Author: Momo Chan

I was just scrolling, ready to call it a night, when I saw the post from the campus queen bee: [I’m three months into an online relationship and meeting him next week. What do I do if he’s a 300-pound absolute unit?] The top-rated comment was viciously brilliant: [Gift the account and the guy to someone you hate. Let those two hot messes internally combust.] The queen bee was thrilled with the idea and went through with it. I shook my head, silently thanking my lucky stars that my girlfriend wasn’t like that. Not long after, I was on a sweet date with my girl when the queen bee tracked me down, pointing at my girlfriend and screeching: “You bitch! I was supposed to be Silas Archer’s girlfriend! Hand him and that account back right now!” 1 I was about to crash, but the post grabbed my attention instantly. I recognized the poster: Madison Hale, the reigning queen bee of the whole university. Seriously, she was dating someone online? Madison was currently melting down in the comments: [I swear to God, he told me he was six-foot-one and looked like a Greek statue. I bought it for three solid months!] [But I forgot to ask about his weight!] [I had a delivery guy scope him out today. He said a giant stepped out—a mountain of a man with a belly bigger than his chest, like a walking water heater. I want to die right here just thinking about calling a water heater “Baby” for three months!] The replies were a joke-filled disaster zone: [When the destiny drama hits hard and you’re a total looks queen.] [A guy gets hot for someone online and a photo drop brings him back to reality.] Madison was clearly losing it: [This isn’t about being messed with anymore! I’m supposed to meet this guy next week. I want to run over every single Orc on the planet!] Huh. Funny coincidence. My girlfriend and I were also set to meet next week. I flipped to our chat. The last message was from earlier in the evening. X: [Headed to the lab tonight. Don’t wait up for me.] It was nearly ten now. I shot her a quick message: Me: [Baby still swamped?] Me: [Seriously, I just saw this post that is so messed up!] 2 She must have been busy; no reply came for a while. I knew she couldn’t carry her phone around in the lab, so I wasn’t worried. I went back to the thread. In the meantime, Madison had added several more updates, each more brutal than the last: [Ugh, the Orc never quits. He just messaged me again.] [Just seeing his avatar makes me nauseous, let alone chatting with him.] [I need to go throw up.] The thread was mostly people gloating, though a few defended the guy. Madison shot them down without mercy: [Oh, you’re so noble? You talk to the Sasquatch then.] [He looks like that and has the nerve to date online? Has he apologized to me? I’m being nice just by not ripping him a new one!] More suggestions were pouring in. I skimmed through them, losing interest, and switched back to the chat. Still nothing. What was going on? She’d never gone this long without replying. Was she pulling an all-nighter in the lab? I couldn’t stay up. I sent her a quick goodnight, turned my phone off, and passed out. First thing the next morning, I checked my messages. Still radio silence. What the hell? But Madison’s thread had new updates. I frowned at the top comment: [This is super easy to solve. Poster, you can give the account and the boyfriend to someone you hate, let those two hot messes internally combust!] Seriously? That was dark. A lot of replies agreed the idea was shady, but Madison loved it: [Brilliant, sis! I’m so over my cousin, the drama queen. Done!] 3 Madison had a cousin? Never heard of her. Whatever. That was their drama. My main problem was why my girlfriend hadn’t messaged back. I scrolled through our chat history again. Nothing bad. She’d sent me a sushi delivery and proactively told me she was heading to the lab. So why no message? Just as I was considering calling, my phone buzzed. Her: [Good morning, Baby.] I immediately relaxed. Me: [Why’d you ghost me all night?] Her: [So sorry, Baby. Lab got a little intense.] Okay. Just the lab being the lab. I was completely relieved. Me: [Fine. I’ll let it slide, barely.] Her: [Don’t let me off the hook so easily. You can throw a fit if you want, Baby.] I actually blushed a little at the repeated use of “Baby.” Me: [What’s with the sugar rush today?] Her: [Missed you.] I felt my cheeks warm. Me: [We talk every day. You still miss me?] A few seconds of silence before she replied: Her: [So much.] Her: [I can’t wait to see you, Baby.] 4 She was on fire today! A flicker of strangeness crossed my mind, but my heart was racing. I quickly switched apps to scroll and calm down. We’d been dating online for almost four months. She was usually the cool, pulled-together one. She used terms of endearment, but rarely this mushy. Something was off. Seriously off. Was she hiding something? Had she done something bad? The previous night’s thread flashed in my mind. The warmth I’d just felt evaporated, replaced by a cold knot of suspicion. I sent a serious message: Me: [You’re acting weird. Spill. What did you do?] The chat went silent for a moment. Then, a voice message came through: “Busted, huh, Baby? I bought you a coke. Looks like I’m derailing your diet plan today.” I felt a rush of satisfaction listening to it. She’d sent me voice messages before, but they were always a sort of overly sweet, affected “girly” voice. This one, though, was clearer, warmer, and totally melodic. I saved the clip and sent a voice message back: “You are so strange today. Your vibe is strange, your words are strange, and your voice is strange.” She replied quickly: “And this ‘strange’—do you hate it?” Of course not! I’m a total sucker for softness. I cleared my throat and held the record button: “I don’t hate it. Keep it up.” She laughed instantly: “Okay, Baby. Come downstairs and grab your tea.” 5 coke first thing in the morning—pure sin! I mentally chastised myself while sprinting out of bed to brush my teeth. “Silas, you’re up early today,” my roommate, Nolan, said, sounding amazed. I grinned. “My girlfriend sent me a coke. Need me to grab anything for you?” Nolan waved me off. “I’ll go get my own.” I frowned. “You grabbed mine yesterday. It’s my turn.” Nolan was already standing up. “Let’s just go together. I use the stairs as part of my workout.” He was dealing with some health issues and medication that caused weight gain, and he was always quietly trying to lose weight. Since he insisted, we went down together. Deliveries were on shelves near the dorm entrance. It was early, so few people were there. I quickly found the drinks—four of them—with a clear note: [One for my Fawn Baby, three to treat The Fawn’s roommates.] I stared at the note for two seconds and laughed, showing it to Nolan. “My girlfriend’s treating everyone.” Nolan took the bag and whooped. “Thanks, Archer and his lady! Is this an anniversary? Did we just hit the jackpot?” I was surprised, too. She rarely sent me food, and never to share. Did her all-nighter in the lab result in some breakthrough? Was she just ecstatic? I was about to text her when someone called my name up ahead: “Silas?” I looked up, stunned. “Madison.” It was Madison Hale. She walked over, her gaze drifting casually to Nolan beside me. A faint look of disgust crossed her face. Then she glanced at the coke in his hand, and I saw a flash of— Schadenfreude? 6 I hated her look. I cut her off. “Something I can help you with, Madison?” Madison snapped back to attention and cleared her throat. “My club is having a big retreat next weekend. It’s actually really cool. Want to come?” I frowned slightly. Didn’t Madison have a boyfriend? Why was she inviting me? Wait. I paused, remembering the post and the comment. Madison had handed the account to her cousin, the one she hated. So, she was… single? A cruelly single person. I rejected her immediately. “Sorry, Madison, I can’t. I’m meeting my girlfriend next weekend.” Madison’s face froze. “You have a girlfriend??” I held my patience. “Yes. We’ve been dating for a while now.” Ignoring her deep frown, I pulled Nolan along and walked away. “Archer, you don’t seem to like Madison much.” Nolan nudged me. “Didn’t she low-key try to flirt with you last semester? Posted those cryptic messages on the confessional wall?” Sending a few vague messages counted as flirting? Plus, she had an online boyfriend while hitting on people in real life. Her character was definitely lacking. Back in the dorm, I took a picture of the coke and sent it to her. Me: [Thanks for the treat, Wife!] She replied almost instantly, focusing on a peculiar detail: Her: [Wife?] I smiled and held the voice key: “My bad. Thanks for the treat, Girlfriend.” Her: [Say it again.] I indulged her. “Giiiiirlfriend.” Silence for a few seconds. Then, a shower of Venmo notifications hit. I watched a string of transfers—$500, $1000, $999. I was shocked. Me: [Are you insane? Why so much money?] To be clear, in all the months we’d talked, she’d only sent me money once for my birthday—a $5 and a $20, the most awkward $25 ever. Her: [So happy. My Baby needs to be happy with me.] I couldn’t help but laugh. I was about to reply when another message popped up: Her: [Baby, I want to come see you sooner. Can I?] 7 My heart leaped, and the corners of my mouth curled up. Me: [Sooner as in?] She sent a screenshot of a train ticket: departure this Saturday, destination my city. I noticed the booking time: 6:03 AM today. She’d bought the ticket the second the booking window opened. My heart felt warm and fuzzy, but also a little nervous. I looked again at the passenger name: Jocelyn Reid. A beautiful name. Seeing I hadn’t replied, she started to worry: Her: [Baby?] Her: [Was that too sudden?] Her: [Let’s stick to next week then, okay? Don’t be mad…] Mad? How could I be mad? I quickly typed: Me: [Not mad. Just surprised.] Me: [Come! I’ll pick you up at the station! (p≧w≦q)] Jocelyn immediately relaxed and copied my emoticon: Her: [Yay! (^o^)/~] She was such a dork. I scoffed good-naturedly, but I was smiling. I thought for a moment and asked: Me: [Should we swap photos first? Just so we don’t miss each other.] Jocelyn and I met through a game. We’d only added each other’s secondary accounts; neither of us had photos posted. Jocelyn didn’t reply. Minutes ticked by. I started to worry. Was she going to be—unconventionally attractive? After a moment of panic, I sent another message: Me: [At least tell me your height? To narrow down the search?] Still nothing from Jocelyn. I was beginning to understand Madison’s frustration! Just as I was about to give up and make a video call, my phone vibrated. Jocelyn had finally replied. 8 A straightforward selfie. White shirt, long dark hair, a look that was both pure and sultry, and a tiny beauty mark near the corner of her eye. I stared at the face for one stunned second, then slammed my phone face down. Holy hell, she was gorgeous!!! How did I, of all people, end up with her? My phone buzzed again: Her: [Baby, I’m not really pretty… My roommates say I look cold QAQ] Her: [Baby, I promise I’m not cold.] Her: [Baby, you can boss me around.] Where was my oxygen tank?! Where was my oxygen tank?! I let out a groan of disbelief before forcing myself to calm down, replying with forced nonchalance: Me: [Not cold. Very beautiful.] Then a new wave of anxiety hit. She looked like that. What did I look like next to her? As if she knew my thoughts, Jocelyn sent a comforting message: Her: [Baby just knowing what I look like is enough. I’ll love whatever you look like.] That made me sound even more shallow. I wanted to defend myself, but Jocelyn shifted the topic: Her: [Baby, I have my final exam for this class now. Gotta go.] I sent back an ‘OK.’ Looking at the little cat-kiss emoji she sent last, I sighed deeply. I deserved the best, sure, but landing this best made me seriously nervous! After some thought, since I had a light class schedule, I dragged Nolan to the mall. New clothes, haircut, styling… When I was finally done, Nolan squinted at me. “Is the Mr. World competition happening on campus soon?” I laughed. “No, I’m just about to meet my girlfriend!” Nolan shook his head. “Man, you should just wear gym shorts and show her your profile from the balcony.” We were joking around when I accidentally bumped into a passerby. I apologized immediately. “Sorry about that… Madison? You’re shopping, too?” Behind me, Madison Hale had the weirdest expression. She looked me up and down, her brows knitting together. “Silas, are you online dating?” “Are you and your girlfriend… meeting, too?” 9 What the hell? She was eavesdropping and connecting it to herself? My girlfriend was nothing like her! I gave her a quick, vague answer and hurried away with Nolan. Back at the dorm that night, Jocelyn was in an evening class, which she’d warned me about. Bored, I lay on my bed scrolling the university forum. Madison’s post was even hotter, with everyone curious about the outcome. [Poster, what’s the situation?] [You gave the account away, why the silence?] [Did the cousin get busted? Do you need a GoFundMe for her hospital bills?] Madison’s reply was smug: [My cousin is such a thirsty idiot. I told her he was a six-foot-one hottie, and she just nodded along.] [They’ve been talking so much. Calling each other ‘Baby’ constantly. I heard they’re actually going to meet up!] [Damn, my professor just called. I can’t witness the carnage, but it makes me feel so good, hahahaha!] I cringed at her continuous use of the word “Orc.” I’d been a chubby kid growing up, and my grandmother indulged me, making me anything I wanted. In elementary and middle school, I hadn’t thought much of it. It wasn’t until high school that I faced some isolation and bullying because of my size. That’s when I realized that in the teen world, fat guys are definitely not popular. I started desperately trying to lose weight. Though I did slim down, I was still sensitive to those kinds of insults. Disgusted, I was about to close the thread when the page updated. Madison had posted a new comment, but this time, it wasn’t smugness—it was confusion: [I ran into my crush tonight. He’s also online dating and about to meet his girlfriend. What are the odds?] The comments section was full of people laughing: [My dog just took a giant dump. Want to taste-test it?] [Who cares who he dates? Mind your own business!] [Did the Orc crash into your head? You seriously think your crush is your online date?] I narrowed my eyes and coldly logged off the forum. Saturday arrived quickly. I woke up early, got ready, and headed straight to the train station. When Jocelyn booked the ticket, I saw her departure point was just a few hours away within the state. I reached the station just after nine. I clutched the bouquet in one hand and my phone in the other, my heart pounding as I constantly checked the clock. 9:20 AM. Another crowd poured out of the arrival gate. A girl in a white coat instantly caught my eye. She was tall and slender, wearing a white baseball cap pulled low, hiding half her face. But her presence screamed “stunning.” I instinctively took a few steps forward, and our eyes met. She visibly froze. Oh no. Did I get the wrong person, or was she already disappointed? Just as I panicked, a hand clapped my shoulder. That annoying voice came from behind me: “Silas! What a coincidence. Are you here to pick someone up, too?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “390127”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The day of the fire, they carried Lila, who only had a few superficial scrapes, down the stairs. They left me for dead, pinned beneath a burning rafter in the collapsing ruin. It was a miracle the firemen dug me out. I woke up three days later in the ICU. The day I was discharged, I had nowhere to go but back home. The moment I stepped through the front door, I saw my parents, Robert and Penelope Winters, and my sister, Delilah, gathered around a lavish, buttercream cake—a “Survival Celebration.” My mother, Penny, saw me, immediately shifted her body to shield the cake, and said, “Your sister is still shaken up. Don’t you dare cause a scene or ask for a piece.” Normally, I would have combusted. I would have screamed, thrown something, demanded to know why they hadn’t even checked the hospital’s discharge time. But this time, I just pulled the ghost of a smile across my face. I walked over and spoke in a tone of meek obedience they had never heard from me. “Mom, you worry too much,” I said. “I would never fight Lila for a piece. I’m just happy she’s safe.” I even picked up the silver cake knife myself, cut the largest slice, and offered it to Delilah with both hands. “Here, Sis. Eat this. You need to calm your nerves.” They all froze. My father, Rob, slowly lifted his head, his face a mask of suspicion. “You… you’re really not going to make a scene?” I nodded gently. “No. I won’t make a scene. From now on, I’ll do whatever you ask.” 1 Mom took the knife, her hand trembling. She stared at me for a long time, her eyes wide with a strange kind of panic. “Did the fire… did it fry your brain?” I shook my head, my smile a rigid, unsettling arc. “No. The doctors said my recovery was excellent.” My sister, Delilah, took a bite of the cake, then peered at me over the frosting. “Cassidy, you’re… you’re really not angry?” “Not at all.” My smile grew even softer, and I let my gaze linger on the faint scrape across her cheek. “I was so scared when I saw the blood on your face. I’m just relieved you’re okay.” The “blood” had been a tiny scrape she got from tripping on the lawn. I, on the other hand, had nearly been reduced to ash. At my words, Lila’s eyes immediately welled up. She dropped the fork and launched herself across the counter, throwing her arms around me. “Oh, Cassie, I’m so sorry! It was all my fault, I was just so scared…” Her warm, sweet-smelling body pressed against me, and I felt a chill of absolute revulsion. I lifted a hand and gave her a light, measured pat on the back. “It’s okay, Sis. Really.” My father stood nearby, his brows furrowed. He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. He finally settled on a strained, “Just… good to have you home. Go up and rest.” I nodded, turning toward the stairs. I had only taken two steps when he called out. “Cassidy, wait.” I turned back. He shuffled his feet, his gaze darting away, unable to meet my eyes. “Your sister is having nightmares since the trauma. Your south-facing room… it gets the most sun. Could you let her use it? We fixed up the utility closet for you. It’s small, but… you won’t die in there.” You won’t die in there. What a perfect phrase. Before, I would have thrown a fit. I would have cried and demanded to know why. Now, I simply nodded again, my voice flat, without a single ripple of emotion. “Of course. I’ll go pack up my things right now.” My father froze. My mother froze. Even Delilah’s tear-filled eyes widened in disbelief. I ignored their reactions and walked upstairs. My old room was exactly as I had left it in high school: concert posters on the walls, and a desk covered in academic awards—every single one brighter, more numerous, than Lila’s. In this house, they were worthless. I folded my clothes, piece by piece, and packed them into a single suitcase. Lila followed me, standing silently in the doorway. I turned to her. “Come in, Sis. Sit down. This is your room now.” She bit her lip. “Cassidy… do you… do you hate me?” “No.” I tucked the last shirt into the case. “You’re fragile. You deserve the best room.” Lila’s tears fell. “But…” “No buts.” I dragged the suitcase out, past her. As I brushed by, I could smell the cloying, sweet vanilla buttercream of the cake on her sweater, a scent that already felt alien to me. “I’m heading to the utility closet. Get some rest.” As I hauled the suitcase downstairs, I heard my parents’ low, worried whispers from the living room. “She’s really changed,” Mom’s voice was laced with a strange, sick awe. “Good,” Dad’s was tinged with relief. “That fire in her, that constant arguing—it was exhausting.” “But… I don’t know. There’s something wrong. I feel… cold when she looks at me.” I didn’t stop. I dragged the suitcase straight into the utility closet. It was smaller and grimmer than I’d imagined. Mold stained the corner walls, the window was the size of a paperback book, and the ancient cot creaked with every shift of weight. The air was a stale mix of dust and rot. I sat on the cot and stared at the spiderwebs stretching across the low ceiling. My phone rang. It was my grandmother, Patsy. “Cassidy, I heard you were discharged? Why aren’t you here with me?” My throat tightened, but the tears wouldn’t come—they seemed to have been incinerated on the day of the fire. “Grandma, I’m fine at home.” “Fine my ass! I heard everything!” Patsy’s voice instantly rose, furious. “You wait right there, I’m coming over now! I’m going to tear them limb from limb!” The line went dead. I lay back and quietly listened to the fine, tight aches radiating from my injuries. The doctor said I needed at least three months of physical recovery. But I knew I couldn’t wait three months. Bang! Bang! Bang! The front door suddenly rattled under a furious, drumming assault, followed by Grandma Patsy’s strong, angry voice echoing through the entire house. “Robert Winters! Open this door! What did you do to my granddaughter?!” 