming out like that in front of everyone? She’s my family, Jenna. It’s just paperwork. We can get the name fixed, eventually. Why do you always have to make such a big deal out of everything? Can’t you just come home and talk? It’s just paperwork. I stared at the last line, a bitter, hollow laugh rising in my chest. Paperwork. The first official document of our daughter’s existence, the symbol that would follow her for life, had been maliciously replaced by his “thoughtless” little sister with the most insulting, demeaning slur. And he called it “just paperwork.” I closed the notifications without replying and immediately called the one person I knew could fix this mess without sentiment. “Mr. Caldwell, it’s Jenna Stone. I need your help, immediately. This is not about a contract; it’s about a criminal act.” 3 After hanging up, I walked over to the desk, pulled open a drawer, and took out a file folder. Inside were scattered receipts, a few printed photos, and an old burner phone. I powered it up. It held the things I had once convinced myself I was “overly sensitive” to see: Screenshots of texts from Piper to Adam at 2:00 a.m.: I’m scared, I think someone is breaking in. Can you come, Adam? A photo of Piper, wearing one of Adam’s dress shirts, making breakfast in our kitchen. The contact name in Adam’s phone, which I discovered had been changed from “Piper” to the nauseating “Pip-Star.” And once, I had found a cheap, sickeningly sweet cherry-flavored lip gloss in the pocket of his suit jacket—one that was not mine. I had always rationalized. They were childhood friends, practically family. Piper had a rough start; Adam was just being supportive. I had spoken up—gently, then intensely—and the response was always Adam’s frustrated impatience: She’s just a kid, why are you so insecure? or, the classic, If there was anything between us, we’d have been together already, you know that. Looking back, I was an absolute fool. I photographed every piece of fragmented evidence, organized it, and emailed it all to Mr. Caldwell. When I was done, a wave of profound exhaustion hit me. I went back to the bedroom and lay beside my daughter. She was sleeping soundly, a little pink rosebud of a face, oblivious to the storm brewing around her. I held her tiny hand and whispered: “I’m sorry, sweetie. I didn’t build a strong enough wall for you right away.” “But I promise you. From this moment on, I will not let anyone, in any way, hurt you. Not a single scratch.” “Your name, your future, is mine to protect.” The apartment was silent. My phone screen glowed again. Adam’s final message, this one heavy with suppressed rage: Jenna, are you done with the drama? You shouldn’t be out this late with a newborn! Come home, we need to talk! I’ll talk to Piper; she’ll go through the proper channels to fix the name. Fine? Don’t be so vindictive! “Vindictive.” I let out a silent, weary laugh at the word, turned off the screen, and tossed the phone aside. Talk? Oh, yes. We were definitely going to talk. But it wouldn’t be me talking to him. It would be the facts, the evidence, and the law doing the talking—to both him and his precious “little sister.” 4 Mr. Caldwell moved with incredible speed. By mid-morning the next day, he called with an update. “Ms. Stone, based on the material you provided, Piper’s actions constitute a serious abuse of public office and the fabrication of facts for the purpose of defamation. Given the target is a newborn, the nature of the offense is highly egregious.” “I have drafted a formal complaint and a request for investigation, filed simultaneously with the Inspector General’s Office for her superior division, and with the District Attorney’s Office.” “Thank you, Mr. Caldwell.” I held the phone, staring out at the hazy sky. “It’s my job, Ms. Stone.” His voice softened slightly. “Protecting your and your daughter’s legal rights is my commitment. Please contact me immediately with any new developments.” I hung up, sitting on the sofa, cradling Sophie Grace after her feeding. My little one, still oblivious to the gravity of the legal procedures her name had initiated, simply cooed and flailed her tiny fists. The calm lasted only until noon. First, a few work friends and acquaintances began texting me with vague, worried messages. Jenna, you okay? How are you holding up? accompanied by a worried emoji. Congrats on the baby! But… I’m hearing some really nasty things going around. Don’t pay attention to it. My stomach plummeted. I opened a direct message to a particularly frank colleague. “What are you hearing? About me?” She took a long time to reply. Jenna, I didn’t want to say anything, but I need to warn you. Someone is spreading a story that… that you were the other woman. That you snatched Adam from his girlfriend, got pregnant to force the marriage, and that’s why the baby… can’t get a proper name, and had to be registered secretly. They’re saying it with a lot of detail, about how the real childhood sweetheart was horribly victimized by you. I know you’re not that person, but the rumors are everywhere—local city forums, social media, a gossip blog. It’s bad. It was exactly as I had suspected. Piper was even more toxic than I had imagined. Not content with the public shaming in the office, she wanted to completely delegitimize me in the court of public opinion, brand me as a home-wrecker, and ensure my daughter would forever live under the shadow of “Illegitimate.” My hands were shaking as I held the phone, not from fear, but from a cold, absolute rage. Sophie Grace sensed my emotional shift and squirmed uncomfortably. I forced a deep breath, calming myself, and gently patted her back. “Don’t worry, baby,” I murmured. “Mama is here.” I pulled up the local gossip blog my colleague mentioned. Sure enough, a prominent, bolded headline was pinned to the top: SHOCKING! INSIDE SCOOP ON THE NEW COUNTY CLERK EMPLOYEE: HOME-WRECKER USED HER PREGNANCY TO FORCE MARRIAGE, AND THE BABY’S BIRTH CERTIFICATE NAME IS A JAW-DROPPER! The anonymous poster claimed to have inside information: A source close to the Department of Vital Records witnessed the whole thing! A woman named Jenna Stone, using her looks, hooked up with Adam Miller while he was with his childhood sweetheart, Piper. She immediately got pregnant, threatened him with the baby, forced him to break up with Piper, and rushed into marriage. The kicker: When Jenna brought the baby in for the certificate, the employee at the window just happened to be a close friend of the scorned girlfriend! The employee ‘accidentally’ typed in ILLEGITIMATE as the child’s name! The home-wrecker went ballistic, but the clerk simply said rules are rules—it was submitted, and it’s a long wait to fix it. Karma is a bitch! The comments section was already a frenzy. OMG! Seriously? That clerk is a hero! ‘Illegitimate’? Amazing! Jenna Stone? Isn’t she the one at [My Company]? She looks so innocent, but you never know! My heart breaks for the original girlfriend. That beautiful relationship destroyed by a tramp. The baby is innocent, but the mother created this mess. The clerk was wrong. A baby is a baby. STFU, Saint! Home-wreckers deserve this! Support the clerk! I heard Piper works at that office. Sweetest girl. Imagine having to process the paperwork for the woman who stole your man. The cruelty! The mob mentality was overwhelming, the narrative entirely against me, painting the “scorned Piper” as the victim. They were starting to doxx my workplace and my school, threatening to report me for “moral turpitude.” My phone vibrated again, wildly. Adam. I picked up.