2 Grandma Patsy arrived with the speed of a cyclone. She marched in, carrying a thermal food container, and launched immediately into an attack. “What in God’s name kind of parents are you? Your daughter just got out of the hospital and you put her in a storage closet?! Are your hearts made of granite!” Mom gave a nervous, forced smile. “Mom, please don’t be angry. Cassidy volunteered for it.” “Volunteered my foot!” Grandma shoved past her and charged straight into the utility closet. When she saw me on the cot, her eyes immediately filled. “My sweet girl, why are you being such a fool?” I sat up. “Grandma, I’m okay.” She placed the thermal container by my head and pulled a thick wad of crumpled bills from her pocket. “This is my emergency savings. You take it. Don’t you dare stay here and let them make you suffer.” I looked at the wrinkled cash, feeling a sharp twist of pain in my chest. This was all she had in the world, and she wanted to give it to me. But I gently pushed the money back. “Grandma, I really am fine. Dad, Mom, and Lila are fine, too. You shouldn’t worry.” Patsy’s hand froze in mid-air. She stared at me as if she were seeing a stranger. “Cassidy, you…” “I really am okay.” I offered a small, unsettling smile. “You’re getting older. You need to keep that money for yourself.” Grandma Patsy’s tears flowed harder. She reached out a trembling hand to touch my cheek, and I instinctively flinched away. The small, involuntary movement utterly broke her. She whirled around and stormed back into the living room, screaming at my parents. “What have you done to my girl? She won’t even let me touch her! You’ve turned my good, fiery granddaughter into this… this ghost!” Mom whispered, “Mom, Cassidy is just growing up. She’s being mature…” “Mature?” Grandma scoffed. “This is a heart that’s dead!” She pointed a finger directly at Dad’s face. “Robert, do you remember when Cassidy was a child and you promised her the world? And now? You give the world to Delilah and treat Cassidy like… like garbage!” Dad’s face flushed a deep red. “Mom, don’t listen to gossip. I treat both my daughters equally.” “Equally?” Patsy shook with rage. “The moment the fire broke out, you grabbed Delilah and ran! You left Cassidy trapped in the flames! You call that equal?” The living room fell silent. I heard Lila’s soft, whimpering cries. “Grandma, I’m so sorry, it’s all my fault…” “You shut your mouth!” Patsy roared at her. “How many things have you stolen from Cassidy since you were a toddler? And now you wanted her life, too?” Lila’s sobs grew louder. Mom quickly put her arm around her. “Mom, watch what you say. Lila is your granddaughter too.” “I don’t recognize that one as mine,” Grandma said, her face cold. “I only claim Cassidy.” She came back into the utility closet and grabbed my hand. “Cassidy, you’re coming with me. You are not staying here to be insulted.” I gently pulled my hand back. “Grandma, I’m not going.” “You—” “I really am fine.” I cut her off. “Please go home. I need to rest.” Grandma looked at me, the devastation in her eyes nearly overwhelming. In the end, she said nothing more, just tucked the wad of cash under my pillow, and left. The moment the door closed, I heard her crying outside. It was a choked, desolate sound. I closed my eyes and pulled the blanket over my head. Good. Now, the only person who had ever loved me had been pushed away by my own hands. No more weak spots. 3 In the days that followed, I became the most agreeable person in the Winters house. Mom asked me to do the dishes; I did them. Dad told me to mop the floor; I mopped it. Lila saw a dress of mine she liked; I took it off and gave it to her. She rooted through my jewelry box; I told her to take whatever she wanted. One afternoon, Lila took my favorite necklace. It was a delicate silver chain Grandma Patsy had given me for my eighteenth birthday. Mom saw it and quietly said, “Lila, that’s your sister’s birthday gift…” “It’s okay,” I said with a light, airy laugh. “If Sis likes it, she should wear it. I barely use it anyway.” Lila held the necklace, struggling to suppress a triumphant smile. But quickly, she dropped her eyes and put on her usual mask of practiced guilt. “Cassidy, are you… are you really sure you don’t mind?” “Not at all.” She hesitated for a beat, then fastened the necklace around her neck. That evening, I heard my parents talking in their room. “Cassidy has been completely abnormal lately,” Mom said. “Abnormal how? I think it’s great,” Dad scoffed, relieved. “The old Cassidy, fighting with Lila every day. Now we finally have peace.” “But…” Mom paused. “The way she looks at us… it’s strange. There’s no warmth, no daughterly affection. She looks at us like we’re absolute strangers.” “You’re imagining things.” The next day, Lila took my design portfolio to her school. It was the result of a month’s work—a complete collection I’d planned to submit to the prestigious Juniper Design Fellowship. She’d found it while rummaging through my things, and her eyes had lit up. “Cassidy, did you draw this? It’s incredible!” I nodded. “Can I… can I borrow it? My school has a portfolio deadline, and I’ve been completely blocked…” “Take it.” Lila paused, stunned. “Really? I can?” “Yes.” She grabbed the portfolio and ran. Mom had watched from the side, looking utterly conflicted. “Cassidy, that was your submission…” “It’s fine. I can draw another one.” Mom opened her mouth, but ultimately said nothing. A week later, Delilah won first place in her school’s design competition. She came home clutching the certificate, bursting with excitement as she showed it to our parents. “Mom, Dad, look! I won!” Dad was ecstatic. “That’s my girl! So talented!” Mom also smiled, relieved. “Lila, you’re so wonderful.” Lila then looked over at me, a flicker of guilt in her eyes. “Cassidy, thank you…” “Don’t mention it,” I said. “I’m happy you won, Sis.” She bit her lip, then suddenly rushed over and hugged me. “You’re so good to me, little sister.” I said nothing, just patted her back gently. But in my mind, I thought, Don’t worry, Sis. I have so much more ‘goodness’ coming your way. That night, my school principal called. Someone had reported Lila’s winning design as plagiarism. My parents’ faces immediately went white. They dragged Lila into the living room and tore into her. “How could you copy someone?!” “You’ve ruined the Winters name!” Lila was sobbing hysterically. “I didn’t copy! It was Cassidy who gave it to me…” Both my parents turned to me. I stood up. “I gave it to her.” “Why?” Dad demanded. “Because I helped her create it,” I said calmly. “That’s what I told the Principal when they called.” The Principal had indeed called me earlier. I had admitted, in front of the entire class, that the work was an assignment I had completed on behalf of my sister. I’d heard the cruel sneers behind me: “The plagiarist’s little helper is just as trashy.” Everyone looked at me with contempt. But I didn’t care. I didn’t care about anything anymore. My parents sighed in a collective relief. “You scared us to death. We thought it was real plagiarism.” Lila wiped her tears, looking at me. The guilt in her eyes had just deepened into something heavier, and more agonizing. 4 The turning point came without warning. My school offered me a special, early admission scholarship. It was the Presidential Scholarship to the Parsons School of Design, the best design program in the country, and there was only one awarded each year. The Principal called while I was mopping the floor in the kitchen. “Cassidy Winters, congratulations. You’ve been selected.” I stood there, gripping the mop handle, frozen for a long moment. “Thank you, Principal.” I hung up and went back to scrubbing. The stains on the tile, like the dirt on my life for the last twenty years, just wouldn’t scrub out. Lila was standing on the stairs. She’d heard everything. Her face turned pale, her nails digging into her palms. But quickly, she dropped her gaze and loosened her grip. That evening, she started to panic. She slammed doors in her room, crying and yelling that it wasn’t fair. “Why her? Why not me?!” Mom rushed in to comfort her. “Lila, honey, don’t cry…” “I don’t care! I want to go to that school! Mom, you have to help me…” Mom came out, finding me standing outside the utility closet, her expression complicated. “Cassidy, honey, you’ve always been the sensible one. Your sister has her heart set on that school. I was wondering… could you… give her your scholarship spot?” I set the book I was holding down on the cot. “Sure.” Mom’s breath hitched. “You… you agree?” “Mm-hmm.” I nodded. “If Lila wants it, she should have it. I don’t care either way.” Mom’s eyes lit up, but then a shadow of doubt crossed her face. “Cassidy, are you certain? It’s a full scholarship, to Parsons…” “I’m certain.” The next day, I went to school and signed the waiver. The Principal was stunned. “Cassidy, do you understand what you’re doing? This opportunity is one in a million…” “I understand.” I held the pen, signing my name across the official document. “But my sister needs it more than I do.” The Principal watched me, his expression heavy with disappointment. “You will regret this.” I smiled faintly. “No, I won’t.” When I got home, Dad called me over. He was sitting on the sofa, his posture rigid. “Cassidy, come here.” I walked toward him. He stared at me for a long time, then suddenly asked: “Your sister said she wants you to drop out, get a job at the warehouse, and give her the $3,000 a month you’d make to pay for her four years of college. Are you… also willing to do that?” The air froze for a few seconds. I nodded. “Yes.” My voice was as calm and still as stagnant water. “If you ask it of me, I’ll go.” My father’s face instantly drained of color. He shot up from the sofa, his hands gripping my shoulders, his eyes bloodshot with sudden, raw terror. He roared, his voice thick with a guttural rasp: “Cassidy Winters, goddammit, go back to how you were! You cry! You scream! Where is the old you?!” I looked up at him. I stared at him calmly. “Dad, did you forget?” My voice was a quiet whisper. “Three years ago, I argued with Lila over a cupcake, and you slapped me and said: ‘If you could just be sensible and easy like your sister, this house would have peace.’” My father’s hands fell away. All the color had fled his face, leaving him utterly white. I continued: “I’m sensible now. I’m doing exactly what you wished. Why… why do you look so upset?” Dad stumbled backward two steps. His mouth was open, but no sound came out. He stared at me, his breathing shallow and frantic, his eyes full of absolute dread. Mom rushed out of the kitchen. “What’s wrong? What happened?” She looked at Dad’s terrified face, then at me. “Cassidy, what did you say to your father?” I didn’t answer. I turned and walked back into the utility closet. Behind me, I heard my mother’s rising shriek of panic. “Rob! What is it? Don’t scare me like this…”

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My best friend was dead set on setting me up with her brother, raving about how he was handsome, loaded, and even knew how to cook. Unable to withstand her constant nagging and pleading, I finally agreed to go to her family’s house. But before I could meet him, I ran straight into her other brother. My friend, Gemma, quickly pulled me aside. “My older brother is gorgeous too, but it’s a shame—he was seriously messed up by a horrible woman.” “I heard that woman had his kid and then just took off, leaving him to raise the baby alone. Poor guy.” I didn’t pay it much mind until halfway through my blind date, when a tiny child suddenly came barreling toward me. The little girl grabbed my dress and yelled, “Mama!” I looked up, and standing right in front of me was the deep-feeling, single-dad brother Gemma had just been talking about. It was my ex, the one I had dumped three years ago. Which meant I was, in fact, the “horrible, deadbeat mom” my best friend had been so passionately badmouthing. 1 Gemma Harrington and I were the ultimate hustle buddies. We were both broke. We ate pre-made meal kits, shared a cramped apartment, and our wardrobes were entirely sourced from Amazon Prime deals and Target clearance racks. To meet our performance metrics, we practically lived at the office, routinely working until midnight. Life was manageable, if unremarkable, until the day Gemma suddenly announced she wouldn’t be coming to work anymore. I assumed she’d been fired and was already gearing up to march down to the boss’s office to fight for her. Instead, she leaned in, her eyes wide with a secret, and said, “I struck oil.” It turned out Gemma was the long-lost daughter of a ridiculously wealthy, old-money family—the Harringtons—and her biological parents had finally tracked her down. Overnight, Gemma’s bank account had ballooned from four figures to seven. She was fiercely loyal. Her new-found wealth didn’t change our friendship; she spent every day dragging me to expensive lunches and ordering fancy cocktails. “Anya, this feeling of getting something for nothing is absolutely divine,” she gushed. “It really is true that you don’t feel bad spending money you didn’t actually earn.” “Seriously, quit your job. I’ll just find you a rich husband.” Gemma was impulsive, and I didn’t take her seriously. But three days later, she looked at me with an unnerving seriousness. “I’ve vetted the candidates, and I’ve decided my younger brother, Toby, is perfect for you.” Fearing rejection, she launched into a serious analysis. “First, he’s handsome, tall, and has a great temperament—meeting all the basic requirements.” “Second, he’s loaded, works out regularly, and he cooks. Major bonus points.” “Most importantly, he’s my brother. If he ever treats you badly, I’ll personally break his kneecaps.” “So,” she slapped the table, delivering her final verdict, “You are having a blind date with my brother this weekend.” I stared at her, utterly aghast. “Oh, absolutely not.” “What is ‘absolutely not’ about it? You are my best friend. You are far too good for any man on this planet.” When she reached for her phone to call him, I frantically grabbed her hand. After a brief struggle, I decided I had to tell her the secret I’d kept locked away. “Wait, you need to hear this first.” “I had a child a few years ago. With my ex-boyfriend.” 2 The story of Grant Harrington and me was an absolute cliché. While I was studying abroad in London, I saw him across a crowded room at a university mixer and was instantly, hopelessly smitten. I began a relentless, months-long pursuit. Grant was naturally aloof and reserved; it took me six agonizing months just to get close to him. The day I finally confessed my feelings, he reached up to his ear, took out a cochlear implant, and held it out to me. “I have a congenital hearing impairment. Are you sure you want to be with me?” Seeing my stunned silence, he gave a sad, self-deprecating smile, the look of someone who had faced this rejection before, and turned to leave. I quickly grabbed his sleeve. “I’m sure.” I didn’t care about his hearing; I was genuinely, powerfully in love with him. I looked up, meeting his eyes, and firmly repeated my question: “Can we date, Grant?” He stopped, turned back, and his previously shadowed eyes suddenly brightened. “Yes. We can.” Grant was incredibly awkward when it came to romance, but he was a fast learner. He quickly went from not understanding women at all to mastering their internal logic. He went from timid kisses to making me breathless, my thighs going weak beneath me. I would lie curled up against him, feeling the hard knots of muscle beneath his thin shirt, and subtly swallow my spit. My attraction to Grant was intensely physical. Every time I was near him, I felt an almost urgent need to explore. But for some reason, Grant was always incredibly restrained. Sometimes, he’d be visibly aroused, body temperature blazing, but he would always pull back before we crossed the final line. The turning point happened on Christmas Eve. 3 I had dressed up specifically for our Christmas date, but just before I left the apartment, an old mentor from my grad program, who was passing through London, called and asked to meet. He was flying out the next day, so I had to push back my date time and meet him quickly for a simple dinner. I hadn’t told Grant. I assumed he was waiting for me at our apartment, but when I looked up, he was standing at the entrance of the restaurant. He stood leaning against the door frame, arms crossed, thin lips pressed into a tight line, silently watching us as we spoke. After I said goodbye to the mentor, Grant quietly took my hand and led me back to our apartment. I tried several times to talk to him on the way, but he never responded. I assumed he’d forgotten his implant. The apartment door opened. Inside, a huge Christmas tree dominated the living room. Neon lights twinkled, and underneath, the rug was covered in presents and wrapped gifts. Before I could take it all in, he had pinned me against the wall. Grant trapped my waist with one hand and toyed with the delicate strap of my dress with the other, looking down at me. “You look beautiful tonight. Was this outfit for your mentor?” “You were laughing and talking throughout dinner. Are you two close?” That’s when I realized: he wasn’t deaf, he was furious. I tried to explain, but before I could get a word out, his kiss descended. It was commanding, aggressive, and so forceful that it stole my breath. We stumbled onto the sofa beneath the twinkling Christmas tree. The atmosphere in the room was suddenly thick with heat and desire. I fully expected Grant to do what he always did: stop just before the crucial moment and retreat to the bathroom for a cold shower. But this time, he pulled me closer and retrieved a small, carefully wrapped box he had prepared. Inside was a simple, yet stunning diamond ring. He slipped it onto my finger with a nearly reverent air. Then, he pressed his forehead against mine, his hand resting on the zipper of my dress. “Anya, I’ll be responsible for you. I’ll marry you.” “So, can we?” His eyes were flushed with a feverish intensity, his thick eyelashes hiding an ocean of surging emotion. I couldn’t say no. I leaned up and kissed the corner of his mouth. “Yes.” I remember that night didn’t stop until dawn. Eventually, I was sobbing and begging for him to stop, just calling his name. He deliberately removed his cochlear implant, looked at me, and said innocently, “Anya, I can’t hear you.” The cold metal of the ring on my finger pressed against his spine. At the time, I thought it was just a ring, and I didn’t realize the massive scale of the decision he had just made to promise me marriage. Not until I posted a picture of us holding hands on social media. A single, jarring comment caught my attention. “That’s a Harry Winston diamond! Girl, are you dating a billionaire?” 4 I had never imagined Grant Harrington came from a dynastic, old-money family. And I certainly hadn’t expected the ring on my hand to be a six-figure diamond. It was too much. I couldn’t bear the weight of it. I tried to give the ring back, but he just smiled at me. “There’s no taking back a gift, is there?” The sunlight caught his plain white T-shirt. That deceptively simple shirt was from an obscure European high-fashion brand and was worth three months of my rent. The gap between our families was insurmountable. It made me want to retreat. I asked him, “Will your family force you into an arranged marriage?” Grant took my hand and looked me in the eye. “I’ll refuse. I told you I want to marry you, and I wasn’t joking.” Our time together in London was pure. After crossing that final line on Christmas, Grant dropped his lifelong restraint. He loved removing his implant, pulling me into every corner of the apartment, and allowing us both to fully drown in the moment. We always used protection. But the night before we flew back to the States was particularly intense, and in the heat of the moment, the condom broke. Neither of us noticed until it was too late. Three months later, I found out I was pregnant. At the same time, the Harrington family pressure hit Grant. His father, Mr. Harrington, demanded he agree to an engagement or be completely disowned. I had already prepared myself for the breakup, but then Grant showed up on my doorstep, dragging his luggage. Outside, the rain was pouring down. He was soaked through, but he was smiling. “I came for you, Anya. I’m here, and I’m never leaving.” Youth is often defined by a dizzying, reckless kind of love. Grant chose to be disowned just to be with me, and I chose to have his baby. Throughout my pregnancy, he was utterly devoted, attentive to my every need. But the money well had run dry, and the privileged son was plunged into the mud of the real world. He never complained, but I knew he hated wearing cheap Target clothes and couldn’t stand the crowded subway. While his peers were learning to run the family empire, he was stuck with me in a tiny, cramped rental apartment. When I was seven months pregnant, he lost his expensive cochlear implant. Because the original model was too costly, he had to buy a cheap replacement, but the quality was so poor he struggled to hear anything clearly. Once, while out buying groceries, a few teenagers surrounded him and mocked him for being “the deaf guy.” In that moment, Grant stood there, utterly humiliated. He’d been raised in luxury; when had he ever faced such cruelty? Watching him, my heart twisted in my chest. I realized for the first time that our stubborn choice to be together might have been a mistake. Three months later, I gave birth to a daughter. While Grant was still lost in the pure joy of new fatherhood, I asked him for a divorce. I had already planned my reason. I told him I couldn’t live with his hearing disability, and I wanted a normal man. I didn’t want to be tied to a deaf man for the rest of my life. The words struck him like a physical blow. His body swayed; he looked utterly shattered. Even so, he struggled to regain his composure and whispered, his voice trembling, “Then I’ll work harder. I’ll earn enough to buy the best implant, I’ll be normal. Just don’t leave me, please?” He begged and pleaded, clinging to me for a long, painful time, but I remained unmoved. Finally, he held the baby up to my face and asked, “What about her? You don’t want your daughter, either?” “No. I don’t.” “She’s too much trouble for me to raise. You take her.” Mrs. Harrington had promised me that if I broke up with Grant, he would be welcomed back into the family, and the baby would be properly cared for by them. Grant stared at me for a long, agonizing moment. Then, he laughed, tears welling up in his eyes. “Anya. When we started, you said you didn’t care about my disability. If you couldn’t accept it, why did you lie to me?” “Was it fun to make a fool out of me?” Our breakup was messy and cruel, but I got what I wanted: we separated. Grant took our daughter and returned to the Harrington estate, and I moved to a new city to start over. Before I left, Mrs. Harrington offered me a large check as “compensation.” I refused it. I was young then, and in my twisted logic, accepting the money felt like profaning the purity of our failed relationship. I never contacted Grant again, and I never saw my daughter. When I told Gemma this story, I deliberately blurred the names and simplified the events. After the initial shock, she threw her arms around me. “It’s okay, Anya. It’s all in the past.” “Having a child doesn’t matter. You’re single now, and you can absolutely find love again.” “Not all rich families are so old-fashioned. My parents are pretty open-minded; you don’t need to worry.” I quietly confessed, “The main thing is, I haven’t moved on from my ex…” “Then all the more reason to meet my brother! You’re not getting back together with your ex, so you should use my brother as a stepping stone to move on.” Once Gemma fixed on an idea, she became relentless. From that day on, every time she saw me, she badgered me about the blind date. “Please, just meet Toby once.” “He’s definitely your type. If you don’t like him, we’ll leave. Deal?” Worn down by her constant soft-and-hard lobbying, I finally gave in. “Fine. But we are only meeting. That’s it.” 5 The Harrington estate was in Greenwich, a truly elite suburb outside the city. The idea of going there initially made me nervous. Grant’s family lived in that area. But then I reasoned, the metro area is huge. Without an intentional link, how could I possibly run into him? Gemma’s biological parents were indeed wealthy; the mansion had acres of manicured gardens. On the walk up to the house, Gemma prattled on about her younger brother, Toby. Distracted, I glanced over and stopped, looking at a man sitting on a veranda in the distance. His back was to me, showing only a sliver of his profile. I couldn’t see his face clearly, but something about him felt deeply familiar. Gemma followed my gaze. “Oh, that’s my older brother, Grant.” “Honestly, he’s super handsome too. I thought about setting you up with him, but his love life is way too complicated.” Naturally curious, I pressed her. “Complicated how?” “Apparently, he dated a total deadbeat, and they had a kid. But the woman took off right after the baby was born, ditching him and their daughter.” “My poor brother was heartbroken, so he threw himself into his career, swore off love, and has been raising the kid solo.” The story sounded eerily familiar. If Gemma didn’t have the Harrington surname, I would have sworn she was talking about Grant. After we passed the veranda, the man disappeared from my view. I looked back, wishing I could see more, and wondered silently if Grant’s career had taken off like this Grant’s had. In the mansion’s back garden, a table was set with pastries and refreshments. Gemma’s brother, Toby, was already waiting. “I’m telling you, Toby might not be as brooding as Grant, but you are going to love him,” Gemma promised, right before we sat down. I was skeptical. But when I clearly saw the man sitting across from me, I froze. He was handsome, yes. Clear-eyed, high cheekbones, thin lips—definitely my aesthetic. But he was also three-parts Grant, especially the gentle, soulful look of his eyes. This was bizarre. Was I thinking about Grant so much that I was now projecting him onto every attractive man? I fought down the ridiculous notion and was about to introduce myself, but Toby’s eyes widened, and he spoke first. “You’re… Anya?” I nodded, assuming Gemma had given him my name beforehand. But when I confirmed it, he just stared, saying nothing. Gemma slapped the table, giving her brother a furious, disappointed look. “What are you doing? A guy has to take the lead!” “Look at Anya. Isn’t she gorgeous?” Toby pursed his lips and slowly nodded. Gemma pressed on. “Is she your type?” Toby didn’t want to answer, but under Gemma’s silent, intimidating pressure, he hesitantly mumbled, “Mmm.” “Then introduce yourself and get on with the date!” Gemma complained. After an awkward silence, Toby managed a smile that was more painful than a frown. “Gemma, Sis, she cannot date me. Absolutely not. Never in a million years.” “What’s ‘absolutely not’ about it? She’s only three years older than you, and she has a kid—I already told you that! You said you didn’t mind!” Gemma was starting to get angry. “Don’t go back on your word in front of my best friend!” “I don’t mind her past,” Toby stammered, his face bright red as he looked at me. “But… but Big Brother will mind.” I was completely confused. Just as I was about to ask why, a small child came running toward us. She had pigtails, wore a flowered dress, and looked about three years old, perfectly round and plump. I generally didn’t like kids, but she was so adorable that I felt a strange sense of closeness to her. I thought: My child with Grant would be about this age now. “This is my brother Grant’s daughter, Wren,” Gemma said, trying to scoop Wren up in a hug. But Wren ignored her, ran straight past, and threw herself into my arms. She wrapped her small arms around me and squeaked in a sweet, clear voice: “Mama.” My body instantly froze. Gemma quickly tapped the girl’s head. “Sweetie, you can’t just call everyone ‘Mama.’ This is my friend; you should call her ‘Auntie.’” Wren tilted her small face up, tugging at my shirt, and excitedly retorted, “She is Mama! She’s my Mama!” “I saw Mama’s picture! I know it’s her!” Looking up at her now, I finally noticed: she looked exactly like my baby pictures. All the blood in my body turned to ice. I looked at Gemma. “What… what is your brother’s name?” Before she could answer, a man’s voice came from behind me. “Wren, come to Papa.” The voice was familiar, yet I hadn’t heard it for four long years. I turned back slowly. In the warm autumn sun, a man in a crisp white button-down shirt was walking toward us. In the intervening years, he had lost some weight, and he had definitely gained a harder, more mature edge. It was Grant Harrington.

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My brother’s esports Captain hated the cutesy aesthetic. The first time he ever spoke to me, the guy glared at my strawberry-pink satin chemise. “Just speak normally,” he growled. “Stop with the baby voice.” That was until the day I walked in on him, voice deliberately pitched high, frantically cooing “Baby” and begging for “kissy-face” with his online girlfriend. 1 After a massive blow-up with my parents, I packed a bag and fled to my older brother’s esports training house. Jake Carl, my brother, looked thoroughly defeated as he led me into the team’s massive base. A few of the guys who’d been mid-game immediately stopped and crowded around. “Jake, man, seriously?” one whistled. “Pulling girls this young? That’s cold.” Jake kicked the guy in the shin. “Get your head out of the gutter. This is my little sister, Daisy. Say hi, Dee.” My brother gently ruffled my hair. “Hello, everyone,” I said softly, instinctively straightening the bangs Jake had messed up. I didn’t let my voice go too high, but I couldn’t help the naturally gentle tone. The boys instantly devolved into Neanderthals, jumping around, clutching their chests dramatically. “Oh my God,” one exaggeratedly gasped, “her voice is too sweet! I’m melting.” Jake pushed them away with an expression of sheer disgust, shielding me like a protective hen. “Go melt somewhere else. Her voice is natural, okay? Don’t flatter yourselves.” The training room door slid open. Someone muttered, “Captain’s here.” The joking, clamoring boys instantly snapped back to their stations, headphones on, silence returning with terrifying speed. Jake’s face tightened when he saw the man. Aaron Stone scanned the room, his gaze snagging on my pink outfit for a few tense seconds. His voice, like his impossibly handsome face, was entirely devoid of warmth. “Everyone’s adding three hours of drill time.” No one dared to move. The air thickened into a concrete slab. Aaron Stone. Captain of the FLY team. A superstar, a reigning esports legend whose skill was only rivaled by his supermodel looks. And yet, his personality was notoriously cold, arrogant, and terrifying. Sensing his gaze still on me, I took a small breath and stepped forward, offering a perfectly polite greeting. “Hello, Captain.” Aaron lowered his eyes. His voice was flat. “Just speak normally. Don’t use that fake high-pitched voice.” I froze, stunned, my cheeks burning. When Aaron had gone, Jake gave my shoulder a consoling pat, his voice lowered. “Dee, don’t take it personally. Aaron isn’t a bad guy, he just… naturally dislikes girls who lean into the cutesy, saccharine aesthetic.” The other guys chimed in. “Don’t worry, Daisy. He hates baby voices and frilly skirts, but we love it, haha.” Jake immediately reverted to defensive mode. “Last warning. My sister just started college, she’s pure as snow. Don’t even think about it.” He turned back to me, adopting a weary, older-brother voice. “Don’t bother with these creeps. Anyone who hangs out with me can’t be good people.” Miles, the loudest one, rolled his eyes. “Chill, Jake. She probably has a boyfriend already. Just hasn’t told you.” My heart stuttered. I clenched the phone in my hand, hiding the constant stream of messages popping up from my internet boyfriend. Jake scoffed with immediate confidence. “Impossible. My sister is the best-behaved kid I know.” 2 That night, stubbornly refusing to go home, I finally convinced Jake to let me stay. Worried about me checking into a hotel alone, he found a spare bedroom at the base and threw a few necessities in. “I’m right next door, Dee. Shout if you need anything.” “I will. Thanks, big brother.” Only after closing the door did I feel safe enough to open my phone. The unread messages from my pinned contact hit 99+. “Baby~ We haven’t duo-queued yet today.” “Baby, did you go out for dinner? It’s okay, I’ll wait for you.” “Baby, it’s been two hours… I, I kinda miss you.” “HAHAHA, Baby, someone on the forums just said if your girlfriend doesn’t text back for three hours, she’s cheating. How ridiculous! I don’t believe that at all.” I was just about to feel relieved, when I tapped the next message—a voice note. It was a deliberately husky, low whisper. “Baby, is that guy better than me? Will he buy you every single skin? Will he remember your cycle? Does he have an eight-pack?” “Transfer: $131.40.” “Transfer: $520.00.” “…Baby, do you… do you still want me?” I quickly typed an explanation to soothe his anxiety: Don’t worry. I’m visiting my brother and haven’t had a Carlce to look at my phone. He texted back, too excited to spell correctly. “Hehe, I knew my Baby still loved me. Baby, you sound a little sad, though.” I had no idea how he gathered my mood from a seven-word text, but I told him the truth anyway. I had a fight with my parents. And my brother’s friend seems to really dislike me. His response was immediate and righteous indignation. Dislike you? Who does he think he is? How can anyone have such terrible taste. He needs to go look in a mirror. If he ever says anything to you again, I’ll roast him alive. My online boyfriend’s trash-talking skills were genuinely the best I had ever seen. The summer after graduation, I’d been hiding away, binge-playing games. After a fifteen-game winning streak, I was matched with a group who were chatting loudly but playing terribly. We lost. The group immediately ganged up on me and one other guy, blaming us for the loss. I was never good at arguing, and every attempt at an explanation was brutally interrupted. Just as I was about to give up, the previously silent guy spoke in a low, flat voice. “I’ve seen toilets in bathrooms, but never in someone’s mouth.” The group got defensive. “Hey! Don’t curse!” He chuckled softly. “I didn’t curse.” When the group caught the implication, they turned snarky. “Why are you defending her? You simping?” “You’re so good at passing the blame—are you all chefs?” The guy took on three people and didn’t falter, spraying them with verbal fire until they were beaten, apologetic, and gone. I realized then that despite his sharp tongue, the man was actually a very sweet ‘online puppy’ who knew how to cheer people up… Sensing my distraction, he suddenly got clingy. Baby, I want to see you. I tried to divert the topic. On a strange impulse, I typed: You said you have an eight-pack. Is that true? He sent a shy emoji. If I do, can we meet? I hesitated. What if you meet me and don’t like me? How could that happen? Am I crazy? He quickly added, a little anxiously. Baby, no matter what you look like, I will instantly fall in love with you. I realized he was worried I was avoiding meeting him because of my appearance. I couldn’t blame him. He’d asked to meet at least a dozen times, and I’d deflected every single one. Undecided on what to reply, and noticing my battery was low, I prepared to go borrow a charger from Jake. The moment I opened the door, I walked straight into a human wall. I looked up and met Aaron Stone’s cold gaze. The close proximity was jarring. His face was stunningly chiseled—thin eyelids, dense, dark lashes, a high nose, and a small, striking mole on the bridge. Bold and provocative. “J-Jake… Captain Stone, hi.” I quickly corrected myself, feeling intensely awkward as I realized I was in a strawberry-pink satin chemise with a matching bow clip in my hair. His most hated, textbook ‘cutesy girl’ ensemble. 3 Aaron Stone’s brow furrowed, a nearly imperceptible tic. “Daisy Carl?” I blinked, surprised he even knew my full name. “You can stay here,” he said, his voice flat. “But we need ground rules.” “Okay.” “First, don’t try to buddy-up. I have zero interest in befriending college kids.” I nodded. “Second, minimal interaction. Try to avoid crossing paths if you can.” “Got it.” “Third, no cooing or batting your lashes. Keep the syrupy act out of my sight.” “Right.” I watched Aaron walk away toward the bathroom. Jake, who had heard the door, poked his head out and handed me the charging cable. “Did Aaron yell at you again?” I shook my head. Jake yawned. “ Aaron just doesn’t know how to speak kindly. Tons of girls who confessed to him ended up crying. Be a good girl, ignore him, and go to bed.” Back in my room, my online boyfriend sent a picture. Long, lean fingers lifting the hem of a t-shirt, knuckles pale. Under dim light, the eight-pack abs looked sculpted and defined. The shot moved lower, where the light faded, hinting at a powerful, impressive shape. Having been raised by my very traditional grandparents in the village, I was a sheltered good girl who barely spoke to boys. I’d certainly never seen this kind of visual provocation. My face felt like it was on fire. I buried my head in a pillow. After a long pause, I managed to type a compliment. That’s big. Jake had been obsessed with bodybuilding lately, constantly asking me to feel his bicep. Praising a guy’s muscle size couldn’t be wrong, right? It’s decent. Only about 18. I was baffled. Wait, I thought you were 21? Had he lied about his age? The Typing… bubble flashed endlessly. Baby, you really care about that number? Actually, I was talking about the dormant state. 21 isn’t impossible if I put in the work, though~ You can inspect the merchandise when we meet up. I’d never be able to show my face if I lied… not the one up top… Staring at the completely disjointed conversation, my face flushed again. I was belatedly processing the implication. You dirty old man, I thought. I typed a frantic: Good night. I didn’t sleep well that night. In my dream, after weeks of persuasion, I finally agreed to meet my online boyfriend at a private movie theater. But he wasn’t there. As my anxiety grew, someone tapped my shoulder. I spun around, excited. Instead of my clingy online puppy, I was met with Aaron Stone’s stern, handsome face. I tried to run, but he pulled me back, caging me between his arms. He slowly leaned down, his intimidating presence fully eclipsing me. “Daisy Carl,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. “Ready for that inspection?” I woke up with a gasp. Later, while washing up, I couldn’t shake the feeling—whether it was the nightmare or not—that the base’s bathroom tiles looked exactly like the background in the ab picture my internet boyfriend had sent. 4 During my Calculus class, my phone buzzed. Jake’s voice note came through: My battery’s dying. Stay put at the gate, I’ll be there in two secs. I had to rush to the campus entrance. Moments later, a white Ferrari pulled up, drawing envious stares from every student walking by. I wasn’t interested in the car, searching instead for Jake’s beat-up scooter. The driver rolled down the window. “Daisy Carl. Your brother got pulled over for not wearing a helmet.” Even with the dark sunglasses, Aaron was instantly recognized. A few students nearby screamed his name and rushed over. “Captain Stone! It’s Aaron! I’m your biggest fan!” “Get in,” Aaron commanded curtly. I reached for the passenger door, but he stopped me. “The back.” Once I was settled, Aaron tapped the gas, giving the frantic crowd an apologetic wave. “The passenger seat is reserved for my wife.” It sounded like an explanation, but also like a boast. “Oh,” I squeezed the ribbon on my skirt, desperately trying to keep the conversation going. “She must be very beautiful.” Aaron was silent for a moment. His voice was husky. “She’s pretty shy. We haven’t met in person yet. But no matter what she looks like, she’s the most beautiful woman in the world to me.” Jake had mentioned that Aaron came from an immensely wealthy family; he did esports purely for fun. A guy like this being in an online-only relationship must mean it was an arranged, commercial marriage, right? There was no way he was online dating like me… Noticing his slightly downcast expression, I clumsily offered comfort. “Maybe you’ve met, but just didn’t recognize each other.” “Impossible. People who are in love have a connection. I would know her instantly.” Talking about his girlfriend, Aaron’s lips quirked into a rare, faint smile. It was stunning. But when his gaze fell back on me, it chilled instantly. “Jake said you were my fan?” Why did my brother have to run his mouth about everything! “Find a new gamer to crush on,” Aaron said dismissively. “Hope you understand—my girlfriend wouldn’t want a female fan staring at me for more than ten seconds, every time.” “My apologies.” I quickly looked out the window, embarrassed. The drive to the restaurant was silent. Once we were inside, the other boys swarmed me. Without Jake to fend them off, their