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My sister, Phoebe, was always frail, but viciously defiant. To guide her—to shock her into compliance without laying a hand on her—my mother, Elaine, turned me into her living, breathing Control Group. Phoebe snuck out, chasing trouble in cheap clubs and coming home smelling of stale smoke and bad decisions. So, my mother sent me out. Dressed in a skirt barely wider than a belt, walking home at 3 AM through the worst stretch of the city. When Phoebe saw me the next morning—my clothes ripped, a map of cheap, purple bruises marking my neck—she was so terrified, she stopped seeing those low-life punks for good. Phoebe got pregnant and still drank like it was spring break. So, in my eighth month of pregnancy—my pregnancy—Mom forced me to drink. Not just a glass, but bottle after bottle of cheap beer. Phoebe watched me hemorrhage. She watched me lose my son. My son, Micah. The sight, the absolute visceral terror of it, kept her sober for the rest of her term. She delivered a perfect, healthy baby boy. Beside the hospital bed, Mom squeezed Phoebe’s hand. “If you’d kept drinking, you would have ended up just like your sister, Jade. Lost the baby. Maybe lost your chance to have any more.” Phoebe looked at me, her eyes wet with gratitude. “Thank you, Jade. You saved me from myself.” “You’re welcome.” I wrapped my arm around Mom’s throat. A single needle, deep into her neck. “This is your final lesson, little sister. See what happens when you spend twenty-seven years turning a daughter into a monster.” 1 A bead of blood splattered across Phoebe’s cheek. Her scream ripped through the sterile air. I dragged Mom backward, away from the delivery bed, backing slowly toward the door. She slumped to the floor, her body still weak from giving birth, and there was no way she could catch me. By the time her crying brought the rest of the family and the nurses running, I was long gone. While everyone scrambled, a live stream was tearing through every social media platform. On the screen, a chilling, metallic sound filled the air: the blade of a heavy hunting knife being pulled across a whetstone. Behind me, Mom, Elaine Tanner, was zip-tied to a heavy armchair, her eyes wide with terror. [? Isn’t that Elaine Tanner, the woman who just went missing? Why is she here? And tied up by her eldest daughter!] [OMG, is this a live murder?] “Jade!” In a second window, Phoebe had started her own broadcast. “Jade, what are you doing! Stop it right now!” I admired the razor-sharp edge of the blade, then gave the camera a cold, flat look. “Sister! I’m begging you!” She dropped to her knees with a desperate, sickening thud. Her post-delivery body looked impossibly fragile. “Mom raised us for twenty years! She’s done so much! If you have a problem, take it out on me! I’ll take her place! Please, just let her go!” The comment section exploded. [Are you insane? That’s your mother! What kind of hate is this?!] [A live-streamed patricide! This is sickening! She needs to be arrested! This woman clearly has violent genes!] The police warning popped up on my screen. [We are currently tracking your location. Surrender now, and you can still save the situation.] I smiled. “Welcome to the chase.” [!!! Too arrogant! Lock her up and throw away the key!] [Just shoot her on sight. She’s too dangerous.] I didn’t speak. I simply turned toward my mother. She trembled. “Jade. Please, surrender. I’ll write a letter of leniency for you.” [Poor dear, the unconditional love of a mother.] [It’s true, even after all this, a mother would still forgive her daughter.] [Jade is a monster!] I chuckled. “No need.” The blade dragged across the floor, sparking as it scraped the cement. I approached my mother. [!! Stop! Don’t touch your mother!] [Police! Where are you! Stop her!] “Sister!” Phoebe’s voice was a ragged shriek. I pressed the knife against Mom’s throat. She shook uncontrollably. “Jade, are you really going to kill your mother?” I looked down at her. “Tell me. Where is Micah?” Mom froze. 2 Not just Mom. Everyone watching the live stream paused. Phoebe’s tears finally overflowed. “Jade, he died! We all grieved for him!” “No!” I whirled around, my eyes burning. The knife in my hand trembled. I ground my teeth. “He’s not dead! I know he’s not dead!” “Jade! I know you’re hurting because of the miscarriage, we all are! But you have to move on!” My father, whom I had not seen in months, roared through the stream. I just smiled. I looked at my mother. “Mom, you know if my baby was truly miscarried, don’t you?” Her eyes darted away. I looked back at the camera. “Ladies and gentlemen! I did not start this stream to commit murder. I started it to find my child—the son my mother hid from me!” [What is she talking about?] [She had a miscarriage, but she thinks the baby is alive?] I stared hard at the lens. “What you might not know is that my ‘miscarriage’ was no accident. It was the direct result of my sister’s drinking while pregnant, and my mother—to make her realize the danger—forcing me to drink bottle after bottle of beer in my eighth month!” [What? Is that… an actual sentence?] [I can understand the words, but not when they’re put together like that.] [The mother forced the older daughter to miscarry just to teach the younger one a lesson about drinking while pregnant?] [If that is true, I would go absolutely insane!] I smiled at my mother. “Right, Mom? Tell them the truth.” “Lies!” Mom raged. “You were reckless! You wouldn’t listen to anyone! Why would I force you to miscarry? He was my grandchild too!” [Hmm… I think the mother makes sense. A mother’s love is complex, but no one would do that to a grandchild.] [I have two daughters too. Even if I favor one sometimes, they are still my children.] [She must have had a breakdown after the miscarriage, a delusion that her mother forced her to drink and hid the baby.] [Definitely. No sane person would live-stream a murder attempt.] I knelt in front of Mom. “I know exactly why you did it, Mom. I’ve been Phoebe’s Control Group for over twenty years. And my Micah? He was going to live on to be your perfect grandson’s next control group, wasn’t he?” “You’re talking nonsense!” Mom shrieked. But I saw it. Her breathing was uneven. The panic of being exposed. I placed my hand on her knee. “Mom, why did you do this to me? Am I not your daughter, too?” “You’re crazy!” She twisted her head away, unable to meet my eyes. I gave a bitter laugh. I stood up, my expression turning icy. “I know the police are tracing this. Don’t worry, you won’t find me. But I promise you this: As soon as you bring me my son, Micah, I will walk out and surrender. If you fail to…” I pointed the machete at Mom. “Every ten minutes, I take a piece of her.” [A torture-murder?] [She’s completely deranged!] I ignored the furious scrolling of the comments and Phoebe’s desperate, heart-wrenching sobs. I hit the timer. The police were stalled. They had no choice but to follow my instructions. A unit was sent to question the family about Micah. Without exception, they all maintained the same story: “He was stillborn.” My father, wiping away performative tears, claimed, “If Jade hadn’t been so reckless with alcohol, Micah wouldn’t have died in utero! Now that she’s lost him, she blames her mother!” I scoffed. I just watched the timer. “Ten minutes is up.” I stood. Phoebe rushed toward her camera. “Sister! Don’t do anything crazy! You’re just talking, right? That’s Mom! We’ll find Micah together when you get out, okay?” I stood behind Mom. I grabbed her ear. A sharp, downward strike. Mom’s scream was pure, animal agony. I held the severed ear up to the webcam. In Phoebe’s horrified gaze, I let it drop. The small, wet slap as it hit the desktop. Phoebe’s eyes rolled back; she collapsed into the arms of her husband, Dr. Adam Fitch. Adam, furious, stepped in front of the camera and slapped a stack of papers onto the table. “Jade, wake up!” There, stark and irrefutable… was Micah’s death certificate. 3 I stared at the report for a long time, unable to speak. Adam was breathing heavily. “It’s signed, sealed, and stamped by the hospital! What more proof do you need?” The comments went ballistic. [Confirmed. Jade is officially crazy!] [Witnesses and evidence are all here. She really must be psychotic, hallucinating the baby was hidden.] [Poor Mom, this is a nightmare she never deserved.] “Jade!” Adam glared at me through the lens, a hint of desperation in his eyes. I picked up the printed death certificate and flipped through it. Then, I turned and reset the timer. “Jade!” Adam shrieked at the camera like a maniac, as if trying to reach through the screen to strangle me. I simply sat back, composed, watching the countdown. “You’re insane! Absolutely insane!” Adam paced, then pointed directly at the camera. “What is it going to take for you to believe us? Micah’s ashes are already buried! If you don’t trust a death certificate, what do you trust?” “I don’t distrust the death certificate.” I looked coldly at the screen. “I distrust the death certificate you provided.” He froze. I stood up, leaning my hands on the table. “Dr. Fitch, if anyone else had signed this, it would be one thing. But it has your signature.” His face went pale. I smiled sardonically. “All those years Mom was using me as Phoebe’s control group, you never once objected. In fact, you probably encouraged her, telling her all the bad habits you wanted Phoebe to drop, so Mom could experiment on me instead, giving your wife a ‘painless’ lesson!” Adam deliberately looked away. I leaned closer to the camera, my smile widening. “You just wanted your son to learn his life lessons the easy way, didn’t you? Well, I’m telling you, Dr. Fitch, that will never happen. My son will never be the control group for yours!” “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Adam’s breathing was fast and shallow. I chuckled and sat back in the chair. “You don’t? Fine. You certified him as stillborn. Are you willing to bring in the obstetrician and the entire delivery team who were on duty that night, to confront me?” “I—” Adam choked. He couldn’t get a word out. The comments immediately shifted. [Wait, something’s wrong. Is the death certificate fake?] [If it’s real, why can’t he answer? Did the baby live?] [They wouldn’t really use someone else’s child as a control group, would they? That’s pure evil!] The police officers who were questioning Phoebe and Adam saw the change in their faces. “Sir, we need your full cooperation.” “No! Wait, don’t listen to her! I didn’t fake anything, it’s all real!” Adam was panicking. The police were composed. “We will contact your colleagues for verification, including everyone on the delivery team that night. Rest assured, we won’t wrongly accuse you.” “Wh-What?” Adam’s face went white. Phoebe rushed to his side. “Don’t bother, Officers! My sister is lying! You should be finding her location, not suspecting innocent people here!” [This is suspicious. Why are they so desperate?] [The attitude shift is too sudden. They are definitely hiding something.] [Could Jade’s baby really have been hidden by them?] The viewers could see it, and the police saw it instantly. With the timer showing less than a minute remaining, the officer’s face hardened. “Mr. Fitch, this is a matter of life and death. If you are concealing the child’s condition, you can still gain leniency by confessing now. And Mrs. Tanner can be spared further harm.” “I… I…” Adam was buckling. “The baby died!” The door was pushed open. A man walked in, calm and assured, and faced the officers. “Officers, please don’t believe any of Jade’s accusations.” I stood up. “Neil!” He looked at me. “Jade, stop this farce.” 4 I knew this wouldn’t be easy. But I never thought the person to stop me would be my own husband. “What are you doing here?” My fists were clenched tight. His expression was cold and aloof. “Stopping you from making an even bigger mistake.” “Micah isn’t dead!” “He is dead!” In three years of marriage, this was the first time he had ever yelled at me. The comments were a mess of question marks. [What is happening now?] [Her own husband is confirming the baby is dead?] [But Jade seemed genuine, didn’t she? Is Neil Everett taking his sister-in-law’s side? That’s his son!] “No, everyone, Jade is lying.” Neil Everett turned to the camera with a heavy sigh. “My wife is suffering from postpartum psychosis.” I froze. The comments were still confused. “After we lost the baby, she developed severe postpartum depression, which eventually led to this. She can’t accept that Micah is gone, and has even fabricated this delusion that she was Phoebe’s control group. As her husband, I understand and feel tremendous sympathy for her.” He looked at me, his eyes softening with the gentle concern that had won me over years ago. “Jade, please, stop this. We can have another baby.” “I’m not making a farce!” My eyes stung. “You know Micah is alive! You know better than anyone! Why are you lying to protect them?” “Micah is dead!” He tossed a folder onto the table in front of the camera. The title was clear and chilling: [AUTOPSY REPORT] 5 The report was detailed and complete. Every step had a photograph. Though my baby had been rushed away the moment he was born, I had caught a brief, half-conscious glimpse of him. The baby’s face in the autopsy photos—it was my Micah. Acute intrauterine asphyxia. He was born blue, without any life signs… Looking at his tiny, suffocated face as he took his first and final breath, my legs gave out. I sank to the floor, clutching the report to my chest, my tears blurring the text. “How could this be… I heard him cry… I know I did…” Neil sighed softly. “You must have heard the woman next door, sweetie…” “Ah!!” A guttural cry tore from my throat. I pressed the autopsy report to my chest and cried, letting out all the grief and pain that had been trapped inside me. At the same time, Phoebe rushed to Neil, collapsing against him, as if to kneel. Neil caught her instantly. “Thank you, Neil. You’ve always helped me, since college. Now you’re married to my sister, and you’re still looking out for me. I can never repay this kindness. Please, let me thank you on my knees.” “Stop it!” Neil gripped her arms tightly. His throat bobbed as he looked into her tear-filled eyes. “We’re family. This is what I’m supposed to do.” Phoebe sniffled and returned to Adam’s side. Neil’s eyes followed her, lingering for a moment, before he regained his cool composure and looked at the camera. “Jade, stop this. It’s not too late.” I stumbled to my feet. Mom looked at me with deep concern. “Jade.” My expression was blank. “Jade, Mom has been a little biased, I admit, but I would never harm my own grandchild!” I watched her tears fall. She wouldn’t, would she? No matter how much she favored Phoebe, she wouldn’t conspire to kill her own grandchild… I walked toward her, my hands shaking as I reached for the zip-ties on her wrist. “Jade, I’m so sorry. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” I kept untying the knot. Just as it was about to come undone, a small detail flashed in my mind. “No!” I pulled the knot tight again. “Jade?!” Mom’s eyes widened. The ten-minute timer went off. I pointed the machete directly at her. “The autopsy report is fake!”

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Three years into my marriage, I’d had explosive diarrhea over a hundred times. Every single time, it was after a meal at my in-laws’ house. At first, I chalked it up to a sensitive stomach. Then I noticed the pattern: whenever I ate at my parents’ house or cooked for myself, nothing happened. I was fine. I brought this up with my husband, Connor. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he snapped. “Are you implying my mother is trying to hurt you?” “No,” I said quickly. But deep down, I knew something was terribly wrong. It wasn’t until I installed a discreet camera in their kitchen that I found the truth. 1. It was a Tuesday afternoon, and I was, once again, dealing with a disaster. Thirty-plus people from my department were packed into the conference room for the quarterly review. Mr. Alistair, my boss, was droning on about Q2 earnings when the first spasm hit. It was that familiar, visceral pain, like someone was taking a rope and tightly twisting my intestines. I tried to breathe through it, my palms slick with sweat. I lasted five minutes, maybe. Then the urgency became a desperate alarm. I stood up, hunched over, and began the walk of shame out of the room. The CEO paused mid-sentence to watch me go. The entire department watched me go. I didn’t care. I bolted from the room and sprinted for the restroom. I was locked in a stall for twenty miserable minutes. When I finally emerged, my face was chalk-white and my legs were shaking. Back in the conference room, Mr. Alistair’s expression was icy. After the meeting, he called me into his office. “Evelyn,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “How many sick days have you taken this quarter?” I looked down. “Seven.” “All gastrointestinal issues?” “Yes.” He sighed, his gaze heavy. “Go see a specialist, Evie. You need to get this sorted. Your job is suffering, and frankly, so is your health.” I nodded, unable to speak. I had seen specialists. Not once, but over ten times. Endoscopy, colonoscopy, ultrasound, bloodwork, stool samples. The doctors had declared my digestive system perfectly healthy. “Very healthy,” they’d said. Yet, I was still falling apart. Three years. Over a hundred times. I had considered every possibility. Food allergies? Negative. Lactose intolerance? Negative. Stress? Only when I ate at my in-laws’ house. The moment I was home, I was fine. I presented this pattern to Connor. He was deep into a video game on the couch, not even glancing up. “What are you getting at?” “I just think it’s possible that…” “That what?” I hesitated. “That maybe there’s something wrong with your mother’s cooking.” He paused the game. The sudden silence was louder than the screen noise. He turned his head to look at me, and his eyes were cold. “Evelyn, did you just say that out loud?” “I didn’t mean anything, I just noticed the pattern…” “What pattern? That my mother, who cooks three-course meals for us, who makes separate, bland dishes just for your ‘sensitive’ stomach, is trying to sabotage you? Do you know how much effort she puts in?” “I do, but—” “But what? You eat her food, accept her generosity, and then come to me with this ridiculous, paranoid theory?” “It’s not paranoid, it’s just a possibility—” “A possibility of what?” He stared me down. “The possibility that my mother is putting poison in your food?” I went silent. He unpaused his game, his attention back on the screen, effectively dismissing me. That night, we lay in the same bed, pressed against the edges, backs to each other. I listened to his steady breathing, the low whir of the AC, and thought about the last three years. The first time was the third day after our engagement. Patty had cooked a feast, a welcome dinner. I’d eaten happily. I spent the rest of the night doubled over in the bathroom. Connor had blamed it on “adjustment.” The second time was a week later. Another meal by Patty. Another agonizing night. Connor said my stomach was “just