attention felt overwhelming. I recognized Miles, the one who’d been the most welcoming. The others laughed knowingly. “Captain, report: we have a toad trying to flirt with the sister.” I instinctively looked to Aaron for help. “We don’t forbid dating in the team,” Aaron said, not even looking up. His clear, sculpted fingers were tapping away on his phone. “Baby, you forgot your morning kiss today.” [Kiss emoji] [By the way, Baby, I ran into a girl recently whose voice was a little like yours. But don’t worry, I never even gave her the time of day. She was clearly faking the whole sweet thing. Yours is the real deal.] [Baby, aren’t I the best? Can your loyal puppy get a hug for a reward? Still dreaming of the day we meet…] 5 During the lull before the food arrived, Miles suggested a game and invited me to join. I couldn’t decline, so I quickly paused my chat with my online boyfriend. I’m out with friends right now. I’ll message you later. He instantly transformed into a worried wreck. Baby, honey, how many friends? Boys or girls? It’s fine, I’m not jealous. Just asking. Five or six. All guys… The next second, Aaron Stone shot up from his seat, startling me. One of the teammates asked, “Aaron, want to add the sister and play a fun round?” I couldn’t help but feel a flicker of anticipation. As a secret fan of his skills, I wanted the Carlce to play with my idol. Aaron replied flatly. “I don’t play casual games.” I showed him my game screen, trying to prove myself. “Actually, my skill level is pretty decent. I won’t drag you down. See?” “Sorry. I don’t add girls. And don’t forget the ground rules.” Aaron didn’t spare my phone a glance. He stood up and walked out, clearly demonstrating his personal boundaries and fidelity. The teammates took the rejection in stride. “Don’t be sad, Daisy. We can still carry you, even without the Captain.” Miles, seeing my disappointment, leaned in and murmured a consolation into my ear. I instinctively pulled away. I didn’t like physical closeness with strangers. “Sister, Jake said you never play games, so let’s start with something easy…” Miles cut himself off abruptly, staring at my screen in disbelief. “Wait, Daisy, your online time is higher than mine!” “I play secretly,” I whispered, “Don’t tell my brother.” Miles’ mouth twitched. He let out a strained chuckle. “You’re a pretty unique kind of good girl, aren’t you?” After the round finished, the boys looked at me with stunned excitement. “Whoa, the real-life version of the velvet glove wielding a claymore! Sister, with that innocent face, how is your gameplay so brutal? You’ve got a little of Captain Stone’s style.” “Too bad the Captain didn’t join. He would have Carlged his mind about you.” Jake finally arrived, holding a traffic ticket and a brand-new green helmet. The guys, being good sports, quickly Carlged the subject, not mentioning my secret gaming habit. Full and slightly tipsy, we headed back to the base. Everyone was laughing and chatting, except for Aaron, whose personal weather system was oppressive. He was glaring at his phone, looking ready to burn a hole through the screen. Jake was confused. “Who pissed off our boss?” Miles shrugged. “No idea. But whoever can make Aaron Stone look this miserable is a serious threat. I bow to her!” “Let’s all be careful not to poke the bear,” Jake warned. “Especially you, Dee. Stay clear of the Captain.” “I will.” “By the way, Dee, you’ve been out for a few days. When are you planning on making up with Mom and Dad and going home?” I dropped my head, silent. Jake sighed. “You’ve always been the most obedient one, Dee. Why are you so stubborn about this?” “I’m tired, big brother.” I forced a sweet smile for Jake and walked straight to my bedroom. In the time it took to eat dinner, my online boyfriend had sent over a dozen messages. I started patiently replying to each one. He sent a crying emoji. [Baby, Wife, I lied. I’m jealous. I really care, and I’m super duper spiral-level unhappy.] [Those wild boys out there are all bad news. Don’t give them your contact info.] My internet boyfriend was so agitated he was making typos. [Why didn’t anyone step in to stop the harassment!!! If I were there, I wouldn’t let them get away with it!]

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It was the tenth anniversary of our relationship. My fiancée, Veronica Brook, had just posted a photo album in the company’s work chat. They were engagement photos—of her and her assistant. The caption read: [Thanks for all the well wishes, guys. We’ve done the shoot, can the wedding be far behind?] I didn’t lose my mind. I didn’t call her, screaming. I simply posted a calm comment: [Wishing you both a blessed life together.] The very next second, her call came through. Her voice was ice-cold, instantly accusing. “We were just taking some relaxed photos, Leo. Did you have to be so sarcastic?” “The entire company is watching! You’re deliberately trying to humiliate him, aren’t you? You need to write a handwritten apology to Jordy right now! Or I’m calling off the wedding!” I let out a cold laugh. “I quit. No one is going to bother your little love nest with him ever again.” … After commenting on my fiancée’s social media, I turned off my phone and got back to my work. When I finally finished the task at hand, I noticed Veronica had called me dozens of times. It was almost comical, considering she was a woman who could easily go months without a single text or call to me. I frowned, hanging up on her latest incoming call. The next moment, my messaging app exploded: [Leo Chad, are you serious? It was a joke. Who are you giving the silent treatment to?] [Didn’t you hear me? Apologize to him immediately, or you can watch me cancel our wedding!] In the past, the mere mention of canceling the wedding or breaking up—her ultimate threat—would have instantly turned me into a groveling doormat, begging for her forgiveness. But not this time. Not anymore. I typed a few characters onto the screen. [Suit yourself.] The messages stopped. I figured Veronica was probably so enraged she’d thrown her phone across the room. A few minutes later, I checked her profile again. Every trace of me, our photos, our couple profile picture—all gone. Her cover photo was a solid block of black. Her latest post, just a minute old: [It’s exhausting having the wrong people in your life.] I smiled. She’d been pulling this passive-aggressive card for years. I was finally bored of the performance. Just as I was about to exit the app, a notification popped up. I’d been tagged. It was Jordy Yu. He had screenshotted my comment in the work chat and posted it to his own feed with a weepy-eyed emoji. [This is all my fault for being insensitive and making a joke like that. I publicly apologize to Leo, please don’t let this cause a fight between you and Veronica.] The post was clearly designed for my benefit. I frowned, ready to type a blistering reply, but Veronica beat me to it. Her comment was already pinned: [Some pathetic losers lack the capability to achieve anything and then project their insecurities onto others. Don’t worry about it, sweetie. I’ll always stand by you.] Wow. My fiancée publicly took engagement photos with another man. And I was supposed to just stand there and take the abuse. That dream was getting a little too big for my sanity. The work chat, meanwhile, was an absolute dumpster fire. Everyone was scrambling to kiss Veronica’s ass: [Vee, don’t be upset. Everyone here sees and understands your and Jordy’s relationship. We know you have nothing to hide!] [Exactly! Some people have a sick mind, trying to publicly shame a colleague. Shameless!] That last comment was quickly made a pinned announcement. Veronica clearly agreed. Ten years of commitment, all to lead to this. It was meaningless. She knew how much those engagement photos meant to me. After months of pleading, she’d finally agreed to go with me that day. But we hadn’t even been there five minutes when she claimed Jordy had a stomach ache and rushed off to bring him medication, leaving me stranded. I waited alone in that boutique bridal shop until midnight. She never showed. In the past, I would have absolutely lost it in the group chat. But now, I offered a simple, gracious blessing, and she still found a way to spin it as a deliberate act of spite against Jordy. It confirmed what I already knew: when someone wants to hate you, everything you do is a flaw. I rubbed my temples, trying to ward off the dull ache. My phone rang. “Mr. Chad, your appointment for the marriage license is tomorrow. Please remember to bring your documentation.” I froze. Right. Tomorrow was the day Veronica had promised we’d finally get married. But now… I couldn’t do it. “I’m sorry,” I said, “please cancel that for me.” The staff member sounded slightly surprised. “Sir, you’ve reserved this time slot many times. Canceling again might put you on a permanent blacklist.” I repeated without hesitation. “Cancel it.” She was right. Veronica had given me countless promises. And every time, I had played the fool, waiting for her outside the courthouse. Every time, I was disappointed. The third time, Jordy’s apartment supposedly lost power, and she rushed off to change a lightbulb for him. The seventh time, he was grazed by a car while crossing the street, and she spent the day at the hospital with him, playing the attentive nurse. The twelfth time, she didn’t even bother with an excuse, simply claiming she had to use the restroom and then vanishing. I knew, deep down, every cancelation was a date with Jordy. But I loved her, so I chose to play deaf and dumb, time and again. I genuinely believed my endless patience would eventually earn her respect or understanding. I was wrong. It only emboldened her, allowing her behavior to become increasingly reckless. If this was the outcome, then the relationship was over. I walked aimlessly until I found myself in front of a familiar storefront—a high-end men’s boutique I used to frequent before we met. They specialized in custom-tailored Italian suits, and I used to pick up a new one almost every week. But ever since I started dating Veronica, I’d put every spare penny into her. My clothes now were years out of date. I’d sacrificed my own needs for hers, only to be thrown away like trash. I let out a bitter sigh and walked up to the counter, pulling out my membership card. “I need two custom suits, please.” The associate politely took the card, then frowned and handed it back, looking apologetic. “Sir, there seems to be insufficient funds on your account.” “That’s impossible,” I said, shocked. “The last time I checked, there was nearly a hundred thousand left.” The clerk pulled up the transaction history. “It was your wife who made the purchases, sir. She ordered several new custom sets. Here’s the record.” Seeing the size chart, the names of the styles… it all clicked into place. No wonder the account was empty. Veronica had been using my card to buy custom-made clothes for Jordy. I remembered seeing him around the office, thinking how familiar his clothes looked. They were doing this in the open, utterly shameless. I took a deep breath and walked out of the store. I hadn’t even reached my car when Veronica’s call came in. “Where are you? Get to the office right now. Jordy isn’t feeling well, you need to handle his client meeting tomorrow.” She immediately sent over a thick stack of commercial reports. I didn’t even open the file. I deleted it. Jordy was “sick” every other week, especially when a task required real effort. And every time, the work inevitably fell into my lap. I would pull all-nighters, pushing myself to the point of exhaustion, dark circles under my eyes making me look like a panda. And Veronica never once showed gratitude. In fact, if I didn’t perform perfectly, she’d chew me out mercilessly. I was quitting. I had no patience for her bad habits anymore. “Can’t he handle it himself? He has hands and feet. We’re all adults. Why should someone else pay for his incompetence?” Veronica was stunned. Every time she had issued an order, no matter how much I inwardly protested, I’d never dared to refuse. Now, I was not only disagreeing, but I was being harsh. Just as she was about to explode, Jordy’s voice, soft and wounded, cut in. “Forget it, Vee. My problems shouldn’t burden Leo. It’s my fault for always getting sick.” Instantly, Veronica’s tone transformed into a gentle, soothing one I’d never heard directed at me. “Don’t worry, I won’t let you be overworked. You should rest when you’re sick, darling.” The next second, her impatience returned, aimed squarely at me. “I’m giving you this job because it’s an opportunity for growth! Do you know how many people would kill for this project? Don’t be ungrateful!” The familiar manipulation was hilarious to me now. If it was such a great opportunity, why didn’t she give it to her precious Jordy? I recalled a time when I had a crippling fever, barely able to speak, and I’d begged her for a single day off. Her response? She called me lazy, a faker, and threatened to fire me if I dared to call out sick. I was only finally allowed to leave the office when I passed out at my desk. “Well, then. You should give Jordy the chance to grow, too. Good luck to him.” Veronica’s anger intensified. “What is that attitude? I’m telling you! I haven’t forgiven you for what you did in the work chat the other day. Are you trying to break up with me?” There it was again. The threat of abandonment. In her mind, my love for her was her ultimate weapon. She could command me, dismiss me, and never consider my feelings. But I was too tired to coddle her. “Sure. I agree.” Veronica, who had been brimming with smug certainty, shrieked. “Do you know what you’re saying?! You’re breaking up with me!” “Who else would even want a loser like you?!” Jordy quickly chimed in. “Come on, Leo. You can’t joke about this. I know you’re upset about the engagement photos, but you can’t treat Vee like this!” “It’s my fault for getting sick. I’m the one who caused this unhappiness…” Veronica pounced on that opportunity. “Leo Chad, what do you want? You’ve been causing trouble for days. Are you ever going to stop?” I didn’t answer. I leaned back against the sofa, wondering what other audacity she could possibly dredge up. When I remained silent, Veronica took a deep breath. “Listen to me. This report is urgent. Jordy has to close the deal tomorrow.” “If you rewrite the report, I’ll marry you right now. How about that?” So, marriage was merely a bargaining chip she used to manipulate me. I laughed, the sound hollow, and hung up the phone. While packing up my things at the apartment, I accidentally knocked over a delicate ceramic doll displayed in a cabinet. Veronica adored it; she would sit at her desk and meticulously arrange it for ages. I once reached out to touch it, and she screamed, swatting my hand away. “Don’t touch it with your filthy hands!” I retracted my hand, embarrassed. Watching the doll shatter into a pile of white fragments, my heart tightened. Though I resented Veronica, I never wanted to destroy her things. I knelt to pick up the pieces, but noticed something underneath—a photograph. I carefully lifted it. The image on the back made my vision swim. It was a candid, intimate photo of Veronica and Jordy. They were arm-in-arm, bathed in the setting sun, their smiles wide and brilliant. A small inscription was written below: [My Heart’s True North, Jordy.] Her beloved toy, the one she cherished so much, represented another man. And I, the fool, had even brought her snacks while she sat and admired it. I truly was an idiot. This relationship had been rotten to the core for a long time. If Jordy was her “Heart’s True North,” what was I? A necessary placeholder? A convenient meal ticket? I’d been disillusioned for a while, but realizing all my years of effort were nothing but a punchline still stung. The grief was a sudden, sharp ache in my chest. When we first got together, we had a sweet, consuming love. Veronica was completely focused on me. If I desired something, she’d move mountains to get it for me. We traveled the world, took countless happy pictures, and were the model couple among our friends. But everything changed when Jordy showed up. She started by complaining about him—how clumsy he was, how he messed up simple tasks, how he was a constant inconvenience. Yet, her lips always curved upward when she talked about him. I felt a flicker of unease, but trusting her, I chose not to interfere. I never imagined my generosity and trust would lead to this betrayal. I packed every last thing that was mine. I took one final look at the apartment—a place built on my hopes and hard work—and walked out for good. That night, just as I was drifting off to sleep, my phone received a picture message. The photo showed Veronica, looking flushed and wearing very little, nestled into a man’s embrace, smiling coyly. The accompanying text: [Your fiancée is being well-cared for. Rest easy.] It was a blatant taunt. If I’d seen this a day earlier, I might have crumbled. But now, I saw it for what it was: trash. I deleted the message, blocked the number, and then slept like a baby. It felt so good not to have to go to the office. But I wasn’t going to coast for long. I reached out to an uncle who owned a firm in a different sector, completed my onboarding, and started fresh. Everything was going smoothly. Even the air on the drive home felt clean. That feeling lasted until I ran right into Veronica and her circle. Veronica’s best friend, Sallyt, who usually gave me the cold shoulder, was beaming at Jordy. I still vividly remembered the last time I’d seen her. She’d deliberately ordered ten thousand dollars worth of food to test me, then, after I paid, openly mocked me for living beyond my means. Veronica hadn’t stopped her; she’d chimed in with, “He just loves to show off, what can I do?” They’d laughed together, ignoring my humiliation. I had foolishly wondered if I had done something wrong. Now, seeing Sallyt’s sycophantic smile, I finally understood. Even if I’d spent a million dollars on that dinner, she wouldn’t have respected me. In her eyes, I was simply a guy sponging off Veronica. Sallyt happily accepted a gift Jordy handed her, grinning ear to ear. “You are so generous, Jordy! So much better than that cheap waste who uses women’s money to pretend he’s a big shot. Vee, you two should just get married!” Veronica giggled and lightly shoved her. “Don’t be ridiculous. We’re just friends.” Sallyt raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Who are you trying to fool? I saw you two kissing in the movie theater! You think that’s ‘just friends’?” I inhaled sharply. They were that brazen? Kissing openly in public? Did Veronica have any respect for me, her fiancé? Even more galling, the gift Jordy had just handed over was purchased with my card. I’d just gotten a new charge notification on my phone. Who was the “cheap waste” now? The company Veronica was so proud of was a venture I had practically built from the ground up. While she was out shopping, watching movies, and getting manicures, I was at business dinners drinking until my stomach bled, groveling for investments. And now, she was enjoying the fruits of my labor while letting her friend insult me. “That loser is going to throw a fit if he hears that,” Veronica sighed dramatically. “But what can I do? I’m stuck with him like a bad rash.” Stuck with me? She needed to remember who gave her the status and wealth she enjoyed today. Sallyt pouted. “You’re too kind, Vee. That useless boyfriend adds nothing to your business and isn’t nearly as presentable as Jordy. You’d be crazy to marry him!” Veronica sighed again. “What choice do I have? You know how dramatic and extreme he is. If I break up with him suddenly, I’m afraid of what he might do.” I laughed. She was just reluctant to let go of the financial benefits I provided. And yet, in her telling, I was the desperate one clinging to her. I didn’t need to stay and listen to any more of this charade. As I turned to leave, I accidentally bumped into a passerby, and I apologized profusely. The small disturbance drew the trio’s attention. Jordy covered his mouth in mock surprise. “Leo? What are you doing here?” Veronica frowned and then, catching sight of my slightly rumpled clothes, she sneered. “Who gave you permission to stalk me?” I was stunned. I instinctively shot back, “Are you kidding me? I have nothing better to do than stalk you?” Jordy quickly jumped in. “Leo, don’t talk to Vee like that. I know you’re upset about seeing me, I’ll leave right away. I don’t want to cause her any more distress…” He looked at Veronica, a perfect picture of an abused puppy. I couldn’t take it anymore. I slapped him, hard, across the face. Veronica’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Are you insane?! You hit him! I swear, I’m going to—” “Veronica Brook, we’re breaking up.” I looked her right in the eye and spoke the words calmly.

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My ultimate life goal? To be a pampered sloth. Not just any sloth. I want to be the kind that only eats air-freighted ingredients, wears custom couture, travels with an eight-person security detail, and whose life is henceforth devoid of all stress and inconvenience. A top-tier, kept slacker. Unfortunately, I was just Daisy Holt, the second daughter of the Holt family, forever living in the perfect shadow of my older sister, Stella. Then, on the eve of her engagement to Lachlan Shaw—a formidable prince of the New York financial circuit—my sister was reborn. She sobbed to our parents that her fiancé was a monstrous control freak, that marrying him meant stepping into a gilded cage, and she’d rather die than lose her freedom. I was about to offer a platitude when a line of text flashed before my eyes, like a streaming comment or a social media pop-up: [Here we go! The ‘She Runs, He Chases’ forced-love trope! The heroine says he monitors her social life and restricts her movements. Pure hell!] Listening to my sister’s hysterical protests, and reading the plot leak, I felt a thrill that brought tears to my eyes. Restricted social life? Perfect, I’m a recluse! Restricted movement? Fantastic, I’m a homebody! Where my sister saw a nightmare, I saw a bespoke slice of heaven tailored specifically for my low-energy, highly anxious existence. When I saw Mom and Dad preparing to break the engagement for Stella’s “freedom,” I dropped to my knees with a theatrical thud. “Dad! Mom! If my sister doesn’t want to jump into the fire,” I declared, my eyes shining with genuine, tearful sincerity, “then for God’s sake, let me take the dive!” 1 I suspect my sister, Stella Holt, was, in fact, reborn. Otherwise, I couldn’t explain how the woman who had been demurely flaunting her three-carat engagement rock the day before, woke up weeping and begging to call the whole thing off. In the living room, she was currently pouring out her heart to our parents. She claimed that Lachlan Shaw, the New York elite’s darling, was a velvet-glove tyrant—a secret, obsessive control freak. She hadn’t even met Lachlan in person yet. I was about to interject when the comments flashed again: [Wait, why did the heroine just reset the timeline?] [It’s a sick, obsessive forced-love story. If the heroine doesn’t marry him, what am I supposed to read?!] [Hold up, commenter above, maybe a fresh start is good for her. The heroine loves her freedom. I mean, can you imagine that life? Food has to be air-freighted, clothes are all private custom orders, even the brand of toothpaste is dictated by the hero. A life with no choices and no turbulence? How could she possibly survive that?!] My eyes lit up. This world, I realized, had gone completely mad. I don’t love freedom! That life—the one with no turbulence and pre-selected high-end everything—is the ultimate dream I, a socially anxious, lazy-to-the-bone human, have been striving for! But the madness didn’t stop there. Mom and Dad, faces etched with sympathy, helped Stella up and righteously declared they would break the decades-old agreement. They were willing to risk bankruptcy and earn the ire of the entire New York financial circuit to protect their daughter’s “precious independence.” Excuse me? Isn’t there another daughter? The trope of the substitute bride? Did no one read the handbook? As Dad’s hand trembled, reaching for the phone to make the fateful call, I executed my perfect, dramatic kneel. “Dad! Mom! Stella doesn’t want him,” I pitched my voice with just the right amount of desperate piety. “I’ll marry him. Will that work?” The living room fell silent for two seconds. Mom swiftly pulled Dad’s arm away from the phone. “Oh, honey, you forgot about Daisy! If she’s willing to marry him, that’s just perfect! Don’t make the call, honey. The contract never specified which daughter.” Dad dropped the phone like a hot potato, visibly relieved. The family drama was solved, and everyone was suddenly delighted. 2 That evening, I was happily packing in my small room, humming to myself. Comments: [Who is this random extra popping up and stealing the heroine’s spotlight?] [She looks genuinely thrilled. Does she really think losing her freedom will be easy?] [Hmm, is it just me, or is the Holt family’s attitude toward the two sisters drastically different?] [Replying to the comment above: I noticed that in the living room. And look at the rooms! Stella has the master suite with an ensuite bathroom; Daisy is in a converted nanny closet. Definitely playing favorites.] [Why not? Stella is the heroine. The world should revolve around her.] I ignored the bickering comments and carefully organized my meager possessions. A knock came at the door. Stella stood in the doorway, her gaze flickering nervously. “Are you really going to take my place and get engaged to Lachlan Shaw?” My heart stuttered. Was she about to backtrack? “Well… should I not?” I asked, trying to sound nonchalant. Stella didn’t answer directly. She bit her lip and continued, “Lachlan is a terrifying person. You have no idea. His ruthlessness in business could drive a man to ruin.” Business ruthlessness had nothing to do with me. “But… does he hit people at home? Does he make you do chores?” Stella paused, shaking her head with a strained, bitter smile. “Ten times worse than that.” My stomach tightened in anticipation. The next second, I heard her dreaded warning: “He will monitor your social life and restrict your movements!” Sigh. Is that all? Well, never mind then. Social life? I’m low-energy. No thanks. Going out? I’m a couch potato. Leaving the house is what actually kills me. Stella looked confused by my sudden visible relief, and she clearly wanted to say more. I quickly used the excuse of being tired and shut the door. All my life, if Stella was unhappy, Mom and Dad would inevitably find a reason to criticize me. I was desperate to escape that shadow, and this was my one and only chance. 3 The next day, our whole family boarded a private jet to New York. Our family certainly couldn’t afford a private flight; the arrangement was a courtesy of the Shaw family. The engagement ceremony was ostentatiously grand. In the waiting lounge, I met the legendary Lachlan Shaw for the first time. And I swear, I was a total S-W-O-O-N. Based on Stella’s horror stories, I’d prepared myself for someone vaguely decent-looking but ultimately menacing. I certainly didn’t expect a tall, broad-shouldered, impossibly handsome man radiating the kind of effortless power that only comes with old money. I hit the jackpot. At the ceremony, he took my hand and smiled gently. “Walk with me, my fiancée.” I felt my heart thunder in my chest. Comments: [I’m done. The hero is so hot. Five minutes of possession, please!] [OMG, did anyone else notice the heavy emphasis on the word my? So commanding!] [Guys, stop shipping this! Can’t you see Stella in the audience? She’s about to cry. This was supposed to be her ceremony!] [The commenter above has issues. She gave it up herself, remember?] After the ceremony, my sister pulled my parents over to say goodbye and, rather oddly, tried to shake Lachlan’s hand. I immediately grabbed her hand instead. “Stella, thank you. I remember everything you said. And so does your future husband, by the way!” Lachlan looked at me, a flicker of amusement dancing in his eyes. Stella bit her lip. She looked conflicted—partly resentful, partly relieved. 4 That night, Lachlan took me back to the Shaw family’s Manhattan penthouse. Gazing at the enormous room with its sprawling city views and private balcony, I asked uncertainly, “Is this… really for me?” When he confirmed it, I nearly burst into tears. But the real shocker was yet to come. Seeing how much I loved the space, Lachlan immediately called the house manager to draw up a contract, intending to transfer ownership of the penthouse to my name. Happiness had arrived too quickly. It felt unreal. “You’re giving me the apartment, too? Seriously?” Lachlan pressed a soft kiss to the top of my head. “As long as you never leave me, everything I own is yours.” I instantly swore a silent oath to the high heavens, mentally bowing to my new sugar daddy. Comments: [That’s the vibe! The dark, controlling male lead is SO satisfying~] [I’m not jealous at all. She got a multi-million-dollar penthouse, but she lost her precious freedom. Waaah!] [Seriously? Why does she deserve this? All of his possessions should belong to Stella, our true heroine! This random girl is so shameless.] [Okay, I need to punch the commenter above.] I signed the contract, then happily drifted off to sleep. In that half-asleep state, I couldn’t shake the feeling of a burning gaze watching me from the side of the bed. 5 The flawless first day must have lulled me into a false sense of security. The next morning, I woke up to find my personal luggage had been neatly taken away by the housekeeper. Just as I was mentally preparing for a dramatic Downton Abbey confrontation, a maid came to escort me to the dressing room, saying Lachlan was waiting for me there. The “dressing room” was easily twice the size of our family’s entire living room. I stared at the racks and racks of designer gowns, bags, and shoes, all meticulously arranged by color. The realization that I would henceforth only cry Prada tears over my Gucci problems made me chuckle out loud. “What’s so funny?” Lachlan had walked up beside me, holding a simple, sleek dress. I waved dismissively and asked if all these clothes were actually mine. He lowered his lashes and looked at me, his eyes dark with intensity. “These clothes were all purchased last night based on your measurements… I’ve imagined you in every single piece. From now on, only I will decide what you wear. Is that acceptable?” My eyes instantly welled up. I lowered my head, overwhelmed. This is when the comments went absolutely ballistic: [It’s happening! In the original, the heroine, Stella Holt, immediately flips out and calls him a sick control freak, causing their relationship to instantly sour and leading to the hero’s descent into full-blown obsession.] [The original was just toxic drama for the sake of it. The hero wasn’t malicious. He just wanted to say that he and his fiancée belong exclusively to each other.] [OMG, look! Daisy is having a much bigger reaction! She looks like she’s crying in anger, and the hero thinks she hates him. His face is already turning cold!] Seeing this last comment, I snapped my head up. I was met with Lachlan’s dangerously guarded expression. 6 His lips were pressed into a thin line, and the light in his eyes was slowly dimming. The air pressure around him plummeted. [Oh, no, she’s crying! He definitely thinks she finds him twisted!] [For heaven’s sake, explain yourself! You were enjoying this! Don’t mess this up for all of us!] [Wait, is she playing him? Pretending to go along, then planning an escape? Clever girl.] I saw the hurt beneath Lachlan’s carefully constructed mask of hardness, and my heart genuinely ached for him. I wasn’t angry! I was touched! I grabbed his hand and looked up at him, tears streaming down my face. “I… I’m just so incredibly moved.” “No one has ever been this good to me. Not ever.” “My parents only ever had eyes for Stella. My clothes were always her hand-me-downs. My room was the maid’s quarters. Even my name, Daisy, was chosen because Stella means ‘Star,’ and they wanted me to be ‘quietly happy’—to never compete with my sister’s brilliance.” “I have never owned anything this beautiful, and I couldn’t have imagined that someone would prepare all of this for me overnight.” I grew more emotional with every word, my tears flowing freely. “Lachlan, you are too good to me. I’m afraid this is all a dream.” Lachlan froze. He gently reached out, wiping the tears from my cheeks with his thumb. His movement was tentative, almost a careful exploration. “So… you don’t hate me for trying to control you?” I shook my head like a bobblehead. “Hate it? Not at all! Please, I beg you. Micro-manage me to death!” The storm cloud vanished from Lachlan’s eyes, and the corners of his mouth lifted in a smile he couldn’t quite contain. He pulled me into a tight embrace, resting his chin on my hair, and let out a deeply satisfied sigh. “Daisy,” he whispered. “You are wonderful.” [??? This is not the plot I signed up for.] [Well played, I have to say. Reverse manipulation! She just overloaded the hero’s CPU.] [This is genius-level strategy! Sisters, take notes! When faced with the CEO’s forced love, don’t resist—cry and tell him he’s too good to you!] [Taking notes now. I’ll use this when I reincarnate.] In the following days, I experienced what could only be described as a celestial existence. Mornings, I slept until my body decided it was done. Lachlan was already at his office, but my breakfast was always hot, with dozens of international and American options to choose from. After eating, I’d curl up in the penthouse’s private cinema or play games in the dedicated gaming room. In the afternoon, a professional aesthetician and a massage therapist would arrive for my in-house spa service. In the evening, Lachlan would be home on time to eat dinner with me. He really was true to my sister’s word about “monitoring my social life.” He bought me a bespoke new phone, then recorded his own fingerprint/Face ID into it right in front of me. “I will check your phone whenever I want,” he stated. I nodded obediently. “Of course. And the password is your birthday.” He paused, then lowered his head and kissed my forehead, a chuckle in his voice. “Good girl.” [Awww, I can’t take it! What is this perfect little romance?] [Heroine: I don’t have a social life. You’re checking nothing but the weather app.] [LOL. I bet she has fewer than twenty contacts, and ten of those are customer service bots and official brand accounts.] The comments were spot on. My only social interaction was texting my mother. The content was always simple. Mom: [Daisy, dear, how are things? Is Lachlan treating you well?] Me: [Very well.] Mom: [That’s good. Your sister has been a little down lately. Could you mention to Lachlan—you know, have him introduce Stella to a good, wealthy man? She sacrificed so much for you.] I nearly snorted a mouthful of cherry juice at the word “sacrifice.” I immediately handed the phone to Lachlan. “Look, my mom wants you to find a rich guy for my sister.” Lachlan took the phone, scrolled through the messages, and his brow furrowed. “They talk to you like this often?” “Pretty much,” I shrugged nonchalantly. “I’m used to it.” He said nothing, only taking my phone and promptly blocking both my parents’ numbers. Then he looked up at me, his gaze serious and intense. “From now on, I am your family.” “You only need to rely on me. All right?” What was I supposed to say to that? I launched myself at him, wrapping my arms around his neck and tackling him onto the sofa, shouting with pure, unadulterated devotion: “Yes! You are my only family! My one and only, Daddy!” Lachlan: “…” [HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!] [‘Daddy?’ What is her thought process?] [Lachlan Shaw: I treat you like a wife. You treat me like a father/sugar daddy. The power dynamic is completely scrambled!] 7 Days turned into weeks, and my relationship with Lachlan grew deeper. I realized he wasn’t a freak at all. His so-called “control” was more like a clumsy, intense, singular focus. He restricted me from going out because he thought the outside world was unsafe and that I might encounter danger. As a result, every time I (was forced by him to) step outside, I had an eight-person security detail. The spectacle was like a presidential motorcade. He controlled my diet because I had a sensitive stomach and was a picky eater. He hired a team of professional nutritionists and chefs, who prepared endless variations of healthy, delicious food. After a month, my face was noticeably rounder. As for restricting my clothes… I looked at the overflowing racks of designer bags, shoes, and clothes, and my only thought was: Please, increase the intensity. Don’t ever stop! One day, as I lay on the sofa eating air-freighted cherries, Lachlan handed me an engraved invitation. “There’s a charity gala tonight. I need you to accompany me.” My brow furrowed immediately. “Can I skip it?” I hated those social events—they were noisy, exhausting, and required a lot of fake smiling. Lachlan gently pinched my cheek. “No, you can’t. This one is important. Many key partners will be there.” “Come on, just go for me.” Since he put it that way, I reluctantly agreed. That evening, dressed in a custom, star-colored evening gown Lachlan had personally selected, I walked into the ballroom on his arm. The pairing of the handsome mogul and the beautiful debutante instantly captured the entire room’s attention. Feeling slightly self-conscious, I instinctively shrank closer to him. Lachlan noticed, leaning down to whisper in my ear: “Don’t be nervous. Just stay glued to my side.” He led me around to greet several important business associates. My role was simple: smile, nod, and act as a beautiful, silent accessory. Just as I was about to find a quiet corner to raid the dessert table, an unwelcome guest appeared. My sister, Stella Holt. She was wearing an ethereal white dress and perfect makeup, and she was accompanied by a gentle, artistic-looking man. When she saw me, a flash of pure envy and resentment crossed her eyes, quickly masked by an expression of deep, sisterly concern. “Daisy, what are you doing here?” Before I could speak, Lachlan cut in, his voice cool and flat: “She is my fiancée. Where else would she be?” Stella’s face went white. She bit her lip. “Lachlan, I know you have immense power, but you can’t do this to Daisy! She is young! You shouldn’t treat her like a bird in a gilded cage!” [Oh, snap! The original heroine is here! She brought her Male Lead No. 2 with her!] [This guy must be Orion Nash, the sensitive painter from the original plot, representing freedom and art.] [Here we go! The classic showdown! The older sister brings ‘freedom’ to rescue the ‘imprisoned’ younger sister!]