weak.” The third, fourth, fifth time… Every single time, it was Patty’s food. Every time I’d voiced a concern, Connor had accused me of overthinking. “What does my mother have to gain by hurting you? She only wants you to be well.” Did she? I remembered the way Patty would look at me. Often, she was smiling, her eyes crinkling kindly. But sometimes, in the split second before she turned away, I caught a different expression. I couldn’t name it. It was chilling. Like looking at an adversary. I told myself it was my imagination. Patty was kind. She cooked elaborate meals, sent me home with leftovers, and gave me lavish gift certificates for every holiday. How could she possibly be hurting me? But the episodes didn’t lie. Three years. Over a hundred times. Always after eating at her house. I made a decision. I wouldn’t tell anyone. I would buy a camera, a tiny one, and install it in Patty’s kitchen. I needed an answer. Even if the answer was that I was, as Connor suggested, a paranoid mess. I needed to know. 2. That weekend, we went to my in-laws’ house as usual. Patty was beaming. She’d spent the morning grocery shopping and the afternoon busy in the kitchen. When I arrived, the house smelled wonderful—a mix of roasting meat and herbs. “Evie, sweetheart, you’re here!” Patty poked her head out of the kitchen door, a smear of sauce on her apron. “Come sit, dinner will be ready in a minute!” I smiled and sat on the sectional. Connor went to the study to talk to his father, Rich. I was alone in the living room. I glanced toward the kitchen. The door was slightly ajar. I could hear Patty’s energetic movements. She was efficient—chopping, stirring, plating—a woman in her element. Soon, the table was set: Balsamic-glazed ribs, pan-seared halibut, roasted asparagus, lemon risotto, and a shrimp cocktail set right in front of my chair. “Evie loves shrimp,” Patty announced with a soft laugh. “And I know your stomach is delicate, so I kept it all light and clean, just for you.” “Thank you, Patty,” I said, picking up a shrimp. She watched me eat. Her eyes were warm, her mouth curved in a soft, indulgent smile. “Is it good?” “Delicious.” “Eat up, then.” I took another. The rest of the family settled in. Rich and Connor talked business while Patty continually hovered, topping my plate with food. “Evie, try this halibut. So flaky, not greasy at all.” “Evie, have some asparagus. It’s a great digestive aid.” “Evie, just a few ribs. They’ll put some meat on your bones.” I ate, I responded, but in my head, I was counting down. In exactly two hours, I would feel the first tell-tale cramps. Sure enough. Halfway through the drive home, the twisting started. Connor was driving. I pressed my hands to my abdomen, my face pale. “What’s wrong now?” he asked, glancing at me in the rearview mirror. “Stomach’s cramping.” He didn’t reply. The moment we pulled into our garage, I burst from the car and ran straight to the bathroom. I was in there for thirty agonizing minutes. When I came out, weak and shaky, Connor was flipping channels on the sofa. He looked over. “You need to get checked out, again.” “I told you, I have. Everything is fine.” “Then it’s psychosomatic.” I didn’t engage. Psychosomatic. He always used that word. As if I were a hysterical woman inventing my own illness just to be difficult or to spite his mother. I wasn’t. I just wanted to know why. Why did this happen only when I ate at their house? Why was I perfectly healthy otherwise? Why couldn’t the doctors find anything? The next day was Monday. I called in sick. I took a day of PTO and drove to a Best Buy. I bought a micro spy camera. It was tiny, easily concealed, and synced to an app on my phone. I hid it in my purse. The next time we went to Patty’s house, I would install it in the kitchen. Connor could never know. He would call me insane. He would say I was insulting his mother. But I was beyond caring. Three years was long enough. I needed my answer. The following weekend, we were invited over again. I waited until Rich and Connor were in the backyard looking at the new deck and Patty was in the powder room. I slipped into the kitchen. I scanned the room. Above the stove, where the ventilation fan met the cabinetry, there was a dim, shadowed corner. Perfect. I stepped onto a stool and quickly affixed the camera, pointing the lens down toward the stove and the cutting board. It would capture everything that happened during the cooking process. I jumped down, straightened my sweater, and walked out, as casual as possible. “Evie, were you in the bathroom?” Patty asked, walking into the living room. “Just touching up my makeup, Patty.” “Good. Stay out of the kitchen, dear, it’s a mess right now.” I smiled. “Will do.” After dinner, we left. On the drive home, I covertly checked my phone. The app showed the camera was running. The picture was clear. I could see the range, the prep area, and a corner of the refrigerator. I turned off the screen, my heart pounding a nervous rhythm. Now, all I had to do was wait for the next time. The next time Patty cooked, I would finally know the truth. 3. For the next week, I checked the app several times a day. Mostly, the kitchen was empty. Occasionally, Patty would walk in to grab a bottle of water or put away a dish. Nothing notable. Then, the inevitable call came on Friday. “Evie, sweetheart, come over tomorrow for dinner! I’m making your favorite—that balsamic-glazed short rib I know you love.” “That sounds lovely, Patty.” I hung up, my pulse accelerating. Tomorrow. I would have my answer tomorrow. I barely slept that night. My mind cycled through possibilities. Maybe Patty truly did nothing. Maybe my stomach wasbad, and the timing was a horrific coincidence. Maybe I was, in fact, a paranoid mess. But then the memory of the sheer agony returned. The humiliation of sprinting from the conference room. The embarrassment of having to cut short a dinner out with friends. It was always after her food. It could not be a coincidence. It couldn’t. Saturday morning, I was awake by eight. I opened the app. The kitchen was empty. Nine o’clock: Patty entered the frame. I watched, breath held. She began washing and chopping vegetables. Her movements were normal. Ten o’clock: She started the main course. I zoomed in on the footage. I scrutinized every single action. Trimming the ribs, searing them, mixing the sauce, adding them to the pot… There was nothing amiss. I began to feel a deep, disheartening certainty: I was paranoid. Connor was right. Eleven o’clock: Connor called for me. “Let’s go, we’re running late.” I pocketed the phone and headed out. When we arrived, Patty had finished half the meal. She was working on the final sides. I sat in the living room, my stomach tight with anxiety, convinced I’d wasted my time. “Evie, have an apple,” Rich said, handing me a perfectly peeled wedge. “Thanks, Rich.” I took a bite, but my mind was still on the camera. No red flags. Maybe I should just uninstall it. Maybe it was me. “Dinner’s ready!” Patty emerged, carrying the final platter. The short ribs were placed squarely in front of me. “Your favorite, Evie. Taste your mother-in-law’s cooking!” I took a rib. It was savory and tender. Delicious. Patty watched, her face glowing. “Good?” “Very good.” “Eat plenty.” After dinner, we lingered for an hour. Around 2:00 PM, Connor decided we should leave. “We’re taking off, Mom.” “Already? Stay a little longer.” “No, Evie has a long day tomorrow.” Patty walked us to the door. “Drive safe, Evie. Be well.” “You too, Patty.” In the car, my stomach started to rumble. A dull ache, just beginning. I knew this feeling. Within the hour, it would escalate into full, paralyzing cramps. Connor was focused on the road. I pulled out my phone and opened the camera app. I needed to review the recording of the short ribs. I scrubbed the timeline back to 10:15 AM. Patty had just turned off the burner. Then— She turned toward the refrigerator. She opened the door and reached into a small, isolated compartment on the door panel. She pulled out a tiny, unmarked white pill bottle. She shook out several tiny, off-white tablets into her palm. Then, she walked back to the stove. She dumped the pills into the pot of ribs. She gave the contents one final, quick stir with the tongs. And then she plated the food. The entire sequence was less than thirty seconds. Her movements were smooth. Practiced. I stared at the screen, my hands shaking so violently I nearly dropped the phone. For a moment, my mind went blank. Then, a tidal wave of ice-cold fury rushed over me. Three years. Three miserable, humiliating years. Every episode of agony. Every time Connor had called me a “paranoid mess.” Every shameful sprint from a public place. Every expensive, fruitless doctor’s visit. It was her. My smiling, sweet mother-in-law. The one who always said, “Evie has a sensitive stomach, so I make her light, clean food.” The one who told her friends, “I treat my daughter-in-law better than my own daughter.” She was putting laxatives in my food. For three years. 4. I don’t remember the drive home. Connor’s voice was a low buzz; I heard nothing he said. All I could see was the replay: Patty opening the fridge, pulling out the small white bottle, and sprinkling the contents into my ribs. Practiced. Calm. Three years. Over a hundred times. This was the truth. The moment we walked through the door, I ran to the bathroom. Forty minutes later, I emerged, weak, sweating, and pale. Connor was watching TV on the sectional. “Still going?” I didn’t answer. “You know, you really need to go see that herbalist I told you about, Evie. Your digestive system is a mess.”