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The college student next door hit my car with his bike for the thirteenth time. He was flushed, his worn-out sweatshirt emphasizing his status, his hands rubbing together nervously. In the past, I’d always been lenient. I’d waved it off. But this time, he barely glanced at me. “Guys should be cool about stuff like this, right? It’s just a scratch. You’re rich, you wouldn’t seriously stick it to a poor student like me, would you?” Suddenly, I felt a deep, profound sense of exhaustion. “Let’s go through the legal channels,” I said, my voice flat. “Full compensation, including the previous nine incidents. Total: three million dollars.” He froze, then his face contorted. He pointed a shaking finger at me. “Three million? You’re just trying to take advantage of me because I’m poor!” “My girlfriend’s a lawyer. I’m not scared of you.” I didn’t think much of it until the day of the preliminary hearing. A perfectly manicured woman was cooing, stroking his arm. “My baby finally decided to announce my official status as his girlfriend, did he?” “As a reward, how about I send him and his corporate stooge of a lawyer straight to the cleaners? Sound good?” The woman speaking was my wife—Veronica Stone—the undefeated litigator, who was supposed to be in Zurich on a high-stakes case. … 1. “Seriously? But he’s so loaded, and he acts like such an arrogant prick.” Cody spoke with a heavy, performative self-pity. “I’m just a student. How could I ever win against him?” Veronica leaned in and pressed a loud kiss to his cheek. “You don’t trust anyone else, but you trust your girlfriend, right, hmm?” “Who is your girlfriend? I’m the Veronica Stone. The most feared litigator in the city. I’ll make him grovel, baby. How about that?” Cody finally cracked a smile. “Deal.” “Take down that pretentious old guy!” “Anything for my man. I’m utterly obsessed with you, my love.” I watched the two of them for a long moment, then slowly reached for my phone. Veronica saw my name flash on her screen and instinctively frowned. She waited a beat, then moved slightly away from Cody and answered. “What is it, Grant? Did you miss me already? I just left.” Her voice was sickeningly sweet. “Where are you?” I cut straight to the chase. She paused for a fraction of a second. “In Zurich, of course. I text you every day, don’t I?” she said, her tone suddenly clipped. “I have to go. My client will throw a fit if I keep him waiting.” I watched her smile vanish, her expression snapping back to stone-cold professionalism as she hung up. Cody immediately leaned in. “Who was that?” Veronica gave him a quick peck. “No one important. What, are you jealous?” I stood there, just out of their line of sight, watching them play the part of two smitten young lovers. My heart seized up, a cold, heavy ache settling in my chest. I didn’t show up in court that day. I sent my assistant instead. That evening, I went home. I sat on the sofa, scrolling through old photos of Veronica and me, every memory of our life together turning to ash in my mind. Veronica graduated top of her class and rocketed to the top of her field. Everyone called us a power couple—the golden boy and the brilliant barrister. Until that day, I had believed them. I gave a short, self-mocking laugh. Then, a text notification flashed on my phone. Cody. He was gloating. “What’s the point of having so much money, you ugly bastard? No one even loves you.” “My girlfriend is beautiful and she adores me.” Following the text were a dozen intimate photos: hands intertwined, faces pressed together, the easy, comfortable familiarity of a true couple. The final image was the official verdict. He’d won. I stared at the judgment slip. Every word on it felt like a direct, personal sneer. Before I could process it, Veronica called. “Grant Harrington, what is wrong with you? A man almost thirty trying to ruin a nineteen-year-old kid?” Her voice was laced with moral outrage. “How could you be so vicious as to demand three million dollars?” I smiled then. So, she knew the opposing party was me. She knew the entire story, yet she still chose to use her formidable skill to secure his victory. A true tier-one lawyer. I hung up without a word and called my company attorney. “I’m sorry, Mr. Harrington, but we simply couldn’t beat your wife.” “That’s fine,” I said. “I have another case. I might need your help again.” My attorney paused. “What case? Why not go through Veronica?” I spoke slowly, deliberately. “A divorce case.” “She is the opposing party.” 2. Veronica finally came home three days later. I gave her a cold look, then turned to walk away. “Oh, come on, honey. Are you still mad?” “I know my temper was bad the other day, and I apologize. It was just an impulse. Seeing Cody reminded me of when I was in college, struggling just to afford food. I felt sorry for him.” She carefully avoided any mention of her relationship with Cody. “We don’t need that money, Grant. Think of it as charity. We helped a poor kid.” I simply stood there, watching her. She tugged my hand and insisted we go out. As a peace offering, she wanted to buy me the expensive watch I’d been considering. I didn’t want to go, but I had been cooped up in the house too long. We walked into The Chronos Gallery. The sales associate rushed over. “Mr. Harrington, great to see you! And Mrs. Harrington, welcome back!” She enthusiastically showed me the new limited-edition timepieces. Veronica hooked her arm through mine. “Honey, I know this is your favorite brand. Pick anything you want. It’s on me. My way of saying sorry for being such a pain.” The associates were whispering nearby. “Veronica is so good to you, Mr. Harrington.” “You two are always featured in Town & Country as the city’s ultimate power couple.” A power couple? I let out a short, cynical laugh. My desire to shop had vanished. I just grabbed the closest watch I saw. Just then, Cody appeared, rushing over with an expression of manufactured delight. He threw his arms around Veronica. “Winnie, what are you doing here?” “Wow, that watch is gorgeous!” He reached out and immediately grabbed the one in my hand. The sales associates froze, exchanging uneasy glances. I looked at Cody’s face. He clearly knew who I was now—Veronica’s husband—yet he showed zero inhibition. No. He probably knew from the start. I chuckled, then pulled the watch from his grasp and held it out to him. “Nice, right? Half a million dollars. You couldn’t earn this if you worked yourself to death for ten years.” Cody’s smile faltered, and his eyes dropped. He didn’t say anything, just stared at Veronica with a look of wounded, self-pitying vulnerability. After a moment, he spoke. “I can’t afford it. I know that.” “But you don’t have to look down on me, Mr. Harrington. So what if I’m poor? Do the poor not deserve to live?” “I’ll go. I won’t bother you rich, high-and-mighty people anymore.” Veronica’s brows furrowed. The patience she’d used to placate me was gone. “Who says he can’t afford it? I’ll buy this watch for him.” She reached into her purse and threw a cheap plastic novelty watch—the kind you’d find in a vending machine—into my lap. “You wear this instead.” “Go home and think about yourself. When did you become such a snob, looking down on people just because they’re struggling?” “You’re just a parasite, Grant, riding on the back of your family’s money. Ten years from now, Cody will be twice the man you are.” She turned and chased after Cody, leaving me alone in the gallery. The sales associates looked at me with a mixture of pity and awkwardness. I watched her back, and my heart gave a strange, small contraction. It was a dull, persistent ache, like being pricked with thousands of tiny needles. I lowered my eyes, masking my expression, then pulled out my phone. I took photos of the watch’s purchase record and a picture of Veronica and Cody hugging in the street below. “Attorney Palmer,” I texted. “Adultery evidence.” 3. “Received.” I saw the confirmation from Attorney Palmer, then dropped my gaze and put the phone away. The store associate timidly approached me. “Mr. Harrington, that watch is a global limited edition. It’s gone now. Do you… do you still want to keep your photo up?” My eyes drifted to the photo displayed on the shelf near the register. It was a picture of Veronica and me, taken right after college graduation. I had spent my first three months’ salary, saved from eating instant noodles, to buy her the cheapest watch in that store. When I gave it to her, she had cried and hugged me, saying: “Grant, I swear I will love you forever. We are going to have the most successful, most beautiful future together, I promise.” Years later, Veronica no longer wore that watch, but it remained in my closet. Every time I saw it, I was transported back to that moment, utterly immersed in the future she had promised. Now, we were both successful and wealthy. That photo felt like a physical slap across my face. “Mr. Harrington?” the assistant prompted. Her voice yanked me back from the memory. My gaze fell on the smiling, clueless man in the photo—the man who never imagined a day like this. “Tear it down,” I said. “It doesn’t matter anymore.” A useless photo. Just like a useless relationship. I turned away, twirling my phone in my hand, and walked out of the store without looking back. I spent three hours by the ocean, watching the tide roll in and out. Seven years—from our first date in college to our wedding—played out in slow motion in my mind. The dull ache in my heart, which had been churning like the water, finally subsided into a cold, complete stillness. I sent her a text. “Tomorrow is our seventh anniversary. I think we need to talk.” Veronica didn’t reply. Cody, however, posted a story. He showed off the limited-edition watch Veronica had just given him, with the caption: “The one who truly loves you will cross any obstacle to bring you joy.” “In love, only the unloved one is the side piece.” A moment later, I saw Veronica’s ‘like’ underneath the post. I gave a bitter laugh. She had time for social media but no time to answer my text. It didn’t matter. I no longer cared. Just then, my phone rang with a video call request. It was Cody. “Guess where I am, Grant?” “You rich people are something else. Your dog eats better than I do. Why should an animal live better than me?” In the video, Cody was standing inside my villa. My Siberian Husky, Snowball, whom I had raised since he was a puppy, was being held tight in his arms. “What are you doing? Let him go.” Snowball was aggressive with strangers. He struggled violently in Cody’s arms, perhaps recognizing my voice. He thrashed harder. Cody clamped down on his neck. Snowball twisted his head and bit Cody’s hand hard. I watched Cody’s triumphant expression warp into a sneer of rage. “Stupid mutt.” “Humans look down on me, and now you look down on me too.” Cody violently slammed Snowball down, then kicked the dog hard in the ribs. I grabbed my keys and ran like a madman. “Don’t you touch him!” The ten-minute drive from the ocean to my house took me five. But I was still too late. I burst through the front door and saw Snowball lying on the marble floor, his eyes wide with tears, whimpering softly. It was the sound he made only when he was in excruciating pain. My heart was instantly pierced. “Cody! Let him go! Get away from him!” Cody turned and grinned at me. “Mr. Harrington is home. Your place is huge, man. But your dog is a little naughty.” “Oh, right. You came rushing back like that just for this dog, didn’t you?” He looked down at Snowball, his eyes turning cold and vicious. He laughed at me. “Hold on. I’ll send him down to you right now.” The look on his face filled me with a sudden, suffocating sense of dread. “No—” 4. But it was too late. Cody stood on the second-floor balcony and, right in front of me, tossed Snowball over the railing. Thump. I watched, helpless, as the dog I had raised and loved like family hit the ground and lay there, lifeless. “Snowball!” I screamed, a raw sound of sheer despair. I saw his eyes. They were slowly closing. His paw was stretched toward me, as if he wanted one last hug. But he was too far. The place he fell was too far away for me to reach him. Then, his eyes finally closed. The immense pain blanked my mind for a few seconds. Hatred and sorrow twisted into a single, overwhelming knot. Cody looked from the corpse of Snowball to me, and he began to laugh maniacally. “He’s dead? Good, the bastard deserved it.” “Why should an animal live better than me? I didn’t mean to kill him at first, but—” I sprinted up the stairs, pure animalistic rage driving me. I lunged at Cody, my hand raised high. “Who told you to touch him? Who gave you the right?” My fist never landed. A figure slammed between us. Veronica glared at me, her face a mask of cold fury. In all our years together, I had never seen her look at me that way—for another man. “What are you doing, Grant!” I was shaking, barely able to speak. I pointed a trembling finger at Snowball’s corpse below. “Who let this man in my house? He just threw my dog to his death!” Cody shook his head at Veronica. “I’m sorry, Winnie. The dog suddenly went crazy and bit me, then it jumped over the railing on its own.” He held up his hand, exposing the puncture marks from Snowball’s teeth. Veronica’s eyes hardened. She shoved my shoulder hard, forcing me to stumble back. “Your dog! If Cody is seriously hurt, I swear I’ll make you pay.” The sharp corner of a decorative coat rack caught me in the gut. The pain doubled me over. Veronica didn’t even glance at me. She grabbed Cody’s hand. “Are you okay?” Cody shook his head, looking pitiful. “I didn’t mean it, Winnie. I’ve just never been in such a big house, and I was looking around.” “The dog just lunged at me. I—I—” He was cut off by Veronica, who called her driver to take him to the hospital immediately. I grabbed at her pants, trying to suppress the nausea and the searing pain in my stomach, clinging to one last, desperate hope. Maybe Snowball could still be saved. “Take Snowball to the vet. Emergency. Please.” She didn’t look at me. Her voice was flat, emotionless. “It’s just an animal. It’s dead. Good riddance.” Watching them leave, the tears finally fell. They were not for Veronica. They were for Snowball, and for the seven years of my life I had wasted on a lie. Before Cody turned the corner, he looked at me, a victorious sneer plastered on his face. He mouthed two words. I understood them perfectly. “Side piece.” The unloved one is the side piece. 5. I woke up in the hospital three days later. My assistant was sitting beside the bed. He looked like he wanted to say something but held back. “Boss—” Veronica hadn’t visited. Not once in two days. I closed my eyes and spoke, my voice raspy. “Call the police.” Assistant: “Yes, sir.” Veronica arrived soon after the police left. Her face was dark, her eyes burning with irritation. Her first words were a reprimand. “He’s a college student, Grant. He hasn’t even graduated. You called the police? What about his future?” I looked at her, my expression blank. “The moment he killed my dog, he chose his future.” “I want him to be held accountable for what he did.” Her voice was cold. “I never thought you’d become this kind of man. You rich people really have no souls.” “I’m here, Grant. You can’t touch him.” “You know what I’m capable of. I never lose a case. And I won’t let Cody lose this one.” She turned and left. A day later, I received a court summons. Veronica, acting on Cody’s behalf, was suing me for willfully allowing my pet dog to injure a person. For any other lawyer, this case would be impossible to win. But she was Veronica Stone. She had never lost a case. She was the standard-bearer for the entire legal profession. People used to envy me for having such a brilliant wife. I never imagined she would weaponize that brilliance against me. Sure enough, the verdict came down. I lost. Completely. The court ordered me to pay Cody $100,000 for mental distress, medical bills, and emotional trauma. Furthermore, I was found guilty of allowing a pet to intentionally injure a person, and if the plaintiff did not forgive me, I could face a fifteen-day detention. I stared at the judgment notice. Although I’d convinced myself I was over her, a faint, cold pain still registered in my chest. I hadn’t believed Veronica could be so utterly ruthless toward me. She was so concerned about protecting Cody’s reputation that she never considered the consequences for mine. If that’s how it is, then so be it. Veronica, I want absolutely nothing to do with you ever again. I called Attorney Palmer and sent over the final piece of evidence of Veronica’s infidelity. …….. Veronica smiled when Attorney Palmer came to see her. “Grant realized his mistake, didn’t he? I only did this to teach him a lesson. I wouldn’t actually let him get detained.” “Tell him I’ll be home tonight. As for what happened before—” Attorney Palmer interrupted her before she could finish. “Ms. Stone, this is from Mr. Harrington. Please take a look.” Veronica’s smile widened. “Is he trying to surprise me?” “Oh, Grant. He didn’t need to go through all this trouble. He just needed to—” Her voice stopped as the documents slipped out of the envelope and onto the floor. She stared at the papers, frozen.

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I was at Landon’s parents’ house for dinner. His mother, all graciousness and pearls, was serving him soup. “I’ve done a preliminary seating chart for the engagement party next month. Do you see anything you want to adjust?” My hand, poised to lift a piece of chicken, froze. Landon took the phone and answered dismissively. “Mom, whatever you think is best.” The dining room quieted for a beat. His mother laughed, trying to smooth over the awkwardness. “Calla, honey, why are you being shy? We’ve reached this point now.” Landon finally looked up. “Mom, engagement is on the table, yes, but the bride isn’t Calla. “Delilah is coming home soon. We’re going to start over.” My spoon clattered into the soup bowl, and a splash of hot liquid scalded the back of my hand. Landon’s mother rushed over, dabbing my skin with a napkin. “Oh dear, Calla! This… Landon, what kind of joke is this?” Landon put down his chopsticks. “It’s not a joke. Calla knows. We had an agreement from the beginning—when Delilah came back, we’d end it.” I slowly pulled my hand away. The red burn was already starting to sting. “That’s right,” I said. “We did.” His mother’s eyes were tearing up. “But your past few years…” Landon answered for me. “It was transactional, Mom. We both got what we needed. Don’t overthink it.” I nodded, lowered my head, and took a sip of the soup. It was rich and savory, but my throat was tight, making it hard to swallow. It felt like all the swallowed years of hurt and silent humiliation, finally, it wouldn’t go down. 1 Landon lit a cigarette once we were in the car. The window was half-down, and the early autumn wind whipped inside, making my eyes water. “Are you upset?” he asked. “No. Just surprised it’s happening so fast.” He exhaled a plume of smoke. “Delilah’s flight is next Wednesday. We need to clear things out before then. I have a few things at your apartment; I’ll swing by tomorrow to get them.” “Okay.” “The things you left at my place, I’ll have them boxed up and sent to you.” “Okay.” He was quiet for a moment. “Calla, don’t be like this.” “How should I be?” I finally turned to face him. “Should I cry? Should I demand an explanation? Or should I ask you, like I did before, why you always choose her over me?” Landon crushed out the cigarette. “We had an agreement, Calla. From the jump.” He repeated the phrase, as if trying to convince himself. “You remember, don’t you? The day Delilah left for Europe, you came to me. I was clear: when she comes back, we stop.” I remembered. I remembered it all too well. I had thought I would be satisfied. But the human heart is a greedy thing. Five years of silent longing had made me foolishly hopeful. What if? “I didn’t forget,” I said flatly. Landon’s jaw tightened. “Do you have to use that tone?” “What tone should I use?” I laughed. “Should I thank you for letting me be Delilah’s stand-in for three years? Or thank you for finally proving that I can never win against a ghost who’s been three thousand miles away?” The car pulled up outside my apartment building. Landon didn’t unbuckle his seatbelt. He looked at me. “I won’t take the apartment back; you can stay as long as you need. I’ve also wired a substantial amount of money to your account. It’s for your time, your…” “Severance package?” I finished for him. He didn’t deny it. I nodded and pushed the door open. The night air was cool. I hugged my arms as I walked toward the building, hearing him call out behind me. “Calla!” I looked back. He was sitting in the car, his face flickering in the streetlamp’s harsh light. “We can still be friends,” he said. I smiled. “Landon. The one thing I’d never stoop to is being your damn friend.” 2 The beginning of my story with Landon wasn’t something I was proud of. I was his girlfriend, Delilah’s, best friend. And I’d been secretly in love with him for five long years. I confessed my teenage crush to Delilah. A month later, she brought Landon to me, introducing him with a dazzling, innocent smile. He was her boyfriend. The day Delilah left for her graduate program overseas, I went to the airport to see her off. She hugged me, crying. “Calla, keep an eye on Landon for me. Don’t let any other girls get close to him.” I promised I would. Then, I watched her walk through security, turned around, and went straight to Landon. He was wasted that day, sobbing on my living room sofa like a puppy that had been abandoned. I knelt in front of him, my fingers brushing away his tears. “Landon. She doesn’t want you right now. But I do.” He opened his bloodshot eyes. Then he kissed me. It was savage, laced with liquor and a desperate, bitter edge—a raw act of vengeance against a phantom. When he woke up the next morning, he looked at the bloodstain on the sheets and was silent for a long time. “Calla. I don’t love you.” I said I knew. “When Delilah comes back, we stop.” I said okay. You see, I knew it was a losing bet from the first moment. But I played anyway. I bet that three years would be long enough for one person to get used to another’s presence. I bet I could win against a shadow a continent away. Clearly, I lost. I lost everything. 3 The day Landon came to collect his things, Delilah was already back in Boston. When I opened the door, she was standing there, effortlessly radiant, her arm looped through his. “Calla, long time no see.” It had been three years. She hadn’t changed at all—still bright, outgoing, like a sunflower perpetually facing the sun. And I was already forgetting what it felt like to stand in the light. “Come in,” I said, stepping aside. Landon didn’t look at me, walking straight to the bedroom. Delilah followed, surveying my apartment. “The décor is different. Didn’t you use to like warmer colors?” “People change,” I said. Landon emerged from the bedroom, holding a bag containing his clothes. Delilah went to him and, very naturally, took the bag and looked inside, pulling out a man’s shirt. “This doesn’t look like yours, hon,” she said, looking at Landon. Landon took it, looked, and then turned to me. “Why is your shirt in my bag?” My chest ached, but I forced a casual shrug. “Must have gotten mixed in when I did your laundry.” Delilah smiled sweetly. “Be more careful next time, Calla. Landon is very particular about his clothes.” She tossed the shirt back into the bag, as if it were something dirty. Then she seemed to remember something else. “Oh, Calla. Landon and I are having our engagement party next month. You should come, shouldn’t she, Landon? You’re our best friend, after all.” Landon frowned. “Delilah.” “What?” Delilah blinked innocently. “Calla wouldn’t mind, right?” I looked at Landon. He was looking away. “I’ll see. Work might be busy.” “Where are you working again? That little ad agency?” Delilah asked. “Still there,” I said. She gave me a look of pity. “Still? After all this time? Should I have Landon introduce you? He needs people at his company.” “No, thank you. I’m doing fine.” Landon finally spoke. “If you ever need anything, Calla, just let me know.” “I won’t,” I answered quickly. He glanced at me, his eyes unreadable. But Delilah was already tugging his hand. “Let’s go. Our parents are waiting for us for dinner.” They left. The moment the door shut, I slid down the wall, collapsing onto the floor. My knees hit the hardwood with a dull thud. But I didn’t feel the pain. The emptiness where my heart used to be hurt far more. 4 I didn’t go to the engagement party. But I received the invitation. Landon and Delilah’s names were printed side-by-side in embossed gold lettering, searing my eyes. That day, I worked late and bought a bottle of expensive bourbon on the way home. I drank alone in the silent apartment. Halfway through the bottle, my phone rang. It was Landon. I answered but didn’t speak. His voice was slurred. “Calla. Why didn’t you come?” “Didn’t want to. Do you need anything else? I’m tired.” He was silent for a moment. “I’m downstairs.” I walked to the window. The familiar luxury sedan was indeed parked on the street. He was leaning against the car door, holding his phone, looking up toward my window. The groom-to-be, in his tuxedo, was outside his ex-lover’s apartment. How utterly pathetic. “Come down. We need to talk.” “Talk about what?” I asked. “How the groom-to-be drank too much at his own party and suddenly remembered he had a spare woman he used for three years?” He inhaled sharply. “Calla, stop it.” I laughed, a harsh, dry sound. “How else should I be? Landon, you should be holding your fiancée right now, not harassing me.” “I don’t want to get engaged,” he suddenly said. I froze. “What?” “I don’t want to get engaged,” he repeated, his voice barely a whisper. “But I can’t—Delilah, her family… they’ve helped me so much. The company needs their resources right now…” I cut him off. “So you’re calling to tell me how conflicted you are? How much of a victim you are?” “I just…” He paused. “I feel awful about what I did to you.” That sentence was the final straw. I snapped. I screamed into the phone. “Landon! You feel awful now? For three years, you used me as her replacement, you called me her name, you even asked me, in bed, why I couldn’t be more like her—and now you feel awful?” “I…” I was crying, choking on my breath. “Do you know what the worst part is? The worst part is that I knew you didn’t love me, I knew you were just using me to fill a void, but I was so damn pathetic I loved you anyway!” “Calla…” “Get out!” I shrieked. “Go back to your engagement party! Go back to Delilah! I hope I never have to see you again!” I hung up and turned off my phone. Then I sank to the floor, shaking uncontrollably. Five years of longing, three years of sacrifice. Eight years of my life, exchanged for his pathetic “I feel awful” and someone else’s gold-embossed wedding invitation. 5 I took a sick day. My eyes were too swollen to face anyone, so I just slept. In the evening, the doorbell rang. I assumed it was a delivery, but when I opened the door, it was Delilah. She was holding a sleek gift box, smiling brightly. “You missed the party yesterday. This is your gift box.” I didn’t take it. “Is there something else you need?” She pushed past me, stepping inside and looking around. “Aren’t you going to invite me to sit down?” I stood in the doorway. “Thanks for the gift. You can go now.” “What’s the rush?” She sat on the sofa and opened the box. “Want to try one? This brand of dark chocolate—Landon picked it specifically. He said you liked dark chocolate.” I stared at her. The smugness of the victor was unconcealed on her face. “Delilah. Just tell me what you came here to gloat about.” She smiled. “Calla, you’re always so direct.” She stood up and walked toward me. “Fine, I’ll be direct. Thank you for looking after Landon for me all these years. “He’s a little boy, really. Needs to be coddled. It must have been hard for you while I was gone. “But I’m back now, so you don’t have to worry about it anymore.” “Oh, and one more thing,” she added, her smile fading slightly. “Landon came looking for you last night, didn’t he?” I stayed silent. “He was drunk and talking nonsense. Don’t take it to heart. We’re getting married. We can still be friends, right?” I looked at the hand she extended. Her nails were manicured and painted a pale pink lacquer. Exactly the color Landon loved. “No,” I said. Her face stiffened. “Delilah, not everything in this world can be fixed with ‘I’m sorry’ or ‘Let’s still be friends.’ “You took the person I loved most, and now you want me to smile and wish you well? Why should I?” “Took him?” She raised an eyebrow. “Calla, Landon was always mine. You just took advantage of my absence.” I nodded. “You’re right. I deserved this.” I met her eyes. “But don’t get too comfortable. A man who can sleep with another woman for three years behind your back—do you really think he loves you all that much?” Delilah’s face finally fell completely. “At least he’s marrying me,” she said, each word deliberate. “Calla, you’ll always be the understudy.” She left. The moment the door closed, I leaned against the wall and laughed. I laughed, and then the tears started again. She was right. The understudy. For three years, I had lived a joke. 6 I couldn’t sleep. Nights turned into blank, agonizing stretches. The moment I closed my eyes, Landon’s face was there. Sometimes the boy on the basketball court who smiled at me for the first time. Sometimes the man who cried in my arms when he was drunk. Sometimes the cold Landon who said, “When Delilah comes back, we stop.” They rotated, tearing my fragile peace to shreds. I went to a doctor. The diagnosis was mild depression. Recommended rest, recommended moving away from the source of stress. I laughed. Source of stress? Landon was the stress. But the city of Boston was huge, and everywhere I looked, there were traces of him. The restaurants we frequented, the stores we browsed, even the corner bodega had a memory attached to it. I decided to leave. When I submitted my resignation, my boss was surprised. “Calla, you’re doing great work. Why leave now?” “Need a change of scenery,” I said. He probed. “Did you find a better offer? We can discuss salary.” I shook my head. It wasn’t about the money. It was about survival. If I stayed, I was afraid I would genuinely break. The day I packed up my desk, a quiet colleague I rarely spoke to slipped me a small piece of paper with a phone number on it. “My friend runs a counseling center,” she whispered. “Call if you need to.” I clutched the paper, my nose stinging with emotion. Even a near-stranger could see I was falling apart. And Landon, who slept next to me for three years, never noticed when I was unhappy, when I was crying. Because he never cared. Those who don’t care, don’t look closely. 7 The day before I left Boston, I went to the bank. I wired the substantial sum Landon had deposited, every penny, back to his account. The note attached to the transfer was just one word: Settled. Then I deleted every form of contact I had for him. Phone, texts, email, social media. When I got to the last app, my finger hovered over the confirmation button. I didn’t press it. I told myself to leave one open. Just one window, so I could look in and see how spectacularly happy he was. See how the life I’d desperately dreamed of was so easily acquired by another person. It was pathetic. But humans are like that: the thing that hurts us the most, we need to stare at. As if watching the poison work will eventually make us immune. That evening, I got an unknown call. I answered. It was Landon.

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My female neighbor insisted that my dad molested her, and directly brought people to smash my house. “I am a respectable woman, how can I live after being defiled by your dad!” “The old one has no shame, the young one is sinister and cunning, a family of beasts!” “Must compensate! Medical bills, lost wages, emotional distress damages totaling $500,000! Not a penny less.” More and more neighbors gathered around, all forcing me to hand over the person. Looking at the indignant crowd, I laughed in anger. I would like to hand him over, but my dad has been dead for ten years! Chapter 1 “My dad has been dead for ten years!” My words were like splashing a ladle of cold water into boiling oil, instantly exploding the pot. Karen was stunned for a moment, then that face crying like a pear blossom bathed in rain twisted into an exaggerated mocking expression. “Dead for ten years? Can he climb out of the grave to molest me after being dead for ten years? Daphne, use your brain when making up lies!” Standing next to her were two big burly men and a woman with curly hair, obviously relatives she called. One of the men with a face full of flesh had already smashed a crack in my door frame. The hallway was crowded with neighbors watching the fun, some holding phones recording, some pointing fingers, everyone’s eyes stabbing at me like needles. I tried to keep my voice steady: “I really didn’t lie to you, my father passed away ten years ago, his ashes are buried in Greenwood Cemetery, we go to sweep the grave every year. This house was bought by my husband and me not long ago, how could my dad live here?” Karen’s tears came just like that, she covered her face, shoulders shaking violently: “You still want to quibble! I saw it with my own eyes! Last night around eight, I came back from overtime, elevator was broken so I had to take the stairs, just reached the fourth floor corner, an old man hugged me from behind, hands reaching into my clothes…” She stopped here, seemingly unable to continue, sobbing. The middle-aged woman with curly hair next to her quickly supported her, glaring at me: “Don’t be afraid, girl, we are all here! This kind of shameless family needs to be exposed!” “I struggled desperately, he then let go and ran away.” Karen wiped a handful of tears, suddenly pointing at me. “He must be your dad! I saw him come out of your house with my own eyes, and saw you giving him money, giving him food, if not your own dad why you raise him? Pretending to be what philanthropist!” My heart sank. She was talking about the homeless man near the community garage. I did help him a few times, after the weather turned cool, I gave him an old wool coat my husband didn’t wear, and a beanie I bought too big. But I never thought this little act of kindness would become a knife stabbing at me today. “That is a homeless old man in the community, not my father, I just saw he was pitiful…” I explained. “Pitiful?” Karen interrupted me fiercely, voice suddenly rising, “Your dad pretends to be a homeless man, specifically squatting in the stairwell to molest women, this is called pitiful? This is called a pervert! This is called no respect for old age!” “Right! No respect for old age!” The curly-haired woman shouted along. “Whole family is not good stuff!” Another man echoed. The crowd of onlookers began to commotion, discussion getting louder and louder. “Can’t tell, a decent looking family…” “Know the face but not the heart, old man pretending to be homeless, this move is insidious enough.” “Karen is also quite pitiful, being by an old man… tsk tsk.” I felt blood rushing to my head, that suffocating feeling of being unable to defend myself grabbed my throat. “You can check! My father’s name was David, died of liver cancer ten years ago, I have the death certificate, cremation certificate, cemetery purchase contract!” Chapter 2 “Then take it out! Take it out now! Let everyone see if it’s true!” Karen immediately took the words, a flash of successful pleasure in her eyes. I turned to look at my husband Mark behind me, his face was iron green, fists clenched tight. I held his fist, advising him not to be impulsive. The house has already been smashed by them, doing it now would purely be giving the advantage to the other side. I signaled my husband to find the death certificate in the room. The room was quiet for a moment, leaving only Karen’s affected sobbing and neighbors’ rustling discussion. I took a deep breath, trying to calm my mood. I had met Karen in the elevator and talked. She said the house she lives in now is rented, and asked about my situation. When learning I bought the house with full payment, she threw a sentence: “Why rich people still live in this kind of old community.” “Save for children’s school fees.” I answered casually. In the elevator, Karen didn’t speak again, but her face was already not very good. I regretted saying these words, money should not be revealed, obviously Karen dared to ask for five million, must have guessed my family is financially well-off. Time passed second by second. An ominous premonition rose in my heart. Sure enough, five minutes later, Mark came out empty-handed, face ugly, lowered voice said to me: “Dad’s death certificate… is not in the drawer where documents are usually kept.” “What?” My voice was a bit tight. Mark frowned tight: “I searched the study, bedroom, didn’t find it, could it be put in wrong place after using it for some procedure last time?” Karen obviously heard our conversation, she immediately screamed: “Can’t find it? Ha! So coincidental? Daphne, your acting is really full set! First make up a lie of death without proof, now say certificate lost? You treat everyone as three-year-old kids?” “Really can’t find it! But we have other proofs! Cemetery contract! Photos! My dad’s medical records before death!” Karen relentless: “Those can all be forged! How easy is it to Photoshop now? I want to see the official death certificate! Issued by the police! Issued by the funeral home! Can’t take it out means it’s fake! You are just guilty!” The flesh-faced man who smashed the door beside her stepped forward, almost sticking to my face: “Little lady, don’t play tricks. My wife suffered such a big grievance, there must be an explanation for this today! Compensation! Medical bills, lost wages, emotional distress damages, five million! One cent less, I smash your house again!” “Right! Compensate!” “Hand over the person! Hand over that old rogue!” “Not hand over person then compensate! Otherwise call police catch you!” The crowd was incited, a few young people even started to squeeze forward. Mark protected me behind him, sternly said: “What do you want to do? Trespassing is illegal!” Karen cried and shouted, “When your dad molested me why didn’t he think about whether it’s illegal? I am a respectable woman, body not clean anymore, how can I live! Better to die!” She said and was about to hit the wall, held back tightly by the curly-haired woman. This scene aroused the onlookers’ sympathy even more. “Too pitiful…” “This family is really sinning, stay away from this family later.” “Call the police, let the police handle it.” Husband nodded to me. Seems husband understood my gesture when he went into the room to find the death certificate just now, he had already called the police. At first, when this group of people entered the house and smashed, we were afraid of provoking the other party, dared not call the police easily. I looked at this group of people coldly: “Police will arrive immediately! My dad indeed passed away ten years ago, this is a fact! You are now Extortion!” I don’t believe white can be said into black. Chapter 3 “Extortion?” Karen suddenly stopped crying, she took out her phone, started recording me, “Everyone look ah, this is the daughter of the molester! Refuse to admit! And bite back saying I extortion! I Karen walk straight sit straight, today is to seek justice! If you are innocent, take out the death certificate ah! Take it!” She approached step by step, phone almost shoved into my face. The crowd around also booed along. “Take it out!” “Where is the certificate?” “None means guilty!” My brain was buzzing, Mark went into the room to rummage through chests and cupboards again, but I knew hope was slim. That blue folder containing all of father’s documents after death, clearly always placed in the second drawer of the study, how could it disappear? “Give me some more time.” My voice was dry. “Enough!” Karen interrupted me fiercely, she turned off recording, a cruel smile on her face. “Daphne, I tell you, this matter is not over today. “Either, you take out five million compensation now; or, I immediately post the video just now online, with text: Rich girl assists father pretending to be homeless to molest female neighbor multiple times, afterwards refuses to admit.. “Guess how netizens will view you? Will your family business be affected?” I was cold all over. She came prepared. From insisting it was my father, to asking for five million like a lion opening its mouth, to now cyber threat, every step was calculated. She seemed not to care about the truth at all, she just wanted money. “You… you are framing.” I said weakly. “Framing?” Karen leaned close to me, using a voice only two of us could hear said, “Daphne, I know you have money. You drive Mercedes, live in large flat, the bags you carry are thousands of dollars. Five million is nothing to you, but to me, can change fate. You give money, I shut up, from now on well water not violate river water. You don’t give…” She stepped back, restored that look of victim’s sorrow, voice clear and loud: “You don’t give, I will come to your door to cry every day! Let the whole community, whole network people see, what kind of goods your family is! Old one no respect for age, young one sinister cunning, a family of beasts!” “You!” Mark rushed over, pulled back tightly by me. Move hand and it’s over. Once moved hand, we really have reason but can’t say clear. The atmosphere in the hallway had reached boiling point. Someone was shouting “Hitting people”, someone was calling police, more people holding phones shooting non-stop. The men and women Karen brought blocked my door, a posture of not giving up until achieving goal. I felt a burst of dizziness. Ten years, father has been dead for ten years. I never thought, one day he would be dragged into a dirty farce in this way, becoming a tool for others to blackmail me. “Found it?” I asked Mark in low voice. Mark shook head, eyes red: “I search again, could it be left in the old house…” “Too late.” I looked at the gathering crowd, looking at Karen’s face written full of greed and malice, knew today impossible to end well. Sure enough, siren sound from far to near. “Police here!” Someone shouted. Karen’s eyes lit up, immediately cried louder: “Officer, you must decide for me ah! I was molested, they still don’t admit!” Chapter 4 Two police officers squeezed into the crowd, looked at the messy doorway and crying Karen, then looked at me and Mark. “What happened?” The younger officer frowned and asked. Karen spoke first, adding oil and vinegar to tell the story once. Officer looked at me: “Is what she said true?” “Partially true.” I tried to organize language, “I did help a homeless old man, but he is not my father. My father passed away ten years ago, death certificate temporarily not found, but we can provide other materials, can also check records at police station.” Karen screamed: “Temporarily not found? Officer, she is delaying tactic! That old rogue must be hidden in her house! I demand search!” I really didn’t expect, Karen in front of police can still be so righteous. “Officer, can your device check if my father is already dead?” Saying, I reported father’s ID number. Officer nodded. At start, I recited smoothly, state code, city code, birth date all no problem, but reached last few digits I actually couldn’t remember no matter what. Karen seeing this, immediately made noise again, “Officer you look, I didn’t say wrong right!” Older officer rubbed temples: “All stop arguing.” He pointed at Karen, “You said molested, did you make statement? Medical exam?” “I… I haven’t had time, I only thought about reasoning with them.” Karen eyes flickered a bit. Officer looked at me again, “You said father died ten years, any other evidence besides death certificate? Relatives friends, former neighbors, all can testify.” “Yes! My mother, my uncle, and dad’s former colleagues, all can prove!” I was like grabbing a life-saving straw. “Those are all your people, of course help you speak!” Karen immediately refuted. Officer obviously saw this kind of wrangling scene a lot, he looked at the hallway blocked water-tight, said: “Here is not place to solve problem, you few, all follow us to precinct to make statement.” He looked at Karen, “As for you, if you insist on being infringed, need to formally report case, then go hospital for injury check.” “What about them? What if they run?” Karen relentless. “Can’t run.” Officer looked at me, “Ms. Daphne, since you said can provide proof, then please find death certificate or other strong evidence ASAP. Also, regarding that homeless old man, your community should have surveillance right?” Surveillance! I fiercely looked up. If really an old man molested Karen, and ran into my house, surveillance must capture it! Karen’s face changed for the first time, although recovered quickly, but that moment of panic didn’t escape my eyes. “As everyone knows, surveillance in stairwell broke long ago, you hurry let Daphne pay, don’t waste time anymore.” Karen wasn’t wrong, this community’s surveillance indeed always malfunctioned, when moved in heard neighbors introduce, most surveillance old and disrepair, especially those in hallway. Young officer said: “Broken can check previous, always leave some traces. Let’s go, all go to precinct, gathering here influence not good.” “No!” Karen suddenly got excited, “Go to precinct, they definitely find connections to suppress it! Are you seeing they have money, so want to shield them? I want solve here! Solve in front of all neighbors!” She shouted this, a few unknowing neighbors started to help again. “Exactly, having money amazing ah!” “Police need handle fairly!” Older officer’s face sank: “You are interfering with law enforcement, either follow procedure, or you mediate yourselves, but smashing other’s property already suspected illegal.” He pointed at the mess inside my house. Flesh-faced man shrank neck. Situation deadlocked for a moment. Just then, a burst of hurried footsteps came from stairs. Mrs. Lewis from HOA panted squeezing into crowd, followed by two building staff.