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The words slipped out of Declan Shaw’s mouth, casual and almost bored, as he adjusted the lace on my mermaid gown. “That fishnet skirt—Tiffany the secretary, she looked quite good in it.” He smoothed the exquisite French lace I’d flown to Paris to have fitted, the same lace he was now admitting had been tailored to another woman. “The girl doesn’t have a single fine line around her eyes yet, and her body is still elastic, you know?” he continued, his tone matter-of-fact. “She’s cute when she pouts, so I let her try it on.” The delicate fabric of the wedding dress, still warm from the steamer, suddenly felt cold and foreign against my skin. I stared at him, my breath catching in my throat. “What are you talking about?” He glanced dismissively at the corner of my eye. “Nothing, really. I just suddenly realized a younger woman wore this cut better than you do.” He paused, his eyes holding mine for a beat too long. “If you object to wearing a used dress, you can skip the wedding. And if you object to a man who’s been used by others…” His shoulders lifted in a shrug that spoke volumes. “You can walk away. Whatever makes you happy, Stella.” I stood paralyzed. The impossibly light, floating bridal gown suddenly weighed a ton, suffocating me. Declan’s kiss landed lightly on my shoulder. “The time you had that high fever… I’m actually kind of sorry about that.” His voice was low, discussing a devastating injury as if it were a misplaced accessory. “The night it poured rain and I had you deliver those documents? That was just Tiffany wanting to play a little game. She made up the excuse to send you out.” All the blood in my body turned to ice. A month ago, during a massive Nor’easter, he’d claimed a client was urgently waiting. I, desperate not to delay his business, had sprinted into the torrential rain without securing my umbrella. I was drenched to the bone, and by that evening, I was burning up. If his assistant hadn’t called, concerned, I might have suffered permanent damage. Delirious with fever, I’d still managed to grip the poor assistant’s hand, pleading with him not to bother Declan, because my fiancé was so busy and I didn’t want to burden him with such a small thing. A low, humorless chuckle escaped Declan’s lips. “The assistant did call me, actually. But Tiffany had a new trick she wanted to try out, and honestly, I was right in the middle of it.” The foundation of my world shattered. A deep, penetrating chill crept from my bones to my skin. “Why? Did you fall in love with someone else?” He pulled out a cigarette and lit it, the sharp smell cutting through the floral air of the salon. “One morning, when you told me ‘Good morning,’ I noticed a new fine line at the corner of your eye. It was weird. After that, I couldn’t get excited about you anymore. Didn’t you notice? We haven’t slept together in months.” He took a sharp drag. “‘Love’ is too strong a word. But when that many young, soft girls are throwing themselves at me—I’m a man, Stella, not a saint. Honestly, I enjoyed the freedom.” He exhaled a plume of smoke, watching it curl toward the ceiling. “I probably could have kept this from you forever.” He took another puff. “But watching you try on this dress, seeing the waist was a little tight… I just blurted it out.” Tears, huge and hot, began to splash onto the hardwood floor. Declan reached out to brush one away. “Stella, when you buy a dozen roses, don’t you always pick the freshest, newest bloom?” I began to shake uncontrollably. It didn’t make sense. Thirty minutes ago, wearing the million-dollar dress he’d commissioned, I was looking in the mirror, certain I held the entire world’s happiness in my hands. Just as I felt I was choking, his phone vibrated. Tiffany Lowe flashed across the screen. He ignored it, looking at me, unhurried. “Have you decided? The kid is young; she’s hard to mollify if she has to wait too long.” I slapped his hand away, a guttural sound escaping my throat, and grabbed the nearest heavy water pitcher, hurling it at the wall just inches from his head. “Get out! Get out, both of you!” He didn’t flinch. A shard of the ceramic caught his temple, and blood began to seep out. He pressed his jaw tight, his expression hardening. “Fine. I’m leaving first. Whether you want to end this or go through with it is up to you. I’ll make sure you’re taken care of financially.” The slam of the door vibrated in my eardrums. I was alone in the fitting room. I tore the dress from my body, pulling and ripping at the exquisite lace until it lay in shredded pieces on the floor. Fifteen years of shared history, undone by a few naturally formed wrinkles? I looked at my reflection and, in a blind rage, grabbed the nearest object and smashed the mirror. In the sheer, agonizing pain, I saw the past flash before my eyes. The two of us, kids, kidnapped by that horrible couple. Not knowing where we came from. I couldn’t steal and I wasn’t a good beggar. “Dad” decided to break my legs so I’d be more effective. Ten-year-old Declan had rushed in, a rusty fruit knife in his hand, ready to fight. As the police took him away, he smiled at me. “Don’t be scared, Stella. I promised I’d protect you.” When he got out of juvie, he had no education and a record. To ensure I had a good life, he took any job—the dirty, the dangerous, the ones no one wanted. He threw his face and his dignity onto the ground for me. The worst time, he was hauling contraband and got two ribs shattered. Lying in the hospital, barely breathing, I cried and asked: “Was it worth it? Doing this for me?” He squeezed my hand, sweat dripping from his forehead. “How could it not be worth it? You are the best thing in the world, Stella.” The cold was absolute. A kind boutique assistant, seeing my breakdown, quietly offered me a room at a nearby hotel. I wrapped myself in the duvet and swallowed a handful of pills. If this is a nightmare, I’ll sleep it off. But when I woke up, my phone was ringing incessantly. Reporters were calling, bidding for my story. The scandalous photos of Declan and his secretary—Tiffany—getting intimate in his SUV had gone viral. Declan’s call came next, his voice lazily dismissive. “Stella, go talk to the media, hash out a price. My face can’t be shown. If you don’t know how to negotiate, ask Mrs. Cole for advice, she’s been through it. This kind of thing will happen again, anyway.” “You know how much I hate the media circus.” I gripped the phone until my knuckles turned white. I did know he hated interviews. The one and only time he’d ever agreed to a press conference was three years ago, when the media had photographed me and published stories calling me unworthy of him. Declan had gathered dozens of news outlets, looked straight into the camera, and smiled so gently. “My partner is the best person in the world. Being worthy of even a fraction of her is my life’s greatest honor.” He had even, completely losing his temper, physically attacked a reporter who insulted me. From that day on, everyone knew I was the one person in Manhattan you didn’t cross. Just three years later, the same reporters were waiting to watch me burn. I couldn’t take it anymore. But when I got back to our apartment, a trail of scattered silk tops and dress shirts led from the foyer, across the living room carpet, and into the master suite. The sound of laughter and intimacy came from the marriage bed I had personally selected. The door was ajar. The girl—Tiffany—threw her head back in ecstasy, and her eyes suddenly locked with mine. A violent, crushing emotion tore through my mind. I had to brace myself against the wall to keep from collapsing. Declan’s voice came from behind her. “Go home now.” She didn’t move, looking at me with undisguised curiosity. “Is that your wife? She does look kind of old. No wonder you’re bored.” Declan gave her a cold, level stare. “I said, get out first.” She didn’t dare argue, pouting dramatically. “Fine. But I’ll be waiting tonight.” She stood up, bouncing, and intimately stroked his chest. “But you have to promise me you won’t touch this old woman! I want you all to myself.” Declan gave her a quick pat on the backside. “Okay. You get everything.” Declan watched her retreating figure and actually chuckled. “She’s cute, isn’t she?” My nails dug into my palms. Maybe it was sheer stubbornness. Maybe it was because I had no family, no friends—Declan had been my entire universe. I wanted to hold onto something. Anything. “Declan Shaw, you want a divorce? Dream on.” I stormed into the company, using my founder’s equity to easily blacklist Tiffany Lowe, ensuring she’d never work in this sector again. But I never expected to return from a business trip only to find my personal assistant was the same girl I’d rescued from traffickers seven years ago—the girl I’d put through school and treated like a younger sister. She’d once knelt before me, crying and promising to pay me back for life. Yet, when I cornered her in Declan’s office, her expression was pure provocation. “Stella, we couldn’t help ourselves. It was electric.” I flipped Declan’s desk, screaming at him like a lunatic. “Why are you doing this to me?!” Declan only watched me, unbothered. “So many people want to climb into my bed. As long as it’s a young, desirable body, I’ll accept.” I couldn’t tolerate it. I used every resource I had to oppose him, caused scenes at the girl’s university, and employed every trick to make his life hell. Declan just smiled, watching my desperate struggle, even with a hint of indulgence. “Stella’s little temper tantrum is actually kind of endearing.” But his counter-attack was swift. He donated an entire wing to an international university and sent the girl—Lila Cross—abroad. He then banded together with the other partners to vote me off the board. The day I was evicted from my own company, looking like a stray dog as reporters swarmed me, Declan was ostentatiously seen escorting Lila through the airport. He made sure everyone knew his attention had shifted. The passionate, intimate photos of them abroad flooded my phone. I became the laughingstock of the Tri-State Area. In those pictures, I spotted a necklace. Declan had given his first gift to me—a few thousand dollar silver chain—to her. It wasn’t expensive. But back when we were living in a leaky basement, sharing a single bagel for dinner, he had been broke. On my eighteenth birthday, he had exhausted himself working extra shifts just to buy me that gift. “Other people’s girls get gifts, and so should mine, Stella.” “Trust me, Stella. I will always love you, and I promise to give you a good life.” I called him, begging through