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On New Year’s Eve, I traveled three thousand miles back from a remote outpost, only to hear a girl at the station shouting my boyfriend’s name into her phone. “Jax, I’m off the train! Where are you?” A female voice came from behind, carrying the specific coquettishness of someone in love. My steps paused, subconsciously looking back. “I know, I know, your unit is busy… But I’m here, you can’t let me spend the holiday alone, right?” Her tone of acting spoiled sounded inexplicably familiar. Three years ago, I said the same words to Jackson Hayes. At that time he just transferred to Fort Bragg, and I was still in Walter Reed Medical School, every meeting required crossing half the country. I shook my head, secretly laughing at my sensitivity. World is so big, thousands of people called “Jax”. But next second, her voice suddenly clear: “Captain Jackson Hayes, if you don’t come out to pick me up, I’m going to hang a banner at your unit’s gate!” Jackson Hayes. My boyfriend is also named Jackson Hayes, same rank. … Ghost driven, I took out my phone, sent message to Jackson. [Jax, can you take leave tonight? I arrived in the city.] He didn’t reply. Girl beside me took her friend to checkout counter, she shook her phone: “Look, only five minutes, asking where I am again.” While laughing, she reached hand to family planning shelf, grabbed several boxes casually. Friend winked: “Playing so wild?” “Lyla, you and Jackson are very loving huh, so those complaints just now were showing off to me?” Girl frivolously said: “If I don’t satisfy him well, leave him to other old women?” Other customers in convenience store looked sideways, someone snickered. Girl didn’t care at all, twisted body walked out with friend. I finished checkout, followed behind them. December winter cold, this girl named Lyla wore a crop top inside coat, bare forearms exceptionally dazzling in cold wind. She looked only early twenties, face full of bright publicity. Completely different from me, always calm and introverted. Walked to roadside, Lyla’s friend took a taxi left. She hummed song continued walking forward, every intersection, our direction consistent. Hearing song she hummed clear, my steps unconsciously slowed. That was song Jackson sang at unit gala, he said that was song only for me. Lyla picked up phone dialed: “Jax, I’m almost there, wait me at gate okay.” That end don’t know said what, she seemed angry yet happy: “I wear a lot, not cold at all, if not believe you check yourself.” “You can put hand inside my coat, my top, and my…” I looked down at phone. No reply. Cold wind drilled into cuff, I shivered. Fingertip stopped on screen, I pressed call button. Mechanical female voice coldly replied: “The number you dialed cannot be connected for now.” I understood. When he executes mission, phones are uniformly kept. Must be like this. “Jax!” Lyla suddenly trotted few steps forward, pounced into a man’s arms. I slightly raised umbrella, looked forward. Just one glance, I was nailed dead on spot. Man wore civilian clothes, helplessly hugged Lyla tight, other hand rubbed her hair. “You ah.” He has a face carved into my marrow. Seven years old, we grew up in officer’s housing together, he stuffed his medal model to me: “Sarah, later my medals all give you.” Fifteen years old, he awkwardly let me throw away love letters from other boys: “Those people not good as me.” Nineteen years old, night before he enlisted, stood downstairs my house till dawn, said must wait him. Twenty-three years old, he selected into Special Forces, no news for three months mission at border, came back lost twenty pounds, first thing was find me at hospital. Last month, he stuffed savings card saved five years to me. “Sarah, wait my promotion this time down, we file marriage report.” Full twenty-one years, childhood sweethearts, we like two poplars growing side by side. But this second. Everything turned to ash. Chapter 2 Rain fell on umbrella surface, tick tock. Until they embraced turned walked towards base side gate, I just recovered from numbness. Phone lit up. Is Jackson. [In training, phone just distributed. What’s up?] Unexpected rainstorm, let my shoes water in. Wet cold touch spread from feet, my legs seemed filled with cement, stiff on spot unable move. I gathered army green coat, that was he gave me, same color as his training uniform. Shaking hand, dialed call again. Connected, but hung up. Jackson sent new message: [Leader beside, not convenient answer. Type if matter.] I bit lip, typed word by word. [In training, or accompanying other woman?] Just about send, brake sound rang behind. “Careful!” I no time react, brought down by an out of control bicycle. Sky spin earth turn, I fell sideways on wet slippery ground. Sharp wet cold spread along clothes, pain slow a beat climbed from knee to heart. Little soldier riding bike busy support me: “Comrade, are you okay?” I saw him wearing uniform, young face full panic, waved hand said: “Fine, you go.” Phone screen smashed, question I wanted send, no follow up. Found a hostel nearby, I took a hot bath. Went downstairs bought new phone, inserted card. Jackson sent new message: [Night training tonight, no video call, chat tomorrow, be good.] I blinked dry eyes, sat on bed edge blankly. I really don’t understand. Why? Why Jackson would cheat? And that girl, does she know she is third party? I opened social software. Although didn’t know specific spelling of her name, I still found her in Jackson’s following list. Her avatar photo, taken in Jackson’s dorm. Military quilt behind, was tofu block I taught him fold. He hugged me then said: “Sarah folded quilt is standard, I have to offer it daily.” Lyla is a travel blogger, fans not few. I scrolled down. Posts related to Jackson, earliest appeared in June. Lyla held man’s arm, background is hiking trail near base. Caption: [First date with brother, so happy!] That trail, was place we would go walk every time I came see him. Clearly he promised: “Sarah, this road I only walk with you, so every step memory is you.” July, Lyla and Jackson went seaside together. Exactly my birthday that day, Jackson said field training, post was accompanying Lyla “first diving”. I cold all over. Jackson didn’t show full face in any photo, but I recognized scar on his wrist, that was cut by glass blocking for me. Opened DM, I sent message to Lyla. [Hello, do you know Jackson has girlfriend? Did he lie to you he is single?] Less than half hour, Lyla posted new update. Dress in picture neckline opened very low, showing collarbone. [Tonight’s battle robe, spoiled to someone, he super loves.] I clenched teeth, cold trembling. Just last month, I went base visit, Jackson gently pushed away my hug. He frowned: “Sarah, you have hospital disinfectant smell on body.” Lyla replied DM. [Dr. Sarah, I know you.] [Feelings matter each rely ability, winner is king.] [But looking now, seems you lost ne.] Chapter 3 I sarcastically pulled mouth corner. Night before Jackson enlisted, he asked me to training ground behind housing. Under moonlight, he wore brand new uniform, saluted to me. “Comrade Sarah, I Jackson Hayes promise you, no matter walk where, you forever my rear.” His eyes bright scary: “Sarah, wait I come back, we file marriage report.” Long distance relationship few years, many people not optimistic about us, we didn’t scatter. When he executed dangerous mission, I dare not ask dare not guess, could only watch news daily. From private to lieutenant, then to Special Forces Captain. He said: “Wait you finish further study from Medical University, can apply transfer to our base hospital.” Just short few months. Happiness one kick away. But today, he let a strange girl sentence me lose. Lyla sent another DM. Is a secretly recorded video. Jackson wore civilian clothes, eyes blurred in bar. Lyla frivolously laughing: “Jax, what kind person is your girlfriend?” Bar music loud, but didn’t cover his reply. “Don’t mention her, same every day.” “Boring very.” He looked at lens, eyes my familiar gentleness: “Play something fresh today?” Lens shook, rang ambiguous kissing sound. Phone screen extinguished, reflecting my pale face. Rushed to toilet retched few times, I opened phone booked train ticket home. Packing luggage, right lower abdomen pain wave after wave, my forehead full sweat beads. Guessed maybe acute appendicitis, I directly took taxi to base general hospital. Flu high season, emergency crowded. I squatted outside clinic, pain couldn’t stand. 3 AM, finally got ultrasound report. Doctor asked me: “Acute appendicitis, need surgery. Where your family?” Coincidentally, Jackson phone called this time. I hung up. He persistent call again. In quiet clinic, phone unique ringtone impossible ignore. I picked up, was his anxious to lost composure tone. “I have a friend ankle sprained, how emergency handle?” That end came Lyla low sobbing. Last trace warmth scattered, I cold voice said: “Handle however you want.” “Sarah! You are military doctor, you listen yourself what you saying?!” Jackson roar came. I curled into a ball, exhausted suppress pain. Remembered he said: “My first aid knowledge all you taught, this life only use for you one person.” Jackson still saying: “She pain cried, you quick tell me how handle.” Eye sockets sour pain, I raised head, poured hot liquid back. Opposite military doctor took out surgery consent form: “Comrade, if family not come, you sign yourself also fine.” Jackson silent few seconds. “You… in hospital?” Not wait me answer, he certain said: “Is night shift right?” “Since you not resting, then answer me difficult ma? You playing what small temper?!” Tears finally smashed down, I gently smiled. “You said right.” “I just playing small temper.” “Jackson Hayes, me and you, end here.” Chapter 4 Phone was hung up by Jackson first. He sneered: “Not say then not say, not like must be you.” Broken tone in receiver and rain drop sound outside window interweaved, made people causeless feel cold. I put down phone, apologetic smile to doctor. “Sorry, let you see joke.” My voice hoarse: “My family can’t come, sign myself fine.” Open eyes again, I lay lonely in ward. Wound faintly aching. Phone added few messages. From hospital leader and parents. After reporting surgery situation to leader, I asked two more days leave. Only facing parents, I inevitably guilty. Mom tone very urgent: “Didn’t say come back today?” “Happened what accident?” Adult collapse, is even heart dead like ash also maintain normal. Deep breath, I relaxed said: “Base general hospital has expert lecture, I just right stay learn two days.” I explained again and again, Mom half believing hung up phone. Enduring pain sleep less than one hour. Jackson pushed open ward door. He put a bunch flowers aside, raised hand touch my face. “Sarah, how you last night…” His fingers have alcohol mixed floral perfume smell. Same perfume smell. I smelled on Lyla yesterday. I turned head, avoided. He lowered eyes, withdrew hand. “I didn’t know you came see me. Today couldn’t contact you, asked your hospital then knew you here.” He looked at back of my head, tone helpless. “Must you be like this?” He took out a medal box, stuffed into my hand. “Make up your New Year gift, don’t angry, hmm?” My palm a piece ice cold. Just five minutes before I entered operating room, Lyla posted update. Her side piled full gifts. She opened one by one, luxury bag, new phone, couple vacation package… Only this custom medal, she dissatisfied muttered: “This has what good looking, I want real one.” Person filming laughed dotingly: “Fine, you don’t fancy I take give comrade okay right?” I extended hand out bed edge, let medal box fall ground. Throat dry. “Jackson, let’s break up.” “Break up?” He unbelievable shook head. Light sneer: “Marriage report I submitted, you break up with me now?” “Sarah, you not child anymore, don’t be so unreasonable.” While speaking, phone in his pocket always vibrating. He took out, lowered head reply. Ward too quiet, let me one glance see clear gentleness and patience between his brows. I repeat: “Break up, withdraw report.” His face completely sank. “Don’t joke, this not funny at all.” I supported body sit up, gave flowers on cabinet to him. “Flowers also take away.” Maybe bought temporarily at hospital gate, inside even clamped two tulips I allergic to. Jackson stood unmoving, bottom eyes had impatience. I carefully looked him once. Face once printed on heart tip, how became different? “Stop fussing.” His voice ice cold. I light pulled lip corner: “Jackson, I saw Lyla.” “Not break up, let her be mistress whole life?” He froze. Chapter 5 Unsteady flower bunch fell ground, all dirty. “What Lyla?” Jackson stared tight at me, epaulets reflected cold hard light under ward lamp. “Who talked nonsense to you?” “Sarah, we together so many years, you have no trust in me at all?” I didn’t speak. Eye rims uncontrolled red. How could I not trust him? That person who set military insurance card password as my birthday, every time before mission wrote “will” give me keep, said “If I can’t come back, you live well”. That person who during border mission, took advantage short communication time only said “Sarah, I hear your breathing sound then solid”. How unknowingly walked apart? I how hope all this is fake. But position stabbed through deep in heart, reminds me must keep sober. He shared his medal to someone else half. So never can piece together complete loyalty. I took out phone, opened DM chat record with Lyla. “Jackson, don’t lie me anymore.” “You know, soldier most value discipline, feelings also.” He stared phone screen. Like nailed on spot, whole body stiff. That training uniform often worn, this moment lined him exceptionally embarrassed. I pretended relaxed: “Just like this.” “My family side I will explain, unit side… you fight report explain yourself.” “Things you gave before I will organize return you, I gave then all don’t want.” I turned head: “Seems also nothing much.” Once thought inseparable love, turns out really arrived cutting day, also just so. Twenty-one years side by side, turns out also just so. No wonder, he can say betrayal then betrayal. “I…” Jackson looked up at me, eyes full bloodshot, before I would heartache, now only feel ironic. He muttered: “I not… I didn’t want break up.” “I just…” I interrupted him: “Don’t explain to me.” “Jackson, don’t explain those details you violated discipline, I am military doctor, also soldier, I understand regulations.” About Lyla various things. All too disgusting. Those details like bullets, repeatedly fired in my mind. Beat once trust and vow into thousand holes, still remind me: Person you loved, unworthy this uniform. “Is me violated discipline.” “Sarah, but I didn’t really want how with her. Just… just pressure too big, moment confused.” Jackson voice hoarse bad: “This matter indeed me didn’t hold, is me shouldn’t.” “But we together so long.” “Sarah, you think, you really bear just don’t want me?” I closed eyes, swallowed blood taste in mouth. “Jackson, don’t apologize, don’t make me victim.” A apology, can’t make up my loss. Instead, make me look more like a betrayed fool. I don’t care his heart journey, don’t want hear his quibble and true fake unknown repentance. I want, is clean crisp cut off. “Sarah! I committed mistake, but did I kill or arson?” “I committed what monstrous crime, let you even look me once unwilling?!” Jackson suddenly excited, tightly grabbed my shoulder. Those hands, once ground blood blisters on training ground, once carried wounded in disaster relief, this moment make me sick. “I later won’t like this okay? I immediately clear with Lyla, later never see her okay?” “You look me, I loved you so many years, how can you be so cruel?!” His hand unconsciously trembling. “You can’t just judge me out, I just wandered mind, not not love you anymore.” He used face stick me, want call back those intimate memories once. But I smelled that perfume again. Turned head, I couldn’t help retched twice. He unbelievable red eye rims, voice trembling: “Sarah, you can’t treat me like this.” Didn’t get my response, he raised volume. “I just committed a mistake, why you just refuse loose mouth?!” “So many people commit mistakes, could it be you have no moment wander mind?” “Who lived used to unchanging life, all want try other, I just…” “I didn’t.” Tears finally couldn’t hold, fell from my eyes. “Jackson Hayes, I didn’t.” In blurred tears, I can’t see his face clear. Once I thought stable military love, turns out is “unchanging” he tired of. “I don’t want anymore, you go!” Finally couldn’t help collapse, I sternly scolded: “You roll! Don’t come disgust me! Don’t stain this uniform!” Those beautiful memories, I don’t want. Future he promised, I don’t want. Past and tomorrow related to him, I all don’t want.

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