tears, demanding he give me back the necklace. This time, he finally answered. In the receiver, he sighed, sounding mildly annoyed. “Stella, it’s just a cheap piece of junk. My new flame liked it, so I used it to placate her. You didn’t want to be pliable, so there you go.” He was doing this on purpose. He knew exactly how to inflict the deepest pain. The final wire in my brain snapped. I grabbed a utility knife and dragged the blade across my forearm. Declan had no choice but to fly home. “Stella, you have options. Why are you making such a scene?” “If you’re this miserable, let’s just separate.” I lay on the hospital bed, lost in a fog, remembering the time I was misdiagnosed with cancer. Declan had walked on his knees up three thousand steps, three steps per prayer, to beg for my life. His shins had been raw and bruised, nearly crippled. But when he found out it was a misdiagnosis, that’s when he cried. “I thought I was going to lose you. I don’t know how I’d keep going without you.” My mental state was fragile, and Declan stayed by my side for a while. But he couldn’t resist the fatal pull of youth and novelty. He started up again: influencers, minor celebrities—each new flame younger and more vibrant than the last. But the final woman photographed with him was different. Her name was Camille Foster. Average build, unremarkable features, and yes, fine lines around her eyes, perhaps even a little older than me, mid-thirties. I flung the photo onto his chest. “I thought you only liked young girls! Explain this!” He picked up the picture and gently brushed a smudge of dust from her face. “She’s different. She gives me peace.” He said Camille was gentle. She made him congee when his stomach hurt. She gave him massages when he was stressed. My head spun. I asked, incredulous: “Did I not do those things for you?!” In the past, I’d prepared his hangover remedy every morning and night. I’d spent two years learning massage techniques because he often had stress headaches. I broke down, screaming, but Declan only looked at me, cold and indifferent. “She’s a very gentle woman. Don’t use your typical methods on her, Stella. Or else…” He treated Camille differently than the others. Declan, who barely finished high school, began reading obscure philosophy books for her. The man who got sick from spicy food hired a famous Southern chef. Slowly, Declan stopped coming home entirely. I know how pathetic this sounds. I started waiting outside his known haunts, just hoping he would come home. But Declan, fearing I would hurt Camille, applied for a restraining order against me. He had me barred from coming near them. He then spent a fortune, securing an absurdly expensive diamond ring for Camille. I threw the television across the room, my heart wrapped in a tight tar knot, suffocating me with pain. He had proposed to me the moment I turned eighteen. But we were drowning in debt, living in an apartment where rats scurried across the floor in the middle of the night. I’d picked out a plain silver band—three hundred dollars—and happily let him put it on my finger. He clutched that cheap ring, his eyes red for a long time. He promised that once we were comfortable, he would buy me the best things in the world. Now he was comfortable, able to buy the finest diamonds. And he put it on another woman’s hand. What finally crushed me was the news that Declan, the man who “enjoyed freedom,” had cut off all his other women. He proposed to Camille with that diamond ring. “She’s older. She wants stability. Enjoying freedom isn’t that important anymore.” I was utterly annihilated. I breached the restraining order, running toward them. Police officers grabbed me, but I screamed hysterically at Declan. “Tell me, Declan! Why does she get to have it?!” Declan shielded Camille, glancing at me with utter contempt. “What are the cops doing? Get her out of here.” The last dregs of my pride ignited. I pulled out my utility knife and pressed it to my throat, threatening to kill myself if he didn’t come with me. Declan actually laughed. “You didn’t die last time, did you? Still using that same cheap knife?” My fragile peace shattered again. I broke free from the officers. Declan shoved me away, annoyed. “Stop making a scene. If you’re going to be dramatic, go home to do it.” I lost my footing and tumbled down the mansion’s sweeping spiral staircase. Before I even knew I was pregnant, the child was gone. Declan sat by my hospital bed, reaching for a cigarette, then stopping himself. “No one wanted to lose the baby, but you shouldn’t have been so hysterical…” I lay there, white as a sheet, unable to speak or think, a mere puppet. Declan was likely wracked with guilt and stayed by my side for a while. Until the day Camille came. I glanced at her, then blankly pulled my eyes away. Camille asked me a question. “Do you remember how you lost your first child?” I froze. A year ago, I had lost a baby. At the time, Declan’s funds were running dry, and he was working himself to the bone. I hadn’t known I was pregnant. To secure an investor for him, I’d endured the client’s cruel demands—drinking an entire bottle of ice-cold, high-proof vodka in the dead of winter. That’s how I lost the first one. Both Declan and I were orphans; we had always desperately wanted a child. Back then, Declan’s eyes were bloodshot as he apologized, swearing he’d spend the rest of his life making it up to me. Camille smiled gently. “Declan had already secured the funding. He just wanted to celebrate with a mistress at home and deliberately had his clients stall you.” My numb sanity finally snapped. Declan rushed into the room just as I slapped Camille across the face. He gripped my wrist with crushing force. “The baby’s gone, it’s gone, and frankly, the timing wasn’t right anyway. Why are you hurting other people?” I hysterically demanded if he remembered the first baby. His face darkened. “Why are you bringing up old dirt? Don’t act like a psycho. It’s exhausting for everyone.” A psycho? I started crying, a desperate, gasping, wretched sound. Declan watched me, calm as a stone. When I was finally too breathless to continue, he spoke, his voice chillingly composed. “Done crying? We have things to do, so we’re leaving now.” I was trembling, watching his back as he nearly disappeared through the doorway. I finally spoke. “I agree to the separation.” He stopped, stunned. “You’ve made your choice?” I nodded mechanically. Declan grabbed my arm, his brow furrowed. “You won’t regret this?” I jerked my hand away as if burned. “No. I won’t.” Declan stared at me, then slowly released me. “Fine. Just don’t regret it.” I checked out of the hospital and moved out with frantic speed, terrified that any delay would make me change my mind. When I was with Declan, I had nothing. Leaving him, I was empty again. He wasn’t there the day I left. I didn’t try to say goodbye. The car sped away, the massive villa shrinking in the rearview mirror. Declan, hiding behind a marble column, watched the car disappear. It was a long time before he moved. He and Camille bought a new villa and started their domestic life. But within months, the young women were back, flocking to him. Declan resisted for a while, but soon started accepting their advances again. The novelty wore off quickly. After seeing so much youth, it all felt the same. Camille started fighting with him constantly. Annoyed by her nagging, he instinctively snapped back. “Who do you think you are, Stella Hawthorne? I was going to marry her.” They both froze.

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Five years. Five years of studying abroad, only to return to the Reynold family estate and find that Brooke Ashton, the girl we’d taken in, had completely usurped my place as the Reynold heiress. It was Camilla’s birthday—my mother’s birthday—and the house was filled with guests bearing expensive gifts. Brooke spotted me instantly. First, a flicker of shock, quickly masked by a sneering smile. Then, in a voice loud enough to carry across the crowded drawing room, she launched her first attack. “Our family paid for your education, and it took you five years to finish a three-year program? I thought you were just planning to live off the Reynold money forever and never show your face.” She dramatically covered her nose, her expression morphing into one of pure disgust. “It’s Camilla’s birthday. How could you possibly show up looking so… grubby?” She waved her hand toward the housekeeper. “Mrs. Davis, please, take her luggage to the maid’s quarters. We can’t have her belongings stinking up the place for our guests.” A year ago—a lifetime ago—I would have crumbled under her manipulation, paralyzed by that familiar, poisonous blend of guilt and shame. But not now. I had been reborn. I snatched a glass of champagne from a passing tray and launched its contents directly into her face. “You’re nothing but a parasite the Reynolds took in! Who the hell do you think you are, calling yourself the heiress?!” 1 The icy spray of the champagne hit Brooke, and she froze, mid-sentence, jaw slack with shock. Mrs. Davis was the first to react, rushing forward to dab at Brooke’s face with a napkin. “Oh, Miss Brooke! You’re such a kind girl! What did you do to provoke her?” The housekeeper shot me a blaming look. “You stay away for years, and the minute you return, you cause trouble for Miss Brooke… Mrs. Reynold will be furious when she hears about this.” I looked at Mrs. Davis, and a chilling wave of clarity washed over me. In my past life, I had been unfailingly kind to her, even bringing her entire family to live and work on the estate. Yet, she had been Brooke’s loyal accomplice, helping to humiliate me at every turn. I cut her off, a cold smile playing on my lips. “Mrs. Davis, I was only gone for five years. Since when does an outsider get to be called ‘Miss Reynold’ in this house?” Mrs. Davis’s wiping hand paused. She opened her mouth, but the words caught in her throat. In my previous life, Brooke’s gaslighting had convinced me that I was the one who was defective, which was why none of the staff respected me. Brooke finally snapped out of her shock. Her eyes welled up instantly, fat, perfect tears streaming down her cheeks. “Stella! I’ve treated you like a sister since we were kids! How can you say such a thing? What did I do to deserve this?” I dropped my luggage and sat down casually, staring her down. “Don’t even try. I don’t want you as a sister.” “The Reynold family has no room for a fraud like you, Brooke.” A tall, imposing figure stepped forward immediately, placing himself between me and Brooke. It was Troy Maxwell, the sole heir to the Maxwell fortune. “Camilla has taken Brooke to every social event for years. If anyone is the interloper here, it’s you!” He glared at me, his handsome face twisted with distaste. “As long as I’m here, you will not lay a finger on Brooke.” Troy Maxwell. Four years ago, my father had mentioned an arranged engagement with the Maxwells. I hadn’t even met him then and had been lukewarm about the idea. Now, after only five years, he was fiercely devoted to Brooke. Good, I thought. I wouldn’t touch him with a ten-foot pole. Other guests chimed in, circling me with looks of open contempt. “I heard the Reynolds had an adopted daughter who was studying abroad. This must be her.” “So much education, only to come back and try to steal someone else’s life. What an ungrateful wretch!” Brooke managed a smug, triumphant look through her tears. “Stella, it seems you’ve forgotten your manners after five years away. The Reynolds are high society. Your behavior is an absolute disgrace!” Mrs. Davis quickly nodded. “Don’t upset yourself, Miss Brooke. Mrs. Reynold will be back soon. She’ll set things right.” I smiled. “Perfect. I’ll wait right here.” But Brooke couldn’t wait. She lunged at me, long, sharp nails extended, trying to pull me to my feet. I recoiled in disgust and pushed her away, but she held on, scratching deep into my arm. A sharp, searing pain. I looked down. Blood was welling up from the scratch. My fury, the suppressed rage of my entire last life, ignited. With a loud SMACK, I swung my hand across her face. “Ah!” Brooke shrieked, stumbling backward. She clutched her cheek, her eyes wide with disbelief. “You’re just a ward of this family! How dare you hit me!” The guests scrambled to steady her, and Troy wrapped his arms tightly around her, his face a mask of furious protectiveness. He pointed a finger at me. “You ungrateful wretch! Camilla should never have wasted her charity on you!” I calmly adjusted my jacket, then pointed to my own face, addressing the crowd. “Don’t you notice the resemblance? Doesn’t anyone see how much I look like Mrs. Reynold?” I paused. “I’ll tell you something. I am the true Reynold daughter. If any of you cross me, don’t expect the Reynold family to continue any business partnerships with you.” Brooke gave a short, hard laugh, pushing away the people supporting her. “Look-alike? That’s a joke! My mother and I are cut from the same cloth! These people aren’t blind, Stella!” I nodded slowly. “You’d better remember saying that.” Just then, Mr. Harrison, a long-time associate of the Reynold family, emerged from the crowd. He scrutinized me, his eyes widening slightly. “Wait… you do look remarkably like Camilla’s predecessor, Mrs. Reynold… Is there some kind of misunderstanding?” “Misunderstanding?” As the guests muttered among themselves, a sharp clatter of heels echoed from behind. “I’d like to see who is bullying my Brooke!” 2 Heads turned toward the sound. A perfectly composed, impeccably dressed woman glided into the room. It was Camilla Stone—the current Mrs. Reynold. Camilla was a nationally recognized news anchor, famous for her heroic, on-the-scene reporting of a major disaster years ago. The station that had broadcast her to fame? My father’s. The moment she saw me, Camilla pulled Brooke close, stroking her hair as she spoke to me with a sugary venom. “So, you finally decided to drag yourself back? I truly thought you’d use the Reynold’s money to live out your days and never bother us again.” She gave a possessive squeeze to Brooke. “It just goes to show you the difference between a natural child and… well, not. Brooke already bought me a global limited edition diamond necklace for my birthday. Unlike you, all you’ve given me is a headache.” She was openly calling me the adopted child, the lesser child. Brooke leaned into her, the picture of tearful martyrdom, and choked out, “Mom, it’s okay. Maybe Stella just forgot your birthday. And she’s always felt a little inferior to me, so I understand why she’d lash out.” The surrounding guests started buzzing, accusing me of bad manners and ingratitude. One woman spoke up, addressing Camilla. “Mrs. Reynold, she’s back from college. You have no obligation to keep supporting her. Why don’t you just kick her out?” “Exactly! You didn’t see how she hit Brooke a minute ago!” Only Mr. Harrison remained thoughtful, his brow furrowed. He took a deep breath. “This is too big for an impromptu decision. Maybe we should wait for Mr. Reynold to return to deal with it.” “I hear he’ll be back next month.” Five years ago, my father had a critical overseas project. I had always been close to him and distant from Camilla, so he took me with him to make sure I wasn’t uncomfortable at home, which turned into my five-year education abroad. In my past life, I hadn’t waited for him; Camilla and Brooke had driven me to suicide before he ever came home. Brooke had then seamlessly taken my place as the Reynold’s only daughter. Camilla’s face hardened at Mr. Harrison’s suggestion. “What are you implying? That I’m wrong to be angry?” Her voice rose to a shrill pitch. “She may be my ward, but I raised her! I know exactly what kind of person she is! She’s been tormenting Brooke for years!” Mrs. Davis immediately jumped to her defense, her expression one of agonizing sincerity. “Mrs. Reynold is right! Miss Brooke is too sweet for her own good. She never spoke up when Miss Stella bullied her before. She only spoke sharply today because she cares so much about the birthday party. Usually, she’s a perfect angel.” Watching their synchronized, nauseating performance, I felt a knot of cold resolve tighten in my chest. This time, Camilla and Brooke would not get the chance to destroy me. I looked directly at Camilla and enunciated every word clearly. “Camilla. This time, when I walk back in, it’s not just Brooke who’s getting tossed out.” “You are too.” “You!” Camilla trembled with fury. She raised her hand and slapped me hard across the face. As if one wasn’t enough, she struck me several more times in quick succession. “Stella Reynold!” “I took you in and raised you for twenty years! You won’t even call me Mom, and you think you can kick me and Brooke out?! In your dreams!” My head snapped sideways with the force of the blows. My face was stinging, and I tasted the metallic tang of blood from a cut on my lip. Brooke, delighted by the sight, raised her chin proudly. She clutched Troy’s arm. “Troy and I are getting engaged next week. I expect you to keep today’s little outburst quiet so you don’t affect both our families’ stock prices.” 3 “Engaged? Ha!” Brooke had always snatched everything I had. It was clear that from the moment the Reynold-Maxwell engagement was first rumored four years ago, she had been throwing herself at Troy. And now, she thought she’d won this ridiculous competition? But the new me saw things clearly. Their engagement was a safety net. If my father returned to find Brooke established as the future Mrs. Maxwell, he would likely be forced, for the sake of the business alliance, to grant her a formal position and forgive her past transgressions. Seeing me frozen in place, Brooke assumed I was scared. She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a low, condescending whisper, a tone of false mercy. “Kneel down, apologize to me now, and I might consider letting bygones be bygones.” I couldn’t take any more. I wiped the blood from my mouth and shoved her away from me. “Apologize? Are you insane?! Apologize to a fraud?!” “Trust me, Brooke. You’ll be the one begging for forgiveness soon enough.” Troy, quick as a viper, caught Brooke as she staggered backward. He gently stroked her cheek, then turned back to me, his brow furrowed in annoyance and his voice dripping with condescension. “Did you have no parental guidance growing up? How dare you act like this in someone else’s home!” “I’ve heard the rumors that the Reynold’s ward constantly covets Brooke’s things. But I’m warning you: she is my fiancée now. That is something you, the parasite, will never achieve!” The sheer arrogance of the man. He saw I hadn’t moved and turned to Camilla with a serious expression. “Camilla, call security now. Get her out of here before she can cause any more damage.” Camilla’s face was dark. She immediately pulled out her phone and sent a voice message to the guards. “Get in here immediately and throw Stella Reynold out!” I couldn’t believe her audacity. In the five years my father and I were gone, she had clearly grown bold. Did she truly believe her fame as a news anchor made her untouchable, even by the Reynold family? Before I could process the thought, several heavy-set security guards approached me, their faces grim. Camilla spoke coldly. “Get her out. I don’t want to see her in this house tonight!” The other guests clapped and cheered. “Good! That ungrateful wretch needs to be put in her place!” “That’s the fierce spirit of the famous anchor, Camilla Stone! So decisive!” Mr. Harrison tried to push through the crowd to help me, but he couldn’t get through the wall of bodies. The guards grabbed my arms without a word, pulling me roughly toward the door. The grip was agonizing. “My father is coming back tonight! How dare you lay a hand on me! Let go!” I roared. Brooke’s face flickered with a brief look of panic. She immediately turned to a similarly startled Camilla. “Mom, what did she say? Dad… is he back?” Camilla glanced at her phone, then let out a scoff. “She’s a wild child. She’s been a liar since she was little.” She paused, then added viciously, “Even if he is, so what? Do you think he’d let you hurt Brooke? She’s the future Mrs. Maxwell. You will never measure up to her!” Encouraged, the guards grew more forceful. One yanked my hair, roughly dragging me toward the exit. “Just go already!” Camilla smiled, her eyes filled with scorn. “You’ll never be good enough to stand beside my Brooke.” Suddenly, a voice, deep and filled with cold, absolute authority, ripped through the commotion from the doorway. “Take your filthy hands off her!” It was my father. Victor Reynold. 4 Seeing my father, I instantly felt my eyes well up. In the past life, he died without ever knowing the truth, never even seeing me one last time. The very first thing I had done, the moment I was reborn, was to ensure he rushed back today. When Camilla saw Victor, the color drained from her face. Her eyes darted around, and she stuttered, “V-Victor… you’re back?” She turned to the bewildered guests. “Well, the party is about over. Everyone… please disperse. I’ll… I’ll host you properly another time.” My father stared her down, his voice low and dangerous. “Why the rush? What are you so afraid of?”

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The officiant—Brock, Garrett’s supposed “best man”—kept intentionally botching my name with every line. He was using the little pet name Garrett had for his college sweetheart. “My bad, man,” Brock slurred into the microphone, not looking sorry at all. “Your last act was just too memorable. I seriously thought today was going to be her walking down the aisle with you… But hey, the new Mrs. is great too, I guess.” Garrett didn’t even look annoyed. Instead, a wave of sickening nostalgia washed over his face. I lifted the edge of my six-figure veil and smiled, a cold, hard thing. “Don’t worry,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “The Mrs. will make sure you get an unforgettable gift—an exclusive feature on the front page of the city paper’s ‘Worst Wedding Nightmares’ section.” 1. The spotlights were uncomfortably hot on my face. I stood at the center of The St. Regis Ballroom, holding a bouquet of rare, six-figure Ecuadorian roses and wearing a custom haute couture gown that took eight hundred atelier hours to stitch. Brock, Garrett’s so-called ‘iron brother,’ was red-faced and yelling into the mic—drunk or just thrilled by his own audacity. He leaned in conspiratorially toward Garrett, his voice booming through the top-tier sound system into the ears of every single guest. “Garrett, do you take Sloane Maxwell to be your lawfully wedded wife? For richer or poorer, in sickness and in health…” The air congealed in that instant. He hadn’t said Jocelyn. He had said Sloane. My practiced, polite smile faltered. The background hum of chatter cut off as if a giant pair of scissors had snipped the sound, only to be immediately replaced by the roaring tide of speculation. I knew this wasn’t a slip of the tongue. I turned my head to look at Garrett. If he frowned right now, if he grabbed the mic and offered even the slightest correction, I could dismiss this as an incredibly crude joke—one I’d make Brock pay dearly for later. But Garrett did nothing of the sort. Instead of correcting the man, he looked utterly spellbound by the name. His gaze drifted past me, past the cascading champagne tower, and zeroed in on the sixth table near the back. That’s where his college friends were seated. Garrett’s lips curved into a soft, uncontrollable smile, and his eyes held a tenderness and a hint of regret I had never once seen directed at me. It was as if that other name was the key that unlocked his true soul, and I was merely a prop standing by to foot the bill. “The name is wrong.” I took the microphone from Brock’s hand. My voice was icy. I needed to salvage my dignity, no matter how much I was internally bleeding. 2. Brock jumped back as if scalded, hitting his thigh with a loud, theatrical “Whoops!” “My bad, my bad! Tongue-tied, folks!” Brock waved his hands toward the crowd, a greasy, unrepentant grin plastered on his face. “Mrs., you know how it is. Garrett and Jocelyn were the campus Golden Couple back in the day. We’re all just used to it.” He turned back to me, his tone shifting from joking to something truly vicious. “Listen, Mrs., don’t be too sensitive. Yeah, you might not have the same spark as her, but you’re the main event now, you’re the real deal. You have to be the bigger person. Don’t make the rest of us laugh.” A burst of drunken laughter erupted from Garrett’s fraternity brothers. My knuckles were white against the cold metal of the microphone. This was Garrett’s friend, celebrating a wedding I paid for. He was eating nine-hundred-dollar-a-plate food and publicly humiliating me by saying I was less than Garrett’s perfect, tragic first love. 3. “Brock, enough.” Garrett finally spoke. But his tone held no reprimand, only a kind of weary, almost affectionate indulgence, like a father scolding a mischievous child. “Alright, alright, no more messin’ around,” Brock snapped his fingers and yelled toward the back. “Cue the video! Time to look at the groom’s beautiful youth!” By the official schedule, this was when the romantic documentary of my and Garrett’s engagement trip to Paris and Tuscany should have played. I had hired a professional team and spent two weeks on the shoot and edit. The massive LED screen flickered. The image that appeared wasn’t the Eiffel Tower or a Venetian gondola. It was a series of grainy, decade-old photos. They were all of Garrett and a girl: holding hands on a quad, sharing a booth in a cafeteria, sleeping side-by-side in the library. The majestic strains of the classical wedding march were abruptly replaced by some sad, overplayed indie folk song. Across the screen, four large words flashed: A REQUIEM FOR LOST YOUTH. The entire ballroom erupted in a collective gasp. I stood beneath the giant screen, the last photo showing Garrett in a college sweatshirt, pinning the girl against a tree and kissing her passionately. The girl, with her delicate profile and innocent eyes, was Jocelyn. In that instant, this million-dollar wedding transformed into a grotesque farce. 4. I looked at Garrett. His eyes were red. He was gazing up at the screen, his Adam’s apple bobbing, completely lost in a haze of self-pitying tragedy. “Garrett,” I called out. He didn’t hear me. He was looking out at the crowd. I followed his gaze. At the sixth table, a woman was standing up. She wore a pure-white, delicate lace dress, a style that was disturbingly similar to my own gown. Wearing a dress that looked like a wedding dress to someone else’s ceremony is the ultimate, universally understood act of provocation. But now, she covered her mouth, her eyes brimming with tears, the perfect picture of an innocent woman both deeply wounded and overwhelmed with emotion. It was Jocelyn. “That is enough!” A roar came from the main table. My father, shaking with rage, slammed his wine glass onto the floor. The shattering of crystal was shocking and loud. My mother went pale, clinging to the table edge to keep from falling. Their daughter, whom they had cherished, was being trod upon like trash on her most important day. “Family, please, settle down!” Garrett’s parents immediately rushed forward, grabbing my father’s arms. Garrett’s father forced a smile, but his words were chilling. “It’s just the kids’ idea of a joke! Kids these days are always stirring things up for a little fun! If us parents get angry now, we’ll just embarrass the kids. Don’t make a spectacle for the rest of the guests!” An idea? Broadcasting photos of the groom making out with his ex-girlfriend at his current wife’s wedding—that was an idea? My father struggled to get to the stage, but Garrett’s beefy relatives held him in a death grip. 5. Brock, seeing the chaos, became even more energized. He loved having control of the room. He bellowed into the microphone: “Looks like everyone is moved! Our youth may be gone, but the friendship is still here. Since the two main characters are in the room, I propose—” He deliberately stretched out the silence, his eyes darting between Jocelyn and me, before landing on Garrett. “Why don’t we have Jocelyn come up? The three of you can share a toast to closure. It’ll symbolize the turning of a page, and you can all still be great friends! What do you say?” “Yeah!” “Get up here!” “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” The crowd of his friends began to chant, punctuated by wolf whistles. I stared at Brock in disbelief, then back at Garrett. This wasn’t just an insult; it was peeling the skin off my face and stomping on it. “Garrett, I dare you.” I stared into his eyes, the words squeezed out through my teeth. Garrett finally looked at me. His eyes held no guilt, only a flicker of deep irritation. “Sloane, stop being so dramatic, okay?” He lowered his voice so only I could hear. “Brock is just trying to lighten the mood. Look, Jocelyn is crying. She’s a girl, she’s embarrassed in front of everyone. I’ll just go get her, we’ll take a quick sip, and we move on. Be the bigger person.” The bigger person? I’m supposed to be the bigger person as my fiancé, at the wedding I paid seven figures for, goes to hold his ex-girlfriend’s hand? Before I could speak, Garrett had already turned his back on me. He walked away, leaving me alone on the stage, taking step after step toward the woman in the white dress. 6. The crowd’s roar of approval reached a crescendo. Garrett reached Jocelyn and offered his hand with a gesture he clearly thought was chivalrous. Jocelyn shook her head, her face a mask of sorrowful beauty, but her body was already leaning into him. Garrett, half-reluctant and half-eager, took her hand and led her up the crimson aisle like a knight escorting his princess. At the other end of that aisle, there was me. I stood there like an expensive, superfluous backdrop, utterly alone on the stage. Brock leaned in beside me, flipping the mic switch off. He whispered, his voice cold and oily: “Sloane, don’t think your money makes you special. Some women are just blessed—they do nothing and get a man’s heart. You? You bought the ring, the house, the car. And what did you get? Real love isn’t on a price tag.” 7. Garrett and Jocelyn arrived at the center of the stage. Standing side-by-side, her white lace dress and his white tuxedo complemented each other perfectly, as if they were the true, intended stars of the day. I, in my heavy, crimson reception dress, felt like an outsider who had wandered onto the wrong set, a garish backdrop to their perfect, beautiful moment. Brock, smiling ingratiatingly, held the mic out to Jocelyn. She took it, tears streaming down her face, looked at me with a pitiful glance, and then gazed lovingly at Garrett. “Honestly, I shouldn’t have come today… I never wanted anything, just for Garrett to be happy. As long as the Mrs. can make room for that little piece of my heart he keeps for me, I’m content.” The room sighed in collective sympathy, seemingly touched by this ‘great love.’ I watched the scene and, overwhelmed by anger, I finally laughed. In that moment, the last sliver of hope I had for Garrett crumbled, replaced by a clarity colder than any ice. I took a few sharp steps forward and snatched the mic right out of Brock’s hand. He was so stunned, the emptiness in his hand seemed to shock him physically. “Sound technician, cut the music.” My voice, amplified by the mic, was terrifyingly calm, without a single tremor. 8. The sad indie folk song stopped dead. “Lighting director, put all the spot-lights on the three of us.” The blinding, harsh light pierced the dark. Garrett and Jocelyn instinctively raised their hands to shield their eyes, looking suddenly panicked and disheveled. I didn’t cry, I didn’t yell. I simply pulled my phone from my clutch and connected it to the projector. The massive screen behind me flickered. The disgusting “Requiem for Lost Youth” disappeared, replaced by a dense, intimidating Excel spreadsheet. “Since we have everyone here, let’s settle some accounts